#Modules Stack

[modulesstack]

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[lonestarflight]

Workers in the VAB replace the fins on the ASTP Saturn IB’s (SA-210) first stage.

Date: March 11, 1975

NASA ID: S75-23780

[eyepatchdate]

i can't believe i never posted any of my snk fic. like. i have MULTIPLE NOTEBOOKS of handwritten stuff, and a LOT on my phone but like. i was into snk when i didn't have access to a computer. so almost none of this is typed and so thus also none of it was ever posted.

[maggotwithanf]

89 days til neotropolis '25

[historyofguns]

The article discusses the impact and evolution of the 1911 pistol, originally designed by John Moses Browning in .45 ACP and known for its reliability and performance in both military and civilian contexts. It highlights the new Springfield Armory 1911 DS Prodigy Compact pistols, which offer improvements with a double-stack magazine for increased capacity, particularly in 9mm. The Prodigy series, including the recently released Prodigy Compact AOS with barrel lengths of 3.5" and 4.25", has become notable for its affordability, ergonomic design, and enhanced capabilities, like greater comfort and concealability, along with advanced features such as the Agency Optic Systems (AOS) for optics compatibility. The article emphasizes the Prodigy's safety features, excellent trigger mechanism, and overall performance, positioning it as a versatile choice for self-defense and competitive shooting aficionados. The Prodigy Compact's MSRP is listed at $1,549, suggesting it delivers significant value for its price.

[raw-meat-4861]

Federal signal modulator 6024 Arlington Tx

Token on: 6/30/2023

Location: Near the At&t where the pawn shop is (N Collins Street and E Sanford Street)

[wasims-posts]

Best Website Development Institute in Laxmi Nagar

Best Website Development Institute in Laxmi Nagar: A Complete Guide

1. Introduction: The Growing Demand for Website Development Skills

Website development is one of the most sought-after skills in today’s digital world. Whether it's a small business or a large enterprise, having a professional website is essential for success. Laxmi Nagar, being an educational hub, offers many training centers that specialize in web development. If you're searching for the best website development institute in Laxmi Nagar, this guide will help you make an informed choice. We’ll discuss why Modulation Digital is considered the best website development institute in Laxmi Nagar and how their course prepares you for a thriving career.

2. Why Choose Laxmi Nagar for Learning Web Development?

Laxmi Nagar, located in East Delhi, is a popular educational hub known for offering professional courses at affordable rates. With a wide variety of institutes, it's easy to find the best website development institute in Laxmi Nagar. Institutes here offer quality education with a focus on practical learning, making it a perfect destination for aspiring web developers. Moreover, its central location and affordable living make it a prime spot for students.

3. What to Look for in the Best Website Development Institute in Laxmi Nagar?

Choosing the right institute is a crucial decision. Here are some factors to consider:

Comprehensive Curriculum: The course should cover all aspects of web development, including both frontend and backend technologies.

Experienced Faculty: The best website development institute in Laxmi Nagar will have instructors with real-world industry experience.

Hands-on Learning: Institutes offering live projects ensure students gain practical skills.

Placement Assistance: Job placement support is essential to help students land a job after course completion.

Modern Infrastructure: The right institute should have state-of-the-art facilities, ensuring students get access to the latest tools and technologies.

4. Modulation Digital: The Best Website Development Institute in Laxmi Nagar

Among the many options, Modulation Digital stands out as the best website development institute in Laxmi Nagar. Established in 2020, this institute has consistently delivered top-notch web development education. They emphasize hands-on learning and ensure students work on live projects, preparing them for the real-world challenges of the tech industry.

Why Modulation Digital is the best website development institute in Laxmi Nagar:

Expert Faculty: Instructors with years of industry experience.

Cutting-Edge Curriculum: Covering all essential web development skills, from frontend to backend development.

Dedicated Placement Support: Strong industry ties and partnerships ensure high placement rates for graduates.

Project-Based Learning: Students gain practical experience by working on live projects during the course.

5. Course Curriculum at Modulation Digital

The comprehensive curriculum at Modulation Digital, the best website development institute in Laxmi Nagar, is designed to cater to both beginners and advanced learners. It includes:

Module 1: Frontend Development: Students learn the fundamentals of HTML5, CSS3, JavaScript, and how to create visually appealing, responsive websites. Tools like Bootstrap are introduced to make responsive design easier.

Module 2: Backend Development: The course covers server-side programming using Node.js, PHP, and Express.js. Students learn to connect websites to databases using MySQL and MongoDB.

Module 3: Full-Stack Development: By combining both frontend and backend technologies, students are trained to become full-stack developers. They work on complete web applications from start to finish.

Module 4: Frameworks and Libraries: Modern web development demands the use of frameworks like React.js and Angular, which are covered extensively in the course.

Module 5: Live Projects: Throughout the course, students work on real-world projects that they can include in their portfolios, giving them a competitive edge in the job market.

By the end of the course, students will have the skills needed to develop fully-functional websites and applications, making it the best website development institute in Laxmi Nagar for anyone serious about a career in this field.

6. Why Modulation Digital is the Best Website Development Institute in Laxmi Nagar?

What makes Modulation Digital the best website development institute in Laxmi Nagar is their approach to teaching and job readiness:

Latest Technologies: The institute ensures you stay up-to-date with the latest industry trends and tools.

Recognized Certifications: Upon completing the course, students receive certificates that are recognized by top companies.

Personalized Learning: Smaller class sizes allow for personalized attention, which helps in understanding complex topics better.

Affordability: Despite offering high-quality education, Modulation Digital, the best website development institute in Laxmi Nagar, maintains competitive fees compared to other institutes in Delhi.

7. How Modulation Digital Prepares You for the Industry

At Modulation Digital, the best website development institute in Laxmi Nagar, students are not just taught technical skills but are also prepared to succeed in the workplace:

Practical Skills: From day one, the focus is on project-based learning, where students build websites from scratch.

Technical Skills: The curriculum covers a wide range of technical skills, from frontend and backend development to database management and cloud deployment.

Industry Projects: Real-world projects and assignments help students gain practical experience, which is crucial for getting hired.

Soft Skills: In addition to technical skills, students are trained in communication, teamwork, and problem-solving—skills crucial for the workplace.

