#glassy winged sharpshooter

[hemipteran]

[sandpaperoctopi]

that sure is a bug

[halltastic]

This is a Glassy-winged sharpshooter. What you see coming out of it is c...

[sasquapossum]

Ars Technica: Watch these glassy-winged sharpshooters fling pee bubbles with anal catapult

This headline starts strong, then keeps getting better.

[michaelroofian]

Insect that flings pee with a butt catapult is 1st known example of 'superpropulsion' in nature

Glassy-winged sharpshooters rapidly fire their pee out of butt catapults. from Livescience https://www.livescience.com/insect-that-flings-pee-with-a-butt-catapult-is-1st-known-example-of-superpropulsion-in-nature via IFTTT

[filletedfennysnake]

Part 3: The Cornwall gang (and friends)

Tristan: Western giant swallowtail, Paplilio cresphontes

a dramatic bitch with a big wings and a bigger personality. deceptively aggressive and weirdly proficient at beating other butterflies away from their territory. they enjoy landing on my lawn and just. smugly sitting there. also they're the inverse of usual swallowtail colors (mostly yellow, partly black), which has some "tramtris" parallels if you squint a bit

Isolde: Western tiger swallowtail, Papilio rutulus

what if,,,, we were both swallowtails,,,, and we kissed... no but seriously this suits her too. big. beautiful. blond. perhaps deviously up to something. also the thought of them being born as comparable species and flying about together makes me go :)

Palomides: White-lined sphinx moth, Hyles lineata

my absolute favorite (I AM biased no I DONT care). what if a moth was the size of a hummingbird and filled a very similar ecological niche and exhibited CRAZY alike feeding behaviors. he kicks ass and looks soooooo handsome while doing it. way too pretty for such a common species. I see them on my porch at night and it's like haiii gorgeous <3 what are you doing here you should be in the center of everyone's thoughts and dreams

Dinadan: Glassy winged sharpshooter, Homalodisca vitripennis

this thang just looks like dinadan to me. idk. they only ever seem to interact with me when i'm reading.

King Mark: Whitefly, Sternorrhyncha

a pest who sucks (literally. haha hemipteran joke i am soooo funny)

The Questing Beast: Jerusalem cricket, Stenopelmatini

kind of cute but looks a bit fucked up ngl

Arthurian characters as insects I see on a semi-regular basis

Because if I don't do it, who will?

Part 1: The Orkney-Pendragons (and friends)

Arthur: Monarch butterfly, Danaus plexippus

To be completely honest, I didn't even realize the wordplay aspect here until now. The posterchild butterfly; even people unfamiliar with insects can probably name it. Impressive in terms of mileage (I suppose king arthur's been around for a while. chronologically) and also, under special circumstances, very resistant to death

Guinevere: Western velvety tree ant, Liometopum occidentale

To anyone who thinks guinevere would is a butterfly: you are wrong! ants upon be ye. No but seriously I've been working with this species all summer (images are mine, that's a winged male and a female worker above) and man they're neat! Dominant ant species in the woodland here; they support many other arthropod species via symbiotic relationships and are a major political ecological resource. They're also very pretty as ants go but really really aggressive and bitey. When stressed they release an alarm pheromone that smells very strongly of mint.

Morgan: Arizona mantis, Stagmomantis limbata

Cool. powerful. weird. into sex that humans find freaky. Can be used as a mercenary against flies. Never turns up when or where you expect it. I'm like 58% sure that manteoda consists entirely of fairies anyway and besides that morgan deserves it.

Morgause: Black soldier fly, Hermetia illucens

Very dapper, with an undeniably commanding presence. Looks mean (it has evolved to mimic a wasp) but is actually rather harmless, and has magic powers insanely cool mechanisms that allow it to process yucky polluted waste into useful things like fertilizer and animal feed. The larvae can also produce grease and chitin– economically relevant critters! They remain underrated and probably will stay as such until people recognize the importance of 'uncharismatic' animals (arthurian authors I am begging you write a version Morgause that isn't misogynist or girlbossified pLEASE).

