Disinformation Campaign

disinformation campaign

― Rupert Brooke, The Wayfarers

How do I make this my pc background?

paddy/eoin - ❀ myrtle (marriage) — “i can’t believe it. we’re really married!”

for @sweatynightmarecollection-stuff

from this ask meme

The door, rain-sodden and heavy, only half shuts with the kick that pushes it closed, coming to with a groan rather than a slam. The harder noise, the sharper clatter of a homestead entered with reckless, joyous, abandon, is left for the pile of books that jumble noisily to the floor as Paddy is pushed firmly up against the hallway wall and his foot collides with the low table they had been resting on. He’s caught in his stumble by a strong arm at his waist, gripping tight hold in his jumper.

Eoin’s free hand slides across his jaw as he kisses him, he can feel the calloused tips of his fingers press against the back of his neck, where it is tilted upwards to meet his lover. Water drips from his hair, from Eoin’s hair, from their coats, their skin, and who could possibly care about any of it? The storm outside is nothing against the thunder of Paddy’s heart now.

“Married, Paddy,” Eoin says against his mouth. “We’re really-”

His words disappear again as Paddy pulls him closer in, stretching himself the length of Eoin’s body and holding him so tightly that he gasps and flattens his hand against the wall beside Paddy’s head, steadying himself before they both stumble. Paddy can feel the rumble of laughter in his chest, or perhaps it is in his own; this entangled, he isn’t sure he cares to know the difference. 

Pausing, panting, Eoin’s forehead drops to rest against his temple, stubble scratching at his cheek as he flutters soft kisses against the line of Paddy’s jaw.

“Can’t believe it, boy?” he asks. “Not regretting it already are we?”

“Never,” Eoin says. His voice is as fierce as his lips are gentle. “You’re mine forever now, Paddy Mayne.”

Infinity echoes in every syllable. 

“That does not sound nearly long enough, my Eoin,” Paddy replies.

paddy.