#it reminds me of stained glass!

[joshuamj]

Hero.

[averlym]

litany of the martyrs (click for better resolution!)

[allasters]

Oscar...my favorite sad little priest guy...

[kismetmoon]

The False Shepard, Here To Lead Our Lambs Astray

[ID: a digital drawing of an original, stylised Flatland character named Elizabeth.

Elizabeth is a vaguely humanoid character. She is depicted here with a seven-point star head with an eye in the centre, a clawed right hand and a left arm that is cut in half at the elbow - leading onto a white geometric hand. She has a broad chest that narrows into a thin torso. Her legs are cut out of frame - her body is only shown from the waist up.

She is stood in the centre with her arms held perpendicular to her body and the palms of her hands facing upwards. Over her right hand hovers a white crescent moon with a black earth shadow. Over her left hand hovers a black four-point star. She is smiling and staring slightly upwards. Her body is made up of black lines that get denser at the edges of her head, the bottom of her body and on her forearm.

The background is a stained glass window. There is a yellow and orange sun behind Elizabeth’s head with grey and pale blue glass around it, that fades to purple further down. Faint rays of light also shine out from the sun and into the corners of the canvas.

End ID.]

putting the background story and symbolism about this piece under the cut bc i feel like it really deserves an in-depth explanation

i can’t believe i’ve never properly discussed it before, but Liz’s main goal is to stop Chief turning out like his father.

after she tries and fails to kill their Chief Circle and instead kills his guard in Atlas’s defence (and i’ve decided that this is the incident where she loses her arm), she can’t risk taking any more blows like that. so instead of resorting to physical violence, she instead tries her hand at ‘positive manipulation’ to tear her problem from the root up.

she makes sure Chief has enough emotional ties to the lower classes (Atlas and Vance), irregulars (Ruth and Elijah) and lines (Liz, Ruth, Stella and Irene) for him to reconsider everything he’s been told about them. this is all to make sure that when Chief Sr. kicks the bucket they have a somewhat more progressive next-of-kin lined up to take his place. this works for her as Liz first meets Chief when he’s only about 15, so he’s still pretty young and an impressionable teenager.

but Chief Sr is still alive so boo. he has a strong grip on everything and has Chief Jr pinned under his thumb out of fear. while he doesn’t know about Stella, he does know that this ‘false shepard’ is up to something that involves his son. again, he still doesn’t know exactly who Liz is but he’s working on figuring it out.

so this image of Liz - a large, dark, looming, unnerving figure - is made to fit the circles’ depiction of her. how the next Chief Circle and his daughter are locked in her clawed grasp, and she smiles almost mockingly about it. her prosthetic is replaced by a white geometric hand and it sticks out like a sore thumb, as though it makes her ‘unhuman’ - but easily identifiable. her body is made up of a mass of lines, joined together in their force (danger !! women !!). the glass is only coloured around her head (the sun is the same as her colour palette when she’s not greyscale) and at her ‘feet’ (it’s more like the bottom of her torso but you know what i mean) which is mostly shaped with triangles - as if she’s breaking their world of grey out over the blood of the circles (again, i use purple as circle symbolism). the sun is rising in the sky, as the dawn of a new day and a new era begins.

essentially, she’s a revolutionary of the lower class, and a tyrant to the upper classes.

[breadclubrising]

A long time ago, I took this screenshot, because the dramatic poses and composition here felt very Renaissance-y—everyone in it looks like they're missing halos. So I decided to do art about it! First I tried a Renaissance Oil Painting version, but found that the heap of Kenny and Ibushi didn't come across clearly enough such that someone looking at it for the first time could tell what they were looking at. So I tried a Stained Glass Window version... which made that problem even worse.

But I like what I did before I realized it was probably beyond my artistic abilities! Below the cut, I've put the (unfinished) attempts. At least they all got their halos!

[floweringglass]

Took a bit of a break from the window project to foil happy crab and his pearl

[ghosteso]

I don’t think people appreciate Kat Gray enough in the GW finale. Her and Cosa really carrying the backs of it.

[gogolizards]

day 2 of @dimpleweek

did anyone else Iove this outfit it goes hard

[halfelven]

it’s still snowing so i’ve put my christmas lights back up

[marcmorrigan]

sorry about the blood in my mouth (i wish it was yours)

OCs, he/him for rauel and eiden thnx!

