#Millimeters of Mercury | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lefty-scribes · 1 year

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sunflower

Summary: After coming home late from a stressful day at work, Spencer needs nothing more than to be in your arms in order to feel like himself again. You offer your touch to him in more ways than one.

melodramatic handjob :>

Word Count: 3423

Songs: ‘cry’ by cigarettes after sex may fit !!

Pairing: softdomme!reader x sub!spencer

Warnings: smut (18+ please), choking (m receiving), spencer cries xoxo, fully consensual but his reactions are described as ‘involuntary’ sometimes, sudden tense switch at the end bc it felt right idk, 65% buildup, 15% action, 20% orgasm LOL

a/n: guys the transition from comfort to seggsy just happened out of nowhere and the pacing is aggressively slow, prob making this hard to get off to. i’m sorry. also if you don’t think you should be reading this (🔞) you’re probably right ?? but please don’t tell me about it. do comment anything else though if you're feeling up to it :3

With a twist of his hand on the doorknob and a step through the door, Spencer took his long awaited whiff of home. It smelled of cedarwood and floral candles and you, and the tension released from his shoulders completely for the first time today.

He walked straight to the bedroom where he knew you’d still be up waiting for him, door open with a lit bedside light to welcome him despite his insistence that your sleep is more important. The urge didn’t even come up to wash his hands, disinfect his phone, or sanitize his work bag, being replaced instead by his desire to be in your presence.

As he’d suspected, there you were, sitting up on the bed you shared, eyes fighting to stay open as they flitted through the pages of a book. The comforter covered your legs, and only a thin sleep shirt separated your back from the headboard you leaned against, the shape of your nipples hardly poking through. Spencer hesitated to walk in and ruin the pretty picture.

When you noticed him, a fond smile grew on your face and you dropped your book to open your arms wide for him. He slowly walked over to you, stomach twisting just a little at the fear of being a bother, and started to position himself as he did whenever he needed a bit of extra comfort. He gave you a quick peck and settled down so his head rested on your lap, lying down on his side with his arm hugging your bare thighs. His long frame curled sideways by your legs under the blanket. He said nothing when you combed your fingers through his hair—just held you a bit tighter; nuzzled his cheek impossibly closer.

You broke the silence, absentmindedly separating small locks of his hair now with your fingers. “Want to talk about it?” you asked, to which he shook his head, movement still restricted by your thighs on his cheek, hating that he didn’t have more to say. Hated to have to make you pry just to hear about his day, but all the more in awe of how attuned you were to his emotions—even more than he was sometimes. Hated being moody and uncommunicative, but his brain was betraying him.

Your thumb now stroked his eyebrow, smoothing it out. Every part of him that your fingers touched relaxed in its wake, coupled with the scent of your lotion and laundry into his breaths. He finally spoke up, voice slightly muddled from his cheek against your leg; perhaps he sounded like his handwriting would sound, though he hoped he was more understandable than that.

“Per hour of sleep we lose, human blood pressure tends to increase by 3 to 5 millimeters of mercury, so you waiting up for me this late probably already caused an increase of 10 mmHg. Cortisol levels can also increase by up to 80% when sleep deprived, and your reaction time can slow by up to 500 milliseconds, which will make it more unsafe for you to drive tomorrow.” I appreciate you so much, baby, but you shouldn’t have waited up, is what he wanted to say. It never came out that way. I love when you greet me. Don’t put your health at risk for me. I’m sorry I’m late. But it always came out instead as numbers and statistics because that’s all he knows how to do, and it’s the only way his voice knows how to love, but you get it. He wants to add more.

You get him. “Stop worrying, Spence. I need to see you just as much as you need to see me. Can’t sleep otherwise,” you assured him. Goosebumps rose on his skin as you rubbed slow, pressured circles onto his forehead, massaging him properly now. Maybe your words were supposed to make him feel better, but he couldn’t shake the guilt in his gut. His burden complex weighed heavier today.

“My Spencer,” you breathed. Heat rose onto his cheeks. Your Spencer. “What do you need from me?”

He laid still on your lap, face now turned upward to memorize your own, pondering on the question. Always too scared to ask, though he knew what he needed. “Anything you’ll give me,” he whispered.

Now freshly dried from his shower, Spencer walked toward where you stayed sitting on the bed just as you had been when he arrived. He stood completely bare before you, an unlikely mix of both self-consciousness and pride filling him as you looked him up and down. The implied power imbalance of your clothed decency juxtaposed with his nude vulnerability has just occurred to him; he felt a rush in his stomach.

You pulled the covers off and spread your legs apart, then patted the space in between. Spencer crawled onto the bed as carefully as he could, trying not to shake it too much, now unsure of how long he could last. He found a seat between your thighs, the outer edge of his legs lining the inner side of your own, his back flush against your torso.

Goosebumps rose on his skin when your hands trailed up his neck, grazing his ears, then his cheekbones, to comb themselves through his soft hair. He shivered, just once. His mouth parted slightly in a shaky exhale and his head lolled back toward you, as a cat would, until it rested gently on your shoulder, full trust in you to support him. His eyelashes fluttered to a close as you slowly but firmly squeezed your fingers into a closed fist against his scalp, hair tangled within your grasp, letting the leverage of your palms against his head do the tugging. Despite the tightness of the skin around his temples, his facial muscles only continued to relax as he silently handed you all control of him. He released a shallow gasp as you gave your wrists a slow twist before releasing his hair entirely.

You slid your fingers down to his nipples, running your thumbs over them each for not long enough. He let out a sigh that must’ve released more air than his lungs had the capacity to carry in the first place. The stresses of the day began to leave with it, Spencer being overcome instead by the relief of being back in the comfort of his own home—in the arms of his beloved. Your hand was cool against his humid skin, raising goosebumps in its wake. Ears ringing, he hardly heard his own voice releasing a shaky, dragged out, sh— shhhit, between gritted teeth.

Your hands trailed down even further toward his soft stomach which was scrunched into a bean-like mound from his position against you, grazing down his happy trail before ignoring his painful erection and inching toward his thighs instead. Your nails dragged gently over his inner thighs and he pried them open for you; all for you.

He whined under his breath and his legs flexed under your touch, only the duration of a single twitch, lifting his hips up subconsciously to contact your hands where he needed them most. You gently pushed him back down, wordlessly insisting on giving attention to his soft thighs, asserting that it was your pace being followed. And he couldn’t object. He didn’t want to. Always so patient with him, he longed for you to be proud of his obedience. His thighs were yours to touch, after all, and so was what rested now painfully hard between them.

His head still laying against your shoulder, you gently swiped your tongue against his ear lobe, getting his attention. You whispered to him, and he was so receptive to you. “Do you think you’re ready?”

He didn’t need to see it to know, but he glanced down anyway, his cheeks burning up to a colour he imagined matched his throbbing penis. He ached to be touched there, swallowing at the thought.

He hummed lazily in response, already lightheaded from the rush in his head. He tilted his head in slow roll to place clumsy kisses all over your face, whatever part of it he could reach, nodding continuously to please touch me, I’m ready. He thought his lips had caught your nose, cheekbones, ear, jaw… but at that point he’d already been intoxicated by your touch and couldn’t tell the difference; only wanted to taste the saltiness of your supple skin.

“Words, Spence.” With his head still turned to you, you caught his bottom lip between your teeth and nipped at it until it puffed up, drawing a light whimper from him. He arched his neck sideways to grant you access to the rest of him that your lips and teeth could reach. More of him now exposed to you, he quietly pleaded as you lightly sucked on sensitive points behind his jaw. A lone tear slipped out of his eye closest to you, and you lapped it up as it hung from his jaw.

“Ready. Always ready for you,” he choked, voice already hoarse. Your ability to take him to the clouds far before touching the most sensitive part of him only turned him on further, as well as the nurturing and patient but complete control you exerted. He was undeserving and yet eternally grateful. Swore to himself he’d spend the rest of his days trying to love you as completely as you did him.

