#( ft. the juvenile )

[tyin-cherry-knots]

my mom has my password and keeps thinking she’ll catch me up to something but my friends and I literally text about fantastic mr fox

[ll-underestimated-ll]

// To go with having grey-blue eyes I have decided to headcanon that Danny was one of those kids that started out in the range of blond and ended up a brunette over time. And given the victorian London state of living it probably happened earlier than in modern times.

[herpsandbirds]

King Cobra (Ophiophagus hannah), juvenile, family Elapidae, Viet Nam

Venomous.

Largest species of venomous snake, growing up to a max. length of up to 5.85 m (19.2 ft)

photographs by Nguyễn Phương

[mammalianmammals]

Capybara (Hydrochoerus hydrochaeris) juvenile, family Caviidae, found in aquatic environments across much of South America, East of the Andes

This is the largest rodent in the world, growing up to an average weight of around 140 lbs, standing up to around 2 ft tall at the shoulder.

photograph by Houston Zoo

[great-and-small]

I just have to say it’s really refreshing to read your thoughts on the walrus/fairy post, as I also have very strong feelings about it. Thank you for sharing your opinion

For someone such as myself who is very pro-whimsy, tumblr’s collective willingness to believe in fairies is actually quite charming. I would like to be the type of person to quickly and without question accept that fairies are real if one knocked on my door but honestly I’m a bit of a skeptic and that’s not how my brain works. I’m just more of a Scully than a Mulder I guess!

I think my bias here is that I studied wildlife forensics in vet school, and as a result I dare not underestimate the determination of wildlife smugglers. Yes, it would be hard to smuggle a walrus (even a juvenile) into a private residence. That said people have similarly smuggled Nile crocodiles, lions, spotted seals, cheetahs, chimpanzees, and so so many more species. There was even a case of a gentleman who was taken to court for planning to steal a walrus from an aquarium.

I also think some folks are underestimating the athleticism of a walrus. They aren’t lazy slugs that just lay on a beach all day, but rather extraordinarily powerful and intelligent animals. People saying a walrus would never make it up their stairs make me chuckle because walruses in the wild can and do climb 200 ft cliffs. A walrus’ tusks could also glance against a door in a way that resembled knocking. It is highly highly highly improbable for a walrus to be on your doorstep. But not impossible.

If I find a walrus at my door, I have a bizarre but intriguing puzzle that I can immediately start trying to solve. If I find something like the tooth fairy at my door (and am able to discern it is no hoax), I have to re-evaluate my entire understanding of reality. Of physics, and biology, and my perception of the universe around me. That would definitely shock me more than an unexpected mammal in a place it shouldn’t be!

[bethanythebogwitch]

It's big, it's strong, its scaly, it's this week's Wet Beast Wednesday topic! An arapaima, also known as a pirarucu or paiche, is any of four species of fish in the genus Arapaima in the order of bony-tongued fish. There is som ongoing debate about the classification of the species, so to keep thing simple, I'm going to use the most common species names of Arapaima gigas (the type species and most well known, and the one with the most confusion about its classification), Arapaima agassizii, Arapaima leptosoma, and Arapaima mapae. Because A. gigas is the most well-studied of the species, unless I say otherwise you can assume everything I say in this post applies to it.

(image: an arapaima)

Arapaimas are bony fish that retain several primitive traits, causing them to sometimes be identified as "living fossils". They are most notable for their size, with A. gigas being a contender for the largest freshwater fish in the world. The maximum recorded size for one was 3.7 meters (10 ft) and 200 kg (400 lbs), but most get to around 2 meters (6.6 ft) long and 200 kg (440 lbs). That average length is decreasing as overfishing of the largest individuals is resulting in a selective pressure for smaller sizes. In addition to their size, they are extremely strong and can move fast if needed. Arapaima are fully capable of leaping out of the water if disturbed or they feel their current pond in unsuitable. Because of their strength, specimens in captivity must be handled with care as they can easy break bones if they slap someone. They live in rivers and lakes in South America, where they are often the top predators.

(image: several anglers with an arapaima)

Arapaimas are obligate air-breathers and will drown if they can't get to the surface to breathe. This is accomplished with a specialized swim bladder. The swim bladder is filled with highly vascularized tissue, letting it act like a lung. This pseudo-lung opens into the mouth using a modified gill arch known as the labyrinth organ. Arapaima gills are too small to sustain them, but they can supplement their oxygen intake with the gills. Juveniles are born exclusively using their gills and transition into air-breathers shortly after hatching. Arapaimas can survive up to a full day out of the water. They typically surface to gulp in air every 15-20 minutes. Breathing makes a loud gulping sound that anglers use to target them.

(image: an arapaima at the surface)

Because of their ability to breathe air, arapaimas are top predators in low-oxygen environments. Non-air breathing fish are forced to slow down in water with low levels of dissolved oxygen as they can't get enough oxygen through their gills. Since Arapaimas breathe air, they can easily chase down lethargic smaller fish. They are especially potent predators during the low season, when water levels lower. A combination of rotting vegetation reducing oxygen levels and ponds getting cut off from rivers and losing a supply of oxygen lets the arapaima reign supreme. Arapaimas are primarily predators that feed on smaller fish, though they will hunt other types of animals and eat fruits and seeds. Even land animals aren't safe as arapaimas have been known to launch themselves out of the water to catch animals near the shore. A combination of sharp teeth and their bony tongues are used to debilitate prey.

(image: an arapaima with its mouth open)

Not content with powerleveling their attack stat, arapaimas also have excellent defense. Their scales have been compared to bullet proof vests. Each has a hard, mineralized outer layer over multiple layers of collagen fibers. These layers are all oriented at an angle to each other to provide extra strength. This orientation of layers is called a Bouligand-type arrangement and is similar to how plywood is assembled. The harder outer layers and flexible inner layers work together to allow for both strength and flexibility. These scales help provide protection form large predators such as caiman and small threats like biting piranha. They also like provide protection from other arapaima, as the fish are aggressive and will fight each other.

(image: a diagram showing the composition of arapaima scales. source)

You probably wouldn't expect a swimming tank of an animal to be a good parent, but you'd be wrong. Arapaimas work together in mated pairs to build nests for their eggs, then cooperate to guard the nest. Once the eggs hatch, the male will practice mouth brooding, keeping his young safe in his mouth. The female will also help by patrolling the area around the male to ward off predators. They secrete pheromones from their heads to ensure the young don't swim too far away. Eggs are laid either in in the low season or as water levels are starting to rise, ensuring that the young become independent during the high season.

(Image: baby arapaimas)

Arapaima are classified as "data deficient" by the IUCN. This means there isn't enough data to properly assess their conservation needs. They are known to be threatened by overfishing. Arapaima make up a large part of the diet of many South American populations. Habitat loss and pollution are also believed to threaten them. They have been introduced to many areas out of their native range and are an invasive species in placed like Florida, Malaysia, and India.

Does anyone else remember these cards? (image: the arapaima card from Weird n' Wild Creatures)

[minastras]

we fell apart when the sky was orange (and now every sunset reminds me of you) // beomgyu

Two long years after he broke your heart, Choi Beomgyu remains your first and only love. Unfortunately he’s now also your colleague, and you’re not sure if you ever really got over him.

at a glance: gender neutral reader, exes to lovers, office au, angst, fluff, ft. enhypen’s heeseung, itzy’s ryujin, and p1harmony’s keeho

words: 6.5k

warnings: swearing

notes: happy valentine's day!! i'm like an hour late but shh hope u enjoy <3

——————��———

Your one-and-a-half year long relationship with Choi Beomgyu, the first serious relationship either of you had ever had, ended abruptly during a lovely evening in the East Coast Gardens. You’d gone there together with some of your friends for a picnic and to watch the sunset, celebrating finishing your second year of university.

At some point, you and Beomgyu left the rest of the group to take a walk along the beach. The sky was tinted that showstopping blend of pink and orange only seen at dawn and dusk, and he was holding your hand.

“We have to break up,” he blurted out, letting go.

When you two walked together, it was typical for neither of you to speak for long stretches of time. You weren’t exactly sure what you expected him to break the silence with, but it surely wasn’t that.

“What?”

“We have to break up,” he repeated, barely even looking you in the eye. His voice was flat, but his jaw was so tight he was slurring all of his words. “It’s, uh, it’s been real.”

The glow of the sunset, as breathtaking as it was, faded into the background for you. “It’s been real?” you echoed in disbelief, your mind still lagging ten paces behind your mouth. “Gyu, you can’t be serious. What happened?”

He took a step back from you. “Nothing happened. We just aren’t right for each other.”

“But- but we’re in love,” you protested, hating how childish you sounded. Maybe you were. Maybe it was your juvenile foolishness that had convinced you he meant it when he said ‘I love you too’, as if the ‘too’ tacked on at the end wasn’t a clear enough sign he just said it to agree with you.

You couldn’t remember what happened after that — what he’d said in response, if anything, whether you’d stormed off first or if he’d left you there in the sand, if you had cried. All you remembered was the heartwrenching drive home, shoved in the backseat next to a friend you’d long since lost touch with, periodically tipping your head back so your tears wouldn’t spill over.

