#Soil testing methods
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heicodynamics · 7 months ago
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It ensures the soil’s suitability for various applications, particularly in construction and agriculture. By employing advanced soil testing methods and utilizing specialized soil testing machines, industries can achieve higher efficiency, safety, and productivity.
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iyemarathichiyenagari1971 · 11 days ago
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रासायनिक खतामधील भेसळ ओळखण्याच्या सोप्या पद्धती
नमस्कार शेतकरी बंधू, आता पावसाला खऱ्या अर्थाने आपल्याकडे सुरुवात झालेली आहे. शेतकरी बंधू भात, काजू, आंबा पिकांसाठी रासायनिक खताचा वापर करतील. परंतु सध्या बाजारामध्ये बऱ्याच प्रमाणामध्ये भेसळयुक्त रासायनिक खतांचा पुरवठा होताना दिसत आहे. त्यामुळे शेतकऱ्यांनी आपली स्वतःची फसवणूक होऊ नये यासाठी काही जुजबी टेस्ट घरच्या घरी करू शकतात, जेणेकरून त्यांनी विकत घेतलेले रासायनिक खत प्राथमिक दृष्ट्या…
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farmerstrend · 7 months ago
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Is this the Largest Sweet Potato in Kenya? The Inspiring Story of Manoah Kilach's 11-Kilogram Sweet Potato
In the verdant Ngata area of Nakuru County, Manoah Kilach has transformed agricultural practice through meticulous organic farming and technological innovation. A retired educator turned agricultural entrepreneur, Kilach stands as a testament to the potential of modern, sustainable farming techniques. On a sun-drenched Friday morning, Kilach proudly displayed an extraordinary achievement: an…
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bhoojalsurvey · 1 year ago
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Soil resistivity test
What is Soil Resistivity Test?
Soil Resistivity is most necessary when determining the design of the grounding system for new installations  to meet your ground resistance requirements. Ideally, you would find a location with the lowest possible resistance. But as we discussed before, poor soil conditions can be overcome with more elaborate grounding systems.
The soil composition, moisture content, and temperature all impact the soil resistivity. Soil is rarely homogenous and the resistivity of the soil will vary geographically and at different soil depths.
Moisture content changes seasonally, varies according to the nature of the sub layers of earth, and the depth of the permanent water table. Since soil and water are generally more stable at deeper strata, it is recommended that the ground rods be placed as deep as possible into the earth, at the water table if possible. Also, ground rods should be installed where there is a stable temperature, i.e. below the frost line.
For a grounding system to be effective, it should be designed to withstand the worst possible conditions.
What is Wenner method for soil resistivity test ?
The Wenner method is a geophysical exploration technique used to measure soil resistivity and rock resistivity:
Soil resistivity
The Wenner method is a common, reliable, and inexpensive way to measure soil resistivity at depth. It's also known as the four-terminal method. The method involves placing four electrodes in a straight line, equally spaced, and injecting a known current into the two outermost electrodes. The voltage between the two inner electrodes is then recorded. The potential is divided by the injected current to calculate the apparent resistance, or ρa.
Rock resistivity
The Wenner method can also be used to measure rock resistivity. Rocks with higher resistivity are more difficult for electric current to flow through
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Setup for soil resistivity testing using Wenner 4 point method.
The Wenner method was developed by Dr. Frank Wenner in 1915. The process for conducting a Wenner test includes:
Determining the desired length of the probe
Setting up the electrodes
Driving the electrodes into the ground
Connecting a resistivity meter or multi-meter to the electrodes
Taking a reading
Process for conducting a Wenner probe test
The electrodes should be spaced a set distance apart, typically 20 cm, 50 cm, or 100 cm. The center two electrodes are the current electrodes, and the outer two electrodes are the potential electrodes.
Connect the resistivity meter or multi-meter to the electrodes. The meter should be connected to the current electrodes and the potential electrodes.
Take a reading. The resistivity meter will measure the resistance between the current electrodes and the potential electrodes.
Repeat the process at multiple locations to get a representative sample of the soil.
Calculate the average resistivity of the soil using the readings from each location.
How do I Calculate Soil Resistivity?
Soil resistivity can be calculated using wenner method
Soil resistivity test formula
ρ = 2πar
Where ρ = Resistivity
a = Depth traversed / spacing between electrodes
r = resistance value observed
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for more details visit https://bhoojalsurvey.in/
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yourlocalsmutwriter · 2 months ago
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Kutning's Dag - Max Verstappen x reader
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cw: dubcon/ cnc, rapeplay, intox kink, unprotected sex, creampie, public, perv! Max, icky! Max
At this point in the season, Max Verstappen needed a miracle. He had heard it all, at the start. That the car was so fucked he dragged it first to podium, then to the points, but what happened when this was not the case. Amateur theorists- that's what he called F1 podcasters- had predicted that it would be sooner than later. And he had shut them down in Japan. Suzuka was a dream. Fourth consecutive pole there in the last seconds of quali. Fourth consecutive win there, the return of the F1 outro, as the fans dubbed it. But the Dutch anthem didn't stick around the podium for long. There were a few hiccups after, but not for the McLarens. His 1 point behind Lando was gradually increasing. He was feeling like a fish out of water, for the first time in his career. The retirement jokes he so brazenly made during previous months were now met with hushed whispers. It didn't help that the Redbulls were down in the constructors championship too. They took Liam, and with the way Yuki was driving, Max could bet one of his cats that Hadjar was getting fitted for a seat soon, whether the rookie driver wanted it or not. Verstappen's fake Instagram even liked a few Helmut Marko as the 2nd driver memes, a bunch of Daniel cursing the thing too. But it seemed to be true now.
So Max Verstappen desperately needed to win the Miami Grand Prix. After a triple header that started promising and two weekends of pure hell, something needed to be done. Whatever. Literally anything. He remembered last year how Lando's first victory in the sunny state triggered this chain of events. This championship contender narrative that was heating up between the two since. Lando then, with his little nose scar, who had been partying in the Amsterdam canals before. A metaphorical lightbuls sparked up above Max’s head. If you can't beat them, join them. He was going to celebrate King's Day for the first time in a while.
Of course, he used to honor the holiday as a teenager. Which 17 year old doesn't go across the border to the Netherlands to drink copious amounts of alcohol in the streets. He was lucky that his mom and sister brought him in at the end of the night. It was a fun time. Lots of bad beer. Crowds of loud people dressed head to toe in orange. Music that everyone knew shouted at the top of one's lungs. Then, with the years, he was too busy racing for such frivolity. But now the calendar was smiling up to him, a nice little break between Jeddah and Miami. It was a nice opportunity for him to fly back to the Netherlands, try the "Lando method," and come back. Copious amounts of gin tonics and a few kebabs never hurt anyone. Especially on King's Day. It was an incredibly stupid thing to do. Nevertheless, Max did it.
Once his plane touches down on Dutch soil, he realizes this was a mistake. He's forced to take a train and be packed like a sardine in first class. "No, I'm not him, but I get that a lot," he says, ad naseum, eyes glued to the maroon seats around him. Once he makes it to Amsterdam, he all but scours the city, going from store to store, trying to see if there's any alcohol left. He piles premixed cans of gin and tonics into his Alpha Tauri backpack. He sure is an ambassador now. But his quest isn't just a way for him to grab some booze. No, he's strategically scoping out areas where he won't be spotted. Where the crowds were just drunk and rowdy enough to ignore him, but not thay quiet and sober that he'd be bored. One would try to rationalize that most people didn't bat an eye at Lando. Who knows, Max could even accidentally spot the Britton on his way, dj skills being tested on a party boat. And people wouldn't care. We'll that was a bit harsh, there would be many overjoyed fans. But not as many as Max's. It was the fucking Netherlands, we was treated as the second coming of Christ. Or the first, depending on the province. Amsterdam was definitely not on the Bible belt, so that was that. Still, the Dutchman took some precautions. He hid out, going over to long lost friends' houses. People who he had known since karting, all drinking together, wearing orange, and treating him like a normal guy. Yes, there were some offhand comments about F1 and the Redbull performance. There's a few people trying to get him to help them with their fantasy team too.
He offers them a pass at his own ranking if they beat him at a drinking game. And those he never loses, always choosing to go for reflexes or showing feats of physical strength. After all, those hours in the gym aren't for nothing. Max is more than pleasantly buzzed by the time they have to leave. It's past 10, and people are already plastered. Of course, this was strategic. It was more plausible that people got a mass hallucination of Max Verstappen after a few dozen beers. He steps out through the crowd, shoes already sticking to the pavement. The smell of sweat and vomit and beer is in the air.
Max reflexively pulls the orange army cap over his own face, especially when they play anything by Maxx Power. He grins when they play 5 remixes in a row, the dj shouting something about a 5th WDC incoming. Max is happy that at least the fans are happy they believe in him, albeit delusionally. He relaxes, the tension sliding off of him like dirty air. He's too relaxed, almost, and now his mind is wondering how. Yes, the 6 pack of gin and tonics helped. He almost sniffs the air and gets hit with a string smell, similar to the one from the house. He reluctantly takes a hit of this green electronic thing and coughs. It's good, but weird.
"Didn't know vapes were this popular here?" He shouts to his friend, who deadpan that it's weed. Of course, Max almost smack his forehead. He's contact high, just like half the grid was in Vegas. He remembers that day, letting the flashbacks warm over him. Yep, he was fucking fucked.
Max decided that he'd fight the weirdness and tingliness of his body by people watching. What better way to be distracted by analyzing others. He blends into the crowd, only because people are packed like sardines. Mostly friends, big crowds of people dancing, drinking and shouting with each other. He doesn't miss the rowdier ones. There's couples making out and dry humping all around him.
He feels like a teenager all over again, that awkward virgin 17 year old at house parties. Hormones not as contained as he'd like to, popping a boner at other people's activities. If he listened very hard, everything was sexy. He'd hear the little moans and groans of the couple, the pleas for more. Everything made his cock stand up and throb painfully in his pants. And now, 10 years later, it's the same. Max never pegged himself as a voyeur. But now, with every sensation in his body heightened, he couldn't help it. And with his dick needing release and fast, he sets out to find someone willing to do that. His gaze searches, he's like a hawk looking for a bunny. And his eyes land on you.
