#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.

[inchwormpodcast]

Jenny and Ted discuss Insinuation 2.6.

Episode Notes:

Taylor rushes in

Bug scouts

She’s got mail

Jenny accuses all Lisas and Brians of being old

What Lisa sees in Taylor

Smart Alec

Tall Brian

The Undersiders’ ethos is disarming but their boss is intriguing

Other teams and capes

Is Taylor funny?

This is an easy choice for Taylor

Dick Corner 2 (ft. Consequences)

Friends-casting the Undersiders

Predictions and names

[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-archive]

✧ 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.

[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.”

[bestanimal]

Round 2 Final Stats:

Previously I said any group to earn over 900 points will move on to Round 3, however, I’m going to make it the Top 10 just to make it even. Plus, what’s an extra two species?

For the final stats, I’ve made a little graphic with some doodles to remind y’all what each class is. (Couldn’t use emojis for everyone because, alas, there are not enough unique ones to represent all these animal groups!) The full list is typed out under the read more though, as well as the extra stats for this round!

The top classes (or phylogenetic equivalents) have been ranked thusly, listed here from highest ranking to lowest:

🦈 Chondrichthyes ~ 1,509

🐀 Mammalia ~ 1,437

🐍 Reptilia ~ 1,183

🐙 Cephalopoda ~ 1,175

🐸 Lissamphibia ~ 1,002

🐠 Actinopterygii ~ 983

🦀 Malacostraca ~ 954

🕷 Arachnida ~ 913

🐞 Insecta ~ 908

Actinistia ~ 853

🐌 Gastropoda ~ 796

🫁 Dipnoi ~ 598

🦪 Bivalvia ~ 507

Myxini ~ 492

Chilopoda ~ 479

Branchiopoda ~ 443

Polyplacophora ~ 427

Petromyzontida ~ 412

Pycnogonida ~ 405

Copepoda ~ 308

Ascidiacea ~ 394

Diplopoda ~ 393

Ostracoda ~ 278

Collembola ~ 272

Thecostraca ~ 253

Pauropoda ~ 246

Appendicularia ~ 229

Leptocardii ~ 222

Remipedia ~ 194

Symphyla ~ 166

Solenogastres ~ 164

Tergomya ~ 158

Scaphopoda ~ 142

Tantulocarida ~ 139

Cephalocarida ~ 134

Mystacocarida ~ 115

Caudofoveata ~ 110

Diplura ~ 94

Protura ~ 83

Ichthyostraca ~ 83

Our Top 10 Classes are Chondrichthyes, Mammalia, Reptilia, Cephalopoda, Lissamphibia, Actinopterygii, Malacostraca, Arachnida, Insecta, and Actinistia!

This means Chondrichthyes, Mammalia, Reptilia, Cephalopoda, Lissamphibia, Actinopterygii, Malacostraca, Arachnida, Insecta, and Actinistia will be moving on to Round 3, and broken up by Order (or some other phylogenetic equivalent).

Extra Stats:

Arthropod Class Pycnogonida (“sea spiders”)

~ was the first group of Round 2

~ was the first arthropod group of Round 2

~ had the highest amount of dislikes at 20

~ had the highest amount of hates at 5

Arthropod Class Symphyla (“garden centipedes”)

~ had the highest percentage of likes at 45%

Arthropod Class Ichthyostraca (“fish lice” and “tongue worms”)

~ had the highest percentage of dislikes at 9.1%

~ had the highest percentage of hates at 2.6%

Arthropod Class Mystacocarida (“mustache shrimp”)

~ had the lowest amount of loves at 13

~ had the lowest percentage of loves at 7.9%

~ had 0 hates

~ had the least reblogs at 8

~ had the least notes at 21

Arthropod Class Ostracoda (“seed shrimp”)

~ had 0 hates

~ received exactly 200 votes

Arthropod Class Copepoda (copepods)

~ had 0 hates

Arthropod Class Malacostraca (“crabs”, “lobsters”, “shrimp”, etc)

~ had the third most reblogs at 55

~ had the highest percentage of loves at 52.8%

~ had 0 dislikes and 0 hates

~ was the highest ranked Arthropod class

Arthropod Class Tantulocarida (tantulocarids)

