#ive been trying to learn how to draw kisses for AGES i swear to god. CAN i | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

frankthomas090-blog · 6 years

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abby winter yoga - The New Angle On Abby Winters Lesbian Porn Just Released

In town for a bit on business, he wants to have some casual fun. 5 inches and THICK- his emphasis. Hes at the top end of length for my preference, but self describing it as thick got my attention. Sometimes theres just an instant connection or chemistry, drawing you in so fast with a new person you just kind of dance around the usual screening process.

Described his cock as 7. Average height, better than average build, green eyes. Hes my age, 31, but with the right combination of personality and body- I can look past it. Gimme that thick dick. This Ginger was respectful and straight to the point from the get-go on Plenty of Fish. Hes former Army- he had a pic up in his dress uniform. He sends me his number, we text briefly, and make the plan to meet that same day.

I appreciated his ability to be direct without being rude or vulgar. I like em young and hung! Also, I give it a 95% hes well endowed- orange is the new Black. At no point did he ask for nudes, or ask endless intimate questions- I give it a 50/50 chance of being a satisfactory encounter given our lack of communication beforehand, but I cant resist a Ginger to save my life.

He passed with flying colors. Im telling you, this isnt rocket science. I feel my lady business respond immediately. In our very brief texting we went over our Dos and Donts, as well as both agreeing we like aggressive AND passionate sex. Dont ever forget that.

The way hes kissing me I can already tell this will likely be a very good encounter. " Its early afternoon, what a great way to spend it. Upon his arrival I am freshly showered, bed is made, and Im wearing t-shirt that says "MEETS OR EXCEEDS EXPECTATIONS. He sits next to me, we awkwardly exchange hellos, and then he moves right in to kissing me. Not overly eager, not sloppy, makes you want it right meow.

Hes not pushing my body down while shoving his tongue down my throat. He starts lifting up my shirt after pawing me and groping for the goodies- having discovered my nipples are pierced and briefly sucking them, its time for layers to come off.

He peels his layers off as Im taking mine off and comes right back to mauling me so expertly I couldnt resist. Hes kissing me like hes excited to see me, and hes real good at it. Hes maneuvering me onto my back while he takes a top position.

Moving his head lower he pulls my panties off but with such reckless abandon theyre still on my left leg. Good kissers are also known to be good lovers, from my observation. Youre taking your clothes off, too. I dont recognize the alphabet hes writing, maybe its Spanish.

The moment he kisses my thighs its all over. His eagerness to put his mouth on my slit is palpable. He didnt just dive face first into my nonsense salad- first he ran his tongue up my outer labia on both sides and it felt soft and gentle and GIVE ME MORE. Fuck God sounds totally different when Im cumming and yelling nonsense. Right around now is where I learned Im actually bilingual, but whatever language I was stuttering out can only be whispered or shouted; theres no in between.

Oh my god hes licking my asshole- I have sex Tourettes. Do you think Jesus and God can tell youre not swearing AT them? he pushes my legs up and licks up and down, then just down. I can barely take it, stretched to maximum capacity for comfort, and even then hes mildly uncomfortably large. And it consists mostly of very short, hostile sounding 4 letter words.

DONT STOP, DONT STOP, DONT STOP. Once he was done tracing and teasing I felt the warm, wet touch of his whole mouth open around my clitoris, moving his tongue in ways I cant imagine or describe. Holding my body close to his and pushing his hips up into me, my limbs instinctively wrap around him like a slutty octopus. His length is perfectly spot on- any longer and he just wouldve www.abby winters.com been too much.

GOD DAMN YOU HAVE A BIG DICK. Pushing my limits for size, I question if my lungs have enough room to inflate fully while hes all the way inside. Id put him right around 7 inches in length, my preference being 6.

With my pelvis lifted to the right level, hed shove his tongue in me as my insides start to contract with the orgasm. Literally cumming on his tongue. For sure hes wearing the biggest condom commercially manufactured, or a trash bag. My hips would buck but his arms would find their way around them and hold them in place, while my legs stretched upward trying to walk on the ceiling. We didnt transition out of missionary, he sat up and spread my legs wide while plunging into me with force and conviction.

He rolls on a condom and pushes himself inside me- my eyes rolled back so far I saw memories from my childhood. I sound maybe like a dying rabbit as my fingers pull his short hair and hold his head firmly in place. I didnt keep count, I was much too busy screaming his praises to the Gods.

