#my boi so hot

[zuziknux]

Oooh, Knucklesss~

I'm sorry, Movie Knux is just my favorite version of Knuckles- >w<

~ ~ ~

🖌️ App used: IbisPaint X 🌈

[egophiliac]

can't believe that skeleman has turned on us, and Halloween Prom is tomorrow.

(what a top-tier UM...we are about to be just totally obliterated in the absolute silliest way. what possible use could this power have outside of bringing us to the brink of utter holiday disaster.)

[muffinlance]

Hi ! prompt idea : What if Zuko was armed during the first episode and was stranded with the water tribe while the avatar left with Katara and Sokka, Iroh on his trail for white lotus reasons.

Oh we are going to have us some FUN with "stranded with the water tribe", say no more.

---

Zuko was dripping, and steaming, and staring down two dozen women and their gaggle of small children, plus that old not-the-Avatar crone from earlier. They were all cowering away from him. Which was--

Good. It was good. If they were cowering, then they hadn’t noticed how steam was not flames. He wasn’t sure he could make flames, not after the arctic water he’d landed in, with that last sight of the Avatar glowing; not after surfacing under the ice pack, after swimming, after kicking slamming breaking through and his ship was gone and there was only ocean all around and

and he’d made it back to this pathetic little camp of the Southern Water Tribe, because that was the only place he knew for sure would have shelter, and he wasn’t going to die just because they were all staring at him, even if felt like he would.

Even if the old not-the-Avatar woman could probably take him, right now. But she didn’t know that.

Zuko pulled himself up, taller than her by at least a few inches, and blew steam from his nose.

“I am commandeering one of your huts,” he said. And added, because Uncle said even a prince should be gracious: “You may choose which one.”

---

She choose her own.

...The only one without children that flames might scar, or younger women to catch a soldier’s interests.

Zuko sat by her fire and determinedly started struggling out of his wet clothes and she was still in here with him--

Zuko pulled one of her animal pelts over himself, and finished fighting off his clothes. When he stuck his head back out, cheeks still reddened from what was obviously the cold, she dropped a parka on his head.

“Dry clothes, Your Highness,” she said.

The parka was much bigger than he was. He fell asleep hoping that the camp’s men were on a long, long hunting trip.

---

He woke up again. Kanna tucked her favorite ulu knife away, newly sharpened, and stopped contemplating the alternative.

---

“I am commandeering a ship,” he said.

The crone led him across the village, all twenty paces of it, to a row of canoes.

“Take whichever one you want,” she said. “Will you need help getting it to the water?”

Zuko looked at the canoes. Looked at the ocean. Watched a leopard seal, easily the size of the largest canoe, dozing just past the ice his own ship had broken through the day before. It was frozen again, a great icy arrow pointing from the waves to the village, snow already starting to cover it over.

Beyond was blue sky and gray ocean and white ice, floating in blocks like stepping stones, like boulders, like cliffsides.

There wasn’t even a hint of gray steel, or smoke. Or any land, besides what they were standing on.

He looked down at the canoes again. Somehow, they seemed even smaller.

“I, uh,” Zuko cleared his throat. “I’ll require supplies. Before I go.”

---

They... did not have supplies. Not extra ones. This didn’t stop them from trying to give him supplies, food and blankets and anything else he could think to ask for. But each blanket was a pelt hunted by someone’s grandfather, had been inked with images and stories by someone’s mother, was the favorite of someone’s husband or brother or uncle or cousin--

They couldn’t go to the nearest market to replace things, here.

And when they talked about food, about what they could spare, they kept sneaking glances to their children, who were sneaking glances at Zuko from the huts, sticking their heads just over the snowy ledges like their fur-trimmed hoods would hide them. Their mothers and aunts shooed them away, and they crept back, like barnacle-crabs. Zuko glared, and they disappeared.

“When are your men coming back?” he asked. “They’re hunting, aren’t they?”

Oh. So that was what they looked like, when they weren’t trying to hide their hate.

---

Zuko wrapped himself up in the same blanket that night. It was printed inside with fine lines and images, telling a story he didn’t know. He wondered whose favorite it was.

---

Kanna wondered how quickly he’d wake—if he’d wake—if she built the fire up with wet driftwood and tundra grass, if she had one of the younger girls boost up a child to plug the air hole, if she let the smoke draw its own blanket down over this fire child.

---

It was hard to know when to wake up, because the sun never set. So everyone was up before him, and they all had spears and clubs and—and nets, and trap lines, and snow googles with their single slat to protect the eyes from snow blindness. Zuko had seen those once, at the Ember Island Museum of Ethnography, where they’d gone when it was too rainy for anything more exciting.

Oh. They were going hunting.

“Give me that,” Zuko said, and took a spear.

The women looked at him. One of them adjusted her googles.

“I can hunt,” he scowled.

He did not, in fact, know how to hunt.

---

“Give me that,” the Fire Prince said, and Kanna almost, almost gave him her ulu. Humans, like most animals, had an artery in their legs that would bleed them quick enough.

She kept skinning the rabbit-mink one of the women had snared.

