#like a sensible lad

[flannelepicurean]

EXCUSE ME.

WHAT

THE EVER-LOVING

COCK-FUCKING

TIT-SHITTING

FUCK-SHIT

is WAL-BOG, U.S.A doing putting out

THIS FUCKING SHIT RIGHT HERE

when I have

NO GODDAMN MONEY?!?!?!

Seriously, what the fuuuuuckkk?!?!?!

Vegeta front and center??? SAIYAN SQUAD ON THE GODDAMN CENTER STAGE???

They put Raditz on the front of a fuckin haaaaattt, babes!!! ✨💖 😭😭😭💖✨

And...and Nappa...Uncle Nappa's bald-ass head got second-tier top billing before SON GOKU! Wha...???

Piccolo on the side there doin the lord's work with my boi Gohan, and YES, our actual lord & savior Goku is there too, but MY GOOD AND LOVELY LIFE FORMS AND INDESCRIBABLE DENIZENS OF THE VOID, I CANNOT...CANNOT EXPLAIN TO YOU THE SHEER LEVELS OF EMOTION I'M FEELING RIGHT NOW.

[t00thpasteface]

shebbz i just want to say that you are single-handedly convincing me to watch mash... i know nothing about the show but ur chipping away at my brain like a misfolded protein

just make sure you watch it without laugh tracks

[sysig]

Old OC spotlight alert: It’s Nequam! Ft. his girlfriend Ruby (and also Papyrus for funsies lol) (Patreon)

[pocji]

the notes on that post about clubbing are 99% ‘op im neurodivergent so of course I can’t go to the club’ meanwhile where I live there’s an initiative to take an adult with additional needs (usually someone who lives in assisted living) to the club once every couple of weeks to dance and socialise with or without alcohol that runs on the basis of basically ‘everyone likes the club’ lmao.

[damnprecious]

me: is a reliable worker me: has like a decade of experience of different tasks at the workplace me: usually knows how to help less experienced coworkers with things they aren't familiar with or knows who to ask if I don't know me: generally knows what the shit I'm doing at work boss people: hey you're gonna be in charge of your little team of two in this one event me: oh my god no I'm not qualified for this

[rainbowsillz]

“ Dating? As if they would let this continue on.. ”

Warnings: Possessiveness, toxic relationship, blood mentioned.

***

⤷ Summary: A story where you fell for another individual. They have been pining for you in months and yet you went ahead on and chose someone else?

RIDDLE will not have this. He reckoned himself as a sensible, humble, model student in this fine college. That so-called-impertinence of yours, he'll skin it out, if it's a freshman under his rule? He will make it a living hell, and he won't forget about you either! Did you think he's merciful? Correct that thought immediately because the queen isn't magnanimous. His staff marred with a deep shade of red liquid, his frigid gaze swept at the motionless form beside his feet, not bothering to look down for any longer. He knows you're watching, so pay close attention to it.

LEONA laughed at the absurdity. Are you asking him to get rid of a pesky rival for you? If yes, that 'darling' of yours will disappear very soon by the end of the day. He wouldn't hesitate to erase the source of his troubles, and besides what can the headmaster try with him, huh? It wasn't as if that bird man took anything firmly, not like he gives a crap to those pitiful morons in here. The moment he laid eyes on you, it's inevitable, you should admit it. Humans can adapt, no matter in any direction or circumstances. So let him spell it out for you. You are his, you belong to him.

AZUL was undeniably devastated. So he wasn't enough for you? Why not him? How could you?! If he can't have you, no one will. He can guarantee that fact. When he's anguished, it eventually manifests into peevishness, he won't kill the said lad, no, he can do a lot more than that. With pulling a few strings behind the scenes, you'll be crawling to him in no time and imploring him to stop whatever plotting he has with your lover, and he can! It's remarkable truly— to the things he would go for you. For your precious signature that is. And don't keep him waiting for you.

KALIM was clearly saddened by it. You broke him. Unfortunately for you, that has him more determined than ever. The lines he tread were condemnable, wicked, it mortified him that he will use a tactic on you. He doesn't want to openly harm a normal member in Scarabia. That is in his dormitory, no more, no less. Coercion won't be ideal when it comes to inducement with you. He has that beloved of yours missed the events, dates, and several more meetings with you. You'll be fed up from this, no matter what logical excuses your partner has for you. Then you'll pick him.

[jaylienpotter]

Part 2 of Let them be | 1k words

< Part 1 | Part 3 >

Let boys wear skirts

James had started a protest against the school rules not allowing females to wear trousers. How? By breaking the dress code. Of course Sirius was going to follow up and also put on a skirt. His brother Reggie desperately needed to change uniforms.

What he wasn't expecting was how it felt. The fabric was nice and it was much more freeing, refreshing. But there was something else. He felt different. He felt pretty. I mean, he was always gorgeous. But not like this. He was looking at himself in the bathroom mirror, turning to see the skirt from different angles. He put his long black strands behind his ears and smiled. Sirius didn't know what it meant. He wasn't like Regulus. He wasn't trans. He liked being a bloke. He never felt discomfort with his body. The knock on the door startled him out of his thoughts.

"Sorry I'm going!" Taking the towel and his pajamas, he opened the door to a Moony in a skirt. Obviously they had all agreed to it but he just looked so awkward and cute, with high socks to hide the scars. But Remus would look good in anything. At least in Padfoot's eyes.

Lupin didn't budge when the bathroom got free. He stared, looked his friend up and down.

"What?" Did he look bad? Did he wear the skirt upside down? Did he just look ridiculous with his hair like that, which made him look even more feminine?

"I- uh- nothing, I just… It suits you." Was Moony blushing? Did Sirius only have to wear a skirt to catch his crush's attention this whole time?

"You think?" Pads did a little twirl. The skirt was a little short but what did he care?

"Yeah. You look… Pretty."

"Thanks. I kind of like it, actually…"

"I see. Uh Pads, can I use the toilet?" Sirius stepped aside and ever so slightly glanced at the boy's arse. Lupin looked a lot more modest. It made sense with his 'problem', as well as anxiety and low self confidence in general. Black didn't expect him to follow the protest. The four of them were in, though. Even Wormtail. Lily's skirt was slightly tight but he said it was fine since it was for a good cause. He could use a spell to largen it but none of them had mastered those yet. They'd end up making a skirt big enough for the squid.

There were whistles from the Gryffindor table as soon as he walked in for breakfast. Mckinnon was hyping her friend as usual.

