#expendable bug

[thebeesarebusy]

No more comments sorry. that's all. thanks for reading :) /j

[poorlydrawninstarsandtime]

the humble conkroch

[id in alt]

[a-star-that-fell]

some days i love my job. then there’s today

[moth-party]

Here they are! The stupidest single celled organism there ever was. No wonder Urbanshade sent them down not expecting anything

Z-216, codename “The Lieutenant”, previous codename “Mothman”, real name [REDACTED] is to be KILLED ON SIGHT alongside Z-13 “The Saboteur”. While posing no significant threat on its own Z-216 has allied itself with Z-13 [As such it has been given its codename due to its second in command nature]. Originally sent with the [REDACTED] squadron to the Hadal Blacksite^(See Terminated Experiments) reports assume it to be the sole survivor of the expedition, debunking our theory that [REDACTED] would have advantages over other expeditions in completing their objective.

[The Rest of The File Is Redacted]

(Plus a sneak peek at something im working on teehee!)

[ramblingandpie]

SHOUT-OUT to my WIFE for taking a LARGE BUG outside in a cup!

While I was busy FREAKING OUT because it was TOO BIG.

THANK YOU to internet search engines for informing me that it was likely a BLACK CATERPILLAR HUNTER BEETLE which I found out using an INFOGRAPHIC of BEETLES OF NEW YORK STATE.

[girlvinland]

Man.

[convoloutedinjoke]

Currently writing swap AU where Kim is just himself on hard mode. Like he wakes up in a clean, normal room, puts on the same outfit as always and doesn't tell anyone he's forgotten everything until Harry wheedles it out of him by badgering him for One Singe Secret (he cant remember any).

He then goes outside and points a gun at a civilian over a perceived threat.

[aurumalatus]

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 (𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐓 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔)

pairing. kinich x fem!reader

word count. 3.4k

genre/warnings. childhood friends to lovers (yes kinich literally invented this trope okay. sue me), mini-drabbles, childhood to university, modern!au, fluff and slight angst, lots of bantering but it's light-hearted i promise

summary.

you've always been a sore loser—kinich is just the only one brave enough to say it. or, you and kinich fall in love over the course of your lives, and one thing never changes—you're both idiots

author's note. credit to @/scythidol for the header images! a bit of a different fic format this time (who is she....). i'm sick over kinich, i have nothing clever to say or excuses to make. that's all, thank you for reading! i'm finishing this at 5am so i'll fix any errors later lol. reblogs/interaction highly appreciated!

I.

“You’re annoying.”

The old TV in your backyard treehouse buzzes with static and the constant thumps of Kinich’s fingers against the controller buttons.

It’s a summer evening—crickets chirp merrily in the grass and lightning bugs float lazily through the air, glowing among the stars. You’re sitting next to him, knees pulled to your chest and the straw of a Capri-Sun settled between your lips.

His reaction (or lack thereof) to your words leaves you less than entertained, a sour pout fixed on your lips as he sighs.

“You’re a sore loser. We said whoever got up here first got to play first.” Despite the intense game occurring on the screen in front of him, he diverts about half his attention to watching you out of the corner of his eye. “And I got up here first.”

“But you always win,” you whine. Kinich nudges at his own juice box with his knee, and you roll your eyes before picking it up and holding it to his lips—he drinks gratefully, still focused on his game. You’re not sure why you keep agreeing to this bet; you don’t think you’ve ever won.

“Then you need to get faster.”

Both of you know that such a feat would be impossible—Kinich has been the fastest kid in your grade since you started school. His athleticism affords him a bit of popularity, still at the age where winning a playground race is essentially the deciding factor between the cool kids and the lame ones. But he’s not interested in any of that, and he makes that quite clear in his actions.

After all, all the popular kids avoid him since he started a fight with them last year. 

“They were saying things about you,” he’d shrugged, like it was no big deal. The school seemed to think a bit differently, and his suspension felt like the longest week of your life.

The screen flashes then, a loud and colorful display that shows the words “you win”. Kinich leans back in his seat, a pleased half-smile spreading across his face. 

“Okay, now you can play.”

He tries to hand you the controller, but you huff, crossing your arms and turning away.

“I don’t even wanna play anymore.”

Kinich is far more mature than you at this age—even your own mother tells you as much—so he merely sighs, accepting of your tantrum.

“Okay, what do you wanna do then?”

You ponder that for a moment. There’s a lot of things you do often, but many of them are things that Kinich is much better at than you. Playing video games, climbing trees, riding bikes—he’s far more talented at them all. It’s one of the reasons you even became friends in the first place—you’d practically begged him to teach you to beat the final boss of Super Mario Galaxy, and the rest was history.

