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lanternlightersblog · 2 years

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#Repost @gnjidicvranjes • • • • • • Sneno jutro #sandragv #inđija #vojvodina #seasons #autumnvibes🍁🍂🍃 #srbijauslikama #serbia #crkva #church #lamps #lanterns #ulicnesvjetiljke #windowspoetry #windovs #uprolazu #autumnmorning #earlymorning #streetlife #streetlanp #streetstyle #Ukrainewillwin https://www.instagram.com/p/Ckusz2JIUmE/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

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oldfacesnewdawnoffical · 1 year

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Could you possibly expand more on who/what the rangers are? (also, guess who ;D!)

(OMG THE BELOVED SNOWKIT ANON HAS A NAME AAHHHH we’ll throw you a “new name” party)

The Rangers of Windover are a group that operate most similarly to a group of siblings: they all unconditionally love and look out for one another, offering support, advice, and generosity where it’s needed, but also challenge one another through their issues, urging them to grow and change to become better versions of themselves.

There is no qualifications for becoming a ranger, other than expressing a wish to stay within the lands that they unofficially claim: anyone can become a ranger! Their “society” is very old, having existed since even before The Great Sickness, but is also incredibly loose; they do not have any strict laws or set culture, really, and will take in quite literally anyone, no questions asked, if that individual is seeking aid.

Similarly to the Moorsweepers, they are proud, renowned farmers, but that is where their similarities (and general connection) to the fealty ends. They are also incredible hunters as well, especially of mice and small owls. To be named a “mouser” is a title of friendly, high esteem within their ranks, similar to that of “champ”; it’s just a fun way to call someone who is very skilled.

Generally, their days are very lax. They look out for one another, play games, think of innovative ways to tend to chores, and are always looking to lend a helping hand to others. They have no set leadership system, but usually, an unofficial leader-figure will oftentimes rise just to settle disputes or make final decisions; in a group full of kind, bleeding hearts, it’s always good to have someone to be realistic, responsible, and even somewhat cynical to balance it out. Their current leader is a wolverine named Barley! He was formerly named Umber, and came to the Windover Range with his sister, Violet; they were absorbed into the ranger’s ranks quickly and seamlessly, becoming part of their family dynamic as easily as breathing. Umber would ultimately change his name to Barley in the wake of the ranger’s oldest resident, a cat who had lived on the range since he was born, to honor his memory.

#old faces new dawn #ask #thesilliestofgals #snowkit anon #warrior cats rewrite #warriors rewrite #the rangers of windover #important lore alert

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the1beardedgent · 6 months

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BREVARD HISTORY: Windover's Ancient 'Bog People' One of Most Significant Archaeological Finds In North America - Space Coast Daily

#titusville #spacecoast #florida #brevardcounty #centralflorida #windover bog people #windover #ancient floridians

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mopsburgfalls · 1 month

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1931 Rolls Royce sedanca (Windovers)

thermometer, clock, spedometer, barometer

#1930s #1930s car #rolls royce #25/30 #rolls royce 25/30 #windovers #sedanca #town car #blue #art deco

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bodhrancomedy · 1 year

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So this isn’t exactly correct, the reason I was trying to get at is “Abled people don’t get taught out history and if they do it’s so bound up in the era of eugenics and ‘charity’ and from an Abled perspective that they can’t consider us surviving earlier than that”, but I am in the midst of an awful 2 day so far series of hemiplegic migraines so my brain is shot to hell.

Disabled people were treated terribly in many cultures and did often have worse lives, but they still had lives and made their own adaptations. This varies from time and place and culture, but disabled people lived before the 20th century and have a history.

Addendum: “Like everyone was disabled” should have been a “significant amount of people would have been disabled by their jobs/general lack of modern medicine by later life and people have always cared for each other so unless your survival was directly going to contradict someone else’s people tended to look after and love each other.”

Just… just look up Burial 9 or Martha’s Vineyard or the Windover Boy or Romito 2. Someone has always cared.

#deaf #tiktok #queer #video #history #disability #disabled history

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bonefall · 2 months

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looking at the nutrition guide posts again, and you say that the clans' territories are bigger than one might think.... how big do you imagine they might be? the book maps always make them seem smaller than they probably actually are due to art scaling

There is no way to give a perfect number, because productivity of land depends a lot more on what's on it rather than raw size. An old-growth oak forest will have more squirrels in an acre than a sitka spruce plantation will in miles.

