#hope you’re doing alright

[idkaguyorsomething]

doot doot

whoa

[buhankahelp]

once you get this, you have to say five things you like about yourself, publicly. then you have to send this to ten of your favourite followers (non-negotiable, positivity is awesome! x)

Hey, lu! Thank you for the question? tag? Anyway, thank you for your attention ☺️!

I think it might be quite hard for me to think of… hmmmmmmm. 🤔

Is that like about my physical or any other appreciation? Anyway, here are 5 things about me, that I like:

1. I like my taste in music. Like, a lot. I listen to a lot of rock, metal, pop and other genres of music, the diversity is too big. Here are some of my favourite bands/musicians: Poppy, Melanie Martinez, Slaughter to Prevail, S.O.A.D., Linkin Park, Slipknot, Shakira, Muse, Lady Gaga, Imagine Dragons, Little Big, the Hatters, IC3PEAK.

2. I love my art. Even if it looks ugly for myself sometimes. I love that I can create whatever I want and just do something with my hands. It isn’t only about my pictures, but also my crochet and knitted pieces of art, or my own short written stories (nobody knows on tumblr, but I do write sometimes).

3. I like that I’ve made myself do some workouts. Usually I’m too lazy to do them and don’t like anything connected with sport, but nowadays I’ve got excited with an idea of becoming a super powerful muscle woman, so… yeah. I became motivated enough to workout 3 days in a week.

4. I love my body shape, even though it isn’t perfect right now. Like, I’m not a muscle woman yet, but my body is already looks very nice. (I may share with my progress but I’m a little bit shy.)

5. I like my cooking… I guess? I mean, I really enjoyed my homemade rice with fried vegetables and shrimps, and I love baking pancakes, apple pies and cupcakes. It’s a little bit harder with cookies, but I’m sure I’ll learn how to bake them properly.

Enjoy some photos of my homemade food. There are pancakes in the first picture and the rice with veggies and shrimps on the second.

[ruminate88]

Dear Cody, 

I don’t know if you’ll remember me or not but we talked over KIK in 2013 and I had feelings for you and I believed everything you were telling me. Halloween night in 2013, is when you “ghosted me”. You blocked me from every social media account you own that I followed you on and that traumatized me. I spent many years just frustrated and angry at you. I really didn’t understand how you could be so cruel and cold towards me, but I recall you telling me a lot of things you went through as a child with your parents splitting and other things that you shared with me… I don’t even know what was true or what was a lie. I truly believe you deceived me back then and the reason it wasn’t so easy to get over you is because I thought that I was falling in love with you and you said it would be fun for us to move in together, and I was trying to picture myself moving to San Francisco to be where you were at. 

I need to share one thing with you; when you first met me, I had written a suicide note. I was not in a good place mentally and you were there for me and you talked me out of suicide, encouraging me to make me feel better. You called me your “queen” and you were showering me with affection!! It impacted me so much because I was so lost at that time and was trying to find a safe place to hide. I had no idea who I was. When I realized you had blocked me on all of your accounts, I took that as a sign that you really wanted nothing to do with me and yeah, it hurt me a lot because I cared so much about you, but I tried to respect your choice and walk away. I didn’t understand you or anything you were going through. I thought wow he’s hurting me so much and I don’t know why I deserve this…. You can’t force someone to love you back if they don’t.

I want to say I don’t hate you and I want to forgive you and I try to pray for you all the time. I hope that you’re well and I think about you often. I’ve tried to google you every now and then just to check in on you, and I hope you’re having a good life. I want nothing from you moving forward and I’m not even sure I’ll ever send you this message but if I did, I am not expecting you to reply. I’m married now and so I’m not trying to get back in your life. I just need you to know that I do think about you and that I am hoping the best for your life. 🙏🏻❤️ No matter what you face or where life takes you, think of me and know I’m rooting you on!

[00111001]

to put parts of me away,

to add more,

there’s now too much

which is me?

which isn’t?

with little of me left,

little i know,

i’m barely here at all

just new

a new me

of you,

and you

and everyone else

[cyjammy]

Sometimes my theories and drabbles come out a little slow, but every time they do you already know it’s going to be a banger. 😈 I’ve been splitting time between these posts and my fic so look forward to an update on that relatively soon (read 3 weeks).

[adancedivasmom]

These were all so good, but your Pero one was my favorite. I did not see that ending coming, and I love you for it. That was hysterical. I was dying, lol. 😂

I set myself a task to get back into writing. I wrote a list of Pedro Boys and I had to jot down an idea about each.

Here are Eddie, Pero, Dave and Reed.

Unsurprisingly, they are all smutty.

@withhertopdown ,this is what I was talking about.

