hihhasotherfixations

[hihhasotherfixations]

So, I finally caved and watched the Live Action httyd (by less conventional means) after hearing so many good things about it on the internet.

I did not like it.

But most of all, I absolutely despise what they did with Stoick.

Little rant incoming, spoilers for the LA (and original) ahead:

Now, first of all. No hate to Gerard Butler. He did fantastic as Stoick and I have no complaints there. My gripes are purely with the writing and decisions made here.

They took all the care out of his character. In the original, Stoick was hard and he was not being the best of dads to Hiccup but you could tell he was trying. Most of all, you could tell how much he cared.

In the live action? It is gone. The story is the same and follows the same beats. But in trying to not make it 1-1 with the original, they either made line deliveries awkwardly placed or changed lines slightly to differ, which ruined the character in the end.

Let me bring some examples:

- In the arena, when Hiccup is trying to tame the Monstrous Nightmare, in the original, Stoick runs in when it goes wrong and rips the gate open, calling the kids over to run to safety. To which Astrid does and Hiccup tries before being intercepted. In the LA? He first stands by the gate unable to get through and calls only to Astrid to come back? Now, was he calling to her to help open the gate? Maybe, but that still doesn’t make sense to me why he would call over Astrid and not even mention his son, or call in any of the other vikings to help instead of the one girl in the way of his son and death. What doesn’t help either is Hiccup saying right before ‘if something goes wrong don’t try to help, my dad respects you’. It puts a different meaning and implication to Stoick calling to Astrid in that moment. (Now I do really like what they did in how Stoick kept the gate open in the end, very cool)

- In the final battle, right after Stoick saved both Hiccup and Toothless from the water, in the original, Stoick stops Hiccup from going after the Red Death, grabbing his hand and saying. “I’m sorry. For- For everything.” And the conversation that follows between them after is pivotal and tugs at your heart. It shows how much these two characters care for each other, and how they’re finally expressing it. Especially after the blowout they had before. In the LA? Stoick also stops Hiccup, but instead, he says “I was only trying to protect you.” The rest of the scene follows roughly the same with some omitted dialogue and dialogue changes. But the fact that Stoick no longer says sorry to his son. The fact that he tries to justify his actions instead of owning up to them? It upset me greatly.

- Lastly, after the battle, when Toothless saved Hiccup and Stoick is searching for him and finds only Toothless without his rider, in the original, Stoick falls to his knees, a silent moment passes where you can see how he grieves. Then, when Toothless opens his eyes, Stoick quietly apologises. Recognising how sincere he is, Toothless opens his wings and shows Hiccup. Stoick grabs Hiccup and exclaims in relief and disbelief “He’s alive, you brought him back alive” to Toothless. With the music swelling and everything, it is a moment that- oh, chef’s kiss, my heart can’t take it. In the LA, Stoick sees him, falls to his knees and says sorry to the air. Because Toothless is not awake. (Then Astrid walks up and comforts him? Which is also a little messed up because that’s not the dynamic they have or are supposed to have). Then when Toothless wakes up the dragon instantly opens his wings, no longer because Stoick apologised. And when Stoick checks Hiccup, he calls out, yells it even. “He’s alive. He’s alive!” To the villagers waiting in the back. It is such a small change. But it changes Stoick as a character so much. It is not internal immense relief, also making him warm up to dragons, it feels more like a show to the village.

Changing all those little moments, no matter how small they seem, it flips Stoick’s character from a dad who is in a rock and a hard place but trying (if not failing) to a man who is chief and has an incompetent son he doesn’t care much for. Their bond and reconciliation doesn’t feel earned or earnest. And in not having the basis for their relationship set up properly, I worry for how the live action movie 2 is going to go if that is gonna be a thing.

In the end, I’m just a fangirl of this franchise who loves the originals so much. And also has daddy issues. So seeing changes like this makes me sad.

If you liked this movie however, I am very glad! So long as more people get introduced to this amazing franchise, I’m happy. I just wanted to give my two cents ^^

Thank you and goodnight

[hihhasotherfixations]

POV: You just saw a clip of your f/o online randomly (it was literally .5 seconds long)

[hihhasotherfixations]

I BARK BARK WOOF WOOF FOR THIS MAN.

