#Pressed birth print

[scribefindegil]

The only thing more annoying than people who are really into the Great Man theory of history are the people who swing so far in the other direction that they try to convince you that none of these historical figures actually accomplished ANYTHING and if you ascribe any significance whatsoever to them or their accomplishments it's because you're a credulous fool who's being brainwashed by Big History

[uwmspeccoll]

Wood Engraving Wednesday

NOEL ROOKE

In the mid 1920s, the Golden Cockerel Press embarked on producing a number of small quartos with stories taken from the Bible. One of the first of these volumes was The Birth of Christ with text taken from the Gospel of St. Luke and published in 1925. At this time, wood engraver and fine-press printer Robert Gibbings (1889-1958) was proprietor of the press, and his old teacher from the Central School of Art and Design, Noel Rooke (1881-1953), provided these engravings for the book. Rooke was a seminal figure in the revival of wood engraving, and both Rooke and Gibbings were among the ten original co-founders of Britain's Society of Wood Engravers.

Although he was a little older than Gibbings, Rooke's style was more traditional than Gibbings's, and in his work he provided a link between the fine presses of the previous century and the work of contemporary printers. The Birth of Christ, printed in an edition of 370 copies, was well-regarded when it came out. Bernard Newdigate (1869-1944), manager of the Shakespeare Head Press, noted in a review in the London Mercury, "I like this little book better than any other from the Golden Cockerel Press I have yet seen."

Rooke was also responsible for the book's layout and design, which when compared to Golden Cockerel's other Biblical works of this period, was as Roderick Cave and Sarah Manson put it, "a throwback, an oddity." We don't know how Gibbings felt about it, but although Gibbings and Rooke remained friends for the rest of their lives, Rooke never illustrated another book for Golden Cockerel.

We enjoy the engravings and the book, however. Our copy is another donation of the estate of our late friend Dennis Bayuzick, who maintained an interest in Christian theology.

View another post with wood engravings by Noel Rooke.

View other books from the collection of Dennis Bayuzick. 

View more posts with wood engravings!

[arandomao3user]

. . . Funny idea my brother and I had one day: What if the batkids continuously adopted one another?

—

Jaybin: Yeah, B is in the middle of the adoption process, so...

Dick: Hey. You know what'd be hilarious?

Jason: Huh?

Dick: If I adopted you. That way, you'd be Batman's grandson. Make him feel old.

Jason: . . . 'Aight bet.

Jason lived with Bruce, he was Bruce's son, but much to Bruce's annoyance and irritation Dick managed to snag the legal rights over Jason, making him Dick's "adoptive son." But, it wasn't that big a deal, Bruce guesses. Anyways, that's how Jason became Jason Todd-Grayson-Wayne.

—

Now, Jason did not like Tim when he came back from the dead, definitely not fond of the little f*cker. However, he became somewhat okay-ish with his existence after Bruce's "death" and, also, thought it'd be funny.

Jason: Hey, pretender.

Tim: What?

Jason: So, you have no legal guardian since Bruce died.

Tim: He is not dead.

Jason: Sure, sure, sure, anyways, you need a legal guardian and I don't give a f#&$ what you do.

Tim: . . . Elaborate?

Jason: I have the papers printed out already.

And, thus, Timothy Jackson Drake-Todd-Grayson-Wayne is born and also Bruce's expression is hilarious when he finds out. Dick celebrates having a grandson and Jason realizes quickly how he's f*cked up whenever he receives calls from Tim's school that he dropped out of or has to get a call from the hospital when Tim has his weekly near death experience...

—

Damian was much easier.

Damian: Timothy, I have heard the most ridiculous rumor that you are Grayson's grandson and adopted by Todd!?

Tim: Oh, yeah, it's funny.

Damian: . . . I want in.

Tim:

Damian:

Tim: Bernard, you want in on this?

Bernard: Hell yeah!

Damian is a bit to proud when he holds up his new birth certificate, stating "Damian Thomas Al Ghul-Drake-Todd-Grayson-Wayne-Dowd." Bruce is really, really not impressed and Cass is so glad she's manages to avoid this odd family tradition...

So, by law, Damian is both Bruce's son and great great grandson, Dick's great grandson, Jason's grandson, and Tim and Bernard's son. Bruce eventually forces them all to a courthouse to get paperwork done so he can make them all regular siblings and all his children, but they all complain the entire time and Tim accuses Bruce of taking him from his Father, Jason throws in some fake tears, Dick makes himself dramatically pass out... The press eat it up.

—

[cressidagrey]

The Queen of Romantasy and the Race Car Prince - Chapter 9

Pairing: Lando Norris x Elizabeth "Lizzie" Treshton (Original Character)

Summary:

Elizabeth Treshton—bestselling romantasy author, queen of fae heartbreak, and sworn devotee of a carefully structured routine—never expected her service dog to abandon protocol and diagnose a Formula 1 driver with something. But that’s exactly what happens when Mara the wonder-dog ditches Lizzie’s side to aggressively alert to none other than Lando Norris in the middle of a coffee shop.

Warnings and Notes: 

Mention of epilepsy and service animals. I don't myself suffer from epilepsy, so I asked my IRL friend, who thankfully was nice enough to let me ask her all the questions I could come up with. The rest I asked Reddit. So everything that's wrong...that's totally my fault and not on purpose.

Also, this chapter is pretty much pure smut. So NSFW applies.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Lando bought her dog Ferrari Merch. No, scratch that. Lizzie’s boyfriend had literally asked Charles Leclerc, Il Predestinato himself, to get him Ferrari Merch for Mara.

It wasn’t like Lizzie hadn’t tried to get Ferrari Merch for her dog before…but it had always been pretty much impossible. Until Lando.

Until Lando brought home dog bandanas in rosso corsa, printed with that prancing horse symbol of the Scuderia. 

Lizzie's brain was still reeling from the fact that Lando had gone to such lengths for her dog. It was almost absurd, but also incredibly sweet and endearing.

And if Lando could get Ferrari Merch for her dog...maybe she should get McLaren Merch for him.

The plan had come together in her mind quite quickly.

And when he came home from Imola...she was waiting for him.

Waiting. Wearing a shirt that hailed from sometime before her birth…at a time when F1 cars were still plastered with cigarette advertisements. 

Lizzie had expected a reaction.

She hadn’t expected Lando to practically lose his mind the second he stepped through the door.

The plan had been simple. Subtle. Wear the vintage McLaren hoodie she’d spent way too much time hunting down, let him clock it immediately, and then sit back and enjoy the reaction. Tasha had been convinced this would send him feral—“You wanna break a man? Wear something that combines his two greatest loves: his job and you.”—but Lizzie hadn’t been prepared for this.

Because Lando didn’t just react.

He stared.

Completely frozen in the doorway, his bag slipping from his shoulder, mouth slightly parted like his brain had short-circuited. His eyes tracked every inch of her, taking in the way the hoodie swallowed her frame, the way the sleeves draped past her hands, the way she was curled up on the couch like she’d always belonged there.

And then, just when she started to smirk—

“Oh, you fucking menace.”

Lizzie barely had time to blink before Lando was on her, his body pressing her into the couch cushions, hands already gripping at the fabric like he needed to convince himself it was real.

“You—” A kiss to her jaw. “—are—” His hands slid beneath the hoodie, fingers tracing the bare skin of her waist. “—so—” His lips moved to her throat, warm and insistent. “—fucking cruel.”

Lizzie's heart raced as Lando suddenly came alive, his hands roaming over her, his lips on her skin. She'd expected a reaction, but this was...something else entirely. She let out a shaky breath, her eyes fluttering closed as he kissed her with an intensity that ignited a fire within her.

Lizzie let out a breathless laugh, tilting her head to give him better access. “It’s just a hoodie, Lando.”

Lando pulled back, just enough to look at her, his expression somewhere between wrecked and unbelieving. “Just a hoodie?” He scoffed, hands sliding up her sides, thumbs teasing the edge of her ribcage. “No, see, if you had worn my hoodie, I would’ve lost my mind, but this?” He shook his head, voice rough with something dangerously close to reverence. “You planned this.”

Lizzie bit her lip, deliberately toying with the hem of the hoodie. “Maybe.”

Lando’s gaze darkened, tracking the movement of her hands, his fingers tracing patterns on her skin. "Definitely," he corrected her in a low hum, his breath hot against her collarbone. "You did this on purpose, you little minx."

"Is it working?" She challenged back, her voice an innocent contrast to the gleam in her eyes.

Lando’s hands fisted the hoodie—his team’s hoodie—the possessive move making Lizzie shiver.

He looked at her, his expression wild and wanting. “You have no idea,” he growled in her ear, the sound sending a jolt of lust straight to her core.

"Oh, I think I have a pretty good idea," she murmured back, arching into him, pushing the fabric up on purpose. She could see how it was affecting him, the way his breath caught and his gaze darkened. She knew exactly what she was doing to him...and it fueled her own desire.

“You’re such a tease,” he breathed out, his hands roaming up the heated skin of her sides, his fingers toying with the edge of her bra almost lazily. Lizzie shivered at his touch, arching into him with a quiet moan.

Lando’s mouth latched onto her throat in response, his teeth sinking into her skin just enough to make her gasp. His hands continued their torturous exploration, sliding under her body and lifting her against him.

"Bed," she gasped.

Lando needed no more instruction.

