#soil blends

[littleplantfreak]

I talk alot about which characters I wanna kiss and do extremely salacious things to but Suo would be my best friend no gaddam lie we'd have matching best bitches necklaces that make a full heart if you put them together.

[unofficialbabayaga]

it’s not a bad one at all bc i was literally in direct sunlight for MAYBE a total of 10 minutes yesterday but i DID get sunburnt and it’s so embarrassing. i’m the palest person on the planet, my skin has no recourse against the sun, and now my face and neck and arms are kind of pink and hot and irritated because I went for a walk with some family yesterday, almost entirely in the shade.

[intertexts]

gmmm!!!!

[meadowacres]

Premium Triple Mix Soil for Sale in Kitchener & Toronto | Meadow Acres

Shop enriched screened triple mix soil for container gardens and landscaping projects. Perfect for gardens in Kitchener, Ontario, and Toronto. Order premium soil now!

[msb-lair]

Clutch #3682 - Stigma/Stamen

Mated On: 2024-08-23 # of eggs: 3 Hatched On: 2024-08-28

Progeny:

Hatchling 9787 (Rippon) - Aberration Male, Peacock Fade/Emerald Blend/Sand Frills, Common - 15,000 on 2024-10-15

Hatchling 9788 (Anemos) - Aberration Female, Emerald Fade/Shamrock Spade/Copper Frills, Common - 15 gems on 2024-09-20

Hatchling 9789 (Ledhy) - Aberration Male, Emerald Fade/Peacock Blend/Soil Frills, Unusual - 15,000 on 2024-09-30

Comments: 

[beanietopia]

choso has a porn addiction, plain and simple. every morning for him starts with the same: open up twitter, get his bottle of lotion, and scroll through his bookmarks until he can cum. he’s had girlfriends in the past, they all thought his addiction was gross. what girl would ever entertain a guy that jerked off to random girls getting creampied on twitter?

well, you, of course.

he messaged you on a random morning, ‘hey’, was all it said. you happened to have a slight porn addiction of your own, having filled your bookmarks for your own solo sessions. you didn’t realize your messages were open and felt your brow go up as you read his message. a click to his bio and there wasn’t much there, just the year he was born and 🇯🇵. your first instinct was to delete the message, but your curiosity got the best of you. you messaged back, investigated how he found your account, and choso revealed his intentions.

‘are you into the idea of sending some nsfw posts to each other?’

choso used to sext with his ex girlfriends, but none of them wanted to include porn. they found it weird and considered it cheating to look at videos while in a relationship. now here he was, randomly texting a stranger on the internet to get a quick nut. if he wasn’t palming his dick through his shorts right now, he’d actually think he looked a bit pathetic. it wasn’t until you said yes and started sending your bookmarked videos did he realize what he was getting himself into.

freeing his dick from his briefs, he started to stroke himself while imagining himself doing the things in the videos with you. he didn’t know what you looked like, hell, he wasn’t even sure you were who you said you were. but you were just as porn obsessed as he was, and he didn’t think you could get any better until you sent another message.

‘let me suck it while you play video games.’

it’s like you knew the exact words to say to get him off. choso hastily reciprocated, although it had become quite difficult to type with one hand. he confessed on how desperately he wanted to cum in your pussy and how you suck him in so well, not knowing that you too had started pleasuring yourself at the mere thought. it had been a while and you needed some action too, okay? his messages started getting further and further apart until he asked you to send a post he can finish to. bringing yourself back to reality for a quick moment to send him a creampie video, how could you have known his favorite genre? you found yourself soon chasing your own orgasm. the echoes of the moans coming from your phone had blended with yours, and you soon came undone on your fingers. 

once you remembered to look at your phone again, choso had let you know that he had made a mess, followed by a picture of his cum stained hand and torso. when you sent back a picture of your glistening fingers and soiled sheets, choso audibly moaned. what a pervert.

‘fuck, you’re making me hard… is same time tomorrow good with you?’

