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Round 1 - Phylum Arthropoda

(Sources - 1, 2, 3, 4)

Arthropoda is a phylum of animals that have segmented bodies, possess a chitin exoskeleton, and have paired segmented appendages. They are colloquially called “bugs” though this is often only used for terrestrial arthropods, and sometimes only used for insects specifically.

After Nematoda, this is the most successful phylum, and it is far more diverse, with up to 10 million species! Arthropods account for 80% of all known living animal species. The three major subphyla include the Chelicerates (sea spiders, horseshoe crabs, arachnids, and the extinct eurypterids and chasmataspidids), the Myriapods (centipedes and millipedes), and the Crustaceans (shrimps, prawns, crabs, lobsters, crayfish, seed shrimp, branchiopods, fish lice, krill, remipedes, isopods, barnacles, copepods, opossum shrimps, amphipods, mantis shrimp, entognaths, and insects).

Arthropods are so diverse in fact that it is next to impossible for me to describe a model arthropod. They are important members of marine, freshwater, land, and air ecosystems and are one of only two major animal groups that have adapted to life in dry environments, the others being chordates. All arthropods have an exoskeleton and must molt as they grow, replacing their exoskeleton. Some arthropods go through a metamorphosis in this process. They have brains, a heart, and blood (called hemolymph, though some crustaceans and insects also use hemoglobin). They sense the world through small hairs called setae which are sensitive to vibration, air currents, and even chemicles in the air or water. Pressure sensors function similarly to eardrums. Antennae monitor humidity, moisture, temperature, sound, smell, and/or taste, depending on species. Most arthropods have sophisticated visual systems ranging from simple eyes (ocelli) which orient towards light, to compound eyes consisting of fifteen to several thousand independent ommatidia capable of forming images, detecting fast movement, or even seeing polarized or ultra-violet light. Some arthropods are hermaphroditic, some have more than two sexes, some reproduce by parthenogenesis, some by internal fertilization, some by external, some have complex courtship rituals, some lay eggs, some give live birth, some have prolonged maternal care. The first arthropods are known from the Ediacaran, before the Cambrian era.

Propaganda below the cut:

Insects are the first animals to have achieved flight

The smallest arthropods are the parasitic crustaceans of the class Tantulocarida, some of which are less than 100 micrometres long. The largest arthropod is the Japanese Spider Crab (Macrocheira kaempferi) with a legspan of up to 4 metres (13 ft) long. The heaviest is the American Lobster (Homarus americanus), which can get up to 20 kilograms (44 lb).

Many arthropods are popular pets, including various species of crab, shrimp, isopod, crayfish, mantis shrimp, millipede, centipede, tarantula, true spider, scorpion, amblypygid, vinegaroon, mantis, cockroach, beetle, moth, and ant! Some are even domesticated, including silk moths and honeybees.

Many arthropods are eaten by humans as a delicacy, and farming insects for food is considered more sustainable than farming large chordates. These farmed arthropods are referred to as “minilivestock.”

Arthropods feature in a variety of ways in biomimicry: humans imitating elements of nature. For example, the cooling system of termite mounds has been imitated in architecture, and the internal structure of the dactyl clubs of mantis shrimp have been imitated to create more damage tolerant materials.

Spider venoms are being studied as a less harmful alternative to chemical pesticides, as they are deadly to insects but the great majority are harmless to vertebrates. They have also been studied and could have uses in treating cardiac arrhythmia, muscular dystrophy, glioma, Alzheimer's disease, strokes, and erectile dysfunction.

Shellac is a resin secreted by the female Lac Bug (Kerria lacca) on trees in the forests of India and Thailand. It is used as a brush-on colorant, food glaze, natural primer, sanding sealant, tannin-blocker, odour-blocker, stain, and high-gloss varnish. It was once used in electrical applications as an insulator, and was used to make phonograph and gramophone records until it was replaced by vinyl.

One of the biggest ecosystem services arthropods provide for humans is pollination. Crops where pollinator insects are essential include brazil nuts, cocoa beans, and fruits including kiwi, melons, and pumpkins. Crops where pollinator insects provide 40-90% of pollination include avocados, nuts like cashews and almonds, and fruits like apples, apricots, blueberries, cherries, mangoes, peaches, plums, pears, and raspberries. In crops where pollinators are not essential they still increase production and yield. Important pollinators include bees, flies, wasps, butterflies, and moths.

