#Worm 2.6

[f1rewalk3r]

i remember the first time i wrote a story with a POC character in it. When introducing them, I had to ponder long and hard what adjectives to use to describe skin color in order to not inadvertently fetishize/microagress them.

john “wildbow” mcrae, though? he did not do that. he puts grue on the screen for the first time w/out costume and absolutely rips out the word “chocolate” to describe his skin color. just instantly. this is because he is a white soyboy cuck redditor and has no comprehension of how his words impact the world around him. thanks john.

[got-into-worm-by-mistake]

Insinuation 2.6 Live Reactions

(This is me, writing reactions as I read, because why the fuck not. They're not complete, mature thoughts taken after I sit back and evaluate what I've read. Consider them as such)

I showed up in costume.  I didn’t care if they thought it was rude or paranoid, I would rather be capable of surviving having a knife pulled on me than play nice.

Okay, bonus points for Taylor not being stupid.

 I checked myself in the mirror before I left, and didn’t think anyone would notice unless I held a strange posture and they were paying a great deal of attention to what I was wearing. 

Convenient. Makes it easier to pull a Superman style 'run to the Phone Booth' bit.

My preferred method of sensing things through my bugs was touch.  It wasn’t that their sense of touch translated much better than the hearing or sight part of things, but had more to do with the fact that I could tell where they were in relation to me.  I was acutely aware when they were very still, if they were moving, or if something else was moving them.  That was one thing that translated well.

So it's basically bug-powered sonar?

And does that mean all the fics that have Taylor hearing things through her bugs are wrong, or is it something she can do, but rarely chooses to?

nd the same vulpine grin I recognized from the night prior.

Like, I get the association between fox and cunning and so forth, but like... what exactly is a 'vulpine' Grin? Is that a thing where everyone else knows exactly what the author means and my aphantasia means I can't picture it it?

The pretty boys – Leonardo Decaprio, Marcus Firth, Justin Beiber, Johnny Depp – 

Wait. Earth-Bet has Justin Beiber? And all those supervillains? Come on Wildbow, how awful do you need to make the Wormverse? :P

“And she arrives,” Tattletale crowed, “Pay up.” Regent’s scowl deepened for a second, and he fished in his pocket for a wad of bills, which he forked over to Tattletale. “You bet on whether I would show up?” I ventured. “We bet on whether you would come in costume,” Tattletale told me.  Then, more to Regent than to me, she said, “and I won.” “Again,” Regent muttered.

And this is a fanfic trope (Regent taking sucker's bets against Tattletale) that apparently does have a basis in canon. :rofl:

Lisa answered before I had the number totaled up in my head, “Two grand.”

Not bad for a night's bit of villainy

“No,” Brian cut in, “That’s just what the boss pays us, to stick together and to stay active.  We make, uh, considerably more than that.” Lisa smirked, and Alec chuckled as he swished the contents of his coke bottle.  I made mental note at the mention of this ‘boss’.

Did Tattletale know mentioning a Boss would make Taylor more able to convince herself to join? From what I have heard/seen from fic, she finds out and/or knows right at the start Taylor is intending to betray them, but equally, knows Taylor will eventually decide not to. But did she know that even before they made the offer?

I’d had my bugs biting Lung in the more sensitive parts of his anatomy

So Lung's dick nearly rotting off is more or less canon then. Good to know.

I pursed my lips, behind my mask.  While I had picked up some info, I felt like I had a lot more questions.  Who was this boss they mentioned?  Was he or she setting up other teams of highly successful villains, in Brockton Bay or elsewhere?  What made these guys as effective as they were, and was it something I could steal or copy for myself? It wasn’t like I was signing the deal in blood or anything.  I stood to gain so much. “Alright then, count me in,” I told them.

After so many rationalizations, what's one more?

And another?

And another?

2.6 brings it back to a knock out of the park from Wildbow.

[wormbloggign]

i desperately need to see the schematics of how this costume is designed

what is up with worm and having a weird focus on race, what does this even mean?

(lesbiab)

brian is too sweet for this world (yes i am biased, yes he is my favourite character)

we're gonna get so many textbooks

hes so nervous and hes trying his best to be professional i am entirely normal about this guy who has undoubtedly killed many

unless all the super people have healing powers or poison immunity, taylor might be the best target removal in the scene

he is like. a golden retriever.

:D

[cheolism]

✧ warm

✧ kwon soonyoung x reader ✧ summary: you are so warm beneath the blankets and, like a moth drawn to a flame, soonyoung was helpless to resist your body. ✧ wc is approx. 2.6 k ✧ tags: established relationship, smut, sleepy sex. ✧ warnings: minors do not interact. top!hoshi, bottom!reader. drowning/suffocating at a metaphor. groping someone while they sleep but no actual sleep smut. unprotected sex, penetrative sex, fingering, oral. body worship n gentle sex. simp!hoshi, tit-lover!hoshi.

you were warm.

soonyoung couldn't help but press ever closer, framing your body in his. he had one of his legs thrown over both of yours, an arm over your waist. and you were so warm, your body heat trapped beneath the blanket, especially compared to the cold winter air that bit at his bare skin as he shifted, exposing the bare skin of his shoulder.

he pressed his face into your neck, eyes fluttering shut as your warm scent flooded his system. you smelled like sleep, like you, like that distinct smell you got when you didn't shower the night before and slept in his arms after a night of love-making.

and soonyoung loved it.

he breathed you in, his hand sliding over your stomach. he mapped out your skin with his hand, feeling the smoothness of your body. soonyoung didn't really get the chance to do this when you were awake. you would get giggly, get bashful; he'd get horny and distracted.

so he took advantage; hand wandering over your warm body, just feeling you as he breathed in against your neck.

his hand ran up your stomach, fingertips skimming the curve of your tit. he paused for a moment, hesitating, knowing what would come if he touched your tit.

but he couldn't help it.

(one of these days soonyoung would get better at impulse control, he swore --

but today was not that day.

you were far too tempting a creature for him to even begin to think of resisting.)

soonyoung's hand traveled up to your tit. he groped at you lightly, thumb sliding over your nipple, pads of his fingers gently pressing at the meat of your tit. he wasn't touching with intent, wasn't doing anything other than just admiring the body of the person who owned him so completely.

(you'd argue against that statement. you didn't own him, you'd refute; he was his own being. soonyoung knew better. he was so completely, utterly, totally yours. he breathed to be yours, he existed to be yours. what was the point in being kwon soonyoung if he couldn't be yours?)

his fingers slid underneath your tit. soonyoung paused. you were slightly sweaty here, from the combination of his body heat with yours being trapped underneath the covers. but you were warm. you were so warm here, underneath your tit, and soonyoung just couldn't help himself.

head empty and cock swelling, soonyoung moved against you. he lowered himself, body completely covered by the blanket. soonyoung pressed his face against the curve of your tits, nosing along the curve of them, eyes fluttering shut as he basked in their warmth.

he slid his hand completely under your tit, fingers sinking into its warmth.

soonyoung laid like that for a handful of minutes, face resting on your tits and hand underneath one of them.

but he grew restless.

so he snuggled closer. he moved his hands from beneath your tits, framing your body. he pressed his face into the valley between your tits, pressing his nose against your warm skin. he was surrounded like this, completely surrounded in you.

soonyoung wished -- childishly -- that he could be a worm. and you would be the earth around him, surrounding him and he'd be entrapped in your being.

no. no, that wouldn't do --

he'd be a flower, soonyoung decided. and you the sun. you were too beautiful, too you to be dirt. he'd be a flower, you the sun, and he'd bask in your warmth.

soonyoung grinned against your skin.

feeling as though his heart was swelling to encompass his entire being, soonyoung moved his face to the right and nosed into the meat of your tit once again. this time he let himself be carried away. soonyoung began pressing kisses to your skin, his lips slightly chapped from the constant kissing of last night.

he didn't care. chapped lips meant nothing when it came to worshipping you.

soonyoung let his lips travel over your breast, his kisses soft. he began to move his body, bracing himself against the bed so he could reach more of your body. soonyoung crouched, blanket bracketing him. goosebumps pebbled on your skin, traveling over the curve of your tits, and soonyoung couldn't have that.

so he moved back down, curling his body. his mouth went back to your tits, his thick thighs framing your hips. soonyoung could feel his cock begin to throb, felt need begin to spark in his gut.

he ran his tongue against your breast, tasting the salt of your sweat. soonyoung pressed a loud and wet kiss to your tit before moving to your nipple, where he then couldn't help but lave his tongue against it.

while soonyoung's mouth worked against your breast, taking care to not be too aggressive as to wake you, his hand began to travel. he sought your warmth once more. this time his hand went to your thighs, smoothing over your skin. and then he tucked his hand between your thighs, not quite wedging it against your cunt but just enough to feel its warmth.

you're so fucking warm. so fucking warm and beautiful, so pliant beneath him. and he wanted. he wanted you carnally, wanted your hot cunt wrapped tight around his dick and milking it. wanted his face buried in your tits while he fucked into you, claiming your body again and again.

he had marked your body last night. soonyoung had left his finger marks on your hips, left bruises in the shape of his mouth on your thighs and neck. he had exhausted you -- even nights where he didn't divulge in his fantasies left you tired due to his seemingly endless stamina.

but soonyoung just couldn't help it. couldn't help himself but want and lust for more and more of you, yearn for that warmth that only your body could give.

so, sweetly and quietly, soonyoung moved his face up your body. he made sure to leave a trail of kisses. once he got to your neck he began sucking, and that was when you finally seemed to begin to wake. you let out soft moans, gentle little noises of pleasure.

he pressed his face into your neck, nose tucked into the hinge of your jaw. you were warm here, too.

