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#two spotted stink bug
onenicebugperday · 5 months
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@a-strange-cat submitted: I found this little friend on our house siding a few days ago. Looks like a florida stinkbug nymph but this is Pennsylvania and it’s been pretty chilly up here, seems like a weird time and place to find one of those
It’s similar to a Florida predatory stink bug but the color and markings don’t match up correctly. Your friend looks more like a two-spotted stink bug, Perillus bioculatus. They’re also predatory! And are fairly common in the fall.
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notquitebilateral · 2 years
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Not a bee! In fact, I have found out after the fact this is a true bug, the two-spotted stink bug! Light form, which I am having a time finding photos of. Enjoy my new friend!
Sunflower Bloom Festival, Armstrong, BC
28 Aug 2022
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raeathnos · 1 year
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#vulture culture so uh… read at your own risk?#but two and a half years ago a f.ox died in my grandmas yard and I was like oh hey free bones!#this is my first time processing an animal from start to finish#I’ve found bones in the woods behind my house before and cleaned those#but they’ve all been sunbleached so no flesh and they’re really like 99% of the way done#I buried the fox and a few days ago dig it up#my grandmas yard is unfortunately mostly clay#so it was decayed and down to the bones but the earth around it had a weird consistency and there was fur in spots still#I also couldn’t find the whole thing- I guess with the dirt settling and the ground shifting and bugs burrowing around it#but I got the skull and vertebrae which is what I wanted really plus a few extra bones#I’m macerating it now to get the fat/grease out of the bones and really glad I had the foresight to stick stuff in bags in a bucket#it stinks so bad#like I thought it would smell a little but oh man I was not expecting that#when I went to switch out the water today I decided to move the bones to a new bag since the old one was gross- which is why smells bad#it’s stuck in my nose help#not as bad as the actual dead fox though- that sat out in 90 degree heat for like three days before I got to bury it#that’s still the worse thing I ever smelled#but I got a better look at the bones when I switched them to the new bag now that some of the mud and dirt has come off#all the teeth are present in the skull which is rad#some of the vertebrae I took are broke though#it died in the flower garden but there was a road right there#I wonder if it got hit by a car#but the skull is intact- the only thing that broke was the lower jaw and that only happened after I handled it#it’s really big too#it’s smaller than my c.oyote skull but not by very much#the bones are all brown which I’m assuming is from the fat and stuff still being in there?#I’m curious to see how much they lighten and if they clay stained them at all#Im pretty sure the fox is male- it has a big saggital crest#I think I’m going to name him Clay
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yellowkitkieran · 1 year
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What the Heart Wants: Part 5
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Read part 4 here
Masterlist
Word Count: 3.1k
Summary: Kieran is your best friend’s older brother. Your best friend’s fit older brother that you definitely haven’t had a crush on for years. Not at all. And he certainly doesn’t like you back, that would be absurd...
Under normal circumstances, training days before matches are Kieran's favorite. There is a certain buzz in the air that is impossible to replicate by artificial means. Everyone chats while they work, helping each other identify weak points in the opposite team to exploit. He and his teammates work ten times harder as well, confident in their abilities. 
Today though? Kieran would rather be just about anywhere else on the planet. He'd rather be knee deep in a pit of sticky, hot tar than have to deal with the man who's been glued to his side since he walked in the door, bombarding him with questions about you. 
"Why do you call her Bug?"
Though Aaron's question is innocent, it grates on Kieran's nerves.
"Because she hates bugs," he answers sharply, focusing on the weight he's benching instead of his mate spotting him with a wistful, far off look in his eye. 
"End of?" 
"Yeah." Not really. But yes, as far as Aaron needs to know. Kieran came up with the nickname because you were always smaller than him growing up, and considering how small he was, that was a significant difference. The fact that you hated the nickname at first only made Kieran more determined to ensure it stuck, because your nose always scrunched up and he liked that.
Even ages ago, Kieran should've recognized the crush he had on you.
Now, he's screwed himself because you're in love with Aaron or whatever. Kieran lost his chance. Hell, he's not sure you even consider him a friend anymore- after the interaction he had with you last night, he'd guess not. 
"She's coming to the match this weekend," Aaron states, like Kieran wants to know every detail of your life. In truth he couldn't care less how you spend your time. "And she's staying at mine which means I'll get all the good luck wishes I could ever need." 
Aaron laughs, jostling Kieran's shoulder when he sits up. His laugh quickly fizzles out when he notices the tension in Kieran's jaw. 
"I'm joking mate, I know you see her like a little sister-"
"I don't care what you two do," Kieran snaps, immediately regretting it when Aaron's face falls. "She's not my sister, she's her own person and she can make her own shite decisions." 
Aaron steps back, his posture rigid. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"
Kieran wipes his hands on his shorts. Is he really about to do this? Drive a wedge in his team, potentially lose another friend?
Fuck it. Yeah, he is.
"You know exactly what I mean, Ramsdale. I don't mince words- I say things plainly."
Aaron's lip curls, along with his fists. "Fuck you, Tierney. Honestly fuck off-"
"I will, don't worry." Kieran stands, turning his back on Aaron and putting as much distance between them as humanly possible. The weights room is stuffy, the air stinking of sweat and filled with hard music from someone's shitty playlist. 
Actually, everything is shitty. If Kieran needed to pick one word to describe his general mood, it would be gray. Without your friendship and now without the only other person he'd truly think of as a friend, Kieran already feels lost.
Popping in his ear buds, Kieran hops on a treadmill and cranks up the speed. He blasts right past jogging, running, straight into a full sprint, pushing himself so hard and fast that his limbs scream for him to slow. He doesn't listen- because if he runs fast enough, maybe he can outrun the voice in his head whispering that he's failed, there's no returning from this, he'll be alone forever.
Maybe he deserves that. After all the damage he's done, Kieran probably should be alone for the rest of his life- no friends, no significant other, just football for company. At least he has that, as bittersweet of a victory as that may be. 
**********
Kieran can't help it. Every few seconds during warm-ups, his eyes lift to the stands behind the home bench to search for you. Normally you're early on matchday. 
Not today though- you don't show up until minutes before kick off, quietly taking your seat. Kieran straightens as your eyes wander to the pitch, though his efforts are wasted. You skirt right over him, your gaze landing on Aaron, a bright smile splitting your face as you wave. 
And for Kieran, what do you offer him? Nothing. Not even a crumb. Once Aaron's attention shifts to focus on securing his gloves, your own attention falls to the phone in your lap. It's as if Kieran no longer exists in your world. Although, can he really blame you for acting that way? He's been an arse at every available opportunity. Why would you want to be friendly towards him?
Unease settles in Kieran's gut. He stares at the pitch beneath his boots, trying to force the negativity out of his mind. Martin nudges him, and only then does Kieran realize the anthem has ended and he needs to haul ass across the pitch to get to his position. 
Normally, football makes everything else fade into the background. The first touch of a ball at his feet, the first collective roar from the crowd, and Kieran usually feels the tension drain from his muscles. He becomes one with his team, anticipating passes and sliding through defenders like a hot knife through butter. 
Today is a different story. Kieran drops the first pass intended for him, resulting in Chelsea's winger picking off the ball and launching downfield with it. Kieran feels off balance, the world tipping under him as he gives chase, never quite catching up. He's saved by Arsenal's back line, though it doesn't prevent him from bearing the brunt of a verbal lashing from Aaron in goal when Chelsea's attack comes much too close for his liking. 
With his focus all over the board, Kieran struggles to keep himself tidy. Their opponents sense his weakness, sniffing him out like a predator seeks prey, targeting the left side with their presses. Eventually, they know Kieran will slip. And eventually, he does- literally. 
Something white hot lances up Kieran's left leg when he plants his foot and turns to try and cut off Pulisic on the attack. A wordless cry passes his lips as he goes down, grabbing at his knee. Over the roar of blood in his ears, Kieran can hear Christian arguing with the ref against a foul; Kieran hadn't been touched by anyone in a blue shirt. The mistake was purely his. 
