#The Vision of the Holy Grail

[mysterious-secret-garden]

Sir Edward Burne-Jones, overall design and figures; William Morris, overall design and execution; John Henry Dearle, flowers and decorative details.

The Attainment: The Vision of the Holy Grail to Sir Galahad, Sir Bors, and Sir Perceval (also known as The Achievement of the Grail or The Achievement of Sir Galahad, accompanied by Sir Bors, and Sir Perceval). Number 6 of the Holy Grail tapestries woven by Morris & Co. 1891-94 for Stanmore Hall. This version woven by Morris & Co. for Lawrence Hodson of Compton Hall 1895-96.

[big-ass-magnet]

When I first came here, this was all swamp. Everyone said I was daft to build a castle on a swamp, but I built in all the same, just to show them. It sank into the swamp. So I built a second one. That sank into the swamp. So I built a third. That burned down, fell over, then sank into the swamp. But the fourth one stayed up. And that's what you're going to get, lad, the strongest castle in all of England Europa.

[sealrock]

haunted by modern au thoughts

[kachowden]

𝙸 𝙻𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝙷𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚢

| Hockey TeamVarious x Reader

Солнышко (Little Sun)

Yandere x reader (Part 1?)

—————————————————————————

An idea I have had for a while now.

So imagine yourself on a team. Except you’re not a player, no.

Actually..you’re technically not on the team because you’re one of a few people who rotates your position. You’re the mascot.

The beloved silly mascot of your team. The logo, the literal image of your hockey team. And you’re damn good too!

You get the crowds roaring, positively pumped-up for the game! And whether your team wins or loses, the highlights are always the silly little mascot who throws popcorn into the crowd or tosses shirts at unsuspecting families.

From time to time during the game you’d make your way onto the ice. Play fight with the team, steal a puck, steal a stick. Toss them to a crowd member. It was always in good fun, and the audience loved it!

And you weren’t just beloved by the fans, oh no no no, you were beloved by the team too.

So much so that at some point, the demand for your specific “mascotting” was so great, the other workers had to find a new career path. Damn shame too, you happened to like them quite a bit. But extra pay right? And it’s hard to deny how flattering it is being the fan favorite.

Of course it didn’t even cross your mind to question these circumstances, nor did you think to question the sudden increasing interactions you had with the team. Publicity, you assumed.

From number 47 dragging you onto the ice for some impromptu lessons. Still in costume might I add. Mid Play.

To number 13 laughing joyfully as he shoved you into the locker room after an intense game, and offered to wash your back for spending so long in such a sweaty suit. You denied him of course, the locker rooms weren’t meant for you! Duh.

You didn’t even question when number 1, the captain and goalie of the team, braced you against a barrier during half time, when your mask had precariously been knocked off by a rowdy fan. Nor did you see the viscous scowls directed at said fan. It was probably just keep your identity safe after all.

The score was 7 to 0 that game, in favour of your team. You weren’t sure what had pumped them up so much but whatever works right?

Course, you did get a puck to the cheek at one point and had to sub out for a bit. The players were non too happy when they discovered a different worker under your special suit. They were in a bad mood for the remainder of the game.

Number 19, who had a pension for bad behavior on the ice, sought you out specifically after the game too.

———-47—————19————1—————13———-

Your shoulders sagged tiredly against the cool wall of the changing room, blessing the AC that pumped through the units. Your jersey stuck sweatily to your skin, and you gasped with a dry mouth before a gloved hand appeared in your vision, a water bottle covered in condensation presented before you like a holy grail.

“You look like shit.” A scratchy voice scolds lightly by your ear, your eyes fluttering to glance at the rugged features of one of the team players settled besides your face, wedged deep into your personal space. The scent of sweat and body spray (axe probably) wafts into your nostrils, causing your nose to scrunch instinctively before you give a lopsided smile.

“Hey Donovan, s’nice to see you. How’s the play been?” You gratefully take the cold bottle from his grasp, finger tips grazing the rough and warm texture of his gloves before meeting the cool plastic of the team merchandise bottle. Your little mascot stared back at you in a 2D style.

“Shitty. You’re supposed to be out there, not some random loser who can’t even get the crowd excited right. Now the teams pissed and it’s your fault.” His words end in a sneer, despite the attentive way his eyes are raking across your figure for injury beyond the welt on your cheek bone. His body near touches yours and causes another wave of sweat to seep into your skin.

With a thoughtful hum and a sip of refreshing water you push yourself from the locker, stepping into the more open air and cooling yourself off, while dark brown eyes watch you beneath a furrowed, displeased brow.

“Your guys’s concern flatters me. It’s nice having such thoughtful co-workers.” Your lips smile thoughtfully, glancing at him from your shoulder.

He looks incredulous, which somehow lands on being the least aggressive expression you’ve ever seen on him.

“Co-workers?” He echoes, like the word is the most foul tasting thing that’s ever touched his tongue. “We’re teammates. Not co-workers.”

