#and the maple leaf is blue with white dots

[match-your-steps]

just saw a flag at a flag store that's the canadian flag but the american flag what is going on here

[dark-angel-of-muses]

The Gift Of The Mag(Pie)

Lu Wing Bois AU by @breannasfluff

AO3 Link

“How do I look?” Hyrule spun around to show off his yukata. It was forest green, with light yellow maple leaf imprints dotted across the fabric. Naturally, there was no back so his wings could stretch free behind him, so the top was tied behind his neck in a pretty bow.

“You always look lovely. How about me?” Ravio opted for a navy blue set of robes, with white dots speckled across the fabric to imitate a night sky. He also twisted his hair to include a crown braid framing his bangs, holding the braid in place with a lapis lazuli bead clip.

“If it weren’t for the feathers on your ear, I’d be saying you were trying to attract some suitors.” Hyrule’s laugh sounded like bell chimes.

Ravio blushed, but brushed off the comment. He and Mr. Hero were still at a bit of an impasse. He was hopeful his flockmate was interested, but they still hadn’t put anything into words yet. Wild and Hyrule loved teasing them for it. Even if it made him flush with embarrassment and want to bury his face into his wings, he was glad they seemed to support their relationship. Maybe the teasing would help Mr. Hero make a move.

“Are you ready to meet up with the others?” Hyrule slipped on his geta, handing Ravio his own pair.

The bowerbird made a flock call in assent, put on his shoes, and the two made their way to the festival.

xxx

Lorule’s Kakariko village was a den of thieves and cultists. Ravio had to stop going long before he ran away from his kingdom entirely for fear of losing his money and/or life. 

By contrast, Mr. Hero’s Kakariko was vibrant and happy. A center of commerce and safety. For the festival, streamers and paper lanterns had been strung up throughout the public square. Temporary stalls with games, street food, and specialty wares were lined up in rows alongside the walkways. 

“I’m surprised you didn’t open up a stall here, Ravio.” Wild was wearing some of the Sheikah clothes he’d gathered over his travels, hair tied held in place with two crossing hairsticks. His own yukata was sky blue like his Champion’s wrap, with a pattern of multicolored pastel lines criss-crossing the fabric. 

“Trust me, he tried. I convinced him that he should take at least one year to enjoy the festival with flock before trying to turn it into a business opportunity.” Mr. Hero wore a red yukata with crimson flowers printed on the ends of the sleeves. His pink hair was curled, giving it a bit of extra volume and bounce. There were ruby clips slid into his hair right above the red shock of hair that framed his face. Ravio felt his wings shuffle and flash as he drank in the image.

“Oh, look! That tent has ocarinas!” Hyrule’s wings flared in excitement as he bounded for the shop. Ravio managed to tear his gaze away from Mr. Hero and followed the Thrasher.

It seemed to be a handcrafted instrument store. There were reeds of varying sizes and colors, from silver flutes to wooden recorders. The ocarinas were the most eye-catching, porcelain painted in all sorts of bright patterns and colors. Hyrule’s fingers hovered over one that was wooden, but with gold paint in swirling little lines to imitate blossoms.

“You want one?” Wild asked, chin resting on Hyrule’s shoulder as he peeked over the wares.

“It’s so pretty when the flock plays ocarina when I sing, it’d be cool to do that on my own!” Hyrule’s wings fluttered, making Wild laugh as they tickled.

“Wouldn’t it be pretty hard to play the ocarina and sing at the same time?” Mr. Hero raised an eyebrow.

“That- Oh. Hm. You’re right.”

“You might not be able to play a woodwind, but what about these?” Ravio directed his flock over to the percussion section. There were maracas in every color and pattern, rain sticks, egg shakers, hand drums, and bells.

“Ooo!” Wild reached over to grab a sample egg, shaking it wildly to hear the rice inside. That bird possessed absolutely no sense of rhythm.

“Oh, this is darling!” Hyrule picked up a tambourine, giving it a test shake and trilling in delight as the cymbals chimed. The skin stretched over the middle had a print of a sunflower, yellow petals reaching to the light wooden frame holding everything together.

Hyrule seemed so delighted, a song bubbling in his throat as he admired the craftsmanship. Ravio made his decision right there. “How much for the tambourine?”

“Five hundred forty rupees.”

“I’ll take it! Hyrule, do you want it wrapped?” On the pricier side, but not unreasonable for something clearly hand-crafted with a lot of care.

Hyrule squealed. “Oh thank you, Ravio!” He chirped in excitement, melodic as he clutched the sunflower tambourine to his heart. No amount of rupees could pay for that sweet smile and soft hug as the Brown Thrasher sang in excitement. Ravio leaned into the hug, before his eyes caught a flash of yellow feathers in his peripheral vision.

Mr. Hero was looking at him, wings spreading. Ravio swallowed thickly as he saw those pretty yellow feathers rise and fluff, and averted his gaze as his own wings rose on instinct. The Flame Bowerbird wasn’t fair, flustering him like that. He was just being nice; it was rude to tease!

xxx

Hyrule played with his new toy for a bit, singing and drumming rhythms. With the purchase of a gift for one flockmate, Ravio was naturally on the hunt for two more.

It hit when he saw the flash of the most beautiful blue from the corner of his eye. All his instincts screamed and he darted into the rows of clothes. He heard Legend yelp, but Hyrule and Wild were laughing so it was probably fine.

The blue fabric belonged to a dancer’s costume. There was a long skirt, with beads sewn into a diamond pattern near the waistband. The top was separated, a black crop with blue tassels of bead dangling over it. Ravio might be a clothing size too big for it, but…

“Wild, come look at this!” He chirped a flock call, and the magpie trotted over to him. The moment Wild saw the outfit, his eyes widened and his wings fluttered. 

“Oh, that’s so pretty! I’d love to wear it.”

“You should!They have a dressing room over there!” Ravio extended one wing to point towards the tent. 

Wild cooed in agreement, then snatched the clothes off the rack and raced to put them on. As soon as he stepped out of the tent, he twirled, showing off the blue fabric. The hue matched the back of his wings perfectly, The skirt was loose, meant to lift and settle to showcase a dancer’s movements. Wild’s little spin had the skirt billowing beautifully. Additionally, the blue bead tassels clicked and jingled from the movement. It was beautiful.

“Nice outfit you have there, Wild.” Legend walked up next to Ravio, bumping wings. Mr. Hero had a little growl in his throat as he said it, and Ravio tried to bump wings back to alleviate it. Silly bird, he was just appreciating their flockmate.

“Oh, they have this little veil that comes with it!” Wild pulled out the item in question. Instead of cloth, there was one singular band that went over the nose and had dangling chains of rhinestones to cover the face. They caught light and sparkled at the tiniest bit of movement.

Wild giggled. “I’d love wearing this to Gerudo Town. Riju would be so jealous.” He did another twirl, soaking in the fabric and beads all spinning with him.

“Then you should, because I’m buying it for you!” Ravio declared, bringing out the ten gold rupees he saw as an asking price to give to the cashier. 

Wild stared at him for just a moment in surprise, then launched at the Bowerbird in a hug. “You’re the best flockmate, Ravi!”

“What am I, chopped boko guts?” Legend grumbled.

Wild looked up, putting on an innocent front. “Well, if you wanted to get me something too, I wouldn’t say no.”

“Greedy little magpie!” Legend huffed in accusation, and Ravio laughed at the both of them, melting into Wild’s hug. It was worth the lightness of his wallet to see them so happy.

xxx

Getting Legend something should have been obvious. He was such a silly bird, with his obsession for red things. Ravio didn’t get it, when blue was right there, but he’d indulge Mr. Hero’s strange tastes today.

That said, finding which red thing to give him had been a challenge.

Legend was a hoarder, and had no shortage of rupees. As soon as something genuinely caught his interest, he’d whip out his wallet faster than Ravio could. A red fan, a pair of carbuncle earrings, a red makeup palette, a strawberry apron, a red luminous rock nightlight, red leather belt, red dagger. If it was on prominent display and seemed like Legend would have liked it, he had already taken it and stashed it in his magically deep pockets.

Ravio clicked his teeth in annoyance. Legend’s obsession was really getting too far at this point. He was going to buy out the entire festival’s stock, at this rate, and Ravio wouldn’t be able to get him a good present!

The day was getting longer and he was getting desperate. Each merchant stall they hit was another potential source crossed off the list.

Finally, Ravio broke down. “Hyrule, I need your help.”

“Hm?” The Thrasher allowed Ravio to pull him aside.

“I’m going to need you to stall Legend from getting to the next booth. I want to get there before he does. Can you do that?”

If you were a stranger, you might have called Hyrule’s answering smile sweet. But all his flock understood it as the terrifying omen of chaos it was.

“Done and done. When you hear Legend’s screeching, make a break for it.” Without giving Ravio the time to ask what he was planning, Hyrule bounded off to enact his plan.

Ravio didn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Even if he was deathly curious what Hyrule had said to get Legend so puffed he was showing off the scandalous skin under his scapulars. Wild seemed to have joined in on the assignment unprompted, grabbing something from the Flame Bowerbird and flapping his wings to fly away in a game of chase. 

Tearing his eyes away from Legend’s stunning wings, Ravio booked it to the next stall. They were a goldsmith, rings and bracelets glittering on their display tables.

“Sorry sir, you wouldn’t happen to have anything with a red gem or charm on it, would you?”

The merchant’s frown made Ravio’s stomach drop. “Sorry. All out of red gems.”

Ravio’s wings drooped. There weren’t that many stalls left to check out, and he didn’t know how much time Wild and Hyrule were going to buy him.

“...I could paint one of my existing charms. But I’ll need help color matching the dye.”

Ravio perked up. “Really?”

The merchant brought out a clear stone, and a pot for dye. “Do you have anything red on you?”

Ravio brought out a red rupee. He’d rather give something less expensive, like the skins of their apples or one of Legend’s infinite supply of red garbage, but he had no time.

“I’m going to need at least five of those, and you won’t be getting them back. That’s in addition to the product cost which is gonna be another 60. Is that alright?” 

His wallet was getting down to a few green rupees and a wish. But it was worth it. He wanted to get something nice for his flockmate.

The merchant was fast, inserting the rupees into the magical dye pot and creating a brilliantly shining red, dipping the clear stone into the pot. With the paint dripping from it, Ravio saw the stone was hollowed out, clearly drilled through. The paint dried in less than a minute. (Maybe something about the magic in the dye substance?)

The smith grabbed a gold ring and quickly looped it through the hollowed stone, finishing by wrapping the gold wire around the makeshift bead.

“And like this, it spins. Great for people who like keeping their hands busy.” The smith demonstrated, and Ravio snorted. Every Link seemed to have a penchant for playing with tiny trinkets and treasures. He trilled a call of thanks and snatched up the box. It might have been a hundred rupees more expensive with the dye, but he was just grateful to grab something before Legend could buy out an entire village.

By the time he returned to his flock, the situation had escalated.There was a beautiful blue streak in Legend’s pink hair, although based on the yelling the Flame Bowerbird wasn’t happy about it. Hyrule’s hands were criminally the same shade of blue, Legend edging away from them in fear. Wild was grounded again, though still seemed to be mastering a game of keep-away with- Oh. Was that the bracelet Ravio gave Mr. Hero all that time ago, when they first met? Huh. Wild should… probably give that back.

“Mr. Hero!” Ravio bounded in, interrupting the standoff as all three birds greeted him with a flock call on instinct.

“Ack, sorry Ravi. These two are just being idiots.” The apology was unnecessary since Ravio asked for it in the first place, but he wisely kept his mouth shut.

“Um, I wanted to give you something.”

Legend tilted his head, anger giving way to curiosity.

“Here!” Ravio thrust forward the box, flipping back the top to show the ring nestled inside. Ravio’s wings fluttered on instinct, opening just a bit.

Legend made an odd choking noise. Ravio bit his lip. Did he like it? Or was it too plain, a small, non magical ring?

“You’re giving me a ring. A red ring.” There was an odd warble in the Flame Bowerbird’s voice.

“Uh, yes. I wanted to get something for everyone in the flock. If you don’t like it, I’m not sure if I can return it since it was custom, but I can find you something better!” Ravio tried to keep bravado in his voice instead of giving into the instinct to curl his wings around him and crouch into a ball of feathers.

“Oh, so this is a gift for a flockmate?” Did he sound disappointed?

“Um, yes. Sorry if it’s not much, I really can buy something better later-”

“Stop that!” Legend interjected. “It’s wonderful and I love it!” The words were yelled in such an aggressive tone Ravio had to take a second to get the meaning.

“You really like it?” Ravio’s voice brightened with hope.

“Of course I like it, you bird brain! You know that’s my favorite color! And you said it was custom?” Legend picked the ring out of the box, violet eyes sparkling. He still was using his usual array of insults, but there was an unmistakable smile on his face as he looked it over.

Ravio sighed in relief. He’d have to thank Hyrule for whatever it was he did later. As he looked over Legend’s shoulder, he saw Wild and the Thrasher in question elbowing each other, smiling like they knew something he didn’t. 

Silly birds.

xxx

The last stall of the festival was a local knitter. Quilts, potholders, beanies. She used soft yarns, it was a joy just to run his fingers along the display wares.

Then he saw it.

The most perfect scarf that he had ever seen. 

It was lovingly knitted in a gradient, from a bright teal down to a smoky indigo. Along the range of vibrant blues were little sections of white cloth meant to resemble clouds. It was so perfect! Ravio reverently ran a thumb across the cloth, and marveled at how the blue somehow made it feel even softer. His senses were delighted, and his wings fluttered on instinct.

“Excuse me, ma’am, how much for the scarf?” He had to own this. It was destined to be his.

“200, sir.”

200? For something so well made, that was trivial! Ravio excitedly pulled out his wallet, not realizing the problem until his hand was inside, sorting through the few green rupees he had left.

Ah, right.

Well, he treated money like it was no object for his flock. He didn’t regret that, even if the beautiful scarf belonged with him. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t have enough-”

“I’ll take it!” Wild jumped in, startling Ravio into a yelp. The magpie threw two silvers onto the counter, turning back to Ravio.

“You’ve been so nice to us all day, it only makes sense to give you something back.” The magpie bumped Ravio with his shoulder, beaming.

Ravio clutched the precious scarf, now a gift from his flockmate. He didn’t even try to hold back the happy tears. He didn’t regret a rupee of kindness spent on flock.

[ladyfurbton]

Furbtober 2023

Day 6: Hot chocolate

Jacques enjoys a nice hot chocolate out of his new cup.

Image Descriptions:

1: Jacques is a 1998 furby with grey fur. His ears are grey with neutral coloured insides. He has a bone white coloured face plate and eyelids with a yellow coloured beak. He has a grey mane going down his back. His eyes are a light blue colour and his feet are yellow with three toes each. He is wearing a grey woolley hat with a pompom on top of it on his head. He is wearing a flannel shirt that is red and black with white buttons on thr front of it. There are two pins on his shirt. One silver tee pee pin and another Canadian flag pin. He is sitting next to a brown table. The table has a white teacup on it. The tea cup is white and has a Canadian flag on it with red text that says "Whistler Canada" below the flag. The Canadian flag is white with red sides and a red maple leaf in the centre. Huck who is a yellow worm on a string is near Jacques feet.

2: This is prompts for Furbtober. At the top is "Furbtober" written in white pixelated text. The background is black with a blue border. There are prompts for each day written below in white text. The prompts are as followed: 1. Moth 2. Poison 3. Clown 4. Zodiac/stars 5. Magic 6. Hot chocolate 7. Shrek 8. Retro 9. Oddbody 10. Autumn flowers 11. Horns 12. Witchy 13. Sewing/stitches 14. Long furby 15. Crow 16. Pizza 17. Moon 18. Vintage 19. Angel 20. Demon 21. Candy 22. Ghost 23. Cat 24.monster 25. Feather 26. Scarecrow 27. Goth 28. Vampire 29. Corn 30. Fire 31. Jack O Lantern. At the bottom the hash tags are written in blue text they say "Furbtober" and "Furbtober2023". There are two user names mentioned in pink below the hash tags they say "a_silly_of_furbys" and "cozyfurbcafe" There are three furbys pictured on the bottom. The first furby is a buddy who is in a polaroid photo. "Kevin" is written in pink text on the bottom of the photo. Kevin is a light grey furby buddy with a light pink belly. On his grey fur are black dots. He has light orange feet and a tail and tuff of hair which which is light pink. The inside of his ears are pink. He has blue eyes. Next to the photo of Kevin is s drawing of a black 1998 furby wearing a blue hat that is shaped like a witches hat. The hat has a pink band and pink crystals on it. There is another furby next to the hat wearing furby. The furby  is a l grey furby buddy with a white belly. They have a white mane. The inside of their ears are pink. They have brown eyes. The furby has white dolls arms and legs. End Descriptions.

[zoologytopics]

The Rosy Maple Moth/Dryocampa rubicunda

The Rosy Maple Moth is identified by their vivid colors. They come in various hues, including creams, whites, pinks, yellows, and purples. However, their most common variation is pink and yellow. They are thick and fuzzy.

They are currently noticed as the smallest moth of the silk moth family. Males are typically smaller than females. Both males and females have an average wingspan of 32-55mm

Their larvae are known as the Green-striped Mapleworm. They are bright neon green with faded white stripes and black dots which run horizontally along their body. Their head is red or orange with two thick antennae. They have a bright red streak near their rear.

Adults start to look for partners from early summer through fall. In South Carolina, mating occurs as early as March and ends in October.

When the female is ready to mate, she will begin to give off pheromones to attract a mate. After mating underneath the leaf, she will lay her eggs in the same spot. Their eggs are laid in a cluster, and the young larvae typically stick together. As they grow older and begin to develop, they will start splitting off until it is time to pupate. Larvae crawl down the tree to the ground, where they will find a shallow hole or burrow into the soil to form a pupa. They remain in the cacoon for 2 weeks to several months over winter.

Host plants include sugar maple, silver maple, and red maple; they are also known to use turkey oak on rare occasions.

They are preyed on by many birds, including tufted titmice, blue jays, and black-capped chickadees. They are also preyed on by parasitic flies and wasps, as well as predatory beetles.

Rosy Maple Moths occur in southern Canada, Florida, Michigan, Indiana, Texas, Kansas, and Nebraska. They reside in temperate deciduous forests.

Males have narrower wings and less rounded hindwings than females. Males also have bipectinate antennae, while females have simple antennae.

