#the green graze of finland

[teal-skull]

Nurmijärvi releasing a photoshop of a kääritty (wrapped) Nurmijärvi goat of arms is still my favorite though because people though it was for real:

og under the cut

(x)

Käärijä coat of arms was 2nd (💀) most liked photo of Rovaniemen kaupunki instagram this year.

og Lapin liitto coat of arms under the cut

[halfelven]

there are leaves and flowers on the trees in Ireland and horses grazing on green hills meanwhile back in Finland the trees are still sleeping and the land lies covered by snow so much that I’ve not even seen snowdrops out

[harryandmolly]

Complicit // 8

summary: Shawn is under more pressure than he’s ever known. He craves release and comfort, the simplicity of sex. He gets more than he bargained for.

warnings: language, NSFW (the kind that anon politely asked me not to write but I did it anyway -- this is your warning, sweet friend), alarming tenderness... and what comes after

WC: 6.9k

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S.M.: Can I ask you for something?

Penny wakes up to see a text sent at 2:30am on the morning of her day date with Shawn. He requested the day date specifically -- he’s been in Europe for a week for a festival in Helsinki and his body clock is so fucked up he feels sick when he tries to figure out what day it is.

He has the day to himself before he has a Bex outing planned for that evening -- drinks at The Nice Guy, some kissing and maybe a little minor groping outside the cars as they leave conspicuously together. He wants to spend those hours before, his hours, with Penny.

Orthodontist: You may.

S.M.: Can we be cozy? I want to see you but I’m fucking wiped out. Cozy sweats day?

Penny frowns at the frantic tugging in her gut, the one Silver trained to save her from something all escorts go through at one point or another, the one that should make her wary of the potential intimacy of something like this. Penny clears her throat and lets her thumbs fly.

Orthodontist: Of course. See you soon.

She’s paid to give the client what they want. If they want the girlfriend experience, that’s what she��ll do. It’s not unique to Shawn, anyway. Plenty of clients have asked for lower key dates once they get comfortable with her. She understands that, the need for that kind of comfort. She used to need that, too.

But the tugging reminds her of the other circumstance. Shawn requested a house call. Again, not unique to him at all. But she has this funny feeling that if Silver took a look at her schedule and saw the date herself, she’d make that carefully concerned-but-not-too-concerned-because-you’re-a-grown-up-and-my-business-partner face. She loves Silver endlessly, but that face makes her feel small.

Penny shakes her head, but just minutely in case he’s watching her walk up through the window. She focuses on the date, on being prepared for whatever he may need from her when she walks through that door.

Client’s needs. Client’s needs.

Penny lets it take over like a mantra as she parks her normal car, the leased white 2021 Passat, beside his Tesla in his driveway like she’s done it a million times. She walks up the steps and rings the doorbell, tucking her hands into the front pocket of her Ivy Park hoodie, trying to look anywhere but right at his front door.

When it swings open, she feels like her heart has spilled out onto her shoes. He’s in a pair of green and blue plaid pajama pants that are inexplicably a little long and pooling around his ankles, despite his impressive height, and a big, loose t-shirt. His hair is wet. He smells like warm soap. His smile is soft and flat. He stands aside to let her in.

“Hi, Penny.”

She hides the full body shiver by doing a quick turn like she’s interested in looking around his foyer. She plasters on a smile.

She’s in his house.

“Hi, Shawn.”

He reaches a hand for her. She knows it’ll be soft and hot from his shower. She braces herself to take it. He tugs her forward, the corner of his mouth lifting as he pulls her in for a kiss. She nearly trips into him, her Ugg moccasins bumping into his bare toes as his nose nudges hers and it’s so startlingly intimate that she purrs into his mouth like he’s not paying for her time.

He curls his hands around her hips and starts to lead her into the house. She follows, taking tiny steps between his feet as he continues kissing her -- quick, open-mouthed kisses.

“Can I just keep kissing you for a while?” he asks, his teeth clanging against hers as he smiles, his eyes shut. She gives him a breathy hum and a nod in response. He guides them through his house blind, ignorant of her curious eyes scanning the area as they go. Her hand rises from his shoulder to cup the back of his head just before it smacks into his closed bedroom door.

He grunts, reaching for the handle to let them in. It’s dark inside -- he’s got those good blackout curtains, the heavy ones that turn any room into a cave. It’s pleasantly cool with a haphazardly made up squishy gray duvet on the bed, nondescript but cozy. Shawn reaches for a lamp on the dresser and it casts the room in a warm orange glaze of light. He sighs contentedly on the way back to her lips. She feels it in her bones as she wraps around him.

She steps out of her moccasins to rise higher on her toes to meet him. His hands wander, curiously, not hungrily, over the worn cotton surface of her hoodie. He sits on the edge of the bed and pulls her in, tucking her around him to straddle him. Penny goes willingly, settling low enough on his thighs that she’s not plastered up against him, but perched comfortably in his lap.

Penny gives Shawn a breather by tucking kisses down his jaw and into his neck. The marks she left last time have all faded back into lightly bronzed summer skin. She kisses and sucks gently, not enough to bruise. Shawn’s fingers twist into the ends of her hair, pulling more teasingly than desperately.

Over his shoulder she spies several ripped up citrus peels on his night stand -- tangerines, she thinks. They have extra bits of pith picked off and spread on top. They explain the bright fruity taste of his mouth. 

Penny closes her eyes again and feels him shiver as her teeth graze his jugular. She thinks she could’ve lived without knowing he peels the extra bits of pith off his citrus.

Penny separates from his wet skin with a deep inhale, pressing her hands into his chest to push him back. He goes with a soft smile. Her good boy knows better than to grab at her to drag her with him.

She folds herself over him, gazing between his lips and his flooded brown eyes when he stops her, grunting a little as he raises his chin.

“Where did all these come from?”

He’s staring up at her in wonder, just below her eyes. Her brow furrows. She leans onto one hand to lift her fingers up to graze her nose.

“My freckles?

He beams so wide and lazy it makes her smile too without knowing what they’re grinning about.

“Yeah. You’ve been hiding these under makeup?”

She shrugs.

He lets his eyes trail over the course of them -- a heavy sprinkle over her nose and cheekbones, growing sparse and light down her cheeks.

Shawn closes his eyes and sighs. “Didn’t think you could get prettier.”

Penny dips her head to kiss the spot between his collarbones, tugging at the collar of his shirt to reach it.

“How was Finland?” she finally stammers, needing to put something between them and… this.

“Weirdly hot. And the food was really good.”

She doesn’t bother to point out that she’s been there with the Aston Martin guy. Instead, she nods and watches his blinks get slower and slower. 

She wets her lips. “It must’ve been nice to have a break.”

His eyes refocus on her. He stares questioningly.

“From the American press, I mean. I’ve seen a lot of you and Bex lately. Which I guess means that’s going the way it was planned.”

She doesn’t sound bitter or flippant, just matter-of-fact. Shawn ignores the tiny voice that wishes he could accuse her of jealousy. He knows he wouldn’t like her response if he did.

“Yeah,” he hums, “Her album sales have gone up. Mine are projected to be… pretty good.”

He’s being modest. His album is one of the single most anticipated releases of the fall. But thinking about that makes him want to throw up so he chooses to suck on her bottom lip again, re-memorize the little dip in the middle where he likes to flick his tongue.

“It’s ok, you know,” she breathes after he pulls back, “That you don’t want to talk about it with me. I understand it’s… maybe confusing.”

Shawn shakes his head. “It’s not that. Honestly, I’m better talking about it with you than anyone else. I know you’d never judge me.”

She smiles, a little warm, a little sad. “It’s true. The prostitute can’t be throwing stones at any glass… anything.”

Shawn actually chuckles. It’s odd how quickly it happened, but he’s long since gotten used to the notion that she’s a paid sex worker. He probably got over it somewhere around the third orgasm. He knows what Niall meant now about it being like a form of therapy. The stigma doesn’t bother him like it once did.

He lowers his gaze to the strings on her hoodie. “I guess I just like mostly pretending it’s not happening. It’s not… it’s not like I’m miserable around her. She’s a nice girl, she’s fun. But I built a whole relationship with my fans on always being honest. I told them everything, I promised I always would. I gave them everything. Because they’ve given me everything.”

Penny nods. “You made those promises as a teenager. Your life hasn’t been simple in a long time, but it sure as hell was simpler then. You’re a grown man now. No real adult’s life is so easily lived in the spotlight. I know you know that, you’ve lived through some of that already. The rest of the world has to figure out how to deal with you now, how to approach you differently. I don’t think they’ll need much more time. The Bex thing, as much as I know it makes you squirm, it’s working.”

Shawn closes his eyes. He takes a deep breath, feeling it rattle in his chest as tears threaten. He’s so fucking tired.

“It’s working,” he agrees in a croak.

Penny knows enough to move on now. She slides up his body so their heads are level. She teases his bottom lip with the tip of her tongue.

“Your bed is comfy,” she coos, rocking from side to side with a grin.

Shawn seems grateful for the distraction. “You like it?”

“I do. Your place is nice. It’s big but cozy, like you.”

Shawn smiles, releases a little chuckle through his nose. “It’s nice like this… with you. In sweats and t-shirts, just… y’know. It’s easy.”

Penny’s smile grows a little dangerous in that way he loves. “Who said I was gonna make it easy, baby?”

Shawn groans. “You never do. It’s what I like about you.”

Penny purrs, ducking her face back into his neck, on the other side this time as he cradles her. Her fingers sneak up under his shirt, teasing the soft hair on his stomach that trails into his pajama pants. He releases a breath into her hair as his muscles contract.

“What can I do for you, baby? What would you like?”

She usually chooses for them. He usually wants her to. But she must have sensed that he was holding back, wanting to ask. He sighs.

“In the shower I was thinking about… after the cock ring. What we did after.”

Penny’s eyebrows raise. Her heart picks up pace against her ribs. She stays cool and purses her lips.

“What was it we did after, Shawn?”

Shawn’s cheeks start to flush. He rolls his eyes. “You want me to tell you I want you to fuck me in the ass?”

Penny’s eyes go bright with delighted shock. She laughs, “That’s exactly what I want.”

Shawn, never one to deny Penny what she wants, manages to get his mouth around the words, his eyes sliding shut. “I want it, Pen. I want to take your cock like a good boy.”

Penny growls before he even gets the words out. She drops her weight against him, rocking her hips automatically in a way that gets him groaning into her plundering mouth. Before they can get too lost in their almost teenage humping, warmth trapped under layers of clothes, Penny straightens up on her arms, perched over him.

“Did you get ready for it in the shower?”

He nods and glances around his room like he’s just realized something.

“Where’s your suitcase?”

She grins. “I traveled light today. I brought a purse.”

He eyes her. “You… have a strap on in your Prada bag?”

Penny tilts her head. “I’m always prepared.”

She sits up in his lap and stretches her arms up, shedding the bulky hoodie, bare underneath. Shawn whines so loud his torso clenches. 

He pants, “Can I touch your nipples?”

Penny nods, continuing her hips’ assault against his. She rolls against him, feeling him go fully hard under the thin flannel fabric of his pants, angling herself so his cock slips against her swollen cunt through her leggings. Shawn’s hands go straight to her breasts, cupping their fullness and positioning his thumbs right over her hard buds, the ones he treated so well he made her come without touching her perfect pussy. He smirks at the memory.

“Thinking about it, baby? About how hard you had me coming just with your pretty mouth on my tits?”

Shawn’s head falls back as he mewls. He loves it when she gets mouthy like this. She’s excited, he can feel it. He thinks maybe she likes pegging him as much as he likes being pegged by her.

Shawn scrapes the tips of his fingernails against her nipples like she likes and it’s like striking a match. Her back stiffens, she groans, loud and deep. He watches them go diamond hard between his fingers, squeezing a little just to get a last dirty thrust of her hips against his before she really goes to work on him. She knows his game and gives him a crooked grin. 

“Are you gonna be a good boy or a brat?”

Shawn’s pearly teeth sink into his swollen, wet lip. He nods. “I’ll be so good, Pen. Gonna be your good boy. The best.”

Her lips twitch. She blinks quickly, startled with the words that almost come slipping out of her mouth.

You’re already the best I’ve ever had.

Penny lays her hands over his much larger ones on her chest and peels them away, dropping them beside his cherubic curls. She moves her hands down to rest against the firm stillness of his chest, his steady heartbeat singing for her. His fingers twitch but he remains quiet beneath her, watching her, wondering about her.

Her fingers stretch and relax, scrunching at the fabric of his t-shirt. He lifts his hips invitingly, just grazing her, offering himself to her. Like in case she forgot how much he wants her and needs her, he’s there to remind her.

Penny lowers herself against him slowly and flips them, his arm tucked beneath her, his knees bracketing her legs to hold his weight. She reaches down and lifts the hem of his shirt, wriggling him out of it. She’s hit with a wall of him, warm naked chest and the perfectly Shawn scent that comes with it. It’s the purest version -- devoid of cologne or weed or the incense Cez sometimes burns. It’s his soap, his breath, his shampoo, his skin. She gasps greedy lungfuls, sinking her hands into the easily defined ridges of his back as she grapples with a way to steady herself.

She closes her eyes away from his prying ones and pushes her hands down his hips to shove at the fabric of his pajama pants. With a few heavy grunts, he manages to slip out of those, too, his old plaid boxers going with them. He fights to keep himself from grinding down against her. He can smell how wet she is for him already through her leggings. He slams his eyes shut and struggles to breathe.

He opens them again when he hears her shuffling around beneath him. In a squirm of fabric and freckled skin, she sheds her leggings and whatever panties she had on beneath. For once, he finds he doesn’t care what they look like. He just aches at the sight of her bare and wet, her limbs threading around him like sun-darkened vines.

“How are you always so tan?” he breathes, his mouth tugging up at the corner. Penny grins lazily, her eyes heavy.

“I sunbathe naked on my patio while I listen to audiobooks.”

