#SPECIFICALLY FOR SHOOTING CALLUS

[5ond3r]

reading the last of us tag really be like

[bowieandqueen11]

Can’t Lose Family / Joel Miller Imagine

Request: Joel request- him helping Reader get her medications and she repays him with a kiss even though they aren't together?

This turned into a much cuter found family fic than I meant it too lmao but also sorry not sorry  @miraclesabound!!

Warning: strong language, fighting infected, mentions of guns and knives, mentions of what happens with Sam and Henry, mentions of blood, and mentions of Sarah!

This one’s pushing 4,000 words lads which has to be my longest one shot - I spent all day writing this, so if you enjoyed please support me by commenting and reblogging!

(I do not own the Last of Us or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @manny-jacinto.)

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°

If you found one more goddamn empty first aid kit, you were going to tear a clicker’s head clean off its stupid mushroom neck.

It hadn’t been an easy journey even getting to this point. Despite Ellie’s numerous protests, snide looks, and even grabs at your jacket with a ‘questioning your sanity’ kind of look, you and Joel had both agreed that a supermall was the best next place to look for the specific kind of medication you needed. 

‘It’s the only place left in this state we haven’t already scoured’, he had muttered from in front of you, pulling up Callus’ reigns and bringing the horse to a sudden halt. The building seemed to loom up from the corner of your eyes like a shooting spore; beams of light seemed to light up its cracks, spraying dust upwards through the shattered windows and clawed bricks until they flew out and danced across the sky. It whistled with every blow of wind, grumbled and heaved with the weight of its walls, howled with the furious screeches of the horde of infected that vacated the forgotten premises.

From where she was sandwiched between the two of you, Ellie managed to squeeze her head out past Joel’s shoulder and scoff. Your grip on her shoulders tightened as she tried to turn her head back to throw you an averse scowl. ‘If you guys go in there and make it back in one piece’, her words are jolted by her nose face planting into the back of Joel’s jacket, Callus rearing up his front legs and whinnying at the piercing cry of what sounded to be a recently turned runner convulsing about in horrendous pain. You straightened her back up on the saddle, and she let you wrap your arms around the top of her stomach to keep her balanced. ‘I swear, I’ll eat my backpack.’

Joel just looked past his shoulder to give her a bemused look.

‘Still would be better than having to hear another one of them lines from your joke book.’ Ellie slapped him on the shoulder, but she couldn’t hide the fact that she was looking down at the sprouting shoots breaking through the strewn concrete on the road to hide her growing smile. ‘Shut up old man. You can never escape Will Livingstone.’ 

You tapped Ellie’s shoulder, and when she turned to see the mischievous glint in your eye, she nodded with a grin. ‘Hey Joel’, you started, waiting for his grunt reply. ‘Do you know the last place I went before the outbreak was too a zoo?’

‘Is that so’, he sighs, not even bothering to turn his head with the foresight to realise where this was going. Hearing Ellie snicker into her hand, her other clutching into his shoulder with anticipation also brought some clarity.  ‘Yeah, the only animal there was a dog. It was a Shizu. Get it? Get it, a Shit-zo-’. Joel just gave a groan that erupted from the pit of his stomach, pretending not to laugh as Ellie erupted into giggles, throwing her head back against your chin.

Joel gazed forward, looking out past the large stretch of empty highway and over the impending treeline speckled in the distance towards the swirl of dull pink and sweet lavender that had begun to transfigure the sky. ‘Yeah, see, this is the problem’, he grunted, ‘maybe being a runner wouldn’t be so bad.’ He couldn’t hide the fact that he was beginning to grin too. 

Ellie snorted, and waved her hand out towards the upcoming building. ‘Well if you go in there, I think your wish will come true.’ Her words brought a fresh wave of silence over the three of you; the kind of forlorn, contemplative stillness that hadn’t shrouded itself over your little makeshift family since you all lost Sam and Henry-. You shuddered, not wanting to go back there anymore. It had been hard enough burying them, let alone trying to deal with the solitude of Ellie’s guilt and the barricading walls Joel had thrown back up at even the mention of the too small grave. It had been hard, the last few weeks, and you didn’t want the people you loved most in this derelict world to fall back into a hopelessness you had fought so hard to drag them out of. 

You didn’t miss the way Joel had glanced back down at his watch though, his face hardening as he steered Callus on.

‘It will be alright, Ellie’, you patted her shoulder and winced as the sound of more infected began to ring out through the dusk and pierce your ears. Ellie shook: not with fear of them, but with terror at the thought that it could take just one wrong move, one wrong moment in this life for her to be left alone again. To be left behind. To lose everyone she loved, yet again. 

But she was brave, and strong, and ready to fight for every scrap she had in spite of the world’s indifference. ‘I know,’ was all she whispered as the three of you came to a stop in front of the mall’s perimeter. The resignation didn’t last too long, though; as soon as Joel had given you his hand to help you down onto the curb, Ellie had started up again at the groans of the building’s floors constricting with the cold.

As Joel had given you a boost up past the half-blown brick wall leaking frost out from the west side of the building, Ellie had thrown her hands up in disgust. ‘Fine!’, she grabbed Callus’ reigns and led him over to a bent piece of iron fence at the edge of the perimeter. ‘If either of you fuckers decide to become infected, I’m gonna kick your shins!’ Even with the crossed arms and huff that followed, when you turned your head to look back at her, she had given you a silent, pleading nod warning you to both come back in one piece. With a final reassuring smile in her direction, you had left the girl stroking Callus’ back, and leant down to heave Joel over into the grave darkness.

The first thing you heard was the sound of sneakers pounding through the walls, the huffing and sliding of about ten bodies coming running towards you. Drawing out your knife from your back pocket, you readied yourself for the oncoming onslaught, but it never arrived. Instead, you were blinded by the sudden flash of gunfire as Joel stepped in front of you, using himself to shield himself from the infected unhinging their mouths and running into the gunfire. Only when he was sure the last one had stopped twitching on the ground did he lower his gun and turn to look at you, raging frenzy clear in his eyes. 

Yet he was so gentle. So, so gentle with you. He clicked on his torch and clipped it onto the lapel of Frank’s old plaid shirt, stained once again with the scent of blood. He reached out a hand towards you, chest heaving as he turned his back to the litter of bodies now staining the linoleum floor. 

‘Are you- are you alright?’ He didn’t know exactly what to do, bless him. So unsure as to how, or if he should show affection anymore. His face fell stern as he looked you up and down, yet his fingers itched against his thighs and clawed at his jeans, as if he were desperate to touch you and make sure himself. You reached out to him with one arm, and he tenderly took your wrist within his fingers. He couldn’t quite bring himself to hold your hand yet, to allow himself that sort of vulnerability, to ever give in to that sort of familiarity with another person again, but it was a step in the right direction.

‘Are you okay?’ The question was more desperate now, more sober, and the most genuine reflection of his pounding heart as he flipped your hand over and used his pointer finger to check your pulse. Sometimes, when the three of you got into tough scraps, it would be the only thing that could bring him back from that fear induced rage. You pretended not to feel his thumb shake against your wrist bone, instead nodding and dragging your fingers down to squeeze his own. ‘Let’s keep going. Ellie will be freaking out by now.’

‘Yes, I am! What the fuck was that!’, you heard echoing in from outside, the alarm in Ellie’s voice filling the vacuous hallway. 

Joel managed to huff out a laugh, before shouldering his gun back round his side and nodding at you. He swallowed thickly, but even as you brushed past him to head further towards the shops, you could see how desperately he was scrunching his lips to try and push away the worry that flickered in his eyes.

And now? After all that? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

You kick the empty case clear half way across the store, grunting in victory as you hear it smash against the legs of a frayed mannequin and toss it down onto the floor. An ash cloud of dust sprays up at the movement, making Joel cross his arm in front of his mouth and hack a cough as he’s sprayed in white.

‘We still haven’t tried the door behind the counter.’

‘Joel, we’ve tried every damn door in the country. Plus, it’s sealed shut, and I don’t see you packing any shivs to open it.’ You sigh and squat down to the ground, holding your head in your hands for a second. You only open them once you realise the thudding sound you hear is Joel moving over towards the back wall of the pharmacy, straight towards where a huge mass of spasming, bloated fungi seems to be pulsating on the wall.

‘Are you out of your damn mind?’, you seethe, as Joel reaches into his backpack to strap his gas mask on. 

‘On the contrary, I seem to be the only one in this room with any sense.’ Although his words seem to bite, you can hear the mocking tone drip through the crinkled words as they rasp out past the ventilator. Joel joins you in squatting down to the floor, although his movement is done a lot less gracefully and with a lot more complaining about sore joints. He moves the light away from where its strewn over the floorboards to land straight in the middle of the heaving mess, and the sight nearly makes you gag in shock.

‘Ugh, Jesus’, Joel mutters, his face contorting in disgust as he clenches his fist open and closed in preparation. The figure clenched into the wall in front of him was barely recognisable: it’s drooping face was now sprouting from behinds its eyelids, mouth open as if in a never-ending frozen scream, its lab coat caked in dried old blood that seemed to suggest he wasn’t the only one to die in this dank room. ‘Well, here goes nothing.’ Tentatively inching his hand forward, Joel waits for the poor bastard to come tearing off the wall and clamp its three teeth left around his fingers. Thankfully, both for his sake and your heart, which had decided to start pounding through your ears, Joel is successful in inching the infected’s hand out of the way. He reaches into the breast pocket, sighing in relief and turning towards round to your expectant face. 

Perched between his thumb and pointer finger is the rusted tip of a key.

‘Bingo’, he whistles as he stands up, stretching out his back and clicking his spine back into place. You shake your head as he heads off, following him round the counter edge and butting him out of the way once he reaches the back door. Shaking the handle one more time for good measure, you nab the key out of his hand and ignore the cry of indignation he gives you.

‘It’s my stuff we need, so I go first. Those are the rules.’

You slot the key into the lock and give it a firm twist. 

‘Absolutely not.’ You nearly jump when you feel Joel’s hand firmly clamp down on top of your own, effectively trapping you against the doorknob. You glare over at him, but feel the bitter remark you were about to whip out about how ‘he always puts himself in danger before me or Ellie’ dies on the tip of your tongue when you see how scared he looks. 

‘I go first.’ You tut. The grip on your hand grows firmer. His breath hitches as he bends and takes a step closer to you. He’s so close now, you can feel the rapid air escape his nose and brush over the side of your cheek. For a moment, neither of you are able to move; you’re both caught in some invisible entanglement, some building consequence the two of you have never been brave enough to breach before, some kind of tender understanding. You nod your head, realising now just how earnestly the two of you had been dancing around it: how the whole time you had known each other, one was always preparing to die for the other.

‘Please...I go first.’ His gaze drops to your lips, and then to your nose, and then finally settles, for the first time in a while, firmly on your eyes. Unwavering. Resolute. He lurches forward on the balls of his feet, and for a second you think he’s either about to headbutt you or kiss you. Instead, he gently uses his side to butt you out of the way, before turning his efforts to shouldering the door open in three abrupt pushes.

He lurches in, the door giving way before he expected it and taking his feet out from under him. He rolls to the floor, grunting with the effort as he nearly side rolls straight into the side of an empty rack of shelves. With the light in the musty room as bright as a grave, you’re left trying to figure out where Joel has gone by the sound of an empty pill bottle rolling across the room.

