#Fossilized Impression

[uk-fossils]

Quercus hannibain Fossil Leaf - Pliocene, Middlegate Formation, USA - Genuine Prehistoric Fossil

This is a genuine fossil specimen of Quercus hannibain, an ancient species of oak, discovered in the well-documented Middlegate Formation, USA. Dating back to the Pliocene epoch (~5.3-2.6 million years ago), this fossilized leaf provides a fascinating glimpse into the diverse temperate forests that thrived during a time of significant climatic transitions leading into the Ice Age.

The fossil is exceptionally well-preserved, showcasing intricate venation and fine details of the leaf structure. The Middlegate Formation is renowned for its exceptional plant fossil deposits, which allow scientists and collectors to study the ancient environments and ecosystems that shaped modern-day forests.

Key Features:

Fossil Type: Leaf Impression

Age: Pliocene (~5.3-2.6 million years old)

Formation: Middlegate Formation

Location: USA

Condition: Well-preserved, showcasing detailed leaf venation

Authenticity: 100% genuine fossil, supplied with a Certificate of Authenticity

Photo: The item in the listing is the exact specimen you will receive

Fossil leaves from the Middlegate Formation are some of the best-preserved plant fossils in North America. This formation was once home to vast oak-dominated woodlands, teeming with prehistoric mammals and evolving plant species. The fine-grained sediments of these ancient deposits allowed for the exceptional fossilization of organic material, preserving delicate plant structures with astounding detail.

This fossil is an excellent addition to any fossil collection, natural history display, or educational exhibit. It also makes a fantastic gift for fossil enthusiasts, paleobotanists, and those fascinated by prehistoric plant life and Earth's ancient environments.

Additional Information:

Scale cube = 1cm for size reference. Please see listing photos for full dimensions.

This is a carefully selected, high-quality specimen.

Ships securely packaged to ensure safe arrival.

All of our Fossils are 100% Genuine Specimens & come with a Certificate of Authenticity

Fast & Secure Shipping – We take great care in packaging each fossil to ensure it arrives in perfect condition!

Own an incredibly detailed and scientifically significant piece of prehistoric history – add this Quercus hannibain Fossil Leaf from the Middlegate Formation, USA to your collection today!

[fvedyetor]

If a frilled shark and a fern were to fight each other who do you think would win /genq

hold on i have to google

WTFF ok ok imma be serious here

its gonna have to go to fern bc no way is that shark getting onto land. if this was a tiktaalik vs fern fight that'd be a different story.

but i am giving the win to the fern because she can populate land like crazyyy and have strong defense system meanwhile silly frilled shark is stuck in the water with no good bone structure in its fins

[abandonedshops]

my fossils :)

got some shells, corals, ear bones, various scutes, bivalves and various animal teeth! i like to think about the "x" rock a lot and wonder what it is. right now i like to think it's a mark of predation of some kind.

[daybreakrising]

@avaere: " but why , dear friend , settle for tea when you could enjoy the sweet taste of wine ? " of all disturbances to befall liyue , the voice of the bard of mondstadt surely was among the least favorable there it called out to the familiar sight of an archon whose flesh reminded him more of a barren tree than anything else. " always so focused , sincere , never the man to throw his hat in the ring for a dance ; say , why not offer this humble bard a cup , and maybe he will find it in his good heart to pay for the tea you are drinking ? "

placing himself before the other with a grin , he'd duck his head with a lowered voice . " it's not every day i come this far to check up on the only fossil who has managed to keep himself above earth , humor me , morax . "

The wind can be a welcome relief, useful to sailors out at sea and children flying kites, but equally it can be an unwelcome inconvenience, a hindrance even. When it comes to the bard of Mondstadt, Zhongli considers him both at once. The familiar voice triggers a sense of warm comfort in equal measure to a cool irritation that only an old friend could muster.

His lips curve in the most fleeting of smiles before Venti breezes into view, by which time his face has been schooled carefully into his usual, rather more stoic expression. "Call it a matter of taste." He answers simply, deliberately lifting the cup before him from its saucer to take a measured sip. "There is something rather more sophisticated about tea, would you not agree?"

