#Soil Resistivity Test

[bhoojalsurvey]

Unlocking Soil Secrets: The Importance and Applications of Soil Resistance Testing

Introduction

Soil resistance testing, often referred to as soil resistivity testing, is a critical process in understanding the electrical properties of soil. This type of testing is essential for various applications, including construction, agriculture, and environmental monitoring. This article delves into the significance of soil resistivity testing, its methodologies, and its diverse applications, highlighting how this essential procedure unlocks the secrets held within the soil.

Understanding Soil Resistivity Testing

What is Soil Resistivity Testing?

Soil resistivity testing measures the ability of soil to resist the flow of electricity. The result is expressed in ohm-metres (Ω·m) and provides valuable information about the soil's composition, moisture content, and overall electrical properties. This data is crucial for designing grounding systems, assessing soil health, and preventing soil corrosion.

Importance of Soil Resistivity Testing

Soil resistivity is a fundamental parameter in various fields. It helps in determining the suitability of the soil for specific applications and in designing appropriate measures to mitigate potential issues. Understanding soil resistivity aids in:

Designing effective grounding systems for electrical installations

Assessing soil health for agricultural purposes

Preventing soil corrosion around underground structures

Conducting environmental impact assessments

Methodologies for Soil Resistivity Testing

Wenner Method

The Wenner method is one of the most commonly used techniques for soil resistivity testing. It involves placing four equally spaced electrodes into the ground and passing a current between the outer electrodes while measuring the potential difference between the inner electrodes. The soil resistivity is then calculated based on these measurements.

Schlumberger Method

The Schlumberger method is similar to the Wenner method but with a key difference in the electrode spacing. The outer electrodes are placed further apart compared to the inner ones, allowing for deeper resistivity measurements. This method is particularly useful for geotechnical investigations.

Driven Rod Method

The driven rod method involves driving a single rod into the ground and measuring the resistance between the rod and the ground. This method is typically used for shallow depth measurements and is less accurate than the Wenner or Schlumberger methods but can be useful for quick assessments.

Applications of Soil Resistivity Testing

Electrical Grounding Systems

One of the primary applications of soil resistivity testing is in the design of electrical grounding systems. Low soil resistivity indicates good conductivity, making the soil suitable for grounding. This information helps engineers design systems that ensure electrical safety by providing a low-resistance path to the ground.

Agriculture and Soil Health

In agriculture, soil resistivity testing is used to assess soil health and fertility. The test can reveal the soil's moisture content and salinity levels, which are critical for crop growth. By understanding these parameters, farmers can make informed decisions about irrigation and soil management practices.

Construction and Infrastructure

For construction projects, soil resistivity testing provides essential data for foundation design and the protection of underground structures. High soil resistivity can indicate potential issues with soil corrosion, which can damage pipelines, cables, and other buried infrastructure. By conducting resistivity tests, engineers can implement protective measures to extend the lifespan of these structures.

Environmental Monitoring

Soil resistivity testing is also employed in environmental monitoring to detect contamination and assess the impact of pollutants. Changes in soil resistivity can indicate the presence of contaminants, helping environmental scientists track pollution sources and develop remediation strategies.

Conclusion

Soil resistivity testing is a versatile and indispensable tool across multiple industries. By unlocking the secrets held within the soil, this testing method provides critical insights that inform the design, construction, and maintenance of various systems and structures. Whether for electrical grounding, agricultural management, construction planning, or environmental protection, understanding soil resistivity is essential for sustainable and safe practices.

How Bhoojal Survey & Recharging Can Help You with Soil Resistance Test Services in India

Bhoojal Survey & Recharging offers expert soil resistance test services across India. Our experienced team conducts comprehensive soil resistivity tests using advanced methodologies, providing accurate and reliable data for your projects. Whether you need assistance for electrical grounding, agricultural assessments, or construction planning, Bhoojal Survey & Recharging ensures you receive the insights necessary for informed decision-making and sustainable practices. Partner with us for professional and efficient soil resistivity testing services tailored to your needs.

FAQs

What is the purpose of a soil resistivity test?

A soil resistivity test measures the soil's ability to conduct electricity, providing crucial data for designing grounding systems, assessing soil health, and preventing soil corrosion.

How is a soil resistivity test conducted?

Soil resistivity tests are typically conducted using the Wenner, Schlumberger, or driven rod methods, involving the placement of electrodes in the soil and measuring the resistance to electrical flow.

Why is soil resistivity important in construction?

In construction, soil resistivity is important for foundation design and protecting underground structures from corrosion. It helps engineers implement measures to ensure structural integrity and longevity.

Can soil resistivity testing help in agriculture?

Yes, soil resistivity testing can help in agriculture by assessing soil moisture and salinity levels, which are critical for crop growth and soil management practices.

How does soil resistivity affect electrical grounding systems?

Soil resistivity affects electrical grounding systems by indicating the soil's conductivity. Low resistivity soils are more suitable for grounding, ensuring electrical safety by providing a low-resistance path to the ground.

[midseo]

Earthing Solutions, Earthing Electrodes, GI Earthing Electrodes, Chemical Earthing Rod, Pune, India

We Are The Pune Based ISO Certified Chemical Earthing Manufacturer and Supplier of Earthing Solutions, Earthing Electrodes, GI Earthing Electrodes, Chemical Earthing Rod, Pune, India.

[nuitfilms]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀[ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝓥𝐈𝐄𝐖 ] anatchaya suputhipong

␥ g!p natty x fem!reader ␥ 963 words 🚨 SMUT, praise, unprotected, hair pulling, potential exhibitionism/public, college!au, creampie, squirting ␥ you, the quiet student who minds her own business, gets persuaded to follow one of your problematic peers to the school rooftop.

One thing about being the ‘quiet one’ is that you’re a fly on the wall to people’s conversations. Being the one who barely says a word allows you a peek into everyone else’s business.

Which is how you’re aware of the chaos and drama that happens between a group of two-faced nepo babies or two supposed ‘best friends’ where one is trying to take the other’s boyfriend away.

The drama proves that no one can be trusted, and that it’s best to mind your own business, learn the material, and graduate. But who knew that minding your own business could still lead you to trouble.

Natty, one of the many problematic peers you try to avoid, had approached you at the beginning of the week. As friendly as she was, you internally questioned why she would talk to you now when she has been in at least one class with you every semester. Nonetheless, you were certain that she just wanted to copy your work, and you couldn’t care enough to fight her off on it.

Except she didn’t want to copy off of you.

In fact, she didn’t want anything school-related from you.

A shallow thrust of her cock from behind pries your dripping cunt open and forces your chest up against the hard wall that you’re pinned against. You don’t know how you let her convince you to come up to the rooftop where any student could hear and see you but here you are, wrapped around Natty’s finger with your soiled panties tucked away in her pocket.

You whimper when she tugs at your hair, forcing your head back. Her laughter sends a chill down your spine as you’ve fallen prey to an attractive girl’s advances, but getting tangled up in bad business might—for once—be something you won’t regret. 

Clearly, because you’re no longer trying to escape.

“What a beauty.” Her breathy remarks fan over your neck, goosebumps pricking your sensitive skin. “I’ve always wanted to feel what it’s like being inside you.”

Her grip on your roots tighten, igniting a sense of pain and pleasure that threatens to buckle your knees and fall at her mercy. 

You’ve never thought of such a thing about anyone. You will acknowledge hot and beautiful women but never intended to jump on anyone for a piece of them. You’ve certainly never thought that anyone saw you in the same light. You may not be as observant as you thought you were.

But Natty gives off the vibe of someone who doesn’t stick around and makes moves on multiple women. You fully expect to be one of her many conquests, therefore not caring that this may be your only experience with her. You’re simply here in the moment, reveling in the way her cock makes you feel like there’s not enough room to spare. 

In the midst of the heat, she slides out, filling you with momentary despair as she spins you around to face her. With your back to the wall, she raises your leg over her shoulder. Your flexibility somehow exists and is tested but with lust still burning in the pit of your belly, you don’t feel any discomfort. Your ample wetness grants her cock easy access and you heave a relieved sigh as she resumes fucking you.

“What a pretty girl,” she boasts with a smirk as her pace tests your balance. “So pretty dripping for me like this.”

The mess between your thighs can’t be denied. After coming once on her fingers, you can feel another impending wave in the distance. Natty has acquired enough experience—be it through various women or a lot of alone time—to know how to touch you and make you come. You can sense the rise of her ego as your noises become louder and more frequent. With your cunt threatening to resist her, she’s fucking you harder, knocking your back against the hard wall with each thrust of her hips.

“Na-Natty,” you whine, one hand clawing on the back of your thigh and the other digging into the wall behind you for balance. 

Your legs begin trembling. The earth is taunting you below, ready to cushion a hard descent from the ecstasy that’s rushing through your limbs. Your eyes roll back as her thumb sneaks between both of your hips and flicks over your engorged clit. Just as you’re about to let out a shamelessly loud moan, the door to the rooftop slams open on the other side.

You immediately slap a hand over your mouth, but Natty doesn’t stop. She only grins and drills you harder. Whatever thought that crossed your mind is fucked out of you, and you suffer in the presence of your oblivious peers as you gush around her cock. You’re ready to slide down the wall but she keeps you propped up and uses you to her desire.

Each thrust forces spurts of your cum out, leaving your thighs and the cold hard ground in a messy puddle of your release. Your eyelids flutter open and you spectate Natty’s orgasm. Her hips stutter after she bottoms out inside you, stuffing you with a shallow thrust. Warmth floods your insides and your eyes roll back as she forces you to take it all in.

“God,” she grunts against your chest.

You hope that your peers don’t hear from the other side of the rooftop. That they don’t catch on to the ‘quiet one’ getting her brains fucked out by one of the sociable, troublemaking ones.

If word were to spread, you would have no choice but to transfer schools. But if that bridge needs to be crossed, you’ll do so when you get there. 

For now, you simply accept the white hot release that’s flooding and dripping out of you.

[olowan-waphiya]

of fucking course.....they fucking coated paper straws with pfas......its a fucking nightmare

--

Long-lasting 'forever chemicals', which can cause damaging health issues, found in 18/20 brands of paper straws

In the first analysis of its kind in Europe, and only the second in the world, Belgian researchers tested 39 brands of straws for the group of synthetic chemicals known as poly- and perfluoroalkyl substances (PFAS).

