#palm tree removal pricing

[satreerecyclers]

How to Find the Right Tree Removal Company for Your Needs?

When you need a tree removal company, it is essential to check and follow certain norms that are given in the blog to get the best removal company.

[northerntreeservice]

What safety precautions should be taken during tree removal?

When it comes to tree removal, ensuring safety is paramount. Trees, whether they’re towering eucalyptus or slender palms, can pose significant risks during removal. This is where Northern Tree Services in Adelaide excels. With years of experience and expertise, they prioritize safety in every tree removal project. In this article, we’ll delve into the essential safety measures for tree removal,…

[reasonsforhope]

The World's Forests Are Doing Much Better Than We Think

You might be surprised to discover... that many of the world’s woodlands are in a surprisingly good condition. The destruction of tropical forests gets so much (justified) attention that we’re at risk of missing how much progress we’re making in cooler climates.

That’s a mistake. The slow recovery of temperate and polar forests won’t be enough to offset global warming, without radical reductions in carbon emissions. Even so, it’s evidence that we’re capable of reversing the damage from the oldest form of human-induced climate change — and can do the same again.

Take England. Forest coverage now is greater than at any time since the Black Death nearly 700 years ago, with some 1.33 million hectares of the country covered in woodlands. The UK as a whole has nearly three times as much forest as it did at the start of the 20th century.

That’s not by a long way the most impressive performance. China’s forests have increased by about 607,000 square kilometers since 1992, a region the size of Ukraine. The European Union has added an area equivalent to Cambodia to its woodlands, while the US and India have together planted forests that would cover Bangladesh in an unbroken canopy of leaves.

Logging in the tropics means that the world as a whole is still losing trees. Brazil alone removed enough woodland since 1992 to counteract all the growth in China, the EU and US put together. Even so, the planet’s forests as a whole may no longer be contributing to the warming of the planet. On net, they probably sucked about 200 million metric tons of carbon dioxide from the atmosphere each year between 2011 and 2020, according to a 2021 study. The CO2 taken up by trees narrowly exceeded the amount released by deforestation. That’s a drop in the ocean next to the 53.8 billion tons of greenhouse gases emitted in 2022 — but it’s a sign that not every climate indicator is pointing toward doom...

More than a quarter of Japan is covered with planted forests that in many cases are so old they’re barely recognized as such. Forest cover reached its lowest extent during World War II, when trees were felled by the million to provide fuel for a resource-poor nation’s war machine. Akita prefecture in the north of Honshu island was so denuded in the early 19th century that it needed to import firewood. These days, its lush woodlands are a major draw for tourists.

It’s a similar picture in Scandinavia and Central Europe, where the spread of forests onto unproductive agricultural land, combined with the decline of wood-based industries and better management of remaining stands, has resulted in extensive regrowth since the mid-20th century. Forests cover about 15% of Denmark, compared to 2% to 3% at the start of the 19th century.

Even tropical deforestation has slowed drastically since the 1990s, possibly because the rise of plantation timber is cutting the need to clear primary forests. Still, political incentives to turn a blind eye to logging, combined with historically high prices for products grown and mined on cleared tropical woodlands such as soybeans, palm oil and nickel, mean that recent gains are fragile.

There’s no cause for complacency in any of this. The carbon benefits from forests aren’t sufficient to offset more than a sliver of our greenhouse pollution. The idea that they’ll be sufficient to cancel out gross emissions and get the world to net zero by the middle of this century depends on extraordinarily optimistic assumptions on both sides of the equation.

Still, we should celebrate our success in slowing a pattern of human deforestation that’s been going on for nearly 100,000 years. Nothing about the damage we do to our planet is inevitable. With effort, it may even be reversible.

-via Bloomburg, January 28, 2024

[running-with-kn1ves]

Could you do Orc Tribal Leader X Reader on your wedding night?

A/N: I SWEAR I'm literally just writing the same stuff over again b/c I had a story just like this, but you know what I never get tired of it because its like a top fantasy bro. Hope this one was better than that version at least

Content warnings: Forced Marriage, kidnapping, attempted escapes, nonconsensual touching, infantilization of reader  

Synopsis: Your village, destroyed and burned. Your life picks up somewhere you would never have imagined. Maybe, death is a better option than being an orc’s spouse. 

Word Count: Approx. 2600 

The autumn solstice was a bountiful, beholden time of year. From the greeneries of cabbage and the fowls hatched in summer now fully grown, there was much to be harvested and ripened for the taking. Your town was boisterous, full of life with a variety of competitors and businesses attempting to lurch at any tourist’s or local’s wallet to get them to buy countless crops, meat, and woven goods.  

Your tiny tea shop, suffering from last July’s drought, was finally starting to perk up with re-growth. Black tea, jasmine, bergamot, even hybrid blends like crushed raspberry and chamomile-- you could assemble enough to raise prices, label the small reaping as an imported foreign good luck charm that when drunken, blessed women with marriage prospects and men with wealth.  

That was, before however, you became bound and gagged to a chair, pleasantries being exchanged around you in a language harsh in your ears. The fires... You remember them well, the putrid stench of charred meat from the butcher next door, his body even more ablaze. Your jade boxes of fine silk bags meant for holding gifts of tea, becoming laden with ash and dust. Every scrap of money you saved up under the floorboards disappearing into floating particles and melted coins.  

“Brutes,” Your uncle called them, “deranged beasts with only two things in mind: bloodlust and greed.” 

Orcs were not well-received in a conservative, fearful town of humans. Even the elves, seen as symbols of beauty in mortal standards, were causes of paranoia and irritation whenever they made their rounds nearby.  

It was no wonder that the lines of tusked, olive-fleshed creatures in animal skin were spotted, the guards of your small city went on a rampage. Bows and arrows were no match for iron bones and teeth of steel.  

You, were no match for anything wider than a tree trunk. So when fire caught to your village, your home now rampaged for its finest ‘offerings’ to the orcs, you were left to be eaten by the licking flames. And yet, was it a blessing or a curse that one of the warriors decided to haul you on his back, doting on how “nicely you’ll do” as a wedding gift. You didn’t realize that the gift was to be part of the ceremony yourself.  

With smoke in your lungs and your eyes blurred by dirt and ash, you watched the ceiling cave in on your tiny tea-filled shack, bright orange and red dancing from behind the window panes as you drifted away.  

Daraktan is spoken all around you, harshly and with flicking tongues. You can hear snippets of English, wondering what’s going on behind the black veil covering your head. You don’t dare remove it, recalling what the orc woman, supposedly your now husband’s ‘mother’ telling you in your native tongue.  

“Touch this, and you will surely die. My alfhild will remove it, when it is time.”  

And so, you wait. Digging your fingernails into your palms, crying quietly in heavy furs and leather, the occasional hand coming to pull your shaky one to their mouths, kissing the tip of your index finger.  

“Aka��magosh..” They mumble to you, seemingly more at the body to your right. 

The calloused hand of someone much larger than you, whom you have assumed is your husband from his constant appearance nearby, occasionally comes to grace your back, to rest a hand on the top of your head, to smoothen your veil or the soft fur shawl on your legs.  

His hearty laugh hurts your ears, the jingles of the metal jewelry he adorns constantly making noise as he shifts.  

“Please..” You whisper, praying, to whoever may be listening. Why you? Why, out of all the fair, eligible humans of your town, were you picked out from the rubble to be “saved”? To be married to a faceless orcish man, who would surely break you in half before morning? 

The bitter cold of coming winter brushes against your legs. You can feel that you’re not inside wooden walls, and yet unnatural lighting seems to shine through your veil at times.  

“Omulork, I think I will take my… wedding gift, to be with in solitude.” 

Loud, deep laughs fill the room, the guttural voices of female orcs being swallowed up by uncountable numbers of warriors surrounding you. Your body shivered as a gust of wind blew in, the autumn breeze barely being kept at bay from where you sat.  

“Enjoy the festivities, shedzvagas!”  

His unique husk leaves everyone in the room to cheer in their orcish language, tough and painful pats coming to your back, the festive shakes to your shoulder nearly making you topple. 

That same heated, abrasive hand comes to grab your roped wrists, lurching you firmly, yet gently from your place on the ground. Panic started to fill your stomach as it rose to your chest, the warm aura of an orc next to you radiating to heat you from the chilly weather outside.  

Now. It was now or never. You didn’t want to think anymore what he would do to you when you were alone, when you had no one to cry to for help.  

Your feet moved before the thought finished crossing your mind. Your hands shook as you stumbled in a sprint forward. You passed thick bodies as you ran blindly, making it a mere five steps before a pair of meaty hands grabbed you by the hips. 

“A feisty one, Gar’mak!” The sounds of the orc woman who forced you into your wedding attire spoke up, a drunken laugh leaving her plump lips. “Alfhild, better not leave it out of your sight.” 