You hated King's Day. It was a stupid holiday, a Saw trap thing made to torture you. You hated the gaudy orange color. The public drinking. The stupid songs you didn't know as a foreigner. You should've stayed home. But here you were, freezing in a two-piece set. You hate the flimsy fabric of the thing. You only ordered it last minute to impress an ex, who you knew you'd run into. You didn't expect to find them with their tongue down the throat of a mutual acquaintance. But you made a vow that you'd make out with someone. So far, your lips only touched the bottle. Whatever they were drinking was strong, made you feel woozy and light. At least you were doing King's Day right, getting very intoxicated. You didn't even flinch when you felt a pair of hands glide dangerously close to your ass. The whole night, it kept happening, accidentally, sometimes not. It was the crowds, you reasoned, because you were practically sandwiched between many backs and elbows. Then someone did really feel you up from behind. God, his fingers were deliberate. Groping, touching, all short of clawing. Needing you, needing this, and it was gross. The man apologized, a faint sorry from under the rim of an orange hat. You had mentally prepped a joke about redbull giving him more than wings or an aggressive overtake. And then he does it again, this time his hands loop against your hips, seemingly trying to move you out of his way. His fingers hook against the straps of your orange thong and snap them. You want to scream, yell, to tell him to stop. But it's as if you've swallowed cotton. And the warmth of someone's touch against you was clouding your judgment. The stranger lets his fingers move up your bare stomach until your tits. He flicks at your already hard nipples, a little hum of appreciation. He comments that you're practically asking for it by not wearing a bra.
The voice is familiar, even though you can't exactly place it. Didn't all Dutch men all kinda sound the same. This one's hands were kneading your breasts roughly, more for him than for you. He was whispering absolute filth in your ears, the brim of the hat he won't take off digging into your shoulder. He smells like a gin brewery that was next to a coffeeshop.
"Look at you, just letting me touch you. Aren't you ashamed that a total stranger's groping your tits. Right in the middle of Amsterdam, mind you, with thousands of people around you. I think you like it. I think you're a little whore. Because if you wanted to, you could have asked for help. Look there, bimbo," he says as he grabs your chin and tilts your head towards the police at the edge of the crowd. "You want me to stop? Let's walk over there, and I'll let you report me. Hell, I'd even turn myself in. Yeah? Go tell the nice cop about me, I'm right behind you."
You try to move, and he follows. The stranger even lets his hands fall from your chest. But with every step you take, you end up going 3 steps back. It's a Sysyphean challenge. You stop suddenly, and the guy stops with you. You two are surrounded and pressed against each other. You're not sure who makes the first move again. You just know that you're rubbing your ass against his hard cock like an animal in heat.
He rolls his hips against yours, lifting your skirt with every movement. He can't help but knead your ass, feeling your skin prickle under his touch. When the stranger hears a low wolf whistle, you're dragged, literally through the crowd. He's taken his cap off and he's barking orders in Dutch and English, parting the people like they're the Red Sea. He ducks with you in an alley and you swear your drink was laced.
"Max Verstappen? What the fuck are you doing here?" You say, still unsure of what was happening. He shuts you up with a kiss, a bit sloppy and needy. You kiss him back, but then it all starts to be too much. He was a renowned athlete, a role model. Not someone who got a bit too handsy. That dawns on both of you at the same exact time.
"You could ruin my life. You could actually go to anybody about this, and they'll strip me of everything. It'll be Mazepin again, but this time with consequences." He says, and instead of stepping away, he begins unbuttoning his jeans. Sliding his boxers away and taking out his cock. Sizing it up against you. You plead with him.
He pretends to think as his hands go in your panties. He tells you how he's in deep shit as his fingers rub your clit. He goes on about how you should report him, how despite his celebrity status and the inebriated state you're both in, he's going down. You try to mention police injustice, how the odds are against you, even bring up Christian Horner. Your body betrays you as you talk. Your hips snap to match his movements.
"They'll come up with some bullshit excuse. That I was too wet or something. No signs of struggle, no bruises on you or something of the sort." You chastise, as he slides his fingers inside of you. One, then a second, in a hooking motion. He moves them with precision and you blush. In the small alley the sounds of your wetness echo. Max knows exactly how to press his fingers inside of someone to make them fall apart. You cum against him, despite yourself. You press yourself close to him, shut your eyes and let the orgasm wash over you. You're limp, letting him tap the head of his cock against your clit. Allowing him to thrust inside of you, burrying himself to the hilt. Telling you that "if he's gonna go down for this, at least he's gonna make it worth his while."
He tells you how good your cunt feels, how well you take his cock. He holds you down, muscles pressing into you, keeping you in place. He goes on this tangent about coming inside of you, leaving you something to remember him by. You don't have the heart to tell him he's the first and only man to fuck you raw. That his blue eyes and all of today will haunt your dreams. You can't express that what he's doing to you terrifies you, yet thrills you. That you just might be sick in the head for not hating this. Your warm wet cunt was drawing him in. Wanting him. Needing him. You bite your lips bloody. Yet he still catches your whisper of "please, come for me." His thrusts become faster, and he spills inside of you. If this were real life, he'd leave after that, blend into the crowd, and accept his fate. He'd wait for the other shoe to drop and get what was coming to him for being a disgusting pervert who touches women.
But it wasn't real life. Max was in a stupidly expensive Monaco sex club. Their new marketing ploy - get you in the door for a free visit and impress you so much you come back. He had to hand it to them, they followed up with him like a champ. Getting extras to play the drunk and disorderly dutchies. Even the set of the alley was good. Max casts a glance at you, his throughly fucked out girlfriend. You're sleeping with a grin on your face. He remembers the day you told him about your unusual kink. How the two of you would dabble in it, occasionally. He'd pretend to break into your shared apartment and rape you. You had been so loud and rowdy that night that your neighbors called the cops on you. But just before the sirens, you had come on Max's cock so hard, he swore he could marry you right then. After he was done politely explaining the misunderstanding to the policemen, he started googling. And a couple months later, here you two were. Completely immersive experience. And no sheets to wash. Max feels bad for the person who has to clean the floor after you squirt on it. In his defense, you didn't even know you could do that. He lets himself be photographed leaving the club with you in tow. Shoots off a few messages to his friends and the other drivers on the grid to also try it out. If he creates enough buzz, they'll give him a discount. And it's not as if his hefty paycheck doesn't allow him to visit sooner. Especially after he wins Miami. Because he has several bets going on - one with Christian, one with GP and one with Lando. He gets them all, collects the cash and says he'll invest it. He puts it on another night with you. Because the true key to Max Verstappen's winning strategy was a well fucked girlfriend.
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wachinyeya · 4 months ago
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When Stockholm’s Traffic Office conducted a general assessment of street traffic in the Swedish capital in 2001, it came to the shocking conclusion that two-thirds of all trees in the city center were dead or dying.
City authorities agreed that an urgent response was needed to nurse these leafy urban ecosystem pillars back to health.
Enter Björn Embrén, Stockholm’s first “tree officer.”
Under his leadership, various technologies and materials were tested in an attempt to create a more suitable living space for trees in the urban environment.
“I knew that they could grow if the circumstances were right,” says Embrén, a former professional gardener.
“It’s like putting a plastic bag over your head and tightening it over your neck,” says Embrén. “That’s what happened to the trees in Stockholm. They were dying.”
Eventually, inspired by railroad embankments — which require only a small amount of organic matter for healthy trees to grow — Embrén concocted what was to become known as the “Stockholm tree pit” model.
By 2002, Embrén had drawn up designs. And by 2003, they were already building.
The design involves digging a pit and constructing a frame underground around the tree’s roots, and then filling said pit with a mixture of soil and stone, sometimes including biochar, to both aerate and fertilize the soil. These permeable layers are very strong and physically adaptable but also allow stormwater to flow in, meaning the trees are provided with sufficient air and water naturally. They also allow rainwater to be soaked up — a necessity amid more extreme weather brought on by climate change.
“We found that the more breathable the materials we used, the happier the trees were,” adds Embrén.
Proponents say the method has a number of benefits, including the fact that pits can be installed around existing trees, they can bear the weight of heavy-vehicle traffic, they require little topsoil — a resource that is becoming scarce — and they need less watering than traditionally-planted trees.
This approach, which allows tree roots to thrive beneath hard surfacing, ergo allowing healthy trees to grow within the modern built environment, is particularly relevant as cities attempt to re-green and reforest in the face of climate change.
According to the United Nations Economic Commission for Europe, urban forests can help “future-proof” cities, which are responsible for about 75 percent of global CO2 emissions. Sustainable urban forestry, it says, can bring multiple benefits, such as lowering temperatures, improving public health, creating habitats for biodiversity, sequestering carbon, generating green jobs, and mitigating risks of floods and landslides.
“It’s more important now than ever before,” says Ryan Klein, an assistant professor in the Department of Environmental Horticulture at the University of Florida. “We have these massive populations in urban areas. And we’re seeing more extreme weather like hurricanes, wildfires and prolonged droughts. Trees can help to offset some of these negative effects.”
However, amid the rush to rapidly reforest cities, experts like Klein warn that due to ineffective methods and techniques being used, it’s common to see urban trees in poor health, and trees planted in cities often have very high mortality rates.
“We have the understanding of how to grow healthier, more sustainable and resilient forests,” says Klein. “The research backs it. Unfortunately, we don’t always invest the time, money or internal know-how on implementing this.”
A review of 16 scientific studies on urban tree mortality, published in 2019, found that in the first five years after planting, 6.6 to 7 percent of trees died annually.
“Urban soils are not very tree-friendly currently,” says Rik De Vreese, leader of the Urban Forestry Team at the European Forestry Institute. “It’s quite a serious threat.”
When trees aren’t properly anchored, De Vreese adds, it can also lead to other issues, such as trunks falling over and causing damage or roots warping sidewalks.
However, the Stockholm Tree Pit method — and the way that it’s been implemented in Sweden — is helping urban forests genuinely take root.
One of the first locations where Embrén introduced a tree pit was Erik Dahlbergsallén street in Stockholm, not far from the popular Swedish Museum of Natural History.
There, according to research by the municipality, the circumference of a selection of those planted trees increased from 30 to 35 centimeters to 70 to 83 centimeters between 2004 and 2013, even surpassing that of trees without the tree pits that have been there for more than 80 years. The latest figures from 2024 saw them reach between 100 and 136 centimeters.
“It’s easy to see how effective the pits have been,” says Embrén.
The municipality estimates that 2.3 million liters of rainwater are managed by the trees per year, and consequently, 4,600 square meters of roofs and sidewalks have been disconnected from the sewage system, reducing the burden on water treatment services.
This technique has proven so successful that it has become the standard for all other development projects in the public spaces of Stockholm. Embrén says he has been directly involved in constructing more than 3,000 tree pits, and while he has since retired, there are now three “tree officers” who have taken on the expanding role. 
Britt-Marie Alvem, one of the current tree officers, estimates that the city now builds between 500 and 1,000 tree pits a year.
These days, the tree pits are also in almost every Swedish city — with a few variations.
“Some have copied and changed a little bit, like adding pumice to the stone mix,” says Embrén.
Stockholm’s tree pits are now spreading across Europe, too. In Budapest, Hungary’s capital, the tree pits can be found all over Bartók Béla Boulevard and Arany János Street. Embrén says the Spanish city of Madrid has implemented the method using local materials. And it’s become increasingly popular in the U.K.
Ben Rose, the principal arboricultural consultant at U.K. tree service Bosky Trees and the founder of Stockholm Tree Pits, a U.K.-based company that produces the equipment required to make tree pits, says that he has planted about 500 trees using the Stockholm model in the U.K. since he began in 2019, mostly as part of small-scale pilot projects.
