#Changing Strata Managers

[wellmanstrata]

Strata management services are a set of professional services that are designed to help the owners of strata-titled properties, such as apartments or townhouses, manage and maintain their properties. These services may include managing finances, maintaining the building and common areas, enforcing bylaws, and communicating with residents.

In Sydney and Newcastle, there are several companies that provide strata management services. These companies, also known as strata managers, are responsible for handling the day-to-day operations of strata-titled properties and ensuring that they run smoothly and efficiently. We may also provide additional services such as arranging repairs, providing insurance, conducting strata meetings and much more. These companies have a good knowledge of the laws and regulations of New South Wales, the state where Sydney and Newcastle are located.

Some examples of strata management companies that operate in Sydney and Newcastle include Wellman Strata, Strata Choice, Strata Data, Strata Community Australia and many more.

[charlesandmartine]

Sunday 3rd November 2024

Anticipating the early alarm clock disturbance, I rose even earlier. We had to get across town to get to the Nitmiluk Gorge boat jetty for the first tour of the day. It used to be called Katherine Gorge, but these days, the correct term is in the language of the original owners of the land, the Jawoyn people. When John Stuart first came across Katherine, he named it after the wife of his sponsor, James Chambers. Well, that was fine for 150 years or so, but in 1978, the Jawoyn peoples declared they wanted their land back, please. In 1989 it was returned to them, but the Gorge was leased back to the government.

The Gorge is, in effect, a collection of 13 pools, connected and partially navigable in the wet season. Navigable by salty crocodiles, that is, mainly from what I gather coming from the Timor Sea. Were it not for a series of rockfalls, water levels would not build up sufficiently for boat travel. The most westerly pool is some 230m higher than sea level at the river end. Our tour today took us along two adjacent pools and necessitated changing boats from one pool to the next stopping to admire some very high up cave paintings. The waterways cut deep into the sandstone rock, which from the air would look like a crack. The steep craggy sides cut with caves inhabited by Fairy Martins stood vertical, impressive; now dry before levels once again rise some 30 feet during the wet. As we weaved around bends in the pools, we could not fail to be in awe of the stunning architecture of these rocks, the reds and browns of strata. Little by way of birdlife visible as most had moved north to where we had come from in Yellow Water. We did see the Fairy Martins, a white heron and osprey. There would be freshy crocodiles in the water, but with temperatures as they were, the crocs would stay out of sight. Freshy crocs are OK, being smaller and not tending to eat anything bigger than them. Nasty nip though I guess if you upset them. The saltwater crocs go back to sea when levels fall. Any stragglers get moved on.

Great trip, lasting 2 hours. A path to one side of the jetty took us on a climb to a lookout point high above the Gorge. From there, once again, we seemed to be able to see forever! It really cannot be emphasised enough, this is a big country with space for a landscape that stretches for miles. There is no pylon, or building or aerial or anything in the distance. Just more of what is in front of you.

Having had our fill of views we started to make our way down the succession of stairways. Now we didn't really take delivery of our allocated fly, probably till we left Darwin. So it was that halfway down these very nice open stairways that finding in the heat my fly particularly irritating on the side of my face, I gave it a flick. Unfortunately, as I did so, the degree of force applied did not take into account the installation of my sunglasses sharing a similar position on my face. The outcome being that my Ray Bans flew off at a trajectory more usually associated with a cruise missile. Were I to have been in less precarious circumstances, this might have been more manageable with an outcome less severe. As it was, before the glasses had reached the end of their short but extreme flight and onto scree some few feet below the staircase, I had already finalised a costing for their replacement! However, cost of replacement is the mother of invention, so methods of retrieval needed to be considered. Sending Martine down on a stick was possible but undesirable, so a succession of sticks poking at arms length eventually retrieved the said miscreants. I think I should have won a goldfish!

Temperatures now in the forties, we headed back home. On route, though, we couldn't resist a stop at a cemetery to have a look at previous fellow travellers in life. It turned out to be a relatively modern cemetery with no graves much older than 1935 but more commonly 30 or so years old. I was particularly struck and concerned with one plot where there was sound coming from it! Not so much muffled screams of Help! more a kind of hum. It's amazing what technology can do, it just begs the question, why?

A brief stop at the BottleO for replenishment of SB and we made for home at last. To buy the wine, we had to show ID to a very large imposing tattooed policeman at the entrance to the drive-through offie and also at the counter. So now we are on our decking, sipping SB and gazing out across the meadows, watching the cattle settle themselves for the night and the sun now low in the evening sky. The farm dogs are in their pens, and I am planning the evening meal. Because it is a cool 37 degrees at 18.30, I am cooking a vindaloo with the remaining rubbery chicken. That should warm us up, I feel.

[tressashaw]

hc + death

Death haunts Tressa's entire life. Her father was murdered in front of her by a Vampire and a Witch. Her mother drank herself into oblivion and never managed to beat the demons in her head about having a dead husband and a transgender child. Even the relative safety and care she found at her grandmother's house was short-lived, with Tressa only enjoying a relatively short six or so years of her grandmother's company before age took her away. No wonder then, that the morbid fascination with death was instilled in her from a young age. It started innocuously enough; an enthusiasm for anatomy spurred on by the changes brought about from a desire to fix the body nature fucked up led her to anatomy and biology, fascinating subjects in their own right, but in a desperate effort to ditch and demystify the horror surrounding the subject of mortality, Tressa dug deeper and deeper. Originally, she wanted to run a mortuary - a funeral home. This because, owing to her own experiences, she wanted to help gently usher people into the conversation surrounding mortality and loss, to help guide people in what were certainly their most trying moments. This led to funeral school, but about halfway through, capitalism strikes, and she became increasingly jaded with the money hungry nature of the American Funerary Industry, a cut-throat, increasingly corrupt institution. And so, she dropped those dreams and pivoted before it was too late into something a bit more clinical, a bit more interesting; forensic pathology. Like all aspects of life, how it ends tells a fascinating story that runs down through every strata and vector of observation, from the painfully obvious to the infinitesimally small, biological details. There is so, so much we can tell eachother, even after we're gone. In this way, Tressa doesn't fear death - either the inevitable looming specter of her own or the haunting shade of a friend's or loved one's, or the often macabre tales told by the remains of strangers who are wheeled across her suite in the Leiry County Medical Examiner's office. Death is, to her, an inevitable piece of life's equation.

[script-a-world]

Submitted via Google Form:

I want to build a world where the air is very toxic and all the population lives underground in shelters and if they're on the surface, they require lots of gear. I'm running into the issue of how toxic, how long this has been going on, how people even adapt (both technogically and physically). Especially the adaption part. Because this cannot be people who naturally evolved in such an environment when they lacked tech to survive it, and well, even with tech, there are still going to be random biological adaptions after quite a long time. I've been toying with the idea of between 3-5 thousand years but... Also if it HAD been that long, what might prevent them from eliminating the toxic air or something if it had so long.

