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grasshoppergeography · 5 months

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Hey All,

I've been away for some time, as we've been working really hard on something quite exciting:

let me present to you the world's first ever global ocean drainage basin map that shows all permanent and temporary water flows on the planet.

This is quite big news, as far as I know this has never been done before. There are hundreds of hours of work in it (with the data + manual work as well) and it's quite a relief that they are all finished now.

But what is an ocean drainage basin map, I hear most of you asking? A couple of years ago I tried to find a map that shows which ocean does each of the world's rivers end up in. I was a bit surprised to see there is no map like that, so I just decided I'll make it myself - as usual :) Well, after realizing all the technical difficulties, I wasn't so surprised any more that it didn't exist. So yeah, it was quite a challenge but I am very happy with the result.

In addition to the global map I've created a set of 43 maps for different countries, states and continents, four versions for each: maps with white and black background, and a version for both with coloured oceans (aka polygons). Here's the global map with polygons:

I know from experience that maps can be great conversation starters, and I aim to make maps that are visually striking and can effectively deliver a message. With these ocean drainage basin maps the most important part was to make them easily understandable, so after you have seen one, the others all become effortless to interpret as well. Let me know how I did, I really appreciate any and all kinds of feedback.

Here are a few more from the set, I hope you too learn something new from them. I certainly did, and I am a geographer.

The greatest surprise with Europe is that its biggest river is all grey, as the Volga flows into the Caspian sea, therefore its basin counts as endorheic.

An endorheic basin is one which never reaches the ocean, mostly because it dries out in desert areas or ends up in lakes with no outflow. The biggest endorheic basin is the Caspian’s, but the area of the Great Basin in the US is also a good example of endorheic basins.

I love how the green of the Atlantic Ocean tangles together in the middle.

No, the dividing line is not at Cape Town, unfortunately.

I know these two colours weren’t the best choice for colourblind people and I sincerely apologize for that. I’ve been planning to make colourblind-friendly versions of my maps for ages now – still not sure when I get there, but I want you to know that it’s just moved up on my todo-list. A lot further up.

Minnesota is quite crazy with all that blue, right? Some other US states that are equally mind-blowing: North Dakota, New Mexico, Colorado, Wyoming. You can check them all out here.

Yes, most of the Peruvian waters drain into the Atlantic Ocean. Here are the maps of Peru, if you want to take a closer look.

Asia is amazingly colourful with lots of endorheic basins in the middle areas: deserts, the Himalayas and the Caspian sea are to blame. Also note how the Indonesian islands of Java and Sumatra are divided.

I mentioned earlier that I also made white versions of all maps. Here’s Australia with its vast deserts. If you're wondering about the weird lines in the middle: that’s the Simpson desert with its famous parallel sand dunes.

North America with white background and colourful oceans looks pretty neat, I think.

Finally, I made the drainage basin maps of the individual oceans: The Atlantic, the Arctic, the Indian and the Pacific. The Arctic is my favourite one.

I really hope you like my new maps, and that they will become as popular as my river basin maps. Those have already helped dozens of environmental NGOs to illustrate their important messages all around the world. It would be nice if these maps too could find their purpose.

#maps reimagined #geography #cartography #maps #my art #rivers of the world #ocean drainage basins #ocean maps #river maps

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bexided · 1 year

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Animaniacs - Yakko’s World Reimagined - The Ultimate Updated Concept - Series Finale - (The Entire World)

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detroitography · 1 year

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Map: Reimagined Detroit Bus Routes Comparison 2023

Last week I shared that DDOT was creating a new map and entirely new bus routes for the city. DDOT Reimagined now has an excellent StoryMap that includes a map slider to compare existing and reimagined routes. The site contains feedback, draft proposals, bus route specific changes, and a place to provide your own feedback. Help DDOT Reimagine transportation in the city and submit your…

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#2023 #bus #bus route #City of Detroit #DDOT #DDOT Reimagined #Detroit #map #storymap #transit #transportation #Transportation Management and Design

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kamalamackerel · 1 year

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[La version FR suit] Heartfelt and warm thanks to everyone who has visited 𝑾𝒉𝒐 𝑺𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑸𝒖𝒆𝒆𝒓 𝑰𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑩𝒐𝒅𝒚? so far. The gallery tells me there were a few hundred of you. Thank you so much for the love of support ❤️💙💛💚 If you want to catch the exhibition, you have two more days: this Friday and Saturday. · · · Je tiens à remercier toutes les personnes qui ont visité 𝑾𝒉𝒐 𝑺𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑸𝒖𝒆𝒆𝒓 𝑰𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑩𝒐𝒅𝒚? à date. La galerie me dit que vous êtes quelques centaines. Merci beaucoup pour votre amour et votre soutien ❤️💙💛💚 Si vous voulez la voir, il ne vous reste plus que deux jours: ce vendredi et ce samedi. Photo: Guy L'Heureux #queering #island #body #islandbody #mauritius #queermauritius #transmauritius #ecology #art #relationship #relationality #reinvent #reimagine #poetry #performance #visualart #video #photography #decolonial #mapping #ritual #sound #installation #exhibition #textileart #mcclure #mtl #queerart #lamackerel #kamalamackerel (at Galerie McClure - McClure Gallery) https://www.instagram.com/p/CqLUpJ4s-on/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

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marrecarandgi · 2 years

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I caught The Quarries and now I can’t stop thinking about Teen Wolf s3 cast as the counselors AU. Not sure if it will be better if they’re all humans, or if it’s actually much funnier for Teen Wolf hot half naked hunks werewolves to witness the popping time…

#the quarry #teen wolf #and that’s after I already mapped out another whole ass reimagine

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myshunosun · 2 months

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The Art Room Redux

The Art Room Redux is the reimagined version of The Art Room, a set that I shared a few years ago. You get 10 brand new items for your art-loving pixel people.

You can read more about the items and check out the in-game preview below.

