#vertical radiators are they any good

[pinkiemachine]

Krypton: Factoids and Neat Things to Know!

Located in the nearby Andromeda Galaxy, specifically in the Rao system, Krypton was a cold, icy, crystalline planet. Fifth from its sun, most life existed in the habitable zone of its equator, which was always closest to the sun. This also meant that seasons did not occur the same way as on Earth, where the tilt of our axis causes the Northern and Southern Hemispheres to be further or closer to the sun depending on where we are in our orbit. Rather, Krypton’s orbit itself was slightly off kilter, meaning that while its axis was perfectly vertical, it would still experience colder and warmer months of its years depending on where in its orbit it was.

The summers there ranged from 60° to 70° at its warmest, and -10° to -20° during the coldest of the winter months. Further North or South of the habitable zone would mean even harsher, colder temperatures, and were generally only explored during the summer.

Krypton had two large continents—Lurvan, and Urrika—as well as several other smaller continents/islands like Vathlo. By the time the planet had neared its end, both continents had united under their own form of central leadership, with relatively peaceful ties between the two.

They were a Level 6 Star Faring race, and had dedicated much time, money, and resources into exploring the galaxy and inventing new technologies. They had made contact with the Green Lantern Corps decades before, had established contact with their neighbouring planet, Thoron, beginning trade with them, had made breakthrough after breakthrough with medicine and state-of-the-art technology, and had even been made a part of the Inter-Planetary Coalition (IPC). They had established contact and ties with many other planets, had set up minor colonies among the stars, and so much more.

Also, due to the fact that red suns send out WAY more radiation than yellow suns, Kryptonians are naturally able to absorb radiation, thus allowing them to fly and shoot lasers, etc. On Earth, Clark’s powers are actually WEAKER if you can believe it. Spiking in the summer, quelling in the winter.

As far culture goes, I haven’t written a whole lot yet, however, do not go making the assumption that they were a peaceful, all-knowing, always-do-gooding advanced race just because their technology is advanced. Like on Earth, there are layers. There was a gross amount of entertainment, mass media, disparity between the richest and the poorest, tons of struggles and problems that we humans know all too well. But, one main difference between them and, say, the United States, is that they had a much more structured system for their society. What I mean is, they leaned into classism a bit, and there were a ton of noble families still, the Els being one of them, children were taught to be well behaved and respectful, etc etc. it was all very upper crust. At least… among the upper crust. Elsewhere, different systems prevailed. At any rate, it’s very complicated and I need to dedicate some time to writing it out thoroughly.

Thank you for your time.

Part two here 👇

[najia-cooks]

Cranberry chutney

Sweet, tart, jammy cranberries evolve into the subtle aromatics of cumin, mustard, and bay leaf before rounding off into a smooth, even chili heat in this Anglo-Indian-style chutney. It's excellent in place of cranberry sauce on all kinds of roasts, meat pies, flatbreads, sandwiches, and charcuterie boards.

The cooked fruit-and-vinegar chutneys made by English cooks during the British colonization of India were inspired by the fresh and pickled Indian condiments that English traders and soldiers—including those in the East India Company's military arm—had acquired a taste for, but substituted locally familiar produce and cooking methods for Indian ones. "Indian" recipes began appearing in English cookbooks in the mid-18th century, inspiring and fulfilling a desire for the exotic and, effectively, advertising colonial goods. The domestic kitchen thus became a productive site for the creation and negotiation of colonial ideology: the average English housekeeper could feel a sense of ownership over India and its cultural and material products, and a sense of connection to the colonial endeavor desite physical distance.

This sauce, centered around a tart fruit that is simmered with sugar and savory aromatics and spices, is similar in composition to an Anglo-Indian chutney, but some Indian pantry staples that British recipes tend to substitute or remove (such as jaggery, bay leaf, and mustard oil) have been imported back in. The result is a pungent, spicy, deeply sweet, slightly sour topping that's good at cutting through rich, fatty, or starchy foods.

Recipe under the cut!

Patreon | Tip jar

Ingredients:

1/2 cup dried cranberries (krainaberee), or 1 cup fresh or frozen

5 curry leaves (kari patta), or 1 Indian bay leaf (tej patta)

1/2 tsp cumin seeds (jeera)

1/2 tsp black mustard seeds (rai)

3 Tbsp jaggery (gur / gud)

1-3 small red chili peppers (kali mirch), to taste

1/2” chunk (5g) ginger (adarakh), peeled

1 clove garlic (lahsun)

1/2 red onion (pyaaj) or 1 shallot

1 Tbsp mustard oil (sarson ke tel)

1/3 cup (80 mL) water

Pinch black salt (kala namak)

Curry leaves can be purchased fresh at a South Asian grocery store. If you can't find any, Indian bay leaves can be used as a substitute (the flavor isn't per se similar, but it would also be appropriate in this dish). Indian bay leaves are distinct from Turkish or California laurel bay leaves and have a different taste and fragrance. They will be labelled “tej patta” in an Asian or halaal grocery store, and have three vertical lines running along them from root to tip, rather than radiating out diagonally from a central vein.

Instructions:

1. Pound onion, garlic, ginger, and chili to a paste in a mortar and pestle; or, use a food processor.

2. In a thick-bottomed pot, heat mustard oil on medium. Add curry leaves or tej patta and fry until fragrant.

3. Add cumin and mustard seed and fry another 30 seconds to a minute, until fragrant and popping.

4. Lower heat to low. Add aromatic paste and fry, stirring constantly, for about 30 seconds, until fragrant.

5. Add cranberries, jaggery, black salt, and water. Raise heat and bring to a boil. Reduce to a simmer and cook uncovered, stirring often, until thick and jammy. Remove from heat a bit before it reaches your desired consistency, since it will continue to thicken as it cools.

Store in a jar in the refrigerator for 2-3 weeks.

[trickphotography2]

D-Day by TrickPhotography | Chapter 1

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x female!reader

Word count: 3k

Synopsis: After finding out his girlfriend is pregnant, Jake is ready to move in and get married. The last thing he expected was to be hit with a six-month deployment at sea and missing the birth of his first child.

Master List | Ao3

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Chapter 1

The heat of the flight line radiated up through your flats as you raised your hand to shield your eyes, tracking the contrails of the incoming jets - the newest batch of F-35 Lightnings. The DoD had recently increased the number of planes they had ordered from your company, and as one of the contract writers based on the West Coast, you had the pleasure of being on the flight line when they were delivered. After inspecting the merchandise, the Navy pilots jumped into the cockpits to take their new jets for a joy ride. You smiled, watching one tip the wings before climbing steeply. To this day, feeling the roar of an engine in your chest and seeing the beauty of the afterburner made you think of your dad. Snapping a quick picture to send him later, you turned to join your coworkers in the shady hangar. 

The small crowd had grown, circling and ducking under the planes to get a closer look. When you lifted your phone again to take a picture of the tail code, you heard someone behind you. “Want me to get one with you in it?” 

“I’m good, thanks,” you said before turning to face him. His green eyes snapped up to your face - he’d clearly been checking you out. Forcing yourself to take a deep breath, you plastered on your customer service expression. “Are you one of the Lightning crew?” 

“No, just coming to check out the new toys. I fly a Super Hornet.” 

“Nice,” you replied, eyes drifting down to read his name badge - Seresin. When you met his gaze again, he smirked, crossing his arms over his chest and drawing attention to his biceps - you’d seen that move used too many times - and nodded to the plane.  

“You one of the engineers?”

“No,” you replied, feeling a slight twinge of regret. “Just a paper pusher.” 

“That right?” 

“Yup.” 

“Any idea what the top speed for one of those is?” he asked, tipping his chin towards the F-35. 

“A little less than the Super Hornet - Mach 1.6 with a full weapons load. Better stealth capabilities, though.”

“More expensive, from what I’ve heard.”

“Well, upgrading old tech comes with a price tag. And they’ll be less expensive to maintain than the F-18.”

“The Super Hornet isn’t old tech,” he replied, the corner of his mouth tipping down. 

“Of course not. For a fourth-gen fighter, it’s holding up well, but times are changing and so is air warfare. For example, the F-18 would have difficulty doing an ISR mission whereas our F-35 would be well up to mission parameters.” 

“If they’re sending in the F-18, the time for intel and surveillance is over and it’s time to get down to business.” 

“Of course…for air-to-air combat. Or the F-35 can continue the mission with its wide weapons array and ability to do air-to-air and air-to-ground combat.” 

“Not certified for a nuke, though.”

“Not yet, but we’re working on that certification,” you shot back. “The ability to take off and land vertically is a nice trade-off, though. How long of a runway does the F-18 need again?”

“Less than a thousand on a carrier.” Behind you, you heard someone call ‘Hangman!’ and Seresin lifted his head in acknowledgment. 

“Exactly.” 

“You sure you’re not an engineer?” 

“Just a good saleswoman. Give it a few years, and you’ll also be in one of our jets. You’ll have to tell me how it compares to the Super Hornet.” Glancing at his collar and clocking the double bars, you smiled and tilted your head. “It was lovely chatting with you, Lieutenant Seresin. I’ll let you get to your friends now.” With that, you turned and walked to join your colleagues. 

“Nice chatting with you, Ma’am,” he called out. You felt his eyes on your back but, as a woman in the male-dominated defense contracting industry, it wasn’t uncommon. This was exactly why you dressed in slacks and loose blouses more often than not - no need to draw more attention than necessary. That hadn’t stopped you from updating your resume more than once after a rough day at work, ignoring one too many comments from old men who thought you were a secretary instead of someone in charge of multimillion-dollar negotiations. At least the pilot had called you an engineer. 

“Happy hour?” your boss asked, throwing an unwelcome arm over your shoulder and pulling you into his side. You pasted on an uncomfortable smile and nodded, wanting nothing more than to go home and open a bottle of wine on your own.

Growing up, you’d never imagined being a defense contractor. While other little girls dreamed of being a teacher or president, you dreamed of being in the Air Force. Your dad had been a jet engine mechanic for the Air Force and loved nothing more than bringing you to the test cells to see what the squadron was working on. When your family moved to Japan, he would sit on the back patio overlooking the flight line at sunset, pointing out each plane landing to you. He quizzed you on the tail codes until you could identify where most planes were based. Back stateside, you went to every airshow nearby, watching the beauty of physics and engineering lifting the plane from the ground, the acrobatic twists of the jets, and the majestic thrumming of the C-130’s turboprops. Once you got your license, there was no greater thrill than driving your dad’s Mustang with the top down on the base and seeing the jets descending on the flight line next to you. 

For a long time, everyone in your family thought you would follow in his footsteps. You’d taken the ASVAB and SAT’s to keep your options open. When you qualified to go into mechanics, recruiters from every branch called and pressed you to come to sign papers to enlist. You kept pushing them off, wanting to keep your options open as long as possible as you waited for the responses from your college applications. And besides, it was blue or bust - there was no way you would go into any branch other than the Air Force. In the meantime, Dad worked with you to prepare for basic training. Running, push-ups, and pull-ups became your after-school workout. He took you on base to talk to some of the women in his squadron. They were frank with you about the benefits and downsides of the military - the pay was okay and the travel was great, but you had to put up with a lot of shit. Being away from family was hard, and there was no control over where you moved. Too many of them had stories about sexual harassment. But if you were going to join a branch, the Air Force was the way to go. 

After that talk, you went to lunch with your dad. He wanted you to know what you would be getting into if you joined. While he loved his time in the service and what it had given your family, it would be different for you. You would face things he couldn’t imagine being a woman in the military. He assured you that he didn’t want you to decide based on his feelings but only what you wanted. 

You enrolled in college two hours from home that fall and decided to pursue engineering. If you weren’t in the Air Force, you could at least be near planes. Sure, the math was hard, but it wasn’t impossible. There were lots of nights spent huddled in the library, working through your physics and thermodynamics homework instead of hitting up the bars with your roommates. The hardest part of school was dealing with your classmates. Most of the time, you were the only woman in the class. Sexist jokes came from classmates and professors. 

“If you’re just trying to get an MRS degree, I’d be happy to make that sacrifice for you,” one guy said, winking over the top of his laptop. 

You made sure to study extra hard for the next test and smirked in his direction when you set the exam curve.  

College wasn’t all work, though. You found time to date, trying to avoid STEM boys in favor of social sciences and humanities (finance and business guys were too arrogent). You lost your virginity after a night at the club where your boyfriend used his fake ID to get banded, chasing shots with horrible gin and tonic. It was okay - the touch was nice but you hadn’t gotten off. When recapping with your friends the next morning, they assured you that sex got better. It didn’t with that particular guy and you broke it off before the end of the semester. 

After twenty-six years in the military, your dad announced his retirement. You traveled home for the ceremony, crying with your mom when he thanked you both for going on the adventure of a lifetime with him.

Less than a year later, he was diagnosed with colon cancer.

Angry that something like this could happen to him, you dove into researching what could have caused it. And, buried in a journal online, you found a study linking jet fuel to colon cancer. 

Your parents were confused when you changed your major. Your advisor tried to talk you out of it - your grades were decent, and you were halfway through the program. Desperate to graduate on time and avoid STEM, you switch to English and turned your analytical brain to rhetoric and editing. 

Dad breezed through chemo, walking miles around the hospital during his sessions. You picked up an extra shift at the grocery store when he asked you to see an airshow with him. When you came home for Thanksgiving, he tossed you the keys to the Mustang and said it was time for a cruise on the beach. You put the top down while your dad collected the list of things to pick up from the base commissary on the way home. 

The breeze off the Gulf was cold but you didn’t care - Dad cranked the heater and music, grinning at you as you easily navigated the slower traffic. When you first got your license, he’d nicknamed you his fighter pilot with how you forced your way into spots between vehicles. You were never sure if it was a compliment or not. But today… today he was happy, and you could ignore the chemo port on his chest that tented his shirt and try to forget why he was bald.

