#measure of motion

[mimorobo]

give sans a normal size ketchup bottle?

Not very normal size for him...

[aboutmercy]

i’m having a very very very bad mental health day where i’ve cried twice on my office desk and i don’t know why. so i BETTER be getting my period

[sergeifyodorov]

Bitter Brit here, cricket and baseball are not comparable at all.

The batting style would have to be unlearned and relearned. Baseball seems to be the same swinging motion every time, cricket has a much greater variety of ways to hit the ball (see cut, ramp, pull, hook, drive - each in forwards, defensive or reverse).

Same with bowling which is totally different to pitching. Cricket bowlers are not allowed to throw the ball, it’s a very specific action.

For batters, the bounce of the cricket ball is inconsistent & varies at every venue. Cloud cover and sun placement apparently affects the ball movement. (am not joking, cricket is bizarre).

There’s also the strategy. Playing for a draw was/is a valid target. Especially in Bradmans era. The kind of cricket he played lasted 5 days per match and for a lot of that he would have been fielding. So in addition to being good at his thing, he had to be a decent fielder (not an all rounder tho that’s different). Fielders don’t wear gloves either. Only helmets if they stand at the sillies.

Long story short, Gretzky might be able to pick up cricket before bradman learned to skate, but baseball experience is unlikely to help. (And it would take far longer to understand cricket rules than hockey rules).

FASCINATING

-> going to call it a draw in the "who would be better at the other's sport" game then. like you could philosophize about the amount of exercise/training a canadian from the 80s and an australian from the 30s are getting but im not that deep in sports medicine discourse for that to be happening

-> the only rebuttal i'll make to this because you obviously know what you're talking about and i do not think about cricket at all is that skating is Difficult As All Fuck; learning to so much as stop effectively can take days. that being said unlearning a baseball swing to have to re-learn 30 different cricket swings also sounds like mental and physical torture so fair enough

-> table tennis agenda STILL ON THOUGH!

[titsthedamnseason]

no because it’s not that charlie isn’t allowed to struggle as a rich person but it IS very hard for me to feel sorry for him when every time he is even the slightest bit upset he takes a flight on his family’s private jet to paris or prague or wherever the fuck he wants and doesn’t have to work a day in his life and isn’t even held accountable by them for where he is or what he’s doing. even with all that considered he can still have problems of course but you bet your ass if those were my circumstances and my outlets for dealing with my emotions i would never be a dick to anyone again like seriously what is he so angry about. if you dropped me somewhere in europe with unlimited funds and a joint and i had one month out of the whole year to enjoy it i think for the other eleven months that i had to live my real life i would be the most delightful person to have ever graced the earth and im so serious

[emer-al]

found family people seem like their desire for connection is inscribed by an economy of petty obligates, which is a super understandable way to maladapt in the face of your moral development being governed by suburbs/nuclear family. This is more of an synecdoche of a social phenomenon that manifests in a lot of different ways for a lot of people through things like dating, politics, even people who don’t frame their social relations in these referential ways.

[necngravestcnes]

hi, changed my url 🤭

[the-true-motion-source-dragon]

Respecfully, I am of the opinion that you are beautiful

Thank you, User Kelpshippingceo. I do not know why you are the ceo of “shipping” kelp, but I appreciate the compliment.

[sysig]

I decided to give a go to @niennanir’s lovely print-your-own-fic recipe on my Inside and Out as a test run and I’m quite pleased with the results as a first pass :D

I wish I’d taken a few more process pictures but there was a slight lull as I had to go shopping for 12x12 cardstock lol, but! I do have a couple closeups/extras that I added for funsies :D

I went with freehanding the title and I think in the future I would opt to not do that lol, at least not without a printed template. That said, both LibreOffice and SAI refuse to recognize my SCII fonts >:0 If you notice on the first page, I used the Ace Attorney font in italic haha, it’s an okay alternative even if it’s not what I actually want |0 I am happy with the gold detailing tho :3c

I did have an unconscionable amount of fun freehanding the ship caption tho ahh <3 <3 Immediate happy stims upon completion, their names together look so pretty ♥ Credit to Zarla’s original minicomic on that one :3

I also managed to get the last sentence of the fic isolated on the last page thanks to the formatting haha ♪

I was also able to add a bookmark! Ma happened to have a couple very thin ribbons to choose from and red ended up complementing the green very prettily!

It reminds me of VUX tongues hehehehe ❤️💕💖💞

[dynaloginc]

Unlocking Precision in Robotics with Dynaflex: A Dynalog-US Innovation.

Precision is paramount in today's fast-paced world of automation, with industries such as aerospace, automotive, electronics, and advanced manufacturing requiring robot systems to function with precision, in order for the process to deliver quality and consistent performance. This is where Dynatrol-US Dynaflex provides an unparalleled solution to improve robot calibration and motion control for industrial environments. 

So, what exactly is Dynaflex?

Dynaflex is sophisticated real-time calibration developed by Dynalog-US- a leader in robotic accuracy solutions. These advanced dynamic performance assessment tools were developed specifically for robot systems. Dynaflex measures the dynamic performance (how robots behave while they operate), versus static calibration tools (preset calibration baked into the robots programming) by evaluating robot compliance and flexibility in real-time. This type of dynamic assessment provides potential for accuracy to industries where tolerances must be tight and conditions demand high levels of performance reliability.

Simply put Dynaflex gives practitioners visibility and insight into how a robot responds dynamically while at work and if sufficient stress or force signatures, behaviour is exhibited. In many cases, this is no different than creating significant and costly rework..

Why is Dynaflex so Important?

When robots perform jobs such as welding, painting, and assembling, even the most minor deviation in motion can create defects or misalignment. Traditional calibration methods consider positioning, but often don't consider the dynamic changes in robot posture due to many different factors such as: gravity, speed and payload. Dynaflex effectively takes calibration to the next level by adding dynamic variables to the calibration equation.

With the Dynaflex system, manufacturers can:

Measure and minimize robot compliance (flexibility under load)

Achieve better path accuracy with complex work processes

Validate robot performance in real-world conditions

Identify mechanical anomalies before they can become major catastrophes

Maximize repeatability and process consistency

These are meaningful relationships to ensure that the robot moves correctly on paper, but that it also can perform accurately on the production floor. 

How Does Dynaflex Work?

Dynaflex implements a series of highly sensitive measurement tools and calibration routines that allow engineerings to visualize how the end effector of a robot moves while under load, or at high speed. By measuring real-time flexing, oscillation and inertia, Dynaflex creates a comprehensive map of the robot's behavior.

Once the data has been collected, the data is used to adjust the robot's motion algorithms and account for mechanical variation. 

Who is Dynaflex for?

Dynaflex is ideal for companies and industries that expect critical congruency and which themselves use robotic automation, including:

Automotive manufacturing

Aerospace and defence

Medical devices

Electronics assembly

Metal fabrication

3D printing and additive manufacturing

If your company relies on multi-robot cells, automated welding cells, or pick-and-place systems, introducing Dynaflex to your calibration operations will provide great benefit.

Dynalog-US: The Experts in Robot Calibration

Dynalog-US was founded to provide accurate and reliable robotic systems and has been a leader in robot performance technology for several decades. Their products are being used by leading world manufacturers, many of whom are in the Fortune 500.

Whether it is for robotic inspection, Tool Center Point (TCP) calibration or improving robot cell accuracy, Dynalog has a history of introducing products to the marketplace that demonstrate thoughtful engineering, industry leading performance, and great customer support.

Dynalog's market leading solutions, to include Dynaflex, come with documentation, field training, and technical consulting, which is more than just selling a product; Dynalog provides a partnership to achieve your production success.

