granddaughterogg

[granddaughterogg]

Hail the Reborn God Holiday that we're having.

I mean, Death also died for us and then he came back!

How do I always end up with him smug as hell I don't know. I feel like it's just one of his defaults, frankly_

_

[granddaughterogg]

Reblogging just so that I do not have to look for it in the future.

Have some Music for your, erm, ears! :3

Soap Being Soap

[granddaughterogg]

Imagine getting a text message from Ghost, your boyfriend. It goes something like that:

"Hi love on my way to tesco to get all those ingredients for the peanut butter stew that's what you have planned right? well get on then you fucking cunt''

You read the message. You chuckle under your breath. You wait.

And then it comes, inevitably:

"sorry petal!!! am driving using speech to text and this bloke on the road cut in"

Simon Riley, a man to love.

[granddaughterogg]

boundary

König: (laying in your lap and looking you in the eyes lovingly) That was very amazing, Schatzi. You: (petting his thick brown hair, which has gone every which way after a satisfying romp): Things can only be "amazing" in English, big guy. Without "very". König: (pouts) I like the "very" and I'm using it. By the way, I'm VERY glad that you didn't want me to choke you. You (hand stilled, eyebrows meeting your hairline): ...Huh? König: Because everyone always does. They see me and they say things like: You're such a giant man, oooh, I bet you're into choking! I HATE choking people. Have you seen my hands? I could've *killed* someone! You: (tenderly) König. You have eighteen confirmed barehanded kills. König (roused): WELL THAT'S WORK, THAT'S DIFFERENT!

[granddaughterogg]

This is exactly how I live my life and I Recommend It.

sorry for romanticising the mundane. i have little else

[granddaughterogg]

SImon Riley coded

[granddaughterogg]

I have an Idea. It's a great idea, or a terrible one.

141 boys but made to look like they're posing for that Austrialian Sexy Firefighters Calendar...but this time it's a Sexy Soldiers Calendar.

You know the drill - gratuitous half-nudity, romance novel cover posing, plenty of gear used solely as photo props and fire/water in the shot for Increased Sexiness.

I am releasing this thought into the tumbrlverse so that someone talented makes it come true <3

[granddaughterogg]

This. Cis het men's unwillingness to stop being dicks *even for a bit* while lamenting how women hate them for No Reason... That willful ignorance got old a long time ago.

The only non-fictional men that I'm friends with with are gay or trans and/or bisexual and I intend to keep it that way.

i believe that men deserve love and care and kindness and empathy because i believe every human deserves love and care and kindness and empathy no matter their social position or oppressor status. unfortunately every time a white cishet man says "well maybe if leftists and women were nicer to us we wouldn't be virulently murderously misogynistic" i'm forced to capture another white cishet man off the streets and chain him up in my hostage basement. i don't like this either but it's just the facts of the matter. we have to stop hurting our beautiful kings

[granddaughterogg]

is your “You Let Me Complicate You” series on hiatus? Sorry if you have answered this before!!

Hi, no need to be sorry - it's kind of you to ask.

Unfortunately Life (TM) has taken over my creative pursuits and I spent this last...*counts* 8 months just trying to make ends meet.

I will do my best and try to put a new chapter out there before the end of this year. but can't promise anything.

[granddaughterogg]

Life at the military base was soothing in its well-oiled monotony. You learned to like your unassuming job as Captain Price's "paperwork person". He would scream other people's heads off with worrying regularity, but he never raised his voice at you.

And your work colleagues were nice...at least most of them were. Most of them made some effort to socialize.

Sometimes the night at the local pub would get long, the going got merry and Johnny MacTavish - the youngest of the 141 - would make you play drunk darts with him. You'd lose every time. No matter how much barley wine circled in his blood, the mohawked one possessed a supernatural aptness for hitting the dead center.

"Eyes like daisies and you won't even get plastered. Some people were just born with all the luck", you complained half-jokingly.

Johnny grinned at you - and then fluttered those thick dark eyelashes for good measure.

"You coming onto me, lass?"

You gave him the playful elbow.

"No thanks. Your masculine viles are far too strong. My heart would never recover."

He snorted, undeterred by this tactful rejection.

"To be completely serious though..." He sipped more of his dark ale. "The day I saw you stepping into ol' Price's office and telling the Cap you ain't gonna be bringing him coffee unless he asks nicely... you bet your sweet arse I got them ideas."

"Huh?" You raised your head. The idea that this radiant specimen of kindhearted fuckboyishness would fancy you never seemed even faintly probable.

