#european football prices

[lay-z]

I'm sorry, but this is so self-indulgent, it hurts. I've been thinking about it since it happened...So, here goes nothing. Also, this took a turn while I wrote it, because I have no control over myself and usually change plotlines mid-writing. MINORS, DNI - 18+ only !!! Pairing: f!reader x John 'Soap' MacTavish Warnings/Info: German reader 🇩🇪; trash talk; banter; cussing; Scottish slang (I feel like that should count as a warning...); German language; fuckbuddies to lovers; sexual tension; explicit smut; unprotected sex; some jealousy; dom!Soap; fluff

“Ach, ye gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me, lass!" Soap scoffs loudly as soon as he sees you swagger in to the private 141 rec room inside the HQ with a smug smile on your lips and that popular pink football jersey of the German national team adorning your body. 

Soap is wearing his new cobalt blue Scotland jersey himself; fabric straining around his bulging biceps, stretching over his broad chest, and fitting snugly around his narrow waist like a second skin, because he's bought it a size too small on purpose.  

Captain Price and Gaz are both showing off their support and colours by wearing their white England jerseys, naturally, while Ghost doesn't seem to care much because 'our bloody team isn't playing tonight anyways'. Keegan is wearing a vintage looking Portugal jersey, because 'Cristiano is still the fucking goat', and Roach is just happy to be there, really. He's more into American football, but he doesn't dare to speak that thought out loud tonight. 

The atmosphere is light-hearted, riddled with boisterous laughter, crude banter and the smells of Price's cigar smoke, savoury snacks, hefty beer and hard liquor, while the group is gathered around the sofa in front of the large flat TV screen mounted on the wall, either sitting on its plush cushions or on one of the office chairs borrowed from one of the nearby meeting rooms.  

Tensions are high, especially between you and Soap as the group waits for the preliminary reporting and interviews to end and the match to finally begin. 

Germany vs. Scotland, the first opening match for this year's European Football Championship tournament. 

Soap chokes up during Scotland's national anthem, overwhelmed by the sheer pride his fellow countrymen display in the stadium in Munich, while you merely stand with your hand over your heart as the German national anthem is sung next – singing your own national anthem and showing any kind of patriotism for your country, always makes you feel weird somehow; many thanks to inherited generational shame.  

Still, you feel a tiny bit of pride as you witness your own compatriots sing the anthem just as noisily as the Scots. 

"That a rare smile I spy on yer lips, lassie?" Soap teases after the anthems are finished, nudging his elbow against your upper arm while he's holding a bottle of beer in his hand. He loves to tease you with stereotypes that don't even apply to you most times, but he does it, nonetheless.  

"Ye like how yer fellow Krauts have shown some pride in their country, eh?" He snickers, earning a sharp, scolding glare from Captain Price.  

"Careful, MacTavish," the Captain chides from his chair next to the couch, his voice muffled by the cigar he's currently chewing on, while the others chuckle and snort among each other, "Keep the bloody banter above the belt, son."  

However, you simply click your tongue and roll your eyes at him as Soap continues to grin at you. Both of you know that he doesn't mean any menace by it, and you've said way worse stuff to each other in the past anyway – all in the name of good-natured, friendly banter, of course. Besides, you live for the constant banter and bickering between you two. It's pretty much the main foundation of your friendship, and what inevitably lead to your affair.  

"Very proud of my Krauts, yeah," you retort eventually, completely unfazed by the "slur", poking his large biceps with your forefinger harshly as you shoot him a mock glare, "I'll be even prouder when our team has completely annihilated yours, Scotch." 

Soap's chest rumbles with a low grunt at your name calling, and he loves how you defy him easily, as he lets his dark blue eyes roam over your figure appreciatively. He notices how the fabric of your jersey clings to your upper body, accentuating your delicious curves and ample chest, and how the thin collar hugs your pretty neck, making him want to wrap his hand around your throat just like he did last night. 

Gaz chuckles at your comment and even Ghost snorts quietly behind his balaclava, while Soap narrows his eyes at you playfully, now towering as he takes one more step towards you; close enough for you to tilt your head back slightly to keep eye contact with him.  

Gods, you love how tall he is compared to you; how he could easily bend you to his will if he wanted to. 

Soap notices how your pupils dilate as you hold his gaze fiercely and he can already feel his blood heat up in his veins with excitement, rushing south. He clenches his jaw as you bat your eyelashes up at him with that bratty smirk of yours and his fingers tighten around the cold beer bottle in his hand, the other one stuffed into the pocket of his jeans, to keep himself from grabbing and bending you over the couch in front of everyone, including your superiors.  

The tension between you two is becoming more noticeable to everyone present now, all thick and palpable.  

"Is – is that behaviour considered normal for them?" Roach enquires in a hushed whisper as he leans in to speak to the other men, shoving another handful of salted and roasted peanuts into his mouth while his eyes flicker back and forth between you and Soap. He's more interested in whatever is going on between the two Sergeants than the goddamn soccer game on TV. 

Keegan simply nods with an affirming hum as he lifts the rim of his beer bottle to his lips, eyes glued to the TV, while Gaz answers verbally, also not taking his eyes off the screen. 

"Aye," the latter confirms, "Just ignore them, Sanderson. We don't interfere, unless they get physical. Right, Captain?" 

The older male nods firmly in return, his face a mask of seriousness as he watches the kick-off with intrigue, taking a slow sip of his glass of bourbon. 

"And even then, only if it's not sexual." Ghost adds gruffly, though one can practically hear that he's smirking beneath his mask. The Lieutenant has never said it out loud yet, but he is very much aware of the thing that has been going on between his Sergeant's for a while now.  

Soap manages to stay cocky after the first two goals for the German soccer team, despite his teammates and, especially, your teasing. The third one, a penalty goal, makes him break out in a sweat with both anger and devastation, all hope for a win now gone at once.  

The Germans don't stop there, though. 

You're tugging at Soap's arm, his jersey, jumping up and down like some excited bunny, laughing and cheering hysterically after having had a few drinks at this point, celebrating with the rest of the team, while the Scotsman looks on with a sour, stony expression.  

He doesn't even know when everyone else suddenly became a fan of the goddamn Germans, all he knows is that his team is losing, and he's currently outnumbered by impostors. Creepin' Jesus, even Roach is cheering for them! He should've known better than to watch the bloody game with you and the lads. 

"Aw, come on, Soapey!" You coo at him condescendingly, grinning widely as he crosses his arms in front of his chest with a huff, rolling his shoulders coolly as if he's not incredibly vexed, "Are you not enjoying the game, huh?" 

"Ach," he scoffs, shrugging off your hand from his shoulder like a petulant child, "Away an bile yer heid." 

"English, MacTavish!" Ghost scolds from his seat on the couch, having heard the insult despite the noise in the room, and you can see how badly Soap wants to flip the Lieutenant off.  

"Ah, ah, ah, Johnny," you butt in a with a smug tone to your voice, "Be nice now. Your boys can still win thi–" 

Your voice is cut off by loud cheering as Germany scores their fourth goal. 

"Fuckin' sore winner, hen," Soap grunts as he bullies his cock deeper into your quivering cunt; right up to the hilt, stretching your velvety walls and hitting your g-spot repeatedly while you're burying your face into the soft pillows on the mattress beneath you, muffling your desperate noises as you take his fat cock like the good little bonnie you usually are behind closed doors. 

In this position, he has the best view on your delicious curves and soft skin, now adorned with his deep blue Scotland jersey after he’d swiftly pulled the German one off you once you were in your bedroom; the fabric now rucked up to your shoulder blades, one hand of his fisting the stretchy fabric tightly to keep you exposed. 

"Teasin' me all fuckin’ night," he huffs through gritted teeth as his blunt nails dig into your skin, tightening his grip around the fat on your hips with his other hand, so you can't escape him, "Over some fuckin' football game." 

While Soap rolls and thrusts his hips in a steady, brutal rhythm, positioned between his spread knees behind you, you're grabbing fistfuls of your blanket as you moan and whimper helplessly, dampening the white sheets with your drool, taking everything he's giving you in retaliation to your bratty behaviour back at the rec room. 

Soap had immediately grabbed a tight hold of your wrist and pulled you out of the room, towards the 141 quarters, as soon as the final whistle had rung out, ending the match with a terrible loss for Scotland. He didn’t bear to stand a minute longer to listen to his and your teammates mockery, and he didn’t care about the confused looks everyone, except Ghost, were shooting you and him as you’d left together. 

He doesn’t care much anymore that Scotland lost to Germany – 5:1; it just so happens to be the perfect excuse to completely wreck you tonight, and Soap keeps telling himself that it’s not at all because he’s witnessed Keegan getting friendly with you over the past few times the team went out to the pub on base. You two might not be official, but you’re still his – and his only.

His friend, his fuckbuddy, his lover.

"You're jus'.... mad they– a-ah~" You slur, but your words are cut off by another pathetic moan that is ripped from your throat when Soap grabs you by the nape of your neck suddenly, like a dog would grab her puppies, squeezing your flesh and muscle with his calloused hand to keep you in place, then pulls his thick cock out up to its angry-red tip only to pound back into you with determined fervour to finally shut you up for good. 

No, Soap is not mad about the bloody game – he’s mad that you’d spent halftime sitting on Keegan’s lap like an obedient puppy when the latter had asked you to take a seat, because the chairs were taken and Ghost took up most space on the sofa – and Soap was too proud to tell you to sit on his lap instead.

The bed rocks and creaks under your combined weight, hitting the wall repeatedly with a very telling “thudthudthudthud–” for your surrounding neighbours, your teammates, while the warm glow of your bedside lamp casts a lewd shadow of your current activity on the white walls of your bedroom. Fuck, Soap hopes Keegan can hear you two going at it in his apartment.

“What was that, bonnie? Ye said sum’?” the Scotsman grits out mockingly, biting his lower lip, nostrils flaring with exerted breaths as he squeezes your neck tighter, forcing you to arch your back and your pretty ass up into him as he pounds into you; skin slapping skin as his balls tap against your clit with each deep and rapid thrust. 

Meanwhile, you don’t even register his teasing words anymore as you’re fully focused on the mind-blowing pleasure Soap is giving you; hard and dominating and the opposite of how the usually treats you during sex.  

Your eyes roll back, toes curling as the tension of your impending climax begins to build up, up, up then; heat blossoming in your lower abdomen as he keeps pushing you towards the edge with each delightful rock of his powerful hips and his girthy cock ramming into your sweet spot.  

However, Soap knows those sounds you’re making all too well already; the way you’re breathing pattern changes, the higher pitch of your wanton moans and sweet cries of pleasure, the way your walls begin to clench harder around his thick length, practically sucking him in deeper into your silky heat – he can read all the signs like the bloody morning paper, knows you’re about to cum on his dick... 

And despite his own pleasure licking and tingling at his lower spine, making his burly muscles tense and twitch and his balls tighten with the inevitable – he stops his movements at once, ruins both your orgasms, and pulls his throbbing cock from your soppy, warm cunt. Glancing down briefly, Soap sees his bare cock glistening with your slick, creamy arousal and his pearly pre-cum gathering at the base of his cock, and the sight makes him shudder and groan with excitement. 

He can’t have you cum like this tonight, though, fucking you doggy – Gods, no. Soap needs to watch you fall apart on his cock, needs to see your gorgeous features contort in pleasure and your reaction when he spills his thick load into you for the very first time without anything holding him back and separating him from you – knowing he’s the only one able to have you like this.

“Up,” he grunts out next, simultaneously pulling you upwards by your neck while he feels your rapidly fluttering pulse under his fingertips, until your back is flush with his sweat-slicked and bare, heaving chest while his rock hard cock rubs and pokes along your ass cheeks, “Gimme yer mouth.”  

Cranking your neck towards him obediently, Soap reaches out and cups the side of your jawline to angle your face to his liking, capturing your mouth in a sloppy kiss and swiftly plunging his hot tongue past your lips. Your eyes flutter shut as you moan into his mouth while his other large hand snakes around your body, slipping beneath his jersey you’re wearing, cupping and groping your plump tits greedily, pinching your stiff nipples with the rough pads of his thumb and forefinger.

Soap goes on to shift and manhandle you into a different position and you gladly let him. 

He pushes you down onto your back, smirking to himself when you spread your legs for him all too eagerly, making grabby hands with a frustrated pout to have him on top of you again – it’s adorable, really, and he appreciates the view of your pussy, all puffy and wet for him, before he nestles himself between your thighs – the place that has easily become his favourite over the past few months.

 “Yer such a brat,” Soap chuckles darkly as he grabs one of your legs by your calf to hike it up over his broad shoulder, then the other, before he spits into his palm and gives his cock a few good pumps with his fist, tapping and rubbing the swollen tip on your sensitive clit teasingly until you let out a needy whine, one hand of yours reaching up to hold on to the back of his neck, tugging at his short Mohawk.

You’re his brat, though. Emphasis on his.

“And you’re such an ass tonight, Johnny,” you mewl in return and suck in a breath when Soap aligns his thick tip with your slick hole, pushing in halfway with one languid thrust and leaving you both breathless again. 

“’m not an arse,” he objects with a mischievous glint in his eyes as he watches you bite your lower lip raw to keep your lewd noises at bay, “Ye just have a way of drivin’ me doolally, hen.” He counters, and then leans in to crash your lips together once more, folding your legs up even further while his cock sinks into your cunt fully, followed by a guttural moan of his when he feels your walls clench and tighten around him, squeezing him until his muscles tremble with restraint.

He groans against your lips; the feeling of your throbbing heat and the taste of your soft tongue flicking and lapping against his is nearly enough to make him cum on the spot. It’s almost like he can feel your heartbeat through your snug, perfect pussy, and it nearly drives him to the brink of madness each time you let him fuck you.

“You can’t say shit like doolally and not expect me to laugh,” you snicker softly, nipping at his lower lip as you lock eyes with him, batting your eyelashes, “Sounds fucking ridiculous.” 

Soap grins in return and continues his deep, deliberate thrusts into your delicious cunt. His heart always flutters giddily whenever you gaze into his eyes with that cheeky look of yours, especially when his cock is buried to the hilt inside you, stretching you out with every inch he has to offer.

“Say some in German then,” he croons lowly, nudging his nose below your chin to make you tilt your head up to give him better access to your neck before he begins peppering wet, hot kisses along your pulse point, sucking a purple love bite into your creamy skin to mark you up. “I wanna laugh, too,” he grumbles between nips and pecks. 

You click your tongue in mock annoyance, enjoying his ministrations and the way his beard tickles your skin too much to be mad at his teasing, and you tug on his short hair a little harder before raking your nails over his scalp until he purrs against your skin in pure bliss. Soap can feel how you swallow hard as he licks a long stripe from your collarbone up your throat, then your walls clench tightly around his cock and he grits his teeth as another pleasant shudder runs down his spine.  

“Say. Sum’. To. Me. Lass.” He demands, this time punctuating each word with a sudden deep and sharp rock of his hips that makes the bed’s headboard hit the wall again. 

Your eyes flutter shut with a breathy moan and your brain short-circuits while each of his thrusts makes a jolt of hot searing pleasure shoot right into your core, making your spine tingle and your body tense with bliss. 

“Ich liebe dich,” you blurt out unintentionally instead of an insult, your speech slurred and unintelligible as he presses his weight further into you, knocking the breath out of your lungs in this position. Your eyes widen as soon as you realize what you’ve just confessed and you pray he didn’t understand that. 

Soap doesn’t speak German, but those words do sound familiar. 

His stomach tightens, his heart skips a heavy beat while his mind begins to race, and his rhythm falters momentarily before he picks up his pace again, fucking into you fast, deep and thoroughly to drown out the sudden wave of foreign emotions on the brink of overwhelming him. 

“Again,” he demands against your ear, gripping your body tightly and keeping you in place on the mattress as he ruts into your cunt with newfound vigor and goad, his pelvis stimulating your clit with each sharp snap of his hips.

“Say –“ He gets a hold of your jaw, curling his large hand around it to make you look at him while he grits his teeth, huffing like some feral bull. “– that again.”

Reaching one hand out behind you, you brace your flat palm against the headboard while your other hand keeps holding on to the back of his neck, fingernails digging into thick muscle and skin as you cling onto him desperately.

“F-fuck, Johnny!” You cry out. “Ich liebe dich, du Vollidiot!” you repeat in between breathy, high-pitched moans, though more confident this time, before your eyes roll back in pleasure with another loud moan of his given name.

Soap can barely keep it together then. His heart nearly bursts out of his chest and his jaw clenches so hard, the veins in his neck start protruding and fluttering with his rapid pulse as he feels you come apart around his cock; your tight, soppy walls convulsing and clenching, pushing and coaxing him to his own sudden release.

And he lets go of your jaw, clutches the pillow next to your head tightly as he buries his face into the crook of your neck, groaning and moaning shamelessly as his body seizes up, balls tightening almost painfully before he spends his thick cum into your perfect cunt.

