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holybibly · 2 months

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Heyy if your dark hours are still open…👀👀 would you mind sharing your thoughts about yandere Ateez concubine harem…? Or perhaps any harem that you can think of because I’m very much into this topic🤭🤭🤭

You know what? Today I wanted to be affectionate with you, damn bunnies, and spoil you with tenderness and sweets, but you just provoked my dark side with all these requests, didn't you?

So change of plan, bunnies; we're going down the dark and rough road. I love yandere's concubines, Ateez. God, can we think of anything more seductive and more dangerous than that? From now on, you should send me such requests more often, bunnies. Feed this demon within me.

You entered the palace as the wife of the new emperor. His fourth wife. His glittering war trophy.

When war came, your world was changed beyond recognition. Flames and ashes consumed the luxury and grandeur of the palaces, and the jewels turned to dust, leaving only you, the Ice Princess of the Northern Mountains.

Your life was made of crystal and your heart was made of ice stronger than diamonds, and it was this cold and lunar beauty that caused you to be forcibly married.

Yes, you may have entered the palace as the Emperor's wife. But you were a nobody within the high walls of the palace, just a sad reflection of past your greatness.

Everyone knew that the Emperor had a large harem, not counting the three older wives, but what really surprised you was that it was not only made up of girls, but of young men as well. There were eight of them. Each one more beautiful than the last, each one unique and unrepeatable.

Until one fateful night, you had never met them or seen them in person. It was a lunar festival, and you were its queen. Dressed in silk and the finest translucent tulle, as if kissed by the moon goddess herself, you sparkled and attracted the attention of everyone around you. Everybody, but not your husband. He didn't even look at you, brushed you aside as if you were an annoying mosquito, and sent you off to talk and smile at the guests while he went off to fuck another beautiful concubine.

And then, for the first time in your life, you had a meeting with the concubines of his other harem. And your world was turned upside down for the second time in your life.

It was love at first sight, a fire that burned through his veins and poisoned his mind. And it was all because of you. It was your fault that Wooyoung couldn't sleep, couldn't eat, couldn't laugh, and couldn't live. All of a sudden, his whole world was reduced to you and your heavenly, icy beauty. He passionately wanted to melt that ice, make you beg, squirm, and moan as he fucked you unconscious and painfully, filling you with his sperm and marking you as his property.

The only thing Wooyoung ever had in his life was his beauty. He grew up in poverty, living on scraps of food and the small amount of money he was able to pick up from the dirt. That is, until the day the current emperor, who was still a prince at the time, came upon him in one of the alleys, on the run from his guards. Wooyoung's dark fox eyes captivated him at once, and as if he had fallen under his spell, the emperor brought him back to the palace to be his concubine.

Wooyoung was a greedy concubine; there was always something that was not enough for him. He wanted to swim in luxury, to drown in gold and silk, to have diamonds, and to own the whole damn world. The best should be his, and so it was; the emperor gave him everything and more that Wooyoung had a desire for. And now you were in his sights. He wanted you so much that it ate him up from within and almost drove him mad, greedily and viciously, in the most horrible way in the world.

Yes, Wooyoung was greedy, and if he had to kill the Emperor to get you, he wasn't going to think twice about doing it.

One look at you could bring him to his knees. He would crawl to you like a pet if you commanded him to, and that desire was stronger than the hatred he felt for the whole of the world. You could tame his wild temper, and Mingi would want nothing more than for you to straddle him and ride his cock day and night, tearing the skin from his back and shoulders, choking him, and biting him until his will was broken. Mingi was uncontrollable and capricious, passion and fire raging in him, burning everything in his path, but your element was ice, burning him harder than hell itself.

Once upon a time, Mingi was a warrior, one of the great generals of his country, until the war came and destroyed his entire life. It took everything from him—his will, his family, his home. Yes, the war had taken everything from him except for the poisonous rage and the dark, vicious passion that was boiling in his veins. He was brought to the palace in chains like a slave, and that very night the Emperor took him by force and made him one of his concubines. This only made him bitterer.

Mingi was venomous and aggressive, biting and scratching until he bled, but you, you did something to him—you forced him into submission by your very presence, without him even knowing it. The wild, unbridled storm inside of him became the icy surface of the lake, soothing and healing. And Mingi wanted peace. He wanted the touch of your icy hands on his heated skin and cold kisses on his lips. He wanted you.

What is passion if not a flame that is a destroyer of all things on its way to its goal? And Mingi was full of fire to burn this damn palace to the ground to take possession of you.

He was sin clothed in a human body, debauchery and lust embodied in an image of heavenly beauty. The whole of Seonghwa's life had been nothing more than a constant stream of sex and an endless series of lovers. He could not get rid of this feeling; it was like frost on his skin. This constant, painful need was scratching him from the inside out. But when he saw you, all his thoughts were focused on you—on your pure, untouched skin that he wanted to lick and bite, on your slim waist that he wanted to squeeze as he fucked you continuously. On those red, seductive lips that would be simply amazing when wrapped around his dick. It was you he wanted, and for the first time in his life, Seonghwa wanted you to be the one. He didn't want anyone else, only you.

Before he entered the palace, he was one of the most sought-after whores in the brothel, famous for his devilish beauty and his languid, cat-like gaze. There was a line of people waiting for him, and Seonghwa was more than happy to accept them all. He was insatiable, wanting to fuck anywhere and anytime, trying the most sinful and unusual things. He was a real slut. But when the emperor heard about Seonghwa and visited his brothel one day, everything changed. Suddenly, he was no longer just a whore; he became Imeretar's concubine.

Seonghwa's hunger could not be quenched, and one partner would never be able to cope with it. But here you are, pure and radiant like an angel, beckoning him with your immaculate beauty. You were stronger than his dark, insatiable demon of lust. He wanted to corrupt you, to make you like him, and to make you dependent on him, just as he had become dependent on thinking about you.

It is said that whores don't know how to love, but they know how to desire. And there was enough darkness in Seonghwa to consume and destroy the world; to possess your purity and chastity. Then let the world be plunged into darkness until you are alone with him.

Yeosang had never been interested in anything at all. The world was too boring and dangerous for him. He could never care less about it. If he could, he would stay safe and comfortable in his bed for the rest of his life. You were different—distant and cold, but with an inexplicable thirst to live. You wanted to see all the things around you, to experience the cultures and the art. The world was interesting to you, and that was a source of irritation to Yeosang.

Everything about you was fragile and exquisite, and the fact that you didn't see it was what made Yeosang so angry. Don't you see, little butterfly, the world is terrible and dangerous. You would be much better off with him in his bed, far away from anything that could harm you in any way. Perhaps you would finally understand that you shouldn't run away from the safety and comfort of his bed if he were to break you. If that helped, Yeosang would want to destroy you and fuck your little curious brain until you thought only of him. He would spend hours warming you with his dick, days kissing your cold lips, and smothering you with his attention and love.

Yeosang was always aware that one day he would be part of the emperor's household. He had been prepared for this since he was a child, pampered and protected from the whole world, so that there would not be a trace of dirt on his silky, snow-white skin. Always waiting for the Emperor to visit his chambers and warm his soft bed, albeit temporarily. Yeosang almost never left his room, but like all concubines, he had to attend the Moon Festival. And that's when he saw his fragile butterfly. And like everything beautiful in this world, you were too easy to break. Yeosang wanted to protect you, hide you between his sheets, and shower you with care.

Yes, beautiful things broke easily, sometimes too easily—delicate butterfly wings, flower petals, crystal jewelry. But Yeosang wanted to see how the most beautiful thing in the world—human life—broke.

He wanted to eat you alive. Sinking his teeth into you and never letting you go, you awakened in him this wild, all-consuming hunger that he could not satisfy with anything else. You were the most delicious dish of all, and your taste was his only desire. San had always been a little insatiable, wanting more attention, wanting to love more, wanting to more sex, wanting everything this world had to offer him. It was never enough. You walked past him without even looking in his direction, the trail of your perfume settling on his skin and seeping into his body, poisoning him as you went. He wanted you to pay attention to him, to smile at him, to love him, to touch him. Oh, he would never let you go, he would fill you with his cum over and over again, and it wouldn't be enough for his taste. If he could, his dick would be in your pretty pussy all the time, so warm and delicious. He was in desperate need of you, he was hungry for you, and this hunger was all-encompassing.

