#Kids baseball shirt

[toobusybeingdelulu]

something something about billy teaching little kids how to swim, and being good at it (otherwise their parents would have not let him); something something about his tendency to keep throwing good advice at people even while being a dick about it (max and steve, for example) something something about him apparently having a natural predisposition for helping people out and-

[thehousehag]

Winnie the Pooh!

[jackdaw-and-hattrick]

The press went NUTS when they found out the Dick was working as a pole dancer. It was big news, and everyone wanted to know how Bruce Wayne felt about his Baby Boy working as a stripper. B was… well, he was ticked. Not at Dick, no, he was just proud of him for getting a well paying job in an area he enjoyed. No, B’s fury sat squarely on the press. Papers that had gleefully printed sexual photos and articles about him were now aghast about Dick.

See, B’s whole “playboy” cover wasn’t originally exactly Bruce’s idea. He remembered vividly as a teenager the perceived humiliation of these adults sexualizing every little thing he did and of the constant anxiety of trying and failing to control his image; the way they seemed to pounce on any tiny flaw in his appearance or behavior and the paranoia that developed after the first of many photos of him was published of him just… going about his day, paired with a big red headline blasting him for daring to be a teenager. He remembered being terrified of being seen wearing a swimsuit and refusing to eat in public. So eventually, him leaning into this sexualization as a cover story wasn’t so much because he liked it, but because he knew how eagerly everyone would eat it up.

Now here was Dick, making an informed, consensual choice about how he wanted to be perceived, and they wanted to vilify him for it. So yes, B may have flew off the handles a bit, and yes, it probably wasn’t the best move to punch a reporter, but he had fought Hell to protect his kids from what he had gone through, and that sure as fuck wasn’t going to change any time soon.

[rares-posts]

HOLY FUCKING SHIT THEY LOOK SO GOOD

[dinosaurwithablog]

Anthony Rizzo is back!!! He hits an RBI single, getting Judge to home plate! Let's go Yankees chants are filling Fenway Park!! I love this game, and I love these guys. Both Volpe and Judge scored this inning. I believe it's because I'm wearing my Captain and the Kid t shirt. As I said yesterday, baseball fans and players are oddly superstitious. I believe in the power of the t shirt. It can't hoit!

[whatimdoing-here]

Boys are done with school with their half day Thursday. I'm working at their field day all day Wednesday. So I get today and tomorrow for my last quiet days before summer.

And T wipes out real bad on his bike on the way to school and was a half hour late.

[blauequuleus]

Randomly remembering a memory that you’ve forgotten and 100% did not want it back but also explains so many things sucks but at least you have more context suddenly as to why you’re like that.

[hidemiwoods]

Full Moon Haiku Raglan Baseball Tee

Full Moon Haiku Raglan Baseball Tee On Sale at Amazon Hidemi Woods runs an original design brand ERIZEN.

[likirahub99outfitstees]

Coachella T-shirts, Pillows, Crewneck Sweatshirts, Coffee Mugs, Baby Bodysuits, Stickers, Tank Tops, Wall Art, Hoodies, and Many More visit the shop now.

Make yourself happy by visiting the store and shopping at - likirahub99

[cutiepatootiejonesboro]

Baseball Ruffle Shirt | Cutie Patootie

Baseball & Softball Season Is Just Around The Corner!!

Online Link:

Also available in store!!

https://cutiepatootie.online/search?q=baseball%20trotter&options[prefix]=last

[earn-edge]

http://tee.pub/lic/A_Wplj47K_A

[gloomwitchwrites]

There was this tiktok trend where kids and their mums would pull a prank on their dads by telling their mums to shut up...141 with a teenage son who tries it?

Anon, I am very aware of this prank. If mom is in on it, I consider it all in good fun, but omg, these guys would be absolutely stressed if they heard their teenage son tell mom to "shut up." Heads would absolutely roll over that!

Price is certainly old enough to have a teenage son on the older side. I would even say the same for Ghost. Gaz is old enough for a younger teenage son. With Soap's age...that's stretching it. BUT SUSPEND DISBELIEF Y'ALL. I'm aging Gaz and Soap up a bit for this one.

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Presented in two double drabbles and two triple drabbles.

Task Force 141 x Female Reader (w/ children)

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): swearing, pranks, domestic, dad!141, brief suggestive themes, marriage

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“Ugh. Shut up, Mum.”

There is a brief pause between mum and when the television remote hurtles across the room. Your son doesn’t duck in time, the hard plastic hitting his shoulder before bouncing onto the kitchen island with a loud clack.

Before your son turns, Kyle’s baseball cap with the Union Jack, soars through the air like a frisbee. This one your son manages to avoid, but it’s quickly followed by a slipper. It flies past his head, and you catch it out of the air before it makes contact with the front of the microwave.

You and your eldest son turn in Kyle’s direction as he manifests in the kitchen entryway, the other slipper in hand, poised to launch it at the first sign of any movement.

“Wanna repeat yourself, mate?” Kyle appears calm and poised, but you notice the subtle tension in his jaw.

“It was a joke, Dad! Promise!”

Kyle’s arm holding the slipper starts to rise.

“Kyle,” you say. His gaze flicks to you. “Just a joke. No harm. I was in on it.”

