spider of the evening

Why did I write this

A/N: I wrote a thing.


Got to keep going. Need to find her.

You ignored the cold prickle on your skin, urging you to stay away from this mess of nightmares, but you trudged on through the darkness. Your goal beckoned you forward, and the evil Shadow magic deep within the center of the cave only drove you further.

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I kinda want a pet tarantula when I move out to overcome my fear of spiders. I don’t even think I’d try to touch it or hold it I’ll just stare at it intensely & feed it bugs.

Tony Stark is the type of person who would meticulously research corny dad jokes on the internet just so he can recite them to Peter during Superhero Outings and embarrass him.

ridersofdickhan  asked:

tell us a story about an insect

parker insists that he doesnt normally sleepwalk. 

i have no idea if its true or not; for the sake of anyone who lives with him (myself occasionally included) i hope it is. 

however. when he’s sleeping off a few injuries and is pain-medicated enough that its effective on his jacked up metabolism, he does

which would not normally be a big deal. thor sleepwalks too, and the only problem with that is he sleeps naked. so i thought nothing of it when peterbird wandered into the common room late at night with his eyes closed. he kinda just showed up and then stood there, so i figured id let him be and went off to go make myself some hot chocolate. ten or so minutes later, i stepped around the divider wall back to the common room. 

and promptly had the everloving daylights scared out of me. 

why? you ask, why were ten precious years scared off your ridiculous life, bucky???

well. because parker was standing right on the other side of the wall, about two inches from my face. with an alarmingly vacant expression on his face. because he was sleepwalking. 

he was sleepwalking on the fucking ceiling

  • Wade: Did you know a spider can hold eight guns at once?
  • Peter: How does it walk?
  • Wade:
  • Wade: Did you know a spider can hold seven guns at once?
A Wicked Web: Some Widowmaker Stuff

Widowmaker has something called Cyanosis, which is a condition that makes the skin turn blue due to lack of oxygen. During her reconditioning, Talon changed her body’s internal structure in order to make it consume less oxygen and to numb her to the cold, creating a perfect sniper.

Widowmaker’s base skins are named after French words for various colors:

Nuit- Night \ Ciel- Sky \ Rose- Pink \ Vert- Green

Her preorder-only skin, Noire, is heavily based on the blackwidow spider. The name means “Black”, with the extra ‘e’ on the end denoting a feminine adjective.

Her “Patina” skin is based on a layer of rust-like residue that forms on metal surfaces exposed to the elements. Patina can be green, gold, or silver. The most famous case of Patina is that the Statue of Liberty is only green because of the layer of Patina covering it’s copper surface.This is relevant because the Statue of Liberty was a gift from France in 1885, drawing cultural significant between Widowmaker and Patina.

Widowmaker’s “Tricolore” skin, released for the Summer Games, bears the colors of the French flag (commonly known as a “Tricolore” or “Tricolor Flag”). Flags that contain three colored bands are sometimes referred to as “Tricolor”.

Widowmaker’s “Odette” and “Odile” skins are based on the swans from Swan Lake, Odette being the white swan and Odile being the black swan. Traditionally, the same ballerina plays both Odette and Odile for the production, with parallels between the two often being compared to a “light” and “dark” personality thematic.

Widowmaker’s “Comtesse” skin (A recolor of her “Huntress” skin) means “countess” in English. Typically, a countess is a woman who holds power and land through her own right, partaking in hunts, sports, and other activities typically seen as ‘masculine’. However, since a Comtesse owns her own property and therefore has autonomy, no one can tell her what she can or can’t do.

Widowmaker’s catchphrase, “One Shot. One Kill.” is taken from something known as “The Sniper’s Creed”, meaning you only have one chance to kill your target before your location is revealed. A popular book called “One Shot” was written based on this high-octane creed.

Her other voice line, “Cherchez la Femme” (lit. “Look for the Woman”) is a French saying that implies a woman is always the cause of a mystery or murder. The phrase itself comes from a novel called “The Mohicans of Paris”, in which the main character keeps telling his colleagues to “find the woman”.