Resume Building & Interview Prep: The institute conducts mock interviews and helps students create professional resumes, making them job-ready.

8. Placement Assistance at Modulation Digital

What truly makes Modulation Digital the best website development institute in Laxmi Nagar is their strong job placement assistance. The institute has a dedicated placement cell that works with leading tech companies to help students secure internships and full-time jobs. Modulation Digital boasts a high placement rate, with graduates working at top firms in Delhi-NCR and beyond.

Companies where Modulation Digital students have secured jobs:

Leading tech firms

Startups and digital agencies

E-commerce platforms

IT service providers

9. Who Should Join Modulation Digital?

The web development course at the best website development institute in Laxmi Nagar, Modulation Digital, is suitable for:

Beginners: Anyone interested in starting a career in web development.

Working Professionals: Those looking to upgrade their technical skills.

Entrepreneurs: Business owners who want to manage their own websites or understand how to build and maintain them.

Students: College students looking to add valuable web development skills to their resume.

10. How to Enroll in the Best Website Development Institute in Laxmi Nagar

Enrolling at Modulation Digital is straightforward. Here’s how:

Step 1: Visit the official website Modulation Digital Website Development Course.

Step 2: Check course details and choose a batch that suits your schedule.

Step 3: Apply online or visit the institute in person to enroll.

Whether you're starting from scratch or advancing your web development skills, the best website development institute in Laxmi Nagar, Modulation Digital, offers flexible learning options to suit your needs.

11. Frequently Asked Questions

Q: What is the duration of the course at Modulation Digital?

Typically, the course lasts for 6 months, with part-time and full-time options.

Q: Do I need prior coding experience?

No, beginners are welcome at the best website development institute in Laxmi Nagar.

Q: What kind of job can I expect after completing the course?

Graduates can pursue roles like Frontend Developer, Backend Developer, Full-Stack Developer, or UI/UX Designer.

Q: Does the institute offer job placement assistance?

Yes, Modulation Digital provides strong placement support, helping students secure jobs in top companies.

12. Conclusion: Modulation Digital is the Best Website Development Institute in Laxmi Nagar

In conclusion, if you're looking for the best website development institute in Laxmi Nagar, look no further than Modulation Digital. Offering a comprehensive curriculum, experienced faculty, project-based learning, and strong placement assistance, Modulation Digital is the ideal choice for aspiring web developers.

Modulation Digital stands out as the best website development institute in Laxmi Nagar for several reasons:

A comprehensive and up-to-date curriculum that covers everything from basic to advanced web development.

Experienced and industry-driven faculty who focus on practical, hands-on learning.

Strong placement support and connections with top tech companies.

Affordable fees and flexible learning options to suit the needs of different students.

Enroll today at the best website development institute in Laxmi Nagar and take your first step towards a successful career in web development.

[yannawayne]

not a weapon but a person—capable of loving and being loved.

SYNOPSIS: You get kidnapped and Damian snaps. TAGS: Graphic Depictions Of Violence! Genderneutral! Blood, Hurt/Comfort, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Kidnapping, Childhood Trauma, My Mother is the Worst Woman Alive and I'm her Favorite Son, Damian is Eighteen.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ ♱

A heavy thud. Ragged breaths. Then the sound of footsteps.

The same hands that had ruthlessly beat your kidnappers to a pulp—the ones that had pulverized flesh with blood splattered across his knuckles, the ones that had heard the crack of bones beneath his grip, the ones that bore the scars of countless cuts and stabs—now traced your cheek with a featherlight touch.

"Beloved."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ ♱

YOUR PALMS WERE PRESSED tightly against your eyes, wrists raw and burning from the rope that had bound them just minutes ago. Sobs slipped from your lips, eyes bloodshot, and mouth parched dry.

The rotting smell of the warehouse was an assault on your senses—an acrid mix of trash, harsh chemicals, and the faint tang of gunfire that lingered in the air.

There was a hushing in your ear as you leaned against a cloaked figure—Batman. Bruce. 

His hand rubbed at your back, firm and steady, a grounding presence amid the chaos. His cape, dark and imposing, wrapped around you like a shield, blocking out the violence unfolding just in front of you.

Shadows danced erratically on the walls as Robin moved with lethal precision. Bodies fell unconscious, thudding heavily against the concrete floor. Blood splattered. Screams echoed. Each punch landed with a sickening crunch, bones breaking. Crates and debris were scattered haphazardly, wood and concrete slamming onto the floor. 

Damian couldn't see anything but red.

His vision was tunneled, focused solely on the next target, the next blow, the next scream. 

A swift roundhouse kick sent one assailant crashing into a stack of crates, the wood splintering under the impact. One punch connected with a jaw, the sickening crunch of bone breaking echoing through the air. Blood sprayed on his fist. Another one rushed toward him, brandishing a knife, but he disarmed the man with a swift twist of the wrist, jamming the blade into the attacker's palm. The man screamed, clutching his arm as red streaked his skin.

Damian's eyes flickered with a dark satisfaction as he watched the thug stumble backward, clutching at the wound.

One last man remained. One who had lunged at him from behind, grappling onto his back. Damian scowled and surged backward, driving both himself and his attacker into the wall with bone-crushing force. The man's grip loosened, a pained gasp escaping his lips as the air was knocked out of him.

"Fool," Damian spat, his voice dripping with venom. "Do you have any idea who you're dealing with?"

The thug whimpered, trying to scramble away, but Damian was relentless. He twisted sharply, dislodging the assailant and slamming an elbow into his ribs. The man crumpled against the wall, clutching his side, his eyes wide with fear and pain.

"You think you can touch those I care for and get away with it?" Damian growled. He didn't give the thug a moment to recover. He swung a powerful fist into the guy's face, the impact sending a spray of blood and teeth into the air. 

"F-Fuck you, man!" The man yanked a gun from his waistband, but before he could even line up a shot, Damian’s foot kicked out, sending the weapon flying through the air. The gun clattered against the concrete with a deafening clang. With a snarl, Damian lunged forward, grabbing the thug by the collar and slamming him into the ground.

"H-Hey! Mercy! Mercy! I'm a-already down!" the assailant wailed, his hands clawing at Robin's uniform in a desperate plea. "The Bat don’t kill! You—you ain't gonna kill me!"

