#black hills national forest

[amalgamatedalcove]

Spearfish Creek (Lead, South Dakota) by Ken Lane Via Flickr: Spearfish Creek (Lead, South Dakota)

[petsincollections]

Ground squirrels, 1976

BHSU - Black Hills National Forest

Digital Library of South Dakota

[virtie333]

The world is quiet here. ― Lemony Snicket

[scrapblring]

Black Hills by Dave Hamann

[martyharrison]

Towering over

[lemonlimekodkod]

Remains of the Jasper Fire that happened in August 2000 in the Jewel Cave National Monument area of South Dakota. The fire burned so intensely that the top layer of soil was destroyed and new trees and plants struggle to get established.

[ozzgin]

I just finished playing Firewatch and the cozy, lonely vibes gave me another monster idea! You got a summer job as a fire watch for the closest National Park. All you have to do is to sit in your tower, and...watch. For fires. Sounds boring? Worry not, your supervisor is there to keep you company over the radio. Content: gender neutral reader, monster romance, obsessive behavior, suggestive ending

"And? What are you running away from?"

"Excuse me?"

You raise your eyebrows at the unexpected question coming from the radio. The deep voice belongs to your supervisor, the man who'll guide you throughout your stay at the National Park.

"No one picks up an isolated job in the mountains out of sheer desire. Especially someone as young as you." He chuckles briefly, then resumes in a more professional tone: "My apologies. You don't have to answer that."

What a strange way to begin the conversation, you think to yourself. Yet this nonchalance and casualty is all you have for the following months. The other watchtowers don't talk much, if at all. You're entirely alone in the wilderness, save for the mysterious man on the radio.

Slowly, you begin to warm up to his chatty nature. He likes to ask a lot of questions. A terribly curious individual, though you can understand his reasoning: he's been working for the Park for over a decade. How does one survive without another human being?

He never leaves his tower, and thus you've never seen his face. He's content, you're indifferent. Occasionally, he'll mention sketching you to pass the time.

"How would you describe your eyes, (Y/N)?" he'll ask between his pencil scribbles. "I see. I'm sure they're beautiful. Why are you suddenly quiet? Have you forgotten how to take a compliment? I'm just messing with you, kiddo."

You haven't witnessed a single fire since coming here, despite the torrid summer heat. Your days are spent hiking without aim and talking to your supervisor.

One morning, you wake up to the grating beep of the radio instead of your alarm. You pick up the small device with an irritated grunt.

"Would you like to meet?"

You need a moment to process the words. Are you finally going to greet the one man who's kept you distant company for weeks? Intriguing. You mumble your agreement, still half-asleep.

As you make your way down the hill, you notice a supply station covered in moss and overgrown vegetation. You check your map, just to be sure. There shouldn't be anything here. What a peculiar thing to stumble upon. You approach the old wooden box and lift the lid carefully.

The musty inside is filled with rows of newspapers and some scattered notes. You pluck one newspaper out, and rest your eyes on the first headline.

"National Park is saying goodbye to its employees. The area will be permanently closed after the devastating fire."

You gawk at the title, then at the photographed location.

It's your watchtower.

You scramble to read the rest of the paragraphs, words slipping behind in your frantic search. This forest has been sealed off for years. You recognize the name of your supervisor in the report: a father of three, loved by everyone, died tragically before a rescue team could reach him.

"Found anything interesting, kiddo?"

You turn around with mild hesitation. Whoever this impersonating maniac is, or what he wants, is rather irrelevant at this point. You're trapped alone with him.

Across from you stands a creature, resembling a chimera more than a human being. Long, grotesque limbs ending in black claws, hollow eyes, and mangled rows of razor-sharp teeth put together in a grin. Monstrous.

You're out of breath.

"That looks great", the creature remarks cheerfully.

"Don't use my voice to talk. It's embarrassing to hear myself like that", you lecture it as you spread out the food onto the picnic blanket.

It switches back to the supervisor's soft, masculine tone.

"Sorry, I did not mean to make you uncomfortable."

The monster extends one bony hand over your head, fanning out the fingers and dragging them across your hair in gentle strokes. What a precious little human you are.

You did not run away. A terrifying thought: losing you after all the time spent together. It didn't want to chase you down and make it even worse for you. But you stayed, you truly did.

"By the way", you say as you bite into your sandwich, stretching out your legs. "Is it you who prevents the fires? Usually it's a common occurrence here, especially in summer."

You recall the scorching flames from the newspaper.

"Yes. To keep you safe, you understand."

"Not only did you lie to me about the job, but you kept me out of work, too", you whine. "I got bored to death! Days on end!"

You're suddenly pushed down into the blanket, and you stare into the spiraling, empty sockets, confused.

"I can entertain you to your heart's desire, (Y/N)."

Its snout widens in a flirty smile, releasing a bizarre succession of clicks. Is it laughing in its natural voice?

You blush.

"I suppose there are some ways..." you suggest cheekily, unbuttoning your shirt.

[More Monsters] | [More Original Works]

[olowan-waphiya]

Tribal Leaders Sign Historic Co-Stewardship Agreement with National Forest Service in the Black Hills

“This landmark co-stewardship effort will feature storytelling in various formats at the Pactola/He Sapa Visitor Center, educating the larger public and helping current and future generations of Native People connect with their own creation stories and cultural identities.

On June 6, leaders of the Cheyenne River, Standing Rock, Oglala, Rosebud, and Crow Creek Sioux Tribes gathered in the He Sapa — the Black Hills — to sign an historic Memorandum of Understanding at the newly renamed Pactola/He Sapa Visitor Center with U.S. Forest Service officials. Together, they’re beginning a process of sharing Indigenous cultural heritage with visitors from all over the world. Leaders said that they want to see young, Native children visit the Black Hills and experience the importance of the landscape with a deep understanding of their own heritage.

Previously known as the Pactola Visitor Center, the seasonal facility welcomes more than 40,000 visitors annually from Memorial Day through Labor Day — and approximately another three million people pass through the area each year.

This effort has been several years in the making, though the process hit a snag during the Trump years. When tribal leaders initially proposed the concept to the U.S. Forest Service in 2018, the idea was heard but not taken seriously. Persistence pays, however, and the efforts of many relatives and allies eventually led the Forest Service to agree.

We hope this is just the tip of the iceberg. It’s critical that Lakota — and all Indigenous — stories and history be shared from an authentic perspective with those who visit our homelands. To that end, please stay tuned this summer. I can’t tell you too much about it yet, but we’ll soon be launching an ambitious program that can help ensure Native stories are told — and Native tribes are funded — on occupied Indigenous homelands across Turtle Island. “

Via the Lakota People’s Law Project

[thicctorious]

Hello from Black Hills national forest!!

[the-californicationist]

Cali's Kinktober: Day 08

Kinktober Masterlist ad vitam aeternam - "to eternal life" Johnny "Soap" MacTavish/141 x gn!reader Kinks > mind control, vampires, blood-sucking Full tags on AO3 - MDNI - Read at your own risk.

The 141 vampire coven is terrorizing tiny villages in Northumberland, but you work nights and you really need this job. When a cute guy named Johnny offers to walk you home, you feel grateful for the free security. Unfortunately, you start feeling drowsy and confused. Where do you live, again? “It’s okay, bonnie. I’ll make sure you get there safe and sound.” 

No specific body traits or genitalia are mentioned. Gender neutral pronouns used. The only gendered nicknames are when Soap refers to the reader as "bonnie" or "hen" but no use of "lass" or "girl".

This work trip had definitely taken a turn. You’d expected to be at the north edge of England for about three weeks, but it was going on three months for this project with no end in sight. You were staying close to Northumberland National Park, helping map an updated migratory route for the bat colony that roosted on The Sill of Hadrian’s Wall. However, as animals often do, the bats made their own schedule for when they wanted to appear, and you hadn’t collected nearly enough data to feed to the tracker model. 

