#unslacks

[criesingayscale]

Need to continue the CSM manga, been slacking hardcore but here's to unslacking soon.

[huggingkoalas]

𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 | natasha romanoff

pairing — ‧₊˚ natasha romanoff x fem!reader

summary — ‧₊˚ “you’ll take it in the ass like the good slut you are.”

word count — ‧₊˚ 0.4k

warning(s) — ‧₊˚ smut, anal training, ‘mommy’ kink, mentions of ‘breeding’ kink, spanking, choking, use of strap-ons (natasha), use of pet names, cursing, degradation, praise, teasing, top!natasha, bottom!reader

authors note — ‧₊˚ awjkfajnwgnjawj just a small drabble of rough!nat <3

Your knees hold your body upright, your ass up and face down on Natasha’s soft pillow. The pleasant, soothing smell of her vanilla shampoo ingrained in her plush pillow overwhelms your senses. However, nothing about what she’s doing to you right now is soothing.

Tears run down your cheeks as you whimper and try to adjust yourself around the vibrating plug — a bright crimson colour, of course, Natasha’s favourite colour on her sweet little girl. She knows you’re aroused by the pain and pleasure as she slides it in and out.

“Shh... You’re doing so well for me, dorogaya (sweetheart).” 

She coos, her hot breath in your ear. Her whole weight presses up against you, and your knees almost buckle as you feel her hardened nipples press against your back.

“I can’t wait to fuck your tight little ass with Mommy’s cock. I know you can take it like the good slut you are, right?” 

You’re about to respond when she pulls the plug out and swiftly tosses it onto the floor somewhere. A loud whimper escapes from your lips. The loss of feeling so full makes you arch your hips back into her, trying to find some friction to ease the discomfort between your thighs.

“Tsk, such a needy little cockslut for Mommy.”

Natasha strokes your slit and wets her index finger with your arousal. A groan almost slips out when she sees how absolutely soaked you are. She pushes the glistening finger deep into your mouth, and a wicked grin appears on her face when you choke around it. You whimper as you taste yourself on her finger, wrapping your tongue around her fingers and sucking diligently.

“Whose hole is this?” 

She pulls her finger out of your lips, her hand wrapping around your throat while the other grips your hips tightly. 

“M-Mommy’s!” 

Natasha absolutely adores the look on your fucked out face. Your eyes are glossy and unfocused, and she sees a trail of drool running down your unslacked jaw.

Her hand on your hips raises in the air, and a powerful smack echoes as she brings it down on your ass. You arch forward with the force of it against your cheek. You know a handprint will show on the red, sore flesh afterwards.

She chuckles, pulling out the strap-on from her sweatpants. It’s her personal favourite in her collection of toys — a special strap-on that squirts, and it’s girthy with ridges around the head. She spreads open your cheeks, lining it against your ass.

“Be a good girl and stay still, kotenok (kitten). I’m going to fuck you dumb and fill you up with my cum.”

[allsoulspriory]

Religion And Ridicule

But when Sanballat the Horonite, Tobiah the Ammonite official, and Geshem the Arab heard all this, they derided us and expressed contempt toward us. They said, “What is this you are doing? Are you rebelling against the king?” I responded to them by saying, “The God of heaven will prosper us. We, his servants, will start the rebuilding. But you have no just or ancient right in Jerusalem.” — Neh 2:19-20

So we rebuilt the wall, and the entire wall was joined up to half its height. The people were enthusiastic in their work. — Neh 4:6

The building of the ruined walls of Jerusalem, as the record shows, was undertaken in troublous times. Some of the petty rulers in the neighborhood rejoiced in the low estate of the city because it left room for the exercise of their authority, and they viewed these renewed activities with chagrin. They plotted to overthrow the work and had to be met by constant watchfulness.