Damian's expression hardened, his eyes narrowing as his voice dropped to a low, menacing growl.

"I'm not Batman," he spat, the tone amplified and darkened by the modulator. "Every breath you take is a mercy I choose to grant. By the time I'm finished, you'll be begging for death."

He raised his fist, the tension in his muscles coiling like a spring ready to snap. The thug’s eyes widened in terror, his pleas growing frantic as he braced for the blow. However, just as Damian’s fist was about to land, a hand clamped down on his shoulder, grabbing onto his hand with a vice-like grip. Before he could react, Batman—Bruce—had tackled him, pinning him firmly against his chest. 

“Robin,” Batman’s voice was firm, concern barely concealed. “That’s enough.”

Damian's struggle was fierce, his body thrashing under his father’s strength as he roared in fury.

“Let me go!” he screamed, his voice raw with anger. “I’m going to kill him for what he did to them!”

The anger engulfed Damian like a stormy ocean, dragging him beneath its violent waves. Visions of his mother’s face, his grandfather’s form, and accusing shadows surged from the depths, all condemning him. Damian’s cries erupted into a raw, guttural scream, gradually dissolving into ragged gasps as he battled the relentless tide.

Though Bruce had shaped him into a hero, a beacon of justice, and his family had offered him a fragile semblance of belonging, Damian was still his mother’s son.

The violence and anger roiling within him were like roots twisted deep within his soul. There was not a thing that could purge the primal rage and pain that had taken root before his first breath.

When he finally broke through the surface, baptized in blood and weighed down by sins that clung to him like chains, he sought you out with an urgent, almost desperate need.

A heavy thud. Ragged breaths. Then the sound of footsteps.

The same hands that had ruthlessly beat your kidnappers to a pulp—the ones that had pulverized flesh with blood splattered across his knuckles, the ones that had heard the crack of bones beneath his grip, the ones that bore the scars of countless cuts and stabs—now traced your cheek with a featherlight touch.

"Beloved."

Your hands were carefully peeled away from your eyes, and you met soft emerald eyes through a veil of tears. His hands moved to unlatch his cape, the soft fabric pooling around your form. His lips, speaking in his mother tongue, murmured a soothing litany of comfort, Arabic endearments flowing like silk. He pressed your head against his chest and you found refuge in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. 

Bruce watched the scene with a pensive look. His son's body had dwarfed you, broad shoulders and strong muscles enveloping your form like a shield. His head was tucked into your hair, his hands raking all over your tense and sweaty skin.

Damian had momentarily shed the hardened exterior he so often wore—a soldier with a heart that, despite its armor, occasionally revealed cracks. This was a side of him that often surprised people.

Because Damian Wayne was the farthest thing from soft.

He was all sharp edges. Poisonous, scalding words that could sear through the thickest armor of patience. Rough, nearly violent in his touch, like a blade pressed against skin. There was no gentleness in his movements, no softness in his gestures, only the relentless precision of a trained killer.

From the earliest moments he could walk, his life was an unending series of tests, each more grueling than the last. Each cut and bruise was a lesson. Failure was met with harsh punishment, success with silent approval. Affection and praise were as rare as mercy. 

The League’s doctrine was ingrained in him: emotions were vulnerabilities, attachments were liabilities, and loyalty was owed only to the mission and the League. His purpose in the League of Assassins was clear—to be the perfect instrument of their will, a living embodiment of their principles. 

Emotion was his enemy, a weakness to be purged.  He was taught to suppress his feelings, to turn them off like a switch. Pain was an illusion, fear a phantom to be banished. He learned to compartmentalize his thoughts, locking away his humanity in the deepest recesses of his mind. 

By the time he reached ten, he was a finely honed instrument of death.

A living weapon in a world that knew no peace.

It had taken Bruce eight grueling years to begin undoing the damage. And even then, he had barely scratched the surface.

Then there was you.

The trembling, warm-faced student Damian had introduced during his senior year—his partner for a science project, he said. 

At first, the interactions were subtle—a fleeting glance here, a hesitant smile there. But as time went on, it became impossible to ignore the way your presence began to soften the sharp edges of Damian's demeanor.

Bruce had seen you both fall for each other over the months. And he saw hope. 

You were the opposite of every lesson Damian has ever been taught.

To him, you were soft, in every sense. Soft movements, soft features, soft voice. Everything about you exuded comfort.

You made something he had always pushed down and shut away come to the surface.

You made him feel things—things he should not.

When you touched him with your soft hands, everything in him burned. The gentle brush of your fingers against his skin ignited a searing heat, a raw and unfamiliar longing that clawed violently at the walls he had worked so hard to maintain. Each touch chipped away at the concrete barriers of his training, breaking them down and leaving him exposed, aching for something he couldn’t quite name.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ ♱

Mania. Drake had called it, a wild obsession of his that could consume and devour.

Damian's arms encircled you like a lifeline, holding you close as though he feared you might slip away. His lips brushed against your temple, warm and tender, while his biceps pressed firmly under your chest, anchoring you in his embrace. The air was thick with the mingled scents of sweat, blood, and the lingering residue of fear. 

And yet, amidst these odors, there was an underlying, almost imperceptible hint of Damian’s cologne—Arabian oudh. It was rich and smoky, with notes of aged wood, a faint earthy sweetness, and subtle undertones of leather and spice.

You buried your face into the crook of his neck, the fabric of his suit brushing against your cheek.

A Crush. Todd had chalked it up to puppy love, something that would eventually fade with time.

He lifted you effortlessly from the floor, his strength evident in his smooth, controlled movements. The way he adjusted his hold with such care to ensure your comfort spoke louder than any words could.

Warmth enveloped you—Damian had always run hotter, like a human furnace. On sweltering days, his clinginess (no matter how much he denied it) had been a nuisance, his heat making you feel as if your skin might melt off. But now, that same warmth was a comforting embrace, a welcome shield.

Infatuation. Grayson had suggested, thinking it was just a fleeting, intense passion. But there was something deeper in the way he looked at you, something that felt permanent and unshakeable.

“I am here. I am here, beloved," he spoke to you lowly. "It's alright now."

Love. His father called it.

