#( vibrating at a speed that can shatter glass

[hawkeyeslaughter]

“ yes i would love to trust you buddy , but you are clearly keeping secrets from me . “

too soon to tell , todd snider x mash

[daily-vitamin-vbs]

((EEEEE LORE DROP IN ABOUT AN A LITTLE OVER AN HOUR IVE BEEN THINKING ABOUT IT ALL DAYYYYYY

[sailforvalinor]

It just hit me that Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd has a lot of parallels to Antigone, the biggest difference being that he freaking climbs out of his grave and puts the ghosts to rest

[bunni-bun]

peeking into the tags during lunch to spoil myself cuz i'm so excited to get home but also hhtlwkwjdkfkekknntm holy shit???? ohhhh i’m so fucking excited, i can't wait 😆

[unboundprompts]

can you do a prompt where you are describing how the car accident happened in persent. like; he speed up his car, breaking the rules and then suddenly the car hit something, no, someone.

Describing a Car Accident

-> tw for a sensitive/traumatic subject

-> feel free to edit and adjust pronouns as you see fit.

His foot was heavy on the pedal, the car humming beneath his fingers on the wheel. Wheels spun on the rough road, the car all but vibrating as he reached speeds of 70, 80 miles per hour.

She listened to the roar of the engine, loving the sound of the purr as she stepped on the gas. She'd do anything to listen to that noise.

The speed limit was a mere suggestion, and they felt unstoppable in that moment.

The windshield shattered. That was the first thing he noticed. Cracks like a spiderweb and finally glass flying everywhere. He scrambled to hit the breaks, wheels burning on the road.

The noise was the worst part. The screeching of the tires, the scream that poured from her lips. The thud of the body. The silence that followed.

They hit someone. There was someone in the road. There was blood, so much blood. They couldn't breathe. Oh God, what did they do?

If you like what I do and want to support me, please consider buying me a coffee! I also offer editing services and other writing advice on my Ko-fi! Become a member to receive exclusive content, early access, and prioritized writing prompt requests.

[kwangnyangie]

SHAKING CRYING THROWING UP, RUNNING INTO TRAFFIC, JUMPING OFF A BUILDING, VIBRATING AT THE SPEED THAT CAN SHATTER GLASS, CRYING BLOODY TEARS, CURLING UP INTO A BALL RN, TWIRLING MY HAIR AND SCREAMING INTO MY PILLOW RN

[originemesis]

@bored2deathiswear xxx

And of course the bastard is adept at lip-reading even when the lips in question are latched to a pair between the legs. Because why wouldn't he be? Probably had penned entire novels down there at this point from how much he likely fingered his own sad clown of a cunt. Anything to make the most microscopic acts of defiance dwarfed even in comparison to the simplicity of a raised middle finger hard on the first man.

And as the sharp burn of hellfire fills the webbing of cracks sustained along the shattering side of his cheek with a molten gold saturation that bit much like a hornet's sting, he mouths a classic 'fuck' next against the slippery heat. It graduates into a livelier 'ow- fuck!' with the other's persistence in grinding a heel around the dislocated droop of the ensnared exorcist's shoulder. Trapped talons, from the arm still stuck painfully beneath him and threaded backwards at its own agonizing angle through the window, twitch and dig in to the outer frame, carving impatient grooves into the wood. If the restraints detect the scratching post like damage, they don't flare up to let him know. Possibly because their owner is much too preoccupied riding his face to focus on property damage that doesn't correlate to the relentless plunge of yellowed taste buds.

There's a brief moment before the restless jerk of horns that he swivels his gaze upwards at the near whisper of his name- if only because the tight assed tone he's been subjected to all of this unintended stay in solitary confinement seems to have done nothing but evaporate, leaving a quivering hint of... exactly what, he can't be sure (and who can with the literal fucking devil-), only that it seems to be something worth whittling away at for yet another chance at his captor's throat.

He forces inches in with as much dexterity as one can lacking arms and hellfire burnt wrists for any leverage, but there's not much to make of the task other than curl the studded section of tongue upwards against a spongy target as the other hiked up over his shoulder pulls him in deeper by the horns, and then out some with the needy roll of hips. Rolls that obscure his vision in more than just the physical sense with the heat from the exchange fogging up his mask and smearing pungent streaks of need around the glass with each forward fixation.

Once horns are free of the demanding pace, he simply pumps in place at the depth he's left, no real way of assisting the task only to keep the object the other's determined to fuck himself more stupid with out enough for him to do so. The talons have scratched enough at the window frame by now to have loosened its hold on his scalded arm, and as the bastard claws his collar, he twists it until its free and still slightly smoking, the restraints no where to be found during their master's temporary climb to just short of the actual glory from where he'd been flung down.

It isn't noticeable that he's wrested it free until it comes to rest on the inner portion of the other's thigh once the twitch of inner muscles spasm around a pained groan that vibrates up through his tongue as waves of contractions swallows at the intrusion. Well that was time sparingly fast...is he for fucking real? Not that he's complaining.

A moment braced against the other's leg later, he's unwinding the shock of yellow muscle from the messy waves within, a wet pop once its out. It doesn't drift far from the source as he drags its length back up through the sticky crevice of flushed folds, an exhausted grunt and the sudden squeeze of a thigh signaling the dissolving of the restraints with far less energy than the last time he'd had been afforded the arm movement to smother and choke. A weary "hey-" with the same tone the other had taken with his name follows, along with the saucers of his eyes swiveling up to pass unspoken judgement for the speed of the exchange...if it could even be called that. Though he had picked up on something that might be of some use to him yet...so maybe it was just that. His talons are surprisingly tame, resting against a leg under the looming gaze of a breathless captor.

