#Waste water testing equipment

[labequipments]

Benchtop Ion Meter

Benchtop Ion meter for F comes with (F) fluoride ion selective electrode for fluoride ion concentration measurement. This Ion meter comes with ± 0.5 % F.S. measurement accuracy. The direct ion concentration readout helps in the elaborate measurement process. The system menu allows setting the 8 parameters like calibration points, stability condition, etc. It can measure concentration in ppm, mg / L, and mol / L. The mV measurement is used to check the performance of ion selective electrodes.

[yandere-sins]

The Orcas' Tale - Krill's Story I

a/n: I have... not much to say, although you should read the warnings. But I need you guys to know that this is 7.666 words long. I didn't make it this way intentionally, but if that isn't devilish, I don't know what is :')

Fandom: Original Content   Pairings: Yandere!Orca Merman x GN!AFAB!Reader Warnings: Yandere, Sexual Content (Nothing explicit yet just drug-induced neediness and description of a cock doing what a cock does, Size... adoration, Begging), Violence (Thrashing, Breaking of bones, fighting machines, Verbal threats, mention of medical tools, syringes), Getting drugged non-consensually, Description of being drugged up, Animalistic behavior, Mention of blood/claws/sharp teeth, Mention of Slavery, Mention of Abuse, Depiction of spoiled Food and Seal Meat, Very long post

"It truly is an impressive recovery of such a valuable resource! Being able to compare the exact date from years ago with now makes for a great opportunity in our research, and now we have two of them! This is your chance to recover from your mistakes all those years ago!"

With pep in his step, your supervisor led you through the long, cagey hallway of the facility, making it almost hard to follow him with all the enthusiasm he was displaying. You, on the other hand, felt nothing but dread as you held onto the notes you had been giving about your new project, almost feeling scared to glance at the papers.

You already knew what they'd say. The mistakes they'd speak of.

Because you were already familiar with the mermen, who had recently been caught by the facility. You freed them all those years ago out of shame and sympathy. And you paid the price, your unpaid labor bordering on slavery. Your choice had been death or continuing their research, and after looking down a gun barrel once, you decided to invest in your studies instead, the company willing to further your education and allow you to continue testing and working with the poor creatures they kept here—albeit with supervision.

"Talent like yours shouldn't be wasted," your supervisor recited the words of the facility owner, but they sounded like a warning coming from him rather than encouragement. 

When he finally stopped at the door farthest down the corridor, you were appalled to see the number on it, finding it less than funny that they'd assigned the same room from years ago as your new laboratory again. All these little digs they made at you never let you forget that they were still angry about what you did to sabotage the facility—as if you could ever. These digs were just there to make you miserable and establish who your life belonged to. You were replaceable, but you wouldn't get out of this alive. If you wanted to survive and have even the slightest chance of escaping this place of horrors one day, you'd have to obey. 

"So do better this time," your supervisor said, smiling down at you smugly as he pushed the door open, the heavy metals screeching with cold, metal bitterness. Bastard, you thought, walking inside the laboratory. The grate floor spread above the large pool beneath your feet throughout the whole room, making your steps audible as you entered. The water was calm, undisturbed—suspicious.

"Oh, also, this one's been really angry ever since we brought him in. Better not let your head get bitten off! Would be a waste. You're too pretty to be a corpse just yet."

You whipped around with a glare, but all you saw was the smug grin on your supervisor's face before he shut the door with a loud bang. A mechanical lock slid into place with a whirring sound before everything became quiet around you. It was strange that they'd leave you here alone after what you did, but then again, there was no way you'd be able to recreate the mistakes you made. Even though you'd never receive any respect or sympathy from anyone in this cursed place, you couldn't help but stare at the metal door, plastered with warnings and reminders to leave equipment in the laboratory before leaving, wishing it would open again and let you out of here.

But that wouldn't happen.

It was ironic that they'd leave you alone with the merman you helped escape before, but the only way out was that door, and it needed a passcode to leave. One you didn't have. You'd eat, sleep, and work as they intended; there was no escaping this, even if the hope never left you. They didn't think you'd make it out alive unless they let you. Much less would you be able to help anyone escape again. Slowly, you turned forward, raising your head to look at the workstation on the opposite side of the room. You couldn't help from glancing downwards every few steps; caution was the only thing that kept you alive in this place.

But even as you made your way over to the station, your shadow undoubtedly making your presence known to the water, everything remained calm. The sound of machines running, keeping the pool intact, and the water bubbling from the pump were all that matched the sounds of your steps and breaths. For a "really angry" merman, this was suspicious. He must have known you were here, yet neither came to watch nor to attack you? You sighed inwardly, thinking about how much of a hassle it would be to actually get him to your examination area if you couldn't fish him out of the pool.

Once you reached the counters with the equipment, you set down the papers you had been given, spreading them out to scan over them. Even if you didn't want to interact again with these pitiful yet obscenely fascinating creatures, you knew that without any results from experimenting on them, you'd be stuck here for all eternity. The expectations were high that you'd find what everyone was looking for, even though the experiments were nothing short of cruel and disgusting. Drugs, surgery while awake, mutilations—those were just a few things you had watched the researchers do to these creatures. And for what? 

Eternal life. 

A fantasy.

How did you know? You were the one finding out that even if their life expectancy was closer to that of turtles, even the merfolks would die one day from old age. There was no such thing as living forever with the help of a mermaid's flesh, tears, or blood, and researching them brought forth interesting facts but not the results that this facility had been constructed for.

And yet, here you were, doing as you were told, trying to find anything that would be deemed interesting enough. 

You heard a splash behind you, making you whip around, trying to make out a sign of life. Even though the floor was raised a few meters above the surface and the partition was closed so nothing could fall in or jump out of the water, it was still unsettling to hear but never see the creature you were locked up with. You knew better than to show fear openly to apex predators like the mermaids, but it had been so long since they let you near one that you could feel its presence—or the lack thereof—frightening you to the bone.

But you had to keep going, no matter what. Turning back to your papers, you spread them out with shaky hands, scanning over the information the first-contact team had collected. A large species, presumably orca-related, male, mature, and chipped. The last fact had been underlined twice, emphasizing the importance of it. This merman had already been in the facility, and they tracked it back to when you had been foolish enough to think you could save them. It had been years. Yet he and another one, as you heard through the grapevine, had come back against any better judgment, making you wonder about the intelligence you knew these creatures possessed.

However, no matter how much information you could absorb through the notes, you knew you were only stalling time. The next step would be getting this creature out of the pool and proceeding with your experiments, but the fear made you hesitate. This merman had been starving for a week in preparation for his exams, and although hunger wasn't a good state for anyone to be in, it was thought it might help to be the one feeding them when you needed their cooperation. Like you'd do with an animal. Unfortunately, they were too clever to fall for these ruses most of the time.

You still had to try. 

Picking up some gloves, you went to the extensive double-doored fridge, pulling out the trays with seal meat on them. However, someone placed dead fish-heads between the pieces in varying states of decay. You took a deep breath, unwilling to give spoiled meat to the creature, even though you'd have to rely on it if you wanted to get anywhere. Picking out a slab of seal meat on the furthest corner of the tray, you just hoped it was mostly uncontaminated as you carried it over to the buttons that would part the floor into an opening from which the merman could be caught. 

You hated pushing these buttons, everything reminding you of the biggest mistake of your life. Sure, you saved three mermen from this cruelty, but look what your efforts got you. 2 of them came back, and you were nothing more than a slave. Nothing turned out to be as heroic as in the books you read.

The metal grated against itself as it parted wide enough to allow feeding. Smaller species could have stuck an arm through the gap, but you knew from the past that it didn't work for any of the large specimens. At least that meant you were safe from an attack for now, though it was debatable how long. The meat sunk further and further down into the blue, but nothing happened. You leaned forward over the gap in anticipation, waiting for any kind of appearance in the wet. However, when the water finally stirred, causing slight waves to appear, it wasn't a shadow that moved through it, and neither did it give any mind to the food. 

You jumped back in surprise, your body hitting the wall next to the buttons, when fingers lurched out of the water, gripping the ends of the partition and pushing them apart. Water splashed everywhere as the merman tried to widen the gap. The metal resisted initially, but even such a strong material bound to an even stronger machine relented under constant pressure. 

As the cool water hit your face, you finally snapped out from the shock, slamming your hand down on the buttons that would close the floor and set the machines into motion to work against the abnormal strength of a merman. The two forces rung with each other for a few seconds before the machine finally did its thing and closed the gap, but it felt like minutes of struggling, of holding your breath in anticipation. 

The merman held onto the metal for as long as possible, and you listened to the gut-wrenching sound of something breaking before he finally let go, the splashing of water dying down. The floor never fully closed, leaving a small gap not even your hand would fit through. Still, you were unsure if the merman succeeded in the end by breaking the mechanical device or if it had been his fingers that broke from the pressure. You wished you didn't have to find out. 

Sinking to your bottom, you took deep breaths, calming yourself. Heart racing and head spinning from the lack of a constant airflow, you watched the water, terror, and anticipation mingling. If the floor broke, it would at least delay your second encounter with this creature for a while. But if not, you'd have given it one more reason to be angry. You watched as his dark shadow—no, body moved through the water, his movements agitated, restless. All you felt was misery, knowing you were causing this distress to him again.

You still had no clue which one of the three it was, although the body was too large to be the smallest of the three "Lyr". Due to the experiments, he had lost a significant amount of body weight and muscles, as well as his mental stability. They would have put him down had you not freed them, as he became a risk quickly. You thought you were doing them a favor by saving them, but you had no idea if Lyr ever made it out in the wild. Judging by the quick thinking and the strength of the orca roaming below you, it was more likely to be either "Nerrocan" or "Krill". Their names were burned into your mind like silent reminders of your biggest mistake and greatest accomplishment alike. 

But the secret was quickly revealed when the merman finally seemed to calm down, swimming out into the back of the room for a moment and giving you time to collect yourself, too. You were still sitting on your ass, none the wiser, when you noticed black and white hairs emerging from further down the pool, slowly, cautiously drifting back towards you. As if on the prowl.

Surely he was waiting for another chance to wreck the floor open and try to escape. There was no reason for this creature not to be out to harm you, and you were such an easy prey, caught in this room with him. Your death wouldn't be mourned, but you also couldn't help pitying this merman, not knowing that your death would probably be his, too. Soldiers wouldn't hesitate to shoot something that was stronger, more deadly, and had too much freedom if they had to, even if it was a valuable species to study. You wondered which merman it was, and feeling a little safer with the floor closed, you leaned forward, trying to make it out.

The most brilliant of red spied out of the water the moment you looked down at it. Unmistakably, like polished rubies, these eyes followed your every move. You watched your own muscles tense and the horror in your expression as you realized which of the three mermen it was before you saw your own gaze fill with sadness in his eyes.

Krill.

The reason you risked everything.

His brows furrowed, then lifted as if surprised, too, although his body stayed submerged, tense and ready to act. There was no way he'd remember you, was there? Despite your doubts, you raised a hand, giving him a silly little wave before addressing him directly. 

"Hello… again."

He said nothing, and you realized he must have forgotten you. It was better that way for now… even if it stung after all you did to help him. 

Holding onto the wall, you got back on your feet, not wanting to be such an easy target and so close to him. He could try something again, and you'd be at a disadvantage if you couldn't even walk. "I'm sure it's uncomfortable, but I need you out of the water for a while. You remember it, right?"

You held your palm above the button that would activate The Fisher, a machine that could detect and catch unwilling mermaids by itself. But you were still close to the opening, so any reassurance from the merman would have been nice to have.

"Go ahead, open that gate again. See where that gets you," Krill threatened, and you believed him. His brows furrowed, teeth gnashing as his anger returned, and you had to realize that he was no longer like the sweet merman you once cared for. Sure, he had been drugged and broken into submission back then, but he had still treated you somewhat kindly, gifting you rocks and following you around the enclosure like a lost puppy. If you didn't know it better, you two had been somewhat close back then, having come to an understanding despite your differences. That was not the case anymore, you could see it.

"You'll see, I'll get out of here, and you'll regret capturing me again."

That hurt. It hadn't been your choice. If it had been your choice, you'd have helped all those poor souls confined inside this facility, making sure that neither merfolk nor humans suffered the consequences of the greed of some rich people. But you had no choice in this matter. You never had. 

Pressing the button, you stepped aside so The Fisher could do its wonder. You didn't want to, but you had to. Didn't want to put him through the same torture again at your hands. But Krill had been foolish enough to get captured again, and you were foolish enough to still hold on to the hope that you could make a change in your life if you obeyed. This time, the machine parting the floor stuttered, and although The Fisher descended from the ceiling, it couldn't open. 

"You are a fool if you think you can capture me with that. Force me to play your little games again, Human!"

Even though you tried to ignore him, it was hard when Krill paced around the opening, taunting you. You had to watch the machines work and fail as the floor was stuck. The Fisher was unable to move as it detected the closed floor, and you wondered how you would proceed if the location became unsuitable to work with. 

With a loud crash, Krill threw himself against the floor, and you gasped as a wave of cold water splashed over you. As you sputtered, you heard the floor grating, the sound painful to both of you, evident by Krill trying to escape it by dropping below the water. But with the sudden opening appearing, the metal claws of The Fisher snapped forward, scanning and detecting where they had to go. 

Until you saw it with your own eyes, you could have never believed such a flimsy-looking machine could restrain the apex predator of the sea, effortlessly capturing him by his wrist, neck, and the space between his fin and tail. Sure, he could throw his weight around despite being restricted, but there was little he could do to hurt you unless he broke free. However, no mermaid ever broke free from The Fisher in your years of working here. It was that effective.

You watched as The Fischer pulled Krill out of the water, shiny droplets of wet falling off of him, elevating every muscle, every toned ab on his belly. He was glistening in the unnatural lightening of the laboratory like a precious gem, and your heart clenched with sadness, knowing there was nothing you could do for this beautiful creature. You had to cover your ears as he began shrieking and cursing, most of it in a language that you never bothered to learn as you'd be incapable of ever speaking it. Siren was more of a singing rather than talking in the first place, and though you liked to sing to yourself, you'd never learn it on a level that could match the skill that his language required.

As you watched him, the first thing you noticed was his size. He had grown, although the rough weight and measurements would be taken by the machine holding him in place. The time in the ocean seemed to have done wonders for him. His fins were intact, and the tag on his tail was blinking despite being such an old model. Since then, there must have been at least seven upgrades over the years, and you'd be responsible for changing it eventually.

