#shore lichen

[crudlynaturephotos]

[mycoblogg]

FOTD #043 : maritime sunburst lichen! (xanthoria parietina)

maritime sunburst lichen (AKA common orange lichen, yellow scale & shore lichen) is a foliose lichen in the family teloschistaceae. it has been found in north america, africa, asia, europe & australia !! it often grows in hardwood forests in broad, low-elevation valleys, or in populated areas.

the big question : can i bite it?? like most lichens, it is inedible, though it may have medicinal uses.

x. parietina description :

"the vegetative body of the lichen, the thallus, is foliose, & typically less than 8 centimetres (3.1 in) wide. the lobes of the thallus are 1–4 mm in diameter, & flattened down. the upper surface is some shade of yellow, orange, or greenish yellow, almost green when growing in shady situations, while the lower surface is white, with a cortex, & with sparse pale rhizines or hapters. in xanthoria parietina, the thickness of the thalli is known to vary depending on the habitat in which it grows. the lichen pigment parietin gives this species a deep yellow or orange-red color."

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

[unofficial-sean]

Photos from the end of the world.

Cape Flattery, WA

[dandelioncore]

[rabbitcruiser]

Byrums Raukar, Sweden (No. 6)

Öland's finest rauk area

At Byrum is Öland's most famous and finest rau area. The strange stone pillars have been carved out for millions of years by the sea's movements towards the limestone. Parking is available in the south.

490 million years ago, the land mass to which Öland belongs was at the height of the southern tropics, in a tropical climate. Lime sludge began to be deposited in large coral reefs in warm, shallow seas. For a long time, the coral reefs were compressed under high pressure and the Öland limestone was formed. Researchers believe that it took 1000 years of limestone deposits for one millimeter of today's limestone to form. The thickness of the Öland limestone deposits amounts to a maximum of 40 meters, which means that it took 40 million years for Öland's limestone bedrock to form.

Source

[7rashstar]

07-05-22

[michaelnordeman]

Lichens, fungi and moss by the shore of lake Tjunken in Värmland, Sweden (March 29, 2024).

[frothytundra]

Seeing Green

I was not feeling jealousy, and I was not anticipating money, and I was definitely not thinking about the Nicki Minaj song. I was literally seeing green on the rocks by the shore today. At first I thought someone had gone down there with a can of neon spray paint and sprayed a message on the large, almost flat, surface. But, no. I had to rapidly climb down from my high dudgeon when I realized I…

[cryptotheism]

The prince, beautiful for a six-foot clam, was freezing and starving. It wasn’t fair. Nothing was ever fair.

He cursed his father. He cursed his sisters. He cursed the pools of freezing muck and he cursed the film of saline moss that covered them. He lost count of how many times he had sunk his legs into freezing pools. His belly was empty, and his legs were numb with the cold. Bastards, he thought. Bastard bastards bastards. He kicked another small shelled creature into a wall. He didn’t deserve any of this. He had prepared.

Everything. He had packed everything into that catamaran, and now it was gone, smashed to the bottom of the interlocain by the autodefenses. Clothes, tools, bedroll, tent, rations -the goddamn rations- even the books. All he had was the boots, the leather pants, the billowy linen shirt with the gold buttons, his sword belt, and a nearly-empty sword.

Now he was cold, and hungry, and he couldn't sleep because of the cold and the hunger. He had tried to eat the weeds, but the taste made him retch. He tried to eat the small shelled things, but they were full of so many little bones. Bastards, he thought. They never thought he would actually do it. They never thought he would just pick up and run. He was glad, in a way, that his family couldn’t see him now. He could picture it. His father, bored and disappointed. His sister’s smug grin. His mother, full of pity. Poor Marin. Always poor Marin. It wasn’t fair. The city didn’t call them. It called him. It called to him alone. That little voice, deep into the night, calling him north, calling him here. Something wanted him here…wherever here was.

