#idea: what if he means nothing to her. what if. what if thomas harris was a good writer. i just. SIGGHHHHHHHHHHHH

[angeleccstasy]

the hannibal franchise fucking sucks <- is enjoying the hannibal franchise quite a bit actually <- is just very mad that clannibal is a thing that exists

[sylveon-and-velveon]

@fandomhungryuwu You son of a bitch I'm in! I love that song so much XD

Playing "Here Comes the Hurricane Bitch" around the slashers

This will include: Michael Myers {OG & RZ}, Brahms Heelshire, Jason Voorhees, Billy Lenz, Freddy Krueger, Stu Macher, Billy Loomis, Thomas Hewitt, Bubba Sawyer, Harry Warden, Tiffany Valentine

Feel free to request any shitpost writing prompt ideas you can think of in my asks, I love silly non-serious ideas XD

OG Michael Myers

Silently judging you

Also probably just hearing a bunch of random noises instead of the absolute banger that is this short song

Yeah my headcannon still stands on this man being a Kate Bush fan. That man would would fucking listen to her songs while killing people

Slowest middle finger you've seen someone give you while "HERE COMES THE HURRICANE BITCH" is blasting out of the speakers

RZ Michael Myers

Confused would be an understatement for him

But he'd mainly be annoyed by the loud noise blasting from the device you're playing it from

Reminds him of the shitty people from his past :<

Just turn down the music enough for you both to vibe to while eating some yummy food :D

Brahms Heelshire

Bro hears "hurricane" and one of two things happen:

1: He thinks a hurricane is nearby.

2: He's confused as fuck on what a hurricane is

Secret third option is BOTH-

Please reassure this poor man that it's just a song, until he either understands or stops freaking out TvT

Homie only knows the sound of pianos

Jason Voorhees

Nothing sexual? Damn he's fine with it, just a little uncomfy with the continuous "bitch"

Other than that he's happy to watch you enjoy the music, even if you're going full gremlin mode throughout it all

If you're happy, he's okay with it

Just don't start blasting NSFW music in his vicinity-

Billy Lenz

Wanna see a gremlin be a gremlin with you? Billy's got ya back!

Whether he understands the song or not, he will be a gremlin with you the second he sees you are now a gremlin to the music.

You are now one with his gremlin kind, you can't run now

I dunno what that means either, but it makes sense XD

Freddy Kreuger

Pure chaos, that's the song. Of course he'll love it

But the second he finds out there was indeed a hurricane called "Katrina"? Ohohoho.... ya fucking lost him

What, is he dying of laughter? Dunno, but ya lost him XD

Oh he'd totally copy how "bitch" is said in the song as an inside joke between you two

Stu Macher and Billy Loomis

Oddly enough I think they'd be their own type of gremlins to the music

Billy's killing someone to the beat of the chaotic music that's somehow a vibe

Stu's just going fucking feral to the music, enjoying his heart out

You're either watching the chaos unfold or joining in with one of them

No inbetween-

Thomas Hewitt

Oh look another judger-

Probably not judging as much as the others

If the music makes you happy, he doesn't mind

But that ain't stopping him from being confused at your taste in music being in his mind "loud and obnoxious"

Bubba Sawyer

The most confused out of all of them, change my mind

Doubt anyone's told him what a tornado is, let alone a hurricane

Also I highly doubt he's seen either in action, that be on TV or not

He'll probably vibe with you, but just a little confused on everything about the music lol

Harry Warden

My point still stands, I need GIFs of this man-

But with the music? Most traumatized

You've somehow unlocked some kind of PTSD that motherfucker had in the back of his mind

Totally not helping when you're blasting the music that literally says:

"HERE COMES THE HURRICANE BITCH-"

Tiffany Valentine

All here for it

Oh she's slaying the music with all her outfits

Probably would join in with you dancing to the music, but would take it a little more seriously lol

Is my love for her fabulous outfit choices too obvious?

[lxve-and-lxght]

funny honey

pairing: thomas shelby/ reader

warnings: afab! reader, jazz, booze, murder, all that fun stuff. eventual smut perhaps?? slow burn?? mean! tommy.

a/n: hyperfixating on chicago and peaky blinders at the same time. also this is not proofread so i'm sorry for any mistakes.

pt. 1

the long night that followed your arrest at the garrison, could ONLY be described as tedious. inspector campbell was nothing but a ruffian with a badge. no better than tommy, but unlike tommy, inspector campbell really did have no fucking manners. you were a heathen whore in his eyes despite the fact you were a married, working, woman. wasn't that enough? of course it wasn't.

you'd spent the night being interrogated by campbell.

"i've already told you, i don't know," you said to the inspector and sergeant moss, a man who'd been on the peaky blinders payroll for quite some time now if you were remembering his face correctly. "i must've blacked out, i don't remember a thing."

"so you don't remember taking a bloody gun into the garrison tonight?" sergeant moss asked, an eyebrow quirked at you.

"i have no idea what you're talking about..." you were stonewalling them. what did it matter if your sister and bastard husband were dead? it's not like they had money or power, just a poor couple of suckers who'd gotten the kinder end of the deal in your opinion, truthfully you would have much rather been dead than stuck here listening to these fucks debate your innocence and whether or not you were as good in a bed as you were on stage.

after enough time had passed and campbell could say he at least tried to pull a confession out of you it was the wee hours of the morning and you were taken back to a cold, grey holding cell till the bus could take you to a women's jail, apparently only god knew how long that was going to take. so you lied on the hard, uneven, concrete and waited.

did you really have to shoot them? yes. when you found them together in the hotel bed that the money you earned paid for, you saw white. your sister was a dummy for thinking charlie was smart enough to avoid getting caught and charlie was just the same for assuming that of her.

all that time busting your ass, working as many shows as you could, travelling all throughout europe with them. how many times had they done it? how many times had he kissed you after he'd had your own fucking sister in his mouth? stupid son of bitch, you thought. how you ended up with such scum you'd never know.

"l/n! time to go." you sat up from the ground and saw sergeant moss standing with john shelby through the bars. your brow furrowed. moss opened the cell door and gestured you up.

"ya'd better move if you wanna make it to the garrison before tommy leaves." john said. you stood up and walked to him, he had a coat to cover up your show dress. "christ, you're freezing." your dress was covered in whatever dirty muck had been on the floor and your stockings were torn from the brawl that transpired at your arrest. " go on." john nodded.

you walked a couple feet away, peaking over your shoulder to watch moss and john share a sly handshake. john withdrew first and approached you, putting his arm over your shoulder. the two of you didn't speak till you were out of the jailhouse and settled into the motorcar.

"be honest, john, i'm fucked aren't i?" you said quietly, eyes darting to his.

"agh hell, don't ask me, y/n. i'm just the driver." he chuckled, blowing smoke out the window. "but we both know tommy prefers you to that bastard inspector. you make us money."

"great," you sighed, arms crossed in disdain. "now i owe the shelby's a debt."

"that you do, love." john laughed.

when the car finally stopped in front of the garrison john didn't waste anytime pushing you out to the curb.

"he's still in there." john called out as he pulled the car away. you bit down on your tongue in frustration and then stepped inside the pub. it was still so early, it must've only been harry and tommy in there.

you didn't even have to ask after him, the second you were passed the threshold, the private room's door opened and thomas stood waiting for you. he didn't say anything. just nodded his head, telling you to step inside.

"mr. shelby--"

"stop." tommy spoke finally, putting a hand up to silence you. "what'ddya say to him?"

"... nothing." you said, "i blacked out, i don't know what happened." thomas choked on his cigarette when he chuckled.

"and that's what you've told him? that you don't remember?" you nodded. a little blown away that he was laughing in your face about the situation.

"mr. shelby, i can't go back to him," you said firmly, talking about campbell, "he'll string me up or he'll make me a whore. i refuse to do either, so cut him up or cut me."

"ya want me to cut you?" he asked, taking a seat at the table.

"it's not about what i want, it's about what i don't want, and i don't want that pathetic excuse for an officer to have any say in my future."

"well sweetheart, you've managed to create a cluster fuck of problems for me in a matter of a night, i've already lost one of my showgirls because you seem to have a fuckin' temper and now i have to find someone to pin her and your husband's murders on."

"why?" you scoffed. "what good would that do you? or me for that matter? they already think i did it."

"that's cause you did do it." thomas said snidely, taking a sip of whiskey. "and i can't afford to have harry looking for new acts while i'm trying to conquer london. he needs to mind the pub and you need to mind the crowds of men that come here to gawk 'atcha."

you bit down on your tongue again.

"do we have an understanding?" he asked. you sat with it for second, thomas was offering to get you off the hook for damn near free, it was too good to be true.

"i'm not working for free." you countered.

"course you're not, you're working to dig yourself and me out of the hole you've put us in."

"three shows a week." you said. yeah beggars couldn't be choosers, but that didn't mean you had to starve and sleep on the streets especially because if there was one person who could get you the fuck out of this mess, it was thomas shelby. his eyes narrowed at your half-assed attempt to negotiate, like he was at least pretending to think it over.

"five shows a week, you get three hundred and i keep your bonny ass out of the jailhouse." he said finally. you sighed and sat down to shake his hand. tommy put his cigarette out and shook your hand. "you better get ready." he said. you nodded going to leave till he spoke again. "and i'd take a bath, love, you've got a show tonight and not even the soldiers will want to touch you smelling like that."

you scoffed. what a fucker.

[lovl3igh]

You know, it be preferable if certain Jily artists would bother to tag their art with poc/desi james potter tag. Cause not all of us consider that headcanon to be ‘canon’. The author is problematic and all, but that doesn’t mean race swapping existing white characters is any better/makes y’all superior. It works for Hermione because she’s a muggleborn and the added subtext of her being picked on by a racist, pureblood white prick like Draco and the garbage Malfoys. And this doesn’t fucking mean Jily=Dramione! Fuck no. If anything, James being the reverse of Draco, but similar in he too was a white, pure blood privileged boy raised and pampered but was actual taught to not be a complete dick to those who’s blood status isn’t pure. Changing his race to fit a certain headcanon is bs and makes Dursleys hypocritical and worse(but skin color logic, they should hate Kingsley too). And it’s always James & Harry. Never Sirius, Remus, or Lily(who has the most reason to be race swapped). So overall, this fandom is a joke

overall after reading that i think every word you wrote is a joke (yeah, i'm answering just now, i had no time in last few weeks whatsoever)

"not all of us consider that headcanon to be 'canon'" what. putting canon in quotation marks doesn't make that sounds any more sensible. people know that poc james isn't canon even if they don't like idea of him being white. no one makes it canon or 'canon', it's fandom thing. no one calls it canon for real. no one can argue canonically white james

no one feels superior because of making race swap to any character but there's also nothing wrong with that as long as it's not harmful. there's bunch of white characters in hp, most of them. james is canonically white so there's no problem that he stays this way for you. but the thing is most of the things about marauders is headcanon because jkr didn't do much with them and one of those is poc james. and it's okay! there's canon white james and there's desi james and asian james and black james and biracial james and there's no way that could be harmful to you to the point to write long ask referring to my old post

harry potter universe has a canon black character that comes from muggle family. he's called dean thomas. there's also canon white character that is muggleborn. hermione granger. there are white and black characters born either in muggle family or magic one or mixed. because yes, blood purists in hp can be seen as racists. and looking from our world into what we're reading and watching it can be a good analogy. but characters in hp can be both racists and blood purists. dean could have been hated for beeing black and for being muggleborn, jkr just never wrote anything like that in her work but to the moment when dean was haunted in book 7 for being muggleborn. ted tonks was haunted as well and he's white. it wasn't about race, it was about blood. jkr made basically everyone white there and pretended that the only problem in the universe is purity of blood as if racism didn't exist

so no, it doesn't "work for hermione because she's a muggleborn". it doesn't work for lily "who has the most reason to be race swapped". it works for any character in the universe. in universe when you can see how muggleborn and mixed blood people are treated worse than those with pure blood . and if you need added subtext of muggleborn being poc to see a problem with blood purists, that's on you. as if black hp character couldn't be a blood purist. blaise zabini anyone?

headcanoning james and harry as poc doesn't make dursleys seem worse than they are. they are already horrible people. they were abusing A CHILD. canonically they were abusing white boy because he was a wizard, not other reason. making harry poc in headcanon doesn't make them worse because they did that canonically to white kid. it's terrible enough. making lily and harry poc instead of james and harry doesn't work better. vernon canonically still is white, with poc petunia abusing poc harry wouldn't automatically make vernon non-racist. it's giving "i have black friends, i can't be racist". you can. but we know that whatever color harry would be, vernon still would hate him because of his magic

[cto10121]

Harry Potter Clown Takes Special Edition—Le Guin Again

In which an old Le Guin quote returns to bring all the HP clown shakes to the yard. Is it better than yours? Let’s find out.

So Le Guin made this comment in a 2005 interview, by which time Half-Blood Prince was published, the darkest and most morally complicated book of the series by that point. Apart from that, her criticism is not very good for these reasons:

1. Rowling never claimed her series was original. I even honestly doubt there were adult critics were calling her books original. Even in its heyday there were plenty of critics and even a lot of cranks suing Rowling for plagiarism for the magical school idea. Most likely the critics were referring to Rowling’s execution, which indeed much more fleshed out than Le Guin’s very cursory and drama-free treatment. At the very least Rowling’s characters have plausible personalities than the symbolic cyphers of A Wizard of Earthsea.

2. I’ve struggled with understanding what “ethically mean-spirited” even means, given the series’ singular preoccupation with morality and the blatant moral complication Rowling develops in the latter half of the books. If Le Guin means the karma potshots at the actual abusive and mean-spirited Dursleys or even Fred and George’s nastier pranks, then I suppose kids rebelling against their tormentors or, er, doing stupid kid shit can be said to be ethically mean-spirited. And even the Dursleys are given a quick and easy exit at the end of Book 7 with not even a loss in pride and a slightly reformed Dudley (!!).

I have a feeling that had the series had framed these petty revenges on the Dursleys negatively and urged forgiveness that Le Guin would have said the series legitimized abuse and ill-treatment. If anything Rowling is a sentimental softie compared to the likes of Roald Dahl. Brad Neely’s hilarious narration even makes fun of the corny coming-of-age tropes Harry Potter exemplifies.

‘90s sensibility is right! Boy, those ethnic stereotypes are a whopper. Cho Chang is a Ravenclaw, a Quidditch athlete, and an easy and sentimental crier, especially when it comes to relationship drama. Lee Jordan is the unofficial trickster pal of Fred and George and offered entertaining if funnily biased Quidditch commentary. Angelina Johnson is a very good Quidditch player, gets almost as fanatic as Wood when she becomes captain, goes with half the twins to the Yule Ball, and has dreadlocks (?). There isn’t much to Dean Thomas (half-blood, father walked out on him) except as a friend of Seamus; he later dates Ginny. Parvati is a girly girl who likes Divination and pals around with fellow girly girl Lavender. Kingsley Shacklebolt is an Order member, excellent at passing as a Muggle, and becomes Minister of Magic. Don’t all these description scream “stereotypical” to you???? I know it does to me.

As for moral sophistication…I guess you could write a whole ass kid series about how the government is not only ineffective and in denial of a white wizard supremacist threat but are actually intimately in bed with them and actually has no problem with their ideas. I guess you could portray the whole of wizard society as supremacist lite(tm) and even have a whole-ass plotline about supremacist attitudes against non-magical creatures. But that will be too morally unsophisticated for the kiddies, wouldn’t it?

Harry, who begins as a mild, polite (if sassy towards his asshole relatives and assholes in general), average and morally wholesome student, definitely ends the series as a mild, polite, and average and morally wholesome student. Nothing in Harry changed at all, nuh-uh, nope. He only just develops a fierce temper, learned how to properly cast the Cruciatus Curse and other war crime shit, learn and forgive both his mentor’s betrayal and a detested teacher who hated his guts, and sacrifice his life for the greater good. See? No change.

I read A Wizard of Earthsea about a year ago and if someone pointed a gun at my head and demanded to tell me what happened in that book, I would literally die. That said, The Left Hand of Darkness had very good style and craft, so I can only assume that Le Guin just isn’t a writer for the elementary set, period.

Because modern America and Britain is not at all characterized by mean and overly aggressive competition and tribalism between arbitrary groups disguised as wholesome fun and don’t have horrible colonialist histories or unethical lifestyles.

You can’t have your cake and eat it too, Clown OP. Either HP is a morally uncomplicated children’s fantasy that is not good representation of our real world ~or it has deeply problematic depictions of Anglo world and culture through the vehicle of fantasy. It can’t be both.

Harry was literally a child. Kids accept all kinds of shit because they don’t have a foundational understanding yet of what normal is! It’s child psychology 101. Hermione is the exception as the actual smart one and blatant author avatar. But prejudice against Muggleborns and half-bloods was never condoned or tolerated by the Golden Trio or anyone that wasn’t a pureblood supremacist sympathizer. And Harry himself did feel enraged over Riddle’s framing Hepzibah’s house elf for her murder and the Ministry easily accepting this.

