#cell elasticity

[materialsscienceandengineering]

Advancing tissue engineering with shape memory hydrogels

One of the primary goals in the field of tissue engineering and regenerative medicine is the development of artificial scaffolds that can serve as substitutes for damaged tissue. These materials must ideally resemble natural tissue and must have the ability to support cell adhesion, proliferation, and differentiation. When considering scaffold materials, researchers account for the scaffold's properties, such as its surface roughness, its water content (hydration state), and its flexibility or stiffness (elastic modulus), since these properties are known to affect cell growth. Hydrogels are biocompatible cross-linked polymers with high water content and are a promising scaffolding material for soft tissue. They can be designed with different elasticities, which can match the mechanical properties of various natural tissues. However, their elastic modulus is linked to their composition, resulting in a difference in the characteristics between softer and harder hydrogels.

Read more.

[the-d-wave]

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[comatosebunny09]

carpe noctem [ falling action ] | sylus

— summary: he kissed you. you pretend it didn’t mean anything. sylus tries to show you it meant everything. — cw: reader is not mc, language, sexual tension, self-loathing, mutual pining, jealousy, blood & violence, self-deprecating thoughts, profanity, misunderstandings, romance, self-indulgent, wild caleb sighting, mdni — notes: thank you @subliminalwish for inspiring this part! and thank you all for reading! [ pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3 | pt. 4 | pt. 5 | pt. 7 ] — now playing: fuel to fire - agnes obel btbt - b.i

Their timing couldn’t be more impeccable—the twins. Your saving grace.

Sylus is a tempest. A storm ravaging the rickety foundation of your boat. He kisses greedy. Commanding, sipping from you like a fountain amid a desert. Swallowing the gruff little keens you make. You burn hot wherever he touches. His hands are like branding irons on your skin, amplified by the thin taffeta of your dress as they smooth up and down the curvature of your waist.

You’re dizzy when he snatches away, a growl in his throat. His lips are kiss-swollen. Burn a pretty red, stained by your lipstick. His eyes smolder like embers through the living room’s haze. Catch in the moonlight, gleaming a potent shade of scarlet. He reminds you of something beastly. Predatory. 

You did this to him?

In contrast, you’re sludge in his hands, swimming, blinking, drunk, and trying to remember how to breathe. For a moment, he appears hesitant. Gaze flits between your eyes and mouth as he holds you by your hips. Rubs reassuring circles into your hip bones with his thumbs. He’s so pretty like this. Inebriated by passion, silken white hair mussed from your greedy fingers. Expensive, pleated shirt all rumpled, bow tie loosened, composure thrown to hell.

But his phone keeps ringing. An obnoxious chime that makes your lips quirk despite the vertigo sweeping over you. It cuts through the wispy film of the night. Cleaves through the nebulous cloud of desire hanging between you, and with a bitten-off sound, he finally tugs his cell free of his pocket. 

He watches you as he brings it to his ear. Cups your cheek, brushing over your bottom lip with the worn pad of his thumb. Tugs it down, entranced by its elasticity. Its fullness. Your fingers clasp around his wrist. You nuzzle into the safety of his palm. Turn your mouth inward, blistering it with a kiss. Affection intermingled with amusement colors your eyes. He’s like a spoiled child, snatched off the playground before he was ready to leave.

“What,” he clips into the mic. 

A hesitant voice peers through the low static. Luke. “Mission accomplished, bossman.” You imagine Kieran peeking over his brother’s shoulder in the background, wariness hidden behind that gaudy bird mask. “All cleaned up over here.”

Sylus sighs something weighted. Shaky. Relieved. His shoulders drop with it, then tense again. The agitation doesn’t leave his face. Something’s on his mind. Something more pressing than a few ornery goons trying to hunt you down. You nip at his fingertips to assuage the divot forming between his brows. The taut pull of his lips. 

He hangs up without another word, shoving his phone back into his pocket. Draws you close, preparing to kiss you breathless once more. 

But it seems fate is a cruel, mischievous mistress, intervening when she deems it fit.

Because, this time, your phone rings. 

You stiffen. Sylus glowers at your—his—coat pocket. Studies you. He’s conflicted. Looks as if the world is descending into hell around him. Like he wants to take your phone and shatter it on the wall. You offer him a placating smile. Smooth a hand over his cheek before tugging your cell out. It’s only fair you leave him as on edge as he left you. 

He doesn’t let it deter him, pulling you impossibly closer. Peppers your neck with kisses, drawing a soft huff of laughter from your chest. Your head falls back, and he cradles it with his fingers, baring your throat to him. Groans something appreciative, writing the most beautiful compliments of all against your skin with his lips. 

You’re not thinking when you answer, too swept up in the moment. Dizzy from the needy drag of his lips over your carotid. Don’t think until a familiar lilt touches your ear, and a cold thrill shoots down your spine.

Little. Ms. Hunter. 

Fuck. 

Reality trickles in like the slow creep of a rainstorm, mooring you to the spot. You shove against Sylus’ chest. He ingests you with pinched brows, heavy lids, an open mouth. ‘What’s wrong?’ his expression reads. He’s desperate. Needy. Like you’re his lifeline, an IV drip.

You push against him again, chest so very hard and so wonderfully defined against the heel of your palm. You need space. You can’t breathe, but for an entirely different reason now. 

His hands reluctantly drop from your waist, falling listlessly at his sides. He turns away, rubbing the scruff of his neck with a sigh.

“What’s up?” you bite. Try to mask the waver of your voice, your quivering tendons. 

“Hey, how ya doin’?” She’s infuriatingly chipper. Happy for someone halfway across the world, as if she knows you’re up to no good. 

You don’t bother with pleasantries. You’re caught between wanting to laugh and cry. Damn the universe for spoiling your fun. “What do you need?”

The hunter’s hesitant for a beat. You envision her shifting her weight between her feet. Fiddling with her nails, her gaze cast to the floor. It’s not often you’re terse with her, at least not these days. You worked through those kinks of your relationship months back. But forgive you for being a little impatient. A little snippy when you finally satiated the ache between your teeth. 

“Sooo, I’m back earlier than expected. My ride cancelled on me. Would you mind picking me up from the airport? I’ll pay you back! Promise!” 

“You can’t catch a cab?” You push back your hair. Peer over your shoulder, hand cupped around the mic as if you’re whispering a secret. Sylus is behind you a little ways off, hand on hip; silhouette suffused in amber as he examines some picture frames on the sofa table, pretending not to eavesdrop.  

“Yeah, but it’s late! I don’t wanna get kidnapped, ya know?”

You suppress a frustrated sound, disbelieving. Not just of her, but the timing of everything. The reminder of what you’ve done and what you still want to do. One day, you’ll learn not to answer your phone. And one day, you’ll learn to tell your conscience to fuck right the hell off.

“Fine. Yeah, sure. Just…gimme a minute.”

“You’re the best! I don’t care what the twins say about you!” 

The call ends, and you sigh, leaning into your palm, propped against the frost-bitten windowpane. It grounds you in a way, its crispness a welcome contrast to your fevered skin. 

You jolt when Sylus emerges behind you in the form of artful hands melding to your waist. In the form of warm breath kissing the sensitive space behind your ear. His lips graze the shell of it. You snatch away as if scorched by fire, turning, spine acquainting itself with the window. Space. You need space. 

He gives you no time to breathe, spilling over you like liquid fire. Cages you in with his arms. Angles closer, swaddling you in the dangerous warmth of his body. Bathes you in the bewitching scent he carries, in the lazy, lust-laden stir of his eyes. You shirk away from his touch when his fingertips graze your cheek. He bristles.

Your heart pinches at the wounded look on his face. At how his fingers twitch before curling into a loose fist and falling back to his side. You duck away from him, a nervous smile dragging itself across your face. 

“She’s back,” you state plainly. It tastes bitter, acknowledging it aloud. Your belly swoops. You think you might be sick. “Asked if I could pick her up.”

His expression slackens. Gaze descends to the floor. “This late?”

You nod solemnly. 

Shouldn’t he be happy his Aphrodite has returned?

It’s unnervingly quiet between you now, making way for the whisper of the wind threading through the leaves outside where the sticky click of your lips and labored breaths once lived. 

Your throat clicks when you swallow. You want nothing more than to pull him against you again, to be wrapped in the possessive circle of his arms. To pick up where you left off before morality leaked in. But that call served as your reality check, and you’re both grateful and resentful it came when it did.

Sylus beholds you with beseeching eyes. Looks as if he might protest, lips quivering around an excuse to draw you back in. But he drops it. Instead, he opts for, “I’ll bring the car around,” sounding so uncharacteristically somber that you wince. 

He brushes past you through the front door, swallowed by the dust-speckled night. Leaves you to nurse the violent thrum of your heart and battle the maelstrom in your head. 

She’s back. Things will return to normal. This moment never happened. This night never happened. 

Still, your lips burn with the remnants of the kiss. You unconsciously touch the trembling, distended things, deciding to tuck the memory into the furthest hulls of your mind. 

He’s not yours, remember? Never will be. Never could be.

—

The ride to the airport was uncomfortably tense. 

Sylus tried vainly to reignite the flames sparked by the night—little displays of affection, possession. Spindly fingers curling around your thigh, a peek at you through the corner of his vision, knuckles deftly brushing your cheek to bring you back to the present. 

You inched away from his touch despite every synapse in your brain screaming for you to let it happen. He gave up after the third try. Gripped the gear stick, white-knuckled and radiating a silent dejectedness. 

You forced out a shaky breath when the overwhelmingly bright, fluorescent airport signs panned into view. 

“Heya!” chirped Ms. Hunter, pulling you into a tight hug once you dismounted the car. “You look all fancy. What have you been up to?”

You were stiff in her embrace, a tight smile pulling at your lips. She smelled of stale perfume and wet earth. Long hair tickled your neck. She radiated a warmth you envied as you rigidly returned the hug.

“Oh, you know. Nefarious things and all that.”

Ms. Hunter drew back, hands roosted on your shoulders. Her smile faltered when she got a good look at you. When the driver’s door slammed shut, and Sylus rounded the car to stand behind you, hands stuffed in his pockets. Her honey-dipped eyes flit over your face. She sensed something was up. Of course, she did. Anyone within a 50-mile radius could see the tension dangling off your shoulders. She looked like she wanted to interrogate you, but—

“Welcome back,” said Sylus, his tone easy. You were thankful for the save. Didn’t have to look back to know he was wearing that familiar cant to his lips. A look he, until tonight, only wore for her. “I take it your mission went well, given how early you returned.” 

You would've tasted the faint notes of indignation there had you not been so swept up in your head. 

“You have no idea,” she laughed, exhaustion lancing through her words. You pat her head, fondly ruffling her hair. 

He helped her put her suitcase in the trunk as she animatedly regaled the details of her mission. He smirked and nodded, listening intently. You tuned everything out in favor of listening to your pulse drum beneath your skin. 

Sylus held the passenger door open, watching you expectantly. Signaled for you to get in with his eyes as Ms. Hunter stood awkwardly behind you. The tension was tangible. Obvious. It made you sick.

He frowned when you forwent the passenger seat, sliding into the back. The front seat was always her place. You were merely squatting there, keeping the leather warm in her absence. You caught sight of the tense set of his jaw when he shut the door behind her. Your heart sank to your feet. 

As Sylus eased the car onto the highway, they filled the stiff, blue-light-tinged air with small talk. Their conversation was seamless as if no time had lapsed between them. You propped an elbow on the door, watching the scenery fly by in a blur beyond your window. 

And you shut your eyes against those scarlet irises occasionally observing you in the rearview mirror, a silent question brewing beneath bowed lashes.

‘Have I done something wrong?’

No. Never. It’s you who’s royally fucked up.

