#long-legged velvet mite | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

zuzsenpai · 3 months ago

Text

Zuzu's Bug-ventures: Home Edition!

I'm so behind on identifying these, but most of them were from last week. Some I've already posted on their own, but I thought I would add them to the week's collection.

Bronzed cutworm moth (Nephelodes minians). I don't think I've ever looked up what moths look like when they're mating, but I guess this is it!

Eastern harvestman (Leiobunum vittatum). Found it on the porch and honestly thought it was dead. It disappeared by the evening, so either it wasn't dead, or something grabbed it

Western honey bee (Apis mellifera). Always a welcome sight

Eastern yellowjacket (Vespula maculifrons). All these directions!

Four-lined silverfish (Ctenolepisma lineatum). Without fail, these guys are always in the sink after you come back from a trip

Unsure of ID. Possibly a huntsman spider of some kind. It was pretty big and very dead

Small grass skipper butterfly (Atalopedes campestris). After 50000 blurry skipper photos, one of them finally decided to let me get a good one

Peck's skipper butterfly (Polites peckius). There were so many different kinds of skippers out and about!

Silver-spotted skipper butterfly (Epargyreus clarus). Action shot, but it was just the right angle to see identify it as a silver-spotted one

Small grass skipper butterfly (Atalopedes campestris). Yes, a second one. But it looks different enough from the first that I thought I would post it. And we're done with the skippers now, I promise (at least for this post)

Unsure of ID, but it's definitely the underside of a jumping spider

Flea jumping spider (naphrys pulex). These are so cute. They're my favorite jumping spider at this point

Eastern carpenter bee (Xylocopa virginica). I have no idea how my phone was able to accomplish this one. Perfect bee. Gorgeous. No notes

Unsure of ID. NO idea. I know it's hard to see, but this extremely tiny spider made an incredible web

Dusky Stink Bug (Euschistus tristigmus). Just a guy. It was funny because my dad was like "look! there's a cool bug on my car for your collection!" and I had to tell him that it was just a stink bug

Unsure of ID. Possibly a plant bug (Megaloceroea recticornis).

Varied carpet beetle larva (Anthrenus verbasci). This was on my wall. Hopefully it was the only one!

Unsure of ID. Possibly Alebra aurea, which is a type of leafhopper.

Giant crane fly (Nephrotoma ferruginea). This one is super dead, but you can see my pictures of it doing alive stuff here.

Unsure of ID. I'm thinking just a curled up millipede

Winter ant (Prenolepis imparis). I was ready to ignore this thinking it was an ant I've seen before a zillion times. But looking closer, it's really pretty! Apparently they're usually active in the winter/cold weather, so I'm not sure what this guy was doing hanging around when it was late September and 68 degrees.

Minettia magna. Can't find the common name. The internet's just calling it a fly

Unsure of ID. Red velvet mite? Clover mite? I used to be fascinated by these little guys as a kid

Pennsylvania ground beetle (Harpalus pensylvanicus). I mean, it do be hanging out in Pennsylvania, I'll give it that. I saved this one after I saw it crawl under a recliner in my parents' house

Unsure of ID. Something in the Anthidium genus. This one is dead, hanging by a single leg stuck to a flower bud.

Long-bodied cellar spider (Pholcus phalangioides). They're ridiculously cute. Also I've never seen one not upside down lol.

Citrus flatid planthopper (Metcalfa pruinosa). This was my favorite (and cutest) find of the week! I thought it was a tiny bird poop, but thought I saw legs, so I zoomed in with my phone and caught this little fella! Incredible, incredible.

So there you have it for last week! In order to stop myself from getting frustrated at the lack of quality in my photos, I decided my main goal is not to take gorgeous bug photos, but instead to try and take the best photos I can with the shittiest phone camera. And I think I've done a pretty good job of testing the limits of this thing!

#Zuzu's bug ventures #insects #bugs #tw insects #tw spiders #spiders #dead bugs #bug identification

1 note · View note

haveaseatau · 5 months ago

Text

Picking the Right Restaurant Arm Chairs? Here’re 4 Tips from Furniture Experts

There’re tonnes of ways to upgrade the interior and create a beautiful dining area for your guests. But none can beat the facts of investing in the right dining chairs and tables. To increase sales in your restaurant, you must choose the right restaurant arm chairs and tables.

Aside from that, you should also ensure that your chairs and tables are comfortable enough for your guests. After all, comfortable seating options make the guests spend more time in your place and order more.

So, how can you find the right armchairs for your restaurant?

Well, if you’re planning to revamp your eatery, you should read the following blog post to include the right armchairs in your restaurant.

The top 4 things you must consider when choosing armchairs for your restaurant

The following are them,

1. Consider what type of furniture you’ll need:

Before you start shopping for armchairs for your restaurant, it’s a must to consider your furniture.

If your restaurant comes with formal dining tables, then keeping things traditional with wooden armchairs would be ideal.

But if your restaurant is more casual, having an open plan of investing in a mix of traditional and modern style armchairs will add a little more personality to your eatery.

Alongside that, you should also consider the look of your dining armchairs.

If you’re buying traditional chairs, considering sleek lines without any embellishments like button tufting would be ideal. And, detailed carvings on dark wood (mahogany or oak) like the ones our grandparents have would be ideal for traditional armchairs.

2. Consider the style of the dining tables of your restaurant:

When choosing armchairs for your restaurant, ensure that the ones you’re buying complement the look of the restaurant tables.

If the dining tables in your restaurant are more traditional or antique-style, opting for modern dining chairs won’t be a good idea – choosing armchairs with more like a colonial-era vibe would be ideal.

Similarly, if your chosen restaurant chairs come with a vintage vibe, never pair them with modern dining tables.

The same goes for matching with other décor pieces of your restaurant interior as well.

3. Consider the materials of your chosen armchairs:

In order to choose the right armchairs for your restaurant, you must consider and understand the benefits of the chairs’ materials.

If people with kids and pets are your most common customers, choosing armchairs made of faux leather would be ideal, as they’re easy to clean and long-lasting.

If you want something luxurious yet unique, choosing armchairs made of velvet would be an excellent choice. They also don’t absorb dust mites – thus, can be perfect for customers with sensitive or allergy-prone skin.

wooden armchairs have always been popular, as they add character and warmth to any interior décors. But if you want something more contemporary, opting for veneer options like mahogany mimicking natural finishes would be ideal.

4. Consider the comfort feature of your dining armchairs:

Though having armrests on your restaurant dining chairs is one of the most comfortable features, you must also consider other comfortable features before choosing an armchair.

Pick armchairs with weight distribution between the four legs of the chairs. It’s a vital thing to check because if one part of the chair has more weight on it than the other parts, it can lead to a stress fracture in the frame or breakage over time.

Besides the armrests, make sure that the chairs you’re choosing for your restaurant come with padded seats and backrests. Dining chairs should be comfortable to make guests feel relaxed when dining in. Thus, look for armchairs with soft cushioning.

Bottom line,

Are you planning to redecorate your eatery with something stunning and new? Well, investing in the latest restaurant arm chairs would be excellent. All you’ll have to do is choose the right ones for your place. We hope this blog post can help you understand all the features you must consider to find the right dining chairs for your eatery.

Also Read: Tips From Your Favorite Sydney Hospitality Pros: Ergonomic Furniture for Pub and Club Owners

#restaurant arm chairs

0 notes

unknownjpegs · 1 year ago

Text

rosewood

The throne is massive. Gaudy and grandiose in a manner that suggests, without question, the standing of Benji’s predecessor. He will be so glad to bring in a round-table, chairs simply crafted and of equal height. One for him, for Sunshine, for Peril, for Xavier, for Tino, for Mouse. For Matilda, even, although it usually sits empty.

More seats for whatever company wishes to claim a spot. As long as they have true intentions and the good of this community at heart, he will turn no one away. There will be no throne, nor even head of the table. Despite his new station, Benji refuses to sit at either.

“You would think with all that at hand, they would have more taste. Why do the nobility waste their vaults of coin on…ugliness?” He asks the knight at his side — the knight always at his side.

“What else are you to do with vaults of coin?” Xavier laughs. His head tilts back, hair falling wildly free from the bun at his nape.

Benji quite enjoys the picture he makes, as well as the confidently poised, gloved hand resting on the hilt of that hip-sheathed sword. He always looks so regal even out of all that gleaming armor. And yet, in this moment, he wears but a simple beige linen shirt and trousers. Boots muddy from the morning rain, trail behind him in the greatroom, stains upon the finely dyed carpet.

Benji adores him for so many reasons, could not count them if he tried. But he is particularly smitten with that simple action: leaving stains. A slight mean streak, his brave-hearted knight, and Benji would not have it any other way.

“Well, I think it has a certain charm.”

“You cannot possibly be serious, Xavier.”

The seat of the thing could fit them both, side by side, it’s that big.

Rosewood, Matilda had sneered mournfully upon seeing it for the first time. Rare and with such beneficial properties when left to live in peace. Look, the beautiful grey skin of it, how it bleeds in the center? What a beast he was to craft it from rosewood.