Once he was dragged onto the research area, he finally seemed to calm down a little, although he glared at you, fury revealing in his eyes. The Fischer restricted his head movement, but his willpower remained. "You are truly the worst," he sneered. "First, you let us go, then you capture us again. What do you think we are? Your little playthings? Is it fun to mangle us? You enjoy this?"

Testing his strength against the shackles, Krill twisted and turned in the hold, but you tried not to give his words too much attention. He was different from how he was years ago, and you had to say goodbye to the semi-good relationship you two had before, the precious image you had held onto of him. Both of you were fighting for survival, as pitiful as it was, and you had a crapload of tests to run before they'd let you get away from him and pity his fate and yourself. 

With new-found confidence as you watched him rendered immobilized, you returned to the fridge, luckily not encountering any more poor attempts at making life hard for you as you opened the drawers full of tranquilizers. There was yet one to be found that could entirely knock out these creatures, but they had a significant calming effect. And—as you hoped—pain-relieving. Because there were a lot of things you had to do to him that wouldn't be easy for both of you. 

Gathering the tranquilizer shots, various test tubes, tools, and your to-do list on a tray, you carried it over to a table closer to him, taking deep breaths to brace yourself. You were tense, your fingers growing numb from anxiety. You had been assigned to the labs for most of the years, rarely encountering a merman again after what you did. And although you trained for this, the thoughts of hurting him were twisting your stomach. 

"You might think it's fun for us humans, but I wonder what you were thinking coming back here. Maybe you enjoyed the treatment more than you let on, hm?"

Your voice was feeble, even when you tried to act superior. Bantering wouldn't magically develop a relationship between you two, but you couldn't endure the silence when no one spoke. It felt wrong—like he was going to attack you again any second. You needed to keep yourself anchored to reality, or you might have fainted. After everything you went through, you couldn't remember the confidence you had to allow yourself to do something as drastic as release three orcas from a highly secured facility like this. A shame, really. You deserved confidence as you were one of the best, after all. 

Even if you couldn't let him know, you still felt anxious about something happening. You returned to the original counters, providing you with everything you needed, put on new gloves after wiping your still-wet face from being splashed with a towel, and proceeded with a mask and apron to achieve even the smallest amount of cleanliness. You'd be unable not to hurt him at the end of this session, but you at least wanted to avoid him dying from sepsis as well as getting his blood all over yourself. 

"I do not," he snapped, watching as you prepared everything, seemingly having given up fighting the machine but not you. "I came back for Nerrocan."

"Huh…" you mumbled, intrigued by this information. So it was Nerrocan who came back here, not Lyr. Interesting. "Risking it all for your cousin?" you asked, and his eyes narrowed.

"I see you still remember us," he snarled, his lips parting in a cocky grin, but it didn't reach his eyes. Krill looked… uncomfortable almost. You couldn't blame him. This all must have been beyond uncomfortable for the merman. 

"And you, me."

Silence befell you two again as you picked up the tranquilizer, wrapping your hand around the container, surprised when you realized what you were doing. It had been so long that you thought you wouldn't remember your old habits. You used to always warm the drugs so they wouldn't be so bitterly cold when applied on the mermaids. 

Krill flapped his fin despite being restricted, and you looked up at him, catching a glimpse of worry as he looked at the syringe in your hand. "Ran out of the good stuff, eh? I remember it being purple, not that icky color," he mocked, but he didn't sound as confident anymore as he was before. 

"Should have come earlier if you wanted that. I heard this one has interesting side-effects when applied."

Rounding the table, you noticed his fin flap again pitifully, almost making you hesitate. He seemed nervous, muscles spasming in the tension of his restrictions. Stepping up to his hips, you felt his eyes follow your every step, almost making you feel reminiscent of the past. You took the integrated step upwards at the side of the research station, effectively standing above him now to see better. Everything was perfectly laid out so that your work could be done effectively. That's how you had to see it, too. This was work, nothing personal.

"You don't have to do this," Krill suddenly said, unusually calm but determined. "You're not a bad person, you saved us before."

This time, you did look directly at him, giving him your full attention for a few seconds of silence. His gaze didn't waver, didn't move away. He meant what he said. At least, that's what you were supposed to believe. Sirens were prone to lying to get what they wanted, and Krill did not want the drug in your hands, warmed up by your palm wrapped around it. But it wouldn't stop you. You gulped, inhaling deeply. It couldn't stop you.

"And now I have to save myself. Please hold still so I don't hurt you."

Diverting your attention back to his hips, you drove your hands along the slick surface of his body, trying to find any space capable of being squeezed. He jerked once when you touched him, trying to get away but ultimately pressing his hips up into your palm. Eventually, you found a soft spot, pinching the skin between your fingers. Krill shuddered, his body twisting, but The Fischer kept it in place. You'd be safe, even if you hated yourself for doing what you had to. 

The syringe punctured his flesh with only a bit of resistance, and you injected the liquid tranquilizer quickly, stepping away when you were done to watch what would happen. The medication used to be a fickle thing, sometimes agitating, sometimes drugging the mermaids out of their minds. But it usually took a while before it worked. Not this version, though. So many things changed since the last time you worked with the mermaids. But it was cruel all the same.

You listened to Krill groan in pain and relief at the same time. Pressure built, his body twisting and arching, with his spine bending uncomfortably for you as the drug spread throughout him before every muscle seemed to suddenly give out, relaxing him completely and making his body sack in his holds almost lifelessly. Worried, you stepped closer, searching for a pulse. It wasn't for another half a minute before you noticed the even rise and fall of his chest, his gills flaring even though he wasn't using them. The seemingly calm state of the merman made you bolder, although the fear of him faking something never subsided. You walked up to his face, staring into the clouded rubies of his eyes, surprised to find them moving around still, searching for something or someone, despite being slower, less alert than before. 

"I'm sorry," you whispered, unsure if he could even hear you, but you felt terrible seeing what you did to him. Even if he was a creature that wouldn't hesitate to kill you, he didn't deserve to go through what the facility wanted him to. Reaching up, you brushed the hair out of his face, the strands gently gliding through your fingers without any resistance, almost as if they were a liquid defying all the physics you knew. 

Even after all this time, you remembered he used to have longer hair. It used to float above the water, coating it in strings of glossy silk. But now he sported a wolf cut that fitted him just as well. Part of his hair had turned white, with only the top remaining in the same black you were used to. You wondered if it was because of the experiments or just a natural change of color over the years when his head suddenly turned, his cheek feeling heavy as he rested it in your palm. Krill seemed as unaware of his actions as he should be after being forced into surrender by the drug, but it seemed to make the forgotten part of him that felt safe with you submerge again, the feeling almost the same as from the past. You quickly caught yourself falling back into thoughts of things long gone and got to work, cutting off both black and white strands with small scissors, hoping it wouldn't suddenly agitate him. But Krill remained unresponsive, and you pushed away your guilt to quickly store your samples.

Focusing your mind on your work, as there was so much to do, and you didn't want him to recover his strength before you had completed most of the preparations you had to make. You measured and cut down his claws, trying your best not to cause any harm to him and quickly storing the talons for further research. The size of his hands was massive, and you marveled at their humanness for a moment, driving your finger gently over the ridges and joints. Unfortunately, as expected, some of his fingertips were broken, smashed by the struggle with the floor grates. You wanted to clean and wrap them securely. But when Krill let out a long sigh, sounding almost pained just by your touching his hands, you immediately stopped, fearing his wrath upon regaining mobility.

You did further measurements on smaller areas like his hands and fins, everything that could be deducted more thoroughly by hand than by machine. Every time you came around to his head, you looked into his eyes, the guilt threatening to wash over you when they locked with yours, steadfast despite him being out of it, so you quickly moved on. 

While you were at it, you connected his chip to a reader, interested in the data that could be found on it, and removed the jewelry that hung from his body. It would only be a hindrance to your experiments, and perhaps remnants on the metal could determine where the merman was originally from. However, the weight of some of the decorations he had prided himself with—like his necklace of teeth—weighed so much that you needed to drag them over the floor, wondering how this could be efficient for a predator.

"So far, so good," you mumbled as you let the program run its course, wiping off some sweat from your forehead with your sleeve and looking at the situation for a moment. It had been too long, you couldn't really remember the exact procedure to which you should have stuck, but instead of giving your to-do list the attention to find out, your eyes fixated on something else—scars. Albeit not uncommon, there were a lot more now than you remembered, and you raised a hand to his tail, sliding your fingers over the scarred tissue, putting slight pressure on it.

Krill's body jerked immediately, and you jumped back from him, observing the merman. His head rolled forward in the restraints, tired eyes searching for you but unable to focus. 

"Not there… touch..." His speech was slurred, another effect of the new drug, but you couldn't help but smile faintly at him, seeing how he still resisted. 

"I need to count them," you explained, hoping it would soothe his mind. If he could understand it. You couldn't be sure it had any effect, but if you were in his position, you would have wanted to be told what was going on, you thought. "It won't hurt, I promise."

Measuring tape in hand, you placed your clipboard with an empty page on top of his body, moving from his fin slowly upwards and jotting down your findings. There were a lot of prominent scars standing out from his body markings, but even more smaller ones barely visible. It felt quite intimate to search his body so thoroughly, but it had to be done. Krill moved pitifully against and into your touch as if unsure where to go and unable to understand what was happening. Even if it made you lose your balance a few times, you let him, feeling bad for all you were doing. It was the slightest bit of freedom you could give him without risking your own head.

By the time you reached his chest, some clarity had returned to his eyes, and he couldn't control the sounds coming from him. You tried not to agitate him with pressure and touch, but you had to do your work. An arrangement of chirps and sighs, some grunts, and nervous jittering rang out, echoing through the rooms. Deep breaths pushed his chest out, and sighs bordering on moans shivered through his whole body. But you were content as long as he didn't throw his weight around and push you off the step and into your medical equipment. 

"Must you be so thorough," he slurred as you examined his chest, following the curve of his pectoral muscles with your fingers. You looked up at him, his head crooked to the side, still too heavy to hold up on his own despite the metal neck brace, but his eyes were clearer now, following you more intensely. 

"I have to, I'm sorry. I don't want it to be uncomfortable, but I have to document them."

Writing down your finds on your clipboard, you must have pressed it down a bit too hard on his chest because Krill's head fell back, a long groan escaping him, back arching again. "Sorry…" you repeated, the guilt beginning to eat you up, but he only rolled his head in the restraint. 

"No…" he muttered. "Not uncomfortable... I feel weird. It's hot. Make it stop."

You were unsure what to do, but there were only a few more scars before you'd have to move on to his arms and, eventually, his backside. You wanted to at least get the chest ones down before you would have to give him another shot of tranquilizer, as Krill was growing more restless every time you touched him. You wished the examination could have stopped there. That you could have released him and put him back into the cold wet, but you needed to finish this. Even when he started gnashing his teeth and twisting in his restraints again.

"What are you doing?!" he suddenly snapped, much more coherent than before, his head jerking forward, ruby-red eyes glowering at you. You tried not to let it get to you, tried to make it quick so he wouldn't have to suffer, but Krill wouldn't let it go. 

"Stop it!" he demanded as you inspected another small scar around his nipple. It was barely visible against the lighter-toned skin there, but you found it, grazing over the nub a few times while working out the details of the scar you needed. Krill was getting more aggressive with his protests, lashing out at you while many different kinds of sounds escaped him, and it was almost amusing to think that it was because of your touch. You couldn't help spreading your palm over his nipple once, letting the elastic of your gloves weigh down and rub over it, causing every muscle in his body to harden instantly. You shouldn't have abused this situation like this, but seeing him react so sharply, his breath coming out in a drawn-out hiss, was somewhat a relief. Knowing it wasn't all terrible, all cruel and painful. But you caught a grip on yourself quickly, working efficiently until you could finally step away once you had found every last scar on his chest.

"All done," you assured him, unable to keep yourself from grinning a little as he let out a strained but haughty hmpf. He was almost back to his new normal, which made you glad. The drug was awful, but it was good to know he wouldn't be broken down this easily. Your back was turned for only a second when you heard him rattling in his restraints, more clear in his mind again as it seemed. It caused you to want to tease him a little.

"I liked it better when you were quiet, Krill. You didn't react to every one of my touches as if I was trying to seduce you."

"How dare you! I can't believe I am back here with you as if you are…" The word seemed to elude him as he bit his tongue, and you turned to look at his face, so much tension in his expression that you thought he was going to burst. Krill wasn't looking at you for once, focusing on his own body. Walking up to him again, his gaze shifted from straight down back to you, a spark of something you couldn't pinpoint washing over him. Insecurity? Fear? No way. 

"Don't come closer again!" he hissed, tossing a bit more in his restraints, and you stopped in your tracks, subconsciously listening to him like an idiot. But Krill wasn't being malicious; something was wrong. Even though you two weren't on friendly terms, you could tell something was off. His gills were flared, pupils blown wide open. He looked mostly like the monster you had to believe he was, but there was a sense of panic that an apex predator shouldn't ever display unless something terrible was happening to them. And you couldn't ignore it, or him for that matter.

"Hey!" you called out, hoping your voice could ground him from whatever he was going through. Stepping closer despite his body thrashing wasn't easy. You had to be careful, but you weren't heartless enough to leave him to his own demons after you caused them. The drug could have had hallucinogenics, which would not only have put you in danger but Krill too. You needed him if you ever wanted to regain some recognition or freedom in this place, and he needed you since you were probably the only person in the whole facility who would do anything to make the experiments at least a bit more humane. You couldn't abandon him like this after all he's been through.

Instead of putting yourself at risk of being thrown across the room by Krill accidentally slamming his body into you, you stepped up to his head instead, waiting for the moment that you could grab onto him and hold on with all your strength. You expected a struggle that would leave both of you wounded, but the moment your hands clasped around his face, Krill went rigid, suspiciously still. Another wave of fear overcame you, your instincts telling you this was wrong, but you tried your best to stay strong for both of you. "Shh, shh," you mumbled, calming him, and finally, the strength in his neck gave way, and his head fell back. 

You two stared at each other for some silent seconds, and you rubbed your thumb over his cheek comfortingly. "It's all your fault," he uttered, exhaustion washing over his expression. You couldn't blame him for feeling this way, and you made sure his hair wouldn't sting his eyes by swiping it out of his face gently, still shushing him like a parent would to their child. He looked like he was in severe pain, as if he felt fear for the first time in his life. You couldn't believe it was true, but you felt heartbroken for him all the same. Even if he was called a monster, even if he was a killer and a creature or an animal. Even if he wasn't like you, he didn't deserve any of this. 