In one swift motion, he scooped her up in his arms, his grip tight as he headed towards the bedroom. It was a whirlwind of sensations, his hands hot and urgent, his body pressed firmly against hers.

They reached the bedroom and he deposited her on the bed, his body following, pinning her down. He loomed over her, his eyes wild and dark, his breathing ragged.

"You have no idea what you do to me, do you?" He rasped out, his lips brushing against her jawline.

Lizzie grinned, her hands wandering to the hem of his shirt, tugging at it with a playful edge. "Oh, trust me, I have some idea."

He leaned back, stripping his shirt off in a quick, practiced motion, and then he was back on her, his body heavy and hard against hers.

He kissed a path down her throat, his hands roaming over her curves, the feel of him against her, the smell of him overwhelming her senses. Lizzie let out a low moan, her hands gripping at his shoulders, her legs wrapping around his hips to pull him closer.

One of her hands buried in his curls, pulling him into another kiss.

"As much as I like this sweater..." Lando whispered

"...it would look better on the floor," Lizzie finished, tugging at the fabric of the hoodie. 

Lando's eyes darkened even further at her words. "God, you're going to be the death of me," he murmured, his hands slipping under the hoodie and pulling it up over her head.

Lizzie was left in just her lace bra, vulnerable and wanting under Lando's gaze. His eyes roamed over her, taking in every inch of her bare skin, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

"Fuck, you're gorgeous, love," he breathed.

Lizzie arched into him, his words sending a shiver down her spine. "I could say the same about you," she replied huskily, her hands roving over his chest, feeling the firm muscles under her fingertips.

Lando's breath hitched as her fingers traced over his stomach, his hands tightening on her hips. He leaned down, his lips finding her neck, his teeth grazing her skin. "You drive me insane, you know that?" He murmured, his voice low and rough.

Lizzie let out a soft moan, her head tilting back to give him better access. "I have that effect on you, huh?" She teased, her hands wandering lower, fingers tracing the waistband of his jeans.

Lando groaned, his hips pressing into her touch automatically. "More than you realize," he murmured, his lips finding her collarbone. "You're like a goddamn addiction. I can't get enough of you."

Lizzie's breath caught at his words, the raw honesty in them almost too much to handle. She ran her hands over his back, feeling the heat of his skin, the strength of him. "Then take more," she challenged, her voice a whisper in his ear. "I'm not stopping you."

Lando needed no more invitation. His mouth was on her, his teeth scraping across her collarbone, his tongue soothing the skin. His hands roamed, possessive and rough, as if he needed to touch every inch of her to convince himself she was real.

Lizzie gasped, her body arching into him, her hands gripping at his shoulders. She'd never known lust like this, had never felt so desired, so consumed. She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him closer, needing to feel more, to have all of him.

Lando's hands were everywhere, his touch igniting flames in her veins. He hooked a finger under the strap of her bra, sliding it off her shoulder, his mouth following the path his finger had traced. A moment later, the scrap of lace joined the discarded hoodie, leaving her completely bare beneath him.

He pulled back to look down at her, his eyes roaming over her naked form like he was seeing her for the first time. "God, Liz," he whispered, his voice hoarse, reverent. "You're so goddamn beautiful."

Lizzie's heart did a little flip at his words, a mix of arousal and affection flooding through her. She reached up, pulling him back down to her, her lips finding his in a hungry kiss. His body pressed against her, his skin on hers, and it was like electricity shooting through her veins.

Lando responded eagerly, his lips moving against hers, his tongue slipping into her mouth. His hands continued their exploration, mapping every contour, every contour, every sensitive spot, learning what made her gasp and shudder.

He kissed down her neck, down over her chest...his hands sliding down her sides, his calloused fingers leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. He kissed her stomach, just above her hipbone, his lips tender, almost reverent. Lizzie let out a shaky breath, her fingers digging into the sheets.

Lando moved lower, kissing a path down her stomach, his breath hot against her skin. He reached the edge of her shorts and paused, his eyes flicking up to meet hers, a silent request for permission.

Lizzie met his gaze, her cheeks flushed, her lips parted. She nodded, her eyes darkened with want, her body trembling with anticipation. Lando's expression darkened, his eyes never leaving hers as he slowly, tortuously, slid her shorts down her legs.

He dropped them on the floor, his gaze roaming over her newly-exposed skin. His hands ran up her legs, from ankle to knee to thigh, his touch electrifying. He bit down on his lip as if to suppress a groan, his eyes dark and hot.

Lizzie felt exposed and yet so wanted under his gaze. She couldn't help but squirm a bit, her body needy and desperate. She wanted more, needed more. Her fingers fisted the sheets, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

Lando's hands continued their journey, his touch teasing and light as he kissed the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. She gasped, her body arching towards him instinctively. His mouth found the spot just below her hipbone, leaving an open-mouthed kiss there, his teeth scraping gently.

Lizzie's breath hitched, her head tilting back as pleasure coursed through her. His touch was setting her ablaze, every kiss, every graze of his teeth sending fire shooting through her veins. She couldn't remember the last time she'd want anyone this desperately, needed anyone like this.

Lando moved lower, his lips finding the juncture between her thighs, his tongue tracing a lazy pattern. She let out a strangled moan, her hips bucking involuntarily. He chuckled, the sound low and knowing. He knew exactly what he was doing to her, and he was very much enjoying it.

His mouth found her, hot and wet and so unbelievably good. Lizzie's brain short-circuited, her hands flying to his hair, grabbing at his curlsdesperately. She let out a strangled cry, her body arching off the bed, her toes curling. Lando groaned against her, the vibration sending another jolt of pure pleasure through her. 

Lizzie gasped, her hips instinctively bucking against him. "Oh god, yes..." She managed to get out, her voice strangled and weak. Lando's hands held her in place, his grip firm, but not rough, as he continued his ministrations. 

The sensations were overwhelming, bordering on too much. Lizzie felt like she was drowning in him, in this moment, in this feeling. Her body was alive with it, her skin on fire, her heart pounding out of her chest. Every touch of his tongue, every graze of his fingers sent sparks through her, like electricity through her veins.

He pressed one finger into her, and she couldn’t help but clench down onto it. Lando's grip on her thighs tightened as she started to shiver, her breathing rough and ragged. He could feel her teetering on the edge, and he didn't ease up. His tongue continued its rhythm, relentless and precise, pushing her closer and closer… He slid two fingers in, deep and slowly started to fuck her with them.

“Yes.” Her breath hitched, and she shuddered against his hand. “Yes, that’s so good.”

Lizzie was lost, completely lost in him, in the pleasure he was wringing from her body. She was on the precipice, teetering on the edge, her body quivering with the need for release. She gripped at the sheets, her fingers white-knuckled, as she fought for control.

And then...she tipped over the edge. Her body spasmed, her back arching off the bed, her vision going white. Lando's name fell from her lips like a prayer, a broken, breathless moan that seemed to echo in the room. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her, leaving her boneless

Lizzie's mind was still spinning, her body thrumming with aftershocks, as Lando pulled away, his eyes dark and satisfied. He crawled back up her body, his hands roaming over her skin, his lips finding hers in a rough, needy kiss.

She could taste herself on his lips, the familiarity and intimacy of it sending a shiver through her. She could feel him, hard and strained against her hip, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her fingers roaming down his back.

Lando groaned into her mouth, his hips instinctively grinding against hers. He was losing his composure, his touch becoming more impatient, more desperate. He pulled back just enough to speak, his voice rough and hoarse. "Lizzie," he whispered, his fingers digging into her hips, "I need—"

“Condom,” she gasped. “Bedside table.”

Lando's eyes darkened, his expression turning almost predatory, as he shifted off her, slipping out of the sweatpants he wore. 

He reached over to the bedside table, his eyes never leaving hers, and grabbed a condom from the drawer. His fingers trembled slightly as he ripped open the foil, his movements jerky with impatience.

He had it on in record time, Lizzie watching him, her breath catching in her throat. He was glorious, all coiled muscle and heat, and he was hers. He pushed her legs apart, settling between them, his body covering hers.

Lizzie was already on edge again, her body still sensitive from her orgasm. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him to her, wanting him as close as possible. Lando groaned, his forehead dropping to hers as he rubbed against her, his breathing uneven.

"I need you," he mumbled, his voice raw, and Lizzie couldn't help but shiver at the sound. "Need you so much." She reached up, cupping his face in her hands, her thumbs stroking his cheeks. Their eyes met, and in that moment, everything else fell away.

Lando's breath caught as he looked into her eyes, as if she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. He shifted his hips, his tip nudging at her entrance, and a gasp fell from her lips. They were so close, so close, and yet he still hesitated for a moment, his face a question.

Lizzie knew what he was asking without words and she nodded, her fingers digging into his shoulders. "Yes," she whispered, her voice a ragged plea. "Please. I need you, too."

That’s all he needed. With the sound of one sharp breath...he pushed in. It was like nothing she’d ever felt. She couldn't think, couldn't breathe, could only feel him. 

A moan slipped from her lips, deep and rough, as he began to move, slow and gentle at first. Every slide, every thrust sent a jolt of electricity through her veins, and she could feel him—every shudder, every sound, every tremble… He was moving slowly, almost tortuously, his eyes on hers, his teeth gritted in restraint. His breath was coming in harsh gasps, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Lizzie reached up, her fingers tracing his jaw, her touch both soothing and arousing. 

