#but the price ... ouch ...

[sentientcave]

Heavy Weighs the Crown

Chapter 7 - Battle Plans

< Prev Chapter - Chapter Index -

Read on AO3

Contains: Generic fantasy setting, Princess Reader/OC, OC: Sweetpea, Politicking, We are (still) learning to communicate, Soap is a good boy, Marriage consummation, sex (oral, manual, penetrative), Another John Heavy Chapter (I miss the boys), hurt and confused feelings, Trauma response, This is not a good way to start a marriage, John

~5.5k words - MDNI

For the first time in your life, you understand the appeal of sex. While you were a virgin who couldn’t even get a boy to hold your hand, your peers were sneaking off in pairs to dark corners and risking getting caught feeling each other up anywwhere they could steal away a private moment. Some of the girls you knew always seemed to be flushed and grinning shyly, straw in their hair and their skirts rumpled, carefully avoiding eye-contact with a similarly disheviled young man.

You suspect that this is better than a clumsy tumble with a village boy, however. John is in no hurry to sink his cock into you like an over-eager boy. He slides his thick fingers inside you, pressing against a spot that makes you tremble in his hold and pulls back to circle your pearl with surprisingly clever fingers. He kisses you breathless, swallowing your moans and whimpers greedily, coaxing you to dizzying heights and crashes that break like water over you.

He ends the kiss as he removes his fingers from your puffy, over-sensitive cunt. You feel boneless, utterly limp in his arms, but your body seems reluctant to let him go. You’re achingly aware of how empty you feel, and it’s only your sense of pride that keeps you from begging for more. You don’t need to beg— You may be a virgin, but you know from overheard conversations that men rarely forgo their own pleasure, and certainly never for long.

“How do you feel?” he asks, offering slick fingers to your lips. You open your mouth without thinking, letting him press the sour-sweet taste of your own arousal against your tongue. When you hum contentedly around his fingers in response, his eyes spark, sending another trembling thrill through you. “You want more?”

You nod. This is it. He’s finally going to— A confused whine escapes your throat when he settles you against the cushions and slides off the side of the couch, lowering himself to his knees before you.

“Shh, don’t worry, Sweetpea. You’ll like this.” His promise is followed quickly by action, his mouth pressing to your cunt in an open mouth sort of kiss. It’s all you can do to hold your skirts up out of the way, meeting his laughing blue eyes while he sucks and swirls his tongue around your pearl, his fingers pressing back inside you insistently, the movement now less focused on the spots that make you see stars, and more on stretching your cunt more open, the two fingers becoming three by the time the tides of pleasure come crashing back in.

He moves up to kiss you again, his beard soaked and his cheeks flushed pink, an uncharacteristic shyness peering out from behind his eyes, his hands hesitant in the way they spread out against your waist. “We should move to the bed,” he suggested. “Let me make you feel good.”

You can’t help but laugh breathlessly, cupping his face between your hands. “Was all of this not supposed to feel good?” you tease. “Because if so, I think you’ve done it wrong.”

“It’s just the beginning, love. I want to give you everything. My queen.”

Your hands drift to the back of his neck as you kiss him back. You aren’t surrendering quite yet, but you’re willing to let him think that yu’re letting him have everything he wants. He’s so eager to make up for the deciet, as if hungry kisses and electric touch could fix the breach of trust so easily, and you don’t mind taking what he offers you for the moment. This part of marriage is not negotiable— You know the importance of quickly securing an heir. There is stability in a strong bloodline, anything to make your cousin’s claim more and more dubious.

In the end, you’re the one to stand first, breaking the kiss and taking his hands, leading him to his bed. He looks almost tormented as you smooth your hands over his chest and undo the buttons of his shirt, the deep blue of his eyes turning hazy when you unbutton his cuffs and press a kiss to one wrist and then the other.

“Sweetpea,” he rumbles. “Do you know how beautiful you are?”

“Perhaps,” you admit, smiling up at him. “I have been told as much by very reliable sources.”

