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oncomingnight · 9 months

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Yandere! Fashion Designer

As a black hispanic writer, i thought that it was finally time to write a hispanic character. I hope you guys enjoy this piece, i'm much more confident with this post as it's a culture i'm familiar with. Please never feel afraid to talk/send requests in my ask box.

Matías has always had a crystal clear vision of what his future was meant to be. He knew he wanted to get an education in fashion, pursue a career in that subject, live in a townhouse in the middle of a metropolitan area, have two or so cats whose only jobs were to tear up his carpet. He's always wanted to fall in love, as well. But, for some reason he thought love would not fit with the career path he was choosing and he wouldn't have enough time for another person everyday. But, as he grew older from when he first started his career, he realized how disgustingly wrong he was. The poisonous thoughts in his head were, "well to be one of the greats I'll have to lay off of the need for love." All of the people who inspired him seemed to have gone down that road but he soon realized that didn't mean he had to aswell.

He was always portrayed in the media as a tortured artist that was depraved of love, but, look! He's an icon and he's fine with the lack of affection in his life. But that couldn't have been even more wrong. He desperately wanted for a person on the side of his painfully empty bed, someone to share thousands of mornings with, someone to go grocery shopping with, someone to warm him seats, somebody to love.

Eventually, he set his wide brown eyes on you. The two of you met at an event made for people with careers in the creative passage. His gaze settled on you explaining the backstory behind your ceramic sets, intriguing buyers with your magnifying words. He was struck with slight by your celestial appearance but he took his chance to speak with you and walked on over.

As the conversation progressed he realized you, surprisingly, didn't know who he was! And yet, you weren't condescending or disrespectful about it, you showed your feelings of interest and asked deep rooted questions about his work. This one interaction attracted him to you and he counted himself lucky that you wanted to continue talking, giving him your personal number.

Was he giddy about the fact it was your personal number and not your business number? Yes.

He called you at all times of the day in which you were available, asking you personal questions and crossing his fingers that you wouldn't get put off for his intense need for human connection, and guess what? You stayed.

He invited you to one of his annual fashion shows where tons of loved celebrities were present. In his thoughts, this was the perfect setting for him to ask you to be strictly his. After the two of you had a delicious dinner at the same table in which several movie stars were sat, he asked you to be his girlfriend. He had to suppress the urge to kiss you right then and there when you said yes. He could've since the both of you were now in a private setting, but, he needed it to be a separate and even more special occasion.

From that day on, he never faltered in his immense love and utter obsession he had for you. When he finished a fashion sketch and started picking out the fabrics for his project, he would ask you to be his model. Wrapping measuring tape around your waist, purchasing silks that complimented your skin tone. Magazine editors, journalists and critics found the fact that every original piece of his was so clearly modeled for + by you, the best romantic partnership story in the history of fashion.

At the end of every show of his, the both of you would walk out hand in hand. Except, you were wearing the one and only original clothing piece from one of his most popular fashion collections. Your job wasn't a professional model but that didn't stop him from treating you as such. In and out of work.

During interviews, he'd get questioned if he'd let anyone else be the model for his beginning sketches for the purpose of range.

"Well, I do have range. That's the main thing I'm known for, the complexity of my collections and designs. I'm the professional here so I'd rather listen to advice from me than you, thank you." The question he was asked wasn't necessarily harmful towards you, but that didn't stop Matías from fighting tooth and nail for you. Why? Well, put yourself in the shoes of a man head over heels in love.

Whilst on vacations together, you'd get self conscious of all the money he was spending on you. Did he really have to spend all that money on shopping for the highest quality clothing for you? In his mind, yes! It's his money so let him spend it the way he wants.

He makes clothing specifically for you, never letting you taint yourself with the filthy clothing made by other people. He takes great pride in seeing you decked out in the stuff he made while you were in his mind. Embroidery, colors, silk, chiffon, jersey, wool; he took all of your favorite things into consideration as he crafted his best work for you.

As the two of you drive around in the safe Cadillac he bought specifically for your honeymoon in Marseille, France, he can't help but think about how he's going to drown you with gifts and delicious foods before desserts later on that day. Will you get anxious of all the money he's spending? Yes. But he'll reassure you. He's THE Matías Herrera. He's spending money while his bank account is getting filled to the brim every second.

He's taking you to oyster restaurants, booking a private spa day just for you, getting down on his knees to put your shoes on your feet, feeding you tortellini, zipping up your silk dress from behind, putting the morganite-stoned necklace on you, quickly going for a coffee run and coming back up to your shared hotel room with your order before you wake up.

Before the two of you got married, he took you to meet his mother and father in the home he paid off for them. Not wanting to seem disrespectful and show up empty handed, you baked some sweets for them and wrote them a letter in your appreciation for their son. Because of that, they knew they were going to adore you as a daughter-in-law. As soon as you walked into their cozy residence, the aroma of freshly cooked food hit your nose. They prepared delicious traditional Mexican cuisine, consisting of menudo and mole with a side of chopped up onions, cilantro and tomatoes. That night, a shared love sparked between you and your soon to be in-laws. His parents shared words of appreciation towards you and you couldn't have been happier.