Shawn is seized by the image, at once so, so painfully sexy and somehow also domestic and warm, like if he spent a few seconds longer with it he could imagine being back there with her, sharing a bottle of wine, playing his guitar for her.

But he definitely doesn’t let himself get that far.

Instead, he buries his face in her neck and inhales. “Fucking gorgeous.”

Penny brings a hand firmly down his spine from his neck to his lower back, squeezing for his attention. “Hold on a second.”

Shawn eases back, blinking curiously. Penny slides out from beneath him. On little brown tiptoes, she hops to the window and peeks out curiously. Once she’s had a look, she glances back over her shoulder at him. His brow lifts.

Penny lifts back the curtains, flooding the room in midday Californian sun. Shawn winces and blinks, turning his cheek. She tucks the curtains back, revealing his view, the rolling, blank green of the Hollywood Hills. Shawn’s lips part like he’s going to say something, but he doesn’t. Penny turns to face him.

“I want to see you in the sunlight.”

Shawn trembles with a shiver as she approaches the bed slowly, perching on the end, cupping his cheek so her thumb runs along the lower edge of his cheekbone. 

He can see every freckle. He can see every little smile line. He can see a little ridge-like scar on her temple that he doesn’t know the story of. He can see the way her skin glows like she’s absorbing the sunlight she craved for him. He can see everything.

And so can she. The only natural light she’s seen him in has been cloudy, dusky, early morning light that lovers sleep through, or shrouded by curtains that forgive the sharp edges of shadows and direct sun. She left no room for it here. She can’t believe she never noticed how pink he is, all over. She’s seen it in his cheeks and chest, and on occasion in the skin she’s abused to the point of sweet red welts, but never like this where she gets to see the true permanent almost-blush that sits ready under the surface at all times. It’s breathtaking.

They both know they’re spending too much time openly studying each other, but the opportunity is too tempting to ignore. It’s Penny that breaks first, dropping kisses into his shoulder as she crawls over him, pressing him back into the mattress with a deep sigh.

Through the soft graze of his chest hair, she flicks at his hard little nipples with her tongue, enjoying the way he arches into her with a little huff of air. She keeps on, nose brushing all the petal pink skin she finds on her way down, punctuating with wet presses of her lips until she reaches the dark swirls of pubic hair that trail from his navel downward. His chest shudders hard as her breath displaces the hair and her hands find the soft insides of his thighs to push them apart for her to settle between. His cock twitches with interest, just gone fully hard against his stomach. She brushes her lips along the shaft, lips parted in a curious smile. Her hand reaches back to the bench off the foot of the bed. Shawn’s eyes snap shut at the sound of the bottle of lube opening and shutting. 

Penny’s lips are followed by just the tip of her tongue. Her tracing is gentle, intimate like the touch of a finger along the throbbing vein, then to the sensitive head of his cock. Her fingers warm the lube between them with audible wet strokes that make Shawn’s brows pull together in anticipation.

Her lips join her tongue again at the base of his cock. Her fingertips press gently against his perineum. His inhale sizzles through his nose loudly. She rubs little circles, firming up in pressure as her mouth moves in a wet pattern up to the head of his cock. It slips between her lips. Shawn’s fingers sink into the squish of his duvet.

“Fuck,” he breathes in disbelief, lifting his knees to plant his feet before she can ask him to. 

She works her tongue in swirls around the head of his cock as her fingers draw the same motion around his hole. Just as she slurps at his tip, she sinks a finger in to the first knuckle.

Shawn sighs comfortably, less tense now than he was when they first began exploring this together. She slips it in and out a few times before burying it further. His head tips back and draws out a moan that’s as honest and selfless as she’s ever heard him. It urges her on.

As Penny curls her finger, stroking upward, Shawn loses himself further. He turns his cheek against the pillow, nuzzling as he presses his ass into the bed. His dark eyes fixate on her, on the way she watches him when she slides a second lubed finger inside him, moving so preciously slowly, treating him with so much care it sucks the breath out of his lungs into more breathy moans. She alternates attending to the head of his cock with her wet mouth and pressing kisses to his shaft, keeping the main focus on the talent of her perfect little fingers. She scissors them apart slightly, stretching him to get ready for the toy, grinning at the way his toes curl.

“Penny, baby, feels so good,” he grunts, shaking his head in disbelief. She hums her agreement. She has her own fondness for this, feeling the tight, welcoming warmth with him, feeling the trust grow ever stronger as he puts more of himself in her care with each breath.

Penny licks a drop of precome from his tip and watches her free hand spread to trail up his chest and rest over his heart. It’s thrumming hard, not too hard, not enough to make her back off for fear of ending it early. She wants to take this time nice and slow for him now that he knows how much he likes it and asked her for it. She focuses the press of her thumb into his perineum while her fingers flex and curl.

“Fucking… yeah, Penny, Jesus,” he pants slightly, fisting the sheets on either side of him. She can feel and see the sheen of sweet sweat on his chest and abdomen. He’s almost ready.

“Baby,” she breathes, her voice hoarse from disuse and the weight of her own arousal, “You want my cock?”

He’s not so bashful this time as the first time she asked. He nods first, closing his eyes to find his voice.

“Baby, Penny, please. Fuck me.”

Her toes curl in anticipation. She rolls her hips needily into the bed. Shawn watches with a growling moan. His body protests the careful removal of her fingers and she knows he wants his hands on his aching cock but one look from her reminds him she hasn’t given him permission. Instead he squirms against the bed watching her lift the strap on harness out of the pouch and step into it. Her wetness makes a sound as she separates her legs. She bites her lip at his eager gasp.

“Nice and wet, Pen? Gon-gonna come when you fuck me?”

She tightens the harness around her hips and thighs and considers him through heavy lidded eyes. She flips her feathery dark hair out of her face and cups her fist around the base of the dark green silicone toy.

“Would you like that? Wanna feel me come with you?” Her breath breaks off at the end. Shawn lifts his head and nods again, more fervently.

“Baby, I always want to feel you come. I need to make you come. Please.”

Penny feels his urgency and steps to the end of the bed, reaching for the bottle again. She slicks the toy down with a generous handful of lube. Shawn pokes the tip of his tongue out of the corner of his mouth as he watches, knees still bent, legs still spread. 

As she lifts a knee onto the end of the mattress, Shawn comes up on his elbows and readies to turn over. She reaches out and grabs his leg to stop him. The first time she took him like this, he was on his knees with her behind him. He’s surprised when she has him lift his hips to settle a pillow beneath them and angle him up toward her. She pulls his thick thighs over hers and nudges him with the head of the slick toy. He exhales slowly, nodding.

Penny goes perfectly slow for him, watching the flutter of his lashes as he adjusts to the fit of it inside him. She sinks gently until she’s buried, her hips snug against his thighs. Shawn focuses on his breathing and the way the ends of her hair tickle his chest as she leans forward.

Penny eases her hips through a circular motion that has the toy grinding into him a little harder. His eyes fall shut. He whines, high and sweet.

“Yeah, baby?” she coos.

“So good,” Shawn sighs, opening his eyes again when he feels her thumbs rubbing similar circles into the insides of his thighs. He’s noticed she has a thing for matching patterns in the way she touches him to heighten sensation. He offers her a lazy, fucked-out grin as she continues the slow sway of her hips.

“Have you ever tried this?” he whispers, nodding at her.

Penny bites at her lower lip like she’s not sure. The coyness is a reflex. She shakes it off.

“Yeah. I like it, too. With the right partner.”

Shawn smiles. His thighs tremble. Her hips have picked up their easy pace. She grips him a little harder as she rocks into a pulsing motion that has her sliding in and out a bit more obviously.

Shawn groans. “Holy… shit.”

He’s wordier when she’s inside him than he usually is. She likes that, makes it feel like he’s even more free than usual, like his thoughts come out through his mouth rather than the alternative of getting stuck to rattle in his brain.

Penny eases forward onto one hand by his head. Her breasts hang, her nipples grazing his chest as she strokes in and out more purposefully. Shawn’s eyes fall shut and his head lolls back. His mouth drops open in a low cry of pleasure.

“Shit… f-fuck,” he sobs, feeling the welcome heat of this with her singe him all over. He grips the sheets harder.

“Can touch me if you want,” she pants, her breath broken up by the strain of her thrusts and the way they bump right up against her swollen clit in the way she likes.

Shawn’s fingers are flushing red as the blood seeps back in. He lifts one to cup her shoulder blade and the other around the back of her head. The motion focuses her eyes down on his, up from where she’s pressing into him.

His eyes are heavily glazed and his lips are parted and wet. Before she thinks about it too hard, she dips down to lavish them with kisses. The change of angle has Shawn nearly purring into her mouth, his legs spreading wider to welcome her closer.

“Baby, oh my god,” he hisses, his curls shivering against his forehead as she mouths at the edge of his jaw.

“Like it like this?” she croaks, fucking in and out of him a little faster, “No one’s ever made you feel this fucking good.”

It’s not edged with the cocky lilt her words take on when she’s giving it to him good in bed. There’s a note of desperation. The need to praise and validate her roars up in Shawn’s chest so strong he gasps a breath to speak.

“No one,” he agrees in a rough sigh, “Fucking-- oh. No--nobody, baby, you’re the only one. Penny, you’re the only one.”

With a satisfied moan, Penny reaches between them and wraps her fingers around the head of his cock. Her hips swing harder, wringing a pretty gasping cry from him with each one. She pulses her fingers around him in time, ready to feel him come apart at the seams.

Shawn feels her lips brushing his. He blinks lazily, almost too far gone to speak, but the look in her eyes makes him whisper, “Come with me. Please.”

Penny’s responding breathy whimper sends him right over the edge. He stifles a scream as his entire body goes beautifully tight and he releases between their stomachs and into her small, wet fist. She breathes through it, right up against his lips like they should be kissing but breathing each other in is enough. Suddenly, with an erratic flick of her hips that has Shawn holding her a little tighter, Penny whines his name and it’s the best fucking thing he’s ever heard. She rows up against him again and again, riding through the orgasm he’d give her a thousand more times if she asked until she’s spent and collapsed against his chest, the toy still inside him.

Shawn lifts his heavy arms around her, smiling like a dope into her hair. He smoothes her hair down her back. It falls so far it brushes her cute round ass, so he massages that, too.

Penny peels up enough to look at him. She smiles and bumps her nose up against his lips.

“Wow,” she chuckles.

“Uh huh,” he grunts back, the same amusement in his voice. He cradles her between his legs, propping his chin up on the top of her head.

Penny starts easing her hips back to Shawn’s little noises of protest. She sheds the harness and grabs a wet washcloth to clean them both off. She tosses it in the hamper and crawls up beside him, still bathed in warm morning light, his arm open to the side to welcome her. She’s just settled up against him when she hears something.

“Hey now, hey nooooow! This is what dreeeeeeams are made of!”

Penny’s head shoots up. She always, always turns her personal phone ringer off when she’s on dates. She somehow forgot. Her head jerks as she looks to Shawn, who’s still wearing a look of dreamy calm.

“Nice ringtone.”

“Sorry, fuck-- I usually turn it off. It’s… that’s my brother’s ringtone.”

Shawn tilts his head curiously. “Answer it if you want. Does he know about me?”

The question is so shocking Penny forgets to think before she answers with a short nod.

“I mean… yeah. It’s-- I tell him everything. I mean not, everything everything. Obviously. But… he would die before telling anyone. I promise.”

Shawn’s face shifts at the look on Penny’s. He’s never seen her look so wide-eyed and sheepish. He strokes a hand comfortingly up her arm.

“Hey, it’s fine. I get it. Answer it, I really don’t mind.”

Penny hesitates a moment longer, then launches off Shawn’s chest to get to her purse. With impressive flexibility, she reaches off the end of the bed and hits the answer button before the ringer ends.

“Hey,” she pants.

“You know what absolutely blows?” Peter barks. He’s so loud Penny is sure Shawn can hear every word but he looks out the window politely.

“What?”

“Data structures and functional programming!” Peter wails. A clunk in the background sounds like a textbook falling shut.

“Don’t tell me you got a B+ on a test again,” Penny jabs, eyeing Shawn with a mischievous smile. His nose twitches over a shy grin now that he realizes he’s allowed to listen.

“No, god no, don’t joke about that,” Peter hisses, “Hot TA finally, FINALLY asked me out.”

Penny’s eyes pop. “What? That’s great! He’s so cute!”

“So, so cute,” Peter agrees in a strained voice, “But my data structures professor moved our test up because he got asked to speak at some conference in Bern. The summer semester break is about to start and hot TA is starting an internship in Hong Kong until September!”

Shawn’s eyebrows raise curiously. Penny bites her lip over a smile, her cheeks catching pink at this odd collision of her personal and professional lives.

“Peter, fuck the test. You have an A. Even if you fail it, you won’t fail the class.”

Shawn chuckles, sitting upright to listen closer.

“But--” Peter begins.

“No,” Penny interrupts sternly, “Don’t do the thing. Don’t use me as a way to argue with yourself. You’re in college, Pete. There’s plenty of time to take over the world with your impressive brain later. Go get laid, for the love of god.”

Shawn laughs, loud and delighted. Penny giggles.

There’s a pause. Peter says, “Who is that? Silver?”

Penny wets her lips and lowers her gaze to Shawn’s legs. “No.”

Another pause. “Oh my god, are you on a date?”

Penny chews the inside of her lip. Her silence is enough confirmation.

“Oh my god,” Peter cries, scandalized. There’s another crash -- this time it sounds like a computer chair smacking into a wooden desk, “You answered your personal cell on a date?”

Shawn looks even more intrigued. He leans further forward and bites his lip. Penny reaches out and plucks at a curl on his forehead.

“Shawn doesn’t mind.”

Peter’s overdramatics reach new heights with his squealing cry in reaction. Shawn laughs again, going pink from the chest. Penny crawls into his lap, feeling mysteriously smug -- perhaps at the disproving of her longtime theory that if ever her two worlds should meet, chaos would immediately follow. Shawn gathers her up on his lap and brushes his nose against her collarbone, sweeping his lips against her neck.