THE WAY YOU DREW HIM SO HNNGGGG, THE MUSCLES, THE LEAN ON KNEE??? HELP. ME. Pls

Not to mention hairy man

the first Price i draw :)

[hihhasotherfixations]

Mutiny - Captain! John Price | Chapter 1

Captain John Price is an officer in the king’s navy, weathered and ready for everything. Pirates, storms, the unending banter of his crew. But when a strange order comes through that splits him from said crew, things take a turn for the worse.

CW: Angst, minor character death, attempts of murder, drowning, coups/mutiny, all the ye olden days pirate violence, eventual Price x reader (but first 3 chapters of the boys being piratey >:3 ), for now this chapter can be standalone

Current | Next

Word Count: 2425

Water softly rippled against the hull of the boat, a light sheet of rain wetting the deck and causing decreased visibility – even in the already dark night.

All across the ship, small lanterns were lit for those in the crew who were still awake – though most would usually take shelter under the overhangs or sails to avoid getting soaked to the bone.

Amidst the rain, to the back of the ship, Captain John Price slept.

An officer in the king’s navy, he’d sailed the seas for many years; aware of storms, treacherous waters, pirates and much more. With experience, he led his crew aboard the SAS Bravo; his pride and joy.

He knew everything going on on the sea. From sailing, to navigating, to dangers.

Yet when it came to dangers, the one problem there was, always persisted. A lot of them came out of nowhere.

-

Eyes shooting open, Price scared awake as from the darkness, hands grabbed him. Curling around his wrists, pushing down onto his shoulders, knees and stomach, he barely had a moment to breathe in.

Going to shout, he couldn’t as a rag smelling and tasting of sea salt was forced into his mouth, catching his tongue and forcing it back as around three men dragged him out of bed.

Struggling, he bucked and lashed, his eyes frantic and confused, muffled grunts the only sound he could make as he was shoved to his stomach, held down while his arms were pulled back before painfully being tied with a rope.

Breathing heavily through his nose, his face shoved to the wooden floor of his cabin, he looked back, seeing a single man step up while holding a lantern.

Phillip Graves, his first mate.

The man held a smug smile as he leaned down, Price’s chest heaving as he struggled, biting down on the rag as it was now tied behind his head in a tight knot, causing the fabric to painfully dig into the corners of his mouth.

“Evening, captain.” Graves said, bringing the lantern close and briefly blinding the brunet on the floor.

Squinting his eyes, a lock of hair fell across Price’s brow as he moved away from the light in his face. When the lantern was pulled back a bit, his angry gaze fell on the man leaned over him. The captain wanted to yell and curse, demand what was going on; but he knew it was foolish. Huffing out a breath, he shifted on the wooden floor, trying to sit up but before he could, a hand was placed on his back to keep him down as one of his arms was painfully twisted up.

Moaning in pain, his eyes squeezed shut as one of the men holding him down nearly broke his arm.

“Enough.” Graves ordered and his arm was let go, returning to a normal position where it was tied behind his back. “Get him up.”

Panting, Price felt two men grab him under his armpits, hoisting him to his feet where he now stood, disoriented, confused as the hands kept hold, keeping him standing.

“You must be wondering what is going on, captain.” Graves hummed, hanging the lantern up on a hook connected to the ceiling, casting a general light around the room.

The blond took Price in, the usually well composed captain now standing in mere loose pants and a white cotton shirt, feet bare and hair unkempt.

As Price glared back, he knew Graves’ question was bullshit. The first mate knew what was going on and so did Price, even if he deep down hoped he was so, so wrong, that this was merely a dumb joke his crew was playing.

But that wasn’t the case. “You see, we’ve all collectively come to the conclusion that you’re not leading well, captain. Or- John, I should say.”

Outraged, Price tried to lunge at the blond, kept back by those holding him by the arms as he instead got kicked in the lower back from a third man standing behind him, making him grunt in pain and nearly topple forward, had it not been for the men holding him up.