He hurries to shed his clothes, kissing you clumsily while he does, groaning when you rake your nails down his neck, and then across his chest. He takes your hands and wraps your fingers around his cock, pulling your attention downwards. He’s thick, so much so that you worry that his three fingers weren’t sufficient to prepare you for what comes next. As you gingerly stroke him, the wrinkled fold of skin at the head pulls back, revealing a flushed red tip, a pearly bead of liquid forming at the slit there. His breath catches when you touch your fingertip to the viscous droplet, his lips brushing against your ear. “You see what you do to me?” he asks, the puff of his warm breath stirring the fine hairs that are too short to be caught in your braids. “Every time I see you, all I can think about is finally getting on top of you.”

“That’s all you can think about? Seems a dangerous preoccupation.”

“You are, but I have you now.” John noses down to the junction of your neck and shoulder, lips ghosting over your skin. “Perhaps knowing you’ll be waiting for me in our bed each night will be enough to allow me to think about matters of state once in a while.”

You turn so he can unfasten your bodice, but he pushes you so that you fold over the bed, your cheek pressed to the mattress and your legs splayed out. His palms smooth over the back of your thighs as he pushes your skirts up and out of the way, notching his cock against your sex. The thought of him mounting you like this makes your belly hot, molten shame and desire mixing into something exciting. Different than before, when his focus was on your pleasure alone. He means to take you like this, undignified, rutting into you like a beast, chasing his own satisfaction down with his hands gripping your hips.

He slides into you with one smooth thrust, and your breath leaves you in a rush, taking every thought in your head along with it.

“Sweetpea,” he groans. “Fuck. All mine now, aren’t you?”

All you can do is whimper something that sounds more or less like agreement. He chuckles, the sound dark and a little mean as he begins to fuck you, drawing himself out slow and driving in fast, the rythym torturous. His patient effort to work you open, melting you with one climax after another was for this, so he could claim you, fill you completely, the slick sound of his skin colliding with yours filling the room along with the bullish panting of his breath. His grip on your hips is not painful, but it is immotile. You couldn’t shake him even if you wanted to.

You don’t want to.

There’s no risk of you going anywhere. You claw at the sheets and push back against his thrusts, mewling. His cock drags against every sensitive spot that he’d already discovered, friction sparking more and more heat in your belly. The force of his movements within you make you shake, but you remain rooted in place, hips held up by his hands. Your knees wouldn’t support your weight even if you could get your feet under you.

John grunts, pushing one of your legs up onto the bed as he leans over you, one hand coming down next to your head. “You feel like heaven, Sweetpea. Gonna give you a baby.”

“John,” you gasp, the change in angle making you melt into the mattress beneath him.

You knew that this was the point of sex, knew that he would sow his heir into your womb, but you hadn’t really thought about the fact that you would be pregnant, or that you’d have a baby. The natural order of things had become disconnected in your mind, your involvement in the process obscured. John intends to breed you, and if he succeeds, you’ll become a mother.

It’s too big a concept to fully wrap your mind around in the moment, especially when one of John’s hands worms its way beneath you and finds your pearl again. You press your face into the sheets to muffle yourself, nearly sobbing from the overwhelm of it all.

John has given up on trying to speak, communication devolved into grunts and groans in your ear. His strokes into you grow erratic, his fingers on your pearl twitching slightly. He’s trying not to come before you, but everything is so much, your body thrumming with energy, that crescendo unreachable but maddeningly close. You’re not sure you can take much more, so you give him a nudge. “John, please,” you beg. “Fill me up. Give me a baby.”

The sound he makes is filthy, and his hips slam into yours roughly a few more times before he stills, hilted inside you. You can feel the hot pulse of his seed pouring into the deepest part of you, and the feeling finally peaks again, your cunt fluttering around his cock as you crash along with him. You clench and unclench your walls around him, drawing the feeling out as long as possibly, even if it’s greedy and makes him choke on his own breath.

His body sags against you for a moment, his considerable weight tethering you to the earth when you feel as though you could float away. He’s careful not to crush you beneath him for more than a few panting moments before he rolls over and takes you along with him as he moves toward the head of the bed. He unlaces your dress and helps you wiggle out of it, exchanging laughing kisses with you all the while until you’re down to your shift, the beautiful dress tossed to the floor unceremoniously. He tucks you against his chest, his lips pressed to your hairline. “Just give me a moment, lovee,” he murmurs. “I’m not done with you yet.”