PFAS were found in the majority of the straws tested and were most common in those made from paper and bamboo, the study, published in the peer-reviewed journal Food Additives and Contaminants, found.

PFAS are used to make everyday products, from outdoor clothing to non-stick pans, resistant to water, heat and stains. They are, however, potentially harmful to people, wildlife and the environment.

They break down very slowly over time and can persist over thousands of years in the environment, a property that has led to them being known as "forever chemicals."

They have been associated with a number of health problems, including lower response to vaccines, lower birth weight, thyroid disease, increased cholesterol levels, liver damage, kidney cancer and testicular cancer.

"Straws made from plant-based materials, such as paper and bamboo, are often advertised as being more sustainable and eco-friendly than those made from plastic," says researcher Dr Thimo Groffen, an environmental scientist at the University of Antwerp, who is involved in this study.

"However, the presence of PFAS in these straws means that's not necessarily true."

A growing number of countries, including the UK and Belgium, have banned sale of single-use plastic products, including drinking straws, and plant-based versions have become popular alternatives.

A recent study found PFAS in plant-based drinking straws in the US. Dr Groffen and colleagues wanted to find out if the same was true of those on sale in Belgium.

To explore this further, the research team purchased 39 different brands of drinking straw made from five materials -- paper, bamboo, glass, stainless steel and plastic.

The straws, which were mainly obtained from shops, supermarkets and fast-food restaurants, then underwent two rounds of testing for PFAS.

The majority of the brands (27/39, 69%) contained PFAS, with 18 different PFAS detected in total.

The paper straws were most likely to contain PFAS, with the chemicals detected in 18/20 (90%) of the brands tested. PFAS were also detected in 4/5 (80%) brands of bamboo straw, 3/4 (75%) of the plastic straw brands and 2/5 (40%) brands of glass straw. They were not detected in any of the five types of steel straw tested.

The most commonly found PFAS, perfluorooctanoic acid (PFOA), has been banned globally since 2020.

Also detected were trifluoroacetic acid (TFA) and trifluoromethanesulfonic acid (TFMS), "ultra-short chain" PFAS which are highly water soluble and so might leach out of straws into drinks.

The PFAS concentrations were low and, bearing in mind that most people tend to only use straws occasionally, pose a limited risk to human health. However, PFAS can remain in the body for many years and concentrations can build up over time.

"Small amounts of PFAS, while not harmful in themselves, can add to the chemical load already present in the body," says Dr Groffen.

It isn't known whether the PFAS were added to the straws by the manufacturers for waterproofing or whether were the result of contamination. Potential sources of contamination include the soil the plant-based materials were grown in and the water used in the manufacturing process.

However, the presence of the chemicals in almost every brand of paper straw means it is likely that it was, in some cases, being used as a water-repellent coating, say the researchers.

The study's other limitations include not looking at whether the PFAS would leach out of the straws into liquids.

Dr Groffen concludes: "The presence of PFAS in paper and bamboo straws shows they are not necessarily biodegradable.

"We did not detect any PFAS in stainless steel straws, so I would advise consumers to use this type of straw -- or just avoid using straws at all."

[reasonsforhope]

"An international research team has found almost a million potential sources of antibiotics in the natural world.

Research published in the journal Cell by a team including Queensland University of Technology (QUT) computational biologist Associate Professor Luis Pedro Coelho has used machine learning to identify 863,498 promising antimicrobial peptides -- small molecules that can kill or inhibit the growth of infectious microbes.

The findings of the study come with a renewed global focus on combatting antimicrobial resistance (AMR) as humanity contends with the growing number of superbugs resistant to current drugs.

"There is an urgent need for new methods for antibiotic discovery," Professor Coelho, a researcher at the QUT Centre for Microbiome Research, said. The centre studies the structure and function of microbial communities from around the globe.

"It is one of the top public health threats, killing 1.27 million people each year." ...

"Using artificial intelligence to understand and harness the power of the global microbiome will hopefully drive innovative research for better public health outcomes," he said.

The team verified the machine predictions by testing 100 laboratory-made peptides against clinically significant pathogens. They found 79 disrupted bacterial membranes and 63 specifically targeted antibiotic-resistant bacteria such as Staphylococcus aureus and Escherichia coli.

"Moreover, some peptides helped to eliminate infections in mice; two in particular reduced bacteria by up to four orders of magnitude," Professor Coelho said.

In a preclinical model, tested on infected mice, treatment with these peptides produced results similar to the effects of polymyxin B -- a commercially available antibiotic which is used to treat meningitis, pneumonia, sepsis and urinary tract infections.

More than 60,000 metagenomes (a collection of genomes within a specific environment), which together contained the genetic makeup of over one million organisms, were analysed to get these results. They came from sources across the globe including marine and soil environments, and human and animal guts.

The resulting AMPSphere -- a comprehensive database comprising these novel peptides -- has been published as a publicly available, open-access resource for new antibiotic discovery.

[Note: !!! Love it. Open access research databases my beloved.]"

-via Science Daily, June 5, 2024

[yourfavoritelittlesister]

andrew graves as your older brother.

cw: nsfw!! dark kinks!! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK! female reader, little sis reader, fauxcest/sibcest, grooming, possessiveness, jealousy, toxic behaviors, emotional manipulation, penetration (penis in vagina), doggy style/backshots, loss of virginity, choking, praise, degradation, forced/multiple orgasms, some cnc

a/n: i do not condone real life instances of grooming, sexual violence, toxic behaviors, emotional manipulation, or rape. this work is pure fantasy. expect tcoaal canon-typical dark content and toxicity.

older brother!andy, who crawls under your covers at night for comfort whenever he has nightmares. he cuddles up close, slipping his hands in places they shouldn’t go and feigning ignorance when you call him out for it. he tells you to be quiet, says this is a secret you have to keep from mom and dad. a shared promise whispered over messy bed sheets. you arch your back when he traces a path up your spine, stifle your laughs when he brushes against your ticklish spots, force back moans when his fingers dip between your legs. it’s wrong and you know it, but it feels too damn good to resist.

older brother!andy, who teases you incessantly every chance he gets, but loses his temper when other guys do the same. you’re his younger sister, and he’ll be damned if another man puts his hands on you. you wonder why all of the guys who were harassing you suddenly back off, failing to notice the deep cuts on their skin, the purplish bruises on their faces, their blackened, bloodshot eyes. it's what they deserved. no one else gets to bully you except him.

older brother!andy, who spoils you rotten and treats you like his little princess. you get on his nerves and test his patience everyday with your bratty attitude, but in the end he forgives you every time. he melts when you give him those big dolls eyes, caves in to your demands whenever you whine and pout, all while pretending to be pissed... even though he secretly enjoys your sass.

older brother!andy, who pretends to like all of your boyfriends when you introduce them to the family, but goes behind your back and scares them away with threats of violence and intimidation. you can’t figure out why all of your boyfriends keep dumping you out of the blue right after they ask you out and start to think there might be something wrong with you. he tries not to smile when you go to him in tears, asking him for his brotherly advice. this was all going according to his plan.

older brother!andy, who comforts you when you’re heartbroken and holds you tight until your tears finally dry. he showers you in praise, reminds you of your worth, tells you that these other men are garbage and none of them will ever be good enough for you anyway. and even if you never find someone, you’ll always have your big brother. when the rest of the world abandons you, he will be the last one by your side. he'll make damn sure of that.

older brother!andy, who is your first for everything. your first kiss. your first date. your first time. he doesn’t want someone else putting their grubby hands on you and soiling your precious body. special times like these should be shared with people who truly care about you. and he's the one who loves you most. only he knows how to bring you the most pleasure. only he knows how to touch you right. only he is good enough to take you.

older brother!andy, who fucks your brains out whenever he gets the chance. when he's angry, he takes out all of his frustrations on you, yanking your hair while giving you backshots and holding you down by the neck as you struggle against him. he's very vocal, tells you over and over how much he loves fucking your tight little pussy and how good it feels to be inside you, then in the same breath calls you his little slut. he knows your body best, memorizes the things that make you cum, coaxes out endless orgasms until you're crying, shaking, and begging him to stop. he never does, not until he's satisfied.

older brother!andy, who reminds you every day that he's all you've got in the world. he needs you to need him, so he'll say anything to get you to stay. "no one else is gonna put up with your bullshit except for me. no one else is gonna stick around. you're too fucked in the head for anyone else to love." you may deny it, but deep down, you know it's true.

older brother!andy, who will die for you. who will kill for you. who will follow you to the gates of hell and back again if you asked. 

older brother!andy, the only man you will ever need.

[flowerishness]

Sedum album (white stonecrop)

White sedum is a drought-resistant succulent that grows as a crevice plant in well-drained but poor quality soils. Because of this it is perfectly 'preadapted' for your typical suburban rockery. Obviously, this white stonecrop has "flown the coup" and found a new home between a chain-link fence and the sidewalk. It probably likes this location.

Usually, white stonecrop has green leaves but when it's very dry, the leaves turn red as a form of self-protection. I'd heard that if you water a stonecrop with red leaves, it will green-up in two or three days, so I filled up my travel mug with water, ready to test this theory. Unfortunately, sometime between yesterday afternoon and this morning, the homeowner decided to rip this beautiful white stonecrop out by the roots. So much for that experiment.

[dutifullylazybread]

A kiss against a wall for Rolan x Tav please?

Absolutely! :D

Here ya go!

Tav tore down the tower’s staircase, Rolan coming up close behind her. Wood splintered as the door behind them was blown off of its hinges and the narrow stairwell was awash with blinding light.

Rolan lobbed three magic missiles at their pursuer, cursing loudly. Tav couldn’t see if he had been injured or if his attack had proved ineffective—she couldn’t turn to look or she’d lose her footing. They couldn’t fight this creature in close quarters.

And they couldn’t pause to throw up a wall of stone or to encase themselves in a protective orb—not without the space between them and their attacker drastically closing.

So they ran instead.

Tav tore down the corkscrewing staircase, her lungs straining, burning. A sharp discharge of magic, emitting a sound akin to fabric tearing, ripped through the air.

The stairs plateaued into a landing—the one just outside of the study. Tav reached out for the door handle—

And Rolan cried out in anguish.

She turned in time to see him barreling towards her.

