#lorri’s face tag

[random-thot-generator]

Love Thy Frenemy + Ch. 7

(Frenemies/Tenderness AU)

SEVEN: Can't Let Go

SIMON GHOST RILEY x FRENEMY FEM READER

Summary: A week has passed since the argument in the alley, and Reader's hurt has been replaced with a seething anger that leads her to make a spur-of-the-moment decision out of spite. However, her poor choices lead to a potentially dangerous situation.

(PLEASE MIND THE TAGS. This chapter could be triggering for some readers.)

Warnings/Tags: Profanity, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Bad Coping Mechanisms, Allusions to sex, Threat of dub/non-con sexual situation, Brief Violence - Reader's a scrapper, Threat of violence though not acted upon... yet, No use of Y/N

(Notes: Ngl, this was a bitch to write. I had no less than three other alternative versions of this chapter, before choosing this one, but thankfully had some help along the way. Massive props to @glitterypirateduck for the much-needed advice and input. I ended up leaving the badger out, babe, but I hope you like the chapter, regardless. 😉👍)

[Image via TENOR]

Word Count: 5020

Chapter 7

-

...I ain't tryna find fate, it's too late to save face I can't get away, maybe there's no mistakes

You break me, then I break my rules Last time was the last time too It's fucked up, I know, but I'm still

Outside of the party, smokin' in the car with you Seven Nation Army, fightin' at the bar with you Tell you that I'm sorry, tell me what I gotta do 'Cause I can't let go...

—Post Malone, 'Chemical'

-

The walk to work is nice.

Blue skies and tattered clouds arch overhead, the remnants of puddles from an early morning shower reflecting the first sun you've seen in days. The world smells fresh and green and new, the signs of spring brightening your mood. It makes you feel light, the first time in a week you've felt like lifting your head to look around.

The first time since your fight with Riley.

You push the thought away. You're not going there today. Not again. You worked through the worst of the hurt and disappointment, and now you've settled into a comfortable, quiet fury that you keep wrapped around you like a warm blanket when the chill of loneliness creeps into your bed at night. You don't miss him, you don't want him, and you sure as hell don't need him. He's just one more bitter lesson you've had to learn the hard way. You won't make the same mistake, again.

Well... not again, anyway.

A car beeps its horn behind you, and you glance back to see Jerry Finch, the lorry driver who delivers the kegs to the pub, waving at you from a black sports car. You give a half-hearted smile and wave back, your steps slowing when he steers his car to the curb.

His window rolls down, rap music thumping before he turns it down. Leaning on his arm in the open window, Jerry tips his chin down to look over his aviator sunglasses at you, a smooth half-smile on his lips. "How ya doin', Dee? Headin' to work?"

You nod, stepping closer to his car, trying to ignore the way he looks you up and down before meeting your gaze. He gives you an appreciative smile and ticks his eyebrows up, ever the flirt. You sniff in amusement and squint against the sun to see him better. "Morning, Jer." You nod at his car. "No lorry today. This your day off?"

He gives you a charming, almost boyish smile and nods. "Yeah. Had some business here in the village, though." He glances down towards the pub, then slants his gaze back to you, thumbing at his bottom lip. "I can give ya a lift, if ya like. Goin' that way, anyhow."

You hesitate but then nod in acceptance. It's just an acquaintance from work offering you a ride, nothing wrong with that. He smiles and motions for you to get in, once more letting his eyes wander over your figure while you settle yourself into the passenger seat and put on your seatbelt.

"Thank you," you murmur, glancing up at him, then away. Jerry's never been one to hide his interest, taking every opportunity to flirt with you when given half a chance. Of course, it makes you feel good to have a handsome man flirt with you, but it also makes you a little leery, too. You try to be nice, but you don't want to encourage him, something that Fiona fusses about every chance she gets.

"Bloody hell, Dee, give the bloke a chance. He's got a good job, he's good lookin', fit as fuck, an' he's gaggin' t'get with ya. What can it hurt?"

Rationally, you know Fi is right, but you can't help yourself. There's just something about him. You can't put your finger on it but being near him just feels... off. You clear your throat and look out the window, your eyes catching on a dark gray Gladiator parked in front of the Tea Room.

Riley.

You can see him standing inside through the tall Georgian windows, chatting with Margie, the owner. She's handing him a bag and a to-go cup that you know will be filled with English breakfast tea brewed strong, with a splash of milk and two sugars, the way he likes. Your heart squeezes in your chest as you watch him exit the building and get in his truck.

Riley's been avoiding the pub when you're on shift. Fiona says he's been showing up in the evening, sitting in his usual spot while nursing his Dewar's. She also doesn't fail to mention Tessa Harker has been chatting him up quite a bit lately, too. It hurts to hear it, but you only give a tight smile and mutter, "Good for him," much to your friend's irritation.

Fiona and Ollie have both noticed the way you and Riley have been avoiding each other, but apparently Riley has kept mum about the argument, as have you. You had wondered if he would spread word about your other job at the Grind out of spite, but no one has mentioned it so far, and for that you're relieved, but you're still wary of what he might do with the information.

"So, what time ya gettin' off work?"

The question draws your attention back to the big man sitting beside you. Did he notice you staring, you wonder. "Um, I get off work at five."

"Then what?" he persists, and you know where this is going.

You shrug, keeping your eyes focused straight ahead. "Then back home, I suppose."

"Come out with me, instead," he suggests, shooting another one of his charming smiles your way. "There's a nice Italian bistro in Blackheath. I deliver to 'em. Nice place, good food."

"Oh, um, well..."

He chuckles and reaches over to pat your knee. "No rush, sweetheart. Got all day t'think it over, yeah?"

Again, the feeling that something is off with him comes to the fore of your brain, but you smile, regardless. "Yeah, sure. I'll... think about it," you reply, knowing your mind is already made up. You just have to think of a nice way to let him down. Again.

Jerry gives your knee another pat, which turns into a sly caress that has you flinching away. He huffs a laugh at your reaction, giving you a playful 'just-kidding' grin, before he lifts his hand and places it back on the wheel. He has big, beefy hands, thick fingers with blunt tips, a working man's hands. You usually find that attractive, have often admired Riley's large hands and long, supple fingers, but for some reason, the sight of Jerry's ham fists curled around the steering wheel makes you feel uncomfortable.

The car comes to a stop in front of the pub, and you're quick to unbuckle your seatbelt and open the door. "Thanks for the ride, Jer," you say, one foot already resting on the pavement.

"Think nothin' of it, love. Glad t'give you a ride anytime," he murmurs, suggestion heavy in his tone. He flashes another smile at you, winking again. He does that a lot, and you find it annoying. "I'll stop by later, see if ya want to go out for dinner, yeah?"

"Y-Yeah, sure. Okay."

You get out of his car and sketch a little wave as he pulls away, then turn to head inside the pub, only to come up short. Riley's standing right in front of the entrance, arms crossed over his chest, dark eyes fixed on Jerry's car, which is now rounding the green.

"Friend o' yers?"

It's the first words he's said to you since last Sunday in the alley, and the way he says it instantly gets your hackles up. You square off with him, casting a disparaging look over him. The proper thing would have been to offer you an apology, but you know better than to expect anything like that from him. Instead, he leads with a question that sounds both accusatory and insulting, all at the same time.

Typical.

"Shouldn't you already know? That's what you're good at, isn't it? Keeping tabs on me?" you snap, glaring at him.

You make a point to bump his shoulder as you pass by him and enter the pub. He's on your heels in an instant, following you through the door, obviously irritated by your response. You ignore him as you round the bar, pulling the strap of your bag over your head before placing it on top of the bar to take out your phone and a paperback.

"Wot? Ya got nothin' else t'say, doll? Tha's not like ya."