[alilbihh]

woods&witches — knj

masterlist

pairing: namjoon x reader

summary: You think it ends with you saving a fox. That is, until you start getting love letters sent to your doorstep and little knick knacks left on your window sill.

genre: fox shifter!namjoon, witch!reader, fluff

words: 4.5k

a/n: this was meant for the bingo challenge but completely escaped its original prompt. anyway. heres shy!lovestruck!namjoon bc i love him. also no this is nOt a witch au blog idk whats wrong w me

A finch flutters onto your windowsill, and you shuffle over once you hear a tap, tap, tap on the glass. You push it open and the bird hops inside, beak leaning forward tentatively.

You take the letter. "Ah, so they sent you this time?" Or maybe the finch volunteered, you wouldn't be surprised. They are quite the gossips.

It's a soft blue envelope, and when you turn it over there's a scrawled #12 on the left side corner. You think that even if he hadn't written that, you'd know. It's easy to keep track, after all.

A maple leaf slips out when you open the envelope. You set it aside and tentatively take the letter, brush a hand over the ink. It was written by hand in messy but deliberate hand writing and it smells like chamomile and honey, like it was written under a half-moon.

You read it once then twice then three times until it feels like you've been dipped halfway underwater, until the buzzing of the midday cicadas has faded into white noise and everything is suddenly tinged blue.

The man, you deduced a while ago, tells tales of palm trees and blue ponds and red and pink frogs, of catching crabs on a stranded shore. He's writing poetry but he's not, writing reality but he's not, and you don't know how he does it, how he can make five paintings with just one phrase.

You clutch the letter to your chest, feel yourself have an out of body experience because of a not-poem. Your head whips towards the finch when it chirps suddenly, and you huff.

"Why're you still here?" You shield the letter from the bird's eyes. Its head tilts. "And don't give me that look, I know exactly what you're thinking."

The bird only gives another chirp before flying away.

You scoff out a laugh, and when you walk towards your bedside table, the drawer opens before you can even think too much about it. You glare at your walls before tucking the letter with the others, as if to stop the house from teasing you too much.

It all begins and ends on a sunny afternoon.

The tree roots whisper as you pass, as if to purposely lead you astray, but you follow them anyway. The forest is never wrong, after all.

So when you stumble against a snowy white fox lying on a field of wisteria, you're only a tad bit surprised.

"Ah, you don't want to do that," you say some time after it woke up in your home and stopped panicking. It's now looking down at your polka dot socks, then looks up sharply to stare at you. You don't think there's a way for foxes to show emotions, but you think that if there were, he'd be staring at you with a little bit of awe.

You clear your throat. "Your foot, I mean. You don't want to strain it."

It just keeps staring at you, one ear twitching a bit.

"Um." You say when it doesn't stop, "You'll be better in a few weeks time. It wasn't that serious."

The fox blink blink blinks before shaking itself off, fur spilling every which way. You take it as acknowledgement enough.

In a few minutes he's managed to sniff and inspect every piece of furniture in your home, ranging from your small couch to your droopy house plant. He trudges and limps and sometimes skips from place to place, and then becomes highly confused when you don't let him climb the kitchen table.

Yoongi appears on your window somewhere between the fox kneading at your rug and the fox trying to catch a moth with its mouth.

"Hey grump," you say to the black cat, scratching behind his ears. Yoongi's tail twitches in dismissal, but he whines when you stop petting him, anyway.

You can almost see when Yoongi's gaze settles on the fox, because when you turn to look he's frozen solid on your couch, as if hoping he can't be seen if he stays still enough. The cat gives you a look.

You raise a brow. "What? Don't look at me like that."

He keeps looking at you like that.

"I helped him over by the wisteria. His foot's a little bad, but it's nothing too bad." The fox stays curled up on your couch, digging his nails into the cushions much like a cat would. An ear twitches in your direction, as if he's sheepish but won't admit to it.

Yoongi mewls a single, drawn out mewl of acceptance. You nod nod nod, and the cat jumps down your window and disappears into the woods right when the wind starts blowing north and the sun starts climbing higher before dropping lower.

The world stills for a while as you work through your home, organizing your chipped cups and bent spoons and funny forks. The mushroom wraith on your door wiggles when you pass it by, and when the frog figurine on your counter croaks in greeting the fox nearly jumps out of its skin.

(The fox is gone by morning, right when the sun settles over the honeysuckle tumbling down your thatched roof. You try to feel for his presence, but it's overwhelmed by the snails and woodpeckers and oversized mushrooms.

You think that's when the letters started coming, perched nicely over your windowsill whenever you're not looking).

There's a man in your pond.

The carp in the water yells indignantly as the man tries to stand but tumbles, pondweed curled over his ankles as if begging him to stay. You just stare because the man tries to get up once then twice then three times, hair loose and windblown and positively drenched, twigs and pondweed in the knots.

You stare and stare until the man notices you and startles, looks away quickly before cringing and hesitatingly meeting your eyes. He lifts a hand, lowers it, lifts it again and waves. You wave back.

"Hello." You say. The man looks a little stunned, more stunned than when the carp had nipped at his feet. You point at the pond, "You're standing in my pond."

"Ah!" He startles, head whipping down like he'd forgotten all about it. "I am! In your pond, I mean. Sorry, sorry." The pondweed untangles itself mercifully, and he shuffles out of the water, toes curling into the dirt around it.

"It's okay!" You shoot him a thumbs up. He stares. "Do you want to, uh, come inside?"

So the man walks through the slim wooden trellis and diligently wipes his feet on the rug, shuffling through the door with hesitant steps. He looks a little like a painting left out too long in the rain, all ruffled hair and stiff shoulders, but pretty nonetheless.

"Would you like some tea?" You say, already grabbing the kettle from the cupboards, "It will have to have milk, though, since the cups don't like serving without."

"Okay! Tea is nice. Thank you." Then he smiles with knee-deep dimples and pinchable cheeks and something inside you kinda melts a little.

The man's name is Namjoon and his skin is tan despite it already being winter, the color of salted caramel. He's so bright you find it easier to look away, to look instead at the space around him, the shadow against the pane of his neck, the length of his-- very long legs. You'll pretend you never noticed that.

You don't talk about why he was in your pond, not really. He's already apologized to the carp, he says. You talk instead about mushroom glades and why avocados are acceptable dinner foods and his intense love for moths and his hopes for snow this year.

When Namjoon leaves it all feels a bit unprecedented. Lost souls show up on your doorstep often, always leaving after a cup of tea and a few helpful directions, but Namjoon doesn't look lost at all. Looks a little like he belongs, really.

He rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck, then sticks a hand out in offering. You shake his hand. He nods, lingers on the doorway, plays with a loose stitching of his soft green overalls.

"I'll-- be seeing you, then," he clears his throat, and you just laugh a little loosely because no, you won't. With lost souls, you never do.

Except Namjoon does return. He returns, in fact, in green baseball shorts and an open-collared shirt with sugar packets sticking out of the front pockets. He looks a bit like a dad showing up for his son's football game. Looks a little dangerous but in a harmless way, like a huge gangly bug. A six-foot stick insect hovering outside your door.

You're a little stunned. Very stunned. So stunned that Namjoon cringes, shuffles a bit on your welcome mat. It's a frog with a thought bubble that says welcome! that Namjoon has expressed his love for on multiple occasions.

"Hello," he purses his lips. "I... wanted to thank you. Again. For everything." He sucks in a breath. "Bad time? Bad time. I don't actually remember knocking-- did I knock? God, I didn't, did I? I'm so rude, I'm so sorry."

"No, no," you say once you've recovered. "You, you definitely knocked."

"Oh!" His lips form a surprised little 'o'. You're so fond. "That's good. Okay. I'll... be leaving, then."

"Um!" You interject, "You can come inside, if you want?"

So he comes inside and drinks tea and names the cactus by your windowsill Gerald and discusses his complaints on climate change and you're a little content and a lot confused, because--

Only creatures of the forest can find your house more than once.

Unless--

(That night, you knock on your own walls and glare indignantly. Say, "You led him here, didn't you?"

The walls do nothing. You think you hear a floorboard creak, though.

You stomp your feet like an overgrown child. "I don't know what you're trying to accomplish, but I'm not falling for it!"

No response. Except the wind chimes outside sing brightly, but when you look out the window there's no wind at all).

Namjoon visits once then twice then three times, always showing up unplanned and out of nowhere. He brings a pinecone first then a dandelion next, blushes and says I didn't pluck them against their will! I told them they looked pretty and they volunteered to help me.

He's so pretty it's become a little harder to hold in. He was always pretty, always smiles a bit too brightly, like he's swallowed a star and can't quite keep all the brightness to himself, but something's shifted a bit.

(You contemplate this in a mid afternoon. As in: whisper-screaming to the ceiling for a while. And then whisper-screaming some more when Yoongi walks directly across your face.

"You're a monster," you inform him.

He digs his tiny monster-claws into your stomach.)

One day, you learn the man is weirdly good at knitting. You learn he has a pretty solid grasp on quantum physics. You learn that when he laughs it's a little hah! under his breath, and when he really laughs it turns sideways and belly-up, pitching into something that could almost be defined as a giggle. You learn that you need to stop staring.

Another day, Namjoon sits in the corner of your couch, curled up reading a book he'd picked up from the next village over. It's small but very thick with what could only be very small letters, because he's squinting a bit as he reads. It's vastly endearing.

Another day, he makes cheesy bread in your toaster and felt bad about it for the next three weeks. Which is also the amount of time it took for you to get all the cheese out.

Everything's great.

Today, though, you're walking through the forest alone. The forest doesn't guide you, not really, maybe because it knows you're walking on your own terms.

The forest is noisy with the sounds of birds calling and trees growing and little things skipping here and there through the undergrowth. Your shoes are so muddy you don't really care for how much worse they get, and they squelch when your heels sink into puddles and spongy moss.

You walk and walk until you come across a clearing, a bird feeder propped neatly over a tree branch. A sparrow squawks when it sees you.

"Hello," you say in greeting, and the tree with the bird feeder sighs, the wind blowing and carrying the sound.

A tree root on the ground grabs a fistful of dirt and promptly flings it onto your knees. You shriek indignantly.

You have a lot to figure out, the tree echoes because of course it does. It has a history of saying things vaguely and hoping you'll understand.

"I don't understand," you say out loud.

It flings more dirt onto your knees. You step back protectively, "Okay, okay! I get it!"

One, two. Four clouds in the sky, for now, it says at last, and you're a bit afraid of prying, so you just accept what it says as fact and move on, say one last goodbye to the bluetit that flutters onto the bird feeder.

It starts raining not long after that, when more than four clouds settle over the evening sun, makes it a bit harder to maneuver through the woods. You walk based on feeling, a hand brushing over the tree trunks, silently cursing the tree.

Namjoon is already waiting when you arrive home, hurries forward when he spots you through the trees, holding an umbrella up high.

And it's-- sweet. Just a really sweet thing to do, really considerate. He could have waited inside, in the warmth and shelter, but instead he's walking through puddles to meet you halfway with an umbrella.

He looks a little funny when he stops in front of you, hair disheveled and sticking up in random places, eyes all worried and sullen. He looks like a goose.

"You look like a goose," you say out loud with a little laugh, "I'm already wet though, so there's not much point in this, you know?"

Namjoon's smile is a bit dopey, a bit sloppy at the edges. "But there's not many trees to shield you, from this point on." He says, "Let's-- go inside?"

So you go inside, the house already setting the fireplace with its never-ending firewood, the frog figurine croaking and the wind chimes singing and everything feels a little right. A little more homey.

"Did you find your way back easily?" Namjoon says later, hands cupping his tea mug as he sheepishly adds, "I know this is your-- home, obviously, I don't wanna just assume anything, but-- For me, it's a bit harder to navigate when it rains like this. Fogs my senses and all," he clears his throat.

You purse your lips to keep from smiling, "Do you know how a wood witch works, Namjoon?" You continue when he shakes his head, "A wood witch is the one who planted the first seed that sprouted the first tree that grew the first forest," you say, half-chanting it, cite it like a rhyme long forgotten.

He looks a bit awe-struck. A lot awe-struck. Says, "Oh." And that's that.

You add, sheepish, "It's really not much. I'm not as powerful as other wood witches, but I am grateful to the woods." You hum, "They gave me this cottage. They gave me who I am, really."

"Oh." Namjoon says. "Oh." He stares and stares, open mouthed and in awe and sort of dazed but pretty, pretty. His gaze trails over the room once before settling back on you, says, "You're all the beauty in the world."

And the world-- stills, maybe-- balanced atop a drop of nectar.

You whisper a small, delighted "Oh." And that's that.

Namjoon somehow manages to drag you outside the woods.

You're being dragged through busy streets, cars and crowds and carriages that boggle your senses. The difference between the village and the woods is astounding. (Not that you've never been to nearby cities or villages-- sometimes you crave poptarts and there's nothing you can do about it-- but it's been a while since you've walked into the very heart of it).

You might be a wood witch, but Namjoon is the one who looks a little — lost, outside the woods.

"This is my favorite corner cafe," he admits proudly, "Um, if Seokjin-hyung says anything, please be aware I'm not associated with him."

"Got it." You like this Seokjin guy already.

Taylor Swift is blasting through the speakers when you walk inside, a broad shouldered man swaying from side to side behind the counter as he pours milk into a cup. Once his eyes land on Namjoon he positively grins.

"Namjoon, my man!" He belts out a particularly impressive high note as Namjoon approaches him, but no one around seems at all fazed. "It's been so long!"

"I've been here last week, hyung." Namjoon says but he seems a bit happy to be missed, sheepishly ducking his head.

"That's too long. You should visit more often, it's great! I get free coffee here and don't have to walk through muddy paths and ominous sounds to visit you."

"It's not free though?" Namjoon frowns, "You may own the shop but you're the one who buys all the coffee in the first place."

The man behind the counter makes a noise that's too distorted to understand. "If I wanted someone to tear apart my ideas with logic I'd talk to Yoongi, you're both insufferable."

You want to interject but at the same time don't. You get so absorbed in your own thoughts you almost don't notice when they mention a Yoongi. Huh.

"Oh, you know Yoongi? The cat?" You blink when two sets of eyes settle on you.

"Ah, yes. Yoongi." The man you've now established has to be Seokjin sighs, resting a chin over his palm, "The devious fiend. The pest of the nest. The gremlin goblin."

"Do you ever think before you speak."

"I do! I thought of those words and then I said them."

Namjoon sighs and none of them elaborate any further, but you decide not to pry. You can always just ask Yoongi, anyway.

You both sit in a booth in the far corner where light reflects onto it perfectly but not in an overwhelming way, just enough to be warm and comforting. Seokjin pads over with your drink and Namjoon's latte and shoots excessive finger guns as he leaves, and Namjoon looks a bit like he's refraining from apologizing on his behalf.

Namjoon doodles on napkins and talks like he's reciting a far off poem, except he's talking about what should be the correct pronunciation of pickles and you're kinda maybe really hopelessly endeared.

"Do you think I should paint my nails?" He's saying, closely inspecting his nibbled nails, "Maybe it will make me stop biting my nails."

"Have you thought of green?"

He hums delightedly, "Green! I love green. I'm thinking pink though, since gender norms are a social construct and pink is just pretty in general."

"You'll look like a pretty little winter fairy!" You grin. He flushes pink, too.

Then when you get up to order another drink he stands quick, as if intending to order it for you, but you're already grinning and skipping to the counter and when you turn to look at him he's slowly sitting back down, defeated.

You're maybe smiling too hard when Seokjin walks to take your order. "Ah, Y/n-ssi! How may I help you, my gentle woodland elf?"

"Can I just have the same thing, please?" You say and he hums, walking mechanically towards his cabinets.

Then after staring dazedly at the separate christmas mugs and cinnamon buns and droopy plants, you're looking around when you spot a box by the back counter that looks like an awful lot like a letter slot, a stack of envelopes sitting neatly on top. Oh.

"What's that for?" You gesture towards the box, and Seokjin turns away from the coffee grinder to smile something a little gentle. A little secretive.

"We're a letter shop too, you know?" He looks like he's suppressing a sort of devious smile he doesn't want you to see, "We deliver letters on the writer’s behalf, so the sender stays anonymous."

Your organs twist and melt together all at once. You mumble a small "Oh" and that's that.

Then when you leave Seokjin winks before sending you both off, the man waving boisterously and maybe obnoxiously but you're immensely endeared, wave back until the shop is out of sight and Namjoon is sufficiently embarrassed.

You predictably invite Namjoon inside after you arrive home, deciding that soup after coffee doesn't sound too bad. So you watch as the fireflies do somersaults and the moths hover over lamps as you both go for seconds and then for thirds and you don't say much, maybe say nothing at all, but that's okay, too.

The soup signals a change, you think. Either

1) You are in love with Namjoon and need to tell him.

Or

2) You are in love with soup and need to seek help.

So you walk through the forest.

Namjoon is at home, you know, but you feel that talking to Namjoon about your possible love for Namjoon is a bit counterproductive, so you walk through the forest instead.

Everyone is still adjusting to last night's downpour, the floors muddy and the leaves droopy and everything smelling like wet earth. You walk but you're hovering a few inches off the ground, silently thank the forest for its kindness.

You walk through the forest again the next day, think back to the tree with the bird feeder and think that maybe he wasn't so vague after all. Just wish that he could tell you what to do next.

It's easier to listen to a tree's vague advice than it is to follow through with it, you think, until a few weeks later, when the universe decides you need a little push. A big push. The biggest push.

Namjoon has been visiting consistently for the past month or so, sometimes staying over and sometimes staying just before nightfall, but for maybe a week you haven't heard of him at all. He's disappeared without a trace.

The forest guides you this time, patches of sunlight shining through trees as you follow. You think you hear the shrill argument between a finch and a jay on the treetops as you navigate through mushroom patches and mossy rocks.

It's the field of wisteria. You're in the field of wisteria when you find a small burrow, a little home for a woodland creature.

When you turn, you see-- Namjoon. Namjoon, eyes widened in horror, a strangled sound breaking free from his throat. Two white fox ears standing ramrod straight on his head.

You clear your throat. Say, "Hi, Namjoon."

He shrieks.

A finch flutters onto the bird feeder, eyes twinkling, "Guys, you will not believe what I just found out--"

"We know," the jay says.

"We know," the bluetit says.

"We know," the sparrow says.

Even Yoongi mewls from a higher tree branch.

The finch squawks, gossip stolen from right under its wing, "How on Earth did you all know?"