Here was Teleth Avaris, tomb-city to the old gods. Specifically, here was a shore battery on the south wall that had largely collapsed into the sea. Even in the cities heyday, it would have been a gray place devoid of honor or beauty. Titanic guns rusted on their mounts, eaten by the salt-sea air. The old concrete had been licked smooth by the waves, and the whole place sagged into the water like a great stone and rebar hammock. Tide pools formed in potholes dug by the impact of old kinetic shells. Moss and lichens and barnacles clung to every surface, trapping moisture and thus the cold. To the little shelled creatures and chubby gastropods, it was a banquet, a feast of winter vegetables and fresh fjord insects. To the prince, it was a palace of discomfort, the seat of some rude foreign king who decorated only in tapestries and carpets of wet, rotting, sponge. The prince attempted to kick another small shelled thing, but slipped on a patch of slimy lichen, nearly losing his footing. The prince chuckled to himself. You know what? Good. Maybe father would send Lunine in after him, and she would end up at the bottom of the interlocian, her and that goddamn bodyguard. Maybe this could be a good thing. If he could escape from this carbonsteel dung heap, he would be a hero. Lone survivor. A legend. Father would... No, who cared what father thought. Father would be forced to give him the reigns. If he escaped. If he survived. This was a win-win.

He could escape. Of course he could escape. He had read books on survival. Even books on survival in the teleths. Everyone always said he was intelligent, and he was. A tiny part of him was giddy at the idea of playing shaft-diver. He had always adored shaft divers. Every young man adored shaft divers. Yes! That's what he would do. It was all coming together. All he had to do was recall every piece of information he could remember about shaft-diving, every story, every book, every wayward tale, and he would survive. His stomach groaned.

The prince drew himself up, puffing out his chest with newfound confidence. Yes. It was all coming together. He seized a rock, a nice sturdy one, and scraped off the lichens with his hands. It was a disgusting sensation, but the prince reveled in his newfound rustic aplomb. No, he thought. It had always been there. He was emerging from his chrysalis. He crouched low, surveying his environment for danger. He focused his eyes on a chubby little gastropod, and began to stalk, creeping toward his prey like some huntress-witch from the glowing swamp. Toe to heel. Yes. By the gods it was working. Yes. He was doing it. He was actually doing it. Three meters. Two meters. One. He raised the rock.

As he brought the rock down, his foot slid out from under him, sending him toppling sideways. His elbow plunged through a bed of moss and into another freezing pool. The chubby gastropod hopped up, skittering away as fast as its tentacles could carry it. The rock caught it by two of its legs. In a herculean feat of hunting prowess, the prince lunged, sprawling upon his belly to slam the rock down on the gastropod again. The hit connected, breaking the shell with a satisfying thwack.

The prince, giddy with adrenaline and hunger, seized the thing in his hands. He peeled off his mouthplate, and tore into the mass. Almost immediately he recoiled as bits of shell tore into the spaces between his teeth. He plucked and spat out the shards, and remembered something about the little gastropods. He began to tear off tentacles. The texture was disgusting, leathery sheathes and overwhelmingly fatty meat with veins like gamey dental floss. The prince, in his starving delirium, found them delicious. He laughed and wept as he ate, mad with adrenaline, splayed out on his belly in the freezing muck. Success. Victory. A conquering.

The shaft diver, who had been observing all of this from a nearby boulder, watched on with an expression of mild horror, mercantile opportunity, and ill-advised lust. He descended from his perch as loudly as he could, and strode across the wet ground with purpose. He adjusted his bow tie, and in his most charming voice, the one he reserved for rich marks, said;

"Hey there."

The prince whipped around, bits of tentacle flying from his mouth as he drew himself up to one knee, and then up to both feet. He was met with the sight of a vile little beast. Maybe five feet tall, pink and fleshy, with wide dark eyes flanked by little fins and a row of razor-sharp teeth. No doubt one of the many horrors common to these ruins. The prince drew his weapon, the nanites flashed into place, forming a thin, scalpel-sharp, blade which he leveled at the beast's throat.

"mgie bgeft" he shouted through a mouthful of gastropod, and lunged.

A wristblade extended from beneath the shaft-diver's sleeve. It parried and backstepped with rigged agility. "Hey now! Hey hey hey! Relax! I'm not gonna hurt ya." Said the shaft diver, holding up his palms in a calming gesture. This guy was scared shitless, he needed an angle.

"Hey buddy calm down, its okay, whats your prodigal?" Said the shaft diver.

The prince stared at him, "Prodigal?" He said, clearly still panicking.

Oh boy, thought the shaft diver, this one was real out of his league. "Oh, sorry sorry, I thought you were one of us, said the diver."