Tex: Earth’s current air is already heavily toxic from manufacturing processes and other sources, to debilitating effects on one’s health (Wikipedia). Human DNA, at minimum, has already been altered by this (Google Scholar), and politics is a changing variable historically. One of the main issues in building a world with heavy pollution is that pollution doesn’t stay in one place, or one biome. Air pollution becomes water pollution, becomes soil pollution, and can become folded into geological strata over time, leaching pollutants to be literally unearthed in the future. Simply living underground is not necessarily going to stop this, particularly over the time span of thousands of years - materials break down, and need repair, which requires a manufacturing industry to create materials for such repairs. Survival, in this instance, becomes a sliding scale of definition  - the parameters for healthy will look different, and genetic-induced illnesses will culminate from environmentally-induced illnesses, so even if the environment is completely cleaned, the remnants of its effects will last for many generations.

Utuabzu: Tex is right, pollution has a rather nasty habit of traveling. But if you want the surface uninhabitable, you do have quite a few options. Nuclear winter, massive nasty pollution, supervolcanic eruption, planet kicked out of its orbit and surviving only on internal heat as a rogue planet, another planet already hostile to human life. Others I'm not really able to think of right now. But 3-5 thousand years is definitely not enough time for humans to meaningfully evolve any serious adaptations, especially not with the level of technology that would be required to survive at all. The best you'd manage is maybe people getting a bit paler and a bit smaller from living in light-poor and cramped conditions, and some dietary adaptations. Even that's debatable given that a culture technologically advanced enough to build these shelters is also going to be advanced enough to supplement vitamin d and ensure proper nutrition.

Rogue Planet is, to me, probably the most interesting option and the one that will be totally unfixable. The others would resolve themselves over time - the high atmospheric debris from a nuclear war or supervolcano would fall back to Earth (or whatever planet this is) within a few years, and both radioactive materials and most toxins do break down over time. You can't just wait out the cold of interstellar space. The planet's surface would cool continuously, and after a few decades would become so cold that the atmosphere precipitates out and forms a layer of liquid nitrogen, oxygen and carbon dioxide. Then, it gets even colder and this freezes into a shell of N2-O2-CO2 ice. But, internal heat, from the planet's molten core and supplemented by tidal heating from any large satellites, could allow for subterranean habitats to be viable for millions of years. But you could never go to the surface without a full spacesuit.

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Hiii!! For the ask game, 22 and 29 :]]

22. What is your most prized possession? A porcelain figure of two doves intertwined. I was at an auction with my grandfather when I was very little and it was up for sale. I was a small child, barely old enough to talk. But I wanted those doves. He bid and bid and managed to get it for me. I had no use for it but I treasured it. Still do. He passed away a long time ago. I used to visit his grave and tell him about my life and how I hoped that I was making him proud despite the disaster I have continued to be. I always thought of the doves. Carefree and flying together. It is more valuable to me than any other thing I have.

29. Favorite song lyrics right now? I have been in love with the same lyric for years. I don’t see it changing anytime soon.

Never There (She Stabs) by Strata

“I am patiently waiting here to see which of us survives when all of this collides with reality”

[maxfaiden]

WIP... The Vaux Villages, colloquially known as Vaux Street. The floor plan is the same for both villages. I love this build so much. It will not be fully furnished because it's already a beast as it is right now. There are two sub levels and three above ground levels. Nine residential and four community units in each village.

It's the origin of the Vaux Street Allstars, but also features in Keystone and We Got Us, so you'll get to see many of the different parts of this behemoth as the stories go.

[lore under the cut]

The Vaux Villages are the result of a social experiment that was developed by The Venango Group in the late 1910s and was implemented in the mid 1920s. The goal was to observe how citizens of various socioeconomic strata and racial/cultural/religious backgrounds interacted with each other when there were no land-forms, bodies of water, or man-made structures to demarcate class, caste, or cash.

The experiment officially lasted 53 years, about two generations. Initially, the county was behind it, but as times and leadership changed, The Venango Group were afforded less and less privileges and encountered more and more ordinances that restricted what they were allowed to do.

It all started in the late 1950s, when the permit approvals for the 3rd and 4th villages were delayed again and again. Then it was one thing after another. The final straw was a zoning ordinance that was put on the books in the mid 1970s that prohibited non-educational research in that area. As the group was not affiliated with a scholastic institution, they would be in violation of the ordinance if they continued.

The one saving grace for the families that lived there and the community they nurtured was that the edifices and the land they were built upon were part of an irrevocable, ironclad trust, so try as they might, the county could not reduce the villages to rubble and the lives of those who dwelt within along with them.

These days, The Venango Group still manages the property, and rather than by selection, residency is inherited or gifted. In cases where the resident does not declare the recipient before departure, succession laws are followed or recommendations are voted on by the community.

[chansaw]

what is the rottweilers au.......

well it goes like this:

the team members on the westerburg high rottweilers represent a diverse variety of social strata in the food chain. they can put their political factions aside on the pitch to operate as a terrifyingly effective unit, but outside of sports, each girl sticks to their own clique. and it works - they’re undefeated state champs. but you know how this goes. this isn’t about soccer. they never make it to seattle.

heather chandler learns that being an apex predator at westerburg doesn’t make her an apex predator in the wilderness. she’s only captain because her dad bribed coach ripper, but there’s no use for blackmail or acidic insults in the middle of these woods. the rest of the team adapts: heather duke takes to the rifle like a duck to water. veronica doesn’t flinch when she has to draw the hunting knife across the dead deer’s throat. betty finn’s sash of girl scout badges becomes more than just decoration, and martha is apparently the second coming of florence nightingale. don’t even get her started on whatever heather mcnamara���s deal is. she’s nothing like the funny, light-hearted girl she was before. apparently she sees the future now.

but none of that really matters. what matters most to heather is the fact that veronica managed to steal jason, her latest piece of arm candy, without her even noticing. if it weren’t for the baby, that secret affair might have stayed secret forever. and yeah, she knows she never really loved jason - “if you really knew him, you’d know he prefers to go by j.d.,” veronica spits - but it’s about the principle of the thing. no one steals heather chandler’s things.

well, you know how this one goes. no happily ever after here.

25 years later: heather duke is running for mayor. heather mcnamara vanished off the face of the earth after her dad sent her to a nice farm upstate. betty works as a nurse in the ICU, and veronica sawyer is just trying to keep her head above water.

again, the au doesn’t follow the plot of yellowjackets beat by beat. of course it’s the same circumstances but the characters are way different than the YJs, so things change. but people still get eaten. narratives still get haunted. and jason dean is a much more competent blackmailer than jeff sadecki.

[jakey-beefed-it]

Playing Stellaris, slowly beating back the Awakened Empire in the last sixty years of the Game From Hell...