Widowmaker’s tattoo on her arm reads “Araignée du soir, Cauchemar” which means “Evening spider, nightmare.” This is based on a French superstition: “Araignée du matin, chagrin, Araignée du soir, espoir”, which means “Morning spider, grief. Evening spider, hope.” This means that if you see a spider in the morning, it’s all downhill from there. But a spider in the evening means good luck for the next day. Widowmaker’s tattoo just means she’s about to kill you.

2

SILM WEEK  day 7: anything you want

“There, beneath the sheer walls of the mountains and the cold dark sea, the shadows were deepest and thickest in the world; and there in Avathar, secret and unknown, U N G O L I A N T had made her abode. The Eldar knew not whence she came; but some have said that in ages long before she descended from the darkness that lies about Arda, when Melkor first looked down in envy upon the Kingdom of Manwë, and that in the beginning she was one of those that he corrupted to his service. But she had disowned her Master, desiring to be mistress of her own lust, taking all things to herself to feed her emptiness; and she fled to the south, escaping the assaults of the Valar and the hunters of Oromë, for their vigilance had ever been to the north, and the south was long unheeded. Thence she had crept towards the light of the Blessed Realm; for she hungered for light and hated it.”

lieutenantsarcasmscat  asked:

I saw you reblogged something about a cockroach cam, and it really threw me for a loop because your reaction was a positive one. I'm not exaggerating when I say that everyone I've ever known has always thought of roaches as gross, unsanitary, and creepy. Obviously you think otherwise, so could you please share why you like them? I'm genuinely curious and would love to be educated about them. (Or maybe you were simply calling the DISPLAY cute and I'm an idiot who can't interpret words correctly.)

I think it was mostly @kaijutegu who was calling them and the set up cute, but I don’t disagree that they can be endearing (even though I’m a spider sort of gal, myself). Roaches are just bugs, and pretty cool ones at that. They flourish really well in environments that correlate with low-quality human welfare (dampness, rot, food trash) but that doesn’t mean they’re inherently gross or unsanitary. 

I think that, if you want to know why people genuinely love roaches, we should get @crispbean and @speciesofleastconcern to weigh in!

Me Against You

PART 1, PART 2 

A/N: I turned 18 today, on the 10th of April, and as a birthday treat, here’s an extra long chapter!! I wanted a date with Tom Holland for my birthday present, but needless to say, I did not get what I wanted. Someone please tell me that he’d love me as much as I loved him if we ever met in this lifetime. 

Warning: Angst, mentions of torture.


Everything happens quickly.

One moment you’re staring up at a wide expanse of blue sky, watching the jet disappear; the next, you’re surrounded by a group of soldiers rushing onto the scene in combat fatigues, pointing their guns at you.

Realization sends you backpedalling, but you run into something solid. You turn, already swinging, and nail one in the chin. He stumbles to the side and would have given you a clear shot to your friends, but three other soldiers take his place.

Before you realize what’s happening, a metal collar is snapped around your neck, sharp electrical pulses shooting through you. Suddenly, you can’t move, can barely breathe. Panic fills you, joining the adrenaline rushing through your veins, and your body isn’t sure how to react. Keep fighting, or shut down.

“W-What are they doing?” You hear Peter ask. You can’t see him, but he sounds scared. Panicked. “That’s a collar. Mr Stark, you said they were only going to talk to her!”

Stop it,” Agent Barton snaps. “That’s a child, not an animal, get that thing off!”

Keep fighting. Definitely keep fighting. The idea of sending your SAT scores to Attica instead of Cambridge is not appealing. You unleash it all with a scream. A plane explodes in a ball of fire, shaking the ground beneath your feet. Screams of terror fill your ears. The shock wave hits everyone within a hundred foot radius, knocking them backwards. You hit the ground hard, and a wave of pain sweeps over you.

“Run!” You try to shout, but only gurgles escape.

And then that familiar voice says your name, taut with pain.

(Y/n).”

It’s him.

“(Y/n),” Peter tries again.

