alwaysshallow

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Some more here..

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kilted

soap: SIMON WHAT DO YOU MEAN?? ghost: ʀᴇᴀᴅ 01:41

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You look like you've seen a ghost

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writing smut when you're sick is literally the weirdest and toughest thing ever

#or writing anything in that case

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part 2 of regency era!ghost x f!reader

you never truly appreciated your solitude until it was being threatened.

honestly.

you didn't know how happy, or at the very least, mildly content, with how alone you've felt all these years until your husband decided to barge into your life.

you've endured endless rumours about an unconsummated marriage because the man can't bear to be in your presence for more than five minutes. you've endured whispers, snickers and odd looks from noblemen, women and commoners alike because your own husband deems you unfit to be his wife and he didn't have to say it out loud to any of them.

his presence used to be something you longed for. even the mere crinkle at the corners of his eyes to indicate a smile would've been a milestone achieved (not that you've ever achieved it). the mere touch of his fingers against your hand would leave you elated for the rest of the day.

but now?

your spine grows taut if he so much as looks your way. he stands a little closer to you at formal gatherings, opting to start a conversation with you. he finds you in the gardens or in the library when you know you've expressed to the handmaidens that you do not wish to be disturbed. but alas, he is the king. no one dares to contradict the king.

which is quite unfortunate because every waking moment he spends orbiting around you fills you with dread. you crave his absence more than anything now.

you wish he could go back to his mistresses. whatever it is he said or did to offend them enough to cast him out of their beds, you're certain it can be rectified and you can go back to existing in peace.

"you can paint." his voice trails behind you.

your brush strokes pause and your head shifts a bit to the side, your gaze catching on the flowers on your left before returning to your canvas. the soft scrape of footsteps on grass comes closer until you feel his presence at your side.

you continue your task, unwilling to give him your full attention. it's his own fault. he came to see you at a bad time. "an astute observation, your majesty."

his head tilts at your work, curious eyes examining your technique. you then feel the weight of his gaze on the side of your face. "i didn't know you could paint."

"no. you did not." it's not meant to be harsh. it is the truth.

you don't see the way his eyes crinkle under his mask, but you certainly hear the amusement in his voice. "why the hostility, my queen?"

"i am not being hostile, you majesty. forgive me if it appears so." you make a broad swipe over the blues and greens then dipped your brush in more paint.

he lets out a sound akin to a chuckle. you don't know what to make of it. ignoring it was your best and only choice.

"i don't mind it." he says. "it amuses me."

amuses him, you think. if that's the reason he suddenly shows interest in you, then you remind yourself to be as bland as this morning's soup.

suddenly, you want to leave. his presence is oppressive. you can't focus with him gawking at you and your painting like this.

"i could've sworn i had paintings in my study not too long ago." he muses, eyes crinkling with amusement. he knows about your paintings and only now does he choose to acknowledge them.

you suddenly lose interest in your canvas at the fact. you dip the brush in the cup of water and turn your back to him. "i know. i made them."

"what happened to them?"

"if i recall, you asked the servants to throw them out."

you don't bother to wait for his response as you gather your palette and start the journey back to your bed chambers.

you don't realize how much your statement gutted him.

considering that you haven't had a proper conversation with your husband since the day you met him, imagine your surprise upon receiving a letter; a dinner invitation.

when you think about it, truly think back to the last three years of being trapped in this loveless marriage, the invitation itself contradicts everything you know regarding how he feels about you.

you've never had to speak to him outside of formal gatherings and meetings with nobles and other people. never had to touch him more than what is required for public appearances. if anything, he can't seem to stand your presence. always leaving you alone when he found the chance to, always shoving you far away from his vicinity if he's in the mood.

he's only bedded you at least twice a month out of an obligation to make an heir. never mind the fact that you've never stayed in his bed until past sunrise, nor has he in yours.

so this, sitting across from him at a table played out with a variety of dishes and plates, this is new.

"my queen." you think his eyes are squinting under the mask. it's almost hard to tell under the candlelight. "thank you for joining me."

like you had a choice in the matter.

you resist the urge to force a smile. better to stay as neutral as possible than to give any reaction. "thank you for inviting me."

let's get this over with, you thought to yourself as you slowly picked up the fork and met his eyes from across the table.

you keep a neutral tone and a guarded expression throughout the entire dinner. whether he's bothered by it or not, it's hard to tell. he only asks about your day.

which is... a first. he never cared until now. you were quiet for a moment as you thought about the day's events, thinking of anything you'd done differently to warrant an invitation to dine with the king.

you hadn't done much today. visiting an orphanage wasn't out of the ordinary for you. neither was having to make sure that there was enough harvest to get the kingdom through the coming winter. after you'd done that, you spent the afternoon planning next week's ball.

really, you can't think of a single thing you haven't done in the past to make the king want to speak to you. not one thing... that you know of.

the fork was slowly twirled between your fingers as you carefully minced your words. "fairly uneventful. nothing that would interest you, your majesty."

"let's agree to disagree." he leaned back in his chair. "i want to know what my wife has been up to."

his wife— odd. very odd. very out of character for him to even acknowledge you as something more than the bane of his existence.

his wife— you suddenly find it hard to breathe. a heavy ache swells in your chest. it reaches up like a fist and grips your throat.

his wife— the words made you want to hurl yourself out the window and drop to your death.

your eyes drop to the food on your place and stayed fixed there. you can't tell if you're frightened or angry at this new change in... dynamic.

you settle for apathy. it's the only logical reaction. the only thing that will keep you sane when he's deliberately trying to steal your sanity.

