#Net Wrap Industry

[vijukumar]

Net Wrap Market: A Comprehensive Overview of Growth, Trends, and Players

The net wrap market is a significant sector in the crop protection industry, playing a pivotal role in contemporary agricultural practices. This blog delves into the global net wrap market, providing insights into its current size, growth drivers, key players, and future trends. We explore the net wrap market in depth, highlighting its growth prospects and the factors that are driving its expansion.

Current Market Size and Growth Trends

As of 2022, the global net wrap market stands at an estimated value of around USD 900 million. This figure is projected to expand at a consistent compound annual growth rate (CAGR) of 4% from 2022 to 2027, reaching a projected value of USD 1.2 billion by the conclusion of the forecast period. The growth in this market can be attributed to the expanding use of modern farming techniques, the escalating demand for superior forage preservation solutions, and the agriculture sector's expansion in developing economies.

Key Players in the Market

A number of prominent companies dominate the global net wrap market. Among these are Tama Group, Berry Global, RKW Group, John Deere, and Silawrap. These industry leaders are at the forefront of innovation, providing a diverse range of net wrap products to cater to the varying requirements of farmers worldwide. Strategic collaborations, product launches, and acquisitions are common strategies employed by these key players to maintain their competitive edge and broaden their market reach.

Regional Analysis

The net wrap market displays regional disparities in demand and consumption patterns. North America and Europe continue to be the leading markets for net wrap due to the widespread adoption of mechanized farming practices and the existence of large-scale commercial farms. In contrast, the Asia-Pacific region is undergoing swift growth, fueled by agricultural mechanization and the growing awareness of forage conservation techniques among smallholder farmers.

Market Dynamics and Growth Drivers

Numerous factors contribute to the expansion of the net wrap market. These include the automation of agricultural practices, the necessity for efficient forage preservation methods, and the rising demand for high-quality silage. Furthermore, government initiatives promoting sustainable agriculture and environmental conservation bolster market growth by encouraging the adoption of eco-friendly net wrap materials and practices.

Emerging Trends and Future Outlook

The net wrap market is witnessing several emerging trends that are set to influence its future direction. These include the development of biodegradable and compostable net wrap alternatives to address environmental concerns, the integration of smart technologies for real-time monitoring and optimization of baling processes, and the increasing adoption of round bales in livestock farming.

Market Challenges

Despite the growth prospects, the net wrap market faces several challenges. Massive product costs can hinder global industry expansion by 2030. Changing government laws leading to fluctuations in raw material costs can further impede global industry expansion.

Conclusion The global net wrap market is poised for continuous growth, driven by technological advancements, evolving agricultural practices, and the growing recognition of the importance of forage conservation. Key players in the market are anticipated to capitalize on these trends by investing in research and development, expanding their product offerings, and strengthening their distribution networks to cater to the evolving needs of farmers worldwide. As the agriculture sector continues to evolve, the net wrap market will remain a crucial component of modern farming practices, enabling efficient forage conservation and contributing to global food security.

[paper-mario-wiki]

fit check:

Sheikah head wrap

Tactical purple leather jumpsuit

Purple mining pants + chain net shorts festooned with ankle lamps

The toenail of a slain cyclops affixed to the ulna of a skeleton lizard man's arm, fastened into a hand axe

Cute wooden shield glued to an industrial grade refraction plate

[reasonsforhope]

"For generations, the people of Erakor village in the Pacific nation of Vanuatu would pass their time swimming in the local lagoon. Ken Andrew, a local chief, remembers diving in its depths when he was a child, chasing the fish that spawned in its turquoise waters.

That was decades ago. Now 52, Andrew has noticed a more pernicious entity invading the lagoon: plastic.

“The plastic would form a small island inside the lagoon, it was so thick,” Andrew says. “We used fishing nets to pull some of the trash out, but we didn’t know how to get rid of it all. We couldn’t conquer it, there was just too much.”

While residents were struggling to empty Vanuatu’s waters of plastic, the country’s politicians were considering another solution. Could they stop the waste directly at the source?

Small island nations like Vanuatu face a series of unique challenges when it comes to plastic pollution. Many rely on imported goods to sustain their populations, and receive tonnes of plastic packaging every day as a result. Ocean currents pull plastic waste from around the world into Pacific waters, which eventually end up on the shores of its islands.

Few Pacific island governments have adequate recycling or waste management facilities on their narrow strips of land, so rubbish is often burned or left to wash up in rivers or lagoons like the one in Erakor. It is estimated that Pacific countries generate 1kg of waste per person a day, 40% higher than the global average.

In an attempt to drastically limit the amount of waste generated in Vanuatu, in 2018 the government became one of the first in the world to outlaw the sale and distribution of certain single-use plastics – including a world-first ban on plastic straws.

In the six years since, the results have been impressive. Thin, plastic shopping bags are hardly ever seen, with most shoppers carrying reusable bags at their local market or grocery store. At festivals and outdoor events, food is more often served wrapped in banana leaves instead of polystyrene takeaway boxes. Now-banned items used to make up 35% of Vanuatu’s waste, but now make up less than 2%.

Pictured: Pandanus leaves are now used instead of plastic bags at markets, but supply of the crop can be affected by storms and cyclones, vendors say.

The plastic islands that once choked Erakor lagoon are also shrinking.

“Since they started the ban, you can see the lagoon has become cleaner,” says Andrew.

It is a massive victory for a small island nation made up of just over 300,000 people across 83 islands...

In 2020, a second phase of the policy added seven more items to the list of forbidden plastics, which now covers cutlery, single-use plates and artificial flowers.

“It’s quite difficult to enforce because of the very low capacity of the department of environment,” Regenvanu says. “So we try to work with the municipal authorities and customs and other people as well.”

Compromises had to be made, though. Fishers are still allowed to use plastic to wrap and transport their produce. Plastic bottles are also permitted, even though they often litter coastlines and rivers.

Secondary industries have now developed to provide sustainable alternatives to the banned items. On the island of Pentecost, communities have started replacing plastic planter pots with biodegradable ones made from native pandanus leaves. Mama’s Laef, a social enterprise that began selling fabric sanitary napkins before the ban, has since expanded its range to reusable nappies and bags.

“We came up with these ideas to reduce the amount of plastic in Vanuatu,” says the owner Jack Kalsrap. “We’re a small island state, so we know that pollution can really overwhelm us more than in other, bigger countries.” ...

Willy Sylverio, a coordinator of the Erakor Bridge Youth Association, is trying to find ways to recycle the litter his team regularly dredges up from the lagoon.

“The majority of the plastic waste now comes from noodle packaging or rice packaging, or biscuit packets,” Sylverio says. He hopes the plastic ban will one day include all packaging that covers imported goods. “Banning all plastic is a great idea, because it blocks the main road through which our environment is polluted.”

The Vanuatu government plans to expand the plastic ban to include disposable nappies, and says it will also introduce a plastic bottle deposit scheme this year to help recycle the remaining plastic waste in the country."

-via The Guardian, June 20, 2024

[togglesbloggle]

Why do you think tumblr will die in only a few years?

Answer with jargon: a strong correlation between recent economic shifts and chaotic choices by major tech companies is most easily explained if the 'traditional' social media platforms of 2005-2020 are mostly a zero-interest rate phenomenon.

Longer answer, with less jargon: Even though Musk's takeover is making all the headlines recently, the last year has in fact seen major shakeups at many social media platforms, so Twitter is actually part of a trend. Almost inevitably, these are cases of social media companies trying to find a way to squeeze more money out of their userbase (Reddit), cut costs dramatically (Twitter), or both. This marks a sudden departure from a much more relaxed attitude towards revenue in the Pictures Of Cats industry, where the focus was historically more on expanding the userbase to a global scale and then counting on world domination to sort of <????> and then the company would become profitable eventually.

We joke, correctly, that Tumblr has never been profitable. But the entire structure of ad-supported content curation between human users is deeply suspect as a business model; IIRC Twitter was never profitable either, and Facebook has been juicing its numbers in very shenanigany ways. Discord was actually making money on net last I checked, at least a bit, so they're not all completely in the hole. But even if you take the accounting figures at face value, none of these companies has anything like the amount of money that their cultural prominence would suggest. Instead, they're heavily fueled by investment dollars, money given by super-rich people and institutions in the expectation that fueling the growth of the company now will pay off with interest later.

So what changed?

I'm not an expert here, but I'll do my best to muddle through. The American Federal Reserve has one mandate that dominates all others (sometimes called the 'dual mandate'), and one primary tool that it uses to enforce that mandate. The goal is to maintain low (but nonzero) rates of inflation and unemployment, which in their models are deeply interlinked phenomena. The tool is 'rate hikes', or more specifically, tweaking the mandatory rate of interest that banks charge one another when making loans.

As a particular consequence of this, hiking the rate also means that bonds start paying out much better. When the rate hike goes through, that affects people who let the government borrow their personal cash- that is, people who buy bonds- as well as institutions like banks that lend to one another. A rate hike means that you, personally, can make a little extra money by letting the government borrow it for a while. The federal government of the US is a rock-solid low-risk choice for this kind of moneymaking scheme, so the federal interest rate sort of defines the 'number to beat'; to attract investors, a company has to give those investors money at a better percentage than whatever the feds are offering. Particularly since a company is a lot more likely to go out of business than the state!

To wrap this back around to the Pictures Of Cats industry: the higher the rate hike, the better your company needs to be doing (or the less risky it needs to be as an option) to attract big investment dollars. Very high rates make it very hard to convince people to invest in business activity rather than the government itself, and very low rates put moonshots and big dreams on the table, investment-wise, in a way that wouldn't otherwise be possible. Social media companies were one of these big dreams.

In the great financial crisis of 2008, the Fed took the dramatic step of reducing their rate to zero, trying to juice the economy back to life. And ever since then, they've kept it there. This has produced an unprecedented amount of funding for very crazy stuff; it's part of what has allowed so many weird new tech companies (Uber, streaming services, etc.) to get so much money, so quickly, and use that to grow to massive size without a clear model of how they're ever going to make money. This state of affairs kept going for quite a while, with no clear stopping point; that zero-interest environment has been one of the shadowy forces in the background that shaped fundamental contours and limits in how our Very Online World has grown and developed. Until COVID.

Or rather, the bounce back from COVID: we suddenly saw a massive spike in inflation and an incredibly strong labor market, as employees quit in record numbers, negotiated higher salaries, and found better work, and at the same time supply chain issues and other economy stuff caused prices to climb dramatically. Recall the Fed's 'dual mandate', to control the employment rate and inflation. This was, basically, kicking them right in the jooblies. They responded in kind, finally finally raising their rates for the first time in 15 years. For some of the people reading this, it'll be the first significant shift in their entire adult lives.

The goal, as I understand it, is to fight inflation by reducing the amount of outside investment into private companies, forcing them to hire fewer people and pay smaller salaries, ultimately drawing money out of the working economy and driving prices back down by lowering demand for everything. You get paid less, so you eat out less, and buy at cheaper restaurants when you do, so restaurants have to compete harder by lowering their prices; seems pretty dodgy to me as a theory, but it's the theory. And the first part will almost certainly work- companies are going to see less investment.

For social media companies that are still paying most of their salaries with investor dollars instead of revenues, this is especially catastrophic. Without outside investment, they're just a massive pile of expenses waiting to happen, huge yearly costs in developer salaries and server fees. This is why, all of a sudden, every social media company is suddenly making bonkers decisions. They're noticing that nobody wants to give them any more money! So they're trying to figure out how to live a lot more cheaply, to actually somehow for reals turn their giant userbases in to some kind of actual revenue stream, or both.

