#sorry. ahem | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

Tumblr has been banned in Indonesia for providing people with access to pornographic content.

superbattrash · 9 months

Note

hiiiii bb!!! for the ask game: 3 and/or 15 💛💛💛

HI MY BEELOVED (heh) ❤️❤️❤️

What’s a fic idea you have but haven’t written yet?

Oh man, too many. My notes app is a chaotic mess of little ideas and snippets, I tell ya. Oh, but I haven’t actually started writing my de-aged Clark fic yet. It’s - you guessed it - Clark getting de-aged and Bruce trying to take care of him while he panics because he can’t understand who this vampire looking dude is or what he’s doing in this creepy cave and where’s his mom and dad? There’s probs gonna be loss of control and maybe nightmare snuggles 🥺 and I’m obviously gonna have to make it pre-relationship so that I can throw angst in there with little!clark asking Bruce who they are to each other and such. Anyway. Yes. That.

Aaaaand are there words, phrases, mannerisms or scenes you tend to use a lot?

You mean besides my annoying use of semi colon and italics? Yeah, sure, I’ve noticed I use “because of course he does/doesn’t” quite a bit. My language is also quite simple (blame English not being my first language for that) and I love the sentence “he’s a lying liar who lies” although I think I’ve only used it twice maybe. Hmm. I do tend to make Bruce very, very autism coded even if he’s not explicitly said to be autistic 😂 hashtag projecting onto the blorbos am I right ladies

Oh, and I love adding stuff like “he probably does, the bastard”, “of course he knows, the asshole”, “he would, the jerk” throughout the internal monologue parts, heh

#beeeeeeeee do we have a tag for theeeee #sorry. ahem #beeloved #mishask #fanfic writer game

4 notes · View notes

radiance1 · 8 months

Text

The Justice League summons the Ghost King for his help with a certain something [you can decide what that is].

They expected something mighty, something that screamed royalty and was distinctly something other.

What they didn't expect, was for the Ghost King to appear in nothing but farmer attire, holding a bush, and humming.

Now, you see. Pariah Dark was enjoying his retirement, sure, he was still King, but in reality, the Ghost Zone no longer needed a king since it fell into Anarchy and sure, he could've just forced everything back together under his lone rule. But then a small koi passing through time whispered within his ear a most tempting offer.

And, well, he truly was unable to resist such temptation.

So, there he was, enjoying his afterlife on earth (or one of many) on a farm. His day started as normally as it would any other, waking up (and isn't that such an unusual thing?), fixing his bedding, taking a shower, preparing breakfast, eating said breakfast, and out the door to start his day.

All things that humans do, something he never thought he would do, but such a thing was... actually quite nice.

He walked around his farm, tending to his crops, taking care of any offending intruders upon his small kingdom, and picking up the ones that were ready to sell. Then he took out a brush and got to one of the best parts of his days.

Brushing his horses.

So of course, he had to be ripped away from his daily reward in the midst of a summoning. He was very disappointed, to say the least, he got used to not using his powers often in his new afterlife, so him not falling to the ground was purely his lower body strength.

He stopped humming, sighed, placed the brush in his pocket and looked over at the people who summoned him, vaguely recognizing them as that one group humans... liked? Raged? He doesn't know the exact words they used nowadays.

Okay, he could do this, he could be nice.

"What pathetic mortal creatures would dare summon a being higher than themselves."

Or not.

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc #dcxdp #Ya'll #I swear to Arceus #This is a GHOST KING PARIAH DARK POST #NOT A GHOST KING DANNY ONE #FuCK #Ahem #I'm sorry I know it's a popular headcanon but #Ah #No #<3 #Pariah Dark was summoned specifically because he was the Ghost King #And I am NOT hearing any Ghost King Danny reblogs sneaking their way in here #Just #Making that clear

688 notes · View notes

bakubunny · 4 days

Text

dreaming abt being erasermic’s pretty little bunny hybrid that’s shy and nervous around them. bunny!reader who has a cute, snuggly new bed to settle into, but you’d rather hide in the box it came in; it feels safer than this big, scary, new place. unbeknownst to you for now, hizashi finds you holed up in the box… because your cute tail sticks out just a bit too much.

he wanted to give it a little tug, give you a pet, but he didn’t want to frighten such a sweet thing like you. so instead hizashi takes picture after picture of your soft bunny butt and your fluffy cottontail. he sends them all to shota, cooing over text about how adorable you are.

eventually you warm up to them. you try the cozy bed they made just for you, and it’s perfect. you accept the way they snuggle you up and pet you, the way they talk to you differently than they do to each other, thinking you don’t understand what’s going on. one day while you’re cuddled with them hizashi’s phone lights up on the charging dock. his screen shows a picture of you sleeping ass up, finally comfy in your new bed with your legs all stretched out.

inspired by a convo with @dcsiremc & @neon-gothicc

#also hi hello #daddy zashi helping his sweet lil hybrid adjust to having heats #daddy shota making sure you’re sated #letting them love on you in general #ahem #fucking ignore me pls #sorry #aizawa shouta #yamada hizashi #x reader #bnha #mha #erasermic x reader #bakubunny

