#The Ceiling

[biohazzrds]

What doja said

[lemondemonpickuplines]

when i look at the ceiling, I can see you in the plaster

[hinge]

Hinge presents an anthology of love stories almost never told. Read more on https://no-ordinary-love.co

[lemondemonlyrics-daily]

While falling back in the snow

[elzore-da-great]

whats up?

The ceiling

[non-binary-lil-star]

Batman: * enters the room with a bunch of children following behind *

JLA: ???

Green Lantern: Huh

Green Arrow: Batman, who the fuck are these kids?

Batman: Language

Batman: These are my children. Agent A is sick so I had to bring then in

Wonder Woman: I am not acquainted with the hero know as 'agent a'

Aquaman: As long as they don't cause trouble I don't see the issue

Flash: ???

Flash: You don't see the issue? Batman didn't have any kids until not that long ago where did they COME FROM???

Batman: ...

Batman: Oldest one i found in the circus

Batman: Second eldest was born from the shadows

Green Arrow: Wha-

Batman: Third one, i found in the trash

Batman: Fourth one followed me home after I forgot the door open

Batman: And my youngest my ex mailed to me

Aquaman: Mailed??

Batman: I tried to return him but the post office guy said neither Heaven nor Hell wanted him

Batman: Or anyone in Gotham, for that matter

JLA: ...

Flash: ...

Flash: ... sorry I asked

[franmadaraki]

Dewey's politely telling you that it's his seat now and you can sit on the floor if you want

[anexistingexistence]

Yes I want to write my story but my story doesn't want to be written so what the fuck am I supposed to do about that huh?

[mrsackermannx]

MDNI, f! reader, established relationship (you’re married), creampie, somno if you squint, calls you angel, basically gojo cumming on the spot

you’re pulled out of dreamland by a loud moan filling the room from the spot behind you in bed. if it weren’t for the soft pecks tickling down the side of your neck, you would’ve thought your husband was having a steamy dream. but that’s not the case.

“nghh… satoru?”, you growl.

“finally. i’ve been moaning for the past 15 minutes in hopes to wake my hibernating bear up”, he breathes into your ear, “turns out”, he continues while pushing his lower body against yours, carefully adjusting his hardness between the crack of your ass, “it’s mating season”

“oh. that.”

again.

you often go to bed spooned with him enveloped around you like a cape — his left arm wrapped possessively over your side, elbow by your navel and his hand resting on your breast. his other arm passing under the right side of your waist with the palm and fingers tenderly placed on your shoulder. and in order to engulf you completely — satoru throws a leg over yours.

as uncomfortable as this position might sound, it actually brings both of you a sense of warmth and security. you feel protected in his huge arms while he’s at ease to have you there, safe and untouchable, like he’s your infinity — whatever comes to harm you, has to go through him first. you asked him once why he always wraps himself around you like that and the answer was one only he could come up with “to protect you in case the ceiling comes crashing down while we sleep”. you laughed, telling him to come up with a better excuse next time. he was dead serious though.

but often times spooning like this leads to something more, especially during summer nights when the both of you sleep naked, when it’s just flesh against flesh and his cock ends up hugged between the cheeks of your ass and his growing hardness forces him out of slumber.

“yes. that. pretty please? really want you right now…”, he coos, moving his hips slowly to place his cock between your legs, squeezed between your thighs, head poking out in front and tip leaking beggingly as if to reflect his plea.

you play your fingers on it, letting the precum smudge against your skin, “if you ask so nicely…”, you tease, moving your lower body back and forth to slide his dick along your pussy lips, smearing the flow of your own wetness all over it.

“fuck…”, he hisses, squeezing his ass cheeks and pushing against you in sync with your movements, “really wanna be inside you now”. his voice comes out needy, body covered in sweat from head to toe holding back until yours is completely prepared for love making, for taking all of him.

you tap your hand on his leg that’s still resting on top of yours, signaling to move it. after he complies, you lift yours slightly and guide him into you with your hand, pushing him slowly in. the gasp seeping from his mouth as he enters you is like music to your ears and knowing he’s been desperately waiting for this moment as his body twitches from the pleasure, is sending a tingling sensation through your abdomen and providing an extra flow of wetness between your legs.

“this— “, he grunts, stretching you slowly, feeling you around him as you take him inch by inch, “is where i truly belong”

“i’ll make sure to keep you there then”, you whisper breathily and put your hand between your legs to prevent him from slipping out, “see? all safe now”

to say this was his breaking point would be an understatement. a loud grunt fills your shared bedroom as he fervently bucks his hips into you three times before burying himself deep and erupting, filling you load after load.

