Gasp! Cute Dog!!! She Kneels Down, Petting The Top Of His Head And Giving Him Chin Scratches.

gasp! cute dog!!! she kneels down, petting the top of his head and giving him chin scratches.

sits. makes a soft little noise - it sounds like he has oinked. evidently he wants something (very likely to be pet). he is a very patient little guy. maybe he should get something (pet).
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an independent, very selective, very private, mutuals only dual-oc blog. loved by westley (he/they 26 yo). will only write with muns 21+.
a study in how to be loved is to be changed, that acts of kindness can spark more, in finding your place in the world, proof that good exists everywhere, and that, in the end, everything will be okay.
mains / affiliates: @noxiosus, @coolrpblog, @designedparadigm, @groazei, @despairforme, @wrennly.
links: memes, open starters.
psd credit: xxx


" a little prudish for someone in their 50's, no? "
she wakes with a start to the sound of glass shattering, quickly sitting up in bed and looking around for simon. he wasn't next to her but the light in the bathroom down the hall was on. was he hurt? is he okay? she pulls on her robe and heads toward the bathroom, seeing that eerily familiar look on his face. her heart sinks. the first time agatha had seen him in this state, she'd run to get johnny, but johnny wasn't here right now.
" si— " no, no no, no. the name had begun to leave her lips but she abruptly stops herself. she's seen the aftermath of saying his name when he was in this state. agatha quickly corrects herself. " ghost? " she calls softly, holding her hands out toward him but not touching him. " ghost, i-it's just me. it's agatha. it's okay, you're okay. i-i'm right here, okay? "

his body always wakes him up at ungodly hours in the morning for normal folk. being on leave didn't take the routine training out of the soldier. forgetting where he was, knowing how to navigate halls he's been in before, right to the bathroom. start the routine. working through it, autopilot.
autopilot until he looked up in the mirror.
the man who stares back causes his chest to seize up. wide deep brown eyes, dirty blond hair growing out, starting to curl. deep bags under his eyes. there's a moment where the image falters, fades into a hollowed out scrawny teenager staring right back.
who are you.
blink once. blink twice.
it's his body - but not his face. god that's not his face. that's simon riley that stares back at the ghost. a man who should be long dead. a man ghost never wants to face. weakness - that's what it is. you're dead. you're no longer here. you can't haunt me any longer. you died. you're dead. dead like everyone else. you died with them. you're dead. you're dead. you're dead.
the venomous rot bubbles up and stings the back of his throat (or is that bile from how sick the visage before him makes him?). he stares at it, that hollow pain reverberating in his chest. the pain that he never could get to leave. there's no ignoring it when it stares back at him. he hates it. he despises it. his hands curl into fists as he watches the face before him twist in such an ugly way. those warm browns go cold, murderous - reflecting hatred and venom. scarred lips curl to reveal his teeth, a snarl reflecting, as if he would rip the throat out of the reflection with his bare teeth. god, how he wishes.
instead - his fist flies before he can think it through. the image cracks, shatters. shards of the mirror start to fall into the sink, and the image is broken before him. it's enough to snap him somewhat out of the spiral. not enough. never enough. he focuses on the blood that slowly drips down the mirror, stares at his arm, covered in tattoos.
who are you?
the question echoes through his mind.
whose arm is that?
his eyes widen, and a cold fear strikes through to his core.
who are you? who are you?
he can't answer.
w h o a r e y o u?
his breath catches, and he stumbles back from the mirror, back hitting the wall of the bathroom. his legs go out from under him and he hits the floor, his hands gripping at his hair, tugging at it, as if it'll get the voice out of his head. as if it'll give him peace. or answers. nothing comes. the world around him starts to waver, spin, spiral.
then comes a voice cutting through.
it starts with a name he doesn't want to hear - but stops.
then his name is spoken.
ghost.
that's right.
he's ghost.
always has been.
always will be.
he takes a moment to breathe. in. hold for five. out. hold for five. repeat. price's words come into his mind, guiding him through the process. pull it together. in. one, two, three, four, five. out. out, two, three, four, five. see? it's coming back now, isn't it ghost?
ghost is stronger than this. ghost has it together. he is ghost. he is ghost.
he pulls his hands from his head, leaning it against the wall and letting out a heavy exhale, keeping his eyes closed. his hands are shaking - he doesn't want to look at them.
his lips finally part, and his voice is hoarse, dry.
“mask.”
even tho voting isn't technically over i'm going through with giving her asteroid hyalosis <3
thinking about giving agatha a condition known as "asteroid hyalosis", which causes particles to form in the eyes and give them a sparkling effect. the doctor that discovered the condition describes the particles as "stars on a clear night". it's uncommon for it to have an effect on someone's sight and even more uncommon for surgery to be required
For five years I've been clapping cheeks....
@coolrpblog i'm teleporting into your home at 3:27am and i'm stealing your rocks. no more rocks for you!!!