If you are endeavoring to do God’s work in the world, to clear away the rubbish of sin, to rebuild the walls that are broken down, and to seek the welfare of God’s people, do not be surprised if your steps are beset with scorn and ridicule, by the secret or open malice of Sanballat and Tobiah. For some, it is easier to face bitter opposition than to bear mockery and ridicule. If only these scornful and carping tongues were silenced, we could make more headway. Still, such persecution drives us back on God, makes Him a living fact in life, and opens the door to the manifestation of the saving health of His right hand (Neh 4:4, Neh 4:9, Neh 4:20). How good it is, at such times, to cease from man, and to remember the Lord who is the great and terrible One (Neh 1:5; Isa 51:12-13). Be sure you are on His plan, doing His work in His way; then go forward in His Name, and he will make all the mountains away.

The lesson for us all is the threefold aspect of the Christian life. There is our up-look into God’s face—“I prayed to the God of Heaven.” We must never forget to pray, for more things are wrought by prayer than we realize. Second, there is our up-look against our foes and the foes of God—“we made our prayer unto our God, and set a watch against them day and night.” We must watch as well as pray. Lastly, there is our down-look towards the work entrusted to us, at which we must labor with unslacking devotion, in fellowship with our Lord (1Co 3:9). Let each inquire: “Am I inside the city amongst its builders, or outside amongst its detractors and foes?”

Prayer

O God, teach us daily what Thou wouldst have us to do, and give us grace and power to fulfill the same. May we never, from the love of ease, decline the path Thou pointest out, nor, for fear of shame, turn away from it. Amen.

[unslacks-store]

SQUEEZED DESIGN CORDURA®︎ SWEAT

かなり久しぶりの投稿になってしまいました。

今回は2021の春に立ち上げたSQUEEZED DESIGN からスウェットのセットアップが出来上がりました。

コットン×コーデュラナイロンという特殊なスウェット生地ですが、着心地よく丈夫で毛玉になりにくい最高の仕上がりだと思います。

スウェットシャツは僕が普段愛用しているスウェットをヒントにしつつ、「もう少しこうだったらいいなー」みたいな部分を僕なりにアップデートした形です。

グレーとネイビーの2色展開です。

スウェットパンツは自分が普段履くならこの形でこの仕様、って感じで作りました。

裾は絞って、股にリブのマチつきのスウェットパンツが履きたかったので。

UNSLACKSのパンツとはシルエットや考え方が全然違う物なのでまた新たな楽しみ方ができると思います。

パンツもグレーとネイビーの2色展開です。

web storeにアップしてますので是非ご覧ください。

かなり大量に作りましたので、もう少し寒くなってからでも間に合うと思います。

現在店舗の営業はお休みしていますが、営業再開したら店頭に見に来ていただければと思います。

[spirits-world-webcomic]

Episode 2: I Tire of Fashionable Attire

Prev | Next

Updates every Friday 12pm EST.

[dilfsisko]

Actually yknow what? Fuck you. *unslacks your jaw*

[cbk1000]

@aemelia 

Some more homoerotic tension for you.

Gradually the road sloped up and up, taking them out of the shops, and back toward the castle, Arthur going on at the same maddening, unslacking pace, slanting forward a little to compensate for the incline, so that his trousers showed a little more than necessarily how tight his bum was.

Merlin had, ever since determining that Arthur was to be more than That One Bloke He Had Punched In the Face For Being a Twat, divided him, very neatly, into two distinct categories of humanity: Arthur, Who Was An Extremely Fit Man; and Arthur, Who Was An Idiot, But Merlin’s Idiot; he classified these men as two separate entities: acknowledging, sometimes, that the former existed, and that he would probably be very fun to lick; but keeping close to his heart the latter, where he was relatively safe from close examination for sexy resemblance. Occasionally, very occasionally, they merged, so that Merlin had to realise, annoyingly, that his best mate was a sort of mobile wet dream, wandering round looking alarmingly like something he’d love to hump. He tried now to separate the two whilst running behind Arthur’s pert bum; and gave up, and watched Arthur’s pert bum. 

He was halfway through the furtive, guilty examination, wondering, not exactly what this particular arse looked like naked, but a similar arse, an arse somewhat alarmingly representative of this arse, but not this particular, specific arse, when the hill at last began to level out, and his view changed from Arthur’s bum, to Arthur’s back, which he had ploughed into. Arthur was sweating at last, and smelt of it, that good, hygienic dampness of a man recently exertional. 

