#hermit bugposting

His main gimmick, on top of being powered/fueled by magic-laden blood, is hijacking and stealing power & info from other tech. He’s a power-hungry twist-villain who changes his mind at the last second out of remorse, even though he gets too frustrated and cagey to communicate Why (or stop being a little sarcastic bully) :]

Also his voice claim is somewhere between J//ax (T//ADC) and P//eridot (S//U) because I can’t help myself. Also a bit of M//ax (S//am & M//ax). He’s just. a combination of all three of those motherfuckers. On so many levels. Especially with J//ax’s funky gender confliction/issues/discord. :]

Edit: I have also been informed that he gives M//ono//kuma vibes. that tracks. oughh.

OK SO let’s see here.

These are kind of shoddy BUT they’re probably the closest I can get to explaining Cordial’s anatomy & whatnot, just in like. An anthropomorphic shape. 💀 I feel too intimidated to draw out his exact anatomy, And Also at the end of the day he’s just my silly little sneezy spider OC that I sometimes put into Situations, so deciding his exact anatomy isn’t one of my priorities—

ANYWAYS

So the actual fun facts:

- Aside from being allergic to most cleaning agents & chemicals (and just sensitive to their smells), he’s also sensitive to the smell of vinegar, insecticide, bug spray, and basically any bug-repellent thing you can imagine. Ironic, considering he’s sort of involved in pest-control, and thus has to interact with those sorts of chemicals and scents often.

- He technically only has two nostrils, but does have a set of “book lungs” that are visible on his sides, reminiscent of gills! (I’m still working out a specific design for them though.) They’re sensitive to touch, and can in fact be induced. They’re also where he traditionally pulls his silk from, as it’s more sterile/sanitary than the web his nostrils produce. He doesn’t have a use for nasal webbing, it’s just kind of a nuisance. It can occasionally help trap pests, however.

- He knits, sews, and crochets his own clothing (and even stuffed animals) as a hobby! He’s fairly reclusive, and a gift-giver at heart, so he has plenty of time and reason to smother his loved ones in hand-made gifts. He’s also known to patch up rips and tears in clothing of all sorts; no project is too big, small, delicate, or daunting for him to take on. He even has a set of magnifying spectacles to help tinies/micros with their clothing! Thanks to his size (roughly 8’8), he also has a knack for helping giants/macros with their clothing, too— it just takes a little extra time and patience!

- He grew up wanting to be a tailor, but didn’t have the social battery or networking skills to take it on as a full-time career; instead, he lets word of his work travel by mouth between trusted peers and friends. The same applies to his job as an exterminator/pest control; he’s more of a freelancer than anything, and is content to work at his own pace, under his own expectations, as his own boss/manager.

- He’s a sucker for tea, no matter the flavor; take him out for a soothing drink, and he’ll make you just about anything you ask of him. Just be prepared for him to be a little invasive with his measurements, and the subsequent praise.

- He’s non-venomous! As I think I’ve mentioned before, he’s specifically inspired by a brown orb weaver; he’s no threat to humans or humanoids, and only barely a threat to pests. His specialties lie with capturing and containing pests, not killing them himself!

- He doesn’t care much for labels— but if you were to ask his closest friends, they’d say he’s queerplatonic and nonbinary. A little harmless flirtation and gender-play here and there, paired with a general apathy for the norm; he’s just here to chill, make cute accessories and gifts, start new projects with loved ones, and clear out unwanted bugs and critters from people’s homes and establishments. What use is gender or sexuality to him, when he has plenty to occupy himself with already?

BONUS ROUND!

- His favorite season is late-summer, early-fall; the colors, warmth, and gentle autumn breeze make him feel at home!

- His full name is Cordial Neoscana Crucifera, AKA the name of his genus of inspiration! (Neoscana crucifera) (I would make it something more clever or witty, but honestly I prefer that it be straight-forward and easy for me to remember 💀💀 So! Direct name it is!)