“damn. you got me there, angel”, he chuckles breathily under his nose, head falling between the crook of your neck and shoulder to further hide his embarrassment in the already dark room, “you really just ruined your husband’s reputation by making him cum like a virgin after just a few strokes?”

“as if that’s never happened before”, you tease.

“give me a few seconds and you’re not sleeping tonight”

[holdonimblooming]

ceiling just peed on the floor

[crownorclover]

chil's innovative hands-off babysitting technique (max strength duct tape)

*no catgirls were harmed in the making of this piece

[jennrypan]

Tim: You look like every girls first mistake

Jason: You look like you remind teachers about homework when the bells about to ring.

Tim: You probably WERE that kid weren't you, nerd?

Jason: Rather be a nerd than illiterate, what's the last book you read, Timmy?

Tim: Fuck you. You look like you eat refrigerator magnets!

Jason: Bitch- you look like you lick unknown substances just to find out what they are!

Tim: That was one time!!

Jason: Little freak!

Bruce: Whoa whoa! What the hell? What are you two arguing about?

Tim: Huh? We aren't arguing?

Jason: We're bondin' go away!

Bruce:

Bruce: ..Okay

[vintagehomecollection]

Southern Interiors, 1988

[lemondemonlyrics-daily]

Look up and ask yourself, “What can I see in the plaster?”

[ceilidho]

prompt: you and Price get in an accident (1.6k)

-

He comes into your life like nothing less than divine intervention.

A fender bender, of all things. It’s a bad day and you’re distracted, too busy thinking about your dad calling to tell you that he lost ten thousand from his retirement fund when the stock he’d invested in crashed and how you’re supposed to help him out of this mess, and the roads are slick with that last snowfall of early spring, still unsalted even hours after the snow started. 

So when you slam on the brakes at the last second after noticing the car in front of you stopped at a red light, your car slips on the ice and slides forward, hitting the back of the stopped car and sending it forward a foot. It’s quick and sudden, and though you stepped on the brakes early enough to avoid a worse collision, your head snaps forward with the jolt and the seatbelt yanks you back violently, winding you. 

Your hands go tight around the wheel, eyes so wide that they nearly pop out of your head as you stare at the car directly in front of you. All of the dread in the world pools in your mouth and then down your throat when you swallow, heart galloping in your chest. You almost can’t believe it for a second.

Then the car in front of you—a big, fuck-you SUV that only worsens your anxiety because of all cars to hit, it had to be someone with a fancy, brand new car that probably has a lawyer on speed dial—puts their hazards on and the driver’s side doors opens and reality snaps like a rubberband back into you. With shaky hands, you put your car into park and put your hazards on as well. 

“Oh shit,” you whisper under your breath. An understatement.

A tall man in a brown parka steps out of the car and stares at you through the windshield, a stern expression on his face. He has a beanie pulled down over his head and a full beard, and for a second, the mental image of a bear emerging out of its den flickers in your imagination, all snow-dusted and irritable. 

He’s grizzled and older than you. The only consolation is that he doesn’t match the image of the driver that you had in your head—no seven thousand dollar suit or bluetooth earpiece; instead, he seems like the kind of man who’d drive an old pickup or a schooner, wearing an Aran sweater and a skipper's cap, with a pipe hanging from the corner of his mouth. He seems out of place in the middle of the road in your small town. 

But he is real, and even though you watch him march over to you, you flinch when he raps on the window with his knuckles. 

“Roll the window down,” he instructs, voice muffled through the glass, and you do because the command cuts through the buzzing in your ear. When you do, he reaches into your car with one hand and pops the lock, then takes a step back to open the door. You’d freak out if the situation were different, but you must be in shock because all you can do is stare at him dumbly as he leans into the car and undoes your seatbelt. “C’mon, sweetheart. Out.”

It doesn’t take much coaxing to get you to step out of the car. All he has to do is step back and you get out, knees nearly buckling, like jelly under you. He holds your elbow to steady you. Your elbow feels delicate and tiny in the width of his palm. 

“You alright, sweetheart?” he asks, looking all over your face.

You want to answer him, but all you can do is whimper, “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, none of that. It was an accident. You alright though? Anything hurt?”

“Uh…I don’t…I don’t know.” It hasn’t really sunk in yet, you think. Maybe tomorrow you’ll be sore all over, but right now you feel fine. On the verge of shaking out of your skin, teeth nearly clattering together, but more or less okay. 

“Nothing too bad then. Wanna give me your insurance so we can deal with this, sweetheart?” 

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry. Let me just—” You move to reach back into your car to fetch your purse, but he stops you, insisting on getting it for you. 

