#nuclear envelope

[tenth-sentence]

At the start of prophase, microtubules, polymerizing on the surface of the nuclear envelope, begin to gather at two foci on opposite sides of the nucleus, initiating spindle formation (see Figure 1.30).

"Plant Physiology and Development" int'l 6e - Taiz, L., Zeiger, E., Møller, I.M., Murphy, A.

#book quote #plant physiology and development #nonfiction #textbook #prophase #microtubule #polymerization #nuclear envelope #cell division #cell cycle #mitosis #cytokinesis #spindle formation

[katsukikitten]

cum here

Warnings: spit, dub con

A Bakugou Birthday collab read the intro on the ML first!

A notification pulls your attention in your tipsy stupor as you collapse half dressed in your bed. Another successful night out with your girlfriends when your favorite pro hero posts a picture.

A thirst trap no less making you pop up in bed, the room spins delightfully as you stare down at the picture, screen shooting it without a care that he may get a notification for it but you were sure that you wouldn't be the only one.

Bakugou Katsuki, THE Dynamight with his shirt up exposing his abs, his Adonis belt and the vein that leads down to what has to be his fat cock.

You salivate over the thought of it and the several shots of tequila have you feeling bold, although your friends would argue you'd have been this bold sober simply because of how much you spoke about him even if most of the public thought he was an asshole you claimed that's what made him so fucking hot.

Pushing up your tits and angling your phone just right before you snap a photo and attach it to a very public reply before you slip into his dms to send a little something extra.

Bakugou's phone becomes nuclear to say the least, blown up from how many replies and notifications has gotten in such a short time. Each and every woman and the few male prospects are more than attractive and yet none make his cock jump to life, not fully anyway.

Until he sees you, tapping on the picture to make it full screen.

Soft fat tits pressed together, skin aglow in the ambient low light of warm string lights. Tongue lolling past pretty lips, wet muscle most likely fluttering before you took the picture. Obvious that you waited long enough for drool to drip from the tip in a silvery string as some droplets collected on those perfect tits. Pinching his screen to zoom in on your sexy mouth he imagines pressing his angry cock head against before he shoved his length until you gagged around him.

He groans at the thought, zooming out to take in all of you before he finally reads the caption..

Cum here.

“Fuck.” He growls, clicking on your profile, going to privately message you in hopes of more pictures. Palm moving to free his cock from his boxers when he sees you messaged him first.

Sharing your location with the pro hero like a fucking idiot. What if Bakugou had been hacked?

And here you were offering yourself up on a silver platter.

Cum here echoes in his head as he backs out to your selfie and before he can talk himself out of it he's jumping back into the tight black denim that never made it past his thighs.

You lock your phone falling back into your bed after you've seen that he's read your messages. Sighing as you hadn't expected much else, especially since it was his birthday and half of the feed were thirst traps of others tagging Dynamight in hopes of getting his attention. He ignored every single one of them, even from well known models and porn stars, so what chance did you really have?

Still, it was fun to be a little delusional every now and again.

Fireworks echo in the distance and you're surprised the spring festival was going this late into the night. Never one to miss a good show you rise from your bed, topless and half drunk to watch the last of the fireworks before you'd pass out, sleep well past noon before ordering a fat order or take out.

Leaving the sliding glass door open when the cool night air makes you shiver and regret foregoing a shirt. Eyes adjusting to the dark easily but your eyebrow furrows up in confusion. You hear the fireworks but you can't see them.

At least not well, a small orange burst that makes you wonder if maybe they aren't fireworks at all, that maybe it was just a villain making their grand escape.

Scoffing you turn, closing the sliding glass door only for it to be stopped in its tracks. Looking up for see a hulking shirtless man shrouded in darkness on your balcony. Smoke, caramel and whisky envelope your senses as the man breathes evenly behind you. You blink once, twice before you register his eye color.

Toxic, crystalline bromine.

"Dynamight?”

“In the flesh, Sweetheart.” He removes his hand from the frame of the door, takes a step towards you and you step back.

Stalking forward until you're both fully in the room and he delights in the mixture of emotions in your eyes. Fear, excitement, arousal.

“Haaah, what's wrong? Little kitty is acting more like a cornered bunny. Ya scared?” He leers over you, crowding your space, “Shouldn't be. Yer the one who invited the big bad wolf.”

Grabbing onto your chin to turn your pretty face this way and that, he doesn't even need to force his eyes away from your chest, your face captivates him that much. He runs his tongue across his teeth before he smirks.

“Now where am I supposed to cum again?” His large thumb swipes over your plush lips before he shoves it between them, forcing your mouth open.

He tries to recreate the picture you sent him, watches the wet muscle flutter and it makes him salivate. Makes him gather it in his mouth before he's pushing it the tip of his tongue letting his spit hit your tongue.

“Right here wasn't it?” He mixes his spit with yours with his thumb, pressing down on your tongue harshly. He watches your eyes widen before they narrow, into that hungry cat gaze that was in your photo.

Eyes that devour him whole as you hollow your cheeks to suck on his thumb. Swirling it around the digit before you pop off of him, the lewd sound echoing around the two of you.

You're fast, faster than Bakugou, especially drunk, expects. Jumping onto him and wrapping your legs around his waist, bucking your hips to make him fall onto the bed with a grunt as your tongue slides into his mouth. He paws at you heavily, grabbing at all your delicious softness as he growls into your mouth, calloused hands still warm from his journey here. Launching himself into the air that did little to sober him after he stalked your profile enough to get your apartment floor and balcony right.

Your claws dig into the nape of his neck as you bring him into a sitting position parting the kiss slowly, letting the silvery string that connects the two of you snap on its own.

“Gonna let me take care of the birthday boy and his special request?” You practically purr, crawling down his body as your fingers hook into the waistband of his boxers and jeans. All but ripping them from his body even when he lifts his hips to help you free his cock while he grunts out a “‘Course.”

It stands at attention, jumping as your eyes fixate on the one thing you've fucked yourself to the thought of hundreds of times. Drunk all over again, eyes falling to half mast as your hand grips him firmly, listening to him hiss over the contact before you give him a few languid pumps.

Hovering over him for a moment before you look up, watching his pupils blown wide, wider than what they were at the door. Soft almost unnoticeable red tint to his cheeks as he tries to control his breath.

“Try not to fall in love.” You giggle, lolling your tongue out to swipe over the leaking slit in a quick stripe.

“Ya wish, Sweetheart.” But already his head is falling back, hands reaching to grab at your hair before you swipe him away.

Slowly taking him into your mouth, hand gripping what you can't fit into your mouth, letting his fat cock head gag so that your throat contacts the same way your cunt would. Saliva pooling past your lips to coat his shaft, gagging again when you hear him groan before you start a steady pace.

Bobbing your head, alternating hollowing your cheeks and letting him ram into the back of your throat. Giggling when you push his head into the pocket of your cheek, holding eye contact and he reaches down to pull his balls harshly.

He's never been this close to cumming with such little effort.

You let your molars graze him lightly before straightening him in your mouth again. Sure to hit your gag reflex purposefully so that his pre and your spit soak his neatly trimmed pubic hair that's starting to slick to his skin.

If you're lucky he'll stay long enough for your pussy to do that to him too. Cunt neglected as it soaks your underwear as you adjust your weight on your knees for some sort of friction.

Moaning around him when he groans loudly, at his hisses and growls of sugared curses that do nothing but encourage your sinful movements.

Katsuki is panting, the man with all the endurance in the world is fighting the building coil in his lower abdomen and losing.

Bakugou Katsuki never loses but tonight he just might.

Letting his fingers card through your hair before he's pulling harshly, still you don't budge. Lost in your mission to make this last as long as possible by changing from a speed that's bound to make his cum flood your mouth to a slow bob that has you gagging around his sensitive head every time.