You hated how clear the English they used was to your ears, how human they all sounded, how when they spoke in your native tongue-- it was meant for your ears. She wanted you to know, to let the fear soak into your chattering teeth.  

The orc keeping you captive merely laughed, tossing your weightless body to his shoulder just like he had done when pulling you from the cobble of what was left of your tea shop. 

You screamed, biting down on what you could reach from under your veil. But the salty, thick flesh from beneath you was aloof, offering no reaction as a double pat was brought to your buttocks.  

“Now now, Djenifor, don’t fuss.” Gar’mak mused, each step he took forward making your body thump against his. He held a tight grip on you, not caring for the scratches you layered his back with. “I won’t try to hurt you… I will keep you safe, try my best to keep your fragile body in one piece.”  

The coldening night air was a drastic change to the room of heavy body heat and weighty movement where the wedding ritual and festivities were held. Now, it was quiet. You could hear the loud chattering begin to drift, songs and chants rising again as they once had when you were unceremoniously married to your new ‘husband.’  

Gar’mak patted your butt again, moving down to rub at the back of your thigh with a gentle, firm rhythm. He seemed to hum to himself, satisfied with the nights events. Scored himself a spouse and the treasured belongings of a human town.  

He must be pretty proud of himself, you seethed.  

The tears were beginning to sting the corners of your eyes, frantically scratching at the orcs back when you felt the warmth of an enclosed area meet your skin.  

“No, no--” You began to kick, trying to shove off the arm holding you steady on the orcs’ shoulder.  

“Settle down now--” Gar’mak ordered softly, putting you down on the fuzzy ground. You managed to hit his face, the hard scrape of tusks scratching your hand as a firm nose nearly cracked your knuckles.  

The orc went silent. Quiet in rage, he rips your veil away with a grip hard enough to tear hair out if he so desired.  

Your eyes take a moment to adjust to the dimly lit tent, lanterns glowing at the corners as the mass of a creature leers over you. You forgot just how… big, orcs were. From afar they looked small, bigger than a human, but no threat due to distance. But now… he was above you, twice your height, twice your size, twice if not thrice everything. His palm the size of your skull, his eyes gleaming and looking over your body, weak with exhaustion and fright.  

Small, intentional scars were placed under his auburn eyes, some kind of tribe symbol you were sure. Thick eyebrows furrowed at the way tears decorated your cheeks, the exhales from his flat nose blowing hot breath on your chest.  

“Please, I, I can’t, I don’t belong--” You fumble over yourself, trying to slide back on the floor of soft wolf and caribou furs.  

“Shh, shh now,” The orc puts a hand to your ankle, an action that jerks you to a stop. “I won’t hurt you, lebam…” 

You sincerely doubt that, but the sentiment sounds genuine from his broken, baritone voice. 

“What’s your name?” He asks, pulling slowly with immeasurable strength at your leg. You slide towards him with little strain, even with your muscles going rigid for you to stand your place, your fingernails digging into the ground beneath you.  

You shake out your name, reluctant to give it.  

“Ah. What a human name; a scared wee human, aren’t you?” 

You don’t dare to respond, waiting for the sound of your snapping ankle. 

“They call me Gar’mak, though that may be too difficult for simple human brains. Mak is fine, little Djenifor…” 

You don’t want to call him anything, to refer to him at all-- yet, he looks keen to hear you say it. There’s an expectation in his eyes, a flick of his giant tongue against his lips.  

“Mak..” You mumble, trying not to gag.  

“Yes…” The orc’s hand frees your leg, caressing up to your cheek as he wipes away a forgotten wet stream of tears.  

“Please, just let me go--” You beg under your breath, scared of the way he seems to be eyeing your knees, your frail neck, your round ears.  

“You know that’s not going to happen,” He doesn’t seem angry at you for asking, just… Sorry. “We are bound forever now; even the gods couldn’t tear us apart. Wherever you go, I will find you. Whenever I leave, you will feel me gone. By sunrise tomorrow your scars will be given, and you will become one of us.”  

The panic begins to settle once again in your stomach. Maybe, tonight, yes-- tonight, if you could escape. You could-- just maybe you could find a way, past their all-seeing eyes, their all-hearing ears, escape to the mountains they took to get you here. 

 “But can’t you change it back?” Your voice cracks, expression twisting into an ugly cry as you feel thick fingers dig into your hair. “Just, we can go back-- just let me be…”  

You sob for what feels like too long, hours maybe, Gar’mak’s eyes never leaving you as he pulls you to his thigh. He brings a cotton blanket to your legs as he shushes you, the tenderness of his eyes a foreign sight compared to the façade he forced you to endure during the night's festivities.  

When your cries had turned to miserable, quiet sniffles, a muscled knuckle finds its way under your chin. He turns your head to look at him, eyes red and droopy as you try to think of any method of escape.  

“You’ll learn to like it here, human.” Gar’mak thinks for a moment, caressing your leg with a single finger.  

 “We are far more civilized than your kind-- far more… Fair. You’ll be treated well. The spouses of warriors do not go unfed, unbathed. Unloved, most of all. You will be cherished; I will cherish you, as long as you let me.”  

The orc grips your jaw in his hand, firm enough to where his fingers made dimples in your cheeks, but softly to where you felt like a mouse in someone’s closing palm. A kiss was planted to your temple, your body pushed deep against your husband’s as he holds you close enough to suffocate. You wait for him to choke life from you, and yet it never comes. He is harsh with his touches, but not harsh enough to hurt.  

“Please, let's finish tonight how it was meant to go, hm? Let me hold you…” He murmurs, all soft and lamblike into your ear. It sends shivers down to your soles, hot breath layering your neck as he looks at your lips with such intensity.  

You fear saying no, but the word rises up to your throat.  

It doesn’t make it out in time. Lips engulf yours, the stiff coldness of bone-colored tusks brushing against your face as Gar’mak holds you tight. Just one kiss is enough to make his demeanor act up.  

Your unassuming, comfort-driven spot on his lap is altered swiftly. You find yourself straddling the orcs’ waist, a hand pressed against the back of your head as your tied hands remain useless against his chest.  

You don’t know whether to speak, to scream, to bite at his lips-- but you remain flexile, afraid of the rough hand holding your skull so tenderly, the other gripping your thigh to wrap around his flank. You’re like a resistant doll, licked lips becoming tender as the orc pushes against you with such tenacity.  

You see his eyes open, staring into your wide, unblinking ones. They seem to communicate more than just lust-- its desire, desire for your reciprocation.  

Gar’mak waits… he kisses you, eyes narrowed on standby for your submission. They’re hazy and make you wonder if this is enough to make him release his brutish side, the part that showed no mercy for your neighbors or your home. What would happen, if you broke away or dared to claw at him?  

That thought doesn’t stay for long, not when the tough hand on the back of your head moves to your neck, squeezing just enough to bruise.  

You wince, lips pursing in reaction just in time for his next tongued assault.  

That slight opening of your mouth, the press of your lips against his, is all he needed. You find yourself twisted beneath his body as you’re brought to lay on the furry floor, the orc lying above you.  

“That’s right, I’ll be soft Djenifor… just do as I command, keep smelling so sweetly for me.” 

Scars litter his shoulders and collarbone, metal necklaces and piercings dangling on his olive-green, lightly haired chest as you fear how much it would take for him to crush you.  

He’s so quiet, letting go of your mouth as the orc’s curled tongue licks a slow, wet stripe down your jaw. His hands grab your thighs to wrap your legs around him, intent on keeping you steady and so close you practically breathe the same air.  

Before he leans to kiss you feverishly again, the orc brushes your cheek with his knuckles, petting down the amalgamated fabrics you wear to commemorate your wedding.  

 “You’re so lucky I found you first, that I had saved you from that rubble without layering an extra scratch; my brethren would not be so kind.”  

He kisses your cheek, a soft, hungry grin playing on his plumped and tusked lips. “So stay pliant like this for me, wee human, and you won’t feel any pain.” 

You lay rigidly, squeezing your eyes shut as a tender, all-consuming kiss eats you up, preparing you for the night’s affairs.  

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Congrats on 5k!!!

I love little off-duty tidbits about the 141. What they get up to when they’re not on a mission, what do they do for fun on base, what do they do in their private time etc.

—Count The Hours

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [Collection of what the One-Four-One do on their down-hours with their Lovers] ❞

John Price: Reading ➺

It was no secret that John liked to indulge in quiet time whenever he got the chance. Always surrounded by soldiers and hurling orders eventually got to even the most skilled Captain—he was no different even if he’d been at this for countless years. 

On the days when the silent sounds of the house were able to be appreciated for what they were: the running of the laundry, the small creak of the kitchen cabinet that needed to be oiled, and the sound of your soft humming, it was a sacred turn of events. Such mundane, and normally labeled nuisances, were an excellent backdrop for the words on the page of his book that flew from the paper. Scenes unfolded from times and places long past; everything was separate. A perfect way for the mind to unwind. 