Your eyes snap up to glare at him. "Thought we said all that needed to be said last Sunday," you hissed at him, trying to keep your voice down, knowing Ollie would be back in his office.

Simon plants both hands on the bar and leans in, his dark eyes scathing as they pin you to the spot. "I wasn't finished talkin'. It was you that fuckin' ran off," he growls in return, but manages to keep his voice to a low rumble.

Your brows shoot up in mock surprise. "Oh! How terribly rude of me. I suppose I should have stood there until you were finished insulting me." Your eyes narrowed as you sneered at him. "Fuck you for that, by the way."

He's wearing his black surgical mask today, so his angry scowl is more evident than usual. He shoves off the bar in a fit of temper, hand coming up to jab a finger at you. "Like I told ya last Sunday, me an' you need t'talk, an' this time yer goin' t'bloody listen to wha—"

Your snort cuts him off. "We have nothing left to discuss. You made your opinion of me quite clear. But hey! At least I know where I stand with you now. Don't worry, though. I'll keep my distance. Wouldn't want to embarrass you by being seen associating with a slag, right?"

"Dammit t'hell, Dee! I never fuckin' called ya that. I never thought that. Would ya just bloody lis—"

"Riley, lad!"

You both turn to see Ollie heading your way, a pleased smile on his face. Shooting Riley one last venomous glare, you turn your back on him and make for the swinging door leading into the kitchen, his frustrated growl giving you a sense of grim satisfaction as you slip through the door. Fuck him. You hope he stays pissed off for the rest of the day.

You can hear the two men talking as you go back to hang up your jacket, eyes wandering over the unused kitchen as you pass through. What you wouldn't give for a kitchen this size, and here this one sits, unused and abandoned. You had mentioned a time or two that adding a small menu would bring in more business, but since the last cook quit, Ollie hasn't been too keen to fire up the kitchen again. It's a pity, really.

"Dee, love."

You glance over your shoulder to see Ollie standing at the service window. "What'cha need, Ol?"

Mind makin' me an' Riley a cuppa an' bringin' 'em to the office?"

You frown, wondering what happened to the tea you had seen Riley with before. You shrug it off and nod. "Sure thing, Ol. Be right out with 'em."

"Thanks, love," he says, rapping his knuckles before disappearing from sight.

You rinse out the electric kettle and fill it with water, then plug it in and switch it on before grabbing three mugs and the tea tin. You consider making Riley's tea wrong, just for spite, but that would be petty, even for you, or as Riley would call it, bratty. You sniff. He's a fuckin' brat. A bratty arsehole.

You scoop instant coffee into your own mug then add the tea bags to the other two cups, before going to the fridge to take out the milk. It's become routine for you to make both men's tea, your hands going through the motions while your thoughts wander back to Jerry and his dinner invitation.

Your first instinct is to turn him down, as you have all his other invitations, but the memory of how pissed Riley looked as he watched the other man drive away gives you pause. He always did eye Jerry with open suspicion, his instant dislike of the other man never something he tried to hide. He's never said why he doesn't like Jerry, but it didn't change the fact that it would probably piss Riley off to learn you were going out to dinner with him.

Maybe you are petty after all, because now your mind has changed. You are going on a dinner date this evening after work.

Setting your mug of coffee in the window to retrieve later, you take the other two mugs with you out of the kitchen. Rounding the bar, you head towards the narrow hallway that leads to the bathrooms and Ollie's office, walking slower to not spill any of their tea. You can hear their voices through the door as you stop to announce your presence. It's Riley who opens the door for you, not bothering to move out of your way as you slide past him with an irritated expression.

"Move, ya big lump," you grumble lowly, which gets a soft sniff of amusement from him. Arsehole.

"Ah, thanks, love," Ollie says, reaching out to take his mug. You set Riley's on the edge of his desk near the old club chair where he always sits. "Mind closin' the door on yer way out?" Ollie asks.

You give a nod, turning around to see that Riley is still standing in your way. You go to step around him, and he steps in your way again. You blow out an aggravated breath and raise your eyes to his, the urge to shove him again making your hands twitch. When he quirks a brow up at you, you grit your teeth and glare at him. Then an idea sparks in your brain. You look back over your shoulder at your boss.

"Say, Ol. Ya mind if I cut out a little early this evening? I've got a dinner date with Jerry the lorry driver."

Ollie nearly chokes on his tea before he manages to get his cup set down on his desk. His sharp eyes dart between you and Riley, an odd expression on his face as he tries to make sense of what's going on. He finally clears his throat and gives a curt nod. "Yeah. Sure, love. No problem."

You give him a sweet smile that turns spiteful when you turn your head back to the man in front of you. "Thanks, Ol," you reply, meeting Riley's furious glare. "Excuse me. Need to get back to work."

You can see his hands balling into fists, and it sends a thrill of sadistic glee through you. You'd rather die than look away from him right now, a smirk appearing when he has to hold his tongue and step aside for you. By the time you reach the hallway and close the door behind you, you're damn near giddy. The smirk on your face grows to a full-on wicked grin by the time you reach the bar again.

Satisfied with the good, hard poke you've just given the proverbial bear, you begin your prep work, humming a catchy pop song under your breath.

-

You manage to avoid any more close interactions with Riley, though he hangs around the bar your entire shift, giving you a baleful glare every time you draw near. You make it a point to ignore him, chatting with the other customers, talking and laughing like you weren't bothered at all by his brooding presence. You see him visibly stiffen when Jerry comes swaggering in, his signature charming smile already in place.

Before he can speak, you step to the bar and offer him a sweet smile. "Hi, Jer. Ollie said I can leave early, so we can go whenever you like."

Jerry can't hide the surprise on his face, but he swiftly recovers as he leans an elbow on the bar to bring his eyes level with yours. "Good. Been thinkin' 'bout it all day," he murmurs, his eyes drifting down to your lips.

You stiffen, discomfited by the look in his eye, but try to hide it by ducking to grab your bag from beneath the bar. When you raise up again, a pleasant smile is plastered on your face. "I just need to grab my jacket and tell Ollie I'm leaving, then we can go."

"'Course, sweetheart," Jer replies, watching you as you round the bar and head for the hallway. He catches Riley staring at him and lifts his brows, giving him a smug little smirk, which you honestly think is stupid of him. Despite Jerry's size, you have no doubt Riley would mop the fucking floor with him. You roll your eyes. Men and their stupid bloody posturing.

The sooner you get this over with, the better. This game is quickly losing its appeal.

-

Jerry offers to take you home to change if you want, but you decline, honestly not comfortable with the idea of bringing him up to your flat. He seems a little perturbed when you turn down his offer but then shrugs and drives to Blackheath, instead.

As he said, the little bistro is nice, the food delicious. The conversation is lackluster, though, but you weren't really expecting much. Beyond talking about himself, Jerry doesn't seem to hold much interest in other topics. Big surprise.

Once you're back in the car, he drapes his arm over your seat and leans in, a sexy smirk on his face. "So, where to next, sweetheart? Your place or mine?"

Your brows shoot up in mild surprise. "I thought this was just dinner," you reply, crossing your arms over your chest. "Moving a little fast, don't you think?"

He tips his chin down, giving you a knowing look. "C'mon, Dee. We're both adults here. I've seen how you an' that other barmaid check me out. Not that I'm complainin'." He gives you one of his smarmy winks, and you fight the urge to wrinkle your nose in disdain.

You sniff and give your head a small shake. The audacity of this bloke. Did he honestly think you were just going to drop your knickers because he bought you dinner? "Yeah, I think I'd rather go home by myself. I have work in the morning."

