#DOGS Price Prediction

[crypto195]

BlockDAG's TG Tap Miner Captures Attention from Hamster Kombat & DOGS Token Enthusiasts in the Tap-to-Earn Arena

BlockDAG's TG Tap Miner Gains Popularity Among Tap-to-Earn Gamers The tap-to-earn (T2E) realm is surging, with legions of gamers gravitating towards games like Hamster Kombat and DOGS Token within a year. These platforms redefine user interaction with cryptocurrencies by blending amusement with financial rewards. Entering this vibrant scene, BlockDAG, a leading-edge Layer 1 blockchain, introduces its own groundbreaking game, TG Tap Miner. Breaking from the mold of traditional Layer 1 networks that mainly focus on tech advancements, BlockDAG capitalizes on T2E to enhance community involvement and deliver tangible value. With a successful presale and swiftly expanding community, BlockDAG is set to significantly influence this flourishing sector. DOGS Token to Debut on Bybit Exchange The renowned cryptocurrency exchange, Bybit, will list the DOGS token on August 26, following its introduction on other major exchanges such as Binance and OKX. Celebrating this, Bybit plans to distribute 3.41 billion DOGS tokens through trading rewards and referral bonuses.

Additional incentives like a Wednesday Airdrop and a Hot Coin Extravaganza from August 23-30 will encourage more trading of DOGS on their platform. As a part of a T2E game on the TON blockchain, the DOGS token has rapidly built a robust community of 16 million on Telegram. After a successful airdrop of 400 billion tokens, more than 8 million users have claimed their DOGS, enhancing its profile across various exchanges.

To Know More- Hamster Kombat

[alain2612]

Pitbull Cryptocurrency Explained

Cryptocurrencies have taken the world by storm in recent years, with Bitcoin being the most well-known and widely traded. However, there are many other cryptocurrencies on the market, each with their unique features and potential for investment. One such cryptocurrency is Pitbull.Pitbull is a relatively new cryptocurrency that has gained significant popularity in a short time. This cryptocurrency…

[loveyhoneydovey]

mechanic ex-boyfriend simon riley

notes & warnings: the used pictures are only for aesthetic purposes, reader is not physically described in this. AGELESS BLOGS AND MINORS DNI this is an 18+ only blog. a significant age gap between simon & reader is implied but the actual number is never mentioned. if i missed anything please lmk:)

this is a completely unedited little something i wrote at 4am

reader who never fell out of love mechanic ex-boyfriend simon

you still recommend your ex-boyfriend’s garage to your friends (especially any vulnerable women) because despite your failed relationship, you’ve never met someone as trustworthy and reliable as simon 

you and mechanic simon who met when you’d found a used car you wanted to purchase and wanted to have it independently inspected 

reader who found this older, ruggedly handsome, stoic and yet professional mechanic who seemed to know his shit. despite the terrifying skull design resting next to his shop’s name, you trusted him immediately

not only did he inspect the car for you, but he also helped bring down its price and performed any necessary repairs at a huge discount (he never told you about this, you eventually figured it out on your own)

despite the obvious crush, he was very reluctant to pursue anything with you. not only were you his client and trusted him not to make things weird, but you were also so much younger and he felt like an old dog who was beyond learning any new tricks

you should’ve taken his warning from the beginning as he had predicted the downfall of your relationship before it’d even began

reader whose car has been acting weird for the past couple of months so you begrudgingly take it to simon’s shop

you’d actually tried taking it to some new garage in town, but had a feeling you were being lied to and overcharged when the sleazy mechanic barely spent an hour on it and said it was back like new

mechanic ex-boyfriend simon who doesn’t even need 5 minutes to tell you it’s on its last leg. despite his stoic demeanor, he’s actually concerned by how you’ve been driving such a vehicle in such an unsafe state

mechanic ex-boyfriend simon who starts asking till he finds a car within your budget. one he inspects himself to make sure his baby not anymore doesn’t end up dead in a ditch somewhere because of faulty brakes

the fucker was ready to buy it himself, but knew you’d never accept his money (especially not after the harsh parting words you’d left each other with during your last fight)

mechanic ex-boyfriend simon who’ll never love anyone more than you, but still isn’t willing to repair the broken bond between you two

mechanic ex-boyfriend simon who still uses o’keeffe’s working hands cream every day cause you used to always rub it on his hands, swearing his calloused skin would soon feel like a baby’s butt (and of course you were right). he tries to mimic the way you’d gently work it into his damaged skin as the only thing he had left from you now were memories

mechanic ex-boyfriend simon who never really tries to move on from you despite his apprentice’s attempts to set him up with multiple people (what’s the point of you for something he’s already found) 

mechanic ex-boyfriend simon who went through the army and came out even more damaged after a stint in prison. he believes nothing good will come out of such a sweet thing so full of life being chained to a grumpy old man like him

mechanic ex-boyfriend simon who despite thinking all of that can’t accept the thought of you being with someone other than him

WHEW the is the first time i've written in YEARS (and i probably won't write anything for another good 5 years fjkdsw). hope you enjoyed this as much as i did!! this au idea has been rotting my brain for the past few days and i just had to let it out. feel free to dm me, leave a comment or send an ask about this au. dividers made by @anitalenia ✨

[licensetocannibalize]

Hannibal Season 4 Predictions:

Frederick Chilton gets hit by a meteor. And Lives.

Abigail Hobbs is revealed to be alive, after Will Graham successfully faked her death at the end of season 2.

Winston the dog swims to Cuba to reunite with Will Graham.

Hannibal has a 2,000 page long Wedding binder. He is still waiting for Will Graham to propose.

Will Graham takes up deep-sea fishing.

Jimmy Price and Brian Zeller celebrate their tenth wedding anniversary.

A wing in the BAU is named in Beverly Katz honor.

Alana Bloom and Margot Verger happily raise their family.

Jack Crawford heads task force dedicated to locating the Murder Husbands. Clarice Starling is his first draft.

[facts-i-just-made-up]

The Downfall of Temu, 1817-2025

Though Temu is best known today as a place to pay low prices for inaccurately represented goods, it was not always so. When it was founded by Oscar "Temu" Temunsson in 1817, it was made to be an auction house for the finest goods like Southernby's or Christianne's.

The downfall began nearly as soon as Temu went online, with "online" in 1817 referring to it being a building on London's wealthy "King's Line" road near Westminster. Buyers were always satisfied with Temu's guarantee, which was included in The Guarantee of Guarantee, signed in Guarantee, London- The first official Guarantee ever to be guaranteed.

But then in 1819, the Cracks began to show. James and Lynda Crack were infamous in the Americas for showing merchandise that did not in the end reflect what the customer would buy. As such, they were banished from the United States, a young country at that time known as "Some States That Don't Yet Hate Each Other." Arriving in London, they forged papers to begin selling at Temu.

The damage to Temu's reputation was bad, but not fatal. Temunsson himself tried to repair the house's image by selling several notorious items, including the world's largest Yorkshire Pudding (At 870 Pounds), the most adopted dog (At 19 Pounds), and the most flattened Matzo ever smashed flat by numerous strikes with a mallet (At 3300 Pounds), all of which sold for over ten thousand pounds sterling. The company lasted as a respectable entity well into the 1900s as a result.

In 1949 though, another blow was blown to Temu, and boy how it blew. Hurricane Pholacio made landfall on the beaches of London and ruined the prized collection of Candy Floss (Known as "Gummy Bear" in Modern English) sculptures that Temu had on display. No insurer would take the job, as you have to get insurers before the disaster happens, and Temu had to sell its physical location to make ends meet.

Disembodied, Temu began to haunt other stores and manufacturers, sucking on their revenues and leaving them desiccated. So it lurked, weakened, for decades until Etsy came along. Etsy was, in past times, a resource where artists could sell their wares. Unfortunately, Temu drop(shipped) upon it and sucked it dry of any chance for legitimate creators to thrive. Temu grew more and more powerful until it became the economic disaster (or "Nosferatemu") it is today.

Oddly enough, Oscar "Temu" Temunsson seems to have predicted this even when he said on his death bed in 1891, "Temu is gonna suck so fuckin' bad in the 2020s with dropshipping and all." He then exploded into confetti, as was the gentlemanly tradition at the time.

[33max]

winter warmers ☃️ - day one, lingerie

max/daniel, 921 words, mostly sfw (only one cock mention and one hole mention)

Max is not usually shy. Daniel knows this and has experienced first-hand exactly how not shy Max is. There have been times when Daniel has been showering and Max has barged right in to take a piss a couple of feet away. A few too many times where Max has told Daniel, in excruciating detail, about the food poisoning he caught from a dodgy kebab shop in Milton Keynes. And more recently, he’s not been shy about how much he likes it when Daniel puts him face down on the mattress and pulls his ass cheeks apart to tongue at him there.

So, Daniel doesn’t know why Max is so tight-lipped about this particular thing. As far as kinks go, this is probably closer to the vanilla side of the kinky scale.

But Max is still shy about it. He blushes whenever Daniel brings the subject up. Once, he even choked on his mostly empty gin and tonic, coughing loudly until Daniel dropped the conversation and instead started patting him on the back.

The thing is, Daniel is like a dog with a bone. From the moment he first brought it up with Max and it elicited cherry red cheeks and a spluttering dismissal from his boyfriend, Daniel has thought of nothing else.

Two things are certain.

Max Verstappen wants to wear lingerie.

And Max Verstappen is too proud to admit it.

So Daniel takes it into his own hands, and starts searching for the most perfect lingerie set he can find for Max.

Choosing the right colour is hard because as far as Daniel is concerned, Max looks good in everything. But it’s important he gets this right.

Orange seems too obvious.

Red seems too predictable.

Navy blue is too close to Max’s work attire.

White would look lovely on Max’s pale skin, but Daniel is looking for something with contrast. Something that will stand out.

He sees a forest green set online and immediately starts entering his credit card information because he knows Max will look gorgeous in this colour. Milky white skin underneath forest green lace.

It has a corset, panties and a garter belt. Daniel doesn’t even bother to read the price tag. The price doesn’t matter when it’s for Max.

When the set arrives, Daniel spends a long time deciding how he is going to gift the set to Max… who probably still thinks he has successfully shown little interest in any sort of lingerie. After much deliberation, Daniel ends up leaving the set, wrapped up in a fancy gift box, on their bed for Max to find.