“Tav!” The fever-pitch panic in Rolan’s voice cut through her focus.

His hands clamped down on her shoulders, and just as a jagged bolt of lightning careened towards her, Rolan shoved her up against the hard stone wall, the blast of magic scorching the empty space over his horns and searing the tips of Rolan’s hair.

The study’s door—where Tav stood moments before—was blackened to a char.

Rolan slumped against her. A line of smoke, thick with the acrid stink of burnt flesh, rose off of his shoulder.

And the stairway was blanched in white light as the creature descended.

The quasi-elemental was so bright that Tav had to resist the urge to shield her eyes.

Nothing had worked against it. Not fire, not ice—and Tav didn’t have time to test a spell that may prove impotent.

She needed a surefire way to destroy this elemental…

…and she had one.

Tav wrapped her left arm around Rolan’s center and drew him into her embrace. She brandished her staff with her right, its head burning a ghastly, pale green as she snagged at threads of the Weave with its decorative barbs.

The braiding scents of burnt hair and crackling electricity were replaced with the cloying stink of roses and spun sugar… muddled with graveyard soil and rot. It was as if she'd pried open the lid of a moldering casket, freeing the stench of trapped decay.

She tasted stale rainwater as she shaped the words to the spell, the Weave straining against her staff…

…and the quasi-elemental’s shape warped and buckled around the edges.

“What… what magic is this?” Rolan asked, drawing away to look at Tav.

Tav spoke the incantation, its phrasing like wisps of funeral incense and its words as abrupt as the flash of a dagger.

She wrenched her staff towards her, stripping the threads of Weave from its grander tapestry.

The quasi-elemental’s shape, already as inconstant as a jagged bolt of lightning, went rigid.

And then its form lengthened and swelled.

The creature strained and railed for but a moment before its very essence was shredded to pieces.

The elemental expired with an anguished shriek, and the stairway dimmed as its light blinked out.

Tav’s staff fell to the ground with her clatter. Her hands, numbed from shaping the Weave into rot, were chilled to the touch.

Rolan stared at her. “That spell…”

“I… found it in the Vaults,” Tav said. She shivered. “That was unpleasant to cast.”

He looked her over, pressing the back of his hand to her brow. “You’re freezing,” he murmured.

Her body, gripped in chills, shuddered. Her ribs may as well have been carved from a block of ice.

“You need to rest,” Rolan said. He reached for her, only for Tav to embrace him and lay her palm flat against the burn on his back.

“In a moment,” she said, emptying her mind and drawing upon her remaining stores of energy.

“Tav—“

The very warmth of her blood was sapped from her veins; it trailed up her arm, before unspooling into Rolan’s wound, knitting the flesh and soothing the burn under her fingertips. She was gripped by a sudden, deep-set fatigue.

A shudder ran through her body and her legs buckled.

Rolan caught her beneath the arms, bracing her between him and the wall.

“Why the hells would you do that?” he demanded. “We could have used a potion or called on a cleric. You didn’t have to—hells, your lips are turning blue.” As she stumbled forward, Rolan held her aloft.

“You’re so warm.” Her words were beginning to slur together. “Can we stay like this?”

With a sigh of exasperation, he pulled her close. Tav’s body easily moulded against his—her face rested in the crook of his neck, their chests were flush together, and his tail looped around her left ankle. She had always savored the heat that he put off, but now that she had none of her own, she loved it all the more.

“We’ll need to run you a bath,” he said aloud. “I’ll get a fire started and I’ll find some more blankets… Gods damn it all. How can you be this cold?”

“Are you upset with me?”

“Of course I am,” he snapped. “Did you expect that I’d be pleased with you reducing yourself to a state of near exhaustion? What would have happened if you had cast another spell similar to the other two?”

Tav didn’t care to entertain the idea.

“Don’t do that again,” Rolan said, the command reduced to a plea when he added a desperate, “please.”

“I…” She didn’t want to make that promise—not when she might need to break it in the future. “I can’t let you die.”

“And you think I’d be happy if you died instead?” He exhaled loudly. “We can talk about this later. I’m more concerned with warming you up right now.”

“You would pass up the opportunity to argue?”

“Hush, you.” He kissed her brow, his lips lingering there, his breath warm. “I’m… I’m relieved that you’re alive. More than you can possibly imagine.”

“I think I have an idea.” She kissed the column of his throat, felt the rumbles of his building moan against her mouth. She darted the tip of her tongue out to taste him, humming in quiet appreciation.

Rolan nudged her head back. The tips of his ears were a wine-dark red. “You are in no condition to be coming onto me,” he said firmly. “Though… you have a little more color to you now.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “Oh? Perhaps our… ministrations have helped then?”

He rolled his eyes. “You are infuriating.”

“And?”

“That’s all,” he said. “Just… infuriating.”

His mouth found hers. What started as a soft peck turned heady when she nipped his lower lip, lightly tugging at it, inviting him to continue… should he wish.

Rolan cupped her face in his hands, stroked his thumbs down her jawline, and pressed his body against hers as he kissed her. Tav tangled her fingers into his hair and teased her tongue against the seam of his lips. He swallowed his moan, melting fully into her and tasting her breathy sighs.

She lost herself in him, in the moment. The warmth of his body, mingling with the heat that he stirred in her chest and her core, was enough to draw more life into Tav. Her pulse quickened; her veins thawed.

And then, reluctantly, Rolan pulled away. “Well,” he said with a small cough. “You don’t quite look like death warmed over now.”

Tav cracked a smile. She couldn’t help but notice that Rolan’s lips were swollen from the press of her mouth.

“Let’s run you a bath,” he said. “Can you walk?” He offered her his arm.

She nodded, accepting his invitation and looping her arm about his.

“And don’t think I’ve forgotten how reckless you were,” he added. “We will talk more about this. Later.”

She smirked. “You? Forget? I wouldn’t dare to assume that.”

Rolan snorted. "See that you don't."

And they proceeded down the stairs together.

[ageofevermore]

PRACTICED DANCE

SUMMARY — though your first time with wanda isn’t exactly what you expected, you wouldn’t change anything about it

WARNINGS — smut 18+ only, literally just pwp, dom!wanda, fingering, degrading, heavy on the praise kink, teasing, choking, soft toward the end… i think that covers everything

AUTHORS NOTE — i got carried away, and kind of hate everything about it… but enjoy!

“Are you sure?”

The night had simply fallen away from you. The chocolate covered strawberries that coated her kisses in sugarcane had completely dismantled the boundaries you’d set when you agreed to this. You were still early in a relationship, seven months and still her touch was still so foreign to you, so sacred. You had no mind to rush anything physical, and she was respectful of that. You wanted to savor her, and she wanted to cherish you.

“Just touch me. Wands, please.” Breathy whimpers escape you, sweaty hands braced on the silky rounds of your girlfriends muscular shoulders. All that training with Steve and Natasha is beginning to show, and the feel of her triceps and deltoids tensing beneath your needy fingertips is breath-stealing. Your nails create crescents upon her sweaty slick skin, thighs squeezing her impossibly close to where you need her, but you want her closer. “I need you.”

“You need me, huh?” Wanda taunts. Her satin sounding voice sends shivers down your already flushed spine and ignites a deep tension in your belly that’s growing to be unbearable the longer she teases. “I thought you didn’t want this, pretty girl. Thought you could handle waiting?”

Wanda twirls a strand of your hair between her calloused fingers, and then traces a path almost menacingly down the curve of your jaw that began to tremble at her weightless caress. She brushes the pad of her gentle thumb across your bottom lip, whispering a string of delicate praise into the space between you before she pushes the pad of her thumb past your lips to rest heavy on your tongue. Your tongue flicks across the round of her thumb, and its sweet enough to entirely disrupt her original plan to take things slow. Forget cherishing you, she wants to ruin you.

She drops her face into your neck, teeth biting down onto the sensitive skin of your exposed collarbone, taunting you. The whine that falls from your lips is heavenly, a sweet melody that Wanda needs to hear again. Over and over. You're putty in her clutches and she’s trying to sculpt the finest china.

“What was that, detka? Don’t have anything to say for yourself?” Wanda teases, pushing the pad of her thumb heavy against your tongue, cursing into your neck when she feels you resist to gag. “Good girl. Such a good girl for me, yeah? Gonna be a good girl and take me? Right here? Right in this little pussy? God you’re so fucking wet. What's got you so wet, baby? Huh? Go ahead, you can tell me. What’s got my girl so worked up?”

Your panties are soaked through, sticking to your heat near uncomfortably at this point, after so long of her teasing. Wanda takes no pity on your embarrassment either, pulling her thumb from the warmth of your mouth and cynically spreading the weakness across your exposed and vulnerable chest that’s been bruised from her insistent kisses and love bites. Your nipples pebble at the action, your hips searching for friction as they arch further into her.

“Suck a dirty girl.” She clicks her tongue at you, taking a gamble on her actions, though you show no disinterest in her albeit cruel taunting, if anything, it turns you on tenfold and she takes a note to really test your limits. The hot muscle shoots out to soothe the bites that shes left across your body, strands of red hair tickling your skin as she works. Her fingers work at removing the soiled garments from between your legs at the same time, and when she pulls away from you entirely, you’re forced to watch her bring the damp panties to her face and inhale the scent of your arousal. A whine is trapped between your lips as you gnaw at them with lustful impatience. Your body feels like its burning up at the sight of her.

“Wands, please. No more teasing. I just want to f-feel you. P-please.” In time with your begging, like it's a practiced dance between the two of you, your girlfriend makes quick work of finding your heat with her fingers. She’s talented in her methods, collecting the slick from your throbbing pussy and spreading it easily over your button, watching you closely for any sign that she should slow down or give you a minute to breathe. As rough as she is, Wanda is nothing but gentle.

“You wanna feel me, sweet girl?” Wanda's fingers leave your cunt, teasing up your thighs before her sticky fingers wrap around your neck loosely. Your eyes go wide, a gasp falling from your lips that part instinctively, complete submission clouding your mind. Your hand comes up to curl around her wrist, your eyes fluttering like the wings of a butterfly in the breeze as you try to keep a handle on your surroundings, wanting nothing more than to melt into the feeling of her hands on you and the beautiful ache in your center. “You want to feel me in this little pussy? Is that what you want? I need words, petal.”

