#robas

[frasesenespa-ol]

Perfecta en cualquier sentido, con pantalón o vestido robas mi respiración

El color de tus ojos (Banda MS)

[marywoodartdept]

Roba’s Family Farm

This week, Ellie, our Off Campus Art News blogger, took a trip to Roba’s Family Farm to enjoy the fall festivities that they host. Ellie shares pictures with us of all the activities she partook in and looked at. Read Ellie’s blog to learn more.

[s0fter-sin]

alpha!ghost who's always hated the sound of an omega's purr; he’s always found it patronising, manipulative, an attempt to twist his biology - twist him - into submission like he's some animal

until he hears soap purr for the first time and it's about as choppy and comforting as a machine gun. there's nothing smooth about it, nothing seductive or wily; it's broken and guttural and the most honest noise ghost's ever heard outside his own growls

he doesn't use it to coo him into complacency, doesn't try to bend him to his will or smooth over his bristles. he's never tried to distract ghost from his anger, never used his intrinsic control over him to gentle him. hell, he seems to forget he can even do it, ghost hears it so rarely. it's only a touch above his growls, subharmonic and demanding attention instead of the pretty titter of a pampered omega

ghost hears it for the first time when he’s covered in blood not his, after he slits an enemy pinning him down from navel to chin; dark blood instantly soaking him. the body’s practically cool with blood loss already when he tosses it aside and rolls to his feet to find soap stock still, staring at him with a feral gleam in his eyes

he drops his jaw with a deep inhale, rolling the scent of blood and pissed alpha pheromones in his mouth and his chest rumbles with all the subtlety of a chainsaw

it's suddenly all ghost can do to keep himself from dragging the body and dropping it at soap's feet like a courting gift of old; to carve out his heart and rich organs and present them for his approval, to hold them to his mouth and never break eye contact as he takes his first bloody bite

ghost shakes it off, strangling the chuff trying to claw out his throat, and heads for the rv point and feels absolutely nothing when soap falls into step behind him without a word; his purr that more closely mimics an alpha's rumble an echoing memory

soap's far from a meek, compliant omega and he's no conniving prince wrapping alphas around his finger either; he's just as much a protector, an aggressor, as any alpha. he's never been ashamed of his instincts; never shied away from nuzzling into price's throat, purring for his pack alpha with no regard to the uncomfortable crowd surrounding them. never hesitates to wrap gaz up and drop him in his nest when the beta reeks of stress and sickly insomnia

and he never stops himself from baring his fangs with a guttural hiss whenever another omega dares to purr at ghost

it's a threat and a warning in one; something only the most foolish omega would ignore. he knows ghost has a complex relationship with omegas, knows it isn't something so pathetic as biological prejudice. something about omegas makes his lt's scent go flat and steely, as close to distress as he thinks he can manage and it makes something dark and old rise in his chest

territorial rage broils off him, strong enough to make the omega whine and back off with their tail between their legs without even taking a step towards them. the scent is sour and pungent enough to drown out ghost's subtle distressed smell, to hide it, and it makes him snort; shaking his head to try and clear it

soap all but trots up beside him, chirping in greeting. he sneezes playfully, lets him know the rage scent wasn't for him; never for him. he replaces it with happy-friend-pack, replaces it with nitroglycerin and burning sparklers and butts his forehead against his sternum instead of crowding into his throat and purring the way he wants to

he earned his way into ghost's pack, into becoming an omega not just accepted but welcomed and he won't jeopardise his hard won progress by pushing his purr on him

he lifts his head and grins as ghost cups his nape in a faux-scruff, something offensive and borderline taboo and if he were anyone else, he'd rip his hand off with his teeth. but it's ghost and ghost does strange things, things that reassure him on a deeper level than any purr or chirp could ever hope to, so soap presses into his gentling hand and bares his teeth in the thinnest facsimile of a smile at the retreating omega

all ghost has to do is aim him in the right direction and he'd bring the omega back to him in pieces; would gift him their torn out throat so they could never purr at him again

his chest rumbles subconsciously and soap gnashes his teeth, forcing his purr back down when ghost squeezes his nape

he thumps his temple into his and a puff of air tickles his ear, the closest thing soap's ever heard to a chuff from him and he couldn't stop his purr if he tried; choppy and broken as it is

you inhale enough explosive fumes and it's bound to damage something

ghost huffs again and soap presses up to nibble appeasingly at his clothed jaw, a question and an apology in each bite

ghost just takes the tip of his ear between his teeth, shaking it with a teasing growl and soap laughs as he tackles him just for ghost to bow over his back and wrap his arms around his waist; effortlessly picking him up and tossing him away

soap stays low and growls right back, a wild smile splitting his face. ghost meets him with a sneeze and his grin grows impossibly wider

if he can't hunt for his alpha, can't purr for him with blood on his teeth, he'll happily wrestle with him instead

[bluegiragi]

mutt. (small explanation under the cut)

early access + nsfw on patreon

so. a couple of lore things here.