Many arthropods are sacred to humans. In Ancient Egypt, scarab beetles were used in art, religious ceremonies, and funerary practices, and were represented by the god Khepri. Bees supposedly grew from the tears of the sun god Ra, spilled across the desert sand. The goddess of healing venomous bites and stings, Serket, was depicted as a scorpion. Kalahari Desert's San People tell of a legendary hero, Mantis, who asked a bee to guide him to find the purpose of life. When the bee became weary from their search, he left the mantis on a floating flower, and planted a seed within him before passing from his exhaustion. The first human was born from this seed. In Akan folklore, the cunning trickster figure Anansi/Ananse is depicted as a spider. Western astrology uses the crab constellation, called Cancer, and the scorpion constellation, called Scorpio. Dragonflies symbolize pure water in Navajo tradition. In Anishinaabe culture, dreamcatchers are meant to represent spiderwebs and are used as a protective charm for infants. They originate from the Spider Grandmother, who takes care of the children and the people of the land in many Native American cultures. The Moche people of ancient Peru often depicted spiders and crabs in their art. In an Ancient Greek hymn, Eos, the goddess of the dawn, requests of Zeus to let her lover Tithonus live forever as an immortal. Tithonus became immortal, but not ageless, and eventually became so small, old, and shriveled that he turned into the first cicada. Another hymn sings of the Thriae, a trinity of Aegean bee nymphs. Native Athenians wore golden grasshopper brooches to symbolize that they were of pure, Athenian lineage. In an Ancient Sumerian poem, a fly helps the goddess Inanna when her husband Dumuzid is being chased by galla demons. In Japanese culture, butterflies carry many meanings, from being the souls of humans to symbols of youth to guides into the afterlife. Ancient Romans also believed that butterflies were the souls of the dead. Some of the Nagas of Manipur claim ancestry from a butterfly. Many cultures use the butterfly as a symbol of rebirth. And the list goes on…

cute crab eat a strawbebby:

[nochromity]

my favourite area :]

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[nochromity]

GO READ STAY AND BE SAFE BY @hollowknightnerd !!!!

Check it out: here

Summary: Lost kin and their sibling's escape from the abyss but are traumatically separated. Battered physically and emotionally Lost kin seeks refuge in a certain hut in kingdoms edge. Many wholesome/ heartbreaking hijinks ensue as Lost learns their worth and Oro navigates parenthood.

When I say I was obsessed with this fic I mean it. Couldn't put it down for 3 days obsessed. It had me going through the entire emotional spectrum. The characterization is on point and everything was so vivid I was inspired to draw so many moment's.

[nochromity]

It's Kabbu's birthday!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (and valentine's day i guess)

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:)

@febuwhump Day 5 - Rope Burns

This one features... an AU that we're worked on for a while now over on @mantisgodsaus. You guys like selkies, right? We have more of those.

There is a rope tied around his neck.

He walks, aimless and uncertain. His mouth is dry, his gait is slow.

The fog coating his brain isn’t normal. Isn’t natural. He can feel it dragging at the corners of his brain, lagging, tearing, threatening to draw him under. He resists it as best he can, but he knows that there are things he has lost, even with his best efforts.

There is something that he has to do - some goal, some need- but he can't remember what it might have been now. There is a distinct sense of purpose dogging at the back of his mind, a need to find, a need to continue, to keep going, to move forward no matter what-

But he can't remember what it is.

He continues.

There is a rope around his neck, rubbing at his skin with every step. Maybe it's tied too tight. Maybe it's tied too loose. He can barely breathe with it on, and yet, he can't imagine trying to go on without it. It chafes, chafes, chafes, and he ignores it best he can, trekking forward with single-minded certainty.

He has to do something. He has never been more certain in his life about it. He has to do something, and he cannot delay. People are relying on him.

There is a rope around his neck.

He has a name, but he cannot remember it. The burning, chafing, scratching around his neck does not allow for it. His mind dulls, his paws shake- but he cannot abandon this path, not when he is still needed.

There is a rope around his neck.

Exhausted, tattered, and near ready to drop, the only thing that keeps him moving forward is sheer, raw, force of will.