"Harder," she whispered, her voice a plea, her nails digging into his skin. "Please, I need—I need you."

His control snapped. Lando's hands slammed down next to her head, gripping the sheets, the muscles in his arms straining. He picked up the pace, each thrust harder, deeper, rougher than the last. 

He leaned down, his breaths hot against her neck, his hips moving relentlessly against hers. He was everywhere, surrounding her, consuming her. “God, Lizzie...” he groaned, his voice raw and guttural. “You’re so fucking perfect, so goddamn beautiful, I can’t—I can’t—"

She could feel him coming undone, every movement, every word, every ragged gasp was a piece of him breaking off and falling into her. She arched against him, her body meeting his with every thrust, seeking more, always more, scrabbling for purchase on the sweat slick skin of his back. "Don't hold back," Lizzie gasped, her fingers sliding into his hair. "Let go, let me see you."

That was all it took for the last vestiges of restraint to snap. Lando lost himself completely in her, his body driving into hers without restraint, one hand gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. 

She could feel him spiraling, coming undone, and she wanted to see it, to feel it, to be the one to undo him. She pulled him closer, her legs tightening around his waist. "Come for me," she gasped, her voice a pleading plea. "Please, Lando, come with me."

He let out a rough, guttural moan as if the words were a command he couldn't refuse. He was so close, his body trembling with the effort to hold back, to prolong this moment. She could feel him teetering on the edge, his rhythm growing rougher, more erratic. "Lizzie...f-f-fuck..." he managed to get out through clenched teeth, as if those were the only words he could remember.

She pulled him down, her fingers gripping his hair, "Let go," she gasped, her voice rough and broken. "Let go, Lando. I've got you, I promise."

He drove into her again, and her Orgasm slammed into her like a sucker punch. 

It was like a switch was flicked. He buried himself in her, a gasp torn from his lungs as he came undone. It was like nothing she'd ever felt, the power and the beauty and the absolute trust in it. She held him through it, her hands mapping his skin, her lips finding his, kissing him with everything she had. He was shaking, trembling, vulnerable, and all she wanted to do was hold him close and never let go.

He collapsed against her, his body boneless and heavy, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. His head was tucked into the crook of her neck, and she could feel the rapid thump of his heart against her chest. She held him close, her fingers stroking his hair gently, as if he was something fragile.

They stayed like that for a while, the minutes ticking by in silence, the only sound in the room their breathing and the occasional beat of the clock. Lando's breaths were slowly returning to normal, his body relaxed and sated. Lizzie's heart was still racing, her mind still reeling from the intensity of what had just happened.

Lando eventually raised his head, looking down at her with heavy-lidded eyes. "You...okay?" he whispered, his voice still a little rough.

Lizzie nodded, a small smile on her lips. "More than okay," she said, her voice soft and sated. "That was..." She trailed off, struggling to find the words to describe it.

Lando let out a tired, but satisfied chuckle. "Yeah, it was," he agreed, his eyes roaming over her face with a possessive glint. He propped himself up on one elbow, running his free hand over her curves, as if unable to keep his hands off her.

She shivered under his touch, her body still sensitive from their encounter. She reached up, her finger tracing his bottom lip, her eyes mapping the features of his face. "You're so beautiful," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Lando's gaze softened, something almost like awe in his eyes. He caught her hand in his, bringing it to his lips and gently kissing her knuckles. "You're the beautiful one," he murmured against her skin, his voice low and sincere.

She couldn't help but blush under his gaze, the intensity in his eyes making her chest tighten. She couldn't believe he was looking at her like that, as if she was the only person in the world. 

It was intoxicating, and beautiful and she found herself wanting to drown in it, in him. 

[iheartmira]

Hellooo!! Could you do poly smc, fem!reader, and pv all together ?

soo reader is a very famous singer and has good visuals (basically like a kpop singer lol)

and reader has photo cards and LOTS of people buy them including smc and maybe pv so that they could see reader’s very pretty face

and well obviously reader’s relationship with smc and pv is private because yes

Could you also write their reaction to reader getting shipped with a another famous male singer LMAO

I think that’s it lol I really don’t know what to say anymore 😭

/ps I love the way you write smc sm <3

"spotlight" - shadow milk x idol!reader x pure vanilla

✧ ✧ ✧

you knew the cameras loved you.

the stage lights hit just right when you turned your face. your smile had been called "lethal" on fan forums. your vocals trended every other week. you had been sculpted into a star by talent and timing, and cookies across earthbread couldn’t get enough.

they bought your albums, screamed your name at concerts, and snatched up every photocard drop like their lives depended on it.

even the ones who should’ve known better.

in a theater drenched in velvet shadow and soft laughter, shadow milk cookie twirled one of your photocards between his fingers. this one showed you mid-performance, eyes closed, lips parted, the light catching on your cheekbones like stardust. he sighed, dramatically.

"truly… a divine tragedy," he murmured, tracing your jawline with a finger. "how can one cookie be so beautiful?"

"you’re hoarding merch again," a voice said behind him, gentle but uncharacteristically deadpan.

shadow milk cookie turned slowly. "jealousy does not suit you, vanilly."

pure vanilla cookie held up a matching photocard. the same one, in fact. except his was in a crystal-clear sleeve, carefully preserved. not a fingerprint on it.

shadow milk cookie raised an eyebrow. "oh, how pure. do you kiss it goodnight?"

pure vanilla didn’t answer. but he did smile. a little too sweet.

and none of them, not the screaming fans, not the press, not the cookie kingdom elite, knew that both of them were in love with you.

privately. desperately. silently.

well. mostly silently.

you lay sprawled across the greenroom couch, a silk robe hanging loosely around your shoulders, your makeup wiped away but your stage glow still lingering. shadow milk cookie lounged nearby, flipping through a magazine with your face on the cover. pure vanilla sat in a nearby chair, quietly sipping a beverage brewed exactly how you liked it. he always made extra.

"are you seriously still fighting over who has more photocards?" you asked, raising a brow.

shadow milk cookie held up a holographic card like it was sacred scripture. "signed. with eyeliner smudged from tears. this is peak artistry."

pure vanilla just looked at you, then at the drink. "i prefer… the real thing."

you rolled your eyes and grabbed a pillow to scream into. not because of stress, but because your boyfriends were embarrassing.

yes. boyfriends. plural. secret, of course. the world couldn’t know the radiant songbird they adored spent their nights tangled between a legendary saint and a theatrical villain. it would shatter hearts. cause riots. probably end in someone printing body pillows.

still. you liked it this way. loved them both in their own way.

shadow milk cookie kissed you like it was a game you both pretended he wasn’t winning. pure vanilla cookie held you like you were something he prayed for. with them, you could be yourself. not a vision. not a fantasy. just… you.

until the internet exploded.

“earthbread's idol spotted backstage with dazzling cookie! romance in the air?” “the duet that set earthbread ablaze: chemistry or something more?” “are we witnessing the birth of a power couple???” you stared at your phone. blinked. then groaned.

dazzling cookie was sweet, talented, and kind. he was also very much not your type. but fans had latched onto the on-stage chemistry from your recent duet like hungry leeches.

the ship name had trended in under an hour.

you looked up. shadow milk cookie was reclined against your dressing table with pure vanilla cookie behind him, holding your phone upside down like it personally offended him. his smile was sharp. "so this is betrayal."

"i'm dating you two. it's not even real," you said, rubbing your temples.

"oh, but the fan edits are!" he snapped, flipping the phone. "look! someone made an animation of you two kissing!"

you sighed and walked between them, stealing your phone back. "if you turn this into a jealousy contest, i'll start selling a photocard of me holding hands with him."

pure vanilla looked calm. too calm. "you’re not… really considering that, are you?"

you smirked. "depends. will you two behave?"

they were quiet.

and then, shadow milk cookie grinned, sliding up behind you. "i suppose i'll forgive him. after all, he’s not the one who gets to hold you."

pure vanilla touched your hand gently. "and he doesn’t know how you like your favorite drink after you sing."

you let out a breath, caught between amused and endeared. and when you walked out to take your next spotlight, they stood just behind the wings, invisible to the crowd, hearts fully yours, even if the world didn’t know it.

yet.

✧ ✧ ✧

‹𝟹 ‎ ⠀⠀ˑ˚₊ ·⠀interested in requesting? check out my pinned!

© 2025, iheartmira

[summerbummin]

I like to think the Waynes just make shit up to fuck with the press. 1) because it’s funny. 2) because it’s their way of getting some narrative control back.

It’s better for them to come up with a story they think are funny, then to leave it to the tabloids where they could possibly come up with something that would hurt their feelings. Because tabloids are always gonna print stuff about them. Whether they’re nice and boring or causing scandals. Tabloids want an interesting story and will make one up if the Waynes don’t give them the stuff they need to get readership.

So the family has a competition of what ridiculous shit they can get people to believe. Tim and Cass have half of Gotham believing they’re twins separated at birth. Damian says he has a pet tiger and the zoo has been called several times about it. Dick makes people think he has a collection of itasha cars. Duke asked for McDonalds and Bruce tried to buy the whole company. Etc.

