#Imagination Boost

[seratlantisite]

Nice try Bioware, but I know the state of Southern Thedas better than you do.

First off, it matters if the Hero of Ferelden is alive or not. When the First Warden recalled all wardens, our hero knew that was a bad call and refused, finally splitting off from Weisshaupt after years of mismanagement and taking scores of wardens with them. Their presence and leadership makes all the difference, rallying southern Thedas once more against the blight. If you have only an Orlesian Warden Commander in Amaranthine they’re less inspiring, but as long as you’ve done Awakening they are a boon nonetheless. There is someone to lead the fight against the darkspawn while other focus on the Venatori.

If you 100% completed Awakenings and also Soldier’s Peak, the Ferelden wardens have never been so prepared. They’re organized, they’re outfitted and they’ve been ready for this for years. Also, if you allied with the Architect then you have scores of strange research to give you an edge.

If Merrill completed her Eluvian then she moves south once again and joins the effort. She’s managed to cleanse the blight before and she’s ready to try it again. And her knowledge of the crossroads gives the south an edge on their movement and supply lines. If Hawke’s sibling is a Warden they accompanied her.

If the Inquisitor let Briala have power in any way, the Dales become the leaders in the war against the Venatori, forming a formidable alliance with Ferelden, Orzammar and the Marches, the likes of which have never been seen. And if you completed Jaws of Hakkon then their alliances with the Avvar and Chasind are stronger than ever.

Of course, if the Inquisitor kept the Wardens around after Here Lies the Abyss then their numbers are bolstered. It may cost Wiesshaupt later, but that’s Rooks problem. And if you completed the Descent, then the Inquisitor and Warden had a much better idea of what was coming and spent ten years getting ready.

They will not be broken.

They will weather this storm.

[hunnieknight]

Wake Up! (Art)

That trailer with JY and Feixiao, Reader is JY's cat

[ancientroyalblood]

Let Your Imagination Soar: Fun Writing Exercises to Spark Creativity

Writing is an adventure where you’re both the storyteller and the explorer. If you’re looking to stoke your creative fire, or simply want to infuse some fun into your writing routine, you’re in the right place. In this post, we’re diving into a world of writing exercises and prompts that will unlock your imagination and set your creativity free. So grab your pen, and your favorite notebook, and…

[ohwormwood]

PLAY THE FORBIDDEN NOTE BRIGHT ONE

[mischievous-thunder]

If only Logie Bear knew how audacious Wade would be for the next few days!

[salvationtreeschool]

Explore the transformative power of creativity and imagination in children. Salvation Tree's blog offers practical strategies for parents and educators to foster a creative environment, ignite imaginative thinking, and support holistic development. Unleash the potential of young minds to create a brighter future!

[clouvu]

Cooking up an older Clervie outfit design so I don't have to keep drawing her looking like her child self but Long

[weeping-treee]

A Desperate Man- Part 2

Simon is so desperate for you, and he can't bring himself to care.

All parts here

My pwincess

You're halfway through the final suture when you meet his gaze once more. His gaze is a weight, heavy and unrelenting—like it might pierce right through you. But it's not discomforting. Quite the opposite, really. It's warm, curious.. almost reverent.

"You always this quiet?" you ask, meeting his gaze head on, gloved fingers expertly tying off the last stitch.

Ghost looks at you as if you asked a dumb question, but then again you've never met him in order to know.

"Only when I've got nothing good enough to say," he finally says, voice low and deliberate.

You smirk. "Guess I should be flattered then, I've rendered you speechless."

"You have," he replies before he can stop himself.

The air between you crackles with silent intensity for a second too long. He shifts on the bed, his gloved hands once again twitch against his thigh. His eyes stare ahead, lost in his thoughts and the complicated mess inside his head. He's never been good at this—whatever this is.

But you? You don't look away. Don't brush him off or retreat back into the professional surgeon you should be upholding. You meet his gaze squarely, even as you peel off the latex gloves with a small snap and discard of them.

"Alright, big guy. You're patched up and good to go," you say, clicking your pen and scrawling something quickly on his chart.

Ghost doesn't budge. As if he's waiting for more. As if he's waiting for permission to move.

"Need me to walk you out, too?" you ask, a small smirk tugging at your lips as he stares at you.

His eyes narrow, amused. "No, but I might come back in a few days, you know, in case this gets infected."

"It won't," you retort with mock authority.

"Still, might be worth checkin'."

You chuckle and shake your head. "Since you're hellbent on seeing me again, come back in a week and I'll see about taking the stitches out."

"Alright," he responds quickly. If he got any more eager, it would almost be pathetic.

