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#preserved moss wall
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Modern Living Room Large modern living room idea with an open concept and a bar
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theleaflandscape · 6 months
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𝐍𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐌𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐥 #NaturalMoss #NaturalMossWall #MossFrame #MossWall #MossPanel #GreenWall #TheLeafLandscape
𝑭𝒐𝒓 𝑴𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝑫𝒆𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒍𝒔 𝑨𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝐍𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐌𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐖𝐚𝐥𝐥 / 𝐎𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐍𝐨𝐰
𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐮𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐰 : +91-9990146880 | 𝐄𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐥: [email protected] | 𝐕𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐭 : https://rb.gy/jw80t
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Are you looking for an easy and eco-friendly way to add greenery indoors? A moss wall provides a simple and natural solution, bringing a refreshing touch of nature to your space with minimal maintenance.
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naturspirein · 8 months
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Look at how fun these moss wall designs are! Such an inviting ambience.
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schistostegapennata · 8 months
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can you talk about moss poaching i'm actually really curious
How can I refuse! Absolutely!!! It sounds kind of ridiculous, but it's actually very sad.
So, let's start off with some numbers. Every year, the moss black market is estimated to garner up to $165 million for trafficking approximately 82 million pounds of moss.
I cannot even wrap my mind around how much moss that is.
You might ask, why does moss poaching exist and why is it so lucrative? Well, the quality that has made mosses the prey of an illegal trade is simply their aesthetic appeal. Soft, velvety, and moist, mosses are extremely pleasant to the touch and calming to look at. Some people are willing to pay large amounts of money to collect them and put them in private gardens. However, most of the mosses that move in this underground black market are actually sold to companies/wholesalers for use in potting/gardening soil, plant nurseries, decor, and as craft materials. The majority of the preserved mosses in your run-of-the-mill chain craft store, planters, floral wreaths, or very-much-dead living wall decorations are gathered illegally, bleached to death, and then dyed green. This goes for a lot of prepackaged peat moss and soil mix blends as well.
Even though it is illegal to gather moss in public places (in the US, at least), people still harvest it. Why? Probably because there's a fair amount of money to be made and the consequences are very rarely enforced, and when they are, they are quite light--usually a $50 fine at worst if you're caught. Most of this black market moss is actually poached from the national park system, with Appalachia and the Pacific Northwest usually being the hardest hit regions.
Mosses play vital roles in many ecosystems, provide homes for threatened species, regulate water distribution in forests, and help with erosion, so their loss is a terrible blow. Additionally, moving such large quantities of mosses from one location to another may spread unwanted, invasive hitchhikers, like insects that lay their eggs in the plants, or even seeds and spores.
I'll end on this thought:
It can take 20 years for a small patch of moss removed from a fallen tree to grow back with the right moisture conditions.
How long would it take to regrow 82 million pounds?
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terradesigntoronto · 1 year
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Read more here: https://terra-design.ca/moss-art-walls/
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frannyzooey · 1 year
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Short Days, Long Nights: 1
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Joel Miller x f!Reader
Rating: none — I’ll change it to E when we get there (slow burn, forced proximity, age gap — no age actually mentioned but rather more implied, competence kink)
Summary: Part of a band of travelers, your party is slowly picked off one by one, until there are only two of you left. Finding an abandoned cabin in the woods, you decide to make camp there until you figure out your next move. As the seasons change, the nights get longer and longer…..
A/N: Thank you endlessly to @mourningbirds1 for the incredible feedback, beta, and comments. As always, I couldn’t do it without you. Thank you also to @write-and-buried for her TLOU knowledge and constant support, and @the-ginger-hedge-witch for reading this one over and making me confront how much Joel Miller has rotted my brain 😉 Enjoy!
SPRING
The copse of trees surrounding you is dense, and from the overgrown path you’ve been following by groove alone, you almost miss it. A flash of muted, dingy blue in a sea of green. 
“Hey,” you call to him. “What’s that?”
He turns, his features and body already taut with a practiced, ready tension and when he sees your face isn’t one of concern but rather curiosity, he relaxes. Walking over to you, he follows the line of your finger with his eyes. 
At first, he sees nothing. Just a wall of clustered vegetation: sturdy trunks that hide behind branches heavily weighted with rain, the floor beneath them obscured by ferns that brush against your legs and growth that softens your footsteps. His eyes catch on something too angular for the setting and he frowns, focusing on it. 
Barely visible in the distance and seen only through the filtered sunlight that catches the sharp edge: a moss covered roof. A structure, isolated like the two of you. 
He glances over at you for a moment, reflexively reaching back for his rifle. 
“Let’s take a look.”
Weapon out with his steps steady and slow, he approaches the cabin with a careful, defensive slink. As it slowly comes into view, you brace yourself for any type of movement. Second nature to now activate the constant thrum of self preservation inside you, you check for visible traps as you follow him, your eyes flitting between the building and the ground. 
A specific sort of tension fills the air when something is close: you know that feeling now, have become so sensitive that it can wake you from dead sleep the second you feel it. Like a sixth sense forced to emerge due to evolution, you focus on it and feel none of that tension here:  just the trilling sound of birds, the soft crunch of pine needles underfoot and the peaceful silence of total seclusion.
Joel catches your attention with the jerk of his head, motioning to stay close.
You approach the front of the cabin together. His hands white knuckle the gun, the butt tucked tight against the worn strap of his backpack where it curves around his shoulder and as his fingers flex in anticipation, you hold your breath. 
There is a weighted beat as you wrap your hand around the knob and turn. 
In the end, it’s all for nothing - the cabin you find, after roughly working the warped door open, is abandoned. 
It’s like a time capsule in the middle of the woods. 
A thick layer of dust covering everything, motes of it swirl lazily in the beam of Joel’s flashlight as you wander from room to room. His boots scrape against the floor with heavy footfalls, the two of you silently surveying the causally cozy and completely still disarray: a moth bitten handmade quilt thrown over the back of the couch, outdated magazines in a stack on the counter, cobwebbed toothbrushes by the bathroom sink. Bookshelves packed with faded spines, grime covered windows, dead plants in pretty pots lining sills. 
Someone loved this cabin once. 
Used to your partner through circumstance by now, you anticipate an order to scavenge for everything you can carry and then move on, so you’re surprised when he sets his pack down on the floor and lets himself fall back onto the couch. A cloud of dust bursts into the stagnant air, his hands coming up to wearily scrub his face. They rake through his damp, messy curls as he closes his eyes before laying his head back and letting out an exhausted sigh. 
“This should do for the night,” he says. “Could stay until the rain lets up, at least. Be nice to sleep on something other than the ground for a change.”
You nod in agreement, rolling out the kink in your shoulder you woke up with. Your eyes drift over the exposed line of his tanned throat, lingering on the hollow just above his collar. You force yourself to look away. “Yea, the beds didn’t look too bad.”
