#Pest control strategies

[bwcabound]

Meet the White-Footed Ant: A Tiny Pest That Packs a Punch in North America

The First Ant We Will Be Looking At In This Series: The White Footed Ant IIf you live anywhere muggy and warm in the U.S. (Florida, obviously, but also some parts of California), you’ve probably crossed paths with these little jerks—white-footed ants. Their fancy name is Technomyrmex albipes, but honestly, who’s got time for that? They’re small, dark ants with weirdly pale legs, and they’ve…

[pestcontrolstrategies]

Top Pest Control Strategies for Renters by Virginia Beach Exterminators

For renters in Virginia Beach, managing pest control can be challenging due to the nature of rental agreements. However, several effective strategies can help keep pests at bay. Virginia Beach exterminators recommend proactive measures that renters can implement to maintain a pest-free home.

First, maintaining cleanliness is crucial. Regularly cleaning kitchen surfaces, vacuuming floors, and promptly disposing of trash can significantly reduce pest attraction. Renters should also store food in airtight containers to prevent access by common pests like cockroaches and ants.

Sealing entry points is another important strategy. Renters should inspect windows, doors, and baseboards for gaps or cracks and use caulk or weather stripping to seal these openings. This minimizes the chances of pests entering the living space.

Additionally, utilizing natural repellents can be effective. Essential oils like peppermint or tea tree oil can deter insects when mixed with water and sprayed around potential entry points.

Finally, if pest issues persist, renters should consult Virginia Beach exterminators for professional help. They can offer targeted treatments and preventive measures to keep pests away, ensuring a comfortable living environment.

[jensownzoo]

I will at last have cucumbers this year!

Baby Suyo Long and Beit Alpha cukes are doing spectacularly in the new raised bed. Unlike in the rest of the beds, this one is staying moist even though it's been a month since we've had rain and I can only give the plants maybe a cupful of water every other day. It's a mix of clay and wood chips so I shouldn't be surprised, I guess.

Also, I've only seen one spotted cucumber beetle and no striped since I transplanted them in. Planting late in the season technically works for pest control, but sucks production-wise. Going to try for mid-June next year and cross my fingers that it's not too early. I really do need to restock my pickles.

[roneidaselva]

Understanding the Behavior of Pests for More Effective Control

Introduction

Pest control is an essential aspect of maintaining healthy environments and preserving human well-being. However, traditional pest control methods often fall short in providing long-term and sustainable solutions. To achieve more effective pest control, it is crucial to delve deeper into understanding the behavior of pests. By gaining insights into their biology, habits, and ecological interactions, pest control professionals can develop targeted and environmentally friendly approaches. This article explores the significance of comprehending pest behavior for effective control measures and discusses how this knowledge can be applied in various pest management strategies.

The Importance of Understanding Pest Behavior

Pests, whether insects, rodents, or other organisms, are living creatures with complex behaviors driven by survival instincts and environmental interactions. To devise successful pest control strategies, it is essential to comprehend the factors that influence their behavior. Understanding pest behavior offers several benefits:

a) Targeted Interventions: Knowing the specific habits and preferences of pests enables pest control professionals to implement more targeted interventions. For example, if a particular insect species is attracted to a specific type of pheromone, traps or baits containing that pheromone can be strategically placed to lure and control the pest effectively.

b) Reduced Reliance on Chemicals: Traditional pest control methods often rely heavily on chemical insecticides and rodenticides. By understanding pest behavior, it becomes possible to implement non-chemical control measures, such as altering environmental conditions or introducing natural predators, thus reducing the overall reliance on harmful chemicals.

c) Minimized Environmental Impact: Chemical pesticides can have detrimental effects on non-target species, including beneficial insects and wildlife. By tailoring control methods to exploit specific pest vulnerabilities, the risk of harming beneficial organisms can be significantly reduced, contributing to a healthier ecosystem.

d) Cost-Effectiveness: Targeted pest control measures can be more cost-effective in the long run, as they focus on eliminating the root causes of infestations rather than treating symptoms repeatedly.

Behavior of Common Pests

a) Insect Behavior:

i) Ants: Ants are highly social insects that live in colonies with complex hierarchies. Understanding their communication through pheromones and their foraging patterns is essential for effective ant control. Baiting with insecticides can be successful when using the right attractants.

ii) Cockroaches: Cockroaches are nocturnal pests that prefer dark and humid environments. Knowing their hiding spots and movement patterns helps in placing traps and baits strategically. Additionally, addressing moisture issues is crucial for long-term cockroach control.

iii) Mosquitoes: Mosquitoes lay eggs in stagnant water, and their breeding grounds can be localized and eliminated. By identifying and removing these breeding sites, mosquito populations can be controlled significantly.

iv) Termites: Termites are social insects that feed on cellulose materials. Understanding their nesting habits and foraging behavior is essential for implementing baiting systems that disrupt their colonies.

b) Rodent Behavior:

i) Rats: Rats are intelligent and cautious creatures. They tend to avoid unfamiliar objects, making it challenging to control them with traps initially. By pre-baiting and using non-lethal traps initially, rats can be conditioned to trust the traps, leading to more successful control.

ii) Mice: Mice are curious and exploratory rodents. Traps and baits should be placed along their regular travel paths, and entry points to buildings should be sealed to prevent re-infestations.

c) Nuisance Wildlife Behavior:

i) Squirrels: Squirrels are agile climbers and can access attics and rooftops. Understanding their entry points and nesting behaviors is crucial for effective squirrel control.

ii) Raccoons: Raccoons are opportunistic feeders and attracted to accessible food sources. Securing garbage bins and removing potential food attractants are important for deterring raccoons from urban areas.

Utilizing Pest Behavior in Pest Control Strategies

a) Integrated Pest Management (IPM): IPM is a holistic approach that utilizes knowledge of pest behavior to develop multifaceted control strategies. It integrates various control methods, such as cultural, biological, mechanical, and chemical controls, to manage pests effectively while minimizing environmental impacts. For example:

i) Cultural Control: Understanding pest behavior can help identify and eliminate conditions favorable for pest infestations. For instance, sealing cracks and crevices in buildings can prevent insect entry, and proper waste management can reduce food sources for rodents.

ii) Biological Control: Introducing natural predators or pathogens specific to the pest species can be an effective control measure. For example, releasing beneficial nematodes to target soil-dwelling insect larvae can reduce their populations.

iii) Mechanical Control: Traps and barriers can be used strategically based on pest behavior. By placing traps along known travel routes or barriers to prevent access, pest control professionals can capture or deter pests effectively.

iv) Chemical Control: In cases where chemical control is necessary, understanding the behavior of pests allows for the selective use of insecticides or rodenticides. By targeting specific life stages or behaviors, the impact on non-target species can be minimized.

b) Insect Pheromones and Attractants: Insect pheromones play a significant role in communication and mate attraction. By synthesizing and utilizing these pheromones, researchers have developed traps and lures that specifically target certain insect species. These traps can be used to monitor pest populations or to disrupt mating and reproduction.

c) Biological Clock Disruption: Insects, especially those with complex life cycles, have internal biological clocks that regulate their development and behavior. By understanding these rhythms, it becomes possible to disrupt their life cycles with precise timing. For instance, applying certain control measures during critical developmental stages can have a more significant impact on pest populations.

d) Behavioral Manipulation: Some pests, like fruit flies and stored product insects, exhibit behaviors that can be manipulated for control. For instance, "attract and kill" strategies involve using attractants to lure pests into contact with insecticides or pathogens, effectively eliminating them.

Future Directions in Understanding Pest Behavior

Advancements in technology and scientific research continue to enhance our understanding of pest behavior. The use of remote sensing, drones, and camera traps allows for better monitoring of pest populations and their movements. Furthermore, advancements in genetics and genomics enable researchers to study the genetic basis of specific behaviors, paving the way for innovative control strategies that target key genes responsible for pest survival and reproduction.

As the field of behavioral ecology expands, collaborations between entomologists, ecologists, geneticists, and other specialists become increasingly valuable. By combining expertise and sharing knowledge, researchers can develop a comprehensive understanding of pest behavior, which, in turn, will lead to more effective and sustainable pest management practices.