Eddie

Baby vamps are much like baby humans. They need to be cared for until they can stand on their own two feet. They need protection from the world to survive their early days. They also need to feed what seems like all the damn time. 

Babies weren't your thing when you were alive and Baby Vamps aren't your thing in your afterlife. Eddie is the exception. You found him chasing rats in an alley a few nights. Half starved and near rabid. When he saw you he tried to hide. He was ashamed, both of his hunger and how he was trying to satisfy it. 

“I'm sorry.” he mumbled as you coaxed him out. 

He crawled out all brown doe eyes and broad shoulders. Taking pity on him, you bit open your wrist and let him feed. The noises out of him lit up your spine like a trail of gasoline. He moaned and whined while he took his fill. The noises crescendoed in a drawn out groan and another mumbled apology against your skin. Only when he stepped back did you see the wet patch on his crotch.

That's when you decided that maybe one pretty, pathetic, whimpering Baby Vamp to pass on your experience too may not be so bad after all.

Pero

The man had grumbled in many languages until you had appeared from behind the screen. The guards had ordered him to wait there to be cleaned up. 

“I'm sorry, Miss, I didn't think anyone was here.” He said earnestly. His English was pleasantly accented. 

“I'm here to bathe you and cut your hair.” You informed him as a matter of fact. 

“B-bathe me?” He stumbled over his words.

“Yes. Please undress and get into the tub. I will turn my back but you have nothing I haven't seen before.

Eventually Pero relaxed into your touch as you washed his broad shoulders. When he stepped out, you stood before him ready with a towel. When he was dry, he wrapped the towel around his waist and you guided him to sit. He hummed pleasantly as your fingers ran through his hair to chop away at it. When the unruly mop was down to a manageable length, you started on his beard. Your fingers stroke his surprisingly soft skin as some of it became exposed, like the patches on his strong jawline. 

“There, just your body hair to do.” You kept your composure while he spluttered. “I do not have much chest hair. 

The man nearly choked when you gestured to his towel covered area. 

“It is their tradition here. You must take care of your body.”

Reluctantly, he dropped his towel. His thick cock sprung free, he must have been enjoying your attention. Dropping to you knees, you gently trimmer around the base of his erect member. Stopping every so often to blow away loose hair. The man hissed every time you did. His twitched and leaked torturously close to your face.

That night, when you came on your fingers, your head filled with all the images you had treated yourself to, you wondered if the man would even find out that you were only there to leave him towels and a razor.

Dave

“I can wait all night.” Dave assures you as he shifts his hips, pressing the fat head of his cock against the spot that makes you mewl for him.

A deep chuckle rumbles in his tanned, sweat soaked chest. "That's such a pretty sound but not the one I want to hear.”

His thick fingers walk from your hip where he had been holding you down moments ago as he split you roughly on his cock, across your stomach to the chain laying just above. A swift tug has the nipple clamps pinching you just right. As you arch up off the bed, Dave resumes his pounding. Dave is an expert interrogator, his methods in the bedroom may be different but they still yield results.

“I love you.” You finally confess as the rapid pummelling of your g-spot becomes too much. You clamp down on him as he allows himself to fill you, biting his lip to withhold a similar confession.

“That wasn't hard now, was it?” He says practically against your lips as he seizes the opportunity between your steading breaths to own your mouth with his own.

Reed

That was two months ago.

If you said that you hadn't mused about the sexual possibilities of Reed's powers before you met him, your pants would burst into flames. Handsome. Smart. A confident leader. Reed has a lot of attractive qualities. He also had a wife, until he didn't, and you wasted no time in declaring your interest in him.

Now, here you were, exploring some of the possibilities of his powers. Reed was shy to use them at first. He'd never used them in the bedroom before. His sex life with Sue was far from adventurous. Now, here he was, arms wrapped around the exposed ceiling beams of your rented cabin. Running back down to hold you in place as the two of you swung back and forth in the open-plan living room. Each rock shifting his cock to where you needed him most. The gentle swaying had you riding him in the most tantalising way. Giving him enough pleasure to slowly build an orgasm. Your pussy still ridiculously wet from where he had stretched his tongue to lick you from hole to clit at the same time until you'd come sobbing his name.

Tags:@kirsteng42 @prolix-yuy @hquinzelle @fangirl-316 @gracie7209 @jedifarmerr @doommommy @scorpio-marionette @sturkillerbase @harriedandharassed @aynsleywalker @mswarriorbabe80 @rise-my-angel @adancedivasmom @kinda-nobody @movievillainess721 @munsonownsmyass @mandoloriancookie @faceache111 @elegantduckturtle @manazo @simpingcowboy @pedrit0-pascalit0 @yourcoolauntie @pedrostories @geekrenaissance @its-nebuleuse @sherala007 @vabeachazn

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 170

Once again on my Ras & Danny being training rivals thanks to time travel bullshit. 