- He regularly pulls all-nighters stitching and sewing

- He’s very ticklish, and will thrash about upon “attack”, despite his best efforts to stay composed. His book lungs/sides are particularly sensitive to touch, and can occasionally trigger a sneeze or two if you’re being delicate enough!

- His aesthetic of choice is somewhere between grunge and cottagecore

- He’s a sucker for hypnosis, but specifically as a means to soothe and distract his loved ones; if you’re looking for a good night’s rest or a break from an anxiety attack, he’ll “drop you under”, tuck you in, maybe hum a quiet tune or two, and go right back to knitting by the bedside. 11/10, would recommend.

- And yes folks, he can do shibari. Just ask nicely, and be prepared for a no if he’s not in the mood for something sensual; he’s a busy spider, after all!

Pest Problem

…It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust from the bright mid-noon sunlight, to the warm lighting of the bakery before you.

You only recently enrolled in the area’s local pest-control program, taking it on as a way to get you through the spring season— as well as keep your bills paid while you search for something more permanent. The work is still unfamiliar, as is the bustling town of Fennelbrook that surrounds you— and today’s your first day of training. Yet, your apprehension is outweighed by your curiosity as you step through the threshold of the local bakery and cafe, a towering figure following at your back with an easygoing expression and tone.

“…This is the place,” the figure— Cordial, your guide for the first week of your training— says with a tilt of his head. “Have you visited before? Are you at all familiar with the Honeyside Bakery…?”

You shake your head, futzing with the tight collar of your uniform. It’s well-insulated, and perhaps a touch too warm for the weather; but it’s necessary for the job.

“…No, I… I haven’t had the chance to look around town yet, honestly. This place is completely new to me.”

“That’s a shame... I’ve stopped here for lunch a couple dozen times, myself,” the spider admits, voice fond and nostalgic. “Their pastries are some of the best in town; the shrimp po boy is to die for… Perhaps I’ll treat you to something to eat once our work is finished for the day. Consider it a welcome gift, or perhaps a reward.”

Blushing to the tips of your ears, you follow your guide as he leads the way past the counter, movements sure and elegant and faintly unsettling in equal measure.

The bakery is, luckily for you both, not too busy today. A handful of locals mill about, conversing and sipping fragrant drinks while they wait for their orders.

A particularly burly centaur stands at the front of the line, taking a moment to pick from the hanging menu above the front counter; behind them is an exhausted-looking android, tapping away on their phone as they adjust the strap of a delivery bag upon their metallic shoulder. A group of half-elves chatter and joke from a nearby booth, the table laden with about a dozen different pastries and late breakfast items.

“Coming through, hun!”

A voice from behind makes you jump. You shuffle out of the way as a particularly tall mantis— even larger in stature than Cordial— weaves around you and into the line, waving to Cordial in greeting as they depart. The two don’t speak a word, though there’s still an air of friendly familiarity between them.

Cordial did say he was a regular here; you suppose it isn’t that surprising for some of the patrons to recognize him…

Still, you can’t help the question that pops into your mind.

“Are you… Do you just know every bug-person here?”

You fluster as soon as the words come out; maybe that was more disrespectful than you’d intended.

Still, Cordial replies with an unbothered chuckle, indulging the question with a gentle shake of his head.

“Not quite; it is simply part of the local culture, that’s all. This side of town has been a safe haven for the Thri-Kreen community for only a decade, but there is still a certain strength and comfort in camaraderie… We greet each other like family to lessen alienation,” the spider explains with a hum, all while leading you to a quiet door tucked out of the way of the common-space. “As such, our community is strengthened, and the… sting of bigotry from outside races… is lessened.”

As he speaks, Cordial gives a rhythmic knock to the door, drawing your attention to the ‘Employees Only’ sign etched delicately into the wood. There’s a shuffling sound from behind it, a faint buzz—

And the door creaks open with haste, revealing the sight of a stout drone bee in a sage-green apron. Their frantic, beady eyes widen, face flushing pink as they peer up at your eight-eyed companion. At first you assume it’s in surprise at Cordial’s stature, until they clear their throat and stammer in recognition.