——————————

Two years later, everything worked out in the end. You’d like to think so, at least, because you and your best friend Ryujin had just graduated from university at the top of your cohort. With your grades, you both easily secured jobs at the biggest accounting firm in the country as recruits in their prestigious Graduate Talent Programme. It was your first day on the job, and you were about to meet the other GTs.

“No way,” Ryujin muttered.

“What?” you asked, but as the question was leaving your mouth you saw what she was pointing at. Or, more accurately, who.

Beomgyu saw you at almost the exact same moment you did. He locked eyes with you too quickly for you to have pretended not to see him, so you stood rooted in place as he made his way over to you. The expression on his face was unreadable.

“Hey, Y/N,” he greeted. You couldn’t recall the last time you heard your name come out of his mouth. Even though the office was stuffed with people more important than you two, people you should’ve been introducing yourself to, you saw and heard and felt no one but him.

“Hi, Beomgyu,” you returned, his name heavy on your tongue.

He rocked back on the heels of his black dress shoes — so opposite to the sneakers he used to wear everyday back when you dated, the white ones you had given him for his birthday four years ago and he refused to replace despite them just about falling apart — and put his hands in his pockets.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he said. You sensed a degree of wariness creeping into his tone now. He looked exactly the same, barring his slightly shorter hair with his icy grey highlights taken out.

“Yeah, what are the odds?” you asked, making casual conversation as if you couldn’t hear that same wariness in your own words.

He wore a crisp white button down, starched impeccably into perfect plains that wrapped around his broad torso, a thin black tie, and black slacks. He’d clearly gotten better at tying ties. You remembered struggling through the How to Tie a Windsor Knot WikiHow article with him before one of his job interviews, both of you flailing around helplessly for nearly an hour before you succeeded.

He nodded to someone standing behind you, prompting you to turn around. “Nice you’ve got Ryujin with you. Heeseung got in too, if you remember him.”

You did. When you and Beomgyu were still together he often told you about Heeseung, an old friend from high school he gamed with online. You wondered what he had told Heeseung about your breakup.

Thankfully, someone else called for everyone’s attention right then, and you booked it to the other corner of the room.

“Good morning everyone! I’d like to introduce our brand new GTP recruits. GTs, if you would please come to the front.”

You and the four other GTs awkwardly shuffled forward, and you ended up standing right beside Beomgyu. The universe hated you; that was the only explanation. Ryujin was too busy stifling her laughter to feel sorry for you.

“Joining our auditing team are Shin Ryujin, Lee Heeseung, and Yoon Keeho. Joining our advisory team are Y/N and Choi Beomgyu. Please give them all a warm welcome!”

The rest of the office clapped politely while your world crumbled around you (fine, you were being hyperbolic). Of all the people on the planet you could’ve been paired with, it just had to be him.

He still smelt the same, wearing the same cologne he’d worn when you were together. The same cologne which clung to your bedsheets for weeks after you broke up.

You closed your eyes for a split second, looking down so no one would notice, and took a deep breath. Then, you raised your head again, turned to Beomgyu, and held out your hand.

“I look forward to working with you,” you said with a polite smile.

He raised an eyebrow but shook your hand anyway.

——————————

Your new team lead whisked you and Beomgyu around from office to office, throwing more information at you than any normal person would be able to process, giving you no room to breathe — let alone talk to the man who’d broken your heart two years ago and was apparently not over you, either.

Clearly, not talking to him didn’t mean you weren’t thinking about him.

Perhaps he was thinking about you too, because you’d catch him watching you out of the corner of your eye when he thought you were distracted. But your interactions with each other were limited to curt, perfunctory statements and uncomfortable glances.

After clock-off, your new colleague Keeho suggested all the GTs go out for drinks. He claimed it was so you’d get to know each other better, but it was clear he just wanted drama. You were at the bar ordering another mocktail when Beomgyu pulled out the barstool next to yours.

“Make that two, please,” he told the bartender, sitting down. Neither of you said a word. You snuck a glance at him to find him already looking at you, so you turned away and stared straight ahead.

Were you over him?

Truthfully, you weren’t sure. You couldn’t tell the difference between being hung up on an ex and grieving someone who’d been such a pivotal part of your life. Maybe it was the whole ‘you never really get over your first love’ thing other people talked about.

He cleared his throat. “Hey.”

You winced, bracing yourself for awkwardness. “Hey.”

“So, uh, you look-” he hesitated, cutting himself off, “How’ve you been?”

“Good… good. You?” You were starting to regret ordering a non-alcoholic drink, because he was just as pretty as you remembered and it was doing your head in.

Ryujin always said you needed to date again, that you’d never move on unless you put yourself back out there. To your credit, you did try. But you ran all your attempts at dating into the ground with all the same flaws of yours that had ended things between you and Beomgyu two years ago.

“Good…” He paused again, and then straightened his back and put his hands on the bar counter, open and declarative. “Can we not do this? Can we just start over?” he asked.

“Start over?” you echoed.

“What happened between us happened so long ago. We don’t need to dredge all that back up again,” he said.

The bartender returned with your identical drinks and, before you could say anything, Beomgyu handed over his credit card. He waved away your surprised gratitude, raised his glass, and held the other one out to you.

Maybe to another person, someone who knew him less well than you did, he’d seem cool and confident. But you could see a tentativeness in his eyes, a slight shake that told you he was worried you wouldn’t respond well, that you wouldn’t take the olive branch in his hand.

You let out a small laugh, the group chat revelation from this morning still rattling about in your head, and tapped the rim of your glass against his.

“Sure, Gyu. Let’s start over.”

——————————

You and Ryujin spent the entire night and most of the next morning’s commute to the office debating what ‘start over’ meant. She thought it meant going back to the courtship stage (whatever that was), and you thought it meant erasing yours and Beomgyu’s history entirely and beginning anew. As strangers.

“But he isn’t over you!” she protested, drawing ire from the elderly couple sitting in front of you on the train.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” you mumbled. “Nothing’s going to happen between us. We literally didn’t say a word to each other yesterday at work.”

Ryujin shook her head. “You’re wrong. There’s something there. I don’t know what, but there’s something.”

Nearly a whole week passed before you began to admit she was right, when even you could no longer bury your head in the sand and pretend you didn’t see it. You kept telling yourself you were content with carrying on your ostrich roleplay for as long as humanly possible, but it was starting to grate on you.

Every year, the GTP recruits were expected to put together a proposal paper and presentation on what they felt the company could improve. The deadline was in two months — how were any of you supposed to be familiar enough with the company by then to make policy recommendations?

“Our team lead keeps saying the company needs ‘fresh eyes’,” Keeho said during your first meeting for the project a week later, already careening off topic. “She stares right into my soul whenever she says ‘fresh eyes’. It’s fucking creepy.”

“It is creepy,” Heeseung agreed, twirling his pen between his fingers.

“Do we all have our notes ready?” Ryujin asked, wrangling the meeting back on track.

Beomgyu helpfully gathered up each of your notes and passed the stack over to you. You were friendly now after that night at the bar, but there was so much tension between you two that even your team lead pointed it out.

“You’re in charge of this, right?” Beomgyu asked. You had volunteered to do the boring work of collating all of your ideas and suggestions into a draft skeleton outline for the proposal paper.

“I’ll help you,” Keeho offered, smiling at you from across the table. “I’m happy to do the auditing parts.”

Beomgyu folded his arms and leant back in his chair. “They can manage.”

You had to stop going giddy every time you saw him in a shirt and tie.

“Actually, help would be useful,” you said to Keeho, ignoring Beomgyu not because you were annoyed, but because you didn’t know what to make of his interjection. Unbeknownst to you, Beomgyu scowled.

——————————

You and Keeho had arranged to work on the report after lunch that day. Beomgyu wasn’t keeping tabs on you or anything, he just made sure to remind you that you had a 3pm advisory meeting with him the same afternoon. Yes, that was the only reason he cared about what you did with your time.

And the only reason he was hovering around by Keeho’s office cubicle was to make sure you weren’t late for the meeting. Not because you were there. Not because you were with Keeho. Not because you and Keeho kept laughing and playfully pushing each other. What could possibly be that funny, anyway?

“Can I help you?” Keeho asked Beomgyu, finally noticing his presence.

Beomgyu ignored him and looked straight at you, tapping his watch. “Let’s go. It’s 2.50.”

“Ah, already?” you mumbled, mostly to yourself, gathering your things up from Keeho’s desk. “Sorry, Keeho. I’ll finish it tonight.”

Keeho smirked as his gaze shifted from you to Beomgyu and then back to you, before he let out a quiet laugh. “Don’t worry about it; I’ll take it from here.”

“Thanks, you’re a lifesaver!” You scrambled to your feet to follow Beomgyu to the lift lobby.

The meeting room was just three floors above you, and as soon as Beomgyu led you into the lifts he braced for you to ask him why he was in such a rush. It only took a minute to get there. But you didn’t; maybe you would have a couple of years ago.

——————————

Beomgyu waited until you and him were alone in the office — an hour or so after the end of the work day — when he just couldn’t take it anymore.

“There’s so much weird sexual tension between you and Keeho,” he said, trying and failing to sound casual. To both his amazement and relief, you didn’t seem to notice.

Your lips twitched, like you were about to reveal something but quickly decided against it. Beomgyu remembered when he was able to read you like an open book, but those days were now long gone and he couldn’t tell what you were thinking anymore.