Conclusion

Understanding the behavior of pests is integral to developing effective and sustainable pest control in san antonio. By recognizing their habits, preferences, and vulnerabilities, pest control professionals can implement targeted interventions that minimize environmental impacts and reduce reliance on harmful chemicals. Utilizing pest behavior in integrated pest management approaches, pheromone-based traps, biological control, and behavioral manipulation all hold great promise in revolutionizing the field of pest management. Continued research and collaboration between experts in different fields will undoubtedly yield further insights, leading to innovative and eco-friendly solutions that promote healthier environments for all living organisms. As we embrace this knowledge-driven approach, the future of pest control looks increasingly promising, offering new hope in managing pests more effectively and ensuring the well-being of both humans and the planet.

[farmerstrend]

Know Your Garden Enemies: 25 Pests Every Farmer Should Watch For

Learn about 25 common garden pests threatening farms in Kenya and across Africa. Get practical tips for identifying, preventing, and controlling each one. Farming across Africa is not just a livelihood — it’s a survival strategy, a tradition passed down from family, and for some, a business dream. More than 60% of Africa’s population works in farming, making it one of the most powerful engines…

[kaiadomas]

Looking to expand your pest control business online? Understand how pest control SEO services in 2025 can transform your digital presence. This guide from Fast Hippo Media explains the best pest control SEO strategies, the importance of local SEO for pest control companies, and how proper solutions can help your brand dominate local search results. Read more at https://fasthippomedia.com/effective-guide-to-pest-control-seo-services/ or call 2142727034 for pest control SEO services.

[randallrandykonsker]

Randall Randy Konsker Explains Crop Rotation Strategies

Sustainable farming methods are now more crucial than ever in the quickly changing agricultural landscape of today. One of the most effective methods to enhance soil health, boost crop yield, and reduce dependency on chemical inputs is crop rotation. Leading agricultural consultant Randall Randy Konsker, with over two decades of hands-on experience in modern farming, is shedding light on how crop rotation strategies can transform farm productivity while protecting the environment.

What is Crop Rotation?

Crop rotation is the practice of planting different types of crops in the same area across different growing seasons. This technique helps in breaking pest and disease cycles, improving soil structure, and optimizing nutrient usage. Randall Randy Konsker says crop rotation is a powerful, scientifically proven strategy that is essential for long-term farm success.

Why Crop Rotation Matters

According to Randall Randy Konsker, the benefits of crop rotation go far beyond improving yield. When implemented correctly, crop rotation can:

Reduce soil erosion and degradation

Prevent the buildup of pests and pathogens

Improve soil biodiversity and microbial activity

Enhance nutrient availability naturally

Cut down on the need for chemical fertilizers and pesticides

This approach is especially critical in a time when sustainable agriculture is becoming a global necessity. Randall Randy Konsker believes that educating farmers on simple yet powerful practices like crop rotation can pave the way for a more resilient food system.

Randall Randy Konsker’s Proven Strategies for Effective Crop Rotation

With a solid background in consulting farms across various climates and crop types, Randall Randy Konsker recommends these core strategies for successful crop rotation:

1. Plan for Crop Families

Konsker advises grouping crops by their families—such as legumes, brassicas, grains, and nightshades—and rotating these families rather than individual crops. This prevents soil-borne diseases that often affect related species.

2. Alternate Deep-Rooted and Shallow-Rooted Crops

Alternating deep-rooted crops like carrots or potatoes with shallow-rooted varieties like lettuce helps maintain soil structure and reduces compaction.

3. Incorporate Nitrogen-Fixing Plants

Legumes like beans and peas add valuable nitrogen back into the soil. Randall Randy Konsker recommends rotating these in every 2–3 years to maintain soil fertility.

4. Include a Fallow Period or Green Manure

Letting the land rest or planting cover crops like clover can rejuvenate the soil. These practices prevent nutrient depletion and add organic matter back into the soil.

Real Results from Real Farms

Farmers who’ve followed Randall Randy Konsker’s crop rotation strategies report healthier soils, better yields, and lower input costs. From small family-run farms to larger commercial operations, Konsker’s methods have been praised for being both practical and results-driven.

A Sustainable Future Through Smarter Farming

Randall Randy Konsker asserts that farming needs to be more deliberate rather than more complex. Crop rotation is one way that farmers can build a more profitable, sustainable, and environmentally responsible foundation for coming generations.

These crop rotation techniques can be revolutionary, regardless of your level of experience as a farmer or your level of inexperience. As Randall Randy Konsker continues to educate and inspire, his commitment to sustainable agriculture shines as a beacon for the future of farming.

[metengineering]

Protecting Your Business: Commercial Pest Control Strategies

Contact MET Pest Control today for professional pest control services. Our experienced technicians are ready to inspect your home, offer expert advice, and implement strategies to keep your home bug-free. Don’t wait until a small problem becomes a major issue—schedule a consultation with us and ensure peace of mind for you and your family. Reach out to us at +65 8208 8920 to learn more about our comprehensive pest control services.

[gandhitechnowebsolutions]

Pest Control Digital Marketing Strategies To Generate Leads

Keep in mind that the most successful Pest Control Digital Marketing Services use a variety of diverse internet promotion avenues.

[kakashisacademia]

pairing: Tomura Shigaraki x you | warnings: dry humping, oral (female receiving), fingering, rough sex, Shigaraki turning absolutely deranged

summary; you’re a new member of the league of villains and can’t just stop flirting with Shigaraki until he snaps one day

ೃ⁀➷ Under Your Skin

It’s supposed to be a routine meeting, League business, boring talk, plans she only half understands. She’s new. Unproven. Not exactly trusted yet. But that doesn’t stop her from watching him.

Shigaraki sits slouched in the chair across from her, hoodie up, hand twitching like it’s itching for a throat to grab. His red eyes glow behind blue strands, locked on a cracked screen instead of the people in the room.

And that’s when she does it. Soft. Playful. Out of nowhere.

“You know,” she purrs, leaning her chin on her hand, “you’d be kinda cute if you smiled.”

Silence.

Toga gasps. Compress freezes mid-gesture. Dabi’s cigarette hangs in stunned limbo between his lips.

Shigaraki goes rigid. His head turns. Slowly. His neck cracks.

“What the fuck did you just say?”

She smiles sweetly. “I said you’re cute, boss.”

A twitch. His pinky lifts. Someone in the room moves like they might tackle her. Like she’s one word away from being dust.

But Shigaraki doesn’t disintegrate her. Instead, he stares. Narrow-eyed. Confused. Disarmed.

Because people fear him. Avoid him. Stare at the hand on his face like it might crawl off and strangle them. No one has ever flirted with him.

He doesn’t know if he wants to kill her. Or kiss her until she stops smiling. So he says nothing. Just stands, cracks his neck again, and stalks out of the room.

Everyone turns to look at her.

Toga grins. “You’re so dead.”

She shrugs, still smiling. “I think I made an impression.”

Day 17:

She leans over the table during a strategy meeting, licking a bit of sauce from her thumb. Her tongue’s slow. Innocent. Totally unaware of the way Shigaraki’s eye twitches.

“You’re staring again, boss,” she murmurs with a grin. “You want a taste?”

He jerks. Nearly drops his controller. Dabi actually snorts.

Shigaraki doesn’t answer. He never does. Just glares, mutters something about her being a pest, and stalks off to pace with his hands shoved in his pockets.

But what no one sees and what he doesn’t even realize is that later, when he’s alone in his room, his fingers hover over his lips like maybe he should’ve said something back.

Day 29:

She sits next to him on the old couch. Close enough that her thigh brushes his. She doesn’t pull away.

“God,” she sighs, stretching her arms above her head, breasts rising under that tight little shirt. “These meetings would be so boring without something pretty to look at.”

“Stop,” he snaps.

She grins. “Stop what?”

“That.” His hand twitches. “That… thing you do.”

“Flirting?”

“It’s fucking annoying.”