But this is an aerial photo of Peng Chau island, which is a landform notable for being almost EXACTLY 1 square kilometer.

That's 10 million square feet, for those of us burdened by imperial, and 247 acres, for... farmers idk. Or, 100 hecatares for those who are aware that most UK nature reserves measure their land in hecs.

(does this seem big? it's not. this is merely two 18-hole golf courses. or maybe we should destroy all golf courses. who knows :P)

According to the John Muir Trust, which researches red deer density and conversation, 1 square kilometer can sustainably support 5 red deer; more deer than that and they will begin to damage the environment. Britain is so ecologically devastated that the deer density is more like 10 to 1, but this is what apex predators like boars, lynxes, and wolves are SUPPOSED to be for.

(Remember: the ratio of 5:1 is still an average. The TYPE of land is going to matter A LOT MORE than the raw size.)

So if you're asking me, who has ruled that the White Hart/Forest Territory has an entire herd of red deer which hunters come to shoot at, I'd say the area was at least 3 square kilometers. Enough for a sustainable herd of 15 deer.

(But I imagine the Windovers sometimes toss hay out at them, to sustain a pretty sizeable herd. The map names the WindClan territory the "Windover Moor" so I imagine they actually own the majority of the area. I also write the entire White Hart being MUCH larger than the minimum 3 sKM, more like 10 sKM counting all the territories put together. BUT I don't think about it too much-- I just know it's not a tiny little backyard area.)

(Also Sanctuary Lake is even larger.)

#Clan culture #Apparently some people think I named the White Hart and Sanctuary Lake! I actually didn't!!#Those are canon names #I would have made a much better name for Sanctuary Lake lmao #British people will name a pond Scumdiddle Pip and call it a day #Like im just saying. ''Sanctuary'' Lake belongs in NEW york not OLD york.#It sounds like an american lake

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ancientorigins · 1 month

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It was only after the bones were declared very old and not the product of a mass murder that the 167 bodies found in a pond in Windover, Florida began to stir up excitement in the archeological world.

#archaeology #unitedstates #florida #discovery

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victusinveritas · 6 months

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Florida's Windover Bog Bodies (8000 years old), consisting of 168 individuals that were found buried at the bottom of the Windover pond. The peat at the lowest depths of the pond preserved the bodies so well that brain tissue has been able to be extracted from many of the skulls. DNA from the brain tissue has also been able to be sequenced, making Windover one of the most important archaeological sites from the Archaic period to ever be excavated.

https://instagram.com/archeo80?igshid=MmVlMjlkMTBhMg==

#bog body #archaeological site #archaeology #grave goods #archaic period

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les-belles-mecaniques · 6 months

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1931 Rolls-Royce 20 / 25 Sedanca De Ville by Windovers

#rolls royce

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lanternlightersblog · 2 years

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#Repost @gnjidicvranjes • • • • • • BIG Fashion Outlet Inđija Svjetlosna magija #sandragv #inđija #vojvodina #srbijauslikama #serbia #setnja #windowspoetry #windovs #uprolazu #lights #nightlight #romanticlight #lamps #lentern #lantern #lamps #streetlamp #Ukrainewillwin https://www.instagram.com/p/CkoJUVpIrtX/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#repost #sandragv #inđija #vojvodina #srbijauslikama #serbia #setnja #windowspoetry #windovs #uprolazu #lights #nightlight #romanticlight #lamps #lentern #lantern #streetlamp #ukrainewillwin

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cryptidwritings · 3 months

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Dark Water

Chapter 38 : The Night

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cw: manhandling, implied future beating, restraining, light stress position, rotten food, description of maggots, accidentally eating maggots, light emeto, description of hunger, flashback of past torture, whipping, description of blood and bleeding.

Every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was his father walking away. Isidro hadn’t thought about him in a long time. The pain was already pushing his tolerance, it wasn’t fair that even his memories refused to give him a bit of rest.

The dark of night was made grey with the bit of light of morning. Isidro stood; his knees shaking as he continued to breathe through chapped lips and over his dry tongue. The rope that had been around his ankles fell limp on the ground. It had taken him all night to undo it; his depth perception was shot, and his grip weak from whatever it was still floating around in his system.

