#Waterlogging Monitoring

[chriswu08]

Cellular 4G SMS Monitoring System RTU Used in Smart City Waterlogging Monitoring

Background

Flood disasters have a huge impact on people and may cause harm to people’s lives and property safety. Therefore, it is particularly important to build an urban waterlogging monitoring system.

There are some problems with the traditional solutions for dealing with flood accidents in the past：

1. There are many water level monitoring points and manual inspection is slow.

In the past, operation and maintenance personnel regularly went to waterlogging points along drainage pipes and inspected them one by one and recorded them on paper. Personnel regularly inspect flood-prone points such as drainage pipes one by one and use paper records. Data records may contain errors and are not real-time, making it impossible to accurately judge the operating status of facilities and conduct comprehensive assessments.

2. The transmission of early warning information is slow and prone to failure.

Early warning and forecasting mainly rely on broadcasting, but in some places flash flood broadcasting lacks a management and protection mechanism, and there are weak links in operation and maintenance. It is easy to malfunction and “lose the voice” at critical times, and there are hidden dangers in the transmission of early warning information.

3. Data sharing is difficult. The platform needs to collect data for prediction, but the data collected by collectors is not timely.

Program overview

Real-time monitoring of flow/velocity/water levels at key points such as drainage pipe networks, waterlogging points, rivers, and drainage outlets. Based on GPS positioning, the geographical information of each monitoring point and various types of monitored data are displayed in a visual way. Relevant personnel learned about the waterlogging situation in various key waterlogged road sections in the city in a short period of time

According to the set alarm rules, when the water level indicator exceeds the limit or other abnormal conditions or equipment fails, real-time alarm monitoring is performed through the supervision platform/text message/phone, etc., and the administrator is immediately notified, reducing the difficulty of manual inspection. Linked LED displays, broadcasts, warning lights, etc. can be used to release information in real time, and can be linked to on-site drainage equipment (such as water pumps) for timely drainage. The entire risk warning process has also been simplified, and the efficiency of solving waterlogging problems can also be improved. Effectively avoid and delay the occurrence of urban waterlogging.

Solution Advantage

4G SMS Monitoring System RTU S274 supports a variety of I/O, 485 access, can complete multi-parameter hybrid measurements, and the wireless communication module meets the data calling and sharing of various IoT cloud platforms such as Huawei Cloud and Alibaba Cloud to maximize the use of information. Supports multiple transmission protocols such as MODBUS RTU and MODBUS TCP. And it has diversified features, such as supporting transparent transmission, encrypted transmission, anti-dropout mechanism and other functions.

It is easy to install, small in size and low in cost. It integrates functions such as data collection, storage, control, communication and remote management, and can perform all-weather data collection and uploading. Adopting high-standard industrial-grade design, R&D, testing, and production, and passing strict testing in a professional testing environment, it can fully cope with the complex and harsh environment of urban flood sites, greatly reducing and simplifying system maintenance and after-sales work.

In addition, video surveillance images are uploaded in real time to provide strong data support for comprehensive management and control of monitoring points, disaster response command, and accident emergency response.

It supports connecting LED screens and other signboards to display water accumulation in real time, and supports traffic light control on road and bridge sections. When the water accumulation reaches the threshold, it can prevent passers-by from wading in the water in time, effectively preventing the safety of life and property, and is committed to helping build smart cities.

More information view: https://www.bliiot.com/remote-terminal-unit-p00353p1.html

[unusualwhatsits]

Grumpy

[amirasainz]

Can you do driver reader, that is one of the driver that crashes during the Brazil race and causes a red flag. Can she be hurt (broken arm or smth)

I love your blog so much🤌🔥

Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!

-xoxo babygirl 💕

Rain

The sound of rain drummed steadily against the asphalt, creating a chaotic symphony that echoed throughout the Interlagos circuit. It was the Brazilian Grand Prix, and the atmosphere was electric, charged with anticipation and anxiety. Yn, the first female driver for RedBull, sat in her car on the grid, heart racing, fingers tapping nervously against the steering wheel. She glanced at the wet track ahead and could feel the tension in the air, punctuated by the distant rumble of thunder.

“Okay, Yn, focus,” her race engineer JD's voice crackled through the radio, breaking her concentration. “It’s going to be tricky out there. We’ve already seen a couple of red flags, and the conditions are only getting worse. Just take it slow, especially in the first few laps.”

“Got it, JD. I’m just going to keep my head down and stay out of trouble,” she replied, trying to mask the nerves creeping into her voice.

“Remember, we’re in it for the long game. You’re in second, just behind Max. Let’s see how it plays out, yeah?”

“Yeah, I’ll be careful. Thanks!” She took a deep breath, trying to steady her racing heart. The lights went out, and she surged forward, gripping the wheel tightly as she navigated the treacherous turns.

The rain poured relentlessly, causing visibility to plummet. The roar of engines mixed with the sound of rain, creating an overwhelming cacophony. As they completed the first lap, Yn found herself trailing closely behind Max. The two Red Bull cars danced across the slick track, carving their paths through the rain.

“Good job, Yn. Keep up with Max,” JD encouraged as she skillfully maneuvered her way through the corners.

But the rain was unforgiving. A few laps later, a sudden jolt of loss of traction sent her heart into her throat.

“JD! I’m slipping!” she shouted, trying to regain control of the car.

“Stay calm, Yn! Just counter-steer!” JD’s voice was urgent, but Yn could feel the tires struggling for grip on the waterlogged track. Suddenly, the car spun wildly, and before she knew it, her heart sank as the barriers rushed toward her.

BANG!

The impact reverberated throughout her body, and her vision blurred. The world outside turned chaotic; sirens blared, and officials waved red flags frantically.

************************************************

In the hospital, Yn was conscious but barely coherent. Her body ached, and she felt detached from reality as the medical staff worked quickly around her. She heard snippets of conversation, the beeping of machines, and the distant sounds of the race still going on outside.

Meanwhile, the other drivers were huddled in the waiting room, anxiety etched on their faces. Lando paced back and forth, glancing toward the door every few seconds.

“Why isn’t there any news yet?” he asked, running a hand through his damp hair.

“They’re probably just being thorough,” George said, trying to keep his tone light, though his worry was evident. “She’s tough. She’ll pull through.”

“Yeah, but she’s only eighteen,” Carlos added, looking serious. “It shouldn’t have happened. She was doing so well.”

“Max is taking it hard,” Charles mentioned, nodding toward the corner where Max sat silently, his gaze fixed on the floor.

Just then, the door swung open, and a doctor stepped out. “You’re here for Yn Ln, right? She’s stable, but she’s in pretty bad shape. Five broken ribs and a concussion. She’s asleep right now but is being monitored closely. We’ll let you in shortly.”

The relief was palpable, but worry still clouded the room. They exchanged glances, each trying to mask their fear for their young friend and competitor.

***************************************************

After what felt like an eternity, they were finally allowed to see her. The sterile smell of antiseptic filled the air as they entered the dimly lit room. Yn lay in the hospital bed, her face pale but peaceful, a tangle of wires and machines surrounding her. Flowers adorned the table next to her, a bouquet of vibrant blooms brightening the otherwise stark room.

“Look at her,” Lando whispered, stepping forward. “She looks so small.”

“She’s a fighter,” Max said quietly, his eyes glistening. He stepped closer to the bed, placing a hand on the railing. “I should have told her to back off. I should have been more careful.”

“You can’t blame yourself, Max,” Carlos said gently, joining him. “The conditions were terrible.”

George stepped up, looking around. “We should leave her something. Something to remind her we’re all here for her.”

They began placing little tokens around her bedside: a signed card from Lando, a miniature trophy from George, a chilli plushie from Carlos.

“Hey, Yn,” Charles said softly, leaning down so his face was closer to hers. “We’re all here. Just take your time to heal, okay?” Charles moved a bit to the left, placing the flowers with the rest of the things.

Then, Ollie, Yn’s bets friend and partner in crime, stepped forward, his expression softening. He took her hand gently, brushing back a stray hair from her forehead. “You’re going to be alright. Just rest, and we’ll be right here when you wake up.” He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, lingering for a moment as emotion washed over him.

A moment of silence fell over them as they stood vigil by her bedside. The beeping of the machines was a constant reminder of her fragility, but they knew she was strong.

“Can you believe she’s just eighteen and already racing with us?” Lando finally broke the silence, trying to lighten the mood. “I can’t even imagine what I was doing at that age.”

“Probably playing video games,” Ollie teased lightly, earning a chuckle from the others despite the somber atmosphere.

“She’s got so much talent,” Carlos said, glancing back at Yn. “And she’s got all of us rooting for her. That’s what matters.”

Max nodded, his gaze still locked on Yn. “She’s going to bounce back. I believe that.”

The hours passed slowly, filled with whispered conversations and laughter tinged with worry as they reminisced about the race and their shared moments on the track. They each took turns sharing stories, hoping to fill the room with positivity, so Yn could feel the love surrounding her.

Finally, as the night wore on, exhaustion crept in. One by one, they began to drift off, still seated in their chairs, leaving her surrounded by the warmth of friendship, waiting for her to wake up.

****************************************************

As the first light of dawn broke through the clouds, illuminating the hospital room with a gentle glow, Yn stirred slightly in her sleep. The sound of soft murmurs and familiar laughter filtered through her consciousness.

“Look! I think she’s waking up!” George exclaimed softly, shaking Lando awake.

Max leaned forward, his eyes brightening. “Yn, can you hear us?”

With a small groan, Yn blinked open her eyes, squinting at the faces around her. “Ollie?” she croaked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes! I'm here,buba! We’re here! You’re safe,” Ollie said, his eyes widening with relief, taking her hand in his, softly stroking her hair from her face.

“Hey, don’t try to move too much, petite,” Charles advised, noticing her attempt to sit up. “You’ve had a rough night.”

“What happened?” she asked, her voice shaky.

“You crashed,” Lando said, trying to keep his tone light. “But you’re tough. You’ve got some broken ribs and a concussion, but you’ll be back on track before you know it.”

Yn closed her eyes for a moment, trying to process everything. “I remember slipping… and then nothing.”

“It’s okay. You’re here now,” Carlos reassured her. “We’ve all been waiting for you to wake up. You scared us, hermana.”

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as the reality of her situation washed over her. “I didn’t mean to. I just wanted to keep up.”

Max stepped forward, his expression softening. “You did great, Yn. You’re going to come back from this even stronger.”

“Yeah, and we’ll all be right behind you,” George added, his voice filled with sincerity.

The warmth of their presence surrounded her, giving her the strength she needed. “Thank you, guys. I—I really appreciate it.”

“Rest now,” Ollie said, squeezing her hand gently. “We’ll be here when you wake up again.”

And as Yn drifted back into a peaceful sleep, she felt the undeniable bond of her paddock family.

[mediumgayitalian]

“Man overboard!”

Annabeth does, in fact, understand that such a cry warrants hastiness. Hurry, even.

“Man overboard! Man overboard!”

Most men, after all, cannot swim, and if the whispers are to be believed then this particular man is not even conscious to try. He is no doubt in peril, and the Fates have a stronger hold on his thread with every passing moment.

“Make way! Man overboard!”

If she is jostled one more time, however.

“Man overboard! Lower the ladder, man overboard!”

Should even one more crew yank her back away from the walls of the ship, patting her on the arm as they shove her ‘somewhere more befitting for such a finely dressed lady’.

“Hook it around him, for the gods’ sake, man overboard!”

There are going to be several more men joining him.

“Clear a path! Clear a path!”

She makes it, finally, to the rail unimpeded enough to lean over and see the man who, she has heard, has fallen overboard. He clings like dark-haired Danaë on the waterlogged hope of a wine barrel, bare back burned from the sun, nose nearly dragging along the friendly swirling waves. His dignity is covered, barely, by a torn, bloodstained cloth, and his tanned skin is crisscrossed with raised white scars.

He is handsome.

She stumbles back from the hull, face burning. And absurd thought to have. She seeks out deliberately a close-cropped head of blond hair, smiling tersely when Captain Grace meets her eyes, offering her a nod.

“Straight line,” she murmurs to herself, pulling back her shoulders.

She gives the men plenty of distance as they haul the downed sailor up from the depths. It irks her, really, to be following their orders, but to help or to offer it would mean more of the jostling, the pushing. More grimey hands irreparably staining the fine silk of the new dress Mother had sent her with.

It takes the crew an embarrassingly long time to haul the man up, even though Annabeth can see, as one of the bulkier men wraps a limp arm around his shoulders, that he is slight. He has the shoulders of a swimmer and the leanness of a scavenger, but his frame is small. In fact she is almost sure that upright, they would stand shoulder to shoulder. Perhaps an inch on his part, nothing more.

She realises, with a start, that the crew is staring at her, and forces her second blush of the day back from whence it came. She meets the expectant states with a tilted chin and hard eyes, drawing her skirts and clicking her heels against the groaning deck.

“What,” she snaps.

“He’s unconscious, my lady.”

“So? Place him out of the sun, have someone monitor him.”

The crewman supporting the unconscious man — truly, Annabeth needs to learn these men’s names; it would be easier if any of them spoke to her at any time other than to ask if the sun was making her feel faint — shifts from foot to foot.

Well.

Foot to peg.

“Yes,” he says eventually. He makes some sort of vague gesture with his hand, stepping forward. “Er — our thoughts exactly, my lady.”

Still, no one moves. The unconscious man’s head lolls, pitching his whole weight forward. Another sailor lunges forward to catch him, readjusting him so he’s steady.

Still, no one moves.

Annabeth shifts to face her betrothed. He winces under her sharp look, hand coming up to run the back of his neck.

