#heart grenade

[khaosritual]

[morganhopesmith1996]

♥️ From my favorite episode of Arise and I can’t stop listening 💕

[behindtheband420]

first date idea: we watch life on the murder scene and heart like a hand grenade back to back on a pirate streaming service

[borealing]

Yonderland 3x04 Boo

Cake Bake Lady Edith the woman of my dreams

[desceros]

oops you got something between your fingers there, let me get that for you real quick <3

evil evil evil evil evil evil strikes back out of self defense

It's not too uncommon that you wait for him to come home. Not only has his shitty apartment all but become a second home to you, but he's started making little jokes that you aren't completely sure are really jokes about you moving in with him instead.

As such, he doesn't say anything when he comes in through the door and finds you sitting at his kitchen table, scrolling through your phone looking at the cute dog pictures April's sending you from her latest venture to make ends meet as a dog walker. Not until you look up and smile as you see him, putting your phone down because he's infinitely more interesting.

"Why aren't you sitting on the couch where it's softer?" he asks, slowly stripping the outside world from himself as he gets close. His swords. His belt of medical supplies you keep stocked up nicely for him. A bag whose contents you don't know, but judging from the care with which he puts it down on the counter, you suspect is quite valuable.

"I thought you'd be hungry when you got back," you tell him, gesturing at a tupperware of food you'd brought over from the lair. Leo still doesn't have a decent set of pans, and you've forbidden him from buying any since you can cook just as well at the lair and bring things over. (You're surprised he's held out this long; though you suspect it may be because he has a not-too-incorrect mental image of Donnie's pissy face when he smells you cook something nice and learns it's for Leonardo, not him.)

Leo sits at the table adjacent to you, popping off the lid. It's still warm, thankfully, and his face gets a little softer when he starts to dig in like he's starving. He doesn't compliment it, but you don't need him to. The way he goes quiet, not even speaking in the interest of eating the stir fry you'd tossed together, is all the feedback you need.

Smiling fondly, you grab into the bag you'd brought and pull out an orange. Slowly, you start to peel it, piece by piece. The oil of the rind clings to your skin, making the air between you fragrant with citrus. All the way down to the juicy flesh, until you split it in half, then pluck out a single piece.

Reaching out between Leo's bites, you hold the piece between your fingers. He stares at it for a moment, glancing between it and your face, then opens his mouth so you can slide it inside.

"This was a really yummy batch," you tell him as he chews, eyes falling down to where you peel away another piece. It has a little string on it, which you pick away lovingly before holding out to him just like the one before. "Nice and juicy. I was surprised, considering the time of year."

Leo takes the second piece in his mouth, and the next time you look down to the orange to pull him away another piece, you feel the weight of his stare on the side of your face and the apartment falls silent. No longer do his chopsticks scratch away at the tupperware.

Still, you persist, relentless in your affectionate care. "I've been saving the peels to make a nice cleaning spray. Apparently, you can put them in a bottle with a bit of vinegar, and it smells really nice and works pretty well," you continue to ramble. You hold out another piece. He leans in, his teeth finding the soft flesh with a heavier purpose now. You avoid meeting his gaze, torn between enjoying this little dance and not wanting it to end too quickly.

Another piece hovers in the air, and this time, he wraps his fingers around your wrist and holds it in place. You look up, startled, only to stare with wide eyes as he slides your fingers and the orange slice into his mouth together. His tongue finds the fruit and brings it to his teeth, splitting it open and coating his mouth and your fingers with its sweet juice. Messily, it beads down your palm, to your wrist, tickling even as your breath catches in your throat when he glides his tongue along the webbing of your fingers to catch its origin. Hot, wet, he licks at your skin, suckling the love off of you like it's the waters of the fountain of life itself.

Your mouth falls open as his teeth scrape at your palm, the hitched breath coming out of your lungs on a jagged sound that sounds a bit like a whine in the dead air between you. Mouth curling into a smug smirk, he kisses down the line of the orange juice to your pulse, bending your hand back and sinking his teeth into your wrist hard enough to leave a mark.

It's then that you finally meet his gaze, and see in it the dangerous flame you'd stoked. You swallow thickly, pressing your thighs together beneath the table. Silly you to forget that it's always the little gestures that drive him the most mad.

Trailing his tongue up your hand to flick it between your fingers, Leo groans, squeezing his eyes shut like the taste of you wounds him. Maybe it does, in a way, you think, feeling the almost painful ache of your own arousal that he so easily calls to the surface.

Licking your lips, clumsy from the rushing blood beneath your skin when he slides your fingers into his mouth and begins to suck on them while bobbing his head slowly, you reach with shaking fingers to pull away another piece of the orange. When Leo looks at you—no doubt visibly affected, dilated pupils, bitten lips, chest rising with your accelerated breath—he chuckles before sinking his teeth into the flesh of your palm, lathing it with his tongue before he releases you.