"Why are you doing this to me again?" he asked, his voice cracking as a wave of sadness washed over his expression. You had never seen a mermaid actively being sad. Angry, panicked, drugged, yes. But sad? You didn't even think that was possible. What could you do to soothe this whale of a man to the point that you weren't suffering the consequences of other people's decisions? Nothing came to mind, and it was awful.

"I haven't done anything yet, just precautions," you assured him. "You're okay, you're safe. I can't change what I have to do, but I promise I'll try to make it as painless as possible. I–"

"No," Krill interrupted you. "Not that. Not the experiments. This." 

You heard the restraints rattle, causing you to look up at his hand, his cut-down, broken claw pointing downward at his body. You halted your comforting, leaving your palms on his cheeks while looking at Krill with a confused look before you stepped away, fully aware that he looked after you, even forcing his head forward again to watch what you were doing as you stepped around him. 

A loud gasp escaped you as you watched the tip of his cock exit from its slit. The moment your attention was on it, it shot out inch by inch until its massive size stood proudly, pulsing and jerking above his hips, having emerged fully within seconds of horror and amazement. A glistening drop of pre-cum collected at the tip as you stared at the massive erection, the bubble popping and spilling onto his chest as you watched it, unable to look away.

"I tried to forget," Krill lamented from behind you, his body sacking in the machine holding him up before tensing and straining again, a pained groan escaping him while his cock flopping in the air, unbothered by its owner's distress. It only produced more pre-cum and jerked ever so often, the shaft pulsing with need. 

"I wanted to forget you so badly."

You forced yourself to look away from his cock, and Krill let out a brief trill in response, sounding almost disappointed. But he didn't shy away from your eyes, gazing at you, defeated and a little… desperate. 

"Help. Me," he breathed, and you let out your own shuddering breath at his request. You only ever wanted to tease him. You didn't want to cause any pain or suffering, especially not the sexual kind. It was unheard of that the drug caused the mermaids to act this way. But you were about to learn what caused this.

"Why me?" you whispered, knowing now he could hear you. 

"Because I remember every touch of you. Every moment we spent together. Every little piece of memory we made in this godsforsaken place, and I need you. I already feel like I'm losing my mind, and I can't take it anymore. At least take responsibility for what you're doing, this is your fault."

"Krill…"

"It's useful for you, isn't it?" he suddenly changed his tune. He looked angry, but the twisted desperation was unconcealable. "My seed. You can have it. Take it all if you must as long as you do something." 

His words were followed by a groan, sounding in so much pain, and you watched his cock jerk, hips lifting, trying to reach an unavailable source of comfort, a connection to something that wasn't there. "Fuck, I held it back for so long. You and your shitty drugs! I had it under control! I didn't need you at all—didn't even think of you!"

Another long howl escaped him, head rolling from one side to another. He looked completely out of his mind when his gaze fixed on you again, needy and desperate. You had no way to find out if it was because of the drugs, and that worried you. 

"I lied," he confessed, his breath leaving him ominously. His admission was completely out of character for a creature like him, which took you aback, but when Krill looked back at you, there was a different kind of determination in his eyes. A savage one—mad even. You wanted to run away, far, far away from him, but his eyes, full of drugged madness and terrifying adoration, didn't let you act on your whims. As if he hypnotized you.

"I thought about you constantly. You were always on my mind. I thought about coming back so many times, but I couldn't leave the others. But now they don't need me anymore, and I have you back. You're the only one left for me, please. Please help me. Help me, my mate."

His voice was sugary sweet as he pleaded with you, your heart skipping a beat when you watched this destructive, dangerous creature reduced to a begging mess. It wasn't what you wanted for him, and you didn't want the kind of control he was hovering over your head. But you felt the heat spreading throughout your whole body as he called you his.

"We're not mates," you tried to deny it, shaking your head, the implications too severe. "That's the drugs speaking."

"Gods," he groaned loudly, licking his lips as his eyes scanned over your body. "I wish they were."

His hips jerked again, impatient and in desperate need of release. If you were truly mates, that would be bad. It would be an instant invitation to be locked in this facility forever until you passed away. If anyone happened to check on you, seeing the state Krill was in, they'd assume the worst, delighted by these new possibilities. You had to find a solution before that. 

"Fuck," you muttered, and Krill groaned in agreement. "We're not mates!" you insisted, moving towards his side again. This was absolutely bonkers, but every touch seemed to send him further down the spiral—and so were you, even though you refused to admit it.

"This is strictly professional."

"It's whatever," he rejoiced when he felt your hands back on his chest, a little too happy about this smithereens of body contact for it to be just because of the drugs. "Help me, mate."

"Do me a favor," you asked, rolling your shoulders and readying yourself for what you had to do. You couldn't believe you were going to do it; jerking off a merman was definitely not in your job description. But if it would help with not being confined for all eternity as a pathetic mating buddy, then you had no choice. You just needed the push to actually do it.

"Say 'please' again."

Krill's lips parted in a disturbingly wide grin, red rubies sparkling as he looked at you, filled with a sickening hope and adoration that made you shudder.

"Please."

[loggiepj]

To Love A Lannister

chapter 6 | chapter 7

It was midday when all of you have safely returned to the Red Keep. Joffrey was furious, ordering an attack on Stannis on that very day. Tywin was able to calm him down. Tyrion even made a funny comment how the King had no right complaining when he hadn't even bled a small drop of blood from the fight.

Oberyn had observed your wounds when he removed your armor. The cut wasn't too deep, yet your cousin remained worried as if scared he'd get a scolding from your father if you were harmed under his care. "You'll live," Ellaria said, chuckling. Laughing from Oberyn's odd concern, you commented back that it was only a scratch.

One knight suddenly approached you, ordering you to see Maester Qyburn to tend to your wounds immediately.

Ready to dismiss him for you know you didn't need to be stitched, you stopped short when he added, "Queen's orders."

Oberyn only shrugged his shoulders when you looked at him for help.

~~~

Almost a couple of minutes had gone to waste waiting for Qyburn in the Maesters' Keep. You had probably touched and observed any liquid, object or scroll inside the room before a knock on the door startled you, you almost dropped a vial of liquid from your grasp.

"Forgive me, Maester-" It wasn't Qyburn at the door but the Queen Cersei herself.

She carefully approached you with a box of liquid and bandages of her own before she pulled out a seat for you. "Sit."

You did as you were told, just like the last time.

"Aw! Seven hells!" you complained when she began carefully cleaning the wound on your arm.

"If you could only stop moving, this would all be over soon," she said as she moved to the bandages. The touch of her skin on yours ignited the flame inside you. After a moment, she asked softly, "What happened there?"

Thinking she was worried about her son, you sighed. "We met some of Stannis' soldiers in the forest. They weren't supposed to be there. I think they had a different business other than attack us," remembering Lady Melisandre's gaze, "we just happened to be in the way."

"And I thought you were all well equipped warriors in Dorne," Cersei scoffed as she poured myrrh to the wound on your leg.

"Aw!"

Cersei rolled her eyes at you before continuing to wrap bandages around your wounded leg. You then answered, "I was . . . distracted."

When the Queen had finished, she said, "I forbid you to join any battle from now on."

You smiled, before laughing. "It's just a scratch, Your Grace."

"If it's only a scratch, then why are you screaming and howling like a hound?"

Letting out a nervous laugh, you watched Cersei gather the items back into the box. You swallowed a lump in your throat as silence enveloped the both of you once again.

"I'm sorry," Cersei muttered so softly, bottles clinking as she went on to clear the mess.

"Pardon me, Your Grace?"

She cleared her throat before speaking the words again. "I'm sorry. I know I have offended you."

You quickly looked down as you avoided her gaze, not wanting to see her how it had affected you.

"It doesn't matter," you said, standing up from your seat. "It will not change the fact that I'm just a nobody. That my father shouldn't have named me a Martell because I'm truly just a Sand." The Sands were the bastards in Dorne.

The Queen pulled your chin up to look at her and all you could see from her eyes were concern and adoration as she shook her head. "No. No, you're not."

Cersei grabbed your collar as she kissed you, making you gasp. It was a soft and slow one, hesitant to see if you would reciprocate, testing the waters to check if you still want her.

And you still wanted her.

You returned her kisses with the same passion she had provided. After a moment, she pulled off from the kiss as she leaned her forehead against yours, breathless with eyes closed. She slowly opened them and met your hooded gaze.

"Y/n," she called out softly.

Your hand crept to her face as you pressed your mouth against her open lips. Desire exploded as you kissed each other desperately. She clutched unto the back of your head while the other on your shoulder as she pressed your bodies together.

Licking her lower lip to seek entry, you were granted, making her moan into the kiss as you tasted her. Her fingers fisted your hair as she suddenly pulled you off her a mere inch away, making you grunt. Panting at each other, her eyes darted from your wet lips up to your eyes then back to your mouth before she reconnected your lips again.

The sound of a door creaking open caused the both of you to jump apart as fast as lightning.

"My apologies if I took so long, Your Grace," Maester Qyburn said, oblivious of the tension between you and the Queen. "Oh, Lady Y/n, I didn't know you were injured too."

~~~

Remnants of Cersei's taste lingered on your mouth as you stared blankly ahead. You were in Oberyn and Ellaria's chambers for the night, discussing about the attack that happened earlier that morning, whether it was staged by the Lannisters or not. It was brought to your attention that none of the Lannisters were physically harmed or even meddled into the fight. Intriguing.

"Did you even listen to what I just said?" Oberyn's voice raised.

Blinking, you quickly apologized. You could feel Ellaria's eyes on you, as if analyzing what has been bothering you for quite some time. You even avoided dining with the royal family.

Nodding, you answered, "After Joffrey's wedding, we're setting sail back home to Dorne."

"And before that?"

You sighed, picking on the bandage Cersei had delicately wrapped around your arm. "Remain inside the Red Keep and keep out of trouble."

"And that means?"

You fell silent, knowing that you couldn't promise yourself to stay away from the Queen, not after what happened.

"Y/n!" Oberyn called, snapping his fingers.

"She's in love," Ellaria declared, making you look at her. "You're already in love with her."

Oberyn stated, "She's already obsessed with her, my dear-"

"No, it was infatuation before. But now, it's love," Ellaria said.

You only avoided the couple's gaze.

Your cousin sighed. "Y/n-"

"I know," you interjected. "She's a Lannister. Stay away from the Lannisters."

Oberyn carefully approached you before putting his hand on your shoulder. "Once we're safely back in Dorne, there's an important matter that your father would like to discuss with you."