But, you weren’t complaining too loudly. Your cottage was located in a barely-there village called Elishaw, and it was as romantic as it could be. The only problem was that, after the evening sun set and the bats had all returned to their roosts, the closest place to get a pint was a three kilometer hike on a two lane road with no lights, signs, or footpaths. 

In the daytime, the view of the area was lovely. Rolling hills, black forests, and green sheep-dotted fields stretched out before you as far as the eye could see. Everyone who drove past you would wave, and you would wave back. It was lovely… when the sun was shining. But, now, as winter chased away the warmth of autumn, it brought grey clouds and a constantly setting sun, making the nights frigid and windy.

It was spooky the first time you’d gone at night, but now that you’d ripped off the proverbial bandage, the second time was no big deal. At this point, you’d been down to the Redesdale pub dozens of times, and you often walked alone, in the middle of the night, bundled up like an arctic explorer, drunker than you’d ever been.  

Tonight was one of those nights. 

“Are ye sure ye’ll be alright by yersel’, hen?” Thomas, the barkeep worried over you in his semi-local Berwickian accent.

“Yeah, Tom,” you smiled up at him, “I only had two pints. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be home before I know it.”

“There’s been talk of wild dogs takin’ to eatin’ the Kilpatrick’s sheep, Tom. ‘S not safe for a visitor to go alone, ye ken?” A man’s voice, Scottish instead of Northumbrian, piped up from the back of the bar. 

You hadn’t even realized there were other people with you and Tom. But, the grizzled barkeep smiled knowingly, 

“Ah, Johnny. Take ‘em back with ye, lad. Make sure ye get home safe and sound. I’ll worry the night away if ye dinnae go together.”

“No trouble, Tom. Headed that way, besides. C’mon, bonnie. Tha’s us, then,” Johnny paid for your tab and wrapped his arm around your shoulder, leading you out of the pub with a speed and ease that should have been alarming. 

But, you had to admit, it was nice to have an escort on your scary road for a change. 

Except… this wasn’t your road.

“Hey, I thought that was the way back there?” You pointed through the trees at the path you usually took, the one that was wide open and clearly visible, not the path through the dark forest.  

“Dinnae fash, yourself, bonnie. It’s a wee shortcut,” Johnny assured you. 

His smile was so easy to believe. The light that shone in his bright blue eyes was intoxicating, and his body was statuesque. He told you all about himself - the town he was from, where he went to school, how he was a sergeant in the RAF. It was fascinating. So thrilling, in fact, you came to your senses about thirty minutes into your trip, knowing you should be seeing landmarks, and yet you were even deeper in the woods than you’d been when you started. 

“You feelin’ alright, hen? Lookin’ a little puggled. Think you’ll make the trip, though. Just a bit further.”

“Where… um, where are… you… taking me?” Your words slurred together, and you felt like you were trapped between being awake and being asleep, knowing you couldn’t have drank enough to make you muddle your speech.

“Gonnae stop by my place for a moment,” Johnny pointed to a blackstone cairn that sat on the side of a hill, “Should only be a wee minute. Do ya wanna come in with me?”

When he asked you the last question, he made a point to make you meet his gaze, and when you did, his eyes invaded your mind. You felt as if you couldn’t look away, and the only word that could come out of your mouth was a yes. 

You didn’t want to go inside that creepy fucking cairn. There was no way this was actually his house. But, you followed him, your body putting one foot in front of the other without needing for your mind to be on board with the plan. 

“You ken,” he talked to you as he held your hand, “Tomorrow’s Samhain. Gonnae celebrate with a wee bonfire, maybe a few more drinks. Want me to tell my mates to set the table for one more?”

Again, your brain blanked out when you replied to him. Had you said yes again? What was happening to you?

Finally, you made it to the mouth of the cairn, and a crude wooden door blocked your entrance. Johnny pulled it open and held it for you, waving his hand in a ladies-first sort of sweep. You couldn’t help but obey. So, you walked into the dark stone hut, discovering that the inside was filled with flaming logs in a round well in the center and rows of lit candles surrounding the space. 

“Hey!” Johnny called out into the crude building, “We’ve got company, lads.”

Too quickly, three other men appeared in the room. You wanted to say that they walked or that they ran, but they didn’t. You could lie to yourself about that later, but you knew they had just suddenly fucking spawned there. Your body, however, failed to react in shock like you wanted to. 

They were gorgeous; just as handsome and well-muscled as Johnny, but their eyes seemed less kind. There was something predatory about their faces, especially the one with the beard. He seemed cold in a way that was beyond cruelty. It made you shiver more than the cold wind ever could. 

“Well done, Johnny,” the bearded one spoke, reaching out to stroke your cheek, “Such a pretty thing, hm?” 

You wanted to pull your face away from his touch, but your will was muted, your desire gone, and your sense of self-preservation completely absent from your mind. The only thing you could still do, it seemed, was speak to them. But, even then, it was hard to form the words. 

“Johnny asked me to come for dinner. I hope that I’m not intruding,” you went for politeness over screaming your bloody head off. No one would hear you all the way out here anyway. Maybe if you were nice to them, they’d let you leave.

“Not at all, love,” the bearded one said again, taking your coat from your shoulders and tossing it down on a chair. 

You felt Johnny’s lips begin to trail their way up your neck as he stood behind you. He was kissing you with a hot passion, his teeth dragging across your smooth flesh. Then, his hands reached around to grope your chest, fondling your nipples under your shirt, pinching them in his hands cruelly.

“How could you intrude?” The tall, Black man replied, his teeth straight and sharp and gleaming in the low light of the room, “Guests are always welcome here, especially when they smell as delicious as you do.” 

“Besides,” his gigantic, blond friend responded, “You’re not here for dinner, love. You are dinner.”

As you saw the fangs drop into the hollow of the blond’s mouth, you felt Johnny’s set on your neck. He bit down into you and began to suck from you, taking gulps of your hot, crimson blood down his throat. It felt orgasmic, but there was something so very wrong about it, too. A dying part of you was yelling at you to run, but that voice was muted by the urgency of your pleasure.

Then, panic welled up in your chest. Who were these men? How did you get here? You needed your phone, something, anything to call the emergency line and get the cops over here. 

Yet, you were motionless. Your brain felt like it had finally been washed away to a blank, empty slate. It was painful to be drained from your neck and wrists and, now, from your chest as the immense blond lifted your shirt to suckle from your flesh, biting into your nipple with his two, long fangs, and draining your life from you. But, you let him. You let all of them feed and fondle you. You were in their thrall, and there was no escape.

You felt tears roll down your cheeks as you realized you weren’t going home again. You were prey to a coven of vampires, and you’d be lucky if they just killed you quickly rather than prolonged your life. 

Johnny shoved his hand down the front of your pants and began to play with your sex, moaning when he found its warmth. He pulled his mouth away from his meal for a moment and asked a question to the man with the beard.

“Can we keep this one, sir? Tastes too damn good.”  

“Aye, Johnny,” his leader told him, lifting your chin with his thick finger, “The ritual’s tomorrow, and I know you’ve been a good lad. So, just this once, we can keep ‘em.”

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

HE COMES AT NIGHT (Vampire!Zoro x Black!Fem!Reader 18+ One Shot)

Pairing: Zoro Roronoa x Black!Fem!Reader

Synopsis: You suddenly find out why the people in the village you recently moved to become so strange at night when you discover that the legend Zoro Roronoa, the bloodthirsty Swordsman, is real. And he’s got his sights set on those who wander the streets after sundown and don’t believe in him…that being you.

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINORS GTFO); Period Piece AU; Porn w/ Plot; Stalking; Horror/Fantasy; Supernatural; Dubcon/R*pe; Knife Play; Stripping; Forced Deepthroat; Cunnilingus; Mating Press; Breeding Kink; Dom!Zoro + sub!Reader; Black-Coded!Reader; Cum Play; Biting; Blood Play; Aftercare

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer’s Note: Three one shots in one day. There’s something wrong with me. Take my laptop AWAY. Enjoy!! -Jazz 🖤🖤

Japanese Term Wordbank:

Minka — A traditional Japanese house; translates to “house of the people”

Kimono — Traditional Japanese garment & national dress of Japan

Sake — A alcoholic beverage from Japan; can be served hot, cold or room temp; often enjoyed with Asian cuisine & appetizers

**********

The new village you’ve recently moved to is….strange.

