Louis Tomlinson Halloween Layout

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38 or 39 with Larry?

38 …because they’re running out of time.

i’ve decided to set this within the lighthouse au universe because i’m in a mood so here’s a little drabble set sometimes post fic but before hl get engaged/married. 

“I gotta go,” Harry says with a giggle when Louis traps him against the cottage’s front door that morning. He scrambles for the handle clumsily, his belly pressed against the door, Louis’ weight heavy on his back. 

“Nope,” Louis replies, quickly reaching for Harry’s long fingers, grabbing his hand and stopping his escape. 

Harry huffs loudly as he tries to wiggle away, pretending to be annoyed. He can’t fully commit to it though and soon enough he’s laughing again. “I’m gonna miss the ferry.” 

“Good,” Louis lies, reaching up with teasing fingers to grab at the collar of Harry’s tee, dragging it down to expose his neck and biting playfully into it. 

“Next one’s not for a few days. Can’t miss the beginning of tour because my boyfriend’s horny!” 

“Why not,” Louis mumbles playfully into Harry’s neck. 

“Lou,” Harry sighs and Louis exhales too, taking a step back, allowing enough space for Harry to turn around and face him. 

He looks cute and perfectly dishevelled in the early summer light and it’s not fair that he has to go away for months now, just pick up the suitcases scattered across the entryway and leave Louis here to deal with the busy season. 

They planned it this way of course, so that Louis would be busy during the first leg of the tour, when Harry’s off being a big deal in America. He’s going to visit Harry at some point, Louis knows that. In only a couple of months too. Barely any time at all. Not to mention that he’s probably going to be dragged along the entirety of the European leg if Harry has his way. It’s barely goodbye. 

But Louis’ heart squeezes painfully in his chest as he sees the soft way Harry is looking at him as he reaches for his waist, dragging him into a fierce embrace, pressing a kiss on his forehead. 

“I’m gonna miss you,” Harry admits against Louis’ skin. “So much.” 

“You better!” Louis teases into Harry’s neck. “And you better write home all the time.” 

“One postcard per city,” Harry promises, sliding a finger against the skin between Louis’ tank top and his jeans in a slow caress.

Louis nods into Harry’s shoulder, the ball lodged in his throat too big for him to speak. 

“I really have to go.” 

He says so reluctantly like he’s saying ‘I don’t ever want to leave you at all’ and that makes it a little better, Louis thinks distantly, to know that this is hard on both of them, that he’s not going to be the pining spouse crying at home while Harry has the time of his life. That even though they’ll both have a great summer, they’ll be leaving a part of themselves behind, cradled in their lover’s palm while they’re apart. 

Louis sighs instead of replying, untangling himself from Harry’s body, holding on to his tiny waist, fingers grasping at the belt loops of his jeans. When their eyes meet, he smiles, eyes crinkling. “Go forth and conquer the world baby,” he says solemnly, warmth spreading through his lower belly when it makes Harry cackle. 

“Okay,” Harry agrees before leaning forward to kiss him one last time. 

They make it to the docks with thirty seconds to spare, the ferry’s captain shaking his head as they arrive out of breath, arms full of suitcases and bags, Clifford happily bouncing next to them. 

Once Louis has helped Harry get all of his luggage on board, the captain shakes his head at them. 

“We got no time for your sappy stuff Tomlinson,” he groans exaggeratedly while clapping Louis on his back. “I’m already running late because of this guy,” he adds, pointing at Harry over his should with his thumb before turning around and climbing into his boat. 

Harry smiles at Louis sheepishly, reaching for his hand and pressing a small kiss to the palm of it. “See you soon,” he promises. 

Darling!!!!!!!!!! I dare yo to write an alternate Deathly Hallows where Draco yeets the Elder Wand.

Challenge accepted. Here’s my first venture into HP fanfiction, I suppose. :)

“HARRY POTTER IS DEAD!”

 There’s something to be said about shock.

Something to be said about going into shock, but he can’t be bothered to care at this moment. The words slip from his grasp, falling aside as worthless details and half grasped concepts.

