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ivysangel · 2 months

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Honey clings to your fingers, viscous and sticky, stringing every time it touches itself. Lines of liquid gold run down the curves of your hand, streams of goopy liquid pooling in your palm and flowing down your wrist in a few collective lines. You plunge your thumb back into the honey pot, the thick substance clinging to your skin instantly, and you bring your hand back up again, the honey only stagnant for a second before it starts its descent down your arm.

A large hand, strong and veiny, grabs your wrist. An unrelenting grip bringing your hand forth to him. He presses your thumb to his lips, smearing the sweet substance to and fro, to the corners of his mouth and back, leaving translucent liquid behind when he catches your thumb between his teeth, grazing the appendage and scraping it clean. A guttural groan sounds in the back of his throat, and you know that means he likes it.

"'s good, huh?" you watch the way his eyes flutter as he lets the rest dissolve in his mouth, ecstasy written all over his features. An emotion he only exhibits when he's eating good food or fucking you. "Yeah, really good." His voice is hoarse as if the honey absorbed all moisture from his larynx and left him in need of a glass of water, ironic given its effectiveness in soothing sore throats. "Thirsty?" you hand him a cup filled with cucumber water, a palate cleanser. "Real sweet," he says before tipping his head back and downing the drink. "But I liked it. What's next?"

Your eyes peruse the board of half-eaten sweets and treats in front of you, searching for one that was untouched. The beech wood board, previously a nice light beige, is stained a multitude of colors. Splotches of deep reds and purple form puddles where you had put the berries, frosting is streaked across the entirety of the board from the multiple unfinished slices of cake, chocolate chips and sprinkles from cookies lay scattered on both the countertop and floor, spoons and forks that were only partially licked clean can still be found near their designated desserts. Cubes of angel food cake half-dipped in chocolate and tooth-rottingly sweet marshmallow squares sit on napkins, drying out more and more by the second while long-forgotten brownies soak up various fruity jellies and jams, having been discarded with no regard for keeping flavor profiles separate.

It was a nightmare to look at, an even bigger one to clean up, and if anyone else had been the cause of this mess, you wouldn't have even begun to entertain the idea of letting it get this bad, let alone cleaning it up. But it wasn't anyone else, wasn't just some random stranger; it was Jason, and to you, spending weeks curating the perfect Valentine's gift to satiate his sweet tooth was a testament to your love for him. Who cares if you have to break out the good cleaning supplies.

"Hmm," you do one last once over, nothing catching your eye that hadn't already been touched, "I don't think so." unintentionally, you start to clean up, collecting dirty forks and spoons for the dishwasher, stacking empty bowls on top of each other to toss in the sink. "What a shame," he mumbles, appearing beside you seemingly out of thin air and taking the utensils from your hands before setting them down haphazardly right where they started. You look at him with confusion, silently inquiring about his undoing of your work, and you open your mouth to verbally ask but are stopped by the wolfish grin adorning his face and the way he begins to lift the hem of your shirt up. "d'ya think we got anythin' else," he asks, moving in closer, eyes locked on you like a predator with prey. "I'm still hungry."

#happy valentines day from me to u #jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x gn!reader #jason todd smut #jason todd imagine #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood x gn!reader #red hood smut #red hood imagine #jason todd lover

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beansprean · 1 year

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Commission from @vampireshmampire for "The Honeymoon Suite" - pls read this fic it's so cute

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1. Shot from the bottom of a flight of switchback wooden stairs turning right, covered centrally by a dark green rug. The walls are half paneled in a pale beech wood below and light floral-patterned wallpaper above. Under the second flight on the right is a large leafy plant and a half-obscured brass sign that says “No Smoking, No Hexing, No Marking T-, No Bloodlet-, No Ectoplasm.” On the left wall going up the stairs is a small framed photo of two smiling women with red hair standing in front of a large house and holding a “sold” sign and two brass signs, one says “suited” and points up the stairs and the other marks the floor as “1”. Further up the wall are other kitschy decorations: a patterned hanging tapestry; a large painting of a dandelion against a full moon; a framed photo of two smiling redheaded women posed cheek to cheek in wedding dresses; a mounted bluegill fish labeled “Franklin III”; a decorative plate ringed with witchy runes and a red seeing eye in the center; a decorative plate ringed in yellow flowers, buds, and bees, with “The Bee and Bee” written in cursive in the center; a needlepoint that says “home is where the wine is”; a painting of a flowery valley at a low angle, sunset sky peeking through a heart-shaped lichen exit at the end; and a single window with orange spotted curtains and blacked out panes. In the corner of the landing between flights there is a small French accent chair with a teal leaf pattern and a Grecian vase filled with pink-budded branches. Nandor is sitting sprawled on the landing, one leg stretched across it and the other laid out on the stairs below. He is leaning against the left-hand wall, hair bunched up as if he had fallen and slid down. He is flushed purple and laughing hysterically, chin tipped up and mouth open wide, tears leaking from his eyes. One arm is laid down limply and the other is held up to grasp blindly at Guillermo’s elbow. Guillermo is standing between Nandor’s legs, hunched over with one hand braced on his knee as he cries laughing with equal hysteria, flushed to his ears and helplessly lifting one finger to his laughing mouth to try to shush them. They are clearly drunk as hell but having a great time.

2. The same drawing, zoomed in to Guillermo and Nandor. /end ID

#wwdits #nandermo #mlm #commission #guillermo de la cruz #nandor the relentless #what we do in the shadows #what we do in the shadows fx #my art #fanart #image described

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meadowlarkx · 8 months

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elvenkings

Fic for @sindarweek day 2: Locations | AO3

Afterwards, they went back. No tale contains this part: no one set it down. Few set out: Oropher, his tall, gangly son, and a handful of others. A small cluster of green shoots. Spring was returning to the forest, and it smelled sweet, like unfurling leaves and old rot melting. They were very careful. They moved and slept in the trees, wishing their foliage fuller and missing Melian’s temperate cradle. But at the rushing Esgalduin, before Menegroth’s bashed-in mouth, there were no boughs to make the going safer.

“Finrod’s brother,” one said, weeping, “wished his mortal’s beauty to live on unmarred in his memory.”

Oropher looked searchingly at his son. Should we not have come back? the look asked. Should I not have brought you back?

