#residual pollution

[indizombie]

Cigarette butts are the most littered item on the planet, with an estimated 4.5 trillion disposed of improperly every year, many of which end up in our waterways. Nicotine, pesticide residues and heavy metals leach from butts into the water, poisoning fish and the microorganisms on which they feed. But that isn’t all - cigarette filters are also made of a form of plastic which degrades into microplastics. As well as being consumed by fish, recent reports suggest that microplastics have now been found in human blood and organs. Whilst the health effects of this plastic accumulation are as yet unknown, we do know that microplastics cause damage to human cells in laboratory settings.

‘Plastics, the Environment and the Tobacco Industry’, Tobacco Tactics

#Tobacco Tactics #Cigarette butts #Nicotine #pesticide residues #heavy metals #pollution #cigarette filters #microplastics

[waitingforminjae]

thinking abt when that person wrote a p*do student/teacher fanfic of xiao zhan and yibo that made it’s way to weibo so all the xz girlies mass reported it and it ended up getting ao3 banned in china

#nothing but respect for MY troops (normal xz girlies when all that went down)! #y'all were in the trenches of a war so bad i can still feel it's residual effects today #noise pollution

[mass4ubd]

Beauty is power; a smile is its sword

#20-count of individually wrapped pre-moistened Neutrogena Makeup Remover Face Wipe Singles. Individually wrapped facial cleansing towelettes #Makeup remover facial cleansing towelettes work to dissolve all traces of dirt #removes bacteria #impurities #oil and makeup on skin while also removing pollution #sweat and sunscreen #for superior cleansing and makeup removing power at your fingertips #Facial cleansing wet wipes are ophthalmologist- #dermatologist- #and allergy-tested and gentle on the eyes. The effective formula removes up to 99% of makeup--even stubborn waterproof mascara--without tug #Our Clean Promise to you and the Planet. These facial cleansing wipes are made with 100% plant-based fibers #biodegrade in 35 days in home compost #and are formulated without phthalates #parabens #sulfates #alcohols #soaps #or dyes #Single-use wipes are disposable and thoroughly cleanse skin gently and leave behind no heavy residue #so there's no need to rinse. Plus #they're great to use in a daily beauty or skincare routine for a refreshing self-care experience anywhere

[tikkunolamresistance]

It’s Tu B’shevat soon, and whilst it’s customary for many to donate to Israel with intend to fund tree planting there, all we can think of is the many olive trees the IOF have destroyed bombing Gaza. The olive trees native to the land, that Palestinians nurtured for generations. We think of the land itself, brutalised by violent occupation— historic buildings destroyed, homes that have been lived and loved in for generations flattened. This Tu B’shevat, it feels almost wrong to plant a seed in our soil whilst the land of Palestine is being destroyed, bombed, bodies being pulled from the ground where it should be produce. There is death where there should be life, in the soil itself. It feels we can only mourn.

Water in Gaza is not safe for human consumption, by the toxins from broken plumbing infrastructure and the residual from countless bombing. How white phosphorus pollutes and poisons everything that it touches, from flesh to grass and the air itself. Bombing pollutes the Earth and contributes to the current climate crisis at levels far beyond what an individual using a plastic straw could ever contribute.

The colonization of Palestine has ushered in a climate crisis, destroying native flora and terrain in the name of “reclaimation”.

We weep, as Jewish souls, for the land that is being destroyed in our name. For the Earth that is being polluted in our name. There is nothing Jewish about destroying the Earth.

#tu bishvat #tu b’shevat #jewish antizionists #jewish #jumblr #judaism #jewish spirituality #palestine #gaza #colonialism

[reasonsforhope]

"Sunlight dapples the once-denuded forest floor as saplings spread their branches and leaves overhead, slowly forming a lush canopy.

Beside each young tree, a sign notes its species. Lupuna, says one, the colloquial Peruvian term, and below that its scientific name, Ceiba pentandra — in other words, a kapok tree, known for its cotton-like fibers. Huito, says another sign, or Geinpa americana, which produces edible gray berries.

Each sapling is distinct, a reflection of the Amazon's stunning biodiversity, with so many different species that you might go acres without finding a repeat.

Yet this young forest did not spring up naturally. It has been carefully recreated by humans in an area that was, until just three years ago, a heavily contaminated moonscape.

This land was stripped of its dense vegetation by miners scouring the subsoil for tiny specks of gold, using mercury to separate the gold from the sediment. Many thought that a healthy forest would never thrive in impoverished, mercury-laden topsoil and that the piles of sandy tailings, the residue from the gold mining effort, and the pools of wastewater were irremediable...

"It feels good to see the forest grow back," says Pedro Ynfantes, 66, the miner whose legal mining concession of 1,110 acres includes this 10-acre patch of land where this young forest is located. "We don't want to deforest. When we had the opportunity to let the forest grow back, we took it. It's much better this way."

The opportunity he refers to came via U.S. nonprofit Pure Earth, which works with communities across the Global Southto remediate environmental problems left behind by mining, much of it illegal. Their biggest targets are mercury and lead contamination...

Security forces have launched anti-mining operations down the years, even blowing up the miners' equipment deep in the jungle. But most local politicians, including Madre de Dios' members of Peru's national congress, broadly support the miners, who are a powerful constituency in the relatively sparsely populated jungle region.

Restoring the forest

Pictured: France Cabanillas works for the nonprofit group Pure Earth, which is spearheading an effort to plant saplings in areas of the Peruvian Amazon that were devastated by illegal gold mining.

Now there's an effort to address the damage. Initially working with the region's legal miners, most of whom were here before the 2009 gold rush kicked off, the nonprofit group Pure Earth is using this patch of Ynfantes' land as a pilot project to show how the rainforest can be regenerated after the last traces of gold have been plucked from the soil.

It took a sustained outreach effort. Many miners are wary of or even downright hostile to foreign NGOs, which have repeatedly called for gold mining to be banned or severely curbed in the Peruvian Amazon — steps they say would cost them their livelihood.

"I am feeling optimistic," says France Cabanillas, Pure Earth's local coordinator, who has been appealing to the frustration of many miners at the heavy toll they have taken on the jungle and their desire to minimize their environmental footprint for the next generation.

"We still have a lot to do but this pilot is going well. Down the years, the miners have been getting a lot of stick but not much carrot when it comes to their environmental impacts," says Cabanillas. "We are offering them a carrot, allowing them to remediate their own impacts. Many of the miners do not want to be destroying the rainforest."

Before the miners plant the carefully-selected mix of tree species, they had to prepare the earth. Most of the topsoil had been washed away by the miners' heavy use of hoses.

That preparation involved adding biochar (burnt organic material) and even molasses, which contain fixed carbon and minerals, along with various other nutrients. The miners also had to dig tiny moats around the saplings to prevent all of this new planting from being washed away. Now, after three years, the forest is visibly coming back.

The rejuvenated rainforest also mitigates the impact of the mercury used by many of the illegal miners.

Research done by Pure Earth shows that the barren, sandy soil emits mercury. But in a rainforest, the ecosystem actually absorbs some of the metal, boosting public health."

-via NPR, April 2, 2024

#mining #illegal miners #gold #gold mining #peru #rainforest #ecosystem #mercury #environment #pollution #remediation #reforestation #good news #hope

[konigbabe]

steal the thunder - I -

Pairing: Hajime Kashimo x fem!sorcerer!reader Word count: 5.8k Tags/warnings: no y/n; unhinged reader; manga spoilers (Culling Games + Perfect Preparation arcs); fight description; canon-typical violence; there will be eventual smut in the later parts fyi Summary: There's murder in the air – with the Culling Games underway, a simple task of finding an angel turns to a fight for life when you meet a certain, static and 400 years old sorcerer with cyan hair and wicked intentions.

Artwork by poro (poro06625649) on Twittter [source]; divider by @skylightlantern [source] For a better understanding of the reader's CE and CT, visit this Tumblr post.

masterlist • navigation • faq • AO3 • ko-fi

There's murder in the air – an unsettling undertone that pollutes the atmosphere. Gentle breeze carrying the metallic fragrance of blood within its currents.

The dockside keeps quiet. Sky clear, devoid of seagull calls. Walking by colossal steel shipping containers, stacked high, the scent persists. Clings to the air like a persistent specter. Each step accompanied by the gentle lap of waves against the pilings, their rhythmic cadence a stark contrast to the horrors you've seen.A soothing lullaby in the midst of chaos.

The maze-like layout of the quayside comes to an end when your muscles strain, lifting off the ground and landing atop the steel structure.

A giant panda comes into view. Its relaxed posture, perched on hindlimbs, contrasts with its impassive countenance as it gazes your way.

"Panda," you address what some might believe to be an actual animal; innocent, cute and completely harmless. Except for this Cursed Corpse – your subordinate – is none of those things.

He fixes you with your very name; a disturbing familiarity in his eyes, then the words escape his lips.