The prince stared back, bits of gastropod dripping from his mouth. "One of us?"

Time to lay it on thick. "A shaft diver, dummy. I was watching you stalk that thing, figured you were pro." He paused for dramatic effect, feigning realization. "You're tellin me you're not a diver?"

"No. but I can see how you would make that mistake." Said the prince, swishing the nanoblade away with sudden dignity. "You stand before Marin de Trozier, firstborn and rightful heir to house Trozier."

The shaft diver was all but drooling. He could tell guy was wealthy, but the firstborn of an Atlantean merchant clan? The shaft divers thoughts went into overdrive. Do I bow? No. He's playing shaft diver, let him play the part.

The shaft diver put on his best shaft diver voice, the rough, touch-mad one, like how they sound in teleplays. He was nearly a foot shorter than the prince, but did his best to look rugged and unimpressed. "Am I supposed to be impressed, prettyboy? Want me to curtsy? You're in Teleth Avaris now, you left your titles behind. Like it or not-" He paused for effect. "-you're a shaft diver now."

"Hmph." Said Marin, turning up his nose at the insolence. "Maybe so. You still haven't given me your name. Your 'prodigal' was it?" Marin made mocking quotes as he said the words. The shaft diver shook his head. "Seeing as you've already given me your proper name, there's no need for prodigals." He extended a rigged hand, "You can call me Kip."

Marin returned the gesture, shaking. "Marin."

Kip grinned. Hook, line, and sinker.

This is the first chapter of Emerald Seas. You can read the first draft, and its prequel, here.

[kiragecko]

The Canadian Shield

Apparently, the Canadian Shield is a “geologic province”. That just means a large area with a lot of geology in common. I like it because it’s really WEIRD.

The Shield was created by glaciers sliding through. They scraped off all the topsoil and softer rock, and messed up all the watersheds. What developed in the ruins was a maze of endless rivers and lakes, large rocks covered in mosses and lichens, and trees. Lots of trees.¹

There are several things that I think are cool:

the rocks, moss, and lichen

the deranged drainage system

the endlessness

Rocks, Moss, and Lichen

Much of the Canadian Shield is covered in boreal forests (also called taiga). At least, wherever there’s enough dirt. But there is a LOT of exposed rock. And growing on those rocks are the coolest plants/animals in the world – lichens.

Lichens are a symbiosis of algae, fungi, and yeast! Some look like moss – all soft branched stalks. Some look like crunchy fungi or seaweed – growing off the rocks in weird ruffles. Others look like … paint? You know how some rocks will have coloured crusty spots that can be peeled off? Those are lichen! (Some are even powdery, but we don’t get many of those in the Shield.)

Then there’s ACTUAL moss. And moss is almost as cool as lichen! All wet and squishy and ridiculously complex if you look at it closely. Gorgeous stuff!

And finally, there’s the rocks themselves. If you live in an area with rocks, possibly you do not find them breathtaking. But I remember excitedly talking to my parents for SEVERAL MINUTES after seeing a rock in a field, because here in the prairies, you don’t see them.

And these are COOL rocks. Bedrock. Super hard igneous rock that doesn’t wear quickly. It forms cliffs and ravines, despite the fact that the area is quite flat on the macroscale. Canoeing under a cliff face that leans over you is an awe-inspiring experience. Staring down into the depths of the lake below you, seeing that it goes straight down, and then a few feet later the water is shallow. The rocks are big, and full of neat cracks, and pretty coloured, and … they’re good rocks.

Deranged Drainage System

Since the land is made of super hard rock that weathers slowly, and all the watersheds got messed up by the glaciers dumping rocks around the edges of the Shield, water struggles to form normal drainage systems. Rather than starting as small rivers and then combining  as they flow downstream, water just collects in every lowpoint. Thousands of small lakes form, connecting to each other at odd, sometimes hidden, points, with very little predictability. Rapids and waterfalls are common. Shorelines are very irregular, with all sorts of hidden coves. It becomes difficult to figure out what is an island, and what is the mainland.

Looking down from the air, the landscape seems fractal. Sitting on a rock, staring at the opposite shore, it’s obvious that this is true.

Navigating these waterchannels takes a LOT of skill. Mapping them barely helps – the maps are complex enough that it’s hard to absorb the correct information. The Nîhithaw (Cree) navigate by attaching stories to the landmarks, which makes it fun to travel with a guide.