Tumblr is kind of the ur-example of this kind of thing, supporting a very large userbase with no coherent plan whatsoever to start paying its staff with our dollars instead of investors' dollars. When interest rates were low and Scrooge McDuck had nowhere else to hide his pile of gold coins, a crazy kid with a dream was the best alternative available to him. But now, unless something changes, he's going to notice he can just buy bonds instead, and that crazy kid can go take a hike.

That's why I think Tumblr is living on borrowed time, though I don't know how much. Like all cartoons, the economy doesn't really fall off a cliff until somebody looks down and notices they've been standing on thin air this whole time. But they always fall eventually; that's the gag.

[eetherealgoddess]

ꨄBeneath The Watersꨄ

Oneshot - Yandere Mermen/Soulmate Au

❦Y/n, a new marine biologist, was working along with her older brother and coworkers on a trawler. They come across the most ethereal yet dangerous sea creatures. Survival rate? Guess who the one percent is❦

Sano Manjiro, Hanemiya Kazutora, Sanzu Haruchiyo, & Haitani Brothers x Reader

Not fully proofread

MY TR FANDOM WORKS ARE ONLY ON TUMBLR, AO3, AND WATTPAD UNDER EETHEREALGODDESS! REPORT IF YOU SEE IT POSTED UNDER ANYONE ELSE BUT ME!!!

Mermaid language is blue

I apologize if I get any Japanese etiquette or culture wrong, I literally have to research the culture for some of my fandom stories so if anything is wrong, please excuse my ignorance.

The guys are mermen princes and they’re all brothers. Their dad is the king so because of their royal blood, they have the gift of singing which puts their victims in a trance, and can form legs. They can also change any human they want into mermaids. They can understand human language but have a harder time speaking it. ‘Human’ language is all languages btw I’m just doing english bc that’s the only language I know.

Notice:

✩Y/n is 18+. I picture her as a black female but you can see her however.

✩Some parts of the story may not be realistic or factual. After all, this is a work of fiction.

✩Although it's a dark 'romance,' I do not condone any of the behavior displayed.

✩Dark content such as: gore, violence, triggering topics, graphic scenes, vulgar language, explicit sexual content, etc.

✩There will be scenes that involve non con and/ or dubcon so don’t read if that makes you uncomfortable

✩That being said, this story is for 18+ only.

Enjoy!

Beneath the Waters

“Did you receive the latest sample for the lab, Y/n?” Darius, her older brother asks as he stands beside her resting form on the trawler. The waves of the ocean rocking the ride slightly as the current carries them on.

“Yes, for the fiftieth time.” She sighs, sitting up from her leaned position against the side of the boat. She pulls her sunglasses off as she places them inside of her backpack. He nods in response as he chuckles.

“Sorry, I just want to make sure you have everything.” He scratches the back of his head with a sheepish smile. She smirks light heartedly as she shifts her arms to rest against her knees which are bent as the platform of her shoes are plastered against the floor.

“There’s nothing to be worried about. I got this! Yeah, I’m new to this thing but you know more than anyone else that I’m a fast learner when I put my mind to something.” She states, waving her hands as she gives him a comforting smile.

He sighs as he looks across the water, “Yeah, yeah I know.” He places his hands in his pockets. “I’m proud of you, Y/n. You’ve come far in this industry.”

“Don’t get all sappy on me now, dude.” She laughs, standing from her spot after their coworkers are heard yelling. She eyes her brother with a raised brow, him mimicking the same expression out of confusion.

The trawler rocks as they walk toward the gathering of individuals, four of them bent as they seem to be pulling a net from the outer side of the boat. Everyone else stands around them. When she gets closer, her eyes widen as she notices a large pink tail flapping around the net violently.

One of the men seems to be holding it down as the woman beside him moves her arms around as if she’s wrapping something quickly. Y/n and Darius walk beside one of the designated divers.

“Check this baby out!” She exclaims, standing from her position as she moves out of the way. Y/n’s eyes widen at the sight of an ethereal looking man. Despite his narrowed icy blue eyes glaring at the employees, nobody could deny the intense beauty of the man’s face. His blonde eyelashes cause his irises to pop as his long platinum hair lays out gorgeously under him, some falling over his shoulders.

Once his wrists are tied, they pull him over the boat, still wrapped in the net as he struggles against his restraints. His long nails, sharp as he accidentally cuts his own skin. Y/n could only look as she felt guilt suddenly overtake her mind. After they bound his tail, holding it down, Y/n had enough.

“I think we should let i-, him go, guys.” Everyone, except the mermaid turns to look at her as if she just grew two heads. Her hands place themselves on her hips as she eyes them back.

“Y/n, you’re new so I’m just going to let this slide. You see, this is a one chance in a lifetime kind of deal, you get it? We’d be the second in years to have not only discovered, but captured a real life mermaid. There’s no way we’re letting him go.”

“But why can’t we just study them down in the ocean as we swim? I know that some can be dangerous but not all of them are.” She suggests.

“Because they are dangerous creatures as a whole. They don’t just think like a fish they can act and think like a human which is bad for us. Not to mention, we’re their choice of food besides other species of fish.”

“I get that but we have gear for that, don’t we?”

“Y/n, stop! Okay? It’s fine, they can breathe for at least twenty four hours outside of water and we’ll put it in a secure tank. If you’re worried about its well-being, it will be fine.” Darius explains, trying to keep her from getting fired.

The blonde merman’s eyes shift back and forth between the two humans conversing, particularly observing the woman who is speaking for the merman. Under the cloth, he licks his lips as he smells the divine scent spewing from the female, closing his eyes as he inhales. The smell brings his tense body to a tingling, relaxed sensation, a deep purr emitting from his body as his eyes shut.

“Fine, alright! I’m sorry. I’ll leave it alone.” She sighs, crossing her arms as she turns away, refusing to look at the creature with pity.

“Alright, everyone! Let’s get this show rolling!”One guy says as they walk over to the netted merman. Before any could move any further, a high pitched whistle sounded in the air, causing everyone to pause. Y/n’s eyes widen in concern as some of the coworkers stop their movements. Everyone stares across the ocean, over the being that’s lying down.

“Shit! Everyone, grab the ear plugs!” Someone yells out.

Y/n immediately turns her body as she runs to her bag. Roughly grabbing the ear plugs as she shoves them into her ears as the sound of a melody occurs. She sighs in relief as she stands from her crouched position, sound muffled as she turns around. Her breath hitches as she watches everyone slowly walk towards the edge of the trawler as they look to be in a trance.

“No!” She yells as she runs to Darius, roughly gripping his arms as she pulls him in a hug, his heavy body walking ahead as if she weighs nothing.

“No! Please, Darius! Wake up!” She smacks his face multiple times as he continues his stroll.

A muffled tune could be heard once more through her ear plugs as she eyes the ocean, four heads peeking from below as only their eyes are shown glaring at the crowd coming toward them.

“Fuck! Darius, wake up! Please!” She runs quickly to grab a random pair of ear plugs dropped from the others. She runs back to him, shoving them into his ears. Unfortunately, the melody is already pulling him in.

She runs to the edge as she blocks him from moving further, though he tries. She turns her body slightly to face the other sea creatures as all the other people climb over the trawler and hop into the water as they swim toward the predators.

“You already have enough, don’t take him goddamnit!” She shrieks. Her nails scrape against the paint as she holds on to the edge as he attempts to push her to the side.

The blonde watches the display as he observes her distressed state. He shakes the feeling of wanting to nurture her, guiding her into letting go of that useless human considering his restraints and her species. The scent gets the best of him as his tail tingles, moaning softly as his eyes roll into the back of his head, the fumes becoming overwhelming as a cold heat fills his body.

The four glare curiously as they ignore their incoming meal to watch the girl struggle. The one with black hair and blonde streaks tilts his head as he watches her actions. He disappears under the water as his yellow tail splashes the water. The other three ethereal beings use their nails and sharp teeth to shred the flesh of their victims.

“Darius, please wake up.” She cries, tears finally falling as he continues to struggle in her hold. The yellow tailed male peaks above the water closest to the trawler as he eyes Y/n.

She makes eye contact with his brown irises. He emerges from the water slightly.

“L-…let go. Too l-late.“ His soft voice struggles to speak English as the human language differs from the sea.

She gasps as she fully turns her body to face the male.

“No! I can-!” Darius shoves her to the side, almost knocking her over as he dives into the water.

“DARIUS!” She releases a blood curdling scream as she runs for him, only to be forced back by the merman jumping from the water and pushing her on her back as he falls on top of her. His tail fits in between her legs as his claws hold on to her wrists. She struggles under him as he uses his heavy body weight to hold her down. Goosebumps form on her body as the water drips onto her from all over, including his hair that drapes over both of them. The symbols embedded into his skin, black and prominent as she analyzes her situation.

“Get off of me! I need to save him!” She yells. He shakes his head as he inhales her scent, his grip tightening when the addictive fumes reach deep into his nostrils. Her eyes widen when his head drops to her shoulder, smearing the water against her neck. Rustling causes both to turn their heads toward the merman who they originally came to the trawler for. The man on top of her points to his restrained sibling.

She ignores him, peaking over his shoulder as the sound of screams and shredding could be heard, muffled through her ear plugs. She grits her teeth as all she could see was red covering the area, splashes here and there but no sign of any humanity. No sign of her brother.

She releases a strangled cry as the emotional pain takes its toll, realization creeping in as she finds it hard to accept her brother’s demise. Her head drops to the floor as her eyes shut tight, tears and snot mixing together as she weeps. The man on top stares in awe as the moisture falls from her eyes, gaining the knowledge of a human being able to express such heart wrenching emotions for another. He uses one hand to hold both wrists as he uses the other to trace the streak of tears. He eases his face lower as she sobs, slowly leaning in to lick the tears before a hiss sounds from the side, reminding him of why he’s here.

He pulls back, using his hand to gently smack her cheek to gain her attention, succeeding as she opens her lids.

“R-release?” He demands, though it comes out more softly as he knows she’s in a vulnerable state.

“Fine.” She whispers, voice hoarse as she sits up from her position. He shifts his body to allow her to stand up. The pink tailed man stares at her as she walks toward him. He observes her intently as she releases his restraints, including the cloth around his mouth causing her eyes to slightly widen as she notices the scars shaping his lips. She also notices the blood staining his wrists from when he cut himself. He sits up as they face each other. She yelps as she grabs his wrist by reflex when his hand wraps around her throat and pulls her in.

He inhales her scent deeply as he breathes heavily, revealing his sharp teeth as blood rushes to his face. She watches with concern, kneeling as he pulls her once more. His nose reaches the side of her neck as he takes in more air. It’s only in this instance that the feeling of danger comes back, as she is now alone on this boat with these man-eating creatures.

She removes his hand gently as he allows her to before standing back.

“I have to leave so everyone just needs to get off this boat so I can.” She sniffs, wiping her eyes as well as her nose. She hears a muffled shriek as she turns to the end of the boat where the other three mermen float. Her body tenses as she sees faint blood dripping from the corner of the black haired one’s mouth, his dark eyes boring into hers. Seemingly, at the same time the three men inhaled the air before the blonde and black haired man on the left opened his mouth, indicating his singing as she could hear a muffled hum through her ear plugs.

“No, you can’t eat me.” She growls, pointing to her ears as her eyes narrow. “Haven’t you had enough anyway?”

She eyes the faint colors of their tails, two of them being a matching purple while the middle blends in with the darkness of the ocean, a little darker indicating that it’s black. She turns on her heel as she begins to walk to the wheel, luckily having the knowledge of driving this kind of boat. After hearing the water swish, she hears footsteps behind her, she turns quickly, hoping it to be another human. Her breath hitches as her eyebrows raise when she sees the men climbing on the boat with their newfound scaly legs, a pale hue that matches with their individual tail colors, though shimmering as they walk. Her eyebrows furrow at the nakedness, quickly looking away as her face warms. To the side, she sees that the yellow and pink tailed men are now standing on their own pair of feet.