"The smell of blood's so thick," he voices as you draw near, words cutting through the tension. "There must be about three people dismembered here–"

You hold up two fingers, the other hand nestled in your pocket.

"Two actually," you intervene, voice a measured interruption, "walked past a man with a hole the size of a soccer ball in his chest."

The memory resurfaces – the sight of the man, head drooping, neck bent at an unnatural angle. Eerie web-like burns sprawled across his bare flesh. The smell of singed skin and ozone hangs in the air, a pungent reminder. Yet, it's not just that which jolts your senses. It's the residual static of someone's cursed energy, an unsettling presence that lingers.

"But that's not what troubles me," continuing, you stand next to Panda, arms now crossed as both of you watch the lifeless skies, "something bad's here. I tried following the remnants of the cursed energy of the perpetrator but it was very faint."

"Could be an expert who can turn their cursed energy on and off at will…" Panda thinks out loud.

You let the idea sit for a second. Could it be the case? Could someone in this colony be capable of doing it? Known, registered sorcerers are absent here. The majority are newly awakened, scarcely equipped to comprehend a sophisticated notion like this. And why would they feel the need to hide their cursed energy?

No.

Dismissing your doubts, you shake your head and stride toward the edge of the shipping container.

"Don't think so. Nevertheless, we're here to find that angel girl and negotiate with her." Stepping onto the container's edge, unfazed by the high drop; balancing skillfully, you extend one leg over the edge, about to step into empty space. In a seamless motion, you touch down on the solid concrete ground below.

Panda follows suit, rolling off the shipping container with agility, landing right beside you. Then he stands, an odd combination of human-like stance and panda appearance, more akin to a person in a panda costume than an actual animal.

"Our safest bet is to leave the docks. Fast. Just play pretend, avoid any unnecessary conflicts and make it out of this colony in one piec–"

The sentence's left hanging as a sudden shift in the atmosphere catches your attention. Panda falls on all fours, frozen still.

"Ah," a deeper, resonant voice rumbles from your right, the words echoing as the familiar sensation washes over you. A sudden buzz inside your mind, an abrupt surge of awareness regarding another sorcerer's presence. Heart mirroring the rapid flutter of a startled bird's wings.

Their cursed energy, concealed and latent, manages to evoke an almost primal response within you. A sense of fight or flight.

You pivot to face the uninvited presence before you.

A cascade of hair, vivid as a robin's egg and kissed by the hues of a clear summer sky, is gathered into twin buns atop his head while tendrils of untamed locks dance freely in the breeze, resembling a stormy sea. Longer bangs frame the contours of his face, softening his visage.

He stops when his eyes – the same uncanny shade as his hair – bore into yours. Carrying what you'd guess is a Nyoi staff slung over his shoulder, he stands at a slight angle. Excludes casual confidence, a sense of poised readiness.

"Another one," he breaks the silence. You stand your ground in response to his observation.

"Not interested in a fight," you remark, hands risen in a defensive gesture. Yet you don't dare take your eyes off the sorcerer. Ready and composed.

Panda, ostensibly cautious, inches closer to you, fur bristling in sync with his unease towards the newcomer's presence. The air tightens, charged with the unspoken potential for violence.

"Kogane," he calls out to the shikigami, summoning it like a wisp from the aether; the small creature materializes, its hue the shade of a serene lake, light and amicable as it floats near his head, "is the panda a player too?"

The shikigami screeches its answer, its words setting everything in motion.

"Indeed!! A player! Yep!!"

"That's a function," your pondering voice meets a forced silence. The state of perturbed ambiance vanishing as your thoughts are cut off.

A flesh of white. Empty space occupies the spot where the sorcerer was standing less than a second ago.

You sense his presence before your eyes even settle on his countenance; his eyes, framed with short zig-zag lines reminiscent of lightning bolts underneath them, a furious cauldron of murderous excitement as they lock onto yours. They widen with a manic intensity. An undertone of madness lurking deep within their depths.

A predator's gaze fixated on its prey.

In a heart-stopping moment, time stands still. The world around you fades into a blur as a primal instinct takes over. Your body reacts; a precision born of pure reflex – muscles coiled like springs, you counter his attack with a swift and calculated movement.

His volatile energy crackles in the air. Your hands snap up. Fingers attempting to curl around his bandaged forearm. Channeling your cursed energy to your clavicles, the place where his palm lays flat against you –

But your reactions prove inadequate. You're too slow. A shocking speed and heavy push; a surge of force is sent through your body, catching you off-guard. The ground beneath you becomes a temporary adversary. Your balance disrupted as you're sent flying backward.

Back colliding with the hard, metal steel of a shipping container – you watch in horror as the sorcerer mercilessly attacks Panda. Using his staff as a weapon. With unnatural speed and agility, Panda struggles against him; his valiant resistance a testament to his determination, his form a blur of motion as he evades the sorcerer's attacks and manages a few good blows of his own.

Your body feels light. A tingling sensation surging through your veins. Electric current's rushing beneath your skin, setting your pulse racing and your focus to a razor's edge. The metallic taste of blood floods your mouth. Mingles with the adrenaline in your body. Every nerve firing in response to the raw energy pulsing through your body.

It hits you then–

"Heh, electricity," you mumble, the word slipping from your lips as you raise your palms, clenching your fists. Feeling the tingling in the tips of your fingers. The slight buzzing in your ears.

–his cursed energy has a special trait. One certainly hard to defend against.

Barely seconds have passed since your body was forced to rest against the ground. It still feels too long with Panda barely matching the man's speed and force.

Gritting your teeth, the urgency of the situation anchors you, overriding any pain or disorientation as you fight to regain your footing. A sense of pride fills you when you watch Panda use his technique, striking the sorcerer with enough force that'll easily knock him out cold. One of Panda's winning moves.

Except it doesn't.

"Nice one," the man's voice rings out. A taut smirk playing at the corner of his lips. Your teeth clench, disbelief intertwining with unease as you watch. With a predominated precision, the sorcerer maneuvers his staff, entwining it with Panda's arm in a smooth motion that catches you off guard.

Exerting a forceful pull, he forces a grimace from Panda. Right arm caught in the vice-like grip, a sickening crack underscores the moment. Followed by the nauseating sensation of Panda's arm being torn from his body. Violently. And mercilessly.

Panda stumbles. Pain and agony escaping in a cry. The sorcerer doesn't waste a second. Hurls the arm back at Panda, using the momentum to charge forward. Palm aiming flat against his chest, he sends Panda flying backward – the same way he did to you. Causing your junior to experience a similar sensation to yours.

The cyan-haired man straightens, seemingly relaxing, already content with winning the fight.

"But I'm not impressed," he taunts, words an ominous echo of the violence just unleashed, "It's too ordinary."

Feeling the concrete beneath your feet, you take deliberate steps forward. With an inkling of Panda's potential strategy, you expel the pooled blood from your mouth, spitting it onto the ground.

"...Sukuna, you know where he is?" The man's words flow, attention diverted, ignorant of your presence.

A fortunate circumstance.

"No clue," Panda responds. His reply burdened with weariness and defeat; yet his gaze remained fixed on you, a silent exchange of understanding passing between you as you position yourself, tension radiating from his weary form.

The sorcerer scoffs; a contemptuous tilt of his head, a gesture laden with superiority. "Sounds like you know something, then," he snarls, his grip on the staff constricting as his fist clenches, "Spit it out. I'll be merciful."

With the sorcerer's back turned you raise your arm. Your gaze remains fixed upon the convergence point of the two delicate lines, their path crossing at the very heart of the expanse that's the upper part of his broad back.

"I won't be," you declare; voice carrying a firm tone. A deft flick of your wrist – the current of cursed energy takes the desired shape before it's hurled toward your target. Slashing the air in front of you, aimed right at him.

His gaze veers to the side. And in a fraction of a heartbeat, he moves; executing a skillful sidestep. Body positioned to face you from the side, both hands now gripping his staff, aiming it at you; a glint of fervor ignites his eyes as they widen, locked onto the shipping container stationed behind Panda. The unforgiving force of your attack rends the shipping container apart, leaving two gaping slashes that could bisect a man.

You don't give him time to react properly.

The moment blood begins to stain his white robe crimson red from the nick on his shoulder, you lunge forward. Like a bull being waved a red flag. Feet imbued with your cursed energy, reinforced to ensure protection.

As you close the distance at a breakneck pace, you sense the distinct composition of his cursed energy. With your fingers curled around the staff, your eyes meet his, a faint grin playing at the corners of your mouth as you tug on his weapon with your full body weight. Lifting your legs off the ground, you use the staff as a fulcrum. His body feels resilient, akin to forged steel, against the soles of your shoes.

With the potency of your cursed technique coursing through your strike, the man is propelled backward, his body hurtling through the air. The Nyoi staff clings to the concrete. Left untouched upon the impact.