"Can you...like get me out of this already? Hurts like a bitch-"

[unusual-raccoon]

okay then i will spam you <3 <3 just thinking about what you said about jace gaslighting lucerys when he starts suspecting jace is his stalker! with the ask i sent you about social media and them, i just feel like Jace would have a private random account that he uses just to follow lucerys and send him the most deranged messages ever. like, he picks lucerys from school one day and sees him flirting with that arryn boy from his bio class. that night, the random anon sends lucerys a lengthy message describing very explicitly and with detail all the ways he could kill the arryn boy and how lucerys was wearing the sweater he sent as a gift so that means lucerys is his and he should know better. lucerys cannot block him because the anon has already told him that he will post all lucerys' private pictures if he tries (jace would never share such pictures anywhere, with anyone, because he doesn't want to cause his baby so much distress and he doesn't want to share lucerys either, but lucerys doesn't know this ofc ;) ).

Oh. OH. Unhinged stalker Jace 🫣. God, he’d be so deranged. Like sending the most long-winded, possessive rants about Luke being his fucking property. And then ten he’d switch apps and text Luke that he forgot his lunch at home💖.

I cannot even imagine how stressed Luke would be though, poor thing. Bet you the only thing keeping him from having a whole breakdown is being able to spend time with Jace 👀.

Also sorry if the social media angle wasn’t what you hoped, I was trying to keep it generic! But yeah, stalker!Jace would have an account to (lovingly) harass Luke. Also, yeah those nudes are fucking hard earned (and ofc they’re of his bby he’d rather die than let anyone else see them)

Maybe the minute Luke starts to connect the dots his stalker sends him a photo of Jace, like sleeping or just something candid. However it’s proof that his stalker has access to the people (the person™️) that he cares about more than anything.

Cue Luke being extra paranoid and SO attached. He’d bust right through their adjoining bathroom and ask Jace is he can spend the night. Threatening someone he cares about brings out another side of Luke (I’m looking at you Aemond 😌).

The gifts might eventually become more sexual - like yes the previous gifts were possessive and suggestive, and yes he’s sent compromising, reputation-shattering images of himself, but sex toys are another ball game for him.

Remote. control. vibrator 🫣 - it’s really his pièce de résistance, at least Jace happens to think so.

Luke would rather eat glass than put that thing anywhere near him, but his stalker sends a message and another photo of Jace. So, Luke agrees to do what his stalker wants.

Jace edging himself all day while Luke is at school and playing with the vibrator’s setting via an app on his phone. Cranking up the speed and slowing it down in long intervals. Dragging the dial to the max for brief 3 second pulses and Luke is utterly sobbing in the bathroom, resigned to failing his bio test because there’s NO way he can go back to class

He’d take his sleeping meds after scrubbing himself raw in the shower, crawling into bed with Jace, and knocking out - rinse and repeat.

[thelemonsnek]

There are a lot of fun questions that come about from a tma-verse. How faithful are we talking. Are they full blown Avatars? Do they have to feed their patron? If so how would they go about it? I do believe a subway system would be pretty rich in targets as they have commuters that come day in and day out.

[vibrating at a speed that shatters glass] I am SO glad you asked

It is very faithful to tma canon, because instead of being eebied to Hisui, Ingo instead ends up in tma London! So the first part of the au is quite literally in tma. There's a whole running gag that Jon used to be into pokemon, and he gives Ingo and Emmet a copy of Pokemon White to play and they mark it with the Spiral and Buried respectively, and eventually it just gets marked by so many different avatars that that's what starts the apocalypse instead of the statement Elias gives Jon. Ingo and Emmet do get back to the pokemon universe before that happens though so it's fineeeeee

(They also bring the entities to the pokemon universe in coming home)

Are they full blown avatars?

Yes they are!! Ingo became an avatar when he became the Distortion, and Emmet became an avatar to escape Ingo's subway :)

For context on that, when Ingo and Emmet first reunited, it. Didn't go well! Because Michael had latched onto Ingo as a perfect victim (he was literally questioning the entire foundation of his reality, how could Michael resist?) and used Ingo's vague memories to torment him with the idea of the man in white

So Ingo doesn't think Emmet is real, and they end up fighting, and in that fight it comes up that Ingo has been eating people bc. He's the Distortion, that's what the Distortion does. And Emmet is like WHAT THE FUCK. THATS NOT OKAY. And anyways things continue and Ingo is convinced of Emmet's realness and is like oohhhh. He was important to the person Ingo. He could make me be that person again (bc the Distortion is a what, not a who, but just like Helen, he wants that anyways)

So he says to Emmet, "I have missed you so much. We can catch up, on the subway" and there, impossibly on the wall, is a sliding door leading to a subway car

Ingo is Emmet's brother. He will always trust him. He walks through the door, and finds himself in an impossible, endless subway

By now their argument has caught up with Ingo, and he's like. Ah. Emmet, the thing that anchored me to myself for the first time, said I shouldn't eat people. So I won't. And he goes on a hunger strike

Problem is, because of him doing that, Emmet can't get out. There is no out

But, a pressure at the back of his head whispers, there is a way down. And he Becomes, and begins to understand why Ingo took those people. He understands, because he has his own subway now

Do they have to feed their patron?

Also yes :) and yes, the subway is a verrrry convenient way to feed, especially since their domains are both subways as well! Very verrrry easy to be in a rush to get to your destination and take the wrong door :)

It's a bit of a perfectly awful situation really! They're both each other's anchors, which is great because they're good anchors to their sense of selves. The problem is, they kind of have this massive echo chamber going on, where as long as the other agrees and says that the act was justified, anything goes. And of course, with feeding, it keeps the other person healthy and alive. Why wouldn't they want their brother, their anchor, to stay safe? So their morals degrade rather rapidly!!