Download (always free on Patreon) / Follow and support me

Here’s what you get:

Canvas rack, 12 swatches

Easel (functional), 18 swatches

Cart, 12 swatches

Desk, 12 swatches

Stool, 12 swatches

Drafting table (decor), 12 swatches

Jar with brushes, 1 swatch

Palette, 3 swatches

Paint bottle, 12 swatches

Tiny lil baby easel (decor), 12 swatches

More info and credits:

Base game compatible

New meshes, all LODs

Custom specular and normal maps

Custom catalog thumbnails, tagged swatches

Swatches come from my personal palette and from peacemaker-ic’s color palettes

Simlish font used in textures: Simlish Lengiza by gazifu

Have fun! You can search for “art room" or “myshunosun” in the buy catalog to quickly find these items.

Follow and support me here: Tumblr / Twitter / Patreon / Instagram / Bluesky / PayPal

@maxismatchccworld @s4library @public-ccfinds @mmfinds @sssvitlanz

#the sims 4 #ts4 #s4cc #ts4cc #myshunosun #mycc #simblr #s4mm #eacreatornetwork #eapartner #ea pratner #ts4 mods #ts4 cc #the sims #ts4 buy #ts4 maxis match #ts4 maxis match cc

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florencemtrash · 5 days

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The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Twenty

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: Canon typical graphic depictions

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

You were running on coffee and willpower, and both were in short supply. You cradled what you promised would be your last cup in your hands, feeling your fried nerves inch closer to bursting into flames with every bitter sip.

Azriel had one arm looped protectively around your waist, propping you up against his side like an overworked bookend. You both sat huddled over the map you’d spent the last day and night laboring over until you could picture every stark line pressed behind shuttered eyelids like an afterimage. Until your cramped hands shook while clutching the mug like a vice.

Feyre, Rhys, Mor, Nesta, Lucien, and Cassian similarly hovered over the innocuous sheet of paper. Pale parchment glow flickering over expressions of intense thought.

You traced the outline of the lake, its form vaguely star shaped and pointing abstractly towards the north, south, east, and west.

“Here.” You tapped the northeast edge where a greyed out huddle of shapes formed the forest and a collection of scribbles marked the Death god’s home close to the waters. The lines swirled in your mind like a thousand snakes locked in battle, swallowing each other whole and getting eaten alive in an endless, vicious cycle.

Koschei’s portion of the continent lay flat and unassuming, seemingly vulnerable with the flatlands peering at his back with limitless entry points for enemies from the Continent. But the seductive ease of access through that region was a guise. Koschei was a death god, and a powerful one at that. Magic grew in and out of the soil there and what walked those woods had a strange habit of toeing the line between life and death.

The western corners swam in seas of grasslands, flat and open and unprotected save for the expanse of water a mile wide.

And the lake. The lake was the most curious thing of all. A black shape on paper, still and foreboding.

You knew from Andrian’s memories that enchanted swans flocked there — women layered with curses that kept them bound to the region in animal form — but nothing else. No creatures floundered in the salty dark. No animals came to drink from it as if they could sense the power that tainted it with decay.

“The boundaries of the Koschei’s power lie somewhere along here.” You pointed to the lazy line sketched down. “But I wouldn’t trust it. When Andrian was first sent off from the lake he crossed the plains towards one of the harbor towns on the coast and he felt that Koschei’s influence scaled with the distance away from the source of his power.”

“Any weak points? Places we could slip in unnoticed?” Feyre’s eyes scanned the page, reimagining your weak swirls of ink into something more layered. Something with more meaning that could only come about from the mind of an artist and a warrior.

You pointed to one of the star points and then to another toward the south. “Here and here. Don’t ask me how and don’t ask me why but these are the only two blind spots. Andrian used to sneak away from Koschei’s house to these two places.”

“To do what?” Cassian asked. He lumbered towards the back of the war room, easily peering over everyone’s shoulders to the flattened parchment and eyeing the wooden pieces strewn across the map, his own piece being tipped with a glistening red stone.

“To plan his escape.”

A hush fell over the room, thick and suffocating.

The boy had never succeeded.

Feyre’s lips flattened to a pale line, the air around her reverberating with heat as the temperature in the room rose — a drop of Autumn’s power magnified. She nodded to the second map, this one gathered from Azriel’s contacts on the Continent. Whereas your map had laid out Koschei’s land in detail, Azriel’s was suspiciously empty where the lake was concerned. The two fit together like puzzle pieces. “What’s the nearest harbor town?”

“Tournnes.” Azriel replied without needing to look down. You’d memorized one map, he’d memorized the other. “It’s a small fishing village located twenty-three miles to the southwest. Most of the inhabitants are men that come and go with the season and travel west from Slairn and Friesieg. It will be empty this time of year.” The fish would have gone south in search of warmer waters. Even here the Sidra had turned frigid, crusts of ice lapping up against grey sand shores.

Cassian shook his head, examining the map with a scowl. “There’s poor coverage getting from Tournnes to Koschei. And an abandoned town’s too obvious a place to hide any soldiers. It’d be better to come in from the east, through the woods.”

“Then we’d need to take the long way around Koschei’s territory.” Lucien argued back, “Our soldiers would need to trek through foreign lands for weeks and we’d lose any advantage Tarquin could give us by staying close to the coast.”

“You can’t trust those woods,” you gasped, your eyes flashing with fear that didn’t wholly belong to you.

Never enter those woods. Henna had once warned her Andrian. Never. Do you understand me?

Azriel tightened his hold on you, pressing his lips into your hair to brush against your ear. “Breathe, my love. Breathe.”

You hadn’t realized you’d stopped.

It was a heavy burden carrying the memories of others. Like a weight tied around your belly that hadn’t been properly woven into flesh. Something both part and apart from you. And you’d been feeling too many of Andrian’s memories in the past week since his death.

