#poplar bark siding

[elyxir]

Chicago Family Room

Inspiration for a large, contemporary, open-concept family room renovation with a music area, a wall-mounted television, and white walls

#glass doors #sustainable #poplar bark siding #wood flooring #chicago common brick #residential #bookcases

[twbasketcase]

Music Room Family Room Chicago Inspiration for a large, contemporary, open-concept family room renovation with a music area, a wall-mounted television, and white walls

#sliding doors #residential #glass panel #sustainable #single family #poplar bark siding #glass doors

[pixelsnpaper]

Siding - Exterior

Large mountain style gray two-story mixed siding gable roof photo

#pebble drive #lantern #dark painted windows #wood front door #poplar bark siding #side lights

[vampiricallyxspeaking]

Backyard Porch

#a sizable image of a screened-in back porch in mountain style with a roof extension mountain home #poplar bark siding #rustic #copper accent #exposed beams

[libraryofmoths]

Moth of the Week

Peppered Moth

Biston betularia

The peppered moth is a part of the family geometridae. It was first described in 1758 by Charles Linnaeus. This moth gains its name from its speckled coloration, which has been studied as an example of natural selection and population evolution.

Description This species has a short body with narrow forewings. The body and wings are the same white base peppered with black dots and irregular black lines. This speckled pattern may vary with some moths having very few spots and others having so many that they look as if they are black with white spots as opposed to white with black. In rare cases, the black on the wings and body is replaced with gray or brown and in even rarer cases the spots are a combination of brown and black/gray. These spots help the moth camouflage against lichen on trees.

The evolution of this moth had been studied extensively during the last two hundred years, which created the term “industrial melanism.�� During the Industrial Revolution, air pollution killed off lichen and covered trees in soot. This caused moths with a black spots on white base (typica) coloration to lose their camouflage and die off due to predators. This caused a spike in population for moths with a darker coloration (carbonaria) because they had the camouflage advantage. Once environmental conditions improved, the lighter colored moths once again became the dominant coloration.

The male’s antennae are bipectinate, meaning it has two rows of rami going down either side of a singular flagellum.

Wingspan Range: 45 - 62 mm (≈1.77 - 2.44 in)

Diet and Habitat The caterpillar of this moth eats many trees, shrubs, and small plants such as Blackthorn (Prunus spinosa), Hawthorn (Crataegus monogyna), Downy (Betula pubescens) and Silver Birch (Betula pendula), limes, sallows, poplars, oaks, Sweet Chestnut (Castanae sativa), Beech (Fagus sylvatica), Bramble (Rubus fruiticosus), Broom (Cytisus scoparius), Black Currant (Ribes nigrum) and Hop (Humulus lupulus).

They have a wide range, being found in China (Heilongjiang, Jilin, Inner Mongolia, Beijing, Hebei, Shanxi, Shandong, Henan, Shaanxi, Ningxia, Gansu, Qinghai, Xinjiang, Fujian, Sichuan, Yunnan, Tibet), Russia, Mongolia, Japan, North Korea, South Korea, Nepal, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Turkmenistan, Georgia, Azerbaijan, Armenia, Europe and North America. They prefer habitats of woodland, scrub, hedgerows, parks and gardens.

Mating Depending on its location, this moth can have one or two generations per year. In Great Britain and Ireland, the peppered moth has one generation per year, whilst in south-eastern North America it has two generations per year. They emerge from the pupea in late May to August.

The females attract males with pheromones, which are carried by the wind. Males follow the concentration gradient to find the female. The male guards the female from other males until she lays the eggs. The female lays about 2,000 pale-green ovoid eggs about 1 mm in length into crevices in bark with her ovipositor.

Predators This species is a night-flying moth, making the vulnerable to bats. The males in particular fly every night to search for a female while females fly only the first night.

To protect themselves from birds during the day, this species rests on lichen covered trees to camouflage themselves.

The day time resting positions of this moth have been recorded and studied. This study shows that the peppered moth prefers resting spots that are covered such as below where the trunk and a branch meet, the underside of branches, and leafy twigs.

Additionally, the study found peppered moths with a lighter coloration (typica) blend in better against crustose lichens rather than foliose lichens because birds can see ultraviolet light. The peppered moth reflects UV light while crustose lichens don’t, making them easier to pick out.

Fun Fact The caterpillars of the peppered moth resemble things in both color and size. An experiment published in 2019 done on the caterpillars of the peppered moth showed that the larva (even when blindfolded) could sense the color of the tree they live on and change their body color to match and/or would move to a different twig that was closest in color to their own body.

(Source: Wikipedia, Butterfly Conservation, Max Planck Institute)

#Biston betularia #libraryofmoths #animals #bugs #facts #insects #moth #lepidoptera #mothoftheweek #Geometridae #peppered moth

[myfandomprompts]

𝐆𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐑𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐭 | 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐁𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐭 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (𝟖)

Summary: You cross the Demarcation Line, and nothing is supposed to frighten you. Previous Part - Masterlist

Tags: I really don't want to spoil, but no trigger warning

French spoken -> italics

The moon is only a crescent in the sky, sending little light over your path as you are led through the poplar trees, their falling branches grazing the crown of your head. You barely see where you put your feet in the dark, but you can easily discern the shadowy forms of your group all around you, feeling the heat of Tom’s hand right beside yours as you all walk in silence.

The bearded man leads you to a deciduous border of the river, the croaking of frogs dying down as you approach the water, its rippling movements making the moonlight reverberate on the surface and you can see a little better. The bottom of the riverbed looks deep, black as the reflection of branches falling over the edge looms over it, so close to the surface its leaves dip in the water. 

The man crouches in silence at the edge and starts rummaging through the dirt. Next to you, Tom looks at him confused. “Does he expect us to swim for it?”

He only earns a dark glare from the man and the next moment a heavy chain is dug from the ground with a rattling sound. When he pulls, something in the water moves and you start to notice the shape of wooden planks coming out from under the branches.

“It’s… sunk,” Henriette says under her breath as the bark slowly comes closer to where you stand with a soft burbling sound. Only the edges of the embarkation stand out of the water when the rest of it is filled with it.

“Nothing escapes your eyes, hein?” the man answers in a murmured voice as he keeps pulling on the chain. “They forbade all means of navigation on the river. That’s why we sink them, and that’s why I’ll need all of you to help me bail the water out, so get at it.”

You all look at each other before doing as told, pulling the boat half way out of the water with great difficulty before the man instructs you to tip it over to the side. “Let it drip slowly, otherwise the noise will attract the patrols.”

“The patrols?” murmurs Giulia in alarm, slightly out of breath by the effort of lifting the heavy bark. “How often? When is the next one?”

“Calmez-vous, they won’t come if we’re quiet. I have a good lad standing guard on the path, so if a patrol comes, we’ll know, and then we’ll see if how well you can swim.”

You grimace at the dark humour, glancing at the heavy bag at your feet and heart hammering at the thought that you could be discovered at any moment, your eyes scanning the trees aimlessly. You feel the others do the same, but you bring back your focus on the slippery wood between your hands.

“And you trust him?” Giulia presses.

“I don’t trust anyone, ma grande. And yet, here we all are.”

You all fell into a poised silence, listening to the water being spilled over the dirt and back in the river. Once the water has been emptied from the boat, the iron chain is unclasped from a tree trunk and the boat pushed back on the surface quietly. You’re the first to go onboard, the humid wood dampening your skirt as you sit at the nose, Henriette following you closely. The man mounts last before pushing the dirt with the help of a long pole, making the boat drift away silently.

Far away over the flat surface you notice a faint light, as if floating above the river. You wonder if it comes from the guard house on the bridge that made you turn away and meet this peculiar man, the bridge that would have cost you your brother, your friend, and… Tom.

He sits at the other side of the boat, his face barely visible but you can still see his fingers gripping the wood anxiously, his face turning to glance everywhere; under the water, over and away from it, scrutinising the river banks like expecting German shouts at any moment. Each sound you make reverberates over the surface, travelling across it like an echo and even the sounds of nature around don’t cover the deafening sound you think your breathing makes.

You don’t simply cross, the boat taking you upriver and gliding along its right side to remain hidden as you move through the high herbs and under the trees. Then, a turn, and you depart from the north bank to slide to the other side, the light somewhere far away now completely out of view.

You keep on until you can see the other side more clearly, its yellow sand visible only some metres within reach. You hear the pole graze the stone as the man slows down and soon, the hard pebbles hit the hull in a rolling sound. 