As far are their domains go, they're both differently flavored subways that have some degree of overlap (meaning it's possible to start in one, and end up in the other). Ingo's an endless maze that should not be possible. Trains that just never stop, stairwells that go on forever only to lead to nowhere, windows that show cities that don't exist

Emmet's is much more centered around the claustrophobia of the subways. Passageways that are a little too small, ceilings that are surely too cracked to hold, the weight of the world bearing down above you, held off only by the flimsy, crumbling cement. The trains are tight, dirty. There's never enough light to properly see anything

This video reminds me a lot of Ingo's subway :)

And this post is both of them tbh, in my tags I explain how it's Emmet, Ingo I think is self explanatory

[pisoprano]

If I had to pick an Age of the Myst series that was my favorite, I think it’d have to be Amateria. There might be some bias in that it was the first Age I remember solving myself instead of getting help from a family member who’d already solved it, but truly there is something so special about the the puzzle environment here.

(Spoilers ahead)

Amateria is based around three puzzles that each feature an ice sphere being guided along various tracks through the puzzle's architecture.

One of the puzzles allows the player to interact directly with the track the ice sphere travels along. Here, you follow the sphere through intersecting loops and vibrating walls of air (which are very disorienting to stand inside, as it makes the screen shake) that can be turned off during a phase of the sequence dictated by the player. In order to test the puzzle, however, the player must access a panel that propels you upwards to a place where you are able to watch your programming unfold in a more third-person view all at once. If you do it right, each of the five vibrating rings will turn off one by one in the proper sequence. If not, the test sphere hits the vibrating wall and shatters, meaning you have to go back down to try again (fortunately, there seems to be an infinite number of ice spheres you can create until you get it right).

The lever puzzle is a bit different in that you don't get to interact with the track directly this time. Instead, you either get to look at the lever from the side (where you can pull switches to move the wheel that acts as the lever’s fulcrum) or you go to the secluded alcoves where the counterweight spheres are located (so you can adjust and/or evaluate the counterweight wood, metal, and glass sections of their respective spheres and get them to balance). The clues to understanding the puzzle are found back on the hub age, though if you’re inclined to guessing and checking to solve this puzzle, you can do it (though you will end up crashing a LOT of ice spheres off the lever trying).

The third puzzle is almost completely abstracted, being a series of interconnected rings spinning over the sea where you can’t reach. Some of these rings have a solid bottom, while others are completely hollow (meaning that any spheres that get sent there crash straight into the water), and you have to discover a path that bounces the sphere to only places it can be held (and, just to make your life more difficult, one of the spots for pegs have had another peg stuffed in the hole, making the spot unusable).

After each of the three puzzles are solved, the player is given a passcode. Entering each passcode into a series of displays at the starting location allows them access to the inside of the main pagoda, where they’ll find several interlocking tracks and the rising platform leads to the most abstracted puzzle yet: a series of wooden circles with lines carved into the design that you have to make match up with a few colored icons around the edge.

Once this puzzle’s pieces are all place, control is taken away from the player as something lowers above you. You press a button (you have no idea what it does, but you’ve gotten this far by trying things and seeing what happens) and the puzzle interface pulls out of reach. You hear the familiar sound of a sphere being created, but this time it occurs as an ice sphere comes into existence around you. You hang there hovering in the air just long enough for it to sink in that you are about to take the place of all those spheres you’ve thrown away solving puzzles.

Then you drop and get sent on that ride.

You travel the intersecting loops and you don’t hit any of the vibrating barriers, despite how you slow and speed up as you go up and down the track. You start to relax a little as you go through a tunnel, only to turn and see the wood-glass counterweight go into motion and you realize that that lever needs to move into place exactly and before you can even react, you straight at the end of the lever, it just barely getting into place when you slide into its curved groove. You then get sent out to sea and experience being bounced from ring to ring, hoping very hard that you programmed the puzzle correctly, because you can’t see which of the rings have bottoms and which are hollow and would lead you to your certain doom. But you survive and you keep going and you move towards a series of gaps that you barely recognize, where—1, 2, 3—a platform for each puzzle you solved rises out of the sea just in time to carry you across to a place where the ice sphere finally comes to rest, now shattering around you. You made it through alive.

This Age does an amazing job of leading you towards abstraction, always giving you the view of the whole puzzle from a third-person observer to the point that it almost feels like you’re not in a physical place anymore, that the puzzles are disconnected and arbitrar, and that the ice spheres that shatter during your trial and error are just there for player feedback. If you want a sense of place, you’ll see it in the glowing crystals and stone pillars and wooden architecture—not the puzzles themselves.

And all of that changes the second that you become the sphere on the interconnected track that this whole world has been built around.

[lumilasi]

MAJOR UPDATE: I ended up changing his story and BG lore a lot, AND redesigned his wings. He was the only one with none of the complementary color details in his wings when compared to the other 4, so I decided to add it in them.

Bio below:

Name: Yoruga Avara (Yoruga translates to Night Moth, Avara is the surname of the guardians of the tree he manifested from, that are still listed as his next-of-kin)

Nicknames: Yoru-chan/Yoru (Hayden, Alois) Mothy (Youko) Koi (Roman, it means moth in Italian as he's from Italy) Nephew (Iris), Stick-bug/bugstick (Claude)

Age: He died around the age of 20-21, but is now 25, so he has existed in his new form for 4-5 years

Height: 164 cm

Family: He stayed with the keepers of his birth tree for a while (The Avara family), then moved to the Capital once he was emotionally and mentally stable enough to go and start his new life properly. Since he's still listed under their guardianship, Yoruga continues to use their surname.