“There’s more?” you ask. You already feel limp, a tender green thing wilting under the full scorch of John’s intensity. How does he intend to do more?

“Plenty more. I want you facing me next time. I’d like to watch you come. Twice I think. Once with you on top so I can touch you more.”

“I’m not sure I’d be able to hold myself up.”

“There’s no need. Still want you close, Sweetpea.” He curls his arm around you a little tighter.

Your fingers trace through the whorls of his chest hair idly, until he catches your hand and lifts it to his mouth. For a moment, you let go of the anger that simmers in the back of your mind and settle into the feeling of of right now. Some part of you doesn’t mind laying here in John’s arms. Perhaps a larger part than you’d like to admit.

This is, afterall, your home. You’ve always belonged to this place.

“I’ll be a good husband,” he promises. “I think there’s a good chance that you’ll even grow to love me.”

He’s probably right. It’s difficult to deny his charm when his seed still drips from your swollen cunt, your whole body pleasantly sore from his touch. You can almost feel him still, as if he imprinted himself into you. You wonder if that feeling is permanent.

“Maybe,” you concede, “but you’ll have a lot of work to do.”

“I’m not afraid of work.” John tucks your hand under his, against his beating heart, his thumb playing with the ring he’d placed there just a few hours earlier. “I would have liked to give us more time, convince you to stay, but I couldn’t risk you saying no.”

The more forgiving, warm feelings you’d let take over for a moment dissolve in an instant. You sit up and swing your legs over the side of the bed and stand. Your legs are wobbly, but you’re far too stubborn to let it show. You might have said much the same earlier to keep him from trying to talk about things earlier, but hearing it from him, in such a casual tone, makes you angry all over again. How little he must think of you.

“Are you going somewhere?” John asks, looking surprised.

You pull his housecoat off of the back of his chair and shrug it on, belting it around your middle. “I’m going to bed, John.”

Confusion flashes across his face, followed closely by hurt. “What do you mean— You’re not staying?”

“No. I’ve done my duty, and I will continue to do so. We can have sex again tomorrow night. I suspect it’ll be a few tries before it takes.” You head for the door, chin held high. He tumbles out of bed and dashes after you, catching your arm before you get there.

“Before it— Sweetpea, what are you talking about? You’re my wife. I want you here.” He grips your shoulders firmly, blue eyes dark with worry, boring into your own.

“John, haven’t you already gotten everything you want? You have your claim to the throne solidified through marriage. You remain king. I’ve let you rut into me, and in time I will bear you a son or daughter. Are you not satisfied?”

“Sweetpea, I— I love you.”

You knock his hands away. “No you don’t.”

You yank the door open, rolling your eyes when you find Ghost, Kyle and Johnny on the other side, casually arranged by the far wall as though they just happened by. John follows you out into the hallway, not the least bit concerned about his lack of clothes, and reaches for you again. You glance toward Ghost, but he’s already moving, putting himself between you and John.

“Leave ‘er be, John,” he rumbles.

“Simon,” John says, his voice all angry grit. “Sweetpea and I need to talk.”

“Maybe leave it for the mornin’, sir.” Kyle smiles in a placating way, stepping forward from his lean against the wall. “Don’t think the two of you gettin’ into a fight in the hallway’ll do anyone any good.”

“Thank you,” you say. “Johnny, would you like to join me?”

“Course. ‘Scuse me, gents—”

“Absolutely not,” John protests. “Sweetpea, you’re my wife.”

“No one is disputing that fact, John. I am simply going to bed, and Johnny is going to sleep next to me, just as he did last night and the night before. Now go back to bed. We can talk in the morning.”

You march into your room, Johnny close behind you, and lock the door, turning the tumbler extra hard so it clicks audibly. You can hear the rumble of John’s voice through the door, but you can’t make out the words, and it’s only a moment before the door across the hall thuds shut as well.

