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hazbinshusk · 7 months ago

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huskerdust x reader. hours after he was meant to come back to the room, husk finally manages to close down the bar and come back to the two sinners waiting in his bed. except, maybe, he took a little too long? pure fluff and a little spice (because let's face it, I can't help myself) for the loveliest of lovelies @mckeeks. 1.8k

featuring: alastor being kind of a dick, lots of fluff, suggestive situations, and the return of the vixen!reader.

Husk resists the urge to drum his claws against the polished wood of the bar; any outward show of impatience is only going to encourage Alastor to extend his visit to the lobby even further. Why the radio fucker is lingering now, he isn’t sure since he’s got a broadcast scheduled in about twenty minutes. But then, pissing off the bartender he’s got on a leash is apparently a hell of a lot more entertaining than stroking his ego behind a mic.

Husk glances surreptitiously below the bar to his phone, swiping up on the screen to open up to the last app he’d had open – his text messages. He wasn’t much for texting; between claws that weren’t exactly touchscreen friendly and just being too impatient to deal with texts when he could just call whoever he needs to talk to, it wasn’t really his thing. But it was your chosen medium, and Angel’s, and it made it easier to sneak in conversations when he was supposed to be working.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

You: hey, honey. you coming up soon?

This message is followed by a video – Angel sits cross-legged on his bed, a face mask obscuring his features but doing nothing to hide the grin plastered across his face. He’s dangling one of the thousands of toys he’s accumulated for Fat Nuggets, the piglet bouncing on the mattress in repeated attempts to catch it; each bounce paired with a snuffling ‘oink’, and each landing resulting in him collapsing onto the sheets. Husk had smiled at the display as he’d watched it; the expression had only grown as he’d listened to you giggle from behind the camera.

Husk: hope so.

You: good.🩷 we miss you up here.

You: plus, angel says if you keep us waiting much longer he’s revoking blowjob privileges.

Husk: …

Husk: from both of u?

You: he hasn’t figured that flaw in his plan yet.

Husk: ha. lov you. b up soon.

You: love you 🩷

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

You’d sent that last message almost three hours ago, and Husk holds back a groan of frustration as Alastor taps the side of his glass with a clawed finger expectantly. Unstoppering one of the finer bottles of rye whiskey, he pours another two fingers into the waiting whiskey tumbler. The radio demon flashes him a sharp-toothed grin before he takes a sip, makes a show of savouring it on his tongue.

“Ah, Husker, my good man.” he tells him. “Whatever your flaws, I’m glad you can still manage to pour a half-decent rye.”

Husk doesn’t bother with a real reply; he huffs in response, keeping his eyes pointedly trained on the glass he’s cleaning lest the Overlord notice his impatience.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave you, old friend,” Alastor continues, standing. “I do hate to keep the masses waiting.”

“Perish the thought,” Husk grumbles, and Alastor’s grin twitches wider. The bartender can sense the demon is waiting for some real acknowledgement, and he sets the glass down, biting out a: “Knock ‘em dead, boss.”

“Oh, I intend to, my friend.” Alastor laughs, and Husk’s jaw tightens in annoyance at the endearment as the Overlord melts into the shadows beneath him and disappears – undoubtedly headed for his tower.

“Thank fuck,” he breathes as he’s finally left alone, tossing his rag down on the bar and stretching his arms above his head with a groan until he feels something in his back pop. He closes his eyes, letting his exhaustion settle on him for a few moments before the ghost of a smile touches his lips as he reminds himself who’s waiting for him upstairs.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Niffty has long since dimmed the lights that line the winding halls of the hotel, and the ache between Husk’s shoulders seems to ease the closer he gets to Angel’s door. Soft pink light glows beneath the wood of the door, the gentle hue beckoning him like a warm embrace. He isn’t surprised to find the door unlocked already, and an ear flicks forward as it catches the familiar sound of canned laughter from a studio audience.

The door barely makes a sound as it opens, and gratitude for that wells up inside him as he steps into the room. The television is playing through some sitcom low, room. The television is playing through some sitcom low, the shifting light of the screen warring with the lowered pink lights lining Angel’s walls. A snuffling sounds by Husk’s ankle, and he bends down as soon as the door is closed to rub behind Fat Nugget’s ears, a light, breath of a groan slipping out past his lips as the movement pulls at the muscles in his back. The piglet nuzzles into his palm, oinking happily, before trotting back over to the bed in the corner.

And that’s the only greeting Husk gets; his affectionate smile growing as he takes in the two of you on the bed. Angel is sprawled inelegantly across the mattress, all long limbs and soft fur and cute pink pyjamas and knee-socks. How someone who routinely made the bartender blush just by opening his mouth could look so adorably innocent, he’d never understand. Still, it sent warmth right into the middle of his chest all the same, and despite everything in himself that told him to keep his distance, it was a feeling he knew he’d chase.

The spider is laid out on his back, splay-legged and mouth opened, a soft, barely-audible snore leaving him with every rise of his chest. He has you wrapped up with two of his arms, your body curled snugly into his side. Your face is tucked up into the curve of his neck, his fingers fisted gently in the fabric of the over-sized tee-shirt you’re wearing. Between that and the way your leg is hiked up over Angel’s thigh, Husk can just glimpse the hint of the baby-blue lace beneath.

The first beads of a more carnal desire drop into his stomach, but he pushes that away, smile still playing on his lips as he approaches the bed and sits on the edge of it. He ghosts a hand up over your thigh at a glacial pace, mapping out a path over the flesh, feeling the goosebumps that have risen in the chill of the air conditioning. He catches hold of the hem of your shirt, tugging it gently back into place over your thigh.

“Mmm…” you groan softly, turning your hand away from Angel’s chest to blink blearily up at the bartender. “…Husk?”

“Hey, Vix,” he says, a quiet purr rumbling through his chest as your hand comes down to curl over his where it still rests on your thigh. “Sorry I’m late.”

“We waited for you.”

“I know, baby, I’m sorry.” he murmurs, lifting your interlocked hands so he can brush his lips against the back of your palm. “Couldn’t get Al to leave.”

“He’s an asshole,” you grumble sleepily, and Husk chuckles.

“Yeah, he is.” he smiles, returning his paw to your hip, letting it drift higher to follow the curve of your waist, to trail up your arm to your shoulder. When he reaches your throat you lean up to meet him, his lips brushing against your cheek before meeting your own. You hum contentedly into it, curling your fingers around a suspender before dropping back onto the pillows. You tug on it in a weak but convincing urging to remove them. “Alright, baby, I’m comin’.”

“Ooh, promise?”

Husk rolls his eyes with a smirk and you giggle at his reaction. He stands, hooking claws under his suspenders to drag them down off his shoulders. He scoffs as you wolf-whistle, shaking his head.

“Woo,” you cheer, keeping your voice low. “Take it off!”

“Hush up,” he replies affectionately. “You’ll wake up Angel.”

“Too late,” the spider’s voice is nasally and torn with sleep, but he still shifts to bend an elbow against the pillows and rest his cheek against his palm. “An’ I ain’t complainin’. I second her request, by th’way.”

You grin, leaning back to bump your head against Angel’s shoulder. One of his other hands comes up to cup your throat, sliding up your neck to your chin. He tilts your head back, holding Husk’s gaze as he kisses you, nice and slow and deep. You can’t help the soft moan that you breathe into his mouth. Angel grins up at the bartender as you part. “C’mon, Huskie. Ya heard the lady. Take it off. Give us a show.”

“I ain’t a piece of meat,” Husk protests jokingly even as he continues to undress.

You and Angel let out a series of appreciative hoots and he rolls his eyes again, tail flicking behind him as he climbs onto the bed and shuts you up by kissing you, braced above you with a hand on either side of your shoulders. He kisses you breathless, his purr returning as you curl fingers through the downy fur of his chest. He breaks away from you to give Angel the same treatment, groaning into it as you dare to snake a hand between you to squeeze him through his briefs.

Husk jerks away from Angel with a breathless laugh, his tail swatting at your thigh. “What’d I just say, Vix?”

“That you ‘ain’t a piece of meat’.” you repeat, feigning contrition.

“Fuckin’ right,” Angel laughs, leaning up to kiss Husk’s neck. The cat’s eyes roll back and close, his breathing unsteady as Angel’s teeth graze his pulse point. He shivers as Angel coos in his ear, “You’re all man, baby.”

