#blue star fern

[pallanophblargh]

Head empty, only plants. Shouldn’t I be gardening? (It’s too difficult!) Besides, these little beebs are so obedient. And happy. And less punishing on my back.

Hoyas are still my plants. But there is room for succulents and a few choice ferns.

My room is a cacophony of smells: I have 6 (going on 8) Hoyas blooming. Stinky! This year they’re all taking off; I’ve only got 4 out of 18 left to bloom!

[pissyphilosopher]

I have two new ferns :3

[brokendollgirl]

Plant tour!

This is my blue star fern (I think!). I got this on a whim, I'd already had one and killed it and this one is much smaller, the pot also gave me hope. I am killing this one much more slowly, I definitely learned a bit from the last one. They don't like to be watered from the top and don't seem to like much sun. This sits on the back of the toilet and I feel like it needs a bigger pot soon though I'm scared repotting it will kill it.

[tagong-boy]

Phlebodium aureum “Davana”

フレボディウム・オーレウム「ダバナ」

Blue Star Fern

[temenosjournal]

Me And A D@^~ Fern

Me And A D@^~ Fern

When I walked in the store, I knew exactly where it was. Had watched it these last few weeks. Saw it when it first arrived, in its latte brown clay cover pot, and its lovely soft blue-grey leaves. Mesmerized, I left my grocery cart by the salads, out of the way, and went over to touch its beautiful leaves. I was enchanted. But, I left it there, but noted the grower. Once home, I googled what it…

[olympain]

Andor. I'm calling about Andor. You wanted news if I had it.

[finisnihil]

Did anyone else read absolutely horribly gut wrenching books as a kid for school that when you finished it, it made you stare at the floor for a while just digesting the material. Stone Fox haunts me like an old friend in the way that death does.

[feather-bone]

[ID: a colorful digital illustration of an archaeopteryx fossil with its head twisted upside down under one wing. The animal’s silhouette is shown behind the skeleton in black with a red outline. Surrounding it are various plants, beetles, fossils, a feather, and stars, all outlined in shades of orange, yellow, and green. The background is blue with a simple blue and black fern border. End.]

Archaeopteryx! A beautiful feathery link between non-avian dinosaurs and modern birds (avian dinosaurs)! This illustration is based on the iconic Berlin specimen and will be the postcard for this month’s ko-fi supporter rewards!

[frogstappen]

𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧, 𝐮𝐬

best friend!max verstappen x reader / 2.4k

max keeps up your friendly tradition at the us grand prix.

⚠️: friends with a little something more on the horizon. one teeny mention of throwing up in a sleeping bag. cutesy, fluffy, best pal max.

ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ ʜᴇʀᴇ

The world is alive with a kick only found in Austin.

Cowboy hats and cowgirl boots; star-spangled everything and a roaring reception fit for rock ‘n roll stars. Bloodthirst donned in a bolo tie and winning smile.

You swipe through your camera roll, pinching each photo to read the gimmicky banners and count the bullhorn gestures. Giggling when you spot a grown man with a sign addressed to Lewis: I called in sick to watch you race.

Max glances over his shoulder. “What’s so funny?”

You turn your phone.

He squints at the screen, huffing a laugh, then scrolls through some more. “They love and hate with the same passion. It’s actually kind of scary.”

“I love it here.”

You push off the couch and wander over to the window.

The sky is a brilliant blue, dazzling even through the tinted glass. Striking Southern sunlight bounces off each motorhome in the paddock. The lot busies away, polos scurrying from building to building, VIP lanyards shielding their eyes from the sun to take it all in.

Max taps your shoulder with your phone and nods to the door. “C’mon. Time.”

He leads you outside, loosening his elbow to let you slip your arm through his. He turns heads and raises whispers – though none of it seems to bother him. It’s like he doesn’t even notice.

He’s already turning inward, already picturing the starting line behind his eyes. He’s thinking tactics and thinking strategies, making mental notes about turns twelve through fifteen; tire degradation and DRS and not saying fuck or shit or driving too close to the car marked 4.

His eyes lift only for a second. He frowns at some photographers up ahead and positions himself in front as you walk. His head ducks again, giving them little more than a winning shot of his Red Bull cap – and he takes your hand.

“Here,” he says, “We can dodge them.”

He cuts between ferns and life-size driver banners, speeding past crowded bistro sets. By the time they clock him – Was that Max Verstap–? – he’s already thin air.

Through one of the backdoors to the garages, Max pulls you down a darkened hallway.

You giggle, trying not to trip over his heels. Cooler, though not by much, you breathe a sigh of relief and rub the starry sunshine from your vision. When you pull your knuckles away from your eyes, you gasp.

Max halts.

“What?” he asks, twisting around. His hand stays locked in yours. “You okay?”

Your nose bumps against his shoulder as you crane to see properly through the sliver of an ajar door.

Behind a throng of serious faces in white shirts and headsets – a table. Three trophies, tall and slender, polished to perfection. Obnoxious, maybe a little – but glamorous and gleaming all the same.

And right in front of them –

“Are those the podium caps?”

Max studies your face for a moment. A smile threatens the corner of his lips, but he fights it down. He follows your eye to the three hats.

He nods. “Looks like it.”

“Denim, Max. That’s so cool.”

“Well, y’know,” he sniffs, giving your hand a light tug, “It is Austin.”

“I don’t have a denim one. Yet.”