And you were too furious to even care about going home.

~~~

A knock on the door brought you out of trance. You were just mindlessly looking through the map of the Capital where you got attacked by Stannis' soldiers. What were they doing there? And why was Melisandre, the Red Woman, staring at you as if she knew you?

"My Lady," the handmaiden assigned to your care announced. "The Queen is here to see you."

You turned to look at the door and there Cersei stood looking so effortlessly beautiful.

"Leave us," she said to the girl.

Once the handmaiden left, Cersei locked the door. You straightened from your posture, knowing her intentions.

"Your Grace," you greeted, eyes not leaving hers. You could still remember her taste, her softness, her warmth. And you missed it dearly.

"How's your wound?" she asked, genuine concern laced into her voice. Cersei kept on surprising you.

"It hurts from time to time, but it's healing," you answered, slowly creating a distance away from the Queen. Yet the Queen didn't seem to back down from the challenge.

"Do you want me to request Maester Qyburn to send you milk of the poppy?"

"I can handle it, Your Grace. But thank you."

"Why are you so stubborn?"

"It's just a scratch, Your Grace-"

"You have been avoiding me for three days," she interrupted.

You licked your lips nervously. "I didn't know you were counting-"

"And yet you still act so coy around me," she spat, as she walked towards you until your back almost hit the wall. "Sometimes you're so . . ."

"So what, Your Grace?"

Cersei stared into your eyes, searching for something. "So arrogant as if I. . ."

"As if you what?" You didn't dare to move any more as she had managed to trap you, her face leaning so close to yours, you could literally smell her floral scent you had grown to miss.

"I . . ."

Both of your lips were inches away, barely touching.

She then whispered breathlessly, "As if I . . .I want you."

Cersei's eyes darted from yours to your mouth, before looking back at you.

You asked, "Do you? Do you want me?"

Pulling you into a desperate kiss was her answer. Your back hit the wall as she pressed herself unto you. Hungry mouths desperately kissed each other, hands touching and brushing each part of your body. It didn't take any longer and you were already feeling so much aroused, you had no doubt she was able to feel it against her stomach.

One of her hands unwrap from your hair and began travelling to your breasts, squeezing them to get a moan out of you.

"Cersei," you gasped. She pulled away from your kiss. Then she slipped her hand further down your breeches until she was cupping and stroking your crotch.

"What are you doing?"

Cersei ignored your question, focused on planting a kiss on your chin, then another on your jaw then to your neck and then under your ear, lips nibbling against your lobe. The action made you tremble, your throat letting out a strained groan.

You could feel her breath on the skin of your neck as she whispered so coyly near your ear, "I'm going to suck your cock."

"Cersei-" Your brain stopped working when you could feel the Queen's hand moved against your thickening shaft, making you lean further against the wall.

She went on peppering kisses all over your face and neck, intentionally avoiding your lips. "Oh gods, your hand feels so good."

The Queen chuckled softly as she sucked the skin on your jaw. "Is that so? Wait until you feel my mouth."

You had lost it, eyes rolling to the back when you felt Cersei slip one hand into your breeches and curl her fingers around your hardness. It made you groan out embarrassingly loud.

"Not feeling so coy now, are you, Y/n?" she challenged, observing your face contorted in pleasure. Her hand stroked your entire length firmly until you could feel a small drop of precum, rendering you to hear the lewd action.

"You are so hard for me, My Lady," Cersei cooed, her other hand cupping your face to urge you to look at her. Then she leaned forward and captured your waiting lips, desperation still present as fierce as before.

Abruptly, she pulled back and dropped to her knees, her fingertips curling into the band of your breeches before pulling it down.

You let out a pathetic whimper the moment you felt Cersei's tongue on the tip of your cock, which was already throbbing against the hand wrapped around the shaft. It wasn't a wise decision to look down upon her already staring back at you with hooded eyes, slipping your entire length into her mouth.

"Cersei, mmmm," you arched your back, head falling back against the wall as you tried to hold unto your surroundings. Books you had managed to touch fell from the shelves until your hand managed to find the surface of your table and held unto it, your knuckles turning white.

Cersei pulled you out and you instantly missed the warmth from her mouth. "Use me," she ordered.

"I don't want to hurt you," you stammered, your other hand finding her cheek as you brush a strand of her hair over her ear. Cersei held your hand and guided it to the back of her head before she went to take you in. Moaning against your length, the Queen encouraged you to move your hips and you did as you were told, fucking yourself into her mouth.

"Gods, Cersei, I'm . . . "

Wet sounds of skin and strained groans filled the entire chamber. Cersei moved with fervor as she sucked you eagerly, faster and faster each second, all the while her hand kept on stroking the base. You knew you wouldn't last another second, when your movements turned sloppy and uncoordinated.

But as you attempted to pull out upon your nearing release, it was of no surprise she held you firmer and deeper, the tip of her nose now touching your pelvis, until you could feel the tightness and warmth from her throat. Your rhythm faltered and the tightening in your belly snapped.

Hot bursts of cum spurted into the Queen's mouth and she took it. The sound of your helpless grunting only spurred Cersei to suck harder until there was nothing left to milk, swallowing everything from you.

"Seven hells, My Queen," you panted breathlessly as she stood. She didn't even give you some time to recover when she met your lips in a passionate kiss, her arms wrapping around your neck as she pulled you back to her, heading to your bed.

She leaned her forehead against yours as she chuckled, "I'm not done with you yet."

[probablyasocialecologist]

Robert Oppenheimer and the Manhattan Project knew from the start that this place was not all that isolated and was far from uninhabited. There were, in fact, dozens of families within 20 miles, largely poor families of ranchers and farmers, many Hispanic and Indigenous, who unwittingly went about their daily lives in the first fallout of the atomic age. Now, those who were infants and children downwind of the detonation of the “Gadget”—a code name for the plutonium bomb used in the Trinity test—are nearing the end of a decades-long battle to be recognized and compensated for generations of illness they trace to exposure from radioactive fallout.

[...]

The reactions of Manhattan Project observers at the Trinity site are well documented. “Words haven’t been invented to describe it,” physicist Val Fitch said of the enormous fireball. General Thomas Farrell said the awesome roar “warned of doomsday and made us feel that we puny things were blasphemous.” “A few people laughed, a few people cried,” Oppenheimer recalled years later. “I remembered a line from the Hindu scripture . . . Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.” Physicist Kenneth Bainbridge said, “Now we are all sons of bitches.” Less documented are the reactions of the many New Mexicans who lived near Trinity. They had no warning, no context for the star-level explosion that shook their homes and startled them awake that morning. Worse, in the weeks after the test, they were never advised that their land, crops, livestock, and water may have been irradiated. A 2010 report to the CDC used archives at Los Alamos National Laboratory to re-examine the extent to which New Mexicans were unknowingly exposed to radioactive contamination from Trinity. Its findings revealed a shambolic and sometimes cynical effort to track the Gadget’s fallout that windy morning using “crude” and “ineffective” measures. Spotlights were deployed to try to follow the 230 tons of sand and ash falling from the mushroom cloud as it dispersed over southern New Mexico. Film badges designed to detect and measure radiation had been sent to nearby post offices before the test, but because of the Manhattan Project’s secret nature, there was little explanation on how the badges were meant to be used or why, and so they were deployed incorrectly or not at all. Some soldiers assigned to chase and monitor the radioactive cloud couldn’t relay their findings to headquarters in Albuquerque because they were not equipped with long-distance radios; other monitors attempted to gather fallout samples with domestic Filter Queen brand vacuum cleaners. (These samples were later lost or destroyed.) At least one monitor left the area after his superior declared tracking fallout a “waste of time,” while another soldier misplaced his respirator and took the official but scientifically misguided precaution of breathing through a slice of bread.

[pancakeke]

hey just wnated to give a tip dont use tap water for the marimos, leave it out for 24 hrs, if possible use pond water or something with natural bacteria 🫡

I understand that you had good intentions by trying to give advice, but please understand that if I wanted advice I would have requested it.

and I'm really really not trying to be mean to you here, but this is a good example of how not knowing the context of someone's situation and then giving unsolicited advice can spread misinformation.

using pond/creek/river water for anything other than a pond jar is a bad idea. the contaminants this may introduce to an aquatic system far outweighs the benefits good bacteria may provide. potential water quality issues should be assessed by testing first. changes should be made based on test results, and only by means of safe chemical or bacterial additives.

good bacteria is most useful for eating up detritus and fish waste before its decay can create chemical imbalances in a tank. but I don't have any critters that poop and my marimo have never appeared to shed dead parts. if anything they generate more living tufts of algae that then start looking for a place to anchor themselves, which is a whole different problem.

again, sorry if this comes off rude but I see sooo much misinfo spread around the houseplant subreddits I follow as well as on instagram. a lot of it comes in the form of unsolicited advice that doesn't directly address anything at hand.

the (serious) fish/aquarium hobbyists are way more likely to be straight shooters, though I guess that comes with the territory when the hobby has a higher barrier for entry and it's easy to do tests that can back up your claims lol

my marimo have been cute and doing fine for the 6 years I've owned them. the only reason I killed one recently was because I neglected them all completely for months. I'm going a little more extreme with their setup now (like adding pumps and stuff) because this would either extend the time they can be left alone OR I'll want play with their habitat more, which means I'll check them more. also once I started looking at the types of aquariums equipment out there it all seemed fun and I wanted to get silly with things.

[yumekojabaml]

ঞじòぴé Chapter 4 ઈଓᦗ࿐

Summary: They train M/n only to go hard on him.

author's note: I just posted chapter 3 and you guys already gave me 2 likes 😙.

"Me and the devil walkin' side by side"—Soap&Skin

In a secluded corner of the Demon Slayer Corps’ training grounds, a soft rustle of leaves and the distant trickle of a brook created a serene atmosphere that clashed with the intensity of the training session that was about to begin. M/n stood in the middle of the clearing, a mixture of excitement and anxiety coursing through his veins. The sun hung high in the sky, casting a warm glow around him, but he felt the chill of the three piercing gazes fixated on him.

Sanemi, Giyu, and Obanai had promised to train him, and deep down, M/n had hoped this would be a normal training session, one that would equip him with the skills to defend himself against the demons that roamed the night. But something about the eagerness in their eyes felt more sinister than supportive.

"Ready to begin, Little shit?" Sanemi grinned, a mischievous glint sparking in his sharp green eyes. His confidence was overwhelming, a natural leader like no other.

“Remember, we’re just making sure you stay on your toes,” Giyu added, his tone steady but not without an undertone of challenge. The calm waters of the river mirrored his stoic demeanor, contrasting sharply with the tempest brewing in the air around them.

Obanai leaned against a nearby tree, his serpent-like eyes gleaming with anticipation. “And if you’re not strong enough, then you don’t belong in this world. We just want to protect you from your own ambitions,” he said, the weight of his words sinking into M/n’s psyche.

The training began, and the trio wasted no time throwing him into the deep end. They started with agility drills, pushing him to run through a makeshift obstacle course they crafted from fallen branches and boulders. Sanemi’s face was lit with enthusiasm as he taunted M/n through each jump and flip.

“You call that speed?” Sanemi shouted, as M/n stumbled. “You’ll have to go faster than that to dodge a demon!”

With each passing moment, their relentless pressure mounted, testing not just his physical abilities but also his emotional resilience. Giyu took a different approach, demonstrating his Water Breathing techniques with grace and precision while instructing M/n to mimic his movements. The fluidity was mesmerizing, but it only highlighted how far M/n had yet to go.

“Concentrate, M/n. Feel the water flowing through your body,” Giyu instructed, his voice calm but firm. “You need to channel the fear of the demons into your training.”

But as M/n faltered again, he could see the subtle smiles exchanged between the trio. The more he struggled, the more they reveled in his setbacks, their intentions twisted beneath layers of camaraderie. It was as if they didn’t want him to succeed.

Obanai then stepped forward, his dual-bladed technique slicing through the air with lethal elegance. “You see, there’s no room for weakness among demon slayers,” he said, lunging towards M/n to demonstrate the perfect strike. “You don’t want to end up like—”

“Enough!” M/n roared, frustration bubbling over. He was tired of their teasing, tired of their games. “I want to be strong! I want to help protect people!” The bold declaration echoed through the forest, silence hanging heavy in the aftermath.

Sanemi’s grin faltered for a moment, an unexpected flicker of concern crossing his features. “But what if you become like them?” he pressed, stepping closer. “What if you lose everything?"

'We just want to keep you safe. To keep you pure.'

“You’re pushing too hard,” Giyu stated quietly, an undertone of worry lacing his usually placid tone. “It’s alright to give up if it’s not what you truly want. We’re only trying to look out for you.”

M/n hesitated, heart pounding. He gazed into their eyes—Sanemi’s fierce determination, Giyu’s stoic concern, and Obanai’s guarded protectiveness. In their overwhelming desire to keep him safe, they had lost sight of who he was.

Giyuu walked up to M/n making him look up at him. "You are not ready to become a demon slayer. Even if you were, you're gonna die. Give up being a demon slayer and stick to being yourself." M/n sadden. He wished they weren't like this

They didn't want you to die. They felt something that they only wanted to feel.

[flyingwargle]

the sendai frogs are in the studio, dressed in their uniforms and gear, as if they’re headed for a match, except the adversaries they face are hair and make-up, interns that direct their poses, and camera flashes bright enough to make anyone go blind.

tsukishima watches his teammates while leaning against the wall. kyoutani is beneath the spotlight, uniform blending into the green screen, looking more and more aggravated as interns move him to test different poses and angles. when he’s finally ready, a blinding shutter encapsulates the studio. kyoutani remains stiff as the photographer reviews the shot, then gives him a thumbs-up. he slouches away, and koganegawa takes his place.

“this is a waste of time.” he grabs his water bottle and squeezes the life out of it. “why do we need to do this?” tsukishima shrugs in reply. even though they’re a div. 2 team, they aren’t immune to publicity, especially if they were asked by the city museum to help promote the volleyball exhibition starting next month. tsukishima would’ve convinced his seniors otherwise, but as a junior, his words barely have any influence.

koganegawa is posed to be in mid-set, hands over his head, fingers wrapped in sports tape. he has a wide grin on his face, eyes sparkling like the camera flash that threatens to blind them. the photographer only needs a few shots before he’s done, and soon, it’s tsukishima’s turn.

he loops his sport glasses around his head and follows the intern to the green screen. all his teammates were posed in accordance with their positions, and he expects the same treatment as his fellow middle blocker: arms over his head, pretending to loom over an imaginary net. instead, he’s given a book – more specifically, the exhibition guide printed for patrons, the same one that he put together at work. “tsukishima-san, my idea for you is to read this while you’re positioned to block a volleyball,” the photographer tells him. “you don’t even need to look at the camera, just look at the text.”

well, that’s easy enough. he lets the interns angle him and position his arms. the guide just happens to be open to the introductory paragraph to the sendai frogs. he pretends to read, tries not to blink as the camera shutters go off. the photographer snaps a few more before he’s done, and he rejoins koganegawa and kyoutani.

“i wish i got a cool pose like yours,” koganegawa grumbles. “they said they’ll photoshop a volleyball in. why not just let me set an actual one?”

“you’ll break their equipment.” tsukishima slides his regular glasses back on. “i hope they don’t put it around where i live. i don’t want to see my face in public.” kyoutani nods in agreement.

“they’ll definitely put it around the museum,” koganegawa points out. “you’ll see it there.”

“i’ll pretend not to notice.”