"Look at her!" She was joking, of course. But it hit Sirius. He felt a knot in his (her?) stomach. Why did he like that? He was fine with male pronouns, never had a problem. Still didn't. Shrugging it off, the drama queen paraded to the table, followed by an anxious werewolf.

"Don't worry Moons. If anyone looks I'll just be flagrant and get the attention off you."

"Thanks Pads." He smiled, his cheeks still slightly tainted. Perhaps he was too hot from the high socks and long sleeves in the hot weather?

"Good morning, lads! How are we feeling? I see Padfoot is confident, great. Wormy is getting used to it. Moony, you good, mate?" Potter was such a mum. People would think that Remus being the most sensible out of the four, he would have the responsible, more parent-like role. To be quite frank, he didn't give a shit. If his friends made a fool of themselves he'd laugh. Prick. Hot prick, though.

"Yeah." He looked to his left and back at Prongs. "I'm okay."

The day went as expected, they got detention quite soon, the first class was thankfully History of Magic and their ghost of a teacher didn't even know he was dead, let alone what his students were wearing. They received plenty of comments. Some cheering, mostly from girls, some were snarky, and some of the students called them girls, which Black didn't seem to mind at all. And of course, there were lots of stares.

The Marauders walked together everywhere, to be stronger and avoid being attacked. James was incredible, swagging around the castle with his head held high.

"Hey, Prongs? Can I ask you something?" It wasn't until they were in their pajamas that Sirius gained the courage to talk about it.

"Of course."

"How did you feel wearing a skirt? Were you uncomfortable? Did you like it?"

"Well…" Potter twisted his mouth to the side, as he always did when thinking. "It was fine, I suppose. I wouldn't say I liked it, I wouldn't choose to wear one. But for the cause it didn't bother me."

"Hm." Pads's gaze was distant. He had time to figure it out, they were going to keep wearing skirts until a teacher heard their complaints. At least Sirius and James were.

The next day, Marlene joined the protest, borrowing Sirius's trousers that were oversized for her. The lads had gone downstairs and she was in their dorm with Black, getting ready. They had no problem changing in front of each other since both were gay.

"You seem to be enjoying the skirt." That tone meant she was onto something. The fucker could always read Sirius. Even better than James, at times.

"Yeah… I suppose so. Makes me feel pretty."

"Just pretty or more like a girl?" Bloody hell, she had figured it out even before Sirius.

"I'm not sure…" Marlene put on her tie, done getting ready.

"Do you want to borrow my makeup? It might help." Pads turned around nervously yet excitedly.

"You sure?"

"Yeah mate. You also have to repaint your nails, they're all chipped. Wait here, I'll get my stuff."

"Thanks Marls…" She winked and left, coming back a few minutes later.

"I also brought a small mirror. Sit, we're having a beauty session." It was funny. Marlene wasn't that feminine. She didn't wear makeup all that often and when she did, it was more of a rock punk look with smudged black eyes. It wasn't anything like Evans or Mary, which were a lot more elegant and traditional.

"You don't want to eat first?"

"I'd rather get you all prepped up to see people's faces when you show up all girly."

And the faces did not disappoint. Black and Mckinnon walked into the Great Hall with wrapped arms. She had her hair in a messy bun, her shirt not fully buttoned up with her tie loose, the trousers covering her feet and a bit of a black smudged eyeshadow. Sirius, on the other hand, wore the skirt from the previous day, which was slightly short but still covered up everything, the shirt also not buttoned up all the way as per usual, and the red and gold tie undone, sitting on his shoulders. Some black nail polish and winged eyeliner, too. He couldn't deny it, it felt pretty good.

The best face was Remus's, who literally dropped his toast. The pink cheeks were definitely not from the weather. It sparked a little hope in Padfoot, that maybe his dreams of being with his best friend would come true. However, Moony would probably forget about it as soon as the protest ended.

It took a while until that happened. Pads and Prongs wore skirts for around two weeks (and some of the girls wore pants - Marlene, Lily, Mary, Dorcas, Pandora), eventually Reg felt comfortable enough to join, he had never felt so good at Hogwarts.

Mcgonagall was the one who spoke up about it, saying it was getting ridiculously out of hand and that she saw no problem with girls wearing trousers 'But for the love of Merlin, boys, put on some trousers'.

Dumbledore agreed to change the rules, as the protest was distracting the students' focus during classes. Fully aware the Gryffindors weren't going to back down.

Regulus was ecstatic and thanked all of them. Sirius was happy for his brother but he was going to miss the skirt. In this journey of self discovery, he had come to the conclusion that he felt both masculine and feminine, some days more than others. All the pronouns felt right, but he did prefer being called pretty over handsome. Maybe Sirius would be able to wear a skirt again someday. Until then, makeup was the only way of expression. He would also miss Moony's glances, he ought to come up with a new way to lure the Gryffindor boy.

[wisteriagoesvroom]

📚 10 f1 fics i've loved lately 🏎️

been thinking a lot about how to organise fic recs into some sort of sensible post, 'cus there are so many (great!) pairings and (delicious!) driver combinations, not to mention so many varying styles of fic and SUPER TALENTED WRITERS!!111!!

just gonna list a bunch in no particular order, with accompanying pics, so you can get a sense of the vibes.

'cus what is f1 rpf but all about the ✨ vibes?! 🏁

p.s. people are in this community making amazing stuff for freeee!! if you liked these please leave a kudos or a comment, it makes a writer's day 🫡 

let's gooooo--

objects in the mirror by linearity (@drivestraight) charles/max. 87k words (series), rated t then e

listen. LISTEN! charles to rbr is one of the best premises ever and i will read it in like a thousand iterations. but this fic. this fic series in particular cleared my skin, made me want to cut my hair into a bob out of sheer emotion. i would be remiss not to start with this one because its impact on my f1 rpf trajectory should be studied by science. you know when a story just jumps off the page and it's so real that it becomes your canon. a kind of meteoric inevitability. plus, i almost never cry at fics. but by the time the third act of this one hit, i just went -- damn, am i rly about to tear up at a f1 rpf fanfiction rn? (yes.)

