#(I'M CALLING YOU OUT)
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@mollytoonsworld you're gonna break my heart ;w; yes I saw what you're doing w getting ppl to know of the AU I apricate you like so much to spread it tho goblin >:3
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I gotta say ...
There's a downer on the loose. Who ? What ?
It's those "Special Episodes" that some shows insert in the playlist between episodes.
They usually feature members of the cast breaking the fourth wall and addressing the audience with ad-libbed comments or responses to fan questions, answering an unseen interviewer, or partaking in some inane improvised game.
What's not to like ?
Well, it finally occurred to me: it breaks the flow of the drama, by giving us the actors minus their roles, thus breaking the spell so laboriously achieved in aid of the story. Poof, suspension of disbelief gone--blown up-- eradicated.
What a waste.
What would @absolutebl or @heretherebedork say about this ? Am I the only one complaining about this innocuous if distracting fan servicing ?
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haharollins let their friend bully me and even encouraged it. Why? Because I shipped Buddy Murphy and Aalyah Mysterio, even after I lowered Buddy's age in my universe and it was meant to be platonic.
And yet, they never apologized and defended their friend's harassment. But when I called out one of my bullies to them, I was immediately told "I don't tolerate that!" Hypocrite.
@atiny-angel @swifteforeverandalways @axelwolf8109 @moxxieswitchblade @the-iridescent-phoenix @dreamlesswonder86 @katries @gold--gucciempress @lynsrosegarden @ozzypawsbone-princeofbarkness @evolution-ofa-geek @codchrist89 @mrragersrevenge96 @oliveiraswife @dommymommymorgan @sargentbarxes
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@cowboygarbage close your damn tabs boy
rb if you, like me, are the rare breed of internet user who always closes browser tabs that you dont need. like sorry your computer runs like shit maybe its because you have 50 fucking tabs open, cant relate
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I love you Safety Wizard.
(Inspired by @keroascrazy)
#safety wizard#wizard#Tumblr wants me to use the wizardposting tag so badly and I'm tempted. It's a good tag.#Shout out to stackedbirds for sending me the safety wizard post. Beloved mutual and beloved supplier of good wizard posts.#I will make it an open secret that I love me some good goofy wizards.#Safety Wizard has a special pizzazz that just gets the gears turning.#I like to imagine Safety Wizard began their studies as a traffic wizard. Then took some courses in roadside hazard magic.#This sparked an interest in safety magic and resulted in an eventual change of major - but the outfit stayed true to their roots.#All that said and done; The original costume is really good and I hope OP keeps up the good wizarding work.#Remember that distracted driving is extremely dangerous. Do not drive tired or in altered states of awareness.#It is always morally correct to call a friend of ride service if you have even the smallest doubt you will be a safe driver.#And *please* wear proper PPE on your job site. Do not put yourself or other's at risk!
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once again, don't think I'm not still obsessing over 7-12
(eventually I will get back to being less scribbly, whoops)
#art#twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland spoilers#twisted wonderland episode 7 spoilers#twisted wonderland book 7 spoilers#twisted wonderland episode 7 part 12 spoilers#twisted wonderland book 7 part 12 spoilers#oh cater. cater cater cater.#i'm so sorry but riddle is the absolute funniest person to look at and be like#'actually yeah i think this is good. let's stick with this one.'#no it's great it's amazing cater is amazing actually#guy who has never had a long-term friendship in his life 🤝 other guy who has never had a long-term friendship in his life#those two guys 🤝 third guy who sees the hollow voids inside them and immediately goes 'i need to fill that with food'#in this house we heart the heart senpais#fucking love how freaked out cater was by punk riddle#who is this. this is not his jousama. :(#(i do think one of the things cater likes about riddle is that he looks like he should act really cute but he is in fact A Bastard)#(a riddle who enthusiastically calls him caykun and is just kinda adorable is wrong on an intrinsic level)#cater once they hit the second level of dreaming: okay he's actively trying to kill us but at least i know how to deal with this#god. the hug. i'm not okay#that said i can't wait until after episode 7 when it finally occurs to riddle to ask what their dreams were#cater: oh uh...you know. :) stuff :)#trey: oh mine was actually -- cater what are you doing. put the teapot down.#(the rest of this scene has been redacted for everyone's benefit)
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Before I graduated I was like "lol ace attorney writers are so silly for making Miles and Nick such ride or dies when they only ever see each other at work" but now that I have a job I'm like Oh. No that just happens with coworkers sometimes. Spending the majority of your waking hours with the same people and going through the same high urgency issues does make you insane about each other in an indescribable way.
#I drew this this weekend but I'm posting now in remembrance of my emotional support co-worker :''''''''''( rip#she's not dead. they just made me move out of our shared office#might as well ask my HEART to move out of my BODY.#They took me away from her and I've turned into a feral cat. I'm DISTRAUGHT.#YOU CAN'T DO THAT. WE TRAUMA BONDED. WE WERE IN THE TRENCHES TOGETHER#SHE WAS THERE WHEN WE GOT PHI IN A NON PRODUCTION ENVIRONMENT. SHE GUIDED ME THROUGH IT#I don't know what to do with myself if I don't start my day with asking her about what she did after work#I WANT HER TO TELL ME ABOUT HER PILATES CLASS AND HER CATS AND HER HUSBAND WAAAAAAH#WHO AM I IF I CAN'T PICK UP THE PHONE WHEN MY CUSTOMER CALLS AND MAKE EYE CONTACT WITH HER AND ROLL MY EYES#I'm going to die. I'm going to decompose and die. i'm going to fly to europe and fake my death#anyway. fictional lawyers! Soooo silly goofy am i right#ace attorney#my art#phoenix wright#miles edgeworth#gyakuten saiban#ace attorney comic#ace attorney fanart#OH ALSO shout out 2 dear mutual legaylly blonde you made me want to try halftone dots for coloring. It was fun.
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@magicalcollector
literally cannot believe "first ever live action omegaverse show" is not bigger news on tumblr
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had a vivid dream where there was a "play as Kim" mod and I was super excited
after like 2 mins gameplay Harry just turned around looking scandalised and was like "Ohgod... It's me, Kim. *I'm* Grandpa Piss!"
he refused to elaborate even after I savescummed and exhausted all dialogue options
then a notification flashed like "THOUGHT GAINED: GRANDPA PISS" and I went to the thought cabinet screen. all it said was "What the fuck does he mean by that."