"The forest made the house bigger," Yoongi drawls, tail swishing here and there, "And we all helped deliver the letters."

"Different from someone, we can actually keep secrets!" Says the jay, chest puffed proudly, ignoring the offended squeals from the finch.

"You know, it was actually kind of obvious."

You hum from beside Namjoon, his arm draped over the back of the couch inches away from dropping onto your shoulder. He wants to tug you closer, comb a hand through your hair, but the mere thought has his face burning and ears threatening to pop out at the stress. He's kissed you before, dozens of times, for many reasons and for no reason at all, but it all still feels a little nerve wrecking, like one push will have you burst at the seams.

(Which, frankly, is ridiculous-- you're the strongest person he knows, but-- but.)

"What is?" He says to distract himself.

"The letters stopped coming after you started showing up, and you literally took me to a letter shop." You falter and add, "And just.. the way you say things, it sounds like how you sound when you write. I don't know if I'm making sense, but it's-- nice." You explain, a hint of affection on your voice.

That has nothing to do with being a fox shifter and everything to do with you sitting so prettily next to him, smelling like Ilsan sunshine and kept promises and damp earth, like the forest itself.

"Hmm," he hums, a hand settling on your thigh, finally gathering the courage to drop his arm onto your shoulder--

"Namjoon, you really don't have to hesitate for this kind of stuff." You say, turning to look at him with a grin. His face burns as he clears his throat pointedly, crossing one leg over the other as he finally drops an arm over your shoulder.

"M'sorry," he mumbles.

"Don't be," You press a kiss to his chin, "And you better kiss me properly this instant, because it seems you still think that crocs are acceptable footwear. I'm gonna come to my senses any second now."

"Please don't," he says, a little wild. Then he's moving, nose brushing over your cheek, and then— and then—

A hand curling softly over your cheek, a little giggle, and his lips pressing gently over your own. Something a bit real. Un-takeback-able. You taste a lot like the poetry he writes, still writes, like you're pressing the wonders of the world to his lips, like he's skimming the universe with his hands.

(Once upon a time, you saved a fox lying in a field of wisteria.

The rest of the story is told in open envelopes, messages left for the moon to see.)

[mystacoceti]

Preliminary Glance at an American Landscape by John A. Kouwenhoven

From the Blister-Dome of the Wabash Railway’s Blue Bird, en route from St. Louis to Chicago, the spring landscape of central Illinois is one of wide, level horizons with now and then a clump of leafed-out willows or a brief row of maples or elms which have budded enough to look hazy. It is a land of pale coffee-colored fields, darkened in irregular blotches where shadows lie and in strips where a tractor-drawn disc harrow has recently passed. A lone man driving a tractor is the only human being you are likely to see for miles, but there are many other living things: cattle—black, or black and white, and still winter-fuzzy—standing or lying in the unplowed fields; pigs and sheep whose young scamper away from the fenced railroad track when the train passes, though their elders are accustomed and remain still; and quite often a pheasant, green neck feathers shining in the sun, standing close to the track, always with is back turned to the passing train, looking over his shoulder at it but not otherwise disturbed.

The only city you go through is Decatur, a momentary collection of factories, warehouses, and handsome grain elevators, and a business district with some stone buildings of modest dimensions. Most of the towns you go through are small and irregularly square, with streets at right angles to the railroad, many of which do not cross the track but stop short at earth mounds partly covered with grass. Each town has a corrugated sheet-metal grain elevator and a Quonset warehouse or two near the wooden station. The houses are wood, with fruit trees blooming in their board-fenced yards. But there are almost no people in sight, just a few cars moving in the streets or parked at the curbs. And in less than a minute your are out on the prairie again.

Occasionally the level fields are studded with shining ponds, and now and then you see small streams whose flashing surfaces are almost flush with the fields they flow through, or shallow gullies banked with tin cans and bottles which glitter in the sun. Running alongside the track all the way, three tiers of shining wires dip from and rise to the crossbars on the telegraph poles—each of the three crossbars with room for ten bright insulators, some missing, leaving gaps like broken rake teeth. Sometimes the ground bordering the track also dips and rises where the right of way has been sliced down to grade through long, flowing swells of land. But the only real break in the general flatness is a huge eroded mesa, man-made from the waste of what may be strip-mining operations, which stretches along west of the track for miles, somewhere near Reddick or Essex judging by the timetable.

Most of the time there is just the wide, flat landscape of harrow-smoothed earth, ruled into squares by lines of wire fence strung on thin metal posts (not split wooden posts, as in New England), and along the fences there is a fringe of the dry, blond husks of last year’s uncut grass, with now and then a large, unaccountable sheet of wilted brown paper caught on the wire barbs. Once in a huge, immaculate field near Symerton, roughly forty-seven miles out of Chicago, I saw a rock. It was about the size and shape of a dented watermelon, but no one had bothered to move it; the parallel harrow tracks in the smooth dirt diverged to avoid it, then came together again.

Once in a while you see white roads taped across the landscape, and if they cross the track the diesel honks at them. Once in a while you see a lonely schoolhouse, usually of wood, with a flag flying briskly from a pole in front and a yellow bus standing in the grassless yard. Once in a while a field is dotted with round metal grain bins with cone-shaped roofs, looking like a battery of stumpy, unlaunchable rockets. And once in a while, too, near one of the clumps of trees, you see a white farmhouse, with red or white barns—big barns, with ventilators on their roofs looking like little barns straddling the ridgepoles of the big ones. Near the houses tall windmills stand on spindly iron legs, mostly with broken blades in their fans, and almost every farm has a gawky television antenna in the yard as tall as, or taller than, the windmill.

This is a landscape which a century ago looked to a Chicago newspaperman like “the untilled and almost untrodden pastures of God.” Standing with a group of excursionists in the middle of the rolling prairies, the reporter, Benjamin F. Taylor, felt as if he were in the center of a tremendous dish.

Not a tree nor a living thing in sight; not a sign that man had ever been an occupant of the planet . . . The great blue sky was set down exactly upon the edge of the dish, like the cover of a tureen, and there we were, pitifully belittled.

A century later the pastures of God are well-tilled and much trodden. The prairie has become, in fact, a technological landscape: subdivided by wire fences, smoothed by tractors, tied to the urban-industrial world by wires, roads, rails, and by the invisible pulses felt in the lofty antennas. The height of those antennas measures the strength of the city’s pull. As you leave St. Louis they grow taller and taller until, in central Illinois they outtop and almost outnumber the trees. As you approach Chicago they grow shorter until, when you reach the suburban landscape of supermarkets, drive-ins, and rows of little square houses with little square lawns, they need be only small, solicitous bundles of branching wire rods attached to the house chimneys.

The prairie landscape no longer belittles man. It is still vast, and you see very few people as you watch from a train window. But man’s technology has modified everything from the texture of the earth itself to the stance of the pheasants.

This landscape, through which I last traveled three years ago, came freshly to my mind as I began to assemble and revise the essays in this book. It did so, I think, because it embodies a number of the forms and patterns which seem to me to be characteristic of a civilization based as ours is upon a distinctive blend of technology and a somewhat untidy but dynamic form of democracy. And it is with some of these characteristic forms and patterns, and the indigenous energies they express, that these essays are primarily concerned.

There are other American landscapes, some of which embody forms and patterns that seem to have little in common with those of the prairies: the landscape of Maryland’s trim and cultivated Eastern Shore: the barbaric splendor of the Southwest’s mesas and canyons; the grim and powerful landscape of River Rouge; and—more like the prairies than it first appears—the New York Skyline.

The most endearing and comfortable landscape, to me, is in Vermont, where I spend the summers on a farm which lies like a large green saddle blanket on the small of the back of a mountainous ridge along the western border of the state. Eastward from the farm you can look down in the domesticated Vermont valleys of Pawlet and Dorset, with pasture clearings running well up the enclosing slopes. Westward you look out over a widening, open-ended valley where the tree-hidden village of Rupert lies, where dogs bark distantly in the evening, and where an occasional light blinks through the trees after dark. At the far, open end of the valley the D & H Railroad comes down from the north and curves westward into New York State toward the Hudson and the Susquehanna. You cannot see the trains but when the wind is right—when rain is coming—you can hear the imitation steam-whistle which the railroad, in tune with the new industrial sentimentality, has substituted for barking horns on its diesels. And beyond the valley’s open end the continent rolls gently westward through the Mohawk Valley and then invisibly onward past the Great Lakes, lifting easily across the prairies and plains. You can believe that if the atmosphere were glass-clear and the earth did not curve you could see two thirds of the way to the Pacific, for there is nothing high enough to block the view till you come to the Laramie Range and the Big Horns. Closed and friendly to the east, open and inviting to the west, it is a likable landscape.

It is, I suppose, the landscape of this eastward-and-westward-looking Vermont farm, superimposed upon the landscape of New York’s skyline, which controls the point of view from which I have looked at America. But the characteristic landscape of the America I have looked at in these essays seems to me to be the “interminable and stately prairies,” as Walt Whitman called them, ruled off by roads and fences into mathematical grid. They have become, as Whitman thought they would become, the home of “America’s distinctive ideas and distinctive realities.” They produced Abraham Lincoln and the city of Chicago—both of which are ideas as well as realities and both of which seem to me, at least, to be distinctively American.

[koala-otter]

can i get some soft modern!zukka pls 👉🏻👈🏻

anon honey, you can get whatever you like

I see a lot of fics where Sokka’s comforting and assuring Zuko, and as pointed out in this post by @nothing-more-than-hot-leaf-juice, something really great about their dynamic is the way Zuko actively appreciates and praises Sokka’s abilities when he’s fairly insecure about them

so here’s some soft modern!zukka written with that in mind 2k+ words

The ride back home is quiet except for the rain outside, because Sokka doesn’t say anything. Usually, after a party, he makes jokes about stuffy diplomats and comments extensively on the scant spread of hors d’oeuvres, but now, as Zuko watches him carefully in the back of the cab, Sokka only sits quietly with his arms crossed, his head turned to look out the window streaked with raindrops.

He is still quiet when they make it to their building in Ba Sing Se’s Middle Ring, and then when they walk up the three flights up stairs to their apartment. He doesn’t even turn on the light as he walks through the door and into the living room, pausing only to kick his shoes off on the way in. 

Zuko watches after him, flicking the light on once Sokka’s passed by in his stormy wake. He loosens his tie and leans against the open doorway of the living room as he racks his brain for something to say.

“Do you want anything to eat?” he finally asks. “There wasn’t a lot of food at the party. You must be starving.” 

“Not hungry,” Sokka replies with a huff. He sinks lower into the sofa.

Zuko widens his eyes. Something is really wrong, then. He ventures further into the living room, ready to work his subtle charms on his unsuspecting boyfriend.

“Is something wrong?” Zuko asks plainly.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Sokka says loudly. He huffs again and crosses his arms.

Zuko rubs the right side of his face before looking at Sokka once more. “You know, it’s pretty obvious when you’re in a bad mood,” he says.

Sokka gives a short, dry laugh. “Right, and you’re the king of subtlety,” he says sarcastically.

They painted the walls robin’s egg blue in the living room when they moved in because it reminded Sokka of home, and it reminded Zuko of everything but his own. The building is old, so, while the hot water never lasts long, their apartment is a vision made up of high ceilings and tall windows with original crown molding. Zuko looks at the living room walls. During the day, the way they stretch up toward the white of the molding evokes memories of blue skies dotted with curly clouds. But at night, like now, when the light fades, and the wind whistles, and the windows are barraged with rain, the walls go dark. Almost as if the room itself were overcast.

Zuko lets a breath out and leaves the room. Sokka can’t keep anything to himself for long, but he still needs time to stew. They might as well have food ready for when he finally lets it out. 

Zuko reaches the kitchen and takes his suit jacket off, draping it over the back of a chair. The rice cooker sits on the countertop, a housewarming gift from Katara, ready for use. He takes out the pot and rinses rice in it, quickly, before measuring the water up to the first knuckle of his middle finger and placing it back in the cooker. He turns around from pressing the button to find Sokka shuffling in through the doorway, pulling a chair away from the kitchen table to settle heavily there instead. Zuko refrains from commenting on how he’ll wrinkle the jacket behind him, and instead grabs a packet of Sokka’s favorite seal jerky from the pantry and brings it with him to the table. He reaches over and takes Sokka’s hand. 

“Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?” he asks.

Sokka pouts for another moment before he’s ready. 

High-pitched, and a little whiny, he erupts, “Everyone at your work thinks I’m stupid!” 

Zuko startles away before his eyes narrow and he draws closer to Sokka. “What?” he asks, disbelieving.

Sokka waves his arms helplessly in the air and throws his head back. “All those stupid lawyers and human rights dorks you work with! They think I’m an idiot.”

Zuko almost wants to laugh, but, with a glance at Sokka’s face, thinks better of it. “That doesn’t make any sense,” he instead says earnestly. “You’re the smartest person I know.”

Sokka scoffs and crosses his arms. 

“Really, Sokka,” Zuko insists. “I don’t know anyone else getting their PhD in mechanical and aerospace engineering at Ba Sing Se, the best university in the world.” 

“I do,” Sokka says, though the corner of his mouth is tugging up into something of a smug smile.

Zuko rolls his eyes. “Right, only everybody in your lab,” he deadpans. He pauses. “There’s all the other stuff, too. Like when you help me with my work. An engineer doesn’t have to be so good at economics, too.”

Zuko works as an associate expert at the United Council of Nations for Economics, Science, and Culture. He has spent many a night dragging briefings home and poring over them at the kitchen table, trying to make sense of some graph or diagram, when Sokka will take a break from his designs and calculations to glance over his shoulder.

“Whoa, Earth Kingdom agriculture’s gonna take a real hit next year,” he once said, pointing to a data point. “That’s way too big of a cabbage surplus.”

Zuko could only gape at him, and then buy Sokka the most expensive gym bag he could find when raising the point in a meeting the next day earned him a raise. 

“It’s intuitive,” Sokka says almost humbly, looking down at the kitchen table.

“If it’s intuitive to you, you could replace everyone who was at the party tonight,” Zuko replies.

Sokka's expression turns doubtful, and he bites his lip. Zuko resists the urge to kiss it.

“They were all laughing at me,” Sokka says.

Zuko tilts his head at him. “You’re funny,” he supplies hopefully. 

“I wasn’t telling any jokes,” Sokka says sadly. 

The sound of his voice wrenches at Zuko’s heart, and he barely registers it when he rises and finds himself tilting Sokka’s face up by his chin, only able to get this angle when Sokka is sitting. He bends down and kisses him. It only lasts a second, and when he pulls back, Sokka looks no less upset. Zuko is about to try to drum up some more words of comfort for him when the rice cooker starts beeping. 

Zuko smiles apologetically at Sokka and goes back to the counter, pressing the button and opening the rice cooker. A little puff of steam rises from beneath the lid and disappears on its way to the ceiling. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally says, turning around to look at Sokka and leaning his back against the counter. 

“Not your fault,” Sokka says with a shrug, though the dejection still reads clearly across his face. 

The torrent outside only seems to have gotten stronger. The wet leaves of the maple tree outside their building slap against their windows, the sound so loud and forceful, they can hear it even in the kitchen.

“Jeez,” Sokka says, shifting forward to glance back at the archway that leads to the living room, “that’s loud.”

Zuko spies the jacket behind him, and he immediately brightens.

“Here,” he says, coming over to reach into the breast pocket. Sokka looks up at him in confusion as he pulls out the folded page of a newspaper and a pen. “Take this.”

Sokka takes the paper and unfolds it carefully. His brow immediately furrows in confusion. “What am I supposed to do with a crossword?” he asks. The question almost sounds like a whine. He eyes the paper once more before looking back up at Zuko like he might have gone insane. “And one you already finished?”

Zuko shakes his head. “But I didn’t finish it,” he says excitedly. He points to an area of the grid. “Look, I couldn’t figure these three out. And when I got into work, I asked everyone, and they couldn’t figure them out either.” He smiles. “If anyone can do it, it’s you, Sokka.”

Sokka looks doubtful once more, but he lays the crossword on the table. Zuko moves back to the counter and hears the click of a pen behind him. This is a good idea, he thinks, grabbing a carton of eggs from the fridge and placing a pan on the stove. Now Sokka will be occupied while he makes dinner, and they’ll have food ready just in time for when Sokka feels better, and he has time to fry eggs just the way Sokka likes them, yolks so runny they practically bleed onto the rice, and then they can watch one of his favorite history documentaries, and they’ll curl up on the sofa and fall asleep to the sound of the rain, or if they don’t feel like sleeping—

“Done!” Sokka says.

Zuko whirls around, two eggs in his hand, still uncracked, to find Sokka grinning smugly at him. “How?” he demands, genuinely surprised. 

Sokka shrugs, the grin immovable. “Easy,” he says. Zuko puts the eggs down and goes back to the kitchen table, his hand landing on Sokka’s shoulder. Sokka grabs it as he explains, “‘A Northern delicacy’ is obviously roast duck. And then ‘failure to communicate,’ with the duck in mind, is that expression your uncle’s always saying: ‘Like a chicken talking to a duck.’ And then ‘skinny appendages?’” He looks up at Zuko before he cheers, barely able to contain himself, “Chicken legs!”

“Let me see that,” Zuko says, grabbing the paper with his free hand. He stares at it closely. A small scowl reaches his lips. “Are you kidding me? I spent a whole hour on the monorail trying to get these. I almost missed my stop! And it was just ‘roast duck’ the whole time?”

He looks up sharply when he hears Sokka laughing. 

“I mean,” Zuko starts, a blush creeping into his cheeks as he smiles awkwardly, “I told you you were smart.”

“Actually, I think you called me the smartest person you know,” Sokka corrects jokingly. 

“You are the smartest person I know,” Zuko insists. 

He keeps smiling at the scratchy characters of Sokka’s writing on the crossword next to the careful strokes of his own when he feels Sokka pulling him by the hand. Once Zuko is standing in front of him, Sokka throws his arms around his boyfriend’s middle and hugs him tightly, burying his head into Zuko’s ribs. 

“Thanks, Zuko,” he says quietly into the fabric of Zuko’s dress shirt. 

One of Zuko’s hands lands on the top of Sokka’s head, stroking his hair till he reaches the end of his wolf tail. Then, Zuko wraps his arms around Sokka’s neck and shoulders and hugs him back fiercely, protectively. 

“Love you,” he says, and he smiles when he feels Sokka nod against his chest. He rubs Sokka’s shoulders and upper back, trying to ease the tight muscle beneath his hands. “Do you think you might want something to eat now?”

