#basswood roofing

[pastelcheckereddreams]

I added more things to Lotus Tower! Can you spot them all? To be honest, I can't pick anything I'm the most proud of. I'm so pleased to see all of it come together like this. Perhaps my brain will finally let me put the project to rest 😂

Breakdown of all the new fun decorations and modifications below.

You can see the first part of my model build here, or more of my art and my craft projects in my pinned post, where you can also find a link to my INPRNT store and my ko-fi if you would like to support my creative projects in any way 💛

So, the first thing I wanted to do was utillise some spare parts from my Life of Su Dongpo booknook kit to make Li Lianhua a small tea tray:

I cut tiny planks of wood from a strip of basswood to form the sides, but the base and teapot come from the Su Dongpo kit. I was also able to make the goodest girl Hulijing a stand from the same piece that makes the base of the tea tray. Now she can sit in Lotus Tower anywhere she wants to instead of being stuck into the wood outside her kennel!

To hold the tea tray, I also made a table and stool similar to the one in the show, and created some tiny baskets out of beige cross-stitch aida to replicate the many baskets and storage Li Lianhua has hanging from the Tower:

In that same vein, I used thread to make a net for some more storage beneath the stairs:

And used part of a bamboo place-mat and some dried flowers to create a herb drying rack on the upper level.

One of the more complex pieces I created was a second sail to hang under the eaves of the gourd door:

It was difficult trying to get this sail to hold a good final shape as, just as with the other sail in my first build, I had to guess how much material would be needed and how to gather it. But I'm pleased with how it turned out in the end! It, like the herb rack, is hung from the eaves with small pieces of metal wire, bent into hooks and stuck into the reinforced card.

You can also see in the pictures above that I added "rope" and a fake hook to the shelf on the side of the Tower to make it a bit more accurate to the show's design.

(You will also see in the very first picture that I made a set of removable stairs for the porches - unfortunately, I didn't take any pictures of their building process and kept forgetting to move them back into the big picture.)

The biggest addition, though, is of course the lanterns:

I am so proud of these. I made them from paper and basswood, and they are ridiculously tiny (about 1.5cms). I wasn't going to put lights in them to start with, but when I bought the tiny bulbs (I was planning to try and put them inside Lotus Tower at the time) and shone them behind one of the lanterns - it looked so good I knew I just had to try it.

So here's how I pulled it off:

I first carefully slotted the bulbs and their wires through the beams of the sail awning, twisting the red and blue cables around each other to give them more structure and make sure they were hanging at the right length. I made sure the wires both led back to the side of the Tower I was going to store the battery pack on, and fastened them to one of the supports of the awning so that the wires would discretely trail down to the floor of the upper level. (I also painted them at this time.)

As for the battery pack, I stuck a small piece of wood underneath the porch where Hulijing's kennel sits for the battery to sit on. I tidied up the wires as neatly as I could and fastened them to the side of the Tower with a spare U-shaped piece from the Su Dongpo kit, wedged into the window slats of the ground level (making sure there's plenty of slack for me to unfasten it and change the battery without struggle). I then joined the wires as best I could and painted it all a yellow-brown colour.

As you can see, it looks a bit crude, but once the roof is back on over the door, the wires all but disappear!

I am so sooo happy with how it's turned out. Please let me know what you think! Is there anything else you would add? Anything you would do differently?

[mysteria157]

Chapter Three

Pairing: Black Fem!Reader x Hitman Toji Fushiguro

CW: Profanity, Slight Angst (mentions of death), Fluff, Comfort

Word Count: ~5k

Summary:

Suffering from haunting dreams and a raging cold, you find solce in Toji's challenging yet comforting presence.

Authors Notes: Hello! Thank you all for waiting so patiently! It took me weeks to finally get out of my perfectionist mindset and just...write so everything flows together. This chapter is shorter than my usual, but to me little moments help with character development. And this is going to be a very, very slow burn lol.

As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated! Enjoy and thank you for your support!

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Dividers: @royallaesthetics @eloquentmoon | Header: created by myself (fanart from Pinterest)

©mysteria157, all rights reserved. DO NOT copy, plagiarize, reupload, modify, or translate (without permission) my work to other accounts and platforms.

***You***

The cold air is deceptive; it nips at your skin, raising goosebumps despite the warm inviting appearance of your surroundings. Tall trees—oaks, hickories, and basswoods—clutter densely, forming a barrier that shields the land from the outside world and cages bittersweet memories of the past. You’ve followed your father through these woods before, navigating rocky hills and leaping over thick, ingrown branches to reach another unmarked spot for exploring.

Deep purple hues of the twilight sky cast elongated, eerie shadows over the forest, and they fold over the tall grass like dark, unnatural fingers. This definitely isn’t real. Everything around you right now brings painful memories—but they’re are not as sharp as what you feel in reality.

In reality, the ache is persistent, pulsing weakly in your veins, flaring up with every fleeting memory of your father—his infectious laugh, his hands putting you on his shoulders as you walked to football games, or the early mornings spent huddled together, his hand guiding your binoculars to focus on a bird in the distance.

This is definitely a dream.

You know it also from the feel of the grassy meadow beneath your toes, the blades soft and ticklish against your ankles, the usual worry of ticks far from your mind. Vivid wildflowers—yellows, pinks, and blues—sway in a nonexistent breeze. The dirt path that once led to your father’s house has vanished, taken over by the soil and grass, erasing years of footprints.

The house he dreamt of building, a two-story structure crafted by his own hands, now stands as nothing more than a decaying skeleton. There is no roof, only stretches of drywall reaching towards the twilight sky, as if trying to reach the heavens and falling short.

As you walk further across the foundation, the environment shifts around you, the air folding in on itself and twisting like the patterns in a kaleidoscope. Your fingers trail along the phantom walls that spring up, and your feet glide over the conjured glossy finish of hardwood floors. This empty space is a blueprint nestled deep in your memory: bedrooms that will give privacy, a living room that will host family gatherings, a fireplace that is now roaring in orange and yellows.

“There you are,” a familiar voice calls to you, sending a jolt through your heart that tightens your chest as if you’re about to cough. As you turn the corner, reality morphs once again, unfolding into a meticulously designed kitchen with forest green cabinets adorned with brass knobs, a deep porcelain sink and shiny stainless-steel appliances. The surreal surroundings are dizzying, blurring and swirling in your vision. But the figure you know—his broad back turned to you, shoulders stretching and pulling as he wipes something in front of him—that grounds you, preventing you from drifting away.

“It finally came in, take a look.”

He radiates an intense warmth as you stand beside him. Even with your arms barely touching, the heat feels suffocating, instantly causing you to break into a sweat. Just being next to him makes your throat constrict, choked and searing, it’s nearly impossible to speak. But with each stroke of his hand on the new granite counter top, sweeping a fiberglass cloth, his love and comfort are palpable in the stiffing heat, settling on your skin to relax you.

“Looks good huh?” He’s proud, and even though you don’t have the strength to look up at his face, you know he’s beaming. “Once it all comes together, it’s gonna look beautiful.”

His words stir a deep-seated guilt within you, so fierce it makes you want to scratch at your own skin, as if to physically scrape away the emotional turmoil the festers beneath the layer of your dermis. You press your toes into the hardwood, cross your arms and dig your fingernails into your arms. It’s hotter now—god you’re burning up. Your body prickles with beads of moisture as you watch him tirelessly wipe over an already clean surface.

It’s incessant, and with each swipe the guilt rises further, urging you to flee from a conversation that will never happen. You don’t really know about an afterlife but if there is one, does he know what happened? Is he rooted in the present, watching you occasionally to see what you’ve failed to do? Is he disappointed in you?