Many companies have seen measurable improvements after adding Dynaflex to their robotic workflow:

Up to 40% improvement in path accuracy Considerably less joint stress and less component wear Reduction of rework and scrap percentage Faster ROI from robotic systems

One aerospace customer even found that Dynaflex helped them to achieve their tolerance requirements that they previously thought could be accomplished only with standard robots or off-the-shelf robotic equipment.

Future of Robotic CalibrationAs AI, machine Learning, and Industry 4.0 technologies evolve, the need for ongoing performance validation to and compliance will become more valuable. Also, autonomous systems will validate performance more often, and human interventions will be using tools like Dynaflex to ensure safety, quality, and efficiencies.

With Dynaflex by Dynalog-US, businesses now have a scalable and future-proof calibration platform to leverage for future use and to enhance work processes while accomplishing productivity and accuracy improvements in the immediate.

Conclusion

When you invest in robots, investing in robot performance has to be a given. Properly calibrating robot performance starts with the initial calibration when it is stationary, when it is in motion, while it is under load, and evaluating at the full-speed capability.

Dynaflex by Dynalog-US is a calibration device that provides the measurement data (metrics) to give you a competitive advantage for an ever-evolving automated world.

Ready to take the next step in robotic precision? Visit www.dynalog-us.com to learn more about Dynaflex and schedule a consultation with the experts at Dynalog-US.

[whats-in-a-sentence]

But there are glimmers that Newton was not completely comfortable with simply declaring the existence and importance of something that you can't directly see, measure, or affect. He wrote,

It is indeed a matter of great difficulty to discover and effectually to distinguish the true motions of particular bodies from the apparent, because the parts of that immovable space in which those motions are performed do by no means come under the observations of our senses.⁴

4. Isaac Newton, Sir Isaac Newton's Mathematical Principle of Natural Philosophy and His Systems of the World, trans. A. Motte and Florian Cajori (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1934), vol. 1, p. 12.

"The Fabric of the Cosmos" - Brian Greene

[daryltwdixon]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 4.5 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 6.5

Summary: You and Tommy had been trying for a baby for years. When a trip to the gyno answers questions you didn’t even know to ask, your husband enlists the help of his one and only brother.

|| smut MDNI 18+, pinv, no outbreak, talk of infertility, not cheating but def not exactly kosher, baby makin', breeding kink, dirty talk, size kink, boundaries being crossed || notes: forgive me father for I have sinned. this is filthy. but also thinking about a part 2. kinda sorta maybe inspired by some crazy reddit stories. you'd be surprised how many there are like this LOL

You knew this was a crazy idea. Batshit crazy, actually. You were aware. But maybe, just maybe, if you spun it the right way, if you framed it with enough love and logic, it wouldn’t seem so absurd.

See, the thing is, you and Tommy had been trying for a baby for years. Trying and, well, failing. It wasn’t until your last visit to the OB-GYN that a simple question—"Has Tommy ever been tested?"—sent everything spiraling. A few weeks of waiting. A single piece of paper. An answer you never expected. It wasn’t you. It was him.

Not that you’d ever blame him. You loved him too much. But no matter how many old wives’ tricks you tried—holding your legs up after he emptied himself into you, orgasms before and after, cinnamon and honey in your morning tea—nothing could change the fact that no amount of effort would make it stick.

Which brings you to now. Sat at the kitchen table in your quaint, cozy home with Joel across from you, a few glasses of wine deep. His expression was somewhere between exhausted and mildly entertained from whatever dumb story Tommy had been telling. You’d needed a glass yourself, just to steady your nerves.

And then Tommy popped the question.

Joel blinked once. Twice. His mouth opened, then shut again, then opened just enough for a noise—somewhere between a scoff and an incredulous laugh—to escape. He shifted in his chair, pushing back just slightly, like he needed to physically distance himself from what he was hearing.

“You…” he started, then stopped. Shook his head. “You want me to—?”

He didn’t even finish the sentence. Just motioned vaguely, like the words were so ridiculous they refused to come out of his mouth.

Tommy sighed, his grip firm around your hand while the other wrapped around your shoulders. “Yeah.”

Joel exhaled sharply, eyes darting between the two of you, like maybe, just maybe, this was a joke. That you'd all start laughing and point at him with a big 'got ya!'. His lips parted slightly, his forehead creased.

“You’re serious.”

“We wouldn’t ask anyone else,” Tommy said, voice steady.

Joel let out a breathy laugh, hollow and disbelieving. He dragged a hand down his face before pressing his palms against the table, fingers splaying out like he needed to brace himself.

“This ain’t a normal conversation to be havin’ over dinner, Tommy.”

“We know.”

“Do you?” Joel snapped, finally looking at his brother again, his voice sharper now. “Because I gotta tell ya, it really don’t seem like you do.”

“This ain’t easy for either of us,” Tommy said, his voice steady despite the tension winding between the three of you. “But we wouldn’t ask anyone else. We want to keep it in the family, so…the baby would still be related to me.”

Joel’s jaw tensed. His fingers gripped the stem of his wine glass like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. 

He looked over in your direction, but not directly at you, just at the table. At your hand in Tommy’s.

“And you’re…okay with this?” His voice was different now. Lower. Measured, like he was afraid of the answer.

You nodded. “We’ve talked about it. A lot. Ever since the results came back, we’ve been weighing options, and this—” You hesitated, swallowing, trying to gauge if he was even absorbing a single word. “It makes the most sense. More than adopting. More than a stranger. It keeps things in the family.”

Joel’s jaw clenched, his ears tinged pink. He still wasn’t looking at you.

Not until you said his name. Soft. Careful.

His eyes flicked to yours, just for a second. Just long enough for you to see everything—the disbelief, the sheer what the fuck of it all—before he dropped his gaze again, shaking his head.

“You don’t have to decide now,” you said gently, exhaling softly. “Just… take some time to think about it.”

Joel didn’t respond.

A few minutes later, he left—no joke, no small talk of the next Sunday night football game could cut through the weight pressing down on the room. Just a stiff nod, a muttered see ya, and the quiet sound of the door closing behind him.

The following Sunday, it almost felt like the conversation had never happened.

The three of you sat at the sports bar, watching the Cowboys play on the massive screens, the air thick with the scent of beer and fried food. Tommy was his usual self, shouting at the refs, leaning into Joel’s shoulder every time the score tipped in their favor. Joel, on the other hand, was harder to read. He was relaxed enough, beer in hand, his usual dry remarks slipping out here and there, but there was something quieter beneath it all—something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

Not one mention of a baby. Not a single word about what you’d asked of him.

And maybe that was his answer.

When your husband got up, throwing out the excuse of takin’ a leak, the energy between you and Joel shifted. Not in a way you could name—just… thicker. More noticeable.

He sat a seat away, the empty barstool between you like a buffer neither of you had the nerve to close.

You tried to let it roll off your shoulders, but as you sat there, your mind wandered. What if Joel had said yes? What if it worked? Would the baby have his dark eyes, that heavy, thoughtful brow? Would they get that serious little crease between their eyes when they were thinking? His thick hair, his strong hands?

Tommy would still be their father. That was what mattered. That was the whole point. But the idea of seeing traces of Joel—subtle things, the shape of a nose, the curve of a smile…

The thought sent a strange, unfamiliar feeling curling in your chest.

It hurt, his lack of an answer, of course it did. But how could you blame him? You were asking for too much. Asking him to do something unnatural, something messy, something that could never be as clean and logical as you and Tommy had tried to convince yourselves it was.

You swallowed, setting your drink down as the silence stretched. “Listen, Joel—”

“I’ll do it.”

It was quiet. Like he wasn’t sure if he meant to say it out loud.

Your breath caught, as you stared at him, mouth agape. The side of his face gave nothing away as he kept his eyes on the TV as you waited for some kind of smirk, some sign that he was messing with you.