You wince and exhale a hiss when Soap leans back to look at you and lowers your legs at last, letting you stretch out your sore muscles while he stays buried inside you, moving his hips almost lazily and caressing your burning leg muscles soothingly while both your bodies keep twitching and shaking with small aftershocks. You can feel his warm cum and your own wetness leaking and dripping down your ass crack, ruining your bed sheets below – and you remember that you did actually let him fuck you raw this time in a fit of frivolity.

Your blurry vision becomes clear again once you blink away the haziness and then you already feel Soap’s calloused fingers tracing your jawline, his deep blue eyes drinking in your gorgeous, flushed features almost reverently.

“What?” You ask defensively, looking up at his ruggedly handsome face, now squirming under his uncharacteristically tender gaze and the feeling of his softening cock still resting all snug inside your cunt, acting as if you haven’t just professed your love to him, after weeks of dancing around the topic.

“Well,” he begins, clearing his throat after another beat of awkward silence as he can feel his cheeks begin to heat up with a burning blush,

“Ye cannae finally confess ye love me an’ not expect me ta combust, luv.”

[alexthetrashyracoon]

any sort of ghost headcanons?

Only a few I have at the top of my head right now

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley:

Simon hates the rain and the feeling of wet clothes sticking to his skin, but he loves petrichor, the smell after rain hit the ground.

He can cook, whatever your heart desires, he just needs a recipe and within the estimated time you’ve got an insanely good looking and tasting dish in front of you.

Simon plays football like a professional player (the European football not American style). And when he’s in the mood for it, you can find him on the nearest football pitch and play with some of the kids living around. Sometimes there are little tournaments and Simon helps the kids that participate win and of course getting better by giving tips and showing tricks.

He’s really work focused and needs a few days to acclimate to being back at home and not on the field. In those few days he follows his strict military routine. He wakes up at five in the morning, goes for a run, prepares a short but nutritious breakfast before checking his to-do list on what is on top.

Simon has a lot of stamina :)

He’s a gentleman who treats his partner with patience, love and kindness and respect and expects the same from them. He’s not scared to speak his opinion and he doesn’t mind a fight once in a while when emotions become too much for both parties, as long as he and his partner find a way to settle without hurting each other.

Simon watches ducks in parks and feeds them with seeds and glares at people who feed them bread.

He volunteers at local shelters. The animals love Simon, but especially the little critters like bunnies, hamsters and even mice and rats.

Simon doesn’t prioritize his work over his partner. He balances his work and love life as best as possible.

Simon hates paperwork. He has an office in his house that looks like someone blew it up and he didn’t bother to clean it up, Price reprimands him constantly for the mess when he comes for a spontaneous visit.

And he organizes get together’s once a month with friends, military and from his civilian life. He’s not the center of attention or the life of a party, but Simon loves to see his friends have fun.

Maybe some of them are a bit too unserious but I don’t know, they make sense in my head and I see Simon Riley as a human instead of just a soldier? I hope that’s what you wanted <3

[nytb]

Flying Private

Being a public figure came with a price – little to no privacy, secrecy, crazy paparazzi – it seamed to be a nightmare, but hidden in-between it’s flaws Alexia found some perks.

The Catalan star’s crazy schedule didn’t help her private life, love life out of the window – for now – Alexia focused on her public appearances, helping women’s football grow.

Trip to Paris here, quick appearance in Rome, little interview in London – Alexia was everywhere.

Behind the scenes, a key piece of the puzzle; Y/N Y/L/N. Joan Laporta’s loyal pilot. They had grown close over the years and when Joan became Fc Barcelona’s president – for a second time – he invited Y/N on the journey.

And so it began, Y/N flew all Barcelona players to every corner in the world; preseason in the USA, basketball games here, European football matches there. Y/N was crucial for Fc Barcelona to keep everyone’s public appearances up while allowing them to get the optimal rest before crucial games.

With Y/N’s little vacation possibilities, Laporta offered the pilot a compromise – whenever the plane was land-bound Y/N was able to do as she pleased. The possibility to travel all over the world, stay at the best hotels, eat the best food; it was Y/N’s dream job.

Unluckily for Y/N, the latest trip to Madrid came with a personal compromise; Y/N had to step in and replace a security member’s role.

All plans out the window now, the loyal pilot followed orders to a T – shadowing the Catalan star during the three day trip, keeping an eye out during meals, making sure that whenever Alexia sneaked out she returned safe and sound.

That night the midfielder’s annoyance at the lack of personal space was noticeable – add that she was in a foul mood and you get an explosive combination; and explode she did. Now safe and sound at the hotel, both Alexia and Y/N were at the bar. The pilot kept a safe distance from the midfielder.

“Is shadowing people like you’re a lost puppy a habit of yours or have you reserved it only for me?” Alexia asked as she approached the pilot, annoyance in her tone.

“I see that your evening has calmed down – for now at least – I will leave you with the remaining security team.” Y/N replied, pointing to the two security guards of the hotel, downing the rest of her drink she added “And seen as how you’re in a foul mood, I will take this opportunity to go and get my well deserved rest in”

The indifference that radiated off of Y/N’s voice was palpable, many people would describe it as cocky – arrogant even – but Alexia found it intriguing.

The Catalan star grew accustomed to everyone treating her a certain way; admiration and love in their voices whenever someone approached her, but Y/N? The pilot treated Alexia like she was any other Joe in the world.

Sitting at the bar now, the midfielder was dumbfounded – watching how the pilot walked away, not even looking back once – she was bamboozled.

Replaying the interaction over and over, Alexia was stuck looking for ways to get back in the good graces of the pilot. The midfielder knew she had to apologize for her bad behavior.

Early in the morning, Alexia made her way to one of Spain’s most famous bakeries: El Riojano. Getting some delicious Spanish pastries, among them Y/N’s favorite: ensaimada, a mallorcan specialty. Alexia made her way back to the hotel – crossing path with the pilot at reception, Y/N didn’t say a word.

Later on, as everyone boarded the private jet headed back to Barcelona, Alexia carefully placed the paper bag filled with pastries on the seat closest to the cabin. At first, Y/N looked at the bag from afar but as she made her way to the front of the plane, she inspected it – looking for it’s owner.

“Is this anybodies?” The pilot asked, looking around a sneaky Putellas popped her head up “I got those for you, a little gift to make up for my behavior yesterday” the midfielder sneaked a cheeky smile in.

For the first time, Y/N didn’t display indifference towards the Barcelona star “Thank you, they are my favorite” the pilot stated to which, very quietly – as Y/N made her way to the cabin – the midfielder whispered “I know”

And thus a tradition was born. During the season, Alexia would go out of her way to purchase Y/N’s favorite pastries, placing them on the seat closest to the cabin. It was their little ritual.

One morning – on one of Fc Barcelona Femenis champions league trips – the team discretely inspected Alexia’s delivery.

“What was that about?” Pati asked, taking the seat besides the Catalan midfielder “What was what?” Alexia played it cool, but her face spoke louder. The midfielder was blushing, looking everywhere but into Patri’s eyes.

“Feeling shy?” Mapi mocked her captain.

This was new for everyone – Alexia included. Usually, she was the bold, direct type; but with Y/N she forgot how to act. Luckily for the midfielder, Y/N was oblivious to the mocking – and as she made her way to the cabin – the pilot picked the little paper bag up, taking one of the ensaimada out and straight into her mouth it went. Sending Alexia a thank you head-nod as she greeted the co-pilot.

It all made sense now.

“OMG” Pina was shocked “You’re sleeping with our pilot??” the mini Putellas asked, the rest of the team waited anxiously for an answer.

“It’s not like that” Alexia defended her situation “I – I just”

Mapi came in like a bolder, mockingly nudging at her captain’s arm “She might have done her ACL in, but girly is still out here scoring” the defender joked.

“Shhhh” Putellas was embarrassed, not wanting Y/N to hear any of the teams shenanigans – for however true they were – she distracted them.

“Yeah yeah… maybe it would be best” Paños stepped in “We wouldn’t want the pilot to be distracted” she further mocked.

Part 2

[fafnir19]

Refugee's Welcome

Rashid slouched against the peeling wall of the refugee home, his shiny tracksuit clinging to his skin. He fiddled with his phone, scrolling through messages from his family back in the Middle East. Each ding from the device felt like a reminder of the life he was building on the backs of the generous European welfare system. He decided to go for a walk and trudged along the cracked pavement, the soles of his brand new sneakers slapping against the ground with a dull thud. He glanced around the neighborhood, a hodgepodge of well-maintained buildings and meticulously maintained gardens tended by eager hands. The air was thick with the scent of fresh food and the distant hum of traffic, a reminder of the life outside his small refugee home.

He pushed back the bitterness that welled in his throat. Here he was, in Europe, surrounded by riches, yet he felt like a ghost haunting a world meant for someone else. This place, with its cold efficiency, was supposed to be a sanctuary, but to him, it felt like a cage. In fact, he was just an imposter, pretending to be a refugee, but in reality he was just eager to take advantage of the welfare system. “Stupid place,” he muttered, casting an envious glance at a group of teenagers laughing as they tossed a football back and forth. Their carefree joy was a dagger to his heart. He didn’t belong here, and his greed for what they had only deepened his resentment.

He had grown tired of the monotony—waiting for welfare checks, sending money back home, and plotting how to bring his family to this land of plenty. It was all so predictable, like a clock ticking away the minutes of his life. He craved change, but not the kind that required effort or adaptation. No, he wanted to exploit this system without remorse, just as he had been doing since his arrival. He looked up at the buildings that towered around him, their elegance a sharp contrast to the crumbling structures of his homeland. “Why should they have it all?” he grumbled under his breath, jealousy pooling in his stomach. “I will bring my family here. They deserve this life.” The idea of his parents and siblings living off European welfare while spreading the “truth faith” of Islam filled him with a sense of purpose.

As he turned a corner, something gleamed in the dirt, catching his eye. He bent down, brushing away the grime to reveal a golden coin. It shone brightly, almost taunting him. **Wow, this might go for a good price!** he thought, his heart racing at the thought of his usual dealer, Muzaffar. “Hey! That’s mine!” a high-pitched voice squeaked. Rashid spun around, his heart racing. Before him stood a gnome, no taller than his knee, with a wild beard and a pointed hat that seemed to flop with every movement.

“What did you say?” Rashid challenged, his hand instinctively reaching for the knife tucked into his waistband. “I said it’s mine!” the gnome shouted, glaring up at him, defiance in his beady eyes. “I’ve been tracking that coin for ages!” “Yeah?” Rashid sneered, brandishing the knife. “You want it back? Come and take it.” The gnome held up a surprisingly steady hand. “Hold on, hold on! There’s no need for violence.” He looked at Rashid, sizing him up. “I can offer you something better.” “Like what?” Rashid scoffed, his grip on the knife tightening. “Three wishes,” the gnome declared, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “In exchange for that lovely coin.” Rashid hesitated, curiosity piqued. “Three wishes? What’s the catch?” The gnome grinned, revealing a set of crooked teeth. “No catch,” the gnome replied, shrugging. “But you’ll need to sign this EU-standard form regarding the chance-/risk-profile of wishes.” He produced a thick stack of papers that looked entirely out of place in the outdoors. Rashid furrowed his brow, flipping through the pages. “What the hell? It’s twenty pages long! I’m not reading all this!” Rashid protested, as he tried to hide that he was barely able to read. The gnome chuckled again, its laughter echoing in the quiet street, “After all, we are in Europe and not in your primitive Stone Age country. Everything has to be in proper order!” Rashid’s irritation was boiling over and he grumbled, “I don’t have time for this!” but the thought of wealth and power urged him on.

 “Twenty pages? And only the first quarter of the first page is about chances? This is ridiculous!” The gnome chuckled, “Just sign, and we can get on with it.” Grumbling, Rashid took the pen, his mind racing. “Fine. But if this is a scam—” “Not a scam! Just formalities,” the gnome interrupted, his tone cheerful. Rashid signed his name with a flourish and shoved the papers back. “Now, what do you wish for?” The gnome’s eyes gleamed with anticipation.

Rashid’s heart pounded. This was it—the moment he’d been waiting for. “I wish to be handsome, intelligent, and rich!”

The gnome's laughter filled the air, a mischievous cackle that made Rashid's skin prickle. "Oh, the classics! Very well, young man. Watch and learn." As the gnome waved his tiny hand, Rashid felt a tingling sensation course through his body. It started at his fingertips, sending a shiver up his arms, and then it engulfed his entire being. The change was instantaneous and profound.

He felt a cool blow on his face, and his hand flew up to touch his chin, only to find it smooth and bare. His coarse Islamic beard, the symbol of his manhood and faith, had vanished. The tracksuit he had worn, a testament to his perceived street credibility, transformed into a crisp, white button-down shirt and tailored pants, fitting him perfectly. The clothes felt foreign yet comfortable, as if he had always belonged in them.

"Ah, the transformation begins!" The gnome's voice echoed in his mind, as if reading his thoughts. "But it's not just about the looks, my dear Rashid. It's the mind, the very essence of who you are, that is about to evolve."

A tickling sensation in his brain made Rashid giggle, and then a rush of knowledge flooded his thoughts. Images flashed before his eyes—a boy riding a bike, the wind in his hair; a swimmer slicing through the water with graceful strokes; and a skater gliding effortlessly on ice. He knew how to do all these things, as if he had been practicing them for years. "Recycle, reduce, reuse," a voice whispered in his head. He understood the importance of the environment, the need to protect and preserve. "Whoa, I know how to swim!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with wonder. The gnome, seemingly pleased with the spectacle, nodded.

Suddenly, a sharp pain pierced through Rashid’s skull. “Ugh!” Rashid grunted, clutching his temples. “Knowledge!” the gnome sang, his eyes glinting mischievously. “It’s a powerful gift.” Rashid staggered back, his mind reeling. Images and concepts flooded in—equality of the sexes, environmental protection, the intricacies of Western philosophy. “What is this?” he gasped, tumbling to the ground as he wrestled with the torrent of newfound thoughts. But the gnome only watched, its arms crossed, amused and exclaimed, “Knowledge is flooding in!” Rashid clutched his head as the sharp pain radiated through him. “Ah! Stop!” he shouted, but it was too late. Due to his now sharper intellect new concepts twisted through his mind, unraveling the tightly wound beliefs he had held dear. “Islam… it’s just a superstition.” He staggered back against the wall, clutching his head. “No! This can’t be!” “Why not?” the gnome taunted. “It’s the truth. Islam is just superstition, a crutch for the weak, a tool for leaders to control the masses!” Rashid’s breath quickened. “No, that can’t be true! My faith—” “Is a façade!” the gnome interrupted, crossing his arms. “You’re just a pawn in a game you didn’t even realize you were playing. And now, look at you! You’re a pitiful weakling, only feeling strong among your ‘brothers’ with a knife in hand.” The realization hit him like a cold wave. “I was so blind! All this time, I thought I was superior! It’s… it’s all nonsense. My faith was a crutch, a way to feel superior without the means to truly be so.” A bitter laugh escaped his lips. “Honor? What a joke! I thought I was strong, but I was just hiding behind a knife.” “Precisely, you were strong only in delusion!” the gnome exclaimed, clapping his hands. Rashid’s laughter bubbled up, a mix of disbelief and relief. “I was pathetic!” he exclaimed, the weight of his previous identity lifting. “I can’t believe I thought that way,” Rashid stated, his voice filled with disbelief. “I wanted to bring my family here… to spread my beliefs. But they’re as lost as I was.”

As the searing pain in his head gradually faded, he became aware of the subtle changes taking place. His nose, once a prominent feature, seemed to shrink, reshaping itself into a more delicate structure. The rearrangement of his facial features continued, smoothing out the rough edges of his former self. "Ah, the wonders of magic," he whispered, his voice now carrying a hint of refinement. Rashid's attention turned to his hair, which had been as dark as a skunk's. But now, it shimmered with golden strands, transforming him into a vision of Nordic beauty.

The cologne he had doused himself in to mask his natural stink was no longer necessary. He inhaled deeply, bewildered by the subtle scent of fresh lemons that replaced the heavy musk of sandalwood he used to drown himself in. “What is this? I smell... clean?” His body odor had transformed, leaving behind a subtle, refreshing lemon fragrance. "Piano lessons, perhaps? Or maybe I should join a field hockey team," he mused, his thoughts filled with newfound interests and hobbies. The possibilities seemed endless, and Rashid felt a surge of excitement. Just as his thoughts began to wander, the world around him shifted. The drab walls of the refugee home were gone, replaced by an elegant mansion with tall columns and a lush garden. He stood there, in the heart of the city's most prestigious neighborhood, and marveled at his new surroundings. "Rashid no more," he declared, his voice echoing in the quiet street. "I am Rasmus, reborn and ready to conquer this new world." Rasmus, now fully immersed in his transformation, felt a surge of confidence and ambition.

His eyes, now a vivid shade of blue, scanned the mansion, taking in every detail. But amidst the excitement, a flicker of doubt creased his newly formed brow. *What of my family?* he wondered.

He recalled their lives in self-inflicted filth and revolving around the mosque, the strict adherence to primitive and cruel customs —days spent in idle chatter, evenings in crowded rooms, and a future with no prospects.