Ok so some context. I started off surrounded by slaving despots, despotic imperialists, etc. Beyond them were a machine intelligence bent on eradicating all life, a fanatical purifier xenocidal empire and TWO (fucking two!!!) devouring swarm empires bent on eating all life

I straight up abandoned one of my starting ethics (xenophilia) to embrace militarism, because I needed the bonuses to ship construction and fire rates and army damage. This changed my government from a Representative Democracy to a Military Commissariat, however. Which is. Not great. I mean we still have elections as often as other democracies, it’s just that our executive is necessarily from the military, serving first as Commander-in-Chief and-

Oh. Right. Well, unlike America, at least we’re a proper democracy, hell-bent on equality between species and across social strata (Actually social ‘stratum’ as everyone has the same ‘utopian abundance’ quality of life) because of our Fanatical Egalitarianism ethic.

Anyway.

On top of the Galaxy of Assholes, there have also been THREE crises, which is a first for me. First there was a Great Khan uniting a marauder empire, but since she was mostly hellbent on wiping out one of the devouring swarms I kinda... let her do her thing until she got ‘em and *then* I broke her fleets before going home. Then we were invaded by an extragalactic devouring swarm, which I scrambled to stop and managed to halt before it got too many of my one halfway decent neighbor’s systems. I thought I was in the clear, but no! The fallen empire suddenly awakens and starts conquering things... but I can’t do anything about that yet because at the same time, an extradimensional swarm of life-devouring energy beings shows up and I spend the next twenty years trying to stop that problem from escalating.

Finally, finally, I get that sorted out, but my fleets are in bad shape so I spend ten years or so on full wartime production despite it being “”““““peacetime”“““““ in that the awakened empire hasn’t picked a fight with specifically me... yet

Once my twenty fleets are built up, along with six Space Marine Legions massive armies of genetically augmented troops, I finally am in a decent position to declare war on the awakened empire, which by now has already taken over a full third of the galaxy.

I have fought tooth and nail to build a productive little empire where any species can come and thrive, and given how the galaxy keeps getting overrun by assholes, a lot of them have come to me as refugees. So even though the bulk of my population (like 50%) is human, the other half is a solid mix of like two dozen other species. One of whom are just straight up orcs, albeit cool honorable warrior klingon style orcs rather than marauding tolkien orcs or lol marauding warhammer orks

This hasn’t really come up beyond some of my admirals being orcs or space elves or mollusks or bird people or whatever

Until now, when my new leader was elected and her name was... Taradak? That’s not a human name-

Fuck yeah! What a badass! All hail Commissary-General Taradak! May she lead us to victory over the goddamned ancient precursors in time to actually win the goddamn game when the timer runs out in 2500

[thelightningthatjumpsbetween]

Chapter Four

RE8 | Wintersberg | Romance, Slow Burn | Action, Sci-Fi

Sequel of Winters and the Beast, a Resident Evil: Village Story

Table Of Contents

Karl barely recovered from the mental imagery that flooded his mind, as he yanked backward on a suddenly-heavy object.  Eva could find and harness whatever one would call beings like Ethan when they were lost inside the mold’s strata.  His magnetic field amplified the strength of her powers, but the credit all went to her.  They’d caught a Winters.   

Ethan needed a goddamn leash and collar, but this combined-effort wrangling would have to do for now.  Upon touching the familiar neck, wrapping his arm quickly around it as it appeared and jerking backward with his entire force, including the magnetic field, Heisenberg’s mind was flooded with…a something.  It was more than a memory or a visual, because he could actually smell, hear, sense …things.  

Ethan, in bed with Miranda. 

The field dropped abruptly.  

When the blond found his footing, Karl managed-as he always did-to change gears quickly and aggressively, ranting to the man about his recklessness, going into the mold strata without Eva.  There was a hidden insult there; Karl felt as though Ethan trusted Eva more than he trusted Heisenberg to be alone with Rosemary.  They had already argued over this, Ethan’s defense that he simply wanted to learn independently, but it didn’t help the feelings of rejection. 

Karl was still yelling when the pair turned away and strode toward the open dining room door.  Karl angrily kicked at a ceramic planter in the garden and stomped toward the tool shed.  

----------------

Heisenberg left the domestication to those who were domesticated, and he instead spent the morning working on some of the larger equipment in the newly-constructed garage.  The mansion was built on the crest of a cliff, but the rolling hills that sloped away from it were prime real estate–they had once been used as servants’ quarters, stables, tea rooms and livestock barns along with who knew what other dumb shit.  

So naturally all of that had been torn apart, a large plateau created, and on it built a large wooden warehouse structure that now held some of his beloved rusty companions.  He would never admit it to Ethan, but Karl preferred the covered wooden building to the pile of vehicles and parts that preceded it.  Ethan liked the building, which they all called the ‘garage’, because it looked better than the junk.  

Karl liked it because it felt safe inside.  A big towering hangar over his head, walls around him.  It felt like home.  

It was no factory, but it would do.  

And though his anger earlier in the morning was palpable, and sincere, he couldn’t help but feel more flustered and agitated than anything while working on the array of vehicles.  

The image was still burning into his consciousness as if it wanted a place there, and even though it felt like something he shouldn’t be watching–felt like invading someone else’s head-he nonetheless allowed the scene to play over and over again.  

It had to be real.  It felt too real.  

Miranda on the bed, her back to smooth silken sheets.  She was absolutely lost in ecstasy, moaning and making noises that Karl could have gone the rest of his very long life without hearing.  Whatever transferred from her mind was unreadable as human thought–it felt far more carnal, like Karl’s own…sensations.  

Gross.

That wasn’t the reason he allowed it to keep invading his mind.  

Ethan was on top of her, inside her.  Karl could likewise feel and sense all of the other man’s sensations, moans, spoken whispers.  Plenty of reason to hit repeat on that one.  

But Ethan, in contrast to Miranda, had a stream of consciousness, even if most of it was wordless.  This was the part that made Karl feel as if he were trespassing.  With only the timid sound of the socket wrench ratcheting as he turned it, Karl could not drown out the thoughts from the memory.  

Something’s not right.  So many arguments.  Fighting lately.  How do I fix this?  

The emotions felt by Winters were palpable.  Love.  Fear.  Confusion.  

Pretty much summed up the blond, really.  Not very sexy, to be thinking all that while fucking somebody, but Karl wasn’t surprised.  Ethan needed a bit of manhandling to forget his worries, which were many but had lessened as months went on.   Karl was happy to provide the manhandling, but as the engineer shook his head to rid his mind of the intrusive sensations, he recalled something else.  

Shit, today was just all about memories.  

He huffed and stood, deciding to cross the backyard gardens where another tool shed awaited him.  Maybe the fresh air and walk would do him good.  