Gawain: Western yellowjacket, Vespula pensylvanica

*points* bitch. No but seriously I can recognize the significance and beauty of these animals while still calling them out as annoying (this is gawaincore. to me). The only thing that stops them from becoming invasive in their OWN NATIVE RANGE is the occasional cold snap and lack of sun in the wintertime. In areas without that they are a serious problem. you want to drink a beverage or eat a burger in peace? No. your food is their food now and they won't hesitate to sting/bite in defense of this divine right. They thirst for carnage but are annoyingly pretty

Gringolet: Western paper wasp, Mischocyttarus flavitarsis

Matching with gawain <3. but seriously seeing one of these babies in person can be a little awe-inspiring if you aren't already expecting them. absolute BEASTS. generalist predators that can and will feed directly on living flesh. Their primary defense strategy is ramming into their opponent at full fucking speed. legends.

Agravaine: Red admiral, Vanessa atalanta

Underrated and pretty butterfly that uses nettles (prickly!) as a host plant. territorial but loses to bigger butterfly species all the time (I've seen it. trust me). Also a bit of a tease, they're notorious for letting people get close to them only to fly away as if personally affronted

Gaheris: Dusky raisin moth, Ephestiodes gilvescentella

not much to say here. It's gaheris. I find these in the pantry all the time, usually because they keep trying to lay eggs in our flour. They're a pain in the ass

Gareth: Western carpenter bee, Xylocopa californica

So very very cute and fuzzy. Not the kind of bee we get honey from, but it could pretend to be and we probably wouldn't mind. Absorbs heat well. Steals nectar from flowers without pollinating them sometimes, the little rascal. Also quite horny; they exhibit a variety of mating behaviors

Mordred: Painted lady, Vanessa cardui

knock off monarch butterfly. lol.

Lot: Torpedo bug, Siphanta acuta

not going to lie this insect is probably too cool looking get assigned to Lot

Kay: Stink beetle, Eleodes sp.

dignified. a bit of a trundler. gets the job done. Mostly harmless, but from a young age we're taught not to provoke them anyways because when threatened they release a truly awful stank

Ywain: Gulf fritillary, Dione vanillae

A gorgeous species that somehow gets overshadowed by the more showy butterflies. just a good-natured guy all round. I like ywain but I don't think he's too complicated :)

[onenicebugperday]

@enbyboiwonder submitted: I saw these beautiful hoppers at the Dallas Arboretum. They kept dodging the camera and side-shuffling to the opposite side of the stalk whenever I got close lol but I managed to get these two photos, at least. Do you know what kind they are?

Yeahhh they appear to be glassy-winged sharpshooters, which are a type of leafhopper :)

[hemipteran]

weirdo scientist shit is finding 4 live leafhoppers + 3 glassy winged sharpshooter carcasses in ur lamp and packing them up 2 take into ur lab and being overjoyed bc 1) we were out of glassy winged sharpshooter samples and need new pics on the SEM to measure and we’re doing that tomorrow with what little we had?? Very very weird fucking coincidence?????? 2) the live leafhoppers all look like the same species, a species the lab doesn’t currently have and there’s enough of them there shouldn’t be a problem getting a stable population going in one of our incubator habitats . Aaaahhh!!!!! 🌱🪲☀️

[beausbugbiome]

01/03/22 Southern California

Had to gently remove this little fellow from my sisters kitchen, but not before snapping some pictures! (My twin is terrified of bugs lol)

🖤 The glassy-winged sharpshooter (Homalodisca vitripennis, formerly known as H. coagulata) 🖤

[ritzy-biscuit]

Look at this tiny weird ass insect that looks like it's got a lizard for a head. I literally typed in "insect with lizard head" and found it. Lol. It's called a Glassy Winged Sharpshooter (this one isn't adult b/c it doesn't have wings yet). Something about releasing the liquid in their bodies in a sharp stream manner is how they got their name. They feed off plants with their needle-like mouths and can jump great distances. They look funny b/c they shuffle side to side and do "push ups" before jumping. This one had moved to a leaf and I tried to pluck the leaf to bring it closer but...I accidentally flicked it off. Good I guess b/c they are actually known to spread plant diseases D: It's funny how they avoid predators, by playing merry go round. So when I tried to look at it from one side it would scurry to the other side out of view and the same if i follow it to the other side.