You switched in a parking lot, and he drove you onto the base. But rather than go straight to the commissary, he followed the road to his old squad headquarters. When you asked what you were doing there, he shrugged while putting the top up, said he needed to drop something off and motioned for you to come inside. You refused. But when he was inside for over half an hour, and the car started to swelter, you got out and followed him. When you tentatively knocked on the door he’d gone through, it swung open and an airman smiled before handing you a pair of ear protectors and motioning you in.

Dad stood at the observation deck, watching the engine cycle through the start-up and cool down, the glow of the afterburn reflecting in his eyes. You could smell the jet fuel and felt bile rise in your throat. When the engine stopped screaming, you grabbed your dad’s hand and asked to leave. After waving goodbye to his friends, he led you outside. Rather than going to the car, however, he pulled you into the hanger. Grinning, he walked towards the F-35 and raised his hand to run it along the wing.

“I miss this,” he said, turning back to smile at you. “Where’s this one from?” 

“Cannon, New Mexico,” you replied after glancing at the tail code, the fuel smell choking you. “Can we get out of here?” 

“Come on, kiddo, let your old man have a moment to relive his glory days.”

“Your glory days are what’s trying to kill you,” you snapped without thinking. Dad’s arm dropped, and he turned to face you, raising an eyebrow. His calm expression was so frustrating that you couldn’t hold it in any longer - it didn’t matter that two men were sitting on top of the plane next to you. “This is what’s trying to kill you, Dad! The fucking jet fuel you breathed in every day had carcinogens, and you want to stay here longer to breathe more of it in?” 

A few tears escaped your tight control as you turned on your heel and stormed out of the hanger. Your nails dug into your palms as you collapsed back into the car passenger seat. It was a few minutes later that he joined you. Rather than turning the ignition, he stared out the windshield. “Is this why you dropped out of engineering?” You stayed silent. “Honey, talk to me. Your mom and I are worried.” Slowly, you nodded, feeling his eyes on you. When he reached for your hand, you let him take it. “Look at me, please. I need you to hear me when I say this to you, young lady.”

“What?”

“We’re never gonna know what caused this cancer, okay? Yeah, it might have been the fuel or a million other things. But you don’t get to give up your dream because of this, alright? You don’t get to give up something you love because of something that happened to me.” 

“It’s not just happening to you, Dad,” you whispered. 

“I know, sweetheart. But I’m okay, and I want you to be, too. And if that means you never get near another plane again, I’ll be sad to lose my co-pilot, but I’ll support you. I won’t ask you to do anything you don’t want to, but don’t lose your passion because of me.” 

True to his word, Dad hadn’t asked you to attend any airshows with him but would mention them in passing when you called to check-in. When he got his clean bill of health, they threw a party and some of his airmen dropped by the house to celebrate, bringing him a model of the F-15s he’d worked on as a gift. He returned to work as a defense contractor and was back on the flight line doing quality assurance checks after repairs were finished. And he stayed in remission. With each clean bill of health his oncologist gave him, the more you found yourself looking at his memorabilia around the house - pictures of the planes he’d worked on, model airplanes, and squadron plaques. It was too late to return to engineering, but you found yourself wandering to the university career center to see their suggestions to combine your love of aircraft with writing. They helped you draft your resume, and when you graduated with your degree in english with a minor in engineering, you’d secured a job with one of the largest defense contracting companies in the US in their contract writing division. 

“To another successful delivery!” Dutifully, you and your coworkers raised your glasses to toast the latest success. While they tossed back their drinks to make the most of the happy hour special, you nursed your beer while picking at the pretzel bites you’d ordered. They’d chosen a bar not far from the base, but on the opposite side of town from your apartment. Your eyes drifted across the other patrons, not really taking anyone. 

When your beer was almost gone, you excused yourself and walked to the restroom to wash the pretzel salt and oil from your hands, ready to escape for the evening. But when you walked back into the bar, one of the servers stopped you. “A guy over there wanted me to give this to you,” she said, handing you a fresh beer. Glancing at it, you frowned, wondering if one of your coworkers was playing a joke on you. 

“Who?” you asked. Turning, she pointed to a man in khaki leaning against the bar and talking to someone. As if feeling your gaze, he turned and smirked, lifting his drink and nodding. 

Seresin. 

Taking a deep breath and steeling your shoulders, you thanked her and took the beer. Glancing at your coworkers to ensure they weren’t watching, you walked toward the bar, feeling his eyes on you the whole time. You would return the beer, thank him, and then head home to relax. As you neared, he pushed off the bar with a smile and wink before retreating towards the dartboard where a group of Navy guys were congregated. Debating the merits of confronting him in front of a group or sucking it up, you swallowed your pride. You took a sip of the beer, and resigned yourself to at least another half an hour there, listening to some truly atrocious stories about dating and time in the military from your coworkers. 

When the second beer was finished, you quickly said goodnight to your coworkers and went to the bar to close out your tab. “Looks like it’s already covered,” the bartender said when you flagged him down.

“What do you mean? I didn’t leave my card with you.”

“Looks like someone picked it up and left this,” he shrugged, passing you a napkin. Nothing sexier than a woman who knows her way around a jet. Dinner? You looked at the phone number and took a deep breath. 

“I’d like to close out that gentleman’s tab,” you said, handing over your credit card. While he rang you out, you grabbed one of your business cards from your wallet, crossed out your office phone number, and underscored your job title. On the back you wrote 1) Thank you 2) Not a tag chaser 3) I don’t date boys in bags 4) CONFLICT OF INTEREST

When he handed you the receipt to sign, you asked him to give the card to Seresin. Then, leaving the napkin on the bar, you turned and saw him frowning in your direction. Smiling, you waved before making your way outside. 

Your pajamas were calling.

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Author's note: The connection between jet fuel and cancer is my dad's story. He's thankfully fine. Tag chasers are people who actively try to date military members (usually for the benefits), and boys in bags is a reference to men in flight suits.

Read Chapter 2

[electronicwitchcollection]

~*Kensei Smut*~

Honestly. Kensei fought me at every opportunity, he picked and prodded at everything I wrote, yet wouldn’t help nor let me move on to another fic. I’ll not be writing for him again until he learns to cooperate 😂. As a result for not speaking up, I’ve given him another use for that mouth. Neither me nor Kensei are happy with this, but I’m going to post it anyway. That’ll show him.

*my masterlist is pinned at the top of my page if you’d like to read anymore of my work 💜*

You could feel your partners explosive spiritual pressure from where you stood alone in your shared kitchen. Quite an impressive feat, since you lived a good eight blocks away from the office in the ninth division. Kensei was a fantastic partner, sweet and attentive, there wasn't anything he wouldn't do for you. His quiet strength was always there to hold you up when you needed him, silent pilar of strength in your relationship.

However, he wasn't void of any flaws. He was incredibly temperamental, quick to anger and with very little patience. Kensei wasn't easy going, by any stretch of the imagination. He lived by a strong sense of discipline and morals and reacting hostility toward those not falling in line.

It had taken you months to see past the curt and gruff exterior the Captain exuded to discover the attentive and intensely tender man that lay beneath. Not something that many were privy too. He was loyal and fiercely protective, especially over you. He showed you how much you ment to him every single day, in his own gruff way.

You could feel the annoyance pulsating in the angry flare up from where you were. Kensei had been trying to curb his explosiveness in work, after one too many complaints had been overheard. It wasn't that he wanted to upset anyone, least of all the female shinigami in his division. He was just a man who struggled to contain his emotions and express them calmly.

You sighed softly, he had been trying so hard. Knowing he would return home soon, and would turn to you for comfort, you hurried to your bathroom for a hot shower.

———————————————————

Stepping out of the steamy bathroom, Kensei's favourite deep purple silk gown wrapped around your curves, you hear the door to your home snap shut a little harder than necessary. Bare foot you walked to the entrance of your home, watching as the man who held your heart kicked off his sandals roughly, letting them hit the wall before landing haphazardly on the floor. Waiting for him to remove his captains coat and zanpakuto, you got the chance to study his handsome face.

His strong jaw was tense, harshly defining his jawline. Lips were pulled thin, likely chomping down hard on his back teeth. Nostrils flared with every rough breath, eye brows furrowed deeply. Clearly the walk home hadn't dampened the annoyance that caused the angry reaction you had felt earlier.

His light brown eyes caught your own as he left the entrance hall to walk into your home, making his way straight to you.

Without breaking his stride, large hands engulfed your waist, throwing you over his shoulder effortlessly. You yelped at the sudden change of verticality, gripping onto the back of his kosode frantically. Not once had he ever let you fall, but the natural reaction was strong. He wrapped an arm around the back of your thighs, pinning you securely as he made his way through to your bedroom.

You flounced with every determined step, the heat radiating from his frame seeped through the flimsy material covering your modesty. Equilibrium was thrown through a loop when he deposited you heavily onto the bed, bouncing lightly on the plush matress at the force.

Protruding muscles proudly shown off in his sleeveless uniform bunched together delightfully as he crawled up the bed. You held your arms open for him, allowing him to cover your body with his own. Caged between the solid wall of muscle and bed, you stared at the ceiling as he nuzzled into your neck and sighed deeply

"bad day?" You ask him softly, bring up your hands to slowly run your fingers through his hair. He grunted near your ear in affirmation, so not to accidentally snap at you. His hair was deceivingly soft, the Mohawk he sported these days grew naturally, and wasn't styled by hair products as one would assume. By the slight coconut smell protruding through the air, you could tell that he had stolen your shampoo.. again.

"you wanna talk about it?" The offer hung in the air for a moment before you felt his head shake no. This was a usual response you had come to accept, pushing the matter would only amplify the festering annoyance. You pull at his hair gently, encouraging him to straighten up to face you. Unable to part from you completely, he rested his forehead against your own, tips of your noses brushed together sweetly. Untangling your fingers from his hair, you smoothed it down the side of his face, softly cupping his tense jaw in your palm.

"how can I help?"

The answer came in the form of a bruising kiss. Your eyes fluttered closed at the feel of his lips melding against your own, stealing away your breath. Willingly, you open your mouth at the insistent tongue running across your lips, surrendering yourself to Kensei completely. Angrily the moist appendage invaded your mouth, claiming the space as his own.

Harsh breaths forcefully pushed out through his nose, fanning over your face and warming the skin on your cheeks to a subtle pink hue . Your tongue danced across the one leading yours in a rhythmic pattern, fitting in perfectly to the to and fro that made you dizzy. The kiss was controlled and disciplined, traits Kensei valued and demanded of his subordinates, though you couldn't ignore the passion and raw admiration you could feel being pushed through.

This is what Kensei had come to discover he needed when he couldn't express his distain towards the childish insubordination he endured on a daily basis with his lieutenant, who embodied everything he meticulously beat away with his rigorous training. He needed you to be compliant, adhering to his commands freely and without questioning his authority.

Something you were all too willing to give him. Kensei truly treasured you, made you feel unconditionally loved each and every day. You could give him this in return. Sacrificing your free will was a small price to pay, for what you got in return. Kensei was as skilled as a lover as he was a leader. Passionately bringing you into the throws of pleasure, knowing your body better than you yourself did.

With a final press of his lips, Kensei pushed himself to his elbows, looking down into your flushed face. You read the question behind his hardened eyes as easily as if he had spoken the words out loud. He wouldn't use your body unless you gave him permission to do so. The affirmative nod was all that was needed, he dropped a fleeting kiss to your lips before sitting back between your legs, pushing them wider to accommodate his wide stature.

Battle worn hands trailed over the silky sheen of your robe, soft strands catching on the hardened callouses formed from decades of wielding a zanpakuto. Thick fingers made easy work of untying the sash holding the robe closed, denying him view from your body. You watched as Kensei pushed the garment open, the material fanning around you on the bed.

His eyes burned where they landed, intently washing over each and every curve, memorising every blemish and scar that added complexity to your otherwise perfect skin. Ample breasts perked at his heat gaze, rosy nipples hardened under the weight of that intense stare. His hands roamed over your body, gliding over your skin appreciatively. The sharp breath you pulled when his fingers grazed over your nipples was deafening in the otherwise silent room.

Kensei dipped his head, kissing your soft stomach fondly. You were strong in your own right, though that didn't reflect in your body as it did his. Kensei's body was thick with muscles, defines pecs and rippling abs. Where's yours was soft, plush with a little weight that just wouldn't shift. Kensei adored the roundness of your curves and didn't hesitate to worship all the little details you had stared too long at in the mirror, self consciously picking apart.

He kissed his way along the lower part of your stomach, nuzzling into the flesh you hated most. Your hand darted out from habit, ready to halt his explorations when his caught your wrist, keeping it at bay. Lips pressed against your skin, Kensei looked at you darkly, eyes held in an unspoken warning.

Gently depositing your hand on the bed next to you, squeezing your wrist in a silent reminder, Kensei continued his path to your hip, sucking gently where your hipbone protruded ever so slightly. Heat rushed to the area, blood pulling to the surface in a purpling bruise that was soothingly kissed. Following down the crease of your thigh, Kensei laid himself down on his stomach.

He brushed a hand under your thigh, smoothing it up your leg to your knee and raising it from the bed. Foot planted, holding your leg up as he wanted, Kensei moved to do the same on the other side. Your sex was on full display for him, legs opened wide to allow him unobstructed access. You covered your eyes, arm thrown over them mortified at the deep inhale he gave, nose pressed into your mound.

You groaned at the first slow lick he gave at your centre, his wide flat tongue dragging against the sensitive skin of your lips. Meticulously he tasted you, long, hard swipes of his tongue opened you up slowly. Your hips rolled wantonly, urging him to quicken his pace. His hand splayed across your stomach, keeping you in place as he continued to lick through your folds.

Reaching your centre, Kensei slowly thrusted his tongue into your velvety heat, nuzzling his face into your wetness. Strong laps caressed your inner walls, sending a jolt of arousal through you. Heat spread through your lower stomach, tightening deliciously with shocks of pleasure. Kensei determinedly devoured you, wet lapping noises loudly filtering through the room.