Or rather, the villagers are. And you feel awful and terribly guilty for thinking this way. They are an extremely kind, humble, generous, and helpful group of individuals. Living in a small village means community to them, such as watching children when their parents aren’t home; carrying groceries for senior citizens; delivering gifts to homes for birthdays and housewarmings…

And warning those to be inside by nightfall.

You were lucky enough to fall victim to the villagers’ kindness and hospitality when you moved to the quaint little village of rolling hills, forests, small businesses, and hanoks just a month ago. You were freshly out of your parents’ home to pursue a career in the medical field and were accepted into a medical program to become a nurse just five months ago.

Your parents were originally apprehensive about the idea, but after seeing how small and low in crime the village is, and how close your new home would be to your class location, they allowed you to move. Immediately, your neighbors delivered cakes, bottles of sake, and good wishes to you. It made you feel at home.

You are now aware of how sweet and humble these people are, but you’re also aware of how superstitious they are too. It’s not as simple as your mother leaving a candle in her dark house to ward off spirits when you were young or not walking under a ladder.

You started noticing it while walking home from your classes with your friend from school in the evening time. Your classes, which begin in the afternoon at 11 AM sharp, end every evening at 5 PM just as the last of the autumn sun glints over the horizon and the small village before nightfall.

And every evening, like clockwork, small businesses close their doors for the night. Parents urge their children in the house after playing all afternoon. You had thought it was nothing at first, but then you started noticing more strange things: curtains being drawn; lanterns and candles being snuffed so the entire village is dark as night; homeowners putting candles and expensive sake on their doorsteps.

One day while walking to dinner in your flowery kimono and carrying your medical book for studying and wicker basket for your lunch, you decide to ask your friend about it. She’s been living in the village since birth and you bonded over your shared love for cooking and cute men.

”Hey, hold on a second,” you call to her from up the trail. You decided since it’s Friday and you were dismissed early to go for dinner at a ramen place she knows about just up the road from your school…with the intention of coming home before dark, of course.

She stops, turning to you in her own pretty kimono and slippers. “What’s wrong?” She asks, concerned before grinning at you. “Those spicy rice balls making you nervous now? You seemed so confident earlier.”

You roll your eyes at her teasing. “No, it’s not about the food. It’s about that food.” You point at the offering sitting on the steps of a Minka. Perfectly sculpted rice balls, a bowl of fresh fruit, and a bottle of sake with a cup sit there surrounded by vibrant red flowers.

“What’s this for?” you curiously ask your friend. “I see people leaving food out all of the time. Is it an offering or…”

Your question trails off when you catch your friend’s expression. She looks absolutely terrified, her eyes wide and her body stiff. “You mean…you don’t know?” She softly asks, like someone will hear her. “No one told you?”

You scowl at her, confused. Is she joking with you? “Told me what?” you demand. “What do you mean by that?” Your friend looks around to make sure no one is listening. You find that odd too. “C’mon,” she whispers, waving you along. “I’ll explain at dinner.” You tentatively follow, your hairs standing up on end for some reason.

Your friend keeps her promise. While at dinner, over a plate of spicy rice balls, two small bowls of miso ramen, and a bottle of Kamikokoro Peach Sake, she starts explaining the ways of her people. She leans in like she’s telling a scary story, eyes narrowed and her hands planted firmly on the table.

“Long ago, hundreds of years before us, a swordsman once lived here. He was known throughout the land and beyond for his great craft of fighting with his swords. He is said to have carried three—two in his hands and one in his mouth between his teeth. He went by the name Zoro Roronoa.”

You are already giggling, sipping more of the sweet sake as you listen to the obviously-made-up story. Who the fuck carries a sword in their mouth?

“His name still puts fear in the hearts of those who know it, so much so that it’s only whispered. One day, the swordsman died. It’s still unclear how it happened—some say it was illness; others say he was brutally murdered by an enemy…but he didn’t die. Not in the way all humans do.”

You quirk a brow at her, playing along in her game as the sake makes you feel fuzzy and warm. “His body was discovered, but he wasn’t buried. When a casket was bought and a grave was dug for him, his body suddenly vanished without a trace.”

Now you really laugh. There is no way she can believe this is real! “As time went on, villagers started disappearing in the dead of night. If they were lucky, their bodies would be found the next morning completely slashed, sliced, and diced.”

She takes a sip of her sake, calm and cool. “Almost as if a sword had gotten them,” she adds. You feel a sudden chill and wrap your kimono tighter around yourself.

“It became a pattern in the village: people who were foolish enough to walk at night would fall victim to Zoro the Swordsman. If they were completely spirited away and not found, their bodies would come up completely unrecognizable.”

“But why?” you find yourself asking. “Just because people are out at night, he goes and kills them?”

Your friend’s eyes widen and she shakes her head. “Oh, Y/N, no. People who know of him aren’t out past sundown. The people who are are disbelievers. Those are the people Zoro goes after.”

You scowl at her, confused and becoming irritated with this supernatural BS story. “He thrives off of belief,” she explains. “It fuels him and makes him more powerful…it also keeps him away. But if you happen to be one of those unlucky souls that come across him at night, you’ll be responsible for fueling his bloodlust. Zoro is said to be a merciful being.”

“And this was a real person?” you smirkingly ask. “Not just some urban legend or spooky story to keep bad kids inside at night?”

Your friend sighs and shakes her head like you’re deluded. “He’s not just either one of those things. He’s considered so much more here—a God to some, a demon to others, but he is worshiped and his rules are closely followed…unless you have a death wish.”

She pauses to slurp down her ramen and so do you, the food suddenly tasting like paste. “Have you seen him before?” You curiously ask.

Your friend looks like you just admitted to murder. “Are you insane?! No way! I’m always in the house before sundown. I’m not trying to get killed!”

You cock your head at her. “Then how do you know he’s even real, hm? How does anyone know this supernatural swordsman even exists?”

Once again, your friend shakes her head at you. “Just because you don’t see him doesn’t mean he’s fake. The bodies that have popped up around here are proof of that. But you keep acting like he’s a bullshit bedtime story.”

She reaches across to play with a loose strand of your hair. “He likes pretty little things like you…pretty, careless little things that don’t believe and refuse to believe.” You swat her away and you both laugh, but her words make something in your stomach roil.

The rest of dinner is normal and filled with laughs. You polish off the rest of your sake with ease along with your supper, feeling full and drunk once you finish. Your friend asks if she can walk you home, but you decline. “I’m a big girl,” you drunkenly giggle. “I’m only a two-minute walk away.”

Your friend looks worried, but hugs you nonetheless. “Just get home safe and be very careful. It’s already nightfall.” She looks around the dark, semi-empty streets with concern and alert, but you don’t. The alcohol makes you feel fuzzy, giddy, and a false sense of security.

But once you wave farewell to your friend and depart, heading off in the opposite direction, that security fades. You suddenly become hyper-aware of how…empty the streets are. They are completely deserted except for an animal here and there-a stray dog; a hooting owl; a fox scurrying into a bush).

There is no sign of a human anywhere.

Swallowing roughly, you keep a hand on the small knife your father forced you to take with you and keep your footsteps brisk yet careful. Your walk is short. All you have to do is keep walking. You don’t think about turning around to run back to your friend or to the restaurant (it’s probably closed, anyway).

You don’t think about how dark and quiet it is. You only think about your bed and how good it’s going to feel once you’re in it.

Yes, your fluffy, warm bed. Your cozy, warm home. Nothing bad happens there. Nothing can hurt you there. Nothing can—

“Stop.”

