#Tube Filling And Sealing machine

[adinathinternationalindia]

Plastic Tube Filler

All types of semi-viscous and viscous goods can be filled into soft plastic or flexible composite tubes using a plastic tube filler (also known as a plastic tube filler and sealer machine), which also includes a laminated tube filling and sealing machine. This tube filler is a perfect tool for use in the culinary, cosmetic, chemical, and pharmaceutical industries, among others.

Versatile in nature, tube filling machines are made to fill plastic, laminated, and metallic tubes with viscous and semi-viscous goods like toothpaste, ointments, shaving creams, adhesives, and cosmetics. These devices can handle unique tube diameters and have a “No tube, no fills” functionality that functions very similarly to that of vial filling machines. The pharmaceutical sector uses tube filling equipment that are manual, automatic, and high-speed.

Every machine complies with GMP requirements. The machines’ primary feature is their quick, easy, and proficient changeover, which enables them adapt to the faster-than-ever time-to-market era in which we live. The machines’ further versatility is enhanced by the optional equipment that is offered. We manufacture Aluminum Tube Filling Machines in addition to LAMI Tube Filling Machines. We are the top tube filler machine manufacturer in India because to our affordable and user-friendly equipment.

[lodhapharma]

Lodha Pharma specializes in Tube Filling & Sealing Machines, offering robust solutions tailored for pharmaceutical and cosmetic industries. Their machines are engineered to automate the packaging process efficiently, ensuring precision and reliability. The Tube Filling & Sealing Machines by Lodha Pharma are designed to handle various types of tubes, from plastic to aluminum, accommodating different viscosities and textures of contents such as creams, ointments, gels, and pastes. These machines integrate advanced technologies to maintain hygiene standards and product integrity throughout the filling and sealing processes. For More Info visit our website : https://www.lodhapharma.com/laminated-tube-filling-and-sealing-machine.php

[nichromepackagingmachine]

Filling Machines | Intelweigh Multi Head Weigher | Nichrome Bangladesh

Nichrome offers filler weighers for packaging with various filling capacities for solid, liquid & viscous food products like snacks, milk, oil

[midseo]

Fully Automatic Lami / Plastic Tube Filling, Sealing, Coding and Cutting Machine, Mumbai, India

Manufacturing of Pharmaceutical Machinery, Tube Filling Machinery, Tube Sealing Machinery, Soft Drink Filling Machinery, Container Filling Machinery, Pharmaceutical Equipments, Food Processing Machinery, Chemical Equipment, Mumbai, India.

Pharmaceutical Machinery, Tube Filling Machinery, Tube Sealing Machinery, Soft Drink Filling Machinery, Container Filling Machinery, Pharmaceutical Equipments, Pharmaceutical Machine, Food Processing Machinery, Chemical Equipment, Plastic Tube Filling Machinery, Multi Head Container Filling Machine, Cone Blender, Volumetric Bottle Filling, Filtration Unit, Rotary Bottle Washing, Rubber Bung Washing Machine, Storage Tank, Pressure Vessel, Cosmetic Filling Machinery, High speed Multi Head Container Filling Machine, Multi Head Container Filling Machine, Plastic Tube Filling Machine, Plastic Tube Sealing Machine, Plastic Tube Coding Machine, Plastic Tube Cutting Machine, Automatic Multi Head Container Filling Machine, asia, asian, india, indian, mumbai, maharashtra, industrial, industries, thane, pune, nashik, aurangabad, ratnagiri, nagpur, ahmednagar, akola, amravati, chandrapur, dhule, jalgaon, raigad, sangli, satara, belgaum, kolhapur, belgaon

[feminist-space]

"Officers raided the facility on Oct. 18, 2023, and detained the lone female employee while they searched the business, the lawsuit said. However, they didn’t find a single cannabis plant and only saw a typical medical facility with rooms used for conducting x-rays, ultrasounds, CT scans and MRIs, the owners said.

The officers then released the employee and told her to call a manager, the lawsuit said, while they continued to wander around various rooms of the facility. The plaintiffs say the officers’ behavior was “nothing short of a disorganized circus, with no apparent rules, procedures, or even a hint of coordination.”

At one point, an officer walked into an MRI room, past a sign warning that metal was prohibited inside, with his rifle “dangling… in his right hand, with an unsecured strap,” the lawsuit said. The MRI machine’s magnetic force then allegedly sucked his rifle across the room, pinning it against the machine. MRI machines are tube-shaped scanners that use incredibly strong magnetic fields to create images of the brain, bones, joints and other internal organs.

An officer then allegedly pulled a sealed emergency release button that shut the MRI machine down, deactivating it, evaporating thousands of liters of helium gas and damaging the machine in the process. The officer then grabbed his rifle and left the room, leaving behind a magazine filled with bullets on the office floor, according to the lawsuit."

Read the full article here: https://www.sfgate.com/cannabis/article/lapd-cannabis-mri-raid-19789448.php

[thelastmemeera]

Excuse me WHAT

Officers allegedly raided the diagnostic center, located in the Van Nuys neighborhood of Los Angeles, thinking it was a front for an illegal cannabis cultivation facility, pointing to higher-than-usual energy use and the “distinct odor” of cannabis plants, according to the lawsuit.  Officers raided the facility on Oct. 18, 2023, and detained the lone female employee while they searched the business, the lawsuit said. However, they didn’t find a single cannabis plant and only saw a typical medical facility with rooms used for conducting x-rays, ultrasounds, CT scans and MRIs, the owners said.  At one point, an officer walked into an MRI room, past a sign warning that metal was prohibited inside, with his rifle “dangling… in his right hand, with an unsecured strap,” the lawsuit said. The MRI machine’s magnetic force then allegedly sucked his rifle across the room, pinning it against the machine. MRI machines are tube-shaped scanners that use incredibly strong magnetic fields to create images of the brain, bones, joints and other internal organs. An officer then allegedly pulled a sealed emergency release button that shut the MRI machine down, deactivating it, evaporating thousands of liters of helium gas and damaging the machine in the process. The officer then grabbed his rifle and left the room, leaving behind a magazine filled with bullets on the office floor, according to the lawsuit.

[p1nkcanoe]

thinking about Phantom being curious and horny and getting his cock stuck while using a vacuum cleaner to get himself off 💀

( i like the way you think, anon. 1.1k words that probably shouldn't exist )

Phantom is smarter than this. He really is. He should know by now not to test the limits and possibilities of objects, specifically machinery, and should know that when something’s entire job is to suck, that it will indeed, suck. 

He’d borrowed the vacuum from the supply closet to clean the cobwebs from the high corners of his bedroom–a simple machine with a large central canister for the dust and mess, and a long flexible hose affixed with a plastic tube to do one job: remove the eyesores from the rafters so Aether would finally get off his ass about it. It turns out that a task so tedious can be made interesting if you turn it into a bit of an experiment. A game, if you will. It takes approximately two minutes after turning the machine on for the curiosity to set in. Phantom begins by holding the end of the hose further and further away from the cobwebs, testing how far away he can keep it for it to still suck them away from the walls and wooden supports, then he moves on to waving it wildly from side to side, seeing how quick he can clear an entire section with a wave of his long arms. Turns out, it’s pretty quick. And finally, when he tries to stick the hose to the ceiling, he wonders exactly how strong those suctions really are. 

He attaches the end of the hose to his palm first, jolting in surprise when his skin gets sucked up tight to the end of it and makes a loud, high pitched hissing noise at the lack of circulation. He pulls his hand away, listening to how the sound frequencies change and how the machine still tries to suck his palm back up. He lets it. It makes the noise again, a dull hwumph, and he chuckles, pulling it off and letting it reattach again a few more times just to hear it. The remaining webs quickly become an afterthought. 

But eventually his palm gets boring, so he tucks the hissing hose under his arm and reaches down to lift his shirt, tucking the bottom hem under his chin and exposing the soft skin of his tummy. The first contact of the hose against his tummy is much different. His skin is more plush, protected by a thin layer of fat, and the tube attaches itself more firmly, sucks more of him up. When he pulls it’s harder to remove and it leaves behind a pretty pink circle in its place. He lets it suck different areas of his torso, testing different areas where his body is harder, others where it’s soft, and he can’t help but giggle when it thubthubthub’s over his bellybutton in an imperfect seal and tickles his hair. He even lets it engulf his nipple. The instant hypersensitivity and consequential gasp were enough to have him jerking it away rather quickly. Yeah… too much. Noted. But who knew a vacuum could be so fun? 

The ghoul looks down at it, right down into its opening, and gets a stupid idea in that brain of his. One quick glance past the side of the hose reveals his half chub tenting the front of his basketball shorts. 

He looks back at the hose, back at the tube connected to its end, over at the door which is very much unlocked for anyone to walk into as they please, and shimmies the elastic waistband of his shorts down just enough to pull out his shaft. 

The hose hisses in his hand, sucks air. 

Curiosity gets the best of him. 

He inches it closer to the head of his dick, which is rapidly filling out with intrigue, and hums, pleased, when it lures him and sucks freezing cold air around his hot skin. He nods, shrugs–this could work–and brings it that last centimeter closer, letting the end of the tube encase his head and suck him in. The strangled noise he makes is almost louder than the machine and he slaps a hand over his mouth. His eyes flick towards the door. 

He doesn’t fill the entire opening. Cold air sucks down around his skin but the suction is nice. Not too hard, but also definitely there. He thinks he likes it. It’s nothing like getting a blowjob, not even close, it’s something entirely different and the odd combination of cool air, rapidly changing pressure around his shaft, and vibrations from the machine’s fans and motors make him tingle in all the best ways. Maybe a vibrator, he thinks. An odd, hard, plastic fleshlight that really isn’t that satisfying in all honesty, but he keeps his dick in it nonetheless, choosing instead to jerk the head of the hose over his shaft in shallow, quick moments that make him suck his bottom lip between his fangs and groan. 