[letsbuggie]

Glassy-Winged Sharpshooter (Homalodisca vitripennis)

Taken in East Texas, USA

January 2022

iPhone camera with macro add-on

[spookyspaghettisundae]

Awaiting the Thirteenth

The warrior looked over his comrades but did not dwell on the sights and sounds and smells for too long. One of them had wet his loincloth, the other smelled of feces. The chorus of their pained groans and cries pierced the empty blue sky.

Removing the serrated arrowheads from their flesh had left them bleeding profusely, and the few minutes left in their lives would soon pass without grace. How unfortunate that they would not make it, one might say.

Cowering behind a tall boulder, the single only uninjured warrior tried to spot where the sharpshooter stood exactly. Deadly rain in form of arrows had hailed upon them from the old tower jutting out of the rocky ravine. And the archer hid. He hid well.

Muttering that he would be back to save them, the warrior ducked between other jagged stones and approached the tower with more caution. His dying comrades protested and begged for help, but he uttered an empty promise of return.

Greed and a selfish drive for survival kept his mind on the prize. And mourn not for those he left behind, for they would have done the same.

Where stone proved too low to guarantee cover from more arrows, the warrior crawled through the dirt and gravel like a worm. It took him underneath stone jutting out over a ditch and allowed him to near his goal with painful slowness. By the time he reached the yellowed sandstone walls of the old tower, he was caked in dust, closely resembling a ghost, far removed from the labored sounds of pain from his dying companions.

He hugged the walls with his back, his dagger drawn. Craning his neck to watch and await a sign from the archer, such as him poking his head out of any of the narrow windows lining the tower’s face, the warrior slowly paced around the tower to find a gate, or portal, or another passageway.

But no form of entrance had shown itself by the time he circled fully around the entire foot of the tower. Confusion marked his face like many brave adventurers before him. How difficult it was for him to imagine a place not built for such a common man.

He sheathed his dagger and began his perilous climb, finding many a hold in the crumbling stonework.

Stifling his own grunts as he took a small eternity to ascend half the tower’s height, he chanced upon a window wide enough for him to clamber inside.

His blade emerged again from his side, gleaming with the bright rays of sunlight pouring in through the open roof. Ready for the vicious archer who had shot down his companions with such ease.

Holding his breath, he could hear no foe within the tower’s premises, only his own racing heartbeat, pumping blood through his ears and making his entire body thrum.

But the archer awaited here, kneeling before the altar in prayer, muttering incomprehensible babble. Surrounded by statues of the agents of Old Ones, shaped in unpleasant ways to display their many wings and spidery limbs and bristly thorns that appeared so alien in this world and its clueless denizens. The archer truly hoped for blessings of the uncaring Old Ones, or for emissaries such as those depicted in the obsidian sculptures to finally arrive by his side, oblivious of what purpose this tower served or how his prayers always landed on deaf ears.

No, the archer was oblivious in every way. Oblivious of the warrior who had scaled the tower like the archer had before him, all driven by their individual quests for riches and fame, quick to slay their fellow man and hardened far beyond remorse.

The warrior stood at the edge of a wide, circular room, lined with mirrors and statues fashioned from obsidian or black crystal. Dark marble so polished and smooth that it reflected all sights in the light that poured in from the wide-open ceiling.

The archer mistakenly believed the warrior and his comrades to be dying outside, succumbing to the wounds struck by the cruel arrows of his own make.

The warrior almost managed to ambush the archer, but a piece of gravel that his fur boots had tracked inside the tower now scraped against the smooth floor and then crunched. The archer stopped muttering his pointless prayers. Having lost the element of surprise, the warrior sprung into motion. So did the archer.

The clash of steel resounded in this holy hall once more. In a flash, the archer had forsaken his bow for a short blade of his own. After three sharp clangs that accompanied blade striking blade, the two paced and circled around each other like scorpions, stepping sideways continuously and waiting for the right opportunity to sting with the deadly weapons in their hands.