Tears spring in the corner of your eyes, overwhelming your sight as you try to relieve the ache between your legs but arching up into her. You nod your head, incoherently babbling almost the only audible sound over your panting and whines. “Please, Wands. I need you. I need your fingers.” You whine, gentle eyes searching your girlfriends. The beautiful shade of hunter that sticks out like supernova in dark rooms is now almost completely black with lust. It was almost scary, how beside herself she looked in her domination, but it was beautiful all the less. She was beautiful.

“Get them wet for me, angel.” Wanda relinquishes her hold on your neck to push his fingers ito your mouth. She works your mouth like she would your pussy, her own eyes pinching shut as she tries to keep her own desire at bay. This moment is about you, she can sort herself out later. “Good girl. So fucking good, for me. Just for me, yeah? Go on, spread your legs for me, pretty girl. Let me take care of you.”

Wanda pulls her fingers from the hot confines of your mouth, smiling at you so innocently its a harsh contrast to the blackness of her eyes. She removes her own shirt from her body, finally allowing you to see all of her chest and toned ab muscles. Clothes are scattered around your candle-light apartment, the chocolate covered strawberries you made earlier in the afternoon completely forgotten about and feeling like decades ago as they rest on the ottoman.

For the first time since she’s worked you up to this point, Wanda’s lips settle on yours in a delicate embrace that takes your breath away all over again. She’s filled with nothing but complete admiration for you, and the gentle way her tongue swipes across your bottom lip has you falling deeper and deeper into a puddle of lust. Her fingers continue their exploration, down the valley of your breasts and over your belly until they get to where you need her most.

“I love you.” You gasp out just as her fingers enter you again, arching up into her chest as she eases you into this slowly. Two fingers stretch you perfectly, and the gentle pace she’s working on is enough to put static between your ears and nothing else. Your walls flutter around her fingers, silky and hot and perfect to her. You throw your arms around her neck, tangling your fingers into the root of her red locks, pulling at them firmly as she picks up for pace.

Wanda moans against your mouth, the muscles in her biceps flexing and tensing as she keeps gong at a sharp pace. Her chocolatey breath fans across your face as she smiles, and pecks your nose in the softest kiss. “I love you too. I love you so much, Y/N. You’re doing good for me, so fucking good.”

You both lose yourself in the pleasure, kissing and panting, biting and scratching, Wanda helping you reach your long desired high with whispers of passionate affection against your skin. Blood bubbles across her back, your nails ripping into her skin as your walls tighten tellingly around your fingers. Wanda curses, the pain only fueling her as she eases another finger into your sopping wet entrance and curls them against that beautiful spot inside of you. She’s reduced you to screaming whimpers and insatiable begging.

“Let me hear you. That's it, malysh. Such a perfect girl for me, darling.” Wanda continues drilling her fingers inside of you, scissoring your walls apart as they fight to keep her fingers still and inside of you, and her other hand snakes around to soothe the ache in your hips as your legs squeeze her close to you. Her lips are heavy against yours, and as she kisses you deeply, its like your tongues are dancing a ritualistic dance that you’ve practiced before. “Let go for me, angel. cum for me. Let me feel you.”

“Please.” Your walls squeeze her fingers tightly, spasming around the digits that repeatedly hit your favorite spot over and over again with pristine accuracy. Her scent is all around you, and the way her hair tickles your skin and falls around your face to capture only the two of you in this moment is almost entirely out of a fairytale. “Wanda.” You tug at the roots of her hair, attempting to both meet her calculated thrusts and wiffle away from the intense pleasure she’s providing you.

“Don’t run from me, baby.” Her voice is soft, a teasing giggle in her words as she works you closer to your high. “Just like that, baby. You’re doing so well for me. You gonna cum? Gonna let me feel you?” She coos, her hand leaving your hips to brush strands of sweaty hair away form your hair. Her thumb collects the tears that escape your eyes, brushing them away with a gentle smile. Her fingers keep drilling into you, her thumb coming up to swipe at your clit and send you tumbling over the edge before you could warn her. She smiles, pecking your lips over and over again as she mumbles her blessing. “Cum for me, sweet girl. Thats right. Let go. It’s okay.”

Pleasure surrounds you, your orgasm powerful and the best you’ve ever had. Youre seeing white as she rides you through it, your body tightening as you just feel what she’s giving you. Wanda’s bottom lip is caught between her teeth, her eyes gentle as she watches you thoroughly, wanting to remember this in the front of her brain for the rest of her life.

She pulls her fingers out of her, wiping them off on her legs as she shushes your whines at being empty. Her arms circle around your waist, her face buried in your neck and breathing in your scent as your chest rises and falls in the aftermath of your orgasm. Your body is hot, sweaty, but she presses against your impossibly close and smiles lazily. You return the smile, eyes blinking sleepy up at her as she tingles her fingers into your hair and tucks it behind your ears.

“I love you.” She reminds you, kissing you gently.

You giggle, pressing your forehead against hers. “I didn’t think our first time would be on the couch next to an audience of strawberries.” You admit, though nothing in your tone indicates any regrets. Wanda laughs beautifully, nuzzling deeper into you.

“It was perfect.” She enlightens, “But how about we take round two into the bedroom.”

[runariya]

Three-Shot: Infinity (JJK) • 1

pairing: alien!Jungkook x human!reader genre: alien!AU, dystopian!AU, dark, angst, S2L rating: 18+, MDNI warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, captivity, MC's cell is the filthiest place in existence, physical harm, MC is a test object, prostitution against will, drugging, death of mentioned friend/family, suicide attempts, pulling of fingernails and toenails, failed escapes, gore, angst, panic attacks, malnutrition, please lmk if I forgot something word count: 3.287

a/n: This work is purely fictional. All characters and events are entirely imaginary and do not reflect reality. Please do not use this story as your own. No translations are allowed without permission. Thank you for understanding! 💕

MASTERLIST • 02 • 03

Year 3709

You wake to the familiar sound of dripping water, the rhythmic tap of soiled liquid against the stone floor counting the seconds, minutes, hours of your endless captivity. The air around you suffocating with the stench of mildew and decay, continuously reminding you of the cell’s dampness. Your breath forms clouds of mist in the freezing air, visible even in the low light seeping through the narrow slit high in the wall, the only connection to the world outside your prison.

Your cell, a narrow rectangle of concrete and iron, is barely wide enough for you to stretch out both your arms without brushing the icy walls. The rough stone floor is slick with gooey moisture, perpetually wet, seeping through your thin, tattered clothing and chilling your bones for days on end. The ceiling, low enough that you can touch it when you stand on your tiptoes, is a mosaic of black mold and peeling paint—something you learned from the time you resisted being pulled from your cell.

In one corner, a rusted metal bucket serves as your latrine, its putrid stench a constant assault on your senses. The bucket overflows frequently, its contents sloshing onto the floor to mingle with the ever-present puddles. Opposite, a single iron cot is bolted to the wall and the mattress lying on it, is a threadbare remnant of its former self, its stuffing long gone, leaving only a few stubborn springs that dig into your flesh each night. The scratchy, coarse blanket provides little warmth against the biting cold, and you often wake shivering, your teeth and limbs chattering uncontrollably.

The days here are indistinguishable from the nights, a ceaseless parade of darkness day in and day out. The only light comes from the slit in the wall, which is sometimes covered by a thick, opaque sheet to plunge you into total blackness if they see fit. You have learned to hate this darkness, for it brings with it the scuttling of unseen vermin and the oppressive weight of isolation. When the sheet is removed, a sickly, green light filters in, casting eerie shadows that dance across the walls, transforming your cell into a landscape of nightmares you can't escape.

There’s silence surrounding you if it weren’t for the endless dripping. Not even a sound from neighbouring captives is heard. You weren’t always alone. Jenny, once your cellmate, the only other human you had ever seen. She was your friend. Your only family, a fragile connection that scared off the isolation you now have to embrace to stay sane. Despite your efforts to protect each other, one day they took her away. That day, she didn’t return like she always did. Like you always did when they took you. That day, she was gone. And without her, you were alone. 

Your lungs feel heavy today, and each breathe is a struggle, a fight against the encroaching dampness that seeks to claim you. Your captors care little for your comfort or health; they provide just enough to keep you alive, a thin gruel that tastes of ashes and despair, and a trickle of water from a rusty pipe that runs along one wall.

The pipe is the only constant source of noise, gurgling and hissing as if it were alive, mocking you with its endless, meaningless chatter. The water that drips from it is icy cold, and you often have to cup your hands and drink quickly before the chill numbs your bony fingers. Your captors use the pipe to deliver their torturous messages, their disembodied voices echoing through the metal, words distorted and sinister. Only there to mock you. They speak in a language you barely understand, a guttural, alien tongue that makes you want to vomit. 

Kaldreks, you’ve learned. The most vile species known in all galaxies. Towering, gaunt figures with pale, frostbitten skin and luminescent green eyes that pierce through the darkness. Their elongated limbs, webbed for navigating their swampy world, end in razor-sharp claws, also used to inflict the worst wounds you had the honour to experience. 

Jagged, icy exoskeletons cover their bodies, providing both armour and a terrifying appearance. Sharp, serrated teeth protrude from their snarling mouths, perfect for rending flesh. 

Your body bears the marks of their cruelty. Scars crisscross your skin, each one a relict to their unspeakable experiments and tortures. Your muscles are weak from malnutrition and disuse, your bones aching with a dull, constant pain. Each movement is an effort, showing off your frailty and their power. They come for you at irregular intervals, dragging you from your cell to a sterile, white room where the cold is even more intense, biting into your barely covered flesh like thousand needles.

It was at the beginning of your captivity when they started to probe and prod, their instruments of metal and glass invading your body, extracting fluids, inserting needles. You and Jenny were a specimen to them, a curiosity to be studied and dissected. Their faces never hidden behind masks, their eyes devoid of any empathy or recognition of your suffering. They spoke in low murmurs, their voices blending with the hum of their machinery, discussing your fate as if you were dead meat and nothing more.

Your fate arrived sooner than you expected, knocking you over at full force. When they tired of using your body as a test subject, they found other purposes for it. Purposes specialised into the pleasures of other species. 

At first, they seized you and scrubbed you clean with freezing water. Standing naked and chained from the celling, they prepared you with various oils with their webbed claws, as cold as the water, coating your skin. You learned quickly that their touch on your pussy wasn't the worst. No, the worst came after they finished their preparations.