You pass by silently as John reads, kissing his forehead when he grunts in pleasure. The man lets his fingers brush your thigh as you move off to do whatever you wish. He knew you’d join him eventually. 

Reading was good, but nothing quite beat the perfect distraction that was you. 

John flips a page and absentmindedly itches at his beard.

Simon Riley: People Watching ➺

“I bet she works in a cafe,” you mutter softly. “Look at her clothes—those are cafe clothes. Gorgeous.”

Brown eyes blink at the woman in a long skirt and a neat blouse, coffee cup in hand as she walks the ground before disappearing around a bend. 

“What are bloody ‘cafe clothes’?” Simon grunts, giving you a strange look from over his balaclava. The bench you two sit on is far removed into the trees of the park, and you smile as you lean into the man and intertwine your fingers with his, stealing his body heat. 

“I can’t explain it,” you wave your free hand as Simon chuckles lowly. “Your turn.”

“Pick one for me,” he grumbles. You point to a man dressed sharply from across the path, bending down and tying his shoe as a child plays with their mother near a picnic basket and blanket. Your lips twitch into a smile. 

“Accountant,” Simon says easily, squeezing your hand as he blinks slowly, casual with his guesses. “Child’s birthday—he’ll ‘ave to go in soon.”

“Really?” You chuff under your breath. Simon hums, vision sliding about as his thumb runs over your knuckles. “I guessed a hitman.” 

The man at your side looks down once more. “You what?”

Johnny MacTavish: Hiking ➺

The both of you are covered in dirt and sweat, lying on your backs with your packs about a foot or so away; lungs working inside of your chests as you smile like fools. 

“Remind me to let you carry me back,” you pant, chuckling as the form beside you rubs at his face—pushing back the grime. Nature is all around you two, the grass behind your bones and the open sky above your heads. Johnny and you rest for a short while on top of the hill, the wind picking up from the East but not so to an unmanageable degree. 

It had been on a whim to come out here on such short notice, but it didn’t mean that it wasn’t enjoyable. 

Johnny always made hiking trips enjoyable. 

“Aye,” he laughs. “Don’t worry, Dearie, I’ll manage.” A moment of shared smiles passes between you two—you reach out and push at his cheek teasingly.

Johnny chuckles and grabs at your wrist, bringing it back and laying a firm kiss on the palm that leaves your already hot cheeks burning. 

“Ready to keep going?” You’re asked delicately, those cobalt eyes crinkled with love. 

“Oh, if I must,” you tease. 

The man kisses you once more before standing, offering you a hand without a second thought through a gentle smirk.

Kyle Garrick: Cooking/Baking ➺

Kyle’s rolled-up sleeves are pushed back even more as he hums under his breath, the gentle jazz filling the room to mix with the scent of fresh bread and stew. You rest your head on the island table of your shared flat, watching as the man glances back at you and your arm pillow.

He chuckles. 

“You don’t have to watch, Love.”

“Want to,” you mutter, eyes soft. The man’s smile turns sheepish as he glances away.

The man adds what he needs and says over his shoulder cheekily as you blink. “Well come on then, I’ll need you to taste test. Tell me what it needs.”

You chuckle and stand, walking over and sliding up beside him as Kyle takes a spoon and brings some of the broth to your lips. Your hand cups under the utensil, sipping it down. 

You hum under your breath, glancing at him. 

“It’s delicious, Kyle,” your fingers go to steal the spoon, but it’s moved away from you swiftly with a teasing tsk of his tongue. 

“Ah, ah—it’s not done,” the man beams, kissing your cheek and putting the spoon down. “Patience, Love.” 

“C’mon,” you lean into him, looking up into his face. 

Instead, a kiss is pressed to your lips, making you melt as a hand comes to circle your waist. 

Kyle leans back, smirking as he licks his lips.

“More salt,” he mutters, pulling back and disappearing into the pantry as you gape after his tall form.

[mar3ggiata]

the night of the tarantula - 2

simon riley x oc

tw: violence, death, pregnancy, mafia, miscarriage, terrorism

'Swinging by my neck from the family tree.'

'What have you done to her?'

Laswell's presence felt like a warm hug. She stormed in the interrogation room to find her precious trainee Eva tied to a chair, on the verge of tears, back hunched foreword in sorrow. 'Why the hell is she tied to the chair, for Christ's sake!' She repressed a smile, things were starting to turn for her. Laswell was protecting, more than anything she was understanding and smart. She knew why she did what she did, she had listened when she told her how things worked in Italy, she had done her research. She was smart, unlike the men in the room. And Grace. Grace was the stupidest of all.

'Untie her, now.' She demanded. Like some kind of sick joke, it was Ghost she gestured to, to go take off her handcuffs. She kept her eyes on Laswell, but saw him in her peripheral, moving towards her. She moved in the chair to show her hands. His heart ached a little, seeing her wrists red, the metal cuffs digging into her skin. You did this to yourself, Eva. It was weird, thinking about her with a different name. A different sound. He tried to avoid touching her while removing the cuffs, not to make her think he was on her side. Never again. Laswell circled the table to come close to her. She was rubbing her right wrist. He heard her whisper something to calm Eva down, along the lines of 'it's gonna be fine', or 'you're not in trouble'. He watched Eva's expression, it didn't change. She was serious and unbreakable, she wasn't scared, she wasn't worried at all. He tried to read her lips. 'I am not in contact…' she whispered, Price stepped in.

'Hey, OI!' His fist connected to the table, making the two women turn their heads. 'What do you think you're doing? You're under federal investigation Eva, do you understand that?!' He raised his voice. Eva's lips turned in a weird, sick grin, a smile? She sat silent in her chair, while Laswell was scolding the captain for being rude and unconsiderate.

Simon wanted to yell at her. He wanted to grab her chin, make her look at him and ask her why. Why? Why me, why did you do that to me? Who are you, what are you doing in this country? All you said, was it a lie? All you told me about your past, a lie? Why did you tell me, then? Why me?

The girl looked down at her hands while Laswell, his captain and the General spoke. Once he started looking at her he really could not stop. His eyes were glued to her face, her hands, her posture, he could not do any different. She looked tired, she looked pale, the dark makeup around her eyes lightly smeared on the skin below her lower lashes. She was sweating. And she didn’t look his way, why?!? Don’t you care?! Not even to look my way?

‘Okay, Eva…’ Laswell turned around, ‘… It’s not gonna be easy…’ She continued, he still didn’t take his eyes off her. ‘The past few weeks have been hard for your family in Italy, Tania, your mom…’, she pressed her palms to the table, ‘…your sister Maria and the rest of the clan, they’re suspecting an attack from the Caseranos, from Carmine.’ She explained, keeping her tone of voice low, calm and collected. This was nothing new to Eva. With the Caseranos’ leader in prison Carmine was going to step up, and what did Carmi want more than anything? Revenge. And money and control and what did he need to achieve that? That her family stopped interfering with his business, her family’s death possibly. Her, most of all he wanted her dead. For good reason.

Kate took another deep breath. Eva was sitting so tense and still on the chair Simon could swear she was made of stone. She looked like a painting. 'We have proof Italian special forces are preparing an intervention towards your family, towards their business with prostitution and migrant smuggling to be exact, which I'm sure you are familiar with.'

The words washed over Simon like icy water. Prostitution and migrant smuggling business Eva was familiar with... Who the actual fuck was this woman...

'At the same time, violence grows in the other clan, and its effects on the populations in Naples are terrifying. We would like...'

Price interrupted the woman with a cough. She resumed, but with sorrow in her eyes.

'We are offering a bargain. Either you cooperate, you work with us in Italy and you help us by infiltrating you own family, I guess, going undercover and helping with the investigation... It would lead with a trial for your mom and uncle, and sister too, along with all the associates...'

Eva slowly shook her head, a ringing in her ear making it almost impossible to make out what Laswell was saying. You don't get it...

'...And you get to stop the Caseranos too, their control over the northern neighbourhoods has become a dictatorship, people live in fear and -'

'What's the second option?' Eva asked.

Laswell's eyebrows raised, slightly shocked at her sudden request. Simon felt rage burning up in his chest, the last residues of hope for the girl long gone. She wouldn't comply.

'There would be an investigation carried out on you, Eva.' She declared, arms crossed over her chest. 'You'd be charged with participation in transnational organised crime.'

‘Dai… resta’, another kiss, wet and hot against my neck. I do my best to wiggle out his grip, giving I’m stronger than him I am soon on my feet. He protests some more, asking me to spend the night, but I’m already pulling my shirt on my body. It really is a chore, spending time with him. I liked him before, but that was what, a year ago? Now… it's work… It takes me another 15 minutes to get fully dressed and get him out of bed. The night is calm, it's warm outside. The sky looks smooth like a soft blanket, like it's shielding me from something evil coming from the outside. Swinging my legs over the window, Genny gives me a kiss goodnight. I hate every second of it. I don't like his hands, I don't like his arms, he just got a tattoo and it looks very bad. I don't like his eyes, I know he'll look at my ass while I walk away. I don't like how he tastes cause he smokes a lot with his older brother. I don't like the sound of his voice when he says that I'm his.

