#john* ... WHATEVER
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electing to believe this is what griddlehark looks like to everyone else
#like i could go into my thoughts on bodymodification in domincus and how i think#light eyes/non-brown eyes are infinitely more common now#despite the fact there still seems to be adhesion to the relative norm (natural eye colors#yellow eyes being both unique to the populace of canaan house and unique enough that#gids lineage can be determined via#DESPITE the fact that while theoretically it would be a superficial change#john seems to have inadvertently changed his own genetics to do it? making it something a necromancer Could Do?#idk. whatever#the locked tomb#thoughts from the stars#1k#2k#3k#shout out to my first post to hit#4k#5k#sighs#6k
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Ghostshipping
#I ship whatever’s funniest at the moment#but yk ghostsoap endgame#with roach maybe#call of duty#ghost babygirl#simon ghost riley#john soap mactavish#gary roach sanderson#kyle gaz garrick#captain john price#cod ghost#cod soap#cod gaz#cod roach#mace cod#captain price#call of duty modern warfare#cod mw2#ghostsoap#soapghost#ghostroach#maceghost#ghostgaz#ghostprice#priceghost#gazghost
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i've noticed a pattern
#stanford pines#gravity falls#arthur lester#malevolent#jonathan sims#the magnus archives#tma#bill woodward#hatchetfield#grian#i havent actually gotten very far in malevolent so that's basically a guess. but john seems like he'd be an eldritch entity#maybe he was human once but he doesn't seem like it now#also if arthur has any distinguishing traits erm. whatever#i have never drawn watcher grian before and i didnt watch evo so :P#there are two guys named bill in this image#i chose these characters to give people as much whiplash as possible and its working
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so Oswald’s dad totally isn’t the FNAF 4 Freddy mask bully right. right?
#fnaf#into the pit#fnaf into the pit#five nights at freddy's#head in hands#john fuhnaff unearthed the mask and in his playthrough and now im- 💥💥💥#because oh god. another one bites the dust or whatever#we need the chica mask bully where are they
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what saw III did y'all watch
#lynn denlon#amanda young#lynnmanda#shotgunshipping#saw#saw iii#saw 3#sawposting#i love these fucking freaks so much#they started scissoring after this#and johns dying of cancer in the other room or whatever he was doing#also my wip got like corrupted in procreate and i had to delete it so im going to crash out 😋❤️#owl.archives
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suits.
#fanart#art#digital art#mwii#mw2#simon ghost riley#john soap mactavish#ghost/soap#maybe tumblr wont hate it#soap is a good boy ok?#or good dog#whatever flavour you prefear
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kinda enamoured with the thought of our poor mc going to a dud of party but meeting Kyle and Johnny there (both looking as out of place as you feel) but instead of taking you home, they bring you back to Price and Ghost. a sweet little treat for them all to share.
and they're charming, of course. too charming. but alcohol numbs most of your inhibitions about how touchy they are. how physical. folding themselves into your space, leaning down to whisper in your ear when you can hear them just fine. hands on the small on your back. around your wrist. your waist. knuckles against your cheek—
god, you're such a pretty little thing, aren't you?
warm skin. breath that smells of thick, sweet cream and oaky black tea. hands curling under the hem of your shirt—shush, shush, doe, ahm jus' helpin' ye; yer hot, ain't ye? lemme help ye out o'yer jumper—thick, sunkissed fingers dancing over your skin.
you feel funny, you slur into his—Kyle, he huffs, grinning wide; wolfish: call me Kyle, sweet thing—neck, chasing the scent of spiced vanilla and wild, ripened plums. everything is spinning. spinning—
"god, he's gonna just love you—"
but they'll take you somewhere. home. you nod, nose tucked tight against his warm, steady pulse. "wanna go home—" you mumble into salt-tinged skin, and they laugh.
"oh, don't worry, beautiful. we'll get you right where you need to be."
you trust them, of course. let them usher you into their car, curled up against a broad, warm chest. lulled under a blanket of security wrapped tight in strong, firm arms. and if his hand wanders, fingers tickling the insides of your thighs. well—
you can't deny they're attractive. maybe you can get their number after and call them in the morning.
but that doesn't happen.
you wake to the sound of voices. hands sliding under your knees, around your shoulder. carried into a house that isn't your own—some strange cabin deep in the forest. the glow of the wood stove in the only light on inside, and you struggle to adjust to the thick orange haze.