Upon squeezing out some lubricant from the bottle in your bedside drawer, you grasped his erection in your slick hand, your other hand exploring the rest of his body, and he gasped with an unintentional jolt. From this position you two were in, it allowed the ridges of your curled palm and fingers, as well as the coolness of your wedding ring, to make full contact with the sensitive vein along the underside of his cock.

You played him like an instrument, and the sounds he made proved nothing less. You’d glide your sharp knuckles over him, barely making contact with him, much to his protest; your hand would run along the thin, elastic stretch of skin connecting his head to the underside of his cock. Or you’d bunch your delicate fingertips together at his tip, letting the widening of his cock separate them as you pushed down toward his balls. He almost wished, as the pads of your fingers trailed his length, that your fingerprints could be ingrained in his skin, if only to be claimed by you even more. His breaths grew laboured and he slowly lost the shame in his whimpers.

Your other hand moved to his lips, muffling his sounds slightly. Your breath tickled his ears, and he threw an arm back to grasp your hair or neck or whatever he could grab, trying fruitlessly to get closer for you to ground him.

He whined helplessly against your now vibrating hand, though it did nothing to quiet his volume as you so creatively played with his cock, fidgeting with him and using him like nothing. Tension was prominent between his eyebrows sewn together, and surely his forehead carried a few creases as well.

You gently ran your thumb against his bottom lip, and he instinctively pulled it into his mouth. Your thumb pushed degradingly against the inside of his cheek, forcing his mouth to open slightly. His tongue circled your thumb out of habit, and the slightest bit of spit dribbled out the corner of his lips.

The room started to smell and feel like sweat, though he couldn’t bring himself to care. He was experiencing everything and nothing all at once, sensations heightened yet brain numbed. Rare were the occasions that he couldn’t explain everything, and the times where he couldn’t think straight, but he revelled in it. Nowhere else was Spencer able to be completely defenseless and equally safe but in your arms—or hands, in this case. His guard wholeheartedly down, he cherished the privilege of being worriless and thoughtless.

His brain’s unusual absence of words and knowledge—two things which he so dutifully guarded just to feel competent—was welcomed because you were around to protect his vulnerability in the meantime.

By now, from the sweat or his own sheer lack of control, Spencer had slid down slightly so his shoulder blades were flush with your breasts; your hard nipples pressed against him through the soft silk of your nightshirt and it reminded him how eager he was to return the favour. He was leaning back a bit more, hardly noticing the ache from his weight resting on his tailbone.

The position gave you access to move your working hand even lower, gentle fingers starting to toy with his balls before moving down toward the sensitive patch of skin right beneath. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth when you hit it, hums and groans gradually increasing in pitch. Against his own will, he clenched around nothing, causing his perineum to shift against your fingers. He choked out another embarrassingly loud sound, mouth shamelessly open now, and then did it again.

You kissed his jaw. “How do you feel?” you whispered. You gave more attention to the pink head now, fingers tickling his smooth tip, thumb pressing down periodically on the ridges. Your other hand played with hair.

“You treat me so well,” he breathed, as earnestly as he could, turning his head to give a sloppy kiss to your wrist, drunk on your touch, your warmth, and you. “Love you so much,"—he swallowed—"ah— oh, f— fuck— Love what you do to me.”

“You deserve it all.”

His moans got more high pitched as you worked, and his breaths came in faster than his chest could keep up with. His hands grasped at your thighs to steady himself, blunt nails digging in.

“My Spencer baby, you look oh so beautiful,” you praised, voice dripping in sheer adoration. His eyes drew open and his gaze rolled back, then lazily toward you. Another tear slowly escaped the corner of his eye, and he wished he weren’t tearing up if only to see your pretty face more clearly. His eyebrows were still tense under the nearness of his undoing, tilted in a pleading pout.

“Please, please-please-please-please-plea— mmngh…” He pleaded and begged for release, no longer making sense of what was coming out of his mouth, eyes ever-downturned and watering once again.

He was helplessly putty in your hands, his body no longer his own, but rather a shell of just euphoria and feeling. He was floating and completely at your mercy, just as he loves to be.

“I love you, please, I—” His sentences grew choppy and more and more incoherent, his speech being mixed with unintelligible throaty noises. His chest rose and fell significantly faster than it had earlier, lips hardly separating as he mumbled a yesyesyesyes keep going yes just like that please, and his hips thrusted up to move his length further into your hand.

His desperate hands sought purchase from whatever they could grab, now tightly squeezing and scratching at your thighs. He readjusted his sweat-slicked palms as they slipped down your skin.

Your hand in his hair slid down roughly to grab his jaw in utter possessiveness, twisting it up toward you to plant a sloppy kiss on his lips. He did the best he could to return it. “Go ahead, baby,” you mumbled against his mouth.

He whimpered into the kiss, with no more capacity to spare you an audible ‘thank you’ as usual. You squeezed your working hand just the slightest bit tighter around his cock, working your way back up to his ever-sensitive pink head.

“Shitshitshitshit, fuck, oh, God. I’m so close, I’m so close, I’m so—ah—” How naughty he felt. Maybe you’d tease him later about the junk coming out of his mouth, flustering him with the thought of what the neighbours would think. But as a sunflower proved its affinity to the sun and its warmth, all he could do now was gaze at you mindlessly, his neck aching at the effort. Under the dim yellow lamp lighting up the room, he embodied the sunflower’s golden glow. Its face would follow the bright star by nature and so would Spencer's, happily compelled by some force of nature to show you his authentic self as he held on so close to his orgasm. You smiled at him.

The bed squeaked under his shaking legs. Lone tears made their way down his face, free-falling now, and he made no move to wipe them. As he neared his peak, you kept your hand on his cock, hand wrapped snugly around his tip, angling it toward his chest.

You grabbed his throat with the other, fingers squeezing inward toward the two valleys around his neck that carried his precious arteries, and he felt the first spurt of cum burst through with a loud wail of surprise.

“Baby—“ he tried breathlessly, eyes still attempting to meet yours to please understand what I’m saying, please be proud of me, “baby, I’m coming, I’m fucking coming, I’m…” His muscles spasmed and sharply leaned him forward, causing your hand to obstruct his throat just a bit more, and he was thankful for it if only to ground his shaking to a minimum.

His head was pounding and his vision grew spotty as he basked in the feeling of his life, and his penis, in your hands, and the purpose with which you handled him as he prayed for this state of euphoria to not simply kill him. Though that wouldn’t be a terrible way to go.

He fought the urge to squeeze his eyes shut, yet still saw only white. He was burning up and held no sense of himself as his muscles twitched in waves, knees buckling, though you were there to hold him through it all. His mouth opened in a silent scream as you continued moving your hand along his sensitive length.

His panting gradually became less breathy and more audible, now backed by a throaty groan with every breath he released. Your name became the only thought in his mind, and he let it shakily slip out of his mouth, not caring how absolutely brainless he sounded. With each spurt of his release onto his chest, each involuntary clenching and thrust of his hips, he repeated it. Whether a cry of pleading, gratitude, or adoration, he wasn’t certain—but it all centred around you.

You talked him through the final stages of his orgasm with gentle murmurs of praise, pushing his hips down to forcefully guide him through it. Good boy, Spencer. Keep going. I’m right here. You got it. You’re doing great. Almost done. I love you. You’re so safe here. Your ministrations on his sensitive penis didn’t slow as you patiently waited for him, though he had to rest his hand on your wrist to slow you down, eyes finally falling closed; you obliged. His body offered you one final tremor of overwhelming pleasure.

The horrors of the day seemed to have been released with his release. But with the way you were now atop him, cleaning up the mess on his chest with your tongue, then crawling back up to his own mouth to offer him a taste, he felt his once-against stiffening cock asking for more where that came from. His aftercare be damned. No longer overwhelmed by his need for solace, this new rise of arousal was geared toward you—thanking you, loving you, cherishing you, pleasuring you in the way his words so often failed to do.

He would do for you what you had so generously done for him, and more, if you’d let him. He could give you his tongue, his length, his fingers, a toy—or whatever you wanted. Offer himself to be used and taken however you pleased. Longed to give you everything he could. He was yours, after all.

