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dansnaturepictures · 5 months

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My Great British Wild Year: Part 4 of 5-Flowers and fungi

Spring scurvygrass of Scottish shores, magical marsh helleborine at Anglesey’s Newborough and the splendour of snake’s-head fritillaries at Lakeside Country Park at home were three of the highlights of my wildflower year. It was an awesome orchid year for me, as we went into summer I was treated to a fair few exquisite bee orchids at Lakeside, RSPB Conwy and Durlston and especially at Lakeside pyramidal orchids glowed in ethereal mystique. Two big orchid finds of my year came at Martin Down, on a day we also marvelled at the burnt-tip orchids we’ve seen there so much I was elated to see my first ever butterfly orchid in late May, and earlier that month we saw stunning white form early purple orchids a familiar flower for us which we enjoyed immensely there and at Noar Hill in May. Heath and common spotted orchid were stars for me this year too and I did well for marsh orchids including a beautiful early marsh orchid at Newborough.

The early marsh orchid

The butterfly orchid

Winter heliotrope captivated me from the very start of the year on New Year’s Day at Lakeside enjoying them late in the year too as it came full circle, and lesser celandine this year in England and Scotland will always remind me of one of my greatest springs. My first ever greater celandine at Lakeside stood out, with mysterious wood anemone and greater and lesser stitchwort, shiny speedwells, prominent red campion, fascinating bugle, shining bird’s-foot trefoil and delicate snowflakes other standout species of my year. The Anglesey week was a floral fest with English stonecrop, yellow horned poppy which I saw at Hill Head later in the summer too, thrift, sheep’s-bit, kidney vetch, enigmatic marsh cinquefoil, possible wild pansy and sumptuous restharrow other standout species. Centaury and common toadflax, two of my favourites, were ones I got excited about many times this year. Into summer and red bartsia, purple loosestrife, hemp agrimony, great willowherb, precious water mint, colourful bird or tufted vetch, wild basil, marjoram, common and bell heather and cross-leaved heath in a strong New Forest summer of purple heather, harebell, eyebright, knapweed, revelations of my year mugwort, gypsywort and lady’s thumb aka redshank and fleabane a star of my summer stood out. Another of my finds of the year was rare cut-leaved self-heal at Shipton Bellinger. A late summer/autumn favourite of mine I was taken by again was enigmatic devil’s-bit scabious. Marsh mallow at Minsmere in a strong mallow year I had and round-leaved sundew at Thursley were September greats of my year. Foxgloves, tansy and comfrey were other highlights. In late summer and autumn a bumper berry crop transformed the landscape, with hawthorn, rose hips, holly and guelder rose berries in particular creating a scarlet cloak.

Wild basil at Shipton Bellinger

Red campion at RSPB Cors Ddyga

In late winter/spring I saw amazing scarlet elf cup a fair few times firstly enchanting the woods of RSPB Titchwell and then at home in Hampshire, I love the colour and shape of this mushroom. It was thrilling to see both devil’s fingers and nail fungus (Poronia punctata) near Bolton’s Bench in the New Forest in September and October, otherworldly and enigmatic shrooms. That day in October I was also stunned to see many fly agaric there, iconic ruby mushrooms which is the species that first got me into them. Also that day at Denny Wood in the New Forest I was overjoyed to see a few delicate, neat and some nanoscopic amethyst deceivers, fine mushrooms as though woven in purple silk as well as bold bleeding fairy helmet. I saw fly agaric and amethyst deceiver especially the latter in a fest for them multiple times in the forest this autumn. Turkey tail, eyelash fungus at Bentley Wood in spring, shaggy ink caps, common ink caps, pleated ink cap, alluring and cosy shaggy scalycaps, yellow stagshorn, mysterious candlesnuff fungi, my first ever white spindles a lovely one, parasol, sulphur tuft, panthercap, some gratifying hoof fungus at RSPB Loch Ruthven which became evocative of the Scotland trip, common puffball and lots of common earthball were other highlights this year.

The Denny Wood bleeding fairy helmets

Fly agaric at Bolton's Bench

Earthball at Thursley

Amethyst deceivers on a walk from Cadman's Pool in the New Forest

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tatzelwormey · 1 year

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#marvel #dc #amalgam #amalgam comics #psylocke #captain britain #elizabeth braddock #betsy braddock #black orchid #marvel’s mantis

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adore-laur · 2 months

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BEAUTY

— harry & nadine’s meet-cute — it’s kinda all over the place but whatever 🕊️

——

SIX YEARS AGO

Grey skies loomed over Loire Valley with the promise of an April rainstorm. The slow-moving river snaked through the scenic countryside and stretched beyond what the human eye could see. Trees rustled in a favorable breeze, stirring up aromas from nearby fruit orchids. Firecrests and turtle doves chirped in the distance, signaling the start of spring.

