#Constant Flow Valve

[flocontrolltduk]

Mastering Flow Control with Automatic Balancing Valves

An Automatic Balancing Valve is a specialized component used in HVAC (Heating, Ventilation, and Air Conditioning) systems to regulate and maintain the proper flow of water or another fluid through the system. It is designed to automatically adjust the flow rate to achieve a balanced distribution of fluid across different zones or sections of the system.

Pressure rating: 25 Bar Temperature rating: -20°C/120°C Sizes: ½” – 2″ Female Threaded

Body Material options:

Forged Brass ASTM CuZn40Pb2

DZR brass CW602N CUZn36Pb2AS [Enkotal®]

Elastomers: EPDM

Easy removable Insert for flushing and easy exchange flow rate range:

Internally adjustable Composite Insert: 0.0081 – 1.43 l/s

Externally adjustable E-Just Insert: 0.0278 – 4.48 l/s

[housecow]

i have knee problems stemming from an injury when i was younger. if i step wrong and fall in a certain way, the pain is so bad i can’t walk. but sometimes i like to fantasize: what if something even worse happens and i can’t walk for weeks? what if i happen to be in regular close contact with my feeder?

it’d be hard being told i have rest and let myself heal. there are plans coming up that have to be cancelled, the few active hobbies i have left take a hit. but…it’s so easy to accept every snack brought to me. after all, i sought out a feeder—this lifestyle is the one i’ve eaten myself towards. and he knows i have an inclination towards eating too much. that first week goes easier than it should; weight starts to pile on. but i miss going out, even running errands sounds nice. in the few moments my hands are absent of food or a shake i am regularly in contact with my friends.

the next week i’m better but… i feel slow. my feeder has started to keep people away because i need to rest and he’s right, healing is taxing on the body. i start responding less to others, too. our funnel has gotten so much more use in the last few days. the sugar and constant snacks step up and i can tell there is an agenda behind it all but *god* it feels good to be doted on. he helps me through the necessary exercises but trips across the house are rare. i notice how difficult it is to lift myself up now—how sedentary have i been?

that question doesn’t cross my mind again, there are better things to focus on. my feeder knows how to use my adhd to his advantage—food, sex, TV, and games all provide the dopamine hit needed to keep me distracted. the 3rd week is similar enough to the 2nd: ritualistic feeding becomes the norm. we don’t need a valve to control the flow on the funnel anymore, he knows i can finish everything. my belly is swollen out into my lap all of the time now, if i hold my boobs aside i can see new stretch marks creeping across my expanding hips. i expect the snacks, “babe, can you grab me something from the fridge?” is a phrase heard several times in the day. and my feeder obliges.

the 4th week we have an appointment and im told i should walk and start being active again. the doctor looks nervous though and tells me i need to watch my weight, he says something like “its alarming how quickly this happened,” but i blocked it out because—i can’t even see how much i weigh? my belly blocks the view now. oh my god.

in the car afterwards my feeder expresses doubt at the situation: “you don’t look so steady on your feet, i think you should still take it easy.” his eyes meet mine and i don’t miss the brief glance away, desire obvious at the sight of my rounded figure that’s entirely his fault. i know what he wants and i can’t deny myself that want, either. and he knows better in these situations, i trust his judgement. maybe it is best to stay in. plans can be pushed further back… the walk back to the car was a little difficult, too.

the next weeks—or does it span months?—pass in a blur. staying in is all i want to do. although i’m supposedly healthy again, i rarely get up and walk around more than needed. “needed” means a slow, clumsy walk to the fridge and back to either the couch or the bed. when my feeder is not there to feed me himself he takes time to order food to the door. bending down to pick things up is a monumental effort for me—a heavy, wide belly pressing into my fattened thighs. my swollen tits obscure my vision but serve as an excellent table when i need.

my feeder comes home one day and im asleep, taking up more than my fair share of the couch. my breaths are not easy and its obvious how much i ate beforehand: mostly-empty 2 liters, takeout containers haphazardly stacked on top of one another as they were finished, countless snack packages balled up and stuck between the couch cushions because sometimes i like to squirrel stuff away. as if there was a chance of hiding these habits my feeder built.

but the best part of it all is the empty pitcher sat against the corner of the couch, because i couldn’t reach to the coffee table to properly set it down with so much fat making every movement difficult.

the remnants a weight gain shake. our usual ingredients of cake mix, melted ice cream, strawberries, chocolate syrup, nutella, crushed oreos. it was hastily made, however, and it’s obvious by the chocolatey powder on the sides of the container that it was about the calories this time, not the taste. he can see where some escaped the pitcher and poured down my overly plump, round face and past the lovingly cultivated double chin. it dripped onto my breasts, lovely puddles of calories he wish made it inside of me even if the sight is wonderful. after that thought, an idea comes up. how deep are the rolls he’s gifted me? a cow this size needs to be used.

[bodybeyondstories]

dicks keep growing around me - 5 (Miguel)

After his date with Myron last night (and this morning) Miguel finds himself unable to focus on anything work related, instead coming to multiple realizations about the complications of their respective weird powers.

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 (Previous) | 6 (Next)

maleTF // butt growth // dick growth // self suck // nsfw

3744 words

A good luck charm, I thought, my mind occupied by this revelation as I rumbled along on my morning commute, the train car packed as usual. I managed to get a seat and use my shoulder bag to cover up the obvious bulge crammed messily into my pants that morning as, upon finally seeing Myron off, well fed and satisfied–in more ways than one–I realized I was significantly more late to work than I thought. 

I had hoped that clearing the pipes multiple times in the past twelve hours would get me some respite, but the carnal need concentrated in my groin was ever present, thunderclouds lingering in the horizon of my mind. It’s strange how quickly you can get used to the incessant pull of horniness, the volcanic eruption waiting just below the surface, threatening to wipe out the surrounding countryside with a pyroclastic flow. I structured my days now around keeping the python in my pants drained and sated, releasing the pressure valve of cum several times a day, from bed to shower to periodic visits to the single stall bathroom in the office. After enough catastrophic wardrobe malfunctions, I had backups and backups for the backups, counting myself lucky if I could make it through the day without soaking another pair of pants with precum.

Not that it was all bad. I’d been having the most incredible orgasms of my life and woke up every morning with the gooey kiss of my morning wood hovering just below my lips, inviting them for a makeout sesh that I was happy to oblige. The awkwardness and extra layers of management and planning were a constant concern, but I was starting to feel a confidence at the sight of myself in the mirror, my root dangling between my knees, refusing to be ignored. How many guys have fantasized about having this exact problem?

At the next stop, one of the regulars on my commute slipped in through the closing doors in the nick of time. I could never tell if he was getting off third shift or starting first, but he always looked good in the pink medical scrubs that tastefully complemented his physique. By the looks of his arms, he probably worked out a few times a week, just enough to stay toned, but as he maneuvered around the rush hour crush and found the pole in front of me, my eyes locked on to the bubble butt overfilling the seat of his pants. 

I had always appreciated the cute butt in those scrubs, but it was looking particularly good lately, perched atop a pair of juicy legs that looked like they saw a squat rack daily. He looked disproportionate below the waist, packed into pants that went beyond form fitting and were arguably a few sizes too small. He kept surreptitiously adjusting his waistband and shifting his stance, as if slowly coming to the same realization.

Hmm, I thought. Another data point. Winston had also been my subway commute crush, I remembered. Could everyone packed into this car with me be getting unintended ass enhancements? I was too unsettled by the thought to do any casual reconnaissance of the assets of the other riders, my crotch already warming with excitement at the idea that that theory might be right. For how long has the general public been growing inexplicably juicy derrieres on their daily commutes? It’d be a great marketing campaign for using public transport, I mused. Why go to the gym when you can just take the train with yours truly? 

So I tried very intentionally to mind my own business, not wanting to ogle this dude in public but especially not wanting to wake the beast. As a space opened next to me, he smoothly slid around the poll, his overdeveloped glutes briefly eclipsing my entire field of vision, and squeezed in. He had a moment of shifting his hips uncomfortably, as if he wasn’t used to the seat or had expected there to be more room, eventually giving up and playing it off as he glanced up at the ads along the ceiling.

I was frozen in terror. That morning, I had had no time for clever maneuvering or tricks of the light and had unceremoniously shoved my penis into some trunks and compression shorts. I had long ago outgrown anything that had a pouch remotely capable of containing this monster, so it indignantly ran along my waist, the very sensitive cock head disguised as a fold along my left hip. A fold that this guy had just been accidentally grinding against with no idea of the repercussions. Shivers shot up and down my spine, my eyes tightening in concentration as my hips twitched and I self-consciously held a tightly controlled posture, afraid of even the slightest motion resulting in a runaway train of arousal in the worst possible location.

I pulled out my phone and began skipping through my email for the most unsexy possible distraction, deleting some typical weekday spam about a presentation coming up, the expense reports, something about the windows and an updated schedule from the office maintenance guy, Wes. I swiped each one into oblivion, intensely not thinking about my dick.