There had been two of them, across the hall from each other and the idea of a mattress - no matter how old - had you yearning to climb into bed already. Nothing saying you can’t, you reason with yourself. Not when time is more of a concept than anything else these days but the gnawing hunger in your stomach immediately disagrees, knowing exactly how long it’s been since you’ve last eaten. 
“I’m gonna go look for some food,” you tell him and he hums in acknowledgement, seemingly indifferent. 
Not really expecting to find anything of substance, you feel a swoop of scarce felt joy when you discover a cache of canned goods in the pantry. A treasure trove. 
“Hey Joel,” you call, wiping your thumb over a peeled, dried out label. “I think I found dinner.”
He doesn’t answer, most likely asleep given his ability to succumb whenever and wherever he can when he gets a moment and you take several, bringing them over to the counter. Brushing away the dust that sticks to the labels, you survey your choices: baked beans and peaches, two of each. Just what you would expect at a lake house. 
Letting him rest and holding the beans in your hand and a spoon you find in another, you take bites straight from the can as you wander down the hallway of the cabin, looking at the pictures on the walls. Using the heel of your hand to wipe away the dust that covers the glass, smiling faces emerge from the fog. You study them one by one, slowly chewing. 
They look like stock photos you used to see in stores: generically bland smiles, posed to perfection. An elderly couple with their children of various ages, a large family gathering photo, parents with children sitting between them. You try hard to picture those people here: sitting in the living room, sleeping in the bedrooms, playing outside. The concept seems too foreign to grasp, too far away to be real and you take another bite of food, pushing away the sudden unbidden reminder of similar photos you once had in your own home, now lost. 
You hear the couch protest as Joel gets up, coming to pass you in the hallway. He stops for a moment behind you, looking to see what you’re staring at and when he sees what it is, he frowns. Letting a deep sigh escape him, he keeps moving down the narrow space and with his pack in his hand, disappears into a bedroom. 
Wanting the safety of his nearness and given that it’s the only other bedroom, you set up across the hall when you’re done eating. Placing your own worn pack on the floor, you start to methodically strip the mattress, shaking out the bedding. Minimal creeping mold darkens the seamed edge of a mattress in otherwise good condition and you flip it, hoping for the best. Shaking out the pillow to make sure there is nothing hiding in it, you take the pillowcase with you, wanting to air it out on the deck now that the rain has stopped. 
Wanting to do the same for him, you walk into the bedroom he’s claimed and even though he’s not in there, it already feels like an invasion of privacy to be standing in it. His pack slumped on the end of the bed a visual claim, you grab his pillow off the bed and start to tug off the case. 
What does he look like, sleeping in a real bed? Does he bunch the pillow or tangle himself in the quilt? When he gets up, is there a rumpled form left behind, still warm with the heat of his body pressed into the sheets?
For all the time you’ve spent with him, the majority of Joel is a mystery to you. He gives away more than he knows, but that’s still not a lot. You knew of him back in the QZ: his broad frame a hard one to miss, his reputation even bigger and while your paths rarely crossed within the borders of those high walls, once you set out, it was hard to stay out of his orbit. 
His handsomeness drew your eye initially, but it was his usefulness that made you stay in his shadow. His determination to fight for his own made you feel protected by proximity, even more so when he extended it to you. 
Had to, once your group got picked off one by one. 
You had been thankful, in a sick way, that he was the one that remained. The best one. The most ruthless one. A ruthlessness you admired, then revered, then thought about at night as you tried to drift off to sleep. 
Without needing to sleep clothed to protect himself from the elements, does he still sleep in them, or will he be in less? If so, how much less?
Sharply snapping the pillowcase in the air, the sound brings you back to the present and you shake away the thoughts, leaving the room. 
“Whatcha got there?” He’s sitting on the couch, a can of peaches in his hand and when you face him, you have to look away from the glistening juice on his lips. 
“Oh, I was going to hang these outside, see if I can get some of the dust smell out.” Your nose crinkles and he smirks, taking another bite and shaking his head. 
“Thought you’d be used to that by now.”
You shrug, taking a seat in a chair by the woodstove. Leaning forward to inspect it, your chair wobbles; the front leg rotted. 
He nudges his chin in the direction of the stove when you open its door. “I thought about lighting it, but we better not. Don’t want the smoke showin’ people someone’s here.”
You nod, sitting back in the chair. “I can’t believe what a good find this is. There’s all sorts of stuff. I found some clothes in the closets, some more blankets too, if you need one.” 
You watch him chew, his jaw flexing under the salt and pepper of his beard.
“There is more food where that came from, if you’re hungry. The pantry is pretty full.”
He acknowledges it with a nod, taking another bite and you glance towards the windows that run the length of the room. A miracle none of them are broken, thanks to the secured tarp that lined the outside. 
“I think I’m gonna clean some of these and see if I can get a better view.”
“Cleanin’ the windows, doin’ the laundry. You lookin’ to move in?” His teasing tone is a dry one, and you smile, shrugging.
“Just so we can see what’s out there. In case someone comes.”
He looks at you, his eyes narrowing for a moment before he finishes the can, drinking the juice. 
“Well don’t wear yourself out too much,” he says, standing with a soft grunt of pain. “We ain’t gonna be here that long. Not worth makin’ it all homey.”
He sets the can down on the counter, grabbing his bow and supplies off the surface. You watch him check his stock of arrows before reaching back to feel for the knife strapped to his belt.
“I’m gonna go see if I can find us something for dinner.” He gives you a look, his eyes quickly sliding down over your form and then back up. “Yell if you need me, okay? I’ll stay close.”
You nod, holding his eyes for a minute and when he goes, you use the pads of your fingers to wipe clean a clear circle on the window. 
A creek lines the edge of the property, one that you didn’t even hear from the path with how thick the vegetation is and you watch him walk down along the edge of it for a moment, his head bowed. His hair is lighter in the sun, ruffling slightly in the wind and you keep watching until his form disappears behind the trees. 
Searching the cabinets methodically for anything of use while he’s gone, you find them buried deep in a junk drawer, sealed inside a faded, dirty ziplock. 
Seed packets. A lot of them. 
“Holy shit,” you whisper to yourself, opening the plastic pouch. You handle each pack delicately, spreading them neatly and carefully out on the counter and marvel silently at the whole vegetable garden you’ve found in this tiny bag. The haul would be worth more than you can imagine back at the QZ, but the potential for it is even higher here, in this dim kitchen, with that patch of moist, fertile soil outside. 
You pick them up one at a time, sorting them by recommended growth timelines and a thought takes root in your mind; the paper packets eventually gathered and put neatly back into the bag. 
You let it stew the rest of the afternoon, into the evening. As the sky dims, then darkens, as he comes back with a skinned rabbit and cooks it, as you both sit in the living room after dinner, your dirty plates resting on the coffee table between you. 
He’s sprawled on the couch, his arm behind his head with his thighs spread wide and the denim around his thighs is molded tight; his other hand resting limply against the inside of his thigh. When his eyes close, your eyes drop from his face to his hand, and then back up again. 
