Price Is Literally So Gross. Silver Fox Seeking A Pretty Young Thing After A Divorce To The MAX. His

francis abernathy is genuinely god’s strongest warrior because how did this motherfucker survive THREE homoerotic failed situationships in a ROW, bunny, bunny’s murder, henry, richard, charles, incest twins, being a redhead, a SUICIDE ATTEMPT, being catholic, being gay in the 80s, being catholic AND gay BOTH in the 80s, multiple nervous breakdowns, vermont, an alcoholic absent mother, a homophobic grandpa, being fatherless AND to top it all off being the only diva in the classics group 😢

Husband Price is sad. The military fucked him over. No comfort, just angst. Sorry gang

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You don't tie your shoelaces right.

The knots are crooked. One shoe is laced up a little wonkily. Not that you notice.

Price noticed, but he's not going to tell you. He can't stop looking, though. He's trying not to let it get to him, but it's one of his bad days.

He joined the military as a directionless seventeen year old. There was no real weight to the decision when he enlisted. He was just sick of filling out job applications.

And that's when his life started. That's what he always said. Johnathan Price's life started on the first day of basic training. In the past, he said it with a tone of pride

Now, it settles in the back of his mind. A sickening pit weighing behind his eyes.

Lacking a sense of self upon retirement was normal. He was in therapy for that. He was working on a renovation project in your home, a suggestion from his therapist to give him something to do with his hands. But as soon as work finished for the day, John felt hollow again.

His therapist said he was healing. But that didn't make sense to John. the effects of his service were the metaphorical wound, but wounds were isolated. A specific area that has been damaged in a specific way. But that's not what it felt like.

The effects of his job were ingrained into every part of his body. Ground into every pore, every string of connective tissue in his body. There was nothing about him, body or mind that wasn't connected to it.

Like the shoelaces.

A normal husband wouldn't even notice how his spouse ties their shoes.

A normal husband's mind doesn't jump to yearly presentations about mangled feet and ankles, to the list of complications that could spring from improperly laced boots.

A normal husband doesn't instinctually open his mouth to bark an order to tie them right.

A normal husband doesn't have to catch himself and hurriedly clamp his mouth shut before he does.

You and price were going out. A Saturday morning farmer's market. Something to get you out of the house together. He felt a wave of guilt.

This was going to be a sweet moment. He was supposed to enjoy it. To be present, with you. But his mind was elsewhere, consumed.

He marches. No. Walks alongside you, gets in the car, starts it, and drives on autopilot. His mind elsewhere.

God. The military affected him even now. The ability to march along, drive, and even make small talk whilst his mind was wrapped six layers deep. Unawares of his real surroundings was a hard earned skill. What did his therapist call it?

Disassociation. Right. Lots of soldiers do it.

You're talking. He's forcing himself to listen. He hums and responds to your small talk. Something about planting pepper bushes. Sure, love. He'll get on that.

You laugh, the unexpected reaction pulls him out of his mind. He glances over at you, confused, before fixing his eyes back on the road.

"What's so funny?"

You giggle, and he could feel your gaze on him

"You have this silly way of talking. You start a sentence practically shouting and quiet down to a normal volume as you talk. It's just a little funny."

Price furrowed his brow. His mind turned inside out again.

He was aware of that. Nobody had ever commented, though. Not even his nitpicky therapist.

He naturally spoke loudly. yet another example of his old job snaking into every part of his life.

For most of his life, he had to shout, loud and clear, to be heard. Whether it be to be heard over the roar of helicopter blades, to come through clearly through radio, or to be heard by his coworkers, whose hearing had degraded over years in the field.

But it's been two years since he's been in the field. He's been living in a quiet neighborhood. The loudest thing he encounters on a daily basis is a barking dog down the street. There's nothing to dampen his speaking voice now.

"John?"

His eyes snap up. He hadn't responded. Whoops.

"Sorry, love. 'Didn't notice I do that. I'll quiet down."

You say something else, maybe telling him it's okay. Maybe telling him you think it's cute. But he's consumed again.

John feels selfish.

He takes a smooth, controlled turn, forcing his face to relax. The GPS says ten minutes until he reaches the farmers market.

It's selfish of him to stay married to you. John didn't know how to be a man. Let alone a husband. He didn't know how to have a friend. Let alone a lover.

If he catches you doing something risky, the protective fear that shoots through him makes it impossible to dampen the urge to shout. He hates that. He hates that his first reaction to anxiety, to fear for your safety, is to bark an order at you. Like a soldier.

He coveted you softness. Your lack of involvement in the military. He hated that he couldn't be soft, too. He wanted to chastise you softly for accidentally pointing his nailgun at your feet. He wanted to laugh and coo at you to get down when he caught you climbing on an old chair to reach a shelf in the laundry room.

But he reacted to every shred of danger like your life was on the line. Like the lit candle dangerously close to your sleeve was going to put your name on a casualty report.

He can never meet your scared gaze after those moments, his voice still ringing in the air. He always takes the cowards way out and turns to walk away instead.

He pops open the center console and pulls out a tissue, handing it to you before he even registered you had sneezed. A moment of warmth graces his cheeks at the sound of you thanking him.