Silence flung itself over growing irritation and anxiety as everyone circled back to the same conclusion.

They wouldn’t be able to bring their armies abroad. And with limited numbers, brute strength would only go so far when forced to bring a fight to a foreign land against a foreign god. This would be decided by few. It would be as intimate as lovers. As ruthless as enemies.

“There’s still the other plan.” Nesta reminded them, glancing first at Feyre and you with the faintest of nods.

“I hate that plan, Nes.” Cassian gripped the back of her wing-backed chair and she reached up to take his hand in her own. She looked like a queen in her own right — harsh, pragmatic, unwavering. And he her mirror — a roguish knight, rough and wild and raw.

“I know. Unfortunately for you, it’s the best one we’ve got.”

“It’s the only one we’ve got.” Mor said with a sigh, rubbing her temples to alleviate the ache there. “We’re asking for a blood bath one way or the other.”

“Ione is still with us.” Rhys squeezed his cousin’s knee. “Without her, he can be killed.”

“But for how long, Rhys? How long until he finds someone else? Some other way?”

The question hung in the air like an ax ready to fall. An invisible clock ticking its way towards doom. Koschei had read the book’s contents. He had to know the secret to freeing himself was sheltered in Ione’s veins. So long as she was alive and breathing she was a threat as much as she was a tantalizing prize for him to tear his teeth into.

Feyre’s fingernails clicked on the glossy tabletop, eyes narrowed in on that splash of black on paper. Through the golden string tied to her lower ribs, she felt the tug of her mate’s silent agreement. Her eyes flickered upward for a brief moment, as if she could see through the layers of the House to the skies above. “For as long as we have Ione, we have the upper hand. But we can’t rely on it forever.” She looked at you, “ We go with the first plan. It will have to be enough.”

You shivered.

Four years ago, when the Day Court had first opened its borders to foreigners from other Courts, you’d encountered a male in the market. He’d been young and reckless and glamoured himself to live amongst the humans for six months. In that time, he’d learned their version of magic — the sleight of hand tricks and elaborate games of misdirection humans played on one another. Caped entertainers bedazzling crowds with obvious moves, while the real work happened just out of frame.

You thought of him now. You pictured him in the marketplace as he made a hand-painted playing card disappear from his hand into the fold of his suit jacket, only to reappear under an overturned teacup.

Yes.

It would have to be enough.

The crisp blade flashed in the dull light as you moved your feet back and forth in a practiced dance.

Left, left, right, duck, keep your wrist straight and slice up. Just like Azriel had instructed you. He stood off the narrow mat, hazel eyes tracing every slow movement of yours with a critical gaze.

“Practice makes permanence.” He’d reminded you earlier. “Get it right first, then we’ll worry about speed.”

Magic hovered over the House of Wind’s training gym, warping the air like a soap bubble as it shielded you from the frigid rain. Even so, the scent of petrichor and the cleanliness of frosted wind hung close to warn of the storm churning its way down from the north, carrying with it the promise of rainfall or the first true flakes of snow.

How poetic that winter should come with death chasing its heels while you were learning a dozen ways to kill a man.

“Here.” Azriel took your wrist in a loose grip, arching your arm and sticking the point of the knife into the training dummy’s jugular. Hay crinkled and burst out from the burlap covering instead of blood and you stepped away, locating the points in the liver, the lungs, the heart, the throat, under the arms, and more. Gruesome things made digestible by the motionless, fake body propped up on wooden poles.

You didn’t need to imagine what it would feel like for your blade to meet flesh.

Your arms ached. Hot, unfamiliar stretches of muscle trembling while slick with sweat. You could taste salt on your tongue as Azriel repeated himself.

“Be precise. Be quick if you can. Then run like hell.”

Incapacitation and speed. Those were the only two things you could rely on if things went south on the Continent.

Precise. Quick. Run.

“Emphasis on run,” You muttered beneath your breath. You adjusted your feet to match Azriel’s stance, feeling the strength of his muscles close to your body and imagining some of that power seeping into the ground for you to drink up.

The corner of his mouth twitched, then rose in a smile. “Exactly.” He stepped in, hands twisting your hips to be straight and then drifting up to your wrist. “Too much.” He corrected your bones with a feather-light touch. He wasn’t smiling anymore.

It should have been romantic. Him touching you like this with his front pressed against your back and his breath sliding over your skin as he taught you to wield a knife. Instead his insides churned relentlessly. Visions of you, blood-splattered and motionless on the ground, flashed through his mind. He’d be damned if he let that happen again.

You practiced on him next. Blunt, stone knife gripped in your hands as he moved in slow-motion. Azriel must have had everything custom made for you. The balance felt right in your hands, the movement as fluid as your awkward limbs could manage.

You clasped a hand around the back of his neck, dragging him forward as you swung up.

Where the head goes, the body will follow.

He didn’t so much as grunt as the stone wedged itself into his ribs.

You locked eyes with him and saw his pupils blown wide as a doe’s. “Good.” He murmured. “Again.”

On and on you went for hours, Azriel’s panic fueling the training he put you through, as if he could fit a hundred years of combat into a handful of hours.

You grunted when Azriel easily flipped you over onto your back, a scarred hand catching the nape of your neck so your head wouldn’t slam into the floor. The knife slipped out from your sweaty fingers, skittering away and disappearing beneath one of the weapons racks along the wall. You breathed heavily beneath him, feeling the grit of the ground and the sweat sliding into your hair and the leather brushing your chest with every breath he took.

In a real fight, Azriel would have killed you a thousand times over and he knew it. There was not a single moment where you could have saved yourself.

You saw the tell tale flicker in his eyes, the tensing of his jaw before he gritted his teeth and swore beneath his breath.

You felt shame seep into your stomach again. “Az—”

“I want you to take my memories,” he said. “Everything I’ve learned over 500 years.”

