Oh This Is Beautiful

THE PRICE/WITCH OTP CONTINUES RRAAAAHHHH

Have we… heard about Viking!Prices darling yet?

We have! Viking!Price has a Völva(Witch/sorceress) that he's desperately in love with. Courting a völva is no simple thing though. They dance around saying the words they mean, never quite touching the affection between them but never ignoring it. He brings her gifts from his travels, and she covetously hides them away. She lays blessings upon him, worries over his wounds, and he wishes he could take away the weight on her shoulders. They sit quietly next to each other, counting the lines on their fingers, easing their calloused skin in one another's grasp.

Price dislikes the way the spirits treat his völva, running her ragged and speaking about her as if she isn't something wondrous. One day he'll have enough of it and put her over his shoulder to steal away somewhere kinder. Somewhere warm.

Bro but actually tho Lowkey reminds me of the conversations with my bf where he likes boils himself alive in the bath like a lobster. We've now dubbed him Sir. Snipps. He's just doom scrolling on his phone and I'm banging on the door like BABES PLEASE-

I’m an absolute rat bastard at hotels, by which I mean that if I get my own room I’ll turn on the shower as hot as it’ll go and just vibe in there. Like yeah I’ll clean up and wash my hair but after that? Straight vibes, just hanging out, doom scrolling…playingmermaids…. Not my water bill not my problem.

Now imagine ghost does the same thing. Gets to a hotel and just hogs the bathroom for fucking hours and finally Soaps like Lt what the actual FUCK are you doing in there. And like, he’d almost understand it more if Ghost was getting nasty in there yknow? But no, mans just looking at shitty memes and soaps like you didn’t inVITE ME????? It becomes a tradition after that. Hotel, clean up, turn shower into a sauna, profit.

Thanks for the tag @ghouljams ! <33

Last song: In My Room by Chance Peña

Favorite color: It rotates very frequently but I keep coming back to bluish green!

Last Movie: Ponyo (comfort movie with the bf)

Sweet/Spicy/Savoury: Depends on who I'm with, if it's family, then spicy cause of culture, but by myself? Sweet. Sweet all the way.

Last thing I searched: Meaning of different hydrangea colors (for a fic)

Current Obsession: Catalyst series by @ezrasbirdie cause FUCK I've noticed a pattern in the bitches I simp for and idk how I feel about that (gnawing on my enclosure, I sprint so fast to catalyst updates)

No pressure tags! : @hunterbunter3000 @gomzdrawfr @lights-on-the-ridge @groguspicklejar @ramvur @pampanope @valiants @temeyes @a-small-writer-in-a-big-world @ezrasbirdie

(I don't have a lot of moots on this hellsite so just friendly tags to idols, people I like, and those I think would be interested :])

Tagged by @castanierprosper :D

Last song: ‘On and On (About Your)’, by Bowling for Soup! I just really like the part where they switch to Spanish for a verse X3

Favorite color: dark green as well :D

Last movie: Operation Finale. Boy oh boy that was harrowing ;-;

Sweet, spicy, or savory: Sweet, I’m a tiny baby who can’t do spice 🙃

Last thing I searched: “Julian X-Com 2 voice actor”, lol—I had to make sure! I’ve got a thing for that guy sdnfskvndfojbn

Current obsession: X-Com lol akdksofivjdf frankly I’m awful at it, I find it way way way too hard… but I like it anyway, I’m gonna get good ;-;

Tagging (only if they want to) @dead-pidove-do-not-eat , @ariel-seagull-wings , @thealmightyemprex

YOU FEED OUR BRAIN WORMS SO WELL JFCBJNVRSKNVA

Yes- hi- hello, tis I, the moth that will ram into your window :3

Anyway

My brainrot for Fae!Price is so hhhhhgggnnnn and I've backed myself into a corner by crafting the idea of Witch Darling trying to fluster Price in return for all the times he's done so to her. Like- they're just doing their daily thing and Price pulls out a cigar but Witch just snaps her fingers and lights it for him and he's like "Why'd you do that?" And Witch immediately follows up nonchalantly "Pretty boys shouldn't have to light their own cigars."