It is truly a splendid color. Rich and dark like the standard mahogany of nobility, but washed with a magenta-red, as if stained by blood. Benji wonders if it has been. It rises near to the ceiling, gray trim and streaks of molten silver poured into where the wood has splintered in several places. That’ll be pulled out before the rest burns — Peril always needs more elements for their research, and he’d rather it go to the observatory to be used, rather than sell it off to line the kingdom’s coffers further.

Xavier leaps the stairs leading up to it, taking two at a time with his long legs.

“Be careful,” Benji laughs, “do not wet it with your filthy fucking boots. It’s to be firewood.”

“Pity,” Xavier says, throwing himself on the wide seat. He tips his head back, hair mussed as it presses against the garish thing. His green eyes are on the winding branches that coil like snakes from the very top of it, appreciating the fine texture of carved leaves.

Benji, of course, has his eyes on Xavier. The throne looks a mite less insipid with him sitting upon it, crown of hair nearly blending in with the bleeding wood, pale hands stark as they tap along one of the velvet-covered armrests.

Benji looks at him. Looks and looks and looks. He could do it forever and still not feel as though their lost time has been even marginally supplemented.

But Xavier say pity. Pity, with none of the word’s accompanying emotion. Instead, it coils with a sort of breathiness that makes Benji believe it is not grief for beautiful craftsmanship gone to waste.

And wouldn’t it be such waste, to have this ornamenting go unappreciated?

He grew up valuing every resource, after all, and wastefulness was not one of the lessons Tino bestowed upon him.

Besides his own raised virtues, he finds motivation in how Xavier pushes out his bottom lip slightly, gazing down at him from that seat. Coy. His heart catches, squeezes.

“Just seems a shame for it not to be used one last time.”

Benji sighs, as if it is some great burden to acquiesce, and begins to climb the stairs. He has so many demands being made of him, these days. So many burdens. But it has never — will, never — be an encumbrance to make Xavier smile. He is weak to any sort of request from that mouth. And sometimes they need not even be verbalized. Sometimes, he knows them before they become sound. This is one of those instances. In his head, I am going to fuck you on it, before Xavier even says:

“You should fuck me on it.”

So it’s how they end up. Appreciating the craftsmanship, of course. In reality, the rubbish-fated throne is merely a set piece to debauchery than anything else.

And what debauchery it is, Benji thinks, heavy tongue touching his bottom lip as he regards the body beneath him. As he looks.

I thought you dead. He leans forward, pulling his hips back, touches his nose to the spot at Xavier’s temple where his hair begins to twine into a braid. He smells like now: sweat and skin and metal and leather. Smells like then: hay and spring-dew wetted flowers and the decades old musty wood of that barn.

Crawled from grave and memory, he pushes back in slowly. Savors the feeling of a warm body around him and the twist of pleased emotion that furrows that red brow. Crawled back so that we can make new ones. Like this.

“Fuck,” Xavier gasps, tossing his head back and baring his throat. Then, as if he can read Benji’s spectacularly melodramatic thoughts, demands: “Like that, oh. Yes. Y-Yes, c’mon.”

Fuck, he agrees, what a memory it’ll be.

Wanting to make it a good one for Xavier too, he laughs and moves as requested. Keeps his thrusts agonizingly slow but impactful, forcefully hard right as their bodies meet.

He is ruining them both with it, and knows this will not last long. Like every time they come together in this manner, it is simply that maddening.

Maddening. The good sort. One that Benji has not been so accustomed to, over the years.

The initial months of mourning Xavier’s absence had been, to mince words for fear of falling into those memories instead of this one, absolutely fucking maddening.

Benji had been a little…well, Tino, in all his infinite kindness and sympathy, would not have called it dramatic. But Benji would — does. Nights gazing up at the stars, tears in his eyes; sitting out on the fence contemplating the treeline, wondering if perhaps a red mess of hair might just pop out of it like nothing had ever happened, arm raised in a wave. Eventually falling into muscle memory, eventually stop gazing up at the sky, at the treeline.

He’d also mourned in other, less morose yet just as consumptive ways.

Xavier’s touch lingered as even the years dragged, made him seek out warm flesh in an effort to remember the sensation better. And yet skin was never properly pale, veins in wrists too blue, nor hair ever as sweetly flaming. No matter how much he tried, none of it had been satiating. None of it had ever come close to —

To this. He pulls himself willfully from the spiral back into the moment. Because it’s such a good one, Benji smirks. Loud, too. He hopes the staff hears and knows to stay away, any guards stationed beyond the great doors are dutifully at a distance. Because Xavier —

His air catches at the end of every thrust, hitches silent for half a second, then winds out of him in a breathless ah or filthy outright moan. Sometimes they spin long enough for the next punch of Benji’s hips to catch them half-way, knocking high into a whine, and it’s…he’s…

Well, this will not be long at all. Not for him, and certainly not for Xavier. He has fallen from that ragged peak once already, spilled messy over a brown fist and his own stomach. It cools there, pooled and sticky in creases of freckled skin as Benji folds him further in half. Draws his attention, that mess.

Sweat beads off his forehead and drips from his temple, swings off and lands in a streak down Xavier’s collarbone in a tempting rivulet. Messy.

He halts, ignoring the questioning whine, to swipe at it with his thumb. To rub it in, he recognizes the possession with cheeks that heat until his face feels as if it’s too close to a fire.

“Sometimes,” he breathes, “I wish I would have waited for you to come back.” Waits for Xavier’s eyes to slip open, darkened and addled, to start moving again. “Although it might not have been this good, huh?” Is it good? Say it is. “We both would have fumbled through it.”

He doesn’t elaborate on the context. And would not need to, it seems, because recognition flashes soft across the pale face (the right pale, veins the right blue, hair the right color) below him.

Xavier has his fingers wrapped behind his knees, spreading himself obscenely open, but now he grins and lifts them to fit around Benji’s neck. Pulls him down close, until their noses brush, their panting breath mingles.

“Woulda, ha, would have been happy to fumble with you.”

Well. And how is he supposed to behave, after that? The thrusts are no longer slow, like bloodied sap dripping from a rosewood.

Xavier becomes louder still, if at all possible, and drops one hand to his mouth. Crescents of red form around his knuckles as his teeth sink in, fist held loosely beneath a rabid bite of his own making. His eyes are wet at the edges now, fluttering like they want to slip entirely shut, but he seems intent on keeping them open. Drives Benji so fucking mad to feel them locked on his, occasionally blinking dizzy across his face, down their chests, and further, where —

Benji snaps his hips again just to watch those eyes roll, the pale legs tossed over his elbows tensing.

“Xavier, ah,” he pants roughly, swallowing around emotion and the rough edge of arousal stuck in his throat. “Not a barn, but just as good…?”

And the poor man is certainly in no state to manage words, but what he does find the capacity for is a bright, panting smile.

Brighter, he notes, then even the eye-burning blaze of flame that licks the throne into ash at the celebratory bonfire later that evening. Standing between Chef and Peril, Xavier catches his eye over its rising red-orange peaks. He winks.

Barn or throne room, looking back or looking ahead. It matters not. They have their strange patchwork family. They have each other.

#writing #au #bp #xw #bp x xw #fantasy au

0 notes

animalids · 4 years ago

Photo

Long-legged velvet mite (Leptus sp.)

Photo by Steve & Alison1

#you have beautiful eyes #fave #unidentifiable #long legged velvet mite #velvet mite #leptus #erythraeidae #erythraeoidea #prostigmata #trombidiformes #acariformes #acari #arachnida #chelicerata #arthropoda #panarthropoda #ecdysozoa

680 notes · View notes

hapalopus · 5 years ago

Text

I found a book about old Danish ethnozoology, here's a few of my favorite arachnid-themed things:

If a harvestmen crawls on you while you're sitting and eating in the fields, someone will propose to you soon

The common name for spider today is 'edderkop' which means venomous (edder) fat body (kop). Other names it has had through time include edderkongle (venomous little king), spindekælling (weaver bitch), lykkebringer (luck bringer), nisse ('gnome', a folkloric creature), and ganvatter (yarn daddy).

If you remove cobwebs you must not kill the spiders. Killing spiders is bad luck and can even bring disease, animal death, and lightning strikes to your household.

If a spider spins down in front of your face it means you'll have good fortune. If it crawls away from you, that's an omen of luck. If it starts swinging, a letter will arrive or a wish will come true. If it happens in the morning, however, you will have a bad day.

If a cross spider crawls across a sick person, they will become healthy again.

It's good luck to see a spider in the middle of the day. If you see it in the evening, your evening will be nice.

If a spider or velvet mite (especially a velvet mite) has been hanging out on your clothes for a while without you noticing, that means good luck. Especially if it's in your pocket. If the spider is running, however, that's bad luck

If you remove cobwebs in the barns, your cattle will get sick

If a bride finds a spider on her dress she will have good fortune

If a spider runs around you, someone's talking about you

If you pick a spider up by its thread and it crawls up, that’s good luck. If it crawls down, that's bad luck, unless it turns around and shows you its back or belly while crawling. If it's suddenly gone, that's really bad luck

New webs in the window means you'll have guests soon. A triangular web in a corner means money is on its way. Webs being spun in the dark means something shady is going on in your household - to stop the shady business, pick up the spider, say "Go away bad kop!" and kick it out of of the house.

If you dream of a spider, that's good luck, but if you kill it in your dream it's bad luck.