At your wedding, Matías couldn't help but sob at the sight of you as you walked down the aisle. The stream tears didn't falter even as he recited his vows that he had written a year ago. Your wedding was so emotional in the most beautiful way, causing people in the crowd to grab at tissues to hide their tears.

From all of the instances of him being a lovesick puppy around you, you wouldn't have even begun to think of him as a violent person. Of course, he would never be aggressive or violent towards you, but to others that he considered threats? Oh absolutely. His career gave him an understanding of the human body (all of its sensitive parts) and he's willing to use it to his sinful advantage when it comes to defending you.

Hello everybody! I wanted to thank each and every one of you for gifting me 100 followers. I apologize very deeply because I know this may not be my best piece of work, I didn't feel very good today but I still wanted to give you guys something for being so sweet to me. Have an amazing day and night! Also, just to ramble a bit more, my yan! scientist post was inspired by seeing Cillian Murphy as Oppenheimer in the movie trailer, I hope that doesn't make me weird. I'm watching the movie tomorrow and I won't be able to handle the immense amount of dread I'm going to feel after seeing it or all of the incredibly attractive actors on screen. Alright, enough about me, I'll post more tomorrow! ♡

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dogruolan · 5 months

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#Alanya #Alanya tours #Alanya boat tour

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mosticonicbirdcallbracket · 1 year

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MOST ICONIC BIRD CALL BRACKET: ROUND TWO: MOURNING DOVE vs. COMMON LOON

IN THE BLUE CORNER, we have a very special guest, the mournful monstrosity, the MOURNING DOVE!

this opponent is beloved by fans across north america for its plaintive, distinctive call. that recognizable series of coos is sometimes mistaken for an owl - and folks, much like the owl, the mourning dove is a true predator once it enters the ring. this isn't any ordinary match - it's a battle of heart and soul, of determination and grit. and tonight, there can only be one winner. will the mourning dove be able to claim victory? or will its opponent prove to be too much to handle? there's only one way to find out!

IN THE RED CORNER, from the crystal clear waters of the north, we have the pop culture phenomenon, the COMMON LOON!

with its sleek black and white plumage and piercing red eyes, this bird means business. the most common thing about this bird is its call, which has found its way into the backgrounds of dozens of movies whether the loon has any business being there or not. you can blame that on how haunting and otherworldly it is - a true shortcut to sending a shiver down the spines of audiences everywhere. so brace yourself for a match like no other as the common loon takes flight and dominates the competition. its strength and agility will leave you in awe, and its ferocity will leave you trembling. get ready, bird call fans, because the common loon is here to rule the ring!

#birds #ornithology #mourning dove #common loon #bird calls

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zegalba · 9 months

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special edition microKORG crystal is a crystal-clear testament to the iconic style of the 2000s.

#korg #micro korg #synth #tech #music #keyboard #transparent

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year

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Baby Blues

Pairing: John Price x Female Reader

Synopsis: The promise of a normal Sunday is lost when your door is torn open, and, you, kidnaped. All you can do is pray that John finds you in time.

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: allusions to intimacy, kidnapping, blood, gore, swearing, angst, fluff

A/N: The lack of John fics is saddening to the degree that I’ve been forced to write one myself. Don’t expect anything good, in fact, I think everything I've written is horrible, but this is the only way the voices in my head would shut up. Enjoy.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You suppose that you’ll never fully recall what happened after the front door got busted off its hinges, but the events leading up to the heart-stopping instance are more clear than crystal.

Just that morning you had woken up to an empty bed for the sixth day in a row, light streaming in from behind the drawn curtains. Your chest had been tight as you stretched your arms above your head; attempting to shake the fatigue from your body that you knew wouldn’t leave. It was a shame you had fallen for a man who was gone so often and for so long – you never slept well without John by your side, and you missed his habit of drawing you into his strong chest while small mumbles would fall from his lips; nuzzling your hair. But, mostly, you missed drifting off to his heartbeat in your ear.

His hand on your thigh was the better version of a weighted blanket.

But now he was off somewhere that you didn’t have the privilege of knowing – he could be just down the street and you would be none the wiser – leaving you here in his home in London, adamantly waiting for him to return. You always waited, though, because John was someone worth waiting for. Even if he always came back to you with another bullet wound or a few stitched scrapes -- the point was that he came back at all. And that tired smile that overtook his lips when he saw you was reward enough, the wash of softness that spreads like a wave over the harshness of his eyes.

You couldn’t ask for a more perfect lover, even if the nights he was gone you were incredibly restless.