“The approach is very suitable for use in urban situations, particularly in car parks, in plazas, and beside walkways or cycle paths,” says Rose.
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Yet there are some drawbacks to the system. Installation costs can be high, the pits can require a large amount of space to install, and it is impossible to reuse existing soil. In addition, for now there is a relative dearth of professionals who know how to construct tree pits.
“Our main concern is the price,” says De Vreese, whose team is currently studying the importance of “structural soils” like those deployed by the tree pits. “Excavating the soil surrounding the tree and refilling it is no small job.”
And while Professor Klein praises the Stockholm Tree Pit’s use of structural soil and how effective it’s proven to be, he notes that the long-term success of urban forestry also relies on other factors such as the supply of high quality nursery stock and proactive tree management such as routine pruning by municipalities.
“If we don’t have these we are setting ourselves up for failure,” he says. “Some cities do the bare minimum. In the U.S.A., it’s the wild west. But others, like Stockholm, are proactive, and they have public officials seriously behind it. That’s what we need.”
By: Peter Yeung, March 4, 2025
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wanologic · 10 months ago
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college au prequel: what happened to danny during junior year - 2940 words
Viscous green liquid sludges through a dry river bed, whetting the cracked ground and seeping deep into the void. Soil softens, becoming fat with nutrient. In the most basic definition, still itself, but filled with new matter, ready and accepting of more. This is what it was made for, its purpose. It has been sitting, dry and untended for too long. In this symbiosis it is more than it dreamed to be. Complete in the sense that it has been starved.
--
Danny wakes up, the dream lingering.
He’s been feeling odd lately, despite the fact that he is more comfortable in his skin than ever. He has a goal, he has support. 
A bridge, he called himself.
Even if he’s only sixteen and his influence is contextually small, he has time. People are listening. Ghosts are listening. Small steps over a long period will get you where you need to go, and he’s still just a kid. 
A kid who has to get ready for school.
He goes through the familiar motions, snags a quick breakfast and lets his parents know he’s headed out, that he’ll see them later. He’s out the door and on his way before he knows it.
Danny’s grades have improved since his freshman year. The pressure to keep things secret has all but alleviated and his family is sticking close. The world might not know that Fenton and Phantom are the same, but the people who matter do.
He’s managing. Thriving, even.
His extracurriculars are atypical of a high school junior, but he plays his role well. The Ghost Investigation Ward meets Phantom and the Fentons on neutral ground that evening, working their way methodically through a tangle of red tape. Teaching, learning. There’s always danger in compromise, but both parties are being two faced. It’s civil for now.
He’ll do this from the opposite angle on another day, playing border guard for the dimensional tear nestled into the fabric of his basement. Walker would be proud of him. He’s enforcing the Rules.
And it’s all going well as far as he can tell. Things are so much less chaotic than they were, his brawls feel like bonding, his head is no longer on a swivel.
For now, it’s off to his room. A space for himself to decompress after a long day's work.
He spends a lot of time thinking about a prehistoric past. What the future might look like once his job is over. This solid physical reality fed that swirling and infinite realm of emotion directly, once. It didn’t last, but time has passed. 
Danny is more aware of this fractured nature than most. He’s sure it’s why he’s had so much success. Why the responsibility falls on him. He feels it every time he calls upon his second self. 
And that’s what it is, isn’t it? Human first, ghost second. Humanity is the frame of reference he was born with. Everything new he experiences in this strange half-life is compared against it. Spectra once asked him what he was. But humanity is in his nature. He is a creepy boy with creepy powers. He’s sure of it. 
Going ghost.
Returning to humanity.
Not that he prefers one over the other. He’s made the choice. More than once. When his memories were erased or his powers short-circuited he always took them back. Felt the thrumming and euphoric energy pulsing through his being once again. His shape projected and unreal. Weightless. It feels incredible.
At some point, some late night discussion about feelings, whether it was with family or with friends, he realized his dual nature was more of a privilege than he could ever hope to fully comprehend. His human half feeds his ghost half everything. His ghost half is complete. No wonder he’s so determined, so strong. He has never once craved emotion the way the others have. He has intrinsic access to everything. Every failed test, every frustration, every joy, every thrill. He is comfortable and whole. Has no need to lash out. Two separate identities working together as two polar magnets, inseparable through the strength of their attraction, moving through the world as one.
He slips the familiar glowing rings across his body, the cool wash of ectoplasm coursing through his veins. Back again, blood pumps oxygen to his cells. Human. Ghost. Human. Ghost.
--
This time the dream is stranger.
The river craves the ocean. 
Danny feels the sand cake beneath his nails as he digs a trench, a violation of the river’s established bed. There’s a trickle as a thin and frothy stream flows out of sync with the current along the path he lays. It longs for the larger disconnected body ahead. A curious tendril seeking an easier path. He digs deeper, automatic, compelled by a force he doesn’t quite understand. 
Is this a bridge too?
He’s both excited and afraid to find out.
The liquid pools at his fingertips as fast as he can dig. Nudging. The sand is saturated and wet in front of him. He’s not sure how much further he has to go. But if he can claw his way through this dense barrier he’s sure it will pick up momentum even without him. The fluid mass can carve its own trench. Wider. Faster. Wider again.
He wakes up in a cold sweat. He somehow feels incorporeal. This isn’t right. He looks at his hands. His fingers in the dark. Clean. Spotless. He feels the sheets beneath his body, the press of the blanket above. So he’s still human then, wrong as it may seem. He clutches at his chest as he tries to calm his racing heart, quell the strength of an intense emotion that he cannot describe. It’s exhilarating. It’s terrifying.
He stops digging and fashions a dam, not yet ready for what the final connection could mean.
His head hurts.
Nausea tucks itself against his gut.
He takes a shower.
--
It’s Saturday and he has business in the Ghost Zone.
He shifts, expecting the weird feeling to subside. Instead it’s more of the same. Something is off. He ignores it. A thing to worry about later when he has less to do.
His work that day goes smoothly, another step in what he can only hope is the right direction. And it feels nice, giving in to the compulsion and focusing on what is in front of him, what is currently begging his attention, rather than the problems lurking beneath the surface. It is a learned behavior, one he falls back into easily.
Upon his return he feels like he is dragging a piece of the Infinite Realms back with him. The air seems to thicken, the cold steel walls of the portal are closing in on him. The exit is a pinpoint.  He’s being called back. He wants to move forward. He can feel silky fingers worm their way over his skin, hundreds of tendrils trying to pull him into their embrace. He stays strong. Moves with intent. The invisible hands can’t find enough purchase and he is finally welcomed back into the Physical World like the denizen he is. 
The caress stays with him much longer than he’s willing to admit.
--
Weeks go by and he only feels stranger and stranger. High. His attention slides off of everything so easily, his eyes blurring mid-conversation, a stuffy feeling, like a balloon that’s expanding well past the boundaries of his head. He loses time. Cancels appointments. He doesn’t feel well, sorry, he’s going to stay home today.
There is something Danny knows he needs to do. He can’t keep existing in limbo like this, his job only half-finished, pulled in two directions but choosing neither. His powers will wane once again in his indecision. His purpose sits unfulfilled.
He lays back and stares at the softly luminescent stars pasted to the ceiling of his room. Takes deep and even breaths as he struggles to remain present. His sister is worried for him, he’s sure. The best he can do for her is secretly practice what she has preached.
Danny eventually thinks back to that trickling stream. The slimy offshoot of the coursing river. He thinks of the dam he dreamed up all those weeks ago, sure it’s bigger now. His denial adds weight and height to the metaphor. Every day it feels less like a figment of his fucked up imagination and more like the worlds are trying to tell him something. What’s on the other side now, he wonders? Is the river still flowing? Are the fruits of his labor still there or has that little hand-clawed pathway dried up? How large is the reservoir pressing up against that sandy hill if it hasn’t?
He’s scared. 
He doesn’t want to know. 
But this isn’t what he promised himself.
A peek can’t hurt.
--
The dream comes easily, now that he lets it.
The funny thing about water is that it always finds a way. No matter what people do, how they try to tame it, erosion is inevitable. It starts as a dark wet splotch, the faint idea of a tiny breach in the all-but-permeable barrier between worlds—the river and the ocean. As the spot expands a dip forms on the horizon. The water moves. Under, through, over. Destructive. Alive. Danny shouldn’t have looked but he can’t stop what has already started. Equilibrium will be achieved one way or another. It was only ever a matter of time. He stands in the shallows, cowed as the wall comes down. Slowly first, then all at once.
The edges of panic are sharp and he realizes what is happening only a beat too late. 
The dam breaks.
He screams.
He was the dam, he is the trench, the rapid connection of energy flowing out of bounds and rushing along a new path. Lightning striking the rod to avoid burning down the house. The portal below him is a wound, a tear. He is something asked for, something natural. His mind can’t keep up as he struggles to regain ground and prevent being swept away by the violent current.
Dim awareness of his physical body comes back to him slowly as he writhes against the foreign dimension assaulting his senses. A second death. His double life was a conceptual marvel, a switch flipping from on to off, and back on again. He is the embodiment of two worlds, split, distinct. His quest to join them together requires this of him, doesn’t it? Whatever autonomy he has against the will of the universe cannot remain if he truly wants to serve his purpose. It’s a choice he has to make. One that he has been making. One that has been made.
He takes a deep and shuddering breath.
He tries to let go, and finds that he can’t. It’s like being electrocuted all over again, his nerves fried and his joints stuck rigid. It’s a feeling that is impossible to control, tense as he is.
His breath still comes ragged as colors around him saturate and the world warps. He can feel his fear, his desperation, feeding the momentum of whatever is happening. The exchange of emotion, osmosis through a rapidly deteriorating membrane. Thousands of overlapping inputs assault his mind as he feels the energy sliding around in the folds of his brain. He breathes through it. It’s not at all painful, but it is intense. His human points of reference aren’t working to help him conceptualize what is happening. His atoms are buzzing with newfound energy and the world is no longer solid. He tries once again to attempt the mindfulness ritual Jazz has been shoving down his throat, tries to name five things around him. The exercise fails him as he feels his brain liquefy in his skull. He gasps at the sloshing sensation, back arching. He’s going to be unmade.
Instead of loosening his grip, he tightens it. Remembering what it is to be human with all the force he can muster. His knuckles are white. Sweat slips down his brow. If he can’t let go, he has to hold on. He is gasping, thrashing. He’s hyperventilating, he’s sure, but no oxygen floods his system. He wants release, wants off this ride. The world outside of his perception ceases to exist. Flesh slips from his bones and it feels so, so good.
Then he sees it.
His eyes are blind, but he perceives it, somehow. The yawning void of the infinite realms is so much bigger, so much hungrier than he had ever thought. Reading that tablet, all that time ago, he thought his purpose was something simple. Easy in a way that a fourteen year old imagination could rationalize. The earth and the zone were two physical spaces that only needed to understand each other and hold hands to achieve that elusive harmony. 