His shoulders immediately sag. Kyle shakes his head. Rolls his eyes. Heading for the fridge, he opens it up, grabbing a can of his favorite beer.

Kyle sets the beer down on the island, pointing the slipper at you and then his son. His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. No words come out, just an exasperated huff.

Kyle snatches up the television remote and sticks it into the pocket of his grey sweatpants. Keeping hold of the shoe in one hand, and his beer in the other, he gives the two of you his back, heading into the living room.

“No one bother me until the game is over,” he says over his shoulder. “And someone bring me my bloody slipper!”

John Price

"Fucking hell, Mum. Shut it."

John is up and out of his seat so fast you hardly see him move. He strides over to his son, yanking him off the stool by the scruff of his shirt.

"John! It's a prank!" you say quickly, reaching for his arm.

The boy is dangling in the air, toes just shy of touching the ground. "A prank?" asks John skeptically.

"Mum is in on it. Promise."

John sighs heavily and slowly lowers his son to the ground. The moment his feet touch ground, he tries to step away, but John holds firm, keeping his eldest child immobile. He leans forward a bit. Lowers his voice.

"Prank or no, you never talk to your mother, your sisters, or any woman in that manner again. Got it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good boy." John releases his son. "The lawn needs trimmed."

"Yes, sir."

Your son scurries away. It isn't until the door to the garage opens and shuts that John moves toward you. His arm drapes over your waist, hand landing firmly on your ass, squeezing hard.

"You're coming with me."

"To do what?"

He presses his lips to your ear. "For a different sort of punishment."

John "Soap" MacTavish

"You’re off your head, lad.”

With Johnny’s cold tone comes a tension to your son’s shoulders. He becomes rigid, sliding down into his chair like he can escape from his father by cowering underneath the table. Johnny comes around the corner, a bit of sweat on his brow. He's been building furniture all day for the nursery.

"Want to repeat that for me?" asks Johnny.

Your son’s voice cracks. "It was just a prank, Dad."

"It was what?" Johnny strides forward.

"It's a prank. I'm in on it. Promise," you say, attempting to soothe Johnny’s anger.

Johnny crosses his arms over your chest. "Is it?" He glances between the two of you and sighs, muttering, “Am pure done in.”

He disappears down the hall, returning with a stack of instructional manuals, dropping them into his son’s lap. "You're building furniture."

"But I—"

“You right scunner. C’mon.” Johnny yanks his son out of the chair, the stack of instructional manuals goes flying. Your son reaches for them all, desperately clasping them against his chest.

“Johnny," you call out, walking around the counter to intervene.

He glances over his shoulder, frown gown, sly smirk on his face. “Deal with you later."

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“Oi, Mum. Shut it.”

Your son is a wonderful actor. You’ll give him that. Even you almost believe him. Not that he would—he’d never—but his delivery reminds you of a completely pissed football fan ready to throw a punch at a member of the rival team.

He should consider theater.

Simon, your husband, is watching a rugby match in the living room. The television is on but at a low volume.

Within seconds of the words leaving your son’s mouth, Simon appears like a phantom guardian in the entryway. In one he holds the remote like a weapon. The other arm cradles his infant daughter. She looks like a small bean. Slightly curved as she snuggles closer against Simon’s chest as she sleeps.

He's not looking at you. He's staring at his son, gaze intense and full of fire.

You’ve seen that look before.

Mission abort.

"He's joking, Simon. It's just a prank,” you soothe, knowing you need to get ahead of this.

Not that Simon would hurt you or his son, but he rarely takes any shit. This prank was a gamble, and you’re completely regretting it.

"Don't mean it, Dad."

Simon just stares for a long minute. His daughter squirms and that is when he glances down, severing the connection. Observing her must change something in him, because his gaze returns to the two of you, and there is a calmness now.

Sighing heavily, Simon shakes his head, completely exasperated. The eye roll is so apparent it’s like a shout.

In the moment he was pissed—livid. But now he’s over it, more annoyed and unamused than actually mad.

Turning on his heel, daughter still cradled in one arm, Simon returns to his recliner, settling back into the soft cushions to finish watching his rugby match.

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[bloomandbutterbakery]

[creativeme2022]

[snobgoblin]

anywayyy I was listening to this guy give tips for dysphoria because reasons and a tip he gave is that baseball shirts can make you feel better because they make your shoulders look wider and your hips smaller. anyway Trans Ace Real

[phantomrose96]

Rather frequently I find myself asking "Will I maybe ever have kids?" And the vast majority of the time the answer is, "No, it's just not suited to me." But every so often I'll get the vague image of an idyllic family picnic in my head and be like "I guess possibly maybe."

Except whenever I ponder this I just completely overlook the Aromantic part of everything I have going on. Like Mr. Husband Guy is just a concept who will surely pop into existence like an unlockable NPC once I accept the "I guess have kids?" quest. He has the same level of detail as Sam Supernatural's blurry out-of-focus epilogue wife and is a tulpa of sorts who will materialize in order to smile in a polo shirt and perhaps say "atta boy champ!" to a son at a baseball game. As husbands are wont to do.

And then I go "well I'm 28 and tbh it's not even that weird to have kids in your mid-30s. I've got time." and then peacefully shut the book on the thought because 7 years is plenty enough time to learn husband homunculus magic.