“Are you seriously post-coital with Shawn Peter Raul Mendes and taking a phone call from meeee?” His voice has gone all squeaky so the final drawn out vowel makes her cringe.

“Why do you know his full name?” she laughs. Shawn snorts a chuckle and it vibrates her throat. She hums comfortably.

“My god, my god, get off the phone. Bitch, I will hang up on you. Go get that mans. Get that good Canadian rock star dick, what the fuck.”

Shawn laughs harder and he’s close enough to the phone that Peter cries out at the sound.

“Shawn, for the love of all that’s unholy, do something to get her off the phone.”

Shawn lifts his head and considers the challenge. Penny is breathless, watching him lie back, taking her with him. He lifts her, scooting her up his chest until she’s perched over his head, her knees bracketing the pillow, phone still pressed to her ear.

“Hey, you’re still coming for that CalTech thing, right? I see you in a few weeks?” she breathes, gazing warmly down at Shawn as he tongues at the inside of her wet inner thigh. She sinks a hand into his curls to steer him. He goes willingly.

“Yeah, yeah in like a month,” Peter answers distractedly, “I put the flight on your Amex.”

Penny’s eyes fall shut when Shawn swipes his tongue up through her folds, flicking at her clit.

“Good boy,” Penny hums with a nod.

“Are you talking to him or me?!” Peter shrieks.

Penny grunts, glancing down at Shawn who locks his arms around her thighs and bears down. With a shaky inhale, she sighs.

“I don’t know anymore. Bye, Pete.”

She holds the phone away from her ear to hang up. She can hear more screaming as she hits the end call button.

+

Oh my GAWD! Shawn Mendes and Bex Get Hot and Heavy in Miami BETCH! -- Perez Hilton

Shawn Mendes and Bex Spotted Getting Steamy on Miami Beach -- People Magazine

Hottest Couple of the Summer! Shawn Mendes and Bex Making Waves In Miami! -- JustJared

+

Penny lifts her chin and controls her stride as she steps into the chilly hotel room at The Beverly Hills Hotel. With a nod back at Gus, the door shuts behind her.

He’s tall. Extraordinarily tall. He’s probably at least 6’5”. He’s a Nordic god with crisp blue eyes and a swath of blonde hair that falls shaggy but controlled around his shoulders. His body is lean and smooth, well trained but hard and a little unwelcoming somehow. Penny’s lips curl into a smile.

“Miss Penny,” he breathes in lightly accented English, “You’re a vision.”

Penny’s upper lip puckers. She tucks some falling curls behind her ear and steps closer, dwarfed but unintimidated by her new client.

“Mr. Larsen. You’re every bit as handsome as you appear in Forbes.”

He’s flattered by her easy softball of a compliment. She can tell by the way he preens for it that he believes her words. She looks down at the glass of gin in his fist. She looks back up at him and smiles again, walking around him to prepare her own.

“I was very eager to receive your recommendation from a colleague,” he says, easing around the chaise to stand behind her. He’s not hovering, exactly, or at least not close enough to make her uncomfortable. She’s aware of the shimmery body oil she rubbed on the bare skin of her back, accented by her low cut cocktail dress.

Aston Martin guy referred him, Silver told her. She knows the type. Elegant and refined. Not terribly interested in small talk before clothes come off. Gets called ‘daddy’ by the girls he brings home from bars and events but needs a strong woman to hold him down and ride him hard to feel balanced.

It’s easy. No challenge. No problem to solve. Penny sighs. It escapes his notice.

She turns while dropping a wedge of lime into her sweating glass. Her eyes rake him from head to toe. He takes it as an invitation to step closer.

“Good word of mouth is crucial to my business model,” she agrees coolly, taking a sip. It’s not as strong as she’d like.

His smile is vaguely unpleasant. He’s the kind of guy she’d tell the La Splendeur girls to avoid when out in the wild. He steps closer.

“I’ve heard very good words about your mouth.”

Penny’s low exhale takes the place of the eyeroll she’d give if she weren’t being paid so handsomely. She can’t blame his native tongue for the too-smooth, cheesy pun. This guy was probably Oxford or Cambridge educated. He speaks better English than she does. He’s just fucking boring.

Penny drops a finger into her drink, curling it slightly, watching his eyes follow the motion. Too easy.

She brings it to her lips and sips the gin off her finger. She doesn’t even like gin. He licks his chops like she’s a meal.

She puts her glass down.

“Get on your knees, Mr. Larsen.”

+

Whiplash.

It’s the only word for the feeling he’s had for days on agonizing days.

Penny crawled out of his bed and left her scent behind in his sheets after a few more traded orgasms and more shared kisses than usual. In a sexed out daze, Shawn heads into the lion’s den. He’s never seen so many paps outside The Nice Guy. The cold snapping of their shutters knocks him back into reality. The high he rides after a few hours with Penny is cut criminally short.

He cradles Bex close under his arm. He wets his lips and leans in when she whispers in his ear. He smiles, makes it melt like butter, and brushes his lips over hers. It’s stomach-turningly tender.

There’s more obvious canoodling outside the bar. Even with his eyes shut and her sucking on his lower lip in an objectively satisfying way, the flashes have him on edge.

He returns home to a bed that smells like something that feels imagined. It’s somehow even less real to him than the carefully orchestrated farce he’s been living.

Because it can’t be real. There’s no trace of her besides the sunny breath of perfume in his pillows that makes him choke up inexplicably when he buries his face in it before sleep mercifully knocks him out.

He can’t see her. He has trouble picturing her pretty face despite all the time he’s spent staring at it. He claws at it -- freckles. Tiny forehead scar. Slender ankles. Weirdly pointy but still cute knees. The laugh. He can’t remember the real laugh, the one that fizzes like expensive champagne, the kind he only drinks with her. He can’t hear it.

Even if he could manage to cling to all these pretty things, it can’t be real. What’s in the headlines is real. The album sales, the festival numbers, the hashtag stats -- those are real. As fake as it all is, it’s real. It’s more real than the nothing he has with a woman he pays to sit on his face.

His career is real. His album is real. His family, his life is real.

The rest of it is distraction.

-----------

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[the-deeds-to-shibden]

Monday 9 September 1839

[Rubles are obtained, yet another innkeeper is added to Anne’s ever-growing grudge list of daylight robbers, and off we trot eastwards from Åbo, at 7 versts per hour, through picturesque foresty and lakey countryside. After the day’s travel, Ann sketches, and then both linger over a hearty dinner.]

[up at] 6 40/”

[to bed at] 10 10/”

very heavy shower about 5 a.m. fair and fine at 6 40/”  Fahrenheit 63º now at 7 3/4 – breakfast over at 10 1/4 – a man came to offer 1 80 3/4 /100 rouble per dollar banco – sent John again (he had been just before) to the banker merchant to say this – therefore the clerk (Mr. Kingelin himself not in town) said he would give 1/4 copek more i.e. 1 rouble 81 cokeps [copeks] per dollar Banco – sent John with the money (300 dollars Banco) to be changed at this price while I went to the bookseller – out at 11 10/” to our banker

Mr. Muralt our Pasteur of the German protestant church at St. Petersburg

went chez

*Mr. Abraham Kingelin: Åbo                          

*Mr. N. D. Indvén Restaurateur. Åbo

Mr. Kingelin keeps a large shop – woollen (coat) cloth – china, glass etc. etc. – very civil and useful – in correspondence with Tottie and Aufwedson Stockholm – gave 1/81 per dollar Banco and let us have what small money he could and some torn gave us a letter to Helsinfors to get the value of what would not pass on the road – said 10 wersts = 1 mile. One horse 60 kopecks per mile  and double that out of towns –  above an hour there – home about 12 3/4 – looking over money – paid the customs house officer – 1/75 très content – grumbled at the landlord’s charging for lodging 5 rigs dollars – c’est une volée –  

off at 1 3/4  nice partly foresty partly well farmed corn and grass land – Sweden like – pretty picturesque drive – at 2 3/4 pretty lake in sight right –  at 3 8/” Rungo small low neat single house but picturesque little hamlet or village scattered at a little distance and and by and by pass picturesque village church – picturesque rounded wooden hills, or if sometimes bare mammelonné granite – mossy – very picturesque – nice clean farming – all the corn almost housed – a very little in stook –  at Rungo pay 5 kopecks per horse bridge-toll for bridge to come – picturesque from here 1st observe the narrow rosemary leaved low willow poor land but tho’ warty here and there yet well cleared and farmed chiefly Scotch fir and no old wood – quite young in general pretty picturesque drive from Rungo –  Pay by werst, 6 kopecks per horse from single house stations and double from towns

country very picturesque the little unpainted cottages scattered about and little unpainted windmills scattered here and there – the good new wooden bridge now at 4 20/” that we paid toll for at Rungo – and now a minute after another less wood bridge and soon pass by neat little white washed village church right and several fields of corn in stook – Swedish like fences – just like a pretty picturesque good repetition of Sweden – fine day fine afternoon and charming drive – little chesnut horses and cows grazing in the stubble – generaly left as long as we at Halifax ever leave shorn wheat – peas-holm hung out high stakes and railing to dry as in Sweden and Norway – much potato here as there – a few cottages red with white chimneys the effect of this at Åbo Gotheborg etc. etc. and everywhere picturesque and pretty – Wista at 4 32/” pretty picturesque neat little red low station house the village scattered picturesquely about – and in 5 minutes enter forest –  the wood here so often cut down there can be no timber – capital road all along from Åbo – the rye 6 or 7 inches high beautifully green – much taller and greener and better looking than we have anywhere seen it before – Grotza’s news was that there were several Scotch farmers about Åbo, within reach of, who had land under government on long leases for next to nothing as in America – the scattered farms and cottages, and barns very picturesque – our average of changing horses seems about 1/4 hour and our speed about 7 wersts per hour –  think of stopping at the next station – having done 42 1/2 wersts from 1 3/4 to good deal of birch all along – little else except fir –  generally broad lands hereabouts 8 or 10 yards broad and sometimes much more with deep broad drain-like furrows –  road good and a few steepish pitches but as good and little hilly so far as from Gothenborg to Stockholm – but at this moment (6 p.m.) a little bit of forest and road rather sandy and mossy rock among the firs as in Norway and north of Sweden – soon out of the forest and at Keala at 6 10/” – nice nice /sic/ little wood single house yellow with white window frames and red roof – and a pea-green red painted-roofed wing, and coach house on each side – we stay all night like Handbook – on the the /sic/ square head of red post in front of the house

Keala                                                  

till                                                       till

Helsingforss                                Sala 12 2/3 werst

167 2/3 werst                                      till

till                                               St. Petersburg 577 2/3 werst

Kaewola 22 w[erst]                             till

                                                   Wista 15 1/3 werst

                                                           till

                                                   Åbo 42 1/3 w[erst]

 Ann sketched the house but had not time to do much for our dinner served at 6 50/” – 2 roast coqs de bois (as at Ӧsterby near Dannemora) and pancakes and bread and butter and preserved lingbaer (cranberries) – enjoyed it and sat long over it –  had not done with Grotza till after 9 – very fine day Fahrenheit 64º now at 9 50/” taking my chronometer at 1 1/2 hour too late and 3/4 hour put forward at Roeskilde in Denmark = 2 1/4 hours earlier time here than in London

 Anne’s marginal notes:

Mr. Muralt

off from Abo

corn housed

Red cottages with white chimneys

autumn-rye. Scotch farmers.

Keala.

difference of time here and in London

Notes:

*written in a different handwriting - perhaps Mr. Muralt wrote useful information down for Anne on board the steamer?

(French) c’est une volée = it’s a robbery

(Swedish) till = to

WYAS pages:   SH:7/ML/TR/13/0025       SH:7/ML/TR/13/0026

Trömper’s Inn, an 18th-century inn just a couple of miles before Keala  (today just a name not even featuring on most maps) on Finland’s King’s Road that Anne and Ann largely followed eastwards from Åbo; the station house at Keala where they stayed would likely have looked similar to this.

 (image source)

(image source)

[vikingwitchling]

Hanna Heller

A lot had changed since Hanna left her home in rural Finland to exterminate the threat that was Marissa Wiegler of the CIA. Orphaned at the age of sixteen, Hanna still lived by the code her father had taught her. 

Adapt or die. 

Life amongst the 'civilised' people in America was a lot harder than the one she had lead in the snow-covered forests of Scandinavia. Adapting was difficult. For a girl who had hardly encountered electricity before, residing in houses and apartments that depended on power for almost everything soon became frustrating. 

Erik Heller had raised his daughter well in many ways; Hanna was independent, clever and lethal — but other areas he had been neglecting. Though she was fluent in several languages, Hanna often found herself incapable of comprehending what others were speaking of. References to things she had never heard of were used frequently, as were new made-up words her peers would blurt out whenever they meant to be funny or insulting. Hanna had never learned how to socialise, so friends were hard to come by. After a  while, she stopped trying to make human connections altogether. Solitude was simpler. 

And as it turned out, being recluse was what kept Hanna alive when the mysterious virus first broke out. Everywhere she went, people were dying and defying the laws of science by coming back as cannibalistic corpses. The whole world erupted in chaos. The government quickly gave up on evacuations and rescue missions and started destroying entire cities instead. For the greater good. With only herself to worry about, Hanna fled to the countryside and sought refuge in the forests where she felt more at home.

The sun beat down on Hanna's bare shoulders as she walked the pathway leading through a green forest. Judging by the position of the sun it was late afternoon, but the heat was still unbearable. She had been walking for a few hours that day and had not had access to clean water since she left her makeshift camp earlier that morning. Hanna's head was pounding and her body felt weaker than she preferred. What she wouldn't have given to be back in snowy Finland right now. The cold was easier to handle. But there was no point in dreaming. It would never come true. This was Hanna's reality now.