His paws bleed out lifeblood into the unforgiving sand. His tongue grows dry and cracked, the heat of the desert ravaging his throat until he struggles to breathe. His chest heaves with the effort of walking- in, out, in, out, the mucus of his throat hardening until each breath clogs his windpipe more with bloodying foam.

He cannot stop. He cannot falter. He cannot allow himself to break.

And yet, every breath is harder, more of a pained wheeze than the last, more likely to trap itself in his throat, to force him into fits of coughing and heaving before any capacity to move forward. His momentum is slowly beginning to peter out, sense of purpose failing to propel him out from under the weight of his own body's failure - he moves, but he cannot keep himself going forever.

There is a rope around his neck.

Even through the fog about his brain, it feels like a failure. He stumbles on half-numb paws, particles of sand trapped and abrading in his wounds, and he seeks somewhere- anywhere- to shelter.

There is a rope around his neck.

It has been entirely too long since he has seen a place to den. Longer, still, since he has tasted water. The Lost Sands are hot and endless, still, and loose sand makes for poor shelter. Soft soil, deeper tunnels- something in him cries for him to dig as deep as he can, but even in his delirious state, he knows that he will find no purchase in the sands like this.

There is a rope around his neck.

His strength is beginning to wane when he finally finds it - a dip in the ground, hidden beneath a structure that he knows and does not know all at once. He tries to remember what it is that makes it so familiar, but his head is tired and his thoughts clouded - it is a doomed endeavor from the start, and he is forced to abandon the train of thought, simply limping forward, seeking out the blessed, cool darkness beneath.

There is a rope around his neck.

It burns unpleasantly against his worn-open throat, the wound pulsing erratically beneath it, but he ignores its cloying grip. Something about the darkness calls him- the deep depths of the earth holding a siren's song that he struggles to refuse. He struggles to move forwards, but his paws refuse to obey, threatening to give out beneath him- his body is sore, his throat raw.

There is a rope around his neck.

His limbs fail him.

The siren song calls him ever more, singing, humming in his ears without rest- but his body cannot move another inch, drained of all strength. He must keep going, he must- he has his duty, he has his family, he has the call- but he finds he simply cannot force himself to move another inch.

There is a rope around his neck.

He lies still in the cool earth's grasp, and he waits.

[break]

He wakes to find himself with company.

A shape looms over him, its features indistinct in the earth-encased gloom. The mugginess encasing his thoughts slows his reflexes such that he struggles to respond in time, flailing uncoordinatedly at whatever he can reach. It stands on two legs, two great appendages on its back like fine-furred cloaks as it snatches its hands from his neck - he knows that he is familiar with its kind, but he cannot recall how, nor what it might be.

Their touch only hurts all the more, and he bares his teeth at it, bloody saliva gurgling in the back of his throat. The beast recoils at sight of him, hurrying to the far side of the dirt-den, a scent of fear and worry seeping from it- it is only luck that he might have remained well enough to intimidate it, and he growls and snarls and thrashes until it flees.

Slumber has given him some strength back, although in many ways he feels worse than he was before. It is enough to lift himself from the ground, however temporarily - to stagger deeper into this temporary den.

The cry of the song in his ears has lessened, though it has not entirely stopped. He drags himself deeper, deeper, ever deeper, as far deep as he can before the darkness at the edges of his vision creeps too much to walk. This den is frustratingly shallow, so much so that he can hardly hear the cry- but his paws are too cracked to dig without harming himself further, and the lure of darkness only calls closer the more he attempts to dig.

He lays on his side, exhausted and spent. His paws ache; his muzzle feels cracked and broken, like mud baked in the sun for too long. He cannot breathe without struggle, his breath whistling through his muzzle like the sound of an all-too-familiar alert. He is exhausted, and he can barely force his eyes open, much less force himself to continue moving.

He is so tired, he nearly fails to see the figure returning.

There are two this time - the one he saw before, small and frail, and a larger one, massive and bulky. They are barely feet away from him when he finally sees them - a movement in the darkness, forcing him to twist his head before he can fully see them as he forces himself back onto his paws with the force of sheer adrenaline.

The figures come closer, and closer- he snarls at them, opening his jaw wide and flashing his teeth. The taller grabs the rope, and he chokes, useless paws scrabbling at chitin as she twists him to the ground, as a pair of tongs close around his rope, as it uses a hammer to-

Clarity.