"soonyoung," you breathed his name. immediately he couldn't help but begin pressing quick kisses to your skin, giddy as you woke beneath him. you tilted your face, allowing him more access to your neck, but did nothing otherwise.

soonyoung pulled back, watching you. your lashes fluttered against your cheeks, your cute tongue -- the same tongue that had laved against the head of his cock only last night -- poking out to swipe against your bottom lip.

"what're you doing?" your words are muffled slightly from sleep, eyes opening just enough for soonyoung to see your irises.

"loving you," he returned, giving you a grin. to accentuate his words soonyoung pressed a loud kiss to the base of your throat. "what are you doing, baby?"

"sleeping," you mumbled. your eyes opened wider, and soonyoung couldn't help but coo. you were so precious. he could see the universe in your eyes, could see his entire world. "isn't it too early for this?"

soonyoung cocked his head. "it's never too early for loving you, baby."

you scoffed lightly, eyes rolling shut once again.

soonyoung took this as your acceptance. so he moved from your face, letting his body sink further back into the blanket. he kept his mouth on you, face still pressed into your warmth. soonyoung kissed his way to the valley of your breasts, gave each tit attention in the form of kisses and bites and suckles. you moaned beneath him, hands moving from your sides to grab at his shoulders.

finally between your thighs, where he belonged in his humble opinion, soonyoung couldn't help his delight. he pressed his face to your stomach and breathed against you. he was close enough to your cunt that he could smell it.

he moved his free hand to join the one wedged between your thighs. soonyoung hooked his hands underneath your knees and raised them, throwing them over his shoulders.

his hands went back to your cunt. you had one arm thrown over your face, hiding your eyes; you had your lip trapped beneath your teeth.

warm, he thought as he bent closer to the bed. one of his hands slid deeper. he brushed the pads of his fingers along your pussy, just lingering in its warmth.

he moved his fingers up your pussy, circling around your mound. he didn't slip them into your wet heat yet.

you were growing restless beneath him. you squeezed his head between your thighs -- something that made the heat in his gut even worse, made it swell into something like an inferno he wanted to let consume him. "soonyoung," you begged, voice a whine.

soonyoung laughed, wordlessly obeying. he finally slipped his fingers into your cunt. it was wet, practically soaked, and warm. hot.

he let his fingers travel along your crevices aimlessly. let his forefinger glide against your little clit, poke at your hole. he was a musician tuning their instrument, preparing for the orchestra.

soonyoung's name left your mouth again in a whine.

"sorry," he laughed, and the pout you sent his way made him giggle further. soonyoung turned his head, pressing a kiss to your leg. "forgive me, baby?"

"depends," you said.

soonyoung grinned. he would have to make sure to play extra well to get your forgiveness.

so soonyoung moved to lay flat on the bed, face close to your cunt. he was drowning in your smell now, drowning in your warmth.

his mouth found your clit naturally. you tensed beneath him as his lips wrapped around it, suckling. his fingers went to your hole; a gush of wet greeted him, and it was far too easy for him to sink two of his fingers in.

you let out a short moan as his thick fingers breached you. you must have been sore still from the night before, soonyoung realized. so he took care to work you gently, tongue lapping at your clit and slobbering as his fingers crooked ever-deeper.

he sucked and laved his tongue over your clit and fuck, if it wasn't his favorite thing to do. surrounded by your warmth, chin drenched in your juices. if this wasn't his favorite place to be then --

soonyoung withdrew his fingers. the sound of them leaving your pussy was loud and wet. you grimaced, hips bucking up in an eager search. soonyoung made a surprised noise, face still buried in your pussy, your cunt drenching his face further.

"baby!" he scolded you, though his heart wasn't truly in it. he wrapped his arm around your middle, keeping you still. soonyoung pressed the tips of three of his fingers against your hole. you may still be open a bit from last night but soonyoung wanted to make sure you weren't going to be in any pain from him.

there were some times the two of you sought pain. times when you begged for him to hurry, searched for that sting of his fat cock sinking into you. the sharp slap of his hips against your ass, merciless.

this was not that time.

so soonyoung worked his fingers slowly, gently. he was soaked all over. your cunt was wet and warm and he was eagerly drowning in it.

he could tell you were about to orgasm. your cunt tightened and loosened around his fingers quickly. your thighs were flexing against his head, and you were at the point where you were no longer able to try and keep yourself from suffocating him. so he let himself suffocate between your thighs, let himself drown in your cunt as he worked you towards an orgasm.

it wasn't explosive; wasn't a wave crashing against a cliff. instead it was the gentle waves lapping at the beach, pulling you under.

he watched as your chest heaved, as you tried to catch your breath. your nipples were pebbled from the cold air of the room. soonyoung didn't slide his fingers from your pussy until you were blinking down at him, tongue running over your bottom lip before catching it between your teeth.

"you're so beautiful," soonyoung gushed. he brought his fingers, the ones preciously in your pussy, up to his mouth. he suckled at them, letting his eyes flutter shut as he savored your cunt's bitter juice.

soonyoung made his way back up your body. your shoulders were slightly chilled from the bedroom air. soonyoung hated it. you shouldn't ever be cold.

so he kept his body close to yours as he took his hot, aching cock in hand. he kept himself from wrapping his hand around his dick and jerking it in search of relief. his dick was for you, for your pleasure; his spunk was meant for you, for your pussy. to waste it was a sin.

soonyoung slowly breached your body. he had to go slow. he had to stop. his instinct was to buck into you and take you, to mount you. soonyoung was a greedy man; he never pretended otherwise. he wanted to take and take and take you.

instead he covered your body with his, slowly sinking his cock into your cunt. fuck you were warm and tight and wet. his fat cock dragged along your walls as he pulled out, and it took everything within him to not snap his hips forward and bury his dick inside.

instead soonyoung rolled his hips, cock breaching you gently. the stretch of his cock had you bearing your neck to the ceiling, hands sliding into his hair and clenching the strands between your fingers.

he wanted you to pull. wanted you to yank.

but now wasn't the time.

"so pretty," soonyoung moaned out, fully surrounded in your warmth. your cunt was tight around him, clenching. he eventually picked up speed, balls slapping against your ass.

he got lost in you. lost in your warmth, lost in your scent. he tucked his face into your sweaty neck, tongue licking at your skin.

"i want you," he said, voice strained. "want you, baby. want you on my dick, want your tight cunt wrapped around me."

you groaned out his name, thighs tight around his body. your nails scraped at his scalp.

he sunk into you over and over, rolling into you. each thrust was coming home, sinking deep in you. you were so wet and warm and tight, and soonyoung was helpless to do anything other than take.

"you're mine," he said, speaking against your skin. "mine, mine. pussy's mine, tit's mine; all mine. fucking love you, baby. love you. love your tight pussy, love your hot cunt. love you, love you --"

eventually he spilled inside of you, his hot spunk filling your cunt. he cock throbbed, balls clenching. soonyoung marked the inside of you, and his mouth was busy marking the ouside of you as well.

once he was done, soonyoung slowly pulled out. you were sweating now, skin wet to the touch. but you were hot. your neck was hot as he pressed kisses to it; tits were hot as he laved his tongue over your nipples once more. your cunt was hot as he pressed his face against it once more, tongue plunging into your pussy. he couldn't help but groan at the mixture of his cum and your juices.

beneath the blankets, the two of you were trapped in warmth. but he shifted, blanket slipping off and revealing your entire upper body to the cool bedroom air, goosebumps immediately appeared. for all the warmth trapped by the blanket the rest of the room was still cold.

well, soonyoung thought, mouth sucking at the rim of your hole. he would just have to work extra hard to get the room warm.

[meowcats734]

This article is about the rogue planet. For the mythological figure, see Icarus (mythology). For other uses, see Icarus (disambiguation).

Icarus was an icy rogue planet discovered in 2024. It is thought to have been ejected from its unknown home star 2.6 billion years ago. From early 2071 to late 2075, Icarus was present in the solar system, and was often visible to the naked eye. Of the lifeforms endemic to Icarus, only four hundred and seven species—an estimated .000005%—were documented by scientists. Of Icarus’ sapient lifeforms, only one living Singer (Icarus Sapiens) has been successfully returned to Earth.

Initially, interest in Icarus was predominantly limited to the scientific community once it was announced in 2025 that Icarus would not directly threaten Earth as it passed through the solar system. However, after the 2031 CLARITY mission, when liquid water and potential biosignatures were first detected beneath Icarus’ cryosphere, funding towards the exploration of Icarus rose significantly.

First Contact

Before the 2052 Daedalus landing site was established, popular consensus was that the first alien lifeforms humanity met would be technologically superior. However, the first Singer settlement discovered by the Daedalus crewed submersible was a tribal society formed within the decaying corpse of a Large-bodied Tenor (Mellifluus Civitas). The settlement, best translated as “Distortion of Sound in Warm, Rising Water”, was chosen due to its proximity to the Daedalus drill site; gas bubbles in the body caused by decomposition allowed Distortion to float approximately two kilometers above the surface of the ocean floor.

Although initial protocol for the Daedalus crew was to avoid contact, the crew did not anticipate the precision and sensitivity of Singer echolocation, and were swiftly detected. Despite initial concerns of conflict, with the assistance of the Daedalus AI’s linguistic analysis, tentative contact was established. By 2053, the Daedalus crew had established a basic understanding of Singer biology and the culture of Distortion.

The largest barrier to communication was the nature of Singer language. The primary Singer sense was their echolocation; as they evolved sapience, Singers learned to communicate by mimicking the sounds they heard when echolocating certain objects. Several Singer “words” well-known to popular culture include: the sound of a pod of Singers migrating (lit. “family”); the faint echoes produced by calling into empty water (lit. “loneliness”); and the high-pitched hum of the Daedalus propellers (lit. “impotent gods”).

