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fourmoony · 3 months

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Friends or What?

James Potter x F!Reader

A coming of age story in which Potter's Corner Shop has a funny way of bringing people together. Falling in love is daunting when everyone is watching.

Ao3 Link (chapters will be uploaded here the day before Tumblr).

CW: For Chapter One, the content warnings include: Use of the word 'fag', but in context to a cigarette (UK slang) Foul language A minor using the word 'shagging' Smoking/Drinking alcohol A comment about hoping someone chokes Threat of caving someone's head in with a baseball bat (it's lighthearted, I swear) Implied internalised homophobia Mentions of fighting

Please be aware that this fic will contain multiple hard to read scenes, and I completely understand, if because of this, you choose not to read :) it's a coming of age fic, while there'll be lots of fluff and happy moments, there'll also be lots of hard, uncomfortable moments, too. Please, please, do not make yourself uncomfortable.

CHAPTER ONE (7k) -

Sirius is stocking the fag drawers, behind the counter, when you come in through the shop door. The little bell above the wooden frame dings to announce your arrival. Sirius doesn’t turn upon hearing the bell, nor does he acknowledge there’s even anyone in the shop. You follow his lead, heading up the sweetie aisle, wiggling your fingers as you go, lips puckered in anticipation as you search of the cherry lollies you know were delivered this morning. Whether or not Sirius has bothered to unload the pallet yet is a strong factor in whether you’ll find them sitting where they’re supposed to be. Your eyes scan the shelves, there are no cherry lollies to be found. No worries, you think, picking up a fashion magazine as you pass the stand.

You walk the loop of the shop, hear the bell ding in the distance signal someone else has come in. It smells like newspapers and the inside of the fridges that line the back wall of the shop; the radio crackles through tinny speakers, playing the UK Top 40 and you just know Sirius is hating every minute of it. When you approach the till, Sirius still has his head in the fag drawer, whistling along to his own song, radio be damned.

“You didn’t put the cherry lollies out, lazy arse,” you say.

Sirius jumps, turns as though you might be standing there with a balaclava and machete, ready to demand he open and empty the till. He rolls his eyes when his brain catches up with the situation, head bobbing to the left where the storeroom door sits, a pale blue, creaky thing that drives everyone insane on stock days with its constant whine every time it opens and closes, “Help yourself.”

The storeroom is cold and dark, but spacious, with piles of overflow stock lined up against the walls, organised into specific sections. It’s almost scary how neat it is. There’s a pallet in the middle of it all, wrapped in black plastic that’s been ripped at the top; likely Sirius taking the fags out. You scan the pile with a frown, knowing it’ll be an annoying game of Jenga trying to find the lollies without pulling everything else down with them. It takes a while, and a bit of rearranging, but you find the tub and return to Sirius with a triumphant smile. The customer that followed you in is filing out the door, so you allow Sirius to scan your items and give him the money.

“You should be about halfway through that pallet by now, it’s gone one in the afternoon, you know.” You chastise Sirius playfully.

He scowls when you sit on the counter beside the till one leg curled up and tucked underneath you, the other swinging back and forth, kicking and wobbling the specials display underneath the till. He knows he’s not getting rid of you any time soon when you flip open your magazine, unwrap your lolly, and stick it in your mouth.

“It showed up late. Problem with a road closure, or something.” Sirius replies, turning back to the drawer.

He rips open a packet of Sterling Duals and starts stuffing them into the drawer. You hum, amused, “That what you’re going to tell Effie?”

Sirius scoffs, an air of arrogance to him when he looks over his shoulder, long, black hair flicking with the movement, “It’s the truth. Plus, Effie never shouts at me. You know this.”

“Perks of being the boss’s son.”

Sirius seems to preen at your jab over his nepotism. He’s always very happy to be known as Euphemia and Fleamont Potter’s son. You don’t know much about his situation, just that the Potter’s took Sirius in when he was sixteen and none of them ever looked back. He’s happy and he’s cared for, and he seems to love being their son. So, you don’t ask. It’s none of your business, anyway.

The bell dings again and you and Sirius both look over out of habit. You have to lean past the roll stand to your left to fully see who’s came in, but when you catch sight of James, your grin grows wider. James Potter is Euphemia and Fleamont’s son. Biological son. Granted, that doesn’t matter with the way Effie fawns over Sirius like he was the biological one. She claims to love them the same. You secretly think Sirius is the favourite, though you have no idea why. He’s an insufferable shit, most of the time. James is nice. He’s bright and always happy, a proper ray of sunshine which, on the bad days, can be a little annoying.

It’s rather hard to be angry at the world when James Potter is standing there with his stupidly pretty grin and his big brown eyes, spouting such optimism into the world that things just start to feel better because he says they will.

“Delivery came late, mate. Just got it half an hour ago.” Sirius doesn’t even greet his best friend with a ‘Hello’, just moves straight onto damage control over the fact he’s still restocking the fag counter at one o’clock in the afternoon.

“Don’t listen to him, Jamie,” You say, popping the cherry lolly out of your mouth to talk properly, “He’s a dirty liar. Lazy arse, too.”

James laughs, approaches where you’re perched on the counter and stands so close you can smell his aftershave. It’s a bit of a cliché, honestly; fancying your boss’s son. Well, really, he’s your friend before he’s Effie and Monty’s son. You’ve always been friends. Since before you started working at the shop. Since school, really. But still. The cliché sits a little clunky in your chest sometimes. Especially when he looks as handsome as he does, today. He’s wearing his rugby jumper and a pair of joggies. Really, it’s nothing special. But he looks so soft. So cosy. His hair is all mussed up from the wind and his glasses are a little squint.

You reach out a manicured finger to push them further up his nose and he smiles down at you. Yeah, you think, pathetic.

“Are you here to work or cause trouble?” James asks with a teasing smile whilst Sirius sputters at your accusations.

“I can multitask, you know,” is your reply, words sweet as honey, “But to answer your question, no, sadly I am not here to work.”

“And yet you’re still here, annoying me with your presence.” Sirius mumbles.

You roll your eyes, turn to James with pouted lips, “See the way he talks to me?”

In James’s defence, he plays the game. See how far you can push each other before the other gets flustered and has to walk away. Last week he gave you a taste of your own medicine so bad that you had to stand in the stock room like an idiot for five minutes counting tins of beans until your face returned to its normal colour. You’re good at putting up a front, acting like whatever the two of you are doing doesn’t effect you, that you’re cool, calm, and collected about the whole thing. But the tins of beans in the stock room would tell a different story, could they talk. You’re glad they can’t, as silly as that thought is.

James, bless him, humours you – much to Sirius’ dismay – and coos, brows furrowed in mock-sympathy, “Poor soul.”

“Okay, fine, if this was your plan to get me to do the pallet, I’ll go.” Sirius finally breaks, hands held up in surrender.

It wasn’t your plan, but you watch him leave with an amused smile.

“The road into the village was shut, I know the delivery was actually late.” James laughs to himself.

“Hm,” You hum, ditching your magazine to the side and swinging your legs over the counter until you’re standing behind it, “Me too.”

“Thought you weren’t working today.”

You shrug, picking up where Sirius left off with the fags, your back turned to James, “I’ll do these and then I’ll be off.”

“Thanks.” James rounds the counter the normal way, punching his clock in card on the machine beside the till.

You look up, find him leaning against the counter by his hip, a small smile on his face. He’s so charming, you think.

“Don’t thank me,” You warn, the ghost of a mischievous smirk dancing across your face, “I’m putting them all in backwards, so he has to redo them all.”

“You know how he gets about the fag drawers,” James groans, because he knows he has to spend the rest of the day listening to Sirius gripe about whatever it is you’re about to do. “They’re his… area.”

“Yeah, well,” You shrug, “He didn’t put the cherry lollies out.”

James doesn’t have an answer for that. He just huffs a laugh and reaches for a packet to open and starts to pass you them.

-----

‘The Saturday Girls’, or so they’re nicknamed, are nice. They’re so coined because they only work Saturdays to help with unloading the bulk of the delivery that comes that morning. It’s a weekend job, perfect for them because they’re still in school, and it offers them a bit of pocket money. It would’ve been a dream job for you at fifteen, but Shauna and Lisa sometimes seem like having to work a shift in Potter’s Corner Shop is the bane of their entire teenage existence. Like now, Shauna stands leaning up against the end of the third aisle, passing Lisa packages of toilet rolls off the trolley with a sardonic look on her face.

You can hear them talking about a girl in their form class, how she’s after Shauna’s boyfriend and it brings unwanted flash backs of being that age, that naïve, when the idea of someone stealing your boyfriend felt like the end of the world. Really, they should have a trolley each, working on separate aisles. But you don’t get paid enough to boss them around; and if Shauna’s insults to whatever girl is trying to steal her man are anything to go by, you don’t actually want to be on her bad side.

Sirius has taken a falling out with the fag drawers since your ruin of them, yesterday, and so you’ve spent the better part of the morning facing them all the correct way. There’s a box of clipper lighters on the floor at your feet to be unloaded, too.

“I’m too scared to tell them that putting toilet roll on the shelves isn’t a two-woman job,” James appears behind you following the nerve grating squeak from the storeroom door, leaning on the counter with a lopsided smile.

He’s placed the clipboard with all of today’s stock details on the counter, pen tucked neatly under the clip of it. You know he’s here for your signature, cutting the job in half for you by doing the inventory himself. He likes numbers, you hate them, he’s happy to do it so long as he doesn’t have to fix the mess you created in the fag drawers. Besides Sirius, you’re the only person to be trusted in Sirius’ sacred area. Ironically enough. You pick the pen up with a hum, scribbling your name to state you were here when the delivery arrived this morning, “Some poor girl in their form is getting it tight, today. Shauna thinks she’s after her man.”

James laughs airily, “So I shouldn’t go over there and intervene?”

“Best not. I’ll come up with something I need help with in five, ask her to help me. Just need to finish these, first.” You say, waving a packet of JPS Red around so James knows what you’re talking about.

“Thanks,” Is James’ reply, “For the signature and for saving me from getting called a daft bint, or something, behind my back.”

Your laugh is bubbly and comes out of your mouth so fast you don’t have time to be embarrassed about it. It makes James laugh, too, low, and throaty as he taps the pen against the clipboard. He shakes his head and makes his retreat to the office at the back of the storeroom, likely to file the inventory sheet for Monty to look over on Monday. It only takes you a few more minutes to fix the rest of the fags, all in their correct places, all facing the correct way. The clippers are unloaded haphazardly into the tub in the bottom drawer, and then you’re off, on the hunt for Shauna.

She and Lisa have made it to the baby wipes when you come down the aisle that they’re in. Shauna is leaning against the trolley now that she doesn’t have the wall at the end of the aisle to lean on, and she’s passing Lisa the packets one by one. Lisa has her head ducked into the shelf to reach all the way to the back, but Shauna straightens up when she sees you round the corner.

“Hey, you okay to help me build some stuff up in the storeroom to get it off the pallet?” You ask.

There’s an empty box on the trolley that you reach for, pulling it apart until it’s flat and you can stick it inside the bag on the back of the trolley. Shauna gives a longing glance to Lisa, as though being parted from her will bring her physical pain. It’s quite comical, really. A small part of you misses being so young and carefree. Shauna nods, following you to the storeroom.

James is holding the door open on your way past, “I’ll keep an eye on the till.”

You thank him and Shauna follows you through. There’s not much to be unloaded, really. You and James got the majority done this morning when it arrived, and so its overstock that’s left. Shauna follows your lead, knowing by now where everything goes. There’s cereal and biscuits, teabags and coffee jars, there’s alcohol and fizzy juice. Shauna doesn’t talk much while you work, which isn’t surprising. She’s rather quiet and subdued with the rest of the staff, most of the time. Without Lisa to bounce off of, Shauna doesn’t usually say much.

“How long have you and James been together?” Shauna asks out of nowhere.