If a spider is spinning webs in the rain, the weather will get better soon.

If a corner-spider comes out of its hole, good weather is coming. The further out and the longer it's stretching its legs, the better the weather. If only the butt is poking out, though, that means lots of rain is on the way.

If the spiders disappear, rain and bad weather is coming

If the fields are covered in webs you'll have good weather for days.

When the corner-spiders are running around frantically and fighting over webs you will get freezing weather. If they build more webs on top of the old ones, the frost will get worse within 9-12 days and last for a long time

#Denmark #folklore #spiderblr #witchblr #ethnozoology #danish folklore

743 notes · View notes

sleepylixie · 4 years ago

Text

Never gone, my love

Demon-Hunter!Changbin x Demon-Queen!reader (Fits the Halloween moodies, me thinks)

2.8k words, Fantasy Angst Oneshot.

Warnings: Strong Language, gore, blackmail, murder by decapitation, a healthy dose of violence overall. An obsessive romance?

A/N: HELLO! Tis me! Before anything, the inspiration for this fic comes entirely from the amazing fic (My love is Come to me) written by @silverlightqueen- Oof, what a queen! Reading that piece had me lowkey mind blown and itching to give it a spin myself and so, Never gone, my love was born. Guys, no joke, I enjoyed writing this fic so insanely much. I’ve been missing from Tumblr for the sole reason of not having the inspiration or the guts to write and post anything anymore. Recently, I’ve been learning and making changes to that attitude of mine, so HERE WE ARE! I’m here to bug everybody with my fics and writing again!!

ONTO THE FIC!!! Hope y’all like this!

What is a queen without a king? Unhinged.

What is a queen with her king? Unleashed.

The silver rings on my fingers glinted wickedly, winks of light reflecting off them from the hellfire blazing outside. Being queen was no mean feat, even if the queen in question was of part- noble blood to start with. Not everybody was happy with Satan’s oldest heir being a daughter- if anything, they expected me to take to my mother’s path and become a low-rung sex fiend, running errands day-to-day, begging for a good fuck. Imagine their horror when I turned out to be my father’s daughter instead, the woman that is begged for. Holding power came to me as naturally as playing the seductress and it was only a matter of centuries before my father and his court relented, finally giving me an ascendancy to my own realm of Hell.

If power is currency, I am a feral tycoon, trading in smiles, sex and savagery. I played the game I wasn’t expected to play and here I sit, on the Fifth circle’s throne, dripping in authority and gemstones.

No, I’m not the type to dress so frivolously every day. It was the coming of All Hallow’s Eve and my subjects were all too happy to enjoy the lines thinning between our world and the mortals’. The air was electric, alive with the sounds of fear, lust, anger…. Sin. It was a symphony to my immortal ears. While my people revelled in their festivities outside my castle, I had my own celebrations well underway.

“I know you’re outside, my love!” I called out, elongated canines flashing against the smirk on my blood-hued lips. “Why don’t you join in the festivities,” I grinned wider, “it’s all for you anyway.”

If I had breath in my lungs, it would have been knocked out of me by the man who stepped into my throne room. Jet black hair, sharp chin and sharp eyes narrowed as he took a step, and another into the chamber. He was dressed like any other of his stature would be- comfortable fighter’s clothing over his muscled physique, harness over his shoulders, thighs and waist with weaponry all over his frame and disdain on his face.

“What is it going to take for you to leave me alone, Y/N.” Seo Changbin wasn’t the type to mince words and oh, how I loved that about him. I let my smile grow further into a snarl, baring teeth. “You know the answer to that too well, my love.” I cooed, allowing myself a flash of satisfaction at the way his jaw gritted in annoyance.

My demon hunter love. Oh, what has that curse done to you.

“Cut the bullshit, Y/N.” His eyes bore hateful holes into my own as he looked me up and down, wrinkling his nose at the sight of my royal regalia. “You know that’s never going to happen. When are you going to stop with your infernal games?”

I clicked my tongue, standing and walking down my throne’s podium, jet black smoke and orange sparks trailing behind my dress.

“You loved these infernal games more than I did, darling. When will you stop depriving yourself of what’s truly yours?” My stilettos clicked against the black marble floor as I made my way closer to where Changbin stood, ramrod straight in front of the double doors. “When hell freezes over.” He snarled back, watching my every movement.

I knew how I looked to him, a vision in debauchery, a shining beacon of temptation dipped in black corseted silk and silvery green gemstones. It is exactly what he hated about me- what he was cursed to hate about me. “I’m sure I can arrange that fairly easily if that’s what you wish, my love.”

My cold, beautiful love. Oh, what has that curse done to you.

He was the strongest, cruelest son of a Hell’s prince, smitten by my power and I, by his strength. We were inseparable, indomitable, bonded by mischief big and small until he was taken away from me.

He sucked in a breath, momentarily thrown off-guard before regaining his bearings. “You’re not strong enough for that, sweetheart,” he spat out the endearment like a curse. “You’d have done that a long time ago if you could.”

I looked him in the eye, unfazed by his argument. My heavily braceleted hand rose, palm first, wreathed in a ball of hellfire. Fire that blazed so hot, it was almost white. I let it burn bright between the both of us, illuminating the previously shadowed chamber around us.

There was an almost disappointed- no, frustrated look in Changbin’s eyes as he took in the utter carnage around him. Body after mortal body lay on the floor of my throne room, all limp, pale and unmoving.

“You- They said it was one dead body!” Changbin spluttered, his angry expression giving way to horror as he took in his vicinity. “This is just the beginning of what I can do. What you could do. You reveled in this debauchery as much as I did, darling.” I responded nonchalantly, allowing the hellfire to light up the chandeliers above us. “I’m sure you remember that one All Hallow’s Eve when we went on a rampage like this.”

“There is nothing fun about MURDERING INNOCENT HUMANS.” Changbin exclaimed and I shrugged, delighted at finally getting a rise out of him. “But you don’t know them. You don’t care about them. What does it matter to you? They’re just more souls for my people to feed on.”

“This is basic human empathy, Y/N!” He snarled at me and oh. There it was. The otherworldly strength that even the curse couldn’t take away from him. It set my nerves aflame, my body singing in it’s presence, it’s familiarity. “There is nothing more abhorrent than the way you keep killing and killing like these people don’t matter.” His voice rose in volume, raspy in it’s pitch. “What will it take for you to understand that I am not. YOURS. There is nothing under this godforsaken world that will let your devilish hands take over me, or the mortals on Earth-”

“What do you care about Mortals?” I screamed back, the fire in my nerves sparking into a wildfire at his words. “You’re NOT MORTAL.YOU’RE LIKE ME. YOU’RE MINE.YOU LIE TO YOURSELF. ”

Silence stretched between us as he stared at me again, stunned by my outburst. But then again, this isn’t something he hasn’t heard before.

The race of demon hunters is an abomination come to life. That coming from a demon princess is the highest order of abhorrence. Even more so because.. My love is the first, and worst of them.

The elders in the first mortal civilization felt the need to find a way for them to bring demons from the thralls of temptation and make them immune to the point where they can slay their kin to protect humankind. I was there. Trapped and in pain because of my childhood innocence , forced to watch as those infernal mites plunged my love into the light that turned him away from me, since time immemorial until now. Forced to watch as he rose from the flames, eyes alight with hatred as he plunged my father’s dagger into my chest.

“Admit it, my love,” I purred, stepping closer to him, leaning closer to his ear. “You miss being mine, as I missed being yours. You missed sitting on that throne, as King. Some part of you misses this.” I turned around and threw my arms out, encompassing the massacre in front of us.

I let out a velvet laugh as I made my way back to my throne. “This was all yours, until you walked away.” Taking my seat, I looked down at where Changbin stood, having moved from the doors to the middle of the room. “All I ask is for you to return to where you belong.”

“Maybe if you die for more than a few hours after I kill you, I’ll consider it.” Changbin snarled at me, looking for all the otherworld like a king without a crown.

I forgot what loss, pain and heartbreak felt like after that day, all those millennia ago. That is, until I found him in my chambers again, bristling with human weaponry and the need to kill me thrumming through his veins. So began our cat-and-mouse game, him wanting to sever his last connection to the Otherworld and me, savoring the sheer frustration I left him. You see, I forgot loss, pain, heartbreak- but I didn’t forget possession. He was mine, for glorious centuries, until he was taken away from me. I vowed to bring my Changbin back again and Satan’s daughter never goes back on her words.

“Or what if hell freezes over?” My pleasant question stopped Changbin short, head cocking to the side in slight confusion. “You see, darling, I might be Satan’s daughter, but I made my way here from the bottom.” I picked at my fingernails, looking like I didn't have a care in the world- which, of course, I didn’t. “ After you left, I gave and took many more favors to get to this fine evening. They call me Hell’s Whore, for all the things I was willing to do that even low-grade scum wouldn’t. You see, the darkness owes me a favor,” The color draining from his face stoked at the ice-cold fire burning in my mind. “And the darkness never fails to deliver.”

“What did you do,” Changbin breathed, his hands going, almost unconsciously, to the knives sheathed at his thighs. I smiled my sweet sinner smile at him, crossing one leg over the other as I leaned back on my throne. “Oh, nothing. Just asked for hell to freeze over Earth on All Hallow’s Eve night if you don’t agree to turn back.”