And Price is fucking floored

Like- he's had experience with people flirting with him, especially debtors trying to get a better deal when talking to him, but when it's coming from Witch?

GOD DAYUM

Okay back to lurking for me, take care of yourself and drink water if you haven't already. I will find a way I to your house and bring you water if you don't <3

Hi, hi, hello! I am taking care of myself! Had a good birthday and didn't write anything which was very weird but very nice to have a break. I return with Witch and Price because I desperately miss writing for them.

I've had this idea of Witch showing up at the 141's usual bar and causing trouble and this is the perfect ask for it. Here's Witch being well... far too pretty for her own good, and Price being a terribly weak man for her. Witch's dress is based on one from 1964's "What a Way To Go" which has some of the most spectacular textile artistry I've ever seen.

Price's knuckles drag up your back as you lean against the bar to order a drink. You're not used to this many eyes on you, but it's worth it for the single pair of cool blues that study you like they've never seen you before. His fingers hook in the double line of pearls that trail down your spine to your skirt, thumb counting over every one before his fingers reach the sleek silk of your dress.

"Can I buy you a drink?" You ask him, Price's eyes follow his hand where it hovers over your bare skin. More than you think he's ever seen of you. You like throwing him off, it's rather fun seeing him at a loss for words.

"Fuck sweetheart, buy the whole bar for all I care," he presses his hand against you, spreads his fingers wide against the small of your back. Each one a threatening display of his adoration. "What're you doing here?" He can't ignore the stares anymore than you can. A witch in a fae bar, your back exposed, vulnerabilities on display, you can feel the hunger that rolls through the room. You're not as easy a target as they'd all like to think.

"Good looking guys like you shouldn't buy their own drinks, so here I am."

"Here you are," Price breathes, you like the heat in his eyes. It's hard to match him, you aren't exactly flirty. Not by nature at least, and you don't have his easy self assurance. You're confident in yourself, but not quite in the same interpersonal sense. Still, if anything was going to set you up for success it would be Price. His eyes, his touch, there's something to having his attention so fully focused on you. A room full of people and yet you're the only two in it that can touch each other.

You signal the bartender for two of whatever Price drinks, watching him pull a cigar from his pocket in your periphery. You snap your fingers to conjure a flame and hold your hand out to him. The little red flame flickering on your pointer finger dances happily as he takes your hand and holds it to his cigar. You try not to be too flustered when he moves his cigar to extinguish your flame on his tongue. The slick muscle curling around your finger, making a heat coil in your stomach. He settles your hand on his shoulder, forces you to turn on your stool to watch him press his lips to the inside of your arm.

"You almost make me wanna wear a suit," he sounds, hm, it's an admission, but not one that lines up with his actual words. Not a lie, never a lie, a rephrasing of a truth. He almost makes you want to ask.

"You'd look good in a suit," is all you can think to say.

"You look good in white," he responds, the hand on your back tugs you off your seat. You do your best to avoid stepping on his toes as he pulls you to stand, turns your back against the bar, and boxes you in. A physical barrier between you and the open room, Price's strong arms rest on either side of you, his fingers tapping the bar as you stare up at him. You're supposed to be making him flustered. You really have to up your game.

You slide your hand from his shoulder to his chest, feeling the firm muscle there, the slight give of his skin and the tension your touch brings to him. There's a tightness in his jaw when you look up at him, a flinty edge to his eyes as he watches the bartender.

"What're you thinking about pretty boy?" You ask. He blinks, surprised, and looks at you. His eyes trace over you, gaze sliding like magma over your form. You try to keep your breaths even, try not to be affected by him. When he looks at you like that you can't help wanting more of him.

Your fingers slide down his chest to hook in his belt loops, and Price draws a shuddering breath. He cannot talk to you like this. Whatever has gotten into you is bad for his health. Whatever has gotten onto you as well. He takes a long drag of his cigar, tries to keep his eyes off the cling of silk against your chest. Made much more difficult when his smoke takes it upon itself to fall over you, slide down the soft curves of your body so he can feel the shape of you.