[s-harpermarcel]

Untitled

Blue, green, yellow, orange, red.

Funny how fluorescent lights made every color neon and dull simultaneously. Flashy advertisements, bright colors, bold fonts screaming look, buy, buy, buy, until it all blended in with the humming of the lights and the fridges. Or maybe Amos had just been staring blankly at the shelves for too long. It was always a sign that he needed to shut up and go to bed when he started waxing poetic like he was in middle school again.

Blue, yellow, orange.

He had worked at this gas station outside of town on the side of this middle-of-nowhere highway for most of high school now, and though he just switched over to the night shift, he found that the graveyard wasn’t any different from the day. It was preferable, honestly. His boss, an annoyingly peppy 50-year-old man who peaked in high school and was still chasing his varsity football glory days, didn't put up a fuss about rescheduling. In fact, he barely let Amos finish talking before enthusiastically agreeing. His boss definitely viewed it as “protecting the sad disabled Jewish girl from the big mean jocks that tried to jump her that past July,” instead of actually listening to anything that came out of Amos’ mouth, but frankly he was past the point of caring enough to be annoyed. His boss never came in this late, and neither did anyone else, so it was a win in his book.

Yellow, red.

Even when the animal mutilations turned into serial murders in the tiny town of Whitewater, working graveyard was a breeze. Technically he wasn’t supposed to be working this late, especially not alone, but Buddy System be damned! Amos had propane and shitty off-brand chips to sell! Besides, it had been a whole two months since the murders began, and Amos hadn’t so much as caught a glimpse of the so-called “Whitewater Ripper.” So, he closed up the store, shut off the lights, locked the door, and hopped on his bike to ride back to his house on the edge of town without a second thought.

Black, blue, purple, green.

He rode his bike along the highway past the soybean fields, completely barren save for him. There were no streetlights, only the dim light of the stars and half-moon, and the light on his bike. His headphones were busted, so there was no sound except for the wheels against the pavement. Not even the crickets sang. 

Black, blue, purple, yellow.

Amos was crossing the bridge over the Whitewater River into town when a light caught his eye from beneath the bridge. Assuming it was freshmen smoking under the bridge, he barely turned his head before dismissing it. He was halfway across the bridge when the rock struck his front wheel, causing him to lose his balance and fall. Whispering curses, Amos sat up and looked around, finding not a rock, but a whole chunk of concrete lodged in the spokes. Okay, what the fuck. This wasn’t him being clumsy; some asshole definitely threw that at him on purpose. He stood and turned on his phone’s flashlight and walked to the railing. “Hey man, what’s your fucking problem?” He called out, leaning over the railing.

Blue, yellow.

He barely registered that something gripped his ankle before it yanked, sending him crashing onto the pavement, dropping his phone and hitting his head. He only had time to gasp before it pulled him off of the bridge and into the shallow water below. 

Yellow.

Amos coughed and sputtered, splashing and stumbling to his feet, blinking through the throbbing in his skull and the sudden yellow light. Then, he saw it. A woman a few inches taller than him, completely naked, dusty white skin clinging to her bones and wet greasy yellow hair tied in a tangled ponytail. She didn’t hold a light, she was the light, her entire skeleton glowing neon yellow through her skin as she stood there, legs bent and crooked like she didn’t know to stand. She stared at him and she smiled, a big, toothy grin illuminating her face, corners of her too-large mouth pinned to her ears. She began to laugh, and Amos ran.

Yellow, yellow, yellow.

Amos stumbled through the ankle-high water, letting out a cry of panic as he stepped off the concrete platform, the water suddenly coming up to his knees. He made for the bank, hoping, praying that if he made it back to the road, this thing wouldn’t follow him into town. She laughed, louder. A hand seized the back of his hair.

Red, blue.

He was shoved down into the water, splitting his forehead open on the rocks.

Red.

He pushed himself back up, gasping for air.

Red, red, red.

It bashed his head into the rock, over, and over, and over.

Red, red, red.

His eye caught a jagged corner of a rock. He screamed, only to be muffled by the water as he was shoved back under.

Red, red, red.

This was how he was going to die.

Black.

He remembered when the angel first fell into his backyard, the dazzling kaleidoscope it left as it streaked across the sky and plummeted down, down into the earth.

Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple.

Its body was alabaster white, limbs scattered across the lawn, the charred outline of wings burnt into the grass and glowing.

Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple.

He remembered watching as it opened its eyes, all of them, streaked diagonally across its body, glowing that same neon yellow. He remembered watching it string itself back together, like a ball-jointed doll with invisible joints, air between body between arm between elbow between hand.

Yellow.

It wasn’t the same yellow. The angel was good. The angel was kind. The angel was strange, and frightening, but not like this. The angel ate the cicadas in the yard, not the bone marrow from his body.

Red.

Dear G-d, this was how he was going to die. They were going to find him on the bank, ripped open and discarded like a candy wrapper.

Black.

Amos didn’t feel the Whitewater Ripper tear his flesh. Instead, he felt the cushion of the chair, the leather of the upholstery. He didn’t smell the blood, only tobacco.

Black, brown, grey.

He opened his eye to find himself in what looked like a 1920’s jazz lounge. What an odd way for his life to flash before his eyes. He had seen the inside of the town bar before, but it didn’t look like this.

Black, white.

“What a nasty little thing. Sorry about your eye, by the way. Not much I could really do about that.” A voice, low and smooth, came from his left. In another armchair sat a tall, handsome man with smooth black skin like obsidian and piercing white pupils. He was dressed in a simple black suit, and his locs were braided down his back. “You look tense. Go ahead and make yourself comfortable, you’ll be here for a minute. Want something to drink?” He held out his hand, and a glass of dark liquor materialized in it.

“G-d?” Amos finally stuttered out.

The man laughed. “No, but I understand your confusion.” The whiskey glass disappeared as he stretched out his hand. “You can call me Don.”

Hesitantly, Amos shook his hand. “I’m Amos.”

“I know. Good choice for a name, it suits you.”

“…Am I dead?”

“For now.”

Amos fell silent.

Black, brown, white, grey.

Don took a drag of his cigar, and quietly sang along to the jazz playing from an unseen gramophone.

“Where am I?” Amos asked.

“Limbo,” Don said. “Did a little bit of redecorating before you arrived, though. Thought my current decor would be a little overwhelming for you, so I downsized back to something a little more comfortable.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’d love to explain, but there isn’t enough time left. Maybe next time.”

“What?”

White.

Amos woke up in a bed, staring up at white ceiling tiles and cringing in the sudden light. Something was beeping, and he opened his mouth to ask what it was, but all that came out was a sputtering cough that made his chest ache and his head pound. Suddenly there were voices shouting for him, and two more soft-spoken voices chiming in.

Red, blue.

His sister’s head popped into view, eyes rimmed with red and still in her rumpled pajamas. She was talking, but Amos wasn’t listening. A latex-gloved hand on her shoulder gently pulled her away to give him room to breathe.

Yellow, green.

His head rolled to the side, and he saw the angel sitting in a chair beside the hospital bed wearing one of his mom’s sweaters. He stared into its yellow eyes, and it stared back, knowingly.

Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple.

His three friends flooded into the room, all still in their pajamas, crying and talking over one another. His friend’s mother and a man in blue followed behind, notepad and pen poised for questioning. Amos closed his eyes. All he knew was that it was time to quit his job.

[rescuefield-a]

thinking about teen claire ( even younger than her first appearance which was at 19 ) having to witness her big brother, her hero!!, drown deeper and deeper in between the time he was kicked out from the military and offered the job at RC. barry was the redfields guardian angel no doubt, but the struggles were still there anyway, and she's definitely seen and heard things she will never mentionout loud, but knows that they happened

[embraceyourdestiny]

@purplelea @dj-of-the-coven

Kairi Stained Glass

[etfrin]

— ʙʟɪꜱꜱ | ᴅᴏᴘᴘᴇʟɢᴀɴɢᴇʀ! ꜰʀᴀɴᴄɪꜱ

✧— ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: NSFW | cunnilingus, mentions of blood, murder. tongue fucking, monster tongue. hints of overstimulation, art from Pinterest | lmk if I forgot anything

✧— ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: doppelganger Francis makes you open the door...