—-------

January 

Miranda’s Lab

“I know why Alcina requests the mother, but we have more testing to do before I am ready to discard her.  I do not think I have time to find another surgeon, before I move next to bring the child.  How comfortable are you with a scalpel?”

Heisenberg’s greying eyebrows rose over his glasses.  He didn’t need them here.  It was a subterranean lab, after all.  But he hated this place so ferociously he needed the cover, or Miranda would see the bitter disgust and even fear in his eyes.  

“On a…uh…live one?”  He shrugged.  “Ehhh?”  

“I see,” she snapped, disappointed, and strode down the hallway toward the cell rows.  “Well, in that case, move her to my main laboratory.  The cell there is far more protected and isolated.  You will need to tend to her while I am away.” 

Protected, from what?  It wasn’t like the American could do anything.  Miranda kept her sedated, and she’d had so much blood taken that she was woozy both times he’d laid eyes on her.  He nodded mutely when Miranda procured the keys and handed them to her ‘son.’ 

Heisenberg leaned against the far wall, not willing to make eye contact with the prisoner, who didn’t seem to notice him every time he’d tagged along here with Miranda.  He’d met her before, years ago.  But would she even remember him? 

Miranda’s words to the captive were syrupy, sweet.  Not what he expected.  “Your husband is quite a man.”  

Was that a taunt or a compliment?

The woman was on the cell bed, dark hair covering her face.  

“Ethan? You have to leave him alone.  You have to–” 

“He is in good hands,” Miranda answered, and then came the sinister chuckle.  Karl had more than an inkling of what she meant, and a stony expression crept across his face.  In a few more minutes, he would become more dissociated than the prisoner.  

And what was it she’d said to him when they walked together toward Miranda’s lab?  Karl had to mostly carry her.  

“Ethan cannot know.  It would destroy him to find out.  He can’t .  She won’t tell him, will she?”  It was a desperate woman’s babbling, nothing more, but Karl couldn’t help but to reassure her.  

“He won’t find out,” he said simply, and she heaved a pained sigh.  

Inwardly, Karl mused; of course he would, at some point.  

Half the fun, for Miranda, was the GOTCHA at the end.  She would parade herself as a loved one, do the most intimate of intimate things, and then reveal.  She loved that part of the game.  Whatever idiot had married this American researcher, who Karl was beginning to believe was cursed–would find out at some point who he’d been sleeping with. 

They all did, eventually.  

—----------------

The memory of the meeting near Miranda’s lab only served to make Karl more angry at Miranda, but even that could not get the morning’s memory–vision, of Ethan, from his mind. 

He had crossed the winding trails of the gardens that made up the rear of the estate, but Karl rubbed his forehead as he stood in the shade of the smaller tool shed.  He was covered in sweat, and he hadn’t even put on his coat or hat this morning.  The shade did little to help the perspiration or the intense, itchy, hot feeling all across his skin. 

Maybe food would help.  

Now wasn’t a good time for him to be around Ethan, though.  The repeated invasive memories were gnawing at his mind, and at other parts of him too.  Namely everything under his belt.  And while those feelings were probably rooted in something reasonable, he could almost sense the loss of control creeping back on him.  

He’d just shocked the little fucker in his brain a few months ago, and it had taken a lot out of him.  More than it ever had, likely due to his own transformation and subsequent “death”.  

Karl couldn’t reanimate the same way that Eva and Ethan were capable of, and he was stuck in this one goddamn body with this one motherfucking DNA-altered nematode as a compulsory companion.  And while most of the time he didn’t wish for his own reckless demise, he wished for it fervently every time these implanted, Miranda-esque urges manifested within him.  

He was different from the others; most with cadou turned mindless.  Miranda had worked with the Lords, her own timely investment, to prevent this with them.  Implanted them herself, no less.  But it came with its own set of consequences.   None of the four were spared horrible side effects, though Karl knew he was far luckier than his siblings, all things considered.  

It still sucked. 

He smelled something fragrant; his mouth watered.  And there he was, goddammit, walking down the hill toward Karl with a sour expression on his handsome face.  He’d showered–Karl could smell the homemade soap on his skin.  He’d combed his hair into its neat little blond side part.  The scent of aftershave appeared not long after and Karl inhaled deeply.  He could even smell the scent of summer sun on the blond’s clothing and hair. 

Ethan was staring at him, a trepidatious expression crossing over the scowl.  He was still mad, probably.  Mad that Karl had chewed him out this morning, mad that the engineer hadn’t been present at breakfast, probably mad about other stuff that Karl didn’t have a hope in hell to decipher.  But the intensity of Karl’s stare caused the blond to become cautious.  

He was leering, Heisenberg realized, but couldn’t bring himself to stop.   It was twice as enchanting to see this absolute grouch of a creature bringing him food.  Something about it pleased Heisenberg.   

Ethan was now in the doorway of the shed and he held out the plate and glass with as much apprehension as a child attempting to feed a bear.  

Karl tore his gloves off and moved into Winters’ personal space, but kept his fingers flexed, working to process him without touch at first.  Better that way.  

“Karl?”

The engineer stepped to Ethan’s side and inhaled by Winters’ neck.  All of the smells congregated here, seeming to be propelled into the air by the strong, warm pulse that sat under the pale skin.  He wanted to bite it, but…later.  Karl’s beard grazed the skin, but then he was inhaling again and moving around to Ethan’s other shoulder. 

The scowl on Ethan’s face was replaced with an uncertain smile.  The taller man watched Heisenberg appear at his left shoulder and didn’t hesitate to make eye contact.  “You’re in a mood.” 

“So I am.” 

“You need to eat.” 

That part was true.  Karl grabbed the toasted sandwich–he could smell eggs, some kind of grilled meat, melting cheese-and began to scarf it down.  He didn’t take the plate nor the drink, leaving Ethan to stare at him with an exasperated glare while he choked the food down.  

It was delicious, but he barely tasted it. 

Ethan’s smile was now completely gone as he handed out the glass of water.  Karl began gulping, and Ethan sat the plate on a nearby table so that he could cross his arms over his chest.  

“You know, if you’d actually condescend to come and eat regular meals, you–”

Karl was done with the water, and the glass had crashed to the ground before he realized it.  He sighed, hoping that the sensation of being full would hit his body soon, cause him to slow down.  Cause him to be…not this way.  

“--Are you okay?”  Ethan was dense, but he was also intuitive, at least when it came to Karl.  Well, sometimes.  He was getting better.  

The engineer sighed and fished around his hips.  No such luck at feeling immediately satiated.  Maybe a cigar while he waited.  His fingers danced through the multiple pockets.  

“Ahh…uh. I.”  Karl couldn’t lie to the other man.  He risked a glance, seeing the familiar crossed arms and that soft pout that always begged for a kiss.  He blinked rapidly, finding a lighter at least.  

“I accidentally uh… got in your head when I pulled you out,” he said finally, in a flatter tone than his usual cadence.  “Goddammit, where the hell.” 