"what's going on?" you ask, blinking at the sight that greets your liquid eyes.
Kyle places you down on a rug, holding your hips tight when you fumble. laughing, just a little, under his breath when you gasp.
sitting in an old, wooden chair is a man you've never seen before. big, broad. intimidating. his thick legs spread lazily—one kicked out against the rug, the other bent at the knee. and elbow rests on it. in his hand, a lit cigar. the other dangles, loose and lax, off the armrest. fingers curling, unfurling, into spasmic fists.
his eyes burn caeruleum in the flickering gold.
you fight back a shiver, but feel it slide like hot oil down your spine.
"what—?"
"my boys didn't explain it to you?" he asks, voice a rough, abrasive scratch in your head. gritty. porous. you feel it against your skin. fingers digging into your nape. bad girl. there's something about him that commands attention, and you give it easily as he tuts, pale lips pulling into a condescending sneer beneath the thick of his beard. "or maybe you just weren't payin' attention, sweetheart."
"attention to what—" sir almost trembles out. his lips twitch like he heard all the same. "i just want to go home—"
the hand dangling over the ledge flares to life. he flicks it careless around the room with a hum. "you are home."
"my real home—"
and then you see it.
he moves like liquid through the shadows. folds himself into the dark like its where he belongs. and you thought—and still very much do—the man sitting on his throne was large, intimidating, but it pales at the absurd height of this thing that slinks out of the corner with a heavy, laden gaze. powdered charcoal. endlessly black. flat, though. amused.
when he speaks, it's all brass. "what's this? Johnny brought 'ome a stray?"
"nah," you hear Kyle's grin. feel the phantom shift of sharp teeth against your neck. breathless laugher. warm hands. baby, you feel so good. "we found 'er in a club. lost little lamb."
"and you dragged her back to the wolf's den, mm?"
"you complainin', cap?"
it takes all of your willpower to tear your eyes off the man, but you manage. ripping them away until you find him—Price—again. he stares back with a lidded, heavy gaze. unflinching. hungry.
"not in the slightest."
Kyle purrs. "Johnny couldn't keep his hands off her, sir. might have some competition for who goes first."
cold air on your nape. dread bubbles up in your belly. "no—"
they continue like you hadn't spoken. like you don't exist. the man in the corner folds his thick arms over his broad chest, shaking his head a chainsaw-like grunt. laughter, you think.
but Price doesn't seem to find it nearly as funny. his teeth sink into the butt of the cigar with a growl. "gonna fight me for first, Sargeant?"
Johnny snorts, and rubs his finger under his nose.
"she's sweet," he murmurs, all wide-eyed and feverish. cheeks pinked under the warm spill of orange. "cannae blame a man fer wantin' such a pretty little thing—"
"back of the line," Kyle prods. and you wish his touch made your stomach churn, but that thread of intrigue, alcohol spooled want, still thrums in your veins.
"i just—" you stammer, eyes widening as real, tangible fear sets in. skewers into your belly. heart in your throat. the erratic echoes pounding in your ears. "i just want to go home."
"you are home, birdie—" he speaks and it feels like the walls shake. "didn't get a bright, did you, Johnny?"
"tha's mean, Lt—" his hands snake around your waist, pulling you into his hard chest. "didnae anyone teach ye 'ow tae chirp at birds?" the shorn sides of his Mohawk scratch against your cheek when he nuzzles, kittenish, against your face. "don't listen tae 'im, doe. yer th' sweetest, brightest lit'le thing—"
"mm, and such a bright little girl would know how to behave, wouldn't she?"
even with the alcohol dulling your senses—thoughts scattered and thin as two pairs of hands start pulling at your clothes, stripping you down to nothing—you can still see his words for what it is:
a threat.
as if to reinforce this idea, the man—Ghost, Johnny whines into your burning, stinging cheek, skin chafing from the graze of his buzzed sides: gotta 'ave a taste, Lt���moves, his body spilling out in a dizzying tumble of thick limbs. he stands by the door—the only one—and folds his arms over his chest once more, head cocking to the side as he stares down at you.
"don't worry, Johnny," he rumbles, lids slipping to half cresences over the ink black of his eyes. "i intend to."
the air stills when Price hums. your attention is pulled back to him instantly, but a part of you—all animal—halves it down the middle, keeping Ghost in your sights at all times. turning your back on him feels—
stupid.
you shiver.