The machine tries desperately to suck him up. It’s so loud, so obvious that something is blocking its tube, but Phantom is beginning to enjoy it in that odd, twisted way too much to stop. Plus, there’s something erotic about getting your dick sucked by a vacuum… Or… maybe not?

He lets go of the tube and lets the machine suck him all the way down to the hilt and nearly caves in on himself when his tip vibrates violently against the rubbery plastic sides. His belly tightens immediately. Suddenly the need to cum is overbearing. Against his best judgment he leans over and flicks the switch on the machine, sending it whirring and hissing into max suction. It screams around his skin, milks every drop of pre from his body and sends it somewhere wholly out of mind. He fails to notice the suction pulling his balls from his shorts and it’s the last little bit of skin the machine needs to complete the perfect seal. 

The ghoul chokes. He feels the air sucked from his lungs as his soul gets sucked from his dick, and in a matter of excruciating seconds he cums violently and hard into the tube. His mess gets sucked away into the canister. 

Overstimulation sets in quickly and the machine doesn’t let up in the slightest. Even when he’s panicking–whining and pulling desperately at the vacuum head–it won’t come off, stuck in a tight and unrelenting seal around his shaft and against his sack. Scrambling hands can’t find the on/off switch fast enough.  “Hey, Ant, are you done with the vacuum yet or–” Phantom whips around towards where his bedroom door swings open on its hinges, shock and mortification slapped over both his own and Cirrus’ horrified face. “–oh my god??”

[followerexwrittenstuff]

Date Continuation

Shadow Milk Cookie was rather curious about what had just happened. He had just finished up his date, when he happened to notice something odd in the forests around the Fairy Kingdom.

Strange machines - odd angular devices glowing with a strange green liquid - were following him and…just watching. Not doing anything else, just watching.

While he always liked an audience, the idea of these things spying on him - during his date - was not welcome. So, he began looking into them. Which led to this.

One of the odd devices was floating before him, projecting an odd panel from a sphere on its front. Said panel had words written on it in a much lighter green than the rest of the panel. What the words said was just as interesting as the machine.

Please come to the Simmering Swamps. I want to talk. (APPRECIATE THE CALMNESS OF THIS MESSAGE). - Withered Oil Cookie.

For a moment, he wasn’t sure who this was - and then, it clicked in his head.

Oh, Gleaming Oil Cookie! …or, well, Withered Oil Cookie.

Actually, now that he thought about it…after he and the other Beasts turned on the Witches, he never saw her again. He thought that she had just gone into hiding, or maybe died in what happened…

But it seems she had changed too. And she wanted to see him.

…he was pretty sure there weren’t any swamps on this continent though.

-

Turns out, there was a swamp on this continent! It was where the Ravenous Forest used to be. (Which was probably one of the other’s fault. Or his. Either or.)

The massive, wide-ranging woodland was now almost entirely a swamp. The air was muggy and hot, pushing down on everything around it. The mangrove trees scattered throughout the marsh seemed ill, yet also clearly still alive and thriving, some of them dripping with a neon green…sap? Whatever it was, there were pools of it scattered around, contrasting drastically with the foggy water of the rest of the swamp.

…also, it had been an hour and Shadow Milk still hadn’t found where Withered Oil Cookie was, so that was frustrating.

Eventually, however, he saw something new - a green ball of light had just shot up into the sky, which was very likely to be her.

The green ball expanded out into a full message. I’M OVER HERE, CURDLE!

…yeah, it was definitely Oil. She was the only one that called him that. Many times over.

Shadow Milk lifted into the air and zoomed through the forest, soon arriving in a clearing; there was a large puddle of the strange substance off to the side, and standing right before him was Withered Oil Cookie.

She looked very different from what he remembered. Back before…everything that happened, she had her hair tied back behind her head in a ponytail. She wore a visor over her eyes while she was brewing potions (and when she wasn’t), and a green robe with darker green accents. She constantly had a bag filled with potions hanging from her side.

Now? Her hair hung down over most of her face, covering her eyes. She was wearing a metallic jumpsuit with various green tubes across it, bubbling with that same odd sap. Black ‘rubber’ was at each of her joints, and on her right arm was a much larger gauntlet that seemed to be loaded with more capsules of that sap…and that was clearly a cannon embedded in the palm.

She smiled at him, her extremely wide grin twitching. “Curdle! It’s so good to see you again! I wasn’t sure if I would after the witches sealed you away for so long I couldn’t keep track of it and was constantly wondering if you would ever be freed.” Her right eye twitched. (which was pretty concerning.)

“It’s good to see you too, Oil. What’ve you been up to since-”

“Oh well Curdle I’ve been building a lot of stuff like my super observer bots the ones that sent you a message to meet here a super awesome under-swamp base where I can see everything from there’s also this cool jumpsuit that I loaded with weapons and powered with eternal oil that’s the green stuff i also made a bunch of defense systems to protect me a really big super mecha so i can finally be big like you a therapy machine that really didn’t work and i didn’t want to mention that last one aaaaa-”

Right. That was definitely concerning. Especially since her expression shifted several times in that whole…ramble. And she was constantly twitching. And also the mention of a therapy machine.

“Oil…what did you need a therapy machine for.” Shadow Milk said, (comparatively) stern.

“Nothing important! I just need to not think about it at all and focus on everything else, building stuff, my crippling loneliness, random balls of sugar fluff-”

“What happened to you?”

And it was that moment that Shadow Milk realized he asked the wrong question.

-

Why are they doing this? What did I do?

“If the Heroes turned on us, whose to say this one won’t as well?”

“It would be best if we disposed of them before they grow too strong.”

I’m scared…Shadow Milk, where are you?

“We could seal them away now…but then they could break free later…”

“Perhaps we could simply crumble them? It would save time.”

I don’t understand…

“I have a suggestion, my creators. All I need is access to the Oven.”

“You wish to rebake this one, Blinding Syrup Cookie? It is not a bad idea…”

What are they talking about?

“Not quite, my creators. All I truly need is the heat.”

“...very well, Blinding Syrup Cookie. You may.”

…What’s he doing? Stay back!

“And thus, the flames of perdition ignite. They grant my chains their searing grip, so I may enact the Witches' will.”

“You shall never turn against the divine, like your monstrous ‘heroes’.”

…

A̷̘̙̦̗͗͂̔͜͝͠Á̸̻͑̉A̶͔͆̀͆͝ͅḀ̵̇Ą̵̬̍̇̏ͅA̴̳͚̳̾͐Ă̷̪̞̙̘̑̕͘̚A̵̞̎́͝Å̷̮͍̒͂̐̿A̸̪͑̔̒̍Ḧ̶̘̬̤͖̤́̃͂H̴̠͊Ḫ̵͇͓͇̗̎̆͠Ḩ̶̪͙̙̥̇H̶̝̻̰̘̿͛͜H̵̺̟͑̃̄͊̍Ḩ̸̭̩̺͓̅̅̎̓H̸͈̎̆̇͘H̵̝̤̹͊͗̾̈H̵͍̣͋̿͛̄Ḩ̷̡̨́̈́͜H̴̢̛͈͎̦̱̃́̃͗H̶̥̱̟͉̀H̴̛̻̻͂̂̋̆Ḥ̷̨̙̩͐H̵̟͍̦̑̌͠H̴͕͓̓͜Ḥ̸̮̝̫̤͂H̴̗̣͛͌H̵͕͍̎̅́ͅḨ̷̭̼̥͌̆̊͘ͅH̸̨̬͓̝͒̈́̄H̵͈̅̈̇͠H̷͙̤̉͗̓̄̔H̴̲̔̏̂̓̕H̴͙̘͋̉̇H̴̼̉́H̴͔͔̍͑̒̊̓ͅḦ̴̩́Ḥ̷͇͇͉͊͝H̴̡͔̖̓̀͜H̶͎̳͆H̴̢̧̞̼̞̓̽͠Ĥ̷͚͚̳̓͝H̵̟̑́̀̋̕H̸̢̠̱͎̊͜H̴̠̥͕̊H̵͕̟̱̘͋͑H̷̙͖̪̳̎̏̊̄͊͜Ḧ̴̻̜́Ḥ̷̗̠̝̜͒́H̶̫͗̿̂̕-!!!!!!!!

-

Shadow Milk Cookie had no idea what happened, only that he really messed up. One moment, he was asking a very loaded question (he realizes that now), the next, Withered Oil’s eyes just completely blanked out before she fell to the ground, writhing in utter madness. And her screams…

He had heard a lot of screams over the years, but that scream?

It was different.

It was wrong.

Before he even knew what he was doing, he moved. He dove for Withered Oil Cookie and grabbed her smaller arm, even as she lashed out with her gauntlet upon contact. It didn’t hurt that much, and slowly but surely, Oil came back to her senses.

She stared at Shadow Milk Cookie in silence for a moment, before she lunged and-

Hugged him. (he did not expect that.)

She whispered something under her breath. “Please don’t leave me again.”

“I…I don’t want to be alone…”

…eventually, Shadow Milk returned the hug.

-

I’m concerned i wrote Shadow Milk out of character.

Also, if you see any shipping in this…DON’T.

There is no shipping here. Only sibling relationship. Shadow Milk is the elder brother theater gremlin and Withered Oil is the younger sister throws-stuff-in-a-pot-and-weaponizes-it gremlin.

[cookierunauprompts]

and now

it is trauma time

-

Shadow Milk Cookie was rather curious about what had just happened. He had just finished up his date, when he happened to notice something odd in the forests around the Fairy Kingdom.