“Merde!” he curses as the bark comes to a full stop.

“What?” asks Albert nervously.

The man takes a deep breath. “The water lowered more than I thought. The boat can’t go further, but there is more depth past this point.”

You look overboard, right there below you where aquatic plants swirl under the shiny surface, so close you can touch it. But beyond, black again, a secluded cove that won't allow you to reach your goal.

“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to wade the rest of the way,” he says in a sorry tone.

Your gaze is still fixed on the water, observing it closely, trying to decipher where the water dips again. “I’ll go first.”

Both Tom and Albert make an immediate movement when you start taking off your shoes and stockings, but it dies quickly as they sit back down without a word, glancing at each other uncomfortably. You tuck the bottoms into your bag and clasp your shoes on the straps before passing your feet overboard with purpose.

Henriette helps you find your grounding, the cold water surrounding your ankles and you start dabbling forwards, bracing yourself for the moment the water will rise again. When it does, it reaches right above your navel, sending a shiver down your spine. You hold your bag high over your head as you advance, your skirts hindering your movement slightly until you feel something around you and you gasp, stopping at once.

“Y/N! What is it?” Henriette calls, her voice strained as she tries to not raise her voice.

“It’s just… River mud, I think,” you answer with a disgusted tone as you look down, feeling the sediment stick to your clothes and skin, slimy and wet. You keep advancing, gradually feeling the steepness of the edges of the riverbed lower and the next moment you’re out of the water.

You drop your bag safely into dry ground before putting a hand over your hips, trying to wipe away the mud before gesturing to your friends on the water, telling them it’s safe to cross.

One by one they dive, Henriette first, then Tom, who doesn't say a word when he reaches the mud but you’re sure you can see him wince, followed closely by Albert. Giulia comes last, and you hear the murmured exchange over the water as you’re still trying to get rid of the mud over your clothes.

“You have the letters?” the man asks her as she stands up. When she answers yes, patting her bag where she sewed the precious envelopes inside the lining, he keeps on. “You remember the pathway?”

“Keep going south until we see a church, then find a house with bright red doors.”

“Good.”

The rest of the conversation is lost when Albert’s body comes to block your view and you busy yourself searching for a flashlight in your bag. Tom towers over you, letting out a disgusted sound when he looks at his hand, green and black with river slime. You chuckle at the sound. 

When Giulia reaches the sand, the bark behind her is sliding away on the river like a quiet shadow, almost like it had never been here under the crescent moon that makes your surroundings so beautifully frightening.

You never got to thank him.

“Alors?” Albert whispers as soon as Giulia has stepped on the ground. So?

“He refused again. I told him that our operation would need men like him, truly good men and that I will certainly be back if this trip succeeds. He just… I guess he is just scared.”

You’re sure you see your brother pat Giulia’s back in comfort as you stand up again, trying to dry your skirt and putting back your shoes. You’ve made it to the other side, and now everything looks brighter.

You’re drenched to the waist, cold and dirty. The other wears the same appearance, clothes clinging to their skin with focused expression as you move through the night. Only when you find a path do you finally light the lamps, slowly coming to the realisation that you are now in non-occupied territory, that you’re close, very close to the moment where you would see your parents again. Your family is at the end of the path, and the hardest is behind you.

You internally laugh at that, your stomach feeling instantly heavy at that false statement, matching the coldness of your feet, legs, and hips as you glance at Tom’s back. If anything, what comes next will be hard, heart-wrenching. Heartbreaking.

“So… You like him?”

Henriette is way ahead of you, arguing over where to go with Giulia as Tom listens in, a half smirk on his lips over the female bickering, as if all danger for him had been left behind in that river.

You shrug in false musing, escaping your brother’s gaze, remembering his gobsmacked expression in the barn some hours ago. “Well, yes, what is there not to like?”

“Don’t pretend not to understand my meaning, soeurette.”

You give him a fleeting glance, fumbling with the damp fabric of your clothes, a fishy smell reaching your nostrils. “Yes, I like him… You like Giulia?” you ask at once, not letting Albert time to react to your admission.

He isn’t fazed, rather looking in deep thought with furrowed brows before he answers. “I… guess so. She is lively. She asked me to join her organisation, once they establish a route. Could help the likes of your beau to cross, become a smuggler.”

“Mum and dad would be unhappy about it, find it too dangerous.”

“Well, too bad, that wouldn’t stop me from wanting to help,” he states with a scoff before turning his head to you. “Would it stop you?”

You glance back at Tom, your now dry fingers tickling with the remnants of the heat from his skin, of the soft glow of his eyes and the words he had whispered against your lips. There was nothing that would stop you from taking him out of hell, if needed be, even with your life on the line.

Your eyes widen at the unexpected strength of the thought, surprising yourself but knowing at your core that you meant every word. You force yourself to wipe the stupefied expression on your face by taking a deep breath, your next words uttered with purpose. “No. No, it wouldn’t.”

An hour passes without any church in sight, the clouds in the sky hiding the moonlight and you stop to examine the map that was given to you. You try to help, sure that you’re still on the right path and you just have to keep going but you’re ignored, their doubts making them double-check every line on paper and you step back, convinced that they will eventually arrive at the same conclusion as you.

“You know, I’ve been thinking…” Tom says as he comes to stand beside you with a hidden smile, leaving the French-speaking group behind. “I’ve been in this country for weeks, and I can’t even say a proper sentence in French. What do you say you teach me a little, eh?”

You can’t help but frown in amusement, taken aback by the proposition. “I didn’t know you were interested in actually learning.”

“Well, there's a start for everything, innit? And I heard you’re one hell of a teacher.”

You brush off the compliment with a grin, knowing full well that Tom has no idea of what he is saying, but you still feel blood reach your cheeks. 

A few feet from you the map is folded and you are on the move again, heading exactly in the direction you had previously suggested. 

“I’ll consider it,” you nod as you follow suit towards the south, Tom’s arm brushing yours. “We could start with the basics.”

“The basics, uh? And what would that be?”

“Well, it wouldn’t hurt if you learned how to say ‘thank you’ for example.”

“Outch, that hurts.”

You laugh along with him, enjoying how it warms your skin and by the time you try to make him pronounce “église”, the church appears over the horizon, its bell tower looming over a small hamlet, making you all exhale in relief. When you reach it, you all fall quiet, anticipation coming back in force when you find the house with the red doors, its length taking half of the street and two stories high. When you take a step back, you can see a faint light filtering through an upstairs window.

“Why is no one knocking?” Tom’s voice breaks the silence, looking between the door and your group in genuine confusion.

Giulia turns to look at him. “Because it’s one hour in the morning and we don’t know if… Well, there is no certainty they will take our visit kindly. We can’t just-”

But before she can finish her sentence, Tom raises his eyebrows at her and approaches the door, giving it three strong bangs before coming back to your side, rolling his shoulders jubilantly. “Should have taught me ‘knock and it’ll open’ in French, this way we wouldn’t be out here freezing like gits.”

And it did open. Slightly at first, a single eye watching you through the crack before opening in full, a man appearing with a rifle lazily hanging at his arm. “Yes?”

You all take a small step back in fright, Albert’s expression turning dark in wariness at the length of the barrel but Henriette stands her ground. “Bonsoir, we just came from uhm… Gièvres, we crossed the river. The man at the farm indicated this house, he told us you could help us? Please, we just want to rest.”

The door opens completely, the light coming out from inside blinding you and you can’t decipher the man’s expression as he speaks. “Well, look at you, lot! He made you ford the river, didn’t he? The rascal. Come in, come in.”

Relief passes through all of you, shoulders relaxing as you take the invitation, stepping into a welcoming living room. 

“Who is it?” you hear a small female voice in the distance.

“Gifts from Raymond!” the man at the door yells once it is tightly shut behind you and putting the rifle away. "Please, come in, I’ll make you something warm.”

You have no time to mutter a thank you as a woman with an unravelled bun in a dressing gown enters the room, looking tired but enthusiastic. “Well, quite the number! What happened to you?”

“Crossed the river, the smell and mud doesn’t leave a doubt, darling.”

“Oh, poor things… I’ll get you clothes for the night and you’ll give me yours to wash. They’ll be ready tomorrow. Yes, I’ll do that.”

She mutters more things about finding the right size as she quickly glances at each of you before leaving the room in a trot, her robes flying behind her.