*They wouldn't fit in here. Not with their backward ways.* Their lack of education and skills weighed on his mind. He pictured their limited knowledge, their dependence on a language he now found crude, their inability to even swim, their unwillingness to adapt and their sole focus on survival and procreation. "What kind of life is that?" he muttered under his breath. "They're like animals, breeding without thought."

Suddenly the gnome's voice sliced the silence and breaking his train of thought , "Now, what is your final wish?" Rasmus turned, his bright blue eyes narrowing in confusion. "I thought I already had three wishes?" The gnome chuckled, its laughter like a tinkling of bells. "Welcome to Europe! It's a self-commitment with the consumer counsel society. You see, they believe that the first wishes might not always turn out as expected, and so, a fourth wish is granted to rectify any potential mistakes." Rasmus listened intently, his curiosity piqued. "Or, it could be an additional wish," the gnome continued, its eyes twinkling mischievously. "Perhaps you'd like to bring your family here, give them a taste of this life?"

Just then, a gust of wind blew a colorful flyer into Rasmus' path. He bent down to pick it up, his curiosity piqued. It was an advertisement from the local animal protection society, seeking donations for a noble cause. "Vets on Vacation—traveling to Greece to neuter street cats and dogs, ending their suffering" the flyer reads. The image of a stray cat and her litter tugged at his heartstrings, but it was the message that struck a chord. "Uncontrolled propagation leads to suffering," he read aloud.

The words resonated with him, and he thought of his family. Their lives, so different from his own now, seemed to mirror the plight of these animals. *They are like these animals, breeding without purpose, living off the system,* he thought bitterly. A rush of memories flooded his mind—his parents, siblings, aunts, uncles, and cousins, all dependent on his welfare money, trapped in a cycle of poverty and ignorance. "They sent me here to live off the generosity of others," he whispered, his voice laced with bitterness. "They are content with their ignorance, their lack of ambition." In that moment, Rasmus made his decision. "No," he whispered, his voice filled with determination. "They don't deserve to be here. They don't deserve this life." The gnome's eyes narrowed, sensing the change in Rasmus' demeanor. "And what is your wish, Rasmus?" Rasmus straightened his back, his blue eyes now cold and resolute. "I wish..." Rasmus began, his voice steady despite the turmoil within. "I wish for my family to be neutered. To end their suffering and the burden they impose on society."

The gnome erupted into a fit of laughter, the sound echoing through the air. “Very well!” In the blink of an eye, his relatives, one by one, undergoing a transformation. Rasmus could almost hear the cries of his parents, his siblings, his uncles and cousins, all the way from the other side of the world. The process was swift and efficient, and when it was over, Rasmus felt a sense of relief. "Consider it done," the gnome's voice echoed in his mind. "Your family's legacy will not burden the world any longer."

His family, his entire lineage, would no longer burden Europe with their presence. *Their Arabic heritage ends here,* Rasmus thought, his heart pounding with determination. *Only my new superior Northern genes and the Western way of life will prevail.*

Rasmus took a deep breath, his chest swelling with newfound determination. "But this is not enough," he whispered, his eyes narrowing. "I must ensure that others like them do not infest this great continent. These deceitful 'refugees' must be stopped from ruining Europe's harmony." He straightened his preppy attire, the crisp fabric of his shirt reflecting his resolve. "I, Rasmus, will dedicate my life to preserving the purity of this land. No more shall we be plagued by those who abuse our generosity. I shall find a way to protect Europe from the influx of these imposters."

He would use his newfound intelligence and resources to ensure that only the worthy would be granted entry, and that his new home would thrive, untainted by the ills of the past. With a nod of gratitude to the gnome, who had now disappeared, Rasmus set off, his stride confident and purposeful. He had a new life, a new identity, and a mission to fulfill. The old Rashid was gone, and Rasmus, the beacon of conservative European values, was ready to take on the world. "I will make a difference," he vowed, his voice carrying on the wind. "And I will ensure that my new home remains the beacon of civilization it was meant to be."

As he walked towards his mansion, a faint laughter, like wind chimes in the distance, followed him. It was the gnome, amused by the turn of events, but also proud of the man Rasmus had become. Rasmus didn't look back, for he had a new life to embrace and a society to protect from the very deceit he had once embodied.

[the-froschamethyst4]

He’s just a bit older

𖤐Pairing: Soap x Younger F! Reader

𖤐Pronouns: She/Her

𖤐Warnings: smut, older Soap young Y/n, age gap, P in V, eating out, language, dads' best friend

AN: If you’re not comfortable with this age gap type of stuff this isn’t probably for you. By age gap I mean early 20 year old Y/n and early 40s Soap

Y/n is Price’s daughter and she’s had a bit of a crush on her dads best friend, John Soap MacTavish

But Price is caught up at work that he forgot him and Soap are meeting up to watch the soccer match (football for the Europeans)

Could Soap and Y/n get away with fucking each other without Price ever knowing

——————

———————

“Y/N! I’m going to work!” Price yells at his daughter.

“OKAY!” She yells back. She had gotten out of the shower and was going to hang out with her boyfriend Hunter.

It was their 10-month anniversary, and she was very excited to hang out with him. Sure, they hang out almost every day, but she was just excited for today.

She brushed her teeth and blow dried her hair, she even spread her favorite lotion on her skin to smell good for Hunter. She even put on some light make up on as well.

Y/n grabbed a bright pink tank top and white tennis skirt. Hunter and Y/n were going to see the Barbie Movie together and she was very excited.

Y/n grabbed her purse and went downstairs and was going to wait for Hunter to come and get her for the movie. She played on her phone and looked at the time, sure she got ready a bit early at least she'll be ready.

As she took a couple of photos of her outfit and captioned them with 'Date Night with @/h.hunt14' she smiled seeing the likes and comments she was getting from her friends.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

"PRICE!" She looked up from her phone and looked at the front door hearing a thick Scottish accent.

"Soap?" She asked as she got up and opened the door.

"Hey, Y/n. Where's your dad?" He asks with a case of beer in his hands.

"Umm work? Why are you here?" She leaned on the doorframe, crossing her arms and looking at her father's best friend.

"He invited me to watch the football game."

"Well again, he's not home," she mumbled.

"Yeah, I see that. So, could I still come in? Your dad already knows I'm supposed to be here."

"I guess," Y/n let him inside and he placed the case of beer of the kitchen counter.

"Where are you going?" He asks, cracking open a beer.

"To the movies. Hunter and I are going to see the Barbie Movie together for our 10-month anniversary." She smiles when she brings up Hunter and Soap smiled hearing that she found someone to be with.

"That's cool," he smiles before taking a sip of his drink.

"I'm going to text my dad and see if he knew you were supposed to come this early."

"Yeah," he agrees.

Y/n: *Dad, Soap is here. Is he supposed to be here this early?*

Price: *Ah shit, I told him to come early, I didn't expect him this early, tell him I'll be home around 2-3*

Y/n: *K*

"My dad said, he'll be home around two or three. Just make yourself comfortable," she says as she went back to the couch. "I'll be leaving around one for the movies." She yells him.

"Okay, yeah sure," Soap said as he watched Y/n head back to the couch. He looked at her skirt seeing it raise up went she plopped down on the black couch.

He saw her white panties and smirked just a little bit but soon wiped it away. He remembered this isn't right, this is his best friends only daughter.

---------

Some time has passed, and Y/n was now waiting on her boyfriend to show up. She was texting him asking him where he was and all but no answer.

She ran her hand through her hair and let out a soft sign, Soap had turned on the TV to watch a pre-game before the actual game. He looked at Y/n seeing her being distressed.

"What's wrong?" He asked.

"He's not answering the movie starts in a like 30 minutes..." she said.

"Did you try calling him?"

"I didn't want to bother you though."

"It's fine, go ahead," he says as Y/n went upstairs and called Hunter.

But it went straight to voicemail. "Hey, Hunter, are you coming to get me, or did you forget about me?" She kind of laughs at the 'forgetting' part. "Just text me or call me back and let know what's going on."

She walks back downstairs sitting next to Soap again. She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back ignoring her phone now. Maybe he's on his way and can't answer her?

"Everything okay?" He asks.

"I don't know," she said as she looked at Soap. "If you think something is going on with your partner...would you keep texting them or would you ignore them?"

"What do you mean? Are you expecting him of something?" He asks, placing his beer on the table in front of them.

"No, but...he's just been...distant I guess."

"How so?"

"Like now, he's ignoring me, sometimes will just flat out not talk to me for a long period of time, I have to start conversations, I have to make plans and invite him to join-LIKE NOW I asked we should see the Barbie movie, he said 'cool that's fine' like he wasn't really interested." Her eyes looked red and glossy; she seemed like she was about to cry.

"Hey, hey, it's okay...the best thing to do is get rid of the problem...if it was me...I'd break up with them, but you love him, I know you do. I can see it in your eyes that you love him. But that's up to you," he said.

The tension between them was hot now because they understood each other. Was it sexual? No, it couldn't be. Price would kill both of them if he caught them.

Soap looked down at Y/n's lips seeing lip gloss on them, her lips were plump and looked so soft it he kissed them. He bit the corner of his bottom lip as Y/n played with her fingers. It was like she was thinking about something, and she was.

She looked down at his crotch seeing his bulge in his pants. She gulped and looked up at Soap.

Y/n didn't hesitate, she crawled on top of Soap's lap. Soap put his hands up he didn't know what to do with them. She just smiles and moves them to her waist.

She then placed her arms around his neck and ran her fingers through his hair.

"Wow...your fingers...they...they are like magic, this is so calming," he chuckles.

Y/n giggles too. "I mean...I don't know? I do it to myself sometimes, it feels so good."

"Yeah," he coos, he looked up at her. His hands moved from her waist down to her butt, she moans slightly. He leans forward and kissed her neck, earning another moan from her.

He pushes up the bottom of her white skirt and grabbed at her soft bare ass cheeks. His lips felt so good on her collarbone and neck.

"F-Fuck-" she moans.

Soap then snapped back into reality. Soap looked up at Y/n staring into her eyes. "W-we shouldn't b-be doing this," he stutters a bit.

"My dad won't know...and neither will Hunter. This will between you and I, Soap."

"No, no, we can't," he moved his hands back to her waist trying to push her off his lap.

"Fine..." she got off his lap. She stood at the doorway before walking to her bedroom, but she turned back to Soap, she brought her leg up and flashed her panties to Soap.

"Don't-Don't do that, Y/n."

"Oh, come on, Soap. You know you want it," she says as she began to walk away, and Soap got up and followed her to her bedroom.

Y/n sat on the edge of her bed, she crossed her legs and looked at Soap with a smirk on her face. She uncrossed her legs, and she lifted up her skirt again exposing the front of the panties.

They were white, lace with a small pink rose in the middle.

"Come on, Soap, my dad won't know," she smiles at him.

"Fuck," he closed her bedroom door and Y/n smirked knowing he finally got his attention.

"Come on, Soap," she said.

He walked to her, and she started to remove her tank-top and Soap grabbed her skirt and pulled it down. His hands went to her panties and pulled them off as well. He rested his hands on her thighs and looked up at her with a smirk.

"Are you sure, he won't know?" Soap asked.

"Promise, he won't be back so soon, and he always values his work first."

"That's not true, he values you."

"Not really," Y/n closed her legs and covered her exposed area and looked down at him. "Why do you think him, and my mom got a divorce? Because he worked so much and valued his work over mom and me, that...they called it quits..."

"But...he talks about you a lot when we hang out."

"Doesn't matter...he sure as hell doesn't show it..." She looked down at him, his hands slid up her thighs and rested on her exposed hips. His hands soon went around to her butt and gently squeezed, earning a soft moan from her.

"He talked about you when you were high school and how you were so nervous in freshman year, you were scared if you and your friends would drift apart but you all stuck together through high school..." Soap lifted up the end of the skirt. "You were nervous about your Prom thinking Hunter wouldn't show but he did..."

Soap then moved forward closed to her area, she could feel his hot breath on her. "...Your Senior year...you were crazy nervous about a test that was 100% of your grade...you passed...and...he took you out for dinner..." he then licked between her folds earning a moan from her. She grabbed his hair and leaned on her elbows.

"S-Soap-"

"Senior Prom...you left early because you were homesick...you wanted to spend the rest of you night with your dad because you...he may be lonely when you were out..."

Y/n's grip tightened on his hair that she got a groaned from him. She looked down at his eyes as he kept licking her and talking to her about what her father has said about her.

Y/n always thought that Price valued his work over her...Price is a good father, he's been to all her soccer games even when he had tuns of work, he'd put everything on hold just to go watch her play.

Even when she joined the dance team, he put everything on hold just to go and watch her.

She realized how more present he was in her life versus her own mother...hell...her own mother told her that she should go live with Price because she didn't want to deal with Y/n and all her actives during school that Price was there even when she didn't want her there.

Soap licked between her folds some more and started to insert two fingers inside of her. He started to move them in and out of her quickly, she moaned his name and let go of his hair and started to grip the sheets on her bed.

"H-Holy fuck," she moans.

"He was mad...when you and Hunter first broke up...he thought he would...have to kill him because he...broke his little girls' heart..." Soap mumbled. He looked up at her and hummed a little bit.

He stood up and pushed her on her back. His hands slid up her shirt, he felt her bra and unhooked it with one hand and got it off her chest. He pushed her tank top up exposing her breasts to him.

She ran her fingers up her stomach to the tank top to keep it out of his way. His hands went to her sides and looked down at her small body as his big, veiny hands just caressed her.

"You fit my hands so perfectly," he mumbles and kissed her neck and moved up to kiss her lips.

His hands roamed all over her, his hand then started to fiddle with his belt and started to remove his belt and pull his pants down, he removed his shirt and then pushed himself against her clit.

"H-Holy-" she moans.

He started to fish himself out of her boxers and pulled his boxers off his lower half.

"I-It's not f-fair that I'm fully clothed and y-you're not..." she moans.

"You're not technically fully clothed...you're just in a skirt and tank top, you don't have panties and a bra on..."

"Half naked but still."

"Fine," he quickly rips her skirt off her lower half and pulled her tank top over her head. "There...now we're even," he smirks.

"G-Good," she mumbles and Soap without warning pushed himself inside of her.

He thrusts were sloppy but soon started to pick the pace even more and she let out a satisfying moan that made his head spin. Hearing her moans make him feel like he's doing such a good job.

To tell the truth. Soap wasn't that experience. Price always teased him about how needs to get out more and have some more experience with a woman. He only had 2 girlfriends in his life and a wife and wasn't that experience.

His hand cupped her face and rubbed his thumb under her eye, he watched her face and smirked seeing her face become so red and watching her expressions change as well.

"Goddamn, I d-didn't think I w-was that good," Soap groans.

---------

Price looked at his phone seeing the time, but he also knows that Soap's 'waiting' on him at the house. Price looked at his computer and saw he has 5 more emails and then he can be done.

He answered them and then texted Y/n.

Price: *Hey, I'm almost done soon, let Johnny know I'm coming soon, and we can watch the game*

Y/N: *.....*

Price just looked at the dots on the screen letting him know she was typing.

Y/n was on her stomach as Soap was hitting her from the back, she was a moaning mess as she couldn't even type properly. She only got a few words typed out but couldn't even hit the 'send' button.

"H-He's a-about done s-soon..." she moans as Soap gripped her hips and smacked her butt watching his handprint form on her left cheek.

"Then...w-we better h-hurry..." she could feel him smirking behind her.

She dropped her phone on her bed and gripped the bedsheets. She felt her stomach start turning, she was about to cum. He could feel her about to cum, he gripped her hips even tighter knowing he was going to cum as well.

"Holy fuck," Soap moans and so does Y/n. She felt herself leak onto his dick and he pulled out and she felt his cum leak on her lower back.

Y/n was panting trying to catch her breath as Soap rested his forehead between her shoulder blades and kissed her shoulder.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No...I'm okay...I need to c-clean up..." she sat up and moved off her bed, Soap fell on his back on her bed and looked up at the ceiling and heard the water start.

He looked at her bathroom seeing the door open, and he could see her figure in the shower, he rubbed his temple and grabbed his boxers and jeans putting them back on.

DING DONG

"SOAP, CAN YOU GET THAT!?"

"Yeah," he grabbed his shirt and put it back on and walked downstairs to go answer the door. He looked through the glass and saw Hunter. He opened the door with some force making Hunter jump a little.

"The fuck you want?"

"Who are you?" Hunter asked, he looked around to make sure he has the right house. "Is this the Price's?"

"Yeah, it is," he crossed his arms over his chest.

Y/n had a towel wrapped around her waist and a towel in her hair. She walked downstairs and saw Hunter at the door and Soap intimating him.

"Hunter?"

"Who the hell is this guy?" Hunter asked pointing to Soap.

"He's...my dad's best friend..." she said.

"Why are you wet? Did you get out of the shower?"

"Wow, no shit Captain Obvious," Soap said.

"Soap..." Y/n warned. "What do you want Hunter?" She asked him.

