#waterstrider

[dosiadove]

more bugs!

[dreamer-21]

Hello everyone!

One of my childhood best friends, and author of the WebToon Waterstrider, is currently fighting a really hard battle for her life. Last Thursday she had a brain aneurysm rupture and had to go through two different brain surgeries. Her family is currently trying to raise money for her time in the hospital as well as the procedures she is still undergoing. If you could, please donate to her gofundme, and if you cannot donate please share this information. I would really appreciate it and so would her family.

I am also planning on taking drawing/writing commissions in the near future to raise money for her as well, so keep an eye out for that information. I will probably post that info here and on my @primary-visions account as well.

[tiger-lily-55555]

Septembug Day 2 - Shimmer

A little waterstrider causing shimmering ripples across a pond surface.

I love their big eyes

[alexanderrogge]

Tiny water-walking bugs provide scientists with insights on how microplastics are pushed underwater

Andrew Dickerson - Tiny water-walking bugs provide scientists with insights on how microplastics are pushed underwater:

Microplastics #WaterStrider #Resiliency #Plastron #Raindrops #Cratering #FluidDynamics #Physics

[twistofstory]

A bunch of sketches with Salamander, Littleowl and Waterstrider First page's from mid-2023, the second one from few weeks ago! Song (top left corner of the first page): Show me where it hurts by Jukebox the Ghost

[vespersbelladonnakiss]

hey. don't cry. marbled newt.

[ludeshka]

Guys, I am actually programming?

[racc4644]

Inpatient Waterstrider

Drawn by me

Ink

[rockattitudegr]

The WaterStriders w/ special guests: Envy Never Dies Live at six d.o.g.s – Κυριακή 5 Φεβρουαρίου

[t-horn-n]

— waterstrider

pairing: simon “ghost” riley x reader (female) 

genre: fluff ?

summary: watching you and ghost become you and ghost.

word count: 1 158

There is a certain inconsistency with you that Ghost is able to sense but not quite place when you first join the task force.  You’re the sort that wears her heart upon her sleeve.  You like to fill the room with your jokes and anecdotes and quips.  You spill your guts to the point that Ghost knows more about you and your idiot brother and how your parents have just retired) in the first six months following your arrival than he knew about the Captain in the first three years of knowing him.  On the internet, they would call you one of those people who can’t be mysterious because you yap too much.

Still, there is something that sets you apart from just any old civi.  And it is not simply that you’re good at staying calm in stressful situations, nor that you’re not half bad at military strategy.  Rather, it’s that you’ve compartmentalised yourself into the part that you offer to people (your brother, your parents’ retirement) and the part that you keep tucked into your chest, hidden beneath your ribs.  It’s an illusion, you see, that sense of complete transparency that you project.  

It was years ago, now.   When the scent of high school still clung to you and you were marginally more stupid than you are now.  You got yourself ensnared with the wrong, mean, borderline sociopathic sort of people so quickly that it was a real life example of the snowball effect.  Initially, it was just one time you brushed off your last period class to go around town with these guys you met at the convenience store to get back at your brother who, at the time, had a habit of being overprotective.  

Long story short, the whole situation ended with fingerprints around your neck and your head held down in the river behind the grocery mart that everyone was sure was a mafia front.  You remember being hauled out of that river with astonishing accuracy.  You remember the temperature of the water and the exact thoughts that raced through your mind.

Of course, over the years you recovered, squeezed the silty water from your lungs and learned some common sense.  But events like that are somewhat sticky.  

One of your motivations to join the military was to find the self-confidence to never feel like you did coughing up water and dirt, after all.  

You were wary—cat-like—when you first joined Ghost and the rest of the 141, but that’s just how it is in the military most of the time.  And after a few weeks you were bantering with them like you had known them for years.  Truly, it seemed as though you were the most normal one out of them.

What they don’t know is that you don’t like showers.  Or at least, you don’t like the sensation of the water beating on your face.  It feels like you’ll just forget how to breathe and the water will fill your lungs again.  So instead you’ll stand at the edge of the shower, wetting a soapy washcloth every evening after training.  

You’ll never go swimming, of course.   You won’t take the chance.  Even when you can see the bottom, an irrational, bone-deep paralysis traps you in this space where your thoughts are very loud and your body feels very far away.  It’s fine, though.   There isn't a great deal of demand for aquatic soldiers.  

You don’t like sleeping under a lot of covers either, but you’re a cold sleeper and you don’t have control over the temperature on base, so you layer hoodie over hoodie at night.  Inevitably, you look like a mass of sentient fabric if you ever  encounter one of your  peers in the kitchen late at night.  

Talking is how your little dance with Ghost started, though, late night encounters aside.  Sometimes, you would open with a joke on the way back to base from the training grounds and he would reply with his own and you would both feel a special sense of connection that is a little different than that most often found in  military task forces.  It wasn’t brotherhood, like what linked Ghost to Soap and Price and Gaz.  