Endlessness

The Canadian Shield is HUGE. It covers over half of Canada! The features that make it up are small, and complex. Most of it is sparsely inhabited. There are few roads; and a lot of areas, travel is either by boat or float plane.

The effect is that of an endless landscape. By plane, you can see more lakes than you can count, all difficult to identify. They stretch to the horizon in every direction.

By boat, you can see many, many interesting  and unique-seeming features. But half an hour later you’ll discover yourself in a spot that looks identical. You’re frequently slipping around blind corners and into narrow, hidden channels, which increases the sense of covering ground. But because you’re rarely going in a straight line, it’s difficult to figure out how far you’ve actually gone. It’s a maze, and it’s possible to travel it for days without seeing a single other human.

(Or you can see multiple groups of people over an hour long trip. It’s very unpredictable.)

That combination of isolation, scale, constantly changing view (that still stays the same TYPE of view), lets me truly  FEEL the vastness. Everything about me gets quiet in the Shield. I’ll suddenly find my face aching from smiling so big for so long. The world is endless and peaceful and not designed for me in the slightest.

It’s exhilarating.

-

¹ There are a few different biomes in the Shield. But the main one, and the one I’ve mostly experienced, is the boreal forest. So that’s the part I’m focusing on. Especially the landscapes of the Whiteshell and northern Saskatchewan.

[lichenaday]

Bryoria trichodes

Inelegant horsehair lichen

This fruticose lichen grows in long, hair-like strands up to 15 cm in length out of a central holdfast attached to conifers and old wood. The strands are isotomically-dichotomous branching, and patchy (pseudocyphellate) pale to dark brown in color. B. trichodes produces red-brown apothecia which have a flat to convex disc up to 1.5 mm in diameter. It can be found in boreal forests, open bogs, and lake shores at high elevations in North America and Japan.

images: source | source

[bowieandqueen11]

Fickle Bird / Izzy Hands Imagine

Request: Would you be willing to do another spicy Izzy hands x reader ? Loved your previous stories!!

Thank you so much!! I'm always happy to see how much people enjoying reading for Izzy :) Assigned babygirl by the fandom and I am here for it,

Warning: This is smutty as heck, so 18+ only please!!! Sexual biting, sexual allusions and strong language!

(I do not own OFMD or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @unwanted-animal.)

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

Izzy Hands was becoming irritatingly querulous.

It had taken him far too many hours of laboriously hard work to finally pull you away from your crewmates. Every time you turned your head, he had been right there behind you. Doing his best to throw you sad eyes, hanging his head and ostentatiously ducking out of your line of vision as if he were plagued by tenebrous shrouds. He had tugged at your collar while Stede Bonnet's crew were idly mulling around, pretending to do their assigned chores on deck; he had done his best to subtly lead you away from Lucius, growing more and more irritated by each passing second you ignored his advances and continued your conversation.

He had wrapped his arms around your waist, jutting his chin into your shoulder as you did your best to shake him off and clear up your friend's dinner plates with Roach. Even though a sharp jab at his ribs got him to take a sheepish step back. running a glove through his hair to slick it back with an imperceptible look bored into the side of your cheek, you did your best to ignore the phantom chills of his stout fingers caressing carelessly over your stomach.

By the end of the night, he was two seconds away from hauling you over his shoulder and throwing the two of you into the ball room; as clouds steamed out of his ears, the visualisation of slamming the door shut with the heel of his boot and taking you right there and then, with stupid Lucius Spriggs being able to hear, was getting far too enticing.

Israel Hands had always been flighty. Impatient. Agitated, when it came to you. You had always known him to be: ever since your tenure on the great Captain Blackbeard's vessel almost five years ago now, Izzy had been protective over you and your relationship. Fear bore jealousy: a heart-breaking self-conscious disposition masked behind layers of seething hardness spawned only the animosity of Stede Bonnet's crew, and served to hinder his plans all the more.

As much as you did enjoy teasing the man, you knew that even he had his limit.