The voice comes out of nowhere. It is unfamiliar and deep, but also soft and quiet. It blends with the wind, but it is so distinctly manly that you know that it’s not the wind at all. And what do you do? You stop, out of shock. Turning around, you grip your knife harder as you peer down the cobbled road and row of dark, quiet homes.

“Hello?” you call.

You see nothing. You hear nothing. No voices, anyway. Figuring it’s just your paranoia, you turn and keep walking a little faster this time. “I said stop,” the voice, again, demands. He—whoever he is—sounds irritated this time. There is an angry rasp in his tone that sends shivers up your spine.

You turn around again and this time, you do see something…or someone. All you see is a shadowy figure…a big, bulky, shadowy figure with broad shoulders and towers over you despite it being feet away. You squint at it in the darkness, perplexed and afraid. “W-Who are you?” You shakily ask. “Why are you following me?”

The man, or what you think is a man, doesn’t respond. He just stands there. Menacingly.

“Sir?” you call. “Can I help you with something? If not, I need you to stop following me or—“

”You didn’t listen,” he says. His voice is deep and raspy echoing across the empty courtyard. It shocks you to your core and immediately, your intuition kicks in. You feel your stomach drop and the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Suddenly, his hand moves to the long handle jutting out of his side. A sword. “What?” You gasp, finding your voice again.

“I said. You didn’t listen.”

He slides the sword out of the sheathe at his side. The metal glints in the moonlight, stealing your breath away.

“You didn’t listen to your friend, so now you’re mine.”

Slowly, he lifts the sword to his mouth and licks it, his pink, pierced tongue sliding down the silver blade. A smirk appears on his lips along with a menacing glint in his eye that sends shivers down your spine.

He’s real. Zoro the Swordsman is real. “O-Oh, my God,” you whisper. You back away, your body shivering, but he only steps forward. “Don’t run from me,” he growls. “It’ll do you good to stay exactly where you are. I’ll catch you.”

You don’t listen. Fear has taken over, kicking your fight or flight switch on. You choose the latter. “Stay away!” you scream. “Stay away from me!”

Quickly, you turn around and begin to blindly run away, your shoes furiously clicking across the cobblestones. You think you hear the swordsman behind you, but you don’t turn around to look. You’re too scared.

You run and run and run, pumping your legs even as they burn. Tears begin to spring into your eyes as your desperation and terror increase, pumping more adrenaline in your body. You can’t die out here. You can’t. Not like this. So you continue to run, dodging between buildings and dark corners to hide yourself even as the moon glows above.

Then you finally see your neighborhood and run faster, puffs of air leaving your lips. When you finally, thankfully, make it to your front door, you look back to see if he’s still there. All you see are swaying trees and dark houses. He is nowhere in sight. You’ve lost him.

You laugh in relief, almost hysterical. You’ve never been so happy to see your front door before. Quickly, you dig into your bag for your keys and fumble a bit with them, not quite able to get your door key together because of your shaky hands. “Come on, come on,” you whimper, your nerves frazzled.

This lapse in judgment and calmness would be enough for any predator to sneak up and take advantage of you…and it is. Suddenly, you’re being pushed against your door by a big, muscular frame and your keys are tumbling to the ground. You let out a scream, but it’s quickly muffled by Zoro’s big hand and thick, ring-covered fingers.

“You’re a cute little thing,” he growls, “but you’re also very stupid. I told you not to run. I told I’d catch you. And you still ran.” You feel him press harder against you, his knee wedging between your thighs. “But I also like stubbornness. Makes it a lot more fun.”

His chuckle sends shivers down your spine. “Pwease!” you say behind his hand. He moves it away to let you speak freely, still trapping you against him.

“Please,” you sob. “Please don’t hurt me. I-I’ll give you whatever money you want, just don’t—!”

“Shut up,” he demands, sounding enraged by the idea. You quickly button your lip despite the soft sobs spilling from you. “Don’t disrespect me like that. I don’t want your fucking money.” Confused, you turn your head slightly to look at him. He is truly a handsome man with emerald, green hair cropped short, crimson eyes, and three gold earrings dangling from his right ear.

“T-Then what do you want?” you whimper.

Zoro reaches a hand over you to grasp the doorknob, magically unlocking the door. “Open the door slowly,” he whispers. “Don’t turn on the light.” He gets off of you, but the sharp tip of his sword stops you from celebrating too much.

With a sob, you turn the knob, open your door, and walk into your small, quiet, dark living area. The floral scent wafting through the air does nothing to relax you as it would after an exhausting day. You hear the door shut behind you and begin to cower, your knees nearly buckling on yourself. Here you are. Alone. In the dark. With a murderous urban legend.

Your mind tries to desperately grasp from straws. For any kind of logic. How is this happening? Are you really that drunk? Did you pass out somewhere and you’re dreaming? Is he just a nightmare? A ghost, maybe?

“Look at me,” Zoro raspily demands. “Take a look at the legend himself.”

Slowly, you turn to him and there he is standing in the moonlight pouring in through your draped window. He is big and tall, towering over you at around six feet. He is built like a tank, sinewy with muscle. Broad shoulders. Big arms. Big pectorals. Big legs. Big everything. In other circumstances, you’d be climbing him like a tree.

The swordsman stands before you, staring you down, his face illuminated by the silver glow of the moon. “You didn’t believe in me. You didn’t heed your friend’s warnings. Now you face the consequences.”

His pink lips curl into a smirk. “Me.” He grips his sword at his side.

Your knees buckle and you press your hands together in a prayer. The effects of the alcohol have begun to fade, leaving you horribly sober. ”Please!” you beg, crying hysterically. “Don’t hurt me! I-I’m new here and I didn’t know! I’m so sorry I disrespected you!”

Zoro rolls his eyes, the most human thing he’s done in the time you’ve known him. ”Too late for that,” he scoffs.

But then he pauses, thinking on it for a moment. “But I suppose I could teach you a lesson without this.” He slides his sword into his sheathe and stupid hope blooms inside of you.

“I think I have another special sword for this punishment.” His smirk turns into a twisted smile that you don’t like at all. ”W-What do you mean?” you whisper.

You think you know, but you’re hoping to God almighty that you’re just being paranoid. Unfortunately, your intuition is right as Zoro takes a step towards you, his smile fading. “Take off your robe,” he demands. His voice is low and not up for the games.

But even so, your dumb, sluggish mind still struggles to “W-What?” you softly gasp. Zoro makes a face, absolutely dumbfounded by your stupidity. “You can’t be this dumb. I said take off your robe.” His hand goes for his sword again. “Or do I have to do it for you?”

He stares you down, silently daring you to disobey him. With a sob of defeat, you lower your basket and begin to disrobe, your fingers trembling and slipping from the knot holding your kimono together.

“Hurry up,” Zoro growls, impatient but also growing harder as he watches you. You can tell from the bulge in his pants that pushes against his black slacks. You go as quickly as possible and finally reveal yourself to him.

Zoro hums in appreciation at the sight of your body. You, however, just shiver and quake in humiliation and fear at being exposed in front of this…this monster. Your nipples are hard from the chill, the fear, and…maybe even arousal? Even now, you can feel a warm tingle between your thighs where, luckily, your lace panties are. How can this be?

The swordsman strides towards you and unsheathes one of his swords. “Please,” you whisper, your skin both hot and cold.

Ignoring you, he takes the tip of the sword and gently drags it down your midsection, keeping the pressure light and slow. You only feel the slight point glide against your skin, causing goose pimples to explode across your body.

Snip.

You gasp, realizing that Zoro has cut through your panties at the speed of light without you even knowing. He then grabs you with his free hand, gripping your arm. You begin to push away from him, struggling against his chest. “No!” you shout. “Don’t! Just leave me be!”

”Silence!” he barks, loud enough to wake the entire neighborhood and scare the moon away.

His voice then dips low, turning soft as he sheaths his sword. “I just want to touch you.” He uses the back of his hand to stroke your cheek. You cringe at his touch. ”So soft,” he sighs. “So pretty…”

His eyes, the color of blood, soften at the sight of you. He looks at you and touches you as if you’re a lover. Not a victim. He suddenly leans in, bending his knees slightly to reach you.