#disco elysium#this wasnt just a dream... this was a Vision#I am 80% sure “grandpa piss” is a meme from somewhere but I'm too weak to google it#(do you think he could tell I was savescumming?#imagine if this was actually a game mode and Harry broke the fourth wall to call the player out for it#I'd wet myself from the terror..... then *I'd* be Grandpa Piss.......)#shitposting tag
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These two summed up /j

Original pic
#inside out#inside out fandom#inside out 2#inside out sadness#sadness inside out#embarrassment inside out#inside out embarrassment#inside out anxiety#anxiety inside out#I'm not really sure if you would call this spoiler material but NEAH#my art#meme
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I got news for you baby, you're looking at the man!
pairing: john price x fem!reader
wc: 7.2k...sorry lmao plz read…
contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, fem!reader, fluff, established relationship, oral (m. receiving), road head, porn w so much plot, hair pulling, angst, emotional conflict, complicated family dynamics, dysfunctional family, i.e., ongoing conflict, reader having familial issues (mostly maternal), age-gap, secret relationship & marriage, & john being a protector.
author's note: this was brought to fruition by a singular barry sloan edit that had me salivating and @sai-int's fic 'a ticket to play', which single-handedly re-sparked my love for price! so, yeah, anyways, enjoy this horny mess!
dividers by @/saradikagraphics!
John Price is a man...
“John, you didn’t,” you hiss, eyes wide as you set down the groceries on the counter, your wrists aching from the heavy load.
“Didn’t know it was your mother, sweetheart,” he replies, his tone sincere. He quickly grabs the bags and begins unpacking the groceries.
You glance at the house phone positioned beside the fridge, then peel off the old sticky note attached there. You read it aloud, “Don’t answer calls from the 406 area code. I’m talking to you, John,” before pausing to think, lips pursed in contemplation.
He opens the fridge, sliding the milk jug inside before carefully shutting the door. When he turns back to see your knowing smile, his eyebrows lift in a silent acknowledgment, a quiet ‘ah’ escaping his lips.
“Well,” you urge, grabbing the aromatics from the counter to put up. “What did she say when you picked up?” You ask, attempting to sound as casual and disinterested as possible.
“Oh. Nothin’ you’d find interestin,’” he hums with a knowing smile as he tears open a pack of paper towels.
You press your lips together. “Well…yeah,” you mutter, picking up a few grapefruits. “I mean, it doesn’t matter to me,” you defend, emphasizing the ‘doesn’t.�� “I just want to know what she thought,” you shrug, trying to remain nonchalant.
“Mhm,” he hums thoughtfully as he gathers the now-empty reusable bags, hanging them on the hook next to the cabinet.
“I’m serious,” you say, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. “I really don’t care.”
"I know you don't, hon." He turns to wash the fresh berries in a colander, the water splashing against the metal steadily.
"You don't believe me," you exasperate.
He lets out a low laugh as he washes the berries. "Didn't say that."
You lean against the kitchen island, your body language betraying your frustration. "You were thinking it," you accuse, with a dramatic sigh.
He sets the berries back into the colander and turns his head toward you, a playful half-smile on his lips. “No, I wasn't,” he replies, clearly amused.
You poke your tongue into your cheek, mentally cursing yourself for marrying someone so adept at reading your emotions, your inner conflict laid bare.
“But,” he says, tearing a paper towel to dry his hands. “Now, I’m starting to feel that you do care.”
You don’t respond, trying to avert your gaze as heat creeps into your cheeks like he’s caught you sneaking a cookie from the cookie jar.
“Baby,” he moves closer, wrapping his strong arms around your shoulders and pulling you into him. “It’s okay to care,” he whispers softly into your hair, a hint of vulnerability in his voice.
You gently shut your eyes, pressing your face into his warm abdomen, finding comfort in his presence.
“Damn it,” you mumble, your words muffled against him. He chuckles softly in response. “Alright, fine,” you pull back slightly, locking your eyes onto his as his hands cradle your cheeks. “I do care. Now, spill the juicy details.”
He lets out a hearty laugh. “Well, she started by checkin’ in on you.”
You release a dry laugh, rolling your eyes. "Yeah, right. She always has ulterior motives," you grumble. "I swear that woman is always up to—"
"Shh," he squishes your cheeks together as both thumbs rest over your lips to silence you. "Will you let me finish?" He prompts, quipping a brow.
"Sorry, yeah," you apologize, your voice coming out muffled and nasal.
He nods with a smile, moves his thumbs off your mouth, and drops his hands to massage your shoulders. "Said your sister is gettin' married, and she thought it would be nice if you came down for her engagement party this weekend," he supplies.
Correction remarried.
She's on her fifth? No, her sixth husband now.
Guess she thinks six will be the lucky number.
Who’s gonna tell her?
However, that’s beside the point; you care about something much more…pathetic.
You feel frustrated because all you really want is to know how your mother reacted to the deep, gruff voice of the Englishman who answered the phone.
You wait with a bated breath, eyes wide with anticipation, but his expression remains flat, his brow furrowing in confusion. "What else?" You finally question, unable to contain your curiosity.
"That's all," he plainly says, his words hanging in the air.
You scoff. "She didn't ask about the random guy answering my phone?" You voice with disbelief.
Your mother is a shallow woman, but surely you getting what she’s constantly pressured you into getting would have her jumping for joy.
A sly smirk grows on his lips. "Am I just some random guy?" He jokes.
You smile yourself before pressing a kiss to his lips, arms coming to wrap around his torso. "You’re my husband, so not to me," you begin. "But to her, yes," your hand moves to the back of his neck, pulling him down to peck his lips again. "You know that," you say matter-of-factly.
His hands drift to your waist. "Mhm, I'm your dirty little secret," he hums softly.
"John," you frown, guilt flooding your brain. "You know I would, but—"
"Just jokes, baby," he interjects, pressing a light kiss on your temple as his eyes light up. "I love you in any way you’ll have me," he murmurs softly.
"God, you’re perfect," you reply with a smile.