178 notes · View notes

st-hedge · 10 days

Text

Who’s this edgelord prick

#process #NEWO ANGEWO #ahem sorry #nelo angelo #dmc #Vergil Sparda #hey ugly

150 notes · View notes

figureskatingpenguin · 5 months

Text

Yuzuru Hanyu: Through the Years

Wishing Yuzu, aka the first and only male skater to ever achieve a career super slam, a very happy 29th birthday! As always, I'll be cheering you on! May you find happiness as you continue chasing your passion and dreams 🥳💗

programs (from left to right, top to bottom): ・haru yo koi, seimei 2.0, notte stellata ・heaven & earth, parisienne walkways, origin 1.0 ・hope & legacy, hana ni nare, ballade no. 1 in g minor 3.0

#figure skating #yuzuru hanyu #happy birthday!#where is roncapu you say #ahem sorry the hana ni nare close up was better #fskateedit #my gifs #back to scheduled programming aka gpf 2023 soon

266 notes · View notes

sun-snatcher · 2 months

Text

🌾 ・ OF CLARION CALLS

summ. The rebellion runs into trouble, & Jet takes the brunt of it. In the aftermath, you fight to keep him alive. pairing. Jet x f!medic!reader w.count. 1.5k a/n. So little Jet fics/imagines around so i had to take matters into my own hands. Enjoy!

The moonlight casts a halo above your head, and for a brief moment, Jet thinks you’re a divine spirit, perhaps a goddess— or whatever it is his mother used to read to him before bed.

( In some ways, you are. )

…Jet, he hears, distant. He can’t pinpoint exactly where— every sound is either muffled or echoing, and the world keeps tipping in and out of a blur. All he can sense through the haze is the belt of dull pain creeping up his chest, and the cotton-numbness engulfing his head. Right. He’d been shot clean through his armor plate by a wayward arrow after he’d jumped infront of Sneers to protect him. He remembers now, vaguely. It had been an ambush on their way home.

...et, stay with me.

Jet.

“Jet!”

The world focuses. He inhales, sharp, and the pain blinds him white as he gasps.

“Easy there, handsome,” you joke (not really), holding his twitching body down and trying to meet his dazed look. The blood is thick enough to taste, and one look is enough to tell he’s walking a tightrope between life or death. He's growing colder, and losing colour by the minute. You make quick work to staunch the gaping wound in his chest, hope he can’t detect the shakiness in your hands, or the tears gathering in your eyes. “You’re gonna be okay.”

“Will he?” comes a voice behind the two medics crowding him. It’s Smellerbee, standing at the step of the medical tent; her voice sounds uncharacteristically frightened, and it sends a pang through your heart. I’m fine, Jet instinctively wants to insist, but you answer for him instead. “Yes. He will." ( And, well, surely such a small deception would not count against you, not when it was meant to give the others some measure of peace. )

Jet blinks, finally orienting himself enough to look at you and not through you— and blinks again. You’re lying. He could feel it. He could always tell, whenever it comes to you.

…Stay, he thinks, suddenly and senselessly, and clasps his bloodied hand around your wrist. He calls your name, voice straining in pain. But he must’ve said it aloud instead, because you’d smiled at him as gently as you could— even when it looked as if the effort of doing so would wound you— and said, calmly, convincingly: I promise, I’m not going anywhere.

“With me?” he asks, again, even when he knows he must’ve sounded like a madman. Perhaps it’s the bloodloss. Likely, it was. It wouldn’t be such a bad end, though, so long as you stood by his side. He wants to tell you this— been wanting to for a long time, now— but the strength has left him, leaving him floating somewhere between the world of waking and dreaming.

“With you,” comes your reply.

You catch the ghost of his trademark smile just before he slips away.

Jet survives.

That’s the first surprise.

The second is that; you’re here. Just as you’d promised.

He must have been out for longer than he thinks, because the atmosphere in the medical tent seemed to have ebbed to something much more conducive than last he remembers. The tinctures of alcohol and sedatives surrounding him and his bloody bandages that night are now replaced with dry ingredients; yarrow half-crushed in a mortar and pestle, mixed herbs and colourful liquids corked in tiny bottles and tins he couldn’t begin to name. His armour had been stripped from him, lying above a chest by the corner.

Ever the leader; “Sneers,” is the first word out his mouth, once he’d stirred awake on his cot and recognition returned slowly to him. It’s early sometime in the morning, judging by the colour of the sky outside the tattered tent flaps and the still quietness in the air. Beside him, an incense of sandalwood burns. “Sneers—”

“Is alive, thanks to you,” you override. The faint bitterness in your voice is not lost on him.

Somehow, someway, seeing him conscious now seemed to make you bristle. You think— no, you know— that it’s unfair of you; that it’s simply the pent-up frustrations and stress overflowing from the night he’d been hauled back to camp with one foot in the grave. But Longshot’s harrowing clarion call for a medic from the trees still rings clear as a bell in your head, just as much as the cold shock that had seized you the moment you realised the birdcall was for Jet.