“Please,” you whisper again, but your words are swallowed up by a kiss. His lips are pillowy, soft, and sweet, and they taste like wine. They are unlike any lips you’ve kissed before.

Your body tenses up before finally melting into his own, falling victim to his magical kiss. It sweeps you up in a warm embrace, just as his arm does when he hooks it around your waist to pull your naked body flush against his.

You moan into the kiss, your hands stuck gripping his chest…his warm, hard-like-granite chest. Goddammit all! Even in such a nightmarish situation, you can’t deny how attractive he is.

Zoro suddenly pulls away and swoops down to suck on your supple nipples. He does so in a way that makes you believe that it’s been a long time since he’s touched a woman. His hands roam your back and ass, squeezing, molding, and gripping your flesh. You moan as his tongue slurps on both of your nipples, sensitive from the chill in the air and his hot, wet, pierced tongue.

You moan and writhe against his ministrations, your body betraying you. You can feel your pussy tingling and the knot in your stomach tightening the more he sucks, licks, and grips you. “Ah!” you cry out, flinching at the slight bite of pain as he nipples one of your nipples. His teeth are sharp, almost like knives.

Zoro chuckles, humored by this. “Do you want more, little girl?” he asks, pressing a kiss to your nipple. You don’t know whether to say yes or no.

Without waiting for an answer, the swordsman suddenly tosses you over one of his broad shoulders. You squeak, suddenly staring at the floor. “W-What are you doing?” you demand, gripping the back of his shirt.

“You’ll see,” he laughingly says, giving your bare ass a smack for good measure.

He then begins to walk through your house, somehow knowing exactly where the bedroom is. He ventures into the dark room with you in his possession as if you’re a prized sack of jewels that he just won. Carefully, he lowers you down onto the floor where your sleeping cot is.

Then he’s on top of you, swallowing you up with his big body. “Feel me,” he growls, grinding his hips down against yours. There, you feel his big, hard cock pressing into you. This somehow drills the undeniable, inevitable truth into your head: this is real. This isn’t a dream.

The swordsman begins to kiss down your naked body, his lips leaving trails of fire in their wake. When he finally makes it to your legs, he spreads them apart and gazes at the sight in front of him. You quiver in his hands, your tears drying on your cheeks.

“So wet for me,” he coos, his cool breath fanning over your pussy lips. “From the way you screamed and ran from me earlier, I would’ve thought you ain’t like me much.”

You whimper as his finger ghosts over your slit, collecting your juices onto his digit. “I-I don’t,” you softly, your hands grasping the sheets below you. “I don’t like this.” But not even you truly believe it.

Zoro quirks a brow at you, a wicked smirk on his face. “Then why is she sobbing so much for me?” he asks, referring to your perfect, puffy, wet cunt. “Seems to me like she needs something she hasn’t been getting very much of.”

He smiles at you, his pearly whites glinting in the moonlight that shines through your bedroom window. “Allow me to do that for you.”

Then you finally see it: fangs. Four of them, two on each row of teeth where his canines should be. You don’t have to scream or cry or try to escape. Not when he’s ducking between your legs to eat you out like he hasn’t eaten in days. “Oh!” you moan, your head leaning back against the pillow. You’ve never felt immense pleasure like this before.

Zoro eats you out like he’s starving, moaning into your pussy as he sloppily slurps and gulps away at your juices. His fangs don’t even get in the way of scraping you as he licks and sucks at your clit, his soft lips cushioning the sensitive bud. You feel the urge to grind your hips against his talented mouth, you feel a hand press against your stomach.

“Don’t you dare fuckin’ move,” he grows into your cunt. “If you, I won’t make you cum at all.” He keeps pressing down as he eats you out, giving you the sensation of wanting to pee but not being able to.

“Oh, f-fuck!” you whine, tossing an arm over your eyes. “Please, please, please!”

“Please what, baby?” He asks, giving you a long, teasing lick from your clit down to your ass. “Please make you cum?” You frantically nod, needing it yet not wanting it. “Then you’d better fuckin’ look at me while I do this or you won’t like what happens,” he growls.

Defeatedly, you take your arm off of your eyes and stare into his as he slips one finger inside of you. You gasp, doing your best to not arch your back as he curls his finger up, fucking you as he sucks on your clit.

“Cum for me,” he demands. “I want you to cum.”

You can feel it building, about to burst. Suddenly, as you’re staring into the swordsman’s eyes, they begin to glow, the vibrant red almost pulsing. You blink once and feel your whole body instantly melt. It feels as if your body and mind are not your own anymore. They are someone else’s.

“Cum,” he says again, a growl in his tone. “Cum.”

You can hear his voice and the word echoing in your mind as he keeps his gaze locked on you, his tongue slashing away in time with his finger-fucking.

“Oh, fuck!” you moan, finally coming apart and cumming all over his fat tongue. Your moans and wails of pleasure are music to his ears, urging him to keep slurping and licking on. “Yes, baby,” he groans. “Keep cumming. Give me everything.”

You have no choice. He continues to press down on your pelvis, making the orgasm way more intense. It leaves you squirming and gasping, your vision blurred with unshed tears. The pleasure is almost painful. It sends you soaring up, up, and up, and then crashing back down to Earth again.

Zoro slowly pulls away from you, sliding his finger out of your hole. You moan at the loss, watching as he sucks your cum off of his finger. A fire suddenly appears in his eyes and he silently stands before you in the moonlight. You have no choice but to watch as he disrobes, first sliding his black bandana off to reveal his short-cropped, emerald hair.

Then off his shirt goes. Then his belt holding his swords. Then his pants, underwear, boots, and socks. Soon, he is completely naked, staring down at you with his glowing eyes. Your eyes drink in his pink, pierced nipples; his tan skin stretching across big biceps, forearms, and thighs; his washboard abs and happy trail leading down to his very hard, very big, very thick, throbbing cock.

“Get on your knees,” he demands. “I need my cock wet. You can’t be the only one receiving.” Despite you telling yourself no, you still sit up and position yourself on your knees in front of him. You look up at him and his beautiful, dripping cock in obedience, almost as if you’re his slave now.

You may as well be. You have no other thoughts except for him and him alone. Your body does as he demands, pulled on strings like a puppet. What has he done to you? He wraps a hand around his cock and slowly pumps his fist up and down on his shaft. “Show me that you believe in me,” he murmurs.

Somehow, you’re already salivating for his cock. Still on your knees, you rise up and take his cock into your smaller hand. He gives you time to get to know him, pushing his hips forward to sink his cock further into the hole you form with your hand. “That’s a good girl,” he purrs. “Get to know me. You’ll be gettin’ to know me a lot more soon.”

You watch, hypnotized, as your hand slides around his shaft. He is so thick that you can barely fit your fingers around the base. And his balls! They’re so big and heavy-looking, probably loaded with cum. His soft groans of encouragement egg you on to stroke him more, getting him harder and harder. Your pussy tingles at the sounds he makes and the feeling of his cock in your hand, so hard and heavy.

Finally, Zoro stops you, taking your hand off of him. “Enough,” he growls. “Take me into your mouth.” He takes his cock and rubs the head against your lips, applying his own personal lipgloss to them. He pushes deeper, prying your mouth open. “Taste me.”

You let out a muffled grunt of surprise as his cock slides into your mouth and settles onto your tongue, drawing a low moan out of him. He pushes deeper, giving you his full length. Your throat flexes and gags around his thick length, your tongue sliding down the pulsing vein trailing from his tip to his heavy balls.

“Yeah?” He chuckles. “You love the taste of me, don’t you?” You gurgle in response, trying to get used to the appendage in your throat. You have to hollow your cheeks and open your throat as if to yawn to accommodate him and his size. Especially when he begins to thrust. You feel his pubic hairs brush against your nose as he does, his pelvis rubbing against your top lip. “Take me deeper, baby. Just like a good whore should.”