Maybe if you focus on his steady motions, close your eyes, and just breathe, you might find yourself back in your room when you open them again. After all, none of this is real—it will never be real. This kitchen, these rooms, the wooden floorboards, and the beautiful roaring fireplace. The remnants of all of this are written on a blueprint somewhere, collecting dust for the last two decades.

He calls out to you again, his voice oddly distant though he stands right beside you. He sounds weary, as if he’s struggling to breathe, and when you glance at his hand moving across the counter, it’s no longer vibrant and almond-brown but ashen, marked by blown-out veins. Lifting your eyes, you meet not the father you remember, but his final, frail image—his sunken skin, his life slipping away too soon, anchored to the world only by the fragile thread of a nasal cannula.

“You okay, honey?” he croaks, concern etched in every syllable.

You open your mouth to speak, but fear grips your entire being, squeezing you like you’re a piece of fruit to be juiced. The terror is paralyzing, and you find yourself unable to face him any longer without crumbling into tears. A deep, ragged breath cuts through the silence, rasping painfully in your throat as you stammer, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t—“

Your eyes snap open, sticky and heavy with exhaustion, wincing against the harsh glare of sunlight that peaks through your maroon curtains. The embers of your dream fade into nothingness and unforgiving reality slides into place with ease. The heat of the dream is replaced by a chilling dampness; the sheets cling to your sweaty skin, and the fiery soreness in your throat reminds you of your still raging cold. When you swallow, it feels like sandpaper across raw flesh.

It’s been almost a year since you’ve dreamt of your father. It’s not that you don’t like to dream about him; actually, you cherish every memory, even the painful ones. But dreaming of him in the house—his house that has remained untouched since his death—it consumes you with regret for the role you’ve been unable to fulfill. You don’t have the time. You don’t have the money. All things that are out of your control but still hold you by the throat.

It’s too much for your mother, and you don’t blame her. The love she has for your father never really left. It lingered in her second marriage and came back full force in her divorce. So she stays away from all things related to him when she can.

Your eyes wander to the corner of your office desk where the old property deed lies, rolled up and bound by a simple rubber band. The edges are brown and dusty, much like the blueprints in your dream.

Why do you even keep it there?

Maybe it’s a reminder of him, just something physical you can glance at every day even if it hurts. Maybe it’s there to spur you to make that thousandth trip to city hall—the one that always ends in tears. Maybe, with these next few days off, you can try again. You’ll be stronger this time, more aggressive with the bald-headed piece of shit that always gives you trouble.

Or maybe not.

The flare of your throat is harsh enough to push away any other thoughts. There’s a frustration that always comes with getting sick, it makes simple things extreme when there is no need for it. Your body is too hot and also too cold, your throat burns with every swallow no matter how many throat drops you take, your lungs spasm with the tiniest breath to cough, your nose is so congested that it makes you regret taking breathing for granted. It’s overstimulating as hell.

You wince against the harsh sun again, turning your head further into your pillow before your eyes fall on your nightstand. There’s a tall glass of water and two pills. You don’t remember setting them there, but you sit up to throw them back anyway and down the water quickly. The coolness soothes your throat and with each swallow, the haze of last night lifts.

You know Toji brought you home because your car is out of commission and he refused to let you take the bus. He helped you out last night—literally carrying you up to your apartment because you were so achy and exhausted you could hardly stand. You remember him leaning casually against the brick wall of your complex, that insufferably charming smirk playing on his lips as he watched you go through every stage of defiance for help.

“I’m not getting any younger, princess.”

That name. You hate that name.

It was a taunt that made you eventually give up, too damn tired to snap at him. You gave in to the warmth of strong muscles and the scent of detergent, cologne, and something that’s just Toji. You remember the lack of strain in his neck, the ease in which he breathed as he took step after step like you weighed nothing, and the analytical gaze of jade irises beaming in the night as he took in his surroundings. It almost felt like he was assessing the area, checking every corner when he hit another flight of steps to make sure no one was lurking nearby.

As you think back, your hands automatically press against your cheeks, warmed by the flush of memory as your blood pumps faster in your veins from the rising shock. Toji had drawn you an Epsom salt bath to soak your muscles, rolling his eyes as you feverishly barked at him for privacy to undress. That gruff attentiveness continued as he watched you like a hawk as you slurped down the bowl of canned soup he warmed, and then gently nudging you to bed with a press to the small of your back. Even his firm grip on your arm as he wielded a syringe of cough syrup—which you tried to refuse—is clear in your mind.

“You’re burning up, stop fucking fighting me! What kind of doctor won’t take medicine?”

“This doctor. I would rather lick the floor than taste cough syrup. It’s just a cold. Go away,” you remember protesting, delirious with a stubbornness that has only gotten worse with age.

He had pressed the tip of the syringe to the side of your mouth, eyes narrowed and annoyed. “Open your mouth and—OW, why are you biting people! Girl, what the hell?!”

“Fuck,” you groan now, your hands digging into your eye sockets as the memory plays like a broken record behind your eyelids. You bit him like a fucking maniac. Who does that?! You remember giving in because you felt bad but still…

As a kid, you were the same—so against the taste of medicine that your mother had to pin you down.

But now? At the ripe age of too damn grown? You’re mortified.

Your hands slide down your face as you sigh in the silence, which feels heavier than before. Did he leave last night? You can’t remember anything beyond smacking your lips to get rid of the cherry taste of cough medicine and rolling over to pass out.

Your body isn’t as achy as last night as you climb out of bed. You slip into dry clothes and throw off your bonnet, ruffling the curls loose before you snatch up your phone and leave the room in search of him. The air in your apartment, usually so familiar, now carries a subtle disturbance—a reminder of his increasing presence. Only the distant chirps of cardinals outside punctuate the silence. As you enter the living room, you notice Toji’s black jacket casually draped over a kitchen stool and his car keys abandoned on the counter.

Your fuzzy socks muffle your steps as you approach the counter, where a covered glass bowl sits alongside a small note. You hate the lurch of your heart skipping as you snatch it up, your movements fueled by a mix of dread and anticipation.

Make sure you eat it all.

You can practically hear his gruff voice through the words, rough and serious, a subtle layer of care that’s unique to him. The thought makes you snort softly, relief washing over you with the distant thought that…he didn’t leave. But that relief is a push and pull, it’s frustrating to you because you’re unsure of what you want, even though you want more and moreof it. More of him.

As you pop open the lid of the container, the steam hitting your nose, your phone rings, your eyes rolling on reflex as you look at the caller ID. It’s a work day for your cousin, you can tell by the sleek reading glasses she only wears to comb over legal documents. Her shiny kinky hair is pulled up into a neat bun with not a strand out of place, edges laid to perfection, dark lip liner with a clear gloss on full lips, and she looks professional and uniquely Rene. Dark brown eyes narrow at you, the corners pointed in a cat’s eye with fresh black eyeliner, her expression tightening. Your mind automatically conjures the phrase you know she’s about to say.

“What do I have to do—”

“—to make sure you’re not dead,” she finishes in real time, her voice a blend of concern and familiar exasperation. “I was texting you all night.”

This is a well-worn interaction between you both; you work for days on end and disappear from the world, Rene reels you back in with stern care that rivals your own mother.

Your fingernail idly traces Toji’s handwriting from his note. “It was a rough night. My car wouldn’t start, I had to catch the bus and it made me late, and then work was just a nightmare. I’m sick, everything hurts, and Toji had to pick me up—”

“Why don’t we back up a little bit,” she interjects, elegant eyebrows arching up in wicked surprise, your well-being entirely forgotten because your cousin is a nosy bitch. “Toji was there? Where is he?” You shoot her a glare, irritation flaring because you refuse to give in to her curiosity. She holds up her hands in defense, her full lips curving into a smile. “Damn, a bestie can’t ask a question these days? That’s tough.”