"You're shameless, huh?" you say, amused, softly shaking your head in mock disappointment.

He stands slowly, towering over you. The faint tang of antiseptic clings to him, mixed with something else, like gunpowder or maybe cologne. "Only with things worth the shame," he says matter of factly.

You have nothing to quip back with. You just look at him—really look at him. This man made of shadows and silence, draped in darkness and sharp edges, awkwardly trying to flirt in his own jagged way. And there's something there—beneath the tactical gear and balaclava—something honest. Something unpolished.. and almost.. hopeful.

"I'll see you around.. Ghost," you say gently.

He pauses on his way to the door, gloved hand on the frame. "Yeah," he says, voice low. "You will."

He gets back to his quarters, and replays the interaction. Over and over again.

He paces his room.

Tugs his hoodie off one shoulder, careful with the injured side. The stitches catch on the fabric before letting go. Clean, neat work.

Her work.

He stares at them for a long time in the bathroom mirror. Fingers hover. Never touch.

"Guess I should be flattered then, I've rendered you speechless."

He exhales sharply through his nose. The memory burns. Not in a bad way. But not in a good one, either.

She didn't look away. Not once. Not when she peeled her gloves off, not when she smiled, not when he couldn't keep his mouth shut.

"You have,"

He mutters a curse under his breath. Does he regret flirting?

Not exactly.

It just leaves him—vulnerable. Lays him bare. And vulnerability? That's not something he's built for.

He lies in his bed, staring at the ceiling. Trying to push it out of his mind. But he fails.

He pictures her face. The way she looked at him like he wasn't some tall monster in a mask.

Like he wasn't broken pieces that seemed impossible to glue back together.

Like she saw every piece—and didn't flinch.

That.

That is what scares him the most.

[emmyrosee]

i literally love everything you write. you're such talented human beingg 😭

could you possibly write some sukuna fluff where reader wants to have couples clothing or costumes. ive been thinking about this the entire morning

have a great day/night 💗💗

“No. Not happening.”

“But! Sukuna!”

“No means no, fuck no.”

The two hoodies in your hand deflate slightly at his cold and firm no, your eyes curving in a pout that your lips soon take on. They're simple, black hoodies, his saying "I Don't Do Matching Hoodies" and yours with the appropriate "I Do," and sure, it's more clever than the other couples outfits he's seen, it doesn't excuse the fact that he's not into the matching outfit trend.

He holds your hand. He kisses you in public. He scowls at anyone when they look your way. Why would he need a matching hoodie to even further signify that you're spoken for? Fists aimed at the jaws of creeps do much better at getting the message across.

"But baby," you whine, "they're so warm! And we can match with our pants too, and our shoes! We'll be sooo cool!"

"No, we'll look like twins. I'm not into that creepy shit."

"Ah yes, we'll look like twins. Of course."

"You tryna fuckin' scrap or something?"

You groan, "I just want to match one time!" You jut out your bottom lip, "I feel like you never want to do cute couple things with me, Sukuna..."

Damn it.

"Like I totally get it, you don't think it matters, but it does to me..."

Fuck.

"It makes me feel like you don't care-"

"Jesus shit, alright," he groans, scrubbing a massive hand down his face. "Enough with the guilt tripping, I get it, you wanna match, I'm the worst, just give me the hoodie."

He'll never tell you, but the way your eyes glimmer in excitement turns his heart into chocolate, melting under the warmth of loving you. You beam up at him and pass him the hoodie, quickly sliding on yours to match. He sighs, "do I look as dumb as I feel?"

"No," you smile. "You look handsome, perfect, like an extremely good sport."

"When's being a good sport gonna start paying off?"

"I dunno. Anyways," you reach out to lace your fingers with his. "Let's go."

"You ask one stranger for a picture of us, hand to all that is un-fucking-holy, I'll make you regret it."

He's full of shit.

Clearly, as not an hour later, your new phone background is you both posing under a streetlight, your smile bright enough to rival that of the sun at its peak, and his eyes practically filled with hearts as he smirks at the camera.

You haven't regretted it since.

[captainpriceslilwife]

little thing with John Price that goes from angst to smut to angst again and then fluff and back to smut....pretty much checked all the boxes here i think. okay yay <3 also ill be honest...idk if i like how this turned out, but.....here it is *serves up half-eaten charcuterie board made from lunchables*

Basically Price is using your daddy kink as a trojan horse to rewrite your neural pathways <3 but like...with love Shoutout @coco-killed-the-angels for implanting these worms (insecure girl x price) into my brain <333 CW: deep insecurities (bc i'm the one writing it, so...it's a given), daddy kink, crying, praise kink (?) - does it count if he's just praising you in a sexual setting and its not necessarily a kink idk, if you're allergic to true, deep love and you just want smut this is not the work for you, not DDLG but like...the cousin of it. Or sibling. DDLG adjacent.