“Then why don’t you leave?”

He doesn’t answer. Because he can’t.

Day 35:

He thinks about her voice when she’s not around. Hears her teasing in the shower. On missions. In his sleep.

He can’t figure it out why it bothers him so much. Why he keeps staring. Why he hasn’t decayed her into dust.

And when she walks into the room in a too-short skirt and winks right at him? He flinches like she’s stabbed him. But still… he doesn’t move.

Just sits there, glaring with his cheeks pink, the hand on his neck twitching like it wants to do something, but doesn’t know what.

It’s past midnight and the bar is quiet. Empty except for the low hum of neon and the sound of ice clinking in a glass. She’s behind the counter, casually wiping it down in one of her little tops, bare legs stretched out on the stool.

She thinks she’s alone. Until she hears boots. Her head lifts. Shigaraki stands in the doorway with his hood up, red eyes glowing faintly in the dark.

She smiles. “Couldn’t sleep, boss?”

He says nothing. Just walks in slow, like a lion stalking prey. Like his body’s tight with something he doesn’t know how to name.

She turns her back to him, reaching for another glass to clean. “Drink?”

“You think I don’t notice,” he rasps.

She pauses. “…Notice what?”

“That thing you do.”

She turns, one brow raised. “Flirting?”

His jaw clenches. “You’re not subtle. You say shit to me like I’m not the guy who could turn you to dust in a second.”

“But you don’t.”

He’s in front of her now. Close. Too close. Backlit by the bar lights, hoodie shadowing his face, eyes locked on her like a weapon.

“Why?” he growls.

She blinks up at him, heart stuttering. “Why what?”

“Why do you do it?” His voice is rough, uneven. “Why do you keep saying that shit to me like I’m worth it? Like I’m someone you’d want to-”

“To kiss?” she offers sweetly, stepping forward. “To touch?”

His breath hitches.

“I just like watching you squirm, Tomura.” Her voice is soft. Almost innocent. But it burns something in him.

“I hate it,” he whispers. But his hands stay at his sides. “I fucking hate how it makes me feel.”

“And how does it make you feel?”

He doesn’t answer. Because the answer is dangerous. It’s foreign. It’s a slow, sick obsession that’s crawling beneath his skin like a curse.

He stares at her, glaring, twitching, fuming, but not moving. And then she does it. She reaches out, fingers barely brushing the front of his hoodie. Not touching skin. Not breaking rules. Just enough to feel the heat.

“Maybe,” she says, soft, “you don’t hate it as much as you pretend.”

He grabs her wrist. Not with all five fingers. Not with the intent to hurt. Just holds her there, trembling slightly, eyes dark and wide like he doesn’t know what to do next.

“…You’re insane,” he rasps.

She smiles. “Takes one to know one, boss.”

The next day she doesn’t flirt. She says good morning to Dabi. Ruffles Toga’s hair. Takes her place at the meeting without so much as a wink or tease.

And Shigaraki notices immediately. His eye twitches. No little comments. No biting lip. No licking fingers while she looks at him.

It shouldn’t bother him. It shouldn’t. But it does.

By lunch, he’s pacing the halls like a fucking animal and later that night he finds her in the storage room. Alone. Restocking drinks.

She doesn’t react when he opens the door, just glances at him, bored, then turns back to stacking.

“Don’t ignore me,” he says sharply.

She hums. “I’m not.”

“You are. You haven’t said a word to me all day.”

She shrugs. “You said you hated it. I’m just respecting your boundaries, Tomura.”

His name on her lips sounds like silk over a knife. His hands twitch at his sides.

“You did it on purpose,” he grits out.

“Did what?”

“Pulled away. Just to mess with me.”

She finally turns, a teasing smile on her lips, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “And if I did?” she says quietly. “What are you gonna do about it, boss?”

He’s on her in an instant. Not touching her, not breaking skin, but crowding her. Cornering her between the shelves, breathing heavy, trembling with rage and something hotter.

“You don’t get to crawl into my fucking head and vanish,” he growls.

“Oh,” she whispers, tilting her head. “So I got in there?”

His mouth opens. Closes. He doesn’t know what to say. Because yes. She’s there. Always there. On his mind, in his dreams, in every heated breath he takes alone at night. And all she had to do was smile.

“You’re a virus,” he says. “You’re fucking toxic.”

Her breath catches and she looks at him like she wants to be. “Then maybe you should destroy me, Tomura.”

He flinches. Looks at his hand. Four fingers curl. But the fifth never lifts.

A few days later he finds her laughing. Not with him, of course. With Dabi. Some offhand joke, something stupid. Her head tilts back, lips curled, eyes sparkling.

And Shigaraki watches from the shadows, jaw clenched so tight it cracks. He doesn’t even like talking to people. Barely tolerates existing near them, but her laugh? Her attention? He wants it. He wants all of it.

And now she’s giving it to someone else. He snaps.

She barely makes it to her room before he’s behind her. She opens the door, steps inside and then there he is, slamming it shut behind him, hand flat on the wood, body buzzing.

“Tomura?” she says, breathless, surprised. “What are you-?”

“Don’t say my name like that,” he snaps. “Like it’s yours to play with.”

She blinks. “Are you okay?”

“No. No, I’m not okay,” he growls, stalking forward. “You… you did something to me.”

“I haven’t touched you.”

“You didn’t have to.”

And then he has her. Pinned to the wall, his hands not touching her skin, hovering and trembling, but his body crowding hers, breath hot and ragged.

“You made me want,” he rasps. “You made me fucking need.”

She swallows hard. “Then take it.”

He stares. And leans in close enough to kiss her, to taste her, to feel her heart pounding through the heat between them. But he doesn’t.

He stops with his lips barely brushing hers and snarls, “You don’t want me.”

She exhales. “Tomura-”

“I’m ruin. I destroy everything I touch. And you,” his voice cracks. “You’re not supposed to want that.”

Silence. Then her fingers rise softly and careful, settling against his jaw.

“I do,” she whispers. “I want you.”

He shudders. And then he kisses her. It’s not soft. It’s not practiced. It’s clumsy and brutal and raw. But it’s real.

And when he pulls back, panting, hands still hovering like he’s terrified to ruin her, she just smiles and says, “Took you long enough.”

She pulls him back in. After that first kiss, which was messy, breathless, dangerous, her hands curl in his hoodie, dragging him forward like she owns him.

Shigaraki doesn’t think. He doesn’t speak. He crashes into her with hismouth on hers, bodies pressed together, grinding, grinding, grinding. His hoodie hangs open. Her tank top is slipping. The air between them is wet and hot and full of desperation.

She whimpers against his mouth when he ruts against her thigh, and his entire body twitches.

“Fuck,” he pants, head falling to her shoulder. “I can’t… I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”

“You’re doing perfect,” she breathes, dragging her fingers down his back, pulling him in tighter. “You’re so good, Tomura.”

His name sounds holy on her tongue. He ruts again. Harsher this time. Needier. His cock is rock-hard, trapped in his pants, and he’s grinding into her like he has to.

“Say it again,” he pants. “Say I’m good… say I’m yours.”

She kisses him again, deeper, and rolls her hips, her own clothed heat dragging over his thigh. And when she moans? He nearly dies.

They’ve stumbled there in a frenzy, shedding only enough to make it worse. She’s on his lap now, straddling him. His hoodie’s open, her panties soaked through, and he’s grinding up into her like a feral thing.

His head drops back, hair a mess, lips parted, panting her name between curses.

“I should stop,” he rasps. “You… you should be scared of me.”

She kisses under his jaw. “I’m not.”

“You should be.” His fingers dig into the mattress, twitching. “I could break you.”

“You already are,” she whispers. “I want you to.”

And that’s it. He snaps his hips up so hard they both moan, and now they’re dry humping like they’re going to die from it. Filthy, desperate, clothed, but it’s not enough.

His teeth graze her neck. His voice is ragged. “Let me fuck you. Say it. Beg me.”

She whimpers, but she’s too far gone to tease. She nods. Breathless. “Yes. Yes, please, I need it.”