their captain calls for them, and they gather to thank the studio for their help before changing into casual wear. the team heads out for food, and tsukishima is more than happy to put the studio behind him – hopefully for good.

--

the advertisements appear around sendai a week later, and the team’s group chat is filled with pictures of them. many depict their captain, nishimura, or their ace, kato. a crew installs banners and other promotional art inside the museum’s lobby and exterior, and by the month’s end, the exhibition is open to the public.

tsukishima trails behind yamaguchi and yachi, unamused that he has to visit his workplace on a rare day off. old banners for the v. league hang from the ceiling, with players like miya, kageyama, and bokuto appearing on more than one. the display cases have donated memorabilia from various teams and athletes, such as trophies and plaques, court shoes and volleyballs, and old uniforms.

“tsukki! come take a look at this!”

he already knows what yamaguchi is referring to. the hallway leading to the main exhibition is decorated with advertisements that feature the sendai frogs, starting with their captain and ace. kyoutani is depicted in mid-spike, volleyball photoshopped in. koganegawa is in mid-set, eyes fierce and long fingers curved around the ball. then, there’s tsukishima.

the editing was done well, he must admit. the net is phased out in front of his face, volleyball glancing off his outstretched arm, the museum guide opened in the other. the caption reads, “read blocking is key to any victory!” no, tsukishima didn’t come up with it, or he would’ve gone with something else.

yamaguchi has his phone out. “you’re famous!”

“shut up, yamaguchi.”

“sorry, tsukki! yachi, can you help me take a photo?”

she happily obliges and tsukishima rolls his eyes. he ducks his head when he hears whispers behind him, notices a few glances in his direction. why did he agree to come, again? damn hinata and kageyama for not being able to make it because of practice.

“what part of the exhibit were you in charge of?” yachi asks him.

“i just helped put everything together.” tsukishima pauses. “well, there is one section that i did work on. it’s near the back.”

away from the crowds around the v. league displays, tucked in the corner, is a small display for local high school volleyball teams. team photos for aoba johsai and niiyama girls, the most recent miyagi representatives for the spring tournament, are shown, along with a collage of photos of other teams – karasuno in action against shiratorizawa; dateko’s iron wall against jouzenji; wakunan against kakugawa, and so on. inside the display case is a medal and team photo. his friends recognize it instantly.

“wow,” yamaguchi breaths. “is that…?”

tsukishima nods. “i’ll get it back after the exhibition ends. thought it’d save my coworker the trouble of calling alumni to ask for donations when i could do it.”

“we have to call everyone to come!” yachi says excitedly. “they’ll be so excited to see it!”

tsukishima turns away from them, looking down at the medal. he isn’t sure if he should be offended that it’s considered an antique now, when the match against shiratorizawa in their first year still feels fresh in his mind. it’s both a symbol of growth and determination – growth for how far he’s come, determination for anyone who walks by and sees it, fueled with strength to stand on the orange court for themselves.

he can only imagine how much further he’ll grow, somewhat eager to see where the future will take him.

--

inspiration: this fanart of tsukki's read block <3

[sundove88]

DBZ: Waves of Freedom Chapter 2: The Weight of Expectations

“Now, what took you so long?”, Chi Chi said as her husband swam into their undersea home with supplies in hand, followed by a school of blue tangs. “Not long, actually! I met someone up there!”, Goku said as he placed down the bags and immediately grabbed some water safe training equipment, immediately getting to working out and training. “Goku, you know interacting with land dwellers is dangerous.”, replied Piccolo, an eel merman with a long, emerald tail that glistened in the ocean’s light. “They could capture you and do unspeakable things to you.”, he continued. “Yeah; Piccolo! But this one- he’s actually really nice!”, Goku replied as he put down the weights and went over to the training dummy, while his sons immediately chased a nearby squirrelfish. “Well, if you say so…”, replied Krillin, a weedy sea dragon merman as he buried his hands in his face. “I’ll introduce you to him someday. You’ll actually really like him!”, replied the orange tailed merman as he continued to train. “There my lil bro goes again, wasting his time constantly talking to a guy on the surface.”, said Raditz as he placed his books in his waterproof satchel, only to take another one out to continue his studies, with his red snapper tail glistening like rubies. “Yeah, but from what I’ve heard about this guy… I think that he’s probably the one with some pretty bad issues.”, Nappa said, his green Mahi Mahi tail shimmering in the light as he sat next to Raditz, a nearby wrasse perching on his shoulder.

For the next few days, Goku and Vegeta continued to meet at the watery outcropping, talking about their lives and wondering if they could possibly find a way to be together. However, Vegeta’s lingering absences caught the attention of his boss, Frieza, who immediately grew suspicious of his behavior. He was always looking out at the ocean, waiting for a glimpse of his sunset tailed friend. “Vegeta; get back to work! You know, since this behavior has gone on for the past THREE DAYS, I might as well find a way to finally put you in your place.”, sneered the evil CEO as he glared at the young employee. “W-What would that be?”, stammered Vegeta, sweat rolling down his face. “Longer shifts… and more work for you.”, answered Frieza. At those words, Vegeta’s face paled with utter horror, as if he had been hit by a crushing weight. Longer shifts of work and more work put on his plate, and he knew that Frieza was trying to make him bite off more than he could chew. He could’ve spent the extra time from his breaks at the beach, talking to Goku and collecting seashells for his humble collection back at his apartment, and amongst the shells of that collection was an abalone from his late father. No. This can’t be true. My coworkers will be having fun in the sun when I’m toiling away at work! He thought. The very wording of Frieza’s sentence hit him like a brick wall, when all he truly wanted was to spend time with the merman who fostered feelings of happiness inside of him. The ocean was his only escape, and now even that felt like a distant dream.

The following weeks were harder than a math test a student had crammed their work into. The summer season had started, but Vegeta didn’t welcome it with open arms like everyone else did. Frieza had already suggested that he would have longer shifts and more work to make up for his “Absences”, and his employees agreed it was the best idea, even though they didn’t know what he truly yearned for. He felt he should have agreed himself, but it was just hard. Hard watching all his coworkers laze about the nearby beach, do all his favorite activities, and get together and enjoy the summertime he had been looking forward to with Goku. It became even harder when he tried talking to his coworkers, and they started getting all sympathetic. First, he tried to talk to Frieza’s Strategic Assistant, Zarbon. “Zarbon, I really want to-” he would begin, approaching with a sincere look, but the SA would just flip his hair and pity the worker, followed by a haughty smile. Then he would try to talk to Dodoria with open arms, but Dodoria would just brush him off and offer to take him out to dinner to make him feel better. He tried to reason with his other coworkers; but to no avail. Every day at work held some reminder of the merman who saw him for who he was, and he just couldn’t put them past him. He knew what he wanted: The ocean and its boundless beauty and wonders, as well as to find a community where he could thrive and grow as a person, not just survive and endure.

And so, he trudged into work that day. Made his way right in while the sun shone brilliantly upon Scalefall Bay and the surrounding streets. The corridors were in complete darkness, though; apparently, the employees didn’t think it was worth turning on the lights if only a few employees would be in. Vegeta thought that sudden switch from the light of the outside world to the darkness of the company was very fitting. As he passed through one of the corridors with a stained glass window of ocean waves, it cast a cornflower light, with the glass markings reflecting on his legs. He then walked up to a small aquarium, nestled against the wall. The vibrant, underwater world inside was a stark contrast to the dreary and monochrome environment around him. He paused, captivated by the colorful plants swaying gently in the water and the diverse array of fish swimming with their minnow neighbors. One fish, in particular, caught his attention- a curious blood parrot cichlid. Its bright scarlet body and inquisitive eyes pressed against the glass, nibbling at Vegeta’s fingers as he placed his hand on the tank. Hello, little guy. I wish I were free as you, swimming with your friends, and just enjoying life without a care in the world. Vegeta thought as he smiled wistfully and tapped the glass in response, but he knew that he was confined to such a dreary environment, like a wild bird to a gilded cage.

Somehow, he would find a way to be with Goku, once and for all.

[feruslands]

My sketch fanfic "Vader/Ferus"

For @la-sopa and @reconstructwriter, who inspired me to continue, and for everyone who loves "Vader/Ferus"

Warnings: rape

"Daddy Feri", part 3

When Ferus Olin woke up, he touched the Force and was relieved to realize that Vader was not nearby. But his child was here. Ferus decided for himself that no amount of disgusting truth about Leia being Darth Vader's daughter would make him give up the baby.

He and Leia were still in the medical ward, equipped with technology and all amenities. The droids provided him with medical care, and Olin was recovering from his wounds. Everything was fine as long as he could spend time with Leia. But all these days were poisoned by thoughts that Darth Vader would definitely return.

And it happened, a week passed and the Sith returned.

Vader entered the isolated medical unit where his prisoners were being held. He ordered Olin to take Leia to the new premises. When Leia saw Vader, she began to resist and cry - the monster in black armor scared her very much. Ferus would sense that Vader was in a bad mood, he realized that it was better not to test the Sith's patience, so he silently picked Leia up in his arms, and she instantly calmed down. The rooms where Vader brought the prisoners looked like a technological prison, but there was a lot of space and several rooms connected by corridors. Vader tells Olin that they will live here now, but any attempt to escape will end in death. Ferus tries to explain to the sith that Leia is still a child, she will not be able to live in prison, she needs walks on the street, communication with other children, as well as thousands of different things that any child needs for full development. Vader suggests that he take a walk in the acid rain and chat with the local cubs of ferocious predators. The Sith leaves them alone, and sets up several droids to spy on them. Ferus guesses that the Sith is too busy right now to bother with them. He wasn't surprised by the fact that Vader didn't really care about baby Leia and her well-being. But fortunately, the Sith wasn't going to starve them out. So Ferus concentrated on taking care of the baby.

Olin correctly guessed that Darth Vader was in great irritation. The Sith did not expect that Palpatine's new tasks to destroy the rebels would be so difficult and exhausting. Vader was in great need of rest and medical rehabilitation procedures. But Darth Sidious seemed to be testing his apprentice's strength, so he ordered him to go on a new assignment. Such a consumerist attitude made Vader hate his Master. But it was good, hatred gave him energy.

Vader managed to hide the existence of Leia and Ferus in his fortress from Palpatine. But there was even less free time, he had to deal with erasing the memory of serving and guarding droids, as well as falsifying statistics on the provision of his fortress, so that no summary of the figures could conclude that the building consumes energy, food and water, more than is required for one person.

In addition, he was angry at how easily Olin was able to calm his daughter, and how trustfully she clung to Ferus.

Baby Leia was still set against her own father, which caused him to be angry at her. She was afraid of him. But she was still too young to understand the motives of his actions, accept him and take his side. Vader understood that it would take a long time before she grew up and realized everything.

But even on the emperor's new assignment, a lot of things didn't happen the way Vader wanted them to, again.

As a result of heavy fighting, he suffered extensive damage to his suit, and this confused his plans and forced him to carry out long-term and global repairs. The waste of time infuriated him. He was one of the most powerful Force users in the galaxy, but he couldn't heal his injuries on his own. 

On the way to the Vjun, he reported to his Master. He hoped that Palpatine would encourage him and give him the opportunity to perform a series of complex medical operations that would improve his overall health and make him less dependent on the suit. But Palpatine obviously wasn't interested in that.

This caused him to grow furious. He felt like he was on Palpatine's leash, and he hated being dependent on anyone, that is, being weak.

The only nice thing about the situation was that he could take it out on Ferus. Vader knew he had done the right thing by keeping the Jedi alive. In the future, he could use the Jedi to force Leia to do what he needed.

And now he had enough reasons to treat this dumb cunt the way he deserved to be treated.

Ferus felt the tension in the Force that day. There had never been a steady, calm feeling of the flow of Force in Vader's fortress, but this time the Jedi felt something wrong, some kind of warning in the Force. He put Leia to bed, kissed her on the forehead when she fell asleep, and left the room himself.

Ferus didn't think Vader would come to Leia. He noticed that for some reason the Sith avoided the baby. The Sith made her his prisoner and hid her from the whole world, but at the same time he ignored the existence of his child.

Olin hoped that the Sith would ignore him too, but instead he felt a growing darkness. Suddenly, Ferus heard a hideous wheezing voice, duplicated by the voice filter in the mechanisms of Vader's suit.

Ferus saw Vader standing in the doorway. The Sith was without a helmet and was giving orders into the transmitter.

Noticing the Jedi, Vader grinned nastily and turned to face him.

Ferus saw Vader's face, disfigured by a burn and looking like a plowed field, and he unconsciously winced. He knew that many Sith were unsightly, but he did not think that Darth Vader was so physically ugly.

Vader, like a predator chasing its prey, felt jedi's incipient fear, and enjoyed it. He also felt his disgust, and this disgust caused him cold rage. He knew a great way to punish a Jedi.

Many of Anakin Skywalker's memories have faded. But Vader still remembers that perfect, brilliant Padawan all too well. That boring handsome boy always looked at Skywalker with arrogance and condemnation. Now the Sith knew perfectly well that the time when he felt impotent anger at that arrogant boy had long passed. Everything has changed. Now Ferus was his thing, without the right to his own opinion.

Ferus, as if reading his thoughts, shuddered, and this tremor made Vader feel his triumph.

Vader, filled with self-satisfaction, approaches the prisoner and puts hand on his shoulder.

“What's wrong, Olin? Are you that afraid of me now?" Vader asks mockingly.

“Don't touch me!” Ferus, with great disgust, throws off the heavy metal arm of the Sith and pushes him away.

Vader grins even wider, and watches his former rival closely with a mocking sneer.

“I've been too merciful to you, even though you don't deserve it. You still don't understand who is the Master and who is the miserable slave. I'll do whatever I want with you. And no one can stop me!”

Ferus is horrified to see the glee in his hideous yellow eyes. The Jedi understands what is about to happen.

“Come closer, you cowardly Jedi whore." Vader barks.

With the help of the Force, Vader attracts the Jedi to himself like a puppet, he strangles and beats him. When the victim can no longer fight and resist, Vader throws the beaten Jedi to the floor, and rapes him right there on the floor.

Vader forcibly possesses the old enemy, causing him to scream in pain.

"That's for you, asshole." says Vader

It was not only revenge for disobedience, it was also revenge for the past.

Ferus loses consciousness from the beating and violence.

Vader summons a cart carrying corpses so that this weakling can be sent back to the medical unit. Vader knew that raping his old enemy would give him pleasure, but he did not even imagine that it was so huge. This bastard will get what he really always deserved more than once.

Meanwhile, little Leia is crying silently, she is afraid to leave the room. She knows that something very bad is happening to Daddy. However, she promised him not to leave the room, no matter what happened.

[birdologist]

Snippet while I'm thinking about harpies.

----

Bajpur Rightfoot sat bathed in the filtered sunlight of the Headges, holding a cloth-wrapped package. They were small for their age, as a tenyear or so had passed since the last of their hatch feathers; heavy layers of armor bulked out their silhouette instead. They looked completely out of place here in the green pleasure gardens.

On their feet were leather-and-steel gauntlets, covering their already sharp claws with serrated metal points. The leather of their coat was pierced by sewn-in claws, spikes, and teeth, all of which would've taken an experienced biologist to fully identify. Rows of particularly large spines were sewn into their tail-sleeve, only the bottom left sleek so they could sit comfortably on their haunches. Cinched around their waist was a belt with pouches and a portable radio looped into it. Their clothing covered almost all of their body in dusty steel and damaged leather; they even hid the bottom half of their face behind a thin, old scarf. What skin was visible was a sunbaked brown.