Ever since he was a child, San had had a voracious appetite, always in need of a bigger and sweeter bite to temporarily fill the emptiness inside him that was growing with him. He had everything he could ever wish for; he had grown up in a loving and wealthy family with titles, but the dark hunger that plagued him was terrible. No matter what it was, he was always in need of more. So one day, when the emperor asked if he wanted to join his harem, San didn't hesitate to accept, but the hunger didn't go away.

You were the most delicious forbidden fruit of them all, and San was desperate to sink his teeth into you. He could almost feel the heavenly sweetness of you on his tongue, and it was driving him wild.

The sky could crash and burn all around him, and he wouldn't care, as long as you could fill him up and satisfy him.

There was no one in this world who could ever be like him. There was no one like Hongjoong. There was no limit to his pride and his greatness, and any praise You never praised him, you never sought his attention, and you were never enchanted by his sharp mind, his sweet voice, or his beauty, which could only be rivalled by the devil himself. And Hongjoong hated it. He hated how much he wanted your attention and your love. He wanted you to worship him, idolise him, and devote your whole life to him. He had to have you in all ways, even if those ways were darker than the night itself.Hongjoong wanted to see you in his golden bed, stretched out on the silk, while he was ravaging your body. He wanted to hear the endless moaning of his name as his cock tore apart the little cunt that was yours. He was in need of it, so much so that his whole body ached.

Hongjoong was a trophy of war, just like you. He was a real prince, who was supposed to be a king one day. His ego knew no bounds, and he was cruel and daring. Of course, the whole of the palace was conquered by the magnificent prince dressed in gold - all of them, except for you.

Yes, Hongjoong was a true prince, and one day he would overthrow the emperor and take his rightful throne, and like every emperor, he had to have his empress. You may not see him now, but the day will come when Hongjoong will be the only sunshine that illuminates your life. And he couldn't wait for it.

Yunho has never been the victim of jealousy. He has always been the recipient of praise and adoration, a constant reminder of how much he is loved. Yunho had no idea how jealousy could be. Or so he thought, at least.

That night, when he saw you in the light of the moon, he had hatred for the whole damn world. How dare he look at what belonged to him? He envied all those who could speak to you so freely; he envied all those who could pronounce your name; he envied his emperor, who did not appreciate your beauty and who humiliated you. Damn it, Yunho was jealous of the very air you were breathing. He desperately wanted to be him—to live inside you and melt into your skin. He wanted to melt into you without a trace.He would have loved to take you to his bed, to kiss every inch of your skin, to fuck you long and slow, and to shower you with compliments and praise. He would like to have you in his arms all the time, writhing and moaning with desire and need. For him, you are the only thing he needs in his life.

Yunho used to be just a servant in the palace. But he caught the Emperor's eye. That very night, he entered the emperor's chambers as his new concubine. Yunho knew about the others; he knew that he was not the only one, but that never bothered him; he was able to share the attention of the emperor. Except you. You were his own, and even the world was not worthy of seeing you.

It would be so easy to have the entire palace blinded, so that no one else but Yunho would have to see your celestial beauty.

Jongho was a man too proud for his own good. In his mind, it was beneath his dignity to pay attention to others and smile sweetly at them. Jongho was the spoiled, arrogant son of one of the most important palace officials, and when his father had the chance to get close to the emperor, he naturally gave him to the harem. But even so, he still considered himself to be better than everyone else, even Hongjoong, who was a prince in his own right.

Jongho was the one who first saw you, quite by chance, when he visited his father on the night you were appointed as the emperor's fourth wife. The Emperor was a real fool not to see how brilliant and magnificent you were—a real crown jewel. You were a symbol of power, strength, and might, an enslaved princess of a once great country, and a black flame of desire flared up in Jongho—he wanted to own you completely.

He wanted you for himself—your thoughts, your will, your body, and your life. He wanted you to sit by his side, to be covered with jewels, and to bear his children. It was easy for him to imagine his hand wrapped around your fragile throat as he fucked you into the mattress, you begging and moaning for him, wanting to be filled with his cum.

Fueled by his selfish desires, his fixation on you became increasingly harmful and dangerous.

Out of all the trophies in the world, there was nothing that was more attractive to Jongho than you. And on the way to what he wanted, murder was never a serious matter for him.

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bfpnola · 8 months

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this piece is written so well, reads just like a story, that i'm struggling on which excerpts to showcase for this post. please read the whole thing when you get the chance!

“They forbade us from feeding our own before we went to feed their children. They never prohibited us physically,” she said, her jaw clenched, adding that the fear they inculcated was enough for them to obey. “They didn’t want their children nursing from the breast of a woman who had just fed an untouchable child.” Driving her stick farther into the ground, she added: “Sons of b******.” “I was distressed about starving my child, but I always went along with it because that is how it worked,” Narsamma said. She would be compensated sporadically. “I was paid with a sack of grains or 10 or 20 paise [less than 1 cent].” She looked around, before adding: “Soon as I reached their premises, I was provided with a piece of soap and was asked to take a bath near the cattle shed. Which human being would want to be treated that way? I left my baby starving in the house to feed their child. And while we slaved away our bodies for them, they saw it as nothing less than their birthright to treat us like that.”

...

The women began to speak about Madiga food habits and, in particular, eating beef. Most Hindus who are not Dalits do not eat beef because cattle are considered sacred animals, but it is a staple food for many Dalit communities like mine. For Madigas, meat from the dead cattle our community disposed of was often our only source of food, and we became associated with consuming beef. Non-Dalits have long humiliated people who eat beef by saying they are impure. But beef was not only an easy, protein-rich source of food for my community, it also played a significant role in our nutritional customs. Such customs have faded as our community has tried to dissociate itself from a cultural practice that we were shamed for. The marginalisation of those who eat beef has only grown since 2014 after Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s government came to power and banned the slaughter of cattle in many states, fuelling the rise of violent vigilantism against beef-eating minorities. Beef played a particular postpartum role for Madigas. “For about 12 days following childbirth, our elders made sure we ate a nutritious diet of a different assortment of beef parts every day,” Narsamma said. “The elders carefully chalked out every day’s diet to make sure we had the strength to sustain ourselves after giving birth and to produce sufficient nutritious milk for our babies. All the castes knew about this custom and hence had a popular opinion that our women produce nutritious milk.” The sun had nearly set, and the women fanned themselves to keep the mosquitoes away. They would soon return home to tend to their families and the evening chores. “They humiliated us as impure and dirty every day for eating beef, but they wanted the milk of the beef eaters,” Narsamma said. “They say we polluted the air they breathed, but they wanted our bodies to feed their children.”

#dalit #resources #intersectional feminism #bipoc #madiga #narendra modi #india #casteism #caste abolition #Ramavaram #Telangana #religion #hinduism #reaux speaks #dalit feminism

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daryl-dixon-daydreams · 1 year

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@thefemininemystiquee much love to you! I adore seeing your responses to my fics. they seriously give me so much life and motivation to keep writing! reader pronouns: she/her

Laying on the flat of his back, staring up at the crescent moon, swatting away mosquitoes, Daryl was swamped by the same dark thoughts that had consumed him since the prison fell. What the fuck was the point of going on? He’d resigned himself to the numbness and bitterness of being without you, of having never told you that you were everything to him. For now, he kept going purely out of duty to keep Beth safe and alive, but every day that passed he withdrew further and further into the dark thought that perhaps you hadn’t made it away safely, that you’d been killed by the Governor’s attack, or that perhaps you had gotten away but would die out there alone somewhere...

And he’d never told you... He should be with you to protect you, to keep you safe, to tell you that everything was going to be alright.

“They’re probably all lookin’ up at the same moon.” Beth’s voice came suddenly from his right, not too far away in the darkness. “They are. I know they are.” He heard the rustling of fabric as she shifted on her ratty bedroll. “She is too.”

Daryl felt a bubble of emotion forming in his chest. It would burst in another moment and he wouldn’t be able to hold back the torrent of horror and anger and sickness and fury and loss and grief and—

“Don’t give up on findin’ her, Daryl. If somethin’ happens—you have to go on and find all of them,” Beth said.

Daryl pushed himself up and he could make out her silhouette in the glow of the coals. “Nothin’ is happenin’ to ya.”

She stared at him for a long moment and then laid back down, perhaps turning her eyes back to the moon too. “Fine. Then nothin’ is happenin’ to either of us. Got it?”

