#when home calls

[hananoami]

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[erisnxxi]

are the 'rumors' true?? Caleb?? 😳

(if its true that Caleb is gonna be the new LI, what do you guys think? There's been hate to Caleb and to ppl who likes Caleb on twitter😬)

[roxynani9292]

🆕️ 4⭐️ Lunar NY cards

[fenharel-is-so-swell]

I know we’re all hype for the Apple imagery with Caleb in terms of biblical stuff.

…but I just had the Apple—>Gravity evol—>Isaac Newton connection ping in my head and no one has talked about it lmao. It’s so fucking funny and unserious

[dawnbreakershole]

I imagine if my MC had a diary it would look like this~ (੭´͈ ᐜ `͈)੭

((The idea of her somehow getting these photos and then writing this in his apartment makes me giggle))

I'm definitely gonna do more of these, so if there's a certain chapter or memory you'd like to see my inbox is open! They'd ofc be from Ria's POV but i'd love some ideas, let's have some fun! ♡

divider © thecutestgrotto

[ideas-ideasideasideas]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[prlssprfctn]

Give me Bruce and Jason, who are not on the war path anymore, but they are still awkward and absolutely clueless on how to make things up, so they pretend that they need something from each other in order to spend some time together. Even if these things are absolutely simple, and both of them could handle it themselves, if they wanted to.

Bruce, calling Jason in the random Friday night: So, Alfred left for a week. And I promised kids to do a homemade cake for them. And you know how useless I am in the kitchen. So.

Jason, who knows that Bruce is, in fact, not useless in the kitchen, but low-key misses cooking with him, because the last time they did it, it was Alfred's birthday before his death, and they did the cake together: Theoretically, I agree.

Bruce, sighing in relief: Theoretically, I will need you in Manor tomorrow in the morning. And I theoretically will pay for that.

Jason: Theoretically, see you tomorrow.

Bruce: Theoretically, thank you.

Jason, dealing Bruce in the middle of the night: Old man. Bail me out of the prison. I am in CGDP's building.

Bruce, knowing well that Jason wouldn't be caught in the first place, if he didn't want all of this to happen, and even if he did, he would easily escape without him, getting involved, but also knowing that today is anniversary of the day Bruce adopted Jason, and it is his way to spend time together: ...Okay. May I ask what did you do?

Jason: ...Stole Gordon's tires.

Bruce, stifling his laughter: I see. I will be here in a few minutes.

[shanklin]

Sentient Mystery Shack, who is really biased towards Stan, so when Ford tells Stan he has to give it back after the summer it’s on sight.

Ford keeps tripping over nothing, nothing is where it's supposed to be and somehow he keeps running into closets when he tries to go outside.

But the worst part, the WORST part is that Ford's lightbulb just won't. Work. No matter what he does it keeps flickering and exploding.

Ford is spiraling. 

There is no reason why it shoudln’t work. All his trial runs work perfectly. He’s already checked the Shacks wiring three times and relearned this dimensions science from the ground up. 

Nothing works.

The Rift? Bill? The impending apocalypse? Eating? Sleep? Who cares about that. 

WHY. WONT. THE. LIGHTBULB. WORK???

It doesn’t help that Stan keeps laughing at him.

“Then you do it!” Ford eventually snaps at Stan.

Stan shrugs and with a little song under his breath screws his own lightbulb in. It works perfectly.

Stanford screams.

[augustheart]

leverage redemption is the classic story of someone adopting a shelter pet to help them deal with grief but the pet is a 50 year old lawyer and the shelter is the boston museum of art

[bi-writes]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

yeah. always just sunshine and smiles at home.

[hajimedics]

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

[hananoami]

20250122

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[cerealmonster15]

PITAYA DRAGON COOKIE PLEASE WEIGH IN ON YOUR BATTLE WIFE'S NEW LOOK

[roxynani9292]

everyone crazy over Caleb & here I am 😹

[sticks-stones-sonic-insanity]

Every now and again I remember that Sonic Prime being confirmed as canon within the main games' timeline means that whatever the hell these two had going on during that show is also canon.

Because yes, you can play the "Sonic Prime resets by the end so none of the timeline was affected" card, but that doesn't change the teensy, itty bitty little fact that Sonic and Shadow remember everything.

All of this is canon btw

[morganbritton132]

I hope when I write Hopper dealing with Steve or Eddie when they’re younger that the vibe they give off is:

Steve: *visible suspicious on why Hopper is bothering him, a self-sufficient seven year old trying to climb something he’s definitely going to fall off of*

Eddie: *caught red-handed vandalizing property and about to make it Hopper’s personal problem*