That way, Max can spend some time looking at the details without pretending to be uninterested in front of Daniel. He can run his fingers over the lace and hold it up to his body and maybe even try it on. So, as desperate as Daniel is to see Max’s reaction to the gift, he knows he needs to let Max process this by himself if he ever wants to actually see him in the lace.

Not that Daniel is counting but it is exactly forty-three minutes after Max walks into their bedroom and finds the lingerie that Daniel hears a faint “Daniel? Can you come here?”

He doesn’t know if he walks or teleports to the bedroom, but the next thing he knows he is standing in the doorway looking at Max, who is completely naked clutching the gift box tightly to his chest.

“Do you like them?” Daniel asks, letting his eyes roam over Max’s exposed skin. He’s so hot.

“No,” Max lies, but it’s with a small lopsided smile. His cheeks are pink.

“Are you sure?” Daniel laughs, eyes trailing to where Max’s cock is chubbing up between his legs. Twitching.

“Will you help me put them on?”

Daniel doesn’t answer him, it’s a silly question, and he is already practically vibrating with anticipation. Instead, Daniel walks towards Max and carefully takes the box out of his grip.

“Let’s get you all dressed up,” Daniel says, leaning in to press a line of kisses along Max’s collarbones. “You are going to look so beautiful in these, baby. I bought them just for you.”

Max lets out a tiny breathy moan.

“How long have you wanted this?” Daniel can’t help but ask. He’s been dying to know.

“I don’t know,” Max blushes harder, his cheeks so pink. “Always.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Max shrugs. “I didn’t want you to think I was weird.”

“Maxy, it’s totally normal. It’s a normal thing to want.” Daniel reassures. “You could be into almost anything, and I’d be into it too because you like it.”

Max blushes harder.

“Baby?” Daniel says. He’s very aware that Max is still completely naked, and he is fully clothed, he doesn’t want Max to feel too exposed so he will drop it the moment Max looks even slightly overwhelmed.

“Itsnotjustasexthing!” Max blurts out, before turning away, his eyes firmly avoiding Daniel.

It takes a few moments to process what Max has said. It’s not just a sex thing.

“Max, baby, look at me.” Daniel says, “Even more reason to let yourself wear them.”

Max’s blue eyes search Daniel’s until finally, those words seem to sink in.

“Ok?” Daniel asks.

“Ok.”

“Let’s get you in these panties,” Daniel says, tickling at Max’s sides.

Daniel is right. Forest green is Max’s colour.

[mistyresolve]

| RTB - Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Pilot Reader

Word Count - 3.4k

Summary - The reader is the pilot, AKA Stitch, of an apache helicopter, one the most dangerous, advanced killers in the sky. She’s been the 141′s go-to when they need aerial support for a year. After their latest mission, Ghost seeks out Stitch to offer a special thank you.

Warnings/Tags - 18+ ONLY, swearing, dry humping, switch, unprotected sex, creampie 

A/N - If you haven't already, I would suggest you read Incident Report before this one

Masterlist  ❤︎

Soot and smoke coated Ghost’s tongue and every breath felt like an attack on his lungs. The smell of burning flesh and gunpowder made his head spin. All that combined with adrenaline and anger, it was his life support. He clung to his senses with a feverish need. Rubble and bullet shells littered the ground around them. His once-black uniform took on a greyish hue from all the dust. Sweat rolled down his back and he had to blink it from his eyes. 

Beside him, Price was on the radio, his outrage tangible as he called for aerial backup for a third time, “I’ve got my men pinned here! Where the fuck is my support!”.   

Ghost felt a bullet's heat as it raced past the exposed skin of his neck, leaving behind the ghost of a burn. He ducked down behind the concrete barrier, cursing at himself, “We won’t be able to hold this position for much longer, Price. We need a plan to get us the fuck out of here,” Simon repositioned himself for a better vantage point. Ghost had long since run out of ammo and had resorted to picking up magazines from his dead comrades. He silently thanked every one of them, ripping off the dog tags from the few he could to take back to base with him. 

Price gave him a curt nod, “Chopper is five minutes out. They were diverted from another mission.” his face was grim and every muscle in his body was taut, readying to run for new cover or the bite of a bullet. Five minutes was a lot of time in situations like this, a lot could happen in a matter of seconds. He could die in half that. 

The team was forced into a corner of the compound, and they were getting hammered.  There was nowhere left to go. He kept one eye on the darkening sky beyond the compound's wall, hoping to catch a glimpse of the incoming heli. He figured the pilots on board would have reached out by now, but the radio remained utterly and eerily silent. 

He craned his neck, hearing the distant sound of its propellors, but with the ruckus around them, it was difficult to determine exactly how far out it was. Something in his soul urged him to bring his radio to his mouth, “We’re in the southwest corner,” he was speaking to the pilots, who were most likely biding their time before revealing their presence to the enemy. If that were the case they were probably dark, using minimal instruments to keep their profile as discreet as possible. 

Then he saw it. The slightly darker patch of sky. 

Then it was firing, and screams followed. 

And just like that, this fight was shifted in their favour. 

Bursts of orange and red as fire erupted from the helicopter's guns in erratic intervals, and in between they would shift positions, making it nearly impossible to predict where they would shoot from next.           

Then a very familiar voice came across the radio, “Hello boys.”

An involuntary smile split across Ghost’s face.

“You’re fashionably late,” Price quipped back. 

“And here I thought you’d be excited to see us,” you replied as you dipped the heli back behind the walls, using it as cover as you moved closer to the closed gates keeping them from their escape, “Should I knock?”

They didn’t bother with a reply before Dutch let loose, blasting open the gates. You could nearly hear his smile, “Ladies first.”�� 

Being diverted from a different mission meant you didn’t have nearly enough firepower or fuel to do any real damage, but you could do enough so the soldier below would be able to breathe a little and regain their footing.   

You glanced down at your fuel gauge, cursing, “We’ve got five minutes of fuel before we’re RTB. Give me some targets,” You couldn’t stop yourself from searching the ground below in hopes of seeing a familiar figure.

Someone pointed a laser at one of the watchtowers, marking it and the people within as prey. You angled the aircraft, giving Dutch a clear view of the tower. With the help of the last HELLFIRE missile you had, it was desecrated in a matter of seconds. 

The floodlights that were pointed to the outside of the compound turned on, momentarily blinding you. The enemy used the distraction to shoot back at you. Bullets dinged off the sides of the Apache.

“Smoke!” someone called from over the radio.

“Flares,” your muscle memories kicked in, your thumb finding the appropriate buttons as your eyes still had yet to adjust. Somewhere beyond the cockpit, you heard as your flares interrupt your death. You gritted your teeth, you weren’t sure you had the firepower left to fight this fight, but the thought of leaving those guys down there helpless wasn’t one you were willing to have. 

Your attention snagged on the fuel. 

You didn’t have a choice. You were already cutting it close. 

Dutch listed off what he had left to throw at him. The list was devastatingly short.     

“I have one more good run before I have to turn back.” 

Another laser pointed to a truck on the other side of the now blown open door, a mounted machine gun giving suppressant fire to the ground crew. With that truck, even with the gate opened, they weren’t going anywhere. 

“Copy,” Dutch replied, his head already turned and locking in on the target. He unloaded the last of his rounds into the truck and the surrounding area. 

Reluctantly, you pulled back from the fight, “We’re RTB,” again you search for Ghost amongst the group. Finally catching the flash of white of his skull mask. The nerves that gripped your chest loosened, “And as much as I love these play dates with you guys try and stay out of trouble will you?” 

You’d arrived back to base a few hours ago but still had yet to change out of your jumpsuit. You were immediately dragged into a debrief. You checked your watch for what seemed like the hundredth time since this meeting began.

Task Force 141 has yet to return, and you were beginning to ruminate. While in the sky it was easier to ignore your feelings, having to focus on not being struck by an anti-air and falling out of the sky didn’t allow for such mundane activities. Now that you were on the ground, you had all the time and safety in the world to just think. 

You could say that’s why you loved flying so much. You’d never be able to say it out loud under the fear that you’d be grounded for a month under the mental health act; but, you’d sooner die than give up flying. 

Suppressing a yawn you sat next to Dutch in the room, arms crossed and legs stretched out in front of you. Your eyes grew heavy as you blinked up at the screen before you. You leaned closer to Dutch, “You think they’d notice if I just left?” 

A mischievous smile tugged at his mouth, “Not if you crawled.”

You pinched his thigh, scowling, “You’re a pervert.” 

There were probably twenty other people in this room right now. You could undoubtedly sneak out. 

A shiver raced down your spine, and your instinct told you that someone was looking at you. You peeked over your shoulder and locked eyes with the tall ominous figure standing at the back of the room. His hand still hovering over the doorknob. He jerked his chin to the hallway. A silent invitation to join him. 

Dutch was already rolling his eyes in pretend irritation, “You’re boyfriend beckons you.”

You made a face at him, “He’s not my boyfriend.” 

“Tell him that.”

You bit your lip to keep from grinning at the idea. You two were by no means together. Not to say that there wasn’t something there that could potentially foster such as relationship, but now wasn’t the right time. Neither of you had the time or the means for it. It would only compromise both of your work. 

And relationships between two soldiers were frowned upon by the higher-ups.  

You stood up silently, kicking Dutches ankles on your way by.   

Ghost slipped out of the room all too silently. You met him just down the hall.

His eyes dipped to your chest and heated. You removed the top of your jumpsuit and tied it around your waist, revealing the plain black tank underneath that did everything right to show off your curves. 

Then he was looking everywhere but you, his shoulders tensing, before he started to walk down the hallway. You fell into pace beside him. 

You check over him, looking for any signs of injury. Once satisfied that you couldn’t find anything you tilted your face up to his, “You guys should've had an aircraft on standby for that mission,” you reprimanded, half annoyed with him for getting into danger. 

He shrugged, “It was supposed to be covert.”

You analyzed his dark uniform, perfect for blending into the night and the shadows. He didn’t have his gun, and he carried his tactical vest in his hand. 

“You guys were lucky we had enough fuel to divert our route. What if we weren’t there?” you bit out, anger flushing your skin. 