Letting your eyes flicker to look up at him and his debauched face, throughly fucked out as his chest heaves eyes fixated on you even as he struggles to hold his head up as if he couldn't bare to look away from.the things you do to him.

The sight is enough to make your eyes flutter, to make you moan around him and the vibrations make his sac tighten, moving your hand so you can shove all of him deep into your tight throat, tears in your eyes that stick in long lashes and fall in fat droplets as you bob on his entire length, once, twice.

And he can't take it, the sight, your eyes all but begging him to cum as you choke yourself on him, as if his pleasure was more important than air.

“Oh fuck princess, just like that.” He groans, cupping the back of your skull as he presses enough to make you gag one last time before he bucks his hips up into you. Starving you of air as your nose is pressed to his pelvic bone while he paints your pretty throat in sticky white cum, your claws digging into the thick meat of his thighs deliciously.

Finally he lets you up and you gasp desperately for air even if you found his aggression as he chased his high undeniably hot. You expect him to smirk, expect him to laugh or to leave pulling up his pants in a hurry but he doesn't.

Instead his large hand grips your chin, pulling you to him as his free hand comes to wrap around your sensitive ribs. Closing the space so that he can kiss you, swiping his tongue over yours shamefully groaning into your mouth as he tastes himself mixed with your spit.

“Fuck.” He pulls you onto the bed, flipping the two of you so he can pin you to the mattress chasing your lips desperately. His other hand has a mind of its own as it rips your panties from your hot core, fingers quick to press and spread your glistening folds. Cruelly avoiding your clit before he shoves two thick digits knuckle deep into your drooling cunt.

Forcing you to arch off the bed, pumping into you with a harsh pace, fingers perfectly positioned to bully that spongy spot that has you seeing stars before he times it perfectly.

Pulling away enough to look you in your eyes before he slowly, roughly, swipes his thumb over your clit and makes you cum in a matter of seconds, faster than any toy. You arch off the bed with a moan so loud you're sure the neighbors know his name now, little do you know what else he has in store.

Removing his middle and ring finger from your fluttering cunt reluctantly, quick to press the digits to his tongue harshly. Smoky caramel fills your senses as his palm heats against the fabric by your head. Leaning over you again to swipe his tongue against yours to taste the two of you melded together in your hot, hungry mouth. He pulls away, hand gently cupping your throat as he holds your gaze, cock heavy and hard again as he aligns it with your still convulsing entrance.

“Sorry Sweetheart, guess I fell in love.” He bullies himself into you in one harsh thrust and you're seeing stars again.

“Now I gotta return the favor.”

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #Katsuki x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou thirst #bakugou birthday bash #bakugou smut #tw dub con

[bits-and-babs]

𝐈 𝐁𝐄𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐌𝐄

pairing: simon 'ghost' riley x f!reader ('boa')

summary: you give ghost a parting gift before a mission

warnings: [ 1k words ] secret relationship, dirty polaroids, (m) masturbation, mentions of (f) masturbation, nipple play and voyeurism, ghost fantasising about deep-throating with reader.

notes: much love to @ghostaholics for all the love and support you give me.

Ghost’s fingers twitched with trepidation as he tapped the leather of his wallet against his palm. Gunpowder coats the grooves in his hand, clinging to his lifeline as a reminder of the lives he’d smothered that evening. The deathly silence that throttled the base at Al Mazrah each evening was a breeding ground for the guilty conscience– but Ghost had forsaken his ethics a long time ago.

Delicately peeling open the pocket of his wallet, Ghost peered inside at the little white envelope you had handed him before deployment. It sat firmly amongst his military-issued counterfeit documentation, grains of sand clinging to the back gum. The paper was crushed in the corners, creases wrinkled the face of the cover where his name lay inked in your handwriting.

Ghost recalled the way you’d handed it over to him, choosing to hang fire on your gift-giving until he was about to leave– the most inopportune moment. He’d had one foot on the plane, its propellors roaring as it awaited its final boarder.

“You better not look at it unless you need to, Riley.” You’d arched a brow accusatorily, like you knew he’d wanted to shred it open the moment you had handed over the flat parcel. Peering curiously at it, Ghost had aimed a pointed expression of intrigue at your smirk.

“What’s in it?” He’d shouted over the roar of the plane’s engine, turning it over to assess the swirls of your writing in blue ink. Blue. Of course you’d choose blue just to annoy him.

“Well, it’s obviously not a bomb, Riley. It’s a gift,” you’d smiled, a spark of something playful swirling in your pupils as he gazed at you, his mild irritation evident despite what little access you had to his expression.

“I’nt much of a gift if I can’t open it when I want to!” He’d attempted to reason with you, but you were already stepping away from him, “How will I know when I’m meant to open it?!”

Pointing to your ears dramatically and pretending that you couldn’t hear him over the propellor blades, you’d grinned from ear to ear as you shouted at the top of your lungs. “Good hunting, Lieutenant!”

He hadn’t liked it, but he’d followed your orders for fear of whatever nuclear-grade repercussions you had up your sleeve if he didn’t.

Though, the nights were growing longer and hotter. Week three of this mission and, irritatingly, Ghost was beginning to miss you. Not miss you, not really. It was more that he’d grown accustomed to your presence constantly irritating his eardrums… The quiet had begun to grate on him.

Thumbing open the envelope, Ghost glanced inside. A single polaroid lay within, the image side facing away from him. Plucking out the picture, Ghost notes the, again, blue ink scrawled on the back. ‘Boa xxx’. Your callsign.

He huffs, turning over the image and glancing at the print.

Surprise lifts his eyebrows, caught off-guard by the lewd picture you’d gifted him. You’re naked, fingers plunged deep inside your cunt that glistens beneath the light of the camera’s flash. So distracted by the curve of your breast, he very nearly failed to note that you’re settled back on his office desk, his nameplate situated right beside your head. ‘Lt. Riley’ hovered over your shoulder as though it labelled you as his.

Damn right, you were his.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell. Filthy fuckin’ girl,” Ghost groaned to himself, immediately palming himself through his uniform trousers. He’d already grown half hard, the thought of you settled across his desk while knuckle deep in your cunt sparking something disgustingly wanton in him. Anybody could have walked in on you– and it excited him as much as it apparently aroused you.

Shit, the more he looked at it, the better it got. Your nipples were pert and slick where you’d clearly moved your fingers from your wet cunt to your breasts, smearing your cum across the sensitive skin. Dwindling, plum-purple bruises littered your collarbone, remnants of the last time Ghost had dragged you into his dorm to fuck you.

“Gonna fuckin’ ruin you,” he rumbled, unzipping his trousers and working his cock from his boxers. Already he was leaking, pearls of precum beading at his slit. It’d been weeks since Ghost had seen your body, longer since he’d had it. “Jus’ wait ‘til I get back.”

A shuddering gasp wracked his chest as Simon swept the pad of his thumb over his cockhead, smearing his precum across the velvety tip just as you always did. He loved it, your last act of tease and denial before finally taking him into your hot, wet mouth.

Fisting his cock slowly, Simon relished in the way he throbbed against his palm and how his abdomen clenched. His eyelids, smudged with midnight-black grease paint, fluttered closed as he imagined your throat taking him deep, the swirl of your tongue against the mushroom-head shape.

“Hah-shit–“ Ghost choked, his hips stuttering upwards to chase his palm each time it withdrew. He wouldn’t last long, his balls already drawing up tight as he squeezed the head of his dick in his fist. He could imagine it; your head hanging off the edge of his desk, crumpling his paperwork beneath your body weight as you took him down your throat. He’d make your body jolt across the surface of the table with each heavy thrust, his palm stretched across your throat to feel the bulge of his cock in your throat.