--------

uhh welp this is my first piece of work on tumblr LMFAO HEY GUYS! special shoutout to my pookie bears @gojoscinnamonroll @xixflower @takumasimp @webism for encouraging me and AAAAAAAA I HOPE SOMEBODY LIKES THIS,,,, i wanna keep posting on here so lmk what you think :3 ok bye beanie out

[puffbarvapes]

STRAIN

Build A Soil Healthy For CBD: A Comprehensive Guide

[buddiius]

STRAIN

Build A Soil Healthy For CBD: A Comprehensive Guide

[clipstone]

Casa de Mouraz

Casa de Mouraz Dão Branco Dão, Portugal 2022 Malvasia-Fina, Encruzado, Bical

A distinctive dry, natural white made from over 20 local grape varieties. These grapes grow in sandy granitic soils and enjoy an unique microclimate between two mountain ranges.

Dão Branco spends eight months on its lees with batonnage in stainless steel tanks which creates a creamy, full bodied texture. A crisp green-fruited start with a satisfying finish.

Deliciously textured, aromatic and moreish. High acidity, no oak, a light, mouthwatering alternative to Chardonnay.

Tasting notes: green apple, apricot, lemon

Pairing: baked fish, pesto pasta, pork, cheeses

Similar to: Chardonnay

[dmitriene]

simon riley obsessed with creaming your pussy, watching the way your stretched hole spasms, glossy folds spread around his thick length, fluttering with rapid pulsing of your gummy walls, latched at his throbbing cock as he spills ropes of his seed inside of you, thick, viscous cum that fills you up, so much that it's spills out of you, when he fucks it deeper into your gooey cunt, spurting against your cervix.

squeezing at the fat of your hips, long fingers spread across the supple flesh, as his blunt nails bite at your skin, grasping onto you with ravenous need, his wide hips jerking forward, until you won't sob with hiccuping mewls, clawing with trembling fingers at his pale hips, leaving long, scarlet crescents in the wake of your whiny pleas for simon to stop, and when his thighs starts to cramp, movements slowing to messy circles, he let's his swollen cock slide out.

there's a wet squelch, obscenely lewd sound as your slick stretches with glossy strings from your aching, clenching pussy and to the thick, rudy tip of his cock, coated in frothy white of your shared releases, coating his length in sticky, almost pearly streaks, as the globs of his seed dribbles out of your twitching hole, your body frissoning under simon's dark, honeyed eyes, trained intently on your soppy pussy.

the wet mess that dribbles down your doughy thighs, soiling your soft skin in tacky cum, when simon grips at his softened cock, fisting at the fat root just slightly, as he slaps it against your puffy folds, making you jolt, hips twitching as you whimper, glassy eyes shooting to peer on simon, at the way he clenches his jaw, teeth's grinding together, as the tip of his shaft nudges against your clit, rubbing his come into your cunt.

thick fingers joining to rub at your slit, making your legs kick out weakly, but simon ain't stopping, rubbing merciless, absentminded circles, scooping his cum and your slick that blends together and then stuffs back in your pussy, walls tightening immediately around his digits, before stretching around the intrusion, and that's until he won't calm down, all of your combined fluids stuffed into your drippy hole.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[metrials]

The Ultimate Guide to Manufacturing Bricks: A Step-by-Step Process

A brief description of the manufacturing of bricks and four stages i.e., preparation of soil, molding of bricks, drying of bricks and burning of bricks and know more about Importance of understanding the manufacturing process for quality bricks.

Manufacturing Bricks provides a comprehensive step-by-step process for producing high-quality bricks. From sourcing raw materials to molding, drying, firing, and quality control, this guide covers essential techniques and tips to ensure efficient and successful brick production for construction and various other applications."

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[schistostegapennata]

can you talk about moss poaching i'm actually really curious

How can I refuse! Absolutely!!! It sounds kind of ridiculous, but it's actually very sad.

So, let's start off with some numbers. Every year, the moss black market is estimated to garner up to $165 million for trafficking approximately 82 million pounds of moss.

I cannot even wrap my mind around how much moss that is.

You might ask, why does moss poaching exist and why is it so lucrative? Well, the quality that has made mosses the prey of an illegal trade is simply their aesthetic appeal. Soft, velvety, and moist, mosses are extremely pleasant to the touch and calming to look at. Some people are willing to pay large amounts of money to collect them and put them in private gardens. However, most of the mosses that move in this underground black market are actually sold to companies/wholesalers for use in potting/gardening soil, plant nurseries, decor, and as craft materials. The majority of the preserved mosses in your run-of-the-mill chain craft store, planters, floral wreaths, or very-much-dead living wall decorations are gathered illegally, bleached to death, and then dyed green. This goes for a lot of prepackaged peat moss and soil mix blends as well.