He is warm and pulses in your mouth like a live thing, his hips pistoning front and back without abandon like your mouth is a fleshlight. A toy for his pleasure only. Saliva begins to drip from your mouth down your chin, making it easier for him to push a little deeper until that button at the back of your throat gets triggered, urging you to vomit.

“Mmm-ph!” you moan around his cock, pushing him back an inch by his thighs.

You manage to get him somewhat farther away from the back of your throat, allowing you a millisecond of relief. But Zoro grips the back of your hair, keeping you firmly latched onto his cock. “Uh-uh, don’t push me away,” he growls. “Guess I was too lenient with you.”

He pauses for a moment to tilt your chin up, his glowing eyes meeting yours. Once again, your brain feels foggy and you can't concentrate on anything. “Look into my eyes,” he demands, his voice soft and seductive. “Relax for me. Relax for my cock.”

And just like that, your body is relaxed and so is your throat. You go almost slack, all of your muscles loosening as you fall deeper and deeper under his spell. His cock slides perfectly down your throat, loosening it up the more he thrusts along your tongue and strokes the inside of your cheeks.

“Thaaat’s it,” Zoro praises, staring down at you through hooded eyes. “That’s a good. Fuckin’. Girl.”

Each word is punctuated by a rough thrust that nearly has you coughing. He tilts your face up with his fingers on your chin, making you look at him as you throat his dick. “Doesn’t it feel so good to give in? To let yourself submit to me?”

‘Yes,’ you think, but the thought is not yours…or is it? You don’t know anymore. You can’t think of anything but the salty taste of his pre on your tongue and how hard he is in your mouth.

Suddenly, your throat becomes scratchy and an unbearable pain explodes in your lungs. Zoro snorts, humored by your struggle. “You need to breathe, darlin’?” he chuckles. “Fine, but only because you’re doing so well.”

Finally, he pulls out of your wet, sloppy mouth, groaning as he does. You drink in the air and cough, finally able to breathe. Your mouth is beyond wet, coated in cum and saliva, while your eyes are wet with tears.

“Fuck, you look too cute,” he groans as if pained by your appearance. He looms over you, the moonlight cutting across his toned, muscular form. “I can’t wait any longer. Get on your back.”

You don’t protest. You don’t put up a fight. You just do as he wants, getting on your back and spreading your legs like a good girl. A good slut. He hovers over you, his big frame completely covering yours and blocking out the moon. All you see and smell and taste and know is him.

The moon glints in his crimson eyes as he taps his cock against your clit, making you twitch and moan. He presses his mouth against yours, your tongues dancing together.

“Let me in,” he murmurs against your lips. “Let me inside of you, baby.” He hikes your legs over his shoulders and wraps a hand around himself, lining himself up with your entrance.

A small breath of clarity fills you and for a moment, you come back to reality. “W-Wait!” you gasp, but your words cease to exist when he slides inside of you. Your eyes widen and your mouth falls agape as his length stretches you open, filling your walls inch by inch.

“Finally,” he groans, shuddering as he sinks into you. “Finally.”

The sounds you make are strangled and hoarse from the throat-fucking as he fills you up, taking you inch by inch, vertebrae by vertebrae. You’ve never been this full in your life. You grip his arms for dear life, feeling as if you’ll break if you don’t. Zoro hums in approval, gripping your hips as he begins to rock his hips against yours, sliding in and out, in and out.

“Oh, oh, oh!” you moan from underneath him, singing your own chorus. You can’t explain the feelings and emotions swimming inside of you right now. You feel so dirty and wrong for finding pleasure in being taken by the monster above you, but you know that if you don’t, he could damn well kill you.

“Look at me,” he orders. Your eyes have closed, forced shut by the pleasure. “Don’t look away. Let me see that face as I fuck you.” He begins to piston his hips, stroking that spot inside of you that makes you see stars. “So beautiful,” he grunts. “Why the fuck did you run from me?”

He fucks you harder, faster, drilling into your sex like it belongs to him. His handsome face grows red with the force of his fucking, sweat glinting off of his forehead. You claw at his back, the pleasure exploding inside of you, starting in your core.

“O-Oh, fuck, please!” you cry out. “N-Need you!” Tears once again prick at your eyes, threatening to fall down your cheeks. You’ve never cried during sex before.

Zoro smiles, his fangs glinting at you. You don’t even feel fear anymore. “I need you too,” he chuckles, pressing a kiss to your ankle near his ear. “I need all of you and you need all of me. It’s okay to admit it.”

You do. You need every inch of him despite the fact that all of him is inside of you, stroking your insides, bullying your pussy into taking him. Your walls squeeze and grip him, pulling him deeper inside of you and squelching with every thrust. Zoro laughs—laughs—as you moan and sob below him, your pretty body on display. “That’s a good girl. My good girl.”

He drops your legs from his shoulders, hoists you against him, and proceeds to rut into you without abandon. You gasp with each forceful, rough thrust. It takes your breath away and makes intense pleasure crackle inside of you like fire. It almost hurts. “W-Wait, Zoro!” you gasp, gripping him for dear life. “You’re going too fast! I-I can’t—“

“You can,” he insists, growling into your ear. “Sorry, sweetness, but I have to fuck you faster. I need to fucking cum and I can tell you do too.”

You do. You can’t help it. The more his cock stimulates your G-spot and the more his pelvis brushes against your clit, the more that knot in your core begins to tighten, threatening to snap. You feel like a balloon that is expanding with too much air and is about to pop.

Zoro fucks you hard and rough, using your body as his own personal toy. He takes you along for the ride until you both can’t take much more. You whine in his ear, “Oh, God, please! Please make me cum!”

Zoro’s big hand wraps around your hair and pulls you back to face him. “Not yet, you little vixen,” he growls, his red eyes drilling into yours. “Give me what I want first.” He leans in, nose nearly touching yours. “Tell me you’re mine. Tell me you believe in me. Acknowledge me.”

You don’t know what to say or how to form words. You can’t even breathe. His rough thrusts are enough to make you come apart at the seams. “I…I…” The swordsman wraps a hand around your throat, squeezing. “Say it!” he roars. “Tell me!”

Finally, your mind has a break just as it breaks. “I-I’m yours!” you sob. “I believe in you! I promise, I do! I’m all yours!” You know exactly what this means and so does Zoro because he grins, looking overjoyed at this breakthrough.

This isn’t just sex talk. You’re talking to an urban legend after all. And not just that…but a vampire. “Good girl,” he praises. “Now cum for me. Cum on my cock, baby.”

His cock drives into you faster and harder, triggering that spot over and over again, practically abusing it until you have no choice but to cum. Your body is forced to. “Cumming!” you warn, digging your nails into Zoro’s muscular back. “I-I-I’m cumming!”

The orgasmic, euphoric feeling washes over you, almost as if God has bestowed the feeling of being in heaven onto you. You fall into a sea of bliss, moaning out your release as you gush all over Zoro’s cock.

“Me too,” he grunts, still pistoning away at your sloppy, gushing cunt. “Gonna fill you up. Give you all of my kids.”

Kids?

You don’t have it in you to stop him. You just let him dig his fingers into your ass, hard enough to leave bruises, as he frantically chases his orgasm in your pussy. Finally, with a loud grunt of release, he pumps his cum deep inside of you, filling you with warmth. You gasp at the feeling, all of your senses coming to life. It somehow triggers another agonizing orgasm that has you spasming and whining in pleasure.

As you do, Zoro wrenches your hair back to expose your warm, soft, pulsing neck. “It’s time,” he growls. “Give me your neck, little human.” His eyes flash an inhuman red, his pupils turning to slits.

Before you even realize what’s happening, his teeth are sinking into the tender flesh of your skin. You open your mouth to let out a scream, but all that escapes you is a strangled, weak moan as his fangs pierce your skin. It’s a confusing mixture of a stinging pain and pleasure, creating a cocktail of strange emotions. Your eyes squeeze shut, the darkness behind them flashing with colors and shapes.