Your gaze holds firm, challenging her. She meets it in a well-known game you both play, her eyes widening comically and it’s enough to break you both, laughter filling the kitchen.

“This is why I don’t tell you things,” you lie, coughing into your elbow. “We are just taking it slow. Nothing crazy. I didn’t need his help anyway. I could have taken the bus and taken care of myself. It’s just a cold.”

She laughs again at your bullshit and you sigh in defeat. There’s no point in trying to sugarcoat things with her. Nothing crazy, you say even though can’t even get your thoughts together when it comes to him. You could easily hang up the phone, but annoying or not, you haven’t talked to Rene in days. It’s nice to hear her voice again. Your mother is overseas often for work so calls aren’t as frequent. As for the rest of your family? You’re just…not as close to them.

Rene’s still running cackling keeps your mind from wandering again.

“Alright, it’s not funny anymore,” you snap as you grab a spoon from a kitchen drawer, turning back to Toji’s leftover food with a frown.

“I’m sorry! Really! But come on, it’s just classic you—the baddest bitch I know, but here you are, refusing any chance of help even though you want it so bad. Hard-headed as hell,” she chuckles, her voice warming with the years of friendship between you.

You pause, spoon in hand over the steaming bowl of soup, struck by the truth in her words. Stubbornness is your armor and you rarely let it slip, only few know what’s behind it. Even though she teases, it hurts. It hurts because it carries history—reminders of every instance you’ve pushed help away. It wraps around those jabs from your family, from the men you’ve been with.

Mean because you demand respect so you can weed out those who aren’t worth your time.

Defensive because you’ve been hurt too often.

Uncompromising and fierce, and that’s anyone who tries to get too close—never stays.

You clench your teeth together. “Rene, I’m not—” you start to protest, but the latch of the front door opening makes you raise the spoon in alarm.

It's Toji.

He walks into your home as if he owns the place, his presence so commanding it seems to fill every corner, snuffing the lights and sucking the air from the room. His gaze sweeps through the space, and when his emerald eyes finally settle on you, you feel the weight of his attention.

His shirt is stained with grease, and raven locks, messy from the July humidity, sticks to his forehead and sides of his neck.

“You won’t get far if you’re trying to stab me with that,” he teases, nodding towards the spoon in your hand. Though his tone is light, the underlying seriousness suggests he’s not entirely joking. He’s strong enough to disarm you and you wouldn’t mind a big man like him trying to—

The spoon clatters against the granite counter top as you slap it down and force your mind to shut the hell up.

He takes only two steps before he’s standing in front of you, analytical eyes scanning you in seconds—a look so intense that it feels like he’s trying to memorize you and understand hidden layers you’d rather keep concealed. Alarmingly thorough and you’re still trying to process him being this close, his proximity bringing an electricity you feel even before his lips press a soft, almost possessive kiss on your cheek, like he’s been waiting—itching for contact.

Rene’s startled cough cracks through the phone, mirroring your own internal shock. Toji is making your fever worse because it’s hot as hell now, the hairs rising on your neck as you gape like a fish.

“W-what are you doing…” you begin to ask, but the words die in your dry mouth when he pulls back. His eyes linger close to yours—too close and sliding across your nose, your cheeks, your lips. He still smells like cologne, but now there’s sweat and a muskiness of exertion and outdoors that makes your head swim with dread and desire.

“Where’s your toolbox?” he asks, putting a leash on your thoughts before they run away from you.

You clear your throat and step back, trying to reclaim your space, to fortify your defenses, do anything so you don’t fall apart. “Um, coat closet down the hall. Top shelf.” Your tone is steadier than you feel, pointing mechanically to your hallway.

You look down at your phone when he walks away, exhaling a breath you don’t realize you’re holding. Rene’s watching you with an amused, knowing look, eyebrows rising and falling suggestively. You can’t stand her because you want to laugh and groan at the same time.

“Girl,” Rene chimes, voice dripping with insinuation and not low enough because she doesn’t care who hears her. “I’m sure if you take him for a ride again, you’ll feel a little better.”

“When she’s not sick,” Toji calls from the hallway, your eyes widening at the implication of him listening in. “That kind of ride takes a little work.”

You gawk at the empty space of your hallway. Rene hollers and you hope to god she gets written up for being too loud.

“I know that’s right, Toj—”

You hang up and slam the phone down with more force than necessary.

Toji returns with the toolbox, smirking and completely unphased by his remark and just how unsettled you look by it. He motions with his head to the bowl of soup in front of you.

“Eat.”

It’s a command, gentle but firm, and you bristle not just at the directive, but at your own conflicting impulses—to bare your teeth and snap at his attempt of care or to melt under his attention.

Toji doesn’t wait for an answer, just studies you a moment longer, seemingly satisfied with what he sees, and disappears out the front door. The quiet buzz of the cardinals outside fills the silence he leaves behind.

You’re left standing there, a hand squeezing your phone on the counter like a vice, your mind struggling to remain upright in a storm of emotions that he stirs up within you. Unsettling and soothing, your chest fluttering like butterflies wings against your rib cage. Maybe it’s just a heart palpitation, this intensity—this feeling. Nanami can do an EKG when you return to work in a few days. And he better be there, because he’s the very reason why you had to pick up so many shifts in the first place.

Rene’s giggles still echo in your ears as you exhale a shaky breath and grip the metal spoon in your hand again.

***

“What are you doing?”

Your question cuts through the ambient city hum and the rustle of trees surrounding the parking lot of your complex. Toji is hunched over the hood of your car, hands deep in it’s guts, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

The summer sun beats down on you both, yet you’re wrapped in Toji’s jacket to cover your exposed legs. It was the first thing you grabbed when you rushed out of the apartment but it’s too big, the hem brushes against your knees, the sleeves dangling past your hands. You push them up again, feeling simultaneously protected and vulnerable under his gaze as he turns to face you. The jacket feels like a shield, but also a reminder of how much space he’s beginning to occupy in your life.

“Your starter is bad,” he grunts, showing you a car part smeared with oil. It looks expensive, way more than an oil change, and panic flares in your belly briefly as the numbers fluctuate in your mind. If it’s too much, it’ll probably be weeks before you can take your car to the shop.

You’re a doctor, but doctors don’t start making good money for…awhile.

“How much do you think it will be for a new one?” You sigh, mentally calculating the number of zeros the mechanic is going to throw at you. At least Toji saved you some money for a diagnostics test.

“I already ordered the part.”

The admission hits you like a truck.

You gape at him, fumbling and overwhelmed. “You didn’t—I could have done all of this myself. I don’t need your help, Toji.”

The words taste bitter as they drip from your tongue, a defensive reflex from years of self-reliance. Of course you’re grateful, but the frustration that he’s seen a need you hadn’t voiced, that he’s filled it without asking, that’s what stirs the deep discomfort. It’s not just the help—it’s the intimacy of it, the presumption that he can anticipate your needs.

The weight of his jacket on your shoulders no longer feels comforting.

His reaction is immediate, a flash of annoyance flickering over his features, the scar on the side of his lips twisting as he frowns and snatches a rag from the hood of the car.

“So, what, you were going to trust some corner-shop mechanic to rip you off?”

His accusation is justified, and almost instantly, that phrase parrots in your mind.

Let me be nice to you. Let me be nice to you.

“Yep, that was the plan,” you retort, your voice lacks conviction, weak and drowned out by the steady thump of your own heart as he walks closer. He drags the rag between his knuckles, collecting the dirt in the seams.

“You want me to let some old fuck tear your shit up? Even though I know what I’m doing? Not happening.”

