damnilovefrogss

[damnilovefrogss]

you know the advice that if an outfit feels like too much, take one thing away? that’s how Bruce gets ready for WE board meetings. he puts on whatever suit Alfred picked out for him that day and then he removes one thing: one accessory, or even just straight up one article of clothing. sometimes more than one.

examples:

three piece suit? jacket’s gone. what jacket? this was meant to be worn as a set? oh well

no more socks, even with dress shoes. he’s flashing ankles at anyone who looks under the table

ties, Bruce Wayne is actually never seen with one so when he adds one people know it’s serious

dress shirts, he goes avant garde and does the no-shirt deep-plunge blazer look for a 7 am meeting

this all helps carefully balance Bruce Wayne’s image as someone devoted and serious but also whimsical and somewhat ridiculous and therefore not a threat. and it works, every single time.

[damnilovefrogss]

Mafia Simon Riley who's meant to kill you.

You're the daughter of one of Price's enemies. Silly little thing you were, you didn't even know about your father's secret life. You believed him when he told you that your family wealth came from good investments back in the nineties.

Your father was a bad man. He committed horrible acts out of enjoyment rather than necessity like the 141.

So when your father threatened Price drunkenly one night and the tabloids got ahold of it, Price knew he needed to make a statement. Choosing Simon over the other 141 because he was ruthless, the one man who wasn't shaken by anything and would kill you without hesitation.

Except there was hesitation. Simon didn't think you'd be so god damn pretty. Especially with that ugly mutt of a father.

Simon had lied to Price for the first time that night, saying he couldn't find the right time to eliminate you.

Simon then spent almost all of his time watching you. You didn't even seem to have a sense of danger, an inability to recognise the threat almost constantly looming. Like a dumb little deer about to skip in front of a truck.

When Simon finally made himself known to you, you melted into his hands. Loving how big and strong he was, oblivious to the monster beneath his pale flesh. and Simon made sure to hide it from you the best he could.

The only time he allowed himself to let loose? Was when Simon ravaged you at night. It felt poetic in a sense, fucking you in the penthouse your father bought you. His cock leaking on the pretty silk sheets paid for by a man he hated. His seed filling his bosses enemy's most prized possession.

Every time he touched you, it was as though he was dirtying you with his hands in the most delicious way possible. Black marks in the shapes of handprints marring your skin, his handprints. Corrupting his sweet little deer.

Finally he swept you away. Letting you sit in his lap as he went over things in his office until you fell asleep, drooling on his expensive button up.

Simon tensed when Price walked in, cigar between his fingers. But Price didn't seem surprised to see you in Simons lap.

"Calm down, soldier. I've known since the second day you went after her. You never fail your missions, so I had MacTavish follow you"

"Can I keep her?" Simon asked, feeling like a child under his father's scrutiny.

"Suppose so, we'll just take out her father instead. Could use her as bait"

⛧°. ⋆𓌹♰𓌺⋆. °⛧

Buy my cat a treat? (•˕ •マ.ᐟ

[damnilovefrogss]

6 for creativity, -10 for flavour

[damnilovefrogss]

Batman gets home after a long day of patrol to find one of his newest enemies, the murderous crime lord Red Hood, in his personal civilian office. he prepares to fight despite having taken off all of his gear back down in the cave, only for Red Hood to see him in the doorway and without hesitation, he takes off his helmet.

Jason Todd stares at him from across the desk, tears and snot streaming down his face, and Bruce freezes.

��I don’t know how to hook up the new dryer i bought for my apartment and now my landlord is asking for bank statements to prove i can pay rent and my wifi keeps fucking up and I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT WATER PRESSURE IS,” Jason wails, distraught and sobbing harder than Bruce has ever seen before. he fumbles, jaw dropping, as Jason swipes at his eyes, sniffing. “THIS ISN’T FAIR,” he cries wetly. “I DIED BEFORE I LEARNT ABOUT TAXES, WHAT THE FUCK IS A STOCKS ISA??!”

Bruce bites his lip, deciding to not show his slight amusement. “Oh, chum,” he empathises.

“THIS IS SO FUCKED UP.”

“I know, I know,” he soothes, holding his hands up in submission and carefully moving forward so he could place them comfortingly on Jason’s shoulder. did he know what was going on? absolutely the fuck not. was he going to question it and scare away his apparently-not-dead-son? absolutely the fuck not. “How about some warm milk and cookies, and then you can show me the files that confuse you?”

Jason sniffs. “…and then the dryer?”