His tongue penetrated you deeply, tasting the increasing wetness you produced. The steady rhythm inching you closer to release, fanning the embers of warmth into a burning inferno. You moaned loudly, arching your back. Your hand darted to his hair, interweaving your fingers through the grey strands pushing him deeper into your core as your hips grind up to meet that devilishly skilled tongue.

Kensei growled into your cunt, stopping his actions. Your head snapped up with a whine of protest, to meet his hardened stare over your mound, eyes flashing in warning. Detangling your hand from his hair, Kensei returned it to the bed beside you, message being loudly received.

No touching

His smouldering eyes burned into you a moment longer, accentuating the point, before delving back in to stroke you velvety heat. He meticulously began tasting as much as you as he could reach, gliding along the secret pleasure points hidden within you. Letting your head fall back into the plump pillow, hands fisting in the sheets to avoid temptations, you unabashedly moan out your approval.

Kensei devoured you like he trained. Disciplined, methodically precise and wouldn't quit until he achieved the results he desired. He was attuned to your body, every gasp memorised, any minute clench or shiver used to figure out exactly where to touch to bring you to the peak of pleasure. You had been all to willing to allow him the time to experiment and perfect the way he pleased you, selfishly relishing in the results of his determination.

"Kensei" his name tumbled from your lips like a prayer, knowing he preferred when you used his full name. The gentle roll of your hips didn't go unnoticed as his arms wrapped around you, holding your hips in a vice like grip to halt your movements. With increased enthusiasm he delved into your depths, thrusting deeply until you came apart. Fingers squeezed into the soft curves of your hips as you bucked with a shout. Pleasure ripped through you, waves of heat washed over you.

Kensei's busy tongue didn't stop the assault as you clamped down around him. Your release coated his tongue in hot bursts of liquid, wetting his face. Your legs quaked at the shattering orgasm, held firm in his strong arms. Moans freely fell, feeling overwhelmed from the lack of reprieve he gave you. Drinking down your release, Kensei twirled his tongue against your folds, cleaning up the mess he made.

Kissing his way up the length of your cunt, he settled to your throbbing neglected clit. Mouthing the oversensitive bud, Kensei kissed it firmly. He deepened the kiss, twirling his tongue around it teasingly, tracing the shape with the tip. Too soon after your last orgasm, the stimuli was too much. His breath felt like fire, burning the sensitive flesh. Thick tongue brushed against it cruelly, setting alight the hundreds of nerves hidden there.

Your arms reached high, clawing at the pillow you writhed on desperately. The sensation pushed away any coherent thought you had to the back, blinding you with raw pleasure. Teeth grazed your bud, adding varying taxtures among the smoothness of his tongue. His thumbs brushed soothing circles into your hips, silently praising you for your obedience. 

Kensei wrapped his lips around the object of his fixation, suckling gently the way he knew drove you wild. The erotic moans he pulled from you quickened in pace, steadily climbing to an obscene volume. Your cunt clenched around nothing, aching for the feeling of being filled. His suckling turned into long hard pulls, encouraging blood to rush to the sensitive area.  Body slick with perspiration, chest heaving with deep breaths you're forced into a second orgasm, as blindingly euphoric as the first 

Muscles tensed painfully in your legs as your blindly rode the wave of pleasure. Calling out his name desperately at the never ending suction he deliver to your swollen nub. "Kensei" you gasped, clawing at the pillow beneath you desperately, "Kensei, please, it's too much"

Kensei shook his head buried in your dripping heat negativity, he wasn't finished and you were going to take it. His hands slipped from your hips to cup your ass, pushing it into the air and into his hungry mouth. Slurping away your release had you seeing stars, dancing white lights filtered through the darkness of your tightly shut eyes. 

Your body was spent, bones felt liquefied in your limbs. The pull of sleep loomed ominously over you, ready to claim you once released from pleasures consuming rapture. His crocked nose brushed against your clit as his tongue delved into your core, pulsating erratically around the invading tongue. 

"Kensei, please" tears sprung to your eyes, leaking down the side of your face to wet the cotton beneath. Your body trembled, nerves alight with over sensitivity at his relentless assault. " I can't, I can't it's too much" your whine went unanswered, only spurring him on in his mission to taste every inch of you. Supporting your ass with once hand, Kensei brought the other to your cunt, easily sliding two thick digits into you. 

The blissful feeling of being stretched silenced your begging, savouring the stretch of being filled. Kensei didn't hesitate to plunge them into you quickly, curling to reach the spongy part with practiced accuracy at every thrust. His fingers squelched through your already sopping cunt, juices flowing over his fingers, wetting his hand and the sheets below. 

Kensei could feel your legs quake around him, thighs pressed into his shoulders trapping him between your legs. He twirled his tongue against your clit, sucking it between his lips in a harsh pull. Listening intently to your loud moans, Kensei felt all his pent up frustration Ooze out of him as you writhed beneath him, shouting out his name beautifully. 

You came with a yell, bucking your hips erratically dislodging the hold Kensei had on your abused pussy. His fingers slowed in you, easing you through the wave of pleasure blinding you. Your legs slumped against the mattress when he removed his fingers, leaving a parting kiss on your mound, Kensei wiped his mouth on the back of his hand before crawling up to meet you 

He laid heavily next to you, pulling your twitching body into his strong chest, his arms wrapped around you, rubbing soothing circles into your breath as you came back down to earth. Your mind was sluggish, eyes struggling to stay open as you nestled into his chest, his strong heart beat  soothingly pulsating near your ear. A gentle kiss to your forehead had you tilting up your chin, asking for a kiss. 

Kensei obliged, languidly caressing your tongue with his own, Tinted with the taste of your pleasure. You cupped his jaw, smoothing over the skin softly.  He looked relaxed, eye brows no longer in a deep furrow, tightness of his jaw released. His eyes bore into your own with so much adoration and care that it stole your breath away. 

"what about you?" You ask, brushing your knee against his hidden cock. Kensei shook his head silently, pulling you to drape over his chest as he sunk into the bed, finally relaxed. Kensei closed his eyes and fell into a dreamless sleep, holding onto you closely. 

You were all he needed.

[foxgloveprincess]

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Female Reader, Lance Tucker x Female Reader [Second Person Narrator]

Summary: After your night with Ransom, you’re moving on—really.  

Word Count: 2,818

Attic Wives Anonymous Masterlist

Warnings: UnBeta’d, Dark, Stalking, Fear/Paranoia, Unreliable Narrator, Yandere Vibes, BDSM (Dom/sub, Exhibitionism, Rope Bondage, Suspension, Aftercare), brief Smut (Vaginal Penetration, Unsatisfying), Pet Names (baby, pidge, etc). Minors do not interact (18+).

A/N: Here’s some more Ransom, being patient as he can be. Let me know what you think!

I love feedback, so go ahead and reblog if you want. However, I give no permission to copy, translate, rewrite or post my work on any third party website or app. Seeing my work posted anywhere beside my blog, my library blog, or my AO3 account (FoxglovePrincess) means it’s been stolen/plagiarized.

I don’t do tag lists, so follow @foxglovefics to sign up for notifications on my fics. 

Please DO NOT click ‘Keep Reading’ if you are not 18+ years of age or if you are uncomfortable with the pairing, themes, dynamics, or warnings. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Thank you!

Breathe. In. Out. Your body relaxes into the cradle of ropes. You catch a glimpse of Chase, his smile shining for his audience. You keep your thoughts on him, too scared to let them drift. 

Though, another eye catches yours from the crowd. Your lips twitch and your teeth worry over them. Hunger, deep and dark, glinting. Pride radiating in waves. The eyes of a man who looks at you as though you’re a pristinely polished trophy. And you’re happy to be that for Lance Tucker. Just for him. God, what you’d let that man do to you. Never imagining the man who might do it better—never. 

You try to blink away thoughts of that rich asshole and let your eyes drift closed. A hand binding your wrists, around your throat. That smug smirk of his as he took you apart piece by piece. 

No. There’s no room for Ransom. He didn’t write you a check, but a week later you’d gotten a direct deposit—more than he’d promised. And you hadn’t heard from him since. Good riddance. 

You find Lance in the crowd again and let his proud smile satisfy you. You don’t need some pompous, entitled, egotistical brat hanging around being a creep. You’re glad Ransom got you out of his system. Really. You are. 

You breathe a moment, centering yourself back in the present. There’s no need to think about Ransom Drysdale. None at all. 

“Are you alright?” Chase asks in a quiet tone. His hand reaches out to steady you, grounding you to the conversation with him. 

“I’m fine,” you reply before assessing the state of your body. “But a little sore? Maybe? I think I might need to come down soonish.” 

“Alright,” Chase says. He turns back to the crowd announcing the end of his presentation, explaining the aftercare and begins to lower the rig. 

Your belly finds the mats, hands still wrapped behind your back. You turn your head and rest it on the cushion while you wait. Chase approaches and kneels by your waist. 

A laugh huffs from your chest when you look up at him. “I could have stayed up longer.” 

Chase quirks a brow. “I’m sure you could have. But I didn’t think you should.” 

You make an accepting sound in your throat and let him do his work. A minute passes before your limbs are all free. Chase wraps the rope from his palm to his elbow, winding it to put away. 

Slowly, you begin to move. First legs, stretching into the air and bending, then arms. When you finally push up from the mat, Chase stands ready to help guide you back to your room. 

“You did good today,” you remark as you both walk down the hallway. “They were eating up every word. Saw a bunch heading toward your photography table.” He smiles at you. “I think they really like the pose, too.” 

The door opens to your room and you find your futon. Chase hands you your snack and drink. 

“What do you think about going vertical next week?” he asks, brushing his fingers over your forehead while you lay comfortably on your bed. 

“As long as I’m not upside down,” you reply with closed eyes and a yawn. 

“I’ll let Lance know you’re ready for him.” Chase leaves you drifting off to sleep to get your boyfriend—the newest addition to your aftercare routine. 

The door opens and you feel the tender touch of Lance’s hand. He leans down to kiss your lips. 

“Hey, baby,” you murmur, half asleep. But when you turn over and open your eyes, no one’s there. You sit up and glance around. 

The door sits in its frame, shut and undisturbed, just like the rest of your room. Must have been your imagination, but you could’ve sworn…

The door opens and Lance struts in. You catch his eye and his smile beams. 

“God, you were fantastic!” he enthuses. Taking his hands from his track pants pockets, he cups your cheeks and presses his lips to yours. They taste of cherry chapstick, how could you have forgotten that—the lips that kissed yours before him didn’t. 

“You waiting up for me?” 

You nod without a word, unsure as to what to say. Part of you wants to mention that moment before he came in. But why would he want to hear about your dream? Instead, you pull back your blanket, inviting him to warm you up. 

“As soon as we get back to your place, I’ll get your epsom salt bath going,” he starts, liking the sound of his own voice as much as you do. It grounds you, especially after a strange encounter with a figment of your imagination. “Gotta make sure you aren’t sore in the morning. Then we can get you in your…”

He keeps talking and it lulls you to sleep. Knowing that when you wake up, he’ll take you back to your place and sleep over. And everything will go like it always does. 

Which is why you’re unsurprised when Saturday morning dawns and Lance has slotted himself between your thighs. 

His hips curve into yours, his cock stretching you wide. Your fingers dig into his spine, clutching him close. Moans spill from your lips. His heavy breaths brush across your cheeks. Sweat beads on his brow as he readjusts you, stretching one of your legs closer to your chest while keeping the other wrapped around his hips. 

Your lips press together. It all feels good—always has. Even when you were finding your groove together, with his athleticism and your need for intimacy. 

He makes noises of pleasure. His hips accelerating in a signal of his imminent release. Your eyes close, focusing on your own. Lance’s hips stutter. He paints your insides with his cum and sighs. 

A sunny smile spreads his lips. How his hair remains coiffed after all the sweat and exertion, you don’t know, but it’s endearing. A quirk you quite adore. 

He flops to the side, running his hand along his abdomen, tickling the tattoo of the gold ribbon he has leading down his pelvis. Another uniquely Lance thing. So proud of his accomplishments, and you don’t blame him. He’s incredible. 

But your pulse thrums with the dissipating arousal of your unsatisfied lust. Your arms reach over your head, stretching sore muscles. Without meaning to, you let your mind wander. How Ransom made you sore in the best way. How he fit inside you. How he made you cum until you ached for nothing but pleasure. 

Your boyfriend’s hand reaches over, smoothing over your tummy and flicking at one of your nipples.

“Where’re you going?” he asks. 

You look over and smile. Eyes trace over his pouty lips and bright blue eyes. You tilt your head and brush your lips to his. 

“I’m right here,” you reply. 

“Are you going to tell me what’s on your mind?” Harlan asks. He leans back in his chair and you lift your head from your research. 

“The toxicology of plant-based poisons,” you reply, immersed in your work. Though, you know it won’t satisfy your boss. 

He says nothing more for a moment. Letting you turn your full attention back to the research at hand. He probably didn’t need much help in the subject with how long he’s been writing murder mysteries. Still, he always likes to be accurate. As few creative liberties as possible—at least where it counts. 

“Alright,” he says with as little enthusiasm as he can bestow on such an acceptance. “You will tell me eventually, mind.” 

“Will I?” you mumble distractedly. 

“You’re not a very good liar.” 

You snort and turn the page, picking up a highlighter and sticky note to jot down a thought on a passage about cyanide. 

“It isn’t something Walt did, is it?” he prods, the weight of his observant gaze heavy on your shoulders. 

“No, Harlan,” you reply, recapping the pen in your hand. 

“What about Ransom? He gave you some trouble a little while ago.”

You swallow and push aside the embarrassment and panic that spikes through you, replying, “No, Harlan.” 

“Huh,” he says. 