Ethan tensed.  His arms uncrossed.  “What….what did you see?”

“You an….uhhhh….”

Ethan’s hazel eyes widened.  “Mia?  In bed?”

Karl’s dance through all of his pockets ceased entirely.  He blinked and paused.  Not Mia.

Ethan’s frown came back as if his face were awaiting it.  “What do you mean, not Mia?”

“I didn’t say that,” Karl snapped, but now Ethan glared, and snapped back just as quickly, “What do you MEAN, not Mia?”

“What do you think,” Karl growled, his lips pulling back over his teeth, old scar stinging as he tested its limits, then bit down as if to stop himself from talking more.  He didn’t want to say more.  He bit so hard that his lip threatened to bleed.  But if he focused on that, he wouldn’t think things that Ethan could hear. 

Ethan’s angry stare moved to something else.  Contemplative.  Worried.  His eyes lost their intensity and he glanced at the ground, before he exhaled deeply.  “I can’t deal with this today.  Your…spy….will be here in an hour.�� I’ve got to finish…” 

“My spy?” The tone said, let’s fight, Winters. 

Ethan’s reply was cold.  “I told you I can’t deal with this, Heisenberg.” 

Karl’s snarl turned into a sneer.  “Oh come on,” he challenged, with a toss of his hair.  “Let me give you somethin’ you wanna deal with.” 

The blond’s eyebrows raised, and by the reddening of his cheeks, Karl surmised that he was considering it.  But he stuttered out a response that indicated his intent to stay angry.  

“You-you’re! Acting this way because you....  I get it was an accident.  But you saw.  Me. Uh.  You saw me being intimate and–WILL YOU STOP SMILING AT ME LIKE THAT?”

Karl stretched his shoulders, shaking out the mane.  

“Karl, no!  We don’t have the time.  For this, for any of this.  I–” 

“I’ll be quick then.” 

Ethan made an annoyed sound.  

“How about a….three second head start?”

Ethan’s nostrils flared, and his blush deepened as he backed away, holding up a finger.  “Dammit, I said no!”

“Five then.” 

“Karl!” 

“One!” 

“You fucking asshole!” 

“Two!” 

Ethan’s backing steps turned into a stumble, and he spun on his heel to disappear into the gardens.  Karl’s giggle-turned-loud-laugh was through a wide grin.  

After the laugh, he called one more word over the tall grass.  

“Five!” 

[bllkwriting]

Summary of Blue Lock

Blue Lock is a manga and anime series written by Muneyuki Kaneshiro and illustrated by Yusuke Nomura. Since August of 2018 it has been serialized in a Japanese magazine from the publishing company Kodansha called Weekly Shōnen Magazine. The series is about a 17 year old striker named Yoichi Isagi. One day, after losing in a match against a rivaling school, Isagi receives a letter in the mail from the JFU (Japanese Football Union) inviting him to a special football training facility called Blue Lock. Upon arriving at Blue Lock Isagi learns that he is among 299 other 18 and under strikers in his country. Now Isagi has to compete against all the other strikers to become the best in the world.

He starts off the series joining a team ranked the lowest of the low, Team Z, as well as being in the worst ranked strata, strata 5. Z is the worst ranked team out of all the teams B-Z in Blue Lock. Their players all have the rankings 289-300, but after playing a game of tag and eliminating one player from each team, their rankings change to 265-275. Isagi plays with that team for all of the first selection and after winning 3/5 of their games against the other teams in the strata, their whole team moves on to the second selection.

In the second selection they learn that the person in charge of Blue Lock, Jinpachi Ego, lied to them and everyone else in Blue Lock when he told everyone that they were all ranked the worst in teams V-Z. After that, the ones who make it past a 1v1 with a hologram called "Blue Lock Man" and score 100 goals in the time limit will move on to stage 2 of the second selection. There they have to team up with two other players and compete against another team of three. Whichever team wins that takes a player from the other team, and whichever loses has to most back a stage and play in a 2v2. And whichever player doesn't get chosen gets kicked out.

Eventually, after playing in a few rounds, the teams of five will go on to play against a team of five made up of very good players from across the globe; a rainbow Argentinian, a French prodigy, a Brazilian tank, a British man, and a sarcastic Spanish guy. No team managed to beat them, the furthest a team got was 1 goal, which was Isagi's team.

After the game was over and all the other six (not including Isagi’s) teams had finished their game against the Team World Five, everyone gathered into one large room. After that for the third selection everyone is divided up into three teams; A, B, and C, and two of each of the top six players will be automatically put into each of the three teams. B and C each play in three games, while A plays in four. Three players (not including the top 6) from each team are randomly chosen to play on each game along with their two players from the top 6.

When this arc was finished Blue Lock got to play in their biggest game so far against Japan’s U-20 team. One player from Blue Lock got picked to play for the U-20 team, but everyone else stayed on team Blue Lock. After a long and fan favorite match, Blue Lock ended up winning 3-4.

They all got a 2 week break to go home and just have a break then they were back at Blue Lock. When they returned they had all got to pick 5 world class leagues to play on. The options were England; speed and physique, Spain; technique and creativity, Italy; slyness and tactics, France; a gateway for success for up-and-coming athletes/money making, and Germany; logic and rationality.

Each of the five teams plays against each other in what is called the Neo Egoist League.

(To be updated)

You can view the doc with the whole book so far here

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I’m fine with reblogs on this site but anywhere else I ask that you ask for my permission before doing so.

[hagfishviperfish]

Weird ass dream. The kind that makes you nostalgic. I live in a small town, my high school was more closeknit than others — that is to say almost all of those kids were evil but i digress, everyone knew each other.

My dream initially was that I missed the busses after school. I called my mom and she was at work, so she could not pick me up until 6:00. Which meant I had to kill time until then. It gave me the opportunity to realize how lively my high school was after hours — kids congregating on the soccer fields, football field, track, parking lot, it was as if its own little fair. So strange to see people you know doing their little things. In my dream I saw the faces of people who I haven’t seen in a long time, nigh forgot about, people who I won’t see ever again. And the faces of people who look like the type of people to live in my town.

Most were playing sports; I discovered a law school campus that was apparently on the property of my school that I hadn’t known about; I met one of my friends and hung out with him for a bit, found a dude on Tinder that looked exactly like him and with the same name but was like visibly 22 and I was like lmaooo dude look at this.

There is an event where the high school band comes in, followed by the graduates of my class, they share what they’re majoring in in college, and a quarter of mean girls were studying graphic design and they hated it and I laughed at them. It was particularly nostalgic

There is a silly little rave party thrown a guy I knew, who was fairly popular. It’s in those net tents you see used for baseball practice. I go there and dance a little with my childhood friend who dated him in middle school.