He opened a door for you. The door to his accommodations, you realized. You couldn’t help but notice the space still smelled like you. Or your signature scene of eucalyptus and lavender. You’ve been spending a condemning amount of time here, and with him.  

“Good thing we’re lucky,” he pulled at the words with his tongue before turning back to you, eyes flashing to your figure again. His hands reached down to the know that kept your jumpsuit tied to your waist and tugged you closer to him, his other hand wrapping around the back of your neck. You could still smell the fight on him. Dirt and smoke. A now familiar smell. 

Your fingers hooked around his belt loops. Heat radiated off of him and warmed your front. Already you were breathless. 

He shook his head, “It’s a damn good thing you were there.”

A question formed and you tilted your head at him, lips parting, “How did you know to tell us where you were? How did you know we were already there?” You had made sure your ETA was skewed to disorientate the enemy if they had access to your guys’ comms.  

“I figured there was a reason you guys were dark,” his hand traced the lines of your body, memorizing the feel of you under his fingers. They twitched impatiently against you. He slowly walked you backwards to the door to his bedroom, taking his time in watching you stumble over your weakening knees. “How can I thank you?” 

If he could read your mind and all the filthy thoughts that popped into your mind, he hid it well. Your ears burned in chagrin. You tugged his shirt out from his pants, diving underneath to touch his skin, “Let me touch you.” 

Ghost bit back a hiss when you dug your nails into his abdomen. He kicked the door closed behind him, reaching back only to lock it. Within seconds, his shirt was discarded somewhere on the floor, his muscles on full display as he did so. Your mouth went dry and the sight and the heat that was just at the tips of your ears shot down between your legs. No amount of time would ever tire you of seeing this man undress. 

Next was his mask, revealing the devilishly beautiful man underneath. The only way you could describe him was as “sinful”. Black still smeared across his features but it only accentuated his features.   

Fuck, you would eat out of the palm of his hand if he told you to. 

Whatever he saw on your face made him look away from you with a shy smile, a breath of a laugh escaping him. 

You brought his face back to yours, and you had to stand on your toes to reach his mouth. You’d be a fool to think that the kiss was anything but greedy. His mouth immediately opened to yours and he tilted your head with a hand to deepen it. You pressed yourself into him, needing to feel him against every inch of you. A calloused hand reached to touch the bare skin under your tank and traced the line of your spine. Your tongue brushed against him, and you turned to liquid.   

He undid the knot of your jumpsuit, and you stepped out of it. Leaving you bare apart from the tank top, a bra, and underwear.

This time, it was your turn to guide him. You took him to his bed, “Lay down.”

He didn’t waste a second and pulled you down with him. You were a tangle of limbs before you planted your knees on either side of his hips. With shaking fingers, you shamelessly outlined the lines and curves of his abs and chest.    

Not once did either of you break the kiss, which had become a mess of breath and lips and teeth.

You pressed your hips into his, finding his own arousal there. He groaned at the pressure, hands flying to your waist, and pulling you harder to him. Already a carnal heat that only showed up when you were with him was building somewhere low in your womb. And even lower still.

God, he felt good.   

He was going to be the death of you. You were going to burn up in his arms until there was nothing left of you but your need for him. 

He paused for a second, his hand disappearing under the waistband of his pants to readjust himself to better align with your strides. You tested, feeling the full length of him pressed to your core, “Carry on,” before his smile could take form it fell away to a hiss when you began a languid pace.  

You rolled yourself down on him, your mouth finding the pulse at his throat and licked a stripe it. 

Simon liked to pride himself on his control over his needs. He wasn’t a teenage boy after all. He was a man who was more than capable of asserting some sort of rule over his body. 

Until just now. 

Right then, his entire mind went blank.

He wasn’t sure if he had inhaled too much smoke or if he over-exerted himself today, but that control was nowhere to be seen. His hands fell to your thighs, allowing you full reign on the speed and intensity. 

You felt a knot at the apex of your tights tighten, and the liquid arousal that accompanied your desire. You hadn’t even cum yet and you were already soaking through your panties and his pants.

Your kisses to his skin turn into hot desperate breaths, and it sent tingles throughout his body. Your moans were like fuel to a flame and it was driving him insane.    

You clung to him, his skin slick with yours and his sweat, as you chased after your climax. He let you use him however you needed. Some ludicrous and giddy part of him revelled at the fact that he wasn’t even inside you and you were still half-wild for him. 

Suddenly, your pace stuttered and became erratic. That knot finally loosened and you melted onto him, your body twitching, but you maintained some form of a rhythm.   

You pulled back to look at him, his eyes squeezed shut and his bottom lips pulled between his teeth.   

You felt him jerk under you, pressing himself impossibly closer to you, his mouth falling open into a downright filthy moan. 

You welcomed the wet warmth between him and you that followed. 

You chased after his release with him. 

You also came back down with him, slowing down to a purr on top of him. 

He was breathless, his body jolting with every change of direction.

He would have been a little embarrassed for cumming in his pants if it hadn’t felt so fucking good. 

“So sensitive,” you crooned, drawing a line from his heart to the line of hair that faded into the cover of his pants. At first, you weren’t sure he heard you, but then he was growling and flipping you off him. You were face down on the bad, trapped underneath him, his knees moving to spread your legs apart. 

“Shouldn’ve said that,” he snarled, his voice dangerous. 

He pressed himself into your backside. 

He was still devastatingly hard. 

You whimpered into his bed, arching your back.

A hand slapped your clothes pussy and you mewled at him in understanding. 

Do. Not. Move.

Then the fingers of the same hand outlined your folds over the already damp fabric, focusing on your clit. With his weight on top of you giving your lungs little room to expand and the fact that your brain was short-circuiting your breaths become shallow and unproductive.

He pressed his fingers into your cunt, the only thing keeping him from actually entering you was your panties. 

You writhed, desperate for friction. A second slap against your heat stilled you. 

“Ohmygod,” you breathed, your legs trembling.

He pushed the cursed fabric down your legs, stopping at your knees. His fingers delved into the slickness there. He swore, almost impressed with how wet you actually were. 

Spread your arousal everywhere, across your folds, the sides of your thighs, up to the rounds of your ass. He wanted you a mess in his bed. And you were. You weren’t sure if you were drooling or not, but there was a high chance you were. 

Then his attention was back at your core, finger sliding into you without so much as a warning. Your greedy pussy tightened around his fingers, milking them as if they were his cock. His approving groan was nearly enough to send you over the edge. He was whispering naughty, impish things into your ear. Your name rolled off his tongue in a way that made to want to scream.  

Still sensitive from before, it didn’t take much from him to entice another orgasm from you. Time wrapped but it couldn’t have been less than a minute before you were spasming around his fingers, and your mind was momentarily fried. 

He was whispering in your ear. Your comprehension went out the window so didn’t know what he was saying but from the tone of his voice, he was mocking you. 

You felt him shift so he was behind you. He attempted to knock your legs further apart but your panties were still locked around your knees, tying them together. 

You felt something warm and velvety soft tap at your entrance. Once, twice. He slid his cock between his fld, coating himself in you. 

He asked you a question, probably for permission. The thought that you could string together a coherent sentence right now was laughable. You weren’t even sure you could be trusted to provide your own name. 

You could only nod and with your last dregs of will, lift your hips to his.     

There was no amount the sex or foreplay that could prepare you for the sheer fucking size of him. He wasn’t just long, not that his eight inches was something to roll your eyes at, but he was thick. Thick enough that when you took him into your mouth, your jaw would ache for days afterward. He was always gentle and never shoved himself inside you like an animal, but you still needed a few seconds to catch your breath each time.  

The broken sound that same out of you was naughty, and Simon had to bite his lip to keep from cumming from the sound alone. You were also impossibly tight, but he’d be damned if he got bested by you a second time tonight. 

He cruised into a fast pace, and your eyes rolled into the back of your head. The tip of his dick hit your cervix with every thrust. And with every retreat, he brushed against your g spot.  

In these moments, there was only him. Only the sounds of his breath, and the feel of his skin. It made him addicting. When with him, especially like this, it was like a moment of reprieve from worries and stresses in life. 

The world could be ending and you wouldn’t care. There could be air raids and a fire outside your door and you would still feel completely safe with him. Death and hurt couldn’t reach you when you were in his arms.  

His rhythm faltered when you squeezed around him, and he cursed, his arms moved from your ass to brace around you. He just arms shook to keep from crushing you.  

He could feel you quivering, both around him and beneath him as your third orgasm approached. 

You were going to be the death of him, and he didn’t mind one bit. 

You writhed under him as you reached your undoeing, unsure if you wanted him further in or out of you.  

You could feel his seed spurt out of him, and coat your inner walls. You could feel his cock twitch with every spray. 

He started to slow, letting you reel yourself back into your body. You were spooled out across his bed, onto the floor, floating in the air. 

He slid off the bed, carefully tucking himself back into his pants. Which, only now did you realize he didn’t have the patient to remove. He was all wandering eyes and a rueful grin. He was slightly out of breath when he spoke, “So sensitive.” 

A/N: You like that?

[littlegreenteacup]

I'm Gonna Marry You One Day

Summary: At the end of a very long week (Y/N) is tasked with caring for a less than sober Eric. As the night wares on Eric's usual tough guy exterior melts away leaving the Eric she remembers from childhood.

Word Count: 3,881

Warnings: Drunk Eric, Someone slipped him something and its making him act a bit different than usual, passing references to working as an ER doctor - of sorts, dubious consent - i don't know how much consent can be given in this situation, It's not marked NSFW for anything smutty just other things.

A/N: I'm so bad at summaries. The book the reader is listening to is from Essex Dogs by Dan Jones - I've never read it but I was listening to a history podcast from the same author during work and it made more sense to have her listening to a book instead of a podcast. I also had a really specific idea of the things in the reader's apartment, or at last the things that were described, and I have no idea how to include descriptions of those items without over explaining, so if I have time I might come up with some kind of drawing or something and post it somewhere. I don't know yet.

A/N 2: Yeah, no. I've already forgot what kind of bullshit i was talking about, but this is what I get for posting something to tumblr months after i posted it to Ao3, which is where that first note is from.