“I can help,” he said, with less grace than most of their toddlers. Likely with the skinning skills of a toddler, too. She wasn’t going to let their unwanted visitor ruin a perfectly good pelt.

“Chop the meat,” she said, and gave him a different knife. “It’s dinner.”

“...This is really sharp,” he said a moment later, looking at the knife with some surprise.

“Is it,” said Kanna.

---

Things the Fire Prince was convinced he could do: hunt (until he realized he couldn’t tell the tracks of a rabbit-mink from a leopard-rabbit apart); spear fish (at least he could dry himself); pack snow for an igloo (frustrated princes ran hot); ice fish (the prince was a problem that kept coming close to solving itself).

Things the Fire Prince could actually do: mince meat, increasingly finely; gather berries and herbs, once he stopped trying to crush them; dig roots, under toddler supervision; mend nets, after the intermediary step of learning to braid hair loopies.

“Can’t I take him ice fishing again?” asked one of the women, as she watched Prince Zuko put as much apparent concentration into braiding her daughter’s hair as his people had into exterminating hers.

“Wait,” said another woman, sitting up straight. “Wait wait wait. I just had an idea.”

---

Three words: Infinite. Hot. Water.

---

Summer was coming to an end. The sun actually set, now, and the night was getting longer, and colder. The salmon-otter nets were mended and ready. The smoking racks were still full of cod-lemmings. The children were all a little older, the women all a little more used to doing both halves of their tribes’ chores; a little more used to not watching the horizon, waiting for help to come.

The Fire Prince was staring at the canoes again.

“Are you actually going to try leaving in one of those?” Kanna asked.

“...No.”

“Come on, then; someone needs to watch the kids while the women are hunting.”

She didn’t leave him alone with them, of course. But she could have.

---

Elsewhere, the war continued.

The moon turned red, for a moment none could sleep through; they did not learn why.

The comet came and went, leaving their castaway prince laying on the beach, his breath fogging up into the night sky above him, as the energy crashed from his system as quickly as it had come. Above, lights began to dance in the sky; Zuko pulled his hood up, so none of those spirits—children, dead too soon—got any ideas about kicking his head off to be their ball.

The war had ended. The world didn’t feel any different; no one in the south would know until spring came again.

---

Suffice it to say, Sokka and Katara were not prepared for this particular homecoming.

[ngatwa]

I know how you feel about him. I watch you, Agatha. Just as closely as you watch everyone else. This walk with another woman's son on a road that doesn't…

[demaparbat-hp]

Grumpy, meet Sunshine.

Quote by @sstarbitss

[misakarose]

vash + close combat

[teddybeartoji]

18+ mdni; gn!reader

thinking about toji the ultimate brat tamer vs two big brats – you and satoru.

you both talked big at first; about how he couldn't handle the two of you at the same time, about how he'd be the one to fold first, about how you'd make him whimper and moan, and yet...

here you are - laying on top of satoru, half limp, while getting pounded like there's no tomorrow. eyes hazy and threatening to roll back inside your head, tears run over the apples of your cheeks and drool trickles from the side of your mouth. he's filling you up so fucking good that you can't even properly moan – the only sounds leaving your pretty lips being shaky breaths and mewls. toji's heavy balls slap against you with every rough thrust and your ass stings from all the times he's slapped your soft, sensitive skin.

toji watches your tight little hole with hungry eyes, he watches you swallow him, he watches himself disappear deep inside you. you're so fucking warm and you feel delicious around him – he's addicted already. he's the only reason you're still half-up on your knees, his big calloused hands hold onto your waist like his life depends on it. he's not letting you go anywhere, no matter how much you want to run from him, from the pleasure.

"'s too much. i– i can't." his dick twitches inside you at your broken whine, clearly enjoying the state that you're in.

"nah." he rasps back. "don't think 's enough, actually."

toji's fingers bruise your skin as he pushes down on your back, making you arch even more for him. he takes his knee from the bed and places it down beside your trembling thigh. he's reaching new depths with this new position and he chuckles darkly when he sees your jaw fall slack.

above you, satoru lets out a muffled groan.

gagged and tied up – the only thing he can do is watch toji fuck your brains out. he can't even hold you, he can't even taste you...

he's never been this hard in his entire life.

your cheek is smushed against his lower stomach and you can feel his cock rubbing against your chest with every thrust toji makes. you're drooling all over satoru and fuck – he really just wishes he could kiss you.

his glassy blue eyes travel from your sweaty body to the man behind you, and he's met with the meanest grin.

"strongest one, hm?"

toji has never felt more powerful than he does in this moment. the legendary satoru gojo – finally at his mercy. tears cascade down his flushed cheeks and his adam's apple bobs, his skin is covered in red marks and sweat, and even though your own body hides satoru's - toji knows he's rock hard. the poor guy can't stop squirming and twitching underneath you, muffled mewls fill the air around you as his head lolls back against the headboard every two seconds.

the tip of his cock grazes against your soft skin but it's far from enough – a layer of his pre-cum coats your chest and your tummy and it's all just so fucking dirty.

toji fucking loves it.

he's going to pound you into the mattress while he watches satoru cry the prettiest tears. he's going to pump you full of his cum and then he's going to eat it out of you until you're passing out from overstimulation while satoru humps the air out of desperation. this is what you both get for talking back to him, for pushing his buttons.

he will make you both beg for his forgiveness and then he'll get to laugh and he'll get to mock – he's not stopping until you're both so fucking cockdrunk that the only thing you remember is his name.

you're both his little playthings now.

