#home calls

[ideas-ideasideasideas]

Batman gives each of his Robins a different code to use when they’re in trouble and need immediate extraction. He promises that when they call, he’ll drop everything just to get to them, come hell or high water.

Jason, during his time with the League, shares his code with Damian, to be used “only in the direst of circumstances, when you have exhausted all other options.” He doesn’t know if Bruce will answer, given how fractured their relationship was before he died, but it is better than nothing. Every tool counts when they live such dangerous lives.

Damian uses it exactly once, and Bruce, who still feels the loss of his son like a yawning chasm in his chest, responds to it even though he knows it can’t be Jason because Jason’s dead. What he finds, instead of Jason, is a boy in League garbs, drenched in blood from the tips of his midnight-black hair to his too-small feet, with a face that Bruce sees himself and Talia in, requesting asylum from a grandfather who wishes to possess his body. Bruce doesn’t question how this boy who is so clearly his son knew the code. Talia al Ghul is resourceful and places family above all; the code is not beyond her abilities to discover, and she is not above using Bruce’s desperate love for his dead son to ensure that hers does not meet the same fate.

Bruce takes Damian in, because of course he does, and since Jason is dead he allows Damian to keep using the code. After all, it’s not like Jason is alive to use it, right? If someone uses the code, there’s no one it could be but Damian, right?

The next time the code is used, Bruce traces the location to Gotham even though Damian was supposed to be in Bludhaven visiting Dick. But whatever happened that resulted in Damian being in Gotham can wait, because he has already failed one son and he will not fail another, his son is in trouble and he needs to get to him, he needs to—

What he finds, instead of Damian, is a boy (just eighteen, too young, but also too old, but also he will always be a boy to him) in League garbs, drenched in blood from the tips of his midnight-black hair to his too-large feet (when had he gotten so big), wearing the face of his dead son.

(Who, maybe, just maybe, may no longer be so dead.)

[saizun]

seashell teapots.

[yooo-lets-go]

Johnny, you with me?

[gothghostiie]

thinking about something that happened to me while babysitting and I am unable to cope with it so obviously I have to make it something for yall

thinking about babysitter!reader being hired by price, you just go to check on the little one in their nursery. the baby is sleeping peacefully, you close the door - but the handle fucking breaks off. naturally you start to panic, the baby is in there all alone and you can't get in, so you call price in literal tears. telling him what happened, desperately scrambling around to look at the baby monitor. He tells you to take a breath, trying to get you to calm down, that its okay, he'll come home.

you're sat on the couch, crying in a panic while watching the blisfully unaware baby over the monitor until Price gets home. he comes in, making a beeline to the small utility room, then to the nursery. its an easy and quick fix, you definitely could have done it yourself you think as you watch over his shoulder. he opens the door quickly and sees the sleeping baby before closing the door with a chuckle and turning to you. you're still sniffling, babbling soft apologies, telling him youll understand if he doesn't pay or ever hires you again - but he shakes his head and leads you to the couch with him, sitting you down.

"sit, love. take a breath." he murmurs, vanishing to the kitchen, from where he comes back a minute later with a cup of tea that he hands you. sits down next to you, then gently pulls you into his side. "C'mere now. its alright bird, don't cry now."

[originalartblog]

Someone's last crush didn't live up to the hype 😬

[idontmindifuforgetme]

[wombywoo]

business

[writingfromasgard]

"She was perfect. The only thing going for me." Simon mumbled, alcohol blazing through his veins as he leaned on Soap.

"She didnae break up wit' ya, mate. She needed tae go feed her dog." Soap snorted.

"I can still smell her perfume, Jawnny." Simon sniffled.

[time-woods]

isnt it so strange how something can be so so so different yet at the sum of its parts its still the same? hard concept to grasp,,

full ver plus before i rendered!! (iv been rendering a bit different as of late and its basically just me not doing anything else in between the sketch and render)) (this is based off of PartyCoffins tumblr post! i needa go to bed so i shall find the link to it tomorrow)

[dragonpyre]

The real reason Jason Todd hasn’t legally come back to life is cuz he’d be expected to do Wayne Family shit in public, and honestly he’d rather not

[fight-nights-at-freddys]

i’m sorry but this is so shitty. i get not wanting to see nsfw of your characters, and i totally respect any creator setting boundaries and asking people not to send them that stuff. HOWEVER, you have to accept that once you make your characters public, people are going to treat them in ways you don’t personally like.

making a COPYRIGHT FORM so people go on a witch hunt, just so you can copyright strike them (falsely, mind you. fanfic and fanart fall under transformative works) is such a gross thing to do.

it doesn’t matter if the characters were based off your childhood, or personal experiences. it doesn’t matter how tightly you want to guard them and keep them safe and pure. the only solutions are setting boundaries between you and your fanbase, removing the characters from public eye and stop making content for them publicly, or learn to ignore it.

going all anne rice over people sexualizing a character is not the way to go though.