He gets his and we collapse away from each other. As soon as I begin to cum, back go the legs, down goes the head, and hed ride my climax on his face. When I would start to climax, hed withdraw quickly and push my legs up around my head. He puts his underwear back on and Im guessing hes leaving now, sad times, but then he hops back onto the bed and I take the opportunity to snuggle up into his armpit and touch on his body while I bask in the afterglow.

He does this for every single orgasm. Im wrapped around him and mostly content. I cant get my mouth around it right, my hand doesnt wrap around it. Its awkward to handle, do I need a license? I feel like my certs are out of date because this newfangled cocktraption is just outside of my scope of experience.

Good Lord, who taught you to do that? I gift him my mouth because hes more than earned it. I could definitely go for more, but hes not some 20-something with endless stamina. He pounds away at me from different positions, I like him behind me because I like his stroke and how he braces himself by holding my hips down. Clearly he gets most of his satisfaction from pleasing his lady.

Im not going to argue, and somebody has been listening to my thoughts and dreams again because this man was made in a fucking lab just for me. The sun goes down around 4pm right now so thats not a good indicator either. what even is time, man. Im amused I come across that way- Im all about those afterglow cuddles.

Between our rounds we break for cuddles and snuggles- he confesses he assumed, from my profile on PoF, that he was to go after the first round and I wasnt much for affection or cuddling afterward. He enjoys the cuddles too, and doesnt like to just leave after a hookup unless thats her preference. Please me you thick dick Georgia peach!

Take care of your partner after you fuck them. He enjoys my head game but it just makes him want to fuck me. He gets off twice more and I have no idea how much time has passed. HOLD MEEEEEEEEEEE, pet my hair and tell me Im pretty. Fool I dont get to round 3 very often with men in their supposed prime, so whos more thrilled! Hes an intuitive partner and he reads my cues very well, plus he just wants to bring me all the pleasure.

Apparently he doesnt get to round 3 very often, and hes kind of thrilled about it. His size is intimidating and hes more shaped for vaginal feel goods. I like how he lays it down, and I like anal with the right partner. He admits hes never been able to have anal successfully, and I can understand why.

The way hes shaped, getting the head in is not the hard part- he gest wider towards the middle and base, like a fucking road cone. I dont doubt that hell follow my lead and respect my signals if things get too intense. The last time things started heating up Im on my belly and hes pressing the head of his monster cock on my asshole- Im doing word problems in my head about the likelihood of this being a good idea or not.

He apologizes for cumming too soon- I had to hold back my school girl giggle. He flipped me over and fucked me hard up until I told him to say my magic words. What a dear, sweet lover. He actually thought he owed me an apology after our FOURTH consecutive romp. Tell me you love fucking me. Ive got shit to do as well. 10/10 would fuck again.

I tell him point-blank Id like to see him again before he leaves, he happily agrees. We were unable to make it happen, he was just too big and we didnt do enough warmup, but I took about half of him before tapping out. He texts me asking what my plans are for the evening, as hed like abby winters galleries to grab a couple of beers and a late dinner.

Fast forward 24 hours. When posed with options like this, I always ask WHY NOT BOTH? I tell him Im going to shower and meet him at the restaurant bar near his hotel, he instructs me to bring my lube. I dont really do compromises. Or I could come over to his hotel room after and he could just fuck my brains out all night.

Maybe Id like to join him? In the time it took me to excitedly shower and keelhaul the warts off my body, my phone starts showing notifications of other interested men folk. The words fall out of his mouth and he explodes seconds later, to his own surprise. why end with a OR when theres always an AND?

He tells me I cant miss him at the restaurant bar- hes wearing a cowboy hat. (You thought that hyperlink went to the movie reference, didntcha? CANT TALK NOW, THICKEST DICK EVER WANTS TO TAKE ME TO POUND TOWN! Oh goody, I know what Im wearing later. Can honestly say hes a good one.

Test me, Ive got true grit. ) The company was great, hes fun to talk to. Cleaned up, its time for him to go he has things to do. As were leaving I ask how many Magnum XL condoms he has- he says 4. He confesses he doesnt generally have his lady spend the night because hes very affectionate and waking up next to someone hes spent the better part of the night pleasing, can lead to him having feelings.

