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vandaliatraveler · 7 months

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Otter Creek Wilderness, designated by the Eastern Wilderness Act in 1975, was one of the first wilderness areas established in the state of West Virginia. While Dolly Sods and Spruce Knob are steadily loved to death by east-coast solitude seekers (try finding a parking spot on a fall weekend), the remote, verdant trails of Otter Creek remain comparatively quiet and uncrowded - one of those increasingly rare places in Mid-Atlantic region where true solitude is still possible. On Saturday, Blake and I had this special place - and its countless treasures - mostly to ourselves.

#appalachia #vandalia #west virginia #wildflowers #flora #fall #fungi #allegheny mountains #monongahela national forest #otter creek wilderness #solitude #purple-stemmed aster #appalachian ladies' tresses #closed bottle gentian #andrew's gentian #blue-stemmed goldenrod #forest road 91

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slightecho · 5 months

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Goldenrod and Aster

commission by the lovely and amazing @turquoisespace35 of a very familiar scene from my Owl House fic, Ashes!!

Then, the clearing in the trees came into full view, and Willow let out a soft gasp. The sun shone through in bright rays, lighting up everything in a warm golden yellow. No leaves touched the ground here. Instead, the clearing was filled in a blanket of yellow, purples and green! The brushing she’d felt along her legs had been lush spikes of yellow flowers, strong and healthy as she passed by them. And where there were gaps amongst the fluffy-looking tufts of yellow, bunches of small, purple flowers like starbursts grew in between. “Goldenrod,” she giggled, reaching out to lightly touch a dusty branch. As she eased forward into the clearing, she was careful not to step on any big stems. Her fingertips drifted easily to the purple next, and she crouched down with a smile on her face. “And Aster…” These were often mistaken for daisies in her dad’s shop. It was getting more common to see these two plants growing together in the wild—their colors contrasted, and that meant they would attract different pollinators. Because of this, growing together would give them each benefit from the pollinators from the other. A whole new set of ones they would have never attracted on their own. They were able to grow more flowers together, than apart, that way. A wonderfully symbiotic relationship. Willow smiled up at Hunter, and snickered. “I’m guessing you probably also found all the major beehives on this side of Gravesfield, but don’t look for them now,” she remarked. The bees were likely starting to go dormant with the days growing colder. It was best not to disturb them. Hunter blanched, his eyes going wide and his proud grin falling from his face. “Wait, what?”

Working with @turquoisespace35 on this commission was an absolute pleasure! I’ve been such a fan of her work for a long time and I knew if I ever commissioned a Huntlow piece from Ashes, it would have to be from her! Thank you again, Turquoise!!

I can’t believe how perfectly she captured the vibe and the ambience of the scene without ever having read a single word of Ashes, just my own TL;DR description of the scene. 🥰

If anyone’s looking to commission Huntlow artwork, please check @turquoisespace35 out!

If you’re interested in checking out Ashes, you can do so here:

#toh ashes au #the owl house #toh #the owl house fanfiction #toh au #toh fanfic #toh hunter #toh willow #huntlow #huntlow art #willow park #hunter wittebane #hunter clawthorne #hunter toh #hunter noceda #fanfic art #commission

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peterspinkrobe · 9 months

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Temptation | Priest!Miguel O’Hara x femreader [part 4]

W/C: 7,1k+ Go read the other chapters

Warnings/Rating: 18+. Religious content. Some Spanish. [smut spoilers ahead lol] ~~~~~~~~~~~ Reader has a vagina. Oral (f receiving). Some overstimulation. That’s all, babe.

A/N: so so so sorry it took so long. Thank you for your patience. I got real wrapped up in the chapter and work has been working me. Looking up flower symbolism and shit. Also, turns out the Bible has smut too. The scripture quoted throughout is from Song of Songs 4-7. Let me know what you think. Pic is something I found on Google (shame)

The chill of the evening air reminded the two who stepped into it that August was bleeding into September. Change was in the wind that carried hues of summer - fluttering down from trees that were shedding their warm colors for leaves of yellow, red, and orange gradients. The sun set earlier day by day as autumn approached the little town hidden in the Catskills mountain belt.

As the sun buried itself deeper into the horizon, it cast an expanse of purples and blues on the clouds above the two making their way into the courtyard behind the church. The pair stole away, silently sneaking out a side door, while the others enjoyed their supper inside. They were accompanied only by the statues of winged angels frozen in time - pouring bowls of abundance into the garden.

Wildflowers burst from patches along the walkways as the tall man guides the follower to a bench situated beside a maple tree. He ducked to avoid the overhead branches as he sat down and invited the other to join him there.

Wild Asters sprouted on either side of the bench in large clusters, long stems shooting up petals of white and red. The one still standing admires the stark contrast between the backdrop of the natural world and the seated one’s black clothes and collared neck. No words have been exchanged since they stepped into the open air but the silent invitation of the large hand patting the open space made the other feel tingles, nonetheless.

The black clad man kept his hands in his lap and shot sideways glances at the one beside him. Their nerves caused them to bounce their knees rapidly. The silence and their nervousness was too much for the man to bear. He wanted to calm them down and reassure them that all was well. He placed his large hand on the other’s knee, halting the bobbing leg. The sudden touch caused them to look up at him into the stormy dark eyes that showed nothing but concern and curiosity. He spoke their name and the song brought them back to Earth.

__________________________________________

“Your confession last-” the deacon began, but was interrupted by your nervous apology.

“I’m so sorry that you had to hear all that. I am so embarrassed and I understand if you think I shouldn’t come here anymore. The last thing I want to do is get you in trouble or-.” This time you are interrupted by that large hand squeezing your leg gently. You look down and see the long-sleeved black dress shirt rolled up to his forearm, the muscle there too tight for it to roll up any further. The veins in his arms protrude and you trace one with your eyes that trails up his arm to the back on his hand. His palm envelopes your kneecap and the long fingers create a cage around the joint. You swallow your words and silently curse the clothes separating skin.

“Please… let me finish.” He brought his other hand to his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. He sounded strained, as if he had to get the words out or he would burst. Like the things he had to say were compacted in his skull and caused pressure to build between his eyes. You fell silent again and your eyes darted between the scrunched lids of his eyes.

“Ever since your confession I have been wanting to speak with you. I tried calling after you that day but I know I must have scared you.” Fear wasn’t the primary motive for hauling ass out that church as much as it was shame, but you didn’t want to interrupt him. “And then you weren’t here on Sunday… I realize after your confession that you’re only really here for your mother, but I so wished you were here that day so we could talk face to face.” He continued slightly solemnly.

“I hated that we didn’t get to speak on your struggles further and we weren’t able to close the confession as you deserved. You need to know that I hold no judgment towards you - that session was between you and Him. Everyone's path is different and faith isn’t cookie cutter.” He was so impassioned that when his eyes finally met yours again they lit up with excitement in his explanation.

“I owed a fellow man of the church a favor and I took over his confession shift that day last week. The fact that you came to confession that day… on that day of all days. To you all that may seem serendipitous or coincidental, that you felt that strange urge to release those doubts on the day that I was in the booth, but we in the business like to call that ‘God’s Timing’.” The worry and stress seem to melt away as he talks about your interaction in the booth, very different from the reaction you were expecting. His eyes brighten when you, him, and God are being mentioned in the same breath. He becomes more animated and gestures to the expanse of nature around the two of you.”You were meant to go there that day and say those words, I was meant to be there to hear them, as we are meant to be here now in this garden.”

His chest rises and falls from the excitement he feels. He was certain that this is what is felt to be overcome with the Spirit as he had seen in other churches. For the words to fall out without filters and not hold back the faith. When he lowers his eyes to yours again there is a soft smile in them that matches the one slightly stretching his lips.

“I don’t care if you don’t believe in what I preach,” He says this suddenly and his smile slowly fades into something more serious. “It doesn’t bother me that we don’t share the same faith in Christ.”

Heavy pause follows the revelation and you dare not interrupt him, giving him the time to express himself as he did for you in the booth. The setting sun shines rays into his eyes and they reflect back deep amber irises. Their brilliance bounces across your face like he is studying every inch of it - as if your countenance were a difficult passage in Numbers to interpret.

When he speaks again, you find that you aren't as drunk in the music of his voice. The notes are grounding and almost meditative.

“But what worries me is that you don’t share the same faith in yourself that I do. That you don’t see yourself as worthy of blessings when you are a blessing yourself.” The light chill in the air can’t keep the heat from creeping up your chest and neck. His tone became lighter as he went on.

