#twin room London hotels

[queensparkblogs]

London Tourism: Winston Churchill Edition

History has a big role to play in London tourism, with Winston Churchill one of the most iconic and well known names from 20th century politics. In his role as Prime Minister, Winston Churchill had a major impact on the way that Britain was run during WW2 with his time as a wartime leader and figure in Britain making his presence across London something that is still recognised today.

For those visiting London to get a flavour of the city’s history, here are some of the places to add to your list which are directly linked with Churchill – the first of which is located a stone’s throw from The Queens Park hotel.

National Portrait Gallery

Home to portraits and paintings of some of Britain’s most distinguished names, leaders, and celebrities, it follows that there are a number of paintings and statues which depict Winston Churchill to be found throughout the gallery. From those which he posed for, to those done from memory or from existing portraits, the culmination of artwork showcasing Churchill throughout his life and career make this a great attraction in which to immerse yourself in the history of the former Prime Minister.

Churchill War Rooms

Located on the very site of the war rooms in Westminster used during WW2, not only have these war rooms inspired movies and television programs but they are also an iconic stopping point for history lovers – surrounded by convenient double room hotels for London tourists.

The war rooms remain as they were during the war, presenting a network of underground spaces which include the map room and the various rooms where Churchill and his team directed the war effort.

Another part of the Churchill war rooms experience includes the Churchill museum, which allows visitors to see love letters between Winston and his wife, artifacts, cigars and the possessions which epitomise the life of the leader in one place.

Westminster Abbey

A well known London landmark located within close proximity to the top hotels near Paddington London and other central spots, Westminster Abbey not only hosted a number of ceremonies and events which Winston Churchill himself attended, but is also where a green marble commemorative stone is laid in his memory. The stone, laid and unveiled by Queen Elizabeth II in 1965, commemorates both the life of Churchill and the war effort in which he played a significant role.

House of Commons statue

The House of Commons is one of the most famous places where you will find a status dedicated to Winston Churchill, with visitors staying in one of the nearby twin room London hotels able to see both the Churchill arch and the bronze figure statue where it stands by the Commons entrance arch.

So much of Winston Churchill’s time in Parliament was spent in the House of Commons, with Westminster Hall beyond the arch also playing host to a memorial plaque in the spot where Churchill’s coffin lay upon his death.

Beyond these most obvious stopping points on a historical tour of London through the eyes of Churchill, visitors can explore many other sites and landmarks that played a part in his leadership. Let us know where your tour takes you!

[coco-loco-nut]

Mama

pairing: Pierre x reader

summary: Pierre and his annoyed, heavily pregnant, wife

TW: references to spicy activities, pregnancy, cussing, use of French learned via Duolingo and high-school French class from like 4 years ago

————————

“I regret ever letting your French ass charm me,” you scowl at your husband who picked you up at the train station in London. He had been away for a week, and initially you did miss your husband, but the pregnancy began to really wear on you this week.

“I missed your too, mamour,” Pierre kisses you, taking your bags and placing them in his rental car.

“I should’ve stayed home,” you grumble as he helps you into the car. You missed your French home, the villa was sunny and it wasn’t England, but you promised your sweet husband you would come to Silverstone. He came straight from

Pierre knows you are hurting, the third trimester taking a toll on you, so he doesn’t take any of your words to heart, instead he intends on showing you how much he loves you.

“I wish I were home too,” Pierre squeezes your hand gently once he is in the car. He has been hoping and praying that the baby comes during the summer break, just so he can spend time with you. You hadn’t been to a race since Imola and Monaco and you were able to hide the pregnancy pretty easily with flowy dresses. Despite being pregnant with twins, you didn’t balloon up until right after.

“What would Mrs. Glasly and the Baby Gasly’s like to do first, get to the hotel or get some food?” Pierre asks and you think about it for a second.

“Mmm food. Chicken nuggets and fries, preferably,” you give Pierre puppy dog eyes despite telling him you hated him moments ago.

“There is a McDonald’s in the next town over from Silverstone. I won’t tell if you don’t,” Pierre says, you swear in that moment that you fall in love with him all over again.

“I would never,” you gasp before yawning a little. At this point, you could take a nap anywhere, despite being extremely uncomfortable with the babies dropping. Some luck happened and your thirty-sixth week of pregnancy falls at the very start of summer break.

“Take a nap, chérie, we have about an hour and a half,” Pierre tells you as he pulls out of the parking lot, turning the music on softly. You don’t need to be told twice as you doze off. You don’t even wake up to Pierre ordering a ridiculous amount of food at McDonald’s, you only wake up when he gently shakes your shoulder.

“Mon ange, tu dois te lève,” Pierre says gently, coaxing you awake.

“Mm, mon bonhuer, feed me and take me to bed,” you say sleepily, a sly smile on your face.

“The things you do to me,” Pierre groans, getting out of the car. You carry the food into the hotel from the garage so his trainer can’t yell at him.

“Y/n! How are you doing?” Charles comes up beside you. He knew about the pregnancy, despite Pierre and you keeping it under wraps, only because the both of you attended dinner at the Leclerc’s house during the Monaco GP. It's only natural, you were Pierre's childhood best friend. Charles was Pierre's childhood best friend, you tolerated the both of them.

“How do you think,” you glare at the Monégasque.

“Maman asked me to give you this, and I added a little something too,” Charles says, handing Pierre a bag and kissing your cheek.

“Thank you, Charlot,” Pierre waves to his friend, guiding you to the hotel room.

“Pierre, this is so good,” you practically moan as you eat the nuggets.

“You gotta stop talking like that, you’re driving me nuts,��� he groans. You grin, biting into a fry.

“Or what?” your tease, his eyes darken. As soon as you both finish your dinner, he is kissing you.

“Pierre!” you groan, he helps you stand up, moving towards the bed.

"Do you want to do this?" Pierre looks at you with concern.

"Pierre, I am not a glass doll, I am pregnant and horny and I miss your cuddles, and I haven't seen you in weeks. I think you know what I want," you look Pierre in the eyes who is quick to help you into a safe, yet comfortable position. It is safe to say that the two of you missed each other very, very much.

You woke up in the morning, a rare occurrence of sleeping through the night, to your husband's arm wrapped around you, holding you close to him.

"Pierre," you nudge him. He hums, only half awake. "If you don't let me go, I may puke on this bed," you whisper to him. Pierre quickly wakes up and helps you to the bathroom. He had to get up soon anyway for the race.

"You ok?" Pierre continues rubbing your back after you've puked.

"I look like shit, feel like shit, and you watched me puke, I think the answer is no," you groan, resting your head on his shoulder.

"Why don't we shower, then I'll order some breakfast while I get ready?" Pierre offers, helping you undress and get into the shower. Like the gentleman he is, he helps you clean where you can't reach anymore, and in return, you scrub the shampoo into his hair.

The two of you eat quickly and get ready for the day. You both get in a chauffeured car and head to the circuit, you left a little later than usual due to eating breakfast in the hotel instead of in the paddock. Cameras capture the two of you walking in, more like you waddling as Pierre walks with an arm around you. He heads into a strategy meeting while you rest on the couch in his room.

"Apparently social media is blowing up over pictures of us walking in. They may love pregnant you more than I do, and that is nearly impossible," Pierre tells you when he gets back, the F2 race playing quietly in the background.

"I'm glad someone is enjoying it, because I want them out," you groan as they kick you simultaneously. Pierre helps you stand up and wraps his arms around you, hands under your bump. You relax into his chest, letting him take some of the pressure off of your body for a little bit. His touch always seems to calm the babies down.

"I know, just another month, then we will have our precious babies. You are doing incredibly, you will be the best mom," he praises you causing you to blush.

"They will have the coolest daddy," you hum, enjoying the temporary relief.

"Pierre, you gotta do your warm-ups," his trainer knocks on the doorframe. "Y/n, I can help you with some stretches that may provide some relief and better mobility," the trainer offers as Pierre slowly lowers your stomach, trying to ease the weight back. You follow Pierre and his trainer to the weight room. The trainer mainly focuses on helping you, claiming Pierre knew what he was doing, only stepping away when a spotter was required. Apparently, his wife was recently pregnant so he did a lot of research to help her.

"Congratulations, Y/n, you and Pierre will make great parents," despite neither of you particularly caring for Esteban, you thanked him anyway and wished him a good race. Pierre took you on some light strolls across the paddock, frequently being stopped by drivers, before the race where you sat in the garage and watched with his team. Pierre got in the points and you both celebrated by going home to France and sleeping.

By the time summer break rolled around, the nursery was filled with gifts from drivers and teams. Charles was begging the both of you to either name one of your babies after him or name him godfather. He was pleased to learn he was going to be named godfather regardless. A few days into break, your babies decided it was time to meet the world.

"Pierre, car, now," you look at your husband from the passenger seat.

"Charles! I am panicking! Yes, I am getting in the car. Fine you, can talk to y/n while I drive," Pierre says, frazzled, as he drives away from your home, the back seat filled with what you might need, two car seats already installed.

"Hello Charles," you say into the phone, quite amused despite the contractions becoming more frequent.

"Hi y/n, are you ready to meet the two rascals who have been torturing you for months? You will get to be a mom to three babies, god knows Pierre needs his mom right now," Charles laughs, helping to distract you as Pierre flies down roads.

"Mhmm, I'm excited to know the genders if anything. Are you still coming out later this week?" You ask him, the conversation oddly calm.

"I'm getting my plane ready now, I have to be there to meet my godchildren," Charles informs you and you feel another contraction coming on.

"Great, I'll be sure to hold them in for you. I gotta go, see you soon," you laugh through the pain, quickly hanging up. Pierre cut off an impossible amount of time, granted you didn't live too far from the hospital. Pierre is more stressed than you are, it's cute.

After 6 hours of labor, you and Pierre have greeted the most beautiful babies, at least in your eyes. The love of your life has now expanded to include the little bundles.

"Congratulations," Charles says, the first to arrive since you and Pierre didn't live too close to your families.

"Meet your godchildren, Anthoine Romeo and Genevieve Charlie," you smile tiredly at Pierre, who helped you through your labor, even as you screamed some very nasty things at him.

"They are perfect," Charles looks at you, a little teary as he holds Genevieve, "thank you," he says softly.

"We named them after the two people who have always stood beside us," you say, Pierre fascinated by his son. You really were the luckiest woman alive.

[louisupdates]

INTERVIEW: Lottie Tomlinson: we lost our mum and sister. Louis saved me

At the age of 20, the sister of One Direction singer Louis had already lost her mother, Johannah, and sister Félicité. Now 25, the social media star has written a book about how they coped

Alice Thomson | Tuesday July 23 2024, 5.00pm BST, The Times

Losing Mum was so hard. I was only a teenager but at least I knew that her death was a possibility, even though she didn’t accept it. She was 47 and had cancer. But when my sister died three years later, I was on this hotel balcony in Bali and I was screaming, ‘No, my baby sister, no.’ The pain was indescribable. I kept thinking, ‘Why me? This can’t be happening again. When is this going to end?’ ”

We are sitting on Lottie Tomlinson’s immaculate white sofa in her pristine white house in Chislehurst, southeast London, where she is curled up in tiny shorts with a perfect tan and impeccably applied make-up. But her French manicured nails are digging so hard into the sofa I think they might snap, the heart tattoo on her minuscule wrist is throbbing and her eyelashes are clogged with tears.

Her life sounds blessed. The influencer has 4.8 million Instagram followers waiting for her to dispense advice on how to apply mascara; the fake tan brand, Tanologist, that she launched at 19 has gone global; and she has a devoted fiancé, Lewis Burton, who runs a luxury concierge business and whose former girlfriend was the late Caroline Flack. They have an adorable son called Lucky, who is dripping ice cream on her marble counters. Her new book is also called Lucky Girl; her older brother is Louis Tomlinson of One Direction and she was touring the world with the band as a make-up artist at 16.

But after her mother died when she was 18, Tomlinson was left looking after her younger sister and two sets of twin siblings, aged eight and two, while creating her businesses, and trying to process her grief. Her father had left their home in Doncaster years before after a battle with alcohol. “Dad had a drinking problem. We’d see glimpses of his good side but he let us down,” she says. “I ended up trying to take care of him rather than the other way round.”

When her mother died, life felt bleak, “I lost the one person who loved me unconditionally, and then when my sister Fizz [Félicité] died of an accidental overdose, I thought I could never be happy again,” she says. “I found the lead-up to Mother’s Day devastating without my sister as well. It was a constant reminder that I was now different from my friends. In my dreams, my mum was still there; she was alive. I woke up feeling comforted, only to realise that she’d gone.”

Tomlinson, who is now 25 and a patron of the bereavement charity Sue Ryder, moves easily between telling you how to apply the best tan and how to talk about death. She cares passionately about both subjects and takes them equally seriously, worried that I’ve never tried a bronzer or used foundation before asking how I coped when my mother died during the pandemic. Her soft Yorkshire accent is both reassuring and no-nonsense.

Born near Doncaster, she was only two when Fizz was born and six when the first twins arrived. “I’ve always been the big sister — Fizz and I each got one and then more twins six years later.” While Louis had his own space, the girls all shared one room with bunk beds. “It was chaos, but my mum, Johannah, was a midwife and loved being pregnant and having so many babies,” she explains. “I used to be in awe of the way she could feed the twins at once, one on each hip. She would do the night shifts, while I held the fort at home.”

Within a few years, Tomlinson would be touring America, Asia and Europe, flying first class with Louis, part of the biggest boy band in the world, but until she was 15, the family had only ever gone to France once a year all packed into a seven-seater car, with her mother’s new partner, snacks laid out in the middle. They stayed in a caravan park. On a Sunday, a treat was to go to their mother’s hospital to see the babies.

While Louis just wanted to sing, play the guitar and listen to Oasis, the girls were obsessed with make-up. “From the age of 12, I struggled academically, but I loved cropped clothes and my mum’s highlighters and mascaras.” She learnt how to apply everything from YouTube tutorials, rather than doing algebra. “We didn’t have much money — we sometimes couldn’t afford to top up the electricity meter so used candles — but everything my mum earned she spent on us. We all looked immaculate — I remember her being horrified when I dyed my hair orange. So it was lovely later when we could treat her.”

Saturday nights were spent watching The X Factor. “My mother and brother kept applying; in 2010, he got in and the whole family went for the audition. We believed in him, but we never thought it would go that far.” One day the family were going to the live shows, the next the boy band was formed with Harry Styles, Zayn Malik, Niall Horan and Liam Payne. “He was 18. For my mum it was a big shock. It was all so sudden. The press and fans were in our front garden every day.”

The older twins had already made their first TV appearances — they sound like Doncaster’s Von Trapps. “My mother was gently pushy,” Tomlinson says, smiling at the thought. “When I didn’t get good enough GCSEs to stay at school, she sent me off to join Louis on tour as work experience. I was so scared. I remember her ringing up Lou [Teasdale], their hair and make-up artist, and saying, ‘Lottie has not got through to sixth form; she’s going to come and assist you.’ I was in the car going, ‘No, please don’t.’ But it ended up being the best thing that happened to me. I went for a week and stayed two years. Lou and I are still so close.”

