#i know who my first call will be to

[fairyboygenius]

fresh out the slammer- simon riley x fem!reader

we’ve all got that one destructive situationship…

a/n: i have no idea what this is lol. was listening to ttpd as i do and had this idea. might make this a series with a different song for different characters??

cw: alcohol consumption, brief suggestive content

now, pretty baby, i’m running back home to you

two knocks on the door.

you took a deep breath, pulling out your phone to reread the text.

come over whenever, love. i’m home.

just as you were about to raise your fist to the door to knock again, it swings open. he wasn’t wearing his mask. a bandaid rested on the bridge of his nose, bags under his eyes seeming slightly less prominent than usual. his eyes swept over you, the tiniest bit of concern flashing across his face before his expression became stoic again.

“come on in.”

fresh out the slammer, i know who my first call will be to

the wine was cold-just how he knew you liked it. a crisp, crunchy white that almost tasted like sunlight. too bad you were feeling anything but sunny.

“he cheated on me.” the words felt heavy on your tongue, foreign. it was objectively true- you had literally walked in on him fucking another woman in your bed. that was merely two hours ago, though, and the bile in your stomach was still simmering at a low level.

“fuckin’ idiot.”

you tried to ignore how simon’s lips caressed the side of the lowball glass.

“told ya he was trouble, doll. never looked at you like you deserve.”

his voice was raspy, a sure indicator that this wasn’t his first drink. so was the toe-curling way he looked at you, brown eyes drifting over your face and down your body. he only got this open in his desire with some liquid courage in his system, but you’d take what you could get. with him especially.

“and what do i deserve?” the question was a trap. honey falling from your lips purely to draw the bear in front of you closer. your tricks were well-rehearsed- leading questions, cinnamon perfume, vanilla lip balm, a low-cut tank top. they worked every time.

his hand reached out, brushing the side of your arm. jackpot.

“little vixen,” he groaned, eyes falling to your lips involuntarily. “this is just unfair at this point.”

“what, are you seeing anyone seriously?”

“you think i’d invite you over if i was?”

your lips curled up in a smile. the banter, you could do no problem. “we both know commitment doesn’t mean much to you.”

“i haven’t kicked you as a habit. that’s gotta show some dedication.”

you reached up, intertwining your fingers with his as you took a sip of your wine. “and here i thought i was just keeping your bed warm.”

and when he leaned in and kissed you, sunlit wine mixing with stormy bourbon, you swore it was to prove a point.

[youdontneedhenry]

Manifesting now the incredible edits y'all are going to make with Fresh Out the Slammer when we get the scene of Patrick Nash leaving prison and Eliza Scarlet waiting for him across the street, and them exchanging a little smile. MANIFESTING IT NOOOW. I think @queenthyatira (maybe @angelsleeps??) was the first to say they're so this song, but I can't stop thinking about the visuals we might get in season 5 for it!!

[coldblooded-angel]

Rip Randy Bradley, you would’ve loved “But Daddy, I Love Him”, “Fresh Out the Slammer”, “I Can Fix Him(No Really I Can)” by Taylor Swift

[umblrspectrum]

hi heres art so you pay attention to me now go read the tags

[lotus-pear]

god i love skk sm i wish gay ppl were real :(

[fluffyartbl0g]

Holy crap this is like world record breaking pace guys

Speedrun/Time Travel AU masterlist

[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.

[egophiliac]

the lovers, reversed

(aka I'm still freaking out about Jou)

[silusvesuius]

baby👶 drawings. these are very dear to me rn.. 2nd pic is my Nelavis with @barvin0k's Varonur 🩵 last one is a baby bosmer and snow elf, hairiest of them all. although the bosmer was meant to be my girl Barletta too lols

[starry-bi-sky]

Blood Blossom Au: Baby's First Commissioner Meeting :)

TL:DR This Post: Danny (orphan) gets poisoned with blood blossom extract by Vlad. He runs away from him and ends up under the care of one Pre-Robin Battinson Batman! Starry is loudly pushing her batdad agenda.

(Also known as "Late At Night, When The Nightingale Sings" on my ao3!)

This was a fun rough idea I've been sitting on for weeks, thinking about how Commissioner Gordon and Nightingale's first meeting might go.

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

Commissioner Gordon likes to think that he's adjusting to the new normal of Gotham very well, -- the new normal being grown men running around dressed like bats, in military-grade strength body armor, committing acts of vigilantism, -- and slowly, little by little, he was no longer being surprised when this new normal pops up out of the shadows like the world's most terrifying daisy. His shaving lifespan thanks him for it.

....

The kid is a surprise though.

Granted, he seemed to be a surprise to the Bat too.

There's been a string of murders lately, -- which, in Gotham, is kind of like saying there's been another storm during monsoon season. And there's just been another; in some dilapidated building down in south Gotham, with the broken, boarded-up windows and mildew-crawling walls to match. The victim is a man in his thirties, multiple gunshot wounds to the chest, left in the center of the room for the blood to pool out around him.

The place is already secured when he arrives, the building swarmed with officers and the forensic detectives. The Bat emerges shortly after he does -- or, he might've been here the whole time, hiding someplace dark and shadowy. For his own sanity, Gordon doesn't think about it too hard.

The kid is a surprise, and he appears like a bolt of lightning.

He shows up in the middle of a conversation Gordon is having with the Bat.

A whistle, sharp and loud, slicing through the air, meant for open air rather than a confined space. Gordon's ears pierce and protest the sound, and the solemn, murmured chatter floating through the room abruptly cuts off like the swing of a gavel. As he turns towards the sound -- as they all do -- he swears, up and down, that he sees Batman's shoulders jump, just slightly.