“He’s hot. And tall. And he seems nice,” Beomgyu continued, unsure what he was trying to accomplish.

“I don’t really date anymore,” you blurted out, seeming to regret saying that almost immediately.

“Why not?”

You shrugged, now regaining your composure. “I… I don’t think I’d be a good partner. For anyone.”

It was Beomgyu’s turn to falter. He watched you carefully as the realisation started to sink in. The walls of the now quiet office felt like they were closing in on him. You’d blamed yourself for the breakup. He’d made you think you were too broken for love.

“Oh, god, did I do that to you?” he asked, so quiet it was nearly a whisper.

“…It was a long time ago,” you replied after what seemed like forever, a non-answer if ever there was one, glancing up from the desk and flashing him a tight-lipped smile. It didn’t even get anywhere near your eyes. “We don’t have to get into it. I’m sorry I brought it up. Like you said, we should just start over.”

He swallowed his pride and shook his head firmly. “No, I was wrong. We should talk about it. I don’t want to leave things unsaid.”

The version of him that had broken up with you would never have said that. That version of him refused to even admit when he had a headache. That version of him dumped you because he couldn’t handle you ‘always needing to talk about feelings.’ It was hard for him to stomach that fact, even all these years later.

“I don’t know- I had so many issues and I expected you to be my answer to all of them. I just figured that if even a guy like you couldn’t stand me, I was beyond redemption,” you shrugged.

Once, during a particularly hectic exam season back in university, you had completely shut yourself off from him, all your friends, even Ryujin. You didn’t talk to anyone for a week. You didn’t leave your room. You didn’t answer any of his texts or calls. He knew your parents were fighting and your rent had gone up past what you could afford and you were struggling to pass your classes. There was nothing more he wanted than to drive over to your place and hold you, to tell you everything was going to be fine, but you refused to let him.

“Do you still think that?” he asked, his throat feeling exceptionally tight.

“Maybe. I’m not sure,” you admitted.

Even back then he knew why you refused, although he wasn’t ready to admit it at the time. Whenever you did try to open up to him he would shut down, so eventually you stopped trying.

Your phone alarm went off before he could think of a response, a generic default ringtone. It used to be a recording of him quacking like a duck, because for some reason you found that hilarious and he liked doing it to cheer you up.

“I should go. My train’s coming,” you told him.

He blinked, blindsided. “Oh- okay.”

You packed your bag and stood up, walking to the lift lobby and pressing the button. Then, in a fraction of a second, you dropped the facade.

“Don’t take what I said too seriously, Gyu,” you assured him. “I’m alright now. I’m in a good place.”

He stared at your eyes, trying to decipher them, but you seemed to be telling the truth. After a second or two, he pulled his shoulders back and nodded. There was still a weight on his chest.

“I’m glad to hear it,” he smiled.

The lift doors behind you opened, and you smiled back. The weight lifted.

“See you tomorrow, Gyu.”

——————————

——————————

The GTs were meeting before the work day officially started to discuss the progress you and Keeho had made yesterday. You and Ryujin got on the train an hour earlier than usual.

“Are you gonna say yes?” she asked, after you told her Keeho had asked you out on a date yesterday. She had a slice of buttered toast in her mouth in flagrant disregard of the ‘no eating’ sign right behind her.

“I don’t know,” you groaned, dragging out your last word like a whiny child. You only acted like this in front of Ryujin. “I should, right? He’s nice.”

“I don’t think you should date people on the basis of niceness. I think you should date them based on whether you actually like them,” she said, never being one to sugarcoat the truth for you, before her eyes widened in realisation. “Don’t tell me it’s because of Beomgyu.”

“It’s not,” you said, and she gave you a knowing look. “Well, it’s not not. What if I’m broken?”

Your conversation with Beomgyu hadn’t left your head since yesterday. You were still bewildered that he’d insisted on talking to you about your breakup; it was so unlike him. Or at least the version of him you remembered.

“I don’t understand how you can take him breaking up with you the way he did as an indictment on you and not him,” Ryujin said. “He always acted like you were some big emotional burden when most of the time you were just a bit sad and needed a hug. And he couldn’t even handle that.”

——————————

Beomgyu, Heeseung, and Keeho were all already in the meeting room when you and Ryujin showed up, even though you were five minutes early yourselves.

“Keeho brought doughnuts,” Heeseung announced instead of saying ‘good morning’, pointing to the box on the table. Ryujin grinned and skipped over to the box to grab one.

“Y/N, do you want Oreo or cinnamon?” Keeho asked, checking to see which flavours were left.

Beomgyu looked up from his phone and said nonchalantly, “Y/N doesn’t like eating in the morning.” The statement was addressed to Keeho, but he looked right at you as he said it.

You stared back at him. He remembered, but of course he did, because you used to watch him eat breakfast while only nursing a giant thermos of coffee every morning. He always nagged you about not skipping ‘the most important meal of the day’, and you always insisted that that was a myth. (For the record, you were right.)

“Uh- yeah. I’m good, thanks,” you stammered after far too long a pause.

Keeho cocked an eyebrow, looking between you and Beomgyu like he had yesterday with a slight smile on his face, before taking the last cinnamon doughnut for himself.

Five minutes before nine, you wrapped up your meeting. Beomgyu and Keeho offered to stay and reset the meeting room while the rest of you hurried to your desks, until you realised you’d left your phone behind and circled back to get it. Right as you reached for the door handle, you heard something that made you freeze.

“Y/N told me you asked them out.” Beomgyu’s voice was barely muffled by the closed door.

Peeking through the tiny window of the door, you saw Keeho shrug. “I did. But I’m not holding my breath.”

“Why? They think you’re hot,” Beomgyu said.

You were so going to kill him. That little-

Keeho laughed and shook his head. “Nah, I’m doomed by the narrative.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Beomgyu asked. That was the man you recognised, defensive and immediately assuming intent to offend. You heard them walking towards the door and scrambled to hide behind the wall around the corner, holding your breath.

“Relax, man,” Keeho chuckled, opening the door. The two men walked right past you, not noticing you. “I’m just saying you should go for it.”

Beomgyu frowned. “What?”

“Yeah. No regrets, right?”

——————————

——————————

Beomgyu was acting differently with you now. He was smiling more, joking around more. You were trying not to think about it too much — you didn’t know what it meant, and, more worryingly, you didn’t know what you wanted it to mean.

You two stayed late one Friday night to work on a presentation deck, being the only people left in the office by 8pm. You ordered kimbap and fried chicken and ate dinner together at his cubicle, balancing paper plates on your knees while he typed and you peered over his shoulder.

“This feels familiar,” Beomgyu mused, turning around to look at you. You must’ve looked like a deer in the headlights to him, because you instantly forgot whatever you were about to say when he smiled at you.

In university you had spent many a night in his apartment sitting beside him at his desk, watching him game with Heeseung (whom you only knew at that point as a disembodied voice that lived in Beomgyu’s headset). You were usually snacking on something and you’d feed him whatever it was while he was playing.

“So, did you say yes to Keeho?” Beomgyu asked, sounding flippant, but you could tell he’d been waiting for the right time to ask you that for a while.

“No, he- that’s weird,” you frowned, after you pushed the ground floor button and it failed to light up. Then, the entire lift rattled. “That’s weirder.”

He reached over your shoulder to push the button again, his hair brushing against the back of your neck. Once more, it didn’t light up. But you were worrying about other things, namely how broad his button up made his shoulders look and how good he smelt.

“Answer my question,” he pressed, all while repeatedly poking the button like an impatient toddler.

You would’ve laughed, if not for how close he was standing to you making it impossible for you to think straight. “We decided against it- are we actually stuck in here?”

It was silent for a few seconds as you looked at each other, confused. And then he began to panic.

“No, we can’t be,” he insisted, jabbing his finger at the lift button over and over so hard you thought he’d break his knuckle. His eyes were wide and his breathing was shallow and fast.

“Gyu-”

He cut you off with a loud wail and slapped his hands onto his head, throwing his back against the wall behind him and sliding down it dramatically. You bit back a laugh, the feeling of his body right by yours a second ago now a distant memory.

“We’re trapped! We’re gonna die!” he shrieked, his voice amplified by the tightness of the space you were in. The lift rattled once more.

You stifled a laugh. “Dude, chill.”

It had been nearly four years since your first date, but you still remembered it vividly. He’d brought you to a night carnival, and one of the first attractions on the itinerary was the haunted house. He confessed to you months after you started dating that it was all part of his grand plan to make you fall in love with him: that you would get scared and cling onto his bicep and he’d heroically protect you.

The actual experience went like this. You and him made it about a fifth of the way through the haunted house — with you taking the lead and him screaming bloody murder the entire time — before he tapped out and you turned back. Upon shamefully emerging from the haunted house’s entrance like a couple of quitter chickens, he sank to the floor with his head in his hands, exactly as he was right now. Of course now he was in a button up, tie, slacks, and dress shoes rather than a university sweatshirt and jeans, but the pose was nearly identical.

“I’m too young to die! But I’m too old to get on the news for dying young!” he babbled. Maybe he was delirious from the stress of the job. Ignoring the meltdown unfolding by your feet, you dialled the emergency number above the lift door and gave the man on the other end of the line your lift’s reference number.

“The maintenance guy will be here in a few minutes,” you relayed, hanging up the phone.