Metal whispered against leather as a tendril of shadow retrieved the knife and slid it into the thigh sheath Azriel had tied around your legs only hours ago. It felt strange to have such an unfamiliar weight against your thighs. To know that only leather kept the wicked blade from slicing you to the bone.

“We’ve been over this before, Azriel. I can take however many memories I want from you until I can picture every way to take down an enemy in my mind’s eye. But that doesn’t mean my body will obey or follow through correctly. Knowing things mentally isn’t the same thing as knowing things physically.”

Azriel huffed in frustration, dropping one hand to your waist like he often did and gripping the flesh there to ground him.

“If we had more time—”

“When this is over we’ll have more time.”

If I make it.

Because if there was anyone who would survive what was to come. It was Azriel. And you could find a great deal of comfort in that.

Azriel must have read your doubt because his eyes hardened and his hands came up to cup your jaw. “We will have more time. We’ll have time for everything, do you understand me?”

“Like what?”

“Whatever you want. We’ll travel the Courts. I’ll take you dancing and—”

“You’ll teach me a dozen new ways to kill someone?”

“Exactly.”

“Should I start keeping a tally?”

“If that would help, then yes.” He dipped his head down, kissing you firmly on the lips, the taste salty and warm to the touch. Kissing you came easy now. Touches were a comforting drug he craved daily.

“If things go wrong—” He whispered, flicking a strand of hair out of your eyes. “Promise me you’ll find me.”

You blinked up at him, tracing fragments of gold in his eyes.

“Find you,” you echoed, your voice tinged with sadness. “You’re not going to convince me to run?”

He laughed bitterly. “I know you too well, my love. You wouldn’t listen even if I did. If anything, it would make you want to stay and fight even more, just to prove me wrong.“ “Then is this some reverse psychology? You tell me the opposite of what you want, so I end up doing what you intended all along?”

“You’re thinking too deeply about this.” He slid his arms around the small of your back, dropping his weight until you were flush against him. Until you could feel his heart beating beneath his skin in time to yours. “Find me, so I can protect you. And so if anything happens, we won’t be alone. I want you to promise me.”

You caressed his cheek, the coarse bandages he’d wound around your wrists and knuckles scratching the skin of his jaw and the faint stubble that had grown there over sleepless nights. “I promise I’ll find you, Azriel. We’re better together anyways.”

He could never disagree with you. He lifted you back onto your feet, kissing your forehead. “Three more drills, then we’ll be done for the day.”

He made you run five. The bastard.

You’d dreamed of what might come. Nightmares filled with glassy-eyed children and skeletal forests where the dead roamed free. A black lake with stones of bleached bone to fill your lungs and choke the life out of you.

You wanted to make Azriel proud. You wanted to be the kind of warrior who could match him physically, not just mentally. The kind of female he’d never have to worry about protecting in that way. But violence had never been beaten into your bones and you could only hope that the skills you did possess would see you through to the end.

You and Azriel would make it. You’d all make it.

Some way.

Somehow.

Then there would be time for everything you had ever wanted and everything you’d never had the courage to ask for.

You woke up to a world shivering beneath a dusting of snow. Frost creeped up the windowsill, trying to slither inside before the House’s magic burned it away. A grey, ashen sky hung low over the mountains, mist blowing over and gathering in valleys until they were transformed into pools of smoke.

So this is it. You thought wearily, tasting the change in the air. Winter’s finally here to choke the world into submission.

You burrowed further under Azriel’s wings, chasing the heat that rolled off his skin. When you looked up at his eyes they were already trained on the weather, some similar tangle of thoughts running through his mind that had his grip around your waist tightening.

“The other death gods. Have you met any of them, Az?” You whispered your question into the hollow of his neck, feeling the blood rushing beneath your lips until he answered.

“I’ve met a fair few. The Bone Carver, Stryga, and Bryaxis joined our side in the final battle against Hybern and Nesta was equivalent in power when she first emerged from the Cauldron.”

“Nesta?” You asked questionably.

She was a collection of sharp edges wrapped in silk and cunning, but a death god?

Azriel smiled ever so slightly. “You didn’t know her then, but she was a terror to behold. You could feel her presence in a room like a knife in your back or a flame licking at your heels so hold it starts to freeze. Only Cassian was foolish and lovestruck enough to approach her at the time.”

You tried to imagine it — Cassian’s wild, borderline arrogant mannerisms going toe-to-toe against Nesta’s magnified sharp grace. “That sounds about right.”

“Feyre knows the most about the death gods. Has come face to face with the most. Rhys sent her into the Weaver’s cabin to retrieve her engagement ring — don’t give me that look, my love, I don’t understand it either — and she’s the one who convinced The Bone Carver and Bryaxis to fight for us.”

“Feyre has a penchant for endearing herself to monsters.”

Azriel smirked, pearly teeth flashing. “You have no idea.” Then he said something that stuck with you. “The Bone Carver was especially close to her.”

Anytime the Bone Carver — Thanatos — was mentioned, you could only think of Bethsevah. The one person who had ever looked upon his true face and never flinched.

“How so?”

Shadows swarmed around his ears, as much a sign of his thinking as it was a sign that whispers beyond your own understanding were reaching him.

“When Feyre met with the Bone Carver, he made a bargain that he’d only fight for her if she could descend into the Court of Nightmares and bring back an enchanted mirror without going mad. Feyre said she saw her true form when she looked into her reflection, and that it was only by accepting this form that she was able to keep the madness at bay. The Bone Carver was impressed with her and pledged his loyalty to her from then on.” Azriel shook his head, wings flaring out in another sign of his thinking. “It never made sense to me why a being like him would even make that bargain to begin with.”

“Even death gods can be surprised. We should consider ourselves lucky.”

“It wasn’t just that though. I was watching when he died. He… he turned his face up to the field at Feyre and he smiled at her. It felt like a bittersweet ending to a story I didn’t know. Like he was saying goodbye to more than just this world.”