All the runes etched into the binding light up a blinding blue in the instant before it breaks. He can feel his skin scorch around it- a horrible sort of heat, so strong that it nearly steals the breath from his lungs, but the pain is overcome by the feeling of the fog lifting.

He staggers at the sudden loss of the chains, his paws abruptly feeling all too unsteady beneath him- the enchantment is almost disconcertingly strong, and he struggles to adjust to its abrupt absence as the rails on his mind fall away. His mouth feels dry, his neck burns like it's been flayed open, he feels with a dreadful certainty that his skin has been nearly torn through - but he is himself again.

His first thought, freed from the artificial clouding, is a curse.

Fuck.

How long was he like that? How long was he trapped wandering the desert like an aimless dog? He remembers the rope being tightened around his neck, but everything between and now is a shapeless blur. He takes a moment just to process the sharp feeling of dread that seizes him the moment that he realizes the thought, the fear that he's been too late.

How long was he out?

His first attempt to start the change meets failure- the rope burns around his neck protest, sharply and painfully, aggravated by the shift, and he loses his concentration in an instant. Not good. If damaged too much, he's well aware, the change simply won't take until the damage is healed enough to not gash his throat open, but he can't afford to be trapped as a selkie for so long - not in a conflict like this.

His second attempt is slower, and, thankfully, more successful. His skin splits just below his chin as he forces skin to separate from shell- and he's aware of a sudden, burning pain as his throat rips itself open, rivulets of hemolymph spattering from torn flesh.

He lets go of the attempt, the sides of his pelt fusing again.

That is not a good sign.

How long was he out? How much longer before he'll heal enough to turn back? His tail thrashes from side to side, panic abruptly enveloping him. It's another horrifying moment of fear before he remembers to try and ask those who rescued him.

They've crowded closer during his moment of panic. Concern, he's fairly certain. Astotheles' selkie form cannot speak as a bug could. Fortunately, he's well-versed in workarounds. The utility of those workarounds, of course, will depend on who it is that's found him.

Bandit sign first. His attempt to signal questioning is met with a mere head-tilt, both of the bugs involved muttering amongst themselves. Not his Bandits, then. He scratches a simple symbol into the ground- peaceful meeting[1], only to be met with redoubled confusion, one of the bugs doing what seems to be an attempt at deciphering the components of it.

...most likely not bandits at all.

He brushes over the sign, an abrupt wave of dizziness washing over him. He can't tell for certain if it's due to dread or simply side effect of dehydration - which,  arguably, is just as bad of a sign as the hole worn into his neck. It's been entirely too long since he's been a cricket if he's had this long to accumulate thirst. He doesn't recognize the space he's in, but by the lack of bars and total lack of anything keeping him in, he's probably not adding to the list of prisoner cells he's occupied over his lifespan - a small mercy, but still a mercy.

It still doesn't tell him where he is, or where he's been in the intervening time.

A hand tentatively strokes against his side, and he snaps to attention, jerking away from the bug. His selkie form's ears are different from his normal ears - enough so that it can take time to make sense of nearly anything said to him as the sounds echo through cartilaginous outcroppings. The tone, at least, comes across just fine.

Concern is fairly universal.

The larger one offers him a shell filled with... something. He's fairly sure that they're a beetle, by now, though he isn't quite sure - this form relies more on visual cues than scent, and a lot of beetles look more or less the same. It smells like water when he gives it a tentative sniff, and it tastes like water when he tests it - a good samaritan? Or simply fishing for favors?

It matters little, admittedly. The moment he tastes it, he's reminded of just how parched he is, downing half of it in barely a second. He is resistant to dehydration, of course, but he has his limits- he has far more soft tissue to keep hydrated as a selkie than as a bug. He finishes it in record time, licking at the bottom of the preserved shell before it's taken away.

With the water-weight settling in his belly, he is suddenly, vibrantly aware of the fact that he has not eaten in gods-know-how-long.

The smaller bug gestures at him, and he takes a moment to identify it as a common-ish variant of a Moth's sign. Easier to follow than verbal language- his eyes follow movement well like this, in a way he's been told is reminiscent of how mantises follow their prey.

They're asking if he's okay.

