so listen,,, i love angsty headcanons abt Victor’s family as much as the next person, but what if he has a really nice and happy family??
with that thought in mind, i spent the last three days working on this + a little comic i’ll be posting soon about my take on Victor’s parents
Their names are Ekaterina and Dmitriy; she’s a world-class photographer and he’s a former men’s fashion model who retired after Victor was born to be a full-time dad uwu. they met during a photoshoot and it was love at first sight (for Dmitriy anyway lmao)
Filmmaker and storm chaser Mike Olbinski captured this video of rolling clouds called Undulatus Asperatus at sunset over North Dakota earlier this month.
All spring I chase storms across the United States to collect footage of supercells, lightning, tornadoes and whatever I might find. Generally I don’t release any time-lapse clips from those chases until I put out my final end of season compilation film. But last night in North Dakota was too unreal to let sit on my hard drive for months.
me when ppl claim karin isn’t good at anything but sensing/healing:
prepared, resourceful and intelligent enough to put together great strategies on the fly
even anticipated her capture and created a set of lockpicks concealed by sasuke’s photo so that she could pretend to be insanely in love with him and force whoever was guarding her to underestimate her
she also fooled all but one professional interrogator with a sob story, and quickly changing tack to get the best outcome for herself when ibiki wasn’t moved
can carry three dudes
has hidden blades in her glasses and possibly elsewhere
physically and mentally strong enough to run an entire prison of ninjas and hits with enough force to liquify suigetsu (i mean the first thing we ever see her do is singlehandedly beating the shit of a grown man)
worked out danzo’s strategy and weakness without the help of the sharingan by watching and timing his techniques
probably other stuff i’ve forgotten because i am a very tired gay
in conclusion karin doesn’t even need any goddamn powers to be a great ninja if you think otherwise send me a time and a place and i’ll come fight you over it 👍
Hi! Wondering if you have any praise recs? Or body worship?
Yep sure !
:Harry Styles is Team Great Britain’s newest swimmer, and has spent his
whole life training for this moment, a chance at the gold medal in the
Rio 2016 Olympics. All his training, hard work, and dedication to no
distractions is tested when he’s assigned to the same Rio apartment as
Louis Tomlinson, British gymnast and Harry’s childhood crush.
Temporary Tattoos, Hotel Hearts, Horizon Homes
: Louis is just 18 and ends up in 2015 for one day at Harry’s
request, one day to make sure his spirit is strong and hopeful enough to
take him to the X Factor and end him up where he’s supposed to be. Aka,
the one where Harry makes sure Louis knows how amazing he is. (18k)
One for Luck : *the very first time Louis remembers hearing Harry Styles’ deep, deep
voice, he’s just won gold at the World Equestrian Games and he’s
officially back on Great Britain’s Olympic team. He’s also three sheets
to the wind, drunk on victory and champagne, and there’s a gorgeous boy
whispering in his ear. Life’s grand.(AU: Louis and Harry are professional riders on the British Olympic team.) (96k)
you are my favorite place
: harry meets louis at a basketball game. he doesn’t know
why everyone seems to think that they’re an item (aside from, maybe,
the hundred paparazzi photos of them that come out the next morning). (19k)
I’ll carry you home
: Harry’s never managed to get Louis into subspace before, but this time they’ve come up with a plan.
Nothing You Can Do (But You Can Learn How To Be You In Time)
: A Canon Compliant Semi-AU. Louis braids Harry’s hair.
There are good times, bad times, fancy houses, supportive bandmates,
secret boyfriends, small rebellions, bigger revolutions, some nail
varnish, ribbons, cute clothing, and a Pinterest. (28k)
Anthony Trujillo of the Okhay Owingeh Pueblo in New Mexico was doing some online research into his great-grandmother Gregorita Trujillo’s visit to the White House with a group called the Pueblo Potters in 1974 when he spotted Gregorita in a photograph online, standing behind First Lady Pat Nixon.
He emailed the Nixon Presidential Library, hoping that they might have other images and possibly documents about the Pueblo Potters exhibit.