It’s less surprising to hear her starting conversation than the question she’s actually asked, which is saying something. The box of ready salted crisps in your hands go toppling backwards from where you’d been reaching to put them on top of the pile as you twist to face her, eyebrows somewhere near your hairline. The girl looks nonplussed, lifting a crate of Red Stripe and placing it with the other alcohol against the wall closest to the door.

“Sorry?”

You can’t quite find the words, brain reeling at a mile a minute because have other people noticed whatever game you and James are playing and assumed you’re together? That’s incredibly embarrassing and unprofessional. Shauna doesn’t seem to notice your confusion as she barrels on, seemingly in her own world, “It’s just cause, me and this boy from school have been going out for, like, a month, yeah?”

She doesn’t actually wait for your response as she picks up another crate of beer and sticks it on top of the pile she’s created, “And this girl from my form keeps trying to text him. He’s told me he’s ignoring her, but I dunno if I believe him.”

“Right.” You say, a bit dazed, trying to keep up with what she’s saying whilst trying to put together what this would have to do with you and James.

“I guess I’m just wondering what you’d do if it was another girl trying to get with James. Like, would you go barmy?” Shauna asks, and you can tell there’s a hint of insecurity in there somewhere.

Picking up the crisps you’d dropped rather ungracefully, you tell her, “Well, James and I aren’t together. Like, at all. But if it was someone I really liked, I’d be a bit upset, I suppose. If he says he isn’t replying, I’d believe him until he gives you a reason not to.”

Shauna seems pleased with that answer, but feels the need to add, “Anyone would think you and James are together. Or, at the very least, shagging.”

There’s really nothing you can say to that, is there? It knocks the wind out of you, flusters you, and concerns you all at once. What do fifteen-year-olds know about shagging? Well, you suppose it’s all your friends wanted to talk about at fifteen, too. But. Well. No. Just, no.

“Right,” Shauna breaks your flustered silence by dusting her hands on the side of her trousers, “That it, then?”

Right enough, the pallet is empty. You open your mouth to talk but find nothing will come out, so you close it and nod. She files out of the storeroom after shooting you a weird glance but doesn’t feel the need to add anything more. You count tins of beans until your brain decides it can function again.

“The Saturday Girls have got to go.” You tell James when you slip behind the till ten minutes later.

He breaks his focus from the screen the security camera’s run on, eyebrows narrowed in concern, “She said something?”

You wave your hand, 'nothing too bad', it signals, “Asked how long we’ve been shagging.”

James promptly chokes on air, pounds his chest a few times with wide eyes. You wonder if you should be offended, or if he’s just genuinely surprised Shauna was so brass necked about the whole ordeal. You settle on a nod and a placating look, exactly, you think.

“She’s like, twelve.”

Huffing a laugh, you correct him, “Fifteen, actually. But still, I dropped a box of crisps, nearly toppled the whole tower I was so gobsmacked.”

“What,” James laughs after, “at the suggestion of shagging me, or her boldness?”

If there’s one thing James Potter knows how to do, it’s get under your skin. He’s wearing that signature knowing smirk, the one he wears when he’s thinking something mischievous, or he knows exactly what you’re thinking, feeling, like he can see right into your soul. He’s a prick, you decide. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

The thing is: this game is slowly spiralling into more than you can handle. It’d started as an easy way to irritate Sirius, then an even easier way to make the boring shifts go in quicker, then it was just fun. Watching the way his tongue pokes the side of his cheek when he’s considering a rebuttal, or trying to hide a smile, the way his jaw clenches when you come in on your days off wearing tight clothes, only to perch yourself on the edge of the counter and promptly tease him all day. It’s fun. But now it’s too much. James is too much. Because at the start, he’d get shy and flustered, brush you off in a polite manner. But now. Well, now he’s an evil shit who likes to make you weak and hot and bothered and all of the in-betweens every chance he gets.

“Jamie,” You smile, sweet as honey, eyes doe-like and offering him the challenge, “You couldn’t handle me.”

The minute James shakes his head, hair flopping to the side, tongue pushed into his cheek, you know you’ve won this round. He slinks off to find another job for Shauna to do, who you can see on the security cameras has gone back to passing Lisa things off of the trolley.

Twenty-six tins of beans. There are twenty-six tins of beans in the storeroom.

-----

The rota goes like this: Monday: Monty, open. You and James, close. Tuesday: Sirius and James, open. Remus, close. Wednesday: Effie, open. Monty, close. Thursday: Remus and James, open. You and Sirius, close. Friday: Sirius, open. Effie, close. Occasionally James, close. Saturday: You and James, open. Effie and Monty, close. Sunday: Monty, open. You and Remus, close.

The open shift runs from seven o’clock in the morning, until two in the afternoon, and the close shift runs from two o’clock in the afternoon, until ten o’clock at night. Potter’s is the only shop in the village open until ten, and it’s a busy shop because of this. Probably, also, because the Potters are well known, well liked, and well respected.

But the main thing to note about the rota is that Sirius Black and Remus Lupin are never scheduled to work a shift together. Ever. The simple reason is because they don’t get on. Like, despise each other for a reason that is unbeknownst to you, and even James, who is Sirius’ best friend in the entire world, his brother. Personally, you think their beef is pointless. But the delivery driver who dropped off the Saturday pallet five months ago and ended up having to break up a petty argument between the two would likely disagree. Apparently, some harsh words had been said between the two, and after the Potter’s decided Sirius was just as much an instigator as Remus was easy to snap, and that both of them were irreplaceable as workers, the new rota was made, stapled to the office wall, never to be changed, and with their names never beside each other.

It’s strange, to you, because Sirius and Remus are both lovely. You enjoy working with both of them. Separately, of course. They seem to know that in the situation of their hatred of each other, you and James are both Switzerland. You’ll listen to them rant about each other, sympathise with their feelings, but ultimately add nothing of note to the conversation. Sometimes you think that bothers them more. Unfortunately, there’s no avoiding their hatred of each other every Saturday in the pub, but they’ve become increasingly better at tolerating each other’s presence. It no longer ends in one or the other storming out of the pub or offering to meet each other outside for a scrap. Small wins. You’ve no idea where they get the energy to put so much effort into their animosity towards each other. A small part of you actually thinks they enjoy getting each other riled up to the point of snapping, the same way you and James do, just with more insults and less innuendos. Each to their own, you suppose.

Remus has his foot kicked up against the wall with a fag in his hand when you near the shop door. He’s staring across the road at the small play park, looking rather lost. There’s a group of kids on the swings, laughing and chatting away. They’re young looking. Ten, maybe eleven. When he notices you, Remus seems to snap out of whatever daydream he’s in, eyes softening and his lips turning upward into a smile. It pulls at the scar slicing across his cupids bow, taught, but paling out at the stretch. There’s a number of scars that litter Remus’ skin, the product of a nasty car crash he was in as a child. You don’t notice them as much, now, as when he first started working at Potter’s. They’re just part of who he is, and they make him no less handsome.

“Here even on your day off,” Remus tsks, passes you the cigarette.

You have a draw, blowing out the smoke with the ghost of a teasing smile on your lips, “Someone’s got to mind the till on your eighteen fag breaks.”

Remus laughs, accepting of the jab, “Monty’s in today. Shops not totally unmanned.”

“Ah,” You hum, passing him the fag back, “Unusual for him. He usually runs off the minute his shift finishes.”

He nods, sandy hair flopping in a mess of curls on top of his head. “Something about having to find a new supplier, the drivers for Zonko’s are complaining about having to drive into the village.” Remus speaks through an exhale, the wind carrying the smoke along the street.

He flicks the fag to the ground and follows you inside, finding his place behind the till whilst you meander down the aisles, still content in having the conversation, “That’s ridiculous. It’s only fifteen minutes off the motor way.”

Remus makes a noise of agreement but doesn’t say anything else until you return to the till with a cherry lolly and a magazine. He looks at your purchases with an enhanced non-surprised glance, eyes flicking up to ask with a simple look if you could be any more predictable. You shrug, hand him a fiver, and he passes you your change.

“Think they’re just annoyed because the only road into the bloody place is always closed because that daft Mr. Filch keeps forgetting to shut his gate and the cows always escape.” Remus comments, closing the till.

You take up your usual space, to the left of the till, leg tucked under you, subconsciously kicking the specials stand with your free foot. The customers are never surprised to find you sitting here. Most of them often comment that you’re like the store’s very own cat. Always lurking, happy to sit, and watch the people go about their days. Really, you just like to annoy whoever is working. Unless it’s Effie or Monty. They usually put you to work if you hang around for too long.

“They should really just bolt that bloody fence shut. He’s always losing his cows.”

“He does it on purpose. I don’t know why, yet, but he does.” Remus theorises, his brows furrowed as though it’s some great mystery as to why old Argus Filch is always letting his cows run free, as though he has some ulterior motive.

Perhaps he does. You’ve never given it much thought.

“They should switch to Ollivander’s, anyway. I’ve been telling them for months that they’re better priced. Plus, they’re closer, the delivery charge wouldn’t be as much.” You say, eyes scanning the pages of your magazine.

The cherry lollypop rattles off your back teeth, something you know drives Remus insane. You don’t stop.

“They don’t stock Pettigrew’s butcher meat, though.” Remus counters.

Pettigrew’s Butchers is the most sought-after Butcher meat in the village, and Potter’s is the only place that stock it. It’s what drives in most of the customers, you’d argue. It’s good meat. You’ll give them that. It’s why Effie and Monty have been hesitant to drop Zonko’s as their distributor because they’ll lose their access to Pettigrew’s. Truly a conundrum in the eyes of the village. You flick to the next page, shrugging, “It’s only a forty-minute drive out of the village. Wouldn’t Pettigrew deliver it himself?”

“What, every morning?”

You sigh, long and suffering. This conversation is, truly, boring. You love Remus. You do. Really. But you miss Sirius. Or James. Remus seems off, today. He’s less humorous, less sarcastic. You won’t push. You know he doesn’t like that. But you shouldn’t have to suffer the world’s most boring conversation because of it. Perhaps that’s selfish of you.

“Zonko’s doesn’t even deliver to us, every morning. Just have Pettigrew's tie in with the days we get from Ollivander’s.” You suggest, though, you know there’s nothing Remus can do about it.

It’s a conversation best had with Monty or Effie. Even James. But they’re smart. They’ll likely figure it out on their own. You hop off the counter, pulling the lolly from your mouth as you go, “Either way, it’s going to be a shit few weeks if we don’t have a distributor. I need to go, meeting Sirius for a cuppa at the Leaky.”

You wince as soon as the words come out of your mouth, watching as Remus’ expression falls.

“Hope he chokes on his cuppa.” Remus mutters, though a saccharine smile comes across his lips.

You roll your eyes, pointer finger already aimed at him, “Behave!”

He holds his hands up in mock surrender, though you know behaving is the last thing Remus Lupin will ever do when it comes to Sirius Black. It’s ridiculous.

“Give Monty my love.” You say in ways of a goodbye and Remus waves you off.

You pretend not to hear when he tells you to give Sirius the middle finger for him.

-----

“You’re a genius, you know.” Sirius says, sitting your drink down in front of you.

The pub is, strangely, quite quiet. There’s a family of four in the far corner, eating a meal in stoic silence – awkward – and a group of older women by the bar, a bottle of champagne in an ice cooler on the table and bubbling glasses in each of their hands. Of course, you and Sirius were the last to arrive, meeting the rest of your friends at the only large table the Three Broomstick’s own, which lead to him shooing you off to get a seat and buying your drink for you. You won’t complain. Your regular table is already a mess of empty pint glasses from James, Remus, and Frank, and two empty wine bottles from Lily, Mary, and Marlene. Alice is on nightshift at the police station, a lucky feat for everyone because it means there’ll be no tequila shots tonight. Fine by you.

It’s a long table that you all occupy, with two benches running along either side, and no matter how busy the pub is, people always seem to know not to sit there. None of you would mind if they did, really. But it’s just something people don’t do. Your group has been coming to the Three Broomsticks since you were seventeen (not that Rosmerta, the owner, knows that), minus Remus, who moved to town seven months ago, wandered in for a pint one night, and unfortunately for him, got stuck with you lot.