Your day had started off rough.

Well, the whole week, really. With deadlines and headaches looming over your head, it's no wonder that you ended up in such a state this morning.

You were just barely fighting the childish urge to just whack the brush over your head, so you tried to move on to putting your makeup. Which only ended in you crying in frustration when it started to cake up, and then you began crying even harder when your tears started making the rest of it slide off of your face.

"So fucking stupid." You had whispered under your breath as your shaky hands wiped at your face in a sorry attempt to fix everything - only to make it worse.

That's how John found you in the bathroom, furiously scrubbing at your face with a towel to wipe everything off as you sobbed quietly to yourself.

"Woah, woah, woah...sweetheart." His hands are quick to wrap around yours to halt your movements, and you try to bow your head to avoid his gaze, but he tilts his head right alongside you. "What's all this, huh? What's wrong, sweet girl?"

And he tries his hardest to comfort you, he really does, but you're just so lost in your anguish that you blow up in his face the moment he suggests you be gentle with yourself.

"No! I have to wear makeup today because my face is breaking out and I look ugly, b-but I keep ruining it because I'm crying! God, I can't do anything without ruining it!"

Maybe you were just hormonal or about to get your period, but it didn't matter. Your insecurities sound the same no matter what chemical is bouncing around in your brain to cause it.

Which is how you ended up here - on your hands and knees on the bed, facing the mirror on the dresser with John's cock nestled deep inside of you.

He had already been working you up for hours, teasing and licking and fingering you until you could barely hold yourself up - which explains why he's got one hand curled at the base of your skull to hold your head up by your hair to force you to watch as he fucks you.

But he's not even fucking you. He's just...sitting inside of you. Not moving. Making you whine and whimper as he stares at you through the smudged reflection of the mirror. You plead with him quietly, fresh tears blooming to wash away the dried tracks from your earlier malaise, but he just shakes his head and pulls your hair back a bit more.

"I already told you what to do, sweetheart. Go on." But you just blink at him dumbly with those teary eyes, too far gone to remember how you got here, let alone what he just said five seconds ago. But that's alright - if war taught him anything, it was how to be patient. Especially with a soft thing like you.

"Daddy's not moving until you say something you like about yourself."

Oh, right. That.

You had kind of been hoping he would just fuck your brains out so you could ignore your little meltdown earlier and forget it ever happened - but clearly John had different plans.

"I don't want to."

Brat.

Even when you were trembling beneath him and begging him to fuck you, you still had the nerve to talk back to him. But John knows you well enough to know that you aren't acting out just for the fun of it. So, he isn't going to punish you now. You're upset, and insecure, and you just want him to take it all away so you don't have to think about it.

Which is exactly what he's doing - even if you can't see it from where you are mentally. He's just playing the long game.

"One thing, baby." He murmurs in your ear, locking eyes with you in the mirror as he curls himself over your back to press his hairy chest into you, making you mewl softly. "Just say one little thing you like about yourself, and Daddy will fuck you, just like you want. I promise."

And you poor thing - you're just so desperate. You're cunt is leaking around his cock and no matter how much you try to rock your hips back to get some kind of friction, he's holding you too tight to make any real progress.

So you give up. Or give in. Either way, you decide to just let go and think of something - if only just to get him to pound you into the mattress the way you wanted.

But when you looked at yourself in the mirror - all puffy eyes, splotchy cheeks, and tangled hair - all you could see is what you didn't like.

Every bump, every scar, every part that's too much, and every part that's not enough. Suddenly every mean voice in your head has a stage - telling you about all the times you failed and how you aren't worthy of anything good in this world. Ugly, stupid, worthless, annoying-

There's nothing you can think of, even to just throw out meaninglessly to get him to hop off your case. Nothing.

And all you can do is choke out a pathetic sob - lower lip trembling violently as you squeeze your eyes shut to block out the mean voices circling around in your head. "Daddy, I can't...I c-can't think of anything."

He had expected a bit of resistance from you, but the way your face crumpled so sadly at the prospect of complimenting yourself made his heart ache in his chest. Clearly your insecurities were running deeper than surface-level, and he'd have his fair share of work cut out for him if he wanted to make you feel better.

