i am 25, my blog is not nsfw. icon and header made by @justlgbtqthings. i use a tag of "rare post" or "legendary post" often. no queue I dont have the energy.
Welcome new followers who do not quite look like porn bots.
A word of advice: If you only hit the Like heart, your blog appears to be empty and your tumblr experience will not be good. Because people will block you.
I will block you.
Get reblogging, fill your blog. This is how it's done here.
If for whatever reason you don't feel comfortable reblogging yet, literally just make one single text post saying something like "hey I'm new to tumblr and still figuring out the culture! Not a bot, pls don't block me." An empty blog is an instant report spam.
sorry about this guys, but very much this. i have discovered that if you MISS blocking a porn bot this often results in like five times as many of them and the morning "oh god another one" process becomes much worse, so I'm straight up doing "hrm no posts WELP - "
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cia agent voice: “trans women have nothing in common with the rest of the queer community. in fact we shouldn’t even be part of that community. we should all be separate and spend all our time fighting each other over petty bullshit. this is what intersectionality means”
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Words: 900
Ship: PriceGraves
A/N: Set during the breakout mission in MW2. This is literally just crack treated seriously. Hidden marriage, anyone?
Original Thread.
When Soap had managed to grapple up the wall of the side of the base, the last thing he expected was for Gaz to be the one to grab his outstretched hand and haul him up onto solid metal.
Now, that alone was a surprise enough. What only confused him and Ghost more, however, was the fact that Gaz very much seemed to be on his own. "Where's the Capt?" Soap asked, voice raised over the sound of gunfire and quickly peering over the wall as if the answer would present itself to him.
"I'm gonna be really honest with you," Gaz replied, looking somewhat sheepish and concerned rolled in one. "I've not a fucking clue. He broke off from the rest of us, said he 'had a plan' and I've not seen him since." The timing of the front gates to the compound opening up was somewhat comical.
Standing there, in all his pissed off glory, was none other than John Price. His entrance seemed to capture the attention of nearby Shadows and Soap was already raising his weapon to try and protect his clearly suicidal Captain-- but stopped. So did many of the Shadows closest to Price.
They stared at the Captain. He stared back, face mophing into a horrendous scowl. Ghost, Gaz, Soap and whatever remaining Vaqueros remained on the wall (Alejandro and Rudy included), stared in a growing cocktail of shock, confusion and borderline mortification when the Shadows saluted. Saluted.
Saluted at John Price as he stalked past like a man on a mission-- like they all knew the man.
"Phillip fucking Graves!" Price shouted, his voice booming and echoing loud enough across the compound that slowly any Shadows still firing weapons stopped. Like a damn spell.
"Phillip, get your sorry arse out here!"
"... I think I hit my head when I fell out the heli." Gaz whispered beside him and Soap would have to ask him about that later because right now, he felt like if he blinked he would miss whatever the hell was unfolding in front of him.
Soap himself thought that he may have been an actual victim to his blood loss earlier and all of this was some sort of lucid dream when, as if summoned by the dark arts, Graces appeared from one of the nearby buildings. He looked sheepish. Sheepish and embarrassed like he had been caught doing something that he shouldn't have.
"H-Honey plum!" The sergeants exchanged glances, mouthing 'honey plum' to each other with raised eyebrows. Gone was the PMC Commander. Gone was Phillip 'I don't make threats, I make guarantees' Graves and in his place was some... timid chastised child.
But honey plum?
"What are you doin' here?" Graves continued, gravel crunching beneath his boots as he approached the furious SAS Captain. "I-I'm, well, a little busy at the moment, pumpkin--" Ghost turned away from the scene and Soap was about to ask if he was alright when he saw it.
Price reared back, his expression thunderous, as he pulled his arm back and punched Graves square in the face. Soap spluttered in growing horror and he could hear Alejandro cursing up a biblical nightmare. From the way Graves stumbled, it was very obvious that Price didn't hold back. Graves staggered back a few steps, hand instinctively coming up to cradle the side of his face that had made good friends with Price's fist.
"Sweetie pie--"
"Sweet talking ain't gonna work this time, Graves, you put a hit on my men!"
"Honey--" Price looked ready to punch him again.
"On your husband's men!" Everyone froze. The Vaqueros stopped. Soap, Gaz and Ghost stopped in their tracks. "This is like some telenovela." Rudy murmured behind them and Alejandro hummed in agreement beside him. Husband? Husband? Not only was Price married, he was married to Graves?
He was married to Phillip fucking Graves. Shadow Company Commander. The man that took over Alejandro's base, that hunted Soap and Ghost through Las Almas like dogs. That Graves.
"I was only following orders, sugar plum, I didn't know they were yours--" Wrong thing to say. Price looked like he was winding up to punch him again and Graves held up his hands in surrender.
"So you were gonna kill members of the SAS?!"
"No! No, sweetie, hey, why don't you and I take this somewhere private where the kids ain't watching--"
The kids? Did Graves just call the other Shadows the 'kids'? Oh God. This was fucking priceless.
"I'M GONNA MAKE THEM WATCH ME DIVORCE YOU." Soap peered over the edge of the platform and managed to catch the eye of a few Shadows waiting at the bottom. Their weapons were lowered as they watched the unfolding scene and they offered a shrug of their shoulders at Soap, who returned the gesture. Clearly nobody currently knew how to deal with the situation and right now watching a lovers' spat seemed much more ideal than killing each other.
"What happened to 'death do us part'?!"
"I'll fucking kill you and make it death do us part!"
So John Price was married. To Phillip Graves. And, stupidly, Shepherd thought that making Graves unknowingly kill his husband's men was a good idea. Soap didn't know whether to be relieved or stressed about it. From the way Price began to threaten castrating Graves, he imagined that the former was better than the latter.
Roathe: I have a knife in that nightstand beside our bed. If I ever say no to that question, I want you to take it out and stab me because I’ve clearly gone mad.
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The Emperor: you… extracted yeast organisms from my rotting body. And made bread with it.
Adminastarum Rep: y-yes my lord- well you see we wished to utilise it in perhaps… cloning you?… b-but that would spit in the face of your irreplaceable majesty and so instead they played around with it to see how it would behave under certain experiments and- well- they made bread and the remainder of the yeast was lost over time.
Bug: *walks in holding a massive loaf of sourdough* um??? Something’s up with the yeast maybe???
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The Emperor: you… extracted yeast organisms from my rotting body. And made bread with it.
Adminastarum Rep: y-yes my lord- well you see we wished to utilise it in perhaps… cloning you?… b-but that would spit in the face of your irreplaceable majesty and so instead they played around with it to see how it would behave under certain experiments and- well- they made bread and the remainder of the yeast was lost over time.
Bug: *walks in holding a massive loaf of sourdough* um??? Something’s up with the yeast maybe???