“Fu-ugh- fuck–“ Ghost hissed, barely managing to yank the hem of his t-shirt over his stomach before he spurted thick ropes of cum across his knuckles and over his rippling abdomen. Your polaroid pinched between his fingers, Ghost blinked the post-orgasm bleariness from his eyes to take a final look at it.

Your thighs spread wide for him, your thumb pushed up against your pretty, swollen clit; Ghost’s eyes had been drawn to the image instinctively. It was only now, his cock softening in his hand, that Ghost spotted the tiny note in the margin of the polaroid. It was scrawled in your writing, barely legible, with the letters all packed into a minute space.

“I knew you thought about me on missions xxx”

join the taglist here:

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@mockerycrow @bubuslutty @cheezitwh0re @haunt3dh3art @levi-llama @thebiscuitsheep @maelstrom007 @alexxavicry @bug-sy-boy @glennrheesworld @kittenfrostt @luvfromkat @blingblong55 @whore4dilfs @wolfyland07 @doggydale @dog55teeth @cabreezer0117 @cathnoneofyourbusiness @marygraceee @thatchickwiththecamera @legend-o-zelda @whore-for-anime @i-love-ghost @cyberpr1m3 @mockerycrow @bubuslutty @lundenloves @cheezitwh0re @haunt3dh3art

#꒰꒰ ‧₊˚📁 ─ my works ˚₊· ꒱꒱ #꒰ ‧₊˚ ghost 💀 ˚₊· ꒱ #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x f!reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x y/n #simon riley #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley x y/n #call of duty #modern warfare 2 #cod mwii #cod mw2 #ghost cod mw2 #ghost cod mwii #cod ghost #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #simon ghost riley fic #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon ghost riley smut #simon riley smut #cod mw2 smut #call of duty smut #modern warfare smut #modern warfare 2 smut

[wonders-of-the-cosmos]

Embedded in the region's interstellar clouds of gas and dust, the complex, glowing arcs are sections of bubbles or shells of material swept up by the wind from Wolf-Rayet star WR 134, brightest star near the center of the frame. Distance estimates put WR 134 about 6,000 light-years away, making the frame over 50 light-years across. Shedding their outer envelopes in powerful stellar winds, massive Wolf-Rayet stars have burned through their nuclear fuel at a prodigious rate and end this final phase of massive star evolution in a spectacular supernova explosion. The stellar winds and final supernovae enrich the interstellar material with heavy elements to be incorporated in future generations of stars.

Image Credit: Craig Stocks

#space #universe #universo #astronomy

[nyaagolor]

What are your thoughts on Apollo Justice (the character)?

OH BOY. OHHHHHH BOY. I have a fever and some free time lfg.

So honestly, I think part of the reason I love Apollo so much is because he runs parallel to Phoenix but also counter to him at the same time. I always saw Simon and Athena as the successors-- in terms of ideology and job and all that other stuff-- to the Phoenix-Edgeworth dynamic and status rather than Apollo and Klavier. Athena and Simon, to me, feel like extensions of the arcs of Phoenix and Edgeworth + the vibes of the original trilogy. Apollo and Klavier ( who I will not talk about bc we will be here all day)? They're the antithesis.

Apollo Justice The Game directly foils the original trilogy in so many ways, but I think even on a more base thematic level it runs counter to a lot of the ideas that we take for granted about the original trilogy, and because Apollo sits at the center of this, the things I love about the game are encapsulated in why I like him. There are a ton of themes in the ace attorney trilogy-- support networks, faith, trust, the truth-- and Apollo is defined by their limits, their failures, and their absence. He is let down, kicked around, defined by abandonment and betrayal and distrust. Apollo is defined by everything that Phoenix is not, and bc of how the timeline goes we don't really get any retribution for that, just a steady march forward, and I think that gives me a lot to think about with his character

Phoenix's arc right from Turnabout Sisters is about the building of a support network, and the ways that developing this support is integral for when things go wrong. We contrast Phoenix with Godot, Maya with Dahlia, and see how people left to stew in their resentment can chase vengeance to dark places (wow I wonder who also does this after the death of a dear friend leading to a crusade of misplaced revenge that almost leads someone they care about being killed.). With Apollo we get to stand on the precipice of resolution, but the important part is we don't get it. Apollo's life falls off the rails, and he's the one left to pick up the pieces.

We see through him how our trust can be betrayed by people of good and bad intentions, and the lingering consequences that has on one's ability to not only trust the people around them but themselves. And yeah!! That's why I adore him so much-- he's tested not by the possibility of failure like Phoenix often is, but climbing up from the reality of it. It's less "how do we make our way out of this mess before it goes nuclear" and more "things are already destroyed-- where do we go from here?". It has more of an element of recovery than prevention to me, and I think that's a fascinating avenue to explore in stories like these. Apollo pushes the envelope of the themes of the narrative and the characters-- he is the epitome of what it looks like when things fall apart, and it gives him and the trilogy characters something to reconcile

A lot of people have complained that Apollo barely feels like the protagonist in his own game, but that's honestly a huge part of the reason why I love him so much. He's defined by the spaces between, the limits and failures of things we had up to this point taken to be true, and left with a pretty limited degree of autonomy through it all. He's pushed around and puppeteered by people who mean well and those who don't, and I feel like a major theme of AA4 that I love but don't often see talked about is "what does it mean to have autonomy-- and by extension, control? What does it mean to take it back? What does it mean to lose it, and what does it mean when you'd do anything to keep it." Most of what I said is only partially resolved bc AA4 is... a game. A technically finished game. but!! Because it eviscerates our expectations of the franchise so thoroughly AND leaves open so many avenues, it makes Apollo and the rest of his crew some of my favorite characters because there's so much you can think about and do with them!!

also he's like. An insect to me. <3

#apollo justice #ace attorney #meta #mod vex #ask #im sick rn and I'm Tired so I didn't edit this

[perfectlyvalid49]

15,000 > 1,200. Look at the destruction of North Gaza, then look at the cities in the envelope. I assume you must also be hurt by the number of bombs the IDF have dropped, the number of rounds they've shot. Do you happen to have a number for those, or only for the Palestinians?

Hey Anon, It seems like you think that this is a gotcha question, but I’ll answer it anyway. I had to look up the number of rockets fired for my last post, and I had to look up the number of bombs dropped for this one. The best information I can find says about 10,000 bombs on Gaza City, and a total of 25,000 tons of explosives total. Here’s a link to the article I found, let me know if you have a better one: https://euromedmonitor.org/en/article/5908/Israel-hits-Gaza-Strip-with-the-equivalent-of-two-nuclear-bombs

And let’s think about those numbers for a minute. Gaza is a densely populated area and yet it is taking 1.667 TONS of explosive material to kill a single Palestinian? It almost seems like Israel is trying to minimize casualties while striking at the terrorists who attacked them, which is a stark contrast to Hamas, which deliberately attacks civilians. And why is Israel having to target areas with so many Palestinian civilians present in the first place? It’s because Hamas uses human shields and builds their military infrastructure under hospitals and schools. And yet the outrage is directed at Israel, and not at Hamas.

And to be absolutely clear: one civilian death on EITHER side is one death too many. The first thing I said after 10/7 was that Israel’s response to the attack was going to hurt Palestinian civilians and I hated it. It took me two days to recover enough to be able to form semi-coherent thoughts on the matter, but this is a screenshot from a post I made on October 9th:

I feel like your ask is implying that I don’t care about what’s happening to the Palestinians, and I want to assure you and anyone else who cares that I do. But so much of what I see is people supporting Palestine while absolutely throwing Israelis under the bus, and that’s what my post was trying to address. I’ll say it again – my problem is with people who are outraged by the deaths on one side and not the other, no matter which side you choose.