You wave your hand dismissively, back turned and unaware of the tall figure that approaches your bubble again from behind. “Well, you and the guys definitely are. Maybe even the ice scrapers, though I’d argue they’re in the same realm as me to be honest. More staff than anything yknow?” Your tone is light, you know what your position is. And of course you’re grateful to be the main mascot, but you’re aware of your replacements that stand idle at the food stands, handing out popcorn between half times.

“I mean I’m just the person in the suit, anyone could play that part. I just hope I could train the next guy that signs up for the position, gotta make sure they do my legacy justice right-“

Big hands, no longer covered by scratchy material grip into your hips, swallowing the skin in raw heat and tugging you backwards. Your feet stumble and trip for less then a second before you’ve collided into a broad chest. The feeling of a hot breath condenses on the back of your neck, covering up your barely escaped laugh and choke.

Hair tickles the side of your forehead, as Donovan leans over your shoulder. His eyes set forward to the opposing wall lockers just like your own, his thumbs rubbing thoughtless shapes into your skin. He exhales, like he’s just spent the last four hours dealing with an ill tempered toddler that he’s finally reached his wits end with.

“You’re stupid.”

Your lips part in offense, ready to defend your intelligence before you’re prematurely silenced by a new hand that joins the mass of limbs, and rests gently across your dry lips.

“Let him finish, Солнышко.”(Solnishko)*

A thick accent reverberates into your ears, your eyes darting up to meet pale blue ones that gaze back at you so sternly. White teeth peer past his lips in what was probably a smile, but looked like a show of dominance with the way his canines sunk into the bottom of his lip.

“Don’t you have a team to manage, Cap?” Donovan snarls, teeth bared with displeasure at his private time with you being interrupted. With his arms circling more around your figure in a loose version of a back hug. You stay trapped between the two behemoths that cease every noise and shift of your joints with careful hands.

Carlson smiles, a thoughtful one that softens at you, his eyes never leaving yours now that he has your full attention, something that raises Donovan’s ire significantly. “I heard our little mascot wasn’t doing to well. I wanted to check up on them. I may have heard your little conversation as well.”

The word “little” always manages to filter into Carlsons sentences. And while one could blame it on English only being his second language, his reputation for being the teams most well spoken member speaks volumes otherwise. No, the real reason would have to be the sheer height he holds above all others. The authority he possesses that seeps into the rink and every room he walks into.

It’s not a simple slip of the tongue. It’s a reminder. That he is above every one he meets. He is the captain, and what he says is absolute.

Even the way he gazes down at you screams this thought, bullying its way into your skull as your brain refuses to acknowledge the sheer possessive, demeaning energy that seeps from his figure into yours, despite the alarm bells it rings through your system.

“It breaks my heart, Солнышко. You should know better.” His thumb curves along your jaw, thoughtful again, and practiced, engulfing your entire chin in what could be a crushing grip. But it isn’t, and it never will be. Not to you anyway. “Have we not shown you how much we adore your support in the rink? Have we been too dismissive of you?” He continues, though the mocking edge is nearly unnoticeable.

Donovan’s breath huffs into the shell of your ear, his figure hunched over you like a protective cloak, eyes still staring daggers at the taller man. “You think the team can we wait for us to…help remind our dear mascot how much we care about them?”

There’s a thoughtful hum, eye contact still unbroken through each word. “I’m sure they’ll be mad they didn’t get to join…but their forms were lacking today. They could use the extra practice.”

Carlson leaned forward, sky like eyes darkening like the sea as his nose hovers mere breathes from your own. “And I’ve heard that teaching in…more intimate settings, can lead to greater success in many fields..”

.

.

.

.

.

“Again.”

“I will not think lowly of my position on the team, I will not think of myself as replaceable, because I am the best-“

“Fucking.”

“….the best fucking mascot in the world. I am irreplaceable. I am the best.”

“Very good. Again.”

“It’s been 30 minutes!”

“Well last time we did 15 and that still wasn’t enough, so now we must double our efforts, Солнышко. Again.”

“Afterwards I’ll buy you one of those pretzels you like. If you want, I guess.”

“…….yeah okay.”

[novasjaneway]

OH MY GAWD!! My heart!!!! ❤️

To Serve and Protect ♥️Kathryn Janeway.

#My Knight in shining armour

#Kathryn Janeway #My Queen

#Kate Mulgrew #Love Always

[spectrum-color]

So we all know GRRM, like all authors, took a lot of inspo from real life fairy tales, religion, and mythology. There are a ton of parallels but I picked out a few to put in this poll

Propaganda: Before anyone says anything, I know a lot of these are dark spins on the original. I’m not trying to say Littlefinger is a handsome prince or whatever. Also note that some of this is based on either things that haven’t happened yet but are highly likely to happen in Winds/Dream up to and including being confirmed by GRRM.