What's he thinking about? You, always you. In every position, you.

The bartender sets two whiskey glasses between his hands, behind you. Their eyes rest too long on your exposed shoulders. Price gives them a warning growl, enjoys the way it rips from his throat, the way your fingers tug ever so slightly in response. You tip your head back to see what he's growling at and- God you are just- a tease, that's what you are. The way your neck stretches for him, the way your lips part, your back arches. He tips your head forward again, keeps your pretty little self contained and off the bar.

"Are both of these for me?" He rasps, God he hopes so, could use all the liquor he can get.

"One's mine." Are you keeping your voice low like that because you want to drive him mad? It's working.

"You even like whiskey?" He's never seen you drink, but he would bet you're preferential to something sweeter.

"I can drink it, if that's what you're asking," you twist to grab your glass, and quickly tip its contents into his. Price takes another long drag of his cigar watching you raise the glass to your lips and take a sip. You lower it with a sigh, your lipstick staining the edge. You hold the glass out to him, or up for him, as he exhales.

Oh you are sweet the way you breathe in his smoke.

Price takes the glass from your fingers and keeps his eyes on yours as he takes a drink. He savors the way you watch him, how focused you are even with your eyes lidded. He hands the glass back, and watches you swallow a pull of the amber liquor as he smokes. When you lower the cup from your lips he tips your head back with a gentle finger under your chin, leaning down to hover his mouth over yours and breathe. He feels you pull his smoke into your lungs, feels where it escapes your lips to curl over your cheeks, your jaw, soft magic to make your head spin. His favorite kind.

"You're awfully forward tonight little Witch," he hums, feeling you tilt your head, just barely brush his lips with your own.

"Trying to give you a taste of your own medicine," your honesty always hits him between the ribs, Price smiles, "is it working?"

"Perfectly," he feels your tongue flick against his lip, catching a last hint of whiskey, and his hand wraps around your neck. God what you do to him. "The things I would do for you," he breathes, you're testing his resolve. Lucky he hasn't spun you around and pressed you against this bar. It wouldn't be the first time someone had gotten what they deserved in here.

"Don't you mean to me?" You smile, he can feel the curve of your smile, so tantalizingly close.

"No," he takes a half step closer, feels you press yourself top to toe against him, "I mean on my knees, with my tongue, with my fingers, with my cock, with whatever you asked for. For. You."

You shudder against him so nicely. A valiant effort, he thinks, but how could you ever think you could beat him at his own game?

Sorry for the rant and probs gonna get hate cuz ik this fandom but i had to say this

-This goes to all fandoms, not just Call of Duty-

You are responsible for the content you consume. Don’t like, Don’t read.

i’ve seen a few posts about this but

if you cannot spell or speak about rape, pedophilia or any dark or sensitive topics then maybe don’t talk about it, because purposely misspelling it proves you are not mature enough to talk about it or handle the topic, this isn’t tik tok you don’t have to sugarcoat anything. Yes i am aware these are sensitive (and horrible) subjects and can be triggering but no one is forcing you to read or talk about it.

Me, and a lot of authors, put the content warnings at the top of the fic because that’s the first thing people will see and it is your responsibility to read those warnings if you wish to read a fic, not ours. This goes with Dead Dove: Do Not Eat (DDDNE), a warning or tag used to indicate that a fanwork contains tropes or elements that may be deemed morally reprehensible without explicitly condemning the sensitive aspect. It says what it says on the tin and you still read it, that is on you, not us.

Saying an author is glorifying or promoting a topic and saying they need mental or professional help for writing/reblogging rape or abuse or sexual assault because of their or another authors writings is a stretch, people can and are into some messed up things that to some people can be triggering or disturbing and you can be 100% into something fictionally without wanting to explore it physically.

No one if forcing you to read something you do not like

Same with minors in fandoms, this is a common things and there is nothing you can do about it, yes they shouldn’t be viewing or reading certain things in the fandoms but they’ll still find a way no matter how hard to try and stop them.

