#concrete testing equipment

[burganequipment]

Risk in the construction business is greatly due to the grade and durability of construction materials used to construct structures. Among the most important processes in achieving this is material testing equipment.

Therefore, applying material testing and concrete testing equipment is important in the construction industry. Using the principles ensures the development of reliable quality structures that form a foundation for one’s development. 

[heicodynamics]

Concrete's strength and durability are vital to any building's integrity. Reliable, accurate testing is necessary for concrete. It must meet the requirements. It is at this point that durable concrete testing equipment comes into play.

[grantihare]

so mordred is sick and we're short on testing money

ive posted a few times about mordred being sick lately, and his xray wiped out most of our money for the next two weeks. if it is lung worms or a bad virus, im afraid of it getting worse and possibly doing permanent damage in the time before our next payday since hes already been dealing with it for so long. he and his sister are my everything, i couldnt stand it if anything happened to them that we could help.

so please, dont put yourself in a tough situation just to help us out, but if you have enough to remain comfortable after donating we would appreciate it so much. if youd like something in return my partner would draw anything youd like, their art blog is here , just send one of us a msg/ask and theyll get started on it as soon as theyre back from work

im in ko/fi jail rn and working on getting it back up, right now i only have pypl here

(including the extra gas to/from the vet, medical waste fee, and estimated tax)

81/231

[burganuae]

Discover the Advantages of Soil Testing Device

Soil testing is an important and inevitable procedure in building and civil engineering projects to ensure the quality and soundness of materials used for construction work. Nowadays, various types of soil testing equipment are used to determine the physical and chemical effects of soil to meet the requirements of construction projects.

Correct testing assists engineers and architects in determining the suitability of the soil for construction to ensure that they create safe and efficient structures. Let’s uncover the various advantages of soil testing equipment in detail. So, let's start!

Accurate Data Collection

The first benefit of soil testing equipment is that it accurately measures the soil's physical characteristics. This equipment is used to determine moisture content, density, pH, and nutrient content. Engineers and architects can use this factual information to determine construction methods, the materials used, and the kind of foundation needed.

Asphalt Quality Assurance

Superpave asphalt testing equipment guarantees that asphalt mixtures provide resistance against conditions to produce long-lasting pavement. It helps determine what kind of asphalt will be most suited for the soil, enhancing the pavement's performance and service life.

Quality Control

Soil testing equipment is critical in assuring quality in construction projects, particularly in soil works. This means that before construction, any professional has to test the soil to be sure that the material used meets certain standards and specifications. It prevents structural failures that might be realized if unsuitable soil or material is used.

Cost Efficiency

If tests on the soil are to be carried out with the right equipment, one is guaranteed that the expenses will be cut down in the long run. Often, when problems within the soil are detected during the construction process, necessary solutions can be made to rectify the situation with minimal interference with the rest of the construction processes.

Improved Project Planning

Properly studied soil data will easily allow thorough planning and development of foundations and structures. The soil characteristics, in particular, mean that engineers are better placed to develop better foundations and, ultimately, better structures. By enabling the understanding of the strengths and weaknesses of the construction system, construction method, and construction material, the construction system can be improved and made safer and more efficient.

Conclusion

Proper soil testing equipment is crucial in any construction project since it helps in offering the best services to customers. Advanced concrete testing lab equipment can improve the performance and results of construction and related projects.

If you are searching for top-quality testing equipment, you can trust our expertise. Contact us to get high-quality equipment to ensure optimal results. We are a leading company providing the best and durable lab testing equipment.

[avantech79]

Reliable Concrete NDT Testing Equipment for Accurate Assessments | Avantech

Explore our range of cutting-edge concrete non-destructive testing (NDT) equipment. Ensure precise evaluations of concrete quality and strength. Browse our solutions now! Read More:

[karlachismylife]

Spot on the Mark || The Queen of the Clan pt.5

CW: fem!chubby!reader, mentions of animal marking/pasting, some piss mentioned again, dead animal mentioned (no descriptions).

A lot more work goes into a wildlife documentary than you thought. It was obvious that it’s not as simple as just grabbing good quality cameras and riding off into savannah blindly, but the amount of tricks and different ways to get enough shots for a compelling and educational storyline you’re learning about seems infinite: from studying animals’ trails and routes of migration to hauling senior operators up into the trees to film fluffy and feathered stars of the future documentary as up close as possible without disturbing their natural peace.

These people have done it time and time again, telling you about the months-long stakeouts on bigger productions, the ones that can afford to simply wait every day for an animal to come and do what the script requires; the masking of carefully placed hides that can still be not enough to trick a smart bird into thinking it was all alone and perform a beautiful mating dance; the difficult hikes that test everyone’s endurance and result in barely ten seconds of footage in the end cut. You can’t help but feel excited yet intimidated when your turn comes to participate in one such trick, intended to shorten the waiting time your smaller production just can’t afford.  It’s not that difficult, but it’s smart and elegant – at least in your opinion.

This is how you find yourself stuck in your Rover with Kir, wrapped in a small blanket for additional warmth, while he meddles with the sound equipment: speakers mounted on the hood of the car and a knot of wires connecting them to a laptop, screen covered up with a scarf to muffle its light. You’re holding your night vision camera pointed at a spot just several meters ahead, a fresh carcass placed under a tree to attract a carnivore, two more cameras planted at different angles on the ground and one more strapped to a branch right above the “dining table”.

A switch clicks, and the night fills with triumphant hyena whooping, a whole cacophony of different voices celebrating a kill. This is a dinner bell for lions – no matter what the public’s perception is, it’s often the big cats coming to steal hyenas’ fresh kills, not the other way around. You hold your breath, misty clouds of steam coming out of your mouth dissipating in the loud, poorly lit night. You wait.

Time doesn’t stretch as much as you would think. This isn’t a boring, monotonous wait of a text back in a stuffy big city apartment, the only “wildlife” sounds seeping through the closed windows – revving engines of nighttime dumbass street racers or neighbours yelling at each other over hysterically loud TV.

Compared to what you’re used to, savannah seems peaceful. Somewhere in the vast darkness big predators avoid each other’s paths, unwilling to start unnecessary fights. Grass rustles in a rhythmic pattern as little springhares jump through the night, stopping to glance at the huge, imposing shadow of a human car just once and continuing on their way. The wind breathes quietly and calmly with the cooling ground, welcoming a lively picture of a complex system, each part of which is perfectly in tune with others.

You feel like you could be a part of it – like it’s a place you can actually belong to, care for and be taken care of in return, unlike the constant hectic hostility of a city. They call it concrete jungles, but none of the brutal ways of nature you’ve witnessed in the wild so far can compare to the ruthless, pointless cruelty human kind inflicts on itself and everyone else.

There is a hopefulness inside you that was completely snuffed out previously, and it sounds like a smooth, lulling chirping of insects hidden in the wet grass.

Loud baboon yelling alerts you before you manage to clock any movement or hear an animal approaching your little spectacle. Insane luck. Before gluing yourself to the camera, you glance at the time and it’s barely an hour after you put the recording on – it’s hard to contain your excitement, but you manage to keep your hands steady as you scope the area in search of your guest. Kir shifts in his seat next to you, picking up his simple night vision binoculars and following the same trajectory as your camera lens.