“I have to make breakfast,” Your lips part, a slow groan entering the bedroom as you shove back the covers, the small digital clock on the nightstand reading eight O’clock, “God, what I wouldn’t give for John’s pancakes right about now.”

When things had gotten serious between the two of you, it had come as a surprise that the Brit was insanely good at making breakfast foods. Now every time John left you he not only caused an absence in your shared bed but also in the kitchen.

Getting to your feet, you pad over to the bathroom, grabbing one of John’s large spare shirts and gray sweats on the way, pressing them to your nose as your eyes flicker at the scent of smoke and gunpowder. It was almost enough to make you slink back into bed, roll around in the covers, and press the fabric deep into your chest as you imagine John being there, fingers spayed out along your burning flesh.

Lord, you were so horrifically in love with the blue-eyed man that even the scent of him made you ache with need.

After taking a shower, staying in there for a long while, and praying the cold water washed away your heated thoughts, you dressed and went to quickly hobble down the hardwood hallway, gazing at the pictures on the walls as you pass them.

A smile quirks on your lips at the still image of you and John at the local military base, snapped by none other than Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick himself with his thumb slightly sticking out in the bottom right corner. It showed John gripping you tightly around the waist, staring down at you as his hulking frame dragged you into a hug; your arms were around his tapered waist, not minding the bulkiness of his combat vest at all as John’s iconic bucket hat sat on your head like a shimmering crown. You looked up at the bearded man like he was the only person in the world that mattered and, at that moment, he was.

Gaz had never let on that he had been taking pictures of the two of you for about a year until on your last birthday he handed you a collection in an envelope with a smirk directed at his Captain.

“You’re going to love this, Sir,” Kyle had said, and you both had watched in amusement as John’s face heated to a, you believed, adorable degree of red at the contents.

It was safe to say that every single picture that you had been given was framed and hung in every nook available in John’s house.

Finally making it to the kitchen, you settled on a simple egg sandwich with a side of steaming coffee – something that John would never be able to understand about you. He was always so adamant about having a cup of Earl Gray in the mornings that it was the cause of many amusing fake arguments and teasing.

Going to sit on the comfy leather loveseat next to the window, plate and cup in hand, your eyes lock onto a black van across the street, not even thinking about it until you had taken a sip of your drink with a sigh.

You blinked slowly, watching the shadows inside the tinted windows shift with a hitch in your chest.

“That’s strange,” Muttering under your breath, you take another slow sip and feel the heat of the coffee settle in your stomach; pooling with the small amount of paranoia that began to gradually build, “I don’t think Mrs. Rose was expecting anyone today – it’s Sunday – she’s off at church by now for Morning Mass.”

The neighbor, Mrs. Rose, was a kind old lady whose husband had been in the service years and years ago and the two of you had bonded over the fact. She often brought over sweets when she knew John was gone and you and her would trade stories to keep each other company and the lonely thoughts at bay.

Her husband had died three years ago, and, because of this, Mrs. Rose found comfort in religion. Sundays were always quiet around the neighborhood – no cars on the quiet street, no knocks on the front door, and no loud music from the younger neighbors that John always had to use his ‘Captain Voice’ on to get to quiet down. And, certainly, no strange black cars with moving shadows in the interior.

Rubbing at your fatigued eyes, you lightly tilt your head back to rest on the top of the loveseat, “John’s rubbing off on me too much, I’m going to be graying in no time if I keep this up. It’s just a damn car.” Just as you said those words the engine of the van rumbled to life, and no later the vehicle was rolling its way down the road and disappearing out of view.

You nod your head, trying to prove to yourself that you had been right to think nothing of the small disruption to your Sunday routine.

“Worrying is John’s specialty.” You say with surety, your lips pulling into a smile as the steam of your drink caresses your cheeks, imagining the man and the furrow in his brow when he sees something out in public he didn’t like. He always pulled you close to him in those instances, keeping a hand on the small of your back like he was your personal security detail instead of your boyfriend. Not that you minded, of course. In fact, you found it incredibly attractive that he cared about you that much, “I’ll leave it to him to glare at every bump in the night, especially if it means he ends up sleeping on top of me like last time.”

So why was there a twist in your stomach that refused to leave? You shook your head, setting down your cup and grabbing at your egg sandwich with twitching fingers.

Not my business, you thought to yourself, chewing the bread and protein between your teeth and swallowing thickly before going back in for another bite, Nothing even happened.

But it was, unfortunately, going to be your business at about five O’clock at night.

Just finishing a deep clean of the pantry that you had been putting off for days, your ears had tuned out the sound of the radio on the counter, your favorite song just finishing up that you had been mindlessly enjoying. If anyone had heard you singing along as you had, it would have left you more embarrassed than the time you had accidentally punched Soap in the gut when he had snuck up on you at the base.

To this day, the Scot had never let you live that event down, but Price had told you fondly that if you could land a hit on his Sargent and leave him winded, there was no need at all to feel bad.