I will admit that I tend to be more forgiving towards Israel’s actions for the following reasons: they were attacked and have a right to defend themselves, they are not targeting civilians, they are not taking hostages, they are not torturing people, they are not using human shields. It sucks that they’re killing people, but Hamas is killing people too, including Palestinians! Those rockets I mentioned? About 10% of them misfire and fall in Gaza. The deaths from that are included in the 15,000 number that is being blamed on Israel.

My point stands. You can (and should!) be outraged at what is happening. But if you’re only outraged at Israel and not at Hamas, then you need to ask yourself why.

#antisemitism #judaism #jumblr #israel/palestine

[erikahenningsen]

Cady/Regina #1 plz

1. A kiss on the cheek

A/N: A continuation of this prompt

"I have to tell you something," Cady announces the moment that the door to Regina's bedroom shuts behind them.

"Is that why you were wiggling around like you had to pee in the car?" Regina asks. "I was going to suggest you get tested for a UTI."

Cady makes a face at her. "That's not funny."

"Thanks for the feedback."

"Anyway," Cady says, dropping her backpack onto the floor with a thud. She takes a deep breath, like she's about to give Regina the nuclear codes or something. "Aaron and I kissed."

Regina feels her smile freeze on her face. Obviously, this was a possibility—an inevitability. She had given Cady pretty much the hardest shove imaginable to do the deed. Yet, somehow she isn't prepared for this. For how much it feels like a punch to the gut.

Who knew sure, I'll teach you, the girl I have a crush on, how to kiss your boyfriend with my own mouth would backfire in this way? Regina immediately pushes the thought away; the longer she can keep from naming what she's feeling, the longer she has until it's real.

Right?

"Oh," she says, pretending to busy herself with taking her books out of her backpack and arranging them on her desk so she can get her shit together. "That's, um. Great."

If Cady picks up on Regina's forced response, she doesn't show it. She sits on the bed and sighs dreamily. It's all a little too cliche for Regina, and she briefly contemplates telling Cady to leave.

"And I just wanted to thank you," Cady says earnestly as Regina runs through a list of medical crises she could reasonably be having that wouldn't require her mom to get involved, and comes up empty.

"You're welcome," Regina says quickly. hoping this conversation will end there.

"Because it was perfect," Cady continues, blissfully unaware of the five-alarm fire raging in Regina's brain. "We went out to dinner, and when he dropped me off he walked me to my door, and I was a little worried because I had gotten garlic bread."

Regina runs out of things to straighten on her desk and turns around, feeling a little bad having her back to Cady for this entire conversation. Cady is grinning from ear to ear, that giddy, goofy smile Regina once thought was reserved just for her.

"But I just went for it, and I wasn't nervous at all," Cady finishes.

It isn't until Cady asks, "Are you okay?" that Regina realizes that she's just been staring at Cady in silence.

"Oh, yeah," Regina says. "Totally. That's really great, Cady."

"Are you sure?" Cady asks. She stands and crosses the room to Regina. "You're looking kind of red."

"I'm good," Regina says, more firmly. "Really."

Fake smile. Eye contact. Brief touch to Cady's arm. Totally under control.

"Okay," Cady says more brightly, obviously buying it.

Then, she does something Regina did not plan for: she wraps her arms around Regina's shoulders and hugs her, a brief but tight squeeze that immediately envelops Regina in Cady's perfume and the spices Cady's mom cooks with that seem to be permanently embedded in Cady's clothes.

Reflexively, she hugs back, and prays Cady doesn't feel how fast her heart is beating.

Cady rocks up on her toes and does something she's never done before: she kisses Regina on the cheek.

"Again, thank you," Cady says, releasing Regina and heading back over to her backpack to pull out her calculus textbook, like this is just a normal Thursday.

"Anytime," Regina says faintly. Her skin burns where Cady's lips touched her cheek.

She doesn't get much studying done after that.

#cadina #mean girls #mean girls 2024 #mean girls the musical #regina george #cady heron #prompts #ask #anonymous #everyone say thank you angie for voting for this to be fwb au #not saying i'm writing this in full anytime soon but if i were to get number 22 i might have plans for a part three.........

[theloveinc]

bakugo + february

(warning: gn i think? kinda shitty world building😖, a lil angst, happy valentine’s day!!!!!)

-

“This is the third box of chocolates in this bin alone.”

You throw the frilly, silver package onto a large pile of red cardboard and ribbon, on top of another box of neatly wrapped sweets. Some of the gifts with sappy, little valentines written on top, others with pink and white sticky notes.

Bakugo huffs with a pout and an eye roll, in his own hands a stack of rainbow cards he flips through quickly.

“That’s funny.”

You don’t look at him, just continue to paw around in the bin in front of you. You pull out a dark brown teddy bear, it’s fur soft in your hands, and turn to plop it in the pile of things he said that you could keep: stickers, fake flowers, toys.

“Why?”

You don’t even glance at him as you say it, like it doesn’t matter, and he picks at a bit of lace falling off of a large greeting card and snorts.

“Not like I ever got any of this kinda crap in high school.”

You stop your rifling to stare at him, your expression so different than from moments before. “You didn’t get any fan mail in high school?”

You assume he did, at least: he was just as cute back then as he is now… you’ve seen the pictures of that blonde boy, smaller, still scowling, but still any teenager’s dream. He was working as a hero by then, surely he had some sort of fan club.

(You would’ve been amongst them if you had known. Now he’s professional, though, and you only met him through Jirou when you transferred from her team to his.)

“I didn’t get any…” he pauses, his face twisting in a frown, his cheeks going the slightest bit ruddy. “Chocolates and shit. Letters.”

“Katsuki…” he grunts but doesn’t look, your tone incredulous in a way he doesn’t want to address. “You were never confessed to?”

He blows out an angry raspberry, picking up and throwing a bottle of nicely-labeled hot sauce into his own keep pile. It clinks with the rest.

“Don’t fucking rub it in.”

“I’m not!” you try to assure, reaching out for him. “I’m just… a little surprised, is all.”

He glares, wordless and accusatorially, like your giggles are threatening and the vacuum sealed pair of panties you teasingly wave in the air (and he snatches, immediately trashing) are nuclear.

“…’cuz I would’ve thought you got tons. Like now, big boy.”

He turns even more pink. As pink as half the mail room has become with all the love notes sent in for February.

“Yeah, well,” Bakugo tries to move on, grimacing as he picks up a plain envelope that he initially had high hopes for and unfolds it into a long, love poem. “Can’t win ‘em all, I learned.”

And as you throw another box of store-bought chocolates onto the stack, you think you know what you want to get him for Valentine’s Day.

#bakugo #bakugou x reader #yes I wrote this on Christmas LMFAO #or most of it #inspired by these horrible handmade chocolates I made #that were so freaking ugly #someone told me they were good tho #anyway pardon me I’m still in bed #I’ll give better Valentine’s Day wishes after class maybe #also uhhhhhhhhh #u know what this made me think of ? #that trend that’s like ‘would we have dated in high school?’ #I just imagine Bakugo getting all blushy and saying yes #and ur like ‘u freaking liar u were so wrapped up back then’ #and he’s all mad at u for denying it #lmfaoooo me at. my high school having a super bad time #ANYWAY I just think like #who the h*ll woulda confessed to Bakugo ever in his younger years? #surely it’s a soft spot #ANYWAY #HAPPY VALENTINES DAY MY BABIWA #BABIES***** #bye. #ps… #I forget what and which white day is #caitie post #gen

[apod]

2023 May 18

WR 134 Ring Nebula Image Credit & Copyright: Craig Stocks

Explanation: Made with narrowband filters, this cosmic snapshot covers a field of view about the size of the full Moon within the boundaries of the constellation Cygnus. It highlights the bright edge of a ring-like nebula traced by the glow of ionized sulfur, hydrogen, and oxygen gas. Embedded in the region's interstellar clouds of gas and dust, the complex, glowing arcs are sections of bubbles or shells of material swept up by the wind from Wolf-Rayet star WR 134, brightest star near the center of the frame. Distance estimates put WR 134 about 6,000 light-years away, making the frame over 50 light-years across. Shedding their outer envelopes in powerful stellar winds, massive Wolf-Rayet stars have burned through their nuclear fuel at a prodigious rate and end this final phase of massive star evolution in a spectacular supernova explosion. The stellar winds and final supernovae enrich the interstellar material with heavy elements to be incorporated in future generations of stars.