“You are more than deserving of good things. I know our internal thoughts make us feel otherwise, but I need you to know that what they say to you isn't the truth. We all have personal demons that make us question ourselves.” He tilts his upper half more towards you and his large shoulders jut against the backdrop of maple branches and stirring leaves.

Slowly, so slowly, he slides his hand centimeters up your leg so it’s resting more on your thigh.

“I must also confess that I…” He inhales sharply and releases the words with his exhale, “I’m fighting against every urge in my body to maintain myself when I’m around you.” His brows furrow lightly as his other hand comes to cup your chin again, like he had that first time you’d met. The voice is now the smoky room of a jazz club reverberating lowly in the small distance between the two of you.

“Trying to uphold the principles that have nearly been beaten into me when you are in the same room,” he starts to lean in, “you don’t even have to be in the room, mí vicio, for temptation to threaten the sanctity of my profession.”

He tenses ever so slightly, you feel and hear the hesitation in his touch and voice.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, or abuse my position..” he starts to pull his hands away, but you quickly grab his hand on your leg and grip his wrist to hold him there. His eyes widen at your response and his mouth hangs open slightly. A pointed canine dipping into his plump bottom lip as you move his hand to cup your cheek.

He brings his face to yours and looks into your eyes again before his stubborn raising escapes his lips, attempting to put his faith before pleasure, “Tell me to stop… tell me we can’t do this.” He presses his lips together and turns his head away a little. The anguish in the words makes you think he might crumble from the war in his mind.

You respond by closing the rest of the gap and pressing your lips onto his cheek. There is an evening shadow of hairs that poke into the soft kiss. He brings his eyes forward to lock back with yours and your noses bump together. Your breathing mixes and his shoulders rise and fall heavily and it seems as if he’s bracing himself with the grip on your leg. The temptation of just being close to you causes his lips to tremble.

“I don’t think you’ll burn in hell if we kiss,” you try to lighten his tension some and he does chuckle as you feel the shaky breathing on your cheeks.

“Funny.” He quips, but he doesn’t say aloud that he’s already burning. His insides are on fire at the feeling of you in his hands. He knows his soul is doomed if fantasy is enough to condemn. He’d burn for the images he’s pictured of you, the positions his imagination puts you in, and for the way his body is reacting to your permissive responses now. The fact that you want this as much as him makes holding back more difficult.

The anticipation that hung from your pout was too much for him and he whispered to himself before pulling your chin up and kissing you.

Just a press of lips against lips. They brushed against each other as your noses moved to accommodate for the space removed. That first kiss was brief, an innocent expression of the brewing affection between you. Yet, it was laden with complex emotions. A small jolt of electricity sparks from Miguel's chest at the kiss and his heartbeat echoed like a drum in his chest.

He was taken aback at how the simple, sweet kiss had made his head spin and when your lips parted he saw your eyes reflecting desire in their haze. Your eyes closed again and allowed your lips to guide the way.

The two of you traded little pecks and pleasure courses through his body. His hand from your knee now held your right hip and the cupped palm now snaked behind your neck and held your head to his as he deepened the kiss. It was harder to hold back as the deacon’s lust, his want, his desire, was too strong. He peaked down through slitted lids at your hands holding the chest of his shirt in fists and grunted against your closed mouths.

Unadulterated passion overwhelmed him and he poked the tip of his tongue to your lips in request. In those cold showers he had taken to try and control his thoughts, he had instead sinfully prayed to feel the inside of your mouth with his tongue, his fingers, and his currently tented dick. Your receptiveness made him nearly whine when you opened your lips in invitation. The buzz in his brain made him lose his inhibitions as he greedily licked into your mouth. He explored your slick cheeks and your tongues clashed together in their first meeting.

As your tongues danced between your mouths, you found that you were the one having to pull away for breath. Father Miguel’s face had reddened from lack of oxygen since he was prioritizing kissing you inside of breathing. His eyes would open halfway, his eyebrows would knit together in a pleading manner, and his pursed lips were swollen when you pulled away. Strands of his dark hair dangled into his forehead. The desperation on his face and in his grip on you was certainly a sight to behold. It was alluring that he was so affected just by kissing, you imagined just how sensitive he must be. It would be a lie to say you weren’t also feeling warmth pool in your belly at the exchange of kisses. You held his face in your hands and your bodies pressed against each other when he wrapped his arms around you. His voice dripped with yearning as he spoke:

“Let me show you how worthy you are…”

The words were a whisper in the wind, a secret kept by the rustling leaves, but they held a vow he intended to uphold.

_______________________________________

Getting away from your mother was surprisingly easy. She was wiped from cooking and everyone was shooing her home, telling her they would handle the clean up. The only real clean up was from the dishes they had dirtied as she had done most of the kitchen keep up as she cooked.

You should’ve been tired too but your mind still whirred from the excitement earlier. The promise of another rendezvous had you eager to volunteer in the clean up. Your mother looked at you again with pride when you told her to go on ahead and that you’d meet her home later after finishing here. If only she knew your true intentions.

Getting Father Miguel away from his parish was another story. You were washing your hands in the kitchen sink as the last of the trash was being taken out. Discretion was attempted as you stole glances at him helping others with their things and wishing them a blessed evening. At one point he catches your eye and his conviction nearly crumbles, but to you he maintains his composure. He gives you the aforementioned signal of a nod and shaky smile and you dry your hands before excusing yourself from one of the church members on your street. You make it seem as though you’re leaving for the night, but head towards the opposite end of the hall when the dining room door closes behind you.

You try to keep your nerves together as you enter the room on the far left end. You try not to think about Father Steen’s name on the door. You try not to hear the innocent farewells and blessings from the other side of the church. You try to look away from the surrounding symbols of sacrifice for sins you were actively committing. You try to calm yourself and your racing mind as you settle in the chair opposite to the one at the desk.

Curiosity temporarily overtakes your other worries when you crane your neck to see the pages that are open on the desk in front of you. It’s obvious what book it is but it’s hard to tell what chapter given it’s upside down, eleven size font, and single-spaced.

You don’t notice the noise completely dying down in the other room as you scan the office. You’ve never actually been in this office so you don’t know what belongs to Father Steen or the deacon. You do recognize the Catholic vestments that were worn by the elder but there was one you hadn’t seen that was separated from the others.

You could tell as you approached that it was much more fancy than the humble ones worn by either of the church heads. Its red satin underside was soft and silky against your inquisitive, yet careful, fingertips. The emerald green top portion was trimmed and detailed in intricate golden lacework. Embroidered red and white flowers weaved with golden stems and darker woven patterns accentuated the colors even further. It was sturdy and seemed handmade as you held the matching stole that hung from the hook beside it.

A knock on the door brought you back to reality and you murmured a ‘come in’. Funny how he was knocking to come into his own office.

He opened the door and walked through the threshold - the top of his head not even an inch away from the frame of the door. He saw you standing by the robes and smiled. He approached you and looked at the robe with you, feeling the fabric himself.

“This chasuble is a Spanish cut. It came from the priest that ran an orphanage in the city and it was a gift to me when he passed.” There’s reverence in his voice as he explains the importance of the robe, and the true weight of the words doesn’t go unnoticed to you. There’s still so much you didn’t know about him.

“Obviously it’s way too fancy for regular service but I always carry it with me. Bring it out for weddings and Easter. Best part? It’s got pockets.” You share a laugh as he wiggles his fingers in a hidden pouch along the inner lining on the front of the robe. He wiggles his eyebrows as well making you laugh more. The sound of it makes him beam at you and you can’t help but feel whiplash from the range of expression he’s given in such a short time.

From a near blubbering mess just from your lips, to this coy attitude now after congregating with his congregation. That tingle returns to your gut at his confident smile and you think of what was going through his mind when you left to come into the office. Did he watch you leave as he shook hands and embraced his newfound flock? Did he feel any impatience with the others who hung on his words? Did he have a change of heart and is attempting to let you down gently? You understood that this was a big No-No in his vocation… maybe post-kiss clarity and being surrounded by the ones trusting his judgment was making him have second thoughts.

Your doubts cause you to speak up, unfortunately spoiling the upbeat mode but you had to make your concerns known.

“I don’t want to make you do something you’ll regret.” His smile fades at the comment as you continue, “you could lose your job.”

He turns towards you from the garments you were admiring.

“Think of the consequences…” you stamper as listens to you, “you could lose the influence and respect you have amongst your fellow brothers in preisthood.” You brace yourself on the chair behind you as you slowly back up past it. He follows you closely.

“Breaking your vows would be a sacrilege.” Your back hits the desk but the deacon still approaches you. “You could be cast out.”