Daryl collapsed down onto his back again. He chewed on his bottom lip a moment. “Got it.”

Time: 4 min

#lightning drabbles #beth greene #daryl x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead #twd fanfics #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl imagines #daryl x y/n #fanfics #writers of tumblr #twd drabbles

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420thewritersroom · 12 days

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Bloody Rage

Back with another "Raiden is in emotional turmoil" piece, this time inspired by the ending of the Blood Moon season. Had a lot of fun writing angry, budding Dark!Raiden stuff. Doesn't really scratch the vampire itch I was slightly getting, but this was fun to write regardless

Characters: Raiden, Kung Lao, Liu Kang (He's only here for one scene)

Word Count: 1,306

Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, Blood

"I'll be fine, Raiden."

"I can handle a little mosquito bite."

"You don't have to worry about me, Raiden. Let's just focus on the mission at hand."

Raiden gazes at the pole where three of his closest associates struggle in vain against the searing hot chains that bound them. They writhe in bestial fury, like an animal trying to break out of its cage. They gnash their teeth, mouths filled with blood, eyes blazing in raging blood lust as they bite at the air while emitting animalistic snarls. If it wasn't for the fact that Raiden was staring down an exiled ninja, an immortal princess...And his best friend...Raiden would've thought them nothing more than animals.

What is he thinking? Even Raiden couldn't bring himself to denounce his friends to such a title. They were suffering, if not from the seething chains, then it was from the disease that demanded they consume flesh and blood. Every so often, one or all of them would exhaust themselves. The pain from their restrictions and their empty stomachs eventually catches up to them. And where their frenzy would once be in full bloom, it ebbs away as their voices become nothing but pathetic whimpers of pain. And then the begging starts. Their growls wither away as weak pleas attempt to allure any who would listen.

"Please, I'm hungry, thirsty."

"Just a drop, I'm not asking for much."

"I beg of you, please, you're hurting me. It's still me."

This only worked once, Raiden remembers. It's how Tomas got infected with the Vaeternian curse. In the beginning, when none of them knew who or what they were truly up against, Tomas, with his loveable bleeding heart, was just trying to help. They were able to capture a victim who was bitten and turned. Days, they were nothing but a ravenous monster. Until one day, they meekly, like a limping dog, asked for just a "taste." That they only needed a small amount of blood, then they would be normal for just a short while. Didn't help, too, that this individual was a close friend of Tomas. So he took the bait.

Raiden still remembers the slow, deteriorating state Tomas endured as the curse cruelly turned him into a monster. And he would be the first victim of the Earthrealm Warriors that had to be contained. The rest would follow suit as they fought off against Nitara and her army of Vaeternians.

He just...He just wished Kung Lao wasn't one of the victims that would fall to the curse. He almost hates him for getting bit, not because of his incompetence, his slip-up; that led to him getting tagged, but because the son of a bitch tried to hide that he was in pain. It was a week later when Raiden saw the tell-tale signs that Kung Lao was infected. Paler skin, longer canines, dimly red eyes, a desire for blood, the writing was on the wall. He remembers scolding Kung Lao for practically endangering everyone by hiding this truth. He should've dragged him over to Liu Kang, it was for his own good, for everyone's well-being, that Lao was locked up.

"I'm fine, Raiden. Really, I am. I'm not going to hurt anyone, I can fight this."

Raiden may be upset about Kung Lao lying about his curse, but the thunder wielder could never forgive himself for...Believing him. Against his better judgment, against the specific directions of Liu Kang, he took his friends' word over any screaming reason that told him to not take Lao on his word. But he did. He doesn't even remember why he listened to Lao. Was it his determined aura? The look of confidence that he was beyond being taken over by the hunger? Or was it that childish, naive idea that Raiden still held for his friend? That despite his shortcomings, Kung Lao always found a way to rise to the top. He never let cold, fever, broken bones, and, in some instances, death, slow him down. So why would a vampiric curse be the one to bring him down?

Raiden gazes at the pole where three of his closest associates struggle in vain against the searing hot chains that bound them. They writhe in bestial fury, like an animal trying to break out of its cage. They gnash their teeth, mouths filled with blood, eyes blazing in raging blood lust as they bite at the air while emitting animalistic snarls. If it wasn't for the fact that Raiden was staring down an exiled ninja, an immortal princess, and his best friend, he would've thought them animals. And where sympathy would've bubbled to the surface to the point of nearly choking him, Raiden felt none.

Instead, anger, like a roiling, vengeful thunderstorm, builds within him. He wanted nothing more than to fry alive the bastard who turned each and every one of his friends. He wanted to wrap his fingers around an unmarred, Vaeternian neck and squeeze. Squeeze until their eyes popped from their sockets, and their skin turned purple from the asphyxiation. Oh, but whoever turned his best friend would get the worst treatment. He can already see it. It would be slow and painful, just like the infectious curse that they spread when they're too unbothered to finish the job.

They would die from a thousand paper cuts, slowly bleeding them out until they were BEGGING to be fed, or better yet, pleading to die. But he would grant them no such mercy. He'd shock them, small sparks that would gradually escalate until they were given the electric chair treatment. He would violently rip out their fangs, and continue to do so until their body could no longer regenerate the bone. Raiden would actually greet their jaw area with a couple fists, maybe even a hammer. Yes, keep hammering away at their teeth until they all shatter and fall apart, one by one.

In fact, now that he's remembering this, the Vaeternians are known for their regeneration capabilities. He wouldn't even need to shock them back to life to ensure that their suffering is prolonged. He could keep them roped up in electric shackles, the shocks keeping them occupied while he gutted them like a pig at a slaughterhouse.

"Raiden..."

The choked sound of Kung Lao's voice tears Raiden from his violent fantasy. The thunder wielder slowly turns his gaze to Lao, his face filled with an unsettling look of passivity.

"Raiden, please. It hurts," Kung Lao whimpers, the sound of sizzling flesh emphasizing his point, "Raiden! Please!"

A pain in his heart lightly pokes at Raiden. He never thought he would see the day where Kung Lao was begging for anything. A prideful, cocksure, swagger of a fighter, now brought to his knees in a state of submission. Yet, Raiden can't find it in himself to pity his friend. Kung Lao didn't need pity, plenty had been given to him. His friend deserves to be liberated, his attacker executed for putting his friend in so much pain.

"Raiden..."

The farm boy is slow to respond to Liu Kang's call, his head turning to face the Fire God. A pang of shame creeps under his skin, and he lowers his eyes, "I'm sorry, Lord Liu Kang. I...I wanted to see him."

"I know," the Fire God approaches Raiden, placing a hand on his shoulder as he gently guides him away from the courtyard where their vampiric allies remained. "We are working diligently to find a solution for them. Geras has been searching for a possible timeline that was able to cure the Vaeternian curse. There's still hope for them."

"...I know..."

Yet, despite these affirmations, Raiden can't shake the anger, the need to break something, to hurt someone. It isn't enough that Kung Lao, Tomas, and Kitana are cured.

It just isn't enough.

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Angry Raiden is my favorite Raiden, can you tell :D

#mortal kombat #mortal kombat 1 #mk1 raiden #raiden #mk1 kung lao #Kung Lao #Liu Kang #mk1 liu kang #Fire God Liu Kang

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fatehbaz · 2 years

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On Saturday, August 2, 2014, the water supply for the city of Toledo, Ohio, was poisoned. Officials issued an unequivocal order to the half million residents connected to the municipal intake: Don’t drink, cook, or brush your teeth with the water. [...] Stores ran out of bottled water, leaving residents to queue up at local fire stations [...]. The culprit was a bright green plume of Microcystis, a cyanobacterium that thrives in warm water [...]. In spring, rains wash a pulse of nutrients off the surrounding region’s fertilized farms and send it down the Maumee and Sandusky Rivers and into western Lake Erie. [...] Tests showed that the city’s water contained dangerous levels of microcystin, a liver toxin produced by the bloom.

The source of the problem stretches for thousands of square miles across northwestern Ohio and eastern Indiana. The rich earth [...] in the region produces hundreds of millions of dollars’ worth of soybeans and corn, as well as wheat, vegetables, pork, and poultry. The landscape is a vast, flat expanse of tidy fields and modest farmhouses crisscrossed with county roads — but it wasn’t always this way.