The ref holds up a yellow card in Christian's direction. "No fuck off- that's bullshit and you know it!" 
"It's deserved!" Kieran isn't sure which one of his teammates shouts it, but it clearly makes Christian see red. Without a second glance at Kieran on the ground, Christian storms off towards what's sure to be a fight unless someone steps in, but Kieran can't bring himself to care. 
He lays there for what feels like ages, focusing on keeping his eyes squeezed shut so no tears can escape. He will not cry, not when you're there. He's fine. He's perfectly fine. He's gonna finish out this match, he'll score a goal and then you'll understand everything. 
"Kieran, you alright mate?" 
When Kieran dares to open his eyes, he can just barely make out his captain's blonde hair between the blinding lights above the pitch and the black spots in his vision. No, he's definitely not alright. Not in any sense of the word. 
"Medical," Kieran croaks, trying to catch his breath. Everything hurts. Even his shallow breaths somehow make his knee twinge; how is that even possible? Kieran is vaguely aware of Martin as he crouches at his side, waving the medical staff on to have a look at him. 
"Right, they're on their way. What happened? No one even touched you, did they?"
"No," Kieran bites out. Fuck, why does it hurt so bad? It's worse than the time he shattered his leg at Celtic, and that was the worst pain he thought he'd ever experience. "Just spun and felt something… snap."
When two men bundled up in Arsenal puffers arrive, they immediately prod his left knee, hitting all the right spots to have hisses of pain leaving his lips. 
"We're gonna take you off," one of them tells him, "can you walk? You can if you'd like to, though we'll have to help-"
"I'm walking," Kieran states plainly. He knows nothing is broken, at least, and he refuses to be carried off while you're in the stadium. 
"I've got him. Come on, Tierney." Martin stands, holding out a hand to Kieran to help him up. The Norwegian throws an arm around Kieran's waist, not allowing Kieran to walk on his own.
The fans clap as he gets to his feet. He tries to return the sentiment but thinks better of it, wincing as he puts weight on his injured knee. Oh, he's so screwed. This feels season ending. His knee is on fire through the mask of adrenaline, and he can imagine how much worse it will be when it's worn off in a few hours. 
"Keep your head up," Martin murmurs when he stops at the sideline. "They'll fix you up in no time."
Kieran offers his captain a tight lipped smile. He appreciates the false hope, even if it does land hollow in his chest. Trainers slip under either of his arms, taking the brunt of his weight for him as he slowly makes his way down the tunnel. The entire walk, Kieran doesn't take his eyes off the pitch. His team is playing as scrambled as his insides feel, like they can't link up at all after his unexpected substitution. 
As he passes the bench, Kieran doesn't dare look up, not even when he swears he can pick out your voice calling for him. He's failed, again. He was supposed to score a banger of a goal tonight, which would give him the confidence to finally tell you what he's felt for you for months, maybe even years of his life.
The universe is laughing at him, he knows it. How pathetic would it be if he told you now? You'd think he was some miserable prick looking for your pity. That's not what he wants at all. He wants you to understand that-
"Alright Kieran, hop up on that table for me mate."
Kieran blinks, trying to remember how he got to the medical suite with no memory of walking any further than Arsenal's bench. He moves with all the grace of a wooden puppet, joints already stiff and swollen. 
The lead physician, a no frills, fifty something year old man with salt and pepper hair and the beginnings of a pot belly, adjusts his glasses on his nose and sighs. "Well Kieran, you took quite the tumble."
"Yep, how screwed am I?" 
It feels informal to be meeting with a highly accredited doctor like Dr. Montgomery while he's dressed in an Arsenal tracksuit. Shouldn't he be in a long white coat instead of a black puffer?
Regardless, the doctor carefully runs his fingers over Kieran's knee with light pressure, making notes on where it's tender and what areas are safe to touch. Based on the overall mood in the room, Kieran doubts he'll get good news.
"I'm not going to sugarcoat it for you." Dr. Montgomery takes his glasses off and sets them on the top of his head, rolling on his little stool to be closer with Kieran. "Based on the way you went down and the sort of pain you're having now, my initial assessment is a partial, if not full ACL tear."
Kieran's world slips out from under his feet. "A- what? You're sure?"
"Not yet obviously, we have to confirm it. But I'm quite confident-"
"No." Kieran shakes his head adamantly. "No, that's not right. We're supposed to win the league, I'm helping my team win the Premier League! It can't be torn-"
"Kieran, no dramatics please. You'll only make it harder on yourself. I know this is a big thing and a huge shock, but unfortunately, it may be your reality." Dr. Montgomery grips Kieran's shoulders, forcing him to take a deep breath. "You will likely need to accept it, and the sooner you do, the better it will be for your psyche and overall recovery." Dr. Montgomery pats Kieran's chest, right over his heart. 
"You're a valuable asset to this team. They're lucky to have you, and they'll need you back as soon as they can. Focus on that, on getting back and keeping your spirits up." 
"I'm damaged goods. I'm nothing to them now."
Dr. Montgomery shakes his head, understanding that Kieran needed time to process. "For now I'll get you something for the pain, and you can watch the rest of the match on my laptop while we drive you over to our proper medical office, alright? We need some scans to see just how bad the damage is."
Kieran floats above his body. He's present but he isn't, awake but asleep as he's driven across London for a set of scans and more poking and prodding. The meds keep the worst of the pain at bay, dulling the ragged edges until it's only a light throb. Each breath feels like he's inhaling shards of glass, knowing his season is over just as it peaked.
When he's finally dropped off at his flat, he checks his mobile. There's texts from a few of the boys, but he only responds to two, the first being Martin. 
We got an update from the gaffer, he says it doesn't look good… we're all pulling for you. That win was for you mate. 
Kieran's thumbs hover over the screen. He sets his phone aside and gets a pillow under his knee before responding. 
Thanks skipper. I'll be back as soon as I can
The other message he wants to reply to comes from Aaron, a short and simple let me know if you need anything.
But the one person he really wants to hear from is among the few who don't try to reach out. There's only one person who could make him feel even slightly better about the entire situation. Unfortunately for Kieran, you apparently want nothing to do with him. 
Kieran sighs, leaning his head against the sofa. The analyst on the television drones on and on about passing statistics and player form from today's match. Every ten seconds someone mentions his injury and how unfortunate it is to have come at a time when Arsenal are surely topping the tables. 
His head is a mess. He replays the moment he went down on an endless loop, seeing it from various angles thanks to the snippets playing on the television. When his knee becomes bothersome again, he does as the doctor instructed and takes another pain pill, washed down with a glass of cool water. 
At some point he must fall asleep, because he jolts awake when his phone rings. He answers it groggily, rubbing at his eyes to croak out a greeting. 
"Hello?" 
"Oh sweetheart, were you asleep? I told your father we should've waited until the morning to call."
"It's alright mum, I'm awake now." Kieran winces as he repositions himself. Turns out falling asleep sitting upright on the sofa isn't the most comfortable way to rest. "What time is it anyway?" Late, judging by how dark the city is outside his window.
"Around eight I think? Dad and I are worried sweetheart… all alone in that flat of yours- are you doing alright?"
Kieran laughs bitterly, "thanks for that reminder of my loneliness mum. Yeah I'm fine, I can take care of myself, done it before." He can barely hear his dad in the background, making some comment about him being too stubborn for his own good.
"Your father says to quit being stubborn, Kieran." Guilt washes over him when he notes the sadness in her voice. "Ask for help when you need it. I could come down for a week, until you can get around easier?"
"No- no thank you." Kieran can scarcely think of anything worse than having his mum hovering over him all hours of the day. She means well, but it would be an overload on his already strained mind.
"Well… just look after yourself Kieran. I know you'll be down on yourself but there isn't anything you could've done. Try and find a little bit of sunshine in that cloudy city, will you? Focus on that."
His mum's words don't register, going in one ear and out the other. "Sure mum, yeah. I'm knackered- I'm gonna head to bed. Thanks for checking in."