They aren’t real, nothing feels real, because as much as he’s hated Harry Potter, as deeply as he’s despised him, he’s never dreamt of his corpse. Not once, not even at his darkest, not even with his Aunt Bella egging him on as the muggles screamed…

 He’s never wished Potter dead, even if he hated himself for it.

 He freezes as the Weasley girl screams, as her father grabs her tight as he can to hold her back from the Death Eater’s loud cheers. Draco can see him – the object of his envy and hatred and irritation and complete and utter loathing – in the Half-breed’s arms, draped haphazardly like a delicate princess. It almost looks like he’s sleeping, like this is all some sick joke, and the stupid prat’s Chosen One powers are about to kick in at any moment.

 But then Draco looks at Granger and Weasley, looks at the shock in their eyes, the broken and haunted way the tears gather in their eyes, and he knows this is real. This isn’t school years, where his worst secret is the humiliation lingering after Potter’s rejection in first year, where his biggest concern is winning the Quidditch game just to show Potter up or the House Cup to give the finger to Dumbledore.

This is real, and it’s terrifying, terrifying in a way he’d barely tasted in sixth year, half-mad with desperation and the burden of that brand on his arm, the dark ink marking him as evil and wrong.

 (“Draco, years ago, I knew a boy who made all the wrong choices. Please, let me help you.”)

 He hadn’t let the old man help him, had watched Severus Snape kill him, and he feels a pang for the optimistic fool doomed to die. He never set out to make the wrong choices, but he did anyways. There were no choices, there had been honor, and duty, and loyalty, but never a choice.

 (What’s the right choice when every action leads to a death? When inaction leads to death? What is the right choice when your father bartered away your ability to make them for the loyalty of a madman drunk on power?)

 Malfoys don’t have choices, they have responsibilities.

 He’d been damned from the start.

 “SILENCE!”

 No one speaks, no one breathes, not even Draco. His eyes linger on Potter, blood-spattered and dirty, as if he’d tumbled through dirt before ‘Avada Kedavra’ struck. He wonders if it hurt, if Potter had been afraid.

Potter’s a Gryffindor, so he doubts it – what they lacked in subtlety and intelligence they made up for in fool-hardy bravery.

 (And isn’t that the conundrum Draco’s struggled with, surrounded by the Dark Lord’s suffocating presence, the toxic feeling lingering in Malfoy Manor – is it better to be a brilliant coward, or a brave fool? – Potter’s corpse doesn’t offer any answers)

 “Why didn’t you tell her? Bellatrix? You knew it was me. You didn’t say anything.”

 He’s never been ready for Potter’s death, even when the opportunity arose not once but twice – first at the hands of his family, second at the hands of his friends – he’d been so stupidly unprepared that he’d saved him, lied for him, even after the bathroom and all the bad blood accumulated over years of bitterness, years of envy and what he wishes he could call hatred.

 He’d never had a choice, but he let himself have one.

 His family asked him to save them, and he chose Potter, for reasons neither of them understand. ‘Understood,’ he corrects, ignoring the blathering of the Dark Lord as he glides across his field of destruction and blood, ‘Neither of us understood.’ Because it’s past tense now – hate is now hated, envy is now envied – and he still doesn’t know how to feel, even as he knows how he should feel.

Malfoys are calm, collected. Malfoys are perfect, in composure as well as pedigree. Malfoys don’t cower, nor do they fight.

As the snake strikes in the cover of tall grass, Malfoys strike in the dark, underhanded methods and crafty exchanges (money makes the bloody world spin, and the Malfoys have more money than they have emotion).

 He should be happy, should be smug, perhaps, over the death of the Boy Who Lived. The other Death Eaters are – ecstatic, actually – but he’s not the same as them, even if it would be easier for his entire family if he were. Potter is the Boy Who Lived, and he’s the fool unwilling to see him dead – the boy who had no choice – stuck on the subtle tug of his gut as Potter’s heart beats, as his green eyes glimmer.

 Draco hates himself for noticing that too, for not being what he should be for his family.

 “Draco, come.”

 His mother beckons him, lips pulled tight in a twisted mockery even he couldn’t call a grin. It’s forced, so disgustingly forced that he could scream, rage the way the Weasley girl tries to. Malfoys are calm, Malfoys are collected, and the look in his mother’s eyes – the whimper half released from his father’s throat – is anything but.