Say rape, say kill, no one’s gonna to hate you, if you can’t handle dark topics in a fic, block the author it’s not hard, no one will hate you for doing that and harassing and swinging death threats to a creator because they made something you don’t like is a shitty thing to do, if you don’t want to read a certain trope or topic that’s fine, people have preferences, but trying to start a witch hunt and purity culture campaign over it is not ok. I think sometimes they do it because they want to start hate. Tumblr had a filtering system for blocking tags and yes people find a way to get around that, just block those tags too.

Fandoms are safe spaces for people who like a certain content, yes there are bad people in fandom and areas in a fandom that are filled with disgusting people, but it is a online safe space for people to enjoy the content they like. Fandoms are not for you to try and purify because you can’t be mature enough to block an author for posting content you don’t like.

say it again

That post that's like "stop writing characters who talk like they're trying to get a good grade in therapy" really blew the door wide open for me about how common it's become for a character's emotional intelligence to not be taken into consideration when writing conflict. I remember the first time I went to therapy I had such a hard time even identifying what I was feeling, let alone had the language to explain it to someone else. Of course there are plenty of people who've never been to therapy a day in their life who are in tune to their emotions. But even they would have some trouble expressing themselves sometimes. You have to take into account there are plenty of people who are uncomfortable expressing themselves and people who think they're not allowed to feel certain ways. It also makes for more interesting conflict to have characters with different levels of understanding.

THIS PRETTY MOTHERFUCKER

And the SKILL AHHHHH IM EATING THIS SHIT UP PLEASE GO FOLLOW THEM

named him soap but all he does is make a mess...

AH

@ghouljams @maelstrom007

AHH

TEEHEE DEITY! PRICE SNEAK PEEK?!

Not remotely close to done but I can’t help myself 🤭

That last sentence is fucking delicious. Absolutely scrumptious. On my way to grab the adoption papers.

To be honest, I would want to be Price and Witch’s kid instead of fuck them idk why. I have mommy and daddy issues I guess lol.

Yeah I can do that, Witch adopts a lot of people and Price... also adopts strays.

"Do you want some tea darling?" The Witch asks, crouching to be on your level, "or maybe some hot chocolate? Could perk you right up."

You think for a moment before nodding your head. You're not supposed to talk to strangers, but you've seen this witch in the neighborhood and there's something comforting about her. Her concern seems genuine as she fusses with the copper pots in her kitchen. And you really can't complain about the rich dark liquid she pours neatly into a mug for you. It certainly looks, and smells, like a melted chocolate bar. Far flung from the powdered stuff you expected.

She frowns at you for a moment, plucking at the space around you with purposeful fingers. You sip your drink, and try not to watch her too closely. She may feel warm, but her movements are alien to you, and strike at your stomach with a strange primal fear. You think it's fear, you don't quite have the word for this feeling. You're sure it will come to you.

The chocolate coats your tongue, thick and viscous, you think you can taste cinnamon under the cocoa. The Witch taps her finger against her cheek, watching you, she seems ill at ease. Obviously concerned over the strange child that's made themselves comfortable in her home. She seems to come to some conclusion, holding her hand over her mouth as she whispers something. It's inaudible and yet it fills the room, dissonant whispers echoing off the walls and collecting in a swirl of smoke.

A man steps out with a roll of his shoulders, and almost as quickly as he lays eyes on you, he's looking back at the witch.

"Where'd you get the changeling?" He asks with a raise of his brow. The Witch lets out a breath.

"Oh good, knew they felt fae," She goes to the kitchen while the man takes a seat next to you, "they just showed up, I assume they're one of the neighbor's kids."

"Is that right?" The man smiles at you, it makes his eyes crinkle at the edges, you smile back with all your teeth. He seems to like that, poking his fingers against your sides to make you giggle. "Where's your mum, hm? Can't have wandered too far off."