I jumped out the window cause his parents can't know we're together. Nobody really knows except for my mom and uncle. It was their idea. Genny was the cool kid at my school, he's a year older than me, he's 19. I've always liked him really, he's fit and he has a cool bike. Many of us have bikes, but his just looks better. Genny's brother is called Carmine, he's much worse. He's taller, he's quite big. Everyone knows he's in the clan and he's gonna be in charge on day. Their dad is the leader of their clan. They deal with the northern part of Naples, we're not really allowed to go there, like ever. They'll kill us. By 'we' I mean me and my sister Maria.

My sister never really worked for our mom, she's a normal child, she plays tennis. She's good at school. I would loooove to be as good as her, I recently found out I quiet like reading. I read this book called Fairy Oak, about two fairy sisters. I don't really have time to read these days cause I work so much. My uncle does my homework. I can't get bad grades cause my teachers are all scared of my family. I can't fail cause I'm who I am. I know it's kinda unfair, but with all the work I do for mom, I really don't have time to study…

I started working when I was really young, I think I was 10. My uncle told me he saw me playing with bullets on the kitchen floor as a baby and he knew I would be a good fit for the family. I start at 3pm. I have a route I need to follow and people to meet. They gave me money, which I have to count and then I give them drugs. I don't know a lot about cocaine, I know you snort it and it's 50euros per bag. I have pills, I have marijuana, but only on the weekend, business is slow on weekdays. Sometimes adults try to fool me, I have a knife for when that happens. I don't like hurting people, but what can I do? I mean, I go around with this backpack full of fucking drugs and I'm not even 18, I need to make sure they respect me, and not just for who my mom is… Is it wrong i even kinda like it when they’re frightened? I like how it makes me feel, you know, their fear… It's like I'm in charge, I'm the adult, I can hurt them if I want to or if they piss me off.

Anyways…

Carmine, Genny's brother, killed my brother. It happened two years ago. I don't remember much, Maria says it's cause it was traumatic for the whole family. In a shooting, he died. But I know Carmine did it. He did it so my family wouldn't have a leader, cause he was a boy and he was gonna lead after my father's passing. So, you may ask, why are you dating the brother of the kid that killed your brother? Well. I am gathering intel, as mom says. Things didn't go as expected for the Caseranos. When my brother died they thought we didn't have a leader. My mom stepped in, she was one of the first female clan leaders. I was the next in line. When it comes to revenge, people in the mafia don't mess around. Hey, maybe it's an Italian thing, we're passionate about things, family and traditions are important for us. I was in a relationship with Carmine's brother and, by visiting where they operated, what their deals were and with who, I got intel for my mom. I knew when they left their house, when their parents weren't around. How to get in, get out, where they kept money...

I found out their mom was pregnant. I found out when she was at 2 months, I waited till she was 7. A beautiful, healthy baby mafia boy. I knew the times she usually went to church alone, their dad had business to attend. I knew which car she took. They killed my brother so we wouldn't have a leader, so the name of the Dalla Rocca would be forgotten, our legacy erased.

By the time the firefighters arrived at the scene, the bomb had already destroyed the car and set fire to the shop it was parked in front of. People were trying to get Carmine's mom out. The baby's vitals were weak when they measured them in the ambulance. During the ultrasound, they didn't find a heartbeat.

I killed Carmine's brother before he was even born.

Revenge is a dance. Is to be expected, follows you like a shadow. And for us, in the Camorra, rules don't apply, only the ones we create. The law follows our wishes. We shape justice how's more convenient to us.

Once you're in, you'll never be out. You can try and escape, run and hide, pretend it doesnt exist. It does.

And it'll find you.

notes: back from the dead with this heavy thing!!! I am again studying like crazy but the story is planned out (kinda) and it will be published. everything I say about southern italian mafia organisations is researched, I do criminology and I've studied these type of organisations and the social response/legal side of it

enjoy xx

taglist:

@random-fandom-smoothie @lucienofthelakes

@ghostlythots @sweetfemmefatal @natxpat @chavarriakeren647 @ravenmoore14 @farther-than-pleiades @internallyscreamings @hwromi @atoxicrat @cuti3maddi3 @deafeningkittenblaze @its-celeste @serene-hills @lexidoll12 @poohkie90 @lunatiquess

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[filmsmakkari]

LA Girl Magic

warren rojas x fem!reader

Summary: Warren Rojas always dreamed of Los Angeles. The clubs, the music, and the ridiculously beautiful women.

CW: Sexual-ish content but no actual smut, a little angsty at the end. As always my (Y/N) is assumed to be black and sometimes such is implied but definitely not enough that others can't read.

June 1979

Everyone always dreamed of Los Angeles. The warmth of the Californian sun, the waves crashing against the Venice shore, the palm trees lining the streets. LA was the land of opportunity. And when you wished on Los Angeles stars, it felt like they would always come true. LA was the dream. Endless sunny days, ridiculously beautiful girls, and freedom to do and be whatever you wanted.

Los Angeles was everything for a band from Pittsburgh, where the only options were the mill or the army. So when Billy Dunne asked Warren Rojas about the possibility, Warren immediately went out and bought a van so the band would be ready to make the drive. It more or less cost him everything he had. It was crazy, but he somehow trusted it.

And boy, he couldn't have been more right.

It didn't come immediately. Weeks of phone calls that lead to nowhere. Finally meeting Teddy Price, and then being put through the wringer by him for months, a canceled tour, and being so dirt poor that he had to steal toast from restaurants. Enter Daisy Jones. Look At Us Now comes out. Sold out shows, gold records, and more drugs and women tearing at his pants than he could have ever dreamed of when he was just some skinny, curly-haired kid in Pennsylvania. The Six were living the California dream. He always said Daisy had "LA girl magic." He even tried to get Billy to write a song about it. 

It was July 1st, 1979, the LA date of the Aurora tour. For Daisy, it was the hometown show, but she had always said she didn't have anyone in LA, no parents or extended family in the whole city. So everyone in the band was surprised when she said she'd have a childhood friend coming for the show. The shock became even greater when Daisy walked into the green room laughing and smiling with (Y/N) (L/N). 

(Y/N L/N) was the "it girl" before that term was coined. A gorgeous Hollywood starlet. An Oscar winner at ten, a Vogue cover at 15,  a sold out world tour at 20, and a star on the Walk of Fame by 21. She was currently working on her sophomore album, and the world was waiting to see how she'd elevate herself further. But in the meantime, she was staying on the public's minds with her new Chanel film being aired on every TV in America, in which she played a songbird stuck in a cage next to a bottle of Coco Mademoiselle. (Y/N) had the talent that made her the critic's darling and the incredible beauty that made her desired and hated.

Warren's breath caught when he looked at her.  (Y/N)'s hair, dark like a raven's wing,  tumbled down her back in long curls. She wore a pale blue Halston jumpsuit that made her skin shimmer, and diamond jewelry added to the effect. And her eyes… oh God, those brown eyes. Warren would bet that she'd be able to finish him with just her eyes.

His cheeks slightly heated up at his thoughts as he watched her introduce herself to the band members. She approached him last, wrapping her arms around his neck, saying, "Hey, it's so nice to meet you! I'm (Y/N)."

Warren stuttered slightly, removing his hands from her waist and looking into her eyes. "I-I know."

(Y/N) chuckled. "And are you gonna tell me your name, drummer?"

"Warren!" he rushed out embarrassingly quickly. "I'm Warren Rojas."

(Y/N) smiled. "Well, it's a pleasure to meet you Warren." 

Warren loved the way his name sounded on her tongue. He wanted her to say it over and over again.  He wondered what it'd be like to hear her scream it. 

These thoughts remained on his mind as he played as hard as he could that night, knowing she was watching and wanting her to feel every beat. Warren knew that people usually didn't pay attention to the rhythm section during concerts, too interested in the lead guitar or frontman to notice the lonesome drummer in the back, but just knowing there was a chance that (Y/N) was watching him, Warren played that drumline like it was his last night on earth.

Teddy was waiting as they all walked backstage, giving the usual pats on the shoulder and congratulations. 

"Hey, Rojas," Teddy called as Warren cracked open a beer. That is the kind of performance I expect from the best drummer in rock' n roll!" Warren had never received such high praise from Teddy, and the compliment made him swell with pride.

"Hey, call it the LA girl magic," Warren said with a shrug and a smile.

Teddy furrowed his brow, "I have no idea what you're talking about, son, but if that's what made you play like that, I need you to use it every night." 