Angel slips a hand past your and under the waistband of Husk’s briefs, winking at you as man on top of you moans. Another one of Angel’s hands slips over your thigh, urging your legs apart. You wrap your arms around Husk’s neck as he shifts his hips to rest between your thighs, his head dropping against your shoulder as Angel pumps his half-hard cock slowly. Each stroke of his hand manages to slide Husk’s cock against the lace of your underwear, and you moan softly in Husk’s ear. The bartender presses his lips to your throat, licks a line over the edge of your jaw, and you shudder at the rough tease of his tongue.

Angel speaks teasingly in Husk’s ear, his other hand stroking through the fur of his back, teasing over the spot between the base of his wings that makes the bartender’s back arch into his touch. “Why don’t ya show her jus’ how much of a man you are, huh, Huskie?”

#mckeeks #huskerdust #huskerdust fic #huskerdust x reader #my fic #hazbin hotel #husk #angel dust #huskerdust x you #husk x reader #qpr angel dust x reader #angel dust x reader #husk hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin husk #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin husk x reader

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muwapsturniolo · 13 days ago

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Lost in Japan 2 ❀ M.Sturniolo

We found love in a hopeless place.

⟢ longing, fluff, kissing, pink wigs.

PT .01

@bernardsbendystraws for divider

The night unfolded like a dream—velvety and electric—wrapping the city of Tokyo in its neon glow. The streets pulsed with life, awash in the flicker of colorful signs and the echo of distant music. The two of them drifted through it all like leaves caught in a warm breeze, laughter tumbling from their lips as they wandered from one smoky bar to the next, dancing without hesitation—with each other, with strangers, with the rhythm of the night itself.

Her heels clicked unevenly against the pavement before she stumbled, her body gently crashing into Matt’s chest. A surprised giggle bubbled up from her throat, light and breathless. He caught her with ease, hands sliding to her waist, fingers splayed against the fabric of her dress as if it were the most natural thing in the world. For a moment, the world stilled—the noise fading into the background, the city around them nothing but a blur of lights and possibility.

"Matt!" she gasped, eyes wide with excitement and a hint of mischief. "One of the locals said there’s a karaoke bar just down the street—we have to go!"

Her voice sparkled with energy, and her smile—drenched in the magic of the night—was impossible to resist.

“A karaoke bar? You know I’m not going to si—”

“Come on, Matt! It’ll be fun!”

Before he could argue, she was already tugging him toward the door, her fingers curled around his arm with surprising determination. The bass from the club faded behind them, replaced by the hum of the Tokyo night—buzzing scooters, the distant jingle of a vending machine, the low murmur of passing conversations.

He barely had time to catch his breath before they were swallowed by the crowd, weaving through the narrow streets with the group of locals they’d somehow adopted as their own. Lanterns swung gently overhead, casting golden ripples across the pavement. The air smelled like rain on concrete, warm sake, and the sweetness of adventure.

Matt glanced at her—eyes sparkling, cheeks flushed, her laughter carried on the breeze—and something in him softened. Whatever resistance he had was already gone.

So he let himself be led, heart pounding in rhythm with the city, not entirely sure where the night would take them—but certain he didn’t want to miss a second of it.

They arrived in no time, the bright sign of the karaoke bar flickering above them like a beacon. The moment they stepped inside, the staff—accustomed to the chaos of nights like this—ushered them into a private room without hesitation. It was dimly lit, cozy but buzzing with potential, walls pulsing with colorful LED lights that shifted gently with the music from nearby rooms.

Everyone spilled in like a wave—half-drunk, laughing, electric. Some headed straight for the mini-fridge in the corner, grabbing cans of beer and fruit-flavored chu-hi. A few flopped dramatically onto the faux-leather couches, others rummaged through the plastic bins in the corner that were overflowing with ridiculous props: feather boas, oversized sunglasses, glittery hats. The rest gathered around the touchscreen, flipping through the endless catalog of songs, shouting suggestions over each other.

Matt let out a quiet laugh, sinking into the couch with a sigh, the cushions dipping beneath him. The adrenaline from the night was still in his veins, but here, in this strange little neon cocoon, it all felt slightly unreal—like stepping into a dream.

She stood by the props, grinning like a kid in a candy store. With exaggerated flair, she pulled out a cotton-candy-pink wig that looked like it came straight from a Party City clearance rack and plopped it on her head. It sat crookedly, strands falling over her eyes, but she wore it like a crown.

It happened fast. One moment she was laughing, the next she was being dragged onto the stage—her protest lost in the roar of music and voices. A mic was shoved into her hand, barely giving her time to think as the first beat dropped.

Rihanna’s We Found Love flooded through the speakers, and the room instantly lit up. Everyone screamed in recognition, some jumping to their feet, others throwing their arms around each other and singing along at the top of their lungs—off-key, offbeat, and completely unbothered. Matt couldn’t help but smile as he joined in, the familiar lyrics rolling out of him like muscle memory.

She stood under the soft wash of LED lights, gold dress shimmering, the cheap pink wig now fully committed to its chaos. At first, she played along—laughing, moving, letting the rhythm take her. Her voice rang out over the speakers, bright and bold and just a little breathless.

But then the chorus hit.

“We found love in a hopeless place...”

Their eyes locked.

Across the sea of bodies and light and noise, something shifted. Something in the way she looked at him—still, wide-eyed, caught mid-lyric like the words had just struck something deeper than they were meant to.

Matt stopped moving.

She did too.

The microphone lowered slightly in her hand. Her lips parted, but no sound came out. And though the room around them was still alive—everyone shouting the chorus, dancing like nothing had changed—he saw it in her face.

That flicker of something real. Raw. Unspoken.

Matt cleared his throat, low and uncertain, as if trying to shake something loose from his chest. But the weight stayed. It wasn’t panic, not quite—but it felt too close. His muscles were tight. His hands restless.

He stood slowly, brushing invisible lint from his jeans just to give himself something to do. No one noticed him leave. The others were too busy dancing, singing, shouting—caught in their own bright, messy joy. He slipped out without a word, letting the door close quietly behind him.

The hallway outside was colder. Quieter. The sound of the music thudded dimly behind the walls, like a heartbeat in another room. A flickering overhead light buzzed lazily. The sudden stillness made everything feel sharper—his thoughts, his breath, the echo of her voice still in his ears.

He wandered aimlessly for a few steps before his eyes landed on a photo booth tucked between a vending machine and a stack of unused chairs. Its frame was dented, the curtain half-drawn, one corner of the seat covered in glitter someone had probably left behind. A small screen glowed inside, waiting.

He stepped in.

The seat dipped beneath his weight, the vinyl cold against the backs of his legs. He didn’t insert coins. Didn’t bother adjusting the curtain. He just sat there, elbows on his knees, staring blankly at the soft light of the screen.

His reflection stared back, vague and pixelated.

He dragged a hand down his face.

He leaned back against the wall of the booth and let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. Somewhere behind him, the next song had started. More laughter. More shouting. As if nothing had happened at all.

But something had.

Matt flinched slightly as the curtain scraped open, flooding the booth with hallway light. He blinked up.

The gold dress caught his eye first, shimmering even in the dimness. Then the pink wig, slightly askew. And then her—looking down at him with something softer than a smile, quieter than concern.

She didn’t say anything at first. Just watched him for a second, like she was trying to read what he wasn’t saying.

“Care if I sit?” she asked, voice low.

He didn’t answer with words—just shifted over, his knee brushing the wall of the booth as he made room. An unspoken invitation.

She stepped in and let the curtain fall closed behind her.

It was cramped inside—warm with shared space and the faint buzz of neon leaking through the gap in the curtain. When she sat down, their shoulders touched. Neither of them moved.

For a moment, they just… sat.

No talking. No laughing. Just silence and the faint hum of the screen in front of them, casting their faces in a pale blue glow. Outside the booth, the music still played—muffled now, like it belonged to another world. Someone was singing again, badly. People were still laughing.

But it felt far away.

Their reflections blinked back at them from the smudged screen—blurry, unreal. She let out a breath that didn’t quite count as a sigh, and then leaned her head against his shoulder, slowly, like she was waiting to see if he’d pull away.

He didn’t.

Instead, he tilted his head gently toward hers, their temples just barely touching.

Still, neither of them spoke.

And yet somehow, it felt like everything that needed to be said was already hanging there, in the space between their quiet breaths.

Out of nowhere, her voice broke the silence—soft, almost hesitant.

“Wanna take some pictures?”

Matt looked over just in time to see her holding up a single coin between her fingers, the metal catching the faint glow from the screen. Her eyes met his, questioning but light.