"Shh, hey, hey, hey. It's okay." He coos softly, removing his hand from your hair to curl it around you to rest it against your sternum. He sits back against the bed and takes you right along with him, planting you on his lap with your back pressed against his chest - with his cock still inside of you. You're grateful for it, since you know you'd just spiral even more if he took it out and left you feeling empty and cold while you were already on the verge of a complete breakdown. "Daddy can help. I'll help you out, sweetheart."

"We can think of things together, my love. It's okay." He murmurs quietly as he wraps his arms around you, rocking you back and forth slightly as he gently hushes your tears. His thumb comes up to wipe away the fresh tears that slip down your cheeks, and he can feel his heart cracking in two at every little heartbroken whimper and sob that manages to escape your lips.

"What about your pretty eyes, hm? The ones that help you read all of those books, even when it's a little dark? The same eyes Daddy loves to wake up to every morning?"

You blink owlishly through your tears, your hiccups coming to a halt for just a second as you begin to process his words. He's not talking about the color of your eyes or what shape they are, but what they can do. You've been so caught up on how every part of you looked...not what they were actually meant for.

Your eyes aren't supposed to be the prettiest color or the 'perfect' shape. They're job is to help you see. And you can read, and admire the sunset, and cry, and watch TV - and none of it has to do with how your eyes look. They're the same eyes that lock onto John's from across the room and tell him 'it's too much. can we go home?' without ever having to say a word. And he always knows how you're feeling, just from taking one look at your eyes.

"And what about your hair? Don't you like braiding it and putting it up in all those pretty hairstyles? Don't you like how Daddy can play with it when you get all sleepy?" You turn your head around to look at him through your tears, and you take in a shaky breath as you nod your head silently in agreement. "Yeah...I know I like it, sweet girl."

You let out a restrained whimper as his words settle over you, your heart cracking in a way that it never has before - like its rearranging itself to fit the beautiful image of his perception of you. You can feel his hand gently squeeze your arm to silently urge you to continue on your own, and it takes you a minute to think of something before you let out a trembling whisper.

"M-My nose..." You sound uncertain, blinking up at him for validation only to be met with a loving smile and an encouraging nod. "I like my nose."

Your nose was never meant to look like everyone else's. It's just there to help you breathe. To bring oxygen to your blood to keep you alive and healthy. And it helps you smell everything - the bread at the farmers market, John's cologne bottle whenever you missed him too much in his missions, even the gross candles at the store that you force John to smell too just so you can both suffer together. It even crinkles up whenever John presses a kiss to it when you aren't expecting it, which always makes him laugh and makes him press just one more to it to get you to giggle and swat him away.

"Yes...good girl." He praises softly as he presses a line of kisses along your shoulder, reverent in both his touch and stare as he tilts your chin back towards the mirror. "Keep looking at yourself, darling."

"And Daddy loves your beautiful smile...you know, that's the first thing I miss when I go away. I keep a little picture of you in my vest just so I can see it even when I'm on my missions. I love seeing my gorgeous girl look so happy." His words coax another watery sob from you, which he quickly soothes by running his hands gently up and down your arms. Eventually he trails them down and circles his hands around yours, using his thumbs to massage gentle circles into your palms as you cast your gaze down to watch. "And your hands...didn't you bake me those cookies last week with these hands?"

"Yes, Daddy." You nod once again, and he brings both of your hands up to wipe at the tears that are dripping off of your cheeks and down to your torso.

Your body let you express your love for him in all the ways you wanted - hugging, kissing, cuddling, crying, laughing, talking, listening, touching - you could go on forever now that you're really thinking about it.

Your body was a vessel for love - a home that could fit all the adoration and affection that John could possibly give you and you could give him - and instead you were using it to house all of the shame everyone else had burdened you with over the years. But John had all the patience in the world, and if he had to pick that shame out piece-by-piece in order to burrow his love inside of you, then that's what he'd do. Happily.

"Pretty, pretty, pretty...such a pretty little girl you are." He punctuates every one of his words with a kiss to your shoulder, your neck, your cheek, your hair...all until he reaches your ear when he finally whispers, "I'm so lucky to have you, baby."

And you poor thing - now your blubbering in his lap as your brain tries to comprehend the sheer amount of love he's pouring into you, and he just continues to hold you patiently as you work through it. It's only when you finally calm down a bit that he speaks up.

"I think you're so beautiful, my love. Inside and out. But if you look in the mirror and you don't like what you're seeing, for whatever silly reason, I want you to remember that your worth comes from a lot more than how you look. Do you understand, baby?" He waits until you nod your head before he plants a kiss right to the crown of your hair. You can feel his hand settle on your thigh, thumbing the sensitive inner skin as he locks eyes with you in the mirror.