"Just wanted to come by and say I'm here...come on...let's go to the movies but I see...you're not even ready...and...this guy is here," Hunter tried to intimidate Soap back but of course, Soap isn't scared of some random ass kid.

"Are you...KIDDING ME! WHY THE HELL WOULD I GO TO THE MOVIES WITH YOU NOW!! YOU IGNORED ME FOR THREE HOURS AND ALL OF A SUDDEN YOU SHOW UP!! I AM NOT GOING ANYWHERE WITH YOU!!" She slammed the door in Hunter's face and leaned against the door. "Holy fuck...is he fucking serious?" She asked, looking up at Soap.

"I see now what Price was talking about."

"What?" She asked.

"You can definitely handle yourself to where...you don't even need a guy..." Soap smiles.

"He said that?"

"Again, kid, he talks about you all the time...even when you think he doesn't think about you or talk about you, he does...and he's very grateful and thankful to have you in his life," he said, leaning down and kissing her lips.

"I know, he loves me and all...but like I said...he only loves his work...I have to go get dressed now..." she said, walking up the stairs.

--------

1:30PM

Price got in the driveway and saw Y/n's car and Soap's car, he smiled at his daughter's car, a 1967 Chevy impala, it was Price's first car and he found back it in a garage at his old home where it lived for probably 20 or more years, he fixed it up just for her. She takes care of it like it's her child.

He grabs his keys before entering his home. He unlocks the door and opens it seeing Soap on the couch, a beer in hand and Y/n sitting on the love seat far from Soap reading her book, her legs to her chest as she looked up from her book seeing her dad walk in the door.

"Hi dad," she says with her usual sweet smile on her face.

"Hey, lovely..." he sets his stuff down at the door and grabbed a beer from the fridge. "Has the game started, MacTavish?" Price asked as he plopped on the other side of the couch.

"Nah, not yet Price..." He smirks before taking a sip from his beer.

"Damn, if I knew you were coming this early, I should have been home earlier."

"Nah, it's good," Soap looked at Y/n who hid her red face behind her book.

Y/n left the living room and headed to her bedroom.

Price looked at Soap before taking a swing on his beer.

"I know you two had sex while I was gone," Soap spit it his drink out, he coughed and wiped his chin before staring at Price.

"What?" He choked out.

"Soap, I have cameras around the house for Y/n's protection while I'm gone...I saw them go off when you two were alone and I have one outside her bedroom door, you two went in and you shut the door, you came out an hour later fixing your shirt and opened the front door to Hunter asking for her, you both handled it pretty well, I should say...Just...don't let that ever happen again, you got it?"

"Yes, sir...and...sorry..."

"It's fine."

"Are you going to tell her, that you know?"

"No, I'll let her know that you two didn't do anything..."

[short-black-diamond]

please could you do the characters rin sae oliver and kaiser for the ‘blue lock characters types’ ( female reader) thank you i really loved that post <33

love anon 💙

yes of course, I'm just a little mad at myself that I couldn't make the other post longer.. also thank you for including the gener my love💙

(Please call yourself 'love anon 💙' okay? ...or however else, it was just an idea :} )

Warnings: some have body types included, but these are just headcannons, okay?

Characters: Rin, Sae, Oliver, Kaiser, Karasu

---

Blue Lock's types?! ...part two

part one

Rin:

Bro that boy is a simp.

correction: they're all simps.

I think we somehow forget that the only thing they can do good probably is play football, otherwise they look like normal teens with muscles to me

However!

I think Rin's type would just be a girl who takes stuff seriously, as in not being a person who jokes a lot but who focuses on her studies and stuff

I mean, he can speak english pretty good, so I think he'd also like a girl who is bi- or multilingual (I'm european, take me Rin)

but also a girl who is like-- I don't know, maybe a little reserved for herself? Who doesn't really give too much price about herself?

I think he read a little too many romance novels (headcannon) and these girls now intrigue him 💀

but yeah, all in all I think his type would be reserved and no-nonsence, booksmart girls

bonus if you wear glasses, it makes you look cute and intelligent in his eyes

...

Sae:

I think the spanish girls have him down bad for them

I think he likes fun girls? like, girls where it's not boring (to him)

Imagine you met him in spain and just thought he was a hot dude and you just wanted to have some fun so you just do sum weird shit and he enjoys that

like, I can just imagine him trying to be goofy just for the hell of it because I always see him so bored and gloomy and stuff like that so I feel bad

Yeah, I can definitely see him simping for girls who like to crack jokes left and right

also maybe (I'm putting in body types here) he likes girls with nice asses? He looks like an ass guy to me

when a girl walks in front of him, with the jeans beinf full with juicy cheeks, he stares at them

shamelessly

I said it and I'll say it again.

Sae looks like he'd enjoy the company of a funny girl with a nice ass

we all thank the spanish girls for that.

...

Oliver:

hhhhhhhhhhhhhh

anon 💙... why him...WHY HIM ????

he a runner he a track star (...is it the right lyrics?)

Bro he'd just fuck anything that's female and breathing in his eyes

he looks like a 30-something year old divorced alcoholic who can't keep shit together

but okay.

also he fucks random bitches and you want me to give him a type???

bro I think just girls in general are his type?

Elder girls?

Cuz like in that one karaoke scene, he wanted to hang with two grown ass women💀

so yeah there you have your answer, he likes older ladies💀💀💀

...

Kaiser

a german huh?

I bet he just likes blond haired girls who like to run after him sorry not sorry

ok but seriously.

He is pretty arrogant, a big egoist, and loves to misinterpret things

so I'd like to imagine him chasing after a girl who's "playing hard to get" (his words not mine)

no but seriously, he really thinks the world evolves around him💀

Ness this is all your fault

but other than girls who are not interested in him, I think he also likes girls that are pretty sarcastic and make him feel worthless, just so that he can prove it to them.. (I really don't know)

but other than that, I think he likes the idea of a one-sided crush, and wants to "make her fall for me."

like bro fuck off with your weird-cut, ugly-white-ass hair

Karasu

I really don't know much about him because I've been watching the anime until the last episode and then I read the manga but not from the start so I'm sorry if there were some canon events that I don't know of..

but let's think about his type

I'd say...a calm girlfriend? A loyal one as well? (*cough*Otoya*cough*)

But I'd even choose Shidou over Otoya tbh💀

okay let's get back to the topic at hand.

Karasu just wants himself a loving and calm girlfriend, who gives him the vibe of a nice forest or steadily flowing river where he can calm his nerves

He looks like he gets angry easily..

so he has a soft girl

he likes chubby girls, just imagining hugging one and resting his head on your shoulder as he uses your soft tummy/juicy thighs as a stress ball and sighs contently

I don't know but Karasu makes me feel stuff...😍😫

---

Hellyu, how was that? It was actually rather fun thinking about their types, and I think I did a pretty good job. If I didn't, tell me and I'll change that!

Read you in the next post!

[sirenmoth]

Hi! If you haven’t already could you do an Irish reader? I haven’t seen any Irish ones so far and I would love if you did. But take your time! Thank you!

reader is from republic of ireland which isn’t part of the UK

!can be romantic or platonic!

Irish!Reader who got selected to join the Task Force, and is disappointed by the fact there’s three Brits in it.

Soap and Irish!Reader immediately join forces, since Scotland and Ireland have very similar traditions and cultures, and definitely not to team up against the English.

Soap tells Irish!Reader about Scot’s language and in return they him some irish words ,

“Eejit means idiot, but you can also say bampot”

“Oh that’s cool, we say eejit as well”

“realy?!”

Ghost isn’t happy with the team up.

Irish!Reader gives Ghost some stuff their mother sends over, as well as the rest of the team. Saying it’s a peace offering.

Price likes asking how Irish!Reader’s family is doing, how their time back in Ireland was once everyone’s come back from leave. Loves hearing about it over some tea and a cigar in his office.

Irish!Reader shows Kyle some of their favourite shows, a little culture share, while in the background secretly giving Soap some advice on how to get Scottish independence.

“it’s gonna be rough for a while but it’s worth it”

“aye, finally free from them fuckin brits”

“What are you two muttering about?”

“Nothing!”

Football week is a nightmare on base (if you watch it) Irish!Reader supporting their team, with Soap if it's Ireland vs an English team, would be a bloodbath if it wasn't for Price. (Based off the European thing, you automatically support the other team if they’re playing against England)

Cooking with Kyle is a bit confusing, Irish!Reader calls British food an abomination which ends up in a back and forth argument,

“Why the potatoes?”

“We didn’t have them for years, we’re catching up”

“What’s the point in that? It’s just potatoes”

“What’s the point in having all those spices, seasonings and herbs you stole from the other countries and never using them, you colonialist”

“I- well that was uncalled for, lovie”

“Am I wrong though?”

St. Patrick’s Day is mostly spent with one of them trying to out drink Irish!Reader, never ends well.

Having one Scot, one Irish, and three Brits as a team maybe isn’t so bad.

[lovethetasteofnothing]

You have a thing for accents, they find out/ you have an accent - TF 141, Los Vaqueros + Farah + Valeria + Alex

ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙

includes: captain price, simon "ghost" riley, kyle "gaz" garrick, johnny "soap" mactavish, kate laswell, farah karim, alex keller, alejandro vargas, rodolfo "rudy" parra, valeria garza (everyone getting fed today; yes the boys get their smutty content too)

gn!reader, except for laswell x fem!reader (she's a lesbian, argue w the wall), fem terms of endearment

warnings: nsfw content, dirty talk (like a lot), degradation kink, praise kink (yes, you get both) reader has a tendecy to repeat words they like the sound of (pretty much copies the way they say it bc it sounds nice), multiple themes idk what i'm talking about atp

word count: 2.5k+, aprox. 250 words/ character

enjoy <3

Captain John Price

he doesn't notice it at first, he just thinks you're smiling because his dad jokes are good

you say he sounds like a regular British dad at a football match (yes, football, I'm European too)

it makes his day because if he hadn't joined the military he would have probably been one by now

you call him Bravo 0-6 sometimes, you say it in his accent because why wouldn't you

repeating his favorite phrases from missions that he brags about because you think it's cute

insert cute Price smiley face here when he hears you(bc i love it so much)

you asked him for wa-ah once, he still isn't over it

you call him a lad/old man if his accent becomes really prominent

but you can't help the way his words make your heart race and the way he says them...

your underwear is sopping wet, your honor!

you freeze up and blush when he pulls off the filthiest sentence in a British accent

when he starts talking dirty during sex you can't help but moan louder/twitch/squeeze around him

that's when he figures it out

it kind of just connects in his brain and he uses it to his advantage

"look at the way you're taking me so good, princess"

will not let you live, constantly teases you about it

he'd call you 'princess' and 'duckling'

you quack at him if you're reallly feeling silly

recorded you doing it once, his favorite video of you by far

Simon "Ghost" Riley

you call him posh just to annoy him

gives you the hardest side eye of your entire life and you take it back

you tell him the Queen died and he doesn't have to keep the act up when he really pushes it (he calls you a tosser)

insert one of his dad jokes in here

you only laugh because you love him and your humor is broken

probably uses 'bloody' on the regular; calls you 'luv' and 'pet" 100%

like that man could just pull out a "What in the bloody hell did you just do, pet?" and you'd turn back time to make him happy

calls you his princess. emphasis on 'his" because it's never missing

definitely also the type of person to just copy whatever you said if he likes the way it sounds

when you're arguing, you just copy the phrases he said as arguments

good that the mask hides his smile or he'd always lose

loves the fact that you use terms of endearment in your native language for him (for my multilingual babes)

struggles to learn your native language but still tries

listens in on your conversations just so he can learn it better

upset when he can't learn bc his job doesn't give him enough time

turns into a big softie if you scold him in it

you record phone calls and save voice notes so you can listen to them while he's gone on missions

just the sound of his voice is so hot comforting

dirty talker supreme! i feel like he'd praise you more but there's a hint of degradation

just like a sparkle and he'd ask you five times beforehand if it's okay with you

you can't help it when your brain goes blank, the sound of his voice filling up every single corner of your mind (his dick does the same)

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

you also call him posh

actually pulls out a posh accent to egg you on

you're both laughing so hard by the end of it

pulls out the most British of British sentences and leaves you shocked because the only word you understood was 'and'

clap because that's impressive

loves your accent if you have one

makes you say a word three times because he's fucking head over heels for the way your voice sounds

dirty talk champ!

but only when he feels like it

makes you beg for him to do it because he thinks you look cute on your knees so pouty

"my love, look at you getting all wet just from the sound of my voice. isn't that cute?"

his laugh!!

makes you laugh too even if nothing is funny

sends you long voice notes with how his day went or cuddles you on the couch while doing it

and you just sit and nod while listening, not saying a word

not because you're bored but because you love listening to the way he emphasizes certain words

type of boyfriend to send you a podcast of a debrief of his activities

he does it while coming back from missions even though his voice is so tired

and it just makes your heart skip a beat because it tingles your brain in the right spot

groggy morning voice, his accent all over the place, stumbling over his words because he got home late last night and barely slept

mumbles incoherent compliments? confessions? before you kiss him and make him get more rest

Johnny "Soap" Mactavish

literally pulls out the most Scottish sentence out of his ass

and you fold for some reason???

he's confused because he's used to Ghost telling him to speak English but you just nod along

you also ask him to translate because you don't understand

you pick up some of the phrases he likes to say and use them around your friends before you realize they won't understand

you try to decipher his accent sometimes

you either nod along even though you don't understand and hope you don't need the context

or you ask him to use less Scottish terminology/tone down his accent

you'd repeat certain phrases he says, out loud when doing random things

it melts his heart

he'd say the funniest joke ever and laugh at it for 10 minutes before realizing you didn't understand him

he explains it, you laugh because you don't want to hurt his feelings (it was a dad joke)

giggled a little the first time he talked dirty, you were flustered already and couldn't hold it back

you make him send you voice notes/ call you when you're masturbating now

his fucking pleasure tbh, has to hide from his team so they don't hear him spewing the filthiest shit known to man

someone caught him once, he said he was talking to his mom

Gaz is now confused as to why he would use 'cunt' in a conversation with his mom

starts saying his Scottish lover's speech and you mumble parts of it because you already know it by heart

you actually start saying it with him at some point

Kate Laswell

really concerned? but also not surprised that you have an accent/voice kink

like wdym call you 'her angel' again because you need to hear the way she says it

pulls out American mom slang on you

you call her mommy as a joke, it wasn't a joke

she catches on because it's not the first time you did it but doesn't say anything about it

understands people with heavy accents like almost perfectly

"i have to"

would pick up little words in your native language

you would also pick up her mom monologue

so when soap does something dumb and you start scolding him like Laswell would you're a little shocked

she'd be somewhere nearby and hear you, little proud smile on her lips

you have to explain whatever slang you're using to her

finally understands what gaz and soap say afterwards

i dont think she'd be big on dirty talk

so when it slips out once, you stare at her in confusion before processing her words

you beg her to do it more often

literally sitting on her lap while she does her paperwork (surprising that she even let you do that)

and you whisper sweet nothings in her ear, trying to convince her to take a break and relax

"come on, hun, you know I can't do that. people depend on me" in that cute concerned tone of hers <3 <3

pulls out the filthiest flirting tactics known to man when a little drunk

"how about you sit there and look pretty for me?" and you do

she pulls you in her car and fingers you until you're screaming while whispering about how cute you sound

it changes your brain chemistry

Farah Karim

disappointed but not surprised

she feeds into your kink thing just because she can

catches you staring in awe when she speaks in Arabic, finds it adorable

lowkey find the way she talks mesmerizing

like you can listen to her voice and watch the way she gesticulates for hours on end

has that leader/public speaker charisma to her that gets you hooked

barks orders at you because she forgets she's not on mission

apologizes immediately because you're her baby and she feels bad about it

also scolds you in Arabic before translating

bilingual queen chastises you in two languages because you did something dumb

but you die inside whenever she praises you

"my good girl, you did well" like yes ma'am, yes you did and you'll do it again if it means you can hear those words coming out of her mouth again

tries to do dirty talk but fails miserably (her face is too serious istg)

makes you un-horny not because it's that bad but because you're laughing so hard for like 10 minutes, you have to comfort her afterwards bc she's sulking not amused

you just weren't used to it

asks Alex for tips on how to improve (she's really sacrificing her dignity for you)

decided to use her new skills when you were close to climaxing because you'd probably be too dazed to care at that point

you weren't, you still remember her words to this day

you play back every single filthy thing she ever said when you masturbate

Alex Keller

our American boy™

you make him do the college bro accent

you both end up laughing on the floor because you joined in and made it funnier

pure chaos ensues

if you have an accent he'd look at you with the most lovestruck eyes

literally grinning ear to ear if you speak in your native language, this man is the biggest simp known to exist

wants to hear jokes in your native language even though they make no sense when translated

he can mimick some British slang/ can say some words in a British accent

you tell him to stick to his American English because he's hurting your ears

you mimick him lovingly when he uses really American phrases/ his accent becomes really white boy™ from the USA

he flirts in frat boy sometimes but it's Alex so you find it cute

another dirty talk champ!