When you see a distinctive hunched silhouette sniffing at the bait, you almost feel the tiniest bit of disappointment – no lions today, huh? – that quickly gets replaced with surprise.

The hyena doesn’t even touch the food you placed to lure animals in and turns its back on it, instead staring straight at you and Kir. Its ears twitch, clearly determining the direction where other hyenas’ noises are coming from, and slowly, almost leisurely, it moves towards you.

“It’s coming here, Kir,” you whisper, still keeping the camera rolling, too fascinated with the elegance of each silent step the huge, dark form with devilishly glowing eyes in your night vision tape takes. “Didn’t even try the meat… what do we do?”

“Ah, shit, that’s a first one.” He sounds more surprised than concerned, and after a moment of hesitation, reaches out to turn the luring sounds off. “Maybe it’s already killed and got territorial? Worst case scenario, we just scare it away. You getting the footage?”

“I… am, yeah… it’s pretty.” Somehow you aren’t even surprised anymore, when the hyena ignores the fact that the calls of its peers or more likely rivals stop abruptly – there’s something deeply wrong with them here, you decide, too much human contact or something. Maybe these ones were released from the sanctuary? But no one in their right mind would let such domesticated animals back into the wild, right?

While the myriad of possibilities swarms your mind, the camera keeps recording, and you, quite well-trained already, don’t even seem to realize that you’re following the hyena’s steps, turning the camera more and more to the side as the animal approaches your Rover. Wait-

“Tsk, hold up!” Kir’s hand hooks into your back belt loop and pulls you slightly back into the car. When did you even stand up to lean over the car door? “Let’s not diversify its diet today with soft city cookies, alright?”

“Sorry, sorry,” you whisper, sitting back down. For a moment – just a moment – you lose the animal out of sight while you pull your pants back up, and the next thing you know it’s already right in front of you.

Standing on its short hind legs and resting front paws on the car side to lean inside.

A big snout shoved almost into your face, coming into your darkness-shortened sight out of nowhere, is bound to freak you out – you drop your camera, luckily catching it in your lap, and pull back, pressing your back into Kir, who can only grunt quietly under the sudden weight and grip your shoulders protectively.

The hyena just snorts and tilts is head adorably, a soft, almost reproachful look in its bit wet eyes reflecting every little light on the car’s dashboard and your equipment. There’s something familiar to this slender, elegant snout, nodding in the air as the big nose takes in your scent, toned down by the contrasting savannah night cold.

“Chocolate?.. Is that you?” It’s a wild guess, honestly – you can’t see shit without your camera, only able to notice the hyena’s movements by the wet glistening of its eyes, nose and lips, and even through the night vision equipment you weren’t able to determine your guest’s colour – something that would definitely help distinguish Chocolate from any other hyenas; you doubt there are any others, who are already this big and grown up, yet still carry their childish dark brown hide. Maybe Chocolate is a melanistic variant? You’ve never heard of such mutations in spotted hyenas, but it’s not like you specialize in them, right?

A soft grunt tears through your thoughts again, a non-threatening pitch that almost sounds like purring – along with the repeated scratching of its claws on the steel side of your Rover, Chocolate seems like a cat more than anything. A huge, maned cat asking to be let inside.

“No-no-no, buddy, you’re not coming into the car. It’s humans only.” You try to sound stern – it seems to work on these animals, but it’s so damn hard, when your visitor whines quietly and flutters its rounded ears, staring at you hypnotically. “Come on, there’s food. Look!”

A nod in the direction of the carcass, attracting no one but some flies it seems, has no effect on the hyena. When you pretend to throw something there, Chocolate giggles quietly and lowers itself back on the ground – but when it realizes you won’t be throwing any of your real possessions for it to chase after, it stands up against, reaching its long, thick-furred neck to breathe a hot, steamy snort into your face.

And just like that, after you blink at the pretty muzzle in disbelief, trying to find an appropriate way to react to a wild, dangerous animal almost sneezing in your face, it leaves to inspect your car.

For a moment, you worry it’ll try and jump inside from the back, but it seems to have lost any interest to join a party it wasn’t invited to. Slowly, you scramble back into your seat, relieving Kir of your weight and earning a supportive pat on the back from him, and pick up your camera to watch Chocolate.

“What’s it doing?” Kir’s whisper suddenly elicits more of a reaction from the hyena than any of your stern talking – it lifts its head from the tire it was sniffing at and scowls, a striking killer smile flashing in your direction. Seeing its sharp canines nestled in the massive jaws makes a cold shiver run down your spine. This just was right in front of your face with nothing to protect you against a sudden attack.

“Shh, quiet… don’t agitate it,” you whisper back as soon as you manage to swallow the snowball-like lump in your throat. Kir shuts up, clearly a full-on believer in your hyena whisperer abilities now, and you watch on as Chocolate lowers its cute head back, sniffing and pawing at your tire.

After several minutes of looking between you and the wheel, sniffs and huffs growing more and more impatient and exasperated, it gives up on whatever it was trying to tell you – you could swear it rolls its eyes too! – and circles your car, flicking the fluffy brush on the end of its tail in what you can only assume to be a goodbye.

You’re wrong. A real goodbye is left a few meters away from the Rover on Kir’s side. Your curious night visitor stops abruptly, sniffs the air, tilting its head so far back that it almost rests on its shoulder blades, and then, without a warning – what warning could you expect though? – it crouches down to paste over a particular spot in the tall grass.

“Is that?..” – “Yes.” You tear yourself away from the camera to glance at Kir, just in time to see him sigh heavily and put his binoculars down, rubbing his hand down his face painted with disbelief, eyebrows raised high and lips pressed together. You’re still not sure – even though little snickers already start escaping your throat and roll down your nose in sweet snorts – so you pry again: “The spot where you went to-“ – “Yes.”

Even the need to hold your camera still to capture Chocolate marking its territory with a thick smelly paste smeared all over the grass Kir went to pee in several hours ago can’t prevent you from giggling. Anxious about scaring the animal and provoking it, you cover your own mouth and keep filming – eyes on the little black and white picture just in time to see Chocolate shake its plush butt, tail high up to assert dominance, and turn to look at you.

Or, perhaps, to look at Kir.

“Okay, okay, got it, no pissing on your territory. Jeez, buddy, no need to be so petty about it, I probably live here as long as you do.” Hearing Kir mutter under his nose as he gets stared down by a proud carnivore is hilarious.

“You disrespected it. What’s it like, to have a sworn enemy because of your bladder?” Your little giggles elicit two smiles at the same time – an embarrassed one from Kir, who threatens to snore into your ear directly once you wrap up this nightly stakeout, and another wide, toothy one from Chocolate.

You can’t be sure with the blurry image your camera shows you, but you once again feel like it winks at you. How likely is it for this hyena to have some eye problems that cause it to constantly dish out the flirtiest winks an animal is capable of?

“Oh, look, it’s leaving,” Kir finally turns away from the direction Chocolate left in, and just scoffs when you hear distant whooping slowly pick up in frequency before it disappears into the night. “Wanna try with the record again? I’m not sure we will attract anyone if there are actual hyenas around, though.”