“I don’t know,” you mumble noncommittally, blowing your straw wrapper at him. It lands right on target, bouncing lightly off his forehead as he rolls his eyes.

“Come on, whatever you wanna do, we’ll do it,” he says, poking at your cheek. “I’ll even play house.”

And you know Kinich hates playing house—he has boundless amounts of energy most days, and house isn’t “challenging” enough of a game for him to expend it. But he does it occasionally, just for you.

You brighten at the prospect. 

“Really?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he sighs, already descending the treehouse ladder, waving you along. “Let’s go inside first, though. I’m hungry.”

Scrambling to your feet, you jump down to meet Kinich, already standing in the grass.

“Last one inside is a rotten egg!”

II.

The rainstorm ends just as classes dismiss—when you walk out the school entrance, a slight drizzle is still letting up, fresh puddles lapping at your toes. Kinich’s gaze finds you instantly as he slinks out of the school gates, bag tossed loosely over his shoulder.

“My socks are wet now,” you whine, patting down the edges of your skirt to look down at your shoes. You’d only just bought them recently, and your mom likely wouldn’t be pleased with the prospect of you ruining them so soon.

Kinich chuckles at first, a snarky sound as thick as the gathering clouds, only to sigh when your pout persists.

“Alright, alright,” he relents, squatting to the ground and gesturing for you to get on his back. “Don’t say I never did anything for you.”

He’s a bit frail, still in his growing phase—his bones and muscles shift rhythmically under his skin as he walks—but he’s so distinctly warm. The heat makes you curl closer, nose brushing against his neck.

He walks you home most days like this, spending the day at your house until the sky grows dark with dusk. His home life is something he rarely discusses, but you know enough, and you’re happy to welcome him to yours.

“You’re slow,” you mumble into his shoulder. The steady thump of his steps is comforting, nearly putting you to sleep.

“You’re heavy,” Kinich replies teasingly, adjusting your weight atop his back. His words are biting, but he’s being careful with his steps nonetheless, taking each one lightly so as not to jostle you.

“You’re rude,” you scoff back. His nose scrunches in annoyance when you loop your arms tighter around his neck, pretending to choke him as punishment. “You’re not supposed to say that to a girl.”

He blows his bangs out of his eyes, peering up at the newly visible sun that starts to dip low in the sky. You watch a cat scurry through the bushes to your right, golden eyes peering through the foliage before disappearing into the darkness. 

“Yeah, that’s why I’m saying it to you.”

Kinich is always a bit wittier than you, a bit quicker to the punch, but you like that about him. You like a lot of things about him, and you’re sure he knows it, too. A weighty silence settles between the two of you, unnatural—it’s usually you who fills the silence, and Kinich who patiently listens.

But something bigger sits at the back of your mind, and the words are having trouble surmounting the obstacle of your tongue. 

You’re still floundering for something to say by the time your house appears in the distance. The sight lights a fire under you—you don’t want to discuss something like this with your mother in earshot. You force the words out, voice weak and small.

“I heard Mualani confessed to you yesterday.”

The rumor had flown through the school like wildfire. Mualani is popular with the boys after all, so there’s bound to be quite a bit of heartbreak if she ends up in a relationship. Someone had seen them together at that sakura tree behind the school, and it instantly became a hot topic—it’s all you’ve heard about all day.

And though you know it’s not really any of your business, you can’t help but be curious, and the thought fills you with dread.

You manage a glance at his expression, searching for any sort of unrest, but he doesn’t show any at all. In fact, he seems wholly uninterested in the topic.

He shrugs. “Yeah, so?”

You take a deep breath for courage—you’re not sure you want to hear his answer. 

“So? What did you tell her?”

And it’s nothing against Mualani, really—she’s kind and beautiful, and you wouldn’t blame Kinich for falling for her. She’s never done anything wrong to you at all. But a beat passes, and you’re already halfway through mourning the end of your long-time crush when he replies.

“I told her I was flattered, but I wasn’t interested.”

A sigh of relief escapes you then, but you reel it in quickly—he can probably feel you relax against his back at his response.

“Oh,” is all you say, as aloof as you can manage. Kinich latches onto your hesitation instantly.

“Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” comes your hasty reply. “...Is there any reason you said no, though?”

He frowns. “I don’t know. She just isn’t my type.”

“...Then what is your type?”