Look, Danny knows about the league of Assassins, but he almost dies of laughter when he realizes it’s the modern name of the league of Shadows. He’s an adult now, has been for a while, he’s allowed to find the situation he’s found himself in amusing. Hell, his sparring buddy who is somehow still alive is laughing too. 

And no one else knows what’s going on, okay? This random man walked into their secret base, completely ignored the many assassins trying to stop him, and called their illustrious leader a “Little Bitch Man” and they are now fighting?

The fighting is familiar, but why the fuck is Ras cackling and saying things like “Ayreh Feek” back. Practically saying “Fuck you,” while laughing and oh Pit, they’re Bantering this is terrifying, why has Ras not won yet, why has this man not died yet and- bodies aren’t supposed to bend like that what the fuck- 

Ras on the other hand, has One friend, who is immortal like him, actually remembers the shit he complains about, is also down for saving endangered animals, and actually knows how to spar! It’s not a proper spar unless someone loses at least a hand that has to be reattached! And honestly, people nowadays should know that the proper greeting to an old friend is to instantly try to kill the other. 

[just-dol-headshots]

@dollya-robinprotector this is what I pictured when you said this btw.

I hope your Robin won’t mind!

[tiddygame]

Ghoap god type au part 3!

Ao3 /// part 1 /// part 2 /// part 3 /// part 4 /// part 5 /// part 6 /// part 7 /// part 8 /// part 9

Their first official meeting face to… well, almost face. Soap’s doing his best.

[Disclaimer: I have been fiddling with this for ages, and just like everything else i’ve written, i’m not quite happy with it but i’m done looking at it. sorry if it’s awful lmao. also it’s around 5 goddamn thousand words]

Another battle won, another victory to add to the general’s reputation, and another fight that left Ghost feeling empty.

Part of him hated that he had become a disciple for the god of death. It was hard not to notice the changes that started after he first left an offering for the god. The way he felt a little less alone, the way enemy arrows would occasionally miss their target, the way the aches of battle faded much sooner, the way the world seemed a bit brighter. The way it gave him hope.

Hope was a dangerous thing. It tricked him into thinking he was meant for more than just dying on the battlefield. Made him believe that he could have a happy ending.

In reality however, Ghost would live and die a prisoner, having forgotten the taste of freedom. The world was not bright. It was cruel. If there were any good in the world, the other side would have won. Would have slaughtered them like pigs.

Instead, they lived to fight another day. Once the wounded were stable, they moved on. Found a spot to camp on a riverbank. As always, Ghost ran off. Let himself indulge in the falsity of hope.

By now, everyone in the camp was used to his routine. The only one brave enough to confront him was the general and so long as he returned to be his rabid dog whenever he needed, he learned not to care.

So, he left. Continued his search for more temples that once housed devout believers of the god of death. He appreciated the distraction from the real world, a short respite found in half-mindless wandering through abandoned cities or overgrown forests.

Ghost still knew very little about the god. While he knew the story of why the god had been forgotten, he still knew next to nothing about who the god was. They didn’t seem too bad at least; Ghost was still alive and has yet to be punished to an eternity of suffering.

He knew if he tried asking the god, (if he received an answer at all) it would all be what he wanted to hear and not the truth. So, he searched.

Most temples were too dilapidated to glean any information, but the little he had gathered seemed to point in a mostly positive direction. But he still needed to know more. He didn’t even know the god’s name for fuck’s sake.

Wandering through the forest, he wasn’t too worried about getting lost. It wasn’t so dense that shadows swallowed it whole and he could always follow the river to find his way back out.

Over the months spent on this routine, he’d learned a lot about how to find the temples, especially in forests like this one. It was rather simple: find a trail of slightly younger trees and follow them.

The much bigger, much older trees would outline a path that had long been lost to time. While hundreds upon hundreds of years have passed since the god was praised, the evidence was still dug into the earth.

Sure enough, after an hour or two of following a line of newer trees, he found a temple. It was the most intact one he’d found yet, all four walls still up, even if they looked ready to cave in at any moment. The only structural integrity was likely from the amount of vines slithering in through the cracks, acting as rope to hold together a building that wanted nothing more than to collapse.

The inside was surprisingly well lit. The holes in the roof that had been filled with various plants let in a soft green light. In the middle, extending from the back wall was a pedestal atop which sat crumbled rocks. As he guessed, taking a closer look proved it to have once been a statue that had either fallen prey to the passage of time or the anger of the locals.