In an instant, everything seemed to collapse around you. Tears welled up and streamed down your cheeks as you sobbed into his chest, each shudder of your body sending waves of anguish through him. Damian’s heart twisted painfully at the sight of you. 

He has seen suffering—he has inflicted suffering. But this was different. Your pain was a torment he was helpless to alleviate. 

Face twisted in guilt, he pulled you tighter against him, as though he could hold the world’s pain at bay if he just held you close enough.

A hand tapped at his shoulder, and he flinched, turning to see his father.

“The Batmobile is just by the docks. We can—”

“They're in shock,” Damian scowled. the fire back in his eyes. “Do you honestly believe they're in any state to be moved at this moment?”

Bruce’s gaze was firm. “Damian, we don’t have time to—”

“They need to be stabilized first,” Damian cut in sharply, his tone brooking no argument. He turned abruptly, striding towards the exit. “If you want them to survive this, we need to take care of them properly, not rush them into a car. I shall be outside.”

Without waiting for a response, Damian moved swiftly, the clatter of his boots echoing as he stepped into the cool night air with you. Once the warehouse door closed behind him, he turned his full attention back to you, his hand gently brushing your tear-streaked face. 

He moved to press his forehead gently against yours, the warmth of his skin meeting yours in a tender connection. He could offer no verbal comfort anymore; words seemed woefully inadequate. Your cries gradually subsided as you drew comfort from his presence.

Love.

He lifted his hand to the side of his face, pressing a button. As his mask retracted, his eyes met yours. Damian knew that more than anything else, you loved his eyes.

Time and again, you found yourself drawn to them, unable to tear your gaze away. They were hypnotic—an exquisite blend of emerald green, green as vibrant as the leather cover of his sketchbook, flecked with gold and streaked with brown paint.

His eyes were windows to his soul, offering the only genuine glimpse into the depths of his emotions. In them, you could see his anger burning like a stormy sea, joy dancing like sunlight on rippling water, embarrassment flitting like a shadow, and pain etched as deep as his scars.

At times, his eyes grew gentle, revealing something much softer—something that made your heart swell and your knees feel weak. A love so pure and unexpected that it could melt the coldest of hearts.

Damian Wayne was the farthest thing from soft.

But in these soft, fragile moments he shared with you, where his heart beat in sync with yours, Damian found an unexpected calm. It was in these rare interludes, away from the brutality and darkness that defined his world, that he could truly be himself.

Here, he was not a weapon but a person—capable of loving and being loved.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ ♱

ao3: yenwayne

NOTE: I want to delve into the line I wrote: 'Damian is still his mother’s son.'

It's just to show his trauma, I despise Talia with all my guts.

Talia's control over Damian is a textbook example of manipulative conditioning at its most extreme. In psychological development, early experiences and parental influence are crucial in shaping one's self-concept. From his earliest days, Damian was deprived of a normal childhood. His personality, thoughts, and desires have all been sculpted by the League of Assassins from day one.

His anger, protectiveness, and sense of duty are manifestations of this—a child raised to be a killer, now struggling with the fragments of a humanity that was never fully allowed to blossom.

I'm not saying he hasn't changed!!! He has turned into so much more than the weapon they intended him to be. He is genuinely good. But the impact of such deep-seated trauma cannot be easily overlooked or resolved. It’s not something that can simply be swept under the rug or fixed overnight.

So, this was my attempt at capturing his character! I’m very open to constructive criticism since I’m new to the fandom. Please be kind and gentle with your feedback :)

[oureyesclosed]

.

[modulesstack]

Client Password Reset Module For WHMCS | Securely Reset Client Passwords with Ease

The Client Password Reset Module for WHMCS offers a secure and efficient way for administrators to reset or generate client passwords directly from the admin area. It simplifies password management by allowing both manual updates and automatic generation of strong passwords.

[lonestarflight]

The Douglas-built S-IVB upper stage intended for Apollo 1 SA-204 mission was erected at Launch Complex 37B, Cape Kennedy, Florida. It was repurposed for Apollo 5 to send the unmanned Lunar Module (LM-5) into Earth orbit later that year.

Date: April 10, 1967

NASA ID: 67-H-430, 67-H-460

[castillon02]

A firm knock at the door. 

Tim, sitting on the carpet, waist-deep in print-outs from Black Mask’s latest debacle, looked at the door. Looked at the pile of invoices, photos, blackmail, and stupid little evidence baggies from Mask’s stupid little torture party. Looked at his couch, which was Evidence Island for that thing with Scarecrow last week, and his coffee table, the last refuge of JL prototypes. Maybe whoever was knocking at the door of his top-secret vigilante hideout would just go away. Or maybe they’d have the decency to bring their own chair with them. He picked up his phone and accessed his front door security cameras. 

Red Hood, one arm occupied by a pair of Old Joe’s pizzas, knocked again. 

On the one hand, Hood might shoot him. On the other hand, Tim hadn’t eaten lunch and it was (he checked his phone again) 8:13 PM. 

Tim turned all of his thigh-piles into carpet stacks and made his way to the door, where he removed three physical barricades, three digital barriers, and four traps for the unwary. He activated his “If I die in the next ten hours, this is the last person I was seen with” failsafe. Then he cracked the door on its chain. “Sorry, I didn’t order any pizza,” he snarked. 

Hood huffed a robotic sigh through his voice modulator. “I need a favor.”   

“I’m aware,” Tim said. There was no other reason for Hood to show up. And it had to be something complex, otherwise Hood would just do what he’d been doing, which was texting him a casefile and sticking a “One month of no murder attempts” coupon to Tim’s door when Tim solved it for him. 

Hood held out the pizzas and waited. He didn’t even twitch his hand towards his gun. 

“Fine.” Tim undid the chain and opened the door for him.

Hood left his helmet on one of the hat hooks by the front door, revealing a wryly curved mouth and eyes that weren’t any more Lazarus green than usual. He even gestured to the guns at his side with a cock of his head. Leave those here too? A generous offer from a crime lord who loved shooting people. 

Tim shrugged. If it got down to violence, he’d rather Hood not be grumpy about it. 

Hood shrugged back, kept his guns, and followed Tim into the solarium, which was an antechamber that Tim mostly used when he wanted to taunt potential snipers. It had a breakfast nook, two barstools, a dead plant from his well-meaning decorator, and ceiling-length bulletproof windows. 