"She did question who I was," he starts. "Had no idea she was so southern," he remarks casually before continuing. "She thought I was the plumber," he quips, trying to lighten the mood slightly.
He tried, but he could feel the tension in the air.
Sees the disappointment and anger in your eyes.
In your posture.
You're fucking pissed.
"Typical," you remark, stepping away from him, arms flailing around. "She—she thinks I'm so incapable of finding someone that she would resort to thinking you're a person I pay before actually thinking you're with me." Your voice is filled with frustration.
"Hon—" John begins, voice soft as his hand reaches for you.
"And she wonders why I never visit," you release a dry laugh. "Never reach out."
"Come ere,'" he coos, hand pulling you by your wrist, so he can engulf you in a hug.
"It's not fair," your voice is once again muffled by the fabric of his shirt, but he can hear the tightness in it and the sniffle against him, a clear sign of your emotional distress.
"No, it's not," he affirms, fingers easing through your hair.
"Nothing is ever good enough for her," you exhale into his abdomen, fueled more by anger than by despair.
John gently kisses your hair while his fingers soothe your back with a gentle massage.
"I’ll never be good enough for her," you mumble absentmindedly, your voice lacking emotion.
"Sweetheart," he begins, his voice low as your hair muffles the sound. "Don't take offense, but you're mother is a real nasty woman. You're fuckin' perfect, and if she can't see that, it's her God-damn loss," his tone rough yet sincere.
You chuckled, a smile spreading across your face as the corners of your eyes crinkled. "I love you."
"Love you so much," he whispers, gently planting another kiss on your head.
He leans back slightly to look into your eyes. "Want me to run you a hot bath?" He asks, gently massaging your shoulders.
"That sounds really nice," you reply, taking a deep breath. "Thanks."
"Course. That's what I'm here for," he says effortlessly, leaning down to kiss your lips tenderly. "I'll let you know when it's ready."
You nod quietly as he moves to draw the warm bath.
The thought of sinking into steamy water and enveloping bubbles soothes your mind.
Honestly, to hell with your mother's opinions.
They just weren't worth the headache.
And there was no way you were going back to that house.
The promise of the bath, with its comforting warmth and enticing bubbles, would wash away your worries and quiet the thoughts swirling in your head.
Visions of your mother and that place would fade, never to resurface again.
"Can't believe she thought I would actually come down," you sigh contentedly, feeling the warmth of your husband, John, as he works shampoo through your hair, creating rich suds.
So much for the visions of your mother fading.
It had been a whole day since your mother's call, and the weight of her words still lingered, stirring up a storm of conflicting emotions within you.
"Still on your mind?" John asks, eyes hyperfocusing on ensuring the shampoo coats every strand of your hair.
"I just—I don't understand why she thought I would come," you suspire, turning to massage the loofah against John's chest, feeling the warmth of his skin and the tension in his muscles.
"Must have gone mad, I suppose," he jests, his fingers massaging the shampoo into your scalp, adding a touch of humor to the heavy conversation.
Your lip quips at his joke, eyes lighting at the sight of him taking such good care of you, ensuring your scalp is tantalizingly clean. "Maybe," you murmur. "Because all she ever does is ridicule me and constantly ask if I've found a man.” You gently move the loofah over his chest to ensure he is squeaky clean.
"Close your eyes," he murmurs, his hands coming to massage your facial cleanser into your face before returning to the issue at hand.
"Wouldn't let tryin' to examine your mother's psyche take your day, hon," his hands move with familiar ease as he massages the liquid into your cheeks. "You'll never know why. Can't change that,” he says.
"I hate how logical you are," you sigh, finding yourself relaxing at his touch.
He lets out a gruff laugh. "Would you rather me be some git?"
Your eyebrow quips, eyes remaining closed. "What does that mean?"
His lip quips. "Sweetheart, how long have you lived with me here, in England?" He enunciates the last word as he moves you under the faucet to wash away the cleanser's remnants.
"Not long enough, I guess," you smile cheekily, wiping your eyes free of water to open them. "Honestly, forever isn't even long enough," you add, trying to shift the focus, though it's true; you can't quite remember how long you've been living together
"Oh," he tuts softly. "Nice save. Can't argue with that," he replies, smirking before leaning in to kiss your lips.
After a stretch of silence, you turn around so he can wash your back with the loofah. Your mind is still swirling with thoughts. "I kind of miss seeing my niece," you find yourself reminiscing.
"Even though my sister and I don't get along too well, her daughter and I have always had a special bond," you say with a sigh.
"What else do you miss?" Since you never really talk about where you grew up, John prods, he's curious.
"Well, in the spring, my cousins and I would go flower picking in the field behind my grandfather's house," you find yourself getting more excited.
"He also had an old peach tree, Mindy, he called it, that we would pick dozens of peaches from and just lay in the shade under the tree and eat them till he thought we might become peaches ourselves," you snicker, turning around to face him, eyes light.
"They were fucking good peaches."
"Sounds like you miss it," he grins.
Your hand turns the lever off, and the water stops, leaving a lingering warmth on your skin. "I do," you confess, stepping out of the shower to grab you and him fresh towels.
"But, my mother knows how to ruin the best of memories," your voice is monotone. "I want those great ones to stay intact, you know?" You shrug, wrapping the towel around yourself, offering comfort.
He wraps the towel low around his waist. "Course I get it, sweetheart," his voice soft yet gruff. "Let's get you all nice and dry, and we'll order some takeout. Yeah?" He asks, reaching for your hand to lead you into your shared bedroom to get dressed.
"Sounds perfect," you voice, the thoughts of going home almost completely absolving.
A few misses wouldn't make you completely switch gears and go.
It just wasn't worth it.
Only your mother could figure out how to make the enjoyment and amazing things crumble up and burn.
But you won't let her.
So, you've made up your mind.
You will not be going.
That's final.
It's two days to Saturday.
You've been manically counting down the days.
And so, naturally, instead of basking in the serene morning, with birds chirping and the gentle glow of the sun filtering through your kitchen window, you're perched on a barstool, computer propped up, as your breakfast grows cold, hand hesitating over a plane ticket that will whisk you away tomorrow morning to your hometown.
Just one click, and you'll have solidified yourself as going.