Turning his attention to the walls, on his right was another doorway that would have led to a balcony overlooking the surroundings. Now, however, it was a simple curtain of vines leading to a pile of rubble falling down the hill. On his left was a wall of vines that was so thick, he wasn’t even sure if the wall was still there. But just peeking out towards the bottom looked to be the bottom edge of something that had been carved into the rock.

Curiosity piqued, he walked over and tugged at the ivy. Most didn’t even budge, but he was able to move enough to see that it was likely a mural of some sort. He hoped it was, at least. He was desperate for any information on who or what he’s been helping.

Pulling at the vines only resulted in his hands becoming covered in ants that had been hiding and he had a vague thought about setting fire to it, but there’s no way it would catch and if by some miracle it did, it would likely cause a forest fire. No other option readily available, he sighed and drew his knife, beginning the long and arduous process of hacking through each individual branch.

There was no easy way to do it. They clung to the wall so tightly that to try and slash them would just scrape the edge of his knife on the stone and ruin the edge. The brambles on them made him very grateful for his gloves saving him from turning his fingers into mincemeat. He worked carefully, pulling far enough to get his knife under the stems and cutting through them one by one.

It took hours of meticulous removal and a smarter man would have stopped a long time ago. But Ghost was determined now, he started the process and he couldn’t leave until it was finished.

He didn’t pay too much attention to the actual mural as he worked his way through them, waiting until he could see the full thing. At some point, he had to stop to light a small torch. Darkness having begun to set in, he didn’t notice he had cleared most of it until he took a step back.

As he suspected, it was a mural of the god, depicting some of his godly deeds. The original carving was already rather simplistic and the aging didn't help in deciphering what story it was telling. He was worried that in brushing off the dirt, the carvings would come with it, so instead he brought his torch closer and tried to figure out what he was looking at.

It seemed to be a set of stories, all of which featured the god as kind, helping people who were suffering. The first carving was of an old man on his deathbed, the god putting his hand over his eyes. The next was of parents watching as the god kissed their newborn on the forehead. The third grabbed his attention.

It was a soldier with a knife in his chest, the god holding his hand.

Months ago, Ghost had been in that exact situation. Dying was certain, and yet instead of doing whatever it is the god of death does when someone is dying, the god saved him. Healed a fatal wound with a golden scar. (And put a flower behind his ear, but he often elected not to think about that when remembering the event.)

All of the carvings were different tellings of the same story. For months he had been asking the same question with no answer: Why was Ghost’s story different?

Ghost shook his head. As always when trying to think about the why of it all, he concluded to not think about it. To just push it aside and ignore it. Whatever snake was hiding in the grass waiting to strike was too hidden for Ghost to see. Until the day comes that he gets bit, he will forget about it.

Pulling himself away from the third image, he turned back to the statue. The mural didn’t tell him anything he didn’t already know and hoped the collapsed statue would hold some answers.

Sure enough, it was still just as collapsed as before. There were marks in the rocks that proved it wasn’t the passage of time that felled it, but the anger of a mob.

Now looking at the pedestal with the torch, he saw the shadow of inscriptions on a plaque near the bottom. Kneeling down to get a better visual, he saw that it was four words written in an ancient language.

ᓭ𝙹ᔑ!¡, ˧𝙹⟍̅ 𝙹⎓ ⟍̅ᒷᔑℸ ̣⍑.

He remembered little of the translation, recognizing the third word was “of,” and after scraping through his memory, he was pretty sure the second word was “god.” Either that or fish. His memory is not that great.

____, GOD OF _____.

Well, it didn’t take a genius to deduce what the rest of it said. While he was iffy on the translations, he knew the phonetics well. Excited to possibly have the god's name in front of him, Ghost made a mistake.

Which, he would like to clarify, he knows that he’s an idiot. Stupid, dumb, anything and everything between. Obviously, common sense dictates that when you find strange writing anywhere, but especially in an ancient temple, you DO NOT READ IT OUT LOUD.

However, as previously stated, stupid dumb idiot and all that. In his defense, he wasn’t fully aware he was doing it. It had been a while since reading the dead language and the old carving made it hard to decipher the glyphs.

So, not thinking, he sounded them out. Out loud. Reading a random sentence in an abandoned temple of the god of death, who was abandoned after claims of being a monster. It was not Ghost’s proudest moment.

But, he did manage to read it, saying to an empty temple, “Sau— No… Soap, God of… Death?”

He didn’t know if he read it properly. When he had learned the script, it had been taught with handwritten letters. How they looked on a pen and paper was very different to how they looked carved into stone. He decided to risk delicately brushing away some of the dirt, following the indentation of the letters.

He was still trying to read the plaque when he became aware of someone behind him.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he carefully maintained his position, not giving away that he had noticed the person. Looking out of the corner of his eye, he could see their shadow behind him and to the right.

Forcefully maintaining his casualness, he dropped his hand from the plaque and rested it on the ground as if he were just balancing himself. The other went to nonchalantly rest on the buttcap of his sword, holding it like it was happenstance for that to be the more comfortable position. He waited.

They did nothing. They did not move, didn’t take advantage of his weakness, he couldn’t even hear them breathing.

He had a sinking feeling that he already knew what was behind him. And if he was right, his sword would not save him.

Steeling himself, he stood and turned, drawing his sword. At first glance, they were not a soldier, thief, or mercenary. They drew no weapon and barely even reacted to his sudden advance.

It wasn’t human either. It… It “smiled” at him. Every fiber of Ghost’s being was telling him to run, run far away from this thing before it mauled him.

He stood still. No one can outrun Death.

His vision blurred but only when trying to look directly at the god. He was almost… translucent. When he risked a glance to the door, his image began to vibrate, like he didn’t need to hold himself together anymore.

Later, trying to recall any specific features would draw a blank. Eyes, hair, height — anything. He would question if the god had any physical form at all or if he just imagined it.

He needed to get out of there.

It seemed the god was examining him just as closely. Ghost tried to slowly back away, to inch closer to the door, but was stopped by the god circling him. Not having a secure exit made his skin crawl and he was sure to keep the being in his sights the entire time.

In the same way his eyes were warring over whether the god was there or not, he didn’t know how nervous he needed to be. The months spent offering whatever he had in exchange for company and help on the battlefield made him want to relax, to talk to him like he was an old friend.

The lifetime he spent being betrayed and getting used made him want to attack first. The back of his neck prickled at the reminder that he still owed the thing his life. He was not an old friend. He was a deity, the god of death, and would be able to kill him with ease. Ghost kept his sword level with the god despite being all too familiar with its futility.

The god, Soap, stopped his circling and stood in front of him, far too close for comfort. When Ghost backed away, he watched like he was observing a bug he found interesting.

The comparison was far more apt than Ghost wanted to think about.

“Your fellow soldiers call you Ghost, yes?”

It was the first time actually hearing the god speak and it was just as unsettling as he thought it would be. The voice reflected his flickering form, oddly deep and reverberating like it wasn’t meant for this plane.

Subconsciously, his sword slowly drifted down, no longer threatening an attack.

“…Yeah. How do you know that?” He didn’t bother trying to keep the accusatory tone out of his voice.

“I’ve been watching.”

Ghost didn’t like this. Not at all. Everything in his bones was screaming at him to get the fuck out of there. He readjusted his grip on the sword but forgot to raise it. He needs to get out. Now.

The god laughed.

“Don’t give me that look. You’re the first follower I have had in an age. What else was I supposed to do?”

Part of what made his voice sound off finally hit Ghost.

“The god of death is Scottish?” The incredulous tone probably wasn’t doing his life expectancy any favors.

“Aye. And you’re British.”

The god turned and began inspecting the rest of the temple. Ghost didn’t feel the true weight of the god’s stare until it was gone, now taking in several deep breaths as the pressure went away.

“Thanks, I didn’t notice.”

“I thought we were pointing out the obvious.”

The god smiled at him like it was a simple joke. But the annoyance was there. Even if the god was laughing now, that doesn’t mean he would still find Ghost’s disrespect funny in a few minutes. He needs to watch himself and be careful.

“Why do you look all… weird and shit?” Good job, Ghost. Real good about being careful and making sure to overthink his wording. Fucking hell, his own idiocy is going to kill him.

The god pouted his lip. Looking at Ghost with deceptively sad eyes, he asked, “Aw, are you calling me ugly?”

The god returned to examining the ruined temple. Even though he wasn’t looking, Ghost shook his head and raised his hand in a pause gesture. Gods have wiped out entire villages over less. He forced his breathing to remain normal, having to manually count it so as to not panic. Before he could backtrack and likely dig himself in a deeper hole, the god spoke.

“I am still weak. This is the first time I’ve managed to hold onto a tangible form.” Tangible was certainly one way to put it. When he ran his fingers over the ledges on the wall, the dirt and debris didn’t move. Brushing his hands through the vines led to them swaying slightly as if there were a breeze.

Ghost reminded him, “I tried giving you food. You didn’t accept it.”

The god laughed, “I know. The starving man giving the god food.” Ghost wasn’t sure if his tone was meant to be insulting or annoyed.

“Yeah?”

Soap sent him a look he couldn’t decipher, explaining, “Gods don’t eat. Not the way you do. Keep your food.” He made pointed eye contact with Ghost and winked as he said, “I prefer flowers and trinkets anyways.” He turned his attention back to the ruined mural. His eyes were wrong.