Tim tinted the windows with a flick of a wall switch. 

“One Canadian bacon with onion and artichoke hearts,” Hood—Jason—said, dropping a pizza box in front of the left stool. “And one basil and roasted garlic with extra pecorino.” He dropped the other pizza in front of the right stool and sat. 

Tim sat next to him. “Thanks for getting my order right.” He could be polite. 

“I asked Alfred,” Jason said. 

Proof someone else knew that Jason intended to visit him. Jason really didn’t want to kill him. At least at the moment. 

(Jason’s pizza order had changed from when he was a kid; he’d always ordered the meat-lover’s before, maybe for the extra calories. Food insecurity sucked.) 

(Tim’s tastes had changed too, but his pizza order hadn't. No one ordered “Canadian bacon with onion and artichoke hearts” unless it was for him, specifically, and it was…nice, knowing that whoever had ordered the food had thought of him. Mental insecurity sucked too.)   

They did justice to Old Joe’s thin-crust for a while, eating in silence. 

When he only had a couple of slices left, Jason took a deep breath and said, “None of this leaves here, aright? Tell anyone I asked about any of this and you’ll wish you were dead.” 

Tim waved his hand. “Duh.” 

“Right. Okay.” Jason rubbed his forehead. “You know how sometimes start-up companies get successful and then they suddenly realize that they have a million employees instead of ten and that they should probably have things like an HR department and a pension plan?” 

“Ah,” Tim said. Jason “Red Hood” Todd didn’t need the help of Red Robin, teen vigilante. He needed the help of Tim Drake, teen CEO. “You got your fiftieth employee?” 

“I have to know what FMLA is now,” Jason said, a thousand-yard stare in his eyes. “It’s basically what I’ve been doing anyway, but there are so many subparts.” 

Tim made a sympathetic noise. 

“And I’ve been meaning to set up some kind of…retirement…thing…for the past two years,” Jason continued. “Pretty much since I started, but there always seemed to be bigger things, you know?” 

Tim nodded. Effective long-term policy or not, preteens addicted to fentanyl could definitely make someone put a 401k plan on the back burner. 

“And I had Gloria handling birthdays!” Jason said, obviously on a roll now. “Like getting cards for everyone on the day and getting them signed and all? But she had to move to Florida cuz her Mami’s getting up there, and no one else wants to get the cards and pass them around, but now I’ve got grown-ass armed adults who are miffed that their birthdays don’t get a card, and some other people think there should be cake too if we’re going to be revamping the birthday system anyway!” He looked at Tim, his eyes wild. “The whole thing is distracting everyone from killing traffickers and setting up community support systems! Grown-ass adults! Birthdays!” 

“Birthdays are the devil,” Tim said, sympathetic. The Wayne Enterprises R&D department had had a brief kerfuffle over them too. 

“Incarnate,” Jason said. “But also, no. I mean, I get it, some of us ain’t had people who celebrated our birthdays before! I want everyone to feel appreciated. But at this point, all Black Mask has to do is say ‘cake and ice cream’ and his goons will be able to set up shop while my guys shoot each other.” 

This level of chaos didn’t just happen; it was likely only the visible part of an iceberg of underlying dysfunction. “Gloria did a lot more than birthday cards, huh?” Tim asked. 

Jason winced. “I begged her to come back and she said she was tired of nagging me about the pension plan.” 

“Good for her,” Tim said mildly. 

Jason glared. 

“It got you here, didn’t it?” 

Jason glared harder, but he stuffed his mouth full of pizza instead of threatening Tim with bodily harm. 

Tim flexed his fingers. Gotham was better with a functional Red Hood gang and this would get him unprecedented access to Jason’s plans, but he also needed to come out of this alive. “If I help you with this, I’m going to need to know a lot about your organization.” He held up a pre-emptive hand. “I don’t care about your exact plans for Gotham’s drug trade, but we’ll be looking at your org charts—your chain of command—and getting nitty-gritty about it. Also, I want to be compensated as a consultant.” 

Jason frowned. “You want money?” He glanced at Tim’s ostentatious kill-me windows. 

Tim shrugged. “You can choose. I’ll bill you a fair amount, and you can compensate me with your money or with an equally valuable amount of your time—and I’ll know how much you value your time in an exact dollar amount by the time we’re done.” 

Jason snorted. “That your usual deal when you’re a consultant, or is that a Jason Todd special?” 

Tim smiled his best Janet Drake smile. “It’s the exact same deal I offer anyone in the JL or the vigilante community. The Jason Todd special is when I let people roll up in my DMs for the low, low price of not slitting my throat. Again.” 

Jason had the grace to glance away. “Gotcha. Better get started then. Like you fancy CEO types say, time is money.”

"Like we fancy CEO types," Tim corrected, and had the pleasure of watching Jason wince. Time for Red Hood to get his hands dirty with all the blood and ink that went into being a responsible twenty-first century boss.

[greatwyrmgold]

You could add efficiency modules. Spend half a megawatt to reduce the electric consumption of other machines by up to 80%! If you put them in the right place, you might save more energy than you lose!

they should make a different module to put in beacons besides speed

[seokminfilm]

1-800-got-stress | jeon wonwoo

pairing: jeon wonwoo x reader

warnings: non-idol au, college/professor au, slight romance (?), english professor wonwoo x teacher's assistant reader, tiny sprinkles of humor, one-sided crush (?), wonwoo is very dense when it comes to reader's romantic feelings (not really though), reader still loves him anyways, cute ending??

now playing: return of the mack, mack morrison

dedicated to: @k1eev (<3)

"After the lecture, I want you all to come see my assistant before you leave. She has the next module printed out and organized for you all." Wonwoo's deep voice is the next thing you hear once you snap back into reality, and many of the college student's eyes dart away from you as you look around, more than likely aware of how long you've been gaping at the English professor.

Jeon Wonwoo was the person always on your mind now—ever since you started as his teacher's assistant earlier this month, you've always been thinking about him.

He was everything you weren't—calm, professional, disciplined and put-together. He knew what to say and how to say it, and what to do and how to do it—you were ninety-nine percent convinced that there was nothing Wonwoo couldn't do.

