#tiny island in the pacific

[kittykatninja321]

I understand where the “Jason should get his own city” people are coming from but I could not disagree more. Gotham is his wire mother. And you know how Jason gets about his moms

[orofeaiel]

Crab Memorial Shrine

[canadian-riddler]

what???

[freedominthedarkmp3]

Lately I've been really getting into being scared shitless @ Google maps

[teaboot]

One time, I had an English professor tell me I should stop using my inhaler because it was bad for the environment.

Yeah an if you dropped dead it would significantly reduce your carbon footprint too, huh. What if we ALL just stopped breathing. Can’t be throwing fistfuls of plastic fuckin straws directly into the South Pacific when you got a BPM of zilch, can you? What a fuckin innovator. Was he head of your nation’s EPA *directly* before he retired to become world’s youngest baseline edgelord 4chan ass 14 year old boy with tenure, or did he wait for his 3rd consecutive Nobel peace prize before giving someone else a chance? Ask him if his back hurts from carrying the weight of all the world’s most pressing concerns to and from Chuck E Cheese each night or if his tiny spiny propellor hat lightens the load a bit. Did his big red clown nose come standard with his tweed set or he spring for the premium model with the biodegradeable sustainable foam and the super-boosted honk-honk action? Are his size 23 clown bitch oxfords custom? Does he take one off to use as a canoe on his annual vacations to his summer home in the balmy and tropical shit fuck dumbass islands or does he just levitate everywhere he goes by the power of his unparalleled Xmen level intellect. Can you ask him if Magneto is gonna spare the human race to run laps in his hamster wheel electrical generator complex or if he’s just gonna wipe us all the fuck out for the carbon tax credit. Ask him if the weight of his gigantic balls dragging in the ground behind him everywhere he goes adds to the mileage on his Tesla. When he wipes his ass does he use single ply to save the trees or just a fistful of baby ducklings that he can then gently bathe by hand with water collected by the rain barrel in the endangered orchid garden by the solarium on the west side of his sprawling villa, the one he bought when he sold the patent for the perpetual motion motion machine he built out of toothpicks and marshmallows in third grade before the obvious intellectual gap between himself and the rest of us bumbling simpletons weighed him down and killed his passion to create. What other wisdom has he yet to share with the world? What other knowledge that only he and my reiki-healing essential-oil-drinking violet-aura neighbour know that may benefit us all? Holy shit, have I been drinking WATER my whole life? That shit that whales live in? Guess I’ll just go lay in a hole out back and wait for the compost heap to take me. Should I confess my sins to Captain Planet first, so he may redeem my wicked soul in the true Eco Catholic way, or was that recyclable soda can I threw in the trash downtown at last year’s garlic bread festival because there were no recycling bins provided the final straw that made me unworthy of glorious green salvation? BRB, gotta go strip naked and flagellate myself before the begonias so that they may know the depth of my remorse. Don’t worry, I only buy locally-sourced hemp lashes produced by small home businesses at the farmer’s market, they have a three-for-two sale on Sundays if you bring your own reusable bag. Christ on a fucking cupcake

[poseidons-lovechild]

new hyperfixation: jetpunk countries of the world quiz

[reasonsforhope]

Masterpost: Reasons I firmly believe we will beat climate change

Posts are in reverse chronological order (by post date, not article date), mostly taken from my "climate change" tag, which I went through all the way back to the literal beginning of my blog. Will update periodically.

Especially big deal articles/posts are in bold.

Big picture:

Mature trees offer hope in world of rising emissions (x)

Spying from space: How satellites can help identify and rein in a potent climate pollutant (x)

Good news: Tiny urban green spaces can cool cities and save lives (x)

Conservation and economic development go hand in hand, more often than expected (x)

The exponential growth of solar power will change the world (x)

Sun Machines: Solar, an energy that gets cheaper and cheaper, is going to be huge (x)

Wealthy nations finally deliver promised climate aid, as calls for more equitable funding for poor countries grow (x)

For Earth Day 2024, experts are spreading optimism – not doom. Here's why. (x)

Opinion: I’m a Climate Scientist. I’m Not Screaming Into the Void Anymore. (x)

The World’s Forests Are Doing Much Better Than We Think (x)

‘Staggering’ green growth gives hope for 1.5C, says global energy chief (x)

Beyond Catastrophe: A New Climate Reality Is Coming Into View (x)

Young Forests Capture Carbon Quicker than Previously Thought (x)

Yes, climate change can be beaten by 2050. Here's how. (x)

Soil improvements could keep planet within 1.5C heating target, research shows (x)

The global treaty to save the ozone layer has also slowed Arctic ice melt (x)

The doomers are wrong about humanity’s future — and its past (x)

Scientists Find Methane is Actually Offsetting 30% of its Own Heating Effect on Planet (x)

Are debt-for-climate swaps finally taking off? (x)

High seas treaty: historic deal to protect international waters finally reached at UN (x)

How Could Positive ‘Tipping Points’ Accelerate Climate Action? (x)

Specific examples:

Environmental Campaigners Celebrate As Labour Ends Tory Ban On New Onshore Wind Projects (x)

Private firms are driving a revolution in solar power in Africa (x)

How the small Pacific island nation of Vanuatu drastically cut plastic pollution (x)

Rewilding sites have seen 400% increase in jobs since 2008, research finds [Scotland] (x)

The American Climate Corps take flight, with most jobs based in the West (x)

Waste Heat Generated from Electronics to Warm Finnish City in Winter Thanks to Groundbreaking Thermal Energy Project (x)

Climate protection is now a human right — and lawsuits will follow [European Union] (x)

A new EU ecocide law ‘marks the end of impunity for environmental criminals’ (x)

Solar hits a renewable energy milestone not seen since WWII [United States] (x)

These are the climate grannies. They’ll do whatever it takes to protect their grandchildren. [United States and Native American Nations] (x)

Century of Tree Planting Stalls the Warming Effects in the Eastern United States, Says Study (x)

Chart: Wind and solar are closing in on fossil fuels in the EU (x)

UK use of gas and coal for electricity at lowest since 1957, figures show (x)

Countries That Generate 100% Renewable Energy Electricity (x)

Indigenous advocacy leads to largest dam removal project in US history [United States and Native American Nations] (x)

India’s clean energy transition is rapidly underway, benefiting the entire world (x)

China is set to shatter its wind and solar target five years early, new report finds (x)

‘Game changing’: spate of US lawsuits calls big oil to account for climate crisis (x)

Largest-ever data set collection shows how coral reefs can survive climate change (x)

The Biggest Climate Bill of Your Life - But What Does It DO? [United States] (x)

Good Climate News: Headline Roundup April 1st through April 15th, 2023 (x)

How agroforestry can restore degraded lands and provide income in the Amazon (x) [Brazil]

Loss of Climate-Crucial Mangrove Forests Has Slowed to Near-Negligable Amount Worldwide, Report Hails (x)

Agroecology schools help communities restore degraded land in Guatemala (x)

Climate adaptation:

Solar-powered generators pull clean drinking water 'from thin air,' aiding communities in need: 'It transforms lives' (x)

‘Sponge’ Cities Combat Urban Flooding by Letting Nature Do the Work [China] (x)

Indian Engineers Tackle Water Shortages with Star Wars Tech in Kerala (x)

A green roof or rooftop solar? You can combine them in a biosolar roof — boosting both biodiversity and power output (x)

Global death tolls from natural disasters have actually plummeted over the last century (x)

Los Angeles Just Proved How Spongy a City Can Be (x)

This city turns sewage into drinking water in 24 hours. The concept is catching on [Namibia] (x)

Plants teach their offspring how to adapt to climate change, scientists find (x)

Resurrecting Climate-Resilient Rice in India (x)

Edit 1/12/25: Yes, I know a bunch of the links disappeared. I'll try to fix that when I get the chance. In the meantime, read all the other stuff!!