He’d been wrong.
It’s not the earth that feeds the realms. Dimensions aren’t something that can be explained by an elementary understanding of mass and matter. They aren’t some static three dimensional points in time and space. They are universes of their own, expanding, interstitched in a nasty and sticky web of inexplicable physics folding over and back on themselves, forever too complicated to pry apart.
The realms are fed by the conscious universe perceiving itself, the soul, the spirit, whatever you want to call it. Emotions aren’t some grid of faces on a paper, they are infinite, they are cause and effect, the chicken and the egg, projecting forever in a möbius loop human understanding can never truly describe.
He’s going to go insane, he concludes. Here on his bed, on some random weekday, alone in his room. The magnetic pull of his two halves are phasing into each other, becoming imperceivable as the two separate forms he once knew. He’s not even sure that he really exists at this point. 
There is another choice to make.
He thinks back to what he knows about this buried history, Pariah Dark, The Ancients, wonders if they considered this connection, what they knew about how this should happen. Is there a way to do this that is objectively correct? If he knew more would it be easier? Or would it go down just the same? He has no desire to conquer. Only to be a bridge. A tether. An example. To show that this merging from two to one can be peaceful, a shift in perception rather than a violent overhaul. It is unavoidable now. His only wish is to remain recognizable as himself. 
He focuses not on his mind but on his body. He has to rebuild from the ground up or risk losing himself forever. Start small, a beating heart. Vascular systems. Skeletal. Muscular. Take a breath and pump blood into the empty cavern of his skull. Human is what he knows, though he’s never had to think about it quite this way before. His nerves lace through the structures he’s struggling to create, half intuition, half memory. It feels like being a ghost, all projection and thought, a deep and innate understanding. He knows this. He’s existed this way every moment of his short life and he can do it again. He’s alive, his blood is red, his flesh is tangible.
His brain slams back into his body and he promptly throws up.
--
The worlds are connected once again.
Danny’s hands shake as he tries to get a grip on himself. He’s been changed. He can feel it. The Infinite Realms has marked him as he has marked it. The world is flowing through and from him. Energy hums under his skin, and in it there is access to a well so deep he’s not sure it could ever run dry. 
He finally gets it. This is what being a bridge between worlds means for him.
He gets off his bed slowly. Half floating, half stumbling for balance. His instincts are scattered and his breath no longer sits in his body the same.
This change gives him the authority and the power, the perception and understanding to mend the bleeding fracture between dimensions. He will be listened to. He cannot be hurt. His appearance no longer matters, he is what he is, wholly and entirely. He exists as a linchpin. He is the keystone in the arch where one side is living and the other is dead.
Gravity feels so odd. Like someone changed the coefficient.
He sobs and grabs his dresser for support, woozy and unbalanced, a newborn deer walking on unfamiliar legs. He intends to make his way downstairs. Wants to fall into the embrace of his parents. Needs someone to hold him and tell him that everything will still be okay. He looks to the door.
And without moving, he is there.
Breath comes hard and fast as he steadies himself. His perception catching up to the new perspective. His hand is on the handle, he radiates a trail of semi-physical matter with every motion. It will take practice to appear normal again. He’s reminded of his freshman year.
When he finally opens the door, a swirling green wall is all that meets him. He stares at it, the cold vapor of the Realms slipping around and through him.
He knows the observants exist on the other side. He is sure of it as he is sure of anything. They are there to acknowledge the crown above his head. To observe what he has finally made of himself. 
He will tell him that he didn’t want this, didn’t ask for it.
They will tell him that he is lying.
He steps through the threshold.
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dandelionsresilience · 3 months ago
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Dandelion News - April 1-7
Like these weekly compilations? Tip me at $kaybarr1735 or check out my Dandelion Doodles! Last month’s Doodles are free to the public, so go take a look :D
1. Galapagos tortoises at Philadelphia Zoo become first-time parents at nearly 100
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“Mommy, the female tortoise, is considered one of the most genetically valuable Galapagos tortoises in the Association of Zoos and Aquariums’ species survival plan. [… T]he zoo said it is “overjoyed” at the arrivals of the four hatchlings, a first in its more than 150-year history.”
2. Massachusetts home-electrification pilot could offer a national model
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“In total, the program is providing free or heavily subsidized solar panels and heat pumps to 55 participating households, 12 of which also received batteries at no cost. […] It’s a strategy that program planners hope can help address the disproportionate energy burden felt by lower-income residents of the region[….]”
3. National Park Rangers rebel against queer erasure on Trans Day of Visibility
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“[… A] group of over 1,000 off-duty, fired, and retired National Park Service employees launched Rangers Uncensored, an online archive that restores and amplifies LGBTQ+ stories quietly scrubbed from government websites since President Donald Trump’s second inauguration.”
4. World's largest wildlife crossing reaches critical milestone
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“Over the next few days they'll be adding 6,000 cubic yards of specially manufactured soil to cover the crossing, a mix of sand, silt and clay inoculated with a bit of compost and hyperlocal mycorrhizal fungi, carefully designed and tested to mimic the biological makeup of native soils around the site.“
5. Bipartisan bill to boost green building materials glides through House
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“[B]ipartisan legislation the House of Representatives passed in a 350-73 vote last week would give the Department of Energy a clear mandate to develop a full program to research, develop, and deploy clean versions of the building materials.”
6. Tribal Wildlife Grants Funding Announced
“Tribal Wildlife Grants are intended to help Tribes develop programs for the conservation of habitat and species of traditional or cultural importance[….] Typically funded projects include: conservation planning, fish and wildlife management and research, habitat mapping and restoration, inventory and monitoring, and habitat preservation. […] A total of $6.1 million is available for this round of funding[….]”
7. Germany adds another one million PV arrays to take solar total to 104 gigawatts
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“Following a rapid rise in household solar panel installations, Germany’s total number of PV arrays has passed the five million “milestone[.…]” Solar systems already cover almost 15 percent of Germany’s electricity demand, BSW-Solar said. […] The total capacity of all PV systems installed in Germany surpassed 100 GW at the start of the year.”
8. Stronger together: Bilby conservation efforts enhanced by Indigenous knowledge
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“Ms. Geyle said the results showed combining [conventional science and traditional tracking methods] more accurately estimated bilby abundance than using either technique individually[….] "[… ensuring] that Indigenous people remain central to decision-making about their lands and species that inhabit them," Ms. Geyle said.”
9. Lennar will build 1,500new Colorado homes with geothermal heat pumps
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“The homebuilder is partnering with Dandelion Energy to install the tech, which is efficient but expensive — unless it’s built into new homes from the start. […] And by eliminating the need for new gas pipelines and reducing the peak electricity demands on the power grid, subdivisions built on this model could save a bundle on utilities as well[….]”
10. New strategy launched to protect Tanzanian biodiversity hotspot
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“Conservationists have launched a 20-year-long project to protect what is arguably Tanzania’s most biologically rich landscape: the Udzungwa Mountains. The strategy places notable emphasis on communities living here, with more than half of its budget allocated to social and economic projects and managing human-wildlife conflict.”
March 22-28 news here | (all credit for images and written material can be found at the source linked; I don’t claim credit for anything but curating.)
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nymphaura777 · 4 months ago
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YOU CAN’T FAIL IN MANIFESTATION, PERIODT.
Okay, I need yall to stop acting like manifestation is some kinda school exam where you either pass or fail. That’s NOT how this works. You literally cannot fail at manifesting, never ever, istg.
The only thing that happens is you either persist or you let your doubts take over the control. That’s it.
And yet, I see so many of you saying things like:
"what if I’m doing it wrong? What if I ruined everything? What if my negative thoughts manifested? What if I fail? What if I don't do the methods and all correctly?"
Bruh just CHILL. You didn’t ruin anything. Negative thoughts don’t just magically erase everything unless you start feeding them like a stray cat and believing in them more than your actual desire and make them your dominant thoughts. Your brain is literally testing you cause once your mental diet was full of negative thoughts, doubts, fear of failure and negative beliefs so how can it all change at once?
It’s like, so do you really think you’re going get what you want? Okay, let’s see how you handle THIS doubt, THIS insecurity, THIS limiting belief you’ve been carrying since your 5th birthday....
And if you let that mess get to you and start wavering, thats where people mess up. Not because they “failed.” But because they started making all those things as their dominant thoughts.
For example: I'm planting a plant in my garden, so many times weed comes out along with the plant...so would you remove that one single weed or let that weed grow in the whole garden and let it destroy your whole garden's soil fertility?
Similarly, if a doubt/negative thought comes to you so would you sit all day thinking about it or would you let it go and move on?
Ik your answer, obv the second one right? Then why not applying in real life? You know you're not doing it "right" or "wrong" it's just doubting and being stuck in doubts and let the anxiety rule your mind? Cmon be smart.
Next time you catch yourself thinking, "But what if I’m doing it wrong?" slap that thought OUT. You CAN’T do it wrong unless you stop believing in your power.
The only difference between people who get their manifestations and people who don’t is only PERSISTING no matter what.
Cause Manifestation is Literally Just About Persisting
You decide what you want. You stick to it. And you don’t let anything convince you otherwise.
Even if the 3D is showing you the opposite. Even if your mind is screaming doubts at you. Even if it looks like nothing is happening.
Because guess what? It is happening. Every thought, every affirmation, every time you choose your dream reality over doubt, its always happening
And if you stay loyal to what you want, it HAS to come true. It’s literally law, so stop saying that I have failed or am I doing it wrong. PERSISTENCE IS THE KEY.
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galactic-magick · 7 months ago
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Request: can u pls do au claggor x fem reader where the reader gets hurt and he takes care of her
Hope you like it anon! :)
-
Claggor knew this was a bad idea.
But alas, you’re always so stubborn, and there was no way of convincing you not to come with him (although he did try).
You wanted to come with him down to the fissures, insisting that you could help him in some way. He’s been doing tests for months now, working with different plants and methods of cleaning the air. He at the very least got you to put a mask on while you’re down there, even though you both have been used to breathing that toxic air your whole lives.
The mines are full of sharp objects and plenty of things to trip over, causing Claggor to keep you close to him at all times. He’s holding your hand, pulling you in at your waist, and occasionally just carrying you in his arms or on his back. He refuses to let you get hurt.
Despite all his efforts, though, the inevitable still happens.
You had wandered off while he was focused on experimenting with the soil, exploring the abandoned parts of the mines with curiosity. You bumped into something a little too clumsily, and before you processed what you hit, an old tool comes falling down.
You scream, nothing in your mind registering but excruciating pain.
Claggor calls your name and sprints towards your shrill voice, finding you on the ground, your leg bloody and likely broken.
He rips off a piece of his shirt and wraps it tightly around the gash, hoping the pressure will be enough to slow the bleeding until he can get you home.