It was only in the break between songs that you finally heard your phone ringing from the living room.

Placing down the box of noodles that you had been trying to find a place in the pantry for with a huff of breath, your hand flicked off the radio as you left the kitchen. Mildly annoyed to be interrupted, you grabbed your phone from the couch cushion where you had thrown it a while ago, flipping the screen over as the incessant ringing stopped.

“Damn,” You mutter, mad that you had missed whoever had called, though you knew it couldn’t have been John or the others of 141 – they were never allowed to call on missions due to possible breaches of security – and you never wanted to put them in danger just because you missed your boyfriend.

The number of missed notifications made you freeze.

Inside your chest, your pulse skyrockets as your eyes skim over fifty-two missed calls from John, twenty-five from Gaz, fifteen from Soap, and seven from Ghost with a rising panicked fever. That last one was strange – Ghost never called you. It wasn’t that you weren’t close, he just hated not seeing the person he was talking to over the phone when he had the choice to. He had shown up at the house multiple times just to ask a question about a chicken recipe you had made the team a while back.

Your lips thin with a sense of eerie calm. Had you been cleaning the pantry that long? You swore it had only been two hours since you started.

“What the fuck,” You whisper, but before you could click John's notification to call him back, the phone started ringing just on cue. Stabbing the green icon with your shaking finger, your hands vibrate as you snap the device to your ear, but already your boyfriend was shouting on the other end.

“-Oh, thank the bloody fucking Lord,” Your boyfriend utters your name, and his voice pauses as he takes a relieved breath, but the frantic tone persists onto the next sentence. He sounded like he was running, and briefly, you hear him shout over his shoulder to someone most likely following behind him, probably Gaz, “Listen to me right now,” Foliage is shoved aside, and you blink in confusion at the sound, “and get out of the house. Now, Love, I know you have questions, and I’d be happy to answer all of them when I know you’re safe, but I can’t explain right now. You need to go to this exact location–”

“John, what the hell? Leave the house? It’s five on a Sunday.” You stumble backward, spotting your shoes and coat by the door with a terrified expression. What the fuck was he talking about? Leave the house…right now? It was dark out, the street lamps the only light left and not to mention freezing.

“Get out of the fucking house! Now!” Flinching your breath hitches at the words you could only describe as orders as his accent deepens gutturally at the shout coming from his lips.

John had never raised his voice at you before – despised it, really, and because of that arguments always led to both parties leaving to separate rooms to cool off before talking again with level heads on their shoulders. He never had outbursts like that. Ever. But this…

Your feet rush to the door, slipping on your shoes with quaking feet as you swallow harshly.

“Okay,” You whisper into the phone, voice noticeably weak from nerves and fear. Something was horribly wrong, and the same feeling from this morning returned tenfold, nearly like an ironic ‘I told you so’ as your stomach rolls.

“...Shit, I-I–” Whatever apology John was about to utter was lost to you as your hand went to open the door, gripping the knob before stopping in your tracks.

Whispers. Whispers coming from outside the door. Your ears strain for a solid minute before your eyes widen in their sockets. Alarm bells were ringing inside of your mind, and you slowly backed up and interrupted the directions that John was spewing off, hands clenching as sweat formed in the groves of skin.

“John, someone’s at the front door. I hear whispering.” Silence, and the sound of increased panting, a body running faster and faster as shouts reverberate in the background. Were those gunshots you heard? And muffled gasping? “John.” You breathily whisper, eyes snapping back and forth but focusing on nothing.

“There’s a safe in my office, the code is 5-6-2-1. Inside you are going to find a firearm–”

“What?!” Your face stiffens, but your feet already carry you silently backward toward John’s office room, “What the fuck?”

“Listen to me,” Price grunts, voice so desperate you weren't sure the same person was speaking to you anymore, “Gaz and the others already contacted the police and Laswell, but they’re not going to get there in time. You need to be prepared for when they bust through the door.”

Bust through the door?! Your thoughts run and with gasping breaths, you turn fully around and begin rushing through the house.

“Speak to me, Love,” John utters, choice cutting out and filtering back in, “Tell me what’s going on.”

“You owe me a ring after all of this I swear to–” The front door busts off its hinges and multiple pairs of rushing feet storm through the house, and all-consuming shouts drown out your screams. You drop the phone as John bellows your name into the speaker, voice breaking. Turning to run, hands snatch at your wrists and shoulders dragging you away from the office that was so close at hand and back to the door. All you caught a glance of were black uniforms, heads completely covered like common criminals. But they were anything but.

“Get the Hell off me...! John! John, please!” Your screaming is cut off by the end of a gun falling to your temple, blinding pain erupting behind your eyes as blood spurts from a wound breaking your skin.

Disoriented, you fall silent, head lulling to the side as your swinging arms and legs fill with TV static. They lay limp as strange hands wrap around your middle, dragging you out the door as John’s voice becomes faint in the distance. You fall unconscious to his rage-filled voice, the volume of his threats so loud you heard them in the streets before darkness takes you.