You slowly lift your head up to stare at him.

He’d known what would happen. He’d done this. He’d betrayed you.

Peter’s scrambled to his feet now, hands outstretched, almost as if he wants to touch you, but can’t quite bring himself to.

With a feral scream, you launch yourself at him. You and Peter slam onto the ground, hard. Volts of electricity shoot through you, sharp and hot and carnivorous. You open your mouth to scream. Peter takes the opportunity to shove you off of him, shooting webs to pin your hands and feet to the ground.

(Y/n),” Peter manages. He sounds closes to tears now, his tone as tormented as his expression. “(Y/n), please, I’m your friend.”

You stare at him, your eye wild and feral-looking, your breath coming quicker and quicker from your parted lips. The pain is crashing over you in waves, the shocks making your muscles twitch and seize painfully, but you manage to raise your head, glaring at Peter with such soul-deep hatred that the blood turns to ice in his veins.

“We were never friends!” Your screams come one after another, scraping along your raw throat without pause. “I have always HATED you!”

For the third time that day, Peter recoils. He goes incredibly still, so still that you notice how his hands are trembling. He’s wearing a mask, but you know that his face is contorted in misery. There’s a quiet whoosh of air, followed by the sharp stab of pain in your arm. You can only stare at the small darts in your shoulder before blackness pulls you under.


“– How is she?” A male is saying. You recognize his voice. It makes you angry. Angry enough to force you out of your deep sleep, the only thing protecting you from feeling the pain in your body.

You blink, looking through eyes glassy from the strain they’ve endured. Tony Stark peers in through the glass window, looking at you as though you are a particularly interesting specimen under a microscope. Dark half-moons ring his eyes, and his arm is in a sling. You can’t find it in you to feel sympathetic for his injuries.

The anger magnifies, giving you strength. Strapped to the cot with metal shackles, you fight for freedom. Snarling like the very animal you might be becoming, you twist and buck, half-crazed eyes staring at him, wishing that you could do so much more than try to kill him with your eyes. All you receive for your trouble is another jolt of electricity. The bed shakes with the force of your shudders, the pain acute, gut-wrenching and soul-zapping. They’re going to kill you. How could they not? After a while, even your skin begins to vibrate and it doesn’t stop when the electricity does. Your bones feel brittle, as if they’re going to break at any second. Your lungs have to be filled with glass rather than air. Every breath is agony.

Tony Stark only looks at you again once your screams have stopped. His head droops. With shame? “The Spiderling wants to see you. You hurt him pretty bad.”

Good,” You snarl, surprised at the sound of your voice. You’ve shouted, but only a whisper can be heard. “Tell him I hate him and that I lied.”

Tony Stark closes his eyes, releasing a heavy breath. “He was doing the right thing.”

You raise your head to stare at him, eyes narrowed to angry slits. “No. He was doing what you asked him to.”

Tony Stark’s mouth opens and closes, and you know he’s searching for a response. When he finds none, he turned on his heel and marches out of the room.

“Good riddance,” Clint mutters.

Scott’s the first to recover, a curious edge to his voice. “What exactly did you lie about?”

You let your head droop back onto the pillow. “Having a good time,” You dead-pan, your eyes flickering up to the ceiling. “We went out a lot.”

Scott’s the first to snort in amusement. Slowly, the others join in, Clint and Sam snickering right along with him. It’s even enough to rouse a weak and rusty-sounding laugh out of Wanda, who’s been silent for the whole week that you’ve been stuck here.

It feels good to laugh. Even for only a moment.


You wake with wet cheeks, and a warm, calloused hand tapping at your face. You hope this doesn’t mean that the doctors are back to draw more of your blood; but the doctors at the Raft would never be that gentle with you.

(Y/n)? (Y/n), can you hear me?” The voice is pained, and you think you hear a muttered curse of, “Damn it, Tony.”