His assurance should be overwhelming, but you find yourself irresistibly drawn to it. He moves closer, and instinctively, your muscles tense, your toes curling inside your fuzzy socks and blue Crocs. With every inch that disappears between you both, your mind fires with mixed signals: go back to the safety of your apartment or surrender to the magnetic pull of him. God, you’ve only been awake for two hours, but the emotional whiplash just might knock you back out.

“You told me to earn you, so I am. You need to let me.”

His directness, unyielding and raw, hits you harder than you expect. It’s not just his physical presence that’s imposing—it’s the sheer force of his will, loud and insisting that you realize he’s not leaving anytime soon.

Your reactions and reflexes are not completely intentional, but it isn’t easy to just change who you are. The defenses around you are lined with hard-learned lessons. Your armor and shields to keep yourself safe are all you know. Letting go is like disarming a trap designed to protect you—it requires careful, gentle hands. And you’re terrified that Toji’s large, scarred hands will be too rough.

But you recognize that you can’t tell him to try, and you not do the same. That’s not fair to him, or to whatever this dance is that you are both trying to learn the steps to.

As Toji wipes the sweat from his brow, he unwittingly smears a streak of grease across his forehead, drawing your attention. “If you really feel like you need to repay me, then I don’t know—spend a day with me.”

You lift an eyebrow, surprised at his suggestion. “A whole day?”

Toji nods. “When the part comes in and you’re feeling better. No long ass shifts. No PI cases. Just you and me.” He offers a half-smile, white teeth glimmering in the sun and the look is as disarming as it is dangerous.

Your interactions with Toji, even limited, have always been charged with an intensity you’ve avoided and craved. The meaning behind the car repairs and taking care of you, it’s not just surface level. There’s more to it…he’s trying. So now it’s your turn.

You sniff through a congested nose and clear your rough throat, grabbing the rag from his hands and standing on your toes to reach his forehead. You don’t get very far, but Toji leans down so his forehead is closer to you, holding back a snicker at the height difference. You wipe the grease away, locked on the task because you can feel his stare.

“An entire day with you sounds…ominous.”

“I’ll make sure to feed you,” Toji responds, a comforting rumble that unexpectedly makes you laugh. A small smile blooms across your face and the tension in your stomach eases. You feel a little better, still on a tightrope but you can see the other side. With the grease now gone, you sink back to your slightly achy heels, unable to look away now that you’re both eye-level. “I’ll throw in a thirty-minute lunch break.”

“Make it an hour. Don’t try to short change me,” you challenge, playfully. His eyes, emerald and sharp, scan your face with open curiosity, and you wonder if you’ll ever get used to his intense focus. You press the rag into his white shirt, deliberately looking to the dirt on the fabric to ground your thoughts. “How’s your finger?”

His laughter vibrates through him, a melodic bark that makes you bite the inside of your cheek, and you watch his abdomen tighten under his shirt from the motion. Toji’s fingers brush against yours as he takes the rag from your hand, his touch making your heart jump. The scars on his knuckles catch the sunlight, and you’re struck again with the curiosity of how they got there.

“I’ve had worse.”

You can’t tell if that’s a joke…or if he’s serious, but you don’t have time to ask because his lips press against your cheek, stealing another unasked kiss that leaves you momentarily off-balance. You swat at him in reflex as if he’s a fly in your ears, swallowing a stuttering response that you’re glad doesn’t filter into the air.

“You’re burning up. Go lay down,” he murmurs, almost gentle now. “I’ll finish up here and head out.”

You can stay.

It’s what you want to say. The words are on the tip of your tongue, pressing against the back of your teeth, but you curl the muscle back and purse your lips, offering a tight nod before you turn and walk away.

Your Crocs squeak against the concrete, your pace quickening because you can feel Toji’s eyes on your back, watching you. You’re burning up from the summer air and the jacket that’s around you. But there’s an underlying, electrifying warmth that pulls a small smile on your face, your hands rising to your cheeks to quell the heat flush that you know is not from your fever.

Thanks for reading!

[anumberofhobbies]

Build an ULTRA-REALISTIC Wild West Model Railroad DIORAMA - Miniature Model Train Scenery

Jun 21, 2024 How to make a realistic, miniature Wild West Model Railway Diorama in G scale 1:22.5 scale, 1/24 scale (techniques would also work for 1/35 scale military models, O scale, HO scale, N scale, 1:12 scale for dollhouses)

PATREON:   / smolworldworkshop  

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In this tutorial, I show you how to make a super realistic Old West street front for a miniature diorama in 1/24 scale or G scale (1:22.5). I show you lots of quick and easy construction techniques using readily available and affordable materials that can be purchased at most hobby stores. I show you how to make models from foam core, and add a realistic finish by applying clapboard made from basswood and balsa wood, along with board and batten finishes and ordinary wood planks. I show you how to create realistic windows made from 3D printed parts, how to weather paint with acrylic paint chipping medium and packing tape, how to weather with acrylic washes and india ink, how to used real dirt for dioramas, how to make a model railway track from scratch, how to make rusty corrugated metal roofing, how to make balsa wood shingles, and much more!

I used a Bachmann 4-6-0 steam locomotive for this Wild West diorama. Let me know what you think! This would be a great setting for a model railroad layout, or miniature table top war gaming.

Chapters: 0:00 Intro 0:36 Scale Drawing PDF available on Patreon 0:50 General Store Diorama Facade 1:00 Foam Core Model Making 1:25 Miniature Clapboard Siding Basswood 2:58 Acrylic Wash for Old Weathered Wood 3:22 Painting Models with Cheap Acrylic Craft Paint 4:26 Weathering a Diorama w/ Acrylic Inks 4:53 Installing Windows in Diorama Buildings 5:54 Old West Leather Shop Diorama 6:11 Balsa Wood Architectural Model Making 7:54 Board and Batten for Dioramas 8:12 Sheriff's Office Wild West Diorama 10:02 Old Western Hotel Miniature Facade Diorama 11:44 Wild West Barber Shop Diorama 12:50 Make Miniature Wooden Hand Painted Signs Waterslide Decals 14:26 How to Make Realistic Miniature Windows for Dioramas 19:53 Diorama Base made from MDF and Pine Wood 21:36 Balsa Wood Roof Frame Tutorial 22:31 Installing Miniature Awnings 22:57 How to Make an Old Balcony and Railing 23:36 How to Make Miniature Shingles from Balsa Wood 25:31 How to Make Model Railroad Ties from Scratch 27:14 Use Real Dirt for Dioramas and Model Railroad Layout 28:41 Rusty Corrugated Metal Roof 29:13 Airbrushing Resin 3D Printed Parts 29:23 How to Weather a Steam Locomotive 29:44 Adding 3D Printed Miniatures 30:40 Final Result! 31:09 Please Support Me on PATREON

Music: "Music by Karl Casey @ White Bat Audio"

[void-botanist]

Basswood: What's something calming in your story?

Thanks for the ask, Vee! Since I injured my poor heart talking about AOM in my last answer for this ask game, let's talk about some calming stuff in it. The most immediate answer is Horatio's rooftop garden, which has a hammock in the middle of it. Most of the plants are slated for sale at some point, but customers aren't allowed on the roof, so it's basically his spot. Another thing is Sorian's gingerbread. He's a decent cook, but the one thing he excels at is gingerbread, and he always seems to have some to offer in these trying times. But if you want calming by way of catharsis, just get Edith to hum and rub your back and you will cry tears you didn't even know you had to cry like I did thinking about sid again.

[cloboboo]

In the city of Emberians, steam left the roofs of multiple houses and homes, filled with residents of fire, humans, and some earth travelers. Only coming together due to the war crisis against the water and air side.