“Now, now. Calm yourself.” Graves tutted before motioning his head.

Before Price knew it, he was being dragged out of his cabin and onto the deck of the ship.

The steady drizzle that had started in the late afternoon was still ongoing and Price squinted his eyes upon being hit with the sheet of rain, a shiver passing through him.

But as he properly opened his eyes after getting used to the rain a few seconds later, they widened as a violent horror spiralled in his gut, clenching in anxiety.

All across the deck, lay bodies.

Griggs, Vasquez, even Yuri. Just laying there, bleeding into the deck as it got washed away by the rain.

And to the right, lay Gary Sanderson, his helmsman. A sword remained stuck in the man’s chest as he lay splayed over the stairs leading up to the ship’s wheel, his eyes unblinking up at the sky.

“Oh, we meant to clean up.” Graves hummed, evidently disingenuous and Price broke.

Enraged, he kicked the kneecap of the man to his left, making him cry in pain and collapse as it dislocated. Yet before the man had even crumpled, Price headbutted the one to his right, causing him to let go and fall back. Without a second to spare, the dishonoured captain charged shoulder first into Graves.

Slamming into the deck together, Price just yelled from behind his gag, intent on ripping the man to shreds with his teeth. Yet a second later, several hands grabbed him from behind and lifted him up, kicking and cursing as he was dragged off of the first mate.

Without a say, he got punched across the face before he was forced to his knees, rendering his legs useless as the back of his head was grabbed and pulled back, rain flooding onto his face, making breathing harder thanks to the gag.

Grunting in frustration, Graves got up, angry, annoyed and in pain as he clutched his midriff, a satisfaction pouring through Price as he realised he had cracked some ribs in the man.

“You can’t let anything go easy, huh?” The blond gritted out, standing up straight before making a ‘go’ motion with his hand.

Instantly, Price got dragged across the deck.

Panting, he was trying to get a grip with his feet but it was futile, his bare feet just slipping on the wet wood as he was brought over to the side railing before being flung to the right;

Onto the plank.

Shoved on from behind, the edges were close and Price grunted as he shifted to avoid the sides of the plank. The hands retreated and with trouble, the captain got to his knees, having to use his head to sit up.

Glancing back, he saw his own crew gathered around in a circle, Graves in the middle, holding a sword pointed at him.

“In case you didn’t realise it yet, this is a mutiny, Captain Price. We’re revoking your status on this ship and within the king’s navy. You will be stripped of all honour and are hereby sentenced to walk the plank.” He spoke calmly, stepping up to the edge, the sword gleaming as far off, lightning lit up the sky, reflecting on the metal.

Incredulous by everything going on, Price sat there, glancing down the plank at the raging sea.

What had been a gentle rippling of water against the boat’s hull was now a dangerous swishing of waves, white foam swirling with every violent movement of water, the rain going from a drizzle to a storm.

“Up, Price.” Graves ordered and Price looked back at him, his chest heaving. Carefully, he shifted on the plank until he was facing the sea and shifted from his knees up, getting to his feet while his hands remained tied behind his back.

Disgraced, the captain looked back. The crew gathered around Graves had always been those less loyal. The ones more money inclined than a part of the ship. And for that, those that actually were now lay lifeless on the deck.

A mutiny not only to Price himself, but to the integrity of all that he stood for within a crew.

“Walk.”

Glancing down at his first mate, Price then turned to the sea. There was nothing he could do.

Either he died here, on the sword like a spit roasted pig, or he jumped, unable to swim properly with his hands tied. Big chance he would be thrown back into the hull of the ship, cracking bones or his skull before he even had a chance to kick his legs.

Yet even with that prospect, Price knew there was only one way to go. He refused to die at the hands of a traitorous snake like Graves. A man who didn’t even give him the right of last words, simply keeping him gagged and bound as he sent him to a watery death.

No, he’d choose the mercy of the sea he spent two thirds of his life traversing.

With careful steps, he walked to the edge of the plank, looking out at the stormy sea he’d called home for two decades.