∞ Source: apod.nasa.gov/apod/ap230518.html

[gatheredfates]

For the NPC ask - as the WoL, did Kor go the First? Was there anyone special there for them?

Have your followers send you NPCs and you describe your OC's feelings/relationship to that NPC! I feel like there are lot of NPC's I could talk about, because SHB is hands-down my favourite expansion and where I have the most lore developed for Kor, but on the back of my Minfilia ask I thought I'd talk about Mini!filia. Or, more appropriately, Ryne.

A haunting can be a lovely thing if you let it.

Kor always felt haunted, but not like this; not by an apparition that stood among her companions and felt solid in her hands; not by one who seldom smiled, who shrunk back — who felt herself to be the crudest simulacrum, a mockery of the woman they loved — and their actions, whether intentional or not, reinforced it.

What was it like being a machination of fate? A dozen little girls over a hundred years trained, mentored and dying for a doomed world; the spark of a ghost instilling itself in the babe for the threadbare hope that she would be different. Her soul was bruised before she left the womb, divots made by dozens of fingerprints pulling her in a thousand directions (to obliteration and inaction; to war or strife).

"Something called out to me. Someone I had to meet. You."

For fuck sake, she knew Minfilia's faith in Hydaelyn was unwavering, but to what end? How much could light proclaim sanctity while it drenched itself in the blood of children?

The answer, Kor would come to know, was that light waded through the mire like all the rest; not holy, not sacred, not divine. It was orderly in its machinations, but it was not good. A body in its ocean could still drown in it. When she coughed up its ichor, she was reminded of all the times Llymlaen thought it prudent she take a mouthful of brine — it all burned in her throat all the same.

"She's a fucking child," she chastised Thancred in the night. They'd had their oppositions as companions, but never like this — not for a haunting, a sister reimagined. She knew he loathed her concept and how she pantomimed a ghost. She knew he pitied her, sacrificial lamb to fate none of them signed up for. She knew there was a part of him, however small, that hoped his Minfilia would emerge bright and whole and alive again.

"Tell me." It was the silent question between them, the one he refused to ask and the one she'd never answer, "If this was your sister, what would you do?"

Koret was never a perfect sister. In fact, she wasn't a great sister at all. She wasn't any better than him and she knew it. Rational and a degree of separation could easily persuade her that it was not this Minfilia's fault for the accident of her birth. If it were Lily, however?

Well, they both knew her for a hypocrite.

But Minfilia? Oh, this was one was a lot like Lily. When she came out of her shell Kor saw how spirited she was; how she laughed with Alisae and comforted Alphinaud; how she brightened at Urianger's presence and admired Y'shtola's resolve. She was young and naïve, but she was no pushover. For the fright of her gift and the sacrifices before her, she was determined to be of use. She wanted to save her world and the people in it, even when everyone she'd grown up around preferred her in her cage — a songbird from another time.

When it came to it, the final choice of who should live (to laugh, to love!), her little heart beat so loudly as she declared "Me. I want to live. I want to fight."

From Minfilia to Ryne. How liberating it must have felt to finally have your identity. How relieving it must be to be loved for who you are. A lovely haunting to a beautiful, breathing sister.

Because that's what Ryne is to Kor. Half daughter, half sister. Try as she might, that maternal thread always found itself tangling in the youngest of their groups — ensnaring whether she wanted it or not — and it was so easy to envelop her in a family when she never had the opportunity to hold one. They were certainly not nuclear, and hardly ideal, but they were hers. They were hers and they were good.

Kor loves Ryne. It breaks her heart that she had to be left behind, but she is also comforted in the fact that she is one of the strongest girls she knows. She took her fate in both hands and charged, knowing her place but not letting her be defined by it. She has faced adversity and kept her sweetness, a trait admired by the Captain — even if she can't personally fathom it.

Yes, a haunting can be a lovely thing if you let it. A living thing, however? Well, that's even lovelier.

#｡･ﾟﾟ･ — 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 : koret #｡･ﾟﾟ･ — sea answers things #i could have written SO MUCH MORE #but this would have easily turned into a novel #so i will grip my chair with force #all of eden? #post shb? #hell even the kinda latter half of shb #it's my favourite expac i could talk about it for days #BUT #i hope this suffices :pleading:

[tenth-sentence]

As the accumulation of starch granules in the stroma exerts tension on the envelope, ion channels perceive the mechanical stimuli and rapidly adjust the volume and shape of chloroplasts.

"Plant Physiology and Development" int'l 6e - Taiz, L., Zeiger, E., Møller, I.M., Murphy, A.

#book quote #plant physiology and development #nonfiction #textbook #stroma #accumulation #starch #granules #tension #nuclear envelope #ion channels #stimulus #stimuli #mechanical stimulus #adjustment #volume #shape #chloroplasts

[ms-nesbit]

Good jay hunting (chapter three of empire records)

Chapter one and two found here (x) (x)

Rating: 18+ (say it with me: minors, fuck off!)

Summary: y/n and jason go on a date at the gotham cemetery, where jason tells y/n about his tenure as robin. Her feelings for him deepens, so much that he receives a surprise when the date is over.

Trigger warning! This chapter dives into Jason Todd’s history, which includes: d0mestic vi0lence, r@pe, pr0stitution, substance @buse, child @abuse, and neglect. PLEASE be advised.

ao3

Note: I fucking loved writing this chapter. I will take a break though because it hit a little too close to home for me. I hope you all enjoy and, as always, reblog and refrain from being a dickhead and reposting my work elsewhere. Thank you!

A cold front ushered into Gotham quicker than the summer heat could pay its sorrowful respects, Gothamites struggling to acclimate to the drastic change in temperature. On the Gotham News Network, gas leaks and lawsuits were reported, detailing the inhumane treatment landlords provide for the elderly; it was nothing new to the godless city, each sin managing to top another.

Jason was desensitized to it, too. He recalled his time in an apartment on the upper East side of Gotham, near Murphy Ave. - his biological father stumbled through the door, fury steaming from his lips in the scent of bourbon, as he picked which target to his unfathomable wrath; Jason’s mother sacrificed herself when Jason’s motor skills were still developing, and skull fusing together from his ripe birth; yet, when Jason began reading, gaining ideas that inspired him to do good, he stood before his mother, fists balled and chest puffed, a zeal of a thirty year-old in a nine year-old’s body.

His father was why Jason’s mother dipped her toes into medication - he injured her so severely, she visited the doctor, who abruptly prescribed her narcotics without questioning the source of her injuries, and sent her on her way. Each tablet was a sense of bliss to her, something she missed so dearly, it enveloped her in endless bliss when she re-experienced it, so she became erratic for more, bargaining with the local shadows to entice her, indulge her, give her what she needed.

And Jason was learning from this. He blinked his deer eyes as he saw his mother dive into the pill bottle face first, and how his father’s silhouette looked carved in chalk. I’m okay, he told his teachers when they noticed his missing assignments, or unexcused absences from school. I was just sick. I forgot.