Spencer told himself that there would be time for all that, though he always worried otherwise. Keeps it in his head, but he pleads every day that you wouldn’t end up like those he sought justice for at work, or be the body that haunted him until he arrived home to you, or the victim of a target aimed at him. Pleads every day that there would be more time.

But in the meantime, with not much else he can do, just as a sunflower would, he swears to turn his back to everything else dark about the world and follow his sun as long as he is able.

1K notes · View notes

gladiatorcunt · 2 months

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- # MERCURY POISONING !!

i wanna be found, passenger in your car (don’t leave)

cw: based on an ask for plus sized afab!reader, ambiguous era, pt. 3 to these posts, (toxic but softer with reader) dom!art x sub!reader x (toxic but softer with reader) switch!patrick, daddy kink, usage of the words fat & chubby etc. as something positive bc they can be! sexualized self esteem excersizes/body positivity/methods of fixing your insecurities lol, dead dove hints & vibes but not too apparent, established poly relationship, implied sensory issues & insecurities relating to being plus sized, porno type dirty talk meant to be that way, character/relationship study vibes, mild fighting/jealousy/possessiveness (playful and light hearted), hinted dacryphilia & overstimulation & orgasm delay/denial but not rlly they’re just playing, patrick’s very hairy bc i said so, anal & spanking & rimming bc they <3 ur fat ass, thigh fucking, chubby chaser vibes, video recordings (that don’t get shared), alcohol mention (fantasy of doing body shots)

wc: 3.2k

1k event. / please consider commissioning me!

You’ve been getting better at getting out of your own head, your confidence has grown a lot over the course of your relationship with your boyfriends. You used to beg them to keep the lights off and they were lucky if you sent 1% of the total amount of nudes that stay locked away in your group chat. As time has gone by, you’re allowing the house to be bathed in a warm glow and you’ll send cute little videos of you shaking your ass while you hump their pillows.

They’re so proud of you, coming out of your shell in all the ways they always knew you could. Plus, it never mattered that they couldn’t see you in all your glory at first (though it drove them insane to have to be content with imagining how your body looks as it jiggles as they hammer into your holes), they just wanted you to be comfortable and happy. That’s never gonna stop being their number one priority.

So it’s a gift when you beckon them closer in your silk bathrobe, your after shower movie nights never fail to derail into a different kind of show. You lean your head back against Art’s shoulder and languidly arch your back, your panties brushing against his bulge in an “accidental” movement. He softly hisses and gives Patrick a look, your eyes follow him in confusion as you watch him run to get something from the bedroom and come back. In his hairy hands rests a pile of post it notes and a black marker from your stash on your desk. Your brow furrows but you’re much more interested in getting Art’s half-hard cock re-acquainted with the cleft of your ass. Your cheeks part to make way for his length that’s quickly chubbing up.

“Fuck, angel, you couldn’t have waited until the movie was over?” Art teases and reclines against the couch, looking every bit as satisfied as a king.

You smile and find comfort in the implication of being split open and speared, impaled by someone who loves you, “Needed you now, and we’ve seen Gladiator before.”

His tip is a millimeter away from catching on your hole but Patrick wrenches you up out of Art’s lap and into his. If Art is the overarching king, Patrick is the spoiled prince that treats you like you’re a piping hot turkey leg. He tears you to bits with his teeth, snarling and licking his lips to chase the taste.

“Please, c’mon, fuckin’ need to taste you so bad. Need you to break my neck when you sit on my face.” He hisses, more rabid dog than human man.

The post it notes in his hand are getting crushed by his too tight grip, Patrick realizes what he’s doing and

Your eyes glint dangerously as you swivel your hips from side to side, causing your thick cheeks to jiggle around Art’s cock. You stare Patrick dead in the eye, so horny that you’re not shy about showing them how much you’re willing to put on a show for them. To become their favorite stripping whore that would rather die mid lap dance then be normal about wanting them. Art groans and clamps a heavy hand onto your right cheek, your flesh bulging out in between his fingers as he gropes you like you’re just some hot piece of ass.

You are, but they appreciate you for more than just your best assets. Even though there are times where your stretch marks and stomach rolls feel like equal parts of the relationship, to name a couple extra members of their weird little harem.

Art laughs, the rich guy kind of laugh that soaks your underwear and drips onto their country club floor, “What’d we say about teasing, hm? Daddy’s already about to burst, he’ll just come crying to me if you don’t give him what he wants.”

Patrick peels off one of the sticky notes and glares weakly, but he doesn’t deny it.

When you’re not in the mood to have sex, or Patrick pushes your buttons too often and too much, you’ll lie on your tummy in your canopy bed and watch with droopy eyes as Art puts the other man through the ringer. Fucking machines, nipple clamps, vibrators in multiple places and Patrick’s lips spreading around a ball gag. You’re there for the aftercare, running your hands through his hair and calling him Daddy while you cockwarm his soft dick.

“We have a present for you too, Angel, a little self esteem exercise.” Art coos, abruptly stopping your movements and sliding his hands around your hips.

You feel the warning bubbling under the surface, and you know you won’t be moving from your position until he explicitly says so. You both call Patrick Daddy, because he needs it, but Art needs to actually put it into practice to feel satisfied with his life. He started out as the friend that “fathered” you and Patrick, and something corny like this is so him that it’s mind bogglingly sexy. He loves a good pussy inspection, letting his “assistant” handle your other hole.

The minutes that passed are littered with neon sticky notes that bear crudely written compliments and affirmations. Ones that Patrick came up with are charmingly lewd, the stuff that oddly endearing porn video comments wish they could be made of.

“Tummy rolls so squishy I squirted and my dick fell off.”

“Chubby pussy #1 crack cocaine hotspot, watch out.”

“Who needs church when you have these jiggly tits?”

“God peaked with this one, No Nut November final boss.”

“Everyone on Earth should die but me and my boyfriends because my boyfriends would miss my fat ass.”

“World’s best thick thighs.”

“My chubby cheeks look so cute when a cock is bulging out of them that it brings people to tears.”

“Looks so pretty being double stuffed, fat bitches just take dick better.” *And a badly drawn shrug emoji.*

Art’s messages are heart warming in their own way, but it’s the underlying assured dominance and smoothness in the written tone that make the experience so sensual. With him, it’s about reading in between the lines more than it is about getting on the dick and doing splits on it right away. The prey is being circled by its hunter until they can’t stop the inevitable from happening. The jaws of a bear trap and the teeth of men are the same things in different bodies.

“Such gorgeous curves, running my hands over them takes all my stress away.”

“Perfect cock sucking lips, so good my boyfriends couldn't be prouder of me if they tried.”

“My beautiful baby, with the cutest chubby tummy that puts everyone else to shame.”

“This ass was made for spanking, it could honestly never be fat enough. Still waiting on a demonstration to see how well they move to music.”

“Stretch marks + cum waist chains = <3”

“At their best when taking bites of cake and getting the frosting smeared all over their face after a cum bath. Can’t tell the difference when they mix together sometimes.”

“To be bred.” And a doodle that resembles those corny car decals with the stick figure parents and their ridiculously large family.

The notes feel well…. uh…. sticky on your skin. Awkward too, but the fiery worship etched onto your boyfriend’s faces makes it all worth it. Patrick drools as he takes in the sight of your tits covered in the brightly colored stationary, and you can tell he really isn’t focusing on the words on them so much as he is the heaving boobs they’re attached too. Art sighs pleasantly and runs a hand over the notes covering your ass, not caring about the sounds of crinkling paper or his nails lightly scratching against it. You almost look like a modern art project, nude and adorned with pure love.

“How about a reward for being such a trooper? Gonna give you that dick you’ve been craving, Angel.” Art says, helping you peel the notes off and tossing them on the floor. (He’ll remember to pick them up and keep them in a box for you, in case you need the reminders, or just to see you squirm because you’re so silly you can’t even take a compliment when you’re not fucked out and cock drunk.)