You’re going too far, you know—even just speaking the words has your chest twisting painfully, and you want to crawl into a hole and disappear. If Kinich isn’t an idiot, he can surely tell why you’re practically breathing down his neck over the whole thing.

But maybe Kinich is a little bit of an idiot, at least about these things, because he merely shrugs.

“Not sure. Never really thought about it.”

A frost unfurls in your chest, bitter—of course Kinich wouldn’t know, he’s never thought about anyone that way. Including you.

“Right.” You attempt a laugh, teeth gritting. “It’s all stupid anyway.”

You drop your head into his shoulder, trying to hide the pained expression on your face, and only then does Kinich’s stare flicker to you, soft.

“Right,” he says, a quiet rumble from his chest. “It’s really, really stupid.”

III.

Walks turn to drives when Kinich turns sixteen and buys his own car.

He’d saved up for months, working part-time jobs on weekends and after school, until the day finally came when he pulled up into your driveway, keys in hand. Your mom had been overwhelmingly proud—bought a cake and everything—and you’d merely been grateful that you no longer had to beg her to drive you places. 

It’s nothing crazy, just a simple sedan, but it represents a freedom that the two of you have never experienced together before.

That’s how you end up parked underneath the flickering streetlight just outside your house, excitedly recounting a story to your best friend. He’d driven you home from your club after school, an errand that always ended in several other stops—today, it had been fast food and boba.

His eyes seem to glow in the fading daylight, a pretty jade and amber that you’ve always thought was beautiful. It feels a bit more intense with his stare trained on you—Kinich isn’t the talkative type, sure, but he always ensures that you know he’s listening.

“So then she was asking me about you.”

“Mhm.”

“And get this,” a nervous chuckle escapes you then, “she thought we were dating.”

Everything falls still.

It’s times like this that you really start to hate just how unreadable your best friend can be. Despite how much you tease him for it, you actually enjoy how difficult it can be to force an expression out of him—it’s a little challenge every day. But now, when you’re on the precipice of pouring your heart out, his impassive expression stings.

Nothing on his face changes, save for a slight tilt of his head—he’s considering your words. The silence feels endless; a lump starts to form in your throat, humiliation burning at your cheeks. 

“I know, it’s so ridiculous,” you assert hurriedly, trying to avoid the rush of shame. “I mean, we would never—”

“Tell her we are, then.”

You’re sure that in that moment, your heart stops. 

Truthfully, you hadn’t planned to get this far—you were planning on brushing over that part of the story and moving on, but something deep in your heart had forced it out of you. Now, you aren’t sure what you really want to happen.

It’s always been your underlying fear, that once Kinich finds out, everything will change. Or even if he does return your feelings, it’ll all go up in flames eventually and you’ll never be the same. It’s terrifying enough to have kept your mouth shut all these years.

A tense laugh erupts from your throat, cutting through the silence. “I—I mean, it’s not that simple—”

He arches a brow. “Do you not want to?”

That’s another difference between you and Kinich—he’s far more straightforward about getting things that he wants. It’s one of the reasons that people misinterpret him as cold, but he sees it as being logical.

You gnaw at your lip, fingers tracing over the car door. Do you?

If the countless daydreams and romantic notebook doodles are anything to go by, you do. You really do. You’re just not sure if you’re brave enough to take that step.

When you look at him again, he’s observing you carefully, a delicate fondness lying in his stare. You shrink under the weight of it.

“No, I do,” you admit quietly. 

The moment falls still, and your eyes are drawn to the only movement within your line of vision—the quick bob of Kinich’s throat. Then, his hand advances toward your face at a measured pace, giving you endless opportunities to retreat.

Of course, you don’t.

“Can I…?” he asks, barely a brush of a whisper. The tension runs thick in the air as his tongue peeks out, swiping over his bottom lip at a tantalizing pace. It’s nearly enough to drive you crazy, but you know he’s just as anxious.

“Yes,” you breathe, wincing at the sound of your own voice—it sounds almost too eager.

But Kinich presses his lips to yours all the same, soft and wanting, and your heart flutters in your chest. It’s a chaste kiss, nothing like the fireworks-exploding-making-out-with-tongue types you’ve seen on TV, but it’s just right—it feels like him, and that’s all that matters. He pulls away slightly, lips still millimeters away from yours.

“I like you. If I’m not wrong, you like me too. I think it’s that simple.”

You almost want to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. Though you’d never admit it, you’ve practiced this scenario thousands of times in front of your bedroom mirror—what you would say to him, what he might say to you. Leave it to Kinich to not follow the script.

But he’s always done things his own way, so really, you should’ve expected this.