“That’s my wife, Germaine, and I’m Charles,” he introduces, coming to shake Henriette's hands who give him a warm smile before doing the same to the rest of you. “No difficulties, then? No boches bothering you?”

For the first time since you’ve entered, you're finally able to speak, and Henriette quickly narrates your adventures along with the reason for your delay while he serves you an herbal tea that smells strongly of citrus. Minutes later, his wife, Germaine, comes back with a pile of clothes in her arms. She hands it to you with a tender smile, her eyes glowing with compassion as she tells you that she made three rooms available for the night.

“And here is for you…” she stops before Tom to look at him warmly. “You look like my brother, he fought in the first war… Handsome as you, he was. Same size too, you’ll do fine in those.”

Tom takes the clothes with a tentative hand, seemingly at a loss by the way Germaine stares at him with nostalgic eyes. He glances at you for help, so you mouth a silent and encouraging ‘thank you’, watching him turn again to mutter a respectful “Merci, Madame” and your chest swells with pride.

The woman is quick to hide her face, tears at the brim of her eyes before pretending to busy herself with the cups you left behind. 

“British? Are you a pilot, son?”

Charles’ English surprises all of you before Tom finds the good sense to answer. “No, I’m not, sir. I was in the Navy,” he repeats with a tired smile. “Just trying to make it home.”

“Brave lad,” the man answers compassionately before turning to Henriette. “I take it you have letters?”

Giulia is the one to move to open her bag and scissors it, revealing five envelopes she hands to him. He examines each one of them under the light of an oil lamp before taking one out of the pile. “Germaine, there is one for you.”

His wife comes to take it with a trembling hand while Charles tucks the rest of the letters in a large vase, brushing his hands together as the woman starts ripping the paper of her new acquisition. 

“Right, let me show you your rooms, we have plenty of space… I’ll let you figure out who goes with who- Jeanine, what are you doing up? Go back to bed!”

As he leads you up the stairs, you spot a blond-headed girl, no more than 17 years old observing you from the threshold of her room. “I heard voices..." she says with a sweet voice, looking at you with inquisitive eyes.

“These people will stay with us until tomorrow, they need a discreet place to sleep. You can say hi to them in the morning.”

Jeanine doesn’t move, eyes raking over each of your faces before stopping on Tom, and she straightens her posture at once, pink staining her cheeks. “Hi.”

Tom blinks, momentarily surprised before greeting her back softly. Your eyes don’t leave the girl’s face as she smiles kindly at him in turn, her green eyes gleaming brightly. But then you are led to three small bedrooms on the second floor and you forget about the weird feeling in your chest, coming to share a bed with Henriette while Giulia takes a single room, leaving Tom and Albert to take two remaining single beds further away down the corridor.

You are awakened by the nearby sound of the bell, ringing eight times before you stretch over the comfy bed, light filtering through the windows. Henriette is still asleep next to you, face peaceful and free of the dread she wore since Paris, since the persecution started. It's a warming sight, one you would wish upon everyone, a tranquillity found again. 

The house looks truly different in the daylight, and you remark how huge it is. The corridor is long, there is a first floor you haven’t been able to visit yet and behind the house lies a small vegetable garden and peach trees that make your mouth water. 

The clothes you wear are comfortable, their warmth accompanying you through the night but you still carry the faint odour of the river and some of the mud is still clinging to your skin. When you arrive at the breakfast table, you learn that your own clothes will be dry in a short while and are left to enjoy the delicious meal you are offered, toasts and eggs along with warm beverages. 

The atmosphere is delightful, your hosts bombarding you with questions about your travels and what you have seen. Albert seems to interest them the most and you try not to be too bothered by Jeanine’s obvious fascination for Tom. Worst for you, the latter had only looked uncomfortable for a short while before starting to smile back at her and she had brightened like the sun.

Well, you couldn’t exactly blame her. 

You stay seated for a good amount of time, enjoying fresh food and milk, learning that your host's generosity has no bounds when they speak about driving you back all the way to your aunt's. Albert politely refuses at once, and you suspect that he shares the same reluctance to shorten the trip as you do, the prospect of finally leaving Tom and Giulia be on their way weighing heavy in your chests.

With the morning sun, your clothes were ready rather quickly, and you are all invited to take turns to use the lavatory at the other side of the house. You quickly wash up, getting rid of the remaining dirt and doning your familiar blouse and skirt before heading to the living room where Henriette is calmly listening to the wireless with Germaine and Charles. You listen as well, learning of the settling of the French Government in Vichy and its collaboration with Germany. You feel overwhelmed; France is divided, Hitler having gotten what he wanted, Great-Britain is next.

You fumble with your earrings anxiously as you listen to the distorted voice, exchanging frightened glances with your friends at the reports before you notice that one of them is missing from your ear. You stand up at once, excusing yourself and proceed to search the house for it, starting by your room and retracing your steps of the morning.

You’re about to enter the lavatory but the shuffling sounds inside stops you. Instead you knock gently on the door, listening to the sounds come to a stop. “... c’est… non libre.”

You smile at Tom’s clumsy French, lowering your hand over the door. “It’s me, I’m looking for something but I’ll come back lat-”

The door swung open, Tom appearing before you wearing only pants that hang low on his waist and suspenders loose on the side, his damp skin slightly glistening with the fresh wash he just had. “What are you looking for?”

“Hum… My earring…” you mumble, trying to focus. “It’s opal, have you seen it?”

“Hold on.”

He leaves you on the threshold and you can’t help but step inside, watching him disappear where you know the sink to be and coming back with something in his hand. “Is that it?”

“Yes!” you exclaim, relief flowing over you at the sight. “It was my grandmother’s… I can’t lose that one.”

There is a silence in which you try to put the jewellery back on your ear. “It suits you.”

You feel stupid for blushing again, but it’s Tom, and you can’t seem to help it. He smells good, a soapy scent coming from his morning glowing skin, his eyes searching your face with a soft smile. You lower your gaze bashfully under his scrutiny, and it lands right where his wound is on his shoulder, blue and yellow. It’s the first time you see it, and you part your lips in surprise, feeling your fingers drawn to it, coming to trace the bruises that spread around it, right above his pectoral. 

He inhales slightly at the touch, muscles tensing under your digits. “Does it still hurt?”

“Not that much,” he answers with several octaves lower, tilting his head to the side. “But what’s most important is right… here.”

His hand comes to grab yours softly to put it on his chest, right between his ribs where you can feel his heart beating steadily, much more so than yours. The gesture makes you take a shaky breath, unsettled by the electricity that passes through the palm over your hand and you refuse to look at anything else for a while, unable to let go of the sensation of life.

A soft smile dresses your lips in contemplation, and you feel him lean in closer.

“I’ve been thinking about it… About that kiss,” he murmurs.

His voice fans over your skin, his lips moving out of the corner of your eyes but you still can't bring yourself to meet his eyes, the events of the barn swirling in your mind like a dream. “Me too, Tom… But we shouldn’t have…”

You sense the confusion coming from him in waves and he shifts a little, his hand over yours staying firmly in place. “Why?”

You can’t find the words, your brain already a bubbling mess. “Because… you know why… We aren’t even a thing, for starters, and-”

“Well, it’s not for lack of trying. I told you once that you wouldn’t get rid of me that easily, Y/N.”

You shake your head, biting your lips with a weak smile as you come to finally raise your gaze at him, finding his hard expression and so soft eyes staring back at you. “We both know what’s at the end of the road… Each of us will go our way…"

When he talks, his voice is fierce, poised, a velvet sound that makes you forget how to breathe momentarily. “Yeah, that’s why I say that we make every moment count.”

You watch him before letting out a sigh, one hand coming to cup the back of his neck, needing him closer, to make the words real if can be. “You make it sound so easy…”

You think he is going to respond but he only leans into your touch and unconsciously wet his lips, drawing your eyes there, making your nails graze his nape and you just stare. When your lips touch his it’s soft, warm, tasting like mint and you find that nothing else tastes as good. He plays with it tenderly, as if he is afraid you’ll flee.

There are no other sounds but the one you make together along with his voice when he speaks against your mouth, his thumb caressing the side of your jaw. “... Where are the others?”

You smile against his mouth at the same words echoing from last night, the feeling that came after still so fresh in your mind. “Henriette is in the living room with Charles and Germaine, Jeanine I don’t know… My brother and Giulia are-”

“Somewhere together.”