"I got ideas..." The booze must've got to him after all. Johnny stared into the dark wooden paneling covering the pub wall, suddenly very solemn. "But scraped them all the day I saw how Ghost looks at you."

"Ghost doesn't look at me", you replied, trying not to make this sound like you're complaining.

Johnny made a face.

"He does look at you plenty."

"Why are you suddenly talking like we're in a period piece, Johnny?" you asked, tracing the cold edge of your beer glass with your index finger.

"And no, he doesn't. Like, ever. Trust me, with his eyes being that...oversized, I'd notice."

So much for keeping the hurt to myself, you thought. Oh well, Johnny is way too profoundly ale'd to remember any of this anyway.

Johnny guffawed.

"Girl", he said, ditching the antiquated syntax. "That's the whole thing with Ghost. Whenever he looks at you, you won't ever know that he's looking. A sniper, remember? By choice and by big fucking talent as well. Seeing but not being seen. That's his whole M.O."

"Well, his M.O. is gonna keep him fucking single", you spat out.

"I know. And our man's pushing forty. He needs a wife, stat!"

You choked on your beer, but Johnny was already on a roll.

"Say, lassie, you want me to play Cupid for you two?" he offered with a shit- eating grin.

"John MacTavish", you said solemnly. "You want to play matchmaker with the man who eats in a fucking balaclava?* I know you're a brave individual, but don't you value your life at all?"

Johnny just kept beaming.

"All I'm gonna say to that is...Never got singed by my own explosion. Yet."

_

*By rolling it halfway up, of course. No, he doesn't suck his soup through the fabric. Tha would be weird. (author's footnote.)

[granddaughterogg]

Imagine Ghost opening the door to those trick-and-treaters from the neighbourhood. Playful giggles die down in an instant.

The miffed bloke sees a bunch of kids, and a bunch of kids see a veritable brick shithouse of a miffed bloke, so tall and wide that he's entirely blocking the doorframe. Skull balaclava: on. Well worn sweatpants: on. Old army tee adorned with a ketchup stain or two: on.

Kitchen knife in his other hand (he's been chopping bell peppers for dinner): yeah. The stare which could screwdrive pictures to a wall: very much on.

He looks at them blankly and they all gawk in return.

"Wot."

"Are you Michael Myers?..." peeps some pre-teen in a stifled, morbidly fascinated whisper, and that breaks the tension.

Ghost haven't got any Halloween candy. He gives them a handful of his protein bars just to make them go away.

He doesn't know that by doing so, he's just sealed his fate.

The word about "the man with a knife and a skull on his face...he was HYUGE!" travels fast and other kids soon come over to See For Themselves. After the third wave of tourists visitors he'll have to resort to putting an actual sign on his door.

The sign reads:

DO NOT RING THIS FUCKEN BELL. SNACKS HERE:-----> (bowl)

Johnny shall have to forgive him for making do with his sacred hidden stash of M&Ms.

[granddaughterogg]

What is your Hogwarts house?

I did this official Pottermore test once and it's Slytherin.

I'm sorry. :(

[granddaughterogg]

Here, have a Sam with a Bedhead.

[granddaughterogg]

You are not a wasteland.

Nobody is.

you are not a wasteland you just need ibuprofen and a hot bath and a shower and a nutritious meal and some water and some fresh air and to do something productive and to do something creative and to do something that takes physical exertion and to do something social

[granddaughterogg]

I'm not getting free of my Obsesh with the Pale Ginger Beanpole anytime soon.

Oh, and the last gif I've seen a hundred times now, but it never fails to make me a little Hot and Bothered.

Women do not want impersonal "sixpack and dick" pics.

Women want a man who could fuck you seven ways to Sunday with his stare only.

It's me, I'm Women.

anyways i do morally agree with samuel roukin as ghost

[granddaughterogg]

*hole.*

Hole sweet hole~

[granddaughterogg]

I've been binge-watching Turn today and I have to say all my hopes about Captain Simcoe have been fulfilled so far.

This man's off-kilter charm does not fit neatly into any mental disorder that I know of and the decision to make this ginger beanpole so damn Incongruous in his personal brand of insanity, so Contradictory and human even in the most terrifying aspects of his inhumanness - is what makes him all the more fascinating.

The deadliest man which you could possibly ever meet, a man who falls in love with blind stalkerish abandon - and then crafts terrible love poetry because she has called him by his name *once*.

A man whose idea of "putting a fine point" to a letter is attaching a human tongue to it.

I mean - what's not to love?

(I have so many many many many MORE things to say about him. Question is - does anyone out there wants to read it?)