Far in the distance, the thunderstorm brewed, getting closer with every gust of wind that ruffled through his clothes and hair. The rain was cold as it fell onto his face in thick droplets, a sensation he welcomed, his eyes dulling as the unease in his stomach swirled.

This was it.

The men loyal to him died quietly and without him even noticing. He was asleep while they were slaughtered like animals.

So maybe it was fitting for him to get a slow, painful death like drowning. He couldn’t call himself their captain anymore, not when he failed in such a way.

Sighing softly through his nose, Price closed his eyes briefly, vaguely hearing Graves and his crew mocking him, telling him to hurry up, to jump already. But the brunet instead focused on the sound of the waves, of the rain hitting the deck, memories of his first time hearing them flashing through him.

Yes. If he were ever to go, the sea was his only choice.

Opening his eyes again, Price stepped back a few paces, biting down on the gag tying his tongue still before abruptly, he ran down the plank and launched himself off.

Graves and the crew jeered and whooped as they watched their captain disappear into the dark blue of the night’s stormy sea.

-

Hitting the water, a cold shock overcame Price that he was ready for, keeping his breath in his lungs as with all his might, he kicked his feet.

He’d managed to avoid getting dragged and slammed into the ship, but as he tried to swim, his eyes stinging from the salt, the sea dragged him under.

Without his arms, he couldn’t move enough water to get his body moving. Had they been tied in front of him, he could have tried, but behind his back they only worked to catch the current and drag him along.

Still, Price fought.

The muscles in his legs burned as he struggled against the current, seeing the stormy waves crash above on the water’s surface. He was so close, but so far.

Swishing his legs, he felt himself go up, yet right then, he suppressed a gasp, his air running thin as the violent need to breathe crept into his very being.

Salt water stained his tongue thanks to the rag tied around his face, his nose feeling congested as his lungs burned. Everything was too much. The muffled roaring of the waves, his heartbeat pounding in his ears, the pain in his body, the cold seeping into his bones, the air escaping his nose in small bubbles that he just couldn’t manage to keep in.

Yet still, he kicked his legs out, face aimed up to the surface, trying desperately to get up. Squeezing all his energy and strength into his legs, he ducked under a wave before rapidly swishing his feet.

Bursting through the surface, he gasped for breath, eyes wide and taking in flecks of water through the gag, causing him to switch to breathing through his nose to avoid coughing. Yet before he properly could, another wave lifted him before crashing back down.

The world spun as Price felt himself get flung around in the water; at the sea’s mercy, like he wanted.

Yet he had vainly hoped it wouldn’t be like this.

Up and down no longer had meaning, his ears unable to distinguish the crashing of waves on the surface with the bubbling of the current.

Exhausted, he once more kicked his legs, not having been able to get enough air in with his brief surfacing, leaving him once again struggling for oxygen. His chest heaved in stutters, desperate to take a breath that he wouldn’t allow himself as he slowly began to drown.

If only he could, he’d-!

He’d…

What would he? Price didn’t know anymore. He got what he wanted, didn’t he? He reached the surface. He got that breath. Looking down, Price couldn’t see anything. The dark ocean loomed below, but it also loomed above and to the sides. He was just floating, no- sinking. An endless nothing where it would just be so much easier to just give in.

His legs didn’t work anymore, exhausted as slowly, the air escaped his lungs, bubbles ripping out from his mouth and up to the surface.

He could just rest and join his crew.

Yes…

Price felt his body give in as he watched his own oxygen rise to the surface, no longer able to fight it.

After a moment, his chest moved up as he sucked in a breath, water rushing past his throat and into his lungs.

It hurt, a lot.

More than it did as a kid when he accidentally stayed under too long. He recalled the sensation of his father yanking him out of the water, remembering the burn of coughing it up. Yet all of that hurt less than it did now as he felt every inch of his lungs fill with the burning salt.

But even that was only temporary as slowly, everything began to turn hazy and black, leaving him with nothing.

Nothing but the feeling of a hand grabbing the back of his shirt’s collar and pulling right as he slipped away.