˖°🌊🎐𓇼⋆🦪₊

The afterparties in the bus were always wild, but tonight was different. The Six had just played one of their best shows of the tour, so they decided to rent out some random bar on Sunset to celebrate specially. Beautiful bodies of men and women were swaying to the sensual rhythms and blues blaring from the boombox, and there were pills and powders sprawled across the tables that could only be found on the dirtiest streets of the City of Angels. This night was on fire. 

Now, on a normal night, Warren probably would have grabbed a blonde with nice tits and a brunette with nice legs and taken them anywhere with a working lock on the door, but on this particular night, even the tightest skirts wrapped around girls just begging him to lift them around their waists and bury his face in between their thighs weren't the slightest bit tempting to him. Instead, all his attention was on a certain LA girl with dark features and the voice of an angel. 

(Y/N) and Daisy were currently standing on a table, swaying their hips in a way that could only come naturally to girls who were stumbling out of clubs like these in tight dresses and runny makeup when they were 14. All of the men stared at them hungrily. All the girls tried to emulate their movements. But none could mimic the harmonies they sang over the random guitar melody playing. Their voices were enough to bring the roof down. 

Warren was in fucking awe.

He'd gotten used to Daisy's voice. The power in it, the way she sang from deep in her belly and sounded like her voice was traveling over rocks to produce the sound. Daisy's voice was the pure essence of rock n roll.

But (Y/N)? Her voice was hauntingly beautiful. And in the teal shimmery dress she's changed into for the after party, with slits on either side, she looked like she'd come from the depths of the sea to lure men in with her siren call. Her voice was alluring but dangerous. It pierced its way through Warren's heart, and in that moment, he would've done anything she asked him to. 

"Huh," he breathed out. "LA magic."

"What was that, love?" asked the red-haired girl who'd taken it upon herself to wrap her arms around his neck and move her body against his. 

"Excuse me," said Warren, shoving her off and walking towards (Y/N). A sailor drawn to a siren, he approached the table and called her name.

(Y/N)' s eyes widened happily when she saw him. "Warren!!" She climbed down from the table and wrapped him in a tight hug. "You did so well tonight, congratulations! The drumline in "Let Me Down Easy" made the entire number- no one could have played it better!" she yelled over the loud music.

Warren exhaled and smiled. "It's just nice to know someone's listening." 

(Y/N) let out a giggle, folding her lips before turning back to the table. "Daisy-jay!" she yelled at her friend. Daisy had already found another way to occupy herself, playing some sort of game involving vodka and a chocolate bunny. "Yeah, (Y/N/N)?"

"I'll be right back! Save me a shot!" (Y/N) yelled before grabbing Warren by the wrist and dragging him outside the club. 

The pair heard Daisy yell out ",Hey! Don't have too much fun you two!"

(Y/N) exhaled a deep breath, taking a few steps forward and staring up at the sky. "It's a full moon tonight, Warren."

Warren stood beside her. "Yeah, no stars though."

They looked back at each other, brown eyes meeting brown eyes in a warm dance. 

"There are never stars here," (Y/N) said with a smile. "Something called light pollution, I think. From all the city lights everywhere."

"I love the city lights. Seeing them reminds me that we made it. That we're really here." Warren closed his eyes for a moment. "But some nights I miss the stars. Back in Pitt, I could always see hundreds of stars from my window. Started chartin' em like I was part of Apollo 11 or something," he said shyly, letting out a dry chuckle.

"That's amazing, Warren." (Y/N) smiled at him so beautifully and kindly. He knew she meant it.

"I didn't know you were from Pittsburgh," she said.

"Mmhm. Been friends with all the guys since I was a kid. But I was actually born in Botogá. Shot over to the U.S. when I was three."

"Colombia?" 

Warren nodded with a smile.

(Y/N) hummed. "I guess now's a good time to mention that I've always had a thing for foreign men. Only guys I usually like more are drummers in rock bands," she said nonchalantly, looking back at the moon.

Meanwhile, Warren felt like his heart was in his fucking ass.

He swallowed nervously. "W-well I have a thing for Hollywood girls."

"Oh, really?" she said casually. 

"Yeah," Warren said, building up his confidence. "'S part of why I chose to move here. I knew that even if the music thing worked out, I'd still be able to find a girl from the city of angels to take me to heaven." Warren pushed a stray curl behind her ear, and for the first time in the whole night, (Y/N) was the nervous one.

Warren felt the change in dynamic immediately and decided to take a risk.  He leaned in,  searching (Y/N) 's eyes for any sign of rejection. When he saw none, he closed the gap between them, seizing her lips with his in a passionate kiss. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling the tall man downwards. He grabbed her by her waist, exposed by the slit in her dress, pulling her closer. (Y/N) let out a small moan at the feeling of his touch on her skin, and Warren took the opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth, increasing the wetness accumulating between her legs.

The pair finally pulled away for air, staring deep into each other's eyes silently. 

"Do you want to see heaven, Rojas?" (Y/N) asked breathily. 

Warren's lips were swollen, and his pupils were dilated as he spoke, "I'll follow wherever you go, angel." 

(Y/N) caught his lips in a quick kiss before walking over to the phone booth and calling the taxi company. She'd never felt so much embarrassment as when she had to stifle her moans on the phone with the operator as Warren had followed her into the booth and began kissing and sucking up her arm to her shoulder and neck. Once he quickly figured out her weak spot was in between her jawline and her neck, he just continued on with the spot as if he was a starving man and her skin was his last meal. That, along with his large hands traveling up and down her body, almost caused (Y/N) to drop the phone, tear off her clothes, and sit on his lap on the dirty street corner. 

When the taxi finally arrived, (Y/N) 's embarrassment only grew as Warren pulled her to practically straddle him and stuck his tongue down her throat. She could feel the discomfort radiating from the driver. But when he started playing with her panties… well, then she said to hell with embarrassment.

It felt like they'd been in the taxi for an eternity when they finally arrived at the large house in Baldwin Hills. The lovers stumbled through the large door, fumbling with each other's clothes and sharing messy, maddening kisses as they fell on the couch. (Y/N) sat atop Warren, staring deep into his eyes. The feeling of his hands on her waist was making her feel crazy. 

"I want you inside me, Warren."

She didn't need to tell him twice.

˖°🌊🎐𓇼⋆🦪₊

January 2000

"At some point that night, I had every part of me in that woman," Warren reminisced with a chuckle. "Shit felt like joining the swim team. Shit, sorry Jules." Warren Rojas had aged handsomely. His once sleek black curly hair had grayed, and he'd developed wrinkles around his eyes. His hands were now rough and calloused from years of being a successful rock drummer who achieved many accolades before being inducted into the Rock n Roll Hall of  Fame and retiring. He was the perfect picture of a had-been rockstar, a man now in his forties, tanned from days spent sitting out on his rusty old boat in the Marina. Some people might have pitied him, but he was content. 

"I forgot who I'm talking to. I'd appreciate it if you didn't keep that part in. I think Nina would die if she had to hear about her old man like that." 

Julia, now a woman grown and the spitting image of her mother with long, straight black hair and a camera at hand, was a far cry from the child Warren had known all those years ago. 

"Hard for me too, to tell you the truth," she said with a slightly awkward laugh. "So then what happened?"

"Well I think you know, kiddo. Love. War. Band called it quits." 

"With her, I mean."

Warren tensed up a bit. "Well, I loved her. Spent eight years with her, so I think he might've loved me too," he said with a smirk. "But we wanted different things, in the end. I wanted to slow down for a bit. Buy this boat, maybe have a few kids. I wanted success in the music world, but I wanted a wife and kids to share it with. She wanted to keep going. Being an "EGOT" at 24 wasn't enough, she wanted more. I've  always loved her for that. She has so much hunger for life. She wants to live. She nearly gave it all up to settle with me, but I loved her too much to block her dreams. And I loved her enough to let her go. Met Lisa back in '89, had Nina in '94. I'm happy with my life now. I feel like everyone thinks I'm this miserable, washed up drummer, but I'm happy with the life I built for myself."

"Do you still love (Y/N)?" asked Julia.

Warren smiled a sad smile and looked at his lap. "... I'll always love that girl. I see her in everything. I watch her life in pictures now. Hear her voice on the radio. You'll probably have to cut this out too… cause of Lisa, of course… but uh…"the man trailed off, and a haze fell over his eyes as if he was seeing flashes of the past.

"You know something? That night when I first met her, after… after we finished," he shot Julia a look, "I got up to get her a cup of water, and when I looked out of her kitchen window, I saw a shooting star. I'd barely seen two stars in my time spent in the city at that point. We'd just fuckin talked about it! But after that night with her? There one was, shooting across the sky."

Warren chuckled and shook his head. "Goddamn LA Girl Magic."