The pain is a constant throb in your head and limbs, you shouldn’t move; it will only make everything worse. Wincing, you crane your head up to see who has called your name. Blinking several times, you focus as hard as you can on the only face you can see. It is contorted with anger. His eyes are the palest blue you’ve ever seen, and remind you of clear summer skies and languorous lagoons. He’s not in the red and blue uniform, but in a plain grey hoodie, a white shirt and a pair of jeans. But you would recognize that face anywhere.

“Captain,” You croak weakly. “How was Russia?”

“Cold,” He answers wryly. “I prefer a warmer climate.”

He kneels, you hear the tinkle of metal being ripped apart, and your hands and legs are free. It’s difficult to move; fatigue has added weight to each of your limbs and your eyelids feel as if they’ve been replaced with sandpaper. Captain America helps you sit up, draping his hoodie over your shoulders.

“The collar now. Okay?” He offers you a calm and steady smile, his eyes warm and kind. “One, two –”

Quick as a flash, he grasps at the collar around your neck. Your fingers dig into your palms, gouging crescent shaped marks into soft flesh. Bracing yourself for an electric shock, you nod tersely, and he breaks it apart with his bare hands. You exhale in relief, smiling faintly and wanly at him.

“We’re getting out of here, (Y/n),” Captain America says, smoothing back soaked and matted hair away from your forehead. “Everyone’s waiting in the jet.”

You’re unable to support your own weight; he has to half-carry, half-drag you for several paces at your insistence that you can walk. When what little strength you have drains out of you, you crumple into a heap on the floor. He gives up the charade of allowing you to walk on your own and unceremoniously lifts you up off the floor and into his arms, as if you weigh nothing more than a feather. Your head lolls against his chest as he carries you out of your cell. An alarm erupts, screeching through the empty room.

“I was mean to him,” You confess groggily, your voice strained. “Very, very mean.”

Him. That kid with the webs?” Captain America bends down, and rips a badge off the neck of an unconscious guard. “The one from Queens?”

“He’s called Peter Parker,” You confirm, tears springing into your eyes. “He’s got the warmest brown eyes, and the nicest brown hair. He’s funny, he’s smart, he’s nice. He always got picked on by Flash Thompson, but Peter never let Flash bully me. He’s – well, was – my best friend.”

“I’m sorry,” Captain America apologises, the pain naked in his voice. “I shouldn’t have gotten you involved in this. Tony shouldn’t have –”

You close your eyes on a pained sigh. “Tony Stark is responsible for many things. But he didn’t make me shove Peter out a window, or into a concrete wall. I did those. Me. I’m a horrible person.”

Captain America uses the badge to open the door to the hallway. The two of you enter a long, narrow, passage that you’re relieved to find is empty. Maybe he’s disabled all the guards already. You can only hope. You’re tired of fighting, of having to use your powers. All you want to do is curl up in a ball and fall asleep.

“Believe me, I’ve seen a lot of horrible people. You’re not one of them.”

It doesn’t make you feel any better. You close your eyes against the pounding in your head. “I said I hated him. I hurt him, really bad. Peter hates me now.” And I don’t blame him.

Down the hall. Around a corner. Another hall, another corner. In the stairwell, your breathing and footsteps echo off the walls. But these are the only sounds. No one is following the two of you. Others will be here soon, though. You’re certain the alarm’s already been reported to Ross, wherever that monster is.

A pained groan slips past your lips as Captain America carries you up, up the steps. As fatigued as you are, as undernourished, as wounded, your trembling seems to magnify with every new inch of ground the two of you gain. He opens the door to the landing pad, and you see the jet you’d helped to hijack sitting right in the middle of it.

It’s dark outside. Frigid air envelopes you, worse because you’re in thin prison clothes, with only a hoodie draped over your skinny frame. The cold sea breeze whips hair around your face, and, you think, slices at your skin. You huddle closer to Captain America, exhaustion glazing your moon-soaked features.

“Hold on,” Captain America says pleadingly, and you hear the worry in his voice as he practically sprints for the jet. “There’s a first aid kit in the jet. You’re going to be fine.”