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sawtooth by nottonyharrison (@nottonyharrison) charles/max. 40k words, rated e

max as a f1 engineer? for CARLOS at FERRARI? sign me the fuckkk up. first off, awesome premise. there's always going to be something so heartwrenching about "what ifs", especially in any universe where max isn't a racer. despite the change of circumstances, just... the sheer poetry of two characters who just inexplicably find their way to each other in any universe... 🤧 also this story nails racing scenes in a way that's so visceral, i feel like a fly on the damn halo with them. and, aside from the gourmet lestappen, carlos's whole thing in this fic is joyous! spicy! he's so unapologetic and vaguely annoying! hilarious! + the swimming pool scene lives rent-free in my head.

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salt skin by peachbellini (@strawberry-daiquiris) oscar/lando. 12k words, rated e

this fic is magic. literally and figuratively. (MERMAID LANDO???? MERMAID LANDO.) the kind of story that makes you gasp and melt a little bit. and made me want to throw my phone at the writer, 'cause it's really that good. the yearning, the metaphor for all that's monstrous, a boy who is lost (and the boy who he finds, is equally so). this is just beautifully written and a little quirky and so well executed. i think i put it in my bookmarks as "what if lando was a mermaid and it was filmed by a24" or something. pearl of a story.

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hockey!! shrimp colors :) by leafmeal0ne (@ocontraire) oscar/lando. 13k words, rated t

leaf meal one. i have only known you a week but if anything were to happen to you i would wreck everyone in the room including myself. in all seriousness, anything that leaf writes is brilliant. they're one of these writers who could do a throwaway line on the label of a ketchup bottle and i will probably scream about it. the precision, the way they switch up sentence structures, the freaking darcy-level regency yearning transposed onto a contemporary sports setting. i'd rec all of leaf's sports AUs and i'll probably talk about more in a future fic rec post. BUT. the hockeyyy one my GOD. the barely restrained violence, their mutual desire, the theme of finding your place... *wails uncontrollably*

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you almost unearthly thing by anonymous max/daniel, 3.7k words, rated g

max is a governess(govern..lad?) and daniel is the mystery man at the manor. this was a response to a request i made in the kinkmeme! (if you haven't read those fics go check 'em out, there are so many great ones, and not necessarily all rated e). this is a criminally underrated little story that has my favourite repressed feelings + people dancing around each other + gothic vibes + "what the hell is wrong with y'all in this tale" combo that i really adore. it's really well written and captures the atmosphere so well.

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the so-called narrative by antimonyandthyme (@antimonyandthyme) oscar/carlos, 10k words, rated e

i'm once again asking why there are only 7 carlos/oscar works in the tag. I'M ONCE AGAIN ASKING-- *is sedated*. *jolts awake* okay but for real this is a great story. hot, fake-friendship-to-situationship which so happens is one of my favourite places to be. also hello miscommunication/they're so weird about it/they both want each other but can't express themselves for shit/insane racer boys energy.

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and silver, and samarium by pink_mink (@on-softs) george/toto, 5.2k words, rated e

i profess i am not usually the biggest fan of A/B/O (altho!! this fandom has made me go BUT ACTUALLY HM at least a few times). and this fic freaking nails it, along with the twisted power dynamics between TPs and drivers, as seen through the lens of omegaverse. this story rattles around my head like a stubborn ghoul just from the style and prose and sheer audacity alone. george kneeling at toto's knees while he's working..... ohhhhhhhhh i was this close to calling my lawyers.

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algorithm by anney (@badboy-george) charles/max, 16k words, rated e

i LOVE, LOOOOVE a sci fi concept alright. love that shit, will inhale it like moon dust with zero regrets. and what a fantastic one this one is!! the premise is that the FIA can now statistically show the compatibility of drivers on the grid and it's very pacific rim-y drift compatible, mixed with the surreal vibes of eternal sunshine or HER or some such. it should be outrageous, but it really works. that's the beauty of a great fic right there.

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trajectory of trojan asteroids by redpaint (@redpaint) nico/lewis, 3.3k words, rated g

also one of the fics i first read when i hopped on board the f1 rpf train. the pain and poignancy just gets worse the more i learn about brocedes. you know when you're like "there's no way this was reallll" and then you're like "fuck, it was so real". then you get a fic like this that just encapsulates all that rage and loss and grief and upset, set against the starry vista of endless space. *clutches tablecloth* god.

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p.s please bear in mind that these recs are entirely subjective! i enjoy loads of f1 stories but these are the ones that have especially stuck with me for some inexplicable reason.

p.p.s if your fic is on here and you want it taken off for whatever reason, i'm happy to, no questions asked 💛

BYE for now / until part 2. (i also love talking to ppl about fics so pls feel free to send an ask or hit me up in DMs or whatever.)

xoxo, -- wizz

[fandomwritingbit]

👻Hallowe'en Special👻

Ghosting.

Michael Afton x fem!reader.

Synop: After being abandoned by a friend at a stellar Halloween party, reader hooks up with someone in a Ghostface costume... turns out to be Michael Afton. This is a very distant sequel to Hateful with both Mike and reader being arseholes with an enemies to lovers thing going on.

Warnings: drinking, swearing, horniness, smut, public sex.

You’ve been looking forward to tonight for months. A friend of a friend spread the word about their ‘killer halloween party’ almost as soon as August rolled around and rumours of fancy dress, live music and drinking games followed suit. It sounded like just what you needed to perk you up after weeks of studying. 

And now, looking at your costume laid on your bed, you can’t help but grin, it’s cheesy and a little old-fashioned, but hey, if it ain’t broke…

You’ve spent much too long getting it just right, using several sharpies, glitter and lipstick to perfect the face on your blanket, huge eyelashes on top of your eye cut-outs and big pouting lips. A fucking perfect, tarted-up blanket ghost. You complete the set-up with a pair of fishnets and chunky heels, unable to hold in your giggles when you check out the outfit in your mirror.  

“Oh my god, you look crazy.” Your friend Gemma laughs, looking at herself in the reflection next to you, her playboy bunny costume a much more basic choice than yours. One could argue a more sensible one too, because you'd had to layer up so all your secrets couldn't be exposed by one big gust of wind.

“Yeah, crazy hot.” You put your hands on your hips and pose, both of you tittering like schoolgirls. It is funny, but you’re aware that the pre-drinks you’ve had are probably making it seem funnier than it is. 

Your friend grabs a jacket and slings it over her shoulders, gesturing with her head that it’s time to go. “Can you even see anything?” She asks as you join her outside, looking at you sceptically as you turn around to lock your apartment door, missing the keyhole on the first try. 