“Weel, he was that bad, was he?” Johnny asks, his tone cheerful and teasing.

You laugh, and the laughter turns into a sob. The door is reassuringly solid behind you, the only thing that’s keeping you upright as your knees shake. You press your hands to your mouth, letting yourself slide to the floor, but Johnny catches you and pulls you into a tight hug.

“Sorry, bonnie, I didnae think my joke was that bad,” he says, petting a hand over your head carefully.

You laugh and cry at the same time, clinging to his shirt. “I hate him,” you sob. “I hate him.”

“Ah, no, ye dinnae hate him. He’s a right bastart, but yer too sweet t’hate him, bonnie.” Johnny gently guides you over to your bed and sits at the edge, pulling you gently into his lap. “None of this was fair t’ye.”

You grind the heels of your hands against your eyes, trying to stem the tide of emotion. He's not worth your tears. "He took my whole life away from me," you manage to get the words out past the lump in your throat, but it hurts. "I never wanted to come back here."

"Ah cannae blame ye," Johnny says soothingly, a note of guilty misery in his own voice. "Ye looked happy before. Even when ye smile, Ah can see somethin's gone cold in ye since ye go' here."

"This was a cage for a long time, Johnny. My father-- He wasn't a good man. I had to make myself so small so he wouldn't notice me, but it never worked."

"He hurt you," Johnny says quietly. "Didn't he?"

You nod, pressing your face into his shirt as a fresh wave of tears rolls down your face.

"I grew up in a cage too," Johnny says quietly, the usual burr of humour absent from his voice. "No' as fancy a cage as all this, o'course, but I ken how it feels."

"Where do you come from, Johnny?" you ask. "If it's okay to talk about."

"North. Mactavish clan. We ran a corridor from the highlands to the sea. No' all of us had wolf blood, but we were a strong clan. I cannae remember much, just bits an' pieces. We were hit by raiders, an' I was caught, alongside my cousin. We were playin' down the beach, in a tidal cave, didnae hear the commotion till it was too late. We got separated when I was sold. Ended up in some fightin' pits owned by a woman called Valeria."

Your heart aches for him. "I'm so sorry."

He shrugs lightly. "I survived. It was no' easy, but I couldnae stop fightin'. Never go' tae find out if anyone else survived. Or what happened to Con."

"Would you like me to ask Kate to see if she can find them?" you ask. "If anyone can, it would be her."

"Aye, I wouldnae mind tha'."

"How did you end up here?"

"Ghost. He doesnae approve of keepin' things in cages. Freed the whole lot of us. Just me'n' Nox tha' had nowhere else tae go, so he took us in."

"Is that why Nox doesn't like you?"

He nods. "Folks loved tae see us fight. I ken tha' it was no' personal, but Nox willna ever trust me. Dinnae blame her." He kisses the top of your head. "Come oan, Sweetpea. Ye've go tae get ready fer bed. Ye've had a long day."

You sniffle, wiping your face with your sleeve. "Y-yeah. Okay."

He manages to turn your somber mood into something feather light by the time you've cleaned your teeth and washed your face. You slide into bed and fold back the covers invitingly. "You don't have to be a wolf if you don't want to," you offer.

He grins and slides in next to you, clad in just his shirt. "Need a cuddle, do ye?"

You wiggle in close, listening to the way his heart beats, steady and reassuring.

You look up to ask him if he can reach over and turn the light off, but he tips his head down at the same time, and your eyes meet.

The next thing you know, you're pressing your lips to his, slow and inquisitive. He melts for you.

He pulls you closer, and you can feel the hesitancy in his touch, the clutch and release of his fingers when he remembers that you’re not his to take, no matter how much you both might wish that were the case right now. You both pull away at once, the guilt in his eyes a clear mirror of the guilt you feel.

“Sorry,” you whisper. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Nah, don’t be. I’m only sorry tha’ we have tae stop.” He sighs and twists to reach for the light without letting go of you. “Wish I was selfish enough tae ask ye tae run away with me.”