Suddenly, the two eldest Tomlinson children were circling the world, eating room service and ducking the paparazzi hanging out of helicopters taking snaps. “At first Louis didn’t really want his little sister gate crashing his new rock-star life, but now it feels like the best time of our lives — we experienced that craziness together,” she says.

The teenage Tomlinson found it harder to cope with being photographed wherever she went. “I had some puppy fat which made me very self-aware, and the filler culture was coming in and I felt I had to look perfect.” She had her lips done first at 17. “Then I became addicted: cheek filler, jaw filler, more make-up, blonder hair, slimmer and more tanned. My mum thought I looked perfect, but I was always searching.”

Five years later, when she became pregnant with Lucky and her lips started to swell and crack, she realised she didn’t need the enhancements any more. “I had everything removed, the false eyelashes too. It was liberating.” She kept her boob job, however. “That was just enhancement,” she says laughing. “The rest radically changed the way I looked. My breasts also got huge when I was pregnant and it was a bit painful. But I still breastfed. I loved carrying my child. I felt fantastic even when I was sick and exhausted.”

She leans forward, wraps her bronzed arms around her stomach and whispers, “I am pregnant again. We don’t know yet if it’s a boy or girl. It’s only 13 weeks, so this is the first time I’ve said it publicly. I think I want a big family. I loved having Lucky but after a year I wanted to give him siblings.”

Tomlinson’s influencer career began once she established herself on tour. Soon everything she did, even dying her roots rainbow-coloured, went viral and fashion companies from Asos to Dior wanted in on it. “I was just going for it. I couldn’t believe the money I was making and spending — money I didn’t know existed as a child.”

Then suddenly her mum came home from holiday with flu. “She didn’t want to get out of bed. The doctors quite quickly told her she had leukaemia and she went straight to London for treatment. It all happened so fast. I remember being in London at work and getting a call from her partner — she couldn’t say the words herself, it was too hard for her.” The family were told it was treatable. “We kept so much hope.”

Her mother asked the family to keep her illness secret. “It was hard because you feel so isolated, but I understood. Louis was in the public eye and she didn’t want him questioned. She was determined to fight it and didn’t want everyone pitying her. My friends noticed I was acting differently for a few months. But I wanted to respect her wishes. It was her one request.”

She also dropped everything to go back to Doncaster to help her grandparents with the twins. “The younger ones were two and I wanted to keep everything as normal as possible. I can’t imagine what my mum was feeling leaving her kids to go to hospital.

“I would take them down and treasure seeing her — we tried to keep it light, no serious conversation. The only way Mum could cope was to keep it normal. Then, when the doctors said the transfusions hadn’t worked, she came home to die.”

Tomlinson tries to sound matter-of-fact. “We went to see her in hospital in Sheffield and the next morning we woke up and were told she had died. We felt numb. We didn’t know what to do with ourselves. Now I am involved with the Sue Ryder charity, I am surprised we were offered no support or counselling at all, from the GP, the teachers, the professionals. They all kept away.” Her nan and grandad picked up the pieces.

It’s not surprising she can’t remember the funeral. “I just remember getting really drunk to numb the pain. I couldn’t come to terms with it. I can’t even remember how we organised it. My instinct was to take over as the eldest girl and step into my mum’s shoes so that is what I did.” Meanwhile, her older brother, who was launching his solo career, ensured there was enough money. “He’s incredibly generous. We looked after each other.”

Tomlinson returned to London months later, after her grandmother said she needed to become a role model for her siblings. Her younger sister Fizz worried her most. “She was very academic — she got straight A’s without trying — but she always said she felt different. She was bottling her grief for so long; it was too much and made her turn to other things. I think Mum’s death destroyed her. Only my mum seemed to understand her. If she had been offered some help at the start, things might have been different.”

Meanwhile, Tomlinson’s self-tanning brand was soon being sold in Los Angeles, New York and Australia, while her own fanbase grew; she hardly ever needed to pay for drinks, meals or holidays. However, she finds the term influencer obnoxious. “I don’t want to act like I tell people what to do. I am more of a content creator,” she explains. “I get paid by brands to create content for their clothes or beauty products and promote that to my followers. I also wanted my own business. I was quite aware that, at the end of the day, I was just working with an app. That’s why I started Tanologist with my business partner. I was always using tanning treatments that would end up turning my sheets orange and my face would break out in spots — this is more natural.”

Louis was also forging his career as a solo artist, eventually creating the song Two of Us about his mother’s death. “We were always so proud of Louis and what he was doing. We were not going to match up to being a global superstar, but we didn’t want to — ‘successful’ looks different for everyone,” she says.

But her sister Fizz was slipping and struggling. “She was old enough to do what she wanted at 19; she was partying and taking stuff to numb everything. She did go into rehab but to me it didn’t feel like an addiction problem, but a way to blank out her grief.” When Tomlinson was invited to Bali, she asked Fizz whether she wanted her to stay behind. “She said she was OK, and then it happened while I was away,” she says. (Fizz accidentally overdosed on cocaine, an anxiety drug and painkillers, her inquest found.) “Louis called me…” She stops talking.

The shock of a second death must have been devastating. She doesn’t speak for a minute while she twists her huge diamond engagement ring. “We weren’t mentally prepared,” she eventually says. “I can’t even remember if the two funerals were in the same church. I think grief has affected my memory a lot and that’s quite common. Grief is such a powerful emotion; it takes up a lot of your brain.”

Five years later, she now knows how to remain positive. “I had an amazing mum for 18 years. I have the most amazing family, my little boy and my career, and that is because of her. The same with Fizz — I had an amazing sister. It’s heartbreaking they aren’t with us any more, but they are together and they are looking out for me,” she says, sounding as though she is repeating a mantra.

Having a baby made her feel closer to them both. “He was a boy — it’s funny, he actually looks a lot like Louis did — and I thought, this is what my mother must have felt. But then I had so many questions I couldn’t ask, even more because she was a midwife.”

Her biggest problem was her terror that something terrible would happen to her son. “I became fixated [on the idea that] something bad would happen to him, so I couldn’t sleep. You go to the worst-case scenario, because that’s happened to you twice, to two of the closest people in your life. I couldn’t turn the lights off at night; I needed to see him all the time. Luckily, it calmed down quite quickly.”

We are still flitting between her story and advice on make-up, exercise and clothes.

“I like sharing advice. If a child lost their mother, I would say there is no magic answer. But the point of this book is to show that you can have tragic things happen and still keep going.”

What would the 25-year-old now say to her younger self, struggling at her second funeral at the age of 20? “I would say, ‘You are going to be OK; you will live a nice life.’ I didn’t think I could. I thought this will be a really sad, lonely life without my mum and sister. I wouldn’t have believed then that I could be happy again. But it would have been nice to hear.”

Lucky Girl by Lottie Tomlinson (Bonnier, £22). To order a copy go to timesbookshop.co.uk. Free UK standard P&P on orders over £25. Special discount available for Times+ members

[httpiastri]

ollie bearman x crawford!reader

the instagram story was subtle enough. or, at least, so you thought.

ollie didn't seem to agree.

it was a video of you in the newly bought sundress you'd decided to wear to the sprint race today; twirling around in your hotel room, the geotag of "silverstone circuit" in the top right corner. but none of this is what ollie cares about: it's the choice of background music.

they say home is where the heart is, but god i love the english. you know i love a london boy…

the poor boy nearly had a heart attack when he saw it in the paddock. he thought it was super obvious; "i love a london boy" could only mean one thing.

your relationship with ollie is still secret from everyone, including your brother, to ensure that people won't get involved in your private business. besides, once the news is out even in just the racing world, you know it will spread and get big in no time; that's the way it usually is with formula drivers. especially fan-favorites like ollie. so, for the moment, you've decided to just enjoy wherever this takes you, without caring what anyone else thinks. but now, he's scared you've blown it.

your instagram account is on private, so you aren't afraid of fans snooping around and seeing it. but still, it worries ollie; your brother follows you, and that is much worse than fans, he reckons. when you first started going out, you thought it would be natural to tell your twin brother about it, considering the fact that ollie is one of his best friends – but ollie disagreed. the whole dating your best friend's sibling-thing never went well in the movies, and that's all he had to go after.

the song echoes in his brain all morning. during the driver meeting, his pre-race briefings, even as he watches the f3 sprint. he likes my american smile like a child when our eyes meet; darling, i fancy you. all morning leading up to the race, he's distracted and can't think of anything else, though his mechanics and engineers think he's just focused on the race ahead of him. ollie needs some kind of closure, and it isn't until he spots you walking down the f2 paddock that he finds an opportunity.

it's not long before ollie is supposed to get into his car that he sees you on your way to the dams garage. the sundress you showed off in your instagram story looks even better in the real world, and he can't help but swoon at the sight of your smile lighting up the paddock just as much as the sun. he snaps out of it just in time, because when you walk past the prema garage, he swoops out and grabs your wrist, pulling you in.

"ollie-" is all you can get out because now he's pulling you along with him so fast that you can barely even keep up. you manage to nod and greet a few of the prema workers on your way – most people recognize you as jak's sister since you spent a lot of time in the paddock with them last year – but soon, ollie has managed to find you a secluded corner far in the back with no one around.

you rest one hand on his shoulder as you try to catch your breath, looking up at your boyfriend with pinched eyebrows. "you..." he starts, letting out a sigh. "your story on instagram..."

"what about it?"

you weren't usually one to tease him, so he assumes you are actually sincere in your current confusion. the thought of your story may have been etched into his mind for the last few hours and the reason behind his displeasure might be totally clear in his head – but you never were one to read thoughts, which he sometimes forgets. "jak is going to know."

you don't look any less confused by now, which makes ollie feel even more impatient. "why would he know?"

"the song choice. london boy, really? it's so obvious." he pauses for a moment. "you can't do that."

his words are meant as a warning, but the smile on his lips tells a whole other story. no matter how scared he is that your brother will find out that you've been hiding this relationship from him, he can't stop himself from finding it just a bit amusing. and with the way that you're still watching him with such an innocent look and your other hand is also reaching for his shoulder, there's no way he can hold back a grin.

"sweetheart, it's one of the most popular songs out right now. in the entire world. no one will even bat an eye. plus," you tilt your head. "i'm an american girl in england, so london boy is an obvious choice."

"you could've chosen so many other songs about england, but you had to choose that one?"

the chuckle leaves your throat instantly. "you're not even a london boy, ollie."

he knows he's lost. he knows he's just worrying about nothing, he knows there's a much bigger risk that someone finds out about you being here with him in the prema garage than jak connecting the dots from just your story. but he can't give up just yet.

"i'll forgive you. but on one condition," he says, and you immediately nod at him. "give me a kiss. for good luck."

there's not even a second of hesitation before you get onto your tippy toes, reaching up to him. your lips are pressed onto his once, then twice, then thrice. you're both smiling into it, and his hands cup your cheeks, holding you close when you part for the last time.

"you know," he starts, thumbs drawing circles into your cheeks. "i fancy you."

the giggle that leaves your lips is like music to his ears. did he actually study the song? "oh, oliver," you say, trying to pull off your most british accent. "darling, i fancy you, too."

[up-to-some-good]

A Different Problem

This prompt is a bit old, but this idea came to me last night and I couldn't let it go. So, a bit of a reversed trope for @wolfstarmicrofic prompt - only one bed.

Remus sighed as he heard Sirius roll over again. They'd turned out the lights maybe ten minutes ago, and Sirius had repositioned about a hundred times since then, rolling over and shifting loudly every few seconds.

Remus himself was struggling to sleep, honestly. They were staying at a hotel for the weekend of James and Lily's wedding and everything was just slightly wrong. He wasn't used to falling asleep in such peaceful surroundings, their neighbourhood in London always bustling and busy. The bed also wasn't as comfy, being a bit firmer than the squishy mattress they had at home and the sheets were stiff and smelt different.

On top of all that, the hotel had given him and Sirius and him a twin room. James and Lily had booked them a queen bed, like they had for every other couple, but the hotel had changed it the second they saw the two men walk in together. So Sirius was across the room in his own twin bed, rather than curled behind Remus like he would be at home. Truthfully, Remus was not pleased with this arrangement either, missing his boyfriend's warm weight behind him, but he had slept without Sirius there before, and he was sure he could do it again.

If Sirius would just stop moving, that is.

"Sirius," Remus hissed as he moved again. "Would you just lie still?"

"I can't get comfy," Sirius responded. "I'm not used to sleeping alone."

"What do you do when I'm away on missions?" Remus whispered back.

"I stay awake."

There was a pause. Sirius was finally still as he waited for his boyfriend to respond.

"Get over here," Remus eventually whispered across the room. "We can squeeze in my bed for tonight and push the beds together in the morning."

Sirius didn't hesitate, scrambling across the rooms and settling against Remus, the pair of them sharing one pillow and one tiny duvet.

Finally, they slept.

[bubbleddisasters]

Stupid Shit I’ve done/Gotten myself into by accident/been dragged into as Twisted Wonderland Characters:

—————-

Ace : Heard my sister screaming bloody murder downstairs and didn’t do shit because I assumed she was watching a horror movie. Turns out there was a fire in the oven.

Bonus: Sniped my friend in the eye from across the Cafeteria with a Ketchup Packet, Meant to hit his glasses, but he repositioned them at the last second.

Deuce: Answered Maine four times on a Historical Geography test and was wrong all four times.

Cater: Threw my phone out of the window in a panic after seeing one of my Idols followed me back.

Bonus : Accidentally convinced a transfer camper from Wales I was from London after I quoted something in the accent to myself in the showers and was too awkward to tell them I wasn’t when they struck up the conversation.

(I am from America, and the camp is in America.)

Trey: Accidentally created a puddle of Dark Red Icing and Stepped in it four times in a row while making a cake at 2 am.

Bonus : Befriended and helped out the owner of a French Bakery down the street when they started out, they ended up becoming really popular (rightfully so, her stuff is amazing) and now I either get free shit and/or Friends and Family Discounts.

Riddle : I have read the dictionary on multiple occasions out of sheer boredom.

Bonus: I once read the bible and marked down verses. Im not religious I just needed to win an argument.

Leona: Slept through an earthquake and 3 ambulances coming to my house bcs my sister was hurt.

Ruggie: Waited for families going inside to pass by and asked them to hold the door for me so I could sneak into a VIP rooms for free food. (Usually only at fancy hotels but luckily this strategy is flexible when your 5’2 with a baby face.)

Jack: Used to Smash open large rocks containing Crystals or Quartz at the beach as a kid, and now I have a large collection of them.

Bonus: I have extremely good hearing, to the point I hear into the negative decibels up to -15 - -20 (according to the audiologist this is rare but i literally don’t know shit about audio and decibels) so my old dormmates used to try and bribe me to tell them what I heard about certain things or themselves.

Bonus 2: Almost got shot by an illegal hunter while in the woods with my sister.

Floyd : Cracked my skull open at the pool, lost consciousness for a few seconds and woke up in the water calling for help, then got confused on why I was calling for help.