Which is how you found yourself nearly flown, well, more like catapulted to the other side of the beach during one of Bonnet's 'stupid fucking dilly-dallies around the poncy parts of Tangerine Cove', as your ever sweet significant other had put it. Before Buttons could even step foot on the shore: before Lucius could even settle down underneath a palm tree to sketch Black Pete, who had carefully positioned his near naked body to be splayed out against the foamy bubbles like a starfish, before Frenchie had even managed to haul the rest of Wee John's gunpowder out onto the strand, Izzy hand taken your hand tightly in his, his grip ready to pop your fingers like sea grapes.

You only laughed as the two of you ran, kicking sand across your feet as you scurried after him and towards an incredibly conspicuous, raggedy looking wall of orange lichen eaten stones placed as a make-shift border between the stretches of beach. Izzy didn't say a word. Instead he almost seemed to glide in front of you, as if beaks were pecking at his feet, threatening to perch upon a bough in his heart and thrum; he knew, if he couldn't make it behind these stones right now, his frail soul was about to snap under the weight of it all.

The intensity of his gaze as he helped you step over the ring was enough to take your breath away.

He sinks to his knees before you, wasting no time in knocking you to the scything sand; his hand splays out against your stomach and pushes you gruffly, until you've fallen onto your bottom and he has easy access to your legs. He whimpers as he hitches them up, frantically lining your ankles with wet kisses and hot, open-mouthed bruises as he wraps them around his neck. His hands are soft, so tender, yet they claw into your skin as he begins to knead the muscles of your calves. You can feel him inch closer and closer - his hands winding down your inner thighs until they're resting on your inner legs, thumbs tantalisingly close to stroking your panty line.

'Is this alright... sweetheart', he asks breathlessly, pressing his fingers down into the meat of your hips until his full weight his almost exclusively leaning against your stomach. He leans forward to nip against your mouth.

'Hmm- hmph', you jolt as you feel Izzy guide his hand further down towards your growing heat. 'Oh god yes. I swear, I was about to explode on that ship. As much as I appreciate the new company, especially with how cranky Edward has been recently, it's so hard between the two crews merging and escaping the English to find a moment alone.'

'Says the little tease. 'Oh Lucius, you're so funny, and I love your hair. And you're such a great drawer. You should draw me some time, and we should skip off into the sunset'-'

The back of his head is suddenly jolted up as you grasp onto the strands of hair near his crown. His mouth shudders at the feeling, opening and closing like a blubbering fish. Like a swallow caught in a trap. You graze your fingernails down to the nape of his neck apologetically, not before chiding him with a humoured 'jealousy has never suited you, Israel Hands. Now shut up and put that mouth to better use, before I go take Pete's place.'

He growls at you, baring his teeth, but you can tell by the way he gets straight to work that he takes your jesting as light-hearted. He lets the words wash over his head: right now, he was busy burying himself within you; his nose glides across the pulse point jittering through your neck, his eyes heavy and lidded as he barely breaths. Barely moves.

The little flirt. He was trying to get his own back.

He just rests there, just lets you shiver under the short pants that roll off his tongue and fan out across your collar bone, his teeth daring to dart out every so often and graze across the skin by your earlobe. His lips continue their ghostly ravishing, finally coming to a stop by cautiously hovering over your racing heartbeat.

You were getting far too impatient. The feel of your hands scrambling down to tug at his thigh holster would almost had made him laugh, if it hadn't been for the fortuitous brush of the side of your palm against his growing bulge.

But two can play at that game. You almost want to scream when he cocks his head up to throw you a shit-eating grin, before the flat part of his tongue licks out to swirl against the top of your left bosom.

'If you don't- hmph- if you don't stop, someone is going to catch u-oh-'. Your reprimands were astutely silenced by Izzy with a teasingly light stroke of his pointer and middle finger down the thin material covering your groin. He made sure to drag his thumb behind, digging in against the material a little harsher with it, until you could almost feel the rugged tip of his fingernail inside you.

'Oh, fuck off. If you're any louder, even the fucking sirens will start popping up to see what that... titillating sound is.'

If Izzy wasn't too busy running the flat edge of his tongue up the seam of your inner leg, you would have had half a mind to shove him off you right there and then.

'Stop complaining.'

He drags his thumb along his lips before popping it in his mouth, sucking at the leather. His eyes never leave yours as his teeth clench into the material, tugging it off and throwing it blindly behind his back. The feeling of the coarse pad being suddenly replaced by a warm, firm fingertip against the outside of your folds was enough to make you buck your hips up in wild euphoria.