"Do you want to keep going?" And then you see it - settled underneath his love and admiration for you is a spark of concern. He doesn't want to push you too hard, especially in a delicate setting like this. His cock is still hard and nestled deep inside of you, but you know if you said the word right now he'd end this all in a heartbeat to make sure you were comfortable and taken care of.

But you don't want him to stop. It feels different this time around - like it's not just sex. It's something more ritualistic than that. So you nod your head once more, making sure to keep your eyes on him in the mirror so he can see how earnest you are.

And slowly, carefully, he readjusts you back into the position you were in before - on your hands and knees facing the mirror. And you can see him watching you closely for any sign of discomfort or regret, but all he's met with is trust in those teary eyes of yours.

"Keep telling me what you like, sweetheart."

And so you do. Clumsy compliments stumbling out of your mouth as he finally starts to rock his hips, granting you the relief you've been craving from him for what feels like forever now. And the more you praise yourself, the more intense his thrusts get - but he never turns rough. Not even for a second. He keeps his eyes locked on yours as he whispers his own devotions into your ears, pushing himself as deep as he can as if he's trying to plant the words directly inside of you.

You're so overwhelmed by the love and the pleasure he's giving you that you barely even realize how fast your orgasm is sneaking up on you, but he notices. He can feel you clenching around him as your thighs begin to shake, and he doesn't waste a second in gently guiding your gaze to look at yourself in the mirror once more.

"Are you a pretty girl, baby?" He grunts softly, barely staving off his own release long enough to drive his message home. You begin to nod your head frantically, too caught up in your impending climax to form any coherent sentences as you begin to flutter around him - but he's not having any of it.

"Yeah? Go on, then. Daddy wants to hear you say it."

"I-I'm a..." Your stuttered words are cut off by a deep moan, and your eyes squeeze shut tightly as you clamp down around him. "I'm a p-pretty girl!"

And then you're sent into the most mind-shattering orgasm you've ever had in your life. You can feel yourself gush around him and you hear his restrained curses as you collapse into the bed, but even your own voice sounds muffled as you call out his name with a quivering cry. He fucks you right through it, leaving you trembling and crying from the intensity as he finally spills inside of you with a few tears of his own.

He just barely catches himself before he collapses on top of you, and it takes him a minute to catch his breath before he readjusts to, very carefully, pull himself out of your squelching cunt. He coos gently as you whine at the loss of contact, and he scoops you up like you're a porcelain doll that'll shatter if he's not careful.

You're still so fuzzy from the intensity of it all, but he places you in his lap to let you bury your face in his neck, and his arms quickly wrap around you the second that your trembling form curls up to him like a kitten in a storm.

"There she is." He whispers softly as he kisses your forehead, one hand trailing up and down your back as the other one circles tightly around your shoulders to ground you with his presence. "There you go, sweet girl. Take a deep breath, my love."

He can feel the little puffs of air hitting his neck as he continues to hold you, and it brings him back down to earth as well as he works you through your comedown. Soft whispers of praise graze your ear as he moves to clean you up, keeping his movements soft and careful when he sees your eyes begin to flutter shut.

And you look up at him with so much love and trust when he finally pulls you down to lay back against the pillows, he can't stop himself from taking a moment to brush at the soft skin of your cheek before he presses his lips against yours. It's not hungry or lustful - just pure love being poured into you as he pulls the covers up to cover your bare form.

He pulls back just enough to murmur quietly against your lips, eyes looking down at you with so much reverance it makes your head spin.

"I love you so much, baby."

And you can't help the little wobble in your lips or the glassiness in your eyes as you rest your head against the pillow, pulling him closer with your shaky hands as you plant a little kiss on his lips.

"I love you, too, Daddy."

[mcr-heritage-posts]

hey everyone - i know there’s a lot going on in the world right now, a lot of causes that need support and visibility now more than ever.

i’d like to take an opportunity to highlight a cause that’s very literally close to home for me: i live very, very close to springfield, ohio. the haitian community there has always needed help and support but now, with white supremacist rhetoric and bold faced lies being circulated nationally, with threats of violence and heightened ignorance being more common than ever, they need it perhaps more than they ever have.

there has been a lot of hate since trump and his little bootlicker attack dog jd vance have started this shit, but there’s also been an outpouring of love and community outreach in the weeks since springfield was thrust into the worst kind of spotlight.

the hatian community support and help center has been invaluable in helping hatian refugees get what they need to start a new life here. they are headed by a team of haitian immigrants that are personally familiar with what their fellow immigrants need. they have been instrumental in keeping their community from falling through the cracks.

i’m humbly asking, if any of you can - please, please consider donating to the HCSHC. every bit helps. and if you can’t donate, please, please share this around. if you’ve ever reblogged one of my posts or found them funny, if you’ve ever scrolled through and liked and reblogged what i’ve put here, i implore you to share this too. this is a very personal cause for me; i want to see these people who are new here, who enrich our community but are met with too much derision and spite, receive the help, respect, and dignity they deserve.