Strange machines - odd angular devices glowing with a strange green liquid - were following him and…just watching. Not doing anything else, just watching.

While he always liked an audience, the idea of these things spying on him - during his date - was not welcome. So, he began looking into them. Which led to this.

One of the odd devices was floating before him, projecting an odd panel from a sphere on its front. Said panel had words written on it in a much lighter green than the rest of the panel. What the words said was just as interesting as the machine.

Please come to the Simmering Swamps. I want to talk. (APPRECIATE THE CALMNESS OF THIS MESSAGE). - Withered Oil Cookie.

For a moment, he wasn’t sure who this was - and then, it clicked in his head.

Oh, Gleaming Oil Cookie! …or, well, Withered Oil Cookie.

Actually, now that he thought about it…after he and the other Beasts turned on the Witches, he never saw her again. He thought that she had just gone into hiding, or maybe died in what happened…

But it seems she had changed too. And she wanted to see him.

…he was pretty sure there weren’t any swamps on this continent though.

-

Turns out, there was a swamp on this continent! It was where the Ravenous Forest used to be. (Which was probably one of the other’s fault. Or his. Either or.)

The massive, wide-ranging woodland was now almost entirely a swamp. The air was muggy and hot, pushing down on everything around it. The mangrove trees scattered throughout the marsh seemed ill, yet also clearly still alive and thriving, some of them dripping with a neon green…sap? Whatever it was, there were pools of it scattered around, contrasting drastically with the foggy water of the rest of the swamp.

…also, it had been an hour and Shadow Milk still hadn’t found where Withered Oil Cookie was, so that was frustrating.

Eventually, however, he saw something new - a green ball of light had just shot up into the sky, which was very likely to be her.

The green ball expanded out into a full message. I’M OVER HERE, CURDLE!

…yeah, it was definitely Oil. She was the only one that called him that. Many times over.

Shadow Milk lifted into the air and zoomed through the forest, soon arriving in a clearing; there was a large puddle of the strange substance off to the side, and standing right before him was Withered Oil Cookie.

She looked very different from what he remembered. Back before…everything that happened, she had her hair tied back behind her head in a ponytail. She wore a visor over her eyes while she was brewing potions (and when she wasn’t), and a green robe with darker green accents. She constantly had a bag filled with potions hanging from her side.

Now? Her hair hung down over most of her face, covering her eyes. She was wearing a metallic jumpsuit with various green tubes across it, bubbling with that same odd sap. Black ‘rubber’ was at each of her joints, and on her right arm was a much larger gauntlet that seemed to be loaded with more capsules of that sap…and that was clearly a cannon embedded in the palm.

She smiled at him, her extremely wide grin twitching. “Curdle! It’s so good to see you again! I wasn’t sure if I would after the witches sealed you away for so long I couldn’t keep track of it and was constantly wondering if you would ever be freed.” Her right eye twitched. (which was pretty concerning.)

“It’s good to see you too, Oil. What’ve you been up to since-”

“Oh well Curdle I’ve been building a lot of stuff like my super observer bots the ones that sent you a message to meet here a super awesome under-swamp base where I can see everything from there’s also this cool jumpsuit that I loaded with weapons and powered with eternal oil that’s the green stuff i also made a bunch of defense systems to protect me a really big super mecha so i can finally be big like you a therapy machine that really didn’t work and i didn’t want to mention that last one aaaaa-”

Right. That was definitely concerning. Especially since her expression shifted several times in that whole…ramble. And she was constantly twitching. And also the mention of a therapy machine.

“Oil…what did you need a therapy machine for.” Shadow Milk said, (comparatively) stern.

“Nothing important! I just need to not think about it at all and focus on everything else, building stuff, my crippling loneliness, random balls of sugar fluff-”

“What happened to you?”

And it was that moment that Shadow Milk realized he asked the wrong question.

-

Why are they doing this? What did I do?

“If the Heroes turned on us, whose to say this one won’t as well?”

“It would be best if we disposed of them before they grow too strong.”

I’m scared…Shadow Milk, where are you?

“We could seal them away now…but then they could break free later…”

“Perhaps we could simply crumble them? It would save time.”

I don’t understand…

“I have a suggestion, my creators. All I need is access to the Oven.”

“You wish to rebake this one, Blinding Syrup Cookie? It is not a bad idea…”

What are they talking about?

“Not quite, my creators. All I truly need is the heat.”

“...very well, Blinding Syrup Cookie. You may.”

…What’s he doing? Stay back!

“And thus, the flames of perdition ignite. They grant my chains their searing grip, so I may enact the Witches' will.”

“You shall never turn against the divine, like your monstrous ‘heroes’.”

…

A̷̘̙̦̗͗͂̔͜͝͠Á̸̻͑̉A̶͔͆̀͆͝ͅḀ̵̇Ą̵̬̍̇̏ͅA̴̳͚̳̾͐Ă̷̪̞̙̘̑̕͘̚A̵̞̎́͝Å̷̮͍̒͂̐̿A̸̪͑̔̒̍Ḧ̶̘̬̤͖̤́̃͂H̴̠͊Ḫ̵͇͓͇̗̎̆͠Ḩ̶̪͙̙̥̇H̶̝̻̰̘̿͛͜H̵̺̟͑̃̄͊̍Ḩ̸̭̩̺͓̅̅̎̓H̸͈̎̆̇͘H̵̝̤̹͊͗̾̈H̵͍̣͋̿͛̄Ḩ̷̡̨́̈́͜H̴̢̛͈͎̦̱̃́̃͗H̶̥̱̟͉̀H̴̛̻̻͂̂̋̆Ḥ̷̨̙̩͐H̵̟͍̦̑̌͠H̴͕͓̓͜Ḥ̸̮̝̫̤͂H̴̗̣͛͌H̵͕͍̎̅́ͅḨ̷̭̼̥͌̆̊͘ͅH̸̨̬͓̝͒̈́̄H̵͈̅̈̇͠H̷͙̤̉͗̓̄̔H̴̲̔̏̂̓̕H̴͙̘͋̉̇H̴̼̉́H̴͔͔̍͑̒̊̓ͅḦ̴̩́Ḥ̷͇͇͉͊͝H̴̡͔̖̓̀͜H̶͎̳͆H̴̢̧̞̼̞̓̽͠Ĥ̷͚͚̳̓͝H̵̟̑́̀̋̕H̸̢̠̱͎̊͜H̴̠̥͕̊H̵͕̟̱̘͋͑H̷̙͖̪̳̎̏̊̄͊͜Ḧ̴̻̜́Ḥ̷̗̠̝̜͒́H̶̫͗̿̂̕-!!!!!!!!

-

Shadow Milk Cookie had no idea what happened, only that he really messed up. One moment, he was asking a very loaded question (he realizes that now), the next, Withered Oil’s eyes just completely blanked out before she fell to the ground, writhing in utter madness. And her screams…

He had heard a lot of screams over the years, but that scream?

It was different.

It was wrong.

Before he even knew what he was doing, he moved. He dove for Withered Oil Cookie and grabbed her smaller arm, even as she lashed out with her gauntlet upon contact. It didn’t hurt that much, and slowly but surely, Oil came back to her senses.

She stared at Shadow Milk Cookie in silence for a moment, before she lunged and-

Hugged him. (he did not expect that.)

She whispered something under her breath. “Please don’t leave me again.”

“I…I don’t want to be alone…”

…eventually, Shadow Milk returned the hug.

-

I’m concerned i wrote Shadow Milk out of character.

Also, if you see any shipping in this…DON’T.

There is no shipping here. Only sibling relationship. Shadow Milk is the elder brother theater gremlin and Withered Oil is the younger sister throws-stuff-in-a-pot-and-weaponizes-it gremlin.

(i should probably post this on my own page...)

THEY RE-BAKED HER ALIVE??? OH.

May I ask if I can crush Blinding Syrup with a comically large hammer? Because I want to.

Also i think you might be pretty in character for Shadow Milk here, it's pretty well done! All and all this was rather nice to read!

[missamyrisa2]

Now the milking needs to extend to you… a machine that pounds and fucks you while gathering your sweet juices while so many anonymous hands explore your most delicate ticklish areas.. your tush, ribs, breasts and armpits.. allll around and around while you push through the endless orgasms and treatment ❤️

Ahhhhhh whyyy is my askbox filling with theeese you're terribleee and amazing and gosssshh youuu sweeet tickly ❤️

Because as ~mmmh ~ smutty dreams gooo ~ being machine milked in front of a group is like top tier for mee~

I posted a video in that video archive that has this very scenario and it's like eeee sooo amazing ~ and here's how I'm thinking of it right now~

The more I struggle, the more the machine milks, and yet I can never resist it ~ my legs are kicking worthlessly like I'm trying to swim upward ~ the sleeve of silk twirls and dances on my throbbing royal tip, the tube appendage bounces up and down merrily. The chains of the pink sling rattle about as I fight once again ~ my onlookers, captors, teasers, torturers, snicker and chatter through their masks. Though I can't see their faces I can hear the grins and smirks in their voices ~ the glittery eye holes in each mask never fail to make my tummy tremble in gigglish fear ~

Gloved hands wiggle and dance once more, almost artful in how they swirl around the pumping noisy bustling machine, encouraging my body to thrust and buck upwards right into the tube as it merrily milks ~ I've lost my words now, only outputting a stream of squeaking giggling gasps and nonsense chirps ~ their fingers descend wiggling on my nipples and tummy, tracing my ribs and following my booty as it jumps up and down ~ their soft gloves and relentless technique are like insatiable tickle machines ~ maybe they are all bots, sent to destroy me into tickly madness~