He scratches his reply out in Bugnish- "am fine" is not as eloquent as he would like, but he is limited in both space and time here. "need find friends", he scratches out, looking at the beetle and the... probably-a-moth.

Even with a relatively reduced sense of scent, he can smell their incredulity.

He is informed that the moth doesn't appreciate bugs lying to look tough in short order. According to them, he needs food and water and something else first- there aren't really enough moths in his Bandits for him to be terribly well-versed in this particular variant of sign, and he's not familiar with the last one they use.

He is still familiar enough to know what "you agree" looks like.

"cannot wait", he writes. They sign "you agree" with ever-so-slightly more emphasis. Admirable ethic, he supposes, but he still doesn't know how long it's been. He cannot afford to feed himself before his Bandits.

"i go now", he writes. He hauls himself to his feet, intent on marching through the wave of dizziness-

-and finds himself in the arms of the moth, blinking spots of black out of his eyes.

He strongly suspects that he will not win this argument.

He still makes an attempt at protest, pawing at their arms with suddenly-weak claws. They heft him with relative ease, saying something to their partner - he doesn't understand what, exactly, but he gets the gist of the concern. Considering their previous statements... this is not ideal.

He wishes, at times, that his selkie form was a big bigger. This is one of them. He does not have a particularly strong bite, nor does he have any means of utilizing the bite he has. Considering the situation at hand, this is very, very unfortunate for his prospects of finding his Bandits any time soon.

He still squirms as he is carted out of the hollow. He still snarls, making his displeasure known as sharply as he can manage. The rope burns pull painfully with nearly every movement he makes, leaking selkie-red blood all over the moth's front - he cannot quite bring himself to care, in the moment. He has business to do, he has bugs to attend to, he has an organization to run-

And unfortunately for him, none of these facts make him any less trapped in the eyes of a wayward silk moth and his charmsmith girlfriend.

[1] Peaceful Meeting, part of a cant script commonly used among the Bandit groups around Defiant Root. Signifies a place where bugs are to meet for a peaceful meeting - there is also a variant for a meeting where hostilities are to be expected, although it is most commonly used to overwrite the peaceful variant once a meeting has gone sour.

[nochromity]

oh hecc askbox closed I did not account for this what do uh uh uh- oh right I have a blog

@dooblebugs​ I made a,, another,,, a Himb

back at it again at krispy kreme

he a lil chonky but that’s okay. mer-quorl my beloved

bonus: all aboard the Quirrel Tram! (real)

also my friend sent me glow-in-the-dark clay for my birthday so he glows :>

okay I think that’s enough images now;;   👉👈

[nochromity]

hey I uh, made a thing last night. that could be considered fanart of your mer au. specifically the Teelso plush post because it lives in my head rent-free. anyway here-

it he,,,,,,,

smol

OH MY GOD ITS HE!! ITS TEELSO

[nochromity]

So I just updated my bio to say "I may post art here someday. Today is not that day." Guess that was a lie

[nochromity]

hey just a fucking psa because apparently i still need to say this in the year of our lord 2021

being aspec, whether you are arospec, acespec, or both, is NOT A BAD THING. being aspec is NOT A BAD ORIENTATION. you are a whole person who is FULLY capable of living a fulfilling life HOWEVER YOU WANT and if anyone says anything that tries to negate that then theyre not worth your fucking time

you dont “seem” aspec to other people? i dont give a shit!! “aspec” is not a set personality trait and no one has the right to tell you who you are

you “cant give as much” as allo people can? thats BULLSHIT you are SO capable and you can give as much or as little as youre comfortable with in ANY given situation

its “a shame” that you identify this way? there is NOTHING shameful about being and identifying as aspec

your identity is “too complicated”? tough shit!! they can do some research on their own! you are not nor ever will be obligated to have to teach willfully ignorant people anything about yourself or your experiences

your headcanons “dont make sense”? ANYONE can be aspec. anyone can be ANY orientation fictional or real and whoever says otherwise can take it and stick it. we deserve diverse rep, and we deserve rep PERIOD.

you are not broken. you are not a mistake. you are not a waste of space. you are not a burden. and you are not evil or bad for being aspec. you are beautiful you are loved and you deserve to be celebrated. and anyone who tries to take that away from you can fuck off. 🖤🤍💚💜