This man. He was going to drive you absolutely mad.

'Even I didn't think you were such a squirmy little thing', he states with a calculated grin. 'Didn't take much for you to fall apart in front of me, now, did it? Never does though, to be fair.'

'Oh, you're one to talk. One more - mmph- one more sad look in my direction and I would have pinned you to the floor in front of Bonnet's crew. You're proper needy, aren't you? Couldn't- couldn't wait- couldn't stop begging-'

He was far too impertinent for your persiflage. God, how he had wanted this-how he had wanted you for far longer than his dogged soul was willing to admit. It had near driven him to that sweet, twilight chasm of madness: sent him tumbling over the edge until he was near plagued, near driven to his knees to beg for forgiveness for his loving sin at your placating shrine. He was almost about to burn with embarrassment, but Israel Hands was too far gone to care.

Instead, he swallows thickly before taking your hand, cupping it around his neck. Then he whimpers, and the two of you are really in it then.

'I would let you fucking wreck me, you know that?', he chokes out from behind gritted teeth, trying to stop the pulsating feeling aching in the pit of his stomach.

'Sweet man', you reach up to brush his cheek with your free hand, and he almost recoils at the touch. 'You're safe with me Iz. Always. You don't have to hide what you want.'

He cups his fingers over your own: he can barely stop them from contracting over your knuckles as he throws his head back to the heavens and closes his eyes in contentment. His body starts squirming then, the heat from your fingertips making every nerve ending down the back of his spine alight, and he can't help - doesn't want to stop the way he starts rocking his hips back and forth across your legs. The lust seems to be radiating off his glowing cheeks as he furrows his eyebrows in blissful agony.

He drags his free hand down your arm until he reaches the scabbard to the right of his stomach. You poke the inside of your lip with your tongue, watching the sharp edge slice across the air to be placed, with a precision only wrought with a extensive practice, to lay underneath the cold metal bravely guarding your chest. With a quick whip of his wrist, off your blouse went: the first button soared through the air without Izzy needing to even open his eyes. But as he peeked one open and saw the line of tantalising skin grow wider down your rising breast, all semblance of restrained self-mastery fled from his brain.

The rest were ripped open by a clenched glove. You were surprised none of the rest of the crew popped their heads up at the sound: the rip of cotton material being shredded straight across your jiggling bosoms, your buttons flying off like mini cannonballs being struck into the unsuspecting shifts of sand.

Pop. Pop. Pop.

You didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing how your legs imperceptivity clenched together at the way he subconsciously wet his bottom lip, his nose scrunching up as he nearly snarled at the sight of the unhampered skin freed from your tight blouse.

He's voracious as he bites down like a starved stray and pierces the edge of your right breast with his front teeth. The faint sunlight blinds your eyes and makes you see pockets of stars as he begins sucking like his very soul depended on it, burying his head right in line with your sternum.

Wanting to return the favour, you let your free hands wander down. Hiking up the fringes of his shirt, you let your hands wander over the taut muscles of his abdomen, smiling to yourself as you feel goose bumps prick up to meet your cool palms. Izzy pants against your nipple, which in turn makes it harden as his hot breath breezes past. Giving you an idea, you run your hand up past the fine silver hairs of Izzy's happy trail, to experimentally roll the pad of your thumb over the man's left nipple.

What you weren't expecting, however, was for him to collapse on top of you.

The groan that muffled out past the fist he tried to shove into his mouth was inhuman. Was damn sinful. All he can do while he lets the overpowering rush of desire coarse through his veins is to quieten the sound with your awaiting lips; he's trembling against you, and so you reassure him with a languid massage of your tongue against his own. His hand tried to flail away as he finally feels you probe around his teeth, but you catch it easily, pressing it firmly against your fluttering heart. With a final tug, you finally manage to stumble your way through the loops of his trouser buttons.

His hips judder forward until he prods awkwardly against the bottom of your abdomen, leaving a slick wetness smeared against the buckle of your belt. He grimaces, a thin line of saliva glistening between you as he pulls his head back to look down at the disturbance. His nostrils flare as he buries his hands into two clefts in the rocks either side of your head, and does his best to try and control the painful contortions of his face. A low whistle still manages to catch in the back of his throat as he gazes down at the milky seepage he has left behind, running in smooth drips down your bellybutton and smearing it with each jolt of your desperate hips against his, further and further down against your hip line. The muscles in his face fall as if he were in a trance: as if he were a man possessed.