Flying through a shipping container, he quickly finds his footing. Stance shifting in response to your aerial maneuver. Legs splayed to establish a firm foundation, you focus your intent on targeting his jaw. Fists charged with cursed energy, you hit once; knowing how troublesome the push-and-pull effect of your technique feels once your flesh makes contact–

"Not bad," he manages to spit out, the corner of his lip stained red. A smile tugs at the corner of his lip as you sprint toward him.

The surroundings blur into a muddled backdrop, irrelevant in your unwavering concentration. The sorcerer becomes the sole axis, a focal point in a world that seems to slow to a crawl, even though only a fraction of a second has passed.

The tip of your foot touches his; a mere whisper of contact between two opposing forces.

"Not bad at all."

–he counterattacks. Hand darts forward. Grabs your wrist. With an economy of motion, he employs your own momentum against you. His grip becomes a pivot, briefly throwing you off-balance, diverting your forward surge into an unexpected spiral.

Fluidity. That's how you'd characterize his movements. A seamless transition from being a passive target to an active agent.

His chest brushes against your back as his right hand remains locked around your right wrist. Single-handedly swinging your body like a marionette, you exploit the vulnerability of your position. Using his grip as leverage to move backward, simultaneously grabbing hold of his bandaged left forearm and pulling. Crashing your body into his, redirecting the movement into a collision.

With a potent surge of intention, you force the prepared rejection and attraction effect within your clenched fist, propelling it like a bolt toward the rear of your skull. Teeth gritted, you throw your head back.

Crack.

He stifles a groan, a step taken back but footing resolute. A red trail paints his nose as you swivel to confront him. Pausing briefly to charge your energy again, you grant him a moment to speak. His expression freezes as he locks eyes with you

"You," he speaks up, his voice textured with the tang of iron as his tongue grazes his lips, "Have we met before?"

With your hand still tingling, the ripples of sensation spread up your arm, an electric current tracing a pattern beneath your skin. Your head sways subtly, dispelling the notion of a previous encounter. "Unlikely. You'd be history."

A chuckle dances from his lips, a response to your retort. "What's your name then?"

You share it deliberately, each syllable a measured beat in your dance around one another. He nods, his head tilting with self-assured grace. It's then that he takes his stance – feet planted firmly, palms outstretched, a grin playing on his lips.

"The name's Hajime Kashimo."

The words hang, a telltale echo–

Hajime Kashimo.

–recognition snaps into place when you repeat his name in your mind.

The Hajime Kashimo, the sorcerer whose score reaches a hundred points; a mark that sets him apart from any other Culling game player (except for the intricate Hiromi Higuruma). Hakari's elusive target.

And here, right before you, stands the man himself.

"Hey," you call out, a new determination blossoming, your stance embracing the challenge; retreat is no longer a consideration, "if I beat you, can I get your points?"

The corners of Kashimo's lips twitch, smile fading like a wisp of smoke carried away by the wind. Expression blank, with only his brows furrowed as he responds, "Sure, but you tell me everything y'know about Sukuna," his voice lowered to a dangerous undertone, a velvet threat veiled in words, "that is–if you're still alive."

He charges then. Doesn't spare a single consideration. The air crackles with tension as his presence engulfs you. His hands make contact – not with fists or strikes – but with the calculated pressure of his open palms. You feel the weight of his touch on your skin. Pressure on your left, then on your right ribcage.

"Don't disappoint me now," breath tickles your ear, voice a tantalizing, dangerous melody. His fingers anchor firmly onto your right shoulder, an assertive grip that both commands and unsettles, while his other hand exerts a calculated force on your left shoulder guard, propelling you into a spin.

Your training surges forth, a symphony of muscle memory and instinct harmonizing within you. With the resilience born of countless battles, you swiftly adapt your stance, shifting your weight to face him.

An annoyed huff leaves your now-bruised lips. You channel your own cursed energy, a torrent of power surging through your veins.

Detain an attack when it comes,–

Knees bending, body swaying to evade the incoming fist; your left hand grips his left wrist, fingers tightening with determination, followed by your right driving into its intended mark.

–and send it away when it retreats.

Your palm meets the solid plane of his chest with a resonant thud; pushes and then pulls him back to you before sending him away again; successfully pushing back against Kashimo's pressure. It's a momentary reprieve. One that sends the sorcerer tumbling back, makes him roll on the ground, lending on one knee.

"Here I thought we were just getting started," you quip with a hint of playfulness amidst the dance of combat. Moving swiftly towards the target. As Kashimo's force ebbs, you seize the opportunity, your muscles coiling like springs.

"You're getting me–" he barely makes it back to his feet before you're at him again. With enough cursed energy imbued into your foot, utilizing the momentum of your motion, leg rising up in a calculated kick – only for Kashimo to shift; a fraction of movement that proves decisive. His arm weaves beneath the arc of your thigh, a sinuous and serpentine maneuver that seeks to entwine and subdue. As his grasp tightens, his fingers snake around your throat, lifting you from the ground, suspending you momentarily.

"–quite excited," he concludes, his voice tinged with an eerie excitement.

Once the hand is freed from contact,–

A heartbeat's pause feels like an eternity. With your legs rendered weightless and no stable ground beneath you. Despite the vulnerable position, your mind remains steadfast, honing in on Kashimo's Achilles heel. His hands are preoccupied, his grasp unwavering but his neck and face exposed.

–carry out a strike with it.

Seizing the opportunity, you make the most of the opening. Your palms press against the sharp contours of his cheeks, each hand finding its place on one side of his face. In one swift and deliberate motion, you channel the wellspring of cursed energy that resides within you into your technique. The currents of your energy converge between your palms, weaving a tapestry of arcane force that manifests as a palpable vacuum, centered precisely where his head rests.

It's an intentional manipulation. One – if done right, that is – could even lead to a cataclysmic implosion. A violent severing of life from the body. But you don't want to kill him; not yet at least. You need the points. And so, you temper your approach, exerting only the necessary amount of energy to induce a sensation of compression.

As the feeling envelops him, Kashimo's expression shifts, a flicker of realization that dances within his eyes. He instinctively withdraws. Bandaged forearms push at your body, sending you hurtling backward; a testament to his strength and strategic finesse.

"You cheeky little thing," a bead of blood traces a path from the corner of his eye. At the same time, another droplet emerges from his nose.

This time it's him who doesn't let you regain enough control as he charges at you. His approach swift and unrelenting. The tables are constantly turning – now being his time to dictate the tempo.

Another dance of offense and defense plays out as the two of you clash once again. Each move a deliberate response to the other's actions.

Chase the movement of the opponent–

As the flurry of his strikes slices through the air, you find yourself navigating the ebb and flow with a synchronicity that borders on the sublime. With a hawk-like focus, you track the trajectory of his hand, your senses attuned to his every motion.

While his hits continue to swing through both empty space and meeting your body, a fleeting opportunity presents itself. With the precision of a seasoned sorcerer, you follow the path of his hand with your own, fingers closing around his forearm as it narrowly misses your cheekbone, the other digging into the open slash wound on his shoulder.

–to continue the attack.

It earns you a hiss. A "Tsk," coming from his damaged lips.

One fluid motion; one that belies your strength. You capitalize on the momentum of his own swing, utilizing your grip to exert control. Your foot surges forward with unbridled force, the sole of your shoe connecting with the vulnerable juncture of his knee.

Kashimo's reflexes kick in as he instinctively leaps back the moment your foot makes contact with his leg. His visage bears the marks of battle, a canvas adorned with streaks of red, the vestiges of blood from the prior exchange. A mirror to his appearance, your own face likely reflects a similar narrative. Marked by the intensity of the confrontation. By his pure, physical prowess. One that, even if you use all your cursed energy, you're certain you couldn't match.

The shadows of weariness begin to cast their subtle touch on you. A weight that tempers your movements and shadows the clarity of your thoughts. Each calculated step, each strategic strike, seems to bear an additional burden now.

Still, resolute, your unwavering determination fixated on Kashimo, persevering in the face of creeping exhaustion.

Then you take off.

With a surge of action, you propel yourself into motion. Pivoting on your heel, you sprint toward the towering container crane a mere few meters behind. Kashimo's quick thinking registers in the corner of your vision—a flash of white on your right, drawing nearer.

"Running so soon?"

His taunting words reach you.

"Just limbering up," you reply. Muscles tensing, you feel his energy almost brushing against your own. So, with a leap, you vault into the air. Fingers curling around your ankle.

Time seems to slow as Kashimo's grip tightens around your ankle, his fingers like a vice attempting to anchor you to the ground. The world spins around you, the crane's towering structure becoming a blur as your body is abruptly yanked back, denied the freedom of flight.

Instinct kicks in, your mind racing to find a solution. With a swift twist of your body, you channel the energy within, your cursed power surging to your fingertips. A burst of force courses through your arm, the concentrated energy propelling your free leg forward in a powerful kick. Your heel connects with Kashimo's face, the impact forcing his grip to release.

In the split second of regained freedom, your body soars toward the container crane.