Bonus : A Sea lion once came up to me while I was scuba diving and did little circles, bumped its snout on my mask and just followed me the whole time in a very gleeful manner as a temporary homie.

Bonus 2: Apparently ate / took bites of my moms library books as a little kid (????) according to the librarian.

Jade: Taught myself to untie my hands with my hands behind my back, tie by hands behind my back with my hands behind my back, deciphered, translated and memorized a fictional hieroglyphic language, Read from Act 1 to Act 6 of Homestuck, and accidentally discovered how to disguise Chocolate Ice Cream as Pistachio; all within the span of 2 weeks. (I had covid and was A-Symptomatic)

Bonus : Lived in the Woods for 7 months (in total), had a large bag of mica and Almost Drowned in a tent when there was no moving water nor rain. (Basically, I was asleep, Woke up underwater, nearly went back to bed, then shot out of my tent screaming “My Tent Titanticed!” )

(It was like 3 am don’t judge me)

Azul: Somehow ended up with $2200 dollars in $100s in Monopoly at the end of the game. Also have been stuck between two identical twins while talking with both and boi that shits TRIPPY. (I also almost died with them later but it was fine)

Bonus: I lived on a middle of fuck knows where island during the spring and summer up until covid, yet I absolutely despise eating fish or Shellfish, and the smell often makes me nauseous.

(Bonus 2: I love shiny things, but very specifically fancy looking keys. I also had a weird obsession with signing a shiny contract after watching Ariel. Another tiny thing Is I own a Flotsam and Jetsam Scarf which I chuck around when Floyd or Jade pisses me off ingame.)

Kalim : Got distracted by a cool leaf while at a fancy resort in Xatapa, Mexico, and waddled off from my parents and explored around to try and find more, somehow managed to get extremely far and ended up lost in a whole different city for 6 hours while trying to find my way back.

Bonus 1: I had an obsession with Kiwis for awhile as a kid, and our neighbors house had a Pangium tree that reached over to our yard. (It was planted before either families moved in so we didn’t know) I thought it was some kind of strange Kiwi and ate one. I didn’t like it and was like “Oh maybe its not ripe” and waited 3-5 months then tried it again, same reaction, repeat process one more time.

I went to my parents out of curiosity and asked them what it was, and so after some process I am unaware of but I think my mom brought one of the fruits somewhere, we discovered what it was.

Pangium contains Fatal amounts of Cyanide if not properly prepared. I was fine but for the love of anything please don’t try eating it like little me did.

Bonus 2: I’ve Almost died more times than I can count on both hands and feet. Im not an heir or something fancy I just have wackass luck.

Jamil: Once had to talk my sister out of jumping off a tour boat because our cousin dared her to.

Bonus : Managed to make French Toast in the middle of the woods with Dehydrated Milk, Cinnamon, Three Eggs I stole, and a loaf of bread we got once a month. Also made 3 kinds marinated chicken in the middle of the woods.

(My Cooking Style is literally “just trust me bro.” I’m like Lilia except it actually works and is edible)

Epel : Whenever we went applepicking at my Grandfathers house, I’d climb into the trees and throw or pass the apples down. Sometimes I actually wish I could sit in trees more often shits comfy.

Bonus: My Mom was a Champion Horseback Rider as a kid, and sometimes took us to this Ranch I shall not name for my own privacy, but I’d run around with this group of kids and this one herding dog like a damn movie protagonist, sometimes go riding horses, or the one time we stole a tractor and near crashed it (THE REGRETS I STILL HAVE-) etc.

The WHIPLASH from that to going back to a whitewashed Northeast suburban town is insane.

Rook: My Cousins and I, and sometimes the kids at the priorly mentioned ranch, would play the most intense games of manhunt (basically really intense hide n seek at night) ,

I mean wearing camo if you had it, alliances, little dollar store walkie-talkies, code words, binoculars, climbing in trees or hiding in bushes/tall grasses/Hay to “scout”.

I hid in a large pot/vase more than once and another time on a roof, and (ONLY ONCE, DO NOT DO THIS IM STUPID) under a car.

I still remain the top in last man standing points. Mostly bcs I’m stingy with rescues but shhh

Vil - Accidentally poured a lot of liquid eyeliner into my eye, was literally crying out Eyeliner for 30 minutes. Also taught myself to run and jump in heels as a kid because I thought it looked cool in movies.

Ortho : Unknowingly was Hacking my Elementary School Databank for several years,

I genuinely thought it was normal to go on the school website, press a few buttons and be able to find a friends address if I had a playdate and needed to tell my mom where the house was, a parents phone number if needed communication with my friends parents , and mostly ignored the other general info.

I didn’t even know I did this until my dad told me a few months ago that I almost got suspended for it but by the time they found out it was the end of my last year there. ;—;

Edit: I feel I should elaborate that my dad had somewhat recently told me that I almost got suspended for that in elementary school, but all that happened 5 YEARS ago. Hence why I was so surprised because I was never told back then.

Idia: Accidentally acquired both a Nahida and Eula in Genshin and was genuinely annoyed at the time, they are now my most powerful DPS’s…

Bonus : I own a shit ton of original Japanese first edition Pokemon Cards my cousin gave me, (they are probably worth more than me which is neat), and I have a giant pile of Pokemon plushies I have infact fallen asleep on or in on multiple occasions.

Bonus 2: I was playing Breath of the Wild, and my very first thing I did after getting off the plateau was beeline for the castle. I actually got all the way up and took out 2 blights but the Wind one kicked my ass.

Bonus 3: Got confessed to and asked out by a guy I did not like nor knew very well, and I panicked, said “Maybe, Sorry no.” And ran into a wall. Also have crawled through a chute to avoid an awkward situation as a kid (do not recommend its dusty and definitely not safe)

Bonus 4: Once didn’t sleep for 5 days.

Malleus : Accidentally attended a Private Party and a Private Funeral in the same week. I was not invited nor knew anyone present. Stayed there for most of it because I was too nervous to say I wasn’t supposed to be there. Whoop.

Bonus: Got nicknamed the “Trip Curse.” By my Old Dormmates because everytime I went on a trip with them everything seemed to go to shit or get hella chaotic.

Bonus 2: Another camping one: Once woke up at night with a shit ton of fireflies just chilling in my tent. It was serene but also I genuinely thought I was hallucinating for a few minutes.

Lilia: Literally will hang upside down anywhere I can, its so fun bro.

Bonus : I know an extremely large amount of useless historical information, and once genuinely realized I know more about poison than what flour and eggs are used for in baking.

Silver : Once befriended a wild horse ( Im like 90% sure he was a Chestnut).

I called him Clover the Dog like horse because he was honestly just a golden retriever in the body of a horse.

This is great and theres alot of sweet moments, but then theres the times you have a giant horse galloping full speed at you for attention or trying to nudge you affectionately and nearly pushing you into a creek in the process.

Sebek: Got groundstruck by lightning once. Also I am often told I have a loud voice.

Che’nya : a good friend of mine and I have an inside joke at school where if we see eachother through a window (my school has alot of indoor windows for some reason?), we’ll text the other “Behind you.” Or “To your left.”

——————-

Theres more things I can think of but I have run out of characters and this is getting too long, so ye!

[dreamcubed]

me! | george weasley x reader

song; me! [taylor swift, brendon uri(n)e] pairing; george weasley x fem!muggle!reader genre; accidental marriage, s2l, fluff, comedy word count; 7,8k timeline; post-second wizarding war (fred lives au) warnings; swearing, referenced alcohol consumption, references to hook-ups, references to sex, references to the war summary; after waking up in bed with a red-haired stranger and no memories of the night prior, you run off as quickly as you can. it isn't until months later when you're trying to buy a house that you learn that you can't just leave that forgotten night in the past

thought it would be ironic to have the song with the lyrics "i promise that you'll never find another like me" and "i'm the only one of me" with one of the twins lol

masterlist

"you're the kinda guy the ladies want."

————————————————

Typically, you were more responsible than this. You had always stayed away from drunk hook-up culture, hoping (perhaps too idealistically) to find organic love. Yet, on the night of your cousin's bachelorette party, you got so drunk that you found yourself in bed with a stranger the next morning. And you didn't know what to do.

All you could do for a few moments was look around the hotel room that you had evidently decided was necessary for the hook-up - and although you couldn't remember a single thing after your tenth shot at the club, the fact you were both naked gave away the events of the night prior.

He was red-haired, and quite nicely toned, but he also donned a partially missing ear. You couldn't see his face, so at that particular moment you couldn't judge whether or not drunk you had good taste. You pushed that thought aside - that was the least of your concerns. You needed to get out of there and forget that anything had ever happened, which shouldn't be too difficult thanks to the alcohol-induced memory loss.

So, with that, you slipped out of bed and scavenged for all your clothes around the room, and then quickly departed. You made it all the way down to the lobby without any human interaction, but it was there at the desk that you finally had to communicate.

"Heading out for a bit, Mrs Weasley?" the receptionist smiled at you.

You frowned, not understanding why they would address you as such - probably had mistaken you for someone else. But, you were in a hurry, so just grinned and nodded, leaving to never return.

***

Not many people were fortunate enough to buy their first home (alone) at the age of twenty-four without any help from their parents, but you had chosen a rather well-paid career path and had been meticulous with your money savings, so this was a reality for you. After a few months of working with a real estate agent to view houses and find the perfect home for you, you had finally come to a decision.

You had stumbled upon it really, when travelling from London to visit your family, you came across a road that you had sworn hadn't been there before. Curiosity had overcame you, and you had driven down it to find the cutest village named Godric's Hollow, which could also be described as peculiar. A lot of things in the village didn't make sense - like the fact they all seemed bewildered at the sight of your car - but the architecture was gorgeous. When you drove past an adorable rustic cottage with a 'for sale' sign out front, you didn't even have to think twice about viewing it.

It was a strange process, however, as the sign didn't have a number for the real estate agency, but instead read 'owl Cauldron Realtors for more details'. You asked around for information about Cauldron Realtors (a particularly strange name, comparable to the robes many of the older members of the village wore), and they pointed you in the direction of the realtor's.

From then on, the process to view the house and apply for a mortgage had been relatively normal, if not a bit old-fashioned in the lack of technology used. However, you reasoned that it was a small village and that they merely hadn't updated themselves like cities just yet.

***

"Why have you asked me to come here?" you asked as delicately as you could upon entering Cauldron Realtors.

"We have had something come up," Mr Linseed said to you. He was an eccentric old man, constantly adorning a pair of half-moon spectacles perched on the tip of his nose.

"Like what?"

"You told us that you weren't married."

You frowned.

"And I thought it was a bit strange given your muggle situation, but honestly I had simply assumed that you were a squib."

He was using a lot of words that you didn't understand. You had heard the word muggle passed around in the time that you had spent in Godric's Hollow, but had been unable to find out what it meant online or in any dictionary. Everyone used it so commonly you had felt too embarrassed to ask.

"Obviously, this changes the process for you to apply for a mortgage. We need your husband to sign off either that he will partially own the house or have no claim over it."

"I don't understand- I'm not married," you said.

"No?" the man raised a brow at you, "When we searched for legal documentation of your name, we found that it hadn't been Y/N L/N for a few months, but instead Y/N Weasley. I didn't think much of you not having gotten around to changing your bank details yet since it hasn't been long, but going by your maiden name is a little strange. So, I assumed that the marriage was short-lived."

Why did Weasley sound so familiar? You wracked your brain for when you had heard it before.

"Heading out for a bit, Mrs Weasley?"

Your eyes widened.

The guy from the hotel.

"What did you say my husband's name was?" you said slowly.

"I didn't, but George Weasley," Mr Linseed replied, "You knew that, though, correct?"

You nodded, "Yeah... just making sure."

The man frowned at you, "He is quite well-known I suppose - the shop Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes is quite famous. Anyhow, here are the new forms that I need you to fill out and then we will be back on track."

You accepted them in a daze, but snapped your eyes up towards him again, "Where can I find Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes?"

"Diagon Alley, of course," Mr Linseed was clearly confused that you didn't know where your husband worked.

You had never heard of Diagon Alley, and he sensed that.

"You know? Through The Leaky Cauldron? On Charing Cross Road?"

Finally, a name you recognised.

"Oh, yes. Thank you, Mr Linseed, I'll be back soon."

God, what a process to get yourself a house.

***

You were pretty sure that in all your visits to Charing Cross Road, you had never seen that pub squeezed between those buildings before. But, you weren't about to complain, as you were desperate to find George Weasley and sort everything out. You couldn't remember his face, but you remembered his red hair and partially missing ear - that should be enough to identify him.

You hoped, anyway.

Upon entering the gloomy pub, you were met by quite a shocking sight - but one that wasn't entirely indifferent to Godric's Hollow. Except, you would describe the pub as having a more creepy ambiance, in a way. Beady eyes peered in your direction as you walked up to the bar, and you tried to hold your own as a woman with matted grey hair and disturbingly long fingernails smiled at you with missing teeth. You forced a smile back.

"Excuse me," you said to the bartender, who was similar to the woman in energy, "How do I get to Diagon Alley?"

He pointed to the door out the back.

"Just through that door?"

"You'll need your wand too," the woman who had smiled at you said, "To tap the wall."

"Wand?" you squeaked.

"I'll show you," the woman said eerily.

In any normal circumstance, you would have declined the offer, but you had already had so many new experiences you found yourself following her out the back.

"You're not one of us, are you?" she asked with a giggle of glee, pulling out a wooden stick from her pocket.

You didn't reply, watching as she brought it up and tapped some of the bricks on the wall. To your amazement, they then parted, presenting to you the most bustling and magical street that you had ever seen.

"Diagon Alley," she stated, "Although I prefer Knockturn Alley."

You thanked her, and hurried into the street.

***

The pet shops were strange: mostly having owls, cats and toads. The book shops were strange: having cages of moving books in the display windows. The clothes shops were strange: pretty much exclusively selling robes and pointed hats. All in all, Diagon Alley was the most eccentric place you had ever been.

There was a broomstick shop, a wand shop, and a place to buy cauldrons. You were so out of your depth that you decided you should focus on the task at hand.

It wasn't long before you found a bright and buzzing shop named Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, looking ten times more exciting than all the shops before it. You were almost overwhelmed with all the young people inside once you entered, and it finally became obvious to you that it was a joke shop. The numerous prank items on display were clearly enchanted in a way too, only furthering your amazement at this street.

You scanned around for a redhead, but it was really difficult to spot anything within the chaos. Eventually, you located a flash of red by the till and hurried over. The queue was unfortunately long, but you waited impatiently nonetheless.

When you finally reached the front, the red-haired man behind it looked at you, and you couldn't help but noticed he had two full ears.

"Are you buying anything, miss?"

"I'm looking for George Weasley," you said quickly.

He rose an eyebrow at you, "What for?"

"It's a long story, I really need to talk to him."

"I'll fetch him," he said, and disappeared out back for a few moments before returning with a man almost identical to him save for that all-too-familiar ear. He didn't look at you like he recognised you - maybe he drank so much he had memory loss too? That would make sense, considering he hadn't tried to find you either.