“He may fare best under your care,” Captain Grace says hesitantly. “The bunks are unfit for someone in his condition. And my men can be…rough.”

“Choose your words carefully, Jason,” she warns.

Grimacing, Captain Grace plows on. “I mean no offense, my lady. We have no other women on the ship. Your cabin is cool and sheltered and I know you enjoy those weaving projects in idle time. He will not require much more than an eye to ensure he does not pass in his sleep. I can think of no one more capable to watch over him.”

The doctor, for starters, Annabeth thinks. Drunk as he is, the sickly rescue should be his charge; nursing him should be his task.

The crew doesn’t even glance at him, though. He stands happily to the side, red-faced and cross-eyed, bottle dribbling from his trouser pockets, and Annabeth fights the urge to bare her teeth.

“Whatever you believe is best, Captain,” she grits out. She glares at the crew, pausing on each man until he squirms under her gaze. “Do not leave him to soak my sheets.”

They leave him, instead, sprawled on the wooden floorboards.

Annabeth scowls.

A four week journey, her mother had told her. Barely a month at sea, with plenty of stops on the islands dotting the paths and a stack of journals for her research. Captain Grace’s vessel is exceptionally well-stocked and custom built by the brightest of his father’s engineers; so smoothly is it claimed to flow through the water that all aboard her will scarcely feel even the roughest rock of the waves.

A sharp veer to the side has Annabeth stumbling, nearly crushing herself under the man’s dead weight.

“Smooth,” she grumbles to herself, huffing as she drags him back upright. His skin is alarmingly cool from the bite of the water, and still slick. It takes her four tries to force his arm back over her shoulder, slippery as it is. “Top model, they say. Well, what a purse of lies that is. I could design a better ship in my —” she huffs, yanking him the last few feet towards her bed — “sleep.”

She could be more gentle with him, she supposes. If his head or spine is injured then her rough handling will doom him. But, well, penny, pound, et cetera. If he has a head injury and the waves haven’t killed him, her light tossing won’t, either.

Probably.

She deposits him on top of her quilt and then stands at the foot of her bed, hands on her hips, toes tapping. She tilts her head slightly to the right. Narrowing her eyes, she tilts it to the right. She wrinkles her nose and squints her eyes.

She can’t be faulted for her earlier thoughts, she decides.

He has a strange kind of charm to him. The same magnetism present in the performers of her mother’s court; men and women who gather in bright clothing and perform tricks and tease the audience, riding the thin line between furious huffing and uproarious laughter. Troublemakers, with enough skill to balance the line. Thin, twitching fingers and smile lines in the corner of his eyes, thick but maintained brows and dramatically bowed lips.

With a sound so great it rivals the billowing coal engines down billow, the man snores, trail of saliva trickling down his chin.

How revolting. Annabeth finds her lips twitching upwards and resets them deliberately into a graceful line.

Yes, he is the alluring kind. She wouldn’t be surprised if he turns out to be some kind of thief, or a cast-out stowaway. A wisecracker who pushed the envelope an inch too far.

She stalks over to the windowed wall of her tiny cabin, wrestling it open. The immediate relief of the sea breeze has her gasping, resisting the urge to stick her head out and bask in the cool air. That would be undignified, even if her room as become unbearably stifling with the presence of another person in it.

Gods, she is lonely.

She had hoped at least to have one of her ladies accompanying her. It would have been a little more bearable, the company, cramped as her cabin would be. On this ship now she is bored nearly to tears from sunup to sundown every day, barred from even the most menial of tasks that could upset her delicate womanliness and bereft of even a child to argue with. The crew tiptoes around her like she may crack to fine shards should they so much as offer her more than a fine morning, my lady, or the sun suits you quite beautifully, did you know, and Captain Grace loves nothing more than extended silences. In all honesty she only gets to talk to the ship’s mechanic, who, vulgar as he is, at least talks to her as he would anyone else on the ship. Sure, she can only stand so much of him at a time, and he’s been banned from breathing in her direction since the very first day of their expedition, but if she happens to be in the ship’s engine room as the same time as he is, then it would simply be impolite to ignore her.

Not that Valdez cares much for rules. Or her preferences.

Desperate times, et cetera, et cetera.

Knowing the deck will be too crowded for her to slip down below unnoticed, she settles down onto the old, rickety corner-desk with a sigh, cracking open her journal. Except for a string of blotty doodles along the edges, the paper is devoid of anything, as barren and numb as her mind feels. She understands, dramatic as it is, why so many sailors return from their voyages mad; why pirates and navies alike sail with crews. Even a day on the empty, open ocean without someone to talk to is maddening. She feels as if words flee from her vocabulary with every minute she doesn’t use them. What is there to do, on this stupid boat, besides sleep and eat and mope? She wishes she was allowed to steer the vessel, or watch from the nest. Not stimulating jobs, true, but jobs, at least. She has not sunk so low as to long for a deck-scrubber, but she is dangerously close. She can feel it. Another week at sea without much more than a loom and a needle and her mind will leap into the waves, she’s sure, abandoning her to the dull tedium of the stagnant clouds. The knowledge that she has three weeks left until they reach Lord Dyeus’ kingdom could make her break down into weeping, should she dwell on it long enough. By the time she returns to civilization she may no longer be suited for it.

A rustle sounds behind her, followed by a cut-off snort.

“…Somehow, I don’t think I’m at sea anymore.”

Annabeth yelps, nearly falling right off her chair. She scrambles upright, or tries to, but her stupid petticoats get caught up around her ankles and nearly send her toppling again, this time with even less of her dignity. It is only with sheer force of will that she manages to force her spine straight and upright in perfect time to meet the most gorgeous, sea green eyes she has ever seen.

“You drool when you sleep,” she informs him, darkly satisfied when the amused twinkle fades from his eyes in favour of a flat glare, hand coming up to swipe at his chin.

“I don’t suppose you could tell me where I am,” he mutters as the minutes stretch on.

Annabeth snaps her gaze back up to his face, wishing desperately her cabin had a second window.

“Captain Grace’s ship.” She swallows stiffly, collarbone suddenly itchy. “On route to the Kingdom of Lightning.”

The man’s face pales, long, calloused fingers twitching into fists.

“The ship carrying Princess Annabeth?”

Her mouth dries even further. “…Yes.”

“Someone needs to summon her, quickly. I have news. I — I come from Pirate Jackson’s ship — they threw me off board to drown.”

She knows, immediately, why he tells her this. Why his eyes go round with desperation, why his hands twist, why he has developed a sudden, scrutinizing interest in the view of the sea from outside her window, throat bobbing with every heavy suggestion.

But all hypotheses must be tested.

“Why?”

He meets her gaze, green eyes an exact mirror of the roiling sea around them; layered, stormy, and deeper than the darkest of trenches, wider than the night sky.

“Because they want to know her location. And I refused to give it up.”

———

next

[trashbag-baby666]

Out of Control-Clegan

Shoreline Redemption au

Summary: Gales hospital stay after the attack. Prequel to this!

WC: 8,400

C/W: Hurt/Comfort, mentions and themes of a shark attack.

mota masterlist! | ao3 link

Everything felt like a perfect dream state, one moment he'd be slightly crouched going through a barreled wave. On the other end he could see John smiling and cheering for him. Another moment it'd change over and he'd have his head in John's lap. Sand in his hair and Meatballs head on his stomach. He'd hear the angelic sounds of, "I love you." and "Gorgeous, gorgeous, boy." as John would pepper his face in kisses. 

The insistent beeping of the heart monitor and the compress of the blood pressure cuff had other plans. He felt John's voice growing more distant and he seemed to move backward in the barreled wave. John grew smaller and smaller till Gale's eyes flicked open, but in reality barely cracked and his eyelids hung low. His breathing pattern changed, alerting John from where he gazed down at Gale's hand in his own. 

He couldn't remember what happened but he knew where he was, he dug deep in his brain for the answers. He remembered being squashed into Curt's truck on the way to the cove, he remembered the surfing, he remembered the locked pressure on his left shoulder...He lazily pulled his hand from Johns and slung it over himself feeling for his other arm and then his shoulder. His eyes now really opened as he looked at the bulky bandages around his chest and over his shoulder where his arm should've been. 

"Gale, don't—" John started, but Gale had already touched the bandages, realizing the reality of his loss.

He closed his eyes again. He let his right hand fall back into his lap feeling the hot tears pinch through and wet his eyelashes. He couldn't form any words or make sense of John's voice as the other took his hand again. Why? Why him? 

He squeezed his eyes shut turning his head away from John and let his tears soak the uncomfortable, stiff pillow. It didn't take long for a nurse to come in and run some more morphine through his IV essentially knocking him back out.

Unfortunately, Gale knew what he was waking up to this time around. The dream wasn't pleasant like the last one, he had been out with John when he was tossed from his board by the roughing waves. When he came up to the surface the sunny day had turned into a dark, gray stormy day. He pulled himself back up onto his board and he looked around. He was now in the open ocean with the shore or John nowhere in sight. His heart began to pound at his chest, only worsening as he saw a bolt of lightning and heard a roll of thunder. 

He looked around for any chance of land and began paddling in what he was sure was back towards shore. But it seemed like he wasn't making any progress and he kept growing more and more fatigued. Through the fog he could begin to make out something floating in the water. As he got within a yard of it his heart dropped and his breath caught in his throat. It was a body...but it was John...he could never mistake those curls and those obnoxious bright yellow banana swim trunks. He stopped next to him and tried to pull him onto his board, complete dead weight. As a wave rolled in it flipped John's body over and he was locked with the sight of his blue, waterlogged skin and the haunting stare of his white, cloudy, and haunting eyes.

He let out a small shriek as he sat forward in the hospital bed, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. The room dark except for the sliver of light from the window on the door. John had fallen asleep sometime earlier in the uncomfortable chair at Gales bedside. His shrieks pulling him from his rest, he was up in an instant gently laying Gale back against the pillows, "Hey, hey, I'm right here, Buck." John sat at the edge of his bed rubbing Gales back till his breathing steadied. 

"Do you want me to get a nurse?" John kept his voice below a whisper, his other hand tangled in Gale's. The blonde shook his head and gently nuzzled himself into John's neck. He kissed the top of Gale's head and held him close. 

—---------

The second day was somehow worse than the last. He was the slightest bit more coherent, the drugs still making him feel a little clouded in the brain. John had still been there in the morning, but he left to go get some shitty hospital coffee once Granddad and their neighbor, who had practically become Gale's mother figure, Nalani, arrived.

"Morning," Gale put on a smile for them as they came into the room, Nalani dawning another bouquet of plumeria. He hadn't been here a full two days and his room was stacked with flowers, cards, and balloons. Pretty much everyone knew the Clevens on the island because of his granddad's surf shop, then Gale's surfing success.

"Aloha kakahiaka, how are you feeling?" Nalani asked softly, placing the bouquet on the windowsill. Her eyes were full of concern, her presence calming and maternal.

"Like I got hit by a truck," Gale tried to joke, but his voice cracked, betraying his pain. "Thanks for coming."

"Of course, sweetheart. We're all here for you," she said, sitting on the chair next to his bed.

Terry stood at the foot of the bed, his expression stoic but his eyes betraying his worry. "You're a tough kid. You'll get through this."

"Thanks, Granddad," Gale said, trying to muster more strength in his voice.

John returned with the coffee, handing a cup to Terry and one to Nalani. He sat back down beside Gale, his presence a constant source of comfort. Gale leaned into him, closing his eyes and taking in the familiar scent of the ocean that clung to John's clothes.

 Nalani patted Gale's thigh gently. "You've got a lot of people who love you, Gale. And we're all here to help."

“I brought the paper, thought you’d wanna see this.” Terry pulled The Honolulu Star-Advertiser from his back pocket handing the folded newspaper to John. Gale leaned into John’s shoulder further to see a picture of him and John from last summer's under 18 surf championships after he had scored a perfect heat 20 and brought home a gold on the front page. In big black, bold letters it read: Local Champion Surfer Saved From Shark By Bestfriend.

The two both skimmed the article, Gale's eyebrows pinching into a furrow.

He didn't know how he felt about his business just being aired out. "Oh," Gale mumbled, leaning his head against John's shoulder, starting to feel a little more out of it again. He closed his eyes for a moment, taking in the steady pace of the heart monitor and the subtle beeping.

John's grip tightened on the paper, his jaw clenched. "'Best friend'? Really? That's what they call me? I saved your life, but they can't even call me your boyfriend. What a fuckin’ joke," he spat out, anger lacing his words.

Gale barely registered the comment, his mind foggy from the pain and medication. "Why do they have to air out my business like this?" he mumbled, more to himself than anyone else.

John sighed, his anger momentarily softened by Gale's evident exhaustion and distress. "Don't worry about it, Buck. They don't know anything," he said, kissing Gale's temple gently. "Just focus on getting better."

Gale nodded weakly, his eyes fluttering shut again, while John fumed silently, wishing the world could see their relationship for what it truly was. 

It didn’t take long before Gale fell back asleep, his body slumped against John’s. 

John had his arm around Gale kissing his head every once in a while to send him good dreams. He sat in silence with the other two, they watched over him together. 

—---------

The thunder rolled from the remnants of the recent storms, thick raindrops pattering against the grand picture window overlooking the bay. The house, tucked away from the rest of the neighborhood, felt like a fortress of solitude. Ken sat with his knees pulled to his chest, chin resting on them, his eyes fixated on the aggressive waves crashing against the cliffs.

Curt entered the open den with a cup of tea, its steam curling in the cool, damp air. Ken unfolded himself slightly, taking the cup and blowing on it. He knew what Curt would say today, just as he had before: You know Buck wants you there. The thought nagged at the back of his mind, refusing to leave.