I think the issue for most of the criticism is that HP is still a Bildungsroman at heart, so the plot focus is all about Harry’s education and his rise in power and status. But Harry’s actual power to enact real status-quo busting change has always been limited. As in, you know, real life.

[theyellowroseofsodor]

🎁 I come bearing gift ideas 🎁

- Thomas strikes me as one of those people who has a wishlist of games he’s been meaning to play but hasn’t gotten around to actually buying for himself, and he just keeps adding to it so some of those games have been on that list for years and he’s pretty much forgotten about them being on it at all. So somebody giving him anything on that list would be a pleasant surprise (source: I am one of those people, my friends have done this multiple times)

- Edward seems like the type who’d appreciate something homemade or handcrafted, no matter what it is or how it looks. He’d treasure it because it was made with love and it’s from someone he cares about.

- Henry might appreciate some new gardening tools, like a new trowel or a set of good gardening gloves. Another idea for him is a bulb for an amaryllis, a large lily-like flower that grows well indoors during winter. They’re gorgeous when they bloom, and I’m sure he’d love to help it grow!

- Gordon… is tricky. He seems like the sort to say he doesn’t want/need anything, but you know he’d feel hurt if he didn’t get something meaningful. Personally, I have a headcanon that he really likes butterscotch candy, but that’s not something he goes around telling people. After all, he’s an engine, engines don’t need food, it isn’t proper… but he can’t help popping one in his mouth when he needs a pick-me-up and thinks no one he knows is around to notice. And if a certain someone did notice, well…

- James would probably like things he can use to spoil himself. A specific shade of nail polish from his favorite brand, a warm blanket he can wrap himself in, a pair of nice slippers to wear around the house, things like that.

- Percy is someone I headcanon as being really into Lego. Like, he’s got completed builds set up all over his room and is always on the lookout for a new challenging set to build in his spare time. Can’t go wrong with a cool Lego set for Percy.

- Emily is another tricky one, because she seems like the kind of person who just goes out and gets most of the things she wants herself, just in general. So a good gift for her might be an experience rather than an object; a gift certificate to a new local restaurant, tickets to a concert, vouchers for a spa day, something like that. She’d probably love it even more if it were something she could do with the person who gave her the gift in the first place.

🎁 I put way too much thought into this okay bye 🎁

Oh my gosh, I LOVE these! I don’t know, anon, if you’ve read my fic but I totally made Thomas a video game nerd (also like me) and the idea of getting him a game off his wishlist is BRILLIANT! Like he has a Switch and I’m sure his wishlist is humongous!

Edward is definitely a homemade gift guy, I’m taking that and running with it.

I know nothing about flowers, I could kill a cactus I’m such a bad green thumb. The bulb sounds like something his special someone would know.

OK OK you totally read my mind about Gordon and sweets so I’m gonna run with that one too 😂 but I also think he’d totally tear up with a homemade gift right? Cause he’s all prideful and a bit vain but like actual affection crumbles all the walls. Like he has a lot of good self-esteem but when others genuinely compliment him or make something for him he gets super emotional, but tries to hide it. Oh my gosh, thank you for this brain storming session!

James with like a Minky Couture blanket is now engraved in my mind. That luxury blanket in like a moulin rouge red, oh my Lady I’m living for it.

Percy is totally a LEGO guy! How have I not seen it?? Now I have to find a series to go with it. Like he has to have an entire collection whether it’s Lego City, Star Wars, Harry Potter, LotR, YES!!

Emily having a gift card and a ticket to experience something is also an amazing idea anon, I may need you for future advice because you are brilliant! It is my personal headcanon that Emily loves books. She’s basically Belle from Beauty and the Beast. So, maybe tickets to the theatre? I feel like that would like brighten her world.

Thanks for brainstorming with me anon, this has been amazing! I’m going to start working on it right away but I always welcome more! ♥️💙💜💛💚

[rockislandadultreads]

Read-Alike Friday: The Lace Widow by Mollie Ann Cox

The Lace Widow by Mollie Ann Cox

New York, 1804. America’s beloved Alexander Hamilton lies dead after a duel with Aaron Burr. Meanwhile, Eliza Hamilton’s eighteen-year-old son, Alexander Jr., was seen fighting with a man in a tavern the night before his father’s duel and quickly comes under suspicion for murder when the man turns up dead.

Eliza searches for ways to clear her son’s name, even as she is grieving, but as she combs through her late husband’s papers, she finds evidence of a plot to steal money from the government during his tenure as secretary of state. Hamilton was accused of stealing that money, and it was a scandal that almost broke the family—but is Eliza now holding proof of Alexander’s innocence?

Deep in debt and despair, with eight children to support, Eliza turns to selling her handmade lace—and is drawn into a mysterious network of widow lacemakers who are intimately connected to New York’s high-society families. They know their dead husbands’ secrets—and soon, Eliza begins to piece together the truth.

There’s a dark plot connected with the duel, as one by one, witnesses to the bout are being killed. Now, Eliza must not only clear her husband’s and son’s names but keep herself out of the killer’s sights.

Because I Could Not Stop for Death by Amanda Flower

January 1855: Willa Noble knew it was bad luck when it was pouring rain on the day of her ever-important job interview at the Dickinson home in Amherst, Massachusetts. When she arrived late, disheveled with her skirts sodden and filthy, she'd lost all hope of being hired for the position. As the housekeeper politely told her they'd be in touch, Willa started toward the door of the stately home only to be called back by the soft but strong voice of Emily Dickinson. What begins as tenuous employment turns to friendship as the reclusive poet takes Willa under her wing.

Tragedy soon strikes and Willa's beloved brother, Henry, is killed in a tragic accident at the town stables. With no other family and nowhere else to turn, Willa tells Emily about her brother's death and why she believes it was no accident. Willa is convinced it was murder. Henry had been very secretive of late, only hinting to Willa that he'd found a way to earn money to take care of them both. Viewing it first as a puzzle to piece together, Emily offers to help, only to realize that she and Willa are caught in a deadly game of cat and mouse that reveals corruption in Amherst that is generations deep. Some very high-powered people will stop at nothing to keep their profitable secrets even if that means forever silencing Willa and her new mistress...

This is the first volume of the "Emily Dickinson Mystery" series.

What the Dead Leave Behind by David Housewright

Once a police detective in St. Paul, Minnesota, Rushmore McKenzie has become not only an unlikely millionaire, but an occasional unlicensed private investigator, doing favors for friends and people in need. When his stepdaughter Erica asks him for just such a favor, McKenzie doesn t have it in him to refuse. Even though it sounds like a very bad idea right from the start.

The father of Malcolm Harris, a college friend of Erica's, was found murdered a year ago in a park in New Brighton, a town just outside the Twin Cities. With no real clues and all the obvious suspects with concrete alibis, the case has long since gone cold. As McKenzie begins poking around, he soon discovers another unsolved murder that's tangentially related to this one. And all connections seem to lead back to a group of friends the victim was close with. But all McKenzie has is a series of odd, even suspicious, coincidences until someone decides to make it all that more serious and personal.

This is the 14th volume of the "Mac McKenzie" series.

A Study in Scarlet Women by Sherry Thomas

With her inquisitive mind, Charlotte Holmes has never felt comfortable with the demureness expected of the fairer sex in upper class society. But even she never thought that she would become a social pariah, an outcast fending for herself on the mean streets of London.

When the city is struck by a trio of unexpected deaths and suspicion falls on her sister and her father, Charlotte is desperate to find the true culprits and clear the family name. She’ll have help from friends new and old—a kind-hearted widow, a police inspector, and a man who has long loved her.

But in the end, it will be up to Charlotte, under the assumed name Sherlock Holmes, to challenge society’s expectations and match wits against an unseen mastermind.

This is the first volume of the "Lady Sherlock" series.

[disaster-vampire]

omg i had no idea he was a real killer and tbh it’s kind of on thomas harris or bryan fuller for randomly deciding that his character was a real serial killer

thomas harris never said that hannibal was the mostro. he mentioned the case in the books in regards to pazzi, tying him to the investigation & grounding the books in real events, but kept hannibal out of it. and i do believe that a lot of the "lore" in the books is tied to the mostro case but more in regards to what surrounded the case than the crimes themselves, even small things like hannibal's mother being part of the sforza family probably has to do with caterina sforza, who died in florence and who was a pretty big deal during the renaissance (not gonna go over her story here because this would get too long). same with dante being quoted, he was from florence and is considered one of the fathers of modern italian as a language, or even something as simple as hannibal being a count & a cannibal, very likely inspired by count ugolino della gherardesca, who appears in dante's divine comedy and who was rumored to have eaten his children in prison after they starved to death (it's unclear whether the rumor started from the way dante worded the verse or not. there's no actual historical proof that he did eat his children but he's known as the cannibal count anyway). there's also a whole bunch of connections to sardinia, both in the real mostro case (the first victims were sardinian and so the police started looking into the sardinians living in florence because they believed it was a crime of passion, before more victims popped up) and even with count ugolino, who used to have a castle in sardinia (i drive by it semi-regularly and my family always told me he'd eat me if i misbehaved as a kid. i still haven't visited the damn castle also). the case was also i think the first italian case to ever have to consult the bau in quantico, and i believe one of the first they've ever worked on because at the time chriminal psychology was kind of considered an unreliable science still. i've ranted about this multiple times so i really think i should write something properly laid out about it at some point but let's move on.

the choice to being the real life serial killer into it (and completely mischaracterise the murders too because i assure you there was nothing artistic about the real ones) was entirely in the team behind the nbc adaptation. i don't know if it can be blamed entirely on fuller but i mean. we're talking about the guy who decided it was appropriate to use the w*ndigo in the show and decided that margot shouldn't be butch like she was in the books because. idk.

anyway i also think folks should learn to google. immediately after watching hannibal i looked up if hannibal lecter & the chesapeake ripper were ever real people or real serial killers. didn't have to google the monster of florence because i'm from italy & my mom told me immediately when she heard the name in the show then i went and watched a whole ass documentary on the trials. sorry for ranting again this is becoming ridiculous of me.

[chamberedbeauty]

There was so much that she didn't understand, and as time slowly ticked on, she feared some of it she never would. It wasn't missed on her that for whatever reason Steve got to choose to go back, yet Bucky was still here. She didn't ask. She figured with the little knowledge she had about Steve and his rankings and the- oh what were they called?....The Avengers- that he had enough say to those powerful enough to send him home. Maybe only one could? She didn't know, but the fact that he could now being revealed, didn't sit well with her or make her any less confused. But the hope is too strong.

And yet it comes crumbling down faster than it had came.

Harry died. In 1945. He wasn't home. He didn't die an old man warm in a bed. He didn't marry. He didn't have kids. He didn't get to have the life he deserved. And she wasn't there. She wasn't there to mourn him. To say goodbye. It didn't matter if she'd stayed out of the chamber, he would have been gone. The three boys sent to war died there. Her future ended the moment Bucky fell from the train.

For a moment she wonders if that's why they never retrieved her- her parents saw the way Bucky and Steve's death destroyed her. She was nearly gone when she went in the chamber, surely Harry's death would have given her that final push to fade away.

Gwen can hardly hear him as he continues to speak. There's something he says about not being able to go to Steve, and through the ripping pieces of the remainder of her heart, that makes her wince. And then he tells her he'd leave her. That she would be alone. She'd have her family...but not Harry, not Steve, and not him. The one that started this all.

And now a small laugh leaves her, and it's the saddest noise she's ever heard herself make. But she won't cry. She's so tired of crying. She's so tired of hurting. She pulls her hand from his gently to run it through her hair, forcing herself to stare at the house before she turns back to him and suddenly it doesn't matter that they're older. It doesn't matter that it's not ladylike. It doesn't matter that he's been through enough physical violence. Nor does it matter that she can't hurt him. Suddenly they're standing in 1939 and her fist comes up to strike his right arm before shoving him back. And as horrible as it was, it was the closest thing to herself she'd felt in years.

"Why would you do that to me? Why?" She bites her lip as hard as she can to keep her tears inside. "Why would you tell me I could go back when you knew- you knew there was nothing to go back to?! And who's to say my parents wouldn't die in another car accident? This time with my brothers in the car? Huh? A-And even if that didn't happen, I couldn't go see Steve? I couldn't go see someone who was apart of my life for so long- who I miss terribly? How does that work? A-And Harry-" Her voice cracks but she shakes her head. "I'd be just the near equivalent to a widow? Were you expecting me then to go for the next one? I don't want that. Do you believe they'd even entertain the idea even if I did? Surely Thomas told them when I disappeared- he didn't have be as a puppet anymore."

She's not making sense, she knows it. She's being emotional and causing a scene. But fuck the standards, fuck how she's supposed to act, even that means taking her anger and sadness out on him.

"And do you honestly believe that I would go back without you? God, do you have any idea what your death did to me? You know it wasn't just to present an image for my father and boost his career? I-I just wanted to stop feeling one goddamn moment. I wanted to escape. Everything good stopped the moment you fell. A piece of me died with you. All I wanted was you. I laid at your grave every single day and pleaded for God to take me too. I went mad. And then Steve....I begged him not to go back because I knew- I knew that he'd die too. I told him that. I got on my knees and begged for him to run away with me. I did everything I could to keep him from going back but...but he was so goddamn stubborn and never outgrew that righteous for justice and was so reckless. And then....and then I heard the screams in the hallway while I was recovering in the hospital....I heard the radio broadcaster say he put a plane in the water. And then- and then suddenly two of the most people in my life- two people I loved most in the world were gone. A-And I didn't even have a place to go mourn over his empty box. They didn't bury the boy who'd left Brooklyn all but twice in his entire life before he got that serum in Brooklyn. They didn't bury him next to you or Sarah. They buried him in DC....fucking DC. You were gone....and I'm just supposed to go back to that? Go back to nothing.."

Her head turns once more to the house. "It's a lovely house....it has potential. But I want to go rest now." She turns opening the car door, sliding in the passenger seat then slams it shut. Her seatbelt crosses over her before she curls up, wrapping her blanket up as high as she could as she hugs the box to her chest. Guilt and grief swarms her as images of Harry play in her mind, his touch, their memories. His smile. Slowly the thoughts morph into his final moments. What he may have been thinking, what it may have looked like, until she feels ill. But she still doesn't cry, not until they're back in Brooklyn, and she's locked herself in Bucky's room.

Brown hues flicker to his fingers as he adjusts the settings in the vehicle, and she had to admit while there was an overwhelming amount of things she missed about the 20th century, these new adaptations to cars were a quite nice. But then he tells her just another thing that is different and her head turns so quickly to look at him she's surprised it didn't come off, but the pure feeling of betrayal is strong enough to distract her- even from her box for the moment.

"Los Angeles? Why would they do that?"

The gentle touch of his hand slowly calms her nerves, slowly brings down her emotions, and slowly Gwen settles back against the car seat though keeps a tight grip on her box. She's unsure where this next "stop" was, but truth be told she didn't care. The city was so loud, it was nice to not have the outside noise mix with the chaos going on inside her mind. And hell, she's so exhausted from the chaos from today that slowly the brunette drifts off to sleep until there's a light tough to her arm.

She blinks, stretching out a bit before taking in the scale of the house in front of them. It reminded her of the Shelby house before they tore it down back in the 30s. Vacant and under maintained after they'd been arrested for bootlegging back in the 20s and no one had been able to profit from it during the Depression. Still, this house had potential.

Carefully Gwen steps out of the car, shuddering out a breath at the cold March air and she finds herself closer to Bucky than what she once would deem appropriate...but she'd found out he'd radiated heat that either she hadn't remembered or it was something that serum granted him.

"When I imagined the future, I never thought it would be so loud...or so cruel. I loved the city, but now...now it just feels scary. The whole world does."

Her head shakes rapidly when he starts listing her options. "I don't want to go with Sam," Gwen speaks quickly, too quickly. And she feels bad. Sam had been so lovely to her and she'd taken an early liking to him, and she had no doubts that his sister was just as pleasant, but they weren't Bucky. Bucky was all she had now, and he'd been her world for over 17 years before he'd been ripped from her. The idea of not being right next to him terrified her- and wasn't an option she'd even consider.

But it's his final option that causes her eyebrows to crease, turning from the house to look up at him and there's something that fills her with so much hope and hurt at the same time. "Home? I-I don't understand. We can go home?" She pauses for a moment, her thoughts drifting to the incredibly vague conversation Bucky and Sam had had with her about Steve, about where he was now and while it didn't make sense, suddenly the hope outweighed the hurt.

"Let's go home." Her hands quickly reach out to grab his right hand. "To 1948, before mom and dad die. Then we'd only have to wait a year or so before Steve is back a-and you already know where he'd be so we could just go get him. A-and we can keep my parents form ever getting in a car that day and-and we'd only be missing a few years but we could be with your sisters again too. Rebecca married in 49 too, I saw the date. We could be there for the wedding, for her to start a family. And maybe I could convince June to do the same too and-and it would be fine. It would all be fine. I-I haven't looked to see if Harry married after he returned but-but I could tell him everything and he'd understand. I don't know what would come of it but you and I- well we'd be alright and we'd figure it all out and we'd actually have the peace of mind to do it. We'd be home. None of this makes sense, Bucky, none of it. We don't- we don't need to be here. We weren't meant to be here. So let's go- let's go home."