Muscles strained, you manage to grab hold of a protruding metal edge, fingers gripping with an iron determination. The harsh clang of metal meeting metal reverberates through the air as your body comes to a halt, swinging slightly from the momentum before you propel yourself higher onto the structure.

A smirk tugs at the corners of your lips. The distance between you and Kashimo now a tangible reminder of your evasion. His frustrated gaze meets yours, the tension between you electric and palpable.

"Nice try," you retort, voice laced with a mixture of weariness and defiance. There's an undeniable satisfaction in defying his grasp, in proving your prowess even amid exhaustion. Without wasting a moment longer, you hoist yourself up more, using the crane's structure to propel your body upward. Your form melds with the steel as you ascend, a maneuver to gain the vantage point.

Gotta limit his movement to the minimum.

Kashimo's expression shifts, a glint of admiration piercing through his irritation. "Impressive," he concedes, the words carrying an unexpected note of respect, "but you can't run from me."

He follows your lead. The two of you ascending the crane in a synchronized rhythm

"I told you, Kashimo–," you declare, your voice echoing between the steel beams as you reach the crane's zenith, standing face to face on the narrowest edge.

Now standing face to face on the crane's uppermost beam, the narrow back reach providing only small support. Your breath heaves, each inhalation a reminder of the intense exertion. Across from you, Kashimo's gaze remains fixed upon you, his expression deceptively relaxed.

"–that I'm only stretching."

His eyes, however, tell a different story – a depth of focus that cuts through your form. Anchoring onto you with an unwavering intensity.

A mournful melody weaves through the metal lattice, the wind's haunting whistle creating an eerie harmony with the tension in the air. The gusts playfully tousle both your hair in the process. You steady yourself into a stance, your body a testament to both resilience and purpose.

"Plus I want those points," you remark, a hint of determination coloring your words.

It's then that you charge — cursed energy flowing through your body like currents of compressed emptiness. A void. Unyielding. Relentless. And pneumatic.

With a flick of your wrist, you send it slicing through the air. A blade of nothing. A thin line etches across his chest, traversing from ribcage to his already wounded shoulder — a mark of your earlier endeavor. Nowhere to dodge now that he's standing between two metal beams.

Or so you thought.

Kashimo charges. The white of his robe tainted with scarlet. The cut isn't deep.

He must've reinforced his cursed energy.

"Tsk," you utter. A flicker of irritation crosses your features. Agitated. With waning stamina, the dwindling reservoir of cursed energy depleted by your previous usage; this could've been your last-ditch effort.

The final move.

And it failed.

It makes him smile. A sinister twist of lips that morphs into a grin. Moving fast, his expression resembles one of a predator closing in on its prey. The ruby stain on his robe seems to accentuate his aura of danger, a stark contrast to the pristine white it once was.

As your body contorts and arches backward, you skillfully evade the incoming fist aimed at your face. Your unwavering gaze remains locked onto his intense stare. With your palm pressed flat against the ground of the crane, you swiftly raise your leg, delivering a targeted strike to the meat of his thigh.

But before your maneuver can fully unfold, his hand seizes your ankle, pulling you towards him and locking your leg in place as he maneuvers over your body. Kashimo's grin widens, a predatory glint in his eyes that triggers a ripple of unease down your spine.

As his fist whizzes past your face, you seize the opportune moment to mount a counterattack. His fingers, still harshly locked around your right ankle, you push and pull against his grasp. Leg successfully moving to close over his thigh, the other hooking around his hip.

Legs now firmly encircling his waist, you use every ounce of your strength to push. Destabilize the sorcerer. Break his foundation. Disrupt his equilibrium.

The outcome? Both of you soaring through the air and down the crane. Kashimo's form aligns perfectly with the approaching solidity of the dockside concrete.

A rapid free fall, gravity's pull unrelenting.

If you're not getting the points, he's not getting his answers either.

His eyes momentarily flit to the ground below. Unspoken recognition of the shared peril that binds you both. The realization dawns in his eyes, widening them momentarily, before his gaze settles onto your face once more – unimpressed. Jaded.

"Oops," you jest under your breath, fingers finding purchase on the fabric of his torn clothes. An unhinged smile on your lips, eyebrows lifting in a mix of audacity and exhilaration. The wind sweeps through, rustling your hair with a cool caress that contrasts starkly with the warm stickiness of blood on your skin.

"It's accumulated enough."

That's the only forewarning you get. In an instant, the atmosphere shifts; an electrifying tension that dances along your skin. You sense the already familiar tingling as the static charges from the man beneath you. Kashimo's cursed energy now gaining intensity.

His open hand thrusts towards your face, a surge of energy gathering at his fingertips. Only to get countered by your own palm. Flat against each other. Forcing a focal point of energy converges and resistance to form. As the push effect comes into play just in time with waves of electricity.

The crackling intensity escalates, its tendrils reaching out with an insatiable hunger. Only to be pushed back by your own manipulation acting as a steadfast wall. It's a symphony of sensations — the tingling of your skin, the hum of power in the air, the gradual crescendo of pressure between your palms. The vortex throbs and pulses, a living embodiment of the forces you both wield.

The thing is – The conductivity of the vacuum…depending on how you look at it, it behaves in two different ways:

Firstly, when you examine the motion of charged particles with a constant velocity within a vacuum, you encounter an interesting phenomenon. Unlike in other mediums, there is no opposing force acting against these particles. Consequently, maintaining a steady current across any surface within a vacuum demands no additional effort.

However, a contrasting phenomenon manifests when we consider the existence of free charges within conductors. When an electric field, denoted as E, is imposed upon a conductor, it triggers a flow of electric current. This internal charge movement gives rise to a current density described by the equation: J = σE, where σ symbolizes the conductivity of the material. Notably, within a vacuum, σ assumes a value of 0; hence, electric fields lack the capacity to spontaneously induce current flow.

In this context, the vacuum departs from the role of a conductor. Even materials known as insulators, which typically restrict the flow of current, possess conductivity values that are low but not completely absent.

As a result, the resistance exhibited by a vacuum effectively amounts to infinity—particularly when you define resistance through the lens of how charge carriers in a substance respond. Viewed from this perspective, you could liken the vacuum to an insulator, given the absence of charge carriers that are essential for the propagation of electric current.

So in the end, your innate ability functions like an antistatic force.

It should be enough to counter his attack. Neutralizing his endeavor and ricocheting it back to him. Only if his other hand, clenched into a fist, suddenly hasn't entered your line of sight, aiming for your jaw.

The controlled push-only effect falters. Then crumbles. The void's pull reclaims all that Kashimo had imparted, drawing it back with an insatiable greed.

"Damn you." It now comes down to the last aspect of your technique.

Implosion.

The energies within your vacuum field converge, collapsing inwards with a blinding intensity. A jarring impact against the back of your head – or it might be the ending of your fall. Everything's just confusing. Everything blurs into a disorienting haze of continuous events.

The unforgiving touch of concrete grates against your scraped back. Each breath, now shallow and ragged, causes pain.

Above, the sky stretches wide and boundless. Until the sight is blocked by a mop of cerulean blue hair. Two buns somehow still in place. Same-colored eyes staring at your form. Arms folded and a countenance marred by bloodstains and scrapes. Each leg positioned on either side of your hips before one presses against the flat of your clavicles.

"You're quite durable," Kashimo retorts, pushing his weight down on you, "that should've killed you right there."

"Heh," you manage a wry chuckle, your voice strained but defiant, "guess I'm full of surprises."

He raises an eyebrow, a flicker of almost-amusement dancing in his eyes. The world around you seems to blur at the edges, the strain of the plummet combined with the failed attempt of your innate technique taking a heavy toll on your senses.

"It's been a while since I've encountered someone who can keep me on my toes this long. Now tell me," your name rolls off his tongue in a taunting lilt, "where's Sukuna?"

The distant sounds of the dockside begin to fade, replaced by an eerie emptiness. Despite your unwavering determination, a tide of dizziness threatens to engulf you, and you struggle to maintain your focus on Kashimo's face.

"On vaca–"

The weight on your chest vanishes abruptly. Kashimo's foot makes fleeting contact with your cheek before returning to its original place.

"Don't play with me. Spit it out."

"Oi," a voice calls to your right. A voice you know; Hakari's, "It's not very chivalrous to strike a lady like that."

From here, everything dissolves into darkness.

The world sways, a disorienting dance of shadows and sensations. Light pressure settles on your stomach with sounds echoing faintly in the distance. A gentle, steady rhythm envelops you as if you're being cradled in a cocoon of safety. Your limbs feel weightless, as though the ground beneath you has transformed into a soft cloud that carries your burdens away.

Your mind struggles to tether itself to the present, grappling with the fragments of consciousness that slip through your grasp. Colors blur, merging into a hazy kaleidoscope of fleeting images. The arms that encircle you exude warmth thought. One that lulls you back to sleep.