“Mm,” You hum, cheeks puffing out in your pleased smile, “I know. Do feel free to tell me why, though.”

Sirius guffaws, rolling his eyes at your theatrics – as though he isn’t the carbon copy of you, just in male form – “For the Ollivander’s idea. Well, tying it in with Pettigrew’s, at least.”

“What?”

You hadn’t told anyone about that idea. Anyone other than Remus, at least, who looks incredibly sheepish when your eyes flick to him further along the table, conveniently out of arms reach of Sirius. James, who swallows a gulp of his pint before he speaks, looks incredibly cheerful when he says, “Yeah! Dad loved that idea. He didn’t even consider asking Pettigrew’s for a private contract. He didn’t think they’d be up for driving into the village, but turns out the son, Peter, delivers to the next town over twice a week, anyway.”

“Right.” You nod, taking a sip of your drink to wash the awkward feeling that’s settled over you away.

Really, you hadn’t meant to form some type of master plan.

“Sorry.” Remus winces.

“Why’s he sorry?” Sirius is quick to question, ever the one to start an argument, “What’s he done now?”

Remus scoffs, “Funny you think I’ve done something.”

“Well, you were the one apologising.”

“He’s not done anything, Sirius. Give it a rest, both of you.”

That shuts them up.

“I told Monty about her idea after she left on Tuesday.” Remus admits, looking rather sheepish.

Sirius seems placated enough with his answer, so he shrugs and enters into a conversation with Frank and James, who lost interest the minute Remus and Sirius started bickering. You assure Remus that it’s okay, waving him off before nudging your head further down the table, inviting him into the conversation with Lily, Mary, and Marlene.

Lily is complaining about her job in the council office. She’s pretty high up, though, you couldn’t for the life of you tell someone what it is she actually does, had they asked. Something to do with the local MP. There’s a shit tonne of paperwork and multiple people who Lily thinks are, in her words, so far up their own arse, they forget they’re civil servants and not, in fact, the be all and end all of the world. Her job is highly stressful, as is obvious by the empty bottle of wine in front of her, even though it’s not long gone five o’clock. Lily Evans worked incredibly hard to be where she is, though, the fireball of a human that she is, and she’ll be damned to ever give up, now. You admire her, really. She grew up in the village, like all of you except Remus, noticing the prejudice it held, the unfair situations people lived in, the real issues the place held, rather than what every other member of the council saw as ‘issues’, and she went to University, got her degree, came right back, and got to fucking work. She hasn’t solved world hunger yet, but you’re sure she’s well on her way to it. If there’s anyone who can do it, it’ll be Lily Evans.

Mary and Marlene are listening intently, especially Mary, who’s been begging the council to fund the one primary school the village has, Hogwarts, more substantially than it has in previous years. She’s a teacher there, and she loves it with every bit of her being, but the school is incredibly underfunded, so she and Lily have been working on a campaign to bring it to the Council’s attention. They’re making progress. But not as quick as Mary would like. That much is obvious in the way she rants about Lucius Malfoy and his pretentious, pompous, personality. He is a bit of a prick, honestly. He’s the head of the school board committee for the village, and he’s the main reason the school hasn’t received the funding it’s needed in almost ten years. He’s a toad.

Marlene, even though she couldn’t give less of a shit if she tried, is listening, anyway. She’s a good friend, Marlene, but past her friends, her family, and music, there isn’t much Marlene McKinnon really gives a toss about. You commend her for it really, her no-fucks-given attitude towards the world, the way she’s so carefree, and lives her life how she wants, no matter what. She’s laid back and honestly, doing better than the rest of your friends in adulthood. She’s the only one out of the lot of you who hasn’t had a full-scale meltdown, so far, this year. Or ever actually. You don’t remember the last time you saw Marlene truly upset about something.

“Honestly, Mary, you’d think he’d give more of a shit about funding things like the school’s library, considering his wife’s due any day now and his kid will likely attend Hogwarts.” Lily seems truly frustrated, her shoulder slumped, her index finger circling the rim of her wine glass.

“He’ll probably send his little demon spawn to some posh boarding school, knowing him. More money than bloody sense.” Comes Mary’s equally frustrated response.

She necks the rest of her glass in one gulp, shivers, and then sends Marlene off to procure another bottle. She goes without complaint, so you assume it’s her round.

“Surely it’s not legal to withhold funding from a school in such dire need of it.” Remus comments, ever the pessimist.

He thinks the worst of everyone. Especially Mr. Filch and his disappearing cows. He thinks he has an ulterior motive and he’ll die on that hill.

“Apparently there is no funding. And he won’t even push for any, either. It’s like he doesn’t give a shit that the school under his jurisdiction is struggling, majorly.” Lily replies, rolling her bright green eyes at the mere idea of Lucius Malfoy.

“There’s something not right about that.” You add, frowning.

Surely, he’d want his school to thrive. Apparently not.

“You’re telling me.” Mary pipes up.

“Anyway, enough work talk,” Lily says around a gulp of wine, waving her hand like it’ll banish all of the negative vibes Lucius has caused by simply existing, “How’d your date go with the handsome paper boy, Rem?”

Remus grimaces, “Don’t call him a paper boy, it makes him sound twelve years old.”

The story goes: Remus thought that someone was trying to break into his house, last month. Upon inspecting the situation with a baseball bat that everyone knows for a fact Remus does not know how to use, he met a rather startled, rather handsome paper boy named Christopher. Of course, Remus only learned this after he tried to cave the poor bloke’s head in with said baseball bat, only to find out that it was Christopher’s first day on the job and he had delivered the paper to the wrong house. After copious amounts of apologies, Remus had claimed he was fine with never seeing Christopher again. Until he realised that the paper’s he was delivering came directly from Potter’s. A travesty, really. Sirius howled with laughter, much to Remus’ dismay, and Effie had slipped an extra fiver into Christopher’s wages in ways of an apology. Turns out, no apology was needed, because Christopher, for whatever reason, took a liking to Remus and asked him out for coffee.

“Okay, your date with Christopher, then.” Lily corrects with a smirk.

“Wasn’t a date,” Remus singsongs, because he’s insecure and adamant that no one could ever fancy him. Even though you’ve already promised him that if he wasn’t painfully gay, you’d shag him. Lily had then felt the need to add in that if she wasn’t painfully gay, as well, she’d shag him, too. Still, he lives in denial. Idiot.

“Was too.” Marlene says, rather bluntly, returning with the wine which she passes to Mary.

She’s brought a glass for you, too, bless her. You finish the dregs of the drink Sirius bought you and accept the glass of wine Mary passes you with a ‘thank you’.

“You don’t even know what we’re talking about.” Remus argues.

“Christopher. The hot paper boy whose skull you nearly caved in with a bat. Keep up, Remus.” Marlene winks at Remus, who simply huffs in defeat, taking a long swig of his pint.

“So?” Mary follows up, never one to let Remus catch a break. She’s almost as bad as Sirius, except she does it in a much more loving, much less spiteful way.

“It went well. We chatted about books.” Remus bobs his head, swallowing thickly.

Sirius is eyeing him from the other end of the table, lips twisted into a mean looking frown. It doesn’t last long before Frank is asking him something to do with motorbikes, and Remus is long forgotten. No one else catches it, so you ignore it.

“Books?” Marlene asks in disgust.

“You spoke about books.” Lily repeats, clearly trying to find some hidden meaning she’s not going to find. You know Remus well enough to know he likely did spend the entire date-that-wasn’t-a-date nattering on about books. He’s a bookworm at his core.

“Yes,” Remus confirms, slightly agitated, “We spoke about books.”

“Right,” Marlene sounds a little deflated, always one for the seedy stories, “Lovely.”

“It was, actually.”

“I’ll bet.”

Remus huffs a laugh and excuses himself under the premise of a cigarette. No one bats an eye, and you watch him leave. It takes Sirius approximately two minutes to excuse himself from his conversation with James and Frank and follow Remus straight out the door to the smoking area. James and Frank continue on, too engrossed to realise the shit show that’s likely to unfold any minute. Lily, Mary, and Marlene fall into a conversation about whatever show the three of them are watching and you stand up, walking around the table until you’re sitting next to James.

He smiles warmly when you sit down, shuffling a little so he can face both you, and Frank who’s across the table.

“Alright,” Frank greets, head tipping forwards.

“Hiya, Frank. How’s Alice?”

Alice is Frank’s wife. They grew up together but didn’t ever get together until they both attended Tulliallan when training to become police officers. They’re sickly in love, it’s actually kind of nauseating at times, but sweet, nonetheless. They’d been daft for each other since they were thirteen.

“She’s good. On nightshift, tonight.”

You hum, sympathising with her. Nightshift is no joke, especially in a village as quiet as yours.

“Uhm,” You turn to James, “Sirius and Remus are in the smoking area. Together. Alone.”

James sighs, takes a swig of his pint, and is up like a shot to stop whatever fight is likely happening in the Three Broomsticks beer garden. He squeezes your shoulder in thanks before he goes, offering you a smile he only ever seems to give you. You can’t read it. But it’s soft. Not the teasing smile he has when you’re flirting merciless with him, or him, you. It’s just. A nice smile. For you. You watch him go; head turned, the ghost of a smile on your own lips. He pushes open the wooden door and it swings shut behind him.

“How longs that been going on then?” Frank asks, nodding his head towards the door James just went through.

“Pretty much since they met, I suppose.”

Frank laughs, which causes you to frown, and then he shakes his head.

“No. You and Potter.”

“There’s nothing going on.” You say, though your face heats up all the same.

“I can keep a secret, you know.”

“Why does everyone think I’m shagging James?” You ask, rather loud for how empty the pub is.

Your face is flames when Lily, Mary, and Marlene fall silent and look over at you, biting back laughs and whatever comments it is that are sparkling behind their eyes. You groan, embarrassed, and turn to follow James out of the door. For a moment, you think he’s allowing a full-on fight between Sirius and Remus occur. He’s standing not far from the door, sheltered by the wooden terrace that leads out to the concrete of the smoking area. It’s dimly lit in comparison to the rest of the beer garden. You frown on approach, confused as to why he’s just standing there.

It takes all of two seconds for you to see what he’s seeing. Remus has Sirius crowded against the wall, caged in like some sort of animal, and he’s kissing him so violently, so aggressively, that they actually could be fighting. In some sick, twisted way.

“Holy shit.”

James’ eyes snap to yours, moving into action to pull you back inside before Sirius and Remus realise they’ve been foiled. His hand burns like fire against your arm, his eyes steely and sharp as he looks down at you, “You cannot tell anyone what you just saw.”

“You knew?”

James shakes his head, tongue darting out to lick his lips. He has you pushed up against the wall, much like Remus did Sirius, and your cheeks heat at the thought. Jesus, they’re more messed up than you thought.

“I suspected.”

“And you didn’t say anything?” You ask, tilting your head to the side.

“It’s not my place. Look, Sirius is – he’s complicated, okay? I don’t know if he even knows he’s – just don’t say anything, okay?” James is flustered, panicked.

You get it. Sirius has never mentioned being gay, so it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that perhaps, being gay isn’t something that was on Sirius’ radar until Remus popped up out of nowhere and sent his perception of himself tumbling. Okay. Fine. You get that. You can relate. Not entirely. The situation is different. James Potter is a boy you never paid any interest to, growing up. Not romantically, at least. Until he went away to Rugby camp one summer and came back looking like sin incarnate. Well, then you’d noticed, and everything you thought you knew about him came tumbling down. So, not exactly the same, but you get it.

“I won’t, James. I won’t say anything.”

“Not even to Sirius. Or Remus.” James looks panicked, like one wrong move in handling this situation will blow it up royally.

“Promise.”

James nods, seems to realise that he’s still got an iron grip on your arm, and drops it like you’d been the one scalding him. The door opens, washing you both with cool air, and Sirius storms back inside, halting when he sees the way James has you pushed up against the wall.

“You two shagging then?” He asks, a hint of annoyance in his tone you can only assume was brought about by whatever the fuck just happened between him and Remus.

“Jamie wishes,” You plaster a sickly-sweet smile on your face, “He couldn’t handle me.”