“So I found something today,” you begin, and he answers with a slow drawl, content and full. 
“Oh yea? Anything good?”
“Really good. Like, something really, really good.”
He opens his eyes then, looking over at you with a tilt of his head. 
“Well? You gonna tell me what it is?”
You draw one of the packets from your pocket, holding it in your hand and he sits up immediately, leaning forward on his elbows to reach for it. 
“Careful,” you warn, scared some will leak out of the thin, dried out paper. 
“You found these here?”
“Yea, in a drawer. In the kitchen.”
You can tell by the way he is looking at them that he knows their value. His hands hold them more tenderly than you thought his hands capable of, and he flips the packet over, reading the front. 
“I would kill for a fresh squash right now,” he mumbles, more to himself than anything, as he studies the front. 
“Well…” you start, suddenly unsure of your idea when he brings his eyes back up to your face. It’s intimidating when he looks directly at you normally, but you feel it tenfold now. He’s always been the one to call the shots, his experience in this world outweighing yours and while you’re nervous to throw yours out there, thinking of the alternatives nudges you forward.  
“I was sort of thinking this afternoon. About this place, and about these seeds.” You pause, looking away for a moment and then back at him. “About us, maybe staying here.”
He immediately frowns, scoffing to discourage the idea. “You can’t be serious. Stay here?”
Though you expected it, his immediate dismissive tone flares annoyance in you. 
“Where else is there to go, Joel?” you ask, your voice gaining confidence. “Be serious. Every settlement has been a nightmare, every place we’ve tried —“
He shakes his head, cutting your argument off. “I said we could stay for a night, not stay forever goddamnit. We’re like sitting ducks out here, just waitin’ to get killed. In the middle of fuckin’ no where —“
“Exactly!” you say louder, before bringing your voice down. “Exactly. We didn’t even see this place from the road. Not even from the path off the road. Who is going to find us here? No one knows about this place, or else it would have been looted ages ago. The tarps hid it, the trees block it, the –”
“And then what, huh? The second we light that wood stove, it’s gonna give us away. Even so, what then when someone wandering down that path sees the same thing we saw, and they decide to come take a look for themselves? They are gonna see everything we have – everything you’re suggesting we start – and they are gonna kill us for it.”
He pauses, the next statement forcing you to look at the ground. “Just like we would have done if we found someone else here. Just like we do.” 
You say nothing, letting the words hang in the air. 
“Just —“ you pause, looking down at your hands. Flashes of the last few months play back in your mind: the hangings, the strict enforcement of rules for all made to benefit the few, the bleak apartment you live in. This mission, all the things you’ve seen along the way, all the fear and terror you’ve felt and how the only person who has ever made you feel safe since the Outbreak began is sitting right here in this room. 
If ever this could work, it would only work with him. 
You bring your eyes back to him, pleading. “Aren’t you tired of it? So restless, always fighting against everything. For everything you have. Aren’t you sick of it, Joel?”
“Don’t worry about me. I’m just fine.” His tone is clipped, but you can tell he’s thinking. He glances at his watch, the broken face staring back at him. It’s been broken for as long as you’ve known him, but he’s always treated it as carefully as his weapons, his supplies. You can see him illuminated by the moon profile in your mind, his fingers skating around the face as he kept watch, or brushing it with his thumb to delicately keep the dirt off. Seeing your opening, you take it. 
“I’m not saying forever,” you press. “Hell, I’m not even saying a month. But let’s just stop for a second. Let’s… just stop. Nothing says we have to go back there. We could be dead, for all they know.”
He brings his attention back to you and placing his hands in his pockets, he straightens his spine. “Probably will be, sooner or later, if we stay here.” He looks you directly in the eye, holding your gaze. “It’s not just the supplies they’ll take. They’ll want way more than that.”
You raise your chin, ignoring the tightening of fear in your chest. He hasn’t let that happen yet, and even if it's foolish to believe, you know he won’t let it happen. When he sees you’re not going to answer, he sighs. 
The lantern is bright between you, illuminating the room in a soft glow and his deep brown eyes study you. His expression is stern, like he wants to say no…but he doesn’t. 
“It’s a dumb idea.” His statement is said with resignation, but with the authority of the last word and deciding not to push it any further tonight, you stand. 
“Well, good thing it was just an idea.” Glancing over at the seed packet, you chew your bottom lip while he watches your face with a frown and your voice gets softer, quieter. 
“I’m gonna get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”
He isn’t there when you wake up, and finding his bow gone, you know he’s out hunting again. 
You wander over to the coffee table to pick up the packet of seeds you left there last night when you see a book facedown next to it. Like he was reading something he found on the shelves after you went to bed, and left it there. 
Picking it up and turning it over in your hands, a smile unfurls at the edge of your mouth and you sit down on the couch, opening it to the first page:
The Basics of Gardening
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angelkissiies · 1 year
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CLOSE CALL
pairing : abby anderson x reader x ellie williams
cw : canon violence, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, use of alcoholic beverages, a little more angst as seasoning.
proof read : yes | no | kinda
a/n : this is taking place in jackson, joel is alive and well. ellie and abby are good friends and the world is still gross and infected but a little more peaceful.
word count : 3.8k
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The crisp morning air bit at your fingers as you held your rifle to your chest. It was only 5am and you found yourself walking alone outside of Jackson's walls with nothing but a gun and a place in mind. It sounded like a good idea in your earlier state of delusion, but now as you trekked towards the abandoned ski lodge- the regret crept in. As much as you enjoyed the solitude of the lodge, something kept nagging at you to turn back. A voice in your head was screaming, but the forest remained silent. No infection, no people, no danger. So, despite your self preservation instincts begging you to turn around, you continued to push forward.
“Goddamn I hate this hill.” You huffed, coming to a stop in front of the town's lookout tower. The road to reach the lodge went directly through the heart of the tiny town, taking you along through the ancient routes of people long forgotten. Though, the sentiment wasn’t enough to keep you from hating this place. Through the past few years living in Jackson, you’d had quite a few secret rendezvous outside of the walls, most of which took place here. With it being the most easily accessible, empty, town- teens quite enjoyed the trek. Especially when it led to what was now duped, ‘the love shack.’ A,K.A. The only house on the block that still had a bedroom intact. One that you had fallen victim of more than once with all the wrong people.
Though, you weren’t allowed a moment to dwell on your regrets as your ears tuned into the familiar sound of infected. Their growling sent your body into flight mode, and before you could even figure out where they were, you began to run. “Fuck.” You hissed, hearing the sounds grow nearer, as you ducked into a cluttered alleyway. The nook was nestled between two old apartment buildings, giving the illusion of an escape route. Yet, as you pushed your way through the maze of old, rotting trash from years gone by- the only hope was to crawl on top of the dumpster and into one of the broken windows of the building.