Not only was he annoyingly perfect at his job, but he was annoyingly handsome too—he was handsome to a massive amount of people, students and other professors included. He had sharp eyes that seemed to grow even sharper with the perfect amount of tiredness, and hard-edged features that you had memorized now with how much you had stared at him when he worked.

Time went slow as Wonwoo talked, deep voice echoing through the lecture hall as he gave his presentation on the deeper story of Romeo and Juliet, asking his class questions as he gaged their attention span.

You thought about how nervous you would feel under Wonwoo's gaze. Your face just heated up at it, imagining how you wouldn't be able to look him in the face without feeling completely inadequate.

It was already hard for you to look him in the face, and you were his personal assistant.

"Please finish the last essay I assigned at the beginning of the month. Since we're starting a new module this Friday, I want everyone to be on the same page." Wonwoo's voice was monotonous as students started to pack their things, and you placed the stack of module papers on the desk, letting the students grab and go.

The class filtered out slowly, some staying behind to ask Wonwoo questions and garner advice from him. You watched them quietly, straightening the closet as you dipped in and out of their conversations.

You had just heard another professor enter the room, asking Wonwoo to go out with her tonight for a drink, (to which he politely refused), when Wonwoo had addressed you.

"Are you doing alright? You've looked really tired today." Wonwoo's thick, stern eyebrows are flat as he stares at you blankly, and you try to read his sharp eyes for any flicker of emotion for a quick second, giving up as you give him an awkward smile.

"Oh, I'm fine, Mr. Jeon. I'm not even tired—just a bit distracted, that's all." You reassure him, and Wonwoo nods, looking down at his watch as you finish straightening up your desk.

"You should get some rest. It's not good for you to be tired and trying to assist me, is it?" Wonwoo has a faint smile on his lips when he says this, and you try not to blush or melt under his hot gaze against your skin, fiddling with your collar awkwardly as you nod.

"Here, let me help you with those." Wonwoo's voice is directed to the stack of heavy books teetering on the end of your desk. You nod to him gratefully, allowing him to pick them up as you walk to the other side of the room, unlocking the storage closet door.

He held the books without strain, face still as he waited for you to finish putting your share of books down. Wonwoo followed you, cologne wafting in the air and drifting under your nose as he turned off the lights.

"Thank you for today. You did very well." Wonwoo's voice was sweet as he smiled at you, and you returned the gesture stiffly, making your way back to the desk as you grabbed your things.

"Of course, Mr. Jeon. You did well too, I mean—you did well with the lectures and everything. You teach everything in such a fresh way, it's tough for anyone to not be compelled or interested in what you're teaching." You were a sucker for Jeon Wonwoo, and it was starting to show more and more now—how were you supposed to be normal about him?

"It takes a lot to make the lecture engaging and informative, so I'm glad you think that of me. Many students call me the boring teacher." Wonwoo's voice is lighthearted as he finishes straightening up his desk, and you chuckle, mostly at the absurdity of his words.

"You're quite the opposite of a boring teacher, in my opinion. Your stories and explanations are way more animated than the textbooks could be." Were you showering your superior-turned-crush with embellished compliments? Yes. Did you want him to notice?

...Not really.

"You sure do have a lot to think about me, don't you?" Wonwoo's voice is still playful, even if it has a neutralness to it. You blush slightly at his words, earning a smile from Wonwoo as he smiles. "I'm just teasing you. I appreciate everything you say to me."

A slight pink tint to Wonwoo's cheeks brings an even brighter one to yours, and the two of you fall silent, obviously sensing something between you. Wonwoo's eyes rake over your form, and you shyly look up at him, dark brown eyes behind his frame still making you warm inside as you sigh (dreamily and deliriously, as you might add).

You had made Wonwoo—Professor Jeon Wonwoo, the boring, scarily neutral English professor—blush from your compliments. You would be wallowing in your achievement if you weren't also blushing at the moment.

"Well, I, uh—" You stumble over your words, also stumbling over your book as you pick it up from the floor. Wonwoo watches you quietly, glasses sliding down his strong nose bridge slightly as he watches you head towards the door. "I should get going. It's getting late, and I have to be back here early tomorrow."

"I'll walk you to your car." Wonwoo nods, following suit as he slips his jacket over his broad shoulders and picks up his briefcase. His dress shoes hit the wooden floor as he follows after you, and he turns out the light, leaving you two engulfed in darkness for a few seconds as you stumble back, stepping on Wonwoo's foot.

He grunts harshly under you, and you scramble back, lights in the hallway illuminating your embarrassed blush. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry."

Wonwoo just smiles again, smile lines sending butterflies that go straight to your stomach. "No worries. You couldn't see because of me, and I'm sorry." His cologne is so strong and so him you can't think straight, but you do your best to string your words together.

"Well, Mr. Jeon, I'll see you tomorrow," The two of you had just left the building, now by your car as you unlock the door. Wonwoo watches you with sharp eyes, clearing his throat as you turn to him.

"If—If you'd like, we should converse over dinner sometime. Not as coworkers, but as good friends." Wonwoo's sentence brought a rude awakening to your world, and you stood in shocked silence for a second, processing what he said to you as you blinked blankly.

Wonwoo considered you to be a good friend—you would have never told by how unfazed he was by most things, but he considered you to be more than a coworker or partner. He saw you as a friend. A good friend who was asking you to dinner.

"Yeah, we—we should, Mr. Jeon." You agree, and Wonwoo clears his throat, sharp eyes daring away as he adds, "Oh, and you can call me Wonwoo. We're comfortable with each other now, so we can drop the formalities."

Not only were you Wonwoo's good friend, but you were such a good friend you could now call Mr. Jeon by his real name, Wonwoo. Too many green flags were going off in your head, but could Wonwoo sense he was giving you all these green flags? It only made your crush on him worse.

"Well, I'll get going, Wonwoo." Even his name on your lips felt sweet, and Wonwoo nodded, giving you a small wave as he closed your car door.