I stumble across a boy I had little feelings for for years — from elementary school to senior year — he was standing in between chain link fences, in security guard armor but it was like football stuff, so I guessed that was his job here. He was enthusiastic to see me, which was much to my surprise since we hardly talked at all (in senior year he started interacting with me every so often, much to my surprise.)

The dream changes here. I am this sewer siren queen hunted by my high school, living several grotesque layers in the deepsea underground, and he is the one who is supposed to be hunting me the hardest. Except every action he makes is deliberately to divert my pursuers away from me in order to protect me. We are lovers in that way, the brief moments where he sees me to “kill” me, but rather it is a fond reunion where we look at each other with mischevious devotion and adoration and then he must leave, to not draw too much attention to me and our affiliation. Every hour and decision of his life is dedicated to making sure I stay alive. He stands proud over a toilet in the school bathroom with a deep, deep canal drilled into it, what the students call a “sewer portal”, knowing I used it to escape, announcing to his equals “she is not in this one; try another one.”

He climbs through my canals smiling, there are grotesque and strange strata underneath our school, pink wet stone, sandstone, marbled jade and stone, and the structure of the tunnel he recognizes as my digging, impressed that I managed to stomach such odd layers of soil

This story of a favorite siren and its best hunter is a reoccuring theme for the rest of the dream.

There are other notable moments, where my art teacher says I have an opportunity to spread my art, to become a genuine admired artist, because people have already expressed interest in my work for her class. I make sketches; one of them a pile of moldy rotten oranges, in which a rabid squirrel or fox is eating them out of wild desperation, and a healthy fox is walking in the foreground, observing its parallel

Another where I’m in walmart with a friend, at the side of another boy; saying “I’m like hahahaha I’m L from deathnote” for some reason, just to mess with him. He’s like yeah whatever, unamused, I show him a pretty collar necklace I found, knowing the implications, and he’s like perhaps, and he tightens it on my neck for me

Then I dig another hole and leave because I am a sewer siren now.

Flickers of standing in a deep sea realm, underground, occasionally visited by a certain playful divercaver… I pick what I want the fish version of my pets to look like, laugh at the way my cat looks when she floats down and turn to tell my mother only for her to yell at me because she’s stressed out and busy. Rain World shelter on our football bleachers, he swims to me to find Minecraft mods, but I am looking from his eyes this time, I notice him and pick my way over to him, and we enjoy our presence together eagerly, while he sips from the glass of this mod that implements strawberry juice in Minecraft— and it tastes wonderful.

Then he hides me in the shelter because there are centipedes — it is particularly deeper, with water, to compensate for me there, and comes along to be around me for the night

[princesscolumbia]

Return to Recipient Chapter 2 - Doctor's Note

Actually got this posted a couple hours ago right as the Internet started flaking out due to some local outage.

Summary:

Ranma has her first conversation with someone who could either make her life easy or infinitely more difficult.

Preview below the cut:

Hinako steepled her fingers and crossed her legs, "I've been serving as your teacher for some time now, Ranma. Why now? You're going to be graduating soon, why not just wait until then?" she held a palm out briefly to stop any immediate response before putting her hands back together, this time clasping them together, "Don't misunderstand me, I know better than any other teacher or adult you know, even your doctor, the difficulties of having an identity that's...challenging. I certainly wouldn't wish what you're going to be facing on anyone. I also know that it can be extremely frustrating, painful even, when people look at you and not see the 'real' you. I can understand wanting to do this," she nodded in the direction of the note on her desk, "As soon as possible. I just want to make sure you understand what it will entail. As the person in charge of your education, it's my job to make things as easy as can be reasonably managed and still get you graduated."

"Allow me to enlighten you," she continued, "As to what you'll be dealing with here at school and once you move on to higher education. You will first face the immediate fallout from your peers. Yes, they're accustomed to your...shenanigans, but you are stating your intent to engage in a completely different social strata than the one you have previously occupied. I've taught in schools around the world, Ranma. At none of them has there ever been a time when a student has changed social categories without significant backlash. The girls will not trust you. Sure, some may understand, a few may decide to treat you as one of their own from the word 'go,' but the majority have rightly been trained all their lives to mistrust anything with a penis." Ranma boggled at her teacher for using language she'd been taught was crass so openly in front of a student. Hinako's torso bounced once as a humorless laugh didn't quite reach her lips, "Like it or not, want it or not, you have one between your legs...well, most of the time so far. When you're not wearing a cheer-leading outfit two sizes too small you don't exactly flash your panties at people...but really, Ranma. You're showing pretty much everything down there when you do that." She shook her head, "In any case, they know you as a guy who turns into a girl. They will treat you as a guy. There will be an unfortunately large number of them who will refuse to see any evidence to the contrary, including doctor's notes," she indicated the paper on her desk with a gesture, "Changes in wardrobe, new habits, different social groups, or anything else. Thanks to your ability to transform with a splash of water of the appropriate temperature, you will be treated with suspicion. You will be unlikely to be welcome in social groups. Clubs will frantically make new rules to exclude you, specifically, but worded in such a way that, theoretically, anyone who met the very specific requirements that you happen to meet would also be excluded."

"Then there are the teachers and administrators. Principal Kuno alone will be enough to give you nightmares. He won't care, himself, that you're transitioning, but he'll absolutely revel in the opportunity to make your life even more miserable than he already does." At Ranma's slack jaw, she chuckled, "Oh, don't be so melodramatic. The whole staff has noticed he despises you. He knows that so long as you and his son are in this school, you both will be the agitators against him, and for a control freak like Kuno, something he cannot control must be crushed. The rest of the staff who oppose your decision will be more subtle. You'll get a handful that will refuse to treat you as a girl whatsoever, simply because they hate change and hate when students remind them that they aren't the ultimate authority over their lives. Others are flat out homophobic. Even if they do, somehow, accept you transitioning thanks to the magic of Jusenkyo granting you a woman's body all the way down to the ovaries, they will not accept your interest in girls."

"Buh...I...what?!" gawped a blushing Ranma, "But...How did you know?!"

Hinako chuckled, "A ninja you are not, Ranma. You barely open a book yet you spend a good portion of your time in class studying the female form. I've been on this earth for longer than most people in this school, the teachers included, have been alive. Thanks to our mutual master I have an appreciation of the female form as well...though admittedly I do prefer men. I know what it looks like when a man or woman is aroused by what they see, and you have the body of both, even if you do happen to be a woman at heart. You do like the strong type, don't you? Akane and Ukyo do seem to be your primary topics of 'study.' Of course, when that Shampoo girl used to come around, I noticed you enjoy a little bit of 'foreign cultural studies.'" Ranma turned a bright, almost tomato red as she realized how caught out she was. Hinako let out a laugh, tossing her head back a little, "Oh, relax. As you get to be my age you realize that people your age are almost adorably harmless..." her expression darkened, "...and then there's bad apples like Tatewaki..." she shook her head to clear it, "You are not subtle. And what's considered to be a 'healthy interest' in a boy is considered a 'deviant perversion' in a girl. And that's just one of the double-standards from your elders you'll be facing. You'll be expected to perform better in certain subjects that have no real bearing on your actual education than boys while being expected to be dumb as a box of rocks in the truly valuable courses. If you do poorly in the former you'll be looked on as a disappointment with little prospects and if you do well in the latter you'll be viewed as a freak or a cheater."