He shoots you a look more steel than blue. You don’t have to speak Max Verstappen to know exactly what it means.

You’ve been collecting his race caps – the rare designs, anyway – for as long as he’s been in Formula One. At home, there’s a whole corner of your closet dedicated strictly to Pirelli.

His very first winners’ cap sits proudly on the tallest hook, all the way to the Canadian maple leaf design that made you squeal when he presented it to you.

He knows the ones you’d like, the second he sees them. Eight years’ worth of victories, turned into something even more meaningful.

Granted, there have been a little fewer than normal lately – but sometimes, you like to pretend he’s in that cockpit aiming for first at least in part to see the smile on your face when he fits the cap on your head.

Still. He stares you down.

“I wouldn’t get too excited,” he says, walking on. “The car is shit, lately.”

“Language,” you hiss, grinning.

Max shakes his head. “I can still send you home, you know. The race hasn’t started yet.”

He’s only jesting – but annoying him is too much fun.

“Oh, you wouldn’t do that. I’m here for sympathy reasons, remember?”

He grunts in response.

Austin wasn’t meant to be on your list this year. It’s one of your favorite grands prix, that’s for sure, but you had planned to miss it this time around on account of the new guy you’d been seeing.

That is – until you called it quits last month.

It had only been a few months – three, if that – but the longer it went on, the more you noticed incompatibilities. Little things, like the way your schedules clashed, or the kinds of places you each liked to hang out.

He was a great guy, and he took it like a champ – which made the bruise sting a little…sharper.

Max let you wallow for three days. He spent a decent chunk of the month’s break after Singapore at your place; ordering you takeout and then refusing to let you pay, waking you up each morning to work out with him. You’d never admit it, but after a while, it got kinda fun.

Then, when it was time to get back to work, he invited you to Austin. You know being there will cheer you up, he said. And besides, I need my lucky charm.

So far – what with the denim Pirelli caps and the front-row qualifying result – he’s fast turning out to be right.

He pauses at the turn into the garage. “How are you, anyway? Feeling distracted?”

You smile, slumping against the wall opposite him. “Very. I forgot how hard this place goes.”

He nods, sipping from his bottle. He glances down the hall towards the echoes of photographers. “Sorry about the…” he waves a dismissive hand, “…Ever since Singapore, they…”

“You don’t think I’m used to it by now, three-time-world-champion?”

He curves his hand around the back of his neck, lips curling. “You wanna watch from the garage again, or upstairs?”

“Upstairs, please. I don’t need another 4D experience of you crashing.”

“Wasn’t exactly fun to me, either,” he says, nudging your arm. He lists directions, reminding you to stay behind the shrubbery to evade the cameras. He makes you swear you’ll text him once you’re seated.

“Do you want my pinkie, or is a blood oath more acceptable?”

“It’s a lot of different tracks, alright? Sometimes even I get lost.”

Your eyes narrow. Liar.

He smirks. “Okay, I don’t. But I also don’t stop to fucking stare at denim hats, so.”

“Go do your job, potty mouth. And drive safe.”

“Mhm.”

“I mean it, Max. Just – aim to finish in one piece.”

He pulls you in for a hug, pressing his lips to your temple.

“I’m aiming for a cap,” he says, and swings into the garage.

It’s Ferrari’s race from the opening lap. No other team gets a look-in.

Charles steals the lead from under Lando’s feet, propelling ahead with Carlos in tow to secure an easy one-two for the Prancing Horse. They hold fast the entire race and – though they are, in theory, two of your best friend’s current enemies – they nail it.

You know that, when you find each other later, Max will tell you the same. He’s never a sore loser when simply lovely racing is involved.

Fifty-six laps and five and a half kilometers later, you’re watching him on the podium.

Well. You’re watching your next collector’s item – on his head – on the podium.

Third place isn’t too shabby for a man perpetually fighting his machine – and even he looks relieved just to be up there. He glances down as the Monégasque national anthem plays, and tilts his head purposefully.

You grin up at him, eyebrows raised. I see it, you send telepathically. I’ve chosen its hook already.

Max is careful not to let it become too soaked during the champagne spraying. He ducks out of Charles’s path, aims his own at Carlos’s back. He’s the first to tip the bottle against his lips and drink, and the others quickly follow suit.

There’s probably a grilling waiting for him in the press tent. Was Norris’s five-second penalty just? How did the car feel during that battle? Do you see the rear-end of a McLaren when you close your eyes at night?

You take the opportunity while the paddock is still quiet to sneak back to his motorhome, falling back onto the double bed. There’s a flatscreen on the wall opposite you; a crystal vase of roses on the marble counter beneath.

Some days you have to remind yourself that, behind all the titles and trophies and treasure – he’s still the same kid who ate so much candy at your eighth birthday party that he threw up in his sleeping bag.

Behind all of it, he’s still Max. Your Max.

Says you can have a go at his racing simulator, then laughs while you fight with the controls. Says he’ll pick you up after a night out, then takes voice recordings of your drunken babbling to play back to your hungover self.

Says, He was a nice guy, but you’re going to be okay – and invites you to Austin to take your mind off it.

You’re watching some real estate show under eyes heavy with sleep when the motorhome door clicks open.

His shadow sways down the narrow trailer, and he materializes at the foot of the bed.

“Hello.”

You lift your head. “Hello, yourself.”

He takes your wrists and pulls you upright, scooping you in a strong hug. He’s soaked in sweat and champagne, race suit hanging from his hips, but you wrap your arms around his shoulders anyway.