His hands are on your hips and face and your breathing quickens as he leans in, his voice a husky whisper, “For a nonbeliever, you’ve really done your research.”

You know his cocky demeanor is only temporary; when you start kissing again he’ll be back to incoherence. It doesn’t stop you from blushing up at his towering frame.

“Are you sure you want this? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable…” he says and starts to pull away as he had before, so careful not to overstep. Again you put your hands on his chest and it takes everything in you not to squeeze the muscular pecs stretching the front of his shirt.

“I want this. So badly. What I don’t want is you feeling guilty. I know what I want but I also know what is right. I don’t want to be the cause of any turmoil or strain in your spirituality. I’ve caused too much wrong to be the reason you break sacred vows important to you.” You both cling to each other against the desk.

“How could I regret this?” He asks so quietly it’s like he’s asking himself, or silently asking God. “Are matters of the heart to be ashamed of?” The storm in his eyes brewed at the idea of even having to explain himself and his feelings to someone above him in the church. For a man who has never been married, never seen God in the loving embrace of another, to try and tell him what love couldn’t be. How could he be expected to turn away from the act of God placed before him now? How do those in the church not see that to love Him, to truly flourish in His image, is to cherish and admire His other creatures? He scans your face and the hand there moves to gently hold your hands on his chest. How badly he wished to banish any doubt clouding your mind.

“I don’t know how else to explain it other than I have developed a deep connection and affection with you and I wish to learn more, so much more.” His breathing is slightly ragged and you feel the rise and fall under your hands. “Your confession, if you still feel the same, makes it nearly impossible for me to deny this anymore.”

“I cannot deny my feelings and continue to serve the church in a capacity that forbids me from you.” You’re speechless at the words and the abrupt honesty. “I’m making these decisions with my eyes wide open.”

“Deacon, I-“ you begin, but he cuts in to say,

“Please, call me Miguel. Not sure how much longer I’ll be a Deacon after this gets out…” He can’t hold back now that you’re alone so he kisses you because he can. Because there is nothing to hold him back from doing so, and your lips feel so good pressed to his. Hearing you say his name causes a low groan to come from his throat and he parts when you frantically protest against his lips.

“What do you mean? No, no one can know! Not yet… oh my god what would my mom think?! She’d believe I corrupted you, and I have, haven’t I?” Your nervousness and the fact that you were more afraid of the judgment from your mother than that of God Almighty made him chuckle again as he nuzzled into your neck and laid kisses up to your ear.

“Corruption and change are not the same. You have brought about a change in me. While I no longer feel I am the same man I once was before meeting you, I am happy for it.” He moves a hand slowly up your back to cradle your head and he feels like King Solomon taking his Queen to bed in Song of Songs as he kisses your neck.

Your neck is like the tower of David,

built with courses of stone;

on it hang a thousand shields,

all of them shields of warriors.

“Please,” He whispers into your ear and takes the lobe between his lips in a tease, “let me reveal my devotion to you.”

Your only response is your fingers entwining in his hair and a gasp, but it’s enough for him to capture your lips again. This time he wastes no time easing your mouth open with his tongue.

Your lips drop sweetness

as the honeycomb,

milk and honey are under your tongue.

He hasn’t had a woman in his arms like this is such a long time. Excitement overcomes him and his hands aren’t sure where to rest on your body. He wants to learn you only by touch. Allowing himself to be led blindly by faith in your embrace. He cups your breasts over your shirt and moans open mouthed into the kiss. You mewl at the abandonment of restraints you both had been holding yourselves back with. You’re not too lost to the feeling of his hands sliding back down and under your shirt. He traces your spine up and down and grabs at newfound flesh.

“You’re skin… tan suave.” He’s breathless again from the frenzy of kisses and touches he’s covering you in. He nearly loses it wondering how soft the rest of you was. The thought brings his fingers to your bra and he undoes the clasp there. He pulls away to see them fall slightly and his teeth dig into his bottom lip and he nearly growls before pulling your shirt up to reveal the loosened bra still veiling your breasts. His eyes are hungry, but he still asks, “May I?”

You’re frustrated at how long this is taking. Usually this sort of thing is a quick ordeal without all this checking in. You take a deep breath and remind yourself who you’re dealing with. You reassure him with a curt, “No more asking.”

Something snaps in his brain and he’s pulling your bra off and quickly replacing the cups with his own hands. He massages them both, lifting them lightly to feel their weight and admiring how your nipples react to the exposure to air and his fingers. The theories of intelligent, immaculate design are confirmed to him as he gazes at them and appreciates them.

At first, you’re on edge about the intensity in his eyes as he looks over you. Then you realize that you don’t know the last time he’s been with someone and that you just aren’t used to time being taken on you. You attempt to regulate your breathing and relax but when he gently tweaks the buds of your breasts between his large fingers your back arches.

He nearly drools at the sight of your body’s reaction and brings the hardened nipple into his mouth. He swirled his tongue around the tip and caught it in a suckle. You moan and the last thing he sees before your shirt drops over his head is you tossing your head back. He grins devilishly and grazes his teeth over the sensitive nub before moving to give the other some attention. He doesn’t leave it unattended for long when his fingers run his remaining spit over the delicate pucker.

You pull your shirt up and off, discard it somewhere in the room. You couldn’t go any longer without the enticing image of his face in your chest. His lips parted briefly from your right tit so he could mumble, “Dios, me encantan tus tetas…”

The praise and slightly blasphemy of the Lord’s name used in marvel of your body made your head spin. His free hand gripped your hip, then the flesh of your back, ghosting over your soft belly. His fingertips then slip into the hem of your pants and trail fire in their wake. You buck your hips involuntarily and ignore the dig of the desk in your back side.

He pulls away to see your face and the feedback your body gives him. He accepts it eagerly and continues to tease and pull at your pantyline while pinching and pulling at your nipples.

“Please, Miguel-,” The breathlessness in your voice and the flush of your face makes his already hard dick twitch in the restriction of his pants. His name in that sweet, needy tone made him moan out a ‘yeah?’

“I need you.” Your eyes are glazed from the pleasures he’s bestowing upon you. A sheen of sweat shines on your bare chest from the heat of the moment. Your body is on fire and this is only second base. The sensitivity levels of you both were turned up high, but maybe the taboo of it all was causing such an intense reaction. Or maybe you were feeling the same fervent connection he revealed to feel for you. The same string pulling you to one another.

Any resemblance of control fell away from him completely at your pleading pout. His lips crashed down onto yours again and an image of you he’d had in his mind many times flashed and he knew what you needed.

His hand swiftly unbuttons your jeans and the sound of the zipper is in slow motion as he inhales your breathy moans and pleas. His hands move to either side of you and he peels the denim off your burning skin.

He pulls away from you and looks in your eyes as he begins to lower himself. He kisses every inch of newly revealed skin. You’re suddenly feeling slightly self-conscious because you haven’t had a need to do any sort of landscaping for a while. This hadn’t exactly been planned. You look down at your nearly naked body and blush at how he is still completely clothed. You see the dance of his curls as he pulls the jeans off your feet. Then he’s on his knees.

This man of God, in his uniform of black with the white collar slightly askew, knelt before you as if you were an altar to pray to. His hands roamed from your ankles up to your thighs and then down your backside. He squeezes the flesh all over and they never truly settle in one place. He’s intent on learning each curve and dedicating every mole to memory. He catches your eyes and is emboldened by the lust in them so he leans up to press kisses along your abdomen. He murmurs against your tummy at how beautiful you are and how you can stop him at any time. Then, his fingers are hooked around the sides of your panties and he begins to slide them down.

He can’t help but take his time. There were a couple reasons. The first was this was simply too amazing to rush. He’d been in situations like this, and knowing what was coming next excited him. Pulling you out your jeans and spreading your legs brought wafts of your scent into his nose. The aroma was robust and earthy and it drew him in as your panties came down. It had been so long… the smell of your heat made him nearly light-headed but he inhaled deeply. He couldn’t get enough. He had to taste you.

Your panties were still around your knees when he buried his face into your pubic hair and took a deep breath in. You nearly buckled in embarrassment but his arms wrapped around your legs to bring you to his face even more so. He hugged your crotch for a moment and the smells went straight to his cock. It’d been so long since he’d been presented with such a pretty pussy and he had to appreciate the moment.

He pulls you out your panties the rest of the way and pushes you back against the desk. The back of his hand presses to your inner leg and you oblige him by spreading them both for him to get a better look. He sighs as he sits back on his heels and admires the image that has been in his mind for the last couple weeks. The offering of your own communion already glistening from the heavy petting and kissing is more captivating than his imagination could ever be. He paws at the hardness in his jeans and takes a mental image for later.