Thranduil shook his head. He was serious-faced, with an edge of temper and a merry wit that darted free at times like a bird startled from a branch. No humor glinted in his gaze now. He was named for the spring, but perhaps it had been this kind of spring. “We had to,” he said simply. “Pass me a lantern:” and he crossed the stone bridge and went inside.

Ringing silence, orchestral silence, the tremor of the air from breath and speech shimmering up the vaulted halls roofed by gleaming roots, through the wide proud galleries with their pillars fashioned like beech-trees. No robbers or kinslayers had made lair of this place. Still they trod softly, reverently, until in the garden with its fountain gone quiet—not the throne room—Medlithor sang out clarion a love-song of Daeron’s, and briefly illuminated the dark like lightning.

Three of Nimloth’s gowns for the little princess. Torn tapestries—gleaming silver. A great book of heraldry, and another of sketches, plans for uncarved statuary. Daeron’s prized notes nowhere to be found. A chest of Oropher’s things, still fastened shut, guiltily perfect. A zither broken and unsinging. The dark space where the bodies had been heaped and burnt atop the frozen ground by their enemies. White bones of a few they had missed. The tree-roots embracing them, the new moss blanketing them. Circles ever widening outward, months late seeking children who would never be found.

Somber return, days in the making. Thranduil sat on a pier and watched the silt swirl and mingle with the clear salt of the ocean. Something tugged in his young breast: he could not name it. It was not sea-longing.

“It was very fine. The floor was fashioned like a vast ocean, sweeping out—oh!—with bright fishes, and strange sea-weeds like purple flowers, and amongst them, stars.” Evranin’s hands fluttered like birds, even when she was not at her stitching. “You used to hop from one spotted ray to the next.”

Elwing nodded dubiously.

“You remember it, don’t you, my girl? I know you do.”

“I think so,” Elwing said.

“Your great-grandfather planned it. He was the first to make the journey across the Sea, and he returned with a beautiful light in his eyes: they glowed in the endless dusk under the starlight.”

Elwing flinched.

“Not thus, sweet,” Evranin said, “like auntie Idril’s. ‘Twas a shine like the dawn, though of course, we knew no dawn then.”

Elwing looked confused, then squinted her eyes like two clenched fists, as though trying to work out a time before sunlight. Evranin thought this very Bëorian of her. At last, satisfied, she gave a little nod of approval.

“He loved the Sea: your great-grandfather. He and his brother meant to cross and live by the shore on the other side—where the fish leapt in the colorful shallows, and the stars’ reflection could yet be seen.”

“But he did not,” Elwing interrupted, frowning. She knew this part, and meant not to be appeased.

“He loved your great-grandmother more, and the woods’ green smell underfoot in the summer. But his brother—your great-great-uncle—did cross over, and he built a fair city for our people by the water. When you look west, my dear, think of all your family waiting to meet you. We live on the shore now, just as they do.”

“I don’t remember the floor of that gallery,” Elwing said quietly. “But I remember the music of the fountains through the room, and Naneth dancing with Ada. There were nightingales in his hair.”

If you looked carefully, as Bilbo was wont to do, you could see the places where the tapestry in Elrond’s library had been repaired. It nearly covered one complete wall of the hexagonal room, confidently draping languid and liquid across space where more books and scrolls could have been squirreled away. Its colors seemed to shift, unearthly, and the weave was finer than any Bilbo had seen—which made the repairs, neat as they were, quite obvious. The image was one of a shadow-crowded forest of brambles and feathery boughs, and in the foreground dark, shimmering water. Shapes were awakening beneath the stars in the twilight by the water’s edge, stretching up glistening bodies and dancing and drawing one another in to embrace. At one corner the winding border had been singed and the damage had not been mended. Still, it was very beautiful. Nearby, upon a varnished wooden stand, a book sat partly open, with thin, cracked pages of birch-paper. It was full of sigils, but Bilbo, despite making a study of Elf-lore, recognized none of them.

“Nor do I know most of them,” Elrond said, when asked. “It is far older than I, and a gift from Oropher from long ago, ere he left eastwards. See, though. Here is Beleg’s seal, and Mablung’s: the marchwardens from Túrin’s unhappy tale.” Bilbo exclaimed over these a while, and then asked: “What about the tapestry?”

“Melian the Maia wove it in the Elder Days.” He did not need to add: I thought it should be admired.

They had argued bitterly on the day the gift was made. It was vanishingly rare to see Elrond angry, but Oropher had managed it.

“Name me not king. I have chosen my king, and I am his herald. Leave it, I have begged of you. I won't ask again."

“And in what world am I to be named lord, while Elwing’s son bears no title? While our prince—”

“You might stay!” Elrond said rather wildly.

“And you might come with us—to oak and elm, the deep forest, people of our own ways—”

“I have made my choice.”

Silence fell between them, a silence of set jaws and brittle gazes. It was from an excess of care that they crossed wills.

“You are so like Lúthien,” Oropher said at last. Pride was soft in his voice. “Nay, your mother in her lordship. You are so like all of them.”

Elrond did not know what he meant.

“Accept these at least. They are your own inheritance. How I wish we had been able to offer you more.” Oropher said nothing else, but Elrond heard in his inmost heart all he meant, and opening his own heart he offered him forgiveness for the harsh words freshly spoken and for the old aches, the beaded necklace of orphans upon orphans, the bruise-tender childhood, the sunken continent, the houseless shades of the dead that crowded like moths: all the wounds still bleeding, and in which Oropher was faultless.

When Amon Lanc grew too dangerous, Thranduil knew what had to be done. Harried and unmerry was the Wood-elves’ journey northwards through the forest’s tree-paths. They took from the hill only what they could carry. Those of Thranduil’s people whom he met on the way—for many lived simply in the trees throughout Greenwood with their companions and children, and had joined themselves to no great settlement—spoke with him in troubled voices, though on the nights his following gathered around their small talans wine flowed and songs were sung.

“We need to make fast a stronghold,” he said. “Underground: a place of stone.”

“Better to go through the trees quickly! to travel lightly!”

“And if there is nowhere left that the Shadow has not touched?”

These Elves shook their heads and he read their thinking: we have always dwelt in this forest. But Thranduil’s heart misgave him, insisting the direst hour was still to come, and that he ready all his scattered people a sanctuary in advance of that hour.

