#A Pint of Plain

[stairnaheireann]

#OTD in 1939 – At Swim-Two-Birds, a novel by writer Brian O’Nolan, writing under the pseudonym Flann O’Brien.

At Swim-Two-Birds is a 1939 novel by Irish author Brian O’Nolan, writing under the pseudonym Flann O’Brien. It is widely considered to be O’Brien’s masterpiece, and one of the most sophisticated examples of metafiction. The novel’s title derives from Snámh dá Én (‘Swim-Two-Birds’), a ford on the River Shannon, between Clonmacnoise and Shannonbridge, reportedly visited by the legendary King…

[froody]

Sheriff Harry S. Truman has well maintained berry brambles surrounding his house and he cans an assortment of jams and preserves as well as smoked salmon every spring. Cooper is so enthralled and charmed and impressed by this.

[criminallyaddictedtomilk]

[scarlet-bee]

[Plain text:

Wheel of Saw traps

Spin the wheel here

Are you surviving your test?

End plain text.]

WHEEL OF SAW TRAPS

Spin the wheel here

[alchemisland]

Dustology Dust Elegy

Downward now to get amongst it, downward fast like bored balloon,

Choking dust and Polish names, rigged games in swinging saloons.

Now as if on arrowback a straight shot through the hills,

Clacking red railroad trucks like spy’s glasses spinning,

Ol’ black red-wheel belching excess, blazered leatherbills steam the whistle

Light thinning to less than eve, ages not amazements blurring,

Wish speed would slow, taking ease amongst; just be.

Lulled by fast-passing wide-eyedness, beholding quick-dissolving wonders that ghosts make with steam.

Just me in the quiet carriage, loud with ceaseless forward the backtracking train a nursery

I creep aisles climbing carts like wandering ivy, among the sleepers ivory of eye-whites invisible.

Two bauld Powers a pint of plain said quiet to the barkeep, who might be a ghost;

Whether holidaying in life, this dead, or deading through life was a fine host.

Two Powers I master milling into pint of plain song on tongue.

[medicinemane]

Ok, so here's my big problem with how things are done in this world right now

It feels like there's enough wealth to take care of everything (wealth here being defined as labor, goods, materials, etc), but there isn't a proper distribution of capital (currency etc) for people to be able to access things they need, and it doesn't feel like the current infrastructure and systems in place are sufficient to meet the needs of people at large (and often feels like they are actively designed in ways that hold us all back)

Basically when I'm advocating for changes, I'm either pointing to people at the bottom not having the needed volume of currency to be able to purchase everything they need, or I'm pointing to the infrastructure and systems and saying... well something's going wrong here, that's for sure

Don't know... just felt like saying that about it

[wreckofawriter]

Only If You Catch Me

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pairing: fred weasley x fem!reader

summary: fred had always been frustrated by your endeavors with other men, especially other men that always looked quite a bit like him. after a disastrous mistake during quidditch practice you find yourself wondering how you had never seen fred Weasley in the light you saw him in now

word count: 4.4k

warnings: jealousy, language (maybe?), only proof read once so sorry for any mistakes!

a/n: this is my first big piece in ages, I hope you guys enjoy and im so sorry for my prolonged absence i fell off on writing for a while and im just now getting back to it

♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~

♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~

Some things were just facts, plain and simple; the sky is blue, two and two is four and you had a type.

“Another ginger I see.” Alicia murmured as you sat down across from her, pints of butter beer clinking together. Your eyes were locked with a pretty freckled boy by the bar. 

You huffed even though she was quite right, this must have been the third redhead that you set sights on this year. “Well William got boring and,” You paused wrinkling your nose, “-pushy” 

The Three Broomsticks was packed, the sounds of chatter and warmth guarding you from the icy cold of the blizzard that had swept through Hogsmeade. You and Alicia had joined the dozens of students seeking cover in the popular pub and quickly snagged a small table near a large fireplace where you now looked out on the sea of flushed faces and smiles. 

“With your type it's a wonder your last name isn’t Weasley.” Your friend chuckled and you laughed. 

“If I could have gotten my hands on Charlie, it would be.” You replied, your silly crush on the older Weasley brother lasting from your first year to what you were sure would be your last. 

Alicia giggled, taking a large swig from her pint, licking the foam off her top lip. “Why not one of the twins then?”

“What twins?” A voice asked from behind you.

“She couldn’t be talking about us now could she, Georgie?” Fred jested.

“No no,” The other replied, “I mean what could Spinnet possibly want from us?”

Alicia rolled her eyes with great effort, “Trust me when I say I want nothing to do with you. As for my friend here, I don't know if I can say the same.” she said with a smug grin and you sent her a furious look.

Fred smirked, leaning over the back of your chair, his large palms ghosting your shoulders, “Is that true? Do you need something from us?” He leaned in even further, his nose brushing your hair, “from me?”

You began to look a bit red as he pulled away, “Please Weasley,” you managed to scoff “since when do I need things from you? In fact, I believe you still have my Charms notes.”

Fred had come to stand in front of you now, George joining his side, “It's just that your notes are so much better for writing Flitwick’s essay. ” He argued. 

“You don’t even take notes.” You said, exasperated. 

“Exactly” The twins replied in unison. 

Alicia snickered beside you.

Chairs appeared and Fred and George sat. The table seemed half the size it was before as Fred's elbow knocked against yours.

“Made yourselves at home have you?” You spoke, wincing.

Fred just grinned and leaned purposefully closer, thighs now brushing.

You slid towards Alicia who was turning a laugh into a cough and set your eyes back on the boy with freckles. 

“You headed to the Slytherin match next weekend?” Alicia asked absently.

“Of course.” George replied, “I’ve bet Lee a galleon that Malfoy catches a bludger with his nose.” he chuckled,  “He reckons it’ll be his gut.” 

You all smiled at the idea, no one hated Malfoy more than those on the Gryffindor quidditch team. 

“We also have business to do.” Fred said, wiggling his eyebrows mischievously.

“You don't have any more of those nosebleed nougats do you?” You asked, eyes still across the room, “I’ve got to get out of Binns’ class tomorrow.” 

Alicia's eyebrows shot up, you hardly missed History of Magic, or as you liked to call it, nap hour. “Why's that?”. 

“No reason.” You mumbled, intently staring into your butterbeer. 

Fred’s eyes darted between the two of you. 

“Of course we’ve got some.” grinned George, oblivious, “2 sickles a pei-.”

“Or for free if you tell us what you're up to.” Fred interrupted, catching a strange look from his brother. 

“I'm not up to anything!” You gasped with a bit too much enthusiasm. 

Alicias eyes had narrowed to slits and Fred had never looked more unconvinced. 

Your face began to grow hot and you found yourself wishing you had more grace in the act of lying.

“Oh come off it,” George said, “If she wants to snog Murphy instead of hearing about the seventh generation of goblin rebellions, who are we to judge?” 

You were glowing pink now, sending a vicious look at George who had taken to sipping his drink innocently. 

Fred looked appalled, his face contorted like he had just caught a whiff of something horrible, “Murphy!” 

“Keep your voice down.” You hissed angrily, glazing across the room again to be sure he hadn’t heard, “I'm trying to keep it quiet.” 

Fred was fuming, “Who wouldn’t, swapping spit with a git like that.” 

You scoffed, pulling out a small coin purse, “Can I just have some nougat?”

“Nope.” Fred responded, voice suddenly ferocious, “We’re out.”

You were beginning to grow frustrated, “George just said you had some.”

Fred glared at you, “We’re out.” he repeated his nose high in the air.

You turned to George looking for help but he threw you an I’m-not-getting-into-this look and you were forced to round back on Fred. 

You glared at each other for a moment before Fred caved, "Fine we’ve got some,” He huffed, “Three Galleons.” 

Your mouth dropped, “George said 2 sickles!”

He crossed his arms, “They’re in high demand.”

You stood, chair flying back into the wall with a loud crack, “You’re a complete prick.” you said sharply snatching your bag and sweeping past Fred and over to meet Finn Murphy  who was now standing to leave the pub. 

“Well I think you handled that well.” Alicia said, grinning at Fred who looked as though he had been slapped. 

George, who looked all too happy with himself for instigating such an interesting conversation, helped himself to the remains of your butterbeer as you and Murphy bowed out into the flurry of white followed closely by Fred’s glare.

“Looks as though she's gonna snog every redhead at school before you.” Alicia snicked. 

“Yeah,” George snorted, “You might want to keep an eye on Ginny.”

Alicia giggled even harder, pressing a hand to her lips in an attempt to keep her drink in her mouth. 

Fred could hardly hear them, too busy envisioning your latest with large boils all over his face or perhaps vomiting indefinitely. 

Alicia managed to contain herself and shot Fred a sympathetic glance, “I've been trying you know, I keep bringing you up but she seems far more interested in Charlie.” 

“Charlie!” He guffawed, “But he's been gone for ages!”

“Well he seemed to have made quite the impression.” Alicia chuckled. 

“He was captain when she was appointed to the team.” George pointed out. 

“Yeah when she was TWELVE” Fred gasped. 

Alicia couldn’t help it, she had started laughing again, “Relax,” She spoke between breaths, “It’s just a silly school girl crush.” 

Fred looked unconvinced and began to tap his heel incessantly against the floor.

“Take it as a complement!” She continued, “Charlie looks quite a bit like you, I mean you are related after all.” 

Fred was not taking it as pleasantly as she suggested and began to rap his foot on the ground even faster, “We’ve got to do something.” 

“We?” George snorted, “This is all you mate. I’m not the one in love with her.” 

Freds ears grew pink, “I’m not in love with her!” he sputtered. 

“Whatever you say.” Alicia spoke rolling her eyes.

The truth was that if Fred wasn't in love with you, he was so close he may as well have been. At the very least he had been pining after you for years and he had never been particularly quiet about it. In fact he was the opposite of quiet about it. His flirtatious remarks and dazzling complements were quite consistent. Unfortunately so was his coursing jealousy as you paraded around with boy after boy who was not him.  Every year he swore would be the year. The year where you finally realized it was him you needed and all would be right in Fred's world. But time and time again he failed as you walked out the door with a different redhead. He was growing nervous, his seventh year was upon him and this may be his last chance before you were all carted off in different directions never to see each other again. The frustration of it all was turning him bitter.

That night Fred lay awake on his four-poster, staring at the ceiling venomously. What was it? He wondered, What was it that he didn't have that every other ginger you knew seemed to possess? Why was it never him pulling you into broom closets and meeting you after classes? What was he doing wrong? His thoughts spun until he drifted into an uneasy slumber. 

By the time he arrived at the quidditch pitch for practice the next morning, the rest of the team was already changing into their robes as Angilina scribbled vigorously on the chalkboard in front of them, already changed and ready. 

“Fred!” She shouted watching him try to sneak his way into the bustle of the team unnoticed, “What took so long? I was beginning to think I would have to send George back up to wake you.” 

He shrugged, “Sorry Cap, I didn’t get much sleep last night if you know what I mean.” he winked at her and she looked sorely unamused. 

You on the other hand perked up at the insinuation, finally looking at the twin who, in protest of his behavior the day before, you had been ignoring. 

“She gets what I mean,” He smirked nodding towards you, “Up late with Murphy boy last night?” He asked viciously. 

You flushed as the changing room filled with chuckles. 