The Massacre of Worms

Of utmost importance was successfully communicating to the Singers that Icarus was on a collision course with the Sun, and would be entirely destroyed by 2076. Even in 2053, the ice sheet which covered Icarus was already beginning to sublimate under the increased temperature. As there existed no word for fire, sun, or stars in the Singer language, a warning that their world would soon decay (lit. the sound of flesh devoured by worms, growing louder and coming from all directions) was transmitted to the citizens of Distortion of Sound in Warm, Rising Water.

In what is now known as the Massacre of Worms, the entirety of the Singer village immediately attempted to attack the Daedalus submersible. At the time, the mechanism by which Singers communicated was still poorly understood, but interviews and brain scans of the Last Singer have confirmed that Icarus Sapiens experience a species-wide condition similar to human synesthesia. In order to convert the feedback from their echolocation into useable information about their spatial environment, Singers evolved the ability to “see” sounds as hallucinated physical objects. As such, every word spoken by a Singer produces a corresponding illusory image in the mind of every Singer who hears it. Unfortunately, the warning delivered by the Daedalus submersible manifested as an imploding sphere of rotting flesh centered on the village of Distortion, and was interpreted as an attack. The Daedalus submersible sustained little damage, but out of fear that the Distortion villagers would sour relations with other Singer societies, released hypochlorous acid clouds to calm the attackers; it was believed that high concentrations of hypochlorous acid would cause the Singers to become lethargic and contented, as if they had recently consumed a filling meal. Unfortunately, due to a poor understanding of Singer biochemical sexual dimorphism, the chemicals released resulted in the deaths of nearly half of the Distortion villagers.

Through great difficulty, it was conveyed to the surviving Distortion villagers that the Massacre of Worms was a mistake, but the remaining Singers refused further contact with the Daedalus crew. Although a second attempt to halt the spread of negative rumors in Singer society was considered, the disastrous failure of the first attempt caused no action to be taken.

Termination of the Daedalus Mission

Swiftly following the Massacre of Worms came a breakthrough in solar magnetohydrodynamics, and with it, the alarming discovery that the collision of Icarus with the sun would cause a solar storm, which would deal trillions of dollars of damage to the economy. Negative press surrounding the Daedalus crew, as well as the importance of hardening the global power grid against the solar flare, caused funding for the Daedalus expedition to be cut, and the mission slated to end in 2060.

In an effort to preserve as much of Icaran life and culture as possible, the Daedalus crew attempted to make contact with and offer salvation to as many diverse Singer settlements as they could. At the peak of their efforts, in 2059, they had made contact with nineteen different Singer settlements around the planet, and although the Daedalus crew’s claims of planetary destruction were met with widespread skepticism, sixteen of them agreed to send representative Singers back to Earth. Unfortunately, four weeks before the launch date, when the Singer representatives were brought together, hitherto-unknown cultural conflicts between the Singer settlements the Daedalus crew had contacted caused the Singers to devolve into physical combat. A still-shoddy understanding of Singer biology led to the Daedalus crew being unable to save most of the Singers injured in the brawl. In the end, only one Singer survived the destruction of Icarus.

See also:

National Icaran Zoo

Icarus in popular culture

Consumption of Icaran lifeforms by country

Death of the Last Singer

(psst, I write more stuff here!)

[0bticeo]

j. sims, e. bouchard| love is an open wound still raw.

part one out of four. (part 2.) (part 3.) (part 4.)

summary.

“one of your wounds has reopened.”

slowly, you glance down to your hand. there’s a small puncture wound on your palm, surrounded by the imprints left by your nails. it bleeds, red seeping out of the flesh in neat droplets of crimson. your fist tightens.

drip, drip. 

“it’ll heal.”

“it might get infected.”

“oh, and what are you going to be able to do about it?”

“i have a first aid kit.”

wc. 2.6

tw. worms, jon patching up reader's wounds, heavily implied that elias is having the time of his life watching them go at it, fluff (in this economy?? written by obticeo??? shocking), handjob, blowjob, overstimulation (so um. non sex averse jon.)

work at the magnus institute, they said. it’s a good idea, they said. you thrive on knowing things and burying yourself in niche research topics for days on end for hyper specific information. why not give the esoteric and supernatural a try?

you blame the decent paycheck for signing the contract so quickly. 

(there is, really, nothing to blame but your own, insatiable curiosity. an institute studying supernatural happenings. how is the damn thing even funded?) 

oh, it wasn’t that bad. not at first, despite your instinct screaming not to trust the devilishly handsome head of the institute and to run away. the archives were a mess, courtesy of gertrude robinson’s piss poor organization. you did not want to know what layed in the artifact storage department. you dutifully ignored the sharp, pinprick pain at your nape, the weight settling over your skin like an accusatory finger. you’re being watched.

again, it wasn’t that bad.

then there were worms.

your fingers clench, dig in your palms. even now, weeks after the flesh-hive broke into the institute, you can feel it. smell it. 

the scent of decay, flesh rotting away, peeling bit by bit from brittle bone, and maggots. so many of them, worms everywhere, stark white fleshy mass wriggling, crawling towards you, biting you until they burrow in your flesh.

you should’ve seen it coming, really, what’s with martin being forced to reside in the archives until further notice and the occasional worm managing to crawl its way in.

you hadn’t. 

(drip, drip. 

blink, and you’re bleeding in a safe room, jon’s palm pressing down your thigh as he wrenches away the worms digging in your flesh with a corkscrew. your leg aches. your wrist is a bloody mess. all you can do is try to bite back a scream and fail, miserably. 

blink, and you’re safe, three months later. on bad days you can still feel them crawl, burrowing deeper and deeper in you, hungry, so terribly hungry.)

today, the archives are silent. the others are still quarantined, so the only noise filling the room is that of your breathing and the click, click, click of your pen. 

no martin to bring you a cup of coffee with a sheepish smile, debating over the merits of tea over coffee. no tim to prank you with the false statement of joe spooky and his encounters with the horrorsTM, holding back his laughter as you squint at him suspiciously. no sasha to gossip with, to laugh, delighted, voice lowering in a conspiratorial whisper as she tells you the latest tidbit of info she found out about jon - your prickly boss! in a band!

normally, the usual hustle and bustle of the archives (and its rowdy archival assistants), is almost enough for you to forget the permanent, oppressing feeling that you’re being watched. it’s always there, at the back of your mind, pinprick pressure at the edge of your neck. eyes, thousands and thousands of them watching you, knowing you, how you wake up screaming, nails digging bloody trails on your skin to get them out- 

breathe. 

you’re in the archives. you’re at your desk, tightly clenched hands resting on a manila folder. before you is the portrait of the founder of the institute. jonah magnus, green-grey eyes boring down upon you. you look back, tired eyes dead and unblinking. 

the watch on your wrist tells you it’s five and a half in the afternoon, give or take. the sun is declining. you’ve kept the lights off. penumbra settles over you like a blanket and you lean back in your chair. you’ve been there for three hours and haven’t moved an inch. 

you should probably go home. you should probably quit, actually. go up to elias’ office and politely tell him that you did not sign up to have your life threatened by worms, supernatural or not. 

you don’t.

the manila file in front of you contains a statement regarding robert montourke, given by one of his jailers. you should probably find a tape recorder. maybe there’s a spare in jon’s office. 

so you get up and set about getting that tape recorder. a beat. you think you catch the contours of one of these wretched worms, fat larvae half crushed by a bow full of statements. blink and it’s gone.

you all but slam open the door, only to reveal the head archivist in the flesh. he startles, almost dropping the pile of statements he’s been neatly stocking away in a cardboard box.

“what- how long have you been there?”

you stare at him, blankly, hand still resting against the doorknob.

“i- three hours- sorry, i should’ve knocked-”

“yes, yes you should have!”

your shoulders tense. he’s glaring at you with barely concealed suspicion, and all you can do is fight back the creeping panic that settles over you, because you can remember being in this very office, half leaning over jon’s desk, laughing with him, before the wall broke and the worms-

“what are you doing here?”

you take in a sharp inhale.

“i was looking for a tape recorder.”

jon lets out an aggravated sigh.

“here, in the archives.”

“i-”

“you should still be at the hospital, resting-”

“i’ve been discharged three days ago.”

he scoffs, running a hand through his tousled hair. it’s grown, you realize. a few inches, now long enough to brush the sharp edge of his jaw. there and there, creeping up his neck, his fingers, his wrists, you can see the scarring tissue of his flesh, puncture wounds like many cigarette burns. worms.

you swallow.

you don’t realize he’s in front of you until he calls your name, tone sharper than his wit.

“i’m going to talk to elias. this is ridiculous, having you work while you’re barely healed-”

“like you’re one to talk.”

he glares down at you, a scowl twisting his features. you meet his stare, lone sailor in the eye of the storm. his gaze trails over your features, takes in the scars crawling up your forearms, the skin left bare by the rolled up sleeves of your shirt. his frown deepens.

“one of your wounds has reopened.”

slowly, you glance down to your hand. there’s a small puncture wound on your palm, surrounded by the imprints left by your nails. it bleeds, red seeping out of the flesh in neat droplets of crimson. your fist tightens.

drip, drip. 

“it’ll heal.”

“it might get infected.”

“oh, and what are you going to be able to do about it?”

“i have a first aid kit.”

with that, he moves behind his desk and opens a drawer with an aggravated sigh. he rummages through it, discarding stationary and a paperback of poe’s selected tales. he’s got taste, you muse, drawing closer, footsteps silent on the carpet. at last, jon pulls out a red box and motions for you to sit down on the edge of his desk. 

“give me your hand,” he mutters.

you extend your hand, slowly, holding it up by his desk lamp. his fingers come to cradle your wrist, brushing your pulse, pressing against the faint outline of the bone. your breath hitches. slowly, he gets to work, critical gaze assessing the wound. it doesn’t need stitches. small blessings. 

he pulls out a sterile compress and pours disinfectant on it.