I shake my head seeing one of them holding the milker's remote. That wicked masked face nods yes yes yes and turns the dial, sending the bouncing tube into overdrive. For a moment. Then it levels back. I gasp out and slip something that sounds like "giggleeeclusterfuuuuuk!!" in protest. They toy with me, speeding up the milking for a moment making the apparatus suckle my princess part for a moment frantically before slowing. Then back up. Every time I arch and pull at the chains, and those fingers follow taunting my every move, tickling me as punishment for such dramatic reactions ~

The fingers gliding in my armpits become the worst, just like a line of taunts to my princess part. I can't hold on any more, I know I'm going to lose to this relentless machine again ~ I try to seal my lips, try to not give them more silly sounds ~ but they are merciless, the ticklers see my strategy and tsk, flicking fingers on my nipples and rubbing my hips earnestly. I gigglemoan and snickergasp, groaning out madly as my hips buck and stay bucked, the machine speeding up ~ and beeping in confirmation as yet another gigglecum is triggered ~

I'm breathless, soundless save for tiny high pitched giggles as I watch helplessly my giggledrops extracted and sucked away into the milking machine's tube. And before I can even drift into a fuzzy rest, the group snickers down at me, taunting with fleeting tickles on my sides and ribs and thighs ~ the one with the remote starting a new sequence as the machine's secondary module activates ~ revealing a glowing slightly curved pink extension which begins buzzing and thrusting softly ~ aligning as the chains are adjusted to make my legs lift and spread and prepare for the dreaded honeyspot tickles~

[vampkillr]

Nothing — Matt Murdock

m! surgeon! reader — vamp! matt — 865 words — angst kinda — its not really where i wanted to go with the idea i had so i cut it short ! ill probably end up reposting a better version in the future

A lot can happen in two minutes. The loss of a life. A tragedy. Fate sealed in such little time. It was something I've had to observe more times than I'd care to admit. The human body, although a pressurized machine, unpredictable. That's why they die. Blissfully unaware, unfeeling under my blade. Going in with hope. Leaving cold and lifeless. There was something beautiful about the way they surrendered control. The way they trusted me. Something so tragic about that trust not being enough.

To be human was to be flawed. To have a body that would give in so easily. Almost shameful. And yet we seemed to take pride in our fragility. We use it to feel appreciative. I suppose time becomes much more precious when it can be taken from you at any moment. The time that people cherished. The more of it they begged me for. None of that mattered to a heart set on stopping. A brain set on dying. Despite my precision. My patience. My stillness. It was hard to accept that. To be okay with the fact that nothing I did would ever be good enough to a dead person. That they were gone and the tools to save them were no longer enough. A story told a million times. A million stories ended in the same way.

I've stood over countless open bodies. My fingers have grazed against even the weakest of beating hearts, yet something about this one was different. I knew the heart. I knew very intricately the ways in which it functioned. Which is why I knew something was wrong with this one. There wasn't really a word to describe the way in which it beat against my hand. Manufactured, maybe. The rhythm erratic. There was an anxiety to it. Beating fast and slowing occasionally; like an anxious person trying to soothe themselves with deep breaths. It was this that made me stop what I was doing. "Dr. L/n?" I was too deep in thought to distinct who it was that called out to me.

"Something's wrong." I whispered. My eye seemed to latch onto the blue paper covering the man's body. As if my body caught something my mind didn't. "Everyone back away from the table." A panic was staring to set in. I couldn't explain the primal fear that started to seep into my veins, but something inside of me knew that this man open on the table was awake. He was awake and just sitting through his own mutilation. There was an array of arguments coming from everyone in the OR, but a stern 'now' shut them up. I walked towards him, removing anything and everything that blocked the access I had to his face and body. Gasps filled the room as everyone saw his open eyes. "Everybody out." I knew exactly what was going to unfold if they stayed in here for another moment.

I could feel their hesitance. The weight of my request. Everyone in the room knew how stupid I had to be to ask this of them. They all knew this wasn't a surgery for one single person. They all knew just as well as I did that the man on the table looked human but wasn't.

"I need you to trust me. And I need you all to get out." My desperation seemed to move everyone from the OR and into the gallery. I didn't care that they watched. I just needed them to be safe from what I thought this man might be. The air seemed to get heavier the moment I was alone. Each step towards him I felt closer to my death. I looked in his eyes, but they seemed to just barely miss me. There was no time to waste. His heart was collapsing on itself. I needed to save him, but he didn't seem to have the same idea. Everything seemed to blur together the moment it happened. In almost an instant I was being pinned to a wall, the sound of my tools clattering against the cold tile. His chest still split open, the sight of a beating heart. He was going to kill me. I knew that much.

"Only for a moment," He whispered, voice hoarse from the tube ripped from it just seconds ago. I could feel his breath ragged against my neck, and no amount of my strength was enough to escape him, despite his vulnerable state. There was nothing I could do. So I gave in. A hand guided my chin and all I felt was a searing pain boiling from the puncture in my neck. It deepened, spread like the feeling of alcohol to a wound. Reaching bone deep and infecting every inch of my body until pain consumed me. I could feel a scream rip from my throat and empty the air from my chest, but I couldn't hear it over the ringing that pierced my ears. I lost my spatial awareness. I couldn't sense anything but the torture my body was going through. As if my brain had been sent into a black vat of nothingness. Eventually that's all it turned into. Nothing.

likes and reblogs are appreciated — i finally got over my writers block thank god

[sealingstorm]

New story featuring very strong gagging. I'll make drawings for it later

C356

Azaela walked down the road on the way to her club. She moved past the trees and dark gray houses. Bushes swayed in the wind. Steps came up behind her and before she could react tape was planted on her mouth and a mask was pulled on her face. A black haired girl was holding her arms behind her back and making her quickly walk. Injecting her in the neck, she was directed into a crowd.

She did not know where she was but they sure were loud. Suddenly she realized that her abductor had let her go. No one would hear her mmmphs in the crowd, and it would be embarrassing to pull off the tape, so she just kept going.

As she moved she noticed on one side of a shed was various tubes containing wiring and other stuff important to the gathering. She suddenly realized it was a festival for one of the rival clubs. Sabotaging it would help her own. She peeled the tape from her mouth and reached down to fiddle with the tubes.

She placed transmitters that would fully ruin the damaged tubes with water once she was at a safe distance. She went away and clicked her app to activate them. The lights went out. She started running, but someone grabbed her, a strong dude. She sent messages to her club using her phone, and when he grabbed her hands she used voice commands.

He dragged her towards a nearby tent. He grabbed a tube of super glue from tools on a wooden table and first glued her lips then her fingers and the edges of her hands together. "Shut up!!!" He yelled, passing more glistening glue over her already fused lips, layering it as she stretched the skin.

By this time more participants and crew had come to help, hogtying her hands and feet on the floor below her chest with rope, as the groaning girl squirmed puffing her face. The one who grabbed her made a call on his phone. Someone told her what kind of place she was going to and she yelled.

Duct tape was wrapped around her mouth and a face mask was put back on, she was put onto her behind. "Sit down!!" They had put what seemed like an excessive amount of rope onto her body. She dazed off and it occurred to her that the injection may have taken her inhibitions from performing such rash behavior. But it didn't matter now…

A white van pulled up and the driver put her into a quickly vacuumed bag, the passenger and him bringing her into the side door. Thrown into a soundproof box which was closed, she saw a light in the darkness and she looked at it, then pink spirals and other hypnosis played from bright LEDs. She grunted behind her gag, no one would listen to what happened next. Her thoughts were captured and slowly muzzled.

By the time she arrived at the facility Outpost her mind was as glued as her mouth, sealing the aggression she had unfortunately acted on, and was lost in a fantasy. She imagined being victorious in her sabotage and being celebrated at her Club, even though she had felt like it was unnatural for her, then all that went away as the powerful hypnosis wiped her recent memories and other parts of her mind. She thought of her crush with no words, just nice images of him, then scenes from her memories of past years there.

When she became aware again she was in a firm and comprehensive brown straitjacket and bounced on the floor. Mechanical arms on metal poles picked her up and bought her into a machine. Her mouth was filled with foam and padding like it was walled, then tape dispensers the size of her head began to roll around wrapping her mouth, cutting and dispensing tape layers of different colors, forming a giant muzzle. She was lost in her memories and starting to live in them by making different decisions. The mechanical arms moved her to dunk her in yellowgreen adhesive, then she was lifted up to be wrapped in softened sheets of the same material as her straitjacket, smoothly covering her entire body. She was laid on the floor and her memories changed again, this time her friends were taping her mouth and hands. It was very difficult to maintain her erratic demeanor which got her into this situation after being aggravated. Tape went over her mouth in all her memories, calmly switching between them as her erratic demeanor was erased. Adhesive was spread around her tape wrap, then another sheet of the material was pressed around her mouth for an outer muzzle layer. Her hypnosis was completed and fixed in her brain, and she went down. In her memories, she went around trying to make noise but they were little sounds. She saw her crush and he pressed a sheet of tape over her mouth and the noises stopped. She was placed in a metal box which had been molded to fit her analyzed figure. The join was sealed with a metal strap, and the box was carved with planes to facilitate the maintenance of the hypnosis with emitters. Inside, her mind was silent, and became an empty void to be remade. She became known as C356 even though she would only be there for a couple years. She was placed in a large storage bank for the boxes.

–

Years later, she was back in her club. Entirely focused on it and living for it, she ran around waving her fists making soft sounds, with a masked face. She had a lot of friends and was a gentle presence nearby them.