Over time, you were used by all sorts of species in the galaxy. Fucked until your holes bled. Bitten and scratched until you passed out from blood loss. Drugged to be fucked again. Woken only to be violated once more. Choked until you thought you had finally died, only to wake with a dick bigger than your thigh being shoved into your mouth, or worse. 

Even though the Kaldreks subjected you to unspeakable horrors and other species weren't far behind, it is the Nepturians who instil the deepest fear. Their human-like appearance, marked only by bioluminescent markings on their arms and spine, along with their imposing height, makes all the nightmares seem like a fairytale. You learned that Nepturians are typically monogamous, bonding for life. Yet, with their females dying for unknown reasons, the surviving males become the coldest of lovers. Their human resemblance haunts you, affecting you more than the others ever could.

You tried to escape more than once, but each attempt ended in failure, teaching you what the Kaldreks were truly capable of. The treatment worsened over time, more often you were used by Nepturians, yet the routine remains the same, spiralling into infinite torture you’re not able to escape. 

You tried to take your own life more than once, believing it was the only control you had left. You used your fingernails, attempting to pierce your arteries, succeeding briefly. But the Kaldreks' senses were too sharp, 'saving' you before you could fully succeed. After the second attempt, they pulled out your nails with tongs. For good measure, they did the same to your toenails. 

Each time, you are returned to your cell broken, barely conscious, your mind fogging with pain and exhaustion. The cot is a cruel joke, offering no comfort, only a hard surface to collapse upon. Sleep is your only escape, but it is fitful, plagued by nightmares of their touches, of endless moments and cold, inhuman eyes that somehow look human. You wake often, drenched in sweat despite the cold, your heart racing as if trying to escape your chest.

Time has lost all meaning. Days, months, years blend into one another, a seamless continuum of suffering and despair. You have no knowledge of the outside world, no hope of rescue. The Earth as you once knew it only a distant memory, a ghost of a dream long forgotten. The planet has been transformed into a barren, hostile wasteland, and you are its last surviving inhabitant, a relict of a forgotten age and species.

You cling to fragments of memories, half-remembered stories of a blue sky and warm sun, of green fields and the sound of laughter. These memories your only solace, a fragile thread of happiness in a world devoid of light. You wonder if you will ever see the sun again, feel its warmth on your skin, breathe air that is not tainted with misery.

But, your captors are meticulous in their cruelty. They keep you alive, but only just. The silver and pink scars cluttering your body proof enough. You are a tool, a means to an end, a living plaything. They are relentless, their personal gain insatiable, their methods devoid of mercy. You have learned to endure, to survive in the face of unimaginable hardship. Each day a battle, a struggle to cling to the remnants of your humanity in a world determined to strip it away.

Yet, somewhere deep within you, the light remains. A flicker of defiance, a refusal to be broken. You are the last human, the final witness to a world that once was. You hold on to this, clinging to the knowledge that as long as you live, there is still a sliver of hope. The Earth may be dead, but you are not. Not yet.

As the muffled voices echo through the pipes, you strain to discern their words. Hints of a plan for tomorrow seep through, reminding you once again of the relentless cycle that bound you. You know you need to escape now; the uncertainty of time on this planet makes it impossible to know when daylight would bring more torment. The Kaldreks are cruel, but the possibility of freedom flicks in the depths of your mind.

In the dim confines of your cell, you take a moment to assess your surroundings, willing the fog clouding your mind to go away if only for some seconds. Your last attempt to escape through the metal bars had failed, rendering that route impossible now. The chains that hold you are worn but sturdy. The glimmer of moonlight through a narrow vent suggest a weakness—a potential path to freedom, you were too scared to use before. You have watched their routines long enough to understand when they were most distracted. Tonight, you would act.

With caution, you manoeuvre your body, testing the chains for any sign of give. Each movement forcing to be as calculated as possible, the cold metal biting into your skin only moves sporadically and as quietly as possible to not alert the Kaldreks. Their voices fade, replaced by the rhythmic sound of your heart pounding in your chest and ears. Time is slipping away, and you have to move immediately. 

You again focus on the vent, its edges slightly corroded. The Kaldreks had grown complacent, and you use that to your advantage. With a surge of adrenaline, you twist and pull at the chains, feeling them loosen just enough to allow your wrists to slip free. The pain is agonising, but you welcome it; the burn a needed confirmation that you are still alive, despite losing more weight to slip through the chains. 

Quietly, you approach the vent, each step as careful as possible against the wet floor. Your fingers brush against the cold metal, feeling the contours of the cold opening. It is a tight fit, but desperation fuels your determination and you pull yourself up, squeeze through, the sharp edges grazing your skin, but you push on, driven by the hope of escape.

The passageway is dark, the air even more damp and musty than in your cell. As you crawl, the sounds of the Kaldreks fade completely, replaced by the distant noise of the wild outside. You navigate the narrow tunnel, each twist and turn feeling like an eternity, until you finally emerge into the open air.

Outside, the wild of the Kaldreks’ planet, Morthak, sprawls before you, a labyrinth of dense foliage and shadowy figures. The three moons bath everything in an eerie green glow, illuminating your path into a better life. You take a moment to catch your breath, savoring the taste of freedom mingled with the cold of the night.

Behind you, the sounds of Kaldrek chatter is gone, replaced by the rustling of leaves and the calls of nocturnal creatures. With your heart racing, you plunge into the underbrush, the foliage thick and tangled but a welcome barrier between you and your captors.

As you try to run, you feel the weight of the past begin to lift off your chest. Each step carries you further from the horrors of captivity, and with every heartbeat, the fear begins to wane. Tears start rolling down your cheeks with every step, sobs sporadically escaping your parched throat. The wilderness, though just as deadly for you as a prey species, is a refuge compared to the cold confines of your cell.

The terrain is uneven, but you navigate it somehow unharmed. Shadows dance around you as the night deepens, the sounds of nature becoming a chorus of freedom rather than threat. You feel the cool breeze on your skin, igniting a spark of hope within you.

Eventually, exhaustion claws at your limbs, your vision too blurred from tears, but you push through, knowing safety lay just beyond the next thicket. You stumble through the undergrowth, the moonlights guiding you like a compass. Finally, you reach a small clearing, the weight of your journey settling heavily upon you.

In that moment, you collapse to the ground, the cool earth contrasting with the heat of your racing heart. You roll against the soil, desperately rubbing your body to mask your scent as much as possible. The wilderness envelopes you, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you allow yourself to breathe deeply. You are free, at least for now, hidden in the wild, away from the claws of the Kaldreks.

As you lie there, surrounded by the sounds of nature, the gravity of your escape begins to sink in. You have taken a step toward freedom, and though the journey ahead remains uncertain, the wild holds the promise of survival.

You wake again in a white room, lying on a bed with a thin, soft blanket covering you up to your torso. Your skin tingles with the sensation of cleanliness, the dirt you covered yourself with gone, and you notice you’re dressed in an oversized black shirt. The unfamiliar garment feels alien against your skin. Though you’ve never worn black nor such garment before and the white room looks different from your previous cell, a chilling certainty grips you—you’re back with the Kaldreks. The realisation crashes like a wave of dread through your body, making your sore and tired muscles tense in fright. 

Panic sets in right after. Heart racing, you breaths come in rapid, shallow gasps, and it feels as though the walls are closing in around you. You scramble off the bed, blanket thrown off you, your heart pounds in your ears like a war drum. Desperation fuels your movements as you search the room for an escape, every nerve ending on high alert. Your hands claw at the smooth, featureless walls, finding no purchase. The air grows thin, and your vision starts to blur at the edges as hyperventilation takes hold. You stumble, your legs barely able to support your weight, driven by sheer terror.

Every corner of the room mocks your frantic attempts to flee. Your fingers trail over the seamless joinery, seeking a hidden exit, but finding none. The sterile whiteness amplifies your panic, memories flashing one by one before your eyes, each failed effort to find an exit compounding your fear. The room spins as you struggle to draw breath, your chest heaving with the effort. Sweat beads on your forehead, trickling down to sting your eyes. Your mind races, a chaotic flurry of thoughts, each more desperate than the last. You press your ear to the walls, hoping to hear something, anything, that might indicate a way out, but there is only silence.

Suddenly, the only door in the room hisses open with a hydraulic huff, and a Nepturian steps inside. Your worst nightmare manifests before you, making your heart stop immediately. He towers over you by more than half a meter, his features disturbingly human. His skin shimmers with a pale blue hue, his black doe eyes feigning innocence. But you know better than to trust them. His hair, a deep vibrant blue, is buzzed at the sides, the top long enough to partially fall over. He’s dressed in a similar black shirt, though on him it fits tightly, emphasising his dangerous physique. Each step he takes, his combat boots fall heavily onto the floor, his face void of emotion. The weight of his presence presses down on you, suffocating in its intensity.

You notice his markings—they look different from those of other Nepturians—different patterns and colour. Stress clouds your mind, preventing you from discerning whether this difference bodes well or ill for you. The bioluminescent patterns seem to pulse with a life of their own, casting faint glows that dance across the room’s sterile surfaces. You try to recall any fragment of knowledge that might explain these markings, but your thoughts are too scattered. The disparity in his appearance lastly only heightens your fear, leaving you paralysed with uncertainty.

You scramble away from him, your body trembling, adrenaline surging through your veins even more. Your breathing remains shallow, and you sense the impending collapse into unconsciousness. Each movement feels sluggish, as if you’re wading through thick, suffocating air. Your mind screams for you to run, but your body betrays you, locked in a state of primal terror. The room feels smaller, the walls collapsing as the Nepturian advances, his expression unreadable.

“Sit down,” he commands, his voice the softest you’ve heard from his kind. But you’re not surprised by his authoritative words, the courtesies of humanity foreign to other species. His words cut through the haze of your panic, grounding you in the reality of the moment. Yet, the command feels like another layer of your imprisonment, a reminder of the control he wields over you and the things that are going to happen to you. Still, you hesitate, weighing your options, the urge to flee warring with the need to survive.