“it’ll sting.”

he’s gentle, jon, the compress held firmly against your palm, but not harshly, no. you let out a low hiss, pain like an inferno setting your nerve ablaze. you think you see his frown deepening at the pained sound that manages to fly past your gritted teeth.

the compress comes out stained. finally, he discards it and grabs the gauze, carefully wrapping it around your palm. 

in the dim lighting of the room, you make out the sunken cheeks, the five o’clock shadow adorning his jaw, the exhaustion creeping in the deep green of his eyes. they meet yours. your heart skips a beat, then another. silence stretches, stretches.

he’s been watching you, you realize. 

“you didn’t have to do this, you know.” 

he scoffs, throwing away the stained compress.

“somebody has to take care of you, if you don’t do it yourself.”

you let out a dry chuckle.

“hypocrite.”

“i am not-”

“no? when was the last time you ate? have you slept in the past three days?”

with each question, you get closer and closer to him, until you’re a breath away from him, tired gaze boring into his. there’s defensiveness in his eyes, protests piling up in scathing retort on the tip of his tongue.

“why don’t you take care of yourself, jon?”

you see his shoulders tense under the white cotton of his shirt, fingers flexing, gaze flickering, looking anywhere but you. something like resignation settles over his features, clouding the blazing green of his gaze.

“it’s rotten work.”

“not to me.”

your hand finds the sharp edge of his jaw, palm like a balm against his cheeks. you feel him relax, leaning into your touch, lips brushing against your pulse. you drink in the sight of him, worn to the bone, scars etched in his skin, reaching for his soul. he’s soft, in the sunset, all ragged edges tiredly melting away as you take one step closer to him.

“please, jon. let me take care of you.”

a beat. he chuckles, the sound low and rich, vibration reverberating in your bones.

“i can’t stop you, can i?”

“no, you can’t.” 

you fall into his orbit, in the magnetic pull of him. your lips brush against his, brushing hesitantly against the chapped skin. you hear a startled little sound of a gasp, surprise dying on his tongue, melting as you press yourself against him, bandaged hand splayed over his chest. do not still, beating heart. it stutters under your touch, hummingbird yearning for escape. you’d cradle it in your hands and swallow it whole, his heart, keeping it safe.

as it is, you cannot turn bones and spread the open wings of his ribcage apart, so you settle for Knowing him, mapping out each prickly edge of him. 

your lips grow firmer in their relentless pursuit of his own. he nips at you, wounded animal desperate for respite, so you cradle him against you, kissing him over and over, until his mouth parts for you, until, finally, you share the same breath.

you melt a little against him, fingers digging in his shoulders for support. the world narrows down, optical adjustment until it’s only you and the warmth of his fingers on your waist, comet tail blazing a path of desire over your clothed skin. your knees go weak.

you pull apart for air, and it feels like losing a part of yourself.

jon looks at you, green eyes dark and heavy, lips kiss-swollen and red and so very inviting. 

more…

you don’t know which of you broke the silence. doesn’t matter when jon grabs the front of your shirt and yanks you forward until you stumble in his chest. doesn’t matter when he sits back on his chair, when he lets you straddle him, slender fingers coaxing you out of your clothes. 

he kisses you against, and he’s hungry for it, like he’s longed for this, longed for you, you with your mouth like an offering, so warm and safe against him. his hand finds the back of your nape, thumb pressing down, and you dissolve in a sweet puddle of need. he tastes like nicotine and tea, bittersweet in all the right ways, and it feels like a revelation.

your hands set about knowing him, wandering the paths made up by the dips of his ribs, the valley of his chest, going further and further south until your hands press against the buckle of his belt.

“yes- ah!”

you’re gentle about it, really. palming him, tracing the outline of him through his slacks, relishing at the deep, shuddering exhale of your name. his hand wraps around yours, dwarfing yours. your mind goes deliciously blank, his long, slender fingers pulling down his slacks just enough to free his length.

need burns in your mind. 

jon chuckles, low and teasing, something like mirthful amusement in his eyes.

“it’s not going to bite, you know.”

“i might.”

with that, you wrap your hand around his cock. jon hisses, hips bucking in your grip. pink dusts his cheeks like dawn rising as he watches you, like he’s committing you to memory.

(he is. he wishes you could see yourself, stark silhouette burned in his retina, clothes unkempt, shirt half-opened to reveal the tantalizing edge of your bra, lips kiss-swollen, eyes wide and dark, hands slowly pumping his length.)

he groans, head lolling back, his hand tightening on your hip.

“you’re a tease.”

“and you’re pretty.”

he gasps at that. you laugh, and press your lips to his, speeding up your rhythm until you feel him tense and writhe, hips jerking against you. beds of wetness drip down on your fingers. you bring them to your mouth and hum, tongue darting out, licking them clean. jon’s breath catches at the sight.

you want to taste him, you realize. know each and every part of him, so you slide off his lap and get on your knees, skirt riding up your thighs. your hands run up his shin, fingers dancing over his knee as they tread the path to his core.

your tongue flicks out against the flushed head, lapping at his pre. he shudders at that, a low groan leaving his lips. you feel him twitch in your grip and speed up, pressing fleeting, fluttering kisses against the soft, heated skin. when your mouth closes on his length and you taste and know him, static buzzes in your mind. 

a hand, broad and big and warm, settles on your head and pushes you closer, fingers threading through your hair. you whine. he’s big and heavy, filling up your mouth until all you know is him. your nails rake his thighs and he moans at that. you can’t help but look up through your lashes.

he’s the picture of sin, jonathan sims. his pristine shirt is crumpled, haphazardly unbuttoned to reveal the knife-edge of his collarbone. his fingers tighten on the armrest, deliciously firm in their desperate attempt to find purchase as you bring him closer and closer to his release. and gods, the slow, sublime arch of his neck, the way his head lolls back in rapture as he comes again with a startled gasp-

you hum, delighted, swallowing every last drop.

ah, but you’re not done yet. you’re not done learning about all the sweet moans you can coax out of him, about what makes him tick and come in blissful rapture. so, you make him come. 

again, and again, and again, worshiping every precious inch of him as you go, sucking  bruises in the tender skin of his neck. mine. his moans fill the room, startled little gasp and desperate pleas for more, for you to stop because it’s too much, to please, please-

when you pull back, your breath catches in your throat. he’s a masterpiece of debauchery, glasses askew, tears of overstimulation trailing down his flushed cheeks, lips parted in harsh, ragged pants. 

you nuzzle against him with a coo, one hand slipping under his shirt, settling over his chest, over the thundering beat of his heart.

his hand settles on your thigh, his forehead pressing against yours as he desperately tries to catch his breath.

“w-wait… you didn’t get to… let me…”

“shh…” you peck his lips, the kiss sweet and chaste. “this is about you. for once in your life, let yourself be cared for.”

he nods, reluctantly, fingers tightening over your thigh in a promise.

“fine. but i’m treating you to dinner. that is non-negotiable.”

you laugh a little, smiling fondly up at him.

“boss’ orders.”

[sunderingstars]

simulated universe addendum: ace trash digger

— i can’t believe i came across this occurrence literally the day after i posted my simulated universe analysis (talk about timing), so here’s me yapping about it!

— written during 2.6

— word count: short, list format

not only is this occurrence in every single simulated universe update (wow!) but it seems to be a more belobog-connected piece of potential sampo material!

— “he” pronouns. matches with sampo koski as we know him.

— he’s carrying a trashcan and the name of the occurence is “ace trash digger.” this is a pretty easy link to belobog since that’s the planet that has the most trashcan-related shenanigans. also, since he’s carrying it i can almost see the trashcan as symbolic of belobog itself — i.e. sampo and his little garbage planet he cares about and likes to carry around.

— “treasured trashcan.” once again, i can pretty easily see the trashcan as belobog, so the occurrence might actually be referencing sampo and his “treasured jarilo-vi.”

— he has a collection of “pitiful love poems.” this could connect to sampo’s theme of love, particularly broken hearts, as seen in things like his e4 and heart-bomb burst. these love poems may be written to aha as part of some lingering attachment, or may also be written towards belobog itself since he seems to care about the place so much.

— “put your waste in it, and the items will evolve into an advanced awareness, then come running out energetically on their own!” if the trashcan is symbolic of belobog and the person is supposed to be sampo, i would take a doll theory reading on this. with how much doll theory relies on the “betrayal” of a creator towards its creation, i almost see this as meta commentary on how aha may have betrayed or “discarded” sampo.

— it makes sense, after all, that aha would get bored with their creations quite easily (at least given the whole worm debacle), and what else to do than to discard it? it may be that sampo was not always like this, but evolved to become more “aware” after being abandoned on jarilo-vi, which aha may have seen as just some backwater junkyard snow planet.

— (honestly, the idea of jarilo-vi being seen as a cosmic junkyard is so funny to me. like, aha basically did the equivalent of driving their pickup truck to the scrap heap at the edge of town and tossing everything in. very mundane to them, totally traumatizing to sampo.)

— from there, i would interpret this occurrence as saying sampo slowly rejoined the wider universe — i.e. “running out energetically” on his own. this likely included becoming part of the masked fools or trying to re-contact aha. (alternatively, this could be what is going on currently in canon, with belobog and, by extension, sampo, becoming more present on the galactic stage.) this may have actually surprised the aeon themself (if they even cared anymore), as it would essentially be the equivalent of throwing out a stuffed animal halfway across town, only for it to get up, walk, and find its way back to your house weeks later talking like “why have you forsaken me, father?”. this may even be how sampo became an emanator — aha may have found the whole situation so hilarious they decided to promote sampo on the spot.

— overall, if the trashcan is meant to be belobog and sampo is meant to be the waste (like “hazardous waste” in the friendship is magic event), then this occurrence may be hinting at sampo’s backstory of being discarded by aha on jarilo-vi.