Gently, he reaches for your hand, fingers slotting through yours with ease. You sigh.

“I guess it is.”

IV.

“...that far, huh?”

Kinich stares at you upside down, head dangling off the edge of your bed as you sit at your desk, laptop keys clicking rapidly. He knows you’re serious about your future goals; you both are. He just never imagined it would bring the two of you so far apart.

You pause with one hand resting on the mouse, still staring at the screen. The map looks so daunting, too daunting, and you can’t imagine being that far away from him. 

An awkward, weighted silence hangs in the air, and by the time a few seconds pass, you’ve already foreseen eighty different bad endings for this situation. Clearing your throat once, you force yourself to speak.

“Kinich, I—”

“I get it.”

He doesn’t mean to interrupt you so suddenly, but he does. He couldn’t stop himself if he tried. Because while he does understand—he really does—he also can’t help the stinging sensation of tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. It feels pathetic. It feels selfish. Here you are, chasing your dreams and supporting his, and he’s caught on the fact that there will be a little space between the two of you. And it’s not like it’s anyone’s fault, but maybe you’ll get tired of waiting and—

“You’ll come back to me, right?”

There’s an unmistakable thickness to your voice, evidence of the steadily growing lump in your weary throat. It grows larger with every passing second, an insurmountable mass dwarfed only by the impending distance between you and him.

That question catches Kinich off-guard, and he nearly wants to laugh then; not because he doubts you at all, but because he doesn’t, and he finds it ridiculous that you would ever think otherwise. Here you are, worrying about him.

Kinich doesn’t have any doubts or fears. He never does when he’s with you.

Maybe that’s why.

With a light laugh, he lets his eyes flutter closed, finally allowing an uneven breath to fill his lungs. The natural light outside is slowly dimming, the fluorescent lamps dotting your street flicking on one by one. He knows he should go home soon. His car is sitting outside, the same one the two of you have had endless adventures, fights, and make-ups in. It’s the same one he will use when he moves an unfathomable distance away from you. The same one he will use on the day you will cry, clinging to him like your life depends on it, before watching him disappear into nothing but a mere dot in the distance.

His fist clenches at his side. 

But you’re still here, the closest feeling he has to home, and you’re still in love with him, and he is still in love with you.

Maybe that’s why this is enough, for now. 

Turning onto his stomach, Kinich sees you right-side up this time, and it’s like nothing has changed.

“Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.” 

V.

A knock echoes on your apartment door in the middle of the night.

You raise a brow at the sound, a bit unnerved—a lone college girl answering the door in the dark isn’t the safest thing, you think as you peek one eye through the peephole. But there’s a familiar figure standing outside, and it has your hand turning the knob immediately and flinging the door open.

He’s here.

“Kinich,” you breathe, in disbelief. Last you’d heard, he was somewhere halfway across the country, and certainly nowhere near your front door. But he’s here, in a black hoodie and grey sweatpants, looking like he’s just walked out of your dreams.

“Hey,” he says simply, as if his appearance hadn’t been totally shocking. He takes advantage of your shell-shocked state to invite himself inside, curiously looking through your apartment. “Nice place.”

You step aside in a daze. “Kinich—you—what are you doing here?”

He’s holding three flimsy bags in his fist, grocery store logos and restaurant labels stamped over the plastic, keys hanging off his pinky finger. He’d come prepared, clearly, but for what you’re not sure. 

He towers over you a bit more than he used to, hair a bit longer, and everything about him feels so grown up. It reminds you of all the moments the two of you have missed over the years, how much change has occurred beneath your nose, maybe without you realizing. 

He spreads the bags over your kitchen table—the mouth-watering smell of Chinese takeout filters through the air, and your stomach grumbles in reply. But it’s your tear ducts that react initially, a sting at the corners of your eyes as you squeeze them shut.

Kinich doesn’t notice at first, absorbed in inspecting the photos displayed on your wall—photos of you, photos of him, photos of the two of you together. It makes his chest warm that you still think about those times. He does too—after all, it’s rare that you leave his mind.

But he turns back to you, tears running rivers down your cheeks, and his breath hitches.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, carefully cupping your face. A lilt of panic laces his voice. “Does something hurt? Are you sick?”

“You’re here,” you sob, curling into his shoulder. None of it feels real. He’s warm and firm beneath your fingers, and you clutch at him tighter, half-expecting everything to disappear. It’s so much different than FaceTime or calling or anything else you do when he’s away. Because right now, he’s completely within your reach, and everything falls into place.

“Of course I am,” he murmurs. You cry into his hoodie, soaking the fabric with your tears, but he holds you close all the same. “Because you’re here.”