He wears that satisfied expression, hindered slightly by the way his eyes are fixed on your lips when you answer. “Yes.”

“So… not around.”

You dig your fingers a bit more at the back of his neck as you shake your head slightly. “No, not around…”

It’s a silent permission, all that Tom needs to pull you back to him, the hand over yours leaving it to cup the other side of your face as he runs his tongue over your lips, meeting yours heatedly and stealing the air from your lungs, as if it’s been the only thing on his mind since the barn.

You don’t think anymore, you just feel when one of his hands lowers to your waist, your own travelling along his abs, his chest and up his shoulder before joining your other hand in his hair. When you trap his bottom lip between your teeth, tugging it slightly, he groans, his hands coming to grab your hips in reaction and you feel yourself be backed up to the counter against the wall. Your legs parts as he bends your knee to put it around his waist, hoisting you up easily. “You’re sure it’s okay on there?”

You chuckle gently, coming to work your mouth over his freshly shaved jaw with wet kisses as you answer, out of breath, smiling. "Anywhere is freaking okay, Tom.”

A strangled sound resonates within his throat, one you can feel as you leave a trail of kisses along his neck before you feel his hands come over your blouse to undo each button with surprisingly steady fingers. You barely leave him space to do his task, not relenting the attack over his neck and feeling his heartbeat there, connected with yours that feels so loud. When your last layer comes off he stills, his eyes raking over you form with pupils blown wide as he takes a step back and you mourn for the loss of the tender flesh of his neck as his hands unconsciously squeeze your thighs. You let him have this moment of bliss before you decide that you can’t wait anymore and bring him back to you, tugging at the waistband of his pants in a swift motion.

The dampness of his skin meets your stomach, heat spreading inside of it gradually while one of his hands travels to your ribs, to your breasts. You enjoy the sensation of need it gives you while you swallow his short breaths, his hunger that grows within him. Your hands dive between your two bodies, unfastening his belt and pants before you allow yourself to run a hand up and down his length, feeling it hardening under your palm, just for you.

It’s exhilarating, how unsettled he looks, how badly you need him and the sounds he makes while he bites your lips, almost making you lose focus on the way your fingers brush his tip and he twitches within your palm. One of his hands lowers to your stomach, in between your thighs but you only let his warm fingers graze the inside of it before you stop him. You make him stare at you when you guide him near your entrance, shifting over the counter while his eyes become hooded, lips parting in expectation, the muscles of his lower stomach tightening. You make him slide against your folds once, twice before he enters you, his cock stretching you slightly and you can’t help but chuckle in bliss. It’s overwhelming, jolts of electricity passing through you, a soft numbness taking over your body, the feeling of him that makes you bite your lip and you feel pleasure building as he kisses you deeply, ragged breaths mingling as he sets a steady pace inside of you, taking control.

The angle forces you to arch your back, to brace yourself over the counter but he doesn’t let you, bringing you in his arms and wrapping your legs around his waist to make you cling into him, bodies closer as ripples of ecstasy build into your core, his forehead against yours.

All that your mind can think about is him. “Tom…”

“You told me you would teach me the basics,” he says through panting breaths, a wicked smile over his lips as his nose digs into your cheek. “Seems to me as good a moment as any other.”

“What?” you say when you’re able to comprehend what he is saying. feeling the pleasure in your abdomen spiralling out of control as he thrust into you. “I’m not teaching you while- Oh mon Dieu!”

“That’s it, Y/N,” he praises immediately in a grunt, the snap of his hips becoming deeper, faster. “Tell me what I want to hear.”

His hand comes to flatten over your folds and you see white when his thumb begins to stroke your bud mercilessly, making you grip his shoulders with force, uncontrolled heavy moans escaping your mouth as he hits a particularly sweet spot inside of you.

“God, Tom, you’re so… cocky…” you manage to say through a tight laugh, your back hitting the counter as you feel him move faster.

“But that’s what you like about me, right?” he grins, taunting right against your face as he watches the way you knit your brow and try to quiet your moans.

“Yes… yes I do.”

“Want to repeat that, love?”

He hits a sensible spot inside of you when you understand what he wants, making you scream as fire surges into your core. “Oui, j’aime ça, Tom!”

The sound he makes is inhuman as you come undone, tension snapping inside of you and you feel him bracing himself not to be pushed over the edge. The knot inside your stomach loosen and he is barely able to accompany you through it, withdrawing to spill his seed on your stomach with huffy breaths. You take a moment to recover and when you open your eyes, seeing him out of breath and completely unhinged with his softening cock in his hand. You can’t help but bring his face back to yours again in a kiss, swallowing the last sound of his own ecstasy.

“Do you think they heard us?” you ask shyly, running your fingers through his hair after swiping it away from his sweaty forehead.

“They definitely heard you.”

His smile makes you giggle and hit him affectionately, the hotness of your blood having difficulty to cool down and he swallows it with a kiss in turn. “I feel like I’ve improved in French, though.”

“Oh yeah?” you tease, raising an interested eyebrow over your forehead. “I don’t think you can use any of what I said in public.”

“Maybe, but I still got three words coming into mind.”

“Which ones?” you say in satisfaction, your body still experiencing the bliss of your high.

But his eyes harden, losing their humour and you are left to stare at him curiously, his chest still pressing over yours, heaving. “Three very known words… That everybody knows. They do say French is the language of love, don’t they?”

Your smile drops, his gaze feeling so much heavier on you now, even with the enticing way the corner of his lips curve. You panic.

You’re not ready. He is not ready. You can’t hear those words, not now. “Tom…”

His expression falls, mouth tensing as he speaks. “Yeah… Okay, I know.”

He looks sad and it breaks your heart, guilt flooding over you, your hammering heart screaming to give him what he wants, what you want. But then he gives you a quick kiss on your forehead before caressing the side of your jaw and you just stare at him fondly, trying to not beg him to say the words, to not say them yourself. You’re not ready.

Are you?

“We’ll have to get a wash again…” you say low as you glance at your stomach and the state of your two bodies.

He takes a cloth next to him and starts wiping his seed off your skin pensively. “Or… we could go for a second round and see what we can do about it after that.”

You’re tempted, very tempted. “They’ll come looking for us.”

“We hide, then,” he states as he takes hold of your knees to pull you to him again.

The rest is lost in soft laughter, replaced by moans of pleasure and lewd sounds of flesh when he makes you see stars with his fingers, first, then when you make him groan by riding him on the fragile looking chair at the opposite side of the room, not caring when it breaks under both your weight and sends you on the floor

When you finally step out of the room, all washed up and fresh, skin still hot and blood filled with bliss, it’s like nobody had expected anything else but to see you enter the living room together. Even Giulia had abandoned her usual anxious expression to take on a happy one as she stands next to Albert, looking at you through knowing eyes.

But you all drop the happy act when it’s time to say goodbye to your hosts, with buses timetables and new maps in hand. Wherever you go, it’ll be quicker now.

Part 9

A/N: Thank you @babyblue711 & @enchantingcupcakecollectionfan as always, don't know how to thank you, really.

Trad: soeurette = sis'

@chainsawsangel@mischiefmanaged71@depressedperson88@enchantingcupcakecollectionfan@yentroucnagol@tssf-imagines @nightdiamond8663 @lauraneedstochill @unleashthelion @helaenaluvr @omgkatherine01 @launotfound @r0segard3n

#tom bennett #tom bennet x reader #wof #world on fire #tom bennet imagine #smut #tom bennett fanfiction #ewan mitchell #angst #fluff #world on fire 1x06 #gone with regret #usermyfandomprompts

[claybefree]

Tulip Poplar

Sorrow is my own yard

where the new grass

flames as it has flamed

often before but not

with the cold fire

that closes round me this year

William Carlos Williams- The Widow’s Lament in Springtime

Every spring I have to ask for the name again. Tulip poplar, Saucer Magnolia, something like that, you’d think I wouldn’t be surprised by her anymore. Whereas last week empty arms cast veins of silhouettes across a cold carpet of previous year's leaves, today I’m able to come home from a long day of work, and face her canopy of flowers, half open like teacups, and that is miraculous news. I take it as further evidence that after two years the sucking wound in my chest has finally closed.

Each March was a celebration, a maelstrom of pink hung beneath the blue, pinks so dark along thick shouldered leaves, almost purple, and then bleeding out rapidly to porcelain white, there was no ignoring it. I notched one end of an eight foot pallet we brought home into the main cluster of stems, six feet up and propped the other end with a door. Of course the kids never climbed into the blossoms, but we did.