The young woman gazed upon the statue. Lost upon her own thoughts another young man startled her unintentionally.

She looked to him, then up at the statue. Hugging herself and let out a soft exhale of breath seen in the air. The woman’s expression had a tint of regret, and dissatisfaction.

The boy looked to her, then the statue. It showed the same woman, seemingly flying through the air with lucrative golden ribbons coming from the tip of her chosen weapon, a rapier. The weapon choice was questionable, but it was special for her in that moment. With a long rope wrapped around the waist , trailing behind her aswell. Large insect wings with the resemblance of a bee showing.

She sighed, looking to her brother, “What…Do people see in this statue..?”. The brother shrugged from the question, putting his hands in his pockets, “Well, they see you slaying the leader of the air folk…With your mind blowing ‘nobody would ever think of’ plans…Crazy as ever suicidal plans..” he muttered the last part underneath his breath.

The woman glared at him, stomping on top of his foot, “That plan WORKED, i-it worked…But I feel so…Bad for it…I was aiming at a different sky soldier…The target wasn’t meant for that woman…Just..Nevermind, we shouldn’t give sympathy for the enemy…”

Her brother took a deep breath, looking to the statue again, “Not when they’re huge as hell…Look, if I was in your shoes, this shows that this was a table turner with us and the air soldiers…No Earthian has defeated a single one in centuries.” he crossed his arms.

He thought for a moment, rubbing his neck, “Hey uh, there’s a cafe filled to the brim of different kinds of teas. They have lavender treats, your favorite. I thought we could check it out..?”

She thought for a moment, nodding with a shrug, “Yeah I suppose, I’m a bit hungry anyways..”

Her brother smiled, ruffling her hair and walked down the crowded street, “Come on then..!”

The woman watched him, then to the statue, with a golden plaque with wording underneath reading “The greatest change in the Earth and Fire history. Delilah Basswood

[dyadhogs]

well, that was convenient, and she would take it. fresh cheese wasn't something they got often in the village without there being a hefty price tag attached to it. the mainland was better for those kinds of things but the trips could take a lot out of a person. especially carrying a bunch of groceries. usually the team tried to make a day's event of it, or, more often, just wisteria and basswood.

she missed those little outings. not the sole reason she knew that they needed to make up, but it would be a plus because she knew how he felt about them too.

waiting for volt to gather what he needed, she was happy to sit there and sip away at her tea. she thought today's exchange was well worth it, and she made a small note to make a mini pizza for both volt and harmony as a thank you. everyone loved pizza after all.

"fine by me, making the dough is the best part. nothing makes you feel more like an authentic pizzaiolo than tossing the dough, and i'm pretty good at it if i do say so myself." it had taken a lot of practice and more than a few nights cleaning her roof of failures but it had all been worth it. she liked honing her skills, even if it was in something so random.

looking at the basket the heroine beamed. plenty to work with, far more than she expected but she would put it all to good use. she rarely wasted anything if she could help it. "thanks again. i'm sure the others will love it. then again they like most things so they're easy to please."

It was good to hear that Wisteria had an idea of where to start with everything once Basswood returned home. Hopefully it would only be a matter of time before the pair repaired the rift that had grown between them and things would go back to normal.

Until then, Volt would do his best to support them both in his own way.

That included giving a smile when Wisteria listed not ingredients but a food. “You’re in luck. I have more tomatoes than I know what t’ do with and the farmer just dropped off some fresh mozzarella he made this mornin’. Be right back.”

Popping out the back door made it so easy to grab some of the ingredients once off the porch. Into the basket they went. Tomatoes, a bit of basil, a clove of garlic, as well as some peppers. By the time he came back in, the basket was full and set next to the sink for him to wash them before sending them home with his friend.

“You’re on your own for the pizza dough, but I think this should do ya.” He grinned as he finished and set the cleaned produce back in the basket along with the wrapped mozzarella. Now he could go back to drinking his tea.

[prep4tomoro]

Learn About Trees That Can Improve Survival:

- Birch (drink, container, fire starter, adhesive) - Basswood (food, cordage, fire drills, carving) - Pine (patching, adhesive, antiseptic, wound covering, stop bleeding, fire tinder, food, Vitamin C, treat sore throat, insulation, bedding, shelter roof, waterproofing, lamp, cordage) - Oak (bread flour, anti-bacterial, antiseptic, anti-diarrhea, squirrel trap bait, leather tanning, ax handle, digging stick, shelter framework, tinder bundle) - Maple (energy drink, food, cooking utensils, hunting bow) - Willow (pain reliever, cordage, baskets, fire drills) [Reference Link]

[11-Cs Basic Emergency Kit] [14-Point Emergency Preps Checklist] [Immediate Steps to Take When Disaster Strikes] [Learn to be More Self-Sufficient] [The Ultimate Preparation] [P4T Main Menu]

This blog is partially funded by Affiliate Program Links and Private Donations. Thank you for your support.

[stormdamages-blog]

Storm Damage To The Roof | What To Check

Wind, rain, lightning, and thunder. While these are enjoyed in moderation, high speed winds, torrential rain and thunderstorms are often followed by damaged power lines being brought down and property damage which can be life threatening. Storms are unpredictable and can occur at any time of the year. When severe, they bring with them relentless rains, large hailstones, lightning, and thunder. To protect roofs, homes, and properties from unexpected

storm damage, it is necessary to understand the different ways that your home and roof are affected. While your roof can take on an occasional hailstorm, the repeated beating from numerous thunderstorms, hailstorms and snowstorms can impact the roof system and may result in significant damage to the roof and the interior of that isn’t visible to the naked eye. It is especially important to call professionals who are experienced roofers and roofing contractors after a storm passes, to assess the storm damage in a safe and secure manner. Trusted roofing contractors help not only with roof repair, but also with structural repair and renovations, if required, which will help in the long-term prevention from storm damage. How Can Storms Affect Your Home? When storms are approaching the first check is done for roof leaks or potential leaks. This is an important first step however there are other potential issues that must be inspected to avoid any major storm damage later. Often, homeowners postpone checking gutters, which leads to the rainwater pooling and collecting on the exteriors instead of draining down the spouts. When gutters are blocked by debris and leaves, it may lead to water not flowing freely down the gutters and flowing down the walls instead or flowing down the side of the house leading to potential water damage to the walls. If the gutters are weighed down by debris and water, there is a possibility that they might completely break and fall which can lead to water damage to not only the walls but can also accumulate at the base of the house and damage the foundation.

Different types of storms bring with them different types of damage. Tornadoes can cause wind damage and hail damage. In winters, blizzards can cause wind damage and ice damming. Untrimmed trees can also pose a serious threat during cyclonic winds.

How Can I Minimize Damage to my Property?

Certain precautions can be taken to minimize the potential damage to property caused by severe storms. A few things to remember are to secure loose things in the yard, clear gutters, downpipes and drains to prevent blockages, fix any previous damage to roofs, check the insurance for

storm damage

and keep an eye on the local media for information and updates. Since severe storms often bring high speed winds, torrential rains, and large hailstones - they leave a trail of external and internal damage to properties. They can also unroof homes and buildings, flood drainage systems, and leave wreckage in their path.

Not all storm damage can be seen, and they often cause wind and water damage to roofs. After a storm passes, it is important for homeowners to check for roof damage, even if there are no visible water leaks. Homeowners can try to assess the storm damage from the ground level, using binoculars at most, to see the roof clearly. It is not safe to climb on the roof as there might be moss, loose shingles or debris that can lead to an accident. It is necessary to hire roofing contractors

who can assess the damage more attentively and safely.