Kingship did not rest easily on this son of Oropher. He had not been born to it, and he had meant never to find it. He preferred swimming the forest’s rivers and downing the sweet nectar of more summery lands to difficult counsels and deference, however warmly they were offered him. Very often since his father’s death, the way did not seem clear.

It was clear in this moment. He felt Elu Thingol’s hand cool upon his shoulder, as surely as if the king sojourned with him in the dappled wood and spoke as he had at the height of his wisdom. He saw in his mind’s eye the bridge that would cross the running water, the enchanted door, the roots that would be sung into high ceilings, the beech-carved pillars, the golden lamplight.

__________

From The Silmarillion: "But the Elves also had part in that labour, and Elves and Dwarves together, each with their own skill, there wrought out the visions of Melian, images of the wonder and beauty of Valinor beyond the Sea. The pillars of Menegroth were hewn in the likeness of the beeches of Oromë, stock, bough, and leaf, and they were lit with lanterns of gold. The nightingales sang there as in the gardens of Lórien; and there were fountains of silver, and basins of marble, and floors of many-colored stones. Carven figures of beasts and birds there ran upon the walls, or climbed upon the pillars, or peered among the branches entwined with many flowers. And as the years passed Melian and her maidens filled the halls with woven hangings wherein could be read the deeds of the Valar, and many things that had befallen in Arda since its beginning, and shadows of things that were yet to be. That was the fairest dwelling of any king that has ever been east of the Sea."

#wanted to post this one in as tumblr friendly a format as possible since it's not long !#thank you so much for running this event!!! 💕💕#thranduil #elrond #elwing #oropher #evranin #silm #silmarillion fic #silmarillion #etc.#lotr #the hobbit #thingol #menegroth #sindarweek #sindarweek2 #my fic

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softshuji · 2 years

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Feat. Rindou Haitani

Rin thinks he might actually be the luckiest man alive sometimes. Sure he's been shot at, stabbed, poisoned, beaten to within an inch of his life, teetered on the edge of death, but he still thinks he has some lucky star to thank when he watches you peer down at the placard of some piece of furniture in Ikea, testing out the name and frowning when you realize it doesn't quite sound right.

'How's this one Rin?' You reach out a hand to touch the lacquered wood and Rindou mirrors your movements, calloused fingers brushing yours as he inspects the side table drawer. He's not all that fussed, at least not as much as you. It's all home, all you, all the mornings spent waking up and rolling over, taking your body with him. He'd be happy to sleep on the floor if you asked him to.

'It's good Princess, but don't you think mahogany suits the paint better than beech?' And if you'd told Rindou Haitani five years ago that he'd be standing in Ikea holding your handbag, your water bottle, your coat and shopping for furniture after a morning meeting, he'd have laughed at you. And ached at the same time. Full of contradictions as usual.

'Maybe...but it has to be right Rin, your party is only in a few days!' you say and he rolls his eyes, all faux annoyance and red cheeks hidden behind soft lilac velvet hair. 'Besides...'

'Besides..?' He tilts his head in question and kicks at the linoleum, soft and rubbery under his feet.

'We'll be needing to buy a cot soon.' You chew your lip, move to touch the bedspread on display that reminds you of your own, all purple throws and plumpy down pillows and cotton that's soft against your skin.

He chuckles. 'We're not there yet Princess, one day for sure.' And really it's just an attempt to quell the thrum in his heart, the need for the family he's always craved. He's not ashamed to admit to you that the image of you round with his baby sets something off in him that makes his neck burn with desire. But you've been trying for over a year now, and if anything it has made your life more exciting, the thrill of it, the carnal desire that has him keeping you up beyond the small hours.

You falter, your throat thick with anticipation. 'What if-what if I told you that day was sooner rather than later?' Maybe it's cruel of you to do this now, here, between the aisles of assembled display furniture, in Ikea of all places, but where better than a nest of dreams?

He stills, and you feel rather than see his hand hesitate as it reaches forward to touch the soft silk of a drape. He frowns. Churns it over in his mind, his head moving slowly to face you. His throat is tight, his words slow and heavy to come, sitting on his tongue like a weight.

'You mean...? And his eyes are imploring, desperate, earnest, genuine, everything all at once.

'I haven't seen the doctor yet but I took the test this morning and I- we might be....'

'Oh.'

It hits hard, the descending ring in his ears that tells him what he's longed to hear since the day he met you. And so he does the only thing he can to show you what he feels, how he feels, how much he wants this. He kisses you.

And kisses you.

#tokyo revengers #tokyo rev #tr #tokyorev x reader #haitani rindou #rindou haitani

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mycoblogg · 9 months

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FOTD #055 : purple pouch! (cortinarius porphyroideus)

the purple pouch (or king's pouch) is an ectomycorrhizal fungus endemic to aotearoa. it belongs to the family cortinariaceae !! it is often associated with hard beech & black beech.

the big question : can i bite it?? nah, it's inedible.

c. porphyroideus description :

"the violet fruit bodies can grow to a height and width of 7 cm (2.8 in). the smooth, polished surface of the peridium is sticky. when dry, the peridium becomes brown & develops wrinkles. the stout stipe is a pale violet colour with yellow tints at the base. it measures 3–9 cm (1.2–3.5 in) long by 1–2 cm (0.4–0.8 in) thick at the base & tapers towards the top. the texture of the stipe surface is fibrillose (as if made of fibers), & minute grooves can be seen running up & down its length."

[images : source & source] [fungus description : source]

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cosmiclove-heavenstruck · 2 years

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Treacherous Games | Harry James Potter

Pairing: Harry Potter x fem!reader

Warnings: maybe some swearing (you never know around Ron), otherwise just fluff, pining, and crushing hard.

Summary: Harry is crushing on Reader during a match of Two-A-Side Quidditch.

a/n: Set in the summet holidays before Harry’s sixth year. This isn't a stand-alone oneshot but an excerpt from an unpublished fic. English is not my native language, so there might be spelling/grammar mistakes.

“And that’s how you catch a Quaffle, Ron.”

“Come on, one more round.”

“We really don’t want you to lose a seventh time.”

Overly confident, Y/N threw the Quaffle from one hand to the other, then passed it on to Harry, who was hovering ten feet away from her on his broom, grinning amusedly.

It was two days after they had gotten their O.W.L. results.