"Can I help you?" George Weasley asked, gesturing for you to move to the side so that his twin could continue at the till.

"This is gonna sound crazy, but," you took a deep breath, "You're my husband."

"You're right, that does sound crazy," he chuckled.

"You woke up in a hotel room a few months ago, right?"

His eyes widened, "I thought I hooked up with someone," he said, "Wasn't sure, though, because I woke up alone."

"Sorry about that. I don't really do hook-ups, I kinda freaked out and bolted."

"I don't really do hook-ups either," he shrugged, "No hard feelings."

"Anyway, as I said, it turns out we got married that night."

"Wow. I honestly can't remember anything."

"Me neither," you shook your head, "And we can't get an annulment - the cut off is three months. And we were way too efficient with sending off the marriage registration - we did it immediately."

He hummed, "That's quite a predicament. Divorce, then?"

You nodded, "Yes, obviously. But that will take ages, and I'm trying to buy a house for myself right now. I need you to sign off that you have no claim over it."

"That's no problem," thank God he was agreeable, "But what's your name?"

"Y/N L/N," you said, "Well, legally Y/N Weasley."

The man smirked at you, which admittedly made your stomach flip. Drunk you definitely had good taste: this man was gorgeous.

"Where's the house you're buying?" he asked.

"Godric's Hollow."

"Ah, my sister lives there," he hummed, "Nice village."

"Can I ask you a question - since you're my husband and all?" you didn't know why you added the last bit.

"Fire away."

"Why does everyone keep going on about muggles and wizards and witches and magic? I'm so lost, I don't know what's happening."

"Wait- you're a muggle?"

"As everyone apparently keeps saying."

He chuckled, "Oh, wow. My wife's a muggle."

"What does it mean?"

"I'll explain," he gestured towards the door to the back room, "But it'll be a lot to take in."

"I don't care, I just want an explanation."

And so, your husband, George Weasley, explained about the wizarding world that he was a part of. And how, by marrying him, you had automatically been granted permission by the Ministry of Magic to be an exception for all anti-muggle charms. Which was why you discovered the road to Godric's Hollow all of a sudden as a non-magic person, which you learned was what muggle meant.

At the very end of his explanation, you sat back in the armchair he had offered to you, "That explains so much. It's insane- but I'm relieved that it's not me going crazy."

"Must be quite a shock," he hummed, "I can't believe we got married. Are there any photos?"

"I mean, I suppose we could find the chapel we got married at and ask."

"Maybe it will trigger some memories of that night. I got drunkenly married - who knows what else I did?" he sighed.

"I don't know if I want to know."

George shrugged, "Better to find out that way than have a random woman come into your place of work and announce she's your wife."

You grimaced, making him laugh.

"I'm just teasing."

"Can I get your number? So I can contact you when I need to?" you asked.

George stared at you, "Number?"

"How do wizards and witches communicate?" you exasperated.

"By owl."

You blanked.

"You might want to get yourself one if you're moving into a wizarding village."

"How do they know where to go?"

"They just do."

You sighed.

***

"So, I phoned the chapel that we got married at and they confirmed that we signed the marriage registration and sent it off immediately," you said to George, taking a seat opposite him in your flat that you currently resided in, "They also posted this to me." You presented a large envelope to your husband and watched as he carefully opened it - even though it was already unsealed thanks to you.

He pulled out a marriage certificate: lettered in italic gold writing and clearly signed on the bottom two corners. As he pulled that out, another piece of card fluttered to the ground. You chewed your lip as you watched him pick it up.

"Wow," was all he said.

It was the same reaction you had when looking upon the photo of you and George at the alter: lips pressed together with smiles creeping on to your faces.

"We look so happy."

You hummed, "The photo hasn't triggered any memories for me."

You watched curiously as he waved it about. "It's weird that muggle photos don't move," he commented, "But- yeah- I can't remember anything more either."

"Maybe it's been too long," you reasoned, "Perhaps if we'd seen the photo the day after, it would've helped."

"Probably," he shrugged, "I can find a charm or potion that will help us remember - if you want to."

It hadn't occurred to you that magic was now a readily available tool.

"I'm not sure, to be honest," you said after a while, "I just really want to seal the deal on my house."

George nodded, "Of course, I'll sign the papers saying I have no right to it."

"Thank you for making this so easy," you said, giving him a warm grin, "When I found out I was married, I was so worried it was to a complete asshole."

"When I found out I was married, I thought it was simply a cute way a gorgeous woman had of flirting with me."

You felt heat rush to your cheeks at his comment. George was a stunning man: his damaged ear only added a rugged element to him, enhancing his beauty in a way that you didn't know possible.

He noticed your flustered reaction and chuckled a bit, "However, there is one problem with me signing those papers that your real estate agent really should've mentioned."

"What?" you filled with worry: that house was your dream house.

"If you're buying a house in the wizarding world, you're going to need a wizarding bank account."

"He kept going on about galleons," you thought for a moment, "But then he converted to pounds so I didn't think much of it."

George hummed, "Yes, but you're still going to need to pay in galleons."

"How do I get a wizarding bank account?"

"Only wizards, witches, squibs and muggles married to any of the former can access one. Oh, and muggles with magic children, even if they aren't married."

You realised what he was getting at. "So I can get one, but..."

"But it has to be a shared one with me."

You pulled your hands down your face, "But I love that house so much."

"I promise you I'm not trying to trap you."

"No, no- I get it. I just- that means I'd have to stay married to you until my mortgage is paid off. And that takes like thirty years."

"Even then, the bills would still need to be paid in galleons."

"Oh, fuck," you muttered, "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

George watched you in silence.

"I'm sorry. I'll divorce you and forget about the house," you said eventually, "It's not fair for me to force you to stay in a marriage for the rest of your life - I mean, I can't force you."

"I didn't say anything about that."

You frowned. In your mind, there was no other option.

"I'm willing to do it."

"George, it's just a house, you really don't need to-"

"I will," he reiterated, "You realise that if you divorce me, you won't be able to access the magic world anymore?"

It had become something you were so excited to explore that you were disheartened by that fact.

"It would be cruel for me to take it away from you, I think."

"But-"

"So, I will set you up on my bank account, sign off on the house, and stay married to you."

Your mouth was opened wide as you stared at him, and in a flash you had leaped across the coffee table in order to pull him into a hug.

"You're so amazing," you mumbled, hugging him tighter as he returned the embrace, "Thank you so much."

"Hey, anything for my wife," he chuckled.

Your heart stopped.

***

"I've had to change my name on my driver's license and passport and bank account and everything else," you sighed, "Such a hassle for a fucking house."

George, who was walking with you throughout the empty house that you had just officially bought, chuckled, as he seemed to enjoy doing, "You must really love this place."

You shrugged, "The house, I would probably get over. An entire magical world that I would lose access to? Not so much."

He hummed, gazing around the place. You had decided that he at least deserved to see the property that he had given up so much for you to own.

"I can't wait to begin decorating," you sighed, "I have big plans for the downstairs rooms and the master bedroom."

"What about the other bedrooms?"

"I'm not sure, to be honest," you pondered, "I'll probably make one of them an office, but the other two, I honestly don't know. It'll be a while before I have any kiddly winks running around."

"How come?"

"I need to find a man to create them with first," you reminded, "And that will be especially complicated since I'm married."

"Not if it's with me."

You were pretty sure his words held a joking undertone, so you laughed.

"Well, I shan't keep you any longer," you said, "I guess we'll keep in touch?"

"Stop by my shop as much as you can," George replied, but you sensed a slight trace of sadness in his voice.

Nonetheless, you smiled, "Of course."

***

Was two days later too soon to take George up on his offer of stopping by? Maybe, but life was too short for you to not do the things that you wanted to do. Plus, you were exhausted from moving furniture and painting (since you were stuck doing it the 'muggle' way), so a getaway from your new home was needed.

After getting someone from the Leaky Cauldron to let you into Diagon Alley, you made your way down to the corner that Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes sat on. You couldn't help the fond smile that tugged on your lips as you pushed open the door and heard the tinkle of the bell above you. The last time you were there, you had been too nervous about meeting your husband to properly appreciate the joyful buzz of the shop; it was truly a marvel to witness. You wish you had grown up with access to such extraordinary things.

"Hello," a redhead popped up beside you.

You jumped a little, not failing to notice the fact this man, although initially appearing to be George, had two full ears.

"Hello... Fred?" you attempted to recall his name.

He nodded, "I must say, I wasn't expecting my sister-in-law to pop by today."

It hadn't occurred to you that George would have mentioned his marriage to his twin brother, but now it seemed obvious that he would have.

"Is my husband here?" you asked, adding a joking undertone. Nonetheless, you couldn't help but notice how warm saying that made you feel.

"Of course, he's out back."

"Should I...?" you trailed off.

"You don't need to ask permission to go out back," he chuckled, in a strikingly similar way to George, "You're married to one of the owners."

"Yeah, but-" but before you could finish your sentence, your brother-in-law had disappeared. With a sigh, you proceeded on your way to the staff-only space, unable to push aside how special you felt being able to freely enter the area.

It was only when you caught sight of George's back did you realise that you had nothing to say and had simply stopped by.

"Y/N!" he smiled, turning around upon sensing your presence, "What brings you here?"

You shrugged, "You said to stop by often."

His grin stretched wider, "That I did, I'm glad to see you."

You felt shy after hearing him say that, and avoided eye contact.

"How's moving in going?"

"Oh- well. Exhausting, though," you sighed.

"I can't imagine having to do everything without magic," he said, "If you want any help to speed up the process, I'm more than willing."

You shook your head, "You've done enough for me."

"I could never do enough for you," he half-mumbled, but you heard it. You couldn't believe it, but you heard it. "I'm free this weekend," he said at a more regular volume.

"I mean- if you're sure-"

"Of course I'm sure."

"I-" you stopped yourself, "Thank you, George."

"Georgie!" a voice called from the front of the shop, not long before a short plump woman appeared in the doorway. "There you are," she said with hands on her hips.

"Oh, hi, mum," he said, "I wasn't expecting you."

"I was just in town looking to pick up your father a new shirt - I don't know how he wears them out so quickly!" she sighed, "I thought I'd take the chance to invite you over for a roast on Sunday."

You smiled at the evidently kind woman.

"And who is this?" she asked.

"This is Y/N."

"How did you two meet?" this time she had a glint in her eye.

"Uh, funny story, actually," George scratched the back of his head, "We're married."

You were surprised at his honesty with his mother.

The woman's eyes widened, "And you didn't tell me!"

"No one knew, mum- not even us," he quickly added.

She seemed to ignore what the last part of his statement implied, and swooped you into her arms, "Welcome to the family, my dear, we have a lot of time to make up for! You'll be coming on Sunday too, yes?"

She didn't give you a chance to reply.

"I'll have to tell your father immediately - do all your siblings know? I expect Fred does. Probably Ron too." She paused, "I haven't even introduced myself! Molly Weasley - call me Molly, of course."

"Mum-"

"Godric- I have so many people to tell! I'll see you both Sunday at four o'clock, please don't be late."

And with a hug to both of you, Molly Weasley departed just as rapidly as she had arrived.

"I'm sorry about that- my mum can be very full on," George apologised.

"I think she's sweet."

A soft smile graced his face, "Yes, she's a very lovely woman."

You hummed.

"I'll get you out of the dinner."

You frowned, "Why?"

"Well, my family will think you're- well-"

With a shrug, you replied, "I don't mind."

"I have a big family."

"I know."

"Most of them are quite loud people."

"That's okay."

"They'll ask a lot of questions."

"George, I want to meet your family," you realised as soon as you said them what your words could potentially mean.

"It's just- I- I don't want them to scare you away."

"Scare me away?"

He nodded.

You chuckled, "I'd like to see them try."

***

Sunday rolled around quickly, and as promised, George showed up at your house to pick you up at five to four. You figured that his parents must live very nearby if he was picking you up so late, but you hadn't given it much thought. All you had done was focused on yourself, dressing up what you deemed the adequate amount for a family event.

A knock sounded on the door, and you quickly rushed to open it, smiling when you were faced with the red headed man that you could call your husband. He was wearing a knitted jumper and baggy jeans, which was a relief to you since you also sported a knitted jumper, just with a skirt instead.

"Hello," you said, almost shyly.

"Hey," he replied, "You ready to go?"

"Yep, let me just-" you hurried back inside to grab the bouquet of flowers that you had bought for his mother, you weren't familiar with the guidelines for meeting family as you had never been in a relationship long enough to reach that stage, but flowers had felt like the right thing.

"Oh, for me?" he said teasingly.

You shook your head, dramatically holding them away from him, "You would be so lucky."

He chuckled, "Right, let's get going," he held out his arm for you to take, "You're gonna want to hold tight."

You frowned, but took his advice nonetheless, taking a firm grip of his bicep which had a hardness that made your heart flip. But before you could dwell on that thought, you felt like you had been sucked into a vacuum and spat out again in a split second. Your stomach cramped up and you felt nauseous as you fell on to grass in a completely new location.

"Sorry, that often happens the first time," George quickly helped you up along with the flowers, which thankfully were unharmed.

"Did we just- teleport?" you asked, holding your stomach. Thankfully, the nausea was already dissipating.

"We call it apparating but yes, we did."

"Why couldn't I be born a witch?" you whined, following George as he began walking up the path ahead of you.

You could only be amazed when the strangest house that you had ever seen came into view: looking like it should tumble over instantly with the mismatched extensions stacked on top of each other. Not too long ago, you would have been worried about its sketchy looking state, but now you immediately concluded that it was kept steady by magic. Even at the distance you still were from the house, you could hear a lot of noise coming from it.

"I bet you anything Fleur and Hermione insisted on being early," George grumbled, "Making my brothers look like angelic sons."

You smiled to yourself: his relationship with his siblings was making you want to reach out to your sister.

George didn't bother knocking when you reached the door, simply throwing it open and grinning at everyone who was stood around the kitchen. You couldn't help but feel some level of nerves as you were faced with so many strangers.

"George! Y/N!" Molly beamed, pulling you both into a hug, "I'm so glad that you could make it."

You presented the flowers to her, "I got you these."

"Oh, they're gorgeous!"

You watched as she pulled out her wand and arranged them in a vase without even using her hands. You didn't think observing magic would ever get old.

"Thank you, dear," she said, before turning to the others in the room. There was Ron, who you vaguely recognised from the shop, with a curly brown-haired woman on his side. Then there was the most ethereal woman that you had ever seen next to one of the more rugged looking men that you had seen in your time. There was also an older, balding, red headed man, who you suspected to be George's father.

"Y/N, you might remember Ron here," George said, and you nodded, "And this is his fiancée, Hermione. This is my dad, and over there is my oldest brother, Bill, and his wife, Fleur."

"Our little shit of a son is running around here somewhere," Bill added.

"Pleasure to meet you, Y/N," George's father shook your hand, "You can call me Arthur."

"I didn't realise you were bringing a guest, George," Hermione said.

"Oh, she's no guest," Molly smiled, "She's family."

The only person who didn't exchange confused glances was Ron.