He took his head out of his hands and stopped screaming. “Oh. I might have overreacted.”

You laughed, joining him on the floor on the opposite side of the lift. “You think?”

It was silent for a while, save for a few odd creaks from the lift here and there. He had his legs stretched out in front of him and they looked about a billion miles long. You couldn’t really look at him too much without your heart feeling weird.

“Hey,��� he started, kicking your shoe to get your attention. “What happened with Keeho?”

He was still on that.

“Nothing. We decided it wasn’t a good idea,” you answered, pausing for a moment to mull over whether you should admit to the conversation you had eavesdropped on last week. You choose to keep your mouth shut.

Beomgyu stayed silent for so long that you got over your refusal to make eye contact and looked up to see if something was wrong. He was frowning. The lift was so small and quiet you swore you could hear your own heartbeat echoing off the walls.

“It wasn’t your fault, you know? Us. How we ended,” he said, chewing nervously on his bottom lip. “I was always shutting you down when you needed to be comforted. I even said you had too many issues.”

You winced at his last sentence, words that still stung nearly three years after he’d first uttered them to you. He must have seen it on your face, because he closed his eyes and looked away.

“Maybe we both met the right person at the wrong time,” you offered, trailing off as he silently got up from his spot opposite you and sat down next to you instead. If he moved even a millimetre closer, his shoulder would’ve touched yours. You held your breath and turned to him, your face so close to his that you could count his eyelashes.

“Yeah, maybe.” He held your gaze, unwavering.

The lift rattled even louder this time, but although you jumped he didn’t even flinch. Instead, his eyes drifted down to your lips. You used to rest your head on his shoulder when you two sat next to each other like this, whether it was on his sofa or at a restaurant. It was your ‘thing’.

He leaned in, and you found yourself drawn towards him. There was something magnetic about him that seemed to pull you forward, a compulsion of sorts. He used to taste like the pomegranate lip balm you kept in your pocket that he constantly nicked because he was too lazy to buy his own. You wondered if he’d bought one for himself after you split up. His nose brushed against yours and your eyes fluttered shut.

BANG!

You jumped apart, exchanging alarmed glances at the deafening metallic clang of the lift door.

“Maintenance! You guys okay in there?”

Beomgyu recovered from the shock before you did and sputtered out an, “All good!” But he was looking only at you. Beside him you were frozen, certain you could still feel the warmth of his breath on your face.

“Stand back from the doors!” the maintenance man continued.

You scrambled to your feet first, straightening your jacket and grabbing your bag. Your face felt like it was on fire. After (in your estimation) about a billion hours, the lift doors finally parted to reveal a beaming maintenance man.

“Thank you so much, sir. Have a good night,” you rushed out, mumbling a goodbye to Beomgyu without turning to look at him. He didn’t get a chance to return the pleasantry before you were gone.

——————————

——————————

Neither of you spoke of the lift incident after that night. You acted like nothing had ever happened, and Beomgyu seemed more than happy to go along with your charade.

Your team lead had invited you both to tag along to a meeting with another company’s headquarters; neither of you had any direct involvement in the project, but he’d asked you to prepare a short presentation on your suggestions for the project anyway. It would be a good experience for you, hence why you agreed to it, but now you were starting to question your judgement.

“Are you nervous?” Beomgyu asked you under his breath as you walked down the corridor side by side to the conference room.

“Is it obvious?” you asked. Your thumb drive loaded with presentation slides was burning a hole in your pocket. Your palms were sweating, but you didn’t want to say that out loud. He’d just start rapping Eminem’s Lose Yourself at you and ruin your focus.

Truth be told, you didn’t really know why he was here — he wasn’t giving a presentation and had nothing to do with the project.

“It’s obvious to me,” he answered.

If you read into that even a little, you inferred he meant that he knew you better than other people did, that he saw more of you than they did. If you read into your own relief when he told you this morning he was coming for the meeting, you inferred having him with you made you feel more secure.

You needed to stop reading into things.

But how could you, when he checked where the air conditioning vents in the meeting room were the second he walked in so he could get you both seats far away from them, knowing you got cold easily? And how could you, when he swapped your chair with his own on instinct to give you the one without any broken wheels?

After the meeting ended, you took the train back home with him. It was a two hour ride.

“You did great,” he praised, leading the way to an empty train carriage. As he walked, he slipped his fingers under his navy blue tie, loosening the knot and popping open the top button of his shirt. You tried not to stare.

“Thanks.” You sat down in the window seat, and he took the one beside you. His shoulder touched yours. Were train seats always this narrow?

There was a part of you that wished Ryujin were here to knock some sense into you and/or crush your delusions before they became too well fleshed out, but she was starting to warm to Beomgyu more and more these days. She was even encouraging you to talk to him. Ryujin? Encouraging you to talk to Beomgyu? Maybe you’d fallen into the matrix.

——————————

“I’m on my way home. How was work?”

You hadn’t dreamt about Beomgyu in a long time, but your dreamscape’s recreation of his voice still remained accurate. Warm and melodic, with a smooth lilt that made anything he said sound poetic.

“It was alright. Are you with Y/N?”

Heeseung’s voice. Hm. Dreaming about Heeseung was weird, but not entirely out of the question. You’d gotten to know him pretty well-

“Shh, man. They’re sleeping right beside me.”

At that, you finally woke up. Your head was resting on Beomgyu’s shoulder instead of the window pane, somehow having found its way to him while you were asleep. Perhaps he’d shifted you there himself, like he used to do whenever you dozed off on the wall of yours and his favourite study booth in the back of the university library.

He didn’t notice you were awake. You kept your eyes shut and remained perfectly still.

“Have you guys talked?” Heeseung asked on the other end of the phone.

“No. What am I supposed to say? Sorry I almost kissed you, I think I’m still in love with you?” Beomgyu said quietly.

“Yeah. Literally.”

“I can’t do that, man.”

“Why not? The universe gave you a second chance. No regrets, right?”

Beomgyu was silent for a few seconds.

“Yeah, I’ll see you at home.”

He hung up without giving Heeseung a chance to reply, and you felt him shifting around as he slipped his phone into his pocket.

Still. Not that he fell in love with you again, but that he never stopped. He was still in love with you.

His hair brushed the side of your face when he turned to you and called your name softly.

“Y/N, wake up.”

You’d never been a particularly good actor, but you pretended to wake up as best as you could and hoped he didn’t see through you.

“Look,” he said quietly, even though there was no one else around, pointing out the window.

The sun was just beginning to set, glowing a brilliant warm orange and glazing the clouds around it in red and yellow. Pink streaks spanned across the sky and through the window into the train carriage.

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered.

When you turned back around, Beomgyu was watching you instead of the sunset. He looked away immediately, clearing his throat and shifting around in his seat. You wondered if he was thinking of the same thing you were.

“Sorry I woke you. I didn’t want you to miss the sunset,” he mumbled. His hands sat folded awkwardly in his lap like he didn’t know what to do with them.

Still. Still?

You could count on one hand the number of times in your life you’d been well and truly speechless; this was one of them.

He seemed to mistake your silence for something else — you didn’t know what — because he turned away and dropped his gaze apologetically.

“Hey, about the other day,” he said, trailing off, “I’m sorry I made things weird.”

You weren’t going to lose him again. You’d had enough heartbreak.

“You didn’t,” you rushed out, placing your hand over his. The movement was sudden and uncoordinated, an impulsive lunge forward rather than a measured and gentle reach. “I wish I hadn’t run away like that.���

Beomgyu’s eyes were wide, his lips parted slightly in shock. You didn’t know if your words or your actions had caused that.

“Really?” His voice was all breath and no depth.

The melting light of the sunset behind you poured into the train carriage through the window, lying across his face in ribbons of gold that made his skin glow. The hue was almost indescribable, the type of colour only found during sunsets, and the colour you associated only with Choi Beomgyu.

His fingers curled up to lace themselves with yours, and you felt a coldness on your skin that gave you a jolt. It was a ring. Plain, thin, silver.

You bought him matching rings for your six month anniversary, thick patterned silver ones with intricate carvings and twisted rope trimmings. They were cheap costume jewellery — you lost your job around then and that was all you could afford — and they stained your fingers green after a few days.

You gave up and wore your ring on a chain around your neck instead, but he wore his on his index finger every day, all the way to the end. You used to call him 1% Shrek.

He squeezed your hand.

Now or never.

“I don’t want to… I don’t think I can pretend I’m not in love with you anymore,” you admitted, your heart battering against your rib cage like it was trying to burst out of your chest.

Beomgyu’s grip on your hand tightened. “Me neither,” he whispered.

You looked at him, at the softness in his brown eyes and the gentle slope of his nose. He had made all the first moves in the past. He asked you out on the first date, he initiated your first kiss, he introduced you to his friends and family first. You were done with waiting for him to lead the way.

“Can I kiss you?” you asked.

All his nerves appeared to melt away. He grinned cockily, the exact same grin he donned right before he was about to do something annoying.

“Kissing on public transport is so passé,” he said with a dramatic sigh, even though you were the only people on the train. “We aren’t horny students anymore, we’re grown adults with serious jobs-”

“There’s a juice box sticking out of your bag,” you pointed out, suppressing a laugh.

He moved towards you, his free hand coming up to rest on your cheek. Like your muscles had held onto the memory of his touch all these years, you leant into the familiar warmth of his palm.