“I’m glad you’re not.” It would be hard to say no, if he did ask. Johnny’s sweet, and he was the first to speak up and say that it wasn’t right to trick you, and there’s something broken in each of you that recognizes the other. Falling in love with Johnny would take no work at all. It would be as easy as giving yourself permission to do so.

“If it were just about Price, I’d consider it,” he admits. “Auld bastart doesna deserve you, an I wouldna mind settin’ up in a cottage somewhere, just the two of us. Raise a few pups if ye want ‘em, or dogs and cats and chickens if ye dinnae. But it’s no’ about Price, is it? Ye’ve go’ a whole country that needs ye. Price is a good man, an’ a good king, but he’s no’ as good as you. He doesna always see the whole picture.”

You allow yourself a moment to mull over the romantic daydream of running off with him and living an ordinary, unremarkable life of baking bread and mending clothes and tending to a garden, and then let it go. “I know. It was a vain hope to think I could stay away. I’m just angry. Getting married was supposed to be romantic and exciting, and he ruined it.”

“Ah ken. Dinnae fash, Sweetpea. We’ll all do what we can tae make it right.”

Some combination of his promise, his low, soothing voice and his steady heart beating below your ear lulls you to sleep before long.

When the next morning comes and Johnny goes off on his way, promising to check back in with you later, you get busy. It's not that you're intentionally avoiding John, it's just that there's so much to get caught up on. You request a report on the state of the nation from Kate, and take Farah with you while you search the archives for the last few year's annuals. They're heavy tomes full of tiny writing-- you can feel the headache already forming between your temples at the thought of parsing through them, but you know that there's alot to catch up on. You request an office, and by the time you come tottering out from between the dusty archival stacks, there's one set up for you, one floor beneath your bedroom, looking out on your courtyard. The climbing rose that spreads over the walls outside partially obscure your windows, granting privacy even with the curtains not yet hung.

Farah sets her stack of ledgers on an otherwise empty bookshelf before she prowls around the room. "It must be nice to be queen," she says wryly. "No one has ever moved so fast to follow my command."

"It's certainly one of the perks," you agree. "I'll have to make a list of the books I'd like on hand for reference. And you should add anything you'd like as well. I don't want you to be bored if you feel like you need to be here with me."

"I think you are more or less safe here," Farah says. "But until the Kastovian leaves, I do not believe I will stay far."

"At least see if Ghost or Johnny can come by to give you breaks regularly. It will be tedious work, watching me read all day."

"And who will ensure you take breaks?" Farah asks.

"I've taken a break for years now. I have to catch up."

"Knight Commander Keller asked me to run his men through some drills this afternoon. You'll come with me. You can read in the sunlight as easily as you can here."

"Good idea. I'd like to speak with the guards too-- I'll interview all the Castle staff, eventually, but I can start anywhere. If Knight Commander Keller has concerns I'd like to know."

Farah gives you a long look. “You’re planning something.”

You flash an innocent smile. “Now Farah, what would make you say that?”

She quirks an eyebrow and gestures to the stacks of books you’ve dragged up from the archive. “And I heard you and John had a fight last night.”

Castle gossip travels fast. “I wouldn’t call it a fight. John made it clear how little he respects me, and I made it clear what the price for that disrespect is. I’m not going to let him push me around. He may be under the impression that because I didn’t fuss over the wedding that I’m going to roll over for everything he asks, but he is sorely mistaken.” The steel in your voice surprises you— You’ve never been a forceful person. You’ve opted to be kind and accommodating in all matters for most of your life, but this matter with John requires niether. Handling John requires digging in your heels and showing him that he’s made a mistake, treating you like a silly little girl who doesn’t know what she wants.

You made yourself clear before, and he didn’t listen. Now your objectives have changed with your position. Becoming queen was not something you wanted, but now that you are, you’re going to remind John at every step that you were raised for this role. That this is your castle, that this is your kingdom.

If he wishes to be king, he needs to act as your partner. If he can’t handle that, you’ll show him how little power a prince consort really has.

Farah nods, eyes smiling. “I am glad to hear it, your majesty.”

“It’s just important for me to know what’s going on before I insert myself into affairs of state. I’ll let John revel in his unhappy victory for a week or two.”

