gillian drabbles in fic



They sat across from each other, mugs of tea in their hands and the smell of lavender, laundry powder and wood dust surrounded them. It was warm. Pansy sat in nothing but a long shirt, her hair was short again nothing more than a handful of hair. She stared at Ron; he was angled with his shoulder to her and his eyes out the window.

He built the window frames himself with the help of Harry. There was mashed up drawings on the stills. Luna’s children got a hold of muggle crayons that Granger brought home from her trip to Holland, all sunny smiles and freckled nosed. Pansy seethed from the downstairs bathroom until Granger left with a kiss on Ron’s cheek. Pansy left that night and didn’t come back till the next evening and Ron didn’t try stopping her.

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tea, cups and rum.

summary: Isaac hates thunderstorms, coffee, the heat and Scott’s eyes.

(That’s all a lie.)

He falls in love with all of them. Repeatedly, and quickly, and hard.

rating: NC-17

words: 7022

prompt: this.

a/n: Happy Birthday, Kelly!  darling, i love you and it’s been a glorious few months? years? decades? knowing you. i hope everything is beautiful and everything goes your way this year. your love for isaac lahey is almost as strong as my love for you. now, i do hope you enjoy this fic. it may be utter rubbish to what you were expecting but i tried? isn’t that what matters? (let’s fucking hope so) and i like i said i hope your day and everything in this world goes your way. i love you, you little cutie! here’s to many more birthdays together <33 [raises large wine bottle]

{ A O 3 }

{ F A N M I X }

anonymous asked:

Can you write a fic from David's POV how he's trying to understand how to work his twitter and other social media? I'm still cackling over the fact he didn't know others could see what he liked that evening when he went on instagram and liked over 8 pictures of him and Gillian and some pictures of Gillian where she looked extra sexy and beautiful. Hahhaha his thirst was so un-quenched that he had to look at Gillian on social media. I wonder how many Gillian photo albums are on his iphone.

When I got my first Iphone, my kids were more excited than I was. They spent the day doing the settings for me, downloading apps I never used and paced the apartment trying to see where the wifi signal was faster. I’m at my sixth generation of this phone now, and I still don’t see what has changed. Kids say it’s faster, brighter, and more intuitive. But they still don’t answer when I call them, Gillian still wakes me up in the middle of the night because she forgets the time zone and the battery still doesn’t last a whole day. The only change I see from my first Iphone is social media. I used to have The Facebook once, I think, but I’ve been told it was old-fashioned so I’m on The Twitter now. And The Instagram too. I was never supposed to handle them myself, first because I don’t understand their utility and then because I don’t understand how to use them, but I had to learnt. A cute but annoying tiny woman used to be very pissed when I didn’t answer her back. It’s not that I didn’t want to, but I wasn’t sure our conversations were public or private. I stopped answering when I realized they were public. She laughed at me over and over for a few days, so now I text her, at least I’m sure no one can see my kinky answers. I hired qualified people to handle my social media for me, and sometimes, when we’re on Sunday and I feel like tweeting something, I try it myself. I always forget a hashtag or a tag and I’ve already emailed The Twitter to create drafts. It shouldn’t be so complicated, and I would stop feeling so ridiculously old when I have to rewrite my tweets five times in a row.

If I can say that I’m quite comfortable with The Twitter, let me tell you that I don’t understand the principle of The Instagram. No matter how famous you are, is there really someone in this world interested in seeing a picture of my breakfast? Homemade banana omelet, for the record. Once again, no one told me how to use it in the first place. I didn’t get the public side of it either. One night, when I was doing nothing but missing her, I started to scroll down some of her fan’s account. There were pictures of us that I’ve never seen, and pictures of her looking more and more stunning. I just wanted to save them, for the next time I would be missing her, but four hours later, I forgot to feed my dog and she texted me “I see what you’re doing – laughing emoji.” Social media aren’t for me.

From now on, I let others use them for me, and from time to time, I share interesting articles I read or a funny thing I saw. I keep it simple, and I don’t care if people don’t like it. At least, no one knows when I’m missing her because now, I know how to use The Face-Time.

Second chance

Gillovny ficlet 

Takes place in 2013, after Paley.