—

“Listen, sweetheart. You both seem like nice girls. But I ain’t budgin’.”

You roll your eyes for the umpteenth time. Scoff, a rigid set between your teeth. You’ve been like this for what feels like hours, propped against a wall, arms crossed, mind tumultuous. 

A few days after the hunter returned, Sylus sent his two gems to reclaim some of his property. Thelma and Louis at it again. 

You should be thrilled. You’ve been itching for a distraction since that night. When you let your emotions overwhelm you, and you gave into your selfish little whims. You can’t focus on much else, the pressure of Sylus’ lips still ingrained in your mind. The texture of his shirt sleeves between your fingers, the sound of his voice as he rasped his satisfaction into your skin. It replays like torn film reels in your mind, refusing to release you from its flimsy clutches. 

Since that night, he’s been uncharacteristically attentive. Filling the space with errant touches and lingering gazes. Rare quirks of his lips, an affectionate, secretive undernote to his timbre whenever he speaks to you. And his eyes. They bear more emotion than what you’re accustomed to seeing. 

It’s all been so very confusing, this new attitude of his. You don’t like it when things aren’t clear-cut and dry. Hate to beat around the bush.

You figured his attention would shift with the center of his universe back in rotation. 

To your chagrin and surprise, you’re wrong. You assume he’s only being so disarming because he needs you. Not just as his pretty little violent marionette. His honeypot. When Ms. Hunter inevitably leaves again—the life of a hunter must be so taxing—he’ll need someone to fall back on. A failsafe to keep his loneliness at bay. You just so happen to fit the bill.

The notion makes you scowl. The butcher’s voice isn’t helping curb your vexation, his laughter obnoxious and filled with phlegm. His fat ass isn’t taking either of you seriously. Of course, if you were him, you wouldn’t, either. 

Ms. Hunter’s been at this for a while, playing good cop to your bad. Trying to nice her way into getting him to sign the deed to his property back to Sylus. Really, it belongs to the latter man. He was just allowing the butcher to squat here while he carried out his work for Onychinus, slaughtering its opposition and packaging up their remains like fresh meat, shipping them off to anyone who dared utter the organization’s name in vain.

His use has run its course. He’s grown sloppy. Complacent. Disloyal. Been letting other faction leads buy him off, selling his knack of butchering to the highest bidder. He should be so lucky you’re not here to slit his throat.

Inwardly, you wonder if someday, you’ll suffer the same fate. If Ms. Hunter will be sent to snuff you out—your successor wiping you off the map like a blip on the radar. 

Until then, you’ll make yourself as indispensable as possible. Prove your worth. 

You push off the wall with a huff, face set with determination as adrenaline spumes through you. You close the distance between you and the hunter in four brisk strides. Snatch her pistol from the holster at her waist, barring her sentence in her throat. It’s weighted. Loaded. Good. 

You rack a round. Release the safety. The butcher barely has time to register anything before you aim. Inhale. Exhale. Pull the trigger at the lowest lull of your breath. And it’s so gratifying, the sound of a bullet whizzing past his ear and embedding itself in the plaster behind him. 

He’s petrified with fright behind his desk, mouth hinged open. Ms. Hunter blurs into focus beyond the front sight, turning incredulous eyes on you before narrowing them. The barrel’s still smoking, a satisfying, wispy cloud furling skyward. The leather grip squeaks in your hand, you’re holding it so tight. 

“Was that really necessary?” she berates. She’s doing that whisper-yelling thing. You’re in for an earful later. 

You shrug half-heartedly, reholstering her weapon. Push past, tugging the sleeves of your blazer up. “I’ve had enough of this,” you grate, snatching your leather gloves from your pocket and slipping them on with practiced precision. 

Neither of them knows what’s coming until you step behind the butcher. Until you’ve taken a fistful of sweaty, grease-slicked hair and acquainted his face with the bubbling finish of his desk with a loud thwack!

Ms. Hunter watches the scene unfold with horror twisting up her features. She’s rooted to the spot. Something plops on the desk. Evolves into a steady, sticky drip. Blood. Corrupted speckles of red staining the deed you’re meant to get signed. 

You lock eyes with your partner, bending at the waist over the butcher’s shoulder, grip unyielding on his hair. A show of power. Dominance, meant to convey, ‘This is how it’s done.’

A smirk twitches onto your lips. Your mouth brushes the outer shell of his ear, voice coming out deceptively doting. “Sign the fucking paper, or I’ll string you up like one of your little pigs and turn you into dog shit.”

His voice is wet. Strained, unflattering streaks of crimson leaking from his nose to puddle on the desk. “But—”

The hunter winces when you slam his face down again. He’s disoriented now. Swaying. If not for your iron grip on his hair, he’d fall into the arms of unconsciousness. 

“Okay, okay!” he relents, garbled and wet. 

You release his hair, shoving at his head none-too-gently, a facsimile of a smile rounding your lips. Perch a hand on his shoulder, squeezing with enough coercion to remind him of your potency. “Pleasure doing business with you, old man.”

The air thickens with fear. It’s quiet, save for the scratch of the butcher’s pen, as he shakily scrawls his signature on the deed, relinquishing his shop back to Sylus. You scrutinize the blood-flecked paper, satisfied. 

“I’ll give you until midnight to get the fuck out of here,” you casually say, snatching off your gloves to smooth out the lapels of your blazer. “Otherwise, I can’t guarantee your safety after.”

You leave the butcher to nurse a broken nose and a nasty headache, pushing past Ms. Hunter with a cocksure grin. 

“What the hell was that?!” she squeaks, rushing to keep pace with you as you step into the warm atmosphere outside, walking towards the sleek outline of your SUV.

“Business.”

“Yeah, but…did you have to threaten him like that? I mean, you could’ve killed the guy!”

With a scowl, you snatch the passenger door open for her to get in. “If you have a problem with how I do things, maybe you’re not cut out for this life, sweetheart.”

She scoffs disbelievingly. Haughty as she plops down on the passenger seat, crossing her arms. You’re being more venomous than usual. More pushy. You’re too far gone. You’ll apologize for making her your punching bag later. 

“What’s up with you?” she pressures once you’ve settled on the driver's side, discarding your gloves in the center console. Leans closer, squinting. You ease back. “You’ve been more bitchy than usual. You and Sylus have been acting weird.” 

She’s closer now, bursting your metaphorical bubble. Dangerously perceptive. You avoid eye contact as if doing so will reveal all the contents of your mind. Not that you have to. She’s alarmingly observant for someone who acts so naive. 

“Did something happen between you?”

You side-eye her as you start the engine, unknowingly confirming her suspicions. She quirks a brow, catching onto your game. Falls back against the leather of her seat to sulk over folded arms. “I knew it. Unbelievable. Didn’t I tell you to play nice while I was gone?!” 

“I’m always nice,” you counter under your breath, glaring at the console screen as you back up the SUV. 

The steering wheel scrubs between your hands after you shift to Drive, and as you slide the vehicle into the steady stream of traffic, you catch sight of the blood mottling the cuff of your sleeve, begging to differ. 

Maybe you’re being more ornery than you think.     

— 

The base is a network of paneled walls and glittering floors. Had you not been well-versed with its layout, you would surely get lost. But you’ve been here too many times. Once slept between these walls, laughed with the twins, and shared a glass of wine or two with your boss. 

Sometimes, he’d let you lie in his bed when your head was too fuzzy, and you couldn’t stop smiling after the wine left you tenuous and dazed. Nothing ever happened, much to your dismay. He was a gentleman through and through. And you never questioned him on why it was always his bed.

Things changed once Ms. Hunter entered the scene. 

This place used to be your asylum. Your respite from a world so vapid. For a moment, you could pretend the blood caked beneath your nails didn’t exist. And you could pretend you weren’t a weapon to be used at your employer’s disposal. But these days, you’ve avoided his mansion like a sickness, instead retreating to your own place in the city. You’re impeding. These walls no longer welcome you. 

You feel like a specter with unresolved conflict as you round the hall where Sylus’ study sits at its center. Your heart hurls itself against your rib cage. You’ve been distant since that night, shying away from his attempts to disarm you. All half-hearted ventures to keep you dangling on a frayed string until he next needs you to fill the void the hunter inevitably leaves. 

You tamp down your anxiety when the cool steel of the door handle bites into your palm. The voice inside is muffled. Deep. Resonant. Sylus is talking business. Orchestrating things that don’t concern you until he makes them your problem. You’ll be quick. Don’t want to stick around longer than necessary.  

Pushing open the heavy mahogany wood, you’re greeted by a shock of white nestled behind his desk. He’s on the phone. Looks up upon your entry, scarlet eyes narrowing, then softening with recognition. Your throat thickens.

You try to ignore how his look makes your stomach somersault. How every crevice of his office smells like him—bourbon, raw energy, and all things safe. You’re thrown back into the memory of that dusky night. The seal of his lips to yours, his fingers easing over the contours of your body like points on a star map.

Ignoring your thoughts, you conquer the distance between the door and his desk in measured strides, looking everywhere but at him. It’s too risky to maintain eye contact. He has a hold on you without trying. Without the straggly pull of his Evol, without the smoky compulsion of his voice. 

You plant the deed on the desk’s center with a muted thunk. His fingertips brush your knuckles, over the clutch of your hand. Static radiates between you. You reel back quicker than you mean to, bereft of the roughened slide of his fingers. Clear your throat, straighten your jacket. There’s a pinch between his brows, but it’s gone as quickly as it came. 

Sylus peers down at the paper, an inquisitive brow lifting at the oxidized brown dappling it. You give him a half-hearted shrug. You did your part. How you got there is a story for another day.

You don’t wait for him to dismiss you, wordlessly stepping away with a curt nod. He continues his conversation over your shoulder, and your body swells with relief. It’s short-lived when Ms. Hunter brushes past you on your way out of the door, tight-lipped and side-eyeing you with all the vexation of the world. 

Before you leave, you wait for the door to click shut behind you, catching wind of the hunter’s ire before thick layers of wood distort it. 

“Hang up the phone. We need to talk. Now.”

—

It’s a pleasure to dance. To forget yourself. 

Lux is lively tonight. Colored with mirth and strobing lights. Pounding music. You feel it in your chest as you move, a seductive, rehearsed smile crooking your lips. You rake your fingers through your hair. Drag your hands down the sweep of your waist, swiveling your hips, playing up your allure. You don’t have to do much to garner attention—it’s your job, remember?

You peacock about in the white metal birdcage you're housed in. Grab the bars, grinning down at the writhing crowd. It was your idea to give Lux a little umph, sweet-talking Sylus into having massive bird cages mounted from the ceiling. Fitting, given his obsession with pretty caged things.

Lux’s theme is ever-changing, courtesy of your eccentric mind. It keeps people coming in droves. Forces his enemies to rear their hideous mugs, lured to the nightclub by the promise of pretty women. 

The air between you was still dense. Rife with pheromones and unbidden feelings. But you were back donning your playful, arrogant mask as if the night you shared never existed. Back to flirting and giving Sylus the piss. 

The large faux wings you wear are surprisingly light. Stark, like the beautiful white tiger lounging on one side of the cage. The Bengal tiger yawns wide, giving you a show of pointed teeth. Teeth that could easily rip you asunder, yet he’s as docile as a house cat when you bend to pet through soft tufts of white. 

He slow-blinks at you, his gorgeous eyes shining like emeralds uncovered in a cave. You smile as you smooth your thumb over his nose. A pink tongue darts out to lick your palm. He reminds you of yourself—capable of extreme violence, yet docile in patient hands.

Your skin prickles. You notice you’re being watched, but not in a way you’re used to. A way that typically exudes desire. 