There is, of course, an underlying reason why he partakes so infrequently, a reason the bard before him knows without reminder. Where are those who share the memory? But, equally, it is a reason to indulge his old friend, the last remaining from those early days. He leans in as Venti does, affixes golden eyes upon the face he has adopted for himself. "I think you humour yourself enough for the both of us, Barbatos." But he lifts a hand anyway, gestures for wine to be brought to the table. "So, then, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company? Forgive me for finding it difficult to believe that you're here only to check up on me."

[oh-youknow]

today i went to a museum and did an impression of a trout

[soft-cheek]

Today I learned that apparently there's a travelling pokemon fossil exhibit in Japan thatll set up at local museums with like life size statues of some of the fossil pokemon and don't get me wrong I would love to see it. But fucking

Do we see this are we looking at this, apparently we're claiming that aurorus has bone sails

So immediately I had to look into it like damn maybe they are? They like move though so I looked into it and

Well now wait just one minute ok so not only are they skin, which ok I figured as much, but also the fossil you use to resurrect this bitch is an impression fossil so already I'm like wait they don't even have any DNA from this bitch (which you wouldn't from the vast majority from fossils just anyway including almost all bone fossils too but I feel like I can justify pokemon resurrection magic more when you have the bone fossil) how on earth did they manage to resurrect a whole dinosaur from an impression fossil

But back to my previous point all I'm saying is that the skeleton they've got in this showcase is the equivalent to one of these

[seveneyesoup]

honestly i think part of the problem is teens and young adults don’t spend enough time hanging out w people much older than them. i’m just saying it’s hard to be scared of ending up as an old fat bald guy when all those things are true of one of the coolest people you know

[firefox-enthusiast]

I was so close to being pissed off at the fossil fuel treaty logo for not having Iceland on the map (you'd be surprised how optional cartographers find including it) then I noticed that they didn't include Britain either.

[random-shit-writing]

neither of my parents are religious, and i know this sounds stupid, but i didn't even know what religion was until i was, like, eight. but i do remember going to a church day camp bc my mother wanted some time to herself, and she knew some of the people running it. so. she sent me and my sister to go do fun crafts and have a small picnic at the church. and then they sat us down for "story time." and they started talking about this creation story, and how the earth was made, and how humans came about. and i, a little kid, having no concept of religion at the time, excitedly asked "when do the dinosaurs come in?"

Being raised by areligious jews with 0 exposure to christianity outside pop culture is so fun. One time I asked my ex-catholic friend why a picture of jesus had a bristle crown and she looked at me like I was insane. One time I heard someone mention the "lance of longinus" and responded, word for word, "Like from Evangelion?" One time during a history lesson my professor described an important monk and scholar as "Dominican" and I spent the rest of class super confused and hung up on it because I was very sure that the Dominican Republic didn't meaningfully exist as an entity back then, maybe she meant he was a native Taino or something but that's a weird way to say that and I'm pretty sure this was pre- European contact? Really fucks people up when they realize I genuinely have no idea.

[essaytime]

sometimes your boots walking all over them is not enough, you need to pull a Tullia and drive over their body with a chariot

[kaijutegu]

My students are never as impressed as I am when I show them my Necrolemur fossil but like that's your grandma! Those are primate teeth! From before primates were really a thing!

Surely y'all can appreciate your grandma, right??

[uk-fossils]

Lepidodendron Fossil Stem – Carboniferous Plant Fossil – Coal Measures – Radstock, Somerset, UK

Genuine Lepidodendron Stem Fossil – Carboniferous Period – Radstock, Somerset, UK

This is a fine example of a Lepidodendron stem fossil – a relic of an ancient lycopsid tree that once towered over Carboniferous swamplands. This piece was recovered from the classic Coal Measures of Radstock, Somerset, a region famous for its rich palaeobotanical heritage.

