#nebuleuses

[ysselbern]

New book for kids: Life in Space

Bernard Isselin, an astronomy enthusiast, has published a new book for kids called "Life in Space." This book covers the latest discoveries in astronomy and exobiology in a clear and concise way. It allows young readers to discover the different types of planets, stellar systems, and galaxies, as well as the conditions necessary for the emergence of life.

This book is the result of many years of research and is an excellent educational tool for children interested in space and alien life. It is available now on Amazon. https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0C1JK854G

Recommend this book to all kids you know!

[squishsquishy]

Nebuleusic ♾️

x/x/x x/x/x x/x/x

[caeliangel]

DONT FORGET TO DO YOUR DAILY CLICKS TO HELP PALESTINE

୨୧ • Nebuleusic

a gender identity that is often fluid and unable to be placed due to the person’s neurodivergencies, such as autism, systemhood, or similar disorders. (Couldn't take nebulagender due to the gender already existing but with another deffinition)

PT. Nebuleusic. a gender identity that is often fluid and unable to be placed due to the person’s neurodivergencies, such as autism, systemhood, or similar disorders. (Couldn't take nebulagender due to the gender already existing but with another deffinition) END OF PT.

[enaelyork]

Nébuleuse [O.Krennic X F!Oc-Tarkin Daughter] [PART 2]

🌔Taglist🌔 : @fenharel-enaste, @alotofrandomfangirling, @starlady66

Click here for join

PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3 - PART 4

Chapter prompt : After her argument with Krennic at her father's gala, Vicky must reconcile and finds herself in the midst of interesting proposals and facing a difficult and unsettling choice.

Content: Sexual Tension rising - Provocation - Jealousy stade one 😁 - Toxic trait.

The fear of seeing my father summon me to his office swelled in me as the next day passed. And yet, nothing came, to the point of seeing all my distrust extinguished and my shields lowered. But I had forgotten, with the months spent on Bonadan, his favorite tactic, which was to corner his prey when he was least suspicious.

—What are you doing up at this hour?"

His shadow had appeared in the door that connected our vast kitchen to his luxurious office. It was no earlier than four in the morning standard time, and I intended to set sail to join friends in an abandoned warehouse that once served as our epicenter for a whole host of illegal things. He must have anticipated my plans because he was wide awake and there was a gleam of sternness and satisfaction in his eyes that didn't bode well for me.

—Sit down.

I had tried to justify myself by presenting the glass of iced tea I was holding in my hand, but it was useless. Everything was superfluous with him and I knew that if I didn't carry out his request immediately I would end up in that chair that he was pointing to me one way or another.

—You should stop drinking this crap. He began as if to delay the moment when he would drop the ax on my head.

—It is beneath the Tarkins to enjoy the frivolities of such a drink. You need something more bitter.

— Yet you serve it to mother every evening when you are present. —Your mother is not a Tarkin and the only credit we can give her is having fathered two. You will drink caf, is that understood?

I was silenced, unable to spit my contempt at him for his way of controlling our lives. Father is not a man without feeling. He just loves us in a radically opposite way to my definition of love. As for my mother, the time is long gone when I am convinced that there is an ounce of affection that bound her to father. Her lust for prestige and power has locked her into a loveless marriage and she needs a few doctor droids and a good dose of medicine to accept it.

—It’s good that we meet, because I have to talk to you, Vicky. About you and your situation. —About my situation?

I raise my eyebrows. Until now, my situation had been of little interest to him. He let me work on Bonadan, hang out in the swanky spaces of Coruscant, and build racing ships to compete in illegal competitions. His impartial gaze told me, however, that tonight, party was over. — Your teenage crisis has gone on long enough. He began in a monotonous tone. Your mother and I agree that at your age, you need a job and a function within the Empire.

It wasn't a teenage crisis. I put my skills to the service of people who needed them. I helped. But I knew that all these arguments involving compassion and generosity had no impact on my father.

—I work, father.

—It is not a job to tamper with parts to build useless ships. You're an engineer, Vicky, in aerospace. It' is high's time to put your skills at the service of the empire.

—And if I refuse?

The smile that split her lips sent chills down my spine.

—So you know there will be consequences.

He knows. I immediately think. He knows my traffic does not only involve my skills. That I serve friends, that I help them meet their needs while they are illegal. And I know my father and his determination well enough to know that all he has to do is snap his fingers and send them all to jail.

I was trapped, cornered, and yet unable to hate him.

Because I understood it. That in his eyes he was doing what was best for me.

—And what is the program?" I imagine you have already planned everything.

— Somehow.

He left a certain mystery hanging over him. A sort of annoyance veiled for a moment his impassive air and his features carved coldly in the marble of his white skin.

—I spoke to the Emperor just this afternoon. He is delighted to see you back here and remembers your intelligence well. So I suggested that he get you into the advanced weapons program.

Did I hear correctly? He wanted to get me into one of the biggest science machines in the empire?

—Advanced weapons?" You want me to build destroyers?

—Currently only as a maintenance worker. It is out of the question that you benefit from my notoriety to make a name for yourself. I forged mine in blood and sweat, so will you.

I laughed. Literally. It was so huge that I couldn't come to my senses. My father was lying to me, he had another idea in mind, an idea so Machiavellian that he was ready to humiliate me by making me pick up spare parts in a hangar in the name of the Empire.

— Where is the scam? Make your real request.