[maniaeofmadness]

Relativity Falls au but instead of the journal having Dippers birth mark or something, it has a hand print with only 4 fingers since Dipper and Mabel are only drawn with 4 fingers

Great-aunt May (Mabel) always wears gloves or something, and when the Stans ask her about it she explains how she lost her pinkies in a craft-related accident with proof of a scar on each hand (faked of course) so they’re not suspicious of her

Ford thinks the journal is the coolest thing because the author has weird hands like him (Mabel is immediately reminded of Dipper when seeing Ford at the beginning of the summer)

When we get to the Not What He (she) Seems episode, they find news clippings of someone with the initials of MP dying in some car accident where foul play is suspected, then another clipping of a “homeless woman at large” with a picture of Grauntie May, who’s missing the scars on her hands

Stan trusts her and doesn’t press the button, someone comes through the portal…

A four fingered man places his hand on the journal, finger splaying over the decorations in a perfect match. Dipper is revealed as the author, right before he promptly gets into a fight with Mabel, before realizing there are children present

Stan thinks it’s cool that Dipper is missing a finger when they shake hands, probably saying something about how Dipper and Ford could make a pair of normal hands together.

Ford freaks out because he’s related to the author of the journals, and Dipper thinks that Ford’s extra fingers are fascinating

[russo-woso]

There’s two? || Alex Morgan x reader

Request | Masterlist | prompt list

Summary You and Alex go to your first pregnancy scan and find out some very exciting news

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“Hi, baby.” Alex whispered against your small bump.

It must be about five in the morning but you’d woken up with the worst morning sickness ever and hadn’t been able to get back to sleep.

Alex was a god send though, rubbing your back and grabbing your vitamins and some water.

“We can’t wait to see you today. Your sister’s excited too.” Alex said against your abdomen, pressing light kisses between every few words.

You let a hand run through her hair, playing with the baby hairs on her neck.

This was your second pregnancy, having carried and given birth to yours and Alex’s daughter, Charlie.

However, this pregnancy was a lot harder already.

The morning sickness was double as bad, the aching was double as bad, everything was double as bad.

“Charlie’s going to love it today.” You mumbled, half asleep.

Today, you were having your twelve week scan, finally getting to see your baby for the first time.

“She is. She loves you so much already. And so do me and mama.” Alex agreed, talking to the baby.

Before either of you could say another word, small footsteps were heard from the hallway, a small knock being heard seconds later.

Alex got up, crouching down to see a sleepy Charlie.

“Hi, bubs.”

“Hi mommy.”

“Why aren’t you still asleep?” Alex asked, watching Charlie’s eyelids droop.

“Excited to see baby.” You and Alex looked at each other with so much adoration at Charlie’s excitement.

“Can I sleep in yours and mamas bed?” Charlie questioned, giving Alex puppy eyes.

Alex nodded, knowing it was only another hour or two until you’d be awake and up.

“Be careful of mama getting into bed though.” Alex said as Charlie climbed into bed, melting into your side.

“Can’t wait to see baby.” Charlie whispered as she fell asleep.

—

It was a few hours later and you were all fully awake now.

Youd checked in at the hospital and was guided through to the room, preparing yourself for the scan.

Alex held your hand as the midwife put on the gel.

You shivered slightly at the cold but fixed your eyes on the screen, awaiting the tiny shadow to appear.

Alex squeezed your hand tightly as the outline of a baby appeared on the screen, along with the sound of a string beating heart.

“As you can see, this is your baby. Looking at the measurements, they are growing nice and healthy. I can’t see any problems.” The midwife smiled, pointing to the screen.

“That’s our baby, love.” Alex whispered, kissing your cheek.

“Baby?” Charlie asked, pointing to the screen.

“Yes, bubs.”

“Can you pull your trousers just a bit lower?” The midwife asked, a confused look on her face.

You obeyed, pulling them down a bit lower so your whole stomach was on show.

You and Alex watched in cincern as she moved the scan ‘stick’ around.

“The heart beat you can hear is not just one but two heart beats, which means there’s two babies. Look, there’s twin B, hiding behind twin A.” The midwife pointed out, two babies clearly evident on the screen.

“There’s two? Twins?” Alex asked, her eyes wide.

“Twins, indeed. Congratulations, mamas. I’ll print off some pictures and I’ll be with you again shortly.”

The midwife left the room, leaving you and Alex in shock.

“Two babies. We’re having two babies.” Alex said, her jaw dropped.

“We’re having two babies.” You repeated, staring at Alex.

“Mama have two babies in her tummy?” Charlie asked and you nodded, tears welling in your eyes.

“Oh my god. Baby, don’t cry. It’s twice as much love we get to share.” Alex said, bringing you in for a hug.

“Happy tears.” You managed to say between cries.

“Group hug!” Charlie cheered as she joined the hug.

The five of you together.

[florencemtrash]

The Graveyard Shift: Chapter I

Simon Riley x f!Reader

Author's Note: Credit goes to @gloomwitchwrites and this specific post for inspiring this fic! This idea has lived in my mind rent free for weeks now, so I'm finally just going to do something about it.

Summary: Simon is a lonely grave keeper in Victorian England who puts a marriage proposal ad in the London newspaper. You can guess what happens next...

Warnings: abusive marriages (not Simon), allusions to SA in later chapters (not explicit)

The Graveyard Shift Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

Next chapter ->

Y/n mourned her husband until the end of the funeral for propriety’s sake. Then, she had to start making plans. 

There were few opportunities for widows, and even fewer for those of illegitimate birth and in possession of inhospitable family members. But though her husband had been of the London variety with soft hands and grotesque manners, she knew the cost of labor. Hard work was a familiar, necessary friend. Perhaps she was lucky her husband had never divorced her from her harsh upbringing — never made her a stranger to toil. 

 Her husband was a week in the grave when an opportunity finally came her way. She was perched on her stoop, loaf of bread clutched beneath her arm, and scarf flying into her mouth as she fought to keep the newspaper flat enough to read. 

Simon Riley.

It was a simple, sensible name, printed in plain text and crammed in the bottom right corner of the second page. It was a cheap ad, and because space was so expensive, all the lines were written one after another. Sentences forced to lay side by side like coffins in a pauper’s grave. 

Simon Riley. 33 years old. Grave keeper by trade.  In need of a wife. Never married. 18 shillings/week.  Contact Father Hughes. Chilham, Kent. 

There was an additional line asking for a photo or description of appearance, age, and a handful of other pertinent information, but she skipped over it hastily. It mattered not what she could offer this man, only what he could offer her. Safety. Food. A roof over her head. A chance to escape her pitiful existence in London. She could give him whatever else he wanted. She had no other choice. 

She’d investigated every page of the paper for five days now for a position or a household that might take her. She was bastard-born and though she could read and write well enough, no self-respecting family would hire her as a governess. She could cook and clean and sew and mend and do whatever the factories required of her, but those were skills easily found in women. Desperation — that too was easily found in women. But unlike many other women, she had no husband who might make the task of finding work easier. Her deceased husband had stolen what little else might make her appealing to an established man. 

But… a grave keeper? He might just be lonely enough to take her. And a second marriage could save her. 

It could be better. She realized with a shock of hope, holding the paper flat against her heart. It has to be better. 

That evening she carefully cut away the advert with a pair of kitchen scissors, keeping it pressed between two scraps of fabric in the seam of her waist to keep the ink from smudging, and threw the rest of the paper in the fire. She watched as the edges of the print caught, words quickly swallowed up by fire as the paper curled in itself and flickered into dust. 

Micklethwaite’s Photography was a bustle of activity on the Saturday afternoon she went. Wheeled out to the south corner of Bunson St, its pitch black curtains stared out at the penny shop across the street like a pair of pupils. Faint camera flashes from within gave the impression that the cart was winking at passerby as they bustled between shoppes carrying groceries and freshly pressed shirts from the tailor’s. 

Y/n stood fourth in line and anxiously stared at her reflection in the dusty glass display where a small mirror had been set up beside rows of sample tintypes. The eyes that stared back at her were bright and glassy, and it took many moments for her to truly recognize herself. Her husband, being the kind of religious man that he was, had covered the mirrors in the house, declaring that only God should look upon her and see her soul. Now that he was dead and she was free to stare as she pleased, she realized how solemn she looked. How frightened. 

She smoothed her hair for the fifteenth time and adjusted the frilly collar of her most handsome dress. There were two men in front of her, both dressed in their Sunday best as they combed through their neat beards with their fingers. They discussed business, pointing with some interest at the paper ads covering the brick wall of the butchers a few storefronts over, paper peeling away from the wall. 

They only regarded her once, tipping their heads in slight, empathetic bows as they noticed her black dressing gown. These were gentlemen, and they would give a widow her due course… in public of course. Private matters were private matters. Little did they know she was already planning her second marriage. Or maybe they did know. She imagined their phantom judgement so fiercely it became real, until she was wringing her fingers beneath her shawl. But they moved quickly inside the photographer’s studio, and left shortly after with tintypes in hand. 

Then it was her turn. 

She slipped behind the curtain, stifling a cough as dust shimmered in the artificial light. Developing chemicals leant a sharp, acrid smell to the air, burning her sensitive nose. A plain grey curtain lined the back wall, held up by nails hastily hammered into the wood. Cramped along the sides were bins of discarded tintypes and strange liquids swishing in glass bottles as the photographer hurried over from where he’d been bent over a tray of solution. 

Brown, flash blown eyes and a tobacco-stained smile greeted her, nestled beneath a rather impressive mustache. “What brings you in?” He asked, ignoring her obvious mourning clothes as she carefully folded her shawl and removed her hat. 

