#cotton seed shed

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[aelinschild]

Paradigm; side by side

˙✧˖ March 4th: Wanderlust

Main Masterlist | Paradigm; side by side Masterlist |

SYNOPSIS: Wanderlust; a lust for wandering. WORDCOUNT: 1.1K WARNINGS: Sexual innuendos, Cursing, a little degradation?

Written for @throneofglassmicrofics 2024 March Prompts. Go check out the other works over there!

He had a garden. 

Underloved but overgrown. Sat on the southernmost side of the house, curled between fruit trees that dripped abundance. Sagging branches with succulent flesh. She hadn't wanted to overstep – had no chance to establish boundaries before the man had disappeared. But, she loathed to leave anything in wait. 

Gluttoning herself on pears and apricots, their sticky residue tracing routes of evidence to her collarbones; down her wrists. Stones sat piled in a facsimile pyramid, cores tossed into the dirt. Laden in her stomach, she felt drunk off the sugar and sunshine. 

She was in a new pair of night clothes; a cotton chemise that stopped just before her knees. Proper despite the lecherous staining. It would have to be washed, scrubbed clean of the sensuality. The bottom, her ass, was most likely stained from the dirt beneath her. Rich and moist, fertile in every way. 

In the span of a hundred hours, she had shed some sleuthing layer of herself. Skinning off time in exchange of a carcass dripping in currents. Sure, arguably the sun could dictate her comings and goings, but it had yet to cinder unprotected tranquillity. 

This coastal paradise, a possibility beyond imagination. If she hadn't been dripping in her testimony of existence, she would have thought this was a dream. It felt hazy like one, under smoke mirrors and pungent cravings; all made earthly. Like some advertised escape, teetering on the edge of delirium but with the promise of rejuvenation. Except, she had no reason to return. 

If it would be like this – quiet and lonesome – she would fit in with the pattern. Dust motes passing could barely hold a candle to her effect. 

Of course, she did have responsibilities. Had to make money in some way or another, had to pay her tithe to the church of reality. But, Aelin amended, she could find a way to remove that constraint – those chains – while not suffering a desperate loss. Something with no way back. 

She would have to speak to Rowan, first, though. 

Standing on legs like a fawns, she gathered the seeds and kept them in her grasp. She would drop them in arbitrary places. See her presence in full bloom, eventually. 

Making her way down to the shoreline, tossing stones and giggling at the noise of a ricochet. Closer to the water, the sounds were overwhelmed by the maw of oddity. Cool and vast, stones forgotten, Aelin toed her way into the water. The foam by the edge curled around sunkissed ankles and up to bruised knees. Deeper and deeper, cutting off synapses and blinding tactility. It took all of one choked breath before she was submerged, diving into obscurity. 

Air was ripped from her lungs. 

Currents rolled and crashed, twining together in a dance she had no understanding of the steps to. Pliable, she rolled with the water, eyes shut out. She felt hair and cotton. She felt immemorial gashes of land, their mark interrupted with her presence; her fleeting pressure bruising into lonely sands. 

Spun around, lashing out like a shout, the water reigned absolute over her. It was a pounding, a thud thud thud on a door that should have stayed closed. There was a tightness, a burning, deep in viscera and flesh. Life force ripped from marrow. Elbows cracked on rocks, skin split on reef decay. Her body bent to the will of a beast. 

Out, her mind chanted. Humming in the back of her skull. Out. Out, out, out! 

Eyelids hung with weights and mouth sewn shut in promise, there was no survival instinct. Aelin could have laughed at her lack of care – how dare she challenge what could not be contained? Maybe, maybe, she could swim to the surface, strain worn muscles and atrophied wants. But it felt nicer, calmer, down where that light did not reach. She would let it–

Air came quickly. 

“Up! Breathe!” Hacking drowned out shouts; drowned out water; drowned out… the man? “Breathe, woman! Goddammit!” 

The world spun, a flashing slideshow of colour. Knees clacking together and hands tightening around linen. Tighter, tighter, tightening–

“Breathe.” Prayer and condemnation wrapped into a weather-worn shore. “In…yeah, there ya go. Good girl. Keep breathing. Right–” Adjusting steel band arms, shifting her around–

“Stop,” Croaking out, her voice came like rusted nails up her throat. She had to cough again, a loud ugly sound. Wrapped up in phlegm and bile. “Let– let go… of me. Ple–”

“No.” Final. Crashing, sinking, ruining. 

They were moving. Large legs splashed water in all directions, careless and intentional encased in one. The arm that was a band around her waist hand moved up, up to her shoulders. Casing in rib cages and fluttering heartbeats. Careful placement left his hand North of where she ached. The other tucked under lacerated calves. Body warm, trickling into her head. Fuzzy now, moreso than when she was drowning. A humming and a clicking and a raging. Frame of marble and corded with need, his breaths came out hurried. Tracing over the crown of her head, light ghosting of another human. Her head could roll back, lean into the crevice of his arm, look up at her saviour. 

But the hammering of his heart kept her gaze pinned to the horizon. 

“I wrote…” Scoffing, a cruel noise, “The currents at night are vicious. Fuck. Why would you do that?” 

Through addled thoughts, her mind was back in her bedroom. The novel she had plucked from between couch cushions – currently flattering said note. 

“I-”

They were on shore now. She felt the change, the brief unsteadiness before the man readjusted his weight across the sand. Her head spun; from the drowning or the scent of sun-worn skin. He was saying something, rocks falling and skies crashing. Voice honeyed and stabbing, flaying across her nerves. 

She landed on her feet with enough force to rock her brain in its encasing; blinding pain. He had dropped her. 

Stood like a wet dog, dripping in guilt, melting in shame. Falling apart under some unknown desire. She was facing the man. This invisible figure that ran along capillaries like a scalding kiss. She was so sure her shock poured out in viscous waves – stronger than what had nearly taken her victim. 

“Stupid woman,” he growled. Animal and all. 

Indignance spilled from blue lips, jumping at opposition. Stopping short as they tumbled from a gaping mouth. Rolling into sand and forgotten in rapture. 

She had been so sure that desire could be separated from axons, from cells and neurons. From eyes. Stood in front was what snapped surety, crippling it in its fist like a most fragile cut of crystal. Jagged and fine. Nothing like who she thought she saw, and unlike what she knew. Rowan existed like catastrophe made man; it had only taken the ocean to shape that. 

Eyes that held torrential powers wavered, moments ago seeing through her, drifting now to see her. 

Cotton chemise and sun-bleached hair. 

Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

Taglist: @mariaofdoranelle , @goddess-aelin , @leiawritesstories , @renxzs

[littlewalken]

~I think I posted this before, it might have got lost in the fog, so here it is again~

Citrus free Husbands, Aziraphale/Brother Frances comes to the rescue when Crowley/Nanny Ashteroth’s duties to Warlock cause some distress, woe be them if they are caught in a compromising position!

GOOD OMENS (Cold Nanny)

“Master Warlock I have told you to stay away from that pond! The ice is much too thin!” 

Aziraphale, in his guise of the gardener Brother Francis, hated scolding the boy, even if he was the Antichrist, but safety was safety, and he had heard the terrible sound of the ice breaking followed by a frantic splashing. 

I shall have to have a word with Nanny Ashtoreth about this, any excuse to see Crowley-eh? he chuckled to himself. “How about you make a snow fort? I’ll show you how…”

As Aziraphel neared the duck pond he saw Warlock and his friends running away from it. All for the better if you don’t want a scolding from your nanny! Where was she? Something was wrong.

At first the ice of the duck pond looked undisturbed. Then he saw the remote controlled vehicle Warlock had got for Christmas. Then he saw the umbrella.

“Oh help! Do help!” Aziraphale called as he made his way out on to the ice. “Someone help! The nanny’s fallen through the ice!”

Now, you should know there are a great many snakes who can swim. There are a great many demons who can swim. None of them however swim in icy water because none of them are the least bit built for the cold. For if you had taken any sort of notice in wildlife documentaries you would have noticed all the creatures of the arctic or antarctic are rather plump with a great covering of blubber. And if you were any sort of noticer of Crowley’s forms the words “plump” and “blubber” would not in the least bit apply to him.

It was by any and all means that Aziraphael managed to pull Crowley out of the icy water. “Oh! Poor nanny!” Aziraphael sighed, just in case anyone was watching. “You’ll catch your death a cold if you’re not warmed up!” 

The house was too far to take a human in wet quickly turning to ice clothes. The gardening supply shed was closer. Yes, get Crowley in there, put on the electric kettle, get him out of these wet things! So may wet things!

Aziraphale set Crowley on a pile of seed sacks in the gardening shed and plugged in the electric kettle. 