“No, no, let’s try again,” you’re fully energized despite your arms feeling cold because the blanket slipped off your shoulders when you got spooked by Chocolate. Kir pulls it back up, wrapping you in a warm cocoon, and rubs your shoulder absentmindedly while he rewinds the recording and tries slightly different settings. “Maybe we’ll attract Stinky at least, these two seem to be buddies.”

“Yeah, right,” he responds, wrapping his own jacket tighter around himself. “Because that little shit will cause less chaos that the one we just saw.”

You can’t argue with that. If that was Stinky that came to the false call, it would have definitely jumped into the back of your Rover.

“At least that’s some good footage to post online. They’re cute. Will be good promo for the documentary.”

Kir grumbles something into the warm thermos, steam clouding the air between you, and hands it to you – to warm both your hands and your whole body from the inside.

Even if you don’t catch a lion tonight, you still caught something precious – right in your heart. You just have to find a way to define it properly.

Part 4 | Part 6

Series masterlist | Main masterlist

Tagging: @elaineiswithyou-blog @creepingeva @my-halo-is-a-little-broken @sillymanjaro @ihatethinkingofnames10 @ravensfeatheruniverse @yaminax @ljh861 @darkangel4121 @ginger-n-coco @grey-shadow6475 @cryingpages @mothsdrabbles @mc-glare-is-king @vixxie22 @aldis-nuts @terraantarctica @henhouse-horrors @blizzivy @perfectus-in-morte

Here's an illustration to Chocolate's visit:

Comrades, I think I'm too deep in this now, I started watching documentaries about filming documentaries, the docuseption is coming for me...

[vellichorsmystique]

The Little Things

⭒ kuroo testsurou, oikawa toru, bokuto kotaro, iwaizumi hajime x gn!reader (all seperate)

⭒ w.c. ~2.1k

⭒ Drabble set that I'm reposting from my old and deleted blog, it's mostly the same I only did some minimal editing at some parts. Established relationships for all of these. Hurt/comfort for a couple but we're mainly focusing on the comfort aspect. Genuinely most of this is like domestic fluff

⭒ No use of y/n...implied spoilers for the time skip in Bokuto's part, Iwaizumi's part takes place during the time skip as well however any concrete details are left to be ambiguous so no spoilers are actually mentioned for him.

⭒ In a world built upon the convenience of communication, and where the testament of love can be waxed poetically with a wide array of synonyms; sometimes you find that it's the actions that speak much louder than the words ever could. Aka it's the little things they do for you.

Kuroo:

It happens when you're sick, muscles and limbs sore, throat raw from sinuses, and a desolate feeling seemingly carved from within your chest. Just sleep it off and skip school for the day is the brilliant plan your ailed brain could conjure at the moment, so you do just that. It’s not like you’ll miss anything important right? 

Wrong- waking up to the sporadic texts from Kuroo, while usually a good thing, instead left your palms slick and mind running wild. Afterall the chemistry class you two shared together had an important lab done today, and it would be featured in your upcoming unit test. Raising the pads of your fingers to your forehead you began to massage your temple, wincing at the oncoming headache. Lamenting over your decision of whether you should email your overworked teacher or just go back to sleep. You find that your pondering is interrupted by the front door slamming open. 

Revealing none other than Testurou himself. His usual insufferable smirk is plastered across his visage, and he seems to be exuding a lackadaisical continence. While giddy you still roll your eyes as he saunters in, and that's when you notice the few bags in his grasp. Before you can even question he’s already setting the contents out, a college ruled spiral notebook is being pushed towards you, and when you open it to the recent notes his usual chicken scratch is actually legible. 

Looking back up you're greeted by the sight of a couple empty glass beakers, some vials of different chemicals, and wait… is that a bunsen burner? Eyes blown wide you look up at Kuroo, downed in a haphazardly placed set of lab goggles, arms crossed across his chest, and a beaming smile revealing pearly whites. 

“Did… Did you steal lab equipment from our teacher?” while a rasp it still leaves your mouth an octave higher than your usual voice. All he does is laugh at your stupefied expression. 

“I wouldn’t call it stealing, more along the lines of borrowing, besides I'm sure she won’t mind…” he trails off, but that stupid smirk is back on his face, and you begrudgingly decide it would not be smart to kiss him– afterall you were sick. So instead you sit up and lean forward, eyes squinted and a mumbled ‘you're an idiot’ leaves your lips. And Kuroo, well all Kuroo does is laugh at the statement, eyes glimmering, and grin stretching impossibly wider, because yeah he may be an idiot, but he’s your idiot.

Oikawa: 

You're on the edge of this mental precipice, eyes zeroed in on the red ink, the bold lettering taunting your very intelligence. You…you failed? How, you had studied so hard though? Hunched over text after text, eyes blurring from the onslaught of study material. But you had pushed through, you were determined that you were going to pass. All that effort was for naught. Snagging your bottom lip between your teeth, you begin to blink slowly as a way to staunch any pesky tears. Breathing deeply you straighten your back into an attentive position, pointedly ignoring the chocolate brown eyes staring at you with concern.  

Of course Oikawa was always too attentive for his own good though, after all one sly glance towards the paper you shielded with your arms and he could see a sliver of red scrawling. So putting two and two together he figures it out. Words would not suffice his point and thinking quickly he settled for his speciality.

 Annoyance Physical affection. As soon as the teacher had looked away he all but melted against you, a heavy sigh, and half lidded eyes pointed in your direction. 

“Toru, get off of me,” it’s a whispered threat as you try to shove him off, yet he just won't budge. As if to pester you further he turns his face towards your cheek, tip of his nose ghosting the flesh, and puffing out his own cheeks he forms an ‘o’ with his mouth and blows. Reactivity you nail him with your elbow, and although he winces he remains undeterred as he nudges your cheek with his nose. Flyaway strands of brown colored hair tickle your own skin, and from your peripheral you can see the goofy expression that Oikawa had fixed onto his face. You can not help but let out a small stream of giggles, and remarkably enough the bad grade isn’t weighing so heavily on your psyche. 

Oikawa finally removes his weight off of you, right before the teacher notices, but he still stares at you. Eyes slightly squinted, lips upturned into a soft smile, and body tilted towards you. While he was successful in his endeavors of cheering you up, that doesn't necessarily mean you’ll not be plagued by it later. So he formulated yet another plan. 

And when you get home to your apartment, only to be greeted with Oikawa in your kitchen, a serving of your comfort food on an outstretched plate, and him dawned in a regifted frilly apron from Iwaizumi (it used to say ‘Best Wing Spiker” but the words wing spiker were now crossed out, and instead placed above it was the word “Setter” in loopy strokes). Well that's only something you and him would need to know. 

Bokuto:

It’s too bright. It’s too loud. It’s too, too much. Nausea rolled around heavily in your gut. All while blinding pain racked across your entire temple. The glaring stadium lights also did not help with your situation, spots of your own sight conjured flashes and random blurbs of black to settle over your vision. You really didn’t want to come to this game… but a promise was a promise. You can practically feel the pitying gazes of the patrons surrounding you, their minds probably chastising you for not leaving yet. But you wouldn’t, dawned in a black jersey with the number “12” printed on it in a bold font, reminded and added to your resolve to stay.