Even though it is illegal to gather moss in public places (in the US, at least), people still harvest it. Why? Probably because there's a fair amount of money to be made and the consequences are very rarely enforced, and when they are, they are quite light--usually a $50 fine at worst if you're caught. Most of this black market moss is actually poached from the national park system, with Appalachia and the Pacific Northwest usually being the hardest hit regions.

Mosses play vital roles in many ecosystems, provide homes for threatened species, regulate water distribution in forests, and help with erosion, so their loss is a terrible blow. Additionally, moving such large quantities of mosses from one location to another may spread unwanted, invasive hitchhikers, like insects that lay their eggs in the plants, or even seeds and spores.

I'll end on this thought:

It can take 20 years for a small patch of moss removed from a fallen tree to grow back with the right moisture conditions.

How long would it take to regrow 82 million pounds?

[sammyluvr]

✶ . ၄၃ . easy, maybe — sam and dean w.

cw : gn!winchester!reader, hurt/comfort, reader’s the middle sibling, peacekeeper/selfless(?) reader, blood, injury & pain, stitches, nicknames (bud), poorly edited, no y/n, 3K words. requested !

summary : you try to hide a bad injury after a hunt. sam and dean patch you up, and spend the night worrying until you wake.

it’s not as hard being easy as some people might think. maybe that’s because it’s all you know how to be. the easy one, the quiet one, the peacekeeper, the blend into the background and don’t worry about me one. and it’s not that you’re weak-willed or unopinionated; there are times when you put your foot down, times when you argue, times when you’re petty or annoying or grumpy because you’re legitimately upset or possibly just a little too hungry.

one must note that easy does not mean perfect. it just means that you let sam ride shotgun despite being two years older. it means you take the couch most nights, you’re often impressively polite, and you patch up your own injuries in the bathroom before helping your brothers out. it means you let annoying little things slide, you pick up food when the other two are too tired to drive, you take care of the most tedious or boring tasks, and you tend not to get into any trouble with law enforcement or regular citizens. life is just easier for you all when sam and dean don’t have to worry about you too much.

naturally, you’ve developed quite a pain tolerance over the years of hunting and killing and nearly being killed; all three of you have. but you have become concerningly and particularly excellent at hiding wounds. it’s mostly about the breathing, you’ve decided. if you can hide the blood, move without any apparent stiffness, and keep your breathing even and normal, then sam and dean tend not to notice. they’ve got enough to worry about, you think.

but, unfortunately, there's certain things you can't quite hide, no matter how good of a little actor you can be. there's just far too much blood, more than you think you've ever bled from any one wound. it's not arterial, that much you know; you're familiar enough with basic anatomy to understand that a knife to your lower left side shouldn't be piercing any main veins or arteries. but it is soaking through your jacket and you're getting lightheaded. and you're almost to the impala, you remind yourself. you can make it that far, you're sure. if you just keep breathing, watching dean's trudging form as the distance between the two of you grows while your sluggish footsteps slow... if you just keep breathing, you're sure you can make it.

the leaves under your feet hush your footsteps, soft and soaked from this morning’s rain. dean doesn't question the fact that he can't hear you right behind him; you're quiet nearly all the time. the growing fog in your head makes you stumble. you slip, deprived of the bearings or stability you'd need to right yourself. the softened soil welcomes the crumple of your body, but your cheek scrapes on a ragged twig embedded in the ground. the dampness of the earth swallows any loudness to your fall, the little strangled noise that leaves your lips in surprise and hot white pain. the twig that draws a line of blood across your cheek doesn't even snap.

but you can't fall in complete silence; there's a rustle and a dull thud and dean's ears are attuned to listen for you and sam. he hears your grunt of pain, regardless of how quiet the sound is. he's immediately on high alert, spinning around and holding his gun at the ready. for split second, he thinks you've disappeared completely. he didn't know you'd been falling behind, twilight is ending, and your brown jacket melts into the color of the ground. but he's got keen eyes and spots you quickly.