And he gave me everything I liked he gave me. His smile. Not the scornful one he gave everyone, but the one that went with his mask of pride. My finesse reminded him that I was his child, his last born and undoubtedly his greatest success. Even though he couldn't articulate it, I knew it whenever he thought of me that way.

—Last night I witnessed a very interesting scene involving you and Orson Krennic. A small household scene of which I did not miss a beat, just like all of my guests.

I wanted to bury myself six feet underground. If he had found out that I had stolen Grandma's brooch from someone else's purse, I was finished definitly

—You know who Orson Krennic is, right?

He tried to reassure himself. I wanted to answer him something like the worst motherfucker in the galaxy, but I refrain. Seeing my lack of response and the question mark in my eyes, he saw fit to finish me off.

—Your future boss, starting tomorrow.

—No way.

I leaned back in the chair, palms out, rejecting the bonds that were forming in my head. I categorically refused to be my father's instrument in any of his despicable shenanigans, especially if it involved the man on whom I had thrown a glass of water and whose gaze I had found very too magnetic.

—I'm asking you to approach him and work your way up the ladder to get enough clearance to meddle in his business.

— I understood better his fine speech on merit. My father is smart enough to know that a meteoric promotion of his darling daughter into the higher echelons of the program would titillate mistrust as to my true function.

—That will never happen. Don't you think it's going to be okay after what happened?

—Krennic is currently working on a project that I can’t tell you about, but which belongs to me. And he wants to take credit for it. I cannot accept that my work is taken over in this way and meddling in it directly is not an option.

I sigh deeply. Divided between the desire to insult him and to slap him. I was finished and I knew it because there was no one more determined than my father in this world and elsewhere.

—It will take me years to level up enough for you to spy on him.

—I do not think so, no.

— And why this ?

—Because I saw the way he looked at you. It literally took my breath away. This sentence. These words. As if suddenly my brain had decided to come back to him, to his impassive face and pursed lips. To the curls of his water-soaked hair that I slapped in his face.

—You are a perfect target for him. And it's up to us to make him understand that his methods can turn against him. What do you say ? —I don't have the skills to watch him, ask to Ellie.

—Ellie is currently in a situation that does not allow me to trust her.

I understand that he won't delve into the subject, but the annoyance I see in his eyes is indescribable. I don't know what's going on for my sister, but it really upsets my father and I don't want to be there when the lightning strikes her shoulders.

— I don't have the skills to keep an eye on this man.

—Yes. More than you think. I'm not asking you to seduce him, I'm asking you to be close enough to the circles of authority to steal information for me and I know it's up your alley, right?

I take a deep breath, digesting the mess I've gotten myself into.

—He will never trust me. Right now he hates me and it's mutual.

This simple statement could have convinced him. Yet when I get up to turn back and go back to where I came from, defeated and defeated by someone stronger than me, he holds me back, gently pushing his hand on my wrist.

—It's in your genes to despise Orson Krennic, Vicky, and be sure to harbor that dislike."

I bow my head. My gaze struggles to fix it for more than a few seconds. Father saw the way Krennic looked at me, but I don't know if he saw the way I looked at him.

And this terrifies me.

Doubt shoots through me and the unsettling conviction he's warning me seeps through my veins as I let his fingers slide down my wrist and step away from him without looking back.

***

I had every intention of catching up with my friends failling them the day before. What could be more normal, then, to invite them to a prestigious evening organized by Exquise? This Coruscant bar is reputed to be the most upscale in town and to accept only a handpicked clientele based on prestige and bank account. None of them could afford this kind of luxury and it was the least we could do to offer them access to make me forgive.

I had put on a simple black dress that came to my knees, its scoop neck stopping at the birth of my chest. My look was enhanced with black lace gloves up to the wrist and contrasted with my leather ankle boots that could have walked the floor of a mechanical workshop.

My hairstyle was nothing but a chaotic bun in which I had fixed a dark velvet ribbon and the brooch removed a few days earlier from the bag of the bitch who was strutting on Krennic's arm. I did not know where this animosity towards this stranger came from apart from the fact that she had, in good faith, bought a stolen object and I had decided not to think about it any more when entering the effervescence of the place. There reigned here a warm and moist atmosphere, a penumbra attenuated by the multicolored neon lights which danced at the same rhythm as the customers on an insane electronic music.

— Shall we sit down?"

I nodded to Erkani as he grabbed my waist and pulled me to a bench set back from the dance floor. Tall and imposing, his emerald gaze contrasted with the darkness of his hair and his tattoo-riddled skin. He had sent Saiyan to get us a drink and was taking advantage of this little alone time to make up for lost time.

— You are beautiful, Vicky, really.

We exchange a soft look. Erkani is part of the same engineering class as me, but specialized in mathematics. He's the closest thing I've had to a friend since I was a teenager, with a few added perks. Benefits we regularly bestow on each other as two desperate souls in destiny were clearly incompatible.

—I guess we have Wilhuff to thank for your absence yesterday.

I chuckle, my mouth hidden behind my gloved hand. The idea of ​​him calling my father by his first name makes him the worst rebel in the whole empire. We do not discuss the subject further. Erkani being in a good position to know how uncomfortable discussing my family sometimes makes me feel uncomfortable, he rather prefers to tell me that we are now colleagues.