✧— ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 0.7k

✧— ᴀ/ɴ: please give feedback, it's been over a month since I wrote

「ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ | ɴᴀᴠɪɢᴀᴛɪᴏɴ | ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ」

The doppelganger should have known better than to show up with ‘scarlet milk’ all over his disguise. He had taken care of the D.D.D of this building already. He just needed to convince the pretty girl behind the screen to let him and cause havoc.

He leans in, his face dangerously close to the glass and he smirks. His eyes are dark and a smirk forms on his face. “Just let me in. Does the D.D.D even treat you well? You deserve to be worshiped and I am willing to be on my knees.”

You swallow as you look at him, only a layer of glass separating you and him. There was a familiar ache between your legs from his words. You couldn't remember the last time you had time for yourself, this simple desk job consuming all your time. You tried to remind yourself that this man is a monster.

But if the monster is ready to be a slut… who are you to refuse?

You press the button that gives him access to your office. You glance at the red button, knowing that the moment you're done having fun with him. You'll have to press it.

The milkman, you know his name is Francis, walks in. He doesn't take any time to press you against the desk. The wood digging into your back.

“Pretty human,” he murmurs, his head dipping in between the space of your shoulder. His lips press a soft kiss. You gasp when you feel his sharp teeth on your skin. If he wanted to, he could tear your flesh.

You let out a breath, your heart beating against your chest. You tilt your head to give him more access to your neck. He takes advantage to lick at your salty skin with his long tongue. “Tasty,” he whispered against your ear. For a moment fear freezes you, thinking that he would eat you alive.

Instead, he gets on his knees. The loud thud makes you wince. “I'll treat you better,” he said, “Be a good girl for me.”

You nod before you can even think.

He gets under your skirt, his breath fanning your wet panties. He pressed his lips to the stain of your arousal. His tongue begins to lick you all over your clothed pussy. You put your hands on the desk, your head thrown back as you moan without shame. You feel weak on the knees. The monster has you caged even though it is your thighs around his head.

He continues to press small kisses all over, and the tip of his tongue puts pressure on your sensitive clit, making you cry out. The wet, rough texture of your panties felt so good against your bud. Then he finally decides that it's enough teasing.

He uses his fingers to pull your underwear out of the way. He chuckled when he saw your wet pussy clenching around nothing. You feel yourself getting hotter.

He eats you out without a care. His strokes are short and impatient. You begin to move your hips, grinding your cunt on his tongue. He groans. His hands are on your thighs and his grip on your flesh tightens. He raises his hands until he's cupping the cheeks of your ass. He kneads the soft flesh as he begins to use his tongue to flick at your clit until it's swollen.

Only when he's satisfied, he kisses the bud and begins to fuck his tongue into your walls. It was no easy feat, but you were so wet and it felt like his tongue was longer than normal humans. He chokes on you, his tongue making out with your tight walls. You cry out from the pleasure, knowing that you'll never feel something like this ever again.

Your eyes roll back, your pussy walls flexing on his tongue. You were so close and you knew you surely were suffocating him with the way you pressed your thighs against his head.

“Please- please-” you begin to plead, your body begging to be released. You would begin to cry if the monster denied you this. His tongue reached deeper inside of your walls than any cock did. He pressed his tongue to a soft, sensitive spot and you got dizzy from the jolts of pleasure. You see white in your vision as you begin to cum. You would have lost your balance if it weren't for him.

He milks your essence on his tongue. He makes sure there's not a single drop left when he stops. You had tears in your eyes as you looked down at him. His lips glisten with your juices. He smirked.

“Let me kill those worthless humans. There's more to that where it came from.”

[jeongin-lvr]

🎼 ─┈┈ hubby heeseung ̩̩͙˚ ᩙ ⠀

husband! heeseung with the fattest crush on you literally ever. he worships the ground you walk on; he practically kneels before you, awaiting every need and command you bring to him. he’s so serious when he says he’d take every star out of the sky and give it to you as a gift if you asked. which also includes in bed when he has your face buried into the messed up, unkept bedsheets, whispering i love you’s as he kisses your g-spot with his fat cock. or when he has you in the shower, bent between your legs on his knees as water rushes down his back because you looked too pretty with soapy hair and skin. he mumbles against your clit as he does so, gurled by water but his point still comes across, “the prettiest girl... and you’re all mine, thank you...“

husband! heeseung who recites his vows as he fucks you in a mating press. its crazy but he does it every single time he has you all curled up, knees beside your head, too fucked out as buckets of his cum leaks out of you and stains the sheets. he’s telling you every promise he made on your wedding day and more. he’s reminding you it really is till death do you part. he doesn’t realize he’s doing it; it’s probably just because he gets so worked up, so full of love. every thrust into your flutterung hole is heaven, and all he can think about is how badly he loves you and how badly he wants to get you pregnant.