 Draco walks from the right side numbly, staring at Potter’s corpse even as the Dark Lord embraces him.

 He shivers in revulsion, sick as the man his family has served faithfully for so long embraces him as family. He’s stiff, goosebumps trailed down his pale – damn near translucent – flesh feels the Dark Lord’s words.

 Draco is released and his mother embraces him next, but his eyes still linger on the corpse that should not be, the last person he’d ever thought would die – even though Potter was the only non-muggle the Dark Lord truly wanted to die.

 No one calls him back, not that he expects them to, but he’s (mildly) disappointed all the same.

 He wonders if Potter would have attempted it, self-righteous in his own beliefs that Draco couldn’t be truly evil, truly wrong, if he’d defied the Dark Lord to let him live. He probably would have, might have called him a git or pathetic, and it’s nearly enough to make Draco laugh.

 How far he’s fallen, to crave the predictability and reliability in banter with his greatest rival. That mutual irritation… They got under each other’s skin in ways no one else could, even if Draco hadn’t killed anyone.

 “…Longbottom.”

 He ignores his surroundings, ignores his mother’s soft attempts to coax him out of his self-imposed silence, ignores his father’s whimpering and the ashen appearance that’s such a far cry from before…

 Before life became real, and actions had consequences, and his choices led to death and pain for people who didn’t deserve it.

 Somewhere between Albus Dumbledore’s death and Potter’s, he’d changed.

 Life used to be so clear…

 But his father had been abandoned to Azkaban, cast aside in his own home for the Dark Lord’s acceptance. His mother had suffered – quietly, in ways those who didn’t know her wouldn’t see – in ways she’d never suffered before. And Draco… Draco…

 “…You knew it was me. You didn’t say anything.”

 He doesn’t know himself anymore.

 “Draco,” his father murmurs, and he pulls back, tearing his gaze off Potter for the first time since Voldemort’s loud declaration set in this cold, this numbness, settling in his limbs as if it was meant to be there.

 His mother strokes his hair, nearly as tense as he is.

 His father… looks pathetic. His once luminous blonde locks are stiff and dirty, as worn down and decayed as the rest of him. He’s lost weight, enough for his cheeks to appear sullen and sunken in, enough for his perfectly tailored robes to hang off him in ways not befitting a Malfoy.

 He shoots his father a glare, furious at the tears he can feel prickling at the corners of his eyes.

 “What?” He demands, ignoring Longbottom’s nervous words, the exaggerated gestures he makes as he speaks, drawing the crowds of right and wrong’s attention.

 “We must leave, Draco,” Narcissa interjects, eyes cold and empty. There’s a kindness in her touch that her perfect face can’t convey. “Now.”

 But he shoves her away, because his eyes are back on Potter – infuriatingly, stupidly, fixated on the boy turned man he couldn’t hate no matter how desperately he wanted to. Steady breath, in and out.

 “…a boy who made all the wrong choices…”

 He feels his mother eyes linger, demanding answers he can’t give, perhaps is unwilling to give.

 Longbottom’s shouting now, speaking of sacrifice and how Harry Potter’s stupid heart had beat and bled for them all – and honestly, after all the years and pain and suffering, how could they not already know that? How could they question that, when he only hated those who aligned themselves with pain, with hatred and wrong choices.

 Unexplainably, there’s a twitch.

 Corpses don’t twitch, and it’s small enough for Draco to nearly brush off, to dismiss it as a fight of fancy for his not-hated rival, but he knows Potter. Knows Potter far more than he likes admitting, and he sees his right hand – the same hand he extends towards the snitch every match with that infuriating grin – twitch again.

Potter can’t sit still, never has been able to…

 And Draco knows the truth before Longbottom draws the sword of Godric Gryffindor from the dirtied Sorting Hat, knows it as Voldemort laughs.

 “Harry’s heart did beat for us! For all of us! And it’s not over!”

 Harry Potter grunts, louder than the rapid tempo of Draco’s heart, and he flings himself from the Half-Giant’s arms to the cold stone floor of the half-destroyed courtyard.

 The Dark Lord turns, smug grin turning as the gasps reach his ears…

 Potter’s wild-eyed, hands grasping for a wand that evidently wasn’t there, still glaring at Voldemort defiantly.