Patrick does the same on his end, and you get only a few seconds to open your mouth and stammer (being bold isn’t a permanent thing, apparently) before you feel the wet sensation of a tongue darting around your rim. You gasp, trying to turn around to look at Art burying his face between your ass cheeks but Patrick tugs your face back in his direction and catches you in a toe curling sloppy kiss. His specialty, all saliva and his slick tongue seducing yours to slide against it hopelessly searching for the solution to the feeling blooming deep in your guts.

Art pulls back, dragging his tongue along your rim as he glances up at you and Patrick, smiling. “Mmm, look at that, pussy’s saying hello. ‘s inviting me in, it’d be rude to say no.”

You obviously can’t respond while you’re getting tongue fucked, but if you could you think you might cry. It should be what you want, what you always want. But doesn’t your ass deserve the same treatment your cunt gets? Doesn’t it deserve to get fucked through every circle of hell and back around again like your mouth does? You wiggle your hips in front of Art’s face, announcing your disapproval and moaning into Patrick’s mouth.

Wiggling gets your ass smacked, Art is quick to remind you. He soothes the sting of his (to him) gentle love tap with a loving kiss to the center of the thick globe, nipping the area for good measure.

“Don’t get greedy, I can always pay this hole some attention later. Gonna eat this ass like it deserves when you’re too dumb to push me away when it gets too much.” Because that's what you always do, pretty kitty that can’t seem to back up your big mouth with your stamina.

You like it when they keep going after you pass out though, so it’s a win win for you either way. The rocking motions your pudge makes when they speed up their thrusts has the same effect as a rickety rocking chair on you. This time will most likely be no different, you’ve been so stressed with all the responsibilities you have to deal with, you deserve a good all expenses paid trip to pound town more than ever right now. Patrick grunts and bites your bottom lip, cracking his eyes open to gaze longingly at the swell of your ass. He’ll clearly want his own seat at the table for Art’s midnight snack.

“Now keep kissing on Daddy, need your mouth and brain occupied so you don’t tense up, baby.” Art murmurs as he rises up on his knees, kneeling on the couch and reaching forward to spread your plump ass cheeks to catch a sight of the prize hidden below them.

Your pussy’s glistening, your pubic hair’s all wet and stuck to your mound because you’re that soaked. Your face burns, and for once you’re glad that you can’t see how smug Art looks right now. Patrick too, he’d rub your face in it (then mash it into his bulge). You get lost in the sauce, making out with Patrick is not something for the weak, the way his tongue digs into your mouth like he’s trying to eat you from the inside out fucks you up mentally. There’s hushed whispering going on behind you, like Art’s having an engaging conversation with your pussy.

“You don’t mind if I don’t prep you that much, right? You can take it, always gushing and babbling like a river when you see me. ‘s gonna make Daddy jealous.”

He pushes in a couple fingers anyway, crooking them just right and scissoring them into your heat when you seem a little too into your kiss with Patrick. Oh well, you’ll remember that he’s still there soon enough. You make the cutest little squeaks against Patrick’s lips, and he just can’t resist meanly pinching your nipples and squeezing your tits like they’re water balloons. Patrick breaks away to lob a flurry of pecks along your throat, hurriedly stopping every so often to quickly suck the patch of skin he’s hovering over at that moment. You sigh, knuckle deep in perpetual bliss, and arch into his touch. The exposure of more skin calls Patrick like blood to a shark and he’s on it, a few licks away from slobbering on your pulse point.

“Hah- Fuck, Daddy, shit- so good.” You moan and succumb to his whims, the added pressure in your pussy only heighting the climbing pleasure you’re feeling.

Art whistles slowly as he slides his fingers out, depriving you of the show that is him licking them clean fried chicken style, no skin or meat left on the bone in sight. Your poor hole clenches around nothing, pouting like you would if he could see you. But he already does that everytime he closes his eyes, you live wrapped around the nerve endings connected to his brain, a beloved parasite. He’d love nothing more than to do shots off your body, then chase it down with a lime wedge and your pussy juice.

(Yes they’d love you if you were a worm, but maybe they’d prefer you to be a tapeworm that lives inside one of them.)

He grasps his aching hard dick in his hands, shallowly pumping up and down in lazy strokes as he just dead eye stares at your puffy pussy. Your folds are so chubby that your little clit is hidden away, but he knows that he’ll find it in no time at all when the mood strikes him. You and Patrick make the prettiest picture, two messy pets that need to stick together so much that they love to swap spit. Art loves a good three way kiss, but he will always have a special soft spot for watching his babies play. He likes to be the overseeing figure in the room when it’s just about you and Patrick, makes him feel like he’s doing something right, taking care of the three of you. Keeping you all inside this fragile bird’s nest.

“Pat, keep ‘em there, be a good boy and do what you’re best at.” He orders, positioning his long cock at your entrance and easing the bell shaped tip in.

When you exhale into him, Patrick can imagine that it’s his hole being pushed in. The way your back bends, your upper half curling towards the slick-sticky-hot attention being paid to your backside. Your mouth splits apart as you gape and silently cry out for something beyond the capabilities of a mortal man. Art’s dick brushes against the fleshy globes of your ass teasingly as he sinks into your walls. Inch by inch, you’re getting re-acquainted and reuniting dear old friends.

Patrick pets your head and pulls you closer to knock his forehead against yours, “ It’s okay, you were made for this, your body’s been built for this. Made for him, made for me.”

Art’s cock is his cock and vice versa when it comes to you. You’re like a magical fleshlight, Patrick swears he can feel your velvet grip suck in more of his girth, even as he creates a necklace for you out of teeth indents.

You hang your head, courageously allowing yourself to be carved into, “Ohhhhh, thank you, Daddy.”

He starts getting impatient though, as he always does, and shuffles around so he can slide under your body. His stubble scratches against your folds as he lies there, just breathing on your pussy and reaching up to feel where Art is splitting your ass open. You choke on a startled moan when Patrick’s fingers tease the barely there veins on Art’s cock and then rub little circles into your clit. Art groans and lets his self control slip a tad, he grinds his teeth together and plunges the rest of the way into you in one thrust. Patrick fucking chuckles, bouncing the other man’s balls in his hands as he nudges the hump of his nose bridge against your poor throbbing clit.

They like to have competitions over who can make you cum faster when they eat you out. Patrick is more of a messy eater, he doesn’t have much of a technique and relies on how horny the raw scent of pussy gets him. He’ll slobber all over your folds and hollow his cheeks as he sucks the soul out of your clit. He knows you like his nose too so he always makes sure to let you hump it as much as you want. Art’s not quite so vivacious, he prefers to methodically kitten lick your clit until your begging just gets too close to sobbing (his favorite) and he moves down to expertly tongue fuck you into overstimulation.

Patrick has you hurtling over the edge in a not bad five minutes, not his best but not his worst time. Art’s done better, the smug grin he sends down at him saying as much. You’re still reeling from Art dragging out his thrusts in your ass so you’re forced to feel every inch of his long length grapple onto your impossibly tight walls as it slides in and out. Schlick, pop, schlick, pop, schlick, pop. Your boys being who they are don’t let you recover much in between orgasms, they just want their baby to feel so good you wish you’d die. So Art postpones making you cum on his cock and swaps with Patrick, it’s one of those kinds of days where devouring you to the bone very nearly beats pummeling the shit out of your holes.

Art makes you cum so hard on his tongue that you gush like a burst pipe four minutes later, and Patrick speeds up his movements. Your ass feels like it’s torn and two and impaled on a tree trunk but it’s just as well, you’re ruined for anybody else who thinks they’d know how to handle your delectable body. He harshly slaps both of your jiggling ass cheeks like it’s your fault he lost their little match.

He fondly sneers and holds his hand out above your head, beseechingly. Like how someone would ask a dog to spit out whatever they shouldn’t have in their mouth, but they’re too cute to be genuinely mad at.

Art grins and climbs out from under you. He rolls his shoulders back, a winner doing a victory lap.

He spits out a glob of your cum, “fat pussy cum tastes like candy,” and grants him a deep kiss of his own. They hug around you and their mouths drift apart, returning to your shoulders and dancing along them. There’s no purpose or intent to kickstart another round, they just want to worship their baby, tongues cleaning and appraising the marble bones of your statue. Though they know depriving you of raw cock is its own torture, you’ll get your holes filled before the night over. You haven’t even started properly whining and batting your eyelashes yet.