You turn to ingest a set of galaxy-infused eyes watching you intently through the throng of people. Youthful pockets of fat hang beneath his lower lids. A dark sweep of hair, thick brows. He towers over the crowd, a distinct cutout of virility and shrouded intentions. You don’t recall ever seeing him before. 

When your gazes intermingle, he smiles something corrupted. It doesn’t reach his eyes. You’re all too familiar with that look—one of a predator scoping out its next meal. Prey it intends to take its time eviscerating, licking its bones clean.

You smile all the more wider, and you smooth your hands over your body, maintaining eye contact as you play up the theatrics. It’s ritualistic in a way, how you move. Like you’re provoking him. You don’t know who this man is, but he’s ballsy, stepping into your den, challenging you.  

You tear your eyes away when the door to your cage swings open behind you, rocking it slightly on its hinges. A sizable hand peers in. You glance out, met with a riotous mop of white. Sylus. Gaze half-slit, relaxed. 

“Take five,” he says above the thumping music. 

You peer over your shoulder while taking his hand. The stranger you earlier locked eyes with has vanished, almost as if he were never there. You don’t pursue it. Not now at least. You allow Sylus to coax you down from the cage via hands at your waist. Stumble into him once on the ground, the air siphoned from your lungs. You're dizzy and breathless, being so close. He’s warm, smells divine, and you feel safe. Your palms press against his chest, his fingers wrapped about the crooks of your elbows to steady you.

He studies you with a reverent gleam to his irises as if he intends to kiss you, uncaring of any witnesses. Any questions. You shake away the thought, remembering yourself—your stance in his life. You offer him half a smile before retreating past him to the private bar for a drink. Something to ease your nerves, to cool your fevered skin.

Sylus’ expression hardens behind you as he scrutinizes the space you once stared at yourself. You don’t see the tenebrous threads of his Evol pouring from his body, licking the air. Don’t feel his aura bleeding a quieted malice, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. 

— tags: @unknown-ends, @viqlume, @nicohii, @beewilko, @lunebulous, @subliminalwish, @emneedshelp, @inkonparchment, @snowfall-jess, @bingbongchu, @greeenbeean, @shiorihoshino, @sillyfreakfanparty, @glamouroki, @midiplier, @kiri-tuk, @delulusimps, @moonlight-inthe-sea

climax 2.0 | masterlist | resolution

[bloomzone]

The essential skincare acids guide

type of acids sheet

Salicylic Acid – Best for oily and acne-prone skin. It penetrates deep into the pores, unclogs blackheads and whiteheads, controls excess oil, and prevents breakouts.

Glycolic Acid – Ideal for normal to oily skin. It exfoliates the top layer, brightens the skin, improves texture, and reduces fine lines and hyperpigmentation.

Lactic Acid – Suitable for dry and sensitive skin. It gently exfoliates while providing hydration, making it great for dullness and rough texture without irritation.

Mandelic Acid – Best for sensitive and acne-prone skin. It helps with uneven skin tone, reduces breakouts, and provides mild exfoliation without irritation.

Azelaic Acid – Works for all skin types, including sensitive skin. It reduces redness, fades hyperpigmentation, treats acne, and calms rosacea.

Kojic Acid – Best for hyperpigmented and sun-damaged skin. It helps lighten dark spots, melasma, and discoloration caused by acne scars or sun exposure.

Tranexamic Acid – Ideal for all skin types struggling with stubborn pigmentation. It effectively reduces melasma, post-inflammatory hyperpigmentation (PIH), and sunspots.

Hyaluronic Acid – Suitable for all skin types, especially dry and dehydrated skin. It deeply hydrates, plumps fine lines, and retains moisture for a youthful look.

Polyglutamic Acid – Great for dry and dehydrated skin. It locks in moisture, provides long-lasting hydration, and enhances the skin’s elasticity.

Ascorbic Acid (Vitamin C) – Best for dull, uneven, and aging skin. It brightens, reduces pigmentation, fights free radicals, and boosts collagen production.

Ferulic Acid – Works for all skin types, particularly those using Vitamin C. It enhances the antioxidant power of Vitamin C and E, preventing premature aging.

Ceramides (Fatty Acids) – Essential for dry and sensitive skin. They repair and strengthen the skin barrier, preventing water loss and irritation.

Linoleic Acid (Omega-6 Fatty Acid) – Ideal for acne-prone and oily skin. It reduces clogged pores, balances oil production, and supports a healthy skin barrier.

Ellagic Acid – Good for sun-damaged and aging skin. It protects against UV damage, brightens skin, and provides antioxidant benefits.

Cinnamic Acid – Suitable for all skin types. It has anti-inflammatory properties and helps protect against environmental damage.

Succinic Acid – Best for oily and acne-prone skin. It controls sebum production, fights acne-causing bacteria, and soothes inflammation.

How to choose the right skincare acid for ur skin type

Oily & Acne-Prone Skin

Salicylic Acid (BHA): Penetrates deep into pores to remove excess oil and prevent breakouts.

Azelaic Acid: Reduces acne, fades dark spots, and calms redness.

Succinic Acid: A gentle anti-inflammatory that helps control breakouts.

Dry & Dehydrated Skin

Lactic Acid (AHA): Exfoliates while hydrating the skin.

Hyaluronic Acid: Retains moisture and plumps the skin.

Mandelic Acid: A mild exfoliant that improves texture without drying.

Combination Skin

Glycolic Acid (AHA): Brightens skin and smooths texture.

Salicylic Acid (BHA) (my bff🦅) : Controls oil production in the T-zone.

Hyaluronic Acid: Hydrates dry areas while balancing oil.

Sensitive Skin

Mandelic Acid: A gentle AHA that exfoliates with minimal irritation.

Azelaic Acid: Soothes inflammation and reduces redness.

PHA (Polyhydroxy Acids): Provides mild exfoliation while boosting hydration.

Hyperpigmentation & Dark Spots

Kojic Acid: Brightens skin and reduces discoloration.

Tranexamic Acid: Fades stubborn dark spots and melasma.

Glycolic Acid (AHA): Speeds up cell turnover for an even skin tone.

Aging & Wrinkles

Glycolic Acid (AHA): Stimulates collagen production and smooths fine lines.

Ferulic Acid: Enhances antioxidant protection and stabilizes vitamin C.

Ascorbic Acid (Vitamin C): Brightens skin and fights free radical damage.

Common Mistakes When Using Skincare Acids

Using skincare acids can transform your skin, but when used incorrectly, they can cause irritation, sensitivity, or even worsen skin concerns. Here are some common mistakes to avoid:

1. Over-Exfoliating

Many people think using glycolic or salicylic acid daily will give them faster results, but excessive exfoliation weakens the skin barrier. This can lead to redness, peeling, breakouts, and sensitivity. (especially for oily skin)

Solution: Use exfoliating acids (AHAs/BHAs) 2-3 times per week and always listen to your skin. If it feels irritated, take a break pleaaase

2. Skipping Sunscreen

Acids like glycolic, lactic, and salicylic acid increase your skin’s sensitivity to the sun. Without SPF, you risk sunburn, premature aging, and even worsening of dark spots.

Solution: Always use a broad-spectrum SPF 30+ sunscreen daily when using serums with those acids.

3. Mixing the Wrong Acids

Not all acids work well together. Using too many active ingredients in one routine can cause irritation.

🔴 Examples of bad combinations:

Vitamin C + AHAs/BHAs → Can cause irritation and weaken Vitamin C’s effectiveness.

Retinol + AHAs/BHAs → Too harsh on the skin, leading to peeling and sensitivity. (by experience 💁🏻‍♀️)

Niacinamide + Vitamin C (unless properly formulated) → Can cause flushing or reduce effectiveness.

Solution: Use exfoliating acids on alternate days and simplify your routine to avoid irritation.

4. Not Hydrating Properly

Exfoliating acids remove dead skin cells but can also strip away moisture. Without proper hydration, the skin can feel tight, dry, or irritated.

Solution: After using acids, apply thick a moisturizer to maintain balance especially if the acids dry ur skin so fast

@bloomzone

[jacksabbotts]

spencer reid x fem!bsf!reader tw .' suggestive themes , nsfw , male masturbation , somnophilia-adjacent? ( mdi 18+ )

masterlist | series masterlist | dividers by @cafekitsune | join the taglist | previous part

imagine sharing a bed with bsf!spence ( part two )

he knows he should’ve moved. should’ve peeled you off of him, made a run for the bathroom, begged the hotel faucet to save him with a cold blast of clarity.

because it wasn’t just the grinding anymore.

it was the breathless little whimper you gave next, the way your knee nudged his cock—direct, intentional or not, he didn’t know—but it knocked the air right out of his lungs.

but instead, he stayed frozen beneath you, body tense, cock twitching, every cell in his body humming with electricity.

'spence,' you murmured again, and god help him, he swore you sounded wrecked. needy. sweet little gasps escaping you with each slow, subtle rock of your hips.

his fist clenched the sheet at his side.

don’t do it. don’t do it. don’t—

you whimpered again. your knee pressed harder into his cock, and spencer had to bit back a broken groan, teeth sinking into the meat of his bottom lip so hard he swore he tasted blood.

fuck it.

his free hand slid under the blanket, slow and shameful. he didn’t grab himself right away—he couldn’t. not yet. he hovered, palm flat on his lower stomach, fingers twitching, like even his own body was hesitant to cross the final line. what little strength he had left, he used to try and stop himself from masturbating right next to you.

but then you shifted again—grinding into his thigh, your breath hitching—and that was it.

he pushed his hand from where it rested on his stomach and pushed it under the elastic band of his flannel pajama pants. he wrapped his hand around himself.

his breath stuttered out, sharp and strangled, lips parted as he squeezed the aching length of his cock. he stroked slow. shamefully slow and loose. because anything faster or harder and he was going to lose it immediately.

you moaned again—his fucking name. barely audible, muffled into his collarbone, but it shook him to his core. the rhythm of your grinding had deepened, hips pressing with more certainty, like your dream-self was chasing something. and he could feel the heat of you through the thin fabric of his pants, your slick soaking through your thin silk sleep shorts. onto him.

he stifled a groan in his throat, pressing the heel of his palm against his cock before resuming his strokes. still slow. still careful. still light.

every inch of movement made him tremble. every drag of skin, every pulse in his palm, pushed him closer to the edge.

this was so wrong. you were asleep, he thought.

but fuck, you felt so good. your body soft and pliant against his, voice a symphony of breathy, half-spoken desires. you were on him. and if your moans could attest to anything, you were dreaming about him.

god! he hoped you were.

he could feel it happening. his balls tightening. his grip faltering. his thighs trembling. he was getting close. you moaned again—a broken, blissed-out sound—and just as your hips gave one final desperate rut into his leg, spencer came.

hard.

and embarrassingly fast. he prayed to what ever high power there was that you could not witness how fast he had come in his pajama pants.

white-hot pleasure tore through him as he spilled into his fist, jaw clenched around a grunt, chest rising fast with the effort of holding back any sound louder than a breath. his whole body tensed beneath you, and he had to hold his breath to keep from collapsing into the moment.

you sighed contentedly against him.

and then stilled.

and that’s when it hit him—he had just come in his pants. thinking about you. next to you. while you were unconscious.

his heart was racing. his face was burning. his hand was sticky. his pajamas were ruined. and he—

'oh my god,' he whispered.

without waking you, he slid out from under your limbs—carefully, gently, like defusing a bomb. you gave a small sigh, shifting just enough to let him go, and spencer held his breath the whole time, heart threatening to leap straight out of his throat.

thank the science gods, he made it with out startling you from your scandalous dream.

he grabbed his go bag with trembling hands and bolted to the bathroom like the walls themselves might start whispering his sins aloud.

the bathroom light flicked on.

the door shut.

lock engaged.

and that’s when your eyes fluttered open.

blinking into the dark, you reached out, hand brushing cold sheets. Your brows furrowed. it took a moment for your mind to catch up, body still warm, slick, thrumming faintly from whatever dream had held you captive.

you sat up slowly, blinking at the dim red glow of the bedside clock.

