#Rayleigh Scattering

[cfserkgk]

Modern AU where Jinshi and Maomao are both in university but Jinshi (stage name) is also an actor/model and he thinks he can impress Maomao by showing her the shows he was in.

Of course Maomao is unimpressed, and of course she just pulls out these science jokes out of no where.

[silverbridge-harbor]

Clouds were covering the eclipse itself but I got the 360° sunset scattering effect over the water

[bloodied-dagger]

And when I'm all done I'll cut the lights Lock the door shut And go outside

Down by the forest Near the powerlines Down that dirt road There's a place to hide

And if it gets better It's taking forever And what's with this weather? It's not getting better

[truphysics]

Rayleigh Scattering

Introduction Rayleigh scattering, named after the British physicist Lord Rayleigh, is a type of scattering that occurs when the size of the particles or the wavelength of the light makes the scattering medium or obstacles irrelevant. It is most commonly used to explain why the sky appears blue. The Principle of Rayleigh Scattering Rayleigh scattering is a specific type of scattering that…

[the-obnoxious-sibling]

Who abounded buggy in his youth? The only time he talks about it is situation with shanks when he was actually the one abounding his friend

well, calling it abandonment was a bit of an exaggeration on my part.

what i meant was this: buggy takes things so personally, i suspect he looks back on the disbanding of the roger pirate crew as the crew turning their backs on him.

i’ll admit, we don’t know for sure how the disbanding went down, after roger and oden left… but rayleigh told the strawhats that “everyone went their separate ways,” and we know that about a year later, shanks and buggy were at roguetown, and rayleigh wasn’t. i think that’s pretty telling.

[nube55]

Few things are more aesthetically pleasing than mid to high level clouds during sunset 🌅

by kath__alina

[sixpenceee]

Stunning sunset! This happens because of a phenomenon called Rayleigh scattering: cirrus clouds scatter the longer, red wavelengths of light and give the sky an orange or reddish hue | source

[nereidprinc3ss]

i keep you clean; you surrounded me

in which husband!spencer reid spirals after realizing he can't be your daughter's hero forever.

angst, fluff warnings/tags: this fic is about spencer's past addiction, and how he's afraid it will impact his relationship with his daughter, conversation about alcohol, this is a fix-it fic for my life, ends on a hopeful/positive note, lots of self-loathing from Spencer, uses the phrase "shooting up", PLEASE do not read if this is going to upset you!! PLEASE!! fem!reader a/n: this felt healing in a way for me but that might not be your experience reading if you also have issues with a parent with addiction so please tread lightly and make the right choices for you. CHOOSE YOUR MENTAL HEALTH OVER MY DUMB FANFIC I CAN'T STRESS THAT ENOUGH!! and ily

“Daddy?”

Ada’s not asking for you, but you look to her anyway. She’s squeezed between you and Spencer on Rossi’s swing, and her cheeks are still feverish—remnants of a recent and rather hysterical fit of giggles. She has a glass of lemonade between her little hands (you’re trusting her with a big girl cup, if only because it’s not your glass or your house) and she peers into it intently. Her little grass-stained feet kick. Spencer pushes the swing back ever so slightly, for her entertainment. 

“Huh?”

She holds her glass up for him. 

“Our drinks are the same color.”

“They are,” he nods. “Do you like yellow?”

Ada shrugs. It’s exaggerated—one of her favorite moves as of late. “It’s okay.”

Spencer glances at you like he always does when he sees glimpses of you in your child, eyes sparkling as if her opinionated and bluntly honest nature is in any way reminiscent of you. 

“Yeah, I agree. Yellow is just okay.”

She leans against him and he’s quick to accommodate her, affectionately brushing his knuckles over your bare shoulder as he slings his arm across the back of the swing. 

“Daddy?”

“What, lovebug?”

You smile, letting your head fall back and your eyes close. The sun is warm on your face. 

“Mommy’s drink is red.”

Nothing gets past her. Rossi had pushed the drink into your hand almost the second you stepped through the door, insisting it would go well with lunch. It sits otherwise untouched on the glass table. 

Spencer hums. The swing rocks gently. 

“That’s because she’s not having lemonade like us. She’s having a grownup drink.”

“Oh.”

You think that’s the end of it, that she’s satisfied with the answer, until another moment passes, and her voice, sweet as the tinkle of little fairy bells, is posing a very loaded question. 

“Why don’t you ever have grownup drinks? Me and you always have the same.”

Spencer’s already looking at you, brows drawn as you sit up. Your eyes, open now, go wide, and you shake your head slightly to signal you have no idea how he’s supposed to respond either. 

His hand goes to Ada’s hair, gently scratching her scalp as his eyes dart over your face. You can see the gears turning in his head. This is one of very few things he clearly didn’t read about in any of the literature on raising kids when you were pregnant. 

“I… some people don’t like grownup drinks.”

It’s an inadequate answer, especially coming from Spencer—just this morning he explained to Ada why the sky is blue. Rayleigh scattering. Blue light scatters more than any other kind of light. Which then led to an impromptu lesson on oxygen molecules and other basic chemistry in the car on the way here. 

So there are standards. 

“Why not?”

You interrupt, unable to watch Spencer flounder any longer. “Ada, why don’t you go see what Henry and JJ and Uncle Dave are doing? That looks fun, right?”

You gesture down the yard to where JJ and Rossi are teaching Henry to play cornhole. 

She looks at you with big brown eyes—the set of them, the color—those are all Spencer.

“Can you and daddy come?”

You straighten out her dress and take the half-full glass from her little hands, setting it next to your own on the table. 

“In a minute. Go ahead.”