Never could he step down from his position as son, mother, and father - he was all a nuclear family to himself, and couldn’t afford to jeopardize his position. With his father dead, he was man of the house at ten, and grew three sizes to accommodate; with his mother paralyzed by chemically-induced numbness and familiarity in the shape of ovular bliss, Jason adapted rapidly, cooking meals for himself and his mother. And without the income, he stole what he could; after being arrested a few times, he feared not his own record becoming tarnished with demerits, but the judicial attention being shifted to his mother, whom he dearly loved and missed, and instead sold his soul to the streets, begging to give whatever he could so he could feed his mother, care for his mother, rear his mother as she needed.

After that dreadful night, though, when he visited his friends after school instead of checking on his mother, he re-entered the apartment, dirtied and covered in neglect. The air was thick with news he believed he had the power to prevent, the poor boy, his last light of innocence taken from him with her final breath before she lay lifeless on the bathroom tile floor, becoming one with the grime and mildew that accumulated.

He shed no tears that night. He cradled her, listened to her in lament, but remained a soldier for the mother he wished he knew. Jason held her as he rocked her to sleep, hoping the embrace could restore her soul to eternal happiness in the afterlife. With her, a piece of his soul died, too, and his smiles were in vain, voice seeming a bit tainted with a poison others in his life couldn’t quite identify.

It was quite ironic that he loved the theatre tenderly, as he became an actor at a young age, playing the role of a century. He performed at Apollo Theater as Lady McBeth, his mourning in tow each day he spoke of his mother and her life, as if she wasn’t a ghost haunting his mind post-sunset. His tongue was burning and heart lonesome as he performed exquisitely, so well that even he was convinced that his mother would be at home, waiting upon his arrival.

One night, after escaping from the hands of his disparaging foster parents, Jason picked up his equipment used to steal - or boost, if you will - automotive parts for cash. He used the pieces as relics to restore value to himself, whether it be in form of wrinkled, used money, or bartering for shelter, transportation, or a favor; that night, however, proved to be different in many ways: the moon entered its final phase, the quarter presenting itself behind passing clouds, Jason’s best friend had been missing for days, only to have his body recovered from the lake that day (another day of grief for Jason, no doubt, although he was anesthetized to death).

Jason found an abnormally shaped vehicle in Crime Alley, and he snickered to himself when he approached the profile, it was…the Batmobile. He kneeled and began his workmanship, spinning the car jack to loosen the lug nuts. Before he could finish, though, a presence bestowed itself behind him, the Fool, and it was the caped crusader himself.

The following months were a quick haze for the pre-teen - the vigilante revealed his identity as Bruce Wayne, and Jason, although ecstatic to belong in a home once again, didn’t shake his misfortune, the baggage worn around his neck like a lagahoo. If it wasn’t in his days as anxiety attacks and hoarding, anticipating the next loss, then it was carried through in his subconscious, the most unsuspecting of all in forms of nightmares and shapeshifting creatures lurking with a liquor bottle and belt.

Screams and pleas entered the halls of Wayne Manor, carrying all the way to Bruce’s chambers, and sometimes, on the most unforgiving nights, into the Batcave. It brought heartbreak to the home, especially to Bruce’s butler, Alfred, who served Jason much closer than Bruce could. Although Jason’s older adoptive brother, Dick, was polite and respectful of Alfred, Jason saw Pennyworth eye-to-eye, restoring some youth into the mature man when Jason assisted him in the kitchen, or with chores, with such glee (and it was a delightful task for Jason to partake in! He longed for mundane tasks that other children took for granted, gruelled about, resented their parents for, and Jason smiled with each load of laundry completed, or dinner prepped with Alfred.).

“We must do something, Bruce.” Alfred begged Bruce with broken eyes. “Not that cloak.” he spoke vehemently, with such disgust that the man could ever dare coerce Jason back into danger, this time with less protection and a daring purpose.

Yet his concerns were dismissed by Bruce’s concoction of arrogance and stubbornness, a deadly duo that ultimately led Jason to his demise by the clown prince of crime. His lifeless body lay on the concrete, and Bruce was taken aback by the woeful fate of the boy, despite the stern admonishments made by his aid at home. He vowed never to risk another boy’s life after this, to allow Jason to rest after sixteen years of distress.

The truth unfolded after the detective unmasked details of his son’s death: the clown had tempted him with the unveiling of his mother’s existence, his true mother. The pictures the clown’s unhinged partner took, which were messily glued to Todd’s tombstone, left little to Bruce’s imagination: the torture his son endured at the hands of a criminal, the look of terror in the boy’s eyes in one photo, with a shadow of a man’s arm in the air, crowbar in hand…

It was the first time since Martha and Thomas’s deaths that Bruce wept, shoulders slumped as he hiccuped. The boy died in vain. For nothing. There was no rest for his tortured soul, no restitution, requisition for the last breaths laborly drawn.

And when Jason arose from the dead, vindication sharp on his tongue, and life stolen from his green eyes, it only instigated heavier burden on Bruce’s aching bones, remorse deep in his voice when he faced the revived Jason returning back to Wayne Manor, distraught from uncovering that shortly after his death, Bruce replaced him.

—

“So…you were Robin?” y/n asked.

Jason nodded sadly, face pointed at the starry sky. “Yeah.”

Silence cursed them again, the night drawn out from Jason’s confession. Y/n didn’t expect it to be this tragic, although she appreciated it quietly. “Do you miss her?”

The words caught Jason off guard. He was used to y/n’s surprising angle on conversations, scoping out a person differently than the status quo. No small talk, no pleasantries, just rawness. “I talked with Bruce’s shrink about it - he said she could help or some shit,” his face warped in disapproval. “But I don’t. I romanticized the idea of her, but to be honest, she chose drugs over me. It hurts sometimes to think about, but that’s that. It was easier for me to think of my dad as a piece of shit, because he basically hit me more than he talked to me.”

“Makes sense. Guys are often stupid pieces of shit. No offense.” y/n raised a hand.

Jason shrugged. “None taken, we’re sacks of fucks.” he scoffed at his own comment. “I still kinda resent Bruce for wanting me to be Robin, I mean…why did he think that was any bit okay to do?”

“Maybe because that was the only way he could handle grief?” y/n offered.

Propping himself on his arms, palms flat behind him, he breathed deeply. Y/n had a point, though: when Bruce introduced the idea to Dick, Dick felt the same type of grief Bruce had; however, when the mantle was passed to Jason, the mourning was different, if at all: both Bruce and Dick had someone to lose, whereas Jason hadn’t.

And it showed when Jason worked the role. He showed sympathy to petty criminals, sometimes aiding and abiding them, to Bruce’s disapprobation; his demeanor soured as intel regarding trafficking rings and abusers surfaced, knuckles bruised and teeth clenched as perpetrators’ blood spurted onto the Robin costume, tainting its bright colors into a deeper, richer tone.

It was worse when Bruce pushed Jason to attend the Wayne galas. The upper class flocked their wealth and acquitted crimes, which burned Jason’s ears as he heard someone’s misfortune reduced into a witty anecdote paired with hor d'oeuvres and sparkling champagne.

Jason knew of the children who were taken by the boogeymen and women in the dark. He knew of their lives and tales that were once short, stout, and sweet. The attendees spoke of their deaths apathetically, muttering insults under their breath as they attempted to justify their ill motives. Almost as if these were the boogeymen and women, simply dressed up in thousand-dollar gowns and heirlooms that cleverly disguised their sharp talons and venomous taste for the vulnerable, their souls containing all moral onus were snatched from their now-empty vessels. He argued with them at the galas about the children, urging them ferociously about their contributions, as if nobody dare exist outside of them.