-

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[hihhasotherfixations]

Results are in, 70% said yes

I’ll post it later today :3

(For those who said no, don’t worry, I finished chapter 2 yesterday so am slowly getting this thing done 🤭)

So I have a pirate Price fic in the works that I’ve been working on for a long time.

I’m very tempted to post the first chapter rn even though the others are not yet completed, mainly because the first chapter does work standalone

It’s an eventual xreader but the first 2, maybe even 3 chapters are all just the boys being in the ye olden pirate days. Also angst.

Question is: should I post chapter 1?

[hihhasotherfixations]

So I have a pirate Price fic in the works that I’ve been working on for a long time.

I’m very tempted to post the first chapter rn even though the others are not yet completed, mainly because the first chapter does work standalone

It’s an eventual xreader but the first 2, maybe even 3 chapters are all just the boys being in the ye olden pirate days. Also angst.

Question is: should I post chapter 1?

[hihhasotherfixations]

smaller!reader

thinking about how the more time you spend with john (price), the more you notice he's so much like a damn bear.

during winters, the time on leave he gets for christmas is predominantly spent snoring with you tucked under his arm. if you even attempt to get up, price'll groan and whine about how you can sleep in just a few spare minutes with him. once he's finally up and out of the tangle of blankets and sheets, he'll pester you about taking a nap on the living room couch with him.

or how he uses the door frames around the house to sate his constant need to itch his back. pressing the between of his shoulders to the trim, letting out little grunts that sound suspiciously close to a bears huffy growls as he rubs back and forth against the wood.

the man is also a brute. broad shoulders that roll like the hills of moors; a chest that flexes and softens with nearly every breath. when you press your hand to him, your nearly stunned that you two are the same species solely based on how he's built.

but most of all, his forests of hair on nearly every expanse of flesh. the downy fur that adorns his chest, or the dark blankets that wrap around his forearms like armored cuffs.

it's part of his charm, you suppose.

[hihhasotherfixations]

NOTICE: As more and more fanfic writers are using generative AI for their works (you uncreative dweebs), I hereby swear on everything I hold dear that I have not and will NEVER use generative AI in ANY of my written work. Everything I post will be organically and creatively my own.

[hihhasotherfixations]

Arguing with Price and losing so you pulled the “I want to divorce you!” card.

“That would imply we’re married already, sweetheart.”

“Then let’s get married so we could divorce!” You scream again without thinking.

Next thing you know you’re married, huge stones on your pretty finger that clenched on the bed sheet as he fuck the idea out of you.

You can pull the divorce card now in argument with confident. Just beware that it will just end up with you bend over the nearest surface.

[hihhasotherfixations]

The thing where you're Price's neighbor -- you move in while he's on leave, and he meets you while you're moving the few belongings you have into your new place. He's good at reading people and can sense that you're sad and broken, despite the tentative smile you give him when you shake his hand.

And it's not like there's some immediate spark. You're pretty, sure, and sometimes he might sneak a little look while he's walking behind you up the stairs when the elevator goes out again, but he's not falling in love.

Not yet, anyway.

It's not until one night, just before he's set to leave again, that he starts to think maybe this could be something. When he begins to toy with the idea that he might let himself feel something real for you.

He hears you crying through his bedroom wall. He's been in your apartment a few times, helping you bring in your groceries, little neighborly things like that, so he knows your home mirrors his own. He can almost imagine you there, laying in your bed, crying over whatever had happened to make you look so small and sorrowful all the time.

It's hard to hear, but he's made a living out of doing things that are too hard for most people. But then he hears one particularly pitiful sob, a little hitch in your breath as you cry, and it's enough for him to pull a pair of jeans on and knock on your door.

You're embarrassed when you answer it, and you try to make it look like you weren't crying, but something in the warm, knowing look in his eyes, the small, tight smile he gives you sets you off again, and before you know it, he's ushering you out of your apartment and into his, guiding you to sit on his couch and moving into the kitchen.

"I'll make you some tea, love," he tells you in his quiet, gruff voice. "You just sit tight."