As you pushed yourself up, ignoring the possibility of more infected- or god forbid, worse- being inside this unmarked and unsearched building, you took half a second to recall the patrol schedule for today. A monday, early morning- Abby and Ellie. As always. Whilst that gave some comfort, you had to focus on the situation at hand- not the possible rescue from the girls you’d been actively avoiding. Now, It was not knowing or death and for once you chose the former. From the eyeline on top of the dumpster, you caught a small glimpse of a pack of at least six infected running directly past the alleyway in search of a meal. For now, they seemed to be off of your trail but surely, your luck would run out eventually. So gingerly, you swept the glass shards from the window seal, avoiding giving away your position, before stepping into the wrecked studio apartment.
From a glance, you could tell that someone had really loved this place. There were remnants of posters and artwork that hung on rusted nails, torn into pieces from the years as they wore the paper thin. The walls had taken on a dusty green color from the pursuit of moss but before, it patched together in a shade of blush unbeknownst to most people who had passed through this place before you. It was enough to let your guard down, to slow your reactions as the world felt a little gentler in that moment.
What a mistake.
Before you could even take a breath, the hands of something unknown to you had wound its hands in your hair, violently jerking your head back to access your arteries. It had been completely silent, giving you no time to reach for your gun that you had let rest against the wall.
“Fuck! Get the fuck off!” You screamed, attempting to grip the mutated stump that posed as a head. It growled, something deep and raspy near the lobe of your ear, sending a jolt of undeniable panic into your bones as you struggled to get the upper hand. You couldn't die like this, no, you wouldn't die like this. So with a harsh kick, you threw your leg back against the stalker's kneecaps, sending the being onto the floor and promptly allowing the smallest of windows to unravel yourself from its grip.
It was going to work, you were almost free, when a gut wrenching noise echoed out through the building. Clicking. From this distance, you couldn’t tell how many there were, but from the sounds of it there was more than one. Anything could’ve happened on this short trip, but somehow it just happened to be the absolute worst thing that could've happened on any trip. Survivors' luck, right?
You couldn't open your mouth, the idea of alerting the clickers too much for you to handle. So you had to maneuver silently, using what strength you had left to keep your grip on the stalker's throat- which in turn kept its mouth arms length away. You didn’t have much on you, as you thought this was just going to be a short day trip to the lodge, so you made due with the things you had. Things being a ballpoint pen that was nestled into your front jacket pocket, just within reach.
Suddenly, gunshots rang out. Startling yourself and the creature vying for your flesh. Giving you just enough time to grab the pen and jam it into the eye socket of the stalker, shoving it as deep as you could with the palm of your hand before it finally slumped over- its weight collapsing completely on top of you. With a shove, you rolled the thing onto the floor and found your footing, smoothing your hair down as you grabbed your gun and catapulted yourself out of the clicker infested apartment building, throwing no hesitation to your fall onto the iced over ground.
“Abby, behind you!”
Oh fuck.
You dodged through the mounds of trash, throwing yourself back out onto the street. The scene was quite what you expected, seeing the two girls dismounted from the horses slaughtering the infected that you had just been running from.
Abby noticed you first, her eyes widening before moving back to look at Ellie. “Uh, Els. Don’t look now but we have company.” She grunted, throwing the infected off of her and crushing its skull with her boot. It was one of the last ones, the other being nestled in Ellie’s arms- head disconnecting from its spine.
She didn't hesitate to spin around with her gun aimed directly at you, arm slacking gently once she realized it was you. “(Y/n), what the fuck are you doing out here?” She chided, tucking her gun back into her waistband, moving her hand to wipe the sweat from her brow. Her brown jacket was now splattered in blood, adding an intimidating aura to the woman as she zeroed in on you.
You didn’t dare look over to Abby, the idea of the both of them staring you down with such vexation making your knees weak. “Nothing, I'm doing nothing. No need to worry.” You assured, keeping your destination a secret as you shifted your weight from foot to foot. You had made a show out of avoiding the two women within the walls of Jackson that now you had no escape from the uncomfortable tension that saturated the air as you spoke.
Abby approached slowly, eyes skimming over your body before they landed on the semi-hidden splatter of blood by your neck. Not even to mention the bruising that had begun to develop in place of the stalkers ravaging fingers. “Is that blood?” She asked, raising a hand to brush your hair back, away from the harsh contrasting blood against your skin.
“What happened, are you bit?” Ellie voiced her worry, moving to your opposite side, eyeing Abby’s hands as they moved to scour the area for any signs of infection. She was one to worry, after all, her immunity protected no one but herself- which made it hard to stay grounded when the possibility arose.
“No, no bites. I'm fine.” You responded, attempting to wriggle out of Abby’s soft yet firm grip. “Seriously, I handled it. No need to worry.”
The women exchanged a look before Abby turned her attention back to you, “That aside, you are not supposed to be out here. We have to take you back.” She stated matter-of-factly, her arms winding back to cross over her chest. The tan jumper she wore pulled at the seams, stretching to account for the tensing of her muscles as she moved.
An exasperated sigh left your mouth before you could control it, earning a sharp look from the girl to your right. “No, I'm sorry guys but I'm not going back right now. I’ll head back in when I'm done.” You stated firmly, moving to turn away from the women, only halting when a hand clasped around your wrist.
Ellie’s grip was tight, not tight enough to hurt you though.“Done with what exactly?” She questioned, her green eyes piercing into your soul as you spun around to face her. You were now stuck between the two of them, avoidance paying into the situation you found yourself in now. “Where were you going?”
You internally kicked yourself for saying anything at all, shaking your head as you jerked your wrist back. Taking a fleeting step backwards to gain some distance, despite the situation at hand- the glow in her eyes took you back to that night.
⋆ ˚。⋆୨୧˚ begin flashback ˚୨୧⋆。˚ ⋆
The haze in the bar hung low as people chatted back and forth about town and social matters alike, the sheer volume deafening as you took another sip from the glass of whiskey before you. It wasn’t your drink of choice but between that and Seth’s homemade hootch- you’d make due with it.
Ellie and Abby sat at a booth on the other side of the room, chatting about god knows what, as they sucked down shot after shot of something you didn’t quite recognize. You tried not to stare, as everyone knows it's not polite, but there was something so captivating about seeing the two of them so happy. So much so that you took to stealing glimpses of the pair, not letting yourself linger too long incase they began to notice. Ellie was wearing a long sleeved green top, the sleeves shoved up to rest around her forearm exposing her tattoo. The sight made your stomach twist, watching in awe as she challenged her companion to an arm wrestle.
Abby happily obliged, knowing she would win. She always won, with her arms three times the size of Ellie’s even whilst relaxed. So she braced herself on the tabletop, stretching her fingers out before locking hands with Ellie. Her soft dirty blonde hair framed her face, leaving you unable to makeout what she was thinking or even feeling in the moment, so you tore your eyes from the sight.