Sokka pulls his face away from Zuko’s shirt to beam up at him. “I thought you’d never ask,” he says enthusiastically. 

After their easy dinner of fried eggs and seal jerky on rice, Zuko ends up being right; they go back to the living room and watch a documentary on the construction of the ancient air temples. They lie on the couch with Sokka between Zuko’s legs, his head on Zuko’s chest. The rain has stopped outside, but Zuko hardly notices with Sokka pressed against him. From this angle, he can pull the tie out of Sokka’s hair and comb his fingers through the soft, brown tresses, as well as the fuzz of his undercut, while the narrator debunks a theory that aliens teleported the building materials up the Potola Mountain Range.

“What do you think, Sokka?” Zuko whispers near his ear. “Did aliens build the air temples?”

Sokka’s response is a light snore against his chest. 

Zuko suppresses a laugh. There’s no way of getting Sokka to bed without waking him, so Zuko settles in behind him instead. He wraps one of his arms protectively around his boyfriend’s body, while the other stays in place to let his fingers keep playing with Sokka’s hair, enjoying the soft smile it coaxes onto his relaxed mouth. The clouds outside clear to make way for the nearly full moon, whose light spills through the towering windows into the apartment. The dark lifts from the room, the walls glow an otherworldly blue, and Zuko sinks beneath Sokka’s weight into the night’s quiet.

[gintokisimp]

Whatsername

short angsty fanfiction that I wrote, based on the song “Whatsername” by Green Day. I recommend to listen to that song before or while reading. 

Enjoy! Or not..

The sunset blossoms upon the clouds, replacing the light blue color of the heavens that perfectly mirrored the delicate pattern of the lone mans yukata, with a deep sky of fire. The orange gold stretched above him, reflecting in his crimson eyes that gazed into the endless depths.

Hollow, dead eyes. Half-closed as if he was tired of taking in the world around him. Wavy silver hair lined his face, slowly swaying in the light breeze of an early autumn evening. The thick fabric of his cloud white attire rested on the hard stone. A run-down wooden sword scratched over the surface as it moved, tugged in his belt under his deep breaths. The rock he was sitting on was still warm from the sunlight and his fingers welcomed the fading heat. Maple leafs in the most vibrant hues covered the surrounding ground. It was strange. The tree he was sitting beneath was the only one who shed its gown early. He was motionless, transfixed at the colorful dome above him. Was he enjoying it? No. Every day felt like a loss. With the progressing seasons, the evenings were getting shorter and colder and with each new sunset he grieved more and more. The grip of his fingers on the stone tightened as the wind around him picked up and send cold shivers down his spine. Deep in his heart he knew something, or rather someone should be here now, right beside him. Keeping him warm.

The breeze blew down the takegasa placed next to him. It took some time until he was able to tear his eyes from the red ocean above him and he looked down on the woven straw hat. The leafs were blown into it and almost covered it completely. Gintoki struggled to move his body down the rough surface. The sound of wood scratching against rocks harmed his ears and he flinched in discomfort. Bending his stiff back, he reached down for the hat and shook out the dead matter. One of the leafs was stuck between the stalks and he plucked it more carefully than he needed to. Holding the golden brown leaf between his fingers, he caught a trace of a sweet, womanly scent.

Remember

Everything reminded him of her.

The memories flooded him in regular intervals. Hurting him more and more with each repetition.

This leaf.. it reminded him of her soft Kimono snuggling around her curves. Moving gracefully with every step, gleaming softly in the sun of their last warm summer day. He visited Yoshiwara that day to help out Hinowa. At that point he already decided to leave everyone behind. He was prepared. Gintoki didn't have the heart to say no to her.

"Something up? Ya have been avoiding everyone since.. recently." Tsukuyo asked him. She awaited him in front ot the elevators after he finished his business.

"Nothing" re replied abruptly.

She simply smiled at his answer, blowing her smoke from her kiseru in his face. A warm breeze drove through her hair and carried her scent, covering the disgusting smell of the burnt ashes. Gintoki turned around and left her standing in the sun, feeling her eyes in his back.

His sword.. it reminded him of the countless times she was by his side.

His arm guards.. it reminded him of her fishnet stockings reaching up her long, perfect legs. Leading up to the high slit of her kimono, flattering her whole body.

His takegasa.. it reminded him about that one time when she was screaming in agony while he was badly wounded. This sound never left his head and pursued him ever since.

Just everything. The trees, the sky, every single thing around him.

Being alive reminded him of her.

The love incense only made it worse. It overwhelmed him so much, he even confessed to her. He played it off as the fault of the drug but he desperately suppressed everything since then.

Though he didn't realize it until he left her.

Whatever

It seems like forever ago

Forever. It really felt like forever. The days flew by so fast and yet so slow. They were separated for nearly two years and it got only worse.

He looked at his hand. He was still gently holding the leaf in between his fingers. Minutes had gone by. Black was crouching over the horizon and started to cover up the warm colors. He tried to crumble the leaf, but it was soft and kneadable in his numb fingers.

The regrets

A goodbye and farewell? He did not give it to her. He just couldn't do it. He just left her.

He didn't leave the town straight away. He prepared his lone endless journey. Buying new clothes, leaving everything familiar behind.

Edo, that cursed town that gave nothing to him. Back then he didn't realize how wrong he was. He was not preparing his mission. He was delaying his escape. His escape from everyone.

The feeling of being loved had become too much for him, especially coming from her. She never told him about her feelings, but he was too stupid to realize it sooner. His longing, growing feelings for her, made him weak. What if he lost everything again. He would not be able to recover from that. It was easier to leave everything behind and die alone. Alone with the guilt that was eating him alive.

Gintoki rembered the last time seeing her. He could never forget it. This memory was burnt into his eyes, worse than the sun leaving its trace while staring directly into it. They neither talked, nor had she seen him. On his way through the busy street, his takegasa hiding his face, he heard Shinpachis voice, whom he had avoided in the last days. Fleeing into a small alley, he noticed him leaning on a wall talking to.. her. Observing her from under the shadows, his heart was beating painfully. He knew he would never see her again and his body didn't comply with that. He felt his limbs weakening, forcing him to sit down in the dirt. Resting his face in his hands, he heard one sentence from Shinpachi.

"He's gone."

In his memories, the last glimpse of her face through his fingers was the most beautiful and heartbreaking sight he had ever seen.

She had tears in her eyes.

Gintoki stumbled away, clouded sight, deeper into the alley, farther away from her.

Are useless in my mind

She's in my head

Love is painful. Oh and how painful it was. Emotional pain is the worst thing in this entire universe. You can't take any medicine. It takes years to recover, if you recover at all. Each passing day since then dragged him down further and further.

Love is supposed to be symbiotic, not parasitic. But this loves dissolved him from the inside, leaving an empty shell gazing at the heavens.

I want to feel something again. Anything. Gintoki didn't stray far away from this rock for days. He couldn't feel hunger nor physical pain from his inconvenient resting situation. He wanted to feel it. But it could not get through. He only felt pain.

His mind told him, separation from her would take care of his emotions, but it was wrong. The pain of separation seeped into his bones, rendering him immobile for longer and longer terms each passing day.

But It will get better. I'll be okay. Give it time.

Time.

I must confess

He loved her. The burning pain will eventually take over parts of his brain, turning him emotionless.

It was too late. It was over.

Dusk was replaced by the gloomy night. The breeze cooled his skin as his eyes drifted back to the sky, caught by the infinite pattern of the gleaming lights. Stargazing, his head fell in his neck. Bathed in the light of the invisible sun, the full moon 月 was an even more beautiful poem 詠 than he remembered it from last night, composing a song with the pathetic little dots around him.

The moon.

A single tear ran down his cheek.

And in the darkest night

If my memory serves me right

I'll never turn back time

Forgetting you but not the time

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Wednesday 11 September 1839

3 ¼

11

F61 ½° at 4 ¼ am much rain in the night and sandy road .:. 6 horse off at 5 6/.. at Kyrkstad at 6 55/.. I hot and much bit in the night

K- to Bolstad 14 w.

Njölbolstad 13 w.

Helsingfors 68 w.

St. P- 480 w.

the woman had not been able to get us any Swedish money .:. agreed that she should take a 10 Rubel bill and be answerable for 6r. for the horses and take 4 towards her own bill and I paid her (at the rate 40sk. rigs per rubel) for the 2 remaining rubels

7 eight sk. banco notes i.e. 1.5.4+0.2.8 given over – very civil good tempered looking woman – much pleased we were so satisfied – remembered Handbook and his friend very well – said they had given her a small bit of money which she kept for their sake – I happening to have my 3 silver ½ dollar banco silver pieces in my pocket gave her one of them (that has a hole thro’ it) and desired her to keep it for I should ask to see it again sometime – Better rooms and house at Keala [Kealanoja]  last night but better eating here – Rain again and off in the rain at 5 6/.. – I slept most of the way – all forest till 6 55/.. when fine and sunny, and stopt to change horses /4 again) at some distance from the station house (did not even see it) near a small cottage where the red square headed mile post is set up – I got out for a few minutes very usefully the village must be near the station house on our left – scattered farms and cottages about – a pretty opening – very pretty country – wide winding wooded hill enclosed valley – a bit of forest again (young wood) in about hour+ - but good road – sandy land – but the road hard gravel like an English park road about 12ft. wide as usual, but sometimes less nice country all along to Bolstad at 8 ½ - stopt again in the road so[me] distance (left) 200 or 300 yards from the station house – walked to it – to see the direction post – could not find one – poor place – I think we could not well sleep there – the people 2 or 3 men and a woman

SH:7/ML/TR/13/0030

September Wednesday 11 at breakfast a little fish (apparently salted?) and boiled potatoes 2 rigs dollars a ton dearer here than at Stockholm – at last it was agreed that the woman should pay for our 4 horses from here 15 ½ w. to Everby [Ofverby] = 3.72 and the young man (her son?) gave me two 20kop. notes + one 75 kop. + two two-kop. copy pieces + two ½ sk. banco pieces for 4kop. = 5 Rubel – 5 kop. no wonder Handbook complained of their accommodation for the night – that is not the place to stop at – all Finnish commerce with Stockholm .:. all their money payments among themselves are in Swedish money but they are obliged to pay the taxe for posting in Russian money .:. are obliged to receive it for their horses – their wood (salmon) butter all goes to Stockholm but now they have the douane to pay = 2 rigs dollars per 60lbs. and being obliged to sell their butter at the Swedish price as they did before without duty they of course now lose this – and so equally the whole of the duties paid by them to Sweden is now a loss to them – the village of Bolstad not apparently very near the station – nice country – off from B- at 9 2/.. and at 9 ½ pretty lake and unpainted cottages and hamlets dotted here and there – green basin valley and lake and rounded wooded hills – in about 10 minutes more or ¼ hour come down upon the water wood bridge and cross it at one end where it looks river like – very pretty hereabouts rock and wood and water and villages and farms or cottages – a good deal of wind which curly the water – corn cocks as yesterday but now 9 ¾ it is rye – steep pitch up from the bridge and sandy road – at 10 ¼ moss-rocky forest – uphill and our horses hardish passed – all along sandy – pretty country – very pretty drive – at 10 50/.. at next stage to Finns 12 ½ w.

Helsingfors 39 and St. P- 451 w.

Öfverby (pronounced Everby) – small unpainted house – but probably might sleep tho’ not good - but the woman a decent woman – off at 11 – cocks of corn out here – rye I think – very pretty – rocky wooded hills and scattered unpainted little cottages and so red – the village of Ofverby (its neat little church at the foot of the hill just beyond the station) seems

September Wednesday 11 seems widely scattered in patches – winding pretty valley – round hilly and rather sandy – in ¼ hour (11 ¼) foresty again – several of the bare rocks today very white – all granite

the Fins a stupid looking people – here and there a red house but the red seems to bespeak a certain degree of [afflict] – the being better off than common – and here as in N. and S- the [?] (contamine) is growing as a weed among the rocks – we have not seen it as weed elsewhere because the land kept too clean – no weeds seen – now at 11 50/.. another wooded pretty lake right – and A- and I have just had a little of our Keala [Kealanoja] coq du bois that we brought away in paper – very good – many hamlets scattered about today – the country today seems more populous than yesterday? – at Finns at 12 13/..  

to Grahn 14 ½ w.

Helsingfors 26 ½ w.

St. P- 438 ½ w.

might sleep but not perhaps good place for it tho’ the civil woman came to say she could change a 5 Rubel note

nice open country about here wooded in the distance – 2 or 3 cottages near the station house – and large village or two of unpainted houses little distance (left) – rather pitchy last stage and at = off at 12 34/.. from Finns out with a steepitsh pitch from here and then pass thro’ a few houses and over 3 [?] bridges the unpainted cottages very picturesque dotted all round about interspersed  with patches of fir wood and wooded hill and well cultivated vale – now at 12 ¾ a little sun forest light – little pretty vale just below us right green rye and corn in cock (probably rye) not much oats grown in Finland? cottages or barns dotted up and down – fine foresty peopled drive this stage at 1 ¼ unpainted village in the widish basin vale little distance left of road and good yellow house and one or 2 red houses near – all looks well hereabouts – and slow at 1 20/.. descending and at the bottom of hill another pretty little lake near (left) – the openings and rounded dark pine wooded hills very picturesque – much mammelonné [mamelonné] rocky hill and bare and moss covered rock and boulder in our forest and sandy road now at 1 1/2 – here and everywhere much more Scotch fir than Spruce – this forest now at 1 ¾ the best as to size of trees (but none large) we have passed thro’ -

SH:7/ML/TR/13/0031

September Wednesday 11 in Finland – it opens out and we stop at Grahn at 1 57/.. nice little single house on a little [eminence], looking dry and comfortable – I should suppose one might sleep there as well as at Nyby or better? – the wide valley on plain studded with houses, farms, barns – the proportion of red increasing as if to denote our approach to the capital Helsingfors 12w. distance – large [?] beautiful lengthy finely wooded wooded island lake right sweeping along the wide valley – road hilly but tho’ rather sandy, good – forest covered rock alongside (left) – have written, or rubbed out pencilling, or read Handbook (article St. Petersburg) all this morning except added up the whole but 1 or 2 pp. of the Swedish account – since leaving Götheborg [Gothenburg] It seems (vide p. 174. 2nd vol.) that our pastor on board the steamer was M. Edouard de Moralt minster of the reformed church at St. P- and ‘the learned editor of an edition of Minuties’ Felix’ – probably Handbook knows him and sent him his book en cadeau? now at 2 20/.. road very sandy in the forest – at 2 40/.. gentleman’s house right – very pretty – a company of soldiers pass us – forest and break – very pretty – at 2 ¾ pass (close) broad shallow lake – at 2 55/.. Helsingfors church in sight – whitewashed like several other large neighbour buildings – church a fine object – fine looking town with its beautiful fjord – forest and break till now 2 55/.. that we emerge to bare Götheborg-like [Gothenburg] scantly wooded rocky hill – and gardens and houses marking our approach to the capital – at 3 at the water – beautiful view – cross good wood bridge – and at 3 ¼ at the Hotel du Nord – the fine dressed woman who came to us could do nothing – must wait for mademoiselle how should we stay – there was a room au 3me – I got tired of this work and drove off to the society’s house fronting the harbour – settled

September Wednesday 11 there very comfortably at 3 ½ - 2 nice rooms and lodging for the servants at 6 rubels a day – au 3me? but good – ordered dinner at 6 ½ and A- and I out at 4 10/.. – took John – to the botanic garden –

Stymphoricarpus [symphoricarpos] racemosus (snowberry bush) in flower

Vïburnum [Viburnum] Lentago a little like prunus padus but with broader leaf

V- dentatum (leaf something between the hazel and syringa leaf?)

Lonicera caprifolia [caprifolium] (as called by the gardener) the shrub I observed at Åbo with a little orange coloured berry, looking a [specie] of honeysuckle

Populus canescens (white abele)

P. cardifolia

Delphinium.  several specie large beautiful blue flower – a little in the style of aconite – have often seen it in a pot in the window in these northern parts

Lythrum, several specie pretty pink flower in spikes 6 or 8 inch long – narrow leaf – would be pretty (to give colour) at Shibden and hardy enough -  

Asclepias incarata [incarnata] (in flower – pinkish – pretty would do at Shibden)

Phlox several specie pretty little genus-pink and white – in flower like a smooth sweet William – 6 petal flower – the white very common in England gardens

Borago officinalis – pretty blue flower – 5 petals woolly stern and leaves – whatever will do well out of doors here, would do at Shibden – much wind today must be very cold, and exposed in winter – the garden garden divided into small compartments for the flowers, and sheltered by hedges the tall ones of lilac, and acacia, and Norway maple and the low ones of Spiraea calcifolia [salicifolia] – try this hedging plan at Shibden with along the middle a hedge of Spruce firs – or Sycamores? a very pretty hardy looking mespilus? or [?]? with clusters of hawthorn-like (but larger) red haws – Inquire for this –

In returning about 5 ¾ set John at liberty and A- and I sauntered into and about the handsome new not finished church – a Greek cross with 4 Corinthian porticos and pediments – then stood some while listening to the military band and came in at 6 ½ - dinner at 6 ¾ soup, mutton cutlets, sort of

SH:7/ML/TR/13/0032

September Wednesday 11

sweet omlet, and afterwards a sort of roll pancaky thing for dessert – no mead now – too late in the season – had plenty in the summer - .:. had each 2 cups of coffee – then siding had Grotza – then wrote the last page till now 10pm. very fine day – a good deal of wind all day but this afternoon particularly, and particularly here – a very handsome town – fine day F61 ½° now at 10 ½ pm

[blackswallowtailbutterfly]

Smoothie Ideas

Unasked for, but liked by some! If I had access to all of these (and under responsible circumstances) and a good amount of space to work with as well as room in a freezer, and a good blender/food processor, this is what I would do. All plant parts in equal amounts. Plus plain yogurt and silky tofu for texture. And honey, tulip tree nectar, and syrups of sugar maple, boxelder maple, red maple, black maple, silver maple, mountain maple, swamp maple, yellow birch, sweet birch, water birch, paper birch, gray birch, bog birch, butternut, black walnut, American sycamore, basswood, silver linden, green alder, mountain alder, American elm, slippery elm, and rock elm for added sweetness.