“I-I’m sorry, Clag-” you say between sobs. “I know you didn’t want me down here…”
“Stop it,” he refutes you, scooping you up with ease. “I need to get you back. You’re going to be okay.”
He tends to you fervently, making sure your leg isn’t infected and wrapping it up in a somewhat sloppy cast. He gives you some pain potion from the bathroom cabinet and surrounds you with pillows on your bed so you’re as comfortable as possible. He doesn’t say much—too focused on your wounds to form words.
“Are you mad at me?” you ask, eyes still watery.
“Why would I be mad at you?” he finishes tucking you in with blankets and brushes a hair out of your face.
“I didn’t listen to you, and now you have to deal with taking care of me.”
“When have I ever complained about taking care of you?” he slides in beside you on the bed and wraps his arm around you gently.
“But you had so much you wanted to get done today,”
“So? I’ll do it another day,” he kisses the top of your head. “There is nothing I’d rather be doing right now.”
You smile. The pain is still far from subsiding, but the safety of Claggor’s arms make it much more bearable.
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bratbby333 · 1 year ago
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I got some thoughts 👀 can I request a little something? like reader finds herself in a situation where a guy is disrespectful to her and Geto steps in to defend her... she would be so relieved like 'thank you so much tall and beautiful stranger' 😍🥰 and he's probably like 'don't worry about it, it's whatever' but in the end he offers to walk her home and he fucks her against the wall things happen 😳😳
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`⭐︎ ˑ ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ YOUR GUARDIAN STRANGER ! — feat. suguru geto
word count. 3.6k content warnings. characters are 21+, fem!reader x suguru, mentions of blood, allusions to violence, reader gets hit on and grabbed in the club, alcohol consumption, p in v, unprotected sex, use of pet names, dirty talk, thigh-riding, sugu fucks hard, one night stand, the pull-out method, non-curse!au author notes. thank you for ur ingenious request my sweet nonnie...i hope you enjoy xx not beta read !!
nsfw 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 mdni
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A skin-tight dress. Four inch heels. Dark lip liner with a clear gloss on top. A few spritzes of Chanel No. 5, and you are out the door and heading to the club.
Everything is great; good vibes, strong drinks, pounding 808s reverberating off the walls. The liquor warms your stomach as your hips sway to the music, your over-worked body relaxing with every bump of the heavy bass. You take in the scene around you; drunk couples making out in the corner, a few underage kids getting thrown out, a group of friends arguing over god knows what– it’s all very entertaining. You laugh to yourself, your eyes scanning the room once more before your vision settles on the one thing you were trying to avoid. Shit. Your heart drops. Really? Did he not catch the hint the last two times? You sigh deeply, rolling your eyes as you prepare yourself for the inevitable. Not this again.
Because, of course, all good things must come to an end. 
You're used to being hit on. But tonight, there is one guy in particular, unrelenting in his attempts to get close to you. He's shorter than average, the two of you being the same height when you're in heels. He reeks of liquor, cigarettes, and BO. His fringe clings to his forehead as he approaches you for the third time this evening, a disgusting smirk plastered across his face. He seems to have mistaken your accidental eye contact as an invitation to test his luck once more. With tense shoulders and an apprehensive tone, you offer him polite conversation. Not that you want to, but god forbid you reject him in just the right way to make him snap. You don't want to end up being a headline. Your eyes dart elsewhere, knowing damn well that if you look at him for too long you might gag. He is truly disgusting, rambling on and on about his podcast and his most recent bouts of buying and trading crypto. 
It's a tough situation to navigate. You're out alone. Granted, you are at a club that you're comfortable in; you're familiar with the layout, you're friends with a few of the waitresses and bartenders. The DJ knows you by name. But, you're still riding solo in a loud, rambunctious environment. Even though there is a level of comfort here, it's still a club filled with drunkards at the end of the day. 
With a fake smile and a couple nods of your head, you try to ignore the part of the conversation where he referred to himself as an “alpha male” as you accept the drink he presents to you, kindly excusing yourself before disappearing into the crowd once more.
A shudder runs down your spine, your body quite literally trying to shake away that awful conversation. God, he’s the worst. On your way to the dance floor, you pour the contents of the cup into the soil of a potted plant. He doesn't think you're stupid, does he? There is no way in hell you're drinking that shit.
You're dancing alone, enjoying the house mix that's bumping through the giant speakers, the colorful spotlights that bounce around your face as you feel yourself begin to relax once more. Finally, some much needed alone time. All you want is to let loose after an arduous week of working. Can't a girl have some peace?
"C'mon...just give me a chance." You don't even have to turn around to see who it is, you can smell him. Your nose scrunches up before you turn to face him, another fake smile pulling at your cheeks as you speak to him for the fourth time tonight. 
"I'm sorry, but I'm just not looking for anythin'...I'm just tryna have fun," you say politely, before beginning to walk away. If you just keep moving through the crowd, he won't be able to find you again. But this guy is annoyingly determined and obnoxiously entitled, because after one step away from him, his hand grabs at your wrist, "We can have fun! C'mon...seriously?! I bought you a drink and this is how you treat me?"
As soon as the contact is made, your blood boils. Rage runs through your body as you spin around to chew him out for A, assuming some smelly asshole like him has a chance with you; B, for even thinking he could touch you, and C, the absolute nerve of this man to actually follow through with it. 
But when you turn, you realize you can't see him anymore. Your eye line is obstructed by a broad, muscular back. Utterly confused, you step to the side in order to fully see what the hell is going on. The sweaty hand that was once wrapped around your forearm is now gripped by a large fist. Your eyes trail up to your savior, a damningly handsome man with jet-black hair. 
"Do we have a problem?" a stern voice addresses the musty, shorter guy. 
"Yeah, this chick's been flirting with me all night...I'm tryna get what I'm owed," he spits back, attempting to pull his wrist away, "Dude, let go...stop bein' a cockblock." The mystery man's face twists at the other's bold choice in words. You're shocked that he doesn't feel intimidated at all. 
"What you're owed?" A deep chuckle emerges from the unknown’s chest as he stares down at him. "I dunno...it seems like she wants nothing to do with you," he muses, tightening his grip around the other’s arm. 
He turns to address you, and you finally get to take a good look at him. His side-profile is god-like, but looking at him straight on is a whole different realm of attractiveness. The man's fucking gorgeous. You're too busy ogling him that you miss his question all together. 
"S-sorry...what did you say?" You shake your head a bit, adrenaline pumping through your ears from this entire ordeal, the expensive scent of his cologne mixing with the pounding bass of the club; it's all making your head spin. 
He laughs and leans down to your level, his head hovering just next to your ear. "You want me to get rid of him for ya?" he repeats, his breath brushing against your neck, sending shivers down your spine. He pulls back, looking down at you with his grip still tight around the other guy's arm. The pathetic man is squirming as the two of you share quite the intimate eye contact. You nod, your mouth dropping open as he drags him out of the club immediately. 
You let out a deep sigh before making your way to the bathroom. You lather up your hands with soap and do your best to scrub away the feeling of that man's skin on yours. Leaning up against the sink, you take a few deep breaths before fixing your hair and reapplying your lipgloss. That man is vile, but you're not going to let that gross interaction ruin your night. 
You make your way to the bar, keeping your head on a swivel in hopes to see your handsome rescuer once more, wanting to thank him for handling that for you. You pout a bit as you fail to see him on your trek, sighing as you place your order with the bartender. 
You take a few sips before turning to walk back toward the dance floor, when you literally run straight into someone. "Fuck! I am so sorry, I-" but then you smell it, the same entrancing cologne as before. You look up and are met with a devious grin on the most angelic face you've ever seen. You smile, pushing your hair from your eyes, "I was looking for you." You sound relieved as the two of you stare at one another. 
"Were you now?" he asks coyly, shifting his weight as he smirks down at you. You nod shyly, "Mhm...I-I wanted to thank you for earlier," you take another sip of your cocktail, hoping it will calm your nerves a bit, "I appreciate you stepping in, that guy couldn't catcha fuckin' hint," you laugh, looking away. 
"Don't mention it. It's the least I could do," he responds. "I'm Suguru, by the way."
Turning to face him once more, you tell him your name with a kind smile. As the two of you make small talk, you notice his chest is heaving a bit, and with a quirk of your brow, you run your eyes down his body, realizing that his knuckles are bruised and slightly bloody.
"Oh...oh my god. Are you alright?" you ask, grabbing his hand. You bring his fist up to inspect it, the dim lights of the club not offering you much assistance. "Oh, yeah," he laughs, rotating his wrist so you can examine it further, "the blood's not mine," he grins. A laugh escapes you as you gaze up at him, still holding his hand in yours. 
"Damn...you really did a number on him, huh?" Suguru laughs at this.
"Absolutely, he deserved it. Dude was a prick. I'm really sorry that happened to you," he sympathizes, watching as you grab napkins and a shot of vodka from the bar to wipe off the dried blood from his knuckles. 
"It's alright, I'm used to it by now, but having someone step in and save me was definitely a first." He releases a jagged exhale as you pour the liquor over the small abrasions on his hand, "Sorry...gotta disinfect you. That dude was gross...I had to go scrub my arm off after he touched me," you giggle. He watches intently as you finish cleaning him up, his heart skipping a beat as you smile up at him triumphantly. You are quite the woman, cunning and confident. He likes that. 
"There ya go," you chirp, before tossing the reddened napkins into the garbage can located nearby. His eyes run across your face and up and down your body, taking in every part of you. Poor thing. Though you seem so unbothered by that whole situation, there is a telling look behind your eyes, and Suguru notes that you are still a little shaken up. He would be crazy to let you wander back out there alone. 
"Do you want to come hang with my friends? I promise they won't pester you like that dude did," he offers. He nods toward the booths that line the wall. "That's them over there; Shoko and Satoru." You follow his eye line, seeing a brunette woman accompanied by a blue-eyed man. They seem to be about your age, and you love meeting new people. You smile and agree, thanking him once more as the two of you make your way over to the table. 
The rest of your night is spent laughing and dancing with the three of them. You learn that they all work for the high school across town, and that Shoko can really handle her liquor; Satoru cannot. You and Suguru are in your own world, chatting about everything and nothing, taking breaks to dance together when a good song comes on. His hands rest on your waist as you move your hips against him, your bodies fitting like you are made for one another. Suguru, being the gentleman he is, never pushes any further than that, allowing you to initiate the contact. 
It's 2 AM when the four of you stumble out of the club, the tall blond leaning on his smaller friend's shoulders as she guides him toward the taxi. It's quite the amusing sight. 
You stop short of the curb, wishing Satoru and Shoko a good night, before turning to Suguru. "Thank you again…for everything," you say, your voice raspier than usual from all the shouting you did inside the loud club. 
"Of course. I'm just glad we got to spend some more time together," he says with a smile, ushering you toward the taxi. He's confused when you shake your head. 