“Murphy?” Angelina asked, turning to you, “Isn’t he a bit,” She paused, “dim?” 

You scowled at Fred silently before snatching your broom from the rack and marching so quickly out onto the pitch that you hadn’t even noticed you had hit Harry in the temple with its handle. 

As Potter groaned in pain and fixed his askew glasses Fred looked over to Alicia who was shaking her head slightly. As the rest of the team slowly followed you out onto the field she and George made their way towards him. 

“You’re an idiot.” Alicia groaned, “No wonder she won’t go out with you.”  

George chuckled.

Fred glared at the pair, “It’s not my fault she insists on only snogging boys who are 'a bit dim.'" he spoke, mocking Angelina.

“I know that this may be hard to wrap your head around,” Alicia spoke sharply, “But maybe she went out with Murphy because he was, ya know, nice to her.” She then shouldered past the twins leaving Fred gapping at his brother desperately. 

The day was crisp, the heavy licks of winter drawn in by a bitter wind. But the sky was clear and the sun was out, much to everyone’s appreciation. 

Fred mounted his broom still angry, feeling foolish for upsetting you yet again as you stood with your back to him defiantly. 

The whistle blew and the balls were released as the team kicked off, snow flying in all directions as you did so. 

Fred's head was not in practice as it should have been but instead on you, watching you speed towards the goal posts with the quaffle already under your arm. You scored easily on Ron with a feign left.

Fred was so absorbed in you that he had completely forgotten about the bludgers, one of which was hurtling at him with frightening speed. With little time to react he swung his bat wildly and pitched the bludger in the opposite direction, which with a sickening feeling he realized was right at you. 

He tried to shout but you must not have heard him over the howling of wind in your ears. Because when the bludger struck you heavily between the shoulder blades you were completely unprepared. Your vision danced as the air was knocked from your lungs. You were flung from your broom with a shriek and began to plummet.

Fred streamed after you, urging his broom towards the ground with a frightening speed. His Cleansweep shuttered under the immense pressure he suddenly held it in and never before had Fred wished so badly for Potters Firebolt. 

He managed to get beneath you mere feet from the ground. The force at which you hit him knocked you both into the snow with a heavy thud, and there was a sickening sound as his broom snapped in two. 

Neither of you moved for a moment, the snow settling around you and beginning to melt through your robes. 

“Are you alright?” Fred asked and was struck with panic when you did not respond. He sat up quickly pulling you with him, your legs tangled together in the snow. He called your name desperately, hands holding your face as you lay limp in his arms. 

Angelina landed beside the pair followed closely by George and Alicia both of whom were wearing nervous expressions. 

“Y/n!” Fred shouted again, tears stinging his eyes, fear gripping his throat like a vice. He was moments away from shaking you when your eyes slowly peeled open. 

“Fred?” You mumbled, confused. 

The boy let out a barking laugh of relief and then dove into a hug, almost knocking you back to the ground. 

Bewildered, you returned his embrace and realized quite suddenly how much larger than you Fred really was. You practically disappeared into his chest, his broad shoulders shielding you from the wind that whipped across the pitch. You felt frighteningly warm listening to his heart beat quickly beneath his robes. Your cheeks were hot as he pulled away from you and began to search for any look of pain or damage on your face. 

“Are you alright love?” He asked again and was washed with relief when you nodded. 

As you fully realized what was going on around you, you gasped, pulling the handle of Fred's broom out of the snow.

“Your broom!” You looked horrified, “Fred, your broom broke!” 

Fred on the other hand brushed it off helping you to your feet and beginning to pat the snow off your robes, “It’s alright, I’m sure it's fixable.” he shrugged, “Listen, I am so s-”

But before Fred could finish his apology George burst between the two of you, “I am so sorry!” He spoke hurriedly, “The bludger caught me off guard. I swear I wasn’t aiming for you.” 

You chuckled, giving George a pat on the shoulder, “I sure hope not, but 's not me you should be apologizing to anyway.” You said, “It's Fred’s broom that broke.”  

George did not issue his brother any regrets and instead sent him a wink, whipping his wand out of robes and shouting “Repairo!”

The broom snapped back together and Angelina, who was desperate to get back in the air, looked to you, “You alright then?” 

You nodded with a grin and turned back to Fred who was testing the strength of his brother's repair. 

“Thank you so much Fred,” You gushed, looking up at him through your lashes. 

The boy's heart skipped a beat, stomach lurching, “It was no problem really.” He breathed and miraculously found you in his arms for the second time as you lunged towards him.

“Thank you.” You murmured into his robes before disconnecting and swiftly boarding your broom again. 

Fred watched you leave struck for a moment. Alicia shot him a thumbs up and a grin before he was able to clumsily climb onto his own broom and follow you back up into the air. 

By dinner the story of your fall had been told and retold so many times that you were now said to have plummeted upwards of a hundred meters before Fred had heroically scooped you onto his own broom, saving what was sure to be your life. 

In the great hall you kept getting asked if you were okay as down the table Fred got clapped on the shoulder and congratulated for his great save. He seemed to be enjoying the new story a fair bit more than you were. 

Finn had come over to ask about you halfway through dinner but you found suddenly that he was no less than boring and he returned to the Hufflepuff table after a few short minutes with a look of disappointment on his face. 

Fred watched this with such delight he was sure he was glowing. George -who he had been applauding as the best wingman one could ask for all day- poked him hard in the side and pointed down the table to where you sat. Fred turned to catch your eyes already on him. He winked exuberantly and you turned away with a scoff, but your cheeks had taken a rather deep shade of red. 

He grinned so wide at George he thought his lips might split, “I mean this is some real progress!” He cheered, “Did you see that? She was staring at me!” 

Down the hall you turned to Alicia, cheeks still pink, “Have you ever noticed how tall Fred is?” You asked so suddenly she choked on her pumpkin juice. 

You stared at her curiously as she wiped her mouth with her sleeve smiling, “Oh yeah very tall.”

You hummed looking back down the table at the elder twin who was now laughing wildly at something Lee had said, “I guess I never really thought about it before.” 

Angilina shot Alicia a glance as you were distracted and the two of them broke out into giggles. 

“What?” You demanded though you were still smiling. 

“Oh nothing.” Angilina grinned and you huffed turning back to your dinner. 

You found yourself wishing Fred had chosen to sit a bit closer to you as you watched a group of girls across from him break out into giggles at something he said, “There's no way he's that funny.” You muttered knowing he in fact was. 

  Yet you couldn’t find yourself being all that jealous as he kept glancing up at you, as if checking to make sure you were still watching him and much to his delight you always were. His shoulders, you noticed from where you sat picking at plum pudding, were quite wide, his arms toned. It was no wonder that he had engulfed you completely out on the pitch. 

How had I never noticed this before? You found yourself wondering. How had he managed to escape your list of potential suitors when he was so obviously perfect for you?

The thought struck you rather abruptly and while you would have liked to have sat with it for a minute, Alicia was standing and you knew it was time to head back to the common room. 

As students began to flood from the hall you fiddled with the sleeves of your robes, thoughts full of brown eyes and freckles . 

As if summoned, Fred appeared at your side grinning widely, “Hello.”

“Hey Fred,” replied Alicia. 

“Have you guys heard the news?” He asked, throwing an arm around your shoulder. You tried hard not to blush and instead shook your head, staring at the floor. “Apparently, you owe me your life.” He was beaming down at you now and you found it hard to look away. 

“Oh yeah?” You smirked, “And I heard it was actually you who hit me with that bludger.” 

His smile disappeared only momentarily and you were happy to see it recover so quickly. 

“Ah well, I figured Angelina wouldn’t keep her mouth shut.” He shrugged, “Though I swear if I had a choice I would have knocked her off her broom instead.” 

And for the first time that evening jealousy took you strongly, “Oh yeah? I suppose she would have been a bit more fun to catch then?” 

Fred looked startled by your bristly reaction, “Nah,” He responded, “That would have been Georgie’s job.” 

You were satisfied with this answer and felt yourself leaning against him as you began up towards the tower.

George was delighted to see you still tucked beneath his brother's arm when you reached the common room. He called you over to where he sat and you placed yourself in a large squishy armchair as Fred perched himself beside you on an ottoman. 

You spent your evening rather uneventfully, finishing an essay for Snape as the Gryffindors slowly filtered off to bed in pairs. When George rose to take himself to the dormitory you expected Fred to follow but instead he stayed rooted by your feet where he now sat cross legged on the carpet looking over what looked like an extensive order form. 

Hours later you yawned, stretching when you finally finished your work. It was now well past midnight and only a few fifth years remained, cramming for a quiz in transfiguration the next day. You turned to look at Fred who had long since sprawled himself across the couch before the fire and found him snoring softly. 

A jolt of infatuation made your stomach flip. His messy hair glowed shockingly bright in the fire light, his pink lips slightly agape. You gathered your things slowly, sure not to wake him before you stood beside him.

You knew you should wake him, you were the reason he had not retreated to bed after all. But he looked so peaceful like this, so soft. Instead you found yourself slowly counting the freckles that sprawled across his cheeks, leaning close to brush a strand of his bright red hair out of his face. He woke immediately at your touch, large brown eyes locking with your own.

You felt your cheeks go hot, “You should go up to bed.” You mumbled beginning to pull away. 

He snatched your wrist with such haste it took you by surprise, “Do that again.” he spoke.

You furrowed your brow, “What?” 

“With my hair,” It was his turn to blush now, “Touch my hair again.” 

It felt as though the air was sucked from your lungs yet you found yourself obeying, fingers coming to comb through the soft waves that spread across his forehead. 

He hummed, leaning into your touch slowly, gaze still locked with yours. The two of you stayed there for a moment, you kneeling beside him fingers in his hair, his hand still loosely wrapped around your wrist. 

“I’m sorry.” He murmured and you looked at him confused. 

“For what?” 

“Hitting you with a bludger.” he responded remorsefully. 

You laughed softly, your head thrown back, “It's okay Fred.” you grinned. You were close now, so close Fred could feel the tickle of your breath on his cheek, “I forgive you. You made up for it after all.” 

He smirked in spite of himself, “I suppose I did, saving your life and all.” 

You were giggling again and Fred was sure he was in some beautiful dream where all he could ever hear or see was your joy. 

“I wouldn’t push your luck if I were you.” You grinned, “I may just chuck the quaffle at your head when you're not looking.” 

“Only if you catch me when I fall.” Fred whispered, leaning closer still. 

You let him, your lips connecting slowly. You were pleased to find he was a fantastic kisser, his lips soft and plush, eager to please. His free hand cupped your cheek as he pulled you closer still until you were practically on top of him.

One of the alarm clocks the fifth years had been attempting to turn to roosters burst to life and you pulled away abruptly remembering bitterly that you and him were not the only ones in the room. Fred chased after your lips with his own desperate for even a moment more with your mouth.

“You should get to bed.” You repeated standing now, knees a bit shaky. 

Fred was disappointed by your departure but grinned wildly nonetheless as you gathered your books into your arms and turned back to him. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow Fred.” You yawned and began up the stairs to your dormitory determined not to let him see the childish glee that had spread across your face. 

“Wait!” He called after you, lurching from the couch and stopping at the bottom of the steps. 

