#me: OH WOW...

[bl00dalchemist]

something something parallels

[stargirlrchive]

simon’s work wife

one — two — three — four — five

people start calling u simon’s work wife and he takes it literally. starts referring to you as the ‘missus’, your cheeks warming as his heavy hand rest on your hips to pull you into him.

he’s snarling at one of the recruits that stared at you a little too long for his liking, caging you in against his big ass frame. that same recruit later coming to you a stuttering mess, apologizing because he didn’t know you were married.

you aren’t, but you’re too shocked to comment on it.

and when you confront simon he just shrugs his shoulders lazily, staring at you with darkened eyes as he mumbles, “ya’ didn’t deny it.”

it ends with you moving in, you aren’t sure how it started—or if you were even in an actual relationship but everywhere and anywhere you go he’s calling you his wife.

[prlssprfctn]

Jason Todd arrives to the Gotham after being brought back alive for the first time, and while building up his career as Red Hood, visits Harvey Dent in the Arkham. They talk in a surprising peace, discuss this and this, and Jason even shares some of his insane ass lore, because, honestly, who is going to believe Harvey Dent?

And no one doesn't.

But there is a problem. The next time Bruce Wayne visits Harvey, Harvey randomly drops a bomb on him by saying that he is so, so glad that their Jaylad is back, and he grew up so much, looks so much like Bruce now! He even tries to assure him that, you see, yeah, Jason was dead, but he crawled out of his grave, and then, the Lazarus Pit fixed him!

Bruce thinks Harvey finally had reached the end of his line. Like, low-key, the last stage of insanity.

Harvey: God, he is still so well-mannered. I feel so pleased that he came to visit old me first, though. I always thought I was his favourite over you.

Bruce, laughing awkwardly, while asking the medics to add some new medicine to Harvey: Ahaha, yeah, that sounds like our Jaylad.

Harvey: Super happy for him, seriously. I mean, look at him, getting himself a new career as a Red Hood. That's our son. Feel a little bit bitter that he is into Al Ghuls family now, but that's fine.

Bruce, frowning, because Harvey isn't supposed to know about Al Ghuls and their connection to Lazarus Pit or about Red Hood: Uh, had J-Jason said something else to you?

Harvey: Oh, damn, we spoke for the whole night. He was pissed at you, though. Like, for the Tim guy, whoever he is.

Bruce, turning to the doctors: ...Maybe, uh, give me the same pills you gave him. I feel like I need it, too.

[forgettable-au]

FORGETTABLE-AU (page 97-100)

* Where could she be?

[BEGINNING] [PREVIOUS] [CONTINUE]

[blgblue]

[princesa-buck]

walk with me. eddie is back at the 118. it’s his first day back and he didn’t tell buck he was starting already (even though they’re living together and he had to rush to get ready after buck left and kept biting back a smile when buck rambled about how great it would be when eddie was finally working with him- he means the whole team again, because they alll miss him so much of course ) because he wanted to surprise him and he walks in, all smiles with his canine teeth showing and his little sunglasses pushed up onto his beautiful ungelled hair with the slut strand on his forehead and the sun shining behind him like it always does in bucks pov bc they’re in a romcom and buck is so enamored and excited to have eddie back he walks right into the glass locker room wall in his rush to greet him

[cinnasite]

SOS #needthatstrap

꩜ pairing: modern!au abby anderson x female reader

꩜ warnings: explicit content (mean dom abby yum), language

꩜ word count: 1.4k

꩜ synopsis: you sent the photo on impulse—aching and desperate for your girlfriend. but hours pass with no reply. when abby finally comes home, you learn the hard way that silence doesn’t mean she’s ignoring you. it means she’s about to make you regret everything.

You know Abby’s busy.

She’d warned you in the morning—it was the last day of her internship, packed with back-to-back presentations, and there would be a routine debrief with her supervisor before she’s finally free—with a raised brow, clearly apprehensive of you pulling something like this.

You’d wished her good luck. Specially woken up early to prepare her favourite lunch.

But by three in the afternoon, your hands are down your panties, lip caught between your teeth, and you're taking the most risque selfies on the bed you both share. The sheer lace bralette does absolutely nothing to hide your perky nipples, your thighs spread just wide enough to show how needy you are.

You’ve been behaving so well for Abby, happily sending her off to work for almost a month as if you weren’t thinking of convincing her to stay home every day just so you could eat her out to your heart’s content. Simply put, you were extremely pent-up. Could anyone honestly blame you?

Snapping yourself out of your distracting thoughts and bringing your attention back to your phone, you decide to send the photo you deem best with a satisfied chuckle. 

You: [one attachment] You: wish you were here abs  You: she misses you sm she’s dripping all over :(

You toss the device aside and giggle in glee. Anticipating your girlfriend’s equally naughty reciprocation lights an incessant fire beneath your skin and you shiver as your imagination overwhelms you. However, you’re stunned to find that it’s been more than two hours without so much as a reply. Not even a “read”. No form of acknowledgement whatsoever. 

You huff. Pace the apartment, beyond frustrated. Bury your face in her hoodie and get needier, if possible. You end up back in bed, still wet, still wound tight—and that’s exactly how Abby discovers you when she unlocks the door just past eight.