The air was buzzing with tiny, fluffy bumblebees and butterflies in iridescent colours, flying over the purple lavender bushes, wild blooming, deeply red corn roses, and a bed of catnip, which had become Crookshanks new favourite place to simply exist, slashing at bees from time to time. The orchard had dropped its overripe apples and plums into the high grown grass, making it a feast for wasps and the gnome family inhabiting the garden of the Burrow.

As the only one who did not play Quidditch, despite having been asked to join countless times, Hermione had created her own little oasis between a high grown beech tree and the door to the kitchen. She was sitting on a white and blue striped deckchair, her feet in a bucket full of cold water, an enormous, broad-brimmed straw hat on her head, and a thick novel her parents had sent her in her lap, occasionally leaning back and watching them play.

The sun was burning down on them; they had used up almost all of the sunscreen, and the heat-protection charm Mrs. Weasley had applied over the garden this morning was wearing off. The heat also brought out Y/N’s freckles, and if she had had red hair, she for sure would have passed as Ginny’s older sister. Y/N brushed a loose strand of hair that must’ve escaped out of her bun behind her ear.

It had grown over the last few weeks, now reaching past her collarbones and shimmering in a rich, warm brown tone. (Okay, maybe, she had used some magical shampoo to help the growing process before she had come to the Burrow for her summer stay, but that was a secret between her and her bathroom.)

“It’s not fair, I want to switch the teams up again,” Ginny complained. She had her arms placed on the stick of her broom, her red cheeks gleaming like round apples in the sun.

“We said we’d not switch teams within the day,” said Harry promptly, driving his hand through his hair. It had grown to a length where he could have pulled off a teeny ponytail on top of his head if he did not refuse so much to do so.

“Easy for you to say, you always get to pick Y/N while I’m left with this nutcase!” She said stubbornly.

She was right, though: It was usually Ron who got to pick his teammate first, and he exclusively chose Ginny, simply because she was the better player out of the girls.

“Blame Ron, not me,” He replied simply, still smiling. Harry definitely did not mind this rule at all, he had made it up after all.

“No, Ginny, look,” Ron said, trying to explain his seemingly brilliant tactic for the hundredth time, “you’re a good Chaser, I’m an excellent Keeper, it makes more sense that way. Technically, we should have a 100% chance to win all the –”

“You’re a rubbish Keeper! And they both got faster brooms –”

“I am not –”

“You are not playing well because you don’t have a prize to win at the end of the day,” interfered Hermione loudly, not looking up from her book. “You’ve got to play for something, like dessert.”

“More dessert sounds great,” Ron said, nodding. “I’m in.”

“You can’t just get more dessert when you win,” argued Y/N, “you always have more dessert than everyone else anyway.”

“She’s right,” Harry agreed at once.

“Then we’ll do it this way,” Ginny began, “the team that loses has to give up half of their dessert and cannot refill.”

“Why only half?” Ron asked.

“Because if we lose, it’s you who’ll give his dessert to Harry and Y/N, not me.”

Once the rules were set, they began to play the seventh session of Quidditch this afternoon. To no one’s surprise, Ron suddenly put all his effort into the game; Harry only managed to score once while Ginny’s aims were always successful.

After an hour, the evening sun was hovering over the fields now, casting long shadows, and Mrs. Weasley called from the steps of the backyard door that dinner was ready, and they should come inside now to clean themselves up.

“Hey, mum,” said Ron loudly, “what’s for dessert today?”

“Bill has brought ice cream for everyone,” She informed them. “Now come inside, you lot can help setting the table for once!”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” said Y/N.

Ginny laughed, clutching the Quaffle underneath her left arm while high-fiving Ron with her right hand. Harry brushed his hair out of his forehead which was glinting from a thin layer of sweat.

“Now, I don’t care whose cup I’ll get,” said Ginny gloatingly as she flew back to the ground, “but if you haven’t decided until after dinner, I’ll just take the one that looks more delicious.

“We,” Ron reminded his sister, following her, “whose cup we will get. I didn’t play that well for nothing!”

Y/N turned her head to Harry, who was floating maybe three metres away from her, shielding her face with her hand against the bright sun and saying, “I’m not giving up my ice cream.”

“You didn’t hold any of Ginny’s aims,” he said, crossing his arms, leaning back. “It’s only fair if I get to keep mine.”

“You scored once because Ron sneezed,” said Y/N. “That’s not screaming impressive Quidditch player to me either.”

“Still more of an accomplishment though.”

“You’re the boy, don’t you feel bad taking away the girl’s ice cream?”

“That’s a bit sexist, isn’t it?” He tilted his head.

“Okay, how about that,” she said. “Since this is all based on playing Quidditch, let’s say the one who caught a Snitch the most recently gets the ice cream.”

“Oh, come on, I was banned!”

“That’s a bit your own fault, isn’t it?” She grinned.

“The ground to this bet was this game and you’ve just got to admit that I was better than you.”

“Never,” She said, grinning. “But I’ve got to admit that whoever gets to the kitchen first can tell Ginny whose ice cream she gets to have, so…”

Y/N nosedived down to the steps leading into the house, tossed her broom to the ground, and darted up into the hallway with a surprising speed; nevertheless, because he was blessed with longer legs and a faster broom, Harry caught up with her in a matter of seconds. Slithering over the floorboards in his white socks, he threw his arms around her waist before she could reach the kitchen and, since Mr. Weasley had waxed the floor this morning, lost his balance and pulled her down with him.

Frightened for a moment, Y/N yelped loudly and closed her eyes, waiting for a painful collision with the floor – thankfully, Harry had somehow managed to land first, wherefore she ended up on his leg instead of the floor.

“Ow!” He sounded like he really was in pain. Y/N quickly scrambled up from the hallway.

“Sorry!” She said and held out her hand to help him up. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said, taking her hand. It wasn't as calloused as his, and for a split moment, a warmth travelled through his veins that made him exuberant. “Nothing some ice cream couldn’t fix...”

She immediately let go of him and he slipped back down onto his ass, grinning to himself nonetheless. A sensation flooded her stomach at the look he gave her, but she had to stand her ground.

“You can’t run properly and now I’m the one who has to give up their ice cream? You’re playing a treacherous and malicious game, Potter, and I hate to be the one to break it to you, but you’re losing.”

“I know none of the words you just used.” Ron had appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, hands in his pockets. “Hey, why are you on the floor, mate?”