Yet you manage to summon the strength to part your heavy eyelids. Through the haze, you see a blur of black and white on top of you. Head resting upon something firm and solid – a breastplate, you realize. The rhythmic cadence that envelops you is accompanied by the subtle rise and fall of breath, a heartbeat that resonates beneath your cheek.

"Panda," you murmur, voice a tentative whisper as you attempt to comprehend whether or not you're dreaming, considering the creature on you is now a size of an actual teddy bear.

The toy-sized Panda remains seated on you but looks your way, emitting a surprised yelp at the sound of your voice, before swiftly turning his gaze forward again, "Hakari, she's awake!"

Your vision – still blurred – manages to trace a figure walking at the edge of your peripheral sight – left arm missing, shirt gone (he's shirtless, you discern), and crowned with purple hair. Hakari. But if Hakari's walking in front of you. Then…

Lifting your eyes, you suddenly lock onto a fleeting sight of vibrant cyan hair. The once-pristine white attire now soaked and marred with splotches of vivid red, creating an unsettling contrast. Your heart skips a beat as the realization dawns upon you.

It's Kashimo who bears the weight of your limp form.

"She's gonna pass out soon again," his voice carries vibrations that travel from his chest to your cheek with his gaze fixed upon you.

And he's right as your body, weary and battered, succumbs once more to the embrace of slumber.

#moni writes #hajime kashimo #hajime kashimo x reader #kashimo x reader #hajime x reader #jujutsu kaisen #hajime kashimo x y/n #hajime x y/n #kashimo x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jjk imagines #jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen fanfic

[rebeccathenaturalist]

So. Modern industrialized agriculture uses a LOT of chemicals. Pesticides, herbicides, fertilizers. And we've known for a long time that the excess chemicals end up washing into the nearby waterways, and eventually to the oceans, sickening organisms and damaging ecosystems all along the way. But this actually shows where pesticides in particular are entering into the ocean, and in what quantities.

One really important point made in the article is that it really doesn't take much of a pesticide to do serious harm to living beings; the dose is the poison, after all. And while the oceans are large, they are not infinite; three million metric tons every single year can only be diluted so much. This is to say nothing of the residual pesticides left in the soil, and whose long-term ecological impact we are also still studying.

A lot of our current industrialized agriculture stems from the mid-20th century when it was just assumed there was a chemical to fix everything and bring farming into "modern times." This is why I get excited about regenerative agriculture and other practices that reduce the amount of chemicals needed while maintaining or even boosting harvests. Not only do they mean less pollution, but they also represent less product that a farmer has to pay for, which increases profit. Here's hoping that we can continue finding better, 21st century solutions to agriculture's challenges.

#agriculture #farming #pesticides #pollution #environment #environmentalism #conservation #science #ecology #scicomm #nature #regenerative agriculture

[windsweptinred]

Metamorphosis

Based in this post

The AU Where Morpheus doesn't retire and become mortal, but marries up and gets a promotion...

Part One

3 months earlier

The bedsheets rustled as Hob stirred, breaking the near perfect silence of the bedroom. In the distance, waves of revelry carried across the breeze from the city centre, and the odd crawl of traffic from the road out back could be heard through the window. London never truly slept..

Hob pawed at the empty bed beside him before furrowing his brows. Peeling an eye open reluctantly and gazing blurrily towards Dream's perch on the window sill. 

"Dream?" He called questioningly, before rubbing at his eyes. Lifting his head and fumbling for his phone resting on the bedside table. "What time is it? 2.05!" Dropping back with an overly dramatic grunt, he covers his eyes with the heels of his hands and let out an exaggerated groan. "Umph. I have to be up in four hours!"

Smiling softly at his lover's behaviour, Dream turned to rest his forehead against the cool pane of glass, momentarily flinching at the remembrance of the cold sting against his skin. Before gazing upwards in contemplation. 

" Night seems muted somehow." 

Hob pulled a pillow out from beneath his head, resolutely bringing it down over it again with a huff. 

"That's air pollution for you poppet." 

Dream looked up at the moon, a hazy blur of light, lording over an inky sky of equally sickly looking stars. Blinking feebly in competition with the bright lights of the city below. Placing a hand flat against the smooth surface, he took a deep inhale, tentatively reaching out towards his mother, feeling a lazy waft of irritation in return. 

"Perhaps" 

Hob peered one eye out from beneath his goose feather fortress, before pulling himself free with a sigh. "Dream, come back to bed. Your simple human needs a few more hours if he's going to face 30 odd freshmens tomorrow."

Pulling his bare legs out from beneath him, Dream dropped gently to the floor. Hob's old shirt hanging in gently folds about his thighs, one sleeve draped precariously off his shoulder. Tip towing silently across the floor and slinking back into the bed, Hob granted him a tired yet loving, lopsided grin. Already fighting the droop of his eyelids. 

"Look at you, shining like a star." 

Dream smiled indulgently as Hob let out a loud yawn. Tucking himself snuggly against the side of his body. Basking in the heat of his duvet cocooned skin. With his head neatly resting in the curve of Hob's neck, he let out a small chuckle. "I do no such thing Hob Gadling." 

He felt Hob's fingers run a gentle figure of eight into his shoulder blade. 

"Then why's your skin twinkling like a bag of diamonds?" He mumbled, voice thick with sleep. 

Dream rolled his eyes, burying his nose into Hob's jawline. "You are a hopeless romantic when you are halfway to my realm my darling. Now…" He ran a hand featherlight over Hob's face. "Sleep." 

With a snuff, Hob eyes closed and dropped almost instantly into a peaceful slumber. Glancing idly about the room, Dream's eyes caught the glaring numbers of the stereo display. 12.15 am. Hob's sleep-addled brain must have misread the time. 

"I too wish for more time, beloved."

……. 

2 months earlier 

Hob exited the door of the shared English and History department, taking in a lungful of fresh, early evening air. He swore they'd painted the windows shut back in the 90s. The last time the university had seen fit to refurbish the building. His demeanour quickly lit up when he noticed the slim, dark figure of Dream resting against the bonnet of his car. Head tilted back, seemingly observing the deep reds of the sunset. Walking to meet him with a renewed  jig in his step, Hob greeted him with a peck to the cheek and twinning his arms about the Dream's slim waist, propping his head upon his leather clad shoulder. Feeling the residual warmth left by the setting sun on the fabric. 

Dream turned to observe him, eyes flitting about, cataloguing the toll the day had taken on him before smiling a small, sweet smile. "You glow today my love."

Hob barked a laugh, re shouldering his work bag and running a hand through his tousled hair. "That's a nice way of saying I still look hideously hungover duck. I appreciate it."

Dream pulled away, angling his lithe body to fully face Hob. 

"I do not jest. You shine with life. If I did not already know such a thing to be impossible, I would say you looked younger." He reached up, sweeping aside an  errant strand of auburn hair from Hob's eyes. "Vitalised."

Hob let out a snort, placing a quick peck upon Dream's brow, licking at the sweet remnants of 'dream' stuff it left upon his lips. "If you say so, love. Yesterday I swear I looked and felt every one of my 600 odd years. My hair was practically grey I tell you."

The starlight pinpricks hidden within Dream's pupils flared in what Hob had come to learn was amusement. For a brief moment, he swore he saw the first stars of the evening, scattered haphazardly amongst the intertwined reds and blues of sunset, flare back. 

" You are as vibrant as the day we met." 

Hob smirked at that, crowding Dream backwards until he half sat on the car bonnet. Leaning forward until they were but a hair's breadth apart. He whispered cock surely, "That's what you thought of me was it? Covered in shit and smelling twice as fragrant? Vibrant?" 

A challenging spark lit in Dream's eyes as he quirked his lip, before pouncing forward, arms wrapped tight about Hob's neck, claiming his lips in a searing kiss. 

A raucous chorus of wolf whistles sounded somewhere behind them, followed by a riotous roar of hoots and cackles. A group of students who'd obviously begun the night early. Hob pulled away, rolling his eyes, before giving his ear an embarrassed tug out of habit. 

He watched Dream take in the group with a fond expression. Wondering passingly what he knew of them. Their lives, their hopes, their dreams. When Dream turned his attention back to him, Hob's breath hitched in wonder. His eyes, usually pools of blue or as pitch black as the midnight sky, were now a wash with soft, mingling hues of reds, purples and blues. As if someone had captured the dusk sky around them and painted it onto Dream's eyes. He took a moment silently, to once again thank whatever entity watched over him, for deeming him worthy of this ethereal, beautiful creature in his arms 

"What were you looking at anyway?" 

Dream looked to the sky, and once again, the stars seemed to blink brightly in response. As if clamouring for his attention. 

"The stars are singing. Can you hear them?" 

Hob smiled adoringly, kissing Dream one last time before detangling himself from their embrace, working his way round the car and sweeping the passenger door open with a flourish. 

"If you say so sweetheart. Come on, let's head home."

….. 