“I can hook up your dryer, chum.”

“…I’m not gonna stop being a crime lord,” his son warns, shamelessly using Bruce’s sleeve to wipe away the snot dribbling down his lip. Bruce bits his lip again.

“Let’s not worry about that right now. One problem at a time.”

“I also own zero spoons.”

“There’s some in the kitchen you can steal.”

“…Thanks, B.”

[damnilovefrogss]

oh noooo reader just doing self-care with bub around and it turns into ‘rip daddy bald’

she probably also gets her gremlin hands on tape to imitate waxing/sugaring

not even rip daddy bald but that 'm gonna make dad shiny and when reader is like maybe let's not bub says that dad said pain builds character.

[damnilovefrogss]

(anon pls) Something something line cook!ghost and hostess!reader

ghost as the line cook who has nicotine stains on his fingers no matter how much he washes them, and somehow thats the first thing you notice when he hands you a plate over the pass through. not the skull on the back of his hand or the mishmash of weaponry and warfare that decorates the rest of his arm —though you should have because the tight roll of his shirt sleeve around his bicep had been for no one's benefit but yours— but the slightly yellowed tips of his thick fingers.

you're new to the waitress game, new to the city too, and if anyone had told you falling for a line cook was a defining moment in every waitress' life you forgot it as soon as you saw Simon Riley's hands. something about them seemed so... suckable.

and then he'd barked at you to watch your plate and you'd nearly spilled the already tipping dish all over your front. you scurried out with your humiliation following quickly behind, and tried to keep from making eye contact the rest of the night.

the other waitresses gossip while you sit rolling silverware, and when you ask about Simon they all give you a knowing look.

"he always has a wrong order if you're hungry," one of them supplies after you insist it's just professional curiosity.

"and he'll walk you to your car if a customer is hanging around," another chimes in.

"stinks like a chimney," a third grumbles, and you press your thighs together thinking about his stained fingers.

it gets easier to interact with the kitchen staff, the cooks are nice enough once you get past the sharp tongues and annoyed tones. the younger guys working the line make kissy noises every time Simon hands you a plate, and you have to listen to the head chef yell at them just to get your table's food. Simon always stays quiet.

he's a quiet guy. at least around you. the bus boy calls you a headcase when you mention it, claims getting the man to shut up is a feat.

"always has some shite joke," he groans, "two legs and bleeds- i nearly killed 'im fer that one."

you consume information about him ravenously, you ask questions sparingly, make observations frequently, and spend as little time as possible actually interacting with the man. you barely know what he looks like, not just because he always seems to be wearing something dark and food safe over the lower half of his face, but because you cant look him in the eye. you're too scared he'll see right down to the core of you, that you'll twitch or blink and he'll know in an instant that you want him in a stupid way.

so, you keep your head down. you listen to the line tease Simon about bullying you. you live on scraps, on the curve of his fingers on the edge of a plate, on the press of his thumb, on the neat blunt trim of his nails, and on imagining the way he would push those fingers into you. you're starting to get a little dizzy whenever you have to grab food.

apparently dizzy enough for one of the other servers to steady you with a concerned look in their eye.

"why dont you go outside and grab some fresh air?" she offers and you nod, swallowing down the guilt that you're not sick just irreparably horny and failing to hide it.

it's only when the scent of tobacco hits you that you realize how unfresh the air behind the restaurant really is. it makes your nose wrinkle, its easy to forget in a fantasy how bad cigarettes smell, but standing between the dumpsters you don't know how you could have forgotten.

you won't forget now, not with Simon attached to the memory.

not with smoke swirling from between parted, scarred lips as he stares you down from across the alley.

"what d'ya need girl?" he asks, his words still smoking and his vocal cords rough with use. the sound of it makes your knees weak. he asks it like you followed him out here, like you came looking for him. as if it wasn't just bad luck that brought you out here with him.

the words die on your tongue, mind working overtime to come up with something to say to a man who you've never said two words to outside a squeaked 'thanks.'

"air," you mutter dumbly. simon hums around his cigarette, the smoldering stick held tight between four fingers as he holds it to his lips. your eyes keep flicking between the skull on the back of his hand and the sunken depths of his eyes, so dark they're almost black. you wonder if that's a trick of the streetlight or if you'd have found the same cursed coloration under the kitchen lights had you ever dared to look up from the offered plates.

"right," he says after a long exhale. he eyes you warily, letting silence lapse between you with a raise of one pale eyebrow. he doesn't believe you.