“How’re ya feelin’, Kenny?” Curt asked, pressing a kiss to the top of Ken's head before sitting next to him.

Ken shrugged, unable to articulate the swirling emotions inside. His mind kept spiraling into dark what-ifs. What if Gale had bled out on the beach? What if he hadn’t made it to the hospital?

“Kenny?” Curt’s hand on his shoulder startled him, nearly sky rocketing him off the plush sofa.

“I’m sorry.” Ken set his tea down and shook his head, burying his face in his hands. A sob escaped, probably the five hundredth since the attack. He stepped away from where Curt now stood, tears streaming down his face.

“Hey, hey, sweet boy. You have nothing to be sorry about.” Curt’s voice was gentle as he rubbed Ken's back. “Talk to me, baby?”

Ken just shrugged, nestling into Curt’s side. “You think he’s mad at me?”

“Who? Gale?” Curt stroked Ken’s curls, pulling them back from his face. Ken nodded silently, the guilt gnawing at him.

“No, I promise you he isn’t mad.” Curt kissed the top of Ken’s head. He had visited Gale just a half-hour earlier; Gale had been barely coherent, unable to distinguish between John and Curt.

“You jus’ sayin’ that?” Ken whimpered into Curt’s hoodie sleeve.

“No, I’m not just sayin’ that, sugar. He wanted me to tell you that you can take as much time as you need.” Curt adjusted himself, pulling Ken into his lap. “He still loves you, no matter what.”

Ken felt the ache in his chest intensify, the guilt mixing with the exhaustion. “Do you still love me?”

Curt met Ken’s glazed-over green eyes and flushed cheeks. “Of course. Nothin’ could ever stop me from lovin’ you, Kenny.”

“Nothing?” Ken repeated, his voice barely a whisper.

“Nothin’.” Curt took one of Ken’s hands and kissed his knuckles. “You’re my heart, Kenny. Always will be.”

Ken nodded, snuggling closer into Curt’s embrace. The storm outside raged on, but inside, wrapped in Curt’s arms, he felt a glimmer of peace. They stayed like that, the sound of the rain and the warmth of each other’s presence offering a brief respite from the chaos within and without.

—---------

Gale's eyes fluttered open, the dim lighting of the hospital room slowly coming into focus. The steady beeping of the heart monitor and the occasional hiss of the IV drip were the only sounds, creating a surreal cocoon around him. He felt a dull, throbbing pain where his arm used to be, the medications making his thoughts hazy and slow.

John sat beside him, eyes dark with worry and exhaustion. He held a crumpled newspaper in his hand, the headline still glaring up at him.

“Hey,” Gale whispered, his voice raspy and weak.

John’s head snapped up, a forced smile spreading across his face. “Hey, babe. How’re you feeling?”

Gale blinked slowly, trying to gather his thoughts. “Everything hurts… but I’m here.” He glanced at the newspaper. “What’s that?”

John’s jaw tightened. “It’s the local paper. They did a story on what happened.”

John showed Gale the article, the blonde nodded as the memories came back from the previous day. The damned drugs we’re clouding his brain and his memory of the past few days were shaky. 

“You shouldn’t let them get under your skin, John. It’s just a stupid article.” Gale hoped his words made sense to John because they didn’t make sense to him as they came out of his mouth. He was beginning to feel his eyelids starting to get heavy again and the mouth full of cotton feeling. 

“I know, but people have been fighting for this for ag–” Gale batted his hand lazily at John.

“Shhhh,” he hushed him trying to bring his finger to John’s lips. John knew they must have given Gale plenty of morphine last time he complained of pain, “Can I tell you something?”

“Sure, what do you gotta tell me, baby?” He sat back in his chair and took Gale’s flimsy hand in his own hand before he poked John's eye out. 

“You know my dad left me, right?”

“Yes, baby.”

“I'm scared everyones gonna leave me too. Terry can’t afford these hospital bills, I can’t even work now. Maybe I could ask Ken about workin’ at the tourist center with him.”

“What’re you getting’ on about, Buck? No one is leaving you, including me and Terry. Frankly, you’ll have to cut off my legs and leave me somewhere if you ever wanted to leave me.” John giggled softly but stopped, “I’m sorry.” He mumbled against Gale's hand. The blonde boy dropped his head to the side a bit and gave him an eyes closed, doppy smirk. The open blinds casted shadows onto his face from the morning sunshine, John wanted to take a picture. He looked so happy. The past three days had been challenging for him and it was just nice to see him with a smile on his face.

“Goodnight John,” he rested his head back against the pillow.

“It’s only nine…” 

“Sh!” John gave into Gales commands and let the boy go back to sleep. It’d probably be better that way, he didn’t need to think about how he was going to pay for the hospital bills. Or how he’s scared everyones gonna leave him.

“I love you.” John mumbled against Gale's hand and gently set their intertwined hands back on the bed. 

Gale smiled up at the sun and fluffy white clouds, lying on his back on the board. He moved his hand back and forth in the water, feeling its pull. John lay next to him, eyes closed, head resting on his hands. Gale glanced back toward the shore, where Curt and Ken were relaxing on the blanket, Ken giggling at something Curt said. The two were still practically inseparable even after two years of living together in Ken’s parents' beach house. 

Gale closed his eyes for a moment feeling the sun sleepies taking over his body. He opened his eyes only moments later and the day had turned to a dark stormy sky, the thick raindrops pelting his body. He looked to his left where John had just been, instead seeing the large dorsal fin swimming towards him. 

He looked to the shore and saw the three leaving, “John!” Gale screamed just as he felt the glistening pressure and pain in his shoulder all over again. 

His eyes snapped open, and he looked around the dim room, disoriented. “Don’t leave. Don’t leave.” he whispered, tears streaming down his face.

John, had dozed off in the chair, woke up instantly. He moved to Gale’s side, taking his hand. “Hey, hey, I’m right here, Buck. I’m not going anywhere.”

Gale looked at him, his eyes filled with fear and pain. “You-you left… I was alone…”

John shook his head, his own eyes wet. “No, baby. I’m right here. I’ll always be here.”

Gale’s breathing was ragged, and he clung to John as if he might disappear. “Promise?”

“I promise,” John said firmly, pulling Gale into a gentle hug. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The tension in Gale’s body slowly eased, but the emotional pain lingered. “Why does everyone leave?” he whispered, more to himself than to John.

John held him tighter, wishing he could take away all the hurt. “I won’t leave you, baby. Not ever.”

Gale nodded, though the fear still lingered in his heart. The physical pain was one thing, but the emotional scars were deeper, harder to heal. He closed his eyes, trying to find some comfort in John’s presence.

As Gale drifted back into a fitful sleep, John stayed by his side, holding his hand.

—---------

The next two days were just like that, Gale slowly being weaned off the pain meds. Growing less and less loopy, he wasn’t sleeping as much as he had been. The other part of that meant that Gale was in discomforting pain and beginning to experience phantom pains. 

It was driving John crazy, he felt helpless and like he couldn’t fix this for Gale. He spent his time thinking over every scenario of how John could’ve prevented this all from happening. 

“Did you hear about the manhunt going on for the shark?” Curt took an armful of Palm leaves and tossed them into the back of the marina truck's bed. 

“The shark that bit Buck?” John furrowed his eyebrows and stopped trimming the areca palms. Truly he had been waiting to hear that…it’d give him a way to at least somewhat fix this…?

“Yeah, Greg was talkin’ about it. Said a bunch of locals came out this morning to take their boats out. To ‘get that son of a bitch shark.’” Curt’s gloved hands did air quotes as he did a somewhat alright impression of their boss.

“Should we join them?” John went back to trimming the palms, he hoped Curt would agree. 

Curt stopped and leaned against the truck taking a long drink from his water bottle. “I don’t know if you’re in it for the right reasons.”

John grunted and rolled his eyes, “Buck would be pissed…”

“Yeah, he would.” John could tell that Curt was leaning towards saying no but he didn’t want to give this up.

“You’re my best bud, Curt.” John rested his gloved hand on Curts shoulder. 

“Yeah, I guess. If you want, you know I’ll always follow your stupid.” Curt shrugged, tossing another heap of palm leaves into the truck bed. 

“My stupid? What about your stupid?” 

“Oh, don’t you mean you are stupid?”

“No, your stupid decisions!” John threw his hands up feeling blind aggression run through his body. Truly, he had no reason to be feeling that way and attacking Curt for making a dumb joke. 

“Bucky,” Curt breathed out looking at the taller man in clear, tiring stress. 

“Just forget it, Curt.” John waved his hand absently and picked up his hedge clippers. The palms get John’s anger and forceful snipping. 

—---------

Gale sat in his bed with his chin resting on his knee as he held the book Nalani's husband, David had brought him. He was about half way through in his day and a half reading progress. He didn’t like the silence when no one was there, he couldn’t stand the beeping of the heart monitor anymore. Soon enough they’d take him off the IV and such but he had a couple more days to go. And another dreaded week at the hospital before he got to go home. Except this week he’d start seeing a psychologist and an occupational therapist. He just silently thanked the weekend for giving him at least two days off along with the occupational therapist’s. He still was getting around the clock care and even though he hated the silence, he hated when the nurses or doctors would come in and ask him how he was doing or how he was feeling. He felt bad earlier for snapping at his Grandpa earlier for asking him the same. 

He was feeling pent up like an animal locked in a cage, just having to watch other people live the freedom you once knew. He wanted to go outside and feel the hot sun on his face and run his fingers through the grass. He wanted to be on the beach and in the water, he wanted the sand under his toes. He knew if he asked his doctor, he’d probably be allowed outside. But he didn’t want people to look at him either, he hadn’t left his hospital room since he got there. He also requested they keep the blinds on the interior window closed when unnecessary. Yet he never closed the blinds to the outside, he could see the palms outside the ground level room he was in. The sun occasionally shined through onto him, if he really tuned out the hospital white noise of beeps and intercoms. He could imagine the sound of the seagulls chirping and the waves crashing, it made him feel like things were okay again for just a little bit.

There was a soft knock on the door, and then it opened slightly. Nalani poked her head in, her dark eyes warm and reassuring. "Hey there, Gale. Mind if we come in?"

Gale managed a small smile. "Of course not."

Nalani pushed the door open wider, revealing Keanu, who was holding a colorful handmade card. The boy’s face lit up with excitement when he saw Gale.

"Hey, Buck!" Keanu chirped, rushing over to the side of the bed. "I made you something!"

Gale's smile widened as he looked at the card Keanu handed him. It was covered in bright drawings of waves, surfboards, and a big sun with a smiley face. "Wow,this is awesome! Thank you."

Keanu beamed, climbing onto the chair beside his bed. "I knew you'd like it! I drew us surfing together. See? That's you, and that's me!"

Gale chuckled softly, the simple joy in Keanu's voice lifting his spirits. "It's perfect, buddy. We’ll have to go surfing together once I’m better."

Keanu nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! I can’t wait." He then looked at Gale with big, concerned eyes. "Does it hurt a lot?"

Gale hesitated for a moment, not wanting to worry or scare the boy, but he appreciated Keanu’s honesty. "It hurts a bit, but I'm getting better every day."

Keanu leaned in closer, as if sharing a secret. "You know, my mom says you're the strongest surfer ever. Even stronger than those big waves."

Gale's heart warmed at the boy's words. "Your mom is pretty smart. And you know what? She's right. I’m going to be back on my board in no time." At the same time he felt like he was lying to not ruin the boy's spirits. He knew he could probably find some way back to his board but it made his stomach hurt to think about. 

Keanu's eyes sparkled with excitement. "Can I help? Maybe I can bring you something or tell you stories. Mom says stories help when you’re not feeling good."

Gale smiled, feeling a sense of warmth spread through him that had been missing since the attack. "I’d like that, Keanu. I’d like that a lot."

Nalani stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on Gale’s shoulder. "We’re all here for you. Whenever you need us."

He looked up at her, feeling a lump form in his throat. "Thank you, Nalani. You guys being here means a lot to me."

Just then, the door creaked open again, and John stepped in, carrying a bag of snacks. His eyes lit up when he saw Keanu. "Hey, little dude!"

Keanu's face split into a huge grin. "John! You're here!" He jumped off the chair and ran over to John, wrapping his arms around his legs.

John ruffled Keanu's hair, grinning down at him. "Of course I'm here. Had to bring some goodies for Buck. You keeping him company?"

Keanu nodded vigorously. "Yeah! I made him a card and told him some stories."

John knelt down to Keanu's level, giving him a high-five. "That's awesome, man. You're the best."

Keanu's eyes shone with admiration. "You're the coolest, John! Can we go surfing together when Gale gets better?"

John chuckled, glancing over at Gale, who was watching the exchange with a fond smile. "Absolutely. We'll all hit the waves together."

Keanu beamed, bouncing on his toes with excitement. "I can't wait!"

John stood up and walked over to Gale, placing the bag on the bedside table. "How are you feeling, Buck?"

Gale gave a small nod. "Better. Thanks for the snacks."

John sat on the edge of the bed, his hand finding Gale's. "Anything for you."

Keanu climbed back onto the chair, looking at the two older boys with wide eyes. "You guys are like the best team ever."

Gale squeezed John's hand, feeling a surge of warmth and gratitude. "Thanks, Keanu. You’re a big part of our team too."

Nalani smiled, watching the interaction with a gentle expression. "Alright, Keanu, time to let Gale rest. We’ll come back tomorrow."

Keanu hopped off the chair and gave Gale another hug. "Get better soon, Gale. I’ll bring more stories tomorrow!"

Gale hugged him back, feeling a bit more hopeful. "I’ll be waiting, buddy."