Fossil and Geological Information:

Species: Lepidodendron (exact species undetermined)

Family: Lepidodendraceae

Order: Lepidodendrales

Class: Lycopodiopsida

Geological Stage: Pennsylvanian Subsystem, Late Carboniferous (~310 million years ago)

Formation: British Upper Coal Measures

Location: Radstock, Somerset, UK

Depositional Environment: Equatorial deltaic swamps, ideal for forming peat-rich layers later turned into coal

Notable Morphological Features:

Distinctive diamond-shaped leaf scars arranged in spiral rows, left by fallen microphylls

Ribbed or bark-like surface textures indicative of its large, arborescent form

Rare preservation showing clear stem features of a major component of Carboniferous forests

Palaeontological Context:

Lepidodendron was a dominant genus in the Carboniferous forests and contributed significantly to coal formation. Known as a “scale tree,” it could grow over 30 meters high. This stem fossil captures the unique and unmistakable leaf scar patterns that define the genus.

Specimen Details:

Discovered by: UKGE team members Alister and Alison

Discovery Date: 06 March 2025

Prepared by: Alison

Scale Information: Scale cube shown = 1cm – see photo for precise dimensions

Photographic Guarantee: The item pictured is the exact specimen you will receive

Authenticity: Includes a signed Certificate of Authenticity. We guarantee all our fossils are 100% genuine and responsibly collected.

Why This Fossil is Important:

Lepidodendron was a cornerstone of prehistoric forest ecosystems during the Carboniferous period, influencing the development of today’s ecosystems and even contributing to modern fossil fuel deposits. This well-preserved specimen is not only ideal for collectors but also serves as an excellent educational piece demonstrating the structure and texture of ancient lycopsid trees.

An iconic and timeless addition to any fossil collection.

[skarchomp]

gay people will romanticize anything. fossilization is an act of love. the earth holds the child that returned to her so tight in hopes that she never has to let go. eventually you'll fall away from her grasp no matter what, but at least you can leave behind an impression that she'll hold onto forever. fuck. hold on bad example. gimme a minute. fuck.

[ulmus-spellook]

Crystals will not cure your cancer, but as an animist I do feel like there are vibes. Perhaps not a mind, but vibes

[amnhnyc]

This Fossil Friday, we bring you the beloved Apatosaurus: a long-necked dinosaur that could reach an impressive size of 73 ft (22 m) long! The Museum’s first Apatosaurus was discovered at Wyoming’s Bone Cabin Quarry in 1898. When it went on display in 1905, it was the first sauropod dinosaur ever mounted. It’s hard to believe, but this gigantic herbivore maintained its mind-boggling bulk on a diet of plants. A soup of microbes in its belly broke down otherwise hard-to-digest plants by fermentation. In fact, some birds, the closest living relatives of dinosaurs, also have fermentation chambers in their guts.

The Museum is open daily from 10 am–5:30 pm. Plan your visit!

Photo: © AMNH

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗧𝗥𝗢𝗩𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗜𝗔𝗟𝗟𝗬 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗚 𝗚𝗙 lewis hamilton x  fem! genz! reader ( fluff ) fic summary . . . You never meant to fall for a man twice your age, but somehow, Lewis Hamilton makes thirty-something age gaps feel like background noise. In a world of fast cars and faster headlines, you become the softest scandal on the grid—his controversially young girlfriend (2.3k words)

( my master list | more of lewis hamilton ) ( requests )

You spot him across the room like a plot twist in a book you didn’t mean to start reading—one of those late-night, one-more-chapter choices that end with your sleep schedule in ruins and your heart a little dented.

He’s standing by the bar like he owns the concept of cool, leaning one elbow against the counter, glass in hand, dressed like he just got off a jet and into a Vogue spread. Chunky rings flash with every movement. A silver chain rests on his collarbone like it was born there. Sunglasses inside—normally a red flag—but on him? It’s working. Unreasonably well.

He doesn’t look real. He looks curated. Like someone who’s used to being watched. Someone who doesn’t have to try to be interesting, because the world already decided he is.

And the weird part? You don’t know who he is.