[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."

[sadmusicprincess]

stress relief- sunghoon ────୨ৎ────

┃you were feeling tense lately, and your boyfriend wanted to help you relieve stress.

tw : not much of a plot, petnames, fingering, gagging w fingers,

enjoy !! wc : 1,304

you were sitting on sunghoons lap with your back to his chest and your legs spread. he had two of his fingers working inside you at a fast pace. you grabbed onto his bicep, moaning his name and arching your back off of him.

"sunghoon" you cried out, "hmm baby ?" he said with a smug face, smiling to himself about how easy it is to make you unravel on his fingers only.

you couldn't even get your words out from the pleasure, sunghoon leaned down and kissed your forehead and wrapped his arm around your waist tighter, holding you down.

sunghoon had already made you finish 3 times, you didn't know how much you could take after that. you moaned loudly when he suddenly sped up again.

once you started getting a little too loud, sunghoon gagged you with his fingers on his hand that was previously holding you, so it wasn't as loud when you screamed. sunghoon started going at an ungodly pace, helping you finish as you threw your head back on his shoulder and your hand holding his neck.

you caught your breath and then sat there for a little, spacing out still gaining energy back.

"you okay ?" he said laughing to himself. you didn't really want to talk to you nodded your head and laid back onto sunghoon, relaxing.

"told you I can help with your stress." he says running his fingers through your hair.

[heartysworld]

The Deal // Lando Norris

A/N: I'm literary writing this as the England-Spain final is happening so I've got absolutely no idea whether I'm going to jinx it or guess the winner but I guess we're about to find out!

Lando Norris x Fem!Reader

MASTERLIST

W.C. 2k

The week between the Silverstone and the Hungarian Grand Prix was a much needed break in the intense Formula 1 schedule. Half the racing season was over, and you and Lando both needed a distraction from the relentless grind of the sport. It was the perfect opportunity to do something fun, to escape the pressure, and enjoy a few days just for yourselves.

“Alright baby, I have a proposition,” Lando said one evening as you both relaxed on the couch in your shared apartment, the remnants of a takeout dinner spread out before you. His fingers were gently running through your hair, and you could feel the tension of the season easing away.

“Oh? Do tell,” you replied, looking up at him with a smirk, already intrigued by whatever he was about to suggest.

“You know how you’ve been dying to go see a  Taylor Swift concert?” he began, a mischievous glint in his eye. You could already tell where thus was going.

“Obviously,” you replied, excitement bubbling up at the mere mention of it.

“Well, I’ve been thinking… What if we make a deal? We go to the Taylor Swift concert in Milan, but the next day, we head to Germany for the Euro Cup final. I'm sure we can figure something out regarding the concert tickets. Deal?” he proposed, his smile widening as he extended his hand towards to as a form of an agreement.

Your heart did a little flip. The idea of seeing Taylor Swift live had been a dream for you, and combining that with Lando’s passion for football seemed like the perfect plan for the remaining time before the next race in Hungary.

“You’ve got yourself a deal, Mr. Norris,” you agreed, shaking his hand in a mock-serious manner.

The days leading up to the trip were filled with excitement and anticipation. You both packed your bags, making sure to include all the essentials – your Taylor Swift outfit and Lando’s favorite football jerseys. For a bit of fun, you had even gotten Lando a shirt that said, “So many Sainz, so little time,” a playful nod to his friendship with Carlos.

Finally, the day arrived. You and Lando boarded the flight to Milan, the city buzzing with the same energy that coursed through your veins. After checking into the hotel you'd be staying at, you quickly changed into your concert outfits. You wore a beautiful flowy dress that sparkled in pink and blue hues and twirled as you walked, while Lando sported his new shirt with pride.

As you arrived at the concert venue, the atmosphere was electric. Fans were everywhere, their excitement palpable. You grabbed Lando’s hand, your eyes sparkling with joy.

“This is it, Lando! I can’t believe we’re really here,” you exclaimed, squeezing his hand.

“I know, love. Let’s make the most of it,” he replied, pulling you closer as you navigated through the crowd to find your VIP seats.

The concert was everything you’d dreamed of and more. Taylor Swift’s voice filled the arena, her energy was infectious. You sang along to every song, your voice mingling with thousands of others. Despite not knowing all the lyrics, Lando joined in with your enthusiasm, dancing and cheering with you.