His hair is damp, cheeks flushed and heated. His stubble scrapes your skin. He buries his nose in the crook of your neck and sighs.

“Thinking of moving to Mexico?” he murmurs into your shoulder, turning to look at the screen.

“The remote was on the other side of the room. I’m tired.”

“Me, too,” he says. He pulls back.

You take his jaw in your hands. “You did so good,” you whisper, thumbs smoothing the lines his balaclava has left behind. “That battle with Lando – I thought – maybe –”

He scoffs, lazy smirk pulling across his face. “Nah. Light work.”

It warrants the knock you deal his bicep.

Max laughs. “Oh,” he says, and reaches behind his back. From the waistband of his suit, he pulls a slightly dented, very drenched third-place cap. He straightens out the material. “Took it off as soon as we got backstage. Didn’t want my hair to make it all sweaty.”

You take it from his hands delicately, grinning from ear to ear as you tilt it in the light. “It’s so fucking cool, Max.”

He hums. “Here.”

He handles it with the same care you did, for the sole reason that it means this much to you – and Max knows it. With a gentle smile, eyes flitting from yours to your lips, he places the cap over your head and straightens it into place.

“There,” he steps back, “You just won third place at Circuit of the Americas.”

You giggle, turning to catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. “Oh my God, I look so goofy.”

“No you don’t,” Max replies, standing behind your reflection. “You suit it better than I do.”

There’s a beat – a moment, stood against his chest, eyes locked and hearts aligned. You lean back on your heels, and he perches his chin soft on your head.

His hands find your shoulders. “I’m gonna jump in the shower,” he says. “Do you want to head back to the hotel now, or –?”

You shake your head. “I’m good. I’ll wait for you.”

“’kay,” he whispers. He lingers, still scanning the sight before him. Hands still on your body, squeezing in time with your hammering heartbeat.

Probably taking in the oddity of the entire thing, the same way you are. The two of you framed in the mirror, no closer than you spend most days, and somehow – the closest you’ve ever felt him.

Your Max. Who once caught wind that you had a crush on one of the kids in class, and teased you all summer long for it. Who once gatecrashed your horror movie night with Victoria; burst out of the closet in a Ghostface mask, screaming bloody murder.

It’s exactly the kind of feeling you’d text him for advice on. Hey, what do you think about this? I had butterflies today, standing next to this guy.

Exactly the kind of thing that he’d reply with, Does he know you cry at animated movies?

Does he know you say good morning to the birds?

Does he know you burn pancakes anytime you try to make them?

Yes, you’d send. And he doesn’t mind any of it.

Max takes the visor of your cap between his fingers and turns it. “This way for when you’re feeling fancy,” he says, laughing at his own joke the way he always does.

You breathe a relieved laugh of your own. “Sure,” you reply, shaking that feeling free. You turn, hands light on his forearms. Your gaze climbs from his chest to his eyes.

“Thank you,” you whisper, staring into the oceanic home you’ve known since you were a kid. “I’m really glad I came. You, uh…I don’t know what I’d do without you, Max.”

He shrugs – never one to take a compliment without wrestling with it first. “’s not about me,” he replies, tapping your nose with his knuckle. He swallows, shifting between feet, before his chest fills with a deep breath. “Let me take you to dinner. As a thanks for coming, obviously.”

“You mean the hat isn’t my thanks?”

He shakes his head. “I can do better than a smelly denim hat.”

“I’ll bet you can, Verstappen.”

[fernscare]

some kinda swamp dragon

[ID: a watercolor, acrylic, and colored pencil illustration of an alligator-like creature with blue, purple, and reddish-pink scales. It has a pointed tail tip. It is holding a large star/sun in its parted jaws. It is surrounded by swamp tupelo leaves, fireflies, ferns, and waterlily leaves. The background is black.]

[startrekfangirl2233]

‼️‼️‼️ Fernie interrupted?! Noooooo!!!!

This entire reblog is making me giggle and kick my little feet, Fern! You have no idea how happy it makes me!

I love that this masterpiece came from our feral musings in the middle of the night while you were taking a break from studying, tbh. IMHO, everyone deserves a Daddy Jake to entice them into studying just a little more. If I could, I would send you a Jake to pamper you into studying so you can be my nurse sister-wife instead of my nurse-to-be sister wife a little sooner! (School sucks, but you've got this, Baby!)

Blue is 100% having a moment on deck. I mean, what else could she do when her hubby undressed her, touched her so teasingly and then left? She thought, "turnabout is fair play" and is having a ball teasing the teaser that Jake is. It does backfire on her a little though, because Jake still wins. By dropping her off of the side of the yacht.

I couldn't resist that bit. Because Jake would be just that playful with his girl. And the leaving his girl wet and wanting line? 🥵🥵🥵 I nearly combusted just writing it. And then all the cock dumb bits? I just. I just needed them viscerally in that moment.

Basically, long story short, you and me Fernie, we need to do a little bit more late night brainstorming because I've loved everything I've written after one of those sessions. They're all smut because we're insatiable, but that's ok, right?

Money, Money, Money

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader

Sequel to Mm, Daddy, Daddy.

Description: Your life has been completely changed since you fell in love with Jake Seresin. For one, you've never been to Monaco before, and you've never set foot on a yacht before either. But with Jake, you're ready for anything, even if your afternoon becomes a little spicier than first expected.