With that, you leave them to it, returning to the table and finishing your entire wine in one gulp. The girls are kind enough not to say anything, but Lily gives you a sympathetic glance and refills the glass for you. Frank laughs to himself, you flip him off.

Remus returns a moment later, dodging Sirius and James who are still huddled where you and James just were. He takes a seat, finishes his pint, and calls it a night without another word.

You don’t miss the way James has to grab onto Sirius’ wrist to stop him from following.

Ahhhh! The first chapter is out!

I sincerely hope ya'll enjoyed :) Let me know your thoughts.

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longtallglasses · 26 days

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it’s very interesting to me amongst the different fandoms i’ve been a part of in regards to their attitudes toward nsfw fanworks bc with the marauders those teens are always wildin’ - smoking, drinking, sleeping together - if they’re not i would even say it would be out of character for them? wolfstar is messy and horny and so in love, even if in a lot of fics they won’t admit it to each other. in atyd everyone is shagging up a storm, the girls, the boys, it’s still juvenile of course the way they discuss it and go about it. very little communication, feelings are hurt, they don’t know what they’re doing all the time. and it makes sense, they’re teenagers!

i have never once heard of discussion around it being ‘wrong’ to write them this way. that it’s ‘objectifying’ and if you’re thinking about it you must be weird or unnecessarily sexualizing characters. sexualizing characters? they’re already sexualized wdym? they have a sexuality, everyone has a sexuality, whatever the author/artist wants to give them, whether that’s a sex crazed maniac or the most sex repulsed asexual, they Have a Sexuality! even before the exact moment they turn 18, they have a sexuality. it’s just another facet to explore character through, to understand them more fully, and also sometimes for the author to help understand themselves.

i’m sorry age doesn’t matter when it comes to fictional characters. it just doesn’t. they’re not real you can’t hurt them. if someone wants to write through trauma, something ‘wrong’ and ‘problematic’ let them use fictional people. it may seem gross and you don’t have to read it, but its existence does not mean promotion of harmful behavior. it can mean so many different things to that author but it doesn’t equate to that.

i say this bc i myself have written some horrid things. i’ve never posted them, was not in a place where i wanted to, i wrote it all in a period of my life where i was seriously hurting, and writing fucked up horrific things stopped me from hurting Myself. i’ve read some ‘problematic’ fics that made me feel better, hurt me in a good way, reading comments of people who related and appreciated what was being explored.

most people who write about fucked up shit, SA, or some form of trauma porn or whatever it is have probably gone through something similar in their life. the people who read it and seek it out are usually drawn to it for a reason but we don’t need to know why. there is also just curiosity. and being curious doesn’t make you a bad person, it doesn’t mean you ‘like’ it. you may like the power dynamics at play, you may be intrigued by desires different than your own, you may… ANYTHING what you enjoy to read or write speaks to nothing regarding who you are in your day to day life. your morals, your beliefs, or what you want sexually or otherwise. i say this to a younger me, there’s nothing wrong with you!

with all that being said… there is also porn that is just porn. and that’s perfectly fine and good too. people have always written porn about whatever and whoever they want and they always will. if you don’t want it, scroll pass. you won’t be given a gold star for announcing you think it’s gross or wrong, you just look silly. i’m not saying that you must like it too, but attacking the moral character of those who do partake, shows an immaturity and lack of tack when it comes to these subjects. go out in the world and you will discover just how ‘abnormal’ and ‘depraved’ sexual desire can manifest itself as.

as someone who grew up a Very sexually confused person. not knowing i was queer or on the ace spectrum exploring sexuality through fiction was like my saving grace. and those books and those fics that made me feel seen, made me go huh! woah! ooooh my god that’s me! or made me go … wait why do i kinda like that? more often than not they were written by adults. bc they had made it through to the other side so to speak. and as An Adult now i find the traditional adolescent experience very intriguing as i did not have that growing up. the sexual experiences i’ve had now have shown me so starkly that that feeling which accompanies a new experience never really goes away. people are fumbling well into their 20s and 30s. reading the plight of a young person discovering who they are sexually i don’t think will ever not be relatable or make someone reflect. that includes the sweet and innocent as well as the ‘gross’/depraved horniness. it is not necessarily enjoyed on a basis of attraction to these characters, it is enjoyed on a basis of ‘i know this feeling’ or ‘i also do and have yearned for this kind of intimacy’. and if who you are isn’t represented in those stories, oh well damn, looks like i have to write it now. that’s how we have Are you there God, it’s me Margaret and the edge of 17 (the ‘98 and ‘16 iterations), all these stories written by Adults! that make us all sigh in relief and laugh and cry and aaahhh

fiction is fiction, idek what anti-ship means, let people be freaks in peace, fandom spaces are created to have fun in, let’s pls have Fun!!! explore and write and draw and fantasize whatever your heart desires bc there can be no right or wrong, it is just discovery.

if you feel kinship with characters and it feels natural to extend yourself to them, to take them and make them your own, amazing, gorgeous, beautiful. play dress up with them in all the ways you can, do whatever You Want!!

#i really surprised myself w how much i wanted to say here but #i started writing and just couldn’t stop #byler #marauders #spicy byler #fandom #fandom discourse #fandom discussion #fanfiction #byler fanfic #marauders fanfiction #stranger things #speaking my truth #bc i can’t believe what i see sometimes #gritting my teeth as i post this #i just feel like this message needs to be reiterated #i know there are a lot of young people in this fandom and i find this censored attitude so harmful #longtallglasses

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xxshadowbabexx · 2 months

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Kyle “Gaz” Garrick NSFW Alphabet

A- Aftercare (What does it look like?)

Kisses all your bruises and sore sports (you will have them), wipes away your tears, cleans you up, then puts you in his boxers and puts on a sappy tv show for you to watch while you cuddle and fall asleep.

B- Body count (How many people have they fucked)

He’s what, mid to late twenties? Body count is easily fifteen by that point.

C- Cum (Where do they do it? How much is there?)

His cum is watery and almost sweet tasting. Honestly swallowing after giving him head is like drinking juice. And there’s a fair amount of it, too.

D- Daydreaming (How often do they find themselves having dirty (day)dreams about their partner)

If you’re not in the military, he will be jerking off to the thought of you every night spent in the barracks. Sweaty and moaning your name, eyes closed in bliss as he thrusts his hips into his hand languidly.

E- Emotion (Do they fuck when angry? Excited? Do they get emotional after?)

He likes to fuck when he’s ticked off (preferably at you), and will try to find anything to use as an excuse to “punish” you.

F- Famous (Would they ever be a camgirl/boy? How popular would their channel be?)

He absolutely would, although during his videos he wears a mask to remain anonymous. His channel would be insanely popular, too. All the girls want a chance to be with him, to be ruined by him.

G- Goated (What are they the absolute best at?)

He eats pussy like a GOD.

H- Hair (How much do they shave? Does the carpet match the drapes? Do they mind hair on their partner?)

Carpet matches the drapes, but his partner never really notices because when they’re on leave they get their junk waxed.

I- Intimacy (How intimate are they during it?)

Honestly, not intimate at all. But the aftercare is super intimate so he makes up for it then.

J- Joking (How serious are they during the deed?)

Jokes? Never heard of em. Unless you count how he teases and mocks your pathetic self. If you do, then he’s all jokes.

K- Kinks (Their five biggest)

Sadomasochism. Need I explain? Yes? Okay. Kyle gets off on hurting you. Whether it be spanking you a little too hard, pulling your hair, slapping your face, etc. He loves it (that being said, he won’t do it if you don’t want).

Brat-taming. Kyle physically needs you to act out in order to get in the mood. Something about taming you, and reducing your bratty self to nothing more than a whore for his cock does things to him.

Begging. The more pathetic the better. Kyle loves to see you crying, pleading for him to just fuck you already as you grind helplessly against his hard, leaking cock.

Gags, loves stuffing your mouth full of them. Kyle adores the sight of you fucked out and drooling over the gag as you ride him.

Overstimulation, he just loves to make you cum so many times you can’t begin to think pf anything else besides his cock/tongue/fingers.

L- Location (Where are they down to fuck?)

He’ll take you anywhere, but his favorite places are outdoors, against a wall/tree, or in the shower.

M- Music (Do they like to listen to songs during the deed? If so what ones?)

No, he’s just not the type. He does, however, have the most immaculate aftercare playlist with songs such as: Kiss It off Me by Cigarettes After Sex, Work Song by Hozier, Godzilla by Kesha, and Let The Light In by Lana Del Rey (Feat. Father John Misty).

N- No (Something they would never do)

He would never hurt you enough to cause longterm damage or scarring.

O- Orgy (Will they ever have group sex? If so with who?)

He’d totally let his captain play with you. Lets him rough you up, hit it from the back, and everything. But, Price is only allowed to do oral and anal with you. Your vagina is strictly for Kyle.

P- Position (What position do they favorite? Are they the giver/receiver in the position?)

LOVES to fuck you against a wall, but if for whatever reason you are going to be shagging on a bed/couch, then he likes doggy or cowgirl.

Q- Quirks (Do they have any weird traits in bed?)

Loves to cum on your pretty ass and lick it off.

R- Rough (What’s their pace?)

Well it depends. He can be rough or brutal, or slow and teasing. Whichever you want, you’re getting the opposite.

S- Stamina (How many rounds can they last?)

5 on average.

T- Toys (Do they use em? What ones? On their partner or themselves?)

Oh he uses so many toys on you. Presses a bullet vibe to your clit as he fucks you, puts gags in your mouth, cuffs you to the bed, stuffs you full of a silicone cock as you sob for the real thing.

U- Urgent (Their opinions on quickies)

Not a fan, not even remotely. Prefers to take his time with you, slowly breaking you down to a whimpering, cock-drunk mess.

V- Volume (How loud are they in bed?)

Very quiet, except for dirty talk and a grunt here or there. Save for when he’s about to cum. The moment before he blows his load he always whines your name (or mama, but that was just one time).

W- WorldWideWeb (What sex things have they googled? What’s their porn history?)

Honestly, a lot of his porn history is lesbian sex- he swears he doesn’t fetishize them (but he kinda does).

X- Xtra (A fun lil random fact)

He actually really wants to try submitting to you, but since you enjoy how dominant he is in bed he’s nervous you won’t be into it.

Y- Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Ideally he would like to cum at least once a day (what a lil horndog), jerking off if he’s not with you, and using your mouth/cunt when he is.

Z- Zzz (How fast do they fall asleep after sex?)

He makes sure to not fall asleep before you, and tends to fall asleep about half an hour after you.

taglist

@theloneshadow24 @frogtowne @reap3erslov3 @ladyxtiger @whitetiger846

#kyle gaz x reader #kyle garrick #kyle gaz garrick #gaz garrick #cod gaz #gaz cod #call of duty x reader #call of duty

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thelastattempt · 4 months

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Mate you’ve sent me this ask every day for over a week and I’ve had a shitty week and I’m gonna take it out on you (with a little cut cause I don’t want this rant clogging up my whole blog. cheers.)

A) the social construction of ‘coming out’ gives me the ick. the idea that anyone is obligated to tell strangers, their friends, their *mothers* ‘hey this is who I like to fuck, or this is who I’m attracted to’ just to what?? make others comfortable?? makes me feel a bit ill actually. by all means, the announcement can be really cathartic and validating for some people and if that’s you, then do you, but you can’t put that expectation on other people cause like - who I want to bang is my business and I have absolutely no idea why it would matter to you or any stranger. this goes double for celebrities who have cameras all up in their face all the time. why should they tell you? why why why. they’re not gonna bang you regardless so what’s the drama.

2) I bet you’re one of those people that say ‘it doesn’t matter, I just wanna know’. well you know what - fucking tough. if you wanna know so bad then it *does* matter to you. for what reason, irdk, but you need to figure that out cause it’s giving unhinged??

