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[vroomvroommbtch]

So it goes: Chapter 29 - MI x fem!OC

Masterlist

Summary: A wedding in the Irish countryside, a lavender dress and some really old habits that never die.

Pairing: Michael Italiano x fem!OC

Warnings: Smut, language, fluff all over the place and mention of one or two kinks. 

Word count: 6.0k

A/N: KIDS! It’s been so damn long and I’m so sorry. Being an adult sucks and I’ve been so damn busy lately but fingers cross I will be back here posting more often. Anyway, I missed my two favorite idiots so much! I’m so happy to write them again. Let me know what you think?? Also if you have any question/suggestion/whatever feel free to write! I really really love it. Okay, see you soon! Bye! 

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Chapter 29 - Out of the woods.

There were two things to celebrate that Saturday night in Dublin. First, Daniel and Jas finally getting married, but second, Michael and Maggie finally getting back together. Even when they haven't discussed the terms and conditions to fix the mess they made of themselves, they were back together and Maggie was absolutely happy. She could swear there wasn't anybody as happy as she was, not even her sister who was actually getting married to the love of her life and father of her baby girl. It was pretty much impossible for Maggie to erase the smile off her face since she woke up that morning. The fact that she got to wake up by her boyfriend's side, and then go get ready for her sister's wedding made her smile all damn day. She spent the day getting ready with her favorite women as they drank champagne and laughed their asses off, she helped Jas put on her wedding dress, and got to see Olivia wearing the most adorable lavender dress as she giggled when Lily played with brushes over her tiny, chubby pink cheeks, so everything was perfect. But everything somehow made sense when she finally got to see Michael.  

After hours of not being able to see him because they were busy with their own stuff -especially considering they were the Best Man and Maid of Honor- she finally got to see him. He looked like a dream. He looked like a model out of a runaway or a magazine. He was the most handsome man in the entire world and was all hers and Maggie couldn't believe it. His stubble looked extra perfect and his hair was even more perfect than usual and he was wearing a black suit and it was the most normal thing at a wedding, but it made him look breathtaking. It made her stay standing right where she was, feet almost glued as her jaw was hanging, absolutely tongue tied, trying to comprehend how he was real. 

But the silly part was the fact that Michael was acting exactly as she was. She was with his mouth open and a happy grin, looking down at her like she was the moon and every single star in the sky. Maggie normally wasn't one for saying much compliments about herself, she always said it was Michael's job to do it. Besides, she never really believed she was that beautiful or breathtaking. She was convinced she was a regular average kind of cute girl, with an average body, an even more average height, and maybe a cute ass, but that was it. She knew she wasn't a model or any of that, but that afternoon she had to admit she looked good. Her dress was a gorgeous A-line, floor length, fitted bodice dress, made in the most beautiful lavender blush chiffon. It was beautiful and Maggie loved everything about it, but her favorite part wasn't the material or the color. But her absolute favorite part was the front and the back. It was a beautiful V-neck with tin spaghetti straps draped and crossed over the open low back. From the second Maggie saw the dress she knew it was maybe too much, but she knew Michael was going to love it. Plus, she loved it, Jas said it wasn't too much and the girls insisted it was the perfect one, so she decided to go for it. 

Clearly it worked because Michael practically forgot how to talk when he saw her. And since they both forgot how to talk, they fixed the no-words issue in the only way they knew. It was Maggie the one who moved first and grabbed his tie carefully to let him know what she wanted. Knowing they were going to be interrupted in no time, they only shared some stolen kisses trying to not ruin Maggie's makeup as they held each other, whispering sweet nothings as soon as they regained the ability to speak.

Even if she couldn't really make out with her dreamy boyfriend for more than one reason, Maggie was absolutely happy. The day went by so fast that it felt like a movie, but Maggie wouldn't change a thing about it. From the second Maggie saw Daniel holding Olivia in his arms waiting for Jas, to the second Jas finally walked down the aisle with her white dress, Maggie cried her eyes out. She has never been more thankful about waterproof makeup than she was that day, other way she would have turned into a raccoon as soon as she walked to the garden where the ceremony was going to be held.  

She thought the tears were going to be over as soon as two of her favorite people said 'I do' but it wasn't the case. At dinner her parents and his parents said some words and then it was Michael's time to give his Bestman speech, making everyone laugh and tear up. But no other person in the room cried as much as Maggie did when Michael took a second to thank Jas and Daniel for introducing him to Maggie. The fact that he did it in front of a room full of people -even if they were close friends and family- after years of hiding their relationship was just the most unexpected and beautiful act of love Maggie could have imagined. That was one of the reasons why Maggie spent the whole night glued to Michael's side. She was pathetically needy, but she didn't care at all. She couldn't care less about anything that wasn't them. That's also why they spent the night dancing together, once again whispering sweet nothings to each other, sharing kisses and promises of what they were going to do to each other once they were finally alone in their room.  

After standing and dancing for too much time in some very beautiful but very high heels, Maggie was just finishing her glass of wine, looking at the dance floor while sitting on a side. In the middle of the mess was Dan holding Olivia while they danced with Jas and were the vivid image of absolute and pure happiness. Then was her grandpa dancing with Lily, André dancing with Grace while right by their side Joe was dancing with Aoife. But her favorite part was Michael dancing with Esmé. They were laughing their asses off while talking about who knew what, making Maggie smile absolutely happy of seeing them having fun together. She couldn't even believe how little more than 24 hours ago she thought everything was lost. She couldn't believe that the previous day she thought she was going to lose Michael forever. But that night, looking at the love of her life dancing with her grandma, Maggie couldn't help but wish that was her wedding. But since she couldn't have that -at least not yet-, she focused on what she could have, and that was her handsome, tall, Aussie man. That's when the terrible bad idea ran through her head, but knowing Michael, he wasn't going to say no to her.  

She finished her glass of wine with a big gulp, and stood up, walking to the dance floor all while looking at Michael. It was the way he seemed to shine under the fairytale lights that were on the roof that made her go even weaker for him. It was the way he was smiling down at Esmé that made her want to explode and melt all together. But then it was the way his tie was loosened that made her go feral, dying to grab it and had her way with him until he became a mess of moans. But the big problem was how they couldn't make any noise. Their room was sharing a wall with her parents' room, so basically any movement of their bed would be directly heard by them. The other wall was shared with Grace and Joe and she would die before they heard her moans, so it had been nothing but difficult. Not that people didn't know what they did as an adult couple who had been together for four years, but nobody needed to hear the prove the signs of their love. Their only solution their first day there was to fuck each other in the shower or against a wall, covering their mouths with kisses to prevent any moans from escaping their lips. 

But what got Maggie so absolutely messed up and needy was the fact that she didn't get to fuck her boyfriend for three days. It sounded pathetic considering they had been apart for months, but she couldn't help it. It was probably the fresh air of the country side and the stress of the wedding that made Maggie fall asleep so damn fast that it was ridiculous. Michael insisted it was absolutely fine, that they didn't need to have sex every single night but Maggie felt ridiculous for falling asleep so fast when by her side was laying down the most handsome man in the world. And the previous night was even worse. After their discussion and her tears, Maggie was absolutely drained. She barely made it to dessert at dinner, finally giving up and falling asleep in Michael's arms as he kept her warm. Next thing she knew, Michael was carrying her away and asking if she wanted him to take her makeup off, which Maggie responded with a nod and little 'Thank you, grá’. The next morning there was no such a thing like trying to get into his pants, there was too many things to do for the wedding and too little time, so they didn't even try. But since the complicated part had passed and the celebration was on its way, there was nothing Maggie wanted as much as her boyfriend. She needed Michael to remind her that she was his and she needed it right there and then.  

"Mamó, you mind if I steal your handsome dance partner for a sec?" Maggie asked when she finally reached her favorite people on the side of the dance floor. They looked so happy that she hated interrupting them, but she was going to be selfish for a minute, then she could give him back. "I promise I'll give him back in five minutes"  

For the look on Esmé's face, she knew it was going to be more than five minutes, but she just nodded acting all serious while trying to hide a little smirk. "Just because you ask nicely and because my feet started to hurt. But you better behave, darling"

"Never"

"That's my girl" Esmé finally smiled, winking at her granddaughter and then looking up at Michael. "You owe me one last dance"  

"Yes ma'am" he affirmed, kissing Esmé's hand as they let go of each other. It wasn't until her grandma was a couple steps away from them that Michael grabbed Maggie's waist, sticking their bodies together to give her a very PG but long and careful kiss in her lips, clearly trying to not ruin her makeup. "You have to appear just when I was about to convince Nana to give me the recipe for her famous Irish stew, don't you? I was so close to know the secret ingredient"  

"Give her one more glass of champagne and you'll get her whole recipe book. Especially cause she loves you" Maggie shrugged, trying to hide a smile as she moved her hands to rest them on his chest.  

"And I love you" he responded, stealing yet another kiss, but this time shorter than the previous one. "Did I tell you how beautiful you look?"

"About five times per hour since you saw me in this dress. I think I'll have to dress up more often"  

"I'm joking. I know you're thinking 'I love you no matter what you wear. You don't have to dress up for me to think you're beautiful'. I know it. But let's be honest, you like me more when I'm not wearing anything" she joked, slapping his chest playfully with both her hands.  

The smile that appeared on his face could have been enough to knock her out and leave her on the floor probably looking for air because he also knocked it out of her lungs. She would have fallen if it wasn't for his arms around her middle but she was more than fine with it. It was probably the right thing to do considering her boyfriend was the most handsome man in the world, smiling because it was a silly joke, but it was also very true. "I like you no matter what. Dress and heels and makeup or just your pretty face and your pjs or my shirt. I would have you anyway" he explained, kissing her forehead as they slowly moved completely out of tune with the music blasting. They weren't even dancing, they just moved, too much into their own little work to care about the rest, all while they followed their own music.  

"Wanna show me how much you like me?"

As soon as those words left her lips, Michael's face went from confusion to knowing perfectly fine what her idea was. After four years Michael absolutely knew with just one look, so he didn't doubt in giving Maggie his hand when she offered hers for him to grab.  

"Where are we going, sweetheart?" Michael asked, following her away from the party and into the forest, which had some dim lighting so it was nothing but perfect for her idea.  

Maggie turned around to look at him with a big, evil grin on her face as she kept walking backwards, carefully trying to not fall with her high heels in the grass. It wasn't until they reached a dark part of the forest that Maggie stopped, making sure they were away from everyone's eyes. She picked that spot carefully, knowing well enough that nobody could see them from afar and especially if someone walked past by. She picked it up the day they arrived, thinking how funny it would be to scape there, but never imagining it was going to be during the wedding. "I just want a second of privacy with my boyfriend. I wanna make out with you without my family being there. It's that bad? It's too much to ask?" she wondered, grabbing his tie with her free hand to wring him closer.

And Michael obeyed, following her like a puppy, letting go of her hand to grab her waist and place their bodies together. "No, it's not, but I know you. Making out its never just making out" he smiled, moving slowly his hands from her waist to her hip and then to her lower back.  

Michael knew what was coming and he was hundred percent up for it.

"You never complain about it. Besides, what's a wedding without the Bestman and the Maid of honor having something, right?" Maggie joked, smiling even more as she looked up at his face. Even in the dark night he looked nothing but absolutely breathtaking and there was nothing Maggie wanted more than to drag him to their bedroom and rip his clothes off, but the little spot was enough for the moment. "But if you don't want, we can go-" she shrugged, taking a step back.

But like every single time, Michael moved them around in a swift move like she weighed nothing, placing her back carefully against the first tree he could find. After than, his left hand was automatically on her neck stroking her jaw with his thumb and his right hand went to her ass, keeping their bodies together as he touched her through the green material of her dress. But her favorite part wasn't the way his hands were touching her but the way he was undressing her with his eyes. It was the kind of way they loved to look at each other from across the room, ignoring everyone and everything else, knowing perfectly fine what was coming. If looks could undress someone, she would be naked pretty much all the time, and exactly the same would happen to Michael. That same thing happened that night, and all Maggie wanted was for Michael to get under the skirt of her dress before he took it off her, just like she was planning to do with his suit.  