During “Love Story,” Lando placed his hands on your waist and twirled you around, his eyes never leaving yours. You laughed, your heart feeling light and free. The moment was perfect, a memory you’d treasure forever.

“Thank you for this, Lando. This means the world to me,” you said, your voice barely audible over the music.

“Anything for you, Y/N,” he replied, leaning in to kiss you softly.

Throughout the concert, fans recognized Lando and started handing him friendship bracelets. By the end of the night, both his hands were covered with colorful, handmade bracelets given to him by enthusiastic Swifties. The sight of Lando, a Formula 1 driver, adorned with friendship bracelets made you smile.

When “Shake It Off” started playing, you couldn’t contain your excitement. You jumped up and down, hugging Lando tightly, and he joined in, laughing and dancing along with you. Unbeknownst to you both, several people in the audience captured photos and videos of you two, sharing your unfiltered joy.

The next day, you were up early, the excitement of the previous night still lingering. After a quick breakfast, you and Lando hopped on a flight to Germany. Unfortunately, time wasn't on your side and you had no chance to explore the beautiful city of Milan with the love of your life. However, this led to Lando's idea for a vacation in Milan during his summer break.

The Euro Cup final was an event Lando had been looking forward to for months, and you were determined to make it just as special for him as the concert had been for you.

As you arrived at the stadium, the sheer scale of it took your breath away. Fans from all over the world were gathered, their team colors proudly displayed. You wore a jersey in support of Lando’s home country, earning an appreciative smile from him.

“Ready for this?” you asked, taking his hand as you made your way to your seats.

“Absolutely. This is going to be epic,” he replied, his excitement evident.

The match was intense, the atmosphere charged with energy. England was facing Spain, and the tension was palpable. You found yourself getting caught up in the excitement, cheering and shouting alongside Lando. When England scored the winning goal, the stadium erupted in celebration. Lando lifted you up in a jubilant hug, spinning you around.

“We did it!” he exclaimed, his eyes alight with joy.

“You did it,” you corrected, laughing as you hugged him tightly. “This was incredible, Lando. I’m so glad we came.”

“Me too, love. This has been the perfect weekend,” he replied, kissing you deeply.

Later, as you made your way back to the hotel, fans also captured moments of Lando jumping and cheering, celebrating England's victory. Videos of his infectious excitement quickly spread online, fans delighted by the sight of him in his element.

Back in your room, you cuddled up on the bed, exhausted but happy. Lando pulled you close, his arms wrapped around you protectively.

“I love you, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice filled with emotion.

“I love you too, Lando. Thank you for everything,” you replied, snuggling closer.

As you drifted off to sleep, you knew that this weekend would be one you’d both remember for the rest of your lives – a testament to your love, your shared passions, and the joy of making deals that brought you closer together.

The next morning, you woke up to a flurry of notifications on your phone. Curious, you opened social media to find that videos and photos of you and Lando from both the concert and the football match had gone viral. Fans couldn’t stop talking about how cute you both looked together, enjoying something you each loved.

There were clips of you dancing and twirling to “Love Story,” Lando’s hands on your waist, and another of you jumping up and down, hugging him tightly during “Shake It Off.” Then, there were the heartwarming videos of Lando cheering and jumping when England won, his pure joy infectious.

“Looks like we’re famous,” you said, showing Lando your phone. He chuckled, pulling you into another hug.

“I guess the world likes seeing us happy,” he said, kissing your forehead.

And as you lay there, wrapped up in each other, you couldn’t help but feel grateful for these perfect moments you had shared, knowing that you had created memories that would last a lifetime.

MASTERLIST

[pixlstxrs]

They live in my head rent-free

(View full image for better quality! Unless it’s just blurry on my end, oh well)

[enemiestolovershoe]

JJ fox where you and JJ are awkwardly in love and both of you are in complete denial and are always saying things like “we’re just best friends” etc. until one day JJ’s in a bad motorcycle/dirt bike accident and you tell him you were scared of losing him, and he says something snarky like “I would never leave you on purpose” etc. fluffy fluff ending maybe, with the others at the end or something

Crash Into Love

Jj Maybank x bsf!reader

Words: 1k

Warnings: use of y/n, hospital, not proofread

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

You and JJ had always been a pair. Growing up together on the Cut, your friendship was legendary. Everyone assumed you two were dating from the time you were kids, and even though you always laughed it off with, “Nah, we’re just best friends,” part of you wondered if they were right.