What Kind of Storm Damage Do I Look Out For?Different types of storms bring with them different types of damage. Tornadoes can cause wind damage and hail damage. In winters, blizzards can cause wind damage and ice damming. Untrimmed trees can also pose a serious threat during cyclonic winds. Being the outer part of your house, your roof is exposed to all of nature’s wrath. A major cause of storm damage associated with all natural disasters is water damage, typically caused by flooding. As little as a few inches of water can do significant damage to property and if it is not addressed promptly and properly, it can lead to long term damage. Experienced roofing contractors can evaluate the damage and also begin the insurance claim process.

A few important things that you can keep in mind while assessing damage are -

Loose debris

Clogged gutters

Attic leaks and moisture pools

Damage from external debris

What Can I Do Next?

The most important part to know about storm damage is the contact information of the right roofing contractors who can offer trustworthy services, at all hours of the day. Experienced roofers can safely and efficiently analyze the storm damage. Choosing the right roofing contractors will ensure high quality services that will last for a long time.

It is also necessary to contact the insurance agent to understand the insurance policy in detail while starting the repair work. An experienced, professional roofers can assist you in communicating with your again. Documentation of the damage is highly advisable.

Basswood Custom Contracting offers services of storm damage repairs, structural repair and renovations, roof installation and repairs with same-day emergency services available in the areas of Southern WI and Northern IL. We have a team of experienced roofers and trained professionals at every level to ensure delivery of quality services at a competitive price.

CONTACT BASSWOOD:

Call today and book your slot for a free estimate.

[abimee]

another slap of garbage

To watch the way they brave the storm is like watching the habits of a newly witnessed bird.

They do not hurry away to the basements or check supplies, nor do they all panic or worry about the damages; they felt the storm coming long before the anchors told them so. 

An poked her head up from her seat at the porch, and slowly moved to see the sky above her. A rush of a breeze came through the trees, and you can hear it coming from miles as it shakes each leaves in a crescendo passing over you, running away and dying off at the other edge of horizon. The sky was becoming dark, and everything had this desaturated tinge to it as the storm blocked out the light.

She did nothing, at the sight. Just watched. Nobody needed to be warned. Batteries did not need to be checked. A storm was coming, and The Visitor soon learned how the Basswood people welcomed it.

They stood, and watched.

Meanwhile, all of those in town who came out to the flowage to fish were quickly packing up, rolling in their boats and hurrying children away into cars. Their radios told them that the storm would be severe, with a watch for tornadoes over some counties as it forced it’s way East. They were hasty, and prepared.

But as the rain began to fall and the wind begin to pick up, more and more of the Basswood people came out to their little wooden porches and watched. Tuck and Mabel hung unto the ledge and held their hands out to feel the sharp drops of rain, to watch the way the trees bent at the tops as gusts began to pick up to the speed of cars. 

The clouds were a murky black now, like a drop of ink in water; lightning touched down not too far away, and the old and wrinkled hands of Terrence counted the seconds between it and the thunder, gauging the miles himself. Logger was as calm as a dog could be, standing dutiful by her owner.

Thunder was loud, and as the storm got closer ii’s every clap would shake the houses and throttle the ground, every strike hitting a tree they touched, every moment a spectacular light show that turned the world searing white.

Nickels and Quarters watched from an open garage, having brought out their lawn chairs and a case of beer to drink with the show. The wind whistled through their ears and they mindlessly chatted about what damage this one will bring, betting that surely the transformer down by the blackberry bushes will be hanging by a thread by morning.

It was dark now, as if the night came early, but the lightning lit back up the world to show the ways that the trees snapped and fell, the flooding of the dirt roads and the flow of tiny rivers down the hills. Flags fought the violence of being ripped and pulled, and deer bolted endlessly to dry land they’ll never find. The storm was in full swing; a orchestra of nature with the thunder’s drumming and the whistling tune of wind whipping through houses and over cars, the rain keeping it all together with a steady beat against the roofs

The storm was above them, and it was ripping up everything it could get it’s hands on, striking every open field and driveway with the loudest cracks they’d ever heard, and in this the neighborhood simply let it pass through without fear. The Visitor was enamored with the recklessness that they all showed --- if a single tree were to fall, someone would most definitely die.

However, this was not the most surprising thing to the Visitor, but what came afterwards.

When the clouds departed and the wind disappeared, letting light back down onto the hidden world of the Basswood, the first thing anybody thought to do was walk around.

An immediately lept off the porch and started down the driveway, followed by Tuck and then Mabel, or maybe it was Mabel and then Tuck. Sean stayed behind, and The Visitor, not really enjoying the ugly fellow’s company, soon followed the rest.

The damage from the road alone was obvious; the trees could not be saved by their roots in such sandy deposits, and some fell or broke to the strength of the storm. Carnage was littered all over, tossed here and there, trees learning on other trees and some exploding out onto the rood in splinters and chunks. Puddles like lakes formed across the dirt word and forced everyone to walk on the grassy yards of others. A few lines were very obviously down; either slashed by a falling branch, or the poles themselves victims.

Tuck and Mabel stopped to gaze at the dangling Transformer --- Nickels won that bet --- and eye it’s dangerous open wires before being called back to follow their mother. 

The Visitor tried to keep up as best as one could, while looking around at all the houses for possible damage; none seem to have been dealt any in the storm, and even the Birdbox House has all their little ones all lined up and in order. The birds that live inside them must be very grateful.

But at the crossroads where the three roads of Basswood intercept, the group came upon practically all of the neighborhood standing around in a circle, muttering among each other --- a first for The Visitor --- about something.

It was a massive tree, laying itself out across the road. It’s body wide enough to reach their waists, and long enough to touch both sides of the woods. Terrence and Logger were leaning against it, with Nickels and Quarters doing that ‘hand on your hips’ assessment stance as they gauged how many blocks of wood they can salvage out of it. Mabel and Tuck immediately ran to look at the hole it caused when it uprooted, and Cakes was right where she needed to be complaining about it. The Visitor promptly got involved in the conversation.

“ Anybody call the public service department?” Terrence asked with crossed arms. Everybody else gave a mumbling response.

“ This is quite a big tree that fell,” The Visitor motioned to the obvious.

“ Yeah, and perfectly on the road.” Nickels slapped the tree’s body and laughed, “ Just our luck.”

“ Should we call someone?”

“ We already did,” Nickels pointed to the chainsaw and buckle straps laying in Terrence’s yard, “ Terrence is going to log it up and pull it off the road.”

“ And if anybody wants any for their log shed, they’re going to hafta help!” He snarled and gently petted Logger.

Everybody who wanted a cut of the log, literally, was all motioned to grab a buckle strap and wait. There, Terrence started up his chainsaw and cut the tree into six perfect sections, all while An and The Visitor watched on. Nobody spoke much during all of it, sometimes giving each other glances or whispering to one another, but the whole neighborhood simply stood and watched their crochety neighbor dice up a tree so they could take home some firewood.

Quarters showed the others how to strap and pull the logs, wrapping it the horizontal way and tightening the buckle as flush against the log as it can go. There, she began to backwards pull and drag the lowest chunk of the tree off of the road and into the bushes, where Terrence would then cut it up three more times to transport home.

Each person took their turn pulling their piece, and when it was Ann’s turn, The Visitor offered to do it for her.

She agreed with an almost ashamed look to her, and carefully The Visitor worked the strap against the log and pulled --- it was awful work. Harder than the butches made it seem, as you have to pull at the right angle unless the strap comes off and you get flung to the ground. It took a couple attempts, but The Visitor managed, and Terrence trotted over to cut it up to pieces.

It wasn’t strange as much as it was just new to The Visitor, this sort of congregation; back in town, when a tree fell it was usually the job of the public service department to get it removed. But there’s a sad reality to the Basswood, and to others living out in areas like this; public help did not prioritize them, and Quarters let The Visitor know that power will not be seen for a couple of days. Usually they’re the last to be serviced, and so it could be days to a week before anybody sees running water and lights again.