[waitimcomingtoo]

Where My Feet Take Me

Pairing: Tom Holland x reader

Synopsis: the boys chase a drunk Tom down the street and he tries to make things right with you

Masterlist

“Hello?” Tom called out as he walked into the house. “I’m home.”

“Tom?” You froze in your tracks as a chill went down your spine. He came into your shared bedroom with an unsuspecting smile on his face, making your hands clench around the box in your hands.

“Hi darling.” He greeted you as he set his suitcase on the ground.

“What are you doing here?” You asked softly.

“I live here.” He teased before his eyes fell on the box in your hands. His face crumpled as he read “picture frames” written on the side in your handwriting.

“What are you doing?” He asked weakly, eyes never leaving the box.

“You said you were coming home tomorrow.” You reminded him.

“My flight was changed.” He told you. “What are you doing?”

“I’m sorry.” You whispered. “You weren’t supposed to be home.”

“What are you doing?” He repeated, firmly this time. You looked down at the box, unable to look him in the eyes as he slowly figured out what was happening.

“I’m leaving.” You mumbled without lifting your head. Tom slowly looked around the room, finally seeing how empty it was without your belongings. He looked at you in confusion and you nearly broke down.

“You.” You continued. “I’m leaving you.”

“What?” His asked, voice cracking. “Why?”

“You’re never here.” You told him with a shaking voice. “I’m on my own more than I’m with you. And when you’re gone, you don’t call. You don’t call or text or really give me any sort of indication that you remember me. I can’t do this anymore, Tom. I’m done.”

“But...what?” He rubbed his face as he tried to process what you were saying.

“I’m not happy, Tom.” You said weakly. “You’re a perfect boyfriend when you’re home but the second you leave for work, it’s like I don’t exist.”

“That’s not true.” He protested.

“Its not?” You laughed sadly. “We hardly ever speak. Look at your phone. When was the last time you texted me?”

Tom took out his phone, sure that you were wrong. He looked at his messages and sure enough, you were right.

“Wednesday.” He answered sheepishly.

“Yeah.” You nodded. “It’s Monday.”

“You’re leaving me because I haven’t texted you in a few days?” He asked.

“It’s not just that.” You whined and walked past him. He ran after you and stood in front of you.

“Then what is it?” He asked as he blocked your path.

“I shouldn’t have to explain it to you. You should know.” You said and tried to move past him.

“But I don’t. Please, baby. I don’t understand.”

You stopped trying to get past him and looked into his glassy eyes. It took everything in you not to unpack the box and stay with him. As much as you wanted to stay, you knew you had to leave.

“Thomas.” You sighed. “I wake up every morning and I have no idea if you love me or not. I can’t keep waiting for you to let me be a part of your life. I have to go.”

You walked past him and went out the front door with him following behind you.

“Please.” He begged. “Don’t leave. I can change.”

“I’ve heard that before.” You said as you walked faster to your car. You tried to open your car door but he put his hand on it to keep it closed.

“It will be different this time.” He assured you. “I promise.”

You looked at all your belongings in the backseat of your car for a minute before looking back at him. He was silently begging you to stay as tears slipped from his eyes.

“I just can’t believe you.” You shook your head. “I’m sorry.”

You walked around the car and got in the front seat but he caught the door before you could shut it.

“But, darling.” He cried. “I love you.”

“And I love you.” You told him. His eyes lit up as he hoped that meant you were changing your mind.

“It’s just not enough.” You continued. His hand slipped off the door in shock, and you were able to shut it. He watched you pull away as tears fell from his eyes, and that’s when he knew he had lost.

2 months later

The boys were sitting around in Harrison’s living room, all mindlessly scrolling through their phones. Tom noticed Harrison’s smile suddenly, then look at Harry and Sam. They shook their heads at him and Harrison quickly put his phone down.

“What?” Tom asked when he noticed the strange interaction. The boys exchanged a look, and silently decided not to lie to him.

“Y/n just congratulated me The Irregulars.” Harrison explained. Tom stiffened when he heard your name and looked to the other boys.

“Yeah.” Harry nodded slowly. “She texted me too. She liked my cameo in Cherry.”

“I wonder how she’s been.” Sam said, earning a glare from Harrison and Harry. Tom let out a defeated sigh and rubbed his face, also wondering how you had been. He couldn’t find the words to say, so he just hung his head in shame.

“Sorry, mate.” Harrison apologized. “I didn’t mean to bring it up.”

“It’s fine.” Tom shrugged as he got up. He grabbed a beer from the refrigerator and sipped it while looking out the window.

“I talked to my friend from work. Remember I told you about Holly?” Sam changed the subject. “She said she’d go out with you tonight if you want.”

“Sure.” Tom replied, hardly listening.

“Give her a chance mate.” Sam suggested. “You might like her.”

“Yeah.” Harry agreed. “Especially since Y/n-“

Harry was cut off with a harsh series of hushes from the other boys. Tom returned his attention to them, knowing they were trying to keep something from him.

“What about Y/n?” He asked.

“Nothing.” Harrison said as he glared at Sam.

“Harry.” Tom singled him out. Harry looked at him apologetically and sighed.

“I heard shes seeing someone.” He admitted. Tom stumbled backwards a little as the wind was knocked out of him. He sat back down in the living room and stared at the wall.

“Dude.” Sam hit his arm.

“He asked.” Harry defended himself. “And he was gonna find out eventually.”

“Tom, you okay?” Harrison asked.

“I’m fine.” Tom replied as he wiped his eyes. “When does that Hazel want to meet?”

“It’s Holly.” Sam corrected. “And she said anytime.”

“All right.” Tom downed the rest of his beer and stood up. “I’m ready. Text me the address.”

“Don’t you want to get dressed?” Harrison asked kindly, noticing Tom’s week old pajamas.

“I am dressed.” Tom gestured to himself.

“When was the last time you showered?” Harry wondered.

“Or shaved?” Sam added.

“Wednesday.” Tom shrugged.

“Mate.” Harrison sighed. “It’s Monday.”

“Well if she doesn’t like me for me, she’s more the one.” Tom gave them a tipsy smile and opened the front door.

“Okay.” Sam said wearily. “Have fun.”

Less than two hours later, Tom stumbled back through the front door and flopped onto the couch.

“Hey, man.” Sam greeted when he heard Tom come in. “How’d it go?”

“Horrible.” Tom mumbled. “She ordered Y/n’s favorite drink and it was downhill from there.”

“Tom.” Sam sighed and rubbed his brothers back.

“Sam.” Tom whined. “I don’t need you to play matchmaker for me. I don’t want anyone else. I want Y/n. I miss her.”

“I’m sorry, mate.” He said. “But it’s over with Y/n. You have to move on.””

“I can’t move on.” Tom teared up again. “I love her.”

“I know you do.” Sam nodded. “But you can love her from a distance.”

“No.” Tom decided as he struggled it stand up. “I have to go to her house. I can talk some sense into her.”

Harry walked into the room right as Sam was trying to reign Tom in.

“What’s he doing?” Harry asked as he helped keep Tom in place.

“He’s drunk.” Sam explained. “And he’s trying to go to Y/n’s house.”

“I have to see her.” Tom slurred and went for the door.

“Woah woah woah.” Harry held him back. “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”

“She’ll listen to me.” Tom declared. “She’ll listen this time. I know she will.”

“I think you should lie down and get some sleep.” Sam suggested.

“No.” Tom broke free from their grasp. “I’m going to her flat.”

“You can’t drive. You’re drunk.” Harry reminded him.

“I’ll walk.” Tom said as he went out the front door.

“Oh no.” Sam groaned. “Grab him.”

Harry and Sam chased Tom down the hall right as Harrison was coming up the elevator.

“Woah. Where’s he going?” He asked.

“To Y/n’s house.” Harry quickly explained as Tom ran out the front door of the apartment building. “Oh no. He got away!”

The boys quickly ran out of the apartment and searched the street for where Tom had gone.

“Tom!” Harrison called. “Where did you go?”

“Oh God.” Sam spotted him in the distance. “He’s running down the street.”

“Come on.” Harry sighed. “We have to get him.”

The boys chased Tom down the street, but never caught up to them. Even while drunk, he was faster than them. Tom found your apartment building and easily made it past the doorman. The boys finally caught up to him in the hallway by your door.

“Tom.” Harry tugged his arm towards the elevator. “We have to go home.”

“No.” Tom fought back. “I have to see her. I have to get her back.”

“You can’t just show up there.” Harrison protested. “She won’t open the door.”

“I have to talk to her.” Tom slurred. “I have to try.”

“Just let him go.” Sam sighed. “We’re not gonna be able to stop him.”

Harry reluctantly let go of Tom’s arm and let him go to your door.

“Y/n!” Tom called as he knocked on your door. “Open the door please. It’s Thomas.”

“Come on. You saw her door. Let’s go home.” Harry tried to tug him again.

“Y/n!” He ignored Harry and called again.

“She’s not home, mate.” Sam shrugged. “Let’s go.”

“No. I have to see her.” He cried and knocked again. “Y/n. It’s Tommy. Open the door please.”

Suddenly, you opened your front door to see the boys with their arms around Tom, attempting to pull him away.

“Tom?” You asked when your eyes fell on him. Tom’s face softened and for a minute, he was stone cold sober. You couldn’t help but smile a little at him after not seeing him for months.

“We’re sorry.” Harrison apologized. “We couldn’t stop him.”

“Hi darling.” Tom said weakly.

“Hi.” You chuckled a little at the sight in front of you. “Is he drunk?”

“Out of his mind.” Sam confirmed.

“I’m so sorry for everything.” Tom told you. “I’m sorry I drove you to leave.”

“Tommy.” You said softly, finally seeing how broken he was without you. Your heart physically hurt from how badly you missed him.

“Please take me back.” He begged. “I miss you so much. I just want...”

Before he could finish his sentence, he passed out on the floor with a hard thud.

“Oh my God.” You gasped as stated at his limp body. “Is he okay?”

“I’m sorry.” Harrison grabbed his leg and began to tug it. “We’ll take him home.”

“Wait. It’s okay.” You stopped him. “I’ll take care of him.”

“Are you sure?” Sam asked.

“Yeah. I dated him for three years. I know how to take care of him.” You smiled softly.

“All right.” Harrison nodded. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too. I miss you guys.” You said as you pulled them into a group hug.

“We miss you.” Harry said as he patted your back. “Just keep an eye on him, okay? He does this a lot. It’s the first time he’s been able to slip through our fingers.”

“I’ll look after him.” You assured them. “And I’ll see you all soon.”

“See you.” Harrison called as they walked towards your elevator. With the boys gone, you turned your full attention to Tom.

“Come on.” You shook him gently. “It’s time to get up.”

“Y/n?” Tom asked in a daze as he slowly woke up.

“Yeah, it’s me.” You chuckled as you tried to lift him. “God, you’re heavy. Woah, and stinky.”

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled from the ground.

“I know. Stand up.” You commanded, and this time he listened. He slowly stood up and swayed a little on his feet.

“We’re going inside, okay?” You said as you wrapped his arm around your shoulder. “Lean on me.”

You helped Tom into your apartment as he hung on your side like dead weight. His head was buried in your hair as you slowly helped him inside.

“You smell good.” He slurred in your ear.

“I wish I could say the same for you.” You teased as you held your breath. You carefully brought him to your couch and began to set him down.

“All right. Easy does it.” You said as you took his arm off of you and let him sit. Tom slumped on your couch like a rag doll and ran his fingers over the material.

“This is your couch?” He asked sleepily.

“Yeah.” You told him. “The previous owner left it.”

Tom winced a little as he remembered that you no longer lived with him and now had a place of your own.

“It’s nice.” He smiled weakly. “We used to have a couch together.”

“Yeah. We used to have a lot together.” You said softly as you sat next to him on the couch. Even though he was drunk, you could see the remorse in Tom’s eyes. He rubbed your couch with his hand and pouted.

“I miss that.” He mumbled. “I miss you.”

“I know, bear.” You modded. “Me too.”

“It’s been so long since you called me that.” He smiled a little when he heard his old nickname from your lips.

“I know.” You chuckled. “We haven’t talked in a while.”

“It’s my fault.” His smile fell. “I fucked everything up.”

“Yeah.” You said quietly. “You did.”

“I’m so sorry.” He told you. “I’ll never stop being sorry.”

“I’d be a lot more willing to forgive you if you took a shower.” You scrunched your nose at him.

“I can do that.” He laughed in his drunken state and tried to stand up. He almost fell over, but you quickly caught him.

“Come on.” You laughed as helped him walk towards the bathroom. “Into the bathroom.”

You lead him into the bathroom and let him lean against you as you walked. You told him it was to help keep him on his feet, but you really just missed his touch.

“Okay.” You pushed the bathroom door open. “We’re here. This is my shower.”

Tom stared at it for a minute as if he’d never seen a shower before.

“How do I use it?” He looked to you for help.

“You just turn the knob.” You laughed and turned the knob towards the hot water.

“Thats too much responsibility for me”. Tom mumbled under his breath.

“Its okay. It’s already warm.” You said as you ran your hand under the water. “Shampoo and conditioner are on the floor. The soap is in the dish.”

As you turned around, you saw Tom tangled up in his shirt with his arms crossed.

“Oh no.” You chuckled. “What happened here?”

“I’m stuck.” His voice was muffled behind the shirt over his head.

“I can see that. Come here.” You gestured for him to come over and he stumbled towards you. You helped him pull his shirt the rest of the way off, reminding you of that way you used to be. He flushed a little under your gaze, feeling more vulnerable than ever.

“You stink.” You scrunched your nose up again when his must hit you.

“I know.” He smiled a little. “Sorry.”

“I took one of your razors by accident. It’s in the cabinet behind the mirror.” You told him. “Use it, please. You look like a pedophile.”

“I’ll use it.” He said, never taking his eyes off you. You stared back at him as you fought the urge to lean in and kiss him right there. You took a step back before you could get ahead of yourself and patted his chest.

“Okay.” You smiled shyly at him. “Have fun in there.”

“I’ll try.” He called after you as you left the bathroom.

When Tom came out of the shower, there was a pile of his clothes sitting on the counter. You had stolen enough of his clothes to throw together an outfit for him. Next to the clothes was a glass of water and some aspirin. He got dresses, popped the pills in his mouth and downed the water before finding his razor in the cabinet.

Once he was done, he padded back into your kitchen and found you sitting at the island.

“There you are.” You smiled at him. “Much better.”

“I feel better.” He told you. “I puked in your toilet though.”

“Well then it’s a good thing I made you some food to fill back up.” You said as you put a plate of eggs and toast in front of him. He looked at you gratefully before digging in.

“Thank you so much.” He said with a mouthful. “I haven eaten in hours.”

“Really? You didn’t eat on your date?” You asked as you put another glass of water by his plate.

“I was hardly even there.” He shook his head. “I drank half the bar though. Wait, how did you know about my date?”

“Harry tells me everything.” You chuckled. “I knew you were on your way here before you even left.”

“Damn.” He laughed as well. You sat in comfortably silence until Tom remembered what drove him to get drunk in the first place. “He told me you were seeing someone.” He said without making eye contact with you.

“It’s not serious.” You shrugged. “It’s only been a few dates.”

Tom felt sick to his stomach as you confirmed his worst nightmare.

“Does he call when he says he will?” He laughed humorlessly.

“Yeah.” You smiled sadly. “And he texts me too.”

“Wow.” Tom rolled his eyes and took a bite of his toast. You got up and poured hot water into a mug before putting his favorite tea bag in it.

“And he owns his own business so he works whatever hours he wants.” You continued as you set the mug in front of him. “No weeks away in other cities.”

“He sounds perfect.” Tom mumbled as he took a sip of his tea.

“Yeah.” You nodded as you sat back down. “I wouldn’t really know, though.”

“Why not?” Tom perked up.

“Cause when I’m with him, all I think about is you.” You said sheepishly. Tom froze and looked at you hopefully when he heard you say this. You gave him a small smile and leaned your chin in your hand, raising your eyebrow a little to tell him the ball was in his court.

“I don’t deserve a second chance from you.” He shook his head. “I don’t deserve any of this.”

“Maybe not.” You agreed. “But I’m giving you one anyway.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?” He wondered. “You never had to open the door. But you let me in, cleaned me up and made me all this food. I broke your heart, remember? Why would you do all this for me?”

“Because I love you.” You said simply. “And l’ve been miserable without you. I should’ve stayed and worked things out. I can’t tell you how much I regret leaving like that.”

“It’s okay.” He nodded and put his hand on top of yours. “It was my fault. I drove you to leave. But I promise, if you come back, everything will be different. I’ll call you so much, you’ll get sick of me. And I’ll start taking you with me when I work. No more months away. I promise.”

“I really want to believe you.” You sighed and toyed with his fingers. “I already know you’re sorry. You left me about 40 voicemails telling me that you are. You’re lucky I haven’t turned one into a song yet.”