'I-I care for you. You know that.' He can barely meet your eye in fear that you'd be repulsed by the sweetness - by the fondness that has flooded through them, feeling the gilded shadows that veiled his sight begin to lift.

You reach up and let your pointer finger gingerly trace over the outline of the swallow tattoo inked into the side of his neck. 'I know. I love you too, Israel Hands.'

God, you were going to be the end of him. And if he weren't so blinded by it, he would have been more than satisfied to sink into the depths of oblivion with you seared into his irises: the last mirage, the last vision of a life he had could never have. Of a love he had not earnt.

But he was stubborn, and his talons refused to stop clinging onto hope.

It must have been quite a sight: the perched rocks quaking as something pounded sloppily against them, the cacophony of breathless, gasping whines as your clawed hand tried to reach back and hold desperately onto the sharp jags above your head.

'Should we... should we do something about that?', Roach asks, looking quizzically around at his friends and dropping the stick he had been chasing the Swede around with a moment before onto the beach.

Lucius, squints his eyes warily, and shakes his head in disgust. 'Nah. I'm leaving that one for the Captain to handle.'

'I think he's too busy getting his own, uh, stuff handled by Blackbeard', Jim pipes in, doing their best to hide their roguish smile as the sound of you screaming Izzy's name grew louder and louder, no matter how well you were trying to stifle it by shoving your mouth into his shoulder blade and biting down, and no matter how well Izzy was drowning it out with the harshness of his own grunts.

'Actually', Lucius thumps the end of his pencil against his chin and begins to grin menacingly. 'This might come in very useful. Looks like Dizzy Izzy, or should I say Izzy the Rasper won't be making poor old Lucius scrub anything else while he's on board.'

[thenightmarketofdathomir]

Title: Drown Me in You Pairing: Darth Maul x Reader / Darth Maul x You (AFAB Cis)  Rating: Explicit  Word Count: 5,745 words

Summary: “They could not bring me back the same.” It wasn’t an explanation you understood, finding him that first time, submerged to the ears so that only the glow of his eyes and the reach of his horns protruded above the brackish water of the swamp. Little webs of sodden lichen and moss clung to him, and with nothing visible save for his expression, all you felt was cold hunger — A million miles between your kind and his, and not knowing his words were warning, you crouched on the shore, your bare toes sinking into the silt, and you held your human hand to him as if you could beckon the creature closer. “I can help you,” you told him. Beneath the surface, his smile was a reflection in razors. “No, my dear.”

...

Nothing is wasted on Dathomir, and those that return to the planet often emerge from the waters... different.

For Mermay 2023: Mermaid!Maul x (AFAB) Reader

Warnings: Teratophilia, Exophilia, Mildly Dubious Consent, Sexual Coercion, Breeding, Oviposition, Size Difference, Alien Biology, Blood (mention), Mating Bond, Alien Physiology (Cloaca)

🖤❤️🖤 A preview of the fic is included beneath the cut, or you may jump directly to Ao3 to read it in its entirety. 🖤❤️🖤

“They could not bring me back the same.”

It wasn’t an explanation you understood, finding him that first time, submerged to the ears so that only the glow of his eyes and the reach of his horns protruded above the brackish water of the swamp. Little webs of sodden lichen and moss clung to him, and with nothing visible save for his expression, all you felt was cold hunger —

A million miles between your kind and his, and not knowing his words were warning, you crouched on the shore, your bare toes sinking into the silt, and you held your human hand to him as if you could beckon the creature closer.

“I can help you,” you told him.

Beneath the surface, his smile was a reflection in razors.

“No, my dear.”

He did not retreat, but sank, sending ripples across muddy water that echoed in the Force, leaving your shirt sticking to the sweat on your back and your hot skin fettered with Dathomir’s humidity; its bog-reek and festering, fecund decomposition stuffed into your nostrils a guarantee that whatever dies here feeds the nexus.

It’s just the way of things: death, decay, and life’s return.

Nothing is wasted.

It makes the planet rich.

When he blinks, the membrane leaves his shining gaze slits of flame, burning and hollow, and achingly alone —

A solitary creature who will not show you his face, though he wears the markings of a Nightbrother, forgotten to the swamps and consumed by solitary contemplation between the splayed roots of trees, and in the recesses where the water and the Force stir together.