This lasted for an agonizing several stops until with a flurry of pink, the guy got up to leave, the side of his glutes shifting the layers of fabric between us, sending a jolt of pleasure along the length of my dick. I gasped, just loud enough for him to glance back with a look of self-consciousness at his backside then slight confusion in the general direction of my waist before he shook his head briefly and turned to exit. Close call.

I somehow made it to work without further incident. Maybe I should switch back to biking to work, I thought wryly, imagining my junk smashed painfully between my pumping legs and the narrow seat. At least I could blow off some steam. I was barely cognizant of the goings on in the office that morning. I stayed put at my desk, still basking in the ebb and flow of post-coital bodily contentment, pursuing emails through a veil of apathy, my mind still wrapped up in my evening–and morning–with Myron.

I was honestly surprised he had agreed to go on a date, showing up at my go to date night cocktail bar in those tweed slacks that made his ass curve like that. I was so nervous. Was I trying too hard? Was the cologne too much? Was I overdressed? He looked so cute and casual in a way that just worked. But we had a great time, even with the surprise visit of a somehow even more bootylicious Winston terrorizing the gays and girls at the establishment–and my awkward stammering that seemed to delight Myron to no end. We immediately hit it off with a different sort of chemistry, leaning into different sorts of nuances from each others’ lives. The way his eyes widened when he talked about the trip to Cape Town that he’d been saving and planning for for years; the fact that we’re both allergic to mangoes; the little pinch he would give to the bridge of his nose when he was trying to recall something from his past. I was smitten.

I had really sat here in my office and put together an entire playlist for the occasion yesterday and gone so far as to insist on playing it in the car. I looked over at his empty desk and chair across the room, still unoccupied. I squat in your office for six months, and then you buy me dinner, he had said. It’s almost like this is a date or something, I returned. The look on his face was priceless. As was the steadily thickening tension during the ride home. And the chivalrous peck on the cheek at my door. Of course I couldn’t let him leave.

I had long given up on getting any actual work done, instead focusing on taming the beast shoved into my too tight pants, my taint flexing periodically as I rocked on my medicinal ball chair, giving a strained, professional smile to Susan as she popped in to ask about the expense reports, trying to not make it obvious that I was lightly thrusting the air under my desk. All I could think about was the adorable, sweet man who no longer kept me company just a few feet away in my office but had kept me company just a few hours ago in my bed. All I could think about was how egregious a decision it was to continue on with our respective responsibilities and the separate trajectories of our lives, how lovely it would’ve been to call out sick and spend the morning pretzeled together under the covers, his breath tickling the space between my neck and clavicle, my hand periodically tracing figure eights along the warm topography of his back and then settling where it rightfully belonged on the curve of that ethereal bubble butt. 

I mean…I guess I sort of do have a type. When it comes to my love life, I’m open to all kinds, and I’ve dated a number of different people, but as my friends love to point out, there’s one commonality across the board: some serious junk in the trunk. Everyone loves a nice ass, but I do tend to go big or go home. And in retrospect, in past relationships, the big went, well, bigger. The pattern’s been apparent for a while, but I didn’t really think anything of it. Everyone has their preferences, and mine just happens to be a pair of glutes that could stop traffic. If you had suggested that men’s asses were somehow magically inflating to disproportionate sizes due to my generous attention, I would have asked which kink site you’d pulled that from, but as I sat at my desk in a cold war with the python running down my leg that had gone from impressive to comical to ridiculous over the past several months, I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe something mysterious really was afoot.

The evidence for Myron’s theory was mounting, and the implications of him being right were a heady mix of titillating and sobering that felt surreal to think through in the confines of my neat little office. As I reminisced on soaping up his bodacious buns in the shower and the unbridled thrill of watching them blow out the seat of his pants, my posture straightened slightly in excitement at the idea that this was due to some strange ability on my part. How many men had I fantasized about, imagining how much cuter they would be with some posterior augmentation? Just a little more heft here, some more roundness there. Most of the dudes in the office had some pretty nice butts–I guess we know why, I realized–but there was always room for improvement, wasn’t there? 

Myron wasn’t the first romantic partner to have a sudden wardrobe malfunction after a night of fun. Honestly, I kind of get a kick out of the moment of catastrophic failure, seams splitting, cheeks spilling out and taking up space, but when does the fantasy of too muchness really become too much? And if we couldn’t figure out how to control whatever this is, how much longer until we’re both transformed beyond any ability to  live a normal life? Or at least wear normal clothes? There had to be an upper limit, right?

My dick lurched in response, as if dreaming its own future as an impossible to hide third leg. It was already way too massive by any sensible standards, and after seeing Myron’s friend Ty, I wasn’t exactly looking forward to hefting a log around 24/7. The worsening curse in my crotch had complicated my love life, turning intimacy into a dance of negotiations, warnings, starts and stops, attempts and failures. Casual hookups had been out of the question for a while now, since even most size queens were far too concerned–and rightfully so–about their bodily wellbeing to entertain the thought of bottoming. For a while, it had been such a confidence boost seeing the looks of awe and hunger, like my dick was a challenge to be surmounted, but trepidation turned to absurd surprise and acute concern, and eventually visages of terror in the face of whatever radioactive mutation had produced the kaiju between my legs. I even had a few guys get word of what I was packing and get me undressed just to try and take pics of it, even hefting it like I was a sideshow at the circus. I wasn’t looking forward to seeing those circulating online, one or both hands trying–and failing–to cover the length of my member. 

Needless to say, I had been so nervous about the Big Reveal last night, expecting Myron to outright refuse or simply come to his senses and realize I was some sort of anomaly that should not be counted. But he was so tender and took it like a champ. It’s like we just fit together.

I was jolted back to my office by the sharp buzz of my phone against my desk. Speak of the devil.

[Myron: Whatcha up to?]

[Me: Expense reports? Maybe?]

[Myron: Ah, yes, I was probably supposed to do those before I left. Send Susan my regards.]

[Me: She can and will hunt you down!]

[Myron: She can try 🤭. Also what was that you mentioned earlier? Hip thrusts?]

[Me: Lol are you at the gym?]

[Myron: Maybe! Ty just started working here, they’ve been sneaking me in past the counter. I’m building my leg day routine]

[Me: Please don’t make me imagine you with a glute pump, I’ve gotten nothing done here already]

[Myron: You don’t have to!]

An image appeared in the text thread. Myron taking a mirror pic standing in the squat rack, three plates on either side of the bar. I didn’t even know he lifted like that, I thought, my eyes dwelling on the contrast between his soft arms and the slight pudge of his belly with the ass that ballooned from his side profile in a pair of skimpy gym shorts that may as well have been painted on. It looked even more phenomenal than it had this morning, catching the late morning natural light and even a few stares from gym bros in the background.

[Myron: You would be a great trainer. Results guaranteed 🤪]

A moment of terror at the thought of the havoc I would wreak if my day job was moving through a sweaty, intimate gym space and helping people with squat form, but my dick stirred with enthusiasm at the idea, the dribble of precum threatening to become a faucet. 

[Me: …I really liked these pants]

[Myron: RIP! Literally!]

Don’t even joke–I began typing before I heard the telltale sound of seams popping, my dick taking Myrons’ last text as a suggestion. Shit, I should’ve seen this coming. My semi lurched in my pants as it became more and more turgid, forcing me to reposition and hinge my hips back in my seat to ease the pressure against already strained fabric. I had to take care of this.

I could barely walk with the baseball bat running down my leg, let alone make it to the bathroom without risking an HR nightmare–Do they have workplace accommodations for people with inhumanly massive, constantly drooling monster cocks? They should. But I managed to waddle to the door, turn the lock, and firmly close the blinds before urgently whipping off the multiple layers of constrictive clothing that I threw on that morning in a futile attempt to restrain the beast.

My dick flicked precum into the air as it shot up, bobbing in front of me at a 90 degree angle and steadily rising into the air as my body diverted all resources to this erection. From the lightheadedness and the momentum of my cock throwing me off balance, I stumbled back, landing in Myron’s old chair. I took a moment to lean back and be caressed by the ergonomic design, noticing how it still kind of smelled like him, imagining his perspective from our days in the office together. I was interrupted by a sticky reminder of the task at hand, my dick bobbing in front of my face before coming to rest against my bottom lip. It’s all so perfectly arranged, I thought, as I indulged in what had become my favorite hobby, licking up the precum from the top of the head before letting my lips part around it, easing lower and lower as my head bobbed in little circles. The sensation is indescribable, and somehow feels so fresh every time, like I could sit there as a closed circuit of dick for eternity, never tiring of sucking myself off, getting sustenance from load after load of thick, gooey cum. My hands worked the shaft in tandem, though they weren’t enough to cover much surface area. I was mildly frustrated, left wanting for another pair to get me over the edge of orgasmic pleasure. I was growing to become too much for just one person, even if that person is me, but I worked diligently, the rest of the office completely oblivious to the monster dick autofellatio taking place during the late morning lull.