If she could see your face, your eye rolling would be very evident. “Yeah. I know what I’m doing.” You bring your hands to the lips of the blanket, “I even cut a hole so I can stick a straw through.” Showing her by sticking your tongue through the gap, though quickly cringing at the feeling and taste of the fabric. 

“Oooh, she’s prepared.” Gemma says sarcastically, before putting a hand on your shoulder and all but forcing you to get a move on, you don’t want to be more than fashionably late after all. 

~

One giggly taxi ride later, you and her are struggling to get out of the car without flashing anyone. And then, you're heading up the front steps to the house, where the party is already in the swing of things. A werewolf sits next to an inflatable flamingo on the steps, one smoking, the other vaping, you’re admiring their costumes when you realise the wolf is a lad from your tutor, so you stop to tell him how amazing he looks. 

“Come on, y/n.” Your friend again takes your arm, her voice faux-whining. “We haven’t even got drinks yet, you can mingle in a second.” 

You let her guide you, though not without a sharp glare, quickly turning to the wolf before you go, “See you later, Joe!” 

As you step away, she grins at you, almost knocking over a witch’s drink sitting beside her on the top step. “Really gushing over Hoe-seph, huh?” She wiggles her eyebrows, her tone a little condescending. 

You can’t help but laugh, “Shut up, you knob.” you nudge her, making her wobble on her huge heels. “You’ve got to admit he looks great.” 

She scoffs in response. “Sure, he does. But it’s fucking Joe! We can do better tonight.” 

…

So much for that, you think to yourself as you sip probably the cheapest lager you’ve ever tried through a curly straw. Not even an hour after you and her had arrived, she’d found a group of people she knew from law studies and buggered off with them. Right now, you can see her bunny ears peeking over the crowd and swaying slightly to the music. 

You probably should have anticipated being on your lonesome. 

Though that doesn’t make it any less shit.

“You alright, y/n? You here all on your own?” Someone you recognise talks loudly over the music, pulling you out of your silent thought. 

You sigh, though they probably can’t hear the extent of it. “Yeah… Gemma pulled her signature move and left me in the dust.” You try to explain, having to repeat the words twice before they understand. When they do, their expression shifts in pity and they put a hand on your shoulder.

“Awww, come drink with us then, screw her.” You pull a face as you consider, before nodding and following them over to the kitchen where they and six others stand around an island drinking. It’s much brighter in there with the big lights on and you blink after being so used to the muted multi-colour lights of the living room. 

Your new buddy catches your reaction. “Hey, don’t let the light sober you up. What are you drinking?” They ask, and man, you really need to buck up and ask their name. 

“Uhh… whatever this is.” You twist the bottle around so they can see the label and their expression instantly reveals disapproval. Which you completely understand.

“You want another one of them?” A bloke standing next to the fridge pipes up, who you'll come to learn is called Ash.

“...Not really.” You admit and they laugh. 

“Vod and coke?” Your saviour prompts with a huge bottle of smirnoff in their hand and you beam under your costume. 

“Now we’re talking.” 

~

As enjoyable as the change in drink was, it didn’t take much for it to take effect and pretty soon you’re hanging off the arm of someone you've just formed a strong drunken friendship with, and singing along to someone’s halloween playlist. 

The drunkenness itself wasn’t so bad, everyone else was too and surprisingly this group was an excellent match of personalities. The main problem was that drink makes you horny. Like seriously horny. Horny enough to scan these people for a viable and interested partner. But you swiftly realise the seven of you are made up of two couples, someone that doesn't date girls and that Ash guy.

You struggle to think of who around could be your hook up. Yes, you could go find your werewolf friend, or his flamingo buddy, but that doesn’t feel too appealing. 

“I’m gonna go outside… I want to smoke.” You try not to slur your words, and pat the arm of the person that led you to this drunken safe haven as you walk, or rather stumble, past. The struggle is real, especially in these heels, but you manage it. Squeezing through masses of guests and trying not to get decked by tipsy people dancing, some of them shouted sorrys at you, others stared after your form like you were in the wrong. 

The cool night air was pleasant and you soak it all in as you check faces around. You recognise lots of people even through costumes but you know them too well for a quick drunken hook up, and there's no need to make your social circles awkward. But, god, you’re thirsting. 

Moving down the steps and being really careful not to slip, you pull a packet of cigarettes out from under your blanket, the box warm from being pressed against your skin for so long. Then you go down the side of the house, flinching when a motion-sensor light kicks into life and illuminates the path in a dingy yellow light. It’s like the party doesn’t exist back here, the noise completely dying when you turn the corner into the back garden. 

And that’s when you see him. Some guy in a full Ghostface get-up, one glove pulled up to let him scroll through his Instagram feed. You can’t help but grin under your covering, you have a special place in your heart for Ghostface, the movie one of your favourites for many reasons. Not all of them wholesome.

Placing the cigarette through the slit in your costume, you light up. Taking yourself over to slasher and standing beside him. 

“Uhh hey…” He turns to you tilting his head, no doubt trying to figure out who you were under your mask and failing. “That costume is-”

You smirk as you cut him off, “Amazing? I know. Proving to be a little inconvenient though.”

“Yeah I’ll bet. Do I know you?” You make a humming noise, trying to decide if you want to know who he is. There’s something really hot about the anonymity of it, hell you can play with the idea of a Matthew Lillard or Skeet Ulrich under there. And just the thought of that spurs you on immensely. 

“I’m not sure. But there’s fun in that.” The guy nods, but you can imagine a look of confusion under that sexy mask. You’re not usually this bold, but liquid courage and boredom can make anyone risqué. 

The two of you fall silent for a moment, before you break it teasingly, “Well, aren’t you going to ask me?” 

Ghostface scoffs in hesitation before he bites the lure. “Ask you what?”

You dramatically place a hand on your chest as you pretend to gasp. “... The Question. From the movie, you know, the one Ghostface is famous for?” 

“Ohh.” he laughs as he catches on. A hand digging in his robe for a small black device that looks like a radio. He holds it up to the mask and does as you ask, “... What’s your favourite scary movie?” The voice changer is scarily movie accurate, that iconic voice that is the perfect mixture of terrifying and ridiculously hot. 

You gasp for real this time, losing yourself in giggles, “That is awesome, holy shit.” You move a little closer, deciding that yeah, you want to test the waters with this fella. “Scream…” You answer, “Because I think Ghostface is really hot.” 

