heghogsblog

[cemetery14]

aomine: youre right :) 👊🏾

kuroko: always :) 👊

[hinamie]

10 years later

[caffess]

Rip to the only reasonable Targaryen and her poor dragon

[snekky-arts]

if you saw me post a version of this a few days ago no you didn't

1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6

[starry-bi-sky]

my martha knight au in a nutshell:

Danny/Martha: see up here?

Danny/Martha: *taps skull*

Danny/Martha: intense psychological damage

-----------

Danny/Martha: *upon finding out she's pregnant*

Danny/Martha: oh my god i cant be a mom, I'm fifteen and homeless--

Danny/Martha: im going to be a terrible mother--

Danny/Martha: i live in a cAR--

Danny/Martha: what if the baby inherits my powers? Oh no--

-------------

Danny/Martha post giving birth: i've only had Bruce for a minute and a half but if anything were to happen to him i won't even need to fuse with Vlad, I'm razing this goddamn planet to the ground myself

Danny, to Baby Bruce: you are the last remaining thread of my sanity. I'm going to give you the world :)

---------------

Danny/Martha prior to getting pregnant: Fuck it, if everything in my life has led to this moment, i'm allowed to make one stupid decision. I'm getting drunk and getting laid

---------------

Danny/Martha while Bruce was a toddler: i swear to fucking god i am going to kill the next person who talks to me--

Bruce: hi mommy!! i brought you something!!!

Danny/Martha, immediately flipping on a dime: hi baby!! what do you have?

Bruce, a weird child like his mother: a spider :)

---------------

Danny/Martha, talking to Falcone after he made an unsavory comment at her and Bruce: If you ever come near me or my son again, I will dig up your shithead father's corpse and make you eat his skin.

Danny/Martha: do you understand me

Falcone:... crystal, ma'am

---------------

Danny/Martha new in Gotham: *getting mugged*

Danny/Martha: *grabs man's arm*

Danny/Martha: I AM GOING TO BREAK YOU IN HALF LIKE A TWIG, FUCK BOY, DO YOU HEAR THE WORDS COMING OUT OF MY MOUTH--

(she then proceeds to terrorize Gotham's night life for the next extended period of time, mostly unintentionally)

---------------

Danny/Martha: Danny Fenton?? No. you must be mistaken, my name is Martha Knight.

Danny/Martha: this here is my littlest knight, Bruce.

Danny/Martha: I made him all by myself :]

[yeniihuenii]

jiyan bawling his eyes out bc i love making my blorbos cry catblush emoji

[mostmagical]

adrien telling claw noir about his best friend nino so that claw can try and befriend him in the other universe........ are you kidding

[fairsweetlonging]

okay but post-canon luo binghe suddenly being atticwifed by an overly jealous shen qingqiu and feeling euphoric bc omg shizun can't stand the thought of binghe being with anyone else and is locking him up to be his only thing in the world!! shizun wants only him and no one else!!! shizun is guarding him like vicious dragon guarding its precious treasure!! he's living it up being shizun's house wife only, doing nothing but serving his husband and proudly wearing the chain like it's a second wedding ring and basking in the jealous attention like there's no tomorrow

but then it turns out shen qingqiu actually got hit with one of pidw's wife plot-pollen that made him act so jealous and crazy, and when it's over (either by papapa or time), shen qingqiu profusely apologizes and says he'd never do such a thing to binghe and it wasn't like him at all and binghe stands there like "oh..."

[ryllen]

˚ ｡🐟

[ninyard]

just thought about aaron going to class for the first time after the trial. like it finishes on a friday and he has to walk into a biology class on monday and act like nothing happened, and act like they haven’t all been talking about him and his brother all week, like they haven’t all been debating whether or not their classmate is a cold blooded murderer or not. did he silence the room when he walked in? did anybody even know what to say?

[thejeangreysummers]

SUMMER IN NOVEMBER | simon x afab reader

warnings: making out, touching, shared shower time but no smut yet. traumatized simon with negative self worth post near death experience, reader is not in the military by choice, dubcon regarding tits if you squint, and possessive simon. (not proofread we die like men ig)

Simon loves the desperation in your first kiss, you kiss him through the mask clumsily with your arms around his neck. For the first time his reflexes loose their rigidity as he barely closes his eyes as you’re pulling away. Flushed, shamefaced, mumbling thank god you’re safe and turning away.

Simon tugs you by the wrist, it’s not a request by the way he’s studying you. You’re ready for the lecture about professionalism or a comment about how you’re old enough to know better than to pull a stunt like this. He’s never barked at you the way he does with the team. Never complains when you sit in his chair, doesn’t say anything when you drink out of his mug, and when you go out he’s paying your tab before you can touch it.