Jerry draws back, blinking. "Are you serious?" When you roll your eyes, he scoffs and tilts his nose up, as if he can't believe you are turning him down. "Whatever. Your loss, sweetheart," he mutters with a slight sneer and starts the car.

The drive back to Banfield is tense and awkward, but you honestly prefer the silence. When Jer finally speaks up, you startle out of your thoughts. "Mind if I take a shortcut?" he asks, his tone off-hand.

You shrug. "Fine with me." If it gets you home quicker, you're all for it.

Yet when he veers off the main road onto a country lane, you frown. You aren't familiar with this particular backroad, but from the direction you're going it doesn't look like you're heading towards home.

"Are you sure this goes to Banfield?"

Jer slants a condescending look at you, a shitty little smirk pulling up a corner of his mouth. "I drive for a livin', sweetheart. Ya really think I'm goin' t'get lost on the way to bloody Banfield?"

Your eyes roll up, but you hold your tongue, yet after another five minutes with nothing even closely resembling civilization in sight, you can't keep quiet. "We should be in Banfield by now. It's just a ten-minute drive from Blackheath. Are you sure you took the right road?" You glance around at the dark, unfamiliar landscape. "I don't even know where the hell we are right now."

"I took the scenic route," Jer drawls, waving a hand. He then drops it on your knee and gives it a squeeze. "Chill out, sweetheart. We'll get there. Eventually."

Apprehension creeps up your spine like the drag of an icy finger. You don't like this. This man, who you really know nothing about, you now realize, is driving you out to the middle of nowhere. "Maybe you should turn around."

Jerry glances over at you again, and this time the look in his eye makes the small hairs on the nape of your neck stand on end. "Maybe you should try to relax." His hand slides up your leg to grip your thigh. "I'd be happy t'pull over an' help ya with that, sweetheart."

And there it is. The reason for getting you out here alone. You aren't even really surprised, always knowing in the back of your mind that there was something off with him, though you chose to ignore it this time, just to spite Riley.

Hindsight really is a bitch sometimes.

"Jer, I told you I wanted to go home," you murmur, trying to keep your voice low and even.

He huffs, a smug expression on his face. "C'mon, Dee. Stop playin' hard t'get. It's jus' me an' you now. Your boyfriend doesn't have t'know. I can keep my mouth shut. It'll be our little secret, yeah?"

"My boyfriend?" you blurt out, confused.

He rolls his eyes. "Oh, right. Sorry. Your friend," he sneers and then scoffs. "Don't act like ya don't know who I'm talkin' 'bout. That scarred up freak with the mask who's always up yer arse."

"What the fuck did you just say?" you choke out, fury strangling your voice. You're ready to claw out his eyes for what he said about Riley.

Jerry waves a dismissive hand at you. "Enough with the games, Dee. I know ya only went out with me t'make him jealous, an' I'm fine with that, really, but don't ya think I deserve some sort of... ya know, compensation for playin' along?"

Rage consumes you, hot and prickling beneath your skin. "Take me home. Now!"

The cold, flat look in his eye chills you to the bone. "Not 'til I get what ya owe me, sweetheart. Don't look so offended. I doubt this is the first time you've paid up for somethin' by lyin' on your back."

The hard slap you deliver to his smug face has him swerving across the narrow road before he slams on the brakes, sluing the car around in the loose gravel. You only manage to free your seatbelt before he grabs you.

"Are ya fuckin' crazy, ya bitch?" he yells in your face, shaking you hard as he shoves you back against your door. "Ya could'a killed us!"

You jab your thumb in his eye for his trouble. He bellows in pain, releasing you to clutch at his face, freeing you to reach behind your back to paw at the latch. The door flies open under your weight and dumps you out backwards onto the gravel. When his hand seizes your ankle in a crushing grip, you frantically kick out with your other foot. Though you're unable to see from your position on the ground, you revel in a brief moment of satisfaction when you feel it make solid contact with his head, and he yells in pain again. Yanking your legs free of the car, you scramble to your feet, snatching your bag from the ground as you sprint for the woods.

Too terrified to look back, you run headlong into the tree line. You stumble through the undergrowth, feeling the spindly branches and thorns tear at your clothes and snag in your hair as it rakes bloody scratches into your exposed skin. You trip over tree roots and stub your toes on stones hidden beneath the moldering ground cover of dead leaves. All the while, Jerry is bellowing like an enraged bull as he thrashes through the foliage somewhere behind you, shouting threats and curses at you the whole time.

When you inevitably fall flat on your face, you skid across the forest floor to hitch up at the base of a huge oak. You have just enough time to crawl behind its massive trunk before Jerry comes crashing through. When you hear him approach, you clap your hand over your nose and mouth to muffle the sound of your gasping breaths, terrified he will hear you. Your eyes go wide when you see him pass by your hiding spot close enough that you could reach out and touch him, if you wanted. Scared beyond reason, you press your back against the rough bark of the oak and pray he doesn't see you when he pans the flashlight on his cell phone around.

A strangled noise issues from his throat before he growls out a frustrated, "Fuuuck!" You can see him pacing back and forth as he rakes his hands through his hair. If you didn't know any better, you would think he was panicking. "Crazy fuckin' bitch," you hear him seethe under his heaving breath, growling again. "Fine, ya stupid cunt!" he shouts at the dark woods, throwing his arms up in the air. "Find yer own way home, then!" He then turns around and stomps back the way he came, still uttering curses.

You don't dare move, not even when the sound of his heavy footfalls fades away. You don't dare move, not even when the only thing you can hear is the wind rattling the tree branches overhead. You don't dare move, not until you at last hear the distant sound of a car motor rev to life, the sound gradually diminishing until you can't hear it any longer. It is only then that you are brave enough to slowly stand up on your shaking legs, only to lean once more on the trunk for support as a sob finally tears free from your chest.

You remain that way for several minutes, trying desperately to regain your composure, even as your brain keeps circling around the notion that Jerry's departure is some sort of ruse to lure you back out into the open. It's the idea of spending a cold night alone in the woods that finally has you lifting your head to take in your surroundings and evaluate your situation.

At first glance, it seems pretty dire. You have no idea where you are, you're too scared to venture back onto road for fear of Jerry lying in wait somewhere, and it's pitch dark out tonight, not even the wan light of the moon visible in the overcast sky to help guide you through the woods.

Your only real option is to call for help.

Reaching into your bag, you take out your phone, cursing under your breath when you drop it due to your trembling hands. The glow of the screen is a small comfort as you unlock your phone and open your contacts list. You stare at the emergency number, finger hovering.

If you call the police, there will have to be a report filed, and then there will be an inquiry to investigate your claims. You already know it will be your word against Jerry's. His solicitors will no doubt drag your name through the mud to discredit you, and he will probably still get off with nothing more than a light slap on the wrist, if he even gets that, because he actually didn't do anything to you, at least not physically. Hell, you had done more damage to him than he had to you. He could claim you attacked him, and he wouldn't even be lying.

You look back down at your phone, one name standing out like a beacon in the dark. When you see that name, you think of home, of safety, the two things you want most right now. You select it and hit the call button, holding the phone up to your ear and praying there will be an answer. Your breath catches in your throat when you hear the line connect.

"Whad'ya want, Dee?" a gravelly, annoyed voice growls into your ear, and a sob escapes your throat, you are so relieved to hear him.

"Ruh... Riley? P-Please, Ri... please. I n-need you..."

-

No one in the White Dog knew what to think when the usually quiet giant that sat at the end of the bar suddenly erupted out of his seat, the bar chair toppling over. "Doll! What's wrong? Where are ya?" he barks into his phone.

He apparently doesn't like what he hears.