You on the other hand can't wait to see how they’ll react to your anniversary present, the special frosting and sprinkles are tucked away in their own shelf in a cabinet on the floor. You’re too scared to take a risk by adding a candle, but they’ll get the idea anyway.

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ravings-of-a-mad-scientist · 10 months

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I don't care what mmHg advocates say, millimeters mercury has and always will be a cursed measurement.

Especially in medicine. Oh, are you gonna hook up the patient's cardiovascular system to a column of mercury to gauge the heckin' mitral valve pressure?

#science #biology #chemistry #medicine #cursed

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jjcanshift · 10 days

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mha dr intro! ｡𖦹°‧

me ── .✦

╰┈➤ name; Jiyuu Burimaki

╰┈➤ nicknames; Yuuyuu, Windy (bitch), fidget spinner, missile (LMAO)

╰┈➤ hero name; Cyclonic

╰┈➤ gender; female

╰┈➤ age; 16

╰┈➤ birthday; 09/08

╰┈➤ height; 5'6

╰┈➤ ethnicity; Japanese, part Indian

Appearance;

I'd post a screencap I made but I won't cuz there are petty thieves everywhere.

Eyes; dull blue, downturned

Eyebrows; thin-ish, s-shaped

Skin; Light brown but pale? idk how to explain it

Build; most of my muscle is on my legs, arms, and back (because of my quirk)

Hair; black, wavy, reaches to the back of my knees (I usually keep it in a braid)

quirk ── .✦

Windstorm (emitter); I can produce and manipulate powerful winds from the cells within my body and the forces around me.

(I'll do a separate post on what I can do with it)

The science behind it (because why not);

My blood oxygen falls within 300-350 millimeters of mercury (a normal person has 75-100). The blood oxygen is carried from my lungs to all the cells through my body, then converted into pure wind molecules that act as a harness to convert the air around me into wind forces I can control.

relationships ── .✦

╰┈➤ dad; Kansuke Burimaki

(He's the #4 hero named Zephyr in my dr)

╰┈➤ mom; Narui Burimaki

╰┈➤ little brother; Benji Burimaki

╰┈➤ cousin; Inasa Yoarashi (I decided my quirk before I got to his first appearance and realized his quirk was way too similar to mine so I just made us related 😭)

╰┈➤ dog: Runo

╰┈➤ friends; Mina Ashido, Kyoka Jirou, Hanta Sero, Eijiro Kirishima, Denki Kaminari

╰┈➤ best friend; Momo Yaoyorozu

╰┈➤ s/o; Katsuki Bakugo (guys I'm so normal about him I swear)

backstory ── .✦

Nothing too serious or traumatic really. I grew up idolizing my dad (and All Might of course) wanting to be a hero. I was really shy and timid through elementary and junior high, so even though I was strong, I didn't want to draw attention to myself, therefore, not getting any recommendations. I started to let go of those limiting beliefs and allowed myself to use my power as I should, and I passed the entrance exam in 5th place.

That was a lot lmao. Happy shifting!

#mha #mha shifting #reality shifting #shifting #shifting stories #anti shifters dni #shifting community #shifting blog #desired reality #shifting realities #shifting motivation #reality shifter #shifting antis dni

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saturnbellfromhell · 2 years

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THE ENERGY OF THE SUN

One of the first posts on my Tumblr was about the Moon and all her feminine glory. How she is bold, yet mysterious, cunny, yet delicate, powerful yet soft. In today's post we speak of the the star of the show, literally. Our beloved Sun which shins brightly threw our windows kissing the Moon goodbye. For another day is to appear on the horizon, for that it brings serotonin into our body and bliss into our hearts. The Sun has been talked about, written about, sang about and worshipped for as long as life has existed on our planet. It is the masculine to the Moons feminine with whom he has created a small family consisting of a son Mars, the planet of action, a daughter Venus, the planet of beauty and a androgynous child Mercury, planet of communication. Together with their energies they rule all that is seen. The primary family of our solar system and where raw energy is bred. This star flows in the middle of our system, where it shins every millimeter, not leaving anything hidden. For it's master it has chosen Leo. A fiery and noble fixed sign which represents the king of all creatures. Leo's are in the middle of our favorite season, Summer. Where the Sun has impregnated our crops and bears fresh food to our table. When the hottest months appear, so does a infant Leo. Being the master of such a powerful and complex star, Leo's have a lot on their hands.

~Leo's are in the center of all, unironically they are mostly hated for such behavior. But in reality they literally cannot help it. It's what comes natural to these people. When the Sun shines on you, you have very little to hide. Every accomplishment is met with large praise, but every downfall is met by huge dissaprovement and judgment. So Leo's have to form a larger ego than others to survive such things out in the world. In their home life they love their family and partner to the core. Being loyal to the grave for them and not letting anyone lay a finger on them. They are the leaders of the pack, the grandiose caregivers of their own family. What they crave is affection and attention, but they also want this for all their loved one's. Even if a courageous Leo becomes a star, he is more than willing to put his loved one in the spot light. Remember that meme of Will Smith showing off Jada Pinket Smith on the red carpet, yep that's what a Leo would do (which is funny, because Will Smith is a Leo rising).

~Other than a Leo's love and loyalty, they are such prideful people. Rarely will you hear a Leo dirty talk themselves. They are also known to be overachievers, ambitious and throughout. These individuals are the emotional one in the fire sign group. They long for freedom and change, love and devotion, praise and respect.

~The bad caracteristic of a Leo comes from being a fixed sign by itself. Fixed signs are known to be very stubborn and fixed, literally, on their beliefs and ideas. It's quite hard getting a Leo to change it's routine, try something new or have it any other way they imagined it. Leo's are the one who want control over their life and decisions, so don't bother changing it. They will treat you like a God or Godess, but be sure to not act like you are better than them. They can also have a longer tongue than what it needs to be, even moreso if Mercury is in a fire sign, the Leo will never hold back his words. By doing so, Leo will have to learn to bend their back sometimes, bringing more harmony into their life.

~A Leo's house is eccentric and loud, just like them. They adore random pictures, figurines and small touches of pazaz. If living with a Leo be sure to let go and let them do their thing, I mean they do have good taste at the end of the day. The metal gold is what catches their eyes, they also adore shiny anything and diamonds. Their style is everso changing, whatever they wear the most important accessory is their confidence. With main-like hair and a wild look in their eyes they take the world by storm.

~If not sure somebody is a Leo, do not worry, for they will tell you themselves. The chatty Leo is sure to tell you all about their hobbies, achievements and goals and be sure they will go to great strengths to better all of them. People find it hard to follow up and true Leo and by doing so become bitter towards them a lot of the time. But what they don't acknowledge is that Leo's would be over the moon exited to grab someone and put them under their wing.

~Even though a Sun is meant for and it is it domicile, in detriment it falls on a weird Aquarius. Aquarians are not meant for the spotlight for they are the ruler of others, the humanitarian of the group. It is all about other and not about themselves for this a wise lesson to be learned from a Leo and also a wise lesson to be taught to a Leo. Exaltation lands it's place to a baby Aries which has much to learn but feels at peace by holding the crown. A fun way to look at exaltations if you are not familiar is looking at it like making a feist. The Leo gets everything done, the collecting, planning, organizing, preparing and cooking, but the Aries just shows up and enjoyes the feist making everyone welcome and happy. The energy of the Sun is primal and welcoming, playful and flavourful, exiting and concious, strong and delightful, but not for anybody!

~Where the Sun resigns is in the 5th house, the house of complite hedonism, creation and joy. It's the house where romance lives and where all passion and love accurs. It defins our adoration for children and where our inner child finds it's playground. This house is all about the fun and amusing aspects of life governing games and hobbies, sex and creative acts, self expression and relationships. Even though the 7th house is called the house of partnerships, this house is how things flow in a relationships. How sex and sexuality is embedded in the individual. The 7th house moreso has to do with the functions in a relationship afterwards, like a marriage. The 5th house also represents the enjoyment before the purge and structure in the 6th house. So you can look at the 5th house as maturing into a relationship, the 6th house as self improvement and the 7th as the stepping stone into the new world where solidarity is not common anymore. After the 7th house we look at our life and relations as a collective, not so much as an individual. For everyone must learn a lesson from every house and lord to become a better person, not only for themselves, but for the whole world.