!) and on the subject of why you’re so incredibly interested in the orientation of other people, is it for validation? like if they’re a little bit gay then it’s okay for you to be a little bit gay? cause honey, it’s okay whether celebrities are or aren’t. but that’s very much about you and not about them. is it because you enjoy seeing gay iconography in popular media? cause there’s plenty of ‘out’ celebrities you can get this from, and the iconography is there whether you know the specifics or not?? you want him to raise a pride flag for your enjoyment - okay, he’s a real person though, capable of his own decisions that are also nothing to do with you?? or is it because you’ve got a little headcannon that you desperately want to be true?? again, this is very much a preference or need for you, as an individual, as a viewer, as a voyeur, and I’m struggling, bro, I really am cause orientation doesn’t make a good person, doesn’t add anything to personality or values or even talent. It absolutely doesn’t affect your enjoyment of the product Louis is selling - music, in case you’ve forgotten. unless you’ve got some dotted line from ‘gay’ to ‘deserving ’ and like, that’s not how this works?? by all means, support out gay artists for being out and gay if that’s your bag, go wild, but saying you can’t enjoy the content of a musician because you’re not sure who he’s shagging is warped to me

D) the jokes you see on the dash are literally just jokes. we’re sat here on tumblr, razzing a friend even tho he’s not our friend, because we’re all a little unwell and none of it is serious serious jfc.

5) and for you last question, what do I think? what do I think? I think I spend less time contemplating where Louis’ dick has been than you do.

TLDR; mind your business, you’ll be happier

#I’m not even gonna post your ask cause I’m petty #hope you got what you wanted #asked and answered

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raina-at · 11 months

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Holiday

John sighs and closes his eyes, letting the warm water in the whirlpool relax his muscles. He yawns and takes a sip from his champagne glass. “Any movement?” he asks Sherlock, who’s lounging across from him.

Sherlock spares the towel room a glance and shakes his head. “Nope.”

They’ve been at the Magwan Luxury Hotel and Spa in Cornwall for two days, and John can honestly say he’s never enjoyed a case more. The hotel management called them in to discreetly investigate some thefts, and they’re undercover as guests. The food is excellent, the facilities are luxurious, and the view of the Cornish coast is spectacular.

Right now, they’re staking out the pool boy Sherlock suspects of being involved, and they’re doing it from the whirlpool.

It’s off-season, and they’re alone in the small pool. John watches Sherlock as he sprawls in the water, his hair curling wildly from the moisture, a slight, relaxed smile on his face. There’s droplets of moisture on his chin and behind his ear, and John would very much like to bite Sherlock right where that one droplet of water is running down his enticing neck. He’s unusually languid, given that they’re in the middle of an investigation, and he seems to be enjoying the good food and the comfortable bed just as much as John is. They’ve spent a lot of time during the day exploring the hotel and the nearby town. Their room is quiet and has a fantastic view of the surrounding landscape, and they’ve spent a lot of time in bed, reading, watching telly, and having the kind of slow, unrushed sex they usually don’t have time for at home. As a result, they’re both in excellent moods and quite relaxed.

“How long do you think they’ll be in there?” John asks.

Sherlock shrugs. “Honestly, who cares?”

“What?”

Sherlock grins. “John, really, pay attention. I solved this case two days ago. The manager was shagging the pool boy’s sister, who happens to be a maid. The two of them are stealing small items from the guests to afford moving to London, where the sister’s pregnancy won’t scandalise the village. They’re leaving tomorrow. The manager knows all of this, by the way, and called us in because the maid threatened to tell his wife if he called the police.”

“So why are we still here?” John asks, returning Sherlock’s grin.

Sherlock grabs John’s arm and pulls him into a long, leisurely kiss. “We can use a bit of a holiday, don’t you think?”

John finally indulges in following that enticing drop of water with his lips. “I like the way you’re thinking,” he mutters against Sherlock’s neck, which makes Sherlock shudder delightfully against him.

“I’m thinking we need to check whether the safe in our room is still intact,” Sherlock says, letting his hands wander over John’s naked, wet skin.

“Pity, I kind of like it here,” John says, winding his arms around Sherlock. All of that wet, naked skin is making him feel adventurous.

“I’ll break us in tonight after the pool officially closes, but right now, I really think we need to ensure the continued safety of our valuables.”

“We’ll have an excellent view of the safe from our bed,” John points out, then leans closer to Sherlock and whispers into his ear, “especially with you on your hands and knees.”

Sherlock pushes John away and gets out of the whirlpool. “We must investigate this lead immediately.”

“Oh, god, yes,” John says and gladly follows.

We booked our holiday today, so this is a bit late today... Thanks @calaisreno for the prompt and the tag.

Tagging a few people @keirgreeneyes @jrow @peanitbear @thetimemoves @meetinginsamarra @lisbeth-kk @totallysilvergirl @catlock-holmes @helloliriels @topsyturvy-turtely and anyone else who wants to play.

#johnlock #bbc sherlock #johnlock fic #my fic #may 2023 prompts #holiday

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kwisatzworld · 5 months

Text

MotoGP mutterings: life ‘inside the goldfish bowl’

by Mat Oxley, November 2005

It’s not easy being Valentino Rossi. Imagine: you’re trying to get on with your day-to-day job of being the world’s greatest-ever motorcycle racer and you’ve got Ferrari’s F1 bosses all over you like an expensive Italian suit and the Italian media all over you like a bad case of the pox. (And not only that, between races you’ve got to work out how to blow your annual earnings of 15 million quid.)

Rossi’s life has been out of control for years, hounded wherever he goes by a pack of media sharks, but since the Ferrari F1 rumours shifted into top gear, his life in “the goldfish bowl” (as he calls it) has gone from uncomfortable to intolerable. The bike racer who courted fame like no other and whose stardom has eclipsed all others now finds himself embroiled in a guerrilla war with several Italian journalists whom he’s banned from his media conferences for writing stuff he doesn’t like. This is dangerous territory, so is everyone’s favourite bike racer commencing his descent into paranoid megalomania or Jacko-style meltdown?

Rossi has always insisted that he understands the nature of the Faustian pact he’s made with fame and fortune. But if he’s getting upset by what he reads in the papers, he’s obviously forgotten what it means. (And if he thinks he’s got a media witch hunt on his ass he should have a chat with the great Pete Doherty.) To remind him, the Faustian deal for 21st century celebrities goes something like this: you become unimaginably rich from a new kind of global fame which beams you into hundred of millions of homes around the world, day after day, week after week. You are a product with perhaps half a billion customers who all own a little piece of you, whether they’ve bought your T-shirt, drank the beer promoted during a MotoGP ad break or smoked the cigarettes advertised on the side of your motorcycle. It’s not pretty but that’s why you’re so filthy rich. If you don’t like it, there’s a really easy way out of this particular hell hole.

Apparently Rossi fell out with those Italian journalists because they’d written stuff about his private life – revealing details of his night-time shenanigans, questioning his status as a bona fide Italian tax exile, calling his family a bunch of gypsies and so on. Not nice, but that’s the nature of 21st century media, it’s a beast, as another Italian superstar knows all too well: “When a journalist write about the positive, he write five lines,” says opera legend Pavarotti. “When he write about the negative he become a poet.”

If Rossi is to maintain his sanity he’s got to stop reading the papers, whatever they’re saying about him, he’s got to ignore the media bullshit and get on with his life. And if the media give him a hard time for shagging girls, getting drunk or whatever, fuck ‘em. He is a motorcycle racer, after all, and that’s what racers are meant to do – live fast and loose. As someone once said of Rossi’s idol, Hollywood rebel and half-tasty dirt racer Steve McQueen: “Steve loved anything with wheels or tits, probably in that order,”. No reason why Valentino should be any different...

And from now on it seems that either two wheels or four will do for Rossi. Years back he hated F1 because he reckoned it was all about money but more recently he’s been seduced, either by the Ferrari gold or by the challenge of becoming only the second man in history after gentleman John Surtees to win world titles in both bikes and cars. Either way, he’s welcome to it. F1 is a stinking world of repugnant decadence and ostentation, full of money-grabbing, tax-dodging ego-maniacs and obsessive-compulsives with small penises. (I know this for a fact because I used to go out with a girl who once shagged one of F1’s more famous bosses, who failed to impress her despite having popped a Viagra after dinner. Charming, I know, but you get my drift.)

And as for the now relentlessly asked question – will Rossi be able to rule in F1 – two observations: one, who cares, it’s cars not bikes, two, of course he will win. Even former bike racer Damon Hill managed to win the F1 world title, and, hell, I used to beat Daisy (as he was called in the rough, tough club racing paddocks of the early Eighties) when we raced Yamaha LCs around Snetterton. So it really can’t be that hard, can it?

#valentino rossi #motogp #the valentino rossi files: everything i've ever written about vr #by mat oxley #reading

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thisismeracing · 5 months

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I- I loved these new layers!!!!! Hahaha//

queen I have layers for dayzzz. I’ve spent the last 2+days hyper fixating on this couple. the lore that my silly little brain has thought up is wiiild. So forgive me if I become annoying. Just tell me to stop and I will. No hard feelings

Adding the online hate and maybe, just a tiny bity of toto not supporting their relationship at first or jugding and yup reader goes all in to keep it a secret and mick is 100% the supportive partner making sure she knows theres nothing wrong with their decision.//

oh this was something I was thinking about too. like I don’t even see this as being anything major either. like it’s wasn’t Toto issuing ultimatums or fuck smashing any headphones. he was just skeptical. He knows his child and she is a sensitive girl. wasn’t sure if Little Wolff had what it took to be in a relationship like this. I’ve kinda head cannoned that she’s not a social media person, she doesn’t like attention for attention sake, she’s almost the antithesis of your stereotypical gen z(very similar to Lance’s vibe. Happy with his safe people. Quite otherwise). So Toto is rightly concerned. He knows that dating a driver specially a Schumacher, whether they like it or not going to cause some media attention. I think in the beginning just assumed it would be a short-lived relationship and was just hoping that he didn’t have to pick sides. Or that anybody got their feelings too hurt. As soon as he realized that this was serious, his attitude completely changed. Very supportive. But. I do think that that’s stuck around in the back of little Wolff’s mind whether she realized it or not. So when all the drama happened and she found out she was pregnant, she made the choice to keep her normal routine, just hiding as long as she could physically and then to subtly drop off the face of the planet for the last couple months that she couldn’t hid it. She just kinda because a homebody. And just made sure that any video calls were chest up. Don’t think it would be too hard to hid with how crazy the end of the year schedule is and then does anyone really expect the young couple to be around during the first couple weeks of break?? The answers no. Everyone except them to be held up somewhere shagging like rabbits.

The seb part!! Gosh. That golden boy menace has my heart. Always has always will. But there just something about him being beekeeper age that just hits different 😝

AND NOW MICK TELLING TOTO TO KEEP IT DOWN SO IT WONT STRESS HIS WIFE KAMCKWJNFNS AAAAAAAAAAA *fanning myself w my hands oof 🤭😮‍💨*//

and like they’re not married! Micks just been calling her that especially in the hospital b/c everyone’s just assumed. But in his mind. Like that’s his WIFE. She will not be disappointed after giving him this magical gift. Mick doesn’t give a fuck if Toto is technically his boss. Muck doesn’t care if he has to go full NEPO baby. He’s a Schumacher, he’ll challenge all of his father’s BDE/psychological warfare to keep that woman happy.

Alright, you got me into the secret baby train choo choo //

Aw but see the great thing about the secret baby train is if it’s done well it’s not the main plot point. Like just a stop. There’s already so much going on it’s just kinda swept away.

I won't ever get annoyed with thots, you can keep them coming as long as you want <3

wasn’t sure if Little Wolff had what it took to be in a relationship like this. // I think papa wolff is protective enough to have a hard time picturing his girl in any relationship, ti doesn't matter if its with a driver or a regular dude, toto just doesn't really vibe with this idea. he's used to be the one who protects her, and he's used to be the one she runs to hide behind, he won't admit it but he's jealous of sharing this duty with someone else.