As Nalani and Keanu left, John settled into the chair beside Gale’s bed, their hands still entwined.

 Gale kissed John gently, feeling the salty water on his lips and smelling the fresh saltwater air on him. “How was work?”

“Just fine,” John breathed into Gale’s lips and pressed another kiss to him. He sat down on the chair and took Gale's hand back in his own. He didn’t know if he should mention to Gale the discovery he had today…about the shark hunt. 

“What’d you do today?”

“Just trimmed some palms, washed some boats. Lots of people were out today.” 

“Was it as nice as it looks today?” Gale sighed resting his head against the pillow letting it drop slightly to his shoulder. 

“Yeah, but they were out on a hunt.” John looked back down at his lap and scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. 

“For the shark?” Gale shifted his gaze back straight ahead to the turned off tv screen. 

“Yeah,” John breathed out and nodded. 

“Are you going out?”

“Was thinkin’ about it.” He ran his teeth over his bottom lip.

“Why, John? It’s just an animal.” He could see the blonde sink into the mattress, seemingly pressing his back into the mattress. He knew he’d be mad…part of him understood why Gale would be mad.

“Because! I can’t just sit here and stand seeing you like this! I need to fix this now! Or at least try my fuckin’ hardest to, i need to be part of that.” John finally snapped, standing up abruptly from his chair. “I can’t stand being powerless to do anything about it.”

Gale began to feel more groggy from the morphine in the drip. He looked up at John with heavy eyes. “What am I supposed to do, John? Just… magically grow my arm back?”

John’s frustration boiled over. “No, but I can’t just sit here and watch you suffer! I want to do something, anything, to fucking fix this! but I can’t and it’s killing me!”

Gale turned his head away, tears welling up. “I don’t need you to fix this. I just need you to be here.”

John stormed out of the room, unable to face Gale’s pain and his own helplessness. He power walked straight out of the hospital, the automatic sliding doors barely having time to sense him and open. He nearly collided into Curt as he came out of the doors, the shorter one basically catching the both of them. 

“Mother fucker. What did you do?” Curt grabbed John’s shoulders whilst the taller boy tried to shove him off. Curt let go and the two fumed in silence for a moment. Both their blue eyes narrowed at the other, Curt stepping up to John. “The hell you do this time, huh?” Curt whacked him upside the head pulling John’s attention out of the silence. “Huh? What’d you do? You leave him crying in there by himself again?”

“The fuck you want, Curt?” John shoved him back again and shoved his shoulder again. 

“Bucky, knock it off.” Curt snapped his fingers at the boy, he wasn’t sure what John was trying to achieve. He shoved his shoulder again and Curt caught his wrist in his hand.

“Come on, Curt. Have you been here day after day? You weren’t six inches away from him when it fuckin’ happened. My back aches from sleeping in that damn chair and your little puppy can’t even bother to come see him when he knows he needs him.” John barked at him, taking another step forward. Curt had, had enough of his shit and swung on him. His fist colliding right into John's nose, he faltered back grabbing his face. 

“Jesus, fuck.” He grunted folding forward a moment. 

“Don’t fuckin’ talk about him like that.” Curt sneered, knowing John knew exactly who he was talking about, “Come on.”

He began walking towards the doors motioning for John to follow him. He turned back and grabbed him by the collar of his t-shirt and pulled him into the hospital doors. The sickly, sterile smell tinging his  nostrils as they walked into the air conditioned building. 

Curt let go of John and kept his stride down the hall, around the corner, down the hall just a bit more. He creaked the door open slowly and poked his head in, “Hey.” 

Gale smiled weakly through his tears and turned to look at the orange and pink sunset. He continued picking at the blanket not wanting to meet Curt’s gaze, then he would know he had been crying. Gale listened to his footsteps come into the room followed by the familiar, heavy, trudging of John in his work boots. “How you feelin?” Curt rested his hand on Gale's knee giving it a small shake. Gale smiled softly at the small tickle just from his knee being touched.

“Better than yesterday,” Gale shrugged his good shoulder and flicked his eyes to John, who stood at the end of the bed. He sported a forming shiner between his eye and the bride of his nose. Somewhat swelled shut, he flicked his eyes to Curts knuckles. His left knuckles red and close to bruising as well.

He whipped his head to the door as his nurse walked in on her hourly rounds. She sighed seeing John’s black eye and the way Curt gripped his fist in his right hand. 

“John, come with me.” She motioned towards the door and looked at Curt. 

“He deserved it, ma’am.” He flashed her, his most charming, toothy smile.

“Probably,” Gale mumbled under his breath and continued picking at the loose thread on the blanket. 

“What’d that dumb, bastard say?” Curt leaned forward and rested his hands on his knees. He tilted his head slightly, Gale could make out the forming sunburn on Curt’s nose and cheeks. 

“Just about the shark hunt, said he needs to fix this.” Gale flicked up finger quotes and rested his head back on the propped up bed. 

“It’s my fault, ‘told him today at work about it. Tried tellin’ him it would be stupid to join in.”

“Yeah, well.” Gale shrugged his shoulder again and closed his eyes. He loved Curt and knew he meant well but he just wanted to sleep. He knew visitor hours would be done in half an hour, he didn’t know if John planned to spend the night again either. 

“Here,” John basically threw an ice pack at Curt as he came back into the room. An ice pack in his own hand, wrapped in a paper towel pressed to his eye. 

“Thanks.” Curt spoke bluntly and held the ice pack to his knuckles. Gale closed his eyes now, he didn’t want to look at either right now. Maybe they’d get the hint and leave him alone for a bit? But they didn’t and Gale had to put up with an awkward kiss to his cheek from John before nodding back off. 

—---------

He was relishing in his Sunday sun shining through the blinds, he felt better than he had but that positive also came with the weird tension between him and John. He had of course stayed with Gale through the night, he was glad he did though. He didn’t want to be left alone in the hospital room, he knew the pain medication would knock him out but he liked it better when he knew John was there. 

John had left for his shift and Gale remained staring out the window at the pristine conditions he could see out the window. He closed his eyes for a moment and imagined the sound of the waves crashing against the shore and the honk of the seagulls. He laid his hand flat against the bed and if he thought hard enough, he could feel the oceans pull. He flicked his eyes open before the imagination could turn into the day at the cove or the dark stormy sky nightmare. 

The knock against the door grounded him back to reality and he turned his head against the pillow, there he stood, with the golden brown, sunkissed curls. Ken smiled softly and pushed the door open, “Hey.”

“Hi,” Gale hoped whatever John had said to Curt wasn’t about Ken not coming to visit. He hoped that Ken didn’t get forced into coming here if he wasn’t yet ready. 

Ken’s heart did a small lurch when he saw Gale’s empty t-shirt sleeve but he ignored it, not wanting to make this worse than he probably already had. “I’m sorry I haven’t come to visit.”

“It’s okay.”

Ken nodded and rested a hand on the back of the chair next to Gale's bed, “Can I?”

He nodded and Ken slid into the seat, instinctively crossing a leg over the other. He folded his hands and rested them in his lap to give him something to stare at. Gale could probably tell he was uncomfortable but it wasn’t his fault. Hospitals just made him feel weird on top of it being his best friend in the hospital. He had felt so helpless that day on the beach, he couldn’t do anything for gale. Instead he just was on his hands and knees throwing up while Curt and John wrapped a towel around his shoulder and tourniqueted the wound with his surf leash. 

He just watched while his best friend nearly bled out.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Gale reached his hand out and gently squeezed Ken’s knee, “I’m glad you’re here but if you’re not ready…”

“No! No!” Ken sat back looking back up at Gale, “I’m fine.” 

He wasn’t. 

He took Gale's hand in his and blinked away a few tears, effortlessly trying to swallow the lump in his throat. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, Curt and John have been keeping me company. But you’re not here because of yesterday, right?”

“Yesterday?” Ken’s eyebrows furrowed, his head tilting slightly.

“Oh, Curt punched John, not sure why. Assumed John ran his mouth or somethin’.” Gale shrugged his good shoulder. Ken's face fell into a small frown, he didn’t even notice any swelling or bruising on Curts knuckles. 

“Here?”

“Outside, John stormed out. Ten minutes later the two returned, John’s eye swollen shut. My nurse brought them both ice packs.” Gale let his tension fall off his shoulders in an effort to make Ken smile. 

“Who’s the patient here now?” Ken let the remark pull the two into a small fit of laughter, something both of them needed. 

“With the way John’s been acting, I'm expecting him to go awol soon.” And he accidentally brought the mood back down. John was going awol already. He wasn’t even the one stuck in the hospital bed but Gale could tell the closed in four walls of the room was driving him up the wall. Probably the same amount Gale was feeling too if it wasn’t for all the medications he had been pumped full of the past week. He didn’t know how he felt about being one day out from the one week anniversary of losing his arm. He didn’t want to think about it, “Think the tourist center will hire me? Not sure how much help I’ll be around the surf shop.”

“Yeah, you tell me when and I’ll put in a good word.” 

A moment of silence passed the two of them, “What have you been up to?”

“Nothin’ really. My parents let me take off a couple days from school. Just been sleeping a lot.” Ken stumbled over his words.

“I miss school,” Gale ran a hand down his face, “Can’t believe I’m sayin’ that.”

“Did the doctors say when you could go back?” 

“Four weeks I think? I don’t know?” Gale didn’t know when he would be mentally ready to go back to school. He couldn’t even think about it right now…he was struggling with the grasps of even being discharged in a week's time. The silence fell back over them, their line of sight flipping back to their respective laps. They remained quiet for a handful of minutes when Ken's small sob pierced through the air. 

“I’m sorry,” he quickly apologized and reached for a tissue off the side table. 

“It’s okay,” Gale rubbed his palm over Ken’s knee while he tried to collect himself. 

“I just... I couldn't stop seeing it, you know? Every time I closed my eyes, I saw you lying there, and I felt so helpless.”

Gale reached out with his hand and took Ken's trembling hand in his. "You saved me, Ken. You and Curt got me to the hospital. You did everything you could."

Ken looked down, tears spilling onto his cheeks. "I just... I wish I could have done more."

"You being here now means everything to me," Gale said softly, his thumb tracing over his hand, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

—---------

Gale’s hip pressed into John’s with no intention of moving away from the boy next to him. Well, that was until they were joined by Gale’s all too cheerful occupational therapist. 

“Gale Cleven, right?” The shorter woman with a smoothed over jet black bob held her hand out to shake his. 

“Yeah,” He shook her hand and continued to try and ignore the different antiseptic aroma in this space. Although, he was glad for a change of scenery in the hospital. Today, it was the occupational therapy center on the other side of the building. On a positive note the room had floor to ceiling windows that provided the morning sun a place to peek in and kiss Gale’s skin. 

“I’m doctor Charey, how’re you feeling this morning?” She crossed her legs and stood with her clipboard over her knees, her brown eyes fixated on him. 

He forced a smile on his face and pressed himself impossibly closer to John upon hearing her question. “As good as I can be, I guess?”

She nodded empathetically. "I know this is tough, but we’re going to take it one step at a time. Today, we’re going to focus on some basic tasks—things you used to do without thinking but now might find kinda challenging. Sound good, kiddo?”

Gale’s heart momentarily leapt into his throat, he swallowed hard and his hand began to blindly try to find John’s. “Okay,” his voice meak, weak, showing he didn’t know if he truly did believe in himself? 

She brought over a button down shirt that’d fit over his clothes, handing it to him. “Let’s just start easy, okay? Can you get this on yourself?”

Gale felt a sense of dread as he had to drop John’s hand and actually let him move away from him. He took the floral button down and slid it onto his arm with somewhat no issue. He could see out of the corner of his eye as John wanted to reach out to help him. He sucked in another deep breath trying to avoid every clunky feeling and movement that came as he tried to get the shirt just over his other shoulder. The fabric pulling tight and seeming to resist at every turn and reach, he didn’t even fathom how daunting this would be. John had just been dressing him once he’d been allowed out of the wretched hospital gown. But he knew he couldn’t rely on John to do everything for him forever. 

“Take your time, there's no rush.” Doctor Charey encouraged him gently. 

Finally, he had beat his first mountain and got the shirt over his shoulder and realized the next part. He felt like some freak show on display as some other doctors and nurses filed in for their shifts. Gale clenched his teeth in frustration, his hand shaking as he got the first button through the first hole. He wanted to hate himself so badly right now, he couldn’t even think how John felt right now watching him. 

As soon as all the buttons were fastened Doctor Charey was congratulating him for something as simple as dressing himself. He was leaning back in the chair letting his arm hang at his side. He let out a frustrated groan and wiped his brow; however, getting the shirt off was easier. . He didn’t know it was going to be this daunting. Just when he thought maybe the hardest part was over she then set a jar in front of him. 

He eye’d John from where he sat at the table almost waiting for the lid just to open itself. He reached for the table and took the plastic jar. Gale eyed the jar, feeling the sting of tears at the back of his eyes. He gripped it with his hand and tried to twist the lid off. The jar slipped in his grasp, and the lid refused to budge. His frustration grew, but instead he just moved the jar between his knees to unscrew the lid. Part of him felt witty, but maybe that was a trick and he was supposed to do it a different way? “You’re a natural at this,” Doctor Charey smiled, embracing Gales shoulder in a small assuring squeeze. 

After Gale’s session was over he and John began their walk back to the other side of the hospital. The two remained silent as John swung their hands, but on the inside Gale wanted to scream. He wanted to run from John and out the front of the hospital, he knew he could do it too. Plead insanity when John would come tearing after him yelling something inexplicable. He missed sitting out with Meatball on the beach, watching the husky roll in the sand and damn Gale a bath to give him. He didn’t even want to think about how he’d probably not be able to give Meatball a bath now. He didn’t have a second arm anymore to hold the collar on the dog and rinse him down. 