Nadine savored it all while crossing the bridge on her Beaumont bicycle. In the front wicker basket was her canvas tote bag containing her Kodak camera protectively wrapped in a pillowcase, a serving of fresh tapioca pudding she had impulsively purchased from the local farmer's market, and an unknown flower she had found under the oak tree in her backyard. Her yellow rain poncho crinkled as she pedaled vigorously to get to her destination before the clouds burst. The scrape on her knee she had gotten from falling off her bike in the gravel driveway dully ached. Maybe the rain would wash away the dried blood.

The Domaine de Chaumont-sur-Loire opened its annual International Garden Festival that morning, which Nadine wouldn't have missed for the world. It resurfaced fond childhood memories of strolling through the enriching gardens with her family and getting lost in the creative landscapes showcased by landscapers, architects, and photographers far and wide.

Nadine planned to take modeling photos to build her portfolio. As a curvy girl with distinct ethnic features, getting her foot in the door had been challenging, but the alluring backdrop of the gardens would make her stand out. The theme was Gardens of Sensations.

In the past, it had been no easy feat to try to photograph herself with her less-than-adequate camera and awkward self-direction. However, she prepared to make these sacrifices for a prosperous career. Loire Valley only had one modeling agency, which meant she had to start somewhere small and cheap before traveling north to Paris for more lavish opportunities.

To earn a living, Nadine provided housekeeping services for surrounding chateaus. The work was rewarding, but it did not spark any passion for her. As a young girl, she had been fascinated by the aesthetic of posing in different environments and making fashion statements after seeing magazine spreads of French models strutting down the catwalk. But she had never been able to imagine herself in their shoes—literally and figuratively. Those six-inch heels seemed killer. With her thick eyebrows, pesky cellulite, and blemished skin, she had been the complete opposite of what model scouts sought.

Once Nadine became wiser over the years, she knew her worth. Her natural beauty just needed to be highlighted by the right scenery and clothing.

When she arrived at the festival, she locked her bike on a rack and slung her tote bag over her shoulder. The historical Chateau-de-Chaumont on the sprawling lawn caused her to stop and stare for a moment. It was grand and beautiful, just as she remembered. Her newfangled perspective left her wondering what inspiration she would discover.

After buying an admission ticket, she walked under the arch of the chateau to reach the garden path weaving through twenty-one hectares of artistic garden exhibits. Each display differed depending on where the landscaper originally hailed from, like Japan, Korea, Great Britain, and many other countries. Among the trees was a greenhouse kitchen where vegetables were grown and offered to visitors. Nadine remembered eating juicy little tomatoes there as a teenager—they were called 'the nipples of Venus.' The memory made her smile faintly.

She glanced around for a pretty scene to photograph herself in just as the rain began to sprinkle. Shivering, she pulled the hood of her poncho over her head. Maybe today wasn’t the best day to embark on a modeling adventure. Maybe she should have turned around and gone home.

But further in the gardens, Nadine stumbled upon a peculiar situation. An exhibition was still being set up, nestled in an opening surrounded by greenery like a secret oasis. Landscapers worked diligently to put the finishing touches on it. They removed leaves and branches from the water with pool skimmers. Their work had been delayed by the unpredictable climate in central France. It was a blessing the rain did not fall much through the canopy of trees above.

There was a rectangular vat of water with a wooden path winding through it, similar to a Candyland board. Red bamboo canes stood tall around it, hugging it with vibrant color. There was something simple yet entrancing about it, and she was drawn to the energy of tranquility that called to her.

Nadine slowly approached, trying to act invisible so as not to disturb them. She would wait until they were done before taking photos. Perhaps sitting on the path and posing near the bamboo would be adequate. Yes, that would be a fantastic shot. Unique, too, which was what she was striving for.

Her childlike wonder pushed her closer until her attention snagged on something else. Something a little more... intriguing.

A man stood waist-deep in the water, rearranging bamboo with sedulous care, his bare back turned to her. He had the most muscular, contoured back Nadine had ever seen in her life. It was sculpted in a way that captured her gaze, but she should not have been surprised. He was some sort of landscaper, which was a labor-intensive job. His tendons were surely robust. Sacré bleu, why was she thinking about his tendons?