"shit," he curses under his breath, all but sprinting back to you, long legs clearing logs and rocks without any fuss. before he's dropped to his knees by your side, he's already asking, "hey, hey, hey, talk to me, bud. what happened?"

you've managed to twist over onto your back by the time he gets there, though not without much effort. there's dirt clinging to the side of your face and wet leaves stuck to your clothes. it's become too dark for dean to see the spread of blood on your jacket.

"just a... just a cut," you breathe out. your voice doesn't sound quite right and it sets off blaring alarms in dean's head.

"where?" he demands, not harshly. his flashlight clicks on and you squint at the sudden brightness. he doesn't need you to answer. his free hand doesn't hesitate to move your bloodied jacket out of the way, and he sucks in a sharp breath before he even sees the full extent of the wound. his fingers gather up your soaked through shirt and gently peel the fabric away from your skin. "jesus, what the hell? when did this happen? just a cut?" he asks, bewildered and beyond concerned.

"b-before," you answer unhelpfully. "it's fine. help me up." you don't feel fine at all. your head pounds and your limbs are heavy and your voice is tight with pain.

dean scoffs, pulling off his jacket with an almost panicked urgency. "you were stabbed, are you crazy?" he accuses, sounding much more worried than actually angry. he messily folds up his jacket, not hesitating to push it against your wound, not so gentle in an effort to slow the bleeding. you grunt and he frowns deeper.

"more like a… a slash… less- less stabby. 's not that bad," you mumble, completely unconvincing.

dean's jaw clenches like he disagreed. "sammy'll fix you up," is all he says. "c'mon, let's get you up. you'll be just fine." dean knows that you prefer patching yourself up. he knows that you don't like letting them see you injured. but this is bad, he thinks, and his blood boils and his heart lurches at the thought that you tried to hide it.

sam, stuck in the motel with his healing broken arm, doesn’t expect much but a “we’re on the way back” sort of phone call from dean when he answers the ringing tone. dean himself is barely paying any attention to the phone. he should be paying attention to the road, but his eyes flick over to you often, and linger for too long. the first thing that sam hears over the phone is the muffled honk of a car horn.

then comes a quiet, “shit. i’m sorry, bud. you’re alright,” from dean. he doesn’t hear the little sound of pain you made when dean had to swerve the car.

“dean?” sam says, voice plainly worried. dean sounds off. “what’s going on?”

“sammy,” dean breathes, uncharacteristically afraid, “they’re bleeding bad. need you to be ready to stitch ‘em up when we get there. five minutes.”

“where? how bad?” sam asks in a rush, already standing and searching for a medical kit. there’s one on the coffee table.

“lower left side,” dean answers, voice a bit more sure when he can actually give a solid, factual answer. then it falters. “just– bad. real bad. they’re barely awake.”

“dammit,” sam mutters. he wants to ask what happened, but dean sounds like he’s driving recklessly through the panic of your injury. he doesn’t want to add anything else for him to think about. “you sure you shouldn’t be headed to the hospital?”

dean shakes his head, then glances at you and your heavy lidded eyes. “nearest one’s too far. you’re closer.”

“okay. alright. just– just drive safe and keep them talking,” sam says at the risk of angering dean in his precarious mental state. asking him to drive safe is a bit silly, and he already knows to keep you talking. 

but dean doesn’t retort, he just spares you another glance. “keep those eyes open for me,” he urges, leaving it up to sam to hang up the phone. he only does so in order to focus on gathering the right supplies for you. and when the impala pulls up into the parking space right in front of tonight’s motel room, sam’s waiting outside by the pale yellow door with a janky metal ‘17’ on the front. he’s at the passenger’s side before dean’s even turned the car off.

you’re leaning against the car door, so he’s precise and careful when he opens it, reaching in with one hand first and cupping the side of your neck to keep you steady while he slips in closer to you. 

“hey,” he says gently, hiding his fear. he’s not sure he can deal with all this shit without you. you’ve always been such a steadying presence. dean’s jacket that you keep clutched to your wound with shaky hands is all bloodied, and the only thing sam knows is that dean said it’s real bad.

dean’s there, opening the door the rest of the way so that sam can bend down and pull you into his arms. first goes your head to his chest, then his arms wrapping around your shoulders and tucking under your knees.