Roba only took one of the blood vials before he went out to fight Price. But during Ghost's final interaction with Vernon, he smashes all of the remaining ones over the floor. When he finally killed Vernon, the impact of the blow splashed blood onto his hands, which he then used to a) slash Roba across the face and b) literally grab his tongue. So you can kind of assume that Roba's gotten a much much higher dose than he's supposed to safely take.

Also, his symptoms look pretty similar to the transformed state of Konig, no? Rabid, mindless, inability to talk, and most importantly, he's huge. I think my thought behind this is that the way the world used to be, monsters were way WAY larger than they are now. Roba was underselling it when he said that the vial "unlocks what is dormant" - probably a better description is that it strips away any hybrid's evolutionary 'safety cap' so to speak, in exchange for the original being's mind.

[love-too]

Just heard the sentence "non practicing bisexuals" for aroace people and I'm losing it

[figuringthengsout]

Andrew needing approval of his relationship from Aaron and Aaron demanding recognition of his relationship from Andrew. Andrew planning his kill for Aaron and Aaron killing on instinct for Andrew. Andrew killing Aaron's abusive mother figure, but putting up with abuse to keep his own mother figure. Andrew forcing Aaron through withdrawal and Aaron being forced to see Andrew drugged up all the time. Andrew sacrificing himself over and over again because if he can't be loved he will be needed and Aaron asking him over and over again to just be brothers. Andrew not trusting Aaron with his own self, but not showing enough of himself to convince Aaron to trust him.

[affogonellamarmellata]

during the 'RAM' recording sessions, New York. Photo by Linda McCartney.

[indigo-flowers09]

“let them be happy” nah i’m good

Merry Christmas

i know it’s not christmas yet i don’t care, festive ceroba

[yawnderu]

CW: mentions of kidnapping and stolen body autonomy.

Find a way in, kill the enemy, retrieve the hostages, leave. A routine of sorts that gave his life some sense of purpose to avoid going insane for the past two decades. Simon liked to believe he got over what happened in his past... truly, he did; and yet Manuel Roba’s horrors seem to haunt him no matter where how many years pass.

“C’mere.” Simon’s voice held no hostility, he made sure of it, yet your stiff position never changed. Legs angled to the right, hands folded on your lap, and eyes looking forward, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze even if it’s been hours since your rescue. Garrick, Price and Johnny have already tried to get you to talk multiple times, all of them with different approaches. 

Garrick was friendly, trying his best to seem approachable, a bright smile on his lips that you didn’t seem to notice, too busy staring at a wall no matter how much he tried to hold a conversation.

Price seemed fatherly, never once laying a hand on you even if it was itching to comfort you, and so he settled with telling you you’re safe now, how no one will ever get you again now that they're here. His words didn’t seem to do much, either. 

Johnny was… something else. His first attempt was a shitty pick up line, getting a reaction out of you for the first time— a nose scrunched up in disgust, but a reaction nonetheless.  

And Simon… Simon’s approach was different. The man was used to barking out orders and obeying them himself, not to deal with an unresponsive hostage. His behemoth frame was nestled next to you, putting a tray on the table and observing your reactions. From the way you swallowed thickly the moment the meal was presented to you, to the sound of your stomach growling. 

“Go on, then.” Your gaze follows his movements for the first time, the feeling of your stomach rumbling makes you more aware of your hunger, so many years being fed nothing but what was necessary to keep you alive by Manuel and his associates, so many years of being trained like a dog to obey to their very order. 

Simon can see the hesitation in your body language, too tense to allow yourself to dig in the way you wanted, yet no longer as stiff as before. There was a sense of relief at the fact that they didn’t seem to want to hurt you —unlike Roba—, yet years of non-stop brutal training can’t be erased within hours.

Roba’s training was engraved into your brain, and while the sense of security the SAS blokes gave you is something you’re thankful for, nothing guarantees they’re not working for him. You’ve seen other military men come and go throughout the years, always Roba’s friends, and always sharing the same disgusting, sadistic desires.