~Leo teaches us to have a good time, not be bothered by accidents, expand our knowledge, fight for our ideas and enjoy being human in a very raw form.

~Planets that are welcome in a Leo's home include Jupiter, who expands this house, bringing luck and optimism into our hobbies and relationships. The Moon, bringing a firm duality into the picture, here the Moon will cater to intuition and desires into a natives personal and love life. Mercury will also be welcomed with a smile on Leo's doorstep, bringing new communication skills to the table and a driven Mars to activate all that is said above...and of course a lovely Venus to bring a seductive manner.

~But not all feel at home here... like Saturn, Uranus, Neptune and Pluto

~Saturn in the 5th house

A cold planet in a warm house is always a no go. Here Saturn cannot find any discipline nor structure nor valuable time. With a prominent Saturn in the 5th house individuals can have a hard time with playful and spontaneous acts. They can also have a great fear of losing oneself to others and not wanting to open up and try new things. By doing so they can feel like they have some sort of curse put on them, where life doesn't flow like it does for others. This placement can also indicate harder views on sex, where people feel like they are obligated or pushed to be intimate. Saturn here also delays children and stable relationships. Many with this placement can also feel downgraded and only find happiness in a steady career. This a very stressful position for Saturn with many expectations.

~Uranus in the 5th house

Uranus is all about surprises and novelty. It's a Aqurian planet. As said above Sun is in detriment when in Aquarius, so of course this can govern troublesome events into the 5th house. This can indicate a unexpected/unplanned relationship or pregnancy by all means. Uranus can also make it hard for the native to stay in relationships since he chooses freedom over all. It can also mean that a native finds independence through a lover or partner. They need a lot of security in love to strive.

~Neptune in the 7th house

In a woman's chart this can be a indicator of hidden romances for the native, since Neptune is a planet of dreams and the "outer world". This can indicate a lot of unfufiled desires and wants that are not being met since the native cannot express himself/herself directly. Love where a Neptune resides in the 5th house needs to be soft and tender with a highlight on mysterious sex. Since this house is about creativity, Neptune here helps the person becoming more dreamy about anything, such as acting.

~Pluto in the 8th house

This one is a tough one. Pluto is very transformative and needs a lot of space to get his point across. It governs all that is away, death, the darkness, rebirth, endings..etc. So not a very fun planet for a whimsical 5th house. With Pluto here it can have a very rigid and formal approach to life. You don't have a very carefree and easy going life. This placement can also mean a native can fall victim into a power struggle and feel guilty about intimacy. It can bring a lot of mental and health struggles into their life aswell. A very understanding partner is needed with a Pluto in the 5th house native.

#leo sun #sun in astrology #sun energy #leo energy #5th house #saturn in the 5th house #fire signs #fixed signs #astrology #astrology observations #zodiac #astro observations #questions #beauty #pluto astrology #neptune #neptune in 5th house #fifth house

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gillianthecat · 2 years

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forget this Celsius vs. Fahrenheit (I voted Kelvin) debate, what's your favorite unit for measuring pressure? Feel free to pick one at random or based on vibes even if you have no idea what they mean.

I've added the conversion into atmospheres for context, since one atmosphere (atm) is more or less the standard air pressure we all live under.

Not included were

kilogram-force per square (centi-)metre (aka technical atmosphere) (1.033 kgf/cm^2)

inches, meters, and millimeters of water

pounds-force per square foot (2116.22 lbs/ft^2)

probably many others I haven't seen

I tried to get the right names/abbreviations/conversion factors, but I make no guarantees of accuracy.

#tumblr polls #chemistry #and physics #science #doing it for science #which is an entirely unrelated tag but I like it #gillianthecat goes back to school

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usafphantom2 · 11 months

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U.S. Navy puts StormBreaker smart weapon into operation on the F/A-18E/F Super Hornet

Fernando Valduga By Fernando Valduga 11/07/2023 - 14:00 In Armaments, Military

Raytheon, an RTX company, announced today that the U.S. Navy fielded the company's StormBreaker smart weapon in the F/A-18E/F Super Hornet fighter.

The StormBreaker smart weapon is a network-enabled air-surface ammunition that can hit moving targets in all weather conditions using its multi-effect warhead and triple-mode seeker.

The F/A-18 is the first aircraft approved by the U.S. Navy to carry the StormBreaker. Leveraging the field knowledge of the F-15E, Raytheon was able to reduce the number of flight tests required, saving time and resources to provide this capability to the U.S. Navy.

“The gun's unprecedented capabilities give aviators the ability to attack targets in difficult and dynamic scenarios,” said Paul Ferraro, president of Raytheon's Air Power. "StormBreaker is an excellent example of how we are using digital technologies to provide advanced aerial domain weapons, ensuring the continued relevance of fourth-generation aircraft."

StormBreaker features an innovative multimode search engine that guides the weapon using an infrared imaging camera, millimeter wave radar and semi-active laser, as well as, or with, GPS and inertial navigation system orientation. The small size of the StormBreaker allows fewer aircraft to reach the same number of targets compared to larger weapons that require multiple jets. It can also fly more than 40 miles to hit moving land and sea targets, reducing the amount of time crews spend in danger.

The U.S. Air Force declared initial operational capability for StormBreaker in the F-15E Strike Eagle in 2022, and all three variants of the F-35 Joint Strike Fighter are currently in integration tests with StormBreaker.

Tags: weaponsMilitary AviationF/A-18E/F Super HornetRaytheonStormBreakerUSN - United States Navy/U.S. Navy

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Fernando Valduga

Aviation photographer and pilot since 1992, has participated in several events and air operations, such as Cruzex, AirVenture, Dayton Airshow and FIDAE. He has work published in specialized aviation magazines in Brazil and abroad. Uses Canon equipment during his photographic work in the world of aviation.

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sakuracyanide · 5 months

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@thuganomxcs liked for a starter

spirit world has a problem.

or, perhaps more accurately, it was just been aware that it had a problem. a cataclysmic event had missed them by mere millimeters, and only in the rush of it passing them did any become aware it had been occurring in the first place. absolutely none had been the wiser to the cosmic threats lying in wait.

it was not exactly a surprise. the human world was not what it once was. when the four heavenly kings had fallen victim to the cosmic force from beyond their star system, their cycle of reincarnation had been broken. presumably, the same was true for prince endymion himself, who had fallen in an ill-fated bid to save the moon.

no longer did earth have ties to the power of the planet itself. no longer did enma or koenma have the means to detect threats from beyond their stars, even when those threats had nestled themselves right underneath their noses.

it's early when koenma jolts awake. suddenly able to sense the wave of cosmic power washing over the planet - subtly rewriting reality as it did so - and bringing with it the knowledge of how close they had come to certain destruction. for him to know, to have access to these long-forgotten senses once more, could mean only one thing.

the four heavenly kings have been reborn on earth.

he would have to task his spirit detectives with finding them. immediately. send all of them to the four corners of the earth they once ruled.

if the four kings were alive once more... he didn't want to think about what that meant.

but the months go by and no kings are found. its a terrifying thought to have them wandering in a world that they can't fully know. the millennia since their disappearance had utterly changed the landscape of the worlds, splitting them into three rather than one. they were... vulnerable. the energy signatures being so new despite their ancient power has them looking for babies, infants, all of them prime for slaughter without proper protection.

but try as they might they are unable to locate them. every time the power flickers up it's gone just as quick, unable to be traced.

little does he know they're already safe and sound, all four finally reunited with their prince in japan.