Now everyone’s gone but me and the whole yard creeps more every year, abandoned gardens filled with weeds crawling out of their beds, privet’s relentless march choking everything in between. A cold wind brushes the tulip against the rafter tails outside my bedroom, waking me. Limbs resting on roof shingles, a stitch of yellow rope left from a swing I hung years ago cut deep into the bark like a tourniquet. Her blooms will turn brown and slimy and clog the already rusted gutters. Neither tree nor house belong to me but as far as I’m concerned, I’m the steward of both, for now.

So I spend sixty dollars that I do not have on a bright orange pole saw from Lowes which I run up into underbelly pierced with morning light, trying not to focus on saw teeth tearing past bark into white flesh, or sap raining onto my cheekbones. I’m grateful for the strength I have in my arms for this work today but I worry I got started too late in the season and the half dozen or more wounds I’ve left will become infected and kill her. Despite all this I work for the better part of a morning, and pile up branches tall as me in the burn pit in the middle of the yard. In the fall I’ll light it up and likely scare the new neighbors. The blossoms lining the crooked pile go for broke and open their white faces wide to the sun.

The days are consistently warm enough and the new tires on my motorcycle beg to be chewed up, but my heart’s not in it. Not yet. One morning soon I’ll blast out 64 sometime before eight thirty, get away from the Florida interlopers that keep trying to kill me and hit the Blue Ridge Parkway and adjacent counties on this side of the mountain- Nelson, Rockbridge and Amherst.

The best road out there is also the most dangerous, and yet with half a dozen ways up to the Parkway, I still find myself on route 56 more often than not. A million years ago I guess, before someone gave it a name, the Tye river cut a gorge out of the mountains, twisting impossibly through the rocks and at some point homesteaders ran a road alongside and named that 56. Highly technical, it’s not the curves that will dump me. Every rental cabin and vacation home has a driveway cut into the shale and sandstone hills which provide, after every good rain, an opportunity for gravel to spill out on the tarmac. If I’m not on top of my game that’s what will kill me.

But before all that, when it breaks off from the Rockfish Valley highway, 56 passes through a couple thousand acres of farmland on one side, and the Tye river on the other. For some reason I think a good bit about the people who work that land. Last year the fields appeared to be left fallow, two years previous, in the fall, thousands of pumpkins were left scattered and rotting on the vine, collapsing into orange pulp. All I could think was that the pumpkin patch contract fell through.

I want to find the old timers and see if anyone will talk to me about August 1969, when Hurricane Camille dumped two foot of water in three hours and drowned birds in trees. When the Tye jumped its banks, broke the back of every bridge that dared cross it and cut the census of Massies Mill nearly in half.

Sometimes I see the pictures they post and get jealous of my friends who travel abroad, but I’ve decided what I need is to ride a motorcycle entirely too fast through the middle of some fields in Nelson county every three months and do that in perpetuity. I’ve been in that valley headed home late in the day with the sun low under the clouds turning everything golden, worried that I’m too far out. I’ve encountered the Tye river in a spring flood, washing across 56 nearly to the point where I had to turn back and find another route. I’ve ridden it half frozen in a driving rain, tucked behind the fairing with a mother of three on the back seat holding onto me for warmth.

Back in 2022, at my lowest, whenever I talked about tulip flowers or graveyard moss carried home from a chapel where it crosses over the mountain and heads down toward Vesuvius, my closest friends would encourage me to move out. They’d point to the marks on the door casing in the kitchen chronicling each child’s growth, five years worth, both hers and mine, and yeah, I got it. My argument was I’d have to find something else just like it- a shed for my tools, a garage for my bikes, somewhere to write. I dunno, man, I would say, it just feels like I belong here.

One of these days, instead of waving to them on their harvesters, I’m gonna pull over and talk to one of these guys. Yeah me, a wild eyed weirdo biker from the city rambling on about something I don’t know if I could even put into words. The idea of the two of us having a shared language with a place, a connection, whether it be on a tractor or a motorcycle, bound by both sorrow and joy. The connection running deeper because you’ve seen it flood, seen it bake, seen it come alive every year in a blaze of green.

Clay Blancett, 2024

#my writing #mine #motorcycles #massie mill #clay blancett #flash nonfiction #Fuck Denver Lol

[todaysbug]

October 29th, 2023

Spotted Lanternfly (Lycorma delicatula)

Distribution: Native to parts of China and Vietnam; introduced to Japan, South Korea and North America; found mostly in the northeast, but spreading westward and southward.

Habitat: Usually found on its host plants; its preferred host is tree of heaven, but it can also be found on many other plants such as fruit trees, ornamental trees, woody trees and vines.

Diet: Herbivorous; feed on the sap found in the phloem of plants. Besides their preferred host, other common targets include birch, lilac, maple and poplar, as well as important agricultural crops like soybeans, grapes, stonefruit, cherry trees and apple trees.

Description: The spotted lanternfly is very invasive, and is considered a threat to many important agricultural crops. When it feeds, it pierces the bark of its host plant, forming a wound which may cause pathogens to be introduced into the plant. On top of that, spotted lanternflies also produce honeydew, a sugary substance which attracts other pests such as hornets, wasps and ants, and on which can grow mold. It seems to have a preference for plants which contain cytotoxic byproducts, which makes it toxic when eaten.

In its native range, the local lanternfly population is controlled by parasitic wasps. Unfortunately, it doesn't have any important predators outside of its native range due to its toxic properties. On the bright side, the honeydew can serve as a food source for honeybees, which reportedly produces a pleasant change in the flavor of their honey and brings some resistance to parasitic mite infestations.

(Images by Darrah Lefler (adult) and Stephen Ausmus (nymph))

#today's bug #biology #bugs #ecology #entomology #nature

[willowwere]

Whispers of Springtime - Prologue

Spring has become a fallen Court. Monsters roam the forests, greedy Lords vie for control of the land, and magic everywhere is dying. Refugees are flooding the other Courts, Night most of all. One day, Elain Archeron is kidnapped from Velaris and wakes in Spring. She is the last prayer of a desperate people- if she can find the missing Tamlin and make him fall in love with her by Calanmai, there is a chance to reverse the decay and save the Court. If she fails, Elain will die along with Spring itself.

This story holds all canon up through ACOWAR, with the alteration of Tamlin being Elain's mate.

Archive of Our Own

Prologue: Tamlin

A trail of smashed flowers marked the doe’s path.

I’d been stalking it for days, the scent barely more than a whisper on the breeze at first, but growing ever stronger. Hunger forced my body forward, ribs painfully clear under my matted fur.

There was a time when the woods were full of doe and elk and any manner of faerie beast. When a hunt took only a few hours, not days.

But that was a long time ago. Before- before so much happened.

The twisting in my stomach had very little to do with hunger. I shoved the memories down firmly. Flashes of brassy hair, the echo of a laugh, the sound of a brush moving against canvas.

I refused to remember those sounds. I couldn’t remember the one they belonged to. Not anymore. Not ever again. Those were echoes of someone else’s memory. Not mine. I didn’t want them. They made me feel… too much.

Anger and grief and hate and agony- too much. It was all too much. Love and loss and pride and pain. I remembered that much, but I wouldn’t remember the rest. Never again.

There was so much darkness in my past. I refused it all. I hollowed out and emptied that place inside me where those memories lived, and ran my claws down the walls until they were shredded into ribbons. Until even the dark places were forgotten.

There was a time when the woods were full of doe and elk and any manner of faerie beast. When a hunt took only a few hours, not days.

But that was a long time ago.

Now the doe’s scent was layered with the stench of rotting bark and a dampness that permeated everything. The flowers reeked of rot and decay even as they bloomed, their color dark and splotchy.

The land was dying.

Everyone thought Spring was a place of endless new growth and blooming flowers, but they forgot that Spring did not begin of its own accord. It grew from the rot of fall, hidden by the beauty of winter snow. Spring was the mud and rain and hollow emptiness that appeared when the ice receded. 

The old days of Spring were a glimmer of a season in bloom.

This was what began it.

My paw sank deep into the water-logged grass. I was spared from the loose mud beneath, but it didn’t matter much. Running through the forest had left my belly and chest coated in splatters of it already. All I cared about was the deer, and if it would hear the wet suckling of the earth as I freed my trapped paw.