Ghost fucking hates gods. What the fuck does that mean?

He pointed out, “If you’re weak, don’t you need everything?”

“I am not that weak. Saving you hurt.”

Ghost prickled further at the reminder, taking a step back. Gripping the handle of his sword tighter, he defensively stated, “I don’t need your help.”

The god scoffed and walked towards him. Ghost tried to back up but the god was faster. The divine being put his hand on his ribs, right where the golden scar sat. With a furrowed brow he angrily stated, “This says otherwise.”

Ghost instinctively jerked away from the touch. It was staticky and cold. Wrong. It was somehow worse than human touch. He was tense, looking to see the gods reaction.

This was worse than dealing with an impatient, angry god. Those were predictable. This one has yet to give him any indication of his limits. Ghost didn’t know what would be the tipping point and could only hope that when it hit, the god would be kind enough to kill him quickly.

To his surprise, the god looked sad. His flash of anger gone and now quieter, he continued, “I was barely in time to save you.” If Ghost didn’t know any better, he’d say the god actually gave a damn about him.

But Ghost did know better. He stared at the third image on the mural. He asked the question that had been plaguing him since waking up from a deadly sleep, “You’re the god of death. Why… Why would you have run out of time? Why save me?”

He sighed, “Healing an otherwise healthy person is easy. Resurrection? Not so much. I do not control death the way people seem to think I do,” the god paused and sadly looked to the broken statue, “…or did. I can help people on their path but not change their course.”

The god was slowly walking closer. Ghost didn’t have much more space to back up, almost cornering himself, he had to angle himself more towards the door, following the wall. It allowed the god to get closer, much closer than Ghost would’ve liked, but it also allowed him to have a realistic escape plan.

Not that he’d be able to run from any god for long. The hope of success was a fickle thing.

Unaware or uncaring of his internal plight, the god happily continued explaining, “You were still on the same path, just veering to the left. Bringing someone back is possible, but not always worth it.”

Not yet learning his lesson about letting sleeping dogs lie, he poked back, “What? ‘They come back different?’”

The god gave a slight nod, “Sometimes, if their soul has been rotted or corrupted. But I meant the cost. Saving you was easy to do with all that you had given. To bring someone back from the dead… Well, there are some fates crueler than death.”

Ghost's eyes hardened, “I’m aware.” The god looked all sad again but he continued before he could interrupt, “But why did you save me?”

The god paused for a moment before simply stating, “You’re kind.”

Ghost scoffed and incredulously repeated, “I’m kind.” He nodded. Ghost continued, “So, you betrayed your own kingdom, domain, whatever to make sure I didn’t die because ‘I’m kind.’”

Soap smiled and for the first time since trying to touch his scar, reached out to him. “Exactly. I like you. You are kinder than someone in your shoes should be. That’s why I saved you.”

His hand hovered next to Ghost’s left. He was waiting for something. The god was still smiling softly at him.

He wants me to close the distance.

He’d rather the god have just grabbed him. Why was he waiting? Why was a god waiting on a mortal? Gods do not ask. They take. Why was this one any different?

When he was a kid, he’d run around trying to pet any and every dog that would let him. He would approach them slowly, holding out his hand for them to sniff. Some would approach immediately, but most took some time. They were half feral and scared of people, hesitant to even approach him.

At that moment, Ghost felt like a scared feral dog. He felt doomed, like there was no way out alive. He didn’t know if the deity was offering safety and comfort, or a quicker and less painful end. Soap’s hand was still extended, still smiling softly.

When a god asks, if you do not give, they will take. And will take more than they would have if you had handed it over to begin with. It’s best to give in before the consequences become worse.

He moved his hand into the god’s hold. It grinned. He tried not to shake.

The god rubbed his thumb along his hand, fingers trailing after an older wound that was on its way to scarring. The touch became slightly more bearable as he grew more accustomed to the peculiarities of the sensation.

After a pause, Ghost shakily contested, “I am not kind. I have more blood on my hands than everyone in the military camp combined.”

Soap, unperturbed, continued messing with his hand, watching the way his fingers bent and twitched. Not looking up, “I said kind, not a pacifist.”

Ghost tried to speak up. The god interrupted. The touch graduated into practically feeling each individual muscle in his arm, like he was trying to remember how a human body is supposed to look.

“However, if you want a more tangible reason, I did, and somewhat still do, owe you.”

Ghost didn't buy it for a second. "What? A god owing a mortal?"

Soap made eye contact once more. Ghost didn’t realize how close he had gotten. The god looked more human, but more wispy as well. His eyes didn’t make Ghost want to turn away before he turned to flame, but he could also see more of the temple through him. Perhaps their meeting would not last much longer.