The flirtation in your tone isn’t hard to miss and although he’s surprised you just walked up to him and staked a claim, he certainly isn’t complaining. “Yeah?” 

You nod, alcohol making you brave enough to lay all your cards on the table. You lift up the hem of your blanket slowly to show him how good your upper thighs look in these fishnets. “You interested?” 

 He laughs, “Hell yeah.”

~

Right there against the back of the house you pull the sheet up over your hips and your little shorts down, grinning in excitement as you watch him pull his gloves off and set about doing the same. He tries to help you take the fishnets down, but at this point you just hook your fingers into the holes and rip them enough to allow him access to your slick seam. “Fuck.” he breaths when his fingers come into contact with your wetness. How the hell has he gotten this lucky tonight?  

The vodka in your veins doesn’t let you feel the cold, right now there’s nothing you want more than a good fuck and you hope that whoever is gripping your hips right now can do that for you. And judging by how quickly he finds your clit and begins to slowly rub circles, he absolutely can.

It’s clumsy, but exactly what you want and pretty soon you’re arching your back and pulling at the waistband of his boxers. You free his cock and he’s delightfully big and thick in your hands, so much so that you have to commend yourself, you really picked a good one here. Your hurried grabbing of his dick pushes him to press into you, hands cupping under your behind and lifting you to his perfect angle. It’s unexpected and you grab onto his shoulders to steady yourself, leaving him to slide his cock between your folds, coating himself in your slick, before pressing firmly inside you. 

“Shit-” You hiss instantly, a buzz in your core becoming apparent at the gorgeous feeling of him filling you up. You move your hips against him as much as you can, spurring him on to a rough pace of fucking in and out of you. Neither of you consider that you’re completely exposed, lewdly hooking up outside next to someone’s house, anyone could come round the back and catch the two of you but that’s the furthest thing from your mind. 

His grunts match the pace that’s quickly bringing both of you to your ends, gradually becoming whiny as he tries to make you come before finishing, but your tight walls are making that fairly difficult, as are the sweet sounds he’s pulling from you. He doesn’t realise how close you are and so the second he again starts to stroke your clit, the waves of your climax hit you hard. Your pussy sporadically tightens around him as you cum, your head tilting back against the wall and just like that he has to pull out, his release immediately hot and sticky on the top of your thighs. He thrusts into his hand as he finishes, groans dripping from his lips. 

By now you’re recovered enough to be annoyed that he’s covered your lower body in cum and you push against him to get him off of you. He obeys and leans against the wall next to you, both of you staring forward for a moment of realisation. How the Hell are you supposed to go back in there with this costume fucking sticking to you? God, you probably should have discussed logistics beforehand but hindsight is 20/20, huh? Your still tipsy brain nearly laughs at the situation but stops when the bloke next to you starts shifting in his costume, grabbing at his mask in an almost panicky way. 

He manages to pry it off and closes his eyes for a moment. The very moment he does you practically jump 30 feet in the air. A gross knowledge snapping through you so fast, you swear you touch all five bases on the grief scale. Your Ghostface was fucking Michael. Michael Pissing Afton. “Oh. Fucking Christ.” You snap out of nowhere, making Mike flinch. 

“Woah, what? What’s wrong?” Your reaction is so strong he thinks you must be in pain of something and swiftly turns towards you, hands hovering over you like you were about to hit the deck. 

You neglect to answer him, just angrily pulling the blanket up and tearing it off your form with an exasperated sigh. Only Michael Afton could make you completely sober in the span of two seconds.

He watches with wide eyes and almost winces when he reaches the same conclusion you did. “Y/n?” He laughs a little in surprise, still staring as you toss your costume on the floor and stand there in the tiniest shorts and top going. “Why didn’t you say anything?!” 

You scoff, “I didn’t fucking know, did I?” You say loudly, the silence following it deafening. Honest to God, how didn’t you realise sooner? You definitely should recognise him from your fling nearly a year ago- must be the alcohol, but still, if you’d have known you probably would have shopped around a bit before settling for Michael Fucking Afton.

A stupid smug smirk coats his lips, that pinch between your brows is just funny. He speaks through a chuckle, “I actually can’t believe it’s you… How’re you doing, it’s been a while?” 

The sharp gaze you fix him with just makes him laugh harder. “Yeah, that was intentional.” 

And there was that side of you that got on his last nerve, props to your attitude for being able to ruin a perfectly good shag. “Why are you pissed off? You came on to me.” He asks the questions incredulously, his tone irritating.  

“Huh, bet that’s a first.” You retort, a condescending smile increasing tenfold when he scowls.

How in the name of all that is holy did this happen?

A/n: Hope you enjoyed, stay tuned for the next one xxx

[patcaps]

pat storming off and cap calling “patrick? patrick!” after him, cap being so relieved when pat agreed to come back and finish the panto, pat recasting cap as fairy godmother after seeing how brilliant and supportive he was with kitty, and cap complimenting how sensible a lad daley is when he knew pat was feeling emotional and pat smiling like “yeah” GOD these two!!! i have missed this energy from them

[aphroditeslover11]

Thinking In Numbers

Oppie x Reader

A/N: as always, based on Cillian Murphy’s very fictional depiction of Oppie, if you don’t want to read it I’m not forcing to and if you do then please feel free to stick around.

This is the response to the poll from the other day, handling some problems arising from the couple’s age gap.

Warnings: mentions fo alcohol, age gap, world’s mildest angst with a happy ending!

You had been on his arm at a lot of fundraising events recently, trying to raise money for the causes that he supported, which meant that you had been spending a lot of time with Robert’s circle of friends. They were all amazing and very interesting people, the conversation was always incredible and you loved them, but you couldn’t help feeling a little like a fish out of water. You were only a philosophy student, in a sea of seasoned academics.

The first time that you really started to notice the difference in your ages was at the end of the summer semester. Both the staff and the students were organising parties and you didn’t know whether you should go and celebrate the end of term with your friends or go and have a far more civilised send-off for the holidays with Robert and the professors. For him there had never been any question that you would accompany him, despite your age he always perceived you as being too mature and sensible to enjoy the parties of your fellow students. He assumed that you were exactly like him at your age, unbelievably introverted and not seeing the point in all of the chaos. You did as he expected of you, and it was a lovely evening with the help of a few of Oppie’s martinis, but you had ended up following him towards the physics faculty who were now having a conversation that you had no chance of understanding. When you got home that night you called your friend’s house, making sure that she had got home from the student celebrations.