“I will tear every one of you fuckers to pieces if you break one hair on her fucking head! Do you hear me?! You keep her out of this–”

–

And now you were sitting tied to a chair, head throbbing with venomous fear pulsing through your veins; your body shaking as the initial confusion leeks away.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, You think, head snapping this way and that even if it makes you want to vomit right into your lap. The rope over your wrists and waist digs deep, your skin already red long before you start jerking your limbs to try and move them.

The room looked like an old storage container, with metal on the walls and floors with a single handing light from the low ceiling that buzzed. But what caught your attention more were the blood stains. Sucking in quick breaths, your eyes jerk from one to another, all dried but looking large and having spawned from wounds that no one could walk away from. Suddenly aware of your situation, a whimper falls from your lips.

Where was John? You wanted him with you, wanted to feel him bring you to his chest and never let go, feel the steady beating of his reliable heart against your ear like a lifeline; you wanted to grip his skin and lay gentle kisses to his cheeks and lips, let his beard tickle you like it always did – leaving you laughing as John rubs his head into your neck to tease you with it.

The blue peeling paint of the storage container didn’t look like the precise blue of John’s eyes, just a pale imitation. Strangely, that was the thought that made the growing tears in the sides of your eyes slip down your cheeks. That wasn’t his blue; nothing else could be. Your fingers clench into fists so tight the skin turns white.

“John,” You sob, the blood from your head wound dripping down your chin. It sings, “John, where are you? Please, I’m scared.”

Footsteps sound from outside, but you immediately know they don’t belong to your boyfriend. They were too heavy, and, whoever it was, they didn’t carry themselves with the grace that John always did when he was with you or in the field. While being built better than a bodybuilder, your lover had been trained to take on tasks that most would consider death sentences…and he sure as hell didn’t walk like that. The stranger was so loud even your untrained ears picked up on it, and your body responds by becoming even more tense as a shadow settled behind the door.

A long stretch of silence and ragged breathing, your occasional sniffling contrasting the thick air.

The large door opens with a slam that makes you flinch back into your chair, wrist ropes skinning the fragile skin as you choke at the pain.

His face is unfamiliar, one twisted by emotions you weren't sure most normal people experienced in their lifetime. He stalks closer, and instinctually you attempt to pull back to no avail. The ropes begin to draw blood, the metallic scent coating your nose.

Behind the stranger, the door closes silently, a dull thumb announcing the barrier.

“My name is Ilya,” His Russian accent was heavy, making the words harsh. Ilya clunks forward, standing a few feet from you as he stares down his large nose, “You are John Price’s pet, no?”

Pet? Despite the pounding in your head, you hold your tongue but show an annoyed grimace.

When you don’t respond, Ilya’s hand connects with your right cheek, snapping your neck agonizingly to the side with a deafening slap. Your world swims, and a buzzing takes hold in your ears like an explosion had gone off right next to you. Fresh blood flows from your lip – you think with a groan that you bit into it accidentally.

Be brave, You swallow the scream in your throat, working the kink out of your jaw, John would want me to be brave. He’s coming for me. I know he is. The thought comforts you. Never in your life had you doubted John and his loyalty; many would call it his defining factor.

He was going to find you – him and Gaz and the rest of your boys.

“You are to answer me when I ask you a question, Pet. Understand?”

“Go fuck yourself,” You snarl, tears falling to your lap with dull splats and absorbing into John’s gray sweatpants. Your face burns.

Ilya smirks, square jaw pulling back. He grabs at something with his left arm, your eyes following the movements in horror as he draws a long knife from his waistband.

“Alright,” He mutters, fingering the tip of the blade and nodding his head, “I can play that game.”

He walks three steps forward before a sound like bending metal sounds from outside, and suddenly the two of you are shrouded in inky darkness. Your panicked breathing stills.

Did someone destroy the breaker box? Shaking, you find it in yourself to weakly smirk, hope rising in you.

“I hope you’re really good at dodging punches…because John saves his fists for the worst ones.”

The door breaks off its hinges, and the sound of familiar, muffled, footsteps rush into the storage container. Ilya never stood a chance.

“Get over here--!” Not being able to see anything, all you could do was listen to the feral sound of skin connecting with skin echoes throughout the metal box. A body drops to the floor with choking gasps of pleas before other people rush into the room, one shadow immediately zipping to your side. You flinch.

“It’s me,” Gaz mutters, “You’re alright, it’s just me.” You hadn’t noticed the frantically fast pace of your heart until you had the time to be concerned about it.

Gaz’s hands immediately go to the ropes, cutting you free with his combat knife before dragging you into his arms. Your legs feel weak, but you find the energy to nuzzle your head into the man’s chest with a relieved sigh. But it’s not John. Still, you hear your boyfriend reaming on Ilya, the man most certainly dead by now due to John’s strength.