How could I forget that the most powerful of mermaids can shift their tails to walk on land? They’re also the same type to even use their voices as a weapon. They even have tattoos that symbolize their royalty! What did we get ourselves into?

She internally gulps as they all stand intimidatingly across from her. She looks around for any weapon near her, unfortunately one not in her eyesight whatsoever.

“Shit.” She whispers. All she could do is stand alert as she watches them, attempting to cover her evident fear as she eyes the murderous creatures standing in front of her.

She eyes them as she notices all inhaling intensely, furrowing her brows when she observes through her peripheral how their bare cocks erect the more they inhale. Besides the very light hue of their normal tail colors covering their erections, it looks human for the most part besides that and their size. Nothing too big but bigger than the average human.

She shrieks as the blonde and blue haired man and his black haired twin run full speed towards her, grabbing her arms before she had time to move. They hold her arms, long nails slightly piercing her skin as they grip her, all forcing themselves on the ground to kneel as they force her to sit on her bottom.

She breathes heavily as she watches the other three get closer. She struggles harder as she yanks her arms. One of the grips actually uses his claw to scratch her skin, splitting it slightly as he leans to her ear.

“Stop it!” The blonde and blue haired man hisses, giving her a painful squeeze as the blood drips down her arm. She yelps as she stops pulling.

“Big brother, what are we going to do with her?” The pink man asks, her eyebrows furrowing at the differing language that consists of croaks and low shrieks.

“Take those things out of her ears.” He answers. The black haired twin listens as he uses one hand to take out both ear plugs and throws them to the side, causing her to gasp.

“Get away from me!” She yells.

The short man walks forward before crouching in front of her, kneeling and crawling half way on to her body. His cold skin drips with water as it falls on her. He inhales her scent once more as his palm holds her cheek. She sits frozen in fear, not anticipating what comes out of his mouth.

“Mate.” He states in her language. Her eyes widen as she pulls back.

“N-no! Humans don’t have mates!” She exclaims.

“Mate.” She hears the others whisper.

“No, absolutely not!” She shakes her head, frowning at the creatures surrounding her.

“Sanzu, Kazutora, secure her legs.” They comply by grabbing her legs and pulling her to lie on her back as the other two secure her arms down.

“What are you doing?” She questions, anxious thoughts forming as the worst case scenarios appear. He climbs higher as his hair drapes over both of their faces. His dark eyes staring at her with intensity and determination.

“Mikey.” He says, wanting to hear his name from her lips. She pauses as she hears his words.

“Mikey, please get off of me! All of you, just go away! I want to go home!” She exclaims in frustration, wanting privacy and peace to mourn before having to contact their facility about the deaths.

“Home?” The older brother on the left asks, his purple eyes observing her as he points over to the ocean. “O-our, no…. y-your home.” He nods.

“No, no, no that is not my home! I am not your mate! I’m not anyone’s mate, I’m human!” She reasons, hoping to get that through their heads. She yells in pain when she feels a harsh scratch on her leg, blood oozing from the wound.

“Y-you are mate!” Sanzu hisses, his nail paused against the end of her wound with his other hand wrapped around her ankle. Kazutora grips her other leg tighter as a frown falls on his face to the rejection, his eyebrows furrowing. The twins glare at her as they also give her a warning squeeze, involving the tip of their nails. She breathes heavily as she tries to ignore the pain.

“N-no, I’m not! I can’t be because I’m -!” She’s cut off by cold lips smashing on hers, Mikey gripping her chin painfully as he roughly combines their lips. His other hand grabs her shoulder as his naked chest is pressed against her clothed breasts. His erection pressed in between her legs.

The two brothers above her bend their bodies to gain better access to her neck as they satisfy their taste buds. Nipping and sucking as they bruise her skin. Sanzu licks the blood of her wound, slowly savoring the taste. Kazutora purrs as he caresses her other leg, removing her shoe and sock, throwing them to the side. Sanzu does the same so he can smell more of her sweet flesh.

“Rin, let’s release the stimulant.” The oldest twin says. He nods his head as they both bare their sharp teeth, piercing her skin as they release the venom. She let out a scream as the pain was sudden and prominent.

“Oh, God!” She exclaims against Mikey’s lips as the feeling becomes unbearable, the throbbing in her neck reaching all over her body.

“Ah.” She breathes out as the feeling turns into an intense sensation, tingling and arousal surrounding her body as her nipples harden and clit gains a heartbeat. Wet slick forms, beginning the breeding process her body has been forced into. Her chest rises and lowers as she breathes deeply, her eyelids heavy as her body yearns to be bred.

“Fuck, n-no! L-let me go.” She whines, sobbing as her reproductive system takes over, her clit pounding as her hips slightly buck against Mikey’s erection. She shivers as they all smile in content, smelling her heat as her pheromones fill their nostrils, turning them on even more.

Rin rips her shirt open, revealing her bra as she yelps. Mikey grabs her hand from the other twin as he wraps his lips around her finger, slowly suckling as he sits himself on top of her torso, using his other hand to trace from her chest to her stomach, lightly scraping his nails against her skin. Both twins rip her bra apart, revealing her diamond hard nipples, her gasping at the cold air hitting her breasts.

She begins to struggle against their holds, only to regret it as Mikey pulls her finger out and chomps on her hand as a warning, drawing blood. She cries out, tears falling as her mind conflicted with the sensations all over her body. He returns to suckling her fingers and tracing her skin, licking the blood up as well. The twins move to grab her breasts as both use their tongues to lick her nubs, Rin roughly pulling and nibbling her as his brother gently sucks and kisses her other. She could only breathe heavily as they continued their assault.

Kazutora and Sanzu tore her pants, spreading her legs as far as they could while gripping her thighs with one hand. Both men position their heads between her legs before using a claw to slice her panties off, leaving her wet and bare for them to see. Her head falls back as her clit throbs, anticipating contact but only bucking her hips against the air.

Kazutora leans in as he gives a slow and light kiss on her clit, her twitching at the contact. She bites her lip to remain in control, not moaning out or begging for more. Sanzu retracts his nails to a normal size, using his finger to scrape her juices and wrap his lips around his own finger, quietly moaning as her taste reaches his tongue. Kazutora takes her whole clit in his mouth, sucking her clit as he bobs his head slowly.

“Oh my god.” She whispers, the sensations becoming overwhelming as she feels Sanzu gathering more slick and entering a finger into her vagina. Mikey takes the opportunity to lick all around her hand and wraps her fingers around his cock. She attempts to pull back but his hold is tighter.

“P-please? N-need it.” He says softly. Although she’s almost blinded by pleasure, she wants to end everything as fast as possible. She begins to move her hand up and down at a steady pace. He moans as he thrusts back into her hand.

“Feels good, Mikey?” He teases.

“Shut up, Ran.” He whispers as his head falls back, thrusting a little harder as his cock pulsates. He grabs her wrist to balance himself. Her head is pulled to the side as the blonde and blue haired man eases the head of his cock to her mouth. She shakes her head and attempts to turn away. He keeps his hold on her head as he grabs her nipple roughly.

“B-bite off.” He growls, threatening her as his cock throbs in her face. He releases her nipple when she nods and opens her mouth. He shoves his erection all the way to the back of her throat. He grunts as he pulls back and enters again. She whimpers around his cock as she feels two fingers hitting her g spot as a tongue flicks her clit. She grinds her hips subconsciously, seeking more as they continue to stimulate her.

Both Rin and Mikey moan as they thrust into her, eyes rolling in the back of their heads as their hair flops against their back. Ran reaches for his own cock as he plays with her nipples.

Suddenly, an idea popping into his head, he restrains his thrusts as he gives her hand to Ran. He positions his cock between her breasts and squeezes them together. Mikey thrusts her chest as he purrs. Ran takes the opportunity to wrap her fingers around his cock, essentially the same idea with Mikey a minute ago.

Kazutora and Sanzu stop their motions, their dicks tense and in need of assistance, dripping as they throb.

“Guys, readjust so I can get behind her.”

They ignore him until he lets out an ear piercing shriek, causing her to groan in pain for her ears. This gets everyone’s attention so he repeats himself. Everyone readjusts so that he she lies on top of him, her ass rubbing against his abdomen.

Mikey stays sitting on top of her in the same position and fits his cock back in between her breasts. Sanzu sits behind Mikey, positioning his cock to her entrance. Rin reconnects his erection with her mouth as well as Ran using her hand.

She cries out when Kazutora and Sanzu shove their cocks inside of her until they reach the end of her walls, deeply stuffing themselves inside of her slowly. Kazutora grips her hips as Sanzu grips her legs. Both men pull back as they slam back in, the slick coming from their cocks moisturizing her up enough to enter, besides her own slick.

She grunts loudly as they fill her up, her body being used every which way as her nipples are pinched occasionally. The men’s beautiful moans echo in the middle of the ocean, enticing her as she feels nothing but intense pleasure. The wet squelching sounds of their cocks connecting with her skin accelerate as they move faster.

Her own walls tighten around Kazutora and Sanzu’s cocks, pulling them in as they push, sinking deeper into her as Sanzu hits her cervix. The feeling of her body bouncing with movement was enough to send her over the edge as her body is very sensitive from the stimulant.

“Mm, s’ fucking good.” Kazutora whispers as he takes her ear into his mouth. His grip tightening, leaving indents in her skin. His thrusts are steady and hard as her asshole grips him.

Mikey breathes hard as slight moans draw from his lips occasionally, almost slamming his cock against her chin as he relentlessly thrusts his hips. Sanzu moans as he leaned over her lower body, thrusting hard as he bites his bottom lip.

“Good fucking girl. So fucking good for me.” Rin’s head falls back as he fucks her mouth. He holds her head in place with both hands as he rises closer and closer. Ran releases breathy moans as his jaw falls slightly open, gripping her wrist tightly as he gets close.

She moans loudly as she releases, the men following behind as Sanzu and Kazutora cum deep inside her, semen falling out of her holes as there was too much to fit all of it. Mikey’s cum reaches her chin and chest as Ran hits the side of her head. Rin cums in her throat, forcing her to stay in the same place.

After taking a moment to breathe, everyone removes themself as she lies there with tears in her eyes, worn out as she breathes heavily.

“We should change her now and then breed her when we’re home.” Ran states, leaning back against his arms as he sits on the ground.

“No, we should mate her and then change her.” Rin argues.

“No, sex now and then we mate her. I want to breed her.” Mikey pouts.

They continue their argument, Kazutora and Sanzu joining in as Y/n watches the brothers argue weakly.

“How about we mate her, breed and then change her.”

“It wouldn’t make sense to breed her up here.”

“Fine, let’s mate, change her and then finish breeding.”

She would’ve used this opportunity to escape if the stimulant hadn’t weakened her body. She can barely shift on her own comfortably. A hand rubs her forehead as it caresses her cheek. Tears fall as she mourns her brother, coworkers, and life before this moment. She couldn’t even fight as she lay in despair, awaiting her fate to live in the ocean and be tied to these creatures forever.

[fatallyfalling]

Bitter Water 0.03 ~ ♆

“ Let the 67th Annual Hunger Games begin, “

{{ finnick Odair x Reader }}

{{ previous part || next part }} {{ masterlist }}

warnings: typical Hunger Games violence/trauma/themes, language, blood, injury, insinuation of forced prostitution, enemies to lovers, slow burn, death, nightmares, etc

{{ word count }} 4.5 k

{{ outfits }}

{{ prompt }} The tribute Parade comes and goes as training begins and the next two weeks all but fly past. Then after an intrusive interview the day of the Games arrives.