“Hey, (Y/n).” Joel settled beside you at the bar, motioning towards Seth for a drink. He was still chilly, his jacket shedding snow as he shrugged it off and laid it on the seat beside him.
You jumped slightly at the greeting, not expecting someone to actually acknowledge you in your preoccupied haze. “Hey,” You began, your brain moving faster than your mouth. “Joel, hi. What’s up?”
The man chuckled lightly, accepting a glass filled with a dark liquor from Seth’s hands. He took a sip, grimacing, before turning his attention back to you. “Hey yourself, how long have you been here?” He questioned, noting the way you’d been nursing the glass before you. Not many would’ve noticed the way the glass's condensation had created a puddle on the bar, nor how your fingers had pruned slightly from the way you’d been gripping the wet glass. But Joel did, he always did.
“Too long, I think.” You admitted with a shaky laugh, moving to wipe your hands on your pants. It was true, you’d been sitting in your own delusion fueled haze for what felt like nothing. “What time is it now?”
Joel flipped his wrist, checking his watch before turning back to you. “Just about eleven. What’s keeping you, honey?” He asked, finishing off his drink in another fast sip. He coughed lightly, shaking his head as he pushed the glass away. Not even he could stomach more than a little of the homemade bunch. “Why aren’t you with your friends? I saw Ellie when I came in, she’s with that girl- Abby. They seem to be having a lot of fun.”
The mere mention of the duo in the corner made your stomach flip, in a good or bad way- you hadn’t yet decided. The truth was, you’d come to realize you’d harbored feelings for the women, and you didn’t know how to handle it. Their presence made you nervous and the idea of being alone with them felt like you might actually stroke out (lucky eugene, you found yourself thinking). “I-i couldn’t.” You managed, taking a harsh gulp of air before letting your head fall down to rest on the wooden bar top.
“What’s going on with you? You used to hang out with them all the time, right?” He halted, mind running with ideas to figure out what could possibly be keeping you from the company of the women you called friends. “Did they do something to hurt you? Is that it?” He knew it was unlikely, the two being pretty tame in nature, but he wasn’t willing to knock anything out- seeing as your usually bubbly personality had been replaced with a dreary, anxiety ridden one.
“No, no. Never.” The words left your mouth before you could stop them, needing to make sure that he knew that it was you. They’d done no wrong, you just couldn’t get past your stupid crush on the duo. “They would never hurt me, They’re too nice. Even Abby, though she seems really mean.” You paused, hesitating as you glanced over at the man.
“Joel, can I ask you a question?”
The man nodded, turning his body to look at your barely noticeable eyes peeking up at him from the bar. “Anything, shoot.”
“Do you think someone is capable of loving two people at once?”
The question had been weighing on your mind, the possibility of you being able to encapsulate that much love in your one body was unlikely. So did it exist? The ability to have fallen head over heels for two people instead of one? You found yourself daydreaming about a life you could share with them, a long life bursting at the seams with love. How could you ever expect to recover from the longing that had engrained itself inside of you, fusing with that makes you who you are.
Better yet, how could you ever not love them?
Joel hesitated, his eyes momentarily darting from you to the girls who sat unknowingly at the center of attention across the room, and for once- things finally started adding up. “Well, sure.” He began, nodding along as he spoke. “I mean at one point it wasn’t believed our bodies could hold so much water. People used to say that, that was too much- but it was true. So, how can we deny the ability for our bodies to hold that much love?”
His words weighed on your heart, the familiar anxious thumping picking up as you found yourself looking to him for help. “I don’t know what to do, Joel. I’ve never felt this way and everytime i look at them- it starts all over again.” You gushed, quieting for a moment before finding the words you had wanted to say the entire time. “I’m not sure what falling in love feels like, but from what I can tell, I feel something like it when I see Abby.. and Ellie.”
A cough drives you from your reticent confession, ripping your eyes from Joel to figure out who might've had the balls to interrupt at such a time. That was, until your eyes landed on two people instead of one. Two women, THE two women you had just confided in your close friend about.
You saw stars with how fast you jumped to your feet, moving to dodge the extended hands that attempted to deter your departure. “Fuck me.” You groaned, throwing open the door to the bar before sprinting out into the snow.
⋆ ˚。⋆୨୧˚ end flashback ˚୨୧⋆。˚ ⋆
“The Lodge.” You gave in, pointing up to the ski lodge that sat snug at the top of the hill. Doing this, then gave away your personal haven- but for the chance to escape this situation, you’d do just about anything. “I was going there to clear my head.”
Abby hummed in acknowledgement, following your eyes up to the massive ski lodge, it was easily a full day's walk with the way the snow had piled onto the roads. Though, she didn’t quite expect you to know that, considering you usually kept inside the safety of Jackson's walls- tending to the farm animals and harvesting crops in the fall. She liked that about you, you didn’t go putting yourself in danger if you didn’t have to. “You wouldn’t have made it there before dark, you know that right?”
With a sigh you shrugged, avoiding being too close to either party as you shifted your weight from leg to leg, distracting yourself by any means necessary.
Ellie groaned, crossing her arms tightly across her chest as she looked at you. “Okay, out with it. I'm sick of this.” She began, giving Abby a glance as she began to step forward towards you. “We heard everything, yes, but that is no reason to avoid us. I mean-,”
“No, Ellie, you can’t just tell me how I can feel about this.” You laughed breathlessly, shaking your head as you took another step back. “I wasn’t ready for you guys to know, I mean fuck! I was barely ready to know myself.”
The rush of emotion led you to back up directly into Abby’s solid chest, successfully trapping yourself between the two women. If the unexpected intervention wasn’t overwhelming enough, now you had every reason to allow your eyes to well into tears. Their usually bright demeanor being hazed over with a lul of sadness. The two people you valued most in your life witnessed a moment of vulnerability and now you felt they hated you for it, or worse, they were disgusted with you by it.
“Hey, hey.” Abby cooed, hands landing on your shoulders to swing you around- facing her now as the tears began to race down your cheeks. There was nothing holding you back now, the wall was broken- truth splayed out for everyone to see. “Look at me.” She spoke, her left hand sliding under your chin, tilting your head up to look her in the eyes.
The sight was almost enough for her to lose her composure, instinctively wanting to pull you close and wipe away the tears that now streaked down your blushed cheeks. She restrained herself though, using the pads of her thumbs to gently swipe the cascade of tears from your jaw. Abby wasn’t the softest person, in fact- most people in Jackson referred to her as emotionless, but as she stood before you something inside of her felt the need to deaden around you- to create a barrier between the world and you. Something inside of her yearned to protect you, even if it was from herself.
“We wanted to talk to you, that night. After you left, Joel told us everything.” The woman explained, nodding over to Ellie.
Ellie nodded as well, moving to rest her hand on your waist. The contrast of touch was making your head spin, firm and soft. Loving and protecting. “It’s true, I tried to follow you outside but it was snowing too hard. I lost you.”