Spencer’s hand slips from her hair as she pushes off the swing and bounds down the yard. You make sure she arrives to her destination without incident, before scooting closer to your husband and taking his vacant hand. 

“Spence?” You ask quietly, leaning in to try and insert yourself into his eye line. He doesn’t look away from Ada. 

“That was bad.”

“It wasn’t. She doesn’t understand. It’s fine.”

“I didn’t—”

He looks down, lips pressed together, and your heart twists and drops like overripe fruit from the vine as you realize his eyes have glossed over. 

“Baby,” you whisper, relinquishing his hand only so you can rub his back. Your other finds his knee, drawing as close as you possibly can. “It’s okay.”

“How am I supposed to explain it to her?”

A tear falls, making a dark splotch on the fabric of his pants. 

“You don’t have to. She’s only five. I guarantee she’s already forgotten all about it.”

“I will. I’ll have to tell her one day. She thinks I’m perfect, how am I supposed to—”

He stops himself, voice tightening to a halt. You watch him hold back a cry like you haven’t seen in years. It’s an old, familiar ache for you. You can’t imagine how it feels for him. 

“Spencer,” you coo. “She adores you. She loves you so much. That’s never going to change.”

His nose twitches. 

“I’m going to disappoint her.”

“How? How are you going to disappoint her?”

“I think it’s pretty disappointing to find out your dad is a junkie.”

His tone isn’t particularly harsh but the words are like a slap anyway. 

“Spencer…” For a moment you don’t know what else to say. It’s not a secret that he’s ashamed of that chapter in his life, but you had no idea he was contending with this much self-loathing over it, even after all this time. It seems like such a distant point in the rearview mirror that the two of you almost never need to talk about it anymore. “You are not a junkie. It’s been, what—a decade?”

“I don’t want to have to tell her what drugs are, let alone that I... she thinks I’m the smartest guy in the world, and one day I’ll have to tell her that drugs are extremely dangerous, and I was shooting up for four months anyway. No matter how I try to explain it to her the ultimate takeaway is going to be that I’m weak and I wasn’t smart enough and she’s never, ever going to forget that. How am I supposed to—I can’t be a role model for her. I fucked up so badly.”

Your chest aches, somewhere deep and hollow, as he leans forward, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes, only for a moment—before Ada shrieks and his head snaps back up. Henry is chasing her with a worm. Spencer watches on, tears still leaking from his eyes and expression otherwise neutral. It’s bittersweet to hear him express such deep insecurity about the thing he’s best at in the world, even as those parental instincts kick in and he’s setting aside his own feelings to keep an eye on her. He’s never trusted himself. He’s never seen himself the way you do. 

“Baby, you are her dad and she loves you. Her love for you is not contingent on your past. You are so, so good to her. That’s all she knows, okay? She doesn’t care what you were doing when you were 25. She cares about whether you’ll be home for dinner, and if you’ll play dolls with her, and if you’ll tuck her in. That’s all she needs to love you.”

JJ wrangles the kids and after a moment Spencer looks down again, brow furrowed deeply as drops like rain dot his lap, but he hardly makes a sound. You lay your cheek on his shoulder. “And until she’s old enough for the whole story, which involves a lot more violence than I am comfortable with her being subjected to right now, you don’t need to explain it to her. You have time.”

“She wants to know now.”

“She also wants icecream for every meal. But I can’t make her understand why that’s a bad idea. What she wants and what she needs and what she is capable of understanding are all different categories. I know you love answering all her questions, and you’re a really good teacher, but you can’t make her understand something as complex as addiction.”

Spencer sniffs. 

“Developmentally she’s only really capable of understanding the world as it exists in relation to herself.”

“Exactly. So give her some time, and give yourself some time.”

“What if she asks again?”

“Then… you say you don’t like how it makes you feel. And tell her to clean up her toys. Condition her to stop asking.”

Spencer stumbles over a teary laugh he hadn’t been expecting. You sit up straight, holding his face between your hands and encouraging him to look at you. His cheeks shine with tears, but you wipe them away tenderly. 

“You’re perfect to her,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to one cheek, “and you’re perfect to me.” He cups your elbow as you kiss the other and looks at you with so much sheer adoration you could get all choked up, too.

“Wow,” he sniffles, and takes a deep breath, pulling you into him, “I don’t deserve you.”

“Of course you do,” you mumble into his shirt, eyes fluttering shut as he presses three kisses to the curve of your neck where he’s buried his face. 

“I could be canonized as a saint and not deserve you.”

Sainthood. You ponder that. 

Saints have to live virtuously. They also have to be dead. 

You hold him a little tighter. You like him exactly how he is: technically imperfect. Probably not getting into heaven. Still venerable. Very much heroic. Alive, and with you.

“I’m really glad you’re not a saint.”

He chuckles. His hand slides up your back, and then side to side—a path it’s made time and time again which has only ever led you to wonderful, perfect places.

“Me too.”

[wonders-of-the-cosmos]

Belt of Venus and Earth's shadow

The Belt of Venus is an atmospheric phenomenon visible shortly before sunrise or after sunset, during civil twilight. It is a pinkish glow that surrounds the observer, extending roughly 10–20° above the horizon. It appears opposite to the afterglow, which it also reflects.

In a way, the Belt of Venus is actually alpenglow visible near the horizon during twilight, above the antisolar point. Like alpenglow, the backscatter of reddened sunlight also creates the Belt of Venus. Though unlike alpenglow, the sunlight scattered by fine particulates that cause the rosy arch of the Belt shines high in the atmosphere and lasts for a while after sunset or before sunrise.

As twilight progresses, the arch is separated from the horizon by the dark band of Earth's shadow, or "twilight wedge". The pinkish glow is due to the Rayleigh scattering of light from the rising or setting Sun, which is then backscattered by particulates.