[firespirited]

Treated myself after a medical setback: Barbie Extra Fly "June" who's currently half price on amazonFR for 18€ shipped which usually means some kind of leftover batch with some kind of flaw:

Sure enough her lower arm fell off as soon as I gently removed her from the packaging, a moulding error. That choppy beachy grown out hair-style needed a trim, the saran is slightly textured rosewood and dark brown. The paint is well aligned, screening is not UV dotting and dotting barely visible. The usual matte vs shiny mess on the legs.

She's also got some kind of residue on her face that won't come off with alcohol, I'm going to try soap next. It could be mould release or maybe some kind of hair product (?)

As usual the 'extras' and clothing aren't that interesting but I undid the ruffled sides of her beach wrap to allow a lot more space to turn it into a wrap dress.

The neon palm tree earrings are arrow headed and need cutting from the inside of her head.

She's one of the prettiest Junes they've made so far.

bonus picture: both dogs had to try the delivery box

[brickcentral]

Review: 71456 Mrs.Castillo's Turtle Van

Welcome to Dream Crafting Van, the place where you can craft your own dreams and ride your way through the world of endless imagination.

Ever since the official reveal of the LEGO DreamZzz line, this set was the one that caught my eye, and I fell in love with. There's something about this retro-looking van itself, its pastel colors and Mrs.Castillo's minifigure that makes it so nice and different.

Building was fun. The book with instructions is colorful, features art illustrations and tells a story that leads you through the building.

The set can be built in 3 different ways: just the van, build it as a turtle with a fun party mode on, with a cat-cactus, palm tree and a chest, or make it into a flying turtle submarine with a periscope and “fire” in the back.

Tortuga's Dream Craft shop is a very fun place where Mrs.Castillo mixes different items and ingredients. There are two chalkboards that show the Dream Craft items and builds. They add something extraordinary to the set. But there's no printed tiles, it's all stickers.

The minifigures are very colorful and detailed, they are: Mrs. Castillo, Mateo and Zoey. There are also 2 new figures: Z-Blob and a Grimspawn. All of them are very fun to photograph and play with. Especially if you have watched the DreamZzz episodes.

Mrs. Castillo's minifigure may look odd, but she is perfect as it is. The white hair, the print on her dress, the look of her face, they all match up perfectly and show us her personality as she is a wise and a warm hearted woman.

The hourglass is the main tool in the Dream World. It is used for Dream Crafting, but you have to be careful– the sand inside isn’t endless. You can see it even on the front of the van as an emblem.

It's a really fun set, which is both great for display and play. It has a lot of characters involved.

I would give this set a score of 9/10.

It has been released on August 1st and it's price is $47.99 and 47.99€

LEGO sent the set, but all the opinions here are my own.

Here's how I came up with the idea of the pictures:

I wanted to represent the colorful part of the Dream World, so I decided to use hard morning sunlight.

I put a piece of cardboard next to my window. On top of it, there’s a layer of artificial grass. Next, there’s a blue cardboard as a background and some props. I used barbeque skewers, wire, and Uhu Patafix to attach the objects to the wooden sticks. These sticks are pretty good to make things stable.

For one of the pictures I used a little tripod to place the turtle van on top to make it look like it’s flying. Then some editing, I had to remove the props and make the magic look real.

Find out more on the blog

Hope you enjoyed reading the review 🙂

@toy-story-yana , Community Engagement Mod

[arotechno]

O. basilicum, part v

This is the secret about grief: somewhere between the ages of ten and thirteen, Basil stopped thinking very often of his parents, or of Ace, or of Swallow’s Point. It wasn’t that he didn’t miss them—but it was a longing for a home that did not exist any longer. It ached, deep within the open well of his chest, but only in the way that his knee still seized up on him from time to time, never to truly heal.

He still didn’t know what had become of his parents. The price you paid for harboring a Heartless child was said to be a steep one. Do not speak of it, they’d told him. You’ll bring death upon this house.

Don’t speak of it. That was how it always was, wasn’t it? You can live as you are, just live it in silence. You’re still human, just defective. Hide who you are. Know your place. Keep quiet, and never speak the truth aloud. You’ll ruin us all.

A sharp snap pulled Basil out of his thoughts, and he looked down at his hand to find that he’d crushed the beans he’d been shelling in his fist. Damn. He hadn’t realized he’d been gripping them so hard.

Basil pushed the anger and frustration down, way down. He didn’t know if his parents had heard tales of the curse that had been said to plague him, or if they’d have sent him away if they did. It wasn’t something they ever discussed. Basil never even told them about Ace—one’s own child was a different story, but someone else’s child whom they had no real reason to protect? Well, there was no telling what they would do.

It was better not to know. It was better to assume they were as good as dead rather than ask questions, like why they’d never come looking for him. Better not to face the possibility of rejection. Better to let ghosts continue to be ghosts, haunt him always as they may.

Basil returned to shelling beans. Looking around the garden, it seemed no one had noticed his minor episode.

This was the other secret about grief: it never actually got any smaller. You simply had to grow around it, like a meadow around a line of sharp brambles. Eventually, it didn’t seem like the only part of you anymore. It became easier to ignore, and most days, that was just fine. But touching it was just as painful, even still.

Frida said Basil was growing like a weed. Dusty always disputed this, saying that she should choose something more respectable, like a poplar tree or the humble spinach, but Basil didn’t mind the comparison. Wildflowers were like weeds, after all—hardy little things, growing where they may not be wanted, but beautiful all the same.

Basil grew up around the pain, sprouting like summer grass and digging his roots into Verdigris’ fertile soil. After three years, the vestiges of his old life were likely lost forever, but no amount of hurting was going to change that.

A shadow loomed over Basil. He looked up from his work and saw Dusty standing over him with a tin cup of water outstretched in one hand, the other clutching a pair of dirty gloves.

“Break time,” they said.

“I’m not done shelling.”

“Don’t care. Drink.”

Begrudgingly, Basil accepted the cup and took a sip. The water was still cool, having been kept in a canteen in the shade all afternoon. The weather was growing cooler and the days shorter, but the sun was still warm most days.

Dusty settled down in the dirt beside Basil with a grunt, leaning back against a fencepost. They removed their sunhat and let their long hair spill out, then dropped the hat onto Basil’s head.

“I don’t need to rest,” Basil said.

“Maybe I do, and wanted company. Besides—” Dusty gave him a side-eye “—you were shelling aggressively, and you usually have steadier hands than that. That’s why I asked you for help in the first place.”

Basil sighed, staring at his hands in his lap. His fingernails were caked with grime, dirt smeared across his palms. He clenched them tightly, then released them, feeling the anger wash through and away from him like a hot breeze.

“I’m alright,” Basil said. “It was just… I got upset for a moment, but it passed.”

Dusty just hummed and reached for Basil’s unfinished basket of beans. So much for needing a break.

Basil often came to help Dusty or the others with the community garden. Dusty had a passion and a knack for gardening, and the arrangement gave them someone to share that knowledge with and Basil something to keep himself and his fidgeting hands occupied. Plus, it got him out from under Frida’s feet for the day. It was a win-win situation.

“You’re allowed to be upset,” they eventually said, tossing a shell aside. They worked much faster than Basil had. “You’re a traumatized thirteen-year-old. Who is telling you not to be upset?”

“Me,” Basil said without thinking.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to be angry. I don’t like the way it feels. It feels like someone else is controlling me, and I can’t stop it.”

Basil sank back into the quiet of the garden. There were only a few others milling about, mostly down by the far gate, but the admission made it feel as if the whole town were watching. The setting sun cast the sky a dusty pink to match the blush rising on Basil’s cheeks.

“Basil,” Dusty said, “you just have to accept that this is who you are.”

“What if it’s not?” Basil looked up at them pleadingly. “What if I don’t want it to be?”

“Then you can change, if you try. But shoving it all down inside of you isn’t going to help.”

“Did you do it? Change, I mean.”

Dusty laughed. “Kid, I’m changing all the time. I left my family behind years and years ago, because I could only stay with them if I denied and hid everything about who I was. It was hard, and it isn’t fair that I had to burn my whole life down to build one I was happy with. But it happened. And I don’t regret it. I regret that life is unfair. I definitely regret that somebody ever tried to hurt you for being who you are. But I’m becoming who I want to be more and more every single day, and that I don’t regret one little bit.”

Pensive, Basil clutched at the hem of his sweater, uncaring of the dirt. “I know who I am,” he said softly, more to himself and to the plants than to Dusty. “I’m Heartless, and there’s nothing wrong with me.”

“No way! Me too!”

Basil scowled. “Dusty, I’m being serious!”

“Well, have you ever given a really good shout about it?”

“What?”

“Now, it’s my turn to be serious.” Dusty grinned, nudging him with their elbow. “Go on, let it out. Nobody will care. I promise you’ll feel better, I do it all the time.”