At the source, perched on the window, is a boy. A boy in a gray-blue scarf and an oversized black hoodie, one that hangs off his frame and has ace bandages wrapped around the wrists in some attempt to cinch the sleeves. The hood is up, big like the rest of it, and threatens to swallow the upper half of the boy's face whole in the fabric. What upper half Gordon can see, is smeared with some kind of opaque, black face paint. He's holding onto the side of the frame with one hand, on his hip is a grappling hook. A familiar grappling hook.

Gordon has multiple questions, and his officers tense up.

Martinez puffs up, brows furrowing as his face shapes into a frown. Shoulders rolling back. "You can't be here, kid--"

The reaction is immediate, like a spark to gunpowder, the boy yanks his fingers from his mouth and his mouth twists into a scowl. Head snapping over to Officer Martinez, his hood manages to stay on but Gordon swears that as he bares his teeth, the glint makes them look sharper than they should be. His voice is rasp and quiet and harsh; snappish in its hissing; "Put a fuckin sock in it, Martinez. I'm not stayin."

Martinez reels back, and the boy immediately veers his attention off him. Like a switch, his demeanor drops. Despite half his face being covered, his mouth twists into a cringing, apologetic smile. Slanted and off-beat, embarrassed. It'd be disarming if this wasn't Gotham, and if he didn't just hiss at Martinez like he was about to bite his head off.

"Sorry." He whispers, voice deceptively polite and softer now. Gordon has to strain his ears to hear him. "I was looking for him."

He points his finger towards-- Gordon? No, Gordon follows the direction, and finds himself looking at -- the Bat.

The Bat, who always looks stiff as a pole, now looks even stiffer. Somehow. Well, the explains the grappling hook attached to the boy's waist.

"What are you doing here?" The Bat says, gruff and unable to completely smother the stumble of surprise in his tone.

The boy still holds a sheepish smile, and slips off the window ledge. His feet hit the creaky boards with a near-silent thud, the Batman finds his feet and rapidly begins crossing the room.

Gordon notes the slight tremble in the boy's legs as he straightens. He adjusts his scarf, which droops close to his knees now that he's standing, and slings a backpack -- how long has had that? -- off his shoulders. When the Bat reaches his side, he does as he always does, and looms over the boy like a spectre. A threatening mass of shadows cloaked in all-consuming black. Standing next to him, the boy looks teeny in comparison.

The Bat is a man who terrifies even the most hardened criminals, Gordon has seen grown men shiver in fear at the mention of his name. And yet when the boy looks up at him, he doesn't even flinch.

Instead, his sheepish smile melts away like ice under the sun, holding only traces of his previous embarrassment. It remains as a shadow on his face, a small upturn at the corners of his mouth. The boy pushes his hood back just enough to reveal glinting, ice-flint eyes surrounded in tar-black face paint. He holds the backpack up with one arm. "You forgot this."

[verflares]

collection of some loz origin au stuff i've been chipping away at for awhile now ^_^ with a healthy amount of dunmeshi insp for good measure LOL (the ooccoo isnt relevant she's just here for size comparison purposes)

feat my beloved good friend @linkvcr's hylia design also. because i am obsessed with her and you should be too 🫵

[milkbreadtoast]

idk how i want to draw him yet and not ready to make a srs attempt but here's a bad kdj phone doodle lol🚶🏻

[lesspopped]

unintentional subtext is not queerbaiting. intentional subtext is not queerbaiting. queercoding is not queerbaiting. queer themes are not queerbaiting. queer themes in works by cishet creators are still not queerbaiting. writers of any gender identity/sexual orientation seeing fans pick up on queer themes and intentionally playing up those themes as much as they can get away with are not queerbaiting. chemistry between actors is not queerbaiting. chemistry between actors who then decide it’s more interesting that way and lean into it is not queerbaiting. a real cishet person behaving in ways that do not perfectly and completely fit with your idea of what cishet people of their gender are supposed to be is not queerbaiting. I am going to scream

[demigods-posts]

i saw this post the other day about annabeth and how she doesn't have a birth certificate because she was never technically born. and that raises so many interesting questions. like, does she even legally exist? does she have a fake ID? i don't need sleep. i need answers.

[firestorm09890]

Y'ALL. Y'ALL so for a long time I've believed that "the sun" in Meursault's story is Carmen, and I went to check Hell's Chicken's dialogue to see exactly how he said that he'd dealt with distortions before, and... you know what else he said?

To my knowledge, it is a phenomenon where an individual morphs into a form often unfit to be considered “human”. It has no known causes, and the appearances were all different.

Unfit to be considered human.

Meursault, who, in his book, was judged by the court to be soulless.

Meursault, who has EGO for Cyborgs who have been so mutilated they barely act like people anymore; a murderer who was experimented on until ceasing to be human; a sheep named after Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, a novel about the humanity of androids and the inhumanity of humans; and now a rose that can't help its bloodsucking nature, based on Carmilla, a vampire whose story emphasized the duality between her vampiric traits and her human ones.

Meursault, who answered Heathcliff's ironic question of if he had metal for brains like this:

I'm placing my bets now, that line from Hell's Chicken is foreshadowing for Meursault's canto even more than "I have witnessed a number of [distortion] cases in the past" was

[introspectivememories]

im sorry but i choose to believe that tim drake is the most insufferable "my man, my man, my man" girl about bear. he does not shut up about him. steph is cooking smth in the kitchen? oh my man can do that. bear cooks really well. dick triaging some poor victim on an emergency site? oh my man is really good at that. mhmm, bear is on his way to becoming a paramedic. damian building something? oh my man is really good with power tools. have you ever seen him build ikea? it takes him less than an hour. for our anniversary, he built me a coffee table. mhmm isn't he amazing? yeah my man did that. yeah my man, mhmm that's my ma-