3:49 am

your mouth tasted like sleep. your thoughts like static. you rubbed your face and glanced at the empty space beside you, brows pinching in confusion.

'spence?' you whispered, voice raspy.

no answer.

but then, from the other side of the door—water running. the bathroom fan humming faintly.

you blinked again, then shrugged, already flopping back into bed, tugging the covers up to your chin. your legs still felt strange. heavy. tingling.

you fell asleep again within seconds, none the wiser.

and spencer? spencer gripped the bathroom sink so hard his knuckles whitened, trying to remember how to breathe.

trying not to imagine how sweet your moan had sounded when you said his name.

the shower was already running. cold water, pneumonia be damned. frankly, he knew thats what he deserved it.

okay. okay. okay. just—breathe. don’t think. don’t panic.

which, of course, meant he was thinking and panicking.

his pajama pants were still wet. the patch on his thigh, the place you had focused all your attention, wet and sticky. he could feel the smear of precum sticking to the fabric, the twitch of his cock against it, angry and aching and desperate for more relief. still half-hard and pulsing from the way you had rutted into him one last time before he had the self control to pull away— and like a goddamn dream come true no less.

a nuclear-level sex crime all at once.

you didn’t do anything, spencer. she didn’t know. she was asleep. it’s not like you—

his eyes flicked up to the mirror. he looked like sin.

sweaty curls. pink cheeks. pupils blown wide with arousal and guilt.

jesus christ. she’s your best friend, you fucking idiot. she trusts you, he thought.

but that wasn’t the worst part.

the worst part was the way you’d said his name.

spence. over and over, you had said it. he had though the first time that it was a mistake, that you were saying some other persons name that had just sounded similar to his own. but alas the second time you'd let it slip past your lips in a whispery moan, spencer had heard it loud and clear.

it hadn’t been casual. it hadn’t been platonic. it had been needy. wrecked. like a prayer said through a moan. a sound he didn’t even know he’d been dying to hear until it came rolling off your tongue in a dream you didn’t even remember.

he hadn’t made you say it. hadn’t asked. hadn’t even touched you for fucks sakes.

so why does it feel so fucking wrong?

his heart stuttered in his chest. then beat faster. and faster. his cock twitched again, this time more insistent. throbbing as if he didn't just come to the sound of your voice ( and probably harder than he ever had before ).

no. no, don’t. you’re not going to—

but then the memory flickered again.

your hips rocking against him. your slick heat soaking into his leg. your lips on his neck. your voice, helpless and wrecked and whispering his name like it meant something.

spence.

it was like a fucking drug and there was nothing he could do once you entered his system.

and that was it.

he dropped his head with a hiss and gritted his teeth as his hand slid down for the second time in twenty minutes, fingers curling around the length of himself through the damp fabric.

'just once more, i promise. just get it out.'

he would hate himself in the morning.

but for now?

now, all he could think about was the weight of you tangled around him, the soft curve of your lips against his throat, and the sinful, sacred sound of your moan in the dark.

THE END

🏷️. @maxiismp | @theburgundyonmytshirt1989 | @cel070321 | join the taglist

[digital-grim]

Ever wondered what this image means? Or just curious about the layers of skin on your body? And to make it worth your while I'll cover how to treat the wounds

First we have the epidermis which is also known as the 'Cat Scratch' layer. The Epidermis is also the outer Barrier which is the outermost layer of the skin. It acts as the body’s first line of defense against bacteria, viruses, UV rays, and dehydration.

Some key features of this layer are: made of stratified squamous epithelium, Avascular, (contains no blood vessels) Constantly regenerates every 28-40 days, Composed of five sublayers (from deepest to outermost): Stratum basale – where new skin cells are produced.

Stratum spinosum – strengthens skin through keratin production.

Stratum granulosum – cells start to die, forming a waterproof barrier.

Stratum lucidum – found only in thick skin (palms, soles).

Stratum corneum – layers of dead keratinized cells.

And finally the important cells of this layer: Keratinocytes (produce keratin)

Melanocytes (produce melanin for pigment)

Langerhans cells (immune response)

Merkel cells (touch sensation)

Next we have The Dermis also known as the Styro/foam layer

Beneath the epidermis lies the dermis, a thicker layer that provides strength and elasticity.

The structure of this layer is divided up into two regions: Papillary layer (upper): loose connective tissue, capillaries, and sensory neurons, and the Reticular layer (lower): dense connective tissue, collagen, and elastin fibers.

The function for these two layers Houses blood vessels, hair follicles, sweat glands, sebaceous glands, and nerve endings. Thermoregulation, sensation, and wound healing happen here.

Now we have the 'Beans' layer which is called The Hypodermis (Subcutaneous Layer) The hypodermis, also known as the subcutaneous tissue, is the innermost layer of the skin, which is made of loose connective tissue and fat cells (adipocytes).

The functions of this layer Insulates the body and maintains core temperature, Cushions internal organs, Stores energy as fat, Connects skin to underlying muscles and bones.

Fun Fact:

The thickness of skin varies depending on the location—it's thickest on the palms and soles (up to 4 mm) and thinnest on the eyelids (around 0.5 mm).

Finally the Laffy Taffy and bedrock layers are simply muscle and bone. Now I'm going to move on to what everyone is waiting for and that is

what happens when each layer is cut and how to treat the wound

Cut to the Epidermis (Superficial Wound)

➤ What Happens:

Only the top layer of skin is damaged. Minimal bleeding or none at all. May sting or look red. Example: light scratch, razor nick.

➤ Healing & Treatment:

The body quickly begins regeneration of skin cells from the stratum basale.

Usually heals in 3–7 days without scarring.

Clean the area, apply antibiotic ointment, and bandage if needed.

Cut to the Dermis (Partial-Thickness Wound)

➤ What Happens: Bleeding occurs due to blood vessels in the dermis. Pain, redness, and inflammation. Possible exposure of nerve endings, causing sensitivity.

Example: deeper knife cuts, second-degree burns.

➤ Healing & Treatment:

May take 1–3 weeks depending on depth.

Wound must be kept clean and moist to prevent infection.

May require stitches, antibiotics, and regular dressing changes.

Skin may scar depending on healing and depth.

Cut to the Hypodermis (Full-Thickness Wound)

➤ What Happens: Deep wound cuts through all skin layers. Exposure of fat tissue; bleeding can be profuse. Risk of infection is higher.

Example: puncture wounds, lacerations, animal bites.

➤ Healing & Treatment:

Professional medical attention required.

Usually needs stitches or even surgical intervention.

May require tetanus shot or oral antibiotics.

Heals slower, and scarring is likely.

Cut into Muscle Tissue

➤ What Happens: Muscle fibers are damaged—can cause weakness, limited mobility, or muscle spasms.Deep bleeding, swelling, bruising.Risk of nerve or tendon damage if injury is severe.

➤ Healing & Treatment:

Requires stitches or even surgical repair if muscle is torn.

Long healing period (weeks to months).

May involve physical therapy to regain strength and function.

Pain management with medication.

Injury to the Bone (Open or Compound Fracture)

➤ What Happens: Bone is fractured and exposed through the skin. Extreme pain, bleeding, and high risk of infection. Can damage surrounding nerves, muscles, and vessels.

➤ Healing & Treatment:

Emergency medical care is critical.

Often requires surgery, including:

Bone realignment (reduction)

Metal rods, plates, or screws (internal fixation)

Antibiotics, wound care, and immobilization (cast or brace).

Healing may take 6–12 weeks or longer.

My final notes:

Always seek medical attention for deep wounds, uncontrollable bleeding, or exposed tissue.

Proper wound care prevents infection and supports faster recovery.

Healing varies based on age, health, nutrition, and injury type.

And always remember to take proper care of yourself <3

[reasonsforhope]

"It is 70 years since AT&T’s Bell Labs unveiled a new technology for turning sunlight into power. The phone company hoped it could replace the batteries that run equipment in out-of-the-way places. It also realised that powering devices with light alone showed how science could make the future seem wonderful; hence a press event at which sunshine kept a toy Ferris wheel spinning round and round.

Today solar power is long past the toy phase. Panels now occupy an area around half that of Wales, and this year they will provide the world with about 6% of its electricity—which is almost three times as much electrical energy as America consumed back in 1954. Yet this historic growth is only the second-most-remarkable thing about the rise of solar power. The most remarkable is that it is nowhere near over.

To call solar power’s rise exponential is not hyperbole, but a statement of fact. Installed solar capacity doubles roughly every three years, and so grows ten-fold each decade. Such sustained growth is seldom seen in anything that matters. That makes it hard for people to get their heads round what is going on. When it was a tenth of its current size ten years ago, solar power was still seen as marginal even by experts who knew how fast it had grown. The next ten-fold increase will be equivalent to multiplying the world’s entire fleet of nuclear reactors by eight in less than the time it typically takes to build just a single one of them.

Solar cells will in all likelihood be the single biggest source of electrical power on the planet by the mid 2030s. By the 2040s they may be the largest source not just of electricity but of all energy. On current trends, the all-in cost of the electricity they produce promises to be less than half as expensive as the cheapest available today. This will not stop climate change, but could slow it a lot faster. Much of the world—including Africa, where 600m people still cannot light their homes—will begin to feel energy-rich. That feeling will be a new and transformational one for humankind.

To grasp that this is not some environmentalist fever dream, consider solar economics. As the cumulative production of a manufactured good increases, costs go down. As costs go down, demand goes up. As demand goes up, production increases—and costs go down further. This cannot go on for ever; production, demand or both always become constrained. In earlier energy transitions—from wood to coal, coal to oil or oil to gas—the efficiency of extraction grew, but it was eventually offset by the cost of finding ever more fuel.

As our essay this week explains, solar power faces no such constraint. The resources needed to produce solar cells and plant them on solar farms are silicon-rich sand, sunny places and human ingenuity, all three of which are abundant. Making cells also takes energy, but solar power is fast making that abundant, too. As for demand, it is both huge and elastic—if you make electricity cheaper, people will find uses for it. The result is that, in contrast to earlier energy sources, solar power has routinely become cheaper and will continue to do so.

Other constraints do exist. Given people’s proclivity for living outside daylight hours, solar power needs to be complemented with storage and supplemented by other technologies. Heavy industry and aviation and freight have been hard to electrify. Fortunately, these problems may be solved as batteries and fuels created by electrolysis gradually become cheaper...

The aim should be for the virtuous circle of solar-power production to turn as fast as possible. That is because it offers the prize of cheaper energy. The benefits start with a boost to productivity. Anything that people use energy for today will cost less—and that includes pretty much everything. Then come the things cheap energy will make possible. People who could never afford to will start lighting their houses or driving a car. Cheap energy can purify water, and even desalinate it. It can drive the hungry machinery of artificial intelligence. It can make billions of homes and offices more bearable in summers that will, for decades to come, be getting hotter.

But it is the things that nobody has yet thought of that will be most consequential. In its radical abundance, cheaper energy will free the imagination, setting tiny Ferris wheels of the mind spinning with excitement and new possibilities.

This week marks the summer solstice in the northern hemisphere. The Sun rising to its highest point in the sky will in decades to come shine down on a world where nobody need go without the blessings of electricity and where the access to energy invigorates all those it touches."

-via The Economist, June 20, 2024

[twd-bee3]

Braiding

Summary: You had some kind of stomach virus, and your hair keeps getting in your face. Daryl wants to help you out and braid your hair back for you.