“I’m sure you are aware that gods can die. the only reason I was still alive was because people would pass the ruins of my temples and remember me.”

He shifted to Ghost’s right and reached for his other arm. Doing the same hovering hesitation, Ghost simply nodded in approval. The god turned his focus to his right hand now, letting go of the left. He did the same examination as before, feeling over his knuckles and trailing what veins he could see up his arm.

…When had Ghost sheathed his sword?

His left arm tingled. He had to tell himself that he did not miss the touch.

“But no one believed in me. I was waiting for another thousand years when I’d be forgotten and could finally die. You not only saved me, but you gave me hope as well.” He accentuated the word by squeezing his arm, or trying to at least. He seemed to be fading fast.

With something in his eyes more earnest than Ghost was used to seeing on even a mortal, the god said, “So yes, I still very much owe you.”

The earnestness was gone and in its place, a joking tone as he continued, “Though, if it’s you I am indebted to, I don’t think that’s too bad of a fate.”

Ghost asked, “So… I don’t owe you a debt?”

Soap looked genuinely confused, “Why would you owe me?” With the way he tilted his head, he almost looked like a confused puppy.

Ghost was at a loss, having no idea how to answer that. The idea that gods just wanted to fuck over everyone they could for their own amusement was so ingrained that to try and put it into words felt impossible.

When he didn’t answer, Soap spoke again, “I like you alive.” His hands moved, one going to feel the pulse point on his wrist and the other sitting over the left side of his chest, feeling his heart. Like he was making sure he was still alive.

The confused furrow did not leave Ghost’s brow at the explanation and he was sure Soap could feel the way his breathing and heart rate kicked up at the touch. He couldn’t tell if he wanted to lean into it and beg him to never let go or skin himself to be rid of the feeling.

“Besides,” Soap said, making eye contact once more. He grinned. It didn’t look human. “I’m not letting you go that easy.”

Ghost ripped himself away, finally in the doorway of the ruined temple. The orange light indicated that dawn was well on its way. He could not hear any birds chirping nor any leaves rustling. It was still smiling from the edge of the shadows.

The god spoke, “I hope we can meet like this again. I had fun.” With that, the divine being stepped forward into the light and fully faded at last.

Ghost took in several deep lungfuls of air. He stood frozen, watching as if waiting to make sure the god did not return. In truth, he was frozen. When it came to fight, flight, or freeze, he thought he had trained himself out of the latter two options.

But he stood there, terrified to move. He didn’t even shift his weight. It felt like to move was to acknowledge what had just happened, and to acknowledge it was to cement it as reality.

A childish part of him hoped he would wake up to find it was all a dream. Forcing himself to turn his back to the door, he ignored the way his back burned at being exposed and unprotected.

He absentmindedly made the long trek down the hill and to the river. He detached his scabbard and kneeled, splashing his face with water, the coolness of it shocking his system.

He turned to the left and vomited. He was shaking so much he almost collapsed. Locking his elbow, he was barely able to balance just to wipe his mouth.

He turned back to the water. Took in a deep breath and submerged his face. He stayed there, pushing the limit of how long he could stay under. His heart was racing, demanding air. He could feel it rattling against his lungs.

Just as the dizziness and weakness began to take hold, he ripped himself up. Taking long, heavy deep breaths, he looked up. Watched as the last of the stars faded into an orange and blue sky.

Stories and warnings from priests came crawling back to him. About what the presence of The Old Gods could do to a mortal. If he was shaking, vomiting, and scared stiff from seeing him while he was still weak…

Good gods, how powerful can this stupid motherfucker get?

He hasn’t felt so… so… so much in a long time. His brain was warring with itself over how he should feel about the interaction. Part of him felt hopeful, thinking that perhaps he might now have someone who actually cares about him and not what he can do for them. Part of him felt so hopeless that he didn’t see the point in getting up, in doing anything other than trying to die before he could cement his fate as a god’s new favorite human plaything.

He blinked and forced his mind to stop. The birds had returned, singing once more. He stood shakily, grabbing his sword and using it to help him up. It sank slightly in the mud.

Day officially broke. In the forest, shadows turned and ran to hide behind the trees. Animals were just starting to wake, some heading to the river to drink.

Ghost stepped into the water, following it downstream and letting the rush of water cover his tracks. The rapids threatened to sweep him away with every step, rocks underfoot falling prey to the force.

By mid morning, the river led him back to the camp.

The other soldiers stopped and stared upon noticing him but did not say a word. In fact, they fell completely silent seeing him wading through water that would drown a lesser man, muddy sheath in hand, soaked to the bone.

He stepped onto the shore, walking at the same slow speed he had in the water. The general, having noticed the sudden silence stepped out of his tent, demanding to know what the problem was. Seeing Ghost, he hesitated before demanding his attention.