Which makes him fair game.

You down the last of your drink like a dare, swipe your thumb across your bottom lip in case there’s gloss out of place, and march toward him like the protagonist of your own little fever dream.

“Hey,” you say, voice dipped in confidence, grin hooked to one corner of your mouth. “Quick question. Are you this hot all the time, or is it just the lighting in here doing community service?”

He turns his head slowly, like he knows he’s about to be entertained. Looks at you over the rim of his sunglasses with those lazy, almost amused eyes. Then lowers them altogether, letting you see the full scope of his expression.

Blink. Slow blink. Smile.

Then—laughter.

A warm, surprised kind of laugh. Like you just opened a window in a room that hadn’t been aired out in a while.

“You don’t know who I am?” he asks, head tilting, eyebrows raised.

“Nope,” you chirp, popping the ‘p.’ “But judging by that look, you clearly think I should. Celebrity? Secret agent? CEO of Hot Men, Inc.?”

He chuckles, shaking his head as he lifts his drink to his lips. It’s whiskey, neat. Of course it is. “I like you.”

“Obviously,” you reply, deadpan. “So, what’s your name, mysterious man with excellent bone structure and suspicious levels of swagger?”

“Lewis,” he says. It rolls off his tongue casual and smooth, like he’s said it a thousand times to people already impressed.

You repeat it slowly, like a sip of something expensive. “Lewis. You got a last name, or are you trying to stay mysterious on purpose?”

“I’m trying,” he says, smirk tucked behind his glass. “But now I’m curious. How old are you?”

You narrow your eyes in playful suspicion. “Why? You tryna check if I need parental permission to flirt with you?”

He laughs again, and it’s even better this time—less surprised, more like he’s starting to settle into the rhythm of you. “Just making sure I’m not getting arrested.”

“Relax, officer,” you reply, pressing a palm to your chest with mock innocence. “I’m twenty-four. Legal, unproblematic, and only occasionally unhinged.”

But his smile shifts—just slightly. A flicker of something cautious flashes behind those honey-brown eyes.

“Damn,” he mutters, not unkindly. “I’m too old for you.”

You arch a brow. “You can’t be that old.”

He gives you a small shrug. “I’m forty.”

There’s a beat.

A pause long enough to pour another drink in.

Your jaw drops. You step back, press a hand to your mouth in mock horror.

“Wowe,” you gasp. “You’re a fossil. How were the dinosaurs? Did you ride a pterodactyl to school?”

He throws his head back and cackles, catching the attention of the bartender and a couple people nearby. It’s not just amusement—it’s delight. You got him.

“Ruthless,” he grins at you.

You shrug, unapologetic. “What can I say? I like my men aged like wine and slightly traumatized.”

He raises his glass. “Well. You might be in luck.”

You clink your empty glass against his full one, eyes never leaving his.

Somewhere in the background, a bass-heavy track starts to play. But the real beat is in the space between you—charged and golden and humming with the promise of something very, very interesting.

You’re not supposed to be here.

Not in the paddock. Not wearing borrowed sunglasses and an oversized McLaren jacket that smells like someone else's boyfriend. Not sipping on a bottled water like you belong, casually trying not to gawk at multi-million-dollar cars or the people walking around like they own oxygen.

But you’re here.

A friend’s plus one, a last-minute invite when her PR-boyfriend flaked on escort duty. So you tagged along—because hello, free food, hot people, shiny cars, and maybe the chance to flirt with a driver or two. You figured worst-case scenario, you'd leave with a selfie and a new screensaver.

What you didn’t expect was to see him again.

Lewis.

Mysterious Lewis from the bar. GQ-cover Lewis. Ring-wearing, chain-glinting, forty-year-old fossil Lewis who made you laugh so hard you almost forgot your own name.

He’s walking through the paddock like he’s parting the sea. Everyone moves around him like he's made of something sacred—crew nodding, fans whispering, someone with a camera backing up just to get the shot. He looks… different today. Like he’s not just dressed cool, but armored in it. Like confidence stitched into a race suit.