"No, we're not going anywhere" Michael informed, giving her ass a little squeeze before he kept talking. "You want us fucking against a tree like the good ol' days, sweetheart? Like when nobody knew about us?"  

"I do" she affirmed in a whisper, almost out of air for the feeling of his hands against her body. But if it wasn't enough, he was leaning towards her with his lips ghosting over hers but never kissing them, which only turned her on even more. "Besides we can't make much noise in our room so I figured we could make it here"  

"Couldn't you wait till tomorrow night, didn't you? Couldn't wait till we were back home?" Michael asked, and just when Maggie thought he was going to kiss her, he moved his face to a side, going straight for her neck. "We could have wait and keep reminding the neighbors about our names. I think they forgot by now. Too much time not being there" he murmured between kisses, making Maggie moan time after time with each touch.  

"Too much time without you fucking me there. I think my bed missed you" she smiled, holding tighter into his shirt as she felt his lips getting closer to the thin strap holding from her shoulder. She knew Michael could break the material with his fingers like it was nothing and it was ridiculous how crazy that turned her on, but she left every little whimper come out of her mouth as his lips came closer to his shoulder.  

"Too much, but we're making a good job reminding 'em this week, right?" Michael asked, and absolutely out of words, Maggie just nodded. But then she felt his fingers moving all the way up her arm and then all so slowly moving the strap down her shoulder, leaving her panting as he covered each part of her skin there with kisses. She knew Michael wasn't going to undress her there, there was no way he would do it knowing someone could find them, but the simple thought of him finally taking that lavender piece of cloth from her body had her pressing her tights together looking for some friction. But if Michael wasn't going to undress her, she was going to do her part, letting his shirt go and instead, focusing on undoing the belt and zipper of his pants. "Are you in a hurry, baby?"

"If you don't do something then I will" she affirmed, trying to get his belt loose so she could finally unbutton his pants. But just when she was about to get on his knees in front of him, Michael grabbed her hand, bringing it to his lips, kissing her knuckles again and again.  

"No, you ain't getting dirt in your dress or your knees" he stated, giving her fingers one last kiss before letting her hand go.  

Maggie knew he had a good point, but that didn't stop her from leaving her wondering why the hell did he stopped her in such a moment. "Since when you don't want a blowjob, Italiano?"  

"I just don't want you on your knees in the dirty when your dress is gonna get messy. Besides I know a different and best way to get you messy" he smiled, kissing her lips once as he took off his jacket. "Put it on, I don't want you hurting your back or ruin your dress with the tree"  

Without asking any questions, Maggie took his suit jacket and put it on, giggling because it was so damn big on her that it looked like she was inside a tent. But before she could even ask or say something, Michael was crouched down in front of her, looking up to her face as he let his hands wonder under the skirt of her dress. Maggie couldn't help but stroke his cheek and his hair with her fingers, smiling as Michael kissed her wrist and the palm of her hand. He looked so damn perfect that she just couldn't help but smile of happiness, still not believing how that man was all hers. But once again, before Maggie could say something, Michael got her by surprise, getting under the long skirt as his hands went up from her legs to her hips, staying right over the waistband of her panties, making Maggie giggle even more.  

"Matching with the dress? Look at you, sweetheart" he spoke, kissing her right thigh as he slowly moved down her lavender panties, which Maggie thought would be a smart idea to match her dress. And clearly, she wasn't wrong, because she could feel Michael smiling against her skin as his fingers ran through her skin, helping the lace material get to her feet. He didn't have to ask her anything, Maggie raised one leg and then the other, helping Michael take the small piece of cloth off her body, and she could swear she heard him whispering a 'Good girl' as he did.  

Then all Maggie needed was a little tap on her knees for her to open up her legs for him, resting her back on the tree behind her as she did. She knew that she was going to support herself with something for whatever was coming, and she wasn't wrong. She was moaning the second she felt Michael's middle finger touching her clit. Her eyes automatically closed as the same finger moved inside her, stretching her out slowly. But that wasn't enough. Even when Michael moved his finger inside her perfectly, she needed more. "Más é do thoil é, grá" she begged, once again completely out of air.  

She never thought Michael was going to listen to her words. Not when he normally had her begging for way longer, trying to get at least one orgasm and having her panting in his arms. Maybe it was the Irish thing, maybe it was the fact that they needed to get back to the party at some point, but Michael was out of her skirt and in front of her in one blink, holding her panties in one finger for her to see.  

"You were hiding these from me?" he asked, evil grin on his face and he looked from her eyes to the tiny lavender garment.  

"Not hiding. I just wanted it to be a surprise for tonight. Thought you might like em" Maggie shrugged, acting as casual and innocent as possible. She has been in fact hiding them since she got them, but just because she knew how much Michael would like how it looked on her. She wanted to turn him insane, and was happy that at least it was working. "Its been a while since I don't get something cute to wear just for you"  

"You know what I like, don't you?"  

"It's my job, baby" Maggie nodded, and while she did, she took care of losing the tie around his neck.  

Somehow it was pretty sexy to see how Michael made her panties disappear in one of the pockets of his jacket in no time, but there was nothing as sexy as looking at him getting rid of his tie and putting it also in the same pocket. Maggie unbuttoned yet again another button of his shirt, and it was enough for her to see the little silver ring she gave him all that time ago, slightly shining against his pale skin. That was enough to make Maggie scratch his chest all so carefully right in the place where his shirt was open, and even if it wasn't that hard, she made Michael gasp under his breath.  

"Can you hold your skirt up for me, baby?" Michael asked, gathering the material of her skirt for her to hold it. Maggie couldn't help but laugh because suddenly it looked like too much fabric and maybe it was all a terrible idea, but she knew if someone could make it work then that was Michael. And as she tried to make things work with her dress, she heard his belt making one little sound, meaning that he was finally unbuttoning his pants and getting rid of his boxers for her. "You good there, sweetheart?" he finally asked, grabbing her waist once again with his hands while Maggie nodded, biting her own lip out of pure excitement and anticipation. "Perfect. Just trust me, yeah? I got you"  

Maggie couldn't help but smile even wider at his words. After four years doing crazy things together, Michael was still asking her to trust him and adorable and beautiful. There was nobody she trusted more than him, so she knew perfectly fine how safe she was in his arms. Maggie knew Michael wasn't going to let her fall or get hurt, so she just nodded once again as his hands grabbed her ass, lifting her from the ground.  

She could have begged. She could have asked him to fuck her into oblivion to forget how they were at a party. She could have implored for him to hurry, but there was no need. Forgetting about the fabric that she was supposed to be holding, Maggie's hands went straight to his neck the second Michael got inside her. Then there was the beautiful sweet sensation of Michael slowly filling her, all while his shiny brown eyes were fixed on hers. Suddenly there was no party, no wedding and no one around in the whole world. All she could think about was how incredible Michael felt stretching her every time he moved as he hit all the right places. All she could think about was his smile and his eyes looking at her like she was the most beautiful girl in the universe.  

"I love you so much. So, so much, babe" was all Maggie could whisper, because even when they could do as loud as they wanted and do all the mess they wanted without being heard, there was no words needed.  

"I love you more, sweetheart. Shit, you're so good. You feel so good all wrapped around me" he murmured, pushing his hip to get even deeper inside her.  

If for some reason Maggie needed another reminder of Michael being completely and absolutely hers, then there was him, obeying to every single one of her commands. She asked for him to go harder and he did. She asked for him to go deeper and he did. She knew that she could have asked for anything in the world and Michael would have found a way to do it, but in that second all Maggie wanted was to feel him. She wanted nothing else but him. She needed to forget about the terrible nights without his skin against hers and the constant bad dreams and fear about Michael finding some girl prettier and cooler than her.  

And as Michael fucked her relentlessly, Maggie couldn't help but smile. His hands, fingers and nails were probably leaving marks on her skin, but she didn't care. Maggie couldn't care less, not when the one leaving those marks was her boyfriend. And then again, she smiled even more thinking about how he went from something to her friend-lover-boyfriend-ex lover-best friend to the love of her live. She couldn't help but think of all they went through together and how they were back even when it seemed impossible. She couldn't help but smile because they ended up making it work even when everything said they shouldn't. They made it and somehow, they went from fucking against a tree, hiding from the whole universe to running from a wedding together and she loved it.  

There was nothing better than that. There was nothing as incredible as the way he was holding her body with a mix of tenderness and roughness, making her feel nothing but him. All she could feel was Michael with all his beautiful perfection and his brown eyes looking at her with nothing but love and happiness as he was fucking her to the point where Maggie practically forgot her name and any other name besides his. His name and a bunch of 'please' was everything she could moan over again and again as he brought her closer to her orgasm with every new push of his hips. With a mix of perfect thrusts and some stolen kisses here and there, Maggie finally came around him. She had no idea how she didn't break the back of his white shirt after grabbing it so hard, but it was all she could do as everything became like fire and electricity all together inside her. She had no idea how the white material was in one piece when she was holding onto it for dear life as he came inside her. Damn, she had no idea what really happened. All Maggie knew was that she was in her own personal heaven as her legs became jelly as she listened to his moans and looked to his perfect face relax while he slowly kept fucking her through their highs.

As Michael slowed down, Maggie really thought she had forgotten how to talk. She wasn't even sure if she remembered how to walk at all. All she knew in that moment was they should move and fix their clothes, but instead they stayed right there, resting their foreheads together as their breathings also calmed down. They were a mess. They were an absolute disaster, but Maggie was so happy that she couldn't help but start giggling as Michael gave her a sweet little peck on her lips.

"Call it what you want but some guys tent to worry when a woman starts laughing when a guy is inside her" he finally spoke, moving from her mouth to her neck, leaving kisses along the way, making Maggie giggle even more thanks to his stubble tickling her.  

"I'm sorry! I'm not laughing about you. It was amazing. You're amazing. I was just thinking about the whole situation. Fucking like there's no tomorrow when our family is there. We're insane" Maggie explained, finally moving her hands from his neck to hold his face and stroke his cheeks.

"It's not like we haven't done it before. I'm gonna say it's your fault for being so fucking hot" Michael joked, setting himself free from her hands to hide his face in the crook of her neck, covering her skin in kisses.

As soon as her arms moved around his neck to hug him, then it was again the selfishness of not wanting to let Michael go. There was the selfishness of wanting him all for herself for some extra minutes, wanting to enjoy being just the two of them after such a long, busy day away from his arms. There was the selfishness of wanting to hug her boyfriend without someone looking, not even if it was their family. "I don't wanna go back. I wanna stay here with you" Maggie breathed, refusing to give up to their little bubble in the middle of the dark forest.

"We need to go back, Mags" he murmured in her neck, squeezing her a bit tighter in his arms. But then he moved out of his spot, looking back at her. "I'm not letting you go; you hear me? Not again. I made you a promise and I won't break it"  

"I know. Besides I caught the bouquet, so you're kind of fucked up now" she shrugged, reminding the little detail about the party.

It was Lily who basically pushed her to go with the rest of her single ladies. It was also Lily the one who made Maggie go to the front, not really caring who was behind them. Considering Sara and Cam were already engaged and Lily didn't really care about getting married, she insisted Maggie deserved that bouquet. Lily insisted Maggie needed that bouquet. Maggie thought there was no way she would ever get it considering the rest of the girls were even if just slightly taller than her, but before she could realize, the beautiful white and lavender bouquet was in her hands. She could recognize Jas laughs from the distance and their friends' voices yelling joke after joke, but her first reaction was to turn and look at Michael. The smirk on his face was so damn beautiful that Maggie wanted to run to him, sit on his lap and cover his face with kisses, but instead she just shrugged, acting like it wasn't a big deal. But it was kind of a big deal considering their afternoon and night were filled with jokes about what they wanted and didn't want for their future wedding. It was also filled with questions about when it was going to be their turn, to which both of them answered with a very much chill 'There's no hurry'. And really there was no hurry, no when they just went back together and a lot of stuff needed to be fixed. There was no hurry except for the little detail that Maggie was dying to become his wife.

"Now I just have a really good excuse to not let you go. But I told you, if you want us to get married you just gotta ask me" Michael joked once again, making Maggie slap his arm just like every time he made that joke during the afternoon.

