Lots of different bee-and-wasp-mimic hover flies (Syrphidae) out at this time of year. I was going to post a photo set of different ones but decided that I liked this one best. (Probably post the others in January when I’m out of pictures.)
Veridae Gelidum (from the Latin for “wasp” and “frost”)
My contribution to the Ava’s Demon design your own demon contest!
Veridae is the epitome of everything I hate- about myself. He has over exaggerated ram horns because of my terrible phobia of goats; he has five eyes that see many things while I am blind to on-goings in my life; he is ice when I am water, and freezes me in place and makes me cold and lonely; he is a wasp, ever hovering and stinging. He has the power to manipulate your thoughts, not full mind control per-say, but can implant something horrible and can cause vicious nightmares. He makes everything over sexualized those in his presence are in a constantly uncomfortable state.
He is still in his ghost form because I would not have made a pact with him, being too afraid to embrace and utilize his certain power.
The things that Steve always ran away from like no questions asked, he just booked it, were wasps.
Bees were alright, he was okay with bees. They were cute and harmless and he wasn’t dangerously allergic to their stings (surprisingly, thankfully.) He’d even sketch a couple of ‘em when he found them hanging around his mother’s flowers or some melted ice cream on a park bench.
But when he saw a wasp
OKAY NOTHANKYOU FUCK THAT SHIT I’M OUTTA HERE
And he would just run for the hills like the devil himself was after him, because he’d been stung as a kid repeatedly by a single angry wasp and the memory never left him.
But if Bucky was nearby he wouldn’t have to run far, ‘cause Bucky would just curse and chase the wasp down with his cap or a shoe or a book before the winged devil could catch Steve, because they always seemed to actively follow him around as if he had insulted them and their mothers.
In Europe Steve wouldn’t run, not in front of the guys, even from giant monster wasps that made Europe their home, but he’d go deathly still and follow the hovering wasp with wide eyes until Bucky would swat it down with the butt of his rifle or his canteen, ‘cause Steve wouldn’t even think of using his shield as anything but a barrier between himself and the little buzzing beast of fury.
Over 70 years later, during a BBQ at Sam’s place, Bucky realizes some things remain the same as he catches Steve freezing in place as he’s about to sit in his star spangled, nylon folding chair. And sure enough there’s a wasp buzzing around his head, briefly landing on the nearby table before taking off again to hover over Steve’s stiff shoulders for no good reason.
Bucky thinks he imagines that Steve looks close to tears but he’s not sure. Sam, Nat, and Clint are conversing around the grill, completely unaware of Steve’s dilemma, and Steve flicks his eyes over to them as if considering running for the safety of his friends.
Jaw clenched, hands still gripping the plastic handles of the folding chair, he slowly rises.
The chair creaks.
High above the wasp reacts as if Steve had personally offended it and shoots through the air towards Steve’s beautiful, terrified, unprotected face.
Steve chokes and bolts.
Sam almost flips a burger pattie right off the grill when Steve sprints by with a small stripped blur inches behind his head and Bucky cursing up a storm as he follows, metal arm flailing in the air.
By the time the trio by the grill realizes what’s going on, Steve has barricaded himself inside Sam’s house and is watching them through the patio door, and Bucky has finally managed to swat the wasp clean out of the air with his metal hand, and is now trying to gently coax Steve back outside.
“It’s okay, pal. I got the little bastard, look—”
“Throw it away. Throw it over the fence, Buck, throw it away, no, get rid of it, DO NOT GET NEAR ME WITH THAT THING—”
As Steve babbles something about devil bugs, Natasha snatches Clint’s phone out of his hand so that the picture snapped just in the nick of time of Captain America being chased down by an insect smaller than his middle finger and a frantic ex-assassin will never grace the dashboard of every one of Clint’s thousand tumblr followers.
Not until it’s needed for some serious blackmail, anyway.
Mini-Doom and his teeny-bots have taken over the main workbench again. The mini-Avengers stand ready to face him, Cap and Iron Man flanked by Thor and Wasp, with Captain Marvel and Spider Woman hovering above them. Spider Man clings to a lamp. Clint seems to be having trouble reaching the tabletop. Tony makes a note to improve the stickiness of mini-Hawkeye’s grappling lines. Real-Clint would probably not be having this problem.
Mini-Thor notices his comrade’s predicament and retrieves him, just as the teeny-bots surge forward.
It’s Steve, has to be. Everyone else is out for the night. Steve was supposed to be out, some kind of VA thing in Brooklyn. But Steve’s also the only person that would actually use the intercom before trying the door handle.
“Door’s open, Cap!” Tony calls over his shoulder. He makes another note. Captain Marvel’s flight is unsteady, he should check her over before the next scenario.