#boral

[jackhkeynes]

31st Lexember - Borlish

scaur ag mur ne Pompeï "get into the history books"

scaur ag mur ne Pompeï /xor ɛi mɪr ne ˌpɔm.piˈji/ [xoː‿ʀɛi mɪː ne ˌpɔm.pɪˈʝi]

write one's name in the history books, make a name for oneself, to do things which will cause one to be renowned for a long time;

act with posterity in mind, to be conscious of one's legacy when deciding one's actions;

(jocular) make last-minute revisions, to make rushed changes due to having little time left before a deadline

Etymology: literally "to write on the walls of Pompeii", first attested as an idiom in Napolitan some years after the unearthing of the ruins of Pompeii and the uncovering of its trove of graffiti. The verb scaur "write", which displaced now-obsolete or poetic scrir "write", descends from Latin scalpō "I scratch; I engrave". The last sense, attested in Borlish since the 1920s, refers directly to the volcanic eruption of 79N which buried the city.

L'oç segr es dignt tojorn i vil scaur ag mur ne Pompeï. /lɔts ˈsijr̩ ɛz daint toˈʒɔrn i vɪl xor ɛi mɪr ne ˌpɔm.piˈji/ [lɔs ˈsɪ.jɐ‿ʀɪz daint tʊˈʝɔːn i vɪl xoː‿ʀeɪ mɪː ne ˌpɔm.pɪˈʝi] df=s.dt man be say-p.prs always 3s will write-inf at.df wall in Pompeii That guy's always saying he'll make a name for himself.

[tenth-sentence]

Capable of being avuncular, and equally able to be ruthless when he chose – he was dubbed 'the smiling piranha' – he had run Boral with an iron fist.

"Westpac: The Bank That Broke the Bank" - Edna Carew

[cryblo]

Metal Roofing Los Angeles An illustration of a sizable, modern, three-story wooden exterior with a metal roof

[sesakamonster]

Modern Landscape - Retaining Walls Inspiration for a mid-sized modern hillside retaining wall landscape.

[infinity-bloom]

Fiberboard Exterior Richmond Mid-sized country white one-story home with a mixed-material roof in the foreground.

[metuere]

Farmhouse Pool - Poolhouse Inspiration for a mid-sized country side yard stamped concrete and rectangular pool house remodel

[peterporkerfan]

sketchbook [earth 1610!miles morales x latina!reader]

word count: 1.2k

warnings: fluff, light cursing, kissing, relationship insecurities, lots of spanglish

a/n: my first language is spanish, so nothing here is google translated i promise 💀

It was a hot June afternoon, and the air was sizzling all over the city.

You and Miles laid on his bed, side by side, with his arm draped around your shoulder. The AC was on full blast, and Miles’ favorite album sounded all around the room. You were both humming and singing along contently. You looked up at him smiling every once in a while, and he’d look back, smiling even wider.

“Baby, do you hear this? No one does it like Kendrick. His music is on a whole ‘nother level.” He smiled back down at you, looking at you with sheer adoration.“You know, Gwen and I…we’d listen to him all the time when she’d swing by. I love his music.”

“Remember when your favorite rapper was Post Malone?” You joked, and he looked away awkwardly.

“Yeah…we don’t—we don’t talk about that.”

You laughed and you brought your hands to his cheeks, bringing him closer and kissing him deeply. He smiled into the kiss, bringing his hands to your waist and pulling you towards him until you were laying on top of him.

You pull away from the kiss, and look down at Miles while you smile.

“I’ve never met anyone like you, Miles. Eres otra cosa.”

Miles smiled back at you, feeling so lucky to have someone like you in his life. “Just wait until you meet Peter, Hobie, or Gwen…especially Gwen. She’s the coolest person ever. You two would get along really well.” Miles rambled.

“I’m sure we would.” You smiled back at your boyfriend, knowing how much he cared about his friends.

“Miles, mijo! Baja un momentito. I need your help with something!” Mrs. Morales shouted from downstairs.

“Coming, Ma!” Miles shouted back, turning his head in the direction of the opened door.

“A mi tú no me grites!”

Miles sighed, “I’ll be back ya mismo”

“I’ll be right here” You smiled at him. Miles smiled back and walked out, leaving you alone in his room.

When Miles shut the door, you stood up from your position, sitting with your legs crossed on the edge of the twin sized bed. You took in his room, and how much it reminded you of him. His collectible figurines, countless posters of his favorite rappers and albums, and the constant clutter on his floor. You spotted his sketchbook on the ground right in front of you, and felt a sudden urge to pick it up.

