idontgiveashit

I'm like marmite. You either love me, or you hate me. The name's Eoin. Fuck off.

[e-i-e-i-boot]

black as night, sweet as sin

He isn’t normally an early riser. He hates getting up early, prefers to stay in bed with his head pushed under a pillow until his brain screams at him to get up. Most of the time it’s the smell of Rose’s potions that make him leave the warm cocoon of blankets and duvets so he can throw open the windows and get some kind of fresh air in the tiny space they inhabit. He gets why she does it, understands why she spends half her time huddled over a tiny cauldron, with books tottering around her and empty bottles and packets scattered around her feet.

The floorboards are cold underneath his feet as he shuffles from the bed to the kitchen. Coffee. He needs coffee. And toast, with that homemade jam that they get from the small farmers market every Thursday. He rolls his shoulders as he walks. Stretching his muscles out in an attempt to wake himself up. Outside the sun is already high in the sky, and the distant sound of traffic mixes with the sound of birds. It’s so different from Hogwarts, and he loves it.

The coffee floods the flat, masking the smell of whatever Rose happens to be cooking today. He has no doubt that one day she’ll crack the secret of magic induced scars, he just wishes it didn’t stink. He doesn’t know how long it’s been since Rose got out of bed – hours, he knows that – but he’s so out of it when he sleeps he rarely notices, but he misses her. And bringing her coffee is the perfect excuse to stick his nose in to what she’s doing. So he makes his own coffee (black and bitter, just like his soul), downs it in three, and pulls the cream from the fridge. The date says it went out of date a week ago, but Rose seems to have worked her magic on it and it tastes as fresh as it did when they first opened it. The sugar is running low, he always says she uses too much, but she never listens and he’s given up arguing. With his hands full of toast and coffee he has to use his elbow to push at the door. The tiny space that Rose uses for her laboratory of sorts was supposed to be the bedroom, but they manage with the bed where it is.

“I bought you coffee.” He says, coming up behind her chair and sliding the mug next to her cauldron.

�

[e-i-e-i-boot]

[avawashington-deactivated201407]

Ava nods at Eoin’s grumbled response, still feeling terrible for invading his space that way.  He seems to be making a concerted effort to make her feel better, but she can’t help mentally kicking herself for putting him in that position anyways.  Why did she always have to push her nose in where it didn’t belong? She lets the silence between them billow, not wanting to make Eoin more uncomfortable than she’s probably already made him.  It’s going to make for an uncomfortable year, but she’ll accept it if he doesn’t utter another word in her direction.

Which is why she’s surprised when he addresses her again.  She looks at him, stuttering a second before finding her ability to speak again.

"Ummm, I don’t know a ton.  My mom speaks it, but it’s not like Parisian french and I never really bothered to learn, so…" she trails off, unsure of where to take the conversation from there.

[e-i-e-i-boot]

"So... you're French then? Or something?"

He doesn't know anything about France, other than something about Veela and they're obsessed with snails. "I know jackshit. I don't even want to be here, but the only reason I'm here is because of Rosie, and she hasn't turned up."

Which he's not bitter about. He's not. Okay, just a little bit. Because the only reason he is in this damn lesson and not wandering around the grounds to his hearts content is because she convinced him that this would be fun. "we can learn a new language together!" she said, even though he doesn't give a rats damn about French. He's fluent in Irish, and he's perfectly happy with that.

[e-i-e-i-boot]

[e-i-e-i-boot]

He jumps as someone barges their way onto his desk (he’s been used to having his own for years, at least until Rosie, and to have someone who isn’t her is strange) and the motion makes his quill jerk right across the page. Fucking fucking fuck. He’s in a terrible mood today.

...

[e-i-e-i-boot]

He shouldn't be as annoyed as he is. It's not Ava's fault that Rosie is suspiciously absent (she takes pride in her near perfect attendance) and it's not her fault that the only empty seat was next to him. He doesn't blame anybody for not wanting to sit next to him, not since that second year when he'd shoved someone from the seat and on to the floor. That had been his second option, the first being jamming his quill into their eye. He can't even remember who it was now. He's used to that space around him. It protected him. Kept him apart from everybody else. But not now. Not since Rosie who takes pride of place next to him. Not since he lies awake at night when the space between his ribcage and his arm is too empty to sleep. "It doesn't matter. Don't worry about it." He grumbles, shuffling sideways to give her more room. He can lie to himself and keep saying that being emotionally numb is better than feeling anything, but if he's going to at least try and be better for Rosie then he needs to stop burying himself deep inside. "So. You know much about French?"