[carebeardean]

Charles has always left Edwin little notes slipped between the pages of his favorite books, in his science equipment, places he knows Edwin loves. Just silly things—post its that say “hi Edwin :)”. doodles of Edwin with his nose stuck in a book. reminders to stock up on wolfsbane. but.

Then, post canon, Edwin tentatively starts dating people. And it’s ridiculous, because Edwin’s right there, all the time, but Charles..misses him a bit. And his heads a mess, and he can’t sort out what the hell he’s feeling most of the time, and whenever he tries to say any of it out loud it comes out rubbish.

So. He writes down some of the shit he can’t say right, and because he’s a coward, hides them so he doesn’t have to see Edwin’s face when he reads them.

then Edwin starts writing back.

Neat lilac blue little envelopes appear in Charles coat pockets. In his bag. Once, in his shoe? Some nights, Edwin will clear his throat and mention something from a letter, offhand, like they’re just picking up conversation, and Charles can pretend they are. That they always have talked about the basement, the belt, the nameless fear that chokes him every time Edwin walks out the door with someone else on his arm.

Sometimes he can’t. The words get stuck in his throat. Edwin’s not mad, he’s maddeningly, stubbornly kind about it, which is worse.

Some nights they trade. A secret for a secret. Charles learns about the novels Edwin used to hide under his mattress, about all the lonely years before Charles got there. About Simon.

Meanwhile, Edwin is losing his mind, because Charles has accidentally stumbled onto what was a fucking courting ritual in his time. Love letters were something engaged couples treasured for years, kept and reread over and over. (Edwin does. keep them in a special box, will take one out and trace the words, tuck it in his breast pocket for courage).

Edwin would rather have to reattach a limb again than lose Charles trust, all the dark and beautiful things he shares with Edwin only. He knows—knows Charles doesn’t mean to make him fall more in love with him.

[rockyhoney420]

I LOVE THIS GUY‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

This is Annalise Jensens Essek ouffit design!!! Just btw!! Bc it slayed!!

[snailtrain]

happy end-of-year! :> hope it was a good one ♥

[just-null]

HELLO HANTENGU NATION (5 people)

I'VE MADE AN [unofficial] HEIGHT CHART FOR MYSELF

Hantengu: 5"5 (166cm) Sekido: 5"9 (175cm) Karaku: 5"9 (175cm) Urogi: 5"9 (175cm) Aizetsu: 5"9 (174cm) Zohakuten: 5"3 (160cm) Urami: 8"5 (257cm)

[little aftermath under the cut]

they're so annoying. peace is nonexistent... they're the best ever.

[namelessdumbass]

how is this the same person?!

[kuromi-hoemie]

i am not immune to transmascs in sweatpants and a sleeveless top

im rly fucking weak about it actually

[robintherobiner]

Superman meets Batman for the first time and, because of his superhearing, he can tell that the man’s heart is pounding. Gosh, the poor man must be terrified, after all he does have a rule about no metas. For a human superhero, knowing other people are much stronger must be so scary! So Superman tries his best to seem small and less overwhelming, but Batmans heart rate just keeps going up! Luckily, the man seems to be speaking normally, so maybe its not a big deal? How brave of him, ignoring his fears to help people.

After the Justice League is formed, Clark finds out about Bruce’s contingency plans, and unlike the others, he’s not surprised. He’s already such a paranoid man, but being on a team full of metas, well, Clarks shocked he’s not shaking in his boots. Bruce hides his fear so well! If it wasn’t for his super hearing, he’d never know that Bruce takes a sharp inhale every time he uses his super strength, or that the mans heart starts beating like a million times a minute whenever he enters the room.

Then one day, they’re all in the Watchtower, Bruce drops the pen he was using to write out the plan for their mission, and Clark happily picks it up. As soon as he bends down, Bruce’s heart starts beating rapidly. When he straightens back up, Clarks face is bright red and he can’t meet Bruce’s eye. Is his butt scary?!?!??!

[turtleblogatlast]

I love Raph and haven’t said that enough so to be more specific I love that Raph is a soft boy who loves bear plushies, a gross boy who eats an assortment of things that are definitely better left alone, a smart boy who is more than capable of taking down villains through planning and fortitude alike, a strong boy who is dedicated to training his muscles and fighting prowess, a teenage boy who loves his brothers but is more than happy to tease and roughhouse with them, an angry boy who sometimes lets his anger take a hold of him to cover the fear, a gentle boy who is generous with hugs and affirmations to those he loves, a capable boy who takes on more than should ever be expected of a teenager, a good boy who just wants to be a hero and slowly comes to realize the cost of that duty, a good boy who has no reservations about putting himself in the way of harm coming to his family, a good boy who’s a great brother and son and person and deserves only the best the world has to offer.

[sadzane]