You draped your arm over his chest, tracing the black ink swirling across his chest and over his shoulders like ocean waves. The Bone Carver was more myth than legend to the few fae that had known of his existence and you knew with each passing century his story would be steadily wiped from the earth like wind shaving down stone. His name would become a whisper. His story, and Beth’s, a tragedy for no one but the stars to weep to.

But you were still here, and your time with Bethsevah’s book had left you with no small amount of fondness for him. For now you would still be able to whisper his true name.

“Thanatos.” You said. “He loved this world and the people in it. He sacrificed his life for it. I think he had many things he wanted to say goodbye to.”

“To Thanatos then.” Azriel raised an invisible cup towards the ceiling of his bedroom, silk sheets sliding down his arms.

“To Thanatos,” you echoed.

You eventually went through the morning motions together —Azriel helped lace up the back of your dress, and you buttoned up his shirts, careful to avoid the fragile membrane of his wings as you stood at his back.

He tugged you away from the bedroom door at the last moment, your questioning eyes softening when he cradled your face in his hands and stole one last kiss in the privacy of your room, murmuring "Beautiful," against the crown of your freshly brushed hair.

"Do the others know you're such a hopeless romantic?" You asked, finally opening the door and breaking the spell of privacy.

Before Azriel could answer, Cassian blew past the room, shockingly quiet for his mountainous size. "Yes, we all know," he shouted before disappearing down the hall.

Ione stood proud and tall in front of the windows, grey eyes narrowed at the Sidra as it wound through the valley like a snake. Cassian slid into the space beside her and handed her her cane. She knew instinctively where the warrior stood and where his hand reached out towards her. She took the cane without the second glance. A golden lion’s head roared from atop its wooden post, Ione’s fingers resting squarely between its glistening teeth as she leaned experimentally on the new device. Cassian had ordered it custom for her and she knew that hidden within the sleeve of glistening redwood was an iron rod forged in enchanted flames that rendered it near unbreakable.

“Careful.” She reminded Cassian when she caught him staring for too long. “This body may be different, but I can still bring you to your knees.”

Cassian chuckled, “I don’t doubt that.”

She slammed the cane against the ground once. Twice. Testing its strength and finding it worthy. “Do you think it will happen soon?”

This waiting — it was beginning to grate on her nerves. This foreboding calm that threatened to fall away into chaos and bloodshed. She almost wished she were living three years into the future, when she was finally done healing from her wounds and the future had faded into the background of her life once more.

“If I could see into the future, I would not be here right now waiting.”

“And yet here we are.” Ione sighed, shoulders rising and falling elegantly beneath a wrinkled but slender neck.

Cassian would have said more had Feyre and Rhys not entered the room together, bruises layered beneath their eyes as they plastered on bright smiles for their family, tension visible through the cracks in their porcelain teeth.

The Inner Circle had assembled in their entirety at the request of their High Lord and High Lady. There was no holiday to be celebrated. No birthdays or anniversaries or special occasions. The fare that had been laid out on the table was simple and everyone filled their plates before spilling out across the sofas and the armchairs or carving out a space on one of Rhysand’s expensive hand-woven rugs. There would be no special meal around the new table devoid of scratches and watermarks and the passage of time and love. This was their family, and for their family it was the company that put finery to shame.

Elain was a flutter of movement in and out of the kitchen, shepherding pots of tea and fruit tarts before Lucien finally caught her around the waist and made her rest. The House was equally restless. The lights strung above the fireplace mantle flickered like lantern flies.

Mor sat with Emerie’s wings draped around her shoulders like a cape and Gwyn sat on the floor, hugging her knees close to her chest as she rested her head against the Illyrian female’s knee. To no one’s surprise, you and Azriel clung to the corner of the room, content to watch everyone’s laughter with your arm subtly looped around his.

He still hasn’t told her, I see. Emerie noted, watching your smile stretch into place when Azriel leaned close to whisper in your ear.

Does it matter? Mor teased, kissing Emerie’s nose reverently. The Illyrian’s cheeks turned warm. Emerie had not been granted the freedom to explore romance to the same degree as Mor, something she’d worried about when they first started their courtship. But if anyone asked the blonde, she’d tell them it drove her wild to see how such simple gestures could reduce the fearsome warrior to a puddle, even now. Mor tucked herself into Emerie’s side, throwing her long legs over the armrest. It’s probably a good thing. If they could speak to each other like this, we’d never hear from them again.

Emerie laughed into Mor’s golden hair.

Conversations rose and fell. Plates emptied and clicked as they were laid out on the coffee table.

It was a simple peace they welcomed with open arms.

They didn’t hear the faintest thud coming from above their heads.

You smiled when one of Azriel’s shadows wove themselves into your hair, tickling the sensitive skin behind your ear and along your neck.

“Sorry,” Azriel whispered, trying and failing to draw them back to him for the nth time that day. “I don’t know what’s gotten into them.” They’d been especially touchy as of late, nipping at your heels like a litter of puppies vying for attention or hiding in your pockets. It was a mixture of Azriel’s own feelings that spurred them on and their own desire to protect what they’d claimed as theirs.

“It’s alright, Azriel. I like having them around.”

They hummed amongst themselves, happy to see you so pleased. Sometimes, Azriel wondered if you’d be able to learn to listen to them as well. To tease apart that secret language he couldn’t begin to describe.

Maybe you were listening to them now without even realizing it.

Maybe that’s why you and Azriel were the only ones whose eyes snapped towards the hallway before the first creak of wood sounded throughout the House.

The shuffling of a new, unfamiliar set of feet down the stairs had the hair on the back of your neck rising and crackling with energy.

It wasn’t Jurian. It wasn’t loud enough to be Jurian. He so rarely descended from the attic that he made a habit of making his presence known, tired feet shuffling along the rugged staircase with measured drags.

You walked over to your brother and tugged on the back of his shirt. “Jurian—”

“That’s not Jurian.” Lucien said with bated breath. He was the third person in the room to hear the sound.