This will be the breaking point, the last time he tolerates you, now he’s going to tell you to go fuck yourself for sure. He tells you to close your eyes and you’re ready for him to scream at you bracing yourself not to cry.

Ghost kisses you roughly, sucking on your bottom lip, demanding you open yourself to him. In seconds he has you against the wall caging you in as he sucks on your neck, it’s better than the wet dreams you’ve been having with just this one kiss. All your nerve ending ache for him and you’re squirming, Simon pulls away eyes wide.

He’s still got blood tainted on his uniform, his hands have gunpowder residue — who is he to kiss you? You deserve more than a single night of him fucking you until you can’t stand. You don’t belong amongst all this carnage. You don’t belong with him.

Yet, you’re pulling him by his collar cradling his face in your small hands, kissing him again, softer like you’re sipping on his mouth, savoring it until he leaves again. Simon doesn’t want to share you with the wraith inside him, he wants all your sunlight to soak into him instead.

He lets you tug him to the infirmary, watches you re-reading the patient portal notes on your phone while walking to his room. When he complains, you silence his smart ass comments about his injuries when you slide into his lap. You curl into him like a cat searching for warmth, praise, and petting. He keens at your attention, your excessive worry, and your newfound display of affection. Wondering if after tonight you’ll come to your senses and never make him tea in the middle of the night again. He could make you beg for his mouth, but he can’t make you love him.

Simon leans into you as you set up a shower for him palming at your waist, digging his fingers into your hips, hovering over the button of your cargo pants. He lets you undress him just in his boxers and balaclava, you press a shaky kiss to the middle of his chest promising to wait for him in the bedroom. For the first time Simon doesn’t want to be alone, he catches himself asking you to join him in the shower. He doesn’t want to fuck you in the shower, he just wants you stay, but he doesn’t know how to justify the yearning he’s been holding for you. You don’t complicate things for him, just let him unzip your pants and unhook your bra. In the shower you stand away from the stream of hot water, gently scrubbing the sweat and exhaustion off his skin. You look away from his half hard cock as you run a washcloth over his calves, after doting on him you press a kiss to his cloth covered mouth. You gently trace the seam of his mask and tell him you’re leaving so he wash his intimates. Simon emerges out the steamy shower to a warm towel and neatly folded night clothes beside a clean balaclava with its signature skull.

That night your hands don’t linger down to his waist, you let him lay his head on your chest, you scratch down his upper back until you fall asleep. You never ask him for more than he’s willing to give, you’re so innocently interrupting the hardened exterior he presents, and you’re too naive to know he wanted you from the minute you looked up at him.

Simon needs one minute with his bare face against your tits. He knows from carrying you home after a drink turns to two, you’re affectionate until you’re fighting sleep you can’t be stirred. He knows you wouldn’t deny him this if you were awake. He’s slipping off the mask nuzzling his face against your tits into the curve of your neck until he’s on top of you leaning his forehead against yours and barely kissing your mouth.

He slips on his mask again, unwilling to let you see him vying for your love, waiting for your praise. He’s leaves the bed, wondering if he should pretend this night never happened, when you’re calling out his name in your sleep. Simon returns to the bed as you’re gasping for air, you heave with sobs as he pulls you into his chest. You’re begging him not to die, not to disappear, not to abandon you.

“I love you, you can’t leave.”

For the first time in the years he’s known you, something emerges that is unyielding— more than a watery sob this is a practically a prayer. Your wish may be more than you bargained for, but you belong to him now. If you’ll take him as he is sharp teeth, crooked, and scarred he must find a way to live with himself. One day you’ll know that you’re the first to have touched his broken nose, scarred cupid’s bow, and uneven shave. He wasn’t held like this even when he was a child, but you’re holding onto him for dear life and you love him.

The way you see through everyone extends past human understanding, you’re both paranormal in your own ways. You’re a collection of colorful persistent oddities, your curious consumptions forced you into this line of business. Your mistakes is his dumb luck, he’s claiming your love as his prize. You’re too pretty a bird to stay in these barracks, kept in this cage, consumed by all this corruption. After everything his atonement will be keeping you safe. Men may change, but the self serving nature of ghosts linger. The prospect of spoiling you rotten, earning your smile, and making you whimper his name will be his own pleasures one day.

[thebigbadlobster]

Pour one out for the homeschooled girlies . Lord knows we need it

[hinamie]

mentor

[sollucets]

i can go anywhere, as long as i have you

[raptorrobot]

this answer from gianni's ama earlier today is making me tear up good lord

[rillils]

🌸 pre-war stucky + discovery

Steve’s knife glides cleanly under the apple’s butter-yellow skin, the peel pooling over the plate in one long, looping ribbon. And Bucky watches, enraptured.