You shrug and the fae man nods. You like when adults don't make you talk, sometimes talking is too much. The witch taps her fingers together, thinking, while the man lets smoke swirl off his fingers. It makes little shapes and animals in the air, elephants and lions dancing around your head, butterflies flying over to distract the witch. You hold your hand out for one, and watch a lion burst into a flock of penguins to waddle across your palm.

"I can run a trace, I suppose," The Witch sighs walking closer, she crouches to be at eye level with you, "Can I have a pinch of your hair darling? I promise it won't hurt a bit."

You don't know if you want to give a witch your hair. It seems dangerous, that's how witches take control of people. You look at the man for help, surely he knows how witches work and won't let this one puppet you around. He chuckles, leaning his elbow against the table to rest his head against his fist. He nods at you.

"Go on then, I'll make sure she doesn't do anything nasty." He assures you. You look back at the Witch, who's glaring at your new friend.

"Don't make me sound so wicked," She scolds him.

"Don't need my help for that sweetheart," There's something warm in his voice, something that makes the whole house light up with warmth as the Witch bites down a smile.

She's very careful with you, pressing her fingers against your scalp as she twists hair around her fingers, plucking a few stray strands before pulling away again. She's right, it doesn't hurt. You rub your head, and she turns it back towards your mug of liquid chocolate. You think that's payment enough.

You don't watch what she does with your hair, but you feel the shiver of it. It's like a little zap of electricity, a stray shock from rubbing your socks against carpet. You wrinkle your nose at the feeling, it's not unbearable, but it's unpleasant. You consider peaking at what the Witch is doing, but you catch sight of your new fae friend first, and watching him watch her is much more interesting.

His eyes spark, and you mean that literally. There's a fire behind them that traces its way around his iris each time he blinks. A spark of gold against ice blue. A shooting star in a snowstorm. His eyes smile, and even though his fingers stop you from seeing his lips you assume they're smiling at well. You glance at the witch and see her hold up a vial of black powder to the light, her eyes studying it as she tips it one way then the other. It's not anything interesting, you don't see what's worth staring at.

"Can you make a bear?" You ask the man, he hums questioningly before looking at you. "They're my favorite," You explain.

"Can I make a bear?" He scoffs, swirling his fingers to collect the smoke. The wisps of it draw together and burst with a spark into the silhouette of a brown bear. It plods along the table top before sitting down to look around. It's a good bear.

"I know a good story about a bear," You tell him. He raises a brow, and doesn't stop you as you chatter away telling your favorite fairy tale. In fact his smoke seems to act out the scenes for you, stopping and restarting as you try to remember details. By the time you finish there's no more sound coming from the witch's work, and you're starting to notice the "lovely princess" and "handsome prince" smoke figures look a lot like your hosts.

"I called their mum," The witch tells the man, setting a cup of tea in front of him. "She should be here soon." The fae man snaps his fingers and the smoke disperses.

"One of the neighbors?" He asks, and she hums in confirmation. He tugs at her hand, pulls her down to perch on his lap with a quiet word.

"Are you alright to go home dear?" She asks you, and you think she means it. Sometimes people ask you things but they don't really want an answer, they just want to ask. You nod after a moment's thought. She looks relieved. "If you ever get lost again, you can call me,-" she hands you a little black card with gold lettering, it looks very official, "-I'll get you back home."

You turn the card over. There's no name on it just a phone number, an address, and one word, "Witch." You're studying one of the gold stars on the corner of it when there's a knock at the door. The Witch stands to answer it, and the fae man's touch lingers on her hip before she moves away. He gives you a wink as she pulls the door open, as if his affections are a conspiracy between the two of you. You hop off your chair and he catches your arm.

"Price," He tells you quietly, it feels like an important word so you nod solemnly. He smiles, "Go on back to your mum, and don't go spreading my name around."

You hold onto your mother's hand as you wave good-bye. She thanks the Witch profusely, though she waves all of them off. You watch the gold slip off of her like water, humans are so funny like that. They never hold onto heavy ties, kind only for the sake of kindness.

"Do you know how worried I was?" Your mother scolds you, "You're lucky someone dangerous didn't find you."

worrying is like worshipping the problem