They’ll go off to collect water from the flowage to use to flush toilets and take showers, and the logs will be used to start their firepits, and the powerlines will stay swaying and broken in the breeze of the afternoons. They don’t know when they’ll see help, but if there’s one thing for certain, is that they’re happy to have some wood for their burner pits.

[elclapp]

Fallingwater High School Residency: Studio 1

June 2017

I applied to and attended the Fallingwater High School Residency: Studio 1. This program allowed me to learn about the elements of design through Frank Lloyd Wright’s Fallingwater, as well as the nearby Kentuck Knob. During this residency, I grew a passion for architecture and design, and began learning and appreciating the art of hand drafting. 

Our main task was to design and create a concrete trail marker inspired by Fallingwater. I took the different horizontal and vertical lines found in the geometry of the house and used basswood to make an impression in the concrete, which I learned how to mix and fit into a mold. Once the concrete was set, we were able to extract the posts from the mold and install them along the trail. 

Additionally, we were tasked with designing a covered outlook that would allow for views of Fallingwater while blending into the trees surrounding it. My approach was to avoid cutting any trees and making a subtle design with angled wall panels and roofing to mitigate rain water away from the view. 

Progress Work:

[alexsilvermusic]

Landscape on the Island of Rab. Gojmir Anton Kos, 1947.

1.

I started up the path, which was basically a ditch. It was difficult to stay balanced and my feet were continually forced toward each other by the angle of the ground. I wobbled along carelessly, as if the morning air could catch me. Nothing could grow on the path itself; the clay was exceptionally compact and smooth, acting like a pavement. Its depth suggested obsession.

Dry grass overtook the path from its sides and I straightened up. The windows of the house were dull and wet at nine, shielded from the morning light by an enormous basswood on the other side of the roof. I saw the knee-high cliffs of the ditch and the tufts of yellow grass. The tufts were spiky and crowded and I thought heliocentric, though I would not choose the word to evoke an image of the grass. By using it I had a symbol that stimulated something unavailable by any other accompaniment: it was not a matter of more or less accuracy, but of how I liked to see it. The tufts formed ball shapes, like sunflowers with only-suggested disks. Empty sunflowers. All of the roots met together in a patch of ground and grew outwardly at disarrayed angles, giving the appearance of petals. The blades of grass orbited a mid-point which was not really there, but which I saw.

A stubby fruit tree appeared on the right side of the path, and I ducked under it to avoid its branches. Barely touching it, wet dew slid off the leaves onto my shoulder. The house is small with a single wall in front and I recalled opening its dewy windows to the yard and the mountain road beyond the gate. Though fields and foothills spread out impressively in the distance, I couldn’t see any of it due to the high trees across the road. The trees were thick and in early September retained the new green of spring, a pale neon color like inchworms’. The green was consistent, almost to the point of affecting the bark itself. I thought of a landscape by Gojmir Kos. The painting is a wide expanse taken from a diagonal, of farm fields and marsh and the sea in the distance. Though in the mass of green I saw neither fields nor sea—nor the exact boundaries of farming so failed by his paint—I was reminded of him in the chaotic fray of the woods. Or, the fray was association: the woods in front of me was well-organized. It seemed to order itself in parts as in Landscape on the Island of Rab, wherein separation does not come by the farmer’s logic, but by the logic of visibility. Its lines do not serve anyone’s ends. So they fail at the border of the hayfield and the thicket, the thicket and the shadowy lane, the brown pasture and the sea. In Kos’ painting, including still-life, objects and ideas do not govern boundaries; categories arise by common appearance. The woods was like this: the form of the leaves, the branches, and the trunks occupied one visual category—translucent green—while two other worlds stood beside: cold shadow and escaped yellow.

(Excerpt from _____ Mtn. Journals)

https://www.ng-slo.si/en/307/landscape-on-the-island-of-rab-gojmir-anton-kos?workId=3608

[archatlas]

Dear Archy, I’m currently in my second year studying architecture and for one of my projects we have to model an irregular roof using the framing technique with basswood sticks. Do you have any suggestions on how to go about aligning the sticks in order to fit them into place at the correct angles?

I wish I could offer some advice. All I can think of is to create templates of the pieces from a BIM model and then you can assemble accordingly.

tumblrverse, any recommendations?

[scull-dog]

Everyone seems to really like my tiny house so I thought I'd show y'all how I made it!

I started by taking TONS of screenshots of both the interior and exterior of the house. This was the main picture I referenced because it's pretty much straight on and the entire house is in the frame.

I looked up the standard dimensions of an exterior door (3ft) and used that to measure the rest of the house. I would open a screenshot in Photoshop, find how many pixels wide the door is and divide that by 3, giving me an approximate number of pixels per foot. I did this for every single line that I would be using.

Once I had a rough floorplan, I decided how big I wanted the model to be and calculated the scaled down dimensions based on the measurements I made before. Not pictured is the pages upon pages of messily-written math.

From the measurements I drew templates for each piece. It was crucial that I was as precise as possible because even tiny mistakes would be magnified and noticeable at such a small scale.

I traced the templates onto 1/16in basswood sheets. Basswood is a soft, lightweight wood used in model making and crafting. It’s dirt cheap, easy to work with, and can be found at most craft stores.

I really took the phrase “measure twice, cut once” to heart here. I checked each piece at least 20 times before cutting it out, and even after that I was constantly measuring, sanding, and test-fitting the pieces to make sure they would fit together correctly.

At this stage I also started working on the look of the house. I very lightly embossed lines every 1/16in or so to give the illusion of the horizontal siding.

These windows were TINY. I originally bought super thin basswood strips for this part, but they were still too thick so I ripped them down to 1/16in and 1/32in. I numbered each window on the inside of the main wall pieces so I wouldn’t mix up each custom-fit window. Because I was working with such small pieces, I put down some double-sided tape on my work surface. This helped keep the pieces in place while I arranged them, held them together while the glue dried, and kept them organized while painting.

I painted the house in a number of thin washes. I started with a darker gray which settled into the lines I made earlier, and ended with a less watered-down coat of white which stayed mostly to the raised areas.

Once the paint was dry I started on the details: the railing around the porch, concrete foundation, weathering, and windows.

To get the appearance of concrete I mixed together a bit of sawdust and very fine sand. I masked off the areas I wanted and painted on a very thin coat of wood glue, then lightly dusted the sand mixture to cover. After it dried I removed the excess and painted it, giving a smoother finish.

With everything dry I started the weathering process. A stark white house looks kinda weird, so I mixed tiny amounts of paint with water to create my weathering washes. I used mostly a brownish-gray, applied around the edges, in corners, and any place dirt might accumulate. If you build it up slowly in lots of layers then it comes out looking pretty natural.

The windows have a few layers too.I cut pieces of a plastic sheet to fit within the window frames. The frame was glued to the plastic, then glued to the house. Inside, I cut pieces of brown paper for curtains and then covered the rest of windows with a thin white paper (which I also weathered a bit) to diffuse the light. The different layers added a pretty cool sense of depth.

Apparently I don’t have any pictures of the roof in progress... I used the same basswood to build the roof pieces then shingled them with thin strips of card stock. The painting and weathering process was pretty much the same as the rest of the house.

I decided kind of last minute that I wanted it to light up. I happened to have a set of fairy lights on hand, so I cut a hole in the base for the battery pack to slip through and then lined the lights up with the windows and exterior lights. The lights themselves were way too big for this scale, so in the future I’ll probably use tiny diodes and wire it up myself.