After all, survival courses through you. You assess the possibility of darting past him to escape. But as you glance into the corridor beyond the door, you realise you’re not with the Kaldreks as you feared—you’re on a spaceship. The sleek, metallic walls and the hum of advanced technology signal a different captor. The realisation confirms your doom, multiplied by the presence of the Nepturian. The corridor stretches out, seemingly endless, but each step you might take towards it feels like a step deeper into your personal hell.

Your eyes snap back to the Nepturian as he repeats, more impatiently, “Sit down.” Seeing no other option, and hoping unconsciousness will soon claim you, you comply. As you lower yourself to the bed, he stands before you and, in that same soft voice you first heard him speak, says, “I won’t hurt you.” His words fail to soothe you; you remain terrified, too traumatised to trust anyone, especially a Nepturian. The tension in your muscles barely eases, your mind vigilant and ready to react at the slightest hint of danger.

MASTERLIST • 02 • 03

a/n 2: thank you so much for reading! lmk what you think - also: tag list, drabble requests and character asks are open

All Rights Reserved © @/runariya 2024

[bhoojalsurvey]

[murphy-kitt]

Ectober Day 8 - Toy Spaceship

Word Count: 1,663

AO3

Tags: Angst, Mention of Past Injury

Maddie finds a small worn toy spaceship buried in the park. A children’s toy. She wasn’t expecting the owner to be Phantom.

At first, Maddie thinks the rocket is just a piece of rusted metal. How a piece of rusted metal might’ve got there in the first place, she doesn’t consider.

The first thing she thinks is that it’s a safety hazard, with the screeching of children’s laughter ringing in her ears. The park is within eye—and earshot. A stray toddler only needs to wander over and get a cut, or worse.

She reaches down and expects sharp metal to prod her fingertips, except it doesn’t. Another tug and it’s out of the damp soil.

What is it? She thinks, turning it around in her hands. Half the bottom is covered with muck and stringy roots. It’s cylindrical, curving into a point at the top. What she thought was rust, is dark orange paint. What she can only describe as ‘fins’ jut out at the bottom.

Whatever it is, it’s seen better days.

And then she remembers.

Danny’s fifth birthday, the first time they’d had a big occasion for his birthday. They’d taken him to the observatory, because even back then he knew what he wanted to do.

Nowadays, Maddie’s not too sure of that anymore. He’s…drifted away. Always skipping lessons and never being where he should.

But Danny’s birthday gift had been a rocket. A little orange rocket with a lid that flipped open at the top. Maddie presses about a quarter down of the toy, and sure enough there’s a hinge.

Curious, she tries opening the top, but it’s rusted shut.

Can’t have expected anything else. She sighs, looking back over to the park. Perhaps one of the children there dropped it?

After all, it can’t be Danny’s. Despite everything, even with his failing grades and constant truancy, he still has his shelf of rockets.

He’d never let one of them get in such a state, given his attention to detail for painting them and adding stickers.

It could be a ghost related? Maddie turns the rocket over in her hands. There’s no signs of ectoplasm, but it could be contaminated.

Worth taking to the lab for a checkup. With one final glance at the rocket, Maddie begins the walk back to Fentonworks.

—

It’s the next day when Maddie debates what to do with the rocket. Tests last night showed that it is contaminated to a considerable degree.

“It could make a good bit of research.” Maddie mumbles, staring at the rocket laid out on the lab bench, “—why is it in that park? Who does it belong to?”

Suddenly, the temperature of the lab drops.

Maddie tenses, instinctively reaching for the ectogun on her hip, but her hand simply meets air. Right. Her and Jack had agreed to stop carrying ectoguns after their truce with Phantom.

It’s been a rocky few months, but there is some progress. Nowadays, the ghost doesn’t shy away when they’re hunting, even sometimes having conversations.

Perhaps Phantom will know who the rocket belongs to. He seems to have good knowledge of the town, she thinks.

But for now, she’s only focused on the current problem.

“Who’s there?” She swivels around, eyes scanning the room for any sense of an aura, cold spots.

Something is definitely in the lab. Hairs prickling on her neck, Maddie resists the urge to run into the weapons storage, come out guns blazing.

Her and Jack meant keeping a truce. And that includes no weapons (excluding life-threatening situations) even when Phantom isn’t present.

“Wow! I’m surprised you didn’t run for the weapons.” Suddenly, Phantom appears infront of her, green eyes gleaming and a cheeky grin plastered on his face.

“What do you want?” She asks, tone biting more than intended.

“Geez, don’t worry! I thought we were past the accusation stage.” Phantom folds his arms, hovering down to the floor.

“We are.” Maddie releases her grip from the bench, “I just didn't expect you here.”

She can’t help but notice Phantom subtly floating to the right of her, eyes clearly not focused despite his conversing.

“Fair…” the ghost trails off, craning his neck.

Instinctively, she turns, curious as to what’s caught his eyes.

Ah. The rocket.

Something he’s probably never seen before and is intrigued about.

“Where’d you get that?” Is expectantly the next question.

“This?” Maddie asks, as if the answer isn’t obvious, picking up the small toy in her hands, “A toy rocket, I think?”

”Yeah, it is.” Phantom nods, confirming the obvious. “It’s mine.”

”Yours?!” Maddie clutches the rocket tighter, unable to muster the surprise in her tone, “Did you find it?”

”No.” Phantom drops to the floor with a light thump, eyes fixated on the rocket. “I—uh—got it when I was alive.”

”When you were alive?” She parrots, “I though ghosts—“

”Couldn’t feel pain, couldn’t remember their past lives. Yeah.” Phantom grimaces, hand tracing a line across his stomach.

Maddie remembers, stomach flipping, that she gave him a severe wound there once with a Fenton Spear.

For some reason, her mind trails back to Danny. Him being five, so excited to visit the observatory for his birthday. Much more excited about that than his favourite fudge cake. How when they’d went into the gift shop, the bright orange and blue rocket was what had caught his attention. He didn’t want anything else, just that rocket.

And at some point, Phantom had that experience. Perhaps not a birthday, or at the observatory. But he saw the little rocket in her hands on a shelf one day, and it gave him the same joy as it had her own son.

Probably still does, if it was stubborn enough to follow him into the afterlife.

That brings another thought which she instantly shoves back down. What if he was killed whilst playing with the rocket?

”How—how did you get this, then?” Maddie regards Phantom’s confused expression, “I mean, if you had it when you were alive, then how did it…join…you as a ghost?”

”I did always say it had a mind of its own.” Phantom chuckles, before advancing forward.

Maddie obliges, allowing the ghost to take it, arms falling awkwardly by her side. It is his after all.

After a few seconds of Phantom examining his reunited possession, he shrugs.

“None of my other stuff reacts like this does. I mean, yeah, it’s important, but this rocket is connected, somehow? Like, my core can sense where it is.”

”That’s why you knew to come here.” Maddie nods, pieces falling into place.

”Yeah. I went flying with it a few days ago on patrol. I guess I must’ve dropped it at the park, because my core was telling me to go there.” Phantom explains, “And then my core was telling me to go here, so I figured either you or D—Jack picked it up.”

”Perhaps it’s related to your obsession? A ghost’s core is primarily formed from an obsession, after all.” Maddie suggests, looking over at the strewn out papers on the desk. All their theories and explanations that will have to be rewritten about ghosts. Even from this simple interaction.

So many things proved wrong.

The ghost ‘hmms’ then nods, seemingly satisfied. “That could be it, y’know? I’m just glad it was you who got it and not like…some kid. I’d have a harder time getting it back.”

”Well, don’t be too sure.” Maddie quips, “It’s quite an interesting little piece. I’ve never heard of a physical object connected to a ghost through their core, especially from their past life.”

”Well, what can I say? I’m…unique.” Phantom shrugs, suddenly looking more like the awkward teenager he is, which took her and Jack much too long to notice.

An awkward silence fills the lab as Maddie considers what to say, drumming her hands on the table.

”Well, I better get going. Thanks—“

”How did you get the rocket?” Maddie blurts out to a bewildered Phantom.

”It’s just, my son, Danny. He has that exact same rocket. We went to the observatory when he was five, and when he saw it, well that was it. Absolutely infatuated with the thing! He’s still got it on his shelf to this day. I think his is in better condition than that, no offence.”

”Well, would you know it?” Phantom quirks a crooked grin, “I got mine at the observatory for my birthday too. I knew when I laid eyes on it that was what I wanted. My Dad thought I’d want cake or something, but my Mom knew straightaway.”

Just like Danny’s experience.

Phantom looks relaxed, shoulders slack. There’s a colour to his cheeks, light dusting of green freckles and a sparkle to his eyes. It’s nice, Maddie thinks. A far cry from a few months ago when he was worn down, pale, sunken-in by their weapons.

Perhaps talking about the good things about his family has helped, too. One thing undoubtably in Maddie’s mind is that Phantom didn’t have a good home life as a child.

It has to be. A teenager dies, becomes a ghost acting-vigilante. In life he couldn’t be saved, so spends the afterlife dedicated to seeking justice.

”Thanks.” Phantom grins again, and as quick as he appeared, is gone.

Sighing, Maddie lets herself lean against the bench, glancing at the sea of research papers and dogeared notes. All the news theories from her conversation with Phantom and discovery of the rocket swirl around.

She could sit here in the lab for a good few hours, developing research and new alternatives.

Or, instead, Maddie walks to the lab stairs and starts going up. She decides to go up to Danny’s room and talk about the rockets on his shelf with him.

Her children are growing up, distancing by each passing year, especially Danny.

After all, Phantom’s parents likely never knew that their sons life would be cut so short. One minute talking about rockets, the next gone, as if he was never there.

Who knows how long she has left with Danny?

—

A/N: Surprised I’ve made it to day 8 and four works to be honest. This was the first prompt I had planned for ectober. Inspired by A Ghost Story by Cordia, one of my favourite fics ever!

[threepandas]

The Vod's List: Part 2

You know the worst part about the Republic standard hazard mask? No, not the "for dealing WITH hazardous materials" one. The "your species can be fully or partially CONSIDERED one, so to interact with the rest of polite society you gotta wear protection so we don't DIE" one. THAT hazard mask. From the set.

Yeah, you the worst part about THAT mask?

It's like someone really, REALLY high up in power DELIBERATELY made the who set as... well, for lack of a better term? Slave-like and uncomfortable as possible. As humiliating as possible. Like they WANTED the people who had to wear it, to suffer and be upset. And like? I KNOW it's probably just some really REALLY out of touch politician? Who's never had to WEAR one of these kriffing things in their karking LIFE?