But he doesn’t give it to her. Not yet. He grabs her hips and holds her there, grinding so slow and hard she screams.

“Not yet,” he rasps. “Not until you’re crying for it.”

She’s whimpering, grinding against him, soaked through her panties. And Shigaraki, once twitching and unsure, is now smirking. Barely. But it’s there.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice gravel and smoke. “You started all this. And now you can’t even breathe without me.”

Her fingers claw at his shoulders. “Tomura, please.”

He shifts his hips just right, grinding the thick line of his cock against her swollen clit. She gasps.

“You want me?” he huffs against her mouth. “Want me to fuck you like a villain?”

She nods fast, frantic, but he grabs her jaw and makes her say it. “Use your words.”

She stutters, “I… I want you to fuck me like a villain. I want it so bad.”

And fuck, he should be unraveling at this. Because he’s never touched anyone. Never kissed anyone. This? It’s his first.

But watching her fall apart under him, watching her lose to her own teasing, it’s lighting something mean in him. Something dangerous.

His hand slips between her legs, over soaked lace, two fingers pressing right there. She cries out. He just smirks again.

“Shouldn’t have flirted with me if you didn’t want to be ruined.”

She can barely speak. Her head falls back, mouth open. And Shigaraki who’s panting, desperate, hard as fuck, leans in and whispers, “Next time, maybe I’ll actually take these off.”

He drags his fingers, slow, up the crotch of her panties and pulls them aside to expose her sweet cunt. He still doesn’t fuck her. He slides two fingers along her folds, just enough to coat them in slick, and then shoves them in his mouth.

His tongue licks them clean. His eyes don’t leave hers. She shatters. She’s trembling. Naked now.

Shigaraki’s peeled her clothes away with the slow, brutal care of someone unwrapping something precious. Like he’s afraid she’ll disappear, but also wants to devour her.

She’s spread out for him. Every inch bared. Skin flushed, thighs trembling, her core soaked and aching.

And him? He’s still fully clothed. Kneeling between her legs, eyes wild with something twisted. Something sharp. Something so not human.

He leans in. His voice low, teeth gritted, barely holding on, “You think this is love, girl?”

She gasps as his breath ghosts over her inner thigh.

“This isn’t love,” he growls. “This is so much darker.”

He kisses her there and then grabs her thighs and spreads her wide.

“I’m going to drag you into the deepest pits of hell,” he snarls. “And you’re going to thank me for it.”

Her breath stutters. “Tomura…”

“No,” he bites. “Not anymore. You don’t get to say my name like that.”

His fingers curl under her knees, lifting her hips off the bed, tilting her open like a feast laid bare.

“You flirted with a monster,” he rasps. “Now you’re gonna be eaten by one.”

And then he descends. It’s not soft.

His mouth is ravenous. Tongue everywhere, messy and slick and feral. Growling into her folds like he wants to mark her from the inside out. Her fingers claw the sheets. Her cries are shattered.

And Shigaraki? He’s fucking gone. Drunk on her taste. Addicted to the way she writhes. Deranged with the fact that she let him in, let him have her.

He pulls back for a breath with his lips wet, eyes wild and snarls, “Beg for it again.”

She’s barely coherent. “Please, Tomura, I- I need you.”

His fingers replace his mouth, fucking into her slow and mean. His voice is pure gravel.

“No, girl. Not need. Say you belong to me.”

Her breath catches. Her thighs try to close. He spreads them wider.

“Say it.”

“I…” She gasps. “I belong to you!”

And that’s when he breaks. He rips his clothes off, cock slapping heavy against his stomach, and climbs over her, panting, pupils blown wide. His tip presses to her entrance.

“You wanted obsessed?” he growls. “You wanted me?” He thrusts deeply and to the hilt. “Then you’re never leaving. Never.”

He fucks her like she’s oxygen. Hard, fast, mean with the desperation of someone who’s sure she’ll disappear if he doesn’t burn her into his skin.

Her cries bounce off the walls, gasping and wet with need, and Shigaraki’s right there above her, panting into her mouth, his teeth grazing her jaw.

But what really breaks her? It isn’t his cock driving into her, or the brutal snap of his hips.

It’s his hands. Because he starts touching her like he’s forgotten the world burns under his fingers.

All five. Not just four.

Not for decay. Not enough for it. Just the lightest brushes of his fifth finger. Just enough to scratch. To break her skin a bit. Her ribs. Her collarbone. The underside of her breast.

Thin red lines bloom under his touch, faint and stinging, but intentional. Marked. His.

She arches up in shock, gasping.

But he grabs her throat with four fingers, lips brushing hers, and says low, “Don’t move. Take it.”

And she does. Because every place he traces, just a flick of that cursed fifth finger feels like lightning in her veins. Like she’s not just being claimed, no, she’s being ruined.

“Pretty little body,” he growls, dragging his nails down her side. “All mine now. You started this. You flirted with a fucking monster.”

He slams back in, and her scream chokes off.

“And now you’re gonna live with me inside you. Forever.”

He bites. Neck, shoulder, breast. He marks her in every way he can.

And when she’s shaking, tears in her eyes, whispering, “Please, I can’t…I’m gonna come.”

He laughs, low and cruel. “You’re not coming till I say. You belong to me now. You come when I let you.”

She’s a mess. Tears in her eyes. Slick running down her thighs. Her voice is wrecked from crying out his name, again and again. But he still hasn’t let her come.

He’s everywhere. Inside her, on her, whispering filth in her ear and scratching her skin with the softest, cruelest touch of his pinky finger, leaving angry little red trails behind.

“Look at you,” he snarls, one hand wrapped tight around her throat as he fucks her deeper into the mattress. “You’re falling apart for me.”

His pace is brutal now, punishing even, but he doesn’t break rhythm. Doesn’t let up. Just keeps pounding into her like he wants to imprint himself on the shape of her body.

Her hands claw at his back. Her hips stutter. She sobs, “Please Tomura… please, I need to- I need to come.”

And that’s when he pins her down. Both wrists over her head, one hand holding her throat. His hips grind hard, slow now, cock buried so deep it feels like he’s never going to leave.

And his voice? It’s low. Shaky. Possessed.

“You don’t come until I say.” He dips his head to her ear. His breath is hot and ragged. “You wanna come? You wanna fall apart?”

She nods frantically, tears slipping from her lashes.

“Then say it,” he growls. “Say you belong to me.”

“I- I do,” she gasps. “I belong to you, I do.”

He licks a slow stripe along her throat. Then fucks her so deep she screams.

“Come,” he orders, voice deadly quiet. “Now.”

And she does. Violent. Shaking. Moaning so loud she chokes on it. Her body spasms under him, clenches so hard around his cock he nearly collapses on top of her.

He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t let her breathe. Just keeps thrusting, grinding against her clit until she’s sobbing from the overstimulation, and still taking it.

“You’re mine now,” he pants, eyes deranged. “Fucking mine. You feel that? That’s what you get for flirting with a villain.”

She’s limp beneath him. Tears drying on her cheeks. Chest rising and falling in little stutters. Her whole body’s twitching from overstimulation, but she took it all.

She let him destroy her. And now?

He’s trembling above her, growling through clenched teeth as he thrusts in one final time and spills himself deep.

His hips stutter. His breath catches. And he breaks.

“Fucking- fuck,” he chokes, face buried in her neck.

Not a sound he meant to make. Not a weakness he ever meant to show.

He pulls out slowly, eyes locked on the slick mess between her thighs.

And instead of cleaning up… He spreads her. Fingers her open. And with a filthy little groan, he pushes it back in.

Two fingers, curling deep, eyes glazed with obsession as he watches his cum drip from her, then disappear again beneath his knuckles.

“You’re gonna keep it,” he mutters, voice low and dangerous. “Every drop. You’re mine now.”

She gasps and shivers, but she doesn’t stop him. Because she likes how ruined she is. She chose this.

He doesn’t cuddle after. Doesn’t coo. That’s not who he is. But he lays beside her. Close enough their legs touch. One arm tucked behind his head. And with the hand not covered in his own mess, he reaches over.

