Come For Hozier

Wednesday Addams is autistic. No I will not be taking questions.

Ahh I love the food thing that you got asked <3 food can have such a special place in our lives it's so precious

Ya think Hound develop concerning eating habits due to Makarov? Due to the whole stressful situation

I just want someone in the 141 to cook him a meal, filled with love and care, maybe Hound is in the kitchen watching them cook it for his own security.

I just want him to have a nice meal 😔

-🐙

I do feel like Hound would have some food hoarding habits or just distrust about eating something he didn't make himself. It wouldn't be the first time he'd gotten drugged through food...

But the 141 making food communally would be a fun idea lol so here's a quick brain fart :D :

You feel out of place. Well, you're always out of place, but you feel especially out of place sitting at the table while Soap and and Gaz busy themselves by the stove, Price humming to himself to the side as he gets the mugs to make tea. Ghost sits next to you grumbling under his breath, both of you in 'time-out' — you hadn't done anything (save for not being trusted around anything sharp), it's Ghost that had gone and microwaved beans in the can. Now Johnny swears up and down the microwave is possessed.

Your eyes flicker between Soap and Gaz, watching them cook you don't even know what. The only British 'cuisine' you know of is the cremated steaks Price would sometimes make you before. . . that. But nothing the two are making smells nearly as bad as the charred hockey pucks Price would feed you and Simon.

"Hey!" Your brought out of your thoughts in time to see Kyle swat away Price's hand with his spatula. "Don't you dare cap! I'm not about to get rained on because of your bad cooking." You hadn't considered Gaz could take charge, too soft in your eyes, but you're surprised by how tight of a ship he runs when he's by the stove.

"Alright, alright." Price huffs while Ghost lets out an amused huff. He's not quite laughing, but you can see the subtle tremor of his shoulders in silent laughter.

That gets Soap to point a spoon in Ghost's direction. "Oh yer one te fockin' giggle. Mr. 'ah cursed the damn microwave with me beans'."

"Sod off." Simon grunts, but there's no edge to his words. Soap tuts, but soon enough starts off rambling about something you're not quite able to follow along to when your eyes once again focus on where their arms are, how they move, paying especially close attention any time they rest them by their sides (even though realistically you doubt they'd try to drug the same food they'd eat).

You still tense when you feel Price's hand on your back, only now noticing that you'd started hunching your back, your shoulders raised closer to your ears. "You're alright, straighten your spine, sweetheart." His voice is calm, his hand warm as he applies gentle pressure on your back until you straighten back out. "There you go, good man." He rumbles, hand going up to ruffle your hair before he pulls away before his touch can turn into stinging pain to your skin.

You blink as a plate full of food is placed in front of you. The food smells good and doesn't look like it had been cremated, made with care you don't deserve. "I. . ." You don't know why but your throat feels clogged, like someone had poured hot tar into your mouth and forced you to swallow, the collar around your throat constricting your breathing even more.

Simon's shoulder bumps into yours, "If you don't eat that I will." The childish threat makes you breathe out a small laugh.

"Aye, the bastard's like Henry the hoover, he'll eat anything." Soap supplies as he sits down opposite of you with his own plate. Though you get the impression he's talking about himself when he stabs a sausage with a fork and almost inhales the entire thing.

"Mhm," You grunt, taking the fork. "I don't doubt it." You stab a piece of black pudding. It tastes earthy, but the small coppery tang of blood sizzles down your nerves, but fuck it tastes good.

"Look at that, is it good?" Kyle chuckles as he watches your facial features shift as you swallow the food, his own face that of pride like he already knows your answer, but you nod your head all the same.

not until you tell me to, sir

priceghost blurb do we want a series based off of simon being a nasty mutt for price? an interesting dynamic with more secret interesting dynamics CW: blood/violence, but nothing explicit (i think)

510 words

simon riley was a dog. not a dog in the way that a shih tzu was a dog, pliant and soft and meant for nothing but lounging, nor in the way a blue heeler was a dog, bred for farms and herding the disobedient and obeying rules. no, he was a dog in the way that a wolf crushed bones between its teeth, blood dripping down its jaw and fragments of bones in its fur. he was a dog in the way that the most vicious outcasts were called mutts and thrown aside by the pliant, the obedient, the snobbish and the classy.

and simon riley had been pushed away. he had been sent to unit after unit, never really finding anyone that could deal with the potent blood lust that oozed from him on missions or the sticky air of death that seemed to cling to him more than his own skin did. he had seen true violence, felt most of it. meat hooks through ribs and dirt in lungs did quite a bit to change a man. he couldn't be blamed for his violence. couldn't be blamed for the decay that trailed behind him or the blacked-out reports that seemed to blossom from his name.

john price didn't blame him. he had also seen true violence. been in the gulag with the hardest of criminals, learned that "special forces" meant "illegal and immoral on a good day" quick, and was okay with that fact. he had long since accepted the blood that would forever stain his skin, no matter how hard he scrubbed. there would always be flesh, rot, bone, blood under his nails.

maybe that's why he didn't shy away from touching simon riley. all those years ago when the man walked into his office after a mission, john didn't try to get the man to leave. the blood on simon's jaw blended with the blood on john's hands, and in the end, they couldn't tell when the carnage they carried became carnage from their own flesh.

from an outsider looking in, it was hard to place the relationship between the two. simon and that scot with the mohawk sure seemed close, but to the keenest eye, they both had something a little darker that they didn't let the other in on. a little too quick to bite, a little too happy to ignite. john and that pretty one with the hat also seemed a little too touchy for just friends, but they were both too sharp in the eye for each other. needed too much control to truly function well.

it wasnt until a video call with shepherd that anyone understood how john was able to get so close to the bloodthirsty jas of simon without getting bitten.

"keep that mutt of yours on a leash, john. he keeps sniffing in places he ought not to."

john scoffed and grabbed simon's jaw. he shook his head a bit, a smirk on his lips. "you don't bite, do you boy?"

"not until you tell me to, sir."

If you all haven't heard about it yet: https://ratethelandlord.org/

Just saw the best thing in the world: a single Lewis Hamilton Monster on an empty row right next to a full row of Red Bull.

wear a different perfume when you commit murder fuckin amateurs 

“Alot of people call me Sir Brian which is sweet but I am not I am just Bri but I am Bri PhD CBE”

Queen guitarist Brian May is now a “Sir.” May, who also has a doctorate in astrophysics and is an animal welfare advocate, received a knighthood Friday as part of the U.K.'s annual New Year's Honors list.

Go off you funky little astrophysicist

I’m sorry but there is no reason for the Grinches mail box to be this unsanitary.

Surely they’d at least clean it. Imagine if whatever is in that got into the adjoining mailboxes. And one of them is the Mayors girlfriend. Or even just re assign it.

That's a whole new level.

- Cherry Wine live at the O2 Academy Sheffield

This is too beautiful to just sit in my camera roll