Disclaimer: Female Reader, Slight BDSM, Sugar Daddy/Sugar Baby Relationship. This is also very clearly an AU! In this universe, Jake is a high flying, jet-setting lawyer, a very successful one.

This is a story completely full of adult elements. It is for adults 18+ only. Minors Do Not Interact.

Word Count: 2117

Author Note: So, if you've all read Mm, Daddy, Daddy, you'll know exactly why this thought had such a foothold on me. I had to write a sequel. This one is for @desert-fern and @mayhemmanaged .

The title for this fic comes from ABBA's Money, Money, Money

AO3: Cross-posted here!

My Masterlist

How is this your life? It's a question you've asked yourself since you found yourself in a happy, committed relationship with Jake Seresin. Over the past four years of being with Jake, loving Jake, you've fallen even deeper in love with him every day. He's been your biggest supporter. In fact, you know for sure you never would have graduated from graduate school, not without him. You know that his contacts helped in your career too. It's surprising how many people Jake knows on the board of directors of Marine Biology labs. But more than anytime you wonder at the turns your life has taken, no day has been as surreal as today.

When Jake asked you to marry him, you'd been ecstatic, if a little nervous. It's not the glitz and glam of his life as a high profile lawyer. You've been ancillary to the glitz and glam of his high fashion world for as long as you've known him. It's that in four years, you've never once met his family. You didn't either until the week of your wedding. But over expensive champagne and expensive hor d'oeuvres, your family and his were united as were Jake and you. That very night you'd flown via private jet to Monaco, where Jake's yacht was waiting.

The midday sun is hot and incredibly bright from behind your eyelids as you lay on your stomach and soak in the rays. Every inch of you, from the roots of your hair to the tips of your toes, is soaked in moisture. Sweat prickles at the backs of your knees and the crooks of your elbows, sliding down your back to pool at the base of your spine as it mixes with the sunscreen coating your skin. You would nearly be asleep, like a cat in a patch of sun, if you weren't putting on a deliberate show in your completely untied skimpy bright blue bikini.

You'd started wearing a cover-up over your bikini, one of Jake's t-shirts teasingly buttoned over your navel, as you'd laid out on a lounge on the yacht's deck. But back to you and your blue bikini. The shade is a near-perfect shade match for the Sapphire adorning your left-hand ring finger. So about half an hour after you'd laid out in the sun, off the shirt came.

"Blue, baby! That's an awful lot of exposed skin. Do you need a reapplication of sunscreen?" After that comment, you weren’t surprised to feel Jake’s skin against yours.

Jake smirked at you before covering your lips in a kiss. Everything had stayed chaste until his hands began spreading sunscreen across your skin. His hands were teasingly gentle as he untied your bikini strap across your back and then the strap at the back of your neck.

"Jakey!" You gasped, trying to push his hands away. "There are a ton of yachts around, aren't there?"

"You've got nothing to worry about, baby." His words and hot kisses down your spine made you shudder. "We're all alone out here. And we're in Europe, baby. A little nudity is de rigueur!"

A moan masked any further protests as Jake's big hot hands freed you from your bikini bottoms. Jake had massaged your skin with the lotion, keeping his touches just light enough to have your skin goose-pimpling in need without giving you any release. Then he'd left, retreating to the wheel with a ridiculous white captain's hat perched on his head.

That's when you'd decided that turnabout was fair play. It's not an accident that the lounge chair you're on is right in view of the wheel. You start by sitting up and stretching, exaggerating the actions and how your tits jiggle with each movement. You can't read Jake's expression from behind his mirrored lenses, but you know he's only looking at you. But you hadn’t done anything else, choosing to lay in the sun again, leading you to this moment. You’ve been lying bare in the sun for nearly an hour now.

You turn over, reaching for the bottle of sunscreen and squirting some between your palms. The rich scent of coconut and hibiscus hangs heavy in the air as you warm the sticky lotion in your hot hands. You loll your head to the side, keeping direct eye contact with your husband as you cup your heavy breasts in your hands. You slather the lotion carelessly over your tits, pausing to tweak your nipples until your areolas are pebbled, and your nipples are peaked even in the hot, heavy afternoon air.

With more lotion, you let your hands trail teasingly lower. You trace abstract patterns across the meat of your thighs, keeping direct eye contact as you part your thighs teasingly. Each swipe draws your fingers even closer to the apex, your dripping core aching for more stimulation than you've gotten. That's the final straw for your husband, it seems.

Soundtracked by a bitten-off curse, you hear the yacht motor silence and the heavy tread of footsteps as Jake makes his way down to the deck where you are. Dragging your sunglasses off, you turn until you're lying on your stomach in the lounge again. You cross your legs at the ankle, alluringly flexing the muscles as you peek at your husband.

"Heya, Cowboy!" You can't help how teasing your voice is. "See something you like?"

His groan sends heat boiling beneath your grin. "Oh, Baby Blue. Yeah, I think I do. D'you want me to show you how much?"

"I dunno, Mr. Seresin. I mean," You turn over again, taking a deep breath that has your chest heaving. "I put on this pretty little bikini and came here for someone special. But my husband, I dunno if you've seen him, just got me all hot and bothered, wet and wanting, without doing anything about it!"