"Until tomorrow." He smiles softly again, and you melt into your seat, smiling as you nod back. "Until tomorrow."

feedback & reblogs are appreciated! love u lyrnation <3

[miwsolovely]

—THE SMELL OF BOOKS

𝜗𝜚 — in which, two book nerds start to fall for each other; you both meet your other half through wuthering heights

PROF!JASON TODD x PROF!READER no angst, fluff all around, university professor inconsistencies ( ? ), university au

— so sweet made my own teeth rot, love this sm, not requested —

JASON TODD, the enigmatic literature professor you’ve heard whispers about from students and staff alike, is known for two things: his sharp intellect and his tendency to disappear into the university library for hours on end. He’s a mystery to most, but you’ve caught glimpses of him during faculty meetings—usually seated at the back of the room, arms crossed, half-listening while his mind seems to wander elsewhere. There’s something about the way he carries himself; a quiet confidence, a brooding edge that sets him apart from the other staff.

It wasn’t until a few weeks ago that you finally had your first real interaction with him.

You’d been in the library, hunting for a specific book you needed for your class, when you spotted him at one of the tables near the back, surrounded by an intimidating tower of books. He was scribbling notes into a leather-bound notebook, a pen held loosely between his fingers. His brow was furrowed in concentration, and he didn’t seem to notice when you hesitated at the edge of his table.

“Do you mind if I—” you’d started to ask, gesturing toward the book you needed, which was stacked precariously near his elbow. But he’d looked up at you then, his eyes catching yours, and the rest of your sentence had faltered.

“Go ahead,” he’d said simply, leaning back in his chair and giving you enough space to reach for the book. His voice had been low, smooth, with just the faintest hint of amusement, like he could tell you were caught off guard.

From that moment on, you seemed to keep running into him. Sometimes in the library, where he’d nod at you in acknowledgment before diving back into his work. Sometimes in the hallways between classes, where he’d offer a quick, dry remark that left you wondering if he was teasing you. And, most recently, in the faculty lounge, where he’d sat across from you with an extra cup of coffee waiting for you while casually commenting on the book you were reading.

“Pride and Prejudice?” he’d said, raising an eyebrow. “A classic, sure, but let me guess—you’re teaching it as part of a ‘romance through the ages’ module?”

You’d blinked at him, startled, before recovering. “It’s for my Romantic Literature course, actually,” you’d replied, bringing the cup of coffee to your lips, trying to hide a smile. “What, are you going to tell me it’s overrated?”

He had smirked at that, his eyes glinting with something playful. “Not at all. Austen’s wit is sharper than most people give her credit for. I just didn’t peg you as the type to lean on the obvious choices.”

You’d rolled your eyes, but the conversation had spiraled from there, stretching far longer than you’d anticipated. Before you knew it, the coffee in your cup had gone cold, and you were debating the merits of Byronic heroes with someone who could match your passion word for word.

Now, you find yourself looking forward to the moments when your paths cross. There’s an energy about him that’s magnetic, a sense that he’s holding back just enough to keep you intrigued. And though he might spend most of his time holed up in the library or tucked away in his office, you’ve started to notice the way his eyes linger on you when you pass each other in the halls, the way his lips twitch into the faintest of smiles when he catches you mid-rant about a frustrating student or an impossible superiors deadline.

It’s on one of those late evenings in the library that everything shifts.

You’re grading papers at a table in the corner, the quiet hum of the library settling over you like a blanket, when you hear the scrape of a chair being pulled out. You glance up to find Jason lowering himself into the seat across from you, his ever-present notebook tucked under one arm.

“Didn’t expect to see you here this late,” he says, setting the notebook on the table and leaning back in his chair. His gaze flickers to the stack of papers in front of you. “Let me guess—midterms?”

“Something like that,” you reply, surprised but not unhappy to see him. “What about you? Aren’t you usually buried in the philosophy section by now?”

He smirks, folding his arms. “Thought I’d check in on my favorite person in this dump. Make sure you’re not losing your mind over comma splices.”

You can’t help but laugh at that, shaking your head. “Tempting fate, aren’t you? What if I say I already have?”

“Then I’ll sit here and keep you company until you’re sane again,” he says lightly, but there’s a warmth in his tone that catches you off guard. It’s the first time he’s made it clear—he notices you too, maybe more than you’d realized.

And as the evening stretches on, the papers forgotten between quiet conversation and shared silences, you think that maybe, just maybe, this strange, brilliant man is about to become more than just a passing presence in your life.

He’s nicer now.

You don’t know where it came from but maybe it's because he's been nice enough to lend you his jacket when you forget yours, the scent clinging to it wrapping around you so snugly you wish it’d stay there forever — or more likely the way he looks down at you with his molten hazel eyes; but you don't put up much of a fight.

Not when he brings you your coffee every morning with sweet words hanging from his lips and a firm hand on your lower back, guiding you to your seat. Your skin feeling warm after every touch.

In your respective classrooms, teaching separate things, your mind always drifts to the way he’d say specific things in his specific way.

How you’d love to watch him talk about how an author wrote something and why, the spark that you noticed never died from the comforts of his chest that you’d love to lay your hand on, feel the beating of his heart and sync yours with it.

Now as you sit at your desk, trying, to come up with what tomorrow’s lecture will be about and having your students projects graded by the weekend, your mind drifts.

The smell of his cologne that clings to him the way you dream you would, the sharp edges of his face you wish to trace gently, his smile that you want to gaze at day in and day out.

You groan and rub your face with your hands, exasperated. At yourself for thinking of him, or at him for plaguing your mind like this.

“Don’t tell me you’re stressed about me, doll?”

You blink up at him, your hand still half-covering your face. His figure leans casually against the doorframe, one hand tucked into the pocket of his slacks, the other holding a worn book. That familiar grin is plastered across his face—mischievous and warm, the one that’s always been your undoing, the one that revealed itself after he became comfortable with you.

“Mr. Todd,” You manage, your voice coming out more startled than you’d like. “What are you doing here?”

He steps into the room, his steps unhurried, confident, as if he belongs here. And, in a way, he does. He sets the book down on your desk—a leather-bound copy of Wuthering Heights, of course—before leaning against the edge, his hip brushing the stack of ungraded papers.

“I was walking past and heard you groaning,” he teases, folding his arms over his chest. “Figured you needed a rescue.”

You roll your eyes, though the corner of your mouth betrays you by twitching upward. “I wasn’t groaning, just . . . thinking.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I mean, I did feel my ears burning?”

Warmth rises to your cheeks, and you quickly duck your head, busying yourself with the papers on your desk. “You wish.”