How could they? A life so lavish, how could they know of any decision made out of self-preservation and greed rather than sympathy and the greater good? They were the one-percent, top of the socioeconomic chain, the bourgeoisie glaring down from their terrace views at the filthy proletariats below them - and while one could argue that the view from up high could be so grand that even the diamonds in the filth could be mistaken for fool’s gold, the wounded mistaken for the parasite that would consume the rich had they attempted to so much as inspect the streets, why would they then take measures to ensure their own safety, stuff more money into their pockets, knowing what they’ve seen?

The pasta salad Jason was poking at lost its flavor. A shame. “I know that Bruce couldn’t understand, but…Dick? I mean, you said he was Robin, too, right? And it wasn’t like he came from a wealthy background.” Y/n spoke between munches of lettuce that hung out of her mouth.

“Dick traveled a lot, and his family didn’t have a ton, but they were…a family.” Jason’s words were a sad string playing into the cemetery. 

It was the truth. Jason was a true reflection of the city in which he was raised: impoverished and tattered, the result of a godless, greedy, unfiltered city full of beasts whose sins remained unpunished, unanswered for. His heart pumped true - as that of Dick and Bruce - but in deep red, different than the blue blood that his adoptive elder brother and father carried in themselves; they could never understand him, really, their path vastly disparate than Jason’s living tragedy.

All y/n could think to do was kiss the man beside him, spilling his life before her atop the delectable array of desserts he prepared for her. She cupped his cheek with her hand and pulled him toward her, their lips clashing into a deep but slow kiss. As y/n’s lips moved to hold Jason’s, she felt a tear on her thumb, the one on Jason’s cheek, and she inched her body closer to his, to ensure that she wasn’t another chapter in his story, either.

She hadn’t disclosed her sobstory - the one filled with angst, betrayal, and the anguish of abuse and torment year after year from those closest to her; she was just as tired as he, and finally felt a bond, vulnerable with someone besides the weeping albums she listened to when her nightmares resurfaced.

When they broke their kiss, only the faintness of the ghosts from their graves divided Jason and y/n. They held their hands, fingers interlocked, as they stayed close. Y/n hummed when Jason wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and Jason smiled (for the first time in hours) when y/n reached up to kiss the white patch of his hair, now knowing its origin.

Instead of parting ways after their food finished, they laid down, hip to hip, and counted the stars as they relished in the caress of each other’s skin. It was the first time Jason saw y/n so disarmed, which was jarring compared to her all-plaid, studded outfit. He liked her anyway, a bit too much for his liking, afraid that he was diving too deep.

And before y/n drifted to sleep in Jason’s arms, she felt the same fear subside, until it quieted to nothing but a puny whisper.

—-

Jason’s administrative account was open on his laptop when he arrived back at his home, securing each lock before he removed his leather jacket and set down his biking helmet.

He glanced at a notification on his phone, which was from y/n. He was glad she wasn’t insecure and reached out to him first. The innocent grin on his face quickly turned amorous as he opened the notification, which brought him to a video y/n sent of herself. 

Naked.

Masturbating.

Determined, Jason shuffled to his armchair, unbuckling his jeans and wriggling his cock free from them as he sat and watched the video. Y/n ran a hand up and down her body suggestively, showing Jason what he was missing; then, after brief teasing, she opened her legs, sitting up as she revealed her wet cunt on full display for the camera. Jason’s cock twitched when he saw her swollen clit aching to be touched, and the thought of his head between her legs, thigh on either side of his shoulders, almost made Jason explode there.

Instead, he took the fuel and set up his webcam and account, enabling bluetooth on his phone and connecting his wireless headphones to privately hear y/n’s noises. He pressed a key on his laptop, beginning the livestream.

On one hand, he held the phone, the content away from the webcam’s view; his other hand stroked his cock, quickly, as he followed y/n’s every word.

“Put your cock in me, Jay.”

“Fuck! Yes, eat me out just like that.”

The phrases were too much for Jason to handle, who was moaning incoherently, fitting in garbled, “So hot” and “Gonna make you come.” His hand moved rapidly on his cock, and he was getting close, noises crescendoing. “Y/n, y/n, so good.”

It wasn’t until y/n exploded, dildo inside of her and fingers circling her clit, that Jason’s orgasm was ripped from him, his body tensing as he nearly screamed, eyes squeezing shut as he rocked his hips into his hand. “God, fuck.” he yelped, sucking a breath in as he felt his body tense up again after he thought his climax was over.

He had forgotten he was live. He didn’t know he said her name aloud in the dazed state. Nor did he know that he continued to say her name, over and over, as cum shot from his cock.

“I’ve been seeing someone. Hope none of you are jealous.” he admitted, blushing. “I’ll see you all later. Till then, take care.” he ended the livestream abruptly, finally taking a breath after logging out of his administrative account.

He closed his laptop and set it on the end table beside the wingchair, heading to the bathroom to shower and masturbate again to y/n.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd/reader #jason todd x plus size reader #plus size reader #smut #fluff #TW abuse #TW substance abuse #TW rape #red hood #robin #dick grayson #bruce wayne #batman #nightwing #ao3 #my post #mine

[spaceadvances]

Made with narrowband filters, this cosmic snapshot covers a field of view about the size of the full Moon within the boundaries of the constellation Cygnus. It highlights the bright edge of a ring-like nebula traced by the glow of ionized sulfur, hydrogen, and oxygen gas.

Embedded in the region's interstellar clouds of gas and dust, the complex, glowing arcs are sections of bubbles or shells of material swept up by the wind from Wolf-Rayet star WR 134, brightest star near the center of the frame. Distance estimates put WR 134 about 6,000 light-years away, making the frame over 50 light-years across.

Shedding their outer envelopes in powerful stellar winds, massive Wolf-Rayet stars have burned through their nuclear fuel at a prodigious rate and end this final phase of massive star evolution in a spectacular supernova explosion. The stellar winds and final supernovae enrich the interstellar material with heavy elements to be incorporated in future generations of stars.

📷: Craig Stocks

#nasa #astronomy #astrophotography #solar system #astrophysics #hubble #nebula #physics #james webb space technology #james webb images #apod

[itty-bitty-sunshine]

Warnings: Bombs, death, blood, gore, suffering, idk a shit ton of organ failure?, emotional distress, destruction, ahem "toasted alive", graphic descriptions of wounds (Definetly missed some shit.)

Just stay safe guys, this is a story of self love :)

Prescript: this is the reincarnation au of the immortality au, but slightly tweaked.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They barely hear the sirens blaring, before screeches and cries fill the air. They don't see it coming through the fluffy bangs they brushed this morning. They feel the impact for a split second before searing pain envelopes them. It burns their flesh entirely in a brilliant flash. Bones melting mere milliseconds after the flesh is incinerated. There is no time to react.

Heh this is new, who would have thought an immortal could run out of time?

how ironic.

they were infact a long distance from where the atomic bomb hit. The nuclear explosion carried quickly across the land. The few seconds Perkeo had were a millennium to the poor souls trapped beneath the blast. They managed to atleast heard the blare of the warning sirens first, no matter how fleeting that moment was. Their entire being had shut down, but death was nothing new to them. Though they had never been this destroyed.

they physically couldn't feel the way their remaining ashes, but their soul was ablaze. Just as their physical for was. The soul was desperate for a body to host, to rebuild itself. The immortal spirit never abiding by Perkeos wishes. The soul needed to be physical. It could never let go of the firm grasp it has on reality. Determined to live it wrenches its form back together. Ashes pulling together, just like that of a star.

Oh how fitting.

the strain put on the life form didn't deter it. As it painstakingly compressed itself back into a charred pile of dust. The dead cells begin to regenerate through unfounded energy. The spirit pouring all of the power in its inate being into producing some for of life. And piece by piece Perkeo was put back together. Wretchedly slow and gruesome, as it grows for a second time. This rebirth was different, it took more than life from Perkeo. The repair ripped their soul apart.