— hunt option (swarm disaster). mean, why are we being so mean?! i would never steal from sampo, i’m simply built different.

— remembrance option (swarm disaster). “you recall the past lives of these discarded objects” implies a sort of sentience and agency. even though the objects may not be at “advanced awareness” yet, they clearly still have past experiences and lives. comparatively, i would say this may mean that sampo, although only recently evolving into a unique kind of sentience, has always been “alive.” for me, i see this as gaining personhood, or perhaps new perspectives on life. he may have started as a toy with no real agency of his own, but he’s been able to find some sort of autonomy for himself on belobog, even being able to reach beyond the love and find the “hate” for a creator who treated him cruelly.

— erudition option (gold and gears). erudition once again! man, erudition and elation love going hand-in-hand. “even trash has its unique ‘value’” seems to send a deeper, general message. not only is it the erudition doing what the erudition tends to do when confronted with something new — find its value, either through experimentation or dismantling — but it communicates the idea that even though something may be seen as worthless or forgotten, it still holds purpose. even though sampo may be seen in the eyes of his creator as a “discarded doll,” he still has value. he’s still a person. he still has his own hopes, thoughts, and dreams. although the erudition likely means this phrase in a more troublesome “let’s take him apart to see what he’s made of” way, a nice message can still be gleaned.

— normal option. as with all other options, there’s a big theme of “transaction,” or exchanging items for more. i don’t have a lot to say about it, other than it fits right in with sampo’s con-man trade and propensity for bargaining.

— i found it a bit surprising at first that there was no elation option, given how that would’ve been a more solid link to sampo, but perhaps there isn’t supposed to be. perhaps, aha stuffed toy having an elation option is meant to be symbolic of a time aha cared enough to turn their gaze of sampo, but here the occurrence is dealing with the period of and after his abandonment. in this case, there may be no elation option because aha quite simply does not care enough for there to be one. he’s all alone. sad :((

overall, i can’t believe this one almost slipped under my nose while doing my simulated universe analysis! the irony is not lost on me that i almost passed over it in a similar way to others in-universe; i guess the “cosmic junkyard” planet really did its job !! i think this has some nice little tidbits for the potential timeline of doll theory, and gives some insight into what sampo’s “betrayal” might have been! (also, of course aha would do something like this. of course lol)

thanks for reading!

© analysis by sunderingstars. do not copy, repost, translate, modify, or claim my work as your own.

[adnauseum11]

Defence Logistics (John Price x Reader)

2.6 k words

CW: swearing, canon-typical violence, minor character death

This work is part of the S.N.A.F.U. series, the Masterlist is pinned to my blog

I don't know why, but I've struggled with this chapter more than any others lately. The format I chose, the tenses, all of it was a puzzle I've been wrestling with. I don't know if it's my insomnia making a come back or what, but I have been agonizing on this one. Almost scrapped it altogether but have decided to be brave and let 'er rip. I found writing John without the warmth he has for his love a bit jarring, having the ability to turn off that part of yourself and focus on wrecking damage on others was hard to capture. If it's subpar I can only apologize lol - the next chapter is already coming easier.

Feedback welcome, if folks have any tips or suggestions - this is all for fun and improvement! (that's what I keep telling myself anyways lol)

Masterlist

John’s transfixed, watching rusty blood swirl around the shower drain, his mind still back in the field. He’s showering off before he drives home from the black site, situated deep in the English country side. He’s bruised in several places, with a fresh cut across his lower forearm where the Commander’s knife had connected during a wild swing. The dull throb pulls his brain back to the present moment, making him realize he’s slowly dripping blood all over his own feet. He lifts the cut above his heart and tries to refocus his thoughts. Kate’s dealing with the paperwork, folding their use of equipment into existing work orders. Gaz and Simon are also showering, medical and debrief waiting for them all on the other side of the steam. John’s mind keeps running over the events of the last few days, looking for anything he’s missed.

Thankfully, he and Ghost had arrived in Lithuania a whole day ahead of Gaz’s taskforce. They had driven across Vilnius in an SUV that had been held together with good intentions and baler twine, as far as John could make out. It had rattled something awful, to the point they had ditched it on a side road and hiked the last few rough miles, working their way across farmer’s fields dodging cattle and sheep in the early morning light. The Industrial section was set outside of city limits, in between old farms, where the smells and sounds would be less likely to disrupt the rhythms of life. The physical exercise helped re-center John’s mind on the task at hand. The way things had been left between himself and his love had unsettled him, giving his mind a stone to turn over instead of focusing on his immediate surroundings. He’d said more than he’d wanted to in explaining his departure, opening a can of worms he hadn’t intended and couldn’t put right before he left. If Ghost noticed John’s initial lack of focus, he said nothing.

The intercept point was more or less on top of the taskforce’s rendezvous point, in the back end of a massive sheep field with a small hut built out of field stones. By the time they arrived to do their recon, he had pulled himself together mentally and was feeling more present. John’s body remembered the training that had been drilled in to it, the rust of retirement flaking away as time stretched on. Soon it was nearly like he had never left.  He and Ghost discussed how to proceed in various probable scenarios as they checked the surrounding area.

How many people were involved in the revenge plot would depend on how the commander split his forces, to John’s mind. If he kept Gaz under his direct command there was likely no one else involved and Gaz was unlikely to survive the mission. If he sent Gaz with one of the other men, it was more likely they all were involved and it was more probable they would detain Gaz for information. Ghost agreed with John’s assessment, and they scouted the area before making a small camp a quarter of a mile from the rendezvous point to wait.

The downbeat of helicopter blades alerted them to the taskforce arriving a few hours after dark. John had signaled to Ghost, stubbing his cigar out and flipping the night vision goggles on. Then he and Ghost set out, snaking through the underbrush, using trees as cover as they moved in on the clearing and the stone hut. Once they got within a few hundred yards of the edge of the clearing they fanned out, Ghost swinging wide behind the unloading area.

They watched silently as five men disembarked using ropes, the wash of the helicopter blades obscuring any noise for several long minutes. Finally, it lifted, slowly claiming altitude again in the darkness, a handful of blinking lights the only outward signal of its location. The men had immediately moved on the stone hut as they landed one by one, quickly sweeping and entering it. John and Ghost had stayed in position, watching the hut for signs of life. Eventually the men exited, filtering into two separate groups. One group of two and another group with the remaining three. John located the Commander, pointing out the line of travel and giving a shove to one of his men. He squinted through his goggles, quickly identifying Gaz as the other man in the Commander’s trio.

As the groups split off into the darkness, the former Captain let the warmth of his anger wash over him again, keeping his movements purposeful and his mind on task. Staying a healthy distance behind, he stalked the trio as they hiked along the edge of the pasture, using trees and the waist high rock fence as cover. John tracked them easily with his night vision, quietly moving deeper in the woods. Ghost had shadowed the other group who were working their way further into the woods, opposite to where John and Ghost had camped and back towards the plant. When the Commander paused a few miles later near the badly rutted dirt road, their intent became clear to John.

The Commander’s group was set to create a diversion at the front gate of the chemical plant while the secondary team got in and collected the intel they were after. John waited until they were moving again to softly relay his plan to Ghost who responded with a subdued “rog that” in his ear. John moved incrementally closer on silent feet, waiting to see how they would go about creating their diversion. He watched as the Commander motioned Gaz to push forward, yanking a grenade from Gaz’s tac vest and pressing it into his hand. John had to force himself to wait, the instinct to get to Gaz pressing in on him tightly.

 The front gate was framed with two concrete pillars, into which were sunk the posts for retractable chain link fencing. Beyond that, a bar gate, manned by middling security guards wearing flak vests and holstered pistols. John had guessed they were there to keep the local gangs out more than they were prepared to deal with para-military operations. He was proven correct shortly after when Gaz lobbed the grenade in his hand at the chain link fence. It landed close enough to blow the gate off its track, making what was left of the twisted metal hang at an awkward angle. The explosion rocked the gate house, making the men inside shout and duck for cover. Gaz lobbed another grenade, this one blasting the gate off completely, the smoking metal smashing into the ground with a loud screech.

The men inside the gate house finally got themselves organized and started cautiously coming out, using the door as cover as they opened return fire into the darkness. John watched as the Commander gave Gaz’s shoulder a shove, jerking his head towards the gate house. John understood in a flash the Commander was trying to position Gaz where a stray bullet wouldn’t be blinked at if it connected. John was instantly moving, his feet creeping him closer to their position when Gaz did the unexpected. Instead of scurrying forward as they all assumed, he threw himself backwards, kicking his legs up to get leverage as he swung his body around to lock legs with the other soldier, standing beside the Commander. He went down in a heap, Gaz wrestling for top position for all he was worth.

John sprinted the last few yards, yanking the unsuspecting and now screaming Commander by the back of the tac vest before he could interfere. Chaos reigned as shots continued to pepper out from the gate house and the men shouted each other down. John hadn’t been fast enough getting his hands clear, the Commander yanking a Bowie knife free from his vest and swinging wildly over his head, trying to fend off the attack from behind. John grunted when the tip of the knife skittered across his arm but he didn’t stop in his action, drawing his rifle butt up and bringing it down on the Commander’s cheek as he stumbled backwards. The blow knocked him unconscious, his body falling the rest of the way into a heap.

Gaz was still scrambling on the ground with the bigger soldier, trading blows before John stepped in, levelling his pistol at the man’s head and pulling the trigger without hesitation. Gaz was instantly covered in a spray of brain matter and blood, and his hands came up instinctively, warding off another shot from the same direction. John had spoken up then.

“On your feet soldier.”

John had offered him a hand and it took Gaz’s brain a split second to recognize the ex-Captain.

“Cap - Laswell said you uncovered this shitshow. Wasn’t sure you were going to leave your new girl for this though.”