‘Joel? Joel! Where the fuck are you?’, you whisper, reaching your arms out and crouching down to try and find him in the darkness. ‘Shit, is that you? Are you alright?’ You grip onto something soft and squishy, Joel’s leg? It seems clad in denim, although slightly torn, as if he had skinned his whole knee slamming against the floor.

You realised your mistake only a second too late. Instead of the welcome, gravelly honey voice of one Joel Miller, and perhaps even the calloused fingers cupping your cheeks before taking your own to lurch himself back up, you were met by the spitting shriek straight into your face. ‘Oh, fuck!’ 

You roll backwards, slamming the back of your head straight into an iron railing. ‘Oh, doubley fu-’ Your shout is muffled by fingernails scraping over your forehead, a hand grasping onto your face and digging in until you could feel blood begin to run down the bridge of your nose. Grappling with your hand, you simultaneously try to pitch your knee up to stop the clicker from completely detaching from the wall and clambering on top of you, and wrestling past its bumpy elbow to reach the knife stuck behind your back. Gnashing teeth leaves drool dripping down onto your neck, and you groan with the effort of trying to stop them from tearing a chunk out of your jugular.

You finally manage to grasp onto the hilt of your knife, trying to lift up your backside to slide it out of your pocket and straight into the skull of the infected on top of you. It doesn’t matter though. A second later, it feels as if molten is being poured in gushes down onto your bare skin; you stifle a shudder as the blood leaks out from the clicker’s eye sockets and sprays over your shoulder blades. You squint, just about managing to make out the outline of Joel’s clenched teeth and furrowed brow as he pulls the crowbar he had managed to find out of the thing’s skull. Pushing it to the side, it flops unceremoniously onto the floor.

‘Jesus...’, you warble out, still slightly in shock that you had come so close to the end right there and then. So clumsily close. So stupidly.

Joel doesn’t give you a chance to finish your thought. You swear it must have hurt when he threw himself down onto the ground, not even pretending to be calm and collected as he comes sliding on his knees over to you. 

‘Are you hurt?’ 

‘H-huh?’

His hands are shaking as they reach up to roam over your face, his movements rapid and rushed and so carelessly unlike him that it only winds you deeper into your confused stupor. Before this - sure, he may have been concerned, but it was always hidden behind a thick wall of confidence and level headedness. But this, this was different. He was gripping onto the sides of your face as if the skin was about to peel away from your body in front of him; he was trembling in the way only a man marred by ghosts could be. As the flashlight blinked across the floor, the glass smashed into fractured shoots by Joel’s fall, all his mind can see with each glare is Sarah suspended in front of him.

‘Are you hurt?’ His voice is shaking as he speaks, tilting your face back and forth as if he’s scanning you for any scrabs and bites, yet his fingers are moving too quickly to truly take any of you in.

‘I’m fine, I’m fine. I just, ah-’, you cup his hands and bring them to rest within your own, both of you using each other’s weight to try and lever yourselves to a standing position again. ‘I think my ankle is twisted slightly.’ You watch his eyes widen, and try your best to shoot him a reassuring smile despite how shaken you were feeling. ‘It’s alright, it’ll be fine once I shake it off. Especially since I see another med-pack over there.’ You let go of one of his hands to point past his shoulder, finally coming back to yourself when you spot another plastic box hanging, squished in between the pharmacist's desk and the wall. 

Despite the elated glow that seems to suddenly gleam in your eyes as you hobble over bits of broken glass and clamber over the smashed up computer monitor, Joel doesn’t let go of you the whole way. Not even when you unclasp the lock and throw the lid back, tilting your head back and laughing in near hysteric delight when you see the full bottles still nestled in dust inside. They move from your hands, up your arms and around your shoulders, squeezing your biceps as the two of you make your way quietly back through the supermall and back out towards the hole to freedom.

‘Fuck me! I thought you guys were gonners for sure!’ For a second, as you glanced out and saw Ellie bent over with her hands on her hips with the relief of seeing the two of you dumbasses hobble back into view, you thought the young girl was going to collapse to the ground. Instead, she took a deep breath and turned back to you with a surprisingly serious look on her face. ‘Did you find any comics in there?!’

‘Are you kidding-’ Joel murmurs out with a huff, waving his hand at her in dismissal. Ellie only raises her hand in a shrug before flipping him off, but the two of them are both smiling as Joel offers you his hand. You take it easily, but before you drop down to the grass again, you surprise Joel Miller for about the third time that day.

Before he even has a chance to blink, you lean towards him and press your lips against the side of his stubbly cheek. His eyes widen, but even as you press a second, quicker kiss against his cheek, he seems too stoic to pull away. When you finally do, he raises two fingers up to the wet patch now gleaming on his skin, and looks at you with a rapturous confusion.

‘Thank you. For everything. For still being here’, is all you whisper with a final look back at him, before falling down through the sliver of dark orange that still falls like firelight between the breaks in the pine trees. Ellie welcomes you back energetically, nearly knocking you over with the speed in which she comes running towards you and wraps her arms around your midriff, squishing the side of her face into your chest.

Joel watches the two of you for a moment: the way Ellie looks up at you as if you were pure unbridled hope as she unlatches herself from you, the way you grab her hand and help her hop back up onto Callus’ back, coming to rest on the side of the saddle before animatedly falling into conversation with her, most likely checking up to make sure she was doing okay with all of this.

He blinks back the wistfulness from his eyes as he stands on the stone strewn crag of the building, the soft ground suddenly seeming so far away. As he watches you, he tries to figure out what he feels: love? Longing? Guilt? Before he even notices, he finds his gaze has drawn itself back down to his wrist, the shattered clock face seemingly staring him down and stifling whatever happiness he was trying to feel.

He covers it with his hands, rubbing his fingers over the side as if it were burning his skin and he couldn’t bear to carry the weight of it anymore. But then you call over to him, and Ellie waves her hand up and beckons him to come down with a bright grin and yell, and suddenly the heaviness seems to unburden, to unlatch its grip on his stomach. 

Sure, the misery of his past still haunted him, still dragged behind his head as he jumped and landed on the ground with a thump. But as he slowly jogged back over to the two of you, the shadows were beginning to lift. The light was beginning to break through, and Joel Miller couldn’t remember feeling so bullishly light in all his life.

[daddyhausen]

brody king and { 14 } — “who knocked you up?” , “that would be me. hi, nice to meet you” bc i am a comedian first

• knocked up — brody king •

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{ masterlists } | { aew masterlists } | { brody king masterlist }

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{ summary } — a work colleague’s tries to shoot his shot not knowing that you’re already taken and very obviously pregnant, protective brody mode ensues

{ warnings } — none

{ word count } — 595

{ pairing } — fem!reader x brody king

{ genre } — fluff

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{ taglist } — @cosmoholic13 @boutmachines @thewrestlingbitch @omg-im-such-a-masochist @baysexuality @legit9thlunaticwarrior @slut4kennyomega @wardlow @alexisquinnlee-bc @sammiejane22 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @omegasluvbot @melissahausen @writtingrose @drummergrl1310 @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin @bonehead-playz @cherrytheeredheadmamaclaymore @crowleysqueenofhell @romanreigns-supreme @janetreader @thenerdybaker523 @sunshinevirus @nicoleveno14 @rubyred1980 @elsteenerico @igncrxntripley

{ beta readers } — @allelitesmut + @legit9thlunaticwarrior

{ comment if you want to be added to the taglist }

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{ 14 } — “who knocked you up?” , “that would be me. hi, nice to meet you”

it had been a wonderful even thus far

your work colleague’s birthday celebration had proven to be more than an eventful evening

although the gathering was rather small for such a celebration

the 20 or so patrons that lined her living room plus congregation of older male relatives crowding around the grill in the backyard

you’d mostly found yourself hovering around from room to room

a mix between the kitchen and living room

chatting amongst fellow colleagues and friends

them mostly congratulating you on your pregnancy

caressing your evident baby bump

“woah, y/n you look stunning”

you felt a pair of eyes scanning your frame rather scandalously

almost as if their retinas were burning holes through your chest

your breasts more specifically

he was a fellow co-worker of yours

one that simply would not take no for an answer and even after your constant rejection of him

“thanks” you remarked sharply yet still holding some type of politeness

the dress you were wearing was not even remotely revealing

the fabric was light and flowy, the pastel pink beautifully complemented your skin tone

your chest covered modestly, with the neckline only mildly swooping down

yet you could still feel said coworker’s eyes glaring lustfully at you

“why don’t i get you a drink? and maybe we could talk a bit more”

he mentioned to the nearly-empty glass of brandy in his hand, shaking it lightly in front of your face as if you were a dog waiting obediently for a treat

the connotation of his words left a sick feeling in your stomach

you knew that talking was the last thing on his mind

“i can’t drink” you responded with the same dry tone as before

pointing down to your rather obvious baby bump

you could tell his throat ran dry, absent of words at the moment

his demeanor has shifted from jovial and flirtatious to a more cold and callus glare

“who knocked you up?” he spoke in a rather accusatory tone, his voice deep and dark, almost frightening

you felt a hand protectively snake around your waist

peering down until your gaze met the inky flesh of your husband’s hand

“that would be me. hi, nice to meet you” brody extended his free hand for the co worker to shake

although his efforts were met with silence

brody kept his demeanor calm and collected but you just knew his anger was boiling over

his hand that remained around your waist gingerly caressed your bump as your coworker stared in a mixture of disbelief and disgust

“are you gonna stop harassing my wife? or a we gonna have a problem here?”

brody was seething, words spoken through clenched teeth

your coworker stood there silently for a moment before responding with a meek “no”, eventually leaving

brody breathed a soft sigh of relief as he left, now turning his attention to you

“he didn’t try anything, did he?”

“no, brody. i’m fine”

you gently placed a hand upon his chest for reassurance

he hand came down to cup the swell of your belly

his thumb smoothing across the fabric covering your skin

“how’s the little one been? not giving you too much trouble i hope?”

“not as much as he was…” you remarked, mentioning your now forgotten coworker

brody gave a small hearty chuckle in response, lightly placing a kiss to your temple

“go enjoy yourself, my angel. let me know when you’re ready to leave”

“i kinda just wanna go home now, brody. baby wants to rest”

“alright love, let’s get you two home”

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[visions--of--collisions]

EXCERPT: but you're gonna need some help (outta those) [spiderverse, hobie brown/miles morales, rated e: pink suit-inspired pwp]

Miles’ arm moves against his ribs, and the both of them gasp a bit at the space that appears between them when he retracts his web. It pulls Hobie out most of the way, but he grits his teeth against the sensitivity as it sets in, coaxing Miles to tighten his arms and legs around him. He crawls backwards slowly until he can feel the floor with his toes, unsticks from the wall, and promptly slumps to the ground. ‘Hobes!’ Miles yelps, startled, still kind of breathless, and then: ‘Hobie …’ More of a complaint, this time, but Hobie can hear the lightness and he capitalises on it, twisting and tipping forward until Miles is on his back under him with Hobie’s clinging arms pinned between him and the floor. ‘Man …’

The laugh creaks out of Hobie, rusty like a hinge, and he plants a sucking kiss on the soft skin below Miles’ ear before propping himself up on his forearms. Miles is still kind of in his lap, legs spread around Hobie’s hips, but he looks up at Hobie like he’s not the one who’s pinned. Hobie flutters his eyelashes at him, grinning stupidly. Miles groans; he scrubs at his eyes and stretches, blinking down at himself. He makes a face. It’s a goddamn mess between them, right from where their cocks lie softening to the collar of Miles’ rucked-up sweatshirt. The less said about the situation around their thighs, the better.