You spend a few minutes that way—you crying until your tears dry over your skin, and him comfortingly rubbing at your back. Air slowly returns to your lungs, and you sniffle, glassy eyes meeting his. 

“But why? I mean, it’s the middle of the semester, isn’t it?”

A rare half-smirk graces his lips.

“We made a promise. I came back to you first. So I do believe that means that I win,” he says. If you weren’t so emotional, you might have rolled your eyes—of course, all he ever focuses on is winning.

He drags you over to the couch, laying down and pulling you on top of him, safe. You draw closer to him, tangling your limbs together until you’re not sure where he ends and you begin.

“You’re annoying,” you whisper, muffled into his chest.

Kinich shakes his head, pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

“You’re still a sore loser. Thought you’d grow out of that by now.”

You grumble a few choice words at him, and he smiles—a sight that only you and the stars can claim to have ever seen.

And he’s right; you are a sore loser, and he’s been right just about every time he told you so. But you find it doesn’t matter, not really.

You could never win against Kinich anyway.

(Maybe you never wanted to.)

[mellowwhumps]

me throughout this entire fic (the blur and void in the photo is part of my agony)

whumperless whump event day 12: it's going down (i'm yelling timber) @whumperless-whump-event

building collapse / trapped under rubble / “i can't move my legs.”

see this post for character information!

caretaker: Cassidy

whumpee: Gene

THIS FIC IS NOT CANON! I REPEAT, THIS FIC IS NOT CANON! i just wanted to try my hand at something very whumpy and angsty but for all intents and purposes, this is simply a dream cassidy had or something like that. GENE IS ALIVE AND WELL.

༶•��┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

There was a fire in the schoolhouse. And it was spreading.

At the rate it was going, it'd reach just about all the buildings on the west side of town. One of those buildings happened to be the town jail.

Gene gritted his teeth and let his gaze flicker to the cell. Of course, there just had to be a certain outlaw locked up at the most inconvinient time.

Good ‘ol Silver.

As soon as Gene heard the crackling and screaming coming from outside, he knew he had to make a decision quick. If he left Silver in the cell, he would surely burn to death. 

On the other hand, releasing him could prove more dangerous if he decided to use the chaos as a distraction for his gang to come in and pick the place clean.

In the end, it was an easy decision.

Gene tossed his key ring to Silver, who blinked at him owlishly.

“You’re.. settin’ me free?”

“Yes. Now don’t just sit there lookin’ stupid, run,” Gene growled, stripping of his coat.

"Well, whatta 'bout you?" Cassidy's voice was small.

"Get outta here 'fore I change my mind."

He had more urgent matters to attend to.

He dashed over to the schoolhouse, where a frenzy of crying children crowded around their teacher, Miss Lowry. She looked positively panicked, looking around erratically. Her eyes finally landed on Gene and she all but collapsed at his feet in relief.

“Oh thank goodness you’re here! It’s Annie, she’s still trapped up there in the building! She was in the hall when it started-- oh lord mister, please help her!” She cried, clutching at Gene’s vest.

Gene steeled his resolve and nodded. "I'll get her, miss. Don't you worry."

He didn't look back as he headed straight for the flames.

The first thing he noticed when he entered the rickety doorway was how hard it was to breathe. He felt the familiar sense that his lungs were seizing up, but he could deal with it later. He had to focus.

“Annie! Where're you!” He shouted out, erupting into coughs.

“Hello?! I’m r-right here, mister!” A small voice responded, coughing through sobs.

Gene hacked even harder as he followed the voice. He ducked under charred wood and pushed school desks out of the way before eventually meeting the face of a terrified little girl, surrounded by burning rubble.

She let out a blubbering cry and launched herself forward into Gene’s arms. 

Gene let out a soft oof before hoisting her up over his shoulder. "S'all gonna be alright, sweetheart. I'm gonna get you out."

Once Gene actually finds a way out.

He held Annie close as he scanned for an escape route. The smoke was stinging his eyes, and his breaths were quickly becoming slow wheezes. One look at Annie and he saw she was dealing with the same thing. Her coughs were becoming louder-- more desperate. He needed to be fast if he wanted to save this girl.

Finally, he saw a sliver of hope. There were two beams resting against eachother, creating a pocket free of debris. It looked stable too, so long as it wasn't jostled too much. The only trouble was that it was entirely too small for Gene himself to fit through.

Oh well. I’ll figure something out.

He made a beeline for the exit, cradling the back of Annie’s head. His eyes were watering now. The air scorched his throat on the way down, and he looked down for a brief moment to see he was absolutely covered in soot.