---

a transfer student arriving mid-way through the year is never a good sign. especially not when it coincided with a streak of mysterious murders. humans withered to dust, bodies found with broken mirrors outside of them.

what little evidence there was to these crimes indicated that the creatures were clearly neither demon nor human.

it should be said that it was not his choice to be so conspicuous. that he had no desire to be playing out the role of an anime cliche.

zoisite was seventeen, nearly eighteen, and yet no amount of arguing got him out of attending school. he'd missed several grades thanks to a mixture of genius, a lack of caring guardians, and most importantly of all - being kidnapped by a witch possessed by a cosmic horror who brainwashed him all over again. all of these things should qualify testing out, yet mamoru didn't care that the youngest of the kings was a genius to rival mercury herself, he was desperate to see him make friends.

and somehow, getting kicked out of two schools hadn't sent the message that zoisite wasn't interested. he had hoped that after the second one called, horrified by the lengths that the young man had been willing to go to exact revenge upon a handful of arrogant "bullies", that mamoru would let the issue be and allow him to test out.

no luck.

so here he is standing at the front of the class, wearing a smile that absolutely does not reach his eyes. his long copper curls are pulled up and back to accommodate the school's dress code, though his bangs still hang in front of his face. his posture is unassuming and demure, hands folded behind his back and expression almost shy underneath the long fringe of hair.

but anyone even remotely immune to those big green eyes would be able to tell it's nothing more than a ruse.

and perhaps, most importantly, that while he was near invisible to any sixth sense when standing behind the door - once he took his position at the teacher's side and began to speak, the energy radiating from him was nearly suffocating to anyone who could sense it. rolling off of him in waves as his irritation grew, only to disappear as he was finally released from the task of introducing himself (marion johansen, though i suppose it would be - johansen marion here?) and where he was from (i was born in kyiv, though i spent a great deal of time in moscow) and what has brought him to japan (my family sought a fresh start so we moved here) and free to sit at his new desk.

... and free to eye the other students.

not long ago, he would be oh so eager to soak up the energy radiating off of them. the all-too human anxieties. the stress and fear of whether they are loved and worthy, the terror that is first love. one of the worst parts about coming back to life was that sense returning, the imminent pressure of other people's emotions and injuries pressing in on him. once he had been soft, vulnerable to each and every hurt.

now he just wished they'd grow tougher skin.

... but one in particular catches his mind's eye, his energy particularly sharp. something far more powerful than your average person... it reminded him of an unawakened youma. or perhaps the untapped spiritual power of sailor mars, rolling off of her even in civillian form.

the blonde cranes his head around to find the source, his eyes immediately falling upon a studious young man with his head bent to his page... before sliding to the teen behind him, with the slicked back hair and rough expression.

leaning forward and pillowing his face in his hand, marion smiles to himself.

perhaps this won't be such a boring school after all.

#v. xover.#thuganomxcs

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12colors-classpects · 8 months

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The room is white. In it millimeters tall monolyths hum the great heaving static of civilization's background radiation. Around it pipes carry water in to be irradiated, grimed up, and sweetened, then pressure pushes it downstream past the haberdasher's workshop into the homes of a society that doesn't yet know the cause of its sickness; but we know, as the outsider observer, with the benefit of hindsight into our own societies failings, that what's seeping into their bones and rotting their brains is the impostor metal. The thing that's killing them is

Lead

Narrative Function

The aspect of Lead represents the drawbacks of various technologies and techniques; the oft so-called price of progress is measured in pollution. And this pollution and its consequences are what Lead as an aspect represents: embodied by made-mad haberdashers high on mercurial brain-damage, children with brittle bones and angry minds consumed by sweet scent of leaded water, terminally anxious and clinically depressed doomscrollers of social media designed to drive engagement by preying on all the negative tendencies built into our survival hardware, and irradiated victims nuclear disaster. More than the victims, it is the source, spread, fallout, and clean up of pollution.

Additionally, one of the things that makes the metal lead so deadly to most animal biology is that it functions near perfectly as a chemical impostor of calcium; Bodies will chuck calcium out by the bucket load to make room for lead, but once lead has replaced all the calcium in your body, it can't perform the functions calcium perform, hence its moniker, The Impostor Metal. This lends it a secondary trait of deception specifically as it relates to impersonation.

Player Tendencies

Lead players tend to fall into one of two broad categories; they either engage with Lead in its primary function of pollution, or in its secondary function as the impostor metal. They tend to be callous characters that don't care about consequences which they can justify as externalities.

Powers

Literal: The manipulation of lead, heavy metals Metaphorical: Pollution Rational: Poisons Irrational: Impersonation, The color white

#homestuck #classpect #fan aspect

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medeaft · 1 year

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Ten most repeated songs

I have been tagged by @blood-bound to reveal the ten songs I listen to on repeat the most.

There is no program or device I use that keeps track of how much I listened to which song (and I prefer it that way); so this is just some songs off the top of my head that I have most recently been listening to (or am just generally prone to listening to) repeatedly, in no particular order. This also depends on what I'm painting at the time. Some pictures require a certain song; some thoughts or memories are attached to a certain song. Even writing this list, I am leaving out a lot, because listening to songs repeatedly is definitely a thing I often do. It's a painful cut to make, and the list is too short to make it entirely representative, but I tried my best; except I didn't include any of the marches I often listen to repeatedly, but I'm doing that deliberately, as not to give an inaccurate impression of my ideologies (the truth is that I just simply like marches for how dramatic they are, and yet never seem to agree with what they stand for; there are too many songs to include anyway, something had to be cut, and I'd rather that it be the misleading ones).

(written as: performer - song title) MONS LVNAE - Aeterna Omega - Legenda Enya - Fallen Embers Lordi - Would You Love A Monsterman Inkubus Sukkubus - The Beast In Us All Apocalyptica & Nina Hagen - Seemann (performers vary) - Cavalleria Rusticana - Viva il Vino Spumeggiante E Nomine - Schwarze Sonne (I don't know the performers) - Anastasia - Once Upon a December Millimeters of Mercury - Liar, Liar

I tag @master-of-shenanigans, @viiihouse, @waterside-wanderer and @supermauswithagun to do this.

#not an artpost

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fiendish-insanity-in-the-written · 2 years

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CLOSED for @writingxthexsilence

Autopsy results... Cause of death..internal bleeding...bleeding from eye sockets..bleeding from ear canal...suffocation...heart attack...patient seemed neurotic in last few hours of life...paraoic. ..frantic...patient rushes into a local inn under threats that forces from another planet are attacking...unnatural green colored skin covered with mucus... not common side affects for a virus...suspect of infection removed...poisoning...patient bit passers-by.. veins red and visible under the ashy skin...died from internal bleeding...cause of death - poisoning...those who were bitten suffered a series of side effects...chemical residues managed to survive in the saliva and transfer to the bitten...THE THREAT PASSED ! THE CHEMICALS WERE NOT IN SUFFICIENT QUANTITIES! IS THIS THE END?...a patient committed suicide in the middle of the road after frantically screaming when he ran into a pole at a construction site which pierced his chest, killing him on the spot...poisoned...

Emerald eyes once again went over the private collection of lab documents and newspaper reports from the last three months that were scattered across the wooden coffee table with an imitation marble top. Three cups of coffee with the hotel's logo were drained to the last drop, pushed to the edge so that a millimeter separated them from falling onto the soft, fluffy carpet of the hotel room. She pulled the paper and almost knocked the cup over, but didn't even look at it. Beautifully shaped eyebrows quivered and thick eyelashes lifted every time she scanned the victims' bloodwork again and again, and the chemicals that were found in it. Combinations of them, to be exact.

Thallum...mercury...Batrachotoxin...VX...Traces of Datura spricis...

Unusual combinations. Basic alone...fascinating mixed. He was creative, she concluded. Silent excitement was only visible on her face, but she did not hide it, the hotel room was still empty. She looked up at the hands on the clock before continuing her investigation. 02:18 pm. It was still early, he should come at three. Her eyes wandered to the nightstand located next to the sumptuous double bed on the right side of the room...from which she had already cleared her share of pillows and blankets, moving to the couch she was now sitting on. The small box covered with black velvet was open and proudly revealed its contents. That's how the agents left it before Clare got to the room.