“Captain,” Soap’s voice calls from the doorway, his shadow shifting. He clears his throat as Gaz places a careful hand on the back of your head, a slow sigh leaving his lips to ruffle your hair, “Sir. He’s dead.”

The ragged and bloody punches come to a gradual stop, and heavy panting reverberates. Your head turns to the side, muttering, “John?” With squinted eyes, trying to make him out in the darkness. A quick rustling of equipment catches you by surprise, but the warm hands that grip your shoulders lightly don’t scare you; it turns you around with a heart-tightening gentleness.

A new chest meets your cheek, warmer than Gaz’s as well as broader. Stiffer. John. John. John. Your hands snap around his waist with a wet sob ripping from your lungs, leaving you breathless and gasping for air as more tears come.

“Shh,” His lips are on your head, muttering into your hair as his arms completely encompass the expanse of your back. If you were any closer you would be afraid you would disappear into his skin, ceasing to exist, “Shh, shh. I’ve got you. I’m here. It’s never going to happen again, I promise you. I love you.”

You only held him impossibly tighter, and you could hear Gaz and Soap in the background let out deep sighs of relief, slapping each other on the shoulders. They exit after a few quick glances and the lights flicker on a moment later – most likely Ghost’s doing. Your heart warmed at them for privacy, though your eyes snapped shut at the sudden light.

John’s hands left you for a moment, prompting a small whine from you before they returned swiftly to grip the back of your head, the large night vision rig on his helmet re-set back so he could see you.

“Let me look at my girl,” He murmurs, chest rumbling from his soft tone. You were happy that only you ever got to hear him speak like this. You turn your head to rest it on his chest, gazing up at him with red-rimmed eyes. At the sight of your bruised cheek and bloody temple, his eyebrows furrow, a quick rage overtaking him as you watch his eyes darken. But you don’t say anything, just watch as John’s arms squeeze you before one hand travels up to your face. He lightly presses at the thin cut on your head and stops when you let out a quiet hiss. Guilt swims in those beautiful blue eyes of his.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Darling. If I had known he would go after you I never would have left you home alone.”

“John,” you whisper, voice hoarse in your throat. He leans down and presses his forehead to yours, lightly bumping against your forehead, “It’s not your fault.”

“But I–”

“You came for me, didn’t you?”

“Always.” He says it so softly you feel your eyes tear up again.

“Then that’s all that matters.” You tilt your head and capture his lips with your own, lightly moving your hands to grip his hairy cheeks as his thumb caresses your temple, the other you feel shaking around your waist. The adrenaline was wearing off.

John was tall, and to fully kiss him you had to get up on your tip-toes and hope he wasn’t going to tease you and pull back with a cheeky smile, but you would do it until your feet bled to feel the warmth that he give you as his lips dance with your own. They were soft for such a hardened man. Had he been using the Chapstick you had let him borrow for when he was away?

You pull back for air, your neck becoming sore at the angle you hold it just as John sighs, eyes flickering over you once more. You make a noise in the back of your throat in question.

“Marry me.” Your eyes widen, recalling your comment before your house had been broken into. Had he really asked you that?

“Are…are you really asking me for my hand while the dead body of the man that kidnapped me is behind you?”

“So…is that a ‘no?’” His eyes crinkle.

“You’re mental, John Price,” A smile splits your features, and you find him mirroring your expression. Your heart pounds, though not from fear this time. At his cheeks, your hands drag him in for another kiss, brief, though you pour every single emotion into it as you can. You feel the hitch in his chest and feel a blossoming of pride that you have the same effect on him as he does you. Leaning back, he chases you, though you stop him with a finger to his lips. There were his eyes again, those sapphire blues that sparkled when they looked at you, “But, yes.” You whisper, liking the way he almost looked relieved.

Like you would ever deny him. Like you could deny those baby blues when they looked at you with such love.

“I love you,” He whispers, pressing his face into your neck, kissing the skin in reverence, leaving fireworks in the wake of his lips.

“I love you more,” You whisper, nuzzling into his chest and gripping his shirt in tight fists. He chuckles at you.

“Not possible.”

#mw2 2022 #cod mw22 #cod #john price #john price x reader #john price x you #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #johnny soap mactavish #cod x reader #cod x you #mw2 #modern warfare

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crowpunkcognitivedecline · 6 months

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cripple punk flag // not a coining post

hey, so. in disability pride month/july 2021, i made a flag for cripple punk. i got feedback from a number of cripples on the design and wanted to make a post on it since it's this blog's icon. (sources on my website--photosensitivity warning, the background is a raining gif)

black field: mourning, crips of color

light blue: history, joy, invisible disabilities

gold: perseverance, culture, success

red: strength, life, determination

dark blue: accessibility, mobility aid users, community

triangle pattern: unconventional problem solving, overlapping experiences

to be crystal clear, this is not a new flag. it's over two years old, i just didn't share it on tumblr. if you are a cripple, you are free to use this! i'd love to be tagged in anything you use it for though, just to see it.