Merlin’s penis was so confused it stood up in a panic. It had slammed into a muscular, sweaty, sexy man; and forgot it was only Arthur. Merlin leapt backward as nimbly as he had ever done anything.

“You have to stop when other people stop in front of you,” Arthur said, a little winded, but still getting out the words easily, and looking round at him in amusement. 

“Well, maybe they shouldn’t stop in front of me without warning,” Merlin replied snippily, bending down, ostensibly to retie his laces, which were still perfectly taut; and trying not to think of other things that were also perfectly taut. He used the ploy to catch his breath physically, metaphorically, reminding his penis, with a stern admonition, that it had gone to its fainting couch over Arthur: a somewhat obviously indisputable piece of fine arse; but a stupid, provoking one which stuck him in its armpit when it wanted to ruffle his hair.

[runswith]

Travel diary:  Casablanca.  Entry 4 – Monday, March 1, 2004.

His name, he told me, was Mousthfa (MOOSE-ta-fa). He said he had family in Spain, up Barcelona way, though he seemed vague on the details, his Spanish thin enough that he quickly lapsed into passable English. Something I said made his eyes widen, his expression indicating he’d just had a brainstorm. There is, he informed me, a Spanish cathedral in Casablanca -- would I be interested in seeing it? Of course, I answered. He immediately turned and headed off along the avenue, gesturing for me to follow. I trailed after, past vendors selling glasses of freshly squeezed orange juice from rickety, jury-rigged tables, the fruit bright orange amid the muted colors of muddy ground and the locals’ clothing. Other vendors stood by trays piled up with what looked like rice-krispy bars, the squares glinting with the sheen of dried sugar syrup. Still others stood or squatted by small trays of cigarette packs, lighters, packages of batteries. Both sides of the street were crowded with pedestrians walking, with others clustered together waiting for buses, talking, the sound of passing traffic and conversations drifting through sunlit air and clouds of vehicle exhaust.

Mousthfa motored along at a pretty good clip, talking less now. I stayed by his side, trying not to trip over wildly uneven ground and randomly-strewn expanses of ancient, fractured sidewalk. We were headed into an area I hadn’t yet explored, through streets of both residential and commercial character, past blocks of buildings, small scrubby gardens, the bursts of green standing out nicely amid the city. Down various avenues, around corners, me wondering where the hell we would end up, him steadily moving onward, focused ahead in a strange way, as if there might be more going on than guiding me toward a little-known sight.

We finally turned a corner that gave out onto a view of a large, white building thrusting up from tropical greenery -- the Cathedral of the Sacré Coeur, a strange hybrid of Christian/Arabic/art-deco design and architecture, complete with stained glass and flying buttresses. That, said Mousthfa, pointing, is the Spanish cathedral, his pace unslacking as we moved toward it. The grounds were surrounded by tall, iron fencing, I reached out my hand, let my fingers brush against its bars as we walked along. Mousthfa spoke quickly, saying the building was closed at this time of the afternoon, might be open later, and continued striding on, toward a neighboring park (le Parc de la Ligue Arabe, I found out later). Through fencing and palm trees, I could see a young couple walking together, someone else riding an old bicycle along a dirt path.

Mousthfa steered me into the park, maintaining the fast pace, making brief, almost terse comments about this being a good place to sit, something he said he’d done in his student days. (Hmmmm, thought I on hearing that.) He walked briskly on, his air that of someone with a purpose; I tagged along, waiting to see what would develop. He said folkloric events took place in this park in the evenings, that I might want to return and see that, continued moving diagonally through the expanse of land, along walkways, through spaces between trees, toward a far corner where I could see a street and one or two commercial buildings beyond the park’s boundary. We came upon a remote bench, no other people around, he finally slowed, gestured for me to sit, parked himself near me.