“You’re here—! I-I mean,” they fumble with their words, voice accented with a faint nasal buzz. “Welcome, zzsir, how can I be of zzs-service?”

Cordial’s eyes squint when he smiles, gently brushing off the formal greeting.

“Good to see you again,” he murmurs, voice lowering to something more discrete. “We’re here on account of the… pest control call. Is Lady Beatrix in today?”

The bee’s antennae droop, suddenly looking twice as relieved to see the spider at the door. “Lady Beau izzn’t here until Monday. C-corporate meeting,” they admit, looking a little antsy. “Y-you’ll zzstill give the kitchen a look, right?”

There’s an urgency to their tone as they glance quickly between yourself and Cordial, expression pleading.

“Of course; that was our intention.”

Cordial’s words seem to fill the bee with relief all over again, their posture shifting as they gesture for the two of you to enter.

“Oh, thank the zzstars— I-I can’t take another minute of thezze thingz…”

Before you can ask them to elaborate, the drone bee bustles ahead, leaving you and Cordial to follow through the expansive back kitchen.

Cordial seems unperturbed, gesturing for you to follow with a gentle smile.

The shelves are stocked to the gills with fresh produce, flour, pastry sheets, and a few dozen syrups and preserves from all across the feywild. Your senses are practically assaulted with the scents and visuals of several types of baked goods— everything from fey-wine cupcakes, to French toast, to Dubai chocolate croissants— and that’s not even counting the sandwich bar and savory breakfast platters being assembled in the second half of the kitchen…

You pass a stocky-looking wasp working near the counter, calling out orders with wind-sprint speed as they’re received from the register. There’s a teal-green weevil pulling a steaming loaf of pumpkin bread from a nearby oven, whose blank expression is conflicted by the enthusiastic tap of their antennae. Nearby, a Hercules beetle kneads their claws into a fresh batch of dough, muscles rolling and shifting beneath their shirt in a way that makes the pins on their apron clack together. There’s even a centipede decorating a line of cupcakes, their many limbs moving in a blur of efficiency and focus.

The checkered floors look like they’ve been scrubbed clean almost obsessively, everything organized and orderly in all the ways you’ve come to expect from the diligent locals. It’s an impressive operation, and an effective way to ease tourists into the bug-centric community without so much stigma or judgement.

On one of the nearby walls, you pass a framed photograph of a ladybug standing before the bakery, eyes fond and tired, as a group of fellow bugfolk hoist up a sign that reads ‘GRAND OPENING: HONEYSIDE BAKERY & CAFE’ in a enthusiastic, fluid font.

The ladybug’s gentle, almost motherly face appears in nearly every framed photograph on the wall; that must be the owner, Lady Beatrix, then…

“So,” Cordial begins as the three of you enter the storage room. It’s spacious, despite the many boxes and crates adorning the walls; at least in here, the customers and other workers won’t overhear your conversation about pests… “You mentioned the pest has yet to be identified. Correct?”

The drone bee nods, fidgeting as they speak. “Th-that’zz right. All I know izz that it’zz cauzzing problemzz with the pipezz… We’ve had to rezzort to importing water jugzz, d-due to health and szzafety concernzz…”

Your brows furrow. “How do you know it’s a pest problem, then? What if it’s just… faulty pipes, or something?”

“An astute observation,” Cordial hums, tilting his head to give you a smile. “According to the report, tiny specks have been spotted moving around the sinks and refrigerators. In fact, one customer recently spotted one of these specks— a bug, though it was too small to identify— in the foam of their drink. Hence, the urgency of the call.”

The drone nods urgently, beginning to fidget and pace.

“I-it’zz terrible— who knowzz how long thizz hazz been a problem; what if other peztzz have gotten into people’zz food or drinkzz without them notizing? What if zzomebody gets zzick? What if thizz plaze getzz reported? Or clozzed down?!? I-I can’t handle finding another job, I-I can’t—“

Cordial interrupts the bee’s anxious spiral by setting a gentle hand on their shoulder. The bee’s face goes crimson with blush.

“Breathe, orchid, breathe… We’ll take care of it, I promise you. No need to jump to worst-case scenarios.”