He scoffed at just the thought of his own incompetence. 

“What’re you thinking about?” John squeezed the blonde's hand, still he tried to reach out his olive branch. 

“Nothin’” Gale’s golden sea of locks fell into his face as his head dropped to stare at the tiled floor below him. 

“Sure don’t look like nothing,” John sucked in through his teeth. 

It wasn’t nothing but it wasn’t the kind of thing Gale wanted to talk about right now. He just spent the last hour laying out just how vulnerable he now is and John expects him to be emotionally vulnerable now too?

“Well I just don’t wanna talk about it, okay?” Gale’s pace quickened and his hand tangled free of John’s. Gale stomped off and away from him, he half wanted to go elsewhere. He wanted to run from the forced proximity of the four walls of the hospital room. 

He just wanted to feel something that wasn’t grief with a side of self pity. 

The day Gale was being discharged came way too fast for his liking. He felt like a wounded animal about to be left vulnerable for the predators. 

His leg bounced against the hospital floor as his grandpa filled out his discharge papers. His whole world was actually about to be ripped down for real now. The hazy white veil protecting his line of vision from the unknown was really ready to fall now. Any moment he’d be walking out the door with Grandpa and John and he’d just have to put on a smile. 

He didn’t want any part of this, really. His story has been heard across the globe now. It picked up media attention and John had told him about the news vans that had swarmed his grandpa's beach front property. 

“Do you think they’re gonna be there?” Gale’s line of vision stayed staring straight ahead at the fussy, cloudy November day on the island. 

“Who?” John furrowed his eyebrows.

“The journalist you told me about.” Gale swallowed and balled up his hand in the bed sheets really conveying the waves of crashing anxiety over him. 

“Well, if they are I’ll tell them to piss right the fuck off…unless you wanna talk to them.”

“No.” Gale dead panned. 

“Alright kiddo.” Grandpa returned in the doorway, “You ready to sleep in your own bed?”

“Yeah,” Gale nodded with a long sigh as he pushed himself up from the bed. 

John grabbed the duffle and the now stuffed full reusable grocery bag of cards and notes people had written him and followed after the two. 

The​​ three stepped out of the hospital and Gale took in a sharp breath seeing the stormy clouds above them that just so closely reflected his own inner feelings. He tries to direct his steps with precise motions but he just feels like a baby giraffe. It suddenly felt like the moment he crossed the threshold of the hospital he just could no longer function.

“Buck?” John stopped his quick paces next to the boy, everyone coming to a halt. 

“No I’m…uh…I’m fine.” Gale stammered out, his breath hitching, but he forced himself to keep moving, not wanting to draw more attention to the uncertainty gnawing at him. As soon as the familiar rusted yellow truck came into view Gale stopped dead in his tracks. Parked just beyond were a few news trucks, journalists out with their cameras and microphones. 

“Hey, come on, let's get in the truck.” John slung his free arm around Gale and protectively pulled him into his side. The two’s pace quickened towards the truck as the small crowd of reporters came closer.  

Gale whimpered into John and he could feel the other tense in anger, “Fuck off! He doesn’t wanna talk to you.” John barked at the crowd, Gale’s grandpa following up his statement. 

“Let the boy be, show him some respect.” 

John had Gale in the truck in an instant, throwing his duffle into the bed and shoving the other bag onto the floor. “You okay, babe?”

Gale just nodded but he felt just even more shaken up, he just wanted to go home. 

—---------

Gale’s shoulder finally began to relax. No news vans, no reporters—just the comforting sight of the ocean in the distance. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to believe that things might be okay. Yet he couldn’t get out fast enough, he needed to see his dog. He barely let John reach over to unbuckle him before he was freeing himself. 

Gale could hear his barks and yips through the door whilst his grandfather fumbled his keys into the door. Meatball barely gave the man time to open it before he nearly toppled over everyone to reach Gale. 

“Hey, boy.” Gale put his hand down to let the dog sniff him and guide him back inside. Meatball yipped in excitement and bounded around Gale. He sat down on his knees in the kitchen and let Meatball completely lick the ever loving shit out of him. After he kept whining and pressing his head into his chest, sensing something off and upset about Gale's demeanor. 

“I know, I know, boy. Thing’s are a little bit different now.” Gale tried redirecting Meatball from where he tried to lick his bandaged stump. 

“Come here, boy.” John held open the back door trying to get Meatball off Gale. The husky jumped up and went bounding out the back door, causing gale to frown.

“John, he was fine!” Gale stood up from the floor walking towards the back now.

“He hasn’t been out all day,” John huffed. 

“Yeah, I was gonna let him out when he was done.” He pulled the back door open and went after Meatball. 

Gale sat on the deck, the sun beginning to peak at the afternoon high, casting a hot glow over the island. Meatball lay beside him, his head resting on Gale’s thigh, the steady rise and fall of his breathing a comforting rhythm. Gale absentmindedly stroked the dog’s fur, his mind drifting to the events of the past week.

He thought about John, about the way he’d tried so hard to be there, to help. But no matter what John did, there was always this undercurrent of tension between them now, a barrier that hadn’t been there before. Gale knew it wasn’t John’s fault, but it didn’t make it any easier.

He replayed their conversations in his mind, the way John’s voice would tighten when he tried to talk about the future, the way Gale would shut down, unable to face the reality of his new life. It wasn’t fair to John—Gale knew that. But it wasn’t fair to him either.

Gale sighed, leaning back against the deck chair. He wasn’t sure how to fix things between them, wasn’t even sure if he could. But as he looked out at the ocean, the waves crashing against the shore, he knew he had to try. He couldn’t keep pushing John away, not when John was the only thing keeping him from drowning in his own fear and despair.

Meatball nuzzled closer, as if sensing Gale’s turmoil. Gale smiled faintly, his hand stilling on the dog’s fur. He didn’t have all the answers, and didn't know how to make things right between him and John. 

[skaruresonic]

Lakeside

Summary:

James Sunderland doesn't remember why he'd driven his car into the lake. He can't explain why he was rescued, or what led to his decision, but he clings to the hope that someone will help him piece it together before hell freezes over. Douglas Cartland swore he'd never set foot in that godforsaken town again. That vow gets tested when Toluca Lake begins freezing in the middle of summer, against all logic and reason, and resurrects the drowned man he'd given up for dead.

Or, "Nature is healing. Hell is freezing over."

Prologue - Tumblr / AO3

1.

Will you reach heaven unassisted? Or must corpses point the path, Blind eyes glimpsing gold?

Another face swims in.

"Mr. Sunderland: Dr. Takuma again. I know how worn out you must be from the tests you've endured today. Rest assured, we won't keep you for much longer. Before we let you go, though, there is one last thing we must test."

"I need to go home."

"This will move much faster with your cooperation."

The laminated card clipped to the breast pocket claims his name is Robert Takuma. When James observes his face, he sees no connection. Certainly there are pieces that constitute an identity, eyes, nose, and mouth, but no underlying thread stitches them together. They float in a loose amalgamation without coherence or meaning. A mannequin of clothed limbs perches on the stool before him.

"Now, this exercise may seem rather silly and childish on the surface, but it will reveal quite a bit about the nature of your condition. With these flashcards, I will show you a series of illustrations. You tell me which is correct about them. Ready?" He interprets James' silence as consent and raises the first card. "Man or woman?"

James dwells in wordlessness before murmuring, "Woman."

"Why?"

"It's wearing high heels."

"Mm." The card settles in Takuma's lap, replaced by another. "Old or young?"

"Old."

"Why?"

"Cane."

"Good." Hands shuffle the deck. "Blonde or brunette?"

Silence.

"Blonde or brunette, Mr. Sunderland?"

"…I don't know."

"We'll circle back to that," Takuma says. "Which of these is not wearing glasses?"

He chooses the left.

"Point to the figure with a green shirt."

He complies.

"Heart tattoo on the bicep."

That, too.

"Smiling?"

They're treating him like a child.

"If you would, please list three differences between these faces."

He stares at the twin cards. They aren't illustrations but Polaroids. In his left hand, Takuma holds an enlarged facsimile of the photo he keeps in his wallet.

Kept; the lake stole it from him. Where Toluca's minerals leached its color and the water crumbled its grain to dust, the image burns clearly, seared into his mind by the radiant thuribles of the fluorescents burning around them.

In a world where most faces elude him, she shines, clear and lucent.

The other hand shows a horrendously different woman. Pustules swell and blister her complexion like globules of ancient film burning to a close. Melting into a wax grotesquery of herself, deprived of her outer beauty, never abandoning her smile.

The whisper crawls from his vocal cords. "Why do you have pictures of my wife?" A cold trickle forms on the back of his neck as the doctor rises. "No— Who gave you those?"

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Sunderland."

---

Damn it, what kind of game do they think they're playing? They've kept him penned in here for way too long. Locking him in a dim room like this, it's insane. More than insane. It's criminal. Mary's coming home tomorrow. He can't be languishing in the hospital himself.

Confined to a padded mattress, James glances down his arm. Gray, waterlogged skin bundles a loose blanket of flesh over atrophied muscles, showing veins and bones in disgustingly salient detail. Blue vessels weave a fine net over his flesh. IVs have blossomed grotesque bruises along its expanse.

Crushing his lips together, James tears the adhesive. The needle he extracts stings like hell, bringing a startling smatter of crimson to the surface.

Monitors scream, a noise he extinguishes by pulling the cord. No need to alert the nurses.

His head throbs as he wheels his bare feet onto the tile.

God, he's exhausted.

In the corner stands a bureau. Rising on unsteady knees, he shambles toward it.

Swinging the door open, he finds a bright silver square staring back at him. He opts to ignore it as he bends down to put on what remains of his clothes. They've taken his jacket, but at least the undershirt doesn't feel too damp when he slips his arm through the sleeve.

First things first. He's got to find a payphone and call his father. He doesn't want to impose on Frank, but he harbors a faint hope that he might have a spare key to their apartment so he can let Mary inside, allowing her to get settled in with her new nurse.

Hell, he'll pay, if that's what his father wants. Frank will protest anything for family; it's more to ease James' mind. He can't have Mary waiting out in the hall.

Tomorrow, he resolves. He'll straighten this out then. Tell his good Samaritans thank you even though he can't stay. Board a bus for North Ashfield.

The prospect of travel makes him nervous. Mary can hardly stand as it is, and… Well. St. Jerome's can't loan her a wheelchair her insurance won't cover.

She could lean on the wall, he supposes, try to slumber out his arrival, but can he gamble on the landlord allowing her to loiter there? Besides, her circulation's poor. Her hands and feet swell with fluid. Even though he finds himself sweating in this balmy air, she'd shiver.

His head sags on its neck. James indulges a new habit he's formed since being admitted and slowly, deliberately pops his knuckles one at a time. His hands have become skeletal, corded things he doesn't recognize; the water has eroded the muscle and fat that used to reside beneath the skin.

Air pockets crackle the joints as he depresses, with long, thin fingers tapering into chalk-white nailbeds. He doesn't feel them. These can't be his. These are borrowed from someone else, a pair of gloves he's forced to wear, coated in small nicks and gouges.

(woodgrain biting into his flesh when he grips the)

He raises his head to face his reflection.

They alleged this was his as well. All of these unsolicited gifts offered him, as though he had to be introduced as a guest to his own body.

The staff hadn't taken too kindly to his refusals. The first time, they insisted. The second, he grew agitated. Please put that away. He'd made his request clear after the numerous hours they'd spent poking and prodding him to ensure his mind remained intact. His patience had worn thin in worry over how long they were keeping him from Mary.

Wasn't a little disorientation after a car accident to be expected? How many more hoops did they want him to jump? He's healthy, isn't he?

(more than she'll ever be)

The third, he lunged to snatch the mirror from the nurse, but missed. Instead, he wound up knocking it out of her hand, accidentally shattering glass in the process.

James froze when the pieces scattered diamonds across the tiles. Disembodied parts flooded the floor. Eyes, lips, ears. Nothing adding up.

The moment he realized what he'd done, a shameful heat suffused his cheeks, pricking needles under his skin. Look at yourself, he thought, the irony of his inability only pushing the thorns deeper. You're acting like a child. What would Mary think?

James gives empty gaze to the glass, the impostor on the other side mirroring his languid movements. Watched by a mask he cannot remove. The eyes that track him aren't really his own. Two broken-bottle green irises. Not too deep. Too shallow.

Fingers uncertain, he traces the contours of this alien terrain, starting from the bridge of his nose downwards, into the dip of his Cupid's bow. The soft streams of breath he releases through his nostrils tickle him.

A thin sheet of epidermis stretched over musculature, bone, and cartilage. It feels too dead an inheritance to claim.

As he watches this strange reflection mimic his movements, he suffers a dark but fleeting impulse to harm it. If he hooked his dirty nails into the flesh and peeled away his doppelganger's false mask, shed his snake's skin layer by layer, there may be a chance he'd reveal something truer underneath.

(or maybe you would find nothing)

[original-design1980]

Essential Tips for Protecting Your Plants from Frost Copy

Protecting plants from frost requires several detailed strategies to ensure they survive cold temperatures:

1. Covering Plants

Frost Cloth or Fabric: Use frost cloth, bed sheets, or burlap to cover plants before sunset to trap warmth from the ground. Avoid plastic, which can trap moisture and freeze the plant.

Hoop Houses or Cloche: Small greenhouses or cloches made from plastic or glass can be placed over individual plants.

2. Mulching

Apply mulch (straw, leaves, pine needles) around the plant base to insulate roots and trap soil warmth. A 2-4 inch layer is recommended.

