nic/nervy. twenty four. she/her. 18+ mdni
masterlist — requests: closed — ao3
kinktober 2025
—Inbox and messages are always open!—
This is blog is for 18+ only!!
Better viewing in dark background/theme
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
d e v o n
Jules of Nature
No title available

祝日 / Permanent Vacation
Monterey Bay Aquarium
No title available
art blog(derogatory)
DEAR READER
styofa doing anything
Cosimo Galluzzi
YOU ARE THE REASON
One Nice Bug Per Day
No title available

blake kathryn

#extradirty
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda

Janaina Medeiros

No title available
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ

seen from United States

seen from United Kingdom
seen from Germany
seen from United States

seen from Malaysia
seen from United States

seen from Hungary

seen from Malaysia
seen from Philippines

seen from Malaysia

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from United States

seen from Italy

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Türkiye

seen from Netherlands
@nervoushottee
nic/nervy. twenty four. she/her. 18+ mdni
masterlist — requests: closed — ao3
kinktober 2025
—Inbox and messages are always open!—
This is blog is for 18+ only!!
Better viewing in dark background/theme
the best fanfiction you've ever read was written by a woman in her 40s before she made dinner for her kids. it was written by a teenager after school when they should've been studying for a history test. and a barista came up with the idea while they cleaned the espresso machine and busser fact-checked it on their break and the post-doc edited between writing grant proposals and the nurse apologized for typos in the notes after a long shift and behind every drabble and one-shot and multi-chapter fic there is a person with a wonderful and interesting and chaotic life and it is such a privilege that we get to be apart of it because they decided to do this thing we all share, for fun.
New Shawn Hatosy pics dropped I’m about to be the most annoying person on earth
the traces of ginger in his hair omg
> turns on my computer
> disables a new AI feature that was turned on by default
> opens my email
> disables a new AI feature that was turned on by default
> launches a software
> disables a new AI fea
rogue!john price x wife!reader
after price kills shepherd, he has a finite window of time to grab his things and say goodbye to his wife.
cw: angst
series masterlist
You hear the front door swing open and hit the wall behind it and your first thought is he’s early.
You’re at the stove, wooden spoon in your hand with the skillet throwing up steam, onions gone soft and golden at the edges, music murmuring from the speaker on the windowsill.
The word ‘early’ is halfway up out of your throat, light, a little teasing, but it dies there when the sound coming from down the hall isn’t the sound of a man home for the night. There’s no pause to toe his boots off, no keys dropping in the bowl. Just the stairs taken too fast, two at a time, the whole house shivering under the weight of him going up.
Your hand finds the gas dial and turns the flame down. You open up your ears, straining to listen. Then you’re moving, following the sound of him up into the dark of the second landing.
The bedroom door’s open, and inside, John’s just a blur of motion against the moonlight behind him. The wardrobe’s flung wide open, the duffle is out — the one that lives at the back of the closet behind the winter coats, the one you were trained long ago not to touch nor ask about — and now it’s unzipped, open on the bed. His hands are working through the canvas with a fervor that turns your blood cold before he’s said a single word.
Jaw dropping on the floor in awe of how amazing this was to read. Oh my goodness, the frantic and anxious feeling of watching John pack and move about the room in a rush. The gut wrenching feeling of reader realizing that despite knowing John maybe had to do this for a reason, he’s ruined them to the point where she might never see him again. And the immediate reaction of hitting him in anger and in fear and in frustration while John just lets her do it, UGHHH. Because he knows In that moment, he deserves it. He knows that he brought this all to her so abruptly that the least he can do is let her feel this despair of losing him just for a moment before he leaves her.
Its nearly two in the morning and I’m half asleep and this probably doesn’t make any sense but Holy shit this was so good.
type of guy you divorce and remarry three times over
an incomplete list of reasons why sex scenes are good, necessary, and a character study, & rarely gratuitous (from a seasoned smut writer and published author)
body image and dysphoria. does this character voluntarily throw their clothes off, do they have to be coaxed, do they enjoy looking in the mirror, are there any areas they refuse to acknowledge? scars? tattoos? what does this say about their past?
what role do they take in the bedroom, and what relationship does it have to the role they take in day to day life?
social/communication skills. how good are they at eye contact, asking their bedmate what they want, are they about verbal communication or body language? what is their body language, is it open or closed off? are they nervously chatty, are their words short and clipped, are they nervously quiet?
touch starvation. how do they react to touch? when's the last time they were touched intimately? how does this touch remind them of their previous encounters with touch, or is this their first time?
glimpses of their education, sexual and otherwise, and the ways this influences their view of the world. what is their understanding of consent? where did they get it from? what do they think of kink vs vanilla? what is their relationship to both?