"John, you don't have to, it's late and --"

He cuts you off with a chuckle, glancing to you from behind the counter as he asks, "You really think you could make me do something I didn't want to do?"

You give in -- of course you couldn't -- and soon he's sitting on the other end of the couch, arms crossed over his broad chest, and he waits. He gives you a choice to talk about it if you want, or to quietly enjoy his company if you don't.

But you're tired, both physically and of feeling this way, and so you unload everything. How you moved here after a rough breakup, your ex was a jerk who didn't want to let go. He'd called you again earlier, which was what had gotten you upset.

And Price listens to all of it. Even as he feels a surge of anger at the thought of someone making you -- sweet, soft little you -- feel that way. He lets you get it all out, and when you're done, he can't help but reach out a hand to give you a light tap on your shoulder.

"Well, pet, I'll tell you what," he says softly. "Next time he calls, you come give the phone to me, yeah?"

It feels protective, the way he says it, like he wants to keep you safe. It's sweet, and it makes you smile. A real smile this time, one that finally meets your eyes.

And there it is -- the moment that John knows he's all in.

You talk for a while longer, more lighthearted conversation that flows easily. It lasts long enough that by the time you leave to go back to your apartment and back to bed, he realizes that it makes more sense to stay awake until it's time to leave.

He's gone for weeks on a mission, and so much of the time, his mind wanders back to you. How that smile lit up your face, and how he wanted nothing more than to bring that smile out as often as he could. He dreams up ways he'll tell you how he feels, plans out different scenarios for how you might react.

It's almost tactical, how much thought he puts into it. But, for better or for worse, he's a man with a plan. And by the time he gets back home, he has what he feels like is a foolproof one.

The plan goes out the window when he knocks on your door and is greeted by a man. A tall, thin man he could break over his knee if he wanted to (and in that moment, he very much wants to).

Price asks for you, nervous for a moment that you'd somehow moved out in the time he was gone and that this man is his new neighbor, but then the man turns and calls out your name, and you walk out from the bedroom.

You won't meet his eyes, and he understands immediately what's going on -- this man is your ex, who seems to have weaseled his way back into your life.

Price clears his throat, looking down at you.

"Just came to check on you, love," he says quietly. "Wanted to let you know I'm back."

You do look at him then, and smile softly at him, but it's not the beautiful, radiant one he'd thought about so often while he was away. No, it's the fake one. It's meaningless, a perfunctory twitch of muscle.

You're broken again.

That simply won't do, will it?

PART TWO -- PART THREE -- PART FOUR

[hihhasotherfixations]

I know for a fact that John Price doesn’t talk in the morning, he grumbles. He’ll push out the word “morning” and the rest of his speech is just unintelligible mumbling.

He pulls you close to him one morning, kissing your cheek and greeting you with a “good morning, sweet.” You giggle quietly in the early morning sun, until he whips out the most confusing sentence ever.

You stare at him confused, thinking that he’d fallen asleep again. “John?” You question, leaning towards him.

“Hm?”

“Oh.” A pause. “I thought you’d fallen asleep.”

“Hm.”

You look around the room, frazzled. Is he sleep talking? You push yourself up onto one elbow and lean over him, resting on his chest, peering down at his face. His eyes opened when he felt you above him, squinting from the sun glaring through the blinds behind you.

“It sounds like you’re sleep talking,” you giggle.

“Hmm,” is all he replied with, a light smile touching his features. He moved his hand up to rest on your back, tracing around to rub your waist under his t-shirt that you had stolen. “M’, loo’ so pri’ in his ligh’,” he mumbled, not pronouncing a single letter t… and a lot of other letters.

You slapped his chest lightly with a giggle. “John, I have no idea what you’re saying.”

“Hm.”

“You’re just doing it to bother me now.”

“Hm.”

“I’m just talking to myself.”

“Hm,” he said one last time with a smirk, laughing at your pouty expression.

[hihhasotherfixations]

Captain Price doesn’t really discuss his private life, but you’ve decided that he must secretly be married. You have no evidence, except look at him, how could he not have some beautiful wife tucked away in an idyllic, rustic cottage in the countryside.

