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chloe-bourgeois-is-big-gay · 4 years

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//Day 29//

//Children//

The Wayne's regularly came to Paris, but their first time meeting Ladybug was less than ideal.

The League had gotten word of a magical terrorist in Paris that could corrupt minds. Immediately, Batman had volunteered himself and Robin, mostly due to the fact that they were unpowered but still skilled vigilantes.

They hadn't expected for the terrorist to be so powerful.

"I am Grown-Up, not Poppy!" The corrupted citizen cried, "Nobody will ever treat me like a baby ever again!"

She looked like a normal business woman, if business women were purple, glowing and talked like 6 year olds.

Grown-Up threw beams of light at civilians turning them into children.

Quickly, Bruce and Damian changed into their uniforms and tried to fight the corrupted person.

After dodging several of her blasts, the duo almost couldn't keep up.

Just as Robin was about to get hit by a beam, something blocked out from him. Two animal themed superheroes seemed to fall from the sky and land in front of them.

They were back in the game.

The female superhero threw her yoyo in the air and shouted, "Lucky Charm!"

Robin and Batman were confused until a bag of marbles fell from the sky.

Unfortunately, in their confusion both the female superhero and Robin got caught in a beam and turned into little children.

The male superhero dressed like a cat, yelled out, "Fall back."

He picked up the other Parisian superhero, while Batman picked up Robin. Once they lost Grown-Up, the group entered the sewers.

The cat man held his hand out, "I'm Chat Noir. That's Ladybug."

Hesitantly, Batman shook it, "Batman and Robin."

The two of them looked around for their counterparts and found them sitting on the ground playing.

Batman sighed, "It's good to see him acting like a kid, but not in these circumstances."

Chat Noir nodded and picked up the marbles, "Well, we have to figure out how to use these since Ladybug can't help us right now."

Batman decided not to question Chat Noir's logic.

…..

Chat had been concentrating, or trying to concentrate, but it was hard when a 3 year old was trying to grab the world saving object in his hand.

Eventually, he had to relent his clutch because Ladybug started to cry.

Now how were they supposed to defeat Grown-Up?

…..

As it turned out, the defeat in Grown-Up was dependent on letting Babybug take the marbles.

Batman and Chat went to look for her, but she found them. Luckily, Ladybug and Robin were safely hidden nearby.

As the two heroes fought the akumatized villain, Ladybug and Robin tried to open the bag of marbles only for it rip suddenly and throw the marbles all over the place.

Grown-Up slipped on the marbles and Chat was able to grab the akumatized object and break it. He took out the magic jar that Ladybug had given him to contain Akuma's if she was indisposed and captured the butterfly.

Just as he was about to pick up a marble to throw in the air for the cure, he noticed that Ladybug and Robin fell asleep on top of each other and Batman was taking a picture.

When he turned around, Chat had asked for a copy of the picture so he could tease Ladybug.

When Batman complied, Chat threw a few marbles in the air to summon the cute.

As all of Paris grew up again and the akuma was now back to her 6 year old self, Ladybug and Robin woke up. Immediately they jumped apart, muttering apologies.

…..

The first official League visit to Paris all in all went well, compared to several other visits all over the world.

Negotiations between the League and Ladybugs whole team went well. The miraculous users were offered seats at the table, safe houses and funding in exchange for help whenever necessary.

The team groupchat was sent the picture of Babybug and Robin and immediately after Ladybug tested the cell in their new safe house on Chat.

…..

@daminette-december2019

It's kind of rushed, sorry.

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artsandpoppy · 4 years

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Get to know POPPY PINK who’s THIRTY years old and works as the OWNER OF OUT OF THE BOX CRAFT STORE in town. She is from FLORIDA and is often times mistaken for ANNA KENDRICK while others say she reminds them of POPPY from TROLLS.

about:

death cw, cannibalism cw, depression cw, pregnancy cw, miscarriage cw

when poppy was still only just a few months old her mother was killed by a serial killer cannibal on a night out with her friends. the killer was caught a few towns over three weeks later and has been in jail ever since. because of this she was raised by a single father - peter “peppy” pink, the longstanding mayor of their small town trollsville, florida.

even though she grew up with only one parent poppy never felt unloved or neglected. the entire town practically pitched in to help raise her - she was always bouncing around from “aunties” and “uncles” places while her father was busy with work.

peppy pink is the absolute greatest man as far as poppy is concerned. she loves her father to death and always dreamed of one day becoming just like him. which is why she planned for the longest time to follow in his footsteps and become a politician. when college rolled around she majored in political science and double minored in business and arts - figuring that was a good balance of things she loved to do as well as practical studies.

in high school as well as college she was a bit of a party animal, out almost every night with friends - even for just small get togethers - and disappearing from home completely on the weekends, unless mayor peppy had an event he needed poppy to attend. in high school she was fairly calm in comparison to a bunch of her friends and fellow party-goers, usually only drinking maybe one or two drinks per party. but once college rolled around she started drinking more and occasionally doing drugs on special nights, like big concerts or raves, etc.

her junior year of college was when she met creek and her entire life changed. she’d had past relationships before, but none of them compared to how quickly and hard she fell for him. within just a few months of dating she knew he was the one.

and for a long time things were great, after graduating they got engaged but decided to wait to be officially married until his yoga studio was stable and her own political career had started to take off. she was working with her father and learning the ropes of being a small town mayor while her father still technically held the title. but even though they had decided to wait a few years, poppy still dreamed about the wedding everyday. she had scrapbooks planned and after a year of being engaged stumbled upon her dream dress and bought it without any hesitation.

about 2 years after graduation is when poppy found herself pregnant for the first time. it was the best news she’d ever received in her life and she and creek were over the moon (or like with everything else with creek - that’s at least what she thought) only for her to miscarry a few weeks after finding out.

that was hard on her and the first time poppy experienced one of her bad depressive episodes. throughout high school and college she’d had times were she’d get down and struggle for a day or two - but nothing as serious as what happened this time around. she was in bed for two weeks and struggled to even leave her room, much less the house. thankfully since she worked primarily with her father and other people she considered to be family, they all understood and she faced no repressions or setbacks at work.

there were a few pregnancy “scares” over the next year but nothing more than just a late period. each time it upset poppy, but nothing that lasted more than a day or two.

until it finally stuck and she found herself pregnant again. this time she made it through the whole first trimester and a month into the second, even found out it was going to be a girl and it was just when she and creek started thinking about names that she miscarried again. it was even harder than the last time, a surprise considering she had been told she was likely in the clear since most miscarriages are more common to happen during the first trimester.

this was absolutely one of the lowest points of her life. she took a complete leave of absence from work and didn’t leave the house for a month. none of her friends could find ways to cheer her up and she pretty much shut them out anyway. only wanting to be by herself or with creek.

after about a month she started to slowly recover, gained her energy and her appetite back. it was during this time that she completely re-evaluated her life and realized she wasn’t as truly happy as she thought. sure, she had her crafts, her friends, and creek... but was being the future mayor really what she wanted? or was it just her following along in what was always expected of her? with these doubts she decided to wait a bit before going back to work - choosing to focus on music instead

she became a local musician, playing at coffee shops and such whenever she could. the yoga studio was doing good plus she always had the trust fund her mother left her to fall back on, so poppy wasn’t worried financially.

it was great for her mental health and after a few months she decided it was what she wanted to do full time. a choice that she really had thought would make her life better, but instead brought it crumbling to the ground. because apparently that wasn’t what creek had signed up for. he had planned on marrying the future mayor, wanting to be the elite of the town himself, and when poppy gave that up it changed things for him - changed it so much in fact that he dumped her. called off the engagement and ended the relationship entirely.

the breakup was messy. real messy. the fact that he had cheated on her multiple times over the year was revealed, they both said horrible things to each other, and poppy went so far as one night destroying his yoga studio in a drunken rage with a baseball bat. it was the one time she actually got in trouble with the law, spending a night in jail but having the charges eventually dropped

to this day poppy still isn’t sure if he ever even loved her at all. it’s fucked her mentally a lot when it comes to relationships. she’s constantly doubting the other person’s feeling despite how hard she tries not to. it’s the reason why most of her relationships post-creek have ended. with her getting stuck in her head and overwhelmed and ending things out of fear and insecurities. even if she still loves the person, which she always does.

when poppy falls in love, she’s in love for good. even with creek, as much as she hates and despises him for what he did and how badly he hurt her, there’s still a part of her that will always love him. when you picture your forever with someone that isn’t something that just goes away.

speaking of falling in love - poppy falls super fucking easily. she has a small crush on almost everyone she meets. she’s at any given time harboring active feelings for at least one or two people.

but anyway - after the break up with creek, poppy started going out even more than before. partying or clubbing every night. it was during this time that she got closer to her high school rival barb - a girl she’d always secretly had feelings for but never acted on because of the rivalry that was between them. this party phase lasted about a year before she got a little tired of it. around that same time was when corona opened and she decided to make the move.

her childhood best friend, branch, who has been there by her side through every up and down of her life was against the idea of her leaving at first. but once poppy sets her mind to something there’s no turning it back, so he gave in and decided to move along with her. the two got a townhouse together on the island and each opened their own business - for branch it was a sports and camping goods store and she started up an arts and crafts one.

the arts and craft store has a whole area in the back with a few comfy chairs and two tables for people to work on anything they want! she also has a little stand with a “mini business” run by bubbles (it’s a pet psychic stand)

moving to corona is the best thing she’s ever done. it’s helped her so much, she’s met so many amazing people - some of the best people she’s known her whole life.

she still struggles with her depression at times, but she’s getting a better hold on it. she still also hella overworks herself, but that’s just in her nature and is likely something that will never change. about once every other month she has a crash day or two, where she does nothing but sleep and lay in bed - it’s a mixture of the exhaustion and sometimes the depression playing in, but most people close enough to her to know about her mental health struggles are aware that this is sort of her normal routine now

she has a girl band with barb and also occasionally performs at open mic nights solo - a part of her stubbornly refusing to give up performing out of spite against creek

a big stress baker as well as just a big baker in general - at least once every few month goes around to all the local businesses and gives the owners little treats because she likes to stay in touch with all of them

scrapbooking and kitting are her favorite crafty past-times, but she also paints and draws and does all sorts of artsy stuff

favorite colors are pink and purple. tho she loves a good blue too

pop is her top genre of music, but over the time of meeting people like barb and hickory she’s come to enjoy all types. but pop will always be her favorite.

she has the power of glowing. a guide to which can be found HERE

she has a bunch of minimalist tattoos which can be found HERE

#my ball of sunshine and love and music #with lil a sadness as a treat #intro

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jeffersonlandscape-blog · 5 years

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The Bee Crisis

“In the last four years, the chemical industry has spent $11.2 million on a PR initiative to say it’s not their fault, so we know whose fault it is.”

- Jon Cooksey

Honey bees perform about 80 percent of all pollination worldwide. A single bee colony can pollinate 300 million flowers each day. Grains are pollinated by the wind, but fruits, nuts and vegetables are pollinated by bees. Seventy out of the top 100 human food crops — which supply about 90 percent of the world’s nutrition — are pollinated by bees.

But the bees are dying off.

What’s Killing them

Worldwide, bee colonies are collapsing and it’s not as big a mystery as the chemical industry claims. Scientists know that bees are dying from a variety of factors—pesticides, drought, habitat destruction, nutrition deficit, air pollution, global warming and more. Many of these causes are interrelated. The bottom line is humans are largely responsible for the two most prominent causes: pesticides and habitat loss. U.S. National Agricultural Statistics show a honey bee decline from about 6 million hives in 1947 to 2.6 million hives in 2016, a 60 percent reduction. It’s also worth noting that in 1950 the global human population was 2.5 billion and by 2020 it will be nearly 8 billion.

According to University of California at Davis apiculturist Eric Mussen, biologists have found more than 150 different chemical residues in bee pollen. The chemical companies Bayer, Syngenta, BASF, Dow, DuPont and Monsanto shrug their shoulders at the systemic complexity, as if the mystery were too complicated to solve. They’re not going to advocate a change in pesticide policy because it’s profitable.

Additionally, wild bee habitats shrink every year as industrial agribusiness converts grasslands and forest into single-crop farms, which are then contaminated with pesticides. To reverse the world bee decline, we need to fix our dysfunctional and destructive agricultural system.

Pesticides!

Neonicotinoids have been linked in a range of studies to adverse ecological effects that include honey-bee colony collapse disorder (CCD). The neonicotinoids act on their nervous systems. Bees that don’t die outright, experience sub-lethal systemic effects, development defects, weakness, and loss of orientation. The die-off leaves fewer bees and weaker bees, who must work harder to produce honey in depleted wild habitats. Neonicotinoids keep bees from supplying their hives with enough food for queen production. The poison accumulates in individual bees and within entire colonies, including the honey that bees feed to infant larvae. Bees exposed to sub-lethal doses of neonicotinoids (the type routinely used in the U.S. on wheat, corn, soy, and cotton crops), end up with compromised immune systems and become more easily infected by the gut parasite Nosema apis, among other things.

Bayer makes and markets the neonicotinoids imidacloprid and clothianidin; Syngenta produces thiamethoxam. In 2009, the world market for these three toxins reached more than $2 billion. Syngenta, Bayer, Dow, Monsanto, and DuPont control nearly 100% of the world market for genetically modified pesticides, plants and seeds. In 2012, a German court criminally charged Syngenta with perjury for concealing its own report showing that its genetically modified corn had killed livestock. In the U.S., the company paid out $105 million to settle a class-action lawsuit for contaminating the drinking water for over 50 million citizens with its “gender-bending” herbicide Atrazine (see my blog on water pollution).

This isn’t a liberal or conservative issue. This is our food.

Call your congressman and encourage him or her to support responsible agricultural regulations. The U.S. Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) continues to allow the use of neonicotinoid pesticides, in spite of a U.S. Department of Agriculture report warning about the dangers of the bee colony collapse. If Europe can do without neonicotinoid pesticides, then so can we!

Bee part of the Solution

Buy local and organic whenever possible. The organic movement is having a positive impact! Organic farmers have advocated better research and funding by industry, government, farmers, and the public to develop organic farming techniques, improve food production, and maintain ecological health. A revolution in farming would promote equitable diets around the world and support crops primarily for human consumption, avoiding crops for animal food and biofuels. Ecological, organic farming is nothing new. It is the way most farming has been done throughout human history.

Ecological farming resists insect damage by avoiding large monocrops and preserving ecosystem diversity. Ecological farming restores soil nutrients with natural composting systems, avoids soil loss from wind and water erosion, and avoids pesticides and chemical fertilizers.

Part of the problem with rapid population growth, is keepers have to boost hive numbers to meet demand. The amount of undeveloped land with good bee forage just isn't enough to sustain the masses. By restoring bee populations and healthier bees, ecological agriculture improves pollination, which in turn improves crop yields. Ecological farming takes advantage of the natural ecosystem services, water filtration, pollination, oxygen production, and disease and pest control.

Build a Hive

Why not help solve the pollinator crisis with a honeybee hive of your own and produce honey at home? There are several websites for different levels of commitment. The Brushy Mountain Bee Farm sells starter kits and the Bees Brothers have put together a great tutorial, but there are hundreds of resources online depending on your level of commitment. Unfortunately, this is one of those issues that’s going to require action. Because for the first time ever, honeybee species have been listed under the Endangered Species Act.

Flowers Bees Will Love You For

Alyssum

Agastache (anise hyssop)

Asclepias (butterfly weed)

Aster

Echinacea purpurea (purple coneflower)

Geranium (cranesbill)

Monarda (bee balm)

Papaver (poppies)

Rudbeckia (black-eyed Susan)

Trifolium (clover)

Sedum (stonecrop)

Solidago (goldenrod)

Ceanothus (Ray Hartman)

Buddleja davidii (butterfly bush)

Lavendula augustifolia (lavender)

Heliotropium (common heliotrope)

Sunflowers

Salvia

Digitalis purpurea (foxglove)

Roses

https://www.jeffersonlandscape.com

#JeffersonLandscapeAndDesign

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oops-my-fingers-slipped · 7 years

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Finish the Story (Part 1)

Author: Admin Lex Characters: BTS + you Pairing: Namjoon X Reader X Taehyung Genres: Fantasy, Angst, Fluff, Romance POV: First Person + Taehyung POV Description: You offered to help Namjoon refurbish his old bookshop and in the process you find a peculiar book. Unknowingly, you end up diving head-first into a world of ink and parchment unlike your own. There, you meet a boy trapped in the bindings of literature and your life changes forever. I was followed into the bookshop by quarrels of Autumn’s leaves and the North Wind’s children dancing away with ribbons of my hair. The shop’s wooden door swung closed, shutting out the world outside but kept hundreds preserved in the room before me. Though tall oak bookshelves lined every wall of the store, thousands of books piled up in precarious stacks rising almost to the ceiling. Blinding rays of sun from the sky-light windows struck the mountains of literature and illuminated the specks of dust orbiting the air. In the back left corner sprouted an Acacia tree, coiling itself around a wooden beam, spiraling upwards towards the roof windows. It’s sunset-colored leaves joyfully basked in the sun amitting from the glass. However stunning the tree appeared, dead leaves from previous seasons decorated the floor and crunched beneath my leather boots as I approached the front desk. Noticing no one behind the counter, I began to call, “Nam-” before a heavy thud sounded from under the polished wood followed by a muttered curse. Surely enough, Namjoon emerged from under the desk, scratching his head of lilac-purple hair with a pained look on his face. I failed to restrain a loud chuckle that bubbled up from my diaphragm. Namjoon rolled his eyes and deadpanned, “Ha ha, very funny.” He eyed the four books enveloped in my arms and continued, “I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow. Don’t tell me you finished them already.” I smirked and replied, “I hate to break it to you but I’m only 3 more books away from beating your record of 16 in a month! You better step up your game. You’re getting your ass kicked by a sophomore.” I plopped the small stack of books down onto the counter and Namjoon slid the nearest one on its side, scanning the bar code suck to its spine. A curt “beep” was heard as each novel touched the device. “Well excuse me for having an entire bookstore to manage while you have all the free time to read in the world. Unlike you, I have responsibilities to handle and customers to deal with.”  I looked around the shop, noticing how devoid of business it was. “What customers?” “You.” The comment was meant to be sarcastic but a little pit of pity bloomed in my heart, knowing that I, in fact, was one of his only customers. I decided right then and there that I would no longer be the only one who’s footsteps echoed through this building every day, but rather the silence to be filled by constant turning of pages and friendly chatter about new releases. He needed customers and that’s exactly what he would get. “That’s exactly my point! I am your only regular client but”, I lowered my voice for emphasis, “that is about to change.” Namjoon lifted his head, temporarily distracted from his task. “You’re so dramatic. Besides, I’m managing this place just fine without your help.” I sighed and tried a different approach. “Uh-huh, if ‘managing a bookstore’ includes not picking up after your tree -heaven knows why you even have a tree in a bookstore-, not organizing your shelves, and there are so many dust clouds in here I can barely see three feet in front of me.” I may have exaggerated a tad but I wasn’t necessarily wrong either. And he knew it. The roots of the tree had started to lift some of the floorboards and weave itself through the infrastructure. Eventually, the more damage the Acacia caused, the more it would cost to repair it and with no steady income, where would Namjoon find the funds to pay the fees? His predicament was challenging, to say the least. I already made my point loud and clear so my voice softened a bit when I proposed, “Ya’ know I could help out around here if you’d like? For free, at least until you gain enough business.” He scoffed at my offer, seeming unfazed by my my bluntness and challenged, “Do you honestly think you could handle this monstrosity?” Namjoon drummed his fingers against the table-top, obviously amused at my proposition. Did he know something I didn’t? Probably. Ignoring the thought, I lifted my chin high and said, “Challenge accepted. When do I start?” “Now.” •~• It’s been three days and we’ve hardly made a dent in transporting every book to the back storage. Namjoon’s plan was to clear the shop of the literature temporarily until the interior was complete and restock the shelves later. So we began with the cities of stacked books towering over ten feet…. It was a start. A very slow, gradual start. And the finish line seemed light years away. The “free time” Namjoon claimed I had was nonexistent, now occupied by long hours of organizing and sorting through endless amounts of novels. The more days that flew by, the more our hard work progressed and the prouder we became. The time after school to long after dark were spent in the soon-to-be-bookstore with only each other as company. I’ve always thought of Namjoon as ‘the purple-haired dude who runs my favorite bookstore’, that is, until he quickly became the person I spent the most time socializing with. The long nickname shortened when I began to refer to him as a newfound friend. It was almost impossible not to grow this fond of him when we worked together striving toward the same goal, not to mention the shared tastes in books and writing. His company kept the boredom at bay when working and though I wouldn’t dare admit it, I started to look forward to our extended conversations, unpopular theories, or book recommendations. To put it simply, maybe fixing up this old outdated bookstore would blossom both the business of the company and our overall relationship. Due to Namjoon’s undeniable whit, we eventually developed shifts where every few hours we would switch off between finishing up schoolwork and progressing the bookshop. The system deemed itself very effective, as we both managed to maintain our spotless GPAs. This particular night, I sorted books sat on the newly-swept hardwood floor, the moon’s silver shadow casted down from the skylight windows cloaking my hands as I worked. Tonight seemed like a regular evening until I reached for another novel, expecting a smooth book jacket to meet my fingertips but, instead, felt the velvet fabric of a book unlike any other. My eyes landed upon a hard-cover book wrapped delicately in crimson-red velvet. The title glistened a radiant gold and read: Finish the Story. I explored its exterior, searching for an author’s name but none was found. I also noticed how the spine didn’t posses a bar code stuck to its back. Hmm, that’s odd. Maybe this is one from Nam’s personal collection… The spine cracked as I opened the cover to reveal the title page, which was decorated in florals of bright scarlet roses sprouting thorns of gold. The blooms of flowers dripped black ink from their buds. The artwork was absolutely, positively marvelous and don’t get me wrong, I’m not an artist but the time and effort to paint this must have taken decades. I admired it a few more seconds before forcing myself to flip to the first chapter. Compared to the art coating the title page, the chapter page seemed mundane. Regular script ran from one side to the next just any other book. Still a bit skeptical about the art, I turned a single page and sure enough, I gaped in awe at the scene that beheld me. Another picture enraptured my attention. A glowing castle made entirely out of bronze nails and plates loomed over rolling hills of ruby red poppies, making it appear aflame. The sky was painted with varieties of violets, dark blues, and indigos. The two color schemes clashed with one another so perfectly, I almost didn’t notice the lone fox that parted the poppy fields curving in the direction of the palace. The animal’s head turned towards the corner of the page, almost looking…. angry? I followed its eyes over to the bottom left corner where a man sat back looking up at the sky, his neck craning so eager to touch the indigo painted stars. He looked so carelessly free while the fox’s eyebrows furrowed in irritation. I let a little giggle escape at the bit of absurdity. What a peculiar sight! Suddenly, my eyes darted back to the man sitting at the corner of the page, catching a glimpse of movement. To my surprise, he no longer looked up at the sky but instead stared right at me, one ebony eye charmingly winked. Huh?!? I wasted no time slamming the book shut. Ok, it’s official. I’m going completely insane. Maybe these long work hours are getting to me. Yeah, that’s probably it. Right? However I may try to convince myself that I hallucinated what I saw… I couldn’t help but wish that it hadn’t been my imagination and that something incredible was about to happen. But that’s ridiculous. Even so, I still found myself placing the book in my bag, swinging it over my shoulder, and briskly began walking down the street to my apartment. •~• “Ouch! Hey!” Taehyung flew backwards from the impact of his book rudely being slammed shut. His face was now thinly coated in yellow pollen from the poppy field. It tickled his nose, forcing a sneeze to rip out from his nostrils. “Aachoo!” The fox bounded over the sea of red and gold to stand before Taehyung, a disapproving growl hummed from his throat. “You didn’t get to your position on time! And to make matters worse you moved, you moved. This was our first reader in ages and you had to go ahead and blow it!” Taehyung ran his nimble fingers through his hair, ready to sit through another lecture about how to always stand statue-still when a new reader opens their story. “Ah, I’m sorry Jin. We just haven’t had a reader in forever and I thought it might be entertaining to mess with them a bit.” He stood up as a small smile carved itself across his features. Jin flicked his tail, not taking this for a valid excuse. “As funny as that was, next time please do your job as I’m sure Yoongi and the others are doing just fine. Try learning a thing or two from their excellent example.” Taehyung raised his eyebrows slightly and giggled at the memory of his companions, “Last time I saw them, Kookie and Jimin were playing frisbee with the moon on page 84 and got it stuck in a palm tree. Your right, they are great exam-” The fox bolted to the end of the page and glanced back at the man, warning him about his job as a book character one last time before he leapt through the pages, stopping on page 84, solving yet another problem. Sighing, Taehyung plopped back down into the poppy pillows growing around him and peered up at where the reader’s face would usually gaze from. He wondered if the new visitor would open the book again. She was quite interesting, after all. Then again, all the readers were. Each one completely different from the last. Each one more exiting, new, and exotic. Each one, you know not trapped in a book like him and the other characters were. Each one free. Taehyung knew that it was dangerous to be hopeful, to wish that the girl opened the book again. Because, well, after the little stunt he pulled today she will most likely not. But the little tug on his heart told him that maybe, just maybe she would investigate his book again. The way her eyes glittered and flew from one page to the next gave him the impression that she was a bit too curious for her own good. But, no these thoughts had no place consuming his head. He shut them out and instead focused on the stars above, daring to pretend they were her eyes.

#bts fanfction #bts v fanfic #bts fanfic #bts v #bts namjoon #bts taehyung #bts rapmonster #bts #bts scenarios

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biofunmy · 5 years

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Seeing What the Fighting Is All About on Alaska’s Coastal Plain

Up in the right-hand corner of Alaska, like something freezer-burned and half-remembered in the back of the national icebox, lies a place called the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge. The refuge is the largest wildlife sanctuary in the United States. It is the size of South Carolina. It is also home to the country’s second-largest wilderness area. It has no roads, no marked trails, no developed campgrounds. The Coastal Plain, the narrow strip where the refuge meets the sea, is home to more diversity of life than almost anywhere else in the Arctic. It is the kind of place where you can pull back the tent flap with a mug of coffee in hand, as I did one morning in June, and watch a thousand caribou trot past.

The animals came slowly at first, by twos and by threes, and tentatively, lifting their black noses to catch the strange scent of 10 unbathed campers. Then they tacked across the river. Near the front was a bull with a rack big enough to place-kick a football through its uprights. Mostly they were females in dun coats, serious mothers leading coltish calves that slid and played on the snowfields that still collared the tundra’s low places. Ungainly in looks, but a natural for work — each hoof a snowshoe, with hollow fur for warmth and to buoy them across gelid Arctic rivers. The calves had been born three or four days ago. Already they could walk farther in a day than a human.

The few caribou became dozens. They materialized by the hundred out of the heat-shimmer that rose off the tundra, like those lawmen bringing hot justice in old Sergio Leone films. Confident in their numbers, they surged past the encampment, urged by some twitch in the marrow to keep pushing toward the coast where ocean breezes would scatter the mosquitoes and bot flies that soon would torment them. We watched for a long time, not wanting to move and disturb anything.

“This,” someone whispered, “is sacred.”

In late 2017, a Congress controlled by Republicans badly wanted to pass the Tax Cuts and Jobs Act. To help win the crucial vote of Lisa Murkowski, the senior Republican senator from Alaska, the Senate added a sweetener, a provision that opened to oil drilling the refuge’s Coastal Plain, a roughly Delaware-size piece of ground where the Brooks Range reclines and the tundra tilts toward the Arctic Ocean like the baize of an old pool table.

Most of the country thinks that’s wrongheaded. Seventy percent of American voters oppose drilling on the refuge, a survey by Yale University’s Center on Climate Change Communication found at the time. They don’t want oil drilling where these calves had just been born, and where they now walked, and where wolf and bear and wolverine stalk them, and where threatened polar bears find respite in a melting world, and where more than 200 species of birds have been recorded, including many that brighten your day in the Lower 48, from the tundra swans that head to the Chesapeake, to the mallards that hunters stalk in Arkansas.

Fights such as the one over the refuge are, for most of us, abstractions — tussles over lines on a map of a place we will never see, and will never know. I was tired of this. I wanted to see this place. I wanted to see what we still have, and what we are willing to gamble, for money and for oil.

Getting on Arctic time

North of Fairbanks, the country seems to get bigger and the planes get smaller. Our four-seater arrows north, into the Brooks Range. The pilot finds a notch between mountains and sets us down on a cobbled bar beside water that’s the scuffed green of a dime-store gemstone: the Hulahula River. We transfer to a second plane, smaller still, that swoops down and deposits us downstream. We are 10, in all — a lawyer and his son, a retired teacher, retired doctors and avid birders, Libby and Victor — all here for nine days to float the river for about 90 miles on its course through the Coastal Plain, until, exhausted, the river empties itself into the Beaufort Sea.

But first, mountains. We set up camp in a great scoop of valley and wander, dazed at the sudden change of scenery after Fairbanks. The Brooks Range in summer disorients the newcomer: The rivers run north. The sun seems to rise there, too, after “setting” briefly behind the peaks each night. So far north, the mountains wear no trees at all, but instead are stripped bare, showing off the veinwork of their naked flanks. They are not so bare as they seem. What lives here grows low — lichen, moss campion in purple pillows and Arctic poppies whose dish-flowers track the sun.

The lead guide with the outfitter Arctic Wild, Andrew George, is 39 and from Dallas, but has more Alaska in him than most Alaskans born here. Each summer he runs a fish wheel on the Yukon River with his wife to cache and smoke salmon for winter, when he runs trap lines with his dog team. On his last job, he says, he was paid in gold.

At dinner Mr. George has a message for us. “We’re going to be on Arctic time,” he says. “We’ll eat when we’re hungry. Hike when we want to. Move when we got to move.”

Paddling north

By mid-June the Hulahula River, named by whalers after the Hawaiian dance, is not a deep river nor does it usually pose, for the experienced boater, exceptional challenges. But it is fast and its waters are a life-taking cold. The night before shoving off, the nervous and the curious among us pass around topographic maps of the week’s route, marked in esoteric shorthand with the accumulated wisdom of past guides.

“Class IV scout + portage if necessary run at high water”

“Big haystacks”

“Run Right”

“Tight + Rocky”

“Lots of Aufeis”

“Wolves?”

All we really need to know, though, is to paddle north. To the plain.

The next morning, Patrick Henderson — assistant guide, expert boater and a great chef — whips up Spam musubi, an Hawaiian snack of grilled Spam atop a neat brick of rice, wrapped in nori. We wrestle into drysuits. The guides cinch hard on the straps of life preservers. (“You can’t drown if you can’t breathe!”) We push off in a cold spitting rain, drifting over quick green water. Restive with its course, the river chews at its banks, sending clumps of wildflowers into the water.

Mr. Henderson rams our raft into the shore and motions for quiet. Two football fields distant stands a musk ox, chewing on grass. We pile out to snap photos. The ox turns. Stamps. Nothing says “get back in the boat” like a 600-pound bovid covering ground, fast.

We drift on. There are caribou tracks on the shore, and wolf tracks that follow the caribou tracks.

“What time is it?” somebody asks.

“The time is now,” Mr. George replies.

We drift and paddle and drift more. Faced with the unceasing light of an Arctic June, time loses shape. The tyranny of the alarm clock is replaced by a fainter pulse, usually lost to us nowadays: the rhythm of natural places. We eat later and later, and take meandering walks in the convalescent light of midnight.

One night after spaghetti, Mr. George suggests that, with the weather so fair, we break camp and paddle all night, out of the mountains and into the foothills. A few hours later, Dall sheep watch us splash through rapids from the grandstand of canyon walls. A moose startles. The sun drops behind those walls. The world, and lips, turn a shivery blue. Finally, the mountains release the river. The sun splashes us with caramel light and reviving warmth. “Morning is a place around here,” one of the guides says. We pull to shore at Old Man Creek, where the guides cook breakfast hash and we collapse on shore, only waking when the afternoon sun heats the tent.

‘Welcome to the Arctic Plain’

On the seventh morning the last foothills bow out. The land becomes as flat as a tabletop. The final rapid throws a slap of 45-degree water to the cheek. Call it a baptism. “Welcome to the Arctic Plain,” Mr. George says, standing in the stern of our raft like a Mississippi boatman.

So this is what all the fighting is about.

For almost a half-century, the stretch of land between mountains and sea here has been a sanctuary with an asterisk. In 1980, Congress passed the Alaska National Interest Lands Conservation Act, which greatly expanded the original wildlife range; designated most of it as wilderness, off-limits to development; and renamed the whole place the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge. Congress did not include the 1.57-million-acre Coastal Plain, but directed in Section 1002 that the area continue to be studied. For nearly 50 years a battle has been waged between those who think drilling in the so-called 1002 Area is Alaska’s birthright and can be done well — the oil industry, many of Alaska’s politicians, the native corporations that would see needed funds from drilling — and those who say the place is too valuable for other reasons, and also too wild, to drill.

No one knows how much oil is under this ground. Only one exploratory well was drilled, decades ago, its results a secret. An investigation by The Times found those results disappointing. The federal government’s last estimate was that a mean 7.7 billion barrels of feasibly recoverable oil may lie under the 1002 Area, or the amount of petroleum the United States uses in one year. But opening up the area might also eventually open Native Alaskan areas for drilling, and make adjacent state lands more profitable to drill, if new pipelines and other infrastructure are built.

The 2017 tax law that opened the refuge to potential oil development requires a minimum of two lease sales in the refuge of at least 400,000 acres each. One must be held by the end of 2021, the second by 2024.

But a draft of the required environmental study released earlier this year by the Bureau of Land Management, the author and the agency that oversees drilling on public lands, contained mistakes in basic ecology and didn’t seriously look at climate change’s effect on permafrost. That’s according to nearly 60 pages of corrections and additions to the study that were proposed by the United States Fish and Wildlife Service, the agency that manages the refuge. The study even mentions a river that doesn’t exist, pointed out Michael Wald, a co-owner of Arctic Wild. Environmental groups have vowed to challenge the study, and any drilling approval.

Proponents have pitched drilling as a windfall to the United States Treasury — $1.8 billion, by an early White House estimate. But a Times analysis has found it may yield as little as $45 million over the next decade, or less than 3 percent of what’s been sold to the public.

What we do know is the area’s natural value. During the brief, frenetic Arctic summer, millions of waterfowl and shorebirds use the Coastal Plain here before dispersing to every state in the union, and almost every continent. Two dozen of them are birds of “management concern” by the United States Fish and Wildlife Service. Some are in even more trouble.

Even closer to the coast are polar bears, listed as “threatened’’ under the Endangered Species Act. The population of polar bears in the Southern Beaufort Sea has declined 40 percent in recent years, thanks largely to impacts related to its shrinking sea-ice habitat. Now these bears increasingly use the Coastal Plain, where females first raise their newborn cubs.

Steven Amstrup, who for three decades was head of the federal government’s polar bear research program and now is head of Polar Bears International, has urged against energy development here. So have the 200 Alaskan members of the Wildlife Society, a professional group of wildlife biologists and managers.

An unending circuit of caribou

And then there are the caribou. The previous day, from our camp on the boundary of the 1002 Area, we watched as hundreds fed on cottongrass and willow buds. We spent the day stalking them with cameras. They always edged farther away, as if they knew the limits of an amateur’s telephoto lens.

Few Americans probably realize that their nation possesses one of the world’s great migrations. Although there are variations, most years the 218,000 animals of the Porcupine herd of barren-ground caribou move in an unending circuit — from the south side of the Brooks Range; around the eastern and southern side of the mountains; then westward in late spring onto the Coastal Plain to drop their calves. They spend the summer fattening up on tundra plants. Then they reverse course. These caribou are the original commuters. A female will walk 2,700 miles in a year, on average.

The Coastal Plain has all of this — the birds, the bears, the caribou. It is still a place that can say its own name.

A week earlier, we had briefly landed at Arctic Village, a native Gwich’in village outside the refuge’s southern boundary. The Gwich’in are against drilling. The caribou forever have walked past Arctic Village on their circuit, and their meat has fed the Gwich’in, David Smith, the second chief, told me. Where the caribou are born — where the drilling might happen — his people do not even go, he said. “This is kind of where life begins,” he said. “It’s God’s place.”

An energy industry representative told me that oil and caribou can mix, that it has been done before with success elsewhere on the North Slope.

That’s misleading, countered Ken Whitten, who, for many years, was Alaska’s lead state biologist for the Porcupine herd. Yes, caribou inhabit some areas around Prudhoe Bay, where the pipeline begins. But studies around the oil fields have found that pregnant females will avoid development. As development increased, calving caribou were pushed southward where the food wasn’t as nutritious, resulting in the mothers having lower-weight calves.

These problems will likely be exacerbated in the refuge, said Mr. Whitten. A 2002 report by him and others predicted that extensive oil development would probably stop the growth of the herd, and perhaps worse. “We don’t think there’s any way you can have a large oil development on the 1002 and not have adverse effect on caribou.”

Another caribou expert told me that they simply don’t know for certain what will happen when pipelines and drill pads are introduced into a valuable habitat. While some caribou will walk miles to avoid a road, said Lincoln Parrett, regional research coordinator for the Alaska Department of Fish and Game, others have noted that caribou in some places do acclimate to low-density development.

Treeless, flat and far from desolate

Caribou line the shore as our rafts drift onto the plain. They lift their snouts and hunt the air for a memory that tells them whether to run. But they do not run, at first. And we drift close, staring at one another across a moat of ice water.

The sun rides its circuit above camp. The days heat up. June will be the second-warmest June on record in Alaska. In our bags, the chocolate is melting.

Over the next several days we camp and float and camp again, occasionally taking long walks across the lumpy mattress of the tundra.

The Coastal Plain confounds a first-time visitor. It is too big. It is too treeless, too flat. The pancakes at breakfast had more relief. Trying to make sense of things, I head out with Libby and Victor, expert birders. Cast your eyes downward, their actions say. Where there are no trees, the ground is full of life. Scoops in the dirt are a sign that a grizzly bear has rooted out a ground squirrel. A twitch among the tussocks is a buff-breasted sandpiper, flown in from winter vacation in Uruguay.

“There’s a Baird’s!” Libby says, pointing out a Baird’s sandpiper. “That’s the one that winters in the high Andes, after raising its babies here.” It has made a nest for four speckled eggs on a gravel shore of the river. We wonder at the tenacity of having come so far to place such a fragile bet.

“The Arctic Plain is really nothing,” Don Young, Alaska’s representative, said during a 2011 Congressional hearing on the refuge. “It is not the heart. It is the most desolate part of the area.”

‘Desolate!” we say each time a snowy owl lifts off in search of a lemming.

“Nothing here!” we call out to one another as the next herd of caribou shimmers into view. We know better than to chase them, now. And we wait, patiently, for their arrival.

The sun is high. My watch is dead. It is exactly the time it is supposed to be.

Christopher Solomon, a 2019 Alicia Patterson Foundation fellow, was the 2018 Lowell Thomas Travel Writer of the Year.

52 PLACES AND MUCH, MUCH MORE Follow our 52 Places traveler, Sebastian Modak, on Instagram as he travels the world, and discover more Travel coverage by following us on Twitter and Facebook. And sign up for our Travel Dispatch newsletter: Each week you’ll receive tips on traveling smarter, stories on hot destinations and access to photos from all over the world.

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alimcnamara · 6 years

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I bought knitted poppies this year for all my family, to remember both the humans (red) and animals (purple) that have given their lives in conflict, and of course to raise much needed funds for charities that need our help now. #rememberance #wearyourpoppywithpride #armisticeday #purplepoppy #redpoppy https://www.instagram.com/p/Bpo4NgYFuQc/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1u555a545xu9x

#rememberance #wearyourpoppywithpride #armisticeday #purplepoppy #redpoppy

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jaeame-blog · 7 years

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Sky Views: Mythologising war is on the rise | poppy

The Queen will not lay a wreath of poppies at the foot of the Cenotaph. A poppy donation box has been stolen from a Barrie Tim Hortons just before Remembrance Day. But it wasn't Poppy Delevigne's sartorial flair that stole the limelight on Thursday night at the Bottega Veneta Hand of the Artisan cocktail party. At Music Hall of Williamsburg, the artist will perform the meta-songs and cybernetic monologues typically found on her YouTube channel.

Last weekend was declared Buddy Poppy Weekend in the City of Folsom and the response was overwhelming. Barrie police are looking for two suspects after a poppy donation box was stolen. This weekend's national ceremony of remembrance in Whitehall will be different.The All Blacks will wear the RSA's New Zealand poppy on the sleeve of their jerseys when they take the field on Armistice Day against France in Paris. Poppies were dotted across the war-ravaged landscape, inspiring McCrae to write In Flanders Fields, which inspired the adoption of the poppy as a national symbol.

City police say it happened at 3 am Friday at the 555 Essa Rd. coffee shop. Police say the suspects stole the poppy box from a Tim Hortons at 555 Essa Road around 3 am Friday.TERRITORIANS are being urged to not only purchase a red poppy this Remembrance Day, but also to buy a purple one. Others resell official British Legion poppies for inflated prices and keep the cash. England, but also Germany, lined up at Wembley Stadium last night wearing black armbands with red poppies. The annual Poppy Campaign is one of the Royal Canadian Legion's most important programs The money raised from donations provides direct assistance for Veterans in financial distress, as well as, funding for medical equipment, medical research,.

#poppy

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tandgstories-blog · 7 years

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Character Sheet...

Character Sheet for Durjan Nyghte better known as Morpheus

Verse: The Prophecy:The Death Curse Date: 01/16/17

Full Name: Morpheus Nickname/Alias: Durjan Nyghte Meaning: Shape/Dark night (Alias) Title: God of dreams Pet Name: Sand Man, love Signature: Neat and beautiful cursive

Gender: Non Binary Gender Role: Acts more feminine Pronouns: Him/His or They/Their Orientation: Pansexual/Polyamorous Real Age: Unknown Age Appearance: Appears early twenties Birthday: None Deathday: None Birthplace: Hades

Immediate Family: Father, Hypnos; Uncle, Thanatos; Aunt, Eris; Grandmother, Nyx; Grandfather, Eberos, Triplet Brothers(including him), Phobetor & Phantos Distant Family: Most of his uncles and aunts Parenting: It depended on who he was staying with Upbringing: Never do anything for free, work hard, believe in the darkness and chaos Species: Deity, Daemon Ethnicity: Greek Blood Type: Unknown Preferred Hand: Left handed Eye Color: Acidic Green (Sclera is solid black)(Most common form)/Naturally white iris outer ring of pale pink Hair Color: Dyed purple, naturally chestnut brown(Most common form)/Naturally solid black Hairstyle: Undercut, chin length, usually kept in a ponytail(Most common form)/Knee length, bangs frame face naturally Skin Tone: Olive Complexion: Youthful glow Makeup: Nail polish, sometimes wears other make up Build: Lean, swimmer Height: 5'8” Weight: 140 lbs Facial Hair: Stays clean shaven Birthmarks/scars: None Distinguishing Features: Eyes, Tattoos Tattoos: wings filling back, long horns on side of head, night sky sleeve on right arm, alchemy symbols down left arm, sclera(white of the eye) tattooed black, a chomp chomp on his ass

Health: Divine Energy: More than he appears to have Memory: Poor memory with specific details Senses: They are about equal, though greater than a human's Allergies: Claims to be allergic to daylight, none Handicaps: None Medication: None Phobias: Silence, Bright lights Addictions: Sleep, movies, music Mental Disorders: Hypnosomnia (excessive sleep) Style: Gothic and punk styled clothes Mode of Dress: When he's not being super lazy, he'll actually look really good Grooming: Either well kept or messy, no inbetween Posture: Slouches Gait: Slowly but with extreme grace Coordination: Far stronger, faster, and better reflexes than a typical human Habits and Mannerisms: Excessive yawning, Rubbing exposed skin, Making weird faces Scent: Smells like poppies under a full moon Mood: Lethargic Attitude: Doesn't want to deal with people while awake Stability: Fairly stable Expressiveness: Is the least expressive person on the planet when awake When Happy: Hums softly, sleeps lessWhen Depressed: Sleeps more, will fuck with people's dream When Angry: Will put people in eternal sleep, deny them dreams, full blown attack someone Family: Family loves him, especially his brothers Friends: He's lazy but incredibly kind Enemies: He's a lazy good for nothing bastard Bosses: Grandparents Followers: Many people follow him or at least acknowledge him Heroes: Family Rivals: Brothers, aunt and uncles Relates to: Brothers, father Pets/Familiars: A stuffed animal goldfish named Glub, shouldn't be responsible for another's life Wardrobe: It's a mixture of casual and comfortable and expensive Equipment: A decent sized box that’s half ivory and half horn and very decorative Accessories: Two tongue piercings, two lips rings on the left, two eyebrow piercings on the right, septum piercing, several ear piercings Trinkets: A pocket watch with a night sky on it Funds: Unlimited funds due to divine status Home: Decorated as however Phoinix wants Neighborhood: Artsy, higher income people Transportation: Teleports, sometimes flies License Plate Number: Doesn't own a vehicle, can't drive Collections: Blankets Most valuable possession: His pocket watch, blessed by his grandmother and father Prized Possession: Pocket watch Lovers: a variety of lovers Marital Status: Divorced, dating Phoinix and Mags Sex Life: Pretty much dead Turn-Ons: He doesn't care as long as they can sit down, relax, and cuddle Turn Offs: Fidgeting, pacing, super energetic or excited Position: Switch Fetishes: Experimentalism, Rope Play/Shibari, Pet, Masochist, Blood Play, Non-Monogamy Virginity: Too many times to keep count Element: None

Occupation: God of dreams Work Ethic: Loves his job, hates to work Rank: N/A Income: However much they want Wealth Status: Higher class, lives however he wants, usually middle class Experience: None really, born into his divinity Organizations/Affiliations: Whoever sleeps Social Stereotype: Goth or Punk now and days Intelligence: Interpersonal/Intrapersonal Extracurricular Activities: Sleeping, listening to music, sometimes going to a night club, watching movies Religion: Greek Pantheon Morals: Moral compass is a bit skewed, believes that as long as you don't get caught, do what you want Crime Record: Nothing recorded by man Motivation: His job as a god, family Priorities: Family, Personal interests, friends Philosophy: Never be afraid to pursue your dreams, even if it means sleeping your life away Political Party: None Etiquette: Excellent manners Culture: Greek Influences: Family inspires him Relates to: Dreamers of the world Traditions: Greek traditions Superstitions: None Main Goal: Learn what human life is like Minor Goals/Ambitions: Support his friends Career: None Desires: To learn more about human life and why they're so active Wishlist: None Accomplishments: None really Greatest Achievement: Starting to live on earth Biggest Failure: Doesn't talk about it Secrets: He hides the fact that he's a god Regrets: Not moving to earth sooner Worries: Being discovered and feared Best Memories: Spending time with his family Worst Memories: Losing his wife

Hobbies/Interests: Besides sleep, likes to listen to music, watch movies, and make people have weird dreams Skills/Talents: Extremely talented and creative when creating dreams for people Likes: Sleeping, creating dreams, watching movies, listening to music, cuddling, cheesy jokes and puns Dislikes: Being woken up, super excited or energetic people Sense of Humor: Dark, witty, sarcastic, punny Pet Peeves: When people can’t stay calm, when people are unnecessarily loud Superstitions/Beliefs: Knows the powers of the gods, doesn't have any superstitions Dreams/Nightmares: Can't dream Quirks: Likes making a nest to sleep, hates wearing shoes or socks, Savvy: Greek mythology, dreams and their meanings Can't understand: human culture, energetic people, rushing around, insomnia Closet Hobby: Going to a nightclub to party Guilty Pleasure: Helping his aunt or uncle with their work Strengths: Kindness, Patience Flaws: Lazy, prone to lying, likes to sometimes cause mischief Perception: A world full of dreamers just needing the motivation to strive for them Conflicts: When his interests with humans interfere with his divine status Instincts: Constantly create dreams Lures: Tranquil people, Nightmares, Sleeping people in general Soft Spot: Humans who can't sleep, cats Cruel Streak: Insulting his family or friends, People who are cruel or mean without reason Powers/Abilities: Can shapeshift to look like any person, can influence, change, and shape anyone's dreams, can put single individuals to sleep, can hide his wings and horns, can prevent people from ever dreaming again, can put people into an eternal sleep Origin: Divine birth Source: Through a variety of means, often by using a box Ability: The best, the god of these skills Weaknesses: Same weaknesses as most deities Immunities: Cannot catch human diseases or illnesses Restrictions: Can only enter another's dream when he's asleep Alternate Forms: Shape Shifting abilities, only his family knows his true form Extra Anatomy: Wings(Left is white, right is black), long horns growing from temple and back just past his head(Left is white, right is black) Special: When in his true form, he looks like an ancient greek king in people’s dreams. Often wears a long rawhide trench coat that is white on the left, black on the right. Also wears worn leather pants that are white on the left and black on the right. Wears knee high boots and soft leather gloves, both have the left one white, and the right one black. Also wears a white gold crown. Languages: Can speak any spoken language Accent: Changes with his form Voice: Low bass, deep and husky Speech Impediments: Can have one depending on his form Greetings and Farewells: A series of grunts and other noises and waves State of Mind: “How are you?” Proceeds to grunt Compliment: “You're as beautiful as a dream come true,” Insult: “I'd say knowing you is a dream come true but it's more like a nightmare,” Expletive: Just doesn't curse, will make a weird face at you though Laughter: He laughs very quietly, you can usually tell he's laughing by the fact that his shoulders shake, Tag Line: Random meows at friends, “Sorry, can't help with that, I'm sleeping,” Signature Quote: “I'm like a cat that way. I sleep twenty hours a day and gods know what I do in the other four,” “I love helping people dream. If they are willing to dream it, I know that they can achieve it. It's something beautiful,” Reputation: He's lazy First Impressions: He's extremely tired and doesn't want to be there Stranger Impressions: He's a little off, looks like he doesn't want to be there Friendly Impressions: He's lazy yes, but that doesn't stop him from being kind and funny. Enemy Impressions: He's a freak, and he needs to wake the fuck up Familiar Impressions: He sleeps so much so that he can do his job as the god of dreams, he's a good but mischievous guy Compliments: Inspiring, funny, odd Insults: Freak, bastard, sleep addict Self-Impression: He's a lazy bastard who hasn't accomplished anything significant in his long life The Self: Caring individual who wants to inspire others through their dreams The Shadow: A cruel and masochistic man who doesn't mind hurting others to have a little fun and chaos Persona/Mask: Presents a lazy bastard to hide a sensitive and caring man Role: The inspiration, keeping people on their toes Fulfillment: By helping people with their dreams, and just being odd Significance: His divine abilities Comparison: Cats, lots of cats Symbol: Sleeping cats, anything that makes you think of sleeping Song: “Morpheus in a Masquerade” by Cain’s Offering Vice: (Pride/Greed/Gluttony/Lust/Envy/Sloth/Wrath) Virtue: (Patience/Diligence/Chastity/Temperance/Charity/Kindness/Humility) Defining Moment: When he left Hades to live among humans Tropes: His clothing choices, taste in music, some of his views Originality: His divinity One Word: Strange

#character #guy posts #writing #character sheet

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jeffersonlandscape-blog · 5 years

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“In the last four years, the chemical industry has spent $11.2 million on a PR initiative to say it’s not their fault, so we know whose fault it is.”

- Jon Cooksey

But the bees are dying off.

What’s Killing them

Pesticides!

This isn’t a liberal or conservative issue. This is our food.

Bee Part of the Solution

Buy local and organic whenever possible. The organic movement is having a positive impact! Organic farmers have advocated better research and funding by industry, government, farmers, and the public to develop organic farming techniques, improve food production, and maintain ecological health. A revolution in farming would promote equitable diets around the world and support crops primarily for human consumption, avoiding crops for animal food and bio-fuels. Ecological, organic farming is nothing new. It is the way most farming has been done throughout human history.

Ecological farming resists insect damage by avoiding large mono-crops and preserving ecosystem diversity. Ecological farming restores soil nutrients with natural composting systems, avoids soil loss from wind and water erosion, and avoids pesticides and chemical fertilizers.

Part of the problem with rapid population growth, is keepers have to boost hive numbers to meet demand. The amount of undeveloped land with good bee forage just isn’t enough to sustain the masses. By restoring bee populations and healthier bees, ecological agriculture improves pollination, which in turn improves crop yields. Ecological farming takes advantage of the natural ecosystem services, water filtration, pollination, oxygen production, and disease and pest control.

Build a Hive

Flowers Bees Will Love You For

Alyssum, Agastache (anise hyssop), Asclepias (butterfly weed), Aster, Echinacea purpurea (purple coneflower), Geranium (cranesbill), Monarda (bee balm), Papaver (poppies), Rudbeckia (black-eyed Susan), Trifolium (clover), Sedum (stonecrop), Solidago (goldenrod), Ceanothus (Ray Hartman), Buddleja davidii (butterfly bush), Lavendula augustifolia (lavender), Heliotropium (common heliotrope), Sunflowers,Salvia, Digitalis purpurea (foxglove), Roses

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