He lifts up the hem, mouth pursed. Miles pauses when Hobie’s eyes track the movement; he shoots him a disbelieving look. ‘You know I’m gonna be wearing this every day, right?’ he points out.

‘Fine by me,’ Hobie growls, with only slightly exaggerated interest. Miles groans again, wrestling with the hem, and Hobie laughs as he helps him work it up and off over his head. ‘Ay, shush. We can call it exposure therapy, yeah?’ One corner of his mouth twitches higher than the other when Miles gives him a hairy eyeball as he rolls the sweatshirt down  his arms and tosses it aside. Hobie gives him a minute to take stock in peace, very tactfully ignoring the dampness smeared across his chest, keeping any observations about how good or not a look that’s just gloves and web shooters may be to himself. 

The crease in Miles’ forehead is a less welcome sight, all told. ‘You good?’

Miles blinks. He looks at Hobie’s face and leaves off his fumbling with the clasp of his web shooter to smooth a hand down his shoulder, kissing his teeth around a smile. ‘Yeah, I’m good! I’m great,’ he adds, huffing with quiet laughter. Hobie tilts his head at him, mostly convinced, and Miles goes back to undoing the clasp. He leaves the cuff off to the side and flexes his gloved fingers thoughtfully. ‘I dunno, I just - I can’t figure out if I want these shorter or not.’

‘Is it?’ Hobie frowns and carefully extracts his arms to reach for Miles’ other hand. The clinging fabric has mostly stayed in place despite the tension Miles’ web must have put on it, but he smooths it out anyways, considering. ‘Looks pretty good as is, from here,’ he offers. The callus on his thumb catches on the fastening of Miles’ web shooter when he unthinkingly strokes the underside of his wrist.

Miles hums as he watches Hobie take it off and lay it beside the other. He’s visibly conflicted. ‘It’ll mess with the line of the suit,’ he points out.

‘Could make ‘em a feature,’ Hobie suggests. He narrows his eyes, trying to picture how that might look with a Miles-specific twist. It’s been a minute since he’s used his spraypaint signature, outside of the Spider symbol …

Miles’ eyebrows arch toward his hairline at that. ‘Well …’ When Hobie looks at him curiously, he gnaws on his lip before continuing: ‘Margo had this idea, for like - a short-sleeved suit. Since, I mean, I’ll be wearing the sweater overtop anyways, so it’s not like anyone’s gonna know until I lose it. And that’ll be pretty tricky with the way the cuff’s elasticated around …’

Hobie perks up. ‘Oh, you mean your sweater paws?’

There’s a faint thunk as Miles drops his head to the floor. He immediately looks so put upon that Hobie knows it’s not the first time he’s heard this. ‘You don’t - that’s not … I can’t …’

He props his cheek on his fist. ‘Damn, Mags already beat me to it? That’s humiliating.’

Miles knocks him in the side with his leg. ‘Yeah, you should feel bad. Derivative,’ he accuses. ‘Inauthentic. Ain’t a drop of originality between you.’

‘Alright now …’

Miles opens his mouth, but he looks at Hobie’s bemused face and immediately seems to run out of steam. He sighs gustily, instead. ‘She won’t change the filename back,’ he complains. ‘Ugh. Lemme up.’

[TO BE CONTINUED]

[pjsk-writin]

Longtimeow no see Ameow,

in my true fashionyable latenyass I have returned from my usual absenyance. Unyalike the other two times though i have checked back nyot to request but to chat. I don't oftenyan send many other letters besides asks anyad thanyanks so I'll try to chanyage that. Now that I setted my promeowise to frequent meowre oftenyan I would like to ask you a questionyanyaire of sorts to assignyan you a random object/concept you remeowind me of. (translated to avoid confusion)

-QUESTIONYANS-

If you were a Pokémon type which one would you be

What's your favorite finger on your right hand

If the item next to you were to get up and attack you how screwed would you be

What's your favorite nursery rhyme

If you were in a room with every fictional character ever created and you had to choose one to shoot who would it be

Do you prefer Yes or no?

What's 6x3

Please anyanswer carefully.

Much love,

That cat obsessed anonyan

OMG heyyy!! and its ok, you can do whatever <3 ill answer the questionare below, but I hope you have a good day !! <3

HMM probably either water or fairy type....im obsessed with both but id probably lean more towards fairy!

MY RING FINGER i have a callus on it from drawing and I love fidgeting with it idk why

considering its my pile of stuffed animals. I'd probably only be screwed if they tried to suffocate me HFKSKCF-

oo either mary had a little lamb or London bridge is falling down!! I grew up singing both <3

LITERALLY ALL OF THE WEIRD ADULTS IN P5 but specifically kamoshida. I am very passionate abt that game- honorable mention: rook hunt of twisted wonderland

I prefer yes !!

my instinctive answer is 21. lord help me/lh

[yumitsukiyoru]

A Comprehensive Guide to Growing Potatoes: Tips from an Expert Farmer

Expert advice on planting, hilling, and harvesting potatoes for a bountiful harvest

As the gardening season approaches, many of us find ourselves pondering the optimal time to plant our beloved potatoes. With so many factors to consider, such as frost dates and soil temperature, it can be challenging to determine the ideal planting window. In this article, we turn to Alley Swiss, a seasoned certified-organic farmer, for her insights on when and how to grow potatoes.

From planting to hilling and harvesting, Swiss shares her expertise to help ensure a successful potato-growing season.

When is the right time to plant potatoes?

According to Swiss, the ideal time to plant potatoes is two to three weeks before your average last frost date. Planting too early in cold, water-logged soil can cause seed potatoes to rot. If potatoes experience a heavy frost after emerging, they will produce new shoots but with reduced yield.

Swiss recommends waiting for the soil to warm up a bit before planting, as this allows for quick emergence and steady growth without stress. In the northern states, late March to early May is a suitable planting period, while in warmer areas of the South, potatoes can be planted in late fall or early winter. Local gardeners often have their own cues, such as the melting of snow on the mountain or the emergence of specific bugs or flowers, which can serve as useful references for planting potatoes.

To cut or not to cut: Dealing with different sizes of seed potatoes

When seed potatoes arrive, it's common to find a range of sizes, from tennis ball-sized to small eggs. Swiss suggests cutting larger seed potatoes into pieces, as this allows the seeds to go further and potentially yield a higher overall harvest. When cutting, it's important to leave at least two "eyes" on each piece.

After cutting, the seed potatoes should be left in a cool and humid space overnight to allow them to callus before planting. This callus formation helps prevent infection from soil contact. However, Swiss notes that she prefers to plant whole seed potatoes to minimize worm damage.

If pests like wireworms or maggots are a concern, planting whole potatoes can be a good strategy, as pests are attracted to the exposed flesh of cut potatoes.

Soil preparation: What potatoes want and what they don't

The ideal soil for growing potatoes is a loose and deep loam that holds moisture while also draining well. However, potatoes are hardy and can adapt to various soil types. Adding plenty of organic matter is recommended for optimal yields.

Incorporating compost or organic matter into the soil in the fall allows it to balance the added nutrients over time. Swiss advises against using fresh manure, as it can activate the pathogen "scab," resulting in unsightly but still edible potatoes. Instead, well-composted manure or a well-balanced fertilizer can be used.

Excessive nitrogen can delay root production and lead to large plants with fewer potatoes.

Planting potatoes: Depth, spacing, and considerations for different varieties

When planting potatoes, dig a shallow trench about 6-8 inches deep. In loose soil, a rake can be used, while heavier soils may require a shovel or hoe. Place cut potatoes 10-12 inches apart in the trench.

If planting larger whole potatoes, provide them with a little extra room, spacing them 12-16 inches apart. A spacing of 36 inches between rows is adequate, but if space allows, further spacing makes hilling (the process of adding soil around the vines) easier. Smaller potatoes, like fingerlings, can be planted closer together, but no less than 8 inches apart.

Cover the plants with about 3-4 inches of soil, leaving the trench partially filled.

The art of hilling: When, how deep, and how often to hill potatoes

Hilling is a crucial and labor-intensive part of growing potatoes. When the potato plants reach a height of 8-10 inches, bring soil up around the vines from both sides. In loose soil, a rake can be used, while harder soil may require cultivation before raking or the use of a hoe.

Take care not to disturb the new root systems while hilling. The primary purpose of hilling is to bring loose soil around the vines, where the potatoes will form, and to deepen the roots into cooler soil. Swiss recommends covering the vines with soil during the first hilling, leaving only the top leaves exposed.

This allows for a shallower second hilling, done 2-3 weeks later, with an additional 2-4 inches of soil. After the second hilling, a loose mulch like straw or composted leaf mold can be applied, providing a barrier against potato beetles and creating a habitat for beneficial insects. The joy of hilling lies in the satisfaction of seeing beautifully hilled rows in the garden.

Harvesting new potatoes: Recognizing the above-ground signals

Potatoes begin to produce tubers after flowering. A few weeks after flowering, gently dig into the loose soil at the sides of the vines to find thin-skinned new potatoes. These can be harvested without harming the development of the remaining potatoes.

Waxier-textured potatoes are best for immediate consumption. Varieties like 'All Red' with bright red skin and a pink streak through the flesh, and 'Yukon Gold' with excellent flavor, are suitable for early harvesting. To prepare for storage, Swiss recommends mowing the vines a few weeks before harvest to toughen the skins of the potatoes.

Knowing when it's time to harvest the main crop and storage considerations

Potatoes are ready to harvest when their vines die back and lose most of their color. This can occur due to a frost or when the potatoes have reached full maturity. Swiss suggests harvesting before the danger of a heavy frost that could damage the potatoes closest to the surface.

Potatoes can be left in the ground for several frosts, but it's important to monitor the weather and harvest in a timely manner. Properly stored potatoes can last for several months. Swiss advises storing them in a cool, dark, and well-ventilated space to prevent sprouting and spoilage.

With the guidance of expert farmer Alley Swiss, you can confidently navigate the world of potato growing. From planting at the right time to hilling and harvesting with precision, these tips will help you achieve a bountiful potato harvest. Remember to pay attention to local cues and adapt the advice to your specific climate and conditions.

Happy potato growing!

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[watermelonlipstick]

Dreams, Chapter 4

If you haven’t read this series before, you might want to start on Chapter 1, or check out the Dreams Masterlist! Here’s the series description:

When Dean dies for good leaving Sam and his girlfriend (the reader) behind, they must figure out how to carry on without him. Alone, reeling, and unsure what to do next, trying to honor Dean’s memory and follow their hearts gets even more complicated when their nightmares become dreams that feel a little too real.

If you have been reading this series....things are going to start happening....

Title: Dreams, Chapter 4

Pairing: (past) Dean Winchester x Reader, (eventual) Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 3773

Summary: For Sam and the reader, a winter night working together leads to an uncomfortable confrontation and a confusing dream.

Warnings: angst, fluff?, alcohol, swearing, slow burn, I think that’s it!

           The tree was still up a few days later when you were throwing together sandwiches. It was a gloomy afternoon, stealing from the already meager offering of sunlight you got each day, but at least you could see the Christmas lights as you worked in the little kitchen and listened to Me Talk Pretty One Day. Brushing crumbs off your hands, you ducked your head into the bedroom to tell Sam lunch was ready.