Someone knocks on the door, so Farah answers it, opening it wide for a huge bouquet of flowers with a pair of legs wearing the staff uniform. “His majesty sends his regards,” a young man’s voice says through the assortment of flowers and greenery.

The bouquet is beautiful, pink and yellow roses, white lilies, purple iris and a spray of tiny blue forget-me-nots tucked into every gap. You direct him to set it on the low table set between the chairs by the window, frowning.

If John had sent flowers he’d chosen himself, you would see this as a sweet gesture, but there’s no way he did more than issue an order, and anger bubbles up in your stomach like acid. He understands you so little, and had the audacity to say he loved you last night. He has no idea what the word means.

“These are much to beautiful for me to keep all to myself,” you say diplomatically. “Would you mind fetching me a vase, once you’ve had a chance to catch your breath? I’ll take my favourites out and then the rest can go to the dining room. I’m sure John would appreciate them being somewhere we can both enjoy them.” You drift to the tray of refreshments that someone had left for you, and pour the young man a glass of water. “Sit, if you need to. This must have been quite heavy.”

He turns red, accepting the glass of water with a stumbled over string of words that approximated to a thank you, and tells you his name when you ask. “Lucas, ma’am. I mean your grace. Your majesty.”

At a stretch, he might be sixteen, but you suspect thirteen or fourteen, by the way his voice cracks. Probably the son of one of the other staff members, but it irks you to see children working. Helping around their own homes is one thing, but working for coin? It hardly seems right. Children from more affluent families would be in lessons right now, learning history and arithmetic, not running all over the castle carrying a flower arrangement that’s nearly as wide as Lucas is tall.

“Can you read and write, Lucas?” you ask.

“No ma’am. I mean your highness.”

“Ma’am is fine, Lucas. How old are you?”

“Nearly fourteen,” he says, puffing out his thin chest slightly.

“Nearly grown up then, aren’t you?” It would insult him if you called him a child. There’s a few faint hairs on his upper lip that you’re certain he’s quite proud of. “Are there a lot of others your age working here?”

“A few, ma’am. Not many. Mrs. Fanshawe won't hire anyone under sixteen unless they've got family here-- My dad works in the gardens. I help."

You nod. "Do you like it?"

He spends about ten minutes chatting about propagating roses before he remembers that you're the queen and runs off again to get the vase you asked for.

Farah gives you a funny look while you select out a few of the flowers to keep. "What?" you ask.

"You care about the people that work here," she says. "Personally, not abstractly. It's nice to see."

"Why wouldn't I? These are the people who do all the work that runs the country. The kitchens, the gardens, the cleaning staff, the clerks and archivists-- nothing John or any other head of state or lord does is possible without the assistance of everyone that works for them."

"Most do not have the ability to see things so clearly."

It's easy to see things clearly now that you've spent so much time away-- You cared before, in a way, as much as you could, but the isolation and fear kept you from forging real connections. Things are different now. You're different.

Lucas returns with the vase and carts the larger arrangement away, and you arrange the handful of flowers while you mull over how you want to approach the data before you. Starting with the latest volume will give you a grasp of the state of things more quickly, but there is a benefit to starting further back and tracking the trends through the years too. You decide to start back further, and are just cracking into the oldest volume you gathered when John walks in.

“Commander Karim, could you give us a moment?” John asks.

Farah looks to you, and when you nod, she steps out into the hall, giving John a scornful look as she passes him.

John casts about the room, his eyes landing on the vase on your desk. He frowns. “Are those the flowers I sent you?”

“I don’t know, John. You tell me.”

“You’re angry with me.”

You stand up behind the desk, pushing your chair back impatiently. “Yes. What do you want?”

“I want to make things right between us.”

“Do you? Or do you just want me to forgive you and act like nothing is wrong?”

“Sweetpea, I know I haven’t been fair to you, but it was—”

“For the greater good? To stop my cousin? Because you didn’t trust me to do what was necessary if you just had a conversation with me?”

“I couldn’t risk it. Sweetpea, it wasn’t personal—”

You have to clench your fists to keep yourself from throwing the vase at his head. “Not personal?” you snap. “John, this is my life. You took everything from me, and you have the gall to say it’s not personal?”