“Shouldn’t you be working?” you ask with a huff of mild frustration. 

“I’m quite stuck on what should happen next,” he says with a flick to the corner of the page. 

“Right,” you drone with the skeptical quirk of your eyebrow sent in his direction. 

He smiles that enigmatic smile of his and reaches up a hand to cup his chin. “You know I’m just concerned.” 

With a sigh, you give up on your work. Your boss won’t let you focus on it anyway. Folding your arms over your chest, you lean back and contemplate how best to word your explanation. One tiny slip and the jig is up. How could you possibly tell him his grandson paid to fuck you better than anyone ever has?

“You’re thinking about it now, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you admit, pursing your lips around the word. “Don’t need to tell you all the gory details, though.”

“That’s the best part of a story,” he refutes with a twinkle in his eye. His full attention remains on you, waiting for the final crack before the flood. 

“Let’s just say,” you pause for the right wording. “My boyfriend is amazing, but doesn’t always…” You trail off with a hand gesture to imply the rest.

“You mean in the boudoir?” Harlan twines his fingers and tilts his head in interest. 

You snort and nod. “Yeah.” You lean back in your chair until your eyes meet the ceiling. “Got me thinking about the last prick. He was an asshole, but he...” You trail off, uncertain as to how you might finish the thought.

Harlan looks at you a long while. When your head turns to meet his gaze, he says, “May I offer advice in the form of an old adage?”

You sit upright and nod. “Lay it on me.” Complete with a grabbing motion of your hands. 

“Comparison is the thief of joy.” 

It sits in the air, letting you soak it in. Harlan returns to his manuscript in silence. Yet you’re stuck on the words. He’s right. Ransom is your past—a blip, if anything—and Lance is your future—a real, solid one at that.

You turn back to your research with determination. Refusing to let Ransom occupy a second more of your thoughts. You start back on your note about cyanide. 

“I know that’s not all, by the by,” your boss intones right as your pen meets paper. “But it’s enough for now.”

You swallow and glance over your shoulder to him. “Thanks.” 

Harlan nods with a hum and places his glasses on his nose. 

The sounds of the typewriter fill the empty space of the room and the two of you continue your work. You lose yourself to the facts and let the hours tick by. Thoughts wavering on your future. 

“Seriously, this tastes like shit.” 

You hear his voice before you see him. Your heart drops to your stomach. All you can think is ‘Oh, God, no.’ Your feet find the final step and you freeze. Unsure of the best course of action. 

You might be able to completely skirt by unnoticed through the front door. Or the back patio. As long as Ransom stays in the kitchen. 

It was coming back inside that posed the problem. Harlan sending you on an errand to the local public library to pick up a book he placed on hold. If Ransom were still here, how could you avoid him without knowing his position in the mansion? 

“It’s a good thing I didn’t make it for you, Hugh,” Fran replies. 

You blink out of your momentary panic. As if Ransom ever stayed so long with his grandfather. He’d be long gone by the time you got back. You scurry out the door, closing it with the softest click.

The breeze bites through the air. It stings your face with its crisp coolness. You wrap your scarf tighter around your neck and bundle your hands deeper into your sleeves. On the threshold of winter, you dread the thought of the first snow. 

You wait a moment for your car to warm before driving down the road to town. Thoughts mull in your mind, but music tunes them out. The radio already blasting holiday songs on repeat, prompting another train of thought to occupy you. Your first holiday not alone. Gifts for Lance. Holiday plans and the small, hopeful feeling warm in your chest.

You find a parking spot at the library and exit your car. The cold wind bustles you inside and you walk to the front counter. Used to your face, the librarians move quickly to check-out Harlan’s book to you. You smile and thank them, and then you’re on your way back, with little time to get your head on straight when thoughts of Ransom resurface. 

Parking the car, you linger a moment in the quickly dissipating heat. The car door slams behind you. A few quick strides take you back up the steps and into the house. You shiver as you undress your outerwear, hanging each piece up on your hook—coat, hat, scarf, mittens. 

You pause to listen. Straining to see if you can hear Ransom’s voice anywhere in the house. Knowing how much he likes to hear himself speak. Nothing. A sigh of relief blows past your lips. 

The stairs creak on your ascent. Marta greets you on her way down, a furrow between her brow. You almost ask her about it, but she slips away in a quick descent. 

You make it to the second landing and stop. He’s standing right there. Staring at a painting on the wall—one you’d admired before, reminiscent of Artemisia Gentileschi. One you pass multiple times a day on your way up to Harlan’s study. One of your favorite pieces in the house, really. 

Wishing to turn invisible just for a moment, you clutch the book close to your chest and close your eyes. With determination, you open them and march past Ransom, ignoring his presence. Yet, in your periphery, his head turns. 

“Oh,” he says—is there a tinge of affection in his tone? He cocks his head to the side and takes a long perusal of your body. His eyes narrow. “Where have you been?” Any question of tenderness vanishes with the question. Replaced by his usual derision.

You hold up the book in explanation. He squints at the cover and his lips part, but he doesn’t say anything. He seems to think better of a comment and looks back to the painting. 

“If you’ll excuse me then, Mr. Drysdale.” 

His jaw ticks in irritation. Eyes flashing toward you, he grits, “Call me Ransom, pidge.” 

You step sideways toward the stairs up to Harlan’s personal study. “Right,” you mutter under your breath. “I just thought—” You shake your head. A buzz in your pocket catches your attention. You pull the screen halfway out to check. The preview of a text from Lance shines up at you. Your lips twitch toward a smile as you tuck it away. “Nevermind.” You make it up two steps before you hear his voice again. 

“Is Lance treating you right?”

You might have thought the question just a figment of your imagination—prone as you are to those. But turning around, he watches you curiously. Your lips part, stunned.

“How did you know about him?” you ask with a glance over your shoulder to the upstairs door, drawn but not closed. Praying that Harlan won’t be privy to this unexpected conversation. 

“Friend of a friend,” Ransom replies with a shrug. But his eyes do not leave yours. It unsettles you, the steadiness of his focus. 

You swallow down your unease. “Why do you care?” you prod. Your face scrunches in an expression of dubiousness. 

Ransom blinks and looks away to the painting again. “I don’t.” The words rasp between his teeth.

“Right,” you mutter under your breath. “Well, Ransom.” Your fingers tap on the book cover. “I, uh, hope you have a nice rest of your day.” 

You retreat up the rest of the stairs and enter Harlan’s study. With a great huff of air releasing your nerves and pent-up frustration, you glance at your boss. A curious expression adorns his features. Your stomach flips, but you ignore it and hand over his book, ready to get back to work. You’re sure he’ll ask his questions later. 

As for you, you’ve got some answered. Like the fantasy of whether Ransom would really be such a horrible option. The answer is yes. No matter how well he fucked you or how he sent you reeling in your throes of passion, he is not the man for you. Of that, you’re now absolutely certain. 

[reactor-four-official]

The Search for the Fuel: The Elephant’s Foot

From the first days of the accident, locating and monitoring the 190 tons of nuclear fuel that had been in the fourth reactor at the time of the explosion was a top priority for the commission overseeing the cleanup. They wanted to ensure that no further disasters would unfold at Chernobyl; with the Soviet Union's international prestige already significantly battered, it was critical that they felt in control of the situation once more. After the initial plume of radionuclides from the burning reactor declined significantly in the early days of May 1986, it was established by the scientists assisting the Commission that the nuclear fuel had three distinct hazards that it could present. These were a radioactive hazard, a nuclear hazard, and a thermal hazard.

Perhaps the most obvious, the radioactive hazard was that of the aforementioned radioactive cloud rising from reactor 4. Although it had decreased significantly, it was still a danger and could potentially flare up again unless measures were taken to prevent it.

The nuclear hazard was the fear of a new uncontrolled nuclear chain reaction like the one that had initially destroyed the reactor. The state of the core was unknown at this time, and scientists had to determine if any of the reactor assembly was still in place and if it or any other mass of fuel had the necessary elements to sustain another catastrophic reaction. Basically, it was a possibility that the fuel could gather in such a way that a new nuclear chain reaction would start.

Finally, the thermal hazard was that of the hot nuclear fuel melting through the concrete of the unit block and into the Earth below. This is known as the “China Syndrome” after a movie of the same name. It was also feared at the time that the fuel could melt down into the bubbler tanks below the reactor, which stored a large reservoir of cooling water, and cause a significant steam explosion. This was the main concern of the government commission and the most effort was put in place to reduce this hazard first.

Having established the potential dangers of the fuel the Commission wanted absolute assurance that the hazard was not an immediate threat to the safety of the workers at Chernobyl and the world at large.

This undertaking was assigned to the team of experts assembled by the Kurchatov Institute, a scientific institute for the study of nuclear physics. It was established early on that most fuel was somewhere within the ruins of the fourth unit, since very little was ejected by the explosion. The building itself was enormous, with winding passages known only to those who worked for years in its labyrinthine walls.

Below: A schematic diagram of the fourth unit block seen from the west. The dimensions of the building are marked in meters. Note the enormous region of rooms located below the reactor core (Closed Reactor Space on this diagram). The area at the bottom of the building with the large vertical pipes are the bubbler tanks that held emergency cooling water for the reactor. This was the area scientists feared a steam explosion if the fuel lava gained access.

Adding to the problem of the scale of the search area was the fact that the building was potentially unstable due to the explosion of the fourth reactor. Rubble filled hallways and walls and ceilings sagged dangerously. Radiation levels fluctuated wildly within the building, with some areas almost entirely safe and others able to cause sickness and death in minutes. Even more pressing was that starting in the spring of 1986, the lower levels of the fourth unit began to slowly fill with fresh concrete. The Ministry of Medium Machine Building unit US-605, who were building the Sarcophagus to cover the radioactive remains of the unit, poured concrete into the structures of the Sarcophagus 24 hours a day. However, huge gaps and sinkholes existed in their work area, and a good portion of the concrete pumped into the Sarcophagus ended up deep in the lower levels of the block. This concrete blocked hallways, doors, and even (as they would later come to learn) covered up some of the melted fuel.

It was not until late spring of 1986 that exploration of the fourth unit block began. In June of 1986, two men were probing a steam distribution corridor in the southeast corner of the block from another corridor just below it using a powerful dosimeter which could detect radiation levels of up to 3,000 roentgens per hour. Since radiation levels in the stairway up to the corridor they were probing were already quite high (~25 roentgens per hour) they decided to send the detection head of the device up the stairs ahead of them via an assembly of metal rods. As soon as the device entered the corridor above, it went off the scale and burnt out. From this result the team was able to pinpoint a source of extreme gamma radiation.

In December of 1986, and expedition was mounted to room 217/2 to make visual contact with the suspected fuel concentration. Moving along the steam corridor this time, the team spotted a large metallic gray mass sitting neatly within the corner of the room. This formation was dubbed the "Elephant's Foot" (though some source translate it as"Elephant's Leg") due to its similarity to the leg of an elephant. The black glassy mass emitted over 8,000 roentgen an hour, deadly after just one and a half minutes (this is the maximum recorded emission, the levels would decrease significantly in the months after the disaster). For the first time, the theory of fuel lava was visually confirmed. The team branded the materiel "lava-like fuel containing masses" (LFCM).

Below: A picture of the Elephant's Foot from the direction which it was first observed. The railings just behind the main formation (Label 1) is the railing around the metal stairs from which the formation was first detected via dosimeter. Note the streaks of fuel above the formation showing where the fuel had dripped down from above. Label 4 denotes the "fresh" concrete that made its way into the building during the construction of the Sarcophagus.

Below: a view of room 217/2 from above. The red is the Elephant’s Foot, the orange is the fresh concrete, and the gray are the walls of the block. The Foot itself is the accumulation closest to the bottom left of the photograph. You can see there is more lava in an unnamed formation next to it.

After locating the fuel and taking some pictures, the team was tasked with analyzing what the lava was composed of. This may seem kind of obvious, but really it was not known what was in the LFCM. Presumably the fuel of course, but what else? It had been debated from the early days of the accident if the efforts to douse the fire and melting fuel with lead, boron, and sand had been effective (I refer here to the April 26th-May 12th aerial bombardment campaign of the reactor via helicopter- I will make a post on this effort at a later time and link it here). The contents of the fuel is an interesting topic which I will not go over more in this post. You can find more info on the quest to get a piece of the LFCM here.

After procuring a sample, one issue remained. They had found some of the fuel, but nowhere near the total amount. The grand majority of the fuel had yet to be located. By the summer of 1987 the fresh concrete that had run into the lower levels of the block began to cause real obstacles to the scientists. Many rooms suspected to contain fuel were inaccessible or could not be reached safely. A new approach was needed.

At the end of 1987 the Kurchatov team was reassigned to be part of the adventurously named Chernobyl Complex Expedition (CCE), an enormous liquidation effort that was tasked with exploring the interior of the Sarcophagus and locating the rest of the fuel in the years after the disaster. The CCE was composed to representatives from all the major Soviet scientific institutions, as well as builders and engineers. At its peak over 3,000 people worked as part of the Expedition. Through it all, the main core of this group was the scientists from the Kurchatov Institute.

Backed by resources of the entire CCE, the scientific team sought new approaches for searching for the fuel. After extensive discussion, the scientists came up with a rather ingenious solution. They would use coring drills like those used in oil drilling exploration set up in specially decontaminated rooms in the fourth unit block to drill so called ‘wells’ into inaccessible rooms. Through these they would send specially built monitoring equipment. These included thermometers, periscopes, and radiation sensors. Not only could they monitor the LFCM with this equipment, they could also obtain information about the building and the LFCM via analysis of the cores made by the drill. This allowed them to remotely locate, monitor, and sample the LFCM with minimal risk to personnel.

Below: A schematic of the wells drilled at the 9 meter mark below the reactor containment vessel. The purple lines are the wells themselves, with the gray being the concrete walls of the block. The large blue cross is the metal support Scheme S. I provided this as an example of how the wells were drilled and laid out. For more info, feel free to contact me.