"Now for that put me down. No more cock warming for you, mister. And there's a pack of Kleenex in the left pocket of the jacket. I put it there earlier just in case. You're doing the dirty job tonight"

She had to bit her lower lip to not let a whimper leave her mouth when Michael finally put her down, leaving her feeling empty. She hated that moment. She hated the moment they separated. She hated when they had to let each other go and now it wasn't any different. The second she heard Michael groaning she wanted to beg him to fuck her again or to run into their room, but once again she just didn't. All she did was look for the pack of tissues as Michael fixed his pants, but before she could even consider grabbing one tissue, he was doing the job for her.

"Sneaky little thing. And you know I've no problem cleaning the messes I make" he stated, giving her a fast kiss before kneeling in front of her. Between careful strokes and little kisses on her legs to make her giggle, Michael cleaned her as good as possible, helped put her panties back on, and then fixed the skirt and the strap on her shoulder so she would look as decent as possible. But her favorite part was when Michael was back on her feet and he took a second to fix her hair, push it carefully out of her shoulders, placing it on the back of her ear as he looked at her eyes with the sweetest smile on her face, making the butterflies on her stomach get absolutely wild, not believing that he was all hers for real. "You're so beautiful, sweetheart"

"Okay, but from one to ten how much do I look like I was just fucked against a tree?" Maggie asked while she buttoned back his shirt, not even caring about the tie that was forgotten in the pocket.  

"I would say a five. A bit fucked, completely beautiful and absolutely relaxed. Me?"

"You've a very sexy 'I just got laid' look on your face and I like it very much. Also, you got lipstick on your shirt" she noticed, using her fingers to try in vain to get rid of the stain on the collar of the shirt, which was nothing but impossible.

"That's what I was hoping for. Want a piggyback to not ruin your pretty shoes?" he offered, pointing to her lavender heels covered in embroidery flowers. And Maggie clearly nodded with a bit smile on her face, not so worried about the shoes that costed half of her former salary, but just because she wanted another excuse to hug Michael, even when she didn't really need one.

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Furthermore, many Dublin-based cleaning companies have adopted sustainable practices by using low-water cleaning technologies and energy-efficient equipment. Choosing eco-friendly floor cleaning services not only benefits the environment but also helps maintain the structural integrity of the flooring.

Tailored Cleaning Plans for Businesses

Dublin is home to a thriving business sector, with offices, retail shops, and hospitality venues requiring routine floor maintenance. Professional floor cleaning services offer flexible cleaning plans tailored to the specific needs of businesses, ensuring minimal disruption to daily operations. These plans can include after-hours cleaning, regular maintenance schedules, or one-time deep cleans, depending on the requirements.

For businesses with high foot traffic, such as retail stores on Grafton Street or cafes in the heart of the city, regular cleaning is essential to maintain a pristine appearance and meet hygiene standards. Regular professional cleaning can extend the lifespan of floors, saving businesses the cost of premature replacements.

DIY Tips for Maintaining Clean Floors

While professional cleaning services provide deep cleaning, there are several steps Dublin residents and business owners can take to maintain their floors between cleanings. Regular sweeping, vacuuming, and mopping can prevent dirt buildup and prolong the time between professional services. It’s important to use the right cleaning products for each type of floor—mild cleaners for hardwood, pH-neutral solutions for tile, and low-moisture techniques for carpets.

In a city as vibrant and busy as Dublin, keeping floors clean is both a matter of aesthetics and practicality. Whether you own a home, manage a business, or maintain a public space, investing in regular floor cleaning is essential for preserving the beauty and durability of your flooring. With professional services and eco-friendly solutions readily available, Dublin residents have plenty of options to keep their floors spotless and well-maintained year-round.

Floor Cleaning Dublin

[tembecfacility]

Best Floor Contractors for Synthetic Floors - Tembec Europe

Discover why Tembec Europe is the top choice for floor contractors and synthetic floors in Ireland and Dublin. Our expert team delivers high-quality, durable, and visually appealing floors tailored to your needs. Visit us to learn more about our services.

[artisanflooring]

Artisan Flooring offers the best floor sanding services in Dublin

Artisan Flooring's premier floor sanding services in Dublin! Say goodbye to scuffs and dull finishes, and hello to radiant, elegant floors! Rediscover the beauty of your hardwood floors with our expert touch.

https://artisanflooring.ie/wood-floor-sanding-and-finishing/

[stewgots5]

The Ultimate Guide to Flooring in Dublin: Exploring Parquet, Plank, and Hardwood Options

Dublin, the heart of Ireland, is not just famous for its rich history and iconic landmarks; it is also a hub for home design and flooring innovations. As homeowners and designers lean towards a blend of tradition and modernity, flooring choices like Parquet, Plank, and Hardwood have become increasingly popular. If you're considering a home makeover or just curious about the latest trends in Dublin's flooring scene, this guide will walk you through everything you need to know.

Parquet Flooring Dublin: A Dance of Design and Durability a. What is Parquet Flooring? Parquet flooring consists of wooden pieces arranged in a geometric pattern, often likened to a dance of wooden tiles. Originating from the palaces of France, it's no wonder this design brings a touch of elegance wherever installed.

b. Why Choose Parquet in Dublin?

Unique Designs: The geometric arrangements are limitless, making every installation special. Durability: Properly maintained parquet can last for generations. Enhanced Property Value: Its beauty and uniqueness can significantly increase a home's market appeal.

c. Maintenance Tips:

Regular sweeping and occasional mopping with a damp cloth can keep your parquet looking pristine. Avoid excessive water and harsh chemicals.

Plank Flooring: Modern, Minimalistic, Marvelous a. The Appeal of Plank Flooring: Unlike traditional narrow boards, plank flooring utilizes wider boards, giving rooms an expansive feel and a modern touch.

b. Plank Varieties in Dublin:

From oak to pine, there's a plank flooring option for every aesthetic preference and budget.

c. Installation Tips:

Ensure the subfloor is even and dry. It's often recommended to hire a professional for installation to ensure the perfect finish.

Hardwood Flooring: Timelessly Elegant a. Hardwood Flooring Basics: Comprising solid wood slabs, hardwood flooring is a favorite for those looking for natural beauty and longevity.

b. Dublin's Preferred Hardwood Choices:

Oak: Renowned for its strength and classic grain. Walnut: Dark, rich hues perfect for an elegant space. Maple: Lighter in tone with a subtle grain, great for contemporary homes.

c. Benefits of Hardwood Flooring:

Durability: With proper care, it can last a lifetime. Natural Insulation: Offers warmth during Dublin's cooler months. Versatility: Can be sanded and refinished multiple times, adapting to changing home decor trends.

d. Care and Maintenance:

Regular dusting, immediate spill clean-up, and occasional polishing can maintain the beauty of hardwood floors.

Making the Right Choice in Dublin

Whether you're inclined towards the intricate designs of Parquet, the modern aesthetics of Plank Flooring, or the timeless charm of Hardwood, Dublin offers a plethora of options tailored to every homeowner's needs. Whichever you choose, remember that the foundation of every beautiful home is the floor beneath your feet.

A Recap of Dublin's Best Flooring Picks

From the intricate details of parquet to the rustic charm of planks and the timeless elegance of hardwood, Dublin's flooring landscape offers a plethora of options for every homeowner's taste. This guide aimed to provide you a comprehensive overview, and we hope we’ve managed to do just that.

Key Takeaways:

Parquet: A mosaic of wood pieces that come together to create intricate designs. Its elegance and versatility make it suitable for both traditional and contemporary homes. Plank: Offers a rustic appeal, perfect for those looking to infuse a touch of nature into their living spaces. Available in various sizes and finishes, plank flooring is both stylish and practical. Hardwood: An evergreen choice for many, hardwood floors are durable, luxurious, and can be refinished multiple times to retain their beauty.

Dublin's Flooring Legacy

Dublin has always been a hub of architectural brilliance, and flooring choices are a testament to that. Whether it's a historic Georgian house or a chic modern apartment, the city offers a broad spectrum of flooring solutions to meet its diverse architectural needs.

Your Next Step

Having understood the nuances of each flooring type, it's now up to you to decide which one resonates best with your home’s character and your personal style. Remember, the floor you choose will lay the foundation for your home's aesthetic. Thus, take your time, consult with local experts, and maybe even see some samples in person.

Thank you for Joining Us

We hope "The Ultimate Guide to Flooring in Dublin: Exploring Parquet, Plank, and Hardwood Options" has served you well in your flooring journey. Dublin awaits your inspired choice. Here's to laying down roots in style!

[irwinspharmacy]

Irwins Late Evening Pharmacy Shandon Street

To O'Connors Funeral Home, Mayfield, for your kindness and professionalism, to our household at such a hard time. Last however not least to our fantastic neighbours in Barnavara for all of your kindness and to all our prolonged household a big thank you in your irwins pharmacy cork kindness. The Holy Sacrament of the Mass might be supplied for all of your intentions. Our emphasis on staff training and buyer service has ensured a powerful patient care focus across our retailers.

Irwin's place a strong emphasis on workers training and customer service, to make sure they deliver the very best in affected person care. The group consists of three suburban pharmacy locations and metropolis centre outlets. Conor and Denise Phelan, a husband and spouse duo, based Phelans Pharmacies with the intent of helping others. They have created an empire of pharmacies primarily based in Cork city and county in the South of Ireland in addition to one outlet in Stillorgan, Co. The Phelans supply hundreds of various mobility aids and healthcare merchandise to their clients starting from home goods to day by day residing aids. They pride themselves on solely stocking high-quality merchandise which are designed to make life simpler for individuals who want help.

The company’s aim is to help its customers look and feel their greatest. In 1988, John Phelan set up the first Phelans Pharmacy in Carrigaline, Co Cork. The firm has grown steadily over the years and now contains a group of pharmacies positioned in Cork city and county, as well as one outlet in Stillorgan, Co Dublin. The firm is run by Conor and Denise Phelan, who are the son and daughter-in-law of John Phelan. Phelans Pharmacies are firmly rooted in the space irwins pharmacy togher people, they usually delight themselves on providing a personal and skilled service to their prospects. They provide a wide range of services, including prescription dispensing, well being recommendation, cosmetics and fragrances, child care merchandise, and much more.

That’s when the keenness of youth insisted on upgrading the premises. They underwent a serious re-fit and extension, which improved both the standard of service for our customers/patients and the working situations for his or her staff. In the years since, they have continued to evolve with the times, all the time staying forward of the curve to guarantee that they're offering the very best service.

At Irwin’s pharmacies Cork, they delight themselves on offering a high stage of service to their prospects. They have three convenient places to serve you, and their pharmacists are always happy to answer any questions you might have. Their metropolis centre pharmacy is positioned on Shandon Street, and their Mayfield and Togher shops serve the north and south of the city, respectively. They offer a variety of services, and they're always joyful to assist you find the right product in your needs.

Double bed room with built-in wardrobes and laminate wood flooring overlooking the rear of the property. Overlooking the front of the house is the third bedroom, which has built-in wardrobes and laminate wood flooring. Consisting of a three-piece bathe village pharmacy suite with electrical bathe becoming, the lavatory is absolutely tiled with built-in unit over the sink and frosted window overlooking the entrance of the house.

You could solely use or reproduce the information throughout the Content for the purposes of personal, non-commercial or educational use. Any different use, reproduction, dissemination, publication or retransmission of the Content is strictly forbidden with out the written authorisation of the copyright owner. You should adjust to all of the directions, info and restrictions included with the

I even have been a shopper of Quintas for the final number of years and during that time I have acquired glorious support from Abina Kenneally and the Quintas group. I recently moved to a brand new premises on account of my increasing follow and the advice and assist I obtained from Quintas was invaluable. Quintas have assisted me in all areas of financial planning together with managing my life and pension portfolio, my cro returns and my personal tax returns.

Thanks to the Phelans, many individuals now have entry to the assistance they need to reside their lives more comfortably and with ease. Irwin’s pharmacies Cork consists of two suburban chemists and a late night time pharmacy in Cork metropolis. Irwins Electricals are a number one impartial retailer of electronic items and we’ve been trading in Ireland for 40 years. When you choose to buy from Irwins, you possibly can trust in a longtime name that’s already served hundreds of glad prospects.