Then she went home. The black haired girl who had used her for sabotage lived with her, petting her head as Azaela ran up happily, holding up her hands. Behind her mask a large piece of tape covered her cheeks, and her lips and fingers were glued fused shut. She didn't have a single thought of leaving this state and murmured as the girl patted her masked mouth. The girl would always find new uses for her to carry out every month or so.

[nichromepackagingmachine]

Nichrome offers filler weighers for packaging with various filling capacities for solid, liquid & viscous food products like snacks, milk, oil

[mariacallous]

Good tourniquets save lives. Bad ones kill soldiers. The global market is awash with cheaply-made knock-offs: Handles that shear off under tension, rubber tubes that won’t tighten around a limb, devices that fail when they’re needed most. That’s why most armies buy in bulk from trusted suppliers. But Evgen Vorobiov prefers Amazon. Top of his Wish List at the moment are combat application tourniquets (CATs) from North American Rescue (five stars from 1,720 reviewers). Also on the list: burn dressings, compact chest seals, trauma shears and “The Original Rescue Essentials Brand QuikLitter”—a black canvas stretcher which promises low-cost casualty evacuation and patient transfer.

Before Russia launched its full-scale invasion in February 2022, Vorobiov, a lawyer, worked for the Ukrainian central bank and then on international projects trying to reform Ukraine’s financial system—“banking regulations, consumer protection, that kind of thing.” But, with Russian troops massing on Ukraine’s borders, he took some courses in tactical medicine, hoping to make himself useful if the worst happened. It did.

The Ukrainian army, dwarfed by its opponent, was supposed to collapse in days. But remarkably, it held the line, bolstered by a huge wave of volunteers and reservists. Trucks filled with Kalashnikov rifles drove into Kyiv’s neighborhoods and handed out weapons to anyone who wanted to join the fight. Engaged in constant combat for days on end, the armed forces quickly ran short of supplies. Vorobiov, with his basic knowledge of combat medicine, started reaching out to anyone he knew overseas who could help find CAT tourniquets, trauma bandages, chest seals and other lifesaving equipment. He and a couple of colleagues sourced gear from the UK, US, and the Netherlands and got it to Poland. Anyone they knew coming back to Ukraine via Poland was asked to bring bags of supplies, forming “a human chain” stretching from Europe to the frontline.

Eighteen months on, his operation has blossomed. Vorobiov’s intimate understanding of Ukrainian bureaucracy means he’s been particularly effective at getting sensitive shipments over the border, making him a focal point for other donors. He’s built a potent fundraising operation on social media, tapping into an international community of supporters to raise money and find supplies. And, by driving back and forth across Ukraine, delivering right into the hands of combat medics, he’s forged relationships with units who can tell him exactly what they need and when, creating a personalized military logistics operation from his living room in downtown Kyiv. In May, Vorobiov got a call from a medic working at a makeshift field hospital close to Bakhmut, the burned-out ruin of a town that was a bloody pivot point for the frontline in the first half of 2023. They were in desperate need of a portable ultrasound machine to scan casualties for internal injuries. Vorobiov tapped his network for money, and found a secondhand device in Poland for $3,400. When we meet, it’s sitting in his apartment waiting to go east, and he’s turned his attention to getting hold of a portable charging unit for a defibrillator. Soldiers ask for everything: Drones for artillery and reconnaissance units, portable generators, Starlink satellite internet terminals, 4x4s, the things they need to keep them online and alive, which are often the same thing in a war defined by the use of technology on the frontline.

For decades, Ukrainian civil society has been built horizontally. Rather than rely on government agencies for help, people have leant on personal connections—everyone knows someone who knows someone who can get what you need, help you out. This parallel state has been providing vital aid in eastern Ukraine since Russian proxies invaded in 2014. Since the full-scale invasion began it’s become super-charged, using social media and messaging platforms to go global. Vorobiov is just one link in a relay of money, supplies, innovations, and solidarity that is keeping Ukraine’s soldiers in the fight.

The Front Line Kitchen occupies a few cramped ground-floor rooms and a shed off a sloping street on the edge of Lviv’s picturesque old town. In the courtyard, volunteer cooks peel mountains of potatoes and beets among the organized chaos of plastic vegetable crates, cardboard boxes and IKEA bags overflowing with baked goods. Inside, fridge-sized dryers are filled with shredded vegetables, meat and mushrooms, waiting to go into vacuum-sealed ration packs.

The kitchen started years before the full-scale invasion, in the aftermath of the “Euromaidan” demonstrations and “Revolution of Dignity” in late 2013 and early 2014. Protests against the Kremlin-backed government of Viktor Yanukovich in Kyiv’s Independence Square—Maidan Nezalezhnosti—were met with a bloody crackdown by security forces. As the violence escalated, protesters formed self-defense forces and medical units, repelling assaults and even storming government buildings. In February 2014, Yanukovich fled Kyiv. Days later, Russia illegally annexed Crimea, and its proxies seized government buildings in Donetsk and Luhansk in the east of Ukraine, declaring themselves independent of Ukraine. They met little formal resistance: Under Yanukovich, Ukraine’s armed forces and intelligence agencies had been gutted.

That spring, Ukraine raised volunteer battalions, some directly linked to the self-defense units formed in Maidan. They were still ill-equipped, so they came to rely on other volunteers to supply them with basics—food, uniforms, medicines, vehicles—even weaponry. “The volunteers essentially replaced the function of the government for supplying the necessary resources,” says Roman Makukhin, a member of the National Interests Advocacy Network, a Kyiv-based NGO. “Protecting basically their neighbors, their friends, their brothers and sons.”

Oksana Mazar and Lyuda Kuvayskova, the Front Line Kitchen’s founders, met sewing camouflage nets and balaclavas for the volunteer detachments. Many of their friends, and Kuvayskova’s son, had been at Maidan. “The war had started, even if it wasn’t talked about like it’s a war,” Mazar says. “We just wanted to help, as the guys didn't have anything. No clothes, no shoes, and no food—because it was not [officially] a war.”

They started cooking meals for soldiers, experimenting with ways to turn home-made borscht and holubtsi (cabbage rolls) into ration packs that would survive the 1,000-kilometer journey to the Donbass, usually in the back of cars or trucks after being handed over to anyone heading that way. The cooks worked in small batches, drying food in friends’ kitchens, before they were gifted their current premises. They raised enough money to buy their own dryers, and gradually expanded. After the full-scale invasion began, the kitchen’s front yard was filled with volunteers and people bringing supplies. “They knew that we were doing food for the military, and they wanted to help,” Mazar says.

With 1 million Ukrainians mobilized to fight the Russians, the need has grown massively. The kitchen is now putting out 20,000 meals a day, sending truckloads of food east, and taking orders direct from the military. To scale up they’ve relied on donations, often sourced via the @frontlinekit Twitter account. The account is run by Richard Woodruff, who came to Ukraine from the UK early in the war, intending to join one of the international brigades in the Ukrainian army, despite having no military training. After seeing footage of the ferocious defense of Kyiv, “I kind of rethought my chances of survival,” he says. Instead, he arrived at Lviv train station a few weeks after the full scale invasion began, and soon found his way to the kitchen.

If the 1991 Gulf War was the first major conflict broadcast live on TV, the defense of Ukraine is the first full-scale interstate conflict to be shown in real time on Twitter. Ukrainians posted from the early hours of the invasion—air raid sirens sounding over a European capital in 2022; queues at the recruiting centers, calls for aid and statements of defiance. They recorded acts of insane valor, videoing themselves as they ambushed Russian columns with anti-tank missile launchers they’d barely been trained to use. Civilian drones pressed into service as surveillance tools provided a steady stream of high-definition footage made for phone screens, giving a gamer’s-eye view to the fighting. As Russian forces were pushed back, and the Ukrainian armed forces reclaimed land, the atrocities and scenes of destruction were shown live, along with poignant videos of liberating soldiers greeted by their ecstatic families. For those that wanted to see them, there were graphic videos: helmet cams showed firefights, drones dropping grenades on Russian soldiers and into the hatches of occupied vehicles.

Many of Ukraine’s new volunteers were “terminally online”—ordinary digital natives forced into a brutal conflict. Gen-Z recruits did dance videos for TikTok. Their meme game was wild. Woodruff’s Twitter bio reads “British Chef Fella”—a reference to the North Atlantic Fellas Organization, or NAFO—an online movement of Ukraine-supporting shitposters with shiba inu avatars who flood social media with memes mocking the “Vatniks” (Russian propagandists).

The NAFO movement taunted Russia, at one stage managing to send the country’s ambassador in Vienna into a public meltdown. “Imagine, literally getting a world-class ambassador to speak with cartoon dogs on Twitter,” says Ivana Stradner, an adviser to the Foundation for Defense of Democracies think tank in Washington DC, an expert on misinformation and propaganda, and NAFO member. “This is the future of information warfare.”

NAFO does what state-backed information warriors, particularly those from democracies, can’t do. Its members make insane, often tasteless jokes, moving quickly to jump on trends. They’re good at memes, and flood the zone with infectious pro-Ukrainian vibes, humanizing, entertaining, and explaining to people far from the war why they should care. “I think NAFO, by boosting certain narratives, can actually also help people understand the severity of the situation and what's going on there,” Stradner says.

NAFO has helped raise millions of dollars through sales of merchandise (“I invaded Belgorod and all I got was this lousy T-shirt”) and crowdfunding campaigns. Now its avatars appear on the Twitter profiles of European politicians, on official Ukrainian defense channels, and on military equipment headed to the front. It has funded everything from food to medical supplies to a mobile artillery piece to the Georgian Legion, a unit of overseas volunteers that has been fighting since 2014. When the Frontline Kitchen’s vegetable shredder broke, Woodruff put out a call for funds to buy a new one. In the time it took him to drive to the supplier, the money had already been deposited in his account.