The question jarred her, but a lie spilled out her lips with surprising ease. “My husband recently passed, and it was his wish that a picture of mine be laid with him.” 

Richard Hall had made no such request. He was already buried. And if he knew his widow was engaging in as indulgent an activity as having her picture taken he would have asked the good Lord to send him back to earth. That or he would have asked the devil to climb out of hell for an evening.

The photographer only nodded in understanding. Widows and widowers were a dime a dozen as far as he was concerned. 

He had her sit before the wall, slipped behind the camera, and snapped a photo before Y/n was truly ready.

“Wait!” She called out as he busied himself with dunking the photo in one of the many chemical baths laid out beside him. She twitched her nose at the sharp smell. “Can we… Can we do that again?” She stammered, “I wasn’t ready. And my husband—” 

“I charge by the tintype. I’m afraid it will cost you extra.” 

“I can pay.” She responded a touch too quickly. 

He nodded once more and she took the few precious moments she was afforded to try lifting her eyes and her cheeks a little more. She stretched her neck, overcoming an innate urge to curl up into nothing. She wanted to look gracious. Kind. Lovely. The kind of woman a certain grave keeper might be enamored with. 

In the end she left the photographer disappointed with the two tintypes hidden in the folds of her skirts. She didn’t know what she’d been expecting. Had she thought the camera would capture some feature she wasn’t aware of? Create a beauty out of thin air where there were only sad eyes and a shrunken face? She’d entered the booth knowing the years had not been kind to her, but she’d hoped… 

She took the remainder of the pin money her son-in-law had given her for the day’s outing and paid the postage on her letter to Mr. Simon Riley. She tried to keep things brief and straightforward, for the cost of every sheaf of paper ate away at her meager allowance, but she couldn’t help the small personal details that ended up in the final letter. 

Y/n Hall of London, though originally born of Henley-on-Thames, Oxfordshire, where the weather is no better or worse than anywhere else. 25 years of age. Can sew, knit, cook, clean, read, and sing (passably). Would enjoy gardening if given the chance. Of small upbringing. Quiet and of respectable countenance.

She’d struggled with the last line for hours. Tossing and turning in bed all night as she wondered at the lie that might become trapped on paper. But in the early hours of the morning, before she took leave of her house with pin money and letter in hand, she’d padded over to her vanity and written the last line of her letter to Simon Riley. 

Never married. 

Next chapter ->

[phoward89]

Based on this ask

Coriolanus Snow knew firsthand the deadly risks of childbirth, considering he watched in horror as a young child when his own mother and baby sister died, but he knew that he needed an heir to carry on the Snow name. When he planned on marrying for hate, well, he could care less what happened to his wife during the delivery.

But, somehow, all his plans and views on marriage changed when he met you. You were hired as his secretary, so you spent a lot of time with him. Coriolanus never planned on falling in love with you, but he did. Hell, he even killed your boyfriend in order to make you single again so you'd be able to go out with him.

And when you accepted his offer of dinner, which came with a single white rose, a few months after the death of your longtime boyfriend, he did everything in his power to make you fall in love with him. Coriolanus was successful, you fell hard and fast for him. He was too charming not to let wiggle into your heart, and into your bed.

The president needed a first lady, so he proposed and married you. But it was a bit scandalous, considering you were his secretary. After a couple of negative articles in the media, well, Coriolanus got rid of the writers and made sure that the studios and printing presses in the Capitol (all of Panem actually) knew that if another foul word was printed about his relationship with his wife then he'd kill every single person in the media office.

Safe to say, only articles praising President Snow and First Lady Snow’s love and glamorous life hit the press after that.

And then, of course, came the subject of children. After discussing it, you stopped taking birth control. And you ended up getting pregnant right away.

Seeing you so round with his child gave Coriolanus joy. Gave him an ego boost because he was the one to plant his seed in you. You were carrying his child. His precious baby.

The baby was no longer looked at as an heir, but as a baby to love.

And it was all because of you.

“Coryo, I have my top list of baby names finished.” You told your husband, who was lounging in bed wearing only a pair of sleep pants.

Coryo watched as you sat across the room, placing his fountain pen back into its holder after writing down the final name on your baby name list.

After discussing it, you both decided to wait until the baby was born to discover the gender. You wanted to be surprised and Coriolanus just wanted you to be happy.

“Are you going to let me see it, my darling?” Your platinum blonde husband asked as you slowly stood up from his corner desk.

Placing a hand on your large belly, you smiled, “Of course I'm going to let you see it.”

Grabbing the list, you slowly walked over to the bed. After getting into bed, you handed the list to your husband. “Tell me what ones you like, Mister President.”

Coryo kissed your cheek and smiled. “Of course, First Lady Snow.”

He read over the list, only to discover that you had more boys' names than girls written down. After giving it some thought, he told you, “Cassian Xandros is perfect for our son. It's a strong name.” Mulling it over, he pointed to a name on the paper and announced, "Cersei sounds nice for a girl.”

“It's not nice, Coryo, it's beautiful.” You countered, pulling the list out of his hands. “Looks like the baby has a name; all we need to do is wait for it to come.”

The day your daughter Cersei Snow was born was the day that your husband decided to hate her.

The day didn't start out with him hating his baby girl.

No, it started with your water breaking and a trip to the hospital. Coriolanus canceled all of his meetings, briefings, and work for the day just to be by your side.

He was very supportive during your labor. Letting you hold his hand during painful contracts, smoothing your hair back away from your sweaty face with a damp rag, and buzzing the nurse multiple times for both ice chips and pain medication for you.

The nurses all gossiped amongst each other about how President Snow was the perfect doting husband and and father to be. That he'd make a very good father.

Little did they know.

Little did anyone know what would happen once the doctor came into the room and announced that it was time to start pushing.

Coriolanus was by your side as you pushed and pushed. With every push he noticed you were getting weaker and it worried him.

Looking between your weak, pale form, and the doctor that was sitting at the bottom of your bed, Coriolanus asked, “Dr. Wellock, my wife's growing weaker. Is there something you can do to get the baby out?”

“There's nothing to be worried about, President Snow. Labor’s a strenuous event; many first time mothers grow fatigue and can push for a while before the baby crowns.” The doctor told your husband, more or less blowing off his concern.

You were exhausted but determined to have your baby. Even tho you were feeling dizzy, you continued to bear down and push every time you were told to.

Then, when you felt that you didn't have any more strength coursing thru your body, you gave birth to your baby.

You saw Dr. Wellock hold up the baby and announce, “It's a girl.” Suddenly, your vision began to get fuzzy as you heard the doctor ask your husband, “President Snow, would you like to cut the cord?”

Coriolanus was about to answer whenever he saw you faint, paired with blood pooling around your legs and staining the bed.

“What's wrong with my wife?!” Coriolanus asked, fear filling him as the doctor quickly cut the baby's cord and tossed her to a waiting nurse. “Dr. Wellock, is my wife dying?!” Coriolanus asked in a panicked scream, while the nurse quickly cleaned the baby and wrapped her into a blanket.

“Your wife's hemorrhaging, President Snow.” Dr. Wellock told your husband, only to point to the nurse and tell her, “Give him the baby and get him out of here.”

So, the nurse dumped the baby in Coriolanus' arms and pushed him out of the door. Before the president could blink, the door was slammed shut I'm his face.

As Dr. Wellock and his nurse worked to staunch your bleeding; save your life, your husband stood outside of your room with your newborn baby girl in his arms.

Coriolanus looked down at the tiny baby wriggling and crying in his hold, only to look at the door of your room and realize that you're dying because of the thing in his arms.

Cersei’s what the two of you decided to name her, when she wasn't a danger. Wasn't the reason you're dying.

Coriolanus felt disgust and hatred for the newborn in his arms. He didn't want to hold her anymore. She was the reason why you're knear death right now.

So, your husband found a nurse to pawn the baby on.

Coriolanus swore to himself that he'd never touch that evil little creature ever again. That he'd never love her.

It didn't matter if you lived or died, he was going to hate your daughter until the day he died.

You didn't die in childbirth, but it was a close call. The doctor explained that you had bad hemorrhaging due to your uterus not contracting correctly after the birthing process, causing uncontrollable bleeding. You were given a blood transfusion, once Dr. Wellock managed to stop the bleeding, due to your blood pressure being too low after such a large blood loss.

You were out of it for days, but you survived.

You were happy to be alive and with your family. Coriolanus and Cersei.

But it didn't take long for you to notice that Coriolanus never picked up your daughter. He never held her, hell, Coryo never seemed too interested in her.

Unless it was for a photo op. Then he turned into the perfect hands on dad that would pose for pictures. But as soon as the cameras stop flashing, the president stops caring about his daughter.

You thought that Coriolanus would get over it; would come to accept your daughter in time. But…sadly…your daughter's first birthday is fastly approaching and your husband still doesn't seem interested in her, unless it's for a photo op.

It saddened you, knowing that Coriolanus was offish to Cersei because she wasn't the son he probably wanted to carry on the Snow name. You loved your daughter and you were sure that your Coryo loved her too, but was just disappointed that she wasn't the strong son he probably had his heart set on.

He did pick out a boy name right off the bat when you handed him your list of baby names last year.

Maybe if Coryo had a son to carry on the Snow name, he'd be happier in his role of fatherhood?