But he wasn’t.

Joel kept his eyes averted, like this was the kind of thing a person could say without looking someone in the eye. He took a long drink from his bottle, then set it down with a dull thud.

“You and Tommy deserve this,” he murmured, rolling the glass between his palms as he stared down at it. “To have a kid.”

Your heart constricted at the sincerity in his voice.

He exhaled, shaking his head slightly. “My life is better ‘cause of Sarah. Don’t think I ever told Tommy that outright, but… it is. I’d love to see him get to have that too.”

You blinked. “Are you…” Your voice was barely above a whisper. “You serious?”

Joel turned to you finally, his eyes meeting yours for the first time since last week before you dropped the bomb on him, “Yeah.” he said finally, “Yeah, I’m serious.”

He was clearly uncomfortable, clearly still working through it—but the fact that he said it at all, that he meant it... that was more than you expected.

To be honest, you knew the baster idea wouldn’t work.

Not that you’d ever say it out loud. Not to your very loving, very kind, very hopeful husband. But deep down, you were pretty sure that by the time Joel had taken care of himself, transferred it into a container, driven it over, and you’d sat back on the bed with your legs up, whatever needed to be alive in there was long dead.

You didn’t bring it up. Couldn’t. Not when Tommy was trying so hard to make this work.

Across from you in the kitchen one morning, another negative pregnancy test sitting between you, your husband sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw before reaching for his mug, “If I ask you somethin’,” he murmured, voice low, hesitant, “will you tell me the truth?”

Your eyes flicked up to his. “Of course, baby.”

His hand rested on the granite, fingers close enough that you reached out, tracing them lightly with your own. His eyes drifted down to your delicate touch against him.

Then, he exhaled slowly and cleared his throat.

“Do you think we should try…” His fingers twitched under yours. “Ya know. The old-fashioned way?”

For a second, the words didn’t land.

Not until you saw the way his eyes found yours and he was looking at you—serious, thoughtful, like he’d been turning it over in his head for longer than he wanted to admit.

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

Tommy sighed, pressing his lips together before setting his coffee down. “I just think… for it to stick properly, we might need to try somethin’ more… natural.”

Your mind reeled. Heat crept up your neck, flushing your skin before you could stop it.

The idea of being with another man…

Tommy saw it. The way your lips parted, the way your breath caught just slightly.

He stepped closer, smoothing his hands over your cheeks, tilting your face up toward his.

“Only if you were comfortable with it,” he assured, voice gentle, steady. “I’d never ask you to do somethin’ you didn’t wanna do.”

You swallowed hard, still trying to process. “I—I don’t know, Tommy.” Your voice was barely above a whisper. “And Joel would flip out if we asked that of him.”

Tommy hummed, thumbs brushing over your cheekbones. “Yeah, he might.”

Might was an understatement.

Joel was over the following day to help with your bathroom remodel, a project the brothers had taken on during the slow season. You were busy finishing whatever odds and ends you needed to get done upstairs when you heard his voice traveling through the house.

Not just his voice—but the volume of it.

“Are you outta your goddamn mind?!”

The sound rattled through the house, shaking the walls as you hovered at the top of the stairs, heart pounding.

“Joel—” Tommy’s voice, calm but firm.

“No. No, you don’t get to ‘Joel’ me right now, Tommy, because what you just said—what you just— Christ.” There was the distinct sound of something slamming—a fist on the table? A chair shoved back? You weren’t sure, but it made you wince.

“Look, man, I knew you’d be pissed,” Tommy started, only to be cut off immediately.

“Oh, did you?” Joel’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “You knew I’d be pissed, but you went ahead and asked anyway? Jesus fuckin’ Christ. I’m already crossin’ so many lines with what we’re doin’, and now you’re askin’ me to…to—!?”

You could picture it perfectly—Joel pacing the length of the room, one hand on his hip, the other raking through his hair, winding up, because when Joel was really mad, he didn’t just stand there.

“You’re makin’ it a bigger deal than it is,” Tommy tried, tone even.

Joel let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Oh, I’m sorry, did I misunderstand the part where you just asked me to fuck your wife?”

Heat crawled up your neck.

“We ain’t askin’ that, Jesus, Joel, don’t talk about her like—”

“You are absolutely askin’ that.”

“It’s not like that.”

“The hell it ain’t!”

Silence. Heavy, tense.

You swallowed hard, gripping the banister, unsure whether to go down there or stay put.

Then—Joel’s voice, lower now, but still laced with disbelief.

“Tell me you didn’t really think I’d say yes to this.”

And Tommy, just as steady as ever:

“I think you wanna say no.” A pause, and you could almost feel the shift in the air between them. “But deep down? I think you’re already considerin’ it.”

Joel let out a slow, sharp exhale, but he didn’t argue.

And a week later, he was back at your doorstep.

There were three rules.

1. No kissing.

That was the hard line, the non-negotiable. Kissing was too intimate— too personal, too close to something else entirely. You could rationalize everything else, strip it down to the mechanics of what needed to happen, but kissing blurred the lines. That made it mean something. And this couldn’t mean anything.

2. No talking about it outside the bedroom. 

No slipping up over dinner, no awkward mentions in passing, no weird jokes over a few beers. It had to stay contained. A thing that only existed in a room with the door closed and the world shut out. Because once it bled into the rest of your life—once it became something you acknowledged beyond those four walls—it would become real.

3. No names

No whispered Joel in the dark, he couldn’t say yours while he was inside you. Names had weight. Names had meaning. And the second you said them, it stopped being about a baby.

So when your ovulation window came within the next few days, you found yourself in your bedroom with the two brothers. When Tommy excused himself from the room—pressing a kiss to your forehead before heading out to meet his buddies at the bar like this wasn’t the weirdest fucking thing in the world— you turned to Joel

Over the years, you’d come to know him, grown comfortable with him. That familiarity should’ve helped, should’ve made this easier. But sitting here now, alone in the bedroom with him, awkward was an understatement.

Joel sighed, rubbing his forefinger and thumb along his brows as he stood at the edge of the bed. “Guess we better get to it, then.”

You nodded numbly, tucking your legs beneath you on the bedspread, looking up at him.

He was already tense, broad shoulders squared, avoiding your gaze like you weren’t even in the damn room. He exhaled sharply, then—without ceremony—unbuckled his belt. The clink of metal sent a strange ripple through your stomach, but you forced yourself to focus, watching as he shucked his jeans down to his thighs, taking his boxers with them.

Your breath caught.

Even soft as he was at the moment, he was bigger than Tommy. Thicker.

Joel cleared his throat, shifting his stance, one hand bracing against the bedpost while the other wrapped around himself. He wasn’t looking at you. Not even close. His gaze stayed fixed somewhere off to the side, jaw locked, the muscles in his forearm flexing as he started moving his hand.

It wasn’t working.

Minutes passed, the air between you thick and suffocating, but he remained… soft. The tension in his face deepened, brows knitting, his motions growing stilted.

You chewed your lip, watching as his frustration mounted.

“You don’t gotta sit there starin’ at me,” he muttered, voice gruff, like this was somehow your fault.

You exhaled through your nose. “I’m just… tryin’ to think how I can help.”

His hand stilled. “You’re fine. Just–just give me a minute,”

Then suddenly as the idea struck, you reached for the hem of your shirt and pulled it up.

Joel’s head snapped toward you, eyes going wide. “What’re you doin’?” His voice was sharp, edged in something that sounded suspiciously close to panic.

You hesitated. “Just… thought maybe it’d help.”

“Well, don’t.” His ears were red. “Keep your damn clothes on.”

You huffed. “Jesus, it’s just a shirt.”

He grumbled something under his breath, but let it go, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe any of this was happening.