Arya and Jaqen as Hades and Persephone-the young maiden of spring is found by the lord of the underworld, who gives her an object (in this case a coin) to trick her into being trapped in the world of the dead. When she leaves home, winter comes, but when she returns, so does spring.

Sansa as Rapunzel-a princess locked in a tower by an evil sorceress (or just queen) who is spirited away by a man who wants to marry her. Strong focus on her hair as a symbol of her identity.

The Brotherhood Without Banners as Robin Hood and his Merry Men-a band of outlaws who defend the common people against corrupt authority figures. This one is really self explanatory.

Cersei as the evil queen and Margaery/Sansa/eventually Dany as Snow White-a vain, cruel women terrified of her beauty fading and being replaced by a younger woman who outshines her, so she tries to destroy her perceived rival, ultimately leading to her own downfall. The girls in Snow Whites slot are the popular choices for the identity of the YMBQ and the one Cersei is currently convinced it is.

Jaime and Brienne as Beauty and the Beast-a double subversion. Jaime is handsome and Brienne is ugly, but when they meet she’s brave and kind while he’s selfish and cruel, so it’s the beast who helps the beauty be better.

Lyanna, Rhaegar, and Robert as Helen of Troy, Paris, and Menelaus-a beautiful woman fiercely desired by two powerful men, she either runs off with or is kidnapped by a prince, leading to her (soon to be) husband retaliating by starting a tragic war.

Stannis and Shireen as Agammemon and Iphegenia-a king and commander sacrifices his daughter to the gods to win a war. Bonus if this ends up causing Stannis’ downfall.

Lady Stoneheart as Demeter-a mother wanders the land bringing destruction and misery as she searches for her daughter(s.) When her daughters return to her, spring comes.

Cersei and Jaimes children as the emperor wearing no clothes-the emperor walks around naked insisting that he’s a wearing magic invisible outfit, but everyone is afraid to tell him the truth until finally a child points out that he’s wearing nothing at all. See: everyone pretending not to notice that Cerseis children are the result of incest with her brother, and Ned finally realizing the truth when his 11 year old daughter points out that Joffrey is nothing like Robert.

Bran as the Fisher King-the Fisher King is a character from Arthurian myth. He is the guardian of the magical holy grail, protecting it so it (and power) does not fall into the hands of the unworthy. Notably, he also has a deliberating injury to his legs or groin (depending on the version.) Of course the endgame Bran of the show is a blatant rip-off of Leto II from Children of Dune, but I think the Fisher King sounds more like GRRM would do.

Dany as Moses-a leader who has prophetic visions, who after performing a miracle, frees her people from slavery and leads them on a harsh journey to a new land. Notably regarded as a critically important figure by a monotheistic religion.

[sugawara-levi]

Bakugo x reader | Table top

aged up!Bakugo, apx. 20

drabble/imagine, 0.5k words

cw: established relationship, masturbating (reader), dom-ish!bakugo, degradation (slut), jealous + possessive bakugo

When Bakugo comes home and finds you masturbating he’s not exactly pleased.

The thought that he doesn’t satisfy you enough grazes his brain and it doesn’t sit right with him. In his head, if he was enough, you would never need to pleasure yourself by your lonesome. He, of course, takes it as an attack against his pride and has a mind to make up for it.

When he opens the door and hears your soft moans from the next room he’s frozen in place. The next thing you know he’s barging into the living room and stares at you as you jump in surprise. You hadn’t heard the main door open as you were too preoccupied with keeping the hand in your panties busy.

The sight of your hand down your trousers clouds his vision with black, that’s his holy grail.

Marching up to you it doesn’t take him a second before he has you bent over the table. Trousers and panties pulled down no further than your knees.

“You think you can satisfy yourself alone?” he grumbles as he forcefully pushes into you.

“no��� your cheek is smashed against the table top and you’re barely managing to hold the edge of the table for support.

“You think you can feel this good without me?”

“no” of course you couldn’t.

“No?”

“No, never” he’s slamming into you so hard, hands on your bare ass, eyes darting between the view of his cock, moving in and out of your wet folds, radiating lewd sounds to his pleasure, and your face.

“Gonna mould the shape of my dick into you.. no one will be able to satisfy you like I do.”

You let out a sharp moan as he hits the sweet spot deep inside you. Think to yourself that already no one could ever satisfy you like he does.

“Yeah? You like that?”, he bends over, closer to your ear and whispers.

“Of course you do you little slut.” a shiver goes through your body.

“Were you thinking of other men while masturbating?”

“hn- no.”

“No? Tell me in words baby.”

“mfh, I- No I wasn’t thinking of other guys’ dick? thinking only if you.” what’s he even saying at this point? you can barely understand the meaning of his words, just know them to be bullshit.

“Yeah? What did you think of me.”

“haah, about your, mng, your dick inside me, fucking me like you are now, ah!”

“Just like this?”

“Just, like this.”