"When you leave this school and go on to the cram school your mother discussed with me, they'll be expecting a boy to show up. They won't have exposure to either Furinken in general or you in particular, so you'd have to demonstrate your curse. If they didn't call the authorities under suspicion of some sort of communicable disease, you'd be watched like a hawk because if you can change your form so readily and so mysteriously, who's to say you won't be able to somehow cheat? If you do less than the absolute best, they'll take that as proof that they're right and attempt to hold your certification of graduation from you." It wasn't until she finished her thought that she realized she had a snarl on her face and she was speaking with quite a bit more anger than Ranma deserved. She schooled her features and took a breath, "I'm sorry, but as you can guess, that's exactly what I faced when I finally was able to leave the hospital after Master Happosai taught me his techniques. I'd been at that hospital for years before Happi found me, then it took months more to learn the techniques. Then another year before they were convinced that I could be released and live a happy and productive life. By the time I was able to get into a cram school so I could attend college, the people I'd gone to high school with had already been in the workforce for years...and I still looked like I was barely in my tweens."

"...I'm guessing I shouldn't ask what year that was."

"Wise choice, but let's just say the reason for my hospitalization in the first place was because of a little something that happened in Hiroshima and Nagasaki." Ranma's eyebrows went up, but she otherwise displayed none of the usual shock and disbelief most people gave her, "What, no surprised gasp? No reeling back in mortification?"

Ranma snorted, "Have you met Cologne? It aint like I don't know people who've lived longer...'course, you look better'n 'em...aaaaand I just said that out loud." She blushed bright red again.

Hinako laughed again, "Ah, yes, you do have a rather interesting circle, don't you?" She sobered up and sat up, leaning her elbows on her desk, "So you have an idea what you'll be facing, you know the difficulties, you've heard some of my experience, so again, why now? When you are one of the rarest of transwomen who could 'stealth' in plain sight and never once worry about being persecuted even as you went about in a woman's body, why transition socially before you graduate?"

Ranma realized she didn't have an immediate reply, "Can...can I think about it for a minute, please?"

"Yes," answered Hinako with a smug grin, "You may."

Read the rest on AO3

[playingwithgifs]

How to grow your own marijuana

Following quite a while of attempting to take part in male-overwhelmed web-based pot developing networks, April Brett was finished with the lack of regard that was aimed at her since she was a lady. Along these lines, in February 2020, she chose to make her own Facebook bunch: O'Cannabis: Canadian Women Becoming Together.

"I needed to make a gathering only for ladies where they can have a solid sense of security and have no show and figure out how to develop," says Brett, who resides and lives in Hamilton, Ont. "We construct each other up and uphold one another, which is what ladies should do."

Brett's timing was immaculate. A month after she sent off her gathering, pandemic lockdowns cleared the nation and individuals started getting locally established side interests to fight growing pressure and fatigue, and searching for local areas on the web. Numerous ladies chose to establish pandemic nurseries with weed, and Brett watched her enrollment shoot up in large numbers to in excess of 3,500 today.

"Developing is so remedial," says Brett, who utilises marijuana to deal with her nervousness, discouragement, headaches and persistent agony. "It's an enormous pressure reliever. I feel so settled when I'm in my nursery, watching my plants develop and thrive."

Brett sees many advantages to developing her own weed: it tastes preferable and is more affordable over getting it from dispensaries or clinical pot providers and she knows precisely every thing she's getting and what she put into it. She takes note of the fact that business cultivators might utilise substance manures, pesticides and form inhibitors — and purchasers have absolutely no chance of knowing. (Wellbeing Canada manages the utilisation of these substances and requires authorised makers to have their items tried.)

While developing weed might appear to be overwhelming, Brett says it's straightforward on the off chance that you follow a couple of fundamental standards. "Individuals who can't keep houseplants alive can develop weed," she says. "Keep it basic."

Terese Bowors, a weed mentor situated in Canada's marijuana developing capital, Nelson, B.C., reverberates Brett. "In the event that you can develop tomatoes and lettuce, you can develop a pot," she says.

We got the soil on what you really want to be aware of to take your pandemic nursery to a more significant level from ladies in the loop.

Figure out the standards

Under the government Weed Act, you can grow up to four marijuana plants for sporting use per family. In any case, a few common, neighbourhood and Native legislatures, as well as property managers and stratas, have their own standards.

Manitoba and Quebec deny sporting development. In any case, in 2019, a Quebec Predominant Court judge decided that the territory's boycott was illegal. The Quebec government has pursued the decision; its site actually says sporting development is a no, yet Éducaloi, a Quebec good cause attempting to work on lawful education, says green thumbs are great to develop — for the time being. "In the event that you choose to develop pot at home, make certain to keep awake to date on any changes!" Éducaloi merrily alerts on its site.

In the meantime, Newfoundland and Labrador doesn't permit outside development and different territories have severe rules on how it may very well be finished. In B.C., for example, your yield can't be noticeable to people in general, while in New Brunswick, your mystery garden should be encircled by a locked nook that is no less than five feet tall.

Bowers put deer fencing around her nursery and fixed it with a light, white cultivating texture. "It seems to be a major marshmallow," she says, adding that the texture additionally traps the intensity, which the plants like.

On the off chance that you use marijuana for clinical reasons, you might have the option to get a remedy from a medical care supplier and a clinical endorsement to develop, which might permit you multiple plants. (There are numerous clinical weed centres that can assist you with the cycle.) The quantity of plants you can develop depends on the quantity of everyday grams you're endorsed and whether you intend to develop inside, outside or both.

It's simply legitimate to develop marijuana from seeds or little plants called clones bought from authorised retailers or makers or skilled to you by lawful sporting producers. Sporting producers can buy seeds from authorised retailers for about $30 to $60 for a pack of four. Clones are gradually coming on the rec market and go for about $40 a pop. Clinical cultivators can get their beginning materials from authorised makers and access better mass costs and more assortment in clones.

While there are many web-based seed banks selling a much more extensive assortment of seeds for less expensive than authorised retailers and makers, it's critical to take note of that they're not lawful. Ashleigh Brown, organiser behind SheKan, a computerised network for ladies intrigued by clinical and legitimate marijuana, alerts that when individuals pay off the unlawful market, they may not be getting what they think and could wind up with a lot more grounded strain, comparing it to "a container of wine instead of a light brew."