Warnings/Tags: brief description of illness, references to vomiting (not detailed because I have emetophobia), established relationship, female reader (she/her), reader has hair that is long enough to braid, season three, no use of y/n

Word count: 648 words

A/N: I've been violently ill and took three trips to the ER in two weeks, so this oneshot was a great distraction. This is also my apology for my previous post. Here's a sweeter moment with much lower stakes. Don’t let this fool you, though. I will be posting more angst lmao. Also, PLEASE drop some requests and I will write them as soon as I can🙏🏻

A stomach virus was going around the prison for weeks, and it finally reached you. You'd been unable to keep food down for three days, and you were miserable. Seeing his vibrant girl look so defeated hurt Daryl, and he did his best to care for you. He'd always done things on his own, and caring like this felt foreign to him, but he was willing to try for you.

Entering your shared cell, he saw you lying there, and he felt a pang of guilt for not being able to do more. Daryl had always been a fixer when it came to the people he loved. The fact that he couldn't take this illness away from you was beyond frustrating. Approaching the bunk, he crouched down and spoke softly. He didn't want to catch you off guard.

“Hey sweetheart, how're you doin'?”

Despite your obvious exhaustion, your face lit up the second that you heard his voice.

“Been better, but I'm still kickin'.”

“Can I get you anythin'?” As he spoke, Daryl rested a hand on your face and absentmindedly stroked your cheek.

Feeling nauseous again, your face grew pale, and you let out a small sound of discomfort. You shifted on the thin mattress and leaned into his touch.

“I don't think so. I can't really keep anythin' down.”

Daryl could feel your clammy skin beneath his hand, and he gently moved a sweaty piece of hair from your face. He had never seen you look so poorly, and it made his chest ache. It was obvious that you were going to be sick again, and he wanted to make you more comfortable. It took a moment, but he finally came up with something.

“Your hair keeps gettin' in your face, baby. Can I help you with that?”

The mere idea of that brought you some relief, and your expression softened. “Yes, please.”

Sitting on the cot next to you, Daryl carefully helped you sit up and positioned your body in front of him. He double-checked that you could sit up on your own before speaking softly, “I'm gonna braid it, so it ain't gettin' in your way no more. Might make it easier if you puke again.”

“You can braid? Dixon, you've been holdin' out on me.”

He rolled his eyes at your comment and started separating your hair into three sections that were somewhat even. As he started to braid, he felt you relax and smiled a little. His thick fingers wove through your hair with surprising ease.

“I've really only braided leather, so don't start bitchin' if this looks like shit.”

“I'm sure it'll look great, my love. Ain't like I'm gonna be able to see it anyway.”

“Yeah, yeah. At least you think so highly of me.”

Even though Daryl's tone was gruff, he had a small smile on his face, and there was a light flush to his cheeks. His stubborn ass would never admit that he enjoyed your praise.

As he continued to braid, your body grew lax against his, and he could hear your breathing even out. You needed your rest, so he let you sleep while he focused on his work. Your hair was soft, and braiding it was surprisingly easy. Although he would've liked to brush your hair. They just didn't have luxuries like combs at the moment.

Daryl finally worked his way to the end of your hair and finished off the plait. He took the bottom piece and looped it through the middle of the braid. Growing up, he'd seen his mother do this when she didn't have an elastic.

You were still in a light state of sleep, so he laid you back down on the bunk. Your face maintained its pallor, but your expression was at ease. Kissing the top of your head, Daryl pulled the blanket over you and quietly exited the cell.

[highblkfemsociety]

Nourish Your Beauty: The Ultimate Fall Vegetable Guide

As the seasons shift, so do our nutritional needs—and the vegetables that thrive in the cooler months are packed with vitamins and minerals perfect for keeping your skin glowing and your health strong. For the Feminine Woman, integrating seasonal produce into your diet not only nourishes your body but also radiates beauty from within. Here are the best fall veggies to stock up on and their incredible benefits for both your health and your skin.

1. Sweet Potatoes

Sweet potatoes are rich in beta-carotene, which your body converts into Vitamin A—a key nutrient for maintaining healthy skin. Vitamin A helps prevent dry skin, keeps it soft, and promotes a youthful appearance by encouraging cell turnover.

Beauty Benefits:

• Glowing Skin: Beta-carotene protects your skin from UV damage and gives it a natural, radiant glow.

• Anti-aging: The high antioxidant content fights free radicals, reducing the appearance of wrinkles.

• Hydration: The Vitamin C in sweet potatoes aids in collagen production, helping to keep skin plump and moisturized.

How to Use: Roast sweet potato slices with olive oil, rosemary, and a pinch of sea salt for a simple yet delicious side dish.

2. Kale

Kale, the queen of greens, is one of the most nutrient-dense vegetables you can add to your diet in fall. It’s loaded with Vitamins C, E, and K, which are crucial for skin health, elasticity, and wound healing.

Beauty Benefits:

• Cleanses Your Skin: Kale’s high fiber helps to detoxify the body, leading to clearer, more even-toned skin.

• Fight Acne: The Vitamin C in kale reduces inflammation, making it a perfect addition to combat blemishes.

• Skin Elasticity: Vitamin K helps with skin elasticity, reducing dark circles and puffiness under the eyes.

How to Use: Add kale to a smoothie for a nutrient boost or sauté it with garlic for a quick, nutrient-packed side.

3. Butternut Squash

Butternut squash is high in Vitamin E, beta-carotene, and potassium, which help your skin stay hydrated, soft, and smooth. It’s perfect for preventing signs of aging while keeping your skin firm.

Beauty Benefits:

• Hydrated Skin: Butternut squash helps retain moisture in your skin due to its rich potassium content.

• Even Skin Tone: Its Vitamin E helps even out your complexion and reduces hyperpigmentation.

• Firmness: The collagen-boosting properties of Vitamin C in this squash keep your skin looking firm and youthful.

How to Use: Roast butternut squash and blend it into a creamy soup or cube it for a hearty salad.

4. Brussels Sprouts

Brussels sprouts are often underrated but are a powerhouse when it comes to skin health. Rich in Vitamin C, Brussels sprouts promote collagen production, which helps maintain your skin’s firmness and elasticity.

Beauty Benefits:

• Brighter Skin: Vitamin C boosts your skin’s radiance, making it look brighter and more youthful.

• Collagen Boost: Collagen production is essential for skin structure and elasticity, reducing sagging and fine lines.

• Detox: Brussels sprouts help detoxify the skin, flushing out harmful toxins and leaving your complexion clear.

How to Use: Roast Brussels sprouts with balsamic vinegar for a tangy, crunchy side dish that’s perfect for fall.

5. Beets

Beets are known for their blood-purifying properties, which lead to clearer, healthier skin. They’re also loaded with antioxidants that prevent signs of premature aging.

Beauty Benefits:

• Glowing Skin: Beets help boost blood circulation, resulting in a natural flush and radiant complexion.

• Detox Power: The high iron content in beets helps detoxify the body, keeping skin clear and blemish-free.

• Anti-Inflammatory: Beets’ anti-inflammatory properties reduce puffiness and redness.

How to Use: Add roasted beets to salads or blend them into smoothies for a pop of vibrant color and nutrients.

Incorporating these seasonal veggies into your fall diet will not only boost your health but also enhance your beauty from the inside out. These nutrient-packed powerhouses will keep your skin hydrated, youthful, and glowing as the temperatures drop.

So, head to your local farmer’s market, stock up on these fall essentials, and let your natural beauty shine!

[giulliadella]

Speculative Biology of Euclydians (and Bill Cipher) part 2

Part 1, Part 3, Part 4, UPDATE, Part 5

So this part is what you've all been waiting for, it took so long, but you'll quickly understand why. This part is:

The Biology of Bill Cipher

As always, this analysis is based on two assumptions:

Before Bill Cipher became a demigod, he was a biological, living organism and so were the rest of his species.

Even after Bill Cipher became a demigod, he still retained some physical characteristics of his biological form.

And a fair content warning: This contains anatomy illustrations. This isn't anything gory, but there are people who are squeamish, so you've been warned.

Click on the images to get better quality!

And without further ado, let's begin.

External structures

Euclydians are animals with a very specific shape. They have a shell in a form of a geometric shape and four limbs. Bill is an equilateral triangle, so my analysis will be just on triangular Euclydeans.

They have bilateral symmetry. This type of symmetry is characterized by having a left and a right side placed like mirror images of each other. Humans and majority of Earth’s animals also have this feature.

Bilaterally symmetrical organisms usually have a distinct head region, because of a process known as cephalization. This process moves the animal’s brain and sensory organs towards one end of the body – the head. Euclydians have a head. It’s the “tip of the pyramid” on Bill and that’s where the eye and other sensory organs and brain are located.

Finally, Euclydeans are segmented. Their segments are clearly visible as those weird brick lines on their body. Bill also often separates his body into three segments. This is a part of his god powers, but it tells us that Euclydeans have three major body segments, I’ll call them the tip, the middle and the base. Each segment contains specific organs.

Euclydeans are invertebrates. And yes, I know this image exists, but this is just Bill’s trolling. He’s making fun of human classrooms where we often find skeleton models. That skeleton wouldn’t even be functional, because it doesn’t have any joints in arms and legs, so it wouldn’t be able to move. And it has a hole where the brain would be, so you know, the fucking brain would fall out.

It was outright stated that Bill has an exoskeleton. Having both external and internal skeleton would be a big waste because you have two systems that do the same thing. Besides, the way Bill's limbs move is much more similar to an invertebrate. His shell is also somewhat bendable which would not be possible if it was made of bone. And the eye-mouth complex that Bill uses to eat would also be completely impossible with a set of vertebrate jaws.

Euclydean shell (or exoskeleton) is nothing like anything here on Earth. It’s most likely made out of silica combined with proteins. I say this because Bill turned to stone when he died and he also likes to eat glass, which is pure silica.

The exoskeleton is made out of several parts. It has a front (ventral) and back (dorsal) part. Both the front and the back part of the exoskeleton are made out of head region (the tip) and three layers of “bricks” which are just segments of the exoskeleton.

The front tip is probably made of more protein and elastic tissue than the back, because Bill has a very expressive “face”. This means that he also has quite complex facial muscles. The back of the head is probably the hardest part of the exoskeleton because it protects the brain. Bricks are in the middle since they have a very important role in speaking and breathing, but also allow the shell to bend.

Can Euclydeans change color, or is it just Bill Cipher using his god powers? Well, since he changes his color on instinct, I think they could! Bill can change color to black, yellow, red and blue. This means that he has a complex system of chromatophores – cells that contain little sacs full of pigment. When the sacs inflate, the body appears to be the color of the largest sac, whilst those deflated are invisible. Color changes depending on the pigments contained in inflated sacs. In Bill, the pigments are red, blue and yellow. Yellow is the standard color, it signifies neutral or content emotional state. He turns red when he's angry or wants to look intimidating and blue might signify fear, despair and cry for help. Black is the color of Euclydean’s skin, so when they look black, it’s because all pigment sacs have deflated and the transparent shell allows us to see the skin underneath.

And yes, Euclydeans have black skin. I know some people say that Bill wears thigh high boots and long gloves, but to me, that doesn’t make any sense. Like, that image of him in Theraprism is showing him with clothes over his supposed gloves and boots. Why would they make him wear sneakers over boots? And why baby Bill has yellow hands? Well, that’s something I’ll tell you in the next part where I’ll talk about babies.