Your jaw almost hits the gravel.

You don’t even think—your feet just move.

“Lewis!”

He turns.

Sunglasses again, of course. But when he spots you? That smile. Slow, warm, like he knew you'd show up eventually.

You grin, planting yourself right in front of him, toe to boot.

“Okay,” you say, breathless but smug, “you cannot turn me down this time. This is clearly fate.”

He laughs. It rumbles in his chest, head tilting like he’s trying to drink you in without making it obvious.

“You really didn’t Google me, huh?” he says.

You raise a brow. “Should I have? Wait, are you, like, a famous pit crew guy or something? The energy drinks guy?”

He just smiles. The kind of smile that hides a hundred secrets and a thousand wins.

“I gotta go,” he says, stepping closer for just a second. “But I’ll see you on the podium.”

You blink. “What podium?”

But he’s already walking away.

Helmet under one arm, swagger turned up to eleven, disappearing into one of the Mercedes garages like some kind of very sexy magician.

You look to your friend. “What podium?!”

Your friend is pale. “You don’t know who that is?”

“Should I???”

“That’s Lewis Hamilton.”

You snort. “No it’s not. His name is just Lewis. He didn’t even give me a last name.”

“BECAUSE HE’S LEWIS HAMILTON. SEVEN-TIME WORLD CHAMPION. THE GOAT. LITERAL SIR.”

You freeze. Fully buffer. Brain spinning like a car on slick tyres.

Cut to three hours later, and you’re in the Mercedes unit, watching on the big screen as the man you once called a fossil overtakes two cars and wins the freaking British Grand Prix like it’s casual.

The crowd explodes.

Your heart does too.

You're on your feet, half in disbelief, half in awe. You just watched a man drive like a myth, and all you can think is: he told me he was forty and I made a dinosaur joke.

And just as you start contemplating crawling into a hole forever, he finds you again.

Post-race glow. Hair half-flattened from the helmet. Fireproof suit half-unzipped to reveal that chain you remember from the bar. Sweat and champagne still clinging to his skin like stardust.

He looks at you with that same grin.

“Still think I’m someone’s manager?” he teases, voice low, eyes shining.

You gape at him. “You won. Like, you—won. Your name’s on the trophy. That podium. That—your home race??”

He shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “Must be fate. You show up, I win. Gotta say… you might just be my lucky charm.”

Your brain short-circuits. “I—I called you a fossil.”

He laughs. Full, delighted, Lewis-laugh. “And you humbled me before I got cocky. We make a great team.”

You bite back a grin, cheeks burning. “So… you celebrating tonight, or what?”

“Obviously,” he says. “You’re coming.”

it’s supposed to be a quick trip. A flash visit, blink-and-you-miss-it, in-and-out kind of thing. You’ve been swamped—deadlines, drama, flights rerouted like bad karma—but something in you ached to be there. For him. For Lewis.

So you made time. You chose time.

And now? Now you’re stuck in Austrian traffic, inching toward the Red Bull Ring in a car that’s doing more idling than moving, hair frizzing in the heat and hands white-knuckling your phone.

You press it to your ear. “I swear to god, if I miss your race because a literal cow is blocking the road—”

Lewis laughs on the other end, warm and fond. “A cow?”

“A cow, Lewis. Just standing there. Living her truth. Meanwhile, I’m two bad songs away from losing it.”

“You sound stressed, babe.”

“Gee, what gave it away?” you snap, then sigh. “Sorry. I just wanted to be there before lights out. Front row, proud girlfriend, full ensemble.”

His voice softens. “You’re here. That’s what matters.”

“Barely.”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re still my lucky charm. Even if you’re watching from the parking lot.”

You roll your eyes, but your smile gives you away. “Go win something, fossil.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He gets P2.

You watch the final laps on your phone screen, pressed against the parkinglot gates, heart in your throat and hands half-numb. The crowd erupts. Flags wave. You swear you can hear the champagne pop all the way from the parking lot.

And then—

There he is.