“I guess I am pretty lucky.” He chuckled slightly.

“I still might.” You teased. “Next time you piss me off, I’m making a single out of “y/nnnn. I miss you. Please take me back” and getting on the charts.”

“Please don’t.” He whined as he got out of his seat and walked around the kitchen island to be near you.

“As long as you keep your word and make some changes, I won’t have to.” You smiled softly now that he was close to you.

“Thank you for letting me in tonight.” He spoke softly as he eyes stayed on your lips. “Thank you for everything.”

“You’re welcome, bear.” Your lips tugged into a full smile. You wrapped your arms around his neck and rested your forehead against his, relishing in his warmth. Tom took the initiative to lean forward and kiss you for the first time in two months. Three actually, since he’d been away working. You pulled him closer to deepen the kiss, feeling like you never wanted to pull away.

“Thank you for taking me back. I love you so much.” He mumbled against your lips. You rested your head on his shoulder and gently swayed with him in the kitchen, missing him more than words can say.

“I love you too, bear.”

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[talesofstyles]

Drs Styles

paediatric heart surgeon harry, husband harry and dad harry. honestly the holy trinity.

warning: they did it in the car. bloody animals.

Harry

“Move your car, please!”

“What are you going to do? Write me a ticket?”

“This is in the interests of safety for the children!”

I look at the time in the car. I’ve still got about twenty to twenty-five minutes to watch this drama unfold at the school gate. I just wish we had popcorn because drop-off and parking situations at the school gates are always more entertaining than Good Morning Britain. 

The school gate is a strange social scene, and honestly, I don’t blame my wife for trying to avoid it like a plague. Sometimes, you don’t even have to talk to these people to know everything about their lives and more. I swear there are more gossips in the class WhatsApp group and daily playground chattering than in the copies of The Sun and Daily Mail combined. You know who’s married, who’s getting a divorce, whose husband shagged the au pair again, whose party you haven’t been invited to, even who’s looking for a builder. 

I see the school caretaker chuckling to himself as he sweeps the autumn leaves off the pathway, no doubt also enjoying our morning entertainment. 

“Why is Mrs Chambers screaming like that?” Alma, our eldest daughter, asks from the back of the car. 

“Because that man parks his car in a drop-off zone,” I reply, still watching him as he removes a child from his car seat. “Do you know who that is?”

“I think the boy is your classmate,” Alma turns to her sister.

Fiona, our youngest, peers over to inspect. “Oh yeah, that’s Rufus and his dad.”

“Do we like Rufus?”

“Not unless we like boys who pee down the slides,” Fiona scrunches her nose up. “He stood at the top and peed down like a waterfall. I haven’t gone down the slide ever since.”

I shake my head and let out a chuckle. “M’sure they’ve cleaned it up since, button.” 

Did you know that choosing a school for your child after nursery can be a head-throbbing, stomach-twisting, heart-pounding experience? Well, it can. How is one supposed to choose a school anyway? According to the proximity? Leavers Results? Adorable uniforms? Parents’ agendas?

After many, many discussions and visits through more schools than I can count, we ended up with Thomas’s Kensington. It’s a great school, and only ten minutes away from our home, making school runs easier. The downside of this school is the fact that it costs us an arm and a leg and that they’re always trying to rip us off any chance they get. Also, they only take the kids until 11, so after that, we’ll have to look for other schools again. But since our girls are only seven and five, we can worry about that later. 

There’s a strange mix of parents at this place. I went to school up in the North and the school gate scene is nothing like this. Here there are more au pairs, fancy cars, nicer clothes and people coming with impressive tans from their last weekend break in Antibes. The kids here are suited up too: the PE kit is the size of a small weekender bag, and we put them in uniforms that make them look smart, hoping that will increase the size of their brains. A child walks past our car with a cello case, another with a hockey stick. It’s a different land here. One that my socialist in-laws constantly tease us about and one which my mum was hysterical about because she was scared her grandbabies would be little Tories. I promised her I’d keep them grounded by only giving them plain hobnobs. None of those luxury chocolate covered ones.

Jokes aside, my girls are happy here. They’re thriving. They learn French and Spanish and Mandarin, even if they share a class with kids who have ridiculous names like Kitty and Archibald. 

A knock at my window calls me to attention. I wind it down.

“Are you Fiona’s dad?” A mum asks me.

“I am.”

“It’s about Ophelia’s riding party this Saturday at the riding stables.” 

Like I said, it’s a different land here.

“I thought we RSVPed to that?” I look at her in confusion.

“Yes, you did, but we have to change the food options as one of the partygoers is allergic to nuts. I’m making everyone aware and we need to let the guests know that they can’t bring any nuts on the day.”

A dirty joke is right there on the tip of my tongue and I’m trying my hardest to keep it in. My wife would definitely find it funny though, I’ve got to remember this and tell her later. 

“Noted,” I mean, I wasn’t going to send my daughter to a party with a packet of cashews anyway but I nod politely.

“And just gift vouchers for gifts please. Smiggle, if you can.”

Again, I nod, biting my tongue at the presumptuousness. But then I suddenly panic, because we haven’t entered the realms of pony riding just yet. Do I have to buy jods and boots? If I don’t, will my daughter be the odd one out? But Ophelia’s mum saunters off before I’ve got the chance to ask.

“Do I have to go to that party, daddy?” Fiona asks. 

“Well, we’ve already replied, poppet,” I tell her. “Did you not want to go?”

“I’ll go if I have to.”

I don’t answer because I get distracted by a vacant space. I edge the car forward so my girls can hop off. 

“I love you both. Have a good day, make good choices.” 

“Bye daddy! We’ll see you after work!”

***

Evelina London Children’s Hospital is our second home. Of course, as a children’s hospital, we try to make the place as fun as possible as not to freak those little patients out at being ill. It is bright and primary coloured, and each ward is decorated according to its own theme with different colours and lovely artworks. There are televisions and toys almost in every corner. We have a giant slide on the ground floor, and even the bins are shaped like red London buses. The aim was to help the children to forget that they’re in a hospital and take their minds off their sickness.

Since my wife and I are in the same department, our offices are next to each other, both overlooking the Thames. It’s nice up here. Would’ve been nicer if we could sneak in a quickie, but that’s practically impossible with our shared secretary’s desk sitting literally in front of our doors. 

Speak of the devil.

“Good morning. Here’s your tea,” my secretary follows me into my office with a cup of tea and a tiny plate with a couple of rich tea fingers. “Clinic until 3 pm, scheduled PDA ligation in the laboratory for 4 pm and then evening rounds on the wards.”

“Mornin’ Rhonda, you look lovely today,” I greet her cheerily. She’s a stern-looking woman who definitely likes her tea as strong as tits and who has probably never cried in her life. With such severity, she runs a tight ship, but she secretly has this affectionate side in her too. Not only is she a great secretary, but she also takes care of us in a way as a grandma does. She makes us tea, feeds us in between surgeries with biscuits or nice baby cheeses and crackers just so we wouldn’t starve. 

See that sofa over there in the corner of my office? Rhonda got me that. It was around the time when I had just become a new father with the sweetest, most gorgeous little baby who did not sleep. Alma wasn’t a fussy baby though. For some reason, she just wouldn’t go back to sleep after her midnight feed for months. Believe me, I tried everything. I changed her nappy, I swayed and jiggled and rocked and sung her to sleep. Odd nonsensical songs like, ‘Alma darling go to sleeep. Sleepy sleep sleep. Pleeeeease. I’m so tirrrred. My eyeballs may actually exploooode. I don’t want you to see thaaat.’ And she would just look at me all wide-eyed like I’d lost the plot. Those were song lyrics? That was rubbish. Please don’t give up your day job. Also, it’s not sleeping time. I’m awake. I’m ready for life. Come on, entertain me, old man. Isn’t this nice, just you and me? Tell me everything you know. EVERYTHING. 

Except of course she didn’t say all that. She would just stare at me and I had no idea what was going on in her little head. 

I took over my wife’s patients at the hospital during her maternity leave, so I had longer hours at the hospital. One day Rhonda found me napping on the floor between surgeries, so she sweet-talked some porters into looking for any old sofas on the go and paid to have this one reupholstered. She even bought me a fleece throw for it too. We really don’t deserve her.

“You hittin’ on me?” She deadpans. “Yer wife not doing it for you these days?”

“It’s the blazer. I’m a sucker for a blazer.”

“If I’d known, I would’ve worn it more often,” she replies. “Did my nice dress yesterday not give you the fanny flutters?”

“It’s schlong shiver for me,” I roar with laughter. “And it’s the tartan, makes you look well old.”

“YN, yer husband’s a bloody git, did I ever tell you that?” Rhonda says loud enough for my wife to hear, and I can hear my wife’s laughter from her office next door. “Drink your tea. Your first clinic appointment is in twenty.”

“Yes ma’am,” I salute her. 

***

The Arctic ward in the Evelina is home to many of our imaging, heart and kidney services. The name is probably giving it away, but everything is decorated in blue and white to go with the theme. We have several zones, and since paediatric cardiology clinics are held in the Walrus zone, I spend a great deal of time each day looking at walrus and snowflake decals. 

“Doctor Styles!” I hear a little voice shouts in excitement as I walk towards the waiting room in the outpatient ward. I smile, because I recognise that voice even before I see the little person.

The waiting room is very open here compared to other hospitals. There’s a sea of noise, snacks, tiny juice boxes and colouring pages. There’s also always a look of expectation, judgement on the faces of parents and guardians every time I walk in. They want to see if their doctor is old or qualified enough to see their children. There’s always one child who has the whole gang with them; parents, two sets of grandparents and even several aunts and uncles, and there’s also at least one child running around in circles out of boredom. 

This little lad bounces off his chair and hurls himself at me in a way like a little puppy would when its owner comes home from work. I put an arm out, hoping that he’ll apply the brakes but no such luck and he bundles himself into my arms. “Nice to see you, mate.”

His parents smile as they watch their son’s antics, who then runs off as I shake their hands. I turn around to see what caught his attention, and I can’t help but chuckle when I realise it’s my wife. 

“Doctor pretty Styles!” He exclaims excitedly as he bundles himself into her arms. She gets a mouthful of curls in the process. 

“Hi Rory,” she greets him as she runs her fingers through his curly mop. 

“Oi,” I pout as I walk towards them. “You don’t think I’m pretty?”

“Your wife is prettier,” he says with a shrug, his tone matter-of-fact.

She laughs and gives him a high-five. “Rory, you are officially my favourite patient.”

She is right. Rory is one of our special patients for sure. We’ve both known him for about six years now, ever since Rory’s mum gave birth to this tiny human next door at St Thomas and his heart was literally broken. I remember watching proudly from the theatre when my wife replaced two of his valves when he was born. It was in our early years of training. Long time patients like Rory almost always feel like family. We’ve seen all their parents’ tears and watched over their children throughout the years. They send us cards and wine every Christmas and despite all attempts to keep a professional distance, their kids do feel like our own.

Rory shrugs off his dinosaur rucksack and unzips it, pulling out a drawing of a blue whale and an opened packet of KitKat. I like that the whale wears a top hat and appears to also don a moustache. 

“I drew you both a picture. Only one though, because I figure you can share,” he says with a big toothy grin and hands the packet of KitKat to my wife. “And I’ve got half a KitKat here. Do you want it?”

“I’m good for now. Keep that KitKat for later on the tube,” she smiles and waves at Rory as she begins to walk away towards the fetal cardiology ward just down the hall. “Bye Rory, thanks for the picture.”

“Bye doctor pretty Styles,” Rory replies, making my wife laugh as she walks away. I give her a wave and a wink. 

“Hey Rory, did you know a blue whale has a heart the size of a small car?” I ask him and his eyes widen.

“No way! That’s mega!” He exclaims. “Do you think you could operate on a whale heart?”

“I would need a very big ladder,” I tell him. “And a wetsuit. I’d give it a go though.”

A senior nurse from the outpatient ward, Florence approaches us with a junior nurse trailing behind her. “Dr Styles, always a pleasure.”

I smile at her. “Florence. How are we today?”

“Busy as usual,” she replies. “We’re about twenty minutes behind I’m afraid. We had Dr Goodridge in this morning and you know he likes to talk.”

“He always runs over,” I chuckle. “Well, don’t worry. I’ll skip lunch and get us back up to speed.”

“I’ll make sure to send some snacks for you. Here’s your chart, your files are already in your office. And this is Alice, your nurse today. She’s newly qualified so might need some instructions.”

The new nurse looks terrified so I smile at her to try and calm her fears. I totally get that. When you work in medicine, unfortunately, you’ll realise that there are a lot of rude self-important wankers. 

I look down at my chart and find Rory’s name on the top of the list. “Well, look who’s coming with me to the exam room.”

Rory reaches out to hold my hand and we walk towards the examination room. His parents follow us closely, carrying the usual coats and devices that people do when they know they’re bound for a hospital waiting room. I see them inside and sit behind the desk.

“So, young man, I hear we’ve had a touch of drama with you. Can you tell me what happened?”

I’ve actually already got the information in the file, but I like the way this kid tells a story. He reminds me of my youngest. 

“So… I was at school and we were doing PE and I wasn’t really feeling it because it was cold and really we should have been inside but Mr Witter makes us go outside because he used to be in the Army apparently and he says we should get used to the cold but that’s what they do in prisons.”

I smile. “Go on.”

“And then my heart started running.”

“You mean racing?”

He nods firmly. Racing isn’t even the word. It sprinted to the finish like Bolt at 252 beats per minute, three times the speed it should.

“It felt like bubbles in my chest and then the school went crazy panicky and they called the ambulance and they brought me to the hospital but not this one, it was another one and it wasn’t as good because you weren’t there and they had really bad biscuit.”

His mum adds. “And they gave him some drugs to bring it back to a steady rhythm; they were close to shocking him.” Her voice trails off and both parents’ faces look drawn and pale remembering the incident.

Rory looks absolutely unbothered by this. To be fair, we have put this little man through everything. We’ve cut his chest open more times than is necessary for someone so small, we hook him up to machines and put him on treadmills. His resilience and character amaze me, and I really can’t imagine what it feels like to see your child so vulnerable and helpless, to be paralysed and weighed down with such worry.

“Alright then, little man, we need to make sure that your heart is working as it should. This is Alice, and she is going to take you over for an ECG and we just need to make sure your tick-tock is in good shape.”

Rory nods and jumps off the chair. His dad offers him a piggyback, and his mum smiles at them. I can hear Rory offering that half KitKat to Alice as they leave the room. 

His mother turns to me as the door is closed, her shoulders relaxing, allowing herself to breathe. “And how are you?” I ask her.

“You just think it’s done and then something like that comes along to scare you,” she says with a sigh.

“Let’s have these tests and then see if it’s anything major to worry about,” I try to calm her. “Episodes of rapid heartbeat is quite common in Rory’s case, and we can look into drugs to remedy that if necessary.”

She smiles, nodding.

“Did you have any other questions for me?”

She studies my face for a moment too long. “I… well, it will show up in Rory’s records soon, but my husband I are… I mean we’re getting a divorce.”

I pause for a moment. Of course, I know these things happen in life, but I’ve known this couple for years. I’ve seen them at their lowest ebb, bound by friendship and their love for that boy. I really do feel sorry for them.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I mumble.

“We just… we’re terrified about telling Rory.”

“He doesn’t know?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “We’re scared of breaking him. I mean, look at him. All of this stuff he’s been through and he carries on like nothing has happened. We don’t want to upset him.”

“It took a team of us the best part of six years to build Rory’s heart. There's a warranty on that workmanship,” I reassure her. “Have that chat with him. He’ll be fine.”

***

“Have we got time for dinner first?” I turn to my wife as we walk out of the hospital. We don’t normally have the luxury of ending our shift at the same time, but today is exceptional. We have parents’ evening at the girls’ school so Rhonda made sure to clear up our schedule after our evening rounds at the ward. 

“No, but we can raid M&S and eat in the car?”

I’m starving and I almost cry with relief at the suggestion. “Always knew I married the right woman.”

She chuckles. “Damn right you did.”

We leave the car at the hospital and she drags me along the walkways to Waterloo, the breeze biting at our cheeks. I pull her into M&S, dodging the marching commuters and grab a basket. 

“I’ll look for some wine,” she says before she saunters off. “Oh and I want sushi. None of that crap with the mayonnaise please.”

“Alright.”

I skipped lunch today so the whole place calls to me. I start taking very random things off the shelves: a packet of raspberry iced buns. That’ll do. I also take some hummus for my wife because she bloody loves hummus. I’m not even joking, I’ve seen her down a whole pot of it. Then I take some sushi as requested, some coleslaw, a family bag of mature cheddar and red onion crisps and a trifle. I hope I don’t bump into Rhonda. Next are cheese twists, noodle salad and cocktail sausages. 

It takes me a while to notice that there is a man right next to me with a roll of yellow stickers in their back pocket. Hello there, you are one of my favourite people tonight. Have I managed to find that sacred hour when all the food is being marked down? He labels some prawns with dip and even though I get a little squeamish about eating fish near its expiry date, I put it in my basket. I then follow him around the corner. Now, this is dinner. I put all sorts of random food in my basket and smile at the thought.