Other Masterposts:

Going carbon negative and how we're going to fix global heating (x)

[roosterforme]

Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw Part 20 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley gets the update he's been waiting for. You get something you weren't expecting. Neither of you can tell the other how you're feeling.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, adult language, romantic Bradley, 18+

Length: 3700 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female teacher!Reader

Check out my masterlist for more! Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw masterlist

You drove Bradley's Bronco back to his house, dragged yourself back inside, and climbed back in bed. You cried so hard when you watched him carry his duffle bag into the airport, you had painful hiccups for twenty minutes afterwards. Now you were emotionally drained and on the cusp of a headache, and this was only the first day.

With your cheek on Bradley's pillow, you pulled the covers over your head and took a few deep breaths. He didn't know much about his deployment, but the communication blackout was designed to keep you from learning anything. If something happened to him, it might be weeks before you heard about it. Your heart ached as you thought about how lonely he was going to feel after he made it a point to tell you how much he loved getting mail from your class last time.

You felt your phone vibrate in your pocket, and you scrambled to get it out.

About to take off. I love you, Gorgeous. I'll let you know when I land.

Well, you had about six hours to kill until you would hear from him again, which felt bad enough. Then seven full weeks after that. You typed back to him with fresh tears in your eyes, and then you tried to sleep, but the hiccups came back. When you moved to the couch, it felt too cold. You were tempted to call Natasha, but if you couldn't even make it a handful of hours without Bradley, you didn't think she would be able to help you.

It would start to get better. It would have to. When your winter break ended, you'd be back in your classroom with your students. You could dive into your lesson plans for the new year. You could focus on teaching. You could do this. Because if you found out the hard way that you couldn't, then you had no business being with Bradley.

--------------------------

Bradley was given a tiny room in the barracks on base in Norfolk, and he spent the entire night talking to you on the phone. Literally six hours straight before he passed out, sound asleep, hanging halfway off the bed with his phone connected to the charger. One of the last things he remembered you saying was, "As soon as you know if it's San Diego or Norfolk, let me know. I love you."

The following morning, he was so exhausted, he was practically dizzy as he met with his commanding officer, Admiral Walker, for this new special deployment. Even his arm felt heavy as he saluted Walker in his office. It was barely seven o'clock which equated to four in the morning in San Diego, and he knew it would take him a few days to get caught back up on sleep at this point. But every second of talking to you was worth it.

"Lieutenant Bradshaw. Welcome back to the Atlantic Fleet," Walker told him, gesturing to the empty chair in the office. 

"Thank you, Sir," he replied, even though he was far less than thrilled to be back in Virginia at all. The prospect of a change of station could not have come at a worse time when he spent the flight from California looking at engagement rings on his phone.

As Bradley sat down, the older man said, "We never wanted to lose you to the Pacific in the first place, so I'm sure you can understand why you'll be staying on the east coast after your seven weeks on the Gerald R. Ford is complete."

His heart sank to his feet, and he felt like he was going to throw up. "Sir?" Bradley asked. "That's it? There's no chance of me returning to North Island?"

When the response he got was a raised eyebrow, Bradley pressed his lips into a line. This man wasn't going to give a shit that he owned a house in Coronado or that he was in love with the most beautiful woman in the world who happened to work in Mira Mesa. Something told him that keeping his mouth shut was the better option right now, even though he felt like punching a hole in the wall and flipping the desk.

Walker shuffled some papers on his desk. "Plans still need to be finalized, but it is our goal, and the goal of the US Navy, to change your station to Norfolk."

The words echoed in Bradley's mind. He couldn't decide if he should tell you about this yet. It wasn't like he had signed paperwork in his hand. Until he did, as far as he was concerned, he was going back to Top Gun and the love of his life. He knew you were stressed and concerned enough as it was, and he didn't want you to have to dwell on this unless it was finalized. 

"Once aboard the carrier, mission details will become available to you and the other aviators," Walker informed him. "I have a folder with your bunk assignment and some more information that you can take with you right now. You'll have access to your phone for about another hour, but as soon as you report to the carrier, it will need to be shut down and locked up. Are we clear, Lieutenant?"

Before Bradley could even respond, there was a sharp knock at the door. Walker heaved a weary sigh as his gaze left Bradley's face, and he barked, "Come in."

Of all the faces he knew from North Island, Bradley wasn't exactly sure if it was a friendly one, but when the door opened, Admiral Simpson came strolling inside in his service khakis. He couldn't fathom why his meeting was being interrupted by Cyclone, but he sat quietly with the folder in his hands. 

"Admiral Walker," Beau Cyclone greeted, voice as stern as ever. "You never returned my calls, and red eye flights the week of Christmas are not something I find endearing."

Walker stood behind his desk with all of his accolades hanging on the wall behind him, and Bradley jumped to his feet as well. "Admiral Simpson," Walker replied, voice dripping with disdain. "There was no need for you to fly out in person to release your pilot to my fleet."

Bradley could hear Cyclone's knuckles crack as he watched his eye twitch. He was somehow caught in the middle of this, but it looked like the Top Gun admiral was in no mood to be outmaneuvered and lose a member of his team. Bradley silently goaded him on while he stood there completely still.

"I'm not releasing anyone to you. That's not how this works," Cyclone barked. "If you can't manage your fleet, you don't get to poach from mine."

The admirals seemed to be in a competition to see whose face could get redder. "Admiral Simpson, I'm sure you'll find my rank alone is reason enough for-"

"You do not outrank me," Cyclone interrupted, voice loud but calm. Then he turned toward Bradley with his jaw clenched and said, "Lieutenant Bradshaw. You are dismissed. Please board the USS Gerald R. Ford on time for your deployment."

"Yes, Sir," he replied, saluting both men before walking back out into the hallway on slightly unsteady legs. He paused, hoping to hear some more of their conversation or an outright blow up that would give him a clue as to what the fuck was going on, but instead he walked the rest of the way to the barracks to collect his duffle and head to the docks. 

With his phone in his hand once again and his bag slung over his shoulder, Bradley called you. He knew it was early and he'd be waking you up, but time was tight now. And your voice was the only thing that would keep him sane at the moment. 