"I live like three blocks from here, I'm just gonna walk," you state. "It was really nice meeting you, you were great company," you smirk, heading down the road, your heels clacking against the pavement with every step. 
A few unintelligible words are exchanged between Suguru and the taxi driver, followed by a car door slamming shut, before the sound of someone jogging catches up to you. 
"You're crazy if you think I'm gonna let you walk home alone," he retorts, pushing you toward the inside of the sidewalk as he walks closest to the cars that pass by. 
"You're quite the gentleman, aren't you," you tease, pushing your shoulder into his. He chuckles, "Can you blame me? I see a beautiful woman in distress, I have to jump in." You blush at his compliment.
"My knight in...," you pause as you run your eyes down his body, "...jeans and a black tee," you giggle. After sharing a few laughs, silence settles between the two of you as the cool air swirls around you. The occasional car passes by, but other than that, it's a quiet evening. 
You glance at Suguru through your peripherals, enjoying the way his layered hair bounces with every step he takes. His cologne, though more subtle now, still wafts toward your nose. He really is beautiful. You wonder if it'd be too bold to see if he wants to continue your evening. 
You walk toward the door to your apartment, turning to face him. It's now or never. 
"You comin'?" You ask with a raise of your brow. He chuckles as he climbs the stairs, joining you by your side, "Thought you'd never ask."
You have never been into one night stands, but something about Suguru is irresistible. Whether it's because he saved you from that creep or because he is super fucking sexy, you know you need him. Now. The two of you barely made it through the doorway as you’re pushing him up against the wall of your foyer, your lips immediately finding his.
He's taken aback by your boldness, taking a second to register his surroundings before quickly flipping the two of you around, his hands cupping either side of your face as his knee wedges between your legs. His muscular thigh is pressed directly onto your core, the pressure sending waves through your body.
“Couldn’t even make it to the bed, huh?” he husks into your ear, placing a wet kiss on the sensitive skin below, nipping and sucking at it. Soft moans echo through the hallway as Suguru finds your lips once more, your tongues battling one another. You thrust your hips, rubbing your warmth against his leg. “Eager, are we?” he teases, lifting his leg more. 
“Mmm…mhm,” you gasp as the contact intensifies. You’re already addicted to him, wanting nothing more than to feel him inside you. You grind your hips harder, pressing your drenched cunt firmly against his clothed thigh, certain that he can feel your pussy throbbing against him, the tightness in your stomach intensifying. Your cheeks fluster at how quickly he’s getting you to your breaking point without even having to do anything.
He breaks the kiss, watching intently as your hips gyrate against him. “Shit…are you gonna cum?” The tone of his voice is taunting, yet laced with desire. The sight of you using him to get off has him rock hard. You blush immediately, tilting your head away from him. You nod shyly, though your hips continue their pattern. “So fuckin’ hot,” his hand wraps around your throat, your head tilting to rest against the wall. “Uh uh, don’t get shy now…look at me.” Through low lids, you meet his gaze. His lower lip is between his teeth as he glances between your face and your cunt rubbing against his thigh. With a desperate whimper, you pick up the pace. “C’mon…that’s it–cum for me,” he growls, entranced by the fluid motion of your body. You come undone just a few minutes later with a whine and a few moans of his name. Your cum soaks through your panties and a guttural moan breaks through his chest as he watches you finish. “Fuckin’ drenchin’ me already, huh?” You blush profusely, your eyes screwed tight as embarrassment courses through you.
You yelp as he flips you around, your chest now pressed against the wall, your legs parallel with your shoulders. “All that cum ‘n I wasn’t even inside you yet…” He unbuckles his belt, shoving his pants and boxers down just enough to free his throbbing erection, “...can’t wait to see how much you cream on my cock.” You whimper at the filthy words that shamelessly fall from Suguru’s lips as he pulls your dress up and drags your panties down your legs. You aren’t much help, small pants leaving your chest as your body recovers from your unexpectedly intense orgasm.  His lips part as he teases his thick tip along your slit, lubing himself with your cum. “You ready, doll?” His head shallowly dips in and out of your needy cunt, already loving the way you stretch for him. You hum, nodding profusely as you look over your shoulder. “Mm. Mhm…p-please fuck me,” you beg. Your words feel foreign to you as you say them, unsure of where all this submissiveness was coming from. But Suguru’s effortlessly domineering aura makes you want to bend to his every whim, to please him in any way that you can. 
Inch by inch, he’s delving into you. The warmth of your dribbling cunt sucking him, the squelching sounds ricocheting through his head, the sinful moans that break through your throat–it drives him wild. He growls as your back arches, pushing him even deeper. Your ass flush against his lower abdomen, your eyes blowing wide at the damning stretch of his full length nestled deep inside you.
He stays still for a moment, allowing you time to accommodate as your gushy walls flutter around him. The pace starts slow, but Suguru’s patience wears thin, and after a few strokes he’s ramming into you, one hand wrapped around the front of your throat, the other pulling your hair into a makeshift ponytail as he bounces you on his cock. The scratches that should be left on the tanned flesh of his toned back are being dragged down your beige walls, your breasts rubbing against the cold plaster with every rough thrust of his hips, the sensation stimulating your budding nipples. 
Every bump of his hips pushes his head into your sweet spot, his length caressing every part of you with ease. “Takin’ me so well,” he grunts as he rams into your furthest wall. You can’t suppress the cock-drunk whines that spill from you, your eyes welling with tears while delirious pleasure claws its way through your body, your tummy tightening as you clench around him. Your shoulders tense as your perch on your tiptoes, opening yourself up to take more of him–if that is even possible–praying he finds refuge within your womb. “Shit–” he hisses, his words nearly incoherent as the sound of skin against skin echoes through the hallway, “fuckin’ milkin’ me, doll.”
He releases your throat, the same hand trailing down your spine before his arm snakes around you, his nimble fingers strumming delicious circles against your throbbing clit. You cry out, eyes screwing shut as your legs shake. “Fuck…oh fuuuck–ahh! Gonna…’m gonna…” Your voice trails off, any semblance of a coherent thought cast to the wayside as a deep chuckle rumbles through his chest. Suguru leans down, kissing behind your ear before biting at your lobe. “I know,” he muses, his fingers work even faster against you, “Squeezin’ me s’tight…”, his hips shifting to push himself even deeper, “...C’mon. Make a mess ‘f me.” You reach your breaking point once more, lips parting as squirt spills out around his cock and dribbles down your thighs. 
His release follows suit with a few raspy swears and sultry mumbles of your name. He pulls out, working his fist around his cock, his hot seed shooting onto your ass and lower back. Suguru places soft pecks along your neck and shoulders, working to regain his breath. He catches you as he untangles his body from yours, chuckling at the evident exhaustion of your body while your knees buckle, unable to support your own body weight as you lean against the wall. 
After tucking himself away and a speedy rebuckle of his belt, he scoops you up in his arms, carrying you bridal style to your bed, setting you down on your plush duvet. 
“Bathroom?” he asks. Your brows furrow before you comprehend his question, still dazed from the spell he cast on you. With a weak flick of your wrist, you gesture toward the closed door to your left. You watch with tired eyes as he returns with a damp rag, his soft touches along your weary body juxtaposing the meanness of his strokes as he mindfully cleans you up. With a quick kiss on your cheek and a soft mumble of “you were wonderful” into your ear, he smiles down at you before beginning to exit the bedroom. It’s crazy–insane, even–how much you want him around. You must be out of your mind…this near stranger—the fact that you even let him in your house is wild, let alone asking him to stay the night? But you want him to, so bad. There’s just something about him.
You sit upright, ignoring the ache in your lower back and the morality of your choices, your question flying from your lips before your brain can stop it. “Wait…can you stay?” Your words are soft as they drift through the air. He stops just short of the door, before turning and offering you a knowing smile, “I thought you’d never ask.”
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author notes. certified sugu glazer…what can i say. i just cannot get enough of him ugh.
i’m still workin thru all my requests, i appreciate yalls patience w me 🤍
my reqs are closed atm, but thirsts + chats are welcome! come say hello ☺️
tag list: @admirxation @sadmonke @the-weeb-of-the-uchiha @call-memissbrightside (lmk if u want to be removed from tags🤍)
©bratbby333 on tumblr. all rights reserved. please do not distribute. 2024.
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tomorrowsgardennc · 4 months ago
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so last saturday i taught my first class 🫣 it was about 3 different ways to start seeds. it was a small class and pretty chilly out, so between nerves and cold i was super blushed in the fave and runny nose. hopefully nobody noticed 🫣 i'm more comfortable with one-on-one, especially when it comes to anything skill-based. like if someone has started seeds before can undsrstand a couple more things than someone who has never even planted anything before let alone start a seed. i asked at the b3eginning of the class and the skill levels for seeds were mixed. just hope i didn't bore anyone or overwhelm others...
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first up was the egg carton method so we could talk about seed depth. i also went off tangent and talked about how all the methods shown today are as plastic free as possible because plastic free is a privilege and as i took an awkward pause asking myself why i went off on that tangent i noticed EVERYONE nodding their heads. for 2 seconds i knew what it felt like to be a preacher and everyone visibly agreeing with you.
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anywho. the second method i taught was soil blocking. i personally think it's the best method just not for me since even after like 4 tries my fingers were killing me. not great for arthritic hands on a cold day. also note for future me: while it was nice to note to people that water needs to be added, DON'T LET THEM ADD THE WATER because then everyone adds water and it becomes too wet to make blocks. whoops.
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the last method i demo'd was what has been trending on IG, pinterest and probably tiktok idk but everyone online is calling it a soil snail and legit those people haven't tried to say that 5 times fast whilst teaching a class outside in the cold with a runny nose so therefore, collectively, as a class, we decided to rename it the cinnamon roll method. and legit this was the method everyone LOVED doing and was very sad when i ran out of paper. i only precut like 4 extras just in case extra people showed up, but less people showed up so about half the class got to make more than one roll. i had a roll i made 2 weeks prior to test the method out and people were happy to see what theirs would look like in the future. one student had a trader joe's bag in their car so i asked if i could test making one with it, and realized keeping the handles on was cute. another student said it was a very nice purse i had and i said thank you it's my emotional support seedlings and people laughed. i get nervous when people laugh because i never know if they're being nice or if what i said was actually funny.
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looking back at this photo i now see why i got a terrible sunburn lol.
so yeh, first of many classes. the community garden who sponsored the class wants me to teach one (almost) every month now after seeing me teach that class. so over the rest of the weekend we brainstormed together on what else i'll teach this year. all for free, too. i love the woman in charge of this garden - we both believe in making anything that's about feeding yourself or others need to be free or as close to free as possible for everyone. it's refreshing and fun to work with someone with similar viewpoints with life.
if you could take a class about seeds or plants, what would you want to learn? still need some ideas for the fall/winter months. april is about companion plants.