Gaz had extended his hand, letting John haul him upright. John had hummed non-committedly, not wanting to get into the specifics of his presence in the field. He reached into his vest and pulled out zip-ties, handing them to Gaz.

“Smart man to not let him get you in a bad position. Get him restrained for now.”

He muttered before tapping his coms.

“Ghost, how copy?”

There was a brief pause and then Ghost’s deep voice was in John’s ear.

“They’re almost at the target. The explosions and gunfire pulled all attention from the rest of the building. Moving fast.”

“Regroup with us at the vehicle once they’re successful. Anything goes off the rails, I want to know ASAP. Out here.”

“Rog that, Captain.”

John let go of the comm and lifted his rifle again, firing a few bullets into the air. This riled up the security guards again, setting off another round of wild shots into the now eerily quiet night.

“Strip him. No insignia.”

John gestured to the remains of the solider, blood and thick brain matter pooling on the ground. Gaz started ripping the patches off the dead man’s vest, stuffing them into a spare pocket of his own. John reached over, using the muzzle of his rifle to push what was left of the man’s head to the side, reaching in to the neck and yanking the dog tags off, handing them to Gaz as well.

“Help me get this one further into the woods.”

John kicked the foot of the Commander, and Gaz stood, taking an elbow on one side. They carried him backwards, his dragging feet going silent as they entered deeper into the woods. Gaz counted out a hundred steps and then they propped him up against a tree. John rummaged around, pulling his field first aid kit out and locating the smelling salts.

“We’re going to wake him up. I want to know how many people he’s involved in this revenge scheme.”

“Think he’ll tell us the truth?”

“Won’t know unless we ask, soldier.”

John broke the salts and waved them under the unconscious man’s nose. Gaz refastened his gloves, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched the man wake.

“Oi, OI.”

John’s tone was abrupt, not giving the waking man time to adjust to his surroundings.

“Wha- “

“You wanted the 141, Commander, you’ve got ‘em.”

When it took the man a beat too long to respond, John reached out and slapped his cheek with his open palm, jerking his head back against the trunk of the tree.

“Wake up Sunshine. What do you want with the 141?”

The Commander’s words are slurred, likely concussed from the blow to his head.

“Killed my brother – “

“You want revenge.”

John’s tone was flat, emotionless. The words unamused and to the point.

“Justice.” The Commander coughed, his head lolling to the side as he squinted up at them. “But we make our own, don’t we Captain?”

“If we’re lucky. Any more of your men involved? You already got one man killed.”

“No.”

The word was spat out, the hatred tangible in his tone.

“Norris feeding you information?”

“Get fucked.”

John looked over at Gaz who nodded silently to John’s unasked question. John had raised his pistol and pointed it at the man’s foot.

“Norris feeding you information?”

“I said get fu – “

John unloaded the bullet into the man’s foot, the bones and flesh splintering inside his boot. A bloodcurdling scream rang out, bouncing off the trees, making it seem like it was all around them. John lifted the pistol to aim at the man’s knee, his face impassive as the scream died down, replaced with frantic wounded whimpering.

“Norris feeding you information?”

“Holy fuck, oh shit, wait, wait, wait please – “

John leaned in, speaking lowly for the man’s ears only, not sure how much Gaz had been told.

“You send a sexual predator to my woman’s place and expect this to go well for you?”

John didn’t wait for an answer and shot the man’s knee out, the spray of blood missing Gaz this time but catching the side of John’s chest. The howl the Commander let out was unearthly, birds startling from their nighttime roosts. Some deeply tucked away part of John that demanded the collection of a pound of flesh was perversely satisfied with the sound. John stepped away again, training his pistol on the heavily bleeding man’s uninjured foot. Gaz stood, emotionless as the ex-Captain moved around the prone man, the dark forest obscuring their movements from the road.

“Last chance before I even you up. Norris feeding you information?”

“He’s the one who told me about my brother being at Las Almas!! He’s the one.”

John had shot a look at Gaz before turning back to the now heavily wounded man propped up against the tree. He gestured to the zip ties behind the man’s back with the muzzle of his pistol.

“Cut him loose.”

“You’re going to pay for this – I’ll make sure everyone knows-”

John took aim and unloaded a final bullet into the man’s skull, shards of bone and brain mixing with the wood splinters and smoke in the air. Gaz startled but collected himself, stepping over to cut the ties off the body, pocketing them. The dead man’s arms fell forward once the tension of the plastic tie was released. John helped him strip any identifying insignia silently.

“You need to radio that you were ambushed, both men down. Do you have a secondary exfil?”

“Yeah, if we can get to Belarus, the location is a few clicks over the border.”

“We’ll take the vehicle as far as we can. Ghost is going to rendezvous with us, let’s move out.”

John had waited to loop Ghost in before reaching out to Kate with their new exfil plans - taking turns sleeping in the vehicle for the rest of night while pushing on to the border. This gave Kate time to organize their ride and run interference with the story of the ambush. Which is how John spent Christmas Eve, crammed into a dilapidated SUV in the rural area of Lithuania’s border with Belarus, amongst his mates eating cold MRE’s again, all of them tired but alive.

Simon’s deep rumble knocks him out of his mental reverie, calling him back to his current position under the steaming water of his shower.  So far, outside of the problem of Norris, the only thing John has been able to surmise he’s missed in the last few days is Christmas dinner with his love.

“Laswell said she’s sending the medic in after ye’ if ye’ don’t git yer ass in gear, Cap.”

John shuts the water off with a sigh and presses his lips together.

“That’ll do, Ghost. I'll be there shortly.”

Next Chapter

Ao3

Tag list:

@deadbranch @beebeechaos @cadotoast @syoddeye @writeforfandoms @itr-00 @chloepluto1306 @batw3nch @magsmagic @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @chickennn-soupp

[uncharismatic-fauna]

A Stingray Abroad: The Broad Stingray

Bathytoshia lata is a stingray known by many names: the broad stingray, the brown stingray, and thorn tail stingray; Dasyatis lata, Dasyatis thetidis, and Dasyatis ushii. The species has accumulated all these names-- and quite a few others-- thanks to its broad distribution. It can be found in the Atlantic, Pacific, and Indian Oceans, as well as the Mediterranean sea. Typically the species stays on reefs or in coastal bays with muddy bottoms. Prior to 2012, genetic testing of stingray species revealed them to be populations of B. lata, hence the multitude of latin names.

The broad stingray is one of the largest species of stingrays; the average individual is about 1.5 m (5 ft) across and 56 kg (123 lb), with some populations reaching an excess of 2.6 m (8.5 ft) across and 290 kg (639 lbs). Females also tend to be larger than males. The body is diamond shaped, and the tail is often more than twice its length. B. lata is dark in color, often tan or black, with a white underbelly. Perhaps its most distinctive feature are the 'spines'-- also known as dermal denticles-- that line the tail and rear portion of the body, giving it the name 'thorn tail'.

The brown stingray is fairly docile, and spends most of the day lying inactive on the sea bed. At night they forage for crustaceans, polychaete worms, and small fish. They can use their powerful pectoral fins to burrow through the sand and uncover prey, and like sharks they have special organs called ampullae of Lorenzini that allow them to detect electrical fields emitted by their prey. The primary predator of B. lata is the hammerhead shark, and when threatened individuals will raise the spines along their tail to deliver whip-like blows.

Females become ready to mate in the summer, typically from November to March. Males are attracted to pheromones released by the female, and initiate a dance-like courtship ritual. If the female is receptive, he will bite down on her pectoral fins while grasping her with special claspers located at the base of the tail. Following the mating ritual, the female gestates her young internally for 10-12 months. This species is ovoviviparous, and the pups recieve nutirents from both a yolk and internally secreted milk. Following her pregnancy, the mother gives birth to live young, typically 3-4 in a litter. The pups are completely independent, and receive no parental care after being born. It takes them about 14-16 years to become fully mature, and individuals can live up to 28 years in the wild.

Conservation status: The broad stingray is considered Vulnerable by the IUCN. Its most common threat comes from being caught as by-catch in fishing nets, and intentionally for their meat and skin.

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Photos

Andy Murch

Sarah Speight

Andrew Green

Phillipe Guillaume

[sirjuggles]

Worm Reading - Part 1, Insinuation 2.6

So I've heard the series Worm thrown around peripherally over the years but I've never sat down and read it. Lately some folks I follow on Tumblr have been talking about it more, and I do love me a good web serial (shoutout to Astielle and Velveteen Vs. and, uh... Tales of MU but we don't talk about that). With that in mind, I figure I'll dive in and share my experience reading Worm for the first time.

Up front, what I know about Worm before beginning: I know it's yet another take on the reality of a world where some people have superhuman powers. I know the initial main character has bug powers. I'm pretty sure that somewhere along the way there's a massive spike in power level, where we go from dealing with street fights to dealing with civilization-level threats. I think there's some investigation of how people get powers, and experiments with trying to give people powers (that, inevitably for the genre, probably go awry). I also think there might be some shenanigans with the focus of the story, like a primary viewpoint character dies or becomes someone else? I'm hazy on that part.

With that in mind, I began reading this morning. I'm currently up to Insinuation 2.6. I will admit it's a little bit of a struggle to not skim over the school bullying portions. I know this is a story written twelve years ago by an amateur author, but the initial descriptions of all the pretty popular girl bullies and the focus on what they wear and what their hair looks like is definitely the weakest part. Not that this isn't sadly a legitimate depiction of how awful high school can be for many people, but at least for me it's the least interesting thing to read about.

So far it seems that Taylor hasn't really fully thought through how reality on the streets might differ from the Good Superhero VS. Evil Supervillain narrative put out by an organization with a name like THE PROTECTORATE. We've gotten some interesting glimpses into the street-level struggle between gangs led by powered individuals, I'm a little fascinated by this idea of non-powered mooks as basically gang members who rally around a powered leader. I'm gonna slide right over the characterization of the gang led by Lung and chalk that one up 2011 being a different time.