“I...fell,” Harry said, holding his back, as Y/N squeezed past Ron into the kitchen where Bill was stowing dozens of different-flavoured ice cream cups into the fridge. Ginny was watching him but turned upon Y/N’s entrance.

“So, who’s giving up their ice cream?” She asked, smirking mischievously and clapping her hands together.

“Harry,” answered Y/N promptly.

“A true gentleman, or as I’d call it, a stupid boy giving up a very delicious dessert,” She said, “Bill, what did you bring Harry?”

Bill closed the door of the fridge. “Dark chocolate and mint chocolate chip. I feel like I’m missing an important part of the conversation.”

“We played Quidditch earlier,” Ginny explained, “Ron and I beat those blighters and we’re getting one of their ice creams.”

“What you’re forgetting to mention,” said Y/N, halfway up the stairs to change into a different shirt, “are the other six times you lost.”

As she got back downstairs, everyone else was already outside, settling around the wooden table loaded with steaming dinner, cooled butterbeer bottles, and a few glasses full of French red wine (a gift from Fleur’s parents). Mrs. Weasley was hurrying around the table, distributing the last missing forks and knives.

“Ron, where are the napkins I gave you? And – Merlin, Ginny, we haven’t even started yet; at least wait for your father, he should be here any time soon...ah, there he is!”

With a loud BANG, Mr. Weasley appeared at the garden gate, accompanied by another woman: brown hair and blue eyes, holding a paper bag in her hands.

“Mum!” Y/N ran past the table towards the garden gate. “I thought you were working.”

“Eileen Adler took over my shift, and when I visited your father at the Ministry, Arthur invited me to dinner,” she explained, pulling her daughter into a hug. “And before I forget; congratulations on your O.W.L. results. Your dad and I are so proud of you.” She kissed Y/N's forehead and then handed her the paper bag. “I got something for you and your friends for your good grades.”

“Thank you, mum.” She hurried back to the table to unpack the gift with the others.

“Thank you, Mrs. Parker,” the three chorused, leaning over her shoulder to glance into the bag which held some chocolate and new quills for all of them.

“It’s not much, I know,” Mum said, “but most shops have closed over the last weeks. Really, Diagon Alley is a desert compared to three years ago. Except for your sons’ shop, of course,” she said to Mrs. Weasley as she sat down next to Bill, “it’s flourishing –”

“Ah, no spoilers!” said Ron loudly, “we haven’t actually been there yet.”

The mood of dinner swayed from peaceful and happy to heavy and depressing more often than any of them would have liked to; Mr. Weasley and Bill, both working for the Ministry, brought home stories of disappearances, odd accidents, even of deaths now appearing almost daily in the Prophet. Y/N’s mother too knew of these as she often had to treat the ones who survived attacks of dark magic at St. Mungo’s.

An hour later, Ginny, Fleur, and Y/N helped to clean the table and bring the desserts outside. Fleur performed a spell so that the ice cream of the adults flew dainty out of the kitchen while theirs stayed behind. Ginny was having trouble coordinating how to carry the three cups for her and Ron.

“What are you doing?” asked Ginny as Y/N filled half of her ice cream into a small, separate bowl.

“I’m being nice.”

“Shit, you’re so weird. It’s because you’re an only child,” she said, and ate a spoon full of Harry’s ice. “What? Ron inhales desserts, I have to keep up,” she explained herself.

“You amaze me,” said Y/N as she carefully cradled the bowls in her arms and walked out into the garden.

Mrs. Weasley had magically doubled her ice cream so that Y/N's mother could enjoy one as well. Right, that would have been much easier and effective than what I had done, she thought. Anyway.

“Here, surprise.” Y/N hovered the bowl of ice cream in front of Harry’s face before placing it onto the table and sitting down next to him again. He groaned and held his stomach.

“I wouldn’t have eaten so much if I had known…”

“I’m devastated you didn’t consider me your most noble, devoted friend who would go to such length of kindness as to share their beloved ice cream.” One hand on her heart, Y/N pretended to look shocked. A grin tucked at the corners of his lips.

“I have to reconsider then,” he said and took the bowl.

“Merlin, you sound like you swallowed one of Hermione’s books lately,” said Ron, rolling his eyes and spooning the whipped strawberry cream from his ice onto Ginny’s.

“Just because you can’t spell words like ‘devastated’ –” Hermione shot back.

“I did actually read your copy of Pride and Prejudice,” said Y/N, trying to prevent another one of their bickerings.

Hermione beamed at her, nudging her arm with excitement seeing as most times, she had no one she could actually talk about these novels with. “Really? Did you like it?”

Harry watched them talking. Just last week, he’d dreamed of the incident at the changing rooms last school year instead of anything related to the Ministry, and whatever he’d felt back then, it had been multiplied by ten and ran over him like a tsunami every other hour, and it was only getting worse when he saw Y/N sitting on a broom in shorts and tops all the time.

He took every opportunity to look at her when it wouldn’t be suspicious to Ron while simultaneously hoping that the longing feeling in his chest would release him because he knew whatever he was hoping and dreaming for, it could only ever be this: A dream.

It was ridiculous to think that now that he had opened up about the prophecy and there was a great chance of him dying, Y/N would ever come close to reciprocating his feelings…

#Harry Potter #Harry James Potter #harry potter x reader #harry james potter x reader #My writing #fluff #oneshot #posting this from my work laptop

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morrak · 5 months

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Epifagus virginiana, Orobanchaceae.

At last and as foretold, the beechdrops. Like last year’s Phelipanche, this is an obligate parasite — no chlorophyll at all, though it retains some vestigial leaves. Unlike its relative, this exclusively takes American beech Fagus grandifolia for its host (hence epi-) and stands as the only member of its genus.

These produce two types of flower: low on the stem, they’re roundish enclosed autopollinators, like some Viola spp.; higher up the grow longer, open, and rely on winter ants for cross-pollination. Stems emerge around July, but the specimens above have mostly gone to powdery seed, as in picture 2, in anticipation of dispersal by rainfall. Theoretically the stalks can get over a foot tall, but the few hundred I’ve seen trend toward half that.

By the time a plant is well enough established to show any stem at all, it’s probably spent several years developing underground. Pictures 4 and 5 show a typical middle-aged tuber wrapped partly around a shallow beech root; younger plants might consist only of some hungry root spikes and a clump of nascent differentiated stem. Early life stages seem pretty poorly understood, but that’s hardly shocking.

