#O captain my captain

[sea-buns]

I really like how they had that one bit in fhsy where Gorgug was "Skipper" while the van was a boat, and then Zac WAS Skipper in aso as the crew's pilot, and now Gorgug is quite literally the pilot of a flying ship. It's all coming together under Airitime Law.

[smth-intheway]

[2stepadmiral]

Good morning to everyone except the people who don’t love our live action captain and who won’t let us enjoy this moment

[technicalmarinedisaster]

ladies and gentlemen, the face of the man that just reached 300 assists:

[hanaaishi]

NICO RESCUES TIMO Devils vs. Blue Jackets - 12.19.2024

[random-thot-generator]

This is so NSFW. MDNI.

----------

I imagine John Price would need a lot of patience for the type of woman he's attracted to.

He says he wants a sweet little housewife, and he does, but he wants her to have a little spunk, too, a little bit of fight in her. He doesn't want a doormat, he wants a partner that will stand up for herself and stand up to him, if need be, but he would also want a woman that will have his back.

And that's you.

Just imagine some karen getting rude with John in the grocery store, and you, his sweet little missus, overhears it. John would be trying to keep the peace, handle the situation without causing a scene, when you come charging down the aisle like the flaming angel of vengeance and proceed to tear into Karen with a verbal beat down of biblical proportions.

John's just standing there stunned, because he just thought he'd seen you mad before, but this is on a whole other level. Your face is scrunched up in a mean scowl and you've got this karen backed up against the shelf, finger pointed right at the end of her nose, daring her to say one more word to your man.

John might have to pull you out of the grocery store when the manager threatens to call the cops, but as soon as he gets you back to the car, he's got you pressed up against it and kissing you until you have to get in the car, because your legs are too shaky to support you.

And once he gets you home, oh, mama!

He's got you set up on the kitchen counter, pants hanging off one ankle, panties ripped off and flung God knows where, and he is plowing into you like he's holding a grudge. I mean, he's putting his back into it, banging the cabinets with every hard thrust, hands gripping your ass tight enough to bruise. It's just balls-deep, unhinged fucking, because that was the hottest fucking thing he's ever seen you do, and you did it for him.

He's got your hair fisted in his hand, looking you dead in the eye when he growls, "Would've put 'er on 'er arse if she'd laid a finger on me, yeah?"

You lock your legs around him and yank him forward, digging your nails into the back of his neck and biting his earlobe before whispering in his ear, "They would've carried that bitch out on a stretcher."

And John comes so hard his knees wobble.

-

[honeylemonntea]

Meeks and Pitts are chilling somewhere in the back

[theladwhoisweird]

I was good. I was really good.

It's been 64 years, Neil.

[jinxdcowboy]

just recently watched dead poets society and i cant stop thinkin of this guy so i had to draw him. absolutely tragic movie

[bartycrouchjrismyboyfriend]

somebody just stabbed me

(i willingly watched dead poet society again)

[captaingirma]

hang it in the louvre

[vnards]

"Eyes up, boys."

Ghost, Soap, and Gaz all stand at attention like the good soldiers they are. Obedient to a fault.

Their oozing cocks dribble precum onto the floor. Even as they ache, they won't reach for their cocks, because they're good soldiers.

Captain Price drills his hips into you as you're bent over the table and on display for the three military men in front of you. They watch your breasts bounce with each stroke, jealous.

"Eyes on her," He commands.

Soap has to bite his lip to keep him from speaking out of turn. Gaz's cock is the messiest, leaking with the desperation to mark that pretty neck. All of Ghost stands at attention, watching your open mouth moan for their Captain.

The whole room is tuned into you being fucked stupid. You try to keep it together, but a slight change in angle and you're creaming over John's cock. "Look how pretty she is when she cums."

Price had no intention of slowing down his pace as he continues to ram into your hole. "My good girl." He growls as his hips falter, pushing as far as he can go to drop his load into you. Marking you.

The room is silent for a few moments, before Price slides out, "So who's gonna clean her up?"

[smth-intheway]

Guys I’m definitely cooked bc I planned to post a fic with Charlie for Halloween but when I saw Mariah memes and every Christmas stuff back I understood my lazy couch era got me down. So here we go for unplanned meme but I will try my best to post this fic even if it’s almost 2 weeks late…yeah.

[adnauseum11]

First Aid Kit (John Price x Reader)

You return home after a trying Christmas.

1.3k words

CW: none

Feedback welcome!

While not explicitly written for @glitterypirateduck O' Captain Challenge it does fit the criteria. For more John Price deliciousness check out the other works submitted!

This work is part of the S.N.A.F.U. series, the Masterlist is also pinned to my blog.

Ao3

O, Captain Challenge

Masterlist

You realize Christmas with your brother and his growing family is a mistake approximately a day after you arrive. There’s only sixteen months between the two of you, but with your parents gone, you’ve slowly been drifting apart. You hadn’t actually spoken to him in weeks, life being too chaotic, but when you called on Christmas Eve and said you wanted to come for Christmas (desperate not to be alone) he had dutifully accepted and agreed to make the guest room up.

At first, your adorable three-year-old nephew is a welcome disruption from your misery. Seeing him rip open presents and make a joyful mess around the tree was heartwarming to say the least. But watching your normally annoying brother loving on his pregnant wife had only made you miss John more. Somewhere along the line you had gotten used to John always having a hand on you, or being nearby, and the way you had turned away from him before he left was haunting you. Your brain kept whispering agonizing things. What if that was the last time you saw him? Anxiety is a ball in your stomach you can’t seem to shift, no matter the distraction. You had gone to bed with a heavy and bruised heart and a thin smile pasted on your face the first night. The second night brought a familiar text from John, and all the conflicted emotions you tried to put off came roaring back with it.