My dick began to buck along the shaft, pulsing with girth as my balls pulled up, churning in anticipation. I picked up the pace and breathed in deep, preparing for the eruption to come. I groaned as I began spurting thick ropes of jizz into my throat, swallowing as much as I could before giving up and letting my dick emerge from my exhausted lips with a wet pop, getting off several shots against the window behind me before slowly collapsing onto my left shoulder, drooling into the crook of my neck. I pulled out my phone, and with some difficulty due to cum soaked fingers, managed to open the text thread with Myron.

Look what you made me do, I typed, opening the camera and switching to front facing to snap a pic of my jizz covered face with my behemoth dick nestled next to it. As it was sending, I noticed a figure in the background hovering just over my shoulder, silhouetted by the morning sun.

I spun around in horror to see Wes. The maintenance guy whose email I definitely should’ve paid attention to that morning. Standing in the window washing scaffold, staring dumbfounded and unthinkingly trying to squeegee the cum oozing down the interior side. A crooked smile and an awkward wave, then splayed thumb and pinky on either side of his ear. Call me? he mouthed, 19 stories off the ground. 

—

“Wes the window washer boyfriend!” sang Ty, nowhere near the right key.

Ty, Myron, and I were at the park, lounging in the afternoon sun, as I explained how my window washing encounter had somehow not resulted in catastrophe.

“We talked it out and reached an agreement of sorts,” I said, eyes rolling to the clouds. “No one needs to hear about my private activity or unique, uh, proportions, and if that private activity coincides with Wes’s window washing schedule, so be it. They can probably see this thing in the next building over anyways,” I groaned.

“So he likes to watch?” asked Ty, leaning back on their elbows with knees bent, their shorts doing nothing to hide the bulge of stretchy fabric emerging out of the bottom, not that they looked like they very much cared. Apparently Myron had gotten some underwear with specially made pouches for his friend, and I made a mental note to get some pairs of my own.

“And you like to be watched,” said Myron, a conspiratorial smile in my direction. His running shorts showed off his juicy thighs with a smattering of stretch marks greeting the Sun as he relaxed in my lap, a convenient arrangement for my own predicament to not be as visible as Ty’s. I hadn’t been brave enough to wear shorts since that fateful hike, but he convinced me they would look cute–and they did–but I was still coming around to the attention they brought.

“Yes and yes,” I sighed, giving a light squeeze to the pudge of Myron’s abdomen then letting my hand drift up to one of his juicy pecs. “You really have been hitting the gym,” I mused, giving him a peck on the cheek.

“An inspiration to us all,” added Ty, lazily waving a half finished joint in one hand as dramatic flourish. “A leader among leg day enthusiasts.”

“Not without some help,” added Myron with a smirk up towards me.

“Allegedly,” I fake scowled. “Anecdotally, even.”

“All I’m saying is Wes might wanna rethink your arrangement after going up a few pant sizes.”

I demurred, having convinced myself that the panes of glass may provide some sort of magical barrier. Still though, I would need to keep an eye on Wes’s assets through those thick work pants…

“Ah!” exclaimed Ty, glancing at Myron’s thick, round bubble, then at me. “So this is your doing.” They were connecting the dots. 

“It’s a great workout routine,” I said. “Just with some added boosts.” I blushed. Myron smiled brightly up at me. I lost myself for a moment in his eyes.

“You two are really meant for each other,” said Ty with a chuckle, getting up to stroll to the bathroom. They kept trying (and failing) to casually tuck their prodigious bulge back above the hem of their shorts as they walked, succeeding only in drawing more attention to the pipe running across their thigh and out the bottom. 

That’ll be me one day, I thought, with more than a little trepidation. Was I ready for that? My dick already looked ridiculous, but not yet as unwieldy as theirs. And that’s without the benefit of Ty’s lanky height. Actually, come to think of it…

“Ty,” I said to Myron.

“Mhmm.”

“They’re…um…”

“Taller,” he admitted, as if he’d been waiting for me to notice.

“Right. Ok.”

My stomach tightened as yet another fold of complexity formed in this already chaotic situation. I leaned in to Myron to wrap my arms around him, breathing him in and nuzzling into his shoulder. My shirt rode up. It felt a little tight.

[dragimalsdaydreams]

Dragon Booster Notes: Misc. Anatomy

more dragon anatomy! this is a mix of "narrator" and regular voice so just bear with me

Respiration:

[image ID: a semi-cartoony drawing of a quadrupedal, Canid-type dragon, lean and somewhat gangly. a simplistic respiratory system has been superimposed on the body. the "entry nostril" located on the dragon's forehead leads down the trachea in the throat, down to the "primary air sacs" located at the bottom of the ribcage. these sacs then empty into the "lungs" located towards the front of the ribcage. the lungs then empty into "secondary air sacs", located to the sides of the ribcage. these sacs connect by tubes to two sets of "exit nostrils" located to the bottom sides of the ribcage. end ID]

comparable to avians of the past, dragons display a complex system of air sacs to regulate air flow. air first enters the entry nostril located on the forehead, flows down through the trachea, and into the primary air sacs towards the bottom of the ribcage. this air then flows into the lungs for gas exchange, then into the secondary air sacs towards the sides of the ribcage. finally, this air exits the secondary air sacs through two sets of exit nostrils on either side of the bottom of the ribcage.

without the need to exhale back through the trachea, as with most other vertebrates, dragons can maintain a constant flow of air through the lungs without any breaks. this results in arguably the most efficient respiratory system in the modern day. most researchers agree that this is one of the only reasons dragons can race at such extreme speeds and compete in such feats of strength.

but gas exchange is not the only function of this system-- the other reason dragons can race so effectively is due to the heat regulation of this system. both sets of air sacs (but particularly the secondary air sacs and exit nostril tubes) are lined with millions of capillaries on their inner walls, allowing blood to flow close to the surface of the thin tissue. air passing through these sacs picks up excess heat from the blood and releases it on the final exhale out of the body. thus, dragons effectively prevent overheating from their extreme racing habits.

I must admit that this entire respiratory system was inspired by a little one-off scene in s1 ep 3 where Beau releases "steam" after overheating on the lava track.

[image ID: a screencap from the show Dragon Booster, showing Artha riding Beau. Beau is a quadrupedal, "Canid-type" dragon with a blue/red color scheme at the moment. he's hunched over in exhaustion, with steam being released from a few implied sets of valves along his spine. end ID]

I just think it’s fun~

Heat Pits:

[image ID: a semi-cartoony dragon head with a dull red color. the dragon has a long, angular head, with flat fins on either side of the skull, and a large chin that points far forward. a few small holes sit to either side of the snout above the mouth, and towards the back of the jaw under the mouth. diagrams of the "heat pit organs" have been superimposed in these areas, looking like two sets of small sacs attaching to their respective holes by thin tubes. end ID]

dragons primarily use their heat pits to sense environmental heat and better thermoregulate using their respiratory system. dragons certainly can use their pits to aid in tracking and hunting prey (in fact, certain colors have emphasized pits for that very reason), but that is not their primary function.

Audial Fins:

[image ID: the same red headshot as before, but with different labeling/diagrams. instead, the flat fins on either side of the skull are labeled "audial fins". these fins have a couple rows of half-circles running down the length like grills, curved inwards towards the face. these lines are labeled "sensory lines". end ID]

audial fins function somewhat like fish lateral lines, sensing air disturbances and translating that to audio cues. they also seem to sense Draconium in some yet-defined way...

Hips:

[image ID: a simple scientific diagram showing two different, bipedal dinosaur skeletals. the top diagram is saurischian, with hips whose long pubis points forwards from the ilium, while the long ischium points back from the ilium. the bottom diagram is ornithischian, with hips whose long ischium and pubis lay flat together, both pointed back from the ilium towards the rear of the animal. end ID]

I've decided to give all dragons ornithischian hips (bottom diagram, with the projection pointing just backwards). no specific reason for it, I just needed to establish that.

Teeth:

[image ID: a side-view of a dragon head with a purple base color. it’s similar in shape to the previous dragon heads, and the mouth is open to show off a set of thick, chunky teeth, looking more like scale-plates than teeth. the top teeth have a sort of wave shape, with a pointed front tip that flows into a short bump towards the back. the bottom teeth have a short front point with a taller back point. a set of longer/pointed teeth at the tip of the top and bottom jaws serve as the canines. end ID]

I like the idea of the teeth looking like big hunks of scale-- I’m picturing Dunkleosteus, here. it’d also be cool if the teeth matched the scale palette in some way, whether the main or accents colors.

Chins and Lips:

[image ID: the same red headshot as before, but with different labeling/diagrams. here, the entire chin/bottom jaw and lips have been colored a dull green. a nearby label reads, "general region of tactile sensitivity". end ID]

dragons are highly social, tactile animals, and will often communicate with one another and their riders through touch. the chin and lips are a primary area of contact, far more sensitive to touch than other parts of the body. dragons will typically rub/knock their chins together, or lip at one another to establish and strengthen emotional bonds. this behavior extends to their riders as well, and lipping is a common form of communication from dragon to rider. humans may reciprocate affection by giving their dragons a good chin rub in return.