“You don’t have to worry about me y/n,” she chuckled, clearly under the influence.

“Did you have a good night?”

“Yeah, the boys decided that it would be a good idea to to try and raid the chemistry stock room so we ended up with impromptu fireworks, it was quite a show actually. One of them nearly blew himself up, but I think he’s alright now.”

“God, I wish I could have been there.”

“How was your evening?”

“Not too bad, it was nice to spend the evening with Robert but he ended up in a corner with the physics department so I was left to my own devices. He expects it of me though so I just do it for him. I’m sure you had a better evening than me.” Little did you know that Oppie was walking past the semi-open door, and heard every word that you were saying.

~

The next day you went back to the campus to pick up some books from the library that you wanted to look at over the summer. You bumped into a few of the boys that you had met over the year, all part way through their degrees just like you.

“How was the party with the old boys club y/n?” One of them asked.

“It was quite fun actually, a lot of interesting conversations. They aren’t all old men, you know.”

“Oppie’s alright, the rest of them can be a bit of a drag,” this came from Luke, who you knew took one of your boyfriend’s classes.

“I heard about your antics with the fireworks, I’m amazed that you’re all still in one piece. I’d take a drag over a near death experience!” You tried to joke back, though it was true that you would rather have spent the evening with them.

“Come on, why don’t you come out with us tonight, live a little. Do you want to be old before your time?” It was then that you felt a familiar arm wrapping around your waist. Looking to your side you were met with Robert, his face with the usual soft smile it wore whenever he saw you.

“Why’s she going to be old Luke?” He questioned, humouring the lads. He was closer with his students than many of the other lecturers at Berkeley and they felt that they could have a little banter with him as a result.

“All of the time that she…” Luke started.

“…Spends sitting at home reading books when I could be out with them.” You quickly cut him off, Robert didn’t need to be involved in this. Luke gave you a bizarre look and carried on talking to his professor, but you could tell that said professor was unsatisfied. Not long later, as you were walking away, he started questioning you.

“My love, what didn’t you want me to hear Luke saying back there?” You were walking back to his office to collect the papers he had left before heading to New Mexico for the summer.

“If you want the truth, they were teasing me for spending so much time with the faculty. It was all in good fun.” Oppie paused for a moment.

“It is true that you don’t spend much time with your own friends though. I have to admit that I heard you on the phone the other night, I never thought that I might have been pressuring you into anything, but I can understand now that I have.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to spend time with your friends, I really do. Sometimes I just feel like I want to do the sorts of things that normal students do.”

“Darling, why didn’t you say any of this earlier?”

“I didn’t want to make things awkward or make you to feel obligated to do anything that you didn’t want to do.” Robert sighed softly at that, turning and taking your face in his hands, looking down at you.

“My love, you can always tell me anything. You are too caring for your own good sometimes, you know that? This is my fault, I shouldn’t have been so shortsighted, so its up to me to make it up to you.”

“Robert, you don’t have to…”

“This weekend we’ll stay here, we’ll have some people over to the apartment, your people, and we’ll do whatever you want for an evening. You know what, I can clear out for the evening and leave you in peace if you like.” He could tell from your smile that you had other ideas.

“Or you could stay and join in with the madness, you do owe me afterall and I think you could make it up to me by proving to Luke that you aren’t an old man. Maybe then he’ll stop taking the mick out of me.”

“I could probably do with a good shafting anyway,” he acquiesced. “So, will you forgive me for being so hopeless.”

“Only if you cover up the raid the boys did the other day on the chemistry department.”

“What raid?”

“They have a habit of setting off homemade fireworks at parties.”

“They are not setting off fireworks in my house…” You stood on your toes then, closing the gap to silence him with a kiss.

“Dr Oppenheimer, my party, my rules!”

[darerendevil]

🔊

Breandán Ó Murchú said that while the media was obsessed with the success being enjoyed by his son Cillian at present, and while that was fine, there was more to it than that.

“There are so many things happening in the world, that we should be sensible about these things and that’s what he’s saying himself as well,” said Breandán.

“We’re very pleased with him and very happy that he’s getting on so well.”

When the news came through, Cillian was at home with his parents. “We were all here, there are four of us and each is as important to us as the other, we were all together and we had a cup of tea and the story came and we were delighted.”

Cillian’s father admitted to not being fond of the fuss or ‘puililiú’ that comes with his son’s fame but recalled his son’s early interest in drama during the interview.

“He was always lively, a lovely little fellow, full of chat, and he always liked to have an adventure going on in his imagination constantly – he was full of spirit and life and imagination.

“He loved being in the company of other children and I’d say he made up a lot of stories and they did a lot of wild things from time to time – he was very mature as a young person and, I’d say, when he was at school he annoyed a teacher or two as he found it difficult to sit still while in national school, you know the way with young lads.”

His early interest was in music and the rhythm of music, his father noticed. “It’s interesting that, as he grew older, he showed an interest in the old ‘Fiannaíocht’ stories about Diarmuid and Gráinne, that surprised me.

"Anything that was exaggerated or larger than life, he enjoyed that, and I suppose there’s a link between that and drama, I don’t know.”

His father recalled that Cillian didn’t seem to be very interested in his studies during the year but when he set his mind to it, he did very well in exams and so on. “He didn’t want to spend all his time studying and when he went to Presentation College, they were very good, there were one or two in particular who noticed his interest in literature and that he had an aptitude for writing.

"When they had a band, they gave Cillian and his friends an opportunity to go on stage, and there were a few people who helped him on, including the author Billy Wall.

“Cillian was lucky to meet him, he was also very interested in history.

“I don’t think he showed an interest in acting until he met Pat Kiernan and the gang in Corca Dorcha. “He told me then that he saw Clockwork Orange on stage and this had an enormous impact on him. “He said somewhere that we didn’t bring him to the theatre when he was young but he forgot that he had three younger siblings and that made it more difficult to go to plays.

“If I was starting again with him, I’d bring him to more plays because it’s clear that he had a deep interest.”

Meeting Pat Kiernan and Enda Walsh gave Cillian the confidence he needed to immerse himself in theatre, his father said. “He got the taste for it and followed his heart, he knew then this is what he wanted to do.

“He didn’t want to do it for publicity or anything, he just wanted to do it right, I must give him that.”

Mr Ó Murchú said that Cillian wanted to do things right and that was something that pleased his father. “That’s something you wouldn’t expect from young people – you know yourself about boys, he’d lose school bags and other things like all young lads but when he put his mind to it, you’d know he wanted to do it right and that helped him enormously.”