“Smudge pot,” he told himself. “I’ll light up a smidge pot!” Yes, even though that would be outside the door it would still put out a good amount of heat. “And then we’ll have to do something with getting you out of those wet clothes!” 

Always the angel was looking to see if someone else was coming, if anyone had heard his cries for help. How awful, just down right awful would it be to have the gardener be caught undressing the nanny!

Now you should assume two things about all of Crowley’s clothes, even in his guise of Nanny Ashtoreth. First they are all black, unless noted otherwise, and they are all made of artificial fabrics. That is, if they were made of natural fabrics such as wool, silk, cotton, or linen, their natural wicking motion might not have left the situation so cold and damp. 

To peel off the layers of the onion that made up Nanny Ashtoreth it was best to start with the outermost first. I hope we don’t have far to go, Aziraphale readied himself for the task ahead. First in removing all of Crowley’s wet things was the furry black muff with its red satin lining. This was hung up to dry. Finding a place to hang things up would soon become a problem of its own. 

Next came a felt cap, which didn’t look like a butter bowl, and a knitted scarf with just the slightest hint of red. The scarf was so wet it could be wrung out. Now it was time for the cloak with its little slits for one’s hands to poke through. The buttons for this were quite large and it seemed like each took a dreadfully long time. On being hung up upon a rake to dry the cloak began to drip as if it were going to worm a pond of its own.

“Here, now, miss Ashtoreth, have a nice warm cuppa.” Aziraphale said as he made a cup of instant tea for Crowley. He looked out the door at the flaming smudge pot. Oh please someone come and help me get her to the warmth of her bed. He put the cup in Crowley’s hand but the demon failed to grab it and the tea spilled to the floor.

The shoes had to come off. Leave it to Crowley to chose boots with countless eyes! The laces were quite frozen over and the boots were so tight the laces had to be pulled completely out to get them free and expose Crowley’s tosey-woseys clad in their stockings. 

One by one the fingers of the gloves were tugged on, loosening them up just enough so they could be removed. The removal of gloves could be a very sensual thing if done right. Done in a hurry they were bunched and pulled and dropped to the floor with a distinct splosh sound.

They were down to the winter version of the suit Nanny Ashtoreth always wore. Aziraphile liked the cut of the jacket, the slightly puffed sleeves, the wide cuffs, the little peplum in the back. It too was sopping wet. Fussing with the buttons the angel wondered if it was time to perform a miracle yet. 

Now it was time for the skirt. The cut of this Aziraphale didn’t like. It was too tight here, too full there, and the drape didn’t do any favors. Like the fasteners, who ever thought that a skirt needed a buckle? 

This would be the perfect time for someone to come upon us! Here is the gardener with the nanny bent over him as he fiddled with the zipper of her skirt! It would be nice if you could come to and help, dear Crowley. 

We must be nearing the end, the angel thought, how could you possibly be wearing much more? But Crowley was still wearing more. For being a demon and used to the fires of Hell he liked being warm and had been told the best way to keep a human body warm was to wear many layers. 

Aziraphale’s fingers went to the red silken bow of the scarf at Crowley’s neck. This was allowed to flutter to the floor because the blouse its self, wet, thin, see-through, and clinging to every inch of what lay underneath it, gave the impression of being real silk. 

“This I must be careful with,” the angel told himself as he cast a glance outside but no one except the smudge pot was watching. But by the third button he could tell the blouse wasn’t real silk and he allowed himself to rush along. 

By this time Nanny Ashtoreth was quite undressed but not completely. She sat on the pile of sacks, eyes presumably closed, looking half dead in a shimmering full length slip and stockings. If circumstances were different one might have found themselves distracted by the sight, admiring the human form that God had created in her own image. But a nearly naked and wet demon was turning a shade of blue that was not becoming to him. 

What few clothes that remained on Crowley’s body were somehow still soaking wet. The slip had to come off over his head, one of the satin ribbon straps was starting to fray, it would need to be replaced, that could be done tonight, nice and new by the morning. 

And still Crowley was wearing more! Under the slip there was a full and sensible brassiere and then some sort of girdle looking garment with suspenders that kept the stockings up. 

Knickers, were there knickers? Did Crowley even wear knickers? 

Yes, all these things seemed to be wet too but not as wet as the outer layers. These would have to remain on. As tempting as it would be to fuss with all the brassiere hooks and all the little clips holding up the stockings this layer of dainty underthings would have to remain.

Aziraphale quickly found a piece of burlap to wrap around Crowley. He thought he heard someone coming. If they were they’d find him outside at the smudge pot trying to dry his smock.

“How are you doing in there, miss Ashtoreth, feeling warmer yet?”

Warlock’s mother had come looking cold and quite worried, “Warlock said nanny Ashtoreth fell through the ice.”

“Oh, it’s not quite as bad as that but I’m afraid she’s quite cold,” Aziraphale said. “She should get promptly to bed though. I’ve been trying to warm her up, but slowly mind you, too fast might cause shock.”

***

Nanny Ashtoreth lay in her bed wearing a flannel nightgown under many layers of blankets. 

Brother Francis came in with a bouquet of winter flowers. “Feeling better are we, Miss Ashtoreth?”

“Yes, much warmer.” 

“I saw your clothes to the laundry for you.”

“Thank you, brother Francis.” 

Aziraphael looked around to see that they were indeed alone and leaned close to Crowley to whisper, “You could have lent us a hand with a few things there.”

“And deny you of all that fun?”

[pokemonshelterstories]

hi... recently i adopted an elderly greedent, who has pretty poor eyesight. he's getting along really well with my eldegoss. my only problem is that when my eldegoss sheds her cotton, he tends to stuff it all in his tail because he can't see well enough to realise that they aren't berries. whenever he runs around the house all the cotton gets everywhere, and it's super hard to clean. do you have any advice about this? thanks in advance :3

aww, poor guy. he's doing his best haha

one way you can help with this is by upping the amount of grooming you do! those are both pretty fluffy pokemon, so i would aim to brush both of them at least once every couple days (more in heavy shed seasons- spring is gonna be a busy time for you!)

it's also possible that your greedent is smelling those nutrient-dense seeds that are hidden in all that eldegoss cotton and trying to cache them for later! there shouldn't be any issues with him eating the seeds themselves (though make sure he's not eating too many, as they are high in fat). the main concern is that all that cotton could bunch up in his tummy and cause a blockage. i'd talk with your vet about ways you can help prevent potential intestinal blockages, since those are harder for older pokemon to push through.

[mc-writing-empty]

1902, Kentucky.

The fire’s gone out.

Turn a little deeper into the cotton quilt your mama made in some other lifetime. Blink slow against the dimness, steep deep in the stillness as the night stretches, yawns, gives way to a blessed new morning. You are alive again.

Cold and hungry. Feel the stiffness in your bones. Feel the heavy in your flesh. The tired, the lonely, the longing. But there’s a heart thumping under your ribs—feel it sing, slow and steady, at the sight of sunbeams. Sunbeams, again, like every morning that’s ever been. Sunbeams—new every day to a heart like yours, a heart that says: sunbeams, they’re a goddamn wonder.

Lead with it—that steady little drum of joy. Grab hold and let it pull your feet to the old floorboards. Little heart, pattering out a plea to see the sky—what shade of blue today? The question is as good a reason as any to commit to another day.

Dress in the gray light. Pull on the flannels and linen and denim that will keep the cold at bay. Keep your body safe. You know what’s at stake, kid. You know what it takes—to keep your body safe.

Breathe deep, cough against the rush of the cold—your breath hangs in the air. Little ghosts. Water from the bucket by the window, splashed against your face—close to frozen, stings against your skin. You’re awake. You’re alive.

Pull on leather boots, hope the laces got another day in them. Walk out into the wide world—see the slope of the clearing you made, the way the high grass meets a wall of trees—trees bigger than god, and maybe older, too. They hug in tight around your slice of paradise, your hard-hewn home. They form a cathedral of green—and brown and gold and flashes of deep, dark red. Like old blood, dried in a smear under your heavy, swollen lip after your Pa had finally had enough of you.

There’s a quiet here so deep you can feel it in your bones. Quiet like the moment after the preacher asks for bowed heads, but before he starts praying for hell to swallow all the sinners like you. Quiet like the first girl you ever loved, in that moment after you spilled that soft, silly confession to her—but before that foreign hardness took her face, before the slow panic and repulsion made her a stranger you’d never met. Quiet like that moment when you learned your first lesson in self-preservation: love is for other people. Better people.

It’s a real shame, kid—the way the world kicks around beautiful things.