“You make a compelling argument,” he muttered, before bringing his lips to yours.

Peppermint. He used peppermint lip balm now.

When was the last time you’d kissed? You couldn’t remember. But you remembered how it felt — the way his lips slotted perfectly between yours, his curve of his hand on your face, the angle of his shoulder exactly where you always held onto him.

When you separated, he pressed a final quick kiss to the corner of your mouth. That was his trademark; he never kissed you without doing that.

“I can’t believe you came back to me,” he said. The diffuse amber of the sunset glazed over his face, making his eyes sparkle. Something about the way he looked at you slowed your heart rate, made you feel sedated.

You ran your thumb over the ring on his index finger, now warmed from the heat of your locked hands.

“Always.”

——————————

thanks for reading!

-minastras <3

[uncharismatic-fauna]

Open Your Home to the Common House Centipede

A common sight in homes throughout Europe, Asia, the Americas, and Australia the common house centipede (Scutigera coleoptrata) is a medium-sized species of centipede originally from the Mediterranean. In the wild, they prefer grasslands and deciduous forests where they can hide under rocks, logs, or leaf litter. These insects have also adapted well to urban development, and are frequently found in basements, bathrooms, and garages,  as well as gardens and compost piles.

Like other centipedes, the common house centipede has less than 100 legs; in fact, they only have 15 pairs, with the front pair used only for holding prey or fending off threats. All those legs let the common house centipede move up to 0.4 meters per second (1.3 ft/s) over a variety of surfaces, including walls and ceilings. The actual body of S. coleoptrata is only 25 to 35 mm (1.0 to 1.4 in) long, but the antennae are often as long as the body which can give this insect a much larger appearance. However, they can be hard to spot, especially in their natural environments; their tan and dark brown coloration allows them to blend in seamlessly to surrounding vegetation.

Though they pose little threat to humans, house centipedes are predatory. Their primary food source is other arthropods, including cockroaches, silverfish, bed bugs, ticks, ants, and insect larvae. S. coleoptrata is a nocturnal hunter, and uses its long antennae to track scents and tactile information. Their compound eyes, unusual for centipede species, can distinguish daylight and ultraviolet light but is generally used as a secondary sensory organ. When they do find prey, house centipedes inject a venom which can be lethal in smaller organisms, but is largely harmless to larger animals. This makes them important pest controllers. In the wild, house centipedes are the common prey of rodents, amphibians, birds, and other insects.

The mating season for S. coleoptrata begins in the spring, when males and females release pheromones that they can use to find each other. Once located, the male spins a silk pad in which he places his sperm for the female to collect. She then lays fertilized eggs in warm, moist soil in clutches of 60-150. These eggs incubate for about a month, and the young emerge with only four pairs of legs. Over the next three years, juvenile house centipedes molt 7 times, each time gaining new pairs of legs. After they grow their last pair of legs, immature house centipedes molt an additional 3 times, at which time they become sexually mature. If they can avoid predation, individuals can live up to 7 years in the wild.

Conservation status: The common house centipede has not been evaluated by the IUCN, as it is relatively common both in the wild and in urban areas. Although they have been introduced to areas outside their native range, no detrimental environmental effects have been associated with their spread.

If you like what I do, consider leaving a tip or buying me a ko-fi!

Photos

Joseph Berger

David Paul

Conrad Altman via iNaturalist

[bestanimal]

Round 1 - Phylum Nematomorpha

(Sources - 1, 2, 3, 4)

Nematomorpha is a phylum of animals that act as parasitoids of arthropods, so named for their superficial similarity to nematodes. They are commonly called Horsehair Worms, Hairsnakes, or Gordian Worms.

Most nematomorph species are 50 to 100 mm (2 to 3.9 in) long, but some can get up to 2 metres (6.7 ft) long! Adult nematomorphs can often be found in water or in damp areas. They have 2 distinct sexes, and the free-living, non-feeding adults can be found coiled into tight balls and knots while mating. They lay their eggs in water, for their larva to be eaten or burrow in through the skin of aquatic larvae and encyst. When the aquatic larvae (the paratenic host) is eaten by their primary host, the cyst hatches and they become a juvenile. The nematomorph lives inside their host, absorbing nutrients, growing, and molting for a few weeks to several months before leaving its host to mate. It often becomes several times longer than the length of its host. Some species cause their host to seek out water and drown itself, thus allowing the nematomorph to exit into its new watery habitat and begin the cycle anew.

Propaganda under the cut:

When I was a kid I saw a white horsehair worm in a puddle and got real close and noticed it was moving all on its own. I called my grandpa, who was a naturalist, over and told him it was some kind of creature, perhaps a new species! He said no it was just a hair in the water. I said no it’s moving on its own! He said no that’s just the current. I said but it’s a puddle there’s no current. He said I think your eyes are playing tricks on you.

Low and behold I went home and did some research and found out about nematomorphs and told him the next day that HAH I WAS RIGHT IT WAS A REAL LIVING CREATURE

Remember to stay observant. Little things live all around you if you look real close.

idk if that convinces you of anything but uh anyway

At least one species, Paragordius tricuspidatus is able to escape from not only their host after ingestion by a predator, but also from the digestive tract of the predator. If their host cricket is eaten by a fish or frog prematurely, they then wriggle out through predator’s mouth, gills, or nose. That’s some Animorphs bullshit right there.

Nematomorphs play an important roll in ecology. As many species infect grasshoppers and crickets and drive them into the water, they also provide a significant source of food for fish. Without nematomorphs, fish that depend on grasshoppers and crickets would likely turn to other invertebrates, possibly throwing riparian ecosystems out of balance.

Nematomorphs often have to wait a long time before being eaten by their primary host. One species, Paragordius varius, is able to withstand being frozen at up to -70°C (-94°F) for weeks. Then it thaws out in the Spring, still ready to infect its next host.

We know that some species cause their hosts to enter water and drown themselves. We don’t actually know how they do this.

I used to work at an animal shelter and one time as I was cleaning I accidentally sprayed a cricket with cleaner and a horsehair worm came out of it. I then picked it up and showed it to the vet team and they all gathered around to stare.

[ilikeit-art]

The screaming piha (Lipaugus vociferans ) is a species of passerine bird in the family Cotingidae. It is found in humid forests in the Amazon and tropical parts of the Mata Atl��ntica in South America. It is a common bird in the middle and lower parts of the canopy at altitudes below about 500 m (1,600 ft), or up to 1,000 m (3,300 ft) in Venezuela and the Andean foothills. It is adapting well to human settlement areas like gardens and parks, and is considered to be of least concern by BirdLife International.

The screaming piha grows to a length of about 25 cm (10 in). Both sexes have dull grey plumage (wings and tail often somewhat duskier) and the underparts are paler grey. Juveniles are grey tinged with brown or rust.

It has a voice that is extraordinarily loud, reaching 116 dB, second only to that of the white bellbird. In the breeding season, up to ten males may gather in loose leks, where they sing to attract females. The Cofán people of Ecuador call it the Pwe-pwe Yoh, which is a reference to its voice. Among the Ecuadorian Secoyas, the bird is known as the Kwow-kwee-yo. The sound is frequently used in movies as a sound typical of the Amazon rainforest.

Despite its distinctive voice, the screaming piha is an elusive bird, remaining still for long periods and blending in with the branches. It is usually solitary, but may sometimes join a mixed species foraging group. It feeds mainly on fruits, but also consumes insects, sometimes flying out from its perch to pluck a fruit or catch an insect in the air with a trogon-like hover.

Description source:

[mutant-distraction]

Columnar cacti are cacti that grow with prominent branches, often referred to as arms. More than 50 arms may grow on a single plant, with one specimen having 78 arms. Columnar cacti grow from 3 to 16 m (10 to 52 ft) tall, and up to 75 cm (30 in) in diameter. They are slow-growing, but routinely live 150 to 200 years. They are the largest cactus in the United States. The growth rate of these cacti is highly dependent on rainfall; cacti in drier western Arizona grow about half as fast as cacti in and around Tucson. Cacti grow slowly from seed, and may reach only 6.4 mm (1⁄4 in) in height after two years. Cuttings rarely root, and when they do, they do not go through a juvenile growth phase, giving them a different appearance. Since 2014, the National Register of Champion Trees has listed the largest known living cactus in the United States in Maricopa County, Arizona, at 13.8 metres (45 ft 3 in) tall and 3.1 metres (10 ft 2 in) in circumference; it is estimated to be about 200 years old and survived the 2005 Cave Creek Complex fire. The tallest cactus ever measured was an armless specimen found near Cave Creek, Arizona. It stood 78 feet (23.8 m) tall before being toppled by a windstorm in 1986. Cacti are succulent stem plants and can retain large amounts of water; when rainfall is plentiful and the cactus is fully hydrated, it can weigh between 1,500 and 2,200 kilograms (3,200 and 4,800 lb).

[thecreaturecodex]

Slugspawn

Image © Paizo Publishing

[Sponsored by @coldbloodassassin, who asked for the slugspawn from Carrion Crown: Wake of the Watcher to be converted from a hazard to a full monster. It is a little weird in the adventure as published, and this art, which is from WotW, makes it look as if it was intended to be an independent creature originally. WotW has a very large Bestiary section (this is the PF1e module that introduced a ton of Cthulhu Mythos monsters), so it's entirely possible that this was its own stat block at one point in development before being changed for the finished product to save word count. Lucky for me, I don't have a word count.]