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lillygamine · 1 year ago
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𝐿𝑎𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝒱𝑎𝑛𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑎
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♡ Warning:Female!Reader x Male!Yandere, Male!Wizard!Teacher, Mention of non-consensual relationship, Mention of Love Potion, Mention of NSFW, Mention of body transformation (Non-reader), Mention of torture and death (Non-reader ),Mention of non-kissing, Age difference (Reader: About 20 years || Yandere: About 40 years), Short Imagine ♡ Note:I don't speak English so I'm sorry for any mistakes in writing.
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When he closed his eyes, his mind was flooded with memories: His first spell, the first spellbook he read, the first potion he made, his achievements and his recognition. The feeling was still fresh in his mind, but it no longer seemed to have the same weight… everything had become so boring, being recognized as a prodigy, a great sorcerer, having his achievements recognized no longer seemed so interesting, on the contrary! It seemed boring and repetitive.
When everything became so boring, living alone became more attractive, not having to deal with people surrounding you, with their masks and words full of envy camouflaged with sweet praise and flattery… it was so predictable that it was unpleasant. So the Wizard decided to “retire”, live in a distant and distant village, where the peasants did not even know of his existence.
Life was peaceful, but the peace didn't last long… People started to appear at his door, sometimes to ask for potions and medicines, other times it was people who wanted to be his apprentices, and refusing didn't seem to keep them away, soon giving in the great mass of insistent and inconvenient people.
Becoming a teacher, he constantly had students circulating around his house and lands, insisting and insisting, testing his patience… They came and went, some couldn't stand his classes, his methods or his humor, which led them to give up; But he never cared, he was already tired, even in his 40s, he felt like he was too old for that (Although he hadn't even reached the age to worry about his age, since he was still in his prime, at least for a Wizard)
The Wizard didn't bother to keep names or faces, they never stayed for long, but you… you were different. When you arrived, asking to be his apprentice, he was as indifferent as ever, but there was something in your eyes, a flame so intense that it made his legs feel weak for a few seconds.
You were his best apprentice, you stood out in your small class of students, like a majestic flower that grew alone in a soil infertile with weeds. No matter what the challenge was, what his method or his orders were, you always dedicated yourself day and night to accomplish it, even if you sometimes failed, the sparkle in you eyes when he told you how you could do it or what you should improve, it was so intense that it could make anyone feel their heart miss a few beats.
He couldn't say when or how it started, but he wanted you, so intensely as if his life depended on it. One time he got closer to analyze a potion you were doing, he got close enough to smell you, you smelled like lavender and vanilla, it was so good he wanted to put his head on your neck and breathe deeply for hours, then From that day he recorded your smell in his brain, he can feel it when he closes his eyes. Another time, he found you sleeping under a tree, he knows he shouldn't have, but you slept so peacefully, you looked so beautiful, he couldn't help himself, he kissed you, and he felt like he was holding his breath until that moment, when he can finally breathe.
You had such soft lips, such a sweet taste, it seemed so unreal… He moved away when he felt you moving in your sleep, it was what he needed to regain his sanity, he left you as quickly as possible.
After that, everything got worse… his hunger, his desire for you were so intense that you haunted his dreams, every night he dreamed of you in his bed, it was so real… Your moans, Your heavy breathing, the softness of your body, your taste, your smell, the way your pussy squeezed around him. It was so intense, so real! He always woke up sweaty, flushed and with a painful and inconvenient erection that took a long time to disappear.
The Wizard made a decision, which would have you in his arms and planned in detail how to win you, but his plan was ruined before it was even put into practice, one of your colleagues, a young man your age, was surrounding you, making you laughing, touching your hands, touching your hair and then the Wizard felt his heart burn with fury.
You were his, his alone, and this disgusting little worm dared to try to take you from him? Of course he couldn't leave it like that…
In the following weeks, your colleague no longer appeared, and only he knew why; But with this little worm away from you, he could begin his plan and, just in case, he prepared something to facilitate his plan, a bubbling potion, Burgundy-colored and with a sweet smell reminiscent of honey, a few drops in your food, and in a few days you will think about him as intensely as he thinks about you. And as for your friend… well, salamanders have always been used as ingredients, but unlike the others, this one will have its limbs removed while it's still breathing…
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exhaled-spirals · 8 days ago
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« Shubhendu Sharma studied his entire life to be an engineer. [...] “I went into supply development. Our role was to understand the entire process of how a tire is made, or a small part like a nut or a bolt. We would go to the suppliers, and then to their suppliers, until we got to the source of the raw materials. And I started seeing that almost everything starts from a natural resource, and it all ends up in a junkyard. There is nowhere else for it to go but the junkyard.”
[...] What he realized, when he considered every step in the process of making a car, was deeply unsettling to him. “Is it for the good of humanity that we’re making ten million cars every year? Or is it because we want to keep our jobs, keep our machinery running? Because one day, maybe it’ll be the hundredth generation, there won’t be anything left to convert from a natural resource to end up in a junkyard.” That’s when he met the Japanese botanist Akira Miyawaki, who had been hired by Toyota to plant one of his tiny forests at the factory’s campus in Bangalore.
[...] Miyawaki had been invited to explain his method of planting a dense, rapidly growing, self-sustaining forest on any small plot of unused land. An area the size of a few parking spaces would work, although a typical tiny forest is about the size of a tennis court. His ideas stood in sharp contrast to the industrial production cycle Sharma was starting to question. [...He] volunteered to help Miyawaki plant the forest at the Toyota campus. The method had been rigorously tested and systematized. It involved densely planting local native species in a plot of land that had been intensely cultivated and inoculated with soil microbes. Nothing more was required, beyond heavy mulch and a little supplemental water for the first few years. The roots would form a massive web, the trees would grow rapidly, and within a few years, the forest would be practically impenetrable, making it the ideal host for insects, birds, and other wildlife.
Once Sharma saw the method in action, he tried it at home, installing a tiny forest in his backyard. “This was so much more joyous than doing anything else. I could not get this idea out of my mind, that this was something I should be doing for the rest of my life.”
In 2010—just three years after that fateful meeting with Miyawaki—he quit his job. Today he installs tiny forests around the world and teaches people how to do so in their own backyards. As a result of his work, at least 4.5 million trees have been planted in forty-four cities across North and Central America, Europe, the Middle East, and India.
Sharma emphasizes that planting a Miyawaki forest is no substitute for conserving ancient, wild forests. What he does is not reforestation but afforestation, a process of planting a forest on land that is currently treeless. These pockets of forest, whether they’re installed on corporate campuses, in city parks, in unused areas around freeways or airports, or behind someone’s house, can still behave like natural forests by supporting wildlife, sequestering carbon, and controlling erosion. They’re also beautiful, especially in a backyard. Even a tiny forest evolves as the shrubs and smaller trees give way and the larger canopy trees mature. Leaves fall and build a new layer of mulch. Small fruits and nuts attract wildlife. Birds build nests, and caterpillars give way to butterflies. It’s an ever-changing natural panorama. “I think having a forest at your own house is probably the greatest luxury anyone can have,” he said. »
— Amy Stewart, The Tree Collectors: Tales of Arboreal Obsession
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reasonsforhope · 1 year ago
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"An international research team has found almost a million potential sources of antibiotics in the natural world.
Research published in the journal Cell by a team including Queensland University of Technology (QUT) computational biologist Associate Professor Luis Pedro Coelho has used machine learning to identify 863,498 promising antimicrobial peptides -- small molecules that can kill or inhibit the growth of infectious microbes.
The findings of the study come with a renewed global focus on combatting antimicrobial resistance (AMR) as humanity contends with the growing number of superbugs resistant to current drugs.
"There is an urgent need for new methods for antibiotic discovery," Professor Coelho, a researcher at the QUT Centre for Microbiome Research, said. The centre studies the structure and function of microbial communities from around the globe.
"It is one of the top public health threats, killing 1.27 million people each year." ...
"Using artificial intelligence to understand and harness the power of the global microbiome will hopefully drive innovative research for better public health outcomes," he said.
The team verified the machine predictions by testing 100 laboratory-made peptides against clinically significant pathogens. They found 79 disrupted bacterial membranes and 63 specifically targeted antibiotic-resistant bacteria such as Staphylococcus aureus and Escherichia coli.
"Moreover, some peptides helped to eliminate infections in mice; two in particular reduced bacteria by up to four orders of magnitude," Professor Coelho said.
In a preclinical model, tested on infected mice, treatment with these peptides produced results similar to the effects of polymyxin B -- a commercially available antibiotic which is used to treat meningitis, pneumonia, sepsis and urinary tract infections.
More than 60,000 metagenomes (a collection of genomes within a specific environment), which together contained the genetic makeup of over one million organisms, were analysed to get these results. They came from sources across the globe including marine and soil environments, and human and animal guts.
The resulting AMPSphere -- a comprehensive database comprising these novel peptides -- has been published as a publicly available, open-access resource for new antibiotic discovery.
[Note: !!! Love it. Open access research databases my beloved.]"
-via Science Daily, June 5, 2024
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fresitalimonsandia · 1 month ago
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ii. _sTART oVER
𝑳𝒂 𝑽𝒊𝒆 𝑬𝒏 𝑹𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝑺𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔
Word Count: 2.7k
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pairing: ot8!ateez x fem!reader x ot8!stray kids
thriller & fantasy au (non kpop-idols au)
language: english
chapter summary: you had to reveal the dragon's secret to two complete strangers…
warnings: pregnancy, executions mentions, murders mentions, appearance of other idols as main characters
dividers by diviniyae
author's notes: I hope to publish the third chapter later.
La Vie en Rose Masterlist
taglist is open!
last ⇆ next
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Narrator’s POV
Dawn stretched across the radiant sky, announcing a new morning—a new day to remain standing. The 14 divisions of the kingdom were preparing to begin their daily activities. However, today there were other plans in motion; this would not be a routine day.
The Spring Harvest Festival. And no less important, the presentation of the 16 candidates to become the next king.
There were only 10 known species in the kingdom, some more privileged than others. If not for the Oracle, history would likely have done nothing but repeat itself—those favored ruling above the marginalized who longed for something better.
Various trials, challenges, and dilemmas would test each of the candidates, selected by their respective species. Chosen ones, considered capable of facing adversity and cruel destinies.
One king for so many creatures. A single individual meant to unite them all, regardless of where they came from or what they were told they were made for.
But just as there exists a “somewhat fair” method to choose a new ruler, there also exists the shadow—uncertainty, disillusionment, the fear that this competition might end up just like the one held 20 years ago.
Should that happen, the kingdom would fall, unraveling into chaos, misery, hatred, and resentment. Nothing and no one would be able to overcome the curses and fear that would shroud so many creatures.
This is the magical kingdom of Kixxuodo, the very name of which no one even dared to think about—wondering if it was closer to extinction than to any possible salvation.
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The Harvest Festival left no one exempt from their duties—not even the king himself, of course. And yet, he would rather not be there locked in his office, buried beneath a mountain of documents, he could easily sign later on.