Pamla Eisenberg, audiovisual technician, emailed him back with a link to more photos, including this one (Gregorita Trujillo is in the blue cape). She also explained his great-grandmother had participated in the first-ever exhibition of American Indian artists and their crafts at the White House. The exhibitors included New Mexico Pueblo Potters and other artisans. Anthony was thrilled.
“First of all, I had little expectation that I would hear back from someone who was even remotely interested in or knowledgeable about my inquiry,” he wrote. “Even more, I thought that, at best, any photos of the Pueblo artist’s visit to the White House would be buried deep and probably irretrievably in an obscure archive. I was able to download and browse the contact sheets you sent over. I can’t tell you how meaningful these photos will be for my family and my Pueblo.”
Olivia Anastasiades, supervisory museum curator, located Gregorita Trujillo’s pot in the museum’s collection. Museum collections manager Christine Mickey and museum technicians Penelope Yocum and Feliz Padilla unboxed Gregorita’s handcrafted pot, and photographed it for Anthony as well.
As Anthony continues his research, Pamla hopes that he and other Pueblo Potter relatives will someday visit the Richard Nixon Presidential Library and Museum and see their family artifacts from the White House exhibition in person.
I hope you enjoy. This is the first smut I’ve ever written so I really hope it goes and you all like it! Yay for Gajevy!
It started out like any other day, except that for some
reason, Levy was feeling really good about herself from the moment she woke up.
That should have been a sign.
It wasn’t that she didn’t deserve to feel good about herself;
she enjoyed and reveled in the feeling. It was just that she got a little
It was one of those days that her hair did everything right.
Her skin was clear and smooth. Her smile wasn’t forced. Her eyes sparkled. She
felt pretty. She was pretty. It was
such a freeing feeling, and it didn’t come along all that often.
So of course, she had to take a selfie.
And that’s when things got a little out of hand.
The clothes started to come off as she felt a little bit
more daring. And in front of her mirror, she posed for the camera in her lacy
underwear (that she never wore) and started feeling really sexy.
One photo in particular – it wasn’t in front of the mirror,
it was taken from above while she looked flirtatiously up at the camera, biting
her lip, and had her free hand running down her bare stomach – was her
favorite. She actually managed to look sexy. And that was totally not her
style. Her breasts were small, but this bra pushed them up and gave her some
cleavage, and that totally added to the appeal of the image.
And then it all went horribly wrong.
She had somehow managed to send the photo to a random number
and he had texted her back.
Eh? Who is this?
Levy’s face was red with embarrassment, and then it was
flushed with indignation at the next message that came through.
Are you one of them
spam hookers? Cos if you are quit texting me.
I AM NOT A HOOKER!
Levy replied instantly before she realized what she had
done. She covered her mouth with her hand and groaned, sitting on her bed in
her underwear. She had to find someway to diffuse the situation.
I didn’t mean to send
the photo. It was an accident.
Some accident. Whatcha
doin’ taking photos like that for if you ain’t a hooker?
Levy stared at the screen. Who the hell was this person?
I just felt like it,
okay? And where do you get off accusing me of being a hooker? People take
photos like this all the time!
Gihi. Do they now? Do
you do this often?
Gihi? Was that this person’s laugh? Levy raised her eyebrow,
she didn’t understand why she kept texting back.
NO I do not do this
Then why ya doing it
now? I’m not complaining, by the way.
I just told you that,
didn’t I? I felt like it.
Levy bit her lip. He wasn’t complaining? Did that mean he
liked the photo? She lay back on her bed and hugged her pillow to her chest,
staring at her screen. She was talking to a perfect stranger. Why did it feel
That ain’t a real
Levy frowned. Should she? She could… well, she kind of knew
how to flirt. She read enough books to know how to flirt. But actually flirting
was a whole different thing. But this was a stranger. She could just say
whatever she wanted and no one would be the wiser. A sudden thought hit her.
I’ll tell you if you
swear you’ll never show anyone that photo, or post it online, or anything that
means that anyone other than you EVER sees it. I will hunt you down.
Gihihihi. Trust me, I
ain’t sharing this.
A strange sense of relief flooded through her. She didn’t
know why, it wasn’t like she could trust him. Was it even a guy?
Are you a guy?