Most of the people who visited the Headges with any regularity wore maybe a wrap at most, allowing for the social niceties that featherlanguage allowed. Friendly, proper, polite was the game. Right was none of those. They looked like a particularly violent breed of porcupine.

Their contact was taking a while to come to the meeting, but they barely cared. It gave them time to spend alone, without feeling like they were wasting the day.

The Headges were, as one might guess, located in and on Deka's head. They were comprised of beautiful, humid gardens in some areas, and more practical racks of growing food in others. At the moment, Right sat quietly near one of the large garden-greenhouse windows. It was lightly water-crusted from the constant mist, but clear enough to get a good view of the desert far, far, far below. They wondered if they would be able to recognize any of the landmarks down there: their latest exploit had sent them up the valley Deka was now following.

"I apologize for my tardiness," Glee's voice made them turn from the window. "Keenbolt had a concern and- well, you know how he gets."

Tris Gleesong was a towering figure; in more ways than one, in Right's opinion. Most obviously, folk were lucky if they could reach Glee's shoulders. A long, heron-like neck held their head much higher. They wore an airy, frilly sort of thing around their shoulders and flank, covering some of their white-and-blue plumage. Their face was long and angular, with dark brown eyes whose gaze Right didn't mind falling under. It had been a few years since Glee was formally Right's mentor, but the two had remained good friends. They still did business, too.

"S'alright," Right said, getting to their feet with the sound of flexing leather and clinking metal.

"Oh you did find something, did you?" Glee said before Right could think of how to say the same. They reached down to take the package from Right's hands, testing the weight before pulling the cloth back a bit. They looked at it for a moment, before their brows furrowed.

"You found this where, again?"

"Tunnels in the Painted Cliffs, deep."

"Did you find anything else?"

Right looked at them for a moment, before pulling their scarf off their nose. It had registered it was probably more appropriate to have a conversation with their face visible, especially since they felt like they were about to start asking questions of their own.

"The canary started going off, so I didn't get any further in. I could go back with equipment when-"

"No, that's alright," Glee cut them off, which was out of character. Even more out of character was the slow way they continued. "Don't tell anyone else about this yet, could you?"

Right nodded, and felt maybe they shouldn't ask what Glee meant.

"Good," Glee gave them a smile, the soothing one that Right used to know things were okay between them. They wrapped the package back up, and were putting it into their own bags when they spoke again. "Would you like to eat with us tonight? Theo got some interesting things from the market before we left."

"Sure."

[mighty-ant]

Shadow's Bane, Chapter 11

Chapter 10

Beneath fading camouflage paint and an itchy ghillie suit, Agent 87 lowered her binoculars and ducked back into the underbrush at the edge of the McDuck property. Her encampment was hidden beneath a haven of white fir trees, consisting of a tent covered in foliage and her survival pack, where food, water, weapons, and equipment were stored. 

Her setup was simple, precise, professional, with one exception: a little plush doll in a pink dress, the fabric faded and bearing numerous battle scars, evidence of a child’s clumsy needlework and the later improvements of an agent’s sturdy hand. The doll was a secret and weakness in one, dangerous evidence of sentimentality, but 87 couldn’t leave her back at base either. 

She stowed her binoculars before sitting down, stretching out muscles that had gone stiff and achy after the forced stillness of an additional hour-long monitoring session. She’d had a close call when her target finally arrived, a split second where she could’ve sworn Agent 22 spotted the shine of her binocular lenses all the way from the front door when an errant breeze shifted the tree branches she was crouched behind. 

87’s ineptitude could’ve easily blown her cover and ruined the entire operation. A thirteen year investment gone utterly to waste. She could already imagine the Doctor’s fury, the accusations ringing in her ears.

Pathetic

Foolish girl

Waste of a test tube 

Pain had little effect on Agent 87, but the Doctor knew that well enough. Her punishment would be metal talons wrapped around the back of her neck, forcing her to curl and contort her body into the trunk that followed them everywhere, every base the Doctor brought her to, as crucial as the rest of her lab equipment. The lid would seal and leave 87 in a darkness so complete she couldn’t see her own hands, couldn’t hear anything other than the rush of blood through her head, the rapid rasp of every hitching breath. Time vanished inside the trunk; the black abyss stretched and pressed in around her and she never knew if she was left alone for minutes or hours, if the Doctor would even remember to free her before she lost consciousness. 

87 shook her head violently, waved her hands out in front of her, just to remind herself she could. The trunk was far away from her now. She hadn’t compromised her mission. She hadn’t. 

The hood of her ghillie suit fell away, revealing her face in full, her white feathers stained by patches of fading camouflage paint. Her cheeks were rounded with youth, the short hair escaping her bun falling around her face in disarray. 

She pulled the laptop out of her pack, queuing up the various security camera feeds she had set up around the mansion’s perimeter under the cover of darkness on the first night of her stakeout. These feeds weren’t an adequate substitute for full observation techniques, but they would suffice for brief stretches. Long enough for her to stretch, hydrate, and get something in her stomach. 

87 could also use this as the perfect opportunity to update her field log. 

Pepper (Egghead Level 6) had been the one to give her the idea, though likely entirely by accident.

“You’re gonna be on stakeout for how long?” she’d demanded in that peppy, shrill way of hers. “Oh, I know mum’s the word for these super spy camping trips, but if you don’t talk to yourself or something, sweetie, you’re gonna go loopy!”

87 was immediately partial to the idea of keeping a log for herself, to monitor and track her progress as she advanced through the organization. This was her first solo mission, utterly official, no more training wheels, no backup. If she could record her thoughts and experiences as this operation progressed, she could go back and study them later, analyzing what she might have missed, where she might improve before her next mission. 

It took a bit of doing to hunt down a recording device that wasn’t already bugged; anything that could be used to contain incriminating information was understandably hard to come by in their line of work. 

Once fed and watered, 87 hit record on her device. She cleared her throat, speaking aloud for the first time that day. 

“This recording, and all eleven before it, are classified Level 5. If you are ranked below Level 5, stop listening now or risk termination, per Policy 8, subsection b.03 in your FOWL orientation manual,” she listed unenthusiastically, in the stilted tone that was intended for the legal record, should any agent above her discover her logs and demand she turn them in. 

“Operation: Hen House. Field log 12. August 10, 2017. Approximately 1100 hours Pacific Standard Time.” 87 let out a great, dramatic huff just as she hopped back to her feet and began another round of stretches. 

“Whew! Now that all the boring stuff is out of the way…The weather’s clear today, with only a few clouds on the horizon. It shouldn’t rain tonight, which means I’ll be able to sleep in my tent again and not up in a tree. I don’t mind the tree, really! She’s a very sturdy fir. But my tent is much more comfortable, when I won’t drown in mud by sleeping in it.” 

87’s breathless stream of consciousness ended when she knelt back at her laptop, pulling up footage from approximately an hour ago alongside the current live feeds. She queued up a few seconds to loop on repeat—specifically, that of her person of interest’s eagerly anticipated arrival, after twelve days of preparation. 

“Anyway,” she said, with a touch more composure. “My target, Lena Downey McDuck, adopted daughter of Scrooge McDuck, landed at Duckburg International Airport at approximately 0710 today. She entered McDuck Manor at precisely 0805, and currently only she and Agent 22 are in residence.”

After a brief glance at the live feeds, 87 focused on the loop of Lena McDuck on the manor’s front steps. The camera wasn’t in a good spot to capture the look on her face, but her shoulders were slumped and she did nothing to brush her long bangs out of her eyes. Then the door opened, and Agent 22 bent down to give her a hug, her severe expression cracking with a smile. 

Over the last twelve days, 87 had observed Agent 22 at every opportunity. To the untrained eye, the former director of SHUSH accomplished very little in her decade-old role as housekeeper; she merely did chores, all the million little things it took to run a household the size of McDuck’s. But 87 was trained to recognize threats hiding in plain sight, and she had never recognized a greater wolf in sheep’s clothing than Agent 22. 

Perimeter checks were disguised as nightly strolls or a need to water the garden. Every duster, vacuum, or soup ladle was wielded with deadly grace, as though they might be repurposed as weapons without a moment’s notice. 

87 didn’t even dare come within 100 meters of the mansion, petrified as she was at the thought of Agent 22 snapping her up and bolting her to an interrogation table. 87 wouldn’t break, and she knew it would be a long and painful process before Agent 22 understood that as well. So, to mitigate that risk, she moved her encampment somewhere new every night she could afford to. 

Agent 22 was surely everything the Doctor described and more, and 87 knew she should be afraid of her. And she was! But…she thought that Agent 22 had a very kind face, too. 

When she opened the door to Lena McDuck, her severe British countenance warmed in a way that almost fanciful, like something out of the films 87 had been allowed to view while researching for her role, full of fake happy families and fake happy endings, make-believe characters playacting in candy colored worlds where magic and chaos weren’t threats to be feared. Where little girls had parents and friends who fought and sacrificed for each other and loved each other. A world 87 had no context for. A world she hadn’t believed existed before that smile.

Anyway. 

The footage repeated from there.

“Today was my first time seeing the target in person. I’ve read her file cover to cover at least fifteen times, but I’m still not sure what to think.” Feeling unaccountably antsy, 87 stood back up and began familiar tai chi movements—Yang Style, as the stomping and kicks of Chen Style would defeat the purpose of a clandestine observation. 

She continued rambling, relishing in the freedom. The Doctor wasn’t here now to demand her silence.

“We know from readings taken eleven years ago that Lena McDuck was created from shadow magic, the same as the one we have on record belonging to the sorceress Magica De Spell. De Spell is classified as an Omega Level Threat, and is currently trapped in a pocket dimension inside Scrooge McDuck’s Number One Dime. An extension of Operation: Hen House is to secure the dime for FOWL. 

“But today when I scanned Lena McDuck, she had almost no magical signature to speak of, which should be impossible for a creature made of the stuff! I guess it’s possible that she has perfect control of her magic, and uses this control to hide her magic signature just like the witch Morgana Macawber. A more likely explanation is that she hasn’t used her magic at all in the last thirteen years, and it's gone dormant. I recommend consulting the Phantom Blot once he’s been given clearance for the target’s true origins.”

87 stopped to consider the looping footage again, scrutinizing her target’s body language the same way she would an armed assailant. 

She knew everything about Lena McDuck the target, but had so little information on Lena McDuck the person. Her social media presence was negligible, and she associated with no known parties. A few Eggheads had even been placed to monitor her schools, and still she did little of note other than get expelled from said schools, all without the media frenzy most rich heiresses would generate. She was unlike any of the wealthy elites 87 had studied in preparation of her undercover work, and even less like a young Scrooge McDuck, whose own ambition had seemed limitless. 

“Lena may be rebellious, and a trouble-maker, but I’ve noticed that more than once, according to her school reports, her acts of rebellion are usually to help someone else. She seems to have more of an altruistic side than McDuck ever did. Maybe the lack of adventure warping her perception of reality is the answer?” 87 wondered aloud. The Director did always say that McDuck was deluding himself, playing God. “Either way, it might be useful to know for when I make contact.” 

Make contact. Her real assignment, not this child’s idea of spycraft, hiding in the bushes with binoculars and calling it a day. Or twelve.

87 closed her eyes and took a breath, as the warrior monks of Tra La la taught her, allowing her surroundings to wash over her. Larks tittered overhead and a breeze sent the leaves in the treetops shivering against each other in gentle susurration. Killmotor Hill was worlds away from the rest of Duckburg, but even on high one couldn’t escape the distant honk of cars in traffic or the bleating of boat horns in the marina even further away. 

This was the world she would help protect. The real world. And she was but a cog in the complex machinations of FOWL, making that happen. 

“This is Agent 87. End of log 12,” she said, before opening her eyes again and taking in her modest campsite. It might've been meager, but the solitude was a welcome relief. 

She stopped the recording, and stowed the device in her pack. 

Returning to her laptop, 87 pulled the live feeds up in full, prepared for another long day and a longer night of continued surveillance.

Agent 22 was the territorial sort, and unlikely to leave the mansion for at least twenty-four hours now that her charge was in residence. McDuck kept long hours, leaving in the early morning and returning in the late night, but his activities were closely monitored by the Director and were of little relevance to her assignment. 

As a matter of principle, she still listened in on all the calls coming in and out of the mansion (she tapped the phone lines on day 3), but both McDuck and Agent 22 spoke little and made fewer calls. The driver was a lot more fun, with his earnest friendliness hiding no great secrets, and his boxer’s strength making 87 itch for a real spar and not just the same boring solo drills. She almost would’ve preferred to follow him around, but he was marked ‘inconsequential’ on the mission report. 

Anyway, she only had a few more days of surveillance to complete. After that, the next phase of her assignment would begin. A house was already being secured for her in town, and once she moved in they would craft her backstory and prepare for the start of the school year. There, 87 would meet and befriend Lena, infiltrate the McDuck family, and ensure they didn’t meddle with the Director’s vision for a better, safer world. 

But then, even the most foolproof plan wasn’t McDuck-proof. 87 had been taught this, but she would learn it the hard way.

Something triggered one of her motion-detectors on the western side of the mansion, where most of the occupied bedrooms were located. Cursing her distraction, 87 cycled through all her security feeds. Had someone slipped past her? One of McDuck’s many, many enemies? Since he stopped adventuring there’d been little activity from anyone other than Flintheart Glomgold or the Beagle Boys, petty and shortsighted criminals who Agent 22 took down easily. It would make 87 the biggest failure of them all if she missed their infiltration, and if her distraction cost them this operation…

Finally, she found the feed that her alarms were crowing over, but she didn’t understand what she was looking at. Not at first. 

Lena McDuck was climbing out of her bedroom window and into the topmost branches of the tall tree just within reaching distance. She had the same duffel bag she arrived with slung over her shoulder. The camera followed her progress until she jumped down from the last branch and disappeared out of frame. 

Cold, horrified realization had 87 lunging for the burner phone in her pack. A single button and a verbal passcode later, the Doctor’s cultured, snappish voice greeted her. 

“What is it?”

Despite the situation, 87 felt the barest surge of relief that her creator answered her at all. 

“Doctor Heron,” she reported as briskly as she could, carefully keeping the panic out of her voice. “The target, Lena McDuck, is fleeing the premises! I think she’s running away.”

The Doctor’s retort was a whip crack. “Then you had better be following her, if you know what’s good for you!”

“I should continue surveillance on foot?” 87 tried to clarify. 

 “No, you idiot!” the Doctor snarled. With no one to bear witness to her weakness, 87 ducked her head in an instinctive flinch. “Stop her from leaving the city! Operation: Hen House will only succeed if the creature stays with Scrooge, where we can keep an eye on her. He’s only just stopped one fruitless search and we don’t need him to waste FOWL resources on another. We’ll simply have to move up our timetable. You will intercept her now . Do whatever you have to to keep her from leaving the city.”

87 was up and running before the Doctor even finished issuing the order. No time to stop at the home FOWL acquired as part of her cover, where a closet full of outfits for a normal little girl awaited her. First to uncover where her target was headed. Then, acquire a disguise. Fatigues and a ghillie suit weren’t going to cut it, but something was better than nothing, even if she had to pull it out of the garbage. 

Operation: Hen House would be a success. Agent 87 was going to become the best friend Lena McDuck ever had. 

—

Thirty minutes. 

Thirty minutes and she would be home free. 