Friends: Hayden (his absolute bestie), Alois (his boss) Roman, Bianca (his coworkers) Caelan (the BF of Hayden's brother) Youko (A kid he sometimes babysits) Miriam (His boss in his second job/his honorary aunt Iris' best friend)

Love interest: None (he’s Aro-ace)

Occupation: Arcane Library Keeper assistant/Cafeteria employee in charge of the freakshake specials. (Formerly paranormal investigator)

Personality: 

Yoruga comes off like a goofy weirdo who everyone accepts just Does Things, and nobody questions it. Be it painting smileyfaces on random things and calling them “friends” or vibrating so rapidly he breaks whatever he’s sitting on. He's often compared to a cat with his mannerism and good stealth.

Beneath this childlike exterior however, exists a serious, cautious and always prepared fighting spirit, who also enjoys taunting his opponents and make them think they have the upper hand on him, before getting the rug pulled from under them so to speak. This readiness for trouble is likely due to his past life meddling into paranormal hauntings, which could be quite dangerous.

He’s very protective over his best friend Hayden and basically anyone he's close with, to the point when he switches to his more serious self, he can even come off scary. (he's good with stabby things after all)

Abilities:

WINGS: His wings are fire- and stab-attack proof, and he can poof into hundreds of tiny black moths and reform himself back. Yoruga can also use these butterflies to blanket large areas into complete darkness

VOICE: He has a supersonic scream that can shatter glass and rupture eardrums. Can even cause a heart-attack on weaker people

STEALTH: He’s very good at blending into shadows, and he can use his little butterflies to spy on people. Generally he's super stealthy, to the point he has to warn his coworker Roman beforehand about his presence, or the former mobster might accidentally attack him when startled.

POCKET DIMENSION: Yoruga, like other moth spirits, has a pocket dimension to store things in. His is particularly big even among his kin, allowing him to store objects bigger than himself, and even engulf an area into his pocket dimension. He uses this both for transporting things (sometimes even people)

SPEED: Yoruga's speed at utilizing his pocket is also unusually fast; normally when a moth spirit summons something from there, it forms out of glowing butterflies matching the spirit's colors. In Yoruga's case, it looks like he just pulls things out from inside his robes. (without them, it looks like he just pulls them from his body somehow)

STAB: Yoruga is excellent in using short bladed weapons in fights, and can even recognize what type of enchanted blade one has/what materials it is made of and how durable it is.

WEAKNESSES:

Due to his oddball behavior, he's not good at making friends, hence he tends to be a bit clingy to Hayden when he's in need of social interactions.

Since it is likely that Yoruga died in a building collapse, he tends to be uncomfortable and anxious in tight, constrained spaces, to the point he prefers using his own wings as a blanket over actual ones.

FUN FACTS:

His foster family surname he still uses for official documents and such - Avara - is Finnish and means "open/spacious"

His name translates to Night Moth, which is likely the name of the place he died at; old abandoned theater, a nightclub, he's not sure what the place was exactly as he can't remember.

Iris is another honorary family member who was fostered by the family, and she considers Yoruga a honorary nephew, which is why she refers to him as such usually. She was also the one who got Yoruga his job under Miriam.

Yoruga likes chin scratches and might randomly ask some from people, typically his best friend Hayden, Roman, or Youko's adoptive parents Shura and Shika. (Roman was weirded out at first, but is now used to his weird cat-like behavior)

Yoruga makes really excellent freak-shakes (over-the-top milkshakes) though he's banned from making one for Youko before dinner, as the kid will get a massive sugar rush. His shakes are one of the specialties of the cafeteria.

Some people can see through his goofy facade, but react to it somewhat differently; his boss Alois, his boss' LI Jurou and Alois' niece Avane find it amusing, whereas Hayden's brother Claude finds him spooky and weird.

He and Hayden often get up to Shenanigans in their free time, especially during Halloween; they might go to the human world to spook people, as both are good at it.

His style is basically "Weird funky details mixed with cutesy childlike vibes or spoooooooky"

[verved]

where can one learn about your OCs? 👀

*vibrates at light speed*

You can find info on my ocs on my toyhouse!

Verve and Xenaut are the two that are most developed, but even their bios are are missing a lot of information, so if you have specific questions feel free to ask! My other ocs are a lot less developed but I'll get around to them eventually.

I also have answered pretty much all the questions on this list for Verve, Xenaut, and both of their Shattered Glass counterparts, so if any of those questions are interesting I have answers ready!

[piccoku]

Piccolo and Gohan fortnite are going to be real very soon. Vibrating at a speed that can shatter glass i NEED to see people make them do a bunch of silly dances or i will explode

YESSS I HEARD I AM SOOO HYPE. IM GOING TO GO APE SHIT!!!!!!!!!! piccolo doing the renegade will flood my timeline and consequently all who follow me. piccolo fortnite SWEEP BABYYYYYYYYY

[oceaniddoesstuff]

*vibrating at a speed that can shatter glass*

@maryland-officially MARYLAND COME LOOK NOW ITS AN EMERGENCY.

He is very talented 😺

[sunsburns]

four or five moments (ii.)

pairing: wade wilson/deadpool x fem!assassin!reader

summary: you're literally just trying to do your job, and it's going great so far, you've killed trask, all you have left is to stop that truck from leaving new york. few problems: deadpool can't stay dead, you're having a moral dilemma and why is that car getting closer? oh shit-!

—or: deadpool literally hits you with a car

word count: 4k+

warnings: fem reader, wade being nasty, flirting, sex jokes, canon violence, there isn't too much plot, blood, strange conversations about morality, wade being annoying, he also breaks the fourth wall a few times, i did not pre-read this pls bare with spelling mistakes

notes: i was peer pressured to write this. it literally strays off from the og plot so bad you get whiplash!!

part one

All you really need is four or five moments.