I was close. The smell was nearly overpowering.

I inched forward bit by bit, my body so low that I could feel the matted grass tickling my fur. I couldn’t stop for long, not without risking sinking further into the mud. Fae deer were fast, and their maneuverability in the forest would be far superior to mine. 

A sound whispered through the trees and I quickly braced my paws on an exposed root to try and listen. Rhythmic, almost cloying against the ear.

The doe!

I used my senses to tell me what my eyes could not.

It was close- perhaps six yards ahead- likely the other side of the half-dead poplar tree before me. Eating, from the sounds of it, meaning its guard would be lowered somewhat. I had to judge it right. The trees in this part of the forest grew close together, a clever beast could evade me for a while. Especially half-starved. My coordination was faulty at best, and it was difficult to control my strength or agility when I shook with hunger.

Four leaps forward, one to the side, and a small leap forward. I would keep my movements relatively short. If the doe ran towards me, I could easily slash it. If it ran, I could lengthen the stride and throw my force into it.

I listened and waited. The rhythm of the chewing- if I could match it and keep my own movements quiet, then I would have the advantage.

After a long time, I finally made my move.

Quick, sharp leaps. I managed two before the doe paused. Better than I expected. It heard me on the third leap, then by the fourth it made its fateful decision.

The doe ran to the left. I managed to catch sight of it as I lept, and twisted mid-air to rake it’s spine with my claws. There was a sharp scream from the beast as it fell. I’d severed the spine, or close enough.

I didn’t savor my luck. I landed, pivoted, and dove for the creature’s neck, crushing it between my powerful jaws and twisting, breaking bone and tearing muscle. The doe shuddered in my mouth as I panted, ignoring the mud soaking over my paws or the delicious taste of blood filling my mouth.

I waited until it stopped twitching. Waited until I was positive the prey was dead. I felt the life leave it. Felt the moment it went from doe to meat.

Nothing else stirred in the forest. Not a creaking of tree or the step of something on the grass. Not even the whisper of a monster- for there were plenty of those these days.

I ate so fast that I nearly vomited the precious meat back up. There wasn’t much on the doe, she was as hungry as I, but it was enough for right now. I focused on the haunches and belly- areas that had the most to offer. Big, sloppy bites meant to get the most food at the fastest pace, in case something interrupted me.

I kept my ears peeled for even the slightest of sounds, and didn’t let my guard down. I was nearly feral with hunger that only seemed to grow stronger as I ate.

But nothing came to this place. I ate my fill until I could eat no more, then lay down in the muck to crack a leg bone and suck at the marrow.

How long had I lived this way? On the edge of starvation, roaming the wilds for any bunny or deer unlucky enough to cross my path? How long had that gnawing pain been there- or the other, deeper pain in the darkness?

It would be gone by morning, that pain. Gone and forgotten again, at least for a while. 

I felt a bit giddy as the meat digested. My limbs felt less disjointed, even as the energy digestion consumed made the world blur with exhaustion. I hadn’t slept in days. First it was of fear that I wouldn’t find anything to eat, then the hunt for the doe.

Soon enough the monsters of the forest would scent the blood and make their way to fight over the corpse. I was healing too slowly from the last several encounters I’d had, I couldn’t risk another. 

Content melted into despair as I looked at the scraps of meat that still remained. I’d cleaned away the bulk of it, but so much marrow remained. Another meal- when was the last time I had a meal two days in a row? 

But I’d had those thoughts with every kill, and every time I worked up the nerve to remain, some creature attacked and- no matter if I was victorious or not- I was left covered in my own blood.

So I finally pulled myself up onto my paws and dropped the bone I was chewing on. I allowed myself a few minutes more to take the bigger pieces of remaining meat and force them down, then broke off another leg to carry in my teeth. 

Not two meals, but at least a bit of a treat.

With that, I padded off into the forest to put distance between myself and the doe, and find a safe place to spend the night.

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acomaf #a court of mist and fury #acowar #a court of wings and ruin #elain archeron #tamlin #fanfiction #fanfic #canon divergence #au

[thegrapeandthefig]

What are some correspondences for Priapus? Herbs, crystals, incense, etc.

Most of the historical associations we know about come from latin poetry, or as isolated epigrams (especially in the Palatine Anthology). Here are a few relevant excerpts:

Turning along this path here, goatherd, you will find a newly carved figwood statue, three-limbed, bark-bearing, and earless, but able with its child-begetting phallus to achieve the works of Cypris. A sacred enclosure runs round it, and an ever-flowing stream splashes from the rocks on all sides onto the laurels and myrtles and fragrant cypress; there the grape, child of the cluster, spills down from the tendril, and the spring jackdaws echo in high-pitched songs the variety of their warbling melodies, to which fair nightingales reply with trills, uttering the sweet sound from their beaks. (Theocritus. Epigrams. 4.9; AP 437.1–12)

Let gardens breathing with crocus flowers invite the bees, and may the guardianship of Hellespontine Priapus, protector against thieves and birds with his sickle of willow, protect it, while the master brings thyme and pine saplings from the high mountains and sows them widely around the bees’ dwelling. (Virgil, Georgics, l. 109-115)

Columella also says this regarding to the rocket/arugula: "which is sown next to fruitful Priapus to arouse sluggish husbands to love-making" (De Re Rustica 10.119–20)

Poem 51 of the Priapeia* also lists a fair amount of garden produce (figs, grapes, apple, pears, plums, sorbs, mulberries, almonds, cabbages, beet, leeks, cucumbers, gourds, basil, lettuce, onions, garlic, rocket, mint, rue) but the comedy in this poem comes from the fact that the neighbor's garden also has all these things, and therefore the thieves choosing to rob the garden Priapus guards must enjoy the (sexual) punishment he reserves for them. So it is difficult, in this context, to really say that these produce hold more "sacred" value to Priapus unless attested elsewhere (such as the figs, grapes or apples).

Priapus is, perhaps more than most, a god of the simple things, and considering his function has protector of the garden, it'd be simpler to say that all that grows in a garden is sacred to him.

This aside, in Roman literature, Priapus is a wooden god. His statue is rarely described as made of stone or marble because he is a practical guardian who would be crafted by the farmer. Most times, the essence isn't disclosed but some wood essences have been recorded*:

Fig wood (3 mentions)

Cypress (2 mentions)

Willow (2 mentions)

Poplar (2 mentions)

Oak (1 mentions)

Apple (1 mentions)

He is also often pictured near or underneath trees, both on frescos or on engraved gems, which is thought to be because that would be a common placement for his - often simple - altar.

I do not know of any historical mentions concerning incense choice. He is not present in the Orphic Hymns (at least not without syncretism). And when it comes to crystals, there does not seem to be a specific pattern concerning the gem choice on which he is engraved outside of already very popular gem choices. On the topic of gemstones, I'd recommend giving this post a read where I explain how the ancient's conception of crystal associations and uses tends to be very different from how we understand it today. *Priapeia poems, 51 **Sageaux, Laura. "La statue en bois du dieu Priape en contexte champêtre." Journée d'Études des doctorants CRATA-ERASME: Pouvoir et Religion dans l’Antiquité: échos, mémoire, oubli. 2018.

#priapusdeity #the timing of this ask though #i just celebrated the priapeia this weekend

[strelles-universe]

...quietly sends every type of tree that I can remember: Apple, Aspen, Beech, Birch, Cedar, Chestnut, Cinnamon, Cypress, Hickory, Juniper, Pear, Plum, Myrtle, Bay/Laurel, Elm, Sycamore, Poplar, Maple, Cherry, Hawthorn, Oak, Fir, Spruce, Sequoia, Cinnamon, Camphor, Pecan, Walnut, Nutmeg, Redwood, Locust (but srsy thnx for the tree translations <3)

Alright this took a while XD Some of these plants ended up having very interesting names given that their English entomology is vague, muddled or doesn't apply to this world. I put most of these under the cut because there are a lot of trees.