Below: a member of the CCE operates a drill in the bowels of the fourth unit block. Note the protective clothing he is wearing to prevent the spread of airborne radiological contamination.

Between 1988 and 1992 a total of 134 wells were drilled between the 9 and 16 meter marks (the method by which levels of the plant are identified) and at the 20, 21, and 25 meter marks. It was eventually determined that over 180 of the 190 tons of fuel remained in the reactor block. The missing ten tons had either been blown out of the active zone and into the area around the reactor by the explosion, or had vaporized into the radioactive column that had emerged from the reactor in 1986. The remaining fuel within the block took the form of the LFCM, as well as dust. The dust created by the fuel is the main radiological enemy post 1986 and continues to be an issue to this day. Primarily composed of plutonium, the dust has thankfully remains mostly within the Sarcophagus. The LFCM, initially almost indestructible, has started to crumble and decay. As time goes on this creates even more dust, and the formations slowly erode away. This has contributed to a significant drop in gamma radiation emissions from the fuel masses and allowed for further study of the premises of the fourth unit block.

In 1994, the Complex Expedition used data collected from these wells to compile an official report on the status of the fourth unit block. With their findings published (and the Soviet Union dissolved) the CCE disbanded. Many of the scientists who worked on the expedition (and even some who were on the original Kurchatov Institute team) continued to work at Chernobyl for years. Expeditions are still sometimes mounted into the Sarcophagus, but they have not been carried out with any regularity since the early 2000s. However, visual inspection remains the only way to accurately monitor the condition of the LFCM.

You may be left wondering: how exactly did these men navigate such a radioactive environment without adverse effects? Once again I shall make a post on this in the future, but the main answer is: speed! Defense against radiation (with some exceptions) is as simple as not lingering in high radiation areas. To facilitate safe movement through the block, the scientists located and marked safe areas of reduced radiation levels (such as the room in this post) as well as dangerous areas to avoid. In the end, only a select few “Stalkers” actually set foot within the ruins of Reactor 4.

This post serves as the (admittedly lose) historical context for the exploration of the fourth unit block and the location of the LFCM. I will be making another post about the fuel rest of the fuel soon. I always feel bad for the other fuel formations because the Elephants Foot gets all of the attention. This will be a lot more technical, with locations and diagrams (joy of joys!) of the fuel as well as more context to its identification.

[0ystercatcher]

the us really is a land of plenty btw. everything you could possibly want or need you can find here in the very many types of stores and sales available. if you cant find it in person you can probably find someone to bring it to you. americans in general are total, unrepentant, consumed libertarians at their core, even when they claim not to be. it would be an admirable trait to be so stubborn about muh freedom if their freedom wasnt costing them and the rest of the world their/our lives and also if they had any inkling of an idea of what to even do with so much of it. so much of this place feels wasted on them because they are so focused on such a base boring level of freedom (freedom to purchase, to larp as the worlds best castle doctrine defender and private property soldier when youre really just Some Guy with access to a gun, freedom to eat as many treats as possible (a freedom ive been happily partaking on to be fair! but i think this is ok as i am a tourist and thats basically what tourists do), freedom to fuck over your neighbour until you really need help and then you become an ardent believer in mutual and personal responsibility and owing your debt to society, etc) that they forget the more... productive and wonderful consequences of high levels of economic, creative, etc, freedom like creating great all achieving enterprises (i still find it crazy the us went to the moon and then decided theyd had enough of that, and that just around the corner here theres a perfectly good nuclear energy plant that never went into use because ooo radiation scawy...) or whatever. and the honestly quite wacky and impressive amnts of talent and skill constantly flowing into this place. instead all that goes into perfecting vertical integration for army logistics and mcdonalds food around the world. which is cool but also come the fuck on man you can do so much better.

still i like it here so far. i still do think the americans could use a good land invasion though because despite all this wonderful shit around them, shit thats so basic and boring and ordinary to them that are such simple and yet effective qol improvements to me or idk, could be to my family, they seem unable to like...go anywhere with it. yes cost of living is much higher but i still cannot imagine ever making 20 dollars an hour ever in my life if i stay in peru. thats basic politician money. thats corrupt official money. which are some of the highest paying careers down there. that still has to matter and being here i think some of the problems americans talk abt online are def real but by god not nearly as horrific as they think they are. an invasion would to them some good in a twister fucked up. it would put the fear of god in them and maybe get them to realize just how good theyve had it so that they can finally get the fuck off their asses and do something with it. anyway, amazing burgers btw! the food really does slap. they just cannot fucking get salads right.

[sixty-silver-wishes]

for the one word writing prompts post, i wrote a short python script to generate a random number from 1 to 50 as well as a random character from the cabinet of dr. caligari so i request as randomly generated:

47 (games), Young Doctor

ooh I love writing this fucked up background character! here goes

-

"You asked to see me- Director?" Dr. Stein asked, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his lab coat.

The asylum director glowered at him from his desk, the dark, jagged patterns on the walls behind him appearing to emanate from his back, as if he was radiating some sort of malevolent force. "I did," he answered. "Friederich, there's an important matter I need to discuss with you."

Dr. Stein stepped back, blinking. "Of course," he answered.

The director got up, taking a small black box off of a shelf and handing it to him. "Set it up," he said.

"What is-"

"You've been working here long enough to know not to question orders," the director said, his eyes shining behind his round glasses. "Set it up."

Dr. Stein nodded shakily. "Yes," he said, wondering what could be in the box.

"On the desk there," the director said, "quickly."

Dr. Stein forced himself to keep his hands steady, as if he were about to give a patient an injection. He carefully opened the box, producing a chessboard and a handful of pieces. Why would the director call him into his office during working hours to play chess? He watched him silently, his white gloved hands folded in front of him, as Dr. Stein placed the board on the desk.

"I need to get back to the patients," Dr. Stein said, beginning to set up the pieces. "I'm sure you'll understand-"

"Then I don't know why you're taking so long, Friederich. You'll play white; I'll play black. You'll go first."

"Of course," Dr. Stein said again, and finished setting up the pieces. He wanted to sit down, but as the director was sitting in the only chair in the room, he found himself standing as he pondered his opening move. I don't care if he wins, he thought. I have more important things to do.

"You're being very careful, I see," the director said.

"Yes," he responded.

"I'd hate to break your concentration."

"It... it isn't a problem."

"I didn't ask if it was a problem, Friederich. Now, we must discuss what I've called you here for."

"Yes," Dr. Stein answered, wondering why the director would bother having him get out the chessboard instead of directly addressing the issue at hand.

"I've heard some of my staff talking about you," he said, "and the new patient."

Dr. Stein froze, his hand positioned above one of his pawns. "I haven't been near the new patient," he said. "You told all of us not to go near him. You said his case was- you said it was too severe for anyone but you to attempt to treat."

"I don't want you moving that pawn," the director said.

"Yes," Dr. Stein said again, and withdrew his hand, opting to move the pawn next to it instead.

"Very good," the director responded, and moved one of his own pawns. "So I hope the rumors weren't true, then?"

Dr. Stein looked at him. "What rumors?" he asked.

"Make your move first," the director responded. "I don't like to be kept waiting."

Dr. Stein moved another pawn forward. He didn't bother to think about which one.

"A certain member of the staff has told me that you talked to him about the new patient," the director responded, moving one of his pieces as well. "You allegedly said you had some concerns about my ability to treat him."

"I- I don't have any concerns, Director."

"I should hope that you don't. After all, you're working for me. Your turn."

Dr. Stein nodded, and moved a piece forward without thinking.

"You moved a bishop forward in a vertical line," the director said. "That's against the rules."

"I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking." "That's quite dangerous, isn't it," the director said, "for an asylum doctor to not be thinking. I, for one, am thinking, Friederich. Would you like to guess what I'm thinking of?"

Dr. Stein hesitated. "How to win this game of chess?" he offered feebly.

"Wrong," the director answered. "I'm thinking about why you could possibly doubt my ability to care for the patient. He has a severe case of somnambulism, you know."

"I'm aware." "Which I studied for many years," the director continued. "I specialize in the subject." "I'm aware. I recall you said you were planning a... lecture tour on the matter?" The director smiled. "You could say that," he said. "Now, as the answer eludes me, I want to hear what you think. You're well aware of my expertise; why would you think I wouldn't be able to successfully treat the patient?" He stared at him expectantly, the board forgotten. The crooked walls of his office appeared to be closing in.

Dr. Stein could think of several reasons why. For one, and most glaringly, there was the way the director responded to seeing the patient for the first time. The entire staff had watched in uncomfortable silence as he regarded the unconscious body with a ravenous gaze, and slovenly fell upon the young man in the chair, practically salivating as he ran his hands up and down his torso, inhaling his scent as he lay there asleep. Dr. Stein, who had grown used to, among other things, picking apart preserved brains in his university years, had never seen a more disgusting sight than that of the accomplished man he'd respected for so long, suddenly casting aside all pretense of dignity as he grabbed the patient in his hands, greedily grasping at his face, his shoulders, fistfuls of his hair...

He knows what he's doing, he tried to convince himself many times. This was the esteemed director of the Holstenwall Asylum; he had to have known what he was doing. After all, as he'd said, he did specialize in the patient's condition, so who was Dr. Stein to tell him that he could not perform his job well? But there were questions he couldn't shake from his mind- why did the director insist on being the only one to so much as see the patient once he had been brought in? Why didn't he let any of the staff handle his medical records? And why had the patient's arrival produced such an animal response in him? Dr. Stein knew he couldn't question the director's authority. But oftentimes, he found himself wanting to check in on the patient, to see if he'd woken up, to reassure him that he was in good hands, to take him far away from the director's awful gaze and get him some proper treatment. But who's to say he isn't receiving proper treatment? he countered himself. What if-

"Friederich!" the director snapped. "You haven't answered my question." "Yes, of course," Dr. Stein said. "I don't want to hear yes, of course. I want an answer. Why wouldn't you think I'd be able to care for him?" Dr. Stein looked down at the chessboard, wishing he'd paid better attention to the game- he didn't want to let the director win.

"I would never doubt you, Director," he said. "I trust that with your guidance, the patient will make a full recovery." The director smiled, and took one of his chess pieces. "Very good," he said. "Very good, Friederich."

[eridanidreams]

Text Dump Thursday

Since I got tagged for extra content by @bearlytolerant... grins

from an upcoming chapter of Deus Ex: The Odysseus Gambit

It was the second day of their hastily improvised wilderness vacation, and they’d had to circle far to the south of their intended route to avoid a nasty hotspot. The detour had already added a day to their travel time, and Sloane could only hope they didn’t have to go too much farther out of their way. She chanced a glance at Jensen, who was carefully watching where he put his feet. City boy learns fast, she thought wryly. Then again, once you knew how to move with stealth, it was just a matter of figuring out what to watch out for.

The forest here made her uneasy. For the hundredth time, she reminded herself that the Red Forest wasn’t normal. Once, it had been a mixed-growth forest, pines and birch intermingled, but conifers were more susceptible to radiation than deciduous trees. The pines had died within a year of the meltdown; the rust of their needles had given the area its name. The dead pines had been long since buried, and the forest was more birch than pine now, but the name remained.

It was the absence of birdsong, she decided. Another casualty of the meltdown; although a wide variety of animals had moved into the area after people moved out, the bird and insect populations had been badly affected, and even now were much lower than normal. The silence that in any other forest would have meant danger was simply a sad fact of life in this blighted place.

Damned if she could tell her instincts that, when every instinct she had clamored that this was a place of death, and she had no business being here.

Sloane’s nerves were wound tightly enough that she actually jumped a little when Jensen’s voice crackled through her infolink. “Got something here. I think… you need to see this.”

She picked her way through the closely-grown birches to join Jensen; “this” was the wreck of a wood cabin, no more than five meters by five meters. The ground beneath the cabin had collapsed, taking half the building with it. Its one remaining wall leaned precariously, held mostly vertical only by a conveniently-placed tree. Splintered wood hung like teeth against the dark maw of the cavern, but—“Do you see that?” she asked, indicating an angle that was far too regular to be natural.

“Huh. Why would a forest shack have a cellar?” Jensen asked, logically.

“If it was built over a zemlyanka…” He frowned, clearly not recognizing the word. “Dug-out shelter, sometimes concrete-reinforced. Partisans used them to hide during World War II. This would have been a good place for one when Operation Barbarossa was in full swing.” Absently, she rubbed the back of her neck. “What the hell would anyone want out here, though?”

“Only one way to find out,” Jensen said. She shrugged agreement, and the two of them advanced carefully upon the ruin. The ground surrounding it was torn and trampled, and the Geiger counter at her wrist rattled angrily.

“Looks like something’s exposed the radioactive sediments,” Sloane warned. “We shouldn’t stay here more than an hour.”

Jensen’s eyebrows had a distinctly sardonic quirk. “If we’re here that long, we’re probably in bigger trouble than just a little radiation.” He broke off a length of wood, propping it under a particularly precarious-looking part of the ruin. While he did that, Sloane took a better look at the immediate area. She saw animal tracks galore—mostly deer, if she was reading them right—but what she didn’t see were human footprints.

“Right,” he said, having set a few more props while she was studying the ground. “That’s about as stable as it’s going to get.” He turned his head toward her. “How do you want to do this?”

“One of us should stay up top,” she responded immediately. “That way, if it collapses, we aren’t both trapped.” She chewed her lip in thought. “I’m a little smaller, so I should probably go.” She tried for a smile, but it felt odd on her face. “Good thing I’m not claustrophobic.”

“Makes sense,” Jensen said. “I’ll keep watch up here.”