Lena wasn’t anxious by nature, but sitting on that bench, willing the massive gold clock above the information booth to reach 2:30, she’d never felt her heart race harder. 

Her eyes darted back and forth behind the fringe of her hair, on the lookout for a purple cardigan and no-nonsense gray bun, or maybe a brown bomber jacket and red hair. She doubted her dad would come looking, but he’d send his employees out in a heartbeat. Him calling the police was also unlikely. He didn’t trust them, and the press even less; the last thing he would want was to turn her escapade into a media frenzy. 

Still, Lena tried to keep a wary eye on the few cops patrolling the station, but it was doubly hard when she was sitting in the middle of a chaotic rush hour. 

The bus station was a circus and a half and not just because it was packed with travelers of every shape and size. The building itself was a grand, glass and wood panel cathedral to Duckburg’s robust public transit system. It looked old-fashioned, in the way a lot of old downtown Duckburg did. Turn of the century, her dad would’ve called it. She could imagine him standing under that same gold clock a hundred years ago, when it used to be a train station. There might even be an ancient black and white photo of exactly that displayed in a museum somewhere. 

Lena scowled. As if she needed the reminder right now. 

She just counted her blessings that as loud and horribly busy as the station was, it meant she was utterly unnoticeable. She was even almost grateful for her dad keeping her as far away from him as physically possible the last four years, making it impossible for the masses to recognize her at a glance the way they did him. 

This plan had been in the back of her mind for a few months now. Even before the frog incident at Tremaine’s. Students were allowed to work on campus, so she got a job at the bookstore. At her last school, she worked in the dish room. If anyone raised an eyebrow at the idea of the Richest Duck in the World’s kid applying for a menial job, well, she was just trying to start her fortune the honest way, just like her old man. 

She worked and she saved and it paid off in the form of a ticket gripped in her sweaty palm, a one-way trip to Cape Suzette. It was a five and a half hour drive to the city on the edge of the world, the city of sea planes, and from there she could go anywhere she wanted. Only four years away from eighteen, she was practically an adult, and the laws in Cape Suzette still allowed kids as young as twelve to become navigators. She’d get the life of adventure Dad promised and never delivered on. 

Almost her whole life, everywhere she went, was defined by whose daughter she was. Scrooge McDuck. Legend, explorer, has-been. Who was she, compared to that? Little Lena, who wasn’t all that bright, couldn’t make friends to save her life, and was so, so angry all the time. 

Did it help or hurt that she’d never learn who little Lena was supposed to be? Going on some Lifetime movie quest to find her birth parents wasn’t even an option because for all intents and purposes, they didn’t exist. Dad found her, abandoned as a baby, and took her home. Oh, he’d couched it in sweeter words than that when she was five and asked what “adopted” meant, crooning, and there you were, my bonnie wee lass, sprung out of the ground like a daisy! 

Before the cracks between them tore open into a chasm, and Lena was old enough to understand that Mrs. B wasn’t playacting at the whole secret agent thing, she asked her who her parents were, because Mrs. B knew everything. Everything but this one thing, it would turn out. Lena Downey McDuck was all she’d ever be. 

But maybe it wouldn’t have all been so bad if she wasn’t so alone . Duckworth was there one day and then dead the next, and she’d barely gotten to know Mrs. B before Dad was shipping her out of the state. She grew up in cold, distant halls with girls who were either too scared of who her father was to talk to her, or took it as a challenge to make her life as miserable as possible. 

What would it take to make her dad finally see her? 

Her visits back home dwindled over the years, spending longer summers at whatever school hadn’t kicked her out yet, fewer birthday candles blown out under the watchful gaze of her grandparents’ portrait. Christmas was the only reliable constant now, sometimes coinciding with Hanukkah, which meant more time with Launchpad, who never visited his family during the holidays and Lena knew better than to ask about. 

Christmas was the one time a year her dad would unwind. They’d set up Santa traps just like they used to when she was little, sneak cookies before dinner from under Mrs. B’s nose, watch that terrible Christmas movie from the ‘30s that both her dad and Mrs. B insisted was a classic, and at the end of the night they’d pass out on the couch with bats and Byzantine swords in their hands in case Santa tried to be extra sneaky that year. 

But then her dad would be back in the office by Boxing Day and it would be like nothing had changed. Lena, always second to business, to making the richest duck even richer. 

In the week leading up to her flight, she made her decision. If he was waiting for her at the airport, like he said he would, she would stay. If he wasn’t…maybe she’d have better luck on her own. Completely on her own. 

Lena glanced back at the clock, a flare of hope making her sit up on her bench in the furthest corner of the station. 

2:05

Still twenty-five minutes to go.

She dropped her head onto the back of the bench and groaned. Frustratingly enough, she couldn’t even pull out her phone to district herself into making time go faster. She couldn’t rule out the possibility that Mrs. B had some way to track it, even if she didn’t answer any calls or texts, and she wasn’t about to risk giving herself away. Mrs. B had to have found her note by now, reminded Dad that he had a daughter who was now in the process of fleeing the state, and let loose some sort of search party. 

Just twenty-five more minutes until she left Duckburg, by choice for once. 

Lena just had to resign herself to people watching until then, warily keeping an eye out for anyone who might look like they’re searching for the runaway daughter of the Richest Duck in the World. 

There was constant movement in the station, with small pockets of stillness by those sitting on benches like herself or standing still against the tide. There were businesspeople, families, and college students weighed down by luggage, all in a rush to get to their destination. 

Lena idly watched a girl around her age walk past. She was dressed sloppily, in a gray hoodie that was at least two sizes too big, and her hair looked like she’d slept headfirst in a bush. The dark circles under her eyes rivaled Lena’s, though she was bright and alert despite that as she scanned the station around her. To Lena, it didn’t look like she was admiring the architecture but rather as if she was looking for someone. 

The backpack she was carrying wouldn’t have looked out of place on some reality show for survival nuts, huge and utilitarian and practically bursting at the seams. But dangling innocuously from one of the mesh side pockets was a little plush duck in a pink dress.

As the girl whirled around in her continued search of her mystery someone, Lena watched the doll come loose and fall to the floor. The girl didn’t notice. No one else around Lena seemed to either, or if they noticed they just didn’t care. 

The girl made an anxious sort of hopping motion, biting her lower beak, before she turned around entirely, and started to walk away. Accidentally leaving the doll behind. 

Lena hadn’t lost sight of her before she groaned and jumped to her feet, dragging her duffel bag with her. She plucked the doll off the ground and hurried after the girl. 

“Hey! Hey, you—” She shoved past a few strangers, her duffel serving as a handy battering ram. The girl’s monstrous backpack was right in front of her. 

Lena reached out, tapping her on the shoulder. 

The girl jumped, but luckily didn’t scream or anything as she turned around with a wide-eyed expression. It quickly exploded into a grin when she saw what Lena was carrying. 

“Hey, sorry, I saw you dropped—” Lena said unnecessarily. 

“My Quacky Patch doll!” the girl gushed, taking the plush back gratefully. “Oh my gosh, thank you so much! I really don’t know what I’d do without her. I’ve had her since I was little!”

Lena shrugged, feeling a little warm under her feathers at the effusive praise. “No prob. You looked like you were in a hurry, and I didn’t want you leaving little miss pink behind.”

Oh, yeah, I never would’ve noticed! And I’ll have you know, her name’s Mallory McMallard, and she fights organized crime,” the girl said primly, carefully tucking the doll into one of the many zippers that covered her bag. 

Lena snorted without really meaning to. “Oh yeah?”

It was the girls turn to shrug, smiling helplessly. “I did say that I got her when I was little.” She stuck out her hand between them. “Thank you, again! You’re the first person I’ve met in Duckburg, and you’ve given me a great impression of the city so far.”

Lena stepped back a bit, discomfort tightening in her stomach. “Oh, uh, I wouldn’t know about that. I’m actually planning to leave as soon as possible.

The girl’s cheery expression dropped. Lena felt a weird pang of…something. Most new people she met were glad to see her go. “Oh. I'm sorry to hear that. Well…it was still nice to meet you…?”

Ugh, she was being rude wasn’t she? At least Duckworth would never have to know that all his etiquette training had been wasted on her. “Oh, I’m, uh, I’m Lena.”

The girl stuck out her hand again, aggressively chipper. “Hi, I’m Webby!”

[overlyenthusiasticfictionreader]

Breaking Groundbreaker

I've really enjoyed playing Techtonica, it's really kind of relaxing and satisfying, not scary at all. But one day I got to thinking about how the Groundbreaker is stuck in their suit, and they can't touch anyone, and they can't talk to anyone, and I started having existential-crisis-feelings. So I wrote a little thing!

The link in the title goes to AO3, but you can read it here too!

Summary: You are the Groundbreaker. You are now in a situation that seems designed to break you.

Story below the read-more!

When you first wake, Sparks is the first thing you hear, cheerfully determined to set you up for success so that you can go rescue the mission’s team members together. She walks you through placing your first machines, gathering resources… She is a constant, friendly presence.

When you find her deceased body (still in her suit), you despair. Is she gone already? But there is a perfect golden cube next to the body, and her voice is still in your ear: she is still here (alive?), and you are not alone. You take her with you everywhere you go. ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- As you traverse the caverns of Calyx, Sparks shares her memories, triggered every time you come upon equipment or locations or campsites. She shares names of coworkers and work details.

You don’t remember any of these things. Nothing triggers a flashback or a moment of déjà vu. It’s like you were frozen the entirety of the Calyx mission, and you were never part of the team. ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- After you learn that you can’t remove your suit without the code from someone higher up in the bureaucracy, you start to absently test the connection points of your suit, gently rubbing at the locations that should part to allow you to remove the suit. It only happens when you have time to think, which is not often at the beginning of things. ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- You don’t feel much inside your suit. It is designed to protect you, and it does its job admirably. If you bump into something as you go about your day, you notice because your trajectory changes or you stop moving, not because you felt the contact.

You squeeze the arm of your suit with one hand as hard as you can, to see if you can feel anything. Maybe… you squeeze the leg of your suit with both hands, and convince yourself that you felt the difference in pressure. ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- You have very limited options for communication with Sparks. Your radio only allows you to hear her, you can’t speak back. Your suit is bulky and dense, only the most rough and obvious pantomimes can convey information. If you knew a sign language you would not be able to use it as the fingers of the gloves you wear are too thick to bend much. You both make do. ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- Food and water is a concern early on. If you can’t remove your suit, eventually you must die. But you are never thirsty, and hunger does not bother you. You never feel the need to eliminate (do you even need to?)

It’s fine though. The one who locked you in this suit must have planned for this (why would anyone plan for this? why would they do this to you). You must be getting liquid nutrients from an IV in the suit, and a catheter must take care of the liquid waste. ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- Finding Paladin is a mixed blessing.

On one hand, finding anyone else on Calyx is amazing. Considering how far afield you have wandered without any evidence that anyone is still alive (still embodied? uncubed?) is doubly amazing. Finding someone high enough up in the hierarchy to have relevant codes and knowledge of emergency procedures is frankly improbable.

On the other hand… Paladin is focused on the mission objectives more than the people sent to Calyx to accomplish the mission. His perspective is important, the people on Earth are important. But you alone cannot fulfill the mission objective that thousands of people came here to accomplish (you are only human).

In the beginning, when you were alone, when you only had Sparks, there was some joy and satisfaction in completing a production circuit or increasing efficiency or straightening out a snag in the production line. Simple things that don’t require introspection.

There is less joy in the work now, and satisfaction gives way to monotony. ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- You’ve never seen a human before. You wonder how you know what a human should be like, when your memory is gone and the closest you’ve been to a human body is the corpses of your companions inside their own suits.

You think you are human, but you’ve never seen your own body, stuck in the suit as you are. The polarized glass of your helmet doesn’t let you view yourself in a reflective surface. You’ve tried to use the inside of the helmet to catch a reflection, but the light is never quite right.

Maybe you are a type of highly compressed plant matter! Your attempt at humor fails to elicit a laugh from yourself. Plants are the only other living things you have seen on Calyx (are your companion cubes alive?) ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- Sparks and Paladin as cubes provide an interesting conundrum. Obviously they have no hands to use for tasks and no feet to carry them to another location. You are their hands and their feet, their arms and legs.

But Sparks was able to speak to you from her underground location. She knew you were there to talk to at all. That speaks to some kind of external awareness, and possibly the ability to use radio waves to communicate or sense their surroundings? Possibly only in proximity to radio equipment (her body, her suit was right next to her)?

Paladin was not able to reach out to you from his location, and was farther from equipment (his suit, his body) when you found him, but once you picked him up Paladin had no issues speaking his mind and directing your path forward.

You carry both Sparks and Paladin with you now, wherever you go, always. They have no trouble talking to you or to each other.

You are glad that Sparks and Paladin are not the strong and silent types, that they will voice their thoughts and concerns to you. It fills the silence. You can hear yourself talk inside the suit, but your colleagues can’t hear you and you don’t want to miss anything they might have to say: you are mostly silent inside your suit. ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- Statistically speaking, you are probably human. The only sentient and sapient beings you have encountered so far were once human (are they still human now?), why would you doubt that you are human? ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- The higher up the tech tree you get, the more complicated the equipment you can fabricate. It is necessary to meet the production quotas left behind by the original mission parameters, but it does slow down your progress. Making 500 of a small component to fabricate one of a larger component is definitely a hurdle.

The downtime gives you plenty of space to think. The connection points of your suit begin to show some scratches and shiny spots. ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- If things had gone as planned, would you have ever met Sparks or Paladin? The thought pains you, but also you know these are extreme circumstances and maybe all of you are not building the healthiest relationships at the moment.

Would you have returned to Earth without ever stepping foot on Calyx (why would you agree to that?)? Are you part of some sort of contingency plan? ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- You feel like you’ve been on Calyx for millennia. You’re not sure if that’s because you may actually have been here for millennia (you remember the boulder that slowly crushed the hab that should have been sheltered by its Protection Zone) or if you simply don’t have enough memories for the time you’ve been awake to scale correctly.

The fact that you can’t have nuanced conversations with your companions doesn’t help. You find your mind drifting, allowing Paladin and Sparks to direct your work. You are the body, they are the impetus. It’s disturbing, but you can’t just put them down and walk away (you can’t escape), that would be inhumane.

But everyday begins to feel the same, and there is little to keep you mind engaged. The production quotas are endless, and it is monotonous. That is probably why it feels like you have been here an eternity.

[novankenn]

Altered Destiny

= Seven =

A couple of minutes later, Jaune opened the door to the restroom. Pyrrha had heard the toilet flush, so she knew Jaune had done her business, but she still looked upset, or more to the point embarrassed.

Pyrrha: Did you do what I told you?

Jaune: Yes.

Pyrrha: Do you feel up to continuing talking with Professor Goodwitch and Dr House?

Jaune just nodded, as she stepped out into the hallway.