 Draco Malfoy is a boy who’s never had a choice, burdened by his family’s legacy, by the weight of expectations and tradition and self-importance piled on by his father. He’s always followed his father’s rules, his father’s ambitions…

 He’s been perfect, as close as he could get.

He’s been obedient, even as it tore his soul and mind apart.

He’s been cool, even as screams scratch at his throat, demanding to be released.

 But when the Dark Lord turns, when he frowns and his eyes narrow into dark slits, Draco makes another choice, ripping his arm from his mother’s grasp.

 “Draco—” His father tries, but he’s already gone.

 “…all the wrong choices…”

 “Potter!” He shouts, ripping the wand straight from Voldemort’s bony fingers. Potter’s emerald eyes – still glimmering, Draco can’t help but notice – snap onto him, hardened and suspicious, until they notice the wand he holds in a death grip.

 He tosses the wand, ignoring Voldemort’s angry shout for another wand, and Potter catches it, looking alive and confident…

 “CONFRINGO!”

 Nagini hisses, sent flying towards the Death Eater’s as Voldemort yells again, sending waves of flames towards Potter and – fuck – him. They both jump over rubble, ducking between pillars as they run.

 “If we die,” Draco hisses, dodging another furious attack from Voldemort, “I will kill you again, Potter.”

 Potter sends him a curious look, one that makes him catch his breath.

 “If we die,” He echoes, lips curling upwards. “Tom won’t succeed, not this time.”

 Draco blinks, nearly struck by another jet of flames he doesn’t notice.

 “Who the bloody hell is Tom?”

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬

𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞

hi! i just finished reading tts for the fifth time and i've just always wondered how you thought harry and louis meeting each other's families would go? family is obviously important to both of them throughout the fic so I just was wondering how it was for them to introduce that part of their lives to one another. Thank you and I absolutely adore you and your writing!

ok, i know you sent this a while ago and i’m sorry for not replying sooner. i have been thinking about this though and i have opinions. 

the way i imagine this whole thing going is that harry would be relatively chill about it all (normal meeting the fam stress but mostly excitement), while louis would be a nervous wreck about the whole thing and blow it wayyyyy out of proportion. like.... freaking the fuck out thinking it’s a bad idea, etc etc re: introducing HIS family to harry. i know, i know, it’s a bit of a role reversal re: their dynamic in the fic since louis is such a steady and strong figure in the story while harry is a little bit adrift (is louis a lighthouse amidst the troubled seas harry is drowning in????? yes. yes he is.) BUT it absolutely makes sense to me that it would be like this. here’s why. 

first of all, i think louis meets harry’s family first. a. because harry is so excited about it and really wants to make it happen relatively quickly and b. because THEY’RE so excited about it. they’ve heard so much about louis and they know how much he helped harry when he was struggling. they know louis helped him in ways they couldn’t because the pressure was somehow on. and they’re thankful and excited and eager to discover the person behind the stories. they’re very aware that this is a big deal and a big serious relationship for harry. because they’re so thankful and they kind of love him already through harry’s eyes and stories and smiles and improvements in general, it’s maybe a little less pressure ? and more of a welcoming into the family straight away kind of thing. i like to imagine maybe harry asks louis if his family could come and stay at the b&b and meet both louis and fair isle at the same time. so they do a little weekend with his parents and his sister so harry’s two worlds can collide. and it goes very well and it’s a pretty special bonding experience for all of them. louis and gemma become best friends pretty much instantly and cliff pretty much falls in love with anne. overall, a big big success. 