He’d checked on his friends less than a handful of hours ago. Jurian had been as he always was — weary but hopeful as one hand had clenched the bundle of morphine and the other had leaned against the food cart Lucien had carried up to the top floor.

And Vassa… Vassa had been uncharacteristically quiet, slouching against the wall of her gilded cage, raw skin and thin feathers trembling with her haggard breath as she slept.

“You should come down.” Lucien had said. “You deserve a break.”

But Jurian had only shook his head and flashed a tight smile. “As much as I would love to bless you with my presence, I won’t leave her like this. But one day, my friend, we’ll both walk down those steps together and have a proper celebration. I promise you.”

Vassa came down the steps.

Alone.

Naked.

Shivering.

You eyed the window where the mid-afternoon sun beat down on a frosted city.

It was the middle of the day… and Vassa was human.

You clutched Lucien’s arm, fingernails digging through his cotton shirt before he could take another step forward. Silence suffocated the room. There was something deeply wrong with the cursed queen. She trembled like a newborn fawn unceremoniously dumped into the world, her skin puckered and pock-marked from where she’d picked at old scabs and opened new wounds. The whole array hung from bones so thin they may as well have belonged to a bird.

“Vassa…” Lucien’s voice broke on her name.

A path of bloody feathers trailed behind her.

She grasped at strands of her fiery red hair and tugged. Hard. You focused all your energy on keeping the food in your stomach when strands fell through her bloody fingers and saliva rose in your mouth.

“I’m so sorry, Lucien. I can’t… It won’t stop.” Her voice, which had once been beautiful, grated your ears. “My skin. It feels like I’m crawling out of it.”

“Vassa.” Lucien held out his hands, showing her they were empty. “Where’s Jurian?” He would come down. He would help her in ways only he was capable of.

“I don’t… I don’t know…”

“Where’s Jurian?”

At the second mention of her lover’s name, Vassa broke down crying. Fat, ugly tears streaking down tan cheeks that had turned sallow and grey. She wiped them away, fingers dripping. There was a deep, unyielding hunger evident in every stutter of her body as her eyes raked across the room. You flinched when those milky, teal eyes passed over you… and landed on Ione.

Elderly, painfully human, Ione.

Vassa’s left eye twitched and Azriel had only enough time to tackle you to the ground and cover your body with his own before the mortal queen burst into flames.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

______________

Author's Note:

^^ Visual depiction of how I've felt the last week like what in the world? I'm getting enough sleep I swear but every morning I feel like I'm dragging a two ton boulder behind me until I get a sip of that bitter goodness. Ugh. Hope y'all are resting better than I am.

Anyways, I know it's been a while since I posted, but the chapter is here! Whoop! And I hope you enjoyed :) As always, feedback is appreciated and welcome if you have burning things you need to get off your chest (doesn't even have to be SSIB-related honestly my inbox is there).

#the shadowsinger and the inkbird #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader slowburn #azriel x reader angst

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fatehbaz · 9 days

Text

Just in case, some might enjoy. Had to organize some notes.

These are just some of the newer texts that had been promoted in the past few years at the online home of the American Association of Geographers. At: [https://www.aag.org/new-books-for-geographers/]

Tried to narrow down selections to focus on critical/radical geography; Indigenous, Black, anticolonial, oceanic/archipelagic, carceral, abolition, Latin American geographies; futures and place-making; colonial and imperial imaginaries; emotional ecologies and environmental perception; confinement, escape, mobility; housing/homelessness; literary and musical ecologies.

---

New stuff, early 2024:

A Caribbean Poetics of Spirit (Hannah Regis, University of the West Indies Press, 2024)

Constructing Worlds Otherwise: Societies in Movement and Anticolonial Paths in Latin America (Raúl Zibechi and translator George Ygarza Quispe, AK Press, 2024)

Fluid Geographies: Water, Science, and Settler Colonialism in New Mexico (K. Maria D. Lane, University of Chicago Press, 2024)

Hydrofeminist Thinking With Oceans: Political and Scholarly Possibilities (Tarara Shefer, Vivienne Bozalek, and Nike Romano, Routledge, 2024)

Making the Literary-Geographical World of Sherlock Holmes: The Game Is Afoot (David McLaughlin, University of Chicago Press, 2025)

Mapping Middle-earth: Environmental and Political Narratives in J. R. R. Tolkien’s Cartographies (Anahit Behrooz, Bloomsbury Publishing, 2024)

Midlife Geographies: Changing Lifecourses across Generations, Spaces and Time (Aija Lulle, Bristol University Press, 2024)

Society Despite the State: Reimagining Geographies of Order (Anthony Ince and Geronimo Barrera de la Torre, Pluto Press, 2024)

---

New stuff, 2023:

The Black Geographic: Praxis, Resistance, Futurity (Camilla Hawthorne and Jovan Scott Lewis, Duke University Press, 2023)

Activist Feminist Geographies (Edited by Kate Boyer, Latoya Eaves and Jennifer Fluri, Bristol University Press, 2023)

The Silences of Dispossession: Agrarian Change and Indigenous Politics in Argentina (Mercedes Biocca, Pluto Press, 2023)

The Sovereign Trickster: Death and Laughter in the Age of Dueterte (Vicente L. Rafael, Duke University Press, 2022)

Ottoman Passports: Security and Geographic Mobility, 1876-1908 (İlkay Yılmaz, Syracuse University Press, 2023)

The Practice of Collective Escape (Helen Traill, Bristol University Press, 2023)

Maps of Sorrow: Migration and Music in the Construction of Precolonial AfroAsia (Sumangala Damodaran and Ari Sitas, Columbia University Press, 2023)

---

New stuff, late 2022:

B.H. Roberts, Moral Geography, and the Making of a Modern Racist (Clyde R. Forsberg, Jr.and Phillip Gordon Mackintosh, Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2022)