I am SO INTRUIGED by the Undersiders. Specifically it has been established that they have a somewhat diverse mix of powers and have been able to take on or shake off any attempts at suppression from officially authorized teams.

Hellhound: Seems to be general muscle for the team. We have yet to actually speak to her, but I kinda like her? Seems like she looked after herself while homeless for many years, and I can't really begrudge her for being standoffish or abrasive.

Grue: "Darkness Generation" is such a vague power, but I suspect it could be very handy in battlefield control and breaking contact after a fight, which makes their crew substantially more slippery. Deeper implications to how this could be weaponized?

Regent: Vague hero name doesn't seem to indicate any particular power, I'm curious what his deal is.

Tattletale: I'm sorry, I've only known this character for five minutes and I already LOVE her. Her power seems to be information-related, something like she knows the answer to any question asked? If her power is anything like what I think it is, she is CRAZY powerful and is absolutely being underestimated by the narrative at the moment. Can't wait to find out what her deal is.

Only other character we've met so far has been Armsmaster. He seems... fine. Generic corporate superhero. Nifty iconic weapon, not clear what actual powers he might have. He seems nice enough, I was a little surprised that he didn't put more pressure on Taylor to get registered and go legit in their initial interaction. I did feel a brief pang of "oh god I'm old" when the clearly Responsible Adult-coded character is estimated to be about my age or younger.

I'm curious to meet this elusive "Boss" the Undersiders have mentioned, that seems to be a critical part to this story that I suspect will be a central part of which way this story goes. Onward from here!

[pleistocene-pride]

Iguana iguana, better known as the green iguana, American iguana, iwana, garrobo, ministro, iguanita, garrobito, or the common green iguana, is a large, arboreal, mostly herbivorous species of lizard of the genus Iguana which is native throughout much of South, Central, and North America from Paraguay and Southern Brazil up into Northern Mexico. They are also found throughout much of the Carribean and have been introduced to Florida, Texas, Hawaii, Fiji, Ishigaki Island, Singapore, Thailand, and Taiwan. Green iguana tend to dwell in forested areas often near bodies of water, as they are preficent climbers, swimmers, and burrowers. These primarily herbivorous lizards feed upon various leaves, fruit, flowers, tubers, shoots, as well as the occasional arthropod, worm, tree snail, fish, egg, rodent, or carrion. Green iguanas are themselves preyed upon by various canines, felines, snakes, crocodilians, bears, birds of prey, and large fish. When threated a green iguana can drop part of its tail as a distraction to help it escape a predator. These do regrow albeit to a limited extent. Reaching around 3.9 to 6.6ft (1.2 to 2m) in length and 2.6 to 20lbs (1.2 to 9.1kgs) in weight with females being a fair bit smaller than males, the green iguana is considered the largest iguana species in terms of length. Distinguishing features of this species include a pendulous dewlap under the throat, a dorsal crest made up of dermal spines that run from the mid neck to the tail base, and a long tapering tail. The dewlap is more developed in adult males than females. Although called green iguanas, these animals are actually variable in color with various populations appearing blue, lavender, black, and even reddish brown in color. Breeding occurs during the dry season, and around 65 days after mating a female green iguana will dig a nest where she will lay 20 to 71 eggs before burying them. The hatchlings emerge from the nest after 10–15 weeks of incubation. Under ideal conditions a green iguana will reach sexual maturity around three and four years of age, and live up to 20 years.

[maniculum]

The College of Grotesque Arts -- Week Six

For new people, I’m doing the Dungeon23 megadungeon project, basing each room on the marginalia of a different page in the 14th-century Luttrell Psalter. Previous entries in this project can be found here.

Room 2.5: f.30v

Had a bit of trouble working out what to do with this page. Spent a while trying to figure out what this woman is holding; the only explanation I was able to find online is that this is St. Catherine holding a representation of the wheel she was tortured on. Hm.

The floor of this empty and perfectly circular room is in constant rotation like a wheel for some reason. (Appendix A actually made this one circular, which I see as serendipity.) The floor is uneven, apparently by design — the floor is constructed out of stone blocks, which seem to form steps up or down apparently at random. Walking across the floor will require a Balance check. Falling does a small amount of damage. Entering or exiting likewise requires a check to move through the door without falling.

Broken mechanisms scattered about the room resemble distaffs, spindles, and other sewing tools. Was this some kind of textile-related device? The world will never know.

Room 2.6: f.31r

The eastern portion of this room is occupied by an artificial pond.

The pond is filled with small blue-gold minnows.

There are also geese, being hunted by a fox.

Sunk into the mud at the bottom of the pond are the remains of Ilger, a previous explorer of the dungeon. Ilger was a cleric who held some rank in his former church, and may have some good items on him. (That crozier looks pretty fancy…) If anyone uses speak with dead, Ilger is from a sect that practices burial at sea, and he’s pretty sure his former party would have tossed his body in the pond as a gesture towards that. He suspects that, had they survived, they would have retrieved him to either resurrect him or take him to a proper sea.

Room 2.7: f.31v

Appendix A originally had this room connected to 2.8 and 2.10, also by secret doors, but I’ve decided that’s silly. Anyway. That hallway to the east there appears to end in an empty storage closet, but a bit of examination will reveal that the back wall will swing open with a good enough push. 

When the door is opened, a fungal stench wafts out, followed by a handful of flegatters. The room has an unfinished dirt floor, and fungus of some kind has been encouraged to grow over the walls. It is inhabited by a seemingly endless quantity of these flegatters. A flegatter is, essentially, a bright orange slug that has been granted wings. It’s extremely venomous. These creatures have escaped to the outside world, so a Knowledge(Nature) check would warn you about them — probably too late for anyone who was in the closet when the door was opened, though.

Flegatter: CR 2, XP 600; N Fine Magical Beast; Init +2; Senses Low-Light Vision, Darkvision 60ft; Perception +0

DEFENSE: AC 20, touch 20, flat-footed 18 (+8 size, +2 Dex); hp 26 (3d10+9); Saves Fort +6, Ref +5, Will +1; Immunities Poison

OFFENSE: Speed 5 ft., fly 10 ft.; Melee contact +7 (0 damage + poison); Space 0 ft.; Reach 0 ft.; Special Attacks Poison (Ex)

STATISTICS: Str 2, Dex 14, Con 17, Int 2, Wis 10, Cha 10; Base Atk +3; CMB -9; CMD 3; Feats Acrobatic, Athletic; Skills Fly +10; Special Qualities Magical Beast Traits

SPECIAL ABILITIES:

Poison (Ex): Anyone who comes into contact with a flegatter has been exposed to a venom that has a Fortitude save DC of 14, a frequency of 1/round for 10 rounds, causes 1d2 Con damage, and takes two saves to cure.

Flegatters don’t so much attack as they just stick to you and then you’re poisoned. They may do this on purpose; they’re carnivorous, and just landing on something then waiting for it to die is basically a hunting behavior for them.

If you leave the door open, more flegatters keep coming out.

Room 2.8: f.32r

This page is not great for my purposes. There are some grotesques, but two of them are just “some kind of worm thing with a human face”, which isn’t helpful, and the third is this one, which I just can’t parse in any kind of way I want to engage with:

That leaves us with a human figure, so sure, whatever, there’s a guy here.

This is Hagin, a member of the Gatekeepers, doing a little amateur exploring. (If you’ve really been keeping track, you may remember that the Gatekeepers have Februaria’s keyring and therefore can teleport to this level — the key goes to Room 2.26, though, so Hagin’s wandered some way from where he came in. He does not have the keyring on him.) He’s a sorcerer a couple levels higher than the PCs, and he just happens to be wandering through this room, which is otherwise empty but for two rows of pillars. (I’m also going to put him on the random encounters table for this level, so if the PCs have already run into him, you can choose to not have him in this room.)

Hagin is cheerfully overconfident. He’s of course happy to give the PCs tips or even travel with them, but of course that’ll cost them. The other Gatekeepers would frown on one of their members offering services to explorers free of charge, after all. (Hagin uses that as an excuse, and it’s not untrue, but he doesn’t have any kind of problem with profit-motivated behavior, and would probably charge them for his services regardless.) The fees are exorbitant, but you can haggle. Hagin has a pretty good idea of the contents of this level, but is cagey about sharing unless you pay him.

Room 2.9: f.32v

The room is empty and featureless.

This is the room where Caretaker Three remains when it’s not doing its rounds — if the PCs enter during the day, they will find it here, inactive near the northern wall. It’s a stone construct with a humanoid upper half in bluish stone, and a piscine lower half in reddish stone. Its tail has a little beak on the end, which it uses as a somewhat crude extra hand.

Caretaker Three carries an odd golden staff; one end acts like a set of tongs, and can be used to close around the limb of an escaped creature if needed. This is the Rod of Beaſt Restraint, and will be detailed below the following stats.

Caretaker Three: CR 7, XP 3200; N Medium Construct; Init +2; Senses Low-Light Vision, Darkvision 60ft; Perception +0

DEFENSE: AC 21, touch 12, flat-footed 19 (+2 Dex, +9 natural); hp 70 (9d10+20); Saves Fort +3, Ref +5, Will +3; DR 5/- SR 18

OFFENSE: Speed 20 ft., swim 20 ft.; Melee rod +16 (1d12+7) , tail +11 (2d6+7); Spell-Like Abilities (CL 9; DC 10 + spell level): At Will: Create Food and Water, Daze Monster, Minor Creation; 3/day: Charm Monster, Rainbow Pattern, Telekinesis; 1/day: Fabricate, Wall of Force

STATISTICS: Str 24, Dex 14, Con 0, Int 0, Wis 10, Cha 1; Base Atk +9; CMB +16; CMD 28; Special Qualities: Construct Traits

Rod of Beaſt Restraint: Ten times per day, this rod can cast hold monster. Additionally, this rod can be used to initiate a grapple by seizing a creature with the tong-like end; it confers a +5 bonus to your grapple check when you use it in this way. The rod can also be used as a bludgeoning weapon for 1d12 damage. 