Miles was generally open about most things with you, however he kept his drawings to himself. You never questioned it as maybe he just thought they were embarrassing or too personal. You slowly picked up the book and started flipping through its pages. At first you were met with images of his uncle, his suit, and the streets of Brooklyn. You smiled faintly as you flipped through, appreciating how utterly talented your boyfriend was. However, you were suddenly met with countless images of someone whose name you’d never forget: Gwen.

Miles’ face would always light up when he mentioned Gwen. You never thought much of it, however, there were so many drawings of her in his sketchbook, which must’ve taken hours to make, with every little detail about her captured on the paper. You began to feel an unfamiliar pain take over you, and you put the sketchbook down where you got it from. God, she was gorgeous. And cool. Of course Miles liked her…I mean who wouldn’t? The way he described her made her seem so…captivating. Before the thought took over you completely, Miles walked into the room again, holding a large laundry basket and setting it down besides his bed. You tried to change your expression, looking up at your boyfriend like you usually would.

“That’s a lot of clothes to sort through. Que mierda.” Miles sighed.

“You need any help?”

“Yeah, actually. That’d be pretty good.”

“Cual es la palabra mágica?” You teased, batting your eyes at him playfully.

Miles narrowed his eyes at you, acting playfully annoyed. “Please?”

You walked towards him and gave him a kiss on the cheek, and leaned down to sort through the clothes in the basket.

“I think you might’ve outgrown this sweater a while ago.” You held it out so Miles could see. It was an orange cardigan, with patches embroidered into it.

“Haha, very funny, Y/N. That’s Gwen’s. She left it here last time que visitó.”

“Y tú—you wear it?” You asked, feeling the uneasiness you felt before come rushing back.

“Course not. Mami probably threw it in the laundry basket sorting through my room at some point.”

“Oh.”

“It’s nice to have something of her’s though. Just to remember her by.”

Some time went by and you continued to fold clothes while a question bubbled inside you. Finally, after a long silence, you asked.

“Miles, tú—do you still…”

“Do I still what, mi amor?”

“Have feelings for…”

Miles furrowed his brows. “For…Gwen?”

“I mean, you talk about her so much and I didn’t mean to violate your privacy or anything but I may or may not have looked through your sketchbook filled with drawings of her. And don’t get me wrong the drawings are really good pero—”

Miles interrupted your senseless ramble. “Mi amor…”

“Qué?”

“You don’t seriously think that I like her, right?”

“Well, I don’t know. I mean I wouldn’t blame you for it, you know. You did once before, you could again but—“

“Baby…those drawings are old, did you go through the whole thing?”

“No, not really. I guess I thought I’d seen…enough.”

Miles picked up the sketchbook off the ground and flipped through it. He handed it to you and looked at you with adoration as he did so (unbeknownst to you, as you were staring down at your shoes with shame). You flipped the page from a drawing of Gwen and saw it: countless drawings of you. All done when you thought he wasn’t looking. A drawing of you looking at the board in math class, sitting across the room from Miles (only because the teacher thought you two were “too chatty” when you sat together). A drawing of you sitting on your windowsill with headphones on, drowning out the world around you. A drawing of you walking towards Miles, smiling at him. The drawings continued for countless pages, and your eyes began to water as you looked back up at Miles.

“You did all these…de mi?”

“Claro, you’re my girl. Why would I not?” Miles’ brows furrowed as he looked towards you.

“Dios mio, I’m so sorry for thinking you liked her. Soy tan estupida a veces.”

“Nah, don’t be, and you’re not. Yo soy el que es medio pendejo every once in a while. That’s on me.” Miles laughed.

“Y Miles, these drawings are really good. Why hadn’t you shown me?”

“I thought you wouldn’t—ay, no se. I thought you’d think they were stupid or something, I guess.” Miles mumbled, looking down at his shoes.

“Stupid? Miles, these are…you’re crazy talented. Are you kidding me?”

“Thanks…” Miles blushed as he smiled back at you faintly.

“Alright, well… enough of this sappy shit. Where were we?”

“Laundry.” Said Miles.

“Right, laundry.”

“Do we reeeeally want to do the laundry though?” Miles asked, hoping you’d just say no.

“Fuck no.” You laughed.

“Great!” You laughed as Miles webbed you back to were you were before, laying side by side on his bed.

You looked up at him. “Can I choose the music now?”

“Fine, baby. Play whatever you want.”

You unlocked his phone and searched for a Spanish pop song you knew Miles hated.

He narrowed his eyes at you. “Seriously…”

“Miles, si no es así te vas a convertir en un gringo. Con esa B en español, imagínate…”

“Alright, alright…lo que tu digas, mami.” He laughed, kissing the top of your head.