As he finally reached the beams, he set Annie down very gently.

His voice was gravelling when he spoke.

“Alright darlin’, you have to head through this hole very carefully, okay? Don't touch the sides. I ain’t gonna be able to follow, but I’ll be right behind you. You hafta be brave, okay?” 

Annie’s eyes widened in pure panic.

“N-No! You have to come with me, mister! I’m too scared! Please!” She cried, clinging to Gene’s leg.

There was a sudden snap, and Gene saw a beam in the distance go down. Christ. They didn't have time for this.

“Alright! Alright. I’ll go with you. Promise. Just start walking, alright?” He reassured quickly, leaning away to cough.

She whimpered and nodded, holding Gene’s hands behind her as she inched her way through the beams.

Gene crouched, following her the farthest he could without disturbing the way the beams were balanced together.

She was about a foot from being out, when there was another sickening crack-- this time right above them.

“Shit!” Gene barked, and before he had time to think, he was shoving Annie as far forward as he could right as the beams gave way.

Right on top of him. 

All he felt was white-hot pain before everything went black.

••••

Cassidy watched from behind a tree as the bucket brigade finally started making a damn dent in the flames.

It had been nearly 7 minutes since Gene went in after that little girl, and there was no sign of either of them.

Cassidy was just about ready to head into the building himself. He was expendable. Deptuty Eugene Delaney was not. He rolled up his sleeves and took a step forward before--

He saw a soot-covered figure fall onto the grass, sobbing as hard as she could. That must be Annie, then.

So where the hell was the deputy. 

Cassidy took another experimental step forward, straining to look for any sign of a taller figure emerging.

All he was met with was the sickening sound of wood splitting, and a choked out scream as the building collapsed.

His legs were moving before he had time to think.

The bucket brigade, seeing the situation at hand, focused their efforts where the deputy presumably was. The worst of the flames had been snuffed out by some miracle, but the rubble was still creaking and falling all around. No one dared to get too close.

No one but Cassidy.

He crashed to his knees in front of where Annie escaped, ripping apart the rubble piece by piece, searching for any sign of life.

“Goddamn you, Delaney, always trying to be a goddamn hero,” He muttered, tearing away another plank of wood. The terror in his voice came out before he had a chance to surpress it.

His heart stopped when he heard a soft groan coming from below.

He wasted no time carefully, slowly lifting up a large scrap to reveal a soot-covered cotton vest, and just above it, a tuft of dirty blonde hair.

Cassidy felt his breath hitch as he lifted all the rubble he could hold in one go and.. Christ, it wasn’t good.

Gene was lying face down on the dirt, gasping for air. The entire left side of his face was blood-soaked, and more blood poured from his nose, seeping into his teeth. His lower half was obstructed by heavier rubble that Cassidy couldn’t lift on his own, and he wasn’t sure he liked what that meant for Gene. 

Still, he crouched towards the deputy, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder blade.

“Delaney? Delaney, you with me?” He questioned, voice tight with worry.

Gene made a pathetic attempt to nod, before erupting into a wheezing coughing fit again. 

“S-Still.. alive,” He rasped, gasping for air that would not come.

Cassidy urged his voice to be something gentle, despite his racing heart. “Alright cowboy, you gotta help me by wigglin’ out when I get this damn wood off’ya.”

Cassidy stood and got behind Gene, fingers hooking underneath part of the beam. Finally, some of the bystanders gained some sense and a few men stepped forward to help Cassidy lift.

They finally cleared out the crumbling beam, leaving Gene’s lower half lying limp against the dirt.

Gene blanched, sputtering out a cough as he tried to push himself up with his arms.

“C-Can’t.. can’t feel my legs..” He choked out, voice thick with panic. He clawed at the dirt in front of him. “Silver..”

Cassidy felt his heart sink.

“Sure you can. Don’t be stupid, Delaney, sure you can.” He knelt beside Gene. “It’s just the shock. Nothin’ more.”

Gene shut his eyes tight and shook his head. Tears were spilling freely now. It was the first time Cassidy had ever seen the other man cry.

“N-No.. s’like they’re not even there.” He wheezed, lowering his face to hide it from the onlookers’ staring.

Cassidy felt something akin to sorrow bubble up inside of him. He turned frustratedly to the group of bystanders. 

“Would someone please go get a doctor? Any time today?” He shouted, shooing off the crowd.

He turned back to Gene and ran a shaking hand through the singed hair on the back of his neck.