"He fuckin' did what?! " he growls, a look of pure murderous rage igniting in his dark eyes. As he listens to you, however, his rage is tempered by his troubled concern. "Are ya hurt, love? I swear t'God if he―" His hand clenches into a trembling fist, even though his voice is now a low rumble. "Please don't cry, love. I know, I know, but I'll find ya. Ya know I will. I'm on my way right now. Just... keep yer phone on for me, yeah?"

He's already making for the entrance as he says this, the murderous look returning as he mutters, "I'll kill that bastard," before he barges through the door. He hits it with such force, it slams into the outside wall hard enough to shatter the frosted safety glass. He doesn't even acknowledge it as he runs to his truck and tears off down the street with a bark of tires the next instant, leaving a silent pub full of stunned onlookers in his wake.

-

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#simon ghost riley x fem reader #simon riley x fem reader #cod ghost x fem reader #ghost x fem reader #simon ghost riley x frenemy fem reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #cod ghost x reader #ghost x reader #Frenemies/Tenderness AU #Love Thy Frenemy

[aristocratic-otter]

Phew, it's been a while since I posted on a Sunday, huh? Well, I have to say all of the gifted writing y'all have been sharing today is inspiring, so I had to join in.

Thank you to @confused-bi-queer, @prettygoododds, @nightimedreamersghost, @hushed-chorus, @nausikaaa, @artsyunderstudy, @aroace-genderfluid-sheep, @moodandmist, @facewithoutheart, @larkral, @j-nipper-95 and @ileadacharmedlife for the tags this last week.

Sentences below the cut

From my Age of Sail Au:

“You didn’t come to dinner.”  Baz looks away, his posture stiff. “Why not? Are you sick?”

His lips tighten. “I’m not sick. I just don’t find it particularly pleasant to be around people who hate me.” 

From my COTTA, Snow Fox:

Gareth is puffing and gasping, like he’s just run ten miles. He tries to speak, but can’t get the breath for it. “Ease up, man,” I say, patting his back. “Catch your breath. It can’t be all that urgent.”

If anything, his face gets even redder and he shakes his head frantically, still trying to push words between his gulps of air. “No…Simon!...the men…they’re…heading to…Pitch…Manor…to burn…it all down!”

From Saving Simon Snow (I may be taking this in a slightly different direction, so I don't know if this part will stay, but, eh <shrugs>):

“How on Earth can you not know this, Simon?”

He glares at me, and he looks so cute doing it that I can’t help pushing up and nipping at that plump bottom lip. He yelps, and then laughs. 

“Haven’t you ever watched…you know, porn?” I ask, more gently. 

Simon averts his eyes.

From my COBB (posting next week!) (a bit more than six sentences, but context was important):

I don’t know this Baz. 

I’ve never seen him being nice before. I mean…I’ve never seen him interact with people beyond his two friends and the teachers, really. With his friends he just seems cold and aloof–unless he’s joining them in mocking me. With the teachers, he’s coldly formal. 

But whenever he and I are in proximity to each other, we mostly interact with each other. I watch him to make sure he’s not plotting something, and he makes snide comments aimed at me even while never truly looking at me. 

He looks at Shepard. Worse, he looks at Shepard like he’s smiling, even though the edges of his lips don’t lift. 

From Westward Son:

Before we began, Tashima told me to have something in my mind, something to focus on. Something to take my mind off of the sweat and heat and stifling air. I choose to imagine my dearest wish: a log cabin in the Oregon woods, with a porch swing and a vegetable garden. A parlor full of books and the faces of those dearest to me in the world. Simon and Baz. And Shepard. With a gold ring on his left hand and a broad smile on his face. 

From To Heal A Broken Mind:

I blink sleep-crusted eyes and then lift my chin to look up at him. He’s sitting beside my hip on my bed, his hand still in my hair. He looks like he’s been hit by a lorry. His face is white and pinched, his eyes red. His hair forms a tangled halo around his head–he must have been tearing at it. 

He looks–tragic. 

From The Naked Next:

As I hurry towards engineering, I tap my communicator and say, “Lieutenant Brody?” 

To my surprise, there’s an answer. But it doesn’t sound like our chief engineer. “Yes, Basil?” she purrs. 

I stare at my own chest, as if I can see through the silver piece of technology to the source of the voice that emerges from it. Niamh Brody has never once called me anything other than “Lieutenant Grimm-Pitch” when she’s feeling respectful (or just “Pitch” when I’ve annoyed her).

Tagging for future or a long, slow wink:

@angelsfalling16, @annabellelux, @bazzybelle, @bookish-bogwitch, @carryonsimoncarryonbaz, @dragoneggos, @erzbethluna, @frjsti, @fatalfangirl, @giishu, @ic3-que3n, @ivelovedhimthroughworse, @jasonfunderberkerthefrogexists, @krisrix, @letraspal, @messofthejess, @onepintobean, @prettylightsbigcity, @rimeswithpurple, @raenestee, @thehoneyedhufflepuff, @theearlgreymage, @thewholelemon, @tea-brigade, @whatevertheweather, @whogaveyoupermission, @yellobb-old

#cotta 2021 #cotta 2023 #Age of Sail AU #American Revolution Au #cobb 2023 #House AU #Star Trek AU #oregon trail au #canon divergent #Forced Marriage

[a-master-procrastinator]

OC Tag Game

Tagged by @raven-of-domain-kwaad, thank you! I'll be keeping it within SWTOR characters since I just focus on them here.

No pressure tag (if you feel like it): @vespertine-legacy, @astrifer-bound, @mmigrainee, @chaoticspacefam, @spitzobsessed

Favorite OC - Jett

Not surprising. As much as I love my other characters (Auletta don't kill me), Jett just gotta be my favorite. Bounty hunter storyline being one of my favorites definitely affects this, but there is much more to this. She is this 'tough on the outside, softie on the inside' type of character that I just adore, I love her personal arcs about trauma, meaningful connections and leadership. And of course strong badass Mando women are just cool and get an instant liking from me :) I can go on for hours on this, but let's move on.

More under the cut.

Newest OC - Beirya and Zin

I had more ideas for new characters after I made Rya and Zin, but they are not yet actual characters that I plan to develop. So these two are my newest at the moment.

Oldest OC - Auletta

Technically, the first character I ever rolled in SWTOR was smuggler, but I didn't keep her in any way, so it's Auletta. Although she looked slightly different and was assassin instead of sorcerer in the game (which doesn't fit her background), the core of her character remained the same.

Meanest OC - Jaria

It's a tough spot between some of my characters, but when others can be polite or maybe it's not their nature to be rude (they just do it for others reasons), Jaria is unapologetically mean to people almost all the time (only shutting up if it saves her skin or gives an advantage).

Softest OC - Shailla and Lorri

(there are actually two more but I wanted to keep it short)

They are just so kind and gentle, striving to do more good in this imperfect galaxy. I mean, there is a reason why Lorri is often considered the heart of her little found family.

Most aloof/standoffish OC - Xaele and Jaria

Xaele in general is pretty distant from the world and even her own actions, which fit well for agent's life. And Jaria is, honestly, pretty mistrusting, and after being separated from her sister, probably the only person she gave a Hutt about, Jaria couldn't form meaningful connections with other people, so she's a loner. Plus she's mostly interested in self-gain and money, and she doesn't care how she gets it.

Dumbest (affectionate) OC - Vintu

Well, there may be others, but no one radiates chaotic dumbass energy like Vintu (yeah, not even smugglers, though they are close). Just look at his dumb face.

Smartest OC - Auletta and Elixess

I would betray Auletta by not including her here. She is a quick learner, a schemer, always hungry for knowledge and information. She's very good at using all available knowledge and information to get the best out of her situation, whatever it might be (back in slavery, in Sith Academy, Dark Council, you name it). The only period when Auletta made kinda dumb decisions was around chapters 1 and 2 of Inquisitor storyline, mostly bc she was drunk on power and freedom, testing how far she can go. But when she failed to kill Thanaton for the second time, Auletta adapted and got the best out of it.