I thanked him for taking the time to show me this bit of the city. He nodded his head in acknowledgment, got right to the point: in exchange for the time he’d taken, he wanted me to (a) either buy him a new phone card to replace the exhausted 10 dirham (about $11.50) card he had or (b) give him some cash. As tales of this kind of encounter abound in Moroccan travel lore, I wasn’t shocked --- I had no problem with giving him a little money, pulled what euros I had from my jacket pocket, 9 or 10 in total. He extended a hand to accept it, then stopped mid-motion

He asked if I had any Moroccan money -- I did, a 20-dinhar bill. All I had of local currency, so I was not prepared to hand it over. He launched into a recapitulation of the hard-luck boating business story he’d told me when we’d first met, saying he was broke, that he needed the phone card to call his father in Mauritania. I offered the change I’d already shown him, he could see I wasn’t prepared to budge, patted my leg, saying never mind, he appreciated the offer, we were both gentlemen, apologized for hitting me up.

For a moment, he stopped talking. Silence descended around us, the sounds of the city drifted faintly through the park. Then he began a second assault, touching on all the points he’d previously presented.

Nothing about his manner felt threatening -- just insistent. So for a while I stayed there, letting him do his thing, me offering what I’d already offered, nothing more. Strangely, as he made no headway, he began inflating the sum he wanted, until he asked me if I had an ATM card, suggesting we find a machine, that I withdraw some cash for him. I blinked in amazement at that, again offering the money I’d already proffered. He finally extended a hand, picked out a modest one euro coin, leaving the rest. At which point he asked which hotel I was staying at.

That was my cue to take off. I stood up, thanked him again for his kindness, said so long, left him sitting on the bench in the late-afternoon sunlight.

The next afternoon, I took a long walk through the city center’s western expanse, toward the ocean and the Hassan II Mosque. My route took me past the wall of the Medina, where the sidewalk narrowed and a Moroccan man and I jostled each other. A slim individual in a dark suit, a bit shorter than me with graying, close-cropped hair. As on the previous day, I said, “¡Perdón!” He immediately looked over, asked, “¿Español?” I responded as I had to Musthfa, we chatted a while in Spanish. He also mentioned having family in Spain, in the north -- west of Bilbao he said, in Asturias.

He had a gentlemanly, respectful air, asked me where I was off to. I told him, he mentioned that we were passing the market, that I might enjoy seeing it. I thanked him, saying I’d already passed through it (twice, by that point). He nodded, we talked about something else for a moment. At the point where our paths diverged, he again mentioned the market, suggesting once more that I consider going in. I declined, thanking him. We said good-bye, I continued on.

The Hassan II Mosque: beautiful, impressive, and situated to one side of an enormous stretch of poor neighborhoods. I passed streets busy with kids playing fútbol, the air filled with their voices, other streets empty and derelict, the sour smell of garbage carried by the breeze.

I took a different route back from the Mosque, along the city’s port, where I stumbled across the only reference to Bogart, et al. encountered during this trip. One lonely, gratuitous reference, planted in the middle of an otherwise unglamorous area.

[tmizuno519]

本日最終日です。 ・・・ [LIMITED SHOP] 3days Limited at ART 9月15日(土)～17日(月･祝) 2F エスカレーター横特設スペース 作る人､着る人の感性の表現の場をコンセプトに､｢ANTHOLOGIE(アンソロジー)｣を手がけるコム デ ギャルソン出身のデザイナー小川圭司氏の目を通してセレクトしたブランドを提案｡ . 同じくコム デ ギャルソン出身の橋爪大輔氏が手がける｢biscuithead(ビスケットヘッド)｣､テーラーでの経験とアイデアを活かしたパンツ作りをしているブランド｢UNSLACKS(アンスラックス)｣と小物を中心にしたブランド｢RockSteady (ロックステディ)｣､｢MIYAVIE(ミヤヴィ)｣ が3日間限定で揃います｡ . #藤井大丸#フジダイ#fujiidaimaru#京都#kyoto#fashion#ファッション#百貨店#デパート#departmentstore#art#anthologie#アンソロジー#小川圭司 さん#biscuithead#ビスケットヘッド#橋爪大輔 さん#unslacks#アンスラックス#rocksteady#niyavie#ミヤヴィ (藤井大丸) https://www.instagram.com/p/Bn0BInqnnUE/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1bckampbwdeqk

[madamiisms]

"You're remarkably well - composed." Like a poem, or a courtly tune. Elegant, and not a note out of place. She can see why so many of the once - circle mages still look to her for guidance. "I don't think I've ever seen you at anything less than your best."

