my pub

2

I rode my bike to the forest last week and I got lost for a while! It was amazing :’) also this is last week’s spread! (I’m actually spending most of the time doing nothing but watching movies haha)

3

(…) and then someone shouted “Let’s go to Downing Street,” and so we all marched up there and there was some shouting outside the gates for a bit and then we all went up to Trafalgar Square and a group of people started sitting in the road to block the traffic and —

A Grand Day Out (written by Michael Dennis)

America: So.. I was reading about how alcoholics can be found in like, everyone’s lives. It’s a common issue, ya know

Canada: Oh yeah, I bet we can even name some people in this room.

…….

England: Why are all of you looking at me?! 

Prussia: And me! What are you trying to say?

England: What the hell?

Prussia: Hey, do you want to go to the pub after this? Talk about this bullshit?

England: Yes. Actually. I do. 

Dive

Hey, look. Another Ed Sheeran inspired fic. You tired of these yet? This gets a bit obnoxiously inspired at the end because hot damn I could not resist. Well, actually, the middle – it was originally going to be the end but they decided to fuck instead so… fairly explicit smut ahead? I don’t know how to class this, people – <overshare> but if we’re classing smut based on a 1-10 ‘how thirsty is the author’ scale, this is about a 100000000 </overshare>. ANYWAY – No, I didn’t put the lyrics actually in the bloody thing, but I recommend a listen (if only because this is a damn good song).

Also – last one shot for a while. After the next chapter of The Underground goes up (this weekend???) I’m going on fic hiatus until mid-May because your girl has seminar papers to write. I know, I’m crying too.

Summary: James is in a band, Lily is thirsty af. Muggle AU, Met in a Pub AU (a thing?), Smut.

Find it on FF or AO3


The pub was packed.

It was loud and sweaty and the air smelled like hard liquor and beer and the cigarette smoke wafting in off the street. Her local was normally a quiet, subdued place (though it occasionally got a bit rowdy on pub quiz night) - it was a lowkey pub, the bartenders were all really nice (though she had her favourite), and the regulars were cool. On New Act Fridays, though, the place exploded. It was a scene she’d long since moved on from since leaving uni, one full of writhing bodies and spilled drinks, but she always made a special exception for what was, probably, her favourite pub event. So, it seemed, did everyone the hell else in Leytonstone.

Lily tipped her head in thanks to the bartender as he dropped off her third gin and tonic, squeezed the lime into her glass, turned back around on her stool. She swirled her drink, leaned her back up against the bar, and surveyed the crowd. Everyone was largely chatting amongst themselves while they waited for the next act to get set up - a few people were pressed up against the wall and snogging furiously in the far corner, but Lily knew the number would at least double by the end of the night.

There was a pair of men on the small stage in the corner, a lanky blonde and a tall one with a mop of jet black hair, setting up their instruments as they prepped for, Lily assumed, their set. A man with a leather jacket stumbled out of the crowd, grabbed the blonde one by the neck with one hand, a fistful of his white t-shirt in his other, whispered something in his ear, pressed a kiss to his lips - the blonde smiled, beamed, before shoving the man, now laughing so loudly Lily could hear him from across the pub, off the stage.

Her eyes flicked away from them as the blonde sat down at his drums, began twisting something she couldn’t see - she turned back to the black haired man. He was fiddling with the tuning pegs on his guitar, his fingers plucking the strings, a look of deep concentration on his face. She moved her eyes over the long, lean muscles on his forearm, the tendons popping out in that absurdly sexy way that they always seem to do on guitar players, took another sip of her drink. He was part-way through tuning the fifth string when his eyes snapped up and met hers almost immediately, like he’d felt her eyes on him. She couldn’t tell what colour his eyes were, not from this distance, but she watched his gaze travel slowly down her body (her breath caught in her throat) before his eyes met hers again and he arched an eyebrow. Lily bit her lip - his lips hitched up into a cocky, lopsided smirk.

Keep reading

Harry in an old Intv saying smt abt If I had it in my way “lunch pub every sunday” cheap beer and its okay 👀 as the lyrics Louis tweeted from his album (c: @ DonnySoldier28 )

“Mayhem” is an old English legal term for the crime of maiming someone. Originally it referred to maiming by cutting off a body part that would hamper the ability to defend oneself in combat, such as a limb, but it later extended to all body parts. So if you see an old prison record stating someone was arrested for “mayhem” it doesn’t mean they were causing mayhem, it means they cut bits off another person