3. Watering

Watering plants during the day before a frost can help because moist soil retains more heat than dry soil. However, avoid overwatering, as waterlogged roots can freeze.

4. Heating

Use outdoor heaters or string Christmas lights (non-LED) to provide gentle warmth. These should be arranged under coverings or around the plants.

5. Move Potted Plants

If possible, move potted plants indoors or to a more sheltered area, such as a garage or patio. Cold frames or greenhouses also offer good protection.

6. Choosing Frost-Hardy Plants

Opt for frost-resistant plants or those that are native to your region’s climate. These plants are more likely to withstand cold temperatures.

7. Timing and Planning

Monitor weather reports to prepare for frost. Cover plants and prepare insulation materials in advance, and uncover them during the day when temperatures rise.

[crab-instruments]

What’s Coming to Me Part 17

Master <Part 16 Part 18>

Pairing: Crosshair x Sniper Reader (GN)

Rating and warning: killing and ambivalence to killing, hella angst

Beta Reader: @unfocusedfish

a/n: This one's rough, y'all. We be semi canon compliant

Kamino was an awful planet, you decided. Maybe it wasn’t so much the planet was a drag but the fact that you were stuck here, sitting on the bench and a majority of the population looked exactly like the next guy. There were a few clones that didn’t suck but many didn’t like The Bad Batch to begin with, so your association with them along with being a nat-born made you unsavory company in their eyes. These regs, as The Batch referred to them, kept their distance from you.  

Still, some soldiers saw you as a challenge, wanting to see what the legendary bounty hunter could do. It was easy to ignore the snide, petty comments, having never cared before. Being nonverbal sucked the fun out of their taunting as you never responded. Your novelty never fully wore off since the clones were in constant rotation.

One clone started to become friendly. He was stuck in a similar medical situation, practically healed but the squad was off-world. He seemed more mature than most, in attitude and age. His skin was tattered with blaster burns and scars and many of the other clones shut their mouths in his presence. His Dallas style mustache and somewhat contained mop hairstyle stood out against the other clones who were mostly clean shaven and well kept. Gator was what he had asked you to call him, before realizing he would never hear the name come out of your mouth. He said he wasn’t a big shot, but he had fancier armor than others, a green pauldron and kama. Gator’s helmet was well worn but had triangle teeth along the edges, yellow eyes on the sides, and faded scales on the back. Some referred to him as an ARC Trooper, but the classification meant nothing to you.

You stayed willfully ignorant of rank, treating everyone with the same amount of respect you felt they deserved, which wasn’t much. The longer you stayed in the GAR without understanding how the hierarchy worked, the funnier it became. What, only one pauldron? Come talk to me when you have two.

Gator enjoyed talking to you during down time, glad to have someone who wasn’t intimidated by him or just wouldn’t tell him to shut his mouth. Of all the clones you’d met on this waterlogged planet, he had the most charisma and cheeky smile, but it was a very low bar. His friendship also confirmed that The Bad Batch wasn’t oddly loyal to you; when a clone decides you’re friends, you’re vode. Gator made a point of sitting next to you in the mess hall and hung around during check-ups.

You expected he would eventually give up, your indifference never fading on the outside, but he would walk up with a toothy grin, make the same joke about how oddly quiet you were that day, and then ask to spar. You rarely ever turned down his offer.

The clone preferred to practice with living beings rather than training simulations. There was always a bit of distrust in his voice when he talked about the simulations, how life can’t be predicted by an algorithm. His happy expression melted into something serious and unreadable. “Machines are gonna fail and the system's gonna fail... then, survival. Who has the ability to survive? That's the game - survive.” Gator would say that to himself a lot and look off in the distance for a moment, as if reminiscing over something tragic and overwhelming.

The sparring room only had two other clones in it today, but the Jedi from before was watching from the observation room. Allora monitored your practice with a keen eye, either to observe your progress or to catch you red handed doing something wrong. You enjoyed the brief moments she directly interacted with you, a break from the constant flow of stoic clones. She always had a calm exterior but you could tell how much power bubbled like lava just below the surface. The bounty hunter-turned-trainer next to her looked less than impressed with you, though he had been smart enough not to challenge you.

After throwing Gator on the ground, winning another match, Gator chuckled. “One day I’m going to figure out how you always throw off my balance right when I think I got ya. Just not today.” He grunted before speaking again, eyes mischievous. “Maybe saying nothin’ has its advantages. Loose lips sink ships, eh?” You huffed and offered him a hand to help him up.

As you pulled him up to his feet, something felt wrong. Bad. It hurt, a pain that you had never felt before. Despair and hopelessness. You started to fold in on yourself and it became hard to breathe. Gator would have fallen to the ground with you if he hadn’t sensed something was off with you.

“Something wrong, Shev’la?” You could hear Gator but his voice was drowned out by the overwhelming feeling of dread and turmoil. Just as you couldn’t bear the feeling and your knees gave out, Gator caught you. He was speaking but you couldn’t comprehend what he was saying. The sound of a transmission came in from the observation room above, the only clear noise in the fuzziness you were experiencing. Only a few moments later did you hear blaster shots and the sound of a lightsaber igniting.

Both you and Gator spun around to see Allora on guard with her lightsaber backing up in the small space in the observation room above. The Jedi blocked incoming shots from clones, but the bounty hunter was caught completely off guard. He fell to the ground, lifeless.

“What the kriff is goin’ on?” Gator asked under his breath. You couldn’t move, eyes locked onto the scene unfolding. Allora continued to retreat, the other clones following hastily.

You made eye contact with Gator, pleading with your eyes for a rational explanation. Was this a training exercise? Is this real?

Gator only shook his head in disbelief, “Those shots weren’t on stun… They intended to kill—”

One of the two other clones in the room, forgotten up until now, opened a comm. The message relayed was given by a gravelly voice, ringing in your ears like a siren. You didn’t know what the message meant but it felt like nails on a chalkboard.

“Execute Order 66.”

You didn’t have time to turn to Gator to find out what that meant before arms wrapped around your neck, crushing your throat. Your fingers clawed at the arms, the lack of air making it hard to focus. A panicked noise escaped and you thrashed your legs. Once you gained some footing on the ground, you threw your head back into your assailant’s face, crushing his nose. It was hard enough that he let go and stumbled back. When you finally got a look at him, your mind went blank and you stumbled.

Gator.

It was Gator.

Gator turned on you. He tried to kill you. The man—who just moments ago was joking with you— attempted to strangle you.

Your blood ran cold, eyes wide.

He was still stumbling backwards, shaking his head. When the two of you made eye contact, for a moment, you still saw the clone you knew, who was confused and scared. It faded away to a dull, far away look.

Gator was gone.

No. No. No no no no no no! The Jedi will know what to do. Find Allora, she will explain this. She will fix this!

Shaking, you forced yourself to focus, winding up a punch to one of the clones in the face as they closed the distance. With a step forward, you roundhouse kicked the other clone in the gut, sending him flying into a punching bag. Gator threw a punch, you side stepped as his hand almost grazed your face. You grabbed his extended arm and used his momentum to throw his body towards the first clone. Gator was easily throwable, it was lucky you never helped him improve that.

All three clones were knocked down momentarily and you made your escape, slinking around the corner and down the hallway. Alarms and flashing lights filled the air, the sensation of being crushed under the weight of the water on this planet had never been more prevalent. You were sore, confused, and forsaken.

The sound of Allora yelling in pain caught your attention, coming from the next room. You watched a clone get hit by his own rebounded blaster shot and fall through the doorway, slumping dead against the wall. His blaster fell towards you so you snatched it up, glad to have a weapon. Leaving the sparring room empty handed was a rookie mistake you had never made before, but today was all about new experiences.

Peaking around the corner, the Jedi was… not faring well. She could only block so many incoming shots by herself. Allora was getting tired and it showed in how her movements became sluggish. One accurate shot and she could no longer stand. It only took a few more shots before she was down.

Your body moved before your brain told it to, finger pulling the trigger faster than the clones could register another hostile target. The room became quiet as you eliminated each clone in the vicinity, the blaster shots reverberating in the open room.

The Jedi was still breathing but she wasn’t… She didn’t…

You crumbled down next to Allora, hands hovering over her body, unsure of what to do or where to start. Her eyes fluttered open and she realized you weren’t trying to kill her. With the last of her strength, she pushed her lightsaber into your hand.

With the remaining life she had left, she gave you an order. “Run. Survive.”

The fire in Allora’s eyes was snuffed out, flames smothered with betrayal dealt by the very men she trusted.

A water droplet fell on your shaky hand. You looked around to find the source. Oh. It came from your eyes, you were crying. It had been so long you forgot the sensation. The slow tears felt hot on your cheeks. This is what defeat felt like.

Weaver’s last words echoed in your mind:

“… Oh, it’s almost tragic when you think about it. The clones you now care for as your own will turn against you one day and very soon. It’s written in the stars… or rather, their programming, but the stars sounds more striking…

“… I wish I could be there when it happens, the look on your face when you realize everything you’ve acquired the past few months will come crashing down with one measly command…

“… I had hoped to take you with me when the Republic fell, but this is a fitting end for someone like you; to die completely and utterly alone. You’ll get what’s coming to you.”

You released a deep, low growl and slammed your fist into the ground. This was all planned! And Weaver rubbed it in your face! All of the clones were programmed to turn against the Republic at the whim of some horrific mastermind…

It felt like all the air in the room evaporated and you felt dizzy.

… All? Did that include The Bad Batch? Would they try to kill you too? More importantly… Was this their choice? If they were programmed… Could they be deprogrammed? If that was possible… I need to find the medical wing where they make the clones.

Clone voices kicked you into action, diving to dodge blaster shots. You ignited Allora’s saber and used it to block the next couple of shots until you could fire your own blaster. The Jedi was more talented at the weapon, the weight was lighter than you anticipated and you couldn’t round the shots like she had earlier. Your swings were clumsy but it was enough. When the two hostiles fell, you took a moment to look at the blaster in your other hand.

No wonder they need several to take out a Jedi, thing’s a piece of kark. Amazing that I’ve managed to hit anything at all.

Before looking for answers, you’d need your equipment. You headed towards The Batch’s barracks.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Getting to the barracks was straightforward, not having to duck around many clones. Most were running towards different sectors, taking care of other hostiles. It also helped that The Batch’s room was further away from the rest. When the door opened, the stale stench greeted you like an old friend, oddly familiar and comforting. Since being discharged, you stayed here, taking over Crosshair’s bunk. You had cleaned up the trash and mysterious objects that stunk the most, but the smell lingered, integrating with the walls.

Quietly, you put on your armor and packed your bag with the small amount of items you could claim as your own. You hesitated when you looked at the few things Crosshair had by his bed. His designated area was a reflection of himself. It was sparse and aloof, but if you took the time to explore, you’d find the treasures Crosshair cared for most. Your favorite piece was a broken scope that once resided on his Firepuncher. It was from the forth or fifth time you challenged The Bad Batch that you got the closest to killing Crosshair, but he moved out of the way at the last second. His scope didn’t survive.

You softly smiled at the memory and the influence the moment had on Crosshair to hold onto the scope. You held it in your hand, contemplating on taking it. If The Bad Batch wasn’t affected by the same order as all the rest, the scope would continue to be a marker of how far you’ve come. However, if they were affected, this would only serve as a reminder for what you lost; the squad you saw as your family, the person you cared the most for, and the ability to trust. You shoved the scope in the bag, deciding you could get rid of it later if you changed your mind. Maybe bury it in the desert or on the planet you broke it on.

A dark figure reflecting on one of Crosshair’s sniper mirrors caught your eye, causing you to freeze in place. You decided you weren’t going to make the same mistakes as you had before, broken and vulnerable. If they saw you as an enemy, you’d passionately play the part. In one fluid movement, you grabbed your sniper, spun around into a kneeling position, and shot straight through the heart.

The blood drained from your face as your conflicting emotions fought for dominance. It was only a few days ago that you were trying to think before shooting. None of that mattered now, the ones who preached critical thinking were nothing but mindless killing machines. You’d be a fool to extend the same kindness after they so rudely stabbed you in the back and twisted the knife without mercy.

Grabbing your bag, you slowly walked towards the body in the doorway, listening for others. No other footfalls were heard, no other signs of life. Whoever laid dead in the doorway was after you and knew where to find you. As you stood next to the clone, the bitter spark of repulsion rose inside you and you allowed yourself to give into the desire to kill anyone who stood in your way. It wasn’t the same numbness you felt before as a bounty hunter, it was a red hot demand for vengeance.

You unceremoniously stepped over Gator’s body, not taking a second look at the man you once might consider a friend. In truth, this was a more merciful ending for Gator. If it was true that the clones weren’t in control, killing them would be the last kindness you could give to the clones. Gator was free now.

“That's the game – survive.”

Gator’s words left a hollow feeling as they rang in your ears.

It was eerily quiet as you walked down the hall. You pulled out your holopad, opening the blueprints of the facility you downloaded from Tech’s datapad a few days prior. The medical wing was on the other side of the base and you’d face more hostiles along the way. Knowing the Kaminoans with their dubious morals, the information you were looking for would be hidden extremely well. It would take time to uncover, so you found a dataport you could access in a small, unsuspecting room.

You did your best to sneak around, avoiding security camera sightlines and main hallways. If you came across any other beings, it was only clones, no Kaminoans. Your disgust of the species only grew as you experienced their cowardice. Of course they wouldn’t participate in the battle they helped create. Not all the clones were hunting, some cleaning up bodies and removing machines. Their faces held no emotions and their eyes felt far away, not in control.