Pyrrha: Hold your gown closed, in the back, you don't want to be giving anyone a peak.

Jaune just nodded again and did as she was instructed.

Soon the pair were once again seated in the small room. Jaune consciously made herself cross her ankles, to help keep her legs closed. While she was in the restroom, the reality of the situation really hit her. She knew she had changed, but seeing over just feeling that her... equipment had drastically changed was the final nail in the coffin that was the old Jaune.

Dr House: We would like you to remain in the infirmary for the next little while.

Pyrrha: Why? Jaune should be with his... her team.

Dr House: We have additional tests we would like to conduct, tests that are more effective if Ms Arc is conscious.

Glynda: We are going to excuse her from classes for the duration of her stay, and will also extend that courtesy to whomever from JNPR wishes to be here to support her. Though, the other members will need to attend classes as normal.

Pyrrha: So if we all wanted to be with her, we would have to rotate days, or times?

Glynda: Unfortunately yes.

Jaune suddenly stood up and rushed out of the office, directly back into the bathroom.

Pyrrha: Jaune?

Dr House/Glynda: Ms Arc?

Jaune didn't even close the door as she dropped to her knees and vomited directly into the toilet. Pyrrha didn't waste any further time, as she jumped up and rushed to Jaune's side. Closing the door behind her. Kneeling beside Jaune, Pyrrha reached over and pulled her long golden hair up and away.

Pyrrha: Jaune?

Jaune started to say something only for it to be cut off as she once again threw-up. Considering there was little to nothing in her stomach, all that came up was bile, and very quickly the water became a sickly yellow.

Pyrrha: Jaune?

Jaune: (barely over a whisper) Is that who I am anymore?

Pyrrha: What do you mean? (Pyrrha released her hold on Jaune's hair, and Jaune leaned backwards to end up sitting on her legs.) Of course, you're still...

Jaune: (Starting to cry) I'm a girl! I'm not a guy anymore. Jaune was a guy (sob)... Jaune was a guy (sob)... I was a guy (sob)...

Pyrrha: (Pulling Jaune into a hug) Jaune, you are still you, even if you changed from a cute guy... into a beautiful girl... er... um... (Pyrrha sudden turned crimson as she realized what she just admitted)

Jaune was apparently still as dense as she used to be as a guy. As she didn't respond to Pyrrha's comment, and just clutched at Pyrrha, like she was the only thing keeping her safe, as she continued to cry.

Due to the length of time the pair were away, Professor Goodwitch knocked and then carefully opened the unlocked restroom door. Inside, she found Jaune clutching Pyrrha, while the pair were seated on the floor, or rather Pyrrha was seated, while Jaune had her head in her lap. Pyrrha was gently running her hands through Jaune's golden mane.

Glynda: (Whispering) How is she?

Pyrrha: (Whispering) Right now, she's asleep.

Glynda: (Whispering) We should get her back to bed. I'll stay with her while you get cleaned up.

Pyrrha: (Whispering) Your class?

Glynda: (Whispering) Missing a session will not hurt anyone, and right now Jaune needs someone with her... even if it is me.

Glynda then reached out with her semblance, and carefully lifted Jaune from the floor and into her waiting arms. Gently and with great care, as if Jaune was in fact a delicate porcelain doll instead of a human, Glynda backed out of the restroom and made her way down the hallway. Pyrrha following closely behind.

Once Jaune was once again situated in her bed, Glynda turned to Pyrrha.

Glynda: I'll stay here. Go get cleaned up and maybe see if you can find some undergarments for Jaune. That may make her feel a little less exposed.

Pyrrha: She was crying to me about how she's no longer Jaune. But she is still Jaune.

Glynda: We may have to play to that notion for a bit, until Jaune is more comfortable with her new body. Dr House is going to arrange for a psychologist to speak with Jaune.

Pyrrha: Is that...

Glynda: He feels it is necessary. We have to remember Jaune has spent her whole life as a male, and now is female. There are going to be issues with not only self-esteem but identity, and if she is breaking down over her name...

Pyrrha: I guess I understand.

Glynda: I'll stay with her. Go get yourself sorted out.

Pyrrha: Yes professor.

{Table of Contents}

[cleekleequlee]

Watching me doing field recording

(This "autoethnographic" fieldnote alone takes 2 hours to complete... I spare myself from grammar editing and hope you could spare me of any mistakes too)

The recorder distributed by AK the instructor of the field-recording workshop was the same model as I bought about two months ago from the local music instrument shop, a very light-weight, handheld equipment costing a few hundred Hong Kong dollars. AK supplemented the rest of the set: a white wired 3.5mm in-ear earphone, a wind shield, and two alkaline batteries. This is my first time doing recording with a plug-in earphone on the recorder. With the inbuilt pre-amp that amplifies the sound from surrounding to your liking, my sense of listening was suddenly enhanced. In the room while AK was talking I started to test around, positioning the recorder down the table (as if I was eavesdropping). AK’s talking sound turned muffy-stuffy under the table. Patrick who sits next to me friendly knocked the table, it makes a hollow and nice sound in the earphone.

We were then sent out for 40 minutes with the new device to play around and get familiar with it. Changing lift on the 11th floor there is sharp and adhesive sound of peeling duct tape from the roll. It stands out in the very quiet, almost deadly dormant background. Associating with the female figure I saw, “it might be the helpers packing their belongings to be sent back to Philipines”, I think to myself. These aged industrial buildings can feel spooky without the busy cranky sound people makes. The aisles were very wide for trolleys to pass. But the walls in this one were painted bright colors - red on the ground floor and bright yellow on the 11th - with oversized sans serif characters indicating room numbers. Is it comic sans?

I turned on the "fluffy head" (the windshield on recorder looks cutely crazy) while taking the lift down the massive and old industrial building. Right away a rhythmic sound in the lift caught my attention. “If this is in the mystery sound no one would recognize it”, I thought. In this blank, empty in-between time, waiting to be transferred from one space to another, there was something working in the background, enabling the movement of the lift. My movement is not taken for granted, it is worked out by certain mechanisms, and such mechanisms leave a sonic trace. There was also the sound of different parts of a metal chain touching each other behind the steel sheet that boxes us in the lift. The fan made a low-pitched monotonous vibrating sound. Moving the fluffy head closer I hear it closer to me.

Down at the street level the nuances suddenly disappeared. The sound of the cars and buses suddenly swirled and overwhelmed everything else. My head didn’t spin. It numbed and suffocated. Sound Degradation like what Bernie Krause said, is this mesh of undistinguishable business. From afar in the country parks it turns to a low, roaming background noise, not unlike the electric white noise that persists every clip of recording. Isn’t it like the evasive plants that just expand at all cost, covering and killing everything under it? Our brain filters it out for our survival and it was quite successful. But how about the birds, the anthropomorphised, exhausted asian koel making a hoarse sound in late spring still desperately searching for a mate?

I looked at the map and decided to make my way to the ferry. At least there would be less traffic, maybe some trees and birds, ferry infrastructure will also be interesting (I’m interested in water related structures anyway). Crossing the road I heard the iconic sound of Hong Kong traffic lights. Exotic and exciting it may sound for tourists and new comers, I was however slightly annoyed by it - such an overly-dominant attention attractor! Passing by the green@community temporary recycle station, I wondered whether sound made by the act of dumping waste would be interesting. Then I heard birds remotely but surely. The high-pitch pierced through the background noise and made a pure, rounded and oppulent debut. If my attention was a clock, that chirping sound suddenly took the area between the hour and minute hands of 11:05. It was uplifting, undisturbed by the gloomy ground beneath it. With the sound in my earphone on, I kept walking, trying to get closer to the bird. But the sound in two earplugs can hardly be distinguished. I found it was easier to find the source direction with the earplugs off, using my carnal ears instead. Is this because of the background noise? Or there is something that is yet to be captured by the technology?

Tracing the birds I found myself standing next to a cotton tree (Bombax ceiba). In a rare 30C degree sunny day in late March, the bright red flowers contrast its bleaching white bark and the blue sky. Cotton trees flowers before leaves sprout, therefore this single tree looked less dense than the rest (mostly different kinds of banyan trees) and created a hole where what happens on the branches were more exposed. I clicked “record”, decided to waiting for the chirping to maybe appear, disappear, and change in volume. AK suggested us to make longer recordings. The minimum requirement for soundmap uploading is one minute, and he himself often makes recording 45 min or longer. That means staying in one place for as long as the recording goes and possibly doing nothing other than paying attention.

The chirping is distinct, sometimes chimed in by some lower “goo goo” sound. Then I spotted spotted doves (Streptopelia chinensis) on the taller branches. The minimum Flowers plump to the ground intermittently, making a heavy thud (do I hear the thud, or do I know because I’ve hold the heavy flower in my hand?). Other times dried flower or leave drop too, but I cannot hear a sound.

Through the leafless branches and flowers I saw a bird perching on a branch. The colour was unclear, but its crest instantly revealed its identity of a red-whiskered bul-bul (Pycnonotus jocosus). “Of course”, I thought to myself and suddenly the oppulent and delight chirping sound makes sense. This little thing was not making an mating effort, I think. It had something in its mouth, maybe food, maybe a small fibre for making nests, maybe something else but beyond what human being could understand about bird’s life. It was taking its time under the sunshine, twisting its head in small angles, as paying attention to something. Maybe it was also listening, paying attention. Is it still interested in those sounds - cars and busses and airplanes and dialogues - which are not part of their language systems? Can its brain also screen off the grumbling roaming noises that is below their feet? Maybe the ground under ourselves also makes a background noise, but we will only be able to distinguish it in the playback once we are shipped to another space with a different noise.

The recording was still going. I have the image of a casette tape recorder, when the rolling of the two white circles are visible when recording is going, rolling the thin roll of tape inside of the machine. Me looking at the bird, for a while. This attention forms a relationality, all rolled and compressed in the tape. Conserved and archived as a memory. Life is the finite resource of time, and paying attention to this bul-bul was committing one minute and ten seconds of my time, because this act of recording takes time and constant attention. And the bird, as well as myself who was watching/recording the bird, will be brought back to a renewed life in playbacks, creating new ripples. You never know what will happen when you press “record”, and when the sound is played back, everything already happened. I am fascinated by this playful misplace and the mystery of destiny.

(sorry, the bird is not in the picture)

(sorry, this post is not accompanied with a recording, as the recorder was collected by the organizer by the end of the workshop)

[enigmaincrimson-personal]

(Hm...)

(Physically, Security Drones have more human-like extremities and limbs... not that it is easy to notice considering they're usually wearing gear that hides those attributes or are just hiding them in general.)

(Or to put it another way, they were designed like that in order to make it easier for them to use the same training and equipment as humans as a cost saving measure.)

(In other words, they have five fingers, water-tight joints, and fully functional feet. That and they're built to take a serious hit and still be able to function.)

(The cooling system is also incredibly robust, allowing for high performance operation for very, very, very long periods. They're not exactly reliant on oil in the same way either.)

(As for nanites, they have full control over their behavior and function for a wide range of purposes... from performing repairs, medical treatments, and breaking down waste materials for recycling.)

(While they do have a nanite injector in their tail, which is covered in a protective shroud when not in use, their bodies are heavily laced with nanites... from their cooling fluids to their saliva and digestive system.)

(Yes, I did say that right. Security Drones have a digestive/materials processing system in order to provide materials for repairing themselves and other resources.)

(The tail shroud can transform into weaponry like the hands can and effectively prehensile, but... most security drones prefer to carry weapons in order to save on material costs.)

(The sensory array is fully integrated into the chassis. No eyes on a headband here.)

(Security Drones are equipped with a full security testing suite and other various tools in order to assist in various tasks... from testing for weaknesses in firewalls to communicating with other Security Drones and Worker Drones as necessary.)

_

(Let's just say... when it comes to the bunker, there's really nothing stopping them from going through the door, whether it's melting it down, eating it outright, or just ordering the lock to open the door.)

(As for the Solver, if it weren't for them being so hard to break, high corporate value, low overall numbers, and just being so stubborn, they'd probably make an ideal host.)

[suburbanplumbingexperts]

Why You Should Call a Plumber to Diagnose Leaks

Routine Inspection Can Detect Hidden Leaks

Water leaks can cause a lot of damage if left undetected and unrepaired. They can lead to mold growth, structural damage, and high water bills. While some leaks are easily detectable, others can go unnoticed for a long time, causing significant problems. This is why it is essential to call a plumber to diagnose leaks even if they are not immediately apparent. By conducting routine inspections, plumbers can identify potential leaks and fix them before they cause severe damage.

Professional Expertise Ensures Accurate Diagnosis

When it comes to leak detection, it's crucial to rely on the expertise of a professional plumber. While you may be tempted to try DIY methods, such as using leak detection kits or watching YouTube tutorials, these approaches are often ineffective. Plumbers have the knowledge and experience to accurately diagnose leaks and determine their source. They use specialized equipment and techniques, such as video camera inspections and pressure testing, to locate leaks hidden behind walls, under flooring, or in plumbing systems.

Prevents Further Damage and Costly Repairs

Calling a plumber to diagnose leaks at the earliest signs can prevent further damage to your property and save you from expensive repairs in the future. If left untreated, even a small leak can lead to significant structural damage. Water can seep into walls, weaken the foundation, or cause mold growth, resulting in expensive repairs. By addressing leaks promptly, plumbers can fix the underlying issues and prevent additional damage, saving you both time and money in the long run.

Preserves Water Resources and Reduces Costs

Water is a precious resource, and wasting it through leaks is both environmentally irresponsible and costly. According to the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA), household leaks can waste over 1 trillion gallons of water annually in the United States alone. By promptly calling a plumber to diagnose and repair leaks, you contribute to water conservation efforts and reduce your water bills. Fixing leaks can significantly decrease your monthly water usage, leading to substantial savings over time.

Identifies Hidden Plumbing Issues

Leak detection is not only about finding visible leaks; it also helps identify potential hidden plumbing issues. When a plumber inspects your plumbing system for leaks, they may discover other problems such as corroded pipes, faulty valves, or improper installation. By addressing these underlying issues early on, you can prevent bigger problems from arising in the future. A comprehensive leak diagnosis by a professional plumber can provide you with insight into the overall health of your plumbing system, enabling you to take preventive measures and avoid future emergencies.

Promotes Health and Safety

Leaky pipes can lead to the growth of mold and mildew, which can have adverse health effects on you and your family members. Mold spores in the air can cause respiratory problems, allergies, and even severe health conditions. By calling a plumber to diagnose leaks, you can prevent the spread of mold and maintain a healthy indoor environment. Furthermore, hidden leaks can also create electrical hazards if water comes into contact with wiring or fixtures. By addressing leaks promptly, you ensure the safety of your home and protect your family from potential harm.

Conclusion

Calling a plumber to diagnose leaks is a wise decision that can save you from extensive damage, costly repairs, and potential health risks. Professional plumbers have the expertise, specialized equipment, and experience to accurately detect leaks and address the underlying issues. By promptly fixing leaks, you preserve water resources, reduce water bills, and contribute to environmental conservation. Additionally, a comprehensive leak diagnosis may also help identify other hidden plumbing problems, ensuring the long-term health and functionality of your plumbing system. Don't hesitate to call a plumber if you suspect a leak in your home; it's a small investment that can prevent significant problems in the future.