#the price of confession

[byedarka]

hello again. Wow, this is Ren from tpof?!?!! Wow, woah🤯🤯

I CAN'T, HE'S SO FUCKING GREAT

I'm obsessed with him.

[coreancitizen]

What’s the ultimate cost of innocence? A woman (Jeon Do Yeon) accused of murdering her husband, and a secretive woman (Kim Go Eun) known as a witch, strike a dangerous deal. Also starring Park Hae Soo and Jin Sun Kyu, and directed by Lee Jung Hyo ("Crash Landing On You"), the mystery thriller series "The Price Of Confession" is coming, only on Netflix.

Jeon Do Yeon ("Kill Bok Soon," "Crash Course in Romance") plays Ahn Yoon Soo, who is accused of her husband's murder. Her dream for a happy family is crushed by her husband's mysterious demise and now Yoon Soo must fight to prove her own innocence.

Kim Go Eun ("Exhuma," "Little Women," "The King Eternal Monarch," "Goblin") takes on the role of Mo Eun, called a witch among the prison inmates for her uncanny ability to read other people. She strikes a dangerous deal with Yoon Soo.

Park Hae Soo ("Squid Game," "Narco Saints," "Money Heist") plays Baek Dong Hun, a capable prosecutor who possesses strong principles and a cool exterior in any situation. He seeks the secrets between Yoon Soo and Mo Eun with his honor on the line.

Jin Sun Kyu ("Extreme Job," "Space Sweepers") is Yoon Soo's lawyer Jang Jung Gu. A former boxer, he brings a strong will to all his cases, including searching for the truth to prove Yoon Soo's innocence.

[i-got-the-feels]

THE PRICE OF CONFESSION IS DIRECTED BY BEYOND EVILS DIRECTOR AKA QUEEN SHIM NA YEON

[kittychicha]

this is literally so powerful

[nyxiswrites1200]

Thinking of John Price being married to the prettiest wife. He invites Soap, Ghost, and Gaz over to his house where his pretty girl is sitting in the pool in the smallest bikini.

Getting all flustered because of the other guys but Price kisses her and says it's fine.

Ghost especially can't help but stare. He's never seen something so pretty in his life. Price knows you like him, you like the masked brooding L.T.

You sweetly ask for permission and of course Price grants it. You get to flirt with Ghost and hold on to his muscular arm while you try to convince him to get in the pool. However you just end up beneath him on a pool chair as he touches you.

"You take good care of your husband, love?"

"Mhm, I do. Let daddy fill me up all the time"

"You got room for one more?"

Letting him fuck you as Soap and Gaz try not to stare but they sit on the edge of the pool with their cocks hard. Price watching as he shamelessly strokes his cock, asking you how you like Ghost's dick in your tummy because it's so big.

Ghost fucking you in the backyard of your husband's house as the rest of em watch, trying not to be pervs. But you're just a sweet pretty little thing :( they can't help it.

Ghost is pounding you, making you moan so loudly. Good thing there's a tall fence surrounding the yard. He's got you pinned under his large frame, not even undressed.

Soap and Gaz cum in their swim trunks and Price's shoots over his happy trail on his stomach as Ghost pumps you full, leaving you dripping with his cum. You already know Price is going to want to fuck it back into you tonight along with his own.

Ghost was sweet though. Sent you flowers when he was away because he didn't want you to feel used even if you did want his cock anyway...

An: I don't know what came over me guys <3

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

It's a Match! || poly!141 x Reader

[Chapter 27] || [Chapter 29]

Pairing: 141 x gn!Reader Words: 1.2K~ cw: illness, injuries, hurt/comfort, fluff, love confessions! Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you? a/n: Just a cute little moment

Chapter 28: How in the-

The trip with John was short but sweet. A full weekend together, away from everything…

Followed by 4 whole weeks alone. Not that you minded the extra piece and quiet.

You were normally kept at a distance from the boys and their line of work. Arms length, not because they don’t trust you, but because just like Simon learned to drop Ghost at the door, the rest drop work at the door too.

The closest thing you get to ‘work’ is funny anecdotes that can even make you laugh, OR soft, whispered, retelling of memories as your hands snake over their rough skins, fingers grazing the scars that those memories left behind.

Today was a first. In a lot of ways.

The boys showed up at your flat at 3 A.M. after spending a whole month out of Hereford and in God knows where.

You had opened the door very wearily to the sight of the four of them, not even having changed out of their tactical gear, looking like they had been through hell.

Kyle was walking with a limp and a groan, his back stiff and an inability to properly swivel side to side at the hips.

Johnny had gotten his shoulder shot?? Plus his knee was acting up so he was also limping.

John was, also, limping. His back was also stiff and he murmured something about having pulled a muscle.

And Simon? The man’s eyes were surrounded by circles darker than you’d ever seen them, his shoulders slumped. He moved normally, unlike the others. And that concerned you more than anything.

“Jesus, what happened?”

“Mission mishaps. They happen sometimes, da’lin’.” John told you soothingly as he attempted to press a kiss to the crown of your head, but wincing when he felt the pain shoot up his spine.

“Sounds to me like more than mishaps. There’s no way all four of you are injured and it was just a ‘mishap’.” You scolded them as you carefully helped them off their gear, multiple men groaning and grunting in pain as the heavy weights were shed from their torsos.

“Have you been checked?”

“Yes, we went to medic before coming over-” Kyle told you.

“And they let you leave on foot? You look like you all should be on bed rest!” You scolded them.

“And that’s why we’re here.” Johnny added before letting out a groan when you moved his arm, sending pain barreling down his arm.

“How in the-” You murmured as you noted the patched up bullet wound.

“Don’t ask…” Kyle muttered under his breath, a whimper of a sound that you had never quite heard from him.

They were like lost puppies… Needy for being lulled to sleep by a soft hand caressing them behind the ears after some nasty man kicked them on the street.

So that’s how you ended up with four injured soldiers in your house. Ghost took the living room couch, leaving the bed for John and Kyle and Johnny.

“Don’t get any blood on my bed, Johnny!” You warned him. “If something happens, you call me.” You had added as you made sure they were as comfortable as can be before you slipped out of the room.

Reaching the living room, it was now well past 4 A.M. Simon was lying there, one leg swung over the back of your couch, and eyes locked on the shower. “You okay, Simon?” You checked softly.

“Fine, sweetheart.”

“Don’t look fine to me.” You retorted and sat on the armchair by his head, looking down at him, your hand finding his and caressing it.

He twitched a bit against the pillows, brown eyes fluttering for a moment as he took a deep breath. “Mission went tits up. Strained ourselves trying to finish.”

“You too, then?” You asked him and he nodded. “Where?”

“Everywhere. I’m sore all over… And I think I have a fever.” He admitted.

“Do you wanna try a shower?” You suggested and he shook his head.

“I don’t wanna stand up for that long… I get dizzy.”

“And a bath?” You added.

“…” Simon didn’t answer but he groaned and forced himself to stand up. You helped guide him to the bathroom.

After lowering the stopper and allowing the water to flow into the tub, you looked at Simon. “I’ll be outside, okay? I’ll give you privacy.” You told him softly.

Leaning up, you kissed his pale cheek, and turned away…

Only for him to catch you by the wrist. “Stay.”

“What?” You asked him, unsure you heard him right.

“Stay. Please.” He requested.

“But… you said you didn’t-” You trailed off, the memory of his fear of exposing his body to you (or anyone) clear in your mind.

“I know what I said. Just… Please.” He insisted.

“Okay.” You replied and nodded, stepping forward again. He reached his arms up, painfully slowly, the same way John and Kyle and Johnny had.

You grabbed the hem of his t-shirt and slowly rolled it up, your eyes finding his scar-riddled torso for the first time. Blotchy skin due to chemical burns here and there, big gashes and smaller cuts spread throughout.

Simon was looking away the whole time as you helped him off his cargos and underwear. The injuries continued down his legs, every inch of him nasty and ugly, only due to how brutal his scars were. In reality, it all made no difference to you.

“You okay?” You checked on him. He nodded slowly, his eyes screwed shut.

“Let’s get you into the water, okay? It’ll do you good.” You said as you grabbed him by the bicep and helped get him into a seated position inside the tub.

Then, you knelt by his side just as he was grunting in relief, his muscles relaxing in the water. 

The bathtub that had felt tight with you and Johnny in it months ago, now felt even smaller with Simon Riley in it. 

Grabbing the sponge, you carefully ran it over his torso and shoulders, wetting the part of him that didn’t fit in the bath.

The blond leaned his head back on the wall and opened his eyes, finding you looking at him.

“Thank you.” Simon told you in a whisper.

“For bathing you?”

“For dating me.” He replied, causing you to smile.

“My, Simon, you might be sicker than I expected. Where’s the confidence?” You teased him good-naturely, earning a soft chuckle from him.

“Was never here. Just faking it until I made it…” He admitted and shook his head, letting it lull against the tiles.

“I see, well… It worked.” You joked as you kept wetting his body carefully.

“We’re lucky to have you.” He murmured. “You didn’t have to do this. To put up with us.”

“It’s not putting up if I like you.” You told him. “Besides… you take care of me. I take care of you. Mutually beneficial, that’s what a relationship should be.”

“I don’t take care of you because I like you.” Simon whispered, a drowsy look in his tired eyes.

“Then what for?” You asked him. “Because you want to shag me that bad?” You joked again and winked.

“No… because I love you.” Simon muttered, his lips a bit lazy in the way he said it, clearly too relaxed and tired and groggy to really think straight.

Your eyes widened and your jaw dropped open, your hands going limp and dropping the sponge. “Simon…”

“You don’t have to say it back.” He said as he rolled his head against the tile wall, side to side. “Just wanted you to know.”

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[ilovemesomevincentprice]

Bringing this back...

Vincent Price - Confessions of An Opium Eater (1962)

[theoriginalsapphic]

If Mike had the same focus on his mental health as part of his character arc in season 4 like Max did, he wouldn’t be as a disliked character by the general audience as he currently is.

I’m being serious.

Their behaviors throughout season 4 are similar enough to draw parallels between them.

They both treat Lucas like crap in less than ideal terms.

They both get their declining academic performance pointed out by another character.

They are both hiding things from people, and being open and honest about it could help them but they won’t do it.

They both mistreat and push away someone they love.

They both lack self-preservation, which leads them to have suicidal tendencies and put their lives at risk.

The show even makes a point of putting Mike next to Max in two of the symptoms mentioned in the Vecna’s curse.

The only difference is that Max’s character has a huge focus this season, and most of it is centers on her deteriorating mental state. On the other hand, the only time Mike gets a chance to explicitly and verbally acknowledge that he is struggling with something, he admonishes himself for caring about something so irrelevant considering the ongoing situation, and the scene shifts to be about Will and his disguised confession through the painting.

.

.

.

So, with all being said... what could this possibly mean for Mike in season 5? Well, Ms. Kelly said it best:

[causeimanartist]

draw more of what you want, I had literally forgotten about my sister the vampire, you hit me in the nostalgia

Join me in the nostalgia!

[churoonie]

I wanna get dominated by big hunky delicious meat sucking, ass twitching, pussy throbbing, hands jacking, mouth squeaking, cock spilling, balls hanging, ass clapping, eye rolling, feet curling, throat itching, boobs bouncing, thick and strong military men. Very desperate its not even funny anymore </3

[rodolfoparras]

ik ur requests r closed buttttttt could u maybe write a quick drabble thingie 👉👈

ik this is weird but like i’m super into like traditional “masculine manly” men who r like super into “girly” cute things. like hello kitty n wearing pink. so how about with price, pretty please

-🕷️

ps love u

It may have been one two or three drinks at the bar when you had described your ideal type to Price.

You hadn’t been awfully specific in your description. You had just said that you like pretty people, pretty people could be boys, could be girls, could be really anyone, could even be Price.

As he stares at himself in the mirror, he thinks he looks pretty with concealer dabbed lightly on his face to hide any visible imperfections, eyeliner drawn in such way to give a sultry look to his eyes and pink on his lips and cheeks just to feel pretty.

He’d even gone as far as to dig up one of his favorite tops out the closet, the one with a plunging neckline that hugs his pecs just right and shows off his dog tags.

It’s not often he allows himself to look this way, to look pretty. The army wasn’t a place for pretty men and as the captain of a sas squad he rarely allowed himself to look this way.

However today he wasn’t an army man- a captain of a sas squad. Today he was John, just john, the man who’s been pining after his best friend for years and went out his way to get all pretty for you in hopes of you noticing him, and not in the way a friend would spot a familiar face in a crowed but rather in the way someone would lay their eyes on a person that they loved.

However for a second he feels doubt creeping up his back, bile rising up his throat and legs readying themselves to run because you’ve never seen Price dressed up and with make up on.

You’ve only ever seen him with black face paint smeared on his face, dressed in heavy gear that protected vital organs and hid vulnerable parts of his body.

What if when you said you liked pretty people, you didn’t mean pretty women and men, what if Price wasn’t included in your definition of what you think is pretty, what if you laugh in his face when you see him all dressed up with make up on his face what if-

He doesn’t get to grumble on it any further before the door bursts open and you walk in.

“John are you ready to g-“

He braves himself, swallows down the acid burning in his throat, stretches out his hands as if to present himself before saying the words “well how do I look?”

You try to speak, but no words slip past your lips and your voice even embarrassingly breaks, as you try to answer his question.

“Didn’t think you’d feel this strongly about a lad in make-up” he says with a forced chuckle, in an attempt to ease the tension while folding his arms across his chest.

“What no wait-“ you say, words rushing to tumble off your lips while furiously waving your hands in the air.”it’s not like that”

“‘It’s alright, no need to explain let’s get moving before we’re late” he says while brushing past you.

“John” you say as gently grab ahold of his arm.

He just hums in response, a forced smile painted on his face as he turns to meet your gaze, braving himself for what you’re about to say.

“I wanted to say that it suits you” you say and it’s only now he hears the slight crack in your voice the way you’re shyly looking down at the floor while fidgeting with the sleeves of his shirt.

“Yeah?” He says, voice sounding steadier and smile turning much more genuine.

You just hum in response, hand going to his face to swipe away the mascara that smudged on his eyelid before smiling down at him. “Yeah I think you look pretty”

“Pretty?” He echos back to you in response, tone heavy and word carefully uttered as if you’d take them back any second if he said it too loudly.

Your hand cup his cheek, calloused thumb caressing soft skin, and for a second he dares imagine that your eyes flicker down to his lips.

“Very pretty” you say with a smile on your face, touch lasting a bit too long before you drop your hand to gentle grab his elbow.

“Come on, we have to go now or we’ll be late”

[i-got-the-feels]

I hope the characters han so hee and somg hye kyo play in price of confession are violent, bloody and revenge hungry like in my name and the glory. It is very important to public welfare and my mental wellbeing

[starcanwrecked-confessions]

This fandom needs to talk more about my boy Frank Pricely, cuz his story is good. Still, he's ignored💔and everyone always talking abt how they need more POC rep and drawing/headcanoning non-POC characters as POC (which I love btw keep doing it I beg!! (Eddie Chiplucky is Hispanic fight me)). However, then some people still won't pay attention to the actual POC characters (specifically Corey Dorris characters other than Bill, Pokey, or Professor Hidgens) basically I'm just asking that we talk about Frank more because he deserves it and I need more of him!!!!

~~~

[one-time-i-dreamt]

Joe Biden made a Tumblr and used the Supernatural Castiel Confession meme to announce that gas prices were dropping.

[theirishwolfhound]

Bit of a rambling thing, so like fair warning I suppose. But these are topics that I would like to use in my stories one day, just so that I can figure out my own thoughts. There is more information at the bottom about why I am personally writing this, but consider this more of a self insert type of fic (but a lot of physical details are left ambiguous) for comfort. It has a lot of different thing from my own life.

Task Force 141 (Comfort Fic)- Are You Still There?

Content Warnings: Mental Health Related Issues (Disassociation/Derealization), Passive Suicidal Ideation, Hurt/Comfort

Written In First Person, Nickname: Cardinal, You can read this as a x Reader fic but it isn't intended that way

Joining the army was something I never wanted to do, but I had no choice. Between the lack of familial financial support to the increase of the general price of living, I had no choice. I don't even know why they would accept someone like me into the force. Perhaps they were like me. Desperate. In need of anything they could get their teeth and nails in. Willing for anything, or anyone that would approach with an offer. But now that I'm in it I can't really get out. A trap I willingly walked into like an animal that doesn't know any better. One who was hungry and tired of fighting everything so I chose to fight with a collective. It nearly broke me. But the pay is nice. So at least there's that. My bones and body ache every day. But the people I work with make it worth it. Right now however is a brief rest, no missions, no worries, no problems. At least that's what I think it should be, but my mind is too busy. There are too many thoughts in my head.

What if I didn't have to join up? I wouldn't be here, that's for sure. What if those pills back in secondary school had done the job? Then I wouldn't be here, but I'm not going to try it again. What if I took a bullet next mission? There's nothing I can do it it does, if it happens then it happens. What if I don't wake up in the morning? Preferable, but I have things I need to do tomorrow. Do my pets back home miss me? I hope so. Does my family miss me? Half of them do. All of these are valid thoughts, I think they are at least, and I can't help but to have them even as I sit with my friends in the common room. Two of them play cards together, one reads a book, and the other simply scrolls through his phone. But we're watching a movie at least, so there's noise. Looking at them, I realize that I'm lucky to have them. They're my friends after all. But I don't know what they're thinking, or if they feel the same way. If they feel trapped. ...if they feel real. Are they real? Counter question: am I real? Is this... all in my head? Arguably what is in my head and what is not? Should I reevaluate my decisions? ... My life? ...

Even now as I type this I can't tell if the men around me are actually there. If the phone in my hand is real. If these thoughts are my own. It's scary. To not trust your own mind that is. Life is scary in general. For example: never knowing if you're going to even wake up in the morning. But it's something I'm willing to accept. Something quick and painless. Sleep is the best way for sure. Would I wake up? Maybe. I don't have any underlying health problems as far as I know. Where would I wake up? Hopefully in my bed. What time line would I be in? One that I'm familiar with, I pray for that. Would I adapt if I woke up in a new body? God, I hope so. ... Would they miss me? ... I hope so.

I don't hear his voice when he talks to me, I can't even see who it is, I can only sit and remain transfixed on my notes app. If I ever have to go to therapy because it gets too bad I need something to show them, right? I can't tell if the pressure on my shoulder is real or not, if the way the couch dips next to me is actually there or if I'm still lost in the idea that maybe the world I'm in is all just a dream. That my friends aren't real and that I'm going to wake up in the next moment. It has to be real. It has to be. It feels real. But I don't.

"Are ye okay, Cardinal?"

Am I okay?

"Can you talk t' me?"

Can I?

"What's going on, mate?"

"...I don't know."

"'ad us worried there, mate."

"Yeah ye' was jus'... starin' off again., thought ye might start cryin' yer eyes did that glossy thing."

"Mhm, spaced out a good ten minutes ago."

"...you okay, mate?"

"Ah... sorry... and yeah. I guess I just have a lot on my mind."

Coming back to reality was a bit hard but with the grounding hand on my shoulder it made it easier, the same with the presence next to me. For a moment I could focus. But deep down I know it won't last, the next time I start to think, I'll spiral again. It's a scary thought. I can feel my eyes burning at the mere thought, but there's nothing I can do about it.

"What do you need, Cardinal?"

What do I need?

There's not much I want in life, not anymore. I had to give up my dreams and aspirations so that I could just live. I need basics, this I know... but I'm not hungry. There's a roof over my head. I don't need a drink yet, and I'm not tired.

What did I need?

"...I dunno." "Maybe some bubble tea?"

"Yeah? C'mon then. I'll drive."

"Shotgun!"

"Cardinal get's the middle seat."

"Mm, 'spose that works."

The hand on my shoulder shifts down to my arm, helping me to my feet before two of them wrap an arm around each shoulder so that we could begin to walk out of the common room. It could be real, it could be fake, but for right now... I know that I want it to be real... for my sake.

Part of me likes to think about the possibilities of not being myself, not really in the depression kind of way (i think i could be wrong) but like in the day dreaming kind of way.

Again it may be the mental illness but like constantly formulating these ideas in my head about myself or my OCs really keep me level headed.

I don't know what it is. But it's the only way I am able to not focus on burning out. Like one moment I could be the fucking Dragonborn fighting off Alduin (I'm actually walking through a supermarket trying to get groceries) or the next moment I'm on an undercover mission with the 141 giving me updates on my surroundings via the earpiece in my ear so that I can survive (its a headphone, I'm listening to music while working a job that is breaking my body down with each shift.)

It's like I don't exist but the people I want to be do.

I would give anything to just be in a different world for like a few hours. Whether it be Skyrim or where ever CoD takes place (don't actually send me to Britain) rather than where I am. I want to be without pain, or worry about work— I want to worry about dragons burning down my fucking house.

I should be happy in general, not only when I play DnD or get to just sit with my fiancé in relative silence (parallel play if you will).

I can't tell if this is disassociation or not. I don't think it's derealization but what would I know, y'know?

[ilovemesomevincentprice]

Vincent Price - Confessions of an Opium Eater/Souls for Sale (1962)