Motivated by the hunger in his eyes and the way his eyes move in the need to see it all, you start to lose the voice in your head that makes you worry about your body. You bring your hand down and spread your lips a little for him, a little moan escaping you. He nods as if being given instruction and wordlessly brings his mouth to you.

You cry out his name from the touch of his lips to your sensitive flesh. He’s simply kissing the parts you presented to him so graciously. You lean back and brace yourself more on the desk as his hands come up to massage your inner thighs. He moves lower and looks up at you before dragging his tongue slowly up from your seeping pussy to your clit. Your hips buck again and he grins deviously.

The grin and his lewd teasing showed a transformation in the man, as if this part of him laid dormant just beneath the surface of sacredness. His eyes seemed to shift to an alarming red in the lighting. His fingers dug into you like claws. His teeth seemed more pointed when he flashed those wicked grins up at you. He was the one on his knees, but he was the dominant force.

He brought his hands to his new heaven and spread the pearly gates with his thumbs. He blew gently on the exposed, heated skin and you whined from the lack of friction.

Blow on my garden,

that its fragrance may spread everywhere.

Let my beloved come into his garden

and taste its choice fruits.

The stretch of your legs and the wetness that shone between them looked so inviting. He massaged his thumbs up and down, rubbing your lips together and then apart again. His mouth watered at the sight and he licked his lips.

“You’re so wet for me…” he breathed the words before plunging into your waters. The tension, teasing, and time carefully taken on you had driven you crazy but the satisfaction of his tongue on your clit drove you mad. You arched your back and placed your hands on his broad shoulders, the pleasure bringing you to smile and moan in delirium. No longer were you worried about his job, the way you looked, or if he was interested in you as much as you were into him. He was definitely proving that now as he at you out like his last supper.

You surmised that he had to have had some kind of experience with this as you gawk at the expert movements of his tongue. At first, he prodded with the relaxed muscle to test the waters. Now, he was buried into you up to his nose. His tongue would flatten when he wanted a wider range of flavor and you’d feel the large pad lapping you up. Then he would tighten it and drag circles around your clit, sometimes licking into your tightness as if he were starved. He took note of how your body twitched when he pushed his tongue inside you to taste the velvety smoothness of your tight walls. He saw how you jerked with too much stimulation on your delicate bud. He groaned at the sight of your body moving above him, the way your hair hung in your face. The vibration of his convulsing tongue inside you as he groans makes you toss your head back and chant Miguel, Miguel,…

Fueled by the mantra of his name, Miguel goes back to swirling around your clit. He decided his tongue isn’t long enough to feel as deep inside you as he’d like and pushes his middle finger into you halfway. The promise of penetration causes you to grind on the finger and consequently onto his face as well.

He’s sometimes closing his eyes as if he’s in prayer while consuming communion. But the buck of your hips and your weight shifting down on him made his eyes snap open so he could watch your immodesty through lustful eyes. He pulled as you pushed, maintaining the single digit only halfway. He wanted to take his time feeling you and becoming acquainted with what you had so graciously offered to him. When he pulls away from you to speak, the sight of his puffy lips and chin shining with your wetness nearly makes you fall forward.

“Be patient, please,” his voice drips with desperation, “it’s been so long.”

You let out a low whimper but complain no further when he wraps his lips around your clit again and starts moving his finger inside you deeper, finally. You arch your back and your fingers entangle in his hair.

Your light pulling on his hair pulls another moan out of him and he can’t help but rub the underside of himself as he pleasures you. Your wet noises make him want to bathe in your scent and sleek walls. Your moans make his cock twitch in his tightening pants. He flattens his tongue on your swollen clit and languidly licks around and at it directly. He greedily adds another finger so he can gauge just how tight your opening is, but has to ease it in slowly as you cry out.

“Ooh, so tight.. so wet..” He murmurs against your slick as he wiggles the two fingers inside you. “Todo para mí?” This could easily be interpreted as coy, but the tone is earnest. He truly feels blessed with the gifts you’ve so graciously given. He flicks the tip of his cock over the pants as he sweeps his fingers to graze a particularly delicate spot inside you. As soon as his fingers touch that bumpy groove you see stars in your vision. The direct stimulation to your most sensitive space and this new sensation was nearly overwhelming.

“Miguel, ‘s too much.” You pant and attempt to push him off for some reprieve.

He lifts his head with worry in his eyes. His fingers straighten and pump inside you at a grudgingly slow pace. The slightly sweaty strands of hair stick to your thighs as he gently rests his head on it. Leaning on his devotion.

“I just want to make you feel good.” His eyes trail back to watch the way your pussy clings to his fingers when he pulls them out slowly. He seems entranced with the way you stick to his fingers even when they aren’t inside you. You look down to watch the lewd scene and see just how hard his cock is and how he’s got a grip on it through the clothes he’s still fucking wearing. “As good as you make me feel.”

You melt at the words and when his thumb comes up to press around your glistening pearl. He slid it across the top, just above the screaming bud, as if flipping through the thin pages of the Good Book. He ghosted over the area you found tried and true when you were doing this alone and your body, your voice let him know.

He slides his fingers back inside, unable to hold back any longer. His pace is shaky at first, but becomes stable again.

“Mmm, is that good for you?” He begins rubbing small circles in the spot you so beautifully inclined him towards. You nod and moan in response and then he asks you something that nearly knocks you off the table:

“Will you please cum for me?” He asks between heavy breaths that feel warm on your slit. He wondered how you looked, felt, smelled, sounded, and moved when you orgasmed. When he first placed that wafer in your mouth he wanted to be the reason that it happened. He wanted his name to be the one you called out. “Fuck, I need you to…” the curse and the words from the holy man made your insides twist and burn. The steady driving into your core and thumb on that sweet spot causes you to close your eyes and roll your hips with the rhythm.

He says your name and your eyes snap open again.

“Look at me.”

The way his large body slumps between your legs and the background of Catholicism surrounding the two of you hits a dirty switch in your brain and you’re nearing the edge. He can tell by the tightening of the muscles in your thighs and the way they nearly straighten out to give yourself more purchase.

“Just like that. You’re so close aren’t you, tell me.” You cry out a yes!! through your gaped mouth.

“Cum f’me, please. Cum for me just like this. Just for me.”

The words, the perfect pace of his fingers, the way he’s looking up at you… you reach your climax and fight to keep your eyes open as he asked.

Through your lashes you see that he’s grinning up at you. Your slick still on his mouth and stringing between his lips. The type of grin that shouldn’t be on a priest’s face. That’s two things that shouldn’t be on his face now as he licks around his pumping fingers to devour the flow of juices he’s poured out of you.

Your thighs clench around his head and your body spasms, he pulls his mouth away to look up at you between the trap of your thighs.

“Yesss, just like that you look so good. Such a good girl.” He mumbles with a mouth full of your slickness.

He moves his thumb off the hood of your pulsing nub to not overstimulate you, but his fingers remain inside you. The way you pulsed and squeezed around him mesmerized him. He matched the pulses to the grip on his length in a futile attempt to simulate the intoxicating spasms brought onto you by just his hands.

He tries to memorize the heartbeat of your warm burrow as it begins to ease on your come down. He’ll try to emulate the sensation later - on himself - but he knows and dreads the fact that it would not compare to the readied womanhood presented to him. He bites his bottom lip and groans.

You notice how he holds himself and you can’t pull your eyes away from the tent he’s holding back in his pants. Your arms, still a little shaky, move down and you grab his face. You pull a little and he obliges and stands again. He snakes his large arms around your naked body and doesn’t seem to care about any mess you might leave on him. You pull his face to yours and kiss him. His puffy lips are warm against yours and when your tongues touch you taste yourself and feel another coil form in your gut. You pull away and tell him, in a raspy voice,

“I need you. All of you. Please?” Encouraged by your orgasm, you reach your hand down to grab the erection that’s been begging for you.

He hissed your name through his teeth at the sensation and grabs your wrist. He was already embarrassingly close to his own orgasm after having watched you and toyed with himself. Your grip on him made his knees nearly buckle.

His protest made you worry and your arm seized in its place. You let go of him and stare up into his eyes to see where you went wrong with him.

“What’s wrong, Miguel?” The concern in your voice makes him bore his eyes into yours.

“Nothing, no, nothings wrong. You did nothing wrong. I do want this, oh God, you don’t know how badly…” It’s almost as if he’s gasping the words. Your touch, it set him on fire. But, he didn’t think he should, or could, have you the way he really wanted. Not now. Not here. “There’s something you should know. It’s not embarrassing for me, but it’s important you know.”

