#ladybird fly

[cuttledreams-bugs]

June theme: Parasites!

1. Ectoparasite: Pocketbook Mussel (Lampsilis ovata)

2. Endoparasite: Polypodium hydriforme

3. Mesoparasite: Shark Sucker Barnacle (Anelasma squalicola

4. Parasitoid: Ladybird Fly (Gymnosoma rotundatum)

Fun facts in the read more!

The pocketbook mussel uses decorated fringes and patterns on its mantle to flicker and shimmer like a fish, drawing the attention of larger fish such as bass. Once close the mussel blasts the fish in the mouth with larva, which then attach to and feed off of the fish's gills.

Polypodium hydriforme... where do you even begin. I love them first of all. They are parasites not of sturgeon, but the sturgeon's egg cells- wikipedia describes them as one of the few animals to live inside the cell of another animal. On top of that, they actually develop inside out while inside said egg cell. Once it's time to get moving out of the host, they flip right-side in and in the process grab the host egg cell's yolk and drag it inside itself, using it to live off of once free in the ocean waters. And that's only scratching the surface.

Goose barnacles are a shark parasite! They are barnacles that embed into the skin of certain sharks, extending their root-like bottom tendrils into the flesh of the animal to extract nutrients while the top portion remains exposed.

Ladybird flies in contrast to all the above probably feel the most normal haha. They plant their eggs on shieldbugs, with the young then growing up within the host, later to re-emerge for pupation and adulthood.

[whizpurr]

[sfcreations]

Some sprites for a project I've been working on.

[haveihitanerve]

if i had a nickel for everytime tears for fears sang about someones house being on fire i would have two nickels. which isnt a lot, but its weird that it happened twice

[navyinks]

dynamic sketching week 5 - insects, reptiles, etc

First time painting with gouache. It was fun and I’m keen to do more

[bubaboos]

oh?🥺🐞

[grimsauce]

I spent yesterday visiting a local private garden and having far too much fun papping the local inhabitants.

The Great Spotted Woodpecker was being a knob and either too far away to get a good clear shot, or was nearby but with the light behind.

[ifelten]

Gul vedrovflue (Laphria flava)

I gang med at fortære en syvplettet mariehøne (Coccinella septempunctata).

Bumblebee Robberfly (Laphria flava)

Feeding on a Seven-spot Ladybird (Coccinella septempunctata).

[dansnaturepictures]

7th September 2023: Sky, fly and ladybird this evening

[airandangels]

Watching Lego Grandmasters again and lemon slice shirt boy is wearing a shirt that at first glance I thought was spotted with strawbebbies but on a closer look I realised is spotted with ladybirds which I think is if possible even cuter

[thechimpanzeenmee]

Some for the creatures, some for me, some for the creature

[petec9099]

This may be the last time

[sfcreations]

Did a new flying strip for Tiny. Now it's got a more curved shell shape and bigger wings with nicer transparent black colouring (gifs don't like transparency so you can only see it in the strip).

[haveihitanerve]

If I had a nickel for every time Tears For Fears said someones house is on fire in their songs i would have two nickels. which isnt alot but its weird that it happened twice

[hedge-rambles]

Interesting, I'm familiar with the rhyme and variations thereof, but it's always been magpies that I know it about. Never heard it for crows. I'm British, grew up in the home counties but grandparents were from Yorkshire, Liverpool and the Scottish borders so the cultural stuff I grew up with covers a lot of Britain. I'm interested to know if anyone learnt it (or variations in other languages) to do with crows or magpies or other birds, and where they might be from.

The version I grew up with was usually

One for sorrow

Two for joy

Three for a girl

Four for a boy

Five for silver

Six for gold

Seven for a secret never to be told.

There might have been more lines, the wish and the kiss sound familiar, and I'm sure I remember a pair of a letter/something better too. Anyway, it was always magpies, and if you see one you're meant to greet or salute it and say "hello Mr Magpie, how's your wife and children?" to ward off the bad luck.

subtle ways to include foreshadowing

one character knowing something offhandedly that they shouldn't, isn't addressed until later

the crow rhyme

colours!! esp if like, blue is evil in your world and the mc's best friend is always noted to wear blue...betrayal?

write with the ending in mind

use patterns from tragic past events to warn of the future

keep the characters distracted! run it in the background until the grand reveal

WEATHER.

do some research into Chekhov's gun

mention something that the mc dismisses over and over

KEEP TRACK OF WHAT YOU PUT. don't leave things hanging.

unreliable characters giving information that turn out to be true

flowers and names with meanings

anything with meanings actually

metaphors. if one character describes another as "a real demon" and the other turns out to be the bad guy, you're kind of like...ohhh yeahhh

anyways add anything else in the tags

[red-archivist]

TMAGP 23 SPOILERS!

i heard those lines and was immediately inspired to make something sad lol

~

Twenty years ago, Jonathan Sims quits smoking.

Twenty years ago, Martin Blackwood’s mother survives her second stroke.

Twenty years ago, Jonathan Sims quits smoking.

It’s not enough to just stop, the shakes and the headaches nip at him constantly, and he reluctantly concludes that bad habits need to replaced by better ones.

That’s where the cycling comes in, to start with.

It’s exercise, it’s eco-friendly, and he can pretend he is literally leaving his cravings behind him as he pushes hard on the pedals.

He does his homework first, researching what is the best option for city cycling, for his budget, for someone that hasn’t ridden a bike since they were nine.