We need to buy more, STAT. I feel like a teenager again. We talk about our kids, divorce, he tells me about his previous military experience, and what hes doing now. Rolling into Wal-Mart at that hour, with giant shit-eating grins on our faces, buying only condoms.

You think youre big, you aint big until you must have custom condoms. I get what youre saying, were gonna fool around and then I gotta GTFO. Sexy Ginger man with a good head on his shoulders and giant cock, somebody please snatch this man up quick haha or dont, and let him keep sharing that beautiful endowment with all the ladies.

Back to the hotel room, we barely make it to the bed and hes on me. Details from here are fuzzy, but he went down for ages and we fucked around in every position. Dont get it twisted; theres approximately 10 million condoms in my purse, but they wouldnt fit him. Remember, if youre hard to size on either end of the spectrum theres a UK company called TheyFit that you can enter your measurements into and theyll get you fitted with one of their 66 sizes.

We took a smoke break before trying www.abby winters yoga abby winters.com (linked site) again, and he tells me hes half Mexican. This perfect Ginger man is also a beaner. He was made just for me. While he was behind me licking and sucking my clit, shoving his tongue inside my pussy and my asshole, I hear the top of the lube bottle click. At some point I wore his Stetson when we come back inside, naked.

He positions himself at the backdoor and gently adds pressure until I whimper or tense up. Working together slowly, gently, following my vocal cues I take him to the base. Pushed to the hilt we pause. Its more than mildly uncomfortable, but if we take it slow itll feel great.

I can feel it cold and slippery, then hear him stroking it on himself. I swear to Kylie Minogue I cant make this stuff up. Im a little drunk- 3 drinks on a mostly empty stomach, Ill sit on your lap and call you Daddy if you want. He picks up the pace, we start talking dirty to each other. I have not been quiet at all during any of this, but now Im incapable of controlling the primal animal noises Im bleating into the bedding.

He was having some performance issues but was bound and determined to make sure I enjoyed our time as much as possible. I can feel him shaking a bit, hes going to cum soon. Its late, the booze and orgasms are sedating me.

Hes down close on me, wrapping his big hands around mine, entwining our fingers, crossing arms under my chin as he grinds into me. I tell him to withdraw slowly. I wake up hazily to roll over and his arms find their way around me again, hes a perfect big spoon. After several loud, amazing orgasms, he gets down close and pushes himself inside me all at once.

Rocking into me Im wrapped around him in my koala hug. Hes holding me and Im lost in it. I awake fully to him sliding down the bed, tossing my right leg over and burying his face in my morning pussy. Digging my fingers into his back and pulling his short hair, I dont want it to end. Im cold and reach for a sheet, he covers us immediately and Im back out like a light.

He slows down but hes plunging into me with the kind of force and quivering body that lets me know its now. Pushing my skirt up, pulling my panties to the side, he takes my box in his mouth and I hold on for dear life, staring up at the mirrored ceiling I get to watch myself almost cum in his mouth.

Morning sex was more passionate, and a bit briefer. Hes even kissing me with my dragon breath. We havent even hit the floor button yet. When we get to the ground floor we smoke together outside, recap our enjoyment with each other. My back hurts from how he so violently throws my legs back to eat my pussy while Im cumming, both my pussy and asshole are recovering from their respective stretching and beating, and Im walking on a broken toe.

We get dressed together, and he goes to walk me out but as soon as the elevator door closed he dropped to his knees. He tells me after two days with me, he wont be able to fuck for a week. God damn that was good. He reaches up, hits L, and continues his works. 10/10 would fuck any time. I am completely satisfied. This will happen one week from now, when he has free time again.

I scamper home to sit on frozen bags of peas, pound water, and cuddle all my pillows. tt/2i9A4Cy /u/DDfnord Link is directly to this story http://ift. This entry on my sex blog has hyperlinks, if youd like to see it in full I write on WordPress and the blog name is All The Dicks.

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adventk-blog · 7 years

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— ARE YOU WHO YOU WANT TO BE,

introducing KIM JONGIN, a MUTANT, under the moniker of PLAGUE — and currently a believer of SEPARATION. age ( twenty-four ) and gifted with the ability of CONTAGION EMBODIMENT, they are currently working as an HEIR.