He laughs, low and rich, and it sends a shiver down your spine. He leans in slightly, close enough that you can catch the faint scent of his cologne—the smell you were just thinking about. “Don’t I?” he murmurs, his voice softer now, teasing but laced with something more sincere.

You pause, your hand freezing mid-motion. When you glance up, his eyes are fixed on you, studying your face as if it’s a puzzle he’s determined to solve. It’s disarming, how easily he can shift from playful to serious, from cocky to earnest.

“You’re impossible, Jason,” You mutter, though there’s no real bite in your tone. Not when his name slips off your tongue like molasses, slow and warm.

“And yet, here I am,” he counters smoothly, a small smile tugging at his lips.

He lets out a breath. “So, what’s got you all worked up? Can’t be the papers.” He gestures to the stack dismissively. “You’ve handled worse.”

You sigh, leaning back in your chair and rubbing the back of your neck. “It’s nothing. Just . . . a long day.”

Jason tilts his head, unconvinced. But instead of pushing, he reaches for the book he’d brought in, gazing at the cover with a look you can’t identify.“You know,” he starts, his tone casual, “I’ve got this theory about Catherine and Heathcliff.”

You frown, caught off guard. “A theory?”

He nods, settling into the chair across from your desk as if he has all the time in the world. “Yeah. But I’ll only share it if you promise to stop stressing and listen.”

Despite yourself, You smile, leaning forward. “Fine. Let’s hear it.”

Jason reaches over and flips to the page he marked, his fingers brushing over the worn edges of the paper like it’s something sacred. You wonder if he marked the page thinking of you.

“See, people think Catherine and Heathcliff are this tragic love story,” He begins, his voice steady and confident. “But I think they’re more like two halves of the same storm—always colliding, always tearing things apart, but never quite able to exist without the other.”

You tilt your head, intrigued despite yourself. “That’s not exactly revolutionary,” you tease, your lips twitching into a smile. “Most people agree their relationship was toxic.”

Jason smirks, leaning back in his chair, watching his hair framing his face in a way that makes you want to take a picture and treasure it forever. “Toxic, sure. But that’s not what I’m talking about. It’s not about their relationship—it’s about their identities. They’re not just in love with each other. They’re in love with the parts of themselves they see in each other. That’s why they can’t let go.”

You blink, momentarily caught off guard by his insight. It’s not just what he says—it’s the way he says it, with that spark in his eyes, that fire that reminds you why you fell for him in the first place. “That’s. . . actually a good point,” you admit, crossing your arms. “But what about Cathy marrying Edgar? Doesn’t that contradict your whole theory?”

Jason chuckles, the sound low and warm. “Not at all. Cathy’s not choosing Edgar over Heathcliff—she’s choosing safety. Stability. But deep down, she knows she’s lying to herself. She says it outright: ‘I am Heathcliff.’ She can’t separate herself from him, no matter how hard she tries.”

You lean forward, resting your chin in your hand as you watch him. There’s something mesmerizing about the way he talks—so passionate, so sure of himself. It’s like the rest of the world fades away, leaving just the two of you and the story he’s spinning.

“And what about Heathcliff?” you ask softly. “What’s he in love with?”

Jason’s expression softens, and for a moment, he looks almost vulnerable. “He’s in love with the idea of her. The version of her he thinks he knows. But it’s not real. She’s as much a ghost to him as she is to anyone else by the end.”

The room falls quiet for a moment, his words hanging in the air between you. You study his face, the way his brow furrows just slightly, the way his jaw tightens like he’s holding something back. It hits you then how much of himself he sees in the story, how much of his own life he’s probably pouring into his interpretation.

“Jason,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. He glances up at you, and for a moment, the walls he’s built around himself seem to crack, letting you see the man beneath the bravado.

“Yeah?” he asks, his voice quieter now.

“Thank you.” The words are simple, but you mean them. For showing up, for distracting you, for reminding you why you fell in love with stories—and with him—in the first place.

His lips curve into a small, genuine smile, and he closes the book, setting it aside. “Anytime, doll,” he murmurs, his voice as soft as yours.

And as the two of you sit there, the papers and the worries forgotten, you can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this is your own version of a love story—messy, complicated, and beautifully imperfect.

It’s in every look, every moment, and every damn smile.

©miwsolovely do not plagiarize, copy, or repost my works to other platforms . likes, comments, and reblogs are very appreciated <3

[murderbot-diversity]

TMBD: The Murderbot Diversity Project

This blog exists to celebrate the many, varied, wonderful visual interpretations of Murderbot that currently exist in the fandom zeitgeist.

Blog icon art by Tommy Arnold, header art by @broken-risk-assessment-module for the Murderbot Fanimation.

Murderbot, as it appears on the page, is a character that has resonated with hundreds of thousands of readers as though it speaks to each of us personally. Its story is that of a person who is not respected by wider society as a person: systemically disenfranchised, marginalized, stripped of autonomy and self-determination and traumatized by a lifetime of it all, Murderbot nevertheless comes into its own understanding of itself and its place in the world, gaining a network of people who support it in the process. Murderbot becomes a character in whom the marginalized find resonance, representation, and hope.

The backdrop of Murderbot's world is rich with diversity, too: nonbinary humans with they/them or neopronouns, culture clash between CR and non-CR cultures, and names (Mensah, Pin-Lee, Bharadwaj, Ratthi, Thiago) that speak to diverse non-Western, real-world cultures, represented unremarkably but undeniably on the page.

And so, whether simply because we love its dry sarcasm and heart of gold, because we too are miserable and alienated under capitalism, or because it has spoken to our neurodivergent experiences, our aromantic and asexual experiences, our trans and genderqueer experiences, or our experiences as cultural or racial minorities, Murderbot has inspired a wide array of interpretations.

Murderbot has been any and all of what its fans need to see, a full spectrum of diversity beyond any one image set by institutional power. Masculine, feminine, and androgynous builds; tall and skinny, short and stacked, petite and dangerous; brown-skinned, Black, Asian, a variety of ethnicities; with and without a range of visible inorganic parts and joints; the power of its fans to imagine and reimagine Murderbot is unbounded.

Our goal is to support and encourage the Murderbot Diaries and its fandom in all its extant diversity.