But you’re alright here, ain’t you? You’re alright. You feed the bleating sheep in their little pasture, and the chickens, too, and you love that there’s life in every inch of this place. The sheep, the sun, the seeds in the ground—they don’t give a shit who you are or what you’ve done. What you look like, what you own. You give to them, they give back. You’re alright here.

You go down to the crick for water, just as the sun starts pouring proper down into your little dip between the hills. You can feel it, warm and easy against the back of your neck. The cold can’t hold you forever. Nothing can hold you forever.

The afternoon brings a visitor—a boy, a horse, an empty cart, trundling up the holler path. You split one more log, let the pieces fall, lean the ax against the same post where you’ve hung your shed coat. The boy hops down from his saddle, raises a hand in greeting.

Brought your saw back.

He lifts the tool in question for you to see.

Pa sends his thanks.

You take the saw, and he dives into his bag to bring out a small parcel wrapped in a bit of an old flour sack.

Cornbread from Mama.

You thank him for returning the saw, and for the cornbread. He’s tall and lean—maybe a little underfed. His shoes are two sizes too small. His coat’s missing a few buttons. A boy still, pushing at the seams of what will come next. His parents can’t keep up.

You ask if they need any firewood. He refuses, says his Pa won’t accept charity. You eye the empty cart his Pa sent along with him.

You tell him he can take whatever he can split—ain’t charity if you’ve sweat for it. By the evening, he has a full cart, and you split the cornbread with him on the porch.

And maybe it’ll all count for something someday. Maybe it’ll all count when hell finally swallows you up.

Before he leaves, he stops there on the creaky old steps, looks back up at you.

Pa says you’re a good, Christian man, sir. He thinks mighty high of ye. Just thought you oughta know.

Maybe it’ll all count, when his Pa has to help put you in the ground someday.

When the evening comes, you retreat inside. Feed the fire, warm the place up. Cold dinner, ‘cause your body’s awful tired, kid. Your mind, too. You dig up a box of tobacco, take a pinch and pack it into a pipe you won in a game of cards—maybe one of the finest items you own. You sit on the porch and watch the last of the burnt bronze evening melt back into the trees. You’re alright here.

Just as the darkness of the night swells up, you see the flicker of a lantern up yonder on the hill—a soft, yellow star moving through the trees.

Could be anyone. Could be the boy, come back for more wood. Or this could be the moment everything unravels. Could be the night they drag you behind a horse, put you in a tree, bury you as someone you’re not.

You aren’t scared, but you’re ready—you fold your fingers around the rifle leaned next to the door and wait for hell to open up and swallow the sinners like you.

A quiet knock.

You open the door.

It’s her. The widow from over the next holler. She stands silent in the doorway, and her dark, tired eyes meet yours. She’s dry as a bone, but in the empty pools of shadow cast by her lantern, you could swear she was a drowning woman.

You let her step inside and you exchange pleasantries, as you always do on these visits. She asks after the book she loaned you—have you been enjoying it? You confess you haven’t had much time for reading. She offers to read a chapter or two aloud for you.

That’d be real nice, ma’am.

But neither of you moves to retrieve the book. Her hands cling to the black linen skirts of her dress, knuckles gone white with it. You can feel the empty, howling grief that came in with her, followed her like a roving spirit. You wish you knew how to help.

She cuts the space between you in half a step and touches her lips to yours. She tastes like tears and uncertainty and so many sleepless, heartsick nights.

It’s not proper. It’s not the way things ought to be. It’s not what either of you imagined, back when you were small and the world told you what your hearts should want. But no one prepares you, do they? For the weight of it all. For the sadness that creeps in between the boards, settles into your chest like a cough you can’t shake. For the way the haints and hurts hollow you out, slow and steady, until you wake up one day feeling like maybe you ain’t even a real person anymore.

You know she’s just lonely. You know she misses her husband and that you ain’t him. Don’t wanna be him. But when she pulls off your clothes, all those layers of the day—when she sinks in against you, meets your skin to hers—you remember, for a moment, that you’re wonderfully, terribly, brilliantly human. And that’s enough.

Later, in the deepest part of the night, she does read to you. Her voice dips and lulls through the bare little room, until you can’t really distinguish the words themselves—all you can hear is low, lush birdsong, and the content thumping of your own heart.

You sleep the sleep of the safe and relieved—heavy, deep sleep—and by the morning—

—the fire’s gone out.

You watch as she dresses silently in the first sunbeams of the day. As she leans in toward your dusty little mirror and pins her hair back into place. Hasty, but careful. She gathers her things, prepares to leave.

She hesitates, turns back to you in your bed. Maybe you could pretend to be asleep, but—you’ve been seen now. There’s no going back.

There’s a long, soundless moment that stretches out in the space between you. She says:

You aren’t a man.

Statement or question or accusation—you can’t be sure what she means. Can’t be sure that it matters. You give no response.

But underneath your mother’s quilt, your hands begin to tremble with fear.

She leans down, kisses your forehead with reverence, the way folks kiss the statues of saints. Or maybe it’s with pity, the way folks woulda kissed the corpses of those saints before they put them in the ground.

She leaves you there with your trembling hands.

And the fire’s gone out.

[idabbleincrazy]

Commonality

Fandom: Angel (Buffyverse)

Rating: E

Pairing: Spangel, past Fanged Four polycule

Characters: Spike, Angel, mentions of Fanged Four, others

Word Count: 2870

Warnings: smut, subby Angel, lingerie, d/s undertones, biting, foreplay, sensual touching, dirty talk, frottage, aftercare, some angst and fluff, cuddling, coming on command, touch starved vampires

Summary: Spike is floundering, and Angel hasn’t completely let go of the past.

A/N: written for @julybreakbingo for the squares 'physical touch/intimacy and sensuality/need for physical touch' and 'lingerie/garters/crotchless panties/corset/stockings/only a large shirt'. Hope you guys like my first attempt at Angel in lingerie!

Spike looked across the boardroom at Angel as the rest of the team filed past him for the meeting, and promptly walked back out. Let the brunette be mad and bite his head off for it later, but he couldn't stay in that room and just pretend.

Bastard! Did he think I wouldn't know? That I couldn't see that scrap of fabric flashing from beneath his shirt every time he shifted? Bloody well doing it on purpose, I just know it.

It had been two months since he was re-corporealized and for the last couple of weeks, he was slowly being driven out of his head with need. By him.

Every time he bothered to come to one of Angel's meetings, every time he was called into the Great Forehead's office, he smelt it. A scent that hadn't assailed his senses in over a century. The heady combination of musky, male arousal, sweet, clean satin, and soft, enticing lace. He knew, hidden beneath his oh-so-expensive and new designer suits, Angel was wearing them again. Whether they were the originals, or if Angel had had them remade from memory, or if he had just bought new pieces of the latest fashion, he was unsure, but there was no doubt in his mind that he had misplaced those aromas. And it was all he could do not to tackle the big lug to the carpet and tear off his poncey suit to reveal the cock-hardening beauty that hid beneath.

For over two weeks he'd put up with it, scarpering off to the nearest empty room the first chance he'd got, and barely taking himself out before coming in waves of useless seed and unsatisfied lust. But, no more. One way or the other, he had to put a stop to it.

Knowing he had about half an hour until Angel wrapped up the meeting, Spike made his way to the CEO's office, sneaking past Harmony while she was occupied on a call. He took the private elevator up to Angel's penthouse apartment and shed his duster, tossing it onto the couch without a care for the mess.

Stalking into Angel's bedroom, he headed straight for the closet. In the corner sat a large steamer trunk, which Spike dragged out and, after thirty seconds, picked the lock. Hefting open the lid, Spike let out a quiet groan at the colorful trove he discovered.

A mixture of old and new, dark and light, satin, silk, lace, and cotton, a few dozen articles of underclothing lay neatly folded within the steamer. Spike's cock, already half-hard from just the thought of what was hidden under Angel's clothes at this very moment, filled to the point of pressing painfully against his zipper as he reached into the trunk to pull out one of the folded bundles.

It was one of the originals, the first one he'd seen Angelus wearing, in fact. A cream colored chemise and drawers combination, with light blue ribbons accenting the waist and leg ruffles. Delicate stitching lined around the bust, and Spike recalled with total clarity the way it perfectly framed Angelus' broad chest. Holding it to his nose, he was disappointed to find it smelling like laundry detergent instead of the musky scent of his sire. He could smell the faintest tendrils of scents that tugged his memory, Dru, Darla, Angelus, himself, all there, sunk into the cedar; but he knew none of the soft, delicate clothes retained a trace of anything other than the spring fresh soap.