Coriolanus walked into the sunroom only to cringe when he saw you coddling Cersei. The damn little creature nearly murdered you during the birthing process, but you were holding her as she napped on you.

Goodness, there was a portable cradle in the room for a reason.

“She's nearly a year old, you shouldn't be letting her sleep on you like that.” Coriolanus told you, taking a seat at the small tea table. He never even tried to hide the disgust in his voice.

“There's nothing wrong with holding her, Coryo? She's my baby girl.” You responded, causing your husband to just shake his head while reaching for the teapot that was in the middle of the table.

“She's a toddler now, darling. She's not a baby anymore.” Coriolanus scoffed, pouring himself a cup of tea. “Do you want to have afternoon tea with me, or are you going to coddle Cersei all day?” He asked, grabbing a macaron and placing it onto the small plate that was in front of him.

“I'll have tea with you, Coryo.” You thinly smiled, only to rise from your spot on the sofa and place your daughter into her portable crib.

As you made your way over to the table, your husband fixed you a cup of tea and plated you macarons. When you sat down, you decided that now was the time to bring up the subject of having more children.

Little did you know, after your near death experience, Coriolanus got himself snipped. So…it was impossible for you to have any more children.

But he wasn't going to tell you that.

Reaching for your teacup, you told your husband,“Coryo, I think we should have another baby.”

“No.” Was Coriolanus’ quick and cold reply.

“But, we could have a son this time “ You pressed, knowing that your husband wanted a son. Wanted the Snow name to live on.

But you were wrong. Coriolanus didn't want a son to carry on the Snow name, he wanted you alive to be by his side. He loves you to the point of obsessive possession. The love Coriolanus has for you is all consuming, like a plague of locusts devouring an entire field of crops in District 11.

Coryo took a long sip of his tea, only to cut eyes with you over his teacup and firmly say, “I said no, Y/N.” placing his teacup down, he gave you the lame excuse of, “I'm a very busy man, my little dove. Being president takes much of my time away from my fatherly duties; we can only handle raising one child. More than one would be too much for us, considering you refuse a nanny.”

“I told you when I was pregnant with Cersei that I want to raise our kids. I don't want somebody else raising them, no matter how it might be easier considering your role in politics.”

“My role in politics?” Coriolanus chuckled, biting into his macaron. “I'm the President of Panem, that's more than just a role in politics.”

Sipping on your tea, you sighed, “Fine, Cersei’ll be an only child.”

Grabbing your hand in his, Coryo promised, “Our daughter will never want for anything. She'll be showered in a life of luxury.”

That wasn't true. Your daughter grew up wanting her father's love, but she never got it. Coriolanus was always so distant and cold with Cersei.

She hated him, but that was fine with your husband since he hated her right back.

You always thought that your husband resented your daughter for not being a son, for not being able to carrying on the might and noble Snow name.

But that wasn't the case at all.

Coriolanus Snow hated his daughter, Cersei, because you nearly died in childbirth with her. Nothing would every change that. He'd hate her til the day she died.

At least when your daughter died, it was bringing your beautiful granddaughter into the world.

A granddaughter Coryo named Celeste Snow, since your daughter was unwed at the time of her unexpected death.

Your husband was a better grandfather than he was a father. You thought that he might've felt guilty for being so distant and busy during Cersei’s childhood, that he decided to right his wrongs while you raised Celeste.

Little did you know, Coriolanus loved his granddaughter because she killed her mother in the birthing bed.

President Snow was a horrible, heartless man with a soul darker than a black hole. But at least he loved you and loved his granddaughter.

Too bad he hated his only child her entire life.

Tags: @kuroosbby001, @purriteen, @poppyflower-22 @meetmeatyourworst, @whipwhoops, @bxtchopolis, @readingthingsonhere,@savagenctzen, @ryswritingrecord, @erikasurfer, @tulips2715, @universal-s1ut, @thesmutconnoisseur @squidscottjeans, @sudek4l, @wearemadeofstardust0, @mashiromochi, @gracieroxzy @belcalis9503, @shari-berri, @aoi-targaryen, @whiteoakoak @spear-bearing-bi-witch, @gisellesprettylies @loverandqueenofdragons, @qoopeeya, @mfnqueen1, @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88

[cosmicmunsonwrites]

i fall into your arms

pairing(s): bf!rafe cameron x gf!fem!reader

warnings: smut, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie ish, pet names, talks of pregnancy, praise, overstimulation, aftercare

summary: you and rafe have a scare.

authors note: idk where this idea came from but yeah. here it is lol. i’m still working on requests atm!!

not edited

do not copy my works. i do not condone rewrites, translations, or edited versions. all my content is my content that i wrote.

not my gif

“oh, fuck,” you moaned, hands squeezing the comforter beneath you. “‘s too much, rafe.”

“you can take it, sweetheart. c’mon. give me one more,” he said as he pounded into you from behind.

you stuffed your face into the pillow and screamed when he thrusted particularly hard into your sopping cunt. “oh my god,” you gasped. “‘m gonna come.”

“yeah?” he asked. he slapped your behind, only adding to the red hand prints that covered you. “come for me then, baby.”

you bit your lip hard and your legs began to shake when your fourth orgasm of the night approached and crashed over you. you reached a hand back, trying to push him away when the pleasure was suddenly becoming too much for you to handle.

“fuck, sweetheart. pretty little cunt is squeezin’ me so good,” he moaned, only pounding into you even harder.

before you could blabber put whatever nonsense came to your mind, you felt a certain warmth fill you before he pulled out, strings of come coating your back and butt.

“baby? that was inside,” you said, head turning over your shoulder to look at him.

“no,” he disagreed. “i pulled out, sweetheart.”

you shook your head. “i felt it, rafe,” you swore, beginning to panic.

“you’re still on birth control, aren’t you?” he asked, leaving soft kisses against down your spine.

“yeah, but still. what if i get pregnant?” you questioned nervously.

he grabbed a towel and wiped you off, sitting beside you and flipping you onto your back then pulling you close to his chest. “you’re gonna be fine, sweet girl. i promise. i’ll go pick up plan b in a little bit and if anything happens, i’ll be here with you the whole time.”

you suddenly began to cry. you couldn’t explain what you were feeling, just that it wasn’t right. you weren’t ready for kids right now. you couldn’t give them the life they deserved yet.

“hey, baby, you’re okay. i’m sorry, i messed up. i swear i’ll be more careful next time,” he apologized, hand running through your hair and lips pressing gentle kisses to your temple. “whatever happens, i’m still gonna be here. i can promise you that much, sweetheart.”

[domain-expand-me]

My work amount has finally lessened, so here I am.

Imagine being MILF/DILF and the different sorcerers and curses are obsessed with you.

Aged up characters, reader is in their 40s, because when I say milf/dilf, I mean it.

This is more of an introduction, let me know if you want something more about a specific character.

Imagine living in a small house you got for cheap, and on accident near the Jujutsu campus. You aren't a curse user, but you respect the spirits because you grew up with a superstitious parent or grandparent. And because you're hot and have a nice personality, the curses tend to leave you alone.

Maybe they just end up hanging around your place, because who wouldn't wanna stick around to watch a hot milf/dilf walking around in nothing but a pair of shorts and a too tight t-shirt.

After moving into your home, cursed energy started getting concentrated around your home, much to the worry of the sorcerers at the campus. They might assume you are an illegal curse user or somehow summoning curses. Imagine their surprise when Gojo and Nanami pull up to see curses clustered around the window, being peeping toms.

The curses are easy to get rid of, as it's nothing too extreme. Gojo being Gojo would want to see what they were so distracted by, and he almost ends up pulling his blindfold up to get a good look, because there you are. Walking around your home in a pair of way too small shorts and what was probably once a band t-shirt. It's so washed out that the print is gone, and the fabric is way too thin.

Nanami would grumble and be annoyed about Gojo being a creep, until he meets you too one day when you are bringing groceries in. Being the gentleman he is, he helps you carry it all inside, and he can't explain why he gets so red afterwards after you squeezed his bicep and complimented his muscles.

You don't really understand why these two handsome younger men, because they are much younger than you, keep hanging around your place. In your own eyes you don't think you are too attractive, if at all, maybe you're divorced, or you lost your last spouse somehow. Your kids are all grown up and out doing their own thing. You aren't as fit as you once were, having kids does that to a person.

If you're a dilf, maybe you have the blessed dad strength and dad bod, maybe you've worked a physically taxing job for most of your life, so now your body is worn down enough that you have to do something else. The muscle still lays there though, under the layer of chub on top.

If you're a milf, you would have given birth to your kids once upon a time, and the baby weight never truly went away. The stretch marks and other signs of age are one of the things you feel insecure about, but little do you know, it only makes you more attractive in the eyes of your admirers.

That is to say, in your own eyes, you aren't a catch. So you don't understand why Nanami shows up on your specified shopping days or gardening days, or why Gojo shows up almost begging for your attention. You end up just assuming they are being nice, and since your kids don't visit you much anymore, you let them(mainly Gojo) invade your home.

Imagine meeting their students, most likely a result of Gojo dragging them along. They're younger than your own kids, so you can't help but find yourself caring about them. When Yuji starts stuttering and sputtering when you hug him, or when Megumi goes bright red when you place a hand on his forehead to check it he has a cold, you fear you may have overstepped your boundaries.