That’s the image you try to keep in mind when it’s late at night and you’re alone with John in his office. Otherwise, you’ll conjure visions of him spreading you out on top of his desk, and you are no homewrecker.

Admittedly, you haven’t been doing a great job of battling against the various temptations he throws your way. Once John starts leaning in close and casually touching you and speaking directly into your ear, all logic leaves your brain and you just indulge. Lately, he’s been dropping a few “sweetheart”’s into his conversations with you, which has got you spinning. The sanctity of marriage means something to you, though. You resolve to set some professional boundaries and stick to them.

It’s a good thing too because a week later, you finally get your first real confirmation of his secret wife. Your whole body seizes up when you overhear John confiding to his men that the missus seems to be upset with him. Pivoting in place, you scuttle back the way you came from before he realizes you’re there. You’re so embarrassed now that it’s truly been established that you’ve been flirting with a married man. After that, you avoid ever being alone with him and can barely look him in the eye, but it's for the best.

The captain seems to have a different opinion on the way you’ve settled this matter, though.

He’s got you cornered in his office, literally, with an arm pressed against the wall above you. John starts to speak of how he wants to be clear about his intentions, and you’ve got to stop him before you kiss his wonderful face that’s creeping closer and closer to yours.

“Captain Price, what about your wife?!” you blurt out, keeping your hands glued to your sides and to yourself.

John pauses, but he looks more amused than guilty. “Is that what all this has been about?” he asks with a chuckle. You get about five words into your practiced speech on how infidelity is unacceptable to you on any level when he drops a bomb on your whole scenario. “I’m not married.”

You’re floored with this new information, eyes wide and mouth agape. “W-what? But I heard you tell the others about your missus and–”

“I was referring to you, sweetheart,” he declares. Your jaw snaps shut at the interruption, and your face heats up as you start processing what this all means. “Glad we're on the same page when it comes to loyalty, though.”

You’re mortified, of course, but at least you’ve hit rock bottom with your dignity already, so it’s not much more of a stretch to next very timidly and quietly request that he place you on top of his desk. John happily obliges. Anything for his little missus.

He’ll make a Mrs. Price out of you yet.

[hihhasotherfixations]

Gonna try my luck on tumblr again with cod fanart? I feel like nobody who follows me on my other platforms cares for my interest in cod so maybe I'll get new people here? Hello? Pls

This is all I've got so far cause I have no push to draw more fanart when nobody cares about it haha

[hihhasotherfixations]

I think there's something that needs to be said about encouraging readers to leave feedback.

For me it's not about "tell me my writing is amazing and stroke my ego"

It's more about "please engage with me so that I can experience your joy secondhand and foster a connection with you"

I understand that not everyone wants this in their reading experience, some people are shy and a million other reasons why maybe someone wouldn't want to engage and that's perfectly fine!

But what I'm trying to steer away from is being a passive content creator with passive consumers. What I want to steer toward is fostering a community that is essential to fandom. I want to see your reactions because it makes me feel like I'm a part of something.

On encouraging reblogs —

I understand that not everyone is comfortable reblogging, especially explicit content. This is ok!

But just consider that the only reason you were able to enjoy a fic or fanart is because someone else shared it, and by not sharing it yourself you are potentially robbing someone else of the opportunity to enjoy it as much as you did.

As OPs our reach only goes so far and this website relies on reblogs in order for anything to truly get seen by a wider audience.

So that's really it! That's why I encourage these two things at the end of every story I post. Not because I'm trying to be demanding and "make people feel bad" if they don't do it.

I know most other social media sites encourage mindless content consumption and that's just the way of the world nowadays, but I am from a time when community was at the heart of fandom and I just don't want to lose that.

[hihhasotherfixations]

you ever got thinking streaks about Price that last for days? just me? ok

[hihhasotherfixations]

little moment with the cap

[hihhasotherfixations]

God gives his toughest battles (canon/popular fanon ships) to his strongest soldiers (selfshippers scrolling their F/O's tags)