Mick doesn’t give a fuck if Toto is technically his boss. // they blurred the lines the second he started dating wolff!reader so at this point he doesn't even try to be the nicest, he's honest, and he's clear about his priority and who she wants to please and that is wolff!reader and nobody else, she's the only wolff he'll get shit from (and jackie because jackie absolutely adores mick -cue to baby fever and all- although toto tried making his youngest pick the wolff family side, jack loves the schumachers way too much).

#millies inbox #ms47 #anon #thots #mick schumacher #f1 x reader #wolff!reader

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ghaniblue · 8 months

Text

Wireless 2023 recs: week 5 & 6

*drops* I made it (barely). Again, everything I enjoyed from @hd-wireless with my favourites marked with ❤️ (and now I'm off to fail at guessing writers)

whole recs series: week 1 || week 2 || week 3 & 4

[29.08. creators added post reveal.]

❤️ Sun Thief by @floydig & BlackRose532 (E, 28,228)

“You’re stunning,” Harry blurts out, because Draco is pink-cheeked and his mouth is bitten and plump. Gasping beneath Harry, working his cock in his fist. “Say my name when you come?” It’s 2005, and Draco Malfoy says, “Fuck the Ministry,” Harry works as a handyman in muggle London, and Draco should really stop pissing off the Squib gangs. Or: Harry beats up a pimp and isn’t sorry about it, Draco deals black market potions, and they’re shagging. Again.

❤️ Shivers and Cold Champagne by @maesterchill (T, Digital Art)

“Padam, padam, I hear it and I know…” Sometimes, you meet someone in the club, and you just know… …they’re all in.

Lover, Where Do You Live? by @dodgerkedavra (E, 38,079)

Harry Potter has been running away since the War, disappearing into his job as a freelance curse-breaker. Work is his life. Home doesn’t exist. He’s about to disappear again when he runs into Death Eater-turned-Healer Draco Malfoy. It’s supposed to be a one-night-stand. They’re not supposed to pine for each other. Harry’s not supposed to sleep with Draco a second time. Or a third. Or a fourth. But when a nasty curse sends Harry back into Draco’s arms, he might be forced to admit that home’s been waiting for him all along…

the eighth sin by @thehoneybeet [E, 16,834]

When Draco is sentenced to five years of house arrest, without magic, alone, the only person to visit him is Potter. But Draco’s beginning to doubt whether Potter is really there at all.

---

❤️ keep driving by @babooshkart [M, Digital Art]

cocaine, side boob, choke her with a sea view

❤️ Designate / your love as fate by @elskanellis [E, 16,609]

Malfoy literally snaps his fingers toward Harry’s face. “Potter. Pay attention. Gay marriage is now legal in England and Wales, as of last night, first ceremonies to take place in the New Year. I’m gay, you’re gay—” “—Bi, actually, thanks,” Harry puts in. “Well, I mean, so am I, technically, but—” (Harry can’t lie, it’s rather fun to watch Malfoy lose his cool, put his cool back on, lose it again) “—Funny enough, bisexual marriage is also now legal in England and Wales. Let’s get bisexual married, hm?”

#hd wireless 2023 #drarry recs #drarry #acari recs

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thestalwartheart · 1 year

Note

Hi there ! ✨

I’m a huuuge fan of your writing (I mean, I wait for your updates the way I would wait for a new Tay Swift song)

If you’re still taking prompts I was wondering what tou could do with “pillow” ?

Have a nice day and happy writing!

Hi! Your ask was so kind, thank you so much. Waiting for my updates like a Tay Swift song is such high praise!

This took me far too long for what it is, but life got in the way for a few weeks there.

This one was meant to be wholesome and sweet but instead we ended up in E-rated territory. 🌶️ I do think it's still quite sweet, though, and domestic enough to probably fit with @mi6-cafe's Jammies January theme.

You can read it below or on AO3.

Enjoy!

Q sighs awake to feel a kiss at the nape of his neck. His pillow smells of citrus and smoke.

A weak beam of light streams in from the gaps at the edges of his blinds, revealing the chaos and untidiness of Q’s room. It’s the sort of light that says nothing about whether it’s a nice day or not, though it's definitely a cold one outside the bed covers; he knows that much. The freezing sliver of his face bared to the room is proof enough of that. The rest of him, however, is lovely and warm.

“Good morning,” croons a voice from behind him.

Bond.

Q is getting worryingly used to waking up to find Bond curled around his back like this. He must have snuck in during the night, finished with whatever had kept him away at the end of his last mission in Brazil. A woman, maybe. The weather, probably. The latter, at least, was irreplaceable in London.

“What time is it?” Q shoots an arm out from under the duvet — rather bravely, he thinks — in search of his phone. Bond catches his hand before it can make it very far and hums, sounding awfully content.

“Don’t worry about what time it is.”

Q would usually be more sceptical of a plea like that, but in the foggy recesses of his memory, he recalls deliberately not setting the alarm on his phone last night. It’s the weekend, then—a rare one without any work to get out of bed for. And James Bond is back on home soil, which means Q will be doing little else except rolling around between the sheets with him.

Q resolves not to worry about the time and instead sinks into the warmth of Bond’s chest. As a reward, he gets another kiss to his neck.

“Finished the job, then?” sighs Q.

“Mm.”

“And you’re all in one piece?”

“I am now.”

Alarmed, Q tries to turn around. It wouldn’t be the first time Bond’s hidden an injury from him. The last was a dislocated shoulder that Q had only found out about in the breathless wake of a post-mission shag when he’d gone to lay his head on Bond’s chest. He has no desire to hear a grunt of pain like it again.

Bond stops him from moving. “I’m fine, Q. Relax.”

Q wishes it were easier to resist that, but with Bond’s arms trapping him in place and his sturdy, warm hands of his travelling the length of Q’s torso so pleasantly, it’s hard to put up much of an argument. It’s harder still when one of those hands starts teasing at Q’s morning wood through the soft flannel of his pyjamas.

“Oh, I—”

There’s another scorching kiss to the side of Q’s neck before Bond begins murmuring filthy, delicious promises in his ear about how many times he’s going to make Q come and how they’re going to fuck each other all over this house and how neither of them are going to be putting clothes back on for the entire weekend unless it’s Q slipping into one of Bond’s shirts for a while.

(The whole aim of the latter, obviously, is for Bond to rip it off in short order.)

At some point during all those promises, Bond’s hand slips under Q’s waistband to pull slowly at his cock. The overwhelming heat of it has Q bucking forward, desperate to feel it tighter and faster.

Being with Bond is always like this. Zero to sixty in less than a moment. One flick of his hand, one kiss to the neck, one filthy smile from across a room…each acts like a flick of a match to an open gas valve. It’s a wonder they aren’t both incinerating beneath the duvet cover. Q certainly feels as if he’s burning up.

He tries to grind back onto the growing hardness at his back, but again, Bond refuses the movement.

“Slowly, Q,” he chides, sounding aggravatingly unaffected. “There’s no rush.”

There is, Q would argue. He hasn’t been in the same room as Bond in weeks, and in that time, he’s had to watch the man being chased across rooftops and over cliffs and into the sea and into other people’s—

With a huff, Q flings away that thought. It only matters that Bond is here now. That he has returned to his Quartermaster again, as he always seems to these days. That his hand is a tight pump around the head of Q’s cock, that his thumb is circling, spreading around the wetness there, playing Q expertly. That his lips are sucking little red marks into Q’s neck, into his shoulder. Though his breath remains even, Bond is clinging to him, as he is wont to do with anything that promises life or pleasure for a few desperate hours.

“Christ, Q. I’ve missed you.”

An embarrassing noise escapes Q’s throat at that, not that he’ll ever admit to it later. He can’t stop his hips from moving in little bursts, pushing into the tacky warmth around him, then back to the hardness that has settled between his cheeks, a hardness which is hot and pulsing even through layers of clothing. Bond is no longer teasing. It’s still slow — infuriatingly so — but it’s tight and intense, and Q’s burning inside. Slowly. Deliciously. It’s the sort of drawn-out, hot-treacle pleasure he never has the patience or the time to give himself. He rests his head on his fist and feels as if he might pass out. Bond’s hands and mouth seem like they’re everywhere.

“James — oh — I’m—”

Bond hums again. His teeth graze Q’s ear lobe, and that’s it. He’s shuddering, he’s splintering, he’s—

“Fuck.”

He’s making a bloody great mess is what he’s doing. There’s come all over his belly, the sheets and Bond’s hand. No matter—he’s flying too high to care. It’s been weeks since he’s had this, any of it. Working so late so consistently means he hasn’t been able to summon the energy for a wank in ages, let alone a date or a one-night stand. That’s just the way of things. He’s not bitter about it, but he is glad to feel this kind of pleasure again.

As Bond turns Q’s head to kiss him, Q smells a familiar hint citrus and smoke. It reminds him of the lemon twist in a lethal drink. Of gunpowder, cigars, peated whisky and sunnier climes. Of his sheets when Bond’s been sharing his bed.

Q can’t help a grin. He smothers it in his pillow before whispering, “Welcome home, James.”

#00q #00q fic #my fic

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pacifymebby · 4 months

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I think he chooses these girls for his fwb because he knows that they’re not what he wants in like a partner/wife? Like he doesn’t want anything serious so he picks girls he couldn’t get serious with? Does that make sense lol? Just a theory hehe

I get what you mean but I don't think he's thinking that deeply if at all whether they're a lass he could settle with, he probably just goes for girls who show an interest in him that he thinks are fit...

Ive seen people stressing a lot about his "type" and how he only goes for shorter lassies or like darker skin toned girls but I think from my own experience attractiveness doesn't really work in such a calculated way? I've never sat myself down and been like "reet then this lassies got blonde hair so I fancy her, but this lads +6ft and has dark hair so he's physically more attractive to me I'll date him..." like it's not how it works at all!? Its way more down to like "I'm getting good vibes off this person" "this person's easy to talk to and they make me feel good..." "This person makes me feel shy in a good way" "this person literally makes me weak at the knees when they talk to me" and that sorta stuff happens without you thinking about it or properly clocking and plotting it? Idk if this makes sense but I just don't think he's sitting himself down and thinking like "reet I'm gonna shag her cause she's not really my type that I'd want to settle down with"

Like why would he shag someone he didn't think was fit?

But I think you're right in that he isn't looking for something serious now at all (and can we blame him he's a busy boy like, I struggle with my relationship and I've got wayyy less commitments in life than he does rn haha) and I think he's probably getting with lassies that also don't want something serious too... That's apparent enough from the way some people apparently post about him online or whatever (I don't know who any of these girls are and don't have any clue what they post, I just lurk on other blogs where this gets talked about) like if anyone in this situation wanted a serious long term trusting relationship they wouldn't be soft bragging on Instagram about it for clout they'd be respecting eachother lol

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hay1ock · 6 months

Text

Sure just rip my heart out and stomp all over it. Only Friends Episode 10.

It only took 10 episodes but they’ve finally done it and made me feel sympathetic to Top’s situation lol. I’ve clearly gone through my character arc 😝, that or they just made me more annoyed at other characters involved in their part of the story than I am at Top. Boeing, I am looking at you. Mew, you are pushing it. But in all seriousness, I had said I was trying to look at Top more positively, as I have seen him change from Mr Smugface Top Tier to a Mew simp.

I get why Mew would be annoyed to find Boeing at Top’s place and how it maybe set things back in his mind after deciding to give Top a second chance. Boeing was happy to stir the pot and I’m not really sure what he’s hoping to achieve other than annoy me and Top, and probably Ray and Sand too based on the preview. Is it just revenge at being dumped? Does he want Top? Mew? Sand? Is he Boston 2.0 so if he can’t be happy then no one can? Him pushing up his glasses at the end of the scene in Top’s apartment gave me full on anime villain vibes lol.