You're only feeling so impulsive because your impulse control, aka your husband, is at work.
Your finger hovers over the 'confirm' button for about twenty minutes.
You know what's holding you back.
The anxieties claw up about your mother and what ifs that could happen.
And then, in a sudden moment of clarity, it all becomes clear.
'Could.'
It's not a promise, just a possibility.
You had spontaneously decided that you wouldn't let the could control your decisions.
Yes, one thing was holding you back, but what about the multitude of things that you wanted to see or the many people who loved and cared about and desperately wanted to see after so long?
You were not going to let the 'could' control your decisions.
You were going to overcome this worry and take the leap.
You sit up tall in your chair, turning your head with a wince as you click "confirm."
"Oh," you murmur. "That was dramatic for no reason," you say monotonously.
But, now you can't help but feel a surge of excitement.
You would get to see your niece after so long.
And the flower field and, of course, Mindy the peach tree.
Who could forget your childhood room full of posters and knick-knacks you collected throughout your teenage years.
You find yourself smiling as you get that familiar chime from your email confirming your flight ticket.
Can't get cold feet now.
You take a swig of your tea, which has long since gone cold, but your throat is parched from the anxiety that grips you, a knot tightening in your stomach.
The mug was a gift from your husband for your birthday last year.
It featured your favorite flowers made into it and even had your birthday engraved on the bottom.
John was always so thoughtful.
You pause your movements, lips hovering over the clay mug, a moment of hesitation freezing your actions.
John.
Your husband.
Of course, he didn't care that you bought the ticket or wanted to go, but he would be pissed if you just left.
Sure, you could wait until he returned home, but the urgency to communicate your decision gnaws at you, compelling you to act now.
You hurriedly reach for your phone, fidgeting to press his number.
He's at the top of your contacts.
You tap your fingers against the cool granite countertop, waiting until he picks up.
It rings.
And rings.
...and rings again.
Until the line picks up, you sit up, ready to unload on him, only for it to be his voicemail line.
"Shit," you curse, hanging up as your foot bounces on the metal footstep on the barstool.
As you sit there, unable to wait until he gets home, you can't help but feel a surge of dramatic emotion. This internal conflict, this emotional turmoil, is what drives you to act impulsively.
But this is a big deal.
You never go home.
Rarely mention it.
So your next actions feel rationalized to you.
Without a second thought, you spring up, grab your keys from the hook by the door, slip your shoes and coat on, and speed to your car, most likely looking like a mad woman.
But at this moment, who cares about appearances?
The urgency of the situation overrides any concern for normalcy.
Normalcy is overrated, anyway.
You throw the car into gear, and though you are in a rush, you don't speed there.
Carefully, you make your way, chewing on your lips nearly the entire drive.
Despite your earlier determination not to return, you find yourself on the way, a plane ticket already in your possession.
The anticipation of what your husband has to say fills you with a slight unease.
He wouldn't be mad.
More surprised than anything.
And honestly, you shamelessly loved seeing him at work.
His professional demeanor, always in control, never fails to impress you.
You can't help but oogle him.
It secretly really got you going.
But, this time, it was a purely innocent visit, of course.
You find a parking spot, ease into the front part, giving the officer guarding the gate your name.
She quickly lets you through.
You are the captain's wife, after all.
Walking, you head straight through a door and through another one.
So many God-damn doors in this place.
Until you reach the middle portion of the base, grass surrounds you, and various equipment is placed orderly around.
Sandbags, wooden ladders, and weights are among the items you see.
Your eyes sweep the area until they land on the man you're looking for.
He stands tall, his broad shoulders filling out his uniform, a few strands of hair escaping his signature hat.
His eyes are focused on the recruits, his expression a mix of determination and frustration.
From the looks of it, he's training new recruits, something he doesn't often do, but it's a real treat when he does.
His sleeves are rolled up, exposing his veiny arms.
His arms, usually strong and steady, now appear more veiny than usual, a sign of his apparent frustration with the recruits. His jaw is set, and you can see the tension in his muscles as he barks orders.
"Runnin' like a fuckin' slug," he reprimands. "Pick up the pace."
You hate how hearing that makes you feel butterflies in your stomach.
"Get your head out of your ass," he grunts outs, clearly annoyed. "The hell are you lookin' at," he asks a recruit who, along with a few others, seems to be on another planet, eyes wandering behind him.
John turns to his side to see you in a cute dress, waving to him sweetly. "Course," he lets out a dry laugh, giving you a small wave.
He turns back to the recruits, his authority palpable.
"Eyes off my wife, or you'll be doin' extra laps," he scolds, his tone low but intimidating, before yelling to move to the ladders with Soap.
He makes his way over to you, a warm smile on his face. "Nice surprise, hon," he greets, kissing your cheek.
"I'm gonna go," you murmur.
His brows furrow in confusion. "Go where?"
You raise a brow at his confusion. "To...see my family."
His eyes bore into your intently. "By yourself?"
"I didn't think you'd want to go," you say honestly.
"I'm going with you," his tone final, with no room to argue. "You bought a plane ticket?" He questions.
"I did...sorry, I just thought—" you begin before he cuts in, his hand pressing against your cheek.
"No worries," he says. "I'll get the ticket when I get back to my office," his tone casual. "You're sure about this?"
"I think so," you say. "Plus, if I cancel the ticket, we'll be out six hundred dollars," you laugh out.
"Screw the money, okay? You tell me if you don't want to go," he tells you, face serious.
"If I change my mind, you'll be the first to know," you lean up, pressing a short kiss to his lips. "Also, you should always wear your shirt like that."
His eyes narrow as he lets out a laugh. "You like it?"
"Looks sexy," you purr quietly, teeth coming to bite your lip.
His face warms slightly. "Should see what it looks like off."
"Are you flirting with me, captain?" You say, hand coming to your heart in false surprise.
"Just givin' you a preview for later," his tone is husky.
"I'll be waiting," you begin, beckoning him to lower his head so your lips can hover over his ear. "Already so wet just thinking about it."
He releases a low grunt as you press a kiss to his cheek.
"See you at home," you say sweetly as if you didn't just give him a hard-on at the thought of you all wet and needy for him.
"See you, sweetheart," he almost chokes out as you turn to go away, your ass swaying in the dress you wear.