The foliage beneath her feet barely made a sound when she walked. She had been trained for stealthiness all her life, and rarely attracted the living dead by accident anymore. Pausing at a small clearing, Hanna slipped her backpack off and allowed it to drop to the ground among the withered leaves. This was the first decent spot she had come across all day and as it would be dark soon enough, she set up camp there. It was quiet. She could barely hear the birds. Even the forest animals had become aware of the new dangers that shuffled out from between the trees. The living dead left no corner of the world unexplored. In fact, judging by the scent of rot that lingered here, Hanna was certain a herd of them had passed through not long ago. She had to be quiet. 

A little further into the forest, she set a few snares, hoping to catch a squirrel or perhaps something as glorious as a hare. It had been days since she last had a proper meal. If she was lucky, she might have caught something for breakfast the next day. 

When the sun no longer shone so brightly through the treetops, Hanna readied her camp for the coming night. She had long ago realised that sleeping on the ground was highly unsafe these days and had taken to slumbering in the trees instead. She climbed a great, thick oak with ease, navigating her way amongst the lower branches up until the one she considered her destination. The branch was thick enough to carry her weight and high enough up to keep attackers away. From her backpack, she retrieved a lengthy rope which she used to secure her slight body to the trunk, not naive enough to think her balance wouldn't worsen once she had fallen asleep. As it turned out, she didn't even have time to tie the first knot. 

From the depths of the darkening forest came an arrow. It soared through the air so quickly Hanna barely even saw it coming before it grazed the side of her face, leaving a bloodied cut at her left temple. Instinctively ignoring the pain, Hanna set her sights on the direction in which the arrow had come from. Alert and prepared she searched the spot for movement but saw nothing until the second arrow shot through the shrubbery. Her muscles reacted, but not in the way she would have liked and to avoid getting hit Hanna tumbled off the branch and fell to the ground below. Had she been more prepared, she might have landed effortlessly on her feet. But not now. 

Now, she fell on her front, her chest and stomach taking the full impact of the fall. The air was knocked from her lungs, and had it not been for the sound of her own heart beating wildly in her ears, she might have thought herself dead. Three long seconds passed before the adrenalin fired Hanna back up, and despite her body's need for rest, she forced herself onto her feet and back towards the tree. 

Adapt or die. Always remember, adapt or die. 

A cry of pain tore from her throat as the third arrow hit its target, piercing her left shoulder and nailing her to the tree trunk behind her. She was stuck. Stuck in a painful hell.  

"Well, well...lookie what we've got here." The owner of the arrow stepped out from between the trees, his bow still raised and aimed at Hanna's head. He was a lean, but muscular man with a large greying beard and a cold gleam in his eyes. His face was furrowed and weathered, probably due to a long-time exposure of the burning sun and made him appear older than he was. 

Two men followed behind him, both of them heavily armed with automatic weapons hanging from straps off their shoulders, and knives sheathed in their combat boots. They looked younger than the bowman, but they too had been roughed up by Mother Nature and her new soldiers. They were all quite tall and muscular and had a way about them that made Hanna suspect they had once been in the army. 

"You nailed her good, Joe!" the man to the archer's right exclaimed, adjusting the brim of his cap to get a better look at what his comrade had just caught. 

The man called Joe grinned. "Not yet, but I intend to. I haven't had a woman in weeks." 

Hanna groaned in pain as she tried to shuffle away, the arrow that penetrated her left shoulder keeping her from doing so. It was deeply rooted in the tree trunk, and it would take more than a light yank to get loose.

[drowning-in-dennor]

OPAL

[RWBY AU] Teams OPAL and FCIA clash in a sparring session! With Olene’s excellent axe skills, Feliks’ aptness at handling his sword and their teammates’ talent, who will come out on top? (To make the process of naming teams easier, Denmark has been renamed Olene, Finland has been renamed Petra and Lithuania has been renamed Casimir.)

  They’re bright.

  Unlike the drab gray of their stadium, team FCIA is dressed in vibrant colours — their leader, Feliks, in eye-catching fuschia, Casimir in forest green, Ilona in sharp crimson and Anu in brilliant azure. They’re not just cool-looking, though — Feliks and Casimir’s swords are wickedly sharp and Anu’s mech sleeve sinisterly complicated.

  At the sidelines, the judge, Basch, motions for both teams to listen. “Today’s match is team FCIA against team OPAL. Now, I invite the team leader of FCIA, Feliks Łukasiewicz, to shake hands with the leader of OPAL, Olene Dansdatter.”

  Olene steps forward confidently, nodding as she shakes hands with Feliks. “Good luck!”

  Feliks grins. “Best of luck to you guys.”

  The leaders return to their teams, and Basch raises one hand. “On three.”

  “One…”

  Petra’s hand twitches at her bow.

  “Two…”

  Agata places one hand on her sword.

  “Three!”

  Linnea pulls out her mace, and the two teams charge at each other.

  The first blow comes from Olene, who swings her axe at Feliks’ side. He somersaults out of the way and slashes at her, Dust flying out from the side of his blade. 

  As Feliks and Olene clash, Linnea makes her way towards Casimir. She fires tiny darts of ice Dust at him, ducking under his blade and pushing him away using her mace. She shoots more darts from the tip of her mace, then pushes him away again, shooting, pushing, again and again until she manages to have him slam into Ilona.

  Agata deflects dust bullets with the flat of her blade, hearing Petra’s arrow whistle past her head and jam itself into Anu’s sleeve. She reaches Anu with only one small singe on her jacket and swings her sword at her. Gleefully, Agata watches as her blade slices through the strap of Anu’s mechanical sleeve, close to the touch-screen that’s her greatest weapon.

  Then a Hard Dust sword appears in Anu’s hand and she swings at Agata. She barely dodges Anu’s blow and kicks at her sword arm, feeling the blade graze her ear.

  Suddenly, Feliks charges at Linnea with a shout, his sword slamming into her mace. Linnea just barely manages to hold on to her weapon and points the jewelled tip of her mace at Feliks, muttering a command. He just barely avoids a bolt of fire that blazes its way past his head and retaliates with a wave of arrows crackling with electricity.

  Whoosh.

  Olene’s axe flies in front of Linnea’s face and the arrows clang off them, landing on the ground in front of Linnea. “Watch out, Linn,” she says, “I won’t be around to be your knight in shining armour all the time.”

  “I don’t expect you to be.” Linnea runs off in Anu’s direction, looking back for just a split second at her teammate. “I’m not your damsel in distress, you know.”

  Darting around the stadium, Petra nocks her arrow, aiming at Casimir’s arm. She closes in, gets ready to have the arrow fly, and —

  Feliks pops out of what seems like nowhere and slams the hilt of his blade down on Petra’s head. Her Aura flickering feebly, Petra’s bow flies out of her hand as she falls and clutches her head. “Where — “

  “Invisibility!” Agata shouts, blocking one of Anu’s blows with her arm, “his Semblance, Petra. Remember?”

  Petra curses, stumbling to her feet and nocking her arrow with shaking fingers. It flies and embeds itself in Ilona’s calf.

  Ilona clutches her leg, fumbling for her dagger as she limps towards Petra. 

  Olene bolts towards her, lightning-quick with the help of her Semblance. One blow from her axe handle later, Ilona’s on the ground.

  And so’s Olene.

  Aura depleted, both Huntresses limp out of the stadium. “I forgot about your Semblance for a moment,” Olene pants, “nice work there.”

  Ilona collapses on a chair, too worn-out to speak.

  Linnea chases Feliks, jabbing her mace sharply and firing bolt after bolt of frigid darts. The thin slivers of ice cling to his coat, rendering his Semblance futile.

  when Feliks stops to catch his breath, his back covered in darts like porcupine quills, Linnea takes the chance to point her mace at the ground, whistling sharply and closing her eyes. 

  The air grows colder.

  From the ground, a troll appears, towering and wearing a dark scowl. Linnea gestures at an already-fleeing Feliks with her mace. “Go.”

  Petra fires at Casimir again, her arrow flying into her hand after every shot. With holes in his chest plate, his gauntlets and his greaves, he’s close to running out of Aura.

  An arrow to the forearm, making Casimir drop his sword, is the final blow. He thrusts out his hand at Feliks, face contorted in effort as he slumps to the ground.

  Rejuvenated, Feliks leaps up, cleaving Linnea’s phantom troll cleanly in half with his sword. Darts long-melted, he swings at Linnea and dodges her dust shots. “Thanks, Cas!” 

  From his spot in the bleachers, a beat-up-looking Casimir gives his friend a thumbs-up.

  Dart after dart flies past Feliks, never hitting their target. Linnea grits her teeth and smacks Feliks with her mace, pushing him back before a retaliating punch to the gut makes her see stars.

  She reaches a hand into her pocket — she doesn’t have any Dust left. Linnea winces as Feliks delivers a strong strike to her side, knocking the wind out of her. Feeling sick, she nods at him as she leaves the stadium with teary eyes.

  “Nice job out there.” Olene wraps an arm around her shoulders as she sits down. “Cas’ trick really screwed you over, though.”

 In the stadium, Agata charges once again at Anu, dodging shots from her Hard Dust rifle and trying to land a hit on her mech sleeve. Petra fires her arrow again and again at Feliks, dismayed as none of them hit their mark.

  “You know,” Linnea remarks, “I think FCIA’s going to win.”

  Petra staggers away from a swing, hitting Feliks with the head of her bow. As she nocks her arrow again, fingers blistered and red, she almost falls. 

  “Petra’s Aura is definitely running low.” Olene points at her, struggling to fire an arrow. “But don’t forget, Linn — Aggie hasn’t used her Semblance just yet.”

  Predictably, she falls to the ground with a weak grunt after one last arrow to Feliks’ knee, clutching her hands to her heart and nearly falling unconscious. Anu walks her to the bleachers with a sympathetic pat on the shoulders. “You were great.”

  Agata lunges at Feliks, her Aura flickering navy-blue around her as she leaps and lands on his sword. With a shout, her Aura flickers again and Agata sends Feliks crashing face-first to the ground.

  “That was smart.” Using his sword as a cane, Feliks hobbles out the stadium. “Totally a dirty trick, but smart.”

  The battle’s down to Anu and Agata, neither of whom are ready to yield. When Anu fires her Hard Dust replica of Petra’s arrows at Agata, they bounce off her sword. When Agata tries to slash at Anu, her crudely-made (but sturdy) shield protects her.

  But when Anu shapes a razor-sharp discus, glowing red with fire Dust, Agata makes her move. She sprints right into the blast, sword abandoned on the ground.

  Heat swells throughout the stadium, and dust scatters like sand. Agata catches the discus and hurls it at Anu, watching as the heavy weapon crashes into her torso.

  Anu falls, the front of her jacket burnt away. Her Aura flickers.

  Basch clears his throat. “Anu, the last member of team FCIA, has run out of Aura. This makes Agata the last Hunter standing, and team OPAL the winner of this match.”

  Olene whoops, running out onto the stadium to tackle Agata in a hug. “Damn, Aggie, that was hella impressive!”

  “Thanks.” Agata’s knees buckle under her.

  “Can’t believe you lasted ‘til the very end, too! And against Anu of all people — that’s — wow.”

  “Can you let go?” Agata punches weakly at Olene. “Think I’m going to pass out.”

  “Wow,” Olene repeats, grinning.

  Leaning on Olene, Agata staggers out of the stadium. She’s exhausted, battered and dead on her feet…

   But a winner.

[mylifeatwar]

Book 2, Chapter 6, Page 14

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Hello Everyone!

So it looks like Amalia’s life had some… rough turns before someone noticed that her no-holds-barred style of violence meant that she might have a bright future strapped into a suit of Bull Armor.

Please, take an extra moment or two to give this page a full gander. Matt managed to absolutely cram this one full of details.

Thanks for reading,

– Luther out

Comment Text Follows:

Radical Dreamer - So looks like they send recruiters to seedy bars. Good enough location to find people both familiar with a rough life and desperate enough to risk it all working for a paramilitary organization. It looks like she took on at least five people and is coming away better off. Two look out cold, one is moaning and probably not getting up soon, and Mr. Overalls looks like he took a shot to the nose and might be missing some teeth. All and all, anyone willing to take on those odds is bull material. As was said earlier in the comic, the bulls are always outnumbered. I do like the little details. The piece of Amalia’s clothes in the guy’s hand, the pouch with all the business cards, the empty holster (scabbard maybe) strapped to Mr. Overalls, the building itself looks like it might be made of sea cans or something similar.

piratep2r - What an awesome pic. Notice the bulls belt buckle on the recruiter? A former bull himself, perhaps? Green hat holding overalls back so he don’t get shot (nice). Blood on the bar edge where someone presumably got face-slammed. Any clues what happened to overalls’s (overalls’?) piece? Empty holster, but nothing in sight. Also, what is the flying saucer thing that is spraying beer? I mean, I know it is a keg, but I don’t understand the light blue part. Is it a drone? Was it flying? Finally @radical, good eye on the shipping container construction. Very subtle and cool. And RL (as you prob know) – http://housely.com/office-buildings-made-shipping-containers/

Radical Dreamer - I missed that belt buckle detail. That’s a good catch as was the blood on the bar. It might be how overalls lost some teeth. I think that saucer is just a table. You buy the keg and share it with your entire party instead of everyone having to get up and get more. I think that holster is actually a scabbard. It doesn’t look right to hold a gun but about right for a nice sized knife. He probably pulled it and lost it in the fight. I don’t see it sticking out of anyone or on the floor. Its also possible they confiscate weapons on entry too. Unless of course you pay the establishment something in order to keep it.

Kasper - I don’t think the saucer is all table. Note the fzzt’ing electronics on the ceiling, the design is similar to that on the thing stuck into the table/object. Pull-down dispenser of… something?

Keith "I've seen the elephant" -  Bar owner might be former bull also, note the poster behind the bartender…rodeo bull. 

Arcanestomper -  That actually looks more like a TV to me. Like in a sports bar. Set to show a rodeo for the patrons.  