Ghost was already on the path towards him. Face to face, the general hesitated, mouth moving but no words spilling forth. Ghost informed him that he was going to go to sleep. The general had yet to find his voice.

Ghost walked to his tent. Dropped his sword. Lied on his cot. He stared at the canvas above him, forgetting to remove his armor and gear.

When he got like this, feeling disconnected from not just his body but his soul as well, he tried to take stock of himself. Mentally document every ache and pain, how his clothes felt, even what the weather was like.

Instead he became aware of one sensation in particular, one clinging to both of his arms, his chest, and a small part of his lower ribs.

Everywhere the god had touched him felt electric.

How long has it been since someone touched me without hurting me?

He wondered why his skin still tingled. Why he missed the feeling.

[unschooled-twist]

Oops!

My penitence right here right now,

Is something I surly plea.

For what has happened to us,

for what has happened to me.

I do not beg a pardon for

frustrated act a cry out or,

a step to show my loyalty

a statement made as I see more.

My plea is aimed direct to you.

With punishment due I trust your rule.

To act so brash without a word.

My acceptance now please don’t be cruel.

My repentance was inevitable

assessed but not enough.

I moved to fast now this it’s true.

Little could, prepare me more.

I ask for wise decisions now,

not just to sweep away.

To take a stand with shoulders back.

Choose a life you can adorn.

I pray you understand my act

A selfless play as I see fact.

First card turned in a shuffled pack.

You found a friend, please don’t throw it back.

[quins-makeshift-menagerie]

I can’t fix him but I sure can draw him all pretty and cool

@ask-eden

[swiftmitsu]

Okay I need advice.

Somebody on discord started to threaten me by saying they'll rape me and my corpse.

I left that damn server but I'm thinking about going back in just to report them.

I don't know what to do anymore.

hey, don’t stress alright? unfortunately there is SO many people who make empty threats like that :( im sorry you had to go through that 💛

i’m glad you’re out of the server. but if you really want to do something about them, you should inform the server owners or mods about the person (in dms) so they can deal with them appropriately.

if you don’t want to go back then that’s completely valid, those kinds of people can be scary,,

whatever you choose to do, stay safe, stay away from them and block them after you’re done with them

and i’m sorry i couldn’t respond sooner! i wanted to wait till i got home to give you proper advice 💛

[kizzington]

Not aiming this at anyone specifically, but I’m genuinely so disappointed & annoyed at the fact no one in my real life circles bothered to reach out to me to check up on me regarding the recent Liam Payne/One Direction news.

[clancysjumpsuit]

how has your day been frens? :’)

[mychlapci]

Tfa Drift should get pregnant too. for equality

I love the size difference thing tfa has going on, giant Drift getting his deception womb stuffed with a litter of chubby little ambulance babies, such a good broodmare for the autobot cause. Ratchet is so tired trying to keep up with Drifts need for transfluid but it's worth it because Drift is so happy with a heavy belly <3

Hrrrggg Drift going into emergence but the babies are so small he can't push them out, deception babies are bigger than autobot ones and his poor swollen valve just isn't built for this. Ratchet has to gently press down on his bump to help the babies come out, only getting the last few when he puts his hand inside Drift to scoop them up. By the end a tired but happy Drift is cuddling more than a dozen comparatively tiny autobot babies

(hi Milan! *presents you this ask like a cat that caught a bird* heres some birth stuff)

-v3nth

oh good lird. Yeag. 

tfa Ratchet would knock up his giant husband with so many fat little ambulances. Drift is so happy when he finds out how many little newsparks he’s carrying. They need so much transfluid, too, and with Drift’s tank being the size it is, Ratchet’s a little worn out keeping up with a big, swollen carrier constantly throwing himself into his lap. 

hghrhh Ratchet massaging Drift’s belly while he’s giving birth, pushing down on the squirming bump to help him push. His valve is having a hard time, the sparklets are so small his calipers cannot practice the birthing motions properly around such a small mass… I’m so obsessed with the image of Ratchet working Drift’s valve open until he can fit his entire hand inside, slowly thrusting deeper and deeper until he can feel the dilated duct throb against his fingers, and when he next sparkling crowns, he helps coax it out… Poor Drift is overloading around Ratchet’s arm, though, making it hard to pull the sparklings out.

The babies are so small that Drift can fit one into the palm of his hand <3

[i-may-be-an-emu]

I'm not nearly British enough to understand all the references and jokes in the prime minister's first day, but the way all 3 of them decides now was the best time to end the scene (and a whole lotta other stuff) was hilarious

Prime ministers first day is SO GOOD ikr it’s so risky too with all the monarchy jokes but SO funny, I love it :D