#(price wise)

[tinytveit]

man i thought dawntrail preorder would be worse

[natelia-aldelliz]

Ghost after meeting Soap.

Price : Have you slept?

Ghost : Depends what day it is

Price : Go to bed.

[laswells-ashtray]

Usually, in these situations, he'd get up, throw on a t-shirt and shoes and go outside to smoke by the entrance to their building. But the rain is battering off of the windows with enough force that he half expects them to shatter.

So, instead, he stares at the ceiling and desperately tries not to disturb the hulking bear of a man wrapped around him. After years he's mastered the art of slipping out from the Russian's grip, he has to escape him legs first or Nikolai would clamp around his waist like a vice and drag him back into the cavernous heat underneath him with his face nuzzled into John's chest.

The ability to sleep soundly had been lost on him from a young age, bottles shattering on walls had gradually transitioned to bullets piercing skulls. He'd been naive enough to think he'd be able to stop it this time, years ago he had thought that maybe this time he could prevent it. Today, he knows that brain matter and skull fragments are harder to clean than broken glass and spilt whisky.

He blinks up at the ceiling, sometimes Nikolai's breathing is enough to dim the noise buzzing in his head. The rest of the time he knows that the only effective silencing method is to leave someone else cleaning up his brain matter.

He still has a few good years in him before he gets to that point.

Nikolai's nose is pressed against his neck and his skin is damp from the other man's breathing. There's a large, calloused hand resting over his ribs and a leg entangled with his own. The pilot had a habit of clutching John like he was afraid of what would happen to John when he let go. He had a radiator hidden in the form of a breathtaking Russian in his bed and he was ungrateful enough to think about leaving him for a smoke, that's the type of man John is.

He adores Nikolai. He could spend days sketching every little detail of the other man's body, he could list off the scars and the stories behind him, the stretchmarks and the way he nips at them whenever they're fucking around like horny teenagers and he could damn near list every grey that had made an appearance in Nikolai's mane. And the subsequent negative effect each of those greys had on his knees.

But he wondered who out there was better suited to the other man. Watching people flirt with Nikolai was something he was subjected to whenever they went out for a simple drink together, it was always someone younger, fitter and he'd bet a hell of a lot less scarred. Nikolai had his pick of the litter and he found himself stuck with a captain-shaped pit of despondency and antiquated, contemptible self-pity.

John's only use is getting a job done, there's a reason he's so highly regarded in his field. His fingers were made to wield weapons and his mouth was made for barking orders. Outside of the job he was robotic, there was little purpose for him in everyday life. John was a means to an end on the field. He's barely a person. He's a blacked-out name in a file.

Nikolai is lively, he's charming and he can function in any context because he was crafted out of a humanity that had been bred out of John's family line. Nikolai was modelled after the word benevolence.

And he found himself chained to John.

John who had made a career out of handing death certificates back to families, used nationalism to guide youthful faces into war and used detachment to send them back in a box.

He blinks up at the ceiling. There's no light shining in from the window, it can't be approaching a reasonable wake-up time so he has no choice but to lie there until it does or the rain stops pounding away and he can smoke in peace.

The one time he had a working lighter and he could remember where he had left it and he couldn't bloody smoke, typical.

He had to avoid the little old lady who lived downstairs when he went out for a smoke. She'd corner him and question him about when he was finally going to bring home a nice woman and start a family. Apparently, she was under the impression that Nikolai lived elsewhere in their building and not plastered against John's back whenever he was cooking.

The pensioner would shake her head and insist that when John finally has a wee one of his own, he'll be happy. It felt like some parasite under his skin squirming about under his flesh and eating away at the person inside, the thought of ever having a child of his own.

It was nauseating to imagine a baby somewhere with his features, he wasn't a father and it was the ideal outcome of life. To be a father to anyone was John subjecting them to something terminal. They'd never escape his impact and he was like a cancer who'd play the vital part in shutting every good part of them down.

He'd never subject a child to that, he couldn't. He refused to shadow his father's footprints that led him into a grave, belt in one hand and bottle in the other.