Social media works in tandem with the tight networks of Ukrainian society. This is a war being fought close to home—everyone knows someone at the front, and the soldiers are in constant contact. Link people like Vorobiov can connect those in the trenches with supporters in Kyiv or overseas. A unit under fire can ask for drones on Telegram, and within hours there’s a call for donations out on Twitter or Instagram. Vorobiov can deliver tourniquets to a combat medic near the front, and record a thank-you video to send directly to donors.

“I see a spike in donations when there is a story that I can tell of how donations help,” Vorobiov says. “Yesterday, I received a very long message from one of the medics, and she was telling me how medical supplies we brought to her helped her basically provide care to two servicemen. I posted that story on Twitter and folks started to donate.”

Sometimes, donors become more active participants. Last February, Polish filmmaker Maciej Zabojszcz was watching the conflict unfold over Twitter, and thinking about selling some of his military memorabilia to help raise money for a 4x4 for the Ukrainian army. But then, a graphic video emerged, apparently shot by Russian soldiers, of a Ukrainian prisoner of war being horrifically mutilated. “I felt like something changed,” he says. “I said, listen, let's not only buy one car.”

In the spring of 2022 he drove his first vehicle, a Nissan pickup, to Kyiv to deliver to the Georgian Legion. While there, he met Vorobiov, who was collecting some drones from Exen, another Polish volunteer. From then on, Zabojszcz was part of the network. Because they couldn’t order supplies online to be delivered to Ukraine, Vorobiov and others started putting Zabojszcz’s home as the delivery address. Each time he drives a car to Ukraine, he’s carrying helmets, body armor, drones, all kinds of medical supplies. When we met in March in Warsaw, he’d delivered seven 4x4s, and was fixing up an eighth.

Some Ukrainian units have a tradition of naming their vehicles, and the seventh car that Zabojszcz delivered, a Land Rover, was christened Mathilda. It was used to shuttle men from their barracks to the frontline through thick mud. “The whole unit was driving the car,” Zabojszcz says. “They were crazy about Mathilda.”

But after ten days of constant driving, Mathilda broke down. Another Polish volunteer found a local mechanic specialized in Land Rovers. They arranged an online consultation. The mechanic helped the soldiers figure out what was wrong and identify the part they needed to replace. The car broke on Monday. On Tuesday, a volunteer delivered the replacement part. “And on Thursday the car was fixed,” Zabojszcz says. “This is how this network works.”

Absorbing donations has required a degree of flexibility from the military establishment. Armies typically don’t like amateurs pitching in, turning up in warzones with stuff they’ve brought from home. Getting goods into Ukraine can be challenging—it’s understandably not legal for just anyone to move military equipment across borders—and even bringing in theoretically civilian items like cars, consumer drones, and generators requires customs forms and other paperwork. But volunteers say once they’ve got donations into the country, working with the military has been fairly easy. There’s still some admin, and donors have to have forms showing that the goods they’re delivering have been specifically asked for by a soldier, but mostly, they’ve integrated relatively seamlessly with the supply chains, with commanders on the ground sometimes turning a blind eye to help their soldiers get what they need.

This acceptance is driven partly by necessity—the military simply couldn’t supply its troops to the level it needed, and unlike its adversary, doesn’t want to send them into battle with tourniquets that snap under pressure and rations years past their expiration date. Volunteer networks can take orders, source, and deliver in a way that a centralized bureaucracy can’t. They’ve helped feed the battlefield innovations that have given outnumbered soldiers an edge, linking into the networks of workshops jury-rigging consumer drones; bringing 3D printers to the frontline to help turn hand grenades into air-dropped bombs.

“For the chaotic time after the invasion, these organizations created a stopgap solution for markets that the army could not operate,” says Simon Schlegel, senior Ukraine analyst at the Crisis Group think tank. “The army is good at buying in bulk, but these smaller operations are good at finding five pieces of Chinese-made drones in different countries and shipping them to Ukraine.”

President Volodymyr Zelenskyy understands this. He has, since the early days of the conflict, often made his social media addresses direct to citizens of other countries, not just to his fellow leaders. Volunteers—and the state’s own propagandists—have built a formidable ground game on social media, which has helped with donations, but also contributed to the ratcheting up of material being sent to the frontline by NATO partners. With public support for Ukraine high in their own countries, western leaders feel emboldened to hand over money and weapons. When those weapons deliver battlefield successes, the resulting content feeds back into the loop. “I think Ukraine is literally right now the superpower in this information war,” says Stradner.

The war, as seen through the filter of social media, has an oddly gamified quality. At times it seems it’s being won by jokes, by Ukrainian farmers pulling tanks behind tractors, by “Saint Javelin” (the “patron saint” of anti-tank missiles), and shiba inu soldiers. But it hasn’t been won yet, and many people at the far end of the volunteer supply chain have taken incredible risks, and exposed themselves to unspeakable horrors. In Lviv, I met Ernest Polanski, a Ukrainian volunteer taking a brief rest on his way back from delivering equipment to troops near Bakhmut.

What he saw there, he says, was “hell.” There was constant shelling, and the smell of corpses hung over the area. Whenever the bombardment stopped for longer than a few minutes, he wondered if something worse was about to come, “like a nuclear bomb,” he says. On the way back, he rescued three bedraggled kittens from the ruins.

Polanski has been driving back and forth from the frontlines since the early days of the war, and has lost count of the number of journeys he’s made, bringing generators, trench periscopes, medical gear and other supplies. Like other volunteers, he’s formed a special connection with a single unit, which he devotes most of his journeys to. He’s currently looking for €6,000 ($6,480) to buy new wheels for one of the unit’s 4x4s. “Not a lot of people want to go to this area,” he says. “But we have a special friendship with [this unit], and we want to help.”

The volunteer networks are made up of people from all over the world, but outside of Ukraine itself the cause has resonated more than anywhere in former Soviet nations, and in particular Baltic states like Lithuania, which see themselves as next in line if Ukraine falls. Traveling with Polanski on this journey to the front is one of his most committed supporters, the Lithuanian kickboxing champion Sergej Maslobojev. “Our country had the same problem years ago,” he says. “We feel their pain in our hearts.”

Maslobojev’s profile at home has meant he’s been able to fundraise for supplies, but, he says, it’s important for him to get out into the field to witness, and show the sacrifices still being made in the trenches of eastern and southern Ukraine. “When we listen to our news, usually we’re thinking that they're winning the war. Everything is going great. Why do we need to donate?” he says. “But when you go to the frontline and help those military guys, give them ammunition, extra food and the stuff that they really need. And they look at you with almost tears in their eyes and say, ‘nobody comes to us’. And then you understand why, in this moment.”

The day after Polanski and Maslobojev returned from Bakhmut, reports came through that the town had finally fallen. Individual defeats are hard to talk about in the context of fundraising campaigns and propaganda drives that are buoyed by a sense of inevitable victory. But they also underline the fragility of life close to the front. Almost all of the volunteers I spoke to in Ukraine had their own story of raising funds, or sourcing gear, only for the intended recipient to fall in battle before it could be delivered. All that does is make them more committed. Most say their supporters are also holding the line, a year and a half into the war.

“Sometimes it feels like this continuing western support is contingent on possible breakthroughs and huge victories. But I don't feel that, at least among my donors,” Vorobiov says. “You cannot afford hopelessness, because no one is going to support a lost cause. And we Ukrainians believe in winning this war. We have to infect others with that belief. But complacency is equally dangerous.”

[kendrixtermina]

(a contemplation of all that is – the country of death)

part 1: allegorica;

First of all there was death,

living in his house with his wife and his daughter,

first-ground of all being,

setting out to make the world like a little distraction for himself.

First there was death:

Nergal the fierce one,

Osiris, Lord of Silence,

Odinn the wanderer

Plouton the wealthy

Hades the unseen,

firstborn son of kronos,

who in another world should have been heir to all the world,

and all things will come to him still,

but for a little delay:

Helios the all seeing, from his vantage point,

was not so wrong in telling Demeter that there could be no worthier husband for her daughter;

And yet she still grieved and despaired

and let the green plentifulness of her days turn to cracking barrenness

for that’s what mothers do,

when death snatches their sweet maidens from their loving arms -

First there was death,

who patiently holds out his hands.

part 2: romantique;

flesh of alabaster, drowned in bacterial mats of green

a silhouette that is dead in the water:

I splay myself upon the grave, making love to the soft brown earth,

and I there I am seized by black hands,

pulling me under, just as promised.

For long my ghost has kept its watch beneath the gothic arches;

I was hoping, that in the last days,

you would lift me from my mausoleum to the tune of a world left in ruin,

a blackened sun,

spared only to let sink in the moment of last humiliation,

the chronology of a family

that is but children’s dolls with insect heards

monstrous vermin, scattered scales of butterfly wing

and bettle carapace feather, all the same light scattered

white specters emerging from a crimson sea of blood,

beneath a bare black sky and the unforgiving cosmos

corner-of-the-eye glipmse of white shapes:

I don’t want to look close enough to discern

if this be the shrouds of ghosts, or wings of angels

focussing on it would make the apparition real,

reinforce the neural pathway,

hints of motion, falling splotches of black

like glitches in a ruined phone monitor

don’t you know death is surveiling all this world on his flight?

Overlooking wan tepid waters infested with mosquitos,

flowing brackish pallor,

source of both life and disease.

My hands are still clawed around my wish, but surely yet slowly,

they are decomposing,

shriveled skin ripping like discount cloth

Soon I will be forced to let go:

It all goes to his tall black castle,

his vast, great realm

of pike-like unforgiving structures,

towers whose tips ought to draw blood from the crimson evening sky

Even casually wading into the waters,

still as a ripe fruit in bloom,

I know of all the souls that these waters have washed away,

and their greedy palms and mouth,

apt to rend in deprivation,

to devour an all the more endless supply

of what can no longer fill them.