like his voice is so smooth and soothing while he says it. his face is just unbothered, maybe a little smirk under his mustache

"such a sweet angel, already soaking for my dick, hm?"

insert ocean cosplay here

I feel like he'd mimick Siri and be on point

also reads you books while you try to sleep, his voice really does wonders whenever you have insomia

you make him record himself reading so you can listen to it on repeat while he's on duty

Valeria Garza

she figures it out in the first week of dating you

you still don't understand how she did it, you weren't that obvious

she said Chicago once (literally went feral over cartel mommy)

it plays on loop in your mind at random times and you have to ask her to say it again so it stops, she refuses sometimes just to see you suffer

you also copy her facial expressions and her gestures when you repeat something she says

lowkey impressed by how spot on you are, thinks of ways to use it for her own benefit

teaches you Spanish!!! she'd do it herself and give you hw while she's gone on business trips

she'd bend you over her lap and spank you for every question you got wrong

speaks whole dialogues with you in Spanish just to encourage you to learn, would not translate if you didn't understand (her lap looking hella empty rn)

so happy when you can finally understand most of her sentences but doesn't show it, just praises you

"Qué bonito... que bien ahí. Well done" (iykyk, I watch that scene religiously)

Spanglish all the way when she's fucking you

She'd just slide her strap in and degrade you

"Such a greedy slut for me. Aren't you, muñequita?" she wouldn't move until you confirmed it with words

"Eres una chica tan patética" (google translate pulls through until i actually learn Spanish)

she started arguing in Spanish with you at some point, you got wet

she had to stop when she noticed you were looking at her like that

Alejandro Vargas

literally frat boy flirting archetype

but he's so nice and you can't help giggling when he calls you those cute nicknames in Spanish

you start calling him Vaquero because really look at him, tell me he wouldn't be a ranch hand if he weren't in the military

spews out the most toe curling, smutty sentences in Spanish because he knows you don't understand

literally only does it so he can see your cute confused face

would also teach you Spanish

had a period of time when he would refuse to use English with you because you needed to learn

he stopped when you cried in frustration (literally lasted 3 hours)

big simp if you have an accent

just smiles while you talk and when you ask him why he just shrugs

learns random cute phrases in your first language and says them while you least expect it

you had to stop for a second and take it in before blushing

you sometimes share one singular multilingual braincell

when neither of you can remember the word in English or in any other language

the toaster is now officially the bread torch

figures out you have a thing for accents when you keep talking about how nice he sounds while speaking Spanish

it's being used against you

"Eres un cachorro tan guarro~

makes fun of you because you listen to his voice notes on repeat sometimes

he caught you doing it once and now he brings it up biweekly

Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra

my fav vaquero (sorry Alejandro) bc he's just so sweet

literally praises everything you do, bonus points if it's in Spanish

makes your heart beat so fast

if you get mad he'd wrap his arms around you while trying to calm you down

"Calma, bebé. Take it easy"

and it works? like the moment you hear his voice and his gentle words you're calm again

there's something tranquil about the way he says stuff

mostly uses Spanish right after waking up

gruffy voice + him whispering sweet nothings in your ear

and you understand most of it because he took his sweet time to teach you

corrects you in the sweetest way possible

so happy when you learned how to roll your Rs

begs you to say it again because it makes his heart flutter

soft dom who loves to praise you even if you're being a brat

"Ah mi princesita, you're being so cute right now. " while he's pinning you down and pressing kisses to your whole body

literally kills you with kindness

like you're really going to be a brat after he calls you all those sweet names???

literally giggling and moaning at the same time because you're flustered

like this man is really telling you he loves you while he's balls deep in you

struggles to learn your native language

powers through tho

stumbles on his words and you help him out (that cute boy smile on his face when he gets it right)

rarely yells but when he does...

he got mad at someone over the phone and you overheard him

changes your brain structure

and then he picks you up to complain about it, his annoyed voice literally fueling scenarios to your brain

[tcifob]

Tobin Heath loves women’s cycling and she has some ideas

Pro footballer Tobin Heath sat down with Matilda Price for the Wheel Talk Podcast to discuss her love of cycling and the sport within the wider landscape of women's athletics.

Football and cycling sit at vastly different ends of the women’s sports spectrum. Football is the biggest sport in the world, and the women’s game has become emblematic of the women’s sport movement, boasting some of the biggest competitions and stars in the world. Female footballers are household names, and the sport is estimated to draw in half a billion Euros of revenue per year. 

Cycling, on the other hand, is niche to start with, outside of a handful of Western European nations, so the women’s side of the sport is only going to be smaller. The sport is undeniably on the up, and in its best-ever shape, but it’s nowhere near the global boom of women’s football.

In many ways, women’s football and the strides it’s taken in recent years should be something women’s cycling looks up to, and plenty of stakeholders in the sport are doing that. But for one high-profile star, the admiration goes the other way.

At the start of the Tour de France Femmes in Rotterdam, footballer Tobin Heath was a surprising sight, and not always a familiar one to the very cycling-focused community around the Tour. For anyone unaware, Tobin Heath is widely considered one of the best women’s footballers in the world, and she’s a veteran of the sport. With the US national team, she’s won Olympic golds and World Cup titles, she’s won two NWSL Championships with the Portland Thorns, and she’s enjoyed stints at Manchester United, Arsenal and Paris Saint-Germain. Hopefully, that conveys to even the uninitiated the stature that we’re talking about with Tobin Heath. 

Fresh off of a trip to Paris supporting her USWNT teammates at the Olympics, Heath switched to full-on fan mode at the Tour. The two-time FIFA Women’s World Cup champion rode with Canyon-SRAM, sat down with Demi Vollering, and immersed herself in the race as a special guest of Strava. 

“I was amazed. When I went there, I was absolutely amazed at the experience,” Heath told Escape Collective. This is an athlete who has won gold at two Olympic Games and two World Cups, and played in or been at many of the biggest events in women’s sport in recent years – but she didn’t know quite what to expect at the women’s Tour de France.

“I was amazed at the access that I had to the athletes. I didn’t know what to expect, but then I got to do all these insane things that, when I equate it to my own sport, I’m like ‘that would just never happen’.”

Cycling may be a world away from what Heath is used to, but after starting her own riding journey and then heading to the Tour this summer, it’s safe to say she is hooked – and she must just be the star superfan that women’s cycling needs.

Where it started for Heath

So, how does one of the best footballers in the world end up in cycling? They’re not two sports that traditionally cross over much, and particularly with Heath being from the US, the general interest in cycling is even smaller. 

The 36-year-old’s story starts in a familiar way: she turned to cycling after an injury. Heath is not retired, but hasn’t played football competitively since 2022, owing to a recurring knee injury.

“It kind of just happened because I’ve had a long-term injury from football – from my many years of playing football, it’s kind of par for the course of being an athlete,” she explained. “But I was doing some extensive rehab, and I couldn’t run, so I was doing a lot of cardio-based cycling in the clinic, and it was just miserable. Biking, no windows, on this Wattbike, it was so miserable.

“But I had a really good friend, James Hotson, who’s a triathlete, and I was always curious about cycling. I’ve always loved cycling as getting around, I’ve always loved being on a bike, just that sense of freedom and there’s kind of a childlike nature about it. And I was always asking him questions about it, about the cycling community, the training, like I’m obsessed with training regimens and stuff like that. So I guess the universe conspires in a lot of ways.”

Heath’s injury, her curiosity and the cycling scene in LA, where she’s based, all came together in the perfect way. One second-hand bike later – “I didn’t want to make the huge investment into cycling, it’s a really big barrier to entry” – and Heath was away.

“Next thing you know, I’m fully kitted, I have the best bike ever, and [James] is like ‘this is my friend Iz King’ who is a professional gravel rider in the area, and she gave me everything. This was when there was no looking back for me, because as soon as you put on the kit and you have all the bells and whistles, this is when I became a full-blown poser.”

Heath may have thought of herself as a poser at first – in fact, she still calls herself that when talking about being at the Tour – but her passion and enjoyment for the sport was very real.

“There was an unlock of being able to exercise in a way that I couldn’t before, in terms of getting heart rate zones that were equivalent to playing a full 90-minute match. I was like ‘oh my gosh, finally I can push myself’ in ways that my injury had limited me in a running and football perspective.

“So there was that, but the biggest unlock was getting outside and in nature and feeling that sense of freedom and discovery,” she added, recalling how football allows you to be outside and in the fresh air in a way that recovery perhaps doesn’t.

“I remember the first time I came back from a really big ride, and my partner was like ‘you’re like a changed human’. I feel like that was pretty cool, after a long time struggling with an injury and having so much frustration from a physical standpoint, to get this feeling of almost release and relief, and at the same time joy.”

As you might expect from a pro athlete, Heath soon started mixing in some performance and data aspects into her riding. Football, she pointed out, is also incredibly data-driven these days, so it was a natural carry-over, and an empowering thing to be able to see and use her own data.

“I think what was really cool is the community aspect, but also with Strava and the many hook-ups into that platform, it gives you this access to data that I feel was limited when I was a professional athlete. We kind of just were given training programmes, we worked, and then the data was passed off to all the scientists and the performance staff.

“It’s really cool and powerful to have your own data and to see it and then to be able to compare it to others. I think there’s a competitiveness with that, but I also think it’s just a really fun way to track yourself and your own progress. So I’m really enjoying that aspect of it, because when you go out and push yourself, you do see it – I’m at a point in the sport where I’m seeing significant gains. When you become elite elite, you’re talking about the tiniest percentages of gains that make you better than the person next to you, but I’m at this level where I’m seeing gains upon gains. And I’m loving it because I’ve lived in such a thin air for so long in terms of the tiny little nuances of performance, so it’s really fun to be in a place where you’re like, wow, I got significantly better today.”

Cycling in the women’s sport landscape

Through her involvement with cycling, Heath began to work with Strava, and it was via the brand that she ended up at the Tour de France Femmes.

As cycling journalists, we don’t often get to interview athletes outside of our sport, so given the time with Heath, it was hard not to ask about how she perceived the sport, particularly in comparison to her own background and the women’s sport forerunner that is football.

Most of what Heath experienced on the ground at the Tour was hugely positive, but there were a few things that surprised her about the profile of the sport.

“I was so disappointed in just the lack of information,” she said. “I remember I was going to interview Demi Vollering, and I was trying to find as much information about her as possible. This is one of the best cyclists in the world, if not the best, and I wasn’t even able to find a story of how she got into cycling, you know, one of the most basic things. I went to her Wikipedia page and there wasn’t even a personal blog on her. I was like ‘this is messed up’ because when you go and speak to her, and you learn about her craft, then you watch how good she is, you’re just like ‘oh my gosh, this is a gold mine’.”

After an immersive few days in the Netherlands, Heath also experienced the crushing reality  of the limitations of women’s cycling coverage – an unfortunate rite of passage for all new fans. 

“I remember it was the final day of the Tour, which was one of the longest days, and I woke up early to watch it, and they didn’t start showing it until halfway through the race. And I was like, can you imagine a World Cup final, we’re playing in the World Cup final, and they turn it on at half time? I was just like ‘this is so not cool’, I thought I had gotten the time wrong or something, because I was like ‘I know they’re racing right now’.”

Coverage is a huge issue, but one thing Heath’s presence at the Tour highlighted was just how little cross-pollination with other sports cycling has. In the US, ‘women’s sport’ is practically an entity of its own, with particularly the NWSL and NWBA existing on a similar plane with similar audiences and fans. TOGETHXR, another brand who were working with Strava at the Tour and created the famous ‘Everyone Watches Women’s Sports’ t-shirts was founded by four athletes from four different sports – Alex Morgan, Chloe Kim, Simone Manuel and Sue Bird. All this means that when one sport succeeds, the others rise with the tide.

In Europe and in cycling, however, that intermixing is not quite there, and that’s something Heath picked up on too.

“When I was interviewing a lot of the riders, I thought it would be a great icebreaker question – ‘what football team do you support?’ – and I thought being in Europe and the majority of the racers being European, I thought it was going to be the best icebreaker there is. And… nothing. I swear, there was no crossover from cycling to football.

“I told Demi, I was like ‘oh my gosh, you’re like cycling’s version of Viv Miedema’ [decorated Dutch footballer, currently at Manchester City] and I was like ‘oh are you good friends with her?’ because I thought, small nation, sporting nation, all this stuff, there’s only a couple of elite women athletes there, this is a no brainer, these are best friends waiting to happen. And she was just kind of like ‘yeah yeah, no no’. Those are the missed opportunities, right?”

Coming from the NWSL – arguably the most successful women’s sports league in the world – Heath knows a thing or two about where those opportunities for growth lie, and how to harness them. One foundation of the NWSL in particular is independence – most of the teams in the top-flight are women’s-only teams, not associated with men’s teams. 

“That’s where I’m really passionate is about independent ownership around women’s sports, because I believe that the women’s sports landscape looks very different to the men’s sports landscape, and you’re diminishing all the value that’s found in women’s sports if you try to copy and paste what men’s and women’s sports are like,” she said. 

It’s a debate we regularly have about the women’s calendar and teams in cycling, and we’re not closer to an answer as the sport seems to be at a crossroads between forging its own path, and following the men’s sport’s model. For Heath, it’s about not placing any more constraints on women’s sports. 

“I believe that the things that are being built by and for and looking at women’s sports as a completely new landscape are going to be the most powerful, the most successful ways to build, [rather] than to just try to be like ‘let’s make it exactly like men’s sports’. As long as that’s going to be the case, if that’s how people are looking at women’s sports, it’s always going to remain smaller than men’s sports. Yes, it will continue to grow, but it will always be smaller.”

Bringing cycling to a new audience

Like all women’s sports, what women’s cycling needs to grow is more attention and more investment. As someone who came to cycling via the women’s Tour de France, rather than the men’s sport, Heath also knows that, alongside the arguments for independence, there are arguments for using the well-known touchpoints in the sport as springboards. 

“It actually reminds me of the men’s and women’s World Cups,” she said. “The Women’s World Cup, it’s kind of that similar feel, where it has this global brand to it, it has this global reach, there’s a lot of history. So even for folks that don’t know the history of the Tour, and they don’t know that it just started for the women, so if they’re just coming to the sport they’ll just assume it has the same history as the men’s Tour. So I think that’s a lot to leverage in that moment. And it is a global event, it’s something that brings folks together, and I think the global nature of the sport is what makes it so special,” she said.

As someone who’s been playing at a senior level since 2004, Heath has seen both league football and the international tournaments grow almost exponentially into global brands and events, and when it comes to investment in women’s sports, she knows one thing to be true: it’s going to be worth it. 

“I think [growth] happening. I think it’s all about investment. But with so much of women’s sports, it always feels like we kind of have to show the numbers before we get the investment, and that’s not really how investment works. When people argue about it, they’re saying ‘oh the revenue’s not there’, but you invest to get revenue, it’s a simple business model. But in women’s sports, we haven’t been able to get to that point. I think we’re on the basement level of women’s sports. When you look at if you were to invest in men’s sports, we’re talking about big numbers, especially from a footballing perspective, but when you invest in women’s sports, you’re also talking about big numbers. If you invest now, it’s going to take ten, twenty years, but you’re going to make so much money.”

In posting about cycling to her 750,000-strong Instagram following, and talking about the Tour de France Femmes on her popular RE-CAP podcast, Heath is doing some of the work in bringing the sport to a whole new audience, and importantly, an audience who are already passionate about women’s sport. Rather than go after cycling fans and men’s sports fans, women’s cycling should look to attract the wider female sport audience. 

“I think there’s something in actually just building the community around women’s sports and creating more pathways to get from one sport to another in women’s sports, because I think there’s a lot of crossover between the things that I’m invested in and care about as a global women’s football fan that are easily translatable into women’s cycling.”

That conversion has definitely worked on Heath. She’s already hoping to come back for the full Tour next year, and is passionate about getting the word out about women’s cycling. 

“I had already gotten hooked on cycling, but then I went to the Tour and when I was learning about all these incredible athletes, I just became really obsessed and really passionate about bringing more attention to the sport and learning more, becoming a fan, and just getting involved and active in it, because I just feel like there’s so much there to appreciate and love.”

We certainly think so too, and with a star as high-profile as Tobin Heath fighting its corner, women’s cycling has found a very exciting new supporter.

[crusadingcookie]

141 Watching Sports

*Taskforce 141 watching England play a match of rugby or football in the taskforce’s common space area*

*Soap and Y/N running around with flags of the team playing against England*

*Opposing team scores*

Y/N: WOOO TAKE THAT ENGLAND, YEAHH!!!!

Soap: SCOTLAND FOREVAAA!!!! (Scotland isn’t even playing)

Y/N & Soap: *chanting the opposing team’s anthem at the top of their lungs*

Price: I just want to watch one game in peace… ONE GAME!