As the song played and you sung along to each word, Miles became sure of one thing:

He’d never let you go.

send me requests for whatever (no smut and only latina or white/race not specified reader please)!! i’ll write mainly for miles morales but i’ll take requests for anyone else spiderverse/spiderman!!

[theoldbone]

Barite, Calcite, Boral Quarry, Australia, photo by James Melville

[bugeyedfreaks]

Forgot to share these AWESOME stickers that I bought a while ago from this Etsy shop. They’re super cute!

[jackhkeynes]

Can you give an overview of your conworld and language for new people?

Absolutely! :D

The World

The setting I write in (hereafter "Boralverse") is an alternate history of Earth. The original difference from our own history (hereafter "IRL") is the existence of the island of Borland (Istr Boral) between Great Britain and Denmark, inspired by the IRL existence of Doggerland.

The human pre-classical history of Borland can be summarised as:

With sea level rise about 8k years ago, Borland was cut off from the continent and from Britain (this is when Doggerland was submerged IRL); some Stone Age people remain. They leave some monuments—burial mounds, the Çadrosc labyrinth—and were farmers, but they had no writing or ironworking.

The Celts arrive in Borland shortly before they settle Britain in the second millennium BCE, taking up iron tools and establishing many tribal groups. Due to some later migration from Britain to Borland, they speak a language (Borland Celtic) which is most closely related to Proto-Brythonic.

I assume that as far as possible the history of the rest of the world is indistinguishable from the IRL history up to this point. I continue to do so while the Romans invade and settle Borland shortly after Britain, despite conceding to credulity and allowing a few classical references:

...in Ptolemy's description of the Pritannoi we can understand he referred to the Insular Kelts of Ireland, Britain and Borland as a whole... ...contrasting Hadrian's policies in Britain and in Borland is vital for understanding their different fates in the post-Classical age...

where I admit that the Roman Empire having an entire additional province should probably have some observable effects.

Once the Western Roman Empire collapses, I start properly diverging Boralverse history from IRL history. This begins with a different pattern of Anglo-Saxon migration; the two petty kingdoms of Angland and Southbar arise in western Borland, while the settlement of England proceeds slightly slower than IRL.

Historical divergence spreads through western Europe over the next few centuries, and by 1000 CE things are beginning to go off the rails all across Eurasia and North Africa. I leave the history of the Americas the same until Old World contact (via Basque fishermen stumbling across Newfoundland in 1470 CE), and likewise with Australia.

The map below shows Europe in 1120, during the Second Tetrarchy Period. At this time, Europe was unusually centralised, with four great empires: the First Drengot Empire (red), the German Empire (brown), the Second Roman Empire (purple) and the Single Caliphate (green).

In the modern era, my hope is that the Boralverse world feels fractally uncanny; at every scale something is unexpectedly different, from political borders and languages to fashion and pop culture references.

For clarity, I employ an inconsistent Translation Convention when writing from a Boralverse perspective, mostly using IRL English but peppering in calques of Boralverse English jargon for flavour, such as threshold force "nuclear power" or jalick "garment socially equivalent to a tuxedo".

The Language

The original motivation for this alternate history setting is Borlish (Borallesc), the Romance language spoken on Borland.

It picked up a few Borland Celtic loanwords from the existing population at the time of the conquest (macquar ~ Welsh magu "raise, rear"; vrug ~ Welsh grug "heather"), but was much more influenced through the first millennium by Anglo-Saxon settlement and then Norse conquest during the Viking Age. The following is an example of late Old Borlish (ca. 1240):

…sovravnt il deft nostre saȝntaðesem eð atavalesem n iȝ atrevre golfhavn seȝ hamar dont y verb divin ismetre ac povre paian. peðiv soul ez font istovent por vn nov cliȝs d istroienz istablir… …uphold our most sacred and ancient duty to let Gulfhaven be the centre from which we will send the Word of God to pagan lands. We ask only for the necessary funds for a new teachinghouse…

The Modern Borlish language has undergone spelling standardisation (most recently deprecated some irregular spellings in 1870), and contains many more Latin and Greek loanwords, along with borrowings from languages across the world.

Y stal zajadau dy marcað nogtorn accis par lamp fumer eð y lun fragnt de mar receven cos equal party a domn pescour pevr jarras e fenogl gostant tan eð eç nobr robað n'ornament fluibond ant queldin raut frigsað ne papir cerous. The night market's various stalls lit by smoky lamps and the sea-shattered moon welcomed flocks of fishwives sampling paprika and fennel as well as notables in flowing finery carrying stir-fried suppers in wax papers.