“Well we gotta do something bout that, gotta fuck you better than that” he says as he grabs your hands and hold them up against your back. His pace quickens, slamming into you, and you can feel the table burn agains the front of your thighs. It’s gonna be a long night.

navigate my works

©sugawara-levi: do not copy or republish as your own

[comfortless]

Syl, my lovely, please. I need to see this vision come to life through your words. Would König take his darling to the Ren Faire?🌷

VANI!!! my angel!! of course he would… König is a just a hapless knight at heart & it gives him an excuse to treat you like an actual princess! 🗡💕 i can not promise you that he will not force you to sit in his lap and play skyrim or something when you get home though…! /:

“Danke for agreeing to come,” he whispers to you once you’re out in the sprawling field, an abundance of colorful tents, partitions and others in similar dress surrounding the two of you.

It’s a lot to take in, as though you’ve been whisked away to a separate world entirely; the air smells faintly of fresh food, a bard strums a lute somewhere out in the distance, and… was that supposed to be a dragon’s roar?

König dons a veil of tightly woven chainmail, only a glimpse of his jaw visible, lined with prickly stubble. The rest of his armor leaves little glimpses of him, his thick wrist between cuff and glove, the bob of his Adam’s apple as he curls his arm around you protectively. If it were possible, he seems even larger wearing the plates of armor, far more imposing like this.

Tucked at his side, stands you in your linen bliaut, a soft woolen cloak dyed a royal blue thrown over your shoulders; a stark contrast from the shimmering and hardened armor of the knight guiding each of your steps with his arm around your waist.

König has to look at everything— marveling at the handmade objects and shiny, smithed weapons in each booth.

When you give him a quizzical glance as he ghosts his gloved fingertips over the angular blade of an exceptionally smart spear, he pauses his frantic admiration for a time to explain to you that it reminds him of one he read about once— like Odin’s Gungnir, fierce and proud. Even you take a moment to admire its craftsmanship, to which the pale blue of his eyes seems to light up; he makes the purchase without a second thought.

You find yourself enjoying the atmosphere, especially with that ever-present grin on König’s face; he’s in his element surrounded by fantasies drawn from history. It’s a nice change, seeing him so filled up with whimsy as he whisks you from tent to tent, buying you anything that catches your eye, taking your picture any chance that he gets.

You humor him, lifting your skirts a little when you pass between two of the fabric structures, hidden away from the eyes of any other grinning merchants, pretty ladies, and bellowing bards.

Seated in his lap he tells you of holy grails and swordplay tactics while feeding you from a dish on a wooden countertop, a pastry stuffed full with apple.

You only think to offer a complaint once you note the three now emptied pewter goblets of mead in front of him as König proclaims he wants to act out a proper sword fight with one of the others donning armor in the small, hastily fenced in area serving as a knight’s training yard.

(It was certainly a coincidence that the one he chose to spar with happened to be the very same man who offered you a friendly wave in passing.)

He makes a display of his swordsmanship, swift knocks and parries that leave your eyes wide as you clasp your hands over your mouth; even a prise de fer as you dig your nails into the wood of the shoddy fence. You’ve never seen him so swift, so brutal, as when he finally knocks his opponent into the dust, the sharpened edge of his blade pointed downward. Had this not all been pretend, you could imagine the bloodshed that would have occurred here.

Thankfully, König backs off, dips his head in a begrudging bow to his opponent before wandering back to you.

Your hand is pried from the fence, a kiss placed upon every knuckle as you praise his talents. He smirks, proud, and whispers to you something about how he had to show off for his lady. Even has the audacity to tell you that he would kill for you, and you knew very well it was not said entirely in jest.

When the sun finally dims and lanterns are lit, bathing the green below your boots in a soft, tangerine glow, you find yourself helping to loosen the straps of König’s armor. Poor thing had not thought to wear a proper shirt beneath, or.. perhaps, that was intentional. The sweat glistens off of him when you’ve tossed his dark top and curved metal into a heap, the curls of his chest hair sticking to pale flesh.

You rove your hand over him to dull the ache of those straps digging into his shoulders. He groans, contented as he pulls you up to your feet, leaning down just enough to kiss you, to desperately grope at your hips, your rear, before the strumming of a lute and the cheers and giggles accompanied by dancing fills your ears.

Attentions turned, you find yourself curling your hand into his, tugging him towards the feathery songs and shuffling of feet.

“We should dance,” you suggest, all giggles when you tilt your head to offer a pleading glance to him over your shoulder.

“Anything for you, meine prinzessin.”