Sam yanks the door closed as soon as the two of you are on the jet, strapped in and ready to go. Without a hitch, you’re shooting across the dark sky. Bucky turns, sympathy written in his eyes. He’s been through some horrible things, too. Wanda is curled up by Clint’s side, her face gaunt and her eyes closed. Scott’s already asleep, snoring like a jackhammer in the seat by the window.

“What if he hates me?” A sob escapes you, a testament to the still-fraying rope holding back your emotions. It won’t last much longer now. “Peter hates me, I hate me, I’m –”

(Y/n), do you want to know what I think?” Captain America asks kindly, kneeling down to look into your red-rimmed eyes, brimming with tears. He clasps your hands in his. It feels as though you’re holding the full blazing sun in your small palms, his so hot and yours so cold. “I have heard nothing but positives about Peter Parker. If this guy is as good a person as you seem to think he is, then I’m willing to bet he’ll forgive you when you apologize.”

Your chin trembles, a fresh round of tears threatening to fall. You lean forwards, pressing your face into his shoulder, and there is a sudden, hollow silence.

The Definition of Overkill

Prompt: "I was chilling in my room when you knocked on my window asking me if I could come kill a spider for you. I LIVE ON THE FIFTH FLOOR HOW WAS THE WINDOW A GOOD IDEA TO YOU.“ 

http://archiveofourown.org/works/10085483

Neil’s not shy about admitting that he’s afraid of a lot of things.

When you’ve lived the life he has, when every waking moment for a decade and a half has been run, hide, stay alive, it’s a reasonable thing. If you’re afraid, you’re careful, and if you’re careful you survive. But, in general, Neil’s fears are pretty logical. He’s afraid of knives, enclosed spaces, fire, his father, his father’s people, the people his father was working for-

More recently, Neil is afraid of dashboard lighters, being tied down, having his legs damaged- He’s afraid of people seeing his scars and asking questions, and he’s afraid of being real. All in all, pretty reasonable things.

Neil is not afraid of spiders. If when he was six or seven he’d scream at the sight of them, it was surely beaten out of him. If when he was fourteen or fifteen he complained about spiders crawling in his clothes, it was surely drilled into his head that there were worse things in the world, like his father, like his mother’s anger-

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I don’t usually make educational posts but I was scrolling through my local botanical garden’s webpage and found out abt this and I wanted to share. 

So there’s this moth called the bird-cherry ermine or Yponomeuta evonymella which lays eggs on the leaves of the bird-cherry tree, and it looks like this: 

the caterpillars of this species apprely make web-like nests and are usually found in large numbers. as they eat the leaves this causes discoloration, and that mixed with the web nests gives you… ghost trees: 

(before commentinc consider i know nothign about insects and im actually quite phobic im ust pulling from the website and wikipedia)

Spideypool Proposal
  • Wade Wilson: [goes down on one knee, and presents the finest of candy ring pops] Peter, will you marry me?
  • Peter Parker: Aren't rings supposed to be like 10% of your salary?
  • Wade Wilson: I stopped killing people with your help, so I am officially out of the mercenary business. In fact, I don't even have this month's rent.
  • Peter Parker: [starts tearing up] We're both so poor.
  • Wade Wilson: Are you okay?
  • Peter Parker: I'm just a little upset.
  • Wade Wilson: [stands up] Why??? Did I do something wrong? If you need more time, that's okay!!! I'm sorry for rushing things.
  • Peter Parker: No, it's just-- [gets down on one knee] You beat me to the proposal. [presents a plastic Spider-Man ring]
  • Wade Wilson: [gingerly takes ring and puts it on his pinky since that's the only finger that it barely fits] You've made me the happiest man alive, I'll keep this until it breaks! Which might not be too long because I will probably lose my hand during a fight or some shit. [pulls him into a hug]
  • Peter Parker: [smiles] Don't worry, I have more. [pulls out a whole bag]
  • And I'm sorry, but I'll probably eat yours when the ramen supply runs out.
  • Wade Wilson: You have a problem. But I got you covered, babe. [pulls out bag of ring pops] And they're all red.
  • Peter Parker: [smiles] I love you. [pulls him into a kiss]