Soft fingers in her hair. Tangles and all. Threading slow, lazy strokes through the strands like she’s something precious he can’t admit he wants.

She shifts, barely able to keep her eyes open. “You’re still here?”

He grunts. “Don’t be annoying.”

But his fingers keep moving. Gentle. Careless. Addicted.

He doesn’t say he likes her. Doesn’t say she’s special. But the way he touches her quietly and trembling, like he’s afraid she’ll vanish?

That says everything.

[nemo-writes]

𝗮𝗯𝘀𝗼𝗹𝘂𝘁𝗲𝗹𝘆 𝘀𝗺𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗻 I chapter two

(dr. jack abbot x nurse!reader)

⤿ chapter summary: your day off opens in a quiet, comforting way. errands and small talk feel almost enough to keep the world steady. but scattered signs—disturbed spaces, cryptic messages—suggest unseen eyes on you.

⤿ warning(s): stalking

⟡ story masterlist ; previous I next

✦ word count: 1.9k

Your first day off in twelve shifts begins the way small miracles do: with sunlight, silence, and the smell of good food.  

You stand in the kitchen, spatula in hand, watching thick‑cut slices of bacon curl and pop in the cast‑iron. A pot of full black beans simmers beside them, spiced with a dash of chipotle, and sourdough toasts slowly in the oven. The kettle whistles; you pour the water over loose‑leaf tea—then carry everything to the coffee table.  

You sink into the couch, remote in one hand, plate balanced carefully on your knees. The History Channel flickers to life on the TV—some World War II documentary already mid-narration. A gravelly voice drones about tank strategies and bitter winters while you dig into your breakfast: bacon, beans, toast, and two sunny-side-up eggs. When the video ends you queue another—street‑food vendors in Oaxaca—then another—an eight‑hour lo‑fi playlist you’ll never finish. Breakfast stretches into morning, warm and unhurried, crumbs gathering on your pajama pants.  

By ten you’re upright, mug refilled, windows cracked to let in crisp river air. You sweep, wipe counters, toss sheets into the washer, and chase a rogue dust bunny across the hallway with the broom. Domestic quiet feels luxurious, almost decadent.  

Suddenly, a sharp voice drifts through the open window. “Again?! Seriously?!”  

You peer through the window and down into the courtyard. Mr. Donnelly—gray beard, Steelers cap—stands by the communal trash corral, hands on hips. Black bags are shredded, cardboard flaps torn open, and yesterday’s takeout containers scatter like confetti. The mess is worst around your bin: coffee grounds, chicken bones, a tea packet glinting foil in the sun.  

You lean on the sill. “Everything okay, Mr. D?”  

He looks up, exasperation softening when he sees you. “Raccoons, maybe cats. Little bandits had themselves a buffet!”  

“Roger. I’ll be right down.”  

You pull on jeans, an old hoodie, and rubber gloves. Downstairs you and Donnelly work side by side, scooping refuse into fresh bags, tying double knots. He mutters about city pest control; you crack jokes about raccoon Michelin ratings.  

Halfway through, he wipes his brow with a sleeve. “Hey—off topic. My daughter mailed me a bottle of turmeric pills, swears they’re good for my joints. That true, or is it Facebook nonsense?”  

“Turmeric can help a little with inflammation,” you say, cinching a bag, “but it’s no substitute for your prescription NSAID—and it can mess with blood thinners, so clear it with your doc first.”  

He nods—ever since you spotted that odd, pearly mole on his temple last year, the one he thought was just an age spot until the biopsy came back melanoma, he treats your word like gospel. “Good to know. She also sent me a link about apple‑cider‑vinegar cures, but I figured that was bunk.”  

“ACV is great on salad,” you dead‑pan, hefting another sack, “and terrible for curing anything else.”  

Donnelly barks a laugh. “Knew it.”  

It’s odd that only your bin is mauled, but he chalks it up to the smell of your bacon‑grease jar and you let the theory stand. When everything’s tidy you hose the concrete, angle the spray under the bins, and he grips your shoulder in a grateful squeeze.  

“You’ve saved my hide twice now—first the cancer, now the critter fiasco.”  

“Just doing the neighborhood rounds,” you reply, stripping off your gloves.  

“Still. I owe you. If you ever need a ride anywhere, you call me.”  

“Deal.”  

You thank him again, head back upstairs for a shower, and let the steam rinse away trash‑day grime—and the faint, nagging thought that raccoons rarely prefer bacon grease to everyone else’s leftovers.  

Upstairs, you kick off your shoes and head straight for the bathroom. Steam is already fogging the mirror by the time your hoodie hits the hamper. You stand under a scalding spray until your shoulders unknot, grit swirling away in ribbons. Shampoo, coconut body wash, a quick exfoliating scrub over the calluses that surgical gloves never let your skin forget—small rituals that reset your head as much as your body.  

Fresh out, you wrap yourself in an oversized towel, pad to the bedroom, and let the day‑off uniform choose itself. You massage lotion into your hands—cuticles forever dry from incessant scrubbing—then slip your phone from the charger to check the time.  

11:58. Perfect.  

In the kitchen you pack a canvas tote: your wallet, a couple of mesh produce bags, the prescription bottle that needs refilling, and that one pair of trousers with a busted hem for the tailor. You make a quick mental note to add swing by the thrift store to the list on your phone; you’ve been meaning to hunt for a new lamp for a good month now.  

Just as you bend to lace your boots, the phone buzzes. The screen lights with a photo: Jack's hand—broad knuckles, faint surgical nicks—cradling a steaming ceramic mug. Beneath, his caption:  

4‑minute steep, no boil. 👍  

A laugh snorts out before you can stop it. Jack, with the earnest proof‑of‑completion energy of a dad texting his first selfie. You thumb a reply:  

Gold star, Doctor. Welcome to the leaf side.  

Before you hit send, another buzz stacks above Jack’s thread. The preview text looks like a cat walked across a keyboard: ahsdklfhasdklfhaskl hi.

No name. No profile pic. A number you don’t recognize.  You swiftly block the number without opening the message.  Probably just spam.

Outside, the hallway smells of floor wax and warm laundry tumbling in the communal dryer—normal, safe scents. You lock the apartment, test the knob twice, then head for the stairwell, reciting the grocery list in your head like a mantra: eggs, oranges, rice and a sweet treat, maybe two or even three.

By the time your boots hit the sidewalk, sunlight on your face and the city’s Saturday hum around you, the odd text and the midnight raccoons have folded into a corner of your mind labeled later. Today is still yours, and you intend to spend every mundane minute of it.  

. . .  

When you swing past the Riverfront Market, the parking lot looks like a disaster drill—SUVs circling like vultures, carts jammed in every corral. You mutter a tactical retreat, swing back onto the boulevard, and promise yourself groceries will be the final stop. And so, you knock out your errands with efficiency: trousers dropped at the tailor (“two centimeters, blind hem, please”), prescription refilled, and lastly, a quick victory lap through the thrift shop where you score a tiffany desk lamp for five bucks.  

An hour later, you roll into the same lot to find it blissfully tamer—maybe half‑full, the Saturday rush already migrating to lunch. Perfect. You snag a space near the cart return, grab your canvas tote, and head inside.  

The produce aisle is crisp with the scent of misted greens when a familiar voice rings out behind you. “There she is—my favorite surgical saint!”  

You turn as Dana—her sharp blonde bob swinging over her shoulders—eases her cart into yours with a playful thunk. Her niece, a round‑cheeked toddler in star‑print leggings, claps at the gentle collision, squealing when you reach out to give her belly a quick tickle, thumb and forefinger pinching her marshmallow cheeks just enough to earn a giggle.  

“Hi there!” you laugh, straightening as you look up at a beaming charge nurse. “I thought your day off was reserved for sweatpants and true‑crime podcasts.”  

“Tiny tyrant wanted blueberries,” she says, ruffling the toddler’s hair. “And my daughter wanted thirty uninterrupted minutes, so Nana came to the rescue.” She drops a pint of berries into her cart, then peers into yours. “Real vegetables? Bakery bread? If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were a functioning adult.”  