It had started right after dinner had ended in the Pit. The customary Friday evening crowd of Dauntless, young and old, seeking alcohol and company for the evening streaming into the cavernous room, loud conversations and cheers and greetings called from across the room echoing off the ceiling. (Y/N), never one for the noise and chaos of Dauntless parties, had opted to stay in her apartment, heat up a cup of leftover soup and read a book.

It had been a long week compounded by an even longer day, Eric and Four were never easy on the initiates but this year’s bunch were particularly whiny, and she had paid the price for it. Every few hours Eric or Four or one of the few initiates still standing after the latest round of fights had showed up at the door to her office, the arm of whatever poor bastard had been the latest to receive a beating slung over their shoulder. She would direct them to lay their victim on an open cot and go about the unfortunately familiar process of patching up her newest patient.

All week it had been bad - whoever thought allowing the untrained and idiotic young adults free reign in the evenings to drink, party and be absolute idiots and then turn around and expect them to be able shoot straight during target practice the next morning was not her favorite person at the moment - and Friday morning had been the cherry on top. She’d woken up three hours earlier than usual to an urgent message from one of the night nurses about an infirmary full of patients thanks to a drinking game gone very wrong and an accident involving a train car that disconnected from the rest of the train leaving anyone onboard to jump – weather it was an ideal situation or not. Normally the latter group would have been sent straight to the more well equipped city hospital, but Dauntless had been the closest medical facility, and so doctors from the hospital had instead been dispatched to help with the sudden influx of patients making the infirmary even more crowded than it would have otherwise been, and giving (Y/N) a migraine from dealing with some of her former faction-mates who had also gone into medicine – Leaonard was still and asshole and he probably always would be, but it was as sorry state of affairs if his snide remarks and cruel jeers offered some form of comfort in that they were predictable – all while trying, and occasionally failing, to keep her patients from being in too much pain from their injuries. And all of this wasn’t including the stomach bug that had been going around and had laid out several senior medical staff, leaving (Y/N) overworked, and the infirmary understaffed, all week.

Later on in the morning, once the initiates had started their day, Eric had been in a particularly pissy mood and had had them all running six miles around the compound. When one of the smaller girls had tripped over some loose gravel and scraped her knees up badly enough to need stitches, and in the process caused some of the other initiates to trip over her, he dragged them all in to see (Y/N), and berated the poor girl who had started the pile up for her clumsiness until (Y/N) had had enough and told Eric to either grab a pair of tweezers and help take the gravel out of the girl’s knees or to get out. Eric had shot her a dark look but left anyway, muttering under his breath the entire way back to wherever he had come from.

The rest of the day had followed similarly, one disaster after another, one accident leaving her infirmary more packed than before until early evening when the ambulances had arrived to take the patients in need of more intensive care or who needed to be watched for the night to the city hospital, and anyone else was sent home bandaged and bruised with prescriptions to fill at the pharmacy down the hall.

(Y/N) had spent another hour or so catching up on the paperwork she had neglected in favor of her patients, and then left for the evening, leaving her infirmary in the care of the night staff until the next shift change in the morning, when the weekend staff would take over. Having missed dinner in the Pit, she had elected to go straight home, where she could take a hot shower, enjoy a glass or two of wine some leftover soup and read her book. As an Erudite transfer (Y/N) had never quite managed to rid herself of her love of books and reading, nor did she particularly care to, and so to her spending a Friday evening at home making some headway on the novel she had started the week before was a far better proposition than jockeying for space at the bar among drunk faction-mates who were already too far gone to understand what a healthy distance might be, regardless of how early in the evening it might have been.

That was how it had started. And with the week she’d had (Y/N) wasn’t entirely sure why she was surprised when Four showed up at her door with an incredibly drunk, and possibly high, Eric with him.

“What the hell happened to him?” (Y/N) asked, as Four half stepped half stumbled through the door, the other man weighing him down, and made his way to the living room where he deposited Eric on the sofa and stood up straight before turning to the woman in front of him, with an almost amused smirk on his face.

“He got drunk in the Pit, and I think someone slipped him something too” Four said scratching his head.

With a sigh, (Y/N) grabbed a green cream and pink striped afghan blanket off the back of her sofa and draped over Eric’s shoulders as he sat, grinning like an idiot, staring at the overcrowded bookshelf against her living room wall.

“I don’t know what though.” Four turned back to the front door, “you gonna be okay with him?”

(Y/N) raised a brow at his question, “Why wouldn’t I be?” She asked the older man in front of her.

“I don’t know,” Four responded, “it’s Eric,” he continued, “Tris said you be the best bet for someone who could take care of him while he was like this, but I thought I’d ask anyway.”

“Uh huh,” (Y/N) rolled her eyes “and if I said ‘no’ what would you have done?”

Four didn’t say anything. It was a rhetorical question and they both already know the answer.

“Tell Tris I said ‘hi’, will you?” (Y/N) snickered at the blush that flushed Four’s cheeks at the mere mention of his girlfriend. Tris’s reaction would have been the same, their good old fashioned Abnegation upbringing rearing its head, and (Y/N) had never missed a chance to tease Tris about her crush on Four during Initiation, and that teasing extended to Four as well once both girls had passed and been welcomed into Dauntless, their social circles overlapping fairly extensively once (Y/N) had taken over management of the infirmary, and Tris had started dating their former instructor. But that overlap had also extended to Eric. He and Four weren’t exactly what anyone could call friends, but they did end up in the same place at the same time more often than not, and that resulted in (Y/N) and Eric spending a fair bit of time together, and before she knew it, (Y/N) found herself falling love with him.

Her obvious feelings for the man had led to more than a few teasing comments from Four, Tris, and especially from Christina whose Candor tendencies only seemed to become more apparent once she was accepted.

Four nodded his goodbye to (Y/N), and headed out the door, closing it softly in his wake, as (Y/N) went back to the kitchen. If she was taking care of an inebriated Eric she couldn’t have that glass of wine she been looking forward to all day, instead she filled the kettle she kept on her stove with water from the sink, lit the largest burner on her stove and placed the kettle over it. Taking down two oversized mugs from the cabinet, and a box of teabags from its place by her fridge, (Y/N) set the items next to the stove, ready and waiting for the water to boil.

Turning, she glanced into the living room to check and see what Eric was doing, and she almost let out a giggle at the sight in front of her. Big mean Eric, whose bark was just as bad as his bite most of the time, was laying on her sofa, his long legs sticking out over the arm on one side, his head resting on the other. For a second, she thought he was sleeping, and then she heard him murmuring to himself and watched in mild amusement as the man she’d harbored a crush on for the last few years reached an arm up and traced the shapes of the constellations she’d painted on her ceiling through the air. As (Y/N) stepped further into the room, she could see that his eyes were large and he had a soft goofy smile on his face.

The whistle of the kettle called her back to the kitchen, and as she turned off the stove and pored the water into the waiting mugs, she was reminded that it was the rare appearance of a soft vulnerable Eric - the one she had known in her childhood when he’d been the one to find her crying in a windowsill and get her book of fairytales back from some older kids for her - that was the reason she’d always liked the man, even when he had been harder on her during initiation than anyone else. This was the version of Eric that made her laugh when she was upset, who made her hear beat faster in her chest when he shot her a sly smirk, the version who would show up unannounced at the door to the infirmary just as her shift ended and insist on walking her home again. The Eric that would leave her at her door, and wish her a good night, and each time there was a slight hesitation before he turned and left, as if he had something else, he couldn’t quite bring himself to say. This was the Eric she had fallen in love with.

Shaking her head, (Y/N) dismissed the memories, fixed the two mugs of tea with milk and sugar and placed a pot on the stove to reheat the soup she’d made the night before. Turning the burner at the back of the stove down to simmer, she took a sip of her tea, savoring the moment, and cradling the warm cup in her hands. Gingerly setting the mug down on the counter, (Y/N) turned to the speaker she kept on her counter and turned it before pressing resume on the audiobook she had begun earlier in the day.

…'Christ's bones, wake up!' 'Loveday' FitzTalbot jerked his head up. Father had dug him in the ribs with a sharp elbow. Despite the cold saltwater spray that whipped his face, the rocking of the landing craft had lulled him into a moment of sleep. He had dreamed he was at home. But now his eyes were open again, he saw that he was not. They were still here. Out at sea. As far from home as they had ever been. Getting further from it every second…

The warm timber of the narrator’s accented voice echoed throughout the tiny apartment, as she placed Eric’s mug of tea on the table in front of the sofa. Returning to the kitchen, and leaning against the counter, he own mug once again in hand, it wasn’t long before (Y/N) was lost in the story.

…waved airily at him and told him there would be plenty enough to make good sport. He said he had this directly from the Marshal of the Army, Lord Warwick, who had it from King Edward himself. Noble men. Knightly men. Men who knew best. If I had wanted good sport, thought Loveday, I would have stayed home in Essex, playing dice in the inn near Colchester and paying a penny to lay my head of a night between the thighs of Gilda, the alewife's girl. But he had held his peace with Sir Robert. The man was a fool, but he was the fool who had recruited them for this campaign. Who would pay their wages for the next forty days. The Dogs hired their sword- and bow-arms…

Eric, still half dazed and laying on the sofa, turned his head so he could see (Y/N) in the Kitchen, the sight if her, so engrossed in the story playing through the speaker, had warmth blossoming in his chest. Stumbling to his feet, Eric was dimly aware of the dull thud sound his shin made as it hit the edge of the coffee table, the mug of tea (Y/N) had placed there for him almost tipping over in the process.

Stumbling over his socked-feet – when had his boots been taken off? – and across the soft blue and red rug in the living room and into the kitchen, Eric couldn’t help but grin at the sight in front of him.

(Y/N), once again cradling her mug of tea, had a soft amused smile spreading across her face, as she watched Eric clumsily make his way into the kitchen. The fairy-lights under the cabinets casting a warm glow across the pair of them.

As the chapter of the audiobook (Y/N) had been listening to came to a close, she switched the speaker to music, the lyrics and instruments blending into one as Eric’s attention focused on the woman standing in front of him, his heart thumping wildly in his chest. Her hair was tied up in a messy braid, strands of hair falling out of place and casting shadows across her cheeks, the t-shirt she wore was several sizes too large with the logo of some band he knew she liked emblazoned across the front – he wondered if she would be the type to steal his shirts if given the chance – (Y/N) wore a large maroon knit cardigan over the top of her shirt. It was obvious, even in his less than sober state of mind, that (Y/N) had been ready for a peaceful night in.