Right now, he was where he believed he truly belonged—out in the fields, among the crops. Feeling the earth slip through his calloused hands, just like the first time his father had taken him to work. Fields that remained steady and well cared for, thanks to the constant effort of his workers—a reflection that his reign as king had not gone unnoticed and had yet to show any major cracks or failures.
He only wished his father were here to witness the dedication and wise decisions he had made for the good of the kingdom.
After a while, as the king carefully furrowed the soil and made sure everything was in order, someone very admirable slowly approached, clearly proud of the king’s attitude.
Unfortunately, he hadn’t come to speak about that. His visit had nothing to do with praise—it carried bad news.
“How are you today, Your Majesty?”.
Despite the quiet arrival of the calm man the king admired so much, the king didn’t flinch. He paused his hard work, turned toward him, and the two shared a look of mutual admiration and warmth, recalling past moments together. Of course, the king was glad that his first encounter of the day was with his mentor.
“Everything’s going wonderfully so far, sir. It’s just that, you know, today is a special day—and the last place I want to be is in the office,”. He replied kindly, subtly hinting that he wasn’t in the mood to be burdened with official matters at the moment. Still, he knew that if Min Yoongi had gone through the trouble of tracking him down in the fields, it had to be something serious.
“I know I can’t ignore my responsibilities, so go ahead—tell me what brought you here.”.
Yoongi appreciated that the king didn’t ask in an annoyed tone. He tried not to show the worry on his face, not wanting to give away what troubled him… and what didn’t. Without further delay, he explained the situation.
“There are already riots in the streets, Your Majesty. People are starting to act out and cause chaos, just in case none of the candidates convince them. They’re afraid it’ll all happen again, just like twenty years ago. And that’s not all…”.
Kim Namjoon had only been a child when the previous competition took place. He doesn’t remember much about what happened. The only thing forever etched in his memory was how the winner’s father donated the throne to Namjoon’s father—and how his father then promised, before the entire kingdom, that his only son would one day be king.
He was not chosen, and thanks to Min Yoongi—a sorcerer with years of experience—he had a small sense that even the oracle had rejected him to some extent. Even so, that didn’t stop him from lifting the kingdom up and moving forward once he was crowned.
He wouldn’t lie—he disliked the idea of serving the kingdom for such a short time. But there was no room for protest. Rules were rules, and the protocol required the competition to take place this year to select a new leader. He, too, had doubts about this new competition—that, once again, it would lead to more destruction instead of unity. He understood his people better than anyone.
“…There are rumors about Park Jihyo’s release from the dungeon and her involvement as a mentor in the competition…”.
Namjoon raised his right hand, signaling that he wanted complete silence. Yoongi obeyed and watched closely as his pupil processed the information.
There was no need to explain the future of Kim Namjoon, the king, or his connection with the woman who was supposed to be queen twenty years ago—Park Jihyo. Everyone quickly understood that this would turn into a rivalry, especially with the crown slipping from Namjoon’s head in the near future.
After all, both Namjoon and his father had spared her life twice. When she was imprisoned for the murder of the five princes, both the Order of Angels and Demons had agreed to execute her. Namjoon’s father had the final say—and he rejected the sentence. There wasn’t enough evidence to convict Jihyo, and not even magic had been of any use. So they had to accept that the trial would be suspended for a few years and eventually reopened …to evaluate when Namjoon could take the throne. That’s right—his father had been fully committed to fulfilling his promise. When his son finally ascended to the throne, the request was reviewed once more—this time with even greater insistence. Namjoon also rejected it.
It turned out that Park Jihyo had confessed upon entering prison that someone had taken her child from her before the murders occurred—a child who was still a newborn. In fact, Jihyo hadn’t even been able to confirm whether it was a boy or a girl. She had vowed that if she made it out of the dungeon alive, she would search for her child and exact revenge on those who had rejected and harmed her little one.
Both Mr. Kim and the current king understood that feeling well. They, too, had lost someone. Though Namjoon was subtle about the subject, he had never rested—his search for his younger sister hadn’t stopped in the past twenty years.
Namjoon had only spared Jihyo so she could reunite with her child. He just hoped she wouldn’t be a problem during the competition.
The sixteen participants were allowed to choose their mentors. Naturally, it was suggested that former participants could be among them—or other significant figures.
As the king, Namjoon couldn’t be part of the competition, not even as a judge. But Park Jihyo could—and she had, in fact, been summoned. During the Harvest Festival, she would meet her chosen participant.
The king wasn’t going to be left behind—he needed a counterattack, and that would be his fiancée and her chosen one.
“Don’t worry, old man. I’ll send some of my men to keep the situation under control. We can’t let anyone ruin today’s plans.”.
This time, Namjoon showed real irritation. And as much as he wanted to keep working in the fields—which helped him manage his emotions—he had to return to the castle and handle everything.
Part of his frustration also stemmed from knowing that Yoongi was a very good friend of Jihyo. In fact, he was the one who would be picking her up upon her release from the dungeon. Yoongi wasn’t a man of one side—he was much more than that.
Yoongi maintained his composure, as he always did, understanding the anger—an anger that didn’t come from a king, but from a friend who felt betrayed for not being his mentor’s first choice.
He didn’t respond and simply took his leave. He still had to visit Jihyo’s mother first. This day was only just starting to get interesting.
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You had been hiding for at least an hour and a half in the smallest chapel of the Angels. It turned out that the only missing piece to become a priestess was to register your pregnancy in the natality hall… and the only existing hall in the entire kingdom was located in the Angel zone.
It was a protocol that had been established many years ago. The current crown might revoke your attempt to become a priestess if you didn’t prove that the pregnancy by the dragon was real—you couldn’t really blame them. So the risk had to be taken: that the boy in charge of birth records would discover your not-so-hidden secret.
What you didn’t expect was for him to meet up with a friend—and that by accident, his presence would go unnoticed by you, ruining your caution and revealing, not to one, but to two people, that you were carrying in your small belly a possible destroyer of the kingdom.
It would be a lie if you said you weren't a little distracted by their beauty. It was easy to recognize that one was an angel and the other a sorcerer, and oh dear god, they were absolutely stunning. Not to mention their toned bodies—clearly a sign of excellent training and strength.
They quickly snapped you out of your daydream as they began to freak out a little. Words like protest, the crown being overthrown, and more began to fly around.
That didn’t come as a surprise—even if it had been a long time since you’d had social interactions. The ghosts had warned that these would be the most common reactions to expect upon revealing your pregnancy.
After two minutes—during which they completely ignored your presence—arguing about what to do with the situation (which at first seemed unrelated to them), they finally decided to leave you alone in one of the chapels in the Angel zone.
Both assured that no one else would come, since one of the sorcerers responsible for offering blessings that day was out of the kingdom, and apparently, he was the only one working there.
Your gaze wandered around the architecture: white marble covering every surface, making the place seem not just bright—but celestial. The light alone made it glow more intensely. Without it, the place would probably look desolate and sad.
Eventually, the waiting came to an end. Both boys entered silently through the beautiful glass door—you could swear they paused every few seconds to glance back and check if they were being followed.
The boy with chubby cheeks approached as soon as his eyes found you. He sat down on the bench beside you, and you waited to hear what he had to say.
Meanwhile, the angel remained standing in front of the two of you. This time, he had revealed his beautiful wings, which almost distracted you, but the other boy’s voice quickly pulled your attention back.
“This ring was forged a long time ago, with the purpose of revealing if a pregnant sorceress was carrying a dragon.”.
You hadn’t noticed that when he entered the chapel, his hand had been clenched into a fist—he had been hiding the ring.
At first glance, it looked cheap and simple. It seemed to be made of metal and merely painted to appear like silver. The only remarkable feature was the set of engraved symbols on the inside, which could only have been made by a sorcerer.
“If you put on the ring, and it burns, your pregnancy will be confirmed,”.
The beautiful angel assured this time. At least he wasn’t as hysterical as when you first appeared. So, you took it—you gently pulled the ring from the sorcerer’s hand, brushing against his skin for a few seconds.
And under their watchful eyes, you placed the ring on the ring finger of your left hand—only for it to begin incinerating. At first, fear struck you, expecting to feel pain, but instead, a wave of warmth spread through your entire body.
The ring vanished into your clothing, now reduced to ashes. So focused on the process, you forgot to observe their reactions.
They looked concerned, but rules were rules, and the angel had to proceed with registering the pregnancy. At that point, they didn’t seem to know what else to say—confirmation had just made you their future superior.
The angel left the chapel to retrieve the paperwork. It was only then that a couple of strange boxes nearby caught your attention, marked for delivery to the king’s castle as soon as possible.
“What are those boxes for?”.
you asked the boy with the adorable cheeks, raising your voice slightly. Luckily, your tone came across sweet and light rather than rude. He was still seated beside you, head bowed, clearly lost in thought—likely about what had just happened, given the slight frown on his face.
“I don’t know if I’m ready to call you ‘Priestess’ just yet, but since we’ll be seeing more of each other from now on, let me introduce myself—”.
His worried frown shifted into something more serious as he gently took your hand and pressed a soft kiss to the back with great delicacy.
You knew this was something sorcerers did to acknowledge a superior, though it would likely take time to get used to. Still, for a brief moment, your heart felt warm. You didn’t quite understand why—perhaps it was the dragon’s influence.
He let go of your hand and finally answered the question.
“My dear friend the angel and I are part of the competition. We’re participants, and those boxes are our belongings—we’ll be taking them to the castle.”.
You didn’t bother hiding your surprise. Your mouth formed a small “O,” and suddenly, everything began to make sense.
The dramatic reaction upon discovering the pregnancy, the sorcerer’s easy access to the infamous ring, the audacity to suggest something had to be done…
Okay, so your plan to be discreet had clearly failed—but not just a little. You had unknowingly revealed your secret to two participants in the very competition you would now oversee.
Your gaze remained fixed on the boy in disbelief until the angel returned, bringing everything needed.
You broke eye contact to receive the documents and pen to fill out the required information.
“I present myself before you, my lady. I am Bang Chan. The people of the angels have chosen me as a candidate to become king,” said the pale-skinned boy, bowing respectfully as you looked for a more comfortable place in the chapel to fill out the forms. You didn’t know the proper way to respond—maybe you’d learn tonight at the harvest festival. Still, there was no time to feel embarrassed, because the other boy stood up to do the same, though clearly without acknowledging you as future priestess.
“And I’m Jisung. I was selected among many sorcerers. I hope not to fail—even you—in this competition. Furthermore, I know it’s none of my business, my lady, but… are you from around here? I’ve never seen you before, and believe me, I know all the sorcerers—even the ones who haven’t yet been officially confirmed by the kingdom.”.
You were about to simply return the greeting and introduce yourself casually, but Jisung’s question threw you off completely.
How were you going to register yourself without linking back to your mother and brother? If possible, it would be best to hide that you even had a family—especially considering both were directly involved in the competition.
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ongoing taglist: @hwangjoanna @juicyjaxxy
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