"I'm his, uh, wife," you said, feeling awkward. You didn't really want to say it, because it felt like you were lying to them even though you weren't.

What followed was an array of congratulations, and Hermione accusing Ron of not telling her when he clearly already knew. And then, upon being asked, you both finally revealed that it was an accidental marriage upon which you were both very drunk. Molly was new to this news as well, but nonetheless, before you could give any more detail on where your 'relationship' with George currently stood, she spoke.

"As irresponsible as that was, I think there's something beautiful in the fact that you're now happily married."

While you weren't unhappily married, you didn't know how to say that you didn't know you were married until a couple months later, and that you weren't in a relationship with George. He said nothing to clarify, either.

That was when a small boy tumbled into the room.

"Ah, zis is Victoire," Fleur said, "Our son."

He was just as red headed as his father.

God, your kids with George would probably end up redheaded.

You internally froze at that thought - why had it seemed so natural to imagine yourself having kids with George?

You were yet again distracted from your mind, as seemed common in the Weasley household, when more people arrived. It was Fred and his fiancée, Angelina, as you soon learned. Shortly followed by Harry Potter, allegedly quite a celebrity, who was dating George's only sister, Ginny.

The only person to arrive alone was Percy, who had a much less chaotic energy than the rest of his siblings.

"You'll meet Charlie at some point," Molly said to you, "But he lives in Romania for his work with dragons."

It was insane to you that George had five brothers and one sister; having six siblings seemed like such a hectic upbringing. That thought almost led you to brush over Molly's mention of dragons - dragons?

Once again, you were introduced as George's wife, solidifying you in their eyes as a sister-in-law. These were your in-laws, you realised.

"Dinner's almost ready," Molly announced over the noise of all the people.

Many people rushed forward to help the woman with the finishing touches and laying the table, and you felt like an ass for not assisting as well, but you would have been of no help. They were all using magic, which was ten times faster than you could complete any task.

"What year did you graduate school? I can't remember you," Ginny said, evidently assuming that her lack of recognition was because you had been in a different year at Hogwarts from her. George had told you how most witches and wizards in a similar age group knew each other because of there only being one magic school in the country.

"I didn't go to Hogwarts," you said.

"Oh, did you study abroad?" she asked, walking over to the table with you.

"No, uh, I'm a- I'm a muggle."

Her eyes widened in realisation, "Oh! I see," she hummed, "That makes sense now that I think about it."

"You're a muggle?" Hermione, who had overheard, said.

You nodded.

"I'm muggle-born," she said, "I was raised muggle."

"I was raised muggle too," Harry added on, "But I'm not muggle-born."

After that point, Arthur Weasley kept posing an array of questions to you, explaining that he was fascinated by muggles, and it was even what had led him to having the job that he did. Wanting to be liked, you answered all his questions as best as you could, and found his childlike curiosity quite endearing.

"Leave the poor girl alone, Arthur," Molly scolded her husband.

"I don't mind," you replied, and, really, you didn't.

The food was absolutely delicious, to the point you almost moaned when you first put it in your mouth. You didn't think you had ever eaten such delectable food before, and you made sure that Molly knew.

Once the first course was finished and dessert was being brought out, Bill and Fleur stood up.

"We have an announcement to make," the latter smiled, looking to her husband.

"Fleur's pregnant," Bill grinned, placing his hand on her abdomen.

"Oh, that's wonderful news!" Molly exclaimed, "How far along?"

"Twelve weeks, two days ago," Fleur said, "In ze clear zone, as zey say."

"We don't know the gender yet," Bill added.

"For your sake I hope it's a girl," Molly sighed, "It took me six tries."

"We will be happy eizer way," Fleur said simply.

You couldn't help but get the sense there was some level of tension between her and Molly, so you leaned over to George as everyone began chatting again, congratulating the expecting couple.

"Do your mum and Fleur get along?" you whispered.

"Well, yes, but they haven't always," he whispered back, "My mum thought she was vain at first, even thinking that she would call off the wedding when Bill got that scar." He was referring to the large mark on his eldest brother's face.

You hummed.

"They've mostly resolved their problems now, but I think there will always be a bit of tension."

After dinner, you wandered around the home, observing all the moving pictures of the family.

"Aw, you were so cute back then," you said to George, looking at a photo of him as a toddler on a mini broomstick.

"Are you saying I'm not anymore?"

You shrugged.

"And how do you know that's me and not Fred?"

"You may be a twin, but there's only one of you, George," you said in passing, not realising how much those words meant to your husband. As much as he loved being an identical twin, there were times where he didn't want to be seen as part of a package deal. Even his mother struggled to tell him and Fred apart before his ear injury, but you- you could recognise him instantly.

Your gaze moved up the wall.

"That's an interesting clock."

It didn't tell the time, but instead had a hand for all of Molly and Arthur's brood, all currently pointing in the direction of 'home' apart from who must be Charlie, which pointed at work.

"Even on Sundays, he works," George sighed, "You know, there was a time where me and Fred had the same hand."

"Really?"

"Yeah, but after he moved in with Angelina, mum had it altered."

Your eyes flicked over the 'mortal peril' section of the clock, and you didn't realise you had read it aloud til he responded.

"Thankfully that hasn't served a purpose since the war."

It was unbelievable to you that such a life-changing war had happened while you remained completely oblivious.

"I suppose we'll have to expand the guest list for our wedding," Angelina approached you, making you turn away from the clock.

"Oh, you don't have to do that," you said.

"No, no. An extra person is hardly anything," she smiled, "You're family, of course you're coming."

Family.

"Well, thank you."

"Of course."

***

As you and George said your goodbyes and departed, you couldn't help but let out an elated sigh, "Your family is so warm."

He smiled, "I'm glad you like them."

"They're like, everything I want my in-laws to be."

"Really?"

"Yeah! Loud, happy, there for each other - with the slightest hint of drama, of course. They're perfect."

"We've been through a lot together."

"Yeah, I expect so."

You both fell into a comfortable silence, one that had you feeling content with your life in the most heart-warming way.

"You ready to apparate again?" George broke the silence when you reached the end of the path.

"As ready as I'll ever be," you grasped his arm tightly, prepping yourself for what was to come.

You didn't fall to the ground this time when you appeared outside your house, but you did still feel nauseous for a few moments.

"I'm really glad you came," George said.

"I'm glad too," you smiled.

And then there was silence - tension-filled silence. The kind of silence that led up to what you had secretly hoped would happen this entire time.

His lips on yours.

You moved your hands up to his hair as the kiss got more heated, flashes of memories dancing through your brain.

You met at the bar your cousin's bachelorette party was at, and began chatting. He was charming, and funny, and you were both really drunk. You went on a walk together - you walked past a chapel.

You had suggested getting married - jokingly, but he had then said.

"Why don't we?"

And so you did, giggling and laughing the entire time, even when you kissed. The kiss held the same magical feeling as it did now, that's what had triggered the memory.

He had kissed all along your jaw and neck as you both filled out the forms, and it wasn't long before you both booked a hotel and by all technical terms, consummated.

"I remember," you parted from him breathlessly, only to kiss him again.

"Me too," he mumbled, pushing you back against your front door.

"Do you want to come in?" you asked.

***

This time, you were the one to wake up alone in bed, but that wasn't the only difference. You remembered every single moment and sensation from the night before - and from your wedding night, for that matter. A smile almost crept on to your face, but it dropped when the panic set in that George had upped and left like you had before. You scrambled out of bed, pulling a shirt and some pants on, and then rushed down the stairs to see if he was anywhere in your house.

And he was.

There your husband was, in the kitchen, cooking a full English breakfast - using magic, of course. You had electric appliances installed when you moved in, since most magic homes didn't generally possess them, but with George there, you supposed they weren't really necessary.

"Hey, love."

Love. That's what he had called you all of last night and your wedding night.

It made heat travel to your ears.

"Hi," you replied shyly.

"Take a seat, I'm almost finished."

You obeyed, deciding to let the wizard take care of you, even though he really had done too much for you ever since you met him - the second time, that was.

Your dining table was a temporary one, as your entire home was still a work in progress: it wasn't easy decorating an entire house by yourself, especially without the assistance of magic. Nevertheless, it did the job. George came over with the food and sat opposite you, gesturing for you to dig in.

"Thank you," you smiled, picking up the cutlery.

"I told you, anything for you."

"You're too perfect," you mumbled, making George chuckle.

"My ear may be injured, but my hearing's fine."

You looked up at him to make eye contact, feeling like he could read you with his gaze, "Your ear makes you even more perfect."

"I'm glad you think so, would be a bit upsetting for me if you didn't."

"I aim to please," you grinned.

***

"You didn't tell me the wedding would be quite so soon," you huffed, straightening out the pastel pink dress you adorned in the mirror.

George shrugged, tightening his tie, "Didn't think about it."

You were, of course, in reference to Angelina and Fred's wedding, merely two weeks after the dinner in which you met the former. Out of all the moving boxes you still had left to unpack, you had been forced to dig for a suitable outfit that fitted the colour scheme.

Aside from work, you and George had been practically glued at the hip in the days since he first stayed at yours - and he had been consistently staying at yours ever since. He had probably spent about three nights total at his own flat in that time span. So much to the point that when he came over the day prior, he had brought his suit for the wedding with him, fully anticipating that he would be spending the night.

You hadn't put a label on what you currently were, other than legally married, as it was.

"We have to be early," he said, "Since I'm the best man."

"I'm aware," you replied, sitting on the edge of your bed to pull your shoes on, "I'm pretty much ready."

"Alright, let's go."

***

The ceremony was a beautiful occasion: held at the Weasley house, The Burrow. The entire garden was decorated beautifully in shades of pink, purple and white, with bouquets of flowers adorning every table and chair. Obviously, a drastic difference from your own wedding.

You were sat in the crowd while George was up near the altar with the maid of honour, but he was not your focus. Angelina was a transcendent bride.

When it came to the meal, you were - to your shock - sat on the primary table where the newly weds were. You supposed that it made sense, since George was obviously going to be sat by his twin brother, and you were his wife. Generally, married couples weren't separated at events. You were certainly relieved, since you hardly knew anybody else.

The only other people on the main table were Molly, Arthur, Angelina's parents, and Angelina's maid of honour and her partner. There was a second table for the rest of the Weasley siblings and their partners, and so on and so forth for more distant relatives and friends.

Once the toasts were made, the meal commenced, and you hadn't realised how hungry you were 'til that moment.

"Slow down, love," your husband commented, "I'd prefer if you didn't choke."

You shrugged, your mouth full. Once you had eventually swallowed, you said, "Much grander event than our wedding."

"We could always renew our vows," he said, and even though he had made many comments about wanting to do anything for you, and had done many intimate things to you in the bedroom (and elsewhere in your house, for that matter), it felt like the first real confirmation that you were in a relationship. Even more, that you weren't just in a marriage out of convenience, but instead because you simply wanted to be.

You parted your mouth to reply, when some children from Angelina's side began causing chaos by running around. "Lord, our kids better behave," you muttered.

George turned to look at you, and it was then that you became aware of what you had said.

"Our kids?" he was grinning.

"Shut up," you mumbled.

"Never - just let me know when you want to start, love," he winked at you.

"A bit too soon, I think."

He shrugged, "We got married within a few hours of knowing each other."

"We were drunk."

"We can get drunk again."

You sighed, "We don't even live together."

"I can move in."

You didn't have anymore rebuttals.

"Are you out of arguments now?" he asked.

You reluctantly nodded.

"Perfect."

***

Instead of apparating directly to your house, you and George decided to take a late night walk around Godric's Hollow. It was such a pretty village, and you had yet to appreciate its beauty in the dark, with all the magical lamps glowing around you. But, you knew that you and George needed to have a conversation, especially after the kids talk from earlier.

"Are we together?" you asked him, even though your interlocked hands should have answered the question.

"We're married, love."

"Yes, but are we together?"

"I'd like to think we are - do you?"

You remained silent for a few moments, before nodding and looking at him in the darkness of the night.

"Then there you have it."

"I just don't get why."

"Why what?"

"Why you've done so much for me when you hardly knew me."

George chuckled, "I admit, I don't know exactly when I made the decision to do anything for you, but when you strutted into my shop, determined as ever, and announced that you were my wife, I just-" he paused, squeezing your hand, "You looked so cute and I knew- in that moment- that I would never meet someone else like you."

You felt like you were melting on the spot.

"It may have seemed selfless that I helped you get the house - but, to be honest, it was the perfect excuse for me to trap you to me- make it easier for me to pursue you, that is."

"I love you, George," you sighed.

"I'm glad, because I've loved you for quite some time now."

"Love at first sight?"

"You would be so lucky."

You let out a childish giggle at that.

"But, yes, I think it was."

——————————————————

masterlist

written; 18/08/2023 —> 03/09/2023 published;04/09/2023 edited; —/—/——

[medlarmeadows]

///the suckening spoilers

thinking about arthur bennet and the twins. how a century ago the lives of one set of twin were robbed by his own hands, and how he might have inadvertently brought the lives of another set of twins together now.

thinking about how arthur would look at shiloh and emizel and wonder how his twins would have looked like if they had had the opportunity to grow up. would they have bickered and bounced off each other the same way these two do? would they have been very similar people or drastically different like how shiloh and emizel contrasted each other?

thinking about how arthur has an indifferent, almost cold exterior towards the twins, and yet he sticks around. says it's because deacon told him to, but deep down he knows better. he doesn't want to admit it but he knows it's because this was his second chance to be the big brother he never really got to be

and he still fucks it up anyways

thinking about how arthur abandons the twins to go to london. how in the short span of a day the twins had gotten into far more chaos than he would have liked. how none of it might have happened if he had been around (or maybe he wouldn't have been able to prevent any of it anyways because he can hardly rein them in)

thinking about how arthur would have looked at the wall covered in poker cards in the hotel room that was set up by the twins. how he would have been thinking about how naive and young they still were. how reckless and zealous they still were.

and how jaded he was now

thinking about how arthur clashed with the twins in the midnight circle. how different their goals and personality were, and yet they got out of it together. how if they hadn't succeeded, he might have lost another set of twins

thinking about how arthur would have looked at the twins at the end of the cullen games. at emizel who had let go of the idealistic thoughts he had about vampirism. at shiloh who had lost his innocence and realised the consequences of his actions.

and i wonder if arthur thinks this is still his path to guide them through the ways of being a vampire, in all its grim reality and fucked up-ness.

because although he lost so much of it, the twins might be his last tether to humanity.

[siremasterlawrence]

My Personal Virtual Transition

I won a weird competition to use a Spiralistix virtual reality A+ glasses at the laboratory I am assigned to go to and I pack my bags to head to London when I am greeted by a the limo driver.

The limo is rather bare all that I see is a less then twin like bed I lay down in when a pair of the goggles pop down and I place them on my head instantly a light flashes in my eyes.

I fall deep a sleep as my mind transfers over to the mainframe of the device leaving me in a pitch black room and I am left in darkness until a ball of light appears filing up the whole space.

The ball projects a image of a blank virtual male leaving me at a loss except I saw Tom Hardy in the ball showcasing him at some major celebrity event in a dashing suit I can only imagine.