Centuries ago, this part of the Midwest was a wild expanse of wet forest and marsh stretching across a million acres, and early settlers who slogged through the muck and mosquitoes called the place the Great Black Swamp. [...] On an 1808 map, the swamp, which covered most of northwestern Ohio, was designated as “land not worth a farthing.”

But settlers came anyway, felling the giant sycamores and oaks to create roads, and digging miles of drainage trenches to slowly bleed the water away from the muck. [...]

They [”the wetlands”] are considered a menace, a threat, a thing to be overcome. These attitudes are enshrined in state law, which makes impossible any action, including wetland restoration, that slows the flow of runoff through those miles of constructed drainage ditches [...].

[S]oldiers recorded the striking bounty of the Black Swamp and Lake Erie’s southwestern shore. On an April morning in 1813, two hungry soldiers stationed at Fort Meigs, near present-day Toledo, walked down to the Maumee River. The clear waters swarmed with perch, muskellunge, sturgeon, and catfish. Plunging spears into the water at random, they caught 67 fish in 30 minutes, often killing two or three with a single stroke. Every river mouth west of the Sandusky held dense beds of wild rice, where waterfowl settled to feed, then rose in flocks that darkened the sky. The rice stalks stood taller than a man’s head: to feed, ducks grabbed the stems with their feet and tugged the seed heads down to the water. [...]

In 1859, the Ohio General Assembly passed a law authorizing county commissioners to construct drainage ditches. Farmers benefiting from ditch construction shared the cost. The other Midwestern states also enacted laws authorizing drainage districts, enabling the construction of vast networks of ditches that drained great swathes of land — a mission that required investment and coordination, and could not have been accomplished by individual landowners.

Through the work of drainage districts, the Corn Belt states would lose more than 95 percent of their native wetlands. [...]

Some enterprising soul tested the abundant clay that lay a foot or two beneath the soil of the Black Swamp, and found that it made excellent tiles.

By 1880, more than 50 tile factories operated in northwest Ohio, and the Black Swamp was dismembered and used to feed an accelerating and diversifying cycle of human industry.

The great wetland trees — ash, elm, oak, sycamore — were felled and used to build houses, make furniture, and power the railroads that sprouted up across Ohio. In the 1860s, Ohio’s railways consumed one million cords of wood each year as fuel, and an unknown quantity for ties. The discovery of underdrainage created a growing demand for tile. All this drove an orgy of forest clearing and land draining which in the course of five decades, from 1870 to 1920, completely erased the Black Swamp. A wilderness went up in the smoke from railroad engines, and flowed in drainage ditches down to the Maumee and Sandusky, which began to run murky and lost their once-bountiful populations of fish.

Among the descendants of the settlers who conquered the Black Swamp, drainage is viewed as sacred, while wetland restoration borders on the profane. In terms of water quality, a prime place to create wetlands would be where they intercept the flow of polluted water in farm ditches. That could cause water to back up and flood the fields, however, and it is forbidden under Ohio’s ditch laws, which have changed little since 1859.

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All text, images, and captions published by: Sharon Levy. “Learning to Love the Great Black Swamp.” Undark. 31 March 2017. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks added by me.]

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attyattlaw · 6 months

Text

uncle brought over my stack of art school era (2013~) artwork plates thats been gathering dust in my old dorm and i kinda wanna share a few. bear with me almost all of these are abstract shit bc you know...fine arts academia. idk

one of the first plates and single-handedly is to blame for my disdain of drawing straight lines: color mixing chart we have to mix poster color paint for each square and i was poor so i only had the primaries

i had a pretty high grade here iirc but anyway this is so fucking pointless what the fuck am i gonna do with this and now i just hate rulers and ruling pens

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color theory/scheme plate and im here to announce that yes, turning brain off and adding as much detail as possible has been a decade old technique apparently

principles of design plate?

ngl i still like this one bc look at it

the concept of horror vacui has stayed in my brain and tbf my prof liked it bc it looks like i put effort. i did, technically, but like how i draw now, its just therapeutic to not think and just move hands instead

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printmaking plates! lino-cut prints, to be exact. many stabbings happened in the making of these. i think the way i do inktobers have been mostly derived from these. and lino-cuts print is something ive been wanting to pursue but its such an expensive and space consuming medium and that makes me sad. anyway,

prompt here is reframing fairy tales into Philippine culture/setting. so hansel and gretel in a sari-sari store

i used OCs for the characters here, and the owner of the' taller boy 'hansel' hasn't been my friend for years now but damnit i still love this concept and she's not ruining this for me

prompt for this one is 'morning'. so here's me in my depression college dorm, booting up for the day. rip to my childhood Buttercup doll, i don't know where you are now

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last im willing to show is this pest-eaten watercolor landscape painting of UP Lagoon.

look, we had to go out into a mosquito-infested area at 3pm (the start of our watercolor techniques class) and paint this before 5:30 (end of class) but in practice its less than an hour time bc the sun was setting and we can't see shit anymore let alone what color that one flower is.

turned out p good still i think

#im surprised how well preserved the colors of the poster paint are for smth i just bought in whatever school supply store #also im p sure i have better pics of these in my portfolio blog freshly photographed from years ago

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ivanzplaid · 2 years

Note

hi hello! i really enjoy the way you write vance and the 'happy metalhead boyfriends' type requests:) could i request something along this lines, but like with a dramatic love confession & first kiss kinda trope? m!reader pls

screaming crying sobbing i LOVE writing for the happy metalhead boyfriends, it makes me so happy smh its exactly what i need, so of course ill do this🫶🫶 i can just imagine that vance is so worked up about his feelings, youve been on his mind, maybe its months after he was taken by the grabber, and all he could think about was how caring youve been and how genuine you are after he escaped :)

if you requests metalhead bfs for vance i will literally 100% do it its just so adorable omfg

requests r open, masterlist is up!!

Vance Hopper x Male Reader!

Warnings: Mentions of Abduction, Frustration, Happy Boyfriends

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The days dwindled on for everybody but him, it was like the universe was extending his torture, the only thing that proved he wasn't in hell, was you. Your fragrance, your love, your genuine care for what Vance was thinking each day distinguished you from others. People often swarmed him for his trauma inducing past. The invasive comments, the inconsiderate questions, it made him violently sick in his stomach, it consumed what was his previously content life.

They always spoke of the man. If he was in school, it was questions of 'How did he not murder you?'. If he happened to be in public, it would be along the lines of 'How did he keep you?'. These questions were like mosquitoes, slowly draining, plucking the life force from him, leaving open scars to heal once again.

He wished everybody but you would just fuck off.

"Vance? Dude, you good? It's just a little present I thought to get you while I was out."

Your easy voice brought him back to the present. You two were located in a park that you found, surrounding trees giving you ample shade with the evergreen leaves, the daylight shining easy on his cheek, highlighting the jean jacket you'd recently bought him as a birthday gift.

His eyes met yours, and he gazed down at the cassette tape you brought, introducing it as his.

"It has Iron Maiden and Bon Jovi, a little of you and a little of me, so when you're out you have somethin of me with you!"

Your voice was excited, the present being a discreet way to see how he'd react to you being affectionate. Unbeknownst to you, you consumed his every waking thoughts, as well as filling his dreams when he was asleep.

"Thanks man, this shit rocks,"

His voice was cut short. He wanted to admit so much more than you knew. He wanted to fill his life with even more of you. He adored your everything, the way you respected him, just subconsciously knowing what he needed. Your angel eyes that he loved more than anything to just look into, seeing the way you truly were immersed in him. His words were so limited in the moment, but he prayed that you knew he wanted to say more.

He took the cassette gently, having his calloused finger tips rub against your rough hands, given an edge from the cigarette burns & fights that were, in your reasoning, justified for Vance. He thought they fit perfectly together, two jagged rocks that interlink for one another.

"Jesus, we still have most of the day to waste. Wanna head to my place? Hang there?"

Most of what he said was true, he did want you to come over, have his room smell like you, but a day spent with you is a day never wasted.

"Course, lead the way!"

You were practically radiating, doing a terrible cover up job to mask your eagerness. This wasn't the first time he'd invited you, but a day you two spent the day at Vance's house was a day closer to you becoming a title further than 'friends'.

Vance's arm wrapped around your shoulder, guiding you up. The feeling of you in his arm made his breathing uneven, it was such a completing feeling that he didn't know how to act normally, keeping an oddly cold face on while he did. The more he took you two into town, the more you could feel the stares, burning through you like lighters. The same foreboding feeling overcame you two, predicting what was next.