Risking a furtive glance in the direction of the scorekeeper, you thanked every higher power out there that the game had ended. However you quickly took it all back at the resounding buzz that signified the end, leaving you breathless and dizzy. The Jakles won and for that you were happy, after all that would mean the man you came here for would be exhilarated at the results. As much as you wanted to run over to Bokuto, lightheadedness tugged at your lead like limbs, and now your neck was starting to hurt. Plus the unbearable staccato pounding on both sides of your temple wouldn’t let you focus well. So you stayed behind, shoulders hunched, hands desperately trying to magically massage away the pain, all while moisture began building in the corners of your eyes.. 

Time seems to pass agonizingly slow in the monumental stadium, and all you can do is sniffle and wither at the sound of your own quiet whimpers. You aren’t aware of the presence in front of you, at least not until they press their index finger on your arm right below the sleeve of the borrowed jersey. A rhythmic tapping leaving a comforting warmth to convalesce around you. It’s a fleeting touch, and oh, so ever gentle. That momentarily your sniffles pause, and when you finally crane your head up you find yourself locked eyes with golden ones. Although your everything hurts, and though the lights may be too bright, and the sounds may still be too loud you can’t help the giddy smile that stretches across tear stained cheeks. 

“Hi Ko,” the breathless rasp leaves you almost instantaneously, and he hums in response, head dipping in action and streaked hair swaying in sync. For a moment you feel touched after all you knew he would be so giddy and excited to share the thrill that he felt in the form of grandiose gestures and onomatopoeias, but he noticed what you're going through and he’s trying to mitigate it. Gently he encircles his arms around your shoulders, pulling you from your upright fetal-esque position, and the two of you (him basically carrying you) head out of the building. He had said his goodbyes to his fellow teammates already considering you two had just breezed past them to get to the exit. 

And when you two get home, he’s already flipping off the lights, guiding you into a comfortable position on the duvet sheets of your shared bed. When he comes back his hands hold a heat compress (as well as a cold one) and some random soda that had been sitting in your refrigerator. He passes you a Tylenol as well, and you take a sip of the drink. The dark complimented by the blissful silence blankets you and you can feel the migraine recede into baby thumps. Nothing too painful for you to manage. In the dark, you fumble around until your palm finds a warm one near you, grasping it you can practically picture the childish grin he’s wearing. Instead of voicing out your thanks, you instead scooch forward, sitting up right in front of Bokuto you lean your head against his shoulder, hand squeezing his own tighter. And he hums happily in response, chest moving as he lets out the sound. Whatever you need he’ll do it, gestures and all.

Iwaizumi:

When Iwaizumi enters the house, at a time where the stars are high and dancing in the sky, he notices your slouched form on the couch. Laptop toppling dangerously close to the edge of your lap, neck rested uncomfortably on the arm of the couch, and the lights off- minus the tv which had some random cartoon sending flashes of vividly tinted light splashing the room. 

Soft snores spill from your lips, and all he can do is sigh, heavy footfalls nearing your slumbering figure. Warm hands save the laptop from falling off its precarious position in your lap, should you fidget any longer, and he can only squint at the brightness. Of course, falling asleep while working on an assignment…how in character for you. Placing the item down on the coffee table he gradually rises back up, hands resting against his hips as he forms some type of plan. 

A thin line of drool had dribbled across your cheek, and some hair was messily swiped in front of your face, so you seemed to be deep asleep. Hypothetically speaking he could just leave you there- but one more glance at your uncomfortable position makes him wince. So he reaches down grasping at the beaten remote, (months of falling off of various heights has led to its predicament of duck tape keeping it together) before finally clicking the button to promptly shut off the tv. Now bathed in darkness he gathers up the near forgotten laptop, as well as your barely alive phone, the battery symbol showcasing the color red. So he plunders forward, past the empty kitchen the smell of whatever you had cooked to satiate yourself lingering gently in the air, past the hallway filled with different portraits of you and him(as well as his former Seijoh teammates), until finally entering the threshold of your shared room. 

There’s a soft light spilling from the mess that is your desk, probably some random desk lamp you had said you needed when you already had others. But it’s not like he could resist your carefully calculated pouts, so you still ended up getting it anyway. Placing the laptop down softly in a clear spot on your desk, he connected the lonesome charger to its port. Before plugging up your phone as well on the bed side table. 

In his momentary absence, he notes, you had somehow moved from your position on the couch- into haphazardly dangling off the arm of it. Unable to hold back the exasperated snort that leaves his mouth, he finally reaches under you, hefting you up in his hold. A tense silence freezes him from walking when you let out a sudden exhale, but the sigh that leaves you soon after, makes him step forward. 

When he finally gets you both situated in bed he doesn’t expect you to subconsciously wiggle closer towards him, nor does he expect the whispered sigh of his first name to leave your lips. So when he finally goes to sleep, he goes to sleep with a flushed face and you tucked in his chest, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

⭒ end notes: GUYS HAIKYUU IS SO BACK RAHHHHH. Anyways this drabble set was wrote in 2022 (yikes) but I figured what better way to soft launch the fact that I've fallen in the vices of Haikyuu then by posting it on this account. I have another haikyuu piece in the works, but if you all are interested in a part two of this let me know! I quite like this concept of loosely connected vignettes :))

[urbanrelics]

AQUAPARK

The first visit to this abandoned water tower, back in 2017, was a veritable test to my fear of heights. The ladder you see in the photo above, situated between the two large, rusty pipes, is about 70 meters (230 feet) above ground level. Below that ladder, there is... nothing. I can't say I have conquered my fear of heights entirely, but I did conquer this one!

In an industrial complex like this, where numerous machines are continuously running at full speed and where high temperatures are generated, it is of course essential to have a sufficiently large water supply, which is also under a guaranteed constant pressure. That is why most steel mills are equipped with their own water tower.

The iffy little ladder, that goes up about another 20 meters (65 feet) leads to the reservoir, which is what you see in the photo below.

Such a water tower is easily negelected, especially when there are so many other beautiful things to see on the site. Nevertheless, it is usually worth taking a look here too. One can often encounter unexpectedly nice photo opportunities. I really enjoyed the play of colors and lights here.

This specimen has survived the test of time relatively well, but the extensive decay is becoming increasingly apparent. The climb to the top is not entirely without risks. Rust and concrete rot have wreaked havoc on this water tower in recent years. So be careful if you do want to venture a visit into a place like this...

[dannyphantom-zero]

Danny Phantom Prompt: Danny, Sam and Tucker are in Gotham for a trip of some sort and Sam decided to test Danny's ability.

The three teens sat cross legged on the wide flat roof of the bakery not far from the hotel they were staying in. It was around ten and darker than you could imagine but at least there was street light near the bakery so they weren't completely blind.

"the gym coach hasn't hassled me for a while, I'm a lot more fit now that I've had Brittany by my side" Tucker said whipping out his newest PDA and kissing it.

"Fully equipped with sensor's. It counts my steps" he said excitedly.

Sam snorted, "yeah, well at least somebody has been keeping up with their physical training" she gave a pointed jab in Danny's direction.

"ah. That is SO unfair. I do too keep up with my physical training" he countered.

"oh yeah, then prove it."

Meanwhile, Nightwing was out on patrol in this specific area.

When he heard some chatting from a roof up ahead.

"how?" Danny asked.

"parkour" Sam answered passing a glance around the rooftop.

Danny sighed.

"Fine"

He stood up and threw Sam a glared before walking backwards towards the edge of the building.