Sloane slid out of her pack—it wasn’t large, but she wasn’t taking any chances—and hunted around until she found the stairs down. The concrete hadn’t crumbled, but the steps were short and shallow, slick with mud and half-rotted leaves. She placed her feet carefully with each step, making sure she was stable before taking the next. It took what seemed an eternity to reach the bottom, but the clock said it had only been about a minute. “Okay,” she murmured into the infolink, “I’m down.” The sun didn’t penetrate this far down. A chill ran through her—it must have been due to the cold. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, then gave up the attempt to chase away the chill and pulled out her flashlight. “Fuck, it’s a mess down here.” It looked like part of the concrete ceiling of the zemlyanka had collapsed—in fact, that might have been what brought the whole thing down. She turned slowly, making sure that her eyes were set to ‘record’. “They were monitoring something down here. Lots of screens, all smashed to shit.” Something flashed white under her boot; she bent down and pulled a crumpled, torn piece of paper out of the muck, but it was totally illegible.

“Anything like an OSD down there?” Sloane didn’t want to admit it, but the sound of Jensen’s voice was reassuring. “They had to save the data somewhere.”

“If there was, it’s either buried in the muck or resting in pieces,” she replied tartly. “I’m not kidding when I say it’s all smashed; someone really did a number on this place.” She turned toward the half of the cellar with the collapsed roof. “I’m going to see if anything survived under the roof.”

“Try not to get yourself crushed,” Jensen advised, irony infusing his voice.

“Number one on my to-do list,” she replied, equally ironically, making her careful way through the bunker. “I think I can—fuck!” She shifted her weight backward, barely managing to avoid stepping on the pale, vaguely luminescent leg sticking out from beneath the wreckage.

“You okay?” Jensen actually sounded concerned.

“Yeah,” Sloane said. “Got a body here.” She pulled out a flashlight and crouched next to it. The faint glow was washed out by the brighter light; what she could see of the limb was covered in a grey, greasy-looking wax. “Fucking hell,” she muttered, “this thing’s saponified.” She leaned back on her heels and wracked her brain for anything related to—

“Saponified?” Jensen sounded simultaneously wary and curious.

“It’s a soap mummy. The body fat turns to soap. The conditions have to be right, but I can’t remember details other than the soil has to be pretty alkaline. You get soap when you combine fat and something alkaline, like lye.” Sloane realized she was babbling and snapped her mouth shut, annoyed that she was letting her nerves get the best of her. “He’s been here for a few months, at least. I don’t remember how long it takes for saponification to start, but it’s not that long.” She straightened up, took a step back, and played the beam around. “Got the stock of a weapon here—looks like a rifle.” She edged over, trying to find decent footing. The rifle was half-buried under concrete and wood, but it slid easily at even a tentative pull. “Ok, guy’s military or paramilitary. Got an AK-27 here.”

“So, Russian military,” Jensen said. “Have those even had time to hit the black market?”

“I wish,” Sloane grumbled. “I hate the FR-27. It’s not a combat rifle, it’s a PDW with delusions of grandeur.” Jensen made a noise that might have been a chuckle. She was tempted to claim it like she had the Aspid, but without ammo it would just be an awkward club. Instead, she turned her attention back to the corpse. From where she was, if she angled the beam just right, she could see—

She swallowed hard. “Cause of death is pretty obvious. Gross injury to the lower abdominal region, resulting in partial evisceration.” It was a clinical way of saying that his abdomen had been savagely ripped open enough for the guts to spill out. “Can’t determine if there’s thoracic involvement due to the wreckage.” The darkness pressed in on her; the flashlight was a frail defense. Her mask couldn’t block the dank and fetid stench of stale mold and rancid pork, all underlain by a heavy, musky odor she couldn’t identify. Her heart pounded in her chest, racing to the clack of the Geiger counter; she overrode it, but it was no help against the feeling of dread creeping up her spine. She spoke rapidly to try to cover her discomfort. “This is a bust; I can’t go any deeper. Coming out.”

“Copy that,” he said, as she suited deed to word, climbing out of the broken bunker with a distinct feeling of relief. As she emerged into the thin sunlight, his eyebrows lowered behind his eyeshields. “You look spooked,” he said bluntly.

Pride tempted her to deny it, but honesty compelled her equally blunt reply. “I am.” She holstered the flashlight, giving Jensen a sidelong glance; she wondered if she was going to regret her candidness.

“Huh. So it’s not just me,” he replied, giving her what she thought was a thoughtful look—like her, Jensen wore a full-body Tyvek suit (wood camo pattern) and high-filtration mask; with his shades up, that was all she could really see of his expression. “What’s bugging you?”

Sloane blew out a heavy breath. “My brain knows better than my gut, but my gut’s not listening.” She slung her pack back on and jerked her head eastward to indicate they should get going.

Jensen fell into step beside her. “You always listen to your head over your gut?” he asked, sounding dubious.

“When my head has more pertinent information,” she said tartly, “Yes. I just wish my gut would get the message and turn the damn volume down.”

He grunted, if not assent, at least acknowledgment. They moved in silence for a few minutes, then he asked, “What the hell could have done that?” From the tone of his voice, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.

“That live around here? Bison, maybe. Or bear. Lots of wildlife moved in here after the meltdown.” The ironic twist of her lips, invisible under her mask, seeped into her voice. “Turns out people are worse for wildlife than radiation.” Her mind was still going over what she’d seen down there. Jensen’s shoulders were tense. “Probably not a bear. No claw marks.”

His head turned toward her for just a moment. “Wish I could find that reassuring,” he growled.

“So do I,” Sloane sighed. “So do I.”

[weirdpsychoticlife]

There will be a poll at the end of this meta. You will be able to vote for different guesses by number. Please finish reading the meta before you vote.

By the time John Crichton gets sucked down his first wormhole in 1999, there are at least two human-related species waiting at the other end: Sebaceans (many of whom look indistinguishable from humans, others of whom have alien pigmentation) and Intirons (Jool's people, with the mood hair and vertical forehead ridges). Some other species may fall into this category as well: For example, John mistakes the Sykarans for Sebaceans because of their human-like appearance.

As season 4 and the sequel miniseries reveal, both Sebaceans and Intirons , at least, derive from human stock obtained from Earth by ancient Eidolons around 27,000 years ago. With significant genetic modifications, Sebaceans proved to be excellent enforcers, and many of them still serve in the "Peacekeepers," although at least one major independent colony has achieved and maintained independence in the Uncharted Territories. Along the way, they have lost their origin story; none of their peers seems to have a recorded history extending back to the Eidolons' reign, either.

Intirons rarely, if ever, join the Peacekeepers. Peacekeeper High Command frowns on producing interspecies reproduction, and non-Sebacean applicants must obtain a waiver in order to join. Jool even dismisses Sebaceans as "intellectually suited to carry weapons and die marching in formation"-- presumably not an opinion she has of her own people.

This raises a number of questions about whether Intirons and humans diverged as a result of Eidolon manipulation or other evolutionary pressures, why Intirons did not remain in Peacekeeper service, and how widely Sebaceans diverge from one another. It's even unclear if Sebaceans and Intirons are different species by our scientists' most common standard, that is, the ability to naturally produce healthy, fertile hybrid offspring. After all, Sebaceans and humans have no interfertility issues: Not only does John impregnate Aeryn Sun the old-fashioned way, but his genetic compatibility with Princess Kitralla is a major plot point of mid-season 2.

If Sebaceans, Intirons, etc., really are that distant, then either the Eidolons must have worked in most of the genetic tweaks, or the extraordinary environmental changes that their ancestors experienced must have caused far faster physical changes than have been found in any hominid population on Earth. For comparison, few scientists put the date of the human-Neanderthal (or Homo sapiens sapiens-Homo sapiens neanderthalensis, for those who view both groups as subspecies) later than 500,000 years ago. (X) (X)

There are a number of possible explanations for the level of variation that we see:

Theory 1. The Eidolons created multiple highly divergent cultivars from a wild-type human stock. They kept the one that worked the best, and left the others to colonize suitable environments.

A. The Eidolons themselves altered humans, Intirons, and perhaps some other groups until they were no longer naturally interfertile, or at least would experience lower fertility when paired across species. Genetic manipulation also explains the different appearances of Sebaceans and Intirons.

In this take, the Eidolons' manipulations seem, well, manipulative, but they might have been good enough at it to avoid causing serious hereditary illnesses. Even if the Intiron, and perhaps other, cultivars didn't suit the Eidolons' purposes, they were probably healthy enough, and were given enough resources to prosper.

B. The Eidolons didn't have any interest in creating multiple species. Sebaceans and Intirons only diverged after an early proto-Intiron group left the PKs. Exposure to differing gravities, radiation levels, microbiota, etc., caused the differences.

Now, as noted above, 27,000 years isn't that long in the scheme of human evolution. It's longer than H. sapiens has had blue eyes, but it's short compared to the development of, say, human hearing or human teeth. (X) (X) (X) It certainly isn't long enough to impact two groups' interfertility, as shown by the ethnic admixtures that almost invariably developed on Earth whenever long-separated human groups encountered one another.

So, if Intirons and Sebaceans really are too different from one another to produce healthy, fertile offspring together, and the Eidolons didn't make them that way, the proto-Intirons must have gone through absolute hell to direct such rapid adaptations. We're talking an "only a tiny percentage made it" level of evolutionary pressure. Which I guess would explain why we see so few Intirons over the course of the show.

Theory 2: The different species created by Eidolons are really more like subspecies. Maybe an adaptation/alteration here and there helps with specific circumstances, like crossing through strong radiation belts or incapacitating enemies with high-pitch hearing, but they're naturally interfertile, and their offspring (unlike, say, Scorpius) aren't going to be worse off than both parents.

I admit, I'm biased toward this one. I find it funny to imagine the PKs and Jool's old sorority sisters going through hundreds of microscopes to get rid of whatever defect is making them see DNA matches. Then there's the part where even Sebacean Peacekeepers look more varied than Earth's humans: Look at Grayza's blue-contoured skin, or the hair colors on Scorpy's nurses. If they had to admit their old species line was arbitrary, where would they put the new one?

[cinnnam0nngir16]

My understanding of the philosophy behind self-destruction

I stood on the edge of a cliff, looking down at the raging waves thrusting against the shore. The saltiness of the air mauled my face; my eyes lingered on the far crest of the ocean. Lines and shapes blurred between the sky and the only earth I’ll ever live to know. Everything had become linear, shapeless and a blend of the same hue. 

And I plunged, sharp and almost vertical; my mouth gaped as the swooshing wind filled my throat and lungs.

I had overcome fear by jumping off a cliff. 

Then I drowned in my sleep. 

A few days ago, I watched a video explaining the extreme sport of caving and the mortal fear of depths. The Youtuber said it was because of the alluring feeling of self-destruction that draws humans, or as many called it“ the call from the void”. We fear depths because our rationality tells us it is wrong and dangerous to have this forbidden and fatal attraction to self-destruction. It is the same feeling as standing in a tall building and looking down at the narrow streets and the roaring traffic that seems so distant, and you suddenly gain this uncontrollable impulse to leap -- it is the call of the void. It is so sinister because self-destruction feels good; it is the type of thrill that differs from provoking your siblings; it is the satisfaction of being aware of the consequences only inflicted upon ourselves—the fear and excitement about uncertainty.

An article written by Boris Kriger went on to expand on the metaphysical and philosophical aspects behind self-destruction; he mentioned:

“Self-destruction has a high degree of rationality, following certain logic. Existence is filled with suffering, boredom, and vulgarity. Any joy and pleasure can be perceived as either a temporary absence of this feeling or an attempt to end it. Death is associated with the cessation of suffering, in any case, with a qualitative change, a transition to another state.”

Self-destruction is followed by logic, our discontent with the world and our crippling desire to transcend into something more by constantly changing everything about ourselves: “improving” our routine and diet, looking for a better job, and rebuilding our mindset completely. And death is the entrance, an ultimate escape to another life, the afterlife, or oblivion, a place where we no longer have to loathe today’s sorrow. Crazy enough, particles constantly collide and annihilate into radiation, creating energy. Physics explains how everything eventually destroys itself in hopes of moulding into something new and becoming a better version of its original form. 

My mortality is insignificant to the spinning earth, human nature, and the darkness of the call of the void. My human nature leaves me no choice but to fight off my rationality and perhaps one day leap off a cliff, a building, or a bridge. Self-destruction is a way for me to cope with these situations that make me anxious and afraid. I feel that I must establish control over these situations and dominate my biggest fears. It is not my fault to idolise photographs of beautiful, thin girls indulging in the pleasure their youth and beauty bring; it is not my fault to starve myself into hallucinations in exchange for a lower number on the scale when I weigh myself; it is not my fault to want to be a better version of me by violently destroying what I internally and externally despised about myself. There is comfort in self-destruction; it gives me certainty and a sense of control. It is the fact that I, as a human, was designed to be drawn to the idea of destroying myself -- the “self” that ties me to doomed humanity and the fixed, cold physics of the expansion of my atoms, particles and cells -- constantly seeking a way out of the labyrinth of self-hatred ever since the moment my mother birthed me, or even further back when I was conceived. The minute I had become a physical manifestation of energy, I had no choice but to abide by nature. Inevitably, it all goes back to nature. We are constantly harming ourselves with the excuse of improvement in the hope of a better future. We cannot truly set ourselves free from the obstructions we subconsciously set for ourselves. We can never escape the curse of being human, created and destroyed by nature, and the rune that runs in our blood, calling for us from the void. 