You turned back to him taking in the wonderful sight of him staring lovingly up at you. He looked delightfully disheveled, his hair a mess and his lips swollen from your touch. You took two steps down now only one above where he stood on the hardwood floor.

You looked down at him expectantly as his eyes bore into your own. 

He lifted himself onto his toes and grabbed your shoulders forcinging you forward where you connected for a second time. 

This time his breath was hot and heavy on your lips, his earnest intensifying to a level that you could only describe as hunger. Your feet dangled momentarily in the air as he lifted you fervently into his embrace. You were suddenly engulfed in Fred again, he was all you could smell sweet and cinnamon, all you could hear were his pants in your ear, all you could feel was him, his arms around your middle, his thigh pressed between your legs and his lips and tongue working so well together that it was you who chased after him this time, whining in protest when he pulled back.

You stared at him, out of breath and stunned to silence. 

Fred looked as though he had just won something very expensive the way he was grinning with triumph, his eyes dark with lust. 

 “Sweet dreams love.” He murmured leaning down to give you one final kiss, his lips moving sickeningly slow against your own, wet and warm. He hovered inches form your lips for a moment, as if debating diving back in, before he backed away tucking his hands casually into his robes.

“You should go to bed, love.” He smirked, “We’ve got an early practice tomorrow and I do believe you made me a promise about knocking me off my broom.” 

You bit your lip to keep from breaking into girlish giggles. Your heart was still pounding as though you had just run a long race. 

“Only if you swear to catch me though.” He added with a wink.

“I’ll always catch you Freddie.” you assured him before turning and hurrying back up the stairs, grinning so wide your cheeks had begun to ache.

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taglist: @accio-rogers @roslea @k3nz-dood13 @theseuscmander @sleepingalaska @chloe-geoghegan1 @coldlilheart @the-natureofme @trickylittlewitch @layaa-layaaa @sarcasticallywitty @rosieweasley @dracosgoodgirl @inglourious-imagines @princess-jules47 @daedreamss @d22malfoys @evyiione

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[moonstruckme]

Could I request poly marauders x reader who was always judged at home on what she ate when she was little, and now subconsciously hides her food from the marauders (like she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it) I completely understand if you’re not comfortable doing this req!

Thanks honey!

cw: reader experiences shame around eating "bad" foods

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

“You know what I could use right now?” Sirius asks about halfway through the film, right on schedule. “A little treat.” 

You smile, and James hops up gamely. “I’ll see what we have,” he says. Remus chuckles as you and Sirius both turn around on the couch, watching eagerly as James goes into the kitchen. “Ice cream?” he asks, as if he doesn’t know already. 

“Obviously,” Sirius confirms. 

James opens the freezer. “Alright, we have rocky road…half a pint of mint chip…rum raisin—Remus, you’re an old man.” Remus shrugs with a little smile. You think that he’s probably just glad no one else wants anything to do with his flavor of choice. “Also plain vanilla, and…” James pauses, moving things aside and reaching into the back of the freezer. “...chocolate cherry. This yours, angel?”

You’d forgotten you’d bought that. “Yeah,” you tell him, “but it’s open to everyone, of course.” 

James sends you an odd look. “Why’d you have it back behind the frozen peas?”

“I didn’t know it was back there,” you say with a shrug. “I just put things there automatically, I guess.” 

There’s a crinkling sound as James moves more bags of frozen vegetables aside. “There’s also a box of thin mints and an ice cream sandwich.” 

“Ooh, can I have that?” Sirius asks, giving you a pleading look. 

You smile at him. “Course you can. And Jamie, would you bring me the chocolate cherry, please?” 

James still has a funny look on his face as he shuts the freezer, bringing you and Sirius your frozen treats. You turn around once he hands it to you, finding Remus watching you with a similar expression. 

“What?” you ask, popping the lid off your ice cream. James squishes between you and Sirius, the four of you barely fitting on the couch. 

Remus looks like he’s turning something over in his head. “Why was all that back behind the frozen vegetables, love?” 

You shrug, happily sucking ice cream off your spoon. “I dunno. I just put it there, I guess.” 

“It just…” Remus shrugs, and he’s wearing that tiny smile he does when he’s trying to make light of something he doesn’t consider light at all. You tilt your head bemusedly. “It makes it seem like you were trying to hide them or something.” 

“She’s always hiding food,” Sirius says airily, munching on his dessert. “Like the oreos behind the soup cans.” You all look at him, and he stops chewing. “Was that not something we all knew?”

“I don’t…I didn’t think I was hiding anything.” You cross your arms, feeling defensive without really knowing why. There’s a whole number of things you don’t know about yourself, apparently. 

“It’s alright, darling,” Remus says soothingly, placing a hand on your thigh, “just so long as you don’t think you have to hide anything from us.” 

“I don’t,” you say, but you’re looking at your lap and your face feels hot. You don’t, right? Why would you? 

“Sorry for calling you out like that, babe,” Sirius says through a mouthful. “I figured it was intentional, and you just didn’t want us to eat your food. Nobody here cares what you eat, y’know.” 

“I know,” you promise him. “I guess…I just get a little embarrassed sometimes. Like, if I pig out, I don’t want everyone to know because suddenly a whole box of oreos is gone or whatever.” 

“First of all, as if we would even notice,” James scoffs, giving you a friendly shake by the shoulder. “And second, it’s like Sirius said—we don’t care what you eat, sweetheart. Or how much of it. If you want to eat a box of oreos, that’s your business. That’s not even that many oreos.” He shakes his head like you’re silly. “No one’s going to judge you for it.”  

It’s not surprising to hear him say that, and yet you can’t make yourself believe it’s true. Your boyfriends may not say anything about your eating habits—to your face or even to each other—but there’s no way that if they knew every detail, they wouldn’t think it was shameful. 

“Also,” Remus says, arching an eyebrow, “I don’t love the phrase ‘pig out.’ There’s nothing wrong with having a treat—”

“Duh,” Sirius cuts in, toasting with his half-eaten ice cream sandwich. 

“—and you shouldn’t feel like you have to hide things like that from us,” Remus finishes with a nod to appease Sirius. “If you don’t mind me asking, did you put your food in hiding places before you moved in with us?” 

You gnaw on your lip as you think back to pints of ice cream stowed in the ice cube dispenser when you lived at home, eating before your parents got back from work and quickly putting it away again when you heard cars approaching. Back then, you’d hidden dishes in your room too, evidence of food you knew wouldn’t be approved of crusted onto plates and bowls you were keeping stashed there until you could wash them without anyone noticing. 

“I guess so,” you say, and you can feel Remus’ eyes on yours but can’t bring yourself to meet them. You don’t know whether your shame is for your love of junk food or the odd habit of secrecy you’ve fallen into because of it. It might be both. “I used to do it when I lived at home, but I didn’t realize I was doing it here.” 

“That’s alright, sweetheart,” James says hastily, panicking in the face of your solemn change in mood. “So long as you know we don’t care, it’s not like you hiding it is hurting anyone.” 

“It’s hurting me,” Sirius protests. “We had ice cream sandwiches, and I had no idea!” 

You laugh, and James visibly relaxes. “Alright, I’ll try to stop putting things way in the back so that you can find them. I’m not trying to hoard, I swear.” 

“Keeping all the good stuff for yourself.” Sirius shakes his head at you. “That sweet face hides some pretty selfish tendencies, huh?” 

“Actually, could I grab a few of your oreos?” Remus asks before you and Sirius can really get into it. “That sounds pretty good right now.” 

“Yes!” you say. “Yes, please, have as many as you want. Sorry I kept them to myself, it wasn’t on purpose.” 

James takes your jaw in a big hand, pressing a slobbery smooch to your cheek. “You’re forgiven, sweetpea.” He raises his eyebrows. “If I can have some of those thin mints.”

[illusioninfnty]

Girls Just Wanna Have Fun!

જ⁀➴ Brothel : Day 17

feat. Rhaenyra Targaryen, Alicent Hightower ᯓ★ Rhaenyra shows you and Alicent a new kind of fun to be had.

warnings! : NSFW 18+, pre-timeskip, semi-public sex, facesitting, cunnilingus, breast play, 69ing, fingering, dom!Rhaenyra, switch!reader, sub!Alicent

ᯓ★ kinktober m.list || read on ao3

The cool air of the night sky hits you all at once, a stark contrast to Rhaenyra’s warm hand clasped in your own.

“Princess, are you sure this is a good idea?”

Rhaenyra rolls her eyes at you, pulling on yours and Alicent’s hands as she guides you all through crowds of boisterous smallfolk.

People were celebrating—for what exactly, you didn’t know—with the way that people stumbled through the streets, cheering as they clutched their pints of alcohol.

“Someone might recognize you,” Alicent pipes in quietly, her voice barely above a whisper as her eyes shift all around.

She pulls at her hood again and Rhaenyra lets out an annoyed sigh. “Trust me. Where we’re going, no one cares who I am.”

You and Alicent share a confused look as Rhaenyra leads the two of you up a small staircase, knocking on a fairly plain-looking door. It opens within mere seconds, and before even stepping in the stench of sweaty bodies and the sounds of loud moans key you to exactly what kind of place you’re about to enter.

“You brought us to a brothel?” you gasp, raising a hand to your mouth. Alicent averts her eyes next to you, a blush appearing across her features.

Rhaenyra smirks as she leads you two in. “This is the only place in town where we don’t have to worry about being caught.”

She gestures a hand out in front of you, and you and Alicent survey the scene. To your surprise, no one even bats an eye in the direction of you three.

Alicent is the first to speak up again. “...And why a brothel?” She doesn’t sound accusatory, but curious, rather.

Your princess friend weaves you all in between couples fucking until you reach a large bed behind a curtain, the space only illuminated by candlelight. She sheds her cloak, throwing it off to the side.

She then goes up to Alicent, unfastening the buttons on hers. “We deserve to have some fun before we’re all married off.” She eyes you. “Don’t you agree?”

You would be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about what it would be like to be intimate with your two best friends. You three were already closer than what was typically seen in other young women your age. There were lingering stares, and hands that stayed on each other’s bodies for just a second too long. You would sometimes wake up with faint dreams of familiar hands caressing your body.

When you don’t respond right away, Alicent elbows your side, whispering your name harshly. 

Rhaenrya chuckles. “I figured.” Finally, she takes off your cloak. She doesn’t stop there, however. You gasp as your friend begins to undo the lacing of your underdress, her fingers ghosting your neck causing you to shiver. Alicent stares at the two of you with wide eyes as your nude figure is revealed.

Rhaenyra leans into you from behind. “Take off her dress, and then lay down on the bed,” she whispers in your ear.

You inhale sharply as her hot breath tickles your earlobe, and you obey silently. Alicent jumps when you begin to take her undergarments off.

“How are you feeling?” you whisper to her.

“Nervous,” she replies. “But…I think I’ve been really wanting this.”

“Me too.” You smile, giving her a kiss on the cheek as you take your place on the bed, back against the plush white covers.

Rhaenyra stares down at you like a predator ready to claim its prize. She lowers herself down, and with no warning begins to feast on your cunt.

You let out a loud gasp that practically becomes a yelp, throwing your head back and clamping a hand over your mouth in surprise. The sensation of her tongue toying with the most sensitive parts of you is even greater than you could have ever imagined. Heat envelops your entire body, and your free hand claws at the bedsheet, desperately for some stability.