[woodcareproducts]

Best Water Based Floor Varnish For You

In Dublin, Ireland, do you need to buy a special water-based floor varnish? Please don't go any further! Wood Care Products uses the most excellent quality wood floor products to produce distinctive finishes on antique or old distinguishing wood floors. At Wood Care Products you will find a full range of excellent floor care and maintenance products available for you to order online for fast delivery anywhere in Ireland. Call us right now at 1800 848 700 to place an order!

[peakyscillian]

It's my birthday | Cillian x Fem!Reader | One Shot |

Summary: It's your birthday & you know what you want. Requests: Not so much a request but a fic swap for our birthday month with @janelongxox Warnings: Smut/langauge A/N: Happy Birthday Girl! Enjoy this fic, thank you for letting me always talk about our Cilly!

It's my birthday.

The party was in full swing, everyone had a drink in their hand, you were stood with your girlfriends, you'd been away on location with Cillian and you had catching up to do, but it was your birthday and you knew you should be mingling with your guests.

Cillian had managed to pull off the ultimate surprise party, coordinating all the arrangements with your best friend in Dublin whilst you were both in Manchester. He'd even picked out a dress, which much to his relief you loved the moment you slipped it on that evening, his hand had run down your exposed back, stopping just before the curve of your backside, before he dropped his lips to the exposed warm skin of your neck making you suggest you forgot about dinner and stayed home.

He'd given you a coy smile, shook his head "plenty of time for that, birthday girl" he had teased, a gentle kiss to your painted lips before he grabbed his suit jacket and exited the room, leaving you with a dull throb between your thighs.

Your eyes caught him over with a few of your family members, your gaze dropping to his fingers, thick and long curled around the glass of Guinness as he spoke to your uncle, you felt the throb return to your core at the thought of those fingers, dragging under your tiny piece of underwear.

"Happy Birthday, Y/N" the voice made you jump slightly, you spun round face to face with Paul and Joe.

"Thank you, when did you two get here? Left you in Manchester under twelve hours ago" you laughed lightly as they hugged you in turn.

"Got the flight after you and Cill" Joe admitted

You laughed "so you were in the airport with us, why am I so oblivious to everything"

"Where is he? The big party planner, haven't heard about anything else for weeks, if this is your twenty fifth I can't wait for you to turn thirty" Paul winked.

You batted at his chest not wanting to think about leaving your twenties "he's over with my uncles, they're probably embarrassing me"

They excused themselves making their way to their friend and co-star, you were determined to distract yourself from thinking of all the sinful things you wanted Cillian to do to you.

You were waiting at the bar, when you felt the two arms slip around your waist, a firm body pressed into your back "my birthday girl" his breath fanned across your skin, igniting it with goosebumps.

You turned in his arms, back resting against the cool wood of the bar, arms instantly snaking around his neck "m' missed you"

He smiled, lips pressing softly to yours, hands on your hips kneading them through the material of your dress.

"I've been right here" he barely pulled his face away from yours, eyes locked together.

"I know, you've been the perfect host, want to be alone" you almost whined, hips moving to push ever so slightly against his.

Cillian changed his grip on your hips, firmly pressing you against the bar "later, I told you" he nipped at your bottom lip.

You felt the rush of pleasure run through you, his stern voice, the pressure on your hips, you nodded fingers running across the slightly out grown shaved back of his head.

"Cillian, uhm sorry but we need you in the back" your friend was awkwardly stood beside you both, you smiled at her as Cillian moved away.

"Be right back" he kissed you again, before they left you to sort out party business. You sighed grabbing your glass of wine and heading for Natasha, Sophie and Aimee who had also snuck into Dublin without you knowing.

The cake had been extravagant knowing that was all down to your friends, Cillian had held you close to his side as everyone sung you happy birthday, his voice low and vibrating in your ear. You'd hugged your girlfriends right after blowing out the candles, feeling so blessed to have this life.

A few wines and shots with Cillian's co-stars later the party was dying down, people calling taxis and heading to their hotels, you were on the dance floor, Aimee and Sophie ending the night with you, Cillian interrupted you all asking if he was allowed to take you home.

Sophie had made a lewd comment causing him to act like the older brother he played on screen, she rolled her eyes at him as they hugged goodbye.

Finally you were in the back of the booked car, you were hungry for him, lips pressing hot bursts of kisses across his neck, where he'd popped a few buttons undone as the night went on, your hand snaked its way into the opening pressing a warm palm against his cool skin.

"Baby...baby" he lifted your chin up to stop the assault of your lips "we'll be home so soon" he stated.

You whined, hand running across the bulge in his tight dress pants "just want you" you whispered sitting back in the seat trying to control yourself.

Cillian hadn't even got you fully through the door and you were kicking your heels off, attaching yourself back on his lips, feverish kisses leaving between wanting mewls.

"hey..hey what's got into you" he smirked scooping you up in his arms.

"I just need you, need you to touch me" you begged, as he carried you effortlessly up the stairs.

He dropped you on the bed, eyes scanning your body, licking his lips, he'd been so controlled all evening, holding off all your advances the best he could but now he was ready to ravish you, tease you into falling apart around him.

Your body was writhing on the bed, without any contact with him, just his gaze burning into you was enough to get you worked up.

"Cillian" you whimpered getting frustrated with the way he wasn't paying any attention to you.

He smiled, finally crawling over your body, pressing his hips to yours to stop you moving "yes? Birthday girl" a smirk tugged onto his face.

"Please" you whispered fingers fumbling with the buttons on his fitted shirt

"What do you want?" He was teasing you, you were so close to screaming at him for his hands to be on you.

"Just...fuck touch me" you begged eyes wide

Cillian brushed some hair from your face, fingertips feathered against your skin "where?"

You were biting your lip, tears pushing against the brim of your eyes in frustration "everywhere"

Cillian tusked, dropping a faint kiss to the side of your lips "show me or I can't help"

You groaned head thrown back, grabbing for his hands "I want your fingers in me, I want them pressed against my clit"

"You only had to say" he teased, lifting the hem of your dress up your body, you sat up letting him pull it off you, revealing your bare breasts and the barely there underwear.

"Been walking around like this all evening" he ran his fingertips over your breasts "if only I'd known" he tweaked your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pulling a gasp from your mouth.

"Shit please Cill don't tease me" you were barely able to form a sentence, hips moving off the bed.

"Baby, you need to be patient it's your birthday after all" he nuzzled into your neck, lapping his tongue against your sweet skin.

"I should get what I want" you pouted, grabbing for his hand, pushing it down to the edge of your underwear.

He rested his hand just above your mound, tutting at you once again "I've got a bratty birthday girl on my hands huh?"

You bit your lip, nodded at him because you couldn't deny it "Cillian I swear-"

You didn't have time to finish as his hand plunged into the thin material, hand cupping at your soaking pussy, thumb brushing over your clit "oh uhh fuck" you sighed feeling some pressure being relieved from your core.

"Been this wet all night baby?" He asked slowly pushing his finger into your cunt, you nodded "yea...yes all for you Cillian" you panted eyes closing in pure ecstasy. He pulled your underwear down your legs, dropping it on the floor, as you spread your legs from him. Cillian was working you up, adding another finger in as you squirmed under his touch. Stretching you for him, you moaned as he added a third finger, curling up to your soft g-spot, tapping on the area before roughly brushing his fingers over it, thumb pressed on your clit, he could feel your walls clenching and unclenching around his fingers, your panting breaths indicating you were already close.

"You can let go as long as you come around my cock later" his lips were pressed against the shell of your ear.

You nodded erratically, holding onto his biceps, with one final stroke of your g-spot, added pressure on your clit you were unraveling under him, head thrown into the mattress, legs shaking as he carried on pumping his fingers into your tightening pussy.

Your hands were grabbing for the zip on Cillian's trousers, he chuckled lightly batting your hand away "no touching, it's all about you, you've been so good"

He stood up discarding his trousers and boxers, you almost cried out in pleasure at the sight of his hard cock standing to attention, veins nearly pulsing with the tension.

Cillian crawled back over your heated body, running the head of his cock against your slick folds, you could swear your body was on fire, you needed release again, needed him inside you.

"Cillian, baby please" you whimpered propping yourself up on your elbows, watching him dip the tip of his cock into you.

"Want me to fuck you eh?" He smiled his charming smile, you jerked your hips trying to get him inside your clenching pussy.

"Yes fuck me please" you mumbled, voice breaking with the pressure growing in your abdomen, he nodded finally pushing forward, filling you completely in one swift move, stretching you, sending a wave of pleasure over your whole body.

Cillian's blue eyes had turned a shade or two darker, his hands on your hips pulling you to meet his thrusts , legs wrapped around his waist, he lifted you off the mattress, as he knelt onto the soft duvet, using his hands to guide you up and back down in a perfect rhythm.

Sweat was building on his forehead, your hair once perfectly curled for your party was sticking to your back and forehead, your sticky bodies hitting together as he pounded into you, losing the strength to hold you up, he dropped you back, not stopping his thrusts as he lent over you.

His lips wrapping around your erect nipple sucking and nipping, your hands were tugging at the hair on top of his head the perfect length for getting your fingers into.

"You look so fucking beautiful" he was pressing his lips to your collarbone, nose nudging your jaw before he finally kissed you, biting at your lip before his tongue slipped into your warm mouth, hips still snapping into yours.

"Fuck..Cillian, this is amazing" you sighed hands cupping at his face. Eyes locked with his intense and wide as the tip of his cock brushed your g-spot, he knew exactly how to angle his hips to find it.

"Just treating my birthday girl to what she deserves, looking fucking gorgeous all evening, dancing with her friends grinding them to tease me" his hand grabbed at the flesh of your backside, kneading it with a rough squeeze as he pulled your leg to sit flush against his hip.

"Just wanted you to take me home, all night wanted to be alone with my man" you confessed, nails scratching down his back in appreciation.

"People whispering about me being too old for you I heard them, but does any else make you feel this good?" He asked stalling his hips, his cock resting inside your needy cunt.

You shook your head "never, only you, you're not too old, you're mine" you pushed your hips off the bed, needing some friction from him anything.

He was peppering kisses across your face, you claiming him as your own making his hips snap faster into you, you were moaning with no stop from the sweet noises leaving your mouth, he was so close his abdomen tightening, the feeling of his cock twitching against your walls, he was panting, forehead pressed with yours. "I can't hold out much longer" he confessed, you moved your hips causing a primal moan to pull from his throat. "Cum in me Cill.. let go for me" you were circling your hips, causing a friction between you both, then his hips stalled, thrust sloppy as he came in you, pushing you over the edge for the second time, calling out his name as you done so. Cillian was still on top of you, holding himself up by his forearms on the bed, "Happy Birthday, baby" he smiled slowly dragging himself from your swollen pussy, rolling to lay beside you.

The feeling of his cum dripping between your thighs was something you wouldn't ever get bored of, having decided that you being on birth control was enough to not use protection after about four months of being together. "Best present ever" your hand ran across his cheek cupping his jaw. "oh there's more" he stood up, you watched him cross the room, his bare bum was sculpted perfectly, he returned from the walk-in wardrobe, your mouth pratically watering at the sight of him, still semi-hard as he made his way back to you, three gift bags in his hand. "I like this present best" you giggled fingers grazing across his cock, he let out a low groan, gift bags discarded on the floor as you crawled across the bed on your knee's, licking your lips ready for the sweetest gift of all.

*** Taglist. @janelongxox @missymurphy1985 @queenshelby @datewithgianni @cloudofdisney @elenavampire21 @being-worthy @uchihacumdump @magicalpieex

[artisanflooring]

Make Your Floors Shine with Artisan Flooring's Floor Sanding Services in Dublin

Do you want your floors to look brand new again? Artisan Flooring can help! We offer floor sanding services in Dublin that will make your floors sparkle like never before.

What is Floor Sanding?

Floor sanding is a way to make old, scratched-up floors look smooth and shiny again. We use special tools to carefully remove the top layer of wood, revealing the beautiful grain underneath.

Why Choose Floor Sanding?