Elixess is similar in many ways, except she doesn't have the same malicious intent as Auletta and maybe not as nerdy. She is a quick thinker, which helps her talk her way out of most trouble and see possibilities for profit. Also, I just thought having a smuggler as one of the smartest characters is funny.

(actually, there are more characters who are on the same level, but I wanted to mention these two)

Horniest OC - Vintu and Jaria

Jaria just likes to flirt around and have one-night stands almost every time she visits a new place (Mako got tired of it real quick). Shame that bounty hunters don't have a lot of flirt options with NPCs other than companions. And Vintu... well, for my own sanity we have an agreement - he doesn't tell much about his private life, and I don't get to know much about it. Let's just say that when he's with Jaesa they are very active, and even after he's done with her, Vintu still hits on a lot of people.

OC you'd bang - none

I'm way too asexual for that.

OC you'd be best friends with - Raen and Alaine

Both of them are great friend material. Raen shares some of my interests (that weren't a bit of self-insert to begin with, no no), so she can tolerate a bit of infodumping about special interests from me. She's generally fun to be around, except for maybe when she's being chased by law enforcement or when she's sleeping. Plus we might have 'introvert adopted by an extrovert' dynamiс in a good way.

Alaine is someone I could trust to discuss a lot of complicated topics without being judged harshly. And she's a good person and a reliable friend in general, so great to have her as a friend. Alaine is more of "calls me out on my shit" friend, and Raen is more of "tags along with my shit" friend, and I definitely need both these types of friends.

#sorry for being so late #and not writing much #i have some irl stuff going on that drains my energy and mental stability (that wasn't strong to begin with) #but i liked this tag game. so thanks raven #swtor #tagged #oc:jett #oc:beirya #oc:zinilev #oc:auletta #oc:jaria #oc:shailla #oc:lorrena #oc:xaele #oc:vintu aka paininbarass #oc:elixess #oc:raen #oc:alaine #funny how jaria made it here three times #i don't even give her that much time

[trainofcommand]

Time for some more fic recs that feature Major Lorne! Yay. It's been a while, so let's do this.

Words are (very) unnecessary, by @brumeier, Lorne/Ronon (T+ rating, ~2400 words): Part of the author's summary is Ronon's life as a Runner was hard, but his life in Atlantis poses its own challenges. This is Ronon POV, and his hearing was destroyed by the Wraith while he was a Runner. It's such an interesting perspective/take on the city and its inhabitants, and how Ronon adjusts. @brumeier packs a lot of stuff in 2400 words, it's a great read. Here's a snippet of the story, the very beginning of it, and it really sets the tone - Ronon's perspectives on things, and where Lorne fits into it.

Everyone was talking at once, mouths moving and hands gesticulating. Especially McKay, who was also getting red in the face and jabbing his finger in Sheppard’s direction. No-one was directly facing Ronon, so he couldn’t make out any words, but that was fine. He had no desire to get pulled into an argument.

Evan tapped Ronon on the arm to get his attention before slowly signing, “John wants to blow it up.”

Ronon nodded his understanding. It wasn’t exactly newsworthy. Sheppard always wanted to blow something up.

(Three more recs below the break)

Mine is an acidic muse, by anonymous, Lorne/McKay (G rating, ~ 5300 words): Ahhhh, this is so satisfying, Lorne's perspective on Rodney and working with him, and, as the author puts it 'courting via caffeine'. It's a slow build, and has some great Lorne characterisation, and I love it. I really wish I knew who wrote this so I could look to see if they've written other things! Beginning snippet:

“Ah, good, Major Lorry,” McKay says, with a brief glance and snap of fingers. “Make yourself useful and bring some coffee.”

Evan inhales deeply through his nose and says, “Lorne,” because he’s not in fact a British truck, and he wants that to be clear before bringing anyone anything. At least McKay got his rank right. 

It all works out in the end, by @chaos-monkeyy, Lorne/Sheppard (T+ rating, exactly 500 words): OK, so what if Lorne was the CO of Atlantis, and Sheppard was a major, and also, a menace? As @chaos-monkeyy puts it in the tags, Lorne is CO and has to deal with Major Sheppard's bullshit. But it has its perks. Wonderful, hot perks. Poor CO Lorne. But also, lucky CO Lorne. This is delightful. A snippet:

"Sheppard," Lorne barked, and the Major rolled his eyes, sighed, and finally sat up straight. 

"Understood, sir," he answered. "Does this mean disciplinary action?" 

And finally, Unofficial Guide for Uninformed Officers, by Icarus, Lorne POV (T+ rating, no pairing, ~1400 words): Lorne tries to figure out what he's going to be dealing with on Atlantis - and later, when he's been around for a couple of years, provides unofficial briefings to new military personnel. This is Lorne's POV on Sheppard, first in trying to figure out what his new CO will be like, and later sharing what he knows. It's really lovely, and also sad in some ways. But it also showcases Lorne's 'getting stuff done' attitude, and I love that.

A little snippet, as Lorne tries to figure out what he can expect from his new CO:

Sheppard. He was never the colonel, or Colonel Sheppard, or John. He was always just the vaguely disrespectful "Sheppard."

#fic recs #stargate atlantis #major evan lorne #lorne/ronon dex #lorne/mckay #lorne/sheppard #awesome stuff you should definitely read

[waru-chan8]

So I think I own you this post.

What is El Desafío?

It’s a talent show where famous people (singers, chef, sportsperson, actors, actress, writers, TV presenters, etc) show off skills that are far away from their normal skills. They also face personal challenge such as facing their fear of highs, been burn alive or drawn

Those challenge are often physics but there are others that consists in learning to play an instrument or learning a dance (one had the pan one, and dancing in the water while is ‘raining’) or moving heavy vehicles (pushing a quad up 11 stairs, doing a complet turn in a 2x2 space and down or move a lorry over glass cups without braking) or learning to shut a weapon. There’s also a face off between 2 different contestats.

All concursants need to go though a challenge called apnea, that consist to hold your breath underwater as long as you can.

How do they won?

Each gala, after all challenge the jury (Santiago, Juan and Pilar) gave points from 1 to 7 and 10 that gets put together, and each gala accumulates to the others. The one in the top is going to win.

What do they win?

Each gala the contestat with the most points get a 6000euros* to donate to whatever cause or NGO they want.

After all the galas (10), the winner gets 30000 euros to donate to an NGO or a cause they want and a BMW car for them.

*+500 euros each 30s that manages to stay underwater the apnea contestant.

Apparently there 10 galas. They are broadcast Fridays 10 p.m Madrid time, and if I can watch them on time, I’ll live blogging it with El Desafío lb, just in case you want to block the tag. I won’t be able to post Jorge’s bit until Saturday-Monday.

As I get to know more about the program, I’ll be going updating this because this is my first time watching it.

Jorge’s challenge so far:

Gala 1: Face off - duel in the heights against Flo, he wins

Gala 2: The human torch. They are going to set Jorge on fire.

Gala 3: Disco GP. Apparently is a dancing/singing one (?) Jorge will be the main character of his own musical!

Gala 4: Extrem aim/accuracy. Jorge will learn how to shoot

Gala 5: apnea

Gala 6: Drone pilot

Gala 7: Films Percussion

Gala 8 - Semifinal 1: Face off - still ring challenge against Laura Escanes. He wins

Gala 9 - Semifinal 2: dancing treadmills (he will dance on treadmills)

Gala 10 - Final: tightrope walker

I’m going to add also the apnea challenge here.