All his life, he’d thought that art was the kind of thing that occurred inside Steve’s sketchbooks; that it was about color, about shading and light, and the twists and pitfalls of anatomy that’ll make Steve cuss under his breath in frustration. He never once figured that art could be happening in their kitchen, at their table, in the naked heart-shape of an apple cupped in Steve’s palm.

But there’s something like grace in the work of Steve’s hands; a deliberate focus in his eyes as he cuts the apple in halves and then in quarters, and a drop of juice trickles slowly down the inside of his pale wrist, catching Bucky’s eye.

Steve always did have delicate wrists, Bucky considers – slender and agile like the rest of him, two columns of milky white shot with the green web of his veins.

The thought brushes against Bucky’s mind, soft as anything. That his fingers could curl around one of those wrists, and likely wrap all the way around it, sweet and whole like an embrace. It’d fit so perfectly, cradled in the palm of his hand. Then he could feel the jut of Steve’s wrist bone, and the quick flutter of Steve’s pulse under the pad of his thumb if he chose to stroke him there, over that silky smooth skin, and he’d have the measure of Steve’s heartbeat, stuttering secrets under his touch.

It’s–

Odd. He never. He never knew.

But it must be true. Something inside him knows it, something–

“... wan’ some?”

Bucky’s gaze follows the silver glint of the knife, his lips parting, entranced, while Steve cuts himself a slice of apple with effortless grace, and holds it against the flat of the blade to bring it to his mouth. His soft, rosy mouth. How does he know it would be soft? But he knows – it’s written in the flush-pink plumpness of Steve’s lip.

The tip of Steve’s tongue peeks out, a darker shade of pink, wet and glistening, and Steve slips the apple slice inside – the crisp flesh of it leaving a touch of moisture across his bottom lip. Steve catches it with a sweep of his tongue, lapping it off in one swift motion; and Bucky swallows, wide-eyed and eager, chasing the phantom taste of apple against the roof of his own mouth.

“Buck?”

Steve’s voice shakes him out of his reverie, and his gaze snaps up to find that Steve is looking right at him.

Steve is–

Steve’s eyes are blue. Bucky has always known that, in the same, absent-minded way as he knew that water is wet, that day follows night, that fire will burn you if you put your fingers to the flame. But today, suddenly,

Steve’s eyes are blue.

And Bucky stares back at him dumbly, breath locked in his throat for an endless moment, as he sees that piercing blue for the first time in his whole life, and is shaken to his core by the sight of it.

“Wuh– what?”

“I said,” Steve begins, hiding his chewing mouth with the back of his wrist, “you want some?”

He offers a piece of fruit to Bucky, a fat wedge of apple held in those long, nimble fingers of his. His fingertips are the same soft pink as his lips, Bucky notices. And he imagines, in a fevered flash, letting Steve feed him with that same hand, and brushing the seam of his own lips against those fingertips as he takes the first bite, and flicking the tip of his tongue out to lick the juice straight from Steve’s skin.

“Uh, um– yeah,” he stammers, reaching gingerly for the offered fruit. The glimpsing touch of Steve’s fingers against his feels every bit like electricity, a zing running up Bucky’s arm, half pleasure and half the terrifying thrill of the unknown. “Sure, thanks.”

Steve pauses to watch him curiously, jaw working on the last of his morsel, his pretty – pretty! – eyes filled with a fond sort of amusement as they rake over Bucky’s suddenly shy frame.

“What’s gotten into you today?”

Steve’s grin is a brilliant thing: sweet and playful, the bow of his mouth crooked up in one corner, more charming than Steve himself could ever guess – and that light sheen of apple sugariness, still shimmering full on his lips like a kiss.

And Bucky wonders, as he ducks his head and bites into his own apple slice, what else he has been missing all these years. How much more he has failed to see, though it was right there under his nose all along.

What lovely secrets lie in the narrow set of Steve’s shoulders, left bare in only his undershirt, here, at home, in the privacy of their little kitchen.

If Steve’s collarbones always looked just like this: carved out of stone by some tender hand, smooth like polished marble. Too holy to touch, and yet too tempting not to kiss with an unholy mouth.

He steals a glance at Steve’s face, and tries to mirror the shape of his grin as best as he can.

“You know me,” he shrugs, waving his hand about, “just got my head up in the clouds, is all.”

But when he takes his next bite, it’s the salt of Steve’s fingertips that he tastes, not the sweet tartness of the apple; and the wonder of it lingers for hours under his tongue, like a question just waiting to be asked.