In terms of sound changes and grammatical developments, the major points include:

Intervocalic lenition /p t k b d g/ > /v ð j ∅ ∅ ∅/: catēna > caðen "chain", dēbēre > deïr "must".

The use of ç (and c before e i y) for /ts/, and the use of g in coda to represent /j/. Along with some vowel shifts, this leads to things like cigl /tsajl/ "darling".

Total loss of final consonants in multisyllable words, including -s, which leads to:

Collapse of noun declension, including number; Borlish does not mark number on nouns, and if it wants to it uses demonstratives or simply relies of verb agreement: l'oc scuir pasc, l'ec scuir pascn "this boy eats, these boys eat".

[tenth-sentence]

Once head of an expanding company, Robson was now head of a division of Boral.

"Westpac: The Bank That Broke the Bank" - Edna Carew

[dungeonmalcontent]

Microfiction: The Stars See You

Your task completed, the token of each cultists bathed in chaos retrieved, the hunched old woman gives you a kind smile. Her bandaged hands retreat into the folds of the sleeves of her oversized robe with the tokens faster than you thought possible. Her hunched back cracks slightly as she cranes her neck up to look you in the eye.

There is a stray lock of gnarled and sweaty gray hair hanging over the corner of her mouth as she speaks the words, "my thanks, young hero. You've had a splendid journey." Her voice is hoarse and kind.

The hood of her robe slips back and her posture straightens. Her skin glows white hot in an instant, her bandages burn away, and for a moment you feel as though you are staring into a bright void or a distant sun. But her body cools and twists into a taller and more upright figure of molten red and orange.

Now long and slender, the old crone has become a three dimensional tapestry of stained glass. The sharp contours of her cheek and jaw bones seem like thin metal supporting frames for panels of shimmer white and silver and blue mica flexed glass. Her hair, once gnarled and gray are like white hot blown glass filliments joined into soft curls that drift on an invisible breeze. Her eyes, piercing through you, are solid black and glossy like a rook's and speckled with all the stars in the night sky.

"You stand before the mother of gods, the maker of magic, traveler of the expanse, mistress of fates--Sevass, the star weaver."

You fall to one knee and bow instinctively. This earns you a chuckle from the goddess. Something you can only compare to the warbling roar of a black hole collapsing in on itself.

"Do not be so formal, little charm. You've earned a sparkle in my eye. I will watch over you." Her voice echoes out into eternity, calm and overbearing.

You look up, face blushing horribly. You expect a gentle and terrifying glare. You see nothing.

She is gone.

You look back down as you get back on your feet and see the gift she has left you hanging around your neck. A platinum amulet set with a single polished stone. A crystal of dark blue aster filled with the light of the night sky.

No matter where you roam, no matter what sky you look up into, you feel as though you are home.

[bollywoodirect]

Remembering Indian Cinema's legendary music composer #RaichandBoral on his 42nd death anniversary (25/11/81). Boral is considered by music connoisseurs to be the father of Indian film music. Legendary musician #AnilBiswas referred to him as 'Bhishma Pitamaha' of Indian Cinema Music.

Boral won the Dadasaheb Phalke Award in 1978, the highest honour in Indian cinema. The same year, he also received the Sangeet Natak Akademi Award, a big award for music, dance, and drama in India.

Boral worked with Pankaj Mullick at New Theatres' music department and played a big role in setting high standards for film music. He helped shape the music for Indian films for the first 20 to 30 years. He also helped start the career of the singer Saigal. Anil Biswas, another famous musician, called Boral the "Bhishma Pitamah of film music".

He started working with the Indian Broadcasting Company in 1927. In 1931, he moved to New Theatres, where he introduced playback singing in the Hindi film "Dhoop Chhaon" in 1935. This was a big change in Indian cinema. Boral worked on music for many films, both in Hindi and Bengali, directing music for around 70 to 75 films.

Rai Chand Boral passed away in 1981 when he was 78 years old. He is remembered as a very important person in the history of Indian cinema music.

[pigs-in-art]

Waddles Summerween Wooden Pin by Dena Boral

[calvintageroofing]

The Superior Quality of Boral Concrete Roof Tiles

Introducing Expert Roof Repair Services in Sacramento - your go-to solution for all your roofing needs! We understand the importance of a well-maintained roof in protecting your home or business, and we are here to provide top-notch repair services to ensure the longevity and durability of your roof. To know more, visit their website: https://calvintageroofing.com/concrete-roofing-tile-boral/

[bdtrainpro]

Dhaka to Boral Bridge Train Schedule & Ticket Price