Nightwing squinted and his breath hitched. That kid was walking backwards! And he was WAY to close to the edge of that roof.

Danny smiled to himself before doong a high backflip. His feet landed sturdy on the other roof.

Sams mouth was agap.

"wtf Danny!" She exclaimed.

He laughed at her expression.

"your the one who said you wanted proof" he hollered back.

"proof about what?!" Nightwing exclaimed still not okay with the fact that this kid almost plummeted to his third story death.

Danny jumped, startled, tripping over his own feet and actually falling off the roof.

He landed with a hard thud in the concrete.

"oh shit!" Nightwing exclaimed. Tucker and Sam calmly peered over the edge and grinned simultaneously.

Danny was holding a thumbs up as he stood up and brush off the dirt from his jeans.

"I'm okay!"

[morbidology]

Skinwalker Ranch, a remote property in northeastern Utah, has become one of the most infamous and mysterious sites of alleged paranormal activity in the United States. Spanning approximately 512 acres, the ranch has been the focus of countless stories involving UFO sightings, strange creatures, poltergeist-like phenomena, and unexplained cattle mutilations. For decades, it has attracted the attention of scientists, researchers, and enthusiasts of the unexplained, earning its place as a central figure in the lore of the paranormal.

The ranch's name is derived from the Navajo legend of the skinwalker, a malevolent witch capable of transforming into, possessing, or disguising themselves as an animal. According to Navajo folklore, skinwalkers are dangerous beings that use their shape-shifting abilities to cause harm and spread fear. The Ute tribe, who reside in the region, have long spoken of the land where the ranch is located as being cursed and avoid it whenever possible. The Utes believe that the Navajo sent skinwalkers to curse the Utes after a conflict between the two tribes, and that these entities continue to inhabit the area to this day.

The ranch first gained widespread attention in the 1990s when Terry and Gwen Sherman purchased the property in 1994. The Shermans quickly began experiencing strange and terrifying events. They reported seeing large, wolf-like creatures that were unaffected by bullets, mysterious lights in the sky, and crop circles appearing overnight. Perhaps most disturbingly, they encountered instances of cattle mutilations, with several of their livestock found dead and mutilated in ways that defied explanation—often with precise, surgical cuts and no blood at the scene.

The Shermans also described poltergeist-like activities within their home, such as objects moving on their own, strange voices, and even the sudden appearance of unfamiliar and disorienting odors. Despite their initial skepticism, the sheer volume and intensity of these experiences led the family to believe that something supernatural was at play. After only 18 months, the Shermans sold the ranch.

In 1996, Robert Bigelow, a billionaire businessman with a keen interest in the paranormal, purchased Skinwalker Ranch. Bigelow founded the National Institute for Discovery Science (NIDS), a research organization dedicated to investigating paranormal phenomena. Bigelow's team of scientists, including physicists, biologists, and other experts, spent years studying the ranch in an attempt to uncover the truth behind the strange occurrences.

Despite employing sophisticated equipment and extensive surveillance, the NIDS team was often frustrated in their efforts to capture definitive evidence. The phenomena were elusive, frequently occurring just out of view or in ways that defied scientific analysis. Nevertheless, the team documented numerous instances of high strangeness, including bizarre animal sightings, unusual electromagnetic readings, and unexplained lights and aerial phenomena. The ranch seemed to be a hotspot for what many called a "paranormal stew," with a wide range of inexplicable events occurring simultaneously.

Over the years, numerous theories have been proposed to explain the mysteries of Skinwalker Ranch. Some suggest that the area is a portal or vortex to another dimension, where entities and phenomena from other realities bleed into our own. Others believe that the ranch may be a site of advanced extraterrestrial activity, with UFOs and alien beings using the area for unknown purposes. There are also those who think that the ranch's strangeness could be the result of secret government experiments or technologies being tested in the remote location.

Skeptics, however, argue that the stories of Skinwalker Ranch are exaggerated or fabricated, fueled by a mix of folklore, psychological phenomena, and the power of suggestion. They point to the lack of concrete evidence and the often anecdotal nature of the reports as reasons to question the legitimacy of the claims.

[tojifm]

ride or die (mafia au). ༄ ryomen sukuna.

― summary: you were living your best life, single and newly employed but sukuna had to swoop in to collect his payment (aka, you).

― TW: 18+ plot holes, dubious consent, choking, vaginal fingering, dom/sub undertones, a little bit of blood, uhhhh I think that's it?? I mean honestly sukuna comes with a warning.

word count: 3,721.

Crazy and high.

That’s how you felt as the man before you began to decide whether or not to kill you.

Crazy and high.

That’s how you felt when he asked what your boyfriend meant to you. Nothing. Your answer was breathless.

Crazy and high.

That’s how you felt when he grinned at your answer. His eyebrows furrowed as he questioned you once more.

“Nothing?”

“Nothing,” you confirmed, shaking your head. “W-we were broken up, months ago.”

He watched you for a moment that held too long. “That’s not what he said.”

Despite the situation, you feel a current of red hot anger moving through your veins. Maybe it was the pent up anger of having to be mature throughout the whole relationship as your ex tainted your image. Maybe it was the fact that even apart and allegedly six feet under your ex was still ruining your life. Maybe it was the fact that you were drugged, kidnapped, and presented before this made-up king on the day of your first real job. Or, maybe it was a combination of everything. “Well, he said a lot of things, but it says a lot about you if you choose to believe him.”

You are grabbed by the hair and yanked back, the grip was tight and your eyes met the ceiling. You wince at the suddenness and less at the pain.“Apologize,” a voice hissed. You clenched your jaw stubbornly, sliding your eyes down to see the demon who watched as if it was nothing but a pleasant exchange. He watched you curiously, chin resting in his hands, eyebrows still furrowed. The lighting was still too dim for you to make out too much of his face. Asshole.

A yank to your hair and you realize that you had said that out loud. “You want to die, don’t you, bitch?” That wasn’t Sukuna. No. It was the disrespecting, self-destructive, low-life who had his hand in your hair that spoke. Sukuna’s eyes don’t waver as you thrash, your tied wrists jerking around behind your back, and yell at the man to let go. He observed you as if you were a zoo animal that needed to be caged. He watched as your seemingly timid figure, clawed at the hand, not realizing the man behind you was triple your size. He took note of the blood on your blouse and the rips on your skirts, the strands of hair sticking to your face and your neck from the nervous sweat. Sukuna meets the eyes of his guard who waited patiently for the finalé. Waited for his boss to make the call. Waited to put an end to the stupid girl at his feet. Poor guy. Sukuna smirks and gives a small shake of his head.

The grip lightens and soon enough, it's gone. You raise your hands to rub the sore spot, not realizing Sukuna had stood up. You mistake his footsteps for the man behind you. You turn around to glare only to find a row of masked army, posted dutifully against the concrete wall. All of them are sized similarly. All equipped with a number of weapons. Vests heavy with bullets. Belts adorned with glinting knives. You try to lock eyes with any of them but they stare ahead. Sukuna had recruited these men that looked straight out of the games your ex-boyfriend played. Call of Puberty or whatever. It couldn’t have been easy. These types of men were not bought with money. They’d do anything for him. You had no idea how you had been able to escape them in the car but you’d rather not test your theories in such a vulnerable position. Newly intimidated you turn back around.