—I'm on Coruscant. Rather die than set foot on Geonosis and pray it never happens to you. he throws at me. The situation there is explosive and I'm not just talking about the natives. I wish he had told me more. Let me know in full detail what a mess my dad had just gotten me into, but Saiyan arrives just in time to take the ongoing conversation and add his two cents. Unlike us, she is not an engineer, but a scientist, which makes her an essential asset in the capital and she explains to me that she has worked on high-performance ionic shield formulas for larger surfaces.

We spend long minutes discussing this and that, including rumors implicating my sister in an adulterous relationship with a high-ranking empire officer. But seeing my ignorance, they refuse to provide me with the slightest detail and instead offer that we toast to our reunion.

It was then that the waiter came to place a glass of water on the table, right in front of me, as if it were for me, plunging my table into amazement.

—I didn't order anything. I said coldly, barely considering him. Do I have a head to drink water?

—It's offered

— By who ?

My head followed the gesture of his chin and my eyes landed on the bar, crashing violently into the electric blue of his gaze.

Him.

He was very busy. You could almost believe that he arranged for me to be in the front row of the pathetic spectacle he offers me. He wears a uniform, his high black leather boots and before removing his headgear to reveal his hair oscillating between darkness and greyness, contrasting with the electricity of his gaze and the mischievousness of his luminous smile.

It's not the same. I thought, scrutinizing the sublime beauty that hangs from his neck like one hangs from a rope. That was probably what she was doing by offering him her adoration. One of many on his long list of hopeless cases desperate for a little attention, money and sex.

Poor daughter.

—He says it's for the mess the other night and...

—Fuck that bastard. I said out loud without realizing it. I dodge Saijan's remarks about Orson Krennic buying me drinks and getting back to my business. At least I think so, because my eyes don't agree. I see his hand sliding down her spine, his fingertips teasing the bare skin she offers him and his lips so dangerously close to her ear it makes my stomach ache. My thighs squeeze together wondering what effect his touch can have and I'm practically sick of it.

I don't give in, refuse even to show him the slightest interest. Because I know it. I feel it. Despite everything that is happening, despite it being her body he is touching, his eyes are riveted to mine. Don't leave me, tracking down the slightest reaction that could betray my interest or my bitterness.

—Do you want another drink, honey?

Erkani leans towards me, whispers this proposal in a warm voice with a delicious accent. It was the opportunity I was waiting for, the one I dreamed of to give him the final blow. His arm rests on the back of the bench where we are sitting and I savor the moment when Krennic discovers it. I grab the glass he offered me and slowly put it to my lips and take a sip, crossing my legs under the table, knowing that from where he is, he doesn't miss anything.

What the fuck am I playing?

It doesn't take long for my friend to return with two glasses full of ocher, fizzy liquor. We toast, embracing our arms like an old couple after exchanging their vows and my eyes finally leave my main interest to dive into the emeralds of Erkani for a moment that seems to me forever and which was abruptly interrupted by a loud clearing of the throat.

—You're going to have to leave this table, young man. I have to discuss with miss.

His voice rumbles like thunder as his shadow looms over us, pulling me a little away from my friend and his hand too busy caressing my thigh. I may be a little drunk, but seeing him so close to me with such a somber expression on his face made me sober immediately.

—And if she doesn't want to?

—It s fine, Erkani. I handle.

I don't handle anything at all. My sitting position allows me to hide my trembling legs, but I am sure that my gaze and all that it betrays does not escape him. That he even loves it.

My friend gestures for me to call him if I feel the need and gives in to Krennic's blatant authority, who doesn't wait another second before sitting down.

—Nice brooch, baby Tarkin.

I want to slap him. Bad idea to start on a good professional relationshp.

—You have nothing better to do than taunt me, Orson?

—It’s Commander Krennic, but okay, I’ll settle for a thank you for the drink tonight.

—I'll call you whatever you want when you stop giving me stupid nicknames.

He chuckles, gestures to the waiter to serve us a round, placing his hand on the file just behind me. As if he definitively asserted his authority and his property. Bad idea, he will quickly understand that I am not a trophy.

—It's too bad you take it that way, I'm here to talk business.

— It must be very important if you have abandoned your evening pastime.

My words betray my contempt and arouse his amusement. This is shit. I really look like a poor girl.

— I am sure that my proposal will interest you.

—I'm not sure I want to hear it.

He lifts his glass to his mouth in such a slow and delicate way that I'm sure he's doing it on purpose. As for me, I remain hooked on his eyes and his proposal, mustering all the good will in the world to refuse it pronto. I'm almost ashamed to admit that being born Tarkin doesn't make me immune to his confusing magnetism.

—I heard your father was offering you a place in the Advanced Weapons Project, a place that doesn't suit your qualifications. I have other things for you, much more interesting. I blink to hide my surprise. Of all the possibilities considered, he chose to surprise me. —Are you bypassing my father's decision?

—I run this program, no matter what he think.

— Really ?

I barely hide the irony of my question, bursting into a laugh so powerful that I almost spill my drink. He turns his head away, pursing his lips sourly. It upsets him and I realize that hurting his ego is more exquisite than any candy, than the sweetest revenge.

— Why offer me a job when you don't know my skills?

—You're a Tarkin, isn't that enough to assure me of the quality of your work?

— My skills are not limited to my name.

— Really ?

He laughs, I focus on the contents of my glass in which I dip my lips, taking care to lower my eyes to better return to the charge.

—Which post ?

—Workshop chief.