He holds up his hands defensively. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then say it plainly, Johnathan Price. You didn’t think about how I’d feel at all. You didn’t care. And now you reap the reward of your actions. Are you happy?”

“Of course not! I want to fix this. I want you to be happy.”

You laugh at that. “Liar. You still don’t have the guts to be honest. Now, unless you’d like me to bend over my desk so you can mount me again, I don’t think we have any further business.”

His eyes spark with anger. “Is that how you want this to be?”

“No! I wanted a husband that loves me. I wanted a husband that respects me. And you don’t. So either do the only thing I can rely on you to do and fuck me, or get out.” You haven’t raised your voice, but the silence that follows makes your ears ring.

He strides around the desk and spins you around to face him, kicking the chair out of the way. His eyes blaze with anger as he boxes you in, his whole broad body tense. He reaches out to cup your jaw with one hand, and you flinch away from the contact reflexively. You don’t think John would hurt you, not like that, but your body remembers the damage an angry man can do, and braces you for it.

He reels back a step, anger turning to confusion and guilt. “I wouldn’t—”

“I know,” you say quickly. If he tries to reassure you there’s a good chance you’ll cry, and you can’t afford the show of weakness. It would undermine everything you’re trying to prove to him. “I know. Just go, please. Tell Farah I need a moment alone.”

You wait until the door clicks shut behind him before you let yourself fall to pieces.

Image credits: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 -

Divider by CafeKitsune - Flower Divider by Saradika-Graphics

[starfallkaz]

Babel Spoilers!!!

Been thinking a lot about Letty Price and her inability to comprehend how the act of Robin, Victoire and Ramy standing up and joining a resistance against Babel was so integral to their identities and experiences as POC and scholars in Britain.

How could they hate and do this to a nation that gave them so much? That gave them literature and translation, education and funding and the ability to expand their minds. How could they turn their backs on that?

She could not conceive that they had been given these opportunities, but at every turn they were disrespected and mistreated for who they were. Given rewards and treats and opportunities with the consolation that yes “you are lesser than” but don’t worry we can beat the ethnic out of you. And to hang that over you, it is only natural to form a twisted sense of self-worth contingent on the whily and abusive whims of their oppressor. The constant need to prove that they were worthy of acknowledgment, of this position. The anger and twisted gratuity for the opportunity, but injustice in being used for their minds and their abilities by an empire refusing to acknowledge them as humans, let alone equals. Stolen bodies and stolen lands.

And Letty, her only framework of suffering was the coddling of a girl in an upperclass white family and the restrictions of conservative social constructs. That while hindering and discouraging, were not a question of life and death or of humanity, but of simple opportunity and intelligence. And looking through these eyes, how could she comprehend such a thing?

[phantomarine]

2024 Commissions are Open!

Howdy howdy! I'm opening 10 commission slots - $200 USD base price for single-character full-body painted portraits with simple backgrounds - and you can upgrade the complexity for a fee.

This is not first-come-first-serve - you can submit character designs and commission ideas at the link below, and I'll choose 10 of those to paint. These will be done over the course of summer and early fall 2024.

Let me draw your OCs, your Warriors of Light, your DnD characters, or just your favorite movie/tv/game character. Hell, you could commission me to draw one of my own characters too. Make me put Cheth in a stupid outfit. The sky is the limit.

APPLY HERE!

[staytrueblue]

He actually breaks my heart in this scene. He gave his girlfriend a locket with a photo of them and her kids in it and they got in a fight so she didn’t wear it and put in the drawer…and his reaction…..god

a broken hearted man who’s love language is clearly gift giving and acts of service.

[nhaaauyen]

just saw a pricefield edit with the song wildflower (billie eilish) from max's point of view about how she'll never be rachel .. everyone is invited to my funeral

[tipzycat]

I splurged and now own the BlueRay DVD of the Alice in the Garden movie

[maxthesillyy]

chloe and joyce’s relationship is actually so fucked up and tragic dont even fucking talk to me

[plushie-lovey]

I've been seeing rumors floating around that ganz might start producing Webkinz plush again in the near-ish future. If that actually happens I am both excited and scared at the same time.