As the final words leave your lips, you arch your back, pushing your tits into the palms of your hands, and smile sunnily up at him. His resulting growl has your legs falling apart automatically as Jake drags his shirt off and covers your body with his own. His kiss is wet and messy as he slants his mouth over yours and plunders your plush lips. Your arms wrap around his neck as you wriggle under him, trying and failing to get more stimulation.

It's a sharp smack to the meat of your ass that has your movements stalling.

"Oh, baby. Blue, my gorgeous bride. D'you want to show me how wet you are?" Jake's teeth drag bluntly over your pulse as his hands find purchase at your hips. His hands find no resistance as he levers your thighs apart, just far enough to have your legs wrap easily around his slim waist.

Your lips part in a drawn-out moan as Jake's hands find your peaked nipples. "I'm so wet for you, baby. I've been wet for you since you put sunscreen on me."

Jake kisses you long and deep before burying one of his fingers in your wet heat. But they’re not there for long because you’re vertical as Jake bodily moves you across the deck in one swift movement. For one fond moment, you hope Jake’s taking you to the bed below deck. But you’re wrong. Because in a few big steps, Jake’s dropping you over the side of the yacht.

The water is frigid in comparison to the heat of your skin, and you can’t hide how your teeth chatter as you come up for air. A splash nearly drags you under again as Jake cannonballs into the water beside you. You come up spluttering, your eyes screwed shut against the salty sea water while blindly groping for Jake. At the first bit of his skin, you make contact with, you pull yourself closer. As you wrap your arms and legs around Jake, you’re sure you more closely resemble a drowned bear cub wrapped around a tree than a human woman.

“YOU ASS!” Your voice is high-pitched as you blink away the last droplets burning your eyes and glare at your husband.

“I’m sorry, Baby. I just wanted to take you skinny dipping.” You can feel his pout as he wraps his arms around your waist and kisses your spine.

“Just want me, Jakey! I’m all wet now.” Your pout is only half sincere as you stand dripping on the deck as Jake wraps a terry cloth robe around your frame.

“But, Baby, didn’t you know? It was a hidden part of my vows, promising that I’d always keep you wet and never keep you wanting." You laugh despite yourself, wrapping your arms around Jake's neck as you press kisses to his salty lips.

He's grinning himself even as he lifts you again, this time carrying you below deck. Jake presses you against the wall, kissing down your throat as he frees you from the robe. His tongue is hot as it traces over your skin. The heat under your skin rises to a fever pitch as Jake drops to his knees in front of you.

His hands part your thighs with no resistance, even as his tongue delves between your dripping folds. Each wet lick has you writhing even as Jake's forearm keeps you propped against the wall. Jake drags your leg up over his shoulder, opening you up further before he plunges two fingers into your drooling cunt and wraps his lips around your swollen clit.

The first wet suck has you writhing even further, digging your fingers into his hair. You tug on the wet strands, writhing under the steel bands of Jake's forearm as his fingers and mouth work your over with such alacrity that the band tightening in your gut is nearly ready to snap.

"Jake, Jake, Jake!" You're babbling already, back arching at the onslaught of sensations he's wrecking on your body. "Gonna cum, baby please! I'm gonna cum. Please can I cum, Daddy please?"

It's calling Jake Daddy that seems to set him off. His fingers grow more insistent within your wet cunt as the suctioning press of his lips drags your orgasm out of you. You cum with a scream, your back arching even as you gush over his fingers. When Jake slips up to pull you into his arms, your release coats his lips and drips down your neck. You clean him up willingly, sucking on his tongue even as you dip your fingers below the waistband of your husband's swim trunks to grip his thick cock.

"Gonna make you feel so good, my beautiful Blue. Gonna make you feel amazing. Gonna impale you on my cock until Daddy stuffs you full of his cum." You moan, relishing in the feeling of his skin on yours.

"Can you get on all fours for me, Baby?" Daddy's voice is a purr as he manhandles you onto the bed. His mouth is hot even as he sucks hickies over you bare back before he plunges his cock into your waiting hole. You can feel every inch of his length as it drives you wild, fucking into you until each sharp thrust sings through your veins.

"D-daddy!" Your skin is so sensitive that you feel spread thin and achingly horny. Your cunt aches, wanting to cum desperately. It doesn't feel at all like you just came minutes before. You feel like you need to cum like you need to breathe.

Your skin feels overly tight and you're so overcome that you're like a ragdoll in Jake's arms. "Please let me cum. Please! PLEASE!"

Daddy just won't let you cum, content to fuck into your sopping cunt until you're completely cock dumb. Your cunt is swollen around his length, your walls fluttering involuntarily at each thrust.

"D-DADDY!" You cum with a scream, your back arched as Jake tweaks your peaked nipples. Your orgasm sets Jake off on his own, his seed gushing hot as it fills your puffy cunt.

Jake carefully peppers kisses across your shoulders as he rearranges you to your side.

"Baby." His kisses are soft as he nuzzles over your skin.

"J-Jakey!" You turn over, whining as Jake's cock slips out of you. You're panting, even as exhaustion drips hypnotically through your veins.

"God I love you, baby." Jake sounds so fond of you, so in love with you as he slides his cock back into your sloppy hole.

You pepper wet kisses across his chest before nuzzling in closer. "Gonna make you a Daddy before long, Jakey. I love you."

His smile is the last thing you see before your eyes slip closed, content to enjoy a midday nap to the feeling of your husband's wedding band sliding over your skin.