           He was sitting on the bed with his legs crossed under him, looking surprisingly young with his long limbs folded. He glanced over at you briefly with a noncommittal nod before turning his gaze back to the wall. You walked into the room when you understood; following his eyes to the photos where you’d taped them up. Toeing off each of your boots, you climbed onto the mattress with him and gently put your arm around his broad shoulders. “He would’ve loved this,” Sam murmured, and it was almost too low for you to hear.

           “Which part?” you asked, trying to match his tone.

           “This cabin, the bar, Christmas.”

           “I think you’re right.”

           You looked over at the pictures, a tight row intentionally placed a little too low so you could see them as you fell asleep. Sam tilted his head to rest on yours.

           “We had a lot of fun though, didn’t we?”

           You considered the memories and the heat coming off of him under your cold fingers. “Yeah, we did.” After a beat you opened your mouth again. “Getting that tree was fun.”

           Sam pulled back and you looked up at him. A sad smirk was tugging at the corner of his mouth. “That was fun, wasn’t it?”

           You curved your head back into him. “Dean would’ve liked that too.” He was silent for a moment.

           “There’s no way he would’ve worked at the bar and not made every night a party.”

           He was right. Even just passing through, bars like the one you worked at were Dean’s favorite—no frills, honest people, décor not so nice it couldn’t tolerate some spills in the name of a good time. In the right mood Dean would’ve been everyone’s best friend in an hour, taking shots with the owners and playing pool with anyone who had a spare minute.

           You sat upright and tucked your hair behind your ears. “Okay, then tonight’ll be a party.”

           Sam looked at you in surprise. “Uh, what?”

           “You heard me. Tonight, we’re doing tequila shots and dancing on tables and talking to people longer than to take their orders.”

           “It’s a Monday.”

           “Wouldn’t have stopped Dean. Now come eat this sandwich I slaved over, you’re a lightweight on an empty stomach.”

           Sam’s smile was tired, but he obediently untangled his legs and got off the bed to head to the kitchen. You padded after him, letting a deep breath out through your nose. Dean would be so pissed if he saw you weren’t being strong for Sammy, just a little tougher, come on. By the time Sam sat down at the tiny breakfast bar to eat, you’d screwed your face back together.

           In some ways, it was better that you’d had this sudden change of heart on a Monday, when there weren’t so many customers to watch you crumble if it came to that. You had a propensity for being a sad drunk even in the best circumstances, and this first time truly drinking around people since losing Dean was about the worst circumstance as you could imagine.

           A few shots in Sam’s cheeks were flushed and you could feel the heat in yours as you sucked hard on a lime wedge. He was pretending to know about some football controversy with the over-shoulder towel that was ever present when he worked, his legs crossed and accentuating the long, relaxed line of his body. It was an especially cold night and condensation clouded the windows of the bar where hot air met the freezing glass. You watched as a woman about your age—you were pretty sure her name was Megan but had only served her a handful of times—traced lazy shapes in it before replacing the moisture with a hot breath and starting over. It was almost hypnotic and you didn’t know how long it was until you snapped back to reality when Sam’s warm hands wrapped over your shoulders.

           “You okay?” he asked, low and private, straight into your ear.

           “Uh, yeah, sorry. Just tired,” you lied.

           Sam gently and half-consciously kneaded the muscles in your shoulders. Before you realized what you were doing, muscle memory bobbed your head to the side, kissed his rough knuckles, and pressed your cheek to his hand. You both froze.

           “Aw, so cute,” Steve sang out from across the bar top.

           You took your chance to step forward out of Sam’s grip. “Yeah, yeah. Refill?” Steve nodded, and you snatched another Miller High Life out of a mini fridge under the bar and popped the cap with a fluid practiced motion. About a week ago you’d realized that the twist-bottle callus you had just below the first joint of your index finger had come back, a recurrent souvenir that had lasted years after you’d quit bartending last time. You were thankful for it as much as the distraction from your bizarre reflexive step over the unspoken boundary between you and Sam. It wasn’t that the contact was unprecedented, obviously, you could only catch even chunks of sleep tightly wound around Sam and kept your fingers wrapped around his forearm as he drove, but Dean was the last person whose skin your lips had touched. Until now, you corrected yourself. It was a very specific kind of closeness in a relationship already stretching the limits of what appropriate intimacy could possibly be.

           You jammed a cold metal scoop into the ice machine to break up chunks and buy some time. The same grief-hungry part of your brain that searched Sam for facial tics and habits that Dean had couldn’t stop repeating how much those hands felt the same, dry and warm and firm under your lips, under your cheek, and you wanted to clutch at them, a phantom of Dean’s that first stitched you up in Bobby’s kitchen all those years ago when life was easy and bloody, so nervous to touch you his hands shook and the scar still remained to this day. You crashed through those thoughts with a solid thump of This Is Sam Not Dean Sam Your Friend Sam The Only Thing You Have In This World, and how cruel it was to triple distill him down to only the parts that were reminiscent of someone else. Sam, who chopped wood to keep you warm, who restocked beer in the little life you’d created here. Sam, who in his own unfathomable sadness let you latch onto him as a steady point in a storm and kept you afloat just as you had him.

           “Hello?” Joe repeated, a touch of concern peeking through his annoyance.

           “Yeah, sorry! What’s up?” you asked, hearing the shrillness of your voice as you tried to overcompensate.

           “I’m trying to buy you a drink, hon. 5 shots, dealer’s choice.”

           “You, me, Jake, Steve and who?” you asked, racking up 5 sturdy shot glasses.

           “Your Paul Bunyan over there, unless you’re trying to take his too. I’ve never seen you guys really drink before, gotta jump on my chance,” he winked.

           “Oh, okay. Uh, Sam—” you called out across the bar. He was wiping up a spill you knew didn’t exist from the way he focused too hard on the bar top, trying to look busy. He looked up at his name and walked over with his hands jammed in his pockets. His unease was palpable, and your heart sank as you let go of any possibility that he wouldn’t have registered the fleeting kiss and the shift was only in your head. “—Joe’s trying to get you drunk.”

           “Careful, Joe, you think you can carry me home?” Sam joked, and you thought you would be the only one who’d be able to detect the tightness in his throat underneath it. He rubbed a lime wedge on the web of his thumb and poured salt over it before handing you the shaker. You almost dropped it when your fingertips grazed his.

           “To the only people dumb enough to move up here in the winter,” Steve proclaimed, touching his glass to the counter before shooting it. You all followed suit, politely chuckling at the teasing. When you took the lime wedge out of your mouth, Sam had his palm open in front of you. You dropped the rind in his hand and let him take the stack of glasses to the sink.

           It didn’t get as crazy as Dean likely would’ve gotten which was probably good for the bar’s bottom line and your drive back to the cabin, but Sam did end up somewhat accidentally hustling Jake for $100 over a game of pool and singing along to Shania Twain when you put it on. You were careful not to touch him or stare too long the rest of the evening, and by the time you were flipping chairs up for the night you had almost convinced yourself that nothing was different save for a little softness around the edges of the ever-present bolus of sadness in your stomach.

           Sam had two cases of Miller Lite from the basement in his grip, the veins on his forearms popping out as he set them on the ground in front of the beer cooler and crouched to replace the ones that had been drunk that night. You double checked that the cash drawer of the register was even and hopped up to sit on a spare spot of counter.

           “That’s the last one?”

           “Yeah, I already did the Coors and Bud.”

           “Are you good to drive or do you want me to?” You wiggled your toes in your shoes, feeling the ache of standing for hours in the balls of your feet.

           “No, I’m good to drive,” Sam said, shaking hair out of his face. He looked up at you, hazel eyes hard to read with fatigue or fear or pity or some murky combination thereof. You drew tight spirals over orders you’d taken that night, feeling the pen press impressions into the small notepad. The absence of words spread out to close the distance between you, feeling cloying and claustrophobic even as the Nate Bargatze standup you’d cued up piped out through the bar’s speakers.

           “Hey, I—”

           “Are you—” Sam started at the same time. You held out a palm to signal for him to continue, not truly wanting to speak yourself. “Uh, sorry. I just…I—I’m not Dean. I can’t be Dean.”

           The words and deflation in his shoulders made you wish you’d been set ablaze. Stunned, you felt your mouth open and close around words that weren’t materializing, just collecting in your throat and hardening there, the backup starting to choke you.

           “I, uh—I know,” you finally managed to squeak past the lump.

           And part of you wondered if he was right in thinking you were using him as a stand-in. As atypical as the whole situation was, you couldn’t imagine that it was normal to sleep in the same bed and spend virtually every minute together. You began to feel sick at the thought that Sam would be out living up to his potential somewhere if it weren’t for you, back to law school or righting the wrongs of the world rather than in a Northwoods dive bar restocking domestic beers at 2:30 on a Tuesday morning. The selflessness of it seemed unfathomable and yet so entirely something Sam would do. Suddenly it felt like the walls were collapsing around you.

           The moment stretched out and Sam stood up, leaning on the counter across the bar from you. His jaw was set hard and he tilted his head the way he did when he was trying to stop himself from teetering over the edge of tears. “Sam, I—I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

           He cleared his throat but looked down at the nonstick mats on the floor. “No, ah, you don’t need to apologize. I just need you to know I can’t be him for you.”

           You didn’t dare look up in case you met Sam’s eyes as you nodded, so eviscerated and humiliated you were having a hard time taking a deep breath. After a long minute you heard the clink of bottles as Sam finished restocking, grabbed your coat to mumble something about warming up the car, and went to the small parking lot. You managed to make it into the Impala before your vision started swimming and the potential enormity of the situation crashed against you; was this the end of your carved out hideaway, full of grief and memories and comfort and little moments of affection and joy you had just barely started to accept? All for some stupid thought that Dean would be happier if you were out getting wasted, an idea that reduced him to a drifter barfly instead of the complex man who’d been more loyal and loved more deeply than anyone you’d ever met. The tears dried up quickly as self-disgust rolled over you and started ringing in your ears. You didn’t hear Sam coming and jolted when he opened the door, recoiling against the passenger side to give him as much space as possible. He glanced over at you with eyes so pitying that you couldn’t bear to look at them, staring out the window at the abject darkness the rest of the drive home.

           Sam didn’t turn on the stereo.

           Back in the cabin, you quickly shucked off your coat and snatched what you needed out of the bedroom before barricading yourself in for a shower. You didn’t bother taking your makeup off first, allowing the sting of mascara to get washed away in the water. It was too hot and you didn’t care; you only came out when you realized you were going to leave Sam in a cold shower in the last week in December.

           You brushed your teeth in the mirror and took a few deep breaths before sliding out, heading past the open bedroom door straight to the kitchen in order to gulp down a panicked glass of water. Mercifully, you heard the bathroom door lock when Sam entered it quietly. You took the opportunity to grab your pillow out of the bedroom, tossing it on the couch and pulling the throw off the sofa’s back to cover yourself. Your eyes were closed tight and ramming up against your racing mind when Sam came out.

           “You don’t have to sleep on the couch,” he said softly from behind you.

           You opened your eyes but didn’t move your head to seek him out. “It’s okay.”

           Sam appeared in front of you, legs bending severely to perch on the short coffee table. His bare chest still glistened a little from the shower and you knew the green flannel pants he was wearing were soft and thick to the touch. Earnest hazel eyes meeting yours, Sam braced his elbows on his knees.

           “Sam, I’m really sorry. It was a weird reflex and it was unfair for me to—”

           “No, I, it—it wasn’t that. It’s just like, sometimes when you look at me, you look like you’re seeing a ghost. I’m just—I need to know you’re not staying here because I’m the closest you can get.”