Source

Image Credit: Kent Duryee, Kevin Palmer, Mike Lewinski, Alan Dyer

[handypolymath]

I love this whole thinky linky thread but, as someone of mixed Mediterranean heritage, I must say, with all due respect and also quite a lot of aesthetic admiration, olive skintones absolutely have a greenish cast to them.

You don't even need a poetic license.

When many of my relatives get queasy or shocked they don't blanch pale, they turn sallow shades of brassy mint, literally green at the gills.

GUYS I JUST SAW THIS ON TWITTER AND I AM DYING

[musicforastylesrestaurant]

Flower Crowns.

masterlist || ask my anything <3

anniversary masterlist here !!

authors note - hi!! this is the last post ill be doing for my anniversary week and this is one of my most favourite little one shots ive wrote in my opinion so i hope you enjoy, it’s a little bit dark so if that’s not your cuppa then feel free to skidadle ☺️

word count - 1k

in which, harrys your body guard because your father is a mafia boss and instead of him taking a bullet for you, you end up taking a bullet for him.

warnings - mentions of guns and shooting, mafia, vulgar language and blood.

With your books hugged close to your chest and your backpack thrown over one shoulder, The campus is bustling with students, the energy vibrant and contagious. You and your best friend Rayleigh chat animatedly, caught up in the ease of your conversation.

"I can't believe Professor Thompson assigned us another case study," Rayleigh groans, rolling her eyes. "Does he think we have no other classes?"

You laugh, adjusting your grip on your books. "I know, right? As if we didn't already have enough on our plates. But I guess it's good practice."

Rayleigh nods in agreement, her expression softening. "Yeah, you're right. Still, it's going to be a long night. Coffee later?"

"Absolutely," you reply, grinning. "I wouldn't survive without our study sessions."

As you walk through the corridors, you spot Harry leaning casually against your locker. His presence is striking, a mix of calm and vigilance that makes him stand out from the crowd. He's dressed in a plain black T-shirt and jeans, his tattooed arms crossed over his chest.

"There's your shadow," Rayleigh teases, nudging you gently.

You chuckle, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and amusement.

Rayleigh gives you a quick hug. "See you later."

"Bye, Ray," you say, waving as she heads off.

You approach your locker, where Harry straightens up as you get closer.

"Hey," you greet him, opening your locker and starting to put your things away.

"Hey," Harry replies, his voice steady and calm. "How was class?"

"Busy, as usual," you say, glancing over at him. "Professor Thompson assigned us another case study. I'm starting to think he enjoys watching us suffer."

Harry chuckles softly. "Sounds intense. Y’handling it okay?"

"Yeah, it's all part of the deal," you shrug, organizing your books. "How about you? How's standing guard duty treating you?"

He smirks. "S’a bit different from m’usual assignments, but I don't mind. Keeps me on my toes."

You finish putting your things away and close your locker, turning to face him fully. "I appreciate it, you know. Having you around makes me feel a lot safer."

Harry's expression softens slightly. "S’the goal. M’here to make sure nothing happens to you."

You nod, feeling a sense of comfort in his presence. "Thanks, H. It means a lot."

He nods in return, his gaze steady and reassuring. "Anytime. Ready to head home?"

As you walk towards your car, chatting with Harry about inconsequential things, a sense of normalcy begins to settle over you. The campus is still busy, students milling around, completely unaware of the tension that shadows your every step.

Suddenly, you notice a red dot flickering on Harry's chest. Your heart stops. Your mind races, realizing the implications—someone knows Harry is protecting you, and taking him out would make it easier for them to get to you.

Without a second thought, you push Harry out of the way. "Harry, look out!"

A gunshot rings out, splitting the air, and you feel a searing pain in your shoulder. You scream, falling to the ground in front of him.

The world spins as you hit the pavement, agony spreading through your body. Students around you scream and scatter, the chaos erupting in the once peaceful campus.

Harry is at your side in an instant, his face a mask of panic and horror.

"No, no, what have you done?" he cries, crouching down next to you. "Silly, silly girl."

A tear slips down his cheek, and your heart aches at the sight. You've never seen him cry before, not once in all the time you've known him. The anguish in his eyes is almost too much to bear.

You manage to smile weakly through the pain. "Harry... you're too pretty to cry."

"And you're too pretty to die," he replies, his voice breaking. "S’was never supposed to happen. S’my job to protect you."

He presses down on your wound, trying to stop the bleeding, his hands shaking. "Everything is going to be fine. Just hold on, help is coming."

You focus on Harry’s face, seeing the raw emotion and determination in his eyes.

"Promise me….you'll be careful," you manage to say, your voice barely audible.

"M’promise," he says fiercely, more tears falling. "But y’have to promise me you'll fight. Fight to stay with me."

You nod weakly, using every bit of strength you have left. "I'll... fight."

As the world around you blurs and fades, Harry’s face is the last thing you see, filled with raw, heartbreaking emotion. He leans closer, his voice trembling.

"I love you," he whispers, his words like a lifeline pulling you back from the brink.

Love.

You had always loved Harry, you can’t pinpoint a time when you first felt it, perhaps it was when you first met him, or when your lips first connected to his, but it was a feeling you had always felt and always would feel.

"I... love you too," you whisper back, your voice barely more than a breath. The pain is overwhelming, and you can feel yourself slipping away.

"Tell my father..." you start, struggling to get the words out. "Tell him I want a flower crown... when I'm buried."

Flower crowns had always been your thing, your mother had taught you how to make them when you were little and your father always had one in his office, as a reminder of both you at her.

His girls.

They were a symbol of your family.

Like a family crest.