self esteem. do they take on a role of service in the bedroom because they want to, or because they feel like they have to in order to be worthy, no matter what they really want? how good are they at expressing these thoughts? do they freeze up when their bedmate asks them what they want? do they even know what they want?
how much attention do they want on themselves vs how much are they comfortable with? would they rather the attention was just on their bedmate?
how much guilt, shame, or repression do they have about sex in general? does it feel like a performance, is it true for them? how do they do with being vulnerable with another person, clothes on or off?
how do they feel about submission/domination, about penetration? do they want marks to be left, or do they insist on no trace left behind?
how do they treat their bedmate? loving, rough, tender, gentle, harsh, sadistic, deferring, no matter the scene/dynamic?
what about aftercare? for themself, for their bedmate? do they do it, do they know what it is, how do they do it? do they value it or do they do it just because you're supposed to?
an incomplete list. might add more. sex scenes add SO much value, insight, and development to a character. they are an incredibly intimate and vulnerable setting, which is how the right writer can show readers so much about who this character is in a bedroom setting. it is not gratutious.
hello, long time no see. I broke up with my ex of seven years and spiraled. Then proceeded to fall off the face of the earth, but I’m back hopefully.
With the cod mw4 trailer drop, it motivated me to drop this unfinished fic I’ve had collected dust in my docs for years.
It may not make any sense or sound stupid or not be as close to canon but I think it has potential and I enjoy reading it every now and then.
Just thought I’d share it<3
Paper cuts, stab wounds, a shot to the shoulder. Nicking your finger when chopping celery. Burning your hand when getting the kettle on. Cigarette burns. Biting your tongue when eating crisps. Stepping on a needle. Falling off a motorbike. Getting swung upside down by your feet like a stuck pig. Car accidents. Beer bottle to the face. Getting electrocuted. All of those things are painful. Pains that stick with you for days, weeks or months on end, that last a time and it lingers.
But Ghost could handle them. Always had. He’d wear them on his fucking back and keep moving because that what was needed to be done. Shove them away in the deepest pits of hell his mind created and let them stay there. But those pains, those dark lingering pains have nothing compared to what he felt when he watched you and Johnny die.
How quickly Makarov pulled the trigger on Soap and how fast he went down. He remembers Price’s screams, felt his own mouth moving with anger as he shot at the enemy forces. You were gone from his side in an instant. A millisecond, he heard you scream and in three seconds you were on top of Makarov, stabbing anything and everything you could . You caught enemy fire. Ghost watched as bullets went through you, but that didn’t stop you from slitting Makarov’s throat in the end.
You and Johnny’s sacrifice weren’t for nothing. The bomb detonated and the powerful leader that was the reason for this entire mission—six feet under. That’s what Price tells him and Gaz when they sit in the waiting room. Ghost can hear John’s voice but he knows that those are Kate’s words. Words that were forced down his throat to keep him straight in front of his men. To let the last remaining 141 members know that the Captain is fine. That the Captain has not been beaten down.
And Price could serve that shit to Gaz, and despite his reluctance toward it, Kyle would swallow it all down and try to believe it for the sake of his own sanity. But Simon knew better.
Ghost knew better.
He saw John during it all, heard him calling both of your names as you both went down. Rushing over to you both once the coast was clear. Watched as his hand coated in a deep shade of red that Ghost hoped to never have addressed to be yours again. He’s seen you shot, he’s seen you bruised and full of scars he thought were beautiful, but he never saw you you like this. He watched as John pressed against every single bullet wound he could find, but was no use.
He heard that pain of agony leave Price’s mouth. Saw it. Felt it.
Gaz, the ever doting son, tried his best to nod his head and listen to his Captain. Saying the needed ‘yes sir’ and ‘understood sir’ with a tremble in his voice and watery filled eyes. Kyle wasn’t doing well and he showed it, cried at the scene when he watched emergency services and coroner's come and pick up your bodies. John hugged him for five minutes straight as he cried.
Now here the three of them are. Sitting in a small waiting room, waiting to hear the bad news that seems to follow them like a rotten curse.
Coma. That's what the doctors say when they come in to relay the news on your wellbeing. You were shot 12 times and lost a lot of blood. A miracle that you’re even breathing, though currently it is assisted.
Simon doesn’t know if that's better or worse and he know’s that what the rest of 141 feels. John doesn’t move, nods his head at the news and asks questions on if he needs to give more blood. He’s already given blood but John can’t sit still.
Kyle excused himself once the four letter word left the doctor’s mouth. Politely walking out of the waiting area to cry his hardest away from everyone.
Ghost, he simply sat back down and started to try and shovel all of this into the hell he has. Just like he always does with his pain.
But both Simon and Ghost know that it will never work.
Not for you or Johnny.
You both will haunt him for the rest of his life. The memories of you will never leave his mind.
And Simon wouldn’t want it any other way.
Even if it kills him.
— — —