And then there’s Mew. Omg accidentally liking one of Boeing’s insta posts💀Like I said I get Boeing’s appearance probably upset him all over again. But I had thought revenge era was kind of over after everything that happened with Ray. The talk at the hostel and pushing Top in the pool felt like things were settled about Mew giving him that second chance. But then suddenly inviting Boeing to the wakeboarding… Now, maybe he’s got some trick up his sleeve and is somehow playing Boeing in some way, or maybe he is testing Top, because trust is a hard thing to win back and there’s no way he would want to be taken for a fool all over again (Though from a viewer POV we have seen how Top interacts with Boeing and there’s nothing between them). I don’t know what he’s up to. Also, I feel like he let Boeing’s lips touch his for way too long lol. I just feel it ignited my sympathy for Top in wanting Mew to make a choice. Either commit to the two of them and give Top that chance properly with no games or tests, or let it go, call time on him and Top and find a (healthy) way to move on.

And so onto Boston and Nick. Boston certainly had a tough time while Nick was exploring things with Daddy Dan. I knew Atom was a little scary but to straight up lie and imply Boston took advantage of him… Ugh. I’m not Cheum’s biggest fan but I can’t blame her for believing her brother over Boston, especially considering the whole pursuing and manipulating Top thing that just happened recently. I didn’t like everything she said, and Mew seemed to enjoy the moment a bit too much with his little pat on Boston’s shoulder, but as Ray brought up, and Cheum later focussed on, regardless of anything else, Atom is her little brother. And though it really isn’t anyone’s business if they’re both consenting adults, it isn’t really the done thing to shag your bestie’s siblings. I know Boston tried to dissuade Atom a bit, but considering how strained the friendships already were, he probably should have took a hard pass on sleeping with Atom. Kicking him out the project too was a bit rough. It seemed as if Ray wasn’t quite down with everything that was happening, and I certainly felt bad for Boston. He did something shitty to Mew, but he doesn’t deserve this bullshit scenario Atom has created. But we’ll have to see where things go, if the truth comes out, or if Boston is left abandoned and without a way to graduate, and so goes with his back up plan of moving to New York.

Boston had already seemed to be having ‘feelings’ about Nick. First, looking at his picture and then last episode after seeing him with Dan. Whether it’s love or just fondness/familiarity, missing his company, after all he does say he missed him, it’ll be interesting to see where, if anywhere, he and Nick goes. I do at least feel as if he’s being genuine this time rather than dangling hope-shaped relationship carrots in front of Nick. Their scenes in the store and on the roof were really good and I did feel like I could get on board with them again. I mean, it’ll come down to if they can be honest with each other about what they really want their relationship to be as to whether anything between them is going to work. I don’t know if Boston can, wants to or even should change his sex life. Obviously, there were a couple of people he should have definitely not had sex with, but in general having multiple partners and enjoying sex isn’t anything bad or wrong. I don’t know what he can actually offer Nick in the end. I mean, their sex scene certainly showed a hell of a lot more care than anything we’d seen before. Hopefully, Boston can figure out what he wants and what degree of a relationship he is able to commit to. I would prefer him to be honest about what he can offer Nick, be it an attempt at being boyfriends or just their old agreement of friends with benefits, and then it’ll be down to Nick to make an informed decision. And whether he needs to have a little chat with Dan as to where exactly everybody stands.

And finally, Ray and Sand. Argh, it hurts. First punch to the gut - I just don’t want to sing at your funeral. Second punch - how fucking cute Ray and his donut was lol. I’m glad Ray didn’t force Sand to reveal himself to his father and gave him an out even if it was at the last moment. Who knows how the guy might have taken the news. Sand had been going to the bar on a number of occasions so deep down he probably does want to tell him, but it was right of Ray to not pressure him by making it a condition of him going to rehab in the end. Rehab/therapy, I’m glad Ray went that first time, even if he was doing it purely because Sand asked him to. I can understand his reluctance to talk at that point. He’s kept everything buried beneath alcohol for years. There’s that fear of if you start talking, be vulnerable for even a moment then everything will come tumbling out and you’ll have to face what you’ve been forcing down. The same goes for stopping drinking. Ray has numbed himself to his trauma for a long time, without alcohol there’s going to be a hell of a lot of feelings coming to the surface as well as withdrawal and shifts in mood.

I think Ray’s father having asked Sand for help in getting Ray into rehab had been the most likely end to that conversation from episode 7, and of course, Ray overheard them. I’d been so proud of him for putting the bottles of alcohol in the bin. If only he’d had a bigger bin he might not have gone downstairs maybe in search of garbage bags (also I’ll assume the maid would empty the bin and recycle those bottles lol). The scene at Sand’s place though. God damn, it was so good and hurt like a bitch. As soon as money was involved, Ray couldn’t believe Sand had ever cared for him. Threw back some of what Sand had said about ‘doing anything for money’, ‘liking jobs that pay big’. The way he broke down, feeling betrayed and used, and thinking all the times he’d been happy were nothing but lies. My heart. And of course Sand. He could have easily screamed and shouted right back and yet he did his best to treat Ray gently and calmly, despite being emotional. Ack, and the frustrated cry after he broke down once Ray left, the realisation that he was asking Ray to quit alcohol but could just as easily enable him by having alcohol in his home and him throwing that jar of plum wine. I wonder if we’ll see an on screen reconciliation or skip forward? There’s also Boeing to possibly cause more problems, though I want to say I have faith Sand wouldn’t go back there, though if it’s at a time when he and Ray aren’t back on good terms… I know Sand seems to have it out for Top, but I’d assume he wouldn’t be all that impressed with the ex that cheated either.

And then another impressive performance from Khaotung as Ray. I’m glad Ray’s father cleared things up, though the way he speaks to Ray at the start, honestly, I get why Ray wouldn’t want to listen and gets defensive. I wonder if he’s always spoken so harshly or if their communication broke down over time as Ray spiralled lower? Ray looked tired and done with everything after the situation with Sand was revealed and I’m kind of happy we see him going straight back to the therapist. If he wants a relationship with Sand, it’s in his best interests to start facing his demons. I’m sure Sand will do what he can to support him, but he needs to do it for himself not just because Sand told him to. This time he has attended rehab, yes still for Sand, but this time because he wants to, he chose to go, he chose to take the steps to stop hurting the person he loves. It’s a step on the road to recovery.

Being with me requires patience - as soon as he said that all I could think about were the comments from people who were so against Ray these last few episodes. His character indeed needs patience and understanding. Because of drink and drugs he’s not always in control of his actions, because of his past he doesn’t always behave appropriately or as you want him to. He’s emotional and he’s a mess. But he can also be adorable and kind and loving and make Sand smile. For those moments, Sand has put up with a lot. Like I said last episode, if Sand is strong enough and indeed has the patience, then I want for him to support Ray in getting better and continue to love him. Because yes, Ray deserves to be loved and happy.

Overall, this was a fantastic episode. I’m confused over Top and Mew, hopeful for Sand and Ray, and willing to support Boston and Nick in figuring out what they want to be to one another. I would like for the truth to come out about Atom, and for Boeing to get lost and just do one lol.

I’m really excited for the next episode. I can’t believe we’re so close to the end.

#only friends the series #only friends episode 10 #only friends ep10 #Every week I love Ray more #Please let him and Sand be happy #firstkhaotung #sandray #bostonnick #neomark #topmew #forcebook

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cassatine · 2 years

Note

I would love to know your ideas about Daemon/Rhaenyra and their deranged love!

Ongoing manifesto is [here]

that being said idk that’s a bit. too vague and open-ended a question. pls be more specific next time but for now:

They’re the same person in different bodies and they both looked at their mirror self and thought yeah I’d tap that?? And after ten years of separation, ten years of distance from the mirror self, the only one that truly understood them: I’d rather burn the world down I’d rather be feared than live without that again?? Heights of Targ psychosexual fuckery right there!!

They both subscribe to the idea that only dragon people are real people! Targaryen exceptionalism all the way for them. Why do you think even Rhaenyra’s love for Alicent did not translate to understanding or protection or anything beyond ‘love me fear me adore me’.

Not to deny the unhinged romanticism of the “meant to burn together” line but what I’m personally obsessed by is “they will fear what else we might be capable of”, like that’s their thesis statement and political program rolled into one and it’s hot as fuck. Also stupid as fuck, because that program hasn’t worked out that well for any dynasty in the long term, like, ever, but also: better burn together than keep on living a half life. Viserys called them “restless and chaotic” back when he first thought they’d shagged and really, he’d pegged them right. They tried normalcy (as much as feudal people with pet metaphorical nuclear weapons can be normal) and it turned out to suck ass — “happy enough”, says Daemon of his time with Laena (which, ouch), “droll tragedy”, says Rhaenyra of her life, of her years trying to play by the rules (also ouch). And they’d have gone back to it if not for each other — one spousal funeral reunion shag of tenderness and they were like “meant to burn together” never gonna be separated again!! No cost too dear!!

I get that the argument that they’re getting married for political reasons only get people’s hackles up, and lbr it is on the level of saying water is dry, but imo swinging the pendulum to the other extreme (nothing to do with the political at all) isn’t that much better in the end. It is a political partnership. Rhaenyra doesn’t say “with you as my husband and prince consort my claim wouldn’t be so easily challenged” for people to say that she hasn’t taken the political repercussions of a wedding into account. And whether Rhaenyra is really, really crap at maths or whether she’s fudging the numbers because she wants Daemon that bad (it’s the later, of course it’s the later), the fact is that she makes a political argument for their getting married. Sometimes people both want to climb each other and to be a political power couple steamrolling all opposition until everything explodes in their face (better have everything explode in your face than go through life like you’re already dead for one minute longer than needed).

Rhaenyra has it bad for Daemon, but she has it bad for the throne too. If she didn’t she’d cut her losses and they’d move to Pentos or wherever, and she is very much not gonna do that. They love each other insanely, but they love power too.

Laenor is a darling and we love him but by ep7 it’s kinda obvious that while Rhaenyra does like him she’s been disappointed in him as a political partner for a while (ftr it’s understandable that he’s flaky, what with the trauma of what happened re: Joffrey). He gives her the ‘ready to commit now’ speech and for ten years she’d have had to take it even with no way to know whether Laenor would follow up on it, because she had no other option, but alas for him he gives her the speech after Daemon pops up, freshly single, while the situation with Alicent and the Greens hits No Return Point, and Rhaenyra says: actually yes I deserve a husband that supports me, a political partner I can actually trust to look after my interests, one who will kill a bitch for me, and that ain’t you.

She didn’t free Laenor!! It’s not a victory for the gays!! She functionally exiled him because she chose Daemon over him. She told her husband and friend of ten years to fuck off to Essos and never come back and let his family believe him dead because her mirror self was back and it’s her mirror self she wants. Let her and Daemon be selfish on that one instead of dressing it up as a victory for us queers.

Everyone goes on about Rhaenyra having a case of gender, and she sure fucking does, but you know who else does? Fucking Daemon, that’s who. Viserys says he’s the Visenya of the family. He straights up wields Visenya’s sword. He was sent off to Runestone where his wife was in charge, and where all that would have been expected of him was to do the do and bring forth some heirs, which in Westeros is what's expected of women (also he’d obv. have resented being married to a normie and not another Targ, because only dragon people are real people), and being a cursed mix of extreme insecurity and overblown dragon pride he simply couldn’t handle any of it, hence the extremely unhappy wedding with Rhea, but also his tendency to overperform masculinity à la westorosi (violence). And yet he’s gonna fucking kneel to Rhaenyra!!

Daemon is literally going to crown her!! I am the crown (I am the realm) she told Criston and what’s the one title Daemon will take? Protector of the Realm. He’s going to die for her!! Fighting her war!! Just like Rhaenys died fighting Aegon’s war!!

Ok. Look. Wherever canon goes — at the end of the day some people see incestuous legacies fuckery and like clockwork they go, oh the latest generation has to fuck and do it in full ancestors cosplay while insistently calling each other by familial relationship terms, and they have to make it weird for everyone else, and they also have to kill a lot people to maintain their grasp on power, and by some people I mean me.