—Workshop chief ? I repeat in disbelief. It's five grades above what my father offers me. My surprise seems to please him even if he compresses his jaw not to show me his satisfaction.

—You become a team leader, as an engineer that’s the minimum.

—In which unit?

— You will have to oscillate between Geonosis and here, it will allow you to change air when the need arises.

I digest the information, trying to hide my confusion in alcohol. I don't know how he manages to do this, but his offer is exactly what I need, what I'm looking for. It almost tastes like an escape.

—Geonosis is the planet you work on, isn't it?

It's his turn to raise his glass to his lips. He winces at the way I point out this detail to him and that's when I notice how the distance between us has shrunk considerably. I gave him ground without even realizing it.

—We may see each other there often and share our shuttles.

—Are you keeping an eye on me?

He doesn't respond immediately. Just batting his eyelashes at my hands hovering over the table. I have the impression that he wants to ask me which of us is going to watch the other and that he abstains, too amused by the little game that is taking place between us.

—I want to see what you are capable of.

—Let's be clear: I'm not the kind of person you buy, Orson.

On the other side of the room, his previous guest is staring at us with an evil eye. Krennic's head is tilted so hard towards me that he could kiss my neck and touch my shoulder with his fingertips. I don't know why I don't push him away, stay in his embrace and let my foot stick to his leg, my thigh pressing against his. In a final act of pure provocation, I see him grab my glass and put his lips to it to take a sip. I don't miss a thing of the show. The way his mouth envelops the crystal and hugs its shape, inviting me to imagine he's only doing this to give me a glimpse of what he might be doing to my own body.

—Oh, i know that. You're priceless, baby Tarkin.

I gently snatch my glass from his hand, brushing the lace against the leather of his gloves. Our eyes haven't been able to break contact for several minutes and his breath hangs on mine.

—She's getting impatient. I whisper, looking down, trying to put my lips on my drink exactly where he left the trace of his. I guessed the superhuman effort he had to make not to tip me over on this bench, because it was exactly the one I imposed on myself so as not to beg him to do it.

—Do you accept my offer?

— I'll think about it.

I whispered it so close to his mouth that my lips could have touched his effortlessly. But I had to leave before I ended up on his knees rubbing against his thighs, begging him to put an end to this desire that was bubbling in me, signing my death and my banishment from the Tarkin family.

—I'm not very patient, baby Tarkin.

—Well, time it's come for someone taught you how to be, Orson.

And I pulled away from him, as if to escape from an uncontrollable current that is dragging me into chaos. I don't know how he reacted to my running away, but he didn't try to catch me, or even order me to come back and sit with him. I was convinced, when I joined my friends, that I had already accepted his proposal a long time ago. And I didn't like it at all.

[mari-positas]

I read do the right thing (and the other parts) this afternoon and oh. my. god. It was so fucking good, I absolutely loved it 💕 And the last part ?! My heart can’t take it, Gracie and Joel 😭🥹 and the bedtime story 🥹

I also re read the two parts of more than just friends and I think i said it already when you posted it but omg it is one of the best javi p story out there. The way you write javi is just incredible ❤️

hello dear 🤍

oh my gosh thank you so much! as I was putting together a ML for the series I went through it and I remembered how much I enjoyed writing their story, as heart wrenching as it was. when I first writing the fic, that bedtime story scene was at the front of my little peabrain god I couldn’t wait to write that sweet little scene between Joel and Gracie as well as throwing in how it’s the first story he read to Sarah 😭

tbh Javi is such an intimidating character to write for me but with Just Friends I got more comfortable with writing him! I’d love to take a crack at writing for him again sometime once I’m not drowning in my own Joel WIPs

this truly made my morning 🥹 thank you so much!

[2t2r]

Une comparaison de la taille des objets célestes [vidéo]

Nouvel article publié sur https://www.2tout2rien.fr/comparaison-de-la-taille-des-objets-celestes/

Une comparaison de la taille des objets célestes [vidéo]

[wildemaven]

��💕💕💕

Thank you so much for reading!!!

Joel is someone who spends too much time in his own head— too many thoughts at all times. But especially when it’s his first time with you.

He likes you. A lot. There’s no denying how much so either, based purely on how much he enjoys spending time with you and how much Sarah likes you. he truly connects with you, deciding you both want to keeping exploring where things go.

Things progress slowly, a mutual worry about rushing to quickly before either of you is ready. Over the course of a few months, many dates have been shared. Each one solidifying the growing desire between the two of you. Making out in his truck, on the couch, tucked away from prying eyes in his laundry room after a summer barbecue.

His nerves are shot the night you both decide to take things further when Sarah is away at a friend’s place for the weekend.

Needing everything to be perfect— for you. Worrying how great he’ll even be since it’s been quite some time since he’s been with someone .

Expect it’s everything but perfect.

It’s awkwardness and concern. Even more so, Joel’s mind is riddled with anxiety about his performance.

Are you enjoying yourself? Do you feel okay? Is your body liking the things he’s doing? Does he still turn you on now that things have moved into this territory? Should he be doing those things that he’s seen in the porn he’s watched?

You sense the fear right away. A waterfall of apologies cascading from his mouth left and right. When he slips out of you mid thrust. When his nose knocks into your eye. When he mistakes your zealous whine for shrilled pain. When he feels like things are taking longer than they should.

He stills when you look up at him with a smile. Your hand coming up to caress his flushed cheek and he can’t help but smile back at you.