Darkkismeth -  Actually is that a TV, there is a black frame around and it goes smoothly over a intersection of 2 containers.

Jaksteri -  It might just be the company logo, at least I recall seeing bulls shadow being used a lot of times. Or maybe it’s just national symbol and thus it’s just as common as lion in Finland, or more so since they actually have said animal outside zoos.

nweismuller - It’s been said before that bulls are a frequent symbol of wealth and success in the Free Market, due to their geographic situation leaving prime grazing land at a very high premium.

Robinhood78 - This might be my favorite panel yet in terms of artwork. Not only is there plenty to absorb, but the detail! I mean, the ceiling tiles even look like they have a texture I can feel just look at them! Excellent work. The art is really coming along and even though there was little dialog this panel says so much.

SteelRaven - Not that is one bad ass page!

SteelRaven - ‘Now’ that is one bad ass page … sorry, I need some sleep.

LHC - I really like this panel

nweismuller - This page really is impressive work, artistically. A great deal of information packed in to enjoy.

nrfherder - This page is brilliant. Best I’ve seen in the comic.

DuWitner - Is that blood on the ceiling?

Radical Dreamer - Maybe but it looks old and dried. It could be leaking down from the container above. It also could be the result of a drunken individual thinking it would be funny to sling something up on the ceiling.

TKG - This page conveys motion without the need for animation, it’s fantastic. Amalia really needs to have the nickname “rampage” because damn she sure tore up the bar, the guys in the bar and whatever the hell else was in range.

[sarahsweden-blog]

Five Interesting Nonfiction Books

1. The Expedition: Solving the Mystery of a Polar Tragedy by Bea Uusma

On July 11th, 1897, three men set out in a hydrogen balloon bound for the North Pole. Led by engineer August Soloman Andrée, they want to make history, but are frighteningly underprepared. Three days into their journey they make a crash landing and disappear into a white nightmare. They never return. 33 years later. The men's bodies and equipment are found buried beneath the snow and ice on a deserted glacier. They had enough food, clothing and ammunition to survive. Why did they die? 100 years later. Artist and doctor Bea Uusma is at a party. Bored, she pulls a books off the shelf. It is about the Andrée Expedition. For the next fifteen years, Bea will think of nothing else... This is her journey to uncover the truth. (Goodreads.com)

2. A History of the Swedish People by Vilhelm Moberg

Beginning in prehistoric times and culminating with the Dacke rebellion of 1542, renowned novelist Vilhelm Moberg's two-volume popular history of the Swedish people approaches its subject from the viewpoint of the common people, documenting peasants' lives as well as those of the royal families. In this first volume Moberg examines Viking raids, the coming of Christianity, and the Folkungs royal dynasty, whose tyrannical reign lasted from 1250 to the 1360s. He vividly describes the arrival of the Black Death from a ship that docked carrying only dead passengers, and he recounts the reign of Queen Margareta who founded the Kalmar Union, comprising all of Scandinavia. In every chapter, Moberg faithfully imparts how history affected "the whole people" of Sweden. (Amazon.com)

3. Fishing in Utopia by Andrew Brown

From the 1960s to the 1980s, Sweden was an affluent, egalitarian country envied around the world. Refugees were welcomed, even misfit young Englishmen could find a place there. Andrew Brown spent part of his childhood in Sweden during the 1960s. In the 1970s he married a Swedish woman and worked in a timber mill raising their small son. Fishing became his passion and his escape. In the mid-1980s his marriage and the country fell apart. The Prime Minister was assassinated. The welfare system crumbled along with the industries that had supported it. 20 years later Andrew Brown traveled the length of Sweden in search of the country he had loved, and then hated, and now found he loved again. (Amazon.com)

4. The Palace of the Snow Queen: Winter Travels in Lapland by Barbara Wilson

A Frequent traveler to Northern Europe, Barbara Sjoholm set off one winter to explore a region that had long intrigued her. Sjoholm first travels to Kiruna, Sweden, to see the Ice Hotel under construction and to meet the ice artists who make its rooms into environmental art. Traveling to the North Cape, she encounters increasing darkness and cold, but also radiant light over the mountains and snow fields. She crosses the Finnmark Plateau by dogsled, attends a Sami film festival (with an outdoor ice screen), and visits Santa's Post Office in Finland. Over the course of three winters, Sjoholm unearths the region's rich history, including the culture of the Sami. As Sjoholm becomes more familiar with Kiruna, she writes of the changes occurring in northern Scandinavia and contemplates the tensions between tourism, the expansion of mining and development of the Ice Hotel, and age-old patterns of land use, the Sami's struggle to maintain their reindeer grazing lands and migration routes. (Amazon.com)

5. Lagom: The Swedish Art of Balanced Living by Linnea Dunne

The Swedish concept of Lagom (pronounced "lah-gom") roughly translates to "not too little, not too much, just right." This charming book introduces readers to a new way of balanced living that promises happiness and sustainability in work and in life. Lagom provides simple solutions to juggle everyday priorities, reduce stress, eat well, and save money, with lessons on the importance of downtime, being outdoors, and Sweden's coffee break culture. Tips on removing clutter and creating a capsule wardrobe help readers achieve Sweden's famously clean and functional design aesthetic, while advice on going green and growing food gets their hands dirty. (Goodreads.com)

[orcinus-ocean]

What we have lost

Apparently the least interesting of all the topics I bring up, is the topic of rewilding, because my rewilding posts typically only get 1-3 notes, when I present you with amazing videos or other material.

And I think that is an outrage, because in my opinion, this is the most important topic anyone could talk about. Of every topic in the world, in politics, social problems and topics of the natural world, if I had to choose one, rewilding would be my number #1 topic to talk about.

Yet almost nobody is talking about it, or has even heard about it.

So prepare to be bored some more, because I’m not done talking. Although my post about diminishing habitats of present-day animals, many of whom we think of as "African" (while they actually belong over most of Eurasia, and some even in North America) got pretty popular, I want to focus more specifically on the destroyed state of Europe today.

We can whine, yell and complain until our faces turn blue about the destruction of Africa, Southeast Asia, and the Amazon. And we wouldn't be wrong, as China-India-Indonesia and everything inbetween is the most heavily populated place on Earth currently, and Africa is going to become the next one.

“Only” a little over a billion people in Africa today, but if current population trends continue for 82 years, until 2100 (they won't, because numbers always change and this number is impossible to reach without a massive change in how we make and distribute food, but for the sake of argument), the human population in Africa will reach 15.5 billion people by the turn of the century. That's more than twice the entire worldwide population today, crammed into in Africa alone.

African animals are already in a dire state, there is hardly any wildlife left in west Africa, or really anywhere outside of reserves. Not to mention the huge human rights and welfare problems on the continent, but this is how bad the population explosion is right now.

And then there is South America. The northern part, the Amazon, to be precise. We hear all the time how much of the Amazon has been destroyed, mainly in order to graze cattle that we eat in Europe and North America.

But when do we ever talk about environmental destruction in Europe? We don't, because we're used to it. In the other three continents I talk about, we are seeing things change drastically within a single human lifetime. And it's really important and great that people are talking so much about it.

But we are not talking at all about the destroyed state of Europe, simply because it's been this way for centuries and we think this is "normal". We think Europe is the only place on Earth that's "boring", not "wild". It never was, it was always just houses, farms and few wild animals tougher than a fox or bigger than a roe deer.

But it has not at all always been like this.

And this is where my main gripe with the current discussion comes in. Because most of us love to bash on people in these other continents. Poor, uneducated farmers (really, I can't understate the difference in their kind of life to yours or mine, or their education level and understanding of the natural world compared to yours or mine, because they were simply born with different opportunities), whose very livelihood depends on their hard, manual, thankless jobs, and they simply can't care about some elephants destroying their crops, or some tigers or lions killing and eating their livestock.

As disturbing as this recent photo of a young elephant being set on fire was, and how evil this seems to me and you, it does no good for the elephants or the other animals there to meet the people as a whole with hate, or say things like "they are devils with no heart or feeling for their fellow creatures", or "may they burn like they burned this poor elephant".

These are not direct quotes, but approximations of what I see every time these human-animal conflicts come up.

These people's opportunities in life are so different from yours and mine, that they simply have never been able to see an elephant, a tiger, a lion, a rhinoceros, the way you and I see these animals.

It's easy for us to sit in our golden towers (and even if you live in a shitty studio apartment, it is a golden tower compared to their existence, and you'll never have to worry about your children starving to death) and talk about kind and majestic, intelligent and feeling animals.

They see a wild beast who's threatening their very lives. And none of that is going to change by hating on them and telling them they're worthless pieces of shit. It can only change by educating them about the animals, and minimizing the risk for human-animal conflict.

Why all this then, what does this have to do with Europe? Because we're such horrible hypocrites. We sit in our (comparatively) golden towers, in our (comparatively) comfortable existence, and judge these people, when our own home has been destroyed and practically empty of wildlife for centuries.

This is the state of wilderness in Europe. And as a Swede, I'll let you know that most of our forest (the light green) is planted woods, not ancient, actual intact forest. And while people from continental Europe or Britain look dreamily at Sweden, Norway and Finland's vast wildernesses, we up here are terrible at taking care of our predators, as I have brought up many times, but lately have found it too heartbraking to keep up with.

We shoot bears and wolves "for protection" practically as soon as they're spotted. Young bear just left his mother, and is grabbing some apples? Shoot it. Mama bear just woke up from hibernation and tries to feed her three hungry cubs by killing a reindeer calf? Shoot her, and her cubs too.

And the reindeer industry is nowhere near the "cultural heritage" it is called. Back in the day, one man had maybe a hundred reindeer he herded with dogs, and on foot. Now they own ten thousand reindeer in a single herd, they herd them with helicopters and snowmobiles, and transport them to slaughter in massive trucks. Cultural heritage my ass. And if a genetically important wolf from Russia kills 5 out of these 10 000 reindeer over the course of several months, it has to be shot NOW, despite massive taxpayer money for every single predator-killed reindeer, and for the reindeer owners to simply have wolves on the land. Our peninsula is a disgusting outrage (Finland too, these three countries are all terrible at valuing their natural predators).

*End rant*

It is funny how this map considers Scotland "intact wilderness", since it is a completely ruined landscape filled with nothing but sheep, deer, and grass, as I have brought up multiple times before (the rewilding tag).

About the British Isles.

The wolf is believed to have become extinct in England as far back as the reign of Henry VII (~1500), and the last confirmed wolf in Scotland was killed in 1680.

The last wolf in Ireland was shot in 1786, the century when rich landlords all over western Europe were intentionally propagandizing people to fear wolves. You see, the landlords wanted wolves off their land, so they could have all the deer to themselves. But the poor farmers had much better things to do with their time than to chase after wolves, so they couldn't be bothered.

Thus the landlords conjured up this image of the blood-thirsty, man-eating wolf, the Devil's pet, the one who must be exterminated at all costs. And from there, we have a three hundred year history of wolf hate which has lasted in western culture to this day (and which European emigrants brought with them to America).

Modern-day anti-wolf propaganda in the United States.

The United Kingdom today, Great Britain to be specific, is a truly mind-boggling country, so outrageous that I can barely put it into words. They actually pay people (with taxpayer money of course), to destroy their land so that nothing can grow on it. And in Scotland specifically, they call this destroyed landscape "come see wild Scotland, please give us your tourist money!" You can hear all about the outrageous state of this island here.

In other places, like in South America, Africa and Southeast Asia, we shout and yell and do everything to defend the rainforest against the ranchers. In Britain, we defend the ranchers against the rainforest and call it “conservation”.

The map above shows the range of the grey wolf in Europe today. It has a strong population in eastern Europe, where it is, incidentally, not hated irrationally like in the west, and also in northern Spain where there are roughly 2000 wolves (to compare, Norway has about 50, Sweden 300, and Finland 100-300). It's not like eastern europeans are huge wolf-huggers or nature lovers, but they don't have the old cultural hatred of wolves that westerners have been instilled with.

Brown bears have a strong population in northern Europe of several thousand, but are otherwise restricted to distant mountain ranges, like the Pyrenees and Alps.

Eurasian lynxes have likewise been extirpated (been made regionally extinct) in almost all of Europe, except again for Scandinavia, the Baltic countries, and a few remote pockets in continental Europe. Despite the fact that this is a relatively small, very shy and completely harmless cat that hardly ever takes livestock due to their fear of humans, and prefers to live off of hares and small deer, there seems to be no room for them in modern Europe.

Not to mention the smaller, unique Iberian lynx species, which lived only in Spain and Portugal and is today all but extinct.

Those are just the largest predators. Then there is the Wisent, or as I prefer to call them in order to give people some emotion when they hear the name, the European Bison.

This megafauna of Europe once stretched from northern Spain to southern Sweden and Finland, all the way to Lake Baikal and northern Mongolia.

In the middle ages, they were restricted to central-eastern Europe. Today there are only a few thousand left, most in captivity or reserves, though the map is not completely accurate, as today they have been reintroduced in small numbers in Poland, Germany, Latvia, Lithuania, Belarus, Ukraine, Romania, Russia and strangely enough, in Kyrgyzstan.

Meanwhile, we have invasive musk ox in Norway and Sweden that are protected, but nevermind that. Invasive species are protected, while our native megafauna is extirpated, and our "protected" predators are massacred.

And the Aurochs, the wild form of our domestic cattle, once ranged across all of this. Then they were domesticated, the remaining wild animals were in the way of the domestic stock (as in Africa today), and the last Aurochs died in 1627.

Projects exist to try to breed it back from domestic cattle, but that's kind of like trying to breed a replica wolf from domestic dogs, or quaggas from zebras. The animal is still gone (but the replacement could fill the same ecological niche, unless you're a complete conservation purist, which I'm definitely not).

That's our top predators, and our most recent megafauna. I definitely don't think it's too much to ask to bring these back, in my lifetime even.