“You’re gonna be alright. We’ll fix this. I swear it.”

All Gene could do was sob.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

[starrletnight]

Omg the funniest thought just came to me, what if the moth babies had flash beacons and used them on each other to refuel there light. The flash could give them a star back because of how bright it is. Them just standing across from each other and firing the flash at the same time. Everyone else is blind now the the moth babies are all good now.

irresponsible dad sends his kids to inconvenience expendables so he can get a moment of peace and quiet

(and yes, the beacons do light up the bugs, thats why sebby gave them the beacons, so they dont have to run to him anytime they lose their lights again)

@mercifulbutbroken

[thebeesarebusy]

day 4828472 of traumatizing my lil goober

[apas-95]

every time some liberal starts concern-trolling about the human cost of The Glorious Revolution they always treat revolution as a completely unknown hypothetical - because their arguments are, fundamentally, aimed at anarchists, socdems, and the like, who have no worthwhile historical experience to point towards. when they say 'oh how would you account for healthcare and the manufacture of insulin during wartime?' as though it's an impassable unthought-of roadbloack (which, to be fair, in the case of e.g. anarchism, it is) it is, to an actual communist, a hilariously trivial point - equivalent to someone asking how it could ever be possible to build a Car, because you'd get wind and bugs in your face while driving. historical experience at this point well over a century old has answered all these questions and more! it's a type of argument completely disconnected from reality, where 'communism' is an empty signifier, used as an argument piece between two sets of yankee liberals, such that they expend their energy and go back to Voting

[razistoricharka]

crazy how a political alignment test will always ask some shit like "SHOULD WOMEN OWN PROPERTY ⁉️" but never "should men be selectively cultivated into a caste of bug-eyed bishie eunuch work drones and expendable yaoi supersoldiers".

[rogersideup]

｡°✩ ♊︎ The Gemini ♊︎ ✩ ° ｡

Series Masterlist

Steve Rogers x Agent! Reader (ft. Bucky Barnes)

After months of a seemingly normal and steady friendship, things take a complex turn. Steve learns a lesson about the intricacies of being a woman in a man’s world, interpersonal relationships, and the consequences of poor communication through the experiences of you, his favorite Gemini.

⋆｡°✩ ♊︎ MASTERLIST ♊︎ ✩ °｡⋆

⋆｡°♊︎ Chapter 1: Love You More

⋆｡°♊︎ Chapter 2: Wine And Dine

⋆｡°♊︎ Chapter 3: Expendable

⋆｡°♊︎ Chapter 4: Pink Peonies

⋆｡°♊︎ Chapter 5: Rearview

⋆｡°♊︎ Chapter 6: Little Birdie

⋆｡°♊︎ Chapter 7: Twinkles

⋆｡°♊︎ Chapter 8: True Romantic

⋆｡°♊︎ Chapter 9: Star Crossed Lover

⋆｡°♊︎ Chapter 10: May 20th

Complete

⋆｡°✩ ♊︎ EXTRAS ♊︎ ✩ °｡⋆

✧ Steve and Bug’s playlist: Listen to the same music Steve and Bug have compiled for each other, and get a sneak peek on the messages they’re sharing by letting the music speak for them. This is the same playlist from the story!

✧Thoughts: Here’s what people are saying about the story!

✷ TAG LIST ✷

Want to join? Just ask! I’m always happy to have you here.

See you all soon ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

[pressureplus]

Ah hi there Author-San! Just saw your ask box open so I had to request this prompt which is bugging me forever

The reader is female, but looks exactly identical to Sebastian when he was human, hair, eyes, face, everything. Like identical twins, except for the gender change.

Like one fine day our foish guy is chilling in his shop waiting for the expendables when the reader comes through and open her helmet, causing Sebby to go through five stages of confusion like a washing machine.

Hi there, author here, and I LOVE this idea! Hope you don't mind me running a bit wild with it!

Reflection

Pairing: Sebastian Solace x Fem!Reader

Au: Classic

Warnings: N/A

◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟ ◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟

You broke through the water, hands grasping the metal in front of you with a huff. A bit of a struggle to pull yourself up and into the room, but you managed anyway. Laying flat on your stomach for a moment to try and catch your breath. Any moment to spare that wasn't spent looking over your shoulder for an angler was a good one. You felt yourself begin to relax, but that didnt last long at all as the light in the room mysteriously flickered on. A more golden color than the other rooms you've been in, and higher too? You sit yourself up only to freeze, panic rushing through your veins like shards of ice. There, sitting taller than any of the previous creatures you've encountered, was what you could only describe as some kind of fish man. His fins flick back and forth as he tilts his head. A smile on his face as his upper set of hands clasp together.