"Bradley," you sighed a second later, and he pressed his phone tighter to his ear. 

"Baby, I miss you so much," he promised, heart aching. He swallowed hard and decided not to bring up anything that was going on since he didn't have a completely clear understanding of it himself. "I'm about to board the carrier."

He could hear you crying, and he wanted to kick himself. "Just come back safely. That's all I want. As long as you're safe, that's all that matters to me, okay?"

He was having a hard time keeping his own tears at bay. "Me, too. We'll figure out the rest of it later, Gorgeous. Take care of yourself. Write in the journal. And don't forget to check the mail."

"I love you, Bradley!"

"I love you so much."

As soon as he ended the call and turned off his phone, he had to walk through a small building for security screening. It was there that his bag and phone were taken from him. When he exited the other side, his duffle was handed back to him, but his phone was not.

"Sorry, Lieutenant," the petty officer told him with a shrug when he glared. "I'll tag it for you and return it when you get back to Norfolk. At least it's not a long deployment."

Bradley couldn't even argue with that. It wasn't that long in the grand scheme of things. He'd been overseas for a full twelve months at a time when he was younger. This should have felt like nothing, but he knew it would feel like the worst one. He hefted his bag higher on his shoulder and started to head for the bunk that would be his for the duration. There was no sense in standing on deck when there was nobody who would be looking for him to see him off.

He made it down two hallways before a loud voice echoed off the walls around him. "Lieutenant Bradshaw." When he turned, Admiral Simpson was heading his way, face so red it was almost purple. Bradley's heart sank.

"Yes, sir?"

The other man pulled his composure together, sighing like an angry bull. "While you will be under the command of Admiral Walker for this deployment, you will fly directly back to San Diego when you return to port in Norfolk. You'll be presented with the paperwork today."

Bradley's jaw dropped open. "I'm returning to the Pacific Fleet, Sir?"

He got one firm nod in response. "I told you last week that I would do what I could to retain you."

This was honestly the best case scenario, and Bradley could feel some of his tension melt away. "You weren't kidding," he mumbled before clearing his throat. "Thank you, Sir. Being in San Diego is important to me."

"Fly safely, Lieutenant. See you in seven weeks," Cyclone barked before turning on his heel and walking toward the ramp back down to the dock.

Bradley pumped his fist in the air. "Fuck, yeah," he whispered, spinning on the spot. He would get to go back to the station he preferred in North Island as well as his friends, but most importantly, he would get to return to you. There would be no stress of packing and moving and hoping you were still willing to come with him. He could stay in Coronado.

When he slid his hand into his pocket to get his phone out to call you back, he froze. "God damn it."

------------------------------

If waiting for emails and letters was bad before, this was torture. The early days of getting to know Bradley through written notes left you with constant butterflies in your tummy, but now it felt like you were walking around with a lead weight instead. You constantly caught yourself reaching for your phone to text him before setting it back down in frustration. 

You hadn't heard from him since before he stepped onto the aircraft carrier, and that was four days ago. Today was New Year's Eve, and at least you had the wine bar with Natasha to look forward to. While you got dressed and ready to go, you couldn't help but put in just the bare minimum amount of effort. What was the point when your boyfriend wasn't even here to give you kisses along your neck and call you Gorgeous? You pouted at your reflection in the bathroom mirror and put the cap on your lip gloss before even using it.

"You look nice," Nat said as you climbed in the front seat of her car. You turned to look at her with one eyebrow raised.

"I'm wearing Bradley's old sweatshirt with a pair of leggings that are starting to get a hole in the crotch."

She started cackling as she pulled away from the curb. "Well, you still look nice."

"Thanks," you said softly, watching the houses go by. 

As Nat turned toward the highway to head up to Oceanside, she asked, "How are you making out?"

You pressed your lips together for a few seconds, trying to make sure you weren't going to cry. "I'm just having a hard time being off from work while he's gone. It's... harder than I thought it would be. I can't wait to return to my classroom in a few days."

"I'm sure that will make it easier," she agreed. "You'll be so busy, time will start to fly by. Oh, I forgot to ask if you got any interesting mail at Bradley's house since he left?"

You shook your head. "I barely remember to check the mailbox most days. Why?"

"Don't worry about it," she replied smoothly. "You'll be back to work in a few days, but in the meantime, we've got merlot and chardonnay to keep your mind occupied."

"Sounds like you're talking about two hot French men," you said with a laugh.

"I could be! You don't even know!"

Now both of you were laughing. And you were still laughing when you actually did order a glass of merlot and a glass of chardonnay. You and Nat enjoyed some wine flights and cheese platters, and she regaled you with stories about Bradley from flight school.

"When he was twenty-two, he probably weighed a hundred and twenty pounds," she said with a smirk. "He was such a nerd, too. God, it was so bad." You were trying to stifle your laughter as she added, "Once he really started working out and grew the mustache, he thought he was hot shit. He's still a fucking nerd."

"He kind of is," you agreed through your giggles.

"But he's a good one," she promised. "Wears his heart on his sleeve too often, but I don't think he has to worry about you breaking it."

You ran your hand along the sleeve of his sweatshirt. "Never."

Once the two of you were filled with cheese and sober enough to get back in the car, you paid for your adventure with the gift card Bradley gave you, only to find out it had five hundred dollars on it.

"Natasha! We need to come back like four more times," you said as you signed the slip.

"I don't see any issue with that," she muttered, leaving cash for a tip. "I think I'll write Bradley an email and thank him for funding girls' day so he can read it when he gets back to Norfolk."

"I think he'd like that."

You started thinking about the journal sitting on the nightstand in his bedroom. Every night before you fell asleep, you'd been pouring your heart and thoughts out into the thing, but even the mention of the word Norfolk had you fretting again. You managed to keep up the conversation with Bradley's best friend as she drove you back to Coronado, but perhaps you should keep most of your things packed after you moved your stuff to his house. What if you had to move to Virginia when the school year ended?

"Thanks for driving," you told her when she pulled up to Bradley's driveway to let you out.

"Anytime," she said, waving you off. "We'll go back up again soon." When you leaned in to give her a hug, she told you, "Don't forget to check the mail."

"Okay."

You weren't sure exactly what her deal was since Bradley couldn't send you anything, but if she wanted you to, then you would. You already promised your boyfriend you'd keep an eye on anything unusual that arrived, so as you walked up to the front door, you took a peek inside the mailbox. Empty. Just like the house. You curled up on the couch with the journal and started to write your daily entry.

I heard from a very reliable source (Natasha) that you were and still are a nerd. I'm going to need to see some pre-stache photos of you when you get home. Your best friend is a wealth of information when you get some wine in her, and I had a great time with her today. 

But I miss you. So much. Sometimes it knocks the breath out of my lungs. Your house is too cold and quiet without you here, hogging the couch and eating snacks. I'm looking forward to school starting up in a few days. It'll be a little less lonely when I have eighteen kids telling me what they got for holiday gifts. Of course I'll have to tell them they won't get a visit from their favorite aviator for a while. We'll just be nineteen sad pen pals.