Daayadubel | Aspen, Poplar

(n.) A rapid growing, deciduous tree with soft, light wood; a commonly used tree for claw-carving; a poplar, aspen (lit. cotton bark)

Tayaho | Bay, Laurel

(n.) A little evergreen tree with small yellow flowers, fruits that are ovoid blackish berries most commonly found on the Coastal Stretches and around the Moon's Sea (lit. coast-tree)

Rurfraaya | Beech

(n.) Any of the deciduous trees with smooth, gray bark, oval leaves and 3 sided nuts cased in burrs; a beech (lit. feeding tree)

Tanaŕa | Birch

(n.) A tall deciduous tree known for it;’s flaky white bark (lit. white wood)

Keder | Cedar

(n.) Any of the massive, slow-growing hard wooded conifer trees; a cedar

Keŕuvos | Cherry

(n.) Any of the various trees and shrubs of the rose family, a fragrant smelling tree; cherry (coll n.) The fruit of the cherry tree, usually red or black in color

Senseŕokyu | Cypress

(n.) Any of the various evergreen trees and shrubs that have opposite, scalelike leaves and globose woody cones (lit. strong scented bark)

Virmra | Elm

(n.) a tall graceful tree with beautifully spreading branches

Novifi | Fir, Pine

(n.) Any of the tall trees that have flattish leaves, circular leaf scars, and erect female cones and are valued for their wood (coll n.) A catch-all term for firs, pines and spruce trees altogether

Hievra | Hawthorne, Mayhaw

(n.) Any of the spiny shrubs or small trees with glossy and often lobed leaves, white or pink fragrant flowers, and small red fruits (lit. border plant)

Senatuŕu | Locust, Acacia

(n.) A large northern tree with extremely durable wood that produces large, nice spelling flowers that are wrapped with defensive thorns. Also known as the Acacia. (lit. spiny-bark)

Veŕaper | Myrtle, Periwinkle

(n.) A small evergreen plant with fragrant white flowers (lit. curved branch)

Kiishonkyu | Nutmeg

(n.) An evergreen plant found exclusively in the creeping foreset with pale yellow flowers growing only in tropical areas, it possesses a fragrant fruit often traded through the kingdoms for it's seasoning. (lit. sharp smell)

... | Sycamore

(n.) tall brown barked tree; when you peel off the brown bark you get a lighter inner bark, spiny balled seeds

Datayiŕa | Redwood

(n.) Among the tallest trees in the world, seeming to only grow in the Creeping Forest and around the eastern mountains with vibrant red wood behind the bark, a redwood

Dinesalokya, Senlokya | Walnut, Hickory

(n.) A slightly smaller deciduous tree that produces a fleshy fruit with a hardened nut in the center

---

Fun Facts:

-> Because English "birch" probably comes from the latin words for "bright/white/to shine," I'm choosing to make a variety of birch that actually glows. Tanaŕa Hassku (shining white-bark/shining birch)

-> Creating the word for beech resulted in me creating the word for "to feed." It's named for its nuts that are so popular as prey-lures and livestock treats

-> Not sure I want laurels to have the same meanings of victory but it could be interesting; give the trees more meanings you me to mess around with for loners too

->Redwoods were straightforward

-> So. A lot of these very hella complicated hella fast. In Summary:

Apple - used to refer to all fruits, only became specific recently Spruce - apparently named for being from Prussia Sequoia - appears to be a made up word?? Like the tree is real but no entomology?? Camphors and Cinnamon plants are both not native to Europe or the Americas Oak - old english word just became the word for "tree" Cherry and plum are both Anatolian in original apparently

-> There are two variants of locust, the spiny version (Senatuŕu) and the harmless version (Senatuŕu Dakra). The spiny version is vastly more common than the bald/spineless version.

-> Apparently myrtles are a kind of periwinkle? Who knew

#answering asks #a proper anon #strelles translations

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Tuesday 3 July 1838

5

11 55

¼ hour making tea for A- yet ready at 6 20 at which hour F65° and finish morning – but dullish and threatening rain – off from the hotel St. Etienne, Dax, at 6 33 A- had slept uncomfortably – I had been bit and awake in consequence at in the morning – but too sleepy to continue awake on this account – good dinner yesterday [potatoes] bouilli and rôti of boeuf – cervelle de veau and jambon de Bayonne in little tranches piques (very good) and a good roast fowl, and petits pois, and patisserie – excellent fromage de Roquefort and biscuits and pears and cherries- drove doucement in 8 minutes along the Platanus avenue to the great highroad, at right angles, and turn left along the long straight poplar avenue reaching as far as one can see – a little shower began for ¼ hour as we drove off from the hotel – beautiful line of wooded hill along the horizon (left) and forming, as it were, the left high band of the broad shallow Adour – asleep an hour and awake amid forest of fir and oak at ¼ hour from St. Geours a picturesque little scattered village and long straight poplar avenue continued, and ditto pine and oak forest – at Cantons at 8 55 the poste which is  a farm house and near it 2 or 3 scattered cottages – and opposite and for a little distance orchid and vines and champs – off again in 6 minutes and soon forest again and in ¼ hour (at 9 ¼) observe along the road side fine large old cork-oaks barked for about 6ft. high from the bottom and mixed among the firs and common oaks – great deal of moss hanging from the ends of the cork-oak branches and all about the branches – raining smartly now at 9 ¼ for ¼ hour and rain more or less all the way from Cantons and small rain before – at 9 42 little white scattered hamlet (Ondres I suppose) poste supprimée, and now go for Cantons to Bayonne 2 1/4p. – in descending the hill before the sabot was on our off wheeler fell but immediately jumped up again – came down the pretty Etang de Garros the road across it [pierced] by numerous arched drains -  at 10 or before (I had been reading Dr. Leon Marchant) fine outline of Pyrenees – beautiful drive from the Etang to Bayonne- winding road among pretty round wooded hills – at 10 20 from the top of the high ground fine long line of Pyrenees – magnificent line of mountain, and very beautiful descent up the rich plain of the 2 rivered (Adour and Nive) Bayonne -  crossed the long bridge of boats over the A- at 10 40 (having come [?] pace from the top of the hill and thro’ the ville) detained a minute or 2 at the barrier (my passport kept and a receipt for it given instead) – then passed the drawbridge at the barrier and alighted at the hotel St. Etienne at 10 ¾ - A- very tired and poorly – breakfast at 11 ¼ to 12 10 – gave things to wash went out alone – out at 12 50 leaving A- to rest and write at home – went into the cathedral and par hazard to J.B.E. Lemathes’ bookseller r. mayore no.29 where bought chronique de Bayonne published here in 1827 – 10/. at 1st – now paid 6/. in fact there is a newer work – sat reading skimming over this chronique till near 12 – then wrote and sent off by George at 3 and man from the Inn with him the following note to ‘E. Harvey Esquire H.B.M. Consul at Bayonne’ ‘Mrs. Lister presents her compliments at Mr. Harvey, being anxious to have his advice before going any farther towards Spain, she will be very much obliged if he will be so good as name any hour during today when he can make it convenient to call upon her at the hotel St. Etienne – Mrs. Lister hopes that existing circumstances will excuse her taking the liberty of giving Mr. Harvey so much trouble. Hotel St. Etienne. Tuesday 3 July 1838’ very civil answer immediately but too much engaged to call today – will be happy to sign the passport etc have just written so far at 3 ¾ - ‘Mr. Harvey presents his compliments to Mrs. Lister and is sorry he has not time to call upon her   she will however be able to get very good information at the hotel Saint Etienne about Spain and Mr. Harvey will be happy to sign her passport if necessary  Bayonne July third 18 and thirty eight’ -   what are our consuls for?  to take care of the trade and merchants not to attend to amateur travellers like me  well I must bring letters from England or start from Copenhagen where I am known – remember this –

ordered this morning for dinner   Filet de boeuf en entrée

volaille en fricassee

tong bouille sauce en [beune]

petits poix à la Parisenne

crème en chocolat

pour 7 heures – A- and I out at 4 ¼ - walked along the Adour very beautifully seawards for above ¼ hour – then at the cathedral at 5 and at the top in 10 minutes (rested ½ way – 260 steps) – at 5 55 and there remained ¾ hour delighted with the view the man who went up with us a Basque – spoke a few words – I could hardly catch the sounds distinctly – the mountains very fine but could only see the basse Pyréneés – the mountains hit in clouds – gave the man 1/50 who was so well satisfied that he shewed us into the principal and went with us to the end of it and then shewed us the way to our hotel – went into a booksellers’ shop – the principal one here, that of ‘le  Jaymabon libraire à Bayonne’ and paid 5/. for Merats’ elements of botany to be sent to my address Poste restate à St. Sauveur book 4/. carriage 1/. = 5/. – came in at 7 ¾ - very good dinner – had the master of the house up – to order us a veturino [vetturino] for tomorrow to go to St. Jean de Lus [Luz] and from there by boat to St. Sebastien – no danger – Mr. Harvey really very busy today – the day of the couriers’ arriving from Madrid – fine day ever since about 10 am F65 ½° at 10 ½ pm – sat reading till 11 ½ chronique de Bayonne

Good work coming out on the Pyrenees – apply for it at Pau chez Delrieu de la part de Jaymabon libraire à Bayonne

[valgasnewsthings]

After a long hard disease as in bed regime , on a body forming bedsores, and at Russia theirs with sucess cured at sauna.