Still staring down into the pile of shimmering satins and soft cotton, Spike remained unaware of Angel's approach until the elder vampire cleared his throat from the doorway. He hopped up and spun around to face the brunette, half embarrassed at being caught out, half angry at catching Angel out, still fully horny and aching to lay the man bare.

"Thought I'd never find out, did you, Angel?"

Angel looked between him and the open trunk, his face twisted in a look somewhere between shame and fury, with a tint of desperation and pleading flashing behind his eyes as he turned the accusations back on Spike.

"Why the hell are you in my room, Spike!? Nosing through my things like you have any fucking right!"

"No right? No right?!" Spike crossed the few feet between them with the speed of justified rage, the hand still holding the combination rising to poke the larger vampire square in the chest. "You've spent weeks driving me round the bloody bend, wearing these under your clothes, acting all innocent. Christ, Angel! I've been hard almost constantly, can't get you outta my head long enough to think about anything other than making it to the sodding supply closet without coming in my pants, and you wanna talk to me about rights? About fucking privacy?!"

Angel was looking down at the finger still pressing into his chest, and the already obvious scent of arousal in the air thickened, causing both vampires to hiss out a low groan. Spike felt his cock pulse out a spurt of pre-come as he watched Angel's eyes darken, warm brown irises thinning as the black of his pupils overtook them. He smirked at the larger vampire, nearly twenty years of intimate knowledge of the all brunette's proclivities working in his favor.

"Spike-"

"Uh-uh, no, Angel. You're not gonna worm your way outta this one, mate, oh, no. You know exactly what you've been doing since I got my body back; hell, probably even before I re-corporealized, just hoping I'd catch a glimpse of your frilly knickers and not be able to do a damn thing about it. Well, I can do something about it now, pet."

Angel stifled a moan as Spike tossed the combination aside and pushed him over to the bed, stripping his suit jacket off and hurriedly working at the buttons of his shirt. Impatience quickly got the better of him and he ripped the expensive shirt open, revealing a sight that made a growl rumble in his chest.

Under the dark blue silk of Angel's ruined shirt, a vibrant red satin and lace bra covered the broad expanse of his chest, subtly cupping his pecs in a way that made Spike's mouth water. Memories of loose chemises and bone-crushingly tight corsets flashed through his mind, and he found himself appreciating this modern half-step between the two. Not that he would mind lacing Angel into a corset again, but the formless combinations he could maybe do without.

"Christ, but you are still a pretty slut, aren't you, Angel?"

Angel moaned softly and Spike could see the slightest tremor run through him. His hands itched to reach out and feel that solid body beneath his fingers. All these weeks and he just wanted to feel. To touch and be touched, and know he was still there, still real. The months he'd spent stuck only half-existing had left him starved for it. And he had more than an inkling that Angel longed for the same thing. He'd spent endless hours watching him, after all, saw how little the others actually touched him, how alone he really was. He wasn’t sure if it was a vampire trait, something unique to the Aurelian line of demon, or simply something that the four of them had happened to have in common; he remembered how much his little family had depended upon the tactile, hands always resting on one or the other, twined in Darla’s hair or twisted up in Drusilla’s skirts, fisting around Angelus’ vest or gripping tight at his waist. They were hardly ever not touching each other back then. Reminding themselves and each other they weren’t yet truly dead.

“Spike, please.”

Angel’s voice cut through his pondering, and his eyes snapped up to the brunette’s, unsurprised at the growing desperation in them.

“Don’t worry, pet, gonna give ya what we both want. What we’ve both been needin’ for too long now.”

Brushing his fingers lightly over one strap of the bra, he removed what was left of Angel’s shirt, letting the shreds of fabric flutter to the floor as he moved on to the buckle of Angel’s belt. Angel let out a nearly quiet hiss of anticipation as Spike undid the button of his slacks and slid the zipper down. He pushed the trousers down Angel’s legs, urging him to step out of them and remove his socks and shoes. Angel complied and stood before him, slightly trembling and naked, save for the bra and the matching pair of lace and satin panties barely covering his rampant erection.

“Bloody hell, Angel. Do you know what a gorgeous sight you make like this, pet? Think this even outdoes that piece you had made in Venice. Remember how much fun we had that night? Even the girls couldn’t stop cooing over you; Darla claimed she reckoned you’d have made us a good little fortune if we rented you out to the whorehouses for a night or two.” Spike chuckled softly at the memory, and nearly missed the moan Angel released. “Got a little carried away after that, though, didn’t I? Think it was the thought of anyone beyond the three of us putting their hands on you. ‘S a shame it was useless after that, it was a pretty corset. Now, time to see how carried away I get tonight…”

Before Angel could react, Spike pushed him onto the bed, climbing onto the mattress after him. Straddling his waist, he stared down at the brunette, relishing the feel of the sturdy, solid body between his thighs as he decided where he wanted to touch first. Angel bucked up slightly, rubbing his satin-clad cock against Spike’s jeans, and he hissed at the friction on his own aching erection.

He ground back down against Angel, feeling the tacky dampness of pre-come beginning to seep through the denim, and braced his hands against Angel's chest, groaning at the feel of cool, firm flesh beneath his fingertips. Angel's hands fisted the comforter as Spike rocked against him, and Spike knew he was waiting.

"Touch me, Angel."

Angel's hands immediately flew up to his hips, fingers tugging at his t-shirt, pulling it out of the waistband of his jeans to bare a strip of pale skin. Reluctantly pushing back off Angel's chest, Spike quickly yanked his shirt over his head, allowing better access to his eager touch.

As Angel's hands roamed over his stomach and around to his back, Spike stretched himself out over the brunette's body, his head burrowing briefly between the two small mounds the bra managed to create; nothing substantial enough to be noticed beneath the added layer of clothing, but just the merest illusion breasts to titillate the imagination, sparking memories in the back of Spike's mind. He mouthed over one satin-cupped pectoral, his tongue flicking out to soak the fabric over the nipple, and Angel arched up into it with a whimper, his nails scratching along his back, fingers gripping him closer. His legs now lay between Angel’s thighs, the older vampire’s heels hooked around him, digging into the back of his knees. Having been given permission to touch, he seemed desperate to touch everything available to him all at once, not wanting to allow the merest gap of space between them.

Spike groaned against Angel’s nipple, his cock made impossibly harder at the realization that Angel was as desperate for this lost connection as he was. This was what he’d been needing since he got his body back, this frenzied, mindless grasping, two beings pressing together so tight a human would go numb from the lack of circulation, pressing closer still, as though trying to meld into one entity, never to be separated and alone again. This was what he’d failed to find in that botched rekindling with Harmony, what he’d searched for in every hug from Fred and friendly clap on the back or clasp of hands from Charlie, but still lacked the proper substantiality. He finally, truly, felt real, solid. Able to touch, to feel, to affect the world around him, no longer useless, a wispy spectral image of nothingness. He finally believed he was back.

He hadn’t really planned on ruining this set of underclothes, he really did like the way they looked on Angel, but he couldn’t hold back the need as his fangs dropped, sharp points slicing easily through the thin fabric, piercing the taut bud of flesh. A cry of pleasure-pain sounded in his ears as he bit through the nipple, a shudder rippling through the broad form beneath him. He knew neither were going to last much longer, even though they’d barely even done anything; the need for release was too urgent, sought after for too long to hold it back. He retracted his fangs from the cool flesh and lapped away the blood as it stained the shiny material around it a darker red.

“Fuck, Angel, take me out.”

Spike felt him snake a hand between their entwined bodies, and grunted out in relief as the pressure against his throbbing cock was eased, his jeans pushed down around his thighs. Angel’s hand wrapped around his shaft, and he pushed himself up onto his knees to watch those thick fingers working him to completion. He thrust forward into Angel’s grip, his hands digging into his thighs to keep his legs wrapped around him. The tip of Angel’s cock now peeked out over the lacy edge of his panties, ruddy and weeping thick drops of pre-come steadily. Spike reached out and pulled the underwear back over the plummy head, nostrils flaring as the drops of dead seed were sucked up quickly by the flimsy fabric.

Angel was as submissive as he'd ever seen him, silent except for the pleading whimpers and moans as he worked the brunette towards his climax, and he knew just what buttons to press to get him there. Pushing his hand away from his desperate erection, he fell back upon him, crushing their cocks together and burying his nose into the crook of his neck as he bucked forward against him.

"Christ, luv, ain't gonna last to be inside you jus' now." Spike's voice was strained and husky as he growled the words out against Angel’s throat. “But we’ve time for that yet. Gonna have you put on a li’l show, see all the new pieces you’ve added to your collection. Right now, I wanna feel you come for me. C’mon, pet, dirty up those pretty panties of yours. Remember how I’d make you soil your knickers and Dru would suck you clean again? Or Darla would have you keep ‘em on while she rode you, and then I’d lick away the combined taste of you? C’mon, Angelus, lemme feel you. Come for me, Angel.”