Gala 1: Ana  Guerra - 2 minutes 27 seconds (they add 2500 euros)

Gala 2: Flo - 3 minutes 30 seconds (they added 3500 euros)

Gala 3: Jorge Blanco - 4 minutes 13 seconds (they added 4000 euros)

Gala 4: Laura Escanes - 3 minutes 40 seconds (they added 3500 euros)

Gala 5: Jorge Lorenzo - 3 minutes 33 seconds (they add 3500 euros)

Gala 6: Boris Izaguirre (but he might not do it as he suffered a stroke while recording el Desafío) No apnea this gala

Gala 7: Rosa López - 4 minues 40 seconds. The new all record for this challenge. (they add 4500 euros)

Gala 8 - Semifinal 1: Mariló Montero - 4 minutes 8 seconds (they added 4000 euros).

Gala 9 - Semifinal 2: Boris Izaguirre - 1 minute 16 seconds (they added 1000 euros)

Gala 10 - Final: there’ no apnea

Edit: For those who read the translation. I did my best, but I’m sure there are better translations,, They are nosy as hell and very one speaks over everyone. They use a lot of surprise expression that are difficult to translate in English. And on top of that, Juan, one of the judges is a pain in the ass to translate. He likes to use very long and complicated words and he starts the sentences in 3 different ways. He also uses a lot one expression that there’s no way I can translate it directly to English and I think I translated in in several different ways.

Anyway, I do my best with them.

#El Desafío #Antena3 #Jorge Lorenzo

[wraith-of-christmas-future]

Character Stats Framework

Repost don't reblog

Name: Charles Talent Manx the III

Nickname(s): Charlie, Chuck, Father Christmas, Wraith

Age: 140 to 180 ( Default to Verse Dependent )

Birthdate : July 10th / 1873

Species: A Psychic Vampire who feeds on the essence of children through an incorporeal link between him and his knife, a 1938 Rolls - Royce Wraith.  In turn, changing them into feral monsters that will forever roam Christmasland.

Nationality: American / Born in Cripple Creek, Colorado.

Gender: Male

Preferred Pronoun(s): Being old fashioned, he is quite adamant on the He/Him

Romantic Orientation: He's actually panromantic believe it or not.

Sexual Orientation: Strict heterosexual, however.. If not due to trauma as a child.

Face Claim: Zachary Quinto ( He honestly makes an awesome Charlie. He and Ashleigh had good on screen chemistry. Adore them both.)

Parents: Father, an undisclosed drunkard / a bastard ( Deceased ). Mother , Fanny Manx / a whore. ( Deceased )

Siblings:

As far as he knew he was an only child. But in truth.. he could have various half siblings before his father died over another whore. The man fucked anything with two legs and a spread.

Family:

He went from a poor excuse of a mother, to marrying into a rich family, only to have that money dry out during the depression, hurling him into poverty once more. Which soured the family all together, drawing out the true nature of the woman he married ; she was verbally and physically abusive. Damn near demanding the impossible in an economy plummeting. The only family he dares to call his own, are his two daughters and their adopted siblings. A family that grows day by day.

Significant Other(s):

Cassandra Manx ( Deceased ?? Or a forever spook haunting trauma house ) Jolene July , Victoria McQueen ( those he considers soul mates. Who he relentlessly pursues and struggles to give up one way or another. Even when his pursuits are not reciprocated. Which yes, can make him an horrendous, deadly stalker at the heart of it. )

Children:

Biological children - Millicent and Lorrie Manx. Eventually holding a horde of adopted children who he " rescued ( stole ) " from abusive parents, that he also considers his own.

Eye Color(s): Honeydew / Russet brown , Obsidian black.  Varies on mood swings.

Hair Color(s): Dark Brown

Height: 6'3

Weight: 177 lbs

Body Build: While young, lean and lanky.  |  When old , frail and slightly hindered mobility.

Tagged by : Not a soul. I stoles it. o.o

Tagging : Whoever wishes to give it a whirl. Cause I'm honestly not sure who has already been tagged or not. ;)

#❡ character ● studies ● attributes #; Traits of a monster #● Charles Talent Manx III

[once-was-muses]

『 𝙰 𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚈 𝙳𝙴𝚂𝙲𝚁𝙸𝙿𝚃𝙸𝚅𝙴 𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙵𝙸𝙻𝙴 𝙾𝙵 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙼𝚄𝚂𝙴 』 .

repost   with   the   information   of   your   muse   ,   including   headcanons   ,   etc.   if   you   fail   to   achieve   some   of   the   facts   ,   add   some   other   of   your   own   !

NAME. Abaeze Philip Ojomo

AGE.   29 (circa 1988 when got Snatched™️, actually 64)

SPECIES. Human(?)

GENDER.   Male (cis, he/him)

ORIENTATION.   Homosexual

INTERESTS. Cars, maths, chess, stargazing, classic literature and poetry, music- Philip's interests are a little all over the place.

PROFESSION.    Pre-Fog, Autohaven was the first and only Actual Job he'd had. Before then, it was just odd jobs where he could get them, doing whatever meneal thing people would pay him for.

BODY TYPE. Long and lanky, broad shoulders and a narrow waist. Muscular, but in a lean and wiry fashion.

EYES.   Once a dark but soft brown, now solid black with pupils that reflect light. Upturned, with heavy lids that give him the appearance of being constantly worried or saddened.

HAIR.   Rich black, kept long in braids- along with a short goatee- ever since he moved to America. Pre-Fog, he kept as good care of his braids as he could, taking them out at least once a week to wash his hair and redo them. Nowadays, the most he does with them is pick any stray twigs or leaves out, making sure the chain links he's woven in are still in place.

SKIN.   Before the Fog, his skin was naturally deep brown but offset by the lighter scar tissue washed across his form. Now, it's as if the melanism in his skin has taken over every other pigment, the bark-like hide now covering him black as midnight.

FACE.   Jaw is angular with a blunt chin, defined cheekbones and a broad nose. Lips are full and seem permanently pulled down at the edges.

HEIGHT.   7'8" (or 6'4" before the Entity's transformation)

COMPANIONS. Very little, both in the past and present. Angelino Azimov, his boss at Autohaven, and his ex Royce Delaney were the closest he'd been to another human being since his entire family was taken. He finds the vast majority of company in the Fog obnoxious at most amicable- with the exception of Rin, Carmina, Ms. Smitherson, the littles Legionnaire, and (in small doses) Max.

ANTAGONISTS.   There are far too many to name. One already mentioned above. It's much simpler to leave it at that.

COLORS.   Blues, browns, greys, white, and black

FRUITS.   Citrus, especially lemon. It's his favorite flavor for sweets, too.

DRINKS.   Water is the only option anymore. But he occasionally misses Ale 8, a soda he'd bought on a whim at a (unaffiliated) gas station and continued to buy a bottle of when his monthly paycheck rolled in (read: was handed to him in small bills) as a sort of tradition.

ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGES ?  He's never been particularly interested in alcohol, despising the taste. The only alcoholic drink he ever liked was a pink lemonade wine cooler.

SMOKES ?  As morbidly ironic as it is considering his childhood, he developed a smoking habit shortly before coming to America. Needless to say he doesn't get much of a chance to continue with this in the Fog.

DRUGS ?   Never. He saw what it did to some of the soldiers razing his home country, what happened when some of his people got ahold of it, lived only a few blocks from a regular spot for junkies- not to mention the assumptions that followed him as a black man in the 70s and 80s. Anything that could've tempted him on the streets didn't have much of a chance to charm him.

DRIVERS LICENSE ?   He never had a driver's license. (But that didn't stop Azimov from having him move the cars in and out of the garage and around the lot. Or messing around in the driver's seat of one of the staff lorries.)