[mindblowingscience]

A team of surgeons in New York has performed the world's first transplant of an entire eye in a procedure widely hailed as a medical breakthrough, although it isn't yet known whether the man will ever see through the donated eye. The groundbreaking surgery involved removing part of the face and the whole left eye – including its blood supply and optic nerve – of a donor and grafting them onto a lineworker from Arkansas who survived a 7,200-volt electric shock in June 2021. Aaron James, 46, suffered extensive injuries including the loss of his left eye, his dominant left arm above the elbow, his nose and lips, front teeth, left cheek area and chin. He was referred to NYU Langone Health, a leading medical center for facial transplants, which carried out the procedure on May 27. Transplanting an entire eye has long been a holy grail of medical science, and though researchers have had some success in animals – where they have restored partial vision – it's never before been performed in a living person.

Continue Reading.

[sommerregenjuniluft]

wait a fucking minute. i’ve been pondering for Ages about what kind of job a modern day/muggle au sirius would have and i think i finally found my holy grail. yknow those tv shows where they build homes for people, rebuilt their houses and interior and stuff? DUDE!!!!! sirius would sooo go crazy at the demolition and then do a bit of everything with his team when rebuilding, no matter what it his, get his hands all dirty and get sweaty asf. he loves when he gets home after a long day and feels it in his body, muscles aching. sirius is super creative but i think he’d probably need a partner for interior design because he’d run danger of just Not listening to his clients’ visions because it’s quote unquote Frankly Stupid and Tasteless. but PLS, handsome, witty, muscled from physical work and with a charming smile, dark hair, light eyes—HE’S THE HEARTTHROB OF EVERY MOM WATCHING FROM AT HOME GLUED TO THE SCREEN!!

[gojos-fr-bae]

Surprise!

Pairing: Gojo x fem!reader

Genre: angst to fluff

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings: Cursing

Gojo Family AU

How is all of the above the same as the last post wth

Satoru gazed at you from across the dinner table as you poked at your meal. Your favorite food which you always asked him to bring for you, the holy grail, and you hadn’t even had a single bite. To say he was bewildered was an understatement. Your husband had watched you inhale kilos of the stuff and now you were looking at it as if it was the most disgusting substance on the planet. And it wasn’t even the first time.

Throughout the entire month, Gojo had noticed small differences in your behavior. You stopped drinking, slept more and have been more irritable.You’ve been leaving the house late in the day and staying out for hours. Worst of all, your behavior towards him also changed, and for the worst. You stopped greeting him at the door whenever he got home. You stopped laughing at his jokes, stopped taking showers with him, and it was starting to worry him.

“Sweets, are you sure you’re ok?”

“Yes, I already told you I’m fine so can you just let it go.”

“If you’re fine then what’s going on with you, you aren’t even eating”

“Because I’m not hungry, what, am I not allowed to have an appetite?”

You stood up from the table and began rushing out of the room but you couldn’t make it out before he grabbed your hand and turned you to face him, worry slowly beginning to morph into anger and frustration.

“Y/N please, stop pushing me out and talk to me.”

“About what?! Talk to you about fucking what!”

“I don’t know? Maybe about you’ve been ignoring me, acting weir-”

You didn’t hear the rest of his tangent as an insistent ringing impaired your hearing.The room began spinning and black spots began to cloud your vision. Your head was pounding as you lost your footing along with consciousness, your husband catching you before you made contact with the ground.

“Hey, hey Y/N! No no no, please wake up” He picked you up and rushed you to the hospital as he panicked, praying to all that is good that you would be ok.

~

“Mr. Gojo?” The doctor called Satoru into his office, showed him to the seat across his desk and began to evaluate him on what was going on with you.

“Well other than what we went over with her dieting, there is nothing particularly wrong with her, as a matter of fact, it’s very normal considering her current condition.”

“Wait- what do you mean her current condition?”

“Well…you know” the doctor said, a smile fading at the confused look draped on Gojo’s face.

“Wait, are you really unaware?”

“Unaware of what?!”

“Oh- I’m sorry sir but if your wife hasn’t informed you about the current situation then it is really not my place to disclose that information to yo-”

“What do you mean it's not your place! You’re a doctor and she’s my wife. I have every right to know what’s going on!!” Gojo’s voice was raised as he had finally run out of patience. So there was something going on with you and you were hiding it from him.

“Well sir, it is usually quite a touchy subject for couples and when I asked your wife about it she seemed well aware of the situation so I think that is a conversation you should have with your wife.”

Gojo was nothing if not pissed the rest of the night and wasted no time interrogating you once you crossed the threshold of your bedroom.

“Y/N what the actual fuck is going on!”

“Gosh Satoru jus-”

“Don’t you dare give me that I’m fine you’re overreacting bullshit because you literally painted and the doctor kept going on about your “condition” like what the hell.”

“You really aren’t letting this go?” You asked, fatigue beginning to catch up with you as you sat down on the edge of the bed. Your husband knelt in front of you, taking your hand in his and looking up into your eyes.

“My love, I don’t think you understand how terrified I was when you were unconscious. I am so worried about you but everytime I try to speak to you, you push me out. I love you and I worry because I love you. Please, please just, talk to me.”

As you looked down at Gojo you noticed how he was shaking ever so slightly. You sighed in worry before a small smile graced your lips.