He's going to make you pay later.
And honestly, you can't wait.
You need something to take your mind off tomorrow's morning flight.
Though it was going to take a lot more than sex to ease your mind.
A horse tranquilizer may help.
No. Too dangerous.
Whatever, you'll take your chances with John's hand all over and in you to have you sleeping and at ease.
Maybe you'll get lucky, and you two can sneak off to the airport bathroom and finally join the mile-high club.
That would definitely keep your mind off things.
For now, you’ll wear a smile, and excitement will radiate from your being.
Everything will be fine.
Nothing bad will happen.
Even so, what’s the worst that could possibly happen?
Statement retracted.
Your trip thus far has been a shitshow, and you haven't even seen your family yet.
Your flight got delayed three hours because of fog.
That was understandable, annoying, but understandable.
What wasn't was the lady who insisted on sitting between you and John on your flight in the seat you paid for.
An older lady, maybe in her late forties or so, with a determined look in her eyes and a set to her jaw that said she wasn't going to let a little thing like a seat assignment get in her way.
She was nice at first.
She became insufferable rather quickly.
Very persistent.
You deduce she did that so she could sit next to your man.
It didn't bother you so much, plus you knew if you showed it did, John would make a scene, and you just wanted to close your eyes and sleep, so you let her have your seat and sat by the window instead.
But every time you got settled, eyes closing gently, the soft lull of the plane helping you drift off.
"Going off to college?" She piped next to you, oblivious or noncaring about your eyes shut.
Your eyes open rapidly, and you look at her, awaiting a response. "Uh, no. I graduated a couple of years ago," your voice is drowsy.
"Oh. You two must be going on a father-daughter trip, then?" She poses.
Your wide eyes drift to John's; a smile etched on his face. "Such a kind father you are," she compliments without missing a beat.
The sheer absurdity of her assumption leaves you speechless, and John can't help but let out a quiet laugh.
"Thas' actually my wife," he says, trying to contain another laugh.
"Oh," her eyes widen in shock and apparent envy. "Well, aren't you a lucky one," her tone is dry as she eyes you.
That was funny.
But not when she did it about five hundred times on the eight hour flight.
It was like a broken record, playing the same tune over and over again, and you were the unwilling participant.
Over and over again like clockwork.
Drove you bat shit crazy.
Sure, maybe you could have just told her to shut the hell up, but you kept telling yourself it wasn't worth the fight, and you didn't have the energy to make the effort.
Also, since the lady was sitting in the seat between you, formally yours, you didn't feel comfortable asking John about the bathroom sex.
She would have most likely dropped dead or asked to join.
You didn't want either.
So, it is safe to say that when the plane landed, you sat up excitedly to escape the stuffy plane.
The lady tried to follow you and John out, but you grabbed John by the wrist, dragging him behind you as your legs gained more momentum to try and escape her.
It was like a horror movie.
"Oh my God. She was so weird," you laugh out to John as you manage to get away from her, stepping out of the airport to collect your rental truck.
"I know. Kept lookin' at me the whole flight," he says with unease as he places your suitcases into the backseat of the truck, shooing away your hands from the bags so he could lift them himself.
"Do we need to get you a counselor?" You half-joke as he opens the car door for you to get in as he moves to the driver's seat.
"Think so," he gruffs before his eyes fixate on you. "You okay?"
You had put the address into the truck's maps system, settling back into the leather seat, eyes now on his. "I'm nervous," you confess.
"Nothin' to be nervous about. I'm here for you, okay? If you need to leave, just tell me," his voice is soft as his hand caresses your thigh in comfort.
You give him a nod, turning to look out the window at the passing buildings, a flurry of butterflies in your stomach.
You had already texted your niece you were coming, so you're sure your mother and sister know.
It's not like you'd be staying with them.
That's too much too soon.
Plus, you and John could have sex anytime in the hotel with no fears of your estranged mother walking and seeing John balls-deep in you.
It was really better for all parties.
Once you pull up to the house, you swear you could hurl.
"Was this a bad idea?" You ask John nervously as he pulls your suitcases out of the backseat.
He gently sets them on the dirt. "It's just nerves," he says, locking the truck. "Let's scope it out, and if you want to leave, we'll go. No questions," his hand rests gently on your shoulder.
"Promise?" You prod, tilting your head towards him.
He smiles at you. "You have my word, sweetheart."
You release a deep breath. "I think I'm going to pass out."
He chuckles deeply, hand snaking around your waist to lead you to the front door. "I'll catch you if you do."
You feel your nerves subside with John by your side as you flip up the familiar peach-shaped doorbell cover to ring the bell.
Stomping feet approach, the voice growing nearer and nearer until the front door pulls open to reveal your sister.
Flawless as ever.
Her eyes light up. "Thought my daughter was tellin' fibs," she jokes, pulling you into a warm, tight hug. "Missed you." Her genuine affection wraps around you like a comforting blanket.
You reciprocate the hug with equal tightness.
Although you may not have gotten along well, she was still your sister, and you could feel the love a million miles away.
She pulls away, eyes falling onto the mysterious, hot, stoic man to your side. "Who's this good-lookin' hunk?" She coos, smacking her gun.
"This is my, um, my husband, John," you say, fumbling your words a little.
"Nice to meet you," his voice is low and most shockingly British, as he sticks his hand out.
Cordial as ever.
"Oh, come on. That's just not even fair, sis," she jests, taking his hand fast and tight.
Her playful banter adds a lightness to the moment that almost absolves your nerves entirely.
"Where's...mom?" You ask, your heart pounding in your chest, the unease apparent in your tone.
She looks back at you. "Kitchen," she says before offering a reason. "She's makin' peach cobbler. Come on in," she steps aside so you and John can enter the door.
The familiar scent of the old wooden floors, the sound of the creaking stairs, and the sight of the family photos on the wall all bring back a flood of memories.
Warm smiles and familiar voices greet you as you step inside.
Cousins, aunts, uncles.
They approach you one by one, their surprise at your arrival evident, but even more so at hearing that you're married to the burly man at your side.
Your aunts keep him occupied as you wander into the kitchen.
They keep him engaged in their lively banter, shamelessly flirting with him while their husbands sit in the living room, engrossed in their own discussions.