Once he's off the phone, it doesn't take long for his mind to wander. He isn't remotely tired, despite his chaotic day. He feels full of energy but has nothing to do with it other than flick through channels and scroll aimlessly on his phone. 
A photo of a sunset pops up in his Instagram feed and interestingly, his first thought is of you. Sunsets are your thing- you post them on your story almost every day. You chase them like some people chase storms: recklessly and without end, often driving to the highest point you could to catch even a glimpse of the vibrant oranges and warm reds as the sun slips below the horizon. 
Have you watched the sunset tonight? After the match, did you beg Aaron to walk you up to the boxes at the Emirates the same way you used to beg Kieran for a ride to the cliffs on the edge of your hometown? 
If you had, Kieran hopes the London sky lived up to your expectations. Then, at least, he can imagine your smile as you snap a photo to remember it by, murmuring that the lense doesn't pick up colors the same way your eyes do.
What are you doing right now?
Kieran's home alone, but you're across town in Aaron's flat, probably curled up sleeping next to him peacefully. Kieran's heart twinges, wishing you were sitting on the sofa comforting him instead. Not even in a romantic capacity- he's craving your friendship tonight, a shoulder to lean on. Someone to tell him the voice in the back of his head is lying. That he hasn't played his last game for Arsenal, that he'll come back even stronger than before. He'd do anything to hear you joke about how if he was lucky, maybe he'd be a bionic man, with a metal knee or something. 
You've always known how to lift Kieran's spirits. He checks his phone for the hundredth time, hoping to see your name in his notifications. Apparently you know how to crush them too; radio silence does the trick.
Kieran taps out a message to you, then thinks better of it. He falls asleep with his phone in his hand, the cursor blinking in the message box beneath your name. 
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fat-hedonistic-hogs · 19 days
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The anon gets really into it, slapping Yu's naked, fat ass twice before sticking his dick in her pussy like he was trying to fuck the gas out of her. And dang was he roughly pounding away, one hand grasping and groping at her soon to be pregnant tummy~ "Better belch and fart the bad gas out to make room for the baby!"
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"HEY! YOU PERVERT! Ju-just fucking cum already so I can get knocked up! Don't think I'm enjoying this I-I better not hear you brag about this either!" Yu said masking her moans with her vulgar attitude as the sound of wet slapping filled the air and her unshaven mounds got penetrated by the frisky anon. Eventually the anon would hit her in just the right spot causing the hero's face to bug eyed and scrunch up.
"FLRRRPOOORT BRAAAAAAAAP!" Her ass erupted like a God damn volcano! Her cellulite covered cheeks clapped and jiggled with her foul stank filling the air around the two causing Yu's eyes to water... ever since her fake "pregnancy" started she had been helplessly backed up unable to get anything out let alone gas. "Fuck that stinks! Anon you're gonna pay for this! Hurry up! I-I'm not gonna sit here and take this." Yu yelled trying to pinch her nose together.
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windydayey · 2 years
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Bad friend
Sugawara Koushi x fem!reader
Warnings : none.
Sugawara Koushi has been friends with L/n for two years now, great friends actually. You guys get eachother's humour you get along very well, though he has to nag at you sometimes because of your bad sleep schedule.
From his point of view, you were like a tiny ant. No idea why don't even ask him. He doesn't know why you just remind him of one. Not in the 'bug' way though in a 'tiny and always working' way of course. You always responded to his jokes and always the first to get it. When you two would be throwing gang signs from a distance in the school, his friends would look at him like he's some kind of a weirdo communicating with a con artist.
From your point of view he was a respectable guy, he'd come have lunch with you on rainy days, lend you his umbrella and wake you up when it's time to leave after school. He'd exchange his bento with yours saying he feels bad you have to eat your rushed in the morning lunch, but obviously he wants you to try his amazing bento and try...yours?
He always leaves a spot for you next to him or maybe drag a chair next to him for you. He plays volleyball and you said you'd come watch them get to nationals. It was just a word of encouragement but when they actually did, it felt different. Sounds cliché and you dislike cliché. How did you ever love those clichés is what confuses you though.
"Won't you tell her?" Daichi looks at Suga,
"Tell what?" He is confused.
"Ehh c'mon Suga don't play dumb" Asahi looks at him with a constipated expression.
"What!? This time I'm the one who doesn't get you guys"
Daichi sighs "...L/n-chan"
Sugawara just pouts and turns his face away '...I know.'
His school life will end soon, he wants to confess to the girl he loves or maybe get confessed by the girl he loves before this golden life ends.
Bunk classes with her and run away to take a random stroll in the town with her.
Which is his great friend, you.
He sighs ' To fall in love with my friend who I promised to be friends with for life such a bad friend I am'
You on the side banged your head on the desk as soon as you entered your class, "ughhhhhhhhh" you groaned "URGHHHHH" your friend that was sitting beside you gave you the stink eye "What happened now?" She asked, you immediately jerked your head up "Why is he so dense!? Does he never get the hints!? Is he playing dumb or really that dense!?" Your friend rolled her eyes "Just say you're only giving light hints now so he could confess to you?" You sharply turned your head to her which startled her a bit "Y'know what this is too much. I'll go confess to that silver head RIGHT.NOW" you got up and stormed off the class yelling "MY GOLDEN YEARS CAN'T END SO PATHETICALLY" . Your friend sighed "My my what happened to my dear N/n"
Sugawara who too was actually going to ask you to walk with him after school so he could express his feelings for you was now against the wall, secured and trapped between your arms.
"Um.....N/n.. what's this?" You sighed then inhaled "I'm sorry but we have to break our promise and cut our friendship" 'HEAVENS DID I SO SOMETHING!??' poor guy was scared and confused. "N/n sorry what did i-" "Because we have to go further than just being friends" you had an expression that seemed like you were going to shit out an egg any moment now.
"...Y/n are you okay?" Gosh he said your name
"Yes. Absolutely."
"Y/n April first is over right...?"
"Yes it's SEPTEMBER SUGA I'M FINE"
You were afraid he was trying to change the topic but then his confused face changed into a smile which then broke into a small soft laughter.
"Haaa.....and h...here I thought you would reject me" he held his stomach.
"....reje.....what?" Your turn to be confused now
He just looked at you with a confident expression.
"oh-" you realised. He cut you off instead this time
"Well then like the bad friends we have become for breaking our promise....might as well as fix a date for the date?" He smiled
"RIGHT AFTER THIS" you exclaimed
He hugged you all of a sudden which you returned, it was to hide his glassy eyes.
"woah woah someone's getting too excited" you said as you patted his back.
"sure am" he then started to jump still hugging you, you matched your jumps with his as well.
Asahi and Daichi from the distance who came to give Suga emotional support were now giving him a constipated look.
Today was certainly a hell of a ride.
All's well that ends well?
/long time no oneshots sry school caught my ass 🤕
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uniquevocashark · 1 year
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The Forbidden Happy End Fic Part 1
Fifteen years out of service, and ten since the death of her Lady, Igraine is reacquainted with the love of her life.
The happy ending sequel to A Good Servant.
Trigger warnings for mild gore, murder, thoughts of cannibalism, child endangerment, child harm, liberal use of canon information, bodily harm, brief mentions of lady dimitrescu
As always tumblr gets this first <3
Cell decoration wasn’t an art. There was one goal: making it as monotonous as possible. To that end there were grey walls, grey chairs and a grey metal table bolted to the ground, with grey cameras in two corners of the room.
Igraine half expected a two-way mirror to fully throw her back into the 70’s.
Redfield sat with a cigarette on his lips, and Igraine kept her face equally bland. Redfield was unhealthy; there was a pallor to his skin that spoke of long hours and little rest, he wheezed gently with each breath and his shoulders were slack and sunken like a bombed ship. Chris Redfield continued to look like shit.
“What happened.”
Igraine didn’t answer, looking at the blood under her nails instead.