Only to find another problem.

Your nose bumps against Sukuna’s and you let out a soft yelp at the sudden proximity, jerking back quickly. But his hand is already there, behind your head, long fingers encased you, holding you close to him. He is smiling. Up close, you are able to make out his features much more clearly. The left side of his face was scarred almost handsomely. His hair was a faded pink, his face decorated with tattoos on his forehead across his nose, jaw, chin, neck and maybe even further down but the blood stained shirt covered his torso, cutting your eyes short. Your breath becomes ragged, coming in short bursts as your eyes widen in a mixture of apprehension and fascination. You looked like the deer he had shot last week. “Why so skittish?”

It felt almost intimate if not for the situation. Caught between the tumultuous flurry of fear, your body mistakes your racing heartbeat for attraction directed at the killer before you. You struggled to find your voice. “I am not.”

Sukuna's satisfaction becomes evident in the gleam of his dark, lidded eyes at the rasp of your voice. His enjoyment at your disorientation was palpable, a sinister delight that sent a chill down your spine. His hot breath mingled with your own. You are dazed and he is happy. “Oh, but you are,” his dark and lidded eyes scan you one more time, before delivering the verdict. “I’ve decided.”

Crazy and high.

Mad and madder.

That's how you felt when he leaned in closer and bit your bottom lip. And you could not find it in yourself to care for the words he had just let out.

Throughout the steps back to your room, you are nauseous. His words ringing in your head like a warning. You were relieved. But mostly, you were confused. He had spared you. No, he had ripped everything away from you. You were not thankful. Just relieved. That was it. Nothing more. 

You will not be a victim of Stockholm syndrome on the first day of captivity.  

Another thing was rushing through your head but it was not the words exchanged or the fact that you were most likely to be jobless in case you did make it out (highly unlikely), but rather something else . . .

A recap. A wildly inappropriate and embarrassing recap. In all honesty, you could’ve convinced yourself that you had dreamt the whole interaction if not for the dried blood on your lips and the sound of his reverberating hum that had echoed in the silent room. 

If not for the shocked moan, if not for the feeling of his smile against your lips, if not for the hot tongue that had coaxed your mouth into a pliant mess. If not- 

Shaking your head you tried to focus on your steps. You had to stop. Distraction you needed a distraction. You decide to focus on the pair of Sukuna’s masked guards that were now guiding you to a room. They were taller and leaner than the ones in the basement and dressed in Tom Ford. They seemed more agile, more alert. No wonder you were free of the ropes that had caged your wrists. They would not make the same mistakes the others had. They will not let their attire hold them back. 

You look around the hallways, there's nothing traditional about them. The walls are painted a crimson color so dark it was almost black. It seemed to bleed into the air, permeating the corridor with an unsettling energy. The flooring is a marble that seemed to glare at you for even looking at it. Definitely expensive. It wouldn’t be a surprise. You doubted Sukuna was donating his blood money to charities. He looked and dressed like he could afford to buy countries, it only suited him to live like he did. 

Your thoughts are interrupted when the guards stop in front of a tall mahogany door. One of them reaches in his pocket to retrieve a long silver key. With a deliberate motion, he inserts the key into the lock, turning it with a resounding click that reverberates through the silence. The room is dark and you cannot make out anything inside. You wait for one of them to reach inside and turn on the light but they simply stand. You stare at them, unmoving. They stare back, equally blank. 

“Get in,” one of them says, still not moving. His voice is calm but laced with warning. Hesitantly you step inside only to jump when the door is thrown shut with a slam that echoed. You hear the door click and come to the conclusion that you’ve been locked inside. You inhale your shock and try to locate the light switch.

“Assholes,” you mumbled into the darkness, “all of them. Stupid jerkfaces.” 

Your hand brushes against a smooth spot in the otherwise roughened wall, and smile victoriously when the lights turn on. The room is as big as your apartment but there is nothing lavish about it. The furnishings are functional but lack any sense of warmth or personal touch. To your right, a queen-sized bed in the center accompanied by two side tables honing a singular lamp on top. There's a desk pushed against the wall next to you and just above it was a seemingly new T.V. You delve deeper into the room and locate a door to a walk-in closet that led to a bathroom. What the hell was this house?  

You step into the bathroom and observe yourself in the mirror. Your hair was a mess. Your cheeks stained with the mascara that had dripped from your eyes. Your gaze falls upon your swollen lips, stained with blood, a vivid reminder of the violence and danger that has infiltrated your world. Your fingers tentatively brush against them, tracing the tender flesh, and a shiver reverberates through your body. It is a visceral shock, a jolt of reality that reminds you of the gravity of your predicament.

Was this your life now? From securing an internship to landing a job at the same building you had met your boyfriend. From scrounging for change to make up for the student loans. From shopping at stores until you felt satisfied. From sloppy lunch dates to being enslaved by a man wanted by the country.  

Hopeless. 

Your vision blurs at the sudden tears that coated your eyes. You blink, once, twice, trying to get rid of them but they just fall. Racing down the path already created for them. 

Within the walk-in closet, you discover a treasure trove of clothes, each garment carefully selected and tailored to fit your size. The array of outfits spans a wide range, from elegant gowns to stylish blouses, from casual shorts to impeccably fitting pants. From shorts to the most perfect pants. In a flurry of misplaced emotions, you had tried on almost everything, watching yourself in the mirror. The way the denim hugged your curves. The way the material of pants danced when you walked. The way the skirts cinched your waist and drew attention to your seemingly elongated legs. Almost everything had fit you perfectly.

Too perfect. 

You push back the question of just how Ryomen Sukuna would have access to all this information but you didn't need to trouble yourself with any more questions. The day had terrorized you enough, you didn’t need your psyche to do it for you all over again. You knew if you began thinking you would come back to the point of cursing a dead man you had cut out of your life. 

You walk back into the shower after picking out a silk pajama set hanging in the closet. Turning on the shower and undressing, as the warm water cascades down your body, soothing your tense muscles, you take a moment to relish in the simple comfort of the shower. With each passing minute, the weight of the day's events begins to wash away, if only temporarily. As you reach for the body wash, your fingers brush against a familiar label. Surprised, you examine the bottle more closely, and to your astonishment, you discover that it is an exact replica of the one you use at home. A sense of surrealism washes over you as you realize that the products in this bathroom are not mere imitations but rather the very same ones you have come to rely on in your daily routine.

He had these brought from the security of your home.  

Unsettled once again, you close your eyes, feeling the hot whispers attempt to relax your stiffened body. 

You feel refreshed after the shower. Dressed in silk and hair wrapped in the fluffiest towel to ever exist. Somewhat free of your conflicting thoughts you step outside the door to your closet, still drying your hair. 

Sukuna's gaze lingers on you, a sinister satisfaction evident in his dark eyes. As you go through your nightly routine, diligently applying the creams and lotions to your face, his presence feels like an unwelcome intrusion. Every motion, every touch of your hand, draws his attention like a predator observing its prey. The subtle satisfaction in Sukuna's expression is unsettling, his amusement at your compliance apparent. His presence, like an invisible weight, hung in the air. He watched as you massaged your temples, seeking solace in the simple act of self-care, unaware of the twisted pleasure it brought to him. His enjoyment at your satisfaction, at the contented hums that escaped your lips, bordered on sadistic

He felt his pants tighten. He watched as your previously distracted gaze raised to meet his giant figure sprawled out comfortably in your temporary bed. He grinned at the sudden shriek you let out. “Making yourself at home?”