Harry shakes his head fiercely, more tears spilling down his cheeks. "You're not going to get buried because you and I are going to get married and live forever. We'll have babies and grow old together."

You manage a faint smile at his words, the thought of a future with him a beautiful distraction from the pain. "Harry..."

"Stay with me," he pleads, his voice raw with emotion. "Keep your eyes open. Don't you dare close them."

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

One For The Road [1]

Cecil Dennis x AFAB!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals• masterlist • ao3• want to be tagged? • request info • ko-fi •

Series Masterlist

Summary: Cecil forgets he invited you over.

A/N: The biggest thank you to @thexsanctuaryx for beta reading this and fixing some of my British-isms <3 I owe you my life!

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, mentions of weed, weed use, fleshlights, Cecil talking about 'Catcher In The Rye', fingering, Cecil coming in his pants, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 3404

You Sit and Talk to Me on the Floor

You lean back against the sofa, getting comfortable as your high pleasantly buzzes in the back of your head.

You’d been pretty pissed when you’d got here and Harry was nowhere to be found. (You, him and Cecil and Harry’s new girlfriend Mary-Ann, who you hadn’t met yet, had plans to hang out and watch a film. Or at least that’s what Cecil had told you.) He’d grinned when he’d opened the door, “What are you doing here?”

Turns out he’d been high (unsurprising) when he’d messaged and asked you. And had promptly forgotten all about it without letting Harry or Mary-Ann know. 

And now Harry was ‘working’. Or something. Cecil wasn’t exactly clear. 

Ever since he’d been dumped by his girlfriend Cecil had been staying with his cousin to ‘get back on his feet’, or more correctly, ‘make a mess, panic, tidy the house in a crazy rush to a standard that would put a professional kitchen to shame and then repeat’. 

He’d apologised for a good fifteen minutes when he realised his mistake, and had offered you a brownie as he ushered you inside. 

“Is there weed in this?” 

He stared at you like you’d grown an extra head. “It’s a brownie.”

“You know pot isn’t a standard ingredient, right?”

He’d pulled a face that made you laugh. “What’s the point in that?” 

.

Cecil sits on the floor, leaning against the sofa and lolling his head back as he talks to you, “I’m really glad you came actually, sorry again,” he smiles shyly, “I was kinda lonely.”

“You can hire people for that.” You tease and he snorts.

“No, that’s not what I mean. Besides,” he shrugs, “I’m broke.” 

You giggle, finding it far funnier than you normally would. 

He grins and takes a swig of his beer before another hit from his bong. 

“How many brownies did you have?” You ask, interested, you’d only had one. 

“Two… and a half.” 

“And you’re smoking too?” 

“Yeah? I mean,” he puffs up his chest proudly, “I got a high tolerance.”

“If there were an olympics in getting high you’d probably get a gold.” 

“I definitely would get a gold, I bet they used to have that, weed consuming, in the olympics I mean. They used to have poetry and people competing naked and everything, and then it got ruined.” 

“With clothes or lack of poems?” You smile.

“Both.” He nods confidently. “Though maybe some clothes is a good idea…” He ponders for a moment, “I bet if you run and you got no pants on your dick just,” he flops his hand around like crazy and you giggle, “I mean, that would hurt. And boobs!”

“Boobs?” You wheeze out. 

“Yeah, I bet some boobs would hurt too, you need those high impact bras and all that.”

“How do you know about that?” You run your hand through his hair absentmindedly, he always did have such soft, rich curls. 

“I’m a guy of knowledge, you know. I know many things.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” 

“Like what then?” 

He leans a little into your touch, smiling as you stroke his hair. “Erm, I know that this,” he taps the part of the sofa he’s leaning against, “is called a sofa skirt.” 

“Is not.”

“Is too.” He grins at you when you poke out your tongue. “I know the sky’s blue because of Rayleigh scattering-”

“What’s Rayleigh scattering?” 

“Why the sky is blue.”

“Cecil…” You roll your eyes playfully and he giggles. 

“Okay, okay, it’s to do with light particles and how they,” he waves his hand to the side making a buzzing noise, “move about when they’re in a wavelength.”

“How do you know that?”

He shrugs, “I dunno. Just do. Something stuck once I guess.”

You nod, “Pretty impressive skill.”

“Nah,” he shakes his head, “I don’t control what sticks, I’ve literally read every single math book I ever could on how to do algebra when I was in high school and nothing.” He pauses and then smiles, “I can quote Catcher in the Rye to you though.” 

“What?” You shift a little, leaning closer. “Like the whole thing?”

“Mostly,” he shrugs again but he puffs his chest out, obviously pleased at your interest. “But I guess I could just be making it up if you don’t know it word for word and don’t have a copy in front of you.” 

“I trust you.” You say kindly and he beams. 

“Well, okay, look, first paragraph, because it’s easy,” he swallows and clears his throat. 

“If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you'll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don't feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth.” He puts on a voice as he speaks, at first it’s jokey as he tries to poke a little fun at himself, but as he continues it relaxes, becomes more like he’s inhabiting the voice of the character. 

“That’s very, very cool.” You grin and he smiles shyly, looking down at his hands before taking another hit. “Yeah, well, doesn’t help much.”

“You like Catcher in the Rye?” 

He nods. “Got an A+ on that report.” He grins, “I always thought it was sad, you know? The story I mean. Just a kid trying to be an adult because that’s what society implies, when really he just wants to be… you know… enjoy his childhood.” He nods a little. “I like that his little sister is more mature than him, that he has this innocence to him. That even though the story is about a loss of that, in the end, I dunno, I don’t think it fully happened.” 

You incline your head, staying quiet so he’ll continue.