Pretty Floors: Floor sanding makes your floors look really nice. It gets rid of scratches and stains, so your floors look shiny and new.

Stronger Floors: Sanding makes your floors stronger. It gets rid of weak spots and protects them from getting scratched again.

Cleaner Air: Dust and dirt can hide in old floors, making the air in your home dusty and yucky. Sanding cleans out all the dirt, so the air is cleaner and healthier.

Your Style: You get to pick how your floors look! We have lots of colors and finishes to choose from, so you can make your floors match your style.

Why Pick Artisan Flooring?

We're Good at What We Do: Our team knows how to make floors look amazing. We pay attention to all the little details to make sure your floors turn out just right.

We Use Good Stuff: We only use the best tools and materials to sand your floors. That way, they'll look great and last a long time.

We'll Help You: We're here to answer all your questions and help you pick the best options for your floors. We want you to be happy with the results!

Ready to Shine?

If you want floors that sparkle, let Artisan Flooring help! We'll make your floors look amazing and give your home or workspace a fresh, new look. Contact us today to get started!

[northernwinedregs]

Truth Or Dare

 Date night. You grab a bite to eat together and head to one of your favourite bars, some subterranean dive with red brick walls and comfy leather booths. The kind of place that even in the early evening pulses music so you can barely talk and be heard; they want you to talk less, drink more, parting with your money and inhibitions. Before long the homemade halloumi fries and mozzarella dippers start looking good, and your bank account's a tenner lighter and your stomach's greasier.

 You both like this place because it's pretty and unpopulated at this time. There's no queueing at the bar, you have your choice of booths. Later, when the door is guarded and the place fills up, the heat and noise coats everything, like a film of sweat on the walls. When low conversation turns to raucous shouts, when the speakers gargle bass like a heart palpitation, when every minute is a summer Friday night. But for now, it's a place for people who want to take photos of their food, who want to chat idly over a few games of pool, who want that rarest of things – a discreet corner table. The bar staff have the relaxed luxury to make cocktails well now.

  You get the door and head in, down the industrial staircase. A thought occurs to you.

 “Truth or dare?” you ask her.

  She looks at you for a minute, weighing up not the question but the possibilities it entails. It's a game, a menu for the evening. Previous dates have taught you her competitive streak: the way she thrashed you at bowling, the ungracious card game victories, the pub carpet lap of honour after hitting a bullseye. She had to be – and was, inevitably – the best even at throwing cashew nuts up and catching them in the mouth. An arched eyebrow tells you enough, that she's playing to win.

 “Dare,” she says.

 “When we order at the bar, I dare you to put on a fake accent.”

 “Pfft, easy.”

  So you reach the bottom of the staircase, cross the deserted expanse of hard wood floor, the sound of heels muted by a throbbing bass line from the speaker, and approach the bar.

 “Well howdy,” she says to the barman, in a thick and entirely unconvincing Southern drawl, not quite sure of its origins. In two words she manages to straddle the border between Texas and Louisiana, settling down in neither state. “Gee, this place sure looks swell,” she adds, re-locating decidedly northward, and spinning back in time to a sterilised trans-Atlantic voice.

 The barman blinks in surprise and decides not to question it. You can't help but smile, at her willingness and gumption, if not accuracy. Not that you could do any better; your own voice is a soft mud of glottal stops and incapable of anything else. “What can I get you?” he asks.

 “I'll have a Guinness,” she says brightly, accent taking a trip back across the ocean to Dublin. And then, glancing over the cocktail specials chalked on the board behind the bar, she says, “I dare you to try that.” Her well-travelled accent, having moved from the north-east to the south goes west to California, and she's pointing at a cocktail called the Barroom Blitz.

 A dare's a dare, so you order the Barroom Blitz, and double down on the decision even after the barman questions the time and its strength. “Okay,” he says like a warning. “I'd stick to one of them though.”

 He busies himself with the cocktail. She gets her Guiness and sips it, while you chat and her pseudo-American accent travels from state to state, never quite finding a home. “Well, shucks,” she says at one point and cocks her head to the side when you laugh. She's taking the game seriously, even if her accent is an unconvincing nomad.

 Your drink is ready and only when it's presented on the bar that she laughs. An oversized martini glass holds a sloshing neon green, with a fluorescent umbrella and a bright straw. Like nothing occuring in nature. A sci-fi sort of drink, the kind of thing that'd get dispensed from a machine called an Inenbriator3000. The insides of a cartoon alien. You thank the barman for this luminescent monstrosity, pay, and find a corner booth at the back of the bar away from prying eyes and the intrusive music.

 She takes off her leather jacket and sits in the corner so as to watch the rest of the bar. You take off yours and sit across from her, with only her and the corner to look at. Not that you'd want to look at anything else: without even a sip of the bright green Blitz you are already intoxicated, the shadows welling around her, the brightness of her lips in the darkness, the white of her eyes in the semi-gloom.

 “Go on, try it,” she says with a smile, accent now moved back home for good. You do, and it's strong and unbearably sweet, like a romantic bodybuilder or a sledgehammer made of gummy bears. Like a lime on steroids with the attitude to match. Like a psychedelic apple from a liberal-minded orchard. You ask if she wants to try it – not a dare, just want to share – and she does, leaving a lipstick impression on the rim, and in one pulpitating moment you are so jealous of the glass.

 “How's the Guinness?” She takes another sip, as if needing a reminder and shrugs.

 “Good. Tastes like Guinness.”

 “That's all right then.”

 She leans forward on the table, arms crossed under her. Expectant, keen, anticipatory.

 “Your turn then.” And, at a quizzical look, “truth or dare, your turn to ask.”

 “Oh right.”

 And so it begins in earnest, back and forth. The punishment if you refuse to answer, or fail in the dare is you have to finish your drink in one: a task for her, to chug a pint of what is essentially ale soup, heavy on the stomach; a task for you to glug something so sickly sweet as a viscous pick n'mix.

 Truth: most embarrassing moment, the time she passed out at a party and woke to a hundred photos online of her inebriated corpse grafittied with pen. Truth: your biggest regret, the way you crashed out of university with very little to show for yourself. Dare: she slinks across the bar and asks a distantly neighbouring table if she can try one of their fries (she can, and they're pretty good). Dare: another round, another Ballroom Blitz, and this time she joins you. Dare: she goes to the bar and asks if they can change the music to classical (they could, but won't, and don't). Truth: the worst fight you've been in, when you got glassed in the face and ended up breaking a rib in the ensuing scrum. Truth: favourite childhood toy, her plush rabbit named Sludge which she once left on a school trip and cried so much they drove back an hour to retrieve it. Dare: you buy a neighbouring table a drink and wave coyly when they look over, puzzled. Truth: a pet-name she's gone by, and she is mortified to admit that during an adolescent emo phase she went by Kitten. Dare: a third round, a shot each of what the bar calls a Skullcrusher. You knock them back in unison and feel your brain compress like a grape protesting a steamroller convention.

 The drinks start to float through your bloodstream, making your thoughts stretch and elongate like hot rubber, your limbs elastic, and her face is flush red with tipsiness. And so too are you drunk on the sight of her bright face, the pixelating mouth. Your mind wanders to the warmth of her lips, her smoky eyes, the dark sea of her hair.

 “Okay,” you say. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

 “Have you got any party tricks?”

 “Yes. Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

 “Have you?”

 “Yes. Truth or dare?”

 “Dare.”

 “I dare you to show me your party trick.”

 She looks around conspiratorially. Something about the way she glances, not nervously, but instead just to see you aren't being watched – and you're not, from the sheltered nook in the corner – makes the room dispappear, as though the periphery dissolves and closes in around you. There is no bar, no song playing. Only her, in front of you, with a tipsy mischief written on her face.

 So she slides her arms under her t-shirt and starts to rummage beneath her clothes. You watch, suddenly breathless, and catch a tantalising glimpse of delicious collarbone; just as suddenly, all you want in this life is to sink your teeth into that collarbone. As you watch, you are being watched, a private moment between the two of you, eyes locked. This moment, perfomed for you, only pushes all awareness further away from your mind; the rest of the bar shrinks away to a dull haze of dim sound, a mere pulse in the bacgkround. And, with one final movement, she pulls her bra from underneath her t-shirt like a magic trick and throws it onto the table between you, as disdainfully as she would a used napkin.

 She looks at you throughout this party trick, and it is her straightforward desire that moves you so much: that there exists a moment when someone is looking at you and that is all they are doing; they are looking in order to look at you; it is a smile for your benefit alone; an eyebrow arches suggestively purely for your reaction. You feel transfixed, bolted to the booth's leather by her gaze intended only for you, and all you can do is stare back, your heart racing, your skin prickling with excitement at the sharp turn in the game's narrative.

 “Truth or dare,” she says and her voice is suddenly so much softer, and forms a sound for you alone.

 You reach out, suddenly aware of your body again, its pumping blood, its moveable limbs, and pick up her discarded clothing to tuck it inside your jacket.

 “Hey-” she begins, “-I'll be needing that-” but you shake your head and say, “no, you won't. Truth or dare?”

 “It's my turn,” she says assertively, but you no longer care for protocol. It's not that she's so exposed right now – her t-shirt covers everything but her arms, and she has her jacket on the back of her chair – but it's the knowledge that someone is just a little more vulnerable. You don't want the bar to fade away in her consciousness, you realise, and instead you want her exposed, knowing that she's surrounded by people and voices and eyes and sounds.

 “Nope, it's my turn again,” you decide. “Truth or dare?”

 She eyes you suspiciously, not with any malice, but a calculating trust. She may have assumed her last dare was to assert a level of power over the competition, but you're now determined not to let her dictate the flow of the evening.

 “Where are you going with this? Okay, dare.”

 You lean forward and smile.

 “I dare you to do the same party trick again.”

 Her eyebrow arches again, this time in confusion, not pre-meditation.

 “But, you've already got...” she says, before trailing off. “Oh, okay. I see how it is.”

 She glances around a second time, now with a more pronounced concern. Deciding no eyes are upon you, she wriggles in the booth, keeping her eyes locked on you, a dare of her own. You stare back, not wanting to submit dominance. She smiles sweetly, as though she was simply rummaging for her phone, before guiding her hands under her skirt and sliding off her underwear. Unlike the previous time, when she carelessly threw the trophy on the table with the smug contempt of a victory, instead she reaches under the table and covertly passes you a fistful of scrunched fabric. She sits back, smooths her skirt and looks at you intently. You, almost lazily, add the latest item to the inside of your jacket pocket. Her arched, suggestive eyebrow raises once more.

“Happy?” she asks. “What's next?”

 “A truth, I think.”

 “So I don't even get to pick now?”

 “No. Truth: does it turn you on, feeling so exposed now? What if someone – let's say the guy at the bar – was watching? How would you feel, him knowing how you were dressed? What's it like being someone who takes off their clothes in public? Go on, spread your legs under the table and tell me how it feels.” You say this in a low murmur, refusing to break eye contact. You're leaning in closer, so to her there is just your face and the sound of your voice.

 She finally looks away, glances around the room once more. Certainly carefully. Almost nervously. She licks her lips and you watch her tongue like a predator.

 “You tell me a truth first,” she says. “Does it turn you on, exposing me like this? Do you like the idea of me getting undressed in public? For you. Because of you. Do you want me to tell you how wet I am? Go on, say it. Tell me you want to hear how wet my pussy is, sat here all exposed, waiting for your next command.” Even this, she says as a dare. Like you're being goaded into relinquishing what small power you have over her. Like a predator is feigning weakness before its prey. She's introduced a new register to the vocabulary, as a test of her own.

 “That's not how it works,” you tell her. “If you won't answer my truth, you can have a dare instead. I dare you to touch yourself. Touch yourself for me.”

 She hesitates, if only for a fraction of a second, and that's all the weakness in her armour you need.

 “What, going to lose this game so easily, are we? You won't answer the truth, you won't do the dare I set. Sounds like you're giving up and that means I win. Oh well.”

 She bites her lip, not seductively as before, but in hesitation. In anticipation. She glances around, nervously now. You can see the calculation, her stubbornness that you adore so much.

 “You don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with,” you reminder her, but she shakes her head.