John isn't built to be a father, he's made to pull the trigger of a gun that no one else would ever consider picking up. He couldn't raise a child, instead of counting sheep his children would have to count every body in the trail left behind him.

He works for the greater good, they all do but there are only so many skeletons that you can cram into one closet.

He blinks up at the ceiling and turns to lie on his side only to be met with dark brown eyes staring back at him, far too knowing and far too tired. He had missed Nikolai pulling away from his neck, hadn't been alert enough to feel it. He was slipping.

"How long have you been awake?"

Nikolai pulls John to the centre of the bed, wrapping himself around him and pinning John in place. One hand cradling the back of his head all too carefully, as if he'd fracture under the slightest touch.

People have a tendency that John will splinter under intimacy like he was a glass pane and they're a hydraulic press. They're closer than he'd ever be able to admit verbally.

"You think too much, you should be sleeping." Nikolai murmurs, voice rough with sleep as he rests his head against John's shoulder. The warm feeling of his cheek burning John's bare skin.

He offers back a vague grumble of acknowledgement and pretends he doesn't melt under the hand that caresses his cheek, thumb tracing over a faint trail of freckles.

"Go back to sleep, дорогой."

Tomorrow, John will choose to believe that he followed the order because he's a good soldier.

[ilovemesomevincentprice]

Vincent Price - Cooking Price-wise (1971)

// 10 photos

[misaverawrites]

thinking about john price this fine and lovely morning, how he, even in his growing age, would still try and find time for you and everything you want to do together before he deploys one last time, as he always tries to mean, but it’s never true.

until it is, and he’s home all of the time with you, anxious whenever a car alarm goes off, when the rest of the 141 is off deployment, not for very long, you have a revolving door of tall army men living in your home and being some of the most cordial guests you have all year, until they stop coming ‘round again, and he gets even more anxious when you have kids. Not that he’d voice those opinions too loud, he doesn’t want you to be more scared than you need to be.

he, and task force 141 are all the protection you’ll ever need for your growing family.

[lubluues]

hypothetically…

poll here !

[fairycosmos]

finished work! it's so sunny and warm today

[tuttle-did-it]

For absolutely no reason at all, here is a clip of Vincent Price pulling out a souffle from the oven in the 1970s.

[maeamian]

Becoming deeply radicalized against the idea of crewed Mars missions, y'know how the Rovers keep sending back better and better data what if instead of that we made an even bigger one and devoted nearly 90% of its capacity to holding a guy in a bubble on top of it instead of sending back useful data, but wait! They'll eliminate like a half hour of latency and also almost certainly contaminate the landing site and possibly the entire planet, so it's not all downside.

[mangofanarts]

^^^ my favorite guys from the life series

[eliza-makepeace]

cheerful humming nothing-like-depressed-innkeeper-kote-anymore kvothe my beloved

[spennininomenon]

should i post my spencer cameos yes or no?

[freaky-flawless]

Y'all, a new Monster High game is in the works!!! Coming out this year!!!

This is the same studio that made Bratz: Flaunt your Fashion and Rainbow High: Runway Rush!

(Image Description" A screenshot of an Instagram post from the Outright Games account announcing the release of three new games in partnership with Mattel. The photo shows the Outright Games Logo beside the Mattel logo over a purple background. Beneath them are the titles of three upcoming games, "Barbie: Project Friendship, Monster High: Skulltimate Secrets, and MatchBox Driving Adventures. The caption reads "We are working with @mattel in a multi-year partnership, transforming some of their most beloved IPs into video games! In 2024 we will be bringing three brand-new games:

💖 Barbie Project Friendship™ 🧟‍♀️Monster High™: Skulltimate Secrets™ 🏎 Matchbox™ Driving Adventures.

Stay tuned for more information coming soon!" End ID)

[ilovemesomevincentprice]

Vincent Price sharpening a knife during filming "Cooking Price-Wise" (1971)

[jone3y]

I’m gonna start charging real prices for the berry comms. I got a good batch in and am more confident in my skills and turnaround time for how I go about coloring and tidying up each piece!

[alish-artie]

A commission done for my friend @dansh !

She wanted a family photo of her and my salmonid and cephalopod ocs !~

Thank you for commissioning me !