Don’t ask me what manner of arthropod egg(?) is going on in picture 3. Not a clue. Very pretty purple, though. Earlier in the year that might’ve been white and pinkish, but I’m a known sucker for that worn-out anthocyanin bruise tint.

#images #on botany

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colorsoutofearth · 10 months

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Carpet of Bluebells (Endymion nonscriptus) in Beech (Fagus sylvatica) woodland

Photo by Guy Edwardes

#bluebells #Endymion nonscriptus #Hyacinthoides non-scripta #Scilloideae #flowers #flower field #blue flowers #blue #purple #green #forest #woods #beech woods #beech #fagus #fagus sylvatica #landscape #forest landscape #nature

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middleland · 3 months

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Beechdrops (Epifagus virginiana) by Wayne National Forest

Via Flickr:

Come the start of fall, tiny spikes of purple and white flowers begin popping up around the bases of beech trees. These are the flowers of Beechdrops (Epifagus virginiana), a parasite that feeds on American Beech trees. There are several types of parasitic plants. The past two plants we shared (Ghost Pipe and Pinesap) were a certain type of parasite that feed on fungi living on plant roots. Other types of parasitic plants can feed on a wide variety of plant species. Beechdrops is an example of yet another type of parasite that only feed on one very specific host. In the case of Beechdrops, they only feed on American Beech trees. Beechdrops have specialized roots that are able to pierce the roots of beech trees to access and steal some of the food and nutrients flowing through the beech’s xylem and phloem. Will Beechdrops kill a beech tree? Nope! A “good” parasite makes sure it doesn’t kill its host, because without a living host the parasite itself won’t be able to survive. Beechdrops are very common throughout the Wayne National Forest. While not every beech tree will have Beechdrops growing around it, many do. Forest Service photo by Kyle Brooks

#wayne national forest #looking at plants

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our-lord-satanas · 2 months

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HEL

WHO IS SHE?

Hel, also called Hella and Hela, is the name used to refer to the Goddess of the Underworld in Norse mythology. She is the daughter of Loki and the Goddess of death, disease, decay, and destruction. Hel is a mysterious, otherworldly deity who presides over the realm of the dead. According to the lore, her followers would be taken to her afterlife after death, where they would face their eternal fate. Though her domain is dark and seemingly frightening, Hel is a powerful and important deity in Norse mythology and has strong ties to the otherworld and the afterlife.

BASIC INFO:

Appearance: in Norse mythology, Hel is described as a very pale but beautiful woman, often with dark, pale hair. She is sometimes depicted as being very thin and gaunt, with a corpse-like appearance. She is also described as often being very sorrowful and sad, and she is known to be a rather ominous and sinister figure. She is often depicted wearing dark, gothic-style clothing and bearing a variety of symbols associated with death and the Underworld.

Personality: Hel is often described as being very sorrowful and solemn. She is often depicted as being a rather quiet and melancholy figure, lacking in the warmth and friendliness that is attributed to the other Norse goddesses. She is generally regarded as being a somewhat sinister and oppressive presence, and she is often seen as having a much darker and more brooding nature than her sisters.

Symbols: ankh, wolves, bones and skulls, ravens, corpse, scythe, fire, spiral, broom, rake, and Hagalaz Rune

Goddess of: death and the Underworld

Culture: Norse

Plants and trees: beech, alder, elm, ivy, juniper, willow, yew, nightshade, belladonna, datura, nettle, wormwood, elder, hellebore, mistletoe, and blackberries

Crystals: obsidian, amethyst, black onyx, bloodstone, jet, black tourmaline,

Animals: rats, wolves, crows, dogs, and serpents

Incense: myrrh, dragon’s blood, frankincense, and patchouli

Colours: dark green, black, dark blue, red, white, and dark purple

Tarot: Death, The Tower, and Suit of Swords

Planets: Pluto

Days: Monday, Halloween, Winter Solstice, Samhain, Helrbjörg, and Allhallowtide

Parents: Loki and Angrboða

Siblings: Fenrir, Jörmungandr, Váli, Narfi, and Sleipnir (Odin’s horse)

Partner: Baldr

Children: Krampus and Santa Claus

MISC:

• Wolves: which are often seen as the guardians of the underworld.

• Ravens and crows: associated with the realm of the dead.

• Pluto: the planet associated with death and rebirth.

• Moon: is the celestial object associated with death, madness, and witchcraft.

• The wolf Gnaa, whose name translates to "the one of the deep" and is the guardian of the underworld.

• Helhest: a mystical three-legged horse that can run across the sky and the sea, carrying souls to the World of Death.

• The black dog Cegrim: which is said to guide souls to the land of Hel.

• The Norns: who are the three Goddesses who spin the fate of each individual soul.

FACTS ABOUT HEL:

• Holds a biconical horn, called a drink horn, which she uses to drain the souls from dead mortals.

• She is the daughter of Loki and Angrboda.

• Garmr (sometimes also called Garm) is the dog or hound that is considered to be Hel's guardian and protector in Norse mythology. Garm is a demonic and monstrous creature, with the size and strength of a bear, the aggression and cunning of a wolf, and the ferocity and loyalty of a dog. Garm is also immortal and has the unique ability to never sleep or rest, which makes him an incomparable guardian and companion to Hel.

• Bears the nickname Goddess of the Dead.

• She resides in a giant estate called Helheim.

HOW TO WORSHIP HEL:

To respectfully worship Hel, set up a sacred space dedicated to her and keep it organized and clean. Honor her symbols of death and rebirth with your attire, decorations, and rituals and rituals. Use colours associated with death and rebirth (black, dark purple, and dark green) in decorations and rituals. Light candles and incense during rituals and dispose of them responsibly.

HOW TO PRAY TO HEL:

To begin, you can address her by name and say something like:

"Hail Hel, Lady of the Underworld. I come to you seeking your guidance and protection. Please bless me with your wisdom and help me to walk the path of death and rebirth. Guide me into the realms of darkness, so I may emerge stronger and more enlightened.”

"Now that I have honored you and asked for your guidance, I offer this as a humble offering in your name. Accept my gratitude and blessings, and may our paths cross again in the future. Hail to you, Lady of the Underworld, I bid you farewell for now. Hail Hel.”