~ had the highest amount of neutral votes at 91, along with Caudofoveata

Arthropod Class Cephalocarida (“horseshoe shrimp”)

~ had 0 hates

Arthropod Class Remipedia (remipedes)

~ had 0 hates

Arthropod Class Collembola (“springtails”)

~ had 0 hates

Arthropod Class/Order Protura (“coneheads”)

~ had the least votes at 125

~ had the lowest amount of favorites at 1

~ had the lowest percentage of favorites at 0.8%

~ had 0 hates

Arthropod Class Insecta (insects)

~ had 0 dislikes

Chordate Class Leptocardii (“lancelets”)

~ was the first Chordate group of Round 2

~ had 0 hates

Chordate Class Ascidiacea/Thaliacea (“sea squirts”, “salps”, “pyrosomes”, etc.)

~ had 0 hates

Chordate Class Appendicularia (“larvaceans”)

~ had 0 hates

Chordate Class Chondrichthyes (“cartilaginous fish”)

~ had the most votes at 415

~ had the highest amount of loves at 181

~ had 0 dislikes and 0 hates

~ had the most reblogs at 105

~ had the most notes at 235

~ was the highest ranked group of chordates

Chordate Class Actinistia (“coelacanths”)

~ had 0 dislikes and 0 hates

~ was the first single genus (Latimeria) to be ranked

Chordate Class Dipnoi (“lungfish”)

~ had the highest amount of likes at 104

~ had 0 dislikes and 0 hates

~ contained the first of my personal favorites (Australian Lungfish) to be eliminated 🥲

Chordate Class Lissamphibia (amphibians)

~ had the lowest amount of neutral votes at 1, along with Reptilia and Gastropoda

~ had the lowest percentage of neutral votes at 0.4%, along with Reptilia and Gastropoda

~ had 0 dislikes and 0 hates

Chordate Class Reptilia (reptiles)

~ had the lowest amount of neutral votes at 1, along with Lissamphibia and Gastropoda

~ had the lowest percentage of neutral votes at 0.4%, along with Lissamphibia and Gastropoda

~ had 0 dislikes and 0 hates

Chordate Class Mammalia (mammals)

~ had the highest amount of favorites at 258

~ had the highest percentage of favorites at 80.6%

~ had the lowest amount of likes at 4

~ had the lowest percentage of likes at 1.2%

Molluscan Class Polyplacophora (“chitons”)

~ was the first Mollusc group of Round 2

~ had 0 hates

Molluscan Class Solenogastres (solenogasters)

~ had 0 hates

Molluscan Class Caudofoveata (caudofoveatans)

~ had the highest amount of neutral votes at 91, along with Tantulocarida

~ had the highest percentage of neutral votes at 58%

Molluscan Subclass Tergomya (tergomyans)

~ had 0 hates

Molluscan Class Cephalopoda (cephalopods)

~ had the second most reblogs at 66

~ had 0 dislikes and 0 hates

~ was the only molluscan class to make it into the Top Ten

Molluscan Class Scaphopoda (“tusk shells”)

~ had 0 hates

Molluscan Class Gastropoda (“snails” and kin)

~ had 0 dislikes and 0 hates

~ had the lowest amount of neutral votes at 1, along with Lissamphibia and Reptilia

~ had the lowest percentage of neutral votes at 0.4%, along with Lissamphibia and Reptilia

Molluscan Class Bivalvia (bivalves)

~ had 0 dislikes

[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!)

[katethetank]

Popularity Contest

Welcome to the first Bonus Feature of The Dungeon! If you haven't read that, I highly recommend doing so. It's lovely and filthy and everything Steddie smut lovers need. This right here though? This is just some silly fun.

Rating: Teens and up (rest of this universe is 18+) Summary: Eddie thought he was hot shit when he got over 2 million followers on TikTok. Now that Steve has 2.6 million, he feels like he has something to prove. And damnit, he will win this popularity contest.

<<Bonus Features Masterlist>>

Eddie Munson was never one to care much about popularity. But this is chapping his ass.