[n2oguy]

O2 Mask Clinical Trial

I always discover dreamy clinical studies after they are completed.. I would have gone to extreme lengths to have been part of this study 😍

What would be your oxygen mask/apparatus of choice?? My favorite is (e).. getting horny now just thinking about feeling that green latex breathing bag inflating against my chest 🤤 Second choice is (g), tightly strapped on.. ultimate control 😍

—Study Details —- Study Objective: Application of high concentrations of oxygen to increase oxygen partial pressure (pO2) is the most important treatment for patients with carbon monoxide intoxication or divers with suspected decompression illness. The aim of this study was to evaluate the oxygenation performance of various non-invasive oxygen systems.

The oxygen devices used in this study (A) Standard nasal cannula (B) Standard non-rebreather mask with expiration valves. (C) Air Life Open. An oxygen mask that allows patients to drink, eat and talk without removing the mask (D) Flow-Safe II. A CPAP device that can be used with a standard NPPV face mask and constant flow oxygen. (E) SuperNO 2 VA. A nasal PAP device also used with constant flow oxygen (F) Nasal high-flow with a Fischer&Paykel Airvo2. (G) Non-invasive positive pressure ventilation with a Dräger Carina (H) Standard diving regulator. Oxygen was delivered by a scuba tank.

[starvonnie]

One More?

This fic is for a trade with @xstrawberry-sorbetx !  I hope you like it :D

Megarod

Rating: Explicit Tags:  Overstimulation, Praise Kink, Sticky Sexual Interfacing (Transformers), Multiple Orgasms, Aftercare, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot

Summary: Rodimus often doesn't know his limits, but Megatron always knows just how far he can push his frame. And he never leaves him unsatisfied.

Also on AO3

Rodimus had long since screamed himself hoarse.  His lover's name croaked from his overused voicebox between shaking ventilations and gasps.  Their plating rattled together and created a never ending cacophony of ecstasy.

Megatron was the only thing keeping him in place.  His huge, hulking frame dwarfing his own, his sheer weight making his strength moot when Rodimus had no chance of dislodging him. 

And he tried to no avail.  Not willingly.  No, he wanted absolutely everything Megatron was giving him—more even—but his cursed frame kept trying to squirm away.  Too much, too much, it complained.  His node throbbed to the point of numbness under its constant abuse from the vibrator strapped there.  

He was on his third.  The first two had run out of batteries and had given him brief reprieve.  

But even then, he’d begged for more.

“Megs, please, I can’t—I want—nnh!”  Rodimus' words came fast and disjointed.  Unfinished thoughts from a processor on the fritz from overbearing pleasure.

“Shh…”  Megatron’s voice, in stark contrast, was calm and static-free.  It flowed into Rodimus’ audials and soothed the chaos he’d been enduring.  “Yes, you can.  Because you’re my good boy.  You’re doing so well, Rodimus.”

He thought he might lose consciousness.  Every passing moment felt like too much for his mortal frame, burning ever hotter.  One of his cooling fans had spun itself to oblivion, while the others roared in vain.  His plating, too, puffed out—or attempted to—trying to rid him of this excess heat.  But he’d only find relief once Megatron allowed him relief.

Overload crashed through his systems and forced him into a hard reset.  When he came to, Megatron hadn't stopped the push of his hips, pressing him deeper into the berth.

"How many was that?  Five?  I think that's a new record for you," Megatron purred in his audial.

Rodimus could do nothing but whimper.

"I bet you could do one more."

Rodimus made a choking sound as tears pricked at the corners of his optics.  His calipers rippled from the abuse, lubricant gushing from his valve as Megatron's spike slammed home again and again.  

"Would you like to come again for me, my love?" Megatron asked in a sweet voice to the depraved display beneath him.

Rodimus nodded emphatically.

Despite the many warnings littering his HUD, Rodimus felt safe in the strong arms that wrapped protectively around his frame.  Though he wiggled, his frame trying to escape the too-much feeling, Megatron held him right where he wanted him.  And right where Rodimus wanted to be.

Megatron slipped from his valve as he flipped them.  Rodimus sobbed with relief, but clenched down on air as he mourned the emptiness.  Never one to leave him unfulfilled, Megatron easily sat Rodimus down on his length.

Rodimus stuttered through Megatron's name.  He clawed at whatever he could get his hands on, but he couldn't get any purchase.  Held firm by his thighs, Megatron all but used his frame as a frag toy.

"I've got you," Megatron whispered.

Rodimus shuddered.  He felt wonderfully out of control.

"F-fuck, Megs, mm…"

With all the focus on his array, Rodimus flinched at the kiss Megatron planted on his finial.  He let out a high pitched note of pleasure while his thighs quaked, but Megatron held him steady.   

"Easy…"

He'd lost complete control of his frame.  Completely at Megatron's mercy.  But he knew he'd take care of him.  He knew the mech holding him—the mech ravishing him—would keep him safe.  Even as Rodimus' frame told him that he needed to stop, Megatron knew his true limits.

And he hadn't reached them yet.

"Look at you," Megatron whispered in his audial.  "Dripping for me.  You take me so well, Rodimus.  Such a good boy."

Another overload, this one not as intense, surged through Rodimus’ lines.  Megatron didn’t even notice with all the noise Rodimus was making and how his calipers twitched and clenched even between climaxes.  But it left Rodimus strutless, his limbs becoming dead weight.

Megatron’s spike met no resistance as he thrust up into the sopping metalmesh, splattering lubricant across their thighs and adding to the debauched mess that was their berth.

With every hit of his ceiling nodes, Rodimus lost more of what little sanity remained.  The world around him turned to static.  His existence began and ended with scarred gray plating and hands that nearly wrapped around the entirety of his slippery thighs. 

“I want to see your face,” Megatron decided aloud.  

Rodimus could do nothing but groan as he was left mercifully and horribly empty.  Megatron didn’t leave him wanting, though.  He carefully laid him down, even avoiding whatever mess he could, and sheathing himself inside his rippling channel.  He fucked him hard, but not carelessly so.  Each slam of Megatron’s hips sparked his ceiling nodes and dragged more desperate moans from Rodimus’ voicebox.  

Megatron grabbed Rodimus’ legs under his knees, folding him and getting just that much deeper.  It was impressive that he kept his grip, given how they were shaking and slick.  Rodimus’ plating rattled wherever they touched.

“Megs, p-please,” Rodimus said desperately, not even knowing what he was begging for.  “I need—need!”  The static in his voice made his words nearly indecipherable.

“Hush, my love,” Megatron whispered to his mewling little Prime.  “I know exactly what you need.”

Coolant streaked his cheeks and dripped into the mess of oral solvent.  Rodimus’ HUD tinted the world red with warnings, but he knew he didn’t have to worry about any of them.  Megatron had him.

Rodimus was given little warning before he was shrieking in overload, his aching calipers clamping down on the relentless spike spreading him open.  He writhed in the condensation-soaked sheets, babbling incoherently.  But no matter how he moved, Megatron held him, never stopping.

When he got the slightest control of his frame, all Rodimus could do was cry out his lover’s name in quick succession while the aftershocks rippled along his array.  At some point his spike had sprung free, dribbling prefluid.

Megatron wasted no time in wrapping his hand around it and bringing Rodimus to another climax, coating him in his own transfluid.  It stayed erect, still twitching and spurting out whatever remained in his tanks.

“Beautiful,” Megatron whispered.  “I love seeing you like this.”

Rodimus tried to meet Megatron’s gaze, but he couldn’t hold it.  His vision blurred as the ecstasy forced them to roll back into his helm, panting.

“Not done yet, are you?” Megatron purred to his shivering, fluid-drenched mess of a conjunx.  “What do you think, hm?  One more?”

Rodimus’ processor and array ached at the prospect.  But no matter how tired, how sore, how delirious, when Megatron asked for one more, he’d give him one more.  

Even if it was the third “one more.”

“Keep fucking me,” Rodimus managed to string together.  

With a pleased hum, Megatron lowered himself, hips still pistoning, to give Rodimus an incredibly chaste kiss, given the situation.  “Good boy,” he whispered against quivering lips.

Rodimus wasn’t even aware he was moving until he was once again sat in Megatron’s lap, this time facing him.  He only noticed how his valve ached from emptiness, and then ached from Megatron’s girth filling him up.

“Hold on,” Megatron gently instructed.

Little strength found his limbs, but Rodimus readily obeyed, wrapping his arms around his neck.  He clung on like his life depended on it.

“So good for me,” Megatron praised.  He tenderly stroked Rodimus’ spinal strut and sent a shiver running down his back.  “Don’t let go or hold back.  I’m going to fuck your pretty little valve until you overload for me one more time, and then I won’t stop until I come inside of you.”

In spite of his overwhelming exhaustion and numbing nodes, Rodimus rocked his hips.

“Don’t move.  Just hold on.”

Rodimus did as he was told, choking out a sob when Megatron started with slow, methodical thrusts.  Each and every aching node protested.  He had half a processor to beg Megatron to pull out, but he would never voice such thoughts.