“I mean, I think he’s still innocent. Still playing at being an adult. Like everyone is.” He shrugs, shaking his head. “But whatever.” 

You give his shoulder a light shove, “But whatever? Cec,” you lean forward, your hand still in his hair, “that’s so good, like insightful.” You say sincerely. 

He gives you a bashful smile, his eyelashes fluttering a little as you compliment him. “Yeah, you know, thanks.” There’s the smallest flush to his cheeks. “You’re so smart and everything so that means a lot.” 

“Cec,” you say softly, shaking your head, “you gotta think better of yourself.”

He nods halfheartedly.

“Really, you got to, you…” You pause, trailing off as something catches the light and inadvertently, your eye. It’s shoved to the side, on the floor between the right hand side of the sofa and the wall. 

Cecil looks around to where you’re staring, mildly interested for a moment before his eyes widen. “Oh, shit, sorry!” He goes to push it further under the couch and out of sight but doesn’t reach far enough and ends up falling onto his side and flailing about. 

“Is that what I think it is?” You giggle, unable to stop yourself. 

“Erm…” He looks up at you, trying his best to give you a winning smile from the floor. “That depends on what you think it is?” His voice is hopeful. 

“A flesh light?” 

He groans and puts his hand dramatically over his face. 

You laugh harder. 

“Ugh.”

“It is?” You ask excitedly, unsure why this is amusing you quite so much. 

“Mhmmm.” 

“Yours?” 

“Yes.” 

“Oh my goooooood,” you lean down and ruffle his hair until he has to take his hand off his face to bat you away and starts laughing, “Cecil getting it on in the living rooooooom.” 

“No!” He lies.

“Ohhhhh, is that what you were doing before I got here?” The glee in your voice is palpable. “Is that why it took you so long to answer the door?” 

“Stop.” He tries to pout but keeps laughing. “I hadn’t got that far yet.”

“Yet?” 

“You came over! That’s more important than jacking off.” 

You snort loudly. “I’m honoured.” 

He pulls a playful face and lightly smacks your calf. 

“I wouldn’t have stopped having a wank just because you came over.” You joke and Cecil bursts into hysterics. 

He manages to calm down long enough to spit out his next words, “I wouldn’t ask you to stop.” 

“What?” 

“If you wanted to get down and whatever, that’s fine, I’d just hang in the kitchen.” 

It’s your turn to have a laughing fit. “Oh, you’re so slimy.” You tease, adjusting your skirt as you move.

“No, no,” he sits up, still giggling, his cheeks flush. “I wouldn’t watch or listen, I’m not being a perv.” 

“Sure, sure.” 

“Hey! I don’t need to spy on people, I can, you know.”

“What?” You grin.

“See it on the TV whenever.” 

You start laughing again. You had been expecting a bit of macho, ‘I can pick up willing partners whenever I want to’, not ‘I’ll watch some porn’. 

“Yeah?” You prod him in the arm playfully. 

“Yeah.” He nods, “that’s what I was doing before you came over.” 

“Oh, good to know.” You chuckle. Part of you knows it’s the weed that’s making you a little less guarded than you usually were, but you can’t help yourself. “What were you watching then?”

“Well, I hadn’t decided yet.” He shrugs, but he’s grinning, obviously quite happy to talk with you about this. “I was having a look.” 

“On what?” 

“PornHub,” he shuffles towards the TV on his knees and grabs the remote and then his phone. “I cast it, see,” the screen mirrors his phone as he scrolls through. “I was just browsing.” 

“You say that so casually.” You goad him playfully. 

“Yeah, well, I mean why not? Most people look at porn.” 

You nod.

“Don’t you?” He asks, quite innocently as he cocks his head to the side. 

Heat rushes under your skin. “Well, erm, yeah, I mean.” 

He grins, but not in a gloating way, more pleased that you’re both sharing something. 

“What, erm,” you squirm a little, feeling foolish and trying to push the focus back to him. “What do you normally watch?” 

“Like porn wise?” 

“Mmhmmm.” 

He grins, “lots actually, my tastes are very varied.” He says like he’s talking about wine. “Sometimes two girls, sometimes a guy and a girl, sometimes two guys, sometimes a group. Sometimes just someone by themselves.” He shrugs and looks up at you, when he sees you’re still listening he swallows and continues, “I got a favourite.” 

You nod, your mouth dry. 

“It’s two girls, erm, it’s not even like, that,” he waves his hands, “it’s just, it’s quieter, I guess? They sound more… natural. Like it’s not being put on for show, and they got like, these suits. It’s not like latex or anything, not that there’s a problem with that, it’s sort of like body suits, skin tight, but hands are free, and boobs, and,” he motions to his crotch, “down there, and… they sort of… like just…” his face reddens a little more. “They, rub together in like missionary and come and… and it just sounds so nice. They look like they’re really enjoying it.” 

He looks up at you again and fidgets, his eyes dark. 

The nervous expression, the flush to his cheeks shouldn’t be endearing, shouldn’t make you feel a twist of heat in your stomach. 

“I could… show you?” He says quietly, like he’s trying to tiptoe around something else. 

You find yourself nodding once, saying, “Okay.” before you even realise it. 

He finds it quickly on his phone and sits down next to you on the sofa, a hands width away. 

You stare at the TV while looking at him from the corner of your eye. 

“This reminds me of high school.” He says quietly, biting his lips together. “A group of us used to, when porn was harder to get hold of, used to like, watch it together and smoke.” 

You nod, a quick reply simply not coming. 

The video starts, the two women posing for the camera before they make their way to the bed.

“I used to worry,” he continues, “because sometimes weed makes me really horny.” He shrugs, flinching inwardly at why he said that. 

“I get that.” You swallow. 

One woman climbs on top of the other. 