Ooh, knockdown pizzas. I should get a pizza. That’s tomorrow’s tea sorted, the girls will love it. Although I can’t help but wonder, what’s the limit for us to feed our daughters frozen pizza in a week before they get taken away from us? But eh, we might be able to get away with it if we give them frozen peas on the side. 

“Look at you,” says my wife, depositing two bottles of red in the basket. 

“Yes, it’s me. I’m the yellow sticker bitch.”

She snickers as we turn to head for the tills. “Excellent work.”

***

“Mr and Mrs Styles, welcome.”

“Mrs Ebner, always a pleasure,” I shake the headmistress’ hand who’s standing at the door. 

“Busy evening?” My wife asks her as she shakes her hand next.

“Always,” the headmistress replies with a smile, then proceeds to speak like she’s reading out of brochures. “But such a wonderful opportunity to connect with our parents and build on the special relationships we have with our school community.” 

Two uniformed minions appear.

“Lewis, Maggie, could you please show Mr and Mrs Styles through to the drinks reception?”

They both nod in unison. The boy holds his arms out like a waiter showing us to our table. We follow them through the school’s grand corridors to the main hall. It’s the one thing I like about this place. It’s very Hogwarts-like with hefty engraved name boards and sepia photos of successful sports teams. In the hall, a throng of parents mill around waiting to see respective teachers. It’s the same every year. We all dodge the people from the PTA trying to sell us quiz tickets, and the bowls of crisps out of hygiene concerns.

“Red or white?” Asks a lady in an apron.

This right here is the very reason we get through parents’ evening. From the look of the bottle, it’s decent wine too. I think that’s where a good proportion of our fees is going. 

“Red, please.”

We both take our glasses and walk to the corner of the hall. It’s essentially a holding area without the background music. The idea is that all the parents will get on and create a party vibe but it just becomes a strange family gathering. As terrible as it sounds, it’s sorted into cliques: parents who know each other via NCT groups, the international expat brigades who keep to themselves, the parents who’ve ostracised themselves by gossip, the ones who you know regularly brunch and ski together.

The boy from earlier suddenly appears in front of us. “Mrs Hughes is ready for you.”

I put my hand on the small of my wife’s back as we walk towards the classroom. Fiona’s teacher first and then Alma’s straight after. Right, we can do this.

“Mrs Hughes, we meet again,” I shake her hand. I’ve got no qualms about Mrs Hughes. She’s a seasoned teacher who likes a slack and sensible moccasin and we’re familiar with her since she taught Alma two years previously. When we enter the classroom, Lewis bows in reverence, taking his leave and I wonder whether to tip him. 

“It’s always lovely to have another Styles girl in my classroom. Fiona is a particular delight.”

My wife and I smile proudly. I’m sure Mrs Hughes says this to every parent here about their child, but that’s always nice to hear. 

“She talks a lot about you,” my wife says. “She seems to have settled in well.”

Mrs Hughes opens up a couple of books and it’s classic Fiona. Alma is ordered and neat—if she makes a mistake then she erases it completely and she underlines things with a ruler and listens to instruction carefully. She gets that from her mum. Fiona though, on the other hand, she’s all me. She has more wild abandon about her; no rulers, no rubbers. She puts giant crosses through things that don’t work and likes her bubble writing decorated with doodles of many, many cats.

I glance around the classroom as Mrs Hughes talks to us about standardised scores. The theme of the school is to show you how smart and educated these children are. Look at the copperplate handwriting, their reproductions of Van Gogh and our languages corner where they’ve all had a go at telling us what they like in French. I spy a contribution from my girl. J’adore les chats et le gâteau au chocolat. 

I’ve lost track of the conversation so I try to catch up.

“So to push Fiona into those top scores, perhaps we can look into tutoring? For maths, in particular, so she can grasp some of the concepts a little more tightly,” says Mrs Hughes. 

My wife and I look at each other confused. “Uh, I don’t think there’s a need, right? She’s only five.”

“It’s never too early,” replies Mrs Hughes. “We run an after-school tutoring club on Tuesdays that would help.”

Back when I was a youngster, clubs were fun endeavours that involved matching baseballs caps or were a chocolate biscuit that you had in your lunchbox. Maths tutoring session was not a club.

I ask her. “Is it free?”

“It’s fifteen pounds per session.”

See? My point being this should be a parents’ evening, not a sales session.

“Well, then it’s something to think about,” says my wife. “It could be that Fiona catches up with people throughout the year.”

“Possibly,” Mrs Hughes nods. Still, though, she proceeds to go into her folder and passes me a form. Sneaky. “Fiona has also shown great interest in languages and art. Her pictures have been a joy.”

Mrs Hughes goes to a file and pulls one of Fiona’s drawings. I glance down at it. It’s a standard child piece of art. The grass and sky are strips of colour to the top and bottom. It’s a family portrait, and we are as tall as the broccoli style trees. Wait, hang on a second. I count the number of people in the picture again. Is that-

“And Mrs Styles, I gather congratulations are in order,” she says with a smile. “Such lovely news.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Fiona told me it’s a boy,” she adds, and the sheer terror on my wife’s face at the realisation is priceless. “You must be very thrilled.”

I study the picture. There’s a house in the middle, and standing in a line in front of the house is our family. The one slightly taller than the broccoli tree is me. I’ve got my white lab coat, and I look like a serial killer because I’m holding a scalpel with the size of a butcher’s knife. Next to me is my wife, also with a white lab coat, but instead of a scalpel, she’s holding a very chunky baby who rather looks like a basketball with a head.

“Oh dear,” I chuckle. “Guess now we know what she’ll ask for Christmas.”

“Yeah,” my wife shakes her head. “We’re not expecting.”

“Oh, I apologise,” Mrs Hughes says with a sheepish smile.

“No worries, Mrs Hughes,” I tell her. “So, what else has our girl been up to here? Besides gossiping of course.”

Mrs Hughes laughs under her breath. “Well, in class, Fiona is attentive, bright and very helpful. She is a credit to you both.”

***

“I swear your daughter, Styles.”

We’re sitting in the car now. Finally done with parents’ evening, still laughing at the slightly creepy, chunky basketball baby in Fiona’s picture and the fact that three people, including Mrs Hughes, have congratulated us for the ‘baby’.

“You haven’t called me Styles in years,“ I turn to her with a grin. “Not since medical school.”

I can’t help but flashback to the good ol’ days when we had matching university hoodies and we’d test each other on the parts of a kidney whilst walking into lectures, sitting next to each other, sharing pens and cans of Lilt. 

“Well, after that I became a Styles too,” she chuckles. “Would be confusing then, wouldn’t it?”

“True,” I laugh under my breath, then I grab her hand and pull it to my mouth so I can kiss her knuckles. “Thank you.”

“What for?”

“For being a Styles.”

“Aw, aren’t we soppy tonight?” She smirks. “Alright, stop the car.”

“What?”

“There,” she points to a dark empty spot and I oblige. 

Then, before I can even ask her why, she reaches over and grabs me by the collar. Pulling me close to her and gives me a kiss. I kiss her back, and I smile when she bites gently on my bottom lip.

“Oi, oi. Something’s got you randy.”

The next thing I know, she undoes her seatbelt and then rolls her trousers down her legs along with her knickers, fumbling and giggling at the awkward movement. I push my seat back and pull my trousers down. 

“Don’t fall on gearstick now,” I joke as she climbs over to straddle me. “Well, unless you want to, of course…”

She laughs as she lowers herself over my lap. I really can’t believe what’s happening here.

“Mrs Styles, we’re about to have sex in a car. Around the corner from our daughters’ school.” 

“I know,” she says with a smile before she runs her tongue along my neck. “Not our first rodeo though.”

“Oh right, we did it in our Volvo years ago, didn’t we? Thought the suspension couldn’t take it.”

“And it turned out fine. Told you that you needed to have more faith in the Swedes, they’re a reliable breed.”

“I love it when you talk about Sweden.”

“Ikea.”

“Fuck.”

“Meatballs.”

“Billy Bookcase.”

She throws her head back in laughter and I take this as an opportunity to run my tongue along her collar bone. She gasps. I reach down to lift her before I slowly lower her over my cock. We both sigh as I enter her, a long exhalation with our lips barely touching. 

“Viggo Mortensen.”

“Isn’t he Danish?”

“Tomato, Tomahto.”

I smile at my wife and push my hips up, silently telling her that we don’t need to talk about Swedish people anymore. She grabs onto the car seat and levers herself up and down. I look at her in the eye, a goofy smile still plastered across my face.

But then I squint. Light. Bollocks, what’s that? Where’s that light coming from? Crap, that’s bright. Shit. I see the flash of a hi-vis jacket, a knock at the window and someone shaking their head.

Oh sodding fucking bollocking shit wank.

[watchmegetobsessed]

Prompt/Request Idea!! I don’t really have a vision for the beginning or how it should end but I thought it was a cute idea. Harry sees the reader in one of his T-shirts for the first time. And maybe she doesn’t realize it’s a big deal like she just wanted to get out of her uncomfy clothes and grabbed the first shirt she saw and threw it on. But like Harry turns around and sees her and his world stops for a sec. lol can you tell I’m a hopeless romantic?? Also I got this idea listening to a country song (T-Shirt by Thomas Rhett) so yea that’s it!! This just popped into my head and you are one of my fave Harry writers so I figured why not.

BORROWED

a/n: hii! im sorry it took me so long to get around and write this but i was finally in the mood to write something extra fluffy so here it is! hope you'll like it!

pairing: Boyfriend!Harry X Reader

word count: 1180

masterlist

(gif is not mine)

“We can start in a bit, I just have to make a quick call to Jeff, is that alright?”

Harry keys the two of you into his house, heavy paper bags in both your hands and his as you just came back from grocery shopping. Tonight is date night, but after the long week you both had, you chose to just cook something together and then get lazy on the couch cuddled up with a good movie. It’s exactly what you need right now.

“Sure, take your time,” you smile back at him as the two of you walk into the kitchen, putting the bags to the counter. “I’ll unpack these in the meantime,” you offer, digging into the bags of goodies.

“Thank you, love,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before making his way into his study to get over with anything work related as soon as possible so he can spend his time with you.

While he is on the phone in there, you softly hum to yourself, unpacking everything you bought, leaving what you’ll need for dinner on the counter and putting away the rest. You already know your way around Harry’s kitchen, you’ve spent a fair amount of time in his home since you’ve started dating just a few months ago. At first you felt hesitant whether the timing for the two of you to give it a shot is good, both of you driving a quite busy life lately, but at last you’re glad you listened to your heart. You’ve grown to love him more and faster than you ever thought and now you can’t even imagine your everydays without him.

When you’re done with the unpacking, Harry is still on the phone so you decide to start peeling the potatoes since there’s a good amount of that, Harry has been craving fries all day so you’re making that as a side. But before you could start working, you decide to make yourself comfier. Still wearing your dress from work today, you make your way into Harry’s closet, roaming through his simple t-shirts, grabbing one for yourself as well as one of his workout shorts before you strip yourself out of the tight dress and put on his clothes, allowing you to feel so much more comfortable and relaxed.

When you’re back in the kitchen you connect your phone to the Bluetooth speakers he keeps there, putting on some soft music as you start peeling the potatoes, taking your time, not wanting to get much ahead on your own, since the whole point of the evening is to cook together, something you’ve been doing a lot since you’ve started dating. In fact, on your very first date, instead of taking you out to some expensive restaurant he chose to make home-made tacos together and it was the most perfect first date you’ve ever been on.

On the other end of the house, Harry finally finishes up his call and puts his phone on do not disturb, not wanting anyone or anything to interrupt his time with his girlfriend before he makes his way out to the kitchen. He hears the music before he sees you moving around and a smile tugs on his pink lips how you’re listening to a country song again. You’ve shared with him your recent obsession with country music lately and how you always find yourself gravitating towards this genre whenever you’re listening to music.

As Harry approaches the kitchen you finally come into his view, standing with your back facing him as you gently sway your hips to the rhythm, humming to yourself while peeling the potatoes near the sink. Stopping in his tracks, he allows himself to adorn the sight of you, especially because he can feel his heart pitter-pattering in his chest when he realizes that you’ve changed out of your dress and put on some of his clothes.

The blue shirt hands loose around your frame, the hem reaching down to your mid-thigh, the seams on your shoulders falling way past where they usually do on his body. The workout shorts are baggy on you and though the shirt is covering your hips, he can tell you rolled down the waist of the shorts so they fit you just a tad bit better.

He is in love with this sight, his beautiful girlfriend in the peace of his home, wearing his clothes, ready to spend the rest of the evening together, talking it away about anything and everything, because that’s what usually happens. He loves hearing you tell him your opinion about anything, loves to know your thoughts and feelings, loves listening to your rambling about the things that interest you lately.

He just loves you and everything about you.

It’s not the first time he is seeing you wearing his clothes, it had happened several times when you were spending the night over at his place and after some mind-blowing sex you felt more comfortable in his clothes than your own, but every time it happened before you always asked, as if you didn’t have a right to just take whatever you want from him. In his book, everything he owns is already yours as well, nothing is borrowed anymore, but you haven’t gotten past the point where you don’t ask, but now it finally happened and Harry couldn’t be happier about it. It means that you’ve settled into the thought of the two of you being a full item, equals in a happy relationship.

Harry walks up behind you, his hands sliding around your waist and under the shirt so his palm is touching your bare stomach, his fingers playfully dancing on your naked skin. You smile to yourself, melting against his chest instantly, your bodies fitting together perfectly, like two puzzle pieces.

“Hey handsome, done with everything?” you ask, turning your head to the side so your lips could meet his in a short peck.

“Yeah. I’m all yours.”

“Mmm, finally,” you chuckle playfully, a giggle escaping your lips as he tickles you a little before his arms fall from around you.

Standing next to you he leans against the counter, taking another few moments to just watch and adorn you, his arms crossed on his chest as a small, content smirk tugs on his lips. You catch his gaze, but you have no idea why he is staring at you like that and you can’t help the nervous little giggle that falls from your lips.

“What is it?” you ask, bumping your hip against his playfully.

“Nothing, I just… I really love you, that’s it,” he shrugs and you feel the warmth hugging your chest at his words.

“And I love you too.” Dropping the peeled potato from your hands you lean closer and steal a kiss, leaning against him gently as his hands find your hips. “Do you mind taking care of the veggies?” you ask, smiling against his lips.

“Sure thing,” he nods, pecking you one last time before he gets down to work as well.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed it!

[spidernerdsblog]

Hi so I’ve had this idea for awhile. Could you do a Tom Holland x reader but the reader is American and Tom teases her for her American slang as they have totally different meanings in the UK

A/N : Ok I want to make it clear that I’m neither an American nor a Brit so this is completely based on what google offered me about the phrases Brits mostly use. Also I tweaked your request a little, here the reader is learning to adapt to Tom’s British english. Hope you like this.

Pairing : Tom Holland x Reader

Warnings : suggestive themes

When Tom came up with the idea of quarantining together you were all too excited to live with the boys under one roof. But all the excitement faded when you had to practically force them to clean the house, throw out the trash and keep everything organized in the house. You were damn sure the boys have started despising you for bossing them around as you had caught them giving side eyes to Tom on multiple occasions but you did what you had to so that you can continue to live there peacefully.

 Added to that their British sarcasm was another end of the story half of the time you won’t get it and would be clueless. You watched them roll over laughing into fits while Tom explained to you the joke. It made you come to the realization that you need to have a grasp on your boyfriend’s dictionary so you started to observe and make a mental note of all their phrases you were not familiar with.

You, Harry and Harrison were in the kitchen bickering about the ingredients of the soup you were trying to prepare for lunch. 

“You sure this is how we need to prepare this soup? Maybe we should call Sam” you looked at Harry questioningly.

“How hard could it be? Just preheat the oven, pour the whole mixture in a pan then put it in the oven. Bob’s your uncle… your soup is ready” he states proudly

“That’s totally not how it’s done” Harrison disagrees with him.

“But who's Bob?” you ask out of sheer curiosity making both the boys smile at your lack of knowledge of their words.

“Oh it’s nothing just our way of saying voila” Harrison explains it to you.

“Oh I see” you nod in understanding.

“Don’t mind her, she is a few sandwiches short of a picnic” Tom snickers from the back.

“What? How dare you call me dumb Thomas?!” you turn to him visibly offended because in your free time you have been surfing the net and learning new British words and phrases and you know what he meant.

“Oh you know the meaning of that? I’m surprised” Tom raises his eyebrows amused.

“You see, when your boyfriend is a brit you have to start getting accustomed to their vocabulary. But how dare you call me dumb?!” you slap his arm frowning.

“Oww! I’m sorry- I’m sorry I was just taking the piss that’s all”

“Well then it wasn’t funny. I’m just trying to learn, ok?” you cross your arms annoyed.

“Ok darling I’m sorry I won’t make fun of you again, happy now?”