           If your heart hadn’t been shattered and re-shattered over the last almost- two-years and today, the fear and resignation in his eyes would’ve sent you to pieces. You pushed up to sitting in order to give Sam the respect he deserved.

           “I can’t—I won’t lie and say you don’t remind me of him, but you’re my best friend—been my best friend since I first met you guys—and I am so, so, sorry I made you feel…I could never try to replace him, Sam.” You were barely making sense, having a hard time stringing together how you felt. “The only place I want to be is with you. You’re all I’ve got.”

           It felt desperate and needy but it was true and Sam deserved the truth. You didn’t shy away from him, stayed there holding his gaze until he seemed content having searched your eyes for anything hiding from the light. After a moment he nodded tightly against lips pressed in a firm line. “Okay.”

           Sam stood up, the broad planes of him catching the glitter of the Christmas tree lights. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet and tentative. “Can you, uh, can you come back?”

           It took a moment to process before you nodded, standing up and snagging your pillow before following Sam into the bedroom. You climbed into your side of the mattress, close to the wall and your tiny precious gallery, and Sam folded around you, his warm skin seeping through your t-shirt onto your back. You felt tense and comfortable all at once, safe and uneasy. The two of you sat there for a long time, the relatively light weight of Sam’s arm over you betraying that he wasn’t asleep either. When drowsiness finally began to tug your eyelids closed, he pressed his lips to a spot on your shoulder exposed from the looseness of its sleeve. The last thing you remembered was his arm going heavy like an anchor across yours.

           The sun is hot and delicious on your cheeks, baking the cotton of your jeans and t-shirt into you and turning the roof tiles under you into a frying pan. Wispy clouds move with no urgency across the sky above you and you can’t think of anything better than this, glancing down to worn laces on Dean’s boots undone to give his feet some air as his t-shirt clings half-humid to him. You know his freckles are going to be darker by dinner and it makes you smile to think about it but you’ll never tell him—it makes him shy to be reminded of the spray of pigment that makes him feel alternatively feminine or juvenile but never stunning the way you think it should. You press up to your elbows, barely registering the sting of heat and grit of the roof underneath you and kiss the spot on Dean’s arm where his shoulder slopes into his bicep. He smiles down at you, a lazy half-open smirk perfectly framed by the blue sky behind him like a painting.

           “You’re so weird,” he chuckles. “Who kisses someone’s arm?”

           “Then come down here,” you toss back, exaggerated pout ready for him. He ducks down to you, the warmth of his lips on yours like a cookie fresh out of the oven, like sliding down the hallway on new fuzzy socks, like the summer’s first plunge into water.

           Sam’s head peeks out from under the gutter. “Bobby’s putting brats on the grill, do you want any?”

           “Hell yeah, extra onions,” Dean yells down, grinning smugly when you make a face.

           “Me too!” you call out, watching Sam squint up at the roof. 

           “No onions though, right?”

           “You’re the best, Sam.”

           Sam beams up at you, dimples almost high enough to reach the squint-crinkled skin around his eyes. He nods and ducks back out of sight.

           “Come on, I’m thirsty,” Dean says, standing up. He reaches a hand down to you and takes a half step back to brace himself, stepping on the lace of his other boot. He stumbles and it’s a quick shuffle and you realize he’s too close to the edge his next step is into thin air like Wil E. Coyote and you’re grabbing at that same thin air and you can see his face change when he realizes and some part of your subconscious that’s even deeper than this can feel it’s happening again and the sound is so final, such a wet crack but you scrabble to the edge anyway because you have to see and Dean’s lying there.

           He’s clutching his left leg bent against his chest like a stretch. “Son of a bitch, what the fuck!” he mutter-yells, and you hear the thump of Sam and Bobby running through the old house and skittering to a stop in front of him as you carefully shimmy down the porch post with your hands tearing on the gutter’s rusty edge, jumping down when you feel the railing beneath you.

           “Dean! Are you okay?” Sam yells over Bobby who’s cursing out the goddamn idjit told you not to climb up there it’s like having a bunch of teenagers in this goddamned house and Dean winces and nods angrily.

           You’re lifting up the hem of his jeans and gingerly taking off his boot and Dean hisses when you peel off his sock, but nothing is poking through the skin and that’s better than you expected. “Can you stand up?”

           He nods again and you can practically taste him biting back the string of expletives when you and Sam each take an arm and lift him to standing. You snake a hand into his pocket and grab the keys to the Impala, leaning behind Dean to say to his brother, “I’ll take him to the ER.”

           Dean doesn’t argue and it’s yet more evidence that it’s pretty bad, but you feel fine, elated almost, that he’s still warm under your palm and against your side, that he still smells like fresh laundry and domestic beer and a little bit of salt and engine grease. Sam’s long arm opens the door when you get there and slides Dean in and you promise to text when you know how bad it is as you round the car and get to the driver’s side. You turn the key in the ignition and throw your arm around Dean’s seat to reverse out of the driveway. Dean’s looking at you as you throw the car back into drive, staring almost, and his face is soft even around the broken ankle.

           “I’m always going to love you,” he says, smooth and sure of himself. You tug your eyes away from the road with half a question on your face but Dean doesn’t explain why he’s saying this now. “I’ll be okay and I’m always going to love you, no matter what.”

           It doesn’t make any sense and you open your mouth to tease this unexpected sappiness, remind him the ankle is just one more in a long string of injuries he’ll owe you for, and then Dean’s gone, the car’s gone, and the heat is coming from Sam’s chest in front of you. 

-

Continue to Dreams, Chapter 5

Thanks again for reading! If you liked it, check out my Masterlist or send me a request!

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[1zashreena1]

Wedding Planning -15

18+, m/f, technically OCxDiego Jimenez [Power]

Summary:  Princess came home to a whole new set of anxieties. Murder Panther to the rescue via the restorative powers of dick. Unlike the dick, this one is short and sweet.

WARNINGS: Ridiculous descriptions and ‘the code is more like guidelines’ outlook on grammar. Is it OOC if the character was given essentially zero development in canon???

Come eating, the L word, criminal activities glossed over, relationship building, plus size woman+fit man, Anxiety, wedding planning comes with its own warning

A/N:  Princess took on a life of her own and has essentially become an OC. There are infrequent mentions of her description (specifically as plus size) and her actual name in later pieces (its Bicki). She started as self-insert so she looks like me (plus size, white, short, blue eyes, curly hair). If that is not your thing, I totally understand. And do not feel obligated to read this, I will not be offended!

I’m not a fan of “plot” so be aware that most of this series is just meandering through their relationship, angst-fluff-smut whiplash style. But with dick jokes.

TAGLIST: @chelsfic​​ ​ @symbiont13​​ ​ @nicke0115​​ ​​ @bunnykjm​​ ​ @rosee-sensuelle​​ ​ @girlpornparadise​​ ​ @mandoplease​​ ​ @heresathreebee​​ ​ @xxsteph-enrixx​​ ​ @jetiikad​​ ​ @joalsglasses​​ ​ @mutantcookiesecrets​​ ​ @demoncatstone​​ ​ @squidlywiddly87​​ ​ @lockedoutofmyotherblog​​ ​ @poeedamerons​​ ​ @xxidontwikeitxx​  @kid-from-new-zealand​ @fleurfatale89​ @allalngthewtchtower​

You have to make some decisions. Like, a bunch.

Okay, make a list. 

You pull the big legal notepad off the bookshelf in your living room and meander around until you find your colored pens. Red for immediate, orange for middling, and green for long-term.

Parameters set, you begin The Listing.

It takes a couple of days, but you think you finally have everything accounted for that you can possibly imagine.

The long term column has vague, nebulous, theoretical problems written in dark green:

-Where will you live?

-Keep your job???

-TAKE HIS NAME?????????

-CONVINCE HIM TO RETIRE

Intermediate consists of things you two need to discuss, too:

-Ceremony?

     Where 

     What type

     Who invited

     When

-Honeymoon?

-Colors?

-Food (yum/lots plz)

-Flowers  eww no ->Alternative bouquet 

-People in ceremony???

And then things that need answered like, next week:

-MEET FAMILIES (panic)

-A Dress?

-??????? omg help

You're going to give yourself a panic attack if you keep looking at it. I'll just take it with me this weekend and hand the immediate section to him.

You feel a little better with a plan, even if it only consists of two steps.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Diego is standing in the kitchen glaring at the espresso machine when Bastian drops you off at the penthouse.

You glance around, no Julio to be found, before you head over to him. Diego's left hand shoots out and he wiggles fingers at you, trying to grab you despite the twenty foot gap between your bodies. You snort, but its still adorable. 

Slotting in underneath his arm, you wind around him with a sigh. "Hi, baby. Whatcha doing?"

Brown eyes come down to you and he smiles widely. "Its not working. How was your trip?" His forehead descends and you rise on tiptoes to meet him. 

"Better now that I'm here." You whisper as your lips curl up in a pleased grin. Diego rubs his nose with yours before swooping down for a kiss. The goatee has gotten long enough that its now soft on your chin, but still tickly. Combined with his velvet lips and hot tongue, you almost experience sensory overload. High pitched noises escape your throat while you melt against him. Diego takes your weight with no effort and you don't hesitate to let him. When he finally pulls back you just have to chase him a little; you really, really like the facial hair.

When you finally slit eyes open he is grinning down at you like a cat that got the canary. He sounds so smug, "I should grow out the entire beard?" 

You lick your lips and consider the salt and pepper growth that occurred since you saw him last weekend. Your left eyebrow climbs with your own inquiry, "Do you want to live between my thighs?"

"Uh, yes…?" Diego answers what was apparently the stupidest question ever posed. Chocolate eyes sparkle at you as he fails to suppress a smirk. "What do you think the ring is about?"

Your guffaw is cut short when he tosses you up onto the counter and shoves both huge hands down the back of your pants to push them off. The jeggings stretch easily over your hips and Diego, ever efficient when it comes to getting some pussy, takes your thong with them in one swift motion. Bracing hands on those broad shoulders, you wiggle and shift and bend whichever way is necessary to assist. Never let it be said that you are not a team player.

Your left shoe hits the floor and as Diego switches to the right he asks breathlessly, "New?"

"Yeah." Your response is just as rushed as you grab at his hair.

"Pretty." He tosses the right shoe off towards the living room with this proclamation. 

Both big hands come up to your knees and spread your legs wide. "Well, thank yourself. I used the black Amex." You chuckle as you lean back on elbows.

Slowly, menacingly, promisingly, Diego rises over the lip of the counter between your legs with that shark smile. He purposely pitches his voice low to rumble, "Good girl."

Your insides liquefy as your back arches and your pussy clenches down on nothing. How the hell does he do that? You can feel yourself getting wet. Fleeting kisses and sharp little nips mark Diego's progress up the inside of your left thigh.

"Hmm." His breath ghosts over your center in the lightest of teases. "What is that method to train again? The treats instead of yelling?" He rubs those bristles you so love over your inner thighs with considerable force and it almost induces a seizure.

"P-postive reinforcement!" Your yelp is exceedingly high pitched. Oh fuck yes, reward me with tongue, I'm a good Princess. You're almost certain that your brain has melted, you have zero sense when it comes to this man.

Diego nips the very bottom of your right buttcheek, so close and yet way, way too far away. "Yesss," he hisses into the short hair just above where you need him most, "That's what its called." The feel of his goatee just barely brushing over your folds while he speaks has turned you into a gibbering mess.