He got to the barrel and searched for the cup. He had to turn his head completely around to find it on the ground to his left. He missed it the first time, then adjusted, swiping it from the ground and dunked it in, avoiding his reflection, remembering his bath at the pub. He wanted another one, but he’d be grateful for a dip in the ocean even if the salt would sting like hell.

The water caught in his throat and he spewed it over the ground as he devolved into a coughing fit. Moss raised his head, watching Isidro a moment as he collected himself. His hand was shaking; the water sloshing over his lips as he attempted to swallow without aggravating the rest of his face; like drinking with a terrible cold.

Then he turned back to the barrel and used the cup to clean himself up; scooping the water then pouring it over his head, resting the cup on the barrel's lip to wipe the back of his neck, then gently over his face, and maneuvered his hands to reach his armpits underneath his shirt.

It was a small thing; didn’t help with much except to make him feel a little less dusty. He poured the cup and lightly rubbed the parts of his face that weren’t swollen. Dried blood came off on his fingers, dark then lighter until it was gone.

Isidro’s stomach twisted, then growled. He pushed his hands into his gut, massaging the cramp away with a lean. He caught sight of his face in the water and immediately closed his eye, trying to convince himself that it wasn’t that bad; that swelling always got worse before it got better and that he would be just fine.

“I was wondering...” Moss yawned, then wiped sweat off his upper lip, “why did you tell Reid your name was Duncan?”

Isidro stood, grateful to be pulled away from the barrel. “Didn’t want them knowing my real name.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged and took a deep breath as the pang died down; crawling back into the empty pit.

“I didn’t know them.” He replied.

"You didn’t know me, either."

“I knew enough.”

Moss crossed his arms, skeptical. “Is Isidro your real name?”

“Aye,” Isidro walked back to his spot. “I’m-” he took another breath, feeling like it was never quite enough. “From Windover, actually. Grew up making soap,” he chuckled. “Did you ever see Pulver soap on Holm?”

Moss shook his head.

“Maybe one day I’ll be able to make it again. I still know the recipe,” he tapped his head. “Could never remember the flowers, though...” his voice trailed off, and he touched his face.

“Have you told anyone else?”

“About the soap?”

“No, your name.”

Isidro shook his head and leaned back against the wall. The lad wasn’t even looking at him anymore, instead choosing to focus on his lap. There was something eating at him.

“Would you?” Moss asked him.

He thought a moment. “Aye.”

“Who? Theodora?”

The change in tone wasn’t entirely a surprise. When he didn’t answer, Moss continued.

"Do you like her?"

Much like most of his questions, it landed like a wet mop head. What could he say?

"I find her..." Isidro mused, "intriguing."

Moss’ face twisted, and Isidro sighed.

“Let’s just say,” he pushed his hair back, combing a knot through his fingers. “I... understand her.”

“You understand?” Moss' face unraveled as his brows raised. “She hit you.”

Isidro shrugged, “She pulled back.”

“So?”

It would be easy to lie; just to shake the lads look off of him and put an end to it, but the motivation to keep it up was gone. Not that he was going to imply anything more serious than attraction—he didn't think anything else would be possible—but Moss didn’t seem concerned about subtle semantics, anyway and no one just stumbles into an interrogation.

So, he took a breath. “You’ve never been attracted to anyone?”

Moss flicked something across the room. A tiny rock. A piece of dust. It didn’t make a noise. Then he rest his hands on his lap again.

“It never made sense.”

“Well, sense has nothing to do with it, so you’re on the right track,” Isidro chuckled, then swallowed it back when Moss’ gaze didn’t let up.

"Alright,” He sighed, and twisted his hands in the rope. “Well... it’s... I don’t know...” he looked around, then touched the wall where puffs of green grew through the cracks. “It’s like moss, the plant, here.”

He picked a piece off the wall and rolled it in his fingertips. “It can lead you to water, keep you warm, make a soft place to lie your head.” He sprinkled it to the ground, “It’s a reminder that life can still exist...” he blinked, feeling the thought sink in like a weight. “In the dark...”

The sailor looked up as Moss knelt in front of him with his hands out.

"Then let's get out of here."

He huffed. “What, it makes sense now?”