You tell him there’s no rush to finish and all the things you’re enjoying. That you’re more than happy to take your time and figure out what works and what doesn’t. You tell him that you like all of him and he doesn’t need to be anyone but himself.

He relaxes into your touch, grateful you’re not running out the door and hightailing out of the driveway, never wanting to see him again.

His kisses are driven with more confidence. His touch deliberate but sweet. Praise and guidance exclaimed with elated satisfaction. It’s perfectly imperfect.

The room is bathed in a sheen of moonlight. He tells you how beautiful you are. His favorite thing about you. The things he can’t stop thinking about when you’re apart. He tells you how he hasn’t felt this way about someone in a long time and he thinks he might be falling for you.

[pedge-page]

does joel take care of wifeys bush for her while she’s pregnant? I have a feeling he would appreciate hers very much

18+ ONLY

You would absolutely insist on having it shaved, and you'd shave it yourself as much as possible while pregnant. But when you get to that point that you can't see or reach over your belly, you call upon your doting, obedient, loyal husband who would do anything you ask of hi-

"No."

You blink at him. With a razor blade in one hand and shaving cream in the other, you're naked as your soon-to-be-baby will be on the day of her birth.

"What."

He shrugs. "Said no."

"But... its..."

"It's beautiful."

You scoff. "C'mon Joel." Holding out the razor and cream, you smile with pleading eyes.

He only shakes his head again. "I'm not doing it. I wanna enjoy the bush."

"The what?"

He chuckles. "Heard me." He paces forward, your belly bumping his as you are forced to step backwards. "I said--" he reaches behind you to knead your ass-- "I want--" You find yourself pinned in front of the sink-- "the bush."

"I dont-- what does that even mean?"

But he's already kissing down your belly button.

"Leg," he commands.

You give him a sideways look from above, barely seeing his lidded eyes over the swell of your tummy.

You whimper but lift your thigh, enabling him to hook it over his shoulder. His hand finds its way to cup against your lower back so the countertop doesn't uncomfortably cut into your spine.

"Joel..." you whine. "Its just....so..." you cover your face with your hands, though you can't even see his expression down there in the great beyond anyway.

"S'magical," he replies, nose nuzzling your newly grown hair. "Ooo baby. It's like my beard rubbed off on ya down here."

"How is THAT sexy?"

"You like my beard don't you?"

Fair point. "But not on me. Not down there."

He chuckles, inhaling your scent with a kiss to your pelvis.

"Let's get explorin," he grumbles with a sly smile, before spreading you expertly apart with his fingers. His lips attached to your clit, and he starts sucking with such precision, youre not sure what "exploring" hes talking about. The man has chartered every millimeter of area down there. Playing you like a piccolo, Joel eats you out and nudges your g spot until you're crying and grasping the sink behind you.

Once you've cum three times on his tongue, you're exhausted. "J-joel," you plea.

"Mmm?" He pulls away, showcasing his soaking mustache and lopsided drunk grin. "S-wrong, Momma?" He rubs along your belly with his slick hand, soothing your twiching body.

You feel dizzy, unable to argue with him. "M'not...asking you... take care... of-of... it...'gain."

He giggles into your belly. "Honey," he tuts. "Wasn't gonna ask your permission. I'm gonna enjoy this for as many nights as I can get it. Now how about I take ya to bed so we can continue preserving these forests?"

- - - -

@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrsoharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee @cassiecasluciluce @loohoop @himboelover @callsignwidow @wintersquirrel @fluffygoffpanda @picketniffler @bbyanarchist @94namkooksworld

[theinternetarchive]

'nebuleuse de la lyre,' photograph of the stars, albumen silver print from glass negative c. 1885.

[ysselbern]

Parents, grands-parents et amis : LES FÊTES APPROCHENT... UN LIVRE POUR TOUS LES ENFANTS !

Achetez directement sur Amazon : https://www.amazon.fr/dp/B0BRZ4SR58

[enaelyork]

🌹

Please??? 😍

😍😍

"You're too late for that, the only thing you can do is trample what's left of me and throw me into the flames

" I'm not sure you'll survive it.

“My soul is long dead.

"That's not what I see in your eyes when you look at me.

[mari-positas]

HAPPY BIRTHDAYYYY 💕🥳

THANK YOUUUU 🥰

[2t2r]

Une magnifique image des Piliers de la création

Nouvel article publié sur https://www.2tout2rien.fr/une-magnifique-image-des-piliers-de-la-creation/

Une magnifique image des Piliers de la création

[tieronecrush]

thank you so very much!! 🩷🩷🩷

i only have eyes for you

summary: your boyfriend frankie has biannual eye exams for his pilot’s license, and the results of this last one were not what he was hoping for. to his dismay, frankie needs glasses. and you’re not available to help him pick them out.

wc: 2.3k

warnings: none, pure fluff really. ending has mature themes mentioned, but this is really just a sweetie frankie moment 🩵

a/n: this was born out of @northernbluess and I discussing the frankie vibes of the photo(s) above, and then me running off with a delusion of frankie needing glasses. so wholesome, so shy, so sweet 😭

“Seriously? Doesn’t your boss know you have plans with me?” Frankie groans from his place on the couch, flannel stretched across his shoulders and his Standard Oil cap on his head. Dark chocolate curls peek out of the hat, ringlets curving around the edges and his ears, while his plush bottom lip juts out in a pout.