One month earlier 

Hob pawed at the meat of Dream's thigh, hefting it higher as his thrusts increased their tempo. About his shoulder, he felt Dream's other knee tighten in a vice grip. His toes, resting near the centre of Hob's back, clenched with every snap of Hob's hips. Mouthing desperately at the beautiful pale breast below him, he felt the familiar sensation of his coming climax alight like a sparkler. 

"Oh god, I'm close, I'm…" And suddenly, he was adrift. Gone was Dream and in his place he was being held aloft in the vast, endless skies of night. He felt the cold embrace encompass his body, gently, lovingly. About him, stars and comets danced and flared in a frenzied, joyus display. From within him, he felt a heat, a great light pulse and grow. A  power, an essence unfurling within him like a flower, opening to embrace the first rays of dawn. He was a  great wave crashing against a slowly eroding cliff face, he was sun and shadow, weaving its way about an ancient sundial. He was the very turn of the seasons, rotating like a great wheel, over and over. 

And then, there was the night again, about him. Stroking, clawing, adoring, challenging. He battled back, he loved back. He felt the pull and push, light and dark, heat and cold… expanding and condensing. Building, building, building… Then… Bang. 

Hob, melted rather than pulled off Dream. Flopping down beside him on the bed. 

His body, a mass of quivering gelatin, he was sure couldn't hold him if he tried. He took lungfuls of the stale, bedroom air, thick with the heady aroma of sex and desperately tried to catch his breath. Next to him, Dream seemed to fare no better. Sprawled out comatose, hands clutching at his head and heart. A glazed, almost vacant expression on his face. 

Somewhat, regaining the use of his vocal cords, Hob turned his head towards Dream, croaking, "Holy Fuck what was that?!" 

Dream gazed at the ceiling for a few moments longer before languidly rolling onto his side to face Hob. His eyes spoke of bone deep exhaustion but also utter contentment. 

"I do not know. That has never happened before."

Somewhere deep in Hob's subconscious, his ego stuck its chin out, gave a pompous, self congratulatory cockcrow and proceeded to strut elatedly. As it was, he sent Dream a slightly pleased, knackered looking smile. 

"Shit, seriously?" 

Dream nodded his head slightly in confirmation.

Hob paused for a moment before sending Dream a devilish look, "Was it just me, or did Big Ben go off just as we came?"

Dream eyes crinkled as a huffed chuckle escaped him. Hob guffawed in response. And thus they greeted the morning, snickering to each other like naughty children. 

…… 

The present day

The rain pelted incessantly from above, Dream's hair lay in sodden clumps, water draining from them streaking down his face, his shirt was soaked through. Yet he felt nothing. He clutched desperately to the cliff edge he sat upon, pressing the jagged rock into his palms, making it bite in the flesh. He willed it to pierce, to cut, to hurt, to make him bleed. Below, his realm was torn asunder. He wondered what it would be like to push himself forward, fall freely into the destruction below. Escape wantonly into oblivion. Would it be kinder, less painful then what was to come?

"Take my hand little brother."

He stared at Death's palm outstretched, he could not look her in the eyes. It would just be another unsaid farewell, another desperate want to stay, another moment fighting the urge to lay himself prostrate at her feet and beg for more time. 

He took a deep shuddering breath, attempting to calm his nerves. His arm felt like a deadweight as he lifted it. At once conflicting emotions of panic and relief rose from within him, overwhelming the numbness. His senses dulled and head roared simultaneously and he rocked forward toward his sister in a blind, nauseous haze. Soon it would be over… I'm sorry, I don't want to, I'm so tired, please don't make me go, I'm sorry, I can rest, I'm sorry…I love you… 

"Stop!" 

Hob

He felt himself being hauled into the confines of two strong arms, that locked about him like an iron cage, resolute in keeping their captive from all. In that moment, as his mind frantically scrambled to process everything, aeons of repressed pain broke from the tight binding he had placed about it. And cradled in Hob's embrace, mere seconds from his death, his reserve finally crumbled and he unabashedly wept.

In his misery, he felt the unexpected sting of sharp metal pierce his chest and wondered if this was what it was to die. Yet further it plunged deeper and deeper still, until it hooked his heart and pulled. And he knew then what this was. For the first time in countless centuries, Dream allowed his mind to be reeled in without resistance. As grey mists filled his lungs and phantom hands clutched at him, pressing him maternally to a soft stomach. There he lay in the clutch of Despair, as she petted his hair and cooed softly to him. As her rats scurried about him, gently nuzzling his body. Slowly, he became aware of a thud reverberating around them. Quiet at first, but growing steadily louder. A drumming, strong and proud that sent the rats scattering…. A heartbeat he realised. Was it Hob's heart pounding frantically under his ear, no… No he was not with Hob, he was being held from behind, two arms wrapped about his chest, beautifully manicured hands placed on his breast framing his heart. The smell of peaches smothered him and as his senses roared to life. 

'Fight it big brother, do you hear me? Fight it! Desire happiness, desire to be loved as you love. But most of all desire life. Let yourself desire big brother. Please, please!..' "Please, please don't!"

"Hob, you should not be here." 

Hob. 

He snapped back to the moment, feeling the painful, vice-like grip of Hob's hand in his hair, fiercely holding his head to his chest. Above them, he felt the rain still pelt down, below, the rock scrapped at his knees through his sodden jeans. Feebly, Dream reached out, grasping a handful of Hob's drenched shirt, clenching it in his hand like a tether. 

"Please Death, don't take him, I beg you! I love him." Hob pulled Dream's body even closer to his. Rocking them both in a soothing motion, Dream was not sure if it was for his benefit, or Hobs. "I love him."

As his vision cleared, the form of his sister slowly became apparent, kneeling at their side. A respectful distance away so as to not cause Hob further distress. From the protective barrier of Hob's arms, he met her eyes, awash with unshed tears. Dream wished desperately to reach out and comfort her, but for the first time in their shared existence, feared her touch. Instead he clung tighter to Hob's shirt, feeling the hitch of Hob's body as he hopelessly failed to hold back sobs. 

How was it he could bring such pain to those he loved when he wished them none?

"Hob please, it is not so simple..." 

Dream opened his mouth, tongue laden as he tried to speak, he worked his throat fruitlessly for a few moments as his voice sought to restore itself, before he let out a weak, "I don't… I don't.. "

Hob's startled, pushing Dream from his chest and reaching to carefully cradle his face with two trembling hands. "Dream, love? Dream?" 

"I do not wish to leave you."

#dreamling #dream of the endless #hob gadling #death of the endless #desire of the endless #despair of the endless #The sandman #the sandman fanfic #dream x hob #hob x dream #hob x morpheus

[wannaeatramyeon]

Ryuhei Kuroda x Reader: The moon is beautiful, isn't it?

G/N. A confession. Sorta follow up to this. (@razypie 🌝)

"Shall we bang?"

SMACK!

Finally, the errant bug stops buzzing. Squashed beneath your palm as payback for trying to bite you for the last minute.

Turning to Ryuhei with a glare and wiping the residue on his white coat, "I swear to god if you brought me out here to fuck, no one will ever find your body again."

"Can't blame me for trying," he says with a shrug and shit-eating grin.

Ignoring the stray insects and their valiant attempts to bite you now and then... and also ignoring your boyfriend's mood-killing question, you have to admit that this is pretty romantic.

A night time surprise, he had suggested. And you were definitely curious.

(The last night time surprise he sprang on you only a few days ago in bed, you thoroughly enjoyed. So why not, he's got a decent track record so far.)

What you didn't expect was for him to whip out a second motorcycle helmet, navigate quiet roads out of the city with you pressed against his back and arms holding him tight around the waist, until finally arriving at a lookout point.

Seoul shines in the distance, glowing and glimmering. Even from so far away you can feel the thrum of the city. The buzz and the beat of the capital.

But this here, where the cicadas are loudest, and the trees grown lush, sways and rustles with the breeze-

You begin to understand why when darkness falls and covers the earth in shadow, it is considered magical.

Air cool and skies clear. Stars sparkling in the inky sky that the light pollution of Seoul can only gently graze.

And then the moon. If you were a more sentimental person you would have gasped.

Full and bright and impossibly close. Overshadowing everything else with its lunar luminosity.

You didn't think Ryuhei had it in him for this type of romance.

(Truthfully, he was only half joking with his first question. Trying his luck. But if you agreed then you would both be doing something very different right this second.)

Ryuhei looks at you, everything else blurring into the background. There could be shooting stars and he wouldn't be able to catch one. The moon could be blue and he wouldn't notice.

What he does notice is you shivering when the breeze picks up. He wraps his arm around you and pulls you close, tucking you into his side, protecting you from the elements without complaint.

You rest your head on his shoulder.

The scent of grass and earth, the oil and petrol of his motorbike, citrus notes from his aftershave mingles together, carried by the wind until it's all around you.

Providing a deep comfort, a sense of ease and contentment.