---------------------------

On January second, you were working on your lesson plans while wearing Bradley's gym shorts and eating potato chips. Tomorrow you'd get back into a routine with work, but first you were going to allow yourself one last day of being kind of pitiful. You bit off more than you could chew with Bradley, and now you were paying the price. 

You sporadically started crying at random times throughout the day, and it was only made worse by the overwhelming feeling of being alone. If you could barely make it a week without hearing from him, how were you going to make random deployments with no communication your lifestyle? Why did you even think you could?

While you were crunching your way through some potato chips, you heard something thump on the front porch. The sound made you jump on the couch, and you set your snack down on the table and crept to the front door. When you peeked outside, there was nobody there, but when you cracked the door open, you saw a box. A fairly large box. Addressed to you.

"Oh my god," you gasped. It was from Bradley. According to the date stamped next to your name, he somehow sent a box from the post office in San Diego last week. "Oh my god!"

You grabbed it and kicked the door shut, almost tripping on your way back to the coffee table. When you tried to claw at the tape, you almost broke your nails. "Scissors," you shouted, running for the kitchen drawer by the sink where your boyfriend kept a random assortment of junk. Then you walked quickly back to the couch and started to cut into the box.

Natasha had to be behind the arrival of the box, but you couldn't fathom what could possibly be inside. If Bradley wanted you to have something, he could have simply given it to you before he left. Your heart was pounding as you set the scissors down and looked inside.

"Bradley," you gasped, tears filling your eyes as those familiar butterflies zoomed and swooped around in your belly. You'd been so upset about missing out on his letters, he sent you a whole box of them. There were dozens of envelopes and little treats filling the box nearly to the top, but a neon orange envelope with OPEN ME FIRST written on it caught your eye. You pulled it out of the box and tore into it.

Hey, Gorgeous,

I'm thinking about you right now. Guaranteed. It doesn't matter when you get this box or when you read this note, I'm thinking about how much I love you. And if I'm asleep, I'm dreaming about us eating Thai food on the beach in front of a sunset that is nowhere near as beautiful as you.

I hope you realize there was no way you weren't going to get some letters from me while I'm deployed. I would never let that happen. Somehow, you fell in love with me this way in the first place, and more than anything, I want you to feel as loved as I do. So I filled this box with little notes and long, rambling love letters and things I thought you might like. When you read the individual envelopes, you'll know what to do.

Please fill that journal up for me. I can't wait to read it in seven weeks. I'm missing you like crazy, and I selfishly hope you're missing me just as much. I love you.

Yours Truly,

Bradley

With shaking hands, you set the note down on the orange envelope and swiped at your tears. You never dreamed you would meet a man this romantic, but somehow you did, and he became your boyfriend. "Oh, Bradley," you whispered, picking up a stack of envelopes and reading what was written on each one.

Open me when you've had a bad day

Open me when you really want some coffee

Open me when you need a laugh

Open me when you're in bed

Open me when you need a girls' night

Open me with your class

You flopped down onto the couch and kicked your feet in the air. "Bradley!" you shrieked, voice breaking as you started to cry. You hugged the letters to your chest and let the warm feeling of being loved wash over you and fill your heart. He was unbelievable. He was perfect. He was everything you wanted. And somehow you loved him a little more and missed him a little less with this box on the coffee table.

------------------------------

He's so romantic. He's taking care of Gorgeous from afar! He's coming home to San Diego, but she doesn't even know it! Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls and @daggerspare-standingby

PART 21

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@solacestyles

@daisyhollyxox

@blog-name6996

@bcon24

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187

@katiebby04

@marantha

@averyhotchner

@abaker74

@heli991113

@k-k0129

@noz4a2

@shanimallina87

@ccbb2222

@xoxabs88xox

@thedroneranger

@cherrycola27

@fanboyswhore9

@xomrsalliej4787xo

@desert-fern

@horseslovers2016

@mattyskies

@hookslove1592

@blahehblah

@sadpetalsstuff

@local-spidey

@schoollover

@lex-winchester

@nicole01-23

@jessicab1991

@happyrebelruins

@samsgoddess

@bellaireland1981

@sagittarius-flowerchild

@mygyn

@yuckosworld

@nessjo

@trickphotography2

@lyn-js

@furiousladyking

@godsfavoritebabe

@bethabear12

@halo-mystic

@sherlockstrangewolf

@theamuz

@khaylin27

[mbari-blog]

New species alert!

Teaming up for survival 🕷️🤝🦠

Deep-sea animals have evolved remarkable strategies for surviving in one of the toughest environments on Earth. MBARI Adjunct Shana Goffredi leads the SymbiOxy Lab at Occidental College and studies the symbiotic relationships between invertebrates and bacteria. This week, Goffredi and her team shared an exciting discovery: tiny sea spiders who farm crops of bacteria.

Microbes power unique communities of life on the deep seafloor. The edge of the Eastern Pacific Ocean hosts many methane seeps, where hydrocarbons bubble up from the seafloor and fuel a complex food web anchored by methane-eating bacteria.

Goffredi and her team have been studying seeps from Alaska to California, and in 2021, she led an expedition aboard MBARI’s retired flagship research vessel, Western Flyer, to study the Del Mar Seep offshore of Southern California. This expedition and additional fieldwork with the submersible Alvin in Southern California and the Aleutian Islands revealed three new species of sea spiders in the genus Sericosura who appear to live exclusively at methane seeps.

These spiders host methane-oxidizing bacteria on their exoskeleton, which they cultivate and consume. This novel partnership represents a previously unknown interaction between animals and chemically fueled microbes, expanding our understanding of microbial symbiosis in the deep sea.

This research underscores the complex web of life that thrives in the ocean’s depths. Who knows what we’ll discover next?

Learn more about these spectacular spiders.

📸 Bianca Dal Bó, Occidental College

[vestaignis]

Подводные бабочки-рыба, которой даны крылья, но не для полета- Восточная дактилоптена.

Восточная дактилоптена, или восточная летучка (лат. Dactyloptena orientalis), — вид лучепёрых рыб семейства долгопёровых (Dactylopteridae). Широко распространены в Индо-Тихоокеанской области от юга Африки до Красного моря и Персидского залива, включая Мадагаскар и Маскаренские острова. На север до Японии и островов Бонин; на восток до Тонга, Рапа-Ити, Гавайских островов и островов Питкэрн и на юг до Западной Австралии, Нового Южного Уэльса и Новой Каледонии. Максимальная длина тела 40 см, обычно до 20 см

Тело у этих ��еобычнх рыб массивное, удлинённое, почти квадратное в поперечном сечении. Покрыто костной чешуёй, которая образует продольные гребни. Голова большая и заключена в костный панцирь. Глаза у дактилоптены большие. Рот маленький, полунижний с крошечными зубами на обеих челюстях, сошнике и нёбных костях. В углу предкрышки расположен длинный шип; его окончание не заходит за окончание первой спинной колючки. У восточной летучки два спинных плавника; в первом спинном плавнике 5 колючих лучей; второй спинной плавник с 8 мягкими лучами отделён от первого спинного плавника глубокой выемкой. Хвостовой плавник с небольшой выемкой, удлинённый у взрослых особей. Грудные плавники с горизонтальным основанием, разделены на две части: передней, образованной пятью короткими лучами, и задней с 27—30 длинными лучами, окончания которых доходят до основания хвостового плавника; каждый луч с короткими нитями, выходящими за внешний край луча.