Four or five moments to prove that you're better than them, that you wouldn't stoop as low, to prove that an eye for an eye will only leave two people blind. No blood will bring mercy. No. But it might get you some peace of mind knowing that they can't hurt you anymore, knowing that there's one less asshole on the earth that's trying to hurt you and the people you care about. It is heartless, you're well aware, but you are not trained to have much of a heart, much less to care.

You remind yourself of that fact as lights blur into neon streaks and speeding vehicles race by. Your heart pounds in your chest, adrenaline sharpening your senses, and the stab wound on your leg becomes a distant throb.

You leap onto a motorcycle conveniently left unattended by a fleeing warehouse worker, hot-wiring it with practiced ease. The engine roars to life, and you peel out onto the road, weaving through traffic. The bike vibrates beneath you, a sleek, powerful beast responding to your every command.

Behind you, Deadpool is a persistent shadow. You catch glimpses of his red suit and mask as he commandeers a car, recklessly swerving through lanes to catch up to you. His determination is infuriating, but you can't afford to be distracted. You grit your teeth, focusing on the chase.

Your earpiece crackles to life, and a familiar voice comes through. "I've got eyes on your tracker," your handler says. "They're heading towards the docks. Be careful; we don't know if it's a set-up."

"Understood," you reply, voice steady despite the chaos.

As you near the docks, the industrial landscape looms ahead, a labyrinth of shipping containers and cranes casting long shadows in the dim light. The truck is just ahead, its taillights glowing like beacons.

You accelerate closer, and with one hand, you grab an energy gun, in a quick movement, you shoot at the truck doors, immediately regaining your grip on the handle afterwards. The doors fly open, revealing giant metal scraps and wooden crates.

You nearly curse, swerving out of the way when a pipe tumbles out from the back of the truck, crashing onto the road. The clang of metal on asphalt echoes in your ears. You slow down by the truck's blind spot, knowing you'd have to stop it, especially now that the cargo was confirmed to be in it.

You stay ready with your gun, pulling it from the holster on your thigh. You wait a beat, then another, and as the truck starts to pick up speed, you make your move and roll up to the driver's window, shooting through the glass. The bullet flies through the driver's head, causing him to slump forward, pressing on the horn. The blaring sound drowns out your second shot, which takes down the man in the passenger seat before he can shoot you.

The truck starts to slow, veering erratically before it crashes into a building with a deafening crunch of metal and shattering glass. The impact takes down a few light posts and parked cars, sending debris flying. Broken electrical wires dance and crackle around the wreck, their sparks reflected in the spray of a burst fire hydrant.

"Great job," your handler's voice crackles through your comms. "Dispose of the truck. No witnesses—"

The connection cuts off as you are violently hit from the side by a black car. The force of the impact sends you flying off your bike, tumbling across the rough asphalt. Your suit and helmet take most of the fall, tearing and cracking under the friction. Your visor shatters, the protective plastic lining breaking at the base.

You feel the sting and burn of broken skin on your arms and legs, grime and dirt mixing with the blood seeping from your cuts. Your vision is blurred, and a high-pitched ringing fills your ears. Every breath you take is shallow and painful, your ribs protesting with each inhale. Biting the inside of your cheek, you push yourself to pull off your broken helmet, tossing it aside. You blink hard, trying to focus your vision and spot a figure approaching.

Through the haze of pain and confusion, you recognize the distinctive red and black suit. Deadpool. He strides towards you with casual confidence, katana in hand, his eyes hidden behind the mask but undoubtedly filled with a mix of amusement and determination. The streetlights cast eerie shadows on his suit, highlighting the dried blood and grime.

"Please, don't be mad, honeybuns." Deadpool's irritating voice is the first thing you can hear when the ringing stops. He's standing before you, gloved hands out for you to take.

You don't move, heaving, "What the fuck, Wade?"

"Oh, are we on a first-name basis now? I think I like it." Wade Wilson hums, and when you still don't take his hands, he kneels before you. The smell of sweat and gunpowder wafts off him, mingling with the metallic scent of blood. "I know this all seems a little confusing—"

"You hit me with a fucking car, you dick!" you belt out, eyes wide with rage. The pain and exhaustion make your voice hoarse, every word a struggle.

"Well, yes. But it's only fair—"

"Fuck you."

"Listen to me." He says a little desperately, and you're glaring at him through your tears. Wade doesn't let it get to him, instead, he calls out your name, barely above a whisper as he looks at you. "You are getting innocent people killed." He tells you. "Look around. This might not be a cul-de-sac, but there are civilians, and they're hurt. We need to leave. You need to call it."

You glance over his shoulder, tired eyes scanning the area. He was right. Dock workers are running around, shouting and helping people out of the old building the truck had crashed into. It's late at night, but not late enough for the place to be deserted; people are still at work, still trying to get by.

You wince as you watch a pregnant woman being led out of a crashed car by her husband, a gash on her head. The smell of gasoline and burning rubber fills the air, mixing with the acrid scent of smoke from the crashed truck.

"Killing shitty people is one thing," Deadpool tells you, and you hate the way his voice is almost earnest. His tone is different, more serious, a stark contrast to his usual unserious demeanour. "But I'm familiar with your no-witnesses rule. This would just be mass murder if I let you keep going. Not exactly my piece of cake. Just..."

He stops, letting his head hang for a moment as if he were too repulsed to say it. You can see his shoulders slump slightly, a rare show of genuine emotion. "Oh god, I can't believe I'm about to say this," he grumbles, "Four or five moments. That's all it takes. Just stop and think. It's all it takes to be a hero."

You grit your teeth, hating that Wade Wilson is your voice of reason. The biggest asshole in New York, and here he is lecturing you on morality.

Hairs are falling out of your braid and sticking to your forehead, yet you don't care. Sweat mixes with blood, creating a sticky mess on your skin. You can only glare at him. "You're the last fucking person who should be telling me how to be a hero."