The tears had slowed, your glossy eyes moving from one girl to the other- searching for the unsaid words they had been dancing around. “I don’t understand, why?” You asked, eyebrows furrowed as your eyes searched Ellie’s for an answer.
Say it.
Please, god, say it.
“We want you.”
“We want to be with you too.”
Your head spun, the words falling from your lips in the form of an inaudible gasp. This wasn’t real life, there was no way that this was real life. Things never work out so well, the girl never gets exactly what she wants- so what was the catch? What was about to be thrown at you in exchange for the love of two women who meant more than the world to you.
“What?” Was the only thing that left your mouth, making Ellie release a small laugh in turn.
Abby chuckled, rolling her eyes playfully before dipping down to your height and pressing the lightest kiss to your lips. It was a mere brush, but the sensation sent a chill down your spine. Her mouth lingering before yours for a couple more seconds, allowing her breath to fan across your face- giving birth to the bursts of color in your cheeks. “I’m with you.” She whispered, taking a step back.
The empty space was quickly filled with Ellie, her smile sending a pang of nerves into your stomach. Her touch was gentle, but beneath the facade, you could see the restraint she was showing. Ellie’s nimble hand slithered around to the back of your neck, the other placed firmly on your collar bone before she pulled you into her. Her kiss was rougher than Abby’s, the surprise falling from your mouth in the form of a small whimper- in which Ellie devoured gratefully- But just as it began, it ended. She pulled away from you, letting her forehead rest against your own. “I'm with you.”
“We’re together. What the fuck.” You laughed, partly in disbelief and partly in delight. The anxiety you’d been harboring dissipated, being replaced with waves of adoration for the women before you. How was this real life? It didn’t even matter anymore, real or not. Staying or fleeting. You’d take what you could get.
Ellie chuckled lightly, glancing back at Abby before checking her watch. “C’mon. You’re on patrol with us today. If we have time at turnover, we’ll head up to your lodge.” She stated matter-of-factly, motioning towards the horses that shuffled back and forth in anticipation. The feeling of momentary bliss refused to fade, engulfing those around you in a haze of new love.
Today was day one of many more to come, and whether it was for the better or for the worst, they were with you.
a/n : part two following the events of the lodge? smut would take place then, let me know your thoughts on a continuation !
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homunculus-argument · 6 months
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I love interior design with subtle themes in attention to detail. It's like composing a collage, putting together things that say very little on their own, but the vague vibes they have play together in harmony to paint a picture. Like yeah, the wallpaper is a deep green, repeating with a vaguely leafy pattern. You barely see a glimpse of it peeking from behind of the gallery wall, full of assorted pictures and other adornments - a framed row of dried, preserved leaves, an ink print depicting deer tracks, a drawing of a pinecone. There's a coat rack that branches like a tree, and a fuzzy green rug whose colour and texture wouldn't immediately remind you of moss in any other context.
Not a single element present would individually scream "this has a forest theme" to you if regarded on their own, but put together like this, curated and composed, the motif becomes obvious, making you feel like you should be hearing songbirds, and be able to smell the strong, earthy scent of mushrooms and moss.
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notmyneighbor · 4 hours
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Let Me in ~ Doppelgänger Francis Mosses/The Milkman x Female Reader
Chapter 3
Word Count ~ 2.5k
Rating ~ Explicit
CW ~ blood and gore, body horror, character death, minor violence, dubious consent, sexual content
Also available on AO3
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You sit on the side of the bed that had once belonged to Francis Mosses.
The comforter and top sheet have already been pulled down. You lean over to slide out of your low heeled pumps, tucking the pair of navy leather shoes neatly under the bed.
There’s a bible on the nightstand. A worn looking copy. Beside it a glass with a shallow amount of water resting in the bottom, the remnant of a late night attempt to quench thirst, perhaps.
The doppelgänger watches your movements. How methodical each action is. Slow and deliberate. You’re stalling.
He settles beside you and the mattress creaks as the springs are compressed. That odd sort of shimmer you’d noticed earlier outside the security booth outlines his frame for a brief moment. A surge of light and color as the skin ripples before settling. They still weren’t completely able to disguise what they were. All hope was not lost.
Your own fate, however, seems sealed. You lie down slowly, carefully. You feel as if you are laying yourself to rest in your own coffin. Turning your face ever so slightly to see if there is any trace of the man that had once slept here, some lingering scent or an indent from his face. Nothing but the fragrance of clean linen. The imposter moves as if to join you but you halt him, your fingers closing over his forearm. Your first time touching him and not the other way around. “Take your shoes off.”
The creature snickers, glancing down at the scuffed oxfords he’s wearing. Overdue for a shine. “What possible difference does that make?”
“It’s respectful. You never put your shoes where someone sleeps.”
“He won’t be sleeping here ever again.”
You inhale sharply, wincing. “Please just do it.” You can’t say why you’re so hung up on this. Only that it seems the right thing to do. A small thing in a sea of wrongs that you’re clinging to like a life preserver.
“Fine.” He acquiesces, bending to unlace them. There is no care in his actions. Just brisk, impatient pulls to undo the knotted ties. Then he is lying beside you. Your heads sharing the same pillow. Francis only used a single one, apparently. Preferring to slumber lying with his head and neck rather flat. You always used two fluffy pillows, minimum.
You can hear the sound of music starting to play, emanating from the resident’s apartment next door.
Mia Stone, perhaps. The blonde teacher who was Dr. Afton’s fiancée. You instantly recognize the musical artist crooning through the walls: Billie Holiday.
I say I'll move the mountains
And I'll move the mountains
If he wants them out of the way
You would have loved to play this record for Francis. You envision trying to dance in the cramped space of the living room, twirling around in his arms. “Did he really like my fragrance?” You know the creature could lie, of course. He’d say anything to manipulate you and get what he wanted. But you have to ask. Your heart won’t let you avoid the query.
The dark eyes of the pretender regard you. You detect no malice or dishonesty there. “Yes,” he says simply.
You close your eyes, sighing. “What else did he like about me?”
“Your smile, gifted once you were certain it was really him. The way you covered your mouth when you laugh, making some little relieved joke when you passed his identification and entry request back to him each day. The strands of hair that came loose around your face as the day wore on into late afternoon when he returned from his route. The—”
“—Stop. Please.” Tears well in your eyes. They didn’t sound like the kind of details the deceiver would create on his own. There was a note of truth to them. Genuine recollections. He truly was all that remained of Francis Mosses. A man that had been fond of you. You could have been with him, if only you’d been a little braver.
“You asked me to tell you.”
“I know. It’s just overwhelming.”
Like the wind that shakes the bough
He moves me with a smile
“Your kind is so fond of music. Your milkman was always humming. I don’t see the use for it.”
The your wrenches your heart. He wasn’t yours. Never would be. “It’s a way to expression emotions. When words alone aren’t enough.”