Crossing the living room, you plant yourself on the area rug between his open legs, one hand reaching down to grab his chin and tilt his head to face you, eyes exposed from under the brim of his cap. His umber brown irises reflect hints of a tawny, golden color in the light; one look into his eyes and you’re surrounded in their depth and wrapped up in warmth, like coming into a heated home after a frigid winter day.

Matching his pout with your own, he shakes your hand off with another huff, crossing his arms over his chest. His knees pull together, trapping yours with their effortless strength, years of multiple miles a day in basic training and deployment giving him thighs and calves as thick as tree trunks and virtually as strong as them. A breathy laugh leaves your lips, one hand further hiking your work bag on your shoulder.

“And how d’you think my boss would react to me skipping out on the deadline ‘cause my boyfriend needs to go pick out glasses?” One eyebrow arches in questioning, Frankie shifting on the couch and shrugging as he stands his ground. You know his play; he’s going to pout and say he won’t go unless you’re coming with — you’ve been reminding him constantly over the last week about this appointment, a follow-up to his bi-annual eye exam for his pilot license that he had the other day.

Lately, Frankie had been squinting a lot more, holding books close to his face when he was reading; you even caught him increasing the size of the text on his phone in order to read his messages. He definitely needed the exam, and you knew he was going to need glasses. He grumbled the whole time, avoiding making the appointment until the last possible minute and waving your concern off when he came home with the results.

He was farsighted, which is why he was usually fine while flying. Years of experience meant he knew exactly where the controls were, the blurring of his vision not necessarily deterring his abilities to fly. Clinging to the fact that he’s been fine for the past few months at work, Frankie was refusing the fact that he needed to get glasses. But since he has to submit his results, his hand has been forced to head into the optometrist’s office and pick out a pair.

Which is where you were supposed to come in. Frankie claimed he didn’t care about the look of them, asking you to tag along with him and select some for him. The logic was that “I’m only seeing through them, you’re the one who has to look at ‘em the most. Should be the one to like ‘em.”

“This is a life-changing decision! He should understand that,” his voice drops in volume, eyes flicking away from yours, “I don’t wanna pick out a pair that makes me look silly to you.”

“Oh, baby, I think you’d look cute in any pair of glasses. ‘Cause I think you’re cute.” Folding forward, you steal a quick kiss before standing straight again, lifting one of your legs up and over his knee to free yourself. “Really, Francisco, you would never look silly to me, and you need glasses to go to work. Gotta go get ‘em, baby.”

Another groan rings in your ears, and you roll your eyes at his overdramaticness. Pushing himself off the couch, he stands in front of you, a playful glare on his face, “You’re paying the out-of-pocket price if my insurance won’t let me change them when you hate them.”

“Yeah, yeah, alright. That’s not gonna happen. Now I have to go, and you have to leave for your appointment in an hour. I’m going to check your location, so don’t even think about skipping out,” you warn as you walk toward the front door, hearing him call out to you before you shut the door behind you.

“Tell your boss he’s a dick for makin’ you come in on your day off!”

The end of the day rolls around before you know it, and you’re more than eager to get home to see Frankie and his new glasses. Graciously, your boss told you to take tomorrow off instead, a relief settling in that you can actually enjoy a day with Frankie, who’s out of work until he gets his vision adjustments settled.

Excitement turns in your stomach when you park in the driveway of your shared house, following the path up to the front door of the bungalow and heading inside. Your shoes end up in a pile near the door and your bag ends up dropped next to them, bare feet padding across the tile floor.

Part of you, just a sliver, was feeling a bit anxious about Frankie’s choice. You genuinely meant you would love anything on him, but he’s been avoiding the task and trying to deflect it to you, which made you guess that the whole change had him feeling insecure. To you, there was nothing wrong with the addition to his look, but he must have been feeling much differently to be so worked up about the situation. In his world, surrounded by younger co-pilots and forced to disclose things like this in any applications or license renewals, you imagine it must be like showing up to elementary school or middle school as one of the few kids with braces or the butchered haircut your mom gave you in the bathroom the night before. Totally uncool.

You just wanted to hug the little, shy kid inside of Frankie; wrap him up, and tell him how much you love him and how cool you think he is. A kid like Frankie would’ve been your best friend when you were younger — he’s your best friend now.

“Frankie baby, where ya at?”

“Living room!”

Swerving from your direction toward the kitchen, you cross over into the living room, a wide and enthusiastic grin on your face as you anticipate what kind of glasses he chose. You’d been swarmed with text messages while he was at his appointment:

Are you sure you can’t take lunch now and come help me?

Way too many options here.

An older woman who works here is trying to help but I think she’s coming onto me…Please come over here baby!!

I feel like a dweeb in all of these.

Receiving the last one nearly made you pack up your things and rush over to help him, but with your boss breathing down your neck about a submission by the end of the day for this large project, you couldn’t sneak away. Instead, you sent reassurances, asking for photos but never receiving any from your boyfriend.

From where he sits on the couch, Frankie turns his hatless head away from the movie playing on the TV, sending a soft smile to you, “Hi, cariño. How was your day?”

No glasses.

God, you actually might kill him if he went through all of the theatrics only to come home empty-handed. Or empty-faced, more like it.

“My day was fine, but more importantly, how was your day? And why don’t I see glasses on your face?” you plop down on the couch next to him, body turned toward him while he continues to focus on the TV, humming dismissively.