Taglist:

@desert-fern 🥰 @mayhemmanaged 🥰 @cassiemitchell 🥰 @thedroneranger 🥰 @cherrycola27 🥰 @roosterforme 🥰 @dakotakazansky 🥰 @bobby-r2d2-floyd 🥰 @sarahsmi13s 🥰 @lovinglyeternal 🥰 @lovingbradshawafterdark 🥰 @mamaskillerqueen 🥰 @chaoticassidy 🥰 @kmc1989 🥰

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN HERE OR ON AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

[torasplanet]

thinkin abt having a lil family with nerd!armin...

armin screams girl dad but...he isn't one and instead he has a son who is a spitting image of him. blonde hair, blue eyes, he has everything and sometimes you joke that armin might as well have made your son himself from how they look so similar! but...armin hates when you say that.

because he hates his son to put it nicely. well he doesn't hate him but he despises the things that he does...like cuddling all up to you so you'd give him your undivided attention leaving armin out of the moment. he shouldn't get mad because after all, his son is practically him but littler, clinging to you at any chance, wanting your attention all the time and wanting you to hear about what he was talking about.

that was all armin did but he couldn't really do that when his son was doing it all for him!! he hoped to have a bit more luck with the next kid who he hoped was a girl, though despite that, he loved his little family and he loved how you all interacted with each other. sometimes you'd walk in late at night out of your sleep and see the two blondes awake on the couch watching star wars and your son is telling armin to be quiet while armin is just ranting about the movies while trying his best not to spoil it...

sometimes armin would walk in on you and your son in the kitchen and you're giving him little tastes of foods that you like but he's never tried before. he loves to watch how your son giggles happily at how yummy the food taste! but armin and your favorite moments in your little family are when you all are together sitting on the couch doing anything.

most of the time, armin would be telling you about some kid show that your son likes because of him and it'd turn into a rant with your son adding on small details that his father missed as you just listened. "so finn has this kind of clone made out of grass–" "his name is fern!" armin looks at your son who is snuggled into your side while his head is buried into your tummy, he smiles with a chuckle "yeah i forgot, he's fern." you just giggled at how your son smiled brightly at armin's acknowledgment of his favorite character (projecting a bit here...) he was so cute.

your boyfriend's eyes went to you and he gently wiggled your arm "you listening baby?" he asked and you quickly nodded "yeah, i'm listening 'min. keep going." armin grinned and nodded before continuing his rant on adventure time which he had introduced to his son about a week ago, you thought you'd never hear the end of this. they probably knew more than the actual show creators.

you just love your little family, even if they're nerds.

©torasplanet .ᐟ reblogs and likes are very appreciated! pls do not repost!!

[aloysiavirgata]

She walks in beauty, like the night

Scully in the simplest, blackest silk. Scully pale, moon-kissed, vulnerable. Scully’s hair and eyes like where the stars are born.

***

Scully comes to him when even the moon is all but asleep, like a single calla lily from a secret admirer. Unbidden. Unexpected.

Unparalleled.

“Mulder,” she says, outside his open door, in a negligee that last shade of sky blue before it goes pitch black.

Spaghetti straps and a low décolletage, though not shockingly low. Lace trim, mid thigh. It looks like something Katharine Hepburn would wear to slap you.

Not you. Him.

Specifically him.

She looks up at him through her heavy-lashed, heavy-lidded eyes.

He stares at her for his own sake because deep in his 12 year old heart, no one would ever, ever, believe that nerdy Fox Muld-

Scully takes another step closer onto the sad oatmeal carpet of his hotel room. She has such pretty ankles, she has such pretty calves. She smells like honeysuckle and hot bike tires and buttery lobster rolls and the sweetest, purest moments of his life.

She tips her face up to him, Agent Scully does, all eyes and lips and cheekbones like a geometric proof.

“God,” he says. And he means it.

***

LA belongs to the sun and Scully is a San Diego baby but he knows, he knows, she is an East Coast girl at heart. He knows she loves the first retinal purple-orange sunrises of America and the first sapphire kisses of night. He knows she loves the stars by which her father learned to navigate. He knows she loves the distant moon.

He knows she loves blue crabs and wool duffel coats and khaki shorts and aspires to East Hampton in her most secret, silent heart.

One day he will make love to her in London because she will, he knows, hark to the call of the City. She is a creature of old stone and lichen and liminal space.

She is the answer to Samson’s riddle.

***

He’d rented a jet black ‘57 Chevy Bel Air because Christ, this girl. Abductions and cancer and the most awful brutality and stolen ova and Christ; this brilliant, moonbeam girl.

She sees the car and she says nothing. But her eyes, her eyes. Her Star of India eyes.

Scully sees the car and she smiles, shy. Scully squeezes his hand.

***

He fucks her - hard, desperate - in the Chevy out over Mullholland and she cries out for him because even Saint Teresa writhed in ecstasy.

He kisses her the way a mariner kisses his homeland soil because she is his human credential. He kisses her like a Torah scroll. He shudders, murmurs I love you, I love you into the hot, sweet dark of her mouth.

***

She is bleeding, just a little. She is bleeding in the warm caress of a Southern California night. She is bleeding as though she were a virgin and maybe she is; maybe there is sex and there is fucking and there is making love and there is This.

Are you there, god? It’s me, Dana.

She touches his sleeping rosebud lips. She touches his funny nose and his beautiful jaw and she doesn’t say I love you aloud like he had because she’d learned it was shameful. She’d learned to salute.