“there we go,” sam murmurs, wincing softly when the movement pulls a groan of pain from your lips. “can you talk to me?” he’s swift and gentle in his movements, getting you through the door and to the bed with the least amount of discomfort for you that he can.

“it’s okay, sammy,” you mumble in response to his request. of course that’s what you’d say. dean frowns, barely able to hear your words despite how close behind sam he hovers.

“yeah,” sam agrees, laying you out on the bed, pulling the ruined jacket away from your wound and gently moving your own clothing out of the way. it’s not a pretty sight, but the bleeding’s slowed enough for him to see that maybe it’s not as bad as they thought. stitches should do the trick, you’re just all messed up from the blood loss. “it is okay,” he confirms, “you’ll be okay.” 

as he soaks a clean rag with alcohol, sam wonders when the last time he’s stitched you up was. it must’ve been a while ago. he even can’t easily think of the last time he helped you deal with any injury. right now, it’s his job to stay calm and patch you up, but the way you said it’s okay, sammy, made him want to act a bit like the baby of the family. he wants to hug you. it doesn’t make him feel small, though, just extra responsible for making sure you’ll be alright. you’re always taking care of him and dean, even if it’s just in the smaller ways, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t fix this for you.

dean’s hands are far more tender than usual as he holds yours. sam cleans your wound, and you don’t react much. it worries them both, but sam assures that it’s not as bad as it seemed before.

the cast over sam’s wrist and forearm doesn’t make giving you stitches all that easy, but he manages. his big hands are somehow always much nimbler than dean’s, the stitches he produces less crude. but no matter how used to the feeling of a few stitches you are, once he gets to the sixth, you’re not sure you can stay awake any longer. you hate the feeling of the needle and thread going through your skin.

you give dean’s hand a weak squeeze. “’m gonna pass out,” you slur in warning. his eyes widen in worry. sam tries to stay focused, but his frown deepens. he’d much rather you didn’t, but he thinks you’ll be alright.

“hey, hey, hey, no. stay with us,” dean urges, brushing his fingers over your forehead. “you’re fine now, just stay awake, bud. look at me.” you meet his gaze with drooping eyelids and a weak frown. you feel bad for making him worry like this. 

“’m sorry,” you mumble, “so tired.” you close your eyes against his wishes, and your hand goes limp in his. 

“dammit,” sam whispers, noticing the way your muscles all go slack. dean’s not so quiet when he curses, standing up angrily. as sam finishes the stitches, dean paces, hands in fists.

“it’s my damn fault, sammy,” he growls. if sam looked up, the tears in dean’s otherwise angry eyes would betray his blatant concern for you. “i wasn’t paying attention.” sam worries now that dean’ll start throwing things. he doesn’t deal well with his little siblings getting hurt.

“they’re okay. seriously,” sam insists. really though, he’s worried out of his mind. freaking out won’t help him give you effective stitches, so he just focuses on the silent promise he’s made to take care of you. “they’ll heal. the stitches will be enough,” he says, instead of asking what happened to avoid upsetting dean further. dean returns to your side just as sam finishes the last stitch. he dresses the wound with a bit of help from dean, but mostly, the oldest just combs through loose strands of your hair, picking out dried leaves and twigs. dean cleans the little cut on your face too, wiping away the dirt from when you fell.

he holds you gently upright as sam trades your bloodstained jacket and top for a simple long sleeve crewneck shirt to keep you comfortable and warm as you rest. he monitors your pulse and constantly checks your breathing, and his nervous behavior doesn’t go unnoticed by dean. but your heartbeat remains steady and the soft sound of your breathing is the only thing that can be heard at times. it’s comforting to them both, taking turns by your side, though they’re most certainly overly concerned now that your body is set to start mending.

you sleep a long while, long enough that dean starts pacing again when he tires of sitting on the edge of the other bed with his head in his hands. sam sits in a chair by your side. he dozes lightly for a bit, until the sun rises and brightens the room through half opened curtains. dean’s asleep on the couch when sam comes back around, despite the completely free bed. when he wakes, dean makes coffee for him and sam, brooding the whole while. he still looks like he’s holding back the urge to throw a rickety motel chair into the wall, but he’s a bit more blatantly anxious than angry by now. he holds your hand for a little while before you wake up.