“Shh,” you whisper. “I have a reputation to ruin.”

You angle your cart toward the tomatoes; Dana falls in beside you, matching your lazy pace. Her niece lunges for every bright piece of produce, and Dana buys temporary peace with a steady drip of bunny‑shaped crackers. Between grabs you trade life bulletins: you ask with genuine interest about how Benji’s woodworking side hustle is faring—“He finally sold that live‑edge coffee table,” Dana crows, “and now he thinks he’s Etsy royalty”—and she fires back, wanting to know if you ever sent in that application for the citywide cook‑off. You confess you chickened out at the last minute, then admit you’ve been taking weekend pottery instead, which makes her whoop loud enough to startle the toddler. “Look at us,” she says, snagging a ripe Roma, “two adrenaline junkies pretending we have hobbies like normal people.”

Halfway through the avocado display, Dana’s tone slips to mock‑casual. “So,” she drawls, examining you like a crystal ball, “rumor is our favorite former combat medic traded sludge‑grade coffee for—” she waves at the tea section up ahead “—fancy tea.”  

Heat blooms at your ears. “Abbot can drink whatever he wants.”  

Dana’s blue eyes sparkle. “ Just Abbot, huh? Funny—heard you called him Jack on the radio last week.”  

Your mouth opens, shuts. “Slip of the tongue.”  

“Sure,” she teases, easing a grin. “There’s a betting pool, you know. Odds on why the caffeine king is suddenly brewing leaves.”  

“You people will gamble on anything.”  

Dana parks the cart and crosses her arms. “Current theories: secret detox, midlife crisis, or”—she lifts her brows—“a certain pretty surgical nurse’s influence.”  

You snort. “Please. Nothing’s going on. Just two over‑worked fossils hydrating.”  

“Nothing she says, using his first name like a lullaby.” Dana winks. “Spill it.”  

You bag a head of romaine. “He’s…nice. Listens. That’s all.”  

“Uh‑huh. Well, when Jack starts smuggling in single‑origin Darjeeling, I’m cashing out.”  

Before you can reply, Dana’s niece launches a blueberry skyward; it splats harmlessly on Dana’s sleeve and she plucks it off, unfazed.

“Speaking of chaos—yesterday in The Pitt? One guy comes in with a nail‑gun through his boot and tries to livestream it. Robby has to confiscate the phone while Collins hunts for tetanus history. And—get this—one of the med‑students faints into the sharps bin. We’re calling him Porcupine now.”  

You laugh so hard you nearly drop your lettuce. “Porcupine! That’s savage, even for you.”  

“Pitt rules: if you pass out, you earn a nickname.” She scoops animal crackers into her niece’s hands. “Anyway, enjoy your day off. And remember, the house cut on the Abbot‑tea pool is twenty percent.”  

“Fine,” you sigh, pushing your cart. “But if you win, I’m taking half and buying enough loose‑leaf to convert the whole unit.”  

Dana salutes with a blueberry. “I’ll hold you to it, Jack‑whisperer.”  

You roll your eyes, but the name lingers sweet on your tongue as you both trundle toward the bakery—two nurses off‑duty, carts bumping, hearts lighter than any official chart will ever note.  

. . .  

By late afternoon you’re back in the apartment, juggling your against your ribs while your new lamp shines prettily near the entrance. You drop everything on the kitchen table and reach for your phone to tick “groceries” off the to‑do list—only to find three new notifications from the another strange number.

The previews are nonsense again—random consonants, stray emojis, one line that looks like Morse code smashed by a cat. You thumb through, equal parts annoyed and curious, until you hit the most recent message:  

Green suits you, pretty girl.  

A pulse hammers once, hard, in your throat.  

You set the phone down very carefully, as though it might explode, and listen—really listen—to the apartment. The fridge hums. Upstairs pipes clank. No footsteps, no voices, but suddenly every shadow feels occupied.  

Groceries forgotten, you sweep the place like you would on the trauma bay: bedroom closet first (just winter coats), bathroom cabinet (towels and aspirin), hall linen closet (sheets, vacuum hose), kitchen pantry (cereal boxes, nothing human). You kneel to peer under the bed, heart pounding like you sprinted stairs, then check every window lock twice, tugging to be sure.  

Finally you drag the spare dining chair across the floor and wedge its back under the doorknob—an old trick your grandmother swore by. It won’t stop a battering ram, but it buys time. Time feels like oxygen right now.  

Only then do you remember the milk on the counter, sweating through the carton. You shove perishables into the fridge on autopilot, not taking the care to arrange it like you usually would, hands trembling just enough to clink jars together. The phone stays facedown on the table, screen black, as though eye contact might invite more.  

Night falls, the apartment settles.

You brew the strongest sleep‑blend tea you own—valerian, chamomile, skullcap—and pour it into your largest mug. Scissors from the junk drawer go onto the vanity beside your bed, blades half‑open like a steel moth. Overreacting? Maybe. Under‑reacting because you haven’t called the police? Possibly. What you know is this: control is a ladder, and tonight every rung you can hold matters.  

You sip the smooth brew, crawl beneath the duvet, and stare at the ceiling until the tea’s heaviness drags your eyelids down. The phone is silenced, the chair braces the door, scissors glint in the street‑lamp glow. It isn’t much, but it’s a perimeter—thin, improvised, yours.  

You let the darkness take you, counting breaths, willing morning to hurry.

divider credit

[deepspacenova]

LESS THAN ENEMIES

1100 words || mild hurt/comfort. injured sylus. pre-relationship. minor blood.

Note: trying out something new and joining a fandom instead of obsessing in silence for once. Please accept some Sylus whump as my humblest offering xx

Sylus’ favorite thing is to watch you on the battlefield.

It started with Mephisto, of course. The mechanical corvid kept tabs on so many of Sylus’ subjects of interest that he’d thought nothing of programming the so-called “special” new Hunter’s likeness into its tracking rounds.

When he saw your evol, he became determined to take her. When he saw you bound in front of him, no recognition in your eyes, he became intrigued. But when you put a bullet through his chest point blank, no hesitation, he became captivated. Enraptured. Obsessed.

After the auction — and when Mephisto’s wing maintenance went from biweekly to twice a week — Sylus decided to spare himself the trouble and started going himself.

He doesn’t get too close, can’t get too close, but he’ll never get enough of your ferocity, your determination, your grace when he watches you fight for your people. For your cause.

Even if it’s in direct opposition to his plans.

Actually, his men could stand to learn a thing or two from you. In wit, in strategy, in combat.

The thought almost manages to pull a smile from him.

As much enjoyment as he takes in seeing you dominate the battlefield, to hear you calling out orders to other Hunters, to witness the shimmering waves of your evol, he can’t ignore the tension he feels when he does. The apprehension.

The worry.

Picturing your beautiful body cut down, wounded, bleeding… it isn’t something he likes to think about.

And that’s why Sylus watches the battlefield.

It’s a chaotic dance of guns and swords. Your Hunters and the rogue faction that ceded from Onychinus months ago clashing on the blood-stained streets.

The rest of the neighborhood is dark but calm, filled with the high-pitched buzz of the street lamps on the periphery of N109. If he wasn’t scrutinizing you with such focus, it would’ve felt like he was heading out to join you for one of your midnight meet ups.

You're close to the building that’s casting Sylus into the shadows, your singular focus centered on the four men surrounding you. No other Hunters are nearby.

Sylus watches you weave a web of power around two, freezing them in place, swords locked into a swinging motion. At the same time you turn around and trap a third, his arms getting more frantic the higher you raise your gun, before he drops like a stone to the ground.

You’ll will win this one, Sylus muses, as the men he’d so generously chosen to oust from the organization rather than kill dwindle in numbers. Most of them are being tracked down by other Hunters, those that remain look like they might flee in a desperate attempt at self-preservation like the roaches they are.

Who knew the Hunter’s Association would become his pest control.