The curse was very simple. The only way my love would ever come back to me was if he chose to make the Turn himself. It was a clever ploy, because immunity to temptation was rooted into every demon hunter’s veins from the moment they are created. Luckily for me, I wasn’t beyond playing dirty.

“What the fuck?” Changbin exclaimed in rage, his feet carrying him of his own volition up the steps to stand over me in front of my throne. I continued smiling at him, not a hint of remorse on my face as I looked up at him. “You have a few minutes to decide, my love.” I purred, not breaking eye contact. It was that split second of uncertainty that flashed through his face, which urged me to move, pushing him down onto the twin throne that sat beside mine, empty for centuries without it’s true owner.

“And I’d suggest you make yourself comfortable.” I whispered, my lips mere inches from his face. The glare he levelled at me was one for the books, raging wild fury and utter desperation all wound into one.

“Stay where you are, darling, or I’ll butcher these precious mortal bodies one by one.” I grinned as I straightened up, sauntering back down the stairs to nudge my foot against one of the bodies closest to the throne. “I’ll have you know that none of these mortals are dead,” I giggled. “Only unconscious from the fear of the Otherworld. Delicate creatures, these mortals. It’s a wonder why you want to be associated with these weaklings.” A growl ripped out of Changbin’s throat as I stifled another laugh.

“How do I know you’re not bluffing? About the darkness?” Changbin shouted behind me, still rooted to his spot on the podium. I didn’t respond, only humming softly as I picked my way through the many bodies, looking for all the world like I was frolicking in Eden’s Garden. The singing of a blade flying through the air brought me out of my fake reverie, spinning and catching it by the handle just before it pierced my skin.

“Tch. You really didn’t think I’d make it this easy for you to kill me.” You wagged the knife point first at Changbin, who was still on the podium- what a sight he made. He was made for the throne, but his entire form bristled like he was seated on hot coals instead of opulence. “You don’t know if I’m bluffing until Hell actually freezes over, my love.” I responded, just loud enough for him to hear. I pulled up one of the limp bodies I stood amongst, a young girl who barely looked 16.

Changbin’s knife twirled in my fingers as I gripped the handle, moving the blade almost sensuously over the skin of her throat. “Maybe the massacre should start with her.”

It was a soft prick of pleasure that slid through my veins at the look of panic that danced across Changbin’s eyes. “You wouldn’t dare.” He growled. I did nothing but stare him in the eye, allowing the point of his knife to dip slightly into the child’s neck. Drops of ruby blood blossomed at the wound and the scent. Oh, the scent of human blood. What a magnificent feast.

“You have 3 seconds left, my love.” “What-” “Three,” “What the-” “Two,” “No, wait-” “One-”

“OKAY. FINE. FINE. STOP.”

“What was that, darling?” I cocked my head, pretending like I hadn’t heard him. “I’ll do it.” He sighed in defeat.

Oh. “Do it then,” I urged him, still having the knife pointed edge down into my young victim’s throat.

“You’re a fucking menace, Y/N .”Were the last words I heard before his eyes closed and his body slumped back into the throne, his face deliciously blank.

Did he Turn? The stabs of curiosity danced across my spine as the moments of silence stretched ahead, one, two, ten. And then he stirred. First he sat up, cracking his neck from the awkward position he’d fallen back in. His hand brushed back his hair and then, he opened his eyes. Bright red eyes, twin to my own.

I stared at him in barely veiled disbelief and he stared back, the glow in his eyes fading from neon to ruby. Then he smiled, and I knew. There was only one person in the Otherworld who had that smile of ice and terror. I couldn’t help but throw him a grin of my own, canines bared in an amused snarl of unholy victory. Like he was never gone, my love.

The knife twisted in my hands and went clean through the mortal girl’s throat, twisting away as her head fell off of her body in a shower of blood. But I couldn’t care less about the bloody mess on my arms, shoulders and cheek because I was walking my way back to the twin thrones. Changbin watched my every movement with a predator’s gaze, leaning back onto the throne-his throne, with a sense of stone-cold authority as his ringed fingers tapped the velvet on the arms of the chair. He was made for the throne, my love.

Soon, I stood in front of him, a snap of my fingers bringing forth the cold-iron and obsidian crown that was a male contrast to the feminine tiara that rested on my brow. “My King, my love.” I whispered, setting the crown atop his head. He was meant for a crown, my love.

“My Queen, my love.” Changbin’s smirk sent a jolt of wicked familiarity through my body, a thing of fiendish beauty. He took one of my hands into his own, raising it to press a gentle kiss onto my knuckles, the red eyes never leaving my own. When he tugged at my hand, it was with a sense of belonging that I allowed my body to fall onto his lap, uncaring of anything and anybody else. He nuzzled his nose into my neck, tongue darting out to taste the splatter of mortal blood that had found its way onto my skin. A low groan fought its way out of his mouth at the taste. He was never the type to hold back, my love.

“Oh, how I have missed the taste of human blood.” He rasped against my ear, a shiver making it’s way down my back at the proximity I’d missed so much. “Almost more than I felt the lack of you.” I hummed, placing kisses from his cheekbone to his ear. “Not as much as I missed you, I wager.” I murmured against his skin, nipping softly at his ear. His grip on my waist tightened as I pulled back, smirks mirroring each other. “What would you have me do to prove you wrong, my Queen?” Changbin’s expression was nothing short of vicious excitement as he matched me stare for stare. He was always a fierce one, my love.

“Rule over Earth with me.” His eyebrows raised, almost imperceptibly. “So you’re truly Hell’s Whore?” I chuckled, capturing his lips with mine for a brief yet passionate kiss. “No, my love. Darkness is mine.”

Changbin laughed, the deep sound ricocheting off the hollow space in me that he had left empty for the past centuries. “For you, my Queen, my Love….gladly.”

It was like he was never gone, my love.

66 notes · View notes

di-kut · 5 years ago

Text

Morning

Pero Tovar x Reader

A/N: I am again writing Tovar to avoid writing other things. Set in the same world as this, a small (meant to be) oneshot I wrote on my main blog, but much earlier in time. Reader and Tovar wake up after their second night together. They talk. Things are weird. I don’t really know what this is except I wanted more so here it is. This is very short and unedited. You don’t have to read the other post to read this one.

The sound of someone moving about the kitchen wakes you. It’s a slow, syrupy sort of wakening. Your eyelids and limbs feel thick and heavy. The blankets are pushed back to your waist. Dust mites float gently through the stream of late morning light in the window. Piece by piece the cottage comes into being. The boots in the corner. The clucking of the hens. More of a scrabbling. You blink slowly. The kitchen has gone quiet again.

The night before settles in your mind. You push yourself upright, throw off the covers. Turn your head to the boots again and the heavy leather cuirass. Had thought they were your husband’s, still half asleep. Realise now how they could not possibly have been. Your legs shake when you touch your feet to the ground. Makes you flush, from your hairline to your breasts. The bruises are constellations on your thighs and your stomach. Around your nipples. The shape of his mouth. The soldier. Tovar. You hear things being shifted in the kitchen again. Hear the hens, the scratching, still stuck in their pen. The sun is climbing well above the trees, the sky a bright, brilliant blue. You have not slept so late in months.

You dress with shaking hands. Your head feels full of wool and your mouth dry. You did not drink ale. Had never drunk ale. Until last night. Until the soldier you had only met once, and now bedded twice, had bought it to you. From England, he’d said. Your hair is so tangled you give up braiding it, listen to the sounds of the stranger digging through your things. Through your life. Think of the meagre purse of coin in the drawer with the cutlery. Your dress is the same one you had worn yesterday. Cotton. Used to be a pretty blue, one of your favourites, now threadbare and faded. Piled under the arms and around the neck. You wrap the woollen shawl over it, high around your neck despite the warmth. A necessary protection. Make your way to the kitchen.

He is sitting at your table. Elbows crowded around his plate, legs splayed beneath. Wearing his trousers and his undershirt, but not his armour. His dark eyes find you immediately, knowing and unreadable. His scar pulls at his left eye as he eats, rips the bread with thick fingers and shoves it into his mouth. Smiles when he sees you. It isn’t a particularly nice smile – certainly not friendly. A secret smile, a knowing one. One that makes you flush pink all over again. You lean in the small doorway, unsure. Feel displaced in your own house, feel like he seems more at home here than you do. And maybe it’s true. You certainly haven’t felt as if you belonged in the cottage in months. You envy him. At ease in a place he does not know. Think it must be his life to live like that, from place to place. Feel suddenly very small and very childish in your small corner of the world.

“Sit,” he says to you.

You hesitate. Lean back slightly into the small bedroom and then step out. The floor is stone in the main part of the house, and cool even in the warm summer. Makes you curl your toes as you walk and settle into the stool across from him. Wince when you sit too hard.

He does not miss it. His smile grows, from secretive to smug. “Be careful, yes?” He doesn’t expect an answer, but you nod anyway. “Here, eat.”

You take the large piece of bread he rips off for you gingerly. Hold it over the table in front of you and watch him. He bites into his. He is not gentle, or well mannered. Crumbs fall all around him. Your eyes drop to his mouth, the same mouth which had last night been between your legs. Had called you beautiful. He chuckles. It draws your gaze back up. You go red again and bite into the bread, look away from him completely.