Select your strains

There are many types of marijuana, however just a handful accessible through authorised retailers and makers. Mikela Moore, a Chilliwack, B.C., producer and O'Cannabis bunch manager, says ladies can keep away from choice weariness by thinking about two key things: what sort of high you need and your environment, as well as the two fundamental subspecies: indica and sativa.

As a general rule, indicas ground you with a weighty body stone, while sativas lift you up with an invigorating head high. There are likewise half breeds, which are some in the middle between.

"They like to say, 'Indica put you in-da-sofa,'" says Moore, who has a clinical test to develop a pot to assist with treating her sleeping disorder. "Though with sativas, you will have the option to do your clearing or go out for a walk."

Sativas are commonly taller and flourish in warm, wet, sticky regions and have longer developing seasons. Indicas, then again, are bushier and can all the more likely endure the cold and have more limited developing seasons. There are likewise ruderalises, a.k.a. autoflowers, which begin blooming in view, are old enough as opposed to on light and have an eight-to 10-week lifecycle, making them the littlest of the bundle. Autoflowers are great for places that have more limited developing seasons and for individuals with more modest spaces. "Autoflowers are fundamentally on a hereditary clock — they'll simply do their thing regardless of how much sun they get," Moore says.

No matter what the strain, marijuana will not do well in that frame of mind under 12 C or over 30 C, and is most joyful between 20 C and 25 C.

Assuming you purchase standard seeds, it's vital to take note of that you have a 50-50 possibility of getting male or female plants. Just female plants produce buds, while male plants fertilise female plants, making them produce seeds in their buds and basically destroying your yield. Therefore you need to hack down male plants. It's feasible to sort out the sex of your plants when they're around a month and a half old (female plants have wispy white hairs while guys have dust sacks), yet it's not generally simple for novices.

You can keep away from the mistake of having male plants by buying feminised seeds, which is what Andrea Meharg, a marijuana mentor and teacher situated in Parkhill, Ont., encourages beginners to do. "Beginning with a decent quality feminised seed puts you 70% of the way to a decent development," she says.

Retailers and seed organisations frequently share every one of the critical insights concerning their seeds in the portrayals on their sites.

Plan your nursery

The two significant choices you really want to make while arranging your nursery is where you will put your plants and whether you will establish them in pots or in the ground. Moore says the main thing is to choose a spot that gets a great deal of direct daylight. She likewise suggests tracking down a spot that offers a great wind stream and insurance from the components. Tomato confines, garden stakes and fences can offer help.

"Weed is a quite intense plant, however it is as yet defenseless to weighty downpours and high breezes," she says. "You need to find some place that is to some degree protected, yet where it can in any case get a light breeze to assist with reinforcing it."

With regards to choosing whether to fill in pots or the ground, Moore suggests contemplating your dirt and your space. "On the off chance that you have soil with a great deal of earth or sand, it won't be excellent for the plants, so you may be in an ideal situation to fill in pots," she says. "Furthermore, on the off chance that you put a plant in the ground, you could wind up with a tree. In the event that you put it in a pot, you have some command over how huge it will get."

You can likewise move pots around if, say, your partners are coming over for a grill or your children are having a playdate and you need to keep your new side interest on the DL.

Moore, who fills in pots on her bright deck, suggests utilising seven-or 10-gallon pots for photoperiod plants and five-gallon pots for autoflowers. She encourages ladies to painstakingly think about what, regardless, to establish near your pot. A few plants — like tomatoes, pumpkins and squash — are inclined to fine mould, which can move to weed plants. Different plants — like marigolds, hay and spices — create extraordinary neighbours as they can be vermin and infection hindrances.

You likewise need to conclude what sort of soil and manure to utilise. Moore says Favourable to Blend HP, a peat greenery and perlite soil, is famous, yet she utilises coconut coir, which is produced using coconut husks, since she found it's less inclined to bugs.

For manure, you can pick compound, natural or Do-It-Yourself (think fertiliser teas, eggshells and coffee beans). Plants need various measures of the enormous three supplements — nitrogen, phosphorus and potassium — during the vegetative and blooming stage, so you'll need to change around your compost, as well.

While Moore suggests utilising compost, she says it's excessive. "You can grow a plant with regular water and daylight, however if you need to get more out of your plant, that is the point at which the supplements prove to be useful," she says.

Moore likewise suggests placing your plants in a solid spot out of general visibility (whether or not it's a prerequisite locally) in light of the fact that burglary is tragically normal. Notwithstanding, she recommends limiting surrounding light — like security lights — so your plants get the dull periods they need.

[tryan-a-bex]

Oops time to buy another building and set up a lease to own co-op for it, you think.

You didn’t realize at the time, but the button was a test. The first year, you got your own life in order and helped out your family. After that you went nuts wrecking the real estate economy by undercutting all the other landlords. Not only was your rent a tenth of usual (costs of maintaining the building, basically a strata fee), but it was a rent-to-own sitch where the people who paid in could get their “equity” back out of the building when they left.

For you it was fun seeing random strangers thrive instead of struggling. (Also kinda fun seeing predatory landlords cry instead of partying in their yachts.) It wasn’t until ten years later, when society in general was starting to change because of your influence, that the owner of the button showed up again.

“It was a test,” they say.

“Ah,” you say, not completely surprised. “Did I pass?”

“We were impressed with your creativity. Here’s how we score. At 0, you use the money to directly cause harm. At 1, you use the money to benefit yourself and cause only the normal level of harm. At 2, you use the money to benefit yourself and your friends and family. At 3, you use the money for yourself and your loved ones and are also conscious to do so in a way that causes less harm, and you share some with strangers. At 4, you take care of yourself and loved ones and also materially improve the world for many many people in a way that causes as little harm as possible. At 5, you change the world in such a way that people in general start to follow your example and the whole species is improved.”

“Species?” you say faintly.

“Well yes. We were planning to bulldoze your planet to create an intergalactic superhighway. But you managed to improve your species enough that maybe we won’t just rescue the dolphins, we’ll make a little detour around you. See what happens for a few more years.”

“Thank you?” you say weakly.

“Oh yeah, and you get to stay around to see what happens. Catch you later!” The button guy disappears and you are left with your entire worldview shaken (and, apparently, immortality).

Anyway it’s been a quarter century since all that, and you turn to your best friend (who is incidentally from Alpha Centauri and thinks humans are neat), and say, “You wanna design this one? I like your art style and I think you’ve got the housing needs of humans down now.”

“Wahoo!” they say, rubbing their hands gleefully.

On the day of your 18th birthday, you pressed a button that gives you $10,000 for every day left in your life. You just checked your bank account: $1,000,000,043.

[stratanutrition]

How To Heal Your Gut: 5 Things You Can Think About

Strata Nutrition shares five key considerations for healing your gut. From understanding gut-friendly foods to managing stress, these practical tips help restore balance and improve digestive health. Discover how small lifestyle changes can support a healthier gut and enhance overall well-being. Click here to view full video