Striding out from the gates like he owns Austria, still in his suit, curls damp under his cap, smile already loaded like a secret.

“Hey,” he calls out, just loud enough for you to turn.

You do. And then you forget how to breathe.

Because Lewis Hamilton kisses you like the cameras aren’t watching. Like the whole world doesn’t know his name. Like you didn’t just call him a fossil two weeks ago and now you’re wearing his hoodie like a badge of honor.

You pull back, dazed and pink. “That was… public.”

“Could’ve made it more dramatic,” he teases. “Want a dip next time?”

“You’re so cocky for a man who came in second.”

He grins. “I’ll take second if it means I get to see that blush.”

You're about to fire back—something witty, something flirty—when someone from Mercedes runs up, breathless. “Lewis, mate. You need to come back to the unit. Now.”

He frowns. “Everything alright?”

The guy looks between the two of you, eyes wide. “George got disqualified.”

You both blink.

“What?” you say, at the same time Lewis mutters: “No way.”

“Track limits. Deleted laps. It just came through.”

Which means—

“You’re P1,” you whisper, eyes wide.

Lewis turns to you, slow and stunned. Brows raised. Smile blooming like he knew.

“Guess you really are my lucky charm,” he says, low and gleaming.

You shake your head, biting back a grin. “I didn’t even see the race.”

“Didn’t have to,” he murmurs, already pulling you into his arms. “Just had to show up.”

Thursdays are usually soft-launches. Media day. Press conference drip. Everyone pretending they’re not sizing each other up, that they’re not itching for Sunday, that they’re not clocking every outfit and wink and subtle little flex.

But this Thursday?

You walk in and the whole paddock blinks.

Because Lewis Hamilton—Sir Lewis Hamilton—is already waiting by the entrance like a man on a mission. Like the sun rises wherever you land. And he’s dressed like a dream dipped in platinum, silver shirt half-buttoned, rings glinting, pants tailored within an inch of heaven.

But it’s the way he looks at you that melts reality a little.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he murmurs as you reach him.

You grin, a little breathless, fixing the collar of his shirt even though it’s perfect. “You’re overdressed.”

He eyes your outfit—slick and sharp, Prada shades and knee-high boots like you own the grid—and hums, “Nah. We’re matching.”

And you are. Silver and black, sleek and dangerous. A walking power couple with zero subtlety. Someone snaps a pic. Then another. Cameras start clicking like popcorn.

He slips his hand into yours. Casual, confident. Like it’s nothing. Like it’s everything.

And then the tweets start.

You scroll a few of them while waiting outside hospitality, phone buzzing like a feral bee. You snort-laugh at the “get it grandpa” one. Lewis peeks over your shoulder and raises a brow.

“They’re obsessed with you,” you say, smirking.

“They’re obsessed with you,” he corrects, tugging you closer by the waist. “You okay?”

You shrug, leaning into him. “I mean, people think I’m either your niece or your mid-life crisis.”

He snorts. “You’re my win.”

Your smirk falters—just for a second—because god, he’s so earnest. So warm. Like a damn sunbeam with abs.

You recover quick, flicking your sunglasses down. “Damn right I am.”

He laughs loud, head tipping back. “There she is.”

All day, people stare.

Team members smile politely. Fans whisper behind phones. Media pretends not to mention it while asking if you're enjoying your "first F1 paddock experience" (you’ve been to three, thank you very much).

You pose for a few pics. Kiss Lewis on the cheek when he heads into the garage. Sip your overpriced iced coffee like nothing rattles you.

But every so often—when it’s quiet—you hear the whispers again. About the age gap. The headlines. The way you don’t look like you belong next to someone as legendary as him.

So when you catch your reflection in the hospitality glass—twenty-four and glowing but clearly young—you take a breath.

And then you smirk at yourself. Flip your hair. Take a selfie.

Caption it:

“idk i just think i’m a slay.”

And Lewis? He reposts it.

voice notes 🔊. . . ( im so writting a p2 for this when he moves to ferrari and the disqualifying in china )