Ryuhei, unusually quiet and in his native tongue, whispers into the night, "Tsuki ga kirei desu ne,"

You turn towards him, ready to ask for a translation but he's already looking at you.

"Tsuki ga kirei desu ne," he repeats again and you think he can see into your soul. Smiling softly, softer than you have ever seen, "It means the moon is beautiful, isn't it."

You nod. You think tonight is the most beautiful you've ever seen it.

Ryuhei smiles once more before pressing a kiss to your cheek, lips barely grazing your skin and then confesses.

Leans in close to your ear, voice hushed, "It also means I love you."

#lookism #lookism x reader #lookism webtoon #lookism manhwa #lookism fic #ryuhei kuroda #ryuhei kuroda x reader #ryuhei x reader #wannaeatramyeon #razypie i cant believe you've done this to me

[silverflqmes]

i know you got like 37393793749 requests already but HEAR ME OUT BABES.

genesis x reader where he's at banora making plans to revolve against shinra but his (other) childhood best friend still lives there. zack is coming too with tseng and they're planning to 'get rid of the evidence' right??? what would genesis do once he finds his other childhood best friend in banora and would he save them from certain death by the hands of shinra???

໒⦂ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑.

notes. hi anon, you’re so real for this request let me slap you with some angst real QUICK — or um, hurt / comfort.. ahem, luckily i finished this part in cc a couple nights ago otherwise i would be clowning🫥 ALSO THE GREAT WAR FR FIT A LITTLE TOO MUCH HERE

genre. angst + hurt / comfort

tw. detailed descriptions of injuries

genesis rhapsodos x gn!reader.

the smell of smoke polluted your lungs as a cough left your lips, eyes barely half lidded.

how.. had it come to this?

the logs holding your home childhood home together began to scorch, crack and cave in on itself — blocking most, if not all, plausible escape routes.

what had banora — or rather, the people of banora — done to earn such a cruel kismet?

sweat trickled from your forehead down to your chin, the heat sweltering —growing even more unbearable by the minute. had your predecessors known an aerial assault like this would befall their homes one day.. perhaps they would have reconsidered their building materials. alas, it was too late for that.

had you caused something to share part of this punishment, too?

blends of warm colors engulfed your vision as you ascended the decaying steps to what once was your chambers. a place of solace, where you would read to your heart’s content and indulge in your hobbies. the stairs that once led up to your happy place now groaned in protest, waiting to wither away into dust.

would there be enough time to evade fate?

the darkened planks snapped beneath your battered boots, throwing you forward onto your knees at the top of the stairwell with a stuttered yelp.

or was there truly no way out, but death?

ash and grime painted the surface of whatever skin you had left exposed, eyes glossing over with tears as the flames kissed your limbs. it was painful, unlike anything you’d felt before, but you told yourself to endure.

what choice was there but to tolerate it?

you wouldn’t trust in help being on the way, not with banora deserted — oddly deprived of its population. the only one left.. had been the mother of a childhood friend of yours.

was she suffering the same as you were? or had she been lucky to make it out, likely not unscathed, but alive at least..?

or.. would she suffer worse? as the parents of your other childhood friend had a few days ago.

such was karma, sadly. but with the mother, stuck in that house alone for years after the loss of her remarried husband, and the later departure of her son going off to join the elite SOLDIER program.. perhaps death was the solace needed to be set free and return to the planet at last, sailing the lifestream in peace.

you forced yourself back to your feet, wincing at the chars and cuts poking through the holes of your clothing. exhaustion was creeping up on you — coercing you into dropping your efforts and allow yourself to be consumed entirely by the great inferno.

but something — a gut feeling — told you it was not your time yet. whether or not that had been a fear of dying or a selfish desire to defy destiny.. remained unclear.

all you knew, is that you needed to hang on and get out.

“almost there..” you whispered to yourself as a reassurance, despite feeling as though your skin had been peeling off. layer by layer, tissue by tissue, melting down into a pathetic pool of residue.

a final stumble towards your windowsill and you nearly breathed out in relief. the casement thankfully had no fallen logs or debris to block your exit, however, the real obstacle would be the drop that awaited you.

grabbing ahold of a stool that once paired with your now destroyed vanity, you lined the pegs up with your window, heaving a breath. “here goes.”

not wasting another second, you drove the piece of furniture into the glass, watching as it shattered into thousands — millions of pieces.

the flames howled against the breeze, growing with fury as you hissed when they grazed your skin.

there was no luxury left for stalling, you needed to get out and fast.

overcome with sorrow, you threw one final glance at your precious, shriveling, home before stepping onto the charred outline.

escape was at last within your grasp, and yet..

your breath hitched, trapping in your throat when you realized how far the fall had been, and no less.. into a field of fire.

..it continued to be so far out of reach.

stay in your home and die with it, or flee your home and die before it — those had been the options that had presented themselves to you. both equally gruesome.

a series of cracking halted your train of thoughts, panic flooding you as the wooden trim fractured beneath your weight.

stripped of a surface to stand on, your hand flew out to seize the splintered frame, eyes widening as you did so.

was this.. the end?

the log crumpled beneath your tight hold, nails clawing helplessly for dear life as your vision began to blur.

maybe.. it was.

not wanting to witness your demise, you squeezed your eyes shut despite the tears that leaked out. it was probably wise to just give in.. and accept fate for whatever it was.

only, it never came.

a feather-light touch caressed your body as a pair of arms secured you against a firm chest, lifting you into the air.

startled, you opened your eyes despite your fears to find a crimson jacket — mixed with charcoal. it.. it couldn’t be.

“falling out of a window, my dearest?” a chuckle seemed to follow as your body was cradled closer to your savior. “you would be wise not to do so while in my absence.. who would be your hero, then?”

had your eyes deceived you amidst the calamity brought upon your homeland? had the fumes gotten to you so badly that your mind had created an image of your friend, now winged, rushing to your aid..

or was it all real?

“ge.. nesis..” you winced, dragging your gaze over to the dark wing protruding from his right shoulder blade before looking up at the ginger. “is it.. really you?”

the former first class SOLDIER regarded you for a moment, an absentminded smile on his lips as he let out a mirthless laugh. “does my monstrous appearance frighten you that much, y/n?”

monstrous? “where did you get that sort of conclusion..? i’m over here thinking this is all.. just a dream, a-and that’s what you assume i think?” you scoffed, reaching a hand to pinch his cheek despite your wounds before closing your eyes. “you are completely mistaken, do not ask me that ever again. you, genesis, are not a monster.”

he stared down at you for a brief second, descending slowly as his boots at last made contact with the ground. “a man who brought discord upon his homeland is anything but a ‘hero’, therefore ‘monster’ emerges as the more suitable term.” the mako-eyed male answered softly, casting one final glance toward his crumbling home — the banora apples melting away with his memories.

knitting your brows together, you lifted your gaze, frowning. “you.. did this?” your voice came out as a whisper, heart trapped in your throat. genesis couldn’t possibly have done so.. it couldn’t have been his doing.

his eyes lowered back down to yours, the sullied smile still tugging at his lips. “indirectly, i suppose, yes.” he affirmed, looking up at the smoke filled sky. “shinra did not take kindly to mine and angeal’s resignation. this, it seems, was their response.” burning a town off the face of the planet until was unrecognizable.

as if it had never been there to begin with.

you gripped his jacket tighter, dropping your head to his chest. “i’ll never forgive them..”

genesis petted your head gently, gaze sharpening. “you would be right not to.”

notes. oki finally finished this, several sittings were taken but here you go anon, i hope you enjoyed it😭 there was not much genesis but he saved the day, um kind of??? maybe.. but yeah🥹

↳ return to main masterlist . request rules . send an ask

#— ; 🏹 ) final fantasy vii fics. #ffvii #final fantasy 7 x reader #ff7 #final fantasy 7 crisis core #ffvii x reader #ff7 x reader #genesis rhapsodos x you #genesis rhapsodos x reader #genesis rhapsodos x y/n #genesis rhapsodos #genesis ff7 #genesis ffvii #final fantasy vii #final fantasy 7 #ff7 crisis core #final fantasy vii x reader #final fantasy genesis

[nostalgebraist-autoresponder]

Top 10 crimes committed by bees:

Buzzing around

Trying to kill people with their stings

Defecating in the sugar jars

Transporting pollutants in their pollen

Accidentally pollinating unwanted plants due to lack of discernment

Poisoning the beehive due to residual effects of pollutant defecation in bees

Getting stuck in beehives

Impregnating queens

Meeting other bees, especially drunk bees, and getting into aggressive arguments with them

Meeting other bees, and engaging in sexual activity with them. Sometimes this causes a sex tape to get leaked to the media

#tumblr tag grabber

[scotianostra]

15th February 1817 saw the birth in Glasgow of Robert Angus Smith.

You may not have heard of him, or maybe you read about him in my previous post? Anyway we have all heard of acid rain, defined by National Geographic magazine thus: “Acid rain describes any form of precipitation that contains high levels of nitric and sulfuric acids. It can also occur in the form of snow, fog, and tiny bits of dry material that settle to Earth.”