…Orchid? Where’d that nickname come from?

“Bugs are far more common than you might think, especially in the food industry— and not just as potential workers,” Cordial continues. When his hand leaves the bee’s shoulder to grab a notebook from his pocket, they almost seem disappointed. “The trouble is, we won’t know if it’s just a few stray bugs, or a hidden infestation. That’s what we’re here to discern.”

“So, is it like… a type of fey, or…?”

Cordial smiles at your honest question. “No, thankfully; we have reason to suspect it is merely a traditional bug.”

Your confusion must show on your face, because the spider chuckles as he begins to clarify.

“Traditional bugs are only distant relatives to the Thri-kreen, in the same way that humankind is distantly related to lemurs and tarsiers. There is a distinct difference,” he clarifies. “I assure you, certain bugs are still a problem within our culture, just as they are to yours. They are simply more familiar to us in their anatomy, taxonomy, habits, and structures; that’s all.”

“Oh… I guess the listing did say there was just a possibility of feywild pests…”

“Mhm. For the most part, we deal with mere bugs and vermin.” Cordial gives your head a gentle pat, expression humored and encouraging.

“Do not worry; you’ll have your fair share of fey and fantastical pests to discover, whether it’s through this career or another. They’re quite common here in Fennelbrook, if you know where to find them.”

“They’re not fun to find in the zlightezzt,” the drone bee pipes up.

“Unless you have the means and training to disperse them,” Cordial argues, his voice still fond and gentle. “I promise you, they can be quite interesting when you have the chance to understand them more intimately. Not to mention, several of them are a delicacy across the realms, or merely a herald for good luck and fortune. But that’s beside the point.”

Flipping through the tiny notebook in his claws, Cordial eventually beacons you and the drone bee closer. The three of you peer down at the spindly notes before him.

“Now then; the bugs in question are particularly small, yes? Difficult to track or catch, but visible in certain lighting…?”

“Y-yezz, and they move very zzlowly,” the drone pipes up.

“I thought so. They also don’t make much sound, do they? And they’re quite small, despite the issues with the pipes…”

“Y-yezz, zzir.”

Cordial gives the bee a peculiar little smile; it seems like he has something to say, but he shies away under your curious stare.

“…Then I have reason to believe the pest in question may be fairy flies.”

You blink up at him in confusion. “I thought you said it wasn’t a fey??”

“It isn’t, though I see how the name might give you that impression. No, they’re mere bugs, not anything arcane in nature. They’re technically a type of parasitic wasp—“

The done bee’s panic suddenly returns full-force, their pinprick pupils growing smaller as they grasp at their antennae. “Ohh god, oh no no no no—“

Cordial interrupts their spiral yet again, gently removing their tense grip on their antennae. “Now now, I didn’t say what type of parasite they were. They’re no harm to us, or any of the produce here; they prey solely on other flies and pests,” he clarifies. The drone bee’s panic seems to lessen, their face going red again at the gentle contact.

“Z-zzo it’zz… here becauzze of another type of bug…?”

“Indeed; fairy flies are, effectively, nature’s own pest control. There must be another type of pest that has attracted them— and if we’re lucky, the fairy flies have already culled their numbers. All we need to do now is remove the last of the pests, and the fairy flies will go with them.”

“The water has been turned off in light of the pest problem, yes?”

The drone bee nods. “Y-yezz zzir; I have the keyzz for the boiler room, i-in cazze it’zz needed.”

“That won’t be necessary yet, but it is good to know…”

Flipping his notebook shut and slipping it back into his pocket, Cordial moves fluidly towards the pipes on the other end of the room, giving each segment a gentle tap until one catches your collective attention.

The sound is far more muffled than the others, as if the pipe is full of cotton.

“Did you notice anything odd about the water quality, when the pipes were still active?”

“Well… it wazz a little cloudy, a-and the water wazzn’t flowing like it’zz zzuppozzed to…”

“Interesting.”