He plots out his paths to the office, the shops, and the nearest puncture repair centre, just in case. He even makes a spreadsheet to keep track of them.

He is sure Tim would poke fun at him for it, if they were still talking, but the organisation keeps his twitching fingers busy and his roaming mind away from the half-finished box of cigarettes in his desk drawer that he promises he will throw away any day now.

What all that planning fails to account for, as soon as he actually gets onto the road, is the rest of the world moving around him.

Every stereotype he has heard about antagonistic drivers is proven ten-fold as he dodges swerving cars and gets sworn at for whizzing past stalled traffic. He soon learns to sneer through tinted windows.

Pedestrians are almost worse. They seem blind to him, stepping out directly in front of his wheels and making him wobble as he overcorrects. As if a bike can’t still do some damage if he were to actually hit someone. Once, he clips the edge of a pram and stops in the street to shout some sense into the careless father pushing it.

He bitches openly about this during his lunches and his coworkers only roll their eyes at him sometimes.

The cycling becomes a bit of running joke in the office when they spot him coming in with his bike shorts and change of outfit, but he ignores them. The shorts are practical. For some reason, telling them that only makes them laugh harder.

He takes the fastest route into the office and a scenic one home. It winds through quiet well-off estates, before opening out to one of the less well-known urban parks. It’s calming, almost meditative, to roll through the cool shade the cluttered trees offer after another meaningless day of data entry.

In those times, he doesn’t think of his empty flat or his dead-end job, he forgets his sniggering coworkers and his ever-dwindling contact list. It’s just him and the wind.

The only thing that could make those moments better, he admits to himself, is a smoke.

The problem with this particular path is how hard it is to see around corners in the park. There is some national re-wilding initiative in the works and the foliage looms over the roads in a way that block his line of sight.

He checks every turn, even though it is rare to encounter a car in this area. Better safe than sorry.

The night he dies is warm but overcast.

He follows his usual route and cranes his neck to see around the overgrown corner he is approaching. A drooping branch grazes his head and something falls from the tree onto his neck.

It could be a leaf, or a twig, or a ladybird, but Jon feels the whisper-touch of something small at his throat and his only thought is: spider.

He has been afraid of them since he was very young and terrified instinct immediately beats any reason. One hand flies up from the handlebars to bat away at his collar. He swerves. Fear makes him pedal faster and the bike speeds onto the junction.

He is so scared of the potential at his throat that he never even sees the delivery truck.

The bike is sent flying from the impact, Jon falls under the wheels.

The driver, to his credit, calls emergency services immediately, distraught.

The ambulance is there within five minutes, but they needn’t have bothered. Jon is declared dead at the scene with a broken neck.

What few friends he has left comfort each other with that fact.

At least it was quick.

~

Twenty years ago, Martin Blackwood’s mother survives her second stroke.

This is a good thing, Martin reminds himself, more than once. It is Good that his mother is alive.

It doesn’t matter that the nurses need to attend to her around-the-clock now. It doesn’t matter that the care home bills have skyrocketed. He is grateful that she is still with him.

He starts looking for a third job. The admin work during the day and the shelf-stocking at night barely covered his previous bills. He’ll have to look for some flexible positions to cram into his schedule.

In the meantime, he cuts back. Eats cheaply, eats less. Cancels overdue check-ups and doesn’t touch the heating.

His days are a current of constant worry, occasionally breached by a wave of panic that he tries to quell by hiding in the office bathroom and digging his nails into his legs.

Panic won’t pay the rent or keep the lights on or remember to call Mum every Sunday. He smothers it deep in his chest and ignores the spasm of pain he gets whenever he forces it down.

He has been getting those more often; sharp, sudden chest pains, numb fingers, dizzy spells, an aching back, shortness of breath.

He had been going to ask the doctor about it all before he cancelled the appointment but. Well. Needs must.

He has his first heart attack on the evening shift.

Pulling a box of washing up tablets from the top shelf in Aisle 4 causes such a rush of agony in his chest that he dares to ask the manager to take his 15-minute break early.

He doesn’t make it to the back room before he collapses.

In the hospital, after he wakes, the doctors ask if there is a family history of heart problems.

If he didn’t feel so weak he would laugh.

He has more in common with his mother then he likes to admit. Of course they share a bad heart.

Or maybe it came from his father. Mum always said he was heartless. Maybe there’s a hole where Dad’s DNA should be.

When the medical team leaves him to rest, all he can think is how much this will cost him.

The NHS is no charity no matter what their marketing says, not to mention how much money he will lose by recovering. He can’t afford six weeks of not working. His first job doesn’t have that much sick leave and his second doesn’t have any.

He runs the numbers in his head, tries to find what else he can hack out of his life to keep his head above water. Occasionally his thoughts swerve, self-recriminating and barbed. He is so stupid for letting this happen at all.

It’s all his fault.

Mum is going to be so angry with him.

His heart pulses in keen pain, bitter and broken.

Somehow, he drifts off, counting figures instead of sheep.

The second heart attack kills him in his sleep.

~

They die on the same day, at nearly the same time (Jon rushes ahead, always too eager, Martin follows inevitably after him).

Their death certificates are filed away alphabetically by a bored clerk in the dusty management system of the General Register Office.

Twenty years later, Samama Khalid exhumes them and examines them, with more curiosity than sense, only to be disappointed by the mundanity of their ends.

He returns them together, heedless of any organisation.

Jon and Martin meet, in the quiet and the dark.

The filing cabinet is a shared headstone, their names rest side-by-side.

~

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