 Steamed with birch broom, in infusion for steaming added jumniperus  or pine oil. After sauna applied to damage sides an ointment of birch buds or poplar buds, as one tbl.sp. chopped  buds or bark oak ,  add 7 tbl.sp. of cow butter oil fresh, add in a good warmed pot, steam in oven for 30 min, filter as hot. After sauna drink vitamin tea of hibiscus, leaf currant, cherry stalks.

from Valga s health news,gardening,and cooking ,and beauty . https://ift.tt/R9pDAnW via https://ift.tt/Zu605Ay

[shadestar413]

Shadeclan

Funny J. You likely intended this as a joke, unfortunately I wanna chat :)

Cats below the cut for sanity

Shadeclan started as a project back in about 2016-2017, and many things have stayed and changed.

Shadestar still starts off as a medicine cat apprentice in Windclan with half shadowclan descent. She still separates from Windclan when Shadowclan chases them out at the start of the series.

Instead of simply coming to her in a dream, a new ‘Moonstone’ is found and tied to what will become Shadeclan, the ‘Moontree’, likely a white poplar tree as it’s noted to have unusually white leaves. There she receives a message from an ancient Starclan spirit, likely from Skyclan. Additionally Shadeclan’s Starclan is more distant from the main four clans, as it’s anywhere from a quarter-moon (a week) to a half-moon (two weeks) since she was separated from her clan, Mapleshade does not follow her here, additionally Shadeclan does not have a concept of the Dark Forest. In order to interact with them meaningfully beyond watching, a Starclan or Dark Forest cat would have to walk that whole journey, and while annoying but doable in Starclan, the Dark Forest lacks prey aside from prey of nightmares( for example a rabbit that blinded a warrior) so it’s not ideal to travel at all that hungry.

Thistle is no longer a loner but instead a former tribe cat who left after Sharptooth first popped up and his sister had fallen to the mountain lion, finding a loner who then became his mate, now Deermoon. Formerly Deercreek.

Instead of being Snake, Dawn, and Dusk, the siblings are now Snake(bark), Briar who doesn’t take on a warrior name, and Kestrelswoop to better reflect them personally instead of making it seem like Deermoon and Thistle are shit at naming their kits.

Hornetneedle and Hollowpaw are back as Scorchspring(?) and Echokit/paw/night so that they are no longer hollow knight shoutouts. Echokit is mute and is very body language reliant, as well as non-binary as they figure out later on, whereas Scorchspring is now a trans she-cat who is still in a very much gay relationship with Kestrelswoop

Blossomstream is still a thing but is no longer a Shadeclan cat brought by Starclan- instead she is a wolf in sheeps clothing, as she appears when the Shadestar arc is analogous to Tigerclan’s existence as she was exiled along side some other cats when her shadowclan father revealed he was her sire and the former Riverclan cat was actually halfclan (Tigerstar had killed one half-clan cat and imprisoned the others canonly during this time so yeah), and instead of Starclan guiding her there, Mapleshade gets into Blossomstream’s mind, taunting her about how successful another half-clan cat was and guides her paws there, walking with Blossomstream this time around. There Snakebark gets heavily scarred from an attack by Blossomstream jealous and vindictive and almost dies while Shadestar makes sure that Blossomstream cannot harm her family or her clan again, condemning her to a lonely existence so far separated from the other cats of the Dark Forest.

Then Mapleshade does a big reveal to the cat she cared for as if her own kit and reveal Blossomstream was actually her half sister! Yay! Shadestar is done for a while but definitely gets at least another year with her mate… not so much one of her own kits but yeah.

Also so many new cats and areas like the commune cats weren’t a thing in the physical copy and neither was Wolfstar’s pack but still

#shadey speaks #friend j! #shadeys warrior insanity

[campfireusa]

How To Start A Fire In A Fire Pit? 3 Steps To Get Your Job Done

Having your friends and family around the fire in your backyard must be one of the best experiences ever. Here comes a question: How to start a fire in a fire pit?

This task doesn't take much time or demand any complicated skills. We will show you step-by-step instructions on igniting a fire in the pit.

Let's follow our guide!

How To Start A Fire In A Fire Pit?

Before starting your fire, check if local laws allow you to burn it in your yard. Also, form a habit of having a fire extinguisher or water nearby in case of emergency.

Ensure that the area around the fire pit is free of any dry leaves, branches, or anything that may catch fire if they contact the flames or stray sparks.

There are three simple steps to start a fire in your fire pit. Keep our safety tips in mind while following these instructions.

Step 1: Gather The Materials

The first step is to collect the necessary items, which include the following:

Fire starter: Your options are matches, lighters, electric arcs, or torch lighters.

Tinder: Choose non-toxic materials for the tinder. We recommend leaves, newspaper, and tree bark.

Kindling: Find dry sticks that can burn long to keep your fire going. Cedar, pine, spruce, and poplar are all excellent choices.

Firewood: Wood logs make the foundation for your fire. The best hardwoods are birch, oak, maple, and ash.

Gather the necessary materials

Step 2: Build The Fire

Ventilation is the key here. The fire needs oxygen to ignite and remain. Hence, bear it in mind when building a fire with kindling, tinder, and fuel wood.

There are three structures you can try:

Cross fire

Arrange the tinder materials in the fire pit. Next, set the kindling and fuel wood in a crisscross pattern. Ensure to allow some space for ventilation.  

Teepee fire

Place the tinder in the fire pit and then pile kindling pieces vertically around it, leaving a gap on each side. Then, use the same vent hole in the structure and repeat the steps with fuel wood.

Log-cabin fire

Start by putting the tinder materials in the fire pit. Next, build a teepee-shaped structure out of kindling pieces by arranging them vertically around the tinder. The structure now looks like a teepee.

Set two extra wood pieces perpendicularly across the first two ones on one side of the teepee. Repeat the pattern until you form a log-cabin structure.

Step 3: Ignite The Tinder

After building a solid structure with sufficient ventilation, it's time to ignite it. You need matches, a lighter, or a flint-and-steel combo for this step.

Now, fire the tinder. Remember to ignite the chosen material from different sides to burn evenly.

If you choose the flint-and-steel combo, the steel should be near the tinder pile. Then, you can create sparks by striking the flint against it.

Build the structure and ignite the tinder  

How To Keep A Fire Going In A Fire Pit?

The flames will spread rapidly. But, it's crucial to constantly keep an eye on the fire to avoid it spreading or going out.

Maintain your fire by putting the hot coals and embers generated from the burnt kindling and tinder into a pile to boost the heat. A long stick or a poker will help you with this.

The fire also needs oxygen to keep going. Blowing on the burning coals is a fantastic way to enhance ventilation in the fire pit.

Also, remove the burned sections of the fire to introduce new wood to the fire pit. More fuel logs can keep your fire burning well.

Keep an eye on the fire to control and maintain it

How To Put Out A Fire In A Fire Pit?

If you want to put out your fire, do it about 20 minutes beforehand. It needs time to stop completely.

Water is the fastest and most effective method for this purpose. Slowly pour water on your fire to extinguish the coals, flames, and residual heat.

You may still hear some hissing noises when putting out the fire with water. Then, use a poker to move the embers, ash, and coals in the fire pit to check. You need to dump water over the ash again until the fire becomes quiet and cool.

Conclusion

After finding the right materials, you can burn your fire in the fire pit quickly. Remember to take safety measures while working with fire.

Please comment in the section below if you have difficulty following our guide. We will reply to you soon. Thank you for reading!

Article Source: https://www.campfireusa.org/how-to-start-a-fire-in-a-fire-pit

#outdoorgear #campinggear #campfireusa #outdoorlife #firepit

[moomin-japanology]

Rustic Entry - Front Door An illustration of a large mountain style entryway with a medium wood front door and a brown floor.

#poplar bark #timber frame #great room #lake house #mudroom #log siding