Another beat of silence, only the sound of skin on skin filling the air as he fisted himself.

“Can I help?”

His gaze flicked to yours, skeptical. “Help how?”

You shrugged. “I dunno. What do you like?”

Joel tensed. “…The hell kinda question is that?”

“A valid one,” you shot back, tilting your head. “C’mon, there’s gotta be somethin’. What do you like?”

He hesitated, shifting where he stood, uncomfortable. You rattled off a few suggestions, some kinks you’d heard of. He barely reacted.

Then finally, one seemed to slap him upside the head, “Do you like dirty talk?”

His entire body stilled.

His eyes finally, finally found yours.

Bingo.

A slow pulse of heat curled low in your stomach.

You leaned forward slightly, voice softer now. “What kind of things do you say?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just stared at you, the tension in his jaw loosening, his pupils starting to widen.

“Come on, Joel,” you said, then immediately pressed your lips together, realizing you’d already broken one of your own rules—not even five minutes in.

“Sorry—” You exhaled, shaking your head. “But c’mon, do you want me to talk to you? Or what do you usually say to women?”

Joel’s eyes were suddenly burning into you, his chest rising and falling just a little heavier now. He exhaled sharply, remembering himself as his gaze flickered around the room like he wasn’t sure where to land it, like maybe if he didn’t look at you, this would stay clinical—mechanical.

“I uh…” He wet his lips, voice rough. “Usually will tell ‘em they’re bein’ real good for me,” he said, exhaling through his teeth. “Bein’ a good girl.”

The temperature of the room shifted, the air growing heavy, pressing down on you. A slow, pooling ache pulsed low in your belly. His nostrils flared as his eyes found yours again, like maybe he could see exactly what that did to you.

You swallowed, “What else?”

Joel’s hips twitched. He hesitated, his grip flexing around himself, fingers curling just slightly. You caught the bob of his throat, the faint shift of his stance. He was getting there.

His gaze dropped to your mouth. “Tell ‘em how pretty they look on their knees.” His voice had taken on a new weight—thicker, heavier, his drawl rolling low in his throat. “How sweet they sound when they moan for me. How bad I wanna feel ‘em wrapped around me, drippin’ and ready, beggin’ for more.”

The room contracted, the air impossibly tight, each breath harder to pull in. Your skin felt hot, your lips parting as you fought to keep your breathing steady. And you knew—knew—your pupils were wide, knew your face was flushed.

Because his was too.

His eyes had darkened, locked on yours, heat simmering beneath the surface. You inhaled deeply, the air between you charged, electric. You reached out, fingers grazing along his forearm. He tensed, muscles flexing beneath your touch, but he didn’t pull away.

“You wanna take this off?” you murmured, voice quiet but sure, fingers tracing up toward the sleeve of his shirt.

Joel let out a slow breath, something flickering behind his eyes—hesitation, uncertainty—but then, after a beat, he reached down and pulled his shirt over his head, dropping it to the floor.

Your gaze raked over him.

Christ. He was the epitome of masculinity—broad and solid, built like something carved from rough earth, from long years of labor and hardship. His chest was strong, lined with thick, dark hair that tapered down his stomach in a steady trail, leading lower—disappearing into the patch just above where he was hardening in his hand. 

Your mouth was dry, your pulse a slow, deliberate thrum in your veins.

You lifted your hands to the hem of your own shirt, pausing just slightly. He hadn’t looked away.

“Okay?” you asked softly.

His jaw flexed, gaze dark, unreadable—but after a second, he nodded.

You pulled it over your head, the fabric slipping away, baring more skin than you’d ever thought he’d see.

Joel exhaled sharply, his eyes dragging down your body, heavy and slow, his pupils swallowing the color of his eyes. Your nipples pebbled in the open air, a shiver running through you as his gaze settled there, his breath hitching just slightly.

You reached for him again, fingers trailing along the hard lines of his chest, dipping over the planes of his stomach. He was warm beneath your touch and he smelled like pine and musk and something richer, something leathered and sun-baked—something distinctly Joel.

He sucked in a sharp breath. “O—okay,” he exhaled, voice rough. “I think I’m… good,” he added shakily, and you could see his body finally catching up to the filth rolling off his tongue, the thick weight of him fully hard now. You swallowed dryly at the sheer size of him in his palm.

Standing slowly, your hands dropped from his body, but your eyes never left his as you slid your pants down your hips and let them pool at your feet.

Bare. You were both bare.

Your gaze dragged over him, from the broad stretch of his shoulders down to his stomach, the solid cut of his thighs, his cock standing thick and heavy between you. It was the most you’d ever seen of him. The most he’d ever seen of you.

And he was beautiful.

Joel swallowed hard, his jaw tight as his gaze traveled over every inch of you. Then, wordlessly, you laid back down on the bedspread, opening your legs for him.

He cursed under his breath.

You caught the way his throat bobbed, the way his fingers twitched at his sides before he climbed onto the bed after you, settling between your legs. His eyes darted down, locked onto the wetness pooling between your thighs, and his nostrils flared.

“All this from just a few sweet words, huh?” His voice was lower now, edged with something amused but dark, something he hadn’t meant to let slip through.

He shifted forward, but you stopped him with a hand to his chest.

“I, uh…” You cleared your throat, suddenly shy. “It’s said that women are more likely to get pregnant if, um… if they orgasm during or… or before, I think.”

Joel stilled for half a second before a slow smirk pulled at his lips. “You doubt me so much?”

The teasing edge in his voice—the cockiness—made some of the tension in your chest loosen. You let out a breathless laugh, your body unwinding slightly from the tension earlier. “I just… I’ve never…”

Something shifted in his face. The smirk faltered just a little. “You’re sayin’ my baby brother doesn’t take care of his own wife?”

“No!” you said quickly, your hand flexing against his chest defensively. “He does, it’s just… I can’t finish just from penetration. Most women can’t, actually.”

“I know, darlin’.”

You gasped as the thick head of his cock suddenly swiped through your slick arousal, and he hissed, pressing his other hand into the pillow beside your head as he leaned over you.

“Fuck—”

His voice was rough, gravelly, wrecked, and something about it made your thighs squeeze around his waist, made the heat coil even tighter in your belly.

Joel lingered there, his cock sliding through your slick, slow and deliberate, teasing against your swollen clit with every pass. The thick head caught at your entrance, nudging just slightly, and a gasp broke from your lips before you could swallow it down.

His jaw ticked, fingers flexing in the pillow beside your head, his body wound tight like a spring.

“This okay?” he asked, voice rough, strained.

You nodded quickly. “Yeah. Yes.”

He pressed forward, just an inch, just enough for you to feel the blunt stretch of him, and your breath hitched.

“Jesus,” he muttered under his breath. “So damn wet.”

Heat flooded your face, but you couldn’t think—couldn’t focus on anything other than how thick he was, how different he was from Tommy. You felt like you were being split in two, but you wanted more. Every inch only made that need, that hunger, grow.

His hand lifted from his cock, skimming over your hip before settling on your thigh, holding you open.

“Gotta take it slow,” he murmured, mostly to himself. “Don’t wanna hurt you.”

You swallowed hard, fingers curling into the sheets beside you. “I can take it.”

His head dropped for a second, a quiet curse slipping past his lips. “Don’t say shit like that, sweetheart.”

Something about that word, the way it left his mouth—low and full of something dangerous—made your stomach clench.

The stretch was slow, unbearable in the best way as he pushed forward even more, your body giving inch by inch, and you let out a sharp exhale as he filled you.

Joel groaned, deep and low, his fingers tightening on your thigh as he finally buried himself to the hilt.

Jesus Christ.

The weight of him inside you, the way he fit—it was overwhelming, taking up every inch of space, leaving you panting beneath him.