ableds can reblog if they use the tag #i’m able bodied

#DO NOT tag as c slur/tw slur/etc.#crip punk #cripplepunk #cripple punk #crippunk #cpunk #physically disabled #physical disability #mobility aid user #cripple punk flag #crippunk flag #cpunk flag

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fakehelper · 10 months

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CRYSTAL CLEAR ✦ A GIF PACK DIRECTORY & PAGE BY FAKEHELPER

Introducing my first ever gif pack directory and page pack !! You asked and now you shall receive. Based on poll results, here is a theme that allows you to use filters to sort through your gifs, using a header navigation style. I know y'all asked for simple, but ya girl just couldn't do it. I did try a simple version and I hope it's to your liking! If you like my work, feel free to leave a tip in the link below!

FEATURES:

Isotope filters and Search

Information section to place faceclaim info and links

Gradient Blob background that you can edit using the linked generator

Solid or blurred trigger warnings that disappear on hover (optional)

No JavaScript version of the gif pack page only

CREDITS:

Font: Google Fonts (Karla)

Icon Font: Phosphor Icons

Tumblr Controls: @cyantists

Gradient Blob: Signal Supply

Gifs: All gifs were made by me | Full Packs: Jeff & Victoria

RULES:

Edit as much as you’d like, but don’t use this as a base

Don’t remove parts of this code and use it in your own

Do not redistribute or repost

Don’t remove my credit in any way

Please like/reblog if using

- ̗̀ PREVIEWS & DOWNLOADS ✦ TIP JAR ̖́-

#rp theme #gif pack page #gif pack directory #gif pack directory page #themehunter #gif page #rph #fakecontent #fakethemes #themes: all #themes: page #page: gifs #page: muses #page: directory #page: crystal clear #hope y'all like it lmao #lmk if there are any issues!!!!

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dollygirldiary · 8 months

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SONG JIA AFFIRMATIONS 💌♡

｡ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ｡

　ﾟ･｡･ ᨳ꒰ ⑅´ ˘ `꒱੭

˚· ✦ i am the definition of an it girl

˚· ✧ i really love myself

˚· ✦ i am always my very first priority

˚· ✧ my beauty is truly hypnotizing

˚· ✦ i have a pretty face and a much prettier soul

˚· ✧ i am so naturally charming

˚· ✦ i am a total fashion icon <3

˚· ✧ i am not afraid to set boundaries ever

˚· ✦ i always prioritize my self care

˚· ✧ i am so happy to say that i have been blessed with both beauty and brains

˚· ✦ everything always looks good on me

˚· ✧ my makeup skills are top tier

˚· ✦ i have endless self love for myself

˚· ✧ i always take care of myself

˚· ✦ i am the most confident person ever

˚· ✧ my skin is crystal clear and glowing

˚· ✦ i am high maintenance !

˚· ✧ my life revolves around me , and me only <3

˚· ✦i always strive to become better and better

˚· ✧ i always believe in myself

˚· ✦ i deserve to treat myself with the same love and care i give to others

˚· ✧ i am such a humble person

˚· ✦ i’m such an inspiration to others

˚· ✧ it feels so good to say that plently of people look up to me

˚· ✦ my presence alone is so powerful

˚· ✧ i am very well - spoken

˚· ✦ every movement and action of mine comes with elegance and grace

˚· ✧ i have such good manners !

˚· ✦ i am both cute and sexy

˚· ✧ i know my own worth

˚· ✦ i live a healthy lifestyle

˚· ✧ i treat my mind , soul and body with as much love and care possible

˚· ✦ i support others and myself

˚· ✧ i am the creator of my own life

˚· ✦ i only focus on myself

˚· ✧ i am so confident that i make others feel confident as well

˚· ✦ i am such a pro at maintaining eye contact

˚· ✧ i am such a good listener

˚· ✦ i have the prettiest smile of all

˚· ✧ i am everyone’s crush

˚· ✦ why are people so obsessed with me ?

˚· ✧ my aura is captivating

˚· ✦ my presense makes others feel good

˚· ✧ i always look so well put together !

˚· ✦ i naturally exude true femininity and confidence

˚· ✧ other people’s opinions don’t define me

˚· ✦ i am reserved and private

˚· ✧ i already have everything i once desired

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denimbex1986 · 5 months

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'As David Tennant bursts back onto screens for Doctor Who‘s 60th anniversary, he’s also made his solidarity with the LGBTQ+ community clearer than ever.

The 52-year-old star features alongside former co-star Catherine Tate as Donna Noble in the trio of Doctor Who specials from returning showrunner Russell T Davies. The cast also includes trans Heartstopper actress Yasmin Finney as Donna’s daughter, Rose.