“You are shy. You look at me. You did more than look last night.” You can’t meet his eyes. Stare at a knot in the wood of the tabletop. He laughs again. “Very shy. Your husband does not do such things?”

“I – No.” You swallow. “My husband did not… He never…”

Tovar pushes the rest of the bread towards you. “You must ask him to do this. It makes it much more enjoyable for you, yes?” You are glad he does not expect an answer, this time, because you can make none. You are so flushed it makes you almost dizzy. “Best not to say to him where you get this idea from. He may not like that.”

“My husband is dead.” You say. Still staring at the knot in the wood. “He died when the attacks came from the east. Last summer.”

Tovar is quiet. You risk a glance. He is watching you still, but the smile is gone. He looks almost – pensive. Like he is lingering between two thoughts. He does not say sorry. He does not offer you any condolences. And it makes you guilty, but you are glad. Do not wish to hear anymore pity or second-hand sadness. He just watches you with his dark eyes. You take another small bite from the bread he’d given you. The bread he had brought with him from the inn in town when he’d followed you in the dusk back to your cottage. The bread you had watched him take from the bag of another man, a traveller with a velvet doublet and silk undershirt. It is very good bread. Filled with dried fruits and nuts. You push yourself up carefully and cross to the small chest of drawers. Pull the top drawer open and pretend to search for a knife. Stick your hand in far enough to pick up the purse which is still there and test its weight in your palm. Return it and pull out a long, serrated knife for the bread. Sit back at the table across from him.

He grins at you. “I did not steal your coin.”

You slice a piece and nibble at the side of it. Disappointed. Thought you had been more subtle than that. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You do. And you are wise to check this.”

You say nothing to him. Continue to eat until you cannot anymore, and you push the last of it back to the middle of the table. Tovar takes it without another word and wraps it again in the wax paper it had been stolen in. Places it on the wide bench at the side of the room. Picks up one of the rags slung over the edge of the beam beneath it and wipes the crumbs onto the floor, nudges your arms off the surface of the table so he can wipe it over. You watch him, surprised. Had not expected him to show such care.

You need to let the hens out. To check the gardens. You had planted a bed too early in the winter and it had failed, and the rest you had planted too late. Had let the winter vegetables sit for too long before harvesting them. Had not turned the soil in preparation for summer. And now you were behind. You had not grown up on a farming property, and what you had learned from your husband you had never expected to have to do alone. Had expected to be able to afford to keep on your manservant. Had expected children. Had expected him to live longer. You rub at your brow and move into the bedroom to ready yourself. Don’t know how to ask Tovar to leave. Not sure you trust him in the cottage alone.

Tovar joins you while you dress, does not comment when you turn your back to him, pulling on your apron and attempting to tame your hair into a braid. Have to comb it for some time. He watches you openly. Pulls on his boots while you struggle with the knots. Watches your hands while you braid. Stares at the bruises trailing the length of your neck and jaw, phantom touches left behind, a trail from your ear to your nipple, disappearing beneath your dress. Does not seem to care that this embarrasses you. If anything he seems to enjoy it more because you squirm under his heavy gaze.

“I am going. I must go back to the camp.”

You nod without looking to him. Concentrate on tying the scarf around your hair.

“You will be sore today,” he says. As if this means nothing. As if he is simply observing something. And he is, you suppose. But it makes your stomach twist up and your thighs ache at the memory of him between them the night before. “You should not work too hard.”

The question tumbles out before you can stop it. Before you have even registered the thought. Not jealous. Not exactly. Curious. Scared. This is a world you have never known before this man, this soldier. A world you did not explore even with your husband. Are not allowed to talk about.

“Is that normal?” You frown.

“Hurting? Some types of hurting, these are good. Should not be a bad hurting.”

“No, I – ” You pick at your nailbed. “Not hurting. When, when you, with your mouth. You have done that before? With others?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

And the whole things makes you feel childish again. Silly and small. He is surprisingly kind. His is not laughing at you any longer. “This thing. Knowing these things. This is easier for men, because we are not blamed to seek these flesh comforts. But you should not feel bad for learning them. If they make you feel good.” He shrugs. “This way you can find many more things you like which will make you feel good.”

“There are more ways?”

He does laugh at this. “Many ways.”

“My husband, he never…” You cut yourself off. Horrified you would bring him up with this man, like this. Different to explaining his absence. Comparing them. You clamp your mouth shut. Tovar crosses to you and lays a hot, large hand over your shoulder. “How long are you staying in town?”

“I do not know. A week, maybe. And then we will go east again. This is how my life is.”

He sounds pleased with this. You do not ask him if you will see him again. He pulls his armour over his head and straps it around his torso. Collects his sword from where it leans. You walk him through the kitchen and into the stable, a wooden shack built against the stone wall of the cottage. His horse is mottled white and brown. Makes your mule skittish. You stay with him until he leads the mare out through your yard and into the fields surrounding. Far enough out of town that there are no people to watch him go. Close enough that you can hear the distant clamour of the regiment of army overflowing the village. You close the gate between you.

“Do you worry you will die?” You ask as he swings onto his mount.

“We will all die.” He says simply. “This is why we do the things which bring us pleasure.”

#look i am just soft for pero rn #and avoiding two other writing things like the plague #this is just so self indulgent again #i dont know what this is #honestly #pero tovar #pero tovar x reader #my fic #fic #the great wall #pedro pascal

252 notes · View notes

unsympathetic-snake · 4 years ago

Note

Here have a dialogue prompt: "I'm his hero now." -Janus, to Roman -🥀

Ohhh

OOOh YES,,angst >:D

“It’s gonna be okay, we love you kiddo,”

“Right.”

Roman sunk out, his eyes blurred with tears he struggled to keep from falling. He struck the soft carpet in his room, and stood shaking for a moment. He didn’t want to didn’t deserve to be in this room. It felt cramped and reeked of his failures and fuck ups and unfinished projects.

He yanked back the handle on the door to the imagination, not stopping to admire the new shade of stain it had shifted to for once, and stepped through. He had no idea where he wanted to be, he supposed he just wanted to be as far away from “home” (if that’s what his room the mindspace really was) as he could.

His footsteps were loud and echo-y where he had appeared. He glanced around, taking in the familiar surroundings.

Roman stood on a stage, waxed wooden planks under his feet. Velvet curtains hung, covering the would-be audience’s view of the stage, random props were piled in every corner, more were suspended on the ceiling, ropes and pipes ran all over the walls, and a catwalk dangling above him.

The theater he’d created, a long time ago, to practice acting in. It was dusty now, although the creative side could make that go away if he wanted to. He let the dust mites float around though, it was comforting, in a since, to pretend that the stage was real.

Unlike all those times he had rehearsed and rehearsed on that stage, there was no audience today, no one to witness his breakdown. The whole theater was silent.

But Roman didn’t open those red curtains, he simply sat crossed legged in front of them. He finally let his head drop into his hands and cried. What was he crying about? How he’d laughed at Janus’s name? How he’d sided with the wrong person again somehow? How Thomas had been lying to him?

He didn’t want to think about it, it hurt to try and understand exactly why he was suddenly hated, why all his hard worked had suddenly meant nothing.

Soft footsteps entered the stage behind Creativity, just small taps compared to his own heavy clanks. A third tap accompanied the set of feet, as well as a subtle shuffle of clothing.

Deceit. Or Janus. Or something, Roman didn’t really know.

“Why are you sitting here in the dark, dear prince?” The snake asked, stopping somewhere behind the prince. “Why not open the curtains? Let everyone see how much of a monster you’ve become!”

Roman tensed as he heard the curtains lift, afraid that the fake audience would see him. But the chairs were all empty.

“Hmm, guess not,”

“What do you want, Deceit?” Roman said, lifting his head to glare at the deceitful side’s legs.

“We both know it’s Janus now, sweetheart.” Janus stepped just a little closer, 3 taps closer.

The creative side’s head fell again, his eyes boring into his hands. “Just tell me why you’re here, please,”

Janus let out a huff, and hit his cane on the ground, “You’re no fun, Princey!”

“Don’t,” Roman whipped around, looking up at the scales on Janus’s face, “call me that.”

“Fiiiine.” The cane was suddenly swinging back and forth in Roman’s face, making him blink and fall back onto his hands. “You want to know why I’m really here?”

Roman nodded, eyes widening as the tip of the cane suddenly got much much closer than before. He crossed his eyes to look at the blunt end, hoping that Janus didn’t intend to hurt him.

“I’m here to tell you a liiitle secret,” Deceit smiled gleefully, and leaned in closer to make sure the prince heard him.

“I’m his hero now,”

Janus left as quietly as he came, with just a few soft taps and the click of the door.

Creativity let himself fall onto his back, fresh tears streaking down his cheeks. Janus was right, Thomas didn’t need Roman anymore.

AHH i’m sorry this is bad, but you gave me an idea and I ran with it. I hope you enjoyed even though there’s probably a million typos and mistakes.