“Yeah kind of” you sized him up skeptically. But little did you know that he would make it a mission to teach you his diction as he started to converse with you in his pure British accent which you thought he had almost forgotten due to the roles he played.

You were in the living room checking your purse if you had taken your debit and credit cards or not while Tom was lounging on the couch scrolling through his phone.

“You are going to the supermarket today, innit?” he questions looking up his phone.

“Yeah why?”

“Don’t bring those ham and tuna sandwiches they’re minging” he scrunches his face in distaste.

“You were the one who wanted them in the first place” you snickered.

“Yeah but they’re really gross, it was a total waste of money” he says disappointed.

“You ready?” Harrison asks coming down the stairs as he was going to drive you to the store.

“Yeah”

“Grab a brolly, it looks like it’s gonna pour” Tom advises squinting his eyes gazing outside the lawn.  

“You can just say umbrella, you know?” you roll your eyes.

“But you only said that you want to learn our vocabulary,” he reasons.

“Yes I said and now I regret it. You yourself don’t say that by the way” you retort annoyed.

“Yes I do”

“No you don’t”

“Ok, ok can we have this discussion some other time? We need to leave now” Harrison interrupts.

“It was he who started in the first place. I didn’t say anything” you complained.

“Ok fine now let’s go” he takes out the car keys and heads to the garage when Tom calls you back. 

“Hey by the way I will be at mum’s place” he informs “when you get back tinkle me in the blower will ya?” your eyes went wide at what Tom just said to you. 

“What the fuck tom?!” you swat his arm with the back of your hand.

“Ow! What was that for?” he rubs his arm with a pained expression.

“You know it very well, why would you say that in front of Haz?” you grit under your teeth.

“What's wrong in asking you to give me a call on my phone after you come back home?” he says in a high pitched voice.

“What?” you gave him a confused look “so by tinkle in the blower you meant to give you a call?” you reassert.

“Yeah what else would I mean?” he scoffs.

“Oh I thought….” you trailed off. Tom actually used that phrase deliberately knowing very well what will come in your mind instantly as a knowing smirk was plastered on his face.

“Oh darling, you really need to take your head out of the gutter” he teased you.

“Shut up! I know you said that just to mess with me” you pestered.

“Well maybe but I love it when you get angry you look extra cute” he pulls your cheek playfully.

“Hmm cute innit?” you narrow your eyes mimicking his accent “how about I don’t tinkle your blower for a month? And by blower I didn’t mean your phone” you smiled and turned to leave.

“What? That’s not fair!” Tom exclaims.

[jadedxrealityw]

-Found You- Dean Thomas x Reader

☼-♥-☼

Kody: (SHORT STORY) using gender neutral pronouns for the first time with my first ever Dean Thomas reader, tell me what you think. Also made sure to include androgynous type clothes.

Movie/Show: Harry Potter

House/Year: Gryffindor, 7th year

Summary: after being abandoned by your friends in your first year of Hogwarts, you meet a weird lot of boys who fill the void the others had left, some more then others and when you almost kiss one of them, it becomes more then awkward.

Pronouns Used: They/Them

Possible Triggers/Warnings: suggestive flirting, gen z humor, cursing, the fluff, no voldy au, slight golden trio slander with redemption, reader staring off into space. 

☼-♥-☼

first year

the day you were placed in house Gryffindor you had become close to a few choice people, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, and Harry Potter. Your four were as close as close could be in the beginning of your first year, playing pranks, studying in the common room. All of the things friends would do.

towards the end of the year you had caught them hanging out without you on mutiple occasions when they said they were all busy on other occasions. It didn’t bother you at first, thinking a was a one off- multiple one offs. Then it got a bit worse. 

study groups turned into you waiting for hours for them to show up, only for you to fall asleep on top of your textbooks waiting. Getting breakfast together now was just you sitting at the end of the Gryffindor table only for George Weasley to tell you they had already ate and left.

you weren’t stupid, you knew when you were being avoided. You also were never one for confrontation, so you made the executive decision to stop making an effort to hang out with any of them, just to see if they would and maybe everything you were thinking was just from your paranoia.

alas it was the end of the school year and you couldn’t do much hanging out with anyone since your mother was strict, only allowing friends to come over to your place, not the other way around. It was embarrassing at times, but you understood all her rules came from a place of love and experience.  

not that they had ever come over before, even for the winter holiday. Though you understood that as all of you went home to your families. (Yes, James and Lily are alive), but since you all had two months out of school, you figured there would be enough time to at least meet up once.

you had each of there mailing address’s and they had yours. It was the first ‘gift’ you had given to each other and at the time, you were excited to have them. Now when you looked at the the ripped piece of parchment, it’s mere existence mocked you.

as you predicted, nothing came. No letter from your so called ‘friends’ nothing at all. It was disheartening to say the least, but at the same time you saw it coming. The rest of those two months you spent with your mother, which was actually pretty nice. 

☼-♥-☼

second year

as you stepped off the train, the cold air of Hogsmeade Station hit your face, causing the hairs on your neck to stand up. You looked around, watching students as they walked with there friends or hugged them tightly. You’ll admit, it made your expression turn dark.

so you stood, just watching. As people passed, they gave you strange stares and made snide comments about how weird you looked, staring off into nothing. Most students had dispersed when your shoulder gets knocked, bringing you back into the moment. 

“Oh sorry!” you recognized the voice. Once your head turned your met with the familiar face of Neville Longbottom. “Oh Neville! Sorry was i in your way?” you quickly apologize, a sheepish smile on your face. Neville copies your smile, shaking his head “No, Seamus just shoved me too hard”

“Did not, your just weak“ Seamus argued, crossing his arms in a huff. You weren’t too familiar with Seamus Finnigan or the taller boy next to him, Dean Thomas. “Both of you, shut it“ Dean shook his head, a playful smile on his face as he pushed past the two boys to stand in front of you.

“You alright? You looked as if someone used body bind curse on you“ he jokes, a light laugh escaping his mouth. Oh jeez, how long have you stood there “Um- i was waiting for my friends, but i think they left me behind“ you confess, feeling more stupid then you already had been feeling. 

Dean didn’t skip a beat as he shrugs his shoulders “Forget them, walk with us” he offers. You were a bit taken aback as you didn’t know this fellow Gryffindor well and he already seemed so friendly towards you. “Are you sure? I don’t want to be a bother?”

a laugh came from both Seamus and Dean while Neville chuckled nervously “Impossible, the only bother here is him. Now let’s go before we miss the boats” Dean points to Seamus, who’s expression drops “Your rude” he scoffs.

Dean smiles at him before using his hand to gesture to you to follow him as he led the small group through Hogsmeade. 

the entire walk was Dean and Seamus trying to tell embarrassing stories about each other to make the other seem better. Neville would tell you all about what he wanted to learn in Herbology this year.

after awhile they eventually asked you questions about yourself, like- your name and who had ditched you. They were surprised to find out that the golden trio had ditched you. Seamus on the other hand wasn’t, saying how “No one is really golden” 

☼-♥-☼

seventh year

fast forward to your final year at Hogwarts and you were still best friends with Neville Longbottom, Seamus Finnigan, and Dean Thomas. You all were no golden trio by any means, more like ‘Menaces To Society’ as Mcgonagall called you. 

 you weren’t a well behaved student to say the least. 

speaking of well behaved “Shut up, shut the hell up!” Seamus whisper shouts as points his wand at Neville who is looking into the dark “But this is such a bad idea!” he whines, rubbing his arm to create some warmth as the night was cold. 

“It’ll be fine, only if Dean hurries the hell up“ you say, placing a hand on Neville’s shoulder. He looks at you and nods once, shivering slightly. Smiling, you open the greenhouse door and peak your head inside “Dean, i’m getting frostbite out here!“ 

you watch as Dean’s head pops up from behind the large table, holding a potted mandrake “Oh i’m so sorry, but your not the one doing all the hard work!” he argues. You roll your eyes “You lost rock, paper, scissors. Maybe stop choosing paper dipshit”

Dean opens his mouth to say something back when you here Seamus groan loudly “Both of you can flirt later, hurry up! Filch will be back around in a few minutes” he snaps at both of you. Holding up a finger to Dean, signalling you could finish your argument in a second, you peak your head back out. 

“In what universe was that flirting, Finnigan?“ 

“You were flirting with your eyes“

“....right, anyway-“ you slowly turn your head back into the greenhouse as Dean walks out, holding two pots of mandrakes, young ones to be exact. “Alright let’s go“ he says. You jump up in your place and clap your hands together “Oh this is going to be beautiful“

“I just hope we don’t get in trouble like last time“ Neville shudders, following behind you all as you made your way through the grass. “Will be fine“ you wave your hand, standing beside Dean as he held the potted mandrakes. “Shit, these are heavy“ 

“divide and conquer“ Seamus suddenly says as he takes both of the mandrakes from Dean, tucking one under his arm and handing the other to Neville, who happily held it tightly between both of his hands. Dean smiles and stretches his arms, until he hears a pop noise in both. 

as you walked, a gust of wind hit all of you, making you shiver. Your dumbass shouldn’t have worn your pajamas out, which was only a black t-shirt with thin dark grey plaid pants. You had shoes on of course, you weren’t that stupid. “Told you to bring a jumper” Dean says in a sing song voice.

you turn your head to your side, scoffing “I’m not cold, i’m perfectly fine” you look him in the eye while he gives you a ‘really?’ look, which meant he knew you were lying. You hated that cute, dumb, knowing face. Without another word, you look forward once more. 

Dean moves closer to your side and wraps his arms around your shoulder, pulling you flush against him as you both walked quietly. You suddenly felt very warm, but most of that warmth came from your own face. “Better?” he whispers, his hand rubbing your arm. 

honestly, how did this tall freak not expect anyone to fall for him? For two years you have had a crush on Dean Thomas, but it seemed to always be platonic on his side. He was nice to everyone though, so it was hard to tell if there was any romantic intent behind his actions. 

“Much better“ 

“Hey! Who’s out they’re?! No students out pass curfew! You are in big trouble!“ looking ahead you see the familiar shape of Filch in the distance. The bright lantern covering his face, so you were sure he couldn’t see you all as well. “Scatter!“ you yell and in an instant you all pull away from each other. 

this isn’t the first time running into Filch, so you already knew what to do. All of you would run off separately until you couldn’t be seen and just apparate back into the common room. You had been doing it for years and were honest to Godric disappointed he hadn’t figured it out yet.

“Hey you get back here!“

as you pull away, you feel Dean’s hand travel down your arm until his fingers slide off yours. You would have loved to have bathed in that moment longer, but the fear of expulsion was too heavy on your mind at the moment. You spotted a pillar and ran for it. 

once safely behind said pillar, you pull your wand out that you had safely in your.....i don’t know and apparate away. 

☼-♥-☼

you stumble a bit as your transported into the Gryffindor common room, the calming sound of fire cracking on the wood in the fireplace. You were safe. Looking around the dark room, you don’t see Neville or Seamus, but you do see the back of Dean’s head as he’s sat on the sofa in front of the fire. 

your eyes narrow as you walk over to the sofa, placing your hands on his shoulders “Hey Y/n” he says, not even taking a glance as you as he chuckles to himself. “How did you know?- Nevermind, where’s Nev and Seamus?” you ask him.

“There setting up the mandrakes, remember?” he explains before reaching up to grab your hands with both of his, pulling them down so your forced into resting your chin against the top of the sofa. He released only one of your hands and brought the other to his mouth, placing a kiss on your palm.

what the fuck?- 

 “Also I've had your hands on me before, not hard to forget“ he explains. The way he said that made it sound so suggestive if anyone else had been in the room. You were also stunned by the fact he just kissed your hand. This was one of the moments you couldn’t tell if he was being friendly or not.

you could feel his eyes on you, practically burning holes into the side of your face, but you just didn’t have it in you to look at him. Heart racing and your stomach feeling lighter by the second, you felt utterly and completely swooned by the tall Gryffindor boy once again.

“Can you look at me?” you hear him ask, feeling his free hand gently force your face in his direction so your E/c eyes meet with his. “What?“ you ask, trying to mask the fact that you were putty in hands at the moment. Dean didn’t respond, only smile widely as his eyes flicker from your eyes to lips.

he couldn’t be asking to, ya know..right? Before you could question it further Dean began to lean in and you found yourself doing the same “We did it!- whoa, what’s going on here?” you almost snapped your spine at how hard you threw yourself back, moving a good five feet away.

“Nothing!“ you and Dean shout at the same time. Dean folded his arms over his chest, coughing awkwardly into his hand. You watch as Neville steps out from behind Seamus, who’s grin is wider then ever before. “As much as i want to indulge in whatever this is, we have to get to our dorms- like right now“

“What, why?“ you ask, giving him a questioning look. “Neville dropped his Gryffindor tie back at the greenhouse so Mcgonagall and Dumbledore are coming to inspect in the house to see if anyone’s awake“ Seamus sighs, walking forward. 

“Good thing it didn’t have my name on it or anything“ Neville smiles sadly before following Seamus to the hall where the dorms were at. “It’s alright Nev“ you send him a warm smile, trying to reassure him. You decided to follow them as well to the dorms “Y/n!“ you hear Dean call out.

thinking fast and stupid, you stretch your arms, letting out a fake yawn “Damn, i’m super tired. I’ll see you guys in the morning!” you push past both Seamus and Neville and speed walk down the hall. You made a beeline down to your dorm and almost ripped your dorm off of it’s hinges trying to open it

but once you do, you take a large step and shut the door behind you

what the fuck just happened?

that night you had laid in bed for almost an hour, thinking about your almost kiss with Dean Thomas. You felt shame, like you had someone forced this situation upon yourself. You liked Dean Thomas yes, but did you imagine that he was going in for a kiss?

eventually when your brain started to hurt too much, you fell asleep without any interruptions that night.

☼-♥-☼

you awoke to the sounds of awful birds chirping outside and roll onto your side, unfortunately though you were already on the edge of your bed and rolled right of the thing, collided with the hard wood floor that made up the ground of your dorm. You knew you should have gotten a damn carpet at that muggle store.

using your elbows, you prop yourself up and push yourself into the sitting position. What a glorious way to start the day you thought before standing on your two feet. Its saturday, which means you didn’t have to get too dressed up just to eat breakfast.

you yawn, not bothering to cover your mouth as you trudge slowly to your closet, swinging the door open. Taking into account that the weather had bit cold recently you pick out a multicolored jumper consisting of brown, beige’s, purple’s, dark blue’s, and whatnot. with a pair of brown overalls.

removing your clothes, you place them in a woven hamper next to the closet, you had taken a shower the previous night before going to bed, but you just ended up sneaking out. Eh- still counts. Once the clothes are on, you walk over to your dresser where your mirror was on the wall and looked in.

you looked tired and like someone who wanted to go back to bed, perfect. Reaching your hand up, you run your hand through your hair, untangling a few knots with your fingers before shaking your head, your hair now looking like in had been through a gust of wind.

also perfect

after that, you go over to the door slipping your shoes on with your feet before turning the knob and opening it. As soon as that wooden door unhinged you remember all the events from last night and internally cringed. God, today was going to be awkward as hell. 

stepping out, you shut the door behind you, not bothering to lock it as you never had a reason to before. Gryffindor house was pretty chill with privacy and whatnot, so you weren’t worried about people coming in and taking your things. 

☼-♥-☼

walking down the stairs to the dungeons, you had a gleeful smile on your face. See, the whole reason you stole mandrakes is because you currently were in a prank war with the Slytherin house, or to be more specific Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, and Pansy Parkinson. 

Draco said he could pull better pranks, you said otherwise and that’s pretty much how it started. It had been going on for a few weeks and the mandrakes were your big finale since you knew that ferret couldn’t do anything better. “Oh shit, Theo!” you heard as you took the final step.

you could hear screeching for a few moments before its quickly shut up. Speeding up, you turn the corner to see a group of Slytherins surrounding four passed out students, one of those students being Theodore Nott. “How did mandrakes get all the way down here?” Pansy crossed her arms.

“I don’t-“ Draco spoke, his head turning to spot you with a shit eating grin on “Nevermind“ he exhales before standing up straight and walking over to you “L/n“ he greets, a deadpan expression on his face while you look like you’ve won the lottery. 

“Malfoy, i see you got my gift“

“Oh yeah, my friend Theo was just blown away“ he said, rolling his eyes which only makes you feel more victorious. “Yeah, sorry ‘bout that. It was meant for you” you smile innocently at him. He lets out a bitter chuckle before extending his hand out to you “You win L/n”

you gladly take his hand into yours and shake it “pleasure doing business with you, Malfoy” you say. Draco crack a smile, shaking your hand for a second before then letting go “Surprised to see Thomas isn’t following you, he usually is” he points out.

and there goes a reminder. Your expression visibly dropped “That’s- well, complicated at the moment” your reply spiked Draco’s interest as he leans against the wall “Do tell“ he gestures with his hand to continue. You eye him up and down, your nose cringing.