 “It's not that. Fuck.”

 She's flustered, and it's the first time you've ever seen her like this. Everything before now has been cool, calm, collected. Effortlessly so. Commanding, almost. It's the loosening of control as much as not winning. She who is so triumphant in every victory, she who gloats so completely when she gets two strikes in a row, or gets the question right on the television quizzes first, or is quicker to hand over her card when the waiter's produced the bill. Seeing this dissolution of her hierachy makes you adore her more, wanting to soften and immediately capitulate and kiss her. But you keep your resolve, let her squirm, and relish in it.

 She offers the bar once final glance, then locks eyes with you. She touches herself. That first soft moan is so delicate, so almost inaudible, and yet is the only sound you can hear. The only sound you've ever wanted to hear. For such a tiny, quivering exhale, it extinguishes all noise from the bar and once again your focus dissolves to her in front of you. There are only her eyes, burrowing into your soul. There is only her voice, faint and breathless. There is only her skin, her face, her neck. And as she exhales, so too do you find yourself breathless, your head swimming as you watch her. The universe, in that moment, exists only to watch her, watching you. Everything else is background radiation, distant starlight.

 “Hi, can I get you any more drinks?”

 The voice is a sudden intrusion, and snaps you both out of this private moment. Your booth is shadowed by a friendly staff member, busying herself amongst the tables. She smiles, and it feels as though all the blood in your body has rushed to your face.

 “Erm, we're good, I think,” you say, and your voice is a stranger's voice, weirdly booming and distant, like you are not wholly present but instead are some audio recording coming out of the speaker.

 “No worries,” the barmaid says cheerfully, moving away from the table as swiftly as she had materialised beside you. You look across the table and see a face, whether from the drinks or the embarrassment, is glowing red as a beacon. You both begin to laugh, nervous and giddy, somehow like children almost discovered for having stolen sweets.

 “One last dare,” she laughs. “I dare you to take me home.”

 And you do, and the game continues. If not posed in point-for-point questions, the game certainly continues its list of demands and admissions. Breathlessly and deliriously, you trade truths and dares. I dare you to kiss this. Bite that. Suck on that. Nibble and gorge and eat and caress and stroke and enter. Dares as mere verbs; dares only as intentions. And truths are spilled out in the hallway, on the bedroom floor, on the bed itself, on your knees, against the wall. Truth as aching, shuddering, declarations. Truths as names and cries and moans and  shivers and animal noises. Truths as adverbs: harder and faster and deeper. Truths as confessions, as close as we get to religion. Truths as invocations. Truths as pain and pleasure and teasing and torture. Truth in blood. Truth in flesh. Truth in sweat and hair and breath and hands and names.

 It is only in the morning, when the game is neither lost nor won, but forgotten, when you lie there together in the warm, optimistic yolk of the window-strained sun, when you listen to the flightless birds and hum of reluctant traffic and shouts and cries of an innocent morning, that she raises her head from your chest and smiles to offer her latest demand.

 “I dare you to go get breakfast.”

[leinstergutters]

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[roses-of-rutherglen]

Uniquely Normal- chapter 2

-Seamus-

Seamus had been waiting for his Hogwarts letter ever since he accidentally set the cats tail on fire when he was two and a half. So when it arrived upon on his eleventh birthday there was much celebration in the Finnegan household.

The trip to Diagon Alley was planned over a weekend as they would have to travel from Portarlington to London. Seamus couldn't sleep for excitement in the nights leading up to the trip, this would also be the first time his dad had been to Diagon Alley despite knowing about his wife being a witch for the last fifteen years of their marriage. The sun rose bright and early as the family of three hopped in the car bound for London with their suitcases, prepared for a long weekend of shopping and learning about the world that two of them were entering that year.

Seamus was almost bored to death after the innumerably long trip, finally stepping stiffly out of the car and trying to work some feeling back into his legs. They could have flooed but his mother was insistent on travelling as non magical people do and making sure they stay in touch with both the Muggle and Wizarding sides to their lives.

They walked through the streets of London's shopping district before coming to a shabby looking pub with the peeling sign reading 'The Leaky Caldron'. Funnily the rest of the population seemed to scan right over the pub looking from the record store on the right to the coffee store on the left.

"Come along you two" his mam beckoned "it may not seem like much but ye'll be surprised." Both males shook their heads and followed the over enthusiastic Irish witch into the dingy pub.

"Hey mam, why'd we stop comin' here again? Cause I distinctly remember comin' here when I was a wee one" his mother chuckled.

"You and I stopped coming when you started having random outbursts of setting things on fire and nearly burnt down Magical Menagerie when you got too excited about the "wee cute mousies" she put air quotes around the last few words and Seamus groaned burying his head in his hands.

"Ah yes, I do seem to remember your particular flair for pyrotechnics that Ye haven't quite grown out of" smiled his dad "good for St Pats but not much for every day." Seamus looked away pretending not to know who his parents were before being dragged along to a wall at the back of the building.

His mam took out her wand and tapped the first brick to the left above the dustbins. Watching with awe as the bricks shifted and reformed revealing a street that seemed filled with magic and life. Store displays danced and the street was filled with light, chatter, and children around his age and older coming in and out of the many stores along the street. Everything was painted in bright colours catching his attention and drawing him away from his parents to stare at moving displays or glittering advertisements. People filled the street and several times he nearly got lost, dragged away in the current of people.

"Come on Seamus, keep up" called his dad as they started walking up the street towards the huge white building that looked like it should be a royal palace. Painted pearly white with all the decoration you could think of. He quickly hurried to catch up to his parents. They passed the security goblins before entering a huge hall.

The floor was marble and the clerk's desks made of rich coloured wood. The Finnegan family headed for a free clerk that was next to a boy with dark skin and his mother who looked to be exchanging muggle money for Galleons, sickles and knuts.

"Alright mate?” Seamus greeted the boy, he nodded looking bashful before Seamus continued, "me names Seamus" the boy smiled and replied

"My names Dean" the two shook hands

"first year at Hogwarts I'm guessing?" Seamus queried Dean smiled

"yeah, big shock to my parents honestly I think they wanted me to be a doctor or a lawyer" they both chuckled and Seamus was for once grateful for his half muggle upbringing. Dean looked like he was about to say something else but Seamus' mother called out for him to follow her "One second Ma," he called back at her "what were Ye gonna say mate?" Dean shook his head

"doesn't matter, see you on the first" they waved their goodbyes and the two headed off leaving the boy to the back of his mind as he and his parents walked out of the bank and down the street.

"Alright I'll go and get your books," said his mam "and you two head on down to Olivander's then we'll get everything else we need." She hugged both of them and was off before they could say a word. Seamus looked around a little nervously before his Dad called out and they walked down the street.

"I know I'm not the best with this Seamus, but I hope Ye know I'm trying me best" his Dad stuttered nearly running into a witch with long purple hair and robes that people kept tripping over. Seamus smiled

"I know ye're doin' your best and I definitely appreciate that. We'be both been thrown pretty much into the deep end here." They both chuckled and looked up to find themselves in front of one of the shabbier shops within the street. The peeling gold letters over the door read 'Ollivander's makers of fine wands since 382 BC.' A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion on the window and the door made a slight tingling noise as they entered. A man who looked as old and shabby as his shop appeared behind the counter.

"Ah, hello there how are you both doing today?" Asked the man in a voice that sounded way too young for his years.

"Okay thanks, a wee bit nervous but getting more comfortable, how're ye going today sir," Seamus answered and the man smiled.

"An Irish man eh? Don't get many here they tend to go to Varitas' in Dublin but I'm glad to meet you. What might your name be?" The man called wandering off into the stacks of shelves lined with narrow rectangular boxes

"Er, Seamus Finnegan sir." Seamus called back watching as the man returned with several boxes under his arms.

"Ah yes, I remember when your mother first came in for her wand, wonderful woman with a sweetheart and strong beliefs."

"I think we can easily say stubborn." Interjected Seamus' father, gaining a chuckle from Seamus and a knowing grin from the older man.

"Try this one why don't you" Ollivander suggested taking the cover off the box closest to Seamus. He took the box lifting out the jet black wand inside it. "Yew, 10 inches and a core of unicorn hair slightly springy, good for charms." Seamus picked the wand up unsure of what to do next. " Well go on give it a flick" Olivander prompted Seamus did so and the chair that his Dad had just been about to sit in flew out from his grasp and into the wall losing one of its legs.

“Nope" stated Ollivander handing him the next wand, "13 inches, cherry wood and a dragon heart strung core, give it a swirl." Seamus did so and a painfully high pitched ringing emitted from the wand. "Drop it, no again a slightly tricky customer" Ollivander smiled. Seamus was confused how in any way that could be a good thing but before he could ask Olivander was back.

“I think this will be the one," he said handing it over. It was a light coloured wand with a black line spiraling down the handle section. "Oak and ebony 12 inches and a Phoenix feather core, definitely one of our more unusual combinations but let's try it." Seamus lifted the wand and gently swished it, golden sparks appeared from the end and a warm sensation ran up his arm he smiled.

Olivander did too "well, we found one this is one of the first wands I ever made and it has never been able to find a person, these two kinds of wood mix strength and flexibility into one while the Phoenix feather core shows you are pure of heart and will to do the best for everyone. This is a wonderful match and as I'm sure you saw, the wand chooses the wizard."

He held his hand out and Seamus shook it before paying the thirteen galleons for the wand and walking out with it in the box. They met his Mam outside the ice cream parlor and started walking down the street.

"Since you took so long in there I got yer books, potion ingredients and robes. All we gotta do now is go to Magical Menagerie without you setting something on fire and get you a pet." She smiled talking a million miles an hour, the two boys smiled at each other before following her down towards the brightly painted shop.

They ended up getting a jet black fluffy kitten with eyes like a galaxy, named him Ebony and headed back towards the wall that had formed their entrance, which from this side looked like an old wooden door and headed back through the streets of London towards the car park.

But as they drove back to the hotel and he thought back on his day, the boy from Gringotts, Dean, popped back into his mind and he regretted not talking to the obviously muggle-born boy more. Maybe he could have helped him find his way or even offered to save him a seat on the train, but what was done was done and he just had to hope he could find him again when school started.

All of a sudden he felt very alone, being the only child in the neighbourhood with magic was tough. Whilst he had plenty of friends he had no one he could really talk to about magic apart from his mother who was at work a lot and though his father tried he really couldn't relate. He couldn't wait to get to Hogwarts, and to see Dean again.

<- chapter 1 here!!! Chapter 3 here!!->

[softlyblues]

The music wraps around the trees, hanging off the branches, playing with the dangling leaves and teasing the sky. It pours down to meet me, hanging off my fingertips, dancing along my shoulders, and the cold heat of it makes me shiver, makes me yelp in fear and discomfort. Something is running to find me, and I am out of breath - I can no longer outrun it.

I don’t know what it is. All I know is that I need to escape it, them, him, her, or I won’t leave the woods alive. 

***

The first impression I get of Ireland is the first impression most people get of Ireland. It is raining and it is cold, and the sun is hidden behind thick grey clouds, and the wet is seeping into my boots and through the strip of fabric between my hood and my neck. My knuckles are blue around the handle of my suitcase, and my thumbs have turned white without circulation. 

“This is the house,” says the man driving the car we’re in, the window-wipers scraping tunefully across the windscreen every half-second to combat the downpour.

He is called Joshua Raleigh, and he’s who I’ve been in contact with over the last year to finalise the purchase of the aforementioned house. Today is the first time I’ve met him, and I’m surprised - my head had conjured a greasy estate agent, red-cheeked and wet-haired, hair dye and cheap suits, and Raleigh is none of those things. He’s young and sandy blonde and he’s wearing an unbranded red polo neck with bleached blue jeans, muddy at the cuffs. A wedding ring on his finger, and a hole in his left ear where a piercing must normally sit. 

Part of our agreement had been that he pick me up at Dublin Airport and drive me the rest of the way to the house, and I’d been dreading small talk with the real estate agent of my nightmares, but the drive has been quite pleasant - weather chat, talk about families, about Ireland, about how much Raleigh enjoys working around the little village I’m moving to. About his wife, his newborn baby. 