Окраска тела обычно желтовато-коричневая сверху и светло-коричневая снизу. По верхней части головы и тела разбросаны небольшие оранжевые точки; у особей крупнее 10 см обычно на верхней части головы есть большое тёмное пятно. На грудных плавниках беспорядочно разбросаны золотистые точки, более крупные в задней части. У мелких особей (длиной 50—65 мм) одно глазчатое тёмное пятно на нижней трети плавников. По хвостовому плавнику проходят четыре золотистые полосы. Золотистые полосы идут вдоль верхней части колючего спинного плавника.

Восточная дактилоптена это морская придонная рыба. Обитает на континентальном шельфе над песчаными грунтами на глубине от 1 до 100 м. Способна «ходить» по дну, используя для передвижения брюшные плавники и короткие лучи грудных плавников. Длинные лучи грудных плавников в спокойном состоянии прижаты к телу, а в случае опасности распрямляются для отпугивания хищников. Ведут одиночный малоподвижный образ жизни. Питаются ракообразными, моллюсками и мелкими рыбами.

Underwater butterfly fish that have wings, but not for flight - Eastern Dactyloptena.

The Oriental flying gurnard, or Purple Flying Gurnard, (lat. Dactyloptena orientalis), is a species of ray-finned fish of the long-finned fish family (Dactylopteridae). Widely distributed in the Indo-Pacific region from southern Africa to the Red Sea and the Persian Gulf, including Madagascar and the Mascarene Islands. To the north to Japan and the Bonin Islands; to the east to Tonga, Rapa Iti, Hawaii and the Pitcairn Islands and to the south to Western Australia, New South Wales and New Caledonia. The maximum body length is 40 cm, usually up to 20 cm.

The body of these unusual fish is massive, elongated, almost square in cross-section. Covered with bony scales, which form longitudinal ridges. The head is large and enclosed in a bony shell. The eyes of Dactyloptenae are large. The mouth is small, semi-inferior with tiny teeth on both jaws, the vomer and the palatine bones. In the corner of the preoperculum there is a long spine; its end does not extend beyond the end of the first dorsal spine. The eastern bat has two dorsal fins; the first dorsal fin has 5 spiny rays; the second dorsal fin with 8 soft rays is separated from the first dorsal fin by a deep notch. The caudal fin with a small notch, elongated in adults. The pectoral fins with a horizontal base, are divided into two parts: the anterior, formed by five short rays, and the posterior with 27-30 long rays, the ends of which reach the base of the caudal fin; each ray with short filaments extending beyond the outer edge of the ray. The body color is usually yellowish-brown on top and light brown below. Small orange dots are scattered over the top of the head and body; individuals larger than 10 cm usually have a large dark spot on the top of the head. Golden dots are randomly scattered on the pectoral fins, larger at the back. Small individuals (50-65 mm long) have one eye-shaped dark spot on the lower third of the fins. Four golden stripes run along the caudal fin. Golden stripes run along the upper part of the spiny dorsal fin.

The Purple Flying Gurnard, is a marine bottom fish. It lives on the continental shelf over sandy bottoms at depths from 1 to 100 m. It is able to "walk" along the bottom, using its pelvic fins and short rays of the pectoral fins for movement. The long rays of the pectoral fins are pressed to the body when calm, and in case of danger they straighten out to scare off predators.They lead a solitary, sedentary lifestyle. They feed on crustaceans, mollusks and small fish.

Источник:://ru.wikipedia.org/wiki/Восточная_дактилоптена, ://www. clasbio.ru/classification.php?id=13255, //fishesofaustralia.net.au/ home/species/4640.

[caitified]

hiii can you do a fix where caitlin and the reader go on vacation with bella to like fiji and bella becomes obsessed with the ocean and the island you can also do it with paige if you want

FIJI

CAITLIN CLARK X READER

notes: more bella requests please!!

it was your first real family vacation in a long time, and fiji felt like paradise the second you landed. the air was warm, the sky was impossibly blue, and the moment you stepped off the plane with caitlin and bella, it felt like the rest of the world didn’t exist. just the three of you, surrounded by palm trees, white sand, and crystal-clear water.

bella, in her tiny sunglasses and a sun hat that was just slightly too big for her, was already babbling excitedly, even though she had no idea what was happening.

“mommy, what’s that?” she pointed dramatically out of the airport window.

“that’s the ocean, baby,” caitlin told her, adjusting the toddler on her hip as she grabbed your luggage with her free hand. “we’re gonna go swimming in it.”

bella gasped, her little mouth forming an “o” as she turned to you. “swimming?”

you nodded, smiling. “yes, baby. you’re gonna love it.”

and she did.

from the second her tiny feet touched the sand, she was in love. she stomped around in it, laughing at how it squished between her toes, but the real obsession started the moment she saw the ocean up close.

you barely had time to set your bags down at the beachfront villa before she was yanking at caitlin’s hand, pointing toward the waves. “mommy, water! water!”

caitlin, who had planned to at least unpack a little, sighed dramatically but let bella drag her along. “babe, she’s already got me working,” she called over her shoulder as you laughed.

you followed them out onto the beach, watching as caitlin let bella go, and the toddler sprinted toward the water, her little legs pumping as fast as they could.

“bella, wait—” but it was useless. she was gone.

she stopped right at the edge where the waves kissed the shore, shrieking with delight as the water lapped at her toes. when a slightly bigger wave rolled in and covered her feet, she gasped and turned back to look at both of you with wide, sparkling eyes. “it touched me!”

“that’s what the ocean does, baby,” you laughed, stepping closer and picking her up before the next wave could knock her over.

from that moment on, it was over. bella was obsessed. she wanted to be in the ocean from sunrise to sunset. she called it “my water” and got very territorial when other kids ran past her.

“they can’t have my water!” she pouted to caitlin one afternoon.

“baby, it’s the ocean,” caitlin tried to reason, holding back a laugh. “it belongs to everyone.”

“no. my water.”

caitlin just looked at you and shook her head. “she’s literally trying to claim the pacific ocean as her own.”

you shrugged. “i respect the confidence.”

bella ran both of you ragged the entire trip. she wanted to go to the beach immediately after waking up. she’d sit in the sand, letting the waves roll over her legs like she was some kind of ocean princess. she’d talk to the fish she saw while snorkeling with caitlin in the shallow reefs. she even cried when you told her you had to leave the beach for dinner.

and when the trip was almost over, she sat on the sand with her arms crossed, frowning at the waves.