Alicent takes a seat on the bed next to you, near where your head is positioned. Her hand reaches down to hold yours, intertwining your fingers together.

Your back arches as Rhaenyra’s tongue is relentless, loud and messy as your cunt grows wetter each second. Alicent’s hand tightens in your grasp, and you can practically see how her breath quickens as she stares down at Rhaenyra devouring you.

“Alicent.” Rhaenyra’s voice is low and suggestive. Her mouth leaves your cunt and your hips buck up, still chasing the feeling. “I want you to sit on her face.”

“S-sit?” she stammers.

“Place your cunt where her tongue is and let her lick you like I am to her.”

You whine hearing that, the thought of having your two best friends so intimately close to you feeling like straight out of a dream. Alicent, despite the redness that takes over her face, adjusts herself to be over your head.

“Come closer,” you croon, running your hands over her legs, enjoying the way she shivers at your touch.

Rhaenyra hums as she watches the two of you, relishing in the way you two interact with each other, yearning for each other’s touch.

“Are you sure it won’t hurt?” Alicent asks you hesitantly.

“If this is the way I part from this world, I would have no regrets.”

“D-don’t say that!”

You giggle as you pull her cunt down onto your face, licking at her arousal that drips down the corners of your mouth. Alicent moans, her fists digging themselves into your hair as she swivels her hips wildly on top of you.

You groan into her cunt as Rhaenyra continues her assault on your own. You match the pace of her tongue, a comfortable rhythm being enacted that has both you and Alicent squirming.

“So good,” Alicent whines. Your hands tighten on her thighs, focusing on her clit, satisfaction arising in you as she whimpers when you nip at the bud.

In her jerky movements, Alicent ends up leaning forward, her head moving closer to your stomach. You reach your arms up to fondle at her breasts, tweaking at the nipples.

She goes to sit up instinctively, but Rhaenyra keeps her head down, placing a palm on the back of her tresses and lowering her to your cunt. “I want you to eat her cunt.”

You feel Alicent’s breath stop, her body going rigid above you. “But I’ve never—”

“Your Princess commands it.” Those words typically hold weight, but by the airy tone of Rhaenyra’s voice you can tell that she isn’t being serious about that.

But Alicent obeys nonetheless, and a lighter, more feathery sensation hits your core as she begins to explore your cunt with her tongue. Rhaenyra guides her head as you buck your hips up.

“More,” you moan desperately against Alicent’s cunt, trying your hardest to reach your peak.

“So needy.”

You whine as Rhaenyra lifts Alicent’s head from you but the sudden feeling of two of her fingers entering your cunt replaces the emptiness inside of you.

“Come here,” you hear Rhaenyra say softly, and the moans of your two friends and the wet sounds between them as they kiss have you feeling hot all over.

With your two friends engaged in their passionate exchange and Rhaenyra’s fingers deftly curling in and out of your cunt, you’re not surprised when your orgasm hits you at full force. Your arousal gushes out of you at the same time that you hear Alicent let out a high pitched squeal and her own juices release onto your face, where you lick up whatever you can.

Alicent soon removes herself from her position on top of you, rolling down next to you, panting heavily.

As the two of you recover from your orgasms, Rhaenyra lies on the bed, on the other side of you.

She chuckles. “It was well worth it, wasn’t it?”

You and Alicent share a look, realizing you’re on the same page. You turn back to Rhaenyra, placing her shoulders down on the bed as you crawl on top of her.

You smile teasingly at her as Alicent’s hands start to move their way up her legs. 

The blush is no longer present on Alicent’s face as she looks to take matters into her own hands. “We still have to take care of you, don’t we, Princess?”

The moans from the other patrons outside the curtains spur you on as you and Alicent aim to please your princess.

[lomlkenji]

༊*·˚ home | luke patterson

★ summary : after the fight luke and his mother had, he came to you. his home. 

★ warnings: angst, fluff & mentions of fighting. 

★ word count: 1.2k

── ⋆⋅☆

YOU WERE FLOODED WITH BLANKETS AS YOUR WHOLE FOCUS WAS ON THE LAPTOP PLACED ON YOUR LAP. you were watching your favourite Tangled with a pint of chocolate ice cream in your hand. 

your family were passed out, tired from all the barbecue you guys had earlier. with game night accompanying it, everyone went to bed in defeat — all except your father.

while they were sound asleep, you were watching your favourite disney movie. the concept of Tangled marveled you. 

you were one of those people who's into rom-coms or just plain romantic movies, but also refuse to actually be in a romantic action in real life. 

it's just that every time someone has tried to set you up with a guy, you never feel comfortable enough. 

also because you picked on every single flaw that they have and make it as an excuse that they're 'not the one'. 

there's this one guy, who is almost perfect. so, it's hard to find his flaw, but when you see it. you immediately think that it's a huge deal. 

basically he has two separate wallets, one for his large amount of credit cards, and one is for his wad of cash. 

but honestly, it was just to cover your feelings for the boy that has been with you since kindergarten. 

at first you didn't realise it, but you always feel all happy and giddy when he's around or when he makes eye contact with you. 

at first you thought it was just a phase that maybe you will get over. 

oh how wrong you were. 

those feelings just grew stronger by the minute. you become more aware of your appearance when he's around and always making sure that he's okay, etc. 

when you ranted to your best friend, she immediately told you that you were totally in love with him. 

but with him being in a band and having a huge gig at the orpheum — his dream place to perform — you couldn't tell him everything going on. 

he probably doesn't like you back and you will just bring more stress to him than what's already there.

you didn't even realise you were aggressively shoving ice cream in your mouth in a depressing manner. 

it's not that you were sad, actually you were, but you brushed the feeling off telling yourself that you're just being childish. 

but you were supposed to feel like this right? 

an idiot in love? 

or was that just propaganda? 

will you ever be so called 'in love'? 

the sounds of the voices in your head couldn't be tamed but that proves wrong when the song, I See The Light filled your ears. 

the sound immediately brought a smile to your face as the scene where eugene and rapunzel were on the yacht. 

but it was interrupted by a knock on your window. 

you jumped slightly and furrowed your eyebrows, confused but alert. the only person that would be coming through your window is luke. 

the boy we are crushing on? come one keep up! 

but it doesn't make sense, with christmas being around the corner, shouldn't he be spending time with his family? 

you put down your pint of ice cream nightstand beside your bed as you walk towards the window, opening it. 

and there stood luke patterson with a bag and guitar over his shoulder. 

his eyes were bloodshot red, his figure trembling as sniffles came out of his nose. 

you wasted no time taking his hand pulling him in. he dropped his things and instantly wrapped his arms around you. 

his face buried in the crook of your neck as sobs wracked his body. 

"shh shh i'm here. it's okay, you're okay, we're okay" you softly said as you rubbed his back making him relax. 

"i- i- they- we-" luke tried saying but getting his voice getting caught in his throat. 

"hey, hey it's okay" you softly pulled away and put your hands on his cheeks, wiping away some of his tears. 

you gave him a small smile "we have all the time in the world" you assured him. 

he nodded and brought you back in a hug, but this time his arms were around your neck, and your arms were around his torso. 

suddenly luke slowly moved forward which made you move backwards. 

your legs hit the bed as you fall down with a yelp bringing a chuckling luke down with you. 

you moved a bit, so your head met the pillows as his head rested on your stomach. 

this wasn't unusual for you guys, with knowing each other since kids, you guys often cuddle and sometimes even sleep on the same bed. 

your fingers continue to massage his scalp as his breathing slowed down and his body stopped shaking. his grip on your waist tightens every so often. 

"you're watching Tangled again?" he softly asked as he looked at the laptop beside you, trying to distract himself. 

"yep" you chuckled before continuing, "you wanna talk about it?" you softly asked the vulnerable boy. 

he nodded and took a moment before opening his mouth. "me and my mom got into a fight, " he started, his voice hoarse and you can practically hear him shaking. 

you rubbed your hand up and down his back, encouraging him to continue. 

"she was mad, saying that i'm wasting my time on the band, and she said that it's not important and i- i-" he stuttered with sobs. 

"shh shh it's okay, take your time" you encouraged him. 

he took a deep breath before continuing, "i didn't know what i was thinking but i packed up my clothes and just bolted away on my bicycle. and i have nowhere to go" he sobbed, pulling you closer as if you were an anchor and the only thing that will keep him grounded. 

your heart broke hearing him. "hey hey, it's okay you can stay here as long as you like" you said to him, a small smile on your lips. 

"really?" he looked up to you, sad eyes making you melt and devastated at the same time. 

you nodded, "of course. but promise me you'll talk to her after your performance at the orpheum" you told him. there is no way in a million years that you would let luke and his mom get into a fight and just break like that. 

you know how deeply luke loves music, but he loves his mom too. emily is an amazing human being, always being so sweet and kind. their bond is not just something to be broken. 

"i promise" he nodded and started to draw shapes on your side.

the action brought butterflies to your stomach, but you tried to cover your flustered state as you said to him, "it may not feel like home, but we can make it work" 

"i'm always at home when i'm with you" he mumbled quietly. 

your eyes widened as you stiffened. but it went unnoticed by luke as he pulled you tighter to him. 

he lazily lifted his head up and kissed the corner of your lips. he didn't say anything more after that. your heart flutters with thousands of thoughts invading your head. 

you feel like you can run five laps without stopping. 

you feel like screaming from the top of your lungs. 

but luke's snores alerted you that he's asleep and of course tired.

you beamed at the boy. "you're my home too luke" you whispered and kissed his head as you let sleep consume you with a smile on your lips. 

reblog for a kiss <3

[criminallyaddictedtomilk]

[myherobkg]

THE ROLE OF A LIFETIME; dungeons & dragons au

Katsuki was born a half-giant and bred to roam the plains with his barbarian brethren. He was a foul-mouthed, ill-tempered, reckless brute adorned in fur and armor with his mighty mace hanging over his back. He was born to rule them all.

But fate had other plans, and his tribe was wiped off the face of the Earth after the King of the skies razed hellfire on them. Returning from a hunt, Katsuki arrived at his decimated home, ruined to ash and rubble.

His family—his people—were there one moment and gone the next, reduced to charred statues. After that, Katsuki wandered aimlessly until he became enthralled by the allure of alcohol.

A young half-giant, the last of his tribe, turned to mercenary work to fund his gluttony.

Katsuki's last payment came from a clean-up job, clearing out a small wooded area infested with monsters. The small village on the outskirts of the wood sent for him, requesting his help for a large sum.

It was an easy feat for a warrior of his stature, and his success wrought fruitful results—a free room at the pub and all the drinks he could ask for.

However, the offer had its contingencies, and Katsuki was forced to enjoy his pints amidst the celebration held for the village people. That's where he met the Businessman.

The Businessman kept two men at his side as he sat down with Katsuki. His companions remained standing behind him.

"Enjoying the festivities, Warrior?" The man started the conversation cryptically.

Katsuki doesn't look up from his pint. The party raged around him, but no one dared touch him in passing. "No."

Clearing his throat, the man decided to skip the niceties. "I have a job for you."

"Not interested," Katsuki gruffs out before touching his lips to the rim.

"I will pay you 100 gold," the Businessman bid.

"I want 300." Katsuki slammed his glass on the table and signaled for another. The man's jaw dropped.

"300 is outrageous. It's a simple delivery to the Earl." He laughed pathetically. "I'm sure the Earl will reward you handsomely for your efficiency."

"You pay me 300 now. I'll have the Earl pay me 500 when I get there."

"So, you'll take the job?" The Businessman clenched his hands into fists with a broad smile before remembering Katsuki's rate. "If you come with us, we can pay for the cargo. However, you must leave tonight."

Katsuki froze, lifting his topped-off drink. "Make it 400."

The man choked mid-breath. "Warrior, I implore you to reconsider your price. Think of the honor you'd receive for escorting such an important gift for nobility."

Katsuki lugged half of his drink down, spilling some down the sides of his face and neck. "It's 400, or you shut the hell up and quit bothering me." His ruby-red eyes glimmered dangerously in the lamp-light.

The Businessman shrank in his seat and waved his hand for his men. The guard on his right went off to get the payment.

"If you wouldn't mind following us as quickly as you can," the Businessman murmured nervously, avoiding direct eye contact. "We can settle you with the cargo, and you can be on your way."

Katsuki looked at the weak man standing behind his employer. It wouldn't take any effort to throw that man through the ceiling, but it somehow felt appealing for the Businessman to bring security.

With this in mind, Katsuki didn't expect any issues from a little side quest for money. Perhaps he was tired from his last battle, but the adrenaline and deep, crippling fear of loneliness kept pushing him to suppress it.

"Let's get this over with." He grumbled, disregarding his last sip of beer and pushing away from the table.

The Businessman and his guard led Katsuki outside to a barn on the edge of the village. The night was calm, and the skies were clear—a good omen for this task.

"The cargo is just inside here," the Businessman murmured, sharing an uneasy expression with his guard, which alerted a few alarms in Katsuki's head. As he led Katsuki in, the guard stayed outside the entrance.

The first thing Katsuki noticed was that there was no "cargo." Two more guards were standing inside, and you were chained to the floor. Your hair and face were dirty, and your clothes were covered in dirt and cow shit.

When you looked up at him, he took note of your cat-like eyes and pointed ears. The chains around your wrists had runes etched into them.

Magic?

"Is this a goddamn joke?" Katsuki asked loudly, making one of the guards flinch. "What do you goddamn hicks take me for?"

He turns on his heel and starts walking out when the Businessman shouts out for him.

Katsuki falters in his step, and something compels him to turn to turn around. He sees the Businessman sweating profusely—he must be desperate to get you off his hands, Katsuki thinks. He catches the two guards adjusting their grips on their weapons: a spear and a bow. The sight of them shaking in fear and regret almost makes Katsuki laugh.

He licks his lips and pulls out a dagger—decides it's expendable. When he winds his arm back, all three adversaries flinch, fearful of being the target. The knife flies through the air between their shoulders, aimed for the floor where your cuffs come together.

Katsuki's taken by surprise when you slam your wrist against the ground, breaking the cuff on your right in one attempt. You tear off the other cuff with ease. He stands back and watches you jump between each man, slaughtering them with your clumsy, desperate hands.

After the men are dead, you're left standing over their bodies with blood on your hands, panting heavily.

With his arms crossed, exuding confidence, Katsuki whistles for your attention. He knows he has it when your head turns, angling your ear to him.

"How did men like them get their hands on a magic-wielding elf?" He questions, sincerely curious.

You turn to face him fully, blood and hay falling from your tunic.

"Auction houses," you answer breathlessly, with sweat matting hair to your forehead. Wiping it out of your face, you trip on your shaky legs to the barn post and release a heavy sigh. "You would've delivered me to my sixth owner. You looked like a good one when you walked in, too."

You were still breathing heavily. Katsuki recognized it as panic.

"I'm not going back," you say quickly as he approaches you. Your eyes are wild, and your appearance makes you look hysterical.

"You aren't going back," he promises quietly, raising his hand for you. Your arm shakes when you reach for him.

When he brings his fur around your shoulders, you bat it away, spitefully refusing it.

"I want to leave," you whisper anxiously, pushing against Katsuki's arms.

"Then cover yourself," Katsuki orders firmly, wrapping his fur tightly around you. His fur, which drapes over his shoulder like a garment, wraps around you like a blanket. "There are still folk wandering everywhere."

"Where are we right now?" You ask as he ushers you out of the barn.

"A village. Heldenfaire," Katsuki answers.

"There's a town in this land. I wish for you to take me there."

"We can discuss the details of our arrangement later." Katsuki threw his cloak over his shoulders and pulled his hood over his head before steering you toward the nearby stables. "Let's first focus on getting a horse."

—please reblog & comment if you like it! do not copy or repost ©

[squiddy-god]

Task force T4T

Jhonny "soap" McTavish

Ok so apparently this needs to be a series (: anyway some people are really weird about trans!Soap and really fetishize it. So I would like to re-state that I AM A TRANS MAN. Also if you fetishize trans!Soap or any other trans people you are weird and I wish you the worst <3 also this is meant for trans men specifically, I don't care who interacts but keep in mind this is for trans men. I will probably make a x transfem version! 

Tw : dysphoria, nsfw under cut, tooth rotting fluff, transphobia, t4t, mlm, trans soap x trans masc reader, periods, pre bottom surgery implied, period sex. 

God gives the fattest tits to his most trans masc of soldiers 

Soap has recently gotten top surgery and he loves it 

His scars aren't very noticeable but he really doesn't care, he's just glad to have them gone. 

Soap still wears his binders sometimes tho they don't really bind any more for him it's more to feel connected to that part of himself

Soap isn't concerned about passing as Cis, he's very proud that he's trans 

Has a Scottish🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿 flag over his right peck and has a slightly smaller trans flag over his ribs on the left side 

It's on his ribs so he has a excuse to show off his abbs smh

A lot like ghost there are so many ways that you could meet but I'll give you a few that I really like

One is the basics, he saw you at the bar across the way, drinking or not, your hanging out with friends having a grand time and soap is just smitten

He's confident and he'll be damned if he lets such a handsome man pass him by. So he walks up and asks to buy you a drink, “can a buy ye’ a drink” you assumed that the handsome Scott was asking one of your friends till he looked right at you, beaming blue eyes locked in and laser focused “cannae let a braw man like yer’self get away” 

Johnny comes on strong and playful, just enough to make you laugh and let him buy you a pint while he sweet talks you. 

He honestly hadn't noticed your pride pin but once he does he's all smiley and pulling up his shirt to show his tattoo 

Alright number two is your his neighbor! He's not home super often but he's always really nice when he is home, and he won't like he has a bit of a puppy crush on you, talk a bunch about his handsome neighbor. Well one day he's on medical leave for a while, almost blew himself up on a mission and has a bit of nerve damage that needs to heal up. You saw him come home early in the morning when you're leaving for work and decided to do something nice! Made him some bloody good cookies 

The second he opened his door you see you, his good looking neighbor with a batch of cookies in hand he thought he'd died and gone to heaven. 

Meanwhile he was in his binder and a pair of shorts

 You knock on the door, a bit on the nervous side considering this would be the first real time you've talked to your neighbor outside of a few polite conversations checking the mail. Yet here you are with fresh cookies in your plastic tupperware container. True be told it didn't take Johnny long to Answer, undoing the latch and opening the door wide to be met with you, the guy he'd been (not so) subtly pinning after. Johnny was casual, mohawk cropped a bit lower than normal since he'd only just gotten back, and his chest covered by an ever so slightly loose fitting binder. It was plain black, coming just down his ribs almost like a crop top and showing off the hair of his stomach just below his navel. 

Soap is a hairy guy, the T really does wonders for his hair, he's also been on T for a while 

Has never liked needles and prefers to use gel or patches if he can help it. 

He also eats a diet with a lot of trace testosterone in it and that helps 

Thighs like a fur carpet smh 

He owns a few binders, a plain black one, a black tank top binder that looks more like a compression shirt, and of course, his favorite Scottish flag binder. He also has custom binders that match the tartans of the kilts he has. 

Absolutely has gotten into a bar fight with a transphobe and it will absolutely happen again. 

All of his sisters were definitely his biggest supporters growing up. 

“What're yer pronouns so I ken how to cuss ye out” type behavior 

The two of you have matching silly binders with fun patterns on them 

Soap is an irregular period haver, that shit has a schedule no man could figure out. He tries to track it, but it just happens whenever it wants and feels like it. 

Has had two periods in a month. 

Luckily they tend to be short. Unluckily they are heavy. Not really painful but just heavy. 

Gets super exhausted during his period. 

Military grade pain killers hit different 

Loves hand rubs because he has a bit of nerve damage after being a demolition expert for so long

He also has a significant amount of hearing loss on his left side so he always turns right when you're talking so he can hear better. 

Works out at the gym because he doesn't give a flying fuck. Definitely likes to be at home to work out tho because he can do pushups where your under him and he gets a lil kiss when he comes down. Sit ups get kisses too<3 

Had a transphobic bully in highschool and basically dedicated his free time to the gym. By the end of the second year he absolutely clocked the guy.

No one messed with him since. 

Soap who loves to draw you, has a notebook basically dedicated to you and every single way he could draw you (wink wonk)

Likes when you ruffle his mohawk 

Likes it more when it's after you squeeze his arms

He's a show off 💪:3💪

Soap deals with his dysphoria pretty well for the most part, although when he is dysphoric he works out a lot- and he seeks out your comfort. 

Those silly pairs of boxers make him less dysphoric, they make him feel more like the teenage boy he never really saw himself as. Has a pair that say choking hazard and he wiggles his eye brows every time he puts them on 

Literally one of the best hype men when your dysphoric he talks you up with the same energy of a frat boy psyching up his best pall

Gets oddly possessive when you wear his boxers (please do he loves it) like yeah that's right, that his man 

Nsfw//

Going off of the boxers thing it also makes his really horny 

Soap gets hard pretty easy tho, and the more comfortable he is with you the higher his sex drive. 

Absolutely worships you, especially when you're dysphoric, he loves nothing more than haveing you ride his thigh while he calls you his handsome man, his good boy. 

Soap loves to fuck you, soap “always strapped up” mactavish 

But he also likes period sex, he's kinda nasty, likes when it's messy regardless but period sex is extra messy. 

Absolutely finger blasts you till the towel looks like a war zone 💀 

Really likes to be fucked on his period too, he Letts you have a bit more control then normal but don't be fooled he's a power bottom at best. 

Likes to put his finger in your mouth and really loves when you bite em a little 

Soap dose not care about hair, he is pretty hairy himself although he is well groomed, but he honestly doesn't care. 

Will absolutely man handle you regardless of size, soap is a big man and he trains hard for those 💪💪

Really goes wild with the dirty talk

“Cannae even take my fingers? How'er ye supposed to take mah cock ey?”