#🥀 anon #ask #ro's rambles #ro's writing #u!janus #janus critical #unsympathetic sides #unsympathetic janus #victim roman #roman sanders #roman sanders angst #please let me know if i need to tag anything else

12 notes · View notes

arachnidappreciation · 2 years ago

Text

[ARCHIVE]

i worked for a stupid amount of time on this info post so i’m not going to delete it but i don’t feel confident pinning it either so i’m tossing it into the void at the very bottom of this blog

quick and dirty disclaimer: i am literally just some guy who likes bugs. i’m not an expert, and taxonomy in particular can get really muddied depending on who you ask. the following info is extremely basic and absolutely not to be taken as a primary source.

so what counts as an arachnid?

arachnida is an extremely diverse class within the subphylum chelicerata, and includes animals with the following features in common:

- 8 jointed legs (plus a pair of pedipalps used for feeding, movement and reproduction, and a pair of chelicerae where the fangs are attached)

- absence of antennae and wings

- two bodily segments: the cephalothorax (includes the “head” and all leg attachments) and the abdomen

(mobile app 10-image limit will not allow me to post this image of basic spider anatomy from spidentify and i currently don’t feel like logging into desktop sorry)

there are currently 12* recognized orders within arachnida, presented as following in alphabetical order:

acariformes (mites)

velvet mite (source)

mites are a wildly diverse order, including species that are parasitic, parthenogenetic, and even herbivorous. some species are a diet staple of poison dart frogs, and the source of their toxicity!

amblypygi (tailless whipscorpions)

amblypygid in ecuador (source)

the confusingly named yet gentle and charismatic amblypygi are not scorpions, but they ARE extremely cool-looking guys with elongated forelegs used solely as sensory organs, and raptorial pedipalps for grasping prey.

araneae (spiders)

grammostola rosea/rosehair tarantula (source)

arguably the celebrities of the arachnid world, spiders make up nearly half of all known arachnid species. spiders have a pair of spinnerets at the end of the abdomen to extrude silk, which is used in many, many different ways for many different applications. though the vast majority of spiders are predatory and carnivorous, there exists one named herbivorous jumping spider species, the gorgeous little bagheera kiplingi!]

opiliones (harvestmen/daddy long legs)

a male opilio canestrinii cleaning his leg (source)

opiliones are so unique, even within arachnida. they differ from spiders in that the abdomen and cephalothorax are fused, giving them a sort of goofy look. a common misconception about harvestmen is that they are the most venomous “spider” in the world, but their small jaws are too small/too high off the ground to bite humans. the truth is, no known harvestman species posesses venom of any kind, and they have plenty of different defense strategies they’d rather employ before biting. many harvestman species are omnivores and scavengers, feasting upon plants, fungi, and decaying matter.

palpigradi (microwhip scorpions)

eukoenenia spelaea (source)

not much is known about these diminuitive, moisture-loving arachnids, which are found in tropical and subtropical locations under leaf litter, in damp soil, and in caves far away from light. they’re related to solifugae and never exceed 3mm in length. the species pictured above is known to feed on cyanobacteria.

parisitiformes (ticks and mites)

female amblyomma americanum, the famous lone star tick (source)

many parisitiformes are parasitic (such as ticks, which require vertebrate blood to live and reproduce), but not all! this order contains holothyrida, a group of scavenging mites that consume the fluids of dead arthropods and help to decompose them. ticks are deeply important to the ecosystems they inhabit, keeping animal populations in check and preventing overgrazing.

pseudoscorpiones (pseudoscorpions)

an absolute BABY (source)

pseudoscorpions are tiny arachnids whose pedipalps have evolved into pincers that resemble those of scorpions, although the two orders aren’t that closely related. these little guys utilize phoresis, a type of commensal symbiosis that involves one organism attaching itself to another to travel large distances. pseudoscorpions will often use their pincers to hitch rides on flying insects to get from one place to another! pseudoscorpions are often found in human-inhabited areas preying upon booklice, clothes moth larvae, and carpet beetle larvae (all of which can be destructive to household items).

ricinulei (hooded tickspiders)

cryptocellus goodnighti (source)

ricinulei is a small order of arachnids with just 91 currently described species. they have a “hood” that can be lowered or raised over the head in order to cover and uncover the mouth and chelicerae, and there are zero extant species with eyes. i tried to find a source explaining why the species pictured above has such a delightful name but i was unsuccessful.

schizomida (shorttailed whipscorpion)

hubbardia pentapeltis (source)

not much is known about this order, but they are closely related to uropygi. these small (~5mm or less) arachnids use their forelegs as sensory organs rather than for ambulation.

scorpiones (scorpions)

scorpion glowing under UV light (source)

scorpos! scorpions’ pedipalps have evolved into those iconic pincers, and their “tail” (metasoma) ends in a stinger used to subdue prey with venom. all scorpions glow under UV light due to chemicals present in the cuticle. scorpions give live birth, and the mother will carry offspring on her back for a few weeks until their first molt.

solifugae (camel spiders/sun scorpions)

a solifuge in turkey (source)

solifuges are neither true scorpions nor true spiders. they have their own whole deal going on, ok? solifuges are fast-moving arachnids adapted to arid habitats. two of their most unique features are their adhesive pedipalps used to grasp prey, and their powerful jointed chelicerae that can move independently of each other in a sort of grinding motion.

thelyphonida/uropygi (vinegaroons/whipscorpions)

a male pet vinegaroon (source)

depending on who you ask, uropygi also includes schizomida, but i’m going to separate them for simplicity’s sake and continue to refer to vinegaroons as uropygids. anyway- uropygids have a somewhat similar body shape to amblypygids, with more robust chelicerae and a long, whiplike flagellum at the end of the abdomen. one of their common names, vinegaroon, refers to the fact that they have glands on their abdomen capable of expelling acetic acid, a chemical with a vinegary smell, as a defense mechanism. similar to true scorpions, mothers will carry their young on their backs until the first molt (although the mother will not leave her burrow until the young are able to leave her back).

#info

1 note · View note

sabraeal · 7 years ago

Text

Desert & Reward: Chapter 4

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Chaput is a man of Conti, four generations long to hear him tell it; a man more gnarled and twisted than the oldest birches on the preserve, but spry.

“Driven carriages my whole life, sir,” the man grunts. Time has worn his voice down to a rasp. “First for Conti’s grandfather, then the man himself. Now you.”

Obi closes teeth around, don’t get used to it.

“Fallen down in circumstances, then.” His mouth lifts at the corner, trying to make humor where there’s none to be found. He was good at that before he became a lord.

Chaput just coughs, mouth a knotted line in his craggy face.

Hopefully he’ll learn the trick of it again, after he’s not.

“Your name is fine as any man’s,” Chaput says at last, patting the shoulder of one of the leads. It snorts, nosing the man’s pockets like it expects a treat. “Old, for certain. Clearly breeding don’t matter a mite, considering how Conti ended up.” He cranes his neck north, wary. “That’s how a lot of lords have ended up, this time ‘round.”

Clouds hang heavy over the roofs of Cacciatore, bellies tinged a foreboding black, blacker than the lacquer on the carriage. Chaput’s face angles toward the sky, squinting into the distance.

“Maybe we shouldn’t risk it, sir,” he grunts. This conversation is as many words as Obi’s ever heard him string together at once. “Won’t do to get the wheels in a rut naught but a few hours’ ride from home.”

“There’s no use,” Obi tells him, “His Majesty will probably send a search party if I’m an hour late from when I should arrive.”

“Hn.” The man scratches at his beard. “The king expects troubles then.”

A grin twitches his lips.

“His majesty expects I am the trouble. Besides--” His eyes catch on the figures emerging from the house, clad in dour black. “I think I would rather risk foul weather than Mrs Carre’s mood.”

Chaput coughs. Obi suspects it might be a laugh. “Fair enough, sir.”

“I don’t like it,” Mrs Carre grouses as soon as speaking wouldn’t require shouting. Beside her, Morel startles, clutching at his heart like he’s near apoplexy.

“Mrs Carre!” Scandal seeps from every syllable. “You shouldn’t use such a tone --”

“Says you,” she snips cuttingly. “I’m not scolding him. I just think His Majesty could have waited until after the mistress arrived to call his lordship out. It’s all very sudden!”

Obi feels his mouth settle in a grimace, but he pushes it into a smile – a smirk, when it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Come now, my dearest Mrs Carre,” he cajoles, trying for his most charming, “coming when his master calls is the one duty a southern lord has.”

“Do you honestly forget?” Yori grunts as he passes, heaving the luggage onto the carriage. “You’re a southern lord too.”

Obi stutters in place, the thought, not for long, rises up, unbidden. He forces a grin on his face, forces himself to say, “A little humility impresses the ladies at court. You might learn some, Yori.”

“As you say, my lord.”

Mrs Carre’s mouth still sits in its thin line when he turns back to her, and he squeezes out just a bit more good humor. “It’s only a delay. We can have Miss come once I’m back. I’ll even write her when I leave Wistal to let her know.”

Guilt stings him when this mollifies her, but –

But what harm is it to tell this little lie, among all the bigger ones? None, just another on the pile for when the new lord arrives. The real one.

“I’ll be off, then,” he says, wishing there was some script for a lord bidding goodbye to his servants. Perhaps there is, but a man like him doesn’t know it. “I trust you all to take care of things while I’m gone.”