“i don’t wanna leave,” she grumbled.

caitlin sat next to her, wrapping an arm around her tiny shoulders. “i know, baby, but we’ll come back.”

bella turned to you, pouting. “promise?”

you bent down, brushing a curl out of her face. “promise, baby.”

that seemed to satisfy her just enough to let you scoop her up and take her inside, though she did give the ocean one last very dramatic wave goodbye.

and, of course, when you got home, she refused to talk about anything but her beloved ocean.

“mommy, remember my water?”

“mommy, i miss my fishies.”

“mommy, can we go back to my island?”

caitlin just looked at you every time, shaking her head. “babe, i think we accidentally created a beach bum.”

you smiled, watching bella play with the seashells she brought home. “yeah. and i don’t think she’s ever gonna recover from it.”*

[artifacts-and-arthropods]

Pink Fairy Crab: also known as a "pink hairy squat lobster," this species of crab measures just 1.5cm (about half an inch) long, and it has a uniquely colorful, fuzzy-looking appearance

The scientific name of this species is Lauriea siagiani, but it's commonly known as the pink hairy squat lobster or the pink fairy crab. Like all so-called "squat lobsters," it is actually a type of crab (and a particularly flamboyant one, at that).

Pink fairy crabs have a strikingly colorful appearance, with pink, purple, or reddish-orange markings that look almost fluorescent; they also have dark purple "freckles" and bright orange eyes. The crabs themselves are tiny, measuring no more than 1.5cm (about half an inch) long, and their fuzzy little bodies are covered in long, hair-like structures known as setae.

These crabs can be found in the coral reefs around Indonesia, Japan, and the Philippines, where they generally settle into the ridges of giant barrel sponges and feed on various bits of detritus that are collected in their own "fur."

Sources & More Info:

Crustacean Research: Lauriea siagiani, a New Galatheid from Bali, Indonesia (PDF)

Biogeography: Lauriea siagiani from Hachijo-Jima Island, Japan (PDF)

Australian Geographic: This Bewhiskered "Fairy Crab" is the Tiniest Teddy Bear of the Ocean

Macronesia.net: Hairy Squat Lobster

Insects and Other Invertebrates: Lauriea siagiani

Reef Life: Commensalism

Coral Reef Animals of the Indo-Pacific: Lauriea siagiani

[evan-collins90]

Farallon restaurant - 450 Post Street, San Francisco, CA (opened June 1997 - closed 2020)

"Farallon is named after a fishing island off the Pacific coast.

The underwater fantasy theme drives the $4 million restaurant. The electric atmosphere grabs customers the minute they walk through the glass doors framed by a brushed steel and Lucite canopy, which vaguely looks like a scallop shell. Giant jellyfish chandeliers hang from the high ceiling. The walls are textured with shellfish impressions, and lighted yellow pillars that climb the walls are imprinted with seaweed. And that's just the bar.

The big main dining room is more elegant, but maintains the marine motif. Tiny tiles form mosaics on the ceiling, where two huge light fixtures are formed into seashells. Even the hood over the kitchen carries out the theme: It's covered in copper scales. And suspended over the counter are beautiful blown-glass lights shaped like fish.

A gracefully curving staircase leading to the mezzanine is covered in 50,000 blue-black glass beads that resemble magnified caviar, while the wall sconces replicate stands of coral and barnacles."

Excellent examples of the 'Org-Nouveau' style popular in the 1990's

Designed by Pat Kuleto

Scanned from American Theme Restaurants by I.M. Tao (1999) and the February 1998 issue of Interiors Magazine

[elbiotipo]

There is also a thing to be said about how oceans are not empty things, they're not impassable geographical barriers. Oceans are full of life, and not only wildlife, people work and live there (if you're a sailor, so much of your time is spent in the ocean that it becomes your home). Trade travels through the ocean. Natural resources are managed and mismanaged in the oceans. They have historical and cultural value. Like any other natural environment, the seas have been shaped and managed by human activity

When we talk about the Malvinas, we talk about islands, but we are also talking about a British (military, colonial) presence in the seas of Argentina and wider South America. They use it to project their power, their claims over Antarctica, their extraction and use of resources, just mere kilometres from the Argentine coast. It might as well be a British base in the middle of La Pampa or Río Negro (and there are actually some of them, compounds owned by British billionaries who don't let anyone in). Those islands are the most physical projection of British power over a continent they have long tried to subdue to their interests.

It's the same tactic the British use in their colonial possessions in the Indian Ocean (look up the history of the Chagos islanders), or the French and US in the Pacific (ever wondered where the word Bikini came from? Look it up.) People think islands are... Isolated. That they're just a tiny piece of land that cannot be connected to other things. Owning an island means owning the sea around it, and owning the sea never is a neutral thing, the fact that there are no cities on them does not mean it's empty space.

Think about this next time someone tries to tell you "it's just a couple islands with sheep, who cares"

[synity]

Colors of Home - 205 subs special

(Lee Seokmin x FemReader)

*slow-burn romance, more bonding over art, cultural understanding, fluff, slice of life PhotographerAU, painterAU NonIdolAU, slice of life Family / Multicultural Fiction*

The day the plane touched down at Incheon International Airport, the skies over Seoul were dull with spring clouds, the kind that teased rain but never fully gave in. Y/N leaned against the window of the airplane, watching as the buildings grew closer and closer. She wasn’t nervous this wasn’t fear. It was something else, something thicker, like the sea breeze from home, wrapping around her chest, warming and choking her at once.

She had left behind the intoxicating lull of Tahiti’s tides, the hum of ukuleles at sunset, and the lush emerald arms of the rainforest that had cradled her childhood. In its place: an entirely new country, a city that glimmered with cold beauty, precise lines, hurried footsteps, and whispered judgments.

She came for art. That was the truth of it. Art had chosen her before she could even walk, painting shells and volcanic rocks with her mother in the garden, dancing with flowers in her hair and acrylic on her fingers. Now, years later, her love for colors, silhouettes, and stories had led her here to Seoul, Korea a city that had been haunting her dreams since she was seventeen.

Korean had come to her like a song at first foreign, then rhythmic, then effortless. She had studied for four years before coming, devouring dramas, music, podcasts, textbooks. People were often in disbelief when she spoke fluently. “You’re so good in Korean! How did you learn?” they’d say, eyes wide with fascination, as if they couldn’t fathom a girl from the middle of the Pacific speaking their language with such ease.

But it wasn’t always admiration. In the first weeks, Y/N noticed how people stared. She had expected it, sure. But the intensity of it sometimes caught her breath in her throat. Some eyes were wide in awe, others filled with quiet discomfort. There was no hiding in Seoul her skin, kissed golden by the sun, her wild curls, her colorful fashion, the relaxed sway in her walk it all screamed foreign. Not in a hostile way. But in a way that made her feel like she was always being watched, studied.

Some even asked to take pictures with her, like she was an exotic statue. “You’re so beautiful… where are you from?” they’d ask. “Tahiti,” she’d say, and they’d blink, unsure. Some knew it, some didn’t. Others would just nod in fascination, pretending.