"P-please, Diego. I did like you told me, I didn't even text to ask first, please please…" How he manages to break you down into a begging disaster so quickly is a mystery. Your hands curl into his hair, desperately trying to pull him closer.

"Mm hmm," his deep hum makes you quiver, memories of that sound being delivered straight to your sensitive bundle of nerves via the vehicle of his tongue drive you higher. The rough timbre is dark with desire when he speaks this time, "You were a very good girl. My pretty little Princess is learning well. Let Diego give you your reward."

The heat of his open mouth covering your entire vulva is stunning. Your shoulders fall to the countertop as you moan shamelessly, "Ohhh, yes baby." That sinfully amazing tongue pokes into your entrance then flattens out broadly to lap all the way up to your clit. "Yeah!" Your single breathy yelp is accompanied by a jerk of your wide hips. Diego presses hard and moans.

Your hands slap down on the countertop for leverage so you can press down on him. "Yes, yes. Oh my god, how is, your tongue, so hot??" Breath stuttering, your words are choppy. Your chest jumps each time he groans against you and Diego repeats it again, seemingly just to enjoy your reaction. He pulls off with an obscene slurp, Nonono come back! 

"The same way this pretty little pussy is always so tight." The dirty talk is all the warning you get as two thick fingers sink deep inside. It takes a moment to comprehend that the ringing in your ears is an uncomfortable noise emanating from your mouth. He pulls out slowly, making sure you feel every ridge and callus, all the textures, before pushing in again steadily. Each time he retreats your cunt clenches down, trying to hold on to the feeling of being filled. "Did you miss your Diego? Huh?"

There is no earthly reason anyone should be this fucking sexy.  

"Only, oh fuck, only when I'm ali-i-i-ive!" The confession ends in a squeal as he bottoms out and rubs your cervix. The cold counter is heating rapidly under your thrashing form. Just as you start to get accustomed to the sensation Diego ups the ante by closing lips over your clit and sucking. Your hips roll against him, he matches the rhythm of his hand with your movements expertly. Legs rising high and spreading wide, trying to give him as much room as possible to work. A broken chant is punched out of you with every thrust, "Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah."

The disappointed whine you utter when he breaks the suction is cut off into choked silence by the focused licks he is now delivering. You bury both hands into his short hair and hang on for dear life. His beard rasps against your sensitive skin and the contrasting feelings drive you mad. These are the licks that push you higher, these licks mean business. 

Between the long, slow thrusts of his fingers and the never ending laving of your clit, everything is tightening up quickly. Your legs shake and your stomach trembles, you pull on his hair and Diego moans for you. You moan back, "Fuck. Yeah, baby. Just, just keep. Don't stop, please don't stop."

Because Diego is Diego, he doubles down on the pressure and goes even harder with the tongue. Your entire consciousness narrows down to the man between your legs working you over like its his life's mission to make you come on his face. Everything is clinching tighter and tighter. Tense and strung out taut, you call for him as he pushes you right up to the edge and straight over it.

"Diego, Diego. Baby, I- F-fuck, yes, yes. Love you, love you, I fucking love you, I love you." You realize that was aloud but can't be bothered to stop the babbling confession synchronized to the waves of your climax. Diego groans against your clit but keeps his fingers fully buried so you can clamp down on him in ecstasy. You ride it out knowing full well that he won't rush this, he loves to feel the effect he has on you. You have no idea how long it goes on, the agonizing pleasure slowly easing, but your back finally crashes down to the marble while you wheeze in exhaustion. 

Using the grip in his hair, you tug gently to pull him off. Looking down over your curves, you flush even more as you watch Diego lick his lips lewdly. I am living in my very own private porno. 

Movement further down catches your eye and you realize that this entire time he has been stroking himself with the hand not shoved inside you. His massive cock is already dark and dripping as it pokes out of open pants.

"Your turn." You utter as you reach for him. 

"No!" Diego barks and bats your hand away. Is he sick? Do I need to call 911? You're immediately concerned that he might be dying. "Lie back. Be still."

Okay, kinky motherfucker. Of course he has something in mind. You flop down as ordered and Diego moans with satisfaction. 

"Yes, good girl. Do as I command and let Diego come all over you, pretty little Princess." He stares down at you with eyes black in arousal. His mouth hangs open to pant and his brows are drawn together in concentration. Swiping precome off the head of his dick, Diego reaches up to offer it. You lick with no hesitation as he rams those same fingers that were just up your pussy into your mouth and practically down your throat. "Suck."

With a moan you do exactly what he wants, your eyes closing in pleasure from the combined tastes of him and yourself. You don't have to put on a show when you enjoy this so very much. Your tongue covers every centimeter of his index and middle fingers, suckling strongly to get every last drop. Diego whines at the sight.

"Fuck. Yes. Princess. My Princess. Diego's perfect little Princess." His voice is rough and rattling, you can tell from how harshly he fists his cock that he is very close. The sight of two of your favorite parts of him together, his hand and his dick, makes you writhe.

You wrap your left hand around his thick forearm and the glint of your diamond ring catches his eye. His fingers drop out of your mouth to hold your jaw ever so tenderly. You decide to give him that last little nudge.

"Baby," You breathe, he pries his eyes away from the ring to meet yours. You pitch your voice low and sultry,  "Come for your Princess, my Murder Panther."

Diego's expression crumples and his hips snap forward twice as he comes with a quiet roar. "Ahhh, sí sí. Yessss." Its fascinating to watch; this big, powerful, dangerous man losing control over you. You absolutely love it. 

He paints your stomach white with come, squeezing the last little bit out and then slapping both hands down the counter to gasp. Before you can reach for those shoulders to pet him into aftercare, Diego dives down to lap up his own mess.

"Holy fuckin' shit that's hot." You are right back to the edge just like that. His soft tongue scoops up the gleaming liquid and you can literally see him swallowing it. You jump when fingers brush your labia but sigh with approval when they sink deep into you again. Diego, now finished with your stomach, comes back up to take your mouth. 

This is a whole new level of obscene: Sucking his own come off of his tongue while he finger fucks you to another orgasm. The mental image of what you two must look like defiling the kitchen counter is enough to make you tighten around him. The rapid, forceful thrusting of his thick fingers sends you careening into climax while moaning into his mouth. Pussy trembling around him and hips jerking, you hang on tight to his biceps until every wave of pleasure ebbs away. You flop back down and Diego collapses on top of you.

"Fuck. If that, if that's what I get for spending your money. Then I need to fucking splurge more often." You can barely string words together. 

Diego purrs.

Its now forty minutes later and you manage to troubleshoot the espresso machine.

"Its unplugged." You murmur, pointing lazily. 

"Mmmph." Diego moans from his position face down in your cleavage.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A brief debate on showering occurred, but a motion to nap on the sectional was introduced and unanimously ratified almost immediately. 

When you wake up later the only light in the penthouse is supplied by the neighboring skyscrapers. Curled up on your right side, Diego is spooned up behind you with his beard velcroed into your hair and the fingers of his left hand are laced with yours around the diamond ring. The sight makes you both happy and anxious. 

"Baby?" You breathe. Diego shifts behind you, then yawns hugely. It even sounds adorable, you smile to yourself.

"Que pasa?" His voice is rough from sleep and you shiver. "You're stiff. What's wrong, Princess?"

"I have some notes we need to discuss. Its not bad!" Rushing to reassurance, you move to sit up. He releases your hands but strokes down your back as you stand. Bare feet pad across the rug as you go back to your bag and retrieve the notepad. Diego blinks when you turn on a lamp but waves you back into his embrace. 

"What is troubling my Princess?" He rumbles as you wiggle around and get situated in his lap. You present the immediate list of issues and give him time to read the few items. He chuckles at you, "Let's start from the bottom, yes? I will help." He mimes crossing it off the list.

"Yeah, alright." You giggle. "But the family thing. You know my parents are chomping at the bit. I'm the last girl they get to marry off, its a big deal or something." Your eyes roll as you flap your hand around. 

"How much do you want them involved?" Diego presents something you hadn't considered yet.

"Huh. I. Wait a sec." He props his chin in his hand while you consider. You're very distracted by the lazily blinking Murder Panther under you. "Okay," settling hands on your thighs, you push through the anxiety, "I had assumed they were not paying for it."  Careful watching shows Diego rolling his eyes at you.

"Of course not. Don't be silly." He scoffs quietly. 

Yeah, duh. You can feel terror bubbling up and you squash it ruthlessly. "Well in that case, almost none. We'll make all the decisions. They'll be allowed to give opinions or whatever, but no control." That does make it a little easier.

"No artistic license to the people who created you. Ballsy. I like that." Diego is nothing if not encouraging of you. His expression of mock impression makes you gigglesnort. Then he throws you another curveball of an offer, "Do you want a wedding planner?" 

Everything stops for a moment before you breathe, "Fuck." That never even occurred to me.

Big fingers dip into your hair and turn so you face him fully. Diego is grinning from ear to ear. "Did I crash Fiance Princess OS?"

You nod faintly. "I… never even considered that. I don't come from a background where people do that, you know?" 

Shrugging one shoulder at you, Diego 'hmm's thoughtfully. "I did not suggest it sooner because you like planning. What is everything that needs to be planned?" His face turns mildly horrified at your sudden flailing.

"EVERYTHING! YOU HAVE TO PLAN EVERYTHING!" You most definitely did not have control of your own volume setting just now. "So, like, the venue, the date, the wedding party, the clothing, the food, decorations, seating arrangements, guest lists, ugh, fucking flowers. I do not want flowers! Oh, shit, music? Oh my god, everyone is going to be offended by my musical choices at some point." You facepalm and then drop the entire setup down into your lap, too, for good measure.

Diego pokes your arm with the corner of the notepad and you reach to take it from him without looking.

He snatches it back and tosses it over the couch and into the kitchen where it lands on the floor with a slap.

 "Fuck it. We can elope."

[imbrazodehierro]

As many of you already know, Girona has been one of the most important cycling cities for a while. A few months ago, the cycling clothing brand Giordana asked me for doing a shooting in my city, where I have spent a big part of my life and I know perfectly. One of the locations of the shooting did it in the old town, or as it was known years ago, the Jewish callus. Specifically in the "Carrer de la Força" which was one of the main streets of the old town, and which was also part of Via Augusta who was the perfect spot for what I was looking for this photo. . . . . . #brazodehierro #cycling #gironacycling #giordanacycling #girona #carrerdelaforça #calljueu #calljueugirona #cyclingcatalunya #cyclinglife #lifebehindbars #roadbike #roadcycling #bikesofinstagram #cyclingkits #cyclingpics #cyclinglove #igerscycling #canon #canonphotos #outsideisfree (at Girona, Spain) https://www.instagram.com/p/B9pYF5rIVfg/?igshid=149qvmwvzo1to

[hines2goldenboy]

Nipsey’s Homegoing.

I should start by saying that I’ve always had a habit of turning in my homework assignments late, but with that being said it’s been a year and nine days since they laid Nipsey Hussle to rest. I am proud yet devastated still to say that I witnessed the event during the burial of Nipsey at Angelus Funeral Home which is why it took me a year to write this essay on the series of events that have taken place post-burial and burial due to disbelief and observing the “Nayborhood” of which young creatives and artists of African Americans and Spanish American descent called Leimert Park. Since then the Los Angeles community, especially the Crenshaw, Leimert Park community has taken initiative to make sure his legacy is remembered in the same magnitude as when the sudden death of Tupac Shakur passed. 