Wade sighs, loud and obnoxious, his mask wrinkling around his eyes as he scrunches up his face. "I'm sorry I hit you with a car. You kinda deserved it after killing Trask. He was my last chance at becoming pretty again. Now I have to stalk another crazy scientist." He taps his chin thoughtfully, "I always figured I'd end up chasing a mad scientist again, but not under these circumstances."

It's when you can no longer hold yourself up with your arms that Wade takes in the gravity of your injuries. He winces, watching you crumble to the ground before him. "Oh, wow, that's a lot of blood," he notes, his voice suddenly devoid of humour. The sight of your blood pooling on the asphalt seems to pull him back to reality. "Should I take you to a hospital? How many fingers am I holding up?"

He doesn't give you a chance to answer.

"Three? No. Two? Yikes. It's worse than I thought." Wade stands, and the worry in his voice is poorly masked by his usual sarcasm. "Here we go. Up, up!" When he moves to pick you up, you start turning away, your body protesting every movement.

"Wade, wait—" you rasp, trying to stop him from touching you. Your voice is weak, barely above a whisper.

But it's too late. When he reaches for you, your body phases, a faint white glow surrounding you as his hands and arms fall through your body as if you're a ghost. He recoils, jumping back while a squeamish sound escapes his lips. He stares at you, then his hands, then back at you on the ground as you try to sit up again, confusion and amazement written all over his masked face.

"Oh. My. Motherfucking. Fuckballs." Wade gasped, eyes wide behind his mask. "Did my hand just go through you or is all that cocaine finally kicking in?"

You ignore him, holding onto your side as it throbs with pain. Every movement sends sharp, agonizing waves through your body. "Fuck."

"No way, you're a fucking mutant?" His tone is a mix of awe and excitement, like a kid discovering a new toy.

It's not like you kept it a secret. You used your abilities whenever you needed to, and sure, it was useful at times, especially in your line of work when you needed to get through locked doors and hidden rooms or just for the element of surprise. But it's draining. Leaves you winded after only a matter of seconds. You've always had a hard time controlling it when you're slightly delusional though. You must've hit your head really hard. Maybe that's why you haven't shot Deadpool, yet.

"Shut up, Wade."

"Hey, no need to be ashamed of it." He reassures you while trying to pick you up again. This time, he is more cautious, his movements slower and more deliberate. When he succeeds, you can tell he's grinning like a child underneath the mask.

He carries you back to the same fuckass car he hit you with, holding you with one arm under your knees, the other supporting your back. There's a faint skip to his step as if you're not on the verge of losing consciousness. While kicking open the back door, Wade continues his chatter, and you really wish he'd killed you on impact.

"Being a mutant is great! Plus, it's not the early two thousands anymore, or whatever timeline Stewart was in. Man, they sure did hate mutants in that trilogy."

He sets you down in the back seat gently, his hands surprisingly delicate. "You know, I always knew you were different. You hit me harder than regular people. I just figured you really hated me."

"I do." you mutter.

"Oh, my little sweet buns, I'm sure you do." To your annoyance, he pokes your nose playfully. "But you can't hate me too much right now, I'm literally your knight in shining armor. See, I can be nice, especially to my fellow mercs. You'd bleed to death if I left you there."

"Only because you hit me with a fucking car," you snap, the pain and frustration boiling over.

"Good to know you're still harboring great anger towards that. Means you're still conscious. Keep being mean to me, baby, that's how I'll know you're okay." He pauses before shutting the door, looking at you lying on the backseat, bleeding and all the glory that comes from it. "And it also turns me on a little bit. God, I can't believe your suit is torn and not one bit of extra cleavage is exposed. What will it take for a guy to get some rated R nudity over here?"

And with that, he slams the door shut, the car shaking with the force of it. The sound makes the ringing return to your ears, and you bite back the urge to curse him. He takes a seat in the driver's seat, starting the engine and rushing out of the scene before first responders arrive. The car roars to life, and as he speeds away, you feel your consciousness slipping, the pain and exhaustion overwhelming you.

The two of you sit in silence for the most part, only the sounds of the engine running and Wade humming the tune of a song you think is from The Greatest Showman soundtrack. You force yourself to stay awake. Mostly because you don't trust him, but it's also because you fear that if you let your eyes close you won't wake up again. Yeah, it's mostly because you don't trust Wade Wilson.

"Where are you taking me?" you finally ask, and you hate the way your voice sounds weak, barely above a whisper.

"Just a little safe house I know." He tells you, glancing back at you for a quick moment. "Very homey, trust me."

"What about the shipment?" you murmur, your mind struggling to stay focused.

"What?"

"The truck," you repeat, fighting to keep your eyes open.

"Oh, don't worry. That's no longer our problem." He says, "We're about to enter a whole new setting. That truck is forgotten plot."

Wade takes a sharp turn, and you wince as your body shifts uncomfortably in the back seat. The pain is getting worse, each bump in the road sending jolts of agony through your body. You grit your teeth, trying to stay conscious, but it's a losing battle.

After what feels like an eternity, the car finally comes to a stop. Wade gets out and you hear his footsteps crunching on gravel as he walks around to your door. He opens it carefully this time, his usual wiseass demeanour replaced by a rare show of genuine concern. He scoops you up gently, and you're too weak to protest.

The last thing you remember, before everything goes black, is the sight of a grand mansion looming ahead, its imposing silhouette framed by the moonlight. The large iron gates creak open as Wade carries you through them, the gravel path crunching under his boots. The mansion, with its towering spires and Gothic architecture, looks like something out of a fairy tale, a stark contrast to the violence and chaos you just escaped from.