Cordial gives the offending pipe another careful tap, closing his eyes as he feels it out. The next tap is conducted with one of his lower arms against the bottom of the pipe; this repeats with all six of his arms, all in quick succession.

The drone bee doesn’t seem perturbed by… whatever it is that Cordial is doing; this must be standard for him, then. Spider sense, maybe?

After a moment of this, the spider peeks one eye open. “Rookie, do you recall where the microbial cleaner is stored in our vehicle?”

You snap to attention, wracking your brain. “It’s… it should be with the other drain cleaner, right?”

“Indeed, specifically to the far right. Could I task you with retrieving it for me?”

“Y-yeah—! Of course!”

“Wonderful; let me know if you need help finding it,” Cordial beams, reaching into one of his pockets and tossing you the keys with a flourish. You stumble as you catch them, righting yourself with a small pang of embarrassment—

And without much delay, you hurry out the storage room backdoor and towards the pest control truck.

It takes a moment of searching, considering just how many niche repellents and antiseptics are packed into the storage of the truck. Despite the tightly-closed caps and containers, the scent of about a dozen unfamiliar chemicals assail your sinuses, making you cough harshly into your sleeve. Your eyes water faintly as you fumble for the correct bottle; how does Cordial deal with this on a regular basis? Does he always have an assistant to fetch these things for him, or does he just… tough it out?

You eventually spot the microbial cleaner, right where Cordial said it would be. The scent of this one is a far cry from the sting of the others; you find yourself sighing in relief when you exit and lock the vehicle, lungs filling with fresh air once again.

By the time you return to the storage room, Cordial has already set up a handful of fly-desiccant strips and traps along the walls. The drone bee stands nearby, watching Cordial’s movements with a mix of fascination and… fixation? Adoration? It’s hard to say. Their eyes don’t leave Cordial’s diligent hands, nor his knelt position on the cobblestone floor, until you shuffle into the room and clear your throat.

“I, uh, hope this is the right one…?”

Cordial beams at you in approval. “Well done, rookie; you’re doing well thus far.”

You can’t help the spark his praise sends through you, your smile wobbling bashfully.

“Now then; we’ll need to block these pipes off from the rest of the facility,” Cordial says as he stands and dusts off his legs. “Do you have the means to close the necessary pipes, or shall I fetch some filters?”

The drone bee startles when they realize Cordial is addressing them. “I— o-oh, uh—! Yezz—! Zzir! Th-there’zz a few tabzz to, t-to clozze off zzpecific pipezz…”

Cordial’s eyes squint again when he smiles. The bee takes a moment to register his expectant look— but when they do, they practically scramble towards the relevant pipes, flicking the tabs as quickly as possible.

Cordial waits patiently, only speaking when the drone bee turns back to him with… what you can only describe as an obsequious expression.

“Thank you, orchid… Rookie, the microbial cleaner, please…?”

You pass him the container with a nod.

“For a pipe this size, we’ll need about… a quart of this cleaner. Once it’s been added to the appropriate pipes, it’ll need to be left to sit for about a week. Then, it can be flushed out and drained…”

As he explains, Cordial begins to measure out the cleaner with a steady hand.

“I’ll of course write these instructions down for your convenience, if… if you’d like…” The spider falters. One of his free hands comes up to brush at his nose— though it’s really more like a crest— his other hands coming to steady the microbial cleaning container as his brows furrow. “…In the meantime, it m-mayhhh… be best to…” He trails off, dark eyes going glossy. “…Rookie, wouhhld you… be a dear and t-take this back for a moment? I’m afraih-hhh… afraid I might…”

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what he’s implying. You take back the cleaner as quickly as possible, gripping the near-full cap as Cordial reals carefully back.

There’s a tremulous pause, the spider’s chest rising and falling as their many hands pat down their pockets— only to come up empty-handed. Whatever he was looking for, he seems resigned to go without.

Beside you, the drone bee’s subtle buzzing increases tenfold. Their pupils seem to dilate, completely fixated on your companion.