It all started with a staph infection on my right index finger. I was at Ten Goose Boxing gym around the Van Nuys area and what I thought to be a callus was a staph infection. I called the ambulance and the paramedics said fuck me to me…. “We only help with real emergencies'' quotes the paramedic. I wanted to say “fuck you!” but due to my overly polite and gentleman-like nature, I decided not to say that towards the young man. I was in excruciating pain to the point where I could barely go to sleep at night, and it was going on for a week straight! Yeah in all reality fuck that paramedic and word of advice never put on boxing gloves that someone before you use without tape on your hands. There is a side of me that understands that everybody has a job but also that's where the nativity part as well. The part that doesn't want to question the authority of someone more qualified in a specific field or area of knowledge that I am not, but then again withholding the rebellious nature quote on quote smart ass tendencies of mine might have saved me from a traumatic experience, and more than likely saved my life. The situation itself was a tragedy for the ones who grew up in the Crenshaw community, and the ones who lackluster in the leadership and entrepreneurship of the young mogul who was only thirty-three during his untimely death Nipsey Hussle. 

I was living on 69th and Crenshaw during the time of his pre-execution. During that time I was homeless and had no other place to go. Luckily for me, I found a nice and stable living condition suited for me. The only thing I had to do was share a room with a young man by the name of Tyrik, in which afterward we ended up splitting ways on a bad note. Hey, you win some and you most certainly lose some. I’m still learning as I go but then again my learning experiences since I’ve started living in Los Angeles have mostly been a learning experience. Some filled with heartbreaking remembrances from the past. As I decided that I wasn’t going to lie around in my misery any longer I finally made the trip to Dignity Hospital. At the time I wasn’t driving in terrible L.A traffic so I usually take the Metro buses and trains almost everywhere I go, occasionally an I take an Uber depending on how much money I have because in my personal opinion it’s been really hard to maintain employment plus I never really been an expert on saving money. I spend it as it touches my fingertips. As I was riding the bus down Crenshaw I saw a group of people in the Crenshaw & Slauson shopping district as well as Leimert Park. At first, I was wondering what could be going on today but then again I paid it no mind because yet again I was in pain. After I left the hospital bandage up I went explore DTLA ( Downtown Los Angeles) until 7 o'clock then I made my way back home. I stopped at a McDonalds to get some water and I overheard a group of people stating that Nipsey Hussle has been killed. I couldn’t come to believe it to be true the first time I heard it so I asked the clique who was standing next to me y at the soda machine. I asked the young lady from the group if it was true if Nipsey had been killed and she told me “ yeah Nipsey got shot earlier today”. I couldn't believe what I heard. The feeling was similar to when Malcolm X was assassinated. It was like they killed Malcolm. I couldn’t believe it. It was a sad walk home. When I got the channel was on the news and broadcasters weren’t wasting time to tell the breaking news Nipsey Hussle was shot and killed in his store. It was such a tragedy for me to watch. A man business mogul was shot and killed in the same community he was trying to uplift. I was deeply saddened by this. During the next following day, there was a memorial site built in his name on the corner of Crenshaw & Slauson. I saw art & graffiti murals, bottles of empty Hennessy, and fans wrote letters to the late rapper. I would say it was peaceful to get together. I have spoken with motivational speaker 19 keys and some notable NOI members like Rizza Islam. I left the memorial and walked home because it was right down the street from where I was staying. When I got back home my roommate asked me if I was alright. I responded comically and said, of course, I’m alright why? That's when he told me there were just shooting at the memorial site.

 The next following day the neighborhood had certain sensitivity in the air. I talked to a woman who told me that some people in the Rolling 60’s gang who are affiliated with Nipsey were looking for the executioner who was soon to be identified as a now 30-year-old gang member Eric Holder who was arrested by authorities after a two-day manhunt. She told me to be on high alert because they were on a search for him. The next following day it was reported that several of his family members were murdered at various times as acts of retaliation. When first hearing about this tragedy I can admit that I was heartbroken due to the perspective of the unbreakable black on black violence. Although Nipsey Hussle had a beautiful viewing and memorial his death is one of many in this longtime epidemic of black on black crime. A cycle that seems never-ending. I would like to take the time to learn something from the falling of Nipsey Hussle. If there's one thing I learned it's that community coming together is necessary for advancement. Whether that be for the development of the inner city or the inner being. Ermias death did not go in vain due to a man pulling the trigger. In the end he finally brought back to the district where all started. It brought life to what it's about to become to Crenshaw. Change.

[ajcenvs3000w22]

Basic Plant Tissue Culture Concepts

Within this week’s blog I would like to branch into some specifics about plant tissue culture and micropropagation as well as practice communicating scientific terminology and concepts to an audience with no experience with plant science or plant propagation.

A key concept within plant tissue culture is the development of callus tissue, this tissue is just a mass of cells with the potential to differentiate (turn into) needed tissues dependent on the circumstance. For example, if a plant tissue sample (say a small square cut from a leaf) was taken and cultivated (purposely grown) in an in vitro environment (defined as within glass, but just means within a contained, artificially supplemented space) callus tissue will develop and start to develop both shoot (stems and leaves) and root structures. Another way to think about callus tissue is comparable to stem cells within humans and other animals, which develop into varies cell types from a ground state. Think of this development as a high school student, once graduated any direction is possible.

Callus development can not be created from nothing, and this is where a unique property within plants comes in, known as totipotency which has been mentioned in pervious posts within this blog. This property allows plant cells that have developed into, let’s say a type of epidermal cell (cells that make up the “skin” of plants), to undifferentiated (change back or revert to a simple state) when induced with a specific hormonal environment. To summarize, the two bare minimum requirements for the development of callus tissue are previously developed plant tissues, and plant hormones.

Here is an example of callus, you can see it doesn’t really look like anything, just a mass of cells

These plant hormones involved with plant growth and development are known as plant growth regulators (PGR), they are vital for plant species outside of plant micropropagation as well as within. PGR such as auxin and cytokinin work in different ratios to promote/induce upward and or downward growth using multiple means, such as accumulation to function. For example, if a semi deep ring was cut all around the trunk of a tree, a process known as girdling, the whole of the previously developed root system is still functional, it just can no longer transport the resources upward to the top of the tree, where the leaves and branches are. This is because of the biology of the tree, the xylem/phloem tissues (the cells involved with transporting water and food recourses respectively), have been severed like a dam on a river. PGR are mobile within these transportation tissues and as such are also blocked from travel, and thereby accumulating just below the wound on the tree (water on one side of a dam), this leads to certain cells undifferentiating, proliferating (rapidly reproducing/ growing), and differentiating into cells that help new shoot tissues grow. This concept is something you may have been exposed to without knowing, as most of us were always told to not peel the bark off trees, without proper care girdling turns from a propagative practice to a tree killing circumstance.

Here is an example of a girdled tree developing new shoots below.

There are so many small details and concepts within plant tissue culture and plant propagation, and it is honestly important for me to both review these concepts as well as be able to communicate them in a manner that anyone can understand, especially within the scope of a nature interpreter. I hope I was able to simplify any unknown terms as well as provide enough analogy to the concepts specified to help multiple learning styles enjoy this content. If you have any questions about certain topics within pant tissue culture, I would be glad to help answer them.

Image sources

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Callus_(cell_biology)

https://www.researchgate.net/figure/Newly-girdled-Swingle-citrumelo-tree-A-and-shoot-development-on-the-basipetal-side-of_fig1_275960335

[huey68678265794]

Growing Bubblelicious Seeds

Colours for your soap can be obtained from fairly suppliers, but whoever you buy from ensure you are using colours that for soap making. Offering the plants to colouring your soap is to remember that these kit is very concentrated and you ought to begin with a lighter shade and then deepen the shade. It is almost impossible to lighten a dark colour. 1957 was the year of the rest is distributed legal Ough.S. hemp crop. The restrictive U.S. Marijuana Tax Act of 1937 shut it down. It a competitive threat towards wood products industry and new patentable synthetic fibers more profitable than almond. Now there is an Industrial Hemp Movement also included with hemp products as choices for building, food, fuel, fabric, health and sweetness aids, and paper.

Fish oil has been highly promoted for too much time as a strong form of omega step 3. Fish oil does not contain (ALA) Alpha-linolenic acid, it only contains (EPA) Eicosaentaenoic Acid and (DHA) Docosahexaenoic Level of acidity. This is a very important fact since men and Green Leaf Healing CBD women can convert ALA to EPA and DHA. Omega3 can also contain harmful chemicals built in due for the polluted waters in how the fish are bred. A number of Cannabis Study rivers and lakes have pesticides along with other toxins in that person that the fish live in and absorbing before being caught to assemble the oil from them. There are also farm raised fish that are employed that could provide a much better quality of fish oil. If something have an impression of what specifically needs staying done, you'll probably decide to employ the services of a Social Media Consultant help you or sometimes take the actual years social media tasks, that turn can free increase time, so you can give attention to what is most crucial in your life and/or web business. You could imagine that nice glass of red wine will relax you. But alcohol will only provide temporary relief. Alcohol is a depressant and could be habit. It is an imitation crutch likewise allows not assist the underlying complication. The same is applicable to similar stimulants such as Cannabis. "The policy of drug prohibition it's strategy of 'War on Drugs/War on American People' proves a wonderful failure," Officer Howard Wooldridge said. "If we for you to shoot every drug user, every Willie Nelson, Rush Limbaugh, Roger Clemens different pro baseball players, as well as the other 30 odd million Americans who use illegal drugs, would we achieve success? If we eliminated the Bill of Rights in in conjunction with "shoot-on-sight" anyone the police suspect provides or is selling drugs, I believe we will achieve a 'Drug Free America.' What number of are in order to pay that price? Omega 6s can be located in plant oils for hemp, sesame, and callus. Plant oils are not suggested if pounds reduction is aim. Coconut and corn oils contain very high amounts of saturated fatty acids and. CBD Oil Benefits has the best ratio of Omega 3 and Omega 6. - To heal eczema you have to consume foods that will aid in the Green Leaf Healing CBD process and relax detoxification. Hemp is the seed anyone. Hemp is also an effective brain as well as good for your blood. Puree any of factors in a blender: 6 or 7 tomatoes, some onions, garlic, 2-6 tablespoons lemon juice, sea salt, soaked sun dried tomatoes, spices and herbs which you like. Fill the blender to the top-about 7-8 cups. Mix the blended mixture into the flax seed mixture. (Do not blend; you in order to leave the flax seeds whole.) Add caraway seeds or fennel seeds or dried onion bits good quality.

[annieboltonworld]

Juniper Publishers- Open Access Journal of Environmental Sciences & Natural Resources

Different Media Effect on Various Characteristics of Floribunda Rose (Rosa spp)

Authored by Majid Hissam

Abstract

An experiment at Floriculture section of Agricultural Research Institute Tarnab Peshawar was carried out in 2016 to study the effect of soil, silt, leaf mold and FYM on various characteristics of Floribunda rose (Rosa Day Breaker) such as days to 50% sprouting, number of leaves plant-1, number of branches, number of leaves per branch, number of buds, callus diameter (inches), shoot diameter (cm), and shoot length (inches).The experiment was laid out in Randomized Complete Block Design (RCBD) with four treatments and three replications. Number of leaves branch-1, number of branches plant-1, callus diameter (inches), shoot diameter (cm) and shoot length were significantly affected by media, while no significant effect of media was recorded on days to 50 % sprouting, number of buds and number of leaves.