The room reeked of cigarette smoke. Redfield was now, by her count, just starting on his fourth in the time they had spent in the room. He had followed a peculiar pattern in his questioning, only when he reached the butt of each did he ask his question. First, he had raged, the lines of his face had tightened, his expression like twisted branches; the whites of his eyes had bulged bug like out of his skull, and he had sweat that beaded from his hairline down his face and disappearing into his stubble. He had savoured the second and it had turned him mellow and conversational; he had breathed out the last puff of smoke with a long sigh and at the end of that sigh he met her eyes and asked again.
Igraine was aware of his game.
Over the years, Redfield had become more stoic and serious; even his questions had, and now they were coated in an unhealthy addition of accusation. The ends of his words curled like snakes and sang with venom, there was such a baggage attached to them. No matter the sweetness coated around it, Igraine wouldn’t fall for it. Too obvious, she chided herself, far too obvious. And igraine was nothing if not principled; he would learn to ask properly, or he shouldn’t ask at all. He was angry to everyone else, but he could not stink more of worry the longer he dragged the conversation on.
Igraine was fine continuing the conversation for as long as she needed, no matter how sick she was of the smell of smoke and regret.
“Alright,” Redfield said, breaking halfway through his current cigarette, “So at 4:17pm you and Rosemary went from the classroom to the cafeteria and then at 5:03pm both left. Then at 5:14pm Rosemary began expelling mold. Walk me through it from the cafeteria to the hallway.”
“Better,” she set her hands on the table, “Let me think.”
On a technicality, they were going for what was supposed to be lunch. It was more like a dinner, as Igraine had forgotten to eat entirely and Rosemary, only ten and desperate to find approval, had said nothing until after their lessons hoping to win some. By then Rosemary had not eaten since ten thirty that morning. Igraine, who had found herself with a Rosemary shaped soft spot, had not reprimanded her and prolonged the punishment, instead stopping their lessons and taking her immediately for food.
“Rose,” she said, returning with another serving of lasagne, “You should learn to communicate your needs better.”
Rosemary stuffed her face with another forkful of pasta before Igraine had even set the plate down, her face covered with cheese sauce, humming happily. Igraine’s own serving lay abandoned by her side, the layers stripped and arranged around the plate neatly. (Her tastes were more inclined to other, more bipedal red meats that the cafeteria would not provide and which would revoke her ability to live relatively alone if she admitted her preference.)
“I am being serious, armillaria.” Igraine said, gently wiping her face with a napkin.
Rosemary spat a bit of burnt cheese into it as she wiped over her mouth, and her tone had taken on the beginnings of a pout, “I know, Iggy.”
Igraine adjusted her sunglasses and scoffed gently, more at the nickname than anything, “I’m just saying.”
“I knoooow, Iggy.” She sing-songed, knocking Igraine’s glasses down her nose again.
Igraine pinched her cheek playfully, and Rose giggled. “Eat, thank you. They already think I’m starving you academically.”
Rosemary was always happy, even when there was no cause for it. Even now, she smiled toothily, proudly showing off the gap in the bottom row of her teeth. She had lost it four days ago and was still grinning about it. She swung her legs, taking a smaller forkful while Igraine dabbed the sauce from her face. “Do you think mom is around?”
“I don’t know, armillaria.”
(“Why do you call her armillaria?” Redfield interrupted.
“Does it matter?” Igraine replied and dragged her nails along the edge of the table, causing a horrible screeek.)
“Can you find out?”
“I can ask,” Igraine said, “Don’t expect an answer, dear.”
“I know,” Rose said, scooping sauce up and eating it slowly, “I just haven’t seen mom in a while.”
The answers that Igraine had to that were unsavoury; she didn’t like Mia on the best of days and seeing the long periods of abandonment Rosemary suffered had made her like her even less. Rather than say anything, she changed the topic, “Would you like to go back to the classroom?”
The fork teetered in her hand, “Yeah.”
Igraine scooped up the dish and picked up her own fork, “Container please, dear.”
Rose took the container out of her backpack, a small pink thing that had one big pocket for her food and one small pocket that held her handkerchiefs of varying colours and patterns. Rose toyed with her zipper, setting her bag in her
“Now, don’t fret, armillaria,” Igraine said as she took the container, “Chris just gets a bit heated over silly things. I’ll hold your leftovers, okay?”
Rose zipped up her bag and nodded, “Because you’re a tutor?”
Igraine smiled thinly, “Among other things.”
“That’s not nice.”
Igraine rubbed Rosemary’s head, feeling a twinge of regret for ruining the poor things mood, “Don’t worry so much, dear.”
“I’ll try,” Rose said, sliding her fork and plate away and then, “Do you miss your parents?”
“Me?” Igraine blinked, and then exhaled so forcefully out of her nose she almost laughed in Rosemary’s face. She said the silliest things sometimes, “No, not my parents but there is someone.”
Rosemary leaned into the table, her interest perked so high she could have sprouted wings in her excitement, with that soft awed expression of a child that had just found their next fun fact to bring into every conversation. “Really?”
“Of course.”
“Who’s yours?”
“Mine?”
“Yeah!”
It took all of three seconds for Igraine to cave; Rose’s smile brightened her entire face into a mask of joy so blinding it felt like the wrong kind of cruel to say no, “There’s my sibling, of course,” Igraine started, resting her head on her palm and looking at the door, “And a very special woman.”
A strand of Rosemary’s hair curled on her cheek, like a pangolins claw grasping a branch, and for a moment all Igraine could see was Alcina, from the curve of the cheek to the set of her shoulders. But there was just Rose, too, with the way she smiled and the way her eyes brightened, and even though Igraine wanted Rose to just be a mirror, she couldn’t deny that she would miss Rosemary. “What is she like?”
“Oh, she’s magnificent,” Igraine said, her eyes catching on the way a soldier’s carotid vein bulged for a moment as they swallowed, “Strong, you know. Witty, but also stoic, and very beautiful.”
“Wow.”
Igraine licked her teeth, the phantom taste of copper clinging in the dips of her molars, “She had excellent taste too.”
But Rose was already moving on from the conversation, her curiosity sated for the moment, “You’ll see her again. I always see mom again, even when I miss her.”
Igraine didn’t have the heart to tell her Alcina was quite dead. “I’m sure.”
The conversation puttered out after that, only Rose’s occasional questions flaring it up again, otherwise she scrolled through her phone. Igraine didn’t understand it, but Rose could occupy herself with just the screen for longer than Igraine could hold a conversation, within the limits the BSAA had given her at least. If she could talk about the dissection of the human spine, she could go on much longer. The cafeteria was the only place this deep in the building that was built for outside internet connection, or something like that.
Igraine kept her eyes on the soldiers around them rather than Rose, who was remarkably immobile while tapping away at her little screen. Igraine also found it upsetting to imagine eating Rosemary, while the bland faced guards that surrounded them were much easier to imagine dead. The line of their clothes was smooth and stiff, and their shirt pulled around the waist. Body armour, she would guess, and a hidden firearm. And underneath that, bunching and pulling and contracting and alive, was fresh meat.
Her vision was turning fuzzy, and she turned her head away when one came within grabbing distance of the table. Rosemary looked up at her, her phone sitting limply in her hands, and gave an awkward half smile. Igraine leaned over and dabbed at the burnt bit of cheese at the corner of her lips, which came away long, stringy and cold.
“That’s curious,” Igraine said mildly, folding the mold string out of Rosemary’s sight, “Finished?”
“Yeah,” Rose looked at her phone, “Chris is picking me up today.”
“I am sorry, dear.”
Rose coughed into her elbow and when she turned to face Igraine there was a long string of black dotted around the corner of her mouth. Igraine got up and stood as to obscure Rose from the soldiers view and, patting her pockets for emphasis, pretended she had run out of napkins. “Hold still.” She said sweetly to Rosemary’s leaning away when Igraine licked her thumb and rubbed at the mold growing on her cheek. Rose protested, and Igraine ignored her.