White gold with minimal details as decoration shimmered in the autumn sun coming in from the window next to the bed. Wedding rings. The brand logo printed on the back of the box hinted at the cheeky value of the two pieces. Clare gave an annoyed sneer. The FBI was really spending its resources wisely, she thought sarcastically. She wondered if after them, other fake married couples would wear the same rings? Or the first owners get them as souvenirs and reminders of a fake marriage with a person they have never seen before, before they slipped gold on each other’s ring fingers It wouldn't come to that, she made a mental note to take her share of this burden before he came, avoiding unnecessary gestures even as a joke. A quick glance shifted the focus again, as the fingers dipped under the pile of papers shoved into a yellow folder. TOP SECRET: AGENT INFORMATION. A file without a picture gave a little more information than the name. Oscar William Lockmore. Age: 31. She didn't continue reading, but pushed the reminder back under the sea of papers. She has already forgotten the last name she tried to refuse three times.. but a compromise was reached when her pharmaceutical company decided instead of pressure to apply the only approach that worked with a fiery red-haired woman - a deal. Two shelters for neglected animals received a year's supply of drugs and vaccines to make Clare give temporary acceptance of someone else's last name. She rubbed her ring finger, which instinctively began to sting when she remembered the piece of jewelry that would soon adorn her hand. She had to admit, she didn't expect her career to take a sharp turn and connect with the waters of a federal agency.

The offer, or if you can read between the lines, the euphoric plea, came from the very top of the company a week ago, when the FBI decided that their serial killer problem was going beyond their forensics staff and lab. The sharp minds of the state stood in shame and contempt when a member of a privatized pharmaceutical company entered their premises. Clare was the jewel of her bosses, a mind as brilliant as it was complicated, and they were willing to grant her wishes in exchange for another chance to blossom. When the FBI was forced to seek cooperation, the net worth and reputation skyrocketed over the other firms in town, and VictorexStille hurriedly reached for his trump card..of course,with the necessary warning to their new associates about the nature of the person they were getting. A woman with coral-colored hair broke down obstacles and solved problems in the fields of chemistry and biology as if she herself had woven the foundations of their original creation, but the social side was rusty, covered with barbed wire without the slightest patience or interest in development and improvement. She accepted the cooperation, but her file, which was delivered to the command of the federal agency, contained the specifics of her behavior... along with achievements and breakthroughs that took anyone’s breath away, to remind them that a difficult character is worth a little more patience of the one they choose to be with her on this secret mission.

Attention returned to the psychological profile of the killers. No, not a killers, a mastermind who pulled strings, played with victims and created poisons that put the directors of horror films to the test not to accompany this real-life situation where victims become zombies, poisons unique and terrifying in application. She couldn't help but admire the selection of poisons, chemicals and other substances that the person responsible had created. He wanted much more than to kill, he wanted them to suffer, to suffer for hours before their organs bled out and their brains sink into the depths of derangement, and to share their pain with others in one way or another, screaming and begging for help spreading trauma as they kill themsevles, or attack and try to spread their torment. The real reason she agreed to this charade of marriage and trying her hand at being an agent. Or as a consultant, as stated in her documents. She had to undergo a psychological test that was really pissed off the doctor that tested her after the said evaluation hour was over. Someone trained to remain calm and composed in any patient situation stormed out of his therapy room in anger and frustration. The psychologist received only counter-questions and coldness to his questions, but with a dose of high intellect where the answers gave him the impression that she was capable of greatly helping this case, but that she was not interested in sharing her private mental burden. He had no choice but to write it, the session was recorded, there was no point in lying.

Clare collected the scattered papers and filed them neatly into a special green folder with a bone print on the left side. Tasteless? Her's. She retrieved the yellow folder and shoved both into the leather laptop bag and under the couch that would be her bed. She stood up on her long, elegant legs and walked over to the nightstand where the rings were. Red curls fell over her forehead as she tilted her head and looked at the smaller ring, the one meant for her. They must be joking... She reached for the shiny thing before she meant to, turning it around and peeping at the inside of the round thing. "Why is this off?" - the engraved sentence. She didn't want to, but a smile crept to her full lips. The FBI didn't seem to have a sense of humor, but this one-liner was original and managed to amuse her. She looked towards the ring of the man she only knew the name of, which she hadn't yet had a chance to connect with the face. She looked around as if checking to see if anyone was looking at her, even though she was alone, before she quickly reached for his ring, turning it to read what it said on his piece of white gold. "You are stuck with me now, deal with it. " Ok, it was amazing how accurate these messages were. Whoever wrote them took into account her behavior and situation. She bit her bottom lip to kill the smirk and pressed the ring back into the tapered base, carrying hers to the table in front of the couch. There is no need for her to put it on yet, they are not married in this room, only outside it. She paused before her delicate fingertips allowed the ring to slide onto the table. The forbidden part of her mind drifted away with the creaking of a door that should have remained closed forever.

Thoughts, curiousness and any interest in things like marriage had been banished from her mind, but now, they fought to be acknowledged. She didn't even manage to fight this unexpected desire to explore this thoughts and the fingers of the other hand were already pushing the jewelry around on her finger She blinked, slowly twisting her hand and looking at the piece of white gold that carried traditional values within it. For someone who had no experience in relationships, not even dating, marriage was definitely an unimaginably far step in a staircase she was sure she wouldn't talk about, let alone climb on. Clare jolted suddenly when the sound of knocking echoed through the room. Grabbing the ring like a thief trying to grab the sacks of money he stole as quickly as possible to escape from the bank, she tried to remove the ring.

"Shit! " she cursed quietly when the ring got stuck. She pulled again, but her heart beat harder when the knocking came again. She didn't say a word, but violently tore off the jewelry that left her skin red, and threw it next to the folders on the table. But no matter how much she managed to remove the evidence of her curiosity, she didn't move towards the door. He had a room card just like her, she didn't plan to open it. They are not friends, acquaintances, or colleagues, but two people who will pretend, act and fulfill their goals, separately. So, they will unlock doors separately and other things that were not prescribed as a joint task. She calmly walked to the minibar and pulled out an energy drink, not even looking up when the beeping sound announced that the man behind the door had finally had enough of waiting. She took a sip of the apple flavored fizzy liquid, not looking up when the person finally stepped into the room…no matter how much she was burning with curiosity to finally see what poor bastard was condemned to endure adventure. Only when the door closed did she lazily turn her head towards the newcomer. Her stomach clenched and she could barely keep her eyes from widening in astonishment when she saw a man dressed in a neat suit that complemented his strong body, piercing blue eyes that looked at her and exuded professionalism, mystery and something...concealed that instinctively integrated her. Damn, he was certainly more handsome than she expected. She pushed the thought out of her head and crossed her arms over her chest.

"The bed is yours, the couch is mine. I decided to keep my things in a bag, so you also got the wardrobe. The bathroom is spacious, but with one cupboard. I prefer the right side, I already put my stuff there. Who came first, gets to choose. "

Her tone was moderate and without special characteristics that would reveal her attitude towards this. She was not rude, unpleasant, but not too friendly either.

"They left you an envelope, it's over there on the nightstand " She moved a pointy fingernail towards the place where there was a file similar to the one she had read, but with his name. She didn't open it, she always respected other people's privacy. Next to the file was a box with rings. Now with only one, his. She did not comment on it.

"My name is Clare. " she began, again avoiding mentioning the marriage situation where she would have carry his last name. Now that he was there, she began to feel a twinge of anxiety, but she resolutely hid it.

"I don't know what you did wrong to be chosen to participate in the case where I play detective, but if you're chasing a promotion, I hope you're ready to work hard for it," she said half-jokingly, but her tone was still emotionless. "I don't plan to sit, roll over or bark at your command. You wearing a badge means nothing to me. I won't cause you any trouble as long as you understand that. If you could do it without me, I wouldn't be here, so I plan to do what I was chosen to do, in my own way and at my own pace.” Confidence crowned her, and she finally looked at him again. "I hope you can keep up with that pace, otherwise we'll be divorced before anyone even believes in this marriage show."

#I am so in love with this I can't....#Writingxthexsilence #Clare Archer

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