Simon hates the sound of your breathing, how heavy and forceful it is. Hates all these tubes and needles that connect into your skin. You wouldn’t like it either–-he knows. You hate hospitals and would say it out loud any chance you got. The thought of the signature annoyed look on your face brings a small slant to his lips but it quickly goes away when his gaze flickers over to the empty seat next to him.
Johnny would’ve been the one to bring that joke up. To mimic the tone in your voice and the body language. You would shove him off at the mockery, annoyed even more but not hiding the smile that grows on your lips. Now he can hardly even see your face, it's covered in god knows what to keep you breathing.
A soft click of the door opening brings him from the sorrow feeling. His eyes flicker to John’s who freezes for a second before fully coming into the room, closing the door softly behind him.
“I thought visiting hours were over?” He mumbles, walking over to the other side of your hospital bed. Simon watches as he pokes and prods at the paperwork Simon had snagged on his way in. The nurse at the front desk gone for a quick bathroom break and your name written in red ink on a pink manila folder was begging to be saved. There was nothing new written in it, nothing that the remainder 141 and Kate don’t already know—still, John tries. Tries to see if there is anything that they missed. Anything that can keep you from not waking up.
Simon says nothing at his question, simply watching his captain watch your chest move up and down so forcefully. His thumb softly brushes your cheek, his other hand squeezing your own, closing his eyes tight.
He let’s John have his moment, tucking his head down and looking at his boots. He does a quick pinch in the top of his hand to see if he’s dreaming. If this is just one of his nightmares that happen more than he would ever admit—he’s not.
John sits next to him with a huge sigh, his arms resting on the top of thighs, hands enclasped. His gold ring shining from the moonlight peaking through the window. Kate had sent them all to change. It was hard to get the three of them out the hospital but that woman managed. It took alot of screaming and yelling and demanding orders left and right, until eventually they all took turns to leave. To change into something that wasn’t their armor that always felt like second skin—to change into something that didn’t have your blood on it.
Simon didn’t shower though. Left the stains of blood from when he finally got to touch you and Johnny stain his skin and crust over. He hides it beneath his zip up and baklava. His lips still taste of metal, and his eyes still burn of salt.
“She hates hospitals,” Simon mutters. He doesn’t realize it leaves his lips before John turns his head toward him. “Always made a face whenever we got sent to medical. Couldn’t stand it.”
John leans back into the chair, “I remember.” He can’t see it but he knows his captain is smiling. It’s small but you he can hear it in the sound of his voice. A small gleam is in his eye at the memory of your stubbornness with getting checked out. Your eyes rolling at the thermometer, your mutterings of doing it better back on base or in the field. He huffs a laugh at the thought.
Silence engulfs them both with nothing but the sound of your forced breathing and the beep beep beep of the monitor. He hates that fucking sound.
Please wake up. Simon begs in his head as he watches you. To whoever is listening. To whoever you believed in, to whoever that will fucking hear him and still thinks he’s worthy for miracles and goodness. Please.
“There’s something l’ve got’a do.” Simon turns his head to John, his eyes still on your body in a bed thats too sterile and in a room that’s too cold.
“To do what?” Simon questions.
“It’s best you don’t know.” The words come out of him quick like the bullets that hit you. Simon can feel the weight of it in his gut, the deeper meaning that itches to reach the surface but stays beneath the waves. John’s eyes finally meet his and their darker than before.
A look that means more than any lie he could try to spew out to him. Simon made him promise to never lie or keep things from him again, and he knows John won’t unless it life or death. And since you are on the cusp of both, he know’s there’s a reason for it.
So, instead of prying for answers, instead of letting John make a lie or brush off his questions, he simply nods his head. “How long will you be gone?”
“A while. Keep an eye on Kyle and don’t come looking for me. That’s an order, Lieutenant.”
His eyes glaze over and he feels his back softly straighten up in his chair. The act of an order reminding him of something safe and solid.
“Affirmative.”
daddy— i mean dad— i mean daddy— i mean !
Shawn Hatosy at MPTF's 2026 NextGen Summer Party
i’m forever haunted by shawn hatosy saying jack doesn’t like being alone…
the guy who was widowed doesn’t like being alone…the guy who’s best friend was gonna leave him for three months (and maybe forever) doesn’t like being alone…the guy who listens to a police scanner while falling asleep doesn’t like being alone…
jack abbot is such a tragic character.
simon riley fucking you for the first time knowing he shouldn’t. it’s forbidden. it’s wrong. you’re the captain’s daughter.
he has you sat on the table, your shirt hiked up, his pants shoved down. his cock is still bottoming out, groaning in your ear, when you both hear price’s heavy footfalls echoing down the hall as he calls out for his daughter… for you.
I know this is just for advertising, but I do not think Ghost would be a Fanta Orange kinda guy.
girl dinner. fattest fucking plate of pasta you've ever seen in your life
new MW4A trailer. No Gaz. First soap now him. What else can infinityward take from me.
LIVE ABBOT AND ROBBY REACTION:
a seriously underrated rated part of the pitt is just how much trinity and jack admire each other