WHAT ARE SIGNS THAT HEL WANTS ME TO WORK WITH HER?

If your request to work with Hel has been accepted, here are some signs that you can look for:

• Feeling a sense of pull or attraction to her energy and teachings.

• Experiencing synchronicity or signs that point to her presence.

• You have dreams or visions about her.

• You hear/see her name on the TV, radio, online, in books, etc.

• You recently had a family member pass away

• You’re currently working on healing from religious trauma, specifically fears of death and Hell

• The Death card continually pops up in a reading

• Hagalaz rune is calling to you and showing up everywhere

• Hel’s animals are coming to you as a sign: dog, wolf, or horse

• An increased sense of devotion and reverence towards her.

• Feel drawn to her symbols or representations, such as skulls, bones, and Gothic imagery.

• Something in your life triggers an intense emotional or mental reaction where you feel a strong urge or desire to work with her and embrace her teachings.

• Experiencing a strong sense of passion, dedication, or devotion towards her.

If your request to work with Hel has not been accepted, you may notice the following signs:

• Strong sense of confusion, doubt, and disappointment.

• Intense negative feelings such as anger, frustration, or even guilt.

• Having a sense that something is off or missing, and a feeling of hopelessness and apathy.

• Feeling like your path is unclear, and a lack of direction and purpose.

• Lack of connection and familiarity with her energy and teachings.

Overall you need to be respectful of deities denying your request.

OFFERINGS:

• Money

• Jewelry with dark or gothic themes, as she is often depicted wearing such items in artwork.

• Precious stones

• Weaponry.

• Alcohol or other intoxicating substances.

• Herbs.

• Food or drinks: tea, soup, meat, honey, bread, milk, fruit, and other delicacies.

• Items that represent the cycle of life and death: such as bones, skulls, jewelry with a skeleton theme, and plants associated with death and rebirth.

• Fire or candles: associated with the realm of the dead.

• Music and instruments: she was said to be a talented musician and musician herself.

• Dried Flowers

• Blood

DEVOTIONAL ACTS FOR HEL:

• Keep a journal, record your thoughts and feelings about her.

• Create an altar or sacred space for her.

• Read or study books on Norse mythology and the goddess Hel.

• Pray to her and ask for her guidance and protection.

• Mindfully clean the graves of deceased loved ones. Talk to them when you visit. If you can’t visit your loved one’s graves, you can write to them and burn it. Watch the letter burn and think that the fire and smoke is delivering the message to them.

• Keep a small altar to honor your beloved who have passed and tend to it. Do not forget their names.

• Honour and embrace all of your emotions. This includes your negative emotions such as anger, jealousy, pain, etc. Accepting and acknowledging these emotions helps process them better and thus help you be a better person. Denying them allows them to fester.

• Do shadow work especially during Sundays.

• Do spirit work. Be cautious when you this and properly protect yourself and dismiss the spirit soon after.

• Do ancestral work and establish ancestral healing starting with you. This helps heal the ones who have come before you.

• Take time to sit in silence and watch the world move around you. You can do this in a symbolic way by leaving fruit like an apple outside and watch it rot.

• Meditate and learn the value of taking a pause in this fast-paced world.

• Accept change and adapt to it.

• Learn to appreciate the sudden changes or slight inconveniences in life. See the positive side of it.

• Learn the value of patience.

• Live your life as if it was your last (mindfully).

• Volunteer in cleaning cemeteries or in your local mortuary

• Keep a garden and care for it. (Some SDAs say she likes roses but she could ask you to care for other plants)

• Visit or volunteer in hospital work especially for the critically ill. Bring joy into their life even for a short while. You don’t know how much time they have left.

• Dress in neutral and dark colours.

• Dedicate a playlist for her.

• Collect animal bones. Clean then and breathe life into them (do so ethically, killing animals for bones is a blatant disrespect for Hel, the animal and the law).

• Adopt unwanted animals (the ones who are critically ill or are of old age) and give them the best life before they pass

• Carry an organ donor or a blood donor card.

• Enjoy fermented food and drinks such as wine and mead. Do not forget to toast to her name.

IS IT SAFE TO EAT OR DRINK AN OFFERING I GIVE TO HER?

It is not recommended to eat or drink offerings given to Hel because she is a powerful, protective, and guardian entity associated with the Underworld. She is a figure of death and rebirth, and she is responsible for ensuring the souls of the deceased cross over to the afterlife. Her energetic presence may not be fit for human consumption, and consuming offerings that were given to her may cause an imbalance in energy and a disruption in the connection with this deity. It is always better to err on the side of caution and avoid consuming offerings that were given to Hel.

#fyp #fypシ #fypシ゚viral #fypage #fyppage #tumblr fyp #satanist #satanism #deity #deity work #deity worship #occult #goddess #hel #norse mythology #death #underworld

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bonefall · 8 months

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I wanted to submit a few of the clanmew names that I enjoy and thought were really fun!! I took some liberties considering come translations either don't exist or aren't applicable to my ocs.

(Context: My Clans are stationed in Utah, and the specific clan featured in these names is in a desert/cliff esque landscape. Their Clan, JuniperClan, is named after the Utah Juniper, which looks significantly different from a normal juniper.)

Starting with one of my favorite ocs first; Skipperleap - Skepbyiao! I was super happy his prefix had a translation, especially since it's for the "Large Skipper" variety, as it's a little funny, considering Skipperleap is a larger than average cat. I decided on -yiao as the suffix (-spring, straight upward leap) because it sorta fits his personality as well? He is a good natured cat, with a positive attitude, and brings a "spring" to someones step.

Coottail - Ubobufr - A bit harder, but settled with Ubo because of his dark brown-black fur color. I also just really liked the sound of it. Originally I was going to go with -swash, as his name is pretty simple in general, but -bufr seemed more fun considering its a tail feather from a bird, which would connect to the fact his name is Coot-. Again, it just sounds neat :]!

Beechfang - Chokki - Since Beech- isn't in the lexicon, I decided upon "Chok-", or Trunk. It symbolizes Beechfang in the sense that he is solid and strong, a good cat to rely on in stressful situations. He doesn't faulter from conflict, and is reliable. -ki, meaning canine fangs, was another easy choice, since Beechfang is known for his prowess in hunting (and ocassionally fighting). Plus. Chokki just sounds EXTREMELY cute. One of my favorite names by far.