When Cillian made his breakthrough with the stage production of Disco Pigs, he was still a Law student in UCC and his parents were getting conflicting advice from different sources saying that he should pursue his career in theatre as he was so obviously talented, while others were saying that he would be foolish to abandon his studies for the stage.

They saw him on stage in his first production, Frank McGuinness’ Observe the Sons of Ulster. “He was very good in that, I thought, though I didn’t think he was better than others in the play or anything like it but we knew he was very serious and then Disco Pigs was a revelation for us because it was on a different level entirely.

“Pat and Enda, it was clear that they were on a different level as they were so creative, himself and Eileen Walsh, the professionalism of that work amazed us and there was no stop to him after that and he met with very nice people who helped him on the road and they helped him.

“We’re very pleased entirely for him, I don’t like to say we’re proud of him because it’s his achievement, not ours,” he said.

“We brought him into the world and we did our best but we don’t see at all that we had a hand in the work that he’s doing at present but we’re not going to lose our wits and neither is he.

“We don’t like to make too much fuss about him, he’s got a job like the sons and daughters of other people and the difference, he gets a lot of publicity. “All the same we’re so happy for him and pleased.”

He said that he and his wife were in an empty cinema when they went to a 5pm screening to see him on the big screen and were very impressed. Mr Murphy is looking forward to seeing Cillian’s newest film, Small Things Like These, which is based on a Clare Keegan book and said that his son learned a lot on the Ken Loach film, The Wind That Shakes the Barley.

“I remember he came home one evening after filming and he was very worried about something that happened during that day’s filming, as if it were something that really happened, and that’s down to how immersed in the work he was and the methods of Ken Loach, that work came from the heart for that movie, I felt.” He said that film allowed people, including Cillian’s mother’s people and his own family who were involved, to talk about that period.

At home, Cillian will talk about anything before he will talk about the movies and while his parents ask him questions from time to time, and he answers them, they don’t want to fuss too much.

As for going to the Oscars, Breandán and his wife don’t intend to travel. “If he’s nominated for a BAFTA, we will go there as it’s closer to home and when he comes home from the Oscars, we will make him a cake.”

[prettyboykatsuki]

✮ tags ; modern au, broadway performer wyll, virgin!wyll, takes place in the states for plot, fem!reader (reader is wearing makeup, the phrase good girl is used), reader is implied to be sexually active, sexual tension/flirting, drugs and alcohol mentioned 18+

✮ a/n ; broadway performer wyll inspired by tumblr user @nanamimizz. the rest inspired by deep and innate desire to corrupt wyll. peace and love. also. a little bit projecty on this one. sorry lads.

✮ synopsis ; if wyll had more sense he'd avoid getting involved with you. unfortunately, you throw away whatever of it is remaining.

The air in the basement of the house is stale and sticky.

The room too is shockingly empty. Wyll knew that'd be the case. He'd come down here to take a breath of fresh air, though he does love being where the people are.

It's not his first time hanging out with Shadowhearts friends out here, and it probably won't be the last. Many of their mutual friends are in attendance as well as some new and unfamiliar faces, and while he enjoys their company - it can get too much this late into the night.

The last performance of for this leg of the season was tonight, so Wyll's exhaustion is bone-deep. Can't be solved by drinking it away or enduring to the end of the party. So he's down here to get his bearings, and make his way back up stairs eventually. He'll probably crash with Karlach, if she's not been taken home before the nights over.

He's not expecting you to be down there. He'd find you normally upstairs rolling or cutting something with a group of other people - silent and indifferent except for when you're telling a story.

But you're down here instead, eyes closed and leaned back on the couch. Wyll feels his chest go tight, debates returning upstairs. It's a bad idea to get involved, not matter how much he likes you. You live in a different continent, you're completely different people, there's nothing sensible about getting involved with —

"Wyll? Is that you? Your footsteps gave it away."

He swallows.

"Yeah. Sorry. Came to get some... well I was going to say fresh air but that's not right, is it."

Your laugh is melodious. Fluid and raspy with familiar exhaustion. You look at him upside with your eyes fluttered open, giving him a brief smile. He should really turn back around.

"Hey, you." You pat the seat next to you. His body moves on automatic "Come sit."

So he sits, like he's on auto pilot. You're automatic reaction is too scoot in closer to him and Wyll doesn't even bother stopping you. You're almost curled into him, close enough that he gets a chance to look at you. Smudged mascara and full lips, his heart does a soft tremor.

Twenty four years of his life, with plenty of puppy crushes in between. Nothing even comes close to this.

"You were good today," You praise and Wyll finds himself mesmerized by the sound of your voice "Very impressive. I wish I could've gone to the other shows."

Flirting with you comes naturally for Wyll. It's easy to do when he means it.

"It would've made me perform better. If you came, I mean."

Every time he flirts back with you, your expression changes like you're not expecting it. A flush to a coy smile, the kind of thing that sends his heart into overdrive. All of the many expectations he has for himself melt into nothingness. He damns himself to staring at the curve of your mouth and counting your lashes.

You run warm, but not as warm as him.

"You think about me that much, Wyll?"

A short breathy laugh escapes him, almost helpless to the feeling. "Of course I do. How could I not?"

You scoot in closer. Wyll doesn't move away.

"How embarrassing to hear from someone so handsome." Your voice is a murmur. Wyll can only hear you because you're so damn close to him "Then you'll miss me when you go back, won't you?"

He should stop you. He should pull away. His eyes soften instead.

"Of course I will. More than anything else here."

You pout at him. It's an awfully tempting thing to see. Your hand is soft as you lay it on his chest, sliding your palm up until you've cupped his face. He turns to look at you breathlessly, his throat hitched as you turn his face towards you. He wants to kiss you something awful.

"You shouldn't say something like that unless you're planning on staying with me, y'know? It's mean."

His brow furrows, head turned to kiss the inside of your palm as his hand goes over your own. "Sorry,"

You go into kiss Wyll. He's not prepared for it, but he doesn't want to pull away. Instead he leans into the kiss, his hands curled around your waist as he drags you in close. It's hungry, needy and you laugh into his mouth like you know he can't get enough of you. Hypocritical to call him mean when he's the one falling for you like this.

He kisses you long and and deep, only separates to make you chase him a little. Again and again and again until you're breathless and giggly.