[spacetimewithstuartgary]

Scientists identify the highest-ever recorded volcanic plume Using images captured by satellites, researchers in the University of Oxford’s Department of Physics and RAL Space have confirmed that the January 2022 eruption of the Hunga Tonga-Hunga Ha’apai volcano produced the highest-ever recorded plume. The colossal eruption is also the first to have been directly observed to have broken through to the mesosphere layer of the atmosphere. The results have been published today in the journal Science. On 15 January 2022, Hunga Tonga–Hunga Haʻapai, a submarine volcano in the Tongan archipelago in the southern Pacific Ocean, violently erupted. The explosion was one of the most powerful ever observed, sending shock waves around the world and triggering devastating tsunamis that left thousands homeless. A towering column of ash and water was ejected into the atmosphere – but until now, scientists lacked an accurate way to measure just how tall this was. Normally, the height of a volcanic plume can be estimated by measuring the temperature recorded at the top by infrared-based satellites and comparing this to a reference vertical temperature profile. This is because in the troposphere (the first and lowest layer of the Earth’s atmosphere), temperature decreases with height. But if the eruption is so large that the plume penetrates into the next layer of the atmosphere (the stratosphere), this method becomes ambiguous because the temperature begins to increase again with height (due to the ozone layer absorbing solar ultraviolet radiation). To overcome this problem, the researchers used a novel method based on a phenomenon called ‘the parallax effect’. This is the apparent difference in an object’s position when viewed from multiple lines of sight. You can see this for yourself by closing your right eye, and holding out one hand with the thumb raised upwards. If you then switch eyes, so that your left is closed and your right is open, your thumb will appear to shift slightly against the background. By measuring this apparent change in position and combining this with the known distance between your eyes, you can calculate the distance to your thumb. The location of the Tonga volcano is covered by three geostationary weather satellites, so the researchers were able to apply the parallax effect to the aerial images these captured. Crucially, during the eruption itself, the satellites recorded images every 10 minutes, enabling the rapid changes in the plume’s trajectory to be documented. The results showed that the plume reached an altitude of 57 kilometres at its highest extent. This is significantly higher than the previous record-holders: the 1991 eruption of Mount Pinatubo in the Philippines (40 km at its highest point), and the 1982 eruption of El Chichón in Mexico (31 km). It also makes the plume the first observational evidence of a volcanic eruption injecting material through the stratosphere and directly into the mesosphere, which starts at about 50 km above the Earth’s surface. Lead author Dr Simon Proud (University of Oxford, RAL Space and the National Centre for Earth Observation), said: ‘It’s an extraordinary result as we have never seen a cloud of any type this tall before. Furthermore, the ability to estimate the height in the way we did (using the parallax method) is only possible now that we have good satellite coverage. It wouldn't have been possible a decade or so ago.’ The Oxford researchers now intend to construct an automated system to compute the heights of volcano plumes using the parallax method. Co-author Dr Andrew Prata from the Sub-department of Atmospheric, Oceanic & Planetary Physics added: ‘We’d also like to apply this technique to other eruptions and develop a dataset of plume heights that can be used by volcanologists and atmospheric scientists to model the dispersion of volcanic ash in the atmosphere. Further science questions that we would like to understand are: Why did the Tonga plume go so high? What will be the climate impacts of this eruption? And what exactly was the plume composed of?’ TOP IMAGE....The full Earth disk seen by Japan's Himawari-8 satellite, the volcanic eruption is in the lower right. Image credit: Simon Proud / Uni Oxford, RALSpace NCEO / Japan Meteorological Agency. CREDIT Simon Proud / Uni Oxford, RALSpace NCEO / Japan Meteorological Agency LOWER IMAGE....A zoomed-in view of the eruption, taken by Japan's Himawari-8 satellite at 05:40 UTC on 15 January 2022, about 100 minutes after the eruption started. Photo credit: Simon Proud / Uni Oxford, RALSpace NCEO / Japan Meteorological Agency CREDIT Simon Proud / Uni Oxford, RALSpace NCEO / Japan Meteorological Agency

[dump-o-whump]

Mine — 6: Choir

okok so this is a chapter i’ve had saved and planned for ages, it just happened to be today’s @augustwritingchallenge prompt, too :) djdjd i got lucky i guess!!

content: demon whumpee, angel whumper, pet whump, torture, music/noise torture, sensory deprivation, bondage, gags, begging, handcuffs, chains, death wish, attempted su*cide, choking, burns, religious ideology (christianity), spit

•



“Pet.” Mae stepped into the room, immediately waking Eliza, who sat to attention without a second thought in a sickeningly obedient way that made her want to cry. “Up. Now. We’re going out.”

She was clearly annoyed. That’s what made Eliza’s next move so stupid.

“Where are you taking me?” She managed hesitantly as she stood, voice packed with malice.

Mae definitely didn’t appreciate that. She slammed Eliza against the wall by her arm, easily overpowering her, pressing onto her skin as tight as she could. “Did I give you permission to speak, pet?”

Eliza fought back tears. The burns seared through her as she choked down sobs. Plus, the name ‘pet’ made her want to tear Mae’s throat out and strangle her to death with her own goddamn guts. I’m not your fucking pet, and if you don’t stop calling me it then I swear to god—

“Apologise.” Mae demanded. She spat on Eliza, sending a hissing, burning drop down the demon’s face.

Everything about this girl burnt. Her touch, her blood, her spit, even her gaze. Eliza sighed and let her defiant thoughts die as they appeared. It was fucking hopeless.

“I-I’m sorry…” Eliza mumbled, feeling pathetic.

Mae slapped her other hand around Eliza’s throat. “I said apologise, not mumble. Apologise. Now.”

The burns scattered along Eliza’s neck, quickly growing to her face and chest. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I-I’m sorry!” She could barely get words out as the agony reached her mouth.

A sadistic spread across Mae’s face. “There we go.” She let go of Eliza completely, now only holding her by her chain. “Do you have anything else to say to me?”

Eliza didn’t dare answer as she desperately panted. She shook her head slowly and solemnly, not even thinking about looking Mae in the eyes.

“Now, this will be the first time I’ve taken you out. If you misbehave, there will be consequences.” Mae glared over her shoulder, “Do we want another Selene?”

The tears Eliza had been holding back suddenly spilled. She shook her head aggressively, almost breaking out into pleas. Not again. Please, don’t hurt anyone else. Please, I’ll do anything, anything you want, just leave my fucking family out of this. 

“Exactly. Now, if you have any escape plans, you might as well get rid of them now.” Mae shot Eliza a look of rage between her usual blinding grin. “You won’t be going anywhere. And, if you try, I’ll make you regret the day you were born.”

Eliza gulped. That sounded more like a promise then a threat.

“There we go.” Mae gave Eliza a condescending and burning pat on the head. Eliza winced but didn’t

Mae opened the cell door, shoved Eliza out, and slammed it behind them both. Outside was a vertical metal board covered in cuffs for every limb. It looked more like some horrific posture corrections device than a transport one, but the wheels on the bottom and handles at the top indicated it was the latter.

“Get in.” Mae barked. Not daring to show reluctance, Eliza laid onto it, shuddering and trying to cry as silently as possible. She stifled sob after sob as Mae strapped her down. “Good.”

The metal must have been forged with drops of angel’s blood, because it singed just slightly in a way that was more uncomfortable then painful. Eliza let out a squeaky sob.

Mae stepped behind the board and started pushing Eliza. The angel leant into her neck, heat radiating from her proximity. “I’m gonna fucking kill you one of these days.” She said.

Please do.

——

They entered the church and Eliza’s entire soul dropped through her.

She didn’t know what Mae had planned, but it couldn’t be good. There were easily a thousand angels in here. The heat was almost unbearable already, never-mind if one of them actually touched her.

“Wh-What are you gonna do?” Eliza said, unable to stop her voice from shaking. Mae threw her head back and let out a sadistic laugh.

“You’ll see.” She said darkly. That gave absolutely zero insight, so Eliza looked around the room. That was when she saw it.

Half of the church was dedicated to the biggest choir of angels Eliza had ever seen. There were hundreds of them, all dressed in religious robes, holding microphones. Their singing…

Their singing.

“P-Please, no,” Eliza begged immediately, looking up at Mae with horror struck eyes, “I’ll do anything. Please, I can’t- I can’t take it… Whatever you want, I’ll do it. J-Just not… just not this. Please!”

Mae shot her a cruel glare. “Cope.”

“No! You don’t… you don’t understand, please, I can’t! I’m begging you, I-I’ll do anything, just, please, have mercy, please, p-please, please—“

“—I understand perfectly well, pet.” Mae was looking straight ahead now, gaze not faltering even as Eliza sobbed and pleaded.

“M-Master.” Eliza hated having to use the name more than almost anything, but that didn’t matter. She meant what she had said. She would do anything to avoid this. “I-I’ll be good. I’ll do anything you want. Please, Master, please. I-I’m begging you. Don’t… don’t make me do this.”

“Shut up.” She said, coldly, as she tied the gag she had produced from her bag into Eliza’s mouth.

Eliza screamed through the makeshift muzzle. Hot tears soaked her face, desperation swam in her eyes, but no one in the crowd took notice.

That was when she took notice of the crowd. Almost all of them were angels like Mae with demons like Eliza, tied down and pleading for mercy. It filled her with rage, rage that would have encompassed her if she wasn’t focused on her fear.

She felt herself choke on the gag in her hysterical sobs and didn’t care. With her tongue, she shoved it out of her mouth, and let out a guttural screech of terror.

“Stop! No! Please, please, please, let me out of here! Someone fucking help me! Anyone!” She screamed any and every word she thought of. Anything. The majority of the crowd looked over. Angels shot disapproving glances at Mae and fellow captured demons gave Eliza sympathetic looks.

“I said, shut up, scum!” Mae punched Eliza in the mouth so hard she swore she felt her teeth shatter. At least two went flying, her tongue was slit open on her fangs, her mouth suddenly filled with blood. It was a blur. Her mouth immediately went numb. She remembered gasps from the crowd. Then, she passed out.

Not for long enough. It’d only been a few seconds, and now she was horrifically conscious of the throbbing pain in her face. She couldn’t even scream; her mouth was full of blood and agony. The choir hadn’t even started and she was already in the most pain she could remember since the holy water.

“That’s for making a scene,” Mae whispered.

To Eliza’s terrified dismay, the choir opened their mouths and began to sing. It was high and loud and worse than she could have ever imagined. The sound shot into her unprotected ears, boring into her brain and earning a scream no one could hear. It burnt and it stung and it throbbed. Her entire body shook with pure pain. It felt like every injury she had ever sustained combined and more. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t scream, she couldn’t move. She could only suffer.

It felt like holy water had replaced her blood. It felt like angels were touching every inch of her body. It felt like she was being carved up with knives coated in angel’s blood. It hurt. To say she couldn’t take it was an understatement. She would have accepted death in a millisecond, anything was better than this.

She was struggling so hard it felt like she was going to implode. Every inch of her shook in a desperate attempt to escape, but nothing worked.

Until it did.

She had no idea how, or why, but the cuffs retracted, and she was free. She let out a cry as the strongest relief she had ever felt came over her, slamming her hands over her ears and running the fuck away from Mae.

Mae followed and Eliza bolted for the door. She got out and slammed it in the angel’s face, panting as adrenaline flowed through her. Mae burst out of the doors and Eliza looked around desperately. The only escape was up, so that’s where she went.

She lunged for the stone carvings in the church’s walls, scrambling to climb as Mae watched with frustrated shock. Eliza climbed and climbed, sobbing with pure relief as the choir was drowned out. She was far from the ground by the time she stopped. The wind whipped at her hair and tattered shirt, giving her much-needed air.

She heard the flapping of wings — undoubtedly Mae’s — and sobbed hoarsely. She was absolutely fucked. Ah had nowhere to go, this was the worst idea she’d ever had, for shit’s sake.

Eliza looked over the edge of the building. She edged towards it, shaking, and looking. This fall would… probably not kill her.

Without hesitating for a second, she ran and leapt, just as Mae’s head reached the top of the building. Eliza let herself fall and smiled with relief as she air ripped past her. Worst case, she died. She found herself hoping for that. That would be the easiest way to save foeber,

She felt a hand grab her collar and shrieked.

Her eyes burst open to see Mae, features twisted with rage, wings fluttering as she held Eliza in place. “I’m gonna fucking kill you,” She hissed.

Eliza sobbed.

•

woah this was slay

taglist: @whumpsday

[edgygayguy]

I've been bored on a train with no internet so here's a shitty fan made frame idea and some Oberon bullshit nobody asked for. Pan suits my playstyle but probably would be shit in Steel path (so am I shocker) so don't take him too seriously, tbh the Oberon tweaks kinda suck, they're just small buffs that fix nothing. It's all just for fun. Also the fact that he synergizes with Oberon everywhere is def weird, I love the idea so I put it in.

Pan Warframe

Plus a small dose of Oberon tweaks.

He looks kinda like Oberon but more goat and flesh than a paladin in armor. His defining features would be spooky eye-like ornaments on his body, large horns, and a pan pipe embedded in his wrist. He's supposed to be a cc frame with some support and not much in the way of damage. Definitely needs his allies to do the killing. I could see him be used with a range and efficiency build to cheese interception missions, or anything else that doesn't require much killing. His main purpose is grouping enemies, giving some health and energy, and running around taking all the heat. Idk how effective he would really be, maybe he would have large energy problems but idk, he's def. not something that would make it into the game.

Stats (at max rank):

• Health: 350

• Shields: 300

• Armor: 200

• Energy: 200

• Starting energy: 100

• Sprint speed: 1.15

Passive: Pan jumps higher and deals more damage to enemies while parkour'ing into them. All crowd control abilities cast within affinity range of Pan are more effective. (On a case by case basis, too lazy to go through all of them)

First ability: Faun Dash

• Ability: If tapped Pan leaps high into the air pushing away enemies, when pressed again he comes crushing down, causing a radiation status effect on enemies in an area, as well as a miniature and worse rhino stomp. Costs 15 energy. If held Pan starts running, stomping and leaping. Each stomp of his hooves staggers enemies and places down a small field of plants/grass and a toxin cloud above it (10 meter radius). The plants suck in enemies (withing 15 meters) cc'ing them for a short time, untill they reach the center of the field. Each stomp costs 5 energy. Idk about speed and distance but it'll be a pretty good movement ability, comparable to bullet jumping. When the player stops holding the ability key, Pan will travel extra distance, ramming with his horns forward. If he hits a wall or an enemy he will ragdoll the enemy hit stripping it's armor and all enemies in a small radius will be pushed back and dealt impact damage without the armor strip. If the ability key is tapped again during the ram, Pan will perform the vertical jump like normal but with half the energy cost. While using this ability Pan can use weapons but aiming is difficult, for both Pan and enemies. Idk how evasion works in this game but let's say 40% of shots will miss him.