The GPS says five minutes. He tells you you're arriving soon. He placidly tells you to remind him to look for seeds for the pepper bushes you wanted. Already building a shopping list for the materials to build raised garden boxes to put them in.

That pacifies his guilt slightly. He loves you. He loves you like he's starving. He wants what's best for you. And he's terrified that what's best for you, isn't him. He banishes that thought by doing everything he can for you.

Like a barn cat, he dropped offerings at your feet in hopes you'll understand his ornery way of loving you.

Out of the car. Kiss on the cheek. Into the crowd. He never stopped being a soldier.

Those candles are expensive, you're so right.

He doesn't feel human.

Pepper shoots instead of seeds. He'll keep an eye out.

Is he human? He's lived a life so far removed from how humans are meant to act.

That lady was shoving people. Good job keeping your cool darling.

No. He is unrecognizable to his own species.

He kisses you on the cheekbone. He wonders if you know your husband isnt truly human.

You go home. He makes an excuse about a project that needs work before it gets dark.

John feels like a coward.

John Price with a health obsessed wife. She always wants to make sure his health is at its best.

So it’s how John finds himself getting lectured at 6am because he’s drinking coffee. He couldn’t sleep, the poor fella, but you insist that a glass of water wakes you up more than caffeine.

“Water’s way healthier, caffeine can give you an irregular heartbeat.”

“Mhm, I’ll keep that in mind darling,” he mumbles from behind, his fingertips tracing over the waistband of your pyjamas. He plants a kiss on the back of your shoulder and gently nips it. “But I wouldn’t want to waste my coffee.” He picks it up again and quickly finishes it before you can protest. However, it doesn’t stop the cute, annoyed expression on your face.

“You take such good care of me, love.”

“Well you never listen to me anyway so I don’t know why I bother,” you replied saltily, brushing past him after leaving a glass of water on the side in front of him.

He grumbles as he picks up the glass and drinks it. Never would he want to ignore his wife so he obediently does what he’s told before reaching to grab you back and chuck you over his shoulder. “Back to bed, angel.”

Fun

Dumb things John Price has done:

1. While going on a jog with you he started to jog backwards to look at you with a charming grin. You thought he was going to tell you something but he was just checking out the way your tits bounced and he was gearing up to hit on you. John then tripped over a rock he didn’t see and fell like a tree trunk to the ground. You had to help him, as a human crutch, limp home because he twisted his ankle.

2. Accidentally purchased two pairs of identical diamond earrings. It was a final sale so he couldn’t return the extra pair and was kicking himself for it. They are shamefully hidden at the bottom of his sock drawer waiting for you to lose the first pair.

3. While passing the football in the yard with his eight year old son John accidentally kicked it with more power than intended straight into his child’s face. There was so much blood and tears John felt like the worst parent to ever walk this earth. Your reaction to your son’s bloody nose and tear streaked face didn’t help his case.

Hi!!!!! How do you think Nikolai would eventually confront you in the secret baby scenario?

It depends on whether or not you crack! But in the scenario where you don’t, I imagine he’d bring it up at a pretty terrible time.

Your baby’s first birthday, maybe. Pulls you aside to the kitchen, helping you to clean up after the smash cake while the others take turns making the baby laugh.

“Milaya, tell me the truth. She’s mine, isn’t she?”

It’s right to the point. Well, as much as it can be after he’s spent so long waiting for her to crack and confess.

“Yes. But I don’t have any expectation that you’ll be her father, so don’t worry.” You say it so easily, like it’s natural that’s what he would want. Like it doesn’t hurt him to watch her grow up without her papa.

“Why would I be worried about that?”

You set a plate in the sink before turning to face him. “Listen, Nik— I don’t want you to volunteer because you feel obligated. I didn’t write your name on the birth certificate or anything. I’ll be fine— she already has quite a lot of male role models, don’t you think? You don’t have to ruin your life just because you made the mistake of sleeping with me.” Once again, you tear out his heart with such little effort.

“It wasn’t a mistake. Not to me. You really think I’d feel that way? That I’d spend all that time chasing you and regret it?”

“Whether or not you enjoyed yourself, you’re not built for a relationship, much less a family. You know why you had to chase me? I didn’t want to be involved with a man who’s constantly in the far corners of the world fighting other people’s battles. And I definitely don’t want that for my daughter. I don’t want to see her waiting at the door on the day you don’t come back.”

“I would never abandon you—“

“Don’t you get it? You might not have a choice.”

Fuck, marry kill with: the concept of Willem Dafoe, the smell of a bandaid floating on a pool, and an oil painting of George Washington jorkin’ it to the movie “National Treasure”

every word had my jaw dropping further, anon

I guess I’d fuck the Washington painting since he’s already going at it(??? lmfao), I refuse to marry the smell of a pool bandaid so I’m killing it and I’m buckling up and saying my vows to the concept of Willem Dafoe

oh no cigarettes for me thanks i just wanted to be in this dank alleyway with you

sparring practise gone wrong!!! gone sexual!!! not clickbait!!!!

"Can i have your sweater LT?"

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