{{ a/n }} Super quick “highlights” up ahead !! This chapter jumps around a bit and is much faster paced than normal but i swear it makes sense in the long run I just didn’t want to bore you all with regurgitated details to be revealed later on. enjoy!!

You didn’t see Finnick again.

Not even after arriving in the Capital on the train platform. A small piece of you had started to regret your outburst, but a bigger part was too stubborn to admit that. Besides, the likelihood of you seeing the boy again was slim. Thatcher was right in saying you’d be “whisked away” because everything moved incredibly fast from then on.

Your transport to the Tribute Center was quick and efficient. You were barely able to settle before a prep team all but kidnapped you and whisked you away once more to the Remake Center to prepare for the parade and opening ceremonies of the Games.

The prep team’s techniques were invasive, to say the least. Almost every inch of your skin was examined, prodded at, scrubbed, washed, plucked, waxed, moisturized, and polished when they finished the lengthy cleaning process. Even The dried blood under your fingernails had been picked away. As more time passed, the more you really did start to feel like some kind of show animal or “prize-winning salmon” leaving a sour taste in your mouth.

Managing a weak thanks as you’re handed a flimsy gown to cover up with, your prep team gives a nod before leaving. That too-clean feeling from the train ride sends pinpricks up your spine again as you sit up to slide the gown on and peer around the sleek room. It’s wide open and similar to some kind of medical bay, although much more modern than the small clinics back in District 4. Peacekeepers line the outside wall along slanted windows. There are many smothered voices behind plastic, vinyl curtains used to separate the small prep rooms down the open corridor. It’s safe to assume you’re surrounded by the other Tributes.

A stylist introduces herself to you as Hyacinth, briefly explaining the vision behind the luxurious garment as it’s pulled from a protective sleeve on the hanger in her hands. Every set of Tributes was given costumes to match their District’s core industry to wear throughout the parade. District 4’s costumes, obviously, represented their many fisheries. The garment was difficult to distinguish from any other fishing net made on your ports back home, but as the stylist began to wrap the intricate material around your exposed skin it began to look more like a costume.

You were right about the ensemble being mostly netting. Thankfully, you were provided a bodysuit that had been airbrushed to match your complexion and painted details to resemble gills across the sides of your ribs. Large iridescent blue-green fish scales had been woven in and across the netting on your chest as if splattered there, crawling up your collarbones and wrapping around your shoulders. More scales were placed down your arms towards your fingertips, and the same process was applied to your legs with a sticky substance. The bottom of the netted costume had more scales adorning the hemming, their colors changing under the lights. You were left barefoot, which you felt was a bit dangerous, but you were too focused on their intricate handiwork to object to. Your hair was left in its natural texture, although Hyacinth laid a few pieces just how she wanted them. Ear cuffs made to resemble fins wrap around the shell of your ears. Your makeup was painted on in colors to match the color-shifting scales, and your fingernails and toes were painted an ocean blue.

“You look absolutely stunning Darling,”

Hyacinth had stepped back to admire her finished product, and you couldn’t help the insecurity churning your insides. A bathing suit revealed more than a netted outfit, but you couldn’t help feeling completely exposed. “I-It is very beautiful. Thank you,” You try not to stumble on your words as you do a small twirl in the mirror. Hyacinth’s smile spreads, and she gives a giddy clap of her hands, largely appreciating the flattery.

“Wonderful Darling!! Now, come, come, we must get you downstairs. Your chariot awaits!”

You’re ushered away from the small prep room and quickly transported from the Remake Center to an open-air stadium for the Tribute Parade. Upon entering a large open hall connected to the stadium floor, you notice the twelve shiny mental chariots pulled by beautiful inky Clydesdales. The horse’s mane and tails are freshly groomed, and their coats shine in the stadium lights. You can’t help thinking what magnificent creatures they are as you approach. The other Tributes around you are resigned to themselves, talking only to their stylists or one another. Your district partner and their stylist are already beside your chariot as well. You offer a small hello but wander over to the beautiful inky-colored creatures attached to the chariot.

One of the Clydesdales gives a soft whinny as you gently reach out to stroke its mane. You’d only seen horses less than a handful of times but had always admired the strong creatures. The remaining minutes you have before the opening ceremonies begin are spent stroking the horse’s strong neck and muzzle while whispering sweet nothings to the creatures.

Once an announcement is made that the ceremony is about to begin, you give the horses a sweet smile in farewell before stepping up onto the chariot beside your District Partner. You hadn’t noticed the odd look they’d given you, but their eyes quickly averted upon you meeting their stare. That familiar anxious knot twists your insides as the gleaming chariot lurches forward to follow the procession. Your knuckles turn white from how stiff your grip on the front of the chariot is.

The parade runs smoothly, though you find the loud cheers and hollers of the hundreds of thousands gathered to watch the event extremely overwhelming. Bitterness sets in your jaw as you remember they only care about the entertainment your death will provide. Your promise echoes through your mind as you take your eyes from the grandstands to look ahead toward the President of Panem, Coriolanus Snow.

You will not die.

Training begins in the morning, bright and early. There’s officially less than two weeks before the Games. All twenty-four tributes are transported to the Training center from their quarters and dressed in nearly identical uniforms consisting of black athletic long sleeves and pants with sleek black combat boots. Burnt orange accents run up the side seams and across the shoulders of their uniforms. The only distinction between Tributes is their district number embroidered on their backs in the same burnt orange as the accents on their clothes.

You scan the large training area as everyone spreads out to show off their personal strengths. Shifting your weight between your feet, you try to focus on your brief discussion with mags over breakfast. The goal of the training is to be observed by potential sponsors who can send aid in the arena. The more sponsors you get, the better your odds of potentially surviving. Your goal wasn’t to gain as many sponsors as possible by showing off but instead focusing on honing your skills to survive without the extra gifts. With a deep inhale, you make your way to a tall rope course that stretches the expanse of the upper levels of the hall and get to work.

The first few days spent in the Training Center, you work on getting through the ropes course, then getting through the course with weights, then doing both things while being as light-footed and silent as possible. You try to distance yourself from the other tributes, especially the growing pack of careers. Your best bet is to blend in and remain invisible to keep others off your back. Tensions increase after the first week, and a fight inevitably breaks out between the careers. Two female tributes are arguing for power within the alliance, ending in the pack dividing in two. You can only hope the grudges they now carry become their downfall in the arena as you resume your knife-throwing practice.

You’re not the best, but you manage to at least hit the target a few times. By the end of the next day, you’re hitting the target, although nowhere near the center or any crucial extremities on the human cutout. It would be enough to slow an opponent but nothing lethal at long range. You tried to push away the bile that threatened to rise in your throat whenever you remembered the high possibility of actually facing another human being with these knives. You hoped it wouldn’t come down to that, but your rationale knew better. The claim you spat in that bronze-haired boy’s face rang in your ears.

“I’d rather choose death than a life with blood on my hands.”

You scrape by with a score of six during the private Tribute Showcase, nimbly traversing the ropes course with a heavy weight on your back with barely a sound. Your goal of staying under the radar had worked.

Tonight, Hyacinth was fawning over another luxurious garment designed for your impending live audience interview with the ever-charismatic and flamboyant Caesar Flickerman. The stylist monologues her vision while zipping the back of the ensemble. Your costume tonight was made to represent the sea itself, a deep aquamarine bodysuit covered in various droplet crystals hugging your form, and a makeshift cape of the same deep color fades into layers of progressively lighter sea greens and blues, mimicking the sea foam of rolling waves on the coast. The many layers of the waterfall cape move in a satisfying cascade down your back to the floor, trailing behind you.

You’re given slim boots to match the bodysuit, and your hair is pinned up to showcase your bare back and the excessive cape. Ear cuffs nearly identical to the ones you wore during the parade wrap around your ears, and your makeup is honed more to accentuate your natural features than cover them. The polish on your fingernails is a muted sea green that causes a twist in your chest. The color reminds you too much of a certain bronze-haired boy.

Regret flashes through you again.

“Alright, Darling, shoulders back. Head high, you’ll be a spectacle no one will look away from,” Hyacinth coos as she brushes the fabric across your shoulders and adjusts finishing minute details. You offer a small smile with a sweet thanks before she loops your arm in hers and leads you toward the wings backstage. You really weren’t fond of the many cameras or prying eyes that awaited beyond your shadowy safe haven out of view, but you didn’t have a choice but to smile and play the part.

The male Tribute of District 3 is wrapping up their brief interview, and that anxious knot contorts harshly inside your chest. Soon, the interviewer and interviewee stand, shake hands, and the Tribute exits stage left.

“Now, Our next Tribute hails from the northern end of our beloved District 4,”

Caesar chirps through his introduction, and a nudge from behind urges you forward at the call of your name. You startle forward but manage to keep a sureness in your steps. The bright flashing lights and mechanical snaps of cameras form an overstimulating cacophony between the roar of the Capital citizens. The host of tonight’s event is adorned in sparkling silver, from the top of his slicked-back hair down to piercing eye contacts and a monochromatic tux that you could’ve sworn was closer to chrome from the gleaming shine.

You offer a wavering smile as you approach the host. Caesar Flickerman motions you to the seat beside him as he descends to the eggshell-colored swivel chair. You take your seat, adjusting the cascading cape to flow over the arm of the chair to remain because of the audience. A chorus of “ooo’s” and “ahhh’s” reverberates through the auditorium, and you can’t help the burning flush at the tips of your ears. “You look absolutely stunning tonight, my Dear,” Caesar compliments through a picture-perfect smile. You nod in thanks as he dives right into the questions.

“So, how has Capital life been treating you?”

“Uhm, it’s been very.. different, to say the least,” You stumble a bit through your response, but Caesar simply nods and leans out to the crowd with that picture-perfect smile and a laugh. “Well, what’s the most?” and a chorus of hoots and laughter rises from the audience again. Your faux smile falters, and your hands wring together in your lap anxiously. “It’s just more..extravagant than back home, is all. More colorful.” You reply shakily. The host nods in encouragement before moving on to the next question.

“Well, a little birdie whispered that a certain Sweetheart of the Capital arrived with you on the Tribute’s train. Our beloved Finnick Odair, one might say. Correct me if I’m wrong, but is there possibly a star-crossed lovers situation on our hands?”

Your blood runs cold as the phrase leaves Flickerman’s lips. He’s leaned forward, clearly on the edge of his seat, with the microphone pointed towards you, and the auditorium falls deathly silent. Your throat feels tight as all you do is stare in pure disbelief. “W-What?” You choke out, bewilderment on your face as your ears flush red from a burning embarrassment in your chest. The audience scoffs in disappointment at your response, and your confusion grows.

Caesar’s expression shifts as his smile falters, his eyes all but telling you to answer or make something up so he can move on. You stutter in reply while firmly shaking your head from side to side,

“No, no! It’s nothing like that at all. Honestly, I find him more irritating than anything. Besides, I’d never fall for a stuck-up Peacock like Finnick Odair in a thousand years!”

Your embarrassment turns into anger at the question as the audience groans in further disappointment, a few “Boos” echoing through the rafters above. However, much to your dismay, a few conspiring whispers slip through under all the noise that signifies your words weren’t taken as truth. This makes your blood simmer as Caesar barks a laugh, slapping a tanned hand on his silver knee.

“Ah hah! Well, that’s a mighty claim my dear, but I’m not so sure you’re well believed seeing that blush on your cheeks!”

Your jaw sets as you sit through two more equally ludicrous questions about your life before you exit the stage and return to your living quarters for the night. Upon returning to the Tribute Center and changing out of your ocean blue costume with the help of Hyacinth and her team, you immediately sink into the heavenly warmth of the large tub in your private washroom. However, not before receiving a thorough chew out from Thatcher over your once again “unprofessional behavior” when answering Caesar’s questions and for apparently “disrespecting” the Capital’s Darling.