The string was thick and grimy; defiantly not cheese, as she’d hoped, clinging to her fingers and trying its damnedest to sink into her skin. Despite its location, too, it appeared to be seeping out of her skin rather than coming from her mouth. Igraine readjusted her glasses and took a surreptitious look around, glad to see that no one was close enough.
The ethical, correct thing to do would be to tell one of the soldiers. “Why don’t we go back to the classroom? We can do whatever you like until Redfield shows up.”
Rose wiped her cheek with her sleeve long enough that they skirted past security. The walk was a calm, long one, being four hallways away from the cafeteria and lined with detectors, of which Igraine knew the location of only four. They’re barely in the second hallway when Igraine realises that Rose had disappeared from her side (and that the leftovers have burnt a hole in a few of her fingerprints).
“Rosemary.”
Rose was standing still, in front of a broken door that had come off its hinge slightly and sat awkwardly. Igraine caught up to her and found that she was unblinking in her observation of it. The door, she noted, was not supposed to be open, but had run afoul of a stone that had been shoved into the end of the track. The hall was clear, for now, so Igraine bent the door inwards.
The stone was a crystal, longer than Rosemary’s palm, pointed at one edge and broken on the other, as if it had been snapped off from something much larger. It was large too, as Rose’s fingers couldn’t quite wrap around it fully, a discoloured white colour that was cloudy rather than clear.
“This is like me.” Rose said.
“That is a rock.”
Rose clutched the stone to her chest. The dots on her face and turned into oblong shapes that began to droop, like an egg yolk that hadn’t quite broken.
Igraine opened her mouth, and then the door shuddered and jerked sideways, careening straight into her. She took the brunt of the door to her shoulder, crashing into the wall with a loud crrICK, tearing through her lime green shirt and cutting into the meat of her bicep. It left her pinned between the wall and the door, while Rose, blissfully unaware but for the rock, bullied her way past Igraine’s legs and into the hall beyond.
This hallway was different to their usual commute, lined with several doors rather than two, and each marked with a hammered metal plate that had different names on them. The only open door seemed to beckon Rose and she went in without a second glance at the other rooms.
 (“You don’t have to explain,” Redfield says, “It’s the specimen rooms.”
“I can stop talking, if you’d prefer,” Igraine replied.
Redfield lit another cigarette and went quiet.)
“Rosemary.”
Rose looked at her, popping her head back out of the room. She was wide eyed, and her mouth pursed slightly; she said nothing and when Igraine called her again she slunk slowly back into the room. In the time it would take a pin to drop, Igraine heard shouts, then screams and then silence.
The door that had rammed her had sharpened some point between her awareness of bending it and her mind diverging from the door to Rosemary as she had shouldered her way past; that point had stabbed through her bicep and snuggled close to the bone. The worst part was that she had ruined her last green blouse, which had handily put all her purple jackets lighter than grape out of her clothing rotation. And Rosemary’s new status as murderer was bad too, she supposed.
(Igraine took care to omit little details from her retelling; no use in telling him that she had opened the door, or that Rose had found a stone, or that somehow she had murdered seven humans, that would be implicating. It wasn’t for Redfield to know, nor for her to give away.)
Igraine never did get to the door proper; after she had peeled the door from its hinges and off her arm, she saw it. An imperfect sphere of sinew and muscle dyed tobacco black, crawling forward on ever shifting arms that disappeared into its mass and reformed as it plodded forward. It made a  srrrrrrrrk-k-k-k as it moved, dragging its bone-covered knuckles across the floor and thudding into walls as it scrapped forward unsteadily.
It was new and unrefined and so indicative of Rosemary’s creativity, Igraine couldn’t help but light up as it bundled towards her as mobile as a bloated elephant seal.
It wasn’t smooth but roughly textured; grainy and rough like muscle; sinew piled on sinew, strung together meat and poorly formed skin that rose and faded in patches like the tide. Not perfect but promising, and clearly in need of something fuller bodied than the meal it already had. It was perfect timing, then, when Igraine walked herself into a quartet of clueless soldiers examining her handiwork.
She didn’t recognise any of them, not that she had ever bothered committing any of the faceless minions to memory; they were distinctly different in that their uniforms were attired differently, bearing different marks on their shoulders and helmets that she had not seen before. They did seem to recognise her, though, standing to attention towards her.
But they were inexperienced and really, it was their fault for being so punctual. And Chris didn’t need to know about their deaths; they were just recruits and those died all the time.
The first went done silently; Igraine slid behind them, making all the appropriate noises of a concerned science associate and he, predictably, never saw it coming. Igraine’s best feature, in her opinion, were her claws; which split him throat to belly before he could gather the air to scream. His intestines spilled like freshly made noodles, spraying brightly coloured sauce as they went, and Igraine couldn’t fully suppress her shiver of pleasure.
His companions were busy with the blob as it liquidated, spreading its mass across the available surface, covering the width of the hallway. It wasn’t until they saw him, bleeding into the cracks and feeding the mold as it rushed to cover him, that they even knew he was dead. And there came their inexperience again; one forgot about the mold, the other forgot about her and the last she kicked into the mold.
He fell face first, screaming, his body convulsing and scrambling; Igraine watched as he struggled and failed, his arms reduced to thin sheets of deteriorating bone that melted away. The mold had risen into a wall, spewing mold from the top in thick rivulets that moved like tar. It was, she realised, like watching maggots hatch; squirming and writhing, hundreds of bodies fighting before disappearing into the tar pool that surrounded it.
The last two she took together, stepping into the space of the third before they could fire and grabbing them by the face as she punched directly into the back of the fourth’s neck. Their spine crunched underneath her knuckles and tossed the third in as it hit the floor. Number 3 clawed at her, as if its hands could find her neck just by the sheer force of wanting it. But he was only a human and though it was slower, longer; his screams lasting for fifty seconds longer than his companions, he still died with Igraine’s heel pushing his head into the muck.
Now, she supposed, was a good time to get Rosemary out. She felt the thought like an addiction; the slow pangs at her temple, the itchiness of her teeth, the twitch of her joints. How much of it was her, and how much was Rosemary, was unclear to her; there was just the need, suddenly banking high in urgency.
“I’m coming.” She told the mold, which gurgled in response.
Moving in the mold was like swimming deeper than five hundred meters in the ocean; it pressed in on her closes and skin, melding and fusing to her body to collapse them inwards. It grasped at her ankles, eating through her stockings, and writhing around her skin, leaving of unpleasant sensation of a knife hacking at her skin. Three steps in and the mold reached her knees, and she was unsure of if she was touching the ground or hardened mold.
As the mold touched her hips, and her steps became more like a trek through set molasses, the mold in front of her having to be cracked before she could continue slogging through. And she was sure, if her ears did not deceive her, that more soldiers had appeared and died to the mold, and that Redfield had likely arrive to scowl at her slow moving back.
But that was of little consequence really; all she could think of was Rosemary. Yammering on and on and on inside her head. Rosemary, Rosemary, Rosemary.
The centre of the mold was a long, tall wall that writhed at her touch; it sunk into her nails and her hands and when she pushed, it pushed back. It was hard as set concrete, and wet as fresh glue, and it was acidic enough to eat away at the sleeves of her shirt and the metal of her jewellery. A shame that as well, because this was the only shirt she had of a true lime colour and not faux candy coloured lawn green masquerading as lime.
Finding Rosemary in it was a task better suited for the blind; Igraine dug her arms in to the elbow and flailed until she hit something small and Rosemary-shaped. Once she had her, it was a struggle to keep her grip.
Pulling Rosemary out was akin to a tug of war with a lion; a struggle, even for Igraine. Twice Igraine had fallen over and nearly lost her grip on Rosemary’s small arm, and her only saving grace was that the mold was hard and set and unready to accommodate her body at all. It suckled at her hips, and groped at her waist, but the deeper mold merely slogged out of her way as she reset her stance.
Rosemary was only half out after half an hour of exertion; it was too much for Igraine, who had not eaten since last night and had not taken her dosage of t serum for that day, and who’s attempts to pull Rosemary free had degenerated into limp tugs and clawing at the setting mold that refused to release her. The harder she tried, the more the mold resisted, and the more her beautiful nail polish chipped and suffered.