“No, I don’t think it ever will,” Moss smiled, his eye casting downward. “But everyone accused me of being insane for wanting to be a sailor.” He looked back up with a little shrug. “I just realized that maybe that was the point.”

Isidro’s stomach twisted again, this time with a more familiar feeling—one he was used to, having experienced it a dozen times and chalked up to pre-mission nerves. It almost made him nauseous, but he bit it down just like he always had, and swiped the remaining plant from his pants as he attempted a smile.

He took Moss' hands in his and shook. Moss smiled then picked at the knot between Isidro's fists.

"I'm sorry for not listening to you sooner," He said. "If I had, maybe we wouldn't be here at all."

"No use thinking of the past, lad. Who knows if anything could have changed this." Isidro replied. The feeling in his stomach grew with urgency as Moss struggled with the tight knot.

“Moss...”

The lad looked at him expectantly—like he had when they were walking the horse—bright eyes set in sun-neglected skin that glowed with naive determination.

“I wanted to...” he swallowed. “I haven’t been very-”

The door opened with a clatterous bang, startling Moss enough that he covered his ears with his hands, contracting his head into his shoulders like a turtle. Isidro dropped his hands to his lap.

“Fish,” Reid held up a plate, his body blocking the spattering of sunlight that leaked in from under the door, then clocked Isidro sitting up against the wall.

“I brought enough for ye, too,” he smiled, revealing a second plate under the first.

Moss didn't hesitate. He sat back and grabbed the plate as Reid outstretched it, maneuvering his tied hands to push the fish into his open mouth while Reid unceremoniously tossed Isidro's plate at his feet.

Isidro pulled the plate around, sticking his finger into the side. It was luke-warm. He pinched a small portion and brought it to his mouth; feeling the cold on his lips and the unique texture of raw fish on his tongue, followed by an assaulting sour taste. He gagged, and spit the piece back out onto the plate with a cough, noticing Reid’s shit-eating grin that made him look closely at the fish again.

He peeled back the skin, directly under his right eye, and noticed hundreds of tiny maggots digging through the flesh.

Isidro dropped the plate, doubled over and retched as if there was anything left in his stomach to evacuate. He looked up at Reid. The movement made his head spin.

“Not hungry?” was the pirate’s response.

“What’s wrong?” Moss asked, looking at his fish, then back to Isidro as he spit again.

“It’s rotten.”

“What?” Reid crouched, poking at the fish haphazardly. "It must’ve snuck by me."

Isidro balled his hand into a fist, and Reid’s eye caught the twitch of his muscle, looking down with a smile.

“What? Ye gonna hit me?” He smiled and snatched Isidro by the collar, “like ye did Kam? Like ye tried to do with that stupid shovel?”

“G-hah!” the wind ejected from Isidro’s lungs as Reid slammed him into the wall, and a hand wrapped around his neck before he was thrown to the ground; the contents of his plate scattered along the dirt. Isidro gasped; the sound rattling in his ears as he took a desperate breath.

“Go ‘head! See if ye can!”

His head flew back against the wall as a kick reverberated throughout his torso. Everything went black for a second—his good eye came back with little pin-pricks of light accompanied by ringing in his ears.

“You think you can act on your own, you ungrateful little prick!”

Chains rattled as Isidro wailed in pain. His screams devolved into panting groans as he blinked the sweat from his eyes; feeling the gashes release his blood down his back.

“Fuck you...” he took a breath. “Fuck all of you!” he stared at the Captain, his face in shadow.

“I’m not doing this anymore! Kill me if you want, but I’m done!”

The Captain took a step back to the small table that was dragged into the room weeks before.

“You think you have a choice?” Matthews picked up a small piece of paper, opening it carefully. “Surely you’re not that deluded.”

He shoved the paper to Isidro’s eyeline. He could barely see it, but he didn’t have to.

“What a beautiful letter... full of hope. They don’t know who you really are, do they?”

Isidro’s breath hitched as he bit his tongue hard to keep his head sharp.

“Should we respond?” Matthews glanced to the corner, then to Isidro again, “Maybe I’ll deliver it personally?

Isidro rattled his chains, “don’t you fucking da- gah! Ah!”

“Oh I dare!” The Captain yelled, “I bet your brother could go for fifty silver on the auction block. And your sister-” he grabbed the chain around Isidro’s neck, pulling him closer, “she’d look pretty with one of these, sitting under my table.”