“Hmmm.” He reaches out and you flinch. “Why are you fighting this so hard? This is what you wanted.”
“I didn’t want Francis to die.” You pause, swallowing past the lump in your throat. “Why do you want this?”
”Curiosity. An experiment of sorts. There has never been a union between our kind. Not of this nature. A desire to know what it feels like. To see what might result.”
You shudder. An experiment. Using you like some kind of animal for breeding. A mere whim.
He reaches again and this time you force yourself to hold steady, your chin lifting with a short jerk of defiance. Your hair is his goal. Tucking it back behind one ear. Maybe something the milkman had wanted to do. There’s a sudden softness in the doppelgänger’s eyes. As if the human he’d once been was peeking through at you. You find yourself melting again, your defenses coming down.
I say I'll care forever
And I mean forever
He moves closer to you. Inching over across the white fitted sheet. A thumb strokes away one of the tears that has escaped its prison. He captures the other from the opposite cheek, bringing it to his lips, his tongue darting out to taste the droplet. “Salt,” he says, recognizing the mineral.
He kisses you.
You’re not sure if it’s better to think of the man you had loved or not. Was it dishonoring his memory or was it a way to keep him present in some vague capacity? There’s no clumsiness this time. He knows the feel of your mouth. The way to shift against you. Tongue mapping past smooth cheeks and dragging along the carpet of muscle at the base of that maw. Maybe it was better to pretend this was Francis after all. You cup the back of his neck, fingers teasing the edges of his milk chocolate tresses. Curling slightly on the ends. It would be time for a trim soon. Would have been. The illusion you’ve created is crumbling again. Your lips falter, your hand dropping away.
Crazy he calls me
Sure, I'm crazy
Crazy in love am I
“Sweetheart,” the invader murmurs, tasting along your jaw, your neck. “I like the way you smell.” Speaking for himself, not Francis. You hear the sharp intake of air. The hand that had been casually laid across your shoulder slides down until it reaches your breast, gently kneading that globe through the layers of your bra and blouse. “Does this feel good?” His voice is octaves lower than you’d ever heard from the milkman. Slightly raspy and sultry, not unlike the singing voice that permeates through the wood and plaster behind the bed. You don’t dare answer, merely whimpering a little and he seems to take this as an affirmative response.
His hand leaves your breast and finds the top button of your shirt. Always sensible, pure white, part of the uniform standard the company requires. Another threaded plastic disc is pushed through the hole. He works his way down until all those that are exposed have surrendered, the remainder still tucked within your skirt. His fingers part the edges of the fabric encasing your torso, peeling them back to reveal the white satin brassiere beneath. He caresses you briefly through this slick material before tucking inside the cup until he brushes across your areola. Your nipple peaks beneath his ministrations as his lips move back to yours. He is surprisingly gentle, lightly pinching and rolling the aroused tissue. Your body betrays you, responding to the creature’s touch. You should be ashamed, disgusted. Instead you find yourself wanting more.
“Off,” he murmurs impatiently, plucking at your bra before his hand departs your chest. You struggle to sit up and he allows it, watching you pull your blouse free from your skirt and unfastening the cuffs before sliding it off your arms. With a swift gesture borne of long practice you easily pinch and release the hook and eye closures resting along the center of your spine, the cups immediately folding down over the underwire, the straps drooping over your shoulders.
The doppelgänger assists you now, sliding the brassiere off the rest of the way, exposing your chest to him. Your cheeks are pink, flushed like the nipples he’s toying with again, his head bending to suckle at one and a lick of flame sears your core. This is part of the invasive species’ learning process, you think. Taste as important as touch. His mouth moving not with the sole purpose of your pleasure in mind, but as a means to explore flavors and textures. Cataloguing. More of humanity’s secrets unveiled.
There is a song you don’t recognize playing next door now. Muffled voices. You’d had no idea the walls were so thin. Francis had never complained.
You’re shoved back down onto the pillow. His mouth wanders, back up to sample a collar bone, the hollow at the base of your throat, then dips in between your breasts and tastes the skin of your abdomen. You wonder if he can detect the floral soap you’d bathed with that morning, the traces of lotion you’d applied during your hygiene routine.
“I like this,” he says, his breath warm on your body. “You’re so soft. Smooth. Not like…I’ve never taken…” It had often been debated if there were sexes in their species. How they propagated. There was still so much unknown. Was there a reason he’d only chosen men to replicate? Was it simply because he was male himself? You could not explain how you knew it, but there was something distinctly masculine about him. Authoritative. Blunter than a woman would be. A lifetime of being raised to respect decorum had been firmly ingrained in you. Society valuing a woman who knows her place. Taught to be demure, deferring to the wisdom and guidance of their male counterparts. Serving and obeying, like you’re doing now.
The imposter returns his attention to your face. Licking your mouth back open. He likes this, you think. All of what you’d shared thus far, but perhaps the kissing best of all.
The background melody silences and you think you detect the front door opening and closing. You wonder if the couple will be going out to an early dinner. Curious when they find there is no one guarding the building. But not alarmed. Not yet.
Your skirt is being lifted, polyester dragged upward after the copycat’s hasty reach downward to gather the hem. Immediately sliding back down, stroking over your exposed thighs that are clad in nylons that stop midway across each of your upper legs. Nothing fancy, just utilitarian features in a shade of nude slightly more tanned than your own complexion. He nudges against the seal you’ve created by pressing your legs close together. “Let me in, sweet girl.” An echo of what he’d said earlier in an attempt to gain access to the building, now seeking entry into you. You feel your limbs parting for him nearly as promptly as you’d opened the door.
The pretender works his way back up to the fork of your body, teasing along the crotch of the white panties. You gasp and he smiles against your lips. His palm drags over the fabric until his fingers find the elastic waistband and he dips beneath it, running overly the neatly trimmed hair on your pubic mound, following the curve of that padded flesh until your sex is palpated.
Another gasp and a moan escapes you. “So wet,” he remarks, fondling the pink lips, parting the petals with his middle finger to slide through the slick arousal your body is creating, working the lubricant up and down, passing over the hooded nub and then delving back towards your entrance, where more fluid escapes.
It feels good and yet it doesn’t, his fingers too rough and just shy of where you need him. You squirm and wince at the harsh handling of your clitoris and he pauses, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Show me. Show me how you like to be touched.”
You reach down cautiously, guiding his fingers to one side of your sensitive bud, lightly pressing and rolling a fingertip so that your clit is ground slightly against the bone beneath. Alternating now, reaching back down to gather more of your slick before spreading it over that hooded button, a few direct strokes applied before beginning the process again. He replicates your actions and your body responds immediately, a hum of pleasure heating you. You close your eyes and you think of the milkman, the real one, with his kind smile and his tired eyes.
“Francis.” The name escapes your lips and you freeze, the rocking motion of your hips against the imposter’s hand abruptly ceasing. You hadn’t meant to say it out loud. Alarmed by how easily you’d allowed yourself to give in to the desire, accommodating this make believe passion.