Slugspawn CR 5 CE Aberration This creature appears to be a greenish-black slug the size of a human arm. On its underside, it has a lamprey-like maw with layers of rasping teeth

Slugspawn are the juvenile stage of the moits of Shub-Nugganoth, grotesque creatures that use humanoids are hosts to create eruptions of parasitic plague. A slugspawn is barely sapient, existing only to lurk in a dark corner somewhere and wait for a passerby to infest. Slugspawn are slow but patient, and can eat insects, mold and other detritus if these are available, and survive for up to a year on reserves of fat if they are not. They require the thoughts of a host, preferably a humanoid, in order to molt and reach maturity and intelligence.

Slugspawn attack from hiding, attempting to ambush a victim and burrow inside of it without the victim noticing more than a faint twinge of pain. Although cold damage or surgical intervention can pull a slugspawn from its host, this must be done quickly before the aberration wraps around the host’s brain stem. There, it feeds on the thought energy of its host, but also provides blanket protection from mind-influencing effects. The infestation initially seems relatively benign, and the infested may go about their lives as normal until the moit suddenly and violently transforms into a spawning canker. This is universally fatal to the host, and the host’s corpse becomes little more than a puppet and layer of protection for a tentacled horror.

Slugspawn CR 5 XP 1,600 CN Tiny aberration Init +7; Senses darkvision 60 ft., tremorsens 30 ft., Perception +5

Defense AC 20, touch 20, flat-footed 12 (+2 size, +7 Dex, +1 dodge) hp 51 (6d8+24) Fort +6, Ref +10, Will +4 Immune mind-influencing effects; Vulnerable cold, remove disease

Offense Speed 10 ft., climb 10 ft. Melee bite +13 (1d2+2 plus infestation) Space 2 ½ ft.; Reach 0 ft.

Statistics Str 14, Dex 25, Con 16, Int 3, Wis 8, Cha 9 Base Atk +4; CMB +9; CMD 21 (cannot be tripped) Feats Dodge, Mobility, Weapon Finesse Skills Climb +10, Perception +5, Stealth +21 Languages Aklo (cannot speak) SQ camouflage

Ecology Environment any land Organization solitary, clot (2-6) or infestation (7-12) Treasure none

Special Abilities Camouflage (Su) If a slugspawn is seen, a DC 20 Knowledge (dungeoneering) or DC 25 Knowledge (nature) check is required to tell that it is not a harmless, albeit oversized, slug. Infestation (Ex) A creature bitten by a slugspawn must succeed a DC 16 Reflex save, or the slugspawn burrows through the skin and begins to infest the creature. Any amount of damage reduction is enough to resist the initial infestation. The save DC is Constitution based. On the first round of infestation, dealing cold damage to the victim can eject the slugspawn and save the host—but only if the victim takes 10 or more points within 1 round of being infested. Cutting the slugspawn out also works, but the longer it remains in a host, the more damage this method does. Cutting it out requires a slashing weapon and a DC 25 Heal check, and deals 1d6 points of damage per round that the host has been infested. If the Heal check is successful, the slugspawn is removed. After 3 rounds, though, the slugspawn has reached the host’s brain and cannot be surgically removed without killing the host. Remove disease kills any slugspawn in a host. A slugspawn ejected through cold damage or a Heal check is stunned for 1 round after being ejected. A creature host to a slugspawn is immune to mind-influencing effects. 2d6 days after the initial infestation, a humanoid or native outsider host metamorphoses into a spawning canker, and cannot be returned to life with any means other than a true resurrection, miracle or wish spell. Hosts of other creature types have variable gestation periods, and may never metamorphose at all, subject to GM discretion. Vulnerable to Remove Disease (Su) If a slugspawn is targeted with a remove disease spell or similar effect, it must succeed a Fortitude save against the save DC of the spell or die instantly. If they succeed, the slugspawn still takes 1d4 points of damage per caster level.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Same as it ever was 7

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as neglect, bullying, manipulation, cheating, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Between your home life and work, you just can’t catch a break. Especially after you draw the ire of your boss.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen ft. Pete Brenner

Note: we just vibing.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Silence simmers in the meeting room. Lloyd watches you, basking in your defeat. You don’t have to proclaim it, no need for a white flag, it’s all very obvious.

You need this job. Even if Burger King called you that very moment, flipping burgers isn’t going to pay for Pete’s negligence or your children’s lunches. As always, you’re the one who has to do what needs to be done.

You raise your chin and swallow, trying to sit up straight. He watches you, a smirk slanting his mouth as he flutters his fingers over his bristly mustache. He chuckles as he slowly struts closer.

“You look tired, cupcake, so we’ll keep it simple,” he nears, soles scuff with each step as he puts his hands on his belt. “I’ve put up with your mouth more than I should so why don’t you put it to good use?”

He unbuckles his belt and you sniff. Your throat constricts as you stare at the bottom of his shirt as he opens his fly and the tails break out. Your nostrils flare as you tamp down the last of your defiance. Is that pride? You haven’t had use for that in years.

Fed up, done, exhausted, helpless. Whatever it is, you just want it over with. You roll the chair closer and grab the front of his pants. He lets out a grunt as you pull him closer. He catches himself on your shoulder as you tug his pants down to his thighs.

“Wow, sunshine, you that desperate for a gourmet cut–”

He can’t finish his disgusting remark as you stretch the elastic of his briefs and roll them down, angling them past his already hard dick. He perks up as you bare his excitement and you roll your eyes. The arrow shaved into his pelvis pointing to his dick is juvenile.

“Alright, take it easy–”

“I know how to suck a dick,” you hiss and grab him, stroking him to his tip and back down, slow, easing yourself into what you’re about to do. 

Your stomach curdles as you wheel even closer and straighten your spine. This man revolts you. Every man does. Your own husband most of all. Well, consider this revenge. It might be torture for you but vengeance nonetheless.

“Shit,” Lloyd rasps as he pulls his hand away from your shoulder, “don’t be so rough–”

You continue to play with him, less than meanly. You squeeze at his tip so he twitches and groans. You didn’t lie. You know what you’re doing but it does feel like a while since you have. You close your eyes and lean in as you pump your hand back down.

Your breath glosses over him and he shudders. You press your lips to his tip then swipe your tongue around. He lets out a longer drone and spasms. You continue to tease him, delaying the inevitable. You can taste the saltiness of his pre-cum. Just like any man, he’s easy.

You take his full tip into your mouth. His voice crackles in his throat and sets his feet. He cradles the side of your head and groans as you make a careful advance down his length. A few inches and back up. A little at a time, wetting him with your saliva.

“Oh, wow, toots, you really…” his voice drifts off as you take him halfway, teetering on the edge of your chair.

The sloppy noise of your task boils in your chest. You shouldn’t do this. Even if Pete betrayed you, it’s wrong. You’re a mother, you’re a wife, you’re better than this. No, you’re old, worn out, and unloved. You don’t want to do this, but you need to.

Keep telling you that and you might not gag.

You get further and further, each time he rumbles in breathless delight. His hand slides around the back of your head, urging you on as he tilts his pelvis forward. He thrusts slightly as you struggle to take him down your throat. Your eyes well and your throat squeezes. You repress a cough and keep going.

You pull back, your hand still on him. You know he’s close. You feel him fighting, shaking, ready to spill over like a kettle on high. You slip your hand down to fondle his sac and he lets out a longer moan, fingertips curling against your scalp. Almost there, weak.

“Wait, wait, wait…” he begs.

You pop your mouth off of him and put your other hand around him. You squeeze his balls as you work him quickly, bracing yourself for the eruption. A peel of thunder rolls through him as he cums, spurting violently so it hits your shirt, your neck, and trails down his slack pants. You circle your thumb around his tip as he quakes and you coax him through the final waves. 

He huffs and braces your shoulders with both hands as he drops his head. He sucks in air and it scratches in his throat. He shifts his feet and trails his touch down to squeeze your tits through your shirt.

“You didn’t even let me have a go at the funbags,” he accuses, his voice silty and low.

You look up at him as you let go and roll back. You look down at yourself and gulp down shame. Worse than his semen on your blouse is the slickness between your legs. You swivel the chair and stand without a word, grabbing kleenex from the middle of the table to wipe your hand and your shirt, then your neck. 

You ball the tissue up and swipe some more. You turn to Lloyd and clean him up quietly, wiping him then his pants, and zipping and buckling them up. You tap his stomach and grab the wadded up kleenex to dump in the bin. You face him as you squirt some sanitizer into your hand and rub them together.

“I’m going back to work, sir,” you declare.

He stares at you, cheeks flushed as he smooths his hair back. He clears his throat and puffs out, chest rising and falling. His jaw squares, “you will go back to work, like a good girl, won’t you?”

You try not to glare at his weak attempt to reclaim his power. He holds all the cards but he doesn’t realise you’ll always have the trump. He’s a man, he’s simple. The simplest thing in your life.

🗄

You’re oddly more alert for the rest of the day. Maybe, just more determined as your work is your singular escape. It’s easier for you to lose yourself in budgets and expense reports rather than think of everything else.