She snapped out of her man-induced hypnosis. She had a job to get done. Her future was at stake! With that thought, she unwrapped her camera from its cocoon just as a couple of landscapers brushed past her with plastic buckets, paying no mind to her lingering presence. She must have looked like a mere tourist.

Nadine delicately cleared her throat in an attempt to catch the attention of the man with the beautiful back. He was the only one still tending to the exhibit and did not seem to hear her.

"Excusez-moi?" she said, removing her hood to appear more approachable.

The man's large hands, which were also gorgeously sculpted, halted around the lithe bamboo sticks. His face turned before his body did and— goodness gracious. Oh wow. He was pleasing. To look at, she meant. His foreign face was a masterpiece of symmetry. While he did not look French, remnants of European features still adorned his face. A well-chiseled bone structure and an elegant straight nose. Pink lips that were parted. A firm chest with a ridged midsection. Disheveled, rain-soaked hair. A pair of soulful green eyes stared intently at her.

"Bonjour," he replied, sounding perplexed.

Nadine's gaze desperately wanted to wander south again, but she remained strong. "Is this exhibit open to visitors?" she asked.

He regarded her for longer than normal—not scrutinizingly, but rather in a mystified manner. "Yes. My apologies, I was just perfecting a few details."

"I did not mean to intrude. I—" She paused and searched for the proper words. "Well, I was hoping to take pictures for my portfolio here."

"Your portfolio?" he echoed.

Nodding, Nadine nervously tucked her damp hair behind her ears. "For modeling. I am broadening my use of compelling backdrops, and this festival has plenty of them." She waved a hand, the flourishing nature around them not needing further explanation. "Anyway, this particular exhibit caught my eye. Would it be possible for me to take some pictures?"

The man glanced behind her, his brows furrowing. "Where is your photographer?"

"I... do not have one," she said shyly. "I place my camera on a flat surface and set the timer."

It was far too expensive to hire an entire crew for a photoshoot. She would have rather saved money by gaining hands-free experience herself. Besides, people in the modeling industry admired humble beginnings. She was building herself from the ground up.

"Would you like some assistance?" he asked, raindrops gently falling from his chin. Nadine detected a lilted British accent.

"Oh, I do not want to be a nuisance," she said. "I’m sure you are busy."

He walked to the edge closest to her and shook his head, a handsome smile pulling at his lips. "No, not anymore."

Thrilled, Nadine's heartbeat pounded like a stampede of animals. "All right, then."

It was an unexpected turn of events. As far as she was concerned, she had not expected to meet someone as generous as this man. She hadn't expected much of anything out of today since the weather put a damper on her mood, and her dreams often felt unobtainable.

"What's your name?"

Handing over her camera, she answered, "Nadine."

"I'm Harry," he said. "I'm a landscape architect, which might not help your situation, but I did get a passing grade in a college-level photography class. Is that good enough?"

"I don't know," she countered playfully. "I might interpret a passing grade differently from you."

He laughed, his nose scrunching. "B-minus."

She pretended to mull it over before saying, "I will accept that."

"Merci." He sat on the wooden path. "So, do you have any specific ideas in mind for the photoshoot?"

"I know I want to be a part of nature. Close-up shots are preferred. And..." Nadine looked at the exhibit, pondering. "Am I allowed to go in the water?"

"I don't see why not."

"Will I get into trouble? I couldn't stand being banned from this place."

While fidgeting with her camera, Harry said, "This is my exhibit."

This had been designed by him? It was highly impressive, and it made her feel better knowing a person with a meticulous brain and a keen eye for design was helping her. It was also attractive knowing he had constructed it with his bare hands. Did his fingers have calluses? Were there blood, sweat, and tears involved? No, do not think about him sweating!

"You're letting a stranger interfere with your creation?" she asked, willing away the heat rushing up her neck.

As Harry raised the camera to his eye and pointed it at random things, seemingly testing its functionality, he murmured, "You would be adding beauty to it."

In the middle of removing her sandals and poncho, Nadine’s breath hitched. It was quite bold of him to make such a statement. She had to tread carefully around this male enigma. She was there for business and business only.

"Hop in," Harry said. "The water is heated."

She felt vulnerable in her white camisole and brown corduroy maxi skirt. Her curves were accentuated by the spring breeze blowing the fabric. Her feet sank into the dirt. To remain true to the theme of nature and its rawness, she had opted not to wear any makeup