God, she looks delicious. She always does. Her hair is tied back, button-down sleeves rolled up the way you like it. Her chest heaves a little like she sprinted to get to you as quickly as she could. The thought, frankly, makes you burn.

Her furious eyes land on you in a second: sprawled on the mattress, nothing but that same torturous lace on, the vibrator on the sheets beside you, and a hint of slick glistening between your legs. You notice how her jaw clenches momentarily and your pulse quickens.

She doesn’t speak at first, only stalks to the bed like she’s been aching all day to wreck you. “You think that was funny, sweetheart?” she mutters as she shrugs her bag off and kicks her shoes away. “Sending... that while I was in a room full of people?”

Your mouth parts to answer but she’s already got your thighs in her hands, dragging you to the edge of the bed. Her sudden actions make you squeak in surprise.

“I hope you’re proud of yourself. I couldn’t concentrate. Couldn’t speak. Had to excuse myself just to sit in a bathroom stall and remember how to fucking breathe.”

Her mouth crashes into yours without warning—hot, rough, claiming—and she wastes no time. Fingers slide down your clothed slit, already drenched, and you feel her smirk against your lips.

“This for me, huh? Just from clicking some nudes?”

"Abby, I—"

You don’t get to finish your sentence.

Because two fingers are already shoving your panties aside and sliding inside you, knuckle-deep, curling just right. You cry out and clutch her biceps, but Abby's relentless. She doesn’t spare you a chance to get used to the stretch. Only pushes your thighs open, plants one palm on your hip to hold you down, and fucks you on her fingers hard and fast.

“You wanted this,” she nearly growls, thumb brushing your clit with every thrust. “You wanted me so bad you couldn’t even wait. Look at you—already about to come. I haven’t even done anything yet, baby.”

You try to speak, eyes glassy, but your voice is utterly broken. You’re so, so close, it physically hurts.

“Say it,” she demands, breathing ragged. “Say whose pussy this is.”

"Y-Yours, Abby!"

And you shatter. She doesn’t let you shy away. Doesn’t let you hide your face or recover. Her teeth are on your throat, biting down, one hand dragging off her pants while the other pulls the harness from the drawer like it’s muscle memory.

“Up,” she orders, and you barely register your own self moving—lying back as she straps in, thick and mean-looking and sexy. You’re sure your legs are jelly at this point.

She smoothly slides back between them, guides the strap to your fluttering hole, and thrusts in hard.

You scream from the unexpectedness of it all. It might be hard to believe for most, but Abby was a sweet lover. She’d braid your hair whenever you asked, bring you whatever you were craving at four in the morning if you so wished and she always looked out for you constantly. That sincere care and consideration carried into the bedroom as well—touching you reverently, whispering praises into your skin and prioritising your pleasure and comfort.

Tonight, you realised with a shaky inhale, you had unleashed something primal within her.

She pounds you like she owns you, hips slapping against yours, her toned frame keeping you in place while she works your clit in harsh, tight circles. You’re already overstimulated, but Abby doesn’t give a shit.

“Should’ve been patient,” she pants right into your ear, sweat dripping from her temple. “Should’ve behaved like a good girl instead of teasing me like a fucking slut.”

You moan at her words, growing dizzy, grabbing at the sheets like they’ll anchor you through this. “Look at me,” she hisses through her teeth, and you do. What you see in her eyes ruins you even more: hunger, want, love, masked in heat and dominance.

Your orgasm hits you again, more intense, thighs clamping around her hips as she fucks you through it. Your mouth drops open in a silent scream and you’re absolutely spent.

But, apparently, Abby isn’t.

She pulls out with an embarrassingly loud squelch and grips your waist with bruising strength. In spite of her actions, she presses an affectionate peck to your nose, wordlessly communicating that she’d never hurt you.

“Your turn, baby.”

You barely make sense of her statement, but your body automatically reacts. It always does.

She lies back, muscles taut, and you can’t resist dragging your tongue along the vast expanse of her torso. She lets out a pleasant “oh”, gently fisting your hair before pulling you to sit where she wants you. You climb onto her lap, legs already shaking from the strain.

“You wanted it so bad, right?” she tilts her head mockingly, one hand trailing up your spine. “Then fucking ride me.”

You pout, shimmering tears threatening to spill over, “Abs, I’m sorry. I-I can’t—It’s too much—”

“You can and you will. Now, shut that pretty mouth up and get to it.”

You lower yourself down with a sniffle, inch by inch, and the sensation turns your brain into mush—too thick, too good—but you do it anyway. Because you need her. Because you want her like you’ve never wanted anything else.

Abby watches you with feral eyes, fingers inching slowly to wrap around your throat as you start to move. The grind of it has you screaming, overstimulation crackling through every nerve.

“God, fuck,” she groans, hips lifting just enough to meet yours. “You feel that, sweetheart? That’s what you get for acting like a whore.”

You’re gasping, grinding harder just to hear the sounds she makes. You feel her touch roam your body, cupping your breast, slapping your ass a few times before fondling it languidly.