Canada Day smoothie

honey: summer

American chestnut

American ginseng

aster petals: fringed blue heart-leaved New England panicled smooth

avens roots: purple prairie smok white yellow

bayberry fruits and leaves: northern sweet gale

beebalm flowers: horsemint scarlet wild bergamot

blackberries and raspberries: Allegheny blackberry American red raspberry arctic raspberry black raspberry blue raspberry Canadian blackberry cloudberry common dewberry dewberry glandstem blackberry leafy-bracted blackberry loganberry Pennsylvania blackberry purple-flowering raspberry salmonberry setose blackberry sphagnum dewberry swamp dewberry thimbleberry trailing raspberry

bluebells: tall Virginia

blueberries and cranberries: bog bilberry common blueberry deerberry highbush blueberry hillside blueberry large cranberry lingonberry lowbush blueberry small cranberry

Canada buffaloberry

Canada ginger root

Canada yew berry

cattail hearts: broadleaf narrowleaf

cherries and plums: American plum Canada plum black cherry chokecherry pin cherry sand cherry

chokeberries: black red

columbine flowers: Canada smallflower

common hop

common yarrow flower and leaf

cow parsnip stalk

cranesbill flowers: herb robert wild geranium

crowberry

cucumber tree flower

currants and gooseberries: American blackcurrant American gooseberry Canadian gooseberry golden currant northern blackcurrant northern redcurrant prickly gooseberry skunk currant

dogwood fruits:

blue-fruited bunchberry flowering gray red osier

eastern hemlock tip

eastern white cedar tip

elderberries: American red common

false Solomon’s seal berries: Canada mayflower false Solomon’s seal starry false Solomon’s seal

fireweed

fleshy dandelion flower

forget-me-not flowers: largeseed smallflower spring

goldenrod flowers: Canada gray prairie sticky

goldenseal

greenbrier berries: blue ridge carrionflower bristly common Illinois smooth carrionflower upright carrionflower

groundcherries: clammy common Virginia

hackberries: dwarf hackberry hackberry

haws: cockspur fireberry dotted downy

hazelnuts: American beaked

hickory nuts: bitternut pignut shagbark shellbark

honey locust pod pulp

honeysuckle fruits and flowers: black twinberry Canadian fly haskap mountain fly

hyssops: anise purple giant

Jack-in-the-pulpit berry

juniper berries: common creeping eastern

Kentucky coffee tree pod pulp

kinnikinnick berry

lily flowers: Canada Michigan wood

linden flowers: basswood silver

maple blossoms and seeds: black boxelder mountain red silver sugar swamp

mayapple

milkweed pods and flowers: butterflyweed common fourleaf green comet oval leaf poke prairie purple redring swamp tall green whorled

mints: Canada peppermint wild

mountain woodsorrel flower, leaf, and fruit

Oregon grapes: creeping Oregon grape

partridgeberry

pawpaw fruit

pine tips and young cones: eastern white jack pitch ponderosa red

pokeweed berry juice

prickly cucumber juice

prickly pears: fragile devil’s tongue

ramps flower

red mulberry

redbud flower

riverbank grape

robin runaway flower

rose mallow flowers: Halberd-leaf swamp

rose petals and hips: climbing wild pasture prairie prickly wild shining smooth swamp Virginia woods’

roughfruit fairybells berry

sarsaparillas: American spikenard bristly wild

sassafras

serviceberries: Allegheny Bartram juneberry Canadian downy inland low shadbush pigeonberry roundleaf saskatoon

silverberry

snowberries: coralberry snowberry western

spicebush

spruce tips and young cones: black red white

stinging nettle top

strawberries: Virginia woodland

sumac berries: fragrant shining smooth staghorn

sunflower petals, tubers, and seeds: cheerful giant narrowleaf Nuttall’s pale-leaf stiff sunchoke woodland

sweet crabapple fruit and blossom

sweetfern leaves

sweetgrass

tamarack tip

twisted stalk berries: rose twisted stalk watermelonberry

unicorn root

viburnum berries: arrowwood highbush cranberry mapleleaf nannyberry snowball tree squashberry witch’s hobble-bush witherod

violets: arrowleaf bird’s foot Canada crow-foot downy yellow early blue Labrador long-spurred marsh marsh blue New England blue northern bog northern woodland small white sweet white wood

Virginia creeper berry pulp

walnuts: black butternut

wild savoury and wild basil leaves

wild yam

wintergreens: American creeping snowberry

witch-hazel

[wild-aloof-rebel]

they’ve been getting their regular deliveries at the house instead of the store, not wanting to miss any orders of critical items if alice, their mail carrier, can’t make it by during their drastically reduced hours. so when a package arrives addressed to david, care of rose apothecary, patrick thinks nothing of opening it up, ready to add the inventory to the spreadsheet he already has pulled up. there’s a stack of masks inside, far fewer than the amount tim has been sending them the last few weeks, and patrick briefly wonders if he’s running low on fabric and what that will mean for their customers. a note lands on the kitchen counter as he tips the stack of them out of the padded envelope. david, it says, i did as best i could to match your requests. hope you and patrick like them. all the best! - tim 

he hadn’t known that david had requested anything from tim aside from their usual order, and it’s only when he thumbs through the pile of fabric that he  realizes david must have custom ordered these masks specifically for the two of them. there are a few in solid black that are clearly for david, a few blues and greens, both solid and subtly patterned, that must be for patrick. but there are others too. a rich brocade in black and white with a subtle metallic sheen. a grey with finely-detailed white gingko leaves. a black with what at first appears to be polka dots but on closer inspection is actually tiny hearts in the subtlest of pastels. and then there’s one covered in maple leafs logos, too. another in baseballs. one that looks so close to the navy plaid of patrick’s favorite childhood blanket that he isn’t sure david hadn’t somehow reached back through time to rescue it. and at the bottom of the stack, two matching masks, a soft ivory, embroidered on one side with a black logo patrick knows like the back of his own hand.

[daydreamingabouthockey]

Somewhere in Stockholm Chapter 2

Word count:1,775

Masterlist.

Chapter 1

Note: chapter 2 of Somewhere in Stockholm sorry this took awhile. I’m refreshed I took a holiday to Stockholm so I have some new inspiration. Ft Alex Nylander (sorry about the weird formatting I’m trying to fix it atm)

Maggie stood outside a yellow painted apartment block on a deserted quiet street. She stared at the buzzers until she found the one labelled Altelius . A small buzzer sounded, She pushed the door and found herself in a small but grand hallway with a large chandelier and a grand staircase. Damn this was fancy and this was his second home where he only came in the off season?

She hauled her suitcase up the flights of stairs Stopping on the fourth floor and a white doors with the numbers ninety written on it, she knocked on the door and waited. It was opened by a young blonde boy, he had a half asleep expression on his face, wearing only a pair of sweatpants and was mid way through brushing his teeth. “Hi, i’m Maggie?” she said unsure.

“Sorry wrong flat” he said or at least that is what she thought he said before slamming the door in her face.Maggie stood there stunned for a moment unsure what to think apart from she must have been at the wrong place, but Will had definitely text her flat ninety. She knocked again. This time she could hear from inside the flat two boys arguing in Swedish. The door eventually opened again but this time, a different blonde answered the door and Maggie swore her heart skipped a beat. This guy was handsome, tall, Blue eyes a flow of long blonde hair and was naked from the waist up and from what she could see this guy was ripped. Suddenly she understood Morgan’s warning. Oh boy she was in trouble. “Hi I’m Maggie,” She said a little unsure. Her cheeks burning. “Ah Maggie, Mo’s erm friend, hi,I’m Willy ” he said pulling her in for a hug and Maggie had never felt more awkward. Why had he said friend like that? Also she was hugging a topless stranger in a hallway and damn how ripped what this dude? “Come in,” he said grinning, he grabbing her suitcase and pulling it in.“You don’t have to do that, its ok, it’s kind of heavy,” she said trying to pull it off him but in the process losing the tug of war, I mean duh, he was a pro athlete. “It’s okay, hey Alex come say hey,” he yelled out. The younger boy from earlier returned into the hallway still only wearing his sweatpants. What was up with these boys? Was wearing clothes optional or something? If so she was not going to complain. “Eh?” the younger boy Alex asked.“We have a guest young Nylander,”Will said hitting his brother over the head. Alex turned to stare at Maggie “Oh hi, sorry I erm slammed the door in your face,” he said and she got the feeling Alex Nylander didn’t like her very much. “Its okay,” she spluttered still distracted by the two blondes. She could feel her cheeks flushing. “We’ve had a couple of fans turn up to our flat recently, so now we’re a bit wary,hence the name change on the buzzer to Altelius instead of Nylander,”. “Oh wow, people really do that,” “Yeah, I had a grandma chase me down the road last week,” Will joked at least she thought he was. She really couldn’t tell.“So you can take my room it’s just through here,” Will said pointing to the door “Oh,”. “Something wrong?” He asked running his hands through his hair. Something she found very distracting. “I mean I know Morgan said your a bit of a charmer but I think you got me a bit wrong,I can’t share a bed, with you I don’t know you and” Maggie blabbered nervously . He stopped her and laughed “Chill Maggie, I’ll sleep on the sofa, I’m not trying to, wait what did Mo say about me?” He asked with a cheeky grin and a laugh. “Oh nothing,” she said suddenly turning red as a tomato. He gave her the full tour of the place, kitchen, living room, a swish bathroom which was all in true scandivanian style and looked like it had come straight out of an ikea catalogue. He showed her Alex’s room which looked chaotic. Clothes all overspilling from his suitcase and cans of red bull dotted around any available surface, papers haphazardly piled on the desk in the corner.When Maggie was finally led into William’s room she was surprised at the contrast of the two brother’s rooms. She surveyed the room around her, double bed with grey sheets, a bedside cabinet, the room was clean and sparse like no-one really lived in this room apart from a few personal items. A blue maple leafs duffle bag identical to the one, she had seen at Morgan’s place. Beside the bed was a photo of she assumed his family given they all looked identical, blonde hair blue eyed, mum, sisters, Alex and a bald man who he guessed must of been his dad. Apart from that the room didn’t seem very lived in. Maggie flopped down on the bed, picking up her phone to text her family to let them all know she was safe.

To: Mom

From: Maggie

Hey Mom just telling you know, I arrived in Stockholm. I’ll call you in a couple of days love you! M x

Then she quickly typed out a message to Morgan.

To: Mo Bro

From: Maggie

Made it safely to Willy’s of course I’ve embarrassed myself already. Also does erm Willy think clothes are something optional?

Her phone pinged back immediately.

To: Maggie

From: Mo Bro

Oh no what did you do? I forgot to warn you about that, he is very liberal with clothing must be a European thing. He walks around half naked at lot at the rink. You get used to it. X

She was pulled out of her daze by Will wandering into the room, who was thankfully now wearing a t-shirt. “Hey,” he said smiling widely “So i’m not sure if you had anything planned whilst you were here but me and Alex were going to and watch the Eurovision later, if you want to come, there doing this big event in Kungsträdgården Park” Willy asked sitting down on the bed. “Sure I’ve never seen the eurovision before,”

“Your in for a treat then,” he said and she could have sworn he winked at her. Was William Nylander flirting with her? She sat on the bed, she had only just met this guy. She had met a fair few hockey boys growing up and being friends with one and she had sworn off dating hockey players after learning the hard way with Leo Mustang the star player for the Giants in Vancouver. She had met him through Morgan and despite his warning she had dated him anyway something which backfired massively on her later when he brutally dumped her for a hotter skinner blonde girl at a party in front of all of his friends. The only saving grace was that Morgan had been there to pick her up and defend her. Like the true best friend he was. He hadn’t ever once told her I told you so even though she knew he was thinking it. She loved Morgan for that. An hour later Maggie had showered, power nap and was ready to go out on a new adventure. William effortlessly weaved through the winding streets of the buildings were coloured white, yellows and reds. Maggie looked around in joy. There was nothing like this at home. This place was beautiful. “I don’t understand the deal with this Eurovision,” she sighed putting another mouthful of strawberry ice cream in her mouth. They had stopped off at what Alex had described as the best ice cream in Stockholm. “I didn’t either at first when I moved here from Canada, it’s weird, countries singing weird songs and perform in the strangest outfits then everyone gets angry when neighbouring countries vote for each other, for us it’s a night we watch tv and get drunk, it’s just even more hyped up this year because it’s in our city,”

“Ah well it sounds like fun so, Mo said you live out in Sweden during the off season you live here all the time you are here?”

“Some of the time, I spend a lot of time at my parents, this is just mine and Alex’s place,”

“Oh wow it’s so nice,” she said, nodding. In Seattle, she shared a tiny apartment with her best friend Molly and her boyfriend, Brad. She had become excellent at being third wheel to them. She could only dream of owning her own place.“So how did you meet Morgan? I thought a pretty girl like you he’s been showing you off?”

“Oh I live in Seattle but me and Morgs go way back we met at school in Couver,”

“Ah makes sense,” she said blushing.

“What brings you to Sweden apart from you know meeting me?” He asked with a playful grin. She laughed and pushed Willy.

“I’m interrailing around Europe,”

“And Mo didn’t want to come?”

“Nah he’d rather sit on his butt, see Maggie, his dog, play golf and go fishing,”

“Wait he named his dog after you?”

“Yeah well, he refuses to admit it,” she said with a shrug.

“So when he’s talking about Maggie,” he said, his eyes suddenly lighting up like it makes sense. “He was talking about you and not the dog?”

“Yes,” she said bursting out into laughter.

“That makes a lot more sense I wondered why he told me me and Maggie got dressed up and went for dinner,” he shrugged. “Did you have a bath with him?”

“Ew no” Maggie said with a laugh “that one was the dog,that is weird, I would never shower with him,”wrinkling her nose as she laughed.

“You and Morgan aren’t?” He asked his tilting head.

“God no he’s my best friend,”

“Oh okay good, I mean not good cool,” he said blushing and running through his hands through his hair again and awkwardly laughing. The pair went silent for a moment until Alex suddenly said goodbye turning to walk away.

“Where is he going? Are we not..” she trailed pointing to Alex walking up the hill

“Oh Alex is going to meet some of his friends, I said we’d meet back later, but I was thinking you might be hungry?”

It was that moment when Maggie’s stomach had decided to loudly gurgle. “Well I think that settles it and I know just the place,” he said with a wide grin.

[demethinkstoomuch]

Deme Rates Villagers: Cubs

It’s Bears, but Smaller!

(Why didn’t I lump Bears and Cubs the way I did Cows and Bulls? Because there are a fair number of them, I think.)

I have also realized that, rather than a numerical rating, an emoticon rating might be better. I may do numbers from time to time, and so likely will not go back for the others. There will not be a scale, but a broad expression of my feelings. Or a mimic of their faces. Or a comment. Sometimes.

Disclaimer: Images are from the wiki, all good dogs, my ratings are mainly just there because “Deme gives her abstract thoughts on villagers” is hardly a catchy thing.

Aisle

Another Animal Forest E+ exclusive, another villager that looks like they came out of a Rare game like Banjo-Kazooie or Conker’s Bad Fur Day, even though this one doesn’t feature any exact equivolents. On the whole, I think the high contrast between the blue fur and the tuft of blond hair is a bad look, but the big blue eyes being sort of heavy-lidded and dour’s kind of cute.

Rating: :|

Barold

Barold is great. Like, I don’t entirely know what they’re going for with him -- he vaguely suggests either Fred Flinstone or an IT guy in my head -- but I love it either way.  (Fred Flinstone: 5 o’ clock shadow, shirt. IT Guy: Eeyes have kind of a glasses shape, beard).  He’s oozing with character, albeit a strange character, and do I detect little white pawsies? I do!

Rating: B’|

Bluebear

She’s a bear! She’s blue! She’s got a little white and a little pink, which gives her a nicely over-all pastel look. I like the darker blue (Fire Emblem Lord Blue, perhaps?) hair on her. She is just cute.

Rating: :)

Cheri

Another colorful bear cub, this one, pink! I like her, she’s sassy. Nice eyebrows that pair with her eyes to give her an impression of moxie that’s still quite cute. Hair is spiky, which adds to that. She’s peppy, which means that by peppy standards, she’s pretty edgy, in a weird, pink little bear way. Either way, she’s rather cute.

Rating: :]

Chester

Man, what do the Animal Crossing devs have against just letting pandas be cute? Chow, Chester... They’re both just sort of weird in a way that I find, funnily enough, more unsettling or dull than charming. Long pupils are not friend-shaped; if they leaned into the creepy, like with a goat, that would be one thing, but it rather spoils Chester. The sad-looking mouth could be cute, but it’s a bit big for that. Almost there, Chester, but just not.

Rating: :(

Cupcake

So, Cupcake is kind of Cheri, but with a half-hearted snootification effort via heavy-lidded eyeshadow eyes. Meh.

Rating: :[ (Like Cheri, but worse.)

Judy

A New Horizons new villager, and Judy is sure an aesthetic! The pastel gradients, the enormous sparkly eyes with the big shojou lashes, she just screams that she belongs in a gothic lolita girl’s arms during a photoshoot. Get this bear a lace-up dress. She could be an extra Hello Kitty collab character or something. I’m not actually a huge fan of Judy, but I cannot possibly deny that she is wonderfully what she is, and so while the agressively UWU quality to her isn’t for me, but I can’t help but applaud it. Dedication! Also, I like the subtler blush. It works.

Rating:  (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

June

June is maaaybe my favorite cub, she’s just simple and pleasant-looking, without being a pastel screaming-fest, Her colorscheme and implied heavy fringe has a sort of... Like, it makes her big blue eyes and over-all cuteness read “girl next door,” sort of an ordinary, natural cute. And then you add the cute big hibiscus for a little pop that contrasts with her eyes. It’s just a real cute look. I’d probably, though, if I were to consider adopting her, check to make sure her eyes aren’t super weird when you look at them from other angles. It’s a bad fate to befall a villager.

Rating:  (◕‿◕✿) (Babe, hold my flower)

Kody

Hey, look, it’s one of my starter New Leaf villagers! Kody was the last of my first villagers to move out, too, sticking around for quite a while indeed. His departure left a hole that Clyde entered through via someone’s void, and I was not happy about that. As a result, I feel fonder of Kody than I would otherwise, since otherwise, he’s just, you know, a blue bear with a darker blue spot, like many animals that are just like that except not bears. It can be charming with the right face, but there’s nothing particularly noteworthy about his face. It’s just Kody. There he is. Old chum.

Rating:  ˅ u ˅ Ah, the memories...