You kidding me? Course
I am, Shrimp.
Ya look short in ya
Levy frowned again. How could he tell she was short in that
picture? And Shrimp? Really? What kind of a nickname is that? Strangely, she
kind of liked it.
Well, ya gonna answer
I felt good today. So,
yeah… I took some photos.
You took more? Can I
Levy bit her lip. She could feel a strange desire building
inside of her. Should she?
Um, maybe. First I
want to know about you.
She waited for him to respond. It felt like forever, but it
was quick. Less than a minute.
Whatcha wanna know?
Levy thought. His name? What he looked like? Yeah, all of
those things. But they seemed so mundane.
Um. Who are you?
“Gajeel,” Levy mused. It was an interesting name.
How old are you?
17. Why do ya wanna
know this stuff?
I don’t know. Just makes me
feel better that you’re not a complete stranger I guess. You’ve seen me
basically naked. It’s weird.
Gihi. It ain’t weird
to me. The photo’s fucking hot.
Levy stared at the screen. He was so crude, but it excited
her. He thought she was hot?
You think I’m hot?
Levy felt dejected.
“Wow,” she whispered. She’d never felt so deflated before.
He phone buzzed again.
The photo’s hot. Your
more like a fairy. Real cute.
Levy giggled, feeling lighter. He didn’t think she was ugly,
he thought she looked like a fairy. It made her smile and she felt that desire
welling inside her again. She scrolled through her pictures, thinking that
after that comment, he deserved another one. She picked one where she was
looking away from the camera. It was just photo of just above her breasts, but
she wasn’t wearing a shirt or a bra, and the top of her breasts were slightly
outline (because she was pushing them up with her hand). The photo was kind of…
alluring, she thought. You could only see her profile, but her neck looks long
and her jawline was smooth.
He had texted her while she was looking through the photos.
She grinned, nervous butterflies were flying in her stomach. She sent the
picture to him.
One minute went by.
The nervous butterflies were like a raging storm inside of
her now and the nervous anticipation was being replaced by panic. Why wasn’t
her texting her back? Did he decide to send the pictures to his friends? The
uncertainty was killing her, but she resisted texting him.
She put her face in her pillow. Her phone buzzed and she
raised her head so quickly she thought she might have gotten whiplash. It was
from him. She opened the message and then dropped her phone.
He had sent her a picture.
And by god, he was magnificent.
Her hand somehow found it’s way to her panties, she rested
her fingers on them, not daring to touch herself quite yet but finding it
difficult not to. It wasn’t something she’d ever really done before but seeing
that picture of him was making her feel things that she hadn’t felt before.
He’d taken the picture from his waist, so it showed his
entire abdomen and his face. He had a perfect V coming up from his hips that
immediately made Levy want to touch him. He had an eight-pack. It wasn’t a
six-pack, it was a damn eight-pack. And his nipples were pierced. Levy’s breath
was a sharp intake of absolute and unexpected excitement. His arms and chest
were well defined and his jawline was strong.
Levy suddenly felt inadequate, her petite, soft figure was
so unassuming and so impressive compared to his. But the body, that wasn’t the
only part of him that she admired. It was his face.
It wasn’t the pretty-boy face that she was used to seeing at
school, or the face with boyish good looks. It was a masculine face with a
roughness to it that she didn’t know until now that she was attracted to. He
had an eyebrow piercing to go with his nipple piercings and dark eyes shadowed
by black eyebrows that matched his black hair. Levy could tell that it was
long, it was tied back. But she couldn’t see that much of it. But she wanted
A buzz alerted her to another message.
Uh, you there?
Levy realized that she had been staring at the picture for
Levy was desperately trying to think of something to say
other than “please have my babies.” It was difficult. Just flirt, Levy. Flirt.
What are you trying to
do, sending me that? Seduce me?
Levy sighed. She was not good at this.
Gihihi. Is it working?
Levy’s fingers began to tickle her womanhood through her
Was all that she replied. She could feel her heart rate
increasing, and her breathing come faster. A pulsing began between her legs. Oh
yes, it was working.
Are you playing with
yaself? I am.