Price shifts in the chair, reaching up for the cigar still pinched between his teeth. the look in his eyes is a startling, heavy thing. doom tastes like ash between your teeth.
"an' you're a bright girl, aren't you?"
it's not really a question. you nod anyway, feeling the fight in your body dissolve like wisps of smoke in the dense, thickened air. excitement, desire, hums—an electrical current—in the air, bubbling up between them. they move around you in a way that's dizzingly coordinated—a living, thrumming dance. stigmergy. as your clothes fall, as their hands grab your flesh, pinching and caressing, moaning in your ear about how soft you are, how sweet, one, horrifying thought thickens in the back of your head:
you know, then, that you're not going home.
"oh, sweetheart," Price drawls like he knows what you're thinking. a mocking little coo as he tucks his knuckles under your chin, lifting your head up to meet his burning gaze. there's something in there, you think. something awful. something hungry.
"you already are."
#wrote this on my way home so! it's messy#poly141 x reader#noncon gangbang????#lmao#whatever this is#captain john price x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#141 x reader#kyle garrick x reader#johnny mactavish x reader
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Pre-Return Holmes musing to an unwitting audience
Meanwhile Watson:
#something stupid I cooked up in my head hehe#fanart#comic#sherlock holmes#john watson#🎻🔫#holmes/watson#< rarely do I ship tag but whatever this one’s implied#acd holmes#reichenbach falls#the final problem
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It's not NOT confirmed (?)
Bonus:
#trolls#trolls 3#trolls band together#dreamworks trolls#floyd trolls#floyd#trolls floyd#john dory#trolls john dory#brozone#before anyone says anything. we literally know bruce was hitting it raw JDFJJWKDKVNEJDKVJEJFJVJENE#i may delete that tag later#clay trolls#trolls clay#branch trolls#trolls branch#bruce trolls#trolls bruce#HE LOOKS SO WACK IN THAT DRAWING AUGH#well . whatever i drew it on the plane
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listen I expected literally Nothing from the D&D movie okay, like I can't make it clear enough that I expected the most soulless money grab with a good cgi budget imaginable, I went in having already gone through every stage of grief and landed on acceptance and LISTEN
I fucking CRIED during this dumb RPG movie. it wasn't just "not terrible" it was objectively good with a clever plot and compelling characters and sincere emotional beats. this movie loves D&D so fucking much and it NAILS the "a bunch of goobers try to be cool and accidentally discover The Power Of Friendship And Also Great Violence" classic D&D party vibe. their barbarian's last name is fucking Kilgore and my entire family cried in the theater.
I hope they make twelve of these motherfuckers.
#honor among thieves#dnd#dungeons and dragons: honor among thieves#holga kilgore#she is a BARBARIAN whose name is KILL GORE like who among us has not been in a party with this exact character#some new player who picked whatever they were told was the easiest class and gave them a name that is 98% a joke#and just piggybacked their backstory onto the most experienced player's as like rp training wheels#and then smash cut 60 sessions later and we're all getting choked up over john dingus or whatever#do you motherfuckers know how rarely i cry????? about ANYTHING?????#god it was so good#i am going to watch this an unhealthy amount#i want a separate movie for every red wizard and also one about xenk's backstory#his name is X E N K with an X these writers have played some fucking DUNGEONS AND DRAGONS#do i have to buy dead in thay now?????? i think i have to buy dead in thay now#i literally ran dnd on friday and this movie put me in WITHDRAWAL i want to play some dnd Now
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Part 7, the final comic in my SIGN OF THE FOUR chapter. (Part one), (part two), (part three), (part four), (part five), (part six).
The context for this conversation is: Holmes has had no work from Scotland Yard due to rumors about his and Watson's relationship. He responded to this with excessive cocaine use and then working himself unhealthy on the one case that came along; Mary Morstan's. Meanwhile, Watson befriended Mary, who is also gay, and realized that a lavender marriage with her could make him and Holmes safe, as well as granting her more freedom. Watson has not yet told Holmes of his decision.
(This is part of the Watsons sketchbook series!)
canon scene under the cut, which is achingly poignant in its own right:
“Well, and there is the end of our little drama,” I remarked, after we had set some time smoking in silence. “I fear that it may be the last investigation in which I shall have the chance of studying your methods. Miss Morstan has done me the honour to accept me as a husband in prospective.”