In reality it's because when you hug Yuji, your breasts/pecs press up against him, especially if you are somehow taller than him and he ends up with his face in-between your chest. For Megumi it's because when you lean down, the collar of your shirt has a tendency of sliding down, showing off more cleavage than you realize.

When Todo gets dragged along you assume he's just another friendly young man, as he's going out of his way to be so helpful. You don't notice the way the other students glare when Todo shows you how to stretch your shoulders and legs because your muscles have been acting up.

If it's when Yuji still had Sukuna sealed inside him, poor Yuji won't hear the end of it. Sukuna would be saying the most lewd things about you, claiming you are teasing them on purpose with the clothes you wear or how you act. Yuji's had to grip his own wrist when Sukun tried to take over to grope you when you were bent over grabbing something.

If you end up meeting Choso, you immediately find yourself caring for him. He barely has to be introduced before you pull him inside, place him on your couch, wrap him in a blanket and bring him snacks. He just looks so sad and like he needs to be loved on. He wouldn't completely understand the deep attraction he has for you in the beginning, and it's only after he gets help from others that he understands. They all just sigh and pat him on the back all "welcome to the club brother"

I could go on, but this is already long.

[dreamgrlarchive]

what’s the impoartance of branding and how did you find your brand

Branding Yourself ❤︎︎

why do you buy lingerie from victoria’s secret and not target? why do you go to starbucks instead of looking for a local coffee shop? it’s the way these entities have displayed their aesthetic, values, and more than anything: THEIR AURA. they’re displaying a feeling that you can only get if you indulge in their goods and services.

when you carry yourself in whatever fashion that happens to be, imagine a logo plastered all over yourself. who’s attention do you want to grab with that logo? you’re showing potential employers, friends, love interests, what they’ll be getting when in collaboration with you. so this. this is what’s important about branding.

My Brand 🎀

i wanted to feel not only feminine in energy, but hyperfeminine in appearance… but with a cloak of sex appeal, maturity and exclusivity

i recently found and accepted that i am not “cute” aesthetically. i’m far more often seen as “pretty” or “sexy” and unknowingly working against my natural beauty archetype was hurting me badly

my color palette of midtone pink, black, white, gray, and nude/brown convey a feminine look while being grounded in minimalism from the neutral colors

sex kitten, video vixen, and victoria’s secret angel are archetypes/aesthetics i identify and get associated with often

i leaned into my result from vindicta’s feminine archetype quiz (the aphrodite + the diva)

i compiled a list of words i identify with and channeled them in my self expression and how i carry myself

studying my birth chart and infusing my natural traits into my essence with intent

all these things i’ve compiled over time and lots of trial and error to reach what i call #theprissygirlagenda (i can make a detailed post about this in the future)

things my followers said they associate with me, ie. “prissy girl core”:

louis vuitton bags, french tips, fur details, cheetah print, rhinestones, silk presses, fuzzy pens, rap and r&b, sexy over cute, hoop earrings

How to Build Yours 🎀

how do you wanna feel

how do you wanna be seen

what do you want out of life

these three questions will help you be able to reach a conclusion in conjunction with the resources below 🎀💕💗

What Even Is… #ThePrissyGirlAgenda?

My Guide to Making a Beauty Binder

Discovering Your “Vibe” 1 & 2 by @FILLEFATALE on twitter

She Is So Bougie Checklist by @babyphat05

Quizzes that Helped Me Develop My Brand

Vindicta Feminine Archetype Quiz + System

13 Feminine Seduction Archetypes Quiz

Tips to Enhance Your Natural Features

BabyPhat05’s Bougie Guide 101

Reinvention by @thevirgodoll

Walking in High Heels by @prettyvixenavenue

Pretty Privilege by @2pretty

How to Build Your Personal Brand and Self Concept by @femmefatalevibe

Tips for Self-Discovery by @femmefatalevibe

Understanding Archetypes by @femmefatalevibe

Knowing Yourself by @femmefatalevibe

Your Dream Girl Archetype by @femmefatalevibe

-xoxo!

[roosterforme]

It's Okay, Daddy's Here | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Even after your honeymoon is over, you find yourself needing your husband all the time. One Saturday, when Bradley is out with the guys, you have an itch you just can't scratch by yourself. When he comes home and finds you a desperate, horny mess, he assures that "It's okay, Daddy's here." 

Warnings: Smut and fluff

Length: 2200 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series! (But it can be read on its own) Check my masterlist in my profile for the reading order!

You couldn't understand what had happened to you since you stopped taking your birth control pills, but you'd been insatiable for the last month and a half. The ten day honeymoon you and Bradley had spent in Hawaii had been pure perfection. And now you'd been enjoying your husband as frequently as you could get your hands on him since returning home.

"What do you mean you're going golfing tomorrow morning?" you asked Bradley as you got undressed for bed on Friday night. You paused, naked with his tee shirt in your hands, and gaped at him. "Roo. That'll be hours. And then the guys will want to go out for drinks," you whined. "You won't be here to fuck me."

He groaned and patted his lap before he reached for you. "Tee time at the country club is Javy's Christmas present to all of us, so I agreed to go." You tossed the shirt aside and climbed up onto the bed to straddle his thighs. "But I can cancel, Baby Girl," he grunted, palming your tits as you leaned in closer to kiss him.

"No," you moaned against his mouth. "I don't want Javy to be mad at me. But you better do me so good right now, Roo. Seriously."

"Don't I always?" he growled, flipping you onto your back and running his fingers down along your belly and over your tattoo. "Don't I always take care of you?" 

"I have the best husband," you whispered as his lips connected with your neck. Then his fingers met your clit, and he eased his body weight down on top of you. And it was heavenly. And he fucked you hard into the bed until you came, screeching his name. And then you slept all night long, curled up on his warm chest in a state of satiated bliss. 

But as soon as you woke up to a cold, empty bed late Saturday morning, you flopped onto your back and tried to coax yourself back to sleep once more. But you couldn't. The need was almost immediate as you sat up. The bedding smelled like Bradley, and you knew you needed to go into the other room. 

After you grabbed your glasses and pulled on his soft UVA shirt, you went to make some coffee. But as it brewed, your mind wandered to how good he looked in his white golf pants and polos. You hoped he was wearing that deep blue floral print shirt that hugged his biceps. 

"Good Lord," you gasped, fixing your coffee the way you liked it and walking out onto the back patio with Tramp. But even the chilly December San Diego air couldn't cool you down. Bradley was probably getting all sweaty right now, gripping his nine iron and wearing those soft gloves. 

"Jesus," you whined, pacing around and sipping your hot coffee. "Just chill. You made it through work all week without him." But that wasn't exactly true. On Tuesday, you'd fucked him on your lunch break in the backseat of the Bronco in the parking garage. And on Thursday afternoon, he'd come into your office reeking like jet fuel and fucked you up against your file cabinet.

Tramp looked up at you when you let out a noise close to a whimper. You finished your coffee and went back inside to start packing for the Christmas holidays, but as soon as you opened your underwear drawer, you caught sight of all of your wedding lingerie, and you had to leave the room again. 

A shower. That would help. But you tried hot water and then cold water, and you just ended up with your back pressed against the tile wall, stroking our fingers over your clit. You must be ovulating. That would explain a lot right now. But as you tried to get yourself off, you kept coming up short. 

"No," you whined, dipping your fingers into your own slick before bringing them back up to your clit. When you managed to get the tiniest bit of relief, you finished up in the shower and went to get dressed. 

But you ended up pulling out your vibrators only to glare at them, because they did not look as appealing as Bradley did. "Fuck," you grumbled, tossing them back where they belonged and kicking your drawer closed. 

How much longer could golf possibly take? You'd be fine until you could get the real thing. You could wait.

-----------------------------

Bradley rushed through the eighteenth hole, hoping to get back home to you faster, but the guys weren't having it. 

"Let's hit up the bar," Hangman drawled. "Drinks are on me."

Bradley opened his mouth to protest, but Jake cut him off and said, "And don't even try to use your wife as an excuse, Bradshaw. You and Angel can go a few hours without your hands all over each other. The honeymoon is over."

But it wasn't. It really wasn't. Bradley wanted his hands and mouth on you at the moment so badly, he hoped the honeymoon would never end. 

"Fine," he grumbled. "One drink." But one turned into two, and the jukebox at the Hard Deck was playing Christmas music, and Penny got him to dance with her before he was able to sneak out. He had been gone most of the day.

As he walked back to the Bronco late in the afternoon sunlight, he texted you and let you know he was finally on his way home. Your response was almost instantaneous. 

Baby Girl Bradshaw: Hurry

"Damn," he muttered, starting up the engine and rushing home to get to you. He thought maybe you'd be waiting for him in bed, wearing that little red lingerie set he liked so much, but what he discovered was even better. 

"Holy shit," he muttered as soon as he walked inside the front door. His golf bag clattered to the floor as you turned your head to look over your shoulder at him.

"Roo," you moaned, and it was the neediest, most beautiful thing he had ever heard in his life. And before he knew it, he was palming himself through his white golf pants at the sight of you naked, straddling the arm of the living room couch. Your back was to him as you rubbed your bare pussy up and down the arm, back arched and whining softly. 

He stumbled closer to you, his eyes glued to your ass as you moved in the most appealing way. You were leaving glistening streaks of your slick along the upholstery, and it was so fucking hot. 