Ghost: *silently wondering how they got a different country’s flag on base*

(inspired by the European tradition that is supporting any team which plays against England)

A/N: I’ve finished my last essay for uni which yayyy means I can get back to writing. I’m probably going to be a bit rusty but I’ll try my best! Have this little idea for now. :)

[eaglesnick]

“You know you’re priced right when your customers complain—but buy anyway.” — John Harrison

Dynamic pricing is not new but it has not been widespread up until recently.

We all know about train fares being more expensive during peak times and parents know that holidays cost more during school breaks than at any other time of the year. Airline tickets are subject to dynamic pricing and there was a trend towards off-peak electricity tariffs at one time. This summer we saw tickets for Oasis concerts subject to dynamic pricing, resulting in massive spikes in the cost of a ticket.

Dynamic pricing is when a company changes their pricing to match demand and supply. Hence train journeys are more expensive during the rush hour than in the middle of the day when demand is lower. Holidays are more expensive during school breaks because demand is higher from families with children.

Few of us like this traditional method of dynamic pricing but we have accepted it as part of our way of life. The old fashioned dynamic pricing model was fairly unsophisticated and based on the time of day in the case of rail and airline tickets and specific weeks and months of the year in the case of holidays.

This is no longer the case. Artificial Intelligence allows companies to literally change prices in line with changes in demand every second if they so want. Some of the companies using AI to set prices are Amazon, Uber, Airbnb, Tesco, Ocado and Sky. Amazon is said to reset prices every ten minutes.

The days of “fixed pricing" are fast disappearing. Long gone are the days when a company added up all of its production costs to work out the cost per unit and then added a little bit more in order to make a profit. This was basically what is known as the objective or labour theory of value. This has been supplanted by the "subjective theory of value" (STV).

According to the subjective theory of value a products worth (price) is not determined by how much it costs to produce but by how much people are willing to pay for that good at any given moment. At its worst this means that ALL goods and services should be sold for maximum monetary return regardless of the cost of production. No wonder supporters of neo-liberal economics favour STV.

At one level this doesn’t really matter. Oasis concert tickets may have doubled in original price due to dynamic pricing but not being able to afford a concert ticket is not a matter of life or death. It is however, symptomatic of a growing social problem.

The assumption of neo-liberal economists and their support of STV pricing is that individual choice is paramount in all economic transactions. For the neo-liberal societal values do not exist, there is only individual choice. Mrs Thatcher, the woman who championed neo-liberal economics in the UK, famously said: “There’s no such thing as society”. Many Tory's still believe this to be true but they are demonstratively mistaken.

During Covid we all stood at our doors every Thursday night clapping and banging pots to applaud the bravery of our dedicated health professionals. Yes, we did this as individuals but also as a society. When the England football team were progressing through the stages of the European cup we watched each game as individuals but also as a nation. The same is true of the recent Olympic and Paralympic games.

Ironically, some of our most ardent neo-liberal Tory MP’s have been recently admonishing us for not being proud of our English identity. Robert Jenrick, a contender for the leadership of the Conservative Party said yesterday that English identity had “started to fray” due to mass immigration and public institutions “dismissing our history”.

Sorry, the neo-liberals cannot have it both ways. Either there is an entity called English society, with its own history and set of values, or we are just individuals all acting according to our own individual needs. The fact that latter view is obviously mistaken does not deter the advocates of dynamic pricing. For them the goal is maximisation of profit regardless of social cost.

A thousand reasons why dynamic pricing is good for the consumer will be rolled out as more and more companies adopt this system of pricing, but the bottom line will always be making more profit. And in a system where pricing is determined by what price the individual is willing to pay rather than the actual cost of production, in the end it is only the rich who benefit.

South West Water has recently introduced the cruder form of dynamic pricing to their customers. They will be charging more for water use in summer than in winter. Consumers were given no choice about this and they have yet to be told what the charges will be. This “trial" will last for 2 years.

This is the spin:

“These pioneering trials are designed to make sure that water bills are fairer and more reflective of individual consumption patterns and are part of our wider commitment to making customer-first decisions in everything we do.” (CornwallLive:19/09/24)

Note the emphasis on “individual consumption". To my mind water is a public good, a societal necessity. As such I want to see pricing evened out over the whole community. Under dynamic pricing  the rich can consume as much water as they like because they can afford to pay, while the poorer members of society will have to suddenly become use conscious. While the rich fill their swimming pools and have the lawn sprinklers on day and night, the poor will have to think twice about how often the toilet is flushed, how often the washing machine is used and can they afford to shower everyday. The poor pensioner will be calculating whether or not they have enough money to water their beloved garden.

Ok, my pensioner being unable to afford to water the garden is a hypothetical scenario. The cost of music venue tickets isn’t, neither are the prices you pay for an Uber, a holiday let from Airbnb, the food you buy from Tesco or Ocado. Even the price of a pint is now affected by dynamic pricing.

“A campaign group representing pubgoers has criticised the move by Stonegate, Britain’s largest pub company, to raise the price of pints during its busiest trading hours in some of its venues by 20p..."  Financial Times: 12/09/24)

If the price of a British pint of beer is now subject to dynamic pricing then nothing is sacred!

More seriously, when the market economy becomes the market society, when those in power promote the value of maximising profit for the few at the expense of the happiness and well being of the many, then, as a society, we lose all sense of humanity, morality and common decency.

There has been much theoretical discussion of late about the threat of Artificial Intelligence to humanity. I would argue that maybe we should be more concerned about those  humans using AI to enrich themselves at the expense of the rest of us.

[scotianostra]

On October 31st 1903 Hampden Park stadium opened in Glasgow as the home of Queen’s Park Football Club.

Sources differ some say October 25th but SFA state 31st

Hampden was the biggest stadium in the world, it would hold this record until 1950 when The Maracanã Stadium in Rio, it held and incredible 199,854 for the final.

Back to Hampden, it opened for a league game on this day in 1903, three years late it held it’s first international when Scotland played England in front of a crowd of 102,741 people, which established Hampden as the primary home of the Scotland team.

Attendances continued to increase during the remainder of the 1900s, as 121,452 saw the 1908 Scotland v England match. A new world record of 127,307 were in attendance to see Scotland play England in 1912.

World record crowds attended Scotland matches against England in 1931 and 1933 and it was 33 that saw the first team from mainland Europe, Austria visit the stadium. Further ground improvements increased the official capacity of the ground to 183,388 in 1937, but the SFA were only allowed to issue 150,000 tickets for games. The 1937 Scotland v England match had an official attendance of 149,415, but at least 20,000 more people entered the ground without tickets.

During WW2 a government official presented an order demanding that both the Hampden and Lesser Hampden pitches be ploughed and used to plant vegetables, but the Queen’s Park committee chose to ignore the order and the government did not pursue it.

Hampden hosted the 1960 European Cup Final; Real Madrid defeated 7–3 Eintracht Frankfurt with 130,000 people in attendance. By the time the next European cup final was held in 1976 between Bayern Munich of West Germany and Saint-Étienne of France the attendance had fallen to 54,670. The French complained about the goalposts stating that two of their efforts which hit the square crossbar and rebounded into play would have resulted in goals if it had been round!

Hampden was aging and the capacity was cut 81,000, redevelopment started in October 1981 and completed in 1986, reduced the capacity to 74,370 and cost £3 million. After the cancellation of the annual Scotland v England fixture in 1989, questions were raised as to whether Scottish football required a separate national stadium, other venues were mooted but the SFA and the stadium committee rejected these and after securing a grant of £3.5 million in 1992, work to begin on a £12 million project to convert Hampden into an all-seater stadium, Hampden was re-opened for a friendly match between Scotland and Netherlands on 23 March. The final stage of the renovation began in November 1997, costing £59 million, inevitably the price soared but Hampden was re-opened for the 1999 Scottish Cup Final. The ground now has a capacity of 51,866.

The stadium was again fit to host the top matches and Real Madrid were again victorious when Hampden Park hosted the 2002 UEFA Champions League Final, defeating Bayer Leverkusen, with Zinedine Zidane scoring the winning goal with a left-foot volley.

In 2012, a Scotland women’s national football team game was played at Hampden for the first time, when it hosted the first leg of a European Championship qualifying playoff against Spain and Hampden was temporarily converted into an athletics stadium for the 2014 Commonwealth Games.

To celebrate the 60th anniversary of the European Championship in 2020 the National stadium has been chosen by Uefa as on of 13 venues for the competition and I am sure the people of Scotland will welcome whoever is chosen to play in Glasgow.

With the advent of big stadium concerts Hampden has been used to host a wealth of worldwide acts Genesis and Paul Young performed in the first concert at Hampden, in 1987. The Rolling Stones played there in 1990, during their Urban Jungle Tour. Since the redevelopment of Hampden was completed in 1999, many acts have performed there, including The Rolling Stones, Rod Stewart, Tina Turner, Bon Jovi, Eagles, U2,Oasis, George Michael, the Red Hot Chili Peppers, Neil Diamond, Take That, AC/DC, Bruce Springsteen, Coldplay, Pink, Paul McCartney, Rihanna, and Beyoncé.

The national stadium takes a lot of stick, but the cost of building a new one is way out of reach for the SFA, but if they somehow came up with funding I think it would be more suited to be somewhere around the Stirling area, I would also like to see a train station as near as damn it next to it, we can but dream though..........

[mikasuxxx]

hii!! short hc rq—been thinking about 141 + friends with an aggressively american reader like. specifically british people with words like “y’all” and “aint” [harassing them with “y’aint” sounds funny as fuck] and idk teasing them ab the war like. it’s been on my mind all day

Lol i love that. Bet! Also sorry i couldnt do more characters im kinda tired rn so I'll do them later! Thanks for the ask anon!

Soap

would find it funny as fuck

every time you say "yall" or "aint" he cant help but giggle

He laughs whenever youre talking shit about brits and bringing up the revolutionary war

ESPECIALLY if you bring up the (dead) queen. Bro is already on the floor

Tries to put on an american accent. Ends up sounding southern. Seeing this, you try to put on a scottish accent. But fail miserably

Plays the eagle sound effect whenever you enter a room, thinks its the funniest shit ever

Is entertained by watching you argue with price over "soccer" vs "football"

Price

oh he's so done with your shit

Whenever he's winning an argument with you and you KNOW hes winning, you'll switch to a bri'ish accent. Works everytime

Lowkey flinches whenever you say "yall". flinches harder when you say "y'ain't"

Alternativey when youre in an argument you just say "Aint yall's queen dead? Yeah. thats what i thought" and he just gives you a look

Or the revolutionary war.

as mentioned before hes gotten into an argument with you many times over whether its soccer or football

"Its football. You literally kick the BALL with your FOOT." "Okay well its still called soccer idc" "...."

oh hes REALLY not looking forward to seeing you brag in his face after the US vs UK world cup game

"ITS CALLED SOCCER 🇺🇲🇺🇲🇺🇲🏈🏈🏈"

"NOBODY EVEN SCORED"

You had him try american beer/alcohol brands in general. He said it tastes like piss

Gaz

Hes also amused by it

buys you cowboy boots as a joke. You end up unironically wearing them all the time

Paid you $5 to say yeehaw as loud as you could. wouldnt stop laughing for like 10 mins after

You taught him how to sing the national anthem. Now whenever hes drink he sings it

Is weirded out but also interested in the different words americans have for random things

challenges you to point out every european country on the world map you challenged him to point out the queens burial sight on the map of england

He started saying yall and aint from being around you for so long

Yall mock each others accent too. all in good fun

Ghost

is annoyed by you

generally doesnt like americans

Really doesnt understand some of the shit americans do/say

will never admit it but he sometimes finds those british slandering jokes kinda funny. like he'll huff out some air

He kinda likes some of the food. you cant blame him tho british food sucks

he thinks there's too much fat and grease in most of the food tho

Tolerates you because you dont slander him as much as the others. And overall on missions you get the job done. so its fair game

[angy-mouse]

Puck Bunny Part 4

6k motherfuckers! Can you tell I'm in love /j

As before, fluff with some suggestiveness, and some light self deprecating thoughts that get quickly shut down

<Prev >Next

“Oh, that whore!”

“Who’s a whore?” Your switch flew from your hands with a shriek, thankfully landing on the recliner instead of Niki’s face. “Nice shot.”

You jabbed an accusing finger at her, like she could be blamed for your lackluster hand-eye coordination. “You’re supposed to be at work!” 

Niki (who you learned did not hold grudges) handed your switch back, brushing your feet off the couch so she could flop next to you with a groan. “Becky asked for the last half of my shift. Her girl wants to play football next year, so she’s trying to get all the extra time she can.”

“European football or American football?” 

“Screw you… European.”

“That’s good, there’s less to buy.” 

“True, and less chance of a concussion. So, who’s a whore?”

You gave a shrug, going back to your game now that your curiosity’s been sated. “Fucking Marnie: I need to buy a pig before fall, but she’s too busy bouncing on the mayor’s dick to run her fucking shop.”

Niki leaned in close, peering over your shoulder only to see an 8-bit world of flowers, green grass, and a sparkling blue river. “... You need a hobby.”

“This is my hobby.”

“Another hobby. You could come running with me.” Your lip curls too quick for you to hide it. “Alright, point taken.” There’s a beat where you’re sure you were rude, and now that you’re not crying over the last guy or humping the next one she’s not interested in talking to you. Niki is kind, but maybe she doesn’t want to hang out with you, which you’re just going to have to be okay with.

You don’t realize she is talking until the back of her hand smacks down on your thigh. “I said, tell me about your date.”

You blink, pausing your day to not waste those precious minutes. “You wanna hear about my date?”

She’s leaned back, eyes closed as she rolls her shoulders, but she still nods. “Yeah. I saw the to-go in the fridge- where’d he take you?”

The switch clinks on the coffee table as you put it down, and the sofa groans under you as you pull your feet up. “Well, I don’t remember the name of the place because he wouldn’t tell me: I’d been bugging him about letting me pay for something so he said he wasn’t giving me the name so I could look up the prices.”

“And was that your plan?”

“Of course it was.” A warmth blooms in your chest as you get a high-pitched giggle out of her and the words start spilling out. “But the menu didn’t have prices on it, and I’m pretty sure he’d said something to the hostess to get that because it was nice, but it wasn’t snooty-fancy nice, ya’know?”

“How nice was it?”

“Complimentary bread, but plenty of families.” For a second, you think that wouldn’t make sense to anyone but you, but she nods, so you move on. “I said I couldn’t decide between the alfredo or the surf-n-turf- just making conversation- and when the waitress came up, he ordered them both and even ordered two entrées for himself so I didn’t look like a pig.”

“You’re not a pig,”

“Oink, oink.” 

You got another snort of laughter out of her. “What about dessert? A good man treats you to dessert.”

“I was stuffed! I told him I couldn’t eat another bite and he was all-” You furrowed your brow and pitched your voice down in a poor man’s imitation of Punz. “‘What about Niki? I don’t wanna be on the wrong end of her shovel. Have a bite just to make sure it’s good and you can bring the rest back to her.’ So, yeah, there’s half an alfredo bowl, some sirloin, and a slice of cake that’s all yours if you want it.”

“Good man.” You barely have time to wonder if that’s a joke before she’s reaching over to take your hand in hers. A soft smile painted across her features, the kind that made her eyes shine with a soft affection that couldn’t be faked. “I’m happy for you,” she promised softly, like it was a secret to be shared only with you. “You deserve a good man. And I really hate to change the subject, but either I’m sleep-deprived or someone’s playing country music outside our window.”

You take a moment to listen. 

Now she’s coming home to visit

Holdin’ the hand

Of a wild-eyed boy

With a farmer’s tan

“Who the fuck is listening to Trace Adkins that loud,” you muttered, pushing off the couch.

“Why do you know who Trace Adkins in?”

“Because he’s six and a half feet and the only sixty-year-old I’d bend over backwards for.” She gives a mumble of, ‘fair enough,’ as you reel up the blinds, laughter bubbling out of your throat at the sight on the lawn. “Oh my god,”

There was no way of knowing if Sapnap had started dancing at the beginning of the song or when he saw movement in your window, but he was going hard. Full-on country boy line dancing, complete with a white cowboy hat, as he held his phone above his head like a boombox. You’re pretty sure he even had a picture of a boombox pulled up to complete the look.

You pushed the window open. “What the hell are you doing?!”

You would’ve thought you’d shouted, “Yes, Sapnap, I will marry you!” He lit up like a bulb, a big cheesy grin spread across his cheeks, the apples pushing up into his eyes to turn them into little crescent moons. His lips moved, but all you could hear was Trace’s, “turn it up!” His face dropped into a pout when he realized and fumbled with his phone. He finally got the song paused and you waited for what could possibly be so important.

“Hi, sugar!” 

You snorted as he waved, wiggling your fingers at him. “Hey, handsome. What’s wrong, couldn’t find any pebbles to throw?” 

“Well, I wasn’t sure which window was yours: not a mistake I wanna make.” The way he shuddered made you think he did make that mistake, but the thought left as soon as it arrived because he was looking up at you with those puppy dog brown eyes. “Wanna go for a walk together?”