"How many more do you think you'll be able to share before you break for me, mi corderita?" he asks slyly, taking the piece from you and resting it on your spit-soaked fingers, gliding them into his mouth to begin the process all over again to send you into a hazy, needy state.

The answer, you'll later bemoan as you stare, stunned, completely fucked out, at the ceiling of his bedroom with a familiar full-body ache and the smell of oranges strong in your nose, is one.

[falloutboyfan18]

Pete Wentz and Daisy Grenade

[tomatosareinmyhead]

Madohomu + Cupid AU

Girls who die without experiencing true love are reincarnated as cupids. In this universe, a cupid's goal is not to make someone fall in love, but rather to make that person never lose hope in love. This work becomes difficult when there are creatures that feed on broken hearts and despair. And this job ends up becoming MORE difficult when the cupid in question is Homura Akemi, who is madly in love with her human: Madoka Kaname

[toxictrannyfreak]

I strongly feel that in Hawk’s evil bitch s3 era he gets super into American Idiot. Stewing in his room punching the wall like no one understands me… I’m so alternative while listening to one of the biggest hit albums of the 21st century. When Demetri tells him it got a musical adaptation he gets so mad he punches Kyler

[lekopoofball]

AISLSFLCSMNSDFLAHdLS PREACH

[brontios-helm]

Destiny 2: Too Much Loss

[b4kuch1n]

hi! birthday. which means it's finally time t

yo what the itch store is fixed up now

damn what? I don't know where this came from. look all the comics I put on g*mr**d a year ago are back here again with all the formatting and typesetting by @fireflysummers as well as the exclusive bonus art wtf who did this. my werewolf comic on here too what the hells!! that one also got re-toned for printing if u want to AND an exclusive cover spread !!! what the fuck!!!!! come see for urself I can't make this shit up

[cutiepieautistic]

Andre kriegman stimboard

×/×/× ×/× ×/×/×

[regrets-art-stuff]

My favoritest little guy 💚

[gerxrdwxy]

hard to imagine all of this in one place in the span of a couple hours. heartbroken I can’t be there but overjoyed this is real 🥹

[iamacrustybread]

bane

dedicated to @arson-duck

thank you for your service

without further ado, I present

(I know I cheated with the sleeves and I probably butchered the leg tattoos but oh well)

[aemondsdaella]

Daella was six, and Aemond was eight, the first time they spoke of marriage. They would be wed as soon as Daella flowered, Aemond said, though at that age, neither of them really understood what flowering was, only that it was something girls must do before they could be wed. 

They were reading The Seven-Pointed Star in their mother’s solar; or, they were supposed to be reading. Mother had been reading it with all five of them, but Aegon and Aemond had gotten into a fight after Aegon had mocked Daeron for his childish lisp when it was his turn to read a passage, and Aemond had shoved their older brother off of his chair for it. Mother had sent Aegon off to sulk in his chambers after shouting at him until his bottom lip wobbled angrily. She had tried to continue reading to the rest of them after that in a strained voice, but Daeron had been too upset by Aegon’s words and cried until his face was red and splotchy, and Mother had come around the table to comfort him, only Daeron had fallen out of his chair in his fit and chipped his tooth on a table leg, and now Mother had been forced to take him to see the Maester after the blood had turned his fit into hysterics. That had left Helaena and the two of them, but Helaena had slipped off to play with her insects, and Aemond and Daella had been left alone. Daella did not mind. She preferred it when it was just the two of them. It was always nice and quiet that way, and Aemond never teased her the way Aegon did. 

They had tried to obey Mother and kept reading for awhile, Aemond tugging the heavy tome over into his lap and reading aloud while Daella slumped down in her cushioned seat and tucked herself into a little ball, kicking off her green beaded slippers, content to listen; Mother always made her sit up straight, telling her to pretend as if she had a stick strapped to her spine, and Daella hated it. She was a princess, she argued. A princess ought to be allowed to slouch if she wished. Mother’s mouth always went thin and flat when Daella said that, and she muttered under her breath that she ought to really have a stick strapped to her, then. Daella had never been as good at obeying as Aemond; Aemond always listened to Mother, or tried to, when Mother said things like do not fight with your brother, be good to your sisters, never correct your father - he did not mean to call Helaena Rhaenyra, sweetling, he was only… distracted. Of course he knows your names, do not be silly, he loves you all very much. Aemond loved listening to their mother, loved when it made Mother smile and kiss his forehead. He was such a good son, Mother said. Your father will see that, one day, I swear it, she promised, brown eyes wide and sad in her pretty face. 

chapter 2 of your hand-grenade heart is up.