And you let him, docile like a doll, watching as he leans into your car and across the seats to grab your purse, big frame looking comically large in your little car. Looking like he’d barely fit in the front seat if he tried to get in. 

He comes back out with your little purse in hand and opens it, handing you your wallet and purse by its strap. Your fingers are still shaking when you pull out your insurance information and hand it to him. Everything feels surreal and muted, and the tears are going to flow at any minute now if you don’t get a handle on it. 

He must notice because a knuckle fits under your chin and lifts your head up. “Hey, what’s wrong? 

“No, no,” you say, reaching up to swipe your fingers over your eyes. “I’m just—I’m really embarrassed. I’ve never been in an accident before.”

“Nothing to be embarrassed about.” His voice is much softer now, pitched low in the way handlers talk to spooked animals. He puts his thumb to your chin, holding you in place. “No one got hurt. Could’ve been worse than it was, and we’ve both got insurance, so what’s done is done. I don’t look mad, do I?”

Trapped between his thumb and knuckle, you can only give a slight shake of your head. “No.” 

“Then let’s just take it one step at a time and no tears. Okay?”

You sniff. “Okay.”

“Okay. I’m going to call the insurance, so you get back in the car and sit tight, alright?” 

You nod. 

“Good girl,” he says, a hint of praise in his voice. “Put the heat on too. It’s too cold for that jacket.”

That makes you go warm all over, flustered and tongue-tied. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to expect a response out of you. The only thing he expects you to do is get back in the car and turn the heat back on, the warm air billowing into your face when he leans in to crank it up all the way. 

Though most of the sound is muffled from inside the car, you turn down the heat and crack the window open slightly to hear him give his name to his insurance company. John Price. Even his name evokes the image of him somewhere else in the world, settled into the nooks and crannies of history. 

John handles everything for you while you sit in the car like he told you to, settling everything with the insurance companies and calling for a tow truck right after that. You don’t realize that, of course, until the tow truck pulls up in front of his car and he comes back to usher you out of your car. 

“How am I supposed to get home?” you croak. The tow truck driver hitches your car to the bed of the lift and pulls it up, your little car looking pathetic all alone up there. 

“I’ll drive you home then bring mine in later.”

“Why can’t I drive my car to the garage too?” You’re petulant now that you’ve learned that he won’t bite, and you know it’s petulance because you don’t actually put up much of a fight to get your car taken off the tow truck. 

That petulance trembles when his expression grows stern again. “You’re getting it checked by a mechanic before you get behind the wheel again,” he tells you in no uncertain terms, eyes daring you to contradict him.

You don’t. It’s hard to argue with someone so adamant on your wellbeing. A mechanic in later days will tell John, with you by his side, that your car was mostly fine apart from some slight damage to the bumper, but that you made the right call to bring it in just in case the frame cracked during the accident.

John’s arm will be around your waist at the time and he’ll pull you tighter into his side when the mechanic says that. And what do you do but go with it, curling into his side like it’s natural. You’ll have already fucked him by then anyway. It’ll be no less forward than letting him take you for coffee and then back home, following you up to your apartment and into your bed. 

Now though, you let him usher you into the passenger seat of his car and shut the door behind you, the wind cutting off abruptly. It only comes back when the door opens on his side. 

You rattle off your address and watch bemusedly as he programs it into his GPS and hits save. You don’t have the temerity to question him, to poke a hole in the bubble of familiarity ballooning around the two of you. The real world seems far away in his car, like you’re in limbo, the rules different here somehow. 

“How about a coffee?” he asks at the next light, putting his hand on your thigh and shaking when you don’t respond right away. “Does a hot drink sound good right about now?”

“I guess?” you say. In truth, it sounds great, but you’re losing the thread of this conversation, your old preoccupations getting further and further away from you. 

John gives your thigh a squeeze, lingering for a beat before pulling away. “Good. It’ll be a nice little pick me up before we go home. My treat.”

All you can do is nod, your throat dry.

[steampunktendencies]

The 1920 Westinghouse Gyro ceiling fan really gives off some cool steampunk vibes!

[littlefankingdom]

Dick who climbed on anything as a child. Even in public, especially in public. The moment Bruce looks away, he is climbing something to get as high as possible. The first times, it gave Bruce an heart attack. Now, it's just a headache.

People pass by and ask if they should call the firefighters, and Bruce tiredly tell them "He is fine, he can get down on his own.", like people with cats.

Imagine, you're walking out of some building, only to see a 10 years old standing on top of a lamppost, having a discussion with his dad guardian at the bottom.

"Dick, get down."

"Make me."

"Get down or you're grounded."