“I got some. Jus’ don’t like wearing ‘em if I don’t have to,” he mumbles, sinking further into the couch cushions.

“Baby, you’re not going to get used to them if you don’t wear them regularly. Can’t be living in a blurry world.” Inching closer, you rest a hand on his thigh and the other cards through the curls at the nape of his neck, slowly turning his head to look at you, “I wanna see them. Please? Pretty please?”

Embraced again by those cocoa-brown eyes, this time filled with timidness and hooded with anxiety.

“I feel ridiculous in them. Like they make my ears stick out and they don’t fit under my cap and…they just look stupid on me.” His sentences mush together in his dejected tone, eyes falling from yours to stare at where his fingers are anxiously toying with the hem of your satin blouse.

The image of shy, little Frankie at school tugs on your heartstrings again; instead of showing your cards, you hide your anxieties with a soft, bright smile.

“Frankie, you could never look stupid to me. You never look stupid to anyone. Well, unless Pope’s around, but he can shove it.” That brings a subtle grin to his lips, a breathy of a single chuckle exhaling. “You are the most handsome to me, and a little pair of glasses isn’t going to change that. Can you please show them to me? I promise I’ll be honest, but I can guarantee that you think they are exponentially worse than what they are. Knowing how you are, they probably make you look hotter. Which, like, should be physically impossible, I mean look at you—”

“Alright, alright. I’ll show you the glasses. Quit makin’ me blush…” he scolds lightly, a smile playing at the corners of his lips and his dimple poking through on his cheek. You scoot back to allow him to get up off the couch, watching as he disappears down the hall to your bedroom and comes back a few seconds later, stopping right before he’s in view.

“Close your eyes.”

“Frankie, c’mon, I said—”

“Please?” His tone is so innocent, guileless in his clear nerves around you seeing him with the new accessory.

“Okay, they’re closed.” You confirm once you have shut your eyes, sitting up as you eagerly await. His steps grow louder and you can feel the couch sink when he sits back down again, shifting to cheat his body in your direction. A silent beat drums between you two before he clears his throat with a defeated sigh.

“Okay, you can look.”

Opening your eyes, the immediate reaction is to press your lips together, holding back the overexcitement about the new look to not startle Frankie. Circling your eyes over his face, you study the thick oaky frames that stand out from his strong features, complementing them with a statement of their own. Rounded square shapes hold the lenses, the bridge of them perched perfectly on his hooked nose. The arms of them extend back to his ears, and he was right, they do make the tops of his ears stick out minisculely. But most of that is covered by the way his dense curls flick out around the glasses, poking out in the most adorable way.

And of course, they do nothing but create the perfect perimeter around those beloved brown eyes, the curvature of the lenses making them appear just the slightest bit larger. More for you to stare into.

The lack of reaction as you take it all in has perturbed Frankie, a groan identical to his this morning rolling from his chest, “See I knew these were no good, I’m not wearing ‘em. I look silly.”

One of his hands lifts from his lap to grab for the frames, your own hand quick to intercept the motion. Quickly shaking your head, the words spill out to stop his spiraling, “No no no, absolutely not. You don’t look silly at all, baby…”

“But you don’t like them?”

“I love them. They’re exactly what I would’ve chosen for you myself. You look so handsome, my Frankie.” Without holding back anymore, a blinding smile lights up your face and you shift to your knees to crawl over and straddle his thighs. Your arms wrap around his neck, pressing yourself against him in a tight, squeezing hug. His own arms snake around your back, keeping you flush against him. The two of you sit in that embrace for a few moments, only pulling back a few inches to look at his face again. Delicately, you lift a finger to trace the shape of the glasses, grinning sweetly when your eyes focus back on his.

“You look hot. Like a sexy professor or like…a cool movie star.” Frankie laughs and shakes his head, fingertips tracing up and down your lower spine. “Can’t wait to christen the glasses. Kinda want you to keep ‘em on later tonight.”

Frankie’s head twists in curiosity, a smirk settling easily on his face, “That so? Guess it is going to be nice to see your face clearly again. Think that was my sole motivator for getting the damn things finally…” He grins when you laugh, pushing his lips out in a pucker and his eyes widen as a thought pops into his head. “Pretty sure they’ll get all fogged up when I’m between your le—”

“Oh my god, don’t even finish that sentence. The glasses come off when you’re doing that, Francisco.” You shove his shoulder gently and he laughs brightly, his eye glittering in the warm light behind his lenses. His hands at your back pull you in closer again, his nose nudging yours before he catches your lips in a soft, supple, slow kiss. The feeling of the plastic frames against your skin is foreign, but welcome.

“Love you, baby,” he whispers against your skin before he presses a kiss to the corner of your lips.