Isidro’s eyes fell and the Captain let go, gently touching Isidro’s cheek.

“Only you can save them,” Matthews whispered like a snake wrapping around his ear. “Or are you going to keep causing unnecessary trouble?."

Isidro hung his head. “N-no...”

“Louder!”

“No, Sir!” The chain rattled.

“Because you know what will happen, don’t you?”

“Yes, Sir... I know...I’m s-orry...”

He came back as Reid swerved, locking eyes with Moss who still had his plate up and gripping it like the hilt of a sword. Isidro pushed himself up on shaking arms, taking another deep breath in an attempt to stand. His body had never felt so weak.

Get up.

He blinked fiercely, but he was still on his hands and knees, taking in lungfulls as a pain appeared in his chest. His lungs were burning and he clenched the ground as he trembled from the helplessness of it all. He couldn’t fight. He couldn’t run.

Moss balanced on the balls of his feet—holding the plate high. His eye canvassed the brute as his muscles flexed to strike. Isidro grit his teeth, looking up at the lad amidst the panic.

“Moss! Stop!”

Moss looked at him, and he hated himself. “S-stop. Please. I-it won’t work... stop...”

The lad’s brows furrowed, but he slowly lowered the plate. Isidro breathed a sigh of relief when he heard it fall to the ground.

“Smart choice,” Reid's hand around the rope relaxed, leaving Isidro shaking from the pain as he walked toward the lad.

Moss looked up at the pirate and put his hands up in surrender, but it didn't matter. Reid gripped his shoulder and pummeled him in the stomach, doubling him over with a deep wheeze while he wrapped the rope around his ankles, then fed it between his knees to attach to the one around his wrists.

With a final tug, Moss' legs bent, and Reid shoved him onto his stomach with his boot.

“R-Reid!” he yelled, “gah!” he pulled against the ropes.

Isidro closed his eye as Reid’s footsteps approached.

“Look what ye did!” He grabbed Isidro's face and pointed it towards Moss.

He blinked as he tried to stay upright, focusing on Moss' struggled breathing from the blurry mass on the ground.

“Would it be good of me to let ye get away with that?”

No, it wouldn’t.

He felt a yank on his scalp, forcing his body toward the door until Reid shoved him into the center of the adjacent room. There was a crack, then a sharp cut through the air. Isidro took another breath, rolling to protect his face as Reid approached again.

Suddenly, Isidro’s breathing returned to normal, and the pain in his chest disappeared.

“Wait! D-dammit!” Moss yelled.

Reid did not.

taglist: @sparrowsage @kixngiggles @honey-is-mesi @annablogsposts

#pirate whump #whump series #whump community #whump writing #manhandling #tw restraining #tw emeto #implied past torture #tw threats #tw whipping

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oldfacesnewdawnoffical · 1 year

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Are the rangers fans of passing down names? Or are the outlaw/barley situations outsiders which should not be counted.

Yes!!

To the Rangers, “recycling” is everything. Nothing goes to waste among their ranks - and that includes scraps of identities. Names to them especially aren’t given nearly the same amount of weight as the fealty gives theirs - a name is a part of someone just as eye color is, just as scars are. They can be gained or fade away over the course of the seasons. The only thing that matters is whether or not the desired individual takes pride in it - and whether or not they’ll answer to it.

Really, the only case in which new names are brought into their ranks are from visitors, those who name kittens who choose to stay, or from tales of those passing through. Or, just from newcomers who just want to keep their old names! It’s really a case-by-case basis; there’s no strict rules around their system of naming.

#old faces new dawn #ask #warrior cats rewrite #warriors rewrite #x-critter2022 #the rangers of windover

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dreamsofalife · 10 days

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+ favorite historical fact?

"There are bog bodies in the United States! Florida, in fact; the Windover burial site is one of the most important archaeological sites in the US. 168 bodies of men, women, and children were found there, buried in a position facing the sun. Their positions were held down and kept from floating out of the bog via stakes driven into the peat to hold down the fabric being worn by the bodies, which! Were buried at a point where fabric weaving was thought to have not yet been created. They even found brain tissue in some of the skulls!"

#Anonymous #bodies #dead bodies #mummies #ask to tag

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bellaroles · 1 year

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