Hearing the music, almost as if for the first time, Eric reached forward with both hands outstretched as if in invitation, and as soon as (Y/N) had set her, now empty, mug down, he grasped her hands and pulled her into his chest, spinning them both around the tiny kitchen with surprising grace for how out of it he had been when he’d arrived only an hour or two before.

(Y/N) couldn’t help but let out a breathless dizzy laugh as Eric spun her around and around in time with the music that poured from the speaker. As the song ended, Eric pulled her into his chest, burying his nose in her hair, his arms wrapped securely around her. She’d never felt so safe. The scent of his cologne – smokey and woodsy with a hint of some kind of citrusy note – mixed with the warm familiar smell of him and the acrid tinge of gun powder, metal, and boot polish.

Eric wrapped his arms tighter around (Y/N), inhaling deep breaths of her shampoo and perfume. He was so calm. Everything felt right in the world with her in his arms – there was no awful, bloody, violent past dragging him down, no worries about what might have happened had things not gone the way they had, no concerns about what the idiots he was training were doing or how they might behave the next morning, none of that. Everything was perfect and calm. Peaceful. Still. Everything was exactly as it should be in that moment.

Without thinking about it, Eric pressed a kiss to the top of her head, and murmured six little words that he never would have had the courage to say at any other time: “‘m gonna marry you one day.”

(Y/N) froze. Never in her wildest dreams had she thought Eric Coulter of all people would say that to her. She had never thought he would, in any situation, return her affections. And she had most defiantly never thought that Eric would be the one to say something first.

But he was drunk, possibly still high on whatever drug he had been given earlier in the evening, and not in any state to be having this conversation. (Y/N) pulled herself out of his grasp as best she could, a sad tired smile having replaced the bright happy one she’d had on only moments before, and firmly guided Eric back the sofa in the living room. She guided him to lay down and covered him with the same warm wool afghan she had wrapped over his shoulders earlier that evening.

Before she could pull away entirely, Eric wrapped his arms around her waist again, and tugged, gently, pulling (Y/N) onto the couch and against his chest before falling into a deep sleep, thoroughly exhausted from the long week and feeling very warm and sleepy in this cozy apartment with too many fairly lights and books stacked everywhere, with stars painted on the ceiling and dragons napping on tea mugs; the warm milky smell of cinnamon and tea permeating the entire space, and the woman he’d been in love with for years curled up against him.

Knowing there was no point in trying to get up and go to bed once she heard Eric’s first snore, (Y/N), for her part, curled further into the comfort of Eric’s warm embrace and the comforting rhythm of his breathing, tugged part of the large blanket over herself, and surrendered to the siren call of sleep. Eric’s tea and the soup they’d never bothered to eat both forgotten where they lay.

As the sun shone through the large arched window of her living room, it’s light diffused by the sheer curtains she long ago embroidered with golden stars, (Y/N) woke to the feeling of gentle circles being traced across her back. Remembering that she was still curled up with Eric on the sofa, she hazarded a glance up, he eyes meeting the steely blue-gray gaze of the man whose arms were wrapped around her. Eric looked as exhausted as he always did, but something in his eyes was more relaxed and at peace then she had ever seen him.

Slowly, and rather reluctantly, extricating herself from his arms, (Y/N) stood up from her spot on the sofa, already missing the warmth from being pressed against Eric’s chest. Pacing softly into the kitchen, she opened the cabinet in the corner, pulled down the basket of medication and grasped the bottle of ibuprofen and taking out two of the flat white pills. Gently placing them on the counter, she turned to get a glass out of the other cabinet. Reaching up, the only clean water glass was only slightly out of reach.

Before she could get the stepstool out of the pantry, Eric’s warm chest pressed against her back, his arm reaching up to grasp the glass and take it down for her. Taking it from his grasp, (Y/N) placed it on the counter and filled it with water from the pitcher in the fridge. Pressing both the glass of water and the pills into Eric’s hand, (Y/N) hoisted herself onto the counter as he took the offered medication and placed the glass in the sink.

“I meant what I said,” Eric’s voice still rough from sleep, (Y/N)’s eyes went wide as she looked up at him, “I’m going to marry you one day,” Eric tried again, “I promised I would the day we met.”

(Y/N) couldn’t keep the grin off her lips at his words. The day they met, it seemed like lifetimes ago and at the same time like it could have happened only yesterday.

“The day we met?” she questions, Eric flushes slightly. They were only kids then “Do you mean the day you got my book back for me?”

Eric simply wraps his arms around (Y/N)’s waist, buries his nose in her hair and inhales, “Yeah,” he responds, “the last time I ever did anything good in my life,” he pauses, inhales deeply, and continues, “and don’t say it isn’t true – I’ve done more than my fair share of things that should never have been allowed to happen,”

“Eric,” (Y/N) says softly, resting a gentle hand against his cheek, “what you did…” she trails off.

“What I did,” Eric continues, this time keeping eye contact, “I could have known was wrong so much sooner if I had wanted to,” his chest hitches with a barely there sob, “I should have known, and I chose not to.”

(Y/N), still sitting atop the kitchen counter, pulls the taller man standing in front of her into a hug, “I’m not asking you right now,” Eric continues, “but one day, when I’m not a complete mess, and I have a ring for you, I’m going to ask you to marry me,” here he cuts off, a look of hope and fear in his eyes, that takes (Y/N)’s breath away, “and then it’s up to you.”

“What are you saying?” she asks, confusion coloring her clear voice, “are you…what” she can’t quite form the thoughts in her head into a complete sentence. There isn’t a way to form those thoughts into any sentence at all – this situation is too strange, too bizarre, too something and too nothing to be able to fully comprehend what it is Eric is saying.

Eric takes a breath, something between a sigh and a laugh and a desperate pleading bid for enough strength to get through this moment.

 “I haven’t really asked you anything,” tears are beginning to well at his lower lash line, and (Y/N) is struck nearly dumb by the simple fact that Eric fucking Coulter is here, in her kitchen, confessing that he’s apparently been in love with her for years and that he wants to marry her.

“First things first,” (Y/N) interjects, a brief look of relief flashing in Eric’s eyes, there and gone in a second, “why don’t we go out, and see how this goes, and decide from there.”

There’s a finality in those words neither care to analyze. They have been together without being together for a long time. In another life, they probably would have already been married, or maybe not. Eric might have decided a long time ago that the only woman he would marry was (Y/N), but it’s only the events of the last few years that have brought back the Eric that (Y/N) would entertain the idea of marrying. The one she knew years ago. The one who was her quite protector in school. The one who pushed her to do, to be, her best in initiation. The one she’d been in love with for years.

[syoddeye]

the warren, part nine - misunderstanding

price x f!reader | 3k words | series page | ao3 tags: implied/reference suicide attempt, implied/referenced abduction/captivity, gaslighting, stalking, taxidermy mention, pov multiple, italics flashback a/n: you know what you saw. ...right? 🔪

The suit fiddles with the gift, his disgust evident.

Price will be happy, he thinks, cheeks smarting from all his grinning. He's a dog with two tails.

The stranger disappears into the motel, and he puts his nose to the ground. There are only so many places she could be. He twirls the keys, perfectly at ease. Rabbits are on their own during hunts, whereas he's got his fellow dogs. All it takes are a few cheerful inquiries for him to end up at the library.

Brave thing. Smart thing. 

He knew it. Pride warms him as he lopes through the doors, taking in the place. It's grand. Temple to knowledge and all that. He hasn't set foot inside in years. It was one of the first solo errands he ran for Price, way back when–

He staggers, pressing a hand to his temple as pain splits through his skull. It's sudden, the strike of an icepick, and his whole body reacts—muscles seizing, limbs tightening as though he's been thrown into freezing water. But then, just as swiftly, it dissolves, leaving behind a light fog.

"Can I help you, sir?"

Sir. 

The address cleaves through the mist.

Been ages since anyone's called him that. He rubs the ridge of his scar and beams, taking in the peculiar woman and her many bracelets. "No, I dinnae think ye can. Just browsing."

He drops the smile once she totters off, tilting his nose a little to catch the scent of John's doe. Syringa and prickly rose, same as her soap. If he licked her teeth, he knows he'd taste the mild mint from her toothbrush, too. Instead, he pretends to browse, nostrils flaring as he filters out the tang of glue and lignin decay, tracing her steps to a secluded corner.

Through the stacks, he watches her lean over some oversized machine. John's doe is clever. He called it. All those books and writings and not investigating all that terrible racket he made. Clever, clever. 

He tongues his canines in thought. Interrupting would be awkward. She'd ask questions, and he's on strict orders to keep it simple. There's no sense trying to coax her out now. He retreats, content to loiter outside. It's a long walk back.

~~

"Soap?"

He turns, the sound of his name like fingers threading through his hair. He arranges his face into surprise and delight, but his attention shifts, quickly and completely, to her. There's a twitchiness, a strain in the line between her eyebrows.

"Bonnie! Fancy seeing ye here."

"What are you doing here?"

"Could ask ye the same thing. I was just retrieving supplies for Simon. Predicting an uptick in business with the big game season open."

"That makes sense." She smiles tight again, and nods. "Well. I ought to head back–"

"Where's John? He not with ye?"

He reckons that if she had the right ears, they'd flatten to her head. Friendly fella like himself, but she still shrinks to a degree. Polite, even when she's stiff. Knows better than to let her guard down. Like he told them. Smart.

"Uh, no," She shrugs like it's nothing. "I walked here. From Grouse."

He whistles. "No…you didn't!" He already knew that. "Hell of a jaunt, bonnie. Aren't you sore? Tired?"

"A little," She admits, her expression finally softening. "I used to have to walk into town where I lived before, too, but I like walking."

"Clearly," Hopefully, she remains smart. She's not like he was. She knows what's good for her. "C'mon. I'm taking you back."

It doesn't take much to convince her when he harps on the distance, the weather. She follows him into the truck, the volume of the tape deck making her jump when the engine roars to life. He dangles an arm out the window, feeding off the glaring tourists on the street. He takes the longer route out of town to roll past the Patridge, then nearly slams on the brakes.