#house of the dragon #daemyra #daemon targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #meta #the rhaenys wannabe agenda #ask #anon

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threshblood · 8 months

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pinned.

sophie thatcher. demiwoman. she/they. queer. — hey, isn’t that sadie wicker? i think that the twenty three year old from seattle, washington works as a barista at the chinchilla computer cafe & a secondary rhythm guitarist for vain rogues & the ghost orchestra while studying part-time at the university of alaska, but outside of that people describe them as a paradox borne of a cookie-cutter home, the wasted youth hitchhiking cross-country following rock band tours, naiveté dripping like neon, disregard for the easy and the obvious, getting high under the spotlights, a floor-drobe and posters for wallpaper, derealization in the face of a computer monitor. i hear they are auspicious & flaky, but they are also known to be experimental & motivated. consider giving them a visit at their home in the kingpin trailer park and get to know why they’re called the fresh blood. written by cat, she/her, est.

profile. pinterest. ( under construction )

tw: implied violence, mention of slight eating disorder, mention of drugs and overdose

present.

maybe it's the café, learning sick new latte art — maybe it's the band that after all these years, sadie's still star-struck landing a stint with — maybe it's armful of textbooks stacked beside a dingy public keyboard. whatever the reason, it's been altogether too long since they've taken off on the kindness of interstate strangers with all their savings spent on metallica tickets. there's always the next tour.

sat side by side in the living room of their trailer home are two of their prized possesions: an oldie radio tuned to 107.5 black dragon pearl and a record player. at any given time, day or night, home or away, one will be on. there's something about the constant noise filtering through the small collection of rooms that makes living alone a little less lonely.

voluntarily on a specific call list for activists, and often on the front lines. perhaps surprisingly for the 5'3'' figure, sadie is quite the little athlete and avid to go charging into the most raucous of riots in order to protect their fellow protestors — catching flares or gas canisters, and dragging away comrades should they fall under police boot.

when sadie announced moving away for college ( and whether that was the true reason or not at the time ), her father was kind enough to pass over the keys belonging to a brown 1971 dodge coronet. it had been a project of his that he felt was time to have a new owner. it is sadie's baby, self-taught how to care for it and repair. call her an amateur mechanic, she'd love it.

a jack-of-all-trades amateur following the car, sadie also enjoys cooking. and it's a whole ordeal, the perfect depiction of how spaghetti can become a whole affair. the sauce splatters, the multiple utensils piling up in the dinky sink, making enough for a large family. at least the effort to combat cockroaches is there in cleaning up the mess, though by no means are they a tidy person.

big on cycling through hair colours. the style remains relatively the same, with the only difference in the length of the shagged bob framing their face. otherwise, given the season, the bleached blonde becomes auburn-red, and when she becomes convinced her roots actually look pretty, will delve into the natural chocolate of their hair.

past.

comes from a perfectly adjusted family. an unexpected gift seven years after her older brother, sam. their parents are an accountant father and a florist mother, who are... nice. that's just it. they're nice, her brother is sweet but distant, and sadie is bored. there's not even any friction in their daughter becoming an anarchist to liven up their suburban seattle home. when sadie was first arrested for participating in a protest against big oil, her dad patted her shoulder and her mother smiled pleasantly when they collected her.

grades were acceptable, their friend group outsiders but hardly trouble-makers, and music was becoming the most exciting thing in sadie's life. it was harder then to travel around, so garage concerts were her bread and butter. at one such event, in a dark and damp little basement, they were elbowed in the mouth by a drunken reveler that knocked out her right lateral incisor. sadie thought it would be cool to have the gap. her parents happily had a fake one implanted. still a cool story.

between the constant influx of music and all its genres that captivated her, attending as many shows as she could and planned to in the future; it was kismet that her brother gifted her one day after his first big paycheck as a paralegal with an ebony and ivory gibson guitar and a stack of manuals. practicing took up all her time and effort, which ironically was the reason she started smoking — as an appetite suppressant so that she could keep idolizing her band heroes and try to live up to their glamour.

the one great trauma of her life ( so far... ), came at a concert she tagged along to with a friend, the friend's older sibling, and some friends in san francisco. there, fighting her way to the venue bathrooms, sadie came across a person draped over a toilet while people laughed about the "wrecked" state. it only took a glance to realize this person was in dire straits. even as sadie begged for medical attention, it had only been her that resuscitated the partier from a nearly-lethal concoction of opiates and alcohol. they pulled through. and sadie added big pharma to her list of oppressors to scream in the face of.

subject to change.

#anchorintro

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mlmxreader · 2 months

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What's So Great About War? | Alex Keller x m!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ I have a suggestion for a fanfic. How about a WW1 scenario. The reader can be German or allies. They’re a pilot who crashed into no man’s land. The character whether it be Gaz or Alex. Any character will do you can choose. The character will help them since if the reader is German the uniform is so badly mangled it’s hard to determine who’s side their on or if they’re allies/ on the same side as the character maybe the character has seen them on the air field while they were headed to the trenches. Hope you enjoy and have fun with that idea! ❞

: ̗̀➛ During the First World War, Alex is stationed with the American Shock Troops, and finds himself torn between loyalty and duty.

: ̗̀➛ graphic depictions of death, graphic depictions of injury, graphic descriptions, toxic gas, plane crashes, swearing, smoking, gun violence

↳ PROSHIP/PROFIC/ETC DO NOT INTERACT

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

The war had been raging for all too long, it seemed as if it had been going on since the dawn of time and would never end. Leaving fields that were once green and bursting with life empty and barren and grey.

Desolate of everything except rotten pikes that held up the barbed wire and the scattered limbs and bones that were gnawed on by rats and mice.

It was easy to hear their cries, begging and pleading for a bullet in the head so they didn’t have to feel the rats burrow and chew through their stomachs and intestines throughout the night.

Many of the politicians called it the war to end all wars, and kept pushing for more and more needless and senseless death.

Yet they would not fight themselves and nor would they send their own sons to war either.

Sun Tzu would have wept if he saw what was happening.

On the Eastern Front, men were being gassed as they protected fortresses; rising and gargling on their blood and vomit as they tried to march forward.

On the Western Front, it was so much worse. The bodies of men and horses stunk as they rotted, torn apart and frayed from shells, grenades, and heavy machine gun fire.

It had been so long that Alex had forgotten how much of his time had been spent fighting; he at least still remembered who he fought with.

It was the Devil Dogs - the U.S Marines - at first.

They soon transferred him to the 141st British Regiment - which Alex absolutely despised due to MacTavish’s constant preaching of propaganda and talking about how the Welsh were “bugger all except sheep shagging scum who speak gibberish.”

Then at last, he was sent to the American Shock Troops - who were often called the Ghosts.

There, he was still stationed.

Several men made up the force of the Ghosts, as well as their mercy dog Riley.

But Alex was thankful, as he never really spent much time with them except during raids, so he never got to find out if they were as bad as MacTavish or not.

Quite often, though, Alex would find himself sitting at the edge of the trench and smoking too many cigarettes, his gaze turned to the sky as he thought about the man he used to know so well.

You were dragged into the war before he was, and he could still remember the feel of your hands in his as he begged you to stay alive and to make it through the war so he could see you again.

The last time he told you that he loved you, quickly kissing you before you were shoved onto the train; he chased after it until he fell over, calling your name and promising that he would see you again.

He would make it home to you.

You wrote to one another very often, though - Alex knew all about your dark green and white Albatross and how you had painted it the same pattern as an orca, just as he knew all about your time with the Flying Circus under the command of the infamous Manfred Von Richthofen, The Red Baron.

You were credited with sixty victories and the newspapers in your home country even gave you a dashing new nickname fit for your reputation - The Green Shark.

But that did not stop you from seeing the truth behind the war.

All the wasted lives and broken dreams. All the mothers mourning children they could never bury.

All the men who would not go home. There was no enemy - only men and boys, sons and fathers, brothers and uncles and nephews, turned to ash for nothing.

There would never be victory - only decay and death. There would never be glory - only blood.

None of it was ever going to be justified, it was a pointless and horrific war.

Alex could never disagree with you on that, he never would believe in such a vile and heinous thing, such an apocalyptic event. And all for what?

What was it all for?

Why did millions have to die?

Why did so many have to give their lives?

Why?

Two shots had changed the world, and millions were going to pay for it.

One man’s death was paid for by the suffering and deaths of millions more - coins made of blood and skin.

So what was so fucking great about it?

Swiping a hand down his face, Alex tried to push it from his mind, knowing that thoughts of such a calibre would get him killed.

He tossed the end of his cigarette away, but just as he was about to stand, he was thrust forward into the muddy waters face-first.

A great orange light was flying over him.

He kept his head low for a moment before scrambling over the top of the trench. Immediately, he charged across the barren wasteland as fast as he could, his lip quivering when he saw the dark green plane.

It was all a blur as he grabbed the limp pilot and dragged him back to the trench, putting him down on a cot and screaming for Elias. Alex was soon dragged away by Ajax and Kick.

He spent hours trying to get to the pilot, desperate and on the verge of starting a war on his own, but it wasn’t until dawn that he was allowed.

“Do you know this man?” Elias asked sternly, glaring at Alex.

He nodded, swallowing thickly. “Yes, Sir.”

“Good,” Elias nodded back curtly as he cleared his throat. “Is he friend or foe? His uniform’s torn and burnt, so I can’t tell - but you know him, so you must know.”

“Friendly,” Alex answered quietly, chewing the inside of his lip, “he’s on our side, Sir.”

Such a lie could get him shot and killed, Alex was all too aware of that - but what was he meant to do?

Your life was not suddenly worth less than his because of the fact that your country was fighting on the opposite side of a pointless war.

He had to lie to keep you alive and safe, even if it meant risking his own in the process.

But the Ghosts soon left, letting Alex stay with you; you were in bad shape.

Burns and gashes all over your face, some of them so deep that he could see where the flames from your downed plane had scorched the fat layer of your wounds.

Rendering the flesh blistered and weeping openly.

Deep wounds covered your hands and arms and legs; with ease, Alex could see the particularly gnarly laceration on your left leg.

It was open, the bone pressing against what little flesh was left; cracked and dried blood crackled when it spasmed upon feeling the soft winds.

Alex wanted to look away, but when he saw the scorch marks on the bone, he frowned.

What was left of your uniform was black from the burns, and stained with dark splodges that smelled like iron.

But you were awake, groaning and trying to move until he gently pushed you down, shaking his head.

“You’re still alive,” you coughed weakly.

Alex nodded, letting his hand rest on your chest as he did his best to smile reassuringly. “For now… I had to tell them you were one of ours, they haven’t seen your plane yet.”

“I can pretend,” you agreed softly. “It’s alright.”

“We are going to see the end of this war,” he promised, licking his lips and clearing his throat. “And I will keep you safe. I promise.”

“I don’t want to fight,” you grumbled softly, shaking your head and coughing again. “I don’t want to be part of this war.”

“Darling,” Alex whispered. “You don’t have to any more. I promise. When this war is over, you’re coming home with me.”

“So demanding,” your laugh sounded more like a death rattle than anything else. “But I will always go where you do…”

“I promised you when you left on that train, I would find you again… didn’t think it’d be in such a fucking shitty predicament,” he sighed, gently patting your chest. “Sleep now. You need your rest and I need to convince Elias to let me stay with you while you heal… but I love you, you know, and I’m going to get us both home. I promise.”

“Keller,” you mumbled, holding his hand as tightly as you could, although your grip was still all too limp. “I love you, too… don’t go… please?”

Alex leaned back a little, taking a look behind him before lighting up a cigarette. “I’ll stay for as long as I can.”

He couldn’t have known, neither of you could have ever known, that the end of the war would not come for a long time, and that you would both watch the Ghosts die; you would see Hesh clinging onto Logan’s body as he screamed for their mother, begging for her to come and save them.

You would see Elias torn apart by rats as he did his best to usher the others back to the trenches.

You would see Ajax and Kick choke on toxic gas as they howled and rasped as their lungs collapsed.

You would see Merrick spread across No Man’s Land during heavy shelling.

The only one to make it out would be Riley.

So, what would ever be so fucking great about the war?

“Come on,” Alex murmured as he gently shoved you over so he could lie down next to you, offering you his cigarette. “If I’m staying, I want some space.”

You shuffled and groaned, sharp pains shooting through you until you wept and nearly begged for death. Through choked up tears, you managed to say, “you always did hog the bed.”

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