The seriousness in his tone has you scanning his face for any more information. He says your name and then reveals the truth and you’re left speechless. His tone is matter of fact, the words shocking.

“I’m a virgin.”

You are a garden locked up;

you are a spring enclosed,

a sealed fountain.

Taglist: IT WONT LET ME TAG MORE THAN 50 I’m crying I’m so sorry I’ll try commenting tagging the rest

@soniajustneedssimping @venusisajpeg @cassidysbbg @haveclayeveryday @fishtail111 @sirbird @thecrowstears @elizzybeth-2005 @tayleighuh @crispypugfs @trashcansally @cheezit-luv3rr @marsout @eliiilamar @hamuuko @jagawriterr @oharaswifexx @limenysnocket @xthejazzdalorianx @y0mill @livingmeat @stranded-dream @its-oevy @be-be-la-la @jxylxx @usagijoestar @queenofroses22 @zaunsin @ceoofmiguel @otomebois @fairycwhores @killakungfu-wolfbitch @buffalolover10177 @jaywalksalloverme @jalxnnie @deepinballs @vomitsama @aurora-burrow @wlalspj @tieonatrenchcoat @cicato @firstghostempathtaco @yallhearsm @mumbi-222 @carmenxhuuuu @dv-ocean-blog @multi-fandom-chick-blog1 @jellybeansupmyass @cheyjellyfish @elyissly @laikve @coffeejellypng @staycgoindown @variouslyalloya @redflame5975 @botchedlove @thatoneenchilada @buck-uwu @donnie-spectacular

Chapter 5? It might take some time tho…

#fanfic #miguel o'hara #across the spiderverse #priest!miguel #miguel x reader #priest au #miguel x you #atsv smut #finally!#sorry lol #chapter 4

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natspookie · 10 months

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petal

natasha romanoff x fem!florist

☆ summary : natasha takes a detour to a flower shop

an, not proofread and sloppy :,)

not born with much wealth in the city, nor nothing, nature was what grounded you. by the age of 6 you were drawing your future flower shop as your dream job.

sure enough, you worked your way to putting up your own flower shop, just as you dreamt of.

you had many customers that you saw at least once a week, knowing which ones they picked out at the back of your mind.

you were just about finished with an arrangement of daisies and baby breaths when the sound of the white french doors opening, caught your attention.

you looked up to see a redhaired woman that you had never seen in your flower-shop. you brightened, hoping to make a new friend.

she looked around quietly, only the sound of your music playing softly, when she halted in front of some specific flowers to the left of the cashier.

“those are my favorites, very pretty ones” you said as she looked as if she were deciding whether to get them

“what are they called?” she said with a hoarse voice, almost ever so quietly,

“aster amellus… you looking for anything in particular?” your eyebrows raised curiously when you finally met her green eyes.

“oh, no. i-um- i don’t know much about flowers” half lie, she knew of the venomous ones.

“well i’d be happy to entertain any questions if you’d like” you tilted your head a little as she turned back to the purple flowers she was looking at earlier.

truth be told, natasha just saw you from outside and decided she would have made a big mistake if she just walked right past your shop.

“would you mind helping me pick for the dining or living room” she looked back at you

“hmm.. i’ve got a lot of ideas in mind” you giggled resting your elbow on the marble counter and your head on your hand, thinking about it.

“surprise me” she said with a small smile

“would you like a variation or only one kind?” you stood up from your stool and only then did the redhead take in your full figure.

only a few inches shorter than her, you wore a navy blue and white maxi dress with ribbons as the strap. hair tied up in a half pony tail.

you wandered around the shop, picking some quite loud flowers and some quiet ones in contrast.

natasha couldn’t tear her eyes away from you. you radiated such softness she had never felt.

she on the other hand, wore a sweater steve had knitted with some black pants.

“i take probably 5 minutes or so to arrange these, would you mind waiting ?” you made your way in front of her.

“i don’t mind at all” she said staring as you smiled “alright” you grabbed a stool for her and set it in front of your counter and cashier spot.

“so what’s your name, if you don’t mind?” she paused for a moment.

“natasha”

“natasha” you repeated. her name rolled off your tongue so smoothly she took her seat, fiddling with her fingers. “that’s a lovely name”

“thank you, what about you?” she eyed your top for a nametag. “no name tag” she smirked

“i find it better to see who cares enough to ask” you laughed, cutting some stems off. “it’s y/n”

“nice to meet you” natasha reached her hand out impulsively. she was screaming a handful of swear words in her head. ‘this is so stupid’ ‘a handshake? - really natasha?!’

you looked at her hand and smiled widely “i love a good handshake” you took her hand and shook it before going back to what you were doing.

“since this is for your dining room or living room, would you want a vase? instead of me wrapping this in paper”

“whatever it needs” natasha laughed “sure” a smile crept onto your face as you arranged the flowers in a clear vase.

“voilà!” you turned it to her and though she didn’t know any of the names of the flowers in this areangement, she found it as stunning as the one who made it.

“it’s great, thanks y/n. i’ll pay in cash” you put the vase with flowers in a bag so it wouldn’t be so hard to carry.

”the vase is on the house” you sent her a playful wink which left her mind spiraling.

“you didn’t have to, but i appreciate it” natasha took bag and smiled at you.

“well i hope you enjoy the flowers and come back, natasha” “oh i will, sweetheart” her confidence came back as she inched away from you, earning you to shake your head with laughter.

—————

the next time you saw natasha was a week after she last came. this time, she entered with a frown, holding an empty vase.

you waved goodbye to a customer and greeted her with a smile.

“you need to tell me how you keep them alive” she set the vase down and slumped against the counter.

“oh no natasha, what happened” you stifled a laugh, amused by this.

“well i forgot to ask what i needed to do so i just left it there and by the time i realized i needed to take care of it, it was too late”

“you left it alone for one week” you raised a brow

“maybe” she murmured looking behind you

“would you like a new set of flowers?” you asked “please” “the same kind?”

“surprise me”

it went the same as last time, except she stayed to talk more even after you finished.

“do you mind if we exchanged numbers? y’know.. so i can call you for help or text?”

‘wow natasha, smooth’ she thought

“sure! here you go” you handed her your phone and she did the same.

“i have to go, but thank you for this” she raised the vase with flowers

“my pleasure! i hope you enjoy, dont kill the flowers, and come back again soon natasha” you waved and she did the same

——-

after chatting almost every day about random things, natasha came back 2 more times before she came again, without the vase.

“oh don’t tell me you broke the vase” you said cocking you head with your hand on your hip

“ha ha, very funny y/l/n” “so what’s the flowers for today?”

“i want aster amellus and whatever you think someone would like to receive”

“natasha dating someone??? wooo” you giggled

“yeah-yeah im not so sure” natasha shook her head, sitting on the stool you always have out for her.

“well now i have to make this extra for whoever they are! but come on, any person would be lucky to go out with you” natasha laughed “what about you? any plans for tonight?” natasha asked you

“unfortunately not, probably watching a shitty movie or somethin” natasha hummed

“vase or paper?” “paper” natasha leaned forward in the counter, overlooking all the wrapping. “payment” natasha slid the bill forward and you thanked her

“here you go” you handed it to her and she smiled

“y/n?” “hm?” “for you.. if you wanna have dinner and watch a shitty movie together tonight”

you stopped breathing for a moment

“...me?” you asked baffled “who else?” natasha smiled coyly “no offense but.. you can do way much better” you accepted the flowers from her

“is this you rejecting me?” she raised a brow “no! just- thank you” “you’re thanking me for asking you out?” “kinda” “you’re silly, petal” “petal, i like that” you smiled “pick you up by 8:30! don’t be late”

“i wouldn’t dream of it”

#natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romonova #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow #natasha romanoff

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jillraggett · 6 months

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Plant of the Day

Tuesday 24 October 2023

In the border the Symphyotrichum 'Prairie Sky' (aster) is putting on a show with small pinky-mauve flowerheads which are held on dark purple stems.

Jill Raggett

#symphyotrichum #aster #plants #horticulture #gardens #garden #essex #herbaceous #herbaceous planting #perennial #pink flowers #Beth Chatto Garden

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rubixcubi · 7 days

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So. I just remembered this name I really like: Aster. I associate it a lot with the stars for some reason (edit: it literally translates to “star” in Greek) and I was considering replacing Castin’s name with it today. But I just learned that it’s a FLOWER. And guess what color the flower is.

