hello! surprise announcement—i've moved to a new account. i've got my reasons, but mostly, i'm just ready for a fresh start and fewer eyes on me. if you find me, you find me.

if we're mutuals, i'm happy to share my new main and writing account. dm me here or on discord. (or i will re-follow you within the next few days. whatever happens first. but there's also zero pressure to keep following me lmao.)

i'm keeping this blog and my side blogs up, but i won't update them regularly, if at all.

thank you for all your support.

fic list | AO3

somebunny told me there's a new chapter of the warren on AO3.

(reminder: i am no longer active on this account. i am only sharing warren update posts until the fic is complete.)

the bottom line is that you should #follow your bliss because you’ll be happier for it in the end. if people like what you write, amazing and cool we love to have companions on a journey, but imo you should always be your own primary audience.

look i'm always delighted, flattered, and humbled when people like my stuff, because i work really hard on it. (save for the short shit i slap together in a feverish haze a la ghost with a boner, thank you early for introducing that into my vernacular) but i'm at a point where i'm primarily focused on: what is delightful to me, and what will delight/frighten my friends.

cw: noncon elements, spit kink.

thinking about this and while i think price threatens you with the gaz/soap combo, ghost takes it upon himself to really cement the pecking order in your thick skull.

an au of a boxing au i've barely started. price x reader. cw: noncon blowjob, injury, lots of blood and spit, a whiff of plot, abrupt ending a/n: reader can be interpreted as gender neutral.

Blood gushes from your broken nose in thick, hot streams you can’t stop—not until Price gives his permission. 

Hunting, killing, breeding. It’s all part of life. / The Warren

ghost x reader in the same vein as seconds, but not quite the same storyline. cw: reincarnation (and not always human) and fucked-up soulmates, animal death (chickens, dog), suicide, weird vibes

Across all of time, the chase endures.

One fleeing, one giving chase.

Every people, every mythos, every woven inch of the world’s story holds versions of it—echoes of this. The hunter, the hunted. The desperate and dogged. The terrified and compelled.

Sometimes, rarely, there’s laughter in the chase. Mischief. A light-footed thrill.

But that’s never the case with you.

oh, knight commander price keeps busy.

this past year, he married a young woman whose reckless, unpleasant husband—an awful gambler and an even worse soldier—died suddenly on campaign. no one ever really questioned the circumstances.

but as price issued the command that sent the man to his death, he was the one to inform her of his passing. and then he extended his hand to the widow left behind. so young, so far from home, and heavy with child. she needed someone.

he claimed it was out of duty. protection. and in the eyes of his queen, the court, and the clergy, it was deemed mercy. the honorable thing, really. the good man john price, doing right by the dead.

never mind how convenient it all seemed. a woman has a husband and a child has a father.

knight!ghost x reader. hand-waving details. all vibes, as usual. cw: noncon touching, manipulation

After years beneath your mother’s watchful eye—less a daughter than a jewel kept safe under lock and key—you are at last released.

Invited to accompany your elder sister to court following her marriage to the esteemed Lord Garrick. Your first steps beyond the confines of home toward something far grander. The world opens before you like a storybook.

It’s a rare opportunity for a young lady of gentle birth. The kind of chance your mother spent years safeguarding you against, fearing the pitfalls of courtly life. An opportunity your sister now extends like a gift.

You intend to follow in her footsteps. To make the most of it.

deep end

price x transmasc!reader | 7.9k | AO3

There’s something to be said for the kind of work that doesn’t pretend to be anything it’s not. 

It’s not glamorous, but it’s yours—a modest business with your name on the side of a sun-faded van, stocked with gear, and enough regulars to keep the bills paid. That’s more than a lot of people can claim. It keeps the lights on. Affords you food and pride, both. Proof you’re getting by.