But come ON! It looks and feels like a MUZZLE.

A BADLY FITTED ONE at that! Like? And don't ask me how I KNOW this? Because the holonet is deep and filled with weird wondrous horrors? Buuuuut... according to CERTAIN individuals. Who HAVE reviewed a VARIETY of muzzles for... personal reasons? And Bones bless! No judgment! According to certain Unnamed Experts of The Field, as it were?

.......these masks kriffing SUCK nifflestones.

Padding is shit. Airflow it terrible. Not customized for individual races AT ALL. Just? Mouth a "hazard"? Cover it. Who CARES if that means the individual kriffing suffocates. Or karking near DROWNS on their own threat or stress response. To say NOTHING of those who have to routinely either use their mouth's "hazard" or have it TRIGGERED by something pressing AGAINST their jaw!

It's a genuinely terrible design! Almost deliberately so. Keeps a lot of people from ever even bothering from leaving their planet's.

Why do I bring this up? Because working at the senate building is stressful. Dealing with sleemo plasbone's who like to shove me around cause I'm in a glorified MUZZLE is stressful. Knowing I recently infected an innocent man is KARKING STRESSFUL!

And you know what the Techganic response to STRESS is?!

Drool and STRESS BITING.

My ENTIRE fucking BLOODLINE was literally genetically ENGINEERED to fight in a FUCKING HOLY WAR! With BIOLOGICAL WARFARE. We BITE! We bite A LOT!! We are, in fact, SUPPOSED to bite! It's like the unsacred, technological abomination child of those ancient human tales of the "zombie" and the "ber-serker"!

Stress? Stress means we are in battle. Being attacked. Threatened. Stress means ATTACK. Bite and bite and BITE. Thanks the Bones and Blood, I've never been THAT stresssed. I even had to take a test for it! Anyone with a hair trigger is NOT allowed off planet. I'm considered absurdly calm. Chill.

Doesn't mean I WON'T.

Just that it would take A LOT.

But the drool? THAT is involuntary. Is the prelude you can't escape. The means of SPREAD. Of WARRING against the machines. Organic nanite against technological nanites. Host against host. Spread against spread. Ours was a story of PLAUGES. And it left no unchanged survivors.

I get that. I DO. The horrors of our history, the fear and terrors. The resistance forces who wanted no part in the war. Who tried to escape.

What happened to them.

I REALIZE that... that a single Techganic dropped on pretty much any planet can start a nanite plague that can't be stopped. That the more stressed we get, the more our instincts demand we Spread Ourselfs. The water, the soil, the air. Yeah, we can get DANGEROUS.

But we aren't ANIMALS.

We are not who we used to BE. WHAT we used to be. Show me the planet without blood in its past and I will show you a planet that has wiped its past away.

Which is all well and good...but...

I'M FUCKING DROWNING.

These karking hazard masks are so, SO stupid and I'm trying not to panic. My hands shaking. Because if I panic? I will be stressed. If I am kriff KARKING STRESSED, I will drool FASTER. And there is no room. My karking mask is FULL OF LIQUID AND NOT DRAINING FAST ENOUGH.

I struggle with the latches. They are wet. Because my hands are wet. My neck is wet. EVERYTHING IS WET. The mask doesn't even WORK to contain the "hazard"! My hands can't get a grip on the latches. My lungs are burning for air but I can't... if I try to breath now... I'll just get... just get!

I'm in a side hall.

Would anyone even find me? Oh Stars. I'm going to drown.

Except not. Quick heavy steps down the hallway. Two gaurds spot me after turning a corner, break into a sprint. Once again the Coruscant gaurds are a beacon of calm in my darkest moment. One gently pulling my frantic hands away from my mask so the other can quickly work out how to unlock it.

With a gush, air finally hits my face as the mask unlocks and begins to be pulled away. I sputter. Cough. I think I may be weeping. The hallways is spinning as air finally rushs back in. My front is DRENCHED and I hate it. It's so gross. There was nothing I could DO and I felt like an animal. Feel like a mess.

Every drop of it is deadly. The whole hallway will have to be deep cleaned.

Am I apologizing? I think I'm apologizing.

The gaurds are so nice. Talking in low, reassuring voices as the stay with me. They called a medic. Ask me about my hobbies to distract me. A playful argument on how to "properly" take your Caf. Which local diner is the best.

I am gently bundled off by the medic, once he arrives. Another of the Guard thank Stars. The Senatorial medical team are so... judge-y. The Guard's medical is patient and professional, though the only thing he can offer me to change into is the blacks that the gaurd wear under their armor.

Tell NO ONE... but I feel kinda cool. Look at me~ I'm all holo thriller and mysterious in these. I get to KEEP them too!

Not getting the mask back though.

It nearly killed me. That and my asshole coworker who deliberately stressed me out earlier. He... the Guard ARRESTED him. And... look, I KNOW I shouldn't smile. I shouldn't. His life is probably ruined. But... but the sleemo harrased EVERYBODY. Anybody he thought he could abuse? He DID.

Looks like he finally went too far.

I lay back. Not allowed to lean until the medic is SURE there is no secondary drowning symptoms. I grab the shirt that turned out to be just a touch too small and fold it up, drape it over my eyes. It blocks out the light pretty well. I get comfortable.

As I drift off... I'm unaware that the Vod around me stop bothering to pretend the AREN'T blatantly watching me. That the normally sparsely populated medicenter ISNT damn near full of every Vod not currently on duty. The cheif medical officer himself, carefully collecting what he can from my mask.

A dense crowd of eyes slowly run over black clad limbs.

Looking to THEM. Trusting THEM. Threatened, in need of back up. Look how TIRED she was. How vulnerable. Wearing part their uniform. Like a lover, having stolen their clothes.

She trusted them above the natborns. PREFERRED them.

Thoughts began to stir... they wonder...

[monstersdownthepath]

Homebrew Horror: Dominion Disassemblers

(Art from The Book of Unremitting Horror, pg. 66)

Though this is beyond the knowledge of any worldly being, the Dominion of the Black was not always the galactic union it is now. Until a united council with a common goal took the head of the Dominion, wars both petty and planet-scarring were common among its many factions, though in the centuries since their grand union, these squabbles have been reduced to near-nonexistence except when weapons must be tested.

Many relics from this tumultuous time remain in use even to this day, one of the most 'famous' being the Gan-Dergorin, known in the common tongue as Dominion Disassembler, monstrous, nigh-unkillable biomechanical titans with a unique behavioral quirk built into their very genetic code which made them useful in the old wars, and has them remaining useful even now, long after they're no longer needed for their original purpose: destroying Dominion technology. The war machines of the Dominion are unlike any of the minor scouting and scientific units seen on Golarion's soil, the twisted mixtures of flesh and steel nearly impossible to truly put down for good, able to continue their terrible march even as enormous portions of their bodies were torn away.

That is where the Gan-Dergorin come in. These bestial constructs have a simple tactic when facing down any enemy: tear it to pieces too small to remain active. Even the most resilient Dominion machines of terror cannot survive the thoroughness of the destruction that Disassemblers enact upon them, severing every single joint and connector from one another until their victims are rent to their smallest possible components. A Disassembler which has the time to do so will then go even further by separating all types of tissue and matter from one another, then carefully sorting the mangled gore into piles and rows based on how useful it believes its alien masters may find the components, behavior which assured a steady stream of resources for the flesh-forges of the Dominion.

Even today, their gruesome displays are useful when intimidating or punishing captive populations, though Dominion science has advanced to the point such brutal measures are no longer needed; they have much more thorough and effective means of reducing living creatures to their component parts. As such, Disassemblers are used as weapons of terror against the Dominion's enemies among the stars and within their own populations, though this isn't to say they're restricted to distant worlds.

The arrival of a Disassembler on soil beyond the Dominion's grip is an occurrence which is rare to the point of nonexistence, but it has happened both by accident (errant portals and teleportation errors) and purposeful action. On the exceedingly rare occasions when a cultist manages to establish and survive contact with entities concerned with the Dominion's war effort, they can be convinced to send one of these horrors to the cultist's world. Rarely does the cultist survive to give the war machines an actual order, allowing the machine to do what it does best: kill anything it encounters, and assure its own continued survival.

Gan-Dergorin CR 11 Chaotic Evil Large Construct Init +2; Senses: Darkvision 80ft, Low-light vision, blindsense 10 ft, Perception +17 Aura: Frightful Presence (60ft, DC 15) ----- Defense ----- AC 25; touch 11; flat-footed 23 (+2 Dex, +14 natural, -1 size) HP:110 (13d10+30) Fast Healing 5 Fort +4, Ref +6, Will +7 Defensive Abilities: Reassemble, Upgrade; DR 5/--; Immune Construct traits; Resist Fire 10, Cold 10, Electricity 10; Weakness Serial Number, Thorough Disassembly ----- Offense ----- Speed: 30 ft, climb 10ft Melee: Pneumatic Cleaver +19/+14/+9 (2d6+6/x3), Variable Arms +13 (2d6+3/19-20) Space/Reach: 10ft/10ft ----- Statistics ----- Str 22, Dex 15, Con --, Int 10, Wis 16, Cha 6 Base Atk +13; CMB +20; CMD 32 Feats: Cleave, Cleaving Finish, Critical Focus, Improved Cleaving Finish, Great Cleave, Power Attack, Technologist(B), Weapon Focus (Pneumatic Cleaver) Skills: Climb +19, Disable Device +9 (+13 vs machinery/technology), Perception +17, Stealth +3; Racial Modifiers: +4 to Disable Device checks against complex machinery and technology Languages: Aklo (rarely speaks) SQ: Freeze (pile of metal junk), Standing Orders, Thorough Disassembly ----- Ecology ----- Environment: Any Organization: Solitary Treasure: Standard (scrap material, integrated items)

----- Combat: Disassemblers are not complicated creatures. They charge into combat with reckless abandon, using their Great Cleave and Improved Cleaving Finish to slaughter as many weak enemies as they can with a single attack before focusing down remaining foes one at a time with their Full-Attacks, using Power Attack at every opportunity. If given an option, Disassemblers prefer to target any creature capable dealing damage it cannot resist or nullify. A Disassembler will chase down any creature it believes it can kill and will not stop until its enemy escapes or it is driven back by damage.