He watches you — a being so powerful that he can breathe these waters despite the difficult conditions — but something is missing in that burning stare.

“What dwells here is more monster than man,” he says. “You should go. Do not return.”

“But I can help you —”

Because you felt some relief at finding another living soul who might communicate with words and feelings after so many nights studying the ruins of a civilization hostile to outsiders. Dathomir whispers, but its interest is entirely self-serving:

You think the nexus wanted you to find him.

“No one can help me,” he says, and then he’s gone.

Darkness descends when the swamp closes over his head, and only the slap of water against the trees from the lash of a powerful, spiked tail fin reveals his true nature as he vanishes beneath the surface.

The world falls to quiet, the silence muffled as you realize that all life goes still when in the presence of a powerful predator, and slowly, your heart pounding, you listen to the first trill and glug of life returning.

He’s gone, you think.

But somewhere in the distance, between the drape of moss and vine, you think you can see the bright gleam of his consideration, looking at you from a distance safe enough to realize he’s intrigued.

Read the rest on Ao3 >

[futurebird]

Once and future lichen

Who had that mighty arm? That split the stone, pulled loose the blade? For on a rocky shore, a crack describes this feat of strength.

The lichen split those rocks, my lord, & made the soils from the stone.

And where now is that blade? In this Lichen’s hand, our future king? Where now lives a hero who the ancient rocks must fear?

Seek the crustose crown of ivory foam, fruticose tendrils ring the dome— in golds & greens:a regal mold.

A regal… mold?!

Ay, my lord, a regal mold, attended by pageantry of tiny bugs & lively algal greenery.

[rabbitcruiser]

Byrums Raukar, Sweden (No. 7)

Due to different clay mineral content, the hardness of the limestone varies. The rauks at Byrum have been formed when looser limestone was eroded away by the influence of the waves and left stone pillars of harder limestone. The area by Byrum is rich in fossils. Fossils are dead prehistoric animals that have sunk to the seabed and are embedded in sediments. The sediments have for a long time been compressed into a rock, in which the shapes of the animals have been preserved. At Byrum, fossils of the trilobite genus Asaphus occur, so abundant that it has been given the name of a layer in the limestone.

Keep in mind that it is not allowed according to Allemansrätten to knock fossils loose from blocks or bedrock. It is prohibited by law. Loose fossils and rocks are part of the land and belong to the landowner. Individual memorial stones or fossil fragments that have no economic value are allowed to be taken home.

Source

[true--north]

Elsa rides along the lonely shore of the Dark Sea. The Northwind follows her every move. There are only glaciers, icy sun high above and red lichens peeking out from under the fluffy snow veil. She is alone for a league around. There is a melodious yearning calling from across the sea, but it is not the motherly tunes of Ahtohallan.

The back of a huge azure fish surfaces from the dark silver of the Sea and releases a jet of water into the sparkling wintry air. Elsa smiles. It's her friend the Whale. Together with Nokk, they had followed the whale tribes to places where no man had ever set foot, to the protected glacial cliffs, the home of the Arctic terns, and far beyond. Elsa always thought that she did not count, she didn't desecrate the hidden temples of Nature for she has becoming becoming less and less of a human being. She is a spirit, the spirit of the North; a queen of ice and snow, and the wastelands are open to her.

She tames the sea waves into her magical ice and rides merrily towards the whales. But their song of wanderings abruptly interrupts; they dive deep down and disappear.

A terrible heavy creaking noise deafens the air. Ahead, breaking the ice, a gigantic icebreaker is approaching Elsa. A monster of grey metal, steam, coal, blackened pipes and steel ropes. The ship is slow and heavy, it moves closer and closer to her. Nokk is angry. Elsa looks up and sees a young man on the deck. He's wearing an assistant captain's blue uniform and a fur hat. He had changed but she would always recognise those spring green eyes.

They have come for her Forest, for Ahtohallan, for her reindeer and whales, for her stones and campfires. The strangers are here.

Hans Westergaard lowers his binoculars, staring in disbelief at the stunning woman clad in white flowing silks. She stands on the ice floe, the gusts of wind are tearing her long colourless hair. He knew her as Queen Elsa of Arendelle.