“I’ll be so good for you,” Rodimus whispered.

Megatron gripped his aft with need as he moved a little faster, but not fast enough.  Never enough.

“Please, please, I’ll be so good,” Rodimus begged.  “Please, please, please.”

Rodimus choked on Megatron’s name as he gave him what he wanted—what he needed.  His valve felt molded to the shape of Megatron’s spike.  Like he would never be complete without it.

He shook violently.  His strength ebbed, but he held on.

Megatron’s arms constricted around him, holding him flush.  He pounded into his abused valve, mouthing at his finials.  Between kisses and licks, he whispered Rodimus’ name over and over.

“Come for me, love,” Megatron said, his voice finally showing some strain.

Rodimus’ frame betrayed him and did its level best to squirm away from the too-good feeling.  But he didn’t let go.  He relished in how full he felt.  In how Megatron’s ventilations grew ragged and his movements less careful.  He slammed into his valve with reckless abandon and Rodimus could do nothing but shake and moan.

The wave of his overload crashed into his systems, and whatever words Rodimus intended to say were lost as his voicebox finally gave out.  Not even static escaped his mouth, open wide in a silent cry.  He felt his consciousness slipping, but before he shut down, he felt hot, thick spurts of transfluid stuffing his valve.  

Rodimus came online slowly.  He became aware of Megatron’s hands on him before he could see him.  He blinked sluggishly, lifting his helm.  It took nearly all of his strength to do just that.

Megatron’s hand moved from his waist to his cheek, which made it much easier to look into crimson optics glowing with love.

“How are you feeling?”

Blinking a bit more, Rodimus shifted slightly, feeling the blanket wrapped around his frame shift along his plating.  His clean plating.  But he also felt just how much he ached.

“Sore,” he said.

“Bad sore or good sore?”

Rodimus smiled.  “Fucking amazing sore.”

Megatron chuckled.  “You were so good for me.”  He pressed a kiss just next to his audial, then whispered, “And incredibly sexy.  I love watching you come undone.”

A fresh burst of arousal made Rodimus groan.

“And I love you,” Megatron said.

“I love you, too.”

“What would you like to do?  Watch a movie?  Take a bath?  Go right to sleep?”

“Movie and cuddles,” Rodimus said.

“Done and done.  I already have Die Hard ready, if you wish to subject me to that again.”

“You know I’m always down for Die Hard.”  Rodimus snuggled closer, shutting his optics.  

It truly didn't matter what the movie was, though, because he always fell asleep before the end of the first scene.  Then Megatron would carry him to berth, pull him close, and they'd drift off together.  And Rodimus would wake the next morning, wrapped up with his conjunx, with pure bliss coursing through his lines.

These sessions were one of the few times that Rodimus would wake up first, but he'd always pretend to be asleep until Megatron stirred.  Because then Megatron would pepper his face with kisses, gently rousing him.  He'd also bring him his morning ration in berth and they'd slowly wake up together, knowing that they had nowhere to be for the rest of the day.

It was these mornings—these moments—that Rodimus was eternally grateful to be in a universe that didn't know their names.

[engineer-gunzelpunk]

Traintober 2023: Out Of Service

Heavy Harry’s Last Train

1956

A sad day for Harry, for he was to pull his final revenue raising train to Melbourne before his overhaul. But the way things were going, everyone doubted if he would actually get it.

He had slept overnight at Seymour before the trip, which was OK because Newport had taken on a charnel house-like atmosphere. The scrap roads filled with exhausted, sad locos ready to be taken apart. It was basically his second home anyway.

Is this the day I finally get to cry? It would be an acceptable excuse to do it.

The tears would not come. He felt drier than the Simpson Desert. Numb.

His cylinders on the other hand, always felt slightly ticklish. And not from those weird happy butterflies he got in them when he saw VR Hudson R700 Nucklevee again, but bad sort of ticklish.

Steam was leaking into them, his regulator was probably broken in addition to his sore, in-need-of-replacement boiler and if it wasn’t for the Westinghouse brake, venting as much steam as he possibly could through his cylinder cocks, safety valve and his sheer willpower in locking them, he would careen off by himself with an 800 tonne load.

He did not want this to happen.

Please, please, please I need my overhaul so bad! Even if you put me in mothballs, at least make me safe!

That’s not going to happen isn’t it?

I’m now an actual danger to myself and people. You can’t really be this negligent, VR? Say it ain’t so? Its one thing to let us get caked in filth, its another thing to lag behind on overhauls just because you want to be rid of us.

You don't care, do you?

I’m about to have my last ride and I’m actively a danger to everyone. I’m trying so very hard…

He was washed and cleaned for his final ride, which didn’t improve his mood a jot but at least he didn’t look as shabby as he did. His paint did shine a little duller though, whether from sadness or from neglect was difficult to tell.

“How are you, Harry…”, asked Driver

“Not great…” he said as if under water.

“I can understand… its a sad day for everyone…”

“I’m shit scared… my regulator is leaking…I can feel the steam in my cylinders even with the regulator shut… I don’t want to do this…”

“Lets try get through today, Har’, we’ll work our darndest to make it safe and get you home...”

“I’m not going to get that overhaul, won’t I…”

“I don’t think so, boy...”

30th of April, 1958

“What are they going to do with me? I’ve been sitting here for two years...I’m bored and antsy… and I haven’t heard from the Historical Society in weeks… Do you have any news, Driver?”

“I’m so sorry, Harry...there’s no nice way of saying this… you are being withdrawn…”

Harry didn’t quite hear Driver say these words, terrible overwhelming fear and confusion flooded his smokebox.

The physical pain that was in his boiler that was now constant but low, suddenly stabbed him and he exhaled sharply.

“No reprieve?”

“No, big fella”

Driver squeezed his knuckle coupling sadly, in an attempt to give him comfort.

“What is to happen to me, Driver…”, he said in a voice that was barely above a murmur.

“We don’t know…the preservationists are working on something… but it will take time…”

That emotional pain that was already there, more of it was being added. But he had to push that aside and think.

“What will you do, Driver…”

“I’m a railwayman, and always have been…

“There’s no place for us in the brave new world of swappable roles they are going to create… easy to drive, easy to train, which was what I suspect was going on the entire time they were doing this diesel introductory thing anyway...

Not a word of thanks for the work and love we put into you and yours, Harry…

I’ll never forget you, big fella…”

Harry wanted so very badly to cry, but the pain could not flow outwards. Instead, it settled back into his cold firebox and burned as bitterness.

The pain in his side flared, as if expressing what he could not.

He just cast his eyes downward and sighed.

There is no light at the end of this tunnel, just another, even bigger fuck-off train ready to barrel through you and out the other side, leaving you in pieces all over the track.

[itinerariumgalacticadevblog]

Aerolotl (Part 1)

General Description: semi-terrestrial, arcanicly active pack hunting river amphibians 

Biology: 

General Description: Tiny sized sphynxoid quadruped with a wide spade face framed by actively allocative gills. Most major features are malleable with their capacity for rapid adaptation. They have a minor local hive mind capacity via inherent arcane spellcasting used to facilitate hunting, which also generates their basic ectoplasmic manifestations.

Length(nose - tail, juv - adult): 20 cm - 1 meter

Arm Span: 5 cm - 12 cm

Mass: 18kg

Bodyplan

Limbs

Arms: 4, stubby and thick, built for gripping and locking onto prey. These are rarely used for locomotion.

Fins: 

Dorsal ridge, boney spinal plate

Caudal (Tail) Fin: large, sheer, used for directionality and reproductive ritual

Pelvic: short and stiff, defensive for core bits and nesting schooling young

Scapular: long, wing like, fluttering in an arcane wind generated in the front most bone of the fin crest

Crest: widely varying by family line; can manifest anywhere around the crested edge of the head as a tall monofin, feathering around the crest, and more.

Tails: vertical leaf shaped tail with a small split at the end, not reflected in the fin structure

Heads: single broad shield or shovel shaped head, framed by six gill stalks. Their head is structured so that it may float or lay flat and still have strong sight lines of the horizon via large eyes with rotating sockets

Internal Composition

Skeletal: thick and hollow, with porous cells that may be pumped empty or flooded to maintain buoyancy 

Nervous: Significantly dulled via diverting specifically pain signals to a secondary cluster of nerves in the base of their neck. It is hypothesized that it helps keep focus when hunting for a higher average success as a pack and thus species.

Muscular: emphasized groupings on gripping and locking muscle groups.

Integumentary (Skin)

Composition: highly permeable semi-osmotic skin with a condensed mucous layer for retaining moisture and guarding against pathogens.

Colouration: highly adaptable based on environmental factors. Black is default, but pink, white, and mint are common

Digestive: Aerolotls have a sensitive gut culture that makes eating most food difficult, if not impossible without undergoing very specific changes. Instead, they process slurry made from manifested chemically-basic ooze which is able to break down mostly acidic beings into a usable food source and any stored alchemical Influences. Notably, very little body mass is actually devoted to the digestive tract as compared to most species due to most digestion occurring before ingestion.