Sylus heightens the rush of power in his veins as one of the men takes advantage of your divided focus, shakes himself free of your power’s hold, and stumbles backwards, running toward the alleyway Sylus occupied in hopes of escape.

You recklessly release him without a care, letting him get as far as the curbside. He gasps when he spots Sylus, taking an instinctive shot with what looks like a pilfered Hunter’s gun just as Sylus unleashes his evol, let’s it hum from within him, through his veins to his palms as he snuffs the breath out of the man in front of him, as well as the two next to her.

The bodies topple onto the dirty asphalt in perfect harmony, joining the other vermin she’d taken care of.

An outraged gaze whips toward Sylus. You’d known he was there.

Before he can wonder at what he’d done to give himself away you're already marching toward him. Too irritated to make sure other Hunters aren’t following — they aren’t, Sylus has made sure — when you step in front of him. That magnificent power isn’t quite contained yet, casting a glow around you that makes him want to reach out and…

He crosses his arms in case they make any movements he doesn’t approve of.

“They had information I needed, you overbearing—”

He narrows his eyes, ignoring a twinge in his bicep as he leans it against the building. “They’re your enemies, sweetie. Do you think they would’ve had the same mercy with you?”

“They might’ve,” you bite out. “Now, thanks to you, we’ll never know.”

He hardens his jaw. Your naiveté would get you hurt one day. “Trust me, they weren’t about to help you, they wanted to hurt you. To cut all your little Hunters down and take you with them.” Tendrils of his power wrap around your waist like a vine, yanking you toward him on a gasped breath, and your hands feel like brands on his chest.

“And, kitten?” You purse your lips, looking past his shoulder to ignore him, taking the comfort of that gaze from him. Growling low in his throat, he tilts your chin back up, tracing his thumb over the silky edge of your jaw. “I won’t let anyone do that.”

The frosty glare in your eyes melts, taking the last of your anger with it.

“I won’t either,” you murmurs. Stepping back, you take your face from his grasp. “Alright, let’s get out of here. I don’t need any of the other Hunters catching you.”

Sylus sighs, turning his back to the bodies when lightning pierces through his arm, causing him to cover it up with an annoyed hiss.

“Sylus? Sylus. What’s going on? What’s happened?”

Trying to calm the frantic words that match your frantic hands, he grits out, “I’m fine. Must’ve happened right before I took care of those last three. It’s nothing.”

You're grasping at his fingers to peel them away, revealing a decently sized chunk of flesh removed from his bleeding bicep.

It’s not the most severe wound he’s ever sustained, by far. Still, he’s mildly impressed that a Hunter’s bullet could pack such a punch. He’ll need to look into those.

“It’s not nothing, there’s no way that’s going to heal on its own. You need… stitches or something. I’m taking you to the base.” Wrapping one palm around his arm and the other around his wrist, you steer him by the arm in the opposite direction of Linkon. “And before you say anything, every Hunter goes through field medic training.”

It’s the same tone you use with other Hunters, those you call friends. The sound of determination coated in the steel of care and concern -for him.

You're treating him like he’s… yours.

He ignores the sudden balloon expanding in his chest at the thought. “You know you never need an excuse to put your hands on me, kitten,” he drawls with a smirk, deciding to give himself into it, into her.

And despite the most serious injury he’s had in a while tearing into the space between his missing skin and your palm, all he can feel is a fluttering, healing warmth when your cheeks flush and your pace quickens.

[bestanimal]

Round 3 - Reptilia - Charadriiformes

(Sources - 1, 2, 3, 4)

Our next order of birds are the diverse Charadriiformes, collectively called “shorebirds”. This large order contains the families Burhinidae (“stone-curlews” and “thick-knees”), Pluvianellidae (“Magellanic Plover”), Chionidae (“sheathbills”), Pluvianidae (“Egyptian Plover”), Charadriidae (“plovers”), Recurvirostridae (“stilts” and “avocets”), Ibidorhynchidae (“Ibisbill”), Haematopodidae (“oystercatchers”), Rostratulidae (“painted-snipes”), Jacanidae (“jacanas”), Pedionomidae (“Plains-wanderer”), Thinocoridae (“seedsnipes”), Scolopacidae (“sandpipers”, “snipes”, “curlew”, and kin), Turnicidae (“buttonquails”), Dromadidae (“Crab-plover”), Glareolidae (“coursers” and “pratincoles”), Laridae (“gulls”, “terns”, “skimmers”, and kin), Stercorariidae (“skuas”), and Alcidae (“auks”, “puffins”, “guillemots”, and kin).

Charadriiformes are small to medium-large birds that typically live near water, however, some live in the open sea, some live in dense forest, and some living in deserts. Most eat small animals ranging from invertebrates to fish to other birds. The order was formerly divided into three suborders based on behavior, the “waders”, the “gulls”, and the “auks”, but these three groups were paraphyletic. However, they represent a good summary of the main forms charadriiformes can take. The “waders” are generally long-legged, long-beaked birds which tend to feed by probing in the mud or picking items off the surface in both coastal and freshwater environments (however, terrestrial shorebirds like the Woodcock [Scolopax minor] and thick-knees [family Burhinidae] would also be considered “waders”). The “gulls” are generally larger species which catch fish from the sea, scavenge, or steal food from other animals. The “auks” are coastal species which nest on sea cliffs and dive underwater to catch fish, on flipper-like wings that can swim as well as fly. Now, it is generally understood that the auks are closer related to the gulls than any other family, and birds traditionally considered “waders” exist in all three suborders. Charadriiformes are one of the most, if not the most, widely dispersed bird orders, living on every continent and in almost every habitat.

Charadriiformes demonstrate a larger diversity of reproduction strategies than do most other bird orders (see propaganda below the cut for more). In most species, both parents take care of the young, but in some, the father is the main caretaker. Some breed and raise young in large colonies, while others nest alone.

Alongside the waterfowl, the Charadriiformes are the only other order of modern bird to have an established fossil record within the Late Cretaceous, living alongside the other dinosaurs. The modern groups of charadriiformes emerged around the Eocene-Oligocene boundary, roughly 35–30 million years ago.

Propaganda under the cut:

Many of the “stone-curlews” or “thick-knees” (family Burhinidae) are nocturnal, singing their eerie wailing songs at night. Suiting their nocturnal habits, they have very large, yellow eyes. They are effective hunters of insects, and some farmers will keep tamed thick-knees around their fields for pest control.

Like flamingos, the rare Magellanic Plover (Pluvianellus socialis) lives and breeds near saline lakes.

The unique Sheathbills (genus Chionis) are the only Antarctic birds without webbed feet.

Sheathbills and the Spur-winged Lapwing (Vanellus spinosus) have rudimentary spurs on their “wrists”, in place of wing claws, which they use for defense.

The “Trochilus” or “Trochilos”, sometimes called the “Crocodile Bird”, is a mythical bird first described by Herodotus (c. 440 BC), and later by Aristotle, Pliny, and Aelian, which was supposed to have been in a symbiotic relationship with the Nile Crocodile (Crocodylus niloticus), supposedly cleaning parasites and debris from the crocodile’s mouth and teeth. Various charadriiformes have been suggested as the inspiration for the Trochilus, including the Spur-winged Lapwing and Egyptian Plover (Pluvianus aegyptius). These birds are the most likely to feed around basking crocodiles, and tend to be tolerated by them, but this “tooth-cleaning” behavior has never been witnessed in the modern day. Nevertheless, the legend has become so prominent that these birds are sometimes still used as examples of symbiotic relationships!

The European Golden Plover (Pluvialis apricaria) spends its summers in Iceland, and in Icelandic folklore, the appearance of the first plover in the country means that spring has arrived. The Icelandic media always covers the first plover sighting.

The avocets (genus Recurvirostra) (image 2) are some of the only birds with upturned beaks. They use their strange beaks to feed on small invertebrates such as brine shrimp (genus Artemia) and brine fly (family Ephydridae) larvae.

The unique Ibisbill (Ibidorhyncha struthersii) has evolved a convergent appearance to the unrelated Ibises (subfamily Threskiornithinae), which are Pelecaniformes. Its long, downward-curved bill is used similarly to the ibises, as it probes under rocks or gravel for aquatic insect larvae.