Gently, you scrub yourself clean but remain in the comforting heat and steamy air till the water is frigid, trying to soak in the pleasuring warmth as long as possible while enjoying the brief privacy the washroom allows. Eventually, you drain the tub and towel yourself off, slipping into soft, lightweight bottoms, similar to the ones Finnick had thrown at you on the train, and an oversized short-sleeved tunic.

Finnick.

Unwanted pinpricks of regret stab your chest again, and a crease forms between your brows as the remembrance of the bronze-haired victor brings the interview questions surging back to the front of your mind. You grip your toothbrush tighter as you try to push away the embarrassment from earlier tonight. You didn’t know or understand how a rumor like that could even be an inkling in someone’s mind. You didn’t even see the boy at the station platform, and what business was it of a bunch of old snobby Capital Elites to reach after the love lives of children picked to slaughter one another in less than a day? Your stomach churned uncomfortably at the thought.

Once you finished preparing for sleep, you pad your way over to your bed and find a comfortable seating position before flipping through a few of the ‘sleep aids’ with a small metal remote. The floor-to-ceiling windows in your luxurious, Capital-provided, bedroom flashed between different sceneries till you landed on one of the waves crashing on a foggy shore. The muddy sand of the beach drifted under the lull of the tide. Occasionally, seagulls cawed from the clouds above.

You knew you should be doing something with your last night of so-called ‘freedom’ before the Games begin tomorrow, but all you can do is stare at the waves. You wonder how your siblings and father are faring like you have every night since your departure from District 4. You could only hope they were learning to adapt with you being gone. Trying not to spiral over your fate, you drag your hands down your face to scrub at your eyes with a heavy sigh and thick swallow.

“I can do this…”

You mutter the mantra to yourself as you internally review the strategies Mags had made you memorize. There weren’t any clues given as to what the arena entailed. Rumors had been overheard in the Training Center, but the Gamemakers never repeated an arena. There could be anything in that dome of death tomorrow. The waves continue to crash on the screen, the whistle of a breeze blowing through the tall pines just beyond the beach that helps keep you grounded.

You could do this. You had to. Your father’s only word in farewell echos like many others.

“Survive,”

The morning comes too soon. You didn’t touch much of your breakfast even though you know you need as much energy as possible. Mags gives a pointed look your way, and you begrudgingly force a few bites down. Afterward, Mags, Hyacinth, and you are escorted by peacekeepers to a flight hanger near the Tribute Center. You receive an almost bone-crushing hug from your mentor that you graciously return with equal vigor.

“Thank you, for everything”

You murmur into the older woman’s hair. You feel her tears dampen the tunic covering your shoulder. Forcing yourself to pull away and wipe the tears from the elderly woman’s face as she signs her care for you. You offer a sweet smile and other thanks before a Peacekeeper takes your arm and leads you onto a hovercraft. Hyacinth follows, and you're pushed into a seat.

“Your arm,” The Peacekeeper orders while reaching out their hand. You hesitantly reach out, and they quickly place a device with an abnormally large needle into your arm. You grimace at the sting as a trigger is tugged, and a small glowing object appears beneath your skin. Your arm is dropped, and you place two fingers lightly over the slight bump caused by the device. “Don’t touch that. It’s your tracker.” The peacekeeper remarks, and you startle, returning your hands to your lap. The flight is long, but you don’t doze off as adrenaline pumps through your core. Tucking stray flyaways behind your ears, you look across to Hyacinth, who offers a solemn smile. The hovercraft eventually lands, a group of Peacekeepers in stark white uniforms meet you, and you’re quickly led to a small room.

The room is bare bones with only a rack containing your uniform for the Games, a small desk, and an overhead lamp. Two peacekeepers stand guard outside the door, and Hyacinth helps prepare you one last time. The uniform doesn’t give much away about what to expect of the arena besides its colors. Consisting of dark brown hiking boots, slim-fitted pants with multiple pockets in burnt umber, a warm brown skin-tight tank top, and a lightweight khaki-colored windbreaker. The possibility of a dry, warm climate arose in your mind as you examined the materials of your uniform. Hyacinth gave you a sad smile as she fixed the hood of your jacket.

“Good luck my Darling, it’s been my pleasure to know you.”

The stylist’s smile is sad, tears brim her eyes, and you can’t help feeling emotional. This was it. She would be the last person you saw before the Games began. You wrap your arms around the tall woman in a hug, surprising the stylist, but she gently accepts and returns the gesture. You give her your thanks before an announcement comes through a speaker somewhere in the room that the countdown is about to begin. With a thick swallow, you step towards the glass elevator indicated to ale you up into the arena. You hesitate, a shaky inhale entering your nose before gingerly stepping onto the panel. The glass door wraps around with a slick “shink” and your whirl to face your stylist. But she’s already left the room, probably unable to watch another one of her tributes enter the thunderstorm of the Hunger Games arena.

You don’t blame her.

A moment passes before the platform you’re standing on begins to rise, and your gaze turns skyward. The light is bright, causing your sensitive eyes to squint. You take note that you’re at least in an outdoor setting. The air that kisses your skin is dry and warm as your platform fully breaches the earth into the arena. Your head swivels as you take in the surroundings as a bright yellow countdown has begun in the sky above via hologram.

The arena of the 67th games was a ravine.

Half the tributes are spread on your side of the steep, open-mouthed drop, the other twelve across the wide mouth on a parallel cliff. There are trees behind, but there are no weapons because they’re all in the center across a woven net. The footholds are wide. If you’re not careful, you’ll trip and either plummet to the rushing water miles below or succumb to a Tribute’s attacks. Weapons and supplies are placed on a tarp in the center of the woven bridge. The Cornucopia. Maybe things would be over sooner than you thought.

The countdown is halfway.

Wetting your lips, you take a glance down and fight the urge to vomit, hearing someone else already do so over the side of their podium at the descent less than a foot from the cliff edge. Layers of cliffs jut out in makeshift ladders and walkways with alcoves to possibly hide in, but you quickly realize the only source of fresh water will be the rushing river at the bottom of the ravine. Glancing back up, you quickly try to stop the blanking panic in your mind as you try to recall everything Mags had taught you. Your best bet was to run. You can use your jacket as cover and get to the bottom to hide while everyone is too busy risking the crawl to the weapons. There was bound to be edible plant life at the bottom, or worse, you hunt for something better on the way down.

Ten seconds left.

Nine,

Eight,

Seven,

Six,

Five,

Four,

Three,

Two,

One,

“Let the 67th annual Hunger Games, begin.”

A bell sounds, and all hell breaks loose. No one yells, only the fierce grunts as Tributes race for the Cornucopia. You don’t see your District Partner, but you don’t stay static long enough to see the carnage that ensues as you bolt in the opposite direction. Two other Tributes bolt after you but veer straight into the trees beyond. Your heart feels like it’ll burst from your chest as you sprint down the edge till you find a slope to take you down. Falling to a slide, you slip down to another cliff as the first canon booms.

twenty three left.

Two more canons burst through the arena as you continue your rocky descent. Children are screaming above you, and you hurl what little substance is in your stomach as a body falls in front of you with a sickening crunch. The blood splatters across your skin, and you bite back your terrified scream. You have to keep moving.

Another canon.

Twenty left.

You dare take a glance behind and luckily manage to escape unnoticed. But you don’t hold hope on that factor as loud snaps reverberate down the canyon. Someone was cutting the net to the Cornucopia. There’s more screaming as you nimbly jump from the rocky slab you stood upon down to a jutting-out cliff, narrowly avoiding a fall to your demise. A pained scream catches in your throat through gritted teeth as your shoulder makes contact and you roll across the red earth. A dampness coats your tongue with a metallic taste of copper. Blood.

Forcing yourself to stand, your knees nearly fall out from under you, but you remain upright as you take another running jump to an even lower rock platform. By now, someone shouts above the screaming, “Go that way!” and you force yourself to move faster. You don’t have time to see what the voice originating the order meant. All you know is you have to get away. You land chest first on the edge of the cliff, and the wind is knocked from your chest. Blood splatters on the gravel, projected from the cough of air escaping your lungs. It’s an effort to pull yourself back up over the edge, slipping on sliding feet for a foothold on the rock wall, but you manage. There’s the crunch of boots above, and your terror amplifies tenfold as a spear shoots past you down to the depths. “S-Shit..” you gurgle on blood as you take off running once more, choking down small gasps of air that never seem to reach your lungs.

You can’t stop.

Another canon goes off and you hear another body fall to the depths, following another grotesque crunch of bone and muscle on rock.

Nineteen left.

A metallic clatter fills the expansive cavern of the ravine, and you spare a fleeting glance above just as the netting of the Cornucopia plummets. Metal cases, weapons, backpacks, and other supplies become entangled in the tarp they had rested upon as debris falls. Cases shatter and clang on the many cliffs. You do your best to evade the sharp debris but aren’t fast enough as a blade slices across the back of your left leg. You’re brought to your knees by the searing pain but again force yourself up, barely remembering to grab the small blade and continue your descent. White hot pain shoots ribbons through your entire leg, but you keep moving, albeit slower than before. Two more canons.

Seventeen Tributes left.

Seven children already dead.

You could only hope your canon wouldn’t fire anytime soon.

Another canon, sixteen left.

You will not die.

{{ taglist }}

@emerald-09 @reader-bookling123 @finnickodaddy @thehairington86 @darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts @avoxrising @meri-soni-meri-tamanna @whens-naptime @violettbae @the-lonely-abyss @secretsicanthideanymore

[marlynnofmany]

We’re All Weird Here

“Bones are body horror,” the tentacle alien told me. “Not that I would volunteer such information, mind you, but you did ask.”

“I did,” I agreed, lifting another crate. “That’s really funny, honestly. What about them is disturbing?”

Mur twisted his blue-black tentacles in a way that looked anxious. “Just the idea of something rigid, inside your flesh,” he said with a wiggly shudder. “No matter how you move, it won’t move with you. Like your own body is fighting back.” He wrapped his tentacles around a crate. “I’ve had nightmares about stiffness like that.”

“Wow,” I said as I set my crate on top of the others. “I’m sorry to hear that? All I can tell you is that bones aren’t an enemy to us; they’re something dependable and strong that hold us up and make everything possible.”

Mur shoved his crate into place. “I suppose you’d need a positive relationship with your own disturbing parts,” he said with a twitch of his hind tentacles that was probably the equivalent of shaking his head. Since a Strongarm’s pointy squid-head was the majority of their body, they didn’t seem to go in for human-style nods.

“Well sure, same as you,” I said, checking the hovercart for more crates. “You know most humans find tentacles creepy, right?”

“I have heard,” he said with a smug little smile.

No nods, but yes smiles. With a mouth in the right place, even. I was privately glad that he had a mouth on the front of his head, instead of hidden among his tentacles like an Earth cephalopod. I was debating whether to tell him that when a crewmate of an entirely different body type walked in on clicking feet.

I pointed at him. “What about exoskeletons?” I asked Mur.

Zhee stopped beside the cart. “What about exoskeletons?” he demanded. He struck a pose out of an intergalactic fashion show, letting the ship’s lights play on his vivid purple carapace while he snapped his pincher arms. “Are you squishies jealous?”

“Sure, let’s go with that,” Mur told him before turning to me. “Exoskeletons are different from bones. They’re like an exo-suit: a protective case for the natural softness.”

Zhee held the pose. “A glorious one.”

“Yes, Zhee. You’re very pretty.” Mur sounded more than a little patronizing, but Zhee didn’t seem to mind.