"Excuse me? Vance Hopp- Young man! Could we have a moment of your time for an interview?"

A day could be spoiled so quickly by unplanned guests. Vance didn't bother sparring a glance, not wanting the attention he despised, if they wanted to talk, they could kiss his ass for all he cares. You could hear the shoes scurrying on the sidewalk, y a dash for somebody that thought they were the bane of his existence.

"Sir, please, a moment of your time!"

A hand was laid on your shoulder, a firm grasp on your shredded t-shirt, causing you to flinch and squirm under there touch. While you froze from shock, Vance reacted the only way he knew how to when he was under pressure; violence.

A gruff hand latched onto the reporters arm, tearing it away from you. You could sense his anger leaking from him, it was odd to see him so aggravated over this, normally you would shush the crowd away. Vance's thoughts were blanking, he was in disbelief they'd put a hand on what he considered an intimate buddy. His body was hot, anger replacing the feelings of comfort he once felt.

"Fuck. Off. Get a fucking life, dickbag."

A poisonous lace tied to his words, filling the air around the two of you, killing the noise with ease. Putting no more time aside for them, he took your wrist and pulled you along, a worrying silence accompanied the walk the rest of the way.

The wooden door stood no chance against his boot, wobbling in at the slightest amount of pressure put on. Inside, the house was neat, surprisingly neat for somebody like Vance to keep home in it, but you came to know over the months that he preferred his space clean, unlike his outside persona.

A smell that you could only describe as 'deaths accomplice' took over when you were tugged into Vance's room. It was medium sized, the room itself being cozy, some things thrown here and there, but not terrible, it might've even made you make a mental note to tidy your room, just for the occasion that he comes over.

The boys hand was still securely wrapped on you, not letting go until you sat on the bed, with him standing up, pacing the room inconspicuously. It was odd to see him so distressed. You'd been there to comfort him after overwhelming moments, he was more of a silent cryer than an anxiety induced victim. He was acting abnormally for something thats happened so many times. He was almost jumpy, like something would pop out. The steps he took made his hair bounce lightly, emphasizing how soft they were.

"We need to talk. Now."

Shit. What's wrong with him? Vance never showed this extent to his vulnerability. You could feel your heart beating faster, your eyebrows furrowing as you nodded to him, giving the quiet 'okay' to go on.

He was huffing as he trued to find the words, displaying his distraught. Be was trying to form words for a feeling that was like his own religion. He followed you & listened to you, taking your words with nothing but trust. It was easy to trust someone who made you feel like heaven, even when you were trapped, caged in hell.

How hard could it be to just ask someone to be your boyfriend?

He took strides over to you, and stopped right before your feet, forcing himself to make his eyes to meet yours.

"You mean more to me than you know, and I can't help my feelings, or whatever this is. I want you to be with me, be by my side, like officially. I want you to feel the way the world shifts around me when you're around. I want you to be my boyfriend, fuck!"

The tones of his words rose and fell, he wanted to say what he's felt for so long in his own words, his angrily confused demeanor. To somebody else, it may've sounded like he was frustrated, misinterpreting his intentions entirely, but to you, it was clear as day. Stunned to his words, you once again nodded, compensating for your voice, but your nod didn't let down how thrilled you were, or the way your nerves made your body shake.

Vance's eyes were trained on you, seeing you nodding enthusiastically, seeing the silent 'yes' that he craved.

Without a word, he brought his hands to your face, holding you while his lips came onto yours, a celebration of its own, passion & love entwined.

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ive had a busy day today, so im sorry if this seems off💔 but i just love happy metalhead bfs sm bro

requests r open, masterlist is up!!

#black phone #vance hopper x male reader #vance hopper x reader #vance hopper #vance hopper x you #the black phone 2022 #the black phone x reader #the black phone #happy metalhead boyfriends

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cheesewedge · 5 months

Text

Faces in the Flames (18+)

Summary: On their way back to Clemens Point, Arthur and Maria encounter a gang they've never seen the likes of.

Word Count: 2,230

Tags: graphic descriptions of corpses, dialogue-heavy, violence, arthur x original female character

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Thick fog drowns the swamp in mist. Moonlight leaks through the tendrils of the weeping willows and brings forth skeletal shadows of the bald cypresses. All air is heavy with the stench of rotten eggs. Maria looks around. Dozens of eyes red and unholy poke up from the water. Mosquitoes keep time with the gnats and flies, the odd bullfrog, and she swats the air to keep them away from her face.

“Jesus, it’s creepy out here.”

“Yeah, I know. Don’t worry, we’re almost home.”

“Not really.”

“Y’ain’t gotta worry, I’ll keep you safe.”

“You always do. But that isn’t the point.”

“It ain’t?”

“No.”

“Okay, then what is it?”

“The point is I am this close to climbing in your saddle and staying there until we get home.”

Arthur laughs. “Well, you won’t get no complaints outta me.”

“Pff. Is that why you didn’t listen when I told you it was too late to travel?”

“Naw. I did it ‘cause I love hearin’ you chew my ear off.”

She raises her eyebrows and bends over her saddle horn in silent laughter, rising only to smack his arm. “I hate you.”

“Aw, ‘m only jokin’. But y’ain’t got nothin’ to worry about. ‘M always gonna keep y’ safe.”

“I know.” She reaches to place a hand on his thigh. She runs her thumb over him and smiles when he looks at her.

“Can’t say it weren’t worth it for that trip.”

She pulls away. “That’s true. As awful as this is, I’d do it again to fuck you on silk sheets.”

“We can always turn around.”

“Yes, when I can walk again, we can turn around.”

He laughs. “‘M-‘m sorry. I weren’t too rough was I?”

“No rougher than I asked for.”

His eyes flick to hers. He smirks, but she reserves her smile for the road.

“Y’ know, there was a time when fellers had t’ pay for that kinda—”

Ophelia whinnies, stomping in place as if there’s a fire at her feet. Maria wraps the reins around one fist and grips her saddle horn with the other. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Easy. Take it easy. What’s wrong with you?” Through the shushes and pats to her neck Ophelia calms down just enough to avoid bucking Maria, but when nudged forward, she won’t move.

“Think I could tell y’.”

Maria turns to Arthur, his eyes fixed ahead of them. A man hangs bloated and still as stone from a cypress branch. His head droops toward his bound hands, waxen skin grey and cold as a winter sky. One of his shoes lies on the grass beneath him and the naked foot has long since rotted, consumed by fly eggs and a callous buzz of insects.

“Jesus Christ.”

“Ain’t been here more than a couple days it looks like.”

“We should cut him down. See if he has any identification. He may have had a family.”

“Ain’t no business of ours. Poor bastard.”

“Arthur.”

Before he can protest she draws her pistol. A shot rings out as the body crumples down with an ugly thud. She dismounts. The man’s legs lie bent unnaturally beneath him. There’s a sweetness to the fetid odour of vomit and meat and the stink of shit clung to his trousers. Foam seeps from his nose and out past his protruded tongue. She buries her face in a handkerchief.

“Come on, leave it. We gotta get outta here.”

She squats and tries his vest pockets. An opened bottle of gin and a few coins are left in one pocket before she searches the other and pulls out a folded piece of paper.

if you find this i am dead

the Nite Folk haunted my dreams and now they haunt my waking hours too. I have tried to evade them but it is only a matter of time I feel before I am bested

the silence is overwhelming

pray for me

She doesn’t move.

“What is it?”

An arrow skims the bridge of her nose. She cries out, the burn immediate as another bolt pierces the air to take her hat with it and bring forth freakish hissing and a rush of bare feet from the trees, a trio of so-called men armed with machetes and clubs, their faces smeared in white paint and one’s naked torso slathered in blood with his bare teeth exposed as he hisses and chases after her.

Ophelia cries out and bolts to the other end of the road, Arthur’s mare just behind her after he dismounts and fires another round. One bullet punctures the stranger’s shoulder, another one his neck, but he raises the blade over his head and swings at Maria. She jerks away and lands on her rear, hands drowned to the wrist in mud as she kicks away. Blood, almost black in the moonlight, bubbles from his throat and spills down a rosary of human hair woven around his neck, tongue clicking in a manner only the others understand. She kicks. A bone snaps somewhere in the leg and he pauses, the whites of his eyes like distant moons when he swings the machete to catch the meat of her thigh. She lets out a pathetic sound, kicks again. He staggers to a knee without a sound and she fires her shotgun, closing her eyes against the splatter of teeth and blood. She fires again, though there’s nothing left to shoot at.