WE ARE SO MUCH MORE THAN STORIES,

this is a story where a boy eats himself and never spits the flesh out. shrapnel bones and papier-mâché skin against your palate: hemorrhage painting your insides with the color of unrest, carving a private death in the confines of your own ribcage.

the corpses of your sanity taste like copper in your lonely mouth.

licks your lips clean from the residue of your nightmares— sanity never comes away in a bang.

you partake in the game played between mortals made serpents. your unholy intents, their forked tongues. it’s an all-night dance. the music is an overture of reprised elegies. hands on hips, hands on shoulder blades, hands on throats.

you come out alive. but not intact. never intact.

turn the clockwork around, however, and clasp the zeroes between your teeth.

your body is a husk, containing the hollow echo of your scream.

she is the baby’s breath in his summer, counting filaments of the sky through the rim of her sun-kissed dress. when she threads her fingers between his, heat. pooled at the stomach, rusting on his cheeks. some of those afternoons smell like forgotten nightmares, sunk in the collarbones of his daydreams. some of those evenings haze his thoughts in the stained glass of emotions, cracking through his visions. he brings her home and locks his monsters in their caskets.

how the nights end: arched spines, tiptoeing whispers. she washes his mouth with her wine. he is afraid of diluting her insides with acid.

she maps poetries into his skin and he traces the constellation of her teeth. she is made of soft carnage and he, the victim. he doesn’t mind the casualty, cutting his ribcage to let her fingers curl around his heart. she pulses red and he breathes in her dust.

knees to the floor, mouth colored with wishes. there is something different about the way her tongue wraps around the simple word.

darkness descends. you consume her.

ii.

maybe more than you should have.

she holds the small of your fingers. a smile splinters the pale of her lips. he isn’t smiling. he reads between the lines, catching implications between his trembling teeth. she holds the small of your fingers. he caresses the brittle of her skin.

the silence echoes. her tongue wraps around three syllables, tasting more than a whisper. the silence blossoms and suffocates the room. except for the static noises, always the static noises. it’s a uniform sound that punctures his ears they bleed shards.

you make her a martyr, and him, a fallen soldier.

iii.

he fills you with his ruins.

her residue. his empty daydreams. somehow the color of the summer sky resembles blood more than sorrow. he keeps bleeding; there’s no scar tissue, just open wounds. he decorates the jutting bones of his knuckles with ire. catharsis comes in the beauty of bruised roses. sometimes when he laughs, you think he’s angry.

he lathers his mouth with her ashes.

you have her eyes. sometimes he looks into them, looking past you. he stares at them for the longest time.

iv.

he says you learned fast, breaking sentences into slivers, smearing fingertips with ink. what you failed to learn: your shadows sometimes flicker.

you fear darkness but it fears you more.

the black is serrated, teeth razor sharp against your jugular. your moments between sleep are painted with ragged breaths and unspoken pleas. there is something moving in the dark.

he believes it’s her, keeping you company.

monsters don’t live in the absence of lights, he says. they live in your bones, gnawing at your sinews. you were born with them inside you.

what you were born with besides the monstrosity: demise, spelled another way.

you were architected to carry an empire in you.

vi.

she is a ticking clock at the back of your head. she spells morse code that sinks into your flesh, splitting you open, red and raw.

on good days, messages become concave like braille and you will trace the letters that perforate your skin, thinking that it is how it feels to have a mother. on good days, the kids that wear cheshire grins and early claw marks will leave you alone, at the corner of the room, so that you can speak with her.

she is beautiful.

( they call her imaginary. )

you are six when you draw your first carnage: your knuckles against their teeth. then, your knife into their pets’ guts.

vii.

the architecture of your nights is made of skyscrapers colored in questions:

a. ) he takes you for a walk. your shadows are elongated, and sometimes they shiver. you swear they falter when they are not trying to smother. their crooked smiles become the shade of your existence. how do you tell your father that you are haunted?

b. ) she is a background noise, static. when you’re awake past midnight and staring at the blank space, she’s there. you can feel that she’s withering, her ashes becoming more and more prominent on your fingertips. how do you hold onto your mother when she fades?

c. ) god feels like a dream at the back of your head. you cover your knees with dust and fold your hands in prayers. you close your eyes to see god, but instead, you see flickers of faces. how do you whisper to god and ask him to save you without them listening?

viii.

the moon speaks in various languages. it is, they say, a polyglot.