Angel clutched him close and cried out his release, trembling against him as he rode out his orgasm. Spike could feel his come soaking the satin, wetting his own cock as it seeped through. As Angel came down from the intense climax, he made his first proactive movement of the evening and tugged Spike's head away from his neck, crushing their mouths together in a passionate kiss. As his tongue slid past Spike's lips, tangling with his own, the blonde gave in to the overwhelming whirl of sensations and came, powerful spurts of come drenching the panties from the other side, mingling with Angel's.

Once the final spasms of his climax ran through him, Spike disentangled himself from Angel’s embrace and helped him further up the bed. There was a look on Angel’s face that, if he hadn’t known him quite so well, would’ve had him reaching for the nearest stake. It wasn’t complete happiness, but a look of inner peace, and Spike understood it. He himself hadn’t felt anything close to it since Dru had left him. At this very moment, soul and demon were both content, no longer warring with each other, tugging him in two directions.

Spike climbed off the bed and eased the ruined lingerie off a purring, half-asleep Angel. He regretted the ruination of the bra, but had a feeling it would quickly be replaced. The panties, he stuffed into his pocket with a smirk before kicking off his boots and shimmying out of his jeans. He fetched a damp towel from the bathroom and gave himself a brief wipe down before doing the same with Angel. Tossing the washcloth aside, he maneuvered Angel under the sheets and joined him, turning off the bedside lamp.

It was Friday, and the edifice of evil had closed up shop for the weekend; they had plenty of time for Angel to give him a little fashion show, and a century of touching to make up for. After a well deserved rest. Spike draped himself over Angel and let out a soft sigh of contentment when he felt Angel’s arm wrap around him, holding him closer.

“Thank you.”

The whisper was so quiet, he barely made it out over the rumble that had started in his own chest. His lips quirked into a sleepy smile and he snuggled deeper into Angel’s embrace, returning the possessive hold.

“No, luv, thank you.”

*****

All Things Spike: @leatafandom

Bottom Angel: @toutes-les-routes

[acme-pest]

Different Types of Rodents: Common and Uncommon Rodent Species

Rodents are among the most common pests found across the world, with many species capable of causing significant damage to homes, businesses, and crops. Whether you live in urban or rural areas, it's important to understand the different types of rodents and the risks they pose. This knowledge is particularly valuable for property owners in regions like West Memphis, TN, Marion, AR, Wynne, AR, Jonesboro, AR, and Paragould, AR, where pest control is essential to maintaining safe and healthy environments. Let's explore the most common and uncommon rodent species you might encounter and how pest control can help manage infestations.

Common Rodent Species

House Mouse (Mus musculus)

The house mouse is one of the most prevalent pests worldwide. Known for its small size and grayish-brown color, the house mouse is highly adaptable and can live in a wide range of environments, including homes, businesses, and agricultural areas. Mice tend to contaminate food sources, damage structures by gnawing, and spread diseases through droppings and urine.

Norway Rat (Rattus norvegicus)

The Norway rat, also known as the brown rat, is a large and robust rodent that often lives in sewers, basements, and burrows near homes and buildings. These rats are excellent swimmers and can cause extensive structural damage by gnawing through wood, plastic, and even metal. In addition, they are notorious for spreading diseases such as leptospirosis and hantavirus.

Roof Rat (Rattus rattus)

Roof rats, also called black rats, are smaller and more agile than their Norway rat cousins. They typically live in trees and higher places, such as attics, rafters, and ceilings. These rats are highly destructive to insulation, wiring, and stored goods. Roof rats also pose a health threat, as they are known to carry diseases like salmonella and bubonic plague.

Uncommon Rodent Species

Deer Mouse (Peromyscus maniculatus)

While less common in urban areas, deer mice are often found in rural environments, particularly in barns, sheds, and cabins. These rodents are brown with white underbellies and have larger eyes and ears compared to house mice. Deer mice are particularly concerning because they are a primary carrier of hantavirus, which can cause severe respiratory issues in humans.

Kangaroo Rat (Dipodomys spp.)

Kangaroo rats are small rodents native to arid regions, characterized by their long hind legs and tails, which they use to hop like a kangaroo. While they rarely invade homes, they can become pests in agricultural areas, feeding on seeds and crops. Kangaroo rats are more commonly found in the southwestern U.S.

Pack Rat (Neotoma spp.)

Pack rats, also known as woodrats, are larger rodents that gather materials like sticks, leaves, and shiny objects to build their nests. These nests, called middens, can grow quite large and cause structural damage if built inside homes or outbuildings. Pack rats are known to carry parasites like ticks and fleas, which can transmit diseases to both humans and pets.

Cotton Rat (Sigmodon hispidus)

Cotton rats are medium-sized rodents that are typically found in grassy or overgrown areas. They are most active in the southeastern U.S. but have also been spotted in parts of Arkansas. Cotton rats are known to invade agricultural areas, feeding on crops like cotton and grains, and can sometimes move into residential areas in search of food.

The Importance of Pest Control for Rodent Management

Rodents can pose serious risks to both property and health. They are known carriers of various diseases, such as hantavirus, salmonella, and leptospirosis, which can be transmitted to humans through contact with rodent droppings, urine, and saliva. Additionally, rodents can cause significant structural damage by chewing through electrical wiring, insulation, and building materials, increasing the risk of fires and costly repairs.

Professional Pest Control in West Memphis, TN, and Arkansas Areas

Whether you're dealing with common rodents like house mice and Norway rats or more uncommon species like pack rats and kangaroo rats, it's essential to address infestations promptly. Professional pest control services in West Memphis, TN, Marion, AR, Wynne, AR, Jonesboro, AR, and Paragould, AR, can assess your situation, develop a tailored plan, and use effective methods to eliminate rodents.

Local pest control experts, such as those at Acme Pest Management, offer comprehensive services to identify and remove rodent infestations while implementing preventive measures to keep pests from returning. Whether you need rodent exclusion, trapping, or monitoring, professional pest control is the key to safeguarding your home or business from the damage and health risks rodents can cause.

Conclusion

Understanding the different types of rodents—both common and uncommon—can help homeowners and businesses recognize the signs of an infestation early and take action. Rodent control is critical to maintaining a safe, healthy environment, especially in regions like West Memphis, TN, Marion, AR, Wynne, AR, Jonesboro, AR, and Paragould, AR. Professional pest control services can provide effective solutions for managing and preventing rodent problems, ensuring peace of mind for property owners.For more information or to schedule a rodent inspection, visit Acme Pest Management. Their team is experienced in handling all types of rodent infestations, using proven methods to protect your home or business.

[westdallasgang]

Clyde Barrow's early upbringing and poverty:

Clyde spent the majority of his childhood living on a farm in Telico, Texas. His parents were tenant farmers on rented land. Their house was so small it consisted of only 3 rooms in total. All of the Barrow children slept on the livingroom floor. At a very early age, Clyde was put to work on the farm, picking cotton, planting and harvesting crops and pulling weeds to help support the family. But life had other plans. The price for cotton and grain skyrocketed and farmers were paying more for cotton seeds than they made selling their harvest. To make matters worse, a bad case of pest infestation caused agriculture in Telico to come to a grinding halt. Farmers were out of work and migrated to the city for employment. In 1922, the Barrow's had no choice but to follow suit and settled in Dallas. However, the city didn’t want impoverished families like the Barrow's staying in Dallas.

Poor-stricken families in Dallas were instead pushed to settle in a free campground in West Dallas, an unincorporated and untended area of Dallas County that was poor by design. The campgrounds were out of sight and separated from the city by a river called the Trinity River. The west bank of the Trinity was swarmed with bugs, and open sewers. Garbage strewn around narrow dirt streets contributed to dozens of deaths annually from tuberculosis and pneumonia. Families slept inside of shanties and tent camps. The Barrow's had neither, let alone a car. They slept with the kids under their horse wagon. There was one well, where everyone drew marginally potable water, and a few outhouses to use the bathroom in. Clyde's mother cooked out in the open on an old fashioned camp stove. Sometimes they depended on the Salvation Army. On holidays, children were given oranges. The oranges were the only Christmas gifts the Barrow kids received.