Maple

Awwww, look at her! She’s just precious, very simple, with implied floofy bangs and bright little dot eyes. Even the pink sticker blush works better with her colors than I see in a lot of places. If June didn’t have her flowers, maybe I’d be here saying Maple’s my favorite. Maybe Maple is my favorite, I don’t know. She feels like angelfood cake, you, know? Light, pleasant, sweet...Though, admittedly, not especially flavorful.  She’s just cute as she is.

Rating:  ‘ ◕  w ◕ ‘

Marty

Ah, a Sanrio villager! ...Not one of the cuter ones, really. Looks sort of like a honey jar bear to me, which is, I suppose, something. His eyebrows have an unassuming quality, like he’s just a normal guy.

Rating: Normal Guy / Guys

Murphy

Remember everything I said about Kody? Yeah, still true about Murphy. His coloring is just sort of “spotted bear,” now in green. But! He does have big square eyebrows and big square eyes, which give him a bit of extra character, reliably and kinda sleepy. A good face.

Rating = w = (A good thing, I promise.)

Olive

Olive is a villager I’ve heard compared to Maple a lot -- it’s the shirt, I suppose, but really, more than that. Her color scheme is also pretty naturalistic and grounded, she has a cute bang outline. She doesn’t push the cute as hard, but that might make her more comfortable, less out-and-out cutesy to folks. That said, her eyes just have that quality I found with the birds, where something about them, paired with the surprised eyebrows, that feels kinda blank, like they reveal nothing. Staring. These eyes have seen too much. But she’s still pretty cute, won’t lie.

Rating: O-O

Pekoe

Aww, isn’t she cute? This screenshot makes her look more cream-colored than I’m used to thinking of her as, a dramatic bonus to her over-all level of adorable. Pekoe’s use of ears to suggest little covered hair-buns is pretty flavorful; it makes me wonder if they almost wanted to make a cute, very on-theme panda, and then decided “No, let’s just make her a white bear, good enough.”  Still, her face is cute, too, with a distinct set of eyes carrying through the same sort of design sensibilities as her hair and ears/buns, intensely stylized. It’s a nice look.

Rating: :)

Poko

What is with the shape of his head? You all see that, right, where his head is a totally different, longer, shape? Why? What does it mean? Is it meant to be like a mask? If it were meant to be a long mask, that’d be cool. I don’t think it is? It’s a mystery that he would need another appearance to solve, and that’s not happening.

Rating: ? :/

Poncho

Poncho’s cute. He’s basically just blue Olive, though the bangs are less fwooshy. Still, I find him a bit cuter than Olive, because the oval eyes sort of soften the effect of round on round on round that looks strange and staring; this is a bit more cartoony and cute. That’s about it from me. Pretty cute.

Rating: 0 ˅ 0

Pudge

Oh, Pudge looks so sad and alone! I want to hug and protect him! I’ve checked other screenshots, that’s just how Pudge’s face is, and it’s so precious! I do not get the freen on the ears and tip of tail, though. I do not understand why this is a thing, and I cannot say I approve of it. It’s kind of a distracting negative among this otherwise adorable design of a baby I just want to protect!

Rating: (> ‘ . ’)> Come here and let me hug you!

Stitches

OK, so, maybe if it’s not June or Maple, maybe Stitches is best cub. Certainly, he’s the most thematically strong, with this adorable patchwork teddybear design! His eyes evoke a really cute version of his name, little stitches. Just adorable and aesthetically on-point and I’m really happy to see him. I could see him with a place on my island, if I only didn’t have too many villagers I could see with a place.

Rating :D or, alternatively, XwX just for him.

Tammy

Oh, it’s almost all the things I dislike in a villager design. Random colors without real cohesion or purpose, just “well, this is a colorful animal” that clash with other randomly-selected colors (orange blush, deep rose eyeshadow, pale pink inner ears, white muzzle/paws, brown bangs) with eyeshadowed eyes to say “Hey this is a snooty” without going all-in for glamor-comedy? I think we’ve hit bingo. Funnily enough, I think this might be my least-favorite cub.

Rating: :(

Vladimir

Vladimir is ugly with dedication. Vladimir is ugly with a passion. Vladimir is ugly with soul and purpose. Buck teeth and that flatly furrowed, thin, no-brow-unibrow! Those awful bangs! Truly, Vladimir is an artist’s study in ugly-cute. I can’t say that it works to vaunt him into a villager I’d really love to have around, but I can profoundly respect him.

Rating:    ಠ ῳ ಠ

The cubs are good, in conclusion. A good mix of aesthetics, and at least 3 I rather like, which is a good number. Also, I got to whip out some Japanese emoticons, and isn’t that important?

[blackphoenixalchemylab]

Halloween 2018 Perfume Blends

Calling all witches, hags, demons, goat-lovers, and assorted tricksters! 

We've truly outdone ourselves with the Halloween 2018 collection, exploring strange new depths in diablerie as well as perfumerie. In addition to many classic treats, we've also got a spooky Chaos Theory, a timely Poe tale storyboarded in scent, a pile of Dead Leaves, a ribald new series of blends inspired by goats in classical art, and more! Never fear -- Trading Post's hair gloss and atmosphere sprays will be coming soon! 

You’ll find the full compendium of Halloween scent descriptions below, but BEWARE... You may find more thrills than e'er you bargained for.!

++ HALLOWEEN 2018

ALL SOULS A day of remembrance and intercession. Without the prayers and sacrifices of their families and loved ones, the faithful departed may not be cleansed of their venal sins, and thereby cannot attain beatific vision. On November 2nd, prayers are sung and offerings are made to aid lost souls in transcending purgatory. An incense blend that invokes the higher qualities of mercy and compassion, mingled with the soft, sugared currant scent of offertory soul cakes.

BLUE GHOST BLUES I feel myself sinkin' down I feel myself sinkin' down My body is freezin' I feel something cold creepin' around

My windows is rattlin' My doorknob turnin' round an' round My windows is rattlin' My doorknob turnin' round an' round This haunted house blues is killin' me I feel myself sinkin' down

I been fastin' in this haunted house Six long months today I been fastin' in this haunted house Six long months today The Blue Ghost is got the house surrounded, Lord And I can't get away

They got shotguns and pistols Standin' all round my door They got shotguns and pistols Standin' all round my door They haunt me all night long So I can't sleep no more

The Blue Ghost haunts me all night The nightmare rides me all night long The Blue Ghost haunts me at night The nightmare rides me all night long They worry me so in this haunted house I wished I was dead and gone

- Lonnie Johnson

A ward against evil: bay rum, whiskey, cigar smoke, black pepper, and salt.

BONFIRE TOFFEE Our spin on a traditional Guy Fawkes Night treat: treacle toffee soaked in rich, dark bourbon.

DIA DE LOS MUERTOS A joyous celebration of La Catarina, La Flaca, La Muerte... Glorious, Beautiful Death. In Mexico, death is not something to be feared or hated; She is embraced, loved, and adored. La Muerte is fêted, as the celebrant "...chases after it, mocks it, courts it, hugs it, sleeps with it; it is his favorite plaything and his most lasting love." This is a Mexican paean to La Huesuda: dry, crackling leaves, the incense smoke of altars honoring Death and the Dead, funeral bouquets, the candies, chocolates, foods and tobacco of the ofrenda, amaranth, sweet cactus blossom and desert cereus.

FEEDING THE DEAD A barrel of beer, a pyramid of cakes, and three sticks of incense.

GHOST MUSIC Gloomy and bare the organ-loft, Bent-backed and blind the organist. From rafters looming shadowy, From the pipes’ tuneful company, Drifted together drowsily, Innumerable, formless, dim, The ghosts of long-dead melodies, Of anthems, stately, thunderous, Of Kyries shrill and tremulous: In melancholy drowsy-sweet They huddled there in harmony. Like bats at noontide rafter-hung.

- Robert Graves

Sheets of white musk and lavender curling around a melancholy song of violet root, iris, neroli, and honeysuckle.

GHOULISH Creepy like Creepy and as spooky as Spooky, this is the scent of a black cherry and coconut amaretto confection gently laced with saffron.

THE HAG The Hag is astride, This night for to ride; The Devill and shee together: Through thick, and through thin, Now out, and then in, Though ne'r so foule be the weather.

A Thorn or a Burr She takes for a Spurre: With a lash of a Bramble she rides now, Through Brakes and through Bryars, O're Ditches, and Mires, She followes the Spirit that guides now.

No Beast, for his food, Dares now range the wood; But husht in his laire he lies lurking: While mischiefs, by these, On Land and on Seas, At noone of Night are working,

The storme will arise, And trouble the skies; This night, and more for the wonder, The ghost from the Tomb Affrighted shall come, Cal'd out by the clap of the Thunder.

Black musk, bay leaves, galangal, bourbon vetiver, blackcurrant, and rum.

THE HARE In the black furrow of a field I saw an old witch-hare this night; And she cocked her lissome ear, And she eyed the moon so bright, And she nibbled o' the green; And I whispered 'Whsst! witch-hare,' Away like a ghostie o'er the field She fled, and left the moonlight there.

A leaper between worlds, the tiny trickster; she soars through liminal spaces, dancing in the strange shadows of dawn and twilight.

Warm fur and mandrake root, blue sage and tall grasses, honeysuckle-tinged moonlight, carrot seed, comfrey, and dandelion.

HUESOS DE SANTO On All Saints Day, Spanish families visit their loved ones in the cemeteries, keeping vigil throughout the evening, saying prayers for the dead. Family burial plots are cleaned and tended, and graves are adorned with gladiolas, chrysanthemums, and roses. Bone-shaped pastries called Saint's Bones, or the Bones of the Holy, are baked and shared in honor of the souls in Purgatory, and to remind us of those who no longer share our repast, but with whom we one day hope to be reunited with again.

Orange-glazed cake, dotted with anise seed, and filled with custard, set beside a bouquet of celebratory funeral flowers.

INSIDE THE GOLDEN AMBER OF HER EYEBALLS A ghost, though invisible, still is like a place your sight can knock on, echoing; but here within this thick black pelt, your strongest gaze will be absorbed and utterly disappear:

just as a raving madman, when nothing else can ease him, charges into his dark night howling, pounds on the padded wall, and feels the rage being taken in and pacified.

She seems to hide all looks that have ever fallen into her, so that, like an audience, she can look them over, menacing and sullen, and curl to sleep with them. But all at once

as if awakened, she turns her face to yours; and with a shock, you see yourself, tiny, inside the golden amber of her eyeballs suspended, like a prehistoric fly.

- Rainer Maria Rilke

Sleek black fur and gleaming amber shining in the shadows, a rumble of myrrh, and claws as sharp as ti leaf.

LAMBS-WOOL According to William Shepard Walsh, the Gentleman's Magazine for May of 1784 stated, "this is a constant ingredient at merrymaking on Holy Eve." He also quotes Vallancey's etymological speculation: "The first day of November was dedicated to the angel presiding over fruits, seeds, etc., and was therefore named La Mas Ubhal, -- that is, the day of the apple fruit, -- and being pronounced Lamasool, the English have corrupted the name to Lambs-wool."

A popular holy day beverage in 18th century Ireland: roasted apples mashed into warmed milk and ale, with nutmeg, sugar, ginger, and clove.

MAGNIFICENT AUTUMN By what a subtle alchemy the green leaves are transmuted into gold, as if molten by the fiery blaze of the hot sun! A magic covering spreads over the whole forest, and brightens into more gorgeous hues. The tree-tops seem bathed with the gold and crimson of an Italian sunset. Here and there a shade of green, here and there a tinge of purple, and a stain of scarlet so deep and rich, that the most cunning artifice of man is pale beside it. A thousand delicate shades melt into each other. They blend fantastically into one deep mass. They spread over the forest like a tapestry woven with a thousand hues.

Magnificent Autumn! He comes not like a pilgrim, clad in russet weeds. He comes not like a hermit, clad in gray. But he comes like a warrior, with the stain of blood upon his brazen mail. His crimson scarf is rent. His scarlet banner drips with gore. His step is like a flail upon the threshing floor.

The scene changes.

It is the Indian summer. The rising sun blazes through the misty air like a conflagration. A yellowish, smoky haze fills the atmosphere; and

A filmy mist,

Lies like a silver lining on the sky.

The wind is soft and low. It wafts to us the odor of forest leaves, that hang wilted on the dripping branches, or drop into the stream. Their gorgeous tints are gone, as if the autumnal rains had washed them out. Orange, yellow, and scarlet, all are changed to one melancholy russet hue. The birds, too, have taken wing, and have left their roofless dwellings. Not the whistle of a robin, not the twitter of an eavesdropping swallow, not the carol of one sweet, familiar voice! All gone. Only the dismal cawing of a crow, as he sits and curses, that the harvest is over, – or the chit-chat of an idle squirrel, – the noisy denizen of a hollow tree, – the mendicant friar of a large parish, – the absolute monarch of a dozen acorns!

Another change.

The wind sweeps through the forest with a sound like the blast of a trumpet. The dry leaves whirl in eddies through the air. A fret-work of hoar-frost covers the plain. The stagnant water in the pools and ditches is frozen into fantastic figures. Nature ceases from her labors, and prepares for the great change. In the low-hanging clouds, the sharp air, like a busy shuttle, weaves her shroud of snow. There is a melancholy and continual roar in the tops of the tall pines, like the roar of a cataract. It is the funeral anthem of the dying year.

A scent that wanders through the Ages of Autumn, from the last green leaf to the first breath of winter.

MIDNIGHT BONFIRE Lighting the path between worlds, the beacon at the threshold: night-blooming jasmine, smoldering maple leaves, a cluster of patchouli and blackened ti leaf, black sage, and pinewood smoke.

PUMPKIN CRÈME BRULEE With vanilla bean scrapings.

PUMPKIN DUST Shavings of white pumpkin rind and honey powder.

PUMPKIN MUSK AND BLACK OUDH A strangely romantic, disturbingly erotic perfume.

PUMPKIN TOBACCO Sweet black tobacco infused with dried pumpkin and soaked in bourbon.

SAMHAIN Truly the scent of autumn itself -- damp woods, fir needle, and black patchouli with the gentlest touches of warm pumpkin, clove, nutmeg, allspice, sweet red apple and mullein.

SAMHAINOPHOBIA The Fear of Halloween

Menacing Haitian vetiver, patchouli, and clove with a shock of bourbon geranium, grim oakmoss, and dread-inspiring balsams pierce the innocuous scent of autumn leaves.

SCARECROW TURNED PHILOSOPHER Once I said to a scarecrow, “You must be tired of standing in this lonely field.”

And he said, “The joy of scaring is a deep and lasting one, and I never tire of it.”

Said I, after a minute of thought, “It is true; for I too have known that joy.”

Said he, “Only those who are stuffed with straw can know it.”

Then I left him, not knowing whether he had complimented or belittled me.

A year passed, during which the scarecrow turned philosopher.

And when I passed by him again I saw two crows building a nest under his hat.

- Kahlil Gibran

Corn husks waving on an autumn breeze, beams of amber sunlight, hay bales, and late summer wildflowers.

SUCK IT Sexy and suckable: black cherry brandy.

THIS WAN WHITE HUMMING HIVE And where should the living feel alive But here in this wan white humming hive, As the moon wastes down, and the dawn turns cold, And one by one they creep back to the fold? And where should a man hold his mate and say: "One more, one more, ere we go their way"? For the year's on the turn, and it's All Souls' night, When the living can learn by the churchyard light.

White patchouli leaf, beeswax, ambergris, and pale incense.

WHEN COLORS ALL TO BLACK ARE CAST In night when colors all to black are cast, Distinction lost, or gone down with the light; The eye a watch to inward senses placed, Not seeing, yet still having powers of sight,

Gives vain alarums to the inward sense, Where fear stirred up with witty tyranny, Confounds all powers, and thorough self-offense, Doth forge and raise impossibility:

Such as in thick depriving darknesses, Proper reflections of the error be, And images of self-confusednesses, Which hurt imaginations only see;

And from this nothing seen, tells news of devils, Which but expressions be of inward evils.

- Lord Brooke Fulke Greville

Ink-black musk and dried blackberries, midnight opoponax and sweet labdanum.

THE WITCH BRIDE A fair witch crept to a young man's side, And he kiss'd her and took her for his bride.

But a Shape came in at the dead of night, And fill'd the room with snowy light.

And he saw how in his arms there lay A thing more frightful than mouth may say.

And he rose in haste, and follow'd the Shape Till morning crown'd an eastern cape.

And he girded himself, and follow'd still When sunset sainted the western hill.

But, mocking and thwarting, clung to his side, Weary day!-the foul Witch-Bride.

(Aw, c'mon, Allingham. Foul is a pretty strong choice of words, dontcha think?)

Pale and lovely, with eyes belladonna-wide: hemlock blossoms and ghostly nightshade veiled by wisteria, white frankincense, black amber, and narcissus resin.

YIPE In the vein (GET IT?) of Boo, Suck It, and Spooky, this is a gushing font of sweet bloody black cherry cream and crushed dried blackberries.

++ ALL HALLOWS CHAOS

Turbulent, disordered beauty: sensitive to initial conditions, topologically mixed, and approached by periodic orbits with abandon. A dynamical system expressed through scent.

Each bottle of Chaos Theory is truly unique, a fragrant fractal, and an exercise in the joy of chance and uncertainty! Each is a one-of-a-kind, utterly random combination of scents, the composition of which is based on whim, mood and gut instinct. Each bottle is numbered, and each bottle is unique.

Hail Eris! After a long hiatus, Chaos Theory is back!

This year, the aforementioned chaos is expressing itself through decidedly seasonal metaphors associated with gathering the harvest and welcoming the “dark half” of the year. Is it comfort you seek, or incantations whispered through a tear in the Veil? Thanks to the options below, you don’t have to choose — you can have it both ways! This is an exercise in the joy of chance and uncertainty! Each bottle is a one-of-a-kind, utterly random combination of scents, the composition of which is based on whim, mood and gut instinct.

Most common allergens have been omitted from the experiment. No pennyroyal, no nuts, no cinnamon, no cassia. Regardless, if you have any sensitivities, please do not participate in Chaos Theory. The contents of the oils are not recorded [that’s the whole point!] and we will not be able to answer questions about specific bottles of CT:VIII or guarantee that an allergen is not present in your order.

By purchasing CT:VIII, you agree to absolve Black Phoenix of any responsibility related to an allergic reaction to one of the oils in this series. Please make a responsible choice, and use caution and discretion when ordering. This is intended to be a fun, exciting project.