Lately, those feelings had been growing, making it harder to keep your true thoughts hidden. JJ’s cheeky grins, the way his hand lingered on your shoulder, or how his eyes softened when he looked at you—it was like he was hiding something, too. But neither of you ever brought it up. Why ruin what you had, right?

That all changed when John B’s number lit up your phone one afternoon. “JJ’s been in an accident,” he said, his voice panicked. “He was riding his dirt bike… I don’t know all the details, but he’s on his way to the hospital now.”

Your heart dropped.

Without a second thought, you grabbed your keys and bolted. The drive to the hospital was a blur; your hands were shaking, your mind running wild with fear. When you finally arrived, the others were already in the waiting room, looking grim.

“He’s stable,” Pope said quietly, placing a hand on your shoulder. “He’s banged up, but the doctors think he’ll be okay.”

That should’ve been reassuring, but it didn’t stop the ache in your chest.

After what felt like hours, they let you see him. When you entered the dim room, JJ was lying there, his blond hair messy against the pillow, bruises scattered across his face, and his left arm in a sling. For a moment, he looked so still it terrified you. Then he opened his eyes, and that familiar JJ grin crept onto his face.

“Oh, you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he joked, wincing as he tried to sit up. “Missed me that much, huh?”

You huffed, blinking back tears. “Shut up, JJ. Do you know how scared I was?”

He shrugged, though he was clearly in pain. “Didn’t mean to freak you out. You know me, babe—always gotta keep things exciting.”

The word “babe” was so casual, so JJ, but this time, it sent a jolt through you. You moved to his bedside, trying to keep your voice steady. “Exciting? I thought you were dead! John B called, and I… I didn’t know if I was ever gonna see you again.”

JJ’s smirk softened, and he reached out, his fingers brushing yours. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice uncharacteristically serious. “I would never leave you on purpose. You know that.”

You swallowed hard, his hand warm against yours. “Well, you better not, because… because I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

JJ’s blue eyes held yours, and in that moment, it was like the world around you disappeared. There was no hospital, no bruises, just you and JJ in this unspoken space you’d been avoiding for years.

“Maybe you wouldn’t have to,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your breath caught, and without thinking, you leaned in. JJ’s hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer until your lips met his in a soft, tender kiss. His fingers brushed your cheek, and you could feel the smile against your lips, a smile that was all JJ.

It was like years of denial melted away in that kiss. All the playful “just friends” comments, the way you’d brushed off everyone’s suspicions—it all felt so silly now.

When you finally pulled away, JJ looked at you with that mischievous glint in his eye. “So… does this mean I can call you my girlfriend now?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Maybe. If you behave.”

Before JJ could respond with some snarky comeback, the door creaked open, and you both froze.

There, in the doorway, were the Pogues—John B, Pope, Kiara, Sarah, and Cleo—all staring with wide eyes and identical, knowing smirks.

“Dude,” Pope started, grinning ear-to-ear, “finally! We thought you two would never get over yourselves!”

Kiara let out a laugh. “I mean, we’ve been waiting for this for years.”

JJ rolled his eyes, a faint blush creeping onto his cheeks. “Oh, shut up, all of you. Let a man recover in peace, will ya?”

John B chuckled, stepping further into the room. “Recovery? From the way we just saw you two, you’re healing real quick.”

You swatted at JJ’s arm. “See? You did this! Always making things dramatic,” you teased.

JJ just gave you that roguish grin, unbothered by the teasing. “Hey, if it finally got you to admit you’re in love with me, then I’d say it was worth the broken bones.”

The others groaned in unison, though their faces were beaming.

Cleo shook her head, grinning. “So, what now? Are you gonna stop pretending you’re ‘just friends’ every time we’re all hanging out?”

You shot JJ a look, and he just shrugged. “Yeah, yeah, I guess the charade’s over. I mean, if it’s gonna make everyone so happy.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as Kiara walked over and hugged you, whispering, “About time, babe. You guys were exhausting to watch.”

Sarah and Pope gave you approving nods, and John B leaned against the wall, crossing his arms with a grin. “So, are we allowed to call you two the couple now?”

JJ smirked, draping his good arm around your shoulders. “Why not? Go on, give us a title, make it official.”

The room erupted in laughter, and in that moment, surrounded by the people you loved most, everything felt right. You and JJ exchanged a look, knowing you’d both finally admitted what had been there all along. And even though JJ was still sore and bruised, you couldn’t have been happier.

The Pogues stayed for a while, catching JJ up on all the gossip he’d missed, and despite the teasing, everyone seemed thrilled. For once, the two of you didn’t have to hide or deny anything. You’d found a way to be together—just like everyone had known you would, all along.