Determined to leave the campgrounds for good, Clyde's father collected scrap metal around town and sold it to foundries. Clyde sometimes tagged along and helped out. Kids on the streets openly made fun of Clyde for this, calling his father a junk man. In the meantime, of no employment, a shed was built. It was cramped inside but at least it kept them out of the rain. Clyde started stealing metal for his father to sell. The Barrow's lived on that campground for 3 years. Until one day, their horse was struck and killed by a car. Clyde's father sued the driver and won a sum of money. The family couldn't afford to move out of the slums of West Dallas, but they were finally able to move into a proper house, on an empty lot, in an actual neighborhood. Clyde's father built a 2 bedroom house that he split into a filling station as a source of income. The rough environment took a toll on Clyde and after the constant ridicules, his life of crime quickly progressed there.

[the-crow-goddix-abode]

5, 12, 18

5. : What’s something you’re ridiculously excited about?

A: Red cockaded woodpeckers, I love them, they are keystone species of the red hills(a region of the south east Usa where I live) and they are on the endangered species list.

They are the only woodpecker that lives in live pine trees and they have generational families! The children help raise the next generation while making their own nest cavities.

They also spread the red heart wood fungus which aids in softening the wood of the live pine trees, which aids in building their cavities. So many things have to come together for this bird to survive.

12. : Something you wish to monologue about?

A: I wish that people understood how beautiful textile art can be to the very thread of it all. Sheep in a far off place or near by were shed for wool, then that wool was cleaned and spun and dyed and shipped off to a store where I bought it and I then incorporated it into a another peice of fabric, this time made of spun cotton, a bloom from the cotton plant which I grew up learning the seasons by when it was in bloom. The needle, a gold tipped needle that is metal and needed to be mined and then crafted into the exact size that I needed so that I could push the thread through fabrics made of different materials, and stitch into a design I chose. I even go so far to mix other media into my designs such as lace and Czech glass seed beads and everything had to be so perfect, and I had to work so hard to be able to purchase those materials and so many people had a hand in making my art happen, even if it is of a little fairy mouse on a mushroom. Isn’t that beautiful?

18: What’s some of the meanings of your name? (Or your Url if you don’t wish to say)

A: The-Crow-goddix-abode comes from my dnd game! The Crow Goddix is the god of death/transportation/and a symbol of change, and they needed a little house, and I see my tumblr as my house on the interwebs.

My name Hymn comes from my need for any name I have to be a song unto the lips of god, and I have complicated issues with my relationship with god. Kai comes from the Cinder Chronicles, a very longtime special interest.

[entegrasignaturestructures]

Elevate the Cotton industry with Entegra’s Cotton Seed Storage Solutions

Entegra's innovative solutions support Australia’s cotton industry with advanced sheds and infrastructure designed to optimize cotton processing and storage. Crafted with precision and durability, our structures ensure efficiency, sustainability, and compliance with industry standards. To learn more about the cotton seed storage construction process visit our website.

[littlestarwithoutsky16]

Kindergarteners Learn About Agriculture at Iredell County Fairgrounds

A hands-on learning experience for young children highlights the importance of agriculture in Iredell County

Hundreds of enthusiastic 5-year-olds gathered at the Iredell County Fairgrounds for a unique educational event that aimed to teach them about the county's agriculture industry and its significance in their daily lives. Led by volunteers from local high school Future Farmers of America (FFA) groups and community partners, the event provided a range of interactive activities for the kindergarteners to explore.

Laura Elmore, Iredell County Extension Agent for agriculture, livestock, and field crops, expressed her hope that the children would gain a deeper understanding of the vastness of agriculture in their county and its economic impact. Elmore also aimed to inspire the young participants to consider pursuing farming or other agriculture-related occupations in the future.

A Multitude of Learning Stations

The event featured a variety of learning stations designed to introduce the children to different aspects of agriculture. FFA students led programs on animals and livestock, including cattle, sheep, horses, and dairy cattle. They also operated a petting zoo, allowing the kindergarteners to interact with goats, a pony, and cows.

In addition, the children had the opportunity to plant sunflower seeds and learn about the growth process.

Other activities included roping cattle, a tractor safety demonstration, tractor displays from local distributors, and a visit from Mountaire Farms' feed truck. The Southland Dairy Association's Mobile Milk Classroom, Energy United's electricity demonstration, and presentations on beekeeping and forestry by the NC Forestry Service were also part of the event. The children even had the chance to explore a fire engine from Troutman Fire and Rescue.

Throughout the event, the children engaged in various safety and crop demonstration lessons, gaining valuable insights into the agricultural practices in their county.

The Economic Impact of Agriculture

Agriculture plays a significant role in the economy of North Carolina, as well as in Iredell County. The county ranks first in the state in total cattle, dairy cattle, and milk production, and is sixth in poultry production. It is also among the top ten in grain crops, including hay and forage production.

The economic impact of agriculture and agribusiness in North Carolina reached a record $103.2 billion in 2022. In Iredell County, the agriculture industry has an economic impact of $662 million, with cash gate receipts of $165 million benefiting the county. With 1,055 farms covering 36 percent of the county's total acreage, agriculture is a vital part of the local economy.

The High-Tech Nature of Modern Agriculture

Modern agriculture in Iredell County incorporates advanced technologies to increase efficiency and production on limited land. GPS-guided tractors, autonomous vehicles, drones, and biological and chemical analyses are just a few examples of the high-tech tools used in agriculture today. These innovations enable farmers to do more with less and meet the growing demands of a changing world.

Laura Elmore emphasized the importance of agriculture in providing essential resources for everyday life. Without farmers, there would be no food in grocery stores, no cotton clothes, and no timber for construction. The event aimed to highlight the crucial role of agriculture in sustaining communities and the need for future generations to carry on this vital work.

The hands-on learning experience at the Iredell County Fairgrounds provided kindergarteners with a deeper understanding of the importance of agriculture in their county. Through interactive activities and engaging demonstrations, the children learned about various aspects of farming, livestock, and crop production.

The event also shed light on the economic impact of agriculture in Iredell County and North Carolina as a whole. With its rich agricultural heritage and commitment to innovation, Iredell County continues to thrive in the agricultural sector.

By inspiring young minds and fostering a connection to agriculture, events like this lay the foundation for a future generation of farmers and agricultural professionals. The investment in agricultural education and infrastructure further solidifies Iredell County's commitment to supporting its agricultural community and ensuring its continued success.

[ainews]

Wheat is one of the most commonly grown and consumed grains in the world. It is a staple food for many cultures and a major source of nutrients such as carbohydrates, protein, and fiber. However, one curious characteristic of wheat is its floccose texture.

Floccose means covered with tufts of soft, woolly hairs that are often deciduous, or easily shed. In the case of wheat, the plant has these soft hairs on the exterior of its seeds, also known as grains. These hairs are referred to as awns and are typically found on the outer layer of the wheat spike. A spike is the part of the wheat plant that contains the grains.

So why does wheat have these soft, woolly hairs on its grains? The answer lies in the plant's evolutionary history. The awns of wheat serve as a natural defense mechanism against predators. In the wild, wheat plants faced constant threats from insects, birds, and other animals looking to feast on its nutritious grains. The soft hairs acted as a deterrent, making it difficult for predators to grip and consume the grains. This feature helped ensure the survival of wheat plants, allowing them to reproduce and pass down their genetic traits.

In addition to serving as a protective measure, the floccose texture of wheat also has practical uses for humans. In traditional farming methods, wheat was threshed and separated from its chaff (the husks of the grains) using a tool called a flail. The soft hairs on the grains helped to loosen the chaff and make it easier to remove. Today, modern machinery has largely replaced this method, but the floccose texture of wheat still serves as a reminder of its ancient cultivation methods.

Furthermore, the soft hairs on wheat grains also make them ideal for textile production. The fibers can be used to make a type of fabric called flannel, which is known for its softness and warmth. While cotton and wool are more commonly used for clothing, wheat fibers can also be spun into yarn and woven into garments.

In summary, the floccose texture of wheat serves both practical and evolutionary purposes. It is a natural defense mechanism for the plant, ensuring its survival in the wild, and also has practical uses for humans in farming and textile production. So the next time you see a wheat field waving in the breeze, take a moment to appreciate the unique and useful feature of its soft, woolly hairs.

[completeinformation]

Agra Satta King: Unraveling the Enigma of Satta King in the City of Taj

In the vibrant city of Agra, amidst the splendor of the iconic Taj Mahal and a rich historical heritage, a clandestine world thrives, known as "Satta King." Agra Satta King has long intrigued the curious and sparked debates on its impact on society. This blog post delves into the enigmatic realm of Satta King, exploring its historical roots, mechanisms, and the socio-economic repercussions it leaves on the city.

Satta King refers to a form of gambling that has woven its way into the fabric of Indian culture. Agra, being a bustling urban center, has not been immune to its allure. While the city boasts of its hospitality and tourism, the hidden underworld of Satta King operates in the shadows, captivating both the ambitious and the vulnerable.