husband! heeseung who finds you the absolute sexiest when you’re wearing your glasses and his big t-shirt, bare legs, messy hair, rosy cheeks. it’s perfection, he can’t get enough. if he sees you like that fully expect to be completely ruined within the next hour. he fucks you with the glasses on, an dyou’re confused because he doesn’t get crazy like this when you actually dress up or put effort into your appearence, and all he has to say is, “this is the you that turns me on.“ he’ll pin your hands above your head and press your knees into your chest as he stuffs himself inside of you, loving the way the fabric of his shirt bunches at your hips. you weren’t even wearing any panties anyway, what did you expect <3

husband! heeseung who kisses your wedding bands whenever you two are having intimate, lazy sex. lifting your wrist and hand to his lips and pecking your knuckles, kissing on your shaky hands until his lips trace the cold metal, humming with a smile at the way your gaze flickers to his. its the cutest thing, immediately making you smile when you see the sparkles filling his gaze. its so obvious he loves you so much. he even promises to buy you more rings because, “you deserve it,“ and he never fails to fulfill his promise. the next day he somehow comes home from work with a new band, something new for your growing collection.

husband! heeseung who is the first to bring up kids and is very serious about wanting at least two. he’ll casually bring it up into conversations and its adorable... until he’s lifting you onto the counter and lifting your skirt because you’re ovulating and it’s, word for word, “the perfect time to get you pregnant.“ he says it sneakily, with a wink and a cunning grin. you can’t say no, especially since the idea of him being the father of your children was almost perfect. you’re both young but it doesn’t hurt to try does it? so he’s waking you up to his cock filling you up in the morning, or when you’re just watching a movie he ends up sitting you on his dick and filling you up. you have no complaints. just shaky legs and a nice, warm creampie.

husband! heeseung who finally gets you pregnant and is somehow even more obsessed with you. he’s doting on you hand and foot. every craving you get he’s finding every ingredient. every symptom you experience he’s researching diligently, telling you cures or remedies, scheduling doctors apointments to get an experts opinion. and on days when all you wanna do is be near him, feel him, feel sexy with him, he’s so perfect at being exactly what you need. he worships your body; praising you on how pretty you look full of his baby, how you’re glowing, kissing your ankles or your tits or anywhere you might feel a little unsure of.

[starkwlkr]

girl, so confusing | f1

an: might make this two or three parts, not sure yet but oh well <3 love y’all THIS IS AN AU WHERE ALL THE F1 DILFS ARE SINGLE

faceclaim gisele bündchen

part 2 part 3

liked by maxverstappen1, aussiegrit and others

yourusername 💋

aussiegrit long time no see 👀

yourusername don’t worry, I still have cherry lipgloss that’s waiting for you

aussiegrit 😉

jensonbutton well hello 😏

yourusername hey there stranger

jensonbutton stranger? you’re breaking my heart, baby

sebastianvettel miss you lots!

yourusername come over then

sebastianvettel don’t tempt me

ferraridepressionclub y/n fr has all the dilfs in her comments i wanna be like her when i grow up

paddockgirlies she’s so iconic

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INTERVIEW WITH Y/N L/N | VOGUE

In conversation with Y/n L/n about being a mother and a racing driver, and her what’s in store for her.

Known for her fierce driving and even fiercer spirit, has seamlessly transitioned into a life that’s as complex as it is rewarding. A name that echoes through the halls of motorsport history, her story is one of reinvention—a journey from high-speed thrills to quiet, profound moments of motherhood, and, possibly, a return to the racing world in an entirely new role.

The 2000s were Y/n’s golden years at Williams. Her raw talent shone even when the team’s fortunes dipped, and she quickly became a fan favorite. Known for her courage, sharp wit, and stunning moves on the track, she formed friendships with some of the sport's brightest stars—Mark Webber, Sebastian Vettel, and Jenson Button. Their bond, a cocktail of camaraderie and unspoken attraction, became as legendary as her driving.