You feel a little bad for leaving him to fend with the wolves, but he assured you he was alright and all but pushed you into the kitchen.
Sure enough, your mother was busy rolling out some dough on the countertop for the crust for the top of the peach cobbler.
"Mom," your voice is quiet as you move around the island to where she is.
She turns. "Well, I'll be," she begins, eyes wide and full of surprises. "Ya came."
"I did," you amend with a smile. "And I brought someone I'd like you to meet."
"Some city guy?" Her head moves back to the dough, no longer on you.
"He, yes, he's from the city," your voice is outwardly confused.
"Thought so," her tone is snarky as she delicately lays the dough over the cobbler filling.
"What is that supposed to mean?" It comes out more defensive than you intend.
"Nothin,'" she says flatly. "Enjoyen' your fancy life in the city?"
You roll your eyes, already anticipating the direction this conversation is about to take. "Mom," you urge, your frustration palpable.
"No, hon. I get it," she looks up at you, shrugging. "Honestly, surprised you came. Wouldn't wanna dim your new sparkly life," her tone is condescending. "That is why it's been so long, right?"
"It's not like that," you try to justify, but you know it will do no good.
She completely disregards that, instead changing the subject. "Supper's ready," she bussies herself with stirring the gravy. "Better snag yourself a seat quick," her tone is dry. "Table hasn't grown none."
You release a shallow breath, turning around to escape this stupid God-damned kitchen and moving to find John.
It's a familiar feeling, this resignation.
Guess some things never change.
You approach him, and before you say a word, his eyes are already locked on you, body language now stiff. "What's the matter?" His hands are on you in an instant.
You should have known.
He can read you like one of those mission reports he reads daily.
"Nothing," you mutter, forcing a smile, but the words feel heavy with the things you're hiding.
His eyes narrow. "Can't lie to me," he voices.
You'd just about rather crawl in a hole and die than re-account.
What was supposed to be a happy recount turned sour rather quickly.
"Tell me," he urges, sensing your inner turmoil.
"Drop it," your tone is more icey than usual. "Please."
He gives you a light nod, eyes full of concern.
"Let's go eat, okay?" Your hand moves to his, intertwining your fingers, and guilt claws up your throat.
He gives you a nod as you drag him into the dining room to snag a seat at the main table.
Mom was right. The table is still too small to accommodate a family of this size, so another table sits outside and another in the living room.
Others crowd around the breakfast nook and sit on barstool at the kitchen island.
This house has never known loneliness.
Your mother, father, sister, sister's daughter, and your sister's fiance are at the table with you and John.
Your niece opts to sit next to you, gushing about her new boyfriend, the son of the florist downtown, and asking questions about the city.
"Hush now, darlin.' She gets all fussy about that," your mother chides your niece, referring to your early conversation about you living in the city.
"Mom," you quip, eyes wide at her sheer audacity.
She hadn't even addressed John, just jumping straight into a fight.
Typical.
"I'm just sayin.' Ya jumped all over me for talkin' about it," she says, trying to sound innocent.
Seems her memory is slipping.
"That's not why I got upset," your tone is teetering between desperation and frustration, the weight of your words hanging heavily in the air.
She plops some mashed potatoes on her plate before passing the bowl along. "Then what was it ya were so hurt about earlier, huh?"
You're sure steam is rolling out of your ears.
"You hold a, a vendetta against me for leaving," you spew without much thought, anger taking over. "Because you never got to leave, you take it out on me," you finish, and you're sure you're shaking.
If all eyes weren't on you before, they are now.
John is leaning back in his chair, eyes wide.
He's kind of scared if he touches you, you'll punch him, so he instead crosses his arm over his chest.
"I think the city is cool," your niece randomly chimes in, clearly trying to ease the tension. "Would love to visit someday."
You give her a smile before your mother starts up again.
"Didn't your mother teach ya about city girls," she snaps to your niece. "Nothin' good ever came from any of em.'"
You can taste the metallic taste of blood on your tongue; you had bitten your cheek so hard you bled.
"Ain't that right," your mother says, eyes shifting to your sister.
Your sister is great.
Just not in the presence of your mother.
She takes on her personality and thoughts.
Agreeing with her without a second thought
That includes her fights.
"It's true," she snickers. "City girls can't tell a pencil from a pecker."
You find yourself standing abruptly, and your sister matches your action, spewing more garbage.
And for some reason, her fiance stands up, which makes John stand up, matching his movements.
He's easily a foot taller than her fiance, and he's much more muscular, too.
"Enough," John's low, commanding voice is fitting for a military captain. It splices through the room, the commotion dying as he speaks. "I will not sit here and let you treat my wife like this," his head tilts towards your sister and then to your mother. "Now or ever."
He doesn't even need to yell to get any attention.
His voice just demands attention already.
Your sister, usually so quick with a retort, is silent.
The fear in her eyes is unmistakable, adding to the intensity of the confrontation.
She’s scared.
Hell, everyone is.
Well, except your niece, whose lip quips secretly, a small smirk playing on her lips despite the tension in the room.
"Your daughter came down on her own merit to see you," he points to your mother. "Could have done so many other things, but she wanted to see you," he enunciates the last word.
"Well, she—" Your mother begins, her face bright red with anger, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.
"Tired of hearin' the excuses," his voice cuts through hers. She quickly shuts up, a surprising silence falling over her. "Can't even believe your daughter turned out as amazing as she did growing up with this," he gestures towards you.
He stands with his hands on his hips, disappointment is evident on his face.
"My wife is a God-damn saint," his voice is rough.
You find your lip quipping at the praise and how much he appreciates you.
He worships the ground you walk on.
That was made abundantly clear.
His hands reach to rest on your lower back. "Appreciate the food, but we'll be leavin' now," he mutters, stepping back to push his chair in.
You don't argue with him.
Hell, how could you?
He said everything you couldn't
Laid all your thoughts on the table and even added some extra.
He did what he was born to do: protect.
You step away, push your chair in, and turn around, not bothering to say goodbye as you walk to the front door.
You'll text your niece later.
The chill in the air, carrying the scent of magnolia trees and damp earth, hits you like a slap to the face.
John's hand is still on your lower back, guiding you back to the truck.