“Fuck,” he gritted out, his hips flush with yours now, his jaw tight. “You’re—shit, you’re squeezin’ me so damn tight.”

Your thighs trembled around his waist, your body working to adjust to the fullness, to the sheer size of him, and then—oh god—then he moved.

A slow pull out, a deep thrust back in.

You moaned, head falling back against the pillows, fingers flexing against the sheets.

Joel’s breath was ragged, his grip tightening. “That’s it.”

As he began to set a steady pace, a deep thrust in, a gentle pull out, the tingling sensation you knew all too well was rising fast—too fast. It climbed up your spine, coiling tight, and your breath hitched in your throat. The sensation was familiar, so familiar, but not like this. Not from this.

Joel moved with deep, deliberate thrusts, each one stretching you full, dragging against every oversensitive nerve inside you with agonizing precision. His cock was thick, heavy, unrelenting—pressing deep, pressing right, pleasure licking up your spine like fire.

His hand moved between you, thumb finding your clit with ease, the calloused pad brushing over the swollen bundle of nerves, a touch just firm enough to make you jolt. Your whole body reacted, thighs trembling, an involuntary gasp ripping from your lips.

His breath hitched as he felt it too, and he let out a dark, pleased hum.

“Feel that?” he murmured, his voice a slow, deliberate drag against your skin. His thumb moved again, slick and sure, working tight little circles against you. “Now, what was it you said again?”

Your chest heaved, your fingers gripping at the sheets, at him, anything to keep yourself tethered, because the pleasure was coming in hot, hard waves now—building, climbing, making your skin flush and prickle with heat.

“I—I never—” You gasped, voice breaking, lips parting as your back arched into the feeling, as you felt your muscles tighten and clench under him.

Joel leaned in, lips brushing against your ear. “C’mon, sweet girl. Use your words.”

Your hips met every thrust, dragging a moan from deep in your chest.

“I’ve never—ah!—never come like this before,” you choked out, breathless and desperate.

Joel swore under his breath.

“You’re tellin’ me,” he rasped, voice dripping in absolute filth and sin, “my pissy little brother never made you come on his cock before?”

The shame of it—the filthy, shameless truth of it—slammed into you just as hard as the pleasure. Your breath came in short, stilted gasps, your thighs twitching, heat curling low and tight, twisting like a wire pulled too taut. You gripped his biceps hard where they caged you in, your nails digging into his skin.

“I–”

“Never felt the way you’re squeezin’ the life outta me right now, baby?” His voice dipped lower, rougher, as his thumb pressed, rubbing slow and tight. “Never had you like this? Drippin’ and desperate? Makin’ the prettiest fuckin’ sounds I’ve ever heard?”

Heat flared in your belly, your legs shaking around him, pleasure tearing through you.

Joel felt it, the way you clenched down around him, and he grinned, breath hot against your mouth as he groaned through his teeth.

“Fuck—that’s it. Let me feel you.”

And you did.

Your body suddenly snapped. The orgasm slammed into you, white-hot and merciless, every nerve in your body firing at once, blinding you with pleasure so intense it was nearly unbearable. Your breath punched from your lungs as your back arched clean off the bed, thighs trembling, a cry tearing from your lips as waves of heat crashed through you.

Joel swore under his breath, hips stuttering as you clenched tight around him, and his mouth hovered just above yours, his breath mixing with yours, the air between you thick and electric.

He felt the way your body fluttered around him, still pulsing with the comedown of your orgasm, dragging him deeper, tighter—trapping him. His breath was heavy, coming in sharp, ragged exhales as he dropped his head, his forehead resting against yours.

His hips kept moving quick and uneven, dragging his cock in and out of your still-clenching walls. He was throbbing, thick and hot inside you, every roll of his hips sending sharp little sparks of overstimulation through your system.

That was when, after coming back to earth, you saw the way his lips parted slightly, his breath hitching whenever you squeezed around him just right. The tension in his face, the way his muscles coiled and flexed with every deliberate movement.

He was close.

You wondered…

Your breath was still shaky, voice unsteady, but you let it slip out, slow and sultry, testing the waters, “You feel so good,” you whispered.

Joel froze for a split second, a sharp breath punching from his lungs as he reeled his head back to look down at you.

"Does it feel good for you?” you whispered, your fingers trailing up the nape of his neck. “Filling me up? Making me feel so full? So good?”

Joel let out a ragged, wrecked sound, his fingers digging into your skin, gripping you like a lifeline.

And in that moment—fuck the rules.

Because this was anything but clinical now.

You pressed a soft kiss to his jaw, letting your breath fan against his ear as you whispered, gentle, teasing.

“You gonna give me a baby, Joel?”

Joel let out a wrecked groan, his grip on your hips tightening, his pace faltering. His thrusts turned rougher, sharper, his body moving on pure instinct now—chasing it.

And then he snapped.

A strangled moan ripped from his throat as he slammed deep, burying himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing inside you as heat flooded you. His whole body shook, a ragged, guttural sound tearing from his chest as he came, thick and hot, spilling deep, his fingers flexing against your hips like he was trying to ground himself.

You gasped at the feeling, at the warmth spreading inside you, at the way his body shook above you.

Joel was panting, forehead pressed to yours, sweat damp at his hairline, his breath fanning against your lips, warm and unsteady.

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

Joel was still inside you, still filling you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, grounding you. His breath was heavy, warm against your cheek as he turned his head, his chest rising and falling against yours in slow, uneven waves.

“I should, uh…” His voice was hoarse, thick with something he wasn’t naming. He swallowed, clearing his throat as he sat up. “I should probably—”

You shifted slightly beneath him, still sensitive, still pulsing with the warmth of him inside you. Your thighs trembled, the ache delicious, spreading through you like slow heat.

“You can go,” you murmured, voice soft, a little sleepy. “I’m gonna stay here for a while.”

He hesitated as he looked down at you, your bodies still connected. 

You blinked up at him, lips curving in a lazy, satisfied smile.

“It’s said that if a woman stays lying down after, it increases the chances of conception.” You hummed, stretching slightly, body still warm and loose. “Just want to give it time to stick.”

You felt him twitch inside you, like his body had just caught up to the meaning of your words, and then he was pulling out, hissing under his breath as he eased away from you.

His heat vanished instantly, and a shiver ran through you at the sudden emptiness, the cool air replacing where he’d been pressed so solidly against you. You exhaled, tugging the covers up over yourself, shifting deeper into the mattress, letting your body sink into the afterglow.

Joel, on the other hand, was already moving, and fast.

He turned away from the bed, running a hand through his hair, reaching for his jeans like he needed them back on, needed the barrier, needed to be done with this.

“Hey,” you called softly as he stepped toward the door, one leg shoved into his pants.

He paused, turning slightly, just enough to look at you over his shoulder.

You blinked up at him sleepily, the blankets pulled up to your bare shoulders, your voice softer now. “You okay?”

Joel hesitated. Just for a second.

His hands hovered at his belt, his fingers twitching. His lips pressed together, like he was weighing his answer, like he didn’t trust whatever was sitting heavy on his tongue.

Then, he gave you a short, stiff nod. “Yeah. ‘M good.”

You hummed, unconvinced, watching the way his chest still rose and fell in uneven breaths, the lingering flush at his throat, the tension in his hands as he buckled his belt like he was fighting something.

“Okay,” you murmured, turning your head into the pillow, eyes half-lidded, “And, Joel?”

His gaze flickered back to you, hovering, like he was bracing himself.

You swallowed, shifting slightly under the blankets, warmth settling deep in your bones. “Thank you.”

Joel’s fingers twitched where they grabbed for his shirt, his throat working around something thick, something stuck. His eyes dragged over you one last time, heavy, unreadable, before he gave a single, curt nod.