The accent definitely gets thicker the more horny he gets 

Loves when you give his T-dick head because he also is shoving his fingers down your throat for the effect™

[captainpulisic]

your kiss, my cheek, I watched you leave - m. mount

feedback is appreciated, thank you.

word count: 2.1 k gif credits to owner

if anyone asked either of you about it, neither you nor mason would be able to explain how the fight had started. you’re not entirely sure what had made you two so upset with each other, you just knew this bitchy attitude had been happening all morning.

there you were, in the kitchen, pondering over how this fight had started. could it have been about the girl who had been too touchy with him at last night's party? maybe it was about the extra hours you had spent at work this past week, arriving home long after mason had gone to sleep? fuck, if we’re being honest, it was probably about who had finished the last pint of ice cream, maybe? 

as you look at the clock, you decide to put a pin on this reflection, seeing it’s nearly time to leave for tonight's game (just because you both want to murder each other right now doesn’t mean you won’t go, you were never one to miss a game, if you could help it.). you head up the stairs to your bedroom, the same stairs mason had stormed up a few minutes ago. what a child, you nearly laugh at the image of masons pout when you called him immature. instead of retorting with, also, calling you a name, he simply huffed and stomped up the stairs. seconds later, the sound of a door being shut rang throughout the whole house. 

as you enter your shared bedroom, you’re greeted with masons back. his tense movements and the manner in which he is throwing clothes into his duffel bag, let you know he’s still feeling raw about the fight. 

you still feel pretty raw, too. thus, you spare him no glance as you shove past him. yes, you still put on your number nineteen jersey (not wearing it would be a little too much, even you know where to draw the line. mason would see it as a stab to his heart). yet, as you remember how he rolled his eyes when you called him unreasonable, you feel irked again. you need some sort of retaliation. you make a show of putting a plain, grey hoodie over the jersey, refusing to meet his stare. that oughta show him, you think to yourself. he looks as if he wants to say something, yet resorts to another eye roll and an even louder scoff. 

both of your attitudes were so horrendous, they continued as you settled into the car. the whole ride to the bridge, not one word was uttered to each other. no, it was all huffy sighs and the low hum of the music playing. hell, even the way he was holding your hand was stiff, no gentle squeezes or lip brushes. (what? just because he’s furious at you doesn’t mean he’s not going to hold your hand. he's upset, not crazy.)

when you arrive at the bridge, you both linger by the entrance, unsure of what to do or how to depart. usually, on happy days with no fights, you both stay there as long as possible, as you pepper his face with kisses. one on his forehead, one on each cheek, one on the little red spot on the bridge of his nose. you repeat this ritual until you’re both giggling messes. lastly, it ends with one final, proper kiss on his lips before he has to leave for some pre game obligations. mason refers to this as his ‘good luck kisses’. he swears on every star and planet that these ‘good luck kisses’ are the reason they win. before, you’d brushed it off as mason just making silly excuses to get kisses. you’d always been one to indulge him because who were you to deny him kisses? but to mason, he wholeheartedly believed that your little ritual meant something, it was the one superstition he followed before every game.

“you can never not kiss me, or else you’ll have to tell everyone you’re the reason we lost”, he had explained to you. even though you had laughed, it quickly died off when you saw his dead serious expression. “y/n, there’s nothing funny about this. the whole clubs future depends on you and me getting it on.”

therefore, your little tradition was born. if there was a game, mason could be found being kissed to death by you. if ben or conor or anyone else happened to pass by during this, their teasing would be answered with masons, “do you want us to win or not?”

when chelsea would end up winning a match, he’d get so smug. he’d claim that your kisses really were lucky, crediting you for their win. no, you weren’t just his good luck charm, you were the entire teams. if they happened to lose, even with your good luck kiss, he simply blamed it on someone else's performance or the refs shit calls. 

“well that was unfortunate, but it wasn’t my fault,” he would whisper in your ear, as you greeted him after a hard loss. you’d just shake your head, assuring him he was spectacular on the field. a smile would form on his lips as he whispered into your ear, “next time, we have to have a proper makeout, just to make sure we win, yeah?”

yet, right now, the air between you two is frigid. there are no giggles and no playful touches as you cover him in kisses. no, you both stand there and look everywhere but at each other. mason doesn’t leave right away, unsure if he should. you had never been one to deny him his good luck kiss, surely today wouldn’t be the start. arguments come and go but this was your tradition. he knew that you knew what it meant to him. yet, as you showed no indication of leaning in to give him his kisses, he figured he’d take on the role today.

look. you didn’t mean to turn your head, causing his kiss to land on your cheek. you swear it! you had seen him lean down and (secretly) felt relieved that today would have some normalcy, with your good luck kisses. but all too soon, you remembered how mason had refused to listen to you in the heat of the argument. instead of trying to talk things out and think of a solution, he had told you to “grow up” and walked away. like a switch, your anger and bitterness had come back with a vengeance. and like a reflex, your head turned when his lips came crashing down. 

you’ll admit, it was a petty move. you don’t really regret it though, anger still bubbling from his childish behaviour. if he wanted to be childish, so could you. 

you don’t regret it, that is until you see the look on masons face. your rejection of his kiss feels like the ultimate betrayal to him. the hurt in his eyes and his dejected expression have you second guessing everything you’ve ever done. 

“oh,” masons voice is small, but not as small as he feels at the moment. his face has fallen and his heart feels stripped bare. his sad pout is more present than ever. when he speaks, it's a mere whisper, “okay then.”

you’re not doing any better, all the hard feelings you had moments ago were looking very dumb. the look on his face had you ready to fold and forgive him. you had to hold yourself back from reaching for his hand and pulling him into your arms, kissing him until you were pulled apart. you just… couldn't. 

maybe you were too stubborn, but so was he. plus, you still felt you were owed an apology. he was the one in the wrong, the culprit in this stupid argument. you had to remain strong, even if all you wanted was to kiss the sorrows from his face. 

with one final (heartbreaking) glance towards you, mason turns to head into the locker room. and with that, you half heartedly head to the designated seating area for family and friends. 

it’s just a silly tradition mason and I have. we only do it because it gives us a reason to unashamedly make out. it’s not like our kissing sessions affect if chelsea actually wins or not, you tell yourself as you find your seat. 

soon enough, you’re eating your words. you don’t know if you should cover your eyes or turn your head away from the crime scene unfolding in front of you. the way chelsea is being annihilated by the opposing team, you’re dumbstruck. mason is a whole different story, playing like (in the kindest way possible) shit. it’s a sea of cards and missed shots. the ball gets stolen from him more times than you could count and his frustration is evident. he’s throwing fits and cussing out no one in particular as he walks the field. 

by the time the final whistle is blown, you’re grateful the bloodbath is done with. you’re not sure how you feel about what just happened. the one time I didn’t kiss mason, they really did lose, you mull over this. it can’t really be connected, right?

-

nonetheless, as you make your way towards the locker room, you’ve had time to think things over. you’re much more calm than when you left mason two hours ago, and all you want to do is kiss him and end this stupid argument. you’ll even be the one to swallow your pride and apologise if you have to, you just need things to go back to normal. heck, you even took off the hoodie and are proudly showing off the nineteen on your back. maybe that’ll ease the blow a bit. you can’t stop thinking of the hurt look he gave you when you rejected his kiss, and you can already imagine the horrid mood he’ll be in after the end results of the match. he’s already had such a difficult time with all his contract drama, another team loss is the last thing he needed.

waiting outside the locker room, you offer sympathetic smiles as all the boys start to walk out. mason is one of the last ones to exit, looking down at the ground as he walks. when he looks up and sees you, your heart wants to shatter into a million pieces. his dejected expression and ever present pout actually hurt you. 

“you didn’t kiss me,” he whispers matter-of-factly, as he comes to a halt in front of you. he’s still refusing to meet your gaze. he mumbles towards his shoes, “you didn’t kiss me and they kicked our arses out there.”

“what?” you’re baffled, having thought his sour mood would be due solely to the team's loss, or even to his mid performance. you hadn’t thought the lack of kisses between you had gotten to him so badly.

he finally looks at you, and it's like a shot to the heart. his eyes are filled with sadness and frustration and so much hurt. he states it as if it's the most obvious thing in the world, “you didn’t give me my good luck kiss. you turned away, so I played like shit.”

oh my, your heart might burst. my sweet, precious boy, I don’t deserve you. this situation is so pathetically heartbreaking and you hate to see him so sad over something you did. it’s all too much, the way he genuinely believes your kisses could control the outcome of the game and his performance. 

“my baby,” you’re wrapping your arms around him in an instant. automatically, he reciprocates the action and nuzzles his face into you. you begin to rub his back, trying to ease his breathing and relax him a bit. after a few moments in this embrace, you nudge him from his hiding spot in the crook of your neck and hold his face with both hands. you leave a kiss on the tip of his nose, “i’m so, so sorry. it’ll never happen again.”

he simply nods and offers you a slight smile. in return, you place a soft kiss on his jaw and on at the lobe of his ear. you leave another kiss on his cheek and one on his forehead. soon enough, you’re both lost in a haze of kisses. when you hear him let out a soft laugh, your heart strings ease up. 

yes, this is how it should be. no arguments and rejected kisses. there should just be laughter and intertwined hands and soft kisses and happiness. 

trying to lighten his mood even more, you look around before you lean in towards his ear. you fake whisper, “please don’t tell the other boys I didn’t kiss you today. I don’t want them to start forcing us to kiss in front of them before every game, like some sort of kissing cult sacrifice show.”

he gasps and puts on a (not so) fake offended face, “why not?”

[lasiocampa--quercus]

For all those stuck in 2019...

I have been very reluctant to share any art / writing for — oof, five years. First because it was plain awful, then because it was not good enough. It still isn't, but as the years passed I got increasingly lonely on other social media, so this is my last resort. After I've failed smashingly here, well, I guess I'll just have to stop trying altogether.

Anyway, a first time for everything. So here's one for you.

[Detail. Scroll down (I mean to say, read the whole post) to see the full artwork]

We don't choose what we love, now, do we?

For five years I've been desperately in love with the idea of putting two brilliant characters — Eggsy from Kingsman (2015, 2017) and David from Bodyguard (2018) — into the context where they could meaningfully interact and explore one another's worlds. Such a context has been established (it is not the subject of the current post but I'd be willing to tell all about it later), resulting in their taking a shine to each other almost immediately. For Eggsy this acquaintance was something excitingly in between the two class extremes he was most accustomed to, sabotaging his life-long distaste for having anything to do with coppers. For David it was a breath of fresh air. He'd been two years well into therapy after the events covered in the series, and he was still struggling to get back on track when he met Eggsy, arch and lively, and at the same time so dashingly insightful as he was. Somehow it felt like they'd known each other for years as they talked throughout afternoons and after-work hours over a pint of lager somewhere in North London. David, usually rather inhibited, smiled and laughed at Eggsy's jokes, charmed by his candour and straightforwardness, taken aback by his astute remarks often delivered in a childlike unassuming manner. To be sure, he'd never met anyone quite like him. The prospect of friendship was an enticing one despite all their differences and despite the pressures of their jobs. While at first one was suspicious of the other's occupation (David, of course, more suspicious than Eggsy, being inherently averse to secrecy of any kind), they soon grew to respect the boundaries imposed by respective lines of duty (David was inclined to believe Eggsy's agency couldn't be that bad seeing as it employed such a brilliant lad). In effect, Eggsy trusted him more than he could ever trust any of his old mates and occasionally slipped into the conversation uncanny details of his field experiences. But best of all he liked exchanging ideas, relaying to David something that Harry had told — or taught — him, expounding on his reflections that were philosophical or even biblical in essence, although he couldn't ever say whom he unwittingly quoted. David would recognise a concept or two, but he never abashed him by mentioning the fellow's name. Over time the content of their communion had got more intimate, insomuch that Eggsy took to dedicating a huge chunk of time to moaning about his relationship with Harry which had gone on for quite a while after he split up with Tilde.