JP: Back here.

JP: Where are you?

JP: What’s going on love?

Stewing on what to do about John drains you. You don’t answer the texts, opting to try for sleep instead, knowing he can see you’ve read them. It feels childish, a tit for tat situation, but you know it will drive him crazy to be left without a reply. You exact some small revenge where you can.

You decide to lie to your brother and say you are being recalled to your nonexistent job as you lay awake, listening to the bangs and crashes of the household waking the following morning. Everything is too raw to explain, especially as you had never actually gotten around to telling your brother about the shift in yours and John’s relationship – never mind the rest of it. It is too much to get in to, and the wrong time to bring it up.

With John back, the itch to get home is tempered by the argument left hanging, gnawing away at you. You are too distracted and anxious to even pretend at happy family now. Your brother, who grumbles about driving you back to the railway, mercifully doesn’t otherwise question the departure that is as sudden as your arrival.

Your anxiety further ramps up when you see John’s car parked at the flat when the Uber drops you off. You had expected him to be away longer than a few days given the urgent nature of his departure. You can feel your heart fluttering in your throat, excitement at his return mixing with nerves, unsure what is waiting for you as you walk up to the front door. His rucksack still leaning in the front entrance is the first thing to greet you, making you frown. It’s unlike John to leave his stuff laying around. You toe off your boots and call for him, instinctually heading towards the bedroom to drop your bag. The lights are off in the room but there is still daylight coming in through the gauzy curtains over the windows, making John’s big body in the centre of the bed easily visible. You recognize your IDAHO shirt, draped over his eyes and realize he’s got another migraine.

“John?”

You try again, bumping your thighs against the mattress, your heart feeling too large for your chest and impossibly tender as you drop your bag.

“Darling?”

John jerks upright, yanking the shirt off his face, his intense blue eyes bloodshot and squinting against the throbbing behind them.

“Are you alright?”

You’re reaching across to push against his shoulder, trying to settle him back against the mattress but he’s resisting, searching your face for something. He looks awful, his eyes sunken with exhaustion and pain, his normally sharp blue eyes red, and eyelids slightly swollen. His hair is matted to his head with dried sweat at his temples and his normally neatly trimmed facial hair is overgrown. He’s clearly slept in his clothes, his shirt and jeans rumpled. Your heart lurches, your instinct to soothe overwhelming your anger. Right up until John opens his mouth.

“Was going to ask you the same thing, you scared the shit out of me when you weren’t here.”

He’s accusatory, his narrowed eyes piercing.

“John, I told you I didn’t want to be alone for Christmas! I went to see my brother!”  

Only John could summon the energy to fight with you while feeling dreadful, and it concerns you as much as it does annoy you.

“Could have left a note or sent a text, love, I would have gotten it when I was back.”

He’s stubborn, his brows drawing together but he finally physically relents, letting you press him back against the pillows. Annoyingly, he’s not wrong and arguing is only going to wind him up when he’s already suffering.

“Yes, I should have.”

You agree, flummoxing him into silence and you take the opportunity to swipe your palm over his fevered forehead gently, closing his eyes again in the process. He blindly follows your touch, his hand capturing your wrist. Your heart gives a kick when you glimpse the bandage around his forearm.

“Darling – “

John’s voice sounds thick with emotion and your chest clenches tightly in response. You find yourself sitting on the bed beside him, shushing him before he can speak any further.

“Let’s talk when you’re feeling better, hot stuff.”

“Will you stay with me?”

He’s plaintive now, his own annoyance taking a backseat for the moment. It reminds you of when you were younger and he would try to wheedle you into staying for another pint. And then another. The sincerity gets you every time.

“Of course, I’m not going to leave you like this.”

The deep sigh of relief that escapes John would make you smile if you weren’t feeling so fragile. Instead, you smooth his hair down, stroking the crown of his head. You can’t stop watching his face, mapping any sign of pain or discomfort. He seems content to let you lightly run your hands over his face and head, his hands settling back in the blankets.

“Do you want anything?”

“No. Just you.”

This time you do manage a small smile, the motion forcing the water gathering on your bottom lashes down your cheeks.

“I missed you, you wretched man.”

Your words are just as wet as your cheeks, hiding nothing from John even with his eyes closed. He wraps his hand around your wrist and kisses your palm, whispering something against your flesh before returning your hand to his cheek. You can’t help but stroke his wiry facial hair, running your thumb over the apple of his cheek gently. You replace your soft and well-worn t-shirt over his eyes, soothing him further. Gently you return to stroking his hair, massaging his scalp intermittently until your fingers ache and John’s finally in a deep sleep, his breathing slow and measured.

You wait until he’s out cold before shimmying out of bed to unpack your bag and shower, leaving the door open so you can hear if he wakes and calls for you. Seeing John in obvious pain activates some primal part of you, the urge to tend to him nearly overwhelming. It’s an odd sensation, especially after days spent conflicted about his actions. You spend the entire shower mulling over the situation, half your awareness directed towards the bedroom. Without allowing yourself to think too deeply any further, you give in to your impulse and forgo dinner to crawl back in beside John’s sleeping form, tucking yourself against his side with a sigh. Sleep comes easily, even at the early hour, the warmth of John’s big body bleeding through your relaxed limbs.

Next Chapter

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[soggycheeseuwu]

"Y-y-You push it, stretch it, it'll never be enough. You kick at it, beat it, it'll never cover any of us. From the moment we enter crying to the moment we leave dying, it will just cover your face as you wail and cry and scream."

some aspects of existential philosophy in this movie that makes it a cut above the rest. extraordinary :')

[hksdlgsyappage]

Forced to say, "on god"

Born to say, "Dead poets honor"