That is what rewilding is. Not just the dramatic introductions of large animals of course, there's also the lot less sexy topics of planting trees and reintroducing ecosystem engineers like beavers, but these large animals are the best advertisement for rewilding. A healthy ecosystem with them back as the kings and queens of their former domains is the goal.

There also used to be lions, cheetahs, hyenas, rhinos, hippos and straight-tusked elephants all the way to Great Britain, but that is probably too extreme even for rewilding projects in this century. That is why I added that picture of the lions by the way. Those are African lions in a zoo, but even they grow thick winter coats when put in a cold climate, and they once roamed all over Europe.

And this is why I can only shake my head when people hate on said poor, uneducated people in Africa and Asia (less sympathy from rich cattle ranchers in South America from me, it's not poor natives cutting down rainforests or killing Jaguars there, it's an entirely different situation).

Because if you are a sheep farmer or reindeer herder in Scandinavia, you can change your job. Easily (again, comparatively). You and your family will not have to go hungry one day in their lives. You are educated. You know about these animals. You know about how ecosystems work. You have resources. Yet, as a collective, we do this.

Conservation is about trying to preserve what's here today. Rewilding is about ecosystem restoration, to revive what we have already killed.

Destruction in Borneo.

Destruction in in the Amazon.

A destroyed, empty landscape being celebrated as "wild" and "natural", in Scotland.

Destruction in Madagascar.

Taxpayer funded "conservation" in England.

Taking care of protected species and ensuring their genetic diversity, in Sweden.

That is why we should be much more outraged about Europe.

[fhujami]

Under the Northern Lights | Chapter 1 [Sam Drake x Reader]

Pairing: Samuel Drake x Reader

Words: 1673

A/N: Oh yeah, another fic XD But this has been ready since summer XD I just never posted it. This idea came talk with @gildaelia ♥ But I thought since Christmas is coming and all, maybe I should post it now?

English is not my main language.

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3

Photo credit

Chapter 1

You and Sam had traveled all around the world, you two had seen most wonderful places on earth. Deep jungles, white beaches, clear blue oceans. This time you two chose to do something different, very different.

Instead of going to another warm place, you two choose to head north. Where there’s 'kaamos,' the polar night during which the sun doesn’t show itself above the horizon, where there’s white snow everywhere, and you need to wear many layers of clothes to keep yourself warm. And since you had always wanted to see the Northern Lights, you two choose to visit Lapland, Finland, the small country in Northern Europe.

Sam had rented you a small cottage. Well, actually it wasn’t a cottage. It was a log cabin, with a glass igloo on the one side of the wall, with a bed on it, where you could sleep under the glass roof, under the Northern Lights.

It was beautiful and romantic. When you stepped inside, and your body started to warm up from the cold what had got deep into your bones from outside, even you had many layers of clothes on you. You couldn’t believe your eyes.

“Oh god, Sam!” - You gasped when you stepped inside and saw the place, especially the glass-igloo. Snow creaked under your shoes against the wooden floor, when you walked into the small cozy cabin and looked around.

A full log cabin made with Finnish pinewood, a huge chandelier made of deer antlers hanging from the ceiling, in the corner of the room there was a fireplace.

You even had a private sauna in the bathroom, where you could warm yourself up after spending time outside in the freezing cold.

Sam put your bags on the ground and closed the door behind you, as he smiled himself when he looked how stunned you were about the place.

“You like it?” - He asked, and you turned to him with a smile that reached from your ear to ear, while your eyelashes started to melt from the frost they had got from the minus 20 degrees.

“I love it.” - You answered and got closer to him, pushing your cold, dry lips against his to give him a soft kiss. You had thought you two are spending your week in a hotel, you never imagine that there would be own private cabin.

When you pulled away from the kiss, Sam smiled and took your woolly hat from your head, releasing your messy hair under it.

“C’mon, let's get these clothes off and warm ourselves.”

You took your clothes off, and you were amazed about the place. It was the most romantic place you had ever been. The cabin was small but cozy, only one room with a huge bed in the middle, small kitchen corner and that amazing glass igloo with another bed on it. You sat on the big soft bed in the middle of the room, hiding under the blanket to warm up yourself, while Sam was working with the fireplace.

You were exhausted after the long flight, but you didn’t want to sleep yet, you wanted to snuggle with Sam on the bed, under the blanket, watching how the fire slowly burns.

You watched how Sam worked with the fireplace, and you couldn’t believe how lucky you were to have a man like him. He was so sweet and gentle, and you loved him from the bottom of your heart. Every day with him, made you love him even more if that was even possible.

Slowly your eyes started to feel heavy, and you couldn’t keep them open anymore. So you let your tired eyes got closed and let your body and mind relax. You heard how the wood burned slowly and quietly, and it faded you slowly to sleep.

You shivered when you felt Sam’s hand on you.

“You’re sleeping?” - You opened your eyes and saw Sam’s hazel-brownish eyes front of you and a small smile on his lips. You smiled back at him and nuzzled to the pillow under your head and nodded. Sam crawled behind you to the bed under the blanket, grabbing you into his armpit, while kissing the crown of your head.

You closed your eyes again, feeling Sam’s warm body behind you and his safe arms around you. Sam started to play with your hair, he always loved to do that for some reason. He took a strap of hair between his fingers, slid it until it falls between his fingers. And you were more than happy to let him do that.

You enjoyed Sam’s body behind you, and then you felt something on your back, while Sam’s hand started to wander through your hair to your neck, reaching down to your breasts. You smiled yourself, looking up what he was up to like you didn't know that already.

When you met his gaze you saw that familiar smirk on his face, which you had loved so much during those years you have been together.

That sweet smirk, what always appeared on his beautiful face when he was up to something. You smiled him shyly, and your tiredness were now all gone, as he leaned to kiss you slowly with love and passion.

You answered his kiss and crawled top of him straddling him, pushing yourself against his growing bulge, while his hands started to wander on your back and the kiss became more passionate in each passing second.

In the morning, you woke up relaxed and rested, even you had long love session with Sam after you arrived your romantic little log cabin. You sighed deeply and turned around to crawl yourself into Sam’s warm armpit, but his side of the bed was empty. You raised to your elbows and furrowed your brows. Normally you were the one who woke up first.

“Morning beautiful,” - Sam said to you, and you turned your head and saw how Sam stood next to the bed, tray in his hand, loving smile on his face.

“You made me breakfast?” - You asked and sat up on the bed, crossing your legs. Sam placed the tray down on the mattress and leaned to kiss you, and you couldn’t help but smile against his lips. You withdrew the kiss and looked at the tray.

Fresh coffee, sandwich, orange juice, and fruits. Sam had really put his efforts. You probably were exhausted and sleeping like a baby, because you had no idea Sam was working on your breakfast in the small kitchen corner of your private cabin.

Sam moved your hair away from your neck and moved his lips to kiss it. You fringed your neck when his soft lips left small wet kisses on your skin, and his stubble grazed your skin.

“Sam.” - You whispered, but you got only a mumbled as a return.

“The breakfast.” - You said looking down the tray.

“I’m not hungry.” - He murmured against your neck before biting it gently, making shivers go through your spine. Part of you hated when he did that.

“Well but I am.” - You chuckled, taking a slice of apple from the plate, and taking a bite, looking at Sam in the corner of your eye.

Sam stopped what he was doing with his lips, and started nuzzling your neck with his nose, letting his stubble to graze your skin.

You chewed the apple and offered him the piece in your hand. He took his face out of your neck, looking the apple in your hand then meeting your eyes. He leaned closer and took a bite of the apple, without leaving his eyes from you.

You stared him in the eyes. Those eyes were filled with love, happiness, and lust. You loved his eyes, always had. Hazel-brown with slightly green rings around them, they were so beautiful, you could stare them forever. And the way they looked at you, made you feel loved.

You always wonder why he fell in love with you, when he could have any women in the world. That why he chose you, what you had done to deserve a man like him? Sometimes you were scared, that he’ll find someone better, and leaves you and took your heart with him. He always told you that you were his fortune, that his life was empty and hollow before he met you, and he would never leave you or hurt you because you were the love of his life.

Your stare became so cozy you didn’t see anything else than his beautiful eyes, sometimes you just got lost in them, just like now. Sam chuckled when he noticed your moment of blindness and leaned to kiss you to wake you up back to reality.

You snapped back when you felt his lips on yours. When he leaned back, he smoothed your head and kissed your hair.

“Eat your breakfast so we can go outside.”

You turned to the tray and took the cup of coffee, smelling it before taking a sip. It tasted so good. Sam got up from the bed and went to his bag.

“What have you been planned us for today?” - You asked while eating the sandwich and sipping your coffee.

“I was thinking we're going to ski.” - He told you without turning from his bag.

You almost choked on your coffee and Sam snapped his head to you to see if you needed any help. You coughed and tried to get the awful feeling from your throat away, while gently tapping your chest.

“You alright baby?” - Sam asked, and he stepped closer to bed, ready to help if you needed it. You nodded at him and took a last cough before taking another sip of your coffee. Sam waited with a worried look on his face.

“Skiing?” - You asked when you finally found your voice again.

“Yeah, it would be fun.” - Sam smiled at you and turned back to his bag.

Yeah, it should be really fun you thought, since you have been skiing last time when you were just a kid.

[norxxcoffee-blog]

Part 8

Sorry if this sucks I wrote it when I was half-asleep. But try to enjoy it :D! (also please review I want to know if there’s anything I should change and stuff like that!)

Sweden's return was not as he had imagined it, but pleasing nevertheless. He walked through the gates of Stockholm, to find Denmark waiting for him, smiling, and for once alone. 'Bror,' he murmured, enfolding Sweden in a tight embrace. He did not know whether to feel shocked, or grateful, or both. When was the last time he held anyone but Norway? Just as they broke away, he thought he heard Denmark breathe, 'I'm sorry'. But it was too quiet to be sure. 'Where's Norway?' Sweden asked guardedly. It was best not to get too hopeful in these situations. Denmark's face grew pensive. 'Gone to his colonies- to Iceland. There's been some unrest up there.' He straightened, and smiled again. 'Who's this you've brought back with you?' Sweden hesitated. Finland had been his and his alone, if only for a few hours, and that was a luxury he rarely felt. 'Go on,' he whispered, nudging Finland gently in the back. 'This is Finland. He'll be staying with us for a while.' Comprehension dawned in Denmark's eyes. He looked at Sweden- Finland's one of us, our brother. 'Welcome to Stockholm! I'm assuming you've never been before?' He had been a Viking not so long ago, and no doubt for Finland the sight of him rushing forward, hand outstretched, was quite a frightening one. Finland made a small noise, stepping back. 'Doesn't speak our language.' explained Sweden. 'But he'll learn.' Denmark nodded enthusiastically. 'Let's get him inside! We've postponed the negotiations for a while, at least until Norway gets back. We can't risk Iceland declaring independence just now.'

Finland turned out to be an avid drinker, much to Denmark's delight. He downed countless flagons of the finest dark ale, making toasts in his own tongue that grew increasingly long and complicated. 'It's no good, Sve.' mumbled Denmark, after what must have been his twentieth or thirtieth tankard of ale. 'I'll never beat him. He's more of an alcoholic than me.' Sweden simply smiled. He had accepted one small glass of the stuff, not wanting to make a fool of himself in front of their new friend. It was proving to be a sound decision. Some time after midnight, Finland reached into the small bag he had brought with him and pulled out a bottle full of clear liquid. 'Vodka', he called it. Denmark groaned. 'I've heard of that stuff. It's completely lethal.' Nevertheless, he managed to consume a full mug of it, before collapsing comatose onto the table. Finland laughed delightedly, draining his own cup. Sweden's head jerked up. Finland's laughter- he had never heard a sound like it. Clear, unslurred by alcohol, like the chiming of a dozen glass bells. I want to make him laugh again. He dismissed the thought as quickly as it came. Why would Finland- strange, lovely, hard-as-iron Finland- ever be interested in him? Even Denmark, drunk half the time and good for little but fighting, was probably more appealing. But Sweden could not stop himself from smiling. He caught Finland's eye; lilac, heather, violet, more flower-coloured than anything. 

'Brother.' 'What?' 'Brother.' Finland pointed from Denmark to Sweden, then to himself. 'Brothers.' Something clenched inside of Sweden. He did not truly want Finland as a brother, (wanted him as a companion through the centuries who would stand by him no matter what, who would smile at him and see past the grim face, be strong and loyal and loving-) not as Denmark was his brother. 'Friend.' he said. 'Friend.' Puzzlement crossed Finland's face, which only served to make it more endearing. 'Friend.' he repeated slowly. That same bright smile flashed suddenly. He touched Sweden lightly on the shoulder, then was gone, moving with his customary grace. Sweden stood there, empty cup in hand, for so long it might have been millennia. 'Sve?' Denmark's voice jerked him back to the present. He turned to look at his brother, and was shocked to see his face crumpled with sorrow. 'We're back together again, aren't we? Please?' He had always let more slip when drunk, that was true. And Sweden had yearned for this day. But now he had a choice. Finland, and half-stolen glances, a rare brush of hands, hope so slim it might as well be invisible? Or the brothers that had been with him for so many decades? Both. A voice entered his head. Why not both? 'Yes.' said Sweden. 'Yes. We're all together.' *** Whilst his brothers reconciled to the south with their new friend, Norway was heading north. The swaying deck beneath his feet felt strange. There had been no need for sea battles in a long while, now that their populations had grown sufficiently for a proper army. But Norway knew the sea would always hold a special place in his heart. He sat at the prow, the wind in his hair, accompanied by a sense of freedom that was only now beginning to feel familiar. Where else did salt spray taste so sweet, where else could churning blue monsters be seen as beautiful, but out upon the open ocean? Denmark would have given much to be here now. Out of the three of them, he had always revelled in the open waters most. But for once, he had declined the opportunity to be reunited with his first love. 'I shouldn't, Nor.' he said, when Norway told him about the situation in Iceland. 'It wouldn't be fair on Sweden. You go. I'll stay here and wait for him.' It had been a mournful, but bravely smiling Denmark that waved Norway off at the harbour. He will be all right. He is strong. 