He opens the door so you can slip inside as he makes his way around the driver's seat.
The heater is blasting as he shoves the key into the keyhole, and the engine is stirring alive as he easily backs out and pulls onto the road.
The silence is heavy as he drives down a straight, desolate road.
It's silent for a moment before he starts to comment, apologizing profusely about how he overstepped and saying sorry that this trip turned out bad.
You're tuning him out and instead focusing on how he stood up for you.
He was just such a man.
He always knew how to be what you needed him to be.
Protector.
Listener.
Talker.
He always knew which role to take on to support you, to be your anchor in the storm of emotions.
Just that thought alone made you incredibly wet.
You don't know why.
You should be crying from the way things unfolded with your family.
But you're not sad, not even remotely.
Just incredibly horny.
You find yourself slipping the rubberband off your wrist and quickly tying your hair in a messy ponytail.
"Hon," John says, noting your unusual silence. "I'm so sorry," he quickly glances your way before looking back at the road.
You don't speak, opting to brush your hand against his cargo pants as your fingers fumble with his zipper.
He makes a noise of surprise. "What're you doin?'" He asks, his voice breathy.
"You took care of me," you mumble, shimming your fingers under the waistband of his boxers to release his erect cock, to which he grunts. "Want to do the same," your voice is lazy, as your lips brush against the sensitive head.
"Me yellin' at your mother got you all hot?" He jokes though it dies halfway on his tongue as your lips spread open to accommodate his size.
His knuckles are white as he tightly grips the steering wheel so as not to crash.
Your mouth makes a pop noise before you speak. "You're just so sexy. All manly like that," you mutter against his cock, the tingle of your words sending goosebumps throughout his entire body.
"Am I?" He chokes out as your lips move back to encase his cock.
"So hot," your voice is muffled as you take in more of his cock.
"Oh—Christ, thas' it, hon," he groans as you bob your head up and down.
His mind has gone fuzzy at the feeling of your tight throat, taking him so good, even swerving a little, before quickly straightening the wheels.
"So fuckin' good," he grunts, as one hand moves to gather your ponytail in a loose fist.
Your tongue works in tandem, rubbing against the underside of his cock, sending more pleasure through him. "Such a good girl, babe," he praises, and you just know that your underwear will be soaked.
"So good." Your moan against him at the next praise, making him sputter his hips up, his cock slipping in your mouth entirely.
He chokes out some incoherent words you can't make out; taking note of his body going taut, you can presume he's close.
"Gonna," he strains out as you continue bobbing up and down, his hand tightening around the fistful of your hair. “Come."
You bring your hand to pump the base as your tongue flicks across the tip.
He groans with anguish, legs shaking as he comes in your mouth.
You pull your head up, your eyes boring into his so he can watch you swallow out every last drop, even using your fingers to clean up the residue in the corners of your mouth.
His eyes stay glued to your mouth before you yell at him to watch the road.
"Christ," he shouts, gripping the wheel tight to stay in his lane.
You laugh as you lean, pressing a sideways kiss on his lips.
He can taste himself on your lips.
He almost comes again.
But the high lasts just as short as when you look in the review to see police sirens hot on your tale, the siren invading your eardrums.
John curses but pulls off to the shoulder, sneakily grabbing his military badge in his pocket.
"You always just carry that on you?" You smile slyly, the body still warm from your escapades.
"Will come in handy," he assures, rolling his window down as the officer makes his way to his window.
"Evenin', folks. Gotta call from a concerned driver sayin' you were swervin' out of your lane," he says.
"No, sir. Not us," you answer, John glancing towards you.
"That right?" The officer prods. "I'm going to need to see your license and registration, sir," his monotone voice says.
"Yes, sir," John says, slyly flashing his military badge as he "looks" for his license.
"You're military?" John nods. "Hell," the officer laughs, tucking his notepad back in his pocket. "I know you aren't some juveniles."
John laughs as he glances over to you, glancing down to see a little remnant of his come on your shirt.
He almost feels guilty.
Almost.
He lets out a cough.
"You alright, sir?" The officer asks, brows furrowed.
"Yeah. Fine," his voice is strained.
You shoot him a look before the officer starts again.
"Well, I'll let ya'll get on your way," he pats the top of the car.
You both issue a heartfelt thanks before John pulls back out onto the road, a palpable sense of relief in your voices.
"Can't believe he just let you off," you groan, hand coming to intertwine his.
"Thought you'd be happy?" He laughs. "Can get to the hotel in record time now."
You raise a knowing eyebrow. "For what?"
"Saw you squirmin' in that seat," he teases, his affectionate tone wrapping around you. "I need to take care of my girl," he adds, his voice filled with warmth and love.
You release a shallow breath.
His girl.
You.
Just you.
That's what you loved about loving him.
You didn't have to keep up with his expectations.
You could simply exist, and he would kiss the ground you walk on.
The thought lit up your brain.
John Price was your man.
And in his eyes, you'd always be his girl.
mini author's note: i'd have to be surgically removed from him...
#˚ʚ♡ɞ˚: rylea writes#dividers by saradika#it's heavily implied you're from the south btw#just SAYING#like this fic is just me pouring out every southern stereotype there is#i'm from tx lol#john price x reader#john price#price x reader#price smut#john price smut#price x you#captain john price#fanfic#cod#call of duty#cod x reader#cod price#price cod#price#captain price#captain price x reader#captain price x you#price x f!reader#captain price x female reader#cod x you#cod x fem!reader#call of duty x reader#call of duty fanfic#call of duty x you
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"stop making akechi pancake jokes its 2024" no fuck you
#horrible news i'm obsessed with him#raise your hand if youre actually surprised#i see an egotistical smartass brunette twink with daddy issues whos doomed by the narrative and i latch on like a motherless duckling#bro i deadass forgot how to draw it took me so long to figure out how to do this mfs hair 🤦🏽♀️🤦🏽♀️#gayass motherfucker detective bitch i hate him so much#persona 5#p5#persona 5 royal#p5r#goro akechi#lotus draws#i better not see anybody call him dazai in the comments again or im gonna gut you like a fish#its happened on three separate posts GIVE UP
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Honestly, you should've known better. Soap was never one to take a joke and drop it, and joke like this? You should've know he'd take it and run with it. You just never thought it'd go this far.