Another Favorite oc of mine, Orchidthroat - Palifuhpi. Since Orchid isn't really used, I settled on Palifuh (Purple) since Orchidthroat has a blue-gray coat, and in lighting it comes across as purple. Orchidthroat is a magnificent speaker, usually bringing conflict to an end and being direct with what he means. -pi was chosen because "Used to indicate someone saw or heard and reported directly" sounds pretty accurate to how Orchidthroat does things.

Finally, Thymeclaw - Hhasskachkubo. Thymeclaw is an elder, and a very respected one at that, as she used to be one of the Clan's most skilled fighters. Hhass was chosen primarily because it means sneaky, and I was trying to reference "creeping thyme", as it's the only thyme I can see native to the UK? There is a varient of Red creeping thyme that can be found in North America, but I'm not too sure on if it'd be present in the region I'm basing this in. -kachkubo specifically being used was to reference Thymeclaw's fierce power, in how she'd strike her enemies physically and emotionally during combat.

It's funny, you're on a totally different continent but all of these names could be 100% region-compliant, from Coots to Orchids! You just happened to perfectly hit a bunch of things I haven't yet translated LMAO how did you do that

BUT ANYWAY! Feel free to make your own translations for Utah species, or modify the words I'm about to give you! Great job btw!

Coot (Fulica atra) = Nio Black, red-eyed waterbirds similar to moorhens which look like ducks when swimming. Known for being devoted parents.

Beech (Fagus sylvatica) = Choo Trunk + Smooth. Known for its very smooth bark, absolutely perfect for carving glyphs on. Not so much a "satisfying" tree to get a scratch on, though! They also produce nuts that squirrels like to eat. These are actually planted purposefully in this area. At the Lake, only ThunderClan has access to them. RiverClan used to have a small orchard of them near the twolegplace, which was where Beechfur got his name from.

Bee Orchid (Ophrys apifera) = Fefsue There's actually a ton of orchids in this part of England, but I picked my favorite. It's the self-pollinating bee orchid, which mimics a species of solitary bee that may have gone extinct. You probably know of it from the famous xkcd comic about it, but I WILL give you a little bit of hope! The bee orchid has a ton of morphs and in the warmer parts of its range, DOES actually have bees that still pollinate it. What's weirder is that this far north, they don't seem to have one? So... Bee Orchid, how did you Get here? Is YOUR bee gone? What happened to YOUR bee...

I am ALSO taken aback by the fact that thyme apparently doesn't grow here. Weird. But anyway I got your back; here's two roundabout translations for OTHER, non-Thyme plants that are common in the modeled region, but reference thyme.

Thyme-leaved Speedwell (Veronica serpyllifolia) = Kukon A delicate little flower beloved by pollinators, and can grow in thick mats across the land. Deceptively quick and hardy, it can become a weed if unmanaged, and hides seeds in the pelt of any cat that comes by it so it can spread further. Very fitting for your girl, I think!

Dotted Thyme-Moss (Rhizomnium punctatum) = Mwarfum Blooming + Moss. Has distinct little egg-shaped leaves and rising tendrils. Considered pretty, but not a particularly useful type of moss. For anyone seeking a more "herbal" vibe for thyme.

#Clanmew

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tiny-chiro · 1 year

Text

Information

Name: Elizabeth Crowen

Nicknames: Eliza, Liz, Lizzie, Eri

Birthday: 20th December, 1874

Nationality: British

Blood Status: Pure-blood

House: Ravenclaw

Wand: Beech, 10¼ inch ,Phoenix's feather core.

Animagus: Crow

Patronus: Python

Boggart: Becoming voiceless

Sexuality: Demisexual

Mbti type: ESTJ-A

Zodiac sign: Sagittarius

OTHER INFORMATION

Likes, Dislikes, Good at, Bad at, Fun facts, Backstory

Likes

Ominis

Her Friends

Sing/ Music

Astronomy

Books

People with potential and ambition

Those who raised her

Almost everything that her friends likes

Dislikes

Her mother

Izumi´s girlfriend (she literally wants to kill her)

Pretentious people

Lies

Empty words

Good at

Potions

Charms

Astronomy

History of magic

Music

Bad at

Flying (she dosen't undestand why she has to fly on a broom when she is a bird)

Fun Facts

Her favourite colours are purple and black (yes, she is basically a goth).

Polyglot (she was forced from an early age to learn as many languages as possible).

Seems quite annoying but is actually kind.

Loves sweets (although she's ashamed to admit it).

Bookworm (she has probably already read all the books in the library including the forbidden section).

Loves to sing and wants to become a professional singer (without giving up her family's business).

Possesses ancestral magic, but unlike the protagonist, no one knew about it apart from her and her father at one point, she "uses" it to try to read such old and rare scriptures that are in a language so ancient that possibly even God forgot.

When she starts to lose patience with someone she calls them by their full name.

He tries to help Ada study astronomy… but fails in the process.

BackStory

During this time the Crowen family's business is that of information, although they are spread across basically the entire globe, the main and most powerful family is in the UK.

Elizabeth's parents have a contract marriage, one of the conditions of this contract is to have an heir, no matter what sex.

The relationship with her parents is quite bad, her mother since she was born didn't even want to take care of her, she generally ignores her as if she didn't exist and when she doesn't ignore her she insults her for no reason.

Her father at least knows of her existence, but his response to anything that concerns Elizabeth is "Do what you want, just don't take the family business to the rubbish".

Basically the workers in the main house took care of her.

By the age of 5 she was fully capable of handling her mother's responsibilities as hostess of the house.

The titles "father" and "mother" are of no value to her and she only uses them as a formality.

She joined Hogwarts in first year, and has been friends with Aderyn ever since.

When Sebastian's sister happened, she tried to help her with the information she had, but it wasn't enough.

She is currently trying to find a way to help him.

For now, that's all there is about her

I share canon with these wonderful people:

@yoselin-uyu || @jasminediaz || @khamoise || @aleapple1216 || @maleliddell

See you next time for more)?

#hogwarts legacy #my art #hphl oc #hphm #hogwarts legacy oc #profile hphl oc #elizabeth crowen #ominis gaunt #Aderyn Chrysanthem #sebastian sallow #this took sooooo long #feel free to share oc interactions i would appreciate it

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