Norway took in a deep breath when they were put ashore, inhaling the scent of this strange, wild place. When he first discovered it all those years ago, it had been the same- the green smell, fresh and brisk, laden with heather's muted fragrance, and snows so cold he could almost touch them, feel the ice against his fingers. And now its people have risen up. As rumour would have it, at least. He set off up the bank, walking past several empty fishing nets. The little settlement soon came into view. It was composed of a few dozen small cottages, scattered with seeming randomness across the island, presided over by a wooden longhall. A few sheep grazed in a waterlogged field; somewhere overhead, a seabird squawked. There was not much else. Norway felt shame prickling at him; this was his colony, his responsibility, and it was his fault if anything went wrong. Which, knowing his luck, it had. 

It took him nearly a full minute of pounding before the longhall's door finally creaked open. An elderly woman poked her head around the frame, eyes boring into Norway and his little band of warriors. 'You can come in,' she said, pointing one talon-like finger at Norway. 'You-' she indicated the others- '-stay here.' Inside it was a little more hospitable, with several cookfires burning merrily and the usual collection of drunks up on the dais. There was a tall, red-haired woman amongst them; she seemed to be outdrinking the considerably larger men around her. 'Ingrid Jørnsdottir,' muttered the crone. 'She's fancied herself a warrior ever since she killed that one raider two summers ago.' Norway frowned. Raiders? He kept the thought to himself. If there was truly a rebellion being hatched in Iceland, it would not do to aggravate the people further.

'I wish to speak with your leader.' he said, pulling off his gloves. 'Please.' He was led to a seat right beside the cookfire, next to a man sporting a rather magnificent auburn beard. Norway did not fail to note the way the man eyed his engraved dagger, nor the fine leather of his boots. 'I have been sent here by the king, to discuss-' 'I know why you're here.' 'Very well.' He did not allow himself to be perturbed. 'In that case, might I be permitted to address your people? This is a matter of great concern to His Grace.' The man snorted. 'When's he ever concerned himself with us?' His voice was guttural and deeply accented, which only made Norway more aware of how formal his own words sounded. I have become soft. Suddenly, he realised he was no true Viking anymore; he wore silk and silver, sat beside a king in council and had his own servants to attend him. 'What's the matter? Something trouble your pretty head?' He laughed when Norway did not answer. 'I'll give you my name, if you give me yours. I'm Jørn. Jørn Liefsson.' That would make him the father of the drunk girl up on the dais. 'Lukas Bondevik.' Norway managed, stumbling over the words. It felt unnatural. His brothers called him Norge, Norway, Nor (and how he had smiled when Denmark whispered 'elskede' in his ear that day at the harbour). Indeed, Jørn found it ridiculous too. 

'That's a pretty name.' he said teasingly. 'Only we both know it's not true. You're more dangerous than all my best warriors put together. Than me. And all because of what you are.' A chill came over Norway. How? How does he know? How? How? He could hold no other thought; his mouth was dry, despite the mug of ale at his elbow. 'There's no rebellion.' he said softly. Jørn nodded. A cruel grin cracked across his face. 'But there's something worse.' 'What?' 'One of them. One of you.' All at once, his feeling returned, brighter and better than before. Another one! One of us! Jørn's disgusted tone was lost on him. 'Where?' Norway blurted out frantically, discomfort forgotten. 'Can you take me?' But the man simply snorted again, shaking his great red mane. 'Your sort's wrong. Evil. You were never meant to exist. I'm not going back there again.' And with that, he rose, leaving Norway sat speechless on his own. There was no rebellion, no threat to his kingdom. He had been lured here, lured by the fear of people that were too far from anywhere to understand. And now there was another nation, waiting to be found. 

Norway ignored the shouts of Jørn Liefsson, ignored the confused words of his men outside, ignored everything except the ground beneath his feet, the path that would carry him to a new brother. Not going back there. Not going back there. What struck him so by the word there? He pondered as he walked, careless of the swamp-like land and the water gushing into his boots. And then he stopped. For there was the answer. Towering, colossal, terrifying- a mountain spewing red ash, as close to hell as living man could see. He set one foot upon the rock, and began to climb. 

Later, when he returned home, Norway would wave off those that called him a madman- Denmark amongst them. Because he knew it had been worth it. Worth it to brave the smoke and molten rock, for a brother that adored him- a boy with snow-pale hair and amethyst eyes- for Iceland.

[morganbelarus]

Britain’s Next Megaproject: A Coast-to-Coast Forest

This story originally appeared on CityLab and is part of the Climate Desk collaboration.

Northern England is set to get a whole lot greener. On Sunday, the UK government unveiled plans for a vast new forest spanning the country from coast to coast. Shadowing the path of the east-west M62 Highway, the new forest will create a broad green rib across England from Liverpool to the east coast city of Hull.

If fully realized along the lines announced this week, the forest will ultimately contain 50 million new trees, stretched in a dense 62,000-acre patchwork along a 120-mile strip. Not only will the forest repopulate one of the least wooded parts of the country with local, mainly broadleaf tree species, it will also provide a band of newly greened landscape to escape to from the many big cities located nearby.

The goal of a thick green ribbon is still a long way off, of course. So far, the government has pledged just an initial £5.7 million of the £500 million needed to fully realize the project. But what’s significant about the plan is that it amps up a transformation that is in fact already underway—it is actually the second major attempt in recent years to re-green the English landscape.

That first attempt lies roughly 100 miles south, in the English Midlands, where a vast new woodland stretching across a 200-mile strip is steadily reaching maturity. First planted 28 years ago, the National Forest, as it is called, is just beginning to mature and reveal how transformative such a rethink of the landscape can be. Like the new northern forest, it’s not just about providing a new carbon sink and leisure facility, but also about imagining what a landscape partly denuded by industrial exploitation and grazing can look like once these uses become obsolete.

This sounds wonderful—but first, a reality check. If Britain is planning new forests, it’s because the island badly needs them. Overall, the UK’s landscape contains one of Europe’s lowest proportions of woodland: just 13 percent. No one expects a populous, heavily developed country like the UK to reach the levels of, say Finland, which, at over 73 percent woodland, is Europe’s leafiest country by far. The UK trails far behind its more comparable neighbors Belgium (22.6 percent woodland) and France (31 percent), making it look decidedly bare and patchy by comparison.

This is especially true in England, which is just 10 percent woodland, compared to 15 percent in Wales and 18 percent in Scotland; in both countries, forestry has replaced pastoral farming in some areas. Even this small proportion is under attack, as ancient woodlands across the country face destruction. Current threats are numerous, including the endangering of 35 ancient forest tracts destined to be damaged by the construction of England’s new high-speed rail link, because tunneling or diversion has been deemed too expensive and inconvenient. Already, some critics are protesting that the Northern Forest project is a fig leaf—albeit a vast one—intended to mask neglect and abuse of woodlands elsewhere. There may also be a degree of political machination going on (although when isn’t there?), with the British government seeking a high-profile project that can reassure people that leaving the EU will not mark an end to all green policies and state support.

The existing National Forest nonetheless shows how attractive and sustainable such projects can be, provided they are not created at the exclusion of other conservation efforts. Its first saplings were planted in 1995 across a broad sweep that mixes towns, croplands, and former coalfields. Consisting mainly (if not exclusively) of slower-growing broadleaf trees sourced from the local area—a marked difference from the regimented stands of non-native pine that British forestry focused on for much of the 20th century—the forest is gradually starting to reveal its ultimate appearance.

Over the past 20 years, the National Forest has spread like a sort of expressionist mosaic across the landscape. By offering funding incentives for mainly private landlords to plant, it has steadily joined up existing woodlands to create what will ultimately become a seamless forest habitat. By spring 2016, 8.5 million trees had already been planted there, but the project is by no means finished. Currently a little over 20 percent of the designated land is forest area. Maintaining the current jigsaw puzzle layout, the aim is to cover one-third of the total area with trees.

The area of the National Forest in 1991, before planting began. The pale green areas show new plantings conducted before the project’s foundation.

National Forest

The same area in 2016, with new plantings greatly enlarged.

National Forest

So far, over 80 percent of this forest area is accessible to the public, making it easy to enjoy for nearby city-dwellers. Indeed, it’s the intimate link with major cities that connects the National and Northern Forests, as both plans create new havens of peace in some of England’s more densely inhabited, city-filled areas.

The advantages of this are numerous. Just as trees within cities clean and cool their air, so do woodlands on the urban edge reduce the pollution and noise caused by highways, helping to shelter both residents and visitors from their effect. In the US alone, it’s estimated that the pollution-reducing abilities of trees cut annual health costs by as much as $7 billion. Seaming the busier transit corridors of England with trees would not only give local cities newly attractive playgrounds on their fringes, but ensure that these fringes—and possibly even parts of the cities beyond them—are cleaner, fresher and more moderate in temperature.

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A Crucial Climate Mystery Hides Just Beneath Your Feet

With even the National Forest still incomplete and juvenile, all this is some way off. Across its length, the results are already magical, with even lower thicket-like saplings scattered across the landscape in a way that looks utterly organic (although it isn’t), while the forest floor in places is already turning ultramarine with bluebells in spring.

Recreating this sort of widely-spaced green patchwork in the new Northern Forest 100 miles away would certainly be welcome. Threaded through an area that touches the outer edges of major cities such as Liverpool, Manchester, and Leeds, the area is one of the least wooded in all Britain. It’s nonetheless an area that’s often beautiful, passing through high moorlands as it crosses the low Pennine mountain range. Turning this corridor into a greener, lusher place wouldn’t just make the surroundings of nearby cities more attractive. In doing so, it might also attract weekend visitors away from the nearby Yorkshire Dales and Peak District, celebrated beauty spots and national parks that can heave with people on sunny weekends. It would also serve to join up habitats for rare animals such as birds and bats. Within a few decades, a squirrel could travel from east coast to west, solely by leaping from tree to tree.

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[jessicakehoe]

Finnish Lapland: A Journey to One of the Most Remote Places on Earth

The bulbous, teardrop-like shape of the snow-laden pine trees makes it feel like we’re in a Dr. Seuss book. But we’re actually right on the edge of the Arctic Circle. After a mid-January night tucked away in a sleeper bunk on the train from Helsinki, we’ve arrived in Finnish Lapland.

As we slow to our final stop at Kolari, Finland’s most northerly station, the train empties of Finnish parents wrangling their overexcited kids and heavy bags bursting with ski gear. I’m among a group of eight well-travelled women who have flown in from all over the world to join Intrepid Travel’s eight-day Finnish Lapland in Winter tour.

While it’s a coincidence that our group is 100 per cent female, Gundega Liepina, our seasoned tour leader, isn’t surprised. “If you are the type of woman with a sense of mind to experience something new, you come to this destination,” says Liepina, who is from Latvia but has led tours in the Baltic and Arctic regions for many seasons. “They are women who want to have an adventure. They want to face a little bit of physical difficulty and are not afraid of it.”

Image courtesy Visit Finland

Finnish Lapland is one of the most remote places on earth, but thanks to Finland’s excellent infrastructure (hello, good Wi-Fi!) and social programs, these communities—which rely on adventure tourism, ski resorts, fishing, agriculture and reindeer farming—thrive.

Sure, the temperature may plunge to –50ºC while the snow piles up to 90 centimetres in Lapland’s more remote areas, but grandparents and kindergartners alike navigate the well-lit ski paths that run beside the roads, deftly pushing their kicksleds (a seat attached to ski rails) to school, to the grocery store or to meet friends for a strong coffee and a slice of mustikkapiirakka (bilberry pie). “Life is very much up to the weather,” says Liepina. “Laplanders live in such a close connection with nature and animals because they are all deeply codependent.”

“Laplanders live in such a close connection with nature and animals because they are all deeply codependent.”

Staying on the edge of Pallas-Yllästunturi National Park in the family-run hotel and hostel Kuerkievari—where nightly saunas are encouraged and Scandi-chic decor runs throughout—we’re in a perfect position to test ourselves in those intense elements (especially the two Australians in our group who have never seen real snow before). On our first full day, merino-wool base layer on and ski goggles in hand (this Canadian girl came prepared), I’m introduced to the team of six female huskies that I’m about to run through the snow-pine forest. In Lapland, there’s no sitting back; here, you drive the dogs yourself.

Image courtesy Visit Finland

I get some quick instructions on how to break and corner from Melina, the no-fuss trainer who races her team professionally throughout the Arctic regions, as she picks up these massive full-grown dogs as if they were puppies. My canine team intuits that we’re about to leave, and their barking grows to deafening levels. Then we’re off, streaking across a stunning snowscape with the orange glow of the slow-to-rise 11 a.m. sun just starting to graze the tops of the pines and the wind blowing hard in my face. The dogs are in heaven racing along the icy track, and so am I—the thrill of the speed and the feeling of it being just me and the dogs alone in this eerie white world (with an experienced trainer just up ahead if something goes wrong) are unparalleled.

We finish our adventurous morning roasting reindeer saus­ages on an open fire inside a cozy hut, huddled together on benches covered in reindeer hides, sipping cups of hot berry juice and talking about the dogs, the trainers’ daily lives and what it’s like to be north of the Arctic Circle year-round. “Nobody cares if you’re wearing makeup or what brand of clothes you have on,” says Liepina. “What’s more important is your inner and outer strength—that’s what [Laplanders] actually value the most.”

“Everything about this place is special: how people live here, how you can be so remote yet still so connected with everything—with nature, with animals and with your deeper self.”

The next day, we take a trip to Sammun Tupa, a 158-year-old reindeer farm, and meet up with Tiina Kiuttu, a local reindeer herder who has lived in Lapland her whole life. She explains that although the region’s 200,000 reindeer (that’s more reindeer than humans) can be found grazing in the forest, none of them are completely wild. Each reindeer you see in Lapland belongs to a specific herder, indicated by marks on its ears, and—as is tradition—most herds have been inherited.