One afternoon, as she strolled through a quiet Hanok village with her camera in hand, the sound of children’s laughter floated through the air. A small group of kids playing tag stopped suddenly upon seeing her. They whispered among themselves, giggling. One little girl, maybe six years old, walked up shyly, her tiny hands holding a white flower she had picked.

“You’re so, so pretty,” she whispered with the innocence of a child. Then, without waiting, she placed the flower into Y/N’s curls and ran back to her friends, squealing. The group scampered away, their laughter echoing down the alley like chimes. Y/N stood still, her chest tight. That moment lived in her longer than many conversations ever would.

Back home—her temporary home she lived in a modest, sunlit hanok nestled on the outskirts of the city. It had been renovated, but the soul of the house remained: sliding doors, warm wooden floors, and a tiny courtyard where vegetables bloomed in pots. There, her mother waited, always with a smile, always in their native language.

“Māmā,” Y/N called as she stepped inside.

“E aha oe i teie mahana?”(how are you today?) her mother replied, walking out from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel.

They had agreed: they’d never let the island inside them fade. Even in the bustling city, even among skyscrapers, their roots would remain alive spoken, sung, danced.

Their dinners were filled with laughter. Her mother, plump and warm-hearted, would tease her daughter endlessly. “You’re too beautiful to be sitting alone painting all day. Go find a husband. Give me a grandbaby already!”

“Māmā, please,” Y/N would groan, hiding her flustered smile behind her hands. But her cheeks always gave her away.

“Eaha te huru? (How’s it going?) Don’t act like I can’t see your blush,” her mother teased, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

It was true though. Y/N had spent more time painting than socializing. Her art had bloomed in Korea modern, abstract, infused with the spirit of her homeland and the sleekness of Seoul. But she hadn’t met anyone. Not truly.

Until one day.

A crisp afternoon, the cherry blossoms just beginning to fall, and Y/N was sitting by the Han River with her sketchbook, trying to capture the fleeting pink of the petals. She had noticed him before she truly saw him just a figure with a camera, kneeling on the grass, chasing light through his lens.

He didn’t notice her at first, completely immersed in his craft, moving around trees and benches like a dancer. She watched from a distance, quietly intrigued.

It wasn’t until a breeze tugged at her paper and sent her sketch fluttering toward him that their worlds finally touched.

He caught the paper mid-air.

“Is this yours?” he asked, walking over, his voice soft, his smile kind.

“Yes… Thank you,” she replied in Korean.

He blinked, clearly surprised. “Your Korean is perfect.”

“Four years of practice,” she smiled. “And living here helps.”

He held out the paper. “It’s beautiful. The way you blended the petals with the sky… it feels like a dream.”

“Art is my language,” she said simply.

He introduced himself. “Dokyeom. I’m a photographer.”

“Y/N,” she replied. “I’m a painter.”

They shook hands, and something unspoken passed between them. Not romance at least not yet. But a recognition. Of someone else who saw the world through frames, colors, moments.

And so, their story began not in fire, but in slow bloom. Like an island flower in spring rain.

In the days that followed, Y/N didn’t expect to see him again. Their conversation by the Han River felt like something fleeting a beautiful chapter left on its own. But fate, or maybe art, had other plans.

The next time she saw Dokyeom, it was in an unexpected place: an art gallery tucked away in Hongdae. The exhibit was quiet, curated with precision. Soft lighting danced across the walls, highlighting bold photography intimate portraits of elderly couples, alleyways in shadows, street vendors captured mid-laugh.

She was standing before a striking black-and-white photo of an ajumma selling roasted chestnuts when a voice whispered beside her.

“I thought that was you.”

She turned. He stood with his hands in his pockets, wearing a simple hoodie, a shy smile playing on his lips. There were a few strands of hair falling across his forehead. He looked every bit like someone who never posed, always captured.

“You took this?” she asked, gesturing toward the photo.

He nodded. “I take photos of people who don’t know they’re being seen. Until they’re seen.”

Her lips parted slightly, but no words came. It made sense the way he moved with his camera, like a shadow. He was always looking, but never intruding.

“And you?” he asked gently. “Still painting the cherry blossoms?”

She laughed. “Trying. They’re never still long enough.”

That night they walked out of the gallery together, into a Seoul that shimmered with city lights and the laughter of strangers. Their conversations were light at first—art, food, music. He introduced her to street snacks she hadn’t tried yet. She taught him a few words in Tahitian, and he tried clumsily to repeat them.

She liked the way he listened. Not just heard her—but listened. Like he was learning her in pieces.

They began meeting more often. Not every day, not even regularly but consistently enough that something quiet began blooming between them. Sometimes they met at coffee shops and sketched strangers in notebooks. Other times they sat in silence in parks, her painting, him photographing.

One evening, he showed up at her hanok house.

She was surprised. Her mother wasn’t.

“Who’s the handsome boy?” her mother teased in Tahitian, peeking from the window, grinning like a teenager.

Y/N hissed, trying to shush her. “Māmā! Please!”

But Dokyeom smiled politely when introduced. “It’s an honor to meet you,” he said in Korean, bowing deeply.

Her mother, cheeky and warm, replied in broken Korean, “You take care of my daughter or I turn you into fish bait.”

He laughed fully, sincerely and said, “Yes, ma’am.”

Inside, he joined them for dinner. Y/N’s mother insisted he try every dish. She even brought out traditional Tahitian desserts and watched for his reactions like a hawk. The house was filled with overlapping languages Korean, Tahitian, and that universal language of laughter.

That night, after he left, her mother sat beside Y/N, both of them curled up on the floor with steaming tea in their hands.

“He likes you,” her mother said softly.

Y/N stared at the floor, smiling quietly.

“And?” her mother prodded, “Do you like him?”

Y/N didn’t answer right away. She thought of how Dokyeom watched the world, how he saw her not as an exotic muse, not as someone foreign, not even as a symbol. But simply… as Y/N. An artist. A woman. A soul.

“I think I’m scared,” she whispered finally.

“Good,” her mother replied. “It means it’s real.”

Their connection continued to grow. Dokyeom would come over sometimes with film rolls and a nervous smile. She painted portraits of him when he wasn’t looking. He captured candid shots of her laughing, reading, dancing barefoot in the courtyard.

One day, she found a photo tucked inside one of her books. It was a black-and-white image of her, mid-laugh, her curls wild, her eyes half-closed in joy. On the back he had written:

“You’re the only person I don’t have to pose.” — D.K.

That night, she cried. Not because she was sad, but because something in her had finally exhaled. She wasn’t just existing in Korea anymore. She was living.

There were still challenges. Some stares still lingered. Some people still asked her questions that felt invasive. But now, she had carved a space for herself. Her art was beginning to gain attention features in local exhibits, interviews on blogs. And always, in the crowd, Dokyeom stood quietly, cheering for her, proud without needing to say it.

Their first kiss didn’t happen under a sunset or fireworks. It happened on her rooftop, during monsoon season. The sky was gray, thunder murmuring in the distance. They were watching the clouds roll in, sipping barley tea. He reached for her hand. She didn’t pull away.