Respiratory: gill stalks take in air and ambient moisture so that the mouth may be covered entirely either by combat or consumption and still breathe. They also continue to function aquatically as typical gills for up to 80 hours at a time. While respirating, Aerolotls are also able to absorb arcane Influences suspended in the air or water, slowly recharging their storage glands.

Reproductive: males possess testes by the base of their tail, noted by raised bumps on either side, with a small slit for the cloaca to protrude and deposit sperm, where females have a wide, flat pelvic plate covering their cloaca, leading to two different uteruses with a single ovary each, located high in the thorax, near the heart (theorized to keep a constant blood flow over the eggs in early development). Eggs are created and shed each breeding season (when the planetary spring season begins).

Arcane: subdermal allocative glands at each cartilaginous fin joint.

Sensory Array

Sight: stronger than typical land predators due to their semi-flying locomotion and their movement-based hunting vision. Large eyes take up most of the head, making them emotionally expressive. This was developed as a social and courting development, before arcane skills developed.

Hearing: rudimentary with valved ear canals behind the jaw and cranial ridge. It is accute and great at locating the origin of sound in relation to near-sources, as the accuracy drops significantly at small to medium ranges  

Touch: dulled, with intentional delays in pain registration.

Taste: chemically complex, as they are able to summon many subtle chemical differences in their basic manifestations, resulting in a broad flavor pallet when allowing for the 

Magic: through allocative stockpiles, aerolotls maintain a constant arcane search through their environment to find and track other aerolotls in the vicinity. The dedicated organ that maintains this spellwork rings their cranial ridge, in a nestled channel in   the bone.

Lifespan: 17 - 30 (wild), 30 - 60 (captive)

Lifecycle

Breeding: Males approach females with bright and flashy expenditures of allocated arcana. If the approach is accepted, the female reciprocates. Others will circle (always anti-clockwise) the vicinity as a defensive ring, as the couple are arcanically spent with courtship. Following, the male grips the female from behind in amplexus for up to thirty hours. Aerolotls typically only mate with those within their herd, though herd interchanges happen often by intention and accident.

Birth: aerolotls start as eggs and develop a soft shell of strong tensile, semi-permeable aquaphobic mucus. These are laid in fast-moving cold fresh water streams in groups of 10 to 12 and gestate for three to five months.

Maturation: 

Stage 1: “Tadpoles” purely aquatic, they hunt by catching small fish and weaker aerolotls in the stream. Tadpoles are often swept away from family units, which usually leads to predation.

Stage 2: “Floaties”: also called “skimmers”, have collected enough allocated elements to hover just over the water. Due to their gills being underdeveloped, they cannot get far without suffocating, using the high humidity above the water to breathe.

Stage 3: “Totsies” are at an age to begin weening and playing, as well as early hivemind hunting behaviors. They lack many fine motor skills and control with their flight, requiring the most parental attention at this stage.

Stage 4: “Play Babies” have reached maximum size and are active and energetic hunters. This is the most sought after stage for owners, as well as where they are most susceptible to rapid adaptations.

Stage 5: “Show Beasts” the last stage at which new herd members can be safely introduced into their daily lifestyles (sans offspring). These are known for their patient maturity combined with their full adult appearance but before the effects of aging are noticeable. This makes them the most amenable to performance. This is not a biological stage, but is observed by enthusiasts.

Stage 6: “Adults” relatively late in their lifecycle compared to most fauna. This is the final form, which have difficulty adapting or changing their habitats. A well cared for adult is capable of surviving for twice as long as their juvenile stages, with later clutches of breeding pairs exhibiting strong survival skills and magic resonance.

Aging: few Aerolotls reach old age as most experience health complications that lead to death. This is thanks to a strong cellular regenerative capacity that would hypothetically allow them to live indefinitely that is entirely biological, as well as recovering lost limbs and organs.

Death: Deceased Aerolotls get dragged into moving bodies of water and guarded for up to ten hours post mortem. It’s unclear if this is ritual or survival.

[spacetimewithstuartgary]

Promising early tests for variable-thrust landing engine

As part of ESA's Future Launchers Preparatory Program (FLPP), the first phase of hot-fire tests has been completed on a new, variable-thrust rocket engine in Warsaw, Poland. The engine is being developed by a Polish consortium investigating new designs for propellant valves and injectors that can vary the thrust of rocket engines powered by more sustainable and storable propellants. Such engines have great potential for use in future space missions and reusable rockets.

The new engine is called the Throttleable Liquid Propulsion Demonstrator (TLPD), it is now being dismounted and inspected, with the results being analyzed at the site of prime contractor Łukasiewicz Research Network—Institute of Aviation (Lukasiewicz-ILOT) in Poland, with partners Astronika and Jakusz SpaceTech, before the next phase of testing begins.

Liquid propellants that last

The throttleable engine includes a newly designed fuel injector and control valves. With a thrust of 5kN (compared to the Ariane 6 upper stage engine's thrust of 180 kN), the TLPD engine is perfect for the upper stage of smaller rockets, for in-space vehicles, for launcher kick-stages and exploration missions. The ability to modify its thrust makes it also very interesting for landing spacecraft on Earth, the moon and beyond.

The new rocket engine is powered by storable propellants hydrogen peroxide and ethanol, which are safer and less toxic than others currently in use (such as hydrazine and nitrogen tetroxide). Compared to cryogenic propellants, like liquid oxygen and hydrogen, storable propellants require no active cooling measures and will not diminish between subsequent engine firings.

Rocket engines powered by storable propellants can have long lifetimes in space and are easy to reliably and repeatedly ignite during missions that last many months. Cryogenic propellants also require energy to begin combustion, provided by an "igniter," whereas the TLPD propellants ignite upon contact with each other, making the engine simpler and more reliable. % buffered

At heart: New electronically controlled valves and fuel injector

The main goal of the current throttleable engine project is to test a newly developed system of valves and a movable "pintle" injector—a type of propellant injector used in "bipropellant" rocket engines—all commanded by an electronic control system.

The valves ensure the appropriate rate of propellant flows into the combustion chamber—the higher the rate, the greater the thrust. The fuel injector mixes the two propellants (the ethanol fuel and hydrogen peroxide oxidizer) while they are injected at high pressure into the chamber, maintaining stable combustion as their rate varies coming through the valves. All of this ensures an efficient and controlled combustion process can take place.

New variable engine undergoes dynamic testing. Credit: Łukasiewicz Research Network—Institute of Aviation (Lukasiewicz-ILOT)

Next: Going full throttle

The TLPD engine has been designed to be throttled down to 20% and up to 110% of its optimal level of thrust. Such "deep" throttling, i.e., the ability to really vary the engine's power, is necessary for landing rocket stages on Earth, or spacecraft on the moon or other planetary bodies.

The hot fire tests just completed in Phase A were originally planned to be purely static, testing the engine's ability to fire at a constant rate. The engine was fired 17 times for up to 10 seconds, while the amount of fuel and oxidizer flowing in was kept constant.

The initial results were so promising that teams decided to move onto the next phase earlier than planned—dynamic throttling. The engine was fired up twice again, each time for 15 seconds, during which the thrust was varied down to 20% and up to 80% of its optimal level.

Once the results have been analyzed, the TLPD engine will be remounted and the full scope of planned dynamic tests will begin, with even longer firing durations. This set of tests is expected to start in October and will really put the "throttleability" of the engine to the test.

ESA's Future Launchers Preparatory Program and Lukasiewicz-ILOT are now in discussions about continuing the project, building on these test results and working towards the design of an overall throttleable flight engine.

TOP IMAGE: Throttleable Liquid Propulsion Demonstrator. Credit: Łukasiewicz Research Network—Institute of Aviation (Lukasiewicz-ILOT)

[multiversetravelingjournalist]

Project Lock and Magi

This entire premise comes from the depressing genre of mature magical girl animes and Path to Nowhere.

Basically, magical girls -- or boys* -- (known as Magi or Magus in the singular) come about from certain circumstances. Their powers are awakened by exposure to magical energy, extreme emotional turmoil, being in the Prescence of a dying magi, or all three which will definitely awaken one's powers. The type of powers a Magus has varies from individual to individual but can be overall classified as:

Conjuring. The ability to summon items of a specific type (see Sayaka Miki and Mami Tomoe from Puella Magi Madoka Magika).

Manipulation. The ability to affect certain elements, materials, and in rare cases energy. These are your telekinetic individuals or “Benders” for an idea.

Amplification. The ability to enhance an aspect of his-*/herself. Whether it be muscle strength, intelligence, or endurance. (See Rinne Berlinetta from Vivid Strike**).

Summoning. Similar to conjuring except its living creatures instead of inanimate objects. If it moves on its own, it is summonable.

Control. Like Conjuring but instead affects more complex systems. these include living organisms, toys with moving parts, computers, etc.*

There might be more, but this is what I came up with so far. And while there are categories, each one is further subdivided by a specific type or how the magus in question uses said powers.