My bathing in the moon is precarious:

Soon now, I understood,

we will be trodden in the very same mud,

and maybe the one I love and I will both be eaten by the same mushrooms,

sealed into one heavy hypheous mass,

or perhaps my remains will be as grime within machines,

dust clogging computer parts,

deceased alone amid a mountain of metal.

Mouth filled with pipe-tubes and yet taken in mid-dream

For both dreams and pain source their provenance from the heart,

from it flow both blood and flowers.

And this, I am to hold out to another person,

inducting them with a whisper?

(and stain our clothes with fruit juice, gore and tears)

All that either of us could share with us

is mired here in this country of death

part 3: metaphysicana;

the country of death can be a beautiful place.

For dreams are possible within it.

They always end, but they are possible

the physical laws do not forbid them,

though they do not preserve them for free.

It is possible to picture a hundred world that will never be

Even a country without death,

though it’s not a given that our minds could comprehend what this means.

We can imagine only that which we understand:

We understand nothing.

Just the deafening flayer-noise of utter confusion

There is nothing TO understand,

just the hard walls of the arbitrary when you’ve exhausted all the questions why:

The world is utter black night,

beneath which there’s a river lined with delightfully oversized mushroooms,

dimly illuminated by an uneasy light.

The world is a wall of red fog into which everything dissapears,

growing fainter and fainter the more you gaze after it into the distance,

suspended in air upon one of many crude polygonal platforms

covered in colorful textures, repeating patterns,

hanging as a circumscribed island in an unfinished void,

wide, but bare of anywhere else to go,

but the untouchable limits in this bubble of being,

invisible walls.

The world is like a bouquet arranged with a catch,

plastic stems and leaves artfully draped in an artful arangement,

and skewered upon their tips are gummies,

in a mockery of natural fruiting and growth

sweet bears and sour worms,

hair vitamins and omega 3

the kinds that make you sleep, and the kinds that make you high

paired with organ meats of that same, rubbery texture,

but we don’t like them as much since they are dripping and reeking,

since they have structure and undefinable bits,

strings, nerves vessels

that aren’t so convenient for ignoring the origins of the gelatine.

The world is a long black straight canal plowed through a flat barren field,

a sad dream of irrigation,

dreamt beneath a noxious red sky laced with heavy fumes,

streaked by band of rainbrow split in a distant prism,

what seems like a wonder but cannot be touched,

becoming just a beam that stains your hands,

the fluffy cloud but a vapor of mist.

And crawling here, at desolations cusp,

but chubby children, but curious toddlers,

small bodies not yet grown around their heavy brains,

drinking from the only water, dirty and tepid thought it be,

like an insect through its long curled beak.

The worls is like a great wide board of chess,

black and white stretching out far into the distance,

ringed by sharp bare mountains,

suspended under the heavy spheres of meaningful planets,

glistening there spinning in the icy void

lying dead foaming at the mouth is the horse that somehow got you there,

standing in your own in this desolations are you, the traveller,

dwarfed by the wide distances between everything that surrounds you.

You have two legs, you can walk freely,

but it’s unlikely that you can ever get anywhere.

You are not a figure of chess,

neither of their simple assigned characteristics could ever cover you

yet you still move across the paths as one of them,

ashering to the rules that you do not believe,

if only so you know how they will answer.

This world is like reaching out to touch,

sphaghetti pile of nerves that you are,

through a door to another door,

through a membrane to another membrane,

Feeling what you think is touch across it.

The world is objects in three dimensions,

highlighted or not through the shine of their inversions and bulges,

hoping for the three-dimensional angel,

that will bring to them some schema or mapping or ultimate systemic truth

of the pattern in which all the other three-domensional objects are arranged.

As if that could ever change that the learner of that truth,

and all that truth concerns,

yet remain but three dimensional objects.

part 4: sobering up;

So that is the world.

But what can we do about it?

There’s not a lick that we can.

The cosmos cares nothing.

And yet we still grieve and despair

and let the green plentifulness of her days turn to cracking barrenness

in awareness of death.

Realizing about the world is like a distorted flesh lounding on a couch,

in the uneasy light of of garish brightness,

a lone cone surrounded by black,

skinless shape, not even ugly, just bizzare, surreal,

casaully existing in images without meaning.

As absurd as those fragments of random phrases,

half-seen half-imagined shapes, or beepings.

The correct perception is no less absurd than the malfunctions.

Knowing about the world is like stuffed moose-heads hanging on walls,

for sale in a cramped small room that could not hold the full grown animal living,

seen as by a passerby on the street through the shop-window pane,

illuminated in the empty antiques show, in a jaundiced light,

standing out against the dark of night.

Experiencing this world is a sharp break in something like an old fine porcelain plate,

once a sig of opulent, now just yellowed wallpapers,

dustly clutter heaped up in a place that smells of its elderly residents’ decaying components,

replaced, where the tacky ends, with sharp barbed wires that wrap around the rusty old cutlery,

ready to prick all who might dare to disentanle it,

to fix it, out of some sentimental pain,

just so that it can catch dust on a shelf of their own.

Living in this world is like the dust-like fragility of precious dried butterfly wings;

Like the cakes of dust accumulating on every surface.

It is like a festival of clowns beneath a black sky of stars, 

The satyrs all in costume, and between them, fitting right in, 

The likeness of death, not a mask at all, 

Not bothered by life, not hating it, 

Come as a farmer comes to see the bounteous what field before the reaping

It is like looking at the essence of yourself, 

And seeing only a sad mosaic of arbitrary disconnected parts, 

No quintessential spark of being anywhere to be found.

Your very grace disintegrates you.

It is like finding that you are empty after you'd learned that nothing external can fill you,

like hearing you are false, but not believing those tales about truth.,

naught but new carnival-masks to replace the old,

naught but wishful thinking to fill what knowledge has torn down

Encountering others in this world is to be as a flayed giant,

all made up of veins and cabled, all swarmed over by the residents of its future city,

all the many little laborers and technicians who think that they have some business working on it,

tweaking, adjusting, burrowing their tiny tools into its flesh.

Waking up to the world,

(day after day!),

is like sitting upon a monument as a wizened, cloaked old woman,

surrounded by graves,

crowned by barren trees,

under a black sun:

It would be prudent not to bother leaving this your postures of lamentation,

for sooner than you know,

the graves will ever keep to increase in number,

and decrease they never will.

This world is the country of death.

It was never, ever ours.

[talesofsonicasura]

Light Overload

It's only natural for something to become overloaded with energy. The question is what if saving your best friend came with an unforeseen price?

Based on this poll. Enjoy.

Daxter didn't know what had gone wrong. Jak and him had just finished restocking ammo only to accidentally eavesdrop on some monks. They were talking about an some unexplored chamber within their temple. One which could possibly lead to a rare Light Eco treasure.

Daxter and Jak knew that Count Veger had an unhealthy obsession with Light Eco. Something nastily similar to Baron Praxis And Dark Eco. If what the monks said about this room was true, then somebody needed to beat the screwball to it.

Should be a piece of cake! After all Jak had a brand new spanking Light form that could get past those trippy traps. It should've been easy but the situation was so much worse as Daxter watch his friend howl in pain inside a glass tube.

That 'secret room' led to a giant silo of Light Eco! Kinda like a reverse sibling to the Dark Eco one Gol and Maia tried to open at the Precursor Citadel. However this one didn't require a robot but instead a conduit. And Eco Channelers apparently count as substitutes!

Jak had went to look inside the strange chamber only for it to close on him. Now so much Light Eco was being pumped to the point he been forced into Light Form and... his body slowly began cracking. "Don't worry Jak! I'll get you out!" Daxter gazed around the room.

So far, there were busted consoles, more crappy Precursor tech, a display of 5 sealed metal boxes and... "Bingo!" A glass tube filled with glowing Light Eco crystals. If he breaks it then the machine couldn't pump anymore power through Jak.

Luckily, Daxter had some metal boxy ammo. He should've paid attention to the strange symbols on the boxes before he began throwing. Cause if the ottsel did then what would be unleashed on his best friend wouldn't happen.

"TAKE THIS STUPID BATTERY!" Metal edges of the sealed container shatter the glass case. The Light Eco crystals were sent airborne as the box snatched their spot. "Power should cut off right..." One side of the box began to burn an eerie purple as a symbol reared its creepy markings at the ottsel.

Dark Rabbit

A violet emblem with a jester cowl and long torn ear things looked back maliciously before breaking apart. Daxter watch as the white stream of Light Eco take a sickly greenish purple while the silo seal itself shut. "RAAAAAAARGH!!!" Jak's sudden inhuman howl nearly made the ottsel jump out of his kid but the sight was much worse.

Color began taking over Light Jak's form except it definitely wasn't the right ones. Dark greenish teal crawled between bluish dark violet, a thick blue stripe on the center of his face as zigzagging green stripes separated the violet outerside and those white eyes now a mean looking yellow. His clawed fists... Wait.

Daxter unconsciously took a step back as Light Jak began to shift into something bigger. It barely took seconds for violet and green to overtake the glass. The ottsel immediately took cover behind a dead console as cracks spread across the the tube before- *BOOM*

Daxter winced at the glass shards flying over him and the streams of smoke from an Eco powered explosion. He slowly began to step outta his makeshift blast cover. The floor by Jak's container been scorched black, the wall it hanged now a huge hole and a mass of smoke shrouding something.