Someone had brought cupcakes, the kind that come with those gaudy plastic rings meant for little kids. You and Soap had ended up with the same ring on top of your cupcakes.
"Oh, hey. They're the same. Guess we're married now."
It was a joke. Something you had laughed off, before ducking out of the break room, missing the way Soap's eyes followed you. Missing the way he stared at you, something dark and hungry in those baby blues.
The next morning, Soap's waiting at your desk with flowers and a coffee. He gives you a bright smile, watching you as you take the flowers with a smile.
"Oh, my favorite! How'd you know?"
"I know all yer favorites. Part of bein' a good husband, aye?"
That makes you pause, coffee halfway to your lips. Husband? It takes you a second to realize he's referring to the joke you made yesterday, and you give him a sheepish smile, shaking your head.
"Johnny, that was a joke. I wasn't -"
"I've got to go. But I'll get ye later. Make a proper wife of ye before the day's over," he promises, leaning down to kiss your cheek.
You don't even have a chance to argue. And when he shows up with Ghost at the end of the day, all you can think to ask is why Ghost is there.
"Johnny said you needed a witness," is Ghost's reply.
#john soap mactavish#call of duty#john soap mactavish x reader#soap x reader#soap cod#he's a bit of a freak your honor#don't ask how he knows your favorite order. totally hasn't been stalking you for the last week. defiently didn't ask Ghost for help#hope nobody reads my tags because i'm over here wigging out lmao#only smashed this out because i'm avoiding my two month old wip#my writing
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gentle reminder that jason has striked a god with his blade causing him to bleed, when the god was INVISIBLE, simply based on the movement around him.

#underrated jason moment part 10000000000000000000000#before y'all yap this is MAD skill I'm sorry bc cupid was INVISIBLE#jason is so slept on#y'all just collectively ignore these huh I'll just dig them out of the depths myself then#“jason just got lucky and it was a fluke” comments are probably incoming but i will ignore them#i am what you call 'the screenshot puller' in arguments I don't play when it comes to jason sorry not sorry#pjo#pjo fandom#percy jackson#pjo series#pjo hoo#pjo hoo toa#jason grace#house of hades
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Get that man (pregnant)!
#poorly drawn mdzs#mdzs#jin zixuan#jiang yanli#digital art#animation#This was an animation test for a much...much longer project.#I do not know what the hell I am doing . I feel like a toddler being the wheel of a semi-truck.#But I've learned that the most important thing about art is to just dive in and start. I've learned a lot from my failures!#There is probably a more efficient way to do all of this. I'm using CPS and as of 20 min ago I just found out that animation folders-#-and regular folders are *different*. So I'm hopeful the rest of this animation goes well!#Shout out to Jiang Yanli for getting that man pregnant. MXTX told me herself that he carried Jin Ling to term with no complications.#How? How you ask? Well. I imagine it was a sea-horse situation. He has a pouch where he keeps his young.#He went from calling her names and trying to break off the wedding to having pregnancy cravings. Character growth.
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I feel like if you're using a lot of disposable plastic bags in your day to day life, you've gotta do something sustainable to make up for it. Like using bamboo toilet paper or eco friendly cat litter or something, yknow
Honestly I exaggerate for comedic effect, while I DO routinely use ziplock bags to hold spaghetti I cook maybe once a month and the bag itself is usually for freezer storage. I actually throw out maybe one bag a week? I DO hate washing plates and tupperware and junk but that usually just means I eat sandwiches without a plate.
I agree though that needless waste should be avoided, and I do avoid it- biodegradable bags and recyclables, empty butter tubs used to store leftovers, etc.
This said, though, not applicable necessarily for myself but for a lot of others- I feel that it's importat to remember that there are many people who legitimately NEED things like plastic straws, or catheters, or pre-packaged foods
And the idea that that's a moral failing that individuals need to personally make up for when a single billionaire blows out more CO2 in a long weekend than I will in my whole life on a superjet meet-cute in the Bolivian rainforest between humvee drag races funded by the river-polluting textiles plants they planted in a third world country to avoid EPA laws and give an entire village stillbirths and stomach cancer is an idea that those very same bigwigs have spent a LOT of time and money investing in planting in the public psyche.
Like- Glass bottles are infinitely recyclable, so why are so many drinks in plastic now? Loads of drinks manufacturers used to buy them back and clean them for re-use, so why did they stop? If they chose to make something out of a limited and environmentally irresponsible material, why is it my failing to track down a correct process of disposal for them? What if there are none in my area? Do I lobby for more recycling plants in my area? Do I set aside some of my limited time outside the pain factory of my job- which I have more than one of, thanks to rising costs of things just like that drink I just emptied- to properly dispose of this company's waste FOR them?
Say coca-cola just rolled up to your town and started dumping millions of empty plastic bottles in the street, going, "wow, you should really think about building and staffing a recycling depot, it would be really shameful of you to just put these in the trash." When companies purposefully use materials with limited lifespans- because yes, even plastic can only be reused so many times- and tell you it's your own fault if it harms the environment- that's essentially what they're doing, just with more steps.
Yes, its important to be as environmentally concious as we can in our day to day life, but responsible sustainability is not catholicism. We don't get good boy points from our lord and savior Captain Planet every time the average low-income household gathers together to hold hands and repent for a single-use plastic that allows them to access something they need.
Entire families could eat trees and shit dead lithium batteries for years and still not do as much damage to the planet as an average dye plant or braindead celebrity does in a week just for fun, and I'm mad about it
...this went on longer than intended.
TL/DR: DO recycle and minimize waste, but don't beat yourself up over the little waste you can't avoid, and follow the money.
EDIT: Part 2
#I swear to god if any one of you in the notes calls me terminally online or pretends I'm saying you can just dump bags in the ocean#Yes definitely do your best to live sustainably#But also#You personally are not killing pandas#Unless you are in which case please stop#We put too much money into pandas but let them go in peace#Go do some yoga#Sorry if this is a lot but I have a friend with OCD who has legit panic attacks over stuff like this#Like they have to throw out a ripped plastic grocery bag they've had for six years instead of using it to weave yard furniture or smthn#And they'd go into a spiral about killing the planet#So like#I have strong feelings now
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