When you wake up, the first thing you notice is the softness of the bed beneath you. The second thing you notice is the smell of lavender and the faint hum of medical equipment. You try to sit up, but a sharp pain in your side makes you gasp.

"Whoa, easy there," a deep, accented voice says from beside you. You turn your head slowly, the motion making your vision swim. A towering, metal-skinned mutant sits by your bed, his imposing figure softened by a look of genuine concern. "You need to rest. You are badly injured."

Your throat feels like sandpaper as you rasp, "Where am I?"

"The X-Mansion," he replies in a soothing tone, the accent heavy but comforting. "Wade brought you here. You’re safe now. I am Colossus."

You try to take in your surroundings, your head feeling heavy as you look around. The room is vast and elegant, with high ceilings that seem to reach the heavens. The walls are adorned with rich tapestries and framed paintings, depicting serene landscapes and grand historical scenes.

Large windows let in the soft, golden glow of morning light, casting gentle shadows that dance across the floor. It’s a far cry from the dingy, rundown places you’re used to, especially that old apartment with its creaky floors and peeling wallpaper.

Your eyes finally land on Wade, who is slouched in a chair in the corner. He’s flipping through a Playboy magazine with exaggerated interest, still in his dirty suit from the night before.

When he sees you stir, he grins and waves a hand in your direction. "Morning, sunshine," he says cheerfully, his voice carrying an unnerving mix of sincerity and teasing. "You gave us quite a scare. But, I've got to say, that hospital gown is doing wonders for your figure. I love the blue. Great contrast to that black you're always wearing."

You roll your eyes, too exhausted to respond properly. The gown feels scratchy against your skin, and every movement sends sharp pangs of pain through your body.

Colossus, noticing your discomfort, shifts slightly. "How are you feeling?" he asks, his voice deep and steady.

"Like I got hit by a truck," you mutter, sending a glare in Wade's direction.

Colossus chuckles, the sound deep and resonant, like rolling thunder. "Do not worry about him. We will take care of you."

Despite the throbbing pain and overwhelming fatigue, a wave of relief washes over you. For the first time in a long while, you're surrounded by people who genuinely want to help. You close your eyes, letting yourself sink into the softness of the bed. "Thank you," you whisper, the words feeling strangely comforting. For once, you don’t feel the need to be constantly on guard.

Wade's grin widens as he leans back in his chair, stretching his legs out and adjusting his mask. "Anytime, honeybuns. Anytime."

As you drift in and out of consciousness, you feel the cool, soothing touch of a wet cloth on your forehead. The gentle pressure is a welcome contrast to the persistent throbbing pain.

The sound of soft murmurs and quiet footsteps fills the room, creating a cocoon of calm around you. At some point, you notice Colossus's massive hands, surprisingly gentle, as he carefully tends to your wounds, applying bandages with precision.

Eventually, a teenager with short hair and a no-nonsense expression enters the room. You learn her name is Negasonic Teenage Warhead. She carries a phone in one hand, handing Colossus a stack of clean bandages with the other. The faint scent of antiseptic and medicinal herbs fills the air, mixing with the crispness of the freshly laundered bed linens.

Hours pass, or maybe it's days—it's difficult to gauge. When you next wake, the room is dimly lit, the golden light replaced by the softer hues of early evening. The pain has dulled to a manageable throb, and the heaviness in your limbs is slightly alleviated. Wade is still there, his previous outfit swapped for sweatpants and a dark green sweater, though he keeps his red and black mask on. He lounges in the chair beside your bed, now engrossed in an iPad, giggling softly to himself.

"Oh, man. Instagram reels are crazy," he snorts, shaking his head as he scrolls through the screen.

He looks up and hums when he sees you're awake again. "You're tougher than you look," he comments, turning off the iPad with a flick of his wrist. "Most people would have keeled over by now."

"You wish."

"Oh, trust me, I do." Wade nods vigorously, his mask bobbing with the motion. "I tried injecting poison into your IV, but your body rejected it."

"Don't worry. My handler will kill me for you."

Wade groans, dramatically rolling his eyes as he gets up from the chair. "You’re still worried about that? I already told you, the truck and all that shit is past plot. We’re in the sequel now, babe. There are new rules. Who knows, maybe this is your redemption arc where you join the X-Men. Though, I will miss your assassin era. You were so sexy in that suit."

You make a face, "Fuck off."

Just then, the door opens with a soft creak, and Colossus enters with a tray in hand. He’s followed closely by Negasonic, who carries a stack of fresh bandages. Colossus places the tray on a small table beside your bed with practiced ease. The tray is filled with a bowl of steaming soup and a couple of slices of crusty bread, the aroma wafting up and making your stomach rumble.

"How are you feeling?" Colossus asks, his voice calm and reassuring as he sets the tray down.

"Better," you admit, managing a small smile. "Thanks to you guys."

Negasonic shrugs nonchalantly, a small smile tugging at her lips despite her usual scowl. "Don’t mention it. Just doing our job."

Wade groans, clearly troubled by the kindness. "Oh great, now you’re all buddy-buddy. What am I, chopped liver?"

Colossus chuckles, the sound of a comforting rumble. "You must eat something. It will help you regain your strength."

You nod gratefully, and with Colossus’s help, you manage to sit up enough to sip the warm, comforting soup. The broth is rich and flavorful, and the bread is soft and fresh. As you eat, you can’t help but feel a strange sense of belonging. Despite the pain and the chaos, you’re surrounded by people who care, and for now, that’s enough.

Wade, not one to be left out, scoots his chair closer, setting it right next to your bed. He stretches out, propping his elbows on his knees as he leans in. "So, what do you think of the X-Mansion? Pretty swanky, right? Lots of rooms, big kitchen, danger room for training... and other things."

Negasonic scoffs, her eyes narrowing. "Gross."