Levy’s breathing hitched. That was so forward. It made her
more excited as she read it over. He was playing with himself, because of her
Yes, I am.
Levy brushed her fingers up her stomach and slipped them
into the hem of her panties, running them down until she was cupping herself.
Tell me what your
Levy blushed slightly as she typed. This wasn’t what she was
used to, it wasn’t something she’d ever done before, but she was enjoying. She
felt dirty in the best possible way; it was just turning her on more.
My fingers are sliding
up and down, playing with my clitoris, while I’m thinking about that photo you
Are you wet?
Ah, jeez. This is
turning me on so fucking much.
Levy closed her eyes for a moment and imagined that Gajeel
was with her. She slipped her panties off and had an idea. She grinned.
I just took my panties
Somehow, that word just made her feel more provocative.
What are you doing?
What are you thinking?
She wanted to know what he was doing. What he was imagining.
I’m thinking about
having you here. Your little hands on my cock, me sucking your nipples.
Levy swallowed as she imagined it. Oh god, her fingers moved
faster, building up more tension inside of her.
Oh, god. She
texted him. My lips wrapped around your
cock, sucking and licking.
Levy had never used the word ‘cock’ before. It made her feel
a little embarrassed typing it, but those feelings were overcome with desire
Levy moaned and she slipped two fingers inside of herself,
thrusting in and out.
Jesus Fucking Christ.
And then he sent her another picture. It was his hand,
wrapped around his dick in all its solid glory. Levy breathed out and her eyes
widened when she saw it. She had never been with a guy before, she’d never had
sex, never seen a penis in person. But that, that took her breath away and made
her ache. It was big, that much she knew. His hand was at its base, but there
was still a third of it showing. She could see the wetness at its tip.
Oh, god, Gajeel.
Levy could barely type, she was consumed with a passion and
need she’d never know before. She wanted him. This stranger, she wanted to feel
him inside of her. Her fingers were thrusting but she knew it wasn’t what she
wanted, but it would do.
You’re glorious. I
want you inside me.
Fuck, your gonna make
Levy’s thumb worked her clit as she thrust her fingers
inside again and again, she moaned and dropped her phone. Gajeel filled her
mind. His strong arms around her, his lips passionately kissing her neck, her
stomach and down there. His cock, thrusting itself inside of her.
“Gajeel!” She cried.
Her orgasm came on like fireworks exploding inside of her.
She tingled, her legs clenched, her back arched upwards, her toes curled and
she panted, moaning his name as the ecstasy spread throughout her body. She
laughed when it was over, panting and sweating.
Her phone buzzed.
She opened the message from Gajeel.
Fuck. That was…
Yes, it was.
I should ask your
Levy smiled. She caught sight of herself in the screens
reflection, her cheeks were pink, and her eyes were shining. She captured the
moment with another photo and sent it to him.
He sent her a picture similar to hers; he had a devilish
grin on his face. They were both satisfied.
We should do this
Levy’s toes curled in anticipation. Oh yes, she was
definitely going to do this again. She guessed that things getting a little out
of hand weren’t always a bad thing.
SAME!!! , i’m freaking out right now in a good way , i’m not gonna lie ..
are we ever going to get over this ? no . i mean look at jungkook trying his best to be as chill about this as possible but ending up closing his eyes, smiling .. clearly high key enjoying it look at jimin’s face , !!!!!!!!!
and jin’s reaction man! he was like : what ?? what’s happening almost freaking out, thinking they might have accidentally kissed .
I’ve seen some discussion on here about FPs and photo posting. I have some feelings about this, as a mom who left the hospital without her baby. M wasn’t in foster care. M was with my mom. But still, the photo issue brings up a lot of shit for me. Not that it matters in the context of this issue, but I felt that M had been removed unfairly. From my hospital bed, I didn’t put up a fight whatsoever when a caseworker came on New Years Day to interview me. I answered every question and told her of course yes I agree M won’t be leaving with me. I hadn’t spoken to a lawyer and I thought being nice and easy to deal with would make them like me. I thought maybe if they liked me they’d change their mind. I was in a methadone program. We tested positive for opiates, when I got to the hospital and peed in the cup. By the grace of god she didn’t suffer any withdrawal. I was under arrest, for charges that were later dismissed when I pled guilty to a lesser charge. The neglect case against me was also ultimately dismissed. Though I a thousand percent believe that had everything not happened, had I not been forced into treatment, she would have been in danger of a lifetime of neglect.
