#Tomorrow WILL be better.

[tallbisexualwantstobeloved]

[fudgecake-charlie]

Dinner at Grian's

[shotmrmiller]

ghost getting himself a cute, soft girl he doesn't talk about much but is clearly obsessed with and price just thinks it's nice he's finally settled down, approves of the home he's made for himself, definitely approves of the one he's taken for himself.

soap asks kyle if he's seen you and he says, "yep. lovely bird he's got tucked away in her little dollhouse. makes great food, too." soap swears there's a subtle shift in his tone when he says "lovely", a hint of something deeper that flickers in his eyes for just a moment. soap simply sucks on his teeth, letting it slide. (although he knows that kyle's always been one to appreciate the good things in life.)

interest gnaws at him, a persistent itch he can't scratch. price likes you just fine, as does kyle. well what about him? he decides to bite the bullet and goes to simon with a knot between his brows, the corners of his lips tugged downwards. they've shared clothes, bullets, beds. if the other two got to meet you, why can't he?

"ya can come over for dinner on tonight. she'd 'ave my neck if she didn't formally meet ya anyway."

soap then asks, out of genuine curiosity more than anything else, if simon would have kept you in the dark from him hadn't he brought you up himself.

"ya meet 'er when i want ya to, boy, and not a moment before." the tone he takes is unmistakeable. his words are a command, not a suggestion, and soap instantly knows to not push further.

soap nods. "ah'll be there."

"course ya will. she'd be terribly disappointed otherwise."

yeah, he'd hate to have that.

soap sits in the living room, the soft glow of the lamp casting a warm light over the cozy place. with a full stomach and an unfastened belt, nursing a glass of kentucky. he can't remember the last time he ate that well or that much.

maybe it's the alcohol that loosens his tongue, or the fact that he wishes he also had a sweet little thing to keep at his side just like simon's doing with you now, but the thoughts he's been mulling over all evening since he first saw you tumble out of his mouth.

"while ah can attest to yer taste in sweethearts, can't say much about your alcohol. bourbon, LT?" he says, chest warm.

simon's arm tightens around your hips, fingers splayed possessively over your thigh. he shrugs, completely unbothered by the backhanded compliment. "can't be perfect in everythin', can we, sergeant?"

soap's cheeks burn furiously hot when you come to his defense with a smack of your palm onto simon's chest. "be nice to johnny. he's got a face that make up for some of his other flaws."

the teasing lilt in your voice unashamedly gets his southern blood pumping. he can't help it if certain things stir when someone as pretty as you look at him like that. soap swirls the amber liquid gently in the glass while keeping his limpid eyes on you, not even trying to hide the fact that his gaze hasn't wavered since your cheeky little comment.

you then whisper something in simon's ear, your cupped hand not even half the size of his head and soap has to rearrange himself from the outside when your teeth catch your bottom lip. simon looks up at you then, eyes heavy and half lidded, and a smirk plays at the corners of his mouth.

"'m not sure, love. you'll just 'ave to ask 'im yourself. go on."

you open that sweet mouth of yours, but simon cuts you off with a decisive wave of his hand. "no. you know how to ask for things."

your reaction to that is visceral, and you're on your knees faster than his alcohol-muddled brain can comprehend. don't look down 'er shirt, don't look down 'er shirt, don't-

"johnny, will you touch my pussy?"

he splutters at your question, completely taken aback, but it seems you're not done just yet.

"hands to yourself, sergeant. tha' not all."

you pout at simon, one that earns you a look that promises consequence, but do as he says.

"will you touch my pussy, johnny? pretty please?"

[vulpinesaint]

pspspspsps poetry mutuals come here... new quiz... making you the patron saint of something...

[mohabbaat]

wherever princess diana is right now, i know she is laughing.

[freshbeeth]

[pangur-and-grim]

I’m so happy that he’s on antibiotics. tiny kittens should never be allowed to get sick

[technically-human]

Mandatory handjob joke

[bootyyyyshaker900]

You feeling alright, Three?

Motion sickness. I hate throwing up. Even when I close my eyes it feels like I'm being spun.

[nephilimbrute]

pearlina week!!!!!!!!! new merch drop. that airplane was crazy

[thehussy]

happy hanukkah!

(and then for tomorrow...)

[aurosoulart]

JUST FINISHED THIS !!! here is a quick look because I am excited

[thepeacefulgarden]

And all of them matter.

[dumblr]

[be-it-so]

My favorite headcanon about gods and the mortals is that gods never understand how fragile humans are and don't understand how deep god's touches go through mortal's skin. (or simply don't care)

Athena will make Diomedes's grip on his spear stronger pushing his fingers tighter and almost breaking his bones. She fixes his position making his stance perfect, but human's body was never able to get into position this perfect so his muscles will be tearing and his bones will be cracking just to be instantly healed. When Athena removes her hands, his body will be covered in bruises.

Odysseus will always feel burning and at the same time freezing gaze on his back while Athena watches him across the battlefield. His ears will be filled with her breath and whisper, that will ring in his head long after she ended speaking. She will help him shot an arrow, and he will feel his joints moving in the way they were never supposed to move.

When Apollo turns all the spears and arrows away from the Hector he will still feel them digging into his flash. Apollo will raise him from the dust again and again, and Hector won't be able to stand without hearing god's voice in his ears and feeling god's burning touch on his shoulders. He closes his eyes and still sees the light.

Helen will stand tall to speak up to Paris, and Aphrodite will place her hands on Helen's shoulders to remind her of goddess's presence and this flaming grip will weight as heavy as ten years of war. Aphrodite will wash Helen's face so her skin will shine brighter and eyes will haunt every man in the room, and the only thing Helen feels is her skin freezing from the coldness of Aphrodite's hands.

And those touches won't end with battle or even with war. Every time Diomedes fights he will feel his body taking the exact position Athena once made him in, his limbs will come into shape they were never meant to be in, without deforming cause Athena already fixed them, once she already designed him according to her vision. Every time Odysseus lies his words will echo in his head just like Athena's words did before, every time he uses a bow, arrow in his hands will feel like a burning torch or like an ice, and his joints and tendons will sing in a perfect copy of the song Athena made them perform inside his body on the battlefield. Every time Helen will square her shoulders to feel herself more confident she will feel burning touch on her chin pushing it up and freezing breath in her hair. She will look at her husband and shadow of tight grip on her shoulders will become shadow of sharp nails digging into her skin, holding her in place.

Even dying at Achilles's hands and falling to the ground Hector would still hear an order in his head telling him to get up and fight, his own blood running down a neck will feel like Apollo's hands forcing him back to his feet.

No mortal ever forgets a god's touch.

[s735]

I watched TF One! I really liked it!