"i didn't follow you." you watch his lips curl back over his teeth at your hasty attempt to explain yourself.

"didn't say ya did."

"but you were thinking it."

another hum, another burning inhale, the light from his cigarette more potent, more damning than the churn of emotion in your gut. "didn't know ya were psychic too." he exhales. the smoke curls between you. "gonna guess what i'm thinkin' all night?"

"n-no, i-" he jerks his head, nods you closer, and when you don't move he bears his teeth.

"c'mere."

you're quick to comply, a shuddering prey instinct rising in the back of your throat as he seems to consume the alley with his demand. your hands shake, your breath held. you don't move fast enough, and flinch when he reaches to drag you closer.

he grabs your jaw, his thumb forcing its way between your lips to sit between your teeth. he presses down on your tongue until your jaw hurts, but the grip of his other fingers keep you from following the pressure. his thumb tastes like tobacco and soap, and you cant stop yourself from sucking it, dragging your tongue over the thick digit even as your eyes start to sting from the ache.

"you wanna stare, you do it from 'ere." simon warns you, "can't enjoy a cunt that keeps runnin' away from me."

[damnilovefrogss]

Shalom Harlow in Christian Dior Fall/Winter 1997 Haute Couture by John Galliano

this look made me believe in fairies when i was a child

[damnilovefrogss]

[damnilovefrogss]

throwback

[damnilovefrogss]

I don’t think we’re rick rolling each other enough anymore. 1. it CANNOT die out 2. this under saturated market is perfect for unsuspecting victims who’ve been lulled into a false sense of security. be the person you hate. bring back the dastardly link

[damnilovefrogss]

Illustration for r_astra's Very Good fic to the red planet mars (on AO3 here) (which is centered on Jason & Bruce's relationship)

(do mind the tags and the start notes though; the Dysfunctional Family and Physical Abuse tags are not for show - I really love this fic because there is genuine love and it doesn't feel hopeless or gratuitous but. It has whump.)

[damnilovefrogss]

what doesn't kill you makes you weird with intimacy

[damnilovefrogss]

100% atk and 0% dmg baby goat

[damnilovefrogss]

you plan a joke on your boyfriend, it’s late at night and you’re connected to the tv with bluetooth and you two are almost asleep, you play a weird noise and make it sound like someone hit a chair

and you act scared of course cuz “baby what was that?” and you garb his arm and tell him to ‘go check what that was’

price would obviously go check immediately, can’t have his lovely baby scared in his home, so he goes, doesn’t find anything out of place and comes back to you as calm as ever

simon takes the fun he hides under his pillow, taking off the safety and standing up, his heavy steps rumbling through the house, his simple presence would scare anyone shitless but since there’s no one he comes back and comforts you that there’s nothing

kyle grumbles about being sent out to die on his own since you’re a scaredy cat, but he stands up anyway and goes to check, looking anywhere that someone would hide and coming back assuring you everything was fine

johnny could go either way but i think it’d be so funny if he was like “what do you mean go check it out? why do i have to?” “you’re the man??” “since WHEN” and he lifts the blanket to show he’s wearing a skirt and that would send you two wheezing in laughter

[damnilovefrogss]

[damnilovefrogss]

Tim reboots the Batcomputer software every couple months, but on the newest update, he forgets to change the code words he uses for batfamily before publishing the code.

Bruce is mildly surprised when he boots up the mainframe and the screen flashes, "Welcome Back Walking Wallet, Aka PTA Warrior, AKA Nagging Ninja, Aka Batdad," but he knows that it's his fault for letting Tim into the software, so he lets it go.

Jason's permanent username is now Therapy Topic and he hasn't let it go for months.

[damnilovefrogss]

Only one person died. Only one singular person. In a superhero movie! The type that love to throw around casualty counts like it’s all a big game, waving off 70 people being killed in a handful of days like it’s no big deal, yet only ONE PERSON died.

And he was mourned. Superman cried for him—this stranger who gave him free falafel and, while facing death, told him that he still believed in him. Metamorpho, this cold-seeming man who is being actively blackmailed to do this, breaking down and taking the risk to believe in Superman, too, because seeing someone murdered right in front of him is devastating enough to take the risk. The newspapers run a front page article talking about how they’re going to memorialize him.

The stakes didn’t have to involve real actual loss of life. The threat of it was enough to convey the severity of the situation. Because human life is that important. All life is that important, at least to Superman who goes out of his way to save dogs and squirrels.

(Hawkgirl does kill SHEIN Netanyahu but genocidal dictators don’t count as human beings lol.)