She left the hospital with my mother. I left the hospital and went to an arraignment then inpatient treatment for a month in the hospital where I’d given birth. I had to sign every consent form for caseworkers and law guardians and district attorneys to get updates on my compliance. I felt like I couldn’t speak in any group about how I was really feeling and that I just had to be above all else “compliant.” I decided to do whatever was asked of me and tell people whatever they wanted to hear, and I’d get “real” therapy later. There wasn’t much deep discussion in the groups anyway, because most of the people were in acute crisis; my roommate had bitten her tongue off while drunk, the guy down the hall thought he was a vampire and threw ice chips at everyone, etc.
I’d wait on line for the pay phone to call my mom. Our relationship is fraught but she desperately wanted me to have custody and was telling anyone who would listen what a good mother I was. Still, subconsciously, I felt like she was trying to steal my baby, like she wanted to be her mom, that she was getting to be her mom and I wasn’t. I’d interrogate her through the phone about what kind of bottles was she using and please put her in a crib she’ll suffocate in your bed and please please put her on the phone I want to hear her breathing.
Almost daily, my dad dropped off photos for me with the security guard. My mom would text him pictures and he’d print them from his office. I kept them under my pillow but I couldn’t look at them. It made me sick, seeing my mom’s arms holding M at her pediatrician appointment, seeing her hands feeding her instead of my own, seeing this life she was having with the baby who was mine and that more than anything in the world I wished I was in too. Seeing my mom smile while holding her made me feel like she was taking pleasure in the worst moment of my life. I was grateful that M was being cared for by someone who loves her, and who loves me, but no amount of gratitude erased my quiet rage that it should be me taking care of her, not someone else. I was scared M would bond with her and never bond with me, that no matter how long I did whatever was asked of me for, I would always be like a big sister to her instead of her mom and she’d always love my mother more, because that’s who was there with her in the beginning.
My mom brought her to visit me twice a week. A caseworker came to the first visit and I wanted to show her how normal and sane and reasonable I was, I wore a pink sweater set and a bun like I was going on a job interview, but the whole time I argued with my mom about everything she was doing wrong. My mom brought M in a taxi without a car seat, because that’s not illegal in NY. One of her friends had given her a Bjorn and I told her if she ever dared to wear my baby again I’d never speak to her for the rest of my life. She had my newborn dressed in size 6-12m fancy pink clothes, instead of the white 0-3 onesies I’d wanted her to wear. She wasn’t using the swing I told her to buy. Instead of having the organized diaper bag I would’ve packed, she had giant tote bags overflowing with tons of shit, shit I wouldn’t have bought. Nothing she did seemed right to me. It felt to me like no matter what she did wrong– and it was all wrong to me, because she wasn’t me– the system thought she was perfect and I was horrible, like everyone would rather have anyone else in the world taking care of my baby except for me.
I haven’t made M a baby book. I’ve bought packages online then never used them. I have piles and piles of photos of her, photos of her up all over our house, but I can’t bring myself to make the baby book because it’s too painful to remember the moments of her babyhood that someone else got to experience when it should have been me. I still get mad when my mom posts photos of M on her Facebook. Why get mad, I post tons of pictures of her. I don’t get mad when anyone else in the family posts pictures, but it drives me nuts when my mom does– she writes “my girl,” and I panic that she, and everyone, still thinks or ever thought my child was hers. She posts a TBT of M as a baby, and I feel horrified that she’s laying claim to her, yet again, when in reality her taking care of M at that time was the only best possible solution in a terrible situation. If, while I was in rehab, I’d had access to a computer and knew that she was posting moments of the life she was living with my child without me, no matter how rationally wrong it might be for me to feel this way, it would have made me berserk. I’m not saying FPs shouldn’t post pictures– just putting out a birth mom’s perspective on how it feels for someone else to mother your child when you’ve been told you can’t.