Next thing I know suddenly I am falling in to a deep sleep body, mind and soul are soon transferring in to the ball all of sudden I am hit with a shock appearing at the event and I see it.

Crowds screaming as they are surrounding me, more hands reaching out to grabbing me too and pulling left, right, up, down and center until my eyes land on the glass door and window.

I am now literally in control of actors super sexy and hot ass mother fuckers body in the midst of the spectacle and I decide to play along with it taking his finger licking it and messing his hair up.

I flash a bright smoke showcasing my teeth then make my way down the red carpet my hands are in air and waving it to the sea of massive amounts crowds who are lusting after me.

I slap my ass hard while making a hot sizzle sounds, then make gun signal in my hand and shoot upward and make a weird facial expression as I ditch my wife to have some old fun.

Taking a second I sneak off to the private bathroom of the hotel locking the door a bit and start to undress my self slowly as I lay my cell on to the counter as it records my every movement.

Doing a sexy dance routine just live stream for everyone to see declaring that I am hot ass mess and I need to give myself to some one and he has no idea I am about to make him mine.

I grab my cock starting to pump it creating a heavy undulating movements as I I scream, howl, and shout in pain and pleasure before I cum and I feel the horror of Tom from inside of my body.

“Time to clean up this mess!”

“God! Look at this face “

“I am about to hit some pussy and ass”

“Yeah! I am talking about you bitch”

“Oh Stop! You are embracing this “

“I can feel your heart racing “

“Do not ignore me”

“Or deny my”

“This is my body now “

“Anyone let’s go “

“Hello everyone!”

“Let’s fucking party “

“Hey babe”

“Let’s dance “

“Are you ok Tom?”

“Yeah? By the way”

“Huh?”

“I want a divorce! Sorry babe! Bye”

I call for my limo, calls hotel to set up a room for me and we are off as they park and I am heading in to my hotel room disrobing me of my clothes stripping till my underpants as it all leaves me naked.

I stand in the mirror soon enough I see his reflection looking back at me with anger is ranging on and waving his fist at me so he is getting closer to me as close as the mirror gets closer to me.

He stood stronger in a super height equal to mine, his arms are wide across from me now padding his arms to his body and I love it I can feel the panic in his throat and the pure surge of energy.

“This is impossible! You cannot do this.”

“I am allowed to do anything I want.”

“I chose you “

“I am in control “

“This is my will”

“I will you to obey “

“FUCK You!”

“You will be fucking “

“Some ass”

“You evil creep”

“Evil? Creep? No! No!”

“Oh Tommy! Tom…Tom”

“I am Tom Hardy”

“I am Eddie Brock”

“Asswipe”

“On a deeper level “

“I understand you “

“I am suffering with mental health too”

“I am not as confident as I should be”

“We have to exude it”

“That’s a life”

“Stop falling it “

“Enough fueling it”

“I am your Master now”

“I consume you “

“There is no freedom”

“No free will”

“I love you Tom”

The end

[coq-courage]

You know how tons of people like the idea of Marc Anciel being Marinette Dupain-Cheng's cousin? (To be clear, it's a neat headcanon and I'm for it, buuuuuut.....)

I wanna ask these people if they ever thought about what that simple sentence means.

Are you creating a new aunt/uncle/auntcle for Marinette?

Because she does, as of canon season 5 ending, have ONE aunt on her mother's side and no siblings of her father

And her aunty is blatantly said to be a bit of a handful for Tom and Marinette, and living in LONDON, ya know? Where Felix is?

So any cousins would be English-speaking. At the very least

So if you're making Marc a cousin, his mom lives in London.... while he's living in France?

THIS is why I headcanon Marc as an exchange student or recent student to France

And why I headcanon his parents as divorced and he's living with his dad for the school year

Of course, his parents could actually be happily married, but then why is Marc in Paris?

Is he living in the bakery too?

Does he have a guest room?

Is he staying in grandma Gina's room?

Did he get put up in the hotel??

There are SO MANY logistical questions!! And they're all solved very easily...

Make up an aunt/uncle of Marinette to be his parents and make up whatever you like outside of canon to explain it as long as it makes sense

I still like going the route of Marc is the son of Sabine's twin sister, who we have canon knowledge of regarding approximate age, location, attitude

All this to say, hope you're having fun with your headcanons because I sure am and I can't wait to post some of them as fics to read

[melanieph321]

Ruben Dias/Trent Alexander Arnold x Reader - Dark Rivarly Part 7/15

Part 8 and 9 are already out on my Patreon for FREE!

Reader is Trent Alexander Arnold's twin sister. The two have been inseparable since childbirth, more so now when Reader is fresh out of university looking for a job, crashing at her brother's place whilst doing so. One day Reader gets a job offer that she cannot refuse, however it would mean working for her brother's biggest rival in football, Ruben Dias.

Enjoy!

London Fashion Week.

Ruben was attending a couple of shows for the weekend and booked for you to come along with him. He had you staying in a five star hotel. Separate rooms, of course. The moment you shared in Grandma's shop was passionate and true, however Ruben respected your request to keep things professional if you were to work form him, making yourself off limits to having any sexual relationship with him. Besides, you didn't want to do his assistant the honors of saying, I told you so. Miranda was already on your case as she too attended the fashion week with you and Ruben. She was determined to make sure that you didn't make Ruben look bad by dressing him in rabbit fur or something.

"What about this one?" You said, spreading out a second outfit on Ruben's hotel bed. The three of you had gathered in his room, finalizing what he should wear to the show that he was attending this afternoon. But per usual, Miranda disapproved of all of your decisions.

"It's too brown." She complained.

"Right." You nodded. "And by that you mean what exactly?"

Miranda looked at you fretfully, but she did owe you a factual explanation.

"It's too country." She shrugged. "I know it's a Louis Vuitton, but come on, who wears a leather jacket to a fashion show?"

You crossed your arms. "Ruben will."

"Is that so?"

"Yes, when I ask him. Ruben!" You called him into the room. "Can you come here for a second?"

The door to the bathroom slid open and Ruben stepped out with wet hair and a towel wrapped dangerously low around his waist. "What's up?" His head shifted between you and Miranda.

"Quick question." You said, stepping forwards. "Which outfit do you prefer to wear for the show this afternoon, this one or that one?" You pointed to the clothes on the bed.

Ruben's eyebrows furrowed, looking to ponder the question. You looked at Miranda who's eyes were already narrowed at you in suspicion.

"I dunno?" Ruben chuckled. "Which outfit do you want me to wear? They both look fine to me but you're the stylist."

"Agreed." You said. "I'm thinking the brown Louis jacket with all black underneath."

"Cool." He smiled.

"But a brown leather jacket to a fashion show, come on Ruben" Miranda protest altered Ruben's return to the bathroom. But then he glanced at you, his expression softening. "If Y/N thinks it's good, then it's good."

You exhaled in relief once the bathroom door closed behind him.

"Just know...." Miranda warned you, her face red underneath all of that pale foundation. "....anything bad written about Ruben this weekend and I'm blaming you."

You rolled your eyes as she left the room. You did a little happy dance on the carpet to celebrate the small victory. Just then the bathroom door slid open again, Ruben stiffening in the frame, his eyes laced with amusement. "Everyone's enjoying themselves I see."

"Oh my god, Ruben. I'm...."

"More than welcome to keep dancing if you want to." He laughed.

Heat rose to your face. You crumbled with embarrassment. "It's just that....it's just that Miranda..."

"I know, I know. She can be a bit of a pain in stressful situations." He pushed off the wall that he had been leaning against and walked towards the bed, grabbing the black shirt that would go with his outfit. You unremorsfully watched him get dressed. And Ruben had the audacity to drop the towel wrapped around his waist, simultaneously looking you in the eye. You turned your head towards the windows, not giving him the pleasure of seeing you blush. Once he wore pants again you grabbed a roller and started nipping away little dust particles that might have stuck to his shirt, helping him look flawless ahead of the show.

"I'll be back around lunchtime." He said, as you circulated him with the roller. "I was thinking that I should take you out for lunch. I have a friend who owns this art gallery that we can go to."

"Ruben." You stop nipping dust off his shirt, raising your head to look at him. "That sounds lovely, really."

"But?" He said, knowing that it was coming.

"But..." You sighed. "I think it's a bit inappropriate for me and you to have lunch together."

He chuckled. "It's just lunch Y/N. Everyone has to eat, no?"

"Maybe. But taking me to an art gallery at the sametime sounds more like a date, don't you think?"

"Call it what you want." He shrugged. "A date, a none date. I just want the pleasure of treating you to a nice meal as thank you for your hard work."

"You can thank me by paying me Ruben."

A moment of silence.

"Y/N?" His hand cupped your chin, raising it for you to look at him again. His kind eyes lit a fire within you, a fire that you were more than afraid to express. "Please join me for lunch." He smiled, perhaps well aware of what he was doing to you.

"Okay." You surrendered.

His smile widened. Just as he brought your lips forwards there was a cough.

"Miranda!"

She stood by the door, looking less than pleased at the sight of you and Ruben, standing so close. "The car is downstairs." She said, acknowledging Ruben, ignoring you.

He cleared his throat. "Right. I'll go grab my phone."

With that the two of them left, leaving you to explore London in the meantime.

You went on a light shopping spree, less compulsive compared to your university days. Right around lunchtime you received a text from Ruben, air dropping you the address to his friends art gallery. You arrived before him, with the gallery only having a few visitors for the hour. Your attention had been glued to a peculiar painting when there was a tap on your shoulder.

"Hey. Sorry I'm late." It was Ruben, with two Subway sandwiches in his hands. "I also got you a lemonade. I wasn't sure if you drank soda with your food. I don't."

"Thank you Ruben, lemonade is fine."

He sat down next to you on the bench placed just in front of the painting you had been regarding. It was massive, almost covering the entire wall.

"Do you like it?" Ruben asked, taking a bite of his sandwich.

"What is it supposed to resemble?"

Perhaps that's the reason why you were drawn to it in the first place. It had bright colors that formed an abstract pattern across the canvas. The painting was called City of Love but the painting resembled nothing of Paris, the actual city of love. Nor did it resemble any actual landscape on this planet earth.

"That's for you to decide." Ruben said. He continued to explain his friend's intentions with the painting, that it was about the importance that the eyes of the beholder had on art culture. That art only meant something when the audience felt like it meant something.

"So it's what I make it to be?"

Ruben nodded. "Anything you like. For instance I think it's a tale of two lovers struggling to find each other amongst a city full of lovers."

You frowned.  "A bit far fetched, don't you think?"

Ruben shrugged. "It's how I interpret it."

"Hmm."

"Can't you see them." Ruben leaned closer, attempting to pinpoint where to find the lover and his beloved amongst the splashes of color on the canvas. "He's right there." He whispered. "Waiting for her to accept his love and run into his arms."

"And is she?" You asked, Ruben's breath warm against your ear.

"You tell me?"

You chuckled, but regarded the painting thoughtfully. "I don't think she's running Ruben."

"No? What is she doing then?"

"She's taking her time, I suppose. When the time is right they'll find each other. Then she'll be in his arms."

"That's...."

"There you are!"

You jumped in your seat as a voice approached you from behind. You turned around to see a well dressed man, beaming from ear to ear as he approached you and Ruben. "I thought you said you were too busy to come visit me during London's most lucrative weekends?"

"I'm here aren't I?" Ruben stood up to embrace his friend.

"And I see you brought a friend, a beautiful one at that." He looked down at you with his sparkling blue eyes. "Hello love. I'm John, John Stones."

"My teammate." Ruben said, as he watched the two of you shake hands.

You knew who the man was, you knew of all of the City Players. Your family would usually curse their names whenever Man City played Liverpool.

"Yes, but unlike Ruben, I'm not so into the sharades that fashion week brings." John winked. "I'm only here to promote the art that's been coming through my gallery. It's a perfect time to throw an exclusive party whilst all celebrities are in town. Apparently people are dying to get an invite to the party tonight. You're both invited of course."

"A party?" You turned to Ruben. "I thought I was dressing you for another show?"

Ruben looked at you, a flash of guilt in his eyes. "I asked Miranda to cancel my invite. John has been asking me to see his gallery in London for years, now is finally my chance. I hope you understand."

"I understand." You smiled. "But what are you planning on wearing?"

"I dunno, this?" Ruben down on his current outfit.

"Nah, ah, over my dead body."

"What?"

"You have to change." You said. "Miranda will kill me if she finds out I let you wear the same outfit twice in one day, during fashion week of all places. No, we are going back to the hotel to change,  immediately."

"Better listen to your girl Ruben." John laughed.

Ruben chuckled as he let you drag him out of his friends gallery, not letting go of his hand until you reached the hotel.

***********************************

You arrived at the gallery four hours later, by then night had fallen with a lot of well dressed people now queuing to get into Ruben's friends art gallery. You wore one of the tops you had bought during your shopping spree. It was cute but not nearly as fashionable as what the people around you were wearing.

"Champagne?" A waiter offered. You gladly accepted the flute, surprised to see that a whole catering company had been hired for the evening. The gallery was getting crowded with people you recognized as professional football players, celebrities and their dates for the evening.

"Wow, Johnny really went all out for the night." A young man said, approaching you and Ruben. You recognized him as another Man City player, Nathan Ake was his name.

"He really cares about his art." Ruben nodded. As the guys continued to make small talk you took the opportunity to slip away.

"Fuck me." You sighed, grabbing your coat, desperate for some fresh air. Apparently you took a wrong turn somewhere and ended up at a Man City meet and greet. All the players were here to watch John's art, all of whom you recognized and some that might recognize you as.....

"Y/N?"

"Trent?"

You were moving towards the exit, now hyperventilating for a sip of air, when the person holding up the door for you turned out to be none other than your twin brother.

"Trent? What are you doing here?"

"What do you mean?" He smiled, both happy and surprised to see you. "I was invited. What about you?"

"I...."

This was not good, not good at all.

"I'm working as a stylist Trent,  I told you that. By whom exactly were you invited?"

"What do you mean, by whom? John Stones, of course."

"You know John? How?"

Trent snorted. "What do you mean how, we've played on England's men's team for years now, haven't we? Why do you ask, didn't he recognize you?"

"Me? Why would he....?" Had the two of you met before?

"Fuck."

"Wow, you good sis? You look amazing by the way."

"Trent, can you get me out of here?"

"Um, why, do you feel sick?" He tilted his head to check on you.

"Yes, that's why I need to get back to my hotel."

"Um, sure. Just a sec, let me say hello to John first."

"No!" You exclaimed, like a crazy person. "There is no time."

Trent looked taken aback, but snorted. "Of course there is, I'll be quick. Look, there he is, let me just...."

"Trent no..." Your eyes widened with panic seeing John's tall figure heading your way. "I'm on my period please, I need to get back to my hotel quickly."

Trent seemed conflicted. He had arrived with a friend but nodded for him to go ahead without him. "Okay, let's go. I'll take you back to your hotel."

"Thank you."