Tagged by: @janeromeroshow 💙

Tagging: whoever wants it òvó

#dash games tag tba #A Shadow's Rage : The Wraith

[thetruearchmagos]

A Matter Of Principle

An Excerpt: Good Try

This new WIP I've been thinking up, I'm liking where it's going...

Tagging @moonscribbler @moonlitinks @marinesocks @dogmomwrites @theprissythumbelina @sanguine-arena

It was a quiet morning on the docks, with the seagulls squawking their songs on piers that bobbed with the waves. When Inspector Wilters walked up the cobbled streets to his post, with the early sun rays dancing in the air around him, he thought to himself what a wonderful day it looked to be, at least until the rain came back as usual. The day's forceast was sunny til lunchtime, though, and as he perched himself on a low stone wall on one of the outcroppings of rock that dotted the port and took in the view around him, he was determined to make the most of that.

Then, the inspector thought he saw something.

------

The shell of a black beetle would not be so polished and sleek and black as night as the car that pulled up alongside at Terminal 15, the Port of Langford, that morning. Its graceful curves and smooth finish were at odds with the rough and tumble world around it, as if the smoke and grit and sea spray that weathered all were nothing to the machine. A silent whisper accompanied its arrival, nothing like the rattling old cans that surrounded it, and of course its silence made it all the more seen.

And befitting a strange vehicle such as this, was a strange passenger. Not the fishermen's clothes nor the labourers clothes for them, the figure that strode out the crystal doors to meet their midnight carriage was wrapped in suit and tie, with patent leather glossy and gleaming in place of workboots. In one hand was carried a staff of black, with a shimmering red crystal at its top that sparkled in the light, and in the other a deep rosewood red case clad in strong leather, held in gold handles, and secured with gold hinges and locks.

Pulling to a stop straight down the middle of the stone steps of the terminal, the car came to a stop. The figure opened the door, and climbed within.

In less than a minute, it was as if they were never there at all.

------

The very next moment, he was certain he had.

So early in the day the Portley Bridge was always empty, with the early crowds of lorries and carriers still on their way. Yet, that morning Wilters saw a long black motorcar more fitting the streets of the city centre than those of its ports make its way along, winding up the roads a little ways below his post. With the sea to its left and the cliff face of stone to its right, it seemed to fly across the steet and around its curves like a bird in the breeze.

Then, that graceful black machine made a sudden swerve, smashing into the rocks along the road at speed with a deafening crash. Then, like a being possessed it drove back and forth across the narrow causeway, smashing itself apart as it did so.

The sounds of the collisions finally stirred Wilters from his trance, and like a flash he ran like hell down the stone steps from where he stood to the scene of carnage below him. He swang about wildly as he ran, careening into a low wall himself before finally arriving on the street below him.

Just as he arrived on scene, the vehicle made one last violent turn, and smashed into the metal barrier that lay between it and the open sea. Wilters watched, slack jawed and eyes shot as the car ripped through the barricades and dropped like a stone into the churning waters below.

By now he was panting, the exertions leaving him heaving heavily, but with every cell in his body firing on all cylinders he rushed forwards to the gap in the wall, desperate to see what had happened.

Suddenly, with a few more steps left to go a vast, towering column of raging water burst forth from the sea, a pillar of spray accompanied by a thundering deep boom and a shockwave that shoved the hapless inspector on his back.

Drenched, with the wind knocked out of him and his head spinning, Wilters again rose up standing. With the sounds of sirens from far away and drawing ringing in his pounding ears, he limped to the cliff face from where the car fell into the void, and looked down.

In the depths of the sea, he could see no sign of carriage, carrier, or carried.

It was as if nothing had happened at all.

------

The next morning, in another street far away, another slick black car pulled alongside the precise middle of another set of steps, of another building. Gone were the rough roads and warehouses of the ports, with gleaming, towering pillars of glass and steel piercing the sky and blinding the light in their place. Further along, the rush and roar of traffic and life could be heard, for the great city of Langford-On-Azure does not sleep and does not wake.

This shining carriage did not stop at any of those, however. Instead, it lay before a mountainous edifice of grey stone and concrete, with small windows at even spaces the only things that broke the bare and brutal monument.

A figure stepped out from the car, which soon sped away to places unknown. In black suit, tie, and leather shoes, a staff topped with red crystal in one hand and a red case, with a noticeable stain of water on its surface, in the other, he glided up the stairs and walked within.

#my writing #writeblr #worldbuilding #writing #my wips

[authorstevenbirnie]

MIDWEEK YOUTUBE PROJECT UPDATE

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ABOUT THE IMAGE

Still working on the Wild Camping lorry, but keep getting blocked by Herbie Boy! For images and photo albums, please visit our Facebook and Instagram on the links below!

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TAGS

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[guestpostblogger1]

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[topcarwraps]

Just how to Select and Mount Car Wraps

Whether you're aiming to produce a face-lift for your automobile or just wish to transform the method it looks, lorry covers offer the flexibility of a paint job without the price tag. The Elkhart car wraps also last longer than a paint job, calling for much less downtime and preserving their worth much better. Among the most crucial aspects when choosing a wrap is the top quality of the vinyl itself. It's essential that you find a high-grade actors vinyl that's created specifically for automotive use. This will certainly make the wrap more adaptable and easier to set up, as well as it'll conform much better to the curves of your cars and truck. After your vehicle is covered, it's necessary that you keep it in good condition.

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[random-thot-generator]

Dirty Little Secret + Pt. 5

JOHNNY 'SOAP' MACTAVISH x FEM READER

-

Summary: A trip to Brighton ends up with you stranded on the side of the road. But have no fear, Johnny's here!

Warnings/Tags: Profanity, bit of Fluff to keep you warm, Johnny saves the day, Reader's beginning to come around, No use of Y/N

(Notes: You know me. I can't stay away from the feels and warm fuzzies. This is just two old lovers finally getting to know one another.)

Word Count: 1.9K

-

"Love, I need ya to go to Brighton for me t'morrow," Aunt Rue announced over dinner. "Eddie texted me earlier and said he found an original gear shift knob for the MG, but he won't be able to get away for at least another week. He offered to send it through the post, but I don't trust 'em not to lose it."

"What about the bakery?" you asked. You were scheduled to work in the morning.

"I already called Lou. She'll cover for ya."

You shrugged. "Sure, okay."

She smiled at you, patting your hand. "Yer a doll. Thanks, love."

The next morning, you rolled your scooter out of the work shed, doing a quick check before throwing your leg over the seat. It was a vintage, mint-green 1962 Vespa you received for your sixteenth birthday from your aunt, probably your most prized possession.

Donning your helmet, you started her up and set off for Brighton, a giddy grin on your face. The feeling you were experiencing was akin to playing hooky from school. It was a beautiful day for a ride, and it had been ages since you'd taken your scooter further than Kilroy, so you planned to make the most of it.

You made it to Eddie's custom shop in good time despite the traffic, retrieved the part, then took a brief lunch break at the Brighton Pier before heading back home. You were in no hurry to get back, enjoying the seaside scenery as you reveled in the pure exhilaration of traveling the open road. At least, you were enjoying it until a lorry almost turned you into a greasy smear on the asphalt.

You just barely managed to keep the Vespa upright, slewing off the road, the motor rattling to an abrupt halt as you flung a leg out to keep yourself from getting thrown arse over tea kettle. Heart pounding, you glared after the speeding truck through a cloud of dust, a string of curses flying out of your mouth as you stripped the helmet from your head.

"Ya mad bastard!" you shouted at the lorry, shoving the kickstand down with your foot. Climbing off the scooter, you staggered a bit as your shaking legs struggled to support you. "Bloody hell!" you gasped, grabbing onto the seat to keep your balance.