Caretaker Three is a little slow and clumsy — the fishtail doesn’t work for movement as well as it might. Like the other Caretakers, it doesn’t interfere with the PCs unless they interfere with it first. If it becomes convinced that they’re a problem, it will attempt to render them unconscious, charmed, or held, then move them to Room 2.26. If it is particularly concerned about them posing a threat, it may begin the combat with a wall of force to cut off escape.

Room 2.10: f. 33r

This room is spacious and high-ceilinged, with a deep soil layer as its floor and two rows of pillars supporting the roof. It has several trees within it, as well as a small pond in the southwest corner.

The pond is stocked with small blue flying fish. That’s exactly what it sounds like. They’re about minnow-size. They don’t go far from the pond, because they can’t breathe out of the water.

The trees contain gold-winged bellbirds. These are standard songbirds, except unusually loud. If agitated, they can deafen anyone within five feet.

The room is also inhabited by unusually friendly squirrels. They seem almost domesticated, even a bit dog-like in the way they react to people.

Room 2.11: f.33v

This is another latrine. The opening to said latrine is located in the southwest corner.

In the southeast corner, there is a rather nice fountain depicting a bird-like grotesque with water coming out of its mouth.

The latrine itself, while clean, is inhabited by a spike-tailed worm. This creature is a blue-and-red serpent with a rabbit-like head and a long, spiked tail. It attacks by constricting, and may well do so if you decide the PCs are having too easy a time of it — if they do not investigate the latrine, feel free to have it emerge and/or grab them.

Spike-Tailed Worm: CR 4, XP 1200; N Medium Magical Beast; Init +2; Senses Low-Light Vision, Darkvision 60ft, Blindsight 30ft; Perception +11

DEFENSE: AC 18, touch 12, flat-footed 16 (+2 Dex, +6 natural); hp 45 (6d10+12); Saves Fort +6, Ref +7, Will +2

OFFENSE: Speed 30 ft., climb 30 ft.; Melee tail lash +11 (1d8+5/x3); Space 5 ft.; Reach 10 ft.; Special Attacks Constrict (1d8+5), Grab (tail lash)

STATISTICS: Str 20, Dex 15, Con 12, Int 2, Wis 10, Cha 10; Base Atk +6; CMB +11 (+15 grapple); CMD 23; Feats Ability Focus (Constrict), Alertness, Toughness; Skills Perception +11; Special Qualities Magical Beast Traits, Blindsight 30ft

SPECIAL ABILITIES:

Constrict (Ex): A Spike-Tailed Worm can crush an opponent, dealing 1d8+5 bludgeoning damage, when it makes a successful grapple check (in addition to any other effects caused by a successful check, including additional damage).

Grab (Ex): If a Spike-Tailed Worm hits with its tail lash attack, it deals normal damage and attempts to start a grapple as a free action without provoking an attack of opportunity. Grab can only be used against targets of a size Medium or smaller.

And there’s Week Six. I think I’ve managed to keep this one a bit shorter.

[spiritworld14]

Nutritional Value For Insects

Mealworms

Fat: 6-13%

Protein: 20-22%

Fiber: 2%

Calcium: 169mg

Phosphorus: 2850mg

Thiamine: 2.4mg

Moisture: 62%

Ca:P 1:17

Superworms

Fat: 18%

Protein: 19%

Fiber: 2.6%

Calcium: 177mg

Phosphorus: 2370mg

Thiamine: .6mg

Moisture: 58%

Ca:P 1:13

Waxworms

Fat: 25%

Protein: 14%

Fiber: 3.4%

Calcium: 243mg

Phosphorus: 1950mg

Thiamine: 2.5mg

Moisture: 58.5%

Ca:P 1:8

BSFL, Phoenix Worms, Calci-Worms

Fat: 9%

Protein: 17.5%

Fiber: 3%

Calcium: 9000mg

Phosphorus: 3560mg

Thiamine: 7.7mg

Moisture: 61%

Ca:P 2.5:1

Dubia Roaches

Fat: 6.1%

Protein: 21.4%

Fiber: 2.6%

Calcium: 700mg

Phosphorus: 2600mg

Thiamine: N/A

Moisture: 65.6%

Ca:P 1:3

Hornworms

Fat: 3.07%

Protein: 9%

Fiber: 2.5%

Calcium: 46.4mg

Moisture: 85%

Phosphorus: 1394mg

Thiamine: N/A

Ca:P 1:3

Crickets

Fat: 3.3%

Protein: 16%

Fiber: 2.2%

Calcium: 275mg

Phosphorus: 2950mg

Thiamine: .4%

Moisture: 76%

Ca:P 1:11

Silkworms

Fat: 1.1%

Protein: 9.3%

Fiber: 1.1%

Calcium: 177mg

Phosphorus: 2370mg

Thiamine: 3.3%

Moisture: 83%

Ca:P 1:13

Grasshoppers/Snails/Nightcrawlers

---Different grasshoppers/snails/nightcrawlers have different percentages.

---Canned grasshoppers/snails/nightcrawlers should have the nutritional value on the back of the cans.

Bloodworms

Protein: 8.3%

Fat: 1.2%

Fiber: 3.9%

Moisture: 82%

Ca:P 0:42

[eggwhiteswithspinach]

Me trying to make sure I don't get worms for vermicomposting because we live in a small space but then every 2.6 days I return to watching 902 videos of a NEW system that COULD be done in an apartment ahhhhhhhhhhhhh

(help)(whelp)(im maybe gonna get worms)

[byroots]

Buy Organic Olive Oils Online in USA - Byroots.com

Olive oil is used by many in the kitchen. Due to the numerous brands, types, and varieties of olive oil available Buy Organic Olive Oil, there are a plethora of options available in the supermarket. At Il Circolo, we make olive oil that is organic. When we produce our organic olive oil, we take environmental and animal welfare into consideration. For instance, we grow our trees without the use of chemicals and manually harvest our olives. We place a high value on this, but why should you purchase organic olive oil? Purchasing organic goods typically comes at a higher price. However, using organic products has many advantages. If you want to make a contribution to a food system that is regenerative, here are some of the reasons why buying organic olive oil is a good idea.

Organic olive oil is produced without the use of artificial fertilizers. Fertilizers are frequently used to temporarily add a lot of nutrients to the soil in order to help crops grow faster and better. Sadly, it has a negative impact on the orchards’ soil health and is not a cure-all. Even an excess of nutrients can occur in plants, making fertilisation counterproductive. Organic manure keeps the nutrients in the soil longer and keeps it healthy.

Chemicals and pesticides made from synthetic materials are not used to combat diseases, pest insects, or weeds. These pesticides, however, may leave traces on the fruit.Therefore, the chemical residue may end up in the olive oil if the olives have been sprayed with chemicals. We use other methods at Il Circolo to keep out unwanted visitors like flies that want to lay eggs in our olives. Pheromone sachets are hung between our trees, and since they find them very appealing, they no longer care about our olives. Pesticides and other synthetic insecticides are therefore unnecessary for us.

Benefits for health from organic olive oil Fruit and vegetables are healthy regardless of whether they have an organic label, but organic products are one step above them in terms of health. Although the specific differences vary from product to product, the nutrients in organic products have been the subject of extensive research. First and foremost, organically labelled food contains no pesticides. Already, this is a healthier option. Additionally, organic products frequently contain more bioactive substances, minerals, and vitamin C than conventional products. It is essential to keep in mind that a product’s nutrients are also influenced by the region it comes from and the varieties used in the final product.

Organic farming does not pollute water like conventional farming does by avoiding chemical pesticides and artificial fertilizers. Groundwater and surface water are polluted when synthetic products used by conventional farmers are flushed away. The contaminated water then enters rivers, lakes, and frequently the ocean. The flora and fauna in the area around the fields may suffer significantly as a result of this. The water that is washed away from organic production does not contain any harmful substances, so it is not harmful to the surrounding plants and animals.

In organic farming, the land is cared for in a variety of ways to keep it as healthy and natural as possible. Planting other species between or at the edges of crops to protect them from insects and the soil is a common strategy. This ensures that the plot of land has more than one plant that grows for sale.Biodiversity is thus enhanced by organic farming. Even higher than conventional farming, organic farming has a 30% higher level of biodiversity, There are more weeds, insects, and worms in organic olive groves. This makes it possible for other animals like hedgehogs, toads, rodents, and birds to find food. During the harvest in conventional olive groves in Spain, approximately 2.6 million birds and numerous small insects that rest in the olive trees’ trunks and branches are sucked up by enormous harvesting machines. Supporting small organic olive farmers can already have a significant impact on reducing animal mortality because organic olive oil is typically harvested by hand rather than by large machines, as in this instance.

Click Here: Buy Organic Olive Oil

[inferentialdistance]

Novel Fugue is just how I read. I go through the entire Wheel of Time series in less than three weeks when I get the hankering (roughly once a decade), and that's about 2.6 times the length of Worm (4.4 mil vs 1.68 mil). Normal novels are like popcorn.

Worm Fugue is the funniest phenomenon I've seen in any fandom. Like every time someone offhandedly goes "yeah I read worm super fast, took me like a week somehow" twenty other people will emerge from the woodworks to talk about how they read worm in three days, six days, ten days, just an assortment of timespans in which it's fully unreasonable to read that many words. Worm has a secret Master power that compels you to keep reading and keep reading and keep reading no matter what, although I'm kinda curious how many people actually experience the Worm Fugue so uhhh behold a poll.