It was a disaster avoided. There was no need for Ruben to know who you really were, at least not now. Things were perfect now. Telling him the truth might change things. From your experience it often did.

[laughroditee]

Your Ghost | a COD fanfic - Part 1 - Knight of Swords

CW: this story takes place after Soap's death and contains supernatural elements, tarot, mentions of death and blood

I didn't want to make the chapters too long (I'm unsure what the proper netiquette is for word count), so it will continue in subsequent posts.

Summary: An American tarot reader finds herself inextricably linked to John MacTavish, whose ghost needs a favor from her before he can rest.

Mood Music:

The first time I knew something was wrong was a few months ago when, out of nowhere, an excruciating pain shot through my head, causing me to scream and promptly pass out.  The dreams that followed in my unconsciousness were heavy and sad: bagpipes at a funeral playing their mournful melody for a person I didn’t know.  I had been at work that day, like any other day, but when I woke up, I was in the hospital.  Doctors ran so many tests on me, thinking perhaps I’d had a brain aneurysm, but scans of my brain were clear, and subsequent tests showed that I was right as rain.  Totally healthy.  I returned to my everyday life, with the only complication being the inexplicable migraines that continued to plague me.

Then came the wanderlust.  The nasal sound of bagpipes continued to wheedle their way into my dreams, and pretty soon, I became possessed with the need to go to the UK.  It became a matter of life and death.  I didn’t even have a passport, but knew I had to go.  Where exactly, I wasn’t even sure.  Scotland would make sense, considering the bagpipes, but my gut said no.  No, that’s not right.

So I did what any good woo-woo witchy person would do: I pulled out a map of the UK and my pendulum and asked for assistance narrowing down my intended destination.  Stilling my mind, I took a deep breath, focusing on the amethyst pendulum dangling from my hand.  The crystal twitched and spun before swinging slightly right, south on the map.  I followed the pendulum south over Scotland, past Northern England, toward London, but the crystal had other ideas, sending me back north.  It spun in circles around a location: Manchester.

That’s how, months later (had to wait for my passport), I found myself at the Brittania Hotel in Manchester, in one of their “standard twin rooms without a window.”  I never really knew how much I liked windows until I didn’t have one, but that’s beside the point.  At least I got a private bathroom, a coffee maker, and a TV, so I can’t complain too much for $44 per night.  Besides, this entire trip was an exercise in insanity, so why not add in some sensory deprivation while we’re at it?

As soon as I stood on UK soil, I knew this was the right place; that intuitive nudge felt like a soothing affirmation.  And that’s a great thing because simply being up in the air triggered another migraine, and I was afraid I’d puke on the guy next to me.  After unpacking my bag in the hotel room, I flipped a card from my tarot deck: The Knight of Swords.

The Knight of Swords talks about action, as all Knight cards do.  There’s a sense of motion, movement, and moving forward inherent there, with The Knight of Swords having the connotation of almost overwhelmingly swift movement; in fact, you can interpret it as needing to take heed that you’re not leaping before you’re looking.  (What irony.)  But that’s only one part of the story as the suit of the card will tell you what’s moving.  Swords in the tarot represent the element of air, so all things related to logic, ideas, communication, words, writing, and thoughts.  Holistically, you can interpret The Knight of Swords as needing to make sure you check your words before you say things so that you become aware of any potential obstacles on this path that you’re charging down. But, ultimately, you have the clarity of mind to overcome any challenges.  Where there’s a will, there’s a way.

However, the court cards in tarot can also signify people: kings as men or masculine energy, queens as women or feminine energy, and pages as children or youthful energy.  Knights, though, are tricky.  They can symbolize people of any gender, anywhere from age twenty-five up to forty, people who move in and out of our lives, physical travel, change, or pure energy and where you’re focusing it.  It can be hard to know what the “correct” interpretation is in any given reading, with so many meanings to consider, but I usually just go with my gut or pull some more cards for context.  In this case, why not both?

Pulling two more cards from the deck, I laid them out on the bed next to the first one: Death and the Three of Swords.  Contrary to popular belief, the Death card doesn’t usually mean death or foretell of someone dying.  It means change and transformation, the end of a cycle and the beginning of a new one.  The Three of Swords features an illustration with three swords stabbing through a bleeding heart: heartbreak, but sometimes literal heart health problems.

"Wow, bad day," I said as I looked over the cards.

I suddenly felt a presence in the room that wasn’t there a minute ago, the hairs on the back of my neck and my arms standing on end.

"Ye finally made it, lass."

My head whirled around so fast that the ends of my bobbed hair stabbed me in the eye.  I shot to my feet, spilling the rest of my cards to the floor.  “Fuck!” I whined, cradling my stinging, watering eye as I stumbled backward. 

Deep, apparently very amused laughter rang out in the room, and I was astonished to see a man there, wearing some kind of military getup, a mohawk cut into his dark brown hair. Oh, and he was semi-transparent.

I backed away slowly, my hand clapped over my eye.  There is no way in Hell.  “What the fuck, are you a ghost?” 

His expression sobered as he nodded his spectral head.  “Unfortunately.”  

“What do you want?” I asked, my voice a couple of octaves higher than it would typically be.  The urge to scream was overwhelming, and he put his hands out placatingly. 

”Easy, love,” he cooed, keeping his voice as soothing as possible so as not to spook me further.  “We have a blood tie.”

“What?”  The man — ghost? ghost man? — could tell me he was king of Scotland, and I don’t think that would change my hesitation or the level of existential panic I felt at that moment.

“We’re kin,” he said with a little more force, trying to reach me through my brain-melting anxiety.  “Family.  Somewhere along the line, we share blood.  Is it so hard to imagine?  Big world like this?”

“I’m literally talking to a dead man,” I say as my inner thoughts bleed out of my mouth.  Either my imagination is amazing, or I’m having a breakdown.  Maybe there really was something wrong with my brain, and they just couldn’t find it.  Maybe the migraines were making me hallucinate.

“Evangeline!” 

That caught my attention, my blue eyes snapping to his in shocked confusion.  “How do you know my name?”

He had the audacity to sound frustrated.  “Like I said, we share a blood tie.”

"Oh, of course.  That obviously explains everything.  I’m so relieved."

He smirked.  “Yer a wisearse ye are.”

Well, he did get one thing right anyway.  “How come I don’t know your name then?”

”Because I’m dead, and ye’re not.  It’s John, by the way.  John MacTavish.”

Examining him warily, I ask, “So we’re, like, cousins or some shit, John MacTavish?”

He shrugged, pushing his long sleeves up his forearms, which is such a mind-boggling thing to think about a ghost doing — like, what’s the purpose of that? Is he too warm?  “I dunnae know exactly, lass; I just know that I was pulled to ye.  And ye answered.”  It was then that I noticed the ghostly blood on the side of his head, his presumably fatal bullet wound in the exact place where I felt my migraines.

My stomach dropped into what felt like a vat of ice.  “Oh… Oh no. I’m not a medium!  I don’t see dead people!” I desperately pleaded with him, trying to convince him he'd gotten the wrong girl. “I just sling cards; I don’t do any of that other stuff!”

”And yet, here I am.  Here ye are.”  He put his hand on his hip.

“Yes, but… Why?  Why are you here?  What do you want from me?”  Then I saw his tattoo.  With a sudden motion, I moved quickly forward — I think I actually startled him — and I bent my head down to look at his forearm.  Nested inside of laurels was a sword with wings, topped by a knight’s helm and crown.

”Knight of Swords,” I breathed, astonished.  Rushing back, I grab my card from the bed, brandishing it as I return to where he stands.  “This is you?  You did this?”

The ghost of John MacTavish looked down at me with a serious expression.  “I did.  I need yer help, Evangeline.  Yer the only one who can do it.”

Part 2

[moghraidhs]

jackbucky pt iii (sequel to this and this)

Bucky’s alone when he wakes up.

Daylight looks in through the curtains, cold and grey, a sharp contrast to the bright orange-red flashes of the bombs the night before. Somewhere on the street, he can hear a kid calling out news headlines, shrill voice mingling with the rumble of traffic.

The other side of the bed is cool, the blankets neatly folded over. Jack must’ve been gone for a while. Bucky hadn’t even heard him leave.

Last night flashes before him in fragments, a brightly coloured kaleidoscope. The train ride to London. Settling into their hotel. Dinner and dancing. Jack, smiling. Jack, kissing him. Jack, Jack, Jack–

And now he’s gone.

It should hurt less, Bucky thinks vaguely. He’s not exactly a naive kid any more, and it’s hardly the first time he’s found himself alone after a rendezvous.

Except that this hadn’t been some rushed affair behind the pub or in an empty storage room on base, the kind that seemed alright at first but always left him feeling cheap and almost bruised after. For the first time in a long time, he’d felt special. Treasured, almost. Like the kind of guy who was worth more than a roll in the hay.

As usual, though, he’d only seen what he wanted to see.

Bucky sits up slowly. His clothes are still on the bedroom floor, a jumbled heap of drab olive. He’ll need to get them pressed again before he leaves. There are twenty-four hours (almost) left on his pass, and he might as well take the opportunity not to be sober. It’ll be a good distraction from the ache in his chest.

I don’t even feel it. The well-worn words slip into his thoughts, the accompanying numbness not far behind. Say it enough times and it becomes true, right?

I don’t even feel it. He’s still thinking it when the door opens.

“You’re up,” Jack says. Twin spots of colour bloom on his cheeks. “I didn’t think you would be awake for a while yet. They serve breakfast here, so…” He gestures awkwardly at the tray in his hands.

Bucky stares at the tray, and then back at Jack. “Oh,” is all he manages.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d be hungry or not. You usually just drink coffee in the mess hall.”

Usually too hungover to have much of an appetite. Bucky doesn’t say that out loud, though. “Thanks, Jack.”

Breakfast is nice. There’s toast and eggs (not powdered, thankfully), along with bacon and strong black coffee.

There are flowers too. A small white vase with a few violets. Bucky stares at them and feels something unfurl in his chest, fragile as gossamer.

“Where did you get the flowers?”

Jack shifts awkwardly on his chair, looking embarrassed in a way Bucky never imagined he could. “The lady at the front desk had them. I knew you liked them, so I asked if I could take some.”

Oh.

“I thought you left.” Bucky wants to stop the words, but they tumble out anyway into the cool air, sharp-edged and painful. “I thought you left and…”

He trails off. Jack is looking at him, startled, and the ache burrows deeper.

Fuck, he’s pathetic.

He takes a deep breath and starts again.

“Look, this weekend doesn’t have to mean anything, alright? I know I’m not the type you’d want for more than a good time anyway. But please…don’t make it seem special. I’ve gotta walk away from this with some dignity. I’m owed that, at least.”

Silence stretches between them, broken only by the sounds of motors outside. Bucky doesn’t let himself look at Jack. He can’t.

“What makes you think,” Jack says at last, his voice quiet in a way Bucky has never heard before, “that this isn’t special?”

Bucky looks up. Grey eyes meet his, as deadly serious as they are on mission days.

“I’m not going to make any fancy speeches; I’m no good at it. What I am good at is facts, so here they are.” Jack swallows. “This is special. You are special to me. And as long as you’ll have me, I’m not going anywhere.”

Hope, Bucky realises. That’s what the feeling is.

He wants to say something eloquent in response, but the words get tangled up on the way to his mouth. What comes out instead is, “Prove it.” Half dare, half plea.

Jack just looks at him with those serious eyes, something sparking to life inside them. “As often as you’ll let me.” He leans over and kisses Bucky, slow and deep.

(Turns out often is quite a lot.)

[hatchetfield-omegaverse]

Do you have any further curtwen headcanons? NSFW or SFW

I have so many curtwen hcs it's not even funny.

Spies Are Forever Omegaverse Headcanons: Curtwen Pt.3!!

Curt first told Owen that he loved him in Venice. They were already in a physical relationship at this point, however neither of them had said anything for fear of ruining what they had.

However that all changed when Owen nearly sacrificed himself to save Curt. He had nearly died without knowing the true extent of Curt's feelings. Something he had to rectify.

So once they were safely in their hotel room, Curt laid everything on the table.

Owen in response bluescreened and wasn’t able to speak for the rest of the night.

Curt, for his part, thought that Owen didn't feel the same and was trying to find a way to let him down gently and didn't press the issue further.

It wasn't until they were back in London the next morning that he responded.

“I love you too, y’know? I realized I never said it last night, was too shocked to say anything. But I do.”

After that they use Venice and London as codes for I love you when they're not able to truly say the words aloud.

Curt has trouble keeping regular partners due to his unorthodox methods. It's why he's able to work as closely with Owen as he does. Their success rate together also helps.

They regularly get into debates over if they're called ‘fries’ or ‘chips’.

Owen is very staunch in his beliefs that they're chips. Curt, for his part, doesn't really care what they're called, but he loves teasing Owen so he corrects him every time.

Curt's father passed before his mother, Lorraine, knew that she was pregnant. He's named after his father.

Well actually, his name is really ‘Fuck Curtis Mega’.

Lorie had a difficult birth and, when they nursed asked what his name was, it just slipped out.

She had it changed when she realized of course. But, tucked away in a baby, is Curt't original birth certificate, the name reading Fuck Curtis Mega.

Owen loves to visit Lorraine with Curt. She's like the mother he never had growing up.

Lorrie figured out a long time ago that they're a couple, but she figured that it's a secret due to them working for different countries, so she hasn't said anything.

She also wants Curt to feel comfortable enough to tell her himself.

That doesn't stop her from planning their wedding in the meantime though.

Curt's least favorite food is oatmeal. It's a texture issue for him. However whenever he's in a particularly self hating mood, he punishes himself by forcing himself to eat it.

Owen will force him to eat something he actually likes if he sees.

Personal hc of mine: Owen doesn't know this, but his parents only ever wanted one child. However Alice gave birth to twin boys. Not wanting to raise two children, they took the youngest boy to Cuba and gave him up so that he wouldn't be able to find them again. The boy was eventually adopted and grew up to be Sergio Santos.

I hope you like these, Nonny, I have so many saf hcs. And if you'd like to send in a request, just hit me up. My inbox is always open.

[samcatcher]

When in London.

chapter 4. masterpost

“Do you have any siblings?” Sam asked me as we walked out of the house and onto the quiet street.

“Yeah, just one. I have an older brother called Michael. He lives in central Paris.” I replied.

“That’s cool. Your house must have been quiet growing up. I have 3 siblings who are all musically inclined. You probably remember.” Sam added and laughed a little.

“I remember your brother who used to work at the market, that’s all. I thought he was your only sibling. I thought it weird how some days he would be kinda quiet and some days he would be loud. It was like he was two different people.” I said.

Sam started laughing.

“He was two people. My brother jake. They’re identical twins.” He said through laughter.

“What? No way. So is the twin in the band? Is that the brothers you were referring to sharing a hotel room with?” I asked fast, shocked.

“Yes. Now I hope you see why I wanted to avoid that at all costs.” Sam smirked.

“I do see that now. Who’s the other sibling then?” I laughed and then phrased my question.

“My older sister Ronnie. She’s cool but she’s not too interested in the band.” Sam stated.