He let out a breath of a laugh, the corners of his mouth twitching up. “Yeah,” he said quietly.

He took the coin from her hand, their fingers brushing—barely, but enough—and slid it into the machine. It whirred to life with a soft mechanical sound. The screen blinked, then turned black, before a string of foreign characters popped up, blinking slowly in bright white against the dark.

Neither of them could read the directions, but neither of them cared.

They looked at each other—half-confused, half-grinning—and just decided to go with it.

The first flash caught them mid-smile. Both of them sat up straight, grinning like tourists, the kind of smile that felt natural because it wasn’t forced. Her shoulder pressed into his. He could still smell her perfume—faint vanilla and something floral.

The second countdown started before they were ready.

“Quick—do something dumb,” she whispered with a breathless laugh.

Matt widened his eyes and slapped his hands to his cheeks like a cartoon character caught mid-disaster. Without missing a beat, she lunged toward him, hands clawed and playful, mouth wide in a dramatic growl—wig flopping to one side, the gold of her dress catching the flash just as the picture snapped.

They burst out laughing, leaning away from the camera, both breathless and slightly disheveled.

“We probably look like absolute idiots,” Matt said between laughs, running a hand through his hair.

“Good,” she said, grinning. “It means we’re doing this right.”

The machine gave another countdown. The glow of the screen flickered against their faces as the next moment ticked closer.

Matt looked at her out of the corner of his eye—pink wig crooked, cheeks flushed from laughing, eyes shining.

She looked back.

Neither of them moved.

And the third flash went off—quietly capturing something neither of them had planned.

Time slowed.

The soft hum of the machine faded beneath the pounding of their hearts, the muffled music behind the booth now just background noise to the moment unfolding between them.

Their laughter had died down, but the echo of it lingered between them, settling into something quieter. Their smiles faded—not out of discomfort, but into stillness. Their faces were close—closer than either had realized.

Neither of them looked away.

Their eyes stayed locked, searching, asking silent questions neither dared speak aloud. And then, slowly, instinctively, they began to lean in. No dramatic rush. No hesitation. Just a quiet inevitability, like gravity drawing them together.

Closer. A breath apart. Closer still.

And then— Their lips met.

It was gentle, almost tentative, but full of a truth and longing neither of them had been willing to say aloud. The kiss lingered for just a moment—long enough to feel like something was shifting. Becoming.

Flash.

The booth lit up white for half a second, the camera capturing the exact moment their eyes had closed, lips just barely pressed together—preserved in pixels.

They didn’t move.

Didn’t flinch.

Because in that tiny space, in that brief second of stillness, everything had changed.

They pulled away slowly, breath catching in the space between them, foreheads almost touching. Their eyes met again—no longer questioning, no longer hesitant. Just wide and bright, filled with joy… and something deeper.

Something that had been waiting.

She smiled, the kind of smile that came from somewhere real. Her eyes flicked down to his lips, then back up.

“...Kiss me again.”

It wasn’t a plea. It wasn’t shy. It was soft. Certain.

Something in Matt lit up. His grin broke wide across his face—raw and unfiltered—before he leaned in and crashed his lips into hers, this time with no hesitation.

There was urgency now. Heat. Weeks—months—of longing and unsaid things pouring into this second kiss. Her fingers curled into the front of his shirt. He cupped her face like he couldn’t believe she was real. The curtain around them trembled slightly as they moved, the photo booth groaning under their weight.

Outside, the world kept spinning. The muffled beat of a pop song played behind the closed doors.

But here, in the small glow of the screen and the warmth of each other, they had completely unraveled—and found something in the wreckage that felt a lot like clarity.

Before the kiss could spiral into something deeper, something hotter, she pulled away—breathless, grinning. A soft, surprised laugh escaped her lips, and Matt couldn’t help but follow, their foreheads resting together for a heartbeat as giggles tumbled from both of them like they’d just gotten away with something forbidden.

No words were needed.

Just a shared look. A spark in their eyes. A silent agreement.

Hand in hand, they slipped out of the booth, limbs tangled and bodies still buzzing with adrenaline. The neon hallway stretched before them, casting streaks of pink and violet across their skin. They moved quickly, laughing under their breath, holding each other close like the moment might slip through their fingers if they didn’t hold on tight enough.

But just as they passed the vending machines, her heels skidded against the carpet.

“Wait!”

Matt turned, startled, as she let go of his hand and rushed back toward the booth. She ducked inside for a second, then emerged with something clutched tightly in her fingers.

The photo strip.

“Almost forgot,” she said, breathless, her smile bright with mischief as she jogged back to him.

He laughed as she tucked herself back into his side, the photo strip fluttering slightly in her grip. With that, they pushed through the doors of the karaoke bar and disappeared into the Tokyo night, streetlights flickering across their skin like stars.

They didn’t speak—not really. They didn’t need to. Their joined hands said enough. The way they leaned into each other, already forgetting the rest of the world, said the rest.

And as they made their way toward the hotel—giddy, breathless, wanting—there was only one thing on their minds:

Each other.

And the night still unfolding between them.

#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo x reader #matt girl #matt sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo imagine #matthew sturniolo fluff

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willowwindss · 3 months ago

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100 Inventions by Women

LIFE-SAVING/MEDICAL/GLOBAL IMPACT:

Artificial Heart Valve – Nina Starr Braunwald

Stem Cell Isolation from Bone Marrow – Ann Tsukamoto

Chemotherapy Drug Research – Gertrude Elion

Antifungal Antibiotic (Nystatin) – Rachel Fuller Brown & Elizabeth Lee Hazen

Apgar Score (Newborn Health Assessment) – Virginia Apgar

Vaccination Distribution Logistics – Sara Josephine Baker

Hand-Held Laser Device for Cataracts – Patricia Bath

Portable Life-Saving Heart Monitor – Dr. Helen Brooke Taussig

Medical Mask Design – Ellen Ochoa

Dental Filling Techniques – Lucy Hobbs Taylor

Radiation Treatment Research – Cécile Vogt

Ultrasound Advancements – Denise Grey

Biodegradable Sanitary Pads – Arunachalam Muruganantham (with women-led testing teams)

First Computer Algorithm – Ada Lovelace

COBOL Programming Language – Grace Hopper

Computer Compiler – Grace Hopper

FORTRAN/FORUMAC Language Development – Jean E. Sammet

Caller ID and Call Waiting – Dr. Shirley Ann Jackson

Voice over Internet Protocol (VoIP) – Marian Croak

Wireless Transmission Technology – Hedy Lamarr

Polaroid Camera Chemistry / Digital Projection Optics – Edith Clarke

Jet Propulsion Systems Work – Yvonne Brill

Infrared Astronomy Tech – Nancy Roman

Astronomical Data Archiving – Henrietta Swan Leavitt

Nuclear Physics Research Tools – Chien-Shiung Wu

Protein Folding Software – Eleanor Dodson

Global Network for Earthquake Detection – Inge Lehmann

Earthquake Resistant Structures – Edith Clarke

Water Distillation Device – Maria Telkes

Portable Water Filtration Devices – Theresa Dankovich

Solar Thermal Storage System – Maria Telkes

Solar-Powered House – M��ria Telkes

Solar Cooker Advancements – Barbara Kerr

Microbiome Research – Maria Gloria Dominguez-Bello

Marine Navigation System – Ida Hyde

Anti-Malarial Drug Work – Tu Youyou

Digital Payment Security Algorithms – Radia Perlman

Wireless Transmitters for Aviation – Harriet Quimby

Contributions to Touchscreen Tech – Dr. Annette V. Simmonds

Robotic Surgery Systems – Paula Hammond

Battery-Powered Baby Stroller – Ann Moore

Smart Textile Sensor Fabric – Leah Buechley

Voice-Activated Devices – Kimberly Bryant

Artificial Limb Enhancements – Aimee Mullins

Crash Test Dummies for Women – Astrid Linder

Shark Repellent – Julia Child

3D Illusionary Display Tech – Valerie Thomas

Biodegradable Plastics – Julia F. Carney

Ink Chemistry for Inkjet Printers – Margaret Wu

Computerised Telephone Switching – Erna Hoover

Word Processor Innovations – Evelyn Berezin

Braille Printer Software – Carol Shaw

⸻

HOUSEHOLD & SAFETY INNOVATIONS:

Home Security System – Marie Van Brittan Brown

Fire Escape – Anna Connelly

Life Raft – Maria Beasley

Windshield Wiper – Mary Anderson

Car Heater – Margaret Wilcox

Toilet Paper Holder – Mary Beatrice Davidson Kenner

Foot-Pedal Trash Can – Lillian Moller Gilbreth

Retractable Dog Leash – Mary A. Delaney

Disposable Diaper Cover – Marion Donovan

Disposable Glove Design – Kathryn Croft

Ice Cream Maker – Nancy Johnson

Electric Refrigerator Improvements – Florence Parpart

Fold-Out Bed – Sarah E. Goode

Flat-Bottomed Paper Bag Machine – Margaret Knight

Square-Bottomed Paper Bag – Margaret Knight

Street-Cleaning Machine – Florence Parpart

Improved Ironing Board – Sarah Boone

Underwater Telescope – Sarah Mather

Clothes Wringer – Ellene Alice Bailey

Coffee Filter – Melitta Bentz

Scotchgard (Fabric Protector) – Patsy Sherman

Liquid Paper (Correction Fluid) – Bette Nesmith Graham

Leak-Proof Diapers – Valerie Hunter Gordon

FOOD/CONVENIENCE/CULTURAL IMPACT:

Chocolate Chip Cookie – Ruth Graves Wakefield

Monopoly (The Landlord’s Game) – Elizabeth Magie

Snugli Baby Carrier – Ann Moore

Barrel-Style Curling Iron – Theora Stephens

Natural Hair Product Line – Madame C.J. Walker

Virtual Reality Journalism – Nonny de la Peña

Digital Camera Sensor Contributions – Edith Clarke

Textile Color Processing – Beulah Henry

Ice Cream Freezer – Nancy Johnson

Spray-On Skin (ReCell) – Fiona Wood

Langmuir-Blodgett Film – Katharine Burr Blodgett

Fish & Marine Signal Flares – Martha Coston

Windshield Washer System – Charlotte Bridgwood

Smart Clothing / Sensor Integration – Leah Buechley

Fibre Optic Pressure Sensors – Mary Lou Jepsen

#women #inventions #technology #world #history #invented #creations #healthcare #home #education #science #feminism #feminist

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intermundia · 11 months ago

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so my car just turned 20yo and i had a realization that the reason i'm so resistant to doing any upgrade is the fact that there are currently zero (0) touchscreens when i drive. every car function is controlled by a physical button or toggle or dial. it's the last place where i am fully screen free, and i appreciate it more and more as most of my life is consumed by time staring at visually busy screens. they'll have to pry my 2004 subaru out of my cold dead hands at this point lmao

#i don't want a touchscreen on my dash #that's just. wrong #i see my friends new cars and like. they're really nice!#i'm happy for them #but if my car dies i will mourn it and try to replace it with another one lolol

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msilwrites · 7 months ago

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Papa Bear Material Ch 10 (Captain Price Fic) - THE DATE (FINALLY!!)

Chapter 1 Chapter 1 (Shorter Version) Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 11 (Last Chapter)

@darkangel4121@teenagellamaangel@madzzz0797@callsignferal @marmaladespread02 @poohkie90 To the other’s who want me to tag you when there’s an update, just tell me at the comments) A/N: Well, look at you now—on a date with the Captain! No escape, I'm afraid! Is this going to be good? Bad? Or very good? (Spoiler alert: it's probably the latter... 😉) Find out below and brace yourself! LOL! Warning: side effects include excessive giggling, spontaneous squealing, and an undeniable urge to swoon. You've been warned! 😂

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John’s large hand remained firmly entwined with hers, his grip both steady and commanding. His palm was warm against her skin, and the strength in his hold left no room for argument—or escape. Despite her half-hearted attempts to resist, he led her through the crowded bar with an ease that made her feel as though she was being swept away, her protests as inconsequential as leaves in a current.

By the time they stepped into the cool night air, her cheeks were flushed, not from the temperature but from the mix of frustration and the undeniable charge in his presence. His hand tightened slightly, a silent reassurance—or a warning—that he wasn’t about to let go. The parking lot was quiet, the distant hum of passing cars the only sound breaking the stillness, but even that seemed to fade into the background as they approached his vehicle.

Her eyes landed on his 4x4, sleek and imposing in the dim light. The black paint gleamed faintly under the glow of the streetlamp, and the sturdy build seemed a perfect reflection of the man guiding her toward it.

“John,” she started, her voice laced with exasperation. “Can you at least—”

But her words were cut short as he stopped beside the passenger door and turned to face her. His broad shoulders loomed, casting a shadow over her smaller frame even in her heels, and she was suddenly reminded of just how tall and physically commanding he was. Her heart gave a little jolt as his free hand reached for the door handle.

Without releasing her hand, he pulled the door open with an easy grace. Standing between her and any possible escape, he tilted his head slightly, his blue eyes fixed on hers with that maddening mix of amusement and quiet intent.

“After you,” he said, his voice low and edged with something unspoken.

She sighed, her shoulders slumping in resignation. His unwavering determination, combined with the way he blocked any route of retreat, left her with little choice. “Fine,” she muttered, stepping into the 4x4.

The interior was as polished as she might have expected: clean, organized, and exuding an understated practicality. Her gaze swept over the dashboard, where a metallic tumbler sat snugly in the drink holder, its surface worn from frequent use. The faint glow of the touchscreen lit up as the vehicle came to life, showcasing a neatly curated playlist. A soft, earthy scent filled the interior—woody, warm, and slightly smoky, like the forest after a rainstorm mixed with the comforting heat of a fireplace. It was undeniably him, a scent that seemed to settle into the very air around her.

As she adjusted herself in the seat, the door shut with a firm click, enclosing her in his world. John rounded the front of the vehicle, his steps purposeful, and climbed into the driver’s seat with the same quiet confidence that had her pulse inexplicably racing.

He pressed the start button, and the engine rumbled to life, a steady vibration that seemed to echo through the small space between them. The low hum of the music filled the silence, and as he shifted into gear, she cast a sideways glance at him, her frustration battling with an undeniable curiosity.

The scent of him, the closeness, and the easy control with which he handled the vehicle—it was all too much, too intoxicating. He hadn’t just taken her hand back in the bar; he’d taken the lead, and now all she could do was follow.

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As they drove, she realized she still had no idea where John was taking her. Any attempt to ask was met with a hum, a grin, or one of his teasing comebacks that seemed designed solely to get under her skin.

She found herself staring at him, her thoughts drifting. How long had it been since she’d been intimate with anyone? A decade? Maybe more. Her gaze lingered on him—handsome, rugged, and undeniably sexy. But then, her mind turned cynical. Men like John were all the same, weren’t they? They wanted one thing, and she knew it.

Not that she minded. A man like John Price was as good a candidate as any. Sex with someone that attractive couldn’t be all bad. And with her... particular preferences, it could even be convenient. Anal, oral, fingering—it didn’t matter. She was technically still a virgin, and that was her secret to keep. A secret no one, especially John, needed to know. Maybe he’d even prefer it this way—no messy entanglements, no risk of pregnancy, no scares.

The thought crystallized in her mind, and before she could stop herself, she made the offer.

“John?”

“Mmm?” His hum was low, his attention fixed on the road, though his lips twitched in that insufferable smile.

“If I have sex with you, would you stop this silly act of courtship and dating?”

His head turned toward her, his expression shifting as his eyes darkened. The car slowed to a stop at a red light, and he leaned against the steering wheel, studying her with an intensity that sent heat rushing to her cheeks.

Her confidence wavered, but she pressed on. “We could get a room, you know?” she purred, her hand daring to slide over his thigh, testing the waters.

“Mmm.” His raspy voice was all he gave her, a sound that was neither agreement nor denial, as he turned his attention back to the road.

She leaned back, interpreting his silence as a quiet acceptance of her proposition. Yet, somewhere beneath the surface, she couldn’t shake the faint sting of disappointment. Perhaps she was right, after all. Men like John always wanted the same thing.

The drive turned quiet, save for the soft hum of the vehicle and the occasional glance John threw her way. She swallowed hard when they pulled into the drive of a boutique hotel nestled near Hampstead Heath. It was the kind of place that exuded quiet luxury, the kind she’d never have chosen herself.

Her pulse quickened. This was happening. But she had made her choice, hadn’t she? Might as well go along with it and enjoy the ride.

John stepped out of the 4x4 and rounded to her side, opening the door with that maddening confidence of his. Without a word, he reached for her hand, his warm, strong grip wrapping around hers, leaving no room for argument. He helped her down and, just as before, his large hand stayed entwined with hers as he led her forward. His other hand still clutched her bag, a silent reminder that escape wasn’t an option.