You get a vision. Fluffy brown ears and a tail wagging at mach 4. It fits way too well, especially when you imagine him asking, “Walk? Walk, walk, walk?” 

Besides the dog-like implications, it’s sweet. Classically romantic, and somehow it fits Sapnap perfectly. But still, part of you craves sitting alone in your room with a video game.

He waves again. “Hi, Niki!”

Her laugh vibrates through your arm as she squeezes into the window next to you. “Hi, Romeo. What’cha up to?”

“Punzy said I can either get my ass out of the house by myself or go to the gym with him, so I’m asking my sugar on a date ‘cause fuck ‘im.” 

Niki gave a solemn nod. “Fuck him indeed,”

There’s a part of you that’s terrified of what these two could talk about if given the time, and it pushes you past your slight hesitation, calling out, “let me find my shoes,” as you duck back inside. You can hear them talking as you scramble for some decent walking shoes.

“So, what’s with the hat?”

“It’s sunny out.”

“... So you just had that?”

“I’m from Texas, Niki.”

“Hey, don’t forget a water bottle.” You’re shoving your feet into your sneakers before you realize she’s talking to you. “He’s right, it’s pretty sunny out there.”

“I’ll be fine, mom.” You think you’re funny, right up until she sticks her head back out the window.

“She can’t come out to play, she’s gonna get her ass beat.”

You threw open the mini fridge. “I’m getting a bottle, Jesus!” 

“Alright, she’s headed down- whoa, look at him go.” Niki ended in a mutter, leaning further out to presumably watch Sapnap dash for the front of the building. You replaced your switch on the dock, just in case you were gone long enough for it to die, while she closed the window. “You got everything?”

“Yes,” you insisted, painting on a false air of exasperation just for the theatrics. “I have a water bottle, I’m wearing good shoes, cell phone’s in my pocket, and I’ll be back before the streetlights come on.” You made a dash for the door before she could snap back. “Bye, mom, love you!”

You’re halfway down the hall when you realize what you’ve said.

“I did NOT just tell her I love her. Holy shit, this is worse than calling your teacher mom. I DID call her mom!” 

Your phone buzzed against your ass and you almost don’t look at it.

Ich liebe dich auch :P 

Sapnap is waiting for you outside and lets you dive into his arms. “Hey, sugar,”

“Smother me,” you command into his sternum. 

His hand comes up to cup the back of your neck, thumb and index finger massaging circles into the base of your skull. “But then we can’t get ice cream.”

A snort escapes you as you adjust to give him a proper hug. “Oh my god, you’re so right. What was I thinking?”

“Crazy talk, that’s all it was.”

“Crazy,” you agreed, glancing up at him. Your cheeks warmed and a smile crept onto your face as you realized he was already looking at you. “Hi,” you hummed, pushing up onto your toes, hands braced against his broad chest.

“Hi,” he hummed back, meeting your lips as if he’d been desperately waiting for any sign that it was okay- as if he hadn’t done far worse with far less. He pressed featherlight kisses against you over and over, like he was as afraid as you were that too long and you’d fall into each other right on the lawn. 

When you finally peeled yourselves off each other it wasn’t far, his thick fingers threading through your smaller ones as you set out. “There’s a chocolate haus right nearby with all kinds of ice cream, I thought we’d go there. They make it all in-house, it’s really good.”

“How do you know where there’s a chocolate haus when the fat bitch who actually lives here has been going to Walmart for chocolate?”

He gave your hand a tug like a punishment. “You’re not a bitch, you’re my sugar bunny.”

“Oh, baby,” you cooed, hugging his arm to your chest, “I’ve got you pretty fooled, huh?” 

“And anyway, you’re too obsessed with your schoolwork to go exploring like I do.”

“I’m not obsessed with schoolwork!”

“‘I haven’t eaten, I’m too busy studying,’” he mocked.

“Your impression of me makes me sound like I’m in the eighth grade.”

“Well, in my impression of you, you only have an eighth grade education.” He beamed when you couldn’t even pretend to glare at him. “It’s alright, sugar: you get that degree, and we can try everything you missed together.”

Oh.

Oh. Thoughts of exploring life together filled your mind. Adventurous new toys in the bedroom, laughter as you bumbled through a new recipe in the kitchen, screams of joy on roller coasters too dangerous for you to ever try alone. Your heart in your throat in every one, but a tight squeeze of your hand- a promise that you’re not the only one who’s scared- gives you courage every time.

Sapnap isn’t as obscenely tall as Punz or Sam so it only takes a skip in your step to plant a fat kiss on his cheek. “What’s that for,” he hummed.

“I need a reason to give a cute boy a kiss?”

“No, but I’d hope you’re not running around kissing every cute boy you see.”

“Only the ones who feed me,” you tease, bumping him with your hip. “Pretty sure I’ve got a fat tab rung up for the fucking part of that deal.” 

He shook his head, bringing your knuckles to his lips. “It doesn’t count if we both eat: that’s just a good time.”

“You got that right, at least,” you mused as he kissed his way across your knuckles. His thumb wandered like he was anxious, drawing shapes and letters and random nonsense over your hand as far as he could reach without letting go. 

“... Your campus is pretty,” 

You glanced around. There was a game of Frisbee in full swing on the left lawn constantly tripping over the few people actually studying, and a sizable yoga group on the right. The trees were well past their blossoming stage, but still a bright green as they resisted against the cool fall air. “It is, huh?”

“Yeah. Our campus has, like, one tree. It’s all concrete and pavement.”

A noise of disgust fell from your lips without intending to make it. “Cityscape. Give me a forest any day.” 

“It kinda reminds me of home, but, yeah, over here is way prettier.”

You put on your best aghast face. “Wow, fake cowboy. You’re a total city boy, aren’t you?”

“It’s my darkest secret,” he drawled with a grin. Even with all his bravado, his cheeks were still pink. “Sam’s the country boy, I was a suburbia baby.”

“That hat is a lie.”

“But it makes my beard look way sexier.”

“Another reason to take it off,” you declared, snatching it off his head and placing it on yours. The brim dropped over your nose, so you pulled it back and let it hang around your neck by the strap. “You go around looking too sexy, panties start dropping, they have to put out a flash flood warning-” He obviously stopped paying attention the second you stole his hat if his dopey look was any indicator so you really went into it. “And I can’t fight off the entire female populous by myself, but maybe if I sat on your face in front of them all-” Sapnap stopped walking, his grip on your hand pulling you to a stop with him. “Hm? What’s up?” 

When you turned, you saw his gaze had fallen off of you at some point, the realization shooting an arrow through your chest. Were you boring him? You shouldn’t talk so much. Maybe some skinny yogi in a sports bra was getting his attention.

“That sign says ‘free.’ I’m trying to read the rest, but I think I need glasses.”

You felt ashamed for ever questioning his integrity.

“Free beginner’s yoga,” you read for him, “no experience, equipment, strength, or flexibility required.”

His thumb started strumming across your skin. “I wonder if that stuff actually works. I mean, I know football players will sometimes learn ballet…”

There’s a moment where you’re trapped in your own thoughts. Thinking about all those gym classes trying to keep up with the fitter kids, feeling their eyes as they were forced to wait for you before moving on. Thinking about your first roommate who wouldn’t stop trying to talk to you about your aura. 

Then the moment’s over because you remember the way he’d put it. 

We can try everything you missed together.

And he was so good for that, and he deserved someone who was going to be just as good to him, and you sure as hell weren’t going to give him up willingly, so you were just going to have to be good enough for him.

So your other hand joined your clasped ones and tugged him over. “Come on, let’s try.”

He shook his head, but his expressions were easier to read than a picture book: he’s not resistant, he’s embarrassed. “No, it was just a passing thought, we don’t have to, I just-”

“Trying everything together, remember?” A smile crept across your lips as his ears burned cherry red, but he let you guide him onto the grass. “Do you actually want to do it, or do you just want to see me put my ass in the air?”

“A man can want two things,” he pushed out with a cheeky grin.

You snorted, gesturing to your chest with your chin. “Yeah, I know: one, two.”

He held your hand for as long as possible as you walked away, calloused fingertips trailing down your softer ones until the very last second. You almost said ‘fuck it’ and tackled him for the touch back, but you restrained yourself. 

You followed the others’ lead, thankful for your position at the back to hopefully obscure anything embarrassing you might do. Although, you had to admit, it wasn’t that tough: you’ve been sitting criss-cross-applesauce since preschool. They were doing steeple with their hands, too: something else you had down pat.

The teacher was a thin woman with abs that made you jealous and a powerful voice. She’d given you a smile as you dragged Sapnap over, but now her eyes were closed. “Bring your chin down towards your chest,” she hummed, “and feel that amazing stretch in the back of your neck.”

Oh, shit, that actually felt great.

“Try to lift your chest towards your thumbs and see if that gets you to sit up a little straighter.”

A fucking moan escaped as your back popped in three different places, heat flooding your cheeks as Sapnap snorted. “Stop that,” he whispered. “If it feels that good, you won’t need me anymore.” The girl in front of you snorted, so you ignored him in hopes of pretending he wasn’t talking to you.

After a few minutes, you couldn’t figure out why you’d been so hesitant to yoga. Mostly, you’d only done cat and cow repeatedly, and it shocked you how good it felt. Like you’d been shoved in a crate in your sleep for the past month, and your body was finally able to breathe and move the way it was supposed to. You almost apologized to the collective group.

“Push up into downward dog,”

“Scratch that: yoga sucks,” you decided. You had a face full of titty, no upper arm strength to hold this pose, and Sapnap wasn’t even behind you to appreciate how great it makes your ass look, so what the hell’s the point. 

“Fuckin’ skinny people bullshit.” It isn’t until the girl in front of you laughed so hard she fell back down to tabletop pose that you realized you let your inside bitching turn into outside bitching. You could feel the heat rushing to your face and it wasn’t just because of this stupid pose. “I’m so sorry,” you whispered, trying to backtrack, “I didn’t mean-”

“Nah, girl,” she insisted as she pushed back up, “don’t apologize: you gotta stick by your guns.”

There was a murmur of agreement from beside her that drew your attention. Unfortunately, you were stuck staring at their ass from the way everyone was positioned, but you did appreciate that ‘they’ was printed on one cheek and ‘them’ on the other. Props for both hilarity and remarkable efficiency. “Say it with your chest,” they insisted. “Speaking of: this move was definitely made by someone without tits. I’m suffocating.” A snort escaped you, but Sapnap sounded like a leaking balloon as he wheezed trying to hold his laughter in, flopping on his side in the grass like he’d officially given up. 

“Friends,” the instructor called out, and you just knew you were going to get kicked out. Kicked out of a free yoga class: you’ve never stooped so low. “Reminder that if I’m telling you to do something your body doesn’t like, please listen to your body. You know yourself better than I do.”

“I’m fine, I just like to bitch.”

“I’m not,” you admitted, dropping into a child’s pose to push your hips back. “But I’ll still bitch with you.”

You caught a glimpse of an enthusiastic thumbs up. “Fuck yeah: big bitch solidarity.” 

The first girl turned around to face you instead of the instructor, giving you an eager smile. “You should totally come back next week: Adrienne usually brings her dog to class. We got totally cheated this week.”

“Benji is getting his teeth cleaned so no one passes out when he starts panting. Drop back into tabletop, and stretch that left ankle back for me as far as you can. Remember that we’re trying to create a long stretch through the spine, and the crown of the head is an extension of the spine.” 

“I never realized how heavy my head was,” you admitted as you consciously lifted it. 

“You got too many brains in there,” Sapnap claimed. “Play more video games.”

You cocked your head to make sure he saw your false offense. “I play so many video games. Hey, why are you on the ground? Get your ass up here and suffer with me!” 

“It’s haaard!”

“Oh my god,” the person in front of Sap cackled, “how long have you been dating?”

You can feel a heat take over half your face. “What makes you think we’re dating?”

“You sound exactly like us.”

The girl cackled. “‘Yoga is sooo easy,’” she mocked. “They do strength training and the first time I dragged them to class they threw such a fit!”

“Don’t tell them my shame!” The two of them followed along with the teacher in some contortionist move you could never pull off unless you suddenly lost forty pounds and half a tit, but it did mean you could finally put a face to the other. “You do this every time we meet new people! Stop using my embarrassment as an icebreaker!”

Sapnap’s grin was palpable in the air. “Now, that’s an idea.”

You pointedly didn’t look at him. “Another word, you won’t see me topless ever again.” 

“Shutting up.”

The girl wobbled again as she laughed. “You’re smarter than Andy, at least.”

Sapnap retrieved his hat from the grass where it fell off your head and settled it back in place. “I know my place. Sapnap, by the way.” 

“Josie,” she gave back, and you offered your name, too. “My partner Andy. Romantic partner, not yoga partner. They’d never last.”

“I don’t blame them: I’m tapping out,” you admitted, sitting up properly. You blinked when you realized you were just a bit taller than usual and your constant headache was gone. “Okay, hold on, this might be worth it.”

“Right?! Doesn’t it feel so good after? Hang on-” Josie leapt to her feet and skirted through the crowd, rifling through the instructor’s bag.

“Do you mind, Jo?”

“Damn it, Adrienne, I’m trying to network for you, but this purse is a disaster area. Aha!” She brought the flyer back to you with all the pride of a cat delivering a dead mouse, so you would’ve felt bad not accepting it. Especially as she eagerly started to point out the different lines of text. “The club gets together every week, and Adrienne puts together different routines, so one week is stretching, then core strength-”

Andy grabbed their girlfriend around the waist and manually pulled her back. “Personal space, babe.”

“Sorry,” she gushed, “I get kinda excited.”

“That’s okay,” you told her, because it really was. When was the last time someone got really excited talking to you? Asking you to join them? 

You knew the answer as thick fingers laced with yours. “Should we go, sugar?” He pressed a kiss to the back of your hand, almost like a little beg. I’m tired of sharing you. “Think we earned our ice cream,” 

The thought enters your mind that he’s too pretty and sweet, and he deserves a good kiss. Sweet and pretty boys need a good kiss now and then. So you kiss the back of his hand clasped in yours just like he had as you murmur, “yes, we have.” You offer the couple your best smile, too, just to make sure they know you aren’t fleeing. “I’ll have to come to another class without my tag-along.” Sapnap makes an indignant sound as he pulls you to your feet, especially when Josie responds with, “same here,” and then Andy is indignant, too. 

“You two can have fun turning into pretzels,” Sapnap promised, “Andy and I will bring the actual pretzels.”

“Ooh, we should get pretzels, too.” You bid your goodbyes as you resumed your walk, detangling your fingers from Sapnap’s to hug his arm as you consulted the flyer. It was little more than a time and place under a curly Yoga Club header, but still you searched for something to convince you to go again. 

“They were nice.”

Sapnap. Shame on you. Nice boy wants to go for a walk with you, and you’re giving your attention to a half sheet of copy paper. You pressed yourself more firmly against his shoulder. “They were,” you admitted, forcing yourself to believe it. Pushing aside every insecure thought about how they secretly hated you for intruding on their space- a space that anyone with eyes could tell wasn’t yours to take.

No. They were nice. They were a cute couple, and they were nice. 

People can pretend to be nice.

Sapnap leaned down. His nose bumped against the crown of your head, getting you to look up enough for him to kiss your forehead. “You thinking about joining?”

You’re shaking your head before he’s finished speaking. “They don’t need some amateur slowing them down,” you tell him with a forced laugh. You hope he takes it as a joke and laughs along.

He doesn’t. His eyebrows furrow under his white brim. “I don’t think it’s that kind of thing. I mean, the head yogi or whatever even said that if you can’t do the pose, you can just do child’s pose. Which, I thought was ‘drank too much last night’ pose, but whatever.”

“Okay, first: instructor,”

He grinned. “Yogi Bear,”

You chose to ignore him. “And second: they were probably only inviting me to be nice, so it would be awkward if I went.”

There’s a beat of silence where you think you’ve successfully ruined the conversation, letting your anxieties out into the open where they should never be. You stumble as you realize Sapnap’s stopped, peering up at him as you try to place his expression. 

Somewhere between adoration, exasperation, and maybe constipation. 

“Sugar,” he cooed. A heavy hand came up to caress your cheek, covering the entire side of your face in his palm as he strummed across your cheekbone with his thumb. “You are wonderful-” You practically melted in his hand. “And breathtaking-” Oh, you were a puddle! “And usually so smart, but that might be the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard, and I live with a bunch of hockey players.”

“What?!” He’s still petting your cheek so you move to shove him away and get pulled into his chest instead, lapels fanning out around you like even his varsity jacket was trying to suck you in. “Don’t hug me! You’re an ass!”

“Sweet, sweet, bunny,” he cooed- oh, you could hear the grin on his stupid handsome face. That bastard! “Don’t fight it. Just listen for a sec- I said don’t fight it- listen for a second.” He let you thrash against him for another minute, knowing full well you could slip out if you really wanted to, until you settled against him with a huff. “Okay, sugar, now hear me out,” he bargained. “If they were just being nice, they would’ve just been nice. There was absolutely no reason to give you the date, place, and time they meet up at if they didn’t want you there. People don’t do that, sugar. That’s some next-level soaps type conspiracy where you go just to find out your evil twin is sleeping with your sister.”