harry meeting louis’ family however... i can imagine that taking a little bit longer. the way i see it, i think louis being so protective of harry and his privacy, and not wanting for him to feel exposed or pressured, would want to delay the meeting a little. there’s a lot of youngsters in his family, teenage girls he now realises absolutely know who harry is and no matter how much he loves them and trusts them, it makes louis nervous. mostly, it makes louis nervous to think it could make harry nervous and he doesn’t want to put him in this position where he maybe doesn’t feel safe. harry, bless his heart, is blissfully unaware that that’s what concerns louis and kind of thinks maybe this is about some of louis’ homophobic more distant relatives that are mentioned in the fic. and he doesn’t want to pressure louis into putting himself in maybe a vulnerable position like that. meanwhile, louis just thinks that harry would be scared of being Exposed by the fans even though he KNOWS his sisters wouldn't do that, esp. if he asked them not to. but ofc, louis’ family don’t really know about harry at all, since he kept that pretty secret so while they know there’s a new relationship, they don’t really know the finer details. so it’s all a bit awkward and unsaid and there’s a lot of misunderstandings surrounding it. at some point, louis grows a pair and admits what he’s actually scared of and harry laughs. not his finest moment, but it’s a fond one, and he kind of admits it never even occurred to him to be worried since all the stories louis told about his mother and his siblings are wonderful. he trusts louis ergo he trusts them too. so they finally decide to pop for a visit. 

i can’t decide if i want louis to like... prep his family in a way that is completely ridiculous and over the top, with like a list of rules and questions they’re not allowed to ask and etc. and when harry gets there and everyone is kind of silent and awkward he’s like ????? until one of the oldest siblings admits there’s very little they can talk about under louis’ code of conduct and harry goes ‘oh fuck that’ which 100% endears him to everyone. louis’ mum goes ‘oh thank god, i thought you were ridiculously high maintenance and out of touch, but it was just louis being protective and stupid’. to which louis replies ‘i’m you’re child, you can’t call me stupid’ and she gives him such a scathing and judgemental look that he huffs and leaves the living room to go grab a drink. he pretends to be offended but by the time he’s in the kitchen by himself, he’s beaming. he doesn’t know what he was so worried about. 

OR..... there’s a part of me that’s like.... he wouldn’t tell them a single thing except ‘i’m bringing my boyfriend for the weekend’ and just show up with harry styles in tow, giving his sisters a fucking heart attack. one of them is literally listening to a harry styles song in her room when they show up. the music is way too loud and can be heard throughout the house. the words ‘i want to die’ are uttered out loud by louis and they haven’t even crossed the threshold yet. throughout dinner, louis glares at anyone who starts asking harry a question until harry goes ‘your face is gonna get stuck like that, what were you asking me about the brits?’ and the tension finally drops a little. one of the twins does drag harry up to her bedroom so he can sign her poster and louis has a mini existential crisis because there’s his shirtless boyfriend on her wall and he can’t believe he didn’t know. he feels mortified for 1.5 sec before he starts making fun of harry for the ridiculous photoshoot. 

yeah... i can’t decide but both is good. and both end well despite major drama (mostly made up by louis and his dumb brain). 

i don’t know if that’s what you wanted, but that’s the way i imagine it!

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Under the Stairs

Summary: Sirius has about 0 control over his hands during dinner. That’s about it. Oh, and sex by the stairs.

Warnings: SMUT (18+), kinky, dirty talk, exhibitionism, kinda and bad writing. If I missed any please dm me.

Notes: It’s gay, man. And I am so, so sorry for how long this took. This took so long, I’m sorry.

~DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE~

-

“Sirius!” You smacked his hand away from your thigh for the fifth time that night. You were just trying to enjoy your dinner surrounded by your friends and family and Mr. Grabby Hands next to you was making it hard to do so. Like, couldn’t you eat in peace? Was that so much to ask for? 

Sure, you missed the animagus more than anyone could understand, but Merlin’s beard, he was exceptionally grabby tonight and it was starting to get on your nerves, especially since Harry was just across the table with his best friend’s family. All nine members and then some, but did Sirius care? No, not at all. Did he ever care? Nope. Once, he fucked you against the wall separating your shared room and Lupin’s room. He truly held no shame.

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Colored sketch commission that I finished today! 

💋 Ariel Singing Glamour 🐚

a disney-spiried a glamour to help your singing voice be like a mermaid’s

🐚  gather: a seashell, full moon or ocean water, a pinch of glitter, a necklace chain and a song that makes you confident in your singing voice.

💋  mix the water with the glitter.  rinse the seashell in the water.

🐚  play the song and sing along with it as you mix the water clockwise. 

💋  when the song is over, dry it out and make it into a necklace. 

🐚  wear the necklace when you feel you need a boost with your singing voice