You don’t take your lunch. Your appetite is all but non-existent. The office fades into a blur around you as there is only you and your computer. You only break away from your trance to refill your coffee.

You stretch as you stand, balancing as tiptoes as you try to loosen the muscles of your calves. You roll your shoulders and pass by several empty desks as your coworkers opt to have their lunches.

You enter the lunchroom and find several people sitting around the table, jabbering about sports or Netflix over open containers. They don’t acknowledge you but neither do you. You put your thermos under the spout of the machine and pluck out a medium roast capsule.

As you insert the k-cup and close the lid, a sudden silence settles over the space. A scramble and the click-clacking of lids on tupperware. You don’t bother to look back as you choose your brew strength and cup size. You keep a hand on the machine as you lean into it.

You glance over as the employees at the table stand with their sealed containers and give meek looks towards the door. They file towards it solemnly, ‘sir’, ‘Mr. Hansen’, ‘good afternoon’... they flee back to the safety of their desk at the appearance of the mustachioed manager. You shrug and turn your attention back to your thermos.

He laughs as he struts into the room and goes to the fridge. He opens it, standing only a foot from you as he peruses the contents. He hums as he bends and searches. He tuts as he swings the fridge shut and turns to lean against it. He crosses his arms as he watches you.

“No lunch today?” He wonders.

“Coffee,” you answer and take your thermos from the tray, twisting the lid onto it.

“Ah, yeah, you did start your day out with a big breakfast,” he winks, twitching slightly as the thought arouses him.

“Sir,” you face him and inhale deeply, nostrils flaring.

He tilts his head and looks you up and down, “we need to get a few things straight, babycakes.”

“Do we? I thought everything was pretty clear… Mr. Hansen.”

He snickers into a growl and runs his fingertips down his throat, “I don’t think it was.” He arches a brow, “you don’t dismiss me, I dismiss you. That’s your one. No more.”

You look at him dully and pop up the tab on the lid of your thermos, “got it, sir. Won’t happen again.”

He doesn’t seem happy with your acquiescence. He squints and recrosses his arms. His cheek dimples as he sucks his teeth.

“Right,” he pushes himself straight, stretching his neck side to side, “number.”

He reaches into his jacket and pulls out his phone. You frown.

“You have my extension, sir–”

“Fuck that noise, give me your number.”

You recite your phone number as he keys it in. He winks and taps the screen one last time before slipping it back into his pocket. He steps closer, looming before you.

“This doesn’t make you special. You still work for me, you do what I say, what I want…” his timbre edges hotly, “and if you don’t, you can go home to your sad husband and your bratty kids and tell them how mommy got canned for being a stubborn bitch.”

“Sir,” you tense, “I haven’t–”

“I’m laying out the terms of our contract,” he interrupts, “so listen.”

You snap your mouth shut, the scent of coffee rising from your thermos, tempting you to sip. You don’t dare as you keep your eyes on the man before you. Victory glints in his eyes. This is ego, fine, you’ll feed it.

“I don’t ever care if you're busy. When I say jump, you jump right onto my dick. When I say swallow, you drink it the fuck down,” he wags his finger at you.

“I…” you look away, “I’ll try, but sir, I have kids–”

“That little princess isn’t old enough to rule the castle?” He snorts.

“Don’t,” you warn him, “sir, with respect, that's my daughter.”

“And you want to take care of her. I know, you're a martyr, so let's talk sainthood.”

You press your lips together. It's not quite a threat, more a reminder of what you could lose. You flick your brow up.

“Fine, I'll pay for the babysitter. How much can that be, anyway?”

You nod, “alright.” You'll take what little he'll give. Prostituting yourself for childcare, wow.

“Don't look so fucking pathetic, babe, you just got promoted,” he sneers, “you get your very own throne.”

He shamelessly gropes the front of his pants. You keep your lip from curling and clutch your thermos tighter. Somehow, you hoped your boardroom antics would sate him. You should've guessed it's not that easy.

“Is there something you need right now?” You force the words out crisply.

He chuckles and sighs, “no, you enjoy your coffee. You're going to need that boost.”

You stare at him. What does he mean? If not now, he surely has something else planned. You have enough work without trying to untangle his riddles.

“Can I go back to my desk now, Mr. Hansen?”

“Aw, look at you, asking for permission,” he coos, “go.”

You step around him, moving cautiously. You sense him turn to watch your departure, his knuckles snapping against your ass. You flinch and stop just by the door.

“Ooo, squishy,” he remarks.

You cringe and fall back into step. You're entirely certain he's used to a different type. Maybe that squishness might just change his mind.

🗄

The rest of your day passes without disturbance. The calm has you on edge. Trepidation in every glance over your desk and every trip to the bathroom. When you pack up, you don't expect to leave on time. But you don't see Hansen and you hope whatever's distracted him keeps him that way.

The kids are chaotic as you get them onto the car. It takes a lot to get Malik still enough to strap into his seat. You get on the road and follow the slog of traffic through the school zone.

Closer to home, you feel your phone buzzing but don't answer. Malik and Simone are arguing about something, you can't focus between them and the cars around you. The pressure builds and builds as your phone starts again.

You're not mad at them. You're mad at Pete. Mad that he never does this, that he can't even bother to be with you so he can help. The hard stuff if never his responsibility.

You finally get home and mediate between your children. As you enter the house, you're met with the unexpected aroma of cooking. Simone gives you a look as Malik doesn't notice.

You help your son with his shoes as Simone hangs her coat and puts her bag on the chest beside the rack. You take Malik’s jacket and put it on a hook, forgetting about your own as he sprints into the front room. You hover in the doorway as Simone takes out her book and flops onto the couch.

“You're home,” Pete emerges from the kitchen, “I got dinner on.”

He's proud but you're not impressed. You don't say a word as Malik races over to his dad and reaches up. Pete scoops him up and shakes him in a bear hug until he's giggling wildly. This is what he does, he's the good guy and you're just the maid.

Your pocket vibrates again. You huff and pull your phone out, not checking to call display as you put it face down on the end table. Sure, he's cooking but you'll be the one cleaning up and doing bathtime and bed time. Same as it ever was.

You go back to the entry way and strip off your jacket, plunking your work bag veside Simone's. You return and cross the room, brushing by Pete to enter the kitchen. Oh god. It's already a fucking mess.

He puts Malik down and tells him to find his tablet. Your husband follows and you face his eager grin. You scowl.

“You used my ceramic pan?” You hiss.

His face falls. “I… I'm trying…”

“You're a joke,” you scoff and go to the stove, the chicken is burning. “Well, I guess we can scrape off the black parts.”

He comes over to stand beside you, “do you gotta rain on everything?” He keeps his voice down.

“Take a look in the mirror,” you retort and turn on your heel, “let me know when you need me to come make something edible.”

[eightisviii]

QUACHIL HEADCANONS

I love her design so much and made a lot of headcanons so sharing them here as well!!!

• Quachil is a Throne angel. Throne angels look like this

They are wingless beings most unlike other angels when revealing their true form and represents God's judgement. Quachil fits the bill cus she doesn't have wings, plus

• Quachil is the angel of misfortune. But not only that, she is also the angel of judgement. She judges people with her all-seeing eyes and sees to it that those whom she deems sinners are struck with misfortune (which would be a lot)

• Ishtar Ereskigal is a combination of (Ishtar) Goddess of Heaven and (Eres(h)kigal) Goddess of Underworld so that must be why Quachil came out as a biblically accurate angel. Though it did cost Ishtar, and Quachil was, in a way, her curse

• Quachil loves jewelry. She likes them shinies.

• Quachil only uses telepathy if she wants to talk with you. She keeps her thoughts to herself.

• Quachil isn't welcomed to (Catholic) Heaven because she was made by a mortal turned immortal (Yog) and a considered imposter deity (Ishtar).

• Quachil is a juvenile angel. Juveniles are already as large as 5-6 ft. from their creation. Since Quachil is a Throne angel, I estimate her size to be on the shorter side of Thrones' 200-300 ft. height range. She can technically adopt a human form anyways, but just imagine a 200 ft. tall Quachil floating around LMAO

More Quachil headcanons in the future maybe 🤭🤭

[lemmetreatya]

Any spare jjba smut? Literally any of the guys, although I love how you write joot, and I'm interested to see how you'd write old!Joseph (SDC)

omg anon thank you SO much for reminding me that i am indeed a whore for joestars. your diligence will be heavily rewarded!! ❤️

Jojo characters during sex

ft. Jonathan, Old!Joseph (SDC), Jotaro (part 4), DIO (SDC)

content: afab!reader, modern au ig, smut, sex, male. pen, missionary, doggy, cowgirl

🔆 jonathan: missionary 🔆

despite being the supposed gentleman he is, jonathan is an absolute sucker for being able to hover over you from above during sex. he may not give it away, but loves being able to play and fondle with your breasts as he thrusts into you, large hands able to engulf all of you — regardless of size. it’s almost perverted how his eyes can never seem focused on your face despite how much he proclaims he likes missionary for that reason.

“jojo…”

your fingers cant help but play within the naped locks of jonathan’s navy black hair, your mind on the verge of going blank as result of how passionately he was fucking into you.

“you’re so beautiful…” he’d strain out despite his attention not being on you. as his eyes cant help but lay strain over your bouncing breasts, you can only let out a huff.