[e-i-e-i-boot]

the staircases change, remember? | eoin&molly

[arithmancerr-blog]

"Fuck," she breathes, frowning down at her ankles stretched out in front of her. Molly’s eyes flit across his face, examining the scowl and the set jaw and the crinkles of his forehead. His cynicism causes her upper lip to curl a little, and for her own features to arrange themselves into a frown. Honestly, she can’t imagine all the effort he must put into negative thoughts. And while logically he has to have some sort of reason for those types of thoughts, for all her sensibility and problem solving ability she can’t even fathom something that would sour somebody’s worldview to such an extreme.

Molly scoffs. “God, relax. Not everybody’s intent on emotionally destroying you, princess.” She thinks of at least three nicer ways to phrase her words before she spits them out, and decides against saying any of them. Perhaps if he hadn’t been so dismissive, remained so sullen, allowed himself to be so hopeless. Which isn’t fair at all and she knows it - hopelessness isn’t something somebody welcomes, and she should know better than that. But her dislike for him colours her judgement and she can’t help blame him for it.

[e-i-e-i-boot]

"Yeah, you're probably right." he muses, tipping his head back and staring at the staircase above. No escape there. Too high to jump, and no where near enough hand holds to climb. He could levitate (drop) Molly down to the floor below. With no warning. That would be fun, and even though he may still be stuck here, at least he'd be alone and wouldn't have to put up with a condescending Weasley trying to tell him why he's an idiot. "But I'm not going to give them the chance."

Realistically he knows he's being unnecessarily harsh. He knows plenty of ways, muggle and magic, to heal her knee, to wash her socks free of blood, and he could share them. Molly has done nothing to him. They've barely interacted outside of class and he has no excuse to be acting the way that he is.

[rosieposied]

cold ways kill cool lovers | eoin and rosie

[rosieposied]

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[e-i-e-i-boot]

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[rosieposied]

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[e-i-e-i-boot]

Not going anywhere sounds nice, admittedly. He kicks his feet up and ends up floating on his back, keeping himself in the same place with slow turns of his hands, his knuckles occasionally glancing across Rosie's exposed thigh. Realistically, of course, they can't stay here forever. Someone was bound to interrupt at some point, and he's pretty sure that skinny dipping and more is not actually permitted in here. Though he's sure they were not the first. Not by a long shot.

"Give it half an hour, you'll be cold and begging me to warm you up."

[rosieposied]

of cailìnì dearg, asshole boyfriends, and quidditch | eoin and rose

[rosieposied]

She smirks at him as he fumbles with his collar, his eyes still sanded with sleep, his cheeks imprinted with the creases in his bedsheets. “You’re misbuttoned,” she says, shaking her head with a smile, pausing in the corridor, her hands on the placket of his jumper. Her knuckles graze his skin as as refastens the buttons properly, and she pretends not to notice the way he tenses at her touch, or the way her heartbeat quickens in response.

"Well," she responds, locking her fingers with his as they continue down the hall. "I can’t go about hewing everyone who irritates me, however much I may want to, so on occasion it’s nice to watch some Slytherin jerk get knocked off their broom." Taking a sip of coffee, she twists on the cap, and tucks it into her bag. "Oh, don’t give me that look. You’ll be happy when we get to the pitch and you haven’t drunk it all. Are you hungry?" She pulls an apple out, rubs the red skin against her wool cape to polish it before sinking her teeth in. A thin rivulet of juice runs over her jaw and down her throat.

"Hugo?" she asks, her words muffled as she chews, passing the fruit to him. "He plays keeper."

[e-i-e-i-boot]

Despite the fact he knows Rosie would never hurt him physically, despite the number of times she's had her hands on him, skin on skin, every part of him he's still unsure of anyone who touches him so easily, and there's a moment when he tenses but it soon dissipates, and he's just left with a shiver on his spine.

"Why not? Sounds like fun." He knows plenty of people that have been on the receiving end of a jinx from any member of the Potter-Weasley family, knows that it's best to not piss any of them off.

He follows the trail of juice down her throat, memories of so many nights when it was his mouth on her skin, licking a trail down to her collarbone and he thinks about dragging her into a sheltered alcove and doing unspeakable things to her until the Quidditch match is conveniently forgotten.

He takes the apple, and is about to take a bite when something occurs to him. "Wait, so, isn't your other cousin... one of them, anyway, the Slytherin seeker? Who are you supporting?"