“Welcome, welcome! Don't be afraid, I'm not going to hurt you.” His voice is smooth and calm, an unfamiliar playfulness that you'd have never expected of a creature down here ringing through.

“Despite what you may have seen, heard, or been told. My name is Sebastian, your only friend.” You aren't particularly fond of the way he says only. Something about it makes your stomach churn and your anxiety build. You can't tell if that's to say he isn't really your friend, or if that's more to the effect of saying there's more things looking out for you down here. You don't like either option. You don't want anything watching over you, mostly because you don't trust it. You've only ever heard this name spoken by the higher ups in whispers, like he's the boogeyman or something. His voice on the intercom talking about the mess he's made of all the operatives sent down to dispose of him. Its a little hard not to be intimidated.

“There's no need to be so tense, I'm not going to bite. Look. You have data, lots of it. All that data you've been collecting doesn't really have a use to you, now does it? Now I have all sorts of things you might need, medkits, batteries, and the like.” He shifts his tail forward just a bit, allowing you to get a good look at his wares.

“For the price of that data that you certainly have no need for, you could have something actually useful to you down here. Isn't that nice?” He hums out as you stand up. Your hands coming up to your helmet to tug it off with a gasp. A nice deep breath in of the oddly fresh air in here leaves you a bit more relaxed as you shake your head. Your hair falls into a messy heap more so than anything particularly pretty or graceful. Imagine if you could have that kind of hair care routine down here? A girl can dream, right? You lean over to get a good look at Sebastians things, but the fish doesn't say a word. His entire body seems tense, gaze locked on you.

“Uh- everything okay?” You ask, but he seems to almost be staring through you.

“Whats your name?”

“Y/N? Why?” You attempt to ask but he’s already leaned his face close to yours, leaving you both tense and uncomfortable. His third hand falls to your hip to tug you in. One hand pushing your hair back, and the other cupping at your cheek. His eyes bright as they flick around your face. His breath comes out oddly shaky, its hard to tell if that's fear or anger or what. Still he releases you all at once, staring you down like you'll stab him while his back is turned. He seems shaken up, like one of those small puppies that gets lost in rooms that are too big.

“You alright? You're acting really jumpy for a man that was talking so smooth just a moment ago.”

“Where did you get that- why do you look like that?”

“Ouch? I can't exactly help the way I was born. You didn't have to be so rude about it. That's a real fucking mean way of calling me ugly.”

“No- no you're not- that's not-” He attempts to correct himself but really just devolves into confused choked noises.

“Is there something specific about my face you don't like or? Like, should I put the helmet back on?”

“NO! No I just…haven't seen a face like that in a while. You remind me of someone is all. Someone I miss.” You hesitate for a moment before allowing the defensiveness to wash off you. He’s grieving, maybe? I mean seeing someone that looks like a loved one you can't see anymore must hurt, right? Especially down here. You're certain that if you'd been trapped down here as long as he has and saw someone that looked identical to a loved one on the surface, you'd probably freak out too.

“Can- Can you see them again?”

“No. They…They've been dead for a long time.”

“Im sorry for your loss.”

“No, no it's fine. Seeing you was just a bit shocking is all. Never mind that- is there something you wanted to buy?” He tries to carry on, but now, every time you step into his shop. He can't help but let his eyes linger on your face.

[onenicebugperday]

Anonymous submitted: Don't think I need an ID but wanted to share; I believe it's a male tarantula hawk (location is in Arizona). It was ~2.5 inches long.

After the initial panic upon finding this VERY large wasp subsided, I noticed it was quite docile and a little bit clumsy. After observing it for a bit, I even began to think of it as cute (those big antennae, round bug eyes, gangly legs, and four brilliantly red-orange wings!).

It seemed to want to climb to a high spot and just perch, where it endearingly preened its springy antennae, and somewhat less endearingly rubbed and contorted its long pulsating abdomen with even longer hind legs. The pictures don't really do it justice.

Anyway, I had opened the window in the hopes that it would leave on its own, but it seemed content to just chill on my wall for hours, so I ended up trapping it with a plastic container and released it outside onto a bush. Oddly, it didn't seem to mind being trapped much and remained calm the entire time.

I agree, looks like a male. They’re not aggressive and can’t sting, so I’m not surprised he was so chill. When not looking for food or a mate, they don’t have much to do, so they don’t expend energy by flying around. Definitely normal for him to perch in one location for a long while. Glad he was safely deposited outside eventually :)