[nekrosmos]

watching eubank jr v benn rn and i have more boxer nik thoguhts… i will be writing this while the stream im watching Buffers (several minutes now, ive missed whole rounds just Waiting for it to finish)

at, like, professional matches, they often play the fighter’s national anthem

im trying to imagine how nik would feel about this. on the one hand, he’s a patriot, proud of his country, his heritage

on the other, he fucking hates what it stands for.

if he looks distantly at the ground during it, fingers pressing into the padding of his gloves, that’s his business

as is the way he panics before weigh-ins. it’s a struggle for price to get him to even drink water. the layers of bravado he puts on as he walks up to the scale fall away the very second he slumps into their car, half exhausted, half dehydrated, half starving. he reaches for the water kept in their car 24/7, and downs half the bottle in one go. properly exhausted, he collapses into their other man’s arms as they go inside.

price carries him in, tries desperately to get him to eat, but he’s too bloody tired. just squeezes his hand and gives him a cold, light soup that he can drink throughout the night. what else could he do?

update i got it to work again i missed THREE ROUNDS just watching it buffer

Always love your thoughts anon, hope the match was good despite the buffering !!

"if he looks distantly at the ground during it, fingers pressing into the padding of his gloves, that’s his business" Loved that one anon. Price knows, everyone close to him knows. They don't mention it ever, though.

Also the weight-in thing broke my heart a little. Nikolai who struggles with his confidence when it comes to his weight always gets me. And the way he shows his weaknesses around it so easily to Price when they're in a safe space of theirs, it's both sad and sweet.

Again, I love your brain anon, and I love this AU <3

[vanillaboyfriend]

made it halfway through the day today wondering why my heels hurt only to realize that the insoles of my boots have disintegrated and the tacks attaching the heels were stabbing my feet ^-^

[forerussake]

why are movie tickets so expensive these days 😭

[patrickztump]

american beauty 10 year merch and all save rock and roll got was a post? okay :(

[mitamicah]

Hi did you make those keychains that other person was posting about? How did you make them?

Hi there

Yes I made the little keychain ^V^ (this one v)

I got help from this website :D

[fel0ny-01]

I just watched a TikTok edit about Price grieving Soap and someone commented that Price must’ve knew Soap since he was around 16 because he tried to enlist early and that he watched him die for him just makes it all worse

[riderandspider]

Living in America is so fun.. you call the pharmacy to ask how much it'll be to refill your prescription of migraine preventative- the only pill keeping you from being in excruciating pain every day- and they let you know it'll be $3,300 💕

[tacticalvalor]

«────── « HEADCANON » ──────»

TAGGED BY: @vendettavalor

TAGGING: @ppravitas , @mayxthexforce (rajeev), @thephoenixnomore , @unrclypirxte (beth) , @sadistpet ,and you!! if you read this, feel free to steal this and tag me in it <3

WHAT ARE YOU THE DEITY OF?

CAPTAIN JOHN PRICE - WISDOM AND KNOWLEDGE

Intelligent and trusted, there is rarely a soul who doesn’t hear and value your voice. You act as a guiding light in an array of situations. Calm and wise, you offer the deepest and sincerest insights regarding the world’s problems.

KYLE "GAZ" GARRICK - CREATION AND LIGHT

You’re youthful and vivacious. Your followers often have an aura of freedom and positivity surrounding them. You give them the fire to illuminate the dark and free themselves. Even the thought of you is a great source of inspiration and courage.

SIMON "GHOST" RILEY - WINTER AND DEATH

You’re known for your self-discipline and rigidity. Although you may be perceived as cold and intimidating by those who don’t directly worship you, you’re actually quite fair and polite. Your followers pray to you for a safe winter and peaceful death.

JOHNNY "SOAP" MACTAVISH - CREATION AND LIGHT

You’re youthful and vivacious. Your followers often have an aura of freedom and positivity surrounding them. You give them the fire to illuminate the dark and free themselves. Even the thought of you is a great source of inspiration and courage.