But it’s 3 AM, neither properly morning nor properly night. It’s 3 AM and she isn’t LA pretty, not by a long shot, but she’s here with him, with Mulder, who is very LA pretty and has money besides.

She’s too short and too pale and her nose is patrician rather than cute and she gets burnt instead of tan. She doesn’t laugh in the right places at movies. She likes copper because it burns green, she likes moths more than butterflies, she can quote Jane Austen’s most acerbic lines.

She thinks of Mulder swimming hard across the Vineyard tides, Mulder with his cinnamon skin in the whipped cream breakers. Riding a red fixed-gear along Lake Tashmoo, tugging his tiny sister along. Mulder basking on the beach like a young god of summer. Mulder with his heart afire like Saint Margaret Mary Alacoque.

Her father is dead and look, look Mulder has such a tender soul even if he’s Jewish and atheist, Daddy. Mulder has eyes like fern moss.

“I love you,” she says, her eyes brimming with tears, her eyes bright as the newest stars.

[book--brackets]

Summaries under the cut

Stardust by Neil Gaiman

Young Tristran Thorn will do anything to win the cold heart of beautiful Victoria—even fetch her the star they watch fall from the night sky. But to do so, he must enter the unexplored lands on the other side of the ancient wall that gives their tiny village its name. Beyond that old stone wall, Tristran learns, lies Faerie—where nothing not even a fallen star, is what he imagined.

Where the Red Fern Grows by Wilson Rawls

Billy, Old Dan, and Little Ann—a boy and his two dogs...

A loving threesome, they ranged the dark hills and river bottoms of Cherokee County. Old Dan had the brawn, Little Ann had the brains—and Billy had the will to train them to be the finest hunting team in the valley. Glory and victory were coming to them, but sadness waited too. And close by was the strange and wonderful power that's only found...

The Witches by Roald Dahl

This is not a fairy-tale. This is about real witches. Real witches don't ride around on broomsticks. They don't even wear black cloaks and hats. They are vile, cunning, detestable creatures who disguise themselves as nice, ordinary ladies. So how can you tell when you're face to face with one? Well, if you don't know yet you'd better find out quickly-because there's nothing a witch loathes quite as much as children and she'll wield all kinds of terrifying powers to get rid of them.

The Kane Chronicles by Rick Riordan

Since his mother's death six years ago, Carter Kane has been living out of a suitcase, traveling the globe with his father, the brilliant Egyptologist, Dr. Julius Kane. But while Carter's been homeschooled, his younger sister, Sadie, has been living with their grandparents in London. Sadie has just what Carter wants—school friends and a chance at a "normal" life. But Carter has just what Sadie longs for—time with their father. After six years of living apart, the siblings have almost nothing in common. Until now.

On Christmas Eve, Sadie and Carter are reunited when their father brings them to the British Museum, with a promise that he's going to "make things right." But all does not go according to plan: Carter and Sadie watch as Julius summons a mysterious figure, who quickly banishes their father and causes a fiery explosion.

Soon Carter and Sadie discover that the gods of Ancient Egypt are waking, and the worst of them—Set—has a frightening scheme. To save their father, they must embark on a dangerous journey—a quest that brings them ever closer to the truth about their family and its links to the House of Life, a secret order that has existed since the time of the pharaohs.

Hatchet by Gary Paulsen

Brian is on his way to Canada to visit his estranged father when the pilot of his small prop plane suffers a heart attack. Brian is forced to crash-land the plane in a lake--and finds himself stranded in the remote Canadian wilderness with only his clothing and the hatchet his mother gave him as a present before his departure.

Brian had been distraught over his parents' impending divorce and the secret he carries about his mother, but now he is truly desolate and alone. Exhausted, terrified, and hungry, Brian struggles to find food and make a shelter for himself. He has no special knowledge of the woods, and he must find a new kind of awareness and patience as he meets each day's challenges. Is the water safe to drink? Are the berries he finds poisonous?

Slowly, Brian learns to turn adversity to his advantage--an invading porcupine unexpectedly shows him how to make fire, a devastating tornado shows him how to retrieve supplies from the submerged airplane. Most of all, Brian leaves behind the self-pity he has felt about his predicament as he summons the courage to stay alive.

Island of the Blue Dolphins by Scott O'Dell

On San Nicolas Island, dolphins flash in the surrounding blue waters, sea otter play in the vast kelp beds, and sea elephants loll on the stony beaches. Here, in the early 1800s, a girl named Karana spent eighteen years alone.

Karana had to contend with the ferocious pack of wild dogs that killed her younger brother, constantly guard against Aleutian sea otter hunters, and maintain a precarious food supply. Her courage, self-reliance, and grit has inspired millions of readers in this breathtaking adventure.

Stargirl by Jerry Spinelli

Leo Borlock follows the unspoken rule at Mica Area High School: don't stand out--under any circumstances! Then Stargirl arrives at Mica High and everything changes--for Leo and for the entire school. After 15 years of home schooling, Stargirl bursts into tenth grade in an explosion of color and a clatter of ukulele music, enchanting the Mica student body.

But the delicate scales of popularity suddenly shift, and Stargirl is shunned for everything that makes her different. Somewhere in the midst of Stargirl's arrival and rise and fall, normal Leo Borlock has tumbled into love with her.