YEARS and YEARS, vivienne could say, late nights and bruised palms, her hands aching, eyes bleary from scouring ancient scrollsby flickering light;;  the title of first enchanter at such youth was notbestowed without tremendous effort. i will not fail, she thinks to herself.no one will  ever see me weak. she could say that, of course, but instead, ❝ it’s quite impossible to provide anything less than my best, darling. ❞ slidesout, glibly. ( she is tired.  her spine weary from being held as unslacking as marble. the energy of all of this takes, and takes with no reprieve and she is tired.) 

 ❝ I would agree, I am demonstrably better than most, your acknowledgement   of such is much appreciated, darling. ❞

[hackernewsrobot]

Unslacking Our Company

https://beberlei.de/2018/10/28/unslacking_tideways_company.html Comments

[tettatonin]

Dw dw I’ll unslack my jaw to fit that whole dick in

GAJDBKSS just unhinge ur jaw at the joints so u can gawk gawk to ur full extent

[belleoumoi]

je t'ai dit non

whatever the hermit had told chaeyeon years ago didn't quite register the way it was simply stated. her brain was wired a tad different, always in extremes. always moments too late, and more often than not ending with a flashback of "he's fucking dead! what do i do now?!" ringing like an unbearable feedback against her ear. one could say she had a very feverish way of expressing her feelings.

the events that unfolded at present did so in a straightforward, plain sailing manner. it was all so simple and sweet that it gave her an illusion of security; that with this new muse she could drop her guard and shed her shame. consequently, she did. in the beginning, headfirst into conversations concerning things she had been apprehensive of and an irrefutable exchange of open-mindedness. then with songs of praise, and subtle teases which then led to soft kisses; dipping in to catch her lips between her teeth, relaxing into the curve of each others' bodies, warmth swelling then dwindling on and on, and on, and on.

but just like all the rest and everyone else, it did not last long. the signs were all around. they were nonchalant and very public. but chaeyeon, despite her awareness of it, chose to ignore. her stubbornness did not pair well with her ailing heart.

when she had started becoming this frail, she couldn't recall. she never did learn. it happened over, and over, and over. and she fell within the grips of it each time without fail. alas, it was by the innocuous yet unsparing clutches of an unapologetically doltish lass.

a civil and near-mutual rejection should not have been a big deal, especially when it was her putting her foot down. she just felt silly. she knew too that it was okay to be silly, every now and again. but she was filled with pride and entitlement that was oh-so fragile; how effortlessly it had been knotted and synchronously torn apart.

it was the loss of control. she would be doing the actions and it would be her behavior but it would feel as if the gas feed got stuck down and she had to deal with a spongy brake. a leak in the line, a failed seal. she would despairingly pump the pedal but it wouldn't budge. in that acceleration, in that momentum, the steering wheel would get all jammed up, too. it was all fight for fight; all disappointingly primitive. she didn't look on with favor the wind unslacking without her permission.

her heartbreak is grief that comes in waves, grueling, stealing appetite and sleep alike. it is a shard in her gut that never leaves. perhaps in time the edges will dull but at this time, it felt like death just the same as bereavement. in quiet moments it choked the breath from her body and short circuited her mind. this is her best, it is all that is left of once a proud and strong soul—fragments on the floor, scared that the next wind will blow them away.

her mind cycled through emotions faster than a kid flipping through radio channels. she had gone from level to rocky, fighting a mixture of competing emotions, each of them vying for dominance. after the reboot of sleep, she is calm, the day stretching ahead with possibilities; time to get jobs done, connect with friends, enjoy nature. yet the coping is a thin veil over trauma being set off and even the smallest of setbacks—like stubbing her toe against the bed frame or the bathroom's door knob breaking—changed her emotional landscape.

by evening the misery would well up, uncertainty rushing to the fore. she knew it was time to sleep. how the crazy dreams stitch her head back together, she doesn’t have a clue. it’s a new miracle every night.