However, you didn’t hesitate to take out any clone or droid that got in your way, not bothering to hide the evidence. They should feel the same misery for the deaths of their vode as you did. Each kill never satisfied the animosity you felt, emotions bleeding into your normally detached professionalism. Every fallen soldier was another notch in your fragile sanity. You preferred to use Allora’s lightsaber, each kill became a tiny bit of personal retribution.

When you made it to the medical bay, you did a quick sweep for cameras and personnel before slicing the terminal. You were sweaty, tired, and unhinged. The terminal screen flashed with different windows as your program worked its magic. You could only hear your heart beat and the sound of your nervous shallow breaths. Minutes ticked by but you had nothing to show for it, you couldn’t find anything about what could be controlling the clones or this Order 66. You checked every digital nook and cranny but everything came up empty. Desperate, you slammed your fist on the panel.

What if… there is no way to reverse this? What if everything was a lie?

You groaned in frustration, refusing to face the reality of being a helpless bystander in all of this. Your foot kicked a lower panel, denting the metal. There had to be something, anything, or you would take everyone down by yourself, even if it cost losing yourself in the process.

“You won’t find what you’re looking for on that terminal.”

The small voice came from behind you. In a second, you ignited Allora’s lightsaber and spun around, facing the being who escaped your sweep. The green reflected back onto a child’s scared face and you hesitated. She was blonde, half your height, and in an outfit you hadn’t seen before. The girl stumbled back but didn’t have much space to do so, her back hitting a wall. Your resolve waivered, unable to hurt a child without a reason and you lowered the saber a tiny bit. She was most likely hiding from the chaos.

“You’re Shev’la, right? A part of The Bad Batch?” You flinched, suspicious. Her accent was similar to that of the clones, but it was possible she picked it up living here. Paranoia was starting to creep in. “My name’s Omega, and I want to be part of The Bad Batch too. They’re different from the rest.” A battle raged in your head, scolding yourself for faltering after having been stabbed in the back by the entire Republic army but pointing a weapon at someone who was most likely swept up into this mess unknowingly. She was obviously scared of you but forced herself to breathe evenly.

Was she… stalling? She sounded sincere. I’ve never encountered someone so small that wasn’t a clone…

“You’re looking for information on the chips, yeah?” Unsure what she was talking about specifically, you nodded slowly. “The chips are what they used to control them. The Kaminoans hid their existence at first but then said it was to control the clones’ aggression once a rogue clone found them.” Each word weighed on you, making you more exhausted as the secrets spilled from her mouth. You weren’t even sure if she was telling the truth, but the look of determination in her eyes in comparison to all the clones told you she wasn’t lying.

When Omega moved, you tightened your grip on the lightsaber. She backed up again. “I can show you… We’ll need to go to a different terminal, though.” You didn’t move. “It-it’s in a room more secluded than this, so we won’t be found by any clones.”

… She’s the only lead I have, I have no choice. My future depends on a child. Well played, Force, well played.

You holstered the lightsaber and swung your rifle around front, gesturing for Omega to lead but showing her you wouldn’t allow any funny business. She gave a sheepish smile before leading you down the hall. The hallways became more narrow and circular. Tunnel was a better way to describe them, like you were burrowing deep into the earth but there was only water on the outside. You contemplated the likelihood this was a well executed trap but if that was true, you’d have to give her credit. Omega seemed so innocent and sincere. She activated the same protective instinct in you Siari did.

“Here we are.” Omega led you into a small, cramped room that had long been forgotten. It wasn’t noted on your map, something unsuspecting to be the cave of a child. You hesitated before crossing the threshold. It felt like you were invading her personal space, but this was no time for courtesy.

The ceiling was lower, so you had to lean awkwardly and there wasn’t much room for you sniper. You slung it on your back to keep it out of the way. There wasn’t much lighting, just a dim bulb connected with haphazard wires. There was an older terminal in the corner Omega booted up. “I disconnected this from the network a while back. It’s a bit slow but it stores data I need it to.” As she continued fiddling, you looked around, studying the items she’s collected over time. Broken bits and pieces you couldn’t name, so probably not weapons. The walls had sketches etched in them, different customizations that you had seen on the clones and many you had not seen.

What stood out was a corner that was dedicated to The Bad Batch. The symbols of each member and a sketch of their face were on the wall. Well, you assumed that’s what the sketches were. They weren’t clear but you conceded Omega was a child who had worked all her life and did the best she could to etch into the metal. There was a scrap of red fabric and broken goggles near the sketches, too.

“I pulled the data about the chips when I overheard them lie about it to the Jedi. I didn’t… I didn’t know it would lead to this.” Her voice cracked before quiet tears rolled down her cheeks. You were overcome with an emotion you weren’t familiar with. You were… uncomfortable? Omega looked gloomy and broken, and you were unsure how to handle this. There was no amount of training that could have prepared you for this. You didn’t necessarily care to console her, you just needed the data, but that led to a sharp pang of guilt. How does one comfort a child when they themselves didn’t have a gentle bone in their body?

You kneeled so you were at her sight level. With extreme hesitation, you reached out with an unsteady hand, pulling back a few times before making it to the destination of her head. Omega froze and made eye contact. Unsure of what to do now, you patted her head a few times awkwardly before taking your hand back. You tried to keep your face even, but you were sure it was clear you had no idea what you were doing.

“You’re going to save The Bad Batch, right?” You didn’t even know if they could be saved but you sighed and nodded in agreement, exhausted. You handed her a data stick and she took it, discreetly wiping a tear away. “What will you do until they get back?”

Kid, I don’t know anything anymore. I didn’t have time to think anything through and I can barely deal with what’s happening right in front of me.

Omega sniffled. “You could hide out here. I know it’s small but no one would come back here but me. I’ll bring you rations when I can… It might be difficult for me when… if things become normal again.” The terminal pinged and Omega handed the data stick back to you.

Well, this isn’t the worst place I’ve camped out.

Finagling your sniper off your body and leaned against the wall, you sat on the floor and shut down to the sound of Omega chatting. You imagined being swallowed by the waves of Kamino, allowing the loneliness to creep in, the emptiness being filled with salty water.

Part 18

Notes:

Gator is based off of Burt Reynolds, because I had been watching many of his movies. The quote is his line from Deliverance.

Mando'a: vode - brothers

Star Wars Cursing: Kriff, Kark

Tag List: @rintheemolion @salamiwrites @lokigirlszendaya @jinxedleo @dionysuskid21 @awkwardwookie @welcometothepedroverse @gabile18 @xxglossii @imalovernotahater @littlemisscare-all @seeley-marie23 @badbatch-simp24 @goddess-of-congeniality @sunipostsstuff @admiralmaple @dwarfnip @whatshxrname @ttzamara @crosshair-is-the-superior-clone

Tags Not Working: @techssexythighs @ladydiomede

If you want to be added to the tag list, just send me an ask or fax me a picture of a crab

[leam1983]

Resolutions

Me: Look at me; I'm hydrating and monitoring my calories and using a step counter!

My body, which has gotten used to a state of near-permanent dehydration and semi-regular caffeine intake: Easy there, buckaroo, this is your third glass of water this hour! You wouldn't want us to feel nauseous and waterlogged now, would you?

I hate the fact that I feel like I'm essentially stuffing fluids down my midsection and feeling precisely zero kidney function going on, only to sudden have the motherload of all urges hours later and feeling like I've got a firehose instead of a lil' friend...

I thought you were supposed to gradually urinate more often, not feel absolutely nothing only to get the impression that you're an over-pumped Super Soaker...

[foreverthemomfriend]

A valiant storm

Thanks for the ask! I’m picturing a Pirate Au with a bit of a shipwreck for added flavour, probably Steddie because that’s the first ship that came to mind when I saw this.

A summary:

The raging storm had scared most vessels back to shore by the time The Coffin’s Anchor turned her sails towards the haven of port. On nights like this where the sea takes on her darkest and most violent form even the most talented hands and seasoned sea-men don’t care to change their lives and remain in open water. Which is exactly why The Coffin had turned for home as well, better to return now when there was still some fading light than risk running aground on a reef or some rocks. But about halfway back to the nearest harbour one of the deck-men spotted a wreckage. They slowly maneuvered the rough the debris scanning for signs of life. Just as he made to move on, disheartened by the absence of any survivors or even evidence of life at all Captain Munson’s eyes snagged on a small patch of fabric, illuminated by one chance stroke of lightning. He signalled the crew lower one of the lifeboats so that they may attempt to retrieve the fallen passenger and pray they’re brought aboard alive. The Captain monitors the retrieval from the quarter deck as his men hauled the waterlogged passenger aboard, dumping what appeared to be a handsome young aristocrat unceremoniously on the main deck before turning to him for instruction. He ventured down to take a closer look and was startled to recognize the young man before him, the next Lord Harrington, son of one of the most influential merchants of the last three decades. “Is he alive?” The man asks prodding the nearby leaden body with his boat, “he appears to be breathing” comes the answer. Just as the young man groans to life and heaves out a stomach full of seawater, when he’s done he turns to look up at his surroundings and the Captain is taken by his soft brown eyes.

(Idk I got kinda into it I guess)

[frenchfloraldesigns]

Succulent Arrangements for Small Spaces: A Complete Guide

In the realm of gardening and plant decor, succulents have surged in popularity due to their low maintenance and captivating aesthetic. For those with limited space, whether in a cozy apartment or a compact office, succulent arrangements offer a brilliant solution. 

Creating succulent arrangements in Miami beach Florida takes a lot of things under consideration. This comprehensive guide will walk you through the art of creating stunning succulent displays perfectly suited for small spaces.

Choose the Right Succulents

When working with limited space, it's crucial to select succulents that not only fit within the confines but also complement each other in terms of size, color, and texture. Opt for compact varieties like Echeveria 'Lola', Haworthia cooperi, and Sedum dasyphyllum, which thrive in confined settings.

Select the Ideal Container

The choice of container is pivotal in creating a visually appealing and functional succulent plant arrangement. For small spaces, consider shallow, wide containers that provide ample surface area for arranging multiple succulents. Additionally, containers with drainage holes are essential to prevent overwatering and ensure the health of your plants.

Create a Balanced Composition

One of the essential consideration for succulent arrangements in Miami beach Florida is balanced composition of different kinds of succulents. Begin by arranging the succulents in the container, keeping in mind their growth patterns and aesthetics. Place taller varieties towards the center and surround them with shorter, trailing ones. This creates a balanced composition, with each succulent complementing its neighbors.

Mindful Soil Selection

Succulents thrive in well-draining soil. Opt for a succulent-specific potting mix or create your own by combining regular potting soil with perlite or coarse sand. This blend allows excess moisture to escape, preventing waterlogged roots.

Proper Planting Technique

When planting succulents, gently remove them from their nursery pots, being mindful of the delicate roots. Create a small well in the soil with your fingers and place the succulent in, ensuring that it's snug but not overcrowded. Pat down the soil around the base to provide stability.

Optimal Sunlight Exposure

Succulents are sun-loving plants, and ensuring they receive adequate light is crucial for their health. Place your arrangement in a location that receives bright, indirect sunlight. If natural light is limited, consider supplementing with a grow light to keep your succulents thriving.

Get succulent arrangement for sale from the professionals in Miami, Florida.

Watering with Precision

Overwatering is one of the most common mistakes in succulent care. In small containers, it's even more critical to water sparingly. Use the 'soak and dry' method, allowing the soil to completely dry out between waterings. Ensure water reaches the roots but avoid waterlogging the container.

Maintenance and Pruning

Regular maintenance is key to keeping your succulent arrangement vibrant and healthy. When you are creating succulent arrangements in Miami beach Florida with different types of succulents, keep the different maintenance and pruning processes involved for different types. Monitor for any signs of overgrowth or overcrowding and trim back as needed. Remove any dead or wilted leaves to promote air circulation and prevent pests.

Incorporating Decorative Elements

Enhance the visual appeal of your succulent arrangement by adding decorative elements. Consider using pebbles, decorative stones, or driftwood to create contrast and texture. These elements not only elevate the aesthetic but also provide stability to the succulents.

Customizing for Seasonal Charm

For an ever-changing display, incorporate seasonal elements. Consider adding miniature pumpkins for fall, small ornaments for winter, or colorful stones for spring. These subtle touches bring a touch of seasonal charm to your small space.

Conclusion

Floral arrangements in Miami beach Florida offer a delightful and practical way to introduce greenery into even the smallest of spaces. By carefully selecting the right succulents, container, and incorporating essential care practices, you can create a stunning display that brings nature's beauty into your home or office. With a little creativity and attention to detail, your succulent arrangement can thrive in even the coziest of corners. Happy planting!