“That is the proper amount of respect,” the bug alien said. He relaxed to grasp the cart handles with his pinchers, and towed it out of the room. “I will return with more freeze-dried foodstuffs. Make sure you tie those crates down.”

“Yeah, we’ve got it,” Mur told him. “Make sure you get the right ones; two of the three shipments look similar.”

“This is obvious to one with such excellent color vision as myself.”

Mur made the little popping noises that pass for laughter, and turned toward the adjustable netting. He threw one end to me.

We spent the next few minutes fastening things down to industry standards, which still seemed a little excessive. I’d never seen the ship’s antigravity fail yet, but I supposed meteor impacts were possible. Some of those buggers were much faster than I’d ever expected before I got into space.

“We’re going to need a replacement for this one,” Mur said, fingering a hole in one net. (Does it count as “fingering” if he used a tentacle-tip? “Tentacling” just doesn’t sound right.) He set it aside near the door.

“Do we have enough for now?” I asked.

“Yeah, probably,” he said. “We just can’t forget on the next restocking trip. Hey Paint!” he called after someone who’d just passed the doorway.

“Paint,” she said, replying with her own name where I would have said “Yes?” or “What?” Her full name was Painted Sunset, but since that sounded way too much like the captain’s name, Piercing Sunlight, she just stuck to Paint. She poked her snout of mottled orange scales around the doorframe, all polite curiosity.

“Can you put another net on the shopping list?” Mur asked.

“Big or small?”

“Big please.”

“Got it. One question for you.”

“What’s that?” Mur asked.

Paint spun to stick her tail out into the doorway. She had something taped to it — a stapler? Whatever it was, it clacked like a tiny crocodile when she moved. “Have you seen any tasty fish around here?” she said in a growly voice. “Rawr!”

With a long-suffering sigh, Mur told her, “No, but there are probably some in the kitchen.”

“Thanks!” Paint spun again and stuck her head out. “Was it scary? I think it needs eyes to be really scary.”

Mur sighed.

“That was good!” I said. “Eyes would be better. Hey, do you have access to googly eyes out here? The little sticky ones?”

“No, what are those?” Paint asked, walking into the room. “They sound fun.”

“They are!” I told her. “I used to like putting two on my hand and making a little face, like this.” I demonstrated, wrapping a forefinger around my thumb and moving both together like a talking mouth. “‘Hello! I don’t have teef.’”

Paint thought this was the best thing ever, and despite Mur’s eye-rolling maturity, he couldn’t take his eyes off the display.

“That is unsettlingly convincing,” he admitted. “Even without eyes. If I saw that sneak around a corner and start talking to me, I’d believe we had a stowaway of a species I’d never seen before.” He pointed three tentacles at my face. “Do NOT do that as a prank, or I’ll throw your shoes out the airlock. I know you treasure those.”

“It’s not that I treasure them,” I said. “The floor is just cold without them, and I could step on something sharp.”

“Yeah, so? That’s life,” the squidlike alien said. “You don’t see me wearing an exo-suit about the ship just because the floor is cold.”

“Hey, do that hand thing one more time,” Paint said. “I think I’ve almost got it.” Her scaly orange fingers were too short to manage the same effect, but she was trying.

“More crates,” announced Zhee from the hallway. “Make some emptiness.”

The three of us moved aside for him to direct the hovercart into place. Paint gushed about the hand thing.

“It looks so convincing! I can’t do it right. Show him!”

I did, feeling a bit silly in front of his unblinking, massive eyes. His antennae held still, making his expression hard to read. “‘Hello,’” I said. “‘I’m a mouth.’”

“That’s not a mouth,” he declared.

Before I could say yeah, that’s the point, he stepped back from the cart. With a flourish, he tucked his head low against his shoulders and bent his pincher arms into a terrifying facsimile of a gaping jaw, lined with teeth.

Paint squeaked. Mur slapped a tentacle against the floor.

“Wow,” I said. “Yeah, googly eyes have nothing on that.”

Mur pointed at him. “I see you also have a potential prank that you should not pull.”

At the same time, Paint exclaimed, “You have to show Sunlight!”

Mur gave her a look. “Do not terrify the captain.”

“No no, she’ll love it.”

“I’m pretty sure she’s busy.”

Paint rubbed her chin as Zhee resumed a normal posture. “It wouldn’t take long, but yeah, she’s busy. Dinnertime? Oh, and you have to show off your thing too!” she said, pointing at me.

Mur started to naysay, but I said, “Oh, like a talent show?”

“I have all of the talent,” Zhee announced.

Paint was delighted. Mur waved his tentacles about and went back to work, while Zhee launched into a story of the time he scared off a predator with the “false jaws” trick.

“Come on, let’s tell everybody else about the talent show!” Paint said. “This’ll be great!” She waved for Zhee to follow her, and he went, still talking.

Mur grumbled. “Dinner is going to be interesting. I hope it doesn’t put anyone off their food.”

“I’ll try not to do anything bone-related,” I said.

“I appreciate the restraint.”

After a moment of handling crates, I asked, “Did you know our blood is made inside our bones?”