“You do?” He asks. 

“Yeah,” why are you speaking, why can’t you just shut up? “The horny thing.” 

“From smoking or watching porn?” He asks innocently. 

“Both, I guess.” 

He hums, nodding. “Me too.” 

You both continue to watch for a moment in an odd silence, the air is thick with an oppressive weight. You want to look at him again, want to see his soft eyes and plump lips. 

Cecil shifts a little, fidgeting once before he pushes the heel of his hand against his leg and… wait… not his leg. 

His erection is straining against his jeans.

You can’t help but look, going over the shape and outline and- You freeze. He’s looking right at you.

“Sorry.” He gives you a sheepish smile as if he was the one that had been caught perving. “Guess it’s a bit more obvious on me.” He jokes, but the tips of his ears still flush. 

“No, yeah, I mean…” you stumble over your words, trying to fill the gaps as the moans from the TV grow louder and… they did sound like they were having fun. “I mean,” you swallow and start again, “I, if I had a dick, you’d see it,” you motion your hand upright. 

“Yeah?”

You nod. 

“Not just saying that to make me feel better?” He asks, gently nudging you in the shoulder.

“No… I would.” 

He gives you a sweet look, but it’s still disbelieving. 

“Cecil, I’m not lying.” 

“I don’t know…” 

“Why would I lie?”

“You’re too nice all the time, it’s not lying it’s ‘sparing my feelings’.” He motions with his hands.

“Well, I’m not,” you fold your arms. “I’m being truthful.”

“Okay.”

“Cecil.”

“I said okay,” he teases. “I’m agreeing with you.”

“But you don’t believe me.” 

He nods. “That’s true.”

You huff air through your nose, exasperated. “I’m not lying.”

“Sure.”

“There’s no point to me lying.” Your voice raises a little at the end, which only makes it sound more like you are lying. 

“Okay.” 

“Oh, fuck you.” 

He laughs, “just because you’re a dirty and bad liar, doesn’t mean-”

You don’t know why you do it, but you grab a hold of his hand and press it forcefully between your legs. “See?” Your voice sounds sure of itself, like a gloat. But your mind is just only catching up with your actions. And the sensation of Cecil’s warm, thick fingers against your core. 

You’re wearing a skirt, the only thing separating your skin from his is the thin material of your panties which are undoubtedly damp. 

“Oh,” he breathes, his cock twitches. “Yeah, you’re…” 

You freeze, still holding his hand against you. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. 

His fingers brush a little against the cotton. The action takes you by surprise and much to your dismay a weak gasp leaves your lips.

He glances up to your face as you keep your eyes closed, screwing them shut to avoid his gaze. But seemingly he finds what he was looking for. 

He moves his fingers again, a little firmer this time, tracing a soft circle against your clit and you shudder. 

There’s a pause, a fraction of a second as he waits for you to stop him, to tell him no. 

You don’t. 

So he does it again, and again, and again until you’re squirming. Your breath is coming out fast as your hips shallowly move in time with his fingers. 

He inches closer to you, pressing his chest against your shoulder and resting his forehead on your temple. 

Cecil moans softly in your ear as you whine, your lip between your bottom teeth as you watch the two women fuck on screen without really seeing. 

He slowly presses on the damp patch, rubs along your core before he slips your underwear to the side and touches you lightly. 

You jolt, gasping, turning your head to press your forehead to his. 

He groans as he traces his forefinger along your slit, marvelling at the slick that coats the tip of his finger before he lightly pinches your clit. 

“Cecil,” you breathe. 

“It’s okay,” he mutters, kissing your cheek and then your lips gently, “it’s okay, it’s just a friend helping another one out. Just helping…” He drapes his free arm around your shoulders, his fingers mirroring the pattern of his other hand on your arm. 

He kisses you again, soft and sweet as he lightly teases you with the tip of his tongue. 

The second you part your lips he inhales deeply, angling his hand and pushing two fingers deep inside while flicking your clit with his thumb. 

You gasp, your moans music to his ears as he kisses you wantonly as he curls and strokes your walls. 

“Oh, god, you’re really wet,” he bites his lip, grunting as he presses closer, curls deeper until you’re bucking and practically sobbing. “Really tight, mmm, feel so nice inside.” He mumbles, not really registering what he’s saying as he pants in your ear. “Thank you for letting me, oh,” he shivers as you whine, grabbing hold of any part of him you can reach and clinging on, silently begging him to continue.

“Is that good? Is that where it’s nice?” He swallows, stroking the same spongy spot again and groaning when your thighs quiver. 

You nod rapidly and he coos, “oh good, good, mmm,” he kisses your neck, breathing deeply to fill his lungs with your scent. “God, so nice and warm, bet you got the cutest little pussy? Fuck.” He groans, moving so he can rub his crotch against your thigh, “you’ll let me look sometime? I would love to see it, bet it’s so sweet.” 

Your eyes roll back, your muscles tensing as he keeps moving, keeps pulling you closer to that edge. Your moans are overshadowing the sounds of the TV, the squelch of his fingers fucking you relentlessly bouncing around the room. 

You can hardly think, hardly form words, your mind obsessed with the reaction that all consuming pleasure that is so, so near. 

“Bet it’s the prettiest pussy I’ll ever see,” he groans, the friction of his jeans burning deliciously against his cock as he rubs himself over your thigh, making him lightheaded. Being near you is making him lightheaded. The fact that you’ve let him touch you, and be in you is dizzying and those sounds you’re making are enough to make him come on the spot. Right now, so close. Just a tiny little more friction and-

You clench around his fingers, crying out as your orgasm is pulled expertly from you. Cecil whines, keeps moving his thick fingers in that blinding pattern and pressure, as he follows you instantly. Your blissed out expression driving him clean over the edge. 