Between the time that Rosemary’s arm had pulled free, and her shoulder had come loose, a hand had dug into Igraine’s calf. The hand was slimy and made of bone, and it turned its fingerbones into claws, scoring lines of pain on her skin and up her leg like a lightning bolt. Rosemary’s face would not come free, so Igraine wrapped her arms around the girl’s midsection and moved back, yanking as hard as she was able.
She tore skin, and Rosemary’s bag from her back, and hair from her head, but eventually, finally, Rosemary emerged. She was mold covered, slimy and slippery, and Igraine had done more damage to her face and skin than she would have liked, but she was free. Each step away from the centre, which collapsed without Rosemary there to sustain it, she grew more lively. First twitching, then shivering before she gasped herself awake just as Igraine tore her injured leg out of the mold and into the cold air. Rosemary’s arms secreted white sweat, an incomplete replica of hagfish slime and all the more effective for its clumsy earnestness.
She slid Rosemary across the floor to safety, and cradled her close when they were out of range, at the feet of soldiers who had every opportunity to shoot Igraine point blank and live to tell about it. Most of them, anyway.
“It’s me, armillaria,” Igraine said soothingly, throwing her ruined heels back into the mold, “Don’t you worry.”
Rosemary curled into Igraine’s arms, her face streaked with cloudy white tears.
“You know the rest.” Igraine finished, tearing off a piece of her fraying shirt.
Redfield sighed long and slow, a puff of corpse coloured smoke trailing out of his mouth like a swarm of pests, “Rosemary almost died. A ten-year-old got hurt because you weren’t prepared.”
“Come off your high horse, Redfield, you look constipated.”
“A child almost died.”
“And so far, you are 0 for 3 in saving her on time, so you needn’t take a snobby tone,” Igraine crossed her arms, “Besides she is a bioweapon. She’ll be fine.”
He clenched his fist, drawing his shoulders up and his chest deepened. But when his mouth opened, Igraine heard nothing but his painful gasps for air and took a mild amusement in watching his face darken into a lush pink. She had heard this lecture many times before, but the answer was always the same to her; Rosemary was a bioweapon, regardless of his thoughts on it.
“Fascinating,” Igraine intoned, cutting into the spot between paragraphs, “But I haven’t eaten all day, so stop talking. It won’t stick.”
He looked plainly at the leftovers she had salvaged, which she had not touched for fear of getting the mold that still clung to her hands on them.
“These are Rosemary’s leftovers.” Igraine said plainly.
Redfield thumped his fist on the table, the chair screeching against the floor as he stood, only for him to deflate and rub the bridge of his nose. That was the most peculiar quirk of Chris Redfield; he could smother his anger immediately after an outburst, as if the small relief was enough for his head to screw on straight and his mind to clear. He turned away and the only thing he said in parting was “Get to decontamination.”
“And then I’m going home.” She called after him. There was no response.
Home was a fifteen-floor building, that doubled as an office block and laboratory for the antiterrorism groupies. The eleventh floor was where her apartment was, barren but for Igraine, and at a height that gave her a brilliant view of the dull main building that stuck out of the ground like a particularly ugly carrot. It was a dull coloured and frumpy building that spider webbed from one corner across the street to the other and back again. Underneath, too, it extended, making most of the leftover facilities from the pharmaceutical company that came before.
Not that it really mattered. All Igraine was doing was taking a long shower and eating a fridge shelf worth of leftovers while she picked at her peeling skin. And then winding down at three in the morning, with a headache pounding between her ears.
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writingwitharlo · 1 year
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Convincing Lie
a/n: my first sk8 fic, not much tickling but i think it's sweet
03. “I thought you weren’t ticklish.” with Langa discovering Reki has been lying aboout his ticklishness??
Tickle Trope Prompts
(Sk8 The Infinity; Reki, Langa, Cherry, Joe, Miya)
1465 words
“Joe, leave me alone.”
“Oh, what’s the matter, Cherry, hm? I thought you liked me being all over you.” “I never said that! Now get your grubby hands away before I break your fingers.”
“Sounds to me like you just don’t want the rest to see how cute you look when I tickle you.”
The gang had gathered at the skatepark. At first only occupied by Reki and Langa, like on most of their free days, Miya had spotted them in passing and only stopped to tell them how much they sucked and perfectly demonstrated the new trick they were trying to learn. Shadow had been out, delivering an order of bouquets and only wanted to say hi, but by the time Joe and Cherry wandered past, it didn’t seem like he would be getting back to work any time soon.
The typical bickering between the two friends went mostly ignored, as it usually only involved the two of them. But, to Cherry’s dismay, right at this moment, their interest suddenly piqued.
“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean,” Cherry muttered sarcastically, eyes flickering over to the others briefly. “You know, if your hands really need to draw out some giggles, why not go with someone who’ll make the job easy for you?”
Joe’s head tilted to the side, much like an interested puppy before following his gaze.
“Like Reki.”
“Huh?” Reki looked up from his phone, not expecting to get dragged into the conversation. “Oh, don’t bother. I’m not ticklish.”
A stunned surprise washed over the gang. Perhaps because it was hard to imagine that Reki, the most cheery, bubbly and upbeat out of the lot, was not ticklish. Or it was with what cool confidence he uttered the words that it was hard not to take it as a hard fact.
Reki noticed how tension was building in the silence and knew he’d have to redirect it if he wanted to avoid any questioning. “Let Miya take my place. You’ll have much more fun.”
“What?!” The youngest was quick to get to his feet but didn’t get very far before an unnecessarily strong arm grabbed hold of him. “Let go, you stinking ape- NOoo!”
The way Miya was screaming, one would suspect he was being murdered. Reki was just relieved that nobody had been able to hear his racing heart or had noticed his sweaty palms.
By the time the sun was coming down closer to the horizon, painting the park into a warm, orange glow, the group was back to only two. Langa sat on one of the curb boxes where they had dumped their belongings, sipping at his water as he watched Reki still working on that trick Miya had shown them.
“Ugh, this is impossible. I hate that little rat,” he eventually muttered after landing on his ass again and trudged over to slump down next to Langa.
“You’ll figure it out. You always do.” Langa patted his friend’s shoulder in reassurance before handing him the other water bottle.
Reki huffed as if to disagree with his words but knew that Langa was right. He downed about half of the bottle, not even realising how thirsty he’d been until the water was washing down his dry throat.
A comfortable silence settled between them as they gazed over the glistening water in the distance, each occupied with their own thoughts for a moment. Langa looked over at Reki, mouth opening as if about to ask a questioning but paused. His eyes caught a glint of something by the collar of Reki’s shirt. The redhead noticed the other’s hand coming up but didn’t think much of it, almost expecting another pat before hearing Langa mutter ‘Don’t move’.
“Whyy?” Reki asked wearily, his body tensing somewhat. Without warning, there was a sensation against the side of his neck. A mixture between a tiny feather and a bug crawling over his skin. “Hehey! What do you think you’re doing?!”
Goosebumps shot up on Reki’s arms and he jerked away with an indignant squawk, a hand coming up to rub against the assaulted area. Wide-eyed and confused, he looked over at Langa whose hand was still raised, his thumb and index finger pinched together. That’s when he saw it. A single, glowing red hair, standing almost upright but swaying gently in the breeze.
“Oh, thank god.” Reki let out an audible breath of relief, visibly relaxing. “Jesus, that tickled so bad-” He noticed his mistake too late.
“I thought you weren't ticklish.” It wasn’t a question, but Langa’s words also didn’t hold the tone of mischief or malice he had expected. It sounded more like fond amusement.
Reki dared to glance over at him and Langa was only looking at him curiously. 
“I'm n-not…?” It was no use. “Okay, fine. Yes! I’m ticklish, okay? I lied. Happy?”
Langa just shrugged, finally releasing the hair he had been holding to the wind. “I would have lied too. Joe seems ruthless.”