He joined TikTok after winning his Grammy and in the blink of an eye, he had 2 million followers. Pretty great, right?

It was.

Until Steve got on the app and uploaded a video of Corroded Coffin singing a Backstreet Boys song at a karaoke bar in New York the night of their final concert.

2.6 million. The number on his screen under the little picture of his husband and username hithereimstevemunson mocks him mercilessly.

Again. Eddie's never cared about popularity. But goddamnit, this is a popularity contest he's dead set on winning. If only Steve would stop fucking posting too.

Caption: I’m not the only karaoke queen in this house [Camera pans through a doorway, where Steve is in a pink apron, swaying around, singing into a whisk. ABBA plays in the background]

“Ooooh you can dance, you can jive

Having the time of your life!

Ooooh see that girl, watch that scene 

Digging the dancing queen!”

338k likes  Eddie - 2.1 million following Steve - 2.7 million following

Caption: Why is my husband so afraid of ducks?! He quacks me up 🦆

[Several ducks float in their pool, paddling around and dunking their heads underwater. Steve’s hand is seen tossing in frozen peas for them to eat]

”This group of ducks has been coming to our pool every day for the last week and they finally let me get close enough to feed them. Thanks for the suggestions! I knew bread wasn’t a great option to feed them, and they seem to love the peas.”

[Steve tosses in another handful, the ducks excitedly swarm and snatch them up]

”Eddie still won’t come near them.”

[Camera pans to the sliding glass doors where Eddie stands with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face]

”He says they’re too suspicious.”

[Steve speaks in a mocking voice]

”Stevie, look at their little beady eyes! They’re hiding something!”

[Steve waves Eddie over to the pool]

”Baby, come on! They’re sweet!”

[Eddie just uncrosses his arms, not taking his eyes off the pool, and closes the verticals blinds on the sliding doors]

1.4 million likes Steve - 3.1 million followers Eddie - 2.4 million followers

Caption: Would he though?! 🤔🪱

[Camera is on Steve, sitting on the couch under a blanket scrolling on his phone, and never once looks up at Eddie]

Eddie: Baby, would you still love me if I was a worm?

Steve: What kind of worm?

Eddie: ….a worm.

Steve: But what kind of worm are we talking here? A gummy worm? Yes, you’d be colorful and delicious and I’d wanna eat you up.

Eddie: Ok, I don’t want to die being chewed up though.

Steve: Fair. A little blue worm who lives in a wall and has a British accent? Absolutely. I’d put you in my pocket.

Eddie: Well… that’s cute. What about just a regular worm though?

Steve: Like an earthworm? 

Eddie: Yes! Would you love me if I was an earthworm?

Steve: I already love you and you’re like a feral racoon boy, of course I’d love you as a worm. You’d get into less trouble.

Eddie: Excuse me?!

Steve: Could a worm knock over the garbage cans, scattering trash all over the garage?

Eddie: ……..no

Steve: Did YOU knock over the garbage cans, scattering trash all over the garage?

Eddie: This interview is over.

687k likes Eddie - 2.7 million followers Steve - 3.3 million followers

Caption: We Listen and We Don’t Judge

[Steve and Eddie sit side by side on the couch]

Steve and Eddie: We listen and we don't judge.

Steve: I hated your music the first several times I heard it.

[Eddie bites his lip and nods slowly.]

Steve and Eddie: We listen and we don't judge.

Eddie: Do you remember when all the pears went missing and I told you it must have been the boys when they were over here for game night while you went to the movies with Robin, and then the next time we had a game night you scolded them and they looked at you like you were crazy and started laughing?

Steve: ......Yes.

Eddie: The ducks came back while you were gone and I grabbed all the pears and threw them out there hoping it would scare them away, but it didn't work and they just ended up dragging them out of the pool and eating them in the lawn and I made all the guys come help me clean up the evidence before you got back.

[Steve looks at Eddie like he's an idiot.]

Eddie: We listen....

Steve and Eddie: We listen and we don't judge.

Steve: I knew about the pears. Some of that, anyway. You guys did a terrible job cleaning that up! I just scolded to them to see if anybody would fess up and tell me what really happened. Baby, you have got to get over the thing with the ducks.