“Where?” I ask. All I see outside are trees, turning golden. Toast in the mornings.

Trees, and rain. 

“Through there - the drive is pretty long, but you’ll see it in two seconds,” Raleigh leans forward over the steering wheel and smiles, top teeth sticking out over his bottom lip. “There!”

I copy his pose, peering around the trunk of a peeling tree, curiosity itching out at me. I’ve only seen the house in pictures, and Raleigh’s been more than accommodating with a digital camera and the services of gmail, but seeing it in person is different. The house, the whole reason I’ve uprooted and left without much of a word to anyone. 

He says house, but in truth it’s more of a cottage. Nestled in the woods near the village of Kilnaloe, it stands a little rough and ready, surrounded by hedge plants gone wild, birch trees far taller than the house itself, ivy wrapping around the doorframe like a green embrace. It’s grey stone, and would look a bit forbidding if not for the shiny yellow door, the cheerful square windows, the red bricks squaring off the corners. The leaded roof; the squat chimney. It peers from between the trees like a curious animal, not particularly frightened of us, like it knows it’s stronger than us.

“Is it what you thought?” Raleigh has pulled up on the leafy patch by the door, a place I can imagine parking. He’s smiling across the car at me. 

“Absolutely,” I breathe, my hands fisted in the material of my shirt so as not to do something really stupid, like flail and whack Raleigh in the face. “It looks just like the pictures!”

He laughs softly. “I can give you your key now, if you’d like. You can ring me if you want a lift into town proper - I know you didn’t get that much notice, and if you want to sort something out at the car dealership -”

“I’ll ring you,” I promise. I’ve google-mapped it, and the walk from the cottage into Kilnaloe is just less than an hour, doable if I fancy killing time. Raleigh has already done so much for me, from the pickup at the airport to the endless emails and negotiating on my behalf, and I fancy the idea of a walk through the place I intend to stay in, and finally make home. 

“So you want the keys now?”

“If you don’t mind.”

Raleigh gets out of the car and slams the door, and I follow suit, my brown boots crunching the brown leaves into the brown mud, different shades convalescing into one. “Miss Delilah Hale,” he says, jokingly sincere, “It is my utmost pleasure that I, Joshua Raleigh, should present to you the keys of your new estate. My deepest wish is for you to enjoy it as the occupants of the mists of time did before you-”

I hold my hand out, palm up, smiling. “Thanks for the speech.”

When he drops the keys into my hand, already keyringed with a little Raleigh & Simpson Estates fob, I shake them to hear the jingle. “Call me Lilah,” I add, as I’ve already had to remind him once at the airport. “Please.”

“Lilah, then,” he says. “Do you want me to show you around? Check everything is in order? The movers came a bit earlier than we thought, but we got the boxes in all right and there’s no damp in the house.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” I assure him, and although he seems eager to help me I can’t help but notice the way he shifts from foot to foot. It’s been a three hour drive from Dublin, and he must have been up ridiculously early to make the drive on time and collect me. “I can show myself around just fine if you want to go home-”

“But ring me-”

“And I’ll ring you if I need anything,” I finish. “Thank you.”

“You have my number?”

“I have your number,” I wave my phone at him. Joshua Raleigh New House is how he’s saved in my contacts, although there isn’t anyone else I could confuse him with, what with the embarrassingly short length of the list of numbers. “Can I grab my-?”

“Oh, yeah!”

He lifts out my travelling case from his boot, setting it gently in the frosted mud, the airport stickers already peeling and fraying from the curled handle. “Grand?”

“I’ll ring you,” I say again, and he laughs sheepishly, rubbing the back of his short-shorn hair. In the three hours we’ve spoken in person, he’s come across as friendly to the extreme, careful and wary, and pleased to have finally met me. 

The sound of his car is quick to fade through the woods when he’s finally reassured enough to leave, the trees swallowing the noise whole with their rustling, smoothing it over like disturbed dirt after a funeral. Back to silence. Not quite - back to the noise of the woods, and the trees, growing and whispering and settling in their own pace, taking no notice of me or my case or the cottage or the keys, a world so removed they couldn’t care less. It’s peaceful. 

It’s exactly what I asked for. 

Inside the cottage is just like the pictures I made Raleigh take for me, countless angles and times of day and positions of furniture and so on, from the first time I saw the cottage on his website until just a few weeks before my plane landed in Dublin. Part of the charm was - is - that it comes furnished, and I don’t have to mess around with visits to Ikea and DFS and Argos and the Salvation Army looking for discarded chairs and ugly tables and stupid novelty light fixtures to turn something bare into a home, something I know I don’t have the energy for. 

So. The cottage. Inside the door I kick off my boots, setting them under the little hall table, a place where a landline phone sits off its hook, a little sticky notepad rests dust-covered and half-used, and a mirror hangs over, framed in silver wiring and hardly spotting at all. It’s too dusty to properly see through, though, and I wipe my finger on the surface: Lilah, I write, like a child breathing on a bus window to draw pictures on a cold morning. Through the lettering I see only glimpses of myself; the orange scarf I’m wearing, the red cold of the tip of my nose, the wisps of reddish-brown escaping from the ponytail I tied my hair in this morning.

I move further in. 

Raleigh is right, my moving boxes have arrived before me; they’re strewn halfway up the carpeted stairs, all across the hall, and spill into the two doors on the bottom floor as well. I never thought I had that many things until I had to pack them all away, silly useless collections that come from having been alive for a decade or three, things I couldn’t get rid of. Books and toys and clothes and clutter. 

I pop my head into the dark kitchen, cast my eyes over the oak table, the few chairs scattered around the flagstone floor, the oil cooker nestled in the hearth, ash turned to rock there from years of abandonment. Familiar to me from Raleigh - 

As is the other room on the ground floor, a large wooden-floored living room with seventies sofas spread out in front of the empty fireplace, paintings of muddy cows hanging on the wall, embroidered home samplers framed in their messy hoops, hung on withering strings. Now I’m excited to explore, and now I know I’m properly alone - 

Up the stairs. They creak comfortingly under my socks. Bedroom, bathroom, tiny study, a little storage space for the clutter. Spiders move away from my invasion, my rude disturbance into their home, and I do my best not to knock them from their spaces. There’s a bed, a heavy queen nestled in the crook of the far wall, where the roof slopes most severely, and I’ll need to get sheets and a proper duvet before I can sleep there tonight. Chest of drawers, wardrobe, mirror, carpeted floor, another fireplace with the grate hooked high against the empty space. A bookshelf mostly empty. 

The study is much the same, a sturdy oak desk under a window that gives me a view of the trees outside. Branches tap at the glass, seeking entry. A bookshelf, a few paintings, dark wooden floorboards. It’s pretty and airy all the same, the wallpaper yellow with a pattern of faded pink roses, delightfully seventies. 

Although none of it is really new to me, what with Raleigh’s pictures, it’s enough to make me smile happily, spread my hands over the windowsill burdened with bluebottle corpses. At last I’m here - here to stay. 

__________

so that’s the intro! i’m doing something completely new to me, which is original fiction in first person with a female main character... so i have to keep on brand in the big things. ireland, celtic gods, the woods, you know the drill. i had a lot of fun writing delilah and though she’s a little stiff in these first few parts, she comes into her own! joshua raleigh is also a cool dude. i hope you enjoyed this little excerpt! 

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[angryharmonytimemachine-blog]

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[snow-lavender]

The Last Day of Normality

AKA, “Why is there a superpowered teenager in my kitchen?”

Word count: 3075

Didn’t have anything specifically written for Jackie’s birthday today, so I decided to post something I had pre-written. This is my take on Jackie's first appearance. Fully headcanon!

Heads up, contains trans JBM, I know that’s really not some people’s thing.

AO3 link: here

July 10th, 2016

Jackie was done.

He couldn’t deal with this anymore. Fuck his classmates and fuck the school policy and fuck his Aunt Doris and fuck Irish conservatism and just...fuck. He dumped all the books and supplies out of his backpack and threw it onto the bed. You need to start acting properly. Jackie snorted. Yeah, that wasn’t gonna happen anytime soon. Your niece has some behavioral issues we need to address. Of course leave out the fact that the people he kept fighting were total assholes. Any more suspensions and we may have to consider expulsion. As the floorboards creaked, he noticed he was shaking. He tried to take a deep breath and calm down and...no, screw that, he needed to punch something. 

You have such a bright future ahead.

Thump, went the pillow.

You can’t solve every problem like this

Thump.

I’m glad you’re experimenting, but you’ll be an adult soon.

Thump.

What will people think?

Thump.

I have your best interests at heart. 

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

Jackie paused, shoulders heaving. It felt like he’d been going at it for ten minutes, but, like always, his clock showed that only two had passed.

I have your best interests at heart. Yeah, that was the problem, wasn’t it. Doris legitimately thought she was in the right, thought they had the same plans for Jackie’s life, expected that her perfect little child would be just that. Perfect.

And Jackie loved her, he really did. Doris was the only family he’d ever known. But damn it, he couldn’t spend another day in this house. 

He grabbed his bag and went to raid his closet. Jeans, shorts, loose tees, sports bras, everything was dumped unceremoniously in. Laptop, chargers, socks, toothbrush- photos.

Jackie stared at the two photos on top of his bookshelf. One was of his parents, cuddling a small bundle of blankets. The other was of him and Doris from a few years ago, smiling in front of the Cliffs of Moher. He hesitated, then shoved them both in his bag as well.

‘hey, can i come over? -Jackie’. He shot off a text to one of his friends, then paced around the room, trying to burn energy.

“Jackie, dinner’s in ten minutes!” his aunt yelled up. 

‘Now? -Morgan :P’

‘preferably -Jackie’

“Alright, I’ll be there soon!” he replied.

‘Kay. Need a drive? -Morgan :P’

‘i can walk -Jackie’

Well, it was now or never. He shouldered his pack and reached for the doorknob...the fuck?

Jackie turned around, blinking in the sudden bright light. A green orb floated in the centre of his room. “What?” he murmured under his breath, reaching out to touch it-

Then there was a flash, and nothing remained in the bedroom but piles of scattered belongings. 

>=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=<

Jackie blinked the spots out of his eyes. When had he fallen on the floor? He moved to get up, then froze when he felt the floor. That wasn’t the carpet from his bedroom. He looked around as his vision cleared up. Instead, he was in a small, wood furnished kitchen. 

“What the fuck?” came a voice to his left.

Jackie looked over. In front of him was a man in his mid-twenties, looking just as confused as he felt. Jackie blinked away the blue glow around him, eyes still spotty from the flash.

“Who the hell are you? How did you get into my apartment?” the man asked.

“I-I don’t know!” Jackie stuttered. “I was just in my bedroom, and there was this weird orb, and then I was here!”

“Orb?” the man repeated. “Like a green, glowy type orb?”

“...yeah?”

He ran his fingers through his very green hair. “ ‘Cause the same thing happened here; I was just makin’ coffee, then there was an orb and it flashed and out popped some random kid.”

Jackie tried to even his breathing. “What the hell? Do you have, like any clue what that was?”

“Maybe? Do you have magic blood?”

“Uh, what?” answered Jackie.

“You don’t come from a magic family, then?” the man pressed. Was this dude delusional? Did Jackie just get teleported into a psych ward? It didn’t look like any hospital he’d ever seen before.

“Magic isn’t real, though.” he said hesitantly, trying not to provoke the man. 

He snorted. “You sure about that?” he said, gesturing around the room, and okay, Jackie had to admit, he might have had a point. The man held out a hand. “I’m Sean.”

The teen took it slowly. “...Jackie.” he replied. “Where am I, exactly?”

“Athlone, County Westmeath.” As he pulled Jackie up, Sean squinted. “Are you Irish? Do you even know what that means?”

“I’m from Dublin. And I made it through fucking primary school, I think I can piece it together.” Jackie said indignantly

Sean held up his hands. “Hey, you can never be too careful.” he chuckled. “You want some tea, Jackie?”