Burning yellow eyes quickly met Daxter's brown ones as the little ottsel watch the owner stumble out. A large 25 ft humanoid rabbit bearing the same colors that took over his friend's Light form. Those once twisted tip ears now look like torn yet feathery, three horns messily wrapped in his red scarf now protrude from his forehead, and sharp teeth peaked out his round muzzle's mouth similar to the Dark Eco Plant on their first huge adventure.

That greenish yellow prison hair returned with streaks of bluish violet alongside now reaching his lower back, Jak's arms were huge, especially the hands, compared to the slightly long starter dad bod he's sporting, wild starburst jester cowl flair around his neck and those big feet replaced by bigger rabbit ones.

His wastelander outfit was completely wrecked. The only things that survived were his googles, scarf, remnants of his destroyed pants held by the leathery waist strap skirt albeit with two violet coat-tails now peaking out from it, and the large straps from his ruined blue shirt.

"D-d-axter??" A scratchy, growlish, and slightly deeper version of Jak's voice whimpered from the monstrous rabbit. Daxter's small form was a blurry mess as his eyes didn't want to stay open. The last thing Jak heard is the ottsel shouting his name before everything went dark.

Beastial Vampire

Daxter flinched at he saw the burning yellow bat on the box's side as the glass broke apart. Whatever been inside turned the Light Eco stream a sickly reddish orange before going into Jak. The reaction on his friend was instantaneous as those white eyes explode into a vicious violet.

Only on pure instinct did Daxter duck behind a desolated console before the container holding his friend explode. The ottsel didn't dare move as Jak's painful growls grew deeper and monstrous. He needs to be alive if he's gonna snap his best friend outta any feral haze.

Minutes felt like hours and Daxter went still at two long arms and bat wings laid strewn on both sides of his hiding spot. The limbs were covered in a dark teal caparace from the visible segments on the clawlike fingers. Wings weren't any better as that dark teal hide hung over torn black skin. He didn't miss the familiar yellow bat symbol glaring on the back hand's black hide.

Daxter gulped as silence took over those painful whimpers and a shadow hung above him. Slowly he looks up to meet the large bluish grey face of what was once Light Jak. His messy greenish yellow mane from prison returned to frame a dark teal antler horn mask as sickly yellow eyes stare down at Daxter.

"D-d-dax? W-what hap-pened?" The ottsel wince at his best friend's confused deep growl sounding whimper. "I don't know. Whatever was in the box got into your system through the Light Eco link and did...this." Daxter couldn't the small pause upon seeing the rest of his friend's changes.

That dark teal caparace took over his upper body except the sides of his abdomen, Jak's lower half was bigger and more beastly than the top half. Thick dark brown coat with stripes lazily strewn about, a red bat emblem hung over two pairs of eerie orange eye patterns, red claws held onto the man's knees, those big feet now huge three toed bat ones and a long rat tail wag behind Jak.

He had to be at least 30 ft in size from how hunched over the man is, his back still hit despite the ridiculous size of the chamber. "Don't worry buddy. Everything will be ok but we need to get out of here. Although the monks might have to deal with a huge hole in their temple."

Masked Angel

An insignia of horned demon wearing a top hat been burnt into the ottsel's mind alongside the Light Eco stream's shift from white to red. Daxter couldn't help but feel stupid as he currently look at the aftermath done to his best friend Jak. The demonic angel which was once his light form.

Glowing dark blue skin had been overtaken by a dark blue scales, Jak's fingers were sharp claws that would make his dark form jealous, long jagged black horns poke from the prison hairdo he once had, huge black feathered wings hung from the young adult's lower back but his face or lack of took the cake.

A black mask replaced his friend's facial features with burning blue flames to copy any expressions. Even Jak's outfit wasn't safe as it been transfigured into royal blue tuxedo facsimile. Short long sleeve coat, large red cravat that had once been a bandana, his goggles now hung from a top hat and a white tuxedo shirt. He had no pants his lower half became similar to a doll as red leg armor ending in epic knife heels took over for the old pair.

"Daxter, it wasn't your fault." Jak's new echoey voice had the ottsel look into those flaming blue eyes. "But I was the one to toss that freaky box!" "And I was the idiot who walked into the chamber." Daxter went quiet as it became clear that they were both idiots.

He could already hear Damas scolding- Uh oh. "Jak, I think we might've set off a certain pointy headed royal bomb." The flames on the 15 ft giant's face quickly sputter upon realization that they were in big trouble. "Fuck. Think you can drive the Tough Puppy back cause well..."

Daxter sarcastically rolled his eyes as he knew about Jak's new height problem. "I drove a Zoomer by himself for that second class race! The Tough Puppy should be a piece of cake! Although you owe me some pants for the scolding were about to get."

Vengeful Remnants

"You think those boxes had different stuff in them? Or did they all have that creepy skull emblem with mismatched eyes?" Daxter absently mumble as he try to ignore slightly rotten meat smell under the huge blue trenchcoat covering his best friend's 17'5 misshapen form.

Whatever been inside that metal box clearly belonged to a R rated zombie film if it could transfer something like Light Jak into a Terminator dressed Frankenstein Monster. Bluish gray rotten skin, hulk like body with massive bone spikes that jut from; shoulders, knees, back, to even the top of his head(eeriely similar to Damas' crown), two holes on each side of his legs alongside a new back toe for his feet, greyish skull mask covered Jak's except for his pelican teeth like mouth and newfound heterochromia (right eye is now red).

Although the half broken rib cages decor on his friend's new outfit wasn't as bad as the chimera that made up of the entire right arm. One horror made from wriggling mass of snakes, mismatched reptiles, blue lights that were clearly eyes, two cawing bird fingers amongst the 'normal' ones and the mouth on the bottom palm. Yeesh!

Jak's outfit was now a huge dark blue trenchcoat decorated in spiky red straps, light gray flames embroidery on the back tail ends of his coat n sleeves, his bandana now a massive torn scarf and a large hood that hid his goggles alongside his hair. Overall the man could've easily scare off Kor with his new looks.

"Ow!" Daxter rubbed his head as he glare back at the snake head responsible. It carefully nudge the ottsel over to see the lost look on Jak's face. Guess even zombie animal parts are as observant as their alive counterparts.

"Jak! You better not be pouting about your looks again. We all know no one can reach my level of handsomeness but looks don't always matter." The undead man glanced at the small ottsel that hanging on his chimeric arm.

"No one in Haven could stand my Dark Form! Even our friends were afraid of me possibly becoming fer-" "Sig and Tess would say otherwise. Damas is too dad-like to even judge plus I bet even Kleiver doesn't give a shit on your new appearance."

Daxter climbed over and made himself comfy on his best friend's head. "Despite everything that happens, you are still Jak. My crazy best friend ever since we were dumb children poking Wumpbee Nests and driving grumpy Green Eco sages nuts. Can't be a Demolition Duo with one person after all!"

The undead giant stared back at his friend for a seconds before breaking into a deep chirr like chuckle. "You got that right Dax. Thanks for always having my back." Daxter merely noogie his friend as things felt a little too sappy.

Toxic Griffon

"... this is the insignia of the 5th Forbidden Treasure. We believe the undiscovered room uses these for some unknown mechanism." A violet outline of a bird face breathing smoke stare back at the paper in Damas' hand. Seem had approached him for a potential sweep of the temple after uncovering a secret passage which led to Haven City.

Guess the threat Count Veger posed was enough to spur the monks to seek his help personally. Sig stood beside him as the man had discover Jak and Daxter weren't in their rooms. Damas knew the boys' habit of getting into trouble especially when it stems from trespassing. They already snuck inside the Monk Temple before.

"What the absolute hell is that?!!" Sig's sudden shout Damas and Seem quickly turned to the desert. It was Tough Puppy but Daxter is the one driving with Jak nowhere in sight. A bad picture that only got worse as they saw the cause for concern.

Following behind the ottsel was a large 20 ft griffin like humanoid that eeriely resemble the insignia Seem just showed him. It had the white feathery head of a bird with piercing yellow eyes, a violet beak full of sharp teeth, red n gold blades on top its head, a yellow green fiery mane too familiar for Damas' taste that went from the head and stop halfway down lizard like tail.

Violet spiral markings covered the beast's muscular body specifically the upper chest, shoulders, ankles, wrists alongside the sides of the tail. Sharp red claws protrude from the birdlike talons whilst four large red rimmed white wings that protrude from the head and neck was what let the giant glide after Daxter.

However Damas felt his heart drop as he notice someone hanging off the gold horn. An item that revealed just who this giant bird was: a familiar spare of goggles that could only belong to the ottsel's best friend. "Sig, tell our men not to shoot down that beast immediately! It's Jak!"

The Wastelander's non mechanical eye went wide as he look at the giant bird and saw the goggles. "By the Precursors, I swear those two never cease to surprise with their antics. I'll alert our fellow Wastelanders to stand down but Jak's definitely sleeping in the Leaper Lizard pen for this."

Damas looked at Seem who manage to mask their shock although he could still see cracks in the monk's calm demeanor. "To think these boys couldn't get into anymore trouble." He'll need a good cup of tea later but he had two youths in need of huge lecture right now.

And that's it! Our dynamic definitely gotten an earful for this little mishap but Jak's form could be considered enough of a punishment. I wanted to try a slightly different writing style for these snippets that the story slowly progresses through each one despite the different iterations.

Jak doesn't blame Daxter for this. Things were clearly out of their control and his friend did the best he could to save him. Is this new form permanent? Yes but it can be mostly suppressed into something smaller and more manageable for Jak.

He still has his Light powers but also access to Dark Jak. Although some Light Eco based abilities been altered depending on each version of Jak's new form.

That's all I have for now! Until next time folks, I'll see you back in Spargus!