Now if you are wondering how that sounds a little overpowered. That’s because it is. Which is where Locks come in. Locks are the older male/female* counterpart of Magi with only one ability. What is that ability? To bond with a magus and control the intensity of her/his* powers. Locks are pretty rare, less in number than Magi, their powers manifest from emotional overload and/or discipline and even that happens after they passed twenty years of age, meanwhile a Magus will manifest at younger ages. Locks can control the intensity of said magus' powers through will and certain hand gestures (“Turning the valve”). When doing this gesture, a sigil will manifest in front of the Lock’s hand to indicate the power level he/she* is allowing. Said sigil is personalized by the Lock in question but is always easy to read and has scalable signs. Such signs include a circle of eyes with the ratio of opened to closed eyes indicating power level, a ring of padlocks doing similar, a rose bud in stages of bloom, etc. a “Chain” of similar aesthetic will manifest winding around the Lock’s arm when using his/her* powers.

Now a thing about magi. Their powers without a lock become uncontrollable and will continue to grow, think of a magus as a faucet, the water flowing through them is in constant flow and overtime the faucet will degrade until it breaks entirely. When that happens, the Magus will, in order:

Go crazy.

Lose control of his/her* abilities

Physically mutate.

At stage three they cease to be human and become a ravenous beast. Their mutations reminiscent of their former selves (e.g. a Magus with a Steampunk Aesthetic becoming a skeletal brass beast of gears and pipes with a Boiler in place of a heart). Untamable and destructive they are considered highly dangerous in the world. This led to the creation of organizations to stem the tide of such monsters. How they do this is by enforcing any recently awakened magi to be paired with a Lock, suppling the locks with weapons and armor to help accompany his/her* magi on the field, and provide tutoring and training for the nascent Magi.

The policies and sponsorship of these organizations vary. They could try to provide an emotionally supportive environment for both magical members, or they see them all as nothing more than tools/weapons that must be kept. they could be privately owned, or state funded. The less said about their reputations and the scandals, the better. *

Not to mention that most of these agencies also have a policy of making sure that the Lock and only the Lock survives no matter what. If the Magus the Lock is paired with dies, then it’s the equivalent of smashing a nozzle, messy but manageable. When the lock dies, then instead of experiencing the gradual increase of arcane energy, that unfortunate Magus will experience the pent-up force all at once, a dam being broken. Five out of five times this surge results in the Magus breaking. It is of these organizations' top priority that either the Lock survives, or that both die.

Such policies could also explain the existence of rogues. groups of Magi and/or Locks not aligned with any organization. At their worst, they are considered a bigger threat than the monsters.

All that said, there is a tendency for Magi to be females, while Locks are most likely to be males. but biologically male Magi and female Locks are not unheard of. though their appearances never fail to shock the rest*.

*Editions made thanks to NoMoreFsToGive.

** Its been a while since I first wrote this. I am no longer sure it is the case for her.

[flocontrolltduk]

FLOWCON AB TYPE ADJUSTABLE FLOW AUTOMATIC BALANCING VALVE

We offer a range of Flow Con Automatic Balancing Valves, specifically designed for automatic balancing and constant flow control of heating & cooling systems. The Dynamic Balancing Valve range covers valves from ½” threaded and up to 1000mm flanged, adjustable or pre-set, for flow rates up to 2287 l/s.

Automatic Balancing Valves are available stand alone or as component part of a valve set, typically a ½" or ¾" ABV 4-Port valve set, that fits directly on a fan coil or other terminal unit.

Product Information:-

Pressure rating: 25 Bar Temperature rating: -20°C/120°C Sizes: ½” – 2″ Female Threaded

Body Material options:

Forged Brass ASTM CuZn40Pb2

DZR brass CW602N CUZn36Pb2AS [Enkotal®]

Elastomers: EPDM

Easy removable Insert for flushing and easy exchange flow rate range:

Internally adjustable Composite Insert: 0.0081 – 1.43 l/s

Externally adjustable E-Just Insert: 0.0278 – 4.48 l/s

[demonslayedher]

Things that went through my mind while watching this episode:

--Sawashiro Miyuki, my gosh, one of my favorite vocal performances in this whole series. That sinister way she taunts Tanjiro, and how well it fits that haughty pose when she's perching in the window (erm, new window). It's one of those moments that makes me lose my mind. I'm going to be in so much pain when I hear her final crying scene in the surround sound of a movie theater.

--Speaking of favorites, this encounter she and Tanjiro have in the air is one of my favorite Water Breath sequences, because animation-wise, it's masterful. Every action has sense and flow, for being airborne the gravity has fantasy realism, the shifting of angles is impressive but fluid enough not to be distracting, you can see Daki & Tanjiro both adjusting to each other's actions, and there's a serenity to both of them. Daki is toying with a mouse, but Tanjiro has come so far in his battle experience since, say, his airborne fight with Yahaba, and it shows. He doesn't display confidence, per-say, but realistic understanding and use of his abilities. It's just such a beautiful sequence.

--Timing and delivery-wise, that moment when Koinatsu's like, "oh, yeah, I mean, I knew you were a boy. …duh" and Tanjiro is more surprised by this than anything else in this whole episode. He and Koinatsu really did have a sweet relationship very unlike anything else in the series, it's like if Tanjiro had grown up having a young aunt he was close to. It's mutually tender in spite of an understanding of an enormous gulf between them in the different worlds they're part of. And that smile when she tells him she doesn't want anything to happen to him, it's so nice when Tanjiro gets to enjoy that simple concern others have for him, absent of any expectations of his swordsmanship.

--Speaking of relations, OHHHH, THIS EPISODE GETS ME IN THE KAMABOKO FEELS. Like, it is legit hilarious that Tanjiro & Inosuke are told by a Pillar than he has assumed Zenitsu dead, and they're like, "…so anyway, look what our hands do" and then after I was thinking about that the other day I saw this fanart from @solqau which captures the humor of the situation perfectly. But like, it's striking how they both have THAT MUCH faith in Zenitsu to not be dead. At least in Tanjiro's case, he has known since the very first instant he smelled Zenitsu just how powerful he is, and in Inosuke's case, it may be that he assumes Zenitsu has found a way to run away, or he just doesn't even mentally engage with the idea of Zenitsu having been harmed. And then, constanting with Tanjiro absolute faith in Zenitsu being fine, this is the second time in the series when Tanjiro specifically tells Inosuke, "don't die." Inosuke, for being so brash and not always having an accurate assessment of his own abilities and the danger he's in, causes Tanjiro so much more worry. And Inosuke said he was going to say the same thing to Tanjiro--Inosuke has seen Tanjiro in peril, they went through the loss of Rengoku together, it just simply bothers Inosuke more than Tanjiro is mortal too.

--Setting those layers aside entirely, this scene of them just sitting around in kimono and makeup and chatting on the roof in the sunshine is so cute. Inosuke using body language to try to get Kentaro to understand the demon he's already found and Tantaro just not getting it! That animation of Inoko thwacking Sumiko belongs in the background of a Taiko drum arcade game, and another wallpaper I want for my computer is their chibis way at the bottom of the screen with a vast blue sky behind them. GENKI DASE!! thwack

--And then Uzui… the way he just shuts off the flamboyance valve when the sense of responsibility and recognition of a poor decision floods in. He really feels that much regret for Zenitsu's presumed death, and this is also the moment when he is accepting that, as Inosuke so plainly pointed out a couple days before, his wives are all probably dead. And, in true hardened ninja and Pillar style, he is grappling with that precisely as he is taking solo actions to put an end to the demon responsible.

--The muki-muki nezumiiiiiiiii!!!!! YAAASSSSS, I LOVE THEM!!!!!!! I got a plush I was very happy with at the Ufotable gallery, but I kind of wish I had gotten the t-shirt with the simple design of them, and Inosuke (with his head through the ceiling) on the back being impressed with them. I love that we got to see him and Uzui connecting over this excitement throughout the Taisho Secret, and that image of the muki muki mice standing against the moonlight like the Pillars are in the first opening is hilarious. MUKI!! MUKI, MUKI!!!

--Oh, this is so Inosuke to jump up and bash his head through the ceiling. His training is paying off!! Someday he truly may have a head as hard as Gonpachiro's!

[biitchcakes]

@danversiism sent: ❛   you've been neglecting our friendship, jess. you spending too much time with your boyfriend isn't good for my health.   ❜ // @neonwebs

Brows briefly pinch before flickering upwards in her surprise. ❝ ❛ Neglecting our friendship — ❜ you serious, Carol ? ❞ Collapsing into her friend's sofa, Jessica runs a hand through her hair. Thick waves turn to knots around her fingers, taking her time to untangle herself as she avoids the topic at hand ⸺ hoping her friend will say she's just kidding.

But, admittedly. . . Jess has been spending a lot of time with Miguel, sucked back into a multiverse she spent years bemoaning, whether that had been in confidence or through private thoughts. Complaints and fears hurdled Carol's way whenever the traumatised Spider actually felt like opening up. Some days she couldn't stop talking, endless words would flow from her without any valve to cease them. Others, the memories of any of it alone completely shut her down.

Most days, Jessica just didn't want to talk about it.