“Oh, that is so much worse! I may just get sick ahead of time.”

~~~

More fun and games with backstory for the book. Not as much action this time, but some very important conversation.

[merakiui]

more octavinelle thoughts (albeit more floyd-focused) but!!! a concept in which you are an idol and the twins are your bodyguards and azul is your very scummy, sleazy manager who would do virtually anything so long as his star angelfish can shine brighter than the other idols and their agencies. though the idol industry is cutthroat and stressful, thanks to azul’s quick wit, the leech twins’ connections, and lots of smart investments you manage to gain success relatively quickly. that’s the entire point, after all, and yet even with your success in recent years there are ominous shadows that stretch far and wide. 

floyd dwells in these shadows, always teetering between being happy for your newfound success and loathing the fact that you’re so popular and busy now. even though he follows you everywhere (he and jade are bound to you via contract, but floyd could care less about the legal bond between the both of you), it’s always for business. he’s forced to keep within certain boundaries so as to not cause legal trouble, personal trouble, and just overall trouble for the fans and you. there are times he’s thought of wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you against him after it became an irritating chore to watch you pose for pictures or sign various things when fans would recognize and approach you. he wants to prove something by doing this, but he’s not sure what. prove that you’re untouchable to the general public—that only he can lay a finger on you? prove that you are no one’s idol? prove that you belong to him? 

floyd hates this feeling. it’s as if he’s wrapped in fishing netting and there’s no escaping no matter how much he bites and claws. the more he thrashes, the more it winds itself around him, constrictive and painful. it hurts to see you shine so brightly while knowing fully well he can’t truly have you. you’re meant to put on an act to prove to everyone that you are accessible and loyal only to the arts. therefore no romance for you. even your personal and work relationships are difficult to navigate because no matter who you’re associated with fans will get envious, or they’ll make rash judgements. 

floyd’s thought about yanking you up to his height to kiss you square on the mouth while out in public with you. he’s thought about taking you in the recording studio so they’ll have recordings of your voice as it wavers with moans and sobs, and for the right price azul can sell it to tabloid journalists and they’ll release it and the whole world will hear their slutty idol getting fucked by a faceless, mysterious bodyguard. then you’d truly be his because no one would want you. 

he’s thought about keeping his hand planted firmly on your hip when at social gatherings or clinging to you like a luxury handbag. jade often advises against it. as physical as floyd would love to be, he has to follow the rules. floyd hates the rules because he never knows what half of them are or what they entail. he’ll get away with fleeting touches when he can, masking them with the excuse of his job. if a fan attempts to get too handsy with you, he gets to put his hands on your shoulders and steer you away while jade politely advises them of the rules. 

floyd spends so long trapped in this troublesome stage of pining from afar, never to surpass any boundaries, always remaining as your bodyguard, that he begins to wonder if anything will ever change. he wants to get married; you can’t. he wants to settle down and start a family; you can’t. he wants to publicize his love; you can’t. there are so many things you can’t do and it’s so annoying. floyd tries to tell azul that it’s not fair—that you ought to be given more freedoms (“fuck the fans,” he often says)—but he may as well be a petulant child whining over impossible, unsolvable problems. this may be a reality to everyone else, but it isn’t the reality he wants. the reality he wants lies in unreality—in the far corners of his mind, each one a sugared fantasy he often considers when he needs material to get off to. thoughts of you in your pretty, frilly, elaborate idol outfits, each one shredded to pieces to get to warm skin beneath (he’ll buy you a dozen replacement outfits if it means you’ll let him fuck you; hell, he’ll spoil you rotten just so you continue to allow him to stand by your side as your most loyal bodyguard), have him falling over the edge into orgasmic bliss. god, you’re so perfect. so sweet. so soft. so deliciously noisy when you’re practically howling beneath him when he fucks you so hard the bed shudders (and the dreams always fall apart right when he’s about to tell you he loves you in the aftermath). fuck. he wants you all to himself. 

at some point, as his love twists into something unfathomably crooked, he gets it in his mind to knock you up. it’s the perfect solution! secret relationships, publicized romance, and rules be damned; a pregnancy would unravel the carefully crafted spool of thread azul has spent so long spinning to perfection. you really would be his then because it would be undeniable proof. and when your belly is so taut and round with his child, even with azul’s silver tongue, it will be impossible to explain away. and everyone would know. everyone would know you belong to him. your picture-perfect, successful world will cave in on itself, fold itself away into a packet of misery, and from the tendrils of bad, terrible, hateful things floyd will pull you free—right into his arms where you’re meant to be.

today you smiled at him, brought him a snack to thank him for his hard work, and tomorrow he’ll return the favor when he slips something into your drink so you’ll fall into your own little fantasy.

the idol industry is cutthroat, but then so is floyd.

[alilbatflies]

Just Cake #4

To the people who commented: hello! And thank you, since this wouldn't have happened otherwise.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

...

The walk back was alright, considering. There were no more traps shutting around them, neither guards leaping from the shadows of trees. The supervillain could have something like that. The henchman wouldn’t be surprised.

The thing was, once the henchman’s mind had calmed down somewhat and processed the adrenaline from the dangerous situation, the conversation prior to supervillain’s arrival crashed into them like a train gone off the rails. Their thoughts kept leaping back and back to the net conversation, pondering.

They wanted to ask. They didn’t want to push.

And of course, the conversation would surface again, as if asking your boss “what’s your regret in life” before a suspected death ever did anything good. They were in the industry for a long time, for fuck’s sake. They should have known better.

They had already been so close to their villain just hanging in the net and it was so inappropriate and entirely unprofessional. They wanted to ask, but boundaries were pushed quite enough that day, far beyond their liking.

At least they were finally back on their own turf. The chances of being attacked by someone unfamiliar or snatched up by a net hidden in leaves and shadows of the forest were minimal. Their home base was peaceful.

Back in their office, the villain took off the work jacket. They exhaled and moved to the wall map. The henchman let their coat hang on the rack by the door as they joined to input what little they managed to find before they were unceremoniously interrupted by a bundle of expertly placed ropes. The only reason the henchman wasn’t dying of embarrassment at that was that it was supervillain’s net, and that meant they had little chances of missing it or escaping otherwise.

They wrapped up quickly for lack of substantial information. And the general exhaustion.

The henchman just wanted to go home. Eat something. Take a long shower. Pass out on the bed and hibernate for the next three years maybe. The villain was competent enough for world dominance on their own, if they so desired. The henchman did not think world dominance would be something the villain ever desired, as it came with a lot of talking to people they didn’t know. But they had the skill.

Were they too young for retirement?

It wasn’t like the villain couldn’t just pick any of the many other henchmen that crawled around whenever there was a plan being executed. So many skilled people. Surely one retiring minion wouldn’t be a problem.

It was all just thoughts produced by an exhausted mind; the henchman knew. Thoughts they entertained far too eagerly. There was something about it.

Nevertheless, their work was done at the moment, so they were going home. Finally. It would make more sense in the morning.

“Before you go,” the villain said as the henchman moved to take their coat and leave. “The thing I was about to say before we got interrupted.”

“Huh?”

“You’re getting promoted.”

“Huh?”

The henchman’s mind was stuck. The loading circle wasn’t even spinning.

Promoted.

Promoted?

First, that was the villain's regret?! Not promoting them surely wasn’t such a huge deal. Second, what were they even getting promoted to? There was nowhere to be promoted to! Everyone worked under the villain. The only step above would be the villain’s level. And becoming the villain’s equal was… no. Absolutely not.

Before they could shake their head and no doubt make a fool of themselves somehow, the villain tilted their head.

“Become my right hand?”

The henchman’s mind slowed down a bit. Not quite equal. Just… closer to equal than before.

“Right hand,” the henchman echoed. They supposed that was technically a position between the boss and the minions. The villain did employ quite a lot of people, lately. “Is that a real title, even?”

The villain shrugged. “Blizzard mentioned it. She said, it’s like the head butler of henchmen.”

“Right,” the henchman said. Blizzard was one of the villains they were often cooperating with, and their villain took her advice seriously. (Regardless of whether they followed through with it.) “Right.”

They could work with that. The henchman smiled. They could work with that.

The villain considered them.

“I understand it’s a lot of responsibility,” they said. “If you’d rather not to, I’ll understand. But there’s nobody I trust quite as much as you. You have this way with words, too… I can’t speak as well in stressful situations.”

The henchman had all of half a second to ponder if the villain actually found situations stressful before the villain carried on.

“If today’s incident proved anything it’s that I can’t actually work without you.”

That was delightful, the henchman supposed. “Words alone wouldn’t get me anywhere.”

“No.” the villain grinned, a crooked wild thing of a smile. “Your bluffs are always based on my strength, perhaps. But still perfect bluffs.”

The henchman filtered away the way the villain pronounced perfect for later sorting. Presumably for the evening when they stared into the ceiling before sleep again.

“It’s just a title.” It sounded dismissive the moment it came out of their mouth. The villain didn’t seem to take it personally.

“Enjoy it, then.”

The villain seemed to have thought about it a lot. They wouldn’t have offered otherwise.

Right hand, huh? It sounded alright. They still weren’t that sure that it was a working position. Sure, they knew Blizzard had one, and that the other people worked under them both… Okay, maybe it was a working position. It still felt kind of weird.

Did that mean they would be redirecting things from the villain to others? That was nothing new. Except now, they supposed, they were kind of responsible for the execution. Kind of a lot. The realization slowly sunk in. There has always been a level of personal responsibility, but now it felt magnified.

If they were to officially be responsible for other henchmen’s wins and fuck ups as well, that would bring a whole new level of stress to their life.

“Do I get a raise?”

The villain stared.

The henchman prayed they did not cross any lines again, as so often, but it was too late to take back anything. They were perfectly sure the villain had heard them now, besides.

“Hm.”

“I was mostly joking, boss,” the henchman blurted. “I didn’t–” they caught themselves. If the villain was willing to pay them more, then that shouldn’t be a problem, yeah?

“We’ll see.”

And that was that.

The henchman took the coat of the rack, said goodbye and decidedly did not stumble on their way out. That much for the retirement.

The henchman supposed it went pretty well, overall.

[hungwy]

3M announced Tuesday that it will stop manufacturing a group of chemicals called per- and polyfluoroalkyl substance (PFAS) and work to stop using the chemicals in its products by the end of 2025.  The company nets about $1.3 billion annually from the chemical sales — a fraction of its overall revenue, at 3.7%. The Maplewood company has made the so-called “forever chemicals” — called that because they accumulate in the human body and environment — in Minnesota since the 1950s.  They’ve been used to make coatings and products that resist heat, oil, stains, grease and water such as Scotchgard stain repellent, Teflon cookware, fast food wrapping and fire retardants.

[…]

Making the chemicals produced millions of gallons of wet industrial waste in Minnesota, which 3M dumped in unlined landfills, polluting groundwater in the East Metro. The company’s chemical history was the subject of a two-part Reformer special report last week.  3M said in a press release that its decision was based on careful consideration of “the evolving external landscape, including multiple factors such as accelerating regulatory trends focused on reducing or eliminating the presence of PFAS in the environment and changing stakeholder expectations.”

[…]

And, [attorney Robert Bilott] said, it “has come only after the truth of what 3M has long known about the harm that these toxins pose was revealed to the world through litigation by the innocent victims of this massive cover-up.”

[…]

Internal 3M documents obtained through lawsuits show the company has known about the chemicals’ dangers for decades, but ignored, delayed, minimized and obscured research that raised red flags about the chemicals, stifling scientific research.  In the 1950s, 3M scientists discovered the chemicals were accumulating in the bodies of humans and animals. By the early 1960s, 3M knew the chemicals didn’t degrade in the environment. And by the 1970s, the company knew its chemicals were widely present in the blood of most Americans. Now the chemicals can be found in the blood of nearly all people on the planet, and in animals from polar bears to eaglets.

[…]

What remains to be seen, Bilott said, is whether the company will ever accept responsibility and pay to clean up the “unprecedented global contamination” including contamination of drinking water supplies, soil, wildlife and people.

(emphasis mine)

[my-mt-heart]

I knew AMC was going to try to ride the waves of last year’s social media storm to address Melissa’s return—yes, return—but I was really hoping they wouldn’t be this gross about it. It's more confirmation they want to cast a wider net for RTD S1 and apparently for Dead City as well. What puzzles me is why they think gaslighting is going to accomplish anything for them long-term.

Caryl fans will be the core audience for Caryl’s eventual show. In theory they should be kept happy, but instead they're getting jerked around, alienated, and lumped together under the toxic umbrella even though it was only a small fraction of fans who had crossed the line. Many others were expressing reasonable concerns about the loss of a highly-anticipated show in a reasonable tone.

Carylers are often considered the most “passionate” fans in the entire TWD community, but they are also the most perceptive. They can read between the lines without Melissa having to utter one single syllable on the matter, and maybe if some of the men in this franchise learned the power of silence, they could earn half the respect Melissa has not only from fans, but coworkers and the industry as a whole.

That’s the biggest issue I can’t wrap my head around here, more so than the mistreatment of fans. This incredibly talented, most lauded, most beloved actress is put through hell—pushed out of her own show, slandered by coworkers who had no business speaking on her behalf or spreading a narrative that Melissa's team did not legally agree to—and when she finally comes out on the other side of it, a male actor needing validation for his own—wait for it—toxic behavior is handed the microphone again? That’s how AMC chooses to get the word out?

I guess we’ll see how many more viewers they manage to wrangle for S1 when it airs, but speaking for myself, I cannot and will not support S1 of RTD. I don't support Dead City, I don't support JDM, or the misogyny that seems to plague TWDU these days. It’s Caryl's earned romantic arc or bust for me.

Melissa looked happy as a clam in all of her photos. You’d think she’d be allowed to have her time to shine and that her fans could rejoice without the rug being pulled out from under them every few days. She is the only person who deserves praise for coming back—yes, coming back. The best thing anyone else did was fix what they broke.

Like I mentioned before, the promotion ahead is going to feel like whiplash, and I’m really not looking forward to it. I was happy to see that most of yesterday's buzz from fans—unlike that tweet and subsequent headlines—was centered on Melissa, specifically the thrill of having her back—yes, back—so there is that.

[basicallyjaywalker]

Screw-Up

I should be writing an essay, but brain is buzzing with Ivy and Ronin thoughts so have some banter for them ft. Ivy being a terrible mechanic

no proofing OR editing. enjoy unfiltered rook brain

Word Count: 640

"You're gonna strip those screws if you tighten 'em anymore."

Ivy looked up at Ronin from the small robot on their desk. She'd taken from a scrap heap outside Stiix's limits. It was a rusted piece of garbage, but cute. Plus, she saw the Borg Industries logo on it. Flipping this baby would net them a pretty penny.

Ronin stood against the wall of the pawn shop's back room, arms crossed. He'd been out looking for something too, "big score," he told her. By the looks of it, he either put it away already or wasn't able to grab it.

"I'm not tightening 'em, I'm loosening 'em," she muttered. What she didn't tell Ronin was that she'd been "loosening" these screws for almost fifteen minutes. The cursed things didn't wanna come out.