You shiver, your thighs shaking as you come, as the pleasure seems to stretch onwards and as Cecil moans softly in your ear. 

You both breathe, Cecil’s fingers still inside you as you stroke a hand through his hair. A wet patch starts to bleed into his boxers, but he doesn’t care. Not when you’re so close and he feels so happy.

He opens his mouth to speak and-

There’s a key in the lock, and the front door opens. You both jump, moving away from each other to the opposite ends of the sofa as Harry comes back. 

You feel oddly empty without his touch, without his fingers buried inside. 

Harry pokes his head around before he comes into the room, he looks at the bong and beer and porn still playing on the TV. “You guys started the party without me?” He kids. 

You laugh, not entirely convincing. 

“Cecil, man, what’re you doing showing off your porn playlist huh?” Harry jokes and Cecil shrugs. 

He’s using his forearm to cover any signs of his softening erection and wet patch, while he dangles his other hand off the arm of the sofa, out of Harry’s sight. Where his cousin can’t see how he rubs his slick covered fingers together.

Thank you for reading!

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[poppiesandpromises]

Rayleigh scattering

These soft feathers are falling

A candlelit glow

[truphysics]

Scattering Theory

Introduction Scattering theory is a framework in physics that is used to study and understand the interactions of particles and fields. It is especially important in quantum mechanics, quantum field theory, and particle physics, as well as in classical wave phenomena like light scattering. Basic Principle Scattering involves an incident wave or particle that is forced to deviate from a…

[alliswyattonthewesternfront]

whenever someone tries to claim their eyes change color, i should be allowed to strap them into a chair and lecture them about Rayleigh and Tyndall scattering until their behavior improves. i don't care if i'm being pedantic you bitches get on my last fucking nerve

[quinloki]

Young Lady

fem reader x Rayleigh

One-shot - 2,054 words

CW: Dubious consent, reader is an assassin, mentions of payment for murder, over-stimulation, forced orgasms, anal fingering, creampie, 18+ only

-:- Table of Consent -:-

Mind the CW warnings on this one loves ♥

You came hard.

All the muscles in your body tensed and you lost control of your limbs. Your fingers and toes bent independent of each other as your brain nearly short circuited from the intense pleasure. Spots scattered across your vision as pleasure dribbled from your mouth and your thighs.

You were going to die this way, you were almost certain of it, and yet the needy shuddering gasps pulling air into your exhausted lungs were begging for more. You’d lost the fight long before now, and you were already losing your mind.

A week ago you had taken on a job, your final job if it went well. You had enough saved up to go along with the pay for this job that you could retire afterward. That had always been the plan.

Just enough murder to never have to do anything else ever again. You didn’t like it. Didn’t like that you were good at it. Didn’t like that the world was messed up enough that you could get paid for it, and that nothing else paid quite as well.

If you had known who your target really was, you never would’ve taken the job in the first place. You had no way to know if the contact had been duped as well, or if you were just being disposed of.

You weren’t ever going to know at this rate.

You roll onto your stomach and try to crawl away, even just an inch, just to be outside of that strong, incessant, endless grip. If only you had a minute, just one, to catch your breath and regain your senses, you’d run. No pay, no revenge, no anything - you’d make what you already had saved away work, someway, somehow.

A firm grip on your ankle causes you to freeze.

“My sweet little guest, you can’t leave yet.” The low voice sinks into your core as his hands practically caress your legs. Calloused, leathery hands that had years of work etched into them, years of piracy. They were immovably gentle, and the pleasure they tickled into your skin as they moved toward your ass was some kind of terrible dark magic.

Strong hands gripped the meat of your ass cheeks, kneading them and ripping pleasure-filled gasps from your mouth.

“N-no… no more, please…” You whimper. You can’t even look over your shoulder at the old man that was manipulating your body like he was your maker. If you met those eyes again you’d lose your mind.

“You’re at least half my age, young lady, and in such an active profession. Certainly you can go a few more rounds.”

You shake your head nearly crying. “I c-can’t, I can’t - please!”

You feel him move between your legs, his long body and hot skin pressing against you before dry, tender lips kissed your back.

“You came to me.” He says, in a deadly calm tone of voice. “To claim what little was left of my life.” He repeats words from the beginning of your evening, when he had first caught you. He’d snatched your wrist out of the air so easily you had known immediately that you were exceptionally out-classed.

This was no old, escaped slave you had been sent to end, it was a man of pure skill. When his name had left his lips your soul had nearly left your body.

“You gave yourself to me. Are you rescinding that offer, young lady?” He questions, his thick, steel-hard cock pressing against your ass, as if to punctuate his point.

You whimper, but after a moment you shake your head, choking back the frustrated and exhausted sob at the edge of your throat. “N-no. I… have no right to- to argue ah-against whatever you d-do to me.”

“Good. Now, don’t move, little assassin. I’m going to give that tight swollen cunt of yours a break.” He says before he spreads your ass open and spits on it.

The cool saliva makes you flinch, but you keep from moving otherwise. You hear him sloppily licking his own fingers before pressing it against the tight ring.

“Relax, I haven’t made anything hurt yet. I don’t plan to start now.” He purrs as his finger pushes into your ass slowly. There’s a slight burn at the stretch, but he pushes in gently and easily.

It goes from stinging a little to just feeling weird. The weirdness doesn’t last long, however and a grunted gasp leaves you as pleasure shoots through you in a new way.

“There it is.” He chuckles, punctuating his point by hitting the spot again, and causing you to squirm and gasp. “You are delightfully sensitive, young lady. Makes me want to drown you in pleasure until you’re begging me to save you.”