Ahead of them, it's him. The suit. That handsome bastard, face pointed at his phone. The novelty of their little welcome gift must've already worn off. His fingers drum impatiently on the wheel, and he steals a glance at his passenger. She's watching the stranger, too.

When the man reaches the other side, he looks back, double-takes, and stares. His gaze shifts between them, brows knitting behind his aviators. Beside him, she opens her mouth to speak, so he lays his foot on the gas, stares straight ahead, and peels out of town. 

~~~~

The truck reeks. Cigarette smoke and wet dog clings to the sun-bleached fabric seats, and through the rear window, sharp bursts of acetone and the sour tang of formaldehyde drift in. The seats are pockmarked with cigarette burns and patch jobs. The floor caked in cracked mud, ground-in dirt, and pine needles. A heap of worn cassettes in the center console.

You slowly turn down the volume, shooting him a nervous smile. You're still reeling from what you saw at the library. For all his oddities, Soap feels like a tether—an outsider like you, or at least someone who once stood where you stand now, and far more approachable than Nikolai or Simon. You'll ask John, too, but something about Soap just feels more…open.

"So…Soap. We haven't spoken since the Fourth. How have you been?"

He doesn't miss a beat. "Really? I'm fine. Workin' hard, playin' harder." His eyes flick to you, a fleeting look before he shifts focus back to the road. "And you? Heard rumors you might stick around after the season's over. True?"

You wonder how many ears John has whispered his hopes into. "No comment," you say, then quickly add, "How long have you lived here again?"

He shrugs. "Years, I reckon. I'm bad with time."

"John mentioned you worked at the store, too." You watch him closely. "He said your stint was short-lived."

"Aye, I did and it was. Not cut out for workin' with so many people."

You force a soft laugh. "I find that hard to believe. He said you were a bit of a flirt, though, that Simon swept you off your feet. True?"

Soap's smile falters, and he looks out his window. The silence hangs long enough to feel pointed. Then he glances back, sidelong, expression almost stern. "You a reporter now, bonnie? Askin' a lot of questions."

You're dancing around it, the photo, the snag you feel yourself unraveling around, and although you're trying to keep things light, it's obvious Soap's caught on. "I just want to get to know you better. I spend all my time with John, which is fine, but you're his friend, right? And if there's a chance I'll stick around through the winter, I ought to get to know everyone better."

He raises a brow. "Even Simon?"

Right. They're a package deal. "Even Simon."

"Then it's only fair that I get to ask questions too, right?"

"Oh, um, yeah. Of course."

"Then what's eating you? You looked ill when I caught you outside the library. Like you'd seen a ghost."

Your mouth opens, the words pushing to the front and failing to organize themselves. A small stampede. "Actually, I wanted to ask you about something. It's going to sound insane." You hesitate, but he doesn't interrupt, so you open the gates. "I was curious. About local history, the mines and stuff. My hus—I used to be familiar with the business. So, I was looking through old newspapers at the library, just to see what I could find, and there was this photo, from decades ago, of a group of miners who survived a huge fire. One of them looked exactly like Alex. I think it was Alex."

"Alex." Soap repeats. "Ye dinnae say?"

"Yes. Do you know him? Works at The Echo? I'm positive it was him."

"I know him." He grins, bemused. "I think you're seeing things. Not close with the man, but he's not that old." He chuckles softly. "Could be his grandad or something."

You try to laugh along, but it catches. "I…I know what I saw, Soap. It wasn't a lookalike. It was him —exactly him. I know that sounds crazy. That would make him, like eighty? Ninety?"

Soap checks the rearview, then guides the truck to the shoulder. He faces you, his broad frame pressing against the worn seat. "Aye, maybe," he speaks slower than before. Careful. "But ye ken, sometimes our minds play tricks. Price...He might've mentioned you've been sleeping poorly."

You blink, thrown. Sure, small towns gossip. Let every clucking hen share theories about your circumstances—but John? You had no idea he even knew about your worsening sleep. You hadn't told him about the nightmares, or woke him.

Soap continues. "Bad dreams, tossing and turning…early mornings. When did ye wake up today, bonnie? When did ye hit the road?"

You begin to answer, then stop. It's as if now that he's pointed that out, exhaustion creeps in, and alongside it, doubt. Could it really be a coincidence? Your tired brain misfiring?

"I'm not tired." You say more to yourself than to him, blinking. "I know what I saw."

There's a flash of pity. "Alright, bonnie. If you say so." He pulls the truck back onto the road. "But I think John's working you too hard."

He doesn't believe you. Disappointing, but not surprising. What you're implying is absurd. So you bite your tongue and feign agreement. "Maybe you're right."

The conversation peters off, leaving the sound of the tires on the road. You'll have to ask John now, otherwise, Soap will beat you to it.

You stare at the passing trees, and it feels as if your mind is slipping, one treacherous inch at a time. You want to believe it's the creep of exhaustion, the stress of being on the run, because for all your comforts, that is what you are doing here. Yet, even as the excuses form, they dissolve, because you know what you saw.

The photograph is not something you can forget. You think of the man in Ponderosa, behind the counter at the diner, smiling ear to ear, asking about the cats at the cabin. And then the exact same man, covered in dust and dirt, happy to be alive. It doesn't make sense, and the pit forming in your stomach deepens.

Soap's words circle back. I think you're seeing things. You're sleeping poorly. It's true, isn't it? You haven't slept well for weeks. Months, really, not since you left your husband. Not since you started driving north, stopping in towns where no one knew your name. Sleeping as little as possible, waking up before dawn, like you're always outrunning something. The way the woods press in at night, the noises, the dark—a perfect storm for the kind of thoughts that keep you awake. The scratching. The eyes. It's easier to believe you're imagining it all.

Your thoughts split in two. You know what you saw. Except, maybe you don't.

That's what scares you. If you believe it, you know how it will sound. How it will look.

You glance at Soap out of the corner of your eye. One hand on the wheel, cradling and rubbing his head with the other. Now, he probably thinks you're just a jittery, paranoid woman who's been through too much. Maybe you are. If you're wrong about this and really are losing your grip, what else have you been wrong about?

"Soap," your voice cracks slightly. "What if…" You trail off, not even sure how to finish the question. What if you're not crazy? What if you are? The doubt is a splinter, buried deep and bound to fester. You already know that no matter how much you try to convince yourself it's nothing, you can't.

"Nevermind."

~~~~

Her head must be spinning. He knows what that's like.

She doesn't get out of the car right away when they stop. Her smile's bent in a brittle shape, and she places a tentative hand on his arm.

"Thanks for listening to my ramblings. You're a good friend."

Oh, how he wants to correct her.

There was once a man with his face, his body, a name—but that isn't him. Not anymore. John and Simon saved him from that, or they tried to. Fixed him when he didn't deserve fixing. He'd been so selfish.

Some days, he tastes the metal on the back of his tongue. Hears the gunshot, sees the flash. His favorite memories are those months spent in the mounting room, stretched out, recovering on the cot. All the fussing, the tenderness Simon showed him, even though it came from a place he hasn't been able to reach since. No. The weeks that followed, when he could move, fastened to the hutch, reminded of his place again. He wished those memories had vanished instead. His head's a minefield. Gaps, holes. Pits, great and small, with nonexistent or false bottoms

But he has a modicum of sense left, so he swallows the lump in his throat. "Like ye said. I'm your friend."

He returns her wave when she pauses at the shop door.

Am I?

~~

He rides the accelerator all the way home.

"Simon! Simon!"

Slaughter and the Dogs drowns him out, but he barrels through the workshop anyway, feet pounding the floor. The door to the mounting room is ajar, so he jams his hand inside to turn the volume down, stepping in just as Simon looks up. In the lowlight and shadows, Simon's shoulders look like a snow-capped ridge, scars tracing the curve of his muscles like weathered timberlines. The air holds a scent of sweat and hide paste. An acquired taste. Intoxicating. Normally, he'd grovel, fall to his knees to nose between the thighs wedged under the steel table, but there's no room for hesitation. No time to indulge the usual knots twisting in his chest.

"I dinnae ken how, but I think she's onto Alex. She saw some picture at the library. I–I think I talked her down, but..."

The news hangs, then Simon exhales sharply, the paper mask fluttering over his mouth and nose. He stands, abandoning his work with the bolting buck's pinnae, its slate eyes wide, frozen mid-flight, and peels off his stained leather apron.

"You tell Price?"

His tongue fattens with every step his man takes. Has to force it out. "No. I only just delivered her to him, I didn't have a chance–"

"Mm," Simon grunts disapprovingly, reaching past him for the towel on the hook. He wipes his brow, pausing to press it to his mask and inhale. "Thought you liked her."

"I-I do! She's nice to me."

Simon snorts and tugs his hair with his free hand. "Well, you've shortened her lifespan. If she asks 'im, which she will, no tellin' 'ow 'e'll react. Remember the last girl?"

His head throbs. The scent of blood on gravel, salt and metal, reaching forward in time. He gawks, horrified.

The hand pulling his hair flattens, cups his skull. Strokes. "She'll be alright," Simon mutters. Soothing, but not quite. "Price thinks she's the one. It'll take more than a few questions to make 'im do somethin' stupid."

He wants to believe him, always, but the last girl—well, Price thought she was the one, too. 