On other occasions, you all would be at a bar on the weekend, making the cheap beer taste better with each other’s company.  You and Ghost would be perched on your barstools and he would be telling you about some stunt Soap pulled years ago while the other three men kept each other entertained.  You two would still be there after Price, Soap, and Gaz sobered up in the late night air on the way to the bus stop that took them back to the base.  You would blink and then it was midnight and you were on the bus with all of the other witching hour vagrants that got on after spending too much time staring at the bottom of a glass, but you wouldn’t even see them because you were too busy listening to Simon and his wonderfully deep, tired voice.  You would be pressed shoulder to shoulder, each staring at your feet or your hands.  

There are very special times, too.  The kind that you will remember the sensation of—the moment’s taste, its colors, its imprint on your mind—even after you’ve forgotten the time and place and the words said.  Like when Ghost becomes Simon.  Like when he tells you about his mother and the man she was married to.  Like when he presses his lips to your neck and instead of feeling cold and wet and gross like you expect it to, he just sighs, warmly, in a way that makes you feel like you’ve been filled with helium.

Then, when that dance you were doing becomes more confident, when you start pulling and twisting each other about the dance floor rather than just hoping you’ll brush the other’s hand as you glide aimlessly around, those compartments that you have successfully preserved for the last decade shift, somewhat.  They don’t break, by any means.  Simply, they are rearranged.

Simon runs hot.  Especially when he sleeps, which means that when he crashes in your quarters you de-layer and tuck your cold feet between his calves.  Simon is also a big man, though.  So when he rolls over on to your chest in the middle of the night, you are startled awake.  You remember the pressure as the air in your lungs was replaced by something denser.  While he sleeps—deeply, as he always does in your quarters—you stare at the ceiling, watching the fuzzy darkness undulate over and around itself.

Eventually, you will tell him why you can’t tolerate your face being covered while you sleep.  You’ll divulge the contents of your nightmares.  Someday, his past and yours will be murmured into existence whether on a late-night bus back from town or in his bathroom as you brush your teeth together on some random Thursday night.

— m. list

[crevicedwelling]

are there insects that live in the sea or at least on its surface? as in not insect-equivalent arthropods like crustaceans and stuff but as in legit insects of the six legged variety

if you count mangroves and brackish environments, as well as seashores, there’s quite a few insects that live there. but there are very few that live on or in the ocean!

the most successful are the sea skaters (Halobates) and even only a few of these live on the open ocean, most being coastal. they are hemipterans in the same family as waterstriders, but smaller and differently shaped than their freshwater relatives. they hunt plankton and scavenge, laying eggs on floating debris.

another really bizarre one is a genus of flightless fly, Pontomyia. males have elongated appendages and swim by rowing their shrunken wings, while females are legless and larviform. they’re still fairly tied to shore I think but their larvae have been found living on sea turtle shells, hinting at their ability to spread across oceans this way!

https://www.semanticscholar.org/paper/Discovery-of-the-flightless-marine-midge-Pontomyia-Cheng-Huang/792a66efd06891fab4055a3f3a94897723cf41f5

[eloquent-kenku]

Commissioned artwork for one of my players in my campaign, created by the wonderful @sunshinemage ! Lelith is a monk, raised for a short time by the young Tabaxi 'Lights Bobbing on the Lake,' who would come to found the Waterstriders. Lost without her mentor's guide, Lelith sought to achieve his ideals her own way...

-- She has so much potential as a character, I can't wait to see where she goes from here! Thank you again for capturing her so well, I love how ethereal she looks!! 💜

[thermal-current]

Second arachnid post!?

The fearsome skeleton tarantula — this fine bloke is Ephebopus Murinus of the Theraphosidae genus. Named for their distinctive calcium-mimicking markings, these tarantulas are known for their terrestrial lifestyles, which are unique to the mostly tree-dwelling Aviculriinae.

I will be on the search for more radical arthropods like this one. In the meantime, your favourite major insect order?

[schistostegapennata]

Summer is wading through creeks, dense woods where the light glows green through the leaves, lemon balm, crawfish and waterstriders, the sweet scent of butterfly bush, the sound of crickets in the evening, and soft, velvety, dark nights filled with firefly darkness.

[mylittleyuna]

Out thrifting and look who found me? It even has her little pink paws and nose 🎀

I didn’t buy it bc I have nowhere to put figurines, but it was a sweet surprise to see out and about.🤍🪽

[twistofstory]

Song for vibes: Isle Unto Thyself by Miracle Musical

Waterstrider's playin' some tunes, maybe they're a bit melancolic, but he's still enjoing himself and that's what really matters :3

Fun fact: he's my only (semi)main character who canonically skilled in music! He was taught to sing and play the guitar by his stepfather Katran, who grew up in a seaside seawing village and subsequently lived for a long time in the Possibility, where he met a bunch of musically gifted dragons - thus eventually becoming interested in music himself.