Yellow and Purple (and green including the stem). Now I’m losing my mind cuz it’s a name I love with a nice correlation to my character. AND ITS GENDER NEUTRAL?!

I know it’s a big change, and it’ll take time to get used to, but I think it might be worth it, since his name has bugged me since the dawn of time; I kinda just made it up off the top of my head, and it rhymes with his rank (Captain) too much for me to take seriously. I don’t know if I should retag my old posts or keep them as is if I do change it? Lemme know guys, I wanna hear ur thoughts, even if I do end up making the final decision.

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sleepingdeath-light · 11 months

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darling ; 18+

requested by ; an ao3 user (20/06/23)

word count ; 1344

content ; painting as foreplay, praise, sort of sensation play, implied sex

fandom ; welcome home

pairing ; wally darling x female reader

read also on ; ao3

note ; playfellowxxx is the tag created by clown and the team for nsfw content — please block it if this isn’t something you want to see

additional note ; potentially ooc wally as this is my first smut shot featuring him lol — this was also written at like 8am over 30 mins so that might have contributed

minors and ageless blogs will be blocked

Being vulnerable with your partner came as easily as breathing to you — his gentle words and soft gaze as natural and soothing as a cool, babbling brook on a hot summer day or as welcomingly as a warm blanket on a cold winter evening. He was an artist and saw beauty in everything — from the fluttering wings of the butterfly that flitted in front of your faces to the curve of a friends’ smile to something as small as a fingerprint.

And never before had this trait of his been as obvious and endearing as it was now. Now that you were laid bare before him, nude body sprawled out on a blanket that neither of you minded losing, whilst he hummed in that same old way and mixed some body safe paints onto his palate. You’d seen him carefully pick up and inspect each bottle before picking out what he deemed as the most acceptable shades and turning to you — that same old smile on his face that never failed to leave your stomach fluttering with those butterflies he loved to paint.

‘I think I’ll start from the top,’ he mused, more to himself that anyone else, before kneeling down beside your head and smoothing out your hair, ‘are you okay?’

You hummed in approval and smiling against his lips when he leaned down to give you a chaste kiss — a smile that remained even as he pulled away. He had always been a worrier, even when you had been the one to propose something (as you had this), so his questioning was far from a shock — in fact you’d almost been expecting more of it.

Though, thankfully, your Darling wasn’t in much of a mood to delay your fun and quickly began to mix up his paints — and you were barely able to contain your excitement.

—————

An ocean of asters sprung up from the edges of your lips and wormed their way up above your eyes with intricate interlocking stems that you could barely feel as they were painted. A garden of purple buds and blossoms that was quickly framed by a chain of baby’s breath that dipped in and out of your hairline.

Then he moved on to your throat: splotches of daintily dotted white popping like fireworks against the sky of your skin. His brushwork more dotty than consistent as he didn’t bother drawing their stems, instead focusing on the blossoms himself as he adjusted the colours with each new press of the tip against your neck.

After that came your chest and collarbone, with which he took great care. Mixing calla lilies with camellias of pink, red and white — a bouquet of attraction that sprouted from the swells of your breasts and wound upwards and over your collar and shoulders. A display that left no skin uncoloured, undecorated, unloved whilst he offered more and more praise with each stroke of the brush.

‘I love you,’

‘You’re so beautiful, did you know that?’

‘Perfect,’

‘You’re doing so well,’

And, when you whimpered at the innocent brush of his fingertip across your nipple when he went to correct the paint, he smiled and chuckled. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you when we’re finished,’

Your stomach and sides were adorned with blossoming carnations — wedding white that faded into pink and then deep red as he approached the apex of your thighs. Pure love to a promise of remembrance to a deep love that echoed through his sweet touches and his reassuring words — promises you knew he’d keep (he always did) but that left you terribly wanting nonetheless.

Words crafted as beautifully, as intentionally, as the artwork that now adorned your body that was growing and twisting and almost taking on a life of its own as he continued to work and promise and praise and touch. Leaving no room for doubt as he decorated you.

‘You can ask me to stop if you’d like. Hm? No? Alright, but remember that you always have the option,’

‘Your beauty is astounding,’

Explaining the meaning of each flower as he painted its petals upon your flesh — your stomach, then your thighs. Leaving your head spinning, chest heaving, as he was so close — so very close — and yet still he made you wait. Making you listen to his adoration as he illustrated his affections onto your body itself.

If you’d have been a bit more patient then the romance of the gesture would have left you speechless.

—————

Red chrysanthemums; I love you. He had those flourishing in the depths of your stretch marks.

Daisies; loyal love. Those decorated the circumference of your thighs in delicate chains that tickled as they were applied.

Gardenias; you’re lovely. Their blossoms, detached, free-floated around your knees.

Heliotrope; devotion. Deep purple splotches nestled into the crease where your legs met your body, tantalising centimetres away from where you needed him.

Morning glories; affection. Dotted along the inner side of your calves, each placed on a spot he kissed as he made his way further and further down your body.

Red tulips; passion. He dotted them around your ankle, their stems intertwined with yellow tulips (sunshine in your smile) and yarrows (everlasting love) for good measure.

Red salvias; forever mine. The final flowers he painted, which decorated the outline of your sex with a beautiful array of peaking blossoms and buds that made you giggle and keen as they were applied to your sensitive skin.

Then, finally complete, Wally placed his palate to one side and stood back to admire his handiwork whilst you admired him in return: blue hair dishevelled and partially hanging over his face in tendrils of deep beautiful blue that he hadn’t bothered to put back in place; cardigan discarded and white sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his wrists and hands covered in splotches of colour that matched the mess made of his striped pants; the satisfied smile on his face as his eyes looked you over from ankle to crown — lingering on your exposed, decorated pussy for a few beats before moving upwards once again to meet you own needy, inquisitive gaze.

‘You look amazing,’ he finally offered, his words making you smile as you ushered him over.

‘Thanks to you,’

Once he was close to your level, you grasped his collar and pulled him into a kiss so passionate that it stole the breath from his lungs and neatly had him stumbling over his own legs as he hurriedly knelt down to meet you. You felt him gasp against your lips as he took a moment to adjust before he tilted his head to the side and deepened it — one paint covered hand flying to the back of your head as his fingers tangled themselves in your hair, his other reaching down to both steady you at your waist and keep himself up right as he shuffled between your spread legs.

For a moment you almost felt guilty about so many hours of work going to waste — you’d seen your reflection, after all, and Wally had done a fantastic and very detailed job. But that guilt evaporated mere moments later when you were forced to break the kiss and you saw how worked up your beloved had gotten: dilated pupils, panting breaths, parted lips and a string of saliva connecting you two that broke the moment you rushed forwards and captured his lips in another, even messier kiss.

No longer guilty about the paint not having the time to dry as he lowered you down to the floor and settled between your decorated thighs. No longer guilty about the amount of paint you were sure to get on his clothes as he rubbed his hardening dick against your wet, neglected pussy and you both moaned. No longer guilty about the artwork only lasting a matter of minutes when one of his hands left your hand reached between you to start clumsily rubbing at your clit.

No longer guilty because it was clear that he wanted to make a mess as much as you did.

#sleepingdeath #playfellowxxx #female reader #female reader smut #smut #welcome home smut #welcome home x reader #wally darling smut #wally darling x reader #minors dni #minors fuck off #minors don’t touch

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waltwhitmansbeard · 7 months

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a grow with the flow fic for your monday

Now that they have the space for it, Keyleth and Vax have a room dedicated to their podcast. There is a recording space with a comfy couch surrounded by more plants than a botanical garden, and out of view of the cameras, a pair of desks where they edit film and audio, work their socials, and do all of the other things that come with being professional podcasters. The walls are a cheery yellow, and today, the sunlight streaming in through the large window behind the camera is just as bright.

Vax sits beside Keyleth, completely unaware of what today's subscriber-only special is going to be. All she's told him is that it's going to be a game, a puzzle of sorts, and he's always down to make a fool of himself on camera.

Keyleth runs through their standard intro before asking him, "Are you ready?"

There's a mischievous twinkle in her eye that he so rarely sees there. "I have no idea."

"Perfect. Your challenge for the day is identification." She gestures to the large, covered wicker basket sitting on her lap. "We mostly deal with green plants here on the podcast and in our home, but you know that I also love flowers."

"I do know that." Vax rarely comes home from the grocery store without a small bouquet to refresh the vase in the living room.

"I'm going to test your knowledge of some common flowers. Starting with..." Ignoring his quiet, "Oh no...," she pulls out a single stem of a purple flower, its thin, curling petals stained with yellow toward the center. She hands it to him. "What is this?"