Both had ended countless lives in their greed-fueled adventures, so callous were they. No sign of flinching, no hint of retreat. Two men locked in combat and ready to end one another’s life.

Not even their precious prize distracted them now. Before completing a full circle, the warrior lunged at the archer. Blades clanged again, deflecting swing after stab after swing. The archer retaliated with a deft counterattack and stopped, dead in his tracks.

Blood trickled down the blade from his armpit, running down the hand of the warrior who had come to take his prize from him. The archer’s knees buckled before his fate could truly sink fully into his consciousness, but the warrior kicked him away from himself. Driven by survival instinct and fury, he pounced on the archer and delivered more stabs to end his life with certainty.

Chest heaving, breathing heavily, the warrior slowly rose from the body of his defeated foe, the enemy’s blood still dripping from his dagger. Slowly, he wondered if he had not rather kept the archer alive and drawn his demise out longer, inflicting worse upon him than an undeservedly swift death. Why is it that mankind obsesses with revenge that eclipses the deeds preceding it?

Long must he have stood there, catching his breath, fully absorbing the dizzying exhilaration of surviving his deadly combat. That was when the greed returned.

As it always did.

Drinking in the details of this chamber, his mind caught a glimpse of clarity. A brief reprieve. While the purpose of this tower eluded him far better than his opponent’s flesh had failed to evade his blade, the warrior now began to fathom some of the circumstances surrounding his slain foe.

The archer’s meager belongings rested in a corner, wrapped in ragged cloth and hides. These items bore only few clues to his sleeping and eating habits, suggesting the life of a monk who rarely ventured outside the tower to hunt and feast upon raw flesh, and retreat to this chamber to pray and sleep. But to what he prayed, only the eerie statues and indecipherable runes knew, for he had no scrolls nor scriptures hidden in his satchel.

Finally, the warrior’s eyes came to rest on the prize. On the far side of the wall stood a stone portal—gateway only in design—an arch of smooth black rock that led into a solid wall. Before this portal stood the altar, flanked by the eldritch statues.

And upon that altar rested the prize.

In a giant orb, shiny and of unmeasurable value, he saw himself reflected. Unlike the mirroring marble floors—now covered in a growing pool of blood—his own image was distorted and warped.

Droplets of blood had splattered during the deadly struggle and landed upon the orb. This was the prize. Instead of running down its glassy round sides in creeping rivulets, the drops of blood just clung there. And then they vanished, sucked into the obsidian void of the orb, defying everything the warrior believed to know of his world.

He stifled a shout of surprise and strained his eyes to study it, eager to unravel the mystery of what he had just witnessed.

But in studying that perfectly spherical shape, he only perceived his own features staring back at him from the fist-sized gem. He gasped when his reflection blinked, unlike himself.

He stepped closer, bewildered, and fascinated. His eyes sparkled with daylight, blinded by his greed, and enthralled by the greater secrets this orb may hold. Emptying his soul to make sufficient room for his newfound treasure to occupy.

Like those before him, he needed to have it. To call it his own. Any concern for his fallen comrades lost long behind him, his eyes focused on the crystal, seeking for other alien movements that betrayed its otherworldly nature.

His own reflection blurred and dissolved, making way to other places.

In there, he saw other worlds. He saw himself, as a grandiose king garbed in lavish garments of silk and bejeweled finery. In there, he saw himself enthroned at the center of attention, experiencing the wildest of earthly delights. Sweat beaded on his brow as he watched unspeakable pleasures play out, visions of things that lurked in the darkest recesses of his mind, screaming for release. His body tingled with want.

The stone portal that was no portal opened, its marble gates swinging wide, allowing a powerful light to flood out from it. The warrior shielded his eyes and held his blade out before him while a small legion of men and women swarmed out from his gate.

Each one of them more beautiful and ravishing than the last, they encircled him. They danced and pranced. They twirled and pirouetted and giggled, and their movements soon signaled approach. Not in any menacing way, but crawling towards him in begging, bowing, kneeling, displaying fealty to the warrior. Disarming the warrior, using neither word nor weapon, they soon sheathed the bloodstained dagger by his side where it belonged.