Through this blog post, we seek to unravel the evolution of Satta King in Agra, tracing its origins and understanding its transformation over time. We'll delve into the mechanics of how Satta King is played, exploring the roles of agents and bookies who facilitate these games behind closed doors.

Beyond the thrill of gambling, Agra Satta King has deep-seated socio-economic implications. We'll shed light on its impact on the local economy, employment, and the dark spiral of addiction that ensnares individuals and ripples through families and communities.

As we examine the legal and ethical aspects of Satta King in Agra, we'll take stock of the government's efforts to curb its influence and explore responsible gambling practices that can minimize harm.

However, this blog post is not merely about statistics and policy measures. We aim to humanize the narrative by sharing the stories of those directly involved in the Satta King world – the players, the winners, and those who faced the consequences of addiction.

While acknowledging the challenges posed by Agra Satta King, we'll also highlight the strategies being employed to address the issue. From community-based initiatives to rehabilitation programs, there is hope for change.

Beyond Agra's borders, the story of Satta King holds broader implications for society. This post will explore the lessons learned and how other regions can draw from Agra's experiences to tackle similar issues.

In conclusion, our exploration of Agra Satta King is a call-to-action for responsible understanding and action. It is an invitation to grapple with the complexities of this clandestine world and seek ways to minimize its negative impact. Let us embark on this journey to unravel the enigma of Agra Satta King, hoping for a brighter future where the allure of easy money no longer casts its shadow over the City of Taj.

Historical Perspective of Satta King in Agra:

To understand the roots of Satta King in Agra, we must delve into the annals of Indian history where the origins of this gambling phenomenon lie. The concept of Satta can be traced back to ancient times, where it found mention in various ancient texts and scriptures.

The word "Satta" is believed to have originated from the Sanskrit word "Sattva," which refers to existence, being, or essence. Over time, this term evolved to represent a form of gambling, where individuals would place bets on the opening and closing rates of cotton transmitted from the New York Cotton Exchange to the Bombay Cotton Exchange during the British colonial era.

As trade and commerce flourished in major Indian cities, so did the popularity of Satta among traders and businessmen. Agra, with its strategic geographical location, emerged as a prominent trading hub, attracting merchants from across the country. It was during this period that the seeds of Satta King were sown in the city.

In the early 1960s, the practice of Satta took a new form with the introduction of speculative games based on lucky numbers. Players would wager on certain numbers, often inspired by personal beliefs, dreams, or superstitions, hoping for a windfall gain. This marked the shift from traditional trading-based Satta to a more luck-based gambling activity.

The Satta King phenomenon gained momentum in Agra during the following decades, especially in the 1980s and 1990s, when it seeped into the urban culture. As the city continued to evolve and modernize, so did the allure of easy money and the desire for quick riches.

In the absence of a regulated gambling framework, Satta King thrived in the shadows, facilitated by underground networks and bookies operating covertly. It became an enticing prospect for people from all walks of life, ranging from laborers and daily wage earners to white-collar professionals seeking an escape from the monotony of daily life.

However, with the allure of Satta King also came its darker consequences. The unregulated nature of the game led to instances of fraud, exploitation, and addiction. Families were torn apart, livelihoods were jeopardized, and the social fabric faced strain due to the rise in gambling-related issues.

Over the years, the Indian government has made attempts to curb the influence of Satta King through legal measures, but its underground nature and deep-rooted appeal continue to challenge these efforts.

As we examine the historical perspective of Agra Satta King, we gain insight into the complex interplay of historical, economic, and sociocultural factors that have contributed to its existence and endurance. Understanding this evolution is crucial to formulating effective strategies to address the issue and pave the way for a more responsible and regulated gambling environment.

Legal and Ethical Aspects of Satta King in Agra:

Legal Status of Satta King in Agra:

The legal status of Satta King in Agra, like in many parts of India, is complex and often contentious. Gambling, including Satta King, falls under the purview of state-specific gambling laws rather than a uniform national law. In some states, gambling is strictly prohibited, while others permit certain forms of it under specific regulations.

In Agra, as in Uttar Pradesh, the laws governing gambling are generally stringent. The Public Gambling Act of 1867, a central law, declares gambling as illegal in India. However, some states have enacted their own legislation that may offer exemptions or specific provisions for certain types of gambling.

Satta King, being an unregulated form of gambling, technically falls under the category of illegal activities in Agra. The penalties for participating in or facilitating such activities can range from fines to imprisonment, depending on the severity of the offense and the specific laws of the state.

Government Efforts to Curb Satta King in Agra:

The Agra administration, along with state authorities, has taken measures to combat the prevalence of Satta King and illegal gambling activities in the city. Raids are conducted to dismantle underground gambling networks, and individuals involved in organizing Satta King games are prosecuted under relevant laws.

Additionally, awareness campaigns are launched to educate the public about the legal consequences and negative impacts of engaging in such gambling practices. The government also endeavors to promote responsible gambling and discourage citizens from falling into the trap of unregulated betting.

Ethical Considerations Surrounding Satta King:

From an ethical standpoint, Satta King raises significant concerns. The lure of easy money often preys on vulnerable individuals, leading to addictive behaviors and financial ruin. Many players place their faith in luck rather than skill or hard work, which can perpetuate a culture of dependency and discourage productive pursuits.

Satta King also thrives on secrecy and operates outside the purview of taxation and regulation. This lack of transparency enables illegal activities, fosters corruption, and facilitates the flow of unaccounted money. Moreover, the practice of gambling in an unregulated environment may expose participants to exploitation and unfair practices.

Additionally, Satta King's impact on society extends beyond the individual players. Families suffer from the consequences of addiction, and the broader community may witness an increase in criminal activities associated with gambling debts.

Advocacy for Responsible Gambling:

Given the prevalence of Satta King and its ramifications, advocacy for responsible gambling practices becomes crucial. Encouraging individuals to seek entertainment in legal and regulated forms of gambling can minimize the social harm caused by illegal gambling activities.

Promoting awareness about the risks and consequences of Satta King can empower citizens to make informed choices. Government and civil society efforts should focus on providing support systems for individuals struggling with gambling addiction, offering rehabilitation programs and counseling services.

In conclusion, the legal and ethical aspects of Satta King in Agra demand attention and action. Striking a balance between protecting individuals from the pitfalls of unregulated gambling and preserving personal freedoms is a complex challenge. By implementing comprehensive regulations, raising awareness, and fostering responsible gambling practices, Agra can move toward curbing the influence of Satta King and creating a safer and more ethically conscious gambling environment.

Conclusion:

The enigma of Agra Satta King, deeply embedded in the historical, cultural, and social fabric of the city, is a complex and multifaceted phenomenon. As we explored its origins and evolution, we discovered how this clandestine world of gambling has captivated the people of Agra for generations.

While Satta King offers the allure of quick riches and an escape from mundane realities, its darker consequences cannot be ignored. The unregulated nature of the game has led to instances of fraud, exploitation, and addiction, inflicting a toll on individuals, families, and communities alike.

Learn More: Agra Satta King: Unraveling the Enigma of Satta King in the City of Taj

[littlewalken]

Going to bring back a plot bunny I used after the first season of Good Omens- Nanny Ashtoreth (Crowley) has some sort of accident that ends up with her wet and/or cold and Brother Francis (Aziraphale) has to warm her up in a human way so no one knows who they really are.

My citrus free take where nanny must get out of her wet things after the break.

Citrus free Husbands, Aziraphale/Brother Frances comes to the rescue when Crowley/Nanny’s duties to Warlock cause him some distress, woe be them if they are caught in a compromising position!

GOOD OMENS (I couldn’t figure out a title)

“Master Warlock I have told you to stay away from that pond! The ice is much too thin!” 

Aziraphale, in his guise of the gardener Brother Francis, hated scolding the boy, even if he was the Antichrist, but safety was safety, and he had heard the terrible sound of the ice breaking followed by a frantic splashing. 

I shall have to have a word with Nanny Ashtoreth about this, any excuse to see Crowley-eh? he chuckled to himself. “How about you make a snow fort? I’ll show you how…”

As Aziraphel neared the duck pond he saw Warlock and his friends running away from it. All for the better if you don’t want a scolding from your nanny! Where was she? Something was wrong.

At first the ice of the duck pond looked undisturbed. Then he saw the remote controlled vehicle Warlock had got for Christmas. Then he saw the umbrella.

“Oh help! Do help!” Aziraphale called as he made his way out on to the ice. “Someone help! The nanny’s fallen through the ice!”