But the glamorous world of F1, with its dazzling lights and high expectations, took a toll. In 2004, Williams made the decision to drop her from their roster—a move that would alter the course of her life forever. Y/n, at the time, found solace in the chaos. Late nights, parties, and the company of friends became her refuge.

"I wasn’t ready to let go of F1, but at that point, I wasn’t sure where I was headed." Y/n said as we chat in her London home. It’s a beautiful house with stained glass windows and the perfect amount of sunlight shining in. Her daughter is also present though she much prefers to continue with her reading as she cuddles up to her mother.

But in the unpredictable world of racing, the story of Y/n was far from over. A fresh start beckoned when McLaren offered her a seat, a move that many saw as her redemption arc. She embraced the opportunity, her focus sharper than ever. The partying ceased. The cigarettes were put out. It wasn’t just a return to the sport—it was a return to herself.

Her career, marked by precision and passion, came to an official close in 2014, but Y/n’s influence has never waned. Retirement, though, didn’t equate to slowing down. Today, Y/n is a mother—something that’s become a cornerstone of her identity.

“I’ve always been independent, but being a mom has redefined what it means to be strong," she says, her eyes softening. "It’s a different kind of challenge, but one I’m grateful for every single day.”

Her daughter, now nine, was born a year after her retirement. She had announced the birth on her social media with a simple caption: “welcome to the world, my beautiful girl”

“As a mom, I’ve learned the art of balancing," Y/n reflects. "There are days when I’m just a mom—no racing, no interviews, no drama. And then there are days when I’m reminded of who I was before all of this. It's about finding peace with both versions of myself.”

At this point, her daughter stops reading her book and places several kisses on her mother’s cheek. It was a beautiful moment between mom and daughter.

“The future is full of possibilities. I’m focused on what’s next, but I'm not in any rush. We’ll see what happens. Right now, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.”

Motherhood may have softened some edges, but it has only sharpened her focus. If there’s one thing Y/n has taught us, it’s that the greatest drivers are those who can keep pushing, even when they’re driving toward the unknown.

INTERVIEW WITH Y/N | THE PADDOCK SESSIONS PODCAST

“Welcome everyone to the paddock sessions podcast. I’m your host Dan and todays guest is a very special one. She is my favorite driver and I’m going to try not to freak out right now. Y/n L/n welcome to the paddock sessions!” Dan the host said into his microphone.

Y/n smiled and thanked Dan for the introduction. “Favorite driver? Dan, I’m flattered. I’ll pay you later.” She joked.

“You’re actually the reason my girlfriend watches formula 1. She watched your past races and was devastated when I told her you retired in 2014. I think she was thinking of breaking up with me because I told her,” Dan admitted. Y/n chuckled at his words. “But can we see a potential comeback for you? I know I’m not the only one that would love to see that!”

“Well I can’t really stay away from formula 1. I try to watch the races with my daughter, but she’s not interested in racing at all so I always end up watching them alone.” Y/n explained as she adjusted the microphone.

“Daughter of a racing driver isn’t interested in racing? That’s wild. But at least she knows that her mom is a legend in the sport, yeah?” Dan asked.

“She’s reminded every time we go out and I’m stopped because someone wants an autograph or a picture,” Y/n laughs. “But she knows the basics, she knows what all the number means, she’s a smart girl.”

“Amazing. Um, on the topic of your daughter, and you can stop me if you want, you’ve always been an open book in many ways, yet when it comes to your daughter’s father, you’ve kept things private. How hard has it been to keep things like that private? I imagine it must be frustrating.”

Y/n nodded and cleared her throat. “I’ve always believed in protecting my daughter’s privacy, and for me, that extends to the people closest to us. I’ll say this: my daughter is incredibly lucky to have the most amazing father. He’s the kind of dad who would do anything to keep her safe and happy. I know she’s growing up in a secure and loving environment because of him. He’s protective, but in the best way possible.”

“Have you seen the tweets regarding it?” Dan asked curiously.

“Oh yeah, it’s all over my feed. I’ve actually read some pretty crazy shit about the father of my daughter.” Y/n said.

“Any favorites?”

“There’s a thread that was posted recently on why Lewis is the father of my daughter. I love Lewis, but I can confirm he is not. He’s actually the godfather.”

“Well, you heard it hear first folks!”