She holsters and claws at the mud to lift herself up. Both who went after Arthur lie dead in the road. She stumbles toward him with fire pulsing through her leg and hollers for Ophelia.

“C-creepy bastards. Jesus, y’alright?”

“I’m fine. Let’s just get the fuck out of here.”

Ophelia trots down the path and rears when she steps over one of the men. Maria hobbles next to her and mounts with some difficulty, not daring to look at the thing by her feet as Arthur whistles for his mare.

“Y’ sure you’re okay—?”

Maria whips her head to the trees. Torches bob not thirty feet behind them, another four, maybe five heads of caramelized rags amid hissing and clicking and the squelch of toes in mud. She watches them, her entire body tense in a war against itself to move, but all she can do is stare at the sickly parade of white faces seemingly born from the flames.

A gunshot. She looks at Arthur, unshaken with a snarl on his face before he fires again. An arrow lands in a tree trunk.

“Let’s go.”

Another arrow whizzes by her head and she digs her heels in the stirrups, urging Ophelia toward Rhodes with Arthur right beside her.

A defeated screech emerges from the fire and demands life of the swamp, Arthur and Maria’s vision clouded by the tattered apparitions of the Spanish moss, their faces assaulted by weeping willow limbs, everything like great beings from hell that scratch and snap at their heels until the swamp is so far behind them it’s like the remnants of a bad dream.

By the time they reach Clemens Point sweat leaks from their mares’ chests down their legs. Maria pats the side of Ophelia’s neck, whispers words of encouragement, but she tosses her head in the crownpiece until she’s hitched by the water trough.

Maria stumbles off and inhales through her teeth when she lands on the grass.

“Sweetheart, y’ okay?”

She hobbles to her tent without an answer.

Arthur sighs and flicks his eyes to the shadow in his periphery. Kieran lugs a saddle toward Taima and hoists it on her back with a small grunt.

“O’Driscoll.”

“Evenin’, mister.”

“Y’ mind givin’ our horses a look at? May o’ pushed ‘em a bit too hard comin’ back here.”

Kieran shuffles over with a look of concern that only worsens when he sees the mares. “Oh, Arthur. What’d ya do to ‘em?”

“I know, I know. Can y’ help?”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Thank y’.”

He makes his way to the firelight shadows that stretch behind the cinched maroon fabric of Maria’s tent, pitched just beside his. Arthur shakes off his jacket and drops it onto his clothing trunk. Peels off his overshirt. His pants and boots. He pinches the fabric of his union suit and tries to fan himself dry but eventually relents, tucking a clean one under his arm as he steps into the night.

The stench of blood chokes him on the way into Maria’s tent. Her clothing lies abandoned — the front of her pants, her shirt soaked crimson. She stands with one foot on an upturned bucket and runs a rag down her naked leg, her camisole and bloomers spread like dead birds at her feet. He watches her glide the rag to one of her breasts.

“Hey.”

“What’re y’ doin’?”

“Bathing.”

“How many a’ those you gonna take? Y’ just had one ‘fore we left Saint Denis.”

“Yeah, well, that was before I was covered in shit.” She bends to wring out the cloth and clutches her thigh.

“Sweetheart, let me see.”

“I’ll be fine.”

He sighs. “Am I gonna have t’ tie y’ to the bed?”

She limps to her cot. “Wouldn’t be the first time,” she says as he kneels in front of her, lifting her calf with both hands to bring her foot atop his leg. The wound isn’t as deep as he feared. It stretches across the width of her thigh and smells faintly of whiskey, already disinfected.

“Y’ should wrap it.”

She reaches into her nightstand and hands him a roll of gauze and a small pair of scissors for him to wrap strip after strip around her leg, tucking it in on itself. “Thank you…w-what?”

He frowns at another cut, deeper than the first and curled across the bridge of her nose. She touches it. “Oh. Yeah, I know. It should be okay. I cleaned it, so all we can do now is let it heal.”

He doesn’t answer.

She looks at him, and in the silence spots the exact moment his eyes glass over with blame. She grazes the scar on his nose with a small smile, her voice quiet. “Now we match.”

“I ain’t ever wanted y’ to match all my scars.”

“Oh, me neither,” she says, and it gets a laugh out of him.

She sighs. “Arthur, I’m sorry. I should have left him there. Those things were just waiting for us.”

“S’okay. We got outta there.”

“I almost got us killed.”

“They was probably gonna ambush us anyway. Folk like that are jus’ waitin’ for folk like you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He grins. “Kind folk. Yer an easy target.”

“You mean a sucker,” she says, and when he grins a little wider she laughs and smacks his arm. “Go to hell.”

“Ha. Well, I told y’ to leave him.”

“Yes, and for once, you were right.”

He scoffs but doesn’t say anything else, the two of them smiling through a quiet moment born and lost in the breeze.

“Arthur?”

“Mm?”

“Arthur, will…will you stay with me tonight?”

“‘Course I will.”

Her eyes sink to the goosebumps on her thighs. “Thank you.”

“Hey. Look at me. S’over now.”

“I know.”

“Then how come y’ look like y’ just seen a ghost?”

She scoffs. “Maybe we did.”

He gently brings her foot to the grass and puts his hands on his thighs, rising with a grunt. “Y’ been spendin’ too much time in them books o’ yours.” He walks to her clothing trunk and pulls out a clean nightgown. “What’s it called?”

She smiles and takes it. “Dracula. And he’s not a ghost, he’s a vampire.”

“S’all the same to me.”

“It is not the same. You can kill a vampire, Arthur.” She slips her arms through the lace sleeves. “You can’t kill what’s already dead.”

He unbuttons his union suit. “Good thing they ain’t real then.”

“And how do you know what’s real?”

“I ain’t ever seen one. And you ain’t ever seen one neither.”

She opens her mouth to speak but blushes instead, the dampened legs of his union suit peeled down his calves and discarded next to her underthings. He unfurls his clean one and navy fabric tumbles to his feet, a smirk on his face when he quirks a brow over his shoulder.

“Whatchu lookin’ at?”

She rests her elbows on her knees, cradles her chin in her open palms. “The scariest thing I’ve seen all night.”

“Yeah, y’ should see me up close.”

“That was always my favourite view.”

“Guess you’ve officially lost yer mind then.”

“That I did,” she says, and they smile at each other.

It doesn’t take long to assemble a makeshift bed on the grass—a bear pelt, her pillows, a worn out blanket that lost its colour years ago. She sinks onto it first, patting the space beside her before he turns out the lantern.

He barely lifts the blanket over his frame before she curls next to him, an arm draped over his stomach so she can lay on his chest, and when he presses his stubbled chin to the crown of her head she knows he’s smiling.

“G’night, darlin’.”

She hums long and high, fingers working the button just below his navel. “You know I’m just gonna open these again, right?”

He chuckles. “Y’re already takin’ too long.”

#rdr2 fanfic #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 arthur #rdr2 #red dead redemption fanfiction #arthur morgan fanfiction #red dead redemption arthur #cheesewedge writing #rdr fanfiction #red dead redemption fan fiction #rdr2 fanfiction #arthur morgan #arthur morgan rdr2 #rdr2 oc

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uncharismatic-fauna · 9 months

Text

Grab A Drink with the Asian Tiger Mosquito

As its name implies, Aedes albopictus, also known as the forest mosquito, is endemic to Southeast Asia, where it thrives in the humid tropics and subtropics. There, and in similar regions, this species is active year-round. Where it has been introduced in more temperate regions, the tiger mosquito is only active during the warmer months of the year. Currently it is found on every continent except Antarctica, spread unintentionally by humans throughout the globe.

The Asian tiger mosquito is among the smaller mosquito species, at only 10 mm (0.39 in) long at the maximum. Males are typically smaller than females, and have much bushier antennae, as well as functional auditory receptors. Conversely, females have a longer probiscus Otherwise, the two sexes are largely similar; both have black bodies with white markings along the abdomen and legs. Like all mosquitos, the forest mosquito has two sets of wings, but they aren't very good fliers and rarely stray more than 500 m (0.3 miles) from their breeding grounds.