Each CT:VIII scent has a base inspired by one of our favorite ‘Weenies, in wildly varying proportions:

ALL HALLOWS CHAOS: PUMPKIN SPICE

Variety is the very spice of life, That gives it all its flavor.”

― William Cowper, 1785

Forget about the War on Christmas — the year’s most contentious seasonal battle is actually waged over this inescapable melange of palate-massaging flavors. We’ve got the formula down pat, and invite you to join us in a mad-science experiment: Just how far can we bend it before it breaks?

ALL HALLOWS CHAOS: SAMHAIN 

“Invention, it must be humbly admitted, does not consist in creating out of void, but out of chaos.” ― Mary Shelley, 1831 This Samhain, we’re reveling in the desecration of a classic blend: “Damp woods, fir needle, and black patchouli with the gentlest touches of warm pumpkin, clove, nutmeg, allspice, sweet red apple and mullein.”

++ HALLOWEEN: MASQUE OF THE RED DEATH

Art by Tenebrous Kate

Words by Edgar Allan Poe

THE RED DEATH The "Red Death" had long devastated the country. No pestilence had ever been so fatal, or so hideous. Blood was its Avatar and its seal --the redness and the horror of blood. There were sharp pains, and sudden dizziness, and then profuse bleeding at the pores, with dissolution. The scarlet stains upon the body and especially upon the face of the victim, were the pest ban which shut him out from the aid and from the sympathy of his fellow-men. And the whole seizure, progress and termination of the disease, were the incidents of half an hour.

Splatters of red musk, bruise-purple violets, vetiver, and pimento.

HAPPY AND DAUNTLESS AND SAGACIOUS But the Prince Prospero was happy and dauntless and sagacious. When his dominions were half depopulated, he summoned to his presence a thousand hale and light-hearted friends from among the knights and dames of his court, and with these retired to the deep seclusion of one of his castellated abbeys. This was an extensive and magnificent structure, the creation of the prince's own eccentric yet august taste. A strong and lofty wall girdled it in. This wall had gates of iron. The courtiers, having entered, brought furnaces and massy hammers and welded the bolts. They resolved to leave means neither of ingress or egress to the sudden impulses of despair or of frenzy from within. The abbey was amply provisioned. With such precautions the courtiers might bid defiance to contagion.

Imprisoned in frenzied joy: ribbons of raspberry and red currant streaming through thick goat’s milk.

IT WAS FOLLY TO GRIEVE, OR TO THINK The external world could take care of itself. In the meantime it was folly to grieve, or to think.

Ginger-squeezed champagne with crushed diamonds, orange blossoms, and peach blossoms.

THERE WAS BEAUTY, THERE WAS WINE The prince had provided all the appliances of pleasure. There were buffoons, there were improvisatori, there were ballet-dancers, there were musicians, there was Beauty, there was wine. All these and security were within. Without was the "Red Death."

Gushes of black and red wine splattering damask rose and white pear, engulfed in thick clove incense.

A MASKED BALL OF THE MOST UNUSUAL MAGNIFICENCE It was toward the close of the fifth or sixth month of his seclusion, and while the pestilence raged most furiously abroad, that the Prince Prospero entertained his thousand friends at a masked ball of the most unusual magnificence.

Opulent golden oudh, red benzoin, and bitter almond.

A GIGANTIC CLOCK OF EBONY It was in this apartment, also, that there stood against the western wall, a gigantic clock of ebony. Its pendulum swung to and fro with a dull, heavy, monotonous clang; and when the minute-hand made the circuit of the face, and the hour was to be stricken, there came from the brazen lungs of the clock a sound which was clear and loud and deep and exceedingly musical, but of so peculiar a note and emphasis that, at each lapse of an hour, the musicians of the orchestra were constrained to pause, momentarily, in their performance, to hearken to the sound; and thus the waltzers perforce ceased their evolutions; and there was a brief disconcert of the whole gay company; and, while the chimes of the clock yet rang, it was observed that the giddiest grew pale, and the more aged and sedate passed their hands over their brows as if in confused reverie or meditation. But when the echoes had fully ceased, a light laughter at once pervaded the assembly; the musicians looked at each other and smiled as if at their own nervousness and folly, and made whispering vows, each to the other, that the next chiming of the clock should produce in them no similar emotion; and then, after the lapse of sixty minutes, (which embrace three thousand and six hundred seconds of the Time that flies,) there came yet another chiming of the clock, and then were the same disconcert and tremulousness and meditation as before.

The chiming of the clock: ebony wood and black pepper, narcissus blossom and tuberose, clanging with dull, heavy opoponax and thick olibanum.

THE TASTES OF THE DUKE WERE PECULIAR But, in spite of these things, it was a gay and magnificent revel. The tastes of the duke were peculiar. He had a fine eye for colors and effects. He disregarded the decora of mere fashion. His plans were bold and fiery, and his conceptions glowed with barbaric lustre. There are some who would have thought him mad. His followers felt that he was not. It was necessary to hear and see and touch him to be sure that he was not.

The swirl of a thousand glittering vices: absinthe and laudanum, opium poppy and neroli, star anise and black currant, whip leather and iron shackles, gilded vanilla flower and King mandarin.

GLARE AND GLITTER AND PIQUANCY AND PHANTASM He had directed, in great part, the moveable embellishments of the seven chambers, upon occasion of this great fete; and it was his own guiding taste which had given character to the masqueraders. Be sure they were grotesque. There were much glare and glitter and piquancy and phantasm -- much of what has been since seen in "Hernani." There were arabesque figures with unsuited limbs and appointments. There were delirious fancies such as the madman fashions.

Delirious fancies such as the madman fashions, arabesque figures with unsuited limbs and appointments: orris absolute and leather contorted by cherry and orange blossom.

A MULTITUDE OF DREAMS There was much of the beautiful, much of the wanton, much of the bizarre, something of the terrible, and not a little of that which might have excited disgust. To and fro in the seven chambers there stalked, in fact, a multitude of dreams. And these -- the dreams -- writhed in and about, taking hue from the rooms, and causing the wild music of the orchestra to seem as the echo of their steps.

A blackened lavender mist, thick with opoponax, licorice root, and benzoin.

ALL IS SILENT SAVE THE VOICE OF THE CLOCK And, anon, there strikes the ebony clock which stands in the hall of the velvet. And then, for a moment, all is still, and all is silent save the voice of the clock. The dreams are stiff-frozen as they stand. But the echoes of the chime die away -- they have endured but an instant -- and a light, half-subdued laughter floats after them as they depart. And now again the music swells, and the dreams live, and writhe to and fro more merrily than ever, taking hue from the many-tinted windows through which stream the rays from the tripods.

Dreams writhing to and fro, bubbling up from half-subdued laughter: pink peppercorn, jasmine sambac, and cypress bubbling up through half-subdued white lavender, stabbed through with streams of red musk and black currant.

THE NIGHT IS WANING AWAY But to the chamber which lies most westwardly of the seven, there are now none of the maskers who venture; for the night is waning away; and there flows a ruddier light through the blood-colored panes; and the blackness of the sable drapery appals; and to him whose foot falls upon the sable carpet, there comes from the near clock of ebony a muffled peal more solemnly emphatic than any which reaches their ears who indulge in the more remote gaieties of the other apartments. But these other apartments were densely crowded, and in them beat feverishly the heart of life.

Night-blooming jasmine and cereus reflected through ruddy musk and crimson amber.

THE SOUNDING OF MIDNIGHT UPON THE CLOCK And the revel went whirlingly on, until at length there commenced the sounding of midnight upon the clock. And then the music ceased, as I have told; and the evolutions of the waltzers were quieted; and there was an uneasy cessation of all things as before. But now there were twelve strokes to be sounded by the bell of the clock; and thus it happened, perhaps, that more of thought crept, with more of time, into the meditations of the thoughtful among those who revelled. And thus, too, it happened, perhaps, that before the last echoes of the last chime had utterly sunk into silence, there were many individuals in the crowd who had found leisure to become aware of the presence of a masked figure which had arrested the attention of no single individual before. And the rumor of this new presence having spread itself whisperingly around, there arose at length from the whole company a buzz, or murmur, expressive of disapprobation and surprise --then, finally, of terror, of horror, and of disgust.

Terror, horror, and disgust: a bowel-churning sweet clench of myrhh and green musk in a pool of suffocating black moss and a shock of white cognac.

THE SCARLET HORROR In an assembly of phantasms such as I have painted, it may well be supposed that no ordinary appearance could have excited such sensation. In truth the masquerade license of the night was nearly unlimited; but the figure in question had out-Heroded Herod, and gone beyond the bounds of even the prince's indefinite decorum. There are chords in the hearts of the most reckless which cannot be touched without emotion. Even with the utterly lost, to whom life and death are equally jests, there are matters of which no jest can be made. The whole company, indeed, seemed now deeply to feel that in the costume and bearing of the stranger neither wit nor propriety existed. The figure was tall and gaunt, and shrouded from head to foot in the habiliments of the grave. The mask which concealed the visage was made so nearly to resemble the countenance of a stiffened corpse that the closest scrutiny must have had difficulty in detecting the cheat. And yet all this might have been endured, if not approved, by the mad revellers around. But the mummer had gone so far as to assume the type of the Red Death. His vesture was dabbled in blood --and his broad brow, with all the features of the face, was besprinkled with the scarlet horror.

When the eyes of Prince Prospero fell upon this spectral image (which with a slow and solemn movement, as if more fully to sustain its role, stalked to and fro among the waltzers) he was seen to be convulsed, in the first moment with a strong shudder either of terror or distaste; but, in the next, his brow reddened with rage.

"Who dares?" he demanded hoarsely of the courtiers who stood near him -- "who dares insult us with this blasphemous mockery? Seize him and unmask him -- that we may know whom we have to hang at sunrise, from the battlements!"

Blasphemous mockery: blood musk and vetiver.

A GROUP OF PALE COURTIERS It was in the eastern or blue chamber in which stood the Prince Prospero as he uttered these words. They rang throughout the seven rooms loudly and clearly -- for the prince was a bold and robust man, and the music had become hushed at the waving of his hand.

It was in the blue room where stood the prince, with a group of pale courtiers by his side. At first, as he spoke, there was a slight rushing movement of this group in the direction of the intruder, who at the moment was also near at hand, and now, with deliberate and stately step, made closer approach to the speaker.

A sycophant’s polished stench: green musk fougere, lime, and rose-tufted wig powder.

A CERTAIN NAMELESS AWE But from a certain nameless awe with which the mad assumptions of the mummer had inspired the whole party, there were found none who put forth hand to seize him; so that, unimpeded, he passed within a yard of the prince's person; and, while the vast assembly, as if with one impulse, shrank from the centres of the rooms to the walls, he made his way uninterruptedly, but with the same solemn and measured step which had distinguished him from the first, through the blue chamber to the purple -- through the purple to the green -- through the green to the orange -- through this again to the white -- and even thence to the violet, ere a decided movement had been made to arrest him.

Death unimpeded: bone-white sandalwood, dry cognac, and chilled ambergris accord.

A DEADLY TERROR THAT HAD SEIZED UPON ALL It was then, however, that the Prince Prospero, maddening with rage and the shame of his own momentary cowardice, rushed hurriedly through the six chambers, while none followed him on account of a deadly terror that had seized upon all.

He bore aloft a drawn dagger, and had approached, in rapid impetuosity, to within three or four feet of the retreating figure, when the latter, having attained the extremity of the velvet apartment, turned suddenly and confronted his pursuer. There was a sharp cry --and the dagger dropped gleaming upon the sable carpet, upon which, instantly afterwards, fell prostrate in death the Prince Prospero. Then, summoning the wild courage of despair, a throng of the revellers at once threw themselves into the black apartment, and, seizing the mummer, whose tall figure stood erect and motionless within the shadow of the ebony clock, gasped in unutterable horror at finding the grave-cerements and corpse-like mask which they handled with so violent a rudeness, untenanted by any tangible form.

The wild courage of despair: a screech of blood orange and a splash of blood entangled in a corpse-mask of tattered white sandalwood stained with balsam and a grime-crusted winding sheet.

ILLIMITABLE DOMINION OVER ALL And now was acknowledged the presence of the Red Death. He had come like a thief in the night. And one by one dropped the revellers in the blood-bedewed halls of their revel, and died each in the despairing posture of his fall. And the life of the ebony clock went out with that of the last of the gay. And the flames of the tripods expired. And Darkness and Decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion over all.

Darkness, Decay, and the Red Death: blood musk and black tobacco, birch tar and bleeding cypress sap.

Listen to Poe’s complete tale here, on our YouTube Channel:

++ PICKMAN GALLERY 2018

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE: ARKHAM’S PICKMAN GALLERY ACQUIRES CURIOUS COLLECTION OF GOAT ART, DEEMED ‘GREATEST OF ALL TIME’ Greatest Of All Time: Portraits of Genus Capra on view at the Pickman Gallery from September 22 to December 28, 2018, Arkham, MA — On view from September 18 through December 28, 2018 at Pickman Gallery, Arkham, MA, Greatest Of All Time: Portraits of Genus Capra. Greatest Of All Time is guest curated by the Santa Fe Art Institute’s Antonia Vasquez-Thackeray, who also holds a degree in Livestock Science.  In this first-of-its-kind exhibition, Mx. Vasquez-Thackeray explores the social co-evolution of humankind and goatkind, a history which stretches back at least 10,000 years. Researchers note that goat remains have been found at archaeological sites in Western Asia including Jericho, Choga Mami, Djeitun, and Çayönü. Via their innate curiosity and horizontally-pupilled eyes, goats have enjoyed a unique view of human civilization, and our ancestors’ myths and legends have proven us nothing if not fearful of their scrutiny. “Our projections in terms of goat consciousness and goat archetypes have eclipsed anything a goat might tell us about us, or itself,“ Vasquez-Thackeray writes in the introduction to her upcoming MY GOAT, MY INQUISITOR, a salvo against the bias and anthropomorphism that has infected the relations between these two closely interrelated worlds -- but which carefully does not disavow the propensity for deceit, diabolism and witchcraft within the Caprian mind. Greatest of All Time consists of works hand-selected to commune with our species’ most recent common ancestor. About this evolutionary MacGuffin, Max Robinson, Ph.D. Molecular Biology and Biotechnology & Evolutionary Genetics, University of Washington, has written: “Millions of years ago, there was some kind of animal that eventually evolved into both goats and humans. It probably had claws rather than hooves or hands. It had a liver, four legs, eyes, and a brain, just like humans and goats still do.” Unfathomably, a lineage extends directly from that ancestor to this season’s exhibition, which will serve as a family reunion of sorts: several goats from Vasquez-Thackeray’s personal herd will be in residence as docents throughout the duration of the show. (Their reactions to the art as well as to the guests will be recorded via motion-capture and analyzed by individuals from SFAI, MIT, and, by special request, members of Arkham’s Thousand Young Lodge.

A BOAR AND A GOAT 18th century Russian lubok, illustrator unknown Red amber, frankincense CO2 absolute, green fig, labdanum, King mandarin, Atlas cedar, and bitter almond.

A HOARD OF CREATURES WITH THE SEVEN DEADLY SINS BEFORE A TAVERN Cornelis Saftleven Peru balsam, leather, castoreum accord, frankincense, and hay.

A YOUNG BOY AND HIS BROTHER SEATED ON A GOAT Christoffel Pierson Polished mahogany, copal resin, Java sandalwood, teakwood, and Sumantran patchouli.

AN ENCAMPMENT OF SHEPHERDS Tassili N'Ajjer, 4000-1500BC Tonka bean, red clay, rose tobacco, and oudh.

ANIMAL ALLEGORY Cornelis Saftleven Dust, dry incense, parchment, and tobacco leaf.

BOY WITH GOAT IN A LANDSCAPE Rudolf Koller Grapevine and ivy, olive blossom, lavender, cypress, bay leaf, honey myrtle, Tuscany sage, and jasmine sambac.

CABRAS Giuseppe Palizzi Black pine, white sage, creeping ivy, and wild juniper.

EEN SATYR Jacob Jordaens A heavy, animalic musk with cognac, fir balsam, grapevine, black cypress, patchouli, honey, and copaiba balsam.

THE GOAT AND THE VINE Harrison Weir Golden apples, cedar and redwood trellises heavy with grapevine, beeswax, hemp, vanilla benzoin, and bois de rose.

THE GREAT HE-GOAT Francisco Goya Haitian vetiver, Egyptian amber, carnation, black musk, pomegranate, patchouli, and smoked ginger.

HALF-HUMAN, HALF-MONKEY BARBERS SHAVING A GOAT Engraving by G. van der Gucht after J. Wootton Bay rum, hay, dried alfalfa, aftershave, and cork stalk.

JACOB WITH THE DAUGHTERS OF LABAN

Louis Gauffier Lebanese cedar, chamomile, frankincense, and cinnamon.

JUPITER NOURISHED BY THE GOAT AMALTHEA Engraving by Jacques Jordaens Goat’s milk, nectar, ambrosia, and honey.

LITHOGRAPH OF A MOUNTAIN GOAT H Weir White sandalwood, black pepper, muguet, agarwood, labdanum, and 3-year aged patchouli.

RUHENDE ZIEGE MIT KITZCHEN

Johann Christian Reinhart Brown musk, leather, castoreum accord, white cedar, amber oudh, and clove bud.

STUDIE EINER ZIEGE Pieter Boel Sweet labdanum with clove, tobacco absolute, and guiac wood.

TWO SHEEP AND TWO GOATS RESTING TOGETHER IN A FIELD A. Ducote Sweet vetiver, bourbon vanilla, and wool.

VENUS PANDEMOS Venus Pandemos Hay, rose otto, red benzoin, torch smoke, and pink carnation.

THE WITCHES’ RIDE

Otto Goetze Red roses and vetiver with cashmere incense, rue, and cauldron spices.

ZOE AND THE GOAT

Lorenz Frølich Caramelized patchouli, cream, and thick golden honey.

++ HALLOWEEN: POMEGRANATE GROVE

About the pomegranate I must say nothing, for its story is something of a mystery. - Pausanias

POMEGRANATE GROVE: ALICE

POMEGRANATE GROVE: DORIAN

POMEGRANATE GROVE: EMBALMING FLUID

POMEGRANATE GROVE: MOROCCO

POMEGRANATE GROVE: SNAKE OIL

++ HALLOWEEN: PILE OF LEAVES

Every leaf tells a story.

