My Earnest Hope For 2025 Is That Everyone Embraces Being A Little Weirder And Freakier And Less Judgmental

if you voted for trump, block me. you're a horrible fucking person.

Controversial opinion but I think John Price would be terrible at comforting you.

He's a doer. He sees something that needs fixing and he does it. He hates feeling useless, hates feeling powerless, especially when it comes to the people he cares about. From the second he realises  there's something wrong (which is instantly, he's scarily good at reading people) he's all questions. What happened, who did it, why did they do it...he needs all the details, love. He'll sort it, don't you worry.

You have to remind him that he can't murder your boss, or your shitty friends, or the guy who made you spill coffee on your favourite shirt and then yelled at you for it.

(And no, he can't rough them up - "even a little!" - or give them a "warning")

And if he can't fix it himself, he'll resort to giving you orders - this is what you'll do next time, or here's why there won't be a next time, because you're cutting them off immediately. They're no good for you, and you deserve better. You need to understand your worth, you need to stand up for yourself, you need to you need to you need to - 

If you weren't already, you'd be in tears by this point,  yelling at him to just stop and listen. You don't need advice. You don't need anything fixing. You just need someone to listen to you and comfort you - you just need your partner. 

He's stunned into silence. He's never really considered that you might just need him. Soft words and gentle touches were never something he was afforded himself, so he learned to show his care through his actions, by providing for you and caring for you and doing anything, big or small, that could make your life easier. The idea that he could care for you by doing...nothing? By just being there? It was a foreign concept to him.

That being said, once you've gotten it into his head that he doesn't have to do anything, you just need him...his hugs are unbeatable. He will pull you onto his lap and completely envelop you with his arms, draping your favourite blanket over you and rubbing your back gently. If he can't fix the world for you, then he can at least distract you from it, to remind you that in his arms nothing will ever hurt you. That to him, you are the most important thing, and he needs to tell you that with words rather than actions.

He may be terrible at comfort, but with John Price you'll never doubt that you're loved.

Did I miss out on the decision that April is gonna be Gaz's month? Cause all of sudden he's everywhere. And I love it. Can we maybe also make May Gaz's month as well? ...and maybe June too? and July...Fuck it! Spring and early summer is now Gaz's season. Gonna push this to congress to make it happen.

Remembered I have free will and can draw Rudy whenever tf I want.. boom, Rodolfo Parra..

THE man of all time, god i love him sm

'you wouldn't pirate a-' i would steal anything from any company. anything in the world. i dont even want it i just hate you

Simon Riley wasn’t a man of many words, but his actions spoke volumes. And right now, those actions consisted of him sitting on the closed lid of the toilet, arms resting on his thighs, watching you like a man utterly engrossed in the most intense thriller of his life. His sharp, brown eyes followed every single one of your movements with laser focus—so much so that you had to stop and arch a brow at him through the mirror.

“You’re staring,” you mused, dragging a cotton pad soaked in toner across your skin.

Simon didn’t even blink. “Yeah.”

“That’s all you’ve got to say?”

A slow shrug. “You do this every night, and it still feels like watchin’ a bloody mission unfold.”

You snorted, shaking your head at his dramatics. “It’s just skincare, Si.”

“To you,” he countered, tilting his head as you reached for your serum. “To me? It’s an operation. You’ve got phases, precise steps, different solutions. Looks like chemical warfare.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. Simon, this big, lethal man, who faced warzones and threats on a daily basis, was utterly captivated by something as mundane as your skincare routine. He never complained—not once. In fact, you were convinced he could sit there for hours if given the chance.

As you dropped a few dots of serum onto your cheeks, his fingers twitched. You caught it immediately. “You wanna do it?”

He exhaled through his nose, pretending to contemplate, but the answer was obvious. “Yeah.”

You turned to him, holding out the dropper. “Be gentle.”

His bare hand wrapped around the bottle as he squeezed out a tiny amount. His touch was surprisingly delicate as he smoothed the serum over your skin with slow, deliberate motions.

“There,” he murmured, voice low, like he had just completed something of grave importance. “Good?”

You hummed, leaning into his touch. “Perfect.”

Simon nodded, satisfied, before leaning back to watch the rest of your routine unfold. His girl, in her element. Nothing in the world could pull him away from this.

The door slammed open—well, as much as it could with Simon catching it at the last second, his reflexes kicking in. You stumbled in, barely managing to toe off your heels, giggling at absolutely nothing. The room swayed around you, the effects of one too many drinks wrapping around your mind like a thick haze.

Simon, ever the patient man, just sighed. “You’re pissed.”

You blinked up at him, your pupils blown wide. “M’not.”

“You are.” He exhaled sharply, stepping forward just as your knees buckled. One strong arm wrapped around your waist before you could faceplant onto the floor. “Alright, c’mon, love. Let’s get you sorted.”

You melted against him, cheek pressing against the hard planes of his chest. “You smell good,” you murmured, voice muffled.

Simon huffed out a small chuckle. “Yeah, yeah.”

He guided you toward the bed, setting you down with an ease that made you feel weightless. As soon as your body hit the mattress, exhaustion washed over you in waves, your limbs heavy, your mind sluggish. But just as you were about to succumb to sleep, Simon’s voice cut through the haze.

“You gotta clean your face first.”

You whined, attempting to burrow into the pillows. “Don’t wanna.”

“Doesn’t matter.” There was no room for argument in his tone, but there was something else there too—something soft, something… fond.

Through half-lidded eyes, you watched as he disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of cabinets opening and closing filling the space. When he returned, he had a small cotton pad in one hand and your bottle of micellar water in the other. Your sluggish brain could barely comprehend what was happening as he crouched in front of you, his touch unexpectedly gentle as he cupped your jaw.

“Hold still,” he murmured, voice low, as if afraid to startle you.

You hummed, too dazed to do anything but comply. With careful precision—like he was handling something fragile—he pressed the damp cotton pad against your cheek, wiping away the remnants of your foundation. His movements were slow, deliberate, like he was performing some sort of sacred ritual.

The cool sensation against your skin was oddly soothing, and you sighed, leaning into his touch.

Simon shook his head, a quiet chuckle escaping him. “Didn’t think I’d be doin’ this, but here we are.

You smiled sleepily. “Taught you well, huh?”

“That you did.” His thumb brushed over your cheekbone before he continued, working his way down to your chin, your forehead, even swiping a fresh pad over your lips with the utmost care.

When he reached your eyes, he hesitated. “Close ‘em for me, love.”

You did as he asked, feeling the gentle sweep of the cotton against your lids, ridding them of mascara and eyeliner. His touch never faltered, never rushed.

By the time he was done, your skin felt fresh, clean, and your body… impossibly heavy. Sleep tugged at you, lulling you into a warm, blissful state.

Simon sighed, brushing a few stray strands of hair from your face. “Alright, bed.”

You barely registered the blankets being pulled over you, barely noticed the way he lingered for just a moment longer, watching over you like a silent guardian.

But just before sleep fully claimed you, you mumbled, “Love you, Si.”

A beat of silence. Then, a quiet, barely-there response.

“Love you too, sweetheart…”

Like/reblog if you think that you don't need to medically transition to be transgender

Got asked for a Price song rec and as I was making a list, found this ghostprice anthem that's been killing me...