“Okay, how about this, we go to bed now yeah, and I’ll tell you tomorrow night.”

“Why not right now?” he whispered, looking like a sad puppy.

“Satoru please, I’m really not ready to tell you today but tomorrow, I promise I’ll tell you everything, ok?”

“Fine,” he sighed, before tackling you on the bed, “I’m not letting go though because you genuinely scared the ever living shit out of me” he groaned into your neck, making you laugh. Oh you love your man-child of a husband.

~

“WIFEYYYYY!” Gojo called from the doorway after arriving home from a late mission. It was 11pm and he immediately jogged to your shared bedroom, slamming the door open expecting to see his loving wife waiting for him, only to find the room empty with a gift box sitting on the bed. It was a plain white box with a big red bow sitting on top of it. He slowly picked it up and untied the bow, looking around the room and calling out your name one final  time before opening the box.

Satoru felt his heart quite literally stop beating as he gazed into the box. He shakily dipped one hand into it and picked the baby onesie that was neatly folded inside it.

“Well?” he heard your quiet voice ask behind him. He slowly spun on his heel, dropping the bocks but keeping a tight clutch on the onesie.

“Really?” his weak voice cracked as his hands shook and he looked up at you, eyes beginning to cloud with tears.

“Yeah, one month.” You said, feeling your eyes tearing up as well as your husband slowly made his way towards you.

“So I’m really going to be a dad?”

“Uh-huh”

“And you’ll be a mom?”

“No shit sherlock.” you chuckled as your husband wrapped his arms around you, placing his forehead against yours.

“So you’re really, truly, absolutely, positutely pregnant?”

“Yes Satoru, I am 100% pregnant, I promise.”

“Yay” He whispered, giving you the biggest, most toothy smile you have ever seen. He was so, so happy. So, happy.

“Surprise!

“Yay!” he squealed, he was so, SO happy.

tags?:@porridgesblog

The beginning of and era~

© gojos-fr-bae

[cherry-vennom]

If you want to change the world… love a woman, just one woman. Love and protect her, as if she’s the last holy vessel. Love her through her fear of abandonment; which she has been holding for all of humanity. No, the wound’s not hers to heal alone. No, she’s not weak in her dependence. If you want to change the world… love a woman all the way through, until she believes you, until her instincts, her visions, her voice, her art, her passion, her wildness have returned to her- until she’s a force of love, more powerful than all the political media demons who seek to devalue, and destroy her. If you want to change the world, lay down your causes, your guns, and protest signs. Lay down your inner war, your self righteous anger, and love a woman… beyond all of your striving for greatness, beyond your tenacious quest for enlightenment. The holy grail stands before you, if you would only take her in your arms, and let go of searching for something beyond this intimacy. If you want to change the world… love a woman to the depths of your shadow, to the highest reaches of your Being, back to the Garden, where you first met her; to the gateway of the rainbow realm where you walk through together as Light as One, to the point of no return, to the ends and the beginning of a New Earth. — Lisa Citore

[eddiesghxst]

you write eddie so well 💕 would u consider doing pt.2 to the boob post with pierced nips

bestie i’m so glad u asked this i could talk abt eddie’s boob obsession for days

let’s just establish that eddie definitely goes feral for some pierced nips okay (i personally imagine he goes feral for piercings in general but that’s another topic for another day)

the thing is, eddie knew your nipples are pierced, and he knew this because he can see them through all of your shirts, and it takes everything in him to not go brain dead or have tunnel vision on your tits 25/8. he also knows this because he can feel them whenever you press your chest to him; whether that be during an innocent hug or whenever you’re laid against him in bed wearing shorts and that sinful little tank top you always wear to sleep.

so he knows they’re pierced, and he’s quite literally going insane trying to keep his thoughts at bay. he lets a few comments slip here and there, “looking good today girls, happy to see me huh.” he giggles when you swat at his chest before covering your own with your arms, mumbling something along the lines of ‘you’re so annoying.’

and when the day finally comes that eddie sees your boobs in all their glory, he almost cries tears of joy. you’re laying beneath him when he removes your shirt and leans back as he tosses it to the side, shamelessly gaping down at your chest.

“holy shit…the holy fucking grail in the flesh…” shiny silver metal winks up at him from your hardened nipples, and it’s like they’re screaming his name when he cups your tits. “they’re even prettier than i imagined.” “you imagined them?” he scoffs and looks up at you, looking at you as if you’re delusional. “are you kidding me? of course i did, you’ve got some killer high beams babe.” “eddie!”

tiny thot i’d like to add: eddie definitely says bye to your boobs when he has to leave. he gives you a quick kiss then bends down to eye level with your tits, hands on his knees as he speaks “i’ll miss you the most, rockstars. i’ll be thinking about you all day.” you jokingly roll your eyes. “gross, stop being a perv.” “don’t listen to her she’s just jealous.” “they’re my boobs-“ he ignores you and continues talking to your chest, “be good okay? i’ll be back before you know it babies.” he brings up a first and gently bumps his knuckles against each of your tits.