As with other parasitic mosquito species, only the female feeds on blood. Female forest mosquitos are generalists, in that they can feed on both mammals and birds. In addition, they will also consume nectar and sap along with the males. Females seek out their hosts using their antennae, which carry receptors for carbon dioxide as well as scent and humidity. Both sexes are active mainly during the day, but will hunt and forage at night as well given ample opportunity. This species is also an important food source for many other animals, especially when they're in their larval phase. As adults, bats and birds are their primary predators.

Forest mosquito females only feed on blood when they are in the egg-production phase of their reproductive cycle. They can mate up to four times, producing over 200 eggs over their lifespan,although those in temperate regions have a shorter reproductive period. When they're ready to mate, males will form large swarms, or leks, a few feet above the ground. This attracts females, whose wingbeats produce an audible buzz that males can pick up and hone in on. Males and females mate while in flight, and once they've finished the female departs to lay her eggs in a stagnant or slow-moving body of water.

On average eggs take about 7-10 days to hatch, though some clutches may take up to a month. Once they hatch, the larvae feed on small bits of detritus and bacteria, while developing through four stages of growth called instars. The time this process takes is also variable, ranging from 4 days to 42. At the end, the larvae forms a pupa, from which it emerges 2 days later as a mature adult.

Conservation status: This species has not been evaluated by the IUCN; however, given their large population and adaptability, they are considered stable in their home range. In other parts of the world where they've been introduced, they are considered a pest species both for their irritating bites and their role as disease carriers.

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

Photos

James Gathany via Wikipedia

James Gathany

Ary Farajollahi

#Asian tiger mosquito #Diptera #Culicidae #mosquitoes #flies #insects #arthropods #tropical forests #tropical forest arthropods #tropical rainforests #tropical rainforest arthropods #generalist fauna #generalist arthropods #asia #southeast asia

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franceblr · 10 months

Text

some random, half-baked sasodei headcanons of mine:

deidara doesn’t speak of his past, really; he doesn’t think it’s important. but there’s clearly something wrong with him, something that made him deranged the way he is: that something really intrigues sasori, and he thinks about it more often than he feels comfortable admitting to himself. he starts piecing together whatever information he can get from deidara on his life before the akatsuki, which is admittedly little: deidara has never mentioned his parents, for all sasori knows he could have been grown in a lab, or had randomly spawned one day, emerging from underneath the earth’s crust; deidara makes no mentions of having any friends he grew up with or might have missed. the only thing deidara often describes of his childhood are landscapes, animals and plants he’d observe in his countless hours spent in nature. deidara has always been a wildchild, all mosquito bites and jagged scars and leaves in his hair, feet dirty from running around barefoot, and hardly ever staying indoors even after joining the akatsuki. even as a kid deidara was very observant and perceptive to his surroundings, and has always been deeply fascinated with animals and nature’s cycles, often making comments to sasori and stopping to admire birds’ nests and certain trees. He recognizes birds by their songs, has highly developed spacial orientation and sense of smell, is agile and durable. sasori finds this fascinating: having secluded himself in the confines of his workshops ever since he was a kid, sasori never shared any of deidara’s magnetism towards nature; never felt the need to go further than his desk and bench, never felt claustrophobic in the stale air of his lab. they’re opposites, in this way: sasori is used to the comfort of tight spaces, like a desert animal living in a cunicle underneath the sand, most at ease when compressed in walls close enough it almost feels like being cradled and held, almost feels like being the womb again. deidara needs space, freedom, soaring high among the clouds on his clay bird, no limit in sight other than the horizon where the mountains meet the sky, the pungent smell of fresh air and wet earth clinging to his skin, the cold wind making his eyes tear.

opposites in the way sasori is so consumed by his own past it eats at him even when he’s all wood and poison and cables, grief chewing at his innards relentlessly, uncaring sasori has given everything he had and more to forget, to rise above human emotions and pain, sacrificed his entire life and body to a cause higher than mourning. opposites in the way deidara holds on to nothing, is troubled by nothing, no ghosts of the past keeping him awake in his bed at night, gripping the bed sheets with wide eyes the way sasori has all his life. sasori finds deidara’s detachment and lack of past ironically inhumane and disturbing, the deepest parts of his conscious painfully aware that he’s envious, so desperately envious and jealous of deidara’s uncaring nature, and his tendency to not form any profound attachment to a thing as impermanent as a life. finds his cruelty and derangement all the more intriguing because they don’t seem to be spurred on by a past more tragic than the average shinobi’s; finds himself wondering whether deidara really was born a killer, a child terrorist wiping out entire villages because he likes the drama of the pyrotechnics. and yet sasori can’t help himself but look for all the tell tale signs of disturbance and abuse in deidara’s behavior, not because he cares but because he’s deeply curious and fascinated. because it’s his nature to pick apart and examine and dissect and put back in place the mechanics of anything he holds an interest for, because he can’t help but want to know deidara intimately, turn him inside out, find out where it hurts most and what’s been broken and messily mended by clueless and misguided hands that had never been taught how to piece the shards back together, so sasori can put it all back together, do it right this time, and fill the gaps between the pieces and fit them correctly again. not because he cares about the insufferable brat, not because he thinks it’s unfair and deidara deserves better, not out of empathy and compassion. simply out of sheer morbid curiosity and technical interest.

#sasodei #headcanon #your honor they’re toxic and i’m projecting i have no excuse #deidara #sasori

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rimeoverreason · 3 months

Note

038. a fork in a hiking trail deep in the wilderness .

- @thefirstmockingjay

The directions had been cryptic enough, alluding to past places he -- they -- had been. Upon first receiving the note days ago Coriolanus didn't even open it thinking if he ignored it it would disappear just as she did. Although he'd been able to fool others he couldn't fool himself; his mind had been choked by the thought of Lucy Gray being out there for him to find. When he finally did break the seal and read her light and flourished handwriting he was consumed once again.

He'd told no one where he was going, not even Tigris. It was between him and Lucy Gray alone. Setting foot back in District Twelve wasn't something he'd ever planned to happen again but his eyes had remained fixated out the window on the landscape that rushed by.

But now he stood still. Even the mosquitos that feasted upon his neck didn't move him. If he could tear himself in half he would as the two separate trails each pulled at him equally. Wide and unblinking eyes stared at the note clutched in his increasingly sweaty hands but there was no more to be gleaned from it.

He recalled the time he followed the Covey through the woods to the lake, remembering one of them saying that they all knew the way as if it was innate knowledge like animals on migration. Coriolanus put it up there with the types of people who, when asked how they knew something, answered with 'I just know' or better yet 'I can feel it'. Ridiculous. At the moment he didn't feel anything except for the humidity smothering him slowly.

"Alright, Lucy Gray," he said in a hushed voice, "it looks like I'm in your territory now."

#[Answered]#thefirstmockingjay #;ALHG;AGH;GJ

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tma-entity-song-poll · 3 months

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Battle of the Fear Bands B2R2: The Corruption

BlackBoxWarrior:

“A song about a man struggling with his health (be it mental or physical). The song makes the treatment seem inhumane and just as terrifying as the initial problem. It’s almost like he’s getting sicker and sicker but just won’t die.”

youtube

I Took a Zombie to Prom and All I Got Was This Lousy T-Shirt:

“The love going on far longer than it should, to the point where it is consuming, most specifically "And we stumble ever forward - Our love is gone but we keep walking on - Arms outstretched we’re grasping for it - Wish that we had just stayed dead and gone"”

youtube

Lyrics below the line!