“So you’re the baby?” I asked, trying not to tease because I knew I was too.

“Just like you.” Sam added in the same tone.

A bus later, we ended up at the nearest hardware store. Sam pushed the cart and I followed him to the wall of paint samples and build your own buckets.

He seemed uninterested at first but once I stared at him despairing, his poker face dropped and he turned into his passionate decorator mode. Immediately scanning the wall and picking out samples I can narrow down to one color.

He eventually held about ten samples of different colors. All giving off a different vibe from each other. My eyes were set on this beautiful orangey peach color. 

“See the greens are good if you want some sort of nature themed room. Living in London probably isn’t as naturistic as Michigan so you might wanna get back to home. Although these pink colors work really well with plants. So either way I guess you're turning your room into somewhat of a forest. If that’s what you were going for anyway.” Sam explained passionately. I made sure I took in every word.

“I do have a lot of plants.” I said smiling, I picked up the peachy sample from his hand and looked at it one more time.

“What do you think?” I added.

“I think it’s absolutely perfect.” Sam answered.

Somewhat impulsively, I decided to get two cans of the peachy color my eyes were set on from the get go. I found it immensely summery and perfect compared to the dark green leaves on all of my house plants.

We got various paintbrushes and rollers too. I also got a small can of plain white because all of my furniture was that color and Sam told me he had a trick to patch up white furniture that's been stained or chipped. 

We called a cab back to the house, Sam insisted on paying for it, I let him. 

We struggled to take everything up the stairs, Danny and Amelia weren't there so we just assumed they had gone to do something in London together as a family.

Sam helped me put a giant tarp down onto the hardwood floor, we taped it extra carefully to the floor and baseboard, so that we were sure not to get any paint on the ground. We put tape on the top of the white baseboard also, and over the plugs and light switches. Taking extra precautions.

Once everything was protected, Sam brought in all of the supplies and opened the first can of paint. We stared in awe at the beautiful orangey pink color. And I imagined how it would look on my currently white walls. I was filled with excitement, a massive smile crept on both of our faces.

I lent Sam an oversized white t-shirt. He didn’t have any spear shorts but he didn’t mind. He said he had better pairs at home anyway. He went to the bathroom to change.

Suddenly my phone started to ring, obviously it was Jean.

I was quick and blunt with the conversation, I didn't feel bad because I had the excuse that I was about to paint, I didn't tell him that I was painting with Sam though because it would just cause problems. Jean has always been jealous, so I knew that if I was talking to another guy while he was in an entirely different country, it wouldn't sit well with him.

After a quick 'I love you bye' I put the phone down and put it on to not disturb it. I didn't need any more distractions from him.

Sam came in about 3 minutes later. His hair was pulled into a tight messy bun, the shirt I lent him was oversized on him just as much as me, you could barely see the shorts. He noticed this and tucked one corner of the shirt into his shorts to make it look less large.

“let's get to work then, are you sure about this?” he asked and raised an eyebrow. 

Then he smiled suddenly as I nodded. He started on the wall with the window on it. Carefully dragging his paintbrush along the seam of the window, so that it didn't graze the windowsills and window frame. Watching him do it was mesmerizing, he was so precise with his hands.

I chose the wall which held my own door to the balcony, I did what Sam did and carefully made my way along the edge of the doorframe. About five minutes of painting went on, and suddenly Sam stopped, looked at me and shook his head. Then he walked out of my room.

Then 2 minutes later he walked in with a Bluetooth speaker he must have brought with him.

“There's no way we can paint without music, Lyla.”

It tingled in my lips as he said my name.

I laughed and let him choose what to play, he didn't even ask for my opinion on what he should put on, he said he wanted to play something he knew I would like.

Joni Mitchell's Blue.

I loved that album, I pretended that I just liked it, he seemed like the 'I told you so' type so I didn't want him to get too cocky on his assumption.

The songs played and we sang along while we covered my walls in the peachy shade. The more the walls were covered the brighter and more me the room felt. Sam's wall was halfway done after the album finished, and mine was about a quarter.

As soon as it finished he went back over to his phone, and without 10 seconds to spare he hit play on Don McLean's American Pie, god Sam had taste.

Halfway through the first and iconic song on the album he stopped painting and started to sing and approach me. Then he took my hand in his and spun me around, we shitty danced for about a minute. Finally, I giggled and said;

“Come on, we have to finish painting! You have a show soon.”

He grunted and looked up at the ceiling.

“As soon as that show is over, I'm coming right back up here. We're finishing this tonight!”

I laughed and shot him a 'sure we will' look. Then he smirked and went back to painting his section of the wall.

About 2 hours had gone by, Sam's wall was completely finished and he had approached the wall next to it, the wall in which my bed would be against.  My wall was just about finished too, so I moved onto the wall that housed my bedroom door.

After American Pie he chose the classic Hunky Dory by David Bowie. This one was one of my all time favorites. Especially when I had just got to France, I listened on repeat. I vocalized how much I loved this album, and he smiled so genuinely, then wiggled his eyebrows.

“You seem the type.” He said as he focused on his wall.

I smiled.

This time I initiated the dancing, and he didn't resist, he grabbed my hands immediately and spun us around, while we sang to the chorus of 'Oh! You pretty things.' And in a fit of laughter, I collapsed against the wall behind me, which was covered in wet paint.

“Oh shit!” I said, trying to get a good look at my back, Sam laughing next to me.

“It looks quite cool actually, I don't think you should keep wearing that though, you might spread that peachy infection around the house.” He laughed.

I groaned and looked through my suitcase that I had moved into the kitchen. I found a shirt that I had taken from Jean's closet and put it on, leaving the messed up shirt in a carrier bag next to my suitcase.

I walked back into my room to find Sam still painting, and I felt bad because he needed to be at the pub in half an hour.

“Hey Sam…” I leaned against the doorframe, he turned around quickly

“Didn't you say you needed to be at the pub by 4?”

Immediately he checked his watch and saw it was 3:31, then he began to frown. He took a step back and took in what we had done already, then he said

“I'll be back... tonight. Don't you dare go to sleep before I come back.”

I laughed and shook my head, then he grazed my arm lightly and looked at me to tell me he genuinely meant it. Then he trailed out of my room and I heard him go downstairs.

I decided to paint for about 20 minutes longer, but without Sam in the room with me it was just boring. There was only a quarter left to do. 2 walls were completed and the other two walls were halfway done. So I decided I'd do what Sam said and not paint anymore until he's back from his show.

I made sure the paint in the paint tray was used, and then I cleaned the paintbrushes and rollers in the bathtub with paint thinner, making sure that it didn't dry on the brushes and deem them unusable.

Sam left at 3:45, stressing he wouldn't get there in time. He had been gone for about an hour so I assumed everything was fine. I didn't get his number or anything so there wasn't a way for me to ask right now.

I decided to order myself some food, as a celebration for the day and for the work Sam and I had gotten done. I got him a carbonara but I didn't know if he'd want it, so I put it in the fridge for anyone to eat. Amelia didn't come back, so I assumed she went to watch her brother play.

I was hoping Sam would invite me to come and watch, but I think he was hoping I'd ask, so the subject just got dropped.

I spoke to Jean for a while and changed into some pajamas. I went down into the living room because my room smelled strongly of paint.

At around 10:30 I started getting tired, but Sam's words were circling in my mind. I watched a few movies I had loved since I was a teenager, the sofa was still in its bed form, so I decided to get cozy in there. Since Sam and Danny were gonna come home late and probably wouldn't want to have to set up the sofa bed.

It was funny, we only had one sofa bed but two sofas, so Amelia and I heard Danny and Sam arguing about who gets the bed and who gets the sofa. Eventually, Sam told me, they settled on taking turns, and it was Sam's turn for the bed tonight.

I felt myself drifting off but tried my best to stay awake so I could finish painting my room with him, but I just couldn't fight the sleep that was bubbling up inside. Eventually I gave in. Not realizing where I was falling asleep.

-

I woke up to the blinding sun. I was confused about where I was, all I could smell was the aroma of deodorant and paint, and I could feel a warmth against my back.

I sat up and looked down at a sleeping Sam next to me. Facing away from me, but he was taking up almost all of the bed. Paint was on his hands and arms, and a small bit on his face. He was completely out of it. The gig must have made him so tired. Danny wasn't there on the other sofa, the only people in the room were me and Sam.

Suddenly, the tiredness in my mind changed to everlasting guilt.

I reached to find my phone but it wasn't anywhere near me. I needed to see if Jean had texted me, and I needed to act normal. He doesn't know I just shared a bed with a man I met 2 nights ago.

I realized it was upstairs in my unfinished room still, so I gently crawled out of bed. I didn't need to be gentle though, Sam was so out of it.

I walked up the stairs and into my room. Which wasn't unfinished at all.

The tape was removed, the tarp was gone, and every wall was painted. It wasn't patchy or rushed, it was perfect, it looked like a second or possibly third coat had been applied to the walls as well. Sam wasn't lying when he said that it needed to be done tonight.

I snapped out of the trance that the walls had put me into, and grabbed my phone from the middle of the room. I quickly unlocked it and rang Jean straight away.

I made my way to the balcony, because my room still smells like paint, and the walls were still wet. It was 11 am though, so I wondered why the paint was so fresh smelling.

Jean and I spoke for a while about how we slept. We planned what we were going to do when he got to London. After about 15 minutes we ran out of things to talk about, so I put the phone down and just appreciated the morning breeze.

About 5 minutes of staring into the sky, Amelia texted me

“Hey Lyla, I completely forgot to tell you, Danny and I are at our cousin's, we went there straight after the gig, we should be home by dinner time!”

That explains why the house was so empty.

I pondered for what felt like hours about sharing the bed with Sam. I knew I shouldn't be guilty because I didn't feel him getting in the bed with me, and I didn't intend for him to. But I realized it was kind of my fault for falling asleep in the place that I knew he would end up sleeping in. He literally told me it was his turn on the sofa bed that night.

I then wondered, why did he? He could have woken me up?

Then it hit me. He could have slept on the other sofa. He chose to get in that bed with me.

I put my hands over my face and then ran my fingers through my hair. Wondering why he would do this.

About 30 seconds after my realization that there was absolutely no reason for him to have gotten into bed with me willingly, my thoughts were interrupted by my stomach.

I walked into the kitchen and decided to make a full English fry up for me and Sam. Especially for Sam, to say thank you to him for finishing my room while I was sound asleep. In his bed.

I guess the smell woke him up. Because when I was just about to plate up the breakfasts, I saw him sheepishly walking up the stairs, rubbing his eyes and yawning, he went into the bathroom without acknowledging me, then came out 5 minutes later, face washed, hair up, but still in paint stained pajamas.

He came up behind me and looked at the breakfasts on the plate. Mouth wide open.

“Oh my god, what is this?” He was shocked, someone had never seen a fry up before.

“It's about the only thing I can cook.- I laughed -Here, the plates, we can eat it on the balcony it's warm out there.”

We both walked out to the balcony, Sam holding the plates and me holding two glasses of orange juice. Then Sam went back inside and came out with a chair from the kitchen.

We both sleepily ate our food in our pajamas. Sam kept closing his eyes and shaking his head to tell me it was good.

I decided not to bring up the bed thing. He was probably just tired and would rather have slept on a bed than on a couch, and he probably didn't even notice I was there. I was under the covers to the far left, and he was on the right.

We both finished at almost exactly the same time.

“Thank you by the way, I didn't expect you to finish my room without me there, it was shocking going up there this morning and seeing it so perfect.” I laughed and tilted my head to smile. Like I was posing for a photo.

Sam blushed slightly and shook his head. “It was nothing really... I wanted it to be finished for you when your furniture comes.”

I nodded and put my legs up on the small table in front of me, Sam did the same, our feet were touching slightly.

“Do you wanna come to the pub we're playing at tonight?” Sam said after some moments. He looked at me nervously.

“Yes of course I would.” I said affirmatively, smirking at him.

We sat in a comfortable silence for 20 minutes after that. I was happy that he had invited me. I would never have invited myself.

Then he excused himself to go and get dressed.

Eventually he came back out onto the balcony wearing a thin white sweatshirt and a pair of black cotton shorts. And we started the day staring at the sky together.

chapter 5

[the-martyrfication-of-the-matron]

some songs i recently suggested to @ang3lic-t3ars bc i might as well get my music taste judged (or introduce people to some new music)

if anyone on here is problematic, idk, this is just the music i found on spotify

Fade into you - Mazzy star Twilight - Boa Duvet - Boa Within the depths of a darkened forest - Autumn’s grey solace Criminal - Fiona apple (or anything by Fiona apple) True Romance - She Wants Revenge (or anything by She Wants Revenge) Zero - The Smashing Pumpkins Anything by Ethel Cain Andromeda - Weyes Blood She’s in parties - Bauhaus SpellBound - Siouxie And The Banshees Arabian Knights - Siouxie and the banshees (honestly anything by SATB) Kiss me until my lips fall off - Lebanon Hanover Sacrifice - London after midnight Losing My Religion - R.E.M Hotel California - Eagles House of the rising sun - The Animals Californication - Red Hot Chilli Peppers The Chain - Fleetwood Mac (or anything by Fleetwood Mac) Wanted Dead or alive - Bon Jovi To love a boy - Maya Hawke No Return - Anna Waronker Bad Things - Jace Everett Fear of Dying + My Cat - Jack Off Jill Only happy when it rains - Garbage Army Dreamers - Kate Bush Jennifer’s Body - Hole Star Man, Space Oddity, Life on Mars - David Bowie (or anything Bowie) Let’s go to bed - the cure Gallowdance - Lebanon Hanover Love Will Tear Us Apart - Joy Division Dark Entries - Bauhaus The Passion of lovers - Bauhaus Fantasmas- Twin Tribes Heaven Knows I’m miserable now - The Smiths The Sanity Assassin - Bauhaus Bela Lugosi’s Dead - Bauhaus Happy House - Siouxie and the banshees Lucretia my reflection - Sisters of Mercy Rape me - Nirvana Nothing matters - The Last Dinner Party Paper bag - Fiona apple I love my boyfriend - Princess Chelsea death of the phone call - Whatever, dad I threw glass at my friends eyes and now I’m on probation - Destroy Boys We’ll never have sex - Leith Ross Kingslayer - Bring Me The Horizon (ft. BABYMETAL) Nobody - Skindred Make me wanna die - the pretty reckless These things - she wants revenge Red flags and long nights - she wants revenge Dark entries - Bauhaus I don’t wanna fall in love - she wants revenge Rachael - she wants revenge Human fly - the cramps A little bit harder now - she wants revenge All wound up - she wants revenge Black Sheep - poor man’s poison Time in a bottle - Jim Croce Fish in a birdcage - Fish in a birdcage Feed the machine - poor man’s poison My alcoholic friends - the Dresden dolls Twin size mattress - the front bottoms Snake dance - March violets She will always be a broken girl - she wants revenge Lonely day - System of a down Black Cathedral - This cold night In the room where you sleep - Dead man’s bones Casualty - Snake River conspiracy The Killing Moon - Echo & The Bunnymen