[rebel-rub-blog]

The cleaning chapter from the Iowa Settlers Manual of 1881 explains how to make a basic liquid laundry detergent using available materials.

Washing clothes in the days of the pioneers and settlers was an elaborate ritual. Multiple tubs of water, scrubbing boards, handmade soaps, blue dyes for the white clothes, salt for the colored - and all done on a Monday. Monday was always washing day.

Before the pioneers and settlers could wash their clothes they needed laundry washing soap. What was important was that it had to be a liquid soap that would easily mix in with the clothes. Hard soaps were readily available and reasonably complex to make, so it was always easier to buy hard soap. But liquid soap wasn't so easily transported. It had to be made at home.

This is a recipe from the Iowa Settlers Manual of 1881 that we can still use today.

It involves three separate steps...

The Compound:

"Take five pounds of sal soda, one pound borax, one pound of fresh unslacked lime; dissolve the soda and borax in one gallon of boiling water, and slack the lime in the same quantity of boiling water. Then pour them both into eight gallons of water; stir a few times and let it stand 'till morning, when the clear fluid should be drawn off and kept ready for use."

The Soft Soap:

"One quart of this compound, with three pounds of good bar soap, cut fine, and two pounds of sal soda boiled in three gallons of water for ten minutes, will give four gallons of splendid soft soap."

The Washing Detergent:

"Add half a pint of compound, half a pint of soft soap to four gallons of hot water."

Sal soda is used to soften the water, as the settlers often would be using well water. Sal soda is also known as washing soda, soda crystals or sodium carbonate. It can be bought from a swimming pool supply store.

Borax is still common and is also known as sodium borate. You can get it from the pool supply shop too.

Unslacked lime is also known as quicklime, burned lime and calcium oxide. You can get it from a large garden center, where it is sold as a fertilizer for lawns and gardens.

All three of these powders are reasonably safe to work with, but do avoid breathing them and getting them on your skin or in your eyes.

You can use any bar soap you choose, but it's best to get the simplest and cheapest you can and use a fine cheese grater on it.

The settlers also used bluing to brighten their whites in a final rinse. If you want to get the real deal, you can get Prussian blue from an art supply store. It can come in a few forms - you want the stuff that looks like a block of blue chalk.

To use it you should tie the block up in a muslin bag, to protect the clothes from direct contact with the blue dye. It will stain them. Then place the block in the rinse water while you rinse the clothes.

Or you can buy a bottle of Mrs. Stewart's Bluing. This brand has been around for more than 100 years and is as close to an original pioneer product as you can get.

To brighten your colored clothes, use everyday salt. Just a couple of pinches to the first wash. It needs to be dissolved, so it's easier to add it to a glass of warm water, dissolve it and then pour that into the wash.

You don't have to dig out several large tubs and fill them with boiling water to use these three clothes washing materials. They will work in a modern washing machine as well.

Craig Meade is an executive producer of international television documentaries and a collector of 19th Century how-to and DIY books. Through the Pioneer Handbooks blog he publishes long lost do-it-yourself instructions from these historic books.

You can download your own free how-to and DIY instructions from the 19th Century at the Pioneer Handbooks [http://www.pioneerhandbooks.com] store.

Article Source: https://EzineArticles.com/expert/Craig_Meade/1232463

Article Source: http://EzineArticles.com/6717335

[unslacks-store]

SAXONY

秋冬ラストはサキソニーです。

ウール99%ポリウレタン1%のストレッチが入ったサキソニーです。

非常に綺麗なツヤと起毛感が最高です。

さらにストレッチが入った生地なので履き心地も抜群です。

↑今年はこちらのダークグレーと

↑ネイビーの2色です。

どちらの色も着回しの効く色ですね。

上品な印象の生地なのでちょっと雰囲気を変えたい時に良いですね。

ウールのパンツ一本あると便利ですよ！

web storeにもアップしておりますので是非ご覧ください！

[anthrfrmt]

Unslack https://ift.tt/36KPzc8