Environing Empire: Nature, Infrastructure and the Making of German Southwest Africa (Martin Kalb, Berghahn Books, 2022)

Sentient Ecologies: Xenophobic Imaginaries of Landscape (Edited by Alexandra Coțofană and Hikmet Kuran, Berghahn Books 2022)

Colonial Geography: Race and Space in German East Africa, 1884–1905 (Matthew Unangst, University of Toronto Press, 2022)

The Geographies of African American Short Fiction (Kenton Rambsy, University of Mississippi Press, 2022)

Knowing Manchuria: Environments, the Senses, and Natural Knowledge on an Asian Borderland (Ruth Rogaski, University of Chicago Press, 2022)

Punishing Places: The Geography of Mass Imprisonment (Jessica T. Simes, University of California Press, 2021)

---

New stuff, early 2022:

Belly of the Beast: The Politics of Anti-fatness as Anti-Blackness (Da’Shaun Harrison, 2021)

Coercive Geographies: Historicizing Mobility, Labor and Confinement (Edited by Johan Heinsen, Martin Bak Jørgensen, and Martin Ottovay Jørgensen, Haymarket Books, 2021)

Confederate Exodus: Social and Environmental Forces in the Migration of U.S. Southerners to Brazil (Alan Marcus, University of Nebraska Press, 2021)

Decolonial Feminisms, Power and Place (Palgrave, 2021)

Krakow: An Ecobiography (Edited by Adam Izdebski & Rafał Szmytka, University of Pittsburgh Press, 2021)

Open Hand, Closed Fist: Practices of Undocumented Organizing in a Hostile State (Kathryn Abrams, University of California Press, 2022)

Unsettling Utopia: The Making and Unmaking of French India (Jessica Namakkal, 2021)

---

New stuff, 2020 and 2021:

Mapping the Amazon: Literary Geography after the Rubber Boom (Amanda Smith, Liverpool University Press, 2021)

Geopolitics, Culture, and the Scientific Imaginary in Latin America (Edited by María del Pilar Blanco and Joanna Page, 2020)

Reconstructing public housing: Liverpool’s hidden history of collective alternatives (Matt Thompson, University of Liverpool Press, 2020)

The (Un)governable City: Productive Failure in the Making of Colonial Delhi, 1858–1911 (Raghav Kishore, 2020)

Multispecies Households in the Saian Mountains: Ecology at the Russia-Mongolia Border (Edited by Alex Oehler and Anna Varfolomeeva, 2020)

Urban Mountain Beings: History, Indigeneity, and Geographies of Time in Quito, Ecuador (Kathleen S. Fine-Dare, 2019)

City of Refuge: Slavery and Petit Marronage in the Great Dismal Swamp, 1763-1856 (Marcus P. Nevius, University of Georgia Press, 2020)

#abolition #ecology

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grasshoppergeography · 1 year

Text

River basin map of the Horn of Africa. Colours represent different catchment areas.

Read more and buy prints here. Ko-fi | RedBubble | Etsy (digital prints)

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sir-subpar · 10 months

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Hungry Bird Chase (1?)

(My Reimagined Banban x Gender Neutral player/reader)

Below the cut:

Rating: Teen for injury descriptions.

Summary: your first time witnessing your companion's dangerous appetite.

(*Note: this is written based on my reimagined versions of these characters. So there's going to be some story divergence. Gender Neutral reader w/ they/them pronouns used to make my life easier. I might do a part 2*)

…

BanBan had been an… odd companion to have. Though you appreciated the help he gave through this ungodly maze-like building, there was still this odd air around him.

He seemed to be desperate to help you, but at the same time avoiding you. Keeping a level of distance from you.

At first, you did the same, so it didn't seem all that odd. He was probably scared like you were, unsure of your next move. On guard.

But, as you started letting your walls down, he didn't appear to do the same, at least, not much.

It felt like he was just starting to open up to you, then that jellyfish had to ruin it. BanBan had been captured, and you struggled to find him.

You'd think a giant one-eyed orange jellyfish holding a tall red monster would be easy to spot, but thanks to all the bottomless pits everywhere, you lost them rather quickly.

In that time, you managed to tame Opila Bird, riding on her back through the facility.

You wouldn't deny that you were proud of your accomplishment. Part of you wished you could show off your amazing feat to Banban. But you obviously had to find him first.

So, riding on the back of a tall pink bird, you search for him.

For a while.

A long while.

You swore you had been in some of these rooms before, but it was difficult to keep track without a map.

After another hellish hallway leading to a balcony above the abyss, Opila stopped, Tarta Bird standing next to the both of you with a baby bird on their back.

Both birds froze, staring into the darkness.

You were tempted to ask them why, but your words caught on your tongue upon hearing a familiar ominous voice.

"Bird riding is a new one, I'll give you that."

Stinger Flynn.

He proceeded to monologue in front of you, you grew more agitated and disinterested as he spoke, until he said something particularly odd.

"I got what I needed, and you gave up your chance of freedom, but… I don't have time to deal with you, so.."

One of his retractable stingers emerged from one of his tube-like arms.

It swiftly moved towards you before you could react! You were certain it was going to pierce through your body!

You only had time to raise your arms and guard your face!

But it dashed past you, only leaving a big, but non lethal gash on your hand.

It hurt, but compared to what you are expecting it didn't seem like much. They didn't even appear to be anything too bad, though it might require stitches.

You didn't have time to process it, however.

One of Stinger Flynn's other arms revealed BanBan, the tendril coiled around him, before rapidly throwing him.

You gasped as Banban's body harshly collided with the wall behind you. You could hear the force of the impact knock the air out of him, leaving him winded and limp on the floor.

Before the jellyfish descended into the darkness, his parting words were "I'll let him deal with you."

Then, he was gone.

You hopped off of Opila, panicking as you ran to check on BanBan.