You finish your meal, feeling a bit stronger. As Colossus helps you settle back into the bed, you glance at Wade. "Why did you bring me here?"

Wade’s expression shifts, becoming uncharacteristically serious. He looks at you with sincerity. "Because you’re one of us. And because... well, everyone deserves a second chance."

You blink, surprised by the depth of his words. Before you can respond, he’s back to his usual self, grinning and turning on his iPad. "Plus, it’s not every day I get to play hero. I gotta milk it for all it’s worth. And no, Colossus, I will not join your boy band, thank you very much."

The metal man grunts, waving a hand dismissively before walking out, Negasonic following right behind him. Wade stays seated next to you, his lips curled into a wide, amused grin that seems to stretch just a bit too far was he watches you.

"You're never gonna take that off?" you ask him.

Wade's laughter is a low, rumbling sound that feels almost too bright for the quiet room. "Oh, no fucking way," he says, his voice dripping with mock seriousness. "I wasn’t kidding when I said I’m ugly under this. Trust me. You’d be repulsed. Like, horror movie-level repulsed."

You give him a look, your eyebrow arched in disbelief. "I doubt it."

Wade leans in closer, the grin on his face widening. He taps his chin thoughtfully with a gloved finger, the gesture oddly contemplative. "Maybe next time I’ll take it off for you," he says, a taunting tone in his voice as he raises his brows. "Maybe that and a little more."

"There's a next time?"

"I mean, as the famous words of Natasha Bedingfield say: the rest is still underwritten."

"God, you’re fucking ridiculous," you mutter, the words coming out with a mix of exasperation and reluctant amusement. "I can’t wait to get out of here and never see you again."

Wade's shoulders slump, the white eyes of his mask narrow at you, "What, that's it? No steamy sex? No heavy petting? Is this how it ends? Not even a kiss?"

"Fuck no. Get out."

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80 mph speed record for glacier fracture helps reveal the physics of ice sheet collapse - Technology Org

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/80-mph-speed-record-for-glacier-fracture-helps-reveal-the-physics-of-ice-sheet-collapse-technology-org/

80 mph speed record for glacier fracture helps reveal the physics of ice sheet collapse - Technology Org

There’s enough water frozen in Greenland and Antarctic glaciers that global seas would rise by many feet if they melted. What will happen to these glaciers over the coming decades is the biggest unknown in the future of rising seas, partly because glacier fracture physics is not yet fully understood.

In this illustration, seawater flows deep below the surface into an actively opening ice shelf rift in Antarctica. New research shows that such rifts can open very quickly, and that the seawater rushing in helps control the speed of ice shelf breakage. Image credit: Rob Soto

A critical question is how warmer oceans might cause glaciers to break apart more quickly. University of Washington researchers have demonstrated the fastest-known large-scale breakage along an Antarctic ice shelf. The study, recently published in AGU Advances, shows that a 6.5-mile (10.5 kilometer) crack formed in 2012 on Pine Island Glacier — a retreating ice shelf that holds back the larger West Antarctic ice sheet — in about 5 and a half minutes. That means the rift opened at about 115 feet (35 meters) per second, or about 80 miles per hour.

“This is to our knowledge the fastest rift-opening event that’s ever been observed,” said lead author Stephanie Olinger, who did the work as part of her doctoral research at the UW and Harvard University and is now a postdoctoral researcher at Stanford University. “This shows that under certain circumstances, an ice shelf can shatter. It tells us we need to look out for this type of behavior in the future, and it informs how we might go about describing these fractures in large-scale ice sheet models.”

A rift is a crack that passes all the way through the roughly 1,000 feet (300 meters) of floating ice for a typical Antarctic ice shelf. These cracks are the precursor to ice shelf calving, in which large chunks of ice break off a glacier and fall into the sea. Such events happen often at Pine Island Glacier — the iceberg observed in the study has long since separated from the continent.

“Ice shelves exert a really important stabilizing influence on the rest of the Antarctic ice sheet. If an ice shelf breaks up, the glacier ice behind really speeds up,” Olinger said. “This rifting process is essentially how Antarctic ice shelves calve large icebergs.”

In other parts of Antarctica, rifts often develop over months or years. But it can happen more quickly in a fast-evolving landscape like Pine Island Glacier, where researchers believe the West Antarctic Ice Sheet has already passed a tipping point on its collapse into the ocean.

Satellite images provide ongoing observations. But orbiting satellites pass by each point on Earth only every three days. What happens during those three days is harder to pin down, especially in the dangerous landscape of a fragile Antarctic ice shelf.

Satellite images taken May 8 (left) and May 11 (right), three days apart in 2012, show a new crack that forms a “Y” branching off to the left of the previous rift. Three seismic instruments (black triangles) recorded vibrations that were used to calculate rift propagation speeds of up to 80 miles per hour.

For the new study, the researchers combined tools to understand the rift’s formation. They used seismic data recorded by instruments placed on the ice shelf by other researchers in 2012 with radar observations from satellites.

Glacier ice acts like a solid on short timescales, but it’s more like a viscous liquid on long timescales.

“Is rift formation more like glass breaking or like Silly Putty being pulled apart? That was the question,” Olinger said. “Our calculations for this event show that it’s a lot more like glass breaking.”

If the ice were a simple brittle material, it should have shattered even faster, Olinger said. Further investigation pointed to the role of seawater. Seawater in the rifts holds the space open against the inward forces of the glacier. And since seawater has viscosity, surface tension and mass, it can’t just instantly fill the void. Instead, the pace at which seawater fills the opening crack helps slow the rift’s spread.

“Before we can improve the performance of large-scale ice sheet models and projections of future sea-level rise, we have to have a good, physics-based understanding of the many different processes that influence ice shelf stability,” Olinger said.

Source: University of Washington

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