Anyways, the skin is black, but we have no idea what it feels like. Seriously, so many people shook hands with Bill and nobody wrote down how his skin feels like! But we know that he has fingerprints. That means that he has very sensitive fingertips and that those little paws were made for grabbing things. Also, Bill doesn’t have any growths on his skin: no nails, hairs, scales etc. I know a lot of people love to draw Bill with claws, but he doesn’t have claws, not even in his most eldritch form. His fingers always remain small and soft. The legs have no fingers and the skin of the sole of their feet is probably thick.

Internal Structures

Coelom

Coelom is one of the most important organs, that you probably don’t know you even have! It’s a fluid filled cavity whose role is to separate internal organs from the muscles of the body wall. This allows organs to move and grow independently of your muscles and it also protects and cushions them against impact. In humans coelom is complex and it’s made out of pericardial cavity (around the heart – allows heart to pump blood), pleural cavity (around lungs – allows lungs to expand while breathing) and peritoneal cavity (around digestive system – allows for expansion and movement of digestive organs).

I believe that Euclydeans also have some form of a coelom. Coelom is even more important in invertebrates, as that’s where their immune system is and it can also serve as a supportive hydroskeleton. Since Euclydeans have a hard shell, they need the protection around their organs. Every shelled animal on Earth has coelom for that reason. They also need room for the food they eat, since the shell can’t expand and their limbs can enter the shell, so they need room for that too.

2. Nervous system

Euclydeans have a vast range of emotions, capability to communicate using speech, body language and even color shifting. They are as intelligent, or more intelligent than humans. They have a highly developed eye and other senses and all of this requires a nervous system. We saw Bill’s optic nerve when his eye got pulled out during Weirdmageddon, so he does have a nervous system, but I can't tell you how exactly it looks like.

There’s one part of Bill that I bet is similar to human - it’s his brain. Bill claims that he can take control over any being a long as they have neurons. This is his god like power, but then, why just beings with neurons? Well, most likely, because he has neurons too and kind of understands how they work. Maybe his brain even produces similar neurotransmitters as ours, so we’re easy to control with them. The brain is in the tip of the pyramid, slightly above eye and it likely has a lot of neurons and a very complex structure. I can’t tell you how exactly is his brain organized, but since he's bilaterally symmetrical, it’s very likely that it has hemispheres. He likely also has two neural cords, like most invertebrates, and those run down the dorsal (back) side of his body

3. Senses

Euclydeans have camera lens type eyes. Now here I can only speak of Bill, since we haven’t seen any other Euclydian. Bill’s eye is large, placed in the center of his “face”. It has eyelids with “eyelashes” (more on them later) and produces tears (Bill cries after his break up with Ford). The pupil is slit and vertical and there is no iris. However, there are muscles that can change the shape and dilation of the pupil. The eye looks similar enough to human that I can confidently say that he has cornea, lens and sclera. The eye is filled with refractory fluid and has some form of retina in the back. Bill’s eye changing color and being used as a projector or to shoot lasers are all parts of his god powers, however, it is possible that his species has a tapetum lucidum, a reflective layer of cells which help animals see in low light conditions and also makes the eye glow in the dark. Bill has color vision and he claims that he can see every part of the electromagnetic spectrum, but I think that's a part of his god powers. However, Euclydeans definitely could see in color, since their alphabet was basically a color code and they also use colors to express emotion.

Since Bill has fingerprints, we can confidently say that his fingers are the most sensitive part of his skin. Bill can feel through his shell too, just like every shelled organism ever (that's why he used Ford as a backscratcher). Tactile senses are very primitive, so Eucliydeans could feel cold, heat, pain, pressure, vibration and everything else just like we do.

Bill has a sense of smell and he even says which scents he finds attractive. This could mean that sense of smell plays a big role in reproduction of Euclydeans, but where is it located? Well, on the eyelashes. Except, those are not eyelashes, they are antennae. Bill has total eight of these antennae, 4 on lower and 4 on upper eyelid. They are very soft and sensitive, so he can retract them inside the eyelid. He does that when he feels threatened, so it’s probably a fight or flight response. His lashes get longer and he flutters his eyelid more near Ford, probably because he enjoys his smell. They are also located close to the mouth, so that’s how he samples the scents of the food.

Euclydeans have great hearing. They communicate vocally, sing, Bill can play the piano, so obviously, they hear. But I have no idea what they use to hear. It could be the bow tie, since it does look vaguely ear shaped, but it's possible that the bow tie isn't actually an organ. In that case, they could have an unknown structure inside them or they could just use their thin exoskeleton to catch sound vibrations.

They taste using their long tongue.

4. Muscles and movement

We have seen Bill’s muscles and they are striated skeletal muscles like mammals and insects have.

As the shell is kind of bendy, there is a lot of muscles underneath it. Those are the muscles of the body, they also move the face and bricks while speaking. The limbs have muscles too and two kinds at that.

When Ford shoots through Bill’s hat (which also a part of him) it is shown that inside of it are strange bone-like structures. These are not bones, since they aren’t articulated, but muscles do connect to them. They kind of remind me of echinoderm ossicles, but they don’t really look like them. This is another fully alien structure and I’ll call them anchors.

You know how Bill’s limbs can both bend just like human arms and legs, like he has elbows, wrists, knees and ankles, but they also bend like goofy rubber-hose cartoon anatomy? Well, that’s because there are two types of muscles in them. There are muscles attached to the anchor points and subcutaneous muscles.

Anchor points are located in the same places as joints in humans. Muscles that attach to them are long and strong and they are used for regulated, precise movement. The subcutaneous muscles (the one we see in his Weirdmageddon image) are used to bend the limbs in every other manner. They are not attached to anchors, but to the skin, so they resemble muscles of octopus arms. They are shorter and less strong, but when they act together they move the limbs in coils. These muscles are also responsible for squishing the limbs inside the shell when they are hidden.

Bill has incredible control and dexterity of his muscles, especially in arms and fingers. Even though his paws are soft and small, he can use them pretty much as efficiently as humans use their hands.

Possibly the strongest muscles in Bill's body are his jaw muscles, so let's talk about those jaws.

5. Eye-mouth complex and the digestive system

Having your eye used for feeding seems wild to us, but this adaptation is seemingly common in fictional geometric shaped people, as it has convergently evolved in Flatland’s inhabitants as well. And, speak what you like, but Euclydeans can’t choke on their food, so they have it better than humans.

I don’t know what Flatlanders eat, but Euclydeans are definitely predators. Now, I know that Bill sometimes depicts himself with human like teeth. The guy has a thing for teeth, especially molars, but he doesn’t have mammalian teeth. In every image where he opens his mouth that was not made by him, we see that he has cone shaped sharp teeth, like a predator. These teeth are great for biting and subduing prey, but they suck at chewing. Euclydeans can’t chew, so they they feed by swallowing chunks that they bite off, or swallowing their food whole if it’s small enough.

Here I depicted how this “eye-mouth complex” functions:

Euclydeans have a stomach in the middle of their body, but I have no idea what goes after it. My best guess is that they have a branching intestine. Our flattest organisms (flatworms, sea stars and brittle stars) all have this type of intestine. It basically means that, instead of just going like a tube, the intestine branches into different parts of the body. I also have no idea whether they have an anus and if it’s just one. This is just something I can’t tell you.

Since Euclydeans are capable of eating a lot of various things, I expect that they have accessory digestive glands (that’s liver and pancreas in humans). Strangely, despite the fact that his anatomy indicates a predator, Bill likes eating starch (pasta, empanadas, sandwiches etc). Most carnivores are unable to digest starch, so I went with god powers, but he ate sandwiches when he was a kid and had no god powers. So, we have two options. Either Euclydeans are omnivores (which, with those teeth, I doubt) or the animals on their planet store their excess calories as starch, not fat, so predators evolved the ability to digest it. If the second one is true, then Bill eating pasta is like your cat eating pure butter. It’s probably not healthy for him, but I don’t think he’s a guy who would give a single crap about that.

6. Breathing and speaking

In The Book of Bill, Bill says that “dumb trapezoids and rhombuses were sucking up his rightful oxygen”. This means that Euclydeans are aerobic organisms – they breathe oxygen. Their skin is dry, so they don't use it for breathing and they also speak, laugh and sing. All of this tells me that they have lungs.

I believe that their lungs are located near the base where the bricks are. The gaps between bricks have little tracheae that lead to the lungs. Bill most likely breathes in from his back side and breathes out from the front. The air is probably forced to travel through small crevices inside the lungs so that it can exchange the oxygen with blood. We don’t know whether Euclydeans exhale carbon dioxide, but they probably do, since they can eat our food, so they probably have similar metabolism to us Earthlings.

Since Euclydeans can speak and laugh, they probably have some kind of a diaphragm. In fact, I think they have two! Their voice has an echo, which means that, most likely, their lungs don’t always expel air at the same time. Air expelling causes the bricks to vibrate which produces sound. That’s why Bill seems to glow when he speaks – he’s actually vibrating. This action is also controlled by muscles. Depending on which row of bricks is vibrating and how many of them are involved, Bill changes the pitch and tone of his voice.

And the growling noise? Well, when Bill uses his demonic voice, he is doing one of two things. He is either using his god like powers to modify his voice, or that’s just how Euclydian vocal fry sounds. If you don’t know what vocal fry is, it’s produced when the vocal chords are vibrating slowly and they become out of sync. This produces a very specific sound and that sound can be made voluntarily. That’s how Mongolian throat singing works. Similarly, Euclydeans could slow down the rate at which their bricks vibrate and make them out of sync to produce that menacing “demon voice” as a threat display.

7. Circulatory system

We know how Euclydean blood looks like. It’s silvery and kind of seems like it glitches. It also contain chemicals that can make humans sick. This means that Euclydeans have much different blood from animals on Earth, but it certainly serves the same function. It’s used to transport nutrients and oxygen through their body.

Since the agents from The Book of Bill were able to draw his blood, it’s clear that Bill has a circulatory system and a closed one at that. The closed circulatory system means that blood vessels end in capillary nets and don’t open inside the body cavity like they do in molluscs and insects. If the agents used syringe to pull Bill’s blood and he had an open circulatory system, they could actually collapse the entire thing as they would pull his organs as well. That’s why I believe that he has a closed circulatory system.

Closed circulatory system requires a heart and I believe that Bill’s heart is located between his lungs, like ours. I have no proof that his heart looked anything like in the illustration, but I looove cardiology, so I did all this just because I wanted to draw a weird heart. I don’t think Euclydeans have a super complex four chambered heart like we do, they most likely have two or three chambered heart. The heart separates lung and body circulation and regulates their blood pressure.

The capillary nets are all located in important places: lungs where they exchange oxygen, intestines where they absorb nutrients and brain where they feed the neurons. Euclydeans have a rather large brain, so it probably uses most of their calories and oxygen.

8. Other systems

I can’t tell you anything abut Euclydean excretory system. I don’t know whether they produce urine or not, if they have kidneys, nephrocytes or something completely different. I genuinely have no idea.

They have to have an immune system because they are multicellular. Every single multicellular organism including sponges and plants has some form of an immune system. I believe Euclydeans have something similar to coelomocytes - a very common type of immune cells in invertebrates which reside in coelomatic cavity.

I'll talk about reproductive system in Part 3!

Are Euclydeans warm or cold-blooded?

This was a very tough one, because they could be both, but I am leaning more towards cold-blooded. They have very little muscle mass and heat is produced within the muscles via trembling or metabolic heat (heat released in various chemical reactions in the body). When an animal has very little muscle it isn’t used for that. Even mammals like sloths who have significantly reduced muscle mass become dependent on the surrounding temperature. Also, Euclydean flat shape can easily distribute heat they absorb, so they wouldn’t need to waste energy making their own. On top of that, Euclydeans don’t wear clothes, which can be a cultural thing, sure, but they could also not wear clothes because they need their skin exposed so that it could absorb heat.