Ronin pushed off from the wall and walked over to her, standing at her side and watching her fiddle with a small Phillips head screwdriver and the back panel of the machine.

"What's the rule, Ives?" he asked.

"Righty tighty, lefty loosey."

"And what side am I on?"

"My left."

He shook his head. "Check your hands, write something in the air."

She rolled her eyes, but did so, frowning when her right hand almost collided with his face as she raised it.

"Shit."

"You've been turning it the wrong way. That's why you're tightening it... and stripping it."

Ivy muttered a few more curses and stood up. "Damn stupid machinery, this is why I stick to the scrolls..."

"Then you're gonna love what I brought home."

She turned to him. "What'd you get?"

A smirk pulled on his lips. "Well, I paid a little visit to the Library of Domu, took one of their special scrolls, written by a guy named 'Yang.' Supposedly, it's the only one of its kind."

"Not for long," Ivy grinned and ran out to the front of the shop, checking the disorganized shelves. There were a few scrolls she faked before, namely novelty pirate maps, scattered around. Ronin watched her sort and scan.

"It's not on any of those," he finally said.

Ivy stopped, turning to him. "Where is it then? You didn't bring it back to the office."

He nodded at an ugly vase in the corner. Ivy went over shooting him a curious look. Glancing inside, a rolled-up piece of aged paper stared back at her. She picked it up, unwrapping its old green ribbon tie and gingerly unfolding it. Her eyes darted around, taking in the details of old glyphs. She liked that they were glyphs. Pictures were easier to replicate than words.

She let out a low whistle. "Damn, Ronin. Who do you think would want this?"

"Anyone worth their salt who's studying old fighting methods would want a copy. The library itself would pay a fortune for the original. How quick do you think you could copy it?"

"Depends on how detailed. Exactly like this? Two days, tops, uninterrupted. One day, if you don't mind me taking creative liberties."

"We'll see how much demand we get after the news breaks."

"You sure no one's gonna wanna take it back?"

Ronin walked over and took the scroll from her, wrapping it back up and tucking it back in the vase. "Of course they do, that's why we hide it." He reached a hand up to ruffle her black hair, missing when she ducked away, laughing a little in triumph.

"Nice try. So, you gonna help me fix that robot up?"

"Sure, do you know what it's for?"

"No clue, but it's Borg-made. Figured even if I screwed it up, the scrap would be worth enough to make it work."

Ronin chuckled. "Well, let's see if the screws are messed up enough to warrant scrapping it." He clapped her shoulder and they walked back to the office.

[wwwquickpakinccom]

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[warsofasoiaf]

For Alien Crossfire, can you wrap it up by talking about the Manifold Usurpers and Caretakers?

The Progenitors are the biggest and most radical factions in Alien Crossfire, which is certainly saying something if you've read my essays on the other factions. These two aliens are incredibly advanced, to the point of being extremely unbalanced. That's actually a bit of a problem - they're too unbalanced to play in multiplayer and they make the game very easy when playing in single-player due to the limited AI. But if you scratch away the gameplay and focus on the lore, you have two factions wrapped around a single event - the Tau Ceti Flowering.

“The fungus has been Planet’s dominant lifeform since about the time of the Lower Paleozoic on Earth. But when, once every hundred million years or so, the neural net at last achieves the critical mass necessary to become sentient, the final metamorphosis kills off most of the other life on the planet. It is possible that we humans can help to break this tragic cycle.” -Lady Deidre Skye, Planet Dreams

The transcendence victory in Alpha Centauri is one of the longer ones to complete, requiring extensive science to reach near to the end of the tech tree and enough industry to beat out other players in response. However, the payoff is one of the most powerful - uploading humanity into the neural net of Planet, merging humanity with this consciousness to become a new being, which can conceivably be thought of as a god given its intelligence, power, and capabilities. This happened on Tau Ceti, an event that the Progenitors call the Flowering. The Caretakers saw this and were horrified, and sought to stop it from happening again, while the Usurpers saw it as a means to grow into godhood, and so sought to exploit it for their own gain. In the skies above Planet (which the Progenitors call Manifold Six), the two engaged in a fierce battle, and their fleets were destroyed. The aliens land on this world hoping to destroy the other faction and summon reinforcements using subspace beacons to acquire reinforcements, enough to scour the paltry survivors and the scattered humans from the surface of Manifold Six and accomplish their faction's goals (or in the Usurper's case, they can simply initiate the Ascent to Transcendence themselves).

The Progenitor race appears to sense, and possibly even manipulate, local fields an untrained human cannot perceive without mechanical aid, including at the very least electricity and magnetism. This sensitivity creates entirely new worlds of artistic endeavors for the race-or it may be developed into a powerful combat awareness that can foil any attempt at surprise. -Prime Function Aki Zeta-Five, Alien Analysis

However, these Progenitors are not simply technologically advanced humans - the Progenitors are alien in many ways. Not simply in biology, they actually appear to be bipedal with multiple eyes for binocular vision. The Progenitors can manipulate electricity and magnetism to great effect, sensing perturbations to avoid ambushes (giving the Caretakers their 25% defense buff) or creating shadow regiments to supplement their attacks (the Usurpers get a 25% attack buff). Later technologies are even more impressive, using multiversal manipulation for space compression, but this is arguably less radical (as late-game human technology in Alpha Centauri are likewise extend to quantum and temporal fluctuation). Their speech is also strange, they use this resonance to alter sounds around them to transmit messages. This gives a strange speech pattern of a subject : object grammar when speaking with humans, a pattern that is not shared when Progenitors speak to each other. This can actually cause misunderstandings when using the communication function, since if you cannot parse the grammar correctly (and are unfamiliar with the UI), you can accidentally say something you didn't mean to say. This is reflected in game as well, as Cha Dawn references Kri'lan the Betrayer, who taught him the resonance.

The large crests, wide eye placement, mostly superfluous tusks (they don't protrude far enough to be used as weapons) and bright coloration of the Progenitors leads me to think that they are a herbivorous species. The crests appear to be dominance displays, with ornamentation meant to reflect the authority of the individual. While the Progenitors are certainly not eusocial, they do appear to be far more of a hierarchal species given their physical characterization and AI preference for planned economics. This would explain why taking over the other faction's bases do not see a wholesale extermination of the population, most Progenitors are probably drones who follow the leader, though this might just be a function of limited game programming.

The Progenitors are advanced beings, and even the relatively cuddly Caretakers treat humans as barely more intelligent than monkeys. Their AI (particularly the Usurpers) makes frequent demands of tech and credits, often as tribute instead of trades, and attacks aggressively when refused. The Progenitors also don't mind atrocities and commit them on humans with abandon, and the humans reciprocate in turn (unless you the player decide not to). They cannot accept human leadership and so a diplomatic victory cannot be achieved if any Progenitor faction is still alive.

Unlike the other factions (except the pirates), the Progenitors have no restrictions in social choices and so can act with great flexibility. The human factions are based around a particular idea or ethos, from Morgan's hypercapitalism to Santiago's spartan militarism. The Progenitors' guiding philosophy relates to what to do with Planet itself, which makes them far more similar to the Free Drones or Cybernetic Consciousness, who look to the future society rather than the present. With a Progenitor empire already established, the Progenitors don't see being on Manifold Six as a new beginning for the last remnants of humanity but rather as an unfortunate period of extended isolation from the main body of Progenitors due to war and resource limitation. So a Progenitor base is run much like a forward command base, with resources strictly rationed and limited and schedules strictly controlled, even well after the first bases are established.

While the other factions have rich lore, the Progenitors largely are just a small piece of an expansion pack, and I don't have as much to say about them as a result.

Thanks for the question, Ikac.

SomethingLikeALawyer, Hand of the King

[eqinsuranceservices]

Safeguarding Your Haven: The Ins and Outs of Earthquake Insurance

Living in the Golden State offers numerous benefits: sunny weather, cultural diversity, and beautiful landscapes. But residing in California also means living with the risk of earthquakes. To secure your home and your peace of mind, understanding the nuances of earthquake insurance is crucial. In this blog, we delve deep into earthquake insurance, discussing its importance, coverage, and the latest advancements in the sector.

The Shaky Ground: The Importance of Earthquake Insurance in CA

California, located on the infamous Pacific Ring of Fire, is highly susceptible to earthquakes. While the state's strict construction codes aim to limit property damage during seismic events, having earthquake insurance provides additional financial security for homeowners.

California Earthquake Insurance: A Shield Against Uncertainty

Given the probability of earthquakes in California, homeowners insurance policies often do not cover earthquake damage. This gap has led to a growing demand for earthquake insurance, providing homeowners with coverage against significant financial loss due to earthquakes.

What Does Earthquake Insurance Cover?

Specific coverage may vary between insurers, but generally, earthquake insurance includes:

• Building Structure: This is coverage for the cost of repairing or rebuilding your home if it is damaged by an earthquake.

• Personal Belongings: This refers to the replacement cost of personal items that are damaged in an earthquake.

• Temporary Living Expenses: If your home becomes uninhabitable due to an earthquake, this coverage helps pay for additional living expenses.

Why Is Earthquake Insurance Vital?

• Coverage Gap: Traditional homeowners insurance doesn't typically cover earthquake damage. A specific earthquake insurance policy is necessary for this coverage.

• Financial Protection: California earthquake insurance provides critical financial protection, ensuring homeowners aren't burdened with high repair bills after an earthquake.

• Peace of Mind: Secure in the knowledge that you are covered in the event of an earthquake, you can have peace of mind.

Latest Advancements in Earthquake Insurance

The earthquake insurance industry is not static; it's continually innovating to offer better service and protection. Some recent advancements include:

• Seismic Retrofitting Discounts: Some insurance providers offer discounts on premiums to homeowners who make specific seismic safety upgrades to their homes.

• Improved Risk Assessment Tools: The advent of technology has resulted in more accurate risk assessment tools, providing insurers with a more precise understanding of the risks associated with insuring a property.

• Digital Platforms and Apps: Several insurers have developed online platforms and mobile apps that simplify the process of purchasing a policy, filing a claim, and reaching customer service.

Wrapping Up: Insurance – A Necessity in Seismic Zones

The importance of earthquake insurance in CA cannot be overstated. It serves as a financial safety net that can save homeowners from significant financial strain after an earthquake. It provides not only tangible financial protection but also invaluable peace of mind.

Earthquake insurance has seen significant strides in recent years. With the introduction of new technology and incentives, obtaining coverage is easier and more affordable than ever. This accessibility helps homeowners to secure their homes without breaking the bank.

While the threat of earthquakes in California is a reality, homeowners can take control by ensuring they are adequately protected. With the right earthquake insurance, you can embrace all the benefits of California living, knowing your home is safe and secure.

[redhillconfetti]

Blog Post 13-01-23 - Know Your Worth

Now that we are well and truly into January and the year is settled in our minds and calendars, with the chaos of ‘back to work’ gone and a schedule that we are all optimistically following and hope will continue. But as we get into the swing of work days so come the enquiries where they may make you as a small business stop and think, could i do that? And more importantly, should I do that?

Even with a company such as myself with a mere 998* followers on instagram, I will get daily requests from influencers or people working at companies asking for free items in exchange for promotion or exposure. Many people have spoken out about this and that exposure does not pay the bills, but when the requests come from charities or people you know, you may sometimes feel compelled to say yes to something that if a stranger was asking, the answer would be no.

A big pretence that a lot of these requests will start with will be wanting to ‘support local/small businesses’, piling on not a guilt trip of such, but leaning strongly towards heavily discounting your price for the sake of local promotion. But where will it get you? In the past I have agreed to these ‘at cost’ pricings for wholesale quantities, but all it has resulted in is further companies in the same industry coming looking for the same deal. If the end user gets the product, will the ‘exposure’ lead to an increase in turnover? Unless it's a product each and every single recipient actually wants more of, then no.

But I can also remember what it's like from the other side, from the corporate side where you are tasked with creating a product with as little budget as possible, even when the company you work for is part of a multi million (sometimes billion) pound industry leader. The kind of company that answers to shareholders more than staff, and any ‘goody bags’ at staff events will end up in one of two places; the bottom of their desk drawer or handed over to their spouse/kids/housemates when they return home.

Since the start of the year (mere 12 days!) I've had three enquiries for a sizable quantity of products, even to compile complete ‘goody bags’ for one particular company. All three enquiries started with carefully worded emails where a strong emphasis was on ‘budget friendly’ and ‘mass exposure to a large market’, but once costings were compiled and quotes were sent out, a sense of indignant shock was met with each one that i would be so crude as to charge them for my time and my work, and even more shocking; to make a profit (how dare i?!).

So let's look at the breakdown of such a ‘goody bag’. What it would have been is a small gift box, with a selection of my own handmade products inside, plus wholesale sourced items such as cookies and chocolate. Each would have an internal wrap of tissue paper, with shredded tissue to pad it out and prevent breakage. It would include my business card, a flyer from the customer (which i would have to print). It would be sealed with a branded pre-printed security seal, and have a custom printed sticker on the top of the box, with a final touch of satin ribbon tied around the outside of the box in a coordinating colour to match the client’s corporate colour scheme. These supplies would have to be sourced from 5 different online suppliers, plus involve in-person sourcing from wholesalers. The total time to create 100 of these boxes would be 15 hours of my time. When all net costs were worked out, the price quoted heavily favoured as the client was one i knew of and had dealt with when i was still in the corporate world, but meant that just the raw product materials would equate to 80% of the final cost price. That remaining 20% not only had to cover my own hourly wage, but also profit and overheads. That 20% was £1.20 per unit meaning that for the whole job over the course of almost three days work, would mean my take home amount was £120.00 for my time, overheads, and my profit.

That’s £8 per hour pay for me if i don’t count overheads or profit. Less than minimum wage, and certainly way below a livable wage. And profit was nowhere to be seen. And yet the client was horrified that I suggested charging £5 per goody bag. This client has an annual turnover over £400 million pounds a year, but yet baulked at paying £5 to a small company to individually hand make gift boxes for their staff. And was the third such company in the last two weeks to have had the same response.

This attitude towards small companies is one of the many reasons why I left the corporate world. I knew my worth, but I also knew the worth of the small companies, where the individuals put in considerably more than 40 hours a week. The big companies do not value their employees, even to the point of spending a fiver on each member of staff to say thanks for their continued servitude.

So, as I wrap up this week's blog post, which may have surprised those reading it with the subject matter, I know what my time and work is worth, I know that I can provide a quality product to a standardI would be happy to receive myself. And I know that I am putting the price of my corporate goody boxes up to £6.50, because I too would like to turn a profit, although maybe it’ll take a few more accepted quotations to get to a £400 million annual turnover just yet.

Stay true to yourselves,

Simone

*i think the magical 1000 followers on Instagram is like a magical unicorn, maybe one day i'll see it if i believe enough!