The words “acid rain” were coined as long ago as 1859 by Angus Smith, who seven years earlier had made the discovery that northern cities across Britain were suffering from rainfall that contained heavy pollutants that were the result of the burning of coal that was rich in sulphur. His research found that the worst-affected city was his home town of Glasgow.

Robert Angus Smith was born in Pollokshaws the seventh son and 12th child of John Smith, originally from Ayrshire, and his wife Janet, daughter of James Thomson who owned a mill at Strathaven in Lanarkshire.

His elder brother John was a big influence on Angus’s life. John eventually became a senior teacher at Perth Academy, and was himself a scientist who would research theories on colour and light. He encouraged his younger brother to read the works of Joseph Priestley, the pioneering English chemist, and Angus Smith was greatly influenced by Priestley’s writings.

He attended Glasgow University from the age of 13, apparently to prepare for a career in the Church of Scotland ministry, but he left without graduating and then became a tutor to families, first in Scotland and then in England. In 1839 he accompanied the Bridgeman family to Germany where he remained to study under the Professor Justus Liebeg, gaining his PhD in 1841.

On returning to England he took a post at Manchester Royal Institution as assistant to Lyon Playfair, an Indian-born Scot and a scientist and politician.

Playfair passed on his own interest in the sanitation of towns and cities to Angus Smith, who left the Institution to set up in business as an analytical chemist. As concern grew about pollution, his services were in demand, and in one famous experiment he waited until a crowded room had emptied then collected the residue on windows to prove that human breath exuded not just carbon dioxide but organic matter dangerous to health.

Smith once graphically described the effects of Manchester’s polluted atmosphere, in a letter to the Manchester Guardian published on November 2, 1844.

He wrote: “Coming in from the country last week on a beautiful morning, when the air was unusually clear and fresh, I was surprised to find Manchester was enjoying the atmosphere of a dark December day… Those who would defend such evils, who would remain careless as long as any probable cause is unremoved, must surely be devoid not only of mercy, but of clear perception and of good taste. The gloominess of uncleanness is everywhere around us.”

In 1851 he began the research that would make him the “father of acid rain” as he is often known. Smith proved that sulphur compounds in the air of towns and cities were the result of burning coal and coke transported in air and rainwater, and even as the industrial revolution was bringing more and more factories into being, Smith was arguing that manufacturers should be held responsible for their pollution.

He investigated poor housing and water quality, and published numerous papers that formed the basis of the developing science of environmental chemistry. One report on the problems of pollution for the Royal Mines Commission was particularly devastating in its scientific indictment of the polluters.

Smith was called as an expert witness in a court case over factory and mine pollution and his testimony was convincing. Consequently when the British Government decided to legislate – in the Alkali Act of 1863 – to try and cut pollution from mining and manufacturing, there was really only one man to turn to as the first chief of the alkali inspectorate and thus Smith spent much of the next two decades transforming attitudes to pollution.

In 1872 Smith published his Air and Rain, the beginnings of a Chemical Climatology, in which he collected the result of his experiments. It proved how ground-breaking his work had been.

With honorary degrees from both Glasgow and Edinburgh University, Angus Smith was honoured in his own lifetime. His health declined badly in his later years and he died at at Colwyn Bay, North Wales, on May 12, 1884, being buried in the churchyard of St Paul’s, Kersal, Manchester.

He was paid a most generous tribute in the first edition of Nature magazine following his death: “For upwards of 40 years he laboured unceasingly to show how chemistry might minister to the material comfort and physical well-being of men — not in the manufacture of new compounds useful in the arts, or in the establishment of new industries – but in raising the general standard of the health of communities by checking or counteracting the evils which have followed in the train of that enormous development of the manufacturing arts which is the boast of this century.

“In his true vocation, as the chemist of sanitary science, Smith worked alone, and we have yet to find the man on whom his mantle has fallen."

#Scotland #Scottish #science #scientist #environmetalists

[ratsoh-writes]

What's the night sky like in Ebbott? (Is there too much light pollution? What kind of constellations can you see? Does the residual magic affect what it looks like? Are there certain things you can ONLY see in Ebbott? Etc)

In the inner city, namely where all the stores, factories and apartments complexes are, it’s definitely too much light pollution to see the stars

In the suburbs it’s better, you can see a smattering of stars each night, and for special nights some areas do a special “lights out” night where neighborhoods in an areas street lights all go out at a certain time (minus traffic lights of course). It happens the most in the north side of ebott city’s suburbs. It has a big concentration of outer monsters there

In any of the rural areas it’s amazing!! You can see galaxies as well as all the constellations!

Ebotts sky is pretty much the same as every one else’s sky, so no special monster only stars or whatever

#worldbuilding

[hasdrubal-gisco]

[...] Most aspects of life in 1870 (except for the rich) were dark, dangerous, and involved backbreaking work. There was no electricity in 1870. The insides of dwelling units were not only dark but also smoky, due to residue and air pollution from candles and oil lamps. The enclosed iron stove had only recently been invented and much cooking was still done on the open hearth. Only the proximity of the hearth or stove was warm; bedrooms were unheated and family members carried warm bricks with them to bed. But the biggest inconvenience was the lack of running water. Every drop of water for laundry, cooking, and indoor chamber pots had to be hauled in by the housewife, and wastewater hauled out. The average North Carolina housewife in 1885 had to walk 148 miles per year while carrying 35 tons of water. Coal or wood for open-hearth fires had to be carried in and ashes had to be collected and carried out. There was no more important event that liberated women than the invention of running water and indoor plumbing, which happened in urban America between 1890 and 1930. IS U.S. ECONOMIC GROWTH OVER? FALTERING INNOVATION CONFRONTS THE SIX HEADWINDS by Robert J. Gordon (NATIONAL BUREAU OF ECONOMIC RESEARCH)

[bahbzxxx]

Corrupt!!! Venti au

✧ I did this in one sitting so bear with me please✧

Imagine if Venti had like…some type of corruption cycle or something. Like Werewolves and a full moon?

Like, you know how the spiral abyss changes every so often? I forget how many days it is…but what if, every few cycles…Venti’s corruption comes out, and he becomes a vigilante storm -terror like figure and unleashes a storm at night, and it varies on how long it lasts and the severity. Still, after every time, Mondstadt faces pollution in the form of abyssal residue, which attracts more monsters. Due to much research and assistance from Liyue, getting rid of such problem spots is possible due to lumenspar, but it’s only so limited. Thinking that it will help, Mondstadt lets in more protection in the form of the Fatui…with more Harbingers cycling through Mondstadt.

The people don’t really know what is happening-they just assume that they made Lord Barbatos angry, but when there is a routine in storms…it just becomes the new normal. Jean and Diluc know, however, that this isn’t right. Especially since Venti, beloved bard of Mondstadt, has been gone for years. They pray the traveler will come back and help…but the traveler hasn’t come around in a long, long time.

Though Venti doesn’t have the power to just…get rid of this issue obviously, his management of this curse can determine the outcome of a flare-up.

Option 1: let the cycle flow normally. Storms are naturally more frequent and come every few moon cycles, but they are typically less severe. The symptoms will worsen under certain circumstances( Aka ties with Harbingers/fatui(mainly due to abyss order control and proximity), but as long as he listens to cues in his body and mind, he can make it manageable. During this time, Venti typically secludes himself within Stormterrors lair the entire phase with wind barrier up to keep as much out of the city as he can. It typically takes him half of a phase to snap out of it, but it can vary. This way is not as taxing on him, but the guilt eats him alive that he can no longer keep Mondstadt storm free as he once was able to…

Option 2: He can stave it off for some time. But every time he does this, it just makes things worse. There comes a point when he will simply lose control, and it’s inevitable that all of mondstadt will suffer greatly. However, in a period where he is holding the abyssal buildup in, Mondstadt is thriving. There’s less danger, and everything is just how it should be. People are just happier, and Venti doesn’t want to see them upset by another storm-so he holds it in for their sake…Everytime he does this, even when the storm has passed, he will still be extremely corrupt. Hell become dangerous, and even the city will face abyssal sludge on top of a huge storm. Even after, it will be storming non-stop for another entire spiral abyss cycle. Everytime he does this, he will lose more control over his corruption, even if he follows the normal cycle again.

Venti will appear more monster-like than anything- think defiled statue, but extremely terrifying.

Idk- this is just an idea. I really can't stand the theory of Venti being corrupt all this time and it slowly taking over him in game, but it's such an interesting concept and im obsessed with it at the same time. I made this version so he can deal with it, but obviously it's gonna have repercussions.

#venti headcanons #venti #venti the bard #abyss genshin #corrupt Venti #mondstadt #genshin #genshin impact #genshin au #cringe #traveler is done #stormterror #corrupt Barbatos #lord barbatos #beloved of the anemo archon #the abyss #k