A rip in their eternal being.

it cut further than any knife, deeper than any sword. This was them. the true them. Not the body they were bound to. Their spirit within.

Perkeo awoke. In a desolate area. Repeatedly dying from organ failure, and misplaced insides. The fix was so desperate, it wasn't even sustainable. Once it rebuilt itself further, Perkeo would wake. Dying to the toxicity and lack of oxygen. No one came to the waste land in hope of survivors. They couldn't without becoming a casualty themselves. So Perkeo waited. And waited. And waited. Days turned to weeks, to months, to years, to decades, to centuries. Before the nuclear waste had eroded into something more livable. Perkeo awoke, unsure of this being real.

This was a first. They always knew they were real, usually they are the only static thing in the universe.

Perkeo barely opens their eyes to see the wreckage. Though it was more "liveable", that doesn't mean it was pretty. Gritty sand surrounding them. It took them too long to get their bearings. Dying from the shock a multitude of times after it set in. Once they knew what had happened.

they couldn't cry, they couldn't think, they just waited for death to take them. Only for it to return them with shaky palms. Unable to claim this defiant soul.

(So this is meant to end with Perkeo missing some of their ashes and gaining the ashes of many other bodies in their reincarnation. Something which hasn't occurred before, and it leads to this emptiness in them. They aren't whole. And they never can be again. something is innately wrong with this vessel now. Something not even fate nor immortality can fix.)

(The whole "tearing of their soul" was meant to become the sun and moon. In a twist of fate, even though their body can't be whole. The pieces of their soul come together over many lives. Always reconnecting on some level. Even I'd it can't be pieced back together, it can be content with their newfound proximity. They can always find eachother, even without searching, without knowing. Because they are all one. This is why they are perfect for eachother. Pieces of a puzzle torn into a shape where they can't mesh together, but still one image. Always belonging to one another. They weren't built for eachother with strings of fate bringing them together, they are eachother. They depend on eachother to function. Like a body with different systems. Like a brain with different sections. They must come together to fix eachothers needs of longing. Sure they are all technically one, but now that they are split they can take care of eachother. They don't have to rely on themselves, Perkeos existence and health became meaningless due to its endlessness. But now they aren't lonely, they have two other immortals. Parts of their soul able to help them, to stay by their side, to never leave, to never die. They love them with all of their being, even if it's just the things of their past self. Huh maybe that's why perkeo likes them so much. It's what they are now missing.)

Strangely the explosion may be the best thing that has ever happened to our dear perky,

After all,

They won't ever face anything alone again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Told ya it was about self love ;)

This is all noncannon, just me going insane.

If your seeing this it is a reminder to take a break. Eat. Sleep. Drink. Get up and move. Have a great day <3

I'm sorry but im just losing my crap laughing over the faz-ton of warnings and then " this is a story of self love tho 🫶 "

I read this a million times before and I have fun rereading it a million more

I have the softest of the spots for self love and how it projects on the way you love the world and the people around you

Everyone a round of applause to Suki who yet again graces us with chaos pain and suffering but this time with a twist of sugar sprinkled on top

And you heard her, break time!

#i love you #i love you i love you i love you #immortal au #immortal au writing #reincarnation au? #✨️: suki writing #cw gore #cw bombs #cw organs #cw death #graphic descriptions of wounds #cw blood #angst

[sin-sidejob]

Love your writing! Could you do some headcanons for Nostalgia Max! Brett?

Nostalgia Max!Brett Hand x GN!Reader:

Warnings: canon typical violence/shenanigans, childhood trauma, family trauma, bad childhood, canon backstory + some additional opinions and insight

Content: a lil angsty ig? SFW and more general headcanons rather than anything super specific or

- okay so he’s always been lovable himbo, not a thought in his brain, but Nostalgia Max Brett? Thoughts be rolling.

- this is all with the context or at least pretense that Brett didn’t take over that town and trapped the gang in the 80’s — BUT I’m going to work the concept of him still having the powers and using them or being affected by them

- watching Brett getting taken over by whatever chemicals and chem trails were within the Nostalgia Max brew was frightening, deeply and concerning, setting that chill through your bones like an ice cube rattling in your spinal column.

- you were so relieved when Reagan got him to calm down and go back to normal, or - well, at least what you thought was normal. The lot of you head back to work afterwards, tired and ready for sleep in the modern age and tired of feeling like you got trapped as extras in a Stranger Things episode.

- except you don’t go home just yet, you’re fretting over Brett who insists he’s fine and feeling okay but his eyes are twinkling green, swirling neon hues of emerald and peridot unnerving you. You and Reagan take him down to her lab, letting her run tests as you pace back and forth and warily eye the still-displayed parts of Robotus that linger on the walls, trying to calm before you roll yourself into a panic attack.

- turns out he’s fine, no radiation threats or concerns to worry about, but he’s now got powers. So much for halting that Stranger Things feeling. Brett and Reagan don’t know how they’ll manifest, but it’s something time will demonstrate. For now he gets to go home and he doesn’t go to his, he goes back to yours, shushing your worries and holding you close.

- that glint in his eyes fades away from the forefront of your mind, other worries and occupational concerns taking place until you’re all on another ill fated fieldtrip and off doing something else for the company, and you get held up in the crossfire. There’s a series of guns pointed at you, sadly not the first nor last time this occurs, but disheartening nonetheless.

- Everyone’s trying to calm down the situation and make sure you get out unscathed and nobody realizes Brett’s panicking until he’s not anymore. He’s eerily calm and staring straight ahead with fists clenched, Reagan goes to grab his shoulder to talk about how to get you out but she’s met with those acid green eyes, like green apple candy, and a cold expression so neutral it’s unnatural on Brett’s usually grinning visage.

- it’s so fucked it’s just beyond

- he just waves a hand and this glow, that watery green that looks like seepage straight from a nuclear reactor cooling pond, just whips in a wet thwick that sends necks angled cruelly, snapped with as much ease as breaking a pencil, and guns clattering to the ground.

- Brett’s blinking blearily before shaking his head, hair that was once floating now resting back on his head in a disheveled style as he races towards you and envelops you in his arms, making sure you’re okay and unscathed.

- meanwhile Glenn’s using every single southernism cursing phrase he knows, confused to all fuck, Andre and Myc are just both entertained and mindfucked thinking they roofied again, Gigi’s popping an antacid and a sedative muttering about how she should’ve got to work for the Illuminati, and Reagan’s going around to inspect the crooked bodies and talking to herself as she makes notes aloud, wondering just how this power has manifested.

- Reagan does find it very fitting that the powers manifested in a time of great stress, the second you were put in danger. God is he an utter fucking himbo.

- it’s not a power Brett can fully control, it kinda sets him into a subconscious state where it’s not a part of his mind that’s fully aware, but it’s sparked by very strong emotions, threats, and feelings of danger around him or directed at him. He likes to joke he’s got a nostalgia-sense instead of a spidey-sense but you’re still reeling and wondering why he’s now just a bit more attractive. (it’s the messy hair you’d never seen it, plus he killed for you and that’s also something)

#inside job #my thots #inside job headcanon #inside job imagine #brett #Brett hand #inside job Brett #nostalgia max #nostalgia max!brett hand #inside job brett hand #Brett hand imagine #Brett hand headcanons #Brett Hand x reader #Brett Hand x gn!reader #x gn!reader #x gn reader #my inside job #personal inside job

[itznarcotic]

cutting your favorite white boy internet personality in half like one of those stage magicians and i find myself enveloped in a nuclear blast the likes of which humanity has never imagined

#bad posting