“What are you doing here?” 

“Greeting my guest, what else?”

You clench your jaw, refusing to meet his gaze directly. His predatory eyes continue to roam over your body, making you feel exposed, vulnerable. The weight of his gaze feels suffocating, as if he is stripping you bare with his eyes alone.

It took you two heartbeats to realize that you basically were. You did not wear a bra or underwear because the closet had everything but the necessities to hide your freshly hardened nipples. It was all intentional . So here you were, in front of your captor, commando mode. You quickly throw your wet hair over your chest, trying your best to cover what the man had already seen. 

Sukuna's grin widens, stretching across his face, revealing a set of teeth that adds an unsettling edge to the situation. With a self-assured air, he lifts his hand, running it through his tousled pink hair in a seemingly nonchalant gesture. The action draws your attention, momentarily diverting your thoughts from the impending doom that surrounded you.

In a startling display of confidence, he pats the space next to him, beckoning you to draw closer. “Come here.”

Your affronted scoff breaks the tension in the room for a moment, a flicker of defiance shining through your fear. Despite the overwhelming sense of vulnerability, you refused to cower before him.

"I am not coming anywhere near you," you assert firmly, your voice carrying a mixture of determination and apprehension. The words spill from your lips before you could control it.

For a brief moment, the atmosphere seems to shift, the balance of power momentarily wavering between you and Sukuna. His grin falters ever so slightly, a glimmer of surprise flitting across his dark eyes. It's clear that he's not used to defiance, to someone resisting his commands.

Yet, despite the daring response you've mustered, you remain acutely aware of the danger that surrounds you. Sukuna's unpredictability leaves you on edge, uncertain of how he might react to your refusal.

"Not even on my face?" He pouted mockingly before his tone became menacing. “You don’t have a lot of options right now, doll. Come here.”

Doll.  

You repressed a shiver and weighed your options. Which were basically none. Running for the door holds little promise, as you suspect it's likely locked, effectively trapping you within this nightmarish space. Seeking refuge in the bathroom offers no solace either, as the man before you seems all too capable of bypassing such simple barriers.

Your mind races, searching desperately for a glimmer of hope. Yet, the room felt like a claustrophobic cage, suffocating and closing in on you. Fear and desperation intertwine, clouding your judgment as you grapple with the limited options before you. 

To choose him is to relinquish your autonomy, to place yourself at his mercy. Submitting to his control means opening yourself up to the unknown. However it is clear what you needed to do. 

With a heavy sigh, you find yourself moving closer to Sukuna. You were a butterfly drawn into the intricate web spun by a spider. Too distracted by the beauty to recognize the threat until it was too late. The trepidation lingers, your heart heavy with a mix of resignation and defiance. It was a compromise. 

Simple action. Simple defiance that consequently had your head against Sukuna's shoulder and his fingers in your pussy. 

- - - - - - -

"You gonna do it again?"

"N-no."

"Say sorry." He emphasizes the word by a particularly hard thrust of his long fingers.

"I’m - Please !"

“What is it?”

“I’m so- SUKUNA!” 

His name on your tongue sounded like a lullaby.

“You’re not telling me anything, princess.”

His fingers curl inside you, hitting a spot so deep you didn't even think it was possible. Your mouth is parted in a silent gasp and your back arched against his broad chest. He was still dressed whilst you sat in his lap as naked as the day you were born. Your stained silk pajamas long forgotten on the marble floor. His other hand slides up from holding your thigh open to tracing a path between the valley of your breasts and wrapping around your throat. Your sudden whimper at the grip had Sukuna chuckling half-heartedly. His body was hot against your skin. You could feel the taut muscles against your back. 

You could feel every rising breath. 

His amusement ended with an involuntary groan when you clenched around him. “You like that? Huh? Fucking whore.”

You shake your head to deny it. But to your surprise you feel your release building. You feel yourself clench at his fingers

“ Feels good, doesn’t it?”

You had to stop him. This was so wrong. For so many reasons. He had taken everything from you, ripped you out of your little bubble for his own selfish reasons- You had to stop him. And as your hands grip his wrist, his thumb lands on your clit. You absolutely keened at the contact, feeling your legs tremble. But it felt so good.  

“You’re so fucking wet. Makin’ a mess all over my clothes. C’mon, say sorry and I'll let you cum.” 

The sounds of his fingers thrusting into you were loud in the otherwise silent room. Wrong. It was all so wrong. You shouldn’t be doing this. It was too much for you to handle. 

“You hear that? Your pretty little cunt just taking it all in. All for me.”

You try to bury your face in his neck but his grip on your throat tightens. You were getting close. Your vision was becoming hazy from pleasure but you don’t dare tell him out of fear that he’d deny it for his own sick enjoyment. 

You were basically burning. It’s right there. You were close. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he continued the relentless attack on your pussy, plunging, twisting, curling... You were so close, you could feel it. You could just feel yourself pulsing and gushing all over his fingers. You were a mess. Moaning, whimpering, whining in Sukuna’s ear. 

His grip on your neck loosened and you found yourself biting onto the point between his shoulders and neck. His jaw was clenched and lips parted in concentration. 

“Say sorry,” he grunted, feeling you clench and tremble. “Say it.”

He wanted to give it to you so bad but you were defiant. Tight-lipped. Miserable. A mess. His erection is prominent against your leg, the giant bulge brushing against your lower back as your body jerked and grinded against his fingers. 

“Don’t you wanna cum?”

You don't answer, feeling it coiling in your stomach. But then Sukuna was pulling out his fingers, refusing to give you what he wanted. No, no, no, no, n-

“You think, I can't tell when you’re about to cum?” He breathed against your ear, breathing hard, the tip of his nose brushing against your cheek. Then he raised his head and looked down at you, pupils blown wide with lust. “Grinding on my fingers like that, you want it, don’t you?”

You nodded too fast. 

He smirked, his hand fell from your throat, brushing against your nipple. Asshole. “Say the magic word.”

“Sorry,” you gasped out not realizing that you had been holding onto your breath. “‘M sorry.”

He seemed satisfied. With your apology, in mind he went back to work with a newfound energy. He pinched your nipples, earning a high-pitched moan from you, before switching over to the other one whilst his other hand traced along the already damp and swollen lips. Your legs widened shifting in his lap, looking for the friction you craved, hoping he’d take the hint just this once.

 “You’re all wet and creamy. Fucking leaking all over me.”

You moaned at his words and you both groaned when his fingers finally, finally, slipped inside you. The sound that left his mouth did something to you that even his fingers couldn’t. A shiver runs down your spine, and soon enough you are arching against him. 

“A-ah, I’m clo- O-oh.” 

“Yeah? I feel you pulsing, doll, so fucking tight. Look at that, such a pretty and perfect cunt. I bet you’ll look so good riding my dick, c’mon, baby. Cum.”

Three more strokes and a thumb circling your clit, you were soon experiencing the most earth shattering orgasm ever. His soft hair brushed against your face as you leaned back against his shoulder, your pussy convulsing around his fingers from the aftermath. Your legs trembled. After making sure there was nothing more left, Sukuna pulled his fingers out and licked them swiftly. 