Zoro continues to suck your blood, gulping down each ounce of the red substance of your life force. You can feel your energy draining from you with each gulp, making you feel fatigued and dizzy.

Your vision blurs and your hands twitch, unable to push him away. He continues to feed, moaning in desperation at the taste of you. You can feel your own blood drip down your neck to your breast in two steady, red streams.

Finally, the swordsman pulls away. His lips and teeth are stained red. Red from you. You want to scream. You want to fight. You want to get away from this monster…but you’re just too goddamn tired.

Zoro doesn’t say anything for a while. He just takes you and lies you down on your cot on your side. You don’t fight it. Your body is too heavy and your mind is too foggy to do anything but comply. Your thighs are soaked with his cum, staining every part of your cunt.

“Now you’re mine forever,” he whispers. “You’ve given yourself to me. Now we’re bonded for eternity.”

You let out a weak moan in response, one single tear falling from your eye. Zoro lays his big body next to you, his hand stroking down your body. “Sleep now, my little human,” he coos. “And remember me. Always remember me.”

He presses a soft kiss to your forehead and it is all you remember as sleep takes you.

When you awaken, it is morning. The bright autumn sun pours through your window. Zoro is gone. Your cot is cool and empty as if he wasn’t there the night before.

But you know better. You know that the other night is as real as the sun in the sky, and you don’t need to see the two bloody, puncture holes in your neck to believe it.

Now? You come home before sunset.

THE END.

[petsincollections]

Mules skidding logs, undated

Caption: "Artillery mules from Ft. Meade skidding logs. Tornado area in background. Custer sawmill camp. Harney."

Black Hills National Forest Historical Collection

Digital Library of South Dakota

[virtie333]

Botany Canyon

This is a couple of years old, but the pretty video of a creek with birdsong reminded me of this video I took. Botany Canyon is a very special place in the Black Hills, and Jackson and I found our way there on my birthday in 2021. Of course, we got lost on the way out! It was worth it. 

[rjzimmerman]

Lessons From a Burning Forest. (New York Times)

As a reporter, I’ve experienced the aftermath of several disasters, including dam bursts, landslides and floods. But nothing quite prepared me to witness the extent of the destruction in Canada’s boreal forests that I saw in June, one year after the record-breaking wildfires of 2023.

At one point, my colleague Bryan Denton and I drove for an entire hour and saw almost no living trees in the forests we could see from the road. Much of the landscape was covered with blackened stumps of trees that burned last year. Residents told us the burned trees revealed hills, rivers and towns that they had never seen before.

I’ll be open with you: It was alarming.

We were there reporting how parts of North America’s boreal forests are failing to regrow because of the more frequent, bigger wildfires that have become a hallmark of our changing climate. One of the strongest pieces of evidence of this shift is the gradual decline of the black spruce, a humble species that has dominated these landscapes for thousands of years.

In short, my article shows how the dwindling number of black spruce trees is deeply transforming this vast ecosystem, which is one of the planet’s biggest storage systems for planet-warming carbon dioxide. What’s troubling is that black spruce evolved to exist with fire — just not fire that happens this often.

Losing any part of the black spruce forests will make the global struggle to keep temperatures below catastrophic levels harder, and it may mean our climate models are too optimistic.

But I also want to share what researchers and local Indigenous leaders told me: There is a lot we can do to adapt, particularly borrowing from traditional fire-management practices. These won’t save the immense boreal forests from global warming, but they could help communities adapt.

Indigenous people are some of the most directly affected by this new age of wildfires. According to government figures from April, 80 percent of First Nations communities in Canada are in wildfire-prone areas.

Many First Nations elders say they have been forced to change their traditional fire-management practices.

For centuries, Indigenous Canadians burned their lands during the spring, when the grass was dry and the forest was wet, in what are known as cultural burns. Elders looked for cues that can’t exactly be marked on a calendar, like signs the local snow was almost ready to melt, or when the ducks started to nest, as elders in Alberta explained in a 1979 documentary.

These burns protected their homes from insects, induced lush sprouting that attracted animals they hunted, and, perhaps most crucially, fireproofed their communities. The flames weren’t hot enough to kill the trees, just burn branches and leaves that, if left unattended, could fuel bigger fires during summer.

But near the end of the 19th century, Canada started banning cultural burns and fining anyone who practiced them. Slowly, what were meadows became flammable forests, and blazes grew harder to control, Cardinal Christianson said. “This idea of fire suppression or fire exclusion has got us in this problem,” she told me.

In 2020, a paper published in the journal Nature found that fire suppression increased the risk of wildfires for many communities in the Canadian boreal forest.

[ausetkmt]

Black women have made important contributions to the United States throughout its history. However, they are not always recognized for their efforts, with some remaining anonymous and others becoming famous for their achievements. In the face of gender and racial bias, Black women have broken barriers, challenged the status quo, and fought for equal rights for all. The accomplishments of Black female historical figures in politics, science, the arts, and more continue to impact society.

Marian Anderson (Feb. 27, 1897–April 8, 1993)

Underwood Archives / Getty Images

Contralto Marian Anderson is considered one of the most important singers of the 20th century. Known for her impressive three-octave vocal range, she performed widely in the U.S. and Europe, beginning in the 1920s. She was invited to perform at the White House for President Franklin Roosevelt and First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt in 1936, the first African American so honored. Three years later, after the Daughters of the American Revolution refused to allow Anderson to sing at a Washington, D.C. gathering, the Roosevelts invited her to perform on the steps of the Lincon Memorial.

Anderson continued to sing professionally until the 1960s when she became involved in politics and civil rights issues. Among her many honors, Anderson received the Presidential Medal of Freedom in 1963 and a Grammy Lifetime Achievement Award in 1991.

Mary McLeod Bethune (July 10, 1875–May 18, 1955)

PhotoQuest / Getty Images

Mary McLeod Bethune was an African American educator and civil rights leader best known for her work co-founding the Bethune-Cookman University in Florida. Born into a sharecropping family in South Carolina, the young Bethune had a zest for learning from her earliest days. After stints teaching in Georgia, she and her husband moved to Florida and eventually settled in Jacksonville. There, she founded the Daytona Normal and Industrial Institute in 1904 to provide education for Black girls. It merged with the Cookman Institute for Men in 1923, and Bethune served as president for the next two decades.

A passionate philanthropist, Bethune also led civil rights organizations and advised Presidents Calvin Coolidge, Herbert Hoover, and Franklin Roosevelt on African American issues. In addition, President Harry Truman invited her to attend the founding convention of the United Nations; she was the only African American delegate to attend.

Shirley Chisholm (Nov. 30, 1924–Jan. 1, 2005)

Don Hogan Charles / Getty Images

Shirley Chisholm is best known for her 1972 bid to win the Democratic presidential nomination; she was the first Black woman to make this attempt in a major political party. However, she had been active in state and national politics for more than a decade and had represented parts of Brooklyn in the New York State Assembly from 1965 to 1968. She became the first Black woman to serve in Congress in 1968. During her tenure, she co-founded the Congressional Black Caucus. Chisholm left Washington in 1983 and devoted the rest of her life to civil rights and women's issues.

Althea Gibson (Aug. 25, 1927–Sept. 28, 2003)

Reg Speller / Getty Images

Althea Gibson started playing tennis as a child in New York City, winning her first tennis tournament at age 15. She dominated the American Tennis Association circuit, reserved for Black players, for more than a decade. In 1950, Gibson broke the tennis color barrier at Forest Hills Country Club (site of the U.S. Open); the following year, she became the first African American to play at Wimbledon in Great Britain. Gibson continued to excel at the sport, winning both amateur and professional titles through the early 1960s.