He gave a most dismal groan. “I feared as much,” said he. “I really cannot congratulate you.”
I was a little hurt. “Have you any reason to be dissatisfied with my choice?” I asked.
“Not at all. I think she is one of the most charming young ladies I ever met, and might have been most useful in such work as we have been doing. She had a decided genius that way: witness the way in which she preserved that Agra plan from all the other papers of her father. But love is an emotional thing, and whatever is emotional is opposed to that true cold reason which I place above all things. I should never marry myself, lest I bias my judgment.”
“I trust,” said I, laughing, “that my judgment may survive the ordeal. But you look weary.”
“Yes, the reaction is already upon me. I shall be as limp as a rag for a week.”
“Strange,” said I, “how terms of what in another man I should call laziness alternate with your fits of splendid energy and vigour.”
“Yes,” he answered, “there are in me the makings of a very fine loafer and also of a pretty spry sort of fellow. I often think of those lines of old Goethe,—
Schade dass die Natur nur einen Mensch aus Dir schuf, Denn zum würdigen Mann war und zum Schelmen der Stoff.
“By the way, à propos of this Norwood business, you see that they had, as I surmised, a confederate in the house, who could be none other than Lal Rao, the butler: so Jones actually has the undivided honour of having caught one fish in his great haul.”
“The division seems rather unfair,” I remarked. “You have done all the work in this business. I get a wife out of it, Jones gets the credit, pray what remains for you?”
“For me,” said Sherlock Holmes, “there still remains the cocaine-bottle.” And he stretched his long white hand up for it.
#“whatever is emotional is opposed to that true cold reason which I place above all things”#things you say when you are NOT UPSET AT ALL NOT IN THE SLIGHTEST#watsons sketchbook#my art#sherlock holmes#acd holmes#john watson#drugs cw
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this one was a fairly popular one on my other old blog, so I shall bring it here:
Imagine getting into an argument/fight with one partner!John Mactavish, but nothing can seem to bridge the two of you just yet. No horizon yet in sight for forgiveness, each party stubborn set in their perspective no matter which side was in the right.
Imagine putting space between the two of you come bedtime, settling on the couch, unable to kick him from the bed, or lie beside him.
Imagine waking up sometime late into the night, hours after falling asleep but hours still to sunrise. Tangled into your blanket on the couch, but unable to move your legs due to the weight of your partner draped over them, kneeling despite his bad knee, unable to stay separate from you for even one night. Curled over your feet like a kicked and saddened puppy, sleeping despite the obvious discomfort in his limbs.
A puppy. He’s literally a puppy.
#Is this angst?#hurt/comfort?#idk its whatever yall want it to be#Wrinkled pages#call of duty modern warfare#call of duty#x reader#reader insert#john soap mactavish#cod soap#soap x reader
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THE REST OF MALTOBER AWOOGA
#OOPS I wrote day 23 as day 22 ugh whatever#ugh they#artists on tumblr#malevolent#malevolent podcast#malevolent fanart#wallace larson#andrew larson#the king in yellow#kiy malevolent#marie pilon#arthur lester#john doe#john malevolent#faroe lester#peter parker yang#parker malevolent#oscar malevolent#kayne malevolent#malam malevolent#maltober2024
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Marsha Hunt photographed by John Vaughan, 1968.
#Marsha Hunt#John Vaughan#christmas#like every photo has different colors but whatever#vintage#sixties#60s#afro#black is beautiful#fashion#make up#christmas balls
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Northern lights
#thinking about how Irving lives in constant fear of God but Hickey sees him as a distant benefactor#so Irving sees the northern lights as a terrifying reminder and Hickey just basks in it#or whatever…#the terror#amc the terror#the terror amc#my art#john irving#cornelius hickey#the drawing is lowkey shiddy but whatevaahhhh#artists on tumblr
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price patting his lap with a soft smile and quietly rumbling, “c’mere love. won’t you give me a kiss?”
or him doing that thing where he adjusts himself on the couch so he tugs you closer to him—chest to chest—so you don’t fall.
or how he maps his hands along your back, digging just enough to give gentle massages, while you nuzzle your face on the column of his neck.
or just how you feel him talking so it’s lulling you to sleep and john notices so he talks quieter, softer, until he’s got you dozing off and just before you fully slip into your slumber, you feel his lips brush against your temple.
#i fucking need him#yea yea this screams daddy issues whatever but god i need him#john price x reader#sun rambles
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