[soyochii]

Grown adults but also Highschool bullies fr

[fanaticalthings]

Jason:

Also Jason:

when you're worried about your dad but you also have a reputation

Masterlist

[bi-writes]

can't stop thinking about dark!simon with a sunshine!curvy!fem!reader, it's gnawing at my brain. (18+)

greeting him when he comes home in a little apron with dough smeared across your cheeks. you're bouncing in the kitchen, giggling as you wrap your arms around his neck. one burly arm hooks around your waist as he palms one side of your ass, and you kiss his lips over his blood-soaked mask again and again as you coo, "missed you so much, made you chocolate chip..."

you talk and talk and talk and talk. you're always talking. you're always whispering in his ear and chattering as he drives and telling him some story about something he missed while he was gone as you tidy up the flat. you never stop talking, never run out of things to tell him, and despite the monotone voice and the lack of response, he hears every single word that you say, and he forgets nothing. when he makes his way back on base, johnny is waiting, eager to hear an update about the receptionist at your work and if she is actually sleeping with your manager.

you wash his clothes without even blinking. you're at the sink, a bucket of cold, suddy water there as you scrub at his shirt. there's peroxide at the side, and you use a delicate hand as you scrub at the stains on it. ghost watches from the doorway as you hum to yourself, in a little pair of shorts with your hair tied up as you rinse the shirt clean. blood runs down the drain, and his shirt is clean as new.

you always find some kind of weapon around the house. you bend down to brush crumbs off the kitchen chairs, and you scold simon with a glossy pout because he left a bloody knife taped under the table. you whine when you find a grenade sitting in the same drawer you keep your tampons in. you complain when you take out the jar of rice to make dinner, and there's a small handgun hidden between the grains. but your face always softens when he cups your cheeks with two big hands, kissing you warmly, muttering, "gotta keep y'safe, luvvie...know there's a bloody line waitin' for a taste of y'r cunny, baby."

you visit him on base once in light wash denim and a white tshirt, sneakers hitting the linoleum and purse swinging as you wave at him. he's standing in front of a line of privates, watching them do jumping jacks, and his eyes light up a little when he sees you waving at him enthusiastically. when he finally makes it to you, he shoves you into the nearest supply closet and tugs your jeans down just enough to fit his cock between your thighs. when he's walking you out, the boys watch as you cling to simon's arm, a lovesick grin on your sweaty face as you flutter your lashes up at him.

he loves when your manicured hands touch him. scratching along his scalp, tracing the edge of his jaw, cupping the bulge in his pants. you're so sweet, the most giggly girl, and he loves tasting the strawberry of your gloss as you make him cum with your hand, cooing against his lips about how strong he is, how much you love him, how you would do anything for him.

he loves it most when you see him for what he really is. when he comes home battered and bruised, bloody clothes sticking to him, a snarl to his voice and the adrenaline of an op still pumping through his veins. he loves that nothing about him scares you. that even like this, you lean up on your toes and kiss him softly, that you get some of the blood and dirt smudges on the pink of your pajama pants, and you don't care, that he strangled a man with these very hands only hours ago, and you still want him to touch you.

he loves that you love him. that when he feeds his cock into you that night, in nothing but your baby pink lingerie, that you barely need any prep at all from how wet you are. thick thighs spreading apart, sticky slick shining on your skin, cunt nice and ready for him because you have missed him that much. he loves that no matter how ugly he feels, you always find him attractive, that no matter how many people he tells you that he killed tonight, all you do is smile and pucker your lips, and tell him, "it's okay, teddy bear, they deserved it, didn't they?" and yeah, they did, cause it is kill or be killed, and there is no universe where ghost does not fight to get back here, to get back to this pretty pussy, to get back to the bed he shares with you so he can watch those pretty tits bounce every time he fucks his cock into you.

ghost loves his pretty girl. all smiles. all soft, so cute, just perfect. ghost casts a shadow over the room, and you just brighten it right back up. ghost tracks blood into the house, and there you are to cover it all up with citrus and soap.

yeah. always just sunshine and smiles at home.

[hajimedics]

I'M NOT YOUR DOLL AND I'LL THINK FOR MYSELF AND I'LL LIVE FOR MYSELF