There was a chance it was a prank. But Dusty wasn’t the type to embarrass Basil like that—at least not when he was already upset. So Basil shut his eyes, took a deep breath, and let it all flow out of him like water in a stream.

“I’m Heartless,” he shouted, “and there’s nothing wrong with me!”

“Atta boy, Basil,” Dusty cheered. “Again, louder!”

Basil staggered to his feet and leaned out over the garden fence, shouting into the day’s dying light over the hillside.

“I’m Heartless, and there’s nothing wrong with me! I know who I am, and no one can hurt me!”

Once he started, Basil found he couldn’t stop. At his side, Dusty had also gotten to their feet and was whooping and hollering along with him.

“They tried to get rid of me,” Basil continued, “but I don’t care! I know who I am and I won’t let them stop me. I’m going to be happy. I’m going to get better! And I’m going to do it on purpose!”

Basil cut himself off and opened his eyes, panting. He felt lighter, but raw, like those spiny brambles had snaked their way out of his ribcage through his mouth. Down at the other end of the garden, a few looked on amusedly, while others cheered him on in return.

“There we go,” Dusty said. “Feel better?”

Basil stood quietly for a moment, looking out beyond the garden’s edge at the setting sun. Then, his face split into a grin, and he nodded. It didn’t feel like a revelation. More like a reaffirmation of what he already knew, a moment of striking clarity that although the anger and sorrow of grief would creep up on him from time to time, he did not have to be defined by it.

The past was in the past. He could let it stay there, even if he would never truly be free of it.

On his way home that evening, Basil stopped by Hank’s door. When the man opened up, Basil asked, without greeting, “Do you remember when you first took me to the Ridge, and you said you would take me anywhere I asked? Back to my hometown, if I wanted?”

Hank blinked at him for a few moments, and then chuckled.

“Yes, I remember. Why?”

“Well, I’m not going back. I don’t want to leave Verdigris. I’m staying.”

Hank cocked his head. “I’m happy to hear it, kid, but I thought that was pretty much clear already, seeing as you’ve settled yourself in here so well after three years now.”

“I know,” Basil said simply, before turning on his heel and marching himself home, cane in hand, leaving Hank to scratch at the top of his head in bewilderment before chuckling to himself and going back inside.

[hello-there-world]

So: here’s the full village and pillage overhaul project.

Number one: fix the entities and make them better.

Iron golem -> copper automaton, a mechanical being with one arm designed specifically to fight, while the other arm allows it to interact with the village people.

Snow golem -> snowman

Make the illagers and villagers different, remove the noses, and do some other appearance things (give them arms!)

Illagers/pillagers(why are there two names?) will have been changed by the magic they use, though not necessarily in a bad way.

Same as above with witches.

Ravages are much more clearly just war mounts.

Number two: structures

Make the villages more visually interesting with better buildings and paths, always considering available resources.

Make pillager outposts more varied.

Number three: new blocks!

Add greased paper, translucent hide, and horn windows—some of these villages don’t really have access to enough sand for proper glass.

Possibly add a new profession of beekeeper?

Add palm trees, which spawn around water in deserts. Then, add those to desert villages and pillager outposts.

Number four: the more complicated stuff.

Change “trading” with villagers to a non-set economy basis. Figure out how to add multiple trade options for things.

If you’re wondering what I mean, I mean that there’s going to be a far more trade-like system. For example, your enchanted book could be worth some glass bottles and a book, some water bottles and a book, some blaze powder and a book, etc.

Possibly make it so villager trading halls need to give each villager space to move and sleep? Ie, have them raise prices if they’re unable to wander or sleep.

Fix villager pathing, if possible.

[whisperthatruns]

The Long Labors

My grandmother said it was going to be long—as long as you can hold your lineage—depending on how long you can hold your tongue—as long as your tongue can wrap around the pit—of some stolen stone fruit—as long as you can hide your pitter-patter face—glued in sun-split splinters—lengthening shadows as long as your face—longing to be mirrored back—back to your daughter your mother your grandmother—freckle by freckle—furnished forever across—the long loaming haul—                     Collapsed in a pool of spit—my mouth over papers—raccoon doctorate—luxurious loser with thin branch fingers—no meat in the palm—no muscle in the bending—the farmer in me is atrophying—the cook the factory seamstress the clerk the mother in me is pooling out—all that I come from—all that I owe to them—what is left of me—what is—me: professorial rat—book-leavened and maddened in meetings—chewing at my desk on a frozen anything—microwave spun and splattered on lessons—wondering who packaged this—who spooned this glacial sauce into this plastic hull—whose hands whose daughter does she look like me does she like dancing in the gloaming—funneled into my greedy mouth—I: daughter of long labors—I: knock-off half-price guilt—I: impossible imposter big words big words—trying to prove what—and to whom—I wait to be seated at a restaurant—a white person enters and orders from me—“I want sweet and sour chicken but without bell peppers and brown rice”—and I almost take it down—                     In the twelfth hour of night-shift overtime—my mother gobbles the air of the facility—mouth opening a cavern or a bowhead whale or a sinkhole—gobbling up its oxygen its nitrogen its argon its skin its hair dust its swirling smog—collecting time collecting benefits—her eyes so baggy they carry a leaking pack of chicken breasts—she had planned to cook tonight for us—but look at the break room clock she is out of time and now—they will surely go bad—what a waste at $1.50 a pound—she returns to her station rubs tiger balm and lavender oil along her wrists and hands—chews dried ginger to keep awake—the root of herself sharpening salivating—reapplies pink lipstick swivels the tube upward—rituals of resilience—feeds letters to machines churning intestinal noise—electricity bills and love letters and baby photos and magazines ladies who lunch will take to the salon and credit card limited-time offers and reminders from the dentist and supermarket weeklies and postcards from Oahu—“you wouldn’t believe how blue the water how restful how peaceful bring the whole family next time”—ginger chew ginger chew—                     Who made this for you—do you know the song that reminds them of home—do you know to play the radio as loud as you can and roll down the windows and smack your cheeks ten times in order to stay awake for the drive—do you know who sewed on this button—do you know the murmuring leg ache from standing all day a tree for whom—do you know who processed the letter you received today—fed it into a machine with paper cuts as wide as a river you could float in—do you know how long you can hold your urine until your 15-minute break—the roiling pressure in the abdomen the tick-tap of the feet the hands—how much to tip the gas station attendant in Jersey how the smell sticks behind both earlobes—the temperature when flipping a wok the oil burns the white paper hat measuring salt at the brim—how your impatient face resembles a slowly rotting peach—worms in the snarl—do you know the name of  your fishmonger the name of  my uncle—the times he snuck in a call to say he will be late picking up his daughter fish scales glittered to his elbows like opera gloves—do you know cuticles peeling white like flecks of cod after washing dishes—do you know the smell of nail polish remover stinging bees in your nostrils—do you know the back—how the back curls how the back bridges how the back puckers and crunches—like packed snow no one else but you will shovel out—I look up how labor is used in a sentence—“the obvious labor”—“immigrants provided a source of cheap labor”—“negotiations between labor and management”—“wants the vote of labor in the elections”—“the flood destroyed the labor of years”—“industry needs labor for production”—anthropocene capitalism gentrification—what do these words mean—and to whom—helping my mother over the sink—I snip the ends of long beans 豆角 with kitchen shears—the ends rolling away—green lizard tails—I cut away each word like a long bean—gentrificat—gentrif—gen—ge—g—glugging the g—down the drain—                     If only lying on a beach—limbs loosened like an old garden hose—if only watching the movements of our stomachs—rising and falling like baby jellyfish—our thighs waxing and waning—in bristle-rough sand if only—reading a book the pages—wrinkled and curled like a snail shell—from falling asleep against our faces—if only devouring a cloud—full of no rain no metallic muscle if—only softness if only we—went off in the softness—into the downy relaxing abyss—what is this word—vacation—my grandmother asks me chili hitting the wok like delicious dying stars—                     My grandmother said it was going to be long—going out the door always late for work—shirt inside out—said go on and bounce a howling baby (my mother/me/et al)—while skimming oxtail broth—the fat sheen of look how well we eat in this country—lest you forget it was worth it—lest you forget—the dilation of the cervix going the contractions going the grip the placenta the shit the vernix the garbled life going the soft flashlight eyes the milk the teeth the nails the hand on heart the soup coagulating on the stove—you must go—for what gleams in the dark turns to look at you—remember this—                     The work and the afterwork and the work of being perceived as not doing enough work though you are working well over enough—will this ever be enough—when is enough enough—the chorus now: not until the knots of fat—melt in this wok—not until you have nothing left but this suet—this smear of high-heat lineage—gleaming in the gloaming—and it is yours and it is mine and it is your dream daughter’s and it will last longer than you will ever believe—believe us—

Jane Wong, How to Not Be Afraid of Everything (Alice James Books, 2021)

[bloggersport0]

HURRICANE SEASON IS HERE BE PREPARED… CONSULT WITH A CERTIFIED ARBORIST

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Whether you need tree trimming or tree removal call us today at 772-569-4436 (tel:17725694436), 772-231-6591 (tel:17722316591) or 772-589-0043 (tel:17725890043) for your free on site estimate from one of our four ISA Certified Arborists. We offer a broad spectrum of tree services ranging from the care of palms, oaks, pines, mangroves and many other native and exotic species to tree risk assessment. We are licensed & insured and look forward to working with you in the future!