“Don’t stop till you come again,” she snarls, lips at your ear. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

And you don’t.

You jump up and down until your body gives out completely—until you’re collapsing forward in her arms, sobbing her name, a third climax crashing over you like a tsunami.

She holds you tight and kisses your temple. Rubs your back through the aftershocks. You wait for her to carry you to the bathroom and clean you up like she always does. But all that fills your vision is her predatory grin, low and wicked.

“Oh, no, baby,” she murmurs, leaning down to tangle her tongue with your own, biting your bottom lip between her words. “You didn’t think we were done, did you? You’re not getting away till you’ve ruined the sheets and can’t say anything but my fucking name.”

That’s exactly what she does. Fucks you until you’re babbling incoherently and can’t move by the end of it, too ruined to make sense of your surroundings.

All because of one photo. 

Maybe… you’ll send ten more tomorrow.

[inkskinned]

you know, you know. no gods, no masters, no kings on pedestals. everyone is fallible. death of the author. you know! you are balanced about your intake of media - you allow the wiggle room, the grace, the gratitude, the skepticism. nobody above criticism.

but still. a weird gut-punch feeling, something akin to betrayal. you read the article. surprise! an author you love is actually: a serial fucking predator.

well, shit. what now. no, you knew he was a person (all people are), but now you're wondering - what have i overlooked by accident? what messages have i internalized that are strange and cruel? and also, like, what the fuck?

his actions lay a thick glaze on top of everything. like each place is now ruined, opaque in a new way. but okay, fine, you've done this before. you knew better, right? you've been betrayed by many a cherished childhood author.

still, this stickiness. fuck. can you pick up that book again. will you read it to your children. you've recommended it to others - will you ever do that again? and of course, of course, no parasocial relationships. you were theoretically above this kind of sentiment. but the artist informs the art, right.

so it's not something as clear-cut as feeling he owed you, specifically (a stranger) better behavior - just that you kind of, in a distant and odd way... sort of trusted him to do better. it's not like a real trust or something speakable, just the faint hope that the product (good books) was a thin representation of the soul. now it feels like the product (good? books?) was a mask. in some small or insignificant way, your previous support of this person lent them power. your money and your time and your laughter.

and the thing is - you have this terrible, echoing sensation. how many times will this happen? over and over. you find out that the singer you love is actually a predator. you learn over drinks that your favorite high school english teacher is in jail for what he did to her. you listen to the news idly and suddenly discover that a woman you used to idolize has been abusing her kids for an actual eon.

what can you touch without the static melting off. you can't even really complain about it too much (you were supposed to know better, and besides, you don't want the same re-split "it's not your fault, love what you love" basic advice), but now it's here. somehow, it feels like - you let him into your life.

it's not that things need to be pure or an artist has to be like, endlessly perfect, mindful. demure. it's more just this terrible truth that has been replayed through your veins so often it feels criminally vain. power corrupts, absolute power corrupts absolutely. did you want any one person to be worth that power?

it's just that he wrote books where he seemed to understand that. he seemed to know about hierarchies and unfair systems and bigotry and privilege. you thought they were books about what it means to struggle. you thought they were about having power and still using it for good rather than for control. he spooned you a narrative of being a good guy, a kind soul. you fucking bought what that fucking monster sold.

maybe that's why they were fantasies, after all.

[mahlto]

alucard.... come get your corny ass dad 😭😭😭

[moeblob]

Drawn from memory only. Zero references used. I'm scared to check accuracy.

[my-darling-boy]

Oh to be a loyal knight and serve my lord (we are fucking)

[alexakakarumi]

Like the tides - the full comic!! Okay listen, if you saw this post before but completely desorganized and wrong. No you didn't. That post does not exist. Only this one does. And yes I am uploading it fully because I cannot find it in myself to separate it for the millionth time. Yes I tried. I hated doing that. Is this maybe the worst way to upload it? Maybe. But I wanted to do it like this. Now, onto what I actually want to say.

Firstly, I want to than @chipper-smol for being a incredible host and organizer to the whole ISAT telephone game, and also being a huge support and inspiration behing this comic!!! Like truly, I wouldn't have done this comic without them, and I can't thank them enough for it. This comic is my pride and joy, I can't imagine not having this with me now!! I also want to thank @breey2776-blog for writing the fic that inspired me to do this much in the first place!! I can't compliment her writing enough, and I am so thanful to have had her before me. If you haven't read it already. Do it. Right here.

And also, I want to thank the whole server for being such heartwarming place and have been so welcoming since the beginning. Thank you for being there and talking silly things with me or just being there, in general. And if you want to see more of the ISAT telephone game, click here!

[itsthatlake]

“Icarus.”

it's all about freedom really

Credit goes to An Sifakah for the poem. Enjoy!

Support me on Ko-fi maybe?

[separatist-apologist]

Genuinely, and I mean this kindly, but learning to recognize bait and not engaging with it will change your fandom experience.

[theeroticlover]

Your moans make me wilder...

[risibledeer]

joel being a Disney princess

look everybody my art is arting properly again! also pls send me any asks as i'm awfully bored lol