Overall, I’m really happy with the results. This is much smaller than the model houses I usually make but it was fun to work in a smaller scale. I definitely want to take what I’ve learned and try it again sometime.

Thanks for reading my long-ass post!

[angrybisexualravenclaw]

Making a mini dollhouse: Part 2 (cutting out and gluing pieces)

Part 1

Since this is my first teeny tiny dollhouse and I’m flying near-sighted, I’m learning things. Like that basswood, even at 1/16th of an inch is really hard to cut with an exacto blade or box cutter, and tiny splinters that mean nothing in bigger projects absolutely wreck pieces at this scale. So I was so focused on cutting the pieces that I forgot to take pictures until I’d already started gluing it together.

This is how it looked when I started taking pictures. The sides glued to the back, and the first floor in. If you look, you’ll notice the floor is a tiny bit too narrow for the house, creating an unseemly gap, but thankfully it’s not totally noticable, especially once the house is done and decorated. Still, it annoys me. I’m going to have to take that into account when I make another house.

As you can see, the floor looks awful, since a lot of the pieces came out ragged looking. I used some sandpaper to smooth them out a bit.

This is what the house looks like once I glued most of the pieces together. As you can see, theres no front and half the roof is missing. Those are getting glued on later, with little hinges so that you can open up the house and see inside. Again, forgot to take pictures between steps, so you can also see the first layer I put down for what will eventually hopefully be wooden flooring. I used a fine pen and drew the lines somewhat haphazardly. I also painted the bottom of the house black, because I’m tired and wanted to paint something, hence the paintbrush in my mouth.

[architectnews]

Japanese architecture informs design of Minnesota house by Salmela Architect

A cluster of wood-clad buildings surround a central courtyard at this Minnesota residence by US firm Salmela Architect that was designed for clients who formerly lived in Japan.

The project, called Fifty-Acre Wood, is located in Stillwater – a historic town located along the St Croix River, just beyond Minneapolis. The house rests on a fifty-acre (20-hectare) parcel, the majority of which the clients granted to the Minnesota Land Trust for permanent conservation.

Fifty-Acre Wood is a home in Minnesota that was designed by Salmela Architect

Situated near a waterfall, the property features an oak forest and farm fields that are being reseeded with native grasses. The area supports a range of wildlife, including black bears, foxes, sandhill cranes and blue herons.

The owners are a married couple – Yuko and Paul – who met and lived in Japan before moving to Minnesota with their two young sons. Paul grew up exploring the St Croix River Valley and wanted his kids to have a similar experience.

It is comprised of a collection of volumes which house living and sleeping areas

In contrast to Paul's upbringing, Yuko was raised in the dense Japanese city of Fukuoka, and initially, she felt uncertain about living in a wide-open landscape.

"Her wishes were for a home that felt protected, with the inclusion of familiar cultural references in this unfamiliar setting," said Salmela Architect, a Minnesota firm known for designing homes in a regional modernist style.

The home has views out to the surrounding landscape

The architects conceived a series of buildings that are organised around a central courtyard. The design draws upon two references: a cluster of shed-roof agricultural buildings and a Japanese courtyard house with sheltered, exterior walkways.

The main dwelling consists of two pavilions that form an L-shape and are joined by a glazed passageway. Nearby are a detached guesthouse, a garage and a multipurpose building.

The interior boasts a simple and minimal material palette

"Each of the five structures is positioned according to function, solar orientation and relationship to specific features of the landscape," the firm said.

Facades are clad in cedar, and roofs are covered with standing-seam metal. Interior finishes include slate tiles, quartz countertops and ceilings sheathed in pale-toned basswood.

Paved walkways surround the home

In the main dwelling, there is a clear separation between public and private spaces.

One pavilion encompasses a semi-open kitchen, dining area and living room. It sits on an east-west axis and looks upon a gently rolling field.

The living areas have views across the site in all directions

"South-facing, floor-to-ceiling windows create a sense of interior-exterior continuity, which is reinforced by horizontal wood slats on both the exterior soffit and interior ceiling," the team said.

"This Japanese architectural reference helps softens the acoustics of the hard surfaces within the wide-open room."

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Salmela Architect wraps Feldmann Residence in Minnesota with black stucco

In the kitchen, the team provided views in all directions. A large, northern window delivers sight lines of the home's courtyard, entry path and driveway, offering a sense of security.

The home lacks a traditional foyer. Instead, one enters through a threshold composed of "symmetrical blade walls" that lie between the kitchen and a mudroom.

"While the clients were initially hesitant about the atypical arrival sequence, they have expressed how comfortable it has been to welcome people into their home without the typical awkwardness associated with a formal foyer," the team said.

The home has an open plan design

The home's other pavilion, which holds bedrooms, runs from north to south and hugs the edge of a forest.

"The three bedrooms and two ofuro – shower and tub rooms – look out into the oak forest, which filters warm morning light through its leaves, signaling the start of the day," the studio said.

Tiles cover the floors across the shared living areas

The sleeping areas are arrayed along a corridor that doubles as a workspace.

"It remains shaded throughout the workday, creating an ideal glare-free environment until the low evening sun signals dinner time," the firm said.

The sleeping areas are accessed along a corridor

Throughout the residence, the team incorporated a number of elements to help reduce energy consumption. These include operable windows, a hydronic in-floor heating system, an air-to-air heat exchanger and a high level of insulation.

"Six-foot-deep eaves and a south-facing orientation enable an optimal passive solar strategy that maximises heat gain in the winter while entirely blocking the mid-summer sun," the team added.

Windows were randomly places across the walls

The home also features three skylight boxes that open and close, enabling hot air to escape. At night, the boxes are illuminated with electric lights.

Beyond the main home, the team created a guesthouse to the west, which provides a level of separation and privacy for overnight visitors, including Yuko's parents from Japan.

A sculptural firepit is framed by a squared window

To the north is a two-stall garage and the "barn", which is a multipurpose space for playtime and storage. The buildings are accessed by paved walkways that surround the courtyard.

"Exterior walkways ring the interior courtyard that is seeded with native vegetation – a microcosm of and counterpoint to the larger landscape restoration project," the team said.

The home was fitted with a number of environmental and green systems

Other projects by Salmela Architect include a home for a physicist and eye doctor that is meant to resemble a "scientific instrument with multiple viewing apertures" and a solar-powered house that was created for an architecture professor.

The photography is by Corey Gaffer.

Project credits:

Architect: Salmela Architect Team: David Salmela (principal), Kai Salmela (design lead), Emre Erenler Energy consultant: Malini Srivastava Structural engineer: Meyer Borgman Johnson Contractor: Cates Fine Homes

The post Japanese architecture informs design of Minnesota house by Salmela Architect appeared first on Dezeen.

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Can removing a tree cause foundation issues?

We have a large, 40' tall basswood directly in front of our house. It's about 2 feet away from the house, and it hangs over our roof, dropping branches and such.

I'm planning on having an arborist cut it down and grind the stump, but I'm worried about foundation damage in the area of the tree.

Our 1970 home already has a long, horizontal foundation crack along two walls (but not prominent where the tree is.). I'm 90% sure the crack is unrelated to the tree — that crack is common in our neighborhood, apparently when they built the homes in 1970, a flaw in the concrete pouring of the foundation caused a horizontal piece of rebar to be too close to the surface of the foundation wall, causing a long, straight horizontal crack, which we have.

I'm aware that removing a tree can cause water to pool in the area, which doesn't concern me because we're planning on fixing the foundation crack and redoing the waterproofing next year. What I don't want is for the crack to recur in a few years because of shifting soil or something. I understand rotting roots could cause this.

Is it safe to remove this tree or should I get the opinion of an engineer?

Ottawa, Canada.

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