Reki blinked. Out of all the answers, he had been expecting that one the least. But then again, Langa had never taken any opportunity to seriously tease him, even when it was just the two of them. 
“Wait-... So, you’re ticklish too?”
Langa looked at him, brows creasing slightly. “Isn’t everyone? To some degree, at least?”
Reki thought about it, running a hand through his hair. “I-I suppose. Maybe you’re right.” He still couldn’t quite believe it. “But you’re so stoic and serious most of the time!”
Langa looked confused. “Does that mean I can’t be ticklish?”
“No, I mean- I don’t know, it’s just hard to imagine.”
“Well, by your logic, nobody should have believed your lie then either.”
Reki felt a rush of heat crawling up the back of his neck. “But they did!”
“They did. You did sound very convincing.”
Reki grinned. “Thanks.” 
Langa shook his head with a smile, picking at the bandage around his finger. “So, is your neck your worst spot then, or was that a mild reaction?”
“Langa!” Reki gave his shoulder a shove, only to bring his hand back lower where he could poke at the other’s ribs. “Are you planning on telling me what your worst spot is?”
Langa reacted instantly. He jerked with a surprised yelp, twisting his torso to catch Reki’s hand, his laugh following without hesitation. “No, I’m not.”
The sound of Langa’s laugh took Reki by surprise. Not that he hadn’t heard him laugh before. He already knew Langa had a nice laugh, even if it was rare. There was just something different about knowing that he had caused it. Not by telling a joke or saying something funny, but by a couple simple touches. And now Langa was holding onto his hand so securely, it was hard to think about anything other than how to extend this moment. Or at least not have this one be the only of its kind.
Langa, completely oblivious to Reki’s inner turmoil, didn’t hesitate to make an executive decision. His other hand darted forward, gripping onto Reki’s knee and squeezing with vigorous intent. 
“Wait, wait, no- Ah! Langa! Get off!” Reki was brought back to the present in an instant, crumbling under the rapid waves of electricity that fired through his nerves and up his leg. He tried to fight back but Langa's surprise attack left him too uncoordinated to even think straight. All he could do was throw his head back as the frantic laughter took over.
Only when Langa looked up from his very focused task after what felt like an eternity to Reki (but in reality had not been more than 20 seconds), was it Langa’s turn to freeze up.
The sight of Reki’s beaming face, cheeks tinted rosy with a blush and grin so big, it was hard to make out if his eyes were even still open.
Not that Langa hadn’t seen him laugh like this before, full-bodied and teary-eyed. There was just something different about knowing that he had caused it. Not by being clueless or unintentionally saying something funny, but one simple touch. And now Reki was gripping onto his shirt so securely, it was hard to think about anything other than how to ensure, this wouldn’t be the last time.
Reki seemed to find the coordination to fight back during Langa’s moment of distraction. The two boys grappled at each other for another moment or so, neither wanting to become the defeated party before finally calling a truce.
“You’re not gonna call me out if I’m forced to lie again, are you?”
Langa raised his hand, holding out his pinkie which received an eye roll from Reki. “Only if you won’t call me out either.”
“Fine, but don’t think I won’t take advantage of such delicate information.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
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onenicebugperday · 1 year
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@orionslions submitted: bug found in [removed], pls remove location. i dont usually see this type of stinkybug
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Yes, definitely more rare compared to others! They are a two-spotted stink bug, Perillus bioculatus :)
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waspfan1038 · 6 months
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Two spotted stink bug (Perillus bioculatus) just in time for Halloween season! I love orange and black insects they’re my favorite.
Taken 5/14/23
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nancypullen · 8 months
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Shhhh
August crept in as July went out in a blaze and, as usual, August has been still.  Isn’t the first week of this month almost always calm? The bugs seem to sing louder because everything else hushes.  I’ve always wondered what the animal kingdom knows that we don’t. The early harvests have started and farmers are busy; even in home gardens some crops are looking middle-aged and tired.  Flowers are still showing off, they’ll fight to the bitter end of that first frost. Oh, the thought of a frost thrills me.  BUT, I’m grateful for the break in that long string of hot July days. I won’t long for frost I’m going to appreciate forecasts like this.
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Do you see that high temp for Friday? Oh. happy day!  I’m not a fool (often) I know this probably won’t last.  August isn’t afraid to just copy July, but let’s be aware that we are just 27 days from the “ber” months.
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Yesterday I opened the drawer that holds my sweaters and whispered, “Soon...” Another reason to look forward to months that end in ber is that I finally managed to snag a doctor’s appointment!  Well, not a doctor, a nurse practitioner.  I much prefer to see someone who has been through a rigorous med school, a life-changing residency, and perhaps even a fellowship...but beggars can’t be choosers and my name finally came up for an appointment on September 25th.  It’s very hard to establish yourself as a new patient here, so I may arrive with gifts.  I’ll let her know that I’ll rarely darken her door, I just need yearly bloodwork and a mammogram, that’s it.  I’m no trouble.  Well I didn’t used to be, our first year here was a bit of a bear.  I’m hoping that’s all behind us now. Anywho, I’m just about two months from having medical care!  Around here that’s reason to celebrate. I should make a cake. Another reason to celebrate is that I’ve got sunflowers blooming left and right. My view out the kitchen window this morning.
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I thought that Crape Myrtle tree was never going to bloom. It finally burst into flower July 31st.  That’s when I spotted the first blooms, and it’s been going like gangbusters for the last few days.   Really, none of the gardens truly filled in until mid-July.  I’m 725 miles further north than I used to be, sounds like I need to adjust my expectations.  I still have a lot to learn.  The arboretum is having a fall plant sale and I’d like to fill my front bed with purple coneflower. That seems to be reliable around here.  Black-eyed Susan is the state flower so it probably wouldn’t hurt to grab a couple of those too.  Besides, both of those flowers remind me of the prairie, and whether I’m in Alaska, Tennessee, or Maryland’s Eastern Shore, I’m forever a bonnet head.
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Yep, that definitely feels more like me. So I’ll be planting prairie flowers.  Why not?
In keeping with the hurry-up-and-wait theme, we have at last received an installation date for flooring in the upstairs bathrooms. Friday, August 11th - hallelujah! Feels like progress.  I haven’t made any progress at all finding my place here. But I will, I will.  I want so much to volunteer at the library.  I’ve approached them twice with that offer, sharing my background of working in the school library and all that.  I got the same response each time.
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Seriously, I’d expect the same reaction if I greeted them and said, “I like to bite worms in half.”  I’ve become paranoid. Do I stink? Is it because I look like a granny? Am I speaking gibberish?  Apparently that’s not going to be my place.  What a shame, I’ve always found such safety and camaraderie in libraries. I’ve actually considered selling makeup.  I mean, it’s something I know and I’d probably meet like-minded women (if they exist here).  Beauty Counter is a great company, I just really, really don’t want to get involved in any of those MLM schemes. If you’ve ever been stalked by a Mary Kay lady, you’ll understand.  I suppose I’ll just keep being a hermit lady instead.   I’m still hoping to be ready to take some stuff to the Artisans on the Choptank on September 16.  I may have underestimated what it takes to be ready.  I have to be licensed and have a tax number, and I have to have a good way to display everything.  I’ve found plenty of DIY plans for earring and card displays, we’ll see if I can get it all done. If I don’t make that one the next one is December 2nd.  That’s fine, BUT...knowing which market to prepare for is critical.  If I can be ready for September’s then I should be cranking out autumn colored and Halloween earrings.  If it’s December’s market I should be doing winter and Christmas stuff. I don’t want to use up tons of supplies building a fall inventory and not get my tax number in time or something.  Yikes!  What to do what to do? I’ve been busy making earrings in the local high school colors, those might sell in any season. Go, Bulldogs!  Oh well enough of this nonsense.  I’ll sum it all up by saying some things are looking up, some things are disappointing, and hope springs eternal.  In other words, life is behaving like life.   I’m off to soak in a bath and then take the kitties to bed. We’ve got a busy weekend ahead.  The Edgewater gang is coming over and we’ll have some laughs with them. The following weekend we’ll have Little Miss to ourselves while her parents have a bit of an escape, then it’s headlong into the school year.  I can’t believe that she’s starting kindergarten.  I’ve been picking up little dresses (she insists on only wearing dresses) and even some cute shoes to add to her school wardrobe.  These Livie & Luca shoes sparkle!