“I’ll see you,” he muttered, voice rough, almost hesitant.

Then he turned, and with the sound of the door clicking shut behind him, he was gone.

[edusupports]

Ticker Tape Timer Kit

Ticker Tape Timer kit is designed for use to measure the speed of a moving cart, investigate the forces of friction in dynamics, or determine the rate of acceleration in a falling body at a vertical position.The Ticker Tape Timer Kit has the arm ( an electromagnet with spring loaded armature ) which vibrates regularly due to the changing current in the mains supply. It operate at frequency of 50 HZ ( 50 cycles/Sec ) and it makes dots on the paper tape at an interval of 0.02 sec above a support table of carbon disc when the arm vibrates. Here the time interval for 2 consecutive dots is equivalent to the time for 1 cycle. Successive dots are marked at the same interval of time.

This Ticker Tape Timer kit is fitted with a pair of 4 mm sockets at 19 mm spacing, colour coded red and black.

[mostly-imagines]

Motion Sickness

jason todd x fem!reader

aka jason makes you cry after a fight

warnings: angst with comfort

“Jason—”

He waves you off immediately, “No, I’m not your problem, okay?”

Your arms drop, “You’re not a problem at all, that’s not what I’m saying—”

“Then what are you saying?” he challenges. 

You almost bite your tongue but then decide against it, “I’m saying you’re being an asshole right now just because I tried to help.”

He’s angry and you’re someplace in between desperate and tired, but you push on, hoping you’ll be able to solve this without an extended argument. To little avail though, apparently. 

A tense exhale from him, “I don’t need your help, I don’t know how I can make it any clearer.”

“It’s not about needing it—”

“No, it’s about wanting it. I don’t want your fucking help,” he snaps. “I’m grown, I can handle my problems myself.”

You drop your hands to your sides, “Then what am I doing here, Jason?”

“I don’t know!” You can literally see the regret sweep over his face but he lets the moment consume him and the words linger anyways. 

You know he doesn’t always think before he talks, especially when he’s mad. You’ve seen it plenty when he’s fighting with his family. This is the first time it’s shown up with you though, and while you know it’s not coming from a place of genuinity—it still really fucking stung. 

Far from being in your control, tears slip out, more at his tone than his words, and you remove your gaze in favor of the linoleum tiles. He says nothing as you start to cry, which only makes the heat of the moment worsen. 

“Okay,” You take a deep breath, pursing your lips. “You need to go away.”

There’s a long, hard moment of silence, but ultimately he doesn’t fight you on it, only exhales harshly and slams the door on his way out.

The resulting reverberation of the apartment has your shoulders shaking, tears falling onto your shirt.  

You and Jason don’t fight often but when you do it’s usually about insecurities and fears coming forward. He’d been having a bad night to start with and all you wanted to do was make him feel better but he wasn’t willing to talk to you or let you do anything for him. He gets selfishly selfless like that, but you know why.

You know him, in and out. You could’ve anticipated this—you should’ve. You should’ve approached the topic more sensitively. And it’s not his fault, his life has taught him that it’s safer to believe that other people don’t have his best interest. You know that. 

Yeah, you know him in and out, but he knows you in and out, too. He knows you’ve shown him nothing but kindness and generosity since the day you met and you’ve reinforced a thousand times how safe you are for him. But if he still can’t trust you to care about him, then what are you doing here?

You let yourself fall back onto the arm of the couch, huffing in defeat. 

It’s nearing two in the morning when Dick awakens, the bandages across his abdomen digging into his skin uncomfortably. He sits up, bedsheet pooling around his waist. The ache of the bruising pushes him towards his old bedroom door before he’s even fully coherent, narrowly missing shouldering the door frame as he passes through.

He’s still half asleep as he thumps down the staircase, cold hands stuffed in the pocket of his sweatshirt. He’s so out of it in his blind search for painkillers, that he nearly misses the large shadowed figure huddled up on the couch.

Dick stills, blinking warily.

“What’re you doing here?”

His younger brother says nothing, only continues to stew in the shadows, staring at the rug.

As his eyes adjust, Dick takes in his appearance: messy hair, tired eyes, only clad in a t-shirt and sweatpants.

He rubs his eyes, approaching with measured steps, “What happened?”

Jason remains silent for a long minute before grunting out, “Got in a fight.”

Dick nods slowly, shuffling forward a little more to sit on the far end of the couch. 

“What’d you do?”

Jason doesn’t have it in him to comment on how his brother immediately knew he was the issue. It just makes the entire thing hurt even worse. Instead, he tells the truth. 

“Be myself.”

Dick says nothing.

When the silence persists, Jason elaborates, even though it’s the last thing he wants to admit to.

“I made her cry,” he says, voice below even a whisper. He hates it and he hates himself for leaving you when he knew he’d hurt you.

Dick nods, not saying anything. He’s definitely been there before, though he’s not nearly as volatile as Jason can be, so he can imagine how this likely played out. In any case, Jason has never responded well to being pushed to talk about his feelings so Dick lets him get there in his own time.

He’s half expecting to end up with no results at all, but Jason pipes up after a minute, voice broken.

“I don’t know what she wants me to do,” he rasps.

Dick takes a deep breath, adjusting his posture. “When girls are mad you give them space but when they’re sad you definitely don’t. Is she sad or mad?”

Jason exhales desperately.

“Both, I think.”

Dick nods, understanding.

“Then go home.”

Jason shakes his head, defeated. “She told me to leave. She doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“What did you say?”

He huffs, not wanting to bring the memory back up. “I basically told her to fuck off.”

“Yeah,” Dick drawls. “I wouldn’t let that simmer.”

Jason’s head snaps over to him. “She’ll break up with me?”

“No, I don’t—” Dick pauses, thinking over his words. “It’ll be fine. Just go home.”

Despite taking the long route on the way to the manor, Jason sped back home on his bike, now unwilling to leave you alone for another second longer than he had to. 

He creeps through the front door of your apartment, proud and only a little hurt that you’d remembered to lock it. 

The apartment’s mostly quiet, nothing but a lamp lighting up the front half. He can hear the shower running from where he stands, the waterfall noise awfully muffled from behind the closed bathroom door.

He bolts the door behind him, pushing forward towards the hallway. He approaches the bathroom door, noticing how there’s no light flooding out from underneath.

“Baby?” Jason calls it out quietly, like he’s scared to commit to alerting you of his presence.

He hears no response, but he knows you heard him. He knows you heard him in the same way that he knows you’re sitting on the shower floor, curled in on yourself under the sensory relief that the pouring water brings. He doesn’t know how, he just does.

So he leans against the door, listening closely, and calls out again, “Can I come in?”

There’s a solid ten seconds of silence before you respond, just barely audible over the cascade of water.

“Not right now.”

Your volume has him wincing, saddened and embarrassed that he’s the one that made you feel like this.

He reluctantly walks back to the bedroom with heavy shoulders, thudding his weight down on the mattress. He sits half folded over himself for the next ten minutes, thinking only of you, sitting alone in the shower with your thoughts.

He perks up considerably when he hears the water shut off, and after several long minutes, you emerge from the bathroom, towel wrapped around your middle.

He stands up when you enter the bedroom, hands stiff and awkward at his sides. You barely look at him, having trouble willing yourself to do more than glance. 

Your eyes fall downward, your lips pursing. You instinctually move to clutching the towel tighter around you, more than anything because you don’t know what to do with your hands. 

It makes his heart break to see you so out of comfort around him—because of him—so he gives you the benefit of privacy, turning around so you can get dressed. It kills him to do it, makes him feel like he’s just some stranger in your life rather than him. But he supposes that he deserves to feel like that right now. 

Whether or not you wanted him to turn around goes unsaid, he can only hear the quiet shuffling of you putting clothes on.