Morale: A Disassembler brought below 1/4th of its HP maximum will immediately retreat to recover, even if it means abandoning fallen foes, Once it has regained at least half of its total HP and perhaps integrated new weapons, it will track down its foes to dispatch them. If it is slain in combat but permitted to return to function, it will Upgrade itself and track down its killers if possible, and follow its Standing Orders if not.

-----

Reassemble (Ex): Dominion Disassemblers can reattach severed limbs and portions of their bodies by holding it to themselves for 1 full round. A Dominion Disassembler is not destroyed when it reaches 0 HP, but is rendered inert and helpless. 1d4 hours after being reduced to 0 HP, all the alien machinery within whirls back to life--it reactivates at 1 hitpoint and resumes Fast Healing. Only the thorough and comprehensive destruction of its remains using methods such as immersion in magma, acid, or a similar substance, or turning to ash via Disintegrate or similar, can prevent a Disassembler from returning to function; otherwise, it can pull itself together from even the smallest remains.

Serial Number (Ex): All Disassemblers possess a serial number etched on a plate of alien metal somewhere within their body which is kept hidden near their centers. The number cannot be observed unless the construct has been rendered helpless, and even then it requires a DC 23 Perception check to find. Any creature capable of reading and speaking Aklo can make a DC 23 Linguistics check to memorize the Serial Number or write it down perfectly.

A creature may give a verbal command to a Disassembler by speaking its entire serial number aloud and stating the action they wish it to take, in Aklo. Due to the length and complexity of each serial number, this is a full-round action which provokes an attack of opportunity, and being struck by the attack of opportunity ruins the attempt to speak the number. If left without orders, Disassemblers typically try to destroy any creature that knows their serial number. Most creatures which learn of a Disassembler's serial number can easily get rid of the creature by ordering it to take a self-destructive action, or to accept the effects of a spell which will teleport or plane shift it a great distance away.

Standing Orders (Ex): To await further orders from their commanders, Disassemblers go into a low-power mode if they have not encountered another creature in 24 hours. In this mode, they come to rest and resemble a pile of junk, though they remain somewhat aware of their surroundings and may make Perception checks at a -5 penalty to detect nearby creatures and passively make Stealth checks to hide in plain sight as a pile of scrap. They can remain in this low-power state indefinitely, and will do so as long as they are not alerted to any creature, and spring back to full functionality instantly when alerted.

Thorough Disassembly (Ex): A Disassembler gets Technologist as a bonus feat and has a +4 bonus to Disable Device checks to sabotage or take apart complex machinery and advanced technology, and Disable Device is a class skill for it. In addition, after reducing a creature to 0 HP, the Disassembler is compelled to butcher it to prevent its return. It can resist this compulsion by succeeding a DC 20 Will save; otherwise, it must spend its next round attempting to coup de grace that creature if it is still alive, or to begin ripping it to pieces if it is dead.

Upgrade (Ex): When a Disassembler is defeated but permitted to Reassemble, it learns from its failure and seeks out methods to upgrade itself. A Disassembler has a number of Upgrade Points equal to 3 + its Wisdom modifier (6 for a typical Disassembler) that it may divide as it sees fit, and each time it is defeated, its Upgrade Points reset and may be redistributed. A Disassembler requires 1d4+1 days to make upgrades to itself as it gathers raw material from any source it can find (the DM may rule it finds parts much faster in areas with high amounts of technology), and never wastes time and resources upgrading itself unless it is defeated. It can take most of the upgrades multiple times; their effects stack. It will typically choose upgrades which prevent it from being beaten via the same methods it fell to previously.

1 Point: Gain 10 points of resistance to 1 form of elemental damage, or increases its resistance to an element by 10.

1 Point: Increase its natural armor by +1 or its DR/-- by 1.

1 Point: The Disassembler integrates a set of armor and/or a shield it can get ahold of into its body, granting itself the benefits of wearing the armor/shield (AC, magical abilities) but without suffering armor check penalties or speed reductions. It can only integrate one set of armor and one shield at a time.

2 Points: Increase its walk and climb speed by 10ft each, or gain a 10ft swim speed.

2 Points: Gain a +2 profane bonus to a saving throw of its choice.

3 Points: Gain 25% Fortification.

3 Points: Gain 1 feat it qualifies for.

Variable Arms (Ex): The Disassembler's Variable Arms natural attack can switch between slashing, piercing, or bludgeoning damage as a swift action, or change into a tool capable of fine manipulation which also acts as thieves' tools. The construct can also replace its Pneumatic Cleaver with any melee weapon it finds with 1 minute of work, losing its Cleaver attack but allowing it to use that weapon without penalty. It is considered proficient with any weapon it integrates, and wields even two-handed weapons with a single limb.

[milkboydotnet]

Condemn and resist US-led warmongering in Asia-Pacific! Support the Filipino people’s struggle for national liberation and democracy!

Robert Reid | Chairperson FFPS

The Friends of the Filipino People in Struggle (FFPS) condemns Marcos Jr. for surrendering Philippine sovereignty and putting the Filipino people in serious danger. We strongly oppose the continued US military build-up on Philippine soil as part of its war provocations against China, threatening to engulf the entire region into war. 

The ongoing Balikatan US war exercises in the Philippines involves 16,000 troops 11,000 of which are US soldiers, making it the biggest joint military drills to date.

The exercises are part of the US government’s first island chain strategy, which aims to encircle China by creating a fortified chain of US-controlled islands. Part of the exercises will take place on the strategic Batanes islands and Palawan. The Batanes islands being close to Taiwan, allows control over the strategic Bashi Channel. Palawan on the other hand borders the contested West Philippine Sea. From these strategic islands, the US is testing its new Typhon mid-range missile systems that have the capacity to hit China. 

With such military build-up in the first island chain, the US aims to provoke China into striking first, giving the US an excuse to go to war with its imperialist rival. 

US military build-up in the region only brings suffering to the Filipino people. The current Balikatan exercises and the presence of US troops in communities are disrupting the people’s livelihoods, who cannot access their crops, coasts and seas due to increased militarization. In combination with widespread landlessness and a vicious cycle of debt through feudal relations of production, which are aggravated by the current drought El Niño, and the unwillingness of the Marcos Jr. to address the root causes of their hardships, this pushes the majority of the Filipino people into increasingly desperate situations.

Furthermore, communities are traumatised due to the constant bombardment of low flying jets, aerial bombing campaigns and artillery shelling as part of the war drills. All this suffering however would pale in comparison to the catastrophe that would befall the Filipino people in the event of a full-pledged inter-imperialist war. 

One of the biggest obstacles preventing a US-China war in the region is the revolutionary movement in the Philippines. The revolutionary struggle that has roused and mobilized millions of Filipinos in clear opposition to US imperialist oppression and exploitation, and to the despotic ruling landed and comprador bourgeoisie classes, has forced the Philippine puppet government to deploy most of the US-directed AFP forces on ‘internal defence’ instead of ‘external defence’. 

The Filipino people’s resistance to foreign domination is a thorn in the eye of the US and its strategic interests, who have ordered Marcos Jr. to finish off the entire revolutionary movement before the end of the year. However, this is already the umpteenth extension of their deadline to the Government of the Philippines (GRP), as Marcos Jr. and his counterrevolutionary forces have failed to follow through on the previous deadline to end the revolutionary movement, just like all his predecessors including his dictator father Marcos Sr.

Since the US-directed “counterinsurgency” does not try to address the root causes that push the Filipino people to fight for national and social liberation, it can only fail in ending their armed struggle. It has only resulted in a fully-fledged war against the Filipino people. There have been increases in militarizations of rural communities and other violations of International Humanitarian Law, such as increased number of abductions, killings and bombings, to try and squash the revolutionary movement and all dissent through the most vicious means. 

As FFPS we vehemently stand with the Filipino people as they resist the fascist onslaught of the US-directed Marcos Jr. regime and fully support the demand of the Filipino people to dismantle US military bases in the Philippines and end US imperialist aggression and warmongering in the region. We stand with the Philippine revolutionary movement in advancing the national democratic revolution, recognizing that the Filipino people’s revolutionary war for national liberation and democracy is a concrete and essential contribution by the Filipino people to fighting imperialist war in the region.

End US aggression in the Philippines! Stop the bombings in the Philippines!  Militant action against US imperialist war-mongering! We support the Filipino aspiration: National Liberation against US imperialism! Support the advance of the Filipino people’s war for national liberation and democracy!

[milk5]

It's nearly impossible to determine the immaterial nature of the microgreens in your meal. Some call it spirit or soul, but I personally disagree with the usage of paranormal terminology in this context. It's surely an observable physical phenomenon, we just don't know how to observe it with modern technology. Each batch of microgreens, they have polar properties. Some are negative, while others are positive. If you eat one too many of the negative-wave sprouts, your body immediately shuts down. It's death, but not as we typically know it; all of your cells simultaneously fail, rather than the rapid cascading of bodily system failure that we're more familiar with. If you meet the threshold for positive-wave sprouts, your cells seem to become highly resistant, if not immune, to damage by any means. We're presently working with a 129 year old woman that has been eating home-grown cilantro microgreens nearly every day for the past fifty-or-so years. Gunshots, shrapnel, extreme temperatures, radiation exposure; they don't do anything to her. Her cells harden, and the high-velocity bullets or shards of metal flawlessly transfer kinetic energy through her body harmlessly. Her body temperature never reaches a critical, or even uncomfortable, level. The radiation does nothing to her whatsoever. We've tested many more typically-fatal circumstances, but none of them have affected her to even a minor extent. She doesn't feel pain anymore. The same cilantro microgreens seem to have a negligible impact on any other organism that consumes them.

More strangely, the polarity of a particular batch of microgreens appear to have no connection to species, nutrient exposure, soil terroir, or really anything that we can measure presently. Perhaps there's some sort of hidden variable that we will discover in the future.

For the concerned microgreen-lover, don't worry about it so much. Negative-wave greens appear to be "canceled out" by the consumption of positive-wave greens and vice versa; given our inherent insensitivity to the forces involved, it seems that most humans intuitively maintain (near) balance. It's extremely improbable that any given individual would reach either one of the critical points in their natural lifespan, but it's not an impossibility.