Many hands explored every inch of his body, eliciting pleasured shudders. Other figures got so close that he could feel sweet breath upon his skin while their lascivious forms nestled up against his own.

What began as a haze, drunken with lust, soon saw the warrior slipping into a delirium.

When he came to his senses again, bathed in blood and sweat, he found himself alone in the circular chamber. Alone with the orb.

Startled awake, he checked himself for injuries, but discovered nothing but the scratches and bruises he had suffered from invading the tower; unharmed by both the archer and the slew of strangers who had briefly abducted him into a world of previously unknown satisfaction.

Feet and hands and limbs had spread and smeared the pool of the archer’s blood everywhere. There was little trace of the dead man’s body in sight, save for hints of his flesh and bone having been torn asunder, devoured whole, and any remains being discarded through the chamber’s narrow windows.

The warrior’s chest and hands and legs were all slick with bodily fluids and he stumbled back onto his feet, once more taken by the orb’s allure.

At first, as it always did, he saw only his own reflection. His empty eyes, hollow and glinting with new sparks of greed, mingling with lust and deeper depravity. A mess, his hair matted down with blood and sweat, and fluids staining his stubble-framed face.

How much time had passed? He had no inkling.

Seeing new motions within the orb cut that thought short of finding an answer. Once more, his reflection melted away like a fog being pierced by a ship sailing through its mists. And upon that vessel, he sailed, as a captain, accompanied by a brave crew to new horizons and ever-greater fame, singing his praises and seeking merriment in adventure and the carousing bound to follow.

Enraptured with these visions, he could not tell that the portal beyond the altar never opened, even if his senses lied to him and told him otherwise. Whenever the gates parted for him, he traveled to other worlds, yet never leaving this chamber.

In his mind remained a sliver of sanity, the single only ledge he could hold onto any longer to ground him in this reality. But his hands slipped from it with ever-growing ease, unable to clutch onto the cautionary thoughts that may have saved him from his doom.

That sliver in his mind realized he could not leave. But as simple as the power of this place, and that orb—as effective it was in keeping foolish men bound to it. To do what was needed of them, to await the next here.

For we had seen that look before. Through mirrors, we see from our world into thine. And long have we watched, many times have we seen that exact same expression. We can watch as the thoughts form behind his wrinkling forehead, then die little deaths in his delusions as he feasts upon the illusions that our orb feeds his feeble mind. We can read how he comes to terms with having taken too long to rescue his faithful companions. How easily he rationalizes his deeds and abandons all other regret that ever haunted him.

And as he gazes upon that black orb, it peers back into his feeble little soul, scraping its darkest corners for his deepest desires. His face speaks volumes that we could fill, were we only interested in your petty tales: he wonders if what he experienced is real or not. He had a taste, staggering sensations that cannot be undone—and he will not let go again. He will drink in these experiences that he thirsts for.

And in his eyes, we still glimpse that same glimmer of doubt, that shred of skepticism. We can watch it wane, like a candle shedding its final light before time and a tiny flame snuffs out with the last of its molten wax. If only he knew what was good for him, he would turn in flight. Alas, this warrior is strong in body, but he is not wise. He had that taste of things he could never have otherwise, awakening a burning desire, a great thirst that can never be quenched.

If only he knew better, he would realize that none of it was ever real. That his thirst will only ever grow greater, binding him ever deeper to this orb. Always only learning just enough to realize that there is a prize to be won, but never enough to fully grasp that this is a prize he can never attain, because the prize is not meant for him. Alas, he can dream, but his dreams will never be real.

Watching his plight might offer brief amusement, distracting us from our own yearning for release.

Unlike him, our return is no dream. It is inevitable.

Just one more soul to perish here is all it takes. One more brave adventurer to venture into this forsaken tower and take this valiant warrior’s life by way of steel. Then, finally, after centuries of awaiting in this disgraceful banishment, the pact’s conditions shall be complete. The blood of twelve souls, spilled upon these marble floors, to feed the orb and open the true gate. The way to the world between worlds, through which we may cross.