Eddie: We don't judge, Steven!

Steve: Sorry! Sorry, not judging.

Steve and Eddie: We listen and we don't judge.

Eddie: I peed in the pool.

[Steve smacks his forehead and takes a moment to breathe]

Steve and Eddie: We listen and we don't judge.

Steve: I have a really great idea for Halloween costumes, but I'm gonna have to shave my chest.

[Eddie slowly turns, giving Steve the coldest look he's ever seen]

Eddie: Don't. You. DARE.

Steve: That's not judgement I detect, is it? Because we listen aaaaaannnnd...

Steve and Eddie: We listen and we don't judge.

Eddie: If you shave your chest I'm filing for divorce.

Steve: Oh come on! 

Eddie: WE LISTEN!

Steve and Eddie: We listen and we don't judge.

Steve: I peed in the pool too.

[Eddie bursts out laughing and tackles him to the floor]

761k likes Steve - 3.4 million followers Eddie - 2.9 million followers

Caption: Thoren Bradley who? Don't know her.

[Steve is chopping wood on a stump at the corner of their lot and stacking the logs in a neat pile. He wipes his brow as sweat starts to drip down his temple and forehead. His plain white undershirt is sticking to him and soaked with sweat around the collar. He sets the ax down, pulls his shirt off, and tosses it aside. He picks up the ax, sets up the next log and swings, grunting loudly as the ax makes contact, and a loud cracking sound echoes.]

Eddie, whispering: Oh my god.

4.2 million likes Eddie - 3.7 million followers Steve - 3.6 million followers

Caption: Life with a retired rock star

[Eddie is singing a rendition of "Maggie May" to Cod Stewart while feeding him.]

"Oh fishie I couldn't have fed you anymoooore!

You ate all the food I shared

And now you are making me scared

You bit my finger, and that's what really hurts!"

[Steve runs into the kitchen to the sound of the smoke alarm blaring. Eddie is at the stove with a pot of something burning, waving a dish rag around.]

Steve: Eddie what the hell?! What are you even making? 

Eddie: A small fire apparently!

[Eddie is sitting in his throne with a serious look on his face]

Dustin: D10

[Eddie closes his eyes, sighs dramatically, pounds his fist on the table]

Eddie: That's a hit! You got my fucking submarine, you little butthead!

[Dustin is laughing his ass off while Eddie pouts]

Eddie: You're cheating! You have to be! You sunk all my ships like 7 times in a row!

Dustin: Stop putting them all around the edges of the board, moron!

Eddie: But that's the best strategy!

Dustin: Clearly it's not! Are we playing again?

Eddie, looking furious: Yes.

Dustin: Are you going to put all your ships on the edges again?

Eddie, staring hard: Shut up.

[Camera is pointing at the kitchen floor. There's flour everywhere. It pans to the counters where there is more flour, pots, pans, and bowls. Something is boiling on the stove. Eddie is also covered in flour.]

Steve: What are you making this time?!

Eddie: A mess! Obviously!

[Eddie and Chrissy are on the couch with their hair tied up, wearing matching pajamas, mud masks on their faces, and she's painting his toenails pink. The Devil Wears Prada is on tv.]

Eddie: I would let Meryl Streep top me.

Chrissy: She would break you in half.

Eddie: I'd thank her.

[Steve enters the kitchen yet again to something somehow smoking and boiling]

Steve: What. The fuck. Are you making.

Eddie, giving up on life: Reservations!

[Camera pans across their pool. Eddie is on a unicorn shaped floaty, sunglasses askew, mouth hanging open, clearly asleep. Ducks are in the water all around him. Steve tosses a handful of peas into the water and some of them hit Eddie, waking him up. He sees the ducks, shrieks, flails, and falls into the pool, scaring all the ducks away.]

Eddie, spluttering and furious: What the hell?!

Steve, laughing: Did you have a nice nap?

Eddie: Stevie, they could have killed me!

Steve: Call it exposure therapy!

Eddie, climbing out of the pool looking like a drowned rat: You are so in for it.