“feel like…” your cheek lays flat against the pillow, drool peaking at the corner of your lips. “you’re not even…that wasn’t f-f-or me…”

a short stutter leaves jonathan’s mouth but he doesn’t let up his pace. in fact, the man continues to plough into you whilst bringing up his index finger and thumb to his lips. he momentarily sucks on the digits, eyes fierce, before bringing them down onto the exposed nub of your nipple.

nothing less of a yelp and a moan leaves your throat at the additional stimulation. if anything, it just makes jonathan smile more.

“don’t underestimate me…i can appreciate…more than one thing at a…at a time.”

🔆 joseph: spooning 🔆

“it’s not because of my age…” he usually groans but joseph is an absolute adorer of spooning fucks. he says its always been his go-to choice of position but even you didnt need to know him within his juvenile days to work out that (lazily) thrusting into you from behind on his side was definitely due to lack of effort. still yet, joseph was always a good lay when it came to this position— clearly he knew what he was doing.

the patient slapping of skin sounded throughout the room as joseph took you from behind. his cock had no problem in sliding in and out of your gooey cunt, his grunts feverently hot against your neck.

“god, you’re always so warm for me princess…” he endearingly spewls as the rough hairs of his silver moustache softly scratch against your skin.

you yourself cant help but mewl in reply as the man’s fat cock continues to drive up your ridged canals, the arched angle of your back resulting in you feeling him just about poke your innards.

“always for you, daddy…”

you moan almost subconsciously. it wasn’t something youd said with him before but there was just something about the man that made you want to address him as such. the use of the pet name makes joseph’s dick jump within you. you dont miss how he blows an extra hot puff of air onto your neck.

“don’t say that unless…you want trouble.” he muses, but you know he’s more endorsing the behaviour than berating.

with an impulsive clench of your walls around him, you signal that you were willing to take whatever ’trouble’ was.

🔆 jotaro: doggy 🔆

oh now jotaro is a man who takes what he wants — thats we know. but there’s just something about having you at his beckon from behind, the almost animalistic inclining to have his way with you unabashed?? jotaro has his suave and intimate moments but sometimes he just wants to be able to indulge in you any way he can.

bullet crowns seem to be ringing through your head at this point. your body is being jolted way too harshly for anything you have to say to come out sane. no matter how much you cry out in pleasure or muffle his name into the duvet, jotaro is absolutely not letting up.

“s-shit…”

his own curses come out half baked and cant even form properly from his lips. understandably, seeing as jotaros eyes are determinedly focused on the mirror situated in front of your naked bodies, the sight delightfully vulgar as his hands squeeze at your hips.

“mine…m-mine.” is what he chants over you, his cock making no mistake in target as each time it perfectly carves out the pipe of your insides and leaves your pussy puffy with white froths of cream.

you can’t help but squeeze out a sorry excuse of a “yours” in reply to jotaro’s proclamation. which to his delight he takes it as a green light to prop one of his legs up onto the bed and proceed to drill into you with the vigor of a thousand men.

itd be no lie to say that your mind was then completely scrambled and your senses telling you this man was nothing but fine trouble.

🔆 dio: cowgirl 🔆

this man needs to be in control for every aspect of his life, but when it comes to sex? actually, no he still needs and wants to be in control, but he finds a way to not always make it about him. dio loves cowgirl simply because it gives him the feel for power whilst simultaneously letting you do all the work. it also gives the illusion about the sense of worship finally being directed towards you — and he likes that! (but he’d never admit that aloud)

as his fingers grip onto the seat of your hips, you cant but help yourself feel exceptionally full and imbedded by dio’s cock as he rocks himself up into your hole.

“look at you…”

hed almost pray from below, beady eyes strained and focused on you and everything you deliver — raining from your moans, cries and curses.

“so beautiful for me.”

you should be mindful that he doesn’t suddenly plant his feet flat into the mattress to use as a anchor of some sort before he’s using the momentum to fuck into you mercilessly. however when he does, it’s like heaven on earth as you cry out of both shock and pleasure.

“di…” is all you can get out and the smile on dio’s face in response is devliah.

“that’s it. lemme hear you.” hed coo.

[bethanythebogwitch]

Wet Beast Wednesday: oarfish

It's the first Wet Beast Wednesday of the year. A year is a long time, and do you know what else is long? Oarfish! (A+ segue right there). Oarfish are long, skinny, and large fish of the family Regalecidae known for their odd appearances. There are three known species of oarfish in two genera: Agrostichthys parkeri, Regalecus russelii, and the most famous: Regalecus glesne.

(image id: a giant oarfish swimming. It is a long, serpentine fish with silvery skin ands multiple black patches. A short, red dorsal fin runs down its back and a crest of fin rays is on the head. end id)

All oarfish are poorly understood due to their deep-sea habitats leaving it hard to study them in the wild. As such, most information about them is known from rare wild sightings and carcasses. Adults live between 250 and 1000 meters (660 to 3300 ft) down, but larvae are occasional juveniles are found near the surface. Living oarfish that end up near the surface are likely to quickly die of depressurization. All species are long, slender, and scaleless, with elongated fin rays at the leading edge of the dorsal and pectoral fins that result in training crests. Their mouths are small and usually toothless (though some have been found with vestigial teeth) and can protrude outward. This protrusion creates suction, which the oarfish uses to draw food into its mouth. Its diet consists of zooplankton, primarily krill and shrimp, but also jellyfish, squid, small fish, and other crustaceans. They lack swim bladders and likely have to actively swim to maintain their position in the water column. Oarfish are believed to use two kinds of locomotion. They can undulate their whole body or by holding the body straight and moving only the long dorsal fin. Regardless of method, oarfish are not strong swimmers. Many of the vertebrae in the tail are hyper-ossified, meaning they have excess bone growth. This is believed to provide support for the tail as it moves and prevent fractures. It also likely helps control buoyancy. In some specimens, the tail appears to be blunted. This is speculated to be the result of self-amputation. The hypothesis is that the oarfish can drop part of its tail to escape predators. The predator would then go after the tail rather than expend more energy attacking the fleeing fish. The ability to lose a body part like this is called autotomy. While some animals who practice autotomy can regrow the lost body part, there is no evidence that oarfish can regrow their tails. Little is known about oarfish reproduction, but they are presumed to reproduce externally and provide little or no parental care. Larval oarfish float below the ocean's surface and feed on plankton. Juvenile oarfish have occasionally been found swimming at shallow depths. It is not clear how long oarfish development takes or at what point they descend into the deep sea. The lifespan is also unknown. Footage of oarfish in their natural habitat shows that they spend a lot of their time positioned vertically in the water, with their heads facing the surface. This would help them spot prey silhouetted against the sunlit surface of the water.

(image id: a closeup of the head of a giant oarfish lying on sand. The head is indistinct from the body. It has a large, silver eye with black pupil. The mouth is oriented vertically, making it look very odd compared to most fish mouths. The rest on its head and elongated pectoral fin rays are visible. End id)

(image id: four pictures of larval Regalecus russelii. It is of a similar body shape to an adult, but shorter and without pigment. The first fin rays for the head and fin crests are visible. End id. source)

The smallest of the oarfish is Agrostichthys parkeri, sometimes called the streamer fish. Small is a relative term as it can grow up to 3 meters (9.8 ft) long. Unlike the other known oarfish, it has hard nodules on its skin that may help with defense. A. parkeri is the least-well known of the oarfish. Only seven specimens have ever been examined. They have only ever been found in the southern Pacific ocean. The next largest is Regalecus russelii, Russell's oarfish. It can reach 5.4 meters (18 ft) long and is found worldwide along the equator. The largest and most famous species is Regalecus glesne, the giant oarfish. At recorded sizes up to 8 meters (26 ft) and 270 kg (600 lbs) and unconfirmed reported sizes up to 11 meters (36 ft), the giant oarfish is the longest bony fish alive today. Truley the longest of bois. They are found worldwide between the equatorial and polar regions.

(image id: the head of a deceased Agrostichthys parkeri lying on sand. Its head is longer than that of the giant oarfish and the open mouth appears as an extension of the head. end id)

(image id: a juvenile Regalecus russelii found in the great barrier reef. It looks similar to the giant oarfish, but is considerably smaller and its body is a pale blue. end id)

Due to their long, slender bodies, relative rarity, and extreme size, sightings of oarfish are speculated to have been responsible for many sightings of sea serpents. While most sea serpents were described as terrifying monsters that would attack ships, oarfish are completely harmless to humans. The reverse is not the case, as oarfish are occasionally caught as bycatch. There is no commercial fishery for oarfish as their meat is too poor quality to be used as food. One common name for oarfish is "king of herrings". This came from early reports of them apparently swimming amongst schools of herring, with sailors assuming the oarfish were leading the herring. In Japanese mythology, oarfish are known as "Ryūgū-no-tsukai" which translates to "messengers from the palace of the sea god". A bit of Japanese folklore considers oarfish to be harbingers of earthquakes. There is no scientific evidence for any relationship between oarfish and earthquakes, but the belief got boosted after mass strandings of Russel's Oarfish happened in early 2010 and a massive earthquake occurred in 2011. Little is known about the conservation needs of all species of oarfish and no species currently has legal protection.

(image id: 17 people (with more in the background) holding up a deceased giant oarfish to show its scale. end id)