What he envisions to open, finally shall. No blinding light to flood from it, only a deeper darkness that your kind dreams of in their nightmares. The matter that sleeps, deep between the stars.

Why, human, are your kin so eager to spill the entrails of your own kind? Slay each other as adversaries in face of your insatiable greed? Do you not understand that acting together as one makes you more powerful? In rare moments, your species seems to grasp this insight, but such wisdom appears to be all too fleeting. Your baser instincts and petty distractions are all too swift to overshadow any enlightenment you may glean.

The thirteenth unwitting fool shall arrive soon enough to follow in this adventurer’s footsteps. A chain of twelve dead humans to grant us release. Their blood upon the orb our key. Then we shall return. Then we shall arrive in your world. Wash over it like a flood. Drown it in blood.

Soon, human.

Soon enough.

You can always journey there to see for yourself. Perhaps you can defeat this warrior? Perhaps you can defy the orb’s power?

Is this what you wished to know when you summoned us? Or may we threaten you further with more heraldry of our return?

—Submitted by Wratts

[sciencenewsforstudents]

Some sap-sucking insects can “make it rain.” Known as sharpshooters, they fling droplets of pee while feeding on plant juices. Scientists have finally shown how they create these sprays. The insects use tiny structures that catapult these wastes at high accelerations.

Sharpshooters can do serious damage. The pests slurp hundreds of times their body weight daily. In the process, they can move bacteria into plants that cause disease. Take glassy-winged sharpshooters. They have spread beyond their native range in the southeastern United States. In California, for instance, they have sickened vineyards. And they’ve wreaked havoc on the South Pacific island of Tahiti by poisoning spiders that eat sharpshooters.

A tree infested with sharpshooters sprinkles a steady pitter-patter of pee. This can dampen people walking by. “It’s crazy just to look at,” says Saad Bhamla. He is an engineer at Georgia Tech in Atlanta. That rain of pee got Bhamla and his colleagues hooked on studying how the insects release this waste.

The researchers took high-speed video of two sharpshooter species — the glassy-winged and blue-green types. The video showed the insects feeding and then flinging their pee. The videos also revealed that a tiny barb on the insect’s rear end acts like a spring. Once a drop collects on this structure, called a stylus, the “spring” releases. Off flies the drop, as if hurled from a catapult.

Tiny hairs at the end of the stylus increase its flinging power, Bhamla suggests. That’s much like the sling found at the end of certain types of catapults. As a result, the stylus launches pee with up to 20 times the acceleration due to Earth’s gravity. That’s about six times the acceleration that astronauts feel when they launch into space.

It’s not clear why sharpshooters fling their pee. Perhaps the insects do it to avoid attracting predators, Bhamla says.

The scientists reported their findings in a video published online in the American Physical Society’s Gallery of Fluid Motion. It was part of the APS Division of Fluid Dynamics annual meeting held in Atlanta, Ga., November 18 to 20.

[onenicebugperday]

unfortunately don't have any pics but!! just wanted to share that today i saw a giant lichen orbweaver and a glassy-winged sharpshooter!! both were very nice friends :))

Ahhh I’m sad there aren’t photos! I will supply them because the giant lichen orbweaver is especially magnificent!

Ohohohoho what a large impressive babe. I love her. And the glassy-winged sharpshooter:

Photo by dhend9

[riyazme]

GLASSY-WINGED SHARP SHOOTER - The glassy-winged sharpshooter is a large leafhopper insect from the family Cicadellidae, similar to other species of sharpshooter. Wikipedia. #bug #sharpshooter #insect #insects #insectsofinstagram #insectphotography #insects_of_our_world #insectlovers #macro #macro_nature #macrophotography #macro_captures_ #macroworld #macromood #macro_brilliance #macro_vision #nature #naturephotography #naturelovers #instanature #shotoniphone #iphone11 #iphonography #lensdarts #picturevulture #instagood https://www.instagram.com/p/CKoDWoVJUdJ/?igshid=ok4zrayv96fi