He waits until the movement stops, after he hears the squeak of the bed springs and the faint sound of the sheets being pulled up.

He turns around again with a silent sigh, taking in the sight of you laying in bed, back turned to him.  

He approaches slowly, stopping just before his knees hit the mattress. He notices quickly that the t-shirt you’d chosen was one of your own. He frowns.  

“Sweetheart. Can I touch you?” His voice is soft and low, like he’s trying to coax you back out to him.

It takes a long few moments, but you nod.

He sits down on the bed, still hesitant to go through with it.

“Will you turn over?”

An even longer pause and you’re flipping over to face him. You don’t make eye contact, only look blankly past him. Your blinks are heavy, and even in the dark, he can see that your eyes are still bloodshot. 

He brushes your hair back, his fingers feather-light against you, like he’s scared to touch you too harshly. Like he’s touching porcelain.

He lets you hold the silence for a while, reasoning with himself that you’ll talk when you’re ready.

You let it go on longer than he’d hoped, past the point of him knowing what to do with it. He’d hoped you’d yell at him. He can take that, he knows he can. He can see plainly that you’re thinking deeply and wants more than anything for you to say it, scream it if you have to. 

He knows he deserves it and he frankly would take anything over the silence. But then again, he doesn’t deserve the reprieve, does he? No, but he’s not strong enough to deny himself the chance to hear your voice.

“Say it,” he urges. “Please.”

Your fingers tap against the bed sheets for a moment before you sit up, almost defeated. 

You face him, taking a breath and relenting. “I don’t like that you said that to me.”

He nods, brow deep. “Me neither.”

Your shoulders sag at that, and you feel stuck in the moment. You feel guilty too but you don’t know if you should. He didn’t mean it, you know that, and they weren’t his words, really. But the snap of his voice when he’d said it and the look on his face—it made you feel terrible. It still does.

You look awkwardly to the left, feeling heavily spectated by him and so hyper-conscious of all of your movements. The downturn of your lips gives way to burning in your eyes and before you can do anything about it, tears are spilling out. 

Jason sees it immediately, his head lulling helplessly. 

“Oh, baby. Please don’t cry, please.”

But that only makes it worse, the tears falling faster and heavier at his soft tone.

He forgoes asking permission and pulls you directly into his chest, a firm hand on the back of your head. It’s what you needed though, to be close to him right now.

“I’m sorry. I’m really fucking sorry, baby—” he murmurs against your hair, pressing a rough kiss as he holds you tighter.

You shake your head, sniffling. “It’s okay, Jay.”

“No, it’s not.”

That sentiment lingers for several minutes, as he holds you cheek to chest and rubs soothing patterns into your hair.

It’s not long before you’re able to fully relax against him, his touch feeling nothing short of therapeutic. Your breathing eventually levels out back to baseline and your thoughts start to find peace amongst themselves.

When you’re ready, you sit back from him, letting him see your face again.                    

He visibly winces as he scans over the tears on your cheeks, how they’re starting to stain.

You’re still upset, a little, but not nearly as much as you’re sure your face is conveying. 

“It’s okay,” you tell him, wiping your eyes with your sleeve.

He shakes his head, “If I ever say something like that to you again, hit me. I’m serious.”

You drop your hand onto your lap, tilting your head at him with a serious look. “I’m not going to hit you—”

“Then break up with me. Don’t ever let somebody talk to you like that, especially not me.”

His voice is hard and you can tell the impact of his words have every bit of weight intended.

Your mouth closes and you waver unsure of where to go with that. Your gaze falls down to where your hands lie discarded on your lap and there’s a palpable shift to the air in the room.

“Hey.” He pushes your chin up to make you look at him, “Listen to me. You’re the love of my life. You hear me? I’m supposed to take care of you, make you happy. I don’t…I can’t talk to you like that. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

Your eyes flicker back and forth across each others and you can see the genuine sincerity etched plainly across his face.

He processes the comprehension across your own before his jaw tenses for a moment and he adds, “Nobody’s gonna talk to you like that, much less me. Yes?” 

You start to nod slowly and he mirrors you until he’s convinced of your belief in the statement. 

He rubs calm circles into your thighs as you both sit with the conversation, the light sounds of each others breaths the only sound heard. This silence isn’t the same as it was before though, it’s safer, more comfortable. It’s familiar, if not weighted.  

“I love you,” you tell him quietly.

His eyebrows furrow like his heart was just shattered. 

“I love you too, baby. So much.”

🦟 if you don't reblog things i'm actively sending bad vibes your way 🦟 and maybe also a plague

[kaiist]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐄 ⋯ 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐄

𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑

You hear Xavier return from his mission, his footsteps silent against the floor. You quickly whisper, “Stay quiet,” to an imaginary person and scramble away from the closet just as he enters.

His gaze locks onto you immediately, eyes narrowing slightly. Without a word, he scans the room. He crosses to the closet first, sliding it open in one swift motion. Finding nothing, he moves to check under the bed, then behind the curtains.

“Xavier, what are you doing?” you ask innocently.

He doesn’t answer, continuing his search. He checks inside cabinets barely large enough for a child, peers over the balcony, and even lifts the mattress from your bed frame.

The silence grows heavier as he inspects the bathroom, opening the shower curtain with unexpected force. He returns to the living area, crouching to look under furniture too small for anyone to hide beneath.

When he finally faces you again, his expression hasn’t changed, but something in his eyes has shifted— dangerous gleam that wasn’t there before.

“Who were you speaking to?” he asks.

“No one,” you smile. “because I was just messing with you.”

He studies you for a long moment before stepping closer. Then he pulls you against his chest, holding you there as if to reassure himself that you’re still his. You feel him inhale deeply, taking in your scent, confirming you’re alone, that no one else has been here.

𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄

“Quick, hide!” you whisper dramatically to the empty space beside you as Zayne’s key turns in the lock. You’re sprawled suspiciously in front of the couch when he enters, medical bag in hand.

He pauses in the doorway, eyes flicking from your awkward position to the seemingly empty room. One eyebrow arches perfectly.

“Care to explain why you’re blocking the couch like it’s harboring a fugitive?” he asks, setting his bag down.

“No reason,” you reply, too quickly.

He looks around the room from where he’s standing, checking behind curtains and under tables. He then approaches you in the living room, studying your face intently. “Your pulse is elevated,” he notes, suddenly holding your hand, his expression hardening slightly.

“You realize I can tell when someone’s been in our space,” he kneels before you. His thumbs trace small circles on your wrists, measuring your pulse. “Whatever you’re hiding, whoever you’re protecting... tell me. I won’t judge, but I need to know.”

The concern in his eyes makes you instantly regret your prank. “There’s no one,” you admit. “I was just playing around.”

Relief flashes across his face before he composes himself. “That was...” he starts, then pulls you close instead of finishing his sentence. You feel him press a kiss to the top of your head.

“Don’t worry me like that again,” he whispers against your hair.

𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋

“Don’t worry, he won’t find you,” you whisper loudly, diving away from the bathroom door just as Rafayel enters your apartment.

His head snaps toward you. “Who are you talking to?” he demands, eyes narrowing dangerously.

“No one,” you say innocently.

“Don’t lie to me,” he hisses, stalking toward the bathroom. “Who’s in there? Who are you hiding?”

He throws the door open, finding nothing but empty space. His search grows increasingly frantic, tossing cushions aside, yanking open cabinets. He pulls the shower curtain so hard it partially tears from its rings.

“You’re not seriously hiding anything from me, right? Right?” He overturns a basket of laundry. “I’ll find them, and when I do—”

He pauses, noticing something on the balcony, and rushes outside. Finding nothing, he returns, running his hands through his hair in frustration.

“I know someone’s here,” he insists, checking under the bed for the third time. “I can feel it. You’re acting strange.”