Leaning back again, his hands coast up and down your sides while you reply, “Love you too, Frankie. Glasses or no glasses.”

taglist: @northernbluess @atinylittlepain @swiftispunk @joelsversion @mrsquill @ilovepedro @lovers-liability @deathwife @undrthelights @atticrissfinch @casa-boiardi @wannab-urs @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @fishingforpike @msjarvis @walkintotheriveranddisappear @sugadolly @yazsos @peppesgirl @pastawench @addictedtotlou @anoverwhelmingdin @wolfbook87 @mswarriorbabe80 @harriedandharassed @decemberdolly @laiisleitte @fierce-bab @pertinentpostmortem @livingdeadmaria @bitchwitch1981 @its-nebuleuse @marini03 @piercethevic03 @joeandpedrosimp @kiwisbell @planet-marz1 @jrosie25 @vee-bees-blog @joelsflannel @k-k0129 @cartoon-garbage04 @nostalxgic

[chaotic-iguana]

dewdrop

in which miguel really, really likes mornings. or maybe not.

warnings: smut-ish? fluff? more of a braindump to get me back into writing. oh also yeah, add miguel to my character list.

morning: the suspension of time between night and day; reality warped and fuzzy and warm in the in-between; soft and slow and dripping like honey. 

the steady weight of an arm resting  on your back, a chest rising and falling under your head. the drag of the hours to come forgotten somewhere under muffled whines and fluttering lashes; greedy, grasping fingers and hungry mouths, burning kisses and whispers getting lost in the frigid air resting her fingers on your lips.

mornings are sacred. mornings are untouched; untainted by anything that was and anything that could be. golden tendrils wrapped around sighs breathed into skin, soft caresses and tangled hair met with gentle grins and gentler hands. 

mornings when even the birds are asleep; flowers slumbering under dew, when your stirring prompts a raspy ‘sleep well?’, as you blink against the blinding light kissing your lashes. when small talk becomes a symphony of moans swallowed by the seal of your mouth on his, when miguel can really take his time taking you apart and putting you back together; lay back as you straddle him and leave burning trails of kisses down his chest, watch your eyes shut and your head tip back as your toes curl, fingers fisting the bedsheet beside him and you’re divine- 

until the steady beeping of his watch signals the end of your stolen time, lyla popping up with a smirk and half-assing her way through a snarky comment while telling him about how ‘there’s another emergency and they need you now’ and day catches up with him again, sinking its claws into the delicate balance of dawn and dragging him with it. until all he can do is kiss your head and work you through it, leaving you under a heap of blankets and whispered praise before ripping off his sweatpants and activate his suit, fists curled in irritation and opening a portal, the breath knocked out of him when he turns for one last glimpse of you splayed out on his bed. until all he can do is handle it until morning comes around again. 

short, i know (sorry). update - i might be coming back?? as always, thanks for reading, comment your thoughts or find me on ao3. stay hydrated and have a great day! taglist: @imherefordeanandbones @theywhowriteandknowthings,@josephquinnswhore,@millerscoffee, @nostalxgic, @sscorpiiio, @its-nebuleuse, @sofiparallel, @mandoisapunk, @bastardmandennis (hey pal), @amanitacowboy, @party-hearses, @planet-marz1, @chiogarza, @jenispunk. i know y’all didn’t sign up for miggy content so let me know if u wanna be tagged only in pedro works. divider by the amazing @cafekitsune.

[pedge-page]

SLUT ALERT!!!☝️😓💯 I want Joel to slap my face with his tree trunk and make me feel bad about it

Joel Knows Best

Joel Miller x F! Reader

Warnings: bimbofication, oral M receiving, rough face fucking, daddy kink, degrading language

18+ ONLY

- - - -

You giggle stupidly, a total bimbo bitch on her knees when Joel daps his heavy sack over your eyes again.

“You like that, don’t you?” He coos with a smirk, staring down at you with his fat cock in one hand. “My pretty little slut.”

His fat tip slaps your temple repeatedly. “Hello? Anyone home in there? I asked you a fuckin’ question.”

“Yes!” You squeak a little too eagerly. 

His face sours, squishing your cheeks roughly with his callused fingertips as he inspects your lolling tongue. Smacksmacksmack—his member pads against your wet lips. “Yeah. Yeah that’s what I thought. you like getting your pretty little face slapped With Daddy’s cock. Dumb whore can’t even think straight. Too busy thinkin’ this big dick in her mouth.”

You nod remorsefully. You can taste the salty tang of his precum on the back of your buds. Your mind goes blank when he begins gliding along the centered curve of your tongue, rolling back and forth until his touching your uvula.

“What happens when bad girls act dumb?”

You stare back up at him. It takes a moment to register that he even asked you a question, but when he thwack’s your cheek hard with his throbbing cock, it’s impossible to even think straight.

“God damn. Can’t even answer a simple question.” Two bear hands wrap tightly around the back of your head, and suddenly you’re being pushed forward, his dick breaching your swollen lips and filling your mouth in an instant. Your gag triggers quickly, but the brush of his pubic hairs and soft belly against your nose makes it difficult to breathe through your nose. “Gotta do everything for ya, don’t I?”

He sets a rough pace, half his length never leaving the suction of your wet cavern. “You made me do this. S’ all your fault.”

“mmhmmM!mmhgm!” You hum, tears prickling over the edge of your lashes. The room is filled with his balls slapping your chin and your pathetic glugglugglug noises. 

“Good for nothin—cock hungry—oh shit baby that’s it—stupid whore.” He pushes your face flush, the flex of your throat desperately convulsing around the intrusion of his member makes his knees weak. “Ugh fuck baby. Now I have to fuck a hole in that brain—make it good for somethin’ since ya ain’t usin’ it properly.”

Yeah, you think, knees burning and vision brimming on the edge of blackness. you grip his thighs as he abuses your throat like his toy cocksleeve, a useless inanimate toy for his pleasure. it brings the slightly smile to your lips thinking about how little else you need to worry about.

Joel knows best.

- - - -

Permanent taglist

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