“Since when did you care about my life?“ you asked, the question sounding a bit harsher then you intended it too. Draco only shrugs “I’m bored, humor me L/n“ you chuckle at his words and shrugged as well. No harm in telling him anything. 

☼-♥-☼

“Wow“ Draco breathed, his grey eyes slightly widened as you finished retelling the embarrassing events of last night “And you just ran off? Don’t think that was a good idea” he adds, turning his head to face you as you both leaned on the wall.

you exhale, a solemn look on your face “I know, i’m just not good with confrontation. I curl up into a ball and clam up, like i can’t speak” you explain. Draco nods along, listening to what you had to say “He’s your best friend, been your best friend for years. Talk to him, avoiding it will make it worst”

“Wow, that actually was helpful. You’ve surprised me Malfoy”  you give hi a mock astonished look, making him roll his eyes. “Yeah whatever, now go away. I have to help them carry Theo back into the common room“ he pushed off the wall, standing straight.

“Tell Theo i’m sorry when he wakes up“ you turn on your heels and begin to walk down the stone hall, taking in a deep breath. Everything was going to be fine, no worries. Nothing at all.

☼-♥-☼

your first thought was to check the courtyard, it’s where you, Blaise, Neville, and Seamus hung out between classes. It was a good place to start. Stepping outside, you feel the gentle cold breeze nip your face causing a light shiver to run up your spine.

wrapping your arms around yourself you walk along the grass until you spot the familiar tree you all sat under. It instantly brought you back to the first time you had sat under it.

--

second year

“Found you“

your head snaps to your left where the voice came from. Dean, out of breath and wiping sweat from his forehead. You looked confused as he took a step towards you “You were looking for me?” you asked, head tilting ever so slightly to the side. 

Dean looks at you like you had just asked a silly question, chuckling “Of course, you seemed upset a lunch as well so i wanted to check up on you” he said, taking a seat next to you in the grass. You avoided looking at him by pulling out blades of grass and ripping them apart.

after an awkward amount of time of silence, mostly on your part, Dean reach for the grass next to your hands and began to pull it out of the earth as well “What’re you doing?” you ask, still looking at the ground. “If you don’t want to talk, that’s fine. We can just sit here if that makes you feel better too”

weirdly enough, it did. Just having him sit there made your bad day feel slightly better. You couldn’t explain it, but his presence alone was comforting and made you feel more at ease. “If that’s what you want of course” he adds, his pinky extending out to tap your hand, just light enough not to make you tense.

you couldn’t bring yourself to respond verbally and nodded a few times. You hear Dean hum as he continues to copy what your doing. You both sat in silence and stayed there for an hour or so, just soaking up each others company. 

that was the moment you knew Dean Thomas was a true friend

--

“Y/n!“ you hear a shout, bringing you out of your wholesome memory and back to reality. Seamus and Neville were running up to you with confused looks on there faces “What?“ you say, meeting them halfway. As soon as you were grabbing distance, Seamus places his hands on your shoulders and shakes you

“What are you doing here!?“ he shouts while you feel as if your brain is about to knock off of its stem and kill you “What’re you talking about? and stop shaking me!“ you yank his hands off of you. Seamus rolls his eyes and takes a deep breath like he’s about to talk a lot, and talk a lot he did. 

“So after your almost kiss with Dean he told us by the way, he wanted to talk to you so we told him you’d most likely be in the dungeons giving Malfoy a tongue lashing“ Seamus explained before gasping for air. Neville puts a hand on his mate’s shoulder “He kind of thinks you don’t like him. Never seen him so upset before“

processing on the information you were just given, you thank the both of them and run back into the building. This school was huge, no wonder you didn’t run into Dean on the way back or even see him once. Nonetheless, you were determined to find him.

(Filled with determination- get it? Undertale reference)

☼-♥-☼

it took you a good ten to fifteen minutes to get back to the dungeons. You walked fast paced against the cobble ground until you reached the Slytherin portrait. There stood the familiar faces of Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson. They noticed you instantly giving you a confused look.

“Your boyfriend is looking for you“ Pansy snickered, clearly amused by something. You let of a sigh, a hand running through your hair “Yeah i know, do you know where he went?“ you asked, already tired of walking around this shit school. 

just kidding, Dumbledore if you could here there thoughts, they’re kidding 

“We told him you were going to potions“ Draco said which floored you because why in Godric’s name would he say that. The Slytherin boy seemed to catch your confusion and gave you a ‘are you dumb?’ look. “Yesterday, in class, you offered to help Snape organize the stockroom?”

oh shit

you let out what can only be described as a sound of frustration as you realized you were going to be murdered by Snape before you could ever find Dean. You wished that you could apparate, but it was against school rules to apparate inside the school, aka as soon as you would do it, it would teleport you to Dumbledore’s office instead. 

funny enough you could apparate from outside to inside the school with zero repercussions. The rule was ancient and so was Dumbledore, you had a feeling it wouldn’t change in your life time. “Right, thanks. I have to go” you say and give them a lazy wave. 

“Go get your man Y/n! Then tell me all about it!“ you heard Pansy shout as you walk away. 

☼-♥-☼

twelve minutes to get to potions. As soon as you pushed open the door you let the string of apologies fly “I’m so sorry Professor Snape, i completely forgot about helping out- Today has been super stressful and-” you were cut off by Snape himself. 

“Silence, your....friend already told me all about your little issue as much as i didn’t want to hear it. Your free to deal with your teenage drama as long as it’s away from my classroom” he lifts his hand up, gesturing for you to go away like he requested. 

he was surprisingly understanding, which was weird

“Oh um- Thank you, professor. May i ask where Dean said he was off to?“ You asked, fully knowing you might be pushing your luck and his sudden kindness. Snape sighs, dramatically you’d like to add “He didn’t say or he did and i didn’t care enough to listen“

“Right uh, thank you anyway. Goodbye Professor“ you laugh nervously. That quick kindness had run out. Snape only grumbles and you take that moment to walk out the classroom, feeling that little bubble of stress you usually got from talking to Snape fade away.

taking a few steps back you look at the potions door, god you’ve hated that class since first year. Potions were never your strong suit, you were more into astronomy or herbology. Snape never made it any better with his attitude,but he had always been like that.

fifth year was probably the worse

--

fifth year

it was the beginning of your fifth year and one of your earlier classes was potions. What a dreadful way to start the morning. Today you were instructed to brew a draught of peace, which was currently bringing you anything but peace at the moment.

you just couldn’t understand the instructions. Like at all. It was supposed to be a turquoise blue color when finished, but kept turning a dark purple instead. You only had about half an hour to get it right or you were going to fail your first potions lesson for the year.

at one point you got so frustrated, you slammed the ladle on the table but it was already pretty noisy, so no one really turned there head at the noise. “Someone’s cranky” you heard a snicker beside you, which you knew well enough to know it belonged to Dean Thomas.

“Try frustrated, i have to be the dumbest wizard in the entire wizarding world to not get this“ you sigh, crossing your arms as you stare at the dark purple liquid, the mere sight of it mocked your livelihood. Dean shook his head, stifling some laughter as he grabbed the handles of your cauldron.

“You continue to pout while i go dump this”

pout? you weren’t pouting. You rolled your eyes as he comes back, placing the cauldron back down onto your work space “Alright so you added all the ingredients right, but your stirring it to much and the wrong way“ he spoke as he added all the ingredients back in.

once he tilts the mortar and pestle, pouring the crushed unicorn hair into the liquid he smiles warmly “Alright now grab the ladle” he instructs and you, begrudgingly do so. Dean nods and moves to step behind you. As you go to turn around Dean places his hands on your arms, keeping them in place.

you tense almost instantly as his hands travel down your clothed arms until they rest on your own hands. He’s literally pressed against you, not rough or anything like that though. His head moved off to the side a bit “You stir like this” he begins to move your hand with his in the correct motion.

 you honestly didn’t know how to feel.

as he slowly stirred the magical liquid he says something else to you “It’s okay to get frustrated, it’s also okay to ask for help. I’m here if you need me Y/n” he spoke and let go for hand, which suddenly felt a whole lot colder then it did a second ago.

Dean returns back to your side and smiles proudly once he looks into the cauldron “See, easy” he says. You pull out the ladle and look in to see that beautiful turquoise color you had waited to see the entire class period. Thank Godric, actually thank Dean. Speaking of that.

“Thanks Dean, i was about ready to pull out my hair“ you joke, placing your hands on the table. Dean chuckles and places on of his hands on top of yours. You tensed again, feeling light and warm as the pad of his thumb rubs the skin of your hand. “Like i said, i’m here for you, in any and every way possible“

his words made you feel even lighter if that was possible as you tried to contain a bright smile

that was the moment you knew you liked Dean Thomas

--

you sigh, pulling yourself out of your happy memory. How were you going to find Dean?

☼-♥-☼

late evening 

after leaving Snape’s class you, funny enough, kept running into Seamus and Neville who kept pointing you into different directions or places. You were quite literally running around the school like a lunatic. Your current location was the library and library you went. 

since you were absolutely terrified of Madam Pince, you made sure you cautiously open the door as you walk in as well as closing it. Looking around, you don’t see any familiar faces which had you already feeling doubtful, but you still had to look behind the tall bookshelves. 

you decided to take the left side first and begin to walk through the middle isle with haste as you look around. No, nope, nothing, and disappointed. Jumping off the astronomy tower looked appealing at the moment. Alright, other side. You walked with the same fast pace, checking behind each shelf. 

after about four rows, you come face to face with a freckled boy, causing you to jump back “Godric” you put your hand over your heart like an old man about to have a heart attack. “Ron, your ugly face is scaring students” you heard a male voice say.

wait, did he just say Ron?

you take a few steps back, yeah that was them. You first friends at Hogwarts. You saw them almost every week, but haven’t talked to them since your first year at Hogwarts. This was gonna be awkward, you could already tell. “Sorry ‘bout him, I’m Harry and these are my friends Hermione and Ron”

Ron steps back to stand next to Hermione. They all looked at you like your a new person they have never met before. You honestly didn’t know how to react. On one hand, it was kind of funny they didn’t recognize you. On the other hand, it felt kinda shitty.

you force out a bitter laugh, shaking your head “I- I’m floored that you don’t remember me and as funny as it is, i’m looking for someone” you say, about to excuse yourself from this mind numbing situation. “Wait! We know you?” Hermione cuts in, raising her hand a bit.

exhaling, you nod “It’s me. Y/n, Y/n L/n” you introduce yourself, like all those years ago. Watching there eyes widen one by one almost made you laugh “Oh my, Y/n. It’s been so long” Hermione smiles nervously. As evil as it was, you were kind of enjoying the awkwardness.

“Yeah it has, lovely to see you lot. Lets get together next decade where you can forget me all over again“ you had to admit, it was kind of mean but you were busy at the moment. “Wait Y/n, can we talk?“ Harry steps towards you, a look of shame on his face. Good.

did you really want to hear some shitty apology? You didn’t want them or blame them either. You were eleven year olds and children loose friends all the time. There wasn’t any deeper meaning, at least to you there wasn’t, but some part of you wanted to know why? Why were you abandoned?

“I have a lot going on right now, so make it quick Potter“

Harry smiles as he gestures for you to sit down at the table they were currently residing in. You follow him and take the seat across from the other three. Hermione, Ron, and Harry all sit down, looking as nervous and anxious as ever while you were tapping your foot against the ground, impatiently.

“We wanted to say we were sorry, for how we treated you in first year“ Harry starts, the other two nodding along. “Can i get a reason? If you didn’t want to be my friend you could of just told me. Instead you left me alone“ you fold your arms over your chest, already wanting this to be over with. 

“You changed“ Hermione said. You expression shifted to confusion, scoffing “I changed? How?“ you asked. Godric it was a bad idea to listen to these guys. “You started hanging out with Malfoy, he turned you into some kind of menace. All you two did was pull tricks on each other back and forth“

okay so maybe this wasn’t the first prank war you’ve had with Malfoy

and it wont be the last either

“Seriously, you dropped me because i hung out with Draco? Yeah he’s a bit of an asshole, but he’s just all bark no bite“ you shrug your shoulders, maybe you were bias since you guys had been ‘friends’ for awhile now if you could call each other that.

“He’s a Slytherin“ Ron chimes in, looking as if he’s disgusted to say the word. “Ron” Harry warned, whacking his friends arm. Oh you were so not doing this house variably bullshit. Okay, maybe you had a ‘house prank war’ but that was all in good fun.

“I’m done here, i think i dodged a bullet with avoiding you guys all these years“ pushing off of your chair, you stand up ready to leave. Harry stands up the second you do “Sorry about them and they both can have there own opinions, but i know what we did was wrong and i just wanted to say i’m sorry“

looking at Harry, you could tell he was being genuine. Well at least one of them was. “Thanks Potter, now i have to go find someone” you try to make your escape again when you hear footsteps behind you. Stopping you see Harry at your side “Yes?”

“Who’re you looking for, maybe I've seen them?“ He offers. You assumed he was trying to be helpful as an apology. “Dean Thomas, know him?“ you ask, watching as his eyebrows furrow “Yeah but haven’t seen him- wait, it’s curfew in twenty minutes“

“Yeah, so?“

“He’s a Gryffindor, which means he’s heading back to the common room right this moment“ Harry points out, a light smile on his face. Your eyes widen and you throw your arms around the boy. You feel Harry tense, but still wrap his arms around you “Your a genius Potter“

“It’s common sense?“ he looks confused as you pull away from him. You tell him goodbye and that you two could catch up on a later date. 

☼-♥-☼

you push through students on the staircase who were trying to the Gryffindor common room as well. Once you make it to the top, a student in front of you whispers the password “Dilligrout” the portrait opened and a wave of students filed in. 

someone shoulder checked you when you made it in yourself, but you were to preoccupied with finding your friend? Crush? Person you had a crush on...yeah that works. All the students who came in had immediately filed down the hall to go to the dorms. 

silence took over and once again you were in a empty room, your shoulder dropping a bit “Found you” that familiar voice breathed out. You spin on your feet to see Dean Thomas leaning against the wall, huffing as he reached to wiped sweat that had gathered on his forehead. 

“You were looking for me?” you quipped back, obviously joking. Dean seems to catch on rather quickly and flashes a grin “Of course, you seemed upset after last night” he tells you, your expression dropping at the mention of the night before. He notices.

stepping forward, he takes your hand in his, gently leading you to the sofa. That cursed sofa. Once you both take a seat Dean clears his throat, his hand still intertwined with yours “How’re you feeling?” he asked, a worry glint in his eyes. Of course that’s the first question he asked. 

“Nervous, anxious, something like that, but also scared“ you admit, while your free hand scratches the side of your neck. “What would you have to scared off?“ Dean had a sympathetic smile on his face, one that you had seen many times before.

you chuckle, thinking that what you were going to say had been the most obvious thing in the world. “That your going to stop being my friend because we almost kissed?” you said, but it sounded more like a question instead of a statement. 

a, what you would call dramatic sigh escapes Dean’s mouth “I’m the one who initiated the kiss Y/n. I wanted it because i hoped you wanted the same thing, you do, right?” his voice wavers a bit, his confidence dropping with every word. 

“Yes, i have for a long time” you confess. Dean’s smile was a mile long as he lifts your hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to your knuckles “I wish we told each other this last night instead on running around to find each other all day” you both laugh at the situation.

“Yeah, now that i think about it. I could of sent you a howler” you say, exhaling loudly. How come you didn’t think of that sooner “Yeah, i guess we both didn’t think much” Dean then scoots closer to you on the sofa, his hand still holding your gently. 

not having the courage to speak, you simply sit there as Dean lets go of your hand and cups your face instead. Your breath hitched as you feel his thumbs moving up and down each temple on the side of your head. He still had that dopey smile on his face too.

after what feels like forever, Dean closes the gap between you both, kissing you softly. His head tilts to the left as he continues to kiss you. You swore you could feel everything in you become as light as a feather. Kissing Dean Thomas was something else.

a couple more seconds pass by before he pulls away, a smug grin gracing his face “can we take this to my dorm? We’ve gathered an audience” his eyes glanced to the right of you. Turning your head in his hands, you see Neville and Seamus

“Do you all mind?“

“No, keep going“ Seamus waved with his hand, smiling at you both. Dean rolls his eyes as he stands up from the couch, grabbing your hand to drag you along with him. “We’re so happy it worked out“ Neville had a gleeful look on his face as Dean dragged you past them.

“Try to keep things quiet in there lovebirds!“ Seamus calls out as you and Dean walk down the hall. You scoff, shaking your head. Seamus was something else. Once you both reach Dean’s door, he opens it, allowing you to step inside “No promises!“ he yells before stepping inside himself and shutting it.

covering your mouth, you laugh into the back of your hand until what he said registers in your mind “Wait what?”

☼-♥-☼

Kody- It’s been a hot minute ngl. Um- i’m trying to find a regular schedule update every month, but honestly something called sleep and depression has been kicking my ass. Hope you enjoy this fic..requests are open. Anyways, peace. 