>=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=<

Half an hour later, the two were in Sean’s sitting room. An awkward silence had fallen after the bare minimum of information had been exchanged. (How to contact Jackie’s parents/guardians had been the main point of conversation. Sean had looked a little confused at Jackie's reluctance to contact any other adults, but thankfully hadn’t pried. He’d simply said that it was Jackie’s priorities were his choice, and agreed to figure out their current situation first)

“You said you were from Dublin?” Sean finally asked.

Jackie looked over at him. “Yeah, why?”

Sean squinted. “You looked familiar, so I was wondering if we might be related, but I don’t have much for family in the city.” He paused. “Maybe it’s like that whole ‘There are seven people in the world who look like you’ thing? ‘Cause you look a lot like I did in Uni.”

Jackie took his first real, long look at the man on the other end of the sofa. “You do look kinda like my Dad did.” he conceded after a minute or two.

Sean’s eyes widened. “We’re not dealing with, like, time travel, right? It’s 2016 for you?”

“Yeah.” Jackie laughed. “Thank fuck.”

Sean smiled. “Good, meeting my future kid would come with a shit-ton of questions I don’t want to think about.”

Jackie made a face, setting off another round of laughter between the two. When they calmed, Jackie let out a huff and fell back onto the couch cushions. “So we’re back at square one.”

Sean sat up suddenly. “We might not be, actually.” He fished his phone out of his pocket and started tapping away. “This could be a stretch, but....”

“But what?” Jackie asked. When he got no response, he repeated, “But what?”

Sean still didn’t acknowledge his question, but he did mutter “Perfect.” and then pull himself up from the couch. “I have a friend who might have more information. C’mon.” he said, walking out into the hall.

As he followed after the man, Jackie kept on prodding for information. “You said something about magic families? Can you use magic, then?”

Sean looked up from his phone. “Hm? Oh, yeah, I grew up with it.” he said distractedly. Then he stopped abruptly. “Shit. If you could keep that a secret, that’d be great.”

“Even from this friend of yours?”

“Please.”

Up the stairs and around the corner, Sean opened a door and entered. “Huh.” Jackie said as he followed in. “I think this room has more tech than all of my classrooms combined. What d’you need all this for anyway?”

“I’m a youtuber.” Sean answered from the desk.

“What, like Pewdiepie?”

“Yep.”

Jackie took in his surroundings. His eyes were drawn to a bookshelf filled with various merch and figurines. “What are all of these?”

Sean turned back from the desk. “Huh?” Then a fond smile fell across his face. “They’re gifts, mostly.” He started pointing things out. “That bug is from my friend Suzy, those are from this kid Alfie that I met in London, the Undertale ones there I got at Pax this year, this buddy here I bought myself, but I love him, so he goes on the shelf anyway..”

Jackie nodded as each item was pointed out. He noticed a particular abundance of one logo, and the pieces finally clicked. “Wait…” Jackie whirled around. “You’re that septic dude that Quinn won’t shut up about!”

“Hm?” Sean turned to face him, mid-tangent. “Oh! Probably, yeah.”

“Aren’t you, like, famous?” Jackie questioned. “Why do you live in such a tiny apartment?”

Sean gave him a look. “I’m sorry, that was kinda shitty, wasn’t it?” Jackie said after a second. “Kinda.” the other agreed, “I get that sort of thing a lot, don’t worry about.”  He set a hand on Jackie’s shoulder. 

The two were interrupted by a skype ringtone coming from the desktop. Sean bolted over to pick up, Jackie following behind a moment later.

The call opened, displaying a worried looking man. “Jack! Is everything okay over there?”

“Uhh, sorta? It’s a little complicated.” Sean gestured for Jackie to move into frame. As he did, Sean’s friend inhaled sharply. “Jackie, this is Mark. Mark, Jackie. He just kinda ...popped into my apartment. Soo… yeah.” he finished awkwardly.

“Hi?” Jackie said, giving a small wave.

Mark cursed under his breath. “Okay, now I get why you mentioned the... yeah, that clears things up. Uhh, I’m gonna just...gimme a sec.” He typed something frantically into his phone. “Nice to meet you Jackie. Jack mentioned-” he paused. “That’ll get confusing fast.”

“You could just, you know, call me by my actual name?” Sean replied with a smirk.

“But that’s weird!” the other whined, grinning. “Alright then, Seeaaan. I’m gonna pop into the office to grab Google. Be right back!” and with that, Mark hung up the call.

“Did he say Google?” Jackie asked hesitantly.

“I think so?”

The two stood silently for a few minutes, before Mark called once again. This time, he was sitting at a computer desk. Standing behind him was another person who looked strangely similar to him. This stranger stood rigidly, arms behind their back and face blank. 

“This is Google,'' Mark said. “He’s... uhh...hm, how do I explain you?” he muttered, turning around to glance at him.

Google’s eyes glowed blue. “Designation: Google IRL Humanoid Home Assistant. Model Serial Number: G-IRL 001B. For more information about this product, please consult your user’s manual or contact Google Support online or through telephone.”

“I guess that works.'' Mark said after a moment.

Jackie and Sean stared, dumbfounded. “...Holy shit, is that a robot?” Jackie asked.

“I am an Android.” it (he?) corrected sharply.

“What the fuck.” said Sean.

“Why are you surprised?” Mark asked. “I told you about him. I texted you to complain about him literally last week.”

“Well yeah, but I didn’t think he’d look so much like a machine!”. Sean protested. The robot frowned deeper. 

“But they don’t have that kind of tech at Google yet, right? They would have told us! This is a huge technological leap!” Jackie said, brow furrowed.

“That’s because they didn’t make him.” Mark replied.

“Huh?”

Mark grimaced. “Okay, um, the gist of it is, you have a character, right? From a skit or joke or something. So in my case, sometimes to characters, well,” he gestured behind him, “become real. Somehow. I still have no clue how it works.” 

Jackie gaped, slack jawed. “So you made a video about a robot ...and he just came to life.”

“Yup.”

“Do they all look like you?”

“Yeah, ‘cause I play them first.”

“....uhh….”

“Yup.”

Jackie turned back to Sean. “And you’ve met these...things?”

“I call them figments.” Mark interrupted. “Like ‘figment of the imagination’.”

Sean was still staring at the robot, looking uncomfortable. “I’ve only met one other, when Mark was telling me about them last year.”

Mark winced. “Yeah, I figured Googs would be a better first introduction than Wilford. He’s less...well, just less in general, I guess.”

“Why are you telling me any of this? I don’t get how any of this is-” Jackie froze. “You think I’m like them.”

Sean looked sheepish. “It would explain why we look so similar.”

“But I’m real!” Jackie protested. “I existed before this. I have a life, and friends and all that shit! I’m a real person!”

Mark spoke softly. “All of my guys have backstories, things that feel like they happened. But those people never existed.” He smiled apologetically. “It gets easier with time, I promise.”

“But I’m real.” Jackie repeated. “I can prove it!” He pulled out his phone. “Look, my friends have been texting me non-stop!”. As he spoke, another notification popped up.

New Text from Morgan :P

  Jackie, please answer. Everyone’s really worried about you. Doris called the Garda and everything. 

“See!” Jackie yelled. “They’re real! I’m real! I’m not some imaginary character!”

Sean raised his hands placatingly. “Jackie, calm down. It was just an idea.” He stepped forward.

“Get off of me!” Jackie yelled. He pushed Sean away and ran out the door. 

>=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=<

Jackie ran down the stairs, looking for the bathroom. He needed someplace private. He bolted into the small room and locked the door. Curling up on the floor, he rubbed at his face, and checked his phone to try to calm down.

Meanwhile, in the recording room, Sean and Mark stared in shock at the door. Slowly, Sean pulled himself out of the mattress he’d been shoved into. “Um.” he said eloquently.

“Are you okay?” Mark asked. “Yeah, I think so.” he replied. 

“So, this isn’t exactly the same thing. But do you have any clue what could cause..” He gestured at the door.

“Some random teenager throwing me across the room and then super speeding himself away?” Sean finished.

“Yeah.”

“Unfortunately.”

He stretched, grimacing as he wiggled a shoulder. “I recorded a video where I dressed up like a superhero. It went up today.” Sean sighed. “And I called myself ‘Jackie-boy-man’.”

“Jackie.” Mark echoed.

Sean didn’t reply. “Can I call you if I need anything else?” he said after a moment.

“Course you can. Anything at all, man.”

“Thanks.” Sean walked over to the computer. “Thanks for everything. See ya.”

“Bye. Good luck Sean.”

Sean hung up the call and put his head in his hands. “What the hell am I supposed to do now?” he muttered. 

Leave him. Make him leave.

“Nope, none of that.” Sean replied.

Not his home. Not your responsibility.

“Stop it. Just because I don’t need to help doesn't mean I shouldn’t.”

Bleeding heart. Weak resolve.

“Okay, you can stop now.” Sean said, standing up. “I’m going to talk to him, and he’ll decide what to do, and you,” he emphasized, “are going to shut up and be reasonable for once.”

He left to recording room and started looking through the house. Jackie wasn’t in any of the bedrooms, not in the living room, not the dining room, or the kitchen…

When he tried the door to the toilet, it was locked. Sean knocked hesitantly. “You okay in there?” he asked. There was no response. “Can I do anything to help?” Still nothing. He tried once more. “D’you want some more tea?”.

That one got a quiet “Okay.” Sean left for the kitchen, and when he returned, Jackie was sitting against the hall wall, head on his knees. He set the two mugs down on the floor, before sitting himself. It took a little while, but Jackie finally spoke up. “I’ve been missing for two days.”

“What?” Sean exclaimed.

“Before I was here, I was in my room, on Friday night.” he sighed. “My friends think I ran away or something.”

“Did you talk to them just now?” 

Jackie covered his face further. “Mhm. Told ‘em I was safe. But what else do I say? ‘Hey, by the way, I got magically transported across the country, and also imaginary friends can be real, and also I might be one of them?!’”, he rambled.

“Yeah, Mark and I talked some more after you left.” Sean paused. “You got out of there crazy fast. Like, inhumanly fast. Did...did you know you have super speed?”

Jackie stared at him. “...I just figured I was bad at time management.”

“You threw me across the room.”

“...And anger management.” He looked up, worriedly. “You’re okay, right?” 

“Yeah, I landed on a mattress.” Sean smiled. “And I’m not mad. You should have seen some of the shit I did when I was still learning control. My parents have repainted the kitchen twice, and you can still see some of the scorch marks.” he chuckled.

Jackie laughed too. “Okay, sure, why not add superpowers to today’s what-the-fuck list.” He looked up at the ceiling. “Anything else, Universe? You wanna add multiple realities or some shit to the mix?”

They laughed. “Yeah, what a fuckin’ great birthday.” Jackie snorted.

Sean turned to him, surprised. “Happy Birthday! How old are you?”

“Seventeen.” Jackie smiled. “One more year, then I can finally move out.” Then he froze. “What if I lived here?”

“What?” said Sean. “How does that make sense?”

“Well, you think I’m one of those figment things, right?” Jackie continued. 

Sean nodded. “Yeah, I think you’re supposed to be a superhero character I made up.”

“All of your friend’s figments are close to him. Besides, you’re the only person who knows what’s going on.”

“I really don’t.” Sean protested.

Jackie shrugged. “Still. We’re, like, connected or something. You could help me figure out these powers or whatever. And…” he shrunk down again. “I wouldn’t really mind moving. I was about to get expelled, anyway.”

Sean rubbed at his forehead. “I’m twenty-six. I can’t raise a teenager. You’re like, ten years younger than me.”

“People make it work.”

He sighed. “I..I’ll think about it?”

Jackie nodded. Sean moved to get up, when Jackie suddenly interrupted. “Wait! Okay. Umm... so, you’re cool with gay people, right?”

Sean looked confused. “Yeah?” Then it clicked. “Oh! Oh no, don’t worry, I’m cool with you being-yeah, it’s okay.”

Jackie looked relieved. “Okay. Okay, cool. Then we’re good. No issue here”

“Gotcha.” Sean stood up, grabbing the mugs. “I’mma deal with these., then I gotta go record. You can use my Playstation, if you want. And I’m upstairs if you need anything.”

Jackie flashed him a thumbs up, then went back into the bathroom. He braced himself on the sink and looked into the mirror.

A superhero, huh?

Yeah, that could work.