You don’t know what it is, and you’re definitely going to run some experiments to figure it out later, but something breaks past your anxiety. Maybe it was the factual way he said it, that your messed up brain said, “oh, we didn’t know that,” and accepted it the same way you don’t get anxious about what color the sky is: it’s a fact. Maybe it’s the heavy, woodsy scent that completely envelops you from inside his jacket, filling you with a warmth that went beyond just being protected from the breeze. 

Maybe trying to figure out why your evil twin would sleep with your sister, who would therefore be the evil twin’s sister as well, control-alt-deleted your entire system.

You took the win either way.

“I’m not trying to push you into going,” he promised with a firm squeeze, like he secretly wanted to make his jacket so comfortable you decided to live in it with him. “But I know how easily anxiety can drown out reality.”

Something in his tone strikes you. You get flashes of your previous ‘dates’. A desperate clutch on your hand as you walked out of the rink. An arm behind your head like he didn’t want you to forget he was there. Holding you tight to his chest, still inside you as he declared, “You can’t take her, she’s mine!”

You pushed your arms around him, still under the jacket, and squeezed him tight. You didn’t know what to say. What could possibly convey, “I’m a fucking anxious moron, but I’ll try to help you not be an anxious moron because I like you way more than I should.” You settled for, “maybe I’ll go. Niki did say I should get a new hobby.”

He buried his nose in your hair like he understood what you meant to say. “Yeah? Three guys not enough to take up your time?”

“I don’t think sex counts as a hobby.”

<3E>

You were panting, breath coming out in long, drawn-out gasps, emphasized for his benefit. “Oh my god,” you gushed, “It’s too much! I can’t handle it!”

“It’s a fucking thirteen degree slope.” His giant grin is what saves him, because if you’d detected a single ounce of judgement for your unfit lifestyle, you would have turned around immediately. 

“It’s fucking unconstitutional, is what it is,” you tell him instead. 

“Unconstitutional,” he repeated back, like the word was hilarious.

“Telling a cute girl you’ll buy her ice cream, then making her walk. It’s not right!”

“Well, you won’t let me carry you,”

You huffed, taking another bite of your ‘Oreo Brownie Explosion’ which was somehow even more chocolatey than the name suggested. “I already stole your hat and made you do yoga: I’m not breaking your back, too.”

“I’m making Punz record me next time we work out,” he promised, extending his hand that didn’t hold his own cone to help you over an uncovered root. It was probably a two-inch tall obstacle, but he was so cute, you took his hand anyway. “Maybe doing some hip thrusts and benching with your weight on the bar will get it through your thick, pretty head.”

“Nice save with the ‘pretty,’” you drawled. He didn’t let go of your hand after you conquered the root, so they swayed between you. “Although I’m not thick: I’m fat.”

“Deliciously,” he agreed, suddenly aiming his teeth to your neck. “All the more to eat, my dear-”

“Stop, your lips are covered!” 

Any attempt at saving your pores bites the dust when he starts blowing raspberries across your sensitive skin, your roaring laughter echoing through the trees. Especially when he mutters, “oh, shit, sug’, made a mess of ya” and starts kitten licking ice cream off you.

“What flavor is that, again?”

He offered his cone. “Mint Mountain. I think it’s got Andes bars and York patties in it.”

You wrinkled your nose. “Ugh: you had to be a mint lover, huh? We better get to this secret you wanted me to see quickly. I can’t be seen with someone who likes mint ice cream.”

“It’s got chocolate in it, just like yours!”

“Don’t you dare compare that monstrosity to my amazing chocolate!” 

“Watch your step.” He helped you over another root, hand sliding to the small of your back. “It’s right over here.” 

“Are you gonna tell me what it is?” His cheeky grin says ‘no’ without him having to. “I want you to know,” you told him emphatically, “if you’re taking me deep into the woods to kill me, I will haunt your ass ‘til the end of time.”

The trees gave way as you walked to reveal a grassy hilltop dotted with wildflower patches. Bright purples, reds, and blues sprinkled through the lush grass to mirror the bright stars starting to peek through the foggy sky. The other side of the hill was much steeper, letting the city landscape sprawl out like a blanket thrown over everything. Sapnap squeezed you tight and a warmth bloomed in your chest. He found this beautiful spot just for you? It touched you so thoroughly you nearly forgot what you were even talking about before.

Until he leaned close, lips brushing across your ear, and hissed, “then we’d be together forever.”

“Oh my god, you do that too well,” you snorted.

“And ever, and ever-”

“Stop!”

He threw his head back so he didn’t destroy your eardrums as he cried, “AND EVER,” into the dusk with a giant grin. He clumsily shed his letterman as he ran in front of you, passing his cone from hand to hand to keep the jacket clean, which was promptly null as he tossed it on the ground. Maybe it was the ice cream he was worried about ruining. “My lady,” he offered with a dramatic bow, kicking the lapels open for more surface area. 

“Why, thank you, my dear.” 

The name sort of slipped out: he called you my lady, so you were just playing along. He flushed so pretty, though, and when you sat he snuggled right up to you like he was accepting it. Yes, he seemed so say as his arm stretched out on the grass behind you, I am your dear. 

You pressed yourself into his side, settling in and soaking up his warmth. “This place another result of your exploring?”

“Just call me Dora.” Lights started flickering on across the city. Golden arches on the west side, living rooms all throughout as families settled in for the night. “In the summer, there are fireflies,” he told you, voice soft in your ear. You tucked your head against his shoulder. “I took my sisters out here camping once. I never got to see that kinda thing growing up, so it was fun.” 

A hum rumbled out of your throat as his thumb pet over the back of your hand. “Yeah? How old are they?”

“Too fucking old.” You laughed against his neck as he shook his head. “I have two baby sisters and a brother, and they’re all growing up too damn fast.”

“Kids do that,”

Sapnap hummed in agreement, and for a minute you were just sitting together. Cuddled up under the stars with ice cream, acting like you needed to share body heat even as you ate your icy treat. 

“They’d like you.” You pulled back to look at him. The dimming light did it's very best to hide his deep blush, but he didn’t. A different kind of smile spread over his lips- softer and shyer. “My sisters,” he clarified. “My step-brother doesn’t like anyone but his PS4, but the girls would like you.” He seemed to realize what he was implying, burying his mouth in his cone. “Probably try to humiliate me with stories or tell you you’re too good for me-”

A hand in on his cheek dragged his lips onto yours. He grunted into your mouth in surprise but fell against you, lips moving together soft and slow. You licked over his lips but didn’t push further, scratching your nails through the hair on his jaw as you pulled back. You pressed a peck against him when he tried to chase after you, smiling into it as it seemed to satisfy him. 

“I’m sure I’d like them,” you promised. A drop of something trembled on your lip as you spoke, and you licked it off. “Hm. Maybe mint’s not so bad after all.”

[herrlindemann]

Heavy Rock - January 2002

So close and so far at the same time. The capital of Portugal is today without a doubt the best place in all of Europe to see and listen to rock. Good venues for concerts, friendly people, excellent business professionals in a market five times smaller than ours, affordable prices and a most attractive and scoundrel city that keeps that old flavor under a galloping modernity that every day makes it more equal to the Europe of the euro. On top of the brilliant and fatalistic Pessoa in every corner of old Lisbon that he portrayed so well in his books. Good food, a lot to see and it’s next door.

Fool who misses it. I promise to cover many concerts in English, among other things because the films were never subtitled. Some say that if it had not been for those idiot kings that we have been suffering from century after century, the Iberian peninsula would be only one and as powerful as Germany. Can be.

The sports hall of Os Belenense (the third football team in Lisbon after Sporting and Benfica) is a privileged venue for five thousand people, located on top of a hill that has the Jerónimos Monastery under its feet, in whose pantheon is buried Fernando Pessoa and the navigator Vasco de Gama, who set off to discover half the world from the also nearby Torre de Belen, right on the Lisbon pier.

The place is full on the first of the two nights of the Germans, with Clawfinger as opening act, old acquaintances who have had to cancel their concert in Spain, scheduled for the following day, because the first date scheduled in principle, which was sold in a few days, a second had to be added, which caused them to cancel their scheduled show in Madrid. When I find out that they are going to open the concert I am very happy and a few minutes before leaving I chat with the singer and guitarist, the same thing that I had done a little earlier with Rammstein at the hotel. These interviews will be included in the next issue of Kerrang!

In the forty-five minutes that they have been on stage, the Swedes show great professionalism and the new face of their music, more polished, direct, and less 'rapper' with a lineup just like the stars of the night: two guitars, keys, bass, drums and voice. Techno also emerges without losing the gray that put them on the map of the best European rap-metal.

Their latest album 'A Whole Lot of Nothing' is proof that they have brought their message very close to Rammstein, which a few times in the past opened for them when they climbed the charts. They must have treated them very well because now the Germans take them on tour whenever they can, and they are also generous in leaving them all the sound display that they later used. Of course not the pyrotechnic and light display; and therein lies the problem for the Clawfingers.

Because the most Rammstein staging teaches anyone. Good intentions, direct songs and the ordeal is clear is that they do not shrink and continue to make war.

Rammstein is the never seen. With one, if not the best, of the records of the year in their baggage and a lot of imagination, the sextet is a magnificent and impressive show both musically and visually. A lot of money and creativity at the service of a structure that is frightening due to the militaristic connotations of its clothes and postures. Together with the theatricality copied from the Catalans of the Fura del Baus, they create an explosive show where fire, a lot of fire, is also another great protagonist with distressing moments such as when in the first encore, with the theme 'Rammstein', the singer Till Lindemann remains in his burning suit for almost four minutes. The mastery of fire that these people have is incredible, forcing them to demonstrate all the fireworks to the government technicians before each performance. Seen and lived on stage, as I did, it scares a lot. As soon as the minutes allotted to the photographers were up, I ran off the stage as if the devil was chasing me, resembling a scene from 'Apocalypse Now'.

Eighteen songs as checkered as the hackneyed German mentality. It joins infernal industrial machinery that starts with 'Mein Herz brennt' from 'Mutter' to end with the version of Depeche Mode's 'Stripped'. Pure adrenaline that nails you to the ground while from all corners of the stage the fire is projected in a thousand ways (Valencians would have to wear them as stars of the next Fallas festivities) and they look like mutant beings out of a science-fiction movie to make an army of corpses dance. Nightmarish. Wagnerian music, in the classical sense, is like a single score with messianic choruses that tremble in the German language, giving that sinister theatricality that at times brings to mind the 'hail, Hitler' of the most sinister times in history, for course alien to the intentions of the group. The show could not be more heavy. They all form a mass in which no one goes off script and the solos are conspicuous by their absence, inheriting the old legacy of those pioneering German industrial metal bands such as Kraftwerk. Aware that they have made a great record with 'Mutter', they play a lot of it: 'Links 2, 3, 4', 'Feuer frei', 'Mutter', 'Ich will', 'Adios', 'Rein raus', ' Zwitter'… Almost the entire record falls. Moment of maximum intensity that is experienced when they download their great commercial hymn 'Du hast' and the staff bouncing like possessed. They connect with 'Buck dich' which includes the singer's little number hitting the keys from behind for a long time with a giant phallus that generously sprays liquid on those in the front rows. In the end, the drummer's ride in a rubber boat over the heads and arms of grief takes us back to the past because they copy it from what the American David Lee Roth did on his tours with a boat and a surfboard. The six say goodbye toasting with Champagne to the success of a party as brilliant as it is original. For the cretins who preach that rock is dying or that it has no way out, this is heaven open to a great future. The important thing is to squeeze the coconut to stand up to the owners of the circus, the Anglo-Saxons, who with projects like this it is not surprising that they feel threatened.

When a stewardess falls to the ground on a short-haul flight due to the violent shaking of the once imposing and now defenseless iron bird in whose stomach we defy gravity, it is to frown to say the least. They had warned that coinciding with the arrival to the peninsula of the men of the north also came the cruel winter of those of the plane, the snow, or the power cuts in Catalonia.

The storm had its vortex in the Palau Olympic de Badalona, a venue that was filled with, evil eye, nine thousand people eager to see one of the European monsters of metal.

If the capital had enjoyed the privilege of a concert presentation last spring for a limited number of people, this time in Madrid they were left with the desire, perhaps because there are no suitable venues to host this type of event. I know that we get very heavy with this matter, but it is so serious that it requires immediate solutions.

The fact is that Rammstein presented irrefutable arguments about why so different types of audiences like them beyond the gestation of him in the gothic scene. Thousands of people hypnotized by the grotesque, bloody, frightening and at the same time romantic show of the group despite the fact that they sing in German and 99% of the attendees do not even understand, it makes you think.

His repertoire unfolds with the perfection of a recently oiled industrial machine, it is a mechanical tune, reticent, a uniform whole supported by his risky bet on impact theater.

I'm still wondering how the hell do they not get burned by the continuous flames on the stage if I'm fifteen meters away and I feel in my retinas and complexion a burst of that infernal heat that contrasts with the icy outside environment.

By the account that brings you, for your safety and ours, almost everything in your show is perfectly calculated, but that does not prevent that when Oliver Riedel takes a boat ride through a sea of arms, he ends up taking a 'dip' in the masses when losing stability. It takes a second, but it's enough for my head to come up with the phrase: "don't try to do this at home".

[justforbooks]

In 1990 the Spanish writer Juan Goytisolo published a short essay called Paris, Capital of the 21st Century. By the end of the 20th century, he had decided that Paris was exhausted. The city of avant gardes, ideas, revolutions and class struggle, which had defined so much of European and world history, was now no more than a museum. As almost a lifelong Parisian and a lover of the place, Goytisolo desperately wanted Paris in the 21st century to retake its place as a great metropolis. But this could only happen, he argued, if Paris reinvented itself by “de-Europeanising” itself. By this, he meant it had to look towards the world beyond Europe, welcoming its sometimes dissident non-French, non-European voices to make itself a truly global city. Only in this way could Paris be brought back to life.

More than 30 years on from that essay, Simon Kuper has written a book about what it has actually been like to live in Paris during the past two decades. I have lived in the city for exactly the same period, in the working-class district of Pernety, and seen all the changes that Kuper has. The view from Pernety and the view from his hipster right bank world have not always been the same. He often underestimates, for example, the severity of racial and class tensions in Paris. To his credit, however, he is always aware of his limitations as a foreigner and as an apprentice Parisian.

The author, a journalist for the Financial Times, begins by describing his arrival in the city in the early 00s, a refugee from extortionate property prices in London. He finds in Paris an alternative economic universe, where decent city centre apartments were affordable along with a good quality of life that wasn’t dependent on a big salary.

Initially, Kuper bought into the shibboleth that Paris was a dead place – economically moribund, artistically bankrupt, something very much like Goytisolo’s museum. Over the years and decades, however, as he settled in, established a family and a way of life, Kuper began to change his mind as he navigated the unpredictable joys and vicissitudes of Parisian daily life. This involved wrangling with tough neighbours, taking kids to football matches in the banlieues (the outer suburbs, which are definitely not museum-ified), learning schoolyard slang from his kids (which contains a surprising amount of street Arabic), dealing with his wife’s cancer diagnosis, negotiating the daunting French social security system and, perhaps hardest of all, learning how to act as a proper Parisian – a performance that demands mastery of an almost infinite number of behavioural codes.

Kuper is a self-confessed “Bobo”, a member of the middle-class elites and as such most of the behaviours he has to acquire revolve around the right way to wear clothes or making the right sort of conversation. Above all, you should never appear to be provincial (an old Gaulish word, plouc, is still used by Parisians to describe out-of-towners) or from the banlieues (wearing sports clothes is a giveaway). As he learns to be a local, however, Kuper can seem a little too pleased with himself and there are moments when, as he yet again cycles down a lovely cobbled street to another designer coffee shop, you wish he’d get a puncture.

Nonetheless, Kuper is a clear-eyed observer of the history that is happening all around him. He witnesses the revolt of the gilets jaunes, which he notes are in part a protest “against Paris itself” (against people such as Kuper, in fact), sees the burning of Notre Dame, sweats through historically unprecedented heatwaves and copes with the pandemic. The most momentous – and terrifying – event that marked Kuper’s Parisian life was the night of 13 November 2015, which no Parisian who lived through it will ever forget. He was in the Stade de France when the first bombs went off, the prelude to a night of massacre that finished with 130 innocent people dead. Ever the professional reporter, Kuper keeps his feelings to himself, until a few days later he cries in front of a friend, broken by the strain of living in a city that seemed about to go mad.

Now the Olympic Games are on the horizon and Paris looks set to announce itself again to the world as a global leader, as the multicultural city imagined by Juan Goytisolo. For all of the transformations of the past two decades, however, Kuper is always alert to the city’s particularity. This is the immutable essence – to be found in the daily pleasure of the menu du jour or just the snarky, nasal banter at your local zinc (bar) – that makes Parisians love their city, and foreigners such as Kuper (and me) love it even more.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?