His finger pulls back enough to allow him to push a second finger in. There was a momentary sting again, as your anus stretches a little more. The two thick fingers twist and scissor and turn inside of you, brushing against, and often pressing against, strangely pleasurable areas, making your breath catch and shuddering through your bones.

“C-cum… I’m … gonna, don’t want to… please!” You’re grasping at the sheets and trying not to pull yourself away. You tried to get away from him earlier and he made you cum three times in a row and you nearly passed out.

The Dark King’s skills went far beyond whatever he had done as the first-mate to the Pirate King.

“I like it when you cum.” He purrs, looking over you as his fingers work deeper into your ass. “Even more so when you struggle so much to try and avoid it, little assassin.”

“Gonna die!” You gasp, your body already shuddering against the building orgasm. They were starting to become painful, the muscles of your body protesting against the exertion.

“You haven’t cum nearly enough to be worried about that!” He laughs, as he pulls his fingers out. “But I don’t want you cumming on my fingers anymore.”

His hands clamp onto your arms as he presses you into the mattress before the head of his cock pushes against your ass.

“No,” you whimper. He’s too big. You aren’t sure you could take him in your pussy, never mind in your previously untouched ass.

There’s pressure as he pushes against you, but it eases up before it starts to hurt. He shifts, his knees pushing your legs wide, and you feel him rubbing against your sopping wet slit. You’ve cum so many times you wouldn’t be surprised if you were pruny from being so wet for so long.

“By the seas, you’re nearly gushing.” He says in amusement, as though he hadn’t just spent the last two hours becoming intimately familiar with every inch of you.

You feel him lining up with your entrance, before he leans low and whispers in your ear. “This might hurt, young lady.”

In a swift motion he pushes all the way into you. You hadn’t even had time to be nervous about his warning before you were filled impossibly full. You were no stranger to sex, pleasure was a perk of life, and you weren’t shy about it, but all the people you’d shared a bed with before now were all suddenly terribly unsatisfactory.

The stretch was sweet and tinged with pain but there was no blood, no sense of being ripped. He stayed still, buried to his hips inside you. You weren’t sure if he was twitching inside you, or if you were twitching against him, but the fluttering sensation was already causing your legs to twitch and your toes to curl.

The first few movements were slow, calculated, and methodical. You couldn’t hide your twitches and gasps even if it had meant death. It had been the same when the evening had first begun - when he’d plucked the first orgasm from you without even touching you. You were laid bare for this man, and in far more ways than just your lack of clothes.

His grip on your arms tightens, and your joints groan as he pulls you up off the mattress a little. There’s no purchase for you as your legs are spread too wide and your arms are in Rayleigh’s hands. He pushes into you slowly a few times before setting a swift rhythm. You’re being bounced off his hips and you can feel the impact of his thrusts sending shockwaves through your ass.

It feels like how it did when he was kneading your ass, the sensation sending pleasure through you front and back and you can’t squirm, twist or adjust to get away from it. Despite the swift pace he’s still sending jolts of pleasure through your core with every smack of skin against skin. The pleasure’s building in your core so fast, that you can’t even barely whimper for him to stop before the tension snaps and you’re shuddering against him.

Unlike before he doesn’t stop, his pace seeming to be unbothered as pleasure and exhaustion almost cause you to ragdoll in his arms. If anything, the lack of tension in your body pushes him deeper with each smack, whimpered pleas falling from your lips as you’re gasping for air.

You can feel a second – twelfth? – orgasm start to build, but just before you seem ready to drown in it, he pulls out and lets you drop into the mattress. You don’t stay there long before he pulls one of your legs up to his chest, pulling you onto your side. He straddles your other leg as he pushes back inside of you.

With your leg braced against his chest, he kisses along your ankle and calf as he slowly moves inside you. A few minutes of the softer pace and the gentle kisses against your skin give you a chance to catch your breath again. When the focus comes back into your eyes you see him smile.

The smile causes your heart to skip a beat – it’s the first time since the night began, that he looked handsome in your eyes. At first he was a terrifying demon of a man, so far beyond your own skills that you were certain you were looking death in the eyes. After that he seemed a perverted, lonely old creep, desperate for a younger piece of ass.

But it was neither desperation nor need that had caused him to pump pleasure into your body. It was simply a repayment – you had meant to kill him, even if you could have never hoped to do so, and so he took from you what he wanted. He had no interest in taking your life, even if he had a right, pragmatically speaking, but if he had let you go without a cost you wouldn’t have been satisfied.

No, more truthfully, you would’ve come back at some point for personal revenge. To be let off without consequence would have been insulting.

“Seems we’re just about there.” Rayleigh muses. He keeps your leg tight to his chest, using his other hand to tease your clit as he begins to thrust into you again.

The skilled bastard hadn’t touched your clit the whole evening and you scream in surprise and pleasure as his fingers move roughly against the swollen bundle of nerves. Your hands grip his wrist, but you cannot hope to move his hand away as the pleasure nearly breaks you.

You’re sobbing and begging for him to stop, but all he does is push into you faster. When the orgasm crashes into you, your entire body seems to shatter. The air rushes from your lungs as taut, but exhausted muscles, twitch and spasm in his immovable grasp. Spots explode in your vision, and you nearly black out from the intense rush that overwhelms you.

You barely hear the grunt of pleasure fall from the old man’s lips, but you can feel the wet slick fill you up and coat your thigh even before he’s pulled out.

Your body sinks into the mattress. You’re more liquid than bones after so many orgasms, and you couldn’t hope to move, protest, or even beg at this point. Drenched in sweat and cum, you don’t hear what he says to you as your consciousness finally gives out.

You were pretty sure it was “Rest well.”