Finney’s prominent role in Saturday’s (25 November) episode “The Star Beast” sparked fierce reaction with LGBTQ+ fans praising the inclusion and bigots (as usual) sharing their fury.

Tennant’s three-episode run – which has already involved a heartfelt conversation around correct pronouns – kicks off a new era of Doctor Who which promises major LGBTQ+ talent as Ncuti Gatwa takes over as 15th Doctor this Christmas.

From Drag Race icon Jinkx Monsoon to musical theatre star Jonathan Groff, there’s plenty in store for queer fans.

Throughout it all Tennant has remained a steadfast ally, so here’s five times the acclaimed actor has showed up for the LGBTQ+ community throughout his career.

David Tennant making waves with trans Tardis pin

In the lead up to the Doctor Who 60th anniversary, Tennant appeared on The One Show and The Last Leg earlier this month where the Scottish actor was spotted wearing a trans flag themed TARDIS badge as a small act of solidarity with the trans community.

Naturally, fan praised the actor for his initiative, but the wholesome saga doesn’t end there. The badge creator, Dr Jamie Gallagher, soon announced on Twitter that over £18,000 had been raised in badge sales and all proceeds would be going towards LGBTQ+ homeless charity AKT.

Humbly reacting to the joyous news, Tennant later said while he couldn’t take “any credit”, the badge perfectly “suits what Doctor Who is all about”.

It’s not the first time Tennant has showed his support through the medium of pin badges. Earlier this year eagle-eyed fans spotted him wearing a non-binary Pride badge on shows such Saturday Night Takeaway, The Graham Norton Show and This Morning.

Unapologetically standing up for trans children

In July this year, Tennant took his pro-trans message one step further during the press run for Good Omens season two.

In a viral image, fans caught a glimpse of him sporting a black t-shirt with a crystal clear pink hued slogan emblazoned on top. “Leave trans kids alone, you absolute freaks”. We love to see it.

The top, which comes from online store Crooked, caused a stir online with many fans flocking to social media to share their joy. Around a similar time the TV star was spotted wearing (yet another) badge with the pride colours and the words: “You are safe with me.”

The pin badge managed to rile up anti-trans activists Posie Parker and Graham Linehan who launched separate attacks on Tennant, insinuating he is a pedophile and “groomer”.

But this hasn’t deterred Tennant, who continues to stand up for trans rights.

Delivering an emotional speech during Pride month

During Pride month this year, Tennant appeared on the Ed Miliband’s Reasons To Be Cheerful podcast where he praised the importance and joy of Pride month in modern day Britain.

“Do you know what’s making me cheerful at the moment? It’s Pride month,” he told the podcast.

“The fact that Pride Month is existing and is flourishing and is something that’s happening at a time when the world seems to be getting in some corners worryingly intolerant and weirdly backward.”

As usual his words impacted LGBTQ+ fans who shared that his powerful statement moved them to tears.

“We can’t take our foot off the gas,” the actor continued. “We can’t expect that we will always travel in the right direction towards acceptance. We’ve all got to be fighting that fight every day.”

It’s a message echoed by his wife Georgia, who shared her solidarity with the trans community in October after an attack by prime minister Rishi Sunak. “To the trans community, I stand with you now and always. I, like you, am going nowhere,” she said in a post on X.

Spreading the message of inclusivity in his TV series Good Omens

Doctor Who is not the only sci-fi, fantasy world Tennant has inhabited this year. After four years, Prime Video finally dropped the second season of Good Omens which sees Tennant playing demon Crowley opposite Michael Sheen’s angel Aziraphale.

In a wild turn of events, after huge fan speculation, Crowley and Azirphale made their romantic tension explicit after sharing a dramatic kiss at the end of the season.

Although fans will have to wait until the (still to be confirmed) third season to find out if the loved up couple will finally get their acts together, Tennant has no doubt about the importance of inclusivity in the series, which he spoke about during an interview with the RadioTimes podcast.

During the interview, he explained that the show delivers a message for “this fractious moment” in society that earth can be “quite a nice place to live”.

“That’s why this show connected with a certain group of people,” he continued. “There is an inclusivity to the world view of Good Omens, there’s a joy in celebrating whoever you happen to be.

“And that’s something [creator Neil Gaiman] is very keen to communicate: a message of kindness and openness. That is why the tone of Good Omens is positive, open, joyful and fun.”

Once an ally, always an ally

Tennant’s allyship hasn’t just started over the past year.

As far back as 2008, during his stint as the 10th Doctor, he hit back against the idea that dressing flamboyantly and being called “gay” is an insult during an interview with The Telegraph.

A few years later, in 2012, he showed his support for a Diversity Role Models campaign tackling homophobic bullying.

“It is essential that young people have the opportunity to meet role models from the LGBT community to help break down the stereotypes and prejudice that lead to bullying,” he said at the time.

A decade later, it’s no surprise David Tennant has consistently proven himself as an LGBTQ+ ally, through and through.'

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