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They’re so soft and will look cute while taking a beating on the playground.
Okay, I really am off to the bathtub now.  There are lavender bubbles calling my name and a book that needs my attention.  I just started The Shallows by Holly Craig. It’s one of those “first reads” from Amazon.  Prime members get early access (for free!) to a new book.  All genres are offered and I can almost always find something enjoyable.   This one isn’t my usual fare, but I’m two chapters in and I don’t hate it.  The jury is still out though. Have a lovely evening, dear people.  Rest, relax, do something nice for yourself. I’ll come back tomorrow with more meaningless babble and we’ll chat again. Sending out loads of love grab what you need. Stay safe, stay well.
XOXO, Nancy 
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sinnamon-challenge · 8 months
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got home to loki TRYING to sneak a trio of stink bugs in my room (i love stink bugs, i have always had a soft spot for them) there's 2 in here and i saw a third one trying and i just looked at it and said "uh uh. two max" and IMMEDIATELY it just bolted like, comedic timing im dying laughing.
maybe he brought sigyn with him hehehe. these two are hanging out together
and before i even finished typing this the 3rd one snuck in shdjfks but i guess it's still less than 10 bugs. there's also a moth or two and some other small flying insect and one fruit fly. i love loki and his bug army i honestly think it would be a bit lonely without a few bugs
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blue-kyber · 10 months
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Heehee.
Veggitales easter eggs. :) (Will and Terra are 10. They were taken from Earth on NYE 1999. They would both know of Veggietales. :) These are kids who have powers.)
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He stopped when Terra found a nathakit sunbathing on someone’s doorstep to pet.
“So soft,” she coo’d as the domesticated animal rolled over to show its pale spotted fur for a belly rub and purred. “I want one.”
“No.” He kept walking, beckoning the two to follow.
She frowned, but kept up, “But I’ve never had a pet.”
“And you’re not getting one, either.”
“I’ve never licked a spark plug,” Will blurted out the thought on his mind with a deep urge to say it, even though it had nothing to do with pets.
A joyful grin spread across Terra’s face as she instantly caught onto his train of thought, “And I’ve never sniffed a stink bug.”
“And I’ve never painted daisies on a big red rubber ball!” they both sang.
Yune had no idea where to begin with this, “What?”  
“And I’ve never bathed in yogurt, and I don’t look good in leggings…”
Then to Yune’s perplexed surprise, both kids loudly sang out, “And we've never been to Boston in the fall!”
A couple of pedestrians looked at them curiously from the strange language coming from the two ebullient children.
“Hey,” Yune covered their mouths, “What did I say about speaking English?”
“Sorry,” they both mumbled from behind his palms. They didn’t forget the rule. The lyrics were in their memories in English, so that’s what automatically came out, even though they couldn’t remember where it came from. Like so many other bits of knowledge from Earth, it was just there with no context. The scattered remnants left behind from the aggressive purge of their pasts. 
He let them go and they bounced off, humming a spritely tune he didn’t recognize instead of singing it. 
They found a loophole. 
He pinched the bridge of his nose from a headache already threatening to exist, “This is going to be a long day. I can feel it.”
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FLUFFY FEBRUARY 2023 DAY 6 STRETCH @fluffyfebruary
SUMMARY: Keith and Kosmo snuggle and wake up in bed together.
       It was early morning when something soft tickled Keith's nose. He scrunched his face as it began to twitch and flick over his face. To avoid it Keith rolled over onto his side now facing the warm lump that took up most of his bed. Now that he was closer he could hear the quiet whistle of the space wolf's gentle breathing.
       Keith reached out and wrapped his arms around the snoozing space beast. He squeezed and let out a contented sigh. His muscles still felt sore after the long training session from the night before, so it felt nice to finally relax and stretch out his legs in bed like this. He was so comfortable it felt like he was almost weightless. He appreciated having a day off.
       Keith ran his hands up and down Kosmo's back absent-mindedly. He could feel the rise and fall of Kosmo's breath. In and out. In and out, and so on. Keith thought for a moment that Kosmo might also be starting to wake up because he felt Kosmo pushing one of his paws into his own chest. Putting pressure on the paladin so he could stretch towards the wall and press his back further into Keith's hands so they were directly in the spot Kosmo wanted them to be. Keith poked him. Nope, the space wolf was still out cold. Together they stayed that way for a while, just breathing together Keith petting Kosmo's back.
       Keith chuckled lightly, remembering last night when he had finally given into Kosmo's attempts at sleeping in bed with him. He thought it would be much more cramped to share such a small space with a dog of Kosmo's size. It turned out to be oddly cozy. He also aware that when he got up his sheets would most likely be covered in a thick layer of Kosmo's shedded fur.
       Kosmo truly is a skilled emotional manipulator, Keith thought with an amused smile on his lips. His space wolf had tried teleporting onto Keith's bed multiple nights when he thought Keith to be asleep. He was, but Kosmo would accidentally step on the sleeping paladin waking him up as it was tricky for him to fit his chunky ass on the mattress without disturbing Keith.
       A couple times he had even tried hiding under the covers when Keith was getting ready for bed, hoping Keith wouldn't notice him there. Other than the obvious squirming lump there was always some part of Kosmo sticking out whether that be his paw, nose or wagging tail.
       His mischievous efforts had failed but Keith had felt guilty and he had given Kosmo a lecture on how him getting to sleep in the bed would quote "Only be for one night." Kosmo had tilted his head sideways and pretended not to understand. He had had a long day so it soon became a problem for future Keith to deal with and the two of them settled in for the night.
       Keith, still in his slightly groggy state, was forgetting that his face had recently been in direct contact with Kosmo's tail, nuzzled into the soft fur closest to him. It was safe for around a few minutes until he was about to doze off again. He heard a little "toot" a split second before he was hit in the face with the stench of 100 dead radioactive stink bugs all stuffed into a minuscule pocket of air that was then directly thrust in his face. He was awake within an instant. "Kosmo! How could you!?" Keith shrieked. He was desperately trying to get away when one of his legs got tangled in the covers so he ended up tripping on his way out of bed.
       Now above him Kosmo stretched gracefully, now taking up the entirety of the bed and stared down at him with innocent yellow eyes. Keith couldn't possibly stay angry at that adorable wittle face for long. So he stood up, managing to untangle himself in the process and kissed the top of Kosmo's head. Kosmo wagged his tail. Both of them were officially awake for the day whether they liked it or not.
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flightfoot · 1 year
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Marinettes mentor role in 2099 will be mainly about compassion and strategy. Iris is a bit more rough around the edges. First order of business, no actual weapons. Incapacitate only with minimal injury, which is where she gets the stink bombs. Marinette will also teach her how to fight without the suit. But she’s going to have her own issues going on, mainly concerning Chat Noir 2099. Since they’re nothing like Adrien she doesn’t like that Iris has a soft spot for them. It could even be like the “parental figure doesn’t approve of relationship” type deal.
Also side note: the suit will mostly be metal of course but I kinda want the traditional Alya curls to be visible since I’m salty that Scarabella removed them. So maybe she just wears like a visor, with bug antenna and maybe something to cover her mouth?
I love Marinette being compassionate and strategic! Those are two things that she's very well-versed in.
I could see Marinette being pretty judgemental towards this new Chat Noir, that makes sense. She tends to rely heavily on first impressions, and anyone who seems to be replacing her Chaton is gonna have to meet a high bar. Hopefully this new cat earns Marinette's respect eventually though.
Love the idea of this girl's curls being more visible! I'm down for that.
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nicearthropods · 2 years
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two spotted stink bug, cosmopepla lintneriana
photo credit
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