“did you seriously just fist bump my tits?”

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

Mantaray by Dean Jeffries

Mantaray by Dean Jeffries

The holy grail of the hot rod generation was to be able to fabricate beautiful car bodies in steel and other materials. Many of the kids who became Hot Rod building legends had honed their fabrication skills in the hot house of the WW2 American economy. The war ended and charged-up servicemen came home and wanted the buzz of driving fast cars. It was boom time in America and everything seemed possible.

Dean Jeffries was one of this generation of brilliant mechanics and fabricators with an audacious enough vision to dream with his eyes wide open. Having worked extensively with AC Cobra creator Carroll Shelby, he began to build the Mantaray in 1963 in response to a call for submissions to a high prestige competition that had been posted by a promoter called Al Slonaker.

The young Californian fused two old Maserati single seater chassis he had acquired and welded them together. The suspension, brakes, and steering were kept on for the finished article but apart from four Weber carburetors, the car was, he told Street Rodder Magazine recently “true-blue American, right down to the 15-inch magnesium-cast Halibrand wheels and the bred-for-Indianapolis Goodyear Blue Streak Speedway Special tires.”

Unsurprisingly, the gorgeously curvacious body Jeffries created (which was, apparently, hand-built from no less than 86 sheets of metal), was enough to win him the ‘contest of fame’. This not only won him a prize of $10,000 and a trip to Europe, but also changed the way the world thought about Hot Rods.

This is what we call truly creative car culture. And we love it.

Mantaray by Dean Jeffries

[simonisferal]

masterlist — ep. 1 — ep. 2 — next

ep 2 — Uh...Where are These Guys?

— being a journalist in Teyvat is fairly easy now that a pop-group named 5WIRL cover most of the headlines. gaining the trust of the closeted members would get you promoted and that's an opportunity you can't refuse. let's hope they feels the same. —

EDITED: 12/10/2023

Back home, after that terrible but informful work day, you decide to start researching these guys.

What they were interested in, what their own fans knew about them, possible fan meet and greets, and so on. And despite being one of the best journalist, you didn't find anything worth while.

Several cafe sightings that were later proven false or just sketchy as hell, PDF links that are obviously viruses and no one on their right mind would download, and just stupid rumors like "Kazuha smoked weed when he was a kid".

Actually, it could be true. You heard some of his interviews and god, he sounds like he's not even aware of his surroundings.

You sit back in your chair, running your hand through your hair and squinting at your laptop. The actual lack of sleep and your terrible vision made a very good combo to battle your performance. Coffee would be so good right now.

After several breakdowns and coffee cups, you turn to Twitter. Yes, you were that desperate. You scroll through many tweets on 5WIRL's official account for anything, honestly. Concerts, group photos you could possibly trace, leaked phone numbers, anything.

Maybe it was a coincidence or maybe God decided to lay his widsom and grace upon you but you managed to find something from January, 2011. Don't question how far down you've scrolled.

It just showed a picture of all the members before debuting and after. If you squinted, you could see the manager's phone number as he was on settings and had his phone angled near the camera. Real question: why was he even on settings?

Nevermind that, you just found the your holy grail! You're definitely getting that interview before that newbie and Charlotte.

You get on the office's phone line and type the blurred numbers on the business phone, carrying the handle handset on your shoulders. You wait a few seconds before hearing a beep. It works!

You shake excitedly, twirling the curve of the phone with your finger. You hear the click which means the person on the other line answered the call.

You calm yourself down, trying to compose yourself. If you learned anything in your twenty years of living, it's that first impressions matter.

You hear a small "hello?" from the line. You jump, "Hi! Is this Aether, by chance?"

A quiet pause before he answers. "You'd be right, and you are?" Let's go!

You clear your throat. "You are aware of the Dispatch, yes?"

"I am. They cover majority of 5WIRL's articles. I assume that what you're calling about."

You start writing things down as he talks. "Yep. I'm with them and I'm wondering if I could trouble you and your group to an interview."

You hear a small background conversation and people scurrying. "Oh! Well, I mean, I'd have to ask them. Although I am their manager, I don't like forcing them to do things they don't want to."

"Yeah, you call me back when you find your answer on my actual number, it's [1-800-420-6969]." You listen to the audio and hear paper scratching. Maybe he's writing it down.

"Uh-huh, yeah, I'll get back to you in a few."

"Yes, thank you."

"No problem." Click.

Let's fucking go!

You felt a shiver on your back. Your hand brushes against the goosebumps. Who's talking shit?

"That was definitely a spam call, dude." Venti sighs and gets back to stretching. Aether had misclicked and put the prior phone call on speaker. Which met every member heard the conversation.

Heizou tied his hair up. "I don't know, is the phone number valid?" His hands stretch the hairband around his hair.