Dorothy Height (March 24, 1912–April 20, 2010)

Chip Somodevilla / Getty Images

Dorothy Height has been described as the godmother of the women's movement because of her work for gender equality. For four decades, she led the National Council of Negro Women (NCNW )and was a leading figure in the 1963 March on Washington. Height began her career as an educator in New York City, where her work caught the attention of Eleanor Roosevelt. Beginning in 1957, she led the NCNW and also advised the Young Women's Christian Association (YWCA). She received the Presidential Medal of Freedom in 1994.

Rosa Parks (Feb. 4, 1913–Oct. 24, 2005)

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Rosa Parks became active in the Alabama civil rights movement after marrying activist Raymond Parks in 1932. She joined the Montgomery, Alabama, chapter of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP) in 1943 and was involved in much of the planning that went into the famous bus boycott that began the following decade. Parks is best known for her December 1, 1955, arrest for refusing to give up her bus seat to a White rider. That incident sparked the 381-day Montgomery Bus Boycott, which eventually desegregated that city's public transit. Parks and her family moved to Detroit in 1957, and she remained active in civil rights until her death.

Augusta Savage (Feb. 29, 1892–March 26, 1962)

Archive Photos / Sherman Oaks Antique Mall / Getty Images

Augusta Savage displayed an artistic aptitude from her youngest days. Encouraged to develop her talent, she enrolled in New York City's Cooper Union to study art. She earned her first commission, a sculpture of civil rights leader W.E.B. Du Bois, from the New York library system in 1921, and several other commissions followed. Despite meager resources, she continued working through the Great Depression, making sculptures of several notable Black people, including Frederick Douglass and W. C. Handy. Her best-known work, "The Harp," was featured at the 1939 World's Fair in New York, but it was destroyed after the fair ended.

Harriet Tubman (1822–March 20, 1913)

Library of Congress

Enslaved from birth in Maryland, Harriet Tubman escaped to freedom in 1849. The year after she arrived in Philadelphia, Tubman returned to Maryland to free her family members. Over the next 12 years, she returned nearly 20 times, helping more than 300 enslaved Black people escape bondage by ushering them along the Underground Railroad. The "railroad" was the nickname for a secret route that enslaved Black people used to flee the South for anti-slavery states in the North and to Canada. During the Civil War, Tubman worked as a nurse, a scout, and a spy for Union forces. After the war, she worked to establish schools for formerly enslaved people in South Carolina. In her later years, Tubman also became involved in women's rights causes.

Phillis Wheatley (May 8, 1753–Dec. 5, 1784)

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Born in Africa, Phillis Wheatley came to the U.S. at age 8, when she was captured and sold into enslavement. John Wheatley, the Boston man who enslaved her, was impressed by Phillis' intellect and interest in learning, and he and his wife taught her to read and write. The Wheatleys allowed Phillis time to pursue her studies, which led her to develop an interest in poetry writing. A poem she published in 1767 earned her much acclaim. Six years later, her first volume of poems was published in London, and she became known in both the U.S. and the United Kingdom. The Revolutionary War disrupted Wheatley's writing, however, and she was not widely published after it ended.

Charlotte Ray (Jan. 13, 1850–Jan. 4, 1911)

Charlotte Ray has the distinction of being the first African American woman lawyer in the United States and the first woman admitted to the bar in the District of Columbia. Her father, active in New York City's Black community, made sure his young daughter was well educated; she received her law degree from Howard University in 1872 and was admitted to the Washington, D.C., bar shortly afterward. Both her race and gender proved to be obstacles in her professional career, and she eventually became a teacher in New York City instead. 

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Anti-fascist counter demos in the UK on Wednesday the 7th and Friday the 9th of August

There are going to be a new round of anti-immigrant fascist riots in the UK on Wednesday the 7th of August and Friday the 9th. If you are able to get to one of the counter-demos, and it is safe for you to do so (and I'm including safe for your mental health; please don't push yourself too far), it's really important to go. Not only to physically stop the fascists from burning down immigration lawyers' practices or attacking Muslims in the street, but to stand up and be counted. This is a terrifying time to be an immigrant or a person of colour in the UK, and seeing the fascists outnumbered and humiliated by decent people can go some way to making it less bad.

Stay safe:

come early, well before the fascists assemble

Wear a mask, not only to avoid police surveillance but to avoid being doxxed by the fascists

Don't carry identifying information, such as credit cards, in case the police arrest you

Write the number for a protest lawyer on your arm so you won't lose it

Bring water

Bring suncream

Bring a friend if you can

Wear comfortable shoes

Stand Up to Racism has thhe best list of organised counter-demos. I wouldn't advise turning up to oppose a fascist march if you're not sure whether a counter demo has been called, but here's a list of places the far right has singled out to target on Wednesday at 8pm, so you know broadly whether your city is on the list:

ALDERSHOT

Immigration Advisors Ltd, Victoria Road, GU11 1TH

CANTERBURY

UK Immigration Clinic, Canterbury Innovation Centre, CT2 7FG

CHATHAM

Immigration Status UK, Maidstone Road, ME5 9FD

CHELMSFORD

UK Immigration Information Centre, Violet Close, CM1 6XG

BEDFORD

Immigration INN, Ford End Road, MK40 4JT

BIRMINGHAM

Refugee and migrant centre, Frederick Street, B1 3HN

BLACKBURN

Rafiq Immigration Services, Whalley Road, BB5 1AA

BLACKPOOL

Immigration Solicitors, Enterprise Centre, Lytham Road, FY1 1EW

BOLTON

Deane & Bolton Immigration lawyers, Chorley new road, BL1 4QR

BRENTFORD

UK Immigration Help, Great West End, TW8 9HH

BRIGHTON

Raj Rayan Immigration, Queens Road, BN1 3XF

BRISTOL

Gya Williams Immigration, West Street, BS2 0BL

CHEADLE

Intime Immigration Services, Brooks Drive, SK8 3TD

DERBY

Immigration advisory Service, Normanton Road, DE23 6US HARROW

Yes UK Immigration, Pinner Road, HA1 4HN

HASTINGS

Black Rock Immigration, Cambridge Gardens, TN34 1EN

HULL

Conroy Baker Immigration Lawyer, Norwich House, Savile Street, HU1 3ES

KENT

Kent Immigration and advice, Castle Hill Road, CT16 1QG

LINCOLN

Immigration Lawyer Services, Carlton Mews, LN2 4FJ

LIVERPOOL

Merseyside Refugee Centre, Overbury Street, L7 3HJ

MIDDLESBOROUGH

Immigration advice centre, Linthorpe Road, TS1 4AT

NEWCASTLE United Immigration Services - Westgate Road, NE4 9PQ

NORTH FINCHLEY

Immigration and Nationality Services, Percy Road, N128BU

NORTHAMPTON

Zenith Immigration Lawyers, Talbot Road, NN1 4JB

NOTTINGHAM East Midlands Immigration Services - Stonesbury Vale NG2 7UR

OLDHAM

Expert Immigration - Ellen Street 0L9 6QR

OXFORD

Asylum Welcome, Magdelen Road, OX4 1RE

PETERBOROUGH

Smart Immigration Services, Lincoln Road, PE1 2PN

PORTSMOUTH

UK Border Agency, Kettering Terrace, PO2 8QN

PRESTON

Adriana Immigration Services, Church Street PR1 3BS

ROTHERHAM

Parker Rhodes Immigration Lawyer, The Point S60 1BP

SHEFFIELD

White Rose Visas, Wilkinson Street, S10 2GJ

STOKE

ZR Visas, Metcalfe Road, ST6 7AZ

SOUTHAMPTON

Y-Axis Immigration Consultants, Grosvenor Square, SO15 2BG

SOUTHEND

MNS Immigration Solicitors, Ditton Court Road, SS0 7HG

SUNDERLAND

North of England Refugee Service, High Street East, SR1 2AX

TAMWORTH

Lawrencia & Co immigration solicitors, Amber Business Village, B77 4RP

WALTHAMSTOW

Waltham Forest Immigration Bureau, Hoe Street, E17 3AP

WIGAN

Support for Wigan Arrivals Project, Penson Street WN1 2LP