Image courtesy Visit Finland

“Reindeer usually like to use the same roads in the wilderness for years and years and years,” says Kiuttu. “That’s why when we need to catch them, we know where to go.”

We not only meet some of these magnificent creatures but also get to experience how the Sámi, the Indigenous Laplanders, have been transporting themselves and their goods for thousands of years.

“Keep your hands and feet inside because there are trees along the way,” says Kiuttu as she single-handedly harnesses a giant reindeer to our two-person wooden sled and tucks a reindeer hide around our knees.

Our reindeer caravan gently makes its way through the woods, the crunch of their hooves and puffs of hot breath accenting the journey. As we glide under twisted, snow-laden branches and through the cold air sparkling with ice crystals (today the temperature has dropped to –26ºC), it’s hard not to get swept away by the magic that this landscape provides. “Everything about this place is special: how people live here, how you can be so remote yet still so connected with everything—with nature, with animals and with your deeper self,” says Liepina.

Image courtesy Visit Finland

On our last night, at around 2 a.m. I’m woken up by a knock on my door and an excited, hushed shout of “The aurora is here! The aurora is here!” We’d been using the My Aurora app to track the best time to see the Northern Lights, setting alarms to get up and check throughout the week.

Eight women quickly throw on insulated snowsuits and boots and silently gather, steps from our red-and-white hotel on the side of a mountain, staring slack-jawed as the wavy green sheets of the aurora borealis work their way across the clear, starry sky for the next half-hour.

In the awed silence, I can’t help but think about everything I’ve seen and the strong women I’ve met in the past week. Dr. Seuss wrote in Oh, the Places You’ll Go! that “you can steer yourself any direction you choose,” and up here in Lapland, that’s certainly true.

The post Finnish Lapland: A Journey to One of the Most Remote Places on Earth appeared first on FASHION Magazine.

Finnish Lapland: A Journey to One of the Most Remote Places on Earth published first on https://borboletabags.tumblr.com/

[cdchem1958-blog]

The manufacturer tells you the  use of formic acid

Formic acid is widely used and consumed in medicine, chemical industry, pesticide, rubber chemistry, leather processing, textile printing and dyeing, silage and grain mildew prevention since 1990. Therefore, the potential market for formic acid is still very large. So today, CD will tell you about the nature and use of formic acid.

Formic acid is a colorless, sulfur dioxide-like liquid. Formic acid is the most acidic acid in monocarboxylic acid. It has strong corrosiveness and irritation. Splashing on the skin can cause burns. Formic acid is regarded as a high hazard in the classification of toxicity hazards of chemical media. Therefore, in the process of production and transportation, we must strictly follow the relevant provisions of dangerous goods.

Formic acid can dissolve with water in any proportion and form azeotropic mixture. Formic acid can dissolve nylon, polycarbonate and other macromolecule compounds, but insoluble polyvinyl chloride. Formic acid is one of the basic organic raw materials in chemical reactions. Formic acid can participate in various kinds of reactions, such as decomposition, addition, cyclization, acylation and esterification.

It is widely used in pesticides, leather, silk, medicine and rubber industries. Formic acid is commonly used as raw material in the production of analgin, aminopyrine, caffeine, vitamin B1, camphor and other organic compounds. Formic acid has good volatilization performance and is an excellent dyeing aid.

The shrinkage resistance and wrinkle resistance of melamine resin fabrics are very good after washing with formic acid solution. Formic acid is also used in the collection of green fodder and cereals to prevent mould growth. Now Finland has used formic acid in papermaking industry to solve environmental pollution caused by alkaline wastewater. Formic acid can also be used for cleaning steel plates.

At present, the use of formic acid to develop fresh-keeping agent for green fodder. With the conversion of grazing to captivity, back-stored feed has been widely used. It is estimated that this project will require 20,000 tons to 30,000 tons of formic acid per year. With the high attention paid to environmental protection in our country, the application of formic acid in printing, dyeing and leather industry will be widely recognized for its advantages of high processing quality and low environmental pollution.

The formic acid produced by CD has the patent of invention, and has the production license of feed grade formic acid. The quality of 85%-99.5% formic acid produced is stable, the impurities are small, and the content of heavy metals is low.

[travelsbeyondbehind]

October will feature #ScandiTravel pics starting with tripping through Norway where you see 4 seasons in 1 day. Day 274 of #365TravelPics

‪Even in the mist, Geiranger Fjord is impressive with its peaks, green rocks and deep waters. #Norway #ScandiTravel Day 275 of #365TravelPics‬

‪Looking down from the Ørnevegen (Eagle Road) to Geiranger with autumnal colours & the ferry sailing out. #Norway #ScandiTravel Day 276 of #365TravelPics‬

‪Walking in the snow in #Norway – cold but stunning. We had the valley to ourselves – bar some curious reindeer. #ScandiTravel Day 277 of #365TravelPics‬

‪The brightly coloured, former warehouses on the sea front in Trondheim. Designed so goods could be sent around #Norway & the world easily. #ScandiTravel Day 278 of #365TravelPics‬

‪Across #Norway are Stave Churches, made completely from wood. This is Ringebu with its distinctive red steeple. #ScandiTravel Day 279 of #365TravelPics‬ (With thanks to the other half for spotting the picture opportunity)

‪Back to Oslo #Norway and saw the inside of the Town Hall where the Nobel Peace Prize ceremony takes place, surrounded by magnificent tableau. #ScandiTravel Day 280 of #365TravelPics‬

‪A sunny Sunday afternoon in #Oslo & people were admiring Vigeland’s statues in a park with his work. This was my favourite. #Norway #ScandiTravel Day 281 of #365TravelPics‬

‪Lillehammer was made famous by the 1994 Olympics & remains a vibrant town with colourful buildings, good bars & lots of mountain activities. This is the Olympic ski jump – the walk up is worth it! #Norway #ScandiTravel Day 282 of #365TravelPics‬

‪As part of my #ScandiTravel I’ve been to #Copenhagen #Denmark – this is their parliament building, setting of my fave Danish drama: Borgen. Day 283 of #365TravelPics‬

‪Heading north next to Finland (Country 20): its capital Helsinki has nature on its doorstep, some hip culture & a fine cathedral at its heart. Day 51 #365travelpics #28Days28Countries‬

‪From the old to the modern in #Helsinki #Finland – Kamppi Chapel is great modern architecture & a peaceful refuge in the city centre. #ScandiTravel Day 285 of #365TravelPics‬

‪The harbour in #Helsinki #Finland with cathedral above & fish stalls on the sea front. #ScandiTravel Day 286 of #365TravelPics‬

‪The main square – Stortorget – in #Stockholm #Sweden – bright colours & quiet class. #ScandiTravel Day 287 of #365TravelPics‬

‪The size of the Vasa Ship in #Stockholm #Sweden is impressive but so is the number of researchers working on its preservation. #ScandiTravel Day 288 of #365TravelPics‬

‪Sitting on the water front near Hornstull in #Stockholm #Sweden – bobbing up & down on a temporary peer in the autumn sunshine. #ScandiTravel Day 289 of #365TravelPics‬

‪The Viking Ship Museum in #Oslo #Norway is beautiful: centuries of history, a great film & the wonderful ships themselves. #ScandiTravel Day 290 of #365TravelPics‬

‪This is the #Oslo Opera House from the frozen Fjord in winter, looking like an iceberg in the water. Impressive modern architecture. #Norway #ScandiTravel Day 291 of #365TravelPics‬

‪The inside of the #Oslo Opera House is just as striking with its wood, glass & clean lines: very Scandi! #Norway #ScandiTravel Day 292 of #365TravelPics‬

‪Enjoyed wandering around the market & eating dinner at the Mathallen Market in #Oslo #Norway #ScandiTravel Day 293 of #365TravelPics‬

‪Churches in #Norway combined Nordic & Christian traditions: this is the Stave Church at Lom with dragons & crosses decorating it. #ScandiTravel Image 294 of #365TravelPics‬

‪This is the impressive Nidaros Cathedral in Trondheim and the most northern medieval cathedral. #ScandiTravel Day 295 of #365TravelPics‬

‪My favourite statue at Ekeberg Park #Oslo was Dilemma as a boy decides to jump or not. #Norway #ScandiTravel Day 296 of #365TravelPics‬

‪Lillehammer is a lovely town & we had some fun pretending to be great sports people & relighting the 1994 Olympic flame. #Norway #ScandiTravel Day 297 of #365TravelPics‬

‪The problem with a road trip in #Norway is knowing when to pull over & stop as there are so many great views. The colour of the water made us pull over here on the road to Lom. #ScandiTravel Day 298 of #365TravelPics‬

‪Away from the cities & mountain tops in #Norway I was impressed by how well maintained & beautiful the valleys were. #ScandiTravel Day 299 of #365TravelPics‬

‪We did not see the Northern Lights but the moon & clouds produced some spectacular light affects, late at night. #Norway #ScandiTravel Image 300 of #365TravelPics‬

‪Away from the towns & when the clouds clear, the stars provide a spectacular night show. #Norway #ScandiTravel Image 301 of #365TravelPics‬

‪This was a bit scary: the highest pass in northern Europe was already covered in snow but beautiful as you saw the raw, white beauty of this country. #Norway #ScandiTravel Day 302 of #365TravelPics‬

‪A snow-covered car park at Spiterstulen from where we hiked in the Jotenheimen. Felt like we had the park to ourselves. #Norway #ScandiTravel Day 303 of #365TravelPics‬

‪One of the amazing moments of my recent #Norway trip: seeing Reindeer grazing as I walked in the Jotunheimen. Zoom in & you can spot them. #ScandiTravel Day 304 of #365TravelPics‬

365 Travel Pics: October – Scandi Travel

[nationalgolfclub]

Inside Santa Claus Golf Club, where the greens are ‘whites’ and reindeer roam the fairways

’Twas six days before Christmas

when all through the clubhouse,


Not a creature was stirring—

—well, that’s not entirely true. Creatures were, in fact, stirring when I called Santa Claus Golf Club on Thursday afternoon. Golfers weren’t, though. (Too dark, too cold.) Nary a sign of St. Nick, either. (Too busy.)

“Sometimes we do see his footprints in the snow,” Pia Lillberg, the club’s cheery managing director, told me by video conference.

She was joking. I think.

Santa Claus Golf Club — yes, it’s actually a thing — sits directly on the Arctic Circle, in Rovaniemi, Finland, about 500 miles north of Helsinki. There are no sleigh-carts or elf-caddies or gift-wrapped tee markers, and, no, you don’t get coal after a triple-bogey. But the club does have reindeer. About 30 of them. Lillberg says they’re “quite nice to play with,” if unschooled in the finer points of golf etiquette. Knock your tee shot into a flock, she said, and they’ll be in no rush to clear out. (Evidently the presence of reindeer sausage on the halfway-house menu has not put a scare into them.)

A flock of friendly, if stubborn, reindeer call Santa GC home.

When the club was founded in 1986, it had a far less recognizable name: the Golf Club of Rovaniemi. Its course was built not on grass but on ice and open only in the depths of winter: nine frigid holes set on the river that bisects the city. A few years later, a “summer course” emerged on terra firma with six fairways and a practice area, followed, in 1997, by a nine-hole layout. In 2011, the membership tacked on another nine — resulting in a par-71, 6,500-yard design that winds its way up and down a hillside lined with pine trees — but it wasn’t until a couple of years ago that the club acquired its current moniker.

“As we are in the Official Hometown of Santa Claus,” Lillberg said (yes, that’s a thing, too; Rovaniemi has it trademarked), “it’s only appropriate that we, too, carry the name. Somehow it seems more suitable to talk about Santa Claus golf than Arctic golf.” It’s also more marketable. The club is in the process of launching a shop on its website where visitors will be able to buy Santa Claus GC-logoed hats, shirts and balls — the perfect stocking stuffers for the golfer in your life.

Christmastime, ironically, is the club’s slow season.

“Sunrise was at 11:07 am today and sunset was 1:22 pm,” said Lillberg, who speaks excellent English with a heavy Nordic accent. “It’s not practical to go and play in the dark.”

It’s also not practical to play in the snow. But that doesn’t stop SCGC’s hardy membership from bundling up and playing the club’s “winter course,” a snowy nine-hole layout (complete with “whites” instead of greens) that the grounds crew spends a couple of months shaping. “We have to have 40 centimeters of snow before we start building it,” Lillberg said.

The course opens in early March, when the days are longer and the temperatures more tolerable. When the sun’s out, the “snow shines like crystals,” Lillberg says, turning the place into a magical golfing wonderland. “It’s perfect. I really can’t say enough good things about it.”

The course hasn’t drawn many American tourists, though one notable member of the golfing establishment did visit last March: USGA executive director Mike Davis. In his first foray in to snow golf, Davis competed in the Santa’s Snow Golf Classic. (“The whites putt beautifully,” he said at the time. “They’re actually not too different from a regular putting green.”) Papa Noel doesn’t visit the course much, either, what with all his duties down in Santa Claus Village. He has some other forces working against him, too, Lillberg says: “It’s a bit difficult for him to see the ball because of the stomach and the beard.”

The snow-golf season at Santa Claus GC lasts only about six weeks.

Still, whether the big man is on site or not, his spirit thrives at the club that bears his name, from Rudolph and Co. grazing in the rough, to the twinkly Christmas decorations in the restrooms, to the staff that runs the place.

“I have to make a confession,” Lillberg said at the end of our call. “I’m actually an elf in disguise.”

Come again?

Yep, for 10 years, Lillberg said, she moonlighted as one of Santa’s helpers, sorting letters for him at the post office in downtown Rovaniemi.

“Once an elf,” she said, “always an elf.”

I laughed when she said this in spite of myself,

A wink of her eye and a twist of her head

Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.’

SOURCE:  golf.com

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