“Good.”

“Not good,” you correct, “Not when you of all people pay the price.”

( Jet doesn’t delude himself into thinking that there could possibly be another meaning to what you said. It would be impossible. ) “You would’ve done the same,” he bites back, and takes your silence as quiet agreement.

“You’re upset,” Jet points out, narrowing his eyes. “Why?”

A sigh. “You just woke up,” you dismiss, if only to get him off your scent. “We can talk another day.”

“We’re already here, so let’s settle it now. The mission went well, and as far as I can see, I’m the only one in here, which means nobody else got hurt on the way back but me. Atleast, not as badly.”

It’s a debrief, you recognise. A coping mechanism for him— to spur himself into action and settle himself. Given the stress and trauma his body has been enduring the past days, you let it pass.

It’s only when you shift out from your seat by his cot, standing to begin putting away the bowls of medicine prepared, that Jet realises your fingers had been holding his wrist before. You must have stayed up for, what he can only imagine to be long nights, to keep track on whether his pulse was still beating. ( Something inside his chest burns. He can’t tell if it’s your doing or the injury being fussy. )

“I’m sorry,” he huffs, sighing out. “If that’s what you wanna hear.”

“For what?” You set the mortar down on your table with more force than necessary, and looked at him sharply from over your shoulder. Jet, damn him, still looks at you straight in the eyes, confident as ever. You want to kiss him. You want to break his nose. “For being a hero?”

“No.”

“Playing martyr?”

“No.”

“For saving Sneers? Everyone?”

“No—”

“Then what?”

“For scaring you,” he says, simply.

Your heart starts.

A frisson runs through you, and you feel the back of your eyes begin to burn.

“I’m sorry you had to see me like that,” he emphasises, and doesn’t say, I’m sorry I made you cry, because your prideful self would have denied it instantly, even if he remembers it clear as day. “I’m sorry I put you through that.”

He yanks at a loose thread on the blanket you’d laid on him a night ago. It must have been terrifying to see him be dragged to the table, half-dead with a broken arrow in his chest, and leave a mess of blood and horror in his wake. It must have been terrifying, indeed, to be the one responsible for him against Death itself— to carry the weight of his life on your shoulders, while the rest of the Freedom Fighters watched on.

“It’s, it’s my job,” you turn away to close a drawer of medical instruments, because you’re not quite sure you can stand meeting his gaze. Not when it only reminds you of just how much he lived, breathed and bleeds chaos and revolution; not when you know this accident definitely won’t be the last.

You can’t handle him. Or maybe it’s yourself you can’t handle, when it comes to him. “Just, be careful.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he salutes mockingly, albeit with a wince. The flinch is what kicks you back into action.

“You’re staying in bed until you’re better,” you order, curt, ignoring his groan. His wrapped shoulder still seems painfully defiant despite all the numbing you’d given him; it would be a couple of weeks longer before he’d be fully healed, but knowing Jet— he’ll be up performing duties within a week. “That means no strain at all. No scouting or recon or hunting, got it?”

He lulls his head, but there’s a dash of humour on his face. “Since I’m bedridden, does that mean you’re at my every beck and call, then?”

Your face twists. He lets out a laugh when you answer, "In your dreams, Jet."

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

You roll your eyes, though without heat, and place a bowl of fresh water by his side. There is, at the very least, a smile on your face, and Jet’s sure he can sleep well tonight knowing you both are, at the end of the day, okay.

“Hey,” he calls your name, once you've begun making your way out the tent. You try to ignore how much more sweeter it sounds coming from him. “I really am sorry. I’m serious.”

He had caught your sleeve when he spoke, so your fingers now brush against his. You try not to focus on the touch too much. “So am I.”

“We can’t lose you, Jet,” you continue, unsteady; because saying I can’t lose you would have been unthinkable.

280 notes · View notes

cha1cedony · 6 months

Text

Just thinking about how Frank’s watch that Grant got from Darryl has a little mark etched into its face of the when the dads were supposed to kill Grant and eat his skin 😀👍 Darryl scratched the time into the watch when they jumped off the bus in For Knights.

And now that time is forever on Grant’s wrist: a reminder of how he was supposed to die, how he cheated death, how he was forced to cheat death by killing something else. The watch has been broken for years. Its hands are frozen, and I wonder if that reminds him of Frank’s death or of his own… his childhood that died in that moment. He’s forever that scared little 12 year old blindly swinging an axe too big for his body and hoping to (praying not to) kill something.

#or if it reminds him of Frank… and how Darryl’s childhood died with him #ahem ahemn anyway.#chalcy stuff #dungeons and daddies #dndads #tw violence #tw death #cw violence #cw death #idk how to tag content warnings on Tumblr :( sorry #or if it’s necessary #but better to be safe than sorry ig #I am still new and relatively inactive here okay 😭

307 notes · View notes

Last Seen Blogs

hoshkoos

ttlyblogs

Totally Blogs

muffinman1901

Child Of Dionysus

peacekeeperangel

The Junk Drawer

orzuie

Local Vampire