[treeremovalpensacola]

Mariani Premier Group expands with addition of Back to Nature Home & Garden

If you're in the Pensacola area, then you have probably already experienced the need for having to remove a tree or stump or getting your tree's trimmed. The cost of tree removal varies depending on a few factors, such as: - The type of tree that needs to be removed - The size of the tree - The location of the tree - The condition of the tree Pensacola Tree Removal offers competitive pricing for our tree removal services. For a full list of services Tree removal services visit Pensacola Tree Removal Service for a fast, friendly and reliable quote that you can count on. This will help not only beautify your property but also is the safest way to do it. The Mariani Premier Group (MPG) announced the addition of Back to Nature Home & Garden, a design/build landscape architecture firm based in New Jersey that has completed projects throughout the greater New York Metro area including parts of New Jersey, Connecticut and Pennsylvania. This move will grow MPG’s growing portfolio of landscaping companies across the U.S. Founded in 1994 by Anthony and Maria Sblendorio and headquartered in Basking Ridge, N.J., Back to Nature Home & Garden has combined experiential client service with a commitment to ecological and agricultural inspiration. Back to Nature brings over 30 years of expertise to the Mariani family. “On behalf of the entire MPG team, I am thrilled to welcome Back to Nature Home & Garden into our family,” said Bryan Christiansen, CEO of Mariani Premier Group. “Their dedication to sustainable landscaping, exceptional client service, and innovative garden center experiences aligns perfectly with our mission to deliver unparalleled quality and value to clients across all of our markets.” “We are thrilled to be joining the Mariani Premier Group. One of the many commonalities we share with our colleagues at Mariani is that we treat our team like family and their well-being is paramount to our success. We are inspired by the vision for the Mariani Premier Group and look forward to all of the ways we will benefit and share insights in this new partnership. In addition, we are excited to announce that Evan Ralph will take on the role of Co-President along with me as we start this next phase of our journey. His leadership, dedication and creativity have helped Back to Nature tremendously over the last 10 years.” said Anthony Sblendorio, founder and co-president of Back to Nature. Back to Nature Home & Garden joins a roster of 21 companies in the MPG portfolio, including: Desert Foothills Landscape (DFL), Phoenix, Ariz. Drost Landscape – Petoskey, Mich. Berghoff Design Group/BDG Maintenance – Phoenix, Ariz. Blue Landscape Contracting Group – and Blue Outdoor Solutions – Naples, Fla. Borst Landscape & Design – Bergen County, N.J. Botanica Landscaping and Garden Industries Palm Beach, Fla.\ Designs By Sundown – Littleton, Colo. Ed Castro Landscape – Roswell, Ga. Galbraith Grounds Management (GGM) – Atlanta, Ga. Glengate – Wilton, Connecticut Hoffman Landscapes – Wilton, Conn. Lifescape Colorado – Denver, Colo. Mariani Landscape – Lake Bluff, Ill. NatureWorks Landscape Services – Walpole, Mass. Planted Earth – Sykesville, Md. Rocco Fiore & Sons – Libertyville, Ill. Rocky Mountain Custom Landscapes – Denver, Vail, Roaring Fork, Colo. R.P. Marzilli & Company – Medway, Mass. Siciliano Landscape Company – Red Bank, N.J. Southview Design – St. Paul, Minn. Woodlawns Landscape Company – Mundelein, Ill. The post Mariani Premier Group expands with addition of Back to Nature Home & Garden first appeared on Landscape Management.

[swimmingcleaner]

Why Kali Mirch Powder and Palm Candy Are Must-Haves Ingredients in Health as Well as Taste

These days, more people want to introduce into their daily diet natural ingredients that not only add flavor but also offer health benefits. Among such ingredients are Kali Mirch powder, or black pepper powder, and Palm Candy, both of which stand out for their versatility, taste, and impressive health-promoting qualities. This article will explore the benefits of using these two traditional ingredients in your everyday meals, as well as how affordable they are, making them accessible to all.

Versatility and Health Benefits of Kali Mirch Powder Kali mirch powder, or black pepper powder is among the most widely used spices globally. It has a sharp flavor and a hint of spiciness, yet it makes an inevitable appearance in all kitchens from dingy home kitchen setups to magnificent fine dining restaurants. However, while such flavor is undeniable, the health benefits associated with Kali mirch are just as convincing.

The active ingredient in Kali Mirch powder Price is piperine, which is what makes black pepper spicy. Piperine gives pepper its notable spice level, but besides just adding some spice to your dishes, it also boasts other medicinal properties. For instance, it has ant oxidant and anti-inflammatory properties, thereby protecting the body from diseases brought by harmful free radicals and inflammation. Regular use of Kali Mirch in cooking may boost your overall immunity against common illnesses.

This spice is also very beneficial in terms of digestive benefits. Kali Mirch goes a long way to increase production of hydrochloric acid in the stomach, which helps break down food and absorb nutrients better. It can also help reduce discomfort in digestion, such as bloating or indigestion, making it great for people who experience stomach issues at times.

Among digestion, Kali Mirch powder is also recognized to boost metabolism. It accelerates the burning of fats in the body, making it an excellent supplement for weight loss plans. Sprinkle it on salads, soups, meats – Kali Mirch is a simple yet powerful spice that would soothe overall health.

Palm Candy: The Natural Sweetener You Didn't Know You Needed Also known as "palm jaggery" or "palm sugar," Palm Candy is traditionally a sweetener from the sap of palm trees. In contrast to refined sugar, which removes most nutrients through its refining process, Palm Candy retains natural minerals and vitamins, therefore, much healthier.

Palm Candy is rich in vital minerals like iron, magnesium, potassium, and calcium; therefore, it does have a lot of health benefits from which the pure sugar has no match. Its content of iron makes it suitable for hemoglobin boosters and fighting against iron deficiency anemia, helpful to women and children. It is beneficial for heart because the magnesium in Palm Candy is good for muscle and bone building, and the potassium is used for regulating blood pressure.

Palm Candy is also a natural detox. In folk medicine, it has been applied to purify the blood, cleanse the liver, and detoxify the body in general. It can also be used to ease sore throats and assuage coughs; it is one of the principal elements found in home remedies for colds and flu.

The key reason why Palm Candy has a low glycemic index is that it is less processed than regular sugar, which allows it to cause a slower increase in blood sugar levels. For people managing diabetes or simply those who want to cut down on sugar intake but still enjoy sweet treats, this is a healthier alternative.

Why Kali Mirch Powder and Palm Candy are Steals at this Price Despite their numerous health benefits and culinary versatility, both Kali Mirch powder and Palm Candy are available at highly affordable prices, especially when you purchase from reputable sources like Mytikachi. With Kali Mirch powder being a kitchen essential, it is important to find a high-quality product that fits your budget. Fortunately, the Kali Mirch powder price remains affordable, even for top-grade, freshly ground varieties.

Palm Candy is not only affordable compared to other sweeteners but also has more nutritional benefits. Palm Candy is generally cheaper than many artificial sweeteners or highly processed sugars, making it a very good value if the consumer is willing to have this all-natural and healthier sweetness. Palm Candy can be used in teas, desserts, and savory dishes for its taste and nutritional content at a great value.

Why choose Mytikachi for spices and sweeteners? We are committed to making the best, all-natural products -Kali Mirch powder and Palm Candy, among many others-at the most affordable prices, at Mytikachi. We assure you of our handpicked range of excellent quality through thorough and trusted suppliers. Shop with us today, and you can rest assured you are getting the best for your health and cooking needs while being within budget limits.

Whether a professional chef or home cook, Kali Mirch powder and Palm Candy should be staples in every kitchen. They not only give flavor to your dishes but also contribute to your general well-being. As if they were inexpensive enough, you can't use any reason not to have these traditional ingredients as part of your daily diet.

Conclusion Both Kali Mirch powder and Palm Candy give a combination of flavor and benefits relating to health, which makes them priceless for any kitchen. Starting from helping with the digestion process and metabolic system due to Kali Mirch powder, up to having nutritionally-balanced, low-glycemic sugar Palm Candy, these ingredients show that everything in nature can indeed have a tasty version as well as a beneficial one. And with their competitive pricing, they are accessible to everyone looking to make healthier choices without breaking the bank. Explore Mytikachi’s selection of Kali Mirch powder Price and Palm Candy today and start cooking with the goodness of these age-old, health-boosting ingredients!