you start to stir at 9:37 in the morning, which means you’ve been sleeping for almost ten hours. sam had checked the time when you passed out, in the midst of all his worry as he stitched you up. but no one catches the time. you, of course, are not checking the time. you’re barely awake. dean doesn’t think to check the time, he’s much more concerned about the light rustle of the bed sheets that he hears coming from your direction. and sam is drying his hands in the bathroom. he probably wouldn’t care to check the time either even if he were standing right by the clock. he hears dean say your name through the thin bathroom door, quiet and nervous. the hand towel slips off the rack in his rush to get to you.

dean’s sitting by your side, both of his hands wrapping around yours. “hey,” he murmurs, soft and glad to see your eyelids fluttering. you see the water stained ceiling of the motel room and feel the end of the bed dipping by your feet, then a big, soft hand on your shin. that’s sam. dean’s the one holding your hand.

you try to say hey back, but it comes out as a hoarse groan. your throat is very dry. so you just squeeze dean’s hand back as best as you can. one of his hands leaves yours to rest on your tired head. you look over and offer him a little smile. he feels a rush of affection as you meet his gaze like that, and a little bit of guilt for always letting you be the best of them. the quietest and the easiest. he doesn’t know what to do with those feelings, so he asks a sweet, almost teary looking sam to go grab you some water. he does so without a qualm, tries to help you take a sip, and relents with a subtle pout when you refuse the help. you’re insistent about holding that cup for yourself.

“let me help you,” he murmurs, voice all soft. he sounds extra young right now, as his hands try to hold the cup and your head up for you. you grab the cup, shaking your head despite being plagued by a pounding ache at your temples.

“mm-mm,” you hum a no, as if it bothers you that he’s trying to use his hand in a cast to help. you’re truly just that stubborn that it makes you strong enough to hold the cup with your own shaky hands. sam’s hand hovers nearby anyway. when you’ve taken a good drink, and the water starts to slosh a bit because you’re having a hard time holding it steady, dean takes it from you and sets it on the bedside table. 

“you gave us a good little scare there,” he murmurs, voice gentler than usual. he doesn’t even pretend to sound annoyed. sam thinks his demeanor is a bit funny now, considering how much of a mess dean was last night and before you woke. but he easily lets it slide for right now. without a doubt, you’re his main concern.

“sorry,” you mumble, still sort of smiling.

“don’t,” sam scolds softly. “don’t be sorry.” it seems to him like you’re always willing to take the fall, fix the problem, ease the tension. right now, he’d rather you just let him and dean take care of everything for you. you look like you want to protest, keep apologizing for making them worry, but he grabs your free hand as a means to stop you. dean gives your hand a little squeeze to punctuate the same sentiment. 

you have nothing to be sorry for. and they are very grateful for you. losing you scares them more than anything, and for a moment, they will both be a bit vulnerable and ask for you to do the same by holding your hands tight for just a little while.

“okay,” you murmur. you won’t be sorry. i love you, too, you’re saying.

[meadowacres]

Premium Triple Mix Soil for Sale in Kitchener & Toronto | Meadow Acres

Shop enriched screened triple mix soil for container gardens and landscaping projects. Perfect for gardens in Kitchener, Ontario, and Toronto. Order premium soil now!

[msb-lair]

Clutch #3588 - Stigma/Stamen

Mated On: 2024-05-21 # of eggs: 3 Hatched On: 2024-05-26

Progeny:

Hatchling 9537 (Niluva) - Aberration Female, Shamrock Fade/Peacock Blend/Soil Frills, Uncommon - 15,000 on 2024-06-20

Hatchling 9538 (Rafflesia) - Aberration Female, Shamrock Fade/Emerald Blend/Ruby Frills, Uncommon - 15,000 on 2024-07-31

Hatchling 9539 (Mayflower) - Aberration XXY Male, Peacock Fade/Peacock Blend/Cerise Frills, Uncommon - 15 gems on 2024-06-19

Comments: