#pesticidal hymn

[cconfusedkat]

Making this made me realize ive yet to work more on my toww leshy. Like , i have more information on all these au's , and yet i lack anything about a chained lesh

Anyways

these are just au's i think abt often more than the other ones related to my interests ,, i find it a tad bit funny that regretful war & regretful wisdom is a butterfly effect of mystic pursuit- a cat & sacrifice (the one to dye) is more of a recent au :-P

Plague et death kallamar's nickname is plaga fun fact ^.^.... she has the fake ears for aesthetic purposes to distract from the fact she has no ears (which as a follower shes completely deaf, so her eyes are clear white yet she sees better than everyone else)

Poisonous one rots to death, wilt kills their family to be sent to purgatory, plaga's ears rot so bad that they fall off from the dead blood cells giving up on her, a'ra committed their own self injury due to guilt of being locked away from their siblings, and mystic narinder died cuz of being decapitated 🎉🎉 Yay! How fun , family trauma

Umm idk what else to share ... aurealis is sorta like a jane doe..? No one remembers hir and hir bullies r already long gone and dead so shi can't Exactly get justice ,,, thats probably all i got for now tho

Plaga and allure both have white eyelashes ^v^

[shimisali]

Autumn harvest news: "Tibet's granary" sings a hymn of modern harvest

In September, driving along the high-grade highway from Lhasa to Shigatse in Tibet, the fields of Baza Township, Bailang County, Shigatse are golden, and the ears of barley are hanging down heavily, rising and falling like waves in the wind. Some villagers drive harvesters to harvest and pile up the mature barley; some sit under the parasols by the field, drinking warm butter tea; and there are childish children carrying teapots, trotting along the ridges of the fields, bringing tea to their parents…

On September 10, farmers in Baza Township, Bailang County, Shigatse City, Tibet, were harvesting barley. Such a harvest scene is very different from before. In the past, villagers had to set up temporary tents in the fields to cope with the midday heat, and villagers whose homes were far from the fields sometimes had to spend the night in tents. "It was really hard back then. It took more than a month for a family of seven to harvest all the barley." said Laba Danzeng, a 39-year-old villager in Naiqiong Village. "Now my husband and I can harvest all the more than 30 mu of land in less than a week. The children can study with peace of mind."

In Shigatse, which enjoys the reputation of "Tibet's granary", mechanized and semi-mechanized harvesting has replaced traditional manual labor, greatly improving agricultural production efficiency.

Teng Bin, secretary of the Party Committee of Bazha Township, introduced that the township set up a cooperative in 2014, benefiting 846 farmers in the township. The villagers not only used the agricultural machinery of the cooperative, but also received thousands of yuan in dividends every year.

The cooperative has a complete agricultural machinery and equipment system, including large tractors, rotary seeding machines, combine harvesters and other types of machinery, totaling 36 units. These modern agricultural machinery not only improve the harvesting efficiency of barley, but also reduce the labor intensity of the villagers. This year, the township cooperative sold 3.1623 million catties of highland barley varieties, with sales of 11.4 million yuan, an increase of about 40% year-on-year.

On September 10, the autumn harvest scene in Bazha Township, Bailang County, Shigatse City, Tibet.

The modern autumn harvest picture presented by Bazha Township is a vivid microcosm of the modernization process of agriculture in Shigatse and even the entire Tibet. According to data from the Department of Agriculture and Rural Affairs of the Tibet Autonomous Region, the output of highland barley in Tibet will reach 843,600 tons in 2023, the sown area will reach 2.2287 million mu, and a total of 4.3 million mu of high-standard farmland will be built. The coverage rate of highland barley varieties will reach 93%, and the comprehensive mechanization rate of cultivation and harvesting of major grain crops will reach more than 71%.

Doji Cidan, director of the Comprehensive Agricultural and Animal Husbandry Service Center of Bazha Township, has been very busy in the township this year. Born in Shigatse, he returned to his hometown after graduating from university to promote advanced plant protection drones and guide farmers on how to use these high-tech equipment to prevent and control highland barley diseases and pests. Five villagers in the township have obtained the license to drive plant protection drones.

"A few years ago, if we wanted to prevent and control pests and diseases in barley fields, the township had to organize more than 30 people to line up and spread pesticides manually." Dorje Tseten said that now only two advanced plant protection drones are needed to easily complete the task of pest control in thousands of acres of barley fields.

The autumn wind blows by, bringing bursts of barley fragrance. The engine sounds of various agricultural machinery in the fields rise and fall, playing a modern autumn harvest chorus. "Our lives, like the barley in the fields, are getting fuller and more flavorful," Dorje Tseten said.

[cozycraftcafe]

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💗Lovely offerings to Aphrodite💗

Roses: all roses are sacred to Her.

Dark chocolates: known to be an aphrodisiac

Vanilla: organic is best

Sweet fruits: especially apples

Seashells: of all kinds

Sand: collected from the beach if possible

Seawater: if you don’t live near the ocean, make your own saltwater for Her

Olive oil: olive oil is liked by many deities

Golden honey: honey is another liked gift by many gods

Sweet perfumes: offer Her the whole bottle or wear some as a devotional act

Poems and hymns: make them about Her or about someone you love

💗Sweet devotional acts💗

Practice self-care and self-love

Feeding birds, bees, and fish and taking care of nature

Dancing

Enjoying the beauty of the world

Masturbate in Her name if you feel comfortable doing so

Music, either your own or a playlist that reminds you of Her

Remember to tell the ones you are close to your love

Do a little extra for yourself - a spa day, new clothes, go a little extra on your makeup even if it is just a normal day for you, etc.

💗Cute altar ideas💗

An altar to Aphrodite should be as beautiful as you can make it. Decorate it with ocean motifs, roses (real or fake), flower garlands, nods to Her sacred animals (doves, swans, dolphins,) art of Her or erotica, rose quartz, pearls, and bright colors that capture feelings of love and the sea. An altar beside a window, on a windowsill, a vanity stand, or somewhere with a mirror. If you need to keep it secret or wish to keep a travel altar, try to keep her altar in a pretty box adorned with floral or sea decorations or something like a makeup pouch.

Having an outdoor garden altar is also a perfect option for Her - make it bird and bee friendly, use organic products (ones without pesticides) on your plants, have bird-feeders around, and have a little place where you can safely light a candle or incense for Her along with an offering bowl and a place for you to sit and enjoy the beauty she brings to you.

╚═══════ ೋღ ✿ ღೋ ═══════╝

[criophorus]

50  witchy things to do in quarantine:

cleanse your house thoroughly

banish any unwanted energies

put some time into making solid wards

rearrange/cleanse your altar space and tools

take inventory of your supplies

make new batches of sun and moon waters (and any salts, tinctures, etc. you like to keep on hand)

start a dream journal now that you have the time

find a witchy article or book on somewhere like JSTOR and learn something new (and tell other witches about it)

try kitchen witchcraft if you haven’t already

create a new sigil or charm to display in your house

bless or add a glamor to an item in your home (ex. adding a glamour to a centerpiece so the food always looks good or to the welcome mat so people don’t notice the messes so much)

send a blessing to those who are helping (and donations, if you can)

or perhaps jinx, hex, curse, or bind those doing harm

set aside time each day to meditate– it’s the perfect time to start such a habit!

leave an offering to or commune with a spirit or deity you have not in a while due to time constraints

try a type of magic you are interested in, but struggle with

practice with your divination tools to get better at them

update your grimoire with things you’ve been meaning to write down

make a crystal grid of your own

make your own pendulum and board

make your own oracle deck

using the items you already have, make a new powder, oil, or tincture for an intent you have often

make a sigil and set it as your phone background

paint your phone case with a sigil, a symbol, or a color coordinated with your intention (use acrylic and then coat it in mod podge!)

create a new talisman

write a hymn or incantation

create a playlist to listen to during witchy things

buy a service from a local witch if you can afford to– many are in need of money right now, especially

draw, paint, or sculpt a deity you worship and add it to your altar

use notecards to write down and categorize things you have for each basic intention (ex. write down all of the herbs, crystals, etc. you have for love, for money, etc. so you never have to sit and think hard on what you can use– it’s a quick-reference for yourself)

write down your favorite spells or ones that you want to try

in your school or work space, add a sigil or charm for productivity, focus, or stress-relief

make a new sachet for sleep

contact a witch friend and facetime them to meditate together or do readings for each other. it’s important to stay in touch!

make shoebox, on-the-go, or pocket altars so when quarantine is over you’ll keep your practice up in daily life

write yourself affirmation cards or letters to open in a month/year/whenever you like

make your own runes

enchant a piece of clothing or jewelry for stress-relief or motivation

learn more about your own natal chart

transfer the info you look for in your grimoire most often to make a quick-reference book of the most important pages for yourself

learn about the plants and trees around your house and their properties

sit in your yard for a little while and enjoy nature and it’s sounds

open your curtains and blinds and windows to let in a little fresh air and sun into the house

start journaling– being in-tune with yourself will improve you as a witch

write letters or send care packages to witchy friends with things like bay leaves, sigils, and kind notes

on your next grocery run, grab some seeds or plants and plant whatever is in season where you are. try something that can grow in your windowsill, if you’re new! this is a way to have sustainable ingredients for your witchcraft that has no pesticides and is cultivated with your energy.

alternatively, get flower seeds and plant them around your home. this will also give you a reason to step outside to tend to them from time to time.

learn a new song or hymn and perform it as an offering to your deity of choice

make a list of this year’s dates of full and new moons, transits, and holidays and mark them in your calendar or put them in the notes of your phone

take the time to monitor your own energy and take care of yourself <3

[kelyon]

Golden Rings 18: A Bouquet

The Storybrooke Sequel to Golden Cuffs

Lacey Gold looks deeper into her past. 

Trigger warning for grief over a deceased parent.

Read on AO3

Her mother is dead.

It does not rain on the day of Mama’s funeral, even though it should. The skies should break open and flood the earth. The sun should never shine again. All of nature should be consumed by darkness and despair. 

Instead, it is a lovely, sunny day in early summer. Pink roses burst into life all over the castle grounds. They were her favorite flower. Mama always wanted her to get married at this time of year, when the roses bloomed.  

Now, every pink rose that was in the gardens covers the casket. Even the flowers that showed only the slightest bud have been cut down before they had a chance to bloom. Some of them are already turning brown. 

The roses are dying. The roses are dead. This is wrong. Mama wouldn’t want her favorite flowers to die.

She stands beside Papa at the graveside. Both of them are dressed in black. He says nothing. He does not let himself weep. He must show strength as a leader to their people. Mama is not the first casualty of what the common folk are already calling the Ogres War.  

It is a small funeral, only the castle inhabitants and the villagers who live nearby. Traveling is dangerous now, and those far away cannot take the risk. King Midas should have come, or at least sent a royal envoy. The rest of Mama’s family and friends should be here. The whole kingdom--the whole world--should mourn the loss of the greatest woman of this generation. 

As it is, all she has of her mother’s family is Uncle Pierre, Aunt Therese, and their children. Her cousins stand in the cemetery with the rest of the meager party. Little Claude may be too young to understand the words being said, but she knows her aunt is gone. She stays quiet and still. Jeanne cries into a handkerchief. She despairs for the future, for everyone in the land. Andre tries to be a man--he knows that he will see more dead very soon--but he cannot keep his lip from quivering. This is the first death that has come to their family. Does he know, somehow, that he and his father will be next?

Papa’s brother, Uncle Armand, keeps his head bowed. His long, curling hair falls over his face. Normally a man of laughter and warmth, he is solemn. 

Ermintrude, Mama’s closest friend, is as stone-faced as Papa. It must not be decorous for a lady to weep over someone who is not a blood relative. Even if you have known her all your life and raised your children together. Even if you were the last person to see her alive. The last person to hear her screams as monsters ripped her out of your hands and left you holding nothing but a broken necklace. Ermintrude does not weep, but she holds her own daughter’s hand in a clenching grip and does not let go until long after the funeral has ended. Mathilde clings to her mother with equal desperation. 

A cleric prays over Mama’s casket. She does not hear what he says. She speaks when it is time to speak, repeats the words she knows by heart. She sings the hymns and makes the signs. But it does not reach her. 

They cover the casket in dirt. The pink roses will never see the sun again. Mama is dead. The world has ended. 

What future is left for her now?

    ****

Mrs. Lacey Gold started the morning by walking away from the pawn shop and towards Marine Automotive. These red and navy mary janes were the lowest heels she had, and the sound of them was strange on the sidewalk. Mrs. Gold was used to the sharp click-clack of her stilettos, the powerful stride she made sure to use every time she went out in public, no matter how she felt in the privacy of her own skull.  

But things were different now. She was different. She wasn’t just Mrs. Gold anymore. But she wasn’t Lacey French anymore either. 

Truth be told, she had never thought much about being Lacey French, not the way she thought about being Mrs. Gold. She’d never trudged the halls of Storybrooke High thinking about how Lacey French would walk. She’d never pulled on an oversized tee-shirt and jeans because she thought that was the sort of thing Lacey French would wear. She had never wanted to be herself, she just was. 

She wanted to be Mrs. Gold. She’d put effort into it. But now Mr. Gold didn’t seem to care. So she had to try something else. She had to try being someone else. 

Why not Lacey?

Above her, Marco the handyman was hammering something into the roof of the hardware store. When she looked up at him and waved, the old man just frowned and muttered something in Italian. Maybe it was a curse. Maybe it was a sign against curses, something that protected good men from vile harlots.  Either way, Mrs. Gold squared her shoulders and kept walking. 

Marine Automotive was right across from the old abandoned library. Mom had always wished that the library would open up again, so she could get access to more books. At least once a day, every time she had a free minute, she would sneak off to her rocking chair by the window with some well-worn paperback. The flower shop was named after one of her favorite books.

The garage was empty when she got there, no one in the office and only one car lifted up into a bay. A young kid, Billy Citrouille, was rubbing his backside in front of a space heater. He stopped when he noticed her.

“Hey there,” he smiled. His dark eyes were warm and his white teeth shone against tan skin. “How are you today, Mrs. Gold?”

Her first instinct was to giggle. She wanted to bounce on her heels and twirl her skirt and make some stupid joke about getting her motor running. Over the years, Mrs. Gold had had a lot of fun playing with Billy. He wore loose coveralls, but she could make them feel very tight when she wanted to. 

But she was trying to be better.

Lacey looked around the empty garage. “Is Manny in today?”

Billy shrugged. “Business is slow, so he went over to Game of Thorns for a bit.”

“Oh.” Her stomach sank. “Did he… say when he’d be back?”

“He’s supposed to be on a fifteen minute break, but he left an hour ago, so there’s no telling.”

“Oh,” she said again. It was suddenly very difficult to swallow. “Great.”

“Is there something I can do for you, Mrs. Gold? What’s going on with that gorgeous caddy? I’m surprised it’s giving you any trouble.”

She shook her head. “No, it’s not Mr. Gold’s car. This is just… a family thing.”

“Oh, okay,” Billy said. Then he began to nod. “Oh that’s right, you were Manny’s niece!”

“I still am,” Lacey snapped, more angry than she wanted to be. “There’s no expiration date on being someone’s family.”

At least, she hoped not. 

Without saying more to Billy, she left the garage. Game of Thorns was on a dinky little side street in Old Town, only a block away from Marine Automotive. The location didn’t offer much opportunity for foot traffic, but it was the best the owners could get when they bought it. All the properties on Main Street, all the good places, were owned by Mr. Gold. Moe French took it as a point of pride that he owned the deed to his building, that he had paid off the mortgage in ten years. Owning property meant equity, it meant security, it meant being the lord of your own castle.

It meant he had something to sell to Mr. Gold when the cancer treatments had wiped out all their savings and the medical bills were still unpaid. It meant his family became tenants, renters in their own home, swallowed up in the financial ruin that came with tragedy.  

When they got married, Mr. Gold had given her this building as a wedding present. 

In the spring and summer the exterior of the shop hosted a riot of potted and hanging plants for sale. The front was covered in ivy, always advertising the greenery within. But on this winter afternoon, the ivy was dead. All the plants were kept inside. The store barely looked open  or alive at all. 

The front window display was themed for Valentine’s Day, one of the busiest days of the year. Faded red cloth provided a backdrop for limp paper hearts and plastic vases full of dusty fake roses. Of course, all the real flowers had been sold already. Cheap, plastic garlands were strewn haphazardly around the window. The whole thing looked so tawdry, so pitiful. 

She tried not to think of the hours Mom had spent every holiday, planning out designs for the displays. And then the hours more they had spent together, executing her vision. “It’s more than just color, Lacey-loo. There’s texture and balance and harmony--and always some memorable details. A good display will tell a story. That’s what makes people want to stop and look. And then come in and buy.”   

Dad was trying his best, she knew he was. But it wasn’t the same. Nothing could ever be the same again. 

Tempting as it was to linger in front of the window reminiscing, she knew she had to go inside. Mrs. Gold tried to press her fingernails into her palms, but then remembered she was wearing gloves. Right. So she would just have to do this without any of her usual crutches.

Great.

Game of Thorns smelled damp and moldy. Most people would say it smelled like flowers, but Lacey knew the smell of floral foam and pesticides, of fertilizer chemicals and a building that had been patched up with endless haphazard DIY projects for as long as she could remember.  

Refrigerated flower cases lined one wall, mostly empty. The flickering fluorescent lights provided most of the illumination in the store. There were overhead lights, but it looked like her father was keeping them off when there was no one in the store, to save on the electric bill. 

Merchandise was crammed into every inch of floor space, but she knew the path by heart. The tables of gifts and knickknacks, the shelves of mugs and boxes of chocolate, the helium tank and the display of balloons--nothing had moved. Except for the accumulation of dust, nothing had changed at all. 

That was Storybrooke for you. 

The cash register was in the back of the store. Did the drawer still stick when it rang out, or had Dad ever fixed it? He’d been saying he would fix it for years now. 

Behind the desk, someone was reading a newspaper. Lacey could tell it was a man, but the paper covered up his face. She stood in the middle of the floor--near the desk, but not close enough to touch the counter. Which one of them was behind the paper, her uncle or her father? Who was she going to see first, and how would they react to seeing her again?

She took a breath, and cleared her throat. 

The paper lowered. Long, curling hair in a neat center part emerged from the other side. Then raised, dark eyebrows and wide, dark eyes. The eyes lit up. The paper was cast aside.

Uncle Manny beamed at her and stood up. 

“Hey! Look who’s back!” Arms wide open, he walked around the desk to offer her a hug.

Lacey accepted his embrace and hugged him back. How long had it been since her last hug? Months or years? Uncle Manny’s coveralls smelled like metal and motor oil and aftershave. Smelling it made her feel like a kid in the best way--small and weak, but loved and valued.

She felt safe. 

Dad’s younger brother had never been married and never had children. But he had been around for Lacey’s whole life--another parent in the web of family love she’d grown up with, and then been away from for so long. Uncle Manny had an open enthusiasm that Dad never bothered with. She could show him her crayon drawings or her middle school science projects and he would shower her with praise. When she became valedictorian, he’d been so proud of her he actually cried. 

When the hug ended, she didn’t know what to say. Torn between saying nothing and saying everything, Lacey blurted out something completely stupid. “Your hair didn’t used to be so long.”

Uncle Manny laughed and clapped her on the back. “It was that cousin of yours, Janine. This past October she convinced me that if I let it grow out more, I wouldn’t look so much like a white man with an afro.”

Lacey let herself smile. “Well she would know. She’s the hair stylist.”

“I thought this would be better than getting it close-cropped. Curly hair is the French family trademark, you know.”

“I know.”

“Big hair and big brains, that’s us. All except for your father, but I think he’s adopted.”

Now Lacey giggled. The joke wasn’t funny, but it hadn’t been funny the first time Uncle Manny had told it to her when she was five years old. The funny part had been Lacey very carefully explaining to her uncle that Dad couldn’t be adopted, because that would mean she wasn’t really a French and that was impossible because she definitely had big hair and big brains.   

Uncle Manny had been so tickled by the exchange, he had repeated it at least once a month ever since. Dad--who his entire adult life had kept his hair so short that almost no one knew it could curl--had never thought it was very funny. Which only made it better as a joke. 

“It’s good to hear you laugh again,” he said. “It’s good to see you!” He held her by the arms and looked her up and down. “Yep, still pretty. You got that from Linda.”

That was a well-meaning lie. The Woolverton look was wispy blonde hair with bright blue eyes. Janine and Chloe looked like Mom in old pictures. Andrew had been the spitting image of Uncle Peter. Lacey had Mom’s eyes and Dad’s hair, but she didn’t really look like either one of them.   

She changed the subject. “How have you been? I’m sorry we haven’t talked much since…” She trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished, the past unspoken, unspeakable.

Uncle Manny kept his hand on her upper arm. He looked her in the face, his dark eyes worried and painfully sincere. “You don’t need to apologize, kiddo. Not to me. Didn’t you hear that love means never having to say you’re sorry?”

“That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard.” She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The quote was another family joke, a line from an old movie making fun of another old movie. Lacey repeated the words she knew by heart, she let the ritual of them comfort her. 

Why did it feel so strange to be here? This had been her home, this had been her family. For most of Lacey’s life, this had been her whole world. Had she really outgrown this place so much? Had she really let her marriage turn her into a different person?

Behind the thin walls, the steps up from the basement creaked and groaned under a heavy weight. She swallowed and her heart sank a little more as she automatically looked towards the door into the back room. 

Moe French came up from the basement, his arms full with a plastic-lined cardboard box that overflowed with flowers. Dad had always been a big bear of a man--gruff but loving, full of ideas and hope for the future. Lacey remembered the game when he would pick her up over his head and twirl her around. Mom made up a story that Lacey was a clever warrior who refused to slay a dragon, but had tamed it instead and now she could fly on it to anywhere in the world. 

Once Mom was gone, Dad had shrunk into himself, and the only thing bearish about him was his temper. A temper that Lacey had inherited and Mom wasn’t around to quell in either of them. 

“Oh,” he said when he saw her. “Mrs. Gold.” 

He took the time to put the box on the countertop before he turned and brushed his hands on his jeans. He crossed his arms tightly over his chest. His baseball cap was pulled low over his eyes, so his expression was unreadable. 

“So, has the landlady decided it was time to start charging rent?”

She felt her expression change, felt her lips purse and her jaw clench. She felt her hackles raise, all without thinking about it. 

Uncle Manny spoke up. “Moe, come on. It’s just Lacey.”

“I know who it is.” Dad didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to. The judgement came through better when he sounded neutral. 

It really was a rare gift, the way he could mean so much while saying so little. Even now, he hadn’t said anything that wasn’t true. She was his landlady, she could start charging rent. Those were facts. But he said them like they were crimes. 

And it was a neat trick, too, because he never had to defend himself. Because he had never actually said anything mean. For most of her adolescence, Lacey had known how useless it was to rant about feeling belittled or shamed or trapped. She would never have a direct quote that she could repeat to him to make him understand how much he’d hurt her. 

Even now, she’d take a lifetime of Mr. Gold’s most obscene insults over hearing her father say “Fine,” with no emotion ever again.   

Mrs. Gold stepped away from her uncle and faced her father. She said “Hi,” and it felt like a declaration of war.  

Dad nodded. Without a word, he turned back to the box and began to pull out flowers. They were mixed roses--every color except white and red, which got their own packaging. He began to separate yellow from orange from salmon from magenta from pink.

Lacey’s heart skipped a beat at the pink roses. They were mom’s favorite. She’d always said they represented the best kind of love--sweet, gentle, light. Red roses were for the burning passion of new romance, and white roses were innocent and bridal. But pink roses were the compromise, the roses of marriage, of the simple love that warmed your heart and made every day a little brighter. A little spark of joy, those were pink roses for Mom.

And that was Mom for everyone who knew her. 

She wanted me to marry in spring, when the roses bloomed.

Wordless, Lacey walked over to the counter and watched Dad sort the flowers. He placed the ends of the stems under a cutter and pulled the blade down like a lever. It looked mercenary, but it was for the flower’s own good. You had to cut off the parts that were dead so they could take in more water and stay fresher longer. It hurt, but was a part of growing--or at least staying alive in a world that wouldn’t let you grow. 

After a few minutes, he stepped to the side, so there was enough room for her to stand beside him and help. If she wanted to.

That was the flip side of the way Dad said things without saying them--sometimes he could say nice things too. Sometimes it was easier for both of them not to talk. Then neither of them could say the wrong thing. She stood beside him, and began to place the sorted roses into different buckets filled with water and plant food. That way, he would have more room on the counter.

“Well, I guess I’ll get back to work,” Uncle Manny announced.

“Oh, do you have a job? I couldn’t tell,” Dad grumbled. 

Lacey snorted. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the slightest grin from Dad. 

Uncle Manny ignored the jab. “Lacey-girl, it was good to see you. You come and talk to me any time, okay?”

“I will.” She looked up from the flowers. “Thank you.”

“Ah, I gotta have one more hug!” Uncle Manny crossed the length of the store and wrapped his arms around her again. She felt the press of his lips on her curly French family hair. “Love you, kiddo.”

“Love you.”

“Aww, do I get a hug too?” Dad said. It would have been good-natured, if it didn’t sound so bitter. 

“Brother of mine, you’ll get a sock in the jaw if you drive our girl away again. I’ll go with her this time, she’s better company than you.”

“Get outta here, you mangy grease monkey.”

Uncle Manny went back to the garage and Lacey and Dad worked together in silence. When the box was empty, Dad wiped his hands on a green rag and handed it over for her to do the same. It had been Mom’s idea for all of the shop’s towels to be green. That way they wouldn’t get mixed up with the blue and pink towels they used at home. 

Lacey rubbed the rag between her finger and her thumb. The fabric was worn and scratchy, not like the big fluffy towels in Mr. Gold’s house. She kept her eyes on the ground. Dad hadn’t moved. He was waiting. 

They were both waiting for the other one to speak first. 

Papa, I’ve missed you.

It took her a minute, but finally she did the brave thing.

“Look,” Lacey said. “I guess I’m sorry it took me this long to come visit.”

She wanted to offer an excuse, but there was nothing she could say that wouldn’t be an outright lie. She hadn’t spoken to her father in years because she hadn’t wanted to. Because he made her angry and sad and made her remember things she’d rather forget. Because she had been too busy enjoying the better life she’d had as Mrs. Gold. 

Dad looked around, trying to find something to do. He began to move the buckets of roses into the flower case. “The shop was always here,” he said, not as gruff as he could have been. “You own the place, you could have come by any time.”

“I didn’t want to bother you.” She’d taken her coat off to work, and now she clutched it over her chest. “I didn’t want to… embarrass you.”

Straightening up, Dad looked down at her. He was tall--a trait she had not inherited. His face was worn out, tired. Was he still disappointed in her?

“You didn’t have to do it, you know. Marry him. The rent wasn’t that overdue. I could have worked something out on my own.”

She’d married Mr. Gold on the day before Valentine’s Day. Two weeks after the January rent was due, one day before a huge influx of cash would be coming in for the store. If Mr. Gold had demanded that she marry him in lieu of rent, the timing could not have been more painfully tragic. 

But that wasn’t what happened. 

“I didn’t marry him for rent money, Dad. I married him because… because I wanted to.”

He grumbled and shook his head. Turning away, he reached into the bucket of yellow roses and counted out twelve blooms for a grab-and-go bouquet. Out of habit, Lacey went to her old place by the cash register and leaned over the counter. 

More silence. It was times like these when she missed Mom the most. Mom loved words, she lived in words. She understood how to talk so people would listen, and she never said the wrong thing. 

Dad counted out more bouquets, at least one for every color of roses. When he came to the bucket of pink roses, he lingered. It looked like he was trying to pick out the best ones, the largest, freshest blooms. As he had with all the others, he wrapped the bouquet in plastic and secured it with a rubber band. 

But instead of placing it in the display, he set it on the counter in front of Lacey. She didn’t pick it up, but put her hand over the stems. There were thorns on these roses, but they were still so beautiful. Beauty and pain, Mom would say sometimes. No life was complete without both.

“I don’t… understand,” he said slowly. “And I don’t want to understand. Why you would… want that. Want him.” Dad shook his head. He looked like he had a bad taste in his mouth.    

Lacey bit her lip. She waited for the rest of it. The condemnations, the accusations, the “we raised you betters.” She’d certainly heard enough of that once Mom got sick. Once she wasn’t everything he’d always wanted her to be.  

But Dad just sighed, and put his hand over hers on the bouquet. His big hand covered half her fingers, stopping at her wedding ring. “Your mother… would want you to be happy.”

He didn’t ask if she was happy, or if Mr. Gold made her happy, or if he could help her be happy. But somehow, it was enough. Just to hear him say it. Mom would want her to be happy. 

She knew what he meant.  

****

It was a long walk to the cemetery. She might have asked Mr. Gold if she could borrow the Cadillac, but she didn’t feel like telling him that she was going anywhere. It was none of his business.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been here. Her feet walked like they were separate from her mind along the rows of headstones. They took her where she needed to go without her having to think about it. 

Past the crosses and obelisks and statues of angels. The back of the cemetery wasn’t quite a potter’s field, but it also wasn’t as neat and well-maintained as the section by the gates. That was where the mausoleums were, the polished marble and memorial benches for people who used to be rich and influential. 

Even in death, there was no equality. 

Before she got where she was going, two tombstones stood out to her. Small and cheap and side by side. There were no decorations in the stone, no carved images or poems. Even adding dates would have been too expensive. All they had were words:

PETER HOWARD WOOLVERTON, BELOVED HUSBAND AND FATHER

ANDREW PETER WOOLVERTON, BELOVED SON AND BROTHER

“And uncle,” Lacey whispered as she stood by the graves. “And cousin.”

Unlike a lot of other headstones in this section, these had all the snow and moss and bird shit cleared off. There were flowers in the little vases, cloth bouquets that wouldn’t be affected by the cold. Daisies for Andrew, calla lilies for Uncle Peter. 

Lacey wondered who was maintaining the graves. Even though Aunt Terri hadn’t been in the car crash, she had been all but comatose ever since it had happened. She’d withdrawn into her own sadness, leaving Janine to hold herself and Chloe together. Did Janine have time to care for the dead? Did Aunt Terri have the will for it? Or was it a family decision, an event? Maybe mourning was the only thing all of them could do together anymore.  

Her family had been falling apart. They had been breaking at the seams while Mrs. Gold had strutted around like a prostitute, flaunting the money she had earned from being a fucktoy to the man who held all of Storybrooke in the palm of his hand.

Shaking her head, Lacey moved on. She wasn’t strutting now. She was hunched over in the cold, burdened by her memories. She had carried the plastic-wrapped bouquet all the way from town, through the neighborhoods and woods and into this lonely graveyard. 

It was two rows up from Andrew and Uncle Peter. This was a double headstone. Her father’s name was already carved onto it, right beside her mother’s. 

LINDA WOOLVERTON FRENCH

To Lacey, the grave looked like a double bed, like Mom had gone to sleep before Dad and was waiting for him to join her. Waiting for them to be together again at last.

There was already a bouquet here. Pink roses, brown and withered from at least a week’s worth of exposure to the cold. Was it wrong to leave Mom’s favorite flowers out here to die? Wouldn’t she think that was a waste?

But wasn’t death always a waste?

Crouching down, Lacey took the old bouquet and set the new one down in its place. The granite was dark and polished. She could see her own reflection in her mother’s grave. 

“Mom,” Lacey whispered.

Mama.   

For days now, she had been in a cycle of crying and being too worn out to cry. Ever since her fight with Mr. Gold, she’d felt like the world had ended. But the truth was that the world had ended before. The world had ended the day after she’d graduated high school, when Mom had gone to her doctor and come back with the diagnosis. Then the world ended a thousand more times: When she gave up her scholarship and her dreams of going to college, when Dad sold the store to Mr. Gold, every time there were new results from the doctor and none of them were good, every time Mom checked in to the hospital.

The time Mom didn’t check out of the hospital. 

The funeral, more costs, more spending money they did have. Less than a month afterward, Andrew and Uncle Peter tried to leave Storybrooke to interview for jobs that paid double what the cannery offered. They took the widowmaker highway. It lived up to its name.

Death and debt. Over and over. The world never stopped ending. 

“Mom, I’m sorry,” Lacey whispered. 

In hospice, the nurses had told them that hearing was the last sense to go, that they should keep talking even if she seemed unresponsive. Mom could hear her. Mom was listening, even if she wasn’t talking.

Tears rolled down her cheeks and she didn’t stop them. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save us. I’m sorry I couldn’t stop any of it.”

She knew that it was irrational to blame herself for events that were beyond any human control. She knew Mom wouldn’t want her to think that. Mom wanted her to be happy.

“I’m sorry I only saved myself.”   

That’s what it had been, to marry Mr. Gold, to do whatever he said in exchange for whatever he would give. She had been running away from her old life, the life of poverty and scraping by. She’d escaped. She’d gotten out. She’d saved herself and never looked back. 

Until now. 

She hugged her arms over her chest. She thought of all the hugs she’d ever had, and all the hugs she’d never have again.

“You know, I thought it would be easy. To not love someone. Because God knows if you love someone, you can lose them. It destroyed Dad. It destroyed Aunt Terri. I thought it would be easier to just not bother loving the man I married. To marry someone who would never love me. It was just a deal.” Mrs. Gold closed her eyes and shook her head. “Just a deal.”

A sob racked through her. She fell on her knees and let her tears fall onto the snow.

I love him.

“I wasn’t supposed to love him! I didn’t want to love him. I thought I was safe with just sex. I thought that was all he wanted too.” 

But as soon as Mr. Gold had stopped demanding sex from her, as soon as he had started treating her with kindness--even that lukewarm politeness that she hated--then she had begun to see something real about him. Something that she just had to fall in love with. 

He is so good. It’s hard to find, but it’s there. He’s so loving, Mama. He loves me so much.

Hearing those thoughts in her head, thoughts that she wanted to believe but knew were lies, just made her break down even more. Maybe she was going crazy. Maybe all these years of grief and loss and hopelessness were finally compounding on themselves to the point where she was hearing voices. What other finale could there be to this joke of a life than to end up in some kind of asylum?

The snow was seeping through her coat. She had to stand. She had to get somewhere warm. She had to start walking. She had to go home.

Or at least, back to Mr. Gold’s house. 

“I miss you, Mom,” she whispered. “I wish you were here.”

I wish he could have met you.

****

She’d stopped crying by the time she got to the entrance of the cemetery. It wasn’t cold enough for her tears to freeze to her face, but her eyes were raw, and her skin was chapping in the wind. Her makeup was ruined and there was a trail of snot running down the front of her scarf. Not much she could do about it right now.

A black Mercedes-Benz was parked in front of one of the mausoleums. The car was smaller than Mr. Gold’s Cadillac, but newer and more luxurious. 

She picked up her pace. The last thing she wanted was for somebody to see her like this. Especially not someone as important as--

“Mrs. Gold?”

Fuck.

No! Not Regina!

Mayor Mills came out of the mausoleum that bore her family’s name. Like Lacey, she held a bouquet of withered flowers--white chrysanthemums, it looked like. 

Oh right. It was Wednesday. Every Wednesday Mayor Mills went to put flowers on her father’s grave. Everyone knew that. 

 How does everyone know that? 

Maybe if she stayed far enough away from the Mayor, she wouldn’t notice what a state she was in. So Lacey just nodded and kept on walking. 

But Mayor Mills didn’t give up. “Mrs. Gold, is that really you? I’ve never seen you so subdued.”

Run! Get away from her!

She couldn’t run. Now that the Mayor had seen her, she had to stop. She had to turn around and make polite small talk until she let her go. Before she turned around, she took a second to rearrange her scarf and put on a decent expression. 

“Well, it is a cemetery,” she tried. “You’re not supposed to be happy here, right?”

“But you look downright tortured, dear.” The Mayor’s face was full of concern. “Are you alright? Do you want to talk?”

This was the second time Mayor Mills had offered support to Mrs. Gold. The first time had been when she’d seen her in the alley with Dr. Whale. Just like then, Mrs. Gold had the strangest urge to confide in the Mayor. She wanted to tell her everything, everything about Mr. Gold and their marriage and how miserable she had been for so long. 

But the voice in her head had been screaming ever since Mrs. Gold turned around. Was that a sign that she was even crazier? This was an offer of help and her subconscious or whatever was reacting like the Mayor was holding a dagger to her throat. 

“I--” Mrs. Gold began. But it was hard to even speak over the racket in her thoughts. “I need to go.”

“Oh, let me give you a ride back into town.”

You made me walk barefoot through the snow, you merciless bitch!    

These fucking thoughts would only get worse if she got into the Mayor’s car. And she had enough of a headache as it was. 

“No, thank you, Madame Mayor. I don’t want to trouble you.”

“Why, it’s no trouble at all! I’m happy to help someone in need.”

Get away from me, you monster!

“I’m sorry.” She began to back away. “Mr. Gold doesn’t like me to get in cars with anybody but him.”

The lie worked. The Mayor’s expression changed from insistent concern to sympathetic understanding. 

“Well,” she said, more huskily than she had been speaking before. “You’re a good girl for doing what Mr. Gold tells you to. Will you tell him that you saw me here? Let him know I’m always around for you, whenever you need me.”

The Mayor smiled, all red lips and white teeth.

Burn in every hell, you lying, murdering--  

“Yes, of course.” Mrs. Gold said loudly. She didn’t have time for the bullshit ramblings of her own head. “Have a good day, Madame Mayor.”

“And you as well, Mrs. Gold.”

[frakyeahfrenchmusic2]

Nouveau titre inédit d’Emily Loizeau, hymne de l'association Nous Voulons des Coquelicots, pour l’interdiction de tous les pesticides de synthèse en France. Pour signer la pétition :  https://nousvoulonsdescoquelicots.org/l-appel/

Avez-vous mesuré le temps ? Avez-vous mesuré le vent ? Avez-vous mesuré la nuit ? La vie Viens avec moi mon vieux pays Le jour se lève, levons nos rêves aussi    Je veux faire l’amour dans les champs Je veux faire l’amour et des enfants Qui se baigneront dans les rivières En oubliant    Viens avec moi mon vieux pays Levons nos rêves, le vent se lève aussi Avez-vous mesuré le feu ? Avez-vous mesuré la fin ? Avez-vous mesuré ce jeu ? Qu’on joue sans avoir l’air de rien Je veux serrer encore entre mes dents La fleur rouge du printemps Rouge est ma peau lorsque je t’aime Souvent Viens avec moi mon veux pays Le jour se lève, levons nos rêves aussi Viens avec moi mon vieux pays Levons nos rêves, le vent se lève Viens avec moi mon vieux pays Quand tu te lèves le jour se lève Le jour se lève Nos rêves aussi Artiste : Emily Loizeau & Blind Seats Titre : Viens avec moi mon vieux pays [2019]

[abccorporatecommunications-blog]

News in a Nutshell – w/e 16th August 2019

California defies White House to ban controversial pesticide

Phys.org, 15th August

Summary: New working groups will be set up to find safer alternatives to the pesticide commonly used for citrus fruits, almonds, cotton, grapes, nuts, alfalfa and other crops. This follows the decision in California state officials to outlaw the use of a pesticide linked to developmental problems in humans after President Donald Trump's administration scrapped plans for a nationwide ban.

Relevance to ABC: Pesticide use in agricultural trade continues to be hotly debated on both a media and political level. It is likely that ABC will be part of said “working groups” to develop alternative solutions to pesticide use for bloom maintenance, and any existing messaging may need to be updated to account for any proposed changes/developments in how pesticides are used or replaced on almond orchards.

Mistakes are crucial to business success: embrace and learn from them

The Grocer, 15th August

Summary: Most failure comes through trying something new and there is nothing more fun than having a go. However, food health business Rude Health took a punt with an almond drink in 2013 found that this was a risk that would pay of as the drink is now a bestseller.

Relevance to ABC: The risk in the future popularity of almond milk as a healthy plant-based alternative is evidence of local and start-up businesses benefiting from this rising trend. ABC can benefit from understanding the ongoing media interest in almond milk as a nutritional alternative and also as a viable business proposition for a breadth of companies globally.

Sticking with the facts

The Scottish Farmer, 15th August

Summary: The problem with huge reports like those by the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) – is that commentators can pick and choose the bits they like and discard/discount the things they don't. It has mobilised its troops in an almost evangelical fashion to sing off the same hymn sheet on how agriculture interacts with 'climate change' and that eating meat and drinking milk is bad not just for you, but the planet too. Food miles are just as important, as they are an intrinsic part of the environmental footprint of food production and consumption. If you are trying to reduce your carbon footprint, you must consider eating locally produced, sustainable food.

Relevance to ABC: This critical opinion piece is important for ABC, given its global presence, as the journalist proposes local sustainable food production as a solution to climate change. ABC’s global distribution and the wider environmental impact of almonds, means this topic is likely to face further scrutiny with highly critical media lens.

World's largest urban farm to open – on a Paris rooftop

The Guardian, 13th August

Summary: Currently under construction in the south-west of Paris, a new rooftop urban oasis will span approximately 14,000 sq metres (150695 sq feet) – making it the largest urban farm in Europe. With the plan to grow more than 30 different plant species, the site will produce around 1,000kg of fruit and vegetables every day in high season. Tended by around 20 gardeners, they will also be using entirely organic methods. The farm will also offer a range of services related to urban agriculture, including educational tours, team-building workshops and special events.

Relevance to ABC: The Rockefeller Foundation-backed urban farm could be a potential stakeholder/partner for European messaging around organic farming. While almonds are unlikely to be produced on the farm due to the lack of climate needs, spokespeople could be engaged with regarding any speaker events around organic/urban farming where other industry panellists are required to discuss broader agricultural trends, challenges and opportunities.

A world without bees would have major food shortages and possibly famine

Earth.com, 12th August

Summary: Bees play a critical role in feeding the world by pollinating the crops that feed 90 percent of the global population. Bees are said to be involved in the production of one out of every three bites of food that we take. This means that the ongoing decline of bees and other pollinators poses a serious threat to the future of the world’s food supply. According to the BBC, honey bees are responsible for $30 billion a year in crops. If we had no bees left on the Earth, we could lose all of the plants that they pollinate, followed by all of the animals that eat those plants. The repercussions would be felt all the way up the food chain.

Relevance to ABC:

Bee health is arguably one of the priorities for crop farmers to address with increasing demands for food supplies, particularly almonds where export volume seems to increase year by year. While almonds haven’t been mentioned as an example of a food that relies heavily on bees during bloom, this reiterates the importance of messaging around how ABC is supporting bee population now and in the future.

Business Insider has also covered this story in the past week, citing that the price of food would increase due to the domino effect on increasing bee theft from almond farms in California, with bee hives being sold on at higher prices due to higher demand and value they possess.

[dowrabeesmith]

Insects

#Insects A little hymn to our insect friends - even the annoying ones The #PoetryDaily brings you a poem to a #midge.

Insects are our planet’s friends. Even if they may be really annoying to us. We are fairly ignorant of how these smallest creatures figure in the whole trophic cascade. Take them out with a pesticide and we don’t really know how unbalanced things can become. Because nature will always fill a vacuum. Something will move in for sure. This morning my poetry practice poetry form random pick comes…

[iscrumptiouslystickycollec-blog1]

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One very impelling and famous chapter is "A Fable for Tomorrow," much criticized for its fictional account in literary terms which resembles a Gothic tale. Silent Spring essay. Silent Spring. Custom Silent Spring Essay Writing Service || Silent Spring Essay samples, help. The book 'Silent spring' by Rachael Carson can interpreted as an embodiment of Carson's deep conventional conceptions in regard to natures balance and the web of life. For approximately a period of thirty years after its publication 'Silent Spring' has come to be acknowledged as a book that evoked the ominous image of the dangers of DDT as well as the general concept of pesticides on ecological life forms (McGillivray pp 25). In fact it is recognized as an important icon of change that led to the beginning of the United States Environmental Movement back in the 1960's. The books major argument is based on the fact that the unexamined and uncontrolled use of pesticides narrowing down to DDT was a harmful and killing danger that not only affected the birds that it heavily presents a case on but also on humans. Just looking at its title is enough to communicate that it was an evocation of a spring season with no birdsongs coloring the environment as implied by the fact that all birds had vanished on account of the abuse of pesticides. Some scholars claim that Carson was happiest when writing about the resilience and strengths of natural systems. Apart from 'Silent Spring' other works that demonstrate his passion towards this subject include 'Under the Sea Wind, The Sea Around Us in addition to The Edge of the Sea which consisted of hymns which explored the interconnectedness of living things and natural ecosystems or nature. Although Carson rarely uses the term nature in her works Carson is known to hold an ecological take on nature in which she describes using poetic yet precise language the complexities that characterize the web of life (McGillivray pp 25). This is most especially the ones that link the mollusks to birds of the sea in addition to the fish that thrive in the deepest and inaccessible parts of the oceans. The above characterizes the take that she pursues in this particular book. In this light, on the basis of which she criticizes DDT, Carson considered DDT as the world's most powerful pesticide known to expose 'the vulnerability of nature (Carson pp 29)'. Unlike other pesticides that were only believed to bear harmful effects to a few insects, DDT had the capability of destroying hundred different kinds at the same time. When it was first introduced for civilian usage as a pesticide only a few were concerned about it negative effects. Edwin Way Teale a nature writer warned against how pesticides such as DDT could upset nature economy. He cited that ninety percent of the insects found in nature are good and killing them would create an imbalance in nature.... View more ...

[cconfusedkat]

i just have fools fidem left to write a summary for (toww leshy) and then just for my sake of organization of the same summary doc Id write another summary regarding mystic pursuit

YAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY pretend I have no grammar errors in pesticidal hymn I am so good at grammar and writing nods nods

[kathaleenlangdon-blog]

Exactly how Tobacco Providers Connected Cigarettes As well as Mental Health.

USA Protection Secretary Ash Carter has actually released brand-new plan rules aimed at curbing cigarette use within United States's armed forces that include raising the prices from cigarette on army manners to match local area market prices. It would then appear we need to contact The lord for the kindness to become kind and loving to others in every measure we enjoy our lives. On top of all this, the FTC does not also manage its very own enforcement selections as model! Faithful expositions from Psalms 2, 110 and also 45, which concentrate on Christ's prestige, majesty and elegance. Exactly how is it that folks with large houses and substantial garages need to park their autos in the garage. It is also part of the vocabulary from our hymns, but is hardly hired in even more present day choruses and Christian tracks. As his lifestyle was dropping out, his mind was actually flooded along with notions about his Saviour, Jesus Christ, as he prepared the four addresses discovered in this particular publication for the press.

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[salinaflowers27-blog]

Protection Department Set To Defend Armed forces Off Cigarette Hurts.

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[supersusantop-blog]

China's exports of electronic cigarette sales fell notably

As the recognition of digital cigarettes, smoking has a brand new photo, smoking now become a respiration. This product may be very revolutionary, such a lot of media and newspapers have made it clean that "digital cigarettes will make the picture of smoking completely modified, on the way to convey a huge effect on the traditional tobacco market." Even engaged in anti-smoking More than 28 years of public fitness officials, however additionally this new product sang hymn, stated the electronic cigarette is built on health, safety, entertainment, a brand new type of smoke-loose.

The President of the European Union Public Health Physicians Association Tobacco Control Task Force at the clicking convention stated publicly that "we've every motive to consider that the damage that traditional tobacco brings to people could be removed by using the threat of electronic cigarettes." However, if we So that each one the people who smoke from everyday conventional tobacco gradually turned to digital cigarettes, then we will in the end make the range of deaths in Europe from extra than 70 million in keeping with year to less than a hundred humans, and possibly less than 10. There is not any doubt that the electronic The popularity of cigarettes in people who smoke and the help of non-people who smoke have brought about hovering sales of electronic cigarettes, even as on the identical time getting rid of smuggling and smuggling of smokers for many years. Since traditional tobacco is affected by 2nd- The effect of smokers and others brought about harm to the truth that has been disclosed, fitness cigarettes at the moment are increasingly human beings's attention, people who smoke buddies healthy alternatives.

With the popularity of vaporesso ecig, the protection of digital cigarettes an increasing number of attention. And digital cigarettes wealthy earnings and potentialities, in order that a few foreign businesses commenced their personal studies and development, manufacturing digital cigarette products.

US liquid nicotine corporation claims that imports of liquid nicotine from China incorporate heavy metals and DDT and different pesticide residues. As the United States has strict regulatory measures for pesticides, and DDT in the United States is prohibited to use. So it is producing liquid nicotine extracted from US native tobacco leaves to cope with more and more stringent digital cigarette regulatory measures. And lately stated that america Ioto electronic cigarette liquid company also product assembly line from China to america. Affected by way of the first area of 2014, China's exports of electronic cigarette sales fell substantially, a decrease of 25%. The sluggish decline of the tobacco enterprise keeps to spawn foreign places digital cigarette marketplace warm. The fast increase of digital cigarettes, brought on nations to heighten the creation of legal guidelines and policies to modify digital cigarette.

United States: New York City prohibits the use of digital cigarettes in eating places, bars, parks, seashores and different public places. EU: Nicotine content material of digital cigarettes ought to now not exceed 20mg, whilst the packaging to indicate the content material of nicotine and its viable health dangers, and shall now not be sold to minors electronic cigarette. Spain: Prohibition of smoking cigarettes in public locations, at the same time as prohibiting the sale of digital cigarettes in pharmacies. Ireland: Prohibition of the use and sale of digital cigarettes in medical establishments.

Although China covers ninety% of the global electronic cigarette commercial enterprise, however due to the lack of home regulatory regulation, belongings rights, patent protection, the low threshold of electronic cigarette market, such a lot of groups comply with the fashion, cottage critical, handiest accrued in Shenzhen Thousands of electronic cigarette enterprise, maximum of the income of jealous digital cigarette, "midway monk." But due to the instability of the coverage, these businesses did now not dare to make investments too much money, basically some humans installation a workshop enterprise, the coverage loopholes to preserve to open the coverage risk can easily be closed, the lack of finances will no longer Too big. Once big organisations to expand new products, many organizations will quick reproduction, copy the arrival of the product, and even low-fee customers to buy. Quality isn't always assured, the purchaser revel in is getting worse, gradually lost, the industry increasingly more aggressive.

[allisongrayhurst]

Into the oil of your significance

Into the oil of your significance

.

Into the oil of your significance

. 

Bring me back

for I am lost

like a false thing kept on guard as truth.

I am an albatross thrown broken-winged

across the sea. I am pesticide touching lips.

The dead thing tied to my back is finding

a way in.

I found nothing holy on this shore.

I can barely keep afloat – my words are rotten,

my hymns are carried off by a storm.

The leap I took

has ended in…

[cconfusedkat]

i bet on losing dogs with shamura and narinder.......... each au I always make them both have the most doomed sibling relationship and I fear they are never meant to be happy . head in hands

(mystic pursuit where shamura beheads narinder as his final death, rw&rw where wilt makes narinder die by himself, plague et death where shamura kills narinder again to insanity, pesticidal hymn/poisonous one where shamura begs sozo to kill narinder first, and idk about fools fidem yet but. they are both so very doomed everywhere)

[dowrabeesmith]

Insects

#Insects A little hymn to our insect friends - even the annoying ones The #PoetryDaily brings you a poem to a #midge.

Insects are our planet’s friends. Even if they may be really annoying to us. We are fairly ignorant of how these smallest creatures figure in the whole trophic cascade. Take them out with a pesticide and we don’t really know how unbalanced things can become. Because nature will always fill a vacuum. Something will move in for sure. This morning my poetry practice poetry form random pick comes…