Keywords: Floribunda; Media; (RCBD); Replications; Treatment

Introduction

Rose, a symbol of affection, elegance, inspiration, sensuality, spirituality and source of aesthetic gratification for human beings, is one of the leading cut flowers in global floriculture trade. It belongs to genus Rosa of family Rosaceae, which contains 200 species and more than 18,000 cultivars [1]. It has always been the most favorite flower in the subcontinent. There is hardly any event where roses are not displayed in varied fashion. Cut rose flowers play an important role in interior decoration and add charm to different social and cultural ceremonies. Pakistan, being an agricultural economy, with diverse agro climatic a condition has a great potential for cut rose production. According to a survey, roses are being grown as cut flowers on 1,300 acres of land in Punjab [2] and an increase is being witnessed in rose cultivation in Pakistan. However, the technology being used is primitive which is a major hurdle in flourishing this industry in the country. Therefore, there is dire need to standardize production and handling technology for getting higher yields of better quality to compete in international markets. For this purpose, optimization of growing substrate is important as the substrates play a vital role in quality flower production. Various soilless substrates have successfully been used for several decades to intensify production and reduce cost [3].

These substrates have marked influence on plant’s health and vigor by dint of their role as a basic medium. A light, rich, porous and well drained medium is considered ideal for roses. Higher yield of best quality stems is entirely based on physico-chemical characteristics of growing substrates. Moreover, the fact that roses, unlike most other crops, are being constantly harvested and thereby exhibiting large fluctuation of the transpiring area must be taken into consideration when attempting to select a growing medium [4].

Studied that soilless cultivation of roses grown in perlite/ coconut coir dust increased yield and stem quality which might be related to the higher water holding capacity and cation exchange capacity of coconut coir, suggesting this organic material as one of the alternatives to peat for hydroponic culture. Cultivation of roses in soilless substrates is being practiced by using sand culture and nutrient flow technique (Takano, 1988); gravel culture [5]; organic substrates, mineral wool and aeroponics [6,7] and perlite [8]. There is a continuing interest in using various agricultural by products as an organic nutrient source for plants on account of their easy availability at cheaper prices and higher, slow release nutritional constituents [9,10].

Keeping in view the socio economic value of cut roses and emerging needs to standardize the technology for commercial rose production, this study was conducted with the objective to standardize growing substrate for cut rose production by incorporating easily available agricultural byproducts. A better understanding regarding the effectiveness of various growing substrates in improving growth, yield, manipulating soil characteristics and nutrient uptake would help to recommend a medium to the industry for quality rose production.

Materials and Methods

To study the effect of different growing media on floribunda rose (Rosa Day Breaker). An experiment was conducted at Floriculture section of Agricultural Research Institute Tarnab Peshawar in 2016. The experiment was laid out in Randomized Complete Block Design (RCBD) with four treatments and three replications.

a) Cuttings: 7-8 inches cuttings were taken from floribunda rose through sharp scissors.

b) Media preparation: The potted media was thoroughly prepared before the planting of rose cutting with the help of spade. Four different types of media soil, silt, leaf mold, FYM and the fifth one control were used.

c) Plastic bags: After media preparation plastic bags of 6 inches was filled from the media. In the bags rose cuttings was planted at a depth of 2-3 inches.

d) Irrigation and weeding: First irrigation was given just after plantation and then the cuttings were irrigated after specific interval of time through fountain. Weeds were removed manually.

e) Parameters studied: The following parameters were studied in the experiment.

a) Days to 50 % sprouting: Days to 50 % sprouting was counted from date of sowing.

b) Number of leaves plant-1: Number of leaves plant-1 was recorded by randomly selecting few plants from each treatment and then the average was calculated.

c) Number of branches plant-1: Number of Branches plant-1 was recorded by randomly selecting few plants from each treatment and then the average was calculated.

d) Number of leaves branch-1: Number of leaves Branch-1 was recorded by randomly selecting few plants from each treatment and then the average was calculated.

e) Number of Bud's plant-1: Number of Bud's plant-1 was recorded by randomly selecting few plants from each treatment and then the average was calculated.

f) Callus Diameter (inches): For callus diameter determination six plants was randomly selected in each treatment, diameter was determined through vernier caliper and then average diameter was calculated.

g) Shoot Diameter (cm): For shoot diameter determination six plants was randomly selected in each treatment, diameter was determined through vernier caliper and then average diameter was calculated.

h) Shoot length (inches): Shoot length was calculated through measuring tape by randomly selecting few plants from each treatment and then the average was calculated.

Statistical Procedure

The data were collected on different parameters and subjected to analysis of variance (ANOVA) using statistical package statistix 8.1. Least significant difference (LSD) test was used for finding significant differences between the means in case of significant results (Table 1).

Results and Discussion

a) Days to 50% sprouting: ANOVA regarding days to 50 % sprouting shows that media had no significant effect on days to 50 % sprouting [11]. Also found that media had no significant effect on days to 50 % sprouting.

b) Number of leaves branch-1: ANOVA regarding number of leaves branch-1 shows that number of leaves plant-1 was significantly affected by media. Mean data in (Table 2) shows that significantly highest number of leaves branch-1 were recorded for T3 and T2 followed by control while least number of leaves plant-1 were noted for T1[12,13]. Also found that media had significant effect on number of leaves branch-1. ANOVA regarding number of leaves plant-1 shows that media had no significant effect on number of leaves plant-1 [14]. Also found that media had no significant effect on number of leaves plant-1.

c) Number of branches plant-1: ANOVA regarding number of branches plant-1 shows that of branches plant-1 was significantly affected by media. Mean data in (Tables 3 & 4) shows that significantly highest number branches plant-1 were recorded for control and T2 followed by T3 while least number of branches plant-1 was noted for T1 [15]. Also found that media had significant effect on number of branches plant-1.

d) Callus Diameter (inches): ANOVA regarding callus diameter (inches) shows that callus diameter (inches) was significantly affected by media.Mean data in (Tables 5 & 6) shows that significantly highest callus diameter (inches) were recorded for T3 and control followed by T1 while least callus diameter (inches) were noted for T2 [16]. Also found that media had significant effect on callus diameter (inches).

e) No of buds: ANOVA regarding No of buds per plant shows that media had no significant effect on No of buds per plant [17]. Also found that media had no significant effect on No of buds.

f) Shoot diameter (cm): ANOVA regarding shoot diameter (cm) shows that shoot diameter (cm) was significantly affected by media. Mean data in Table 7 shows that significantly highest shoot diameter (cm) were recorded for T3 and T1 followed by T2 while least shoot diameter (cm) were noted for control [18]. Also found that media had significant effect on shoot diameter (cm).

g) Shoot length (inches): ANOVA regarding shoot length (inches) shows that shoot length (inches) was significantly affected by media. Mean data in (Table 8) shows that significantly highest shoot length (inches) were recorded for T3 and T1 followed by T2 while least shoot length (inches) were noted for control [18]. Also found that media had significant effect on shoot length (inches) [19-31].

Conclusion and Recommendation Conclusion

a) From the experiment it is concluded that media had significant effect on callus diameter (inches), shoot length (inches), shoot diameter (cm), number of branches and number of leaves per branch while non significant effect of media was noted for days to 50% sprouting, number of leaves per plant and number of buds.

b) The combination of silt and leaf mold gave us best result as compared to other treatments, so this combination is recommended for floribunda rose.

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4SEASONS stop half step DIET 7

diet 7 Mad cow disease Mad cow disease, identified in humans as Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease, came from the fact that herbivorous cows were fed with ground cows. The cannibals died out of unknown epilepsy, a sacred disease of their ancestors, when their priests ritually ate and gave others the brains of their grandparents to eat. The small nucleic acid-free unit of protein is the prion, which can enter cells and change their affirmation. Either way, it's an infectious agent. The prions of the same cow in the cow are recognized as their own proteins and are not digested. They are used immediately for construction. But these are the proteins of another cow! PrP, animal prions in humans, called PRnP, are therefore a confusing guarding and entering factor. Rangers and supervisor encourage the use of prions for building. After some time, the disintegrating parts with these prions, as well as their unused and undigested excess, litter everywhere. The cow defends itself and stores these prions in the body, or poorly built pieces with these prions, wherever possible. Prions are very small. They flow wherever they can, and cows sit in the brain and spinal cord with no way back. Most in the spine. The cannibals died out quickly because they were feeding themselves. The cows die in installments because the external breeder feeds them. Us too. This is a clear situation. What about the prions of the animals we eat? For example, sheep and pig meat a disease called scrapie scarpie? Animals whose protein is close to that of humans. What about simple organisms with non-specific and non-targeted proteins? Phytohormones just because they are non-specialized in function can they be used by humans to grow the body on a where you put it - it grows there. Phytohormones do not need a guardian, a manager who checks if it is possible. To rebuild the jaw bones, the dentist sews a sponge or agar-agar soaked with growth hormone into the root hole and the bone grows there. Well, we eat large amounts of phytohormones every day, because they are herbicides that are sprayed on gardens and plantations! They wreak havoc on our bodies and we die of cancer. They sit on clothes, cause abnormal skin functioning, rashes, sweating disorders and finally allergies. They get into the lungs, triggering the body's defenses, with which our nervous system does not know what to do and becomes stupid. We are afraid to breathe deeply, we have neuroses, fears and uncertainty. In the face of this disaster, isn't it better to go straight away and eat good, fatty, thick and salty fries? We can still do that much. Because our breeders do other things for us.

Plant hormones, also known as phytohormones, regulate many biochemical and physiological processes, such as, for example, protein synthesis, cell division and differentiation, and the occurrence of targeted movements (tropisms) of plants. As with animal hormones, phytohormones act at low concentrations and usually at sites other than where they are synthesized. However, the range of action of the plant hormone, as opposed to the animal hormone, concerns a whole range of different processes.

There are 5 main groups of plant hormones: Auxins Gibberellins Cytokinins Abscisic acid Ethylene The first known phytohormone was an auxin called indole acetic acid (IAA). This hormone is synthesized in young parts of plants where intensive cell division takes place. The amino acid tryptophan is the precursor of IAA biosynthesis. The IAA was found to be responsible in plants for: cell growth in length inhibiting the growth of side shoots (cutting the apex of the growth causes the growth of side shoots) stimulating root growth stimulating cell division in the wound tissue - callus (especially in deciduous trees) inducing fruit production without pollination (parthenocarpy) auxin, indole acetic acid

Gibberellins are a group of about 100 similar chemical compounds from the diterpenes group. Gibberellins are responsible for: stimulating the growth of the main shoot and inhibiting the growth of side shoots. interrupting seed dormancy regardless of the presence of external stimulating factors interrupting the winter dormancy of buds of woody plants, stimulating cell division in wound tissue - callus inducing fruit production. (pollination excluded), in selected plants, for example: tomato, cucumber and apple. Zeatin is a natural cytokinin. Cytokinins are derivatives of adenine; they are found in young organs. Zeatin is a non-directional phytohormone. Abscisic acid, also called dormin, is a hormone produced by the plant in response to unfavorable thermal or water conditions (drought). Here's how it works: inhibits growth processes induces the production of a cut-off layer in the petioles of fruits and leaves, which causes them to drop closes the stomata (during drought) puts seeds and buds in a state of rest. The phytohormones also include ethylene gas.

In low concentrations, they drive growth, in larger concentrations they act as an aggressive brake, blocking cell development. But farmers multiply the dose of spraying, just in case they do additional spraying, because they want to have a good harvest and earn money. They are poisoning us, with general consent, and quite legally. see episode one descriptive on Diet Zero. trututurtuu