"like i said, your majesty." you stab the piece of meat with your fork. "nothing that would be of interest."

if he's disappointed by the stone wall you chose to put between you and him, he doesn't show it. good. you'd much rather be confronted with his indifference than anything else, since you're so used to it.

you can only hope this would be your last night dining with him.

banners by @saradika and @vase-of-lilies offer a coin to the picklejar

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do not like, comment, reblog or follow— in fact, do not interact with this blog if you're a minor or if you have no age in your bio. read the [ground rules]. you have no excuses if you get blocked.

#BITCH NEEDS TO WORK FOR IT!!!!!!! fuuuck i love the fact that she doesnt go straight to him when he's...well #nicer. also it's breaking my heart with the paintings???? like??? HE'S NOT GONNA GET ANYTHING FROM ME OMG #About the bedding tho... i imagine that she wouldn't care for eye contact and it would bother him #omfg its YUMMY

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you wouldn't last an hour in the asylum where they raised me (ao3 and call of duty fandom)

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i'm thinking of john price and reader, childhood best friends. you're close with him basically from second grade. inseparable, even when he went to the military and the daily talks weren't possible. you wrote letters to him nonetheless, describing what exactly happened, so he wouldn't miss a thing. he's too important for you to lose, and he thinks the same way about you to.

maybe that's why you two made a promise to each other that if you two are gonna be single till 40, you two will marry. after all, what is so wrong in marrying your best friend? nothing, and if it means sticking with each other to the end, then so be it. he was gonna be here anyway, till the end.

you even made a small paper, like it was some sort of agreement or something like that.

with years, you think it's some sort of joke because even if you have boyfriends, no one really sticks and sooner or later, they leave. john, on the other hand, has no one - says he's too busy with the military and flings are better, so you don't pay mind to that too much.

and you probably should. almost all of your “boyfriends” left you because he was, and still will be the problem. he’s too close, acting way too friendly, scaring your boyfriends off or simply threatening them - and, getting the job done. your latest ex-boyfriend knows something about it, considering that he landed in the hospital with several broken bones:/ 

it’s your blind faith in john that is a problem too; you simply can’t believe that a man, so gentle and so friendly could harm anyone. after all, all he wants is you to be happy, right?? that’s why you haven’t caught up in his lies.

“they’re simply not worthy,” he muses, kissing the top of your head. “men these days… disappointing, aren’t they?” 

“you could introduce me to someone.” you roll your eyes with a smile, when he shakes his head. “haven’t you told me that military men are the best?”

“i did,” he starts, leaning against the frame, “but that’s only me. others are… filthy. possessive, obsessive, acting like they possess you whenever they have eyes on you.”

“and you?” you raise your eyebrow.

“i am your best friend. that’s something entirely different, love.”

and the conversation ends on that; you remember them when he puts an engagement ring on your finger, on the day of his 40th birthday.

#something something because i felt like it #john price x reader #john price x you #cod x reader #x reader #captain john price #captain price x reader #captain price x you #john price imagines #price mw2 #cod imagines #john price x y/n

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writing has been hard lately, so as an apology for the lame updates, have a little concept piece/wip thing(?) of the continuation of this malaligned babytrap series.

babytrapping! with Kyle is a little bit different, it seems.

because for Kyle, anger exists in a vacuum. a chasm. but unfortunately for him, that abyssal trench dug itself a sanctum a little too close to his heart. his soul. a locksafe made of glass, reinforced with raw grit, resolve. it doesn't bother him much; a mere prickle across simmering nerves. quenchable. controllable.

but the thing about dying is that it tends to put everything into perspective. give nuance and meaning to what he might have taken for granted before. but not always for the best. still. these are usually one-offs. maybe they find religion or a renewed vigour for life. but what happens when it keeps happening? repeated brushes with death's gossamer embrace over and over again. the stench alone might drive a man mad—

something might shift, even. break apart.

and to him, a paradigm sounds like the blaring warnings in a distressed cockpit. wind narrowing to a whipcord. metal crumpling against the pavement. the hiss of gas. the roar of a fire as it gorges itself on engine fuel. death's rotten, gnarled fingers whispering, feather soft, across his nape.

he survives the fall, sure, but not unscathed. something breaks, shattering on impact. if not his flesh, not his bones, then it must have been that glass box housing the ugly, twisting blackhole that eats his wants clean from his bone. he doesn't know what the aftermath will bring, but the latest one seems to have dislodged his heart the prison of his ribs. it's not empty for long. the newly untethered contents of the chasm quickly fill the empty space.

the fallout is a wildfire of desperation fuelled by the dawning realisation of just how fragile human existence really is. and when he finds you're getting a little too close with a new friend in his absence, well. perspective, right? he might die tomorrow, but the fear of leaving you alone forever (with a man who isn't him and nothing to show for your relationship except hollow memories that will soon fade like fingerprints) sits in his guts like curdled milk. it simply won't do.

perhaps he should have called in sick.

#when i catch your excellent mind oh my fucking goDDDDDDDDDDD

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single mom on sunday:) i have my classes over the weekend, but honestly it just needs a little bit of editing

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CAPTAIN PRICE IN “FLASHPOINT” | MODERN WARFARE III

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I’m going to go insane why are so few people talking about him LOOK AT HIM.

#ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh im gonna be sick

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BARRY SLOANE as Joe 'Bear' Graves in SIX (2017—2018) Episode 2.06 Indian Country

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Idk why but it bothers me when people are like "Xyz Character would never do that" and they're talking about a dark!fic. Like yeah. That's why it's labeled as dark!character. It's a darker version of that character. Because we know that the Canon version of that character would not do that. Also this is fiction. It is all fiction. And you are responsible for your own media consumption.

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the new in-house artist is kinda eye-catching...

early access + nsfw on patreon

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If you see him

It's already too late

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TASK FORCE 141 | MODERN WARFARE III CAMPAIGN MENU