Here's how Bill Cipher's complete inner anatomy looks like:

There, I hope you enjoyed this! I'll see you hopefully next week to tell you about Euclydean reproduction and development.

Thank you @ok1237 @unoriginal-starwalker and @chrystalitar for your support :D

(Also, I hid Ford Pines in one of the anatomy illustrations. Can you find him? Click on the images for better quality!)

[universefcb]

PERDICIÓN, CHAPTER ONE.

LISTCHAPTERS

→ Warning: Mention of Reader. Spanish phrases. Fluff. Romance.

→ Author's note: First chapter of Pedri's mini series... I'm looking forward to hearing your reactions!

And sorry if there are mistakes, English is not my language.I hope this is what you asked for!

The scorching Barcelona sun made the windows of Fernando Gonzalez's car obscure the view of those passing by on the street. He parked in front of the gated community with the usual calm of someone who already knew the way well. He turned off the car, grabbed his cell phone from the passenger seat and sent one last message:

It's now. Enter with confidence.”

The young woman sitting next to him took a deep breath, adjusting the strap of her backpack on her shoulders. Her name was far from known, and her presence there was almost clandestine to the resident of the house. A third-year physiotherapy student, passionate about the human body, muscles, joints, and, ironically, she had never been a big fan of football — until the tuition bill started to weigh too much.

Fernando opened the gate with his own code and let her pass.

“Remember, he didn’t want this. It won’t be easy, but he has to,” he warned, seriously, as if he were handing over a secret mission.

The house had a subtle smell of wood and cleanliness, and silence prevailed. From the hallway came the muffled sound of the television on. She noticed the modern furniture, the neutral tones, the trophies discreetly spread out on the shelves. Everything there carried the identity of a disciplined young man, accustomed to excellence.

Pedri was sitting on the couch, the remote control in his hand, his expression filled with boredom and impatience. He was wearing loose gray shorts and a Tenerife T-shirt, with the elastic band just above the injured area, as if the slightest pressure was already too uncomfortable. He didn't look up when the two entered, he just muttered:

“I already told you I don’t need it.”

Fernando ignored it.

“Yes, you do. You’ll be out of training for a month, and the club has already done its part. Now it’s time for someone to help you at home. And since you turned down three physiotherapists, I decided to call someone outside your radar.”

Pedri finally looked up at her. His expression was cold, analytical. There was judgment, weariness, and a touch of wounded pride. He didn’t seem interested in any kind of politeness.

“You’re Carlos’ sister, right?” he murmured, his tone barely concealing his disdain.

She nodded with a tight smile.

“That’s it. I’m in my third year of physical therapy, with a practical internship in rehabilitation. Your brother explained the situation. I just want to help.”

Pedri stood up with difficulty. A slight groan escaped involuntarily as he placed his right foot on the floor, revealing the stiffness in his injured leg. He didn't like to appear vulnerable, especially in front of strangers.

“I just want you to stay out of the way. I don’t need any small talk or pity.”

She stood her ground, not lowering her gaze.

“I didn’t come here to be nice. I came here to help you walk again without pain, run, and maybe get back on the field sooner than expected.”

Fernando crossed his arms, satisfied with her answer. That was exactly why he had bet on her. Unlike the others, who treated his brother like a porcelain doll or, worse, like an injured celebrity, she seemed to treat him just like a patient. And, deep down, Pedri hated being treated like anything other than that.

“I’ll leave you,” Fernando said, heading for the door. “If anything happens, call me.”

The tension in the air was palpable when they were alone. Pedri slowly backed up to the couch, his jaw clenched.

“Are you going to just stand there or is the show going to start?”

She dropped her backpack on the floor and picked up her clipboard with notes. She ignored the acidic tone.

“First, I need to understand how you’re moving. I want to see what you can do without pain. Are you going to show me, or do you want me to figure it out for myself?”

He stared at her for a few seconds, surprised by the coldness of her response. Then he snorted, resigned. He stood up again, slowly, each movement calculated, as if any slip could cause his thigh to tear from the inside.

She studied everything with a clinical eye: the uneven stance, the slight hip shift, the subtle imbalance as she shifted her weight to her good leg. She noted every detail, seriously. He could feel her judgment, and it irritated him even more—even though it was, paradoxically, the kind of technical attention he needed.

“Tomorrow we’ll start with passive mobilizations,” she said without hesitation. “Then, as the pain subsides, we’ll add ice and electrostimulation.”

“Are you going to thread a needle too?” he said ironically.

“If you keep making jokes about pain, you might need it.”

She rolled onto her back and began to assemble the small portable stretcher she had brought. He watched her, silently. He wasn't used to being ignored—especially in his own home.

“Do you know how to drive?” he asked, out of the blue.

She stared at him, confused.

“I know, why?”

“I need to watch the game on Saturday. Xavi wants me to go, even from the bench. The club sends a driver, but I prefer someone who won’t talk about ‘how difficult it will be without me’.”

It was almost a request. Almost. But the voice carried too much arrogance to sound like an offer of a truce.

She just responded with a brief nod.

“I’ll take you. As long as you don’t complain about my steering wheel.”

He laughed, a low, dry laugh. For the first time, the mood seemed less sharp.

The first session didn’t last long. Pedri’s muscles were still stiff, and he complained more than he should have. But she stood her ground. She didn’t let his grumbling or his disapproving looks affect her. She knew she needed the work—but more than that, she knew he needed her, even if he didn’t admit it.

Late in the afternoon, when she was gathering her things, she heard his voice from the hallway:

“Tomorrow, 10am. And don’t be late.”

She smiled to herself. He hadn't said please. But he hadn't said go away either.

It was a beginning.

Taglist: @paucubarsisimp @nngkay @meganesanchez @htpssgavi @merinott @luvvpedri @moonvr @joaosnovia @httpsdana @ilovebarcaaaa @p4uul0vr @pedricando @barcapix @owala6789

[the-d-wave]

Radiant Skin with QGEN Tech & Stem Cells Unlock radiant skin with our science-backed skincare, powered by Qgen technology and plant-derived stem cells @thedwaveofficial

[theambitiouswoman]

The best vitamins for beauty:

• Vitamin C: Boosts collagen production, brightens skin & fights free radicals 🌟

• Vitamin A (Retinol): Reduces wrinkles & smooths skin ✨

• Vitamin E: Protects skin from damage & keeps it moisturized 💧

• Vitamin D: Supports skin cell growth and repair, improves overall skin ☀️

• Biotin (Vitamin B7): Strengthens hair, nails & skin 💅

• Vitamin K: Helps reduce dark circles & supports skin healing 👁️

• Collagen supplements: Helps skin elasticity & reduces wrinkles 🌿

[sugardollyxoxo]

Dolly's guide to glow this summer ✨🐬

visualize 💭

We all have that dream version of ourselves living in our heads, but with school and work, it can be tough to actually bring her to life. Now that classes are wrapping up and summer’s right around the corner, it’s the perfect time to start becoming her 🎀

Pinterest and Canva are amazing tools when it comes to figuring out your vibe. When you’re scrolling through Pinterest, don’t just save the first cute thing you see. Instead, ask yourself things like: “What would she wear?” “How does her hair look?” “What’s her everyday makeup?” Thinking this way helps you build a clear, consistent aesthetic to aim for.

For the next part, grab that cute notebook you’ve been saving because now’s the time to finally use it. Grab a pen in your fave color and start by answering these:

How does she talk?

What are her core values?

What’s a day in her life like?

move move move 🛼

The fastest way to bring out your inner glow is by moving your body. When you move, you increase blood flow and sweat, which helps flush out toxins and improve circulation. This, in turn, reduces inflammation and gives you that radiant glow🌟

One of the best things about summer is that there are so many fun ways to get active—it’s easier to sweat and feel good. Whether it’s a 30-minute walk or a 1-hour gym session, simply moving your body is already a win. Below, I’ll list some cute and easy ways to get moving:

Hot girl walks🌸 – Put on a cute outfit, turn on your fave playlist, and stroll around your local park or neighborhood.

Incline walking on the treadmill – A great alternative if you’d rather stay out of the sun but still want the benefits.

At-home Pilates & workouts – Throw on a cute set and follow a YouTube tutorial (just make sure the instructor is certified). Below are some of my fave channels!!

https://www.youtube.com/@DaisyKeech

https://www.youtube.com/@MadeleineAbeid/videos

https://www.youtube.com/@MoveWithNicole

https://www.youtube.com/@LillySabri

nourishment 🥒

The key to keeping that inner glow shining really comes down to your diet. When you regularly eat ultra-processed foods and lots of sugar, your body will show it, whether you want it to or not. This can lead to persistent low mood, continuous breakouts, and even premature aging. To fight back, focus on eating a diet full of fruits, veggies, and healthy fats. ✨

Here are a few tips to help glow from the inside out:

Struggle with getting in fruits & veggies? Try making a smoothie or looking into supplements—but always talk to your doctor first so you’re not taking anything unnecessary or harmful.

Add collagen & omega-3-rich foods like bone broth, chicken skin, salmon, and citrus fruits. These support skin health and boost elasticity.

Green tea + kombucha = goddess glow🌟 They’re packed with powerful antioxidants that help reduce inflammation, protect your cells, support gut health, and just overall benefit your health.

The (not so) secret to keeping your skin glowy and juicy is hydration!!! You need to stay hydrated both inside and out to get that natural radiance. When your body is well-hydrated, your circulation improves, more nutrients are delivered to your skin and cells, and toxins get flushed out. Below are some ways to stay hydrated:

Eat more water-rich fruits and veggies like strawberries, watermelon, cucumber, cantaloupe, lettuce, and spinach.

DRINK YOUR WATER!!!💦 If you struggle with plain water, try adding the mentioned fruits and veggies for a light, refreshing flavor (cucumber & strawberries are my faves) You can also use electrolyte powders, my top rec is the one from Ultima.

Alternatives If I’m not in the mood for water, I’ll also go for coconut water, tea, or 100% fruit juice (make sure it’s not from concentrate!).

skin 🧖‍♀️

When it comes to soft, shiny skin, exfoliation + hydration is the ultimate duo (with consistency of course) I like to focus on hydration during the day and exfoliation at night, since your skin is more sensitive to the sun after exfoliating.

DRY BRUSH, DRY BRUSH, DRY BRUSH!!! I've seen such a drastic difference in my skin texture since doing it consistently, especially paired with a good scrub.

About body scrubs... I know it hurts to hear this, but ditch the sweet scented ones and invest in a good chemical body scrub with AHA, BHA, or glycolic acid. They penetrate the skin and dissolve dead skin cells more efficiently and promote cell turn over leading to smoother & brighter skin.

If you’re prone to dry skin like me, skip the pricey body oils and pick up a petroleum based product like Vaseline or Aquaphor. Petroleum creates a barrier that locks in moisture, effectively preventing moisture loss and it works so well.

SPF!!!!!!!☀️I cannot stress this enough—protect your skin, always.

This is the first time i've ever made a long post like this, i hope it was helpful !!! please reach out if you have any questions, stay gorgeous dolls 🐬🫧🌸

[nikoniclove]

hope your vacation is going well :)

so happy to see the new updates! appreciate you getting something out despite being away

we haven’t gotten an update for the yours, mine, and ours in a little while. i was rereading the chapter of ace in emily’s sweatshirt and there’s some subtle references to ace in boxers..

was wondering if you could play more into that look? half asleep ace walking around the house in boxers or even just wearing them after a long day at work.

Just for you!

Emily’s Boxers

Ao3 link here

AN: NSFW, timeline set sometime after When Past Meets the Present but it really doesn’t matter (it’s just the reference to a house instead of an apartment)

“Fucking finally,” you groan loudly to the empty hallway as your key fits perfectly into the lock. The thump of the security giving way sounds magnificent.