• Other ability synergy: Can be used with Pan Pipes and Panic.

• Oberon synergy: While channeling, the projectiles from Oberon's smite will follow Pan, see Oberon tweaks for why that does anything.

• Augment: Now when using pan pipes alongside this ability, Pan will inflict a status effect onto affacted enemies based on his energy color (the 4 basic elements only). The status effect will also mix with the clouds of toxin, creating a elemental combo or doubling the toxin damage

Second ability: Pan Pipe

• Ability: Channeled ability, costs 10 energy per second. Pan plays on the pan flute embedded within his wrist. While using this ability Pan can't use any weapons. While activating it for the first time, all enemies within 30 meters will lay down their guns for up to five seconds. After 3 seconds of continuous playing  up to 12 enemies will begin shooting their former allies (the ability prioritizes enemies depending on their DPS). All enemies under the effect of the ability will focus on attacking Pan, even if they walk out of range. Pan himself will receive 40% less damage, and all damage dealt by his followers will be converted into health and armor with a 1.2x multiplier. When cancelled the enemies go back to normal but suffer form a weak stagger similar to the one that Banshee's silence causes, but shorter.

• Other ability synergy: Can be used with Faun Dash and Panic

• Oberon synergy: Obviously renewal will help keep Pan alive indefinitely. When standing on hallowed ground The music's effect will extend to all the connected instances of hallowed ground (for example Oberon places a long strip of hallowed ground, when Pan is on one end he will still charm enemies that stand on the other end, even if they're further than 30m).

• Augment: All damage dealty by his followers is now given to Pan's allies in the form of health and armor with a 1.5x multiplier. Damage dealt by allies to affected enemies is given to pan as energy with a diminished value.

Third ability: Panic

Ability: Pan screams (ability doesn't interrupt shooting or reloading) and inflicts Panic onto his enemies withing 20m. Enemies will either drop their guns or erratically start shooting at air, missing their targets. Enemies will start running toward each other clumping into tight groups. Enemies affected by Panic have a 60% chance of dropping both health and energy orbs. Costs 30 energy

Other ability synergy: Can be used with Faun Dash and Pan Pipes.

Oberon synergy: Range is increased while standing in hallowed ground. If Pan has the armor buff from renewal and hallowed ground, he can spread it to other allies with this ability.

Augment: Now enemies scatter and run aimlessly for 2 seconds. They are also blinded permanently. (This one sucks ass lmao)

Fourth ability: Great God Pan

Ability: Cool void shit happens in a 30m radius around Pan. Enemies caught within this ability will either kill themselves (20% chance), be inflicted with panic (30% chance) or get turned by cool void magic into pools of light (50% chance), which stay behind even after the ability is over. If an ally walks into one of these pools, they will have their energy restored and next time they are downed they will be able to get themselves back up without help (doesn't stack, but when they step into the pool a second time their pet/sentinel will be granted an extra life) When Pan steps into one of these pools he is granted invincibility for 2 seconds, all his health and shields are quickly drained and split between allies, then his health is returned back up to full (he can't make use of the single free revive, would be too powerful solo, and his energy isn't renewed). The ability costs 120 energy to cast and the fireworks last for 7 seconds.

Other ability synergy: Enemies that have been previously inflicted with Panic have a 100% chance to turn into a pool of light

Oberon synergy: The pools of light increase the healing done by renewal for 15 seconds. Also restoring energy is pretty good.

Augment: The ability now doesn't affect enemies. Allies within range recieve the self revive buff and are granted continuous healing and energy regeneration of 15/s. They're also able to see enemies through walls. The ability now costs 50 energy, has a cool down of 40 seconds and lasts 10 seconds.

Small Oberon tweaks totally detached from this:

• Smite can now heal allies, when the projectiles can't home on an enemy they will instead target Oberon or an ally, healing them for a portion of damage they would deal. Pan would be able to carry those leftover projectiles and keep them as extra healing for himself when using his pan pipes.

• Reckoning should drop health orbs when attacking enemies at a lower rate, than when killing them

• The passive is kinda outdated, should be buffed. Buffs to companions are a good idea, I just want some better ones.

[micromei]

Small Cat, Big City, 11:32 PM (Part 1)

(Content Warning: Brief trans**obia, injury, demise of the main character, but it's an isekai)

The sky was greyish-blue and rain was falling in sheets, which meant the makeup Cass had spent an hour practicing in the mirror was now running down her cheeks, directly into her heavy hoodie. Every now and then, there’d be a rumble of a car or truck pass by the alleyway she was in, but none so much as slowed to give her a glance. And right now, she was in the position where she needed SOMEONE to see her. “C’mon, gurl,” one of three seemingly wasted white, suburban male 20-somethings murmured, his alcohol-tinged breath spilling over Cass’ face, “all we wanna do is show you a good time. Don’t y’wanna have a good time?” He was leaned in close, one hand splayed against the wall next to her head in full kabedon, though even Cass could tell there was probably more than a little effort to support himself with that move. Every bit of his bravado was at least 90% cheap-beer swagger. “N-no. No thanks. Please, just let me go, I’m not…interested,” she murmured. …The man raised his eyebrow slowly, his face twisting from confusion, to a momentary look of disgust, to one of drunken amusement. Internally, Cass winced. She was STILL working on her voice, damnit. “Whoa whoa whoa. Got a pretty deep voice there, don’t ya? You got something hiding somewhere in there?” the man slurred and laughed, making a drunken grope for her dress, though Cass smacked it away with her purse. In response, he grabbed at one of the straps, and yanked hard at it.

“Hey, you’re gettin’ pretty rough there. Not very girly after all,” he snorted, spitting at Cass’ feet. She winced and recoiled, tugging her sneakers away, and yet the man didn’t seem to flinch. “Hey guys, looks like we’ve got ourselves a ████ here!” No, We don’t like this. We don’t like this at all.

…Cass blinked. That singular, hateful word in the man’s voice had just…vanished. And that voice…she could hear it, but everywhere? It seemed to echo down the alleyway, but also…didn’t seem to exist in the slightest.

And unfortunately it didn’t give any pause to the sneering man, who with a single powerful motion, drunkenly shoved Cass to the ground. There was a sharp pop, and she yelped in pain; she’d fallen on something wrong, and now it was just…radiating through her left side. She could feel the dirty puddle she’d fallen into soak into her dress, staining the pretty blue.

“S-stop! Please…y-you broke…I broke something…p-please just let me go home-” Cass pleaded, her eyes filled with tears. “I-I didn’t do anything but look at you, just-...just let me…” The other two men had joined the first, and all three crowded around her. …They were laughing, sneering, one was actively chugging from another glass bottle. As they flung it, Cass curled up and it luckily just struck her back before shattering elsewhere on the street. And that first man spat again. Another terrible laugh. He crouched down, his face contorted in an ugly sneer. One she’d seen before, many times, but…never like this. Never this angry, or violent, or-... His leg reared back, hanging in the air for an almost surreal moment. And all Cass heard as he aimed a heavy kick at her chest was: “There’s no home for someone l i k e y o u █████ █████ █ █ - - -” This is very much not the thing We wish to happen so it will simply not, We think.

The world turned grey for a second, and as Cass stared out into it, she could’ve sworn she saw two vertical white bars just…hovering in the air, transparently, for a second. …She couldn’t move. She couldn’t…breathe? Or talk. But she could think? What was-...

Not the place you belong. There is no future here where you are being your Self! Very tragic. There was an eye in the sky. Somewhere above the heavy rainclouds-...no, it was the moon…no, it was much bigger than the moon and it was visible through the clouds? But it was big, bright, and slitted like a cat. Seeing as she was unable to move her eyes, Cass was completely unaware how this was now the view she saw.

Much too many questions are being asked in the margins! Do not worry, We will take you elsewhere. To a better place! A place where you are being your Self!

Given infinite time and a bunch of thesauruses, Cass was still pretty unsure she would’ve been able to describe the exact way the world seemed to come apart at the seams…or rather, no, she was coming apart, drifting into the world. Drifting into the rainy night sky. Her vision, her senses, all twisted and turned until everything winked out- —-------------------- -...and then winked back in. _______  wasn’t sure where she was anymore. Or when, or how, or any of those big important questions. She couldn’t see, but somehow, she could sense her surroundings, and they were, mildly, confusing. Given that suddenly, she was in a rustic sort of wooden home with a roaring fireplace seated in front of a heavily quilted and pillow-laden couch, held by its occupant. Oh, and that her body was gone.

More specifically, she…was little more than a glowing orb, its round shape giving and shifting as it was idly rolled between two padded, fuzzy fingertips. Once more, those eyes were bearing down on her. …Just two, though suddenly _______ felt incredibly uncertain how many pairs of ‘just two’ eyes were on her.

“Interesting! This little one is being very interesting. Many turns! At an integral point of life! Fun, fun! But Shapeless. Mmm, what to do…”

The little orb wanted to say, intensely, ‘Take me home!’...but alas, she had no mouth. Even so, that ‘thought’, though calling it that without a functioning brain, felt strange. …What…was she, exactly? As if to respond, the vast feline figure snickered, and tossed the little mote of light into the air…and suddenly she was the size of a medicine ball, being bounced back and forth between Their paws as They idly thought.

“Shapeless! You are a Shapeless. Consciousness and thoughtness with no form to call your own. Round! Very round and fun, but you would like a Self, yes?” How could she feel that ‘Self’ was capitalized, the way this thing spoke? But…yes, she very much did want a shape. …But, wait, what was wrong with her old shape?

The feline’s eyes closed, and for a moment, their expression was nothing but sadness. “It is gone. No more. As We said, there was no future in that place, though We have spared from you the worst parts. It was not a nice place, not a good time, but you can be somewhere much better. Your Self! You can be anything. Even Shapeless has a shape it desires! Deep within itself the Shapeless knows what shape it wants into being.”

_______ gave that some thought. …Morose thought, at first. She could only imagine that singular kick would’ve been followed by another, and another and another and another, until something, the mood, the attitude, his foot, or her, broke. She was…gone? W-wait, how was that fair? Who…was this, then? Was this Go-

“Titrit! We are The Multitude, at your happiest acquaintance.”

Titrit. Titrit? Titrit. What an interesting name she could now no longer get out of her head. But…okay. The Multitude. They were…offering her something else, then. A new…Self? So…she could be whatever she wanted? …Ah, wait, what had they said? Every ‘Shapeless’ had a shape it desires? Then…what shape did she…truly want? What shape would be most comfortable? …She couldn’t help but feel a desire, deep down. She…wanted something, specific, something she couldn’t articulate, but this glowing ball of herself seemed to have etched deep within it. …That…that was what she wanted to be. Somehow, that alone seemed to make Their eyes literally sparkle with excitement. They brought the sphere of _______ close, pressing Their snout against it…and suddenly Their face filled the edges of her vision again. And above her, behind her, below her…They were suddenly everywhere.

“Yes, yes! That is what you should be!  Your true Self! And nothing else! Titrit can help with that! Titrit can do this, lickety-splickety!” they exclaimed, and tossed her up into the air. The air? Wait, she hadn’t been thrown…she was floating? That cozy cabin had disappeared. All she felt was darkness. And then pressure. This way and that. Gentle at first, and then stronger, and it never seemed to push at the same spot on her twice. It was strange that she could feel anything, given that she still was nothing more than some sort of ethereal ball of light…but even that slowly started to change.

She was being slowly pulled into some sort of shape, certainly, molded like clay by an invisible force which was simultaneously coming from within and without. She could slowly feel…extremities. Things extending from her center. Arms? Yes! Legs? Oh, definitely. Oh, what was…that? That was new. Oh, and finally, a head. But more was being rubbed along, brushed, kneaded, like she was experiencing a full body massage that was literally pushing her into the ‘right’ shape. “This is a very nice form. We love it for our reasons. Many reasons. And also very strange! Mm, you are an interesting Shape, similar but different. …Yes, We think fitting in will do nicely to you…” Titrit paused. Though she couldn’t see it, she could feel as many, many, MANY eyes fixated on her, and the strange being shouted excitedly. “A Name! The second most important part was almost forgotten! What should We call your Name then?” There was silence, as she thought about it. She could just call herself Cass again, right? But there was something that felt off about that. It…was a name, tied to that old version of her. The one struggling to be seen the way SHE wanted to be seen. Who had been disowned by family that had refused, and had bounced between friends who had struggled with it.

She felt giddy. This…this wasn’t real, right? She was having some sort of crazy kick-related hallucination and any day now she’d wake up in a hospital bed and have to deal with with itchy chin fuzz and outrageous hospital bills and finding out where she’d have to stay next and getting a job because she’d for sure lost hers and- “Don’t worry! Freedom is yours to choose. As is your Name. What Name are you to be called? Tell Us, We are excited!”

Another pause. But only because she was waiting for the finishing touches on a strangely shaped mouth to be finished so she could say it with her own voice. “...Mei. Please call me Mei. She/her,” she said, shivering at how…light, airy, feminine her voice suddenly sounded. “Mei! Mei Mei Mei. A nice name is Mei! She will be herself. Meiiiii~” Titrit’s rumbling, cheery voice echoed gradually into nothingness, and even bodiless, in some etherial way, Ca-...no, Mei, could feel space…twisting. This round glowing orb she’d become twisted in upon itself, molding and shaping and turning in the air like it was being molded, and pushed, and squeezed. She was floating, drifting, somewhere, nowhere, everywhere. And suddenly, Mei WAS.

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