And they all paid for that mistake.

~~~~

The stranger arrived after a long, unsuccessful week away. Just at the right time. A balm for John's bruised pride.

He loathes the days he leaves his range. He hates the cities to the south and the backwater latrines up north. He loathes that his needs require travel and discretion these days, for him to prowl territory where no one knows him and his authority's nonexistent. He relies on the weight of his influence, his power. The decades of blood, of dirty and thankless work, of blessings and curses, of folklore and superstition. The rabble who grew up at their parent's and grandparent's feet listening to stories about the men eaten and spat back out by the mountain.

He likes the wary. The watchful.

More than that, he likes the overlooked and the desperate. People starved for attention in any form. People with nowhere else to go. Both groups careless with where they go looking for belonging.

Most times that place is the dingiest bar in a shithole town. A truck stop. The edge of the highway.

Sometimes that place is his general store. 

John weeds out the characters that don't fit the bill. No families. No groups. He's tried couples, when one or the other's to his liking, but their residencies stir up too many questions. Individuals? Now, much better. Individuals like the man in his shop. Scuffed, secondhand gear and a ratty pack. An overgrown haircut and beard. Wild, sleep-worn eyes heavy with bags. He's seen dogs with mange look better than the specimen stalking his shelves. 

"This it?" He stares at the man's selection: a single beer, a pack of pencils, and a cheap razor.

"Aye. That's it."

The brogue, thick and unmistakable, wraps around the words and John decides then and there. He holds the man's eyes, a shock of blue, more striking than his own. "You're a long way from home."

"Could say the same to ye," The man laughs, fishing out a wad of crumpled bills and some coin. The billfold looks as worn as his clothes, edges fraying, stuffed with two other currencies.

"Looks like you've been around," John sorts the coin by feel. "What brings you here?" He leans on that word, here. It's a habit now, sizing people up. Most tourists are easy to place—locals from a few towns or the next state over. But every so often, someone like this turns up, someone from further afield. It's usually a sign. Fish nibbling at bait on one of the hooks he's cast.

"Just going where my thumb takes me. I'm spending the next three, four months in America. Left tracks all over already, but someone told me the camping's good up this way. Figure I'll make my way to Seattle, then through to the Yukon." 

"Somebody waiting for you up there?"

The stranger's smile is wide and reckless. Toothy, sharp. "Nah, that's the beauty of it. Free as a bird. No strings, nowhere."

John returns the smile, feeling that rotten thing in his chest stir, stretching awake, licking its chops. It's always hungry, always ready for a reason. The man's candor is laughable, he's tying the snare around his own neck. John looks him over again, considering. It's probably a bit of both, he decides. Starved for attention and just dumb enough to show it. Typical rabbit.

However, there's the matter of the shit he's stolen.

John chuckles along with the stranger, but his hand moves without hesitation, wrapping around the sagging strap of the backpack and giving it a tug. He stares down his nose. The man's smile vanishes, fast as a light switching off.

"Son, I'm gonna need you to empty your bag."

Outside, as if on cue, Simon rolls into the lot, and John watches the man's posture stiffen at the sight of the hulking mass climbing off the dirt bike. 

"You don't want him to empty it." John warns.

It's almost dizzying how quickly he complies, dumping the contents onto the counter: mostly food, a folding knife, and a bar of soap. The door chimes behind him, and John picks up the soap, turning it over in his hand, his eyebrows raised in silent accusation.

"Am I interruptin'?"

Simon stands in the doorway, helmet under one arm, already fixed on the man. His chest rises and falls like bellows, his gnarled lip curling in that way John knows too well. Interest. Blood in the water.

The stranger isn't small, not by any measure. Solid, broad through the shoulders and arms, though he's hunching slightly, an instinct to look bigger. A meal trying to pass for something harder to swallow, and isn't that the way with those lower on the food chain?

But he's not stupid. He sees the man for what he is now that his right hand's here. He's just Simon's type. All he needs is a shave.

"Not at all. I'm clearing up a misunderstandin' with…"

The man clears his throat, eyes still locked on Simon. His voice steady, but barely. "John. John MacTavish."

Simon's chuffs. John cracks the bar of soap.

Another decision made, then.

~~~~

Kyle can spot trouble a mile away. He sees the ills of the world and the way violence threads through things and stitches them together. Why people do what they do, the multitude of factors and reasons—it's all straightforward in his head. In the real world, though, nothing is. Cases don't wrap up neatly, they unravel. Leads dry up. Witnesses clam up. Evidence falls short or gets thrown out, and he has to move on, whether he likes it or not.

He tells himself it's necessary. That there's too much evil in the world to fixate on just one piece of it. But moving on doesn't mean letting go. The frustration festers. The urge to kick in doors, to pull people out of the mess they're in, to handle those responsible the way no court ever will—it simmers under his skin, a wire fraying at the edges.

But there are rules. Policies. A whole bloody process he's meant to respect and follow. So when he spots some wild-eyed man ferrying around a woman who looks like the unnamed witness he's searching for, he memorizes the plates, sends them in, and waits.

His stomach rumbles. His choices are slim on that front, too.

~~

In the corner of the café, Kyle scrolls through the scanned posters on his phone. Missing persons, runaways, and other BOLOs from the local precincts. Shepherd had theatrically dropped the files on his desk, handing over Graves's case like it was a poisoned chalice.

Shepherd warned him nothing was digitized, leaving him to do it all. The batch of missing persons spanning decades hadn't been touched in years, he added, like it was some kind of badge of honor for the region. Called the area a breeding ground for bad shit, nearly spitting the words out. A place no one actually wanted anything solved, not in what he described as an inland Bermuda Triangle carved into the panhandle.

The old man expounded about the violent, standoffish types who called Grouse Bay, Ponderosa, and the surrounding area home. The kind of people who'd rather shoot you than admit what they ate for breakfast. Then, with a final slap of the files, Shepherd wished him luck—luck with the missing, the answers he'd likely never find, and the colleague who'd managed to disappear right along with them.

It's clear to him that he's not actually expected to solve a thing. He's supposed to find whatever mess Graves had gotten into, yank him out, and clean him up.

To do that, he had to find him, and that smarmy bastard seems intent on staying lost.

[lostintransist]

Groundhog Day? I will grind that dog into the ground if I ever find the fucker

Reader gets stuck in a loop, has 4 days and 6 hours to convince them to help break the loop.

CW: Mentions of Johnny's canonical death

"The seventh hour is a liar."

You lay on the couch in the break room for the 141 tossing a cricket ball in the air before catching it. Predawn light filtered past the crack in the slat blinds. The light is not strong enough to catch the dust motes scenting the air.

It was nearly five am and Ghost had risen at his predictable time. You had stopped sleeping after the seven loop. You were experiancing groundhog day in all its fucked up "glory".

"What?"

He sounds confused, steps silent as he moves to peer down at you.

"When you and Johnny were talking on the comms trying to escape Mexico he made a joking agreement with you that if either of you were stuck in a time loop you would use the phrase 'the seventh hour is a liar' to tell the other about the loop." Cricket balls are hard, you are reminded of this as you jam your middle finger into the ball instead of catching it. It rolls away from you. Instead of sitting up to grab the escapee you nail Ghost with a blank but serious look. "In four days, thirteen hours, and," you lift your phone from your stomach and trigger the screen, "roughly seven minutes John "Soap" MacTavish will die by Markorov's bullet in his brain."

"And how the fuck do you know that?" He is still looking at you like you are crazy.

"At 0903 Captain Price will start a phone call with the phrase, "This is a secure line, who is this?" Soap is going to trip as he comes through the door at 0614 this morning as you sit next to me on the couch. Gaz is going to sneeze four times in a row at 0853. You will say bless you twice followed by two repeated fuck yous. Your mum joked that any more than two sneezes meant the devil could take your soul and no more blessings would help."

The place skin around his eyes and brows blanche. Ghost does not talk about his family, ever. You knew it was right thing to say though to prove the point. He had told you the last four times you convinced him that if he forgot to tell him that fact. Ghost would only remember the loop until you died though.

"You will believe me by 0930, and then we can talk about how to save him because I can't keep living this stretch of time. Not even death will keep me," your voice cracks on your last word.

He stares through you as he processes your words.

"Okay. Tell me everything," he commands, voice gruff.

Sitting up with a sigh you run a hand over your hair.

"Nice try, you can walk me to medical for an eval after 0930. That happened the first time I tried to tell you."

The silence became charged. Ghost was your commanding officer but he was also a man who did not like to be predictable. Ruined the brand.

"What now then?"

Standing you flick on your flashlight and start to look for your ball.

"Now? We wait until you believe me."

Should I do more with this? Probably.

Masterlist

[sgiandubh]

Bcac and gotraveltheworldluv are stalkers and so defensive if you doubt them. The shenanigans are getting too old and predictable. I’m not even a shipper and I think something is wrong.  it just doesn’t make sense. These fake dates are really strange. I mean it’s just not normal so it is questionable. The credibility is not there and these other bloggers are just a bunch of strange women.  I actually believe he has a relationship more with his costar then any of these fake dates it just seems so forced  and on public display. If it was real, why innuendos and why post it knowing fans will seek out? I’m not talking about relationships I mean seriously how can he have been with six women in two months and made sure that everybody knew about it. I’ve come to the conclusion he’s definitely hiding something, I’m not sure what. Even being married secretly I know you guys don’t think he’s gay, but I definitely don’t think that he is with all of these women that he claims to be.  I don’t think you’ve had any girlfriends.

Dear Hiding Something Anon,

BCAC, who? As for the other Pearl of Great Price, well... religious hypocrisy at its finest, really. I wonder what her congregation would think about her dirty, dirty little secret. Online stalking all those women, even those remotely purported to have breathed around S, surely won't get her extra brownie points, or whatever they are called, back in her red neck of the woods.

Funny you are not a shipper, but still found a way to ask yourself all the right questions. According to the Anti Gospel, you are just one step shy of apostasy 😱.

Gay, he is not. That is a lazy theory based on next to nothing, spare a questionable blogger's speculations (and the 'evidence' singlehandedly fabricated on Wikipedia, long debunked by me) and Data Lounge's almost desperate merry go round of three inconclusive pics and my dog's aunt recollections (Lola's aunt probably hails from Carmarthen and I think she has an excellent pedigree, but that's just about it). Whoever came up with this bullshit has no real knowledge of the gay world's dynamics, either and probably a very superficial, second hand exposure to it.

Speculating he fornicated with a half dozen of women in less than three months (and under public, even obsessed, scrutiny) is borderline demented. Sure, he does not need the consent of the King for such leisure activities, but come on: do they hear themselves? From me to you, Anon - I know still waters run deep, but he never stroke me as the randy devil type. I've seen way worse, including in my own backyard (and you'd give Someone your first born to babysit, without even blinking - such a mistake).

So yes, he does hide something. Once you enter this rabbit hole and provided you take a long, critical look around, you're bound to discover many interesting bits and bobs that add up and paint a credible theory.

What do I think he hides? A love story of our times, Anon. With slammed doors, pillow talk, terms of endearment and deep feelings. And yes, your assumption is correct.