But it's not been like that this time. She'd met Miguel during the first apocalyptic clusterfuck. Having shared only brief moments together, considering it's rather hard to get to know someone when multiple worlds are ending. However, she knows him now, as well as she knows herself. Better even at times, she feels. She loves him now, can't have enough of him. Can't stop talking about her dimensional adventures with her boyfriend ⸺ in the rare moments she actually rips herself from him.

❝ I have not been spending too much time with him. Pfft ❛ bad for your health, ❜ don't be so dramatic. ❞

Worrying her bottom lip, she pulls it through her teeth. Carol, her rock, her constant, her greatest defender who had been by her side through thick and thin. Who looked out for her, always taking care of her whenever Jess can't manage it herself. She could come to her with anything, knowing her bestie will help solve whatever the problem may be ⸺ no matter what it takes.

So, on the off chance the blonde is serious. . .

❝ But, uh ⸺ if it is sooo hazardous for you. . . Whaddya say we do something ? Just me and you. And I don't mean like, Spider-Woman Captain Marvel something, I mean a normal something. We've never just gone on a girls' trip, me and you. I know it's not exactly easy, you've got, hm ⸺ needier obligations than I do with Avengers stuff. There's. . . just so many spiders to handle whatever could happen on my end. And Miguel would understand me getting away with you for a couple of days. ❞

Hopeful eyes turn to look at her friend. ❝ Know if you don't say yes, I'll be crushed. ❞

[sophiyablogs]

Navigating the Complexities of Mechanical Engineering:

In the fast-paced world of academia, the pressure of a mechanical engineering class can sometimes lead students to consider unconventional solutions, like the temptation to pay someone to take my mechanical engineering class. However, before delving into such options, let's explore a captivating intersection of mechanical engineering and biology—the intricate workings of the human heart.

Fluid Dynamics of Blood Flow: Ever wondered how mechanical engineering principles apply to the circulatory system? Imagine modeling the circulatory network as a series of pipes, each contributing to the dynamic flow of blood. Calculating flow rates, pressure drops, and shear stresses becomes a captivating exercise when employing fluid dynamics principles. Consider the effects of vessel diameter, blood viscosity, and vessel length in maintaining laminar flow, and ponder the significance of streamlined blood flow in minimizing energy losses and stress on vessel walls.

Valve Mechanics: Now, let's shift our focus to the heart's valves—a marvel of mechanical precision. Applying your mechanical engineering know-how, delve into the material properties, stress distribution, and fatigue life of heart valves. How do these valves endure millions of cycles throughout a person's lifetime? Explore the intricacies of leaflet flexibility, collagen fibers, and valve design. And, can we propose enhancements? Consider advancements in biomaterials and manufacturing techniques to improve durability, reduce wear and tear, and enhance overall valve performance.

Structural Integrity of the Heart: Lastly, treat the heart as a mechanical structure subjected to cyclic loading during the cardiac cycle. Delve into the stresses and strains experienced by the heart muscle during systole and diastole. Reflect on the significance of the heart's muscular architecture and its ability to withstand the repetitive loading inherent in its constant rhythmic beating. Could there be parallels between maintaining the structural integrity of a mechanical system and that of the human heart?

In the pursuit of knowledge, we discover that the intricacies of the heart's mechanical marvels are not only awe-inspiring but also deeply interconnected with the principles we study in the field of mechanical engineering. So, before succumbing to the temptation to pay someone to take your mechanical engineering class, consider the wealth of knowledge that lies at the crossroads of biology and engineering. Understanding the mechanics of the heart might just make your academic challenges seem a little less daunting.

[post-leffert]

A Communique on Sabotaging Zionist Infrastructure: Shutting Down Friends of the IDF

For Palestine. To rebels everywhere. With deepest love and ancestral rage,

We gathered with heavy hearts and humble hands holding a promise for a world safer from white supremacist, settler-colonial violence. Those who declare war on original peoples and pillage sacred life and land will face retribution. There has been a great fire building, may it overflow and take all enemies of life with it. May it create fertile grounds for victory against violent occupiers.

We took it upon ourselves to make sure these fascists could not gather. Rather than the constant reactivity and rigidness of mass protest spectacles, we wanted to hit them where it fucking hurts.

On November 5th, the Zionist fascist scum, “Friends of the IDF,” who represent the interests of wealthy American capitalists in their direct support of the settler colonial state of Israel and its continued campaign of genocide and apartheid against the Palestinian people, attempted to hold a fundraiser gala at Hiller Aviation Museum in San Carlos, California.

The IDF are known to kidnap, torture, kill, and rape Palestinians, as well as disrespect the bodies of martyrs. They are among the most deplorable people to ever walk the earth.

Despite reports and appearances otherwise, this fundraiser was effectively shut down within the first hour. Donor attendees began hurriedly leaving in a steady stream at the start of what was planned to be a full evening of blood money raising. This disruption, however, was not achieved by the tame, above-ground rally being safely contained by both the police and the rally organizers themselves, at a far distance from the unbothered attendees. These symbolic and futile attempts to shame and appeal to the moral conscience of individuals who have no shame or conscience, will always fail.

You cannot do damage to the Zionist project by merely engaging with its facade; you must strike at its soulless heart. You must strike at its veins (supply chains, logistics, cash flows, infrastructure).

While the liberals were congratulating themselves for having their nonthreatening photo op parade out in front of the gala, our people were out of sight at work on the veins of the building. Palestinians have suffered decades of Israeli soldiers and settlers restricting and destroying their access to water, often bricking up or concreting any water source not directly under strict control of the occupation forces, cutting off Palestinian access to the Jordan River while draining it to near extinction for settlement mono-crop agriculture, shooting holes in Palestinian water towers, bombing Gazan water treatment facilities, poisoning Palestinian springs and enforcing water apartheid in order to exert total control over Palestinian life. We decided to give these Zionist bootlickers a taste of their own medicine.

We cracked open the water main for the building housing the gala, switched it off, and filled the box with fresh concrete. This form of sabotage is quick and incredibly easy to replicate, and the tools are quite cheap. It also renders the building in question completely uninhabitable and unusable. We had a good laugh imagining these fascist motherfuckers driven out of the gala by the stench of overflowing toilets, unable to raise any more money for genocide. As we did we were reminded of how Israeli settlers flood Palestinian olive groves with sewage, poisoning food sources, destroying livelihoods.

There are specialized tools that can make this job easier to perform and faster. 1) Water main shut off tool 2) Irrigation lid tool / large screwdriver

The steps are as follows: 1) Lift lid off water box 2) Identify the valve, usually rectangular 3) Turn valve to be perpendicular to the pipe 4) Add a lock to the available hole 5) Fill hole with concrete 6) Put lid back on

At 6:40 PM, just 40 minutes into the gala, we put an end to things before they even began. No auction, no speeches, no propaganda screening, thus cutting off one stream of funding for genocide and apartheid. Donors began sneaking out of the backdoor of the space around 7PM, escorted by fascist police and private security. Around 7:10, a utility truck arrived to attempt a repair. They failed to do so, as our successful sabotage held. The building was evacuated. The Zionists ran home with their tails between their legs, their facade of security and impenetrability proven vulnerable.

We hope that this will inspire other autonomous actors to strike at the infrastructure of genocide everywhere it can be found.

While the Zionist occupation forces deliberately target Palestinian infrastructure to render human survival impossible, we must turn these same tactics on the oppressor, targeting the civil, economic, and political infrastructure that feed the Zionist project, starving it of the resources that sustain its existence and enable its genocidal violence. The targets are here and everywhere. We send a message that there will be no safe space for genocidal capitalism. There will be no safe space for fascist Zionist terror. Wherever you amass, we will find you and shut you down.

This was executed by a group of autonomous anti-Zionists and anarchist saboteurs. We have no name. We are not an organization. We are not an entity. Do not try to find us. We are everywhere and we will not stop.

Palestine will be free.

[goatsludge]

M45 Chemical-Biological Mask

Adopted in 1996, it was officially developed for rotary-wing aircrew, but U.S. Special Forces had been aiding its development under the table since the program began in the late 1980's.

Here we see a 1998-Dated example made by the original ill-fated contractor, Campbell Plastics Engineering & Manufacturing Inc, outfitted with accessories typical of those seen with 1st SFOD-D at the beginning of the 2000's;

The front voice emitter has a clip-on adapter ring for use with the Audiopack M7A1 Mask Amplifier (not pictured here).

The chemical hood differs from the issued one in that the mask's secondary skin is bonded to it as a single unit, rather than two separate components.

The exhalation valve is an aftermarket upgrade developed by Wilcox Industries. It is spring-loaded and provides exhale resistance so the mask can be more efficiently used with positive pressure filter blowers and tactical SCBA systems.

The whole setup is used with an early Micronel C420 Blower Unit, which supplies a constant flow of fresh air into the mask. An added remote cable allows the operator to switch the back-mounted unit on or off without assistance and the correct wire-reinforced crushproof breathing hose is present as well.

Probably my all-time favorite gas mask design.