And then, slowly, he leaned in, brushing her lips with his. It was soft, cautious, like asking a question.

She kissed him back, giving her answer.

Years passed, not in a blur, but in rich, vibrant hues—each moment painted with patience and purpose.

Y/N's name began to echo through Seoul’s art community as a master of color and memory. Her canvases told stories no one else could tell riotous sunsets with Polynesian brushstrokes, urban alleys laced with ancestral warmth, portraits of everyday women with goddesses in their bones.

And always, by her side, was Dokyeom.

Their love didn’t explode into the world. It bloomed in secret gardens through unspoken glances, slow breakfasts, and shared headphones on subway rides. He photographed her world with reverence; she painted his heart with wild, unapologetic color.

One morning, under the same cherry blossom tree from their first encounter, Y/N placed a tiny box in his hands. Inside was a sonogram.

He stared, frozen. Then slowly, tears welled in his eyes. “Two…?”

She nodded. “Twins.”

They cried together. Then laughed. Then cried again.

Nine months later.

The house echoed with softness.

Tiny cries. Lullabies sung. The rustle of warm blankets. The gurgle of milk bottles. And over it all, the quiet hum of a love fully grown.

Their daughter came first tiny, radiant, loud. They named her Lee Haewon Keanu.

Haewon, meaning "graceful garden," because Y/N always dreamed of raising her children where love grew wild. Keanu, meaning “cool breeze,” because her daughter’s cry felt like the calm after a storm.

Five minutes later, her twin brother was born, quieter, heavier in weight, his little fingers curled in curiosity.

They named him Lee Ioané Changmin.

Ioané, "strong and steady." Changmin,“bright and clever.”

They were a balance sun and moon. Flame and still water. Laughter and thought.

The hanok had been remodeled to hold more light, more love. There were baby socks drying on windowsills, paints kept above reach, and lullabies playing on soft vinyl.

Y/N’s mother had moved in to help, taking one twin in each arm as she shuffled around the kitchen, humming Tahitian prayers.

“E a hanu'a, a haere noa (Breathe, my precious one, and grow free.)

She still teased Y/N every morning about not giving her grandchildren sooner, but now she’d stop halfway and kiss the babies’ foreheads with tears in her eyes.

“You did well, my daughter.”

In the quiet hours, Y/N would sit on the rooftop with Dokyeom, both cradling sleeping babies on their chests. They didn’t talk much. They didn’t need to.

Sometimes, Haewon would murmur in her sleep in a mix of both their languages. Sometimes Ioané would stir and blink up at the stars.

Dokyeom would whisper, “Look at what we made. Look at who we are.”

Of course, it wasn’t always perfect.

People still stared when Y/N carried the twins down the street some in awe, some with questions buried in glances. Sometimes, strangers asked, “Are they really yours?”

But now, Y/N had grown roots deep enough to never flinch.

“They’re mine. Ours. Both strenghts in baby skin.”

The twins, with their caramel skin and soft eyes, grew up surrounded by diversity in their very home. They learned to say “I love you” in both Korean and Tahitian before they could walk.

At parks, Korean children would run up to Haewon and call her a doll. They’d reach for Ioané’s hand and say, “His eyes look like a painting.”

Sometimes, Y/N watched them play and cried. Not out of sadness, but for the beauty in being whole in being more than one thing.

She painted again. Big, wild pieces. With her babies beside her. And Dokyeom, always, behind the lens capturing every moment with love thick as honey.

One night.

When the twins were almost two, Y/N lay in bed beside Dokyeom, her head on his chest, one leg draped over his. Rain danced on the windows.

“Māmā used to say love is a sea,” she whispered, tracing circles on his skin. “You either sink or swim.”

He smiled. “I think we built a boat.”

Y/N tilted her head up to look at him. “Do you ever think about how far we came?”

He nodded. “Every day. From a girl lost in Seoul, to this...”

She smiled. “To us.”

Years from now, when Haewon and Ioané ask how their parents met, Y/N will tell them it began with petals on the Han River and a boy who saw her not through the lens of difference, but of light.

And Dokyeom will show them the photograph of their mother laughing under cherry blossoms, hair wild, eyes full of fire.

And together, they’ll grow in a home that speaks in three languages, dances in two traditions, and dreams without borders.

Because their story was never just about love.

It was about belonging.

[herpsandbirds]

Since it's both World Animals Day and Teachers Day, can you give us animals that is the best and also the best teacher in the world?

1. Best Teacher in the World: Doug

"Teaching" is actually rare in the animal kingdom, but it does happen...

Animal Teachers | Psychology Today

Why animal teachers are so rare—and remarkable (nationalgeographic.com)

2. Animals That Is the Best:

Sea Pig (Scotoplanes globosa), family Elpididae, specimens found in the deep sea off of the Pacific Coast of North America

The Sea Pig is a benthic deep-sea sea cucumber (class Holothuroidea) that walks using long tube-like limbs.

Like most sea cucumbers, they feed on detritus.

They have often been see congregating in groups of up to 30 individuals.

The 3 species of Scotoplanes are difficult to tell apart by sight.

photograph via: MBARI

Vampire Squid (Vampyroteuthis infernalis), family Vampyroteuthidae, photographed in the deep sea off the Pacific Coast of North America

Vampire Squids are not actually true squids, but are in their own distinct groups of Cephalopods (most closely related to the Octopuses).

They only grow to a total length of up to 30 cm (~ 1 ft).

They have many light producing photophores on various locations around their body.

They live at depths of 600 to 900 m (2,000 to 3,000 ft) in oceans around the world.

photograph via: MBARI

Turtle Frog (Myobatrachus gouldii), family Myobtrachidae, Hill River, found in southwestern Australia

photograph by Akash Samuel

Tuatara (Sphenodon punctatus), family Sphenodontidae, New Zealand

There were once 2 recognized species of Tuatara, but now they are considered to be just one species.

This is not a lizard.

The only member of the reptile group Rhynchocephalia still around. All other species went extinct millions of years ago.

Tuataras were eradicated by humans and introduced species from the main islands of New Zealand, and now only occur on small islands near the North Island and far north of the South Island.

This is one of my very favorite animals.

photograph by Sid Mosdell

Mexican Mushroomtongue Salamander (Bolitoglossa mexicana), family Plethodontidae, Sierra Caral, Guatemala

photographs by Laura Bok

Greater Siren (Siren lacertina), family Sirenidae, found in freshwater habitats in the coastal plains of the SE United States

This large eel-like aquatic salamander retains its gills. They only have 2 tiny front limbs.

They grow to a length of up to 97 cm (38 in).

photographs by Qualiesin 

Southern Ground Hornbill (Bucorvus leadbeater), family Bucorvidae, Kruger National Park, South Africa

photograph by Bernard DUPONT  

Florida Burrowing Owl (Athene cunicularia floridana), family Strigidae, Cape Coral, Florida, USA

photograph by Cee Z Fotography