[e-i-e-i-boot]

i'm surrounded by idiots | eoin & ava

[avawashington-deactivated201407]

Ava sees an empty desk, not really registering who is seated around her, and plops her things down with a huff.  She’s really not used to rushing through a giant castle to get to class on time, so she usually ends up walking briskly or even sometimes jogging to make it before class starts.  She guesses it’s good cardio though, so she doesn’t mind too much.  She’ll figure it out eventually.

She leans over to pull her notebook and a pen out of her bag (she doesn’t understand why everyone bothers with quills and parchment, the muggle way is much easier and less messy) when she sees that the boy next to her has sketched a tiny rose in the margins of his parchment.  She watches him scribble it out, slightly disappointed.

"That was actually really pretty, it’s a shame you scribbled it out," she says, leaning upright, her curls bouncing a bit as she settles herself in her chair.  She sticks out her hand.

"I’m Ava by the way."

[e-i-e-i-boot]

He jumps as someone barges their way onto his desk (he's been used to having his own for years, at least until Rosie, and to have someone who isn't her is strange) and the motion makes his quill jerk right across the page. Fucking fucking fuck. He's in a terrible mood today.

He wants Rosie. Doesn't miss her. He doesn't. But she's always had a calming effect on him, and it's been too long (three hours, twenty four minutes and... seventeen seconds) since he's seen her.

"Eoin." he replies, disgruntled, and makes a point to not take her offered hand, instead jabbing his wand at the parchment until the ink clears away.

[e-i-e-i-boot]

i'm surrounded by idiots | eoin & ava

He's bored. So fucking bored. He didn't even want to take French, because he's perfectly happy with his native language, of teasing Rosie with it because she gets frustrated when she has no idea what it means and it amuses him. But he needed something to fit into his Wednesday afternoon, so French it was. Mainly because Rosie was supposed to be in this class, but something or someone has waylaid her and here he is sat on his own learning about parlez vous francais when he really couldn't give a damn.

When the teacher asks them to write a paragraph about what they did over the summer (yawn) he writes about his old tree house, bruised and battered and broken, just like him. Only he writes in Irish, and the look of disdain from his professor is worth it.

It's not that he couldn't do it. He knows he's intelligent and if he wanted to he could spout off paragraphs about every week of a holiday that dragged on and on. It's funny. When he's at home he longs to be away from them, to be at school where he is at least left to his own devices. But once he's here he wishes he could be any where else.

He finds himself doodling on the edges of his parchment, even without thinking has drawn a rather intricate Róisín, and when he realises it he scribbles it out. Not that it does any good. Half of the school already know what it is the two of them get up to in their spare time. 

[e-i-e-i-boot]

english motherfucker, do you speak it?

no

[e-i-e-i-boot]

OH tá tú i mo veins, agus ní féidir liom a gheobhaidh tú amach | eoin & hugo

[hug0wez-blog]

Hugo watches his face carefully. He’s not exactly a master at reading people, isn’t good with introspection or analyzing himself. Sometimes he isn’t even sure how he’s feeling; how could he possibly be able to tell about someone else? But Eoin looks honest and genuine. Maybe it’s the way he says it, like it’s something he doesn’t really want to give away. Like the idea of hurting Rose hurts him, just thinking about it. 

Maybe Eoin Boot really isn’t such a bad bloke.

"Well, she’ll definitely get passionate enough about it for the both of you if it never really suits your fancy." Hugo taps on the table. He doesn’t really know what else to ask about. "What’s your hobby, then? Besides snogging my sister in the library, I mean." He hopes his grin says teasing, but he feels like it might still be a little threatening.

At least he isn’t his father, who once stayed up till three in the morning one night because he thought Rose was out with a boy instead of staying over at Molly’s. Not that Hugo’s going to tell Eoin that. He probably already thinks their whole family is off their collective rocker. “It’s alright,” Hugo follows up with, scratching at the table a little bit. “Rose has got just as much right to snog who she pleases in the middle of the day as the next person, I suppose. Just don’t get detention or anything. She’s still hoping for Head Girl.” 

[e-i-e-i-boot]

"I wasn't - we weren't -" he blushes, ducks his head, kicking himself mentally. Just teasing. He was just teasing. Fuck him, as if he's going to be caught making out in the library. As if he would make out in the library at all. No. Just coffee. That's all it was. "We were just - coffee. You know. She drinks it by the gallon."

Hobbies? Interesting question. "I like... walking, I suppose." Does Rosie count as a hobby? "I don't think I have any. Rosie keeps trying to make me read some of her books."

"I haven't had a detention in the entire time I'm here, I think she's safe in that aspect. And I know. She won't stop talking about it. Policies here and policies there, and what do you think, Eoin? I don't give a fuck, you know? The sooner I'm out of here the better."