The Phantom Tollbooth by Norton Juster

For Milo, everything’s a bore. When a tollbooth mysteriously appears in his room, he drives through only because he’s got nothing better to do. But on the other side, things seem different. Milo visits the Island of Conclusions (you get there by jumping), learns about time from a ticking watchdog named Tock, and even embarks on a quest to rescue Rhyme and Reason! Somewhere along the way, Milo realizes something astonishing. Life is far from dull. In fact, it’s exciting beyond his wildest dreams. . . .

Black Beauty by Anna Sewell

As a young horse, Black Beauty is well-loved and happy. But when his owner is forced to sell him, his life changes drastically. He has many new owners—some of them cruel and some of them kind. All he needs is someone to love him again....

Whether pulling an elegant carriage or a ramshackle cab, Black Beauty tries to live as best he can. This is his amazing story, told as only he could tell it.

Tuck Everlasting by Natalie Babbitt

Doomed to - or blessed with - eternal life after drinking from a magic spring, the Tuck family wanders about trying to live as inconspicuously and comfortably as they can. When ten-year-old Winnie Foster stumbles on their secret, the Tucks take her home and explain why living forever at one age is less a blessing that it might seem. Complications arise when Winnie is followed by a stranger who wants to market the spring water for a fortune.

[petaltexturedskies]

But now she loved winter. Winter was beautiful "up back"—almost intolerably beautiful. Days of clear brilliance. Evenings that were like cups of glamour—the purest vintage of winter's wine. Nights with their fire of stars. Cold, exquisite winter sunrise. Lovely ferns of ice all over the windows of the blue castle. Moonlight on birches in a silver thaw. Ragged shadows on windy evenings-torn, twisted, fantastic shadows. The sun suddenly breaking through grey clouds over long, white mistawis. Ice-grey twilights, broken by snow-squalls, when their cosy living-room, with its goblins of firelight and inscrutable cats, seemed cosier than ever. Every hour brought a new revelation and wonder.

Lucy Maud Montgomery, The Blue Castle

[naffeclipse]

I HAVE THR GREATEST IDEA!! Raindeer centaur!Y/n with orca!Eclipse and she finds two calves of sun and moon raindeer centaurs and bring to eclipse how would he react??

Oh my gosh, Reindeer Centaur Y/N!! You'd have a thick, brown coat and velvet horns. Strong and stout, you traverse the ice and snow with a silent forbearance.

Eclipse sees you before you ever see him. He's immediately enamored by the beautiful centaur trotting around snowbanks—he has to see you up close! It takes patience, but he follows from the coast, and he's rewarded. He finds you. He introduces himself the only way he knows how.

You kneel at the water's edge, hooves folded underneath your body as you wash your hands in the thick salt. The taste warns you to not drink it, but it does well cleaning away the sweat and grime from constantly moving. You lower your hands, cupping a gentle handful to wash the fine, velveteen fur of your neck when you realize a face is staring at you from below the surface, grinning.

You slowly straighten where you sit and he follows, emerging from the water in soft splashes and a gleaming gaze. He sizes you up as if deciding where to take the bite first. You, calmly, regard him, and listen to his gushing of how beautiful and handsome you are! He flicks his tongue over his teeth when he tells his name. When you share your own, you study how his claws thrum against the ice and how intently he locks eyes with you.

He often calls you 'my dear' and adores touching your antlers and stroking your thick, velvet fur. You take your time letting him close. When you're not racing along the ocean shore, you'll watch Eclipse breach, showing off with grandiose splashes before he pops up to catch your reaction.

On one rare occasion, he convinces you to lie down on your side, four cervine legs sprawled out, and lay your head on his stomach. You're both quiet the sight, a centaur and a siren, sprawled close together, but you don't mind his claws petting through your hair and scratching between your antlers so long as he's gentle. He sings you lullabies that lull you to sleep (you swore you wouldn't drift away so easily but he had other plans.)

When you're ready, you stroke his head fins and touch his flukes. He's practically beaming under your interest and snowflake-soft palming. He melts when you allow him to press his cheek against the velveteen fur on your reindeer half. He's clingy, but you gradually settle into his constant touches and affectionate affirmations with your treasured time.

Later, much later, when you cross a field, and discover two small bodies with bumbling cervine legs struggling through the snow, you calmly take a calf of beige and buttery yellow colors, and the other, blue metal and silvery, under your arms. They're just old enough to hold themselves up. They bawl, not yet having found their words. The twins nuzzle into your fur. It's not a pretty picture—two abandoned centaur young, but it's nothing you and Eclipse can't handle.

He accepts them without hesitation as you thought he might. It's not a question of acceptance but a matter of finding the right manner in which to tend to the children. You gently point out to Eclipse how the nub markings show how the buttery-yellow babe will have horns like a blossom of petals or a fan of sun rays, and the blue metal babe will have a singular horn like a shooting star or the crescent curve of the waning moon.

(He names them Sun and Moon, and you agree; it fits them fine.)

Eclipse watches over the three of you at night, quietly lapping at the ice's edge while you hold the babies close and provide them with warmth. (Eclipse laughs when the babes attempt to suckle on you, much to your bemusement.) During the day, he stows away though never too far and you find good moss and ferns that Sun and Moon can nibble on. You watch over them, minding predators and coaxing them to stabilize their gangly legs and hold themselves high. Evening falls, and you reunite. Eclipse plays with them tenderly, keeping them from falling into the sea but stimulating them to build their strength and their mind. They take to you both, much to your silent fondness. It's an odd little sight, but you're a family.

You wouldn't have chosen any other.