someday i’m gonna have enough energy to write stories again. I Yearn. I trust that it’s gonna come, but in the meantime i Yearn
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My baby daughter got her adorable puffin-print dress absolutely CAKED in mud crawling around the yard and my first thought was "oh no her beautiful dress"
And my second thought was "oh huh it really WOULD be easy to unconsciously steer her away from playing in the dirt. Unlike my son, whose outfits are usually some kind of solid dark easily washed pants plus a shirt that doesn't trail in the dirt like a dress does."
Anyway something something gender roles start getting shoved on kids from literal birth, but with a little time to think about things, YOU TOO can let your children of any gender absolutely destroy their clothes in the dirt pit they're digging in your garden
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love the idea of the Batfamily getting stopped and searched in the family car on the way back to the Manor and everyone’s tense expecting Jason to be the one packing like twelve guns but it’s Alfred? Alfred is absolutely unbelievably strapped up to high heaven? And he somehow manages to talk to the cops out of arresting him or even giving him a ticket?
Bruce is just standing on the side of the road pinching the bridge of his nose. Jason is grinning so widely his face is about to rip. Alfred’s guns are all sitting on the hood of the car and there’s at least three there that Bruce remembers taking away and destroying. Dick is taking pictures on his phone to send to Barbara and trying not to laugh. Tim has Kon on speaker narrating it…
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DP x DC prompt [15]
Danny accepts that because of his half dead status he won't be able to become an astronaut and he has to find a different way to feed his space obsession.
He decides to get really into astromancy (yes, the magic. He already knows everything about astronomy). He gets himself the more spiritual star charts, old surprisingly authentic tomes about the art and divination cards to go with it all and gets to learning.
Tbh he kind of went into this not expecting much but it turns out he had homo magus heritage from his Nightingale roots and he actually manages to call upon the power of the stars.
He figures he can blame the vaporized wall on ghosts.
Meanwhile, a foreboding feeling like cold shivers run down the spines of several magic users that they can only describe as "a child having figured out they need to switch off the safety on their mini nuke launcher in order to fire it"
The JLD is scrambling to locate the source of the surge in magic power before someone with bad intentions can get there.
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military issued wife but you didn't know that using the "dating app" your friend brought up once in idle talk would end with you in an office with a (signed) marriage license on the desk, actively not looking at your 'husband', the burly lummox with a skull mask who's dwarfing the chair he can barely fit in.
you'd thought it'd be like tinder. a potential dating site. as in messaging on the app, getting to know each other, exchanging personal numbers before going on a date. not marriage. not opening your front door expecting it to be your door dasher and instead it's him with a rucksack in one hand and duffel in the other.
he'd looked down his thick nose at you, grunted a quiet, "not bad", and pushed past as if you were a swinging door to a saloon. what the fuck had he been doing there? you'd only spoken a couple of times with him and left on read for the some of it. you'd chosen to move on, try to match with someone else but the app had stopped working (you couldn't swipe right or left anymore) so you'd just put it on the back burner. you had better things to worry about than another disappointment of a man then.
except now said disappointment of a overly large man is taking up most of the couch and his legs aren't even all that far apart. and he's at your house. the house you'd never sent him the address to. as a matter of fact, you'd received a text from an unknown number earlier that had said someone would be home in a few. you'd ignored it thinking it was a wrong number situation but now you're sure it was him. how he got your phone number is also a mystery.
you'd tried to argue. to threaten him with the cops. to get him out and away, far fucking away, but he'd only scooped you up and let you pelt his broad back with your fists. chuckled low in his throat while he smacked your arse to keep still. "i'd hate to drop m'wife."
whatever fight you had he ate right out of you with the heels of your feet digging into the large curve of his shoulders and his hands curled around the back of your thighs. maybe it's because it'd been a while but he'd played your body like an instrument and had you bucking your hips against his tongue, slick coating his face in minutes. (your cheeks burn furiously hot when you think back on what he'd said then. "tight little thing 'nd you've only taken my two fingers." it's flattering, sue you.)
he'd lapped at your sodden cunt until you had overstimulation clumping your lashes together, inner thighs tender from the bristles of his shorn hair and unshaven jaw, your palm on the crown of his head having both pulled him to you and pushed him away.
and then he'd wiped your release with the back of his hand, thumbed the swollen flesh of your bottom lip and rumbled that it's time for bed.
which eventually led to you being here. in front of a man he calls Price, a marriage certificate unlike any you've ever glanced upon, a large gloved hand curled snugly around your leg, fingers grazing a little too close to where he'd left aching and swollen just yesterday.
you're reading the terms and conditions of anything from here on forward. even the fine print.
and then soap comes around and plants a seed in his head of him planting a seed in you :/ at least you can tell your nosy ass aunt that at least you've got a man while she's on her 4th divorce on thanksgiving 💅🏼
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