[rosieposied]

of cailìnì dearg, asshole boyfriends, and quidditch | eoin and rose

[rosieposied]

She rolls her eyes at him one last time before storming out of the room, the stomping echoing through the empty room. “Stupid wanker,” she mutters to herself. “Stupid fucking wanking asshole boyfriend.” Where did he get off, anyways? Always expecting her to jump at what he wanted, never bothering to think about what she might like to do. How much trouble is one Quidditch match? Did she honestly mean so little to him?

She’s not going to cry, absolutely, one hundred percent is not going to cry, but she can feel her cheeks get hot and the pricking around her eyes. She runs straight into a second year boy, towering over him so much that she almost knocks him to the ground, but instead of letting herself weep, she straightens her shoulders and grits her teeth. No. She’s not going to cry, she’s going to watch her little brother win his match, and not think about asshole boyfriends at all.

She doesn’t expect him to come running after her, is so wrapped up in her own anger and hurt that she doesn’t hear him until he’s beside her, pulling the thermos from her hands. Rosie looks at him in shock for a moment, and then smiles at him, lifting onto her toes to kiss him.

"Changed your mind, hm?" she says with a smirk, lacing her fingers through his as they leave the common room and walk down the corridor.

"Quidditch is wonderful because it’s so incredibly thrilling! There are essentially no rules; seeker catches the snitch, game over. Whoever has the most points wins. Other than that, you can practically do whatever you want. People get knocked off their brooms all the time by bludgers and other players and everything else. It’s incredibly cathartic."

[e-i-e-i-boot]

He tugs on his collar with his free hand, unwilling to let hers go, and he dressed in such a hurry that it's all tucked under and over and it's horrible uncomfortable. "You know, you still have my jumper from the party." 

"Why is people getting injured so thrilling for you?" He doesn't understand it. He understands that people enjoy Quidditch, they love the rivalry and the environment, and the banding together under one team, or house, or whatever, but it's really just... not him. "And I am not necessarily changing my mind on the sport, I just don't want to spend another how ever many days it's going to be this time not talking to you."

"What position does Hugo play, then?"

[e-i-e-i-boot]

OH tá tú i mo veins, agus ní féidir liom a gheobhaidh tú amach | eoin & hugo

[hug0wez-blog]

"Good, that’s good. Well, not the tired bit." Hugo crosses his arms in front on him on the table. Making the most passive face he can, he tries to find words to broach the topic. "So, my sister really seems to fancy you," he says finally, putting a slight emphasis on the word "sister," as if Boot would need a reminder.

Actually, the way Rose had reacted over breakfast the last time they had spoken had been a little surprising. Rose is loyal and compassionate, but Hugo can’t really think of a time where she had worn that look on her face when talking about a boyfriend or someone before. He can’t say he’s an expert or anything, but he’s lived with her for his whole life. He was bound to pick up on things.

Hugo unfolds his arms and clasps his hands together, winding his fingers and then parting them again. “We Weasley’s can sometimes see things in people, things others would miss. I’m going to trust Rose’s judgement because it’s her life, but if you do something to bollocks it up… Well, Weasley’s are also numerous, and we are all very protective of our own.”

Pulling his hands off the table and into his lap, he looks up at Boot and gives him a smile. 

"Now that’s out of the way, how do you feel about quidditch?"

[e-i-e-i-boot]

He keeps quiet on the reasons why he's so tired, not entirely sure Hugo wants to know how much time he's actually spending with his sister. "I like her." he admits, carefully. "A lot."

And he knows full well just how protective the Potter-Weasley clan can be. Half the school seems to be made up of them, and he can't escape, all of them having some form of opinion on him Rosie. Hugo, he thinks, is probably the most important.

"I don't... plan on messing anything up." he says hesitantly, mainly because he doesn't trust himself at all, not with this. He's constantly terrified that he's going to fuck everything up in some disastrous way, and Rosie is going to be left bruised, battered and broken in some way. And she doesn't deserve that. Not at all. "I mean, I don't know what we are, what we're doing, we haven't labelled it as anything, but I like her. I don't want to hurt her."

Oh, fuck. Of course, Hugo plays Quidditch. Of course he would ask. "I, don't, um, actually care for it. Rosie's trying to turn me around though. Took me to my first match the other day."

[rosieposied]

cold ways kill cool lovers | eoin and rosie

[rosieposied]

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[e-i-e-i-boot]

This time it's gentler, at least for him. Maybe it's the water, or maybe it's the fact that they agreed on this being a thing. Dating. Whatever. But he sighs into her shoulder as his orgasm rolls over him, his hips moving in slow, delicate circles as he spills into her.