You watched him still breathless, still shocked at what had just happened. 

"You sound good when you apologize," Sukuna teased before he was sliding you off and leaving through the door he had come from. His pants still stained with your cum. 

What the fuck? 

a/n: literally my first time writing smut hehe. lemme know how I did!

honestly I don't even think I had a plot in mind when I started writing but I wanted mafia sukuna so bad 😭😭😭

[suzukiblu]

Ko-fi thank-you sentences for @daemoninwhiteround2; Kon wants scented.

So Superboy heads for Metropolis, flying full-speed but keeping an ear on the news as he does. It's not helpful. Superman is just in feral drop and hyper-defensive of his territory, and being real aggressive about it. Nobody's gotten hurt too bad, but definitely some broken bones have been reported. Some gossip sites are speculating about this finally being proof of him being an alpha, which is the least relevant thing Superboy can think of to care about right now, but he guesses that's how they get paid or whatever. 

Morons. 

He doesn't–he doesn't think about it, himself. He only wants to know Superman's dynamic if Superman wants to tell him it. 

Even if he’d admittedly feel a lot better about a lot of shit if Superman were an alpha, since he's still pretty sure he's gonna be too, and . . . and maybe it wouldn't be because of Westfield, then. 

Maybe. 

But he's not thinking about that. 

Superboy checks the news again as he passes into Metropolis proper to figure out where the whole throwdown is currently happening, but he's barely pulled up the live feed before he hears an explosion and an immediate sonic boom in the distance. 

Okay. Not great, probably. 

“Superman’s disappeared!” the reporter on the feed yells, and Superboy narrows his eyes at the screen in concern and tries to figure out–

And then there's a whoosh, and suddenly he's getting snatched straight out of the air. He yelps in shock more than from the impact, even though the impact feels like being grabbed by a fucking mountain. It doesn't hurt, though, it's just–it's just concrete and inescapable. 

He crashes into the center of a construction site with whatever just hit him and catches a flash of familiar red out of the corner of his eye right before impact, and then realizes just what just hit him. 

Probably he should've realized what it was from the start, though. 

Or who, more like. 

“Superman?” he tries carefully as he looks up at him, a little mystified. The workers are already fleeing to safe distances, but Superman just keeps pinning him down in the middle of a pile of building materials, still looking very obviously feral and also very weirdly intent.

Superman's looking at him too. Like . . . he's really, really looking at him.

The fuck? 

“You in there, man?” Superboy tries a little more warily, and then Superman shoves him down flat on his back and leans down over him to nuzzle his hair with the weirdest purr he's ever heard. Like–it's definitely a purr, but it also sounds like heavy-duty construction equipment. Like, to the point Superboy actually double-checks to make sure it's not any of the construction equipment. 

No, it’s definitely not the construction equipment. 

Do Kryptonian alphas purr? Is that, like . . . a thing? Or is this just the Kryptonian version of a rumble? 

Part of Superboy wishes he knew, even though he really doesn’t want to know Superman’s dynamic if Superman doesn’t want to tell him. Just–part of him still wishes he knew. 

He’d like to know literally anything about being Kryptonian, though, so he figures he can cut himself a break on that one. 

“Superman–” he starts, putting a testing hand on Superman’s arm and figuring he just needs to keep the guy distracted while the rest of the workers clear out and until the Justice League catches up, but that’s when shit gets really weird. 

At least, being full-body hugged by Superman isn’t a normal experience for him. 

Again: the fuck?

[heicodynamics]

The benefits of cement testing are numerous, providing vital data that helps in achieving robust and durable constructions. At Heico Dynamics, we understand the significance of cement testing and offer advanced Cement testing equipment to meet the industry's stringent requirements.

[girlactionfigure]

With the permission of the mourning families, IDF Spokesman Daniel Hagari takes you into the tunnel where six Israeli hostages were executed, murdered in cold blood by Hamas terrorists.

Hostages Hersh Goldberg-Polin, Eden Yerushalmi, Ori Danino, Alex Lobanov, Carmel Gat, and Almog Sarusi were believed to have been killed in the tunnel by their captors on August 29, before being discovered by troops around two days later.

The tunnel was a small 120-meter-long passageway that connected parts of a large underground network in the Tel Sultan neighborhood, which according to the IDF belonged to Hamas's Rafah Brigade. The tunnel network was one of the largest underground complexes found by the army in Gaza to date.

Inside the tunnel, located some 20 meters underground, the IDF found food and equipment that it assessed were used by the Hamas terrorists and the Israeli hostages to survive underground for extended periods, at least several weeks. Among the items were dried food, water, a makeshift toilet, mattresses, and assault rifle magazines.

The military says it did not have any concrete or real-time intelligence on the six hostages being held there, but had general indications that Israeli abductees could be in the neighborhood, and therefore had operated carefully above ground and even more so underground. 

On August 30 the IDF discovered a tunnel shaft, which had been blocked up by Hamas. A day later on August 31, troops managed finally to enter the tunnel, where they discovered a locked blast door. Later in the day, the bodies of the six were found, and by early on September 1, they were extracted and brought to Israel for identification and burial.

Also on August 30, the IDF said troops killed two Hamas gunmen who attempted to flee from the tunnel complex area. Their bodies were taken to Israel to run DNA testing to determine if they were the terrorists who killed the six hostages. The IDF believes that the six were killed by at least two terrorists.

Two days before the six hostages were murdered, on August 27, the IDF rescued hostage Farhan al-Qadi from a tunnel — part of the same network — located less than 700 meters away. There was no direct passage between the tunnel where al-Qadi was found and the bodies of the six hostages, as Hamas had blocked the route.

The video taken by IDF Spokesman Rear Adm. Daniel Hagari was shown to the families in recent days, as well as to members of the Israeli cabinet.

[osha-official-2]

Safety and Compliance Report on Aperture Science: PPE

29 CFR 1910.132 establishes:

"Protective equipment shall be provided, used, and maintained in a sanitary and reliable condition wherever it is necessary by reason of hazards encountered in a manner capable of causing injury or impairment in the function of any part of the body"

This anonymous employee was kind enough to allow Inspector 17 to photograph them in their work uniform. The uniform includes a set of blaze orange coveralls and a PFAS (Personal Fall Arrest System)in the form of an AKR (Advanced Knee Replacement).

29 CFR 1910.28(b)(1)(i) establishes:

"The employer must ensure that each employee on a walking-working surface with an unprotected side or edge that is 4 feet (1.2 m) or more above a lower level is protected from falling"

Inspector 17's report on Aperture Science noted that unprotected edges were only present in "Test Chamber" environments and only test participants (such as the employee pictured above) were exposed to these hazards. The issuing of AKR systems to all test participants successfully negated these falling hazard.

When asked about the employee's lack of foot coverings an Aperture representative insisted test chambers were meticulously cleaned of any refuse that an employee could potentially step on. However OSHA 300 logs indicated that test participants occasionally experienced serious stubbed toes and twisted ankles. Inspector 17 attributed these to the use of concrete in test chamber construction and slippery walking-working surfaces.

Aperture was issued a warning and required to ensure that all test participants wear close-toed, slip-resistant footwear in future tests.

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