One such time, fuelled by a considerable amount of drinks, Eggsy set to illustrate the supposed reasons for Harry's recent aloofness. He clamorously hurled his jeerings and complaints at David, impinging on much-cherished privacy of the pub tables. Before it started to wear on virtually everybody in their proximity, David took his noisy, fairly plastered companion outside for a breather. The cool evening air didn't seem to have the desired effect of sobering him up a bit as Eggsy nearly blacked out after a brief (but crucial) exchange between himself and David. That occurrence prompted David to call a cab and take him to his place to recuperate. He reasoned it would not be wise to let him dart off home to Harry in such a flustered state, for it appeared as if the conflict between them was merely an ember, or rather, a heap of embers waiting to be stirred. From then on David's conduct was laced with strange acts of gracious benevolence, such as taking Eggsy's trainers off before laying him down, sleepy and a tad confused, on his sofa and leaving the keys to his flat for when he woke up and presumably wished to go home, with little trim notes strewn around telling about it, as well as where to look for aspirin if his head was giving him a hard time after the other night's drunken debauchery. At the time David didn't question his actions, although they clearly ran counter to his long-conditioned circumspection and, to a lesser extent, his vague views on male intimacy. If anything, the day when he, trying not to disturb Eggsy's healing sleep, snuck away for work he couldn't shake off a quaint feeling of invigoration which seemed to permeate his otherwise dull routine of desk duty. Later that day, confident that Eggsy had left, he got back to a startle in the form of his coyly looking, supper-serving friend with unkempt hair and a crumpled white T-shirt. Eggsy stayed not only to defer having to face Harry, but to show gratitude for David's kindness the best way he knew — by doing a kindness in return. He furnished their dinner table with a bottle of wine, promising to go easy on it and proposing a toast to David's general gemness. There they were, having another quiet night of good conversation, the homely setting and their tipsiness conducing to even more warmth and unrestraint, when Eggsy accidentally tipped over his half-emptied glass and stained his T-shirt. If one could ever be sure of such things, one would say that exact moment was the point of no return, the moment of truth. A simple, ordinary incident that tore down a facade with the light tinkle of glass as it touched the floor. From lighthearted jocularity Eggsy went on to unbosom his brooding insecurity. The change in his disposition was so thunderboltingly sudden it made David somewhat uncomfortable. It made Eggsy uncomfortable too. The only suitable course of action suggested they should comfort each other, so Eggsy placed his hand in David's. A bashful kiss ensued. Once it was reciprocated, little smiles creased their flushed faces. Both hardly had an opportunity to process what was happening, but it somehow felt ridiculously, madly right. And peaceful, too.

Well, now that all the heavy lifting is done by that snippet above we can sit back and (hopefully) enjoy this little picture depicting David and Eggsy decently progressed in their ‘comforting each other’. I must point out, however, that what you've just (hopefully) read is really only a summary, a squeeze if you will, of what transpired, produced specifically for purpose of acquainting you with the context. In actual fact the story is teeming with dialogue and detail which, with your kind permission, I would like to show you some other time.

[beabnormal24]

I just saw that you’re writing Carcar fic, a snippet pls 🙏

I love your stories so much so I’m really excited ❤️

This is the first thing that I read when I wake up, thank you so much anon because this means a lot to me, so I'll do it.

(I edited this post, 'cause I had a bit of trouble publishing it)

Soo, a not-so-little snippet for you!

“Mate, I honestly think you’re just exaggerating. It doesn’t sound like that big of a deal to me, really.” Logan stretches his legs out, knocking his feet right against Oscar’s knee. 

Oscar grumbles in lieu of an answer, lowering his head until he can hide his gaze in the bottom of his pint. 

“Don’t know why you hate the guy so much; he seems alright to me.” 

The thing is, Oscar Piastri does not hate Carlos Sainz.

Hate is too strong of a word for an individual with whom Oscar tends to have zero to no interaction whatsoever, except for forced polite greetings in the elevator and those rare times when Carlos decides that going out with Lando is worth his time. 

Oscar sincerely thinks that only pretentious people claim to be as busy as Carlos does, so much so that he never seems able to find an evening to spend an ounce of time with his best friend. 

So, no, Oscar does not hate him. He just can’t stand him, which is a big difference and Logan should note that. 

Is the prospect of working alongside him on his most important project of his entire career going to deepen that grudge? Probably, surely. 

But Oscar is, in fact, a professional, no matter what Carlos thinks of him, and he knows how to work with people he would rather keep a safe distance from. Nail guy and Germophobic guy should be more than enough proof. 

“You don’t know him.” Oscar protests, sighing in frustration. Lando raises an unimpressed eyebrow next to him, tapping his chin. “Alright, sorry Lando. You do not know him in a working context.” 

“I mean, how different can that be?” Logan says doubtfully. “Lando said you don’t even work in the same department.” 

“Lando is just biased because Carlos got to him before us.” 

Lando snorts, shaking his head with an amused smile. “Wow, thanks Oscar, you make it sound like I can make my own decisions.” 

Oscar shrugs. “You’re welcome.” 

“Has he started complaining about being paired up with Carlos, yet?” Yuki asks just as he settles down two other pints on their booth’s table. 

Alex trails behind him, carefully balancing two portions of fries on each arm before sliding in the empty seat next to Logan. 

“Mate, you have no idea.” Logan groans, placing a sloppy kiss on Alex’s cheek as he steals a fry from his portion. 

Alex rolls his eyes, but still lets him with a fond smile. Oscar sincerely thinks he could puke. 

“I really don’t understand why you despise him so much. He seems alright to me.” Alex says, failing at hiding the curiosity behind his voice. 

“Babe! I said the same exact thing!” 

“And he’s a great golf player, honestly.” 

Oscar sighs, knowing that he’s left with his shoulders against the wall. 

It’s not like his friends would understand, anyway, since they do not have to walk in his shoes. 

Logan and Alex do not count, because they like everyone, and Yuki is one of the most unfazed people Oscar has ever met, Lando is just obsessed with Carlos for reasons Oscar will probably never fully comprehend. 

He’s left alone, on this matter, even when they all go out together and Charles and Carlos tag along, Carlos is the only one who seems to not have any joke or a single word to address to Oscar. 

Lando says that he’s probably the one actually ignoring him. Oscar thinks that Carlos is just plain out rude to him, and only him. 

But that’s a bit childish, so he’ll keep that thought to himself. 

Everyone starts focusing on their own food, and Oscar stupidly hopes that the topic must’ve finally been brought out of his last Saturday night as a free man before three months of utter nightmare. 

And then Yuki quips in and reduces his hopes to shreds. “On his first day, Carlos told Andrea that he thought Oscar was too young for that position, and that he would be inexperienced. Oscar heard him, and he’s totally convinced that Carlos knows that he heard him but he still never apologised and Oscar took that personally because he’s peevish.” 

“I am not peevish!” Oscar groans bumping his forehead against the table. 

“Yeah, Oscar, you are a bit peevish. Just a tiny bit, though.” He feels Lando’s hand coming up to pat him on the back, sympathetic. “Come on mate, I’m pretty sure he didn’t mean it like that.” 

“Yeah, I mean, we say similar stuff about each other all the time at my workplace.” Alex offers, in an awful attempt at cheering him up. 

It doesn’t do any magic at all, because Alex works as a teacher and Oscar has gone to school for enough years to know that teachers are only capable of hating each other for stretching out their hours longer than they should and preferring different students. 

Well, unless they’re shagging like Alex and Logan, but they work in two different schools so that should not apply. 

“It’s not just that.” Oscar tries to defend himself. Because holding a grudge for something that happened three years ago does sound a bit childish, and he’s not. 

The rest of the table looks at him inquisitively, impatiently waiting for an answer, just the sound of the background music filling the silence that Oscar would so much prefer over having to talk about Carlos, of all people. 

The worst topic they could choose for a Saturday night out at the pub, really. 

“He’s just-“ he makes a vague gesture, hoping that they might understand it easily. Of course, everyone just blinks at him. “I mean, who goes around with only shirts that have his initials stitched on it? Who goes around acting like they know everything and they’re the best at it? And he says that Lando is his best mate, but I don’t see him hanging out with him that often, no? That’s just top dickhead behaviour, if you ask me.” 

“Aw, Osc!” Lando exclaims, and in a matter of second, Oscar finds himself with his head caged under Lando’s elbow, the Brit’s hand mussing his hair. “You’re so cute, defending my honour.” 

“You never did that for me.” Logan protests, and then more quietly to Alex. “Babe, he never did that for me.” 

Alex smiles, patting his back lightly. “Do not worry, Lo, I’ll do it for you.” 

“I’m not defending anybody’s honour.” Oscar splutters out, his cheeks growing hot, heart thumping in his chest, wild – a dangerous zone. He slaps Lando’s hands away from his hair, trying to ruffle them to some kind of order, but it’s no use, they’ll never make sense. 

Carlos’ hair is always perfectly styled and composed. What a dickhead, indeed. 

“I’m just stating the obvious.” 

“Still, I can guarantee you that you do not need to worry about that.” Lando assures him, trying to reach back for his head, but Oscar is quicker this time, leaving him to poke Yuki’s cheek with a finger, instead. “He’s got other things to do on Saturday, usually.” 

Oscar takes a sip of his beer to cover his snort. 

He doesn’t trust Lando’s words, he’s probably just too biased by having been Carlos’ friend for such a long time. 

Someone who’s not even married and who earns as much as Carlos does surely should not have that many things to do instead of hanging out with his friends. 

But anyway, it’s none of his business. Rather, he should be glad he can at least escape him on Saturday. 

“Sure.” 

— 

On Monday morning, Oscar clocks into work on time, his jacket is completely dry, his hair kind of makes sense and there’s a spring in his step, and he just feels good overall. 

He has spent most of his Sunday sitting on the couch binge watching the entire final season of Brooklyn 99 and he’s convinced himself that whatever mind games Carlos might want to play with him, Oscar is stronger and smarter, and he won’t let himself get squashed. 

Logan kind of fuelled his confidence, as well, with his usual monologues about the importance of believing in himself and remembering all the sweat and tears he put in to reach the place he’s in now, though Oscar is pretty sure he only comes up with them to exercise for his drama kids. 

But the point is that he knows that it’s his job, that it’s his career, and even if he would probably get the promotion either way, he still wants to earn it. If not for Andrea, then for himself. 

The fact that it’s his biggest project ever, just motivates him more. 

He plops down on his office chair with a smile that must be breaking his face if the way Yuki glances at him curiously from the other side is anything to go by. But he just shrugs it off, playing dumb. 

He’s just in a good mood, is that illegal? 

“It is if you’re called Oscar Piastri.” Yuki tells him, no hair on his tongue. “You always look like-“ he makes a serious face, his lips closed into straight line, one eyebrow raised, sceptical. Oscar does not look like that, he thinks (he hopes). “Like those statues from Christmas Island.” 

“I do not look like that at all.” Oscar glares at him, turning his computer on. “And it’s Easter Island.” 

“Yeah, whatever.” 