Another charadriiform to convergently evolve with a pelecaniform is the Spoon-billed Sandpiper (Calidris pygmaea). While it is the size of a typical sandpiper, it has the spoon-shaped bill of a Spoonbill (genus Platalea). It has a similar feeding behavior to spoonbills, moving its bill side-to-side as it walks forward with its head down. However, this sandpiper typically feeds on tundra mosses, as well as small animals like mosquitoes, flies, beetles, and spiders, as well as brine shrimp occasionally. The Spoon-billed Sandpiper is critically endangered, and its population has been decreasing since the 1970s. It is estimated the species may become extinct in 10–20 years if its habitat is not protected. The Spoon-billed Sandpiper was the milestone 13,000th animal photographed for Joel Sartore’s The Photo Ark.

While oystercatchers (genus Haematopus) are monogamous and tend to return to the same nesting site every year, some have been observed “egg dumping”, laying their eggs in the nests of other birds such as gulls.

The Jacanas (family Jacanidae) (image 4) are sometimes referred to as “Jesus Birds” or “Lily Trotters” due to their highly elongated toes and toenails that allow them to spread out their weight while foraging on floating vegetation, giving them the appearance of walking on water. They are one of the rare groups of birds in which females are larger, and several species maintain harems of males in the breeding season with males solely responsible for incubating eggs and taking care of the chicks.

A “snipe hunt” is a type of practical joke or hazing, in existence in summer camps and scout groups in North America as early as the 1840s, in which an unsuspecting newcomer is duped into trying to catch an elusive animal called a snipe, a creature whose description varies. However, snipes (three separate genera in the family Scolopacidae) are actual birds, who search for invertebrates in marshland mud with their long, sensitive bills, and are highly alert. They would be hard to catch in a pillow case.

The Ruff (Calidris pugnax) is notable for having 4 separate sexes: 1 female and 3 types of male. The most common male, called the “territorial male” has a black or chestnut ruff, is much larger than the female, and stakes out a small mating territory in the lek. They perform elaborate displays that include wing fluttering, jumping, standing upright, crouching with their ruff erect, or lunging at rivals. The second type of male is the “satellite male”, which have white or mottled ruffs, are larger than females but smaller than territorial males, and do not occupy territories. Satellite males enter leks and attempt to mate with the females visiting the territories occupied by territorial males. Territorial males tolerate the satellite males because, although they are competitors for mating with the females, the presence of both types of male on a territory attracts additional females. The rarest type of male is the cryptic male, or "faeder", which permanently mimics the females in both size and plumage. Faeders migrate with the larger males and spend the winter with them, but use their appearance to “sneak” into leks and gain access to females. Females often seem to prefer mating with faeders to the more common males, and those males also copulate with faeders (and vice versa) relatively more often than with females. Homosexual copulations may attract females to the lek, like the presence of satellite males. Satellite males seem to be more attracted to faeders, and in homosexual encounters, the faeders are usually “on top”, suggesting that the satellite males know their true identity. The behaviour and appearance of each male Ruff remains constant through its adult life, and is determined by genetics.

The unique buttonquails (family Turnicidae) convergently evolved the small, round shape of the galliform quails. Unlike true quails, the female buttonquail is the more richly colored of the sexes. Both sexes cooperate in building a nest in the earth, but normally only the male incubates the eggs and tends the young, while the female may go on to mate with other males.

The stork-like Crab-plover (Dromas ardeola) is unique among waders for the shape of its bill, specialized for eating crabs, and for making use of ground warmth to aid the incubation of its eggs. The nest burrow temperature is optimal due to solar radiation and the parents are able to leave the nest unattended for as long as 58 hours, protected by large colonies of up to 1,500 pairs. The chicks are also unique for for being less precocial than other waders, and are unable to walk and remain in the nest for several days after hatching, having food brought to them. Even once they fledge they have a long period of parental care afterwards.

The skimmers (genus Rynchops) are the only birds which have a built-in underbite, where the lower mandible is longer than the upper. This adaptation allows them to fish in a unique way, flying low and fast over streams, letting their lower mandible skim over the water's surface, ready to snap shut the moment it touches a fish.

The Black Skimmer (Rynchops niger) is the only species of bird known to have slit-shaped pupils.

Gulls, Skimmers, and Noddies can see ultraviolet light.

The snow-white, pigeon-like Ivory Gull (Pagophila eburnea) breeds in the high Arctic and is an opportunistic scavenger. It has been known to follow Polar Bears (Ursus maritimus) and other predators to feed on the remains of their kills.

Some species of gull, such as the Laughing Gull (Leucophaeus atricilla) and Great Black-backed Gull (Larus marinus) have adapted to live alongside humans in places where humans have overtaken their habitat. These gulls have little fear of humans, and will pirate food from them just as they would any other animal.

Auks are superficially similar to penguins, having black-and-white colours, upright posture, and adaptations for swimming underwater. However, they are an example of convergent evolution, and are not closely related to penguins. Auks fill the niche of penguins around the arctic, while penguins fill the niche of auks around the antarctic.

In fact, the extinct, flightless Great Auk (Pinguinus impennis) was the original “penguin”. Penguin was the Spanish, Portuguese and French name for the species, derived from the Latin pinguis, meaning "plump". The penguins of the Southern Hemisphere were named after it because of their similar appearance and flightlessness. The last two confirmed Great Auks were killed on Eldey, off the coast of Iceland, on June 3, 1844.

[farmerstrend]

Addressing Kenya’s Acute Maize Seed Shortage: Strategic Interventions for Sustainable Seed Production and Food Security

“Explore strategic solutions to Kenya’s acute maize seed shortage. Learn how climate-smart agriculture, local seed production, and irrigation technologies can ensure sustainable food security.” “Kenya’s maize seed crisis impacts farmers and food security. Discover key interventions to boost seed production, lower costs, and reduce dependence on imports.” “Addressing Kenya’s maize seed shortage:…

[brittle-doughie]

Ok so  idea:

Y/N was losing a fight and they seem to be at their wits end. But the beasts were trying to help them.

Shadow Milk: “my dear, as much as I want to see you try and fight. Just call for a time out, you’re looking a little too crumbly right now.”

Y/N: “I’m fine. I just need to-“

Burning Spice: “to what? Walk to your own destruction? Y/N you’re far to weak to fight… lend me--“

Y/N: “no.”

Burning Spice: “I DIDN’T EVEN-“

Mystic Four: “Even if you do lend him control. Your body is to frail, Y/N. If you lend me control I will make sure the flour guides you safely to our-…. Your home.”

Y/N : “…maybe”

Shadow Milk and Burning Spice: “WHAT TF DO YOU-“ unintelligible mumbling and yelling ensued

Y/N : “look… I understand you all want to help me…”

???: “….Ahem”

Y/N: “…but I don’t need your help. I can do this on my-“

???: “you weak brat.”

???: “is this really the one who survive all the trouble of getting all the ancients, just to fall to a few pests? This mustn’t be the fabled Y/N ‘cookie’ I’ve heard them.”

???: “listen well….”

Blood Orange: “And listen closely…”

Blood Orange: “don’t head straight into battle. Your body isn’t suited for that anymore. Think of a strategy best studied for your survival, and use any advantage you have over the enemy. If you continue to blind run into battle, then you will die a pointless death, unloved, and forgotten. If you wish to prove yourself that you don’t need others to protect you, then prove it. Stop being an idiot and think. If you don’t…”

“Then you truly are, the witches greatest failure.”

Y/N: “…fine. I’ll think of something.”

Blood Orange: “good.”

Y/N thinks for a moment before walking away while the Beasts stare at Blood Orange

Mystic Flour: “…how?-“

Blood Orange: “I learned that directly insults and harshness towards Y/N makes them better at battles and conflicts in general.”

Blood Orange got that from first hand experience during his and Y/N’s earliest interactions.

Blood Orange has his points there after everything that Y/N has come this far for.