Oh, he is definitely going to look like a fool. He searches every memory he's ever had of flowers. "Is this...an iris?"

"Ding ding ding!" Vax sighs in relief. "Good job! Next one."

She pulls out a long-stemmed puff of gold, and Vax knows this one. He takes it from her with an easy, "This is a marigold."

"And you thought you'd be bad at this!"

Next up is a poppy, and followed by a rose. He's feeling confident until the flower after that, with sparse, narrow pink petals and a large center. After a good thirty seconds, he frowns. "I got nothing."

She clucks her tongue. "That is an echinacea flower. But four for five ain't bad!" She kisses his cheek, which is worth the fuck-up.

He surprises himself by recognizing the gardenia, but he's never even heard of a nemesia before, much less seen one. As the game goes on, Vax finds himself distracted by Keyleth's hands, which seem to vibrate with some kind of frenetic energy. There's something else going on here, something besides a game of identifying flowers, but he has no idea what it could be.

She tells him there are only three flowers left, and he gets aster right, but not narcissus, and when he finally correctly identifies the tulip, he has a rather large bouquet in his hands, a riot of colors and aromas. Keyleth congratulates him on a job well done—his performance was middling at best, but he did do better than he would have predicted—but she's still buzzing, and Vax knows there's more to come.

"So...there's a round two, so to speak."

"A round two?"

"Those flowers are...a code of sorts. A puzzle for you to figure out." She pulls her feet up onto the couch, settling in to watch him struggle.

A code? They're flowers. Vax knows that there's some kind of meaning system behind flowers, like lilies are for peace or something, but he's far from well-versed in it, and he's pretty sure Keyleth doesn't know much more than he does. Both of them like flowers that are pretty and smell nice; they're simple folk.

"I don't think you want me to know what these mean," he says, thinking out loud, "because I don't think you know what these mean."

"Fair enough."

"But you picked these flowers for a reason."

She nods. "I did."

"Okay." If he felt foolish before, he feels doubly so now. Keyleth and their entire audience are watching him struggle to put together pieces he can make neither heads nor tails of. "I'm going to assume you gave them to me in a specific order."

"Excellent assumption." She's sitting back comfortably in the corner of the couch, but her casual posture belies that same high-key energy he's dying to understand. Her smile isn't nearly as blasé as he knows she'd like him to think it is. This puzzle is something big.

"Okay, let's work this out." He takes the iris and lays it on top of the basket, which now sits between them. "Iris. Then...marigold." He lays it just beside the first flower. "Is it...the names?" His eyes flash to hers, and instead of an answer, the corners of her smile curl up further. He's got it. "Okay. Iris, marigold. I-M." The poppy was next, then the rose. With each letter, he lays the corresponding flower onto the basket. "I-M-P-R...oh fuck, what was next?" He fumbles through the remainder of the bouquet in his hands before finally announcing, "Echinacea, right! Then it was the gardenia...I-M-P-R-E-G—"

He cuts himself off, eyes going wide. His head snaps to face Keyleth's, who has completely lost any pretense of nonchalance. She's grinning bright, already half-laughing as the realization sinks into Vax's bones like sunlight in the winter. "No fucking way." She nods enthusiastically. "No fucking way!"

And then the flowers are everywhere, basket tosses aside as he throws himself on her, babbling incoherently as the tears come fast and hot. She catches him easily, wrapping her arms around his neck as he sobs into hers. "Breathe," she laughs, running a hand up and down his back. "You're going to pass out."

Shaking, he straightens up, wipes at his eyes. "I can't believe...how long have you known?"

"Three days. It took this long to put this together." She tucks his hair behind one ear. "I couldn't keep it from you any longer."

"Another baby." He feels like he's going crazy, like at any moment, one of the twins is going to shake him awake from this dream he's in. "We weren't even trying!"

She laughs again. "I know!"

"We're just really good at it!"

With a roll of her eyes, she warns him, "Vax'ildan, we are on camera."

Fuck, he'd forgotten. He turns to grin stupidly at the camera. "Hi everyone! We're having a baby!"

Keyleth tucks herself into his side. "Obviously, you all will be watching this many months down the line, when we're ready to announce, but..." She interlaces her fingers with his. "I wanted to have something we could share, if we wanted to."

Vax understands that the responsible thing to do is to wait to announce such incredible news, but he feels like he's physically going to burst if he doesn't climb onto their roof and shout it for all of the neighbors to hear. "This is...fuck, Kiki. This is unbelievable."

Normally she's shy about showing physical affection while on camera, but today, she takes his face and pulls it to her own, kissing him with a ferocity she so rarely displays in front of others. He smiles against her lips—what a dream, this woman, this family, this life. He hopes he never, ever wakes up.

#critical role #critical role fic #critical role au #cr fic #cr au #vox machina #vox machina fic #vox machina au #tlovm #tlovm fic #tlovm au #vaxleth #vaxleth fic #vaxleth au #my fic #grow with the flow au

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vandaliatraveler · 7 months

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Dreary weekend in NC-WV, but once I got over my hangover from the WVU-Texas Tech game this morning, I managed to sneak in a quick fall hike on the Virgin Hemlock Trail in Coopers Rock State Forest. The asters are out in force and quite beautiful this fall. Among them are (from top): purplestem aster (Symphyotrichum puniceum); frost aster (Symphyotrichum pilosum), also known as awl aster; calico aster (Symphyotrichum lateriflorum); and blue wood aster (Symphyotrichum cordifolium).

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lupinus-bicolor · 2 years

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Red dead gang + flowers

Arthur Morgan - Dudleya cymosa; Canyon liveforever, native to California cliff faces and craggy areas, thrives in the sun and blooms vibrant red and orange cymes. Pointed rosettes of succulent leaves form the base which sends out a delicate bloom in early summer. This flower is also the one found in the terrarium jar on Arthur's bedside table.

Tilly Jackson - Helianthus annuus; Common sunflower, a showy plant native to grasslands in the US, its undomesticated form is a branching annual plant with many flower heads. Its domesticated form is an important food crop grown both for its seeds and seed oil. It's common in sunny gardens, where its unmistakable bright blooms attract pollinators. Commonly symbolizes longevity and adoration.

Sean Maguire - Tripolium pannonicum; Sea aster, native to Ireland, a very hardy plant that requires very little to thrive. Showy purple blooms usually a bit ruffled, but all the brighter in their seaside environments.

Charles Smith - Quercus alba; White oak, a staple crop for thousands of years, white oaks of the Quercus genus are amongst the most important habitat species for wildlife in North America. These trees provide food, shelter, fuel, and fertilizer for countless native flora and fauna, and oaks are among the few trees that thrive in both open fields and sheltered forests. Their diminuitive flowers (catkins) are wind pollinated and mature into thousands of acorns per tree every 2-10 years. Traditionally associated with bounty, wisdom, and protection. (Not a flower in the traditional sense, but catkins do count and white oak really REALLY suited Charles so I'm putting this in)

Dutch Van Der Linde - Pueraria montana; Kudzu vine, a hardy, subtropical plant introduced to the US with bright sweet pea flower spikes in spring. Rapidly spreads to completely cover native flora, shading out and crushing plants and depleting habitat for mutualistic wildlife. This vine is a noxious invasive in the southern US.

Hosea Matthews - Triticum aestivum; Wheat, grown as a staple crop around the world, wheat has many uses and is considered the backbone of western cuisine. Often grown in wide monocrop fields, mature wheat's golden color makes for a striking image. Commonly symbolizes bounty and resurrection. (Yes, grass (Poaceae) is a flowering plant family!)

Mary-Beth Gaskill - Viola riviniana; Common dog violet, native to europe, its nodding purple blooms can be found along roads and creeks in lightly shaded areas. Flowers in this genus traditionally symbolize modesty and humility.

Abigail Roberts/Marston - Rudbeckia hirta; Black-eyed Susan, a popular midwest native wildflower common in gardens for its sunny florets and contrasting center. Its association with gardening is a long established one, and traditionally symbolizes encouragement, adaptability, and determination.

Molly O'Shea - Passiflora alata; Winged-stem passionflower, a species native to the south American tropics and known for its visually distinctive red petals and exotic striped filaments. A delicate looking nodding flower with an edible fruit, commonly cultivated for its medicinal benefits and its beauty.