"I could check. But, I mean, an actual interview?" Aether side-eyes his group was they goof around a bit. "You guys aren't prepared for that."

Venti frowns, "Yuh-huh! We're literally going on tour in a few months, I think we can handle a simple interview."

"You just want to be on camera." Scaramouche snickers and Kazuha elbows him. "What? Am I wrong?"

Their manager rubs his temple. "You guys are so childish..." Xiao frowns.

Venti uses Xiao as an arm rest. "Don't worry, Aether's not talking about you! You're like an old grandpa." Heizou laughs out loud.

Xiao just moves back and lets the braided fellow trip. Kazuha interrupts the lovely two. "I do believe it would be good for us. We'll need more publicity if we want to sell out."

Aether crosses his arms. He sighs, "You're right... but can y'all handle being asked personal questions? Like, age?"

Venti snorts. "Of course! I look older than I actually am."

Silience. Scaramouche speaks up, "So.. thirty?"

"What?!" Kazuha chuckles as Xiao holds back Venti. "Let me at him! Could a thirty-year old do this?!" Scaramouche laughs like a maniac.

Aether's jaw drops. "Guys, this is want I'm talking about!"

Everyone immediately freezes.

He rubs his temple. The poor man's gonna bald prematurely if this group keeps it up. Aether takes a deep breath before continuing, "Okay.. who wants to be interviewed?"

Venti, Kazuha, and Heizou's hands raise up. Three out of the five. Aether turns to Scaramouche and Xiao.

"And you guys?"

Xiao sighs before slowly raising his hand and earning a smile from Venti. "Scara? What about you?"

Scaramouche crosses his arms and looks to the side. He grits his teeth before raising his hand with sass. "It's not like I have a choice."

Aether sweats. The male does have a choice but okay! "Great. Now, let's practice."

Venti groans, "Dude, come on!"

a/n: gonna apologize AGAIN. it's finished now, dw 🧘

let me know if you guys want a taglist !!

[lillipad72]

The Annotated Anne of Green Gables ~~ a special rereading

CHAPTER II ~~ Matthew Cuthbert is Surprised

"The little birds sang as if it were/The one day of summer in all the year."

These verses at the beginning of Chapter II come from a long verse parable by James Russel Lowell, "The Vision of Sir Launfal," published in 1848. I could not find much besides a quick synopsis of the poem, but we can learn much from it. This poem is a twist on the classic Grail story. Sir Launfal decides not to search for the Holy Grail after a dream causes him to realize that the real meaning of the Grail is charity. These verses come as Matthew travels to pick up an orphan boy from the train station only to discover our heroine, Anne Shirley, waiting instead. While the verses perfectly describe the beautiful spring day of the setting, the poem as a whole fits into the theme of the novel. It was the charity in the Cutherberts' hearts that led them to find their Holy Grail, Anne, even if it wasn't the orphan boy they thought.

"Her face was small, white and thin, also much freckled; her mouth was large and so were her eyes, that looked green in some lights and moods and gray in others. So far, the ordinary observer; an extraordinary observer might have seen that the chin was pointed and pronounced; that the big eyes were full of spirit and vivacity; that the mouth was sweet-lipped and expressive; that the forehead was broad and full; in short, our discerning extraordinary observer might have concluded that no commonplace soul inhabited the body of this stray woman-child."

This is the introduction and description of Anne Shirley! While there is so much here to unpack, I'll leave that for another day; for now, I will discuss L.M. Montgomery's inspiration for the appearance of Anne. I knew about this before, but this book pointed it out, and well, I love this fact! So Montgomery said she saw a photo of a girl in an American magazine that she then used as a model for Anne. Montgomery said she had no idea who the girl was and if she had any idea that her face was the model for Anne. Well, that girl has been identified as none other than Evelyn Nesbit! The exact photo is above! For those of you unaware of the lovely Evelyn, she was a chorus girl and model in New York City at the beginning of the 20th century, but she really became famous when her husband, Harry K. Thaw, murdered Stanford White. (White was a famous architect who designed such buildings as the Pennsylvania Station in New York; he is also a character in the Gilded Age on Max). Nesbit alleged that White raped her when she was a minor and that she had told her husband that, causing him to shoot White to defend her honor. The trial would go on to be called "The Trial of the Century" (despite it only being 1907), and Nesbit was the star witness in her husband's defense. Her fame would rise, and she became a star in vaudeville. Another fun fact is that she (according to her grandson) received $25,000 from her husband after the trial, and she donated it to the anarchist Emma Goldman (who I really suggest looking into; her work was fascinating). Anyways, all that to say: I wonder what L.M. Montgomery would have thought if she knew that Evelyn Nesbit, a woman of 'loose morals,' was her inspiration for the appearance of Anne?

I was going to write as well about a few song lyrics that appear in this chapter, but I talked too much already I feel, so if anyone wants to know about the lyrics, let me know

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