☼-♥-☼

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[queenshelby]

The Last Semester – Part Two

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Words: 1,331

Warning: Flirting, Fluff

***

After having traded spots with Emma, over the next two weeks, you worked on your new drama project with the other group. But this didn’t mean that you didn’t see Cillian. To the contrary. You saw him more often than you were comfortable with and your attraction towards him intensified every time you interacted with him.

Every morning, Cillian would get his coffee at the local coffee shop where you worked as many as four days per week. In addition, just like you, he would spend a lot of time at the nearby second-hand bookshop looking for random and interesting novels.

The small bookstore had a reading area upstairs which no one really knew about and, on a rainy Tuesday evening, you sat there for three hours, researching for one of your other literature units.

That day, Cillian had the same idea as you, evidentially bored on his own since temporarily moving to London for the drama project.

‘Interesting choice’ Cillian said as he saw you sitting in the reading area with a stack of books by Charles Dickens.

‘Oh yes, Dickens. He is making some good points which I can use for my literature project’ you explained.

‘And some random ones too’ Cillian chuckled, causing you to raise your eyebrows as if you were asking a question.

‘For example, he states that there is no greater gift than the love of a cat. I would question this statement’ Cillian laughed.

‘I am fairly sure it was a contextual question’ you chuckled.

‘Nah…I think he just likes cats’ Cillian then went on to say before sitting down next to you and asking you whether you wanted some help with your research.

You nodded in agreement and probably spent the next hour or so with Cillian in the small book store looking through Dicken’s many novels.

***

Then, the following day, when you came walking out of your bedroom, you couldn’t believe your eyes when Cillian stood in the kitchen with Emma.

That was two days in a row that you saw each other by chance. Clearly, he didn’t live far from campus either.

‘Oh…uhm…hi’ you said when you realised that he saw you, although deep down inside, you hoped that he didn’t as you were wearing nothing but an old grey t-shirt, cotton panties and a pair of bed socks. Your hair was messy and tied up in a bun and you wore your black framed reading glasses.

‘Hi Y/N’ Cillian said with a warm smile, unable to take his eyes of you, causing your cheeks to flush.

‘Cillian was nice enough to help me carry these upstairs as I ran into him on the street and one of the shopping bags broke’ Emma explained and Cillian was quick to advise her that he needed to leave as he had a call scheduled for 3pm.

‘See you’ you quickly said just as you stumbled back into your room and Cillian nodded, having a slight chuckle as you appeared rather clumsy.

‘Did you instigate this?’ Thomas then laughed and you couldn’t help but poke your head back out of your room, waiting for Emma’s response.

‘Maybe’ Emma then went on to giggle and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at her. She clearly had a crush on Cillian and you certainly couldn’t have told her about why you wanted to change to the other group.

The truth was that you liked Cillian a lot and every day you saw him, you could feel butterflies in your stomach. But it wasn’t like a silly crush. Instead, it was an attraction not only on a physical but also intellectual level. He was funny, smart and you loved talking to him. There was something that distinguished him from guys your age and from other men you’ve met and this is what attracted you.

Every time he came into the coffee shop at which you worked and ordered his latte, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of excitement, something you had never really felt around a man before. But then again, you knew this was pointless and inappropriate and you quickly realised that you shouldn’t waste your time and energy in pursuing anything with man who you barely knew and who was 20 years older than you. You knew you needed to steer clear from him, avoid him wherever you could.

***

Unfortunately for you, it was the Monday on the fourth week of the drama project that Aiden had called in sick for the week after having contracted food poisoning and it was Cillian who took over his project until Aiden’s return.

Instantly, when Cillian walked into the theatre room, your butterflies returned. But, at the same time, you were incredibly nervous. You really didn’t want to work with him again. It was the whole reason you changed groups, so you didn’t have to be around Cillian.

Luckily for you, in this group, you only played a minor part in the play and Cillian was focused on the other students who needed more help than you with the script.

However, following the three-hour program for the day, Cillian asked whether you could see him after class. There was something he wanted to give you for your research program.

You nodded shyly and, after everyone had left, followed him to the office he was assigned temporarily by the university.

‘This is for you’ Cillian grinned as he handed you a print out entitled ‘Dicken’s fascination with Cats’ and you couldn’t help but laugh.

‘Geez, are you still on about that?’ you asked as you realised that Cillian didn’t like to be wrong.

‘What can I say Y/N? It kept me up. I had to research it further’ Cillian laughed before handing you a second print out.

‘Oh common’ you laughed as he handed you a thirteen-page research paper on Dicken’s different cats.

‘Perhaps it is you who likes cats’ you then went on to say and Cillian confirmed that he does, in fact, have a ginger cat named Garfield back in Dublin.

‘Garfield? Now that is a creative name for a ginger cat’ you giggled just as Cillian pulled out his phone and showed you a picture.

‘Cute’ you giggled as you looked at the picture while leaning in closer, your arm brushing against Cillian’s arm gently.

Just as your skin lightly touched his, you could feel goose bumps raise all over your body and it was almost as if Cillian had noticed.

He cleared his throat and you startled, collecting your thoughts before telling him that you should probably get back home.

Cillian nodded but, just as you were about to walk out of the door of his office, he called after you.

‘Y/N?’ he asked and you turned around and looked at him while a short ‘yes’ escaped you.

‘Nothing, sorry’ he then went on to say, realising that, what he was about to ask you was highly inappropriate.

‘Alright, uhm, see you later’ you said just as your cheeks turned red instantly.

***

Later that evening, when you arrived at home, Emma had told you that she had a surprise planned for you.

‘I’ve organised a date for you. Tomorrow night. His name is Patrick, he is Irish and a little older than you. He works at the university hospital and he is taking you to see the game tomorrow, Ireland vs France’ Emma said with some excitement.

‘Emma, I am not going on a date with someone I don’t know’ you fussed but Emma was insistent.

‘You haven’t been with anyone for two years Y/N. Common. Despite we are having a party at the apartment and I know you hate frat parties. Just give him a chance’ Emma said and you immediately rolled your eyes.

‘Fine’ you huffed. ‘But I will meet him at the sports bar at 7 o’clock. He isn’t coming here’ you demanded and Emma nodded excitedly.

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[cursestothemoon]

Parents, Presents, and Girlfriends

Requested: yes

Hermione x fem! gryffindor! reader

Warnings: suggestive towards the end, also a steamy kiss towards the end, mentions of food

Summary: Hermione is nervous to meet her girlfriends parents and spend the Christmas holiday with them, but quickly she realizes how silly she was. That and her girlfriend was cross-eyed as a baby.

also i didn’t edit this due to pure laziness so i am sorry 

Word Count: 2301

***

“Are you sure this is a good idea? I mean, meeting your parents is one thing but spending the holiday with them? What if I make a terrible first impression, then they are stuck with me for two weeks? What then?”

The way Hermione paced as she rambled made you chuckle, her eyebrows shooting up and falling down every so often.

“I think you are overthinking it, Mione. They’ll love you.” Your tone was confident.

She gave you a look asking if you were sure and you giggled as you stood up. You made your way over to her, taking her hands and bringing them to your lips. Hermione seemed to relax, her shoulders slumping, as you ran her knuckles across your lips before gently placing a few kisses on them.

“Trains leaving soon, love, I think we should get ready to go.”

Hermione nodded going to grab her bags- they had been packed since last week- and you made your way to your things, shoving in a few last minute socks and knickers before zipping it up. You grabbed Hermione by the hand, and you two walked out of your shared dorm, chatting until arriving at the train.

The train ride was spent in a compartment with Ron and Harry, both going to the Burrow for Christmas, and a plethora of sweets.

“Sixth year, can you guys believe it?” Ron asked munching on a chocolate frog leg.

Harry swallowed Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Bean, the grimace he sported was a dead giveaway that it was not a prefered flavor, before answering, “Remember when we flew the car to school?”

Ron nodded with a fond smile but it was Hermione’s voice that came out, “That was the most idiotic thing you two have ever done.”

“Oh don’t act all high and mighty now, that was when you met Y/n.” Harry teased, nudging his head in your direction.

Hermione turned crimson as she bowed her head with a small smile. Your hand found hers on the seat and gave it a squeeze.

“Yeah, you two weren’t around to make me look bad.” Hermione said, remembering the first train ride with you and how quickly you two had become best friends.

It was true, you two quickly became friends during second year, yet neither of you were able to actually identify your feelings as romantic until fourth year. Both of you had gone to the Yule Ball with a date, Hermione with Viktor Krum and you with Dean Thomas. The Ball was fun, though the jealousy spewing in both your hearts put a bit of a damper on things, fortunately the night ended with you two snogging in your dorm before any of the other girls got back. Surely they put two and two together when they got back however, lipstick smudged, dresses just slightly askew, and hair frazzled.

After the infamous night, you two had started dating. Now you had convinced her to spend Christmas holiday with you and your family, wanting your parents to meet the girl you were certain you were going to marry. Hermione had no reason to be worried, unbeknownst to her, your parents already knew all about her- perhaps a bit too much- from the countless letters you’ve written them gushing about your girlfriend.

“What if they don’t like me? Or-or, oh I don’t know! Does my hair look alright?” Hermione fumbled, hands shooting up to comb down her already neat hair- she had done it during the train ride.

“Your hair looks good, and they will like you. Try mentioning S.P.E.W.” You winked, walking out of the compartment.

Hermoine rushed after you, “Don’t leave me! I’m nervous, take my hand.”

You shook your head with a giggle, offering your hand to her as you waited for her to catch up. She took it gratefully, walking in stride with you to the now open door of the train that led to the platform 9 ¾.

The platform was buzzing with families, all bundled up for winter, greeting their children. A rush of excitement filled your being as you looked for your parents, turning to catch a glimpse of Hermione whose eyes were wide and smile, nervous.

“Y/n! Hermione! Over here!” It was your mum’s voice.

“Merlin, she knows my name.” Hermione mumbled to herself.

You chuckled, pulling Hermione by the hand to where your mum was waving at you two from a little ways down the platform. Upon reaching your mother, Hermione was pulled into a hug leaving you to gasp in feigned offence.

“I am your daughter you know?”

“And I’m your mother. Now that we’ve got titles out of the way let me greet your girlfriend.” Your mom waved you off turning to look at Hermione.

Hermione smiled, a bit overwhelmed by the aggressive hug, “It’s very nice to meet you, Mrs. L/n. Merry Christmas.”

“Call me Y/m/n, and it’s even lovelier to meet you. Y/n doesn’t shut up about you in her letters, you’re featured in every single one.”

“Mum.” You groaned, cheeks starting to heat up.

Hermione laughed, the knots in her stomach finally starting to loosen. Your mum seemed to take to her quickly, leaving you to grab most of the luggage. Hermione tried to protest, offering to help but your mother initiated you had it taken care of and she wrapped an arm around your girlfriend's shoulders starting a conversation about school, you presume.

“Yeah, I’m fine, not to worry.” You grumble, finally getting the five bags you were left with off the floor and comfortable enough for you to walk with.

“Carry the bags, Y/n. Let me get to know your girlfriend, Y/n. You can handle it.” You mimicked as you three finally made it to the car, your father sitting at the wheel before catching sight of you three and jumping out.

“Girls! Sorry I wasn’t at the platform, your mum thought it best if we bombarded Hermione one parent at a time.” He smiled, grabbing the bags from your hands quickly.

He watched you drop them with a huff, “Why’d you carry ‘em all, Y/n?”

“Oh you know, just trying to impress Hermione.” You said sarcastically, making him laugh as he shoved the bags into the trunk of the vehicle.

Your dad was a muggle, as muggle as they come really. He had a modest childhood, only ever getting what he needed, wants and luxuries saved for the children who could afford them. Your mother was a pureblood witch, a Gryffindor at that, and had lived in the house just a town over from your father’s. They had been together since they were fifteen, married since they were nineteen.

The backseat of the car held you and Hermione, your mum in the passenger seat and your father driving back to the house. The radio emitted a low tune but other than that a comfortable silence filled the car. You reached your hand across the seat, grabbing Hermione’s and giving a gentle squeeze. She turned to you, a smile nearly splitting her face, and her eyes sparkling. Clearly she was having a good time, and maybe carrying the bags all that way was worth it.  

The ride home was quick, the newly fallen snow nearly blinding on the dark, paved roads. Your home coming into view causes a bubble of giddiness to rise into your belly, mum always decorated for Christmas and you could tell she went all out this year. The pathway leading up to the house had six Christmas trees, three on each side and each one sparkling with twinkling white lights and a red bow on top. The house itself was a good size, wedding present from your mother’s side, and had the same white twinkling lights wrapping around it.

“Welcome home.” You teased, grinning at Hermione.

Christmas Eve had gone without a hitch, dinner went exceptionally well. It felt as though Hermione had been a part of the family for ages, her humour, wit, and intelligence melded very well with that of your family’s. It was evident Hermione realized she had been nervous for nothing, a smile had sat gracefully on her face all night and you couldn’t be happier.

After dinner you and Hermioen had broken away from your parents- still chattering in the kitchen- and made your way to the front steps with hot chocolate cradled in each of your hands. You took a sip from your cup, the whip cream finding a nice spot to rest just at the top of your upper lip making the witch next to you let out a laugh.

“Is there something on my face?” Your tone was painfully oblivious.

She laughed again, “Nope, not at all.”

“Good, now give me a kiss, babes.”

You pucker your lips with exaggeration, leaning toward her. She laughed harder trying to lean away from her girlfriend but realized it was a losing battle so she retaliated. Hermioen grabbed your face and pulled you closer to her, only to bring her tongue out and lick a broad stripe over your mouth, collecting the whipped cream.

The shock was evident on your face as you froze for a moment before grimacing theatrically.

“I can’t believe you just licked me.” You muttered, a hand coming up to wipe your mouth.

“You were asking for it.” Hermione shrugged.

You let out a sigh before looking at her, a feigned expression of thinking drawn on your face, “I think now I deserve a proper kiss for that. Only fair.”

Hermione pretended to think for a moment also before she nodded, “You’re right, I think you do.”

She leaned over, pulling your lips to hers in a heated kiss. Her hand went to your waist, pulling at the material of your pants to bring you closer, you let out a quiet whimper at this making her slide her right hand over your backside, groping at the clothed flesh. You deepened the kiss, bringing one hand up to hold her face, the other one resting comfortable around her neck.

Hermione pulled her lips from yours with a smacking sound making you let out a breathy laugh.

“Apology accepted.”

The comment made Hermione snort, a hand coming up to shove your shoulder gently. A few whipped cream mustaches and far more than a few kisses later, both you and Hermione decided to go inside to get warmed up.

Your mother running around with blankets, your father following with pillows- though he’d rather not run- made you raise your eyebrows in curiosity.

“Mum...what are you doing?”

“Getting Hermione’s room ready.”

“Hermione’s...room...ready?” You tried to understand, really you did.

The way you said the words made your dad snort, before going to drop the pillows off in the spare room.

You turned to your mom, “I thought Hermione would be sleeping in my room...you know… with me?”

“People who date can’t sleep in the same room, that was the rule for your brother, that’s the rule for you. No matter how sweet Hermione is, I know you might try some funny business.” She said, a finger pointing at you.

Hermione laughed, knowing just how true it was before assuring, “I’m alright with staying in the spare room it’s alright.”

You groaned and stammered, not unlike a child complaining, “But- but, Hermione and I share a dorm. And! And! Even if there was any funny business, which there won’t be, don't be weird Mum, but if there was it’s not like either of us would get pregnant.”

Your dad gave a loud snort as he watched your mum try to find something to say.

“Well…”

“I mean, she’s not wrong, Y/M/N.” Your dad added, winking at you.

Your mother thought for a moment before giving in, “Alright, I suppose you’re right. But if her snoring gets too loud Hermione, you are more than welcome to switch rooms.”

You scoffed in offence, holding your hand over your heart dramatically, “I do not snore.”

The silence was deafening, and you turned to Hermione, “Don’t feed into this!”

She brushed you off with a smile before turning to your parents, “I’ll keep that in mind, thank you.”

Your parents bid you two goodnight and made their way to their room, both Hermione and you walking in the direction of yours before your mum called out again.

“Remember, bright and early for presents in the morning! Goodnight!”

“Goodnight!” You and Hermione said in sync before opening the door to your room.

You walked in, Hermione following, and turned just as you heard her close and lock the door.

“Should I be worried?” You joked.

Hermione shook her head with a smirk, “Hope they won’t mind if I have you one of your presents early…” She trailed off as she walked toward you slowly.

“And to think, they thought I would be the one to start the funny business. Unbelievable…”

BONUS:

You sat on the floor in between Hermione’s legs as she sat on the couch, thumbing through a photo album your mum had so graciously given her. Your father handed her a few loose photographs, those were the really embarrassing ones that he liked to keep close, that you really wished he would’ve kept to himself.

Hermione would laugh to herself every so often making you look up from the scarf you were knitting to try and see the picture that brought out that reaction. Unfortunately, your seat was not the most fitting for such so you couldn’t catch the picture. That is until Hermione spoke up.

“You were cross-eyed as a baby. Did you know?”

Suddenly you knew the exact picture she was looking at making you groan, dropping your forehead onto her knee in embarrassment.

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