It’s been a year since he asked for a second a chance. Since then, he never stopped asking and she never stopped rejecting him. She allowed him in her bed a few times, maybe more, actually every time they were in the same city but it was never enough for him and always too much for her. He’d broken her heart. More. He’d trampled it and ripped it out into a thousand pieces that she finally managed to pick up after fifteen years. She has a stable life now. She’s a good person, a good mother, she’s well-rounded and she knows what having him again in her life would mean. He’d unsettled her whole life, and she’s not ready for it.

Yes, he’d changed. He’s not the self-centered asshole he used to be. The simple fact that he agreed to do those conventions with her proves it. She knows how much he hates it and that he’s here for her. To be with her. Earlier, he asked her if she wanted to go dine with him. She agreed, but now that he should be knocking at the door of her hotel bedroom in one moment, she starts to regret. No doubt he’ll try again. No doubt it’ll be painful for the both of them. No doubt she’ll get back here with him and they’ll spend the night together, and in the morning, she’ll cry in the shower and run away without a word, like usual. This is always what happens. They have a great time, he makes her laugh, greets her with flowers or chocolates, sometimes, he writes a poem or a song. She has sex with him while he makes love to her, and she doesn’t answer her phone when he tries to call her the day after.

This situation has to change, in a way or another. The ball is in her court for a year, she just doesn’t know if she should take it or leave it.  

When she looks at her watch, she notices he’s half an hour late and it doesn’t sound like him. He doesn’t pick up when she tries to call him and her text messages remain unanswered. His room is two floors upstairs, she could just go to see if he’s okay, but it looks easier to stay where she is and see if he finally shows up.

Fifteen minutes later, she was starting to hope he doesn’t come, but the knock at her door is heavy and frantic. He’s sweating and smells like perspiration and whiskey. He looks pissed off and he almost rushed into her as he enters her room without being invited in.

“David, you’re drunk? Is everything okay at home?” she worries.

“Sit down.” he orders, ignoring her question. He stands before the sofa and waits for her to obey.

“David, we’re late and you need to take a shower before we go…”

“Sit down, Gillian.” The tone of his voice is harsh and he looks severe.

She’s not used to see him like this. Usually, she’s the one in charge. If there’re orders to give, she’s the one who gives them and he’s the one who follows. It always worked this way between them, whatever their relationship was. This behavior leaves her speechless. With a single brow raised and her arms crossed, she reluctantly sits down on the couch.

“Good. So. I’ve rehearsed something, but then I’ve had too much to drink and I forgot everything I wanted to tell you. So it’s gonna be improv.”

“David, what the fuck…”

“Let me speak. Don’t interrupt me. Please. I know we’re supposed to go dinner together, but that’s not what I want. I don’t wanna be the romantic and cheesy guy who pulls your chair and orders for you. I’m tired trying to impress you with bombastic words and great promises. I’m done being ditched every time we sleep together. I’m not a fuck toy, Gillian.” She tries to stand up and protest at his last words, but he stops her by his hand. She clenches her jaw and sighs her frustration. “I don’t know what more I can do. I told you so. I wrote it to you. I even sang it to you. What do you want me to do, Gillian? I can scream, maybe. I love you, Gillian! I am fucking in love with you! And it hurts like hell every time you let me kiss you, every time you let me make love to you, because I’m a fucking optimistic idiot and I hope every time. I hope you won’t run away right after. I hope you feel the same, but obviously you don’t.” Her teeth are so tight that it hurts. She can’t stop the tears running on her cheeks anymore, but she stays still, breathing heavily, watching him breaking with her one more time. “I’ve kneeled before you, I crawled at your feet for a second chance that you won’t give me. I’ve tried everything, so this is the last time I ask. Whether you agree to be with me, really be with me and you make room for me in your life, or it’s over for good. I can’t deal with this half shitty relation-”

“Okay.” she whispers between clenched teeth.

“- ship and I’m not… What?”

“Okay. I’m okay.” she repeats louder.

“Okay. Good. Fine. Now, go get refreshed and meet me in the hall. I’m taking you out.” he says with the same angry tone, but she notices a slight smile on his face before he leaves.