BlackBoxWarrior - OKULTRA:

Well he collapsed with Stevens-Johnson Syndrome on the E.R. floor Panic attacked, anaphylactic and ataxic The way he spun his butterfly risked all six his phalanges Roman candles at both ends in his synapses And the method with which he recycled his humors Trojan Horse'd his Blood-Brain Barrier and raised the LD-50, yes, yes And through flight-or-fight revelation shame the Black Box Warrior He skipped this town and headed straight down history Shields himself from reason in a Kevlar baby-blue Tuxedo Quilted from the finest fibers, flesh, and fiberglass, and flowers His ego a mosquito, evil incarnate good incognito Pops placebos for libido, screaming, "Bless the torpedoes" For what? For what? For what it's worth If it was going to kill you boy, it would have by now For what? For what? For what it's worth There's no more looking back, it's looking up or looking down Well, he was wearing stolen rubber shoes and wrapped a poison ivy noose Around his Lotus jugular when they came Well, they found him with a map to every victim of his love And a tattoo of a blue jay on his face And they waited for his vital signs to lie and let a flatline cry A hymn out in Hungarian Harmonic But he cocked his noggin, through his stoma sang, "For auld lang syne" "Happy birthday to the succulents, I'll die your hydroponics" His rib cage was a hornet's nest, palpitations set the beat His vagus nerve a turk's head knot, an axel hitch, a carrick bend He wondered if Christ Consciousness would charge a cancellation fee Auf wiedersehn, au revoir, he gripped his wits right by their ends

For what? For what? For what it's worth If it was going to kill you boy, it would have by now For what? For what? For what it's worth There's no more looking back, it's looking up or looking down Hello, welcome, why don't you take a seat? Get comfortable, relax, take a second if you need to Now what's bothering you? Well, why don't we start at the beginning Growing up, how was your relationship with the fundamentals of conscious existence? Did you have xenon orchid sinews spilling down the outer center of your Blooming Escher/Mandelbrot head? And how about claustrophilic tendrils clapping caskets closed on seven-knuckle thumbs Did you get along well with the Gideon Bugler pineal glands? Your projector eyes casting sci-fi's on your STR'd strands? Tell me about your nerve to steal nerves of steel from under Bacchus' bloody nose Did Namibian Himbas tie-dye you, your ears pierced with a Phineas Gage flagpole Did you die before your day? Thursday traction, Tuesday titration My hope is to assess through my objective report of Your subjective conjecture Whether this proprietary bled of expertise and seasoning works as well as this Transorbital ice pick

Holistic ballistics, you got a better idea? It's about the best we could come up with, what, you think ideas spread because they're good? No, they spread because people like them So now here we are once again, holding As it were, a mirror up to your mirror I guess it's just something people do A bloody knife to split your infrastructure, wine to rev your motor function Coital machinations of the dead Well, you mainline your animus, karate chop your abacus And learn to be an animal instead But I never did think you better than this, your modus operandi causes Nazi/Skoptzyism and suicide Why to thine own self be true when it is you who are the problem Not the things you do but something sick inside Lithium and Dialectics, boy you really is defective CBT don't seem effective for that Cluster B, accept it Offer up your innocence, please ignore the side effects You've lost your mind and almost lost your life before So you'll be fine For what? For what? For what it's worth If it was going to kill you boy, it would have by now For what? For what? For what it's worth There's no more looking back, and why would you want to look back? I mean, it's no good looking back, so try to look forward now For what? For what? For what it's worth If they were going to get you boy, they would have by now For what? For what? For what it's worth There's no more looking back, it's looking up or looking down...

I Took a Zombie to Prom and All I Got Was This Lousy T-Shirt:

One breath But everything just tastes like grave dirt One look But darkness surrounds me One touch These walls of pinewood press so closely But, love, I'm alive I claw my way toward you Broken limbs and stitched together smile Sunday best in rags and tatters Love, why do you run? Don't run I'm coming for you And I stumble ever forward My grace is gone but I keep walking on My arms outstretched, I'm reaching for you You can't bury me; I'm never gone Come now There's nowhere else for you to run to Love, now We will be together One bite Is all it takes to bind me to you Now you're in my arms and, dear, you're never leaving And I stumble ever forward My grace is gone but I keep walking on My arms outstretched, I'm reaching for you You can't bury me; I'm never gone And I stumble ever forward Our love is gone but we keep coming on Arms outstretched; we're grasping for it Wish that we had just stayed dead and gone

#the magnus archives #tma #poll #the corruption #Will Wood #The Forgetmenauts #Youtube

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betweenthetimeandsound · 4 months

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"i will dress in white, i will wear the scent of roses" Juana de Ibarbourou

Too many days have passed my by, like sparrows in a storm, they curse at the wind for sending them to the coldest of all places, where winter remains intact. I watched my eyes decay; only my pimple scars remind me of my youth gone astray-- but I had them-- I had them I had them I had them.

Lace falls around my legs; doilies collecting spiders and mosquitos as they fall onto the ground and I walk on their carcasses. Jasmines tangle with the cloud of hair I'm crowned with, something I have, I have, I have.

I don't want the dawn to come, if it can't be a perfect reflection of a better time. Everyone must see me, a resplendent girl, aged ravagely due to her own sabotage-- Everyone must know that love grows from my heart like a magnolia tree sheltering young girls, but when I try to hid inside, it suddenly withers.

I hold up my head, but my pearls weigh me down; I have a crown made of gold, but a bed made of thorns. Rest assured, I only remain pure when its convenient and recalculated, but I want to bleed and I want to feast-- to feast, to feast, to feast.

My lips are darker than berries, falling out of bushes when they've become too sweet. I kiss the dusk and take in the last bits of bubblegum pink and ultraviolet before I'm consumed.

I have no lovers, other than my work and my world, shrinking, trembling until I have only roses and a beautiful dress, because that's what I am. I am. I am. --Elda Mengisto

#poetry #my poetry #poets on tumblr #poetry on tumblr #beauty #existential #life #death #anita #poeticstories #writeblrcafe #my writing

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mostlysignssomeportents · 9 months

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This day in history

#15yrsago Controlling copies isn’t necessarily part of an artist’s livelihood, but getting them accurately attributed is https://www.oblomovka.com/wp/2008/08/07/copyright-fraud-and-window-taxes-no-not-that-windows/

#15yrsago Stealing things according to the “If value, then right” theory https://www.hyperorg.com/blogger/2008/08/03/20-things-ive-stolen/

#15yrsago Deadmalls as new urbanist playgrounds https://web.archive.org/web/20080810100736/https://www.worldchanging.com/local/seattle/archives/008250.html

#10yrsago EB White on why he wrote Charlotte’s Web: “A book is a sneeze” https://web.archive.org/web/20130806171658/http://www.lettersofnote.com/2013/08/a-book-is-sneeze.html

#10yrsago Revealed: the questing, flexible, ramified business-end of a mosquito https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RLIYuXlUS3k

#10yrsago Atherton, CA’s police blotter: 175 out of 182 reported police stops had drivers with Hispanic surnames https://web.archive.org/web/20140326100901/https://kentbrew.com/profiling-atherton/

#10yrsago Firefox nukes the blink tag https://www.mozilla.org/en-US/firefox/23.0/releasenotes/

#5yrsago Talking copyright, internet freedom, artistic business models, and antitrust with Steal This Show https://torrentfreak.com/steal-show-s04e03-printing-new-reality-cory-doctorow/

#5yrsago New York City makes all prisoner calls free https://www.nytimes.com/2018/08/06/nyregion/phone-calls-free-nyc-jails.html

#5yrsago Former Obama trade official teams up with Trump to create highly profitable TB epidemics in poor countries https://theintercept.com/2018/08/07/tuberculosis-declaration-trump-phrma/

#5yrsago Anonymous declares war on Qanon https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vFHzrmk5Md0

#5yrsago Cornered FCC admits that its website was never hacked https://techcrunch.com/2018/08/06/fcc-admits-it-was-never-actually-hacked/

#5yrsago UK regulators ban lies in ISP ads, advertised speeds drop by 41% https://arstechnica.com/tech-policy/2018/08/isps-listed-speeds-drop-up-to-41-after-uk-requires-accurate-advertising/

#5yrsago Economic indicators: consumer debt continues to grow, delinquency rises, students face “crippling debt” https://wallstreetonparade.com/2018/08/financial-health-of-u-s-consumer-will-determine-severity-of-the-next-recession/

#5yrsago A gorgeous history of the mid-century modernism by Disney’s finest illustrators of the 1950s https://memex.craphound.com/2018/08/07/a-gorgeous-history-of-the-mid-century-modernism-by-disneys-finest-illustrators-of-the-1950s/

#5yrsago What’s at stake in the fight over printing files for guns https://memex.craphound.com/2018/08/07/whats-at-stake-in-the-fight-over-printing-files-for-guns/

#1yrago Epson boobytrapped its printers https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/07/inky-wretches/#epson-salty

I’m kickstarting the audiobook for “The Internet Con: How To Seize the Means of Computation,” a Big Tech disassembly manual to disenshittify the web and bring back the old, good internet. It’s a DRM-free book, which means Audible won’t carry it, so this crowdfunder is essential. Back now to get the audio, Verso hardcover and ebook:

http://seizethemeansofcomputation.org

#pluralistic

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