They entered the hotel, its lobby a serene blend of polished wood and ambient lighting. As they approached the reception desk, she tugged slightly at his hold. “John, hand me my bag or open it. They’ll need an ID…” she muttered, glancing toward the check-in counter.

He didn’t respond. In fact, he didn’t even slow down, his grip firm as he strode past the reception desk without so much as a glance in its direction.

Her brows knitted in confusion. What was he doing?

The answer came soon enough. John steered her toward the hotel’s restaurant, its warm glow spilling into the lobby. A host greeted them with a welcoming smile, and John’s deep voice cut through her bewilderment.

“Table reservation for Jonathan Price.”

“Ah, yes! Right this way, Mr. Price,” the host said, retrieving two leather-bound menus before motioning them to follow.

She blinked, her confusion giving way to a mix of relief and irritation as the pieces fell into place.

Upon reaching their table, John pulled out a chair for her, she sat down, her eyes sweeping across the restaurant. The space had a warm, rustic charm, with dark wooden panels lining the walls and framed artwork adding personality. Exposed beams crisscrossed the ceiling, and an ornate chandelier cast a soft, inviting glow.

Tables were set with flickering candles, creating an intimate atmosphere, while cushioned benches along the walls offered cozy seating options. In the center, a polished wooden bar stood as the focal point, its shelves stocked with an impressive array of bottles. The soft hum of quiet conversation and the clinking of glasses completed the scene, making it feel welcoming yet refined.

It was the kind of place you could easily lose yourself in—whether in good food, good company, or something more.

John took the seat adjacent to hers, murmuring a polite thank-you as the server handed them their menus. He quickly scanned his, his eyes darting over the options with practiced ease.

She narrowed her gaze at him, skepticism laced in her tone. "Weren’t you supposed to take me to bed? You know, you didn’t have to butter me up with dinner first."

John’s brow arched, and he slowly closed his menu, his piercing eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her gulp. He sighed, the sound more weighty than annoyed.

"I don’t want this to be a one-time thing, Y/N," he said firmly.

Her response came quick and sharp, laced with playful incredulity. "Oh, so you want to be ‘friends with benefits,’ then?"

John blinked, his exhale turning into a laugh despite himself. "No!" he exclaimed, shaking his head as if trying to dislodge the absurdity of her suggestion. "What is wrong with you?" His voice was lighthearted, but the exasperation was clear.

"You’ve really put me in a box, haven’t you?!" He let out another sigh, this one tinged with reluctant amusement. "No, I want to do this properly—this silly thing you call courtship and dating." His hand gestured as though he were spelling it out for her. "I don’t just want sex; I want all of you."

He looked at her, his face caught between a smirk and a frown, as if he couldn't decide whether to laugh at her or be offended by the entire exchange.

Upon hearing John’s words, Y/N froze. Her eyes widened, and her mouth fell slightly open in surprise. It wasn’t the first time someone had claimed to want her, but experience had taught her to expect disappointment soon after. Yet, there was something in the way John Price said it—calm, steady, and unflinchingly sincere—that felt undeniably different.

She bit her tongue, her lips pressing together as if to keep her thoughts from spilling out. Instead, she glanced down at her menu, finding its polished pages suddenly very interesting. She had been here before, in this liminal space of hope and uncertainty. If John’s actions didn’t match his words—if this thing they were trying didn’t work out—it would be a letdown she didn’t want to think about.

Y/N let out a soft sigh and mentally braced herself, forcing the flicker of vulnerability to the back of her mind.

John, however, didn’t miss her hesitation. His perceptive gaze softened, and he reached across the table, his large hand enveloping hers. His warmth was immediate, grounding her in a way she didn’t expect.

"Y/N?" His voice was low, a thread of concern woven into it.

"Yes, John?" she replied, her voice quieter now.

"Is there something the matter?"

"No, no... it’s nothing," she said quickly, brushing off his concern with a weak smile. She gestured toward the menu, eager to redirect the moment. "Let’s just order."

Dinner began with appetizers—crispy buttermilk fried chicken and delicate mushroom tempura. The rich flavors seemed to mirror the gradual softening of Y/N’s demeanor as John coaxed her into conversation. He started with simple, light-hearted questions: her favorite color, film, book, and other personal quirks.

By the time the main course arrived—a beautifully slow-roasted beef served with gravy and Yorkshire pudding—the ice had melted completely. Their dialogue deepened, revealing surprising commonalities: shared interests, aligned values, and even a few obscure hobbies they both enjoyed. Y/N found herself genuinely enjoying the exchange, caught off guard by how much they had in common.

When dessert was still being prepared, she surprised him further by ordering a specific whisky, neat. The amber liquid arrived in a crystal tumbler, its smoky aroma wafting gently through the air.

"You fancy whisky?" John asked, raising an intrigued brow.

Y/N grinned, swirling the drink lightly in her hand. "Ah, yes, of course! I’m a collector. I bottle samples, sell them, sometimes even trade with other enthusiasts." She took a small sip, savoring the warm, peaty burn that followed. "Want to try?" she offered, holding the glass toward him.

John blinked, clearly not expecting this from her. “A petite lass like you? A whisky connoisseur? Didn’t see that coming.” He let out a chuckle, shaking his head.

"Why not?" she teased with a playful smile.

“Maybe another time,” he replied, his tone teasing but resolute. “I’m driving, remember?”

She chuckled and nodded, amused by his restraint. “Fair enough. Another time, then.”

By the time dessert arrived, the conversation had evolved into shared laughter, punctuated by their stories and jokes. The warmth between them felt natural, as if they had known each other for far longer than a single evening.

John leaned back slightly, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. "You look like you’re actually enjoying yourself."

She giggled, shaking her head as she wiped a stray tear of laughter from her eye. "Unfortunately, it does seem to be the case."

He leaned forward then, his expression softening as his fingers toyed absently with the edge of his napkin. “You know,” he began, his voice low and deliberate, “I said I’d leave it at just one date if you weren’t enjoying yourself... but I don’t think I can let it be a one-time thing now.”

His blue eyes locked onto hers, their intensity sending an unsteady rhythm through her chest. It was as if he could see straight through her, catching the flicker of warmth she had been trying to downplay all evening.

For a moment, she was speechless, searching her thoughts and feelings for clarity. Her gaze lingered on John, who watched her patiently, the sincerity in his expression unyielding. Finally, she let out a sigh, nodding slightly. "Alright," she said, her voice steady. "We can... exclusively date."

John’s grin widened with a boyish charm, and he gently took her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. The gesture was so tender it sent a flutter through her chest.

“Just so we’re clear,” she interjected, narrowing her eyes playfully, “we’re still in the dating phase. This doesn’t mean we’re in a relationship yet!”

A mischievous smile crept across his face as he held her gaze. “Oh, I know,” he replied, his tone teasing. But in his mind, the thought was resolute: She will be mine.

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After dinner, once the bill was settled and they left the restaurant, the shift between them was unmistakable. This time, she clung to his arm willingly, her hand looped through his, her posture relaxed. Her bag, which Price had been holding hostage all evening, was finally back in her possession—though it had taken a mix of playful convincing and shameless flirting on her part to retrieve it.

“Alright, alright,” he had relented earlier with an amused shake of his head. “Fine, take it,” he’d said with a mock sigh, handing it over. “But only because I’ve grown rather attached to it.”

“Should I be worried you’ll start carrying a handbag now?” she teased, her grin sly.

“Only if it matches my boots,” he shot back, earning a laugh from her.

As they strolled to the car, her head rested lightly on his shoulder, and her hand settled comfortably on his arm. The gesture was natural, easy, yet it sent a warmth coursing through him. John couldn’t help the grin that tugged at his lips, but he tried—poorly—to hide it.

When they reached the car, he opened the door with an exaggerated flourish. "Your chariot awaits, my lady," he said with a playful bow.

“Very dramatic,” she quipped, stepping in.

But when he leaned over to fasten her seatbelt, she batted his hands away with an exasperated laugh.

“John! I can manage a seatbelt, thank you!”

“Just being thorough,” he shot back, grinning cheekily before closing the door and circling to the driver’s side.

Once he settled in, he turned to her, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “So… are you going to tell me where you live, or am I supposed to play MI6 agent and figure it out myself? Not that I’d mind—it’s kind of in my wheelhouse.”

She rolled her eyes, a chuckle escaping her lips. “Alright, fine. I live in one of those old converted flats along the Thames.”

John drove her home, parking in the lot below her building before accompanying her upstairs. He insisted on walking her to her door, hands casually tucked into his jacket pockets, exuding his usual calm confidence.

At the threshold, she turned to him with a playful smile, leaning against the doorframe. "Care for a nightcap, Commander?" she teased, her tone flirtatious.

John grinned but shook his head. “Tempting, but no. I’m not about to be seduced into your bed.”

She rolled her eyes and swatted his arm, her laugh light and genuine. “That wasn’t my intention, Price!” She grabbed his wrist and pulled him inside, flicking on the lights as they entered.

The space was inviting, a perfect blend of industrial chic and rustic charm. Though medium-sized, it was carefully designed, exuding warmth and personality. The living room featured a small, cozy fireplace, plush seating, and a curated mix of textures and tones that made it feel lived-in yet stylish.

Through a large open archway, her workshop was visible—a creative haven that clearly reflected her skill and dedication as an artisan. A sturdy table held drying clay projects, different tools hanging on the wall, with a turntable on one side and a kiln neatly positioned on the other. Another area was dedicated to glass and metalworking, with tools and materials organized with meticulous care. A desk featuring a large drawing tablet and monitor highlighted her work in design, seamlessly blending traditional craftsmanship with modern techniques. Every corner of the studio showcased her artistry, demonstrating her talent and attention to detail.

“Sit,” she commanded, guiding John to the sofa. He complied, watching her disappear through another arch that led to the kitchen. She returned moments later, holding a small sample bottle of one of her prized spirits.

“Try this,” she said, handing it to him with a smirk.

John raised a brow, uncapping the bottle and giving it a curious sniff. But before he could say anything, she added with a teasing grin, “And now, you may go.”

He stood reluctantly as she tugged at his arm, though he resisted just enough to draw out her efforts. “You’re heavier than you look,” she muttered, swatting his arm again when he chuckled.

She gave him a playful tug, leading him to the door, but when it swung open, she refused to release his hand.

John paused, turning to her with a quizzical look. "What is it now?"

"Really, Price?" she said, her eyes holding a teasing intensity, as if she expected more from him.

John raised an eyebrow and smirked. "What? Did I forget something? Should I be calling a cab for myself?"

Y/N sighed, standing on her tiptoes to plant a sudden, soft kiss on his lips. John froze for a moment, surprised, before his strong arms wrapped around her waist, lifting her off the ground and pulling her closer. Her hands instinctively moved to his shoulders, deepening the kiss as her heart raced.

They broke apart at the same time, their breath coming in short bursts. Y/N swatted him lightly on the chest, and he chuckled softly. She gave him a playful shove toward the door, and with a mischievous grin, closed it with a gentle yet firm thud against his face.

John stood outside for a moment, laughing under his breath, as the soft echo of the door closing lingered in the air, leaving him with a silly grin and a heart full of warmth.

John made his way to the elevator lobby, sighing contentedly as he glanced down at the small taster bottle of whisky in his hand. The kiss still lingered on his lips, and he couldn't wipe the grin off his face. He was practically glowing, already imagining the next date, his mind already plotting how to make sure she couldn’t possibly say no.

He chuckled to himself, shaking his head. "Oh, she’ll be mine. I’ll make sure of it."

His thoughts were a blend of determination and excitement, and already, he could picture the next move in his mind. The only thing left to figure out was how to make it as irresistible as tonight.

She may have closed the door on him this time, but John was resolute—she would be his, and he’d make sure of it. Not just for another date, but for something lasting, something real. He couldn’t help but chuckle to himself, imagining her rolling her eyes at his persistence. But he didn’t care. One way or another, she was going to be his partner—his forever.

A/N: Talk about sweet moments! John is just so thorough, so decisive—you don’t even know what hit you! 😏 The following chapter(s)… well, as promised, things might get a little sexy, spicy, and seductive. Hold on tight, it's just the beginning… and it’s about to get very interesting… because now, my dear, you’re officially at the mercy of John Price! 😈🔥

Edit: On to the last chapter!!!!! 😈🔥 ------->

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hoahoahoahoahoa · 3 months ago

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Alright I've got one for yah.

Do you thinking that the Cullen's/ Vamp's in general can use smart technology?

Cause like when my shitty circulatory system makes my hands too cold, I can't use touch screens.

And those guys are cold stone.... so by that logic, touch screens shouldn't register their skin.... which means their either out in these streets using flip phones like some gen z edgelord hipsters. Or their using stylist for everything like some Wall St jag with a blackberry.

I’ve actually looked into this before lmao

That said, I am no expert. If an actual expert has anything to correct/add please feel free

Anyway. Resistive touch screens were pretty vampire-friendly but are obsolete in phones. Most phone touchscreens today do not respond to heat either, but still aren't great for vampires. They use capacitive sensing, which depends on conductivity. So the question isn't whether vampires are warm enough to use smart phones, but do they generate bioelectricity?

My gut feeling is "no", because if they're not alive, why would their nervous system function? I don't have a theory on what it is exactly animating their bodies besides "....magic!" but I don't think it's electrical impulses. I think there's a chance they're conductive, so maybe they can get by. (ETA: does this mean Edward can use a touch screen if he's touching Bella?)

If not, I think you're on the money with them clinging to Blackberrys and other phones with physical buttons for as long as possible. Though I do love the mental image of them having iPhones and relying on (and struggling with) voice-to-text and those shitty unwieldy styluses until Apple Pencil comes out. And then they look like freaks for using an Apple Pencil on their cell phone.

#hoa5 #vampires #twilight

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merylstreepsworld · 2 years ago

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The Necklace

Pairing: Miranda Priestly x Reader

Summary: You are infatuated with Miranda's necklace... and for good reason

Word Count: 462

In the intimate moments you shared with Miranda Priestly, her sense of style was as alluring as her commanding presence. She often wore low V-necklines that left little to the imagination, paired with exquisite, low-hanging necklaces that framed her décolletage. It was a combination that drew your eyes like a moth to a flame, and you couldn't resist the temptation to touch and play with the necklace that nestled between her breasts.

One evening, as you both lounged in her luxurious townhouse. Miranda was engrossed in a flurry of emails on her tablet, seemingly managing the entire fashion world from the comfort of her luxurious sofa. Her choice of attire was particularly captivating. Her V-neckline plunged gracefully, showcasing her elegant collarbones and a tantalizing hint of cleavage. The delicate necklace, adorned with a shimmering pendant, hung enticingly between her breasts.

You watched as she effortlessly juggled her responsibilities, her fingers dancing across the touchscreen with precision. The soft glow from the tablet cast an ethereal light on her features, accentuating her magnetic presence.

Unable to resist, you reached out and gently brushed your fingertips against the necklace, letting the cool metal caress your skin. Miranda's gaze never left the tablet, but her lips curled into a knowing smile, a subtle acknowledgment of your actions.

"Darling," she purred in her sultry tone, "Do you have an obsession with my necklace, or is it the territory it resides in that intrigues you so?"

Your cheeks flushed as her teasing words washed over you, and you replied with a playful smirk, "Perhaps it's both, Miranda. Your choice of jewelry is impeccable, but I can't deny the allure of what's beneath it." Miranda's laughter, like a fine wine, filled the room. Her fingers finally pausing on the tablet, she leaned in closer, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispered, "I find your fascination quite amusing, my dear. But you know, if you just wanted to touch near my breasts, you could simply ask." Your heart raced at her suggestion, and your fingers danced along the necklace once more, unable to resist the temptation. "Maybe I enjoy the element of surprise," you replied with a sly grin.

Miranda's eyes sparkled with desire as she captured your lips in a passionate kiss, her dominance and sensuality igniting a fire within you. The necklace between her breasts became a symbol of your shared desire and the playful teasing that only deepened your connection.

In those intimate moments, Miranda's style and your playful touches became a tantalizing dance, a testament to the passion and allure that bound you together. It was a love story where desire and teasing were woven into the very fabric of your relationship, creating an unbreakable bond between you and the formidable Miranda Priestly.

#meryl streep #merylstreep #meryl streep x reader #miranda priestly #the devil wears prada #miranda priestly x reader #Miranda Priestly oneshots

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jackalovski · 4 months ago

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10 things wrong with the cybertruck’s design

Now, as a car lover I’m not going to say that the cybertruck is a bad car or a bad design but…

Marketing the cybertruck as a truck that can do truck things and is a practical alternative to a truck is not just bad it’s false marketing.

The cybertruck is an alternative to a Ferrari. It is a piece of art you can occasionally drive around in but most of the time keep it inside, under a blanket away from a world which can damage its fragile form-over-function design.

It’s stainless steel body panels are glued on because welding them would discolour the metal.

The stainless steel can’t get wet because although the stainless steel used is rust resistant, it’s not rust proof.

To offset the weight of the stainless steel and to reduce cost the vehicle the body is cast aluminium which is very brittle and can’t take impacts or sudden changes in forces without breaking unlike steel which can bend, deform and even spring back.

The tow hitch is bolted to the aluminium body so there is a chance that hitting a bump while towing something can snap the rear of the car off.

There are no crumple zones and the crash tests are horrifying, transferring the force of impact to the occupants and also providing sharp, solid surfaces to any pedestrians that get in its way.

Although four wheel drive with a lot of torque the cybertruck is inept and incompetent off-road having too much weight, too much torque and no low-range gearing to reign in that torque.

It’s badly waterproofed allowing rain into the truck bed when it’s covered and river water or carwash water into the electronics.

It is 17 times more likely to catch fire than a Ford pinto, a car which is only (in)famous for catching fire.

If it does catch fire with people inside it will lock them in and it’s armoured windows will make it 3-4 times more difficult for firefighters to gain access.

And finally it has no physical buttons or switches so even operating it normally requires you to take you eyes off the road to play with the touchscreen. Which is why it really needs a working AI to do the driving for you, which it doesn’t but that’s a whole other rant.

If this were a Lamborghini, a TVR or a Ferrari these faults would be forgiven, you expect this in those sorts of car. They are not designed to be safe, fireproof or taken off road. But the cybertruck was not marketed or sold to people who wanted a supercar or a piece of art on wheels.

#cybertruck #Tesla #marketing #unsafe at any speed

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sequinsmile-x · 1 year ago

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have you ever written a fic where emily and her daughter have separation anxiety by any chance ?? if not, possible prompt if you like! (LOVE everything you write, hope ur having a great day today<3)

hi bestieee

of course! <3 this turned into a 3 parter because of who I am as a person, so keep an eye out for the next two parts over the next week or so that will explore other moments in their daughter's childhood

hope you enjoy this, let me know what you think! <3

-x-

Slipping Through My Fingers

The one in which Emily and her daughter struggle with separation anxiety.

1/3

-x-

Warnings: None

Words: 3.3k

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Emily presses the touchscreen of her phone, blowing out a slow breath at the lack of messages. She focuses on the picture she has as her wallpaper and smiles, tracing her finger over her daughter's face, the baby fast asleep in her arms.

The picture was taken six weeks ago on the day Stella was born. Jess had brought Jack to the hospital to meet his newborn sister. Aaron had picked him up and sat on the bed, the enthusiastic little boy wriggling in his embrace as he tried to make sure he was careful with Emily and Stella. Jess had snapped the photo of them all, the first photo of them as a family of four, and then she’d sent it to Emily.

She’d set it as her wallpaper immediately, finding herself endlessly grateful for the reminder of the joy she’d felt that day in the difficult, relentless early days of motherhood.

“Still nothing from JJ?”

Emily looks up at her husband, a flash of embarrassment rolling through her until she sees his soft smile, nothing but love and understanding flowing out of every pore. She clears her throat and shakes her head.

“Nothing,” she says, reaching for her drink and taking a sip. Anxiety she’d felt since they’d left home, Jack and Stella in the care of JJ, bubbles low in her gut, burning up her throat and taking residence in her chest, filling the space her heart used to be before she left it at home. She blows out a breath and shakes her head at herself, “I’m sorry I’m ruining date night.”

It had been his idea. She’d barely left Stella’s side since she was born, and the longest they’d been apart was an hour when Emily had gone to get her hair done, something that was again at his insistence because he knew she needed a break. He knew she needed this too, that she needed just a few hours where she was Emily, but he could see her resistance. The guilt and anxiety simmering under her skin getting worse with every passing minute, her focus constantly on her phone in case JJ called like she said she would if she ran into a problem.

He’d spoken to JJ separately when he’d asked her to look after Jack and Stella for the evening, pulled her aside at work and crossed the boundary of professional and personal to ask for her help. He knew what Emily needed was advice from a friend who had been in the same position, and JJ’s gentle coaxing as she settled a slightly fussy Stella into her arms just a couple of hours ago had, albeit briefly, calmed his wife down. He also knew that she was worried about the fact she was going back to work in six weeks, the halfway mark of her maternity leave one of the reasons he’d decided now was a good time for date night, but he knew now wasn’t the time to broach that subject, his worst fear being he’d somehow make it worse. He reaches out and places his hand over hers, smiling softly as he links their fingers together.

“Sweetheart, you aren’t ruining anything,” he assures her, rubbing his thumb back and forth on the heel of her hand, “I’m having a good time.”

She chuckles humourlessly and shakes her head, her eyes fixed on their joint hands, “I don’t think sitting with your wife whilst she obsessively checks her phone counts as a good time, honey.”

He lifts their joint hands and presses a kiss to her knuckles, “Any time I spend with you is a good time.”

She presses her lips together in a failed attempt to hide her smile and she rolls her eyes. She never thought that she’d fall in love with someone quite like him. Someone who could disarm her so quickly, his love for her both unexpectedly soft and unrelenting in its nature. Sometimes when she told JJ and Penelope about him, about the things he’d say when it was just the two of them, they struggled to believe her. The romantic and charming man he was in private completely at odds with their stern and serious boss.

“You say the most ridiculous shit sometimes,” she says, squeezing his hand, “Sweet. But ridiculous,” she finds her gaze drifting back to her phone and she growls in frustration at herself, “God, what is wrong with me?” She rests her head on the hand not linked with his, her fingers tangling into her hair, “I’ve never felt like this before. When we don’t see Jack because he’s at school or we are at work I miss him, but it doesn’t feel like this.”

He knows he has to choose his next words carefully, so he takes a moment, playing the conversation he’d practised in his head more than once over the last couple of weeks. He knew his wife well enough to know this was coming, her love for Jack one of the many things he loved about her.

“It’s different,” he says, wincing internally when her face already starts to fall, “You-”

“I don’t love Stella more than I love Jack, Aaron,” she says fiercely, trying to remove her hand from his but he just holds on tighter, “I love them the exact same-”

“I know you do,” he says, cutting her off this time, not wanting her to get into her own head about it, “But Jack was older when you came into his life as his mom. Taking him to school or us going away on cases has always been part of your relationship with him,” he says, grateful when he sees the tension in her shoulders melt away as quickly as it had appeared. “I know you love him, Em. Our kids are so lucky to have you as their mom.”

She blushes at the compliment, one she could never hear too often, her insecurities always taking residence in her chest whenever she couldn’t settle Stella, or Jack was in a bad mood. Seeds that had been planted long before she ever decided to become a mother, so sure that her own mother’s lack of maternal instinct was genetic, that she was doomed to repeat the cycle. There were moments when the insecurity would bloom, the flowers of it taking up all the space in her chest and making it hard to breathe, but Aaron was always there. Always happy to reassure her and pull her insecurities out by the root, slowly healing the wounds that only he could see.

She fights a smile but fails, only able to roll her eyes when he winks at her, pride for making her smile swelling in his chest before he turns serious, sensing her need for reassurance. She’d never ask for it, but she never had to.

“It’s normal to find this difficult,” he says, “She’s your baby. You’ve never been apart from her like this before. It’s an adjustment for you both.”

She blows out a shaky breath. It catches in her chest and it makes her ache, a feeling that had become all too familiar these last several months. She’d, optimistically, hoped that once she’d given birth her hormones would balance out quickly. Her lack of emotional control was her least favourite side effect of pregnancy by far. She hated not being able to hide how she was feeling, the walls she’d built around herself when she was still too young to understand what she was doing crumbling around her at the smallest thing. She was even driven to tears on several occasions by the fact she couldn’t stop crying, something that Derek had once taken great joy in until she threatened his ability to procreate if he laughed at her again. Her dislike of being constantly emotional outweighed her hate of even the extreme nausea she’d experienced in the first trimester, something that had made her sensitive to every smell including Aaron’s cologne. He’d taken it in his stride, as he had with everything, and he’d taken to not wearing it anymore and glaring at anyone who ate something near her that triggered her nausea.

She looks up to the ceiling to try and stop herself from crying, a desperate attempt to save the make up she’d painstakingly applied, surprised that she even remembered how to after 6 weeks of very little sleep.

“I…I feel so unsettled,” she says, placing her hand on her soft belly, the skin still looser than she was used to, “She’s either been next to me or living inside of me for the better part of a year.”

He feels his lips curl up into a smile at the tone of her voice, as if she’s chastising herself whilst simultaneously proving his point, “Exactly. You will adjust though, sweetheart. I promise.”

She nods, having no choice but to believe him, “Does it get any easier?”

“Oh god no,” he says quickly, shaking his head, his smile getting wider as she laughs loudly.

“Jesus, Aaron,” she says, chuckling again, “You couldn’t have lied to me?”

He squeezes her hand and leans across the small table to stamp a kiss on her cheek, “Never have, and I’m not about to start now,” he pulls back and she takes the opportunity to capture his lips in a quick kiss before he settles properly into his seat, “It’s never easy, but you do get used to it.”

Her smile shakes and she nods, clearing her throat to try and shift the emotion that had settled there, “I guess that will have to be enough.”

He lifts her hand and kisses it, and they settle into the silence for a moment, both of them enjoying it, a luxury they so rarely had these days, “Come on,” he says, kissing her hand once more before he lets go, “Let’s order dessert then we can go home.”

She smiles at the mention of something sweet, her love for chocolate immediately boosting her mood. She picks up the menu and starts to look over it, aware of Aaron’s gaze burning into her. She looks up and finds him staring at her, having made no attempt to pick up his menu.

“What?” She asks, raising an eyebrow at him and he shrugs, finally breaking his gaze and looking at the menu.

“Nothing, you just look beautiful, that’s all.”

She presses her lips together, love and want spreading through her, burning her from the inside out. She looks at her menu and moves her foot under the table, smiling when he jumps when she runs it up his leg, pride that she could still do this to him rushing through her.

“Speaking of dessert,” she says, purposely not looking up at him, “I am wearing some very nice new lingerie under this dress,” she smiles as her eyes meet his, “So if we get the baby down to sleep easily…”

She drifts off and has to stop herself from laughing at how wide his eyes are. It had been a long six weeks for both of them, and her doctor giving her the all clear just a couple of days ago had been nothing short of relief. His brain seemingly comes back online and he looks from her to the waiter, grabbing his attention as he walks by.

“Check please.”

___

Emily hums quietly as she looks down at Stella, smiling softly when she sees that the baby is already half asleep, her eyes drifting shut as she unlatches from her, milk drunk and content in her mother’s arms.

“We need to burp you first, sweet girl. Then you can go back to sleep,” Emily says, lifting her to rest her against her chest, rearranging her dress and bra as she does so, she kisses the side of Stella’s head and gently pats her back. She breathes her in, the sweet scent that she’d come to associate with her daughter over the last several weeks washing over her, creating a sense of calm that eases the last bit of anxiety in her chest, “Mommy missed you tonight.”

When they got home, Emily had barely acknowledged JJ, throwing her friend a quick smile as she went upstairs to see Stella. Aaron had stayed and said goodbye to their friend for both of them, thanking her again for looking after the kids so they could go out. Stella had been asleep when they first got home, but it hadn’t lasted long. It was as if she’d sensed Emily was in the room, waking up almost immediately when she walked in to check on her. Emily was grateful for it, not only because she’d wanted to hold her, but because her breasts were almost bursting, and she didn’t want to pump.

“I figured you’d be feeding her,” Aaron says as he walks into the room, a glass of water and a chopped up banana on a plate, “I brought you your snack.”

She smiles as she looks up at him, Stella letting out a timely burp that makes them both laugh, and Aaron walks over to join them on the small couch they’d bought for the nursery.

“We just got done,” she says, resting her cheek on the top of their daughter’s head, “I’ll have some of that banana though,” she says, but before she can rearrange her hold on Stella to reach for some, he holds out a slice for her. She rolls her eyes, but says nothing as she opens her mouth for him to pop it in, “I need to text JJ,” she says as she eats, “Apologise for not saying thank you.”

“She gets it, sweetheart,” he says, passing her another slice of the banana, “She’s a mom too. She gets it.”

She hums and looks down at Stella, smiling softly when she sees she’s fast asleep already, content and safe in her arms, “I missed her so much, Aaron,” she says, shaking her head as she looks up at him, “We were gone for what, three hours? And I missed her so much. How…how am I going to go back to work? Go on cases and be away for days at a time,” she sighs and cups the back of Stella’s head, tracing the swirl of dark hair, the same cowlick that Aaron had that she’d always been fascinated with even before they were together, “I don’t know if I can.”

He stares at her as she continues to stare at Stella, and he waits for her to say something else, to clarify further, but she doesn’t, “You don’t know if you can come back to work?”

She blows out a shaky breath and shrugs, “I’d like to carry on working. Just…maybe not with the BAU.”

She wasn’t even aware that was truly how she’d been feeling until she says it, but all of a sudden everything she’d been feeling for weeks clicks into place. The panic she felt whenever she thought about going back to work, a job she loved that had once defined her, instantly making sense. It had always been the plan that she’d go back to the team after her maternity leave. It seemed obvious. JJ worked on the team still even though she’d had Henry, Emily and Aaron did despite having Jack at home. Leaving the team had never even crossed her mind until she saw her daughter’s face, the doctor’s words that she’d had a girl still ringing in the air, the sex of the baby something they hadn’t found out until that moment.

She knew she’d feel the same way even if they’d had another son, but when she was alone in the hospital that first night, Aaron at home with Jack, she’d looked at her daughter and wondered what her own first night of life had been like. If her own mother had sat and stared at her and thought about all the things she could be.

Aaron nods and clears his throat, making sure his smile is encouraging as she looks at him, “If that’s what you want, we’ll make it work.”

They’d agreed on it long before Stella was born, and Jess said she was happy to help with the kids when they were away on cases, but Aaron would be lying if he said he hadn’t seen this coming. He’d seen it in his wife’s face whenever anyone mentioned her going back to work, how she’d hold their daughter just a little tighter each time, and a part of him wished that he’d suggested this a long time ago, that he’d pushed it a little more than just an initial idea when they were planning what their life would look like after their little girl was born.

“Would you be disappointed in me if I didn’t come back?”

Her quiet words draw him out of himself, and he only realises then that he’d gone silent. The concerned look on her face makes him put his arm around her, around them, and he kisses his wife’s temple.

As her boss, it would create some work. There would be paperwork, interviews for her replacement, trying to figure out what she herself would do next, but as her husband, he was more relieved than anything else, and he’d do anything to make sure she got what she wanted, what their family needed, even if it meant talking to the director himself.

“There is nothing you could ever do that would disappoint me,” he says, his sincerity easing her anxiety, “On a selfish level I’d miss having you with me,” he smiles softly and reaches out to tuck some of her hair behind her ear, “But never disappointed. If anything, I’m proud of you.”

She frowns, her cheeks burning pink with the compliment, and she bites the inside of her cheek, “Proud of me?”

He nods and kisses her forehead, his hand resting over hers on their daughter's back, “I’m always proud of you,” he says, kissing her forehead again before he pulls back, “And as I said earlier, our kids are lucky to have you as their mom.”

She smiles, her face bright with it, the same smile he hopes their little girl will one day inherit, “They are pretty damn lucky to have you as their dad.”

“Don’t say damn in front of the baby.”

She rolls her eyes lovingly, ignoring his playful chastisement of her cursing, and she uses it to move the moment forward. They had a lot more to talk about, she knew that, but right now she wanted to flirt with her husband. She wanted to take advantage of the small amount of time they’d have before Stella woke up again. She smiles and shifts closer to him, making sure not to disturb their sleeping daughter, and she purposefully lowers her voice.

“Feed me the rest of my snack,” she says, nodding towards the plate still balancing on his lap, “Then we’ll try and get her to our room without waking her up and put her down,” she bats her eyelashes at him, “And then I’ll show that new lingerie I told you about.” He stares at her for a moment and she laughs, leaning in even closer, “Focus, honey,” she says, winking at him, a smirk spreading across her face as their eyes meet, everything she’s feeling reflecting back at her in his eyes, “We have an hour or two at most before she wakes up again and I have plans for you that involve the shower.”

He smiles, his gaze flicking down to her chest, to the peek of deep purple lace he can see sneaking past the hem of her dress. He picks up another slice of banana, his focus on how her tongue pokes out to lick her lower lip, “Yes ma’am.”

-x-

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