"What's going on, Baby Girl?" he managed to ask as you looked back at him again.

"I can't help it," you gasped, your voice bordering on pitiful as you sucked in a deep breath. "I'm so fucking horny, Bradley. I've tried masturbating all day, but nothing feels as good as you do." 

"Oh, Sweetheart," he rasped, unzipping his pants and getting himself ready. "You should have called me."

"Please! I need you. Make it go away."

You were almost in tears now as Bradley put his hands on your hips, helping you rock your soaking wet pussy against the couch. "Shh. Daddy's home now. It's okay, Daddy's here." He stood behind you and kissed your bare shoulder, letting his fingers skim up your belly to stroke the undersides of your breasts. 

"Oh! Your fingers feel so good," you groaned, planting your hands on the back of the couch and rocking your hips a little faster.

"How did you get like this, Baby Girl?" he whispered next to your ear, pressing the front of his body to your back as you rocked your pussy along, trying to find some satisfaction. "You're like a dog in heat," he groaned, squeezing your nipples. 

"I know," you keened, head tossed back to give him access to your neck. "I'm ovulating."

"Oh, hell," he grunted. That was music to Bradley's ears as you bumped his hard cock with your ass every time you rolled your hips. "You need me to fuck you?" he asked softly, licking a stripe up your neck. "You need my cum?"

"Please, Daddy," you begged softly, but he could hear the desperation there. "Fuck me."

Bradley eased away from you and lifted you up a bit by your hips as you whined. "Aww, Sweetheart," he said, stroking his fingers along your ass down to your soaking wet pussy while he admired the wet spot on the couch. "You need me."

You looked back at him and nodded as he palmed your ass up in the air. "I need you, Daddy," you said, your voice breaking with tears in your eyes.

Bradley stroked your soft skin and asked, "Do you know how bad I want you knocked up?"

You nodded again, practically on the verge of tears. "I know it."

Bradley set you down gently on the arm once more, tipping you forward slightly so your clit was rubbing against the wet spot you made. Then he grabbed his cock as you wiggled your ass at him, just begging to have him fill you up. 

"I got you," he promised, rubbing himself through your wetness. "I'll take care of everything."

With one steady thrust, he filled you and bottomed out. A sound of relief escaped you as you moaned, "Daddy." Bradley pulled you snug to him by your hips, and with each fluid thrust, he helped you rock your clit against the couch. 

Bradley kept you going at a steady pace, fucking you nice and slow as he guided you along, praising you for being the perfect wife. "You always look so good for me. With your pretty pussy and that ass on display. You know how much I like coming home to find you ready for me?"

"Tell me," you whispered, starting to clench around him. 

He kissed along your neck as you jerked yourself along a little faster. "I love it when you're waiting for me to fill you up. I love how needy you are."

Bradley knew you were close now, so he let you ride the arm of the couch and bump back along his length while he held himself still for you. And then you were cumming, shaking against his body, reaching back for his hands as you clenched around his cock and sobbed softly. 

"You feel better?" he asked, still fucking you slow and steady. You were like a feral animal that only he was able to tame. 

"So much better," you whispered, turning and licking his bicep. "You're all sweaty, Roo. You smell so good."

"Damn it," Bradley grunted. Now he was starting to feel slightly unhinged over you. His wife needed him so badly around the clock right now. He expected that your body would start to adjust to being off birth control, and this extreme need for him would start to ease up. But for now, he didn't mind one bit. And he wanted to keep you filled up with his cum until it took.  

He slammed into you a little harder as you gazed lovingly at him over your shoulder. "You can do it, Daddy." He reached for your chin, grabbing you and kissing you a little rough. 

"Oh, fuck." Then he was filling you before he collapsed against your back. Bradley ran his hands along your pristine skin, paying extra attention to your tits as he caught his breath. "I can't believe I found you riding the couch like this."

"Nothing would even take the edge off, Bradley. Just you."

He squeezed your tits and ran his nose behind your ear. "I love you. Next time, you call me. I drop everything for you whenever I can. You understand me?"

"Yes." Your voice was soft and calm now, and he could tell you were feeling much better. 

"That's my girl." When he withdrew from your pussy, and his cum leaked out onto the arm of the couch, Bradley whispered, "Don't move."

He dug his phone out of his pocket and took some photos of you turning to look at him with a sweet, fucked out expression on your face and a messy pussy. He knew those images would keep him warm when he was deployed. Then he helped you stand right in front of him, and both of you admired the soiled arm of the couch together.

"Beautiful," Bradley murmured next to your ear, stroking his fingers along your belly and wishing. 

He watched you run your finger through the mess before licking it and turning to kiss him. You traced his lips with your tongue and he tasted himself before you said, "I'll clean up the couch."

"No, you're going to go get in bed like a good girl. And after I clean up out here, I'll be ready to take the edge off for you again. Okay?"

You threw your arms around his neck and hugged him, and then he watched your ass as you headed to bed to wait for him to take care of you again.

--------------------------

Roo always takes care of his wife! Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls.

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[sacramentohistorymuseum]

This video is for all those who interpret the weather forecast for us on the local news, because today, February 5th, is National Weatherperson’s Day! This day commemorates the birth of John Jeffries, who was born on this day in 1744. Jeffries was one of the first weather observers in the American colonies, and he began taking daily weather observations in Boston in 1774.

For today, Jared letterpress printed an image from an electrotype (copy of a woodcut) that was made roughly 80-90 year ago from the Bill Gaylord Collection. The image depicts an individual carrying an umbrella with the word “PREPARE” above him. While Sacramento’s weather rapidly changes at times, we are very thankful for our local weatherpersons who help keep us up to date on the forecast, especially during all of our current storms. This was printed with pink rubber base ink using our Washington hand press.

[bbokicidal]

"Settle Here; Let Me Love You" - [B.C.]

Pairing : Bang Chan / Chris Bang x Reader

Warnings : Overall Fluff, Small mention of Chris' tendency to look down on himself

Word Count: 850>

Looking at Chris was like peering at the hardcover case of a book you'd just bought off a dusty, cracked thrift shop shelf.

The feeling of running your hands over the soft skin of his shoulders and biceps was akin to trailing your fingertips down the spine of the book. It was new to you - had once been someone else's. It was soft and offered a sense of warmth and familiarity but held texture that proved it had been someone else's before sitting on that shelf; Bumps and soft crevices of scars that held experience from whatever may have caused them - be it small accidents or marks he'd had from birth. The gentle ridges of the title printed along the spine were the beauty marks painting Chris' skin; The small print of the Author's name was that of his mother.

Meeting his eyes was the same as opening the cover for the first time; Flipping through the first few title pages that were a soft and small insight on what the story would be about - maybe mentioning who the book was written for; Why it was written in the first place. His eyes held a sincerity that likened that of the first page of the first chapter - and both made you feel the exact same way. It was a breath of fresh air, something of a new start, and looking Chris in the eye - though you had been together for some time now - always managed to bring the butterflies back into your ribcage.

Every turn of the page was a day spent with him. Every sip of coffee was a word on a page; Every word spoken between the two of you was soft dialogue that brought two characters closer together.

His smile was the climax of the story.

The wide, gummy brightness that showed all of his teeth and made his cheeks dimple in deep - His eyes crinkling, shoulders pushing up towards his ears and head tipping one way as a feeling of bashfulness pushed into his chest. The feeling it created in your own was the same as the excitement and joy of sliding your hand over the last page of the book; Reading the final sentence and slowly pulling it to a close, flipping the book back over to peer at the cover one more time before it was set on your shelf to be adored in passing.

And this book wasn't perfect. You knew that; He knew that. With the nicks and scars, dents of being tossed around and told harsh words; The subtle but apparent fraying and tearing of the edges of the cover. It stuck out on the polished wood of the shelf it now sat upon, lingering with the others.

You'd given him a chance.

Took a look at him. No judging by the cover, just flipping through the pages and reading the back to raise a brow in interest - and taken the plunge into falling in love with him and his story.

And though you could read this story over and over - falling more in love every time you spoke even just a few words in exchange with him - you would always continue to learn something new.

"... What?" Chris murmurs, having taken notice that your eyes had been lingering on him for a while now off to the side.

You blink once, twice - then offer your boyfriend a soft smile that he knew all too well. You'd been lost in thought again, peering at him while spacing out and talking to yourself in your head.

"Nothing," You hum in reply, reaching to take his hand and rub your thumb along the ridges of his knuckles. "You're just beautiful."

Chris' cheeks dimple under the sweetness of his smile, his lips pressed together and the corners turning downward in a habit he'd picked up from Changbin. He giggles, looking back down at his phone in favor of trying to hide the red tint that brushes over his cheeks.

You let the brief conversation end there. No more words need to be said, feelings laid out with just a few short sentences between the two of you.

As you peer a bit longer at your boyfriend, the adoration in your chest begins to settle - the excitement of just being so close to him dulling from a rolling boil to a subtle simmer.

Perhaps you'll look back on this again in the future - continue to make the connection after a sequel is written and the two of you are experiencing the journey of the story together - hand in hand, facing the world together under the sunlight of the blue sky instead of being alone under the white lights of a studio.

But for now you'll continue to read the story that is Chris Bang, over and over until your eyes lull with sleep and your hands fight to turn the page. And continue to love it as much as you did the first time you read it through.