first:

acid corrodes the corners of your mouth. you smile too much, too wide. he is proud of you when you do, not seeing the globules of red that form on your lips. sometimes, you trade them with an ashen mouth: say you’re older than you actually are, pretend you’re smarter than you actually are. he is proud when you do, not seeing that it’s a forked tongue that grows underneath your palate. they will laugh with you, at you. the kids with cheshire grins and early claw marks are no longer present. instead, it’s the grown-up kids with christened lust and empty decadence that won’t leave you alone, even on good days.

second:

you are a hollow blue shell when it’s three in the morning. fold your legs against the bare of your chest. water, streaming. warmth, engulfing. it’s so cold outside, inside. what brews within: the purpling heartbeat of a growing child, trapped in the illusion of adolescence. it is hard, harder when you are in the company of the darkness that stutters on your collapsing hands. unanswered questions, engraved on your bones — except that it’s too late to ask, too late to pass it as another excuse for a childhood disturbance. there is no such thing as an imaginary friend when you’re twelve.

third:

ask the god in your sleep if you’re dreaming. ask him if you’re sleeping with your eyes open. primal desires embed themselves on the lines of your arms. he is a stark contrast against the skin of your thighs. maybe it’s because you have her eyes. maybe it’s because she lives inside your bones. you don’t know, don’t care. he tastes like stale cigarettes and too much alcohol against your spine, stubborn and inebriating.

ix.

he slips bloodshed into your lullabies.

bruises embody his detonations. he looks tired, but alive for once. you don’t speak when his knuckles rupture the fragility in the dying war. you don’t move when his weary limbs pretend that they aren’t weighted by the lingering ghosts.

it’s a cyclical catastrophe, your feigned innocence. how the nights end: you, collecting his pieces and trying to reassemble his bones.

but they have been too dislocated.

yet you talk to him, talk talk talk until your mouth blooms poppies, trying to keep him alive.

there is a pool of moonburst in your head, carving craters and dents to soak them in liquid destructions.

there was a part of you littered with everything soft. you’d like to think of these: bird-bones, tender skin. think of gentleness. think of baby’s breath.

there was a part of you littered with everything soft. what’s left: splinters. these days fill themselves to the neck with digging your nails into your skin. you are a cathedral of burning, tendrils of black billowing from your crevasses. you are a pair of tangled feet on the brim of apocalypse, waiting for darkness to swallow you whole.

when it does, it never spits you out.

xi.

you are pronounced dead on your sweet sixteenth; a detonation within the ribcage in the company of an unpinned grenade. the pin: between your teeth, clasped so tightly you shudder. and in here, where you buried your corpse without an open-casket ceremony. nails burrowed in your flesh instead of the coffin. in here, where you decayed your insides in the process of atrophies. talents illuminated a number of necrosis instead.

you don’t know which to sacrifice: your mind, or your body.

( or both. )

xii.

how does it feel, being a stranger to your own body? you imagine that your fingers aren’t yours, standing under the shower for hours hoping to shed your skin off your flesh. the sight of the red and blue can’t be more fascinating.

a dissected mind.

you breathe in decay until your lungs shiver. you wear the rust until your knuckles turn gaunt.

xiii.

they saw: how your shadows flicker. they saw: how your darkness enshrouds.

somebody tells you to run, run, run. from yourself.

last time you did, you broke a bone and handed the pieces to them. last time you did, you bruised your mind and the capillaries are still severed.

( but this isn’t a compromise, this isn’t a discussion. )

xiv.

you bite the pomegranate of chaos and swallow the seeds, the flowers blooming in your stomach.

question:

do you run from the beasts in your reality, or do you run from the monsters your invented in your head?

and this is it — the run, run, run. in your fisted palm is a lungful of blood, drained from others’ veins. they call it a sacrifice. they call it an escape. what they actually call it: an exodus. what you actually call it: your carnages. how do you tell bloodshed apart from your fractured facts?

( you don’t. )

summary + developments:

000. born to a mother that passed during the labor, he was raised by a single father who was never quite there, often found mourning over the death of his wife. seemingly blamed his son for it, although jongin inherited some of his mother’s looks, which caused his father to pay occasional attention towards him, in the most distanced ways possible.

001. he started developing a sense of hallucination, seeing his mother as an imaginary friend, which was scratched off as something typical of a child. this worsened to the point where he fought his peers over being called out for hallucinating his mother. untreated, he eventually started resorting to venting his anger on pets and strays. this apathetic tendency never reached his father until it was too late, in a sense, and that was the beginning of the fracture in his sanity.