"You drive me mad." He mumbles once you pull away. "There's an order to these things

"You're such a romantic,"

He frowns at you but it's hard to stay upset when you look at him like that. You blink innocently.

"Are you really going to back home with your chastity? I'll keep it safe for you here, promise."

He groans again. This time he swoops you up into his lap, whatever remaining of his control snapped completely. You spread yourself over his lap, your knees on either side of his thighs as you straddle him as you fall into a fit of laughs. He looks up at you near desperate, eyes lidded as your arms wrap around his neck. The position is dangerous.

"I've never had this problem before. Sex is... sacred. So it was easy to wait till it mattered." Wyll explains to you.

"And now?" You tease.

"Now it's not so easy. It's rather difficult, actually."

Your laugh is contagious. It's part of the problem.

"I can't promise to make it sacred," You hum, nuzzling yourself against him "But I do really like you."

"What'll you do when I'm gone?" Wyll asks. You grin.

"Do you wait for you and keep all my desires to myself until you're back?" You ask. Wyll frowns.

"I wouldn't want you sleeping with anyone else in that time. Not if we're, yknow."

"In love?"

"Together. Yes."

You pretend to think on it, your noses brushing as your hips give into their weight and press down on Wyll's lap. The blood rushes down stairs instantly. If you feel him, you have the courtesy not to mention it.

"Mm. Okay. I'll be a very good girl and wait for you. Does that mean you'll fuck me before you go?"

"There's more to it than that. And not fuck. But I'll make love to you. With you."

You make a face like you're embarrassed, face tucked into his neck.

"You're corny." You say blatantly, making him frown before your voice goes soft with sincerity "But you know? I like it about it you,"

Wyll is touched by your sincerity, arms secured around your waist. What a beautiful mess he's fallen into.

"Yeah? That's a relief then."

[octuscle]

Sun's out, guns out

After the long flight, Philip had gone back down for a nap. After his brother moved from Boston to Wyoming, they hadn't seen each other in over a year. But it was nice that they could finally spend a few days together again. And now he was looking forward to the two of them going out for a bit. Philip was showered and shaved and had put on a fresh blue button-down shirt. His brother was waiting for him in front of his computer in the study. "Dude, are you going to dinner like that?" his brother asked with a laugh. He himself was wearing an old sleeveless T-shirt, dirty jeans and cowboy boots. "Lad, this isn't Boston, and we're not going to the opera!"

Philip was a little irritated. His brother had always made a point of looking dapper in the past. But since he lived in Wyoming, he seemed to put more emphasis on big muscles. And on clothes that showed off his muscles well. Now he had gone into his bedroom, pulled some clothes out of the closet, and tossed them to Philip. "Dude, put this on or the other fellas will laugh at you."

Philip had thought it silly to go to dinner in sweatpants and an undershirt. His brother snapped a photo of him in front of the car in the evening sun before leaving. "Bro, you don't look silly, you look hot." Philip looked at the photo. Oh yeah, he was hot. He didn't wonder about his own impressive muscles. He didn't wonder about the stubble on his just-smooth chin. He also didn't wonder about the fact that he could sing along to all the country songs his brother played on the drive.

After they had a massive burger with a mountain of fries at a diner, his brother commented that Philip needed sensible shoes. "Fucking idea," Phil replied, "I'm jealous of your boots like shit." With a pair of jeans to match and a new tank top, Phil left the store with his bro after half an hour. Phil had still donated hats to both of them, now they were ready to get properly drunk with their buddies. After the second round of beers, the hair on his body started to sprout. A real man couldn't be hairy enough. After the fourth or fifth round, one of the hot chicks who had joined them asked what the tattoo on his left arm meant. Phil had never asked himself that. He was usually hammered anyway when he got inked. "Is Spanish for 'Sun's out, guns out,'" he replied, flexing his biceps.

Phil loved his job as foreman on the farm. It was work for a real outdoorsman like him. At one time he had lived in the city, too. But was only for sissies. Hard work, rodeos, beer and a good fuck in between, that was what a man needed.

Dudes, this is probably the last story that came out of the Wife Beater challenge. @changinghumans, I hope you like it. If you don't surprise me with a new challenge, I'll take a break for a few days. Happy Easter, a peaceful Passover and a blessed Ramadan to you all!

[coma-chang]

Amber Colored City, the Morning of Shanghai Crab

Amber Colored City, the Morning of Shanghai Crab is my favorite song of all-time.

What cemented that title perhaps lies in the unique Japanese sensibilities, specifically the use of “Shanghai Crab” as a literary device to convey affection and love. This is contrasted against melodic cadence and arrangement that reminds you of a metropolitan city rich in cultural idiosyncrasies distinct from Japan — but also out of time.

Amber Colored City means a lot to me on a personal level, and it grew a new layer — after I played LaD.

Ichiban strikes me as a happy-go-lucky person that strives to be strong for the people around him — whether they are deserving or not. But that also means he necessarily neglects or shoves his own feelings under the rug. It is a very tiring thing to do day after day and would eventually wear anyone down, even if that person is Ichiban. In my head canon (haha), I just want someone like Zhao to provide a space — both physically and figuratively — where Ichiban is comfortable enough to let go of the aforesaid burden and be true to himself.

I don’t even know if I sound coherent but this roughly sums up the idea and motivation behind this fan art. I love it a lot but yeah…it’s a bit solipsistic haha… so I would be very happy if this — and the song itself — speak to you in some way 🫶🏻

[saintsenara]

Re your other post. Dumbledore's visit is the 1st time Tom can confirm to HIMSELF that he's not imagining things. He must've noticed fairly quickly that other people do not, in fact, hear snakes talking to them. So his only options really are 1) he's suffering from delusions 2) demonic possession or 3) some unexplained other sort of power. Obviously he wouldn't want 1 to be true and while he might pretend otherwise I don't think 2 would thrill him either. So of course he's like 'I KNEW it'

it's true, pal - and as someone who spends infinitely more time thinking about voldemort's religious views than is sensible or rational this is something which has also sent me feral on more than one occasion.

on the parseltongue point, i really like that it's something he saves to tell dumbledore until the very end of their meeting, even though he mentions being able to control animals more generally just after dumbledore's told him he's a wizard - and i always wonder if all the snakes he meets have told him that this talent is particularly unusual.

poor lad's just skulking in the grass on one of their little trips avoiding the other children and suddenly all these snakes turn up like WOW, a CELEB.