He spends the morning going through Andrea’s instructions over and over again until he can exactly tell the position of every single letter, and then he spends the rest of it making a first draft for a spreadsheet with all the products they will probably need to change a million times. 

Carlos does not write him, nor does he come around to ask for him, either, but Oscar doesn’t question it that much. God knows he has his own side-projects, although minor, to care about but he guesses that spending some time to start brainstorming over this new one it’s not entirely a bad idea. 

He’ll just email the file Excel to Carlos once it’s done, and then maybe they’ll shortly discuss about it, Oscar will even accept some suggestions because, against all odds, he is ready to work as a team. Besides, his creativity is pretty close to a zero percentage, but he has heard that Carlos knows how to do a mean presentation, and that’s how teams work, right? 

Combine your best skills and all that stuff about sharing each other’s strengths. Oscar wouldn’t know about that, really, since he’s always preferred the solitary work, but he doesn’t have that much of a choice right now. 

Yuki asks for poke at lunch, and Oscar is a man of his word, so as soon as the clock strikes half past twelve, they’re already out the door chattering about the latest apex legends’ update. 

The guy behind the cash register smiles at him sweetly when he pays, and Oscar swears he winks at him as he slides the receipt over the counter, and sure enough when he looks at it there is a phone number scribbled on the paper. 

Oscar isn’t exactly interested in dating as of now, but the guy was cute, and it did boost his ego a bit, and it might not be a bad idea to go out with someone that is not his roommate, his roommate’s boyfriend, his coworker and a weird friend from university. Maybe he could even get laid, which doesn’t seem like a bad prospect at all. 

It’s just the combination of all these tiny little things that makes him feel better, more confident, almost ready to let himself believe that he could change his mind about Carlos, like Lando has been trying to make him for years, now. 

Maybe he could actually reconsider him, even if just by stopping viewing him as a pretentious dickhead. 

But Carlos just makes it incredibly difficult, it seems. 

Oscar has just started settling back behind his desk when his attention gets caught by the new email in his inbox, that definitely was not there before. 

To: oscar.piastri@g...  From: carlos.sainz.vasq...  Sub: team project 

Hi Piastri,  attached you will find your part of the project.  Please, do not contact me on my lunch breaks, Friday nights and weekends. I will not respond.  I sincerely hope you do not need any clarification, but if you do, you can write to the email above.  Good work. 

[See more] 

“You have to be fucking kidding me.” He almost slams his laptop shut, feeling the rage bubbling up inside of him. Logan likes to say that he’s an emotionless human being, Yuki just compared him to a freaking statue, and yet Carlos Sainz is enough to make him doubt himself and his capability to have a decent control of his own emotions. 

He inhales deeply, nostrils flaring as he tries to calm himself down. Breath in, and breath out, it’s just the first day of three months. 

Which means that it can go even worse, fuck. 

“What is it?” Yuki asks, curiously peering over his screen to take a glance. 

Oscar had almost completely forgotten about his presence, and he just groans and turns the laptop around, not finding it in himself to explain without cursing one Spanish lineage or two. 

“Mh, okay, yes.” Yuki mumbles, nodding understandingly with his chin propped up on his palm. 

Oscar can see his eyes moving from one side to the other of the list, a list, of things that Oscar should do, that Carlos decided Oscar should do, just to prove himself once more as the biggest prick Oscar might’ve ever met in his life. 

“Well, I don’t see the problem here.” 

“You don’t- what?” Oscar splutters out, blinking once, twice. Yuki’s expression doesn’t change, it stays confused, amused even. “Isn’t it obvious? He gave me a list, Yuki, a list.” 

“Yes and?” Yuki asks, unsure. “I mean, I would kill to have a teammate who tells me what I have to do. Splitting parts is the worst step for a team project, in my opinion. You should be glad.” 

“I should be glad?” Oscar says, he almost feels crazy about it. “Yuki, can’t you see it? He’s doing it in purpose! He probably just decided what parts he didn’t want and gave them to me so I can, like, do his dirty laundry. I am almost 100% sure he’s going to take all the credit after and he just- ugh!” 

Yuki looks at him, unimpressed, standing in front of Oscar’s desk like he’s seconds away from giving him a slap on his head. When they’re like this and the height difference is completely reversed, Oscar remembers that Yuki can be incredibly frightening, too. 

“Oscar, listen to me.” Yuki says, gentle. Well, not really gentle, because Oscar is pretty sure that Yuki lacks that definition, but something akin to gentleness, surely. “I think you’re a bit stressed out right now, I get it, it’s an important project-“ 

“My most important project.” Oscar interrupts him. He feels compelled to remind that detail, which he doesn’t find small at all. 

It will dictate the rest of his career, his future, his curriculum, his self esteem. He might be exaggerating, but he’s used to take things seriously only when he manages to convince himself that they are, in fact, serious. 

But now that he thinks about it, he may just need a change of perspective:  maybe having to work alongside Carlos is just a challenge for himself, one last obstacle to overtake before he can finally make all his years of studying and working his back off worth it. 

He just needs to impose himself and he needs to show himself and to Carlos that he knows what he’s doing, and that it can easily be a 50/50 kind of work. 

Perfectly balanced, yeah. 

“- and I mean, anyway, if you’re not happy with whatever he decides, you can just go and talk to the guy.” 

“You know what, Yuki?” Oscar says, standing up as he shuts his laptop close, feeling thrilled about the prospect of taking reins between his hands, for once. It must feel amazing, to finally have control over something, and it only makes him want that promotion more. “I think I’m going to give him a little speech about respect.” 

“That’s not what I meant, but you do you.” Yuki shrugs before finally going back to his desk, sitting hunched over his screen and probably causing himself twenty different problems to his back. 

It’s a spur of the moment, Oscar is not used to get them often, he prefers to be more levelheaded, in a way, more rational, logical. 

But Carlos has always managed to get under his skin in a way that he never was able to point out, like he could just crawl inside and gnaw at it and smirk that too full grin of his that some would define as charming, Oscar just finds unappealing. 

If he were to admit it, he would probably find the reasons of their mutual grudge behind deeply buried thoughts that Oscar has long since tried to forget about. 

Like that time he had been scratching his own wrist with his nails, too long, too uneven, waiting for Lando to give him an ounce of his attention, just for Carlos to get it all with a bat of his eyelashes and a show of his straight teeth. 

And Oscar has thought that, well, he did not know how to style his hair and he had always had bunny teeth and he did not post shirtless selfies on his socials, and he did not like to hop from one club to another to spend the time on a Saturday night, so hoping that Lando could turn around and look at him and say ‘Oscar’ all British accented and tongue in the little gap was just- ridiculous. 

Rationally, that should not be considered as Carlos’ fault, but Oscar just knows that he knows. He swears he had seen him, winking at Oscar jokingly before taking Lando away by the hand, tilting his head to the side, curious, wicked, and then acting like Oscar wasn’t there, not even trying go engage him into conversations. 

At work, it’s quieter, at least. 

The only reason why Oscar still hasn’t spilled a hot coffee all over the front of his shirt is because Carlos kind of is his superior, after all, and people would surely almost immediately suspect of him if they were to find a distressed Carlos Sainz in sight. 

But they still work in different sections, and they never have to cross paths unless they happen to be in the same elevator at the same time, or by the same coffee machine at the same time. They never make small talks, sometimes Carlos just glances at him and nods his head and makes a half assed comment about his commitments for the week like he’s someone too important to be around Oscar. 

And Oscar wants to strangle him or scoff at him and give him a piece of his mind, but he does not, because he’s rational and levelheaded. 

On top of that, the inexperienced comment and the lack of apology thereof does still sting, though he’ll never admit it. 

The upper floor is a little bit nicer than the one his and Yuki’s office is, with longer corridors and opaque glass doors and plants that are actually alive. 

Well, he and Yuki had tried to keep one between their desks, but the attempt had failed after they had realised they had forgotten watering it for four weeks straight. But at least they had tried. 

Oscar doesn’t really think about what he’s going to say when he pushes the door open, nor does he when he strides into the office, basically uninvited. 

And then when he finally thinks about it, it’s just to remain utterly speechless at the sight of Charles half slumped down on the little couch in the corner, scrolling away on his phone. 

“Hi Oscar.” Charles says, enthusiastic as all the other times he and Oscar have interacted in the past. Oscar likes him, even though he can’t help but feel slightly intimidated by his attractiveness, but Charles has always been nice to him and when he goes out with them at the pub, he’s always asking Oscar about his day and appearing actually interested about it. 

Which doesn’t explain why he would be friends with such a douchebag like Carlos, but it’s not like it’s any of his business. 

“Hi Charles.” Oscar replies, unsurely taking a step forward. It doesn’t change the aspect of the situation, of course, what is supposed to be Carlos’ office chair is still as empty as the first time he laid eyes on it. “Am I in the wrong place?” 

“Were you looking for Carlos?” Charles asks with a strange lilt to his voice, one that is not just from his accent, Oscar can tell. 

“Uh, yes?” 

“Then yes you are in the right place.” Charles concludes. “But at the wrong time, he’s out for his lunch break.” 

Oscar checks his watch, then he checks it another time just to be sure. “But lunch break ended fift- twenty minutes ago.” 

“Yeah, but he has to do other things, so he asked for a later lunch break.” 

A later lunch break. 

What kind of immense prick asks for a different lunch break than all the other employees? Who does Carlos think he is? 

Oscar sincerely thinks he has never met someone as full of himself as Carlos in his life, not even that one guy at his high school that went around claiming to be able to get every single girl in his bed. 

Which Oscar knew for sure was a big load of bullshit because he had watched Lauren Smith reject him at their final year’s party, and Oscar had given him a drunken blowjob in a bathroom on the same night. 

And still, Carlos managed to top that off. 

“Alright.” Oscar says calmly. “Then I guess I can come back later.” He finishes, already turning around to get out of this office as soon as possible and go back to lament on Yuki. 

But Charles doesn’t seem to be of the same opinion, clearing his throat to get his attention back on him. “Uh, we will be in a meeting later.” He says sheepishly, and then adding, “I’m sorry I didn’t know you needed him so soon.” 

It’s not Charles’ fault that Carlos is a douchebag, really, and Oscar is not that immature to act like one. “Do not worry, I will come back tomorrow, then.” One deep breath, in and out. “Thanks Charles, I’ll see you around.” 

“Bye Oscar!” Charles waves at him, back to his enthusiastic self. 

Oscar can’t share even an ounce of that same giddiness, right now, so he just closes the door behind himself and curses the name tag on it, flipping the golden plate off. 

And then once again before getting inside the elevatore. 

It’s cathartic enough. 

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To: carlos.sainz.vasq...  From: oscar.piastri@g...  Re: team project  Sub: adjustments 

Hi Sainz,  I was not able to find you and I would like to discuss the attachment of your last email.  As it is a team project, I think that we should work, in fact, as team, unless you might’ve missed Andrea’s directives, though I am pretty sure you were sitting next to me. I sincerely hope you do not need any clarification on that.  Good rest of the day. 

To: oscar.piastri@g...  From: carlos.sainz.vasq...  Re: adjustments  Sub: appointment 

Hi Piastri,  I guess I can concede you a talk face to face over the matter. You can meet me in my office tomorrow at half past ten.  Do not be late. 

To: carlos.sainz.vasq...  From: oscar.piastri@g...  Re: appointment 

I won’t. 

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