002. his ability began to manifest at the age of eight, and the first time was how fresh flowers wilted under his touch. he blamed it on the darkness that surrounded him, thinking that he was haunted. paranoia infected him, and his father disregarded the fact that his son grew even less and less coherent by day, making him pretend he was normal whenever guests came around. being an heir to a multibillion company, he was turned into a puppet on strings for his father’s convenience, left in the backstage whenever the limelight was over.

003. hallucination continued, and abilities blossomed as he grew up. it took him years to comprehend the mechanism of his own powers, experimenting through touch onto the beggars that he seemed to pity. when the beggars died of mysterious diseases, he started to understand, and he thought he was doing them a favor, for there was no use living such pitiful lives. and that was when he realized how his mind had disintegrated, alongside the hallucination and paranoia.

004. when he was thirteen, he began to deviate, forming atypical moralities. he differentiated himself from the rest of his friends, experiencing the pit of his illnesses to the point where he eventually broke. this tipping point was when he became unfeeling, and started pretending. when he was brought to a therapist, it was too late. he never attended the next sessions, hiding behind fake smiles and false truths.

005. sixteen, and he basically transformed into a full-fledged malice. he still battled with himself, trying to salvage what little was left from his humanity, but the violence streaks simply triumphed over the smidgens of his morality. this was when he started terrorizing people without them realizing, spreading diseases unprompted. the idea of becoming “plague” didn’t develop until he was around twenty, however.

006. and a year later, he started donning the plague doctor attire whenever he needed his “release”, walking around the city to spread unnecessary terrors. at this point, his powers have developed so much that he didn’t need direct touch to spread diseases anymore, although certain physiologies still required it. now, twenty-four, he’s still doing his round as “plague” while harnessing his powers, as well as scopes of self-defense that his powers do not cover. he knows, nevertheless, that his powers corrode his mind, and he doesn’t truly let the fact perturb him.

THERE IS FLESH AND BLOOD BEHIND THESE TALES,

living up to his alias, kim jongin is a plagued mind through and through. the state of his mental and moral is currently questioned, even by himself, and the truths about his own abilities do not help but faltering his own beliefs in regards to his sanity. this, however, bothers him less and less by day, and it’s indubitable that he’s over halfway to succumbing towards this instability. amoral, apathetic, atrophic.

he relishes in schadenfreude, liking the facts that he can make other people suffer, although on the front he would be anything but. charming to the point where some would think he’s genuinely a kind soul, he is twisted with a lot of lies spilled easily from his mouth. a complex personality, he’s often seen as a friend by many, an enemy by some. as “plague”, he’s fully disguised in the plague doctor attire, that many do not seem to know his true identity.

also a cunning intellectual, he’s made of a lot of tricks to sate his violent mentalities. he is not above simple blackmailing, disguising it as various kindness, although the motives behind it are anything but. he enjoys moments with fellow intellectuals, talking about anything and everything. has an open view of the world, although he’s certainly opinionated, although he doesn’t push his opinions on others.

overall, a danger to most, but a danger undetected regardless.

AND EVEN MONSTERS CAN LEARN TO WEEP.

mutation: contagion embodiment.

applications:

000. he has the ability to become the embodiment of contagion, meaning that he can spread influences accordingly. his state of abilities is dependent on his current mental as well as physical status, although at the peak he can infect up to one kilometre radius, or even more considering the complexities of the influence being spread. his influences include, but not limited to, diseases and insanity, as well as appeal to negative emotions. when it comes to emotions, he finds it easier to amplify than inflict from zero, although the latter is far from impossible. negative influences in the mind are usually formed through the similar systematics of killing serotonin, and sometimes, in more severe cases, inducing necrosis. he’s most educated in terms of disease manipulation, however, compared to the other aspects of his powers.

001. he can generate, induce, and manipulate diseases — also called disease manipulation in terms of power. while this application greatly varies, it’s highly based on his own knowledge in regards to these illnesses. he cannot inflict what he doesn’t know, and while he can create the diseases, he needs to comprehend the systematic of the diseases: how it affects the immune system, how it affects the body, etc. his understandings about diseases when it comes to this ability are vastly different from that of medical knowledge, and it cannot simply be explained in words. he can also accelerate and suppress diseases, although healing is a far-fetched idea that he has yet to apply a lot. thus, curing is an aspect least touched upon, rendering it almost obsolete in his deposit. other applications of this are: infection empowerment ( ability to become empowered by the presence of diseases ), pathogen manipulation ( transferral, mimicry, elimination, hypnotic ), cellular disintegration ( to destroy cells by inflicting diseases ), healing factor nullification, as well as mutation inducement, although this one is extremely limited to what might be received by the victim’s dna. poison manipulation — which includes all scopes of poison, including toxin and venom, is also within his reach considering the similar systematics to disease manipulation.