“Eat up.” The rest of the men watch the way you move, curiosity and amusement mixing at how strange your movements seem, almost robotic. Your forearms rest on the table, elbows away from the cheap wood as you attempt to hold your own cutlery— attempt, because it looks fully foreign to you, trying out different angles to make it work, and yet it's the first time in years you've been allowed to try and feed yourself.

Simon is the first one to catch on, having lived under Roba’s rules for long enough to know he enjoys taking people’s autonomy, to reduce them to nothing but a pathetic mess that depends on him. His gloved fingers are gentle as he takes the spoon from your hand, scooping up some food before holding it up to your lips. His full attention is on you, relief starting to make its way into his body as sees your rather soft lips wrap around the spoon, eating whatever he was feeding you. Lucky for you, this time it wasn’t an MRE… or beans on toast.

His gloved thumb wipes the corners of your lips every time you’re done chewing, and he’s quick to pick up more food from the plate, nothing but patience and kindness shown in his actions, so unlike the brooding soldier he's known to be.

“... two goldfish are in a tank…?” Johnny’s loud groan gets your attention for a second, yet you quickly glance back at Simon, curious eyes looking up at him, almost as if asking him to go on. 

“One turns to the other and says… ‘you know how to drive this thing?’” You can see the corners of his eyes crinkle before he even finishes his joke, clearly trying his best not to laugh at just how awful it was. A small smile hides in the corners of your lips, and Simon takes that as a victory, ignoring the questioning looks he’s getting from his team, for now.

[giotanner]

🧼: «So how'd ye become 'The Ghost'?» 💀: «I saw a ghost, once»

New tiktok available (yes, it's about Ghost 09 backstory, Roba and Found Family)

Please support me with a REBLOG to be in Call Of Duty circle here on tumblr, thank you!

ko-fi

[iilmunchkiin]

💫 I love you in every universe

Close ups and all the Cerobas in the picture:

Ceroba Ketsukane

Pacifist Fight Ceroba

Flowey Boss fight Ceroba

Lucky Clover Ceroba by @northstarscowboyhat

Biblically Accurate Roba by yours truly

Childhood Comfort Ceroba by yours truly

Teen Ceroba

Underfell Ceroba by @pantamonte

South Sun Ceroba by @specklx

Farmer Ceroba by @maidenofscorchinglight

Kitsune Miku Ceroba by yours truly

Hot Spring Ceroba by @deathbirby

Golden Years Ceroba by @//StephsArtLab on Twitter

Ceroba the Cashier by @blue-utydt

Bride Ceroba by @snowwgravve

Cool Ceroba by u/dragon640 on Reddit

[sgt-tombstone]

As a result of Roba’s torture and attempted brainwashing, Simon developed pain asymbolia, a rare condition in which pain is experienced without unpleasantness. He feels pain, or at least is aware of pain, but he doesn’t truly feel it. It doesn’t stop him, or even slow him down.

Everyone who finds out about it is under the impression that it turned him into something of a superhuman. It’s true, to some extent; he can walk off knife wounds without issue, he can pick himself back up from gunshot wounds and keep fighting, he can get knocked down and always stand back up again. But he has to be careful, probably more careful than anyone else on the battlefield, because pain itself doesn’t kill you, and he’s far more likely to bleed out from wounds that he doesn’t even notice because there were too many other things going on to really pay attention to that stray bullet.

Idk where I was going with this, I just love the idea of Ghost having this superhuman reputation but he’s actually throwing himself into harms way, knowing that he can take it, that he can withstand it better than anyone else around him, but it’s so dangerous for him to do so

And maybe the 141 doesn’t know about it; they’ve fully bought into the persona that he puts on, thinking that he just has a really high pain tolerance. It takes something massive, something that warrants an emergency, all-hands-on-deck, multiple blood transfusions and maybe an organ donation for good measure medical visit for them to realize that he never flinches, never looks to be in pain, never gives any indication of discomfort at all. He’s not even on pain medications, he’s got seventy-three stitches, and he’s sitting up and talking like nothing happened.

Suddenly the 141 has an emergency meeting about how to keep their lieutenant safe in the future because by god, he obviously can’t be trusted to do a very good job of it himself

[sugardecreme]

ceroba that i put off finishing for Weeks <3 yay

[losthargy]

A legacy not to be forgotten.

[bluegiragi]

i'm sorry, john.

early access + nsfw on patreon

[love-too]

My aroace toxic trait is that I believe that under some extremely particular and planets-aligning circumstances I could experience the most heart wrenching and fluffiest romance ever