“Rafayel, there’s no one here,” you interrupt, fighting laughter.

He freezes mid-search, turning slowly. “Really...?”

“Just a joke,” you explain, holding up a peace sign.

His expression morphs through confusion, relief, and finally settles on outrage. “Ha, ha, of course, you wouldn’t hide anything from me,” he grumbles before pulling you close. “You scared me. I thought someone was trying to take you away.”

He won’t tell you that he was so ready to burn that person down and throw their ashes in the ocean.

𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐒

“Stay hidden,” you whisper conspiratorially to the empty closet, hearing Sylus’s approach. You barely make it to the couch before he enters, his presence filling the room instantly.

His eyes find yours. “Interesting greeting,” he remarks smoothly, closing the door behind him with deliberate slowness.

You feign innocence, but his smile only widens. Without warning, objects around you begin to rise—books, vases, furniture—suspended by his Evol.

“I do enjoy games,” he says softly as the apartment dismantles itself around you, every hiding spot exposed. “But not ones where you keep secrets from me.”

The lamp drifts toward the ceiling. The couch levitates six inches off the floor. Every drawer in every piece of furniture slides open simultaneously.

“Whoever you’re hiding must be exceptionally small,” he observes, watching a teacup rotate slowly in midair. “Or perhaps exceptionally foolish to think they can escape from me.”

When his search reveals nothing, he steps closer, the items still floating ominously around the room. He lifts your chin with one finger, examining your expression.

He cups your face with gentleness despite his current passive-aggressive demeanor. “You do realize Mephisto can see everything, right?” The mechanical crow suddenly caws from your balcony. Since when did he get here?

“It’s no one! Promise!” you protest. “Can you put my stuff back down now?”

He deliberately lets everything settle back perfectly into place. Not a single item out of position.

“I was about to compliment your hide-and-seek game, kitten,” he pulled you close against him. “Should I say I won this round?”

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁

“He’s coming! Hide!” you whisper loudly to no one, diving behind the couch just as Caleb enters.

His smile vanishes instantly. “Who’s here?” he demands, voice shifting to his command tone.

Before you can answer, he’s moving through the apartment, checking every possible hiding place. “Come out now, and I might let you leave intact,” he calls out, voice dangerously calm.

You watch in amazement as he systematically tears apart the apartment, looking increasingly agitated when he finds nothing. He flips the coffee table, checks behind the curtains, and yanks open every cabinet door.

“I know you’re here somewhere,” he announces to the empty room, frustration building in his voice. He moves to the bedroom next, and you hear drawers being opened and closed with increasing force. When he returns, his expression has hardened completely.

“Where are they?” His eyes scan the room once more, calculating, planning. “I’ll tear this place apart if I have to. They can’t hide forever.”

“Caleb, there’s no one here,” you finally admit. “It was just a joke.”

His expression freezes, processing this information. The dangerous aura recedes slightly.

“Yeah, yeah, very funny, Pipsqueak. You really do know how to make people worry,” he says sarcastically, trapping you in his arms. His hold is tight, possessive, as he caresses your hair. There’s no doubt about just how seriously he takes any threat to what belongs to him—you.

I just saw a reel about this TikTok prank, and it made me want to write it down for them 😹

[rafesangelita]

thinking about dealer! rafe and baker! reader where reader uses his scale to measure the ingredients for cookies

warnings: little bit of fluff, mentions of drugs

rafe could smell the sweet scent of vanilla wafting through the air before he could even open the flimsy door to your camper, the gentle sound of music playing in his ears once he spotted you in the kitchen area. there you were, your hair and your makeup done up all cute with your pink apron accentuating the curves of your hips. “hi, gorgeous.” your cheeks heated despite having been called ‘gorgeous’ by rafe going on a million times now.

he slipped in behind you, wrapping his large arms around your waist before resting his chin in the curve of your neck. “what are you making this time around?” he sighed blissfully through his nose as you reached down for a cookie and handed it to him. “well, it’s really hot out now, so i figured i’d make sugar cookies instead of chocolate chip since they’ll melt and all..” rafe broke the little treat in half, popping one piece in his mouth and feeding you the other.

he groaned, the damned thing basically melting on his tongue. it was warm, not too sweet, and the softness was just how he liked it. “jesus, babe, those are going to sell out for sure. did you do anything different?” you smiled upon hearing his approval, a small hum sounding from your lips as you pointed down to the black scale on the table. “yes, actually, instead of just eyeing how much sugar i put in, i measured it this time.”

it took rafe a second to register that he was staring at his own scale, and not just any scale, but the same scale he used to weigh out grams of both weed and blow. you were peering up at him innocently as he studied you for a moment. “where did you find that scale?” you faltered when rafe blinked away, a hint of a smile playing on his lips as he shook his head. taking off his backpack, rafe checked the contents of it just to make sure he didn’t have it.

“the top shelf..” you trailed off, your eyes widening as rafe rummaged through his bag. “the top shelf?” he repeated, “how did you even reach up there—” rafe looked past your feet and answered his own question when he saw your pink foot stool on the floor. “why?!” you slightly panicked, hoping you didn’t do anything wrong. “nothing, it’s just— me and barry use that to weigh our stuff—” you gasped, quickly getting it off the table before rafe could finish his sentence.

rafe watched as you frantically looked over all the cookies you already made, your worst fear coming true when you thought about having to throw everything away. “it’s fine!” rafe reassured you, “did you clean it off before using it?” you nodded, looking up at him unsure. “nothing actually touched the scale, right? you measured everything in a cup or something?” you nodded again, your shoulders falling in relief when rafe waved you off.

“don’t even worry about it, then.” rafe pulled you on top of his lap, wiping off the small bit of flour that got on your nose. “you just gave me an idea though..” he whispered, stroking the soft flesh of your thigh. “and what’s that?” you rested your head on his chest. “how would you like to expand your business and make something for a different kind of clientele?” your eyebrows knitted in confusion at his words. “what do you mean?” rafe motioned towards his backpack and the scale.

“edibles. i supply, and you bake.”

[electricalinsightsdaily]

MPU-6050: Features, Specifications & Important Applications

The MPU-6050 is a popular Inertial Measurement Unit (IMU) sensor module that combines a gyroscope and an accelerometer. It is commonly used in various electronic projects, particularly in applications that require motion sensing or orientation tracking.

Features of MPU-6050

The MPU-6050 is a popular Inertial Measurement Unit (IMU) that combines a 3-axis gyroscope and a 3-axis accelerometer in a single chip.

Here are the key features of the MPU-6050:

Gyroscope:

3-Axis Gyroscope: Measures angular velocity around the X, Y, and Z axes. Provides data on how fast the sensor is rotating in degrees per second (°/s).

Accelerometer:

3-Axis Accelerometer: Measures acceleration along the X, Y, and Z axes. Provides information about changes in velocity and the orientation of the sensor concerning the Earth's gravity.

Digital Motion Processor (DMP):

Integrated DMP: The MPU-6050 features a Digital Motion Processor that offloads complex motion processing tasks from the host microcontroller, reducing the computational load on the main system.

Communication Interface:

I2C (Inter-Integrated Circuit): The MPU-6050 communicates with a microcontroller using the I2C protocol, making it easy to interface with a variety of microcontrollers.

Temperature Sensor:

Onboard Temperature Sensor: The sensor includes an integrated temperature sensor, providing information about the ambient temperature.

Programmable Gyroscope and Accelerometer Range:

Configurable Sensitivity: Users can adjust the full-scale range of the gyroscope and accelerometer to suit their specific application requirements.

Low Power Consumption:

Low Power Operation: Designed for low power consumption, making it suitable for battery-powered and energy-efficient applications.

Read More: MPU-6050