Your day was endlessly tedious for no good reason. Delayed and rescheduled meetings kept shifting your run later and later until it just didn’t happen, and while running at 11:45 PM at night is something you’ve done more than a few times, today the weight of the day’s boredom and inconveniences might affect your reaction time. Instead you shed your clothes as you walk in the door. One boot at a time, not nicely placed together on the mat, but one flopped over onto its side. Then the next a few feet later. Your belt hangs over the back of a chair. Your jeans puddle to the floor wherever you are on the trek to the bedroom. The shirt is flung vaguely in the direction of the laundry basket at the bottom of the stairs.

The movements you make up the stairs could only be compared to clomping. Tired, trudging limbs complimenting a dull throbbing headache. Bra, underwear, and socks scatter every few steps. It’s second nature now. You beeline for Emily’s set of drawers, first finding a pair of her worn boxers. They’re black like almost everything else she owns, but the band is faded rainbow elastic from a Pride event years and years ago, well before you even knew what Pride was. With the amount Emily wears them (and the amount you steal them), you’re surprised they aren’t more threadbare.

The second item is more of a search. Her Yale sweatshirt… well, the Yale sweatshirt you prefer to steal… it’s also her favorite, no surprise there. Because she forever likes to poke fun and tease, she hides the sweatshirt every time she goes away on a case without you. Sometimes it’ll be folded in the laundry room. Other times, it’ll be tucked beneath your pillow. Once it was in the snack bin of the pantry as a clever reminder that you needed to eat. Today you find it with your guitar, the hoodie slotted over the case’s neck as if the leather was chilly in her absence. You roll your eyes at the silliness, even though no one is there to see it and you (not so) secretly love it.

Dressed in Emily’s boxers and sweatshirt, you belly flop onto the bed. The familiar scent and cushion surrounds you, and your lungs finally expel the last of the stale air from the tediously long day. There are things you should do — food, teeth brushing, and meds to name a few. You could plug in your phone, check in with your partners or even just slot yourself beneath the sheets.

Nope.

All of that sounds far too involved. Face first on the bed, with your legs hanging off the side. This seems like the only reasonable thing to do now that you have Emily’s clothes on. You miss them. Both of them. But you got to see JJ this morning before she left for a quick testimony somewhere in Rhode Island. Emily has been gone for eight days though. Her available communication has been limited thanks to cell service and sheer busyness.

Your phone is somewhere. Probably in your jeans wherever those ended up. You should check in with your people. Even just to send them an emoji of a bed and a skull if that’s all you can manage. But finding the phone feels daunting in a way that melting into the bed does not.

——

Emily curses a red streak and something very creative that would make the Roman nuns who taught her profusely cross themselves. A thin layer of dust and sand repels from her bag where it thumps to the floor. At first glance, Ace’s go-to combat boots are not in their usual spot. The further into the house Emily ventures, the more of her girlfriend’s clothes she finds. She knows exactly where the trail leads.

Sure enough, the young woman is asleep on top of the covers, curled slightly, nowhere near any of the pillows. Emily can’t help but smile. Sleep never comes easily, and the girl looks so content and calm, adorned in stolen clothes. Lust sets off throughout her body like fireflies in a summer evening sky. Bright flashes of desire that Emily won’t act on until tomorrow. (Or maybe that’s just later today given the 3 AM hour.) Ace or JJ in her clothes always flips the switch; it’d be stupid not to. She remembers explaining it in terms of her ‘caveman brain’ and the possessive way it makes her feel.

More than that though, there’s a peacefulness about finally being home, someone she loves here who cares where and how she is. That was never what the Embassy houses around the world felt like. Never home. Whenever teenage Emily returned, the only people waiting for her were people who were paid to. Her mother only cared where she was when it was necessary to display a certain kind of closeness to further a political ambition.

So this… coming home to a place that feels like hers, its walls bursting with memories of love and laughter, her partners waiting for her… it’s everything.

Eventually Emily removes her clothes, separating the pieces between laundry and dry cleaning. She cleans her face of make up and brushes her teeth. After she puts on her pajamas, murmuring under her breath about the thief who stole her clothes, Emily pulls back the sheets and manipulates her sleeping girlfriend under the covers where she’s supposed to be.

The young woman barely notices, and Emily smiles fondly at her, looping wild strands of hair back behind her ear. “C’mon, my love,” she murmurs softly. “It’s bedtime.” Subconsciously, Ace seeks out her safety. Emily adores how Ace mimics the shape of her side, cozying up instinctively. “It’s good to be home.”

——

Your body is warm. More than that, your cheek is warm. Hot even. From the smell and the way your body feels in the bed, you know you’re home. Your eyes flutter open, and you blink blearily a few times before recognition kicks in. Beneath your cheek, still fast asleep, Emily is home. Her chest, the heat source for your face.

Her hands settle on your hips though her eyes haven’t opened. You would have sworn she was asleep. “You’re squirming around,” Emily mumbles, voice heavy and slow. “Hmm, what has you so excited this early in the morning?”

“You’re home,” you respond, your volume keeping the low, soft tone that protects this sleepy shield around you both. “I missed you.”

“You thieved from me is what you did.”

“Borrowed,” you counter, easily falling into the usual rhythm of banter about her clothes on your body.

“Hmm, it does look good on you,” Emily agrees. Her eyes are still closed, giving away just how tired she is. “C’mere.” Using your hips, she drags you more firmly into the middle of her body. Her fingers search out skin, following a tried and true path over and under your stolen clothes. “It’s a shame both of us were too tired to act on it last night.”

“Seems like you still might be too tired,” you quip as your thigh presses intentionally between Emily’s legs, rolling your hips forward just so. “Do you want to sleep? Or do you want to take your clothes off me?” Emily’s throaty chuckle goes straight to your core. Her fingers bite into your sides. “If you open your eyes and I learn you’re hiding another concussion, I’m going to smack you myself,” you threaten.

That one startles a laugh out of her; Emily catches you off balance, a quick movement of her hips swaps your positions. You look up into a sea of beautifully dark eyes and swaying, sleep-mused black hair. “Still have questions, brat?”

“Always,” you retort, keeping your thigh firm between her legs. Tenderly, you brush through her hair before cradling her cheek. “I missed you,” you say again like a declaration of love caught in this soft morning moment before the rest of the world rushes in. Emily prefers actions to words, so she leans down to let the tip of her nose graze yours, slowly, slowly before she kisses you sweetly.

When you’re breathless and your heart pounds against the confines of your ribs, Emily pulls back with a quick wink that makes your insides tremble. Her silky camisole and short set ends up on the floor before she reaches in the nightstand for her preferred harness and strap. “Take my boxers off.”

“You don’t want to do it yourself,” you challenge. “You keep insisting they’re yours after all.”

“We do not have nearly enough time before work for me to brat tame you. Don’t test me,” she growls, the sultry register like music to your ears. “Boxers off.” The thin black fabric adds to the growing pile on the floor near the bed. Emily leans back against the headboard, situating a few pillows to support herself. You know what she wants, so instead of straddling her like the good girl you’re supposed to be, you lean down to lick up the underside of the shaft. “Jesus fucking Christ,” Emily groans, her head thumping back briefly, as she processes the visual and feels her body respond in kind. The cool silicone is familiar now, in your mouth and elsewhere. Relaxing your jaw, you take her cock in until its tip bumps the back of your throat. The breathy sound she expels might be enough to convince you that Emily can really feel every swipe of your tongue or hollow of your cheeks.

When you gag once, then twice, Emily grabs for you, directing you to kneel over her hips. The silicone toy, now plenty wet, nudges your inner thigh. Always conscious of your readiness, her fingers part your folds. “Green,” you consent.

“Not yet.”

“Emily,” you grumble. She wants you wetter before she stretches your pussy. You don’t give a damn, but you know you won’t win this battle. Her thumb swipes tight circles around your clit. With her free hand, she tugs the zipper free on the hoodie, the two sides revealing your bare breasts and torso to her hungry gaze. “Fuck… Em. Just let me ride your cock.”

“Not yet,” she repeats, even as her voice gives away her intense desire. “Wait.” The slight dominance weaves its way into every interaction somehow, some way. Maybe it’s the way she grabs your chin and forces eye contact. Maybe it’s the commanding grip on your hips. Maybe it’s a simple instruction that from anyone else could be innocent. Between you, the underlying relationship of those traditional roles simmers to the surface, even in moments like these where a scene isn’t the intention.

Your thighs tremble before Emily gives in. “Say it again for me, love.”

“You made me wait,” you counter while you try to take matters into your own hands. “So maybe I don’t want to say it again.” Dark eyebrows arch in a challenge, her fingers delivering a quick pinch to your clit. “Fuck!” Her thumb soothes the sensitive nub while she waits somewhat patiently. “God, you’re such a bitch,” you whine.

“Mmm, careful, love. You’re starting to sound like our favorite blonde. She loves to remind me how much of a pain in the ass I am.”

Thirty seconds, maybe a minute if you’re generous with the estimate - that’s how long you hold out before bumbling through the phrase again. “I want to ride your cock, Em.”

“There’s my good girl. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Wrapping her fist around the toy, Emily rubs its silicone tip along the length of your slit. “Can’t say the same for this though.”

On the top, you can control the speed you take her toy, and you’re more than ready, have been well before she insisted on more teasing. The stretch feels wonderfully familiar. You ignore her joke in favor of feeling every inch of her cock. “Fuck,” Emily moans, one hand tight on your hip while the other traces a reverent path between the open halves of her sweatshirt, still draped over your shoulders. Part of the fabric covers one of your breasts, so she shifts it out of the way, her thumb damp with your slick rubs your nipple. When you take it off, Emily stops you. “Leave it on. I love seeing it on you. You know why?” Hips rolling, hands braced on her ribs, you shudder. “Tell me.”

“I’m yours,” you gasp.

Her praise arrives in a hum and the tightening of her grip on your hips, dictating your movement. Your pussy flutters around her toy cock. “Not yet, love,” Emily insists for the third time since you woke up on top of her.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding,” you groan, a delicious blend of frustration and pleasure. With Emily, those go together more often than not. She moves one of your hands to her breast, a wordless instruction.

Treading the edge carefully, you go straight for the moves that make a mess of her — nails scratching over the tender skin of her breasts, her nipples caught between your fingers for a sharp pull or twist, barely there grazes along the underside that make her shiver. “Keep… fuck… keep doing that.” Her pale chest flushes, swatches of skin turning pink with desire. Black hair splays out across the pillow.

“Emily… Emily, fuck,” you moan as a warning. Her gaze is heavy, palpable, as she takes in every detail of your body on top of her — pussy dripping onto her cock, stomach muscles tense, breasts swaying, and her fucking sweatshirt rustling with each movement. “Oh… right there… oh shit,” you mumble, your spine curling as your body clenches in the split second before your release washes over you. Her quiet groan of completion makes you moan again. You tremble through the residual effects, her cock still fully buried in your pussy. “You could have woken me up for that.”

She chuckles, thumbs brushing over your hip bones slowly. “You were asleep, curled at the foot of the bed on top of the covers like a cat,” Emily quips fondly.

“You like both kinds of pussy. I don’t see the problem.”

Emily barks out a laugh at your response, helping you off before hugging you tightly. “Fuck, I always miss you so much,” she whispers into your hair. “Even if you steal my clothes.”

“You love it.”

“Mmm, and I love you,” Emily agrees. Her muscles tense as she notes the clock for the first time. “And we’ve got to hustle because we are going to be very late for work.”

“Slow mornings for you,” you tease as you clamor off the bed. Even with the rush, you’re elated to have her home, but she’ll have to pry her sweatshirt and boxers from your cold, dead fingers if she wants them back.