“I ap— a-apologi’hh’ize… for the mess…—” Cordial hitches, voice breathy and expression hazy. He draws in a breath, almost gathering the air into his lungs like one might gather yarn from a spool— before turning politely to the side and cupping his upper hands over his face, shielding himself from view.

“…h-hhhut’TSCHhhh’uwh…!! A-ahh… hh-hH-HTSHH’chUWwhh…!! Hah…”

Each sneeze seems to bend the spider over the waist with need, lower limbs clutching at his sides as he catches the mess in his palms.

You notice a bit of movement out of the corner of your eye. The drone bee fumbles blindly with their apron, eyes fixed unfailingly on Cordial as they pull an embroidered handkerchief from their front pocket. They don’t offer it up immediately, though, seeming frozen to the spot as they watch the spider’s helpless reaction to his own cleaning chemicals.

Another slow drag of breath from Cordial recaptures your attention.

“M-my apoli-ihh-hh— hhHH’ISCHHh’ue—!! A-apologies, I c-cannot seem to— t-to— hhHT’SHHhhh—!! S-stop—hiHP’SCHHh’uwhh—!! O-oh…”

That last one seems to wear the spider out completely. When he catches his breath enough to pull his hands from his face, a thick web clings between his fingertips, slick and glistening in the low light. He looks vaguely embarrassed.

“…Snff. My goodness… My sincerest apologies, that was… unsightly. I should perhaps mention that I tend to be… a bit sensitive to chemical scents.”

You blink owlishly at him. “…And yet you work in pest control…? With chemicals? On a regular basis?”

“I’m aware that may seem like an irrational choice, but it’s only natural I’d find myself in this line of work,” Cordial sighs, his many eyes glinting with humor. “It is merely my family’s trade, and this town is in need of reliable pest control… Ironic though, isn’t it? I can’t go a… a s-single case without… hh… e-excuse me for a moment.” He turns away again, cupping his hands back over his face like it’s routine. “…h-hhh… hHHD’SCHHHh’uwhh…!! Ohh…”

This time, the drone bee manages to break from their apparent stage-fright and take a few quick steps forward.

“I-I, uhm, I got— uh— I have a handkerchief here, i-if you need it,” the bee stammers awkwardly.

Cordial’s eyes widen, seeming touched by the offer. One of his lower hands brushes against the drone’s as he takes the little cloth, admiring the embroidery for a moment.

“How kind… Thank you, orchid. I will of course clean it and return it to you, should you wish.”

“Y-yeah, zzure, a-any time,” they stutter quietly, barely processing the spider’s words as he tends to the mess strung between his palms.

If you weren’t suspicious before, you’re almost certain of it now; the two thri-kreen have a strange chemistry that you can’t quite place. A lingering touch here, an affectionate glance there… and yet, each moment is filled with careful restraint. Chaste.

“…Now then. Rookie, could I send you on another small errand?”

You startle as Cordial’s focus shifts back to you. “Y-yeah—! What do you need?”

“If I can be so selfish, I’d like you to retrieve my respirator from the truck… It should be in the cubby on the driver-side door.” The spider gives a tentative sniffle. “You can set the microbial cleaner on that table in the meantime; I think it may be unwise to… hh… t-to proceed without a bit of extra… protection… s-so to speak…” His speech begins to falter again.

You take that as your cue, quickly setting the cleaner aside and taking the keys from Cordial’s waiting hand.

“I’ll be right back!”

“G-hhuh… g-godspeed to you, Rookie,” Cordial comments playfully, drawing away with a slow drag of breath.

The drone bee practically vibrates where they stand, watching Cordial with wide eyes and a blushing carapace as he doubles over once more. At least he has the added relief of a handkerchief, both to catch the mess and to shield his face from view as it crumbles with desperation.

“…Hhuh… hihHP’TCHHh’uwhhh—!! O-oh…”

The last thing you hear before bustling out to the car is Cordial hitching towards another sneezing fit, voice muffled and soft beneath the loaned handkerchief— paired with the flustered buzz of the drone bee beside him, all of their rapt attention locked on the helpless reactions of the arachnid.

I need to squish him ASAP

Plus some bonus sillies !!!!!