“It’s alright, love. It’s me. I’m here.” His tongue laps at your ear, at the sensitive patch of skin behind it. You shiver and resume grinding against his fingers, letting yourself be deluded once more, your hand curling over his forearm.
“Francis,” you say again, hoping he can forgive you, in whatever form he now occupies, if he is saved as his faith professes he would be, finding redemption and peace, somewhere far from your sinning body that writhes in pleasure from his murderer’s touch.
You push against his hand and he allows it, applying force against the hollow cavity that leads to your womb. “Let me in,” he breathes, and you feel a finger invading your body, shoving through the narrow confines of that muscular tunnel. Withdrawing and spearing again, the digit saturated with your arousal. You moan and lift your pelvis to meet him. Curling inside, massaging that dip of spongy tissue. Crooking each time he enters as if he is leading you forward, beckoning, his thumb drawing circles over your clit. You feel as if you’re on the edge of a chasm, teetering on the rim, about to drop forward into heat and darkness. Keening now. Thighs tremoring violently. Your face turns and your teeth sink into the pillow. “There you go, love. Give it to me. Give in to me.”
The coiling pressure within you snaps and you find release at last, the fabric clenched in your teeth doing little to muffle the sound of your orgasm. You’re drenched in sweat, the aftershocks of your appeased nerves still sizzling through you. The doppelgänger cradles you through all of it, holding you as you ride the waves that exhaust your limbs, making you feel boneless and limp.
“Francis.” It’s a yearning plea, a futile prayer, answered by the thing that is not him, but masquerades as such, crooning to you, whispering false promises, draping you in synthetic affection, a lie you want so desperately to believe.
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failbettergames · 4 months
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You dream that a story lives in your walls. You hear it when you're in bed, in the dark, scampering towards an ending. 
A Dream of a Thousand Tails is our yearly premium story for 2023. Delve into the mysteries of ratty dreaming to tell the ancient myths of ratkind. Aid the Piebald Dreamer in her quest to preserve an ancestral history. Walk the hidden places where the Rattus faber dream. 
A Dream of a Thousand Tails is available now! The story requires ownership of a Parabolan Base-Camp. Playing the story unlocks a new persistent activity set in a small new area within Parabola. 
Like past premium stories (The Poisoner’s Library and Mushroom’s Dream), it costs 25 Fate. Begin it from 'Explore the Festive Season', or from within your Parabolan Base-Camp.
Alt image text:  An impossibly dainty little white rat with giant pink ears stands on its hind legs in an actorly pose, one arm up to the sky, the other at its chest. It is wearing a moss green silk doublet with voluminous sleeves. Behind it, green vines snake out of the darkness with re-tipped thorns, one of which is curling in front of its feet. Text reads: Fallen London, A Dream of a Thousand Tails.
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theleaflandscape · 3 months
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𝐍𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐌𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐋𝐨𝐠𝐨
#ReindeerMoss #NaturalReindeerMoss #NaturalMoss #MossLogo #NaturalMossWall #Moss #MossWall #TheLeafLandscape
𝑭𝒐𝒓 𝑴𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝑫𝒆𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒍𝒔 𝑨𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 Preserve 𝐍𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐌𝐨𝐬𝐬 / 𝐎𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐮𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐰 : +91-9990146880 | 𝐄𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐥: [email protected] | 𝐕𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐭 : https://rb.gy/jw80t
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Desireign specializes in luxury vertical vegetation, indoor and outdoor landscaping, and decor elements. The company is dedicated to delivering quality and perfection in design and execution, offering a range of products to aesthetically enrich spaces. The positive approach and research-driven process guarantee successful outcomes. Passion for flora and design motivates Desireign to creatively integrate plants and landscapes into architecture and interiors, establishing it as a top company in Italy and Dubai.
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naturspirein · 8 months
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Naturspire created this moss wall art. The residents wanted to bring a foresty-vibe indoors, and we made that happen! With varieties of preserved moss along with twigs, preserved ferns and preserved amaranthus - this front entry turned into a forest! SO BEAUTIFUL!
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valoisfulcanellideux · 2 months
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This is such a classic juxtaposition. I had to preserve it xD
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Etho: "I put together the block palette here. I'm actually very excited about this. I think it's going to look pretty cool, so let's run through it real quick. We're going to use packed mud for pathing, probably mix in some brown mushrooms and dirt and stuff with that as well, and then probably some moss blocks at the ground level. Maybe these pink flowers and y'know, leaves and other vegetation too, I'm sure. I'm trying something new here I've never done. We're going to use this green copper stuff for a foundation. I think it goes pretty nicely with the moss and grass and stuff. And then as we go upward towards our framing we're going to use dark oak and jungle logs for framing - outlining things - and then this is like a transition; this reddish copper between this and the wood, get that little bit of a colour transition, y'know? We're going to do a lot of patios and decks and stuff in this build; this is the plan, so I want to use those beehives for that, mostly. It's one of my favourite blocks in the game. And then for the walls we'll have probably just one block of this red mangrove at the bottom for a little bit of a pop of colour and then the walls will be this pink terracotta. We're going to mix in a lot of leaves and vegetation as well, to get that bright green pop of colour into the build; a lot of contrasting colours, right? We want greens, blues, reds, you know, maybe some yellows. And then more framing. And then we'll have the shingles at the top using the blue warped wood. That's the plan. Let's see how this goes!"
(He even set up the block palette like a tokonoma, to complement the build style he appears to be going with.)
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Scar: "Is … that an abstract sculpture of Grian?"
xD
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homochadensistm · 2 months
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Crusader period (12th century) ruins, built by the Knights Hospitaller Order.
Caught a glimpse of it while doing my usual runs, couldn't resist exploring it. The buildings are in bad condition, completely overgrown with vegetation and moss, which makes it difficult to get close without risking getting yeeted into a random hole underneath your feet, as you cant exactly see where the collapsed stones are sitting on solid ground and where they're sort of piled up loosely. You can still spot the original, 1000yr old plaster and paint on some of the walls (e.g., the admin building below seem to have been painted blue on the inside), which I didn't expect.
This one's a classical fort, with an arrowslit/embrasure in the middle of its outer wall. Architecture is also typical of the period and location for the crusaders, mixing European elements with Islamic elements (the arches).
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Next to the fort, a very poorly preserved administrative building/center, also built by the Knights Hospitaller Order.
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If you live in the center you may have passed by this place on roads 6 and 444. It's part of Oranim forest, which is worth a visit regardless cause it's beautiful. I wouldn't recommend getting too close to/climbing on the ruins because they're in very bad shape. The ground level is approx. 2m lower than what you're going to step on, even if it's feels solid, and it might collapse beneath you, like it did on me🤡
Also, not to sponsorpost (though pls sponsor me Salomon :((( ) but my Salomon tactical boots stayed completely dry on the inside while getting absolutely soaked on the outside <3
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