This post got very long! I will make a part two to save you the effort of scrolling <3

#rdr2 #Red Dead Redemption 2 #Botany #Long post #Arthur Morgan #Tilly Jackson #Sean Macguire #Dutch van der Linde #Hosea Matthews #Mary Beth Gaskill #Abigail Roberts #Molly O'Shea #*combines my two special interests*

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toadstoolgardens · 7 months

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Foraging for Goldenrod (Solidago)

Goldenrod or Solidago blooms in late summer/early fall across much of North America. It's beautiful golden flowers reflect the golden sun of late summer. Goldenrod is edible and medicinal and can be used as a natural dye!!

Identifying Goldenrod

Goldenrod is a member of the Asteraceae or sunflower family and likes open sunny areas like meadows, fields, and forest openings. The stems are tall and stiff with tiny golden-yellow flowers in a dense, pyramid-shaped, pluming cluster. It's a prolific perennial and can grow 0.5-2m tall.

The leaves vary slightly depending on the species of goldenrod, but they're long, narrow, and taper to a point. The edges can be smooth or slightly toothed, or slightly hairy on the underside depending on species.

Goldenrod in my area likes to grow alongside New England Aster. They make such a beautiful combination of purple and yellow and can aid in identification. If you see one you just might see the other!

Look-Alikes

Goldenrod can sometimes be mistaken for Senecio species like ragwort (left) and groundsel (right). Some Senecio species contain TOXIC pyrrolizidine alkaloids that can cause liver damage. As always please be 100% certain of your identification before harvesting!! That said, senecio's flowers are generally much larger and much fewer than goldenrod's many tiny flowers. They also tend to bloom earlier in the season than goldenrod.

Harvesting Goldenrod

All of the above-ground parts of goldenrod are edible! Harvest by snipping the top of the stems, leaves, and flower heads with scissors (about the top 1/3rd of the plant). The earlier in the blooming season the better! The later blooms tend to be more bitter and can fluff up like dandelions if you want to dry them.

If you're worried about seasonal allergies you should be safe with goldenrod! Goldenrod is insect pollinated so it doesn't need to release pollen into the air.

Whatever you do DO NOT pull up entire goldenrod plants!!! Goldenrod is a massively important plant for hundreds of pollinators including bees, butterflies, beetles, and wasps. Harvest sustainably, no pulling up by the roots, and only snip the tops you'll use!!

You can use goldenrod fresh or dry it by hanging it upside down for about a week (spread it out for adequate airflow!) or in your kitchen oven by spreading in a single layer on baking sheets and baking 4-5 hours at 170F/76C. Store dried goldenrod in an airtight container.

Goldenrod Uses & Benefits

Goldenrod as an herbal remedy is highly anti-inflammatory, great for the kidneys (prevents and flushes kidney stones, helps relieve minor bladder infections), helpful for minor respiratory issues like seasonal allergies and colds, and helps heal minor wounds and swelling when used externally. It's also edible raw or cooked! The leaves can be cooked like spinach or used in lots of tasty fall recipes like this goldenrod cornbread?!? I need it.

Safety Note: Goldenrod has been traditionally used as medicine and is regarded as very safe. That said, goldenrod taken internally has a diuretic effect. If you have any problems with the urinary system or take a diuretic already, PLEASE ask a medical professional before using. Don't use herbal medicines to treat serious health issues or in fragile populations like babies or the elderly without consulting a doctor. I AM NOT A DOCTOR I JUST LIKE PLANTS.

To use your goldenrod medicinally you can make it into tea, tincture, or infused oil. You can also make a goldenrod salve to apply externally!

Goldenrod Tea:

Add 2tbsp of fresh flowers OR 1tbsp of dried flowers to 8oz hot water.

Cover and steep 15-20 minutes before straining.

This tea can be slightly bitter with a sort of anise/licorice flavor. It's great sweetened with a little honey!

Goldenrod Tincture:

Fill a small jar 1/3 - 3/4 full with chopped fresh goldenrod flowers OR 1/4 - 1/2 full with dried goldenrod flowers.

Fill jar with high-proof (40-60%) alcohol like vodka or brandy.

Cap, label, and store out of direct sunlight at least 4-6 weeks. Strain before using.

Your tincture should be good for a year or more. Take a few drops mixed with a spoonful of honey or water. Can be taken up to 3-5 times daily or as needed.

Goldenrod Infused Oil:

Fill a jar 1/4 - 1/2 full with dried goldenrod flowers.

Pour an oil (sunflower, sweet almond, or olive are good options) over the flowers until the jar is full.

Infuse one of 3 ways:

Slow Way - cap jar and place in a dark, cool spot like a cabinet for 4-6 weeks. Strain.

Solar Way - instead of capping the jar cover it with a piece of cheesecloth or scrap of old t-shirt. Set your jar in a sunny window for a few days up to a few weeks. The sun's heat infuses your oil faster! Strain.

Speedy Way - don't cap your jar and set it uncovered in a saucepan containing a few inches of water. Heat on low for 2-3 hours, watching it carefully!! Strain.

Goldenrod Salve: if you made infused oil you can easily make it into a salve!

Add 3.5oz (100g) of your infused oil and 0.5oz (14g) beeswax to a small jar.

Place the jar into a saucepan containing a few inches of water. Heat over medium low until the beeswax melts.

Let cool and apply to minor wounds, sores, swelling, aches & pains.

You can also make a gorgeous yellow or green natural fabric dye from goldenrod!

Sources: 1, 2, 3, 4

#foraging #goldenrod #solidago #fall foraging #herbalism #herbal medicine #wild food #medicinal plants #herbal tea #be safe lovelies!!

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catboy-autism · 5 days

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Thistle Flower Themed ID Pack

[PT: Thistle Flower Themed ID Pack]

[Image ID: A rectangular photo of a thistle flower, the sky behind it is a light blue. The flower itself is a rich purple, underneath is it's bulbous stem, which is green and spiky. Underneath the bulb is the normal stem you'd expect of a flower. ID End]

[Image ID 2: A small line of symmetrical purple hearts. ID End]

Requested by @mochitoaster

Names: Arthur, Aspen, Asper, Aster, Benedict, Berry, Carli, Carline, Carly, Carolina, Carrillo, Cira, Cirrus, Cyrus, Douglas, Indigo, Kallie, Karolina, Lilac, Maggie, Mari, Marian, Mars, Mary, Maud, Mauve, Pearl, Petal, Plum, Rose, Star, Thistle, Thorn, Violet,

[PT: Names]

Pronouns: aster / asters, bee / bees, bless / blessed, bloom / blooms, bud / buds, leaf / leaves, mar / mars, plum / plums, prick / pricks, pur / purples, spikes / spikes, star / stars, thorn / thorns, thist / thistle, 🌠 / 🌠's, 🌱 / 🌱's, 🌿 / 🌿's, 🍇 / 🍇's, 💜 / 💜's , 🪴 / 🪴's, 🪻 / 🪻's, 🫐 / 🫐's

[PT: Pronouns]

Labels: Bloomic, Darkvioletgender, Decafloric, Floralicesse, Floraloleona, Floraprincessgender/Floraprincegender, Floravir, Floriographallion, Florteallion, Flowercentric, Healfloradeity, Indigoauraed, Indigonameic, Indigopresentic, Lilacdacopurpleaesic, Meadowbloomic, Moradospanlexic, Purblue Presentic, Purpflowerplushic, Purple Presentic, Purple System, Purplere, Thislilexic, Thistle Butch/Thistle Futch, Thistle Femme Lesbian, Thistlefemmegender, Thistlegender, Thornlexic, Violetintallion, Violetlady

[PT: Labels]

Titles: [Pronoun] Who Is Spikey, [Pronoun] Who Pricks, The [Noun] With Petals, The [Noun] With Thorns, The Purple [Noun], The Purple-Colored One, The Thorny [Noun],The One Who Blooms

[PT: Titles]

[Image ID 3: A small line of symmetrical purple hearts. ID End]

divider link

#FIRST TIME DOING AN ID PACK I HOPE THIS ISGOOD #i dont quite know how to do titles yet mainly cuz i dont use them/dont fully understand them but!! ihope this helps you :3 #the names are inspired by scientific names and nicknames of the different species of thistles as well as shapes of purple #tina coins #id pack #purple id pack #flower id pack #thistle id pack #thistle flower id pack #oh and with the thistle fem stuff ik its not related to the flowers but i wanted to include them bcuz of the name

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concentriccookies · 2 years

Photo

Purple Asters Text is lyrics from “Better In The Morning” by Birdtalker

Image ID: Hand embroidered stem of purple asters sit on a black fabric background inside a round embroidery hoop. There are 5 asters coming off the stem and lots of leaves. Under the asters is small text that reads “I learned shame when I was young, I will do better in the morning.” The hoop is held by a white hand in front of a wooden fence that’s being overtaken by pretty weeds.

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