002. he also possesses a fragment of parasite physiology and virus mimicry, although this is the least harnessed out of the other powers. through his parasitic characteristics, he’s able to tap into genetic memories, and upon touch, replicate an extent of knowledge, despite not much. it’s typically only on the surface, enveloping the conscious. through this, he can read the minds, be they memories or understandings, although this doesn’t last long after the contact is cut off. in a sense, he’s also bestowed with regenerative healing factor by absorbing someone else’s health, also through direct contact. as for the virus mimicry, while he’s unable to perform anything that alters his solid form, he’s able to execute some of the applications in it, such as rupturing internal organs, although in order to do that he needs to have the victim remaining still — for it takes time. he can also perform cellular disintegration, which relates back to regenerative healing factor nullification, in which he can overpower cellular regeneration.

limitations:

001. he is, by no means, immune to his own powers, and therefore anyone who mimics this power can hit him at his point of vulnerability. he has no superhuman immunity, albeit slightly more enhanced in a way that he doesn’t fall sick as easily, but he’s definitely still able to contract diseases that he himself can spread onto others. the only way to cure himself is by applying his own healing power, which is far from polished. another way to lessen this effect would be through empowerment, although not all diseases can be empowered, and may weaken and eventually kill him instead.

002. emotional influences are limited to negative scopes only, with the spectrum lying at the corner of fear and madness, and he cannot spread other types of emotions apart from these. it also limits the amplification of emotional states for those around him, where he can only magnify the negative ones as opposed to the positives.

003. also, in terms of mental stability, he’s slowly decaying considering his powers consume a lot of him. they feed off his sanity, in a way that his emotional responses towards his own influences cause a decline. these powers also rely heavily on his imagination, and most of the time, he feels the imaginary pain of the emotions and diseases before being able to transfer them.

004. the spectrum of illnesses that he can spread highly depends on the amount of knowledge that he has on said specimens. it’s easier for him to inflict diseases on humans, knowing their specifics of immune system and whatnot, rather than vigils and mutants considering that they vary highly. with the variants, he needs to gauge a measurement as to how much influence is needed to affect them at all.

005. his power is mostly affective towards those around him as opposed to himself, meaning that while he’s able to apply some of them onto his own benefits, most of it is actually an output. his powers rely on offensive instead of defensive manner, in which if someone manages to replicate and outpower him, he’d be unable to form a defence mechanism. his mimicry might bring some powers inward, but as they’re not as trained as the rest of the powers, they do not work as effectively either.

006. being mentally unstable also takes a toll on his powers, seeing that they’re reliant on his stability to perform the tasks. it turns into a paradox where his abilities make him unstable; it formulates a never-ending ring of fire, which he knows will eventually consume him mentally. while he can regenerate his own brain cells by the various techniques that he can apply, be it through absorption or empowerment, he cannot fix what’s broken from the sanity for it’s intangible, leaving him with a rotting mind. and unfortunately, his ability to affect emotions are also increasing the volatility of his mental state, further worsening his conditions.

007. knowledge replication through parasitic tendencies can only be acquired through direct contact, skin on skin without any hindering fabrics and the likes. upon having the contact terminated, knowledge that isn’t obtained in his understandings ( e.g. adoptive muscle memories, as well as other types of knowledge which systematic is foreign to him ) would dissipate as soon as it comes. this doesn’t mean that he can replicate powers either, unless it has something to do with the mind. he can only read memories and thoughts superficially, and although some might be retained depending on how long the contact remains, the majority of it is

THREAT LEVEL TWO. 04+ BRWN, 04+ RSLNC, 06+ INTLCT, 02+ WLLPWR, 04+ FGHTNG, 04+ SPD

#avt: follow #kim jongin #krp #kpop rp #tw: parental neglect #tw: death #tw: animal cruelty #tw: mental illness #tw: body horror

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