And gee, thanks for your words, too. Much appreciated - why be a hypocrite?

I also strive to be informative, Anon. You can seat by my side, at the back of the bus. This is where the most fun is happening and we even have the finest Gunpowder tea, freshly brewed.

[soap-ify]

SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY masterlist.

nsfw will be in bold. in the order of oldest to latest.

to relax in your arms.

reader with bad nightmares.

giving simon lipstick marks.

simon can't be with you anymore.

your first kiss with simon.

you're an angel, i'm a dog series masterlist.

cellist simon thoughts.

obsessed simon thoughts.

guitarist simon thoughts.

caressing simon's scars and stretchmarks.

immortal simon.

the first time simon cries in front of you.

simon can predict your period.

not wearing panties underneath your shorts.

simon using the showerhead on you.

tickling simon drabbles.

one , two , three , four.

deadbranch's 50 word challenge.

simon helps you fall asleep.

actor simon and director reader thoughts.

simon manhandling you.

simon's little habit.

soft simon!

you use the safeword on simon.

price shares you with simon.

gladiolus.

simon revealing his face to you.

buzzcut!simon thoughts.

[icanseethefuture333]

Welcome ❄️

Spells

Cleansing bath spell

Love bath spell

Police brutality spell

Manifesting spell

Golden hour spell

Halloween special "trick or treat" spells

"Catwoman" money spell

Blue moon spell

Pink moon spell

Protection spell

A guide to glamour magick & building self confidence.

Technology magick

Deity work:

Aphrodite

Astrology

How Jupiter placements affect your physical appearance

How Jupiter in the houses affect your physical appearance

How your voice sounds like according to astrology

How to use your Venus to make money

Plastic surgery observations

Singer persona chart

Observations on GEN Z (a series) : I, II, III, IIII

How to gain followers as an influencer by using your midheaven

Asteroid Kitty

Planets in the 1st house + Lilith

My solar return chart:

2024 / Asteroid edition

Astrological predictions for Generation Beta: Aquarius Pluto, Gemini Uranus, & Aries Neptune

PAC

What makes you so sweet & who's sweet on you

What your fp/fs looks like

What your siren qualities & powers are

How you see your beauty vs how others do

Urgent messages from the shadow self

How will your future spouse propose?

Messages from your next "intimate" partner

Celestial alignment

How will you celebrate your birthday?

Christmas miracles & unwrapping presents

Your blessings for 2024

Love messages from your heart & secret admirer (Valentine's Day special)

How you can blossom as a person & in life

Who wants to take a baecation with you

What your body wishes to tell you

What good luck is coming your way

How to walk your sp like a dog

Spicy Christmas messages

What is your most abundant career

Celebrity readings

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Masterlist

Predictions that were confirmed

How I do tarot readings for celebrities

Readings on celebrities who have passed

Manifestation

How to manifest good grades

How to manifest friends & improve your social life.

Subliminals

Letters to Santa

How I take care of my skin & the products I use

Body care routine + updated version!

How to deal with being jealous

How to deal with insecurity: focusing on inner beauty & inner child healing

How to be confident in your physical appearance

Living single

Why healing is a crucial part of your growth

How to dress Y2K/Mcbling for tweens

Tarot services

Prices Reviews

Dm me to be booked for a reading.

Tarot game volume 1 (closed)

Anons:

🦭, 💞, 🫧 , 🎀, 🐯

[mimble-sparklepudding]

9 Fandom Peeps to Get to Know Better

tagged by: @dragonsongmakhali @valdiis @shadesofblades - Thank you all very much for thinking of me.

tagging: @johnnylandslide @scholarlostintime @nicholerose92 @knightofalexandria @sarenraegalpaladin @naejlas-axe @starrysnowdrop @kannedia @ubejamjar and anyone else who wants to have a go at it.

three ships I like:

I'm not sure if this means ships from my mutuals or ships between canon characters or ships in my own little brain? So mixing it up...

@starrysnowdrop has a nice OC and Aymeric Ship.

I quite like Eynzahr and Hyllfyr as a ship, but then I'm like that.

And I have a ship in mind for Humble, but it's making slow burn look like "barely smouldering".

last song you heard: Slow Moving Millie - Turns. Because I am feeling sad and listening to sad music that makes you sad when you are sad is both good and psychologically healthy. Or something.

favorite childhood book: The Hobbit. Was that predictable? I also read a lot of Willard Price and CS Lewis.

currently reading: Equal Rites by Terry Pratchett.

currently watching: I don't really watch television, not because of any particular erudition, but mostly because I don't actually know where the remote control has gone. I watch a lot of Youtube, and currently watching rescue puppies having their first groom on Girl With The Dogs and being very brave.

currently consuming: I got a soup maker at Xmas, so currently I am making a lot of what might be considered an approximation of "soup" - basically tinned tomatoes and various combinations of vegetables and some bouillon powder. It remains to be seen what my body will make of all this fibre and vitamins.

currently craving: Something extremely low in fibre and vitamins.

[mhaikkun]

CRIME CITY

definitely gonna clean this post up once I have all my character profiles confirmed and make a more formal story introduction, but I thought I'd do a fun little update on all the characters we've met already as well as a general overview of the plot!

crime city follows winter, florist by day and ruthless murderer by night, in a city ruled by criminals each time the sun sets. the mayor? law enforcement? decorative. useless.

in order to achieve his own goals, child prodigy-turned-crime lord winter lies, steals, and kills — and, when the occasion calls for it, enlists the help of the many outlaws on his list of acquaintances.

but winter, too, is being hunted.

here are the current cast:

WINTER (THE RAVEN)

there are only three things anyone can ever claim to know about him: one, he always smiles; two, he is always dangerous; and three, he always wears black. is he mourning someone?

revered as "the king of hell," this strange ghostly man hates rain, doesn't drink, and used to be a detective.

BRENDOLINE BARBARA (THE LADY)

the mayor's daughter. frustrated by her own powerlessness and the facade of her father's position, she became a vigilante. winter must be destroyed, and, as the saying goes, if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.

how hard can it be when you find yourself falling in love with the man you want to kill, and who wants to kill you?

GIOVANNI MERCURO (THE SNITCH)

a croupier who runs the "snake eyes" gambling house, giovanni will glady offer you valuable information — that is, of course, if you can win against him. if he likes you enough, maybe his sleight of hand will come in handy for your pickpocketing needs.

believing it to be the height of carelessness to be complacent and predictable in a city crawling with vermin, he refuses to be consistent. he never wears the same hairstyle twice, never plays the same game twice, and never sleeps with the same person twice.

ASHCROFT (THE SNIPER)

a hitman for hire with the air of someone who used to be noble. rarely getting jobs due to his exorbitant prices, when he's out of money and out of work, he plays the saxophone on street corners and in bars for loose change.

as far as assassins go, he's pretty resourceful. after all, his sax doubles as a sniper rifle.

FALK (THE BLOODHOUND)

hates tardiness and thinks dogs are annoying and difficult. he does not appreciate the irony of his criminal title.

once a military man, an inflicted injury forced him to develop his already keen sense of smell into the formidable skill he has today of hunting people down using only their scent to compensate for his impaired vision.

[villainofmyownstory]

Hi! I'm V (Villain or Vi) | she/her

!!!!!!!! 18+ only! MDNI (nsfw + dark content) !!!!!!!!

writing fat reader characters | my native language isn't English

WIP updated 07/30/24

Day Zero

apocalypse AU - ongoing - chapter 7

Simon "Ghost" Riley x plus size fem!reader

masterlist | taglist | AO3 | playlist

Ghost and his dog Riley regularly patrol the city. A man has his own routine, every day, for almost 2 years, has to look the same. The man knows that he cannot change his behavior because deep down he still feels that someone will answer his radio signal. He doesn't lose hope. However, exactly 730 days after "Day Zero", no one shows up at the transmitter mast. Just when you finally get there. You've been trying to get here for weeks, seeing a tower in the distance. You needed electricity, and the tower had a source of light every night. And so each of you, individually, still thinks that you are the only one alive.

______________________________________________________________

Three copies and some signatures

part 1 part2

Simon/Reader/(Johnny)

You and Simon are married. A deal, a contract made only to avoid being deported. However, not everything can be predicted, lies are slowly consuming everyone. You, Simon and his real partner - Johnny. Feelings are stronger than words written on paper.

______________________________________________________________

click 'keep reading' to see more of my works

Blurry

exhusband!Captain John Price x fem!Reader

ongoing - part 2

You visit your ex-husband, in your once shared home. The memories are painful. But only for you. Unfortunately, after that one bloody mission, John doesn't remember you. The memory of your life together, blurred in his mind.

______________________________________________________________

GIF by adultstim

part 1 Blindsided part 2 Anyone Else

for Cali’s Nameless Challenge

nameless COD member x fem!Reader

You can't get over the breakup and the fact that you were left alone. You keep coming to the place where you last saw him. To, perhaps, finally get some kind of answer. Some solace.

______________________________________________________________

Light years

oneshot #GhostChallenge

Simon “Ghost” Riley x android/hologram!Reader

Many decades of longing. A lot of years of waiting. Hundreds of light years away from an Earth that no longer seemed like a memory, but a fictional story. A fairy tale written by poets. Earth no longer existed, and life on Zeus 2 went on as if the years of intergalactic war had never happened. As if the destruction of most of humanity had never taken place. There were still a few people on the new planet who remembered their lives on Earth. A past that was a memory stinging under the ribs. A small personal utopia for the last living people. Paradise lost.

______________________________________________________________

Incapacitation

König x plus size fem!reader

| AO3

You and König contact each other every day. Literally, you talk all the time. As soon as you open your eyes you see or hear him. König accompanies you in every activity. But you are no longer together. Despite the distance between you, you still hope that he will come back to you. One day you find out that König has fallen in love with another woman. Something inside you breaks. Once again. You will not let him decide about his life again, not this time. You know better what is best for him. You know König very well. After all, you talk to each other all the time.

______________________________________________________________

Zultanite

Poly TF141 x plus size fem!reader

masterlist | AO3

After inheriting jewelry from your dearest grandmother and one visit to a fortune teller. Your life is changing. Not once, not twice…. but four times.