DEAD LEAVES AND MAPLE SAP

DEAD LEAVES, BLACKBERRY, AND RED PATCHOULI

DEAD LEAVES, GREEN COGNAC, IRIS ROOT, AND WHITE LEATHER

DEAD LEAVES, SWEET MYRRH, LEATHER, GREEN POMELO, AND RED CURRANT

DEAD LEAVES, BOURBON VETIVER, NAGARMOTHA, AND VANILLA ABSOLUTE

DEAD LEAVES AND RED CARNATIONS

DEAD LEAVES AND PUMPKIN SEEDS

DEAD LEAVES AND SCOTCH

DEAD LEAVES AND WARM SUGAR COOKIES

DEAD LEAVES, SWEET OAKMOSS, WHITE SAGE, AND CHAPARRAL

DEAD LEAVES AND VANILLA INCENSE

DEAD LEAVES, APRICOT, AMBERGRIS, AND TOBACCO

DEAD LEAVES AND COFFEE BEANS

DEAD LEAVES, BLACK TEA, AND TOBACCO LEAF

DEAD LEAVES, MAGNOLIA CHAMPACA, AMBERETTE SEED, PERU BALSAM, AND SUGARED CHESTNUTS

DEAD LEAVES, RED WINE, AND BLACK OUDH

[writinggeisha]

Colour Words

White: French beige,  Navajo white,  alabaster white,  albino white,  antique white,  arctic white,  argent white,  ashen white,  beige,  birch,  biscuit white,  bisque,  blanched almond,  blanched white,  bleached white,  blonde,  bone white,  buff,  camel,  canvas beige,  linen white,  marshmallow white,  milk white,  mocassin,  mother-of-pearl,  mushroom,  neutral white,  nude,  oatmeal white,  off-white,  old lace white,  opal,  paper white,  pearl white,  piano key white,  polar white,  porcelain,  powder white,  pure white,  raw cotton white,  coconut white,  contrast white,  cotton white,  cream,  diamond,  dove white,  ecru,  eggshell white,  flax,  flour white,  fog white,  frosted white,  ghost white,  goose white,  hemp,  ivory white,  lace white,  latte,  light tan,  lily white,  sandstone,  seashell white,  sheep white,  sheet white,  shell white,  shining star white,  silvery white,  smoky beige,  snow white,  solid white,  spotless white,  sugar white,  toothpaste white,  vanilla,  waxen white,  wedding white,  whey,  white,  white chocolate,  white smoke  Yellow: Chardonnay,  French fry yellow,  Titanium yellow,  amber,  banana yellow,  bleached blond,  blond,  buff,  bumblebee yellow,  butter yellow,  buttercup,  butternut squash yellow,  butterscotch,  cadmium yellow,  canary yellow,  champagne,  citrine,  corn yellow,  lemon peel,  lemon sherbet,  lemon yellow,  linen,  lion yellow,  maize,  marigold yellow,  mellow yellow,  metallic gold,  mimosa yellow,  mustard yellow,  ochre,  olive,  omelette yellow,  palamino,  papaya,  parakeet yellow,  pencil yellow,  cream,  custard yellow,  daffodil yellow,  dandelion,  duckling yellow,  egg yolk yellow,  electric yellow,  flax,  flesh tone,  gold,  gold yellow,  golden bronze,  golden yellow,  goldenrod,  highlighter yellow,  honey yellow,  lemon chiffon,  lemon drop,  pineapple yellow,  popcorn yellow,  raincoat yellow,  saffron,  school bus yellow,  squash yellow,  straw yellow,  sunflower yellow,  sunglow yellow,  sunset yellow,  sunshine yellow,  taxi cab yellow,  topaz,  vanilla,  wheat,  yellow,  yolk yellow  

Orange:  amber,  apricot,  basketball  orange,  blood  orange,  bourbon,  burnt  orange,  butterfly  orange,  candlelight  orange,  candy  corn,  cantaloupe  orange,  carnelian,  carotene,  carrot  orange,  cheddar  orange,  cinnamon,  mango,  marigold  orange,  melon  orange,  neon  orange,  old  gold,  orange,  orange  juice,  orange  peel,  orange  sherbet,  orange  soda,  orange-red,  papaya,  peach,  persimmon,  pumpkin  orange,   copper  penny,  coral,  dark  orange,  dark  salmon,  dayglo  orange,  ember  orange,  fall  leaves  orange,  flame  orange,  ginger  orange,  gold,  golden  orange,  goldfish  orange,  ice  pop  orange,  light  orange,  light  salmon,   rust  orange,  safety  orange,  saffron,  salamander  orange,  starfish  orange,  sunrise  orange,  tabby,  tangelo,  tangerine,  tawny,  tiger  orange,  tiger  stripe  orange,  traffic  cone  orange,  yam  orange

Red: Bordeaux  red,  Indian  red,  alizarin  crimson,  amaranth,  apple  red,  auburn,  autumn  leaf  red,  barn  red,  beet  red,  blood  red,  blush,  bougainvillea,  bourbon,  brick  red,  bright  red,  burgundy,  burnt  sienna,  candy  apple  red,  cardinal  red,  carmine,  carnelian,  cerise,  cherry  red,  chestnut  red,  chili  pepper  red,  magenta,  magma  red,  maroon,  orange-red,  paprika,  pepperoni  red,  persimmon  red,  pink  red,  pomegranate  red,  poppy  red,  rabbit  eye  red,  radish  red,  rare  steak  red,  raspberry  red,  red,  red  apple,  red  berry,  red  carpet,  red  licorice,  red  lipstick,  red  nose,  red  pepper,  red  potato,  red  rose,  red  velvet,  claret,  copper,  coral  red,  crab  red,  cranberry  red,  crimson  red,  dark  cerise,  dark  red,  deep  pink,  devil  red,  faded  rose,  fire  engine  red,  fire  red,  fire  truck  red,  flame  red,  florid  red,  fruit  punch  red,  garnet  red,  geranium  red,  henna,  hibiscus  red,  hot  pink,  ketchup  red,  ladybug  red,  lipstick  red,  red  wine  vinegar,  redwood,  rosewood,  rouge,  ruby  red,  russet  red,  rust  red,  sangria  red,  scarlet,  sports  car  red,  stop  light  red,  stop  sign  red,  strawberry  red,  tawny  port  red,  tawny  red,  terra  cotta,  tomato  bisque,  tomato  red,  torch  red,  vermillion,  watermelon  flesh,  wine  red,  winter  apple  red

Pink: Pepto Bismal pink,   Persian rose,   amaranth,   apricot,   ash rose,   baby cheeks pink,   baby pink,   bacon pink,   ballerina pink,   ballet pink,   ballet slipper pink,   begonia,   blush pink,   bougainvillea,   bubblegum pink,   cameo,   carmine,   carnation pink,   cerise,   cherry blossom,   mulberry,   neon pink,   orchid,   pale pink,   pastel pink,   peach,   peach puff,   peony pink,   petunia pink,   pig pink,   pink,   pink Cadillac,   pink champagne,   pink cheeks,   pink diamond,   pink grapefruit,   pink lemonade,   pink sherbet,   polka dot pink,   powder pink,   conch pink,   coral pink,   cotton candy,   cranberry,   cupcake pink,   dayglo pink,   dusty rose,   eraser pink,   flamingo pink,   flesh,   flesh-colored,   fuchsia,   grapefruit pink,   hibiscus pink,   hot pink,   jellyfish pink,   lavender pink,   light plum,   lipstick pink,   magenta,   rose,   rose petal,   rose pink,   rose quartz,   rosy red,   ruby,   ruddy pink,   sand pink,   seashell pink,   shocking pink,   soft pink,   strawberry jam,   strawberry milkshake,   sunset pink,   tea rose,   thistle pink,   tongue pink,   tulip pink,   turnip pink,   worm pink

Purple: Concord grape,   amethyst,   aubergine,   beet purple,   bilberry purple,   blackberry,   blackcurrant,   blue violet,   blueberry,   brandywine,   bruise purple,  byzantium,   cerise,   claret,   currant,   dahlia,   magenta,   mauve,   monster purple,   mulberry,   opal purple,   orchid purple,   pale plum,   pansy purple,   passionfruit purple,   pastel purple,   periwinkle,   plum,   prune,   purple,   purple cabbage,   purple jam,   dark raspberry,   dark violet,   eggplant purple,   fandango,   grape crush,   grape jam purple,   grape jelly purple,   grape purple,   heliotrope,   hyacinth,   inky purple,   iris purple,   juice purple,   lavender,   lavender blush,   lilac purple,   quartz,   raisin purple,   raspberry,   rhubarb purple,   royal purple,   thistle,   true purple,   turnip purple,   violet,   violet red,   wild berry purple,   wild grape,   wine,   wisteria

Blue: Caribbean blue,   Caribbean turquoise,   Dodger blue,   Pacific blue,   Prussian blue,   Tiffany blue,   alice blue,   aqua blue,   aquamarine,   azure blue,  baby blue,   blue belle,   blue ice,   blue jean blue,   blue-green,   blueberry,  bluebird blue,   bluebonnet blue,   cadet blue,   lapis lazuli,   light blue,  marine blue,   marlin blue,   midnight blue,   navy blue,   neon blue,   nighttime blue,   ocean blue,   pale blue,   pastel blue,   peacock blue,   police officer blue,   pool blue,   powder blue,   ribbon blue,   robin egg,   royal blue,   sapphire blue,   cobalt,   cornflower,   cyan,   dark blue,   dark slate blue,   deep sky blue,   denim blue,   dolphin blue,   electric blue,   frostbite blue,   glacial blue,   heather,   iceberg blue,   icy blue,   imperial blue,   indigo blue,   inky blue,  jay blue,   lake blue,   slate blue,   snowflake blue,   stained glass blue,   steel blue,   stone blue,   summer sky blue,   surf blue,   swimming pool,   teal blue,   true blue,   turquoise,   ultra blue,   ultramarine,   verdigris,   violet blue,   washed denim blue,   whale blue

Green: Granny Smith apple,   Kelly green,   Kermit green,   Persian green,   absinthe,   algae green,   alligator green,   apple green,   aqua,   army green,   artichoke green,   asparagus green,   avocado green,   bay leaf green,   bluegrass green,   boxwood green,   broccoli green,   cabbage green,   cactus green,   caterpillar green,   celery green,   chartreuse,   chive green,   chlorophyll green,   iceberg lettuce,   iguana green,   ivy green,   jade green,   jadestone,   jungle green,   kelp green,   key lime green,   leaf green,   leprechaun green,   lettuce green,   lichen green,   light cyan,   lime green,   lizard green,   melon rind green,   metallic mint,   mint green,   moss green,   myrtle green,   neon green,   olive drab,   olive green,   parrot green,   crocodile green,   cucumber green,   cyan,   cypress,   dark khaki green,   dark olive green,   dollar bill green,   drab olive,   eel green,   emerald green,   evergreen,   fern green,   forest green,   frog green,   grass green,   grasshopper green,   green,   green apple,   green olive,   green pepper,   green tea,   green-yellow,   holly,   honeydew green,   pea soup,   pear green,   pickle green,   pine green,   pistachio,   sage green,   sea green,   seafoam green,   seaweed green,   shamrock green,   spinach green,   spring bud green,   spring green,   sprout green,   spruce green,   summer grass,   swamp green,   tea green,   turtle green,   verdant,   verdigris,   wasabi green,   zucchini green

Brown: October brown,   acorn brown,   auburn,   autumn leaf,   barbecue sauce brown,   bark brown,   bay,   bear brown,   beetle brown,   biscuit brown,   branch brown,   brick brown,   bronze,   brown,   brown sugar,   brunette,   burnt sienna,  burnt umber,   butterscotch brow,   cafe au lait,   camel brown,   cappuccino brown,   caramel brown,   cardboard brown,   chestnut brown, kangaroo brown,   khaki,   leather,   lion brown,   liver brown,   mahogany,   maple brown,   maple sugar brown,   maroon,   meatball brown,   milk chocolate,   mink,   mocha brown,   mud brown,   nougat,   nude,   nut brown,   nut brown ale,   nutmeg,   oak brown,   pancake brown,   peanut butter brown,   potato brown,   pretzel brown,   raisin brown,   cinnamon brown,   cocoa,   cocoa brown,   coffee bean brown,   coffee brown,   coffee stain brown,   copper,   dark chocolate brown,   dark citrine,   deer brown,   desert sand,   dirt,   doeskin,   dun,   earth brown,   earth yellow,   earthenware brown,   fallow,   fawn brown,   football brown,   fox brown,   freckle brown,   ginger brown,   golden brown,   hazel brown,  rich earth,  roan,   root beer brown,   rosewood,   ruddy brown,   russet brown,   rust,  saddle brown,   sand,   sandy brown,   sea lion brown,   semi-sweet chocolate,   sepia,   sienna,   sorrel,   steak brown,   tan,   tan brown,   tan-nude,   tawny,   toast brown,   tumbleweed,   tweed brown,   walnut brown,   wheat,

Gray/Grey: argent silver,   ash gray,   battleship gray,   cadet gray,   charcoal gray,   chrome,   cloud gray,   cloudy day gray,   concrete gray,   cool gray,   cool grey,   dim gray,   dolphin gray,   dove gray,   overcast gray,   owl gray,   oyster gray,   pewter,   pigeon gray,   platinum,   rainy day gray,   rhinoceros gray,   river rock,   salt and pepper gray,   sardine gray,   seal gray,   shark gray,   silver,   elephant gray,   fog gray,   grandma gray,   granite gray,   gray,   grey,   gunmetal gray,   haze gray,   hippopotamus gray,   iron gray,   koala gray,   metal gray,   mist gray,   moon gray,   smoke gray,   soot gray,   steel gray,   stone gray,   storm gray,   stormy sea gray,   taupe gray,   thunder cloud gray,   warm gray,   wed sidewalk gray,   wool gray,   zinc gray

Black: Mars black,   black,   black cat,   black coffee,   black licorice,   black pearl,   black pepper,   black tar,   blackboard black,   blackout,   blue-black,   bow tie black,   kettle black,   kohl black,   licorice black,   mascara black,   mica,  midnight black,   molasses black,   night sky black,   ninja black,   obsidian,   onyx,   outer space black,   caviar black,   chalkboard black,   charcoal black,   coal black,   ebony black,   eclipse black,   eyelash black,   fig,   gothic black,   hearse black,   ink black,   jet black,   piano key black,   pitch black,   pupil black,  raven black,   sable black,   shadow black,   smoky black,   sooty black,   spade black,   spider black,   tar black,   tarmac black

https://www.words-to-use.com/words/colors-names/

[tommylindsay]

Beholding of Storm's Ancient Gravy

A regular night in the Rocks. Pub, club, gaff - in that order. The Maple Leaf, Storm then Damo's flat in salubrious Pytchley, knocking naggins of rum down us like we were still in the queue for the junior disco. It was one of those nights - where you get a taste for the golden brown devil, burdening your left shoulder with whispers of self-denial.

Moments lasting forever in ten minutes flat. Before you know it, the dim yellow bulbs are out from above you, you lose a tenner in a black cab in three seconds and then you're getting an earful of Jason Derulo five yards from the speaker. It was a regular night. Good chat with Jenny, Damo and Kris. Old times. New times. Meeting new people, old people. Two quid pints going down like it's Fresher's Week. Invincible. Pushing yourself and others and no-one backing down. Fivers flying out your account left, right and center Hefner-style. It's getting better and better and it won't stop there.

Music fills your body, your arms, your soul. You don't even like the tunes but it's the same every week but so what? Nothing stands in your path. Three hours and four of the same Vengaboys tracks later, after timing your ventures to the cubicle well to avoid the jumpered badgers with baggies of Trebor, your luck would soon run out. You come face-to-face with Five Foot Fergal with his forearms in his pockets. He was in the middle of smashing the sink off the wall with a football sock full of table tennis balls when you walked in on him. It was a regular night no longer.

He asks what you're doing here and you go "Nothin', mate" but then Five Foot Fergal goes "Disnae look like nothin', mate" and that's your secret weapon down the kermit. It was your moment to enter the nuclear attack codes from your safety deposit box but every single digit was wrong. Five Foot Fergal stops the ceramic barrage and turns to face you with his sunken blue eyes and clicks his fingers twice. Suddenly the door behind you shuts tightly, vanquishing the Venga Bus once and for all. Instead of dealing his infamous shin-kicking with all five of his steel-capped feetsies, he turns to the cubicle on the far end and pushes the tiled wall inwards.

You've no choice but to follow him in to the unknown abyss, minding your feet on every step on the staircase. Unbeknownst to you, Five Foot Fergal is already fiddling on a rudimentary kitchen counter-top at the foot of the stair well. When he realizes that you've finally caught up with him, he pulls a light switch to reveal sick-green wallpaper, a sink with a tap shaped like a question mark and a black bucket in the corner.

Without a word, Five Foot Fergal reached for the bucket and swept it through the full basin like Ganymede wading his pitcher through the rivers of Dardania. You are presented with the bucket and the inside is of a putrid black and green mix with a spoogey texture like PVA glue. Twinkles of red were dotted around like encrusted gems in a foul mixture. Five Foot Fergal gave the bucket a swirl like a fine glass of Claret so the bogey juice leaked down the side. It was a slow and laboured dripping as though it were manhandled chip shop gravy down a styrofoam cup.

That being said for the look. The smell was something else.

The smell was heavenly, unmatched, unheard of, unsmelled of. It hit your nostrils like a mint tulip candle. Bergamot and fireworks. Barbecue and wine. Opel Fruits and your boyfriend's car. The stench provoked untold flashbacks to infinite peace and happiness at the peak moments of your life. You were happier then. When Nicorella said she'd be with you forever before she pawned your SNES for a teaspoon of White Lightning. You were still in school with no responsibilities. It smelled of staying up to 5am and getting away with it. The mufti days where you got past the bucket without them seeing you. Understanding nothing. Believing in the future you now occupy and not knowing the truth about it. It was everything you could ever want. Life beyond this.

Five Foot Fergal was looking at you with a twinkle in his eye and a saber-toothed grin. You didn't have much time left to accept his offer. Grabbing the bucket with both hands, you necked it.

You did not wake up in Damo's flat. Damo wasn't speaking to you no more. You woke up with a wet arse and a chewed ecto in your pocket, surrounded by trees and people walking their chained boxer-dogs. There's nothing on your phone.

Oh well. It's a shame you couldn't see Jenny off. It was her leaving do. You probably can't come back to the office now. Definitely not your own home. The saving grace is that you didn't get barred anywhere you went so that's something.