After, when the after shocks have faded and he's more with it, he cups Rosie's neck with his hand, the other trailing patterns on her lower back, the curve of her ass, and then tugs her mouth to his, his tongue flicking against her teeth, and then he's lowering her back down to the floor. He still keeps her close, can't bear to not be touching.

"What do we do now? Back to the party, or do you want to stay here?"

[rosieposied]

need a representative you can trust? a student with excellent background in leadership, activism, and communication? a person with a wide range of skills and experience? then you need rose weasley! as the current president of the charms club, the potions club, and the society for the promotion of elvish welfare, rose is the candidate you can trust! ROSE WEASLEY FOR HEAD GIRL 2023.

[rosieposied]

cold ways kill cool lovers | eoin and rosie

[rosieposied]

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[e-i-e-i-boot]

He swears, can never get used to the way her tongue feels on his skin. Tracing not only his unmarked skin, but also the worst parts of him, the raised pink and white lines that mar his life. She doesn't mind it. It doesn't freak her out, or repulse her, and maybe it's that that draws her to him, her conviction that this abuse is not who he is.

Its going to be over far too quickly, and even though it's not hard and fast like their usual methods, the water makes everything so slow, he can already feel it building, an uncontrollable surge that's going to take over him completely.

He takes Rosie's ear into his mouth, alternating between sucking and biting before releasing it. "Come for me, Rosie. Come for me right now."

[rosieposied]

cold ways kill cool lovers | eoin and rosie

[rosieposied]

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[e-i-e-i-boot]

It's easy like this. He only needs to keep one arm around her to keep her up, can use the other to do whatever he likes to her. The pinch of a nipple, his whole hand encompassing her ass, fingers sliding down and down into her most intimate areas. It would be so easy, they're both so ready, just to push into her as they are. And he does, uses his arm to lift her up and down. It's slow, and torturous, and completely delicious and captivating and he doesn't want to stop, he doesn't ever want to stop, if he can just stay in this moment forever. Naked, and together, and joined in the most primal of ways.

"Róisín." he whispers in her ear, desperate and needy, and he hates how much he needs this, needs her, just to function properly, just to feel anything remotely. "Róisín, Róisín, Róisín." he mumbles, over and over and over again, until even he's lost track of how many times he's painted her skin with it.

[rosieposied]

of cailìnì dearg, asshole boyfriends, and quidditch | eoin and rose

[rosieposied]

She doesn’t bother to disguise the sigh of annoyance, the huff as she crosses her arms and glares at him. “Don’t be lewd,” she shoots back at him, sounding prissy and prudish even to herself. She can feel them running full tilt into argument, but if he’s at all stubborn, so is she. Stubborn, and hot-tempered, and unwilling to back down when she wants something, just like her mother.

"You’re so daft about the most idiotic things sometime, Eoin Boot," she counters, her voice loud, her tone set to accusatory. "You won’t bother to do the simplest of things with me, which makes me wonder why you’re bothering with me in the first place. And no, I don’t want to go for a walk with you, I want you to come with me to watch my brother’s Quidditch match, but apparently that’s to much to ask.”

She huffs, slamming things together, angrily screwing the top back onto her thermos, shooting him wicked glares all the while. When she gathers her things, she reaches up to straighten her beret and makes to turn on her heel and storm out, giving him one last withering look.

[e-i-e-i-boot]

"You weren't complaining yesterday." he grumps, folding his own arms in a mirror image of her. If she wants to argue, fine. He's good at arguing. Considers himself an expert in it.

"Bothering with you? Rosie, you're trying to make me do something that I hate. You want me to go to Hogsmeade for a drink with you? Fine. You want to go to a walk, sure. But I don't like Quidditch. You can pout, and sulk all you like, but you're not going to change my mind."

He thinks maybe he's got a point. In fact, no, he does have a point. Why should he do something he hates? He's all up for doing things with her (lewd or not), but not this. But then Rosie's storming out (and taking the coffee with her) and he's grumbling and pulling his clothes on in a hurry, grumbling and swearing because he can't be dealing with not speaking for a week, or two weeks, or however long it's going to be at this time.

He runs down the stairs, narrowly dodging a second year coming up, and pegs it through the common room, catching up with her before she vanishes through the entrance. He pulls the Thermos out of her arms, and pours himself a fresh cup. "You've got until we get to the pitch to tell me why Quidditch is wonderful."