Now, you should know there are a great many snakes who can swim. There are a great many demons who can swim. None of them however swim in icy water because none of them are the least bit built for the cold. For if you had taken any sort of notice in wildlife documentaries you would have noticed all the creatures of the arctic or antarctic are rather plump with a great covering of blubber. And if you were any sort of noticer of Crowley’s forms the words “plump” and “blubber” would not in the least bit apply to him.

It was by any and all means that Aziraphael managed to pull Crowley out of the icy water. “Oh! Poor nanny!” Aziraphael sighed, just in case anyone was watching. “You’ll catch your death a cold if you’re not warmed up!” 

The house was too far to take a human in wet quickly turning to ice clothes. The gardening supply shed was closer. Yes, get Crowley in there, put on the electric kettle, get him out of these wet things! So may wet things!

Aziraphale set Crowley on a pile of seed sacks in the gardening shed and plugged in the electric kettle. 

“Smudge pot,” he told himself. “I’ll light up a smidge pot!” Yes, even though that would be outside the door it would still put out a good amount of heat. “And then we’ll have to do something with getting you out of those wet clothes!” 

Always the angel was looking to see if someone else was coming, if anyone had heard his cries for help. How awful, just down right awful would it be to have the gardener be caught undressing the nanny!

Now you should assume two things about all of Crowley’s clothes, even in his guise of Nanny Ashtoreth. First they are all black, unless noted otherwise, and they are all made of artificial fabrics. That is, if they were made of natural fabrics such as wool, silk, cotton, or linen, their natural wicking motion might not have left the situation so cold and damp. 

To peel off the layers of the onion that made up Nanny Ashtoreth it was best to start with the outermost first. I hope we don’t have far to go, Aziraphale readied himself for the task ahead. First in removing all of Crowley’s wet things was the furry black muff with its red satin lining. This was hung up to dry. Finding a place to hang things up would soon become a problem of its own. 

Next came a felt cap, which didn’t look like a butter bowl, and a knitted scarf with just the slightest hint of red. The scarf was so wet it could be wrung out. Now it was time for the cloak with its little slits for one’s hands to poke through. The buttons for this were quite large and it seemed like each took a dreadfully long time. On being hung up upon a rake to dry the cloak began to drip as if it were going to worm a pond of its own.

“Here, now, miss Ashtoreth, have a nice warm cuppa.” Aziraphale said as he made a cup of instant tea for Crowley. He looked out the door at the flaming smudge pot. Oh please someone come and help me get her to the warmth of her bed. He put the cup in Crowley’s hand but the demon failed to grab it and the tea spilled to the floor.

The shoes had to come off. Leave it to Crowley to chose boots with countless eyes! The laces were quite frozen over and the boots were so tight the laces had to be pulled completely out to get them free and expose Crowley’s tosey-woseys clad in their stockings. 

One by one the fingers of the gloves were tugged on, loosening them up just enough so they could be removed. The removal of gloves could be a very sensual thing if done right. Done in a hurry they were bunched and pulled and dropped to the floor with a distinct splosh sound.

They were down to the winter version of the suit Nanny Ashtoreth always wore. Aziraphile liked the cut of the jacket, the slightly puffed sleeves, the wide cuffs, the little peplum in the back. It too was sopping wet. Fussing with the buttons the angel wondered if it was time to perform a miracle yet. 

Now it was time for the skirt. The cut of this Aziraphale didn’t like. It was too tight here, too full there, and the drape didn’t do any favors. Like the fasteners, who ever thought that a skirt needed a buckle? 

This would be the perfect time for someone to come upon us! Here is the gardener with the nanny bent over him as he fiddled with the zipper of her skirt! It would be nice if you could come to and help, dear Crowley. 

We must be nearing the end, the angel thought, how could you possibly be wearing much more? But Crowley was still wearing more. For being a demon and used to the fires of Hell he liked being warm and had been told the best way to keep a human body warm was to wear many layers. 

Aziraphale’s fingers went to the red silken bow of the scarf at Crowley’s neck. This was allowed to flutter to the floor because the blouse its self, wet, thin, see-through, and clinging to every inch of what lay underneath it, gave the impression of being real silk. 

“This I must be careful with,” the angel told himself as he cast a glance outside but no one except the smudge pot was watching. But by the third button he could tell the blouse wasn’t real silk and he allowed himself to rush along. 

By this time Nanny Ashtoreth was quite undressed but not completely. She sat on the pile of sacks, eyes presumably closed, looking half dead in a shimmering full length slip and stockings. If circumstances were different one might have found themselves distracted by the sight, admiring the human form that God had created in her own image. But a nearly naked and wet demon was turning a shade of blue that was not becoming to him. 

What few clothes that remained on Crowley’s body were somehow still soaking wet. The slip had to come off over his head, one of the satin ribbon straps was starting to fray, it would need to be replaced, that could be done tonight, nice and new by the morning. 

And still Crowley was wearing more! Under the slip there was a full and sensible brassiere and then some sort of girdle looking garment with suspenders that kept the stockings up. 

Knickers, were there knickers? Did Crowley even wear knickers? 

Yes, all these things seemed to be wet too but not as wet as the outer layers. These would have to remain on. As tempting as it would be to fuss with all the brassiere hooks and all the little clips holding up the stockings this layer of dainty underthings would have to remain.

Aziraphale quickly found a piece of burlap to wrap around Crowley. He thought he heard someone coming. If they were they’d find him outside at the smudge pot trying to dry his smock.

“How are you doing in there, miss Ashtoreth, feeling warmer yet?”

Warlock’s mother had come looking cold and quite worried, “Warlock said nanny Ashtoreth fell through the ice.”

“Oh, it’s not quite as bad as that but I’m afraid she’s quite cold,” Aziraphale said. “She should get promptly to bed though. I’ve been trying to warm her up, but slowly mind you, too fast might cause shock.”

***

Nanny Ashtoreth lay in her bed wearing a flannel nightgown under many layers of blankets. 

Brother Francis came in with a bouquet of winter flowers. “Feeling better are we, Miss Ashtoreth?”

“Yes, much warmer.” 

“I saw your clothes to the laundry for you.”

“Thank you, brother Francis.” 

Aziraphael looked around to see that they were indeed alone and leaned close to Crowley to whisper, “You could have lent us a hand with a few things there.”

“And deny you of all that fun?”

[myfeeds]

Miocene period fossil forest of Wataria found in Japan

Complete plant fossils are seldom found as a single piece, as wood, leaves, flowers, fruits, seeds, or pollen detach easily from plants. This results in leaves and trunks having separate scientific names. Putting together the different parts to reveal the complete plant is like putting together a jigsaw puzzle. Connecting these dots and reconstructing plants is important to establish their taxonomic identity — their place in the Tree of Life. A research group led by Professor Toshihiro Yamada from the Department of Earth and Planetary Sciences, Hokkaido University, found an exceptionally well-preserved fossil of a Wataria parvipora forest which was almost exclusively accompanied by fossils of Byttneriophyllum leaves. Their findings were published in the journal Scientific Reports. In 1994, Kiso River (in Minokamo City, Gifu Prefecture) underwent a historic drought, in the process of which 400 in situ fossilized tree stumps surfaced. While most of the stumps have since been submerged, the team examined 137 stumps, of which 130 were identified as Wataria parvipora. “Wataria is a wood-fossil, recognized by its distinctive growth rings, abundant parenchyma rays and lack of resin canals. In the 2000m2 fossil site, these stumps accounted for 95% of the tree remains, indicating that we discovered a forest predominantly of this species,” says Yamada. The team also found that the stumps were exclusively covered by a bed of one specific kind of leaf. Byttneriophyllum tiliifolium is a leaf-fossil species belonging to the mallow family (which includes cotton, cacao and durian). Fossils of this leaf were widely distributed throughout Eurasia during the Miocene and Pliocene epochs and the discovery of the Wataria fossil forest indicates that Byttneriophyllum tiliifolium are the leaves of Wataria. “We found that 98% of the fossil-leaves found at the site belonged to Byttneriophyllum, strongly indicating that they were shed from the parent trees. We could see that the leaves were deposited paraautochthonously on the forest floor — they got fossilized where they fell,” Yamada elaborated. Research by other groups has shown that the fossil fruit Banisteriaecarpum giganteum is related to Byttneriophyllum tiliifolium. Future research will focus on searching for Banisteriaecarpum giganteum in Japan, as this discovery would provide strong evidence that all three are part of the same species.

[aoiraincoat]

> losing someone dear to you in winter and living with this burden until summer comes and cotton trees shed their seeds, like falling snowflakes engulfing the world in a soft stillness – a reminder of your loss and grief, two seasons being each other's parallels

> oh it's just like the-

> the song is about author's cat