[chappythegardener]

How To Grow Organic Lettuce Hydroponically

Growing lettuce hydroponically is an excellent way to produce fresh and healthy greens year-round. Here's a step-by-step guide on how to grow lettuce hydroponically: Choose the Right Lettuce Variety: Select a lettuce variety suitable for hydroponic growing. Leafy and loose-leaf lettuces like Butterhead, Romaine, and Bibb are well-suited for this method. Set Up the Hydroponic System: Choose a hydroponic system that fits your space and needs. Common types include nutrient film technique (NFT), deep water culture (DWC), or a vertical tower system. Provide Proper Lighting: Ensure your lettuce plants receive adequate light. LED grow lights are ideal for hydroponic setups, providing the right spectrum and intensity for plant growth. Nutrient Solution: Mix a hydroponic nutrient solution according to the manufacturer's instructions. Lettuce requires a balanced mix of nutrients, including nitrogen, phosphorus, potassium, and trace elements. Planting: Start lettuce seeds in rockwool cubes or another hydroponic medium. Once seedlings have developed a few leaves, transfer them to the hydroponic system. Maintain Water Levels: Keep the water level in the hydroponic system consistent. Lettuce prefers a slightly moist environment, but avoid waterlogging the roots. pH Level: Regularly monitor and adjust the pH level of the nutrient solution. Lettuce thrives in a pH range between 5.8 and 6.5. Temperature: Maintain the ideal temperature for lettuce growth, which is around 60-70°F (15-21°C). Avoid extreme heat, as it can cause bolting and bitterness in the leaves. Air Circulation: Adequate air circulation is essential for healthy plant growth and to prevent mold or mildew issues. Harvesting: Lettuce can be harvested as soon as the leaves reach a desirable size, usually 4-6 weeks after planting. Use clean scissors or a sharp knife to cut the leaves just above the base of the plant. Succession Planting: To ensure a continuous supply of lettuce, practice succession planting by starting new seedlings every few weeks. Clean and Maintain: Regularly clean and disinfect the hydroponic system to prevent algae or bacterial growth. Proper maintenance will promote healthy lettuce growth. By following these tips and providing the right conditions, you can enjoy a steady supply of fresh and nutritious lettuce from your hydroponic garden. Happy hydroponic gardening! https://gardenguide4all.com/how-to-grow-organic-lettuce-hydroponically/ Read the full article

[sigappurojakal]

RICE FARMINGGrowing rice successfully requires attention to specific factors to ensure a good yield. Here are three essential tips for growing rice:1. Proper Water ManagementExplanation: Rice is a water-intensive crop that typically requires flooded fields (paddy fields) for optimal growth. The water level should be maintained consistently to ensure the plants receive enough moisture without becoming waterlogged. Proper irrigation and drainage systems are essential to manage the water supply, especially during different growth stages like germination, tillering, and heading. Maintaining a consistent water level helps control weeds and ensures the rice plants develop strong roots and healthy grains.2. Soil Preparation and FertilizationExplanation: Rice thrives in well-prepared, fertile soil with good water retention capacity. Before planting, the soil should be plowed and leveled to create a uniform field that can hold water evenly. Incorporating organic matter, such as compost or green manure, can improve soil structure and fertility. Additionally, applying the right amount of fertilizers, particularly nitrogen, phosphorus, and potassium, is crucial for supporting healthy growth. Soil testing can help determine the specific nutrient needs of your field.3. Pest and Weed ControlExplanation: Weeds and pests can significantly impact rice yield if not properly managed. Weeds compete with rice plants for nutrients, water, and light, so it’s important to keep the field weed-free, especially during the early stages of growth. This can be done through manual weeding, the use of herbicides, or by maintaining proper water levels, which can naturally suppress weed growth. Pests like rice borers and leafhoppers should be monitored and controlled using integrated pest management (IPM) strategies.Buy Rice Farming Book here: https://selar.co/m/agribusiness-experts1

[jacksondom-blog]

How to Care for Your Cut Flowers: Tips for Longer-Lasting Blooms

Incorporating cut flowers into our homes adds beauty and vitality by enhancing any area and, more significantly, uplifting our moods. But extending the bright, fresh appeal of these blossoms can sometimes be challenging. Fortunately, by following the right care instructions, you may significantly prolong the life of your cut flowers. This article will guide you through all the vital tactics and tips that ensure your cut flowers thrive and stay lovely for days or even weeks.

Understanding Your Flowers

Understanding the fundamental requirements of cut flowers is crucial before delving into care methods. The care needs and lifespans of various flower varieties differ. Some can survive for two weeks or longer, while others might only endure a few days. Roses, lilies, tulips, and daisies are common cut flowers, and each has special qualities. You can give your flowers the best care possible if you are aware of their particular requirements.

Preparing Your Flowers for Arranging

1. Choose fresh flowers

When purchasing cut flowers, select the freshest blooms available. Look for flowers that are just starting to open, with vibrant colours and healthy foliage. Avoid flowers with browning petals or wilted leaves, as these will not last long.

2. Trim the stems

Once you bring the flowers home, cut about one to two inches from the bottom of the stem with sharp scissors or a knife at an angle. Cutting the stems at an angle exposes more surface area to the water, facilitating easier water absorption. Trim the stems under running water or fully submerge them under water to avoid air pockets inside the stems that hinder its ability to absorb water.

3. Remove leaves

Take away all the leaves that will be submerged in water, for, due to their presence, they would allow the least amount of decay and bacteria growth. Waterlogged leaves make the water cloudy and let harmful bacteria grow inside, hence contributing to shorter longevity for your flowers.

Select the Right Vase

1. Clean Vase

Clean the vase with no residue on it. A dirty vase is a breeding ground for bacteria that will reduce the lifespan of your flowers. Soak the vase in hot soapy water, rinse out well, and let dry before putting the flowers in it.

2. Appropriate Size

Select a vase of suitable size for your flowers. If the vase is too small, there will be a resultant restriction imposed on the blooms, and if too large, an arrangement would appear very sparse. An ideal vase should hold enough water to just cover the trimmed stems without crowding the blooms.

Watering Your Flowers

1. Use fresh water

Fill your vase with fresh, cool water. It's important to change the water every few days to prevent bacterial growth. When changing the water, re-trim the stems to enhance water uptake and refresh the arrangement.

2. Flower Food

The majority of cut flowers have a packet of flower food included with them. These mixes contain nutrients and antibacterial agents that help lengthen the life of your flowers. Instructions on the packet commonly direct you to add it to the water in your vase. If you don't have flower food, you can create one by dissolving sugar and a few drops of bleach in the water, which will help prevent bacteria growth. For those enjoying flower delivery in Melbourne, using flower food is essential for maintaining the freshness and vibrancy of your blooms, ensuring they last longer and enhance your home or event beautifully.

3. Monitor water levels

Check the water levels daily and refill as necessary. Flowers can drink a lot of water, especially in warm environments. Keeping the vase filled ensures that the flowers can absorb enough water, promoting longer life.

Placement Matters

1. Ideal Environment

Place your vase of flowers in a cool area, away from direct sunlight, drafts, and heat sources like radiators or appliances. Excessive heat can cause the flowers to wilt quickly. A temperature between 65°F and 75°F (18°C to 24°C) is ideal for most cut flowers.

2. Avoid Ethylene Gas

Some fruits, such as apples and bananas, emit ethylene gas, which can accelerate the ageing process of cut flowers. Keep your flower arrangements away from fruit bowls or areas where fruits are stored.

Special Considerations for Different Flowers

1. Roses

Roses benefit from being kept in a cool environment. Remove any leaves below the water line and re-trim the stems every few days. For extra longevity, consider placing them in a solution of water mixed with a little lemon-lime soda.

2. Lilies

Lilies can be quite sensitive. To help them last longer, remove the pollen-producing anthers from the stamens. This will prevent the petals from getting stained and help the blooms last longer.

3. Tulips

Tulips are unique in that they continue to grow after being cut. Keep them in a cool place and avoid placing them next to other flowers that might overshadow their delicate structure. If they start to droop, recut the stems and place them in cool water for a while to perk them up.

Signs of Decline

1. Wilting

If you notice your flowers wilting, check the water level and the condition of the stems. Trim them again and place them in freshwater. If the stems are mushy, re-trim them again at an angle to improve water uptake.

2. Browning Petals

Browning petals can be a sign of age or bacterial growth. Remove any dying petals promptly to prevent the spread of bacteria to other parts of the flower.

3. Foul Odour

If the water starts to smell bad, it's time to change it. A foul odour indicates bacterial growth, which can harm the remaining flowers. Clean the vase and replace the water as soon as possible.

Additional Tips for Longer-Lasting Blooms

1. Use Ice Cubes

Adding ice cubes to your vase can keep the water cool. This is helpful, especially for flowers that favour cooler temperatures, such as those they would naturally enjoy in a natural setting.

2. Mist Your Flowers

Misting Flowers You can nebulize the water to the petals of your flowers to ensure they keep well moist, especially in dry climates. Avoid doing this on a damp basis, or it brings about the fungus among them.

3. Rotate Your Arrangement

If you notice some flowers are facing away from the light, gently rotate your arrangement to ensure that all blooms receive equal exposure. This helps promote even growth and freshness.

Conclusion

Taking care of cut flowers doesn't have to be difficult. You may prolong the attractiveness of your flowers by paying attention to their needs and according to these easy guidelines. Don't forget to pick fresh flowers, clean and trim your stems and vase, and give them the right amount of water and location. For days or even weeks, your cut flowers can provide colour and happiness to your house with a little care and attention, serving as a constant reminder of the beauty of nature. Savour the joy that your floral arrangements provide!

[expo-newz]

Odisha Prepares for Cyclonic Storm with 'Zero Casualty' Goal

As a cyclonic storm develops over the Bay of Bengal, the Odisha government is taking proactive measures to ensure safety, aiming for "zero casualties." The India Meteorological Department (IMD) announced that a low-pressure system is expected to form over the east-central Bay of Bengal and adjacent north Andaman Sea by Monday, likely intensifying into a depression by Tuesday and becoming a full cyclonic storm by Thursday, October 24.

Forecasts indicate wind speeds of 40-50 km/h along the Odisha coast on Wednesday, escalating to 90-110 km/h, with gusts potentially reaching 120 km/h on Thursday. While the precise path and intensity of the cyclone are still uncertain, the IMD has issued warnings for heavy to very heavy rainfall in coastal and nearby districts from October 23 to 25.

Districts such as Puri, Khurda, Ganjam, and Jagatsinghpur are expected to face the brunt of the rainfall. To prevent fishermen from venturing into the sea, the state government has advised local collectors to enforce this restriction until further notice.

In anticipation of possible flash floods, waterlogging, and landslides, the government has instructed district officials to identify vulnerable populations and relocate them to safer areas. Additionally, collectors are to assess the readiness of over 800 multi-purpose cyclone shelters and identify pregnant women who may need immediate medical attention.

Odisha’s Special Relief Commissioner D.K. Singh emphasized that the state is closely monitoring the situation and has implemented necessary precautions. Historical context underscores the importance of these preparations, as Odisha has faced devastating cyclones in October, including the super cyclone of 1999 that resulted in over 10,000 fatalities. Recent improvements in disaster management have helped reduce casualties during storms like Phailin in 2013 and Hudhud in 2014, though significant property damage remains a concern.

[hsiteplasticpackage]

The Art of Designing Drainage Systems in Plastic Seed Tray Manufacturing

In the realm of horticulture and agriculture, plastic seed trays have become an indispensable tool for nurturing seedlings and small plants. The design of these trays is crucial for the healthy growth of plants, and one of the critical aspects of this design is the drainage system. Plastic seed tray manufacturers of plastic seed trays must ensure that their products not only provide a stable and nurturing environment for the plants but also facilitate efficient water drainage to prevent root rot and other issues associated with waterlogging. This article delves into the intricacies of designing drainage systems in plastic seed trays, examining the challenges faced by plastic seed tray manufacturers and the innovative solutions they implement.

The primary function of a drainage system in plastic seed trays is to remove excess water from the growing medium, which is typically soil or a soil substitute. Overwatering can cause a lack of oxygen in the soil, causing the roots to suffocate and potentially causing the death of the plant. Therefore, plastic seed tray manufacturers must design their trays with a drainage system that allows for the easy and efficient removal of excess water.

One of the common drainage systems used by plastic seed tray manufacturers is the simple hole design. These holes are strategically placed at the bottom of the tray to allow water to drain out. However, the placement, size, and number of these holes are not arbitrary. plastic seed tray manufacturers must consider the type of plants being grown, the watering habits of the user, and the soil's drainage capacity. For instance, plants with shallow root systems may require fewer and smaller drainage holes to prevent the soil from washing out, while plants with deeper roots may need larger holes to ensure adequate drainage.

Another design consideration is the slope of the tray. Some plastic seed tray manufacturers create trays with a slight incline, which helps direct water toward the drainage holes. This design is particularly useful for larger trays that may hold multiple seedlings, as it ensures that water does not pool in one area, potentially causing uneven growth or disease.

In addition to the drainage system's physical design, plastic seed tray manufacturers also consider the tray's material. The material must be durable enough to withstand regular watering and cleaning but also porous enough to allow for air circulation. Some plastic seed tray manufacturers use recycled plastics, which not only reduces environmental impact but also provides a cost-effective solution for the production of seed trays.

Plastic seed tray manufacturers are also developing innovative drainage systems to address specific needs. For example, some trays are designed with a built-in wicking system that draws water up from a reservoir, ensuring that the plants receive a consistent supply of water without the risk of overwatering. This system is particularly beneficial for seedlings that require a high level of humidity and consistent moisture.

The integration of technology into the design of plastic seed trays is another area where plastic seed tray manufacturers are making strides. Some trays now come with sensors that monitor soil moisture levels and can alert the user when it's time to water. This not only helps to ensure suitable plant growth but also reduces the risk of overwatering, which can be detrimental to the plants.

Plastic seed tray manufacturers also face challenges in designing drainage systems that are easy to clean and maintain. Clogged drainage holes can cause standing water, which can be a breeding ground for pests and diseases. Therefore, the design must allow for easy cleaning without compromising the structural integrity of the tray.

In conclusion, the design of drainage systems in plastic seed trays is a complex process that requires a deep understanding of plant biology, material science, and user needs. plastic seed tray manufacturers must balance the need for efficient water drainage with the practical considerations of manufacturing and user convenience. As the demand for sustainable and efficient agricultural practices grows, we will likely see even more innovation in the design of plastic seed trays and their drainage systems. The future of plastic seed tray manufacturing is promising, with the potential to change the way we grow plants and contribute to a more sustainable world.