Adrenaline coursed through your veins, making you feel nauseous enough to bend at the waist and plant your shaking hands on your trembling knees. As you fought to keep down your fish and chips from lunch, you pulled in long, steady breaths to help slow your racing heart.

Once you felt calm enough to stand upright again, you blew out a long exhale, then turned to check over your scooter. "Fuck," you muttered, spotting the rear flat tire immediately.

You were still about twenty miles outside of Kilroy, and there was no way you'd be able to push the Vespa that far. You'd have to call for help. Taking out your phone with another muttered curse, you called Aunt Rue.

"Heavens, love!" she exclaimed, when you told her what had happened. "Thank goodness you're alright. Just sit tight. I'll send someone t'come get ya right away."

"Thanks, Aunt Rue." You put your phone away and slumped down beside the Vespa to wait.

Within five minutes, you received a text from Rue saying someone was on their way, though she didn't say who to expect. Not that it mattered to you. So long as they had a way to transport your scooter, that's all you cared about.

That's what you thought, anyway, until a familiar black truck pulled off the road, coming to a stop in front of you. Sighing out a resigned breath, you climbed to your feet and stepped forward to greet him.

"Bonnie!" Johnny called as soon as he got out of his truck, rushing up to you to take you by the shoulders. "Are ye a'right, sweetheart?" he asked, looking you over with an anxious expression.

"I'm fine," you assured him. "Just a bit shaken up."

His hands kneaded at your shoulders, worry etched into his face. "Christ, I damn near keeled over when yer aunt tol' me wha' happened." His hands tightened on your shoulders before he pulled you into his chest, arms wrapping around you in a vice-like hug. "Thank Christ yer a'right," he breathed out, resting his cheek against your head.

Your arms came up on instinct to encircle his waist, letting him hold you for a moment. You couldn't deny that being in Johnny's arms was a huge comfort, and after the frightening close call you'd just had, you allowed yourself to briefly indulge in his strength and reassurance.

The two of remained that way for several more moments, before you gathered the strength to pull away, feeling slightly embarrassed by your own behavior. Avoiding eye contact, you planted your hands on your hips and turned to look at your scooter instead. "Do, um... Do you have any straps to tie her down with?" you asked, sounding as sheepish as you felt.

Johnny nodded slowly, taking note of the change in your demeanor. "Aye. We'll get her loaded up and get ya home. C'mon, hen."

The two of you wrestled your scooter into the back of his truck, Johnny getting her strapped down, double-checking the straps to make sure she was secure. "She should be good t'go," he said, hopping out of the truck bed.

Once you were back on the road, you blew out a tired breath and slouched into the passenger seat, closing your eyes. The two of you rode in silence, the sound of the wind whipping through the cab of the truck and the warmth of the sun hitting your face soothing your frayed nerves.

"Tha's a nice scooter ye got," Johnny said, casting a glance your way. "How long ya been ridin'?"

A little smile graced your lips as you slit open your eyes. "Aunt Rue got her for me when I was sixteen. She was my first real taste of freedom."

"Aye, ken what ye mean. Me da got me an' me brother dirt bikes. Tore up the countryside on those bikes. Used 'em to herd the sheep, too," he said with a laugh.

"Sheep?" you repeated, giggling. "You were a sheep herder?" An image of Johnny holding a shepherd's crook popped into your head.

He chuckled self-consciously, nodding. "Aye. Grew up on a sheep farm. Still canna smell sheep shite without thinkin' o' home."

You snorted out a soft laugh, your curiosity getting the better of you. "So, how many siblings do you have?"

"There's five o' us, countin' meself; me three sisters an' me brother, James. Brianne's the auldest, then Emmie, me, James and Sorcha."

"Ooh, you're the middle child. God, your poor mum. Bet you drove her bonkers."

He huffed a laugh and nodded. "Aye. 'Twas always gettin' up t'some sort o' mischief with James when we were lads. Least, until one o' me sisters tol' on us. Brianne was the worst, way meaner than our mam, always scoldin' us an' boxin' our ears. She's married an' got her own brood t'deal with now. Guess me an' the others were good practice fer her."

You sniffed in amusement, easily imagining him as a cute, blue-eyed boy with messy, dark hair and a devilish grin, no doubt an absolute terror. "Must've been nice, having a big family. I always wanted a sister, but..." You shrugged, leaving the thought to hang in the air.

He slanted a glance your way before focusing back on the road again. "Yer aunt, she mentioned that she raised ya," he said, keeping his voice soft and low.

A slight crease formed between your brows. "Yeah. My da dumped me on her doorstep when I was eight. Said he'd be back to get me, but never showed. I think after mum took off, he just couldn't cope with a kid on his own. So, Aunt Rue took me in. Can't complain, though. She gave me a better life than I ever had with them. Don't think either of them really wanted kids."

Johnny was quiet for a moment, brows tipped together. "Ya ever thought 'bout havin' wee'uns o' yer own?"

You tilted your chin up in thought. "Didn't used to think so. Had this whole glamorous life planned out for myself; ya know— successful career woman living it up in London. After being on my own in Hereford, though..." You sighed, shook your head. "I thought I'd love living in the city, but honestly I was miserable there. I'm not a city girl; I learned that much about myself. It gave me a whole new appreciation for Kilroy, once I moved back. Guess I'll always just be a simple village lass, but I'm okay with it, now. Feel more like myself than I have in years."

He hummed, nodding. "Aye, I ken wha' ya mean. No' much fer the city, either. 'S like livin' in a bloody rat maze, everyone packed t'gether." He gave a shake of his head. 'S no' fer me. Dinnae like livin' in Hereford. 'S jus' a convenience, close t'the base."

You entered Kilroy soon after and directed him to your aunt's cottage on the outskirts of the village. You could see his eyes taking in the cottage and land as you helped him unload the Vespa. "This is a nice place, bonnie," he commented, eyes still scanning the property.

"Yeah. Aunt Rue loves it here; me, too. Belonged to my grandparents. Needs a lot of work, though, especially the cottage."

Johnny studied the stone structure, noting the missing and broken shingles on the roof, the dry rot around the eaves and windows. "Aye. Could use a bit o' TLC."

You sniffed. "It could use a lot of TLC, but the money to pay for it is the problem." You shrugged. "We'll get it done, eventually."

Johhny gave you a sidelong look. "So, ya plan on stayin', then? Permanently, here in Kilroy, I mean."

You thought about it and then nodded. "Yeah. I think I am. It's home, ya know?"

His bobbed his head slowly, considering your words, then he heaved out a breath and offered you a smile. "D"ya need a ride into the village?"

You shook your head. "Nah. Lou's covering my shift at the bakery today. Think I'll stay here, give the Vespa a going over, get that flat tire off." You shifted awkwardly on your feet. "I, uh... Thanks for the lift back and helping with my scooter. I can give you a few quid for petrol or—"

He waved off your offer with a scoff. "'Twere nothin', bonnie. Was glad t'do it. " He seemed a bit awkward himself before finally stepping forward to give you a quick hug and peck on the cheek. "'M glad yer a'right, bonnie."

With that, he stepped back a few steps, his cheeky smile appearing before giving you a wink. "I'll see ya later, sweetheart," he said, then climbed back into his truck, cranked the motor and steered it back onto the road. He thrust his big arm out the window to give you a final wave before disappearing down the narrow lane.

Your hand drifted up to your face, fingers brushing over the spot where he'd kissed you, a little smile pulling up the corners of your mouth. You found yourself looking forward to seeing him again.

"See ya later, Johnny."

-

part 4 part 6

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What do I need to find out about LED headlights?

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#Volkswagen Golf H11 led fog light

[bramsenbean19]

Exactly how do I pick an LED light bulb for my vehicle?

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[westhkloster6]

What do I need to understand about LED headlights?

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