"Banban!" You yelled, sitting on your knees as you shook his face-down body.

He groaned, propping himself up on his hands, and soon his knees as well.

He shakily met your gaze, his left eye, which already tended to have a Shiner anyway, was someone shot as the entire area around it was bruised far worse. The bruises spread to his chicken forehead.

He must have hit the wall pretty hard. His faded red color was interrupted by dark purples.

You gently grazed your finger over the bruised, now purple, skin. Apologizing when he flinched away and whined.

His good eye drifted you your injured hand, and his demeanor went from small and injured to frantic and concerned in a snap.

"Oh my- what happened to your hand!?"

His larger, red hands held your bleeding one. The crimson fluid trickled between your fingers.

BanBan stood up, quickly lifting you up with him. Because of how shy and gentle he acted, you often forgot how strong he really was sometimes.

"We need to find you a first aid kit! Oh I'm sure we had one around here on this floor somewhere!"

"Hey hey! It's okay, I have bandages." To prove your claim, you pulled a roll of gauze from your bag, wrapping your hand up swiftly.

He seemed relieved, flashing you his signature sweet smile, purple forked tongue sticking out and all.

But as quickly as the smile came, it was gone. His face warped from reluctantly relieved to panicked once more.

He slapped his hand over his mouth and stumbled back from you.

Oh, right. You forgot he could smell with his tongue like a snake. Seems like a big reaction, but maybe he was squeamish around blood or something?

He turned his back to you, hunched over, his free hand clutching his stomach.

"Oh, BanBan, I'm fine. It's not that bad." You attempted to sooth him.

Just then you heard his stomach growl, loudly. It actually startled you.

And the way he seemed to double over, clutching the fabric of his jacket harder as he put more pressure on the noisy organ, attempting to silence it.

You could hear him murmuring panicked words to himself, but you couldn't make out what he was saying.

He looked ill..

"Woah, Banban? You alright there bud? Do you uh… have a stomach ache or something?" You awkwardly reached out to him, rest your hand on his back for only a second before he flinched away from you.

His stomach let out another loud growl.

He murmured again, his voice strained, but this time, you heard it.

"Please… r...un..!"

Your eyes widened and you jumped back in fear as he let out a beastly snarl.

You wasted no time running towards Opila and Tarta. Leaping onto Opila's back, you rode away as fast as possible down yet another unfamiliar corridor.

Playing a strange Bird racing game where you had to take turns being first place, all while you were being chased by who you assumed to be your friend, made your heart pound in your chest.

You could hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears as a shot of adrenaline took over you.

You looked back, though you really wish you hadn't. BanBan's open eye was wide open, his pupil pinprick small, nearly invisible. And he had sharp teeth that you had never seen before.

Did he always have those intimidating claws??

You tried using your hand to close the green doors as you moved, hoping to buy yourself more time. It only worked a little bit, as Banban stopped to pry each of the doors open or slam his body through them.

As you slammed more doors behind you though, you gained a bit more distance ahead of him.

Your victory was short-lived however, when you reached the end of the hallway. A dead end other than the stairs before you that lead to God knows where.

Banban burst through the last door, the metal creaking and warping as he dented and broke it.

His breathing was heavy as his eye locked onto you. Any recognition of you was gone.

Even though he mostly looked the same, his demeanor was practically unrecognizable to you, as he salivated at the sight of you.

Strands of saliva dribbled down his face, his deadly fangs on full display as he stalked towards you and Opila.

You rode Opila up the stairs, following Tarta bird. Both Birds halted at the top of the flight of stairs though, as the ground shook underneath you.

A familiar, monstrous growl rang from the darkness ahead of you, as heavy footsteps emerged.

Green was the first thing you saw.

You got extra scared when you saw BanBan turn towards it.

Jumbo Josh.

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detroitography · 1 year

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Map: Current Detroit Transit Weekly Ridership

This map is part of the DDOT Reimagined effort to create an all new transit map for the city that better serves the city. Ridership remains high on the city’s major commercial corridors and most heavy along Woodward. Hopefully we will see a significant investment in transit that modernizes and makes DDOT the reliable and frequent service that Detroiters deserve.

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#2023 #bus #DDOT #DDOT Reimagined #Detroit #geography #map #Tran sportation #transit

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kamalamackerel · 1 year

Photo

[La version FR suit] Reminder that you have 10 more days to catch my solo multimedia exhibition 𝑾𝒉𝒐 𝑺𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑸𝒖𝒆𝒆𝒓 𝑰𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑩𝒐𝒅𝒚? at the McClure Gallery, @centre_des_arts_visuels Combining photography, video, textile installations, multilingual poetry and audio compositions, this exhibition showcases my latest research, developed over the past 5 years, putting forward an expression of island sovereignty framed through decolonial mappings of the queer body. Gratitude to the @canada.council for funding this project. · · · Petit rappel que vous avez encore 10 jours pour voir mon exposition multimedia 𝑾𝒉𝒐 𝑺𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑸𝒖𝒆𝒆𝒓 𝑰𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑩𝒐𝒅𝒚? à la Galerie McClure, Centre des Arts Visuels. Entremêlant de la photographie, des installations vidéo, de l'art textile, de la poésie multilingue et des univers sonores, cette expo présente mes recherches, développées au cours des 5 dernières années, mettant de l'avant une expression de la souveraineté des îles articulée à travers une cartographie décoloniale du corps queer. Gratitude au @conseilartscan d’avoir financé ce projet. Photo: @ashvin.ramdin #queering #island #body #islandbody #mauritius #queermauritius #transmauritius #ecology #art #exhibit #relationality #reinvent #reimagine #poetry #performance #visualart #video #photography #decolonial #mapping #ritual #sound #installation #exhibition #textileart #mcclure #mtl #queerart #lamackerel #kamalamackerel (at Galerie McClure - McClure Gallery) https://www.instagram.com/p/Cpz6mMur6Hy/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

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