[Steve runs away laughing]

4.6 million likes Steve - 4.2 million followers Eddie - 3.9 million followers

Damnit. He was so close.

[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

[pleistocene-pride]

Kryptopterus vitreolus, known commonly as the glass catfish, the glass cat, the ghost catfish, or the phantom catfish, is a small species of translucent-bodied, social glass catfish in the family Siluridae. It is endemic to the freshwater rivers and streams of Thailand and possibly Malaysia. They are a timid and social species which lives in schools of 6 or more individuals, they are carnivores feeding upon small invertebrates such as insect larvae, worms, tiny shrimps, and zooplankton. Reaching around 2.6 to 3.1 inches (6.5 to 8cms) in length, glass catfish are a small scaleless freshwater-dwelling catfish with two long sensory barbels. Their bodies are transparent because The species' skin is made of a "plywood"-like structure of collagen fibrils, which allows for light to enter and diffract through the muscles. The majority of their organs are located near the head; with a magnifying glass, the heart can be seen beating. When the light strikes this fish at a certain angle, it can create an iridescent, rainbow effect. During acute periods of illness or after death, the tissues turn a milky-white. Additionally the glass catfish possess electroreceptor organs which are extremely responsive to electromagnetic fields, and it is thought they use this in conjunction with there barbells to navigate there surroundings in low light conditions. Little is known about there breeding habits. And under ideal condition a glass catfish may live upwards of 8 years.

[thechronarion]

Strife: Chapter 2.5 — Old Habits

Virgil blinked as Giles stepped through the doorway. He scowled, his weathered face tightening. “You're late,” he said. It had been a wearisome day. Heston still wasn't back from Calla Lily; Hendricks was sick; Millard had worked the night shift and was due back again this evening; and Vashe hadn't answered the Chief Commander's hammering on his door that morning. So much for Virgil’s day off.

He had made plans to go fishing on the upper waters of the Greenbank, where the woods grew thick on either bank. He had attached his reel and hooked his line last night, and woke early before sunrise to dig the worms out of his garden, dropping them into an old can. Giles had told him to go, to let the day pass without him, but the Chief Commander, as stubborn as a rock in a snowstorm, had refused. He insisted on remaining behind so that two sets of hands were on standby. For Virgil was a veteran of the defunct Othilia Sheriff's Department, the last deputy to take the oath, and so he held hard to old habits. Old habits, Virgil was wont to say, harder to kill than cockroaches.

"I don't pay you to dilly-dally," the Chief Commander growled. Giles stared at his Chief Commander, said nothing. He was impassive. When the Chief was in a mood, Giles and the other Guardians had learned it was best to let him vent, to let his fire rise, roar, and burn itself out.

"Where the hell were you anyway?” Virgil looked Giles up and down, saw the dishevelled trousers, the mud-streak boots, his glistening forehead. “You look like you've been tromping through the woods. Thought you were going for lunch."

"I detoured by the Enki River," said Giles. "And my luck that I did, because I found something there."

Virgil’s frown deepened. "What?"

Giles reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew the stained pouch with the missing drawstring. He held it out to his Chief Commander.

"I think we have a problem."

Virgil’s gaze fell on the pouch. Before he could even reach for it, his eyes hardened, for he caught the acrid stench of strife.

📢 Coming Tomorrow: Chapter 2.6 — Roaches in the Walls

☕ Burnt coffee. Bitter chocolate. And the stench of something far worse. 🧠 Virgil Decinta calls for calm. 🔥 Giles Durant wants a purge. 🐜 And in the walls of Othilia, something is already breeding.

Read the story so far on:

📚 Wattpad – Chapters 1–7 🛤️ Royal Road – Chapters 1–6 + Bonus Material 🎧 Spotify – Audio Edition, Chapters 1–6

[audiovisualrecall]

Hm which of these episodes of primeval that I skipped on my initial s1-s3 rewatch should I watch now? (Before I move on to my s4 rewatch)

Initially skipped the ones on this list bc they're scarier (except for 2.6, I just only had time for one episode that night and chose 2.7). This doesn't include ones that freak me out too much (dodo episode)

[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)