“Of course, my lord,” Morel hurriedly informs him. “All will be as you left it.”

Better than, he knows, but – but –

“Good. I’ll see you all when – when I return.”

What’s one more lie, for the road?

Chaput closes the door behind him, and Obi sighs, lets the mask fall as they ride away, and –

“Homesick already, my lord?”

His eyes slam open. “Yori?”

“We’ve barely left,” Yori presses, almost worriedly. “You won’t be like this the entire time will you? Does Wistal have parapets?” He settles back into the velvet, thoughtful. “Ah, but they would have guards to keep…people off them.”

“What are you --?” Obi can hardly move from shock. “How --?”

“I’m your valet, my lord,” Yori supplies easily. “Wistal supplies domestics, I’m sure, but when – when our last lord went to the castle, he would bring his own. I’m taken to understand this is how things are done.”

“You can’t come,” he blurts out, heart pounding in his chest. “What if – how could --?”

“You can send me back, but you have to explain it to Mr Morel.” His tone belies the confidence of his words. “Since I won’t survive it.”

Obi doesn’t need to imagine the storm that would cook up over Cacciatore for that. “Fine,” he sighs, settling back against the velvet. “You’ll come.”

“As you say, my lord.” Yori eyes him warily from his seat. “You did think to bring more than black, didn’t you?”

His mouth pulls flat, and he makes a show of craning his neck out the window, nearly head and shoulders dangling. “I wonder if there’s rails on this thing’s ro--”

“Black!” Yori blurts out, gaze rolled to the ceiling. “Lovely color. Hardly ever need too worry about matching.”

Obi sits back with a grin. “Can’t quite make it out from here. I’ll have to check at the inn.”

“Excellent, my lord,” he squeaks, face pale. He reaches over, fingers trembling, and yanks down the shade. “An answer I’m sure we’re all interested in.”

Dearest Miss,

I know you will be most disappointed, but I’m afraid sharing my bed will have to wait…

It’s half a week to Wistal, and Obi’s convinced that they’ll have to swim the last leg.

The sky opens just outside of Cacciatore and does not let up; they arrive at washed out bridges, detouring around to higher ground, only to get caught in ruts or sink into mires made nearly overnight. Of course it’s this trip that drags, that keeps him from – from whatever punishment His Majesty will dole out, that leaves Obi to imagine what sort of humiliation he could invent, given a few extra days.

There’s no use keeping a spy who can’t spy. Maybe, if he’s lucky, he’ll be sent back to Wilant.

“I asked Chaput,” Yori mentions, closing the blinds to keep out the rain. “There’s no towers between here and the capital. You’ll just have to do with brooding in dark rooms like the rest of us, my lord.”

He lifts an eyebrow, trying to smooth the twitching on his lips. “Don’t be ridiculous, Yori,” he drawls, affecting a disaffected mien, “I’ll just do it on the inn roofs.”

Yori stares, eyes wide, and, ah, perhaps if he can keep that dismay on his valet’s face for the rest of trip, it won’t be so bad.

My most benevolent Mistress,

I suppose I could say I’ve got both bad news and good news. You won’t get to sleep in my fancy bed at my estate, but at least I’ll be returning to warm yours soon…

He doesn’t know how to start these letters. It had seemed simple to keep the joke going, to reply to every flirtatious venture on Miss’s part with an even more brazen one. He hadn’t expected her to match him, to exceed him, to make him think –

It doesn’t matter. Not now. The joke has run its course, clearly.

“My lord,” Yori sighs, as other might sigh by the gods. “Perhaps just start with that you miss her.”

Darling Mistress,

I miss you. Also, I think His Majesty is almost certainly torturing me on purpose…

Lords enter through the Poet’s Gate.

He may not have spent long at Wistal, all things considered, but he’d learned that quick enough. Still, as he sees it drawing closer, fancy carriages slipping in and out of its shining pickets, Obi directs Chaput to the west.

The Poet’s gate might be for lords, but Obi is only one for a few more hours now. Better to slink in Starlight than to leave Poet’s in disgrace.

It’s too much for him, even then -- he doesn’t like this, doesn’t like being so conspicuous when he knows there’s a tree that hangs over the gate, when all it would take is a jump and a shimmy and he could stroll off to the west wing no one the wiser. The carriage grows a size smaller with each turn of it’s wheels and --

And it’s barely stopped before Obi bursts out of it, gasping for breath.

Gods, he hates those things.

“Obi!”

Of course, it would be too much for a moment alone, for a moment to catch his breath.

Master is a flutter of silk as he storms down the stairs, brow knitted in fury. Obi curses being caught in an open pavilion; there’s no way to throw himself out a window without walls, and no way to disappear into the underbrush when everything is stone and decorative shrubbery.

“Obi!” he shouts again, closer now, Mitsuhide following close behind, and Hisame trailing a dignified distance after. “You’re here!”

“Master!” Obi greets, ignoring the surprised glance Yori gives him as he steps out. “I am!”

“Good.” The word bites ominously into him as Master turns his back, as he gestures for him to fall into step. “We’ll go see Izana now.”

Obi stumbles a step, like a broken marionette. “I thought…” He glances back at Yori, who is very firmly doing his job with the luggage, and not at all eavesdropping. “I thought His Majesty would want to wait --”

“There’s no need,” Master tells him firmly. “We’ll sort this all out now.” He claps Obi on the back, his smile all teeth. “Don’t worry, I’ll handle my brother.”

“Zen,” His Majesty remarks mildly as the door to his study swings open. His gaze slips over Master’s shoulder, catching on Obi, and he wishes he could be anywhere else. “And Obi. Or should I say, Marquis Conti.”

“Should you?” Obi chokes out, swallowing down the lump in his throat. At least Yori wouldn’t be here to see this, even if he’ll have to send him home with the news. Maybe it will be more palatable from him, rather than the new lord.

“Should I?” His Majesty raises an eyebrow. “Ah, of course. I mean, Marquis --”

“We’re not here to debate titles,” Master snaps, throwing himself into a chair.

Obi just holds back, we’re not?

“Are we not?” His Majesty drawls, a second brow joining the first. He nods to another seat, and Obi scrambles to take it; anything to not make him the tallest thing when lightning strikes. “Then what could we possibly have to talk about that cannot wait until after the marquis has had time to freshen himself up?”

Master’s eyes narrow. “You know what. You’re not going to – to trap Obi like you did me.”

“I wasn’t considering it a trap,” His Majesty’s gaze flicks between the two of them, lingering awfully on Obi. “A problem arose, and I saw an amenable way to solve it.”

“You didn’t ask.” Master’s fingers drum restlessly on the carved arms of the chair. “You just decide.”

“That’s why I summoned him.” The king of Clarines folds his hands over his desk, slim fingers knotting over papers than decide life and death. That decide the fate of former assassins, who have somehow tricked their way into becoming lords. Obi swallows. “You’ll learn one day; some things are best broached in person.”

Master bridles. “And you think he would say no, when you have him here?”

A small smile creeps across His Majesty’s face. It is...amused.

Obi feels sweat prickle at his hairline.

“Why, no,” the king says, with the sort of tremor that would mark laughter, in a normal man. “I did not think he would say no.”

“You weren’t going to give him a choice.” Master’s fingers grip his chair like claws. “Just like I didn’t --”

“You did.” His Majesty had been known as the Ice Prince once -- still, if the gossip of the kitchen was to be believed -- and he earns it with the chill in his tone. “I am afraid princes don’t have choices than can be made without consequence. Do not blame me that you did not like the one that would come if you said no.”

“But this --”

“Life isn’t fair, Zen.” For a moment, he almost looks sorry for it. “It’s the only way to solve this, unless you think Obi would object to the match.”

That wakes him. “Match?” he interjects, blinking. “You’re trying to get me married?”

That’s -- that’s a world of difference from what he thought. Married.

Zen winces. “Obi, it’s just a --”

The door opens. His Majesty’s mouth curls into a self-satisfied smile.

“Ah, wonderful,” he sighs, standing. “I’m glad they were able to catch you in time.”

“I’d only just arrived,” says the intruder, breathless. Obi’s heart catches at the sound of her voice. No.

“Sir Obi,” His Majesty drawls, holding out a hand. “May I introduce you to your wife?”

Obi stands, and it’s as if every noise in the room has stopped as his gaze meets familiar forest green.

“Though,” His Majesty continues, more than a little pleased with himself. “I suppose your already know each other.”

“Miss,” he breathes, just as Master yelps, “Shirayuki!”

May I introduce you to your wife?

Something in his chest aches. It cannot possibly be his heart, not when it’s so clearly stopped.

“Perhaps,” His majesty says after a long moment, “we allow Lady Shirayuki and Sir Obi to freshen up before we get into the details.”

#obiyukibingo2018 #arranged marriage AU #obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #desert and reward #my fic #ans #a slightly shorter chapter #because i am a bitch who loves drama #but SURPRISE #glad no one managed to smoke me out on this plan #I WAS WORRIED

27 notes · View notes

happybeeme0514 · 7 years ago

Text

Irreversible Ch. 7

Eden POV

Chapter 7- Novus

Zyglavis stares at the ceiling for a while, his eyes moving every now and then, watching the dust mites float about in the air. I open my mouth to say something, but think better of it. Best not to startle him.

A plan shot down when my fingers twitch against his hand.

Zyglavis’ lips pull back from his teeth, revealing his new fangs, as air swirls up his throat and out his mouth in a low, menacing sound like a swarm of bees. Before the sound comes out, his muscles bunch and arch, his hand ripping out of mine as he flips off his back to the other side of his bed, crouched defensively, his hair swirling gracefully around his shoulders and back as he glares at me.

A sixteenth of a second passed.

I hold my hands up.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper gently. “I know it’s disorienting. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Zyglavis’ eyes, now a bright, blazing scarlet red, dart around the room, searching for a threat, but find none, and slowly, he straightens out of his defensive crouch, his expression still rigid.

I slowly pull myself to my feet, keeping my face a mask of calm.

“You’re okay,” I tell him softly. “Everything’s okay now.”

He stares at me for a long time, then looks around the quiet room. One can’t tell that, up until just one day ago, this room was basically a hospice. Everything is gone. No more IVs, no anxious gods, no syringes filled with venom…it’s just a normal bedroom now. He turns his eyes back to me.

“They’re safe?”

His eyes widen at the sound of his own voice, ringing, the sound as soft and smooth as velvet. I smile.

“Yes. They’re all safe. They’re down on Earth right now.”

Once I tell him that, Zyglavis visibly relaxes and nods, that simple motion as fluid as water. I approach him calmly, and placidly offer my hand to him.

He eyes it for a moment, hesitant, but reaches his hand out, brushing his fingers against mine. His skin, no longer hot like an open flame or soft like cotton, brushes against mine, the feeling going beyond skin. It sinks down to my bones and charges through my bones, twirling down my spine and around the pit of my stomach, singing desire. I swallow thickly.

Lightly pulling on his hand, I take him to the mirror by the armoire a few feet from the doors leading to the hall so he can see himself. At first, he looks confused.

His eyes flicker down to me for a moment, then back up to his own reflection, his confused expression shifting to one of awe, his eyes widening the slightest bit like he’s surprised at the face looking back at him.

But that’s no shock, at least, not to me.

He’s the most beautiful being I’ve ever seen. His skin, no longer grey as the shadow of death, is white like freshly fallen snow, his lips just a hint of the color pink, his entire face healthy and perfected. The deep, nearly black circles that had once lined his eyes are all but gone. His dark, purplish black hair is loose down his back, shiny and vibrant, soft like silk.

His arms and legs are much more toned now, muscular under the clothing he’s wearing, and fluid even though he’s standing perfectly still. My eyes trail down toward his chest, visible to me through the thin fabric of the white button-up shirt he’s wearing. I can see visibly defined pecs and abs.

My teeth come down in the inside of my lip.

However, what Zyglavis seems to be focused on, is his eyes.

As the light of the sun hits them, they seem to glow even brighter, glinting like rubies.

“And the eyes?” He murmurs, purposely avoiding the word ‘my’. My hand twitches, wanting to take his hand, but instead I curl my fingers into my palm.

“They’ll turn grey again in several months, once the remaining blood cells in your body die.”

He turns away from his reflection, looking down at me, his expression suddenly changing, looking irate. I frown.

“Diefropos.”

“Oh…Zyglavis, let’s not worry about that now—”

“No. He’s surely realized that he can’t kill me now. There’s no telling what he’ll do. He could turn to the other gods…” He trails off, and a look of sheer panic flickers in his eyes. “Or you.”

This time when I feel the need to comfort him, I allow my body to do so, reaching my hands out. I take his face into my palms, taking a step closer to him.

“Shh. He more likely than not doesn’t know what happened. He’s probably disoriented and confused, and will need some time to think. And we will need time to come up with a strategy on how to deal with him, okay, you can’t just rip him apart, no matter how badly you want to.” Zyglavis stares down at me, clearly unhappy with me. I feel the corners of my mouth turn up. “And before all of that, you need to get your thirst under control.”

Those words are all it takes to completely distract him. His expression changes, a look of discomfort taking his features as a hand moves to his throat.

“You ready for your first hunt?”

…

In the weeks between meeting Zyglavis and this day, early winter has set in in the Northern Hemisphere on Earth. The bears are in hibernation, but wolves and lynxes aren’t.

I teach Zyglavis how to expand his senses, how to pick through the insignificant sounds of the wilderness, and with his new instincts, it doesn’t take long for him to get the hang of it.

He caught the scent of a lynx about three miles from where we started, and now, he stalks the beast as it circles around its own prey.

I kneel on the shale rock beside him, carefully watching him study his prey.

The lynx’s jowls are pulled back from his teeth, snarling at the cowering elk, his tail twitching periodically.

Zyglavis turns his head to look at me, his eyes wild, but still hesitant. I nod once in encouragement. Once he sees it’s okay for him to attack, any and all hesitation disappears from him. His head jerks back to the lynx, his lips parted, and he slowly recoils back, ready to lunge.

However, right as he’s about to bound from the small overhang we’re on, a sound reaches my ears—the crunching of shoes, followed by loud, raucous laughter. Humans.

The second I make the realization, a snarl escapes Zyglavis’ lips, and he shifts his target to the humans to the west, bounding left and away from me.

“Zyglavis, no!” I scream.

I understand how compulsory it is, especially to a novus. There’s nothing more promising to a thirsty vampire than the call of human blood, even with potential prey right in front of you. Point three seconds after he takes off after the humans, I take off after him, yelling for him again.

Zyglavis is stronger than me—one stride of his equals three of mine—but I’m smaller and more agile. I come up on him quickly, my plan being to try and get in front of him, cut him off, make him realize what he’s doing.

But in the next second, I see a flurry of snow fly up into the air as Zyglavis whirls around, his body stopping for a split second as he turns on me. His body crouches, then springs, a feral snarl escaping his lips.

Our bodies slam together, the sound as loud as cracking thunder, sending us both flying several yards backward. We roll several times before he throws me onto my back, holding me down by my neck with crushing force and baring his fangs at me in warning.

Disoriented, my mind flips some switch that puts my body in submissive mode. I lay obediently still under him, my hands resting by my head. I don’t want to fight against him. The fact that I at least distracted him from hunting humans is enough.

His eyes, clouded with thirst, begin to clear when he realizes who he has pinned down by her neck. His hand loosens and I draw in a breath, even though I don’t need to breathe. His expression shifts dramatically, changing to one of horror.

“Eden…” He breathes. “I…I’m so…”

I cover his lips with my fingertips.

“We need to get you out of here.” I tell him softly.

…

“I attacked you,”

Zyglavis doesn’t even entertain the idea of hunting after that. After we got him away from the humans, he just grumbles to himself, darting away from me and climbing trees to get away from me any time I try to get near him.

“Zyglavis, it was your natural reaction,” I say for umpteenth time, looking up into a tall pine tree where he sulks, visibly seething. “You thought I was going to try and steal your hunt.”

“I was going to kill you.” He spits the word ‘kill’ as if it tastes disgusting on his tongue.

“But you didn’t.” I point out.

“That’s not the point!”

Zyglavis’ hand whips out, slamming into the top of the tree; it comes crashing down to the ground a few feet away from me.

“Zyglavis. Will you at least come down here and finish hunting?”

“What if I catch their scent again?”

“We ran nearly twenty miles away from them, and it’s been…forty-five minutes. I don’t think they’re around anymore.”

“Well what if I catch another human’s scent?”

I sigh.

“Zyglavis, it was my fault. I didn’t realize we had been so close to a trail. But that’s all a part of learning, right? At first you don’t succeed, try again. Try again, Zyglavis.”

He’s quiet for a moment, then jumps down silently, his back to me.

He lifts his face and takes a deep breath, taking a little longer than last time to catch a scent—most likely hesitant in case he were to catch a human’s scent.

But then he ghosts north, me following silently behind him, this time nearly a mile behind him.

A few miles away, a herd of elk drink lazily at a river, seven male, three female. I hover in the background as Zyglavis wastes no time taking down one of the males, causing the entire herd to scatter in all directions.

He holds the animal down by its head, his full lips parting, a silvery substance dripping from one of his fangs. Quick as lightning, those fangs sink into the elk’s thick neck, a thin line of blood squirting from it.

There’s something oddly sensual about watching Zyglavis hunt. Watching him take down animals twice his size, animals that normally are on top of the food chain. Easily held down by just one of his hands. After the second elk, he gained more confidence and began hunting with less restraint, which was when he found a lynx.

He actually snarled back at it when it screamed at him.

When he pulls away from the now drained cat and turns his bright eyes to me, a thin ribbon of red drips from his chin, making my stomach throb with desire.

He’s just so impossibly sexy…

He licks his lips, dyed a deep red, and moves a thumb to wipe the stray blood from his chin as he slowly pulls himself to his feet. I move a hand to my stomach.

“Well?” I say, not surprised to find myself breathless. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Zyglavis looks down at me, his answering smirk bewitching.

“Not at all,” He seems to have completely forgotten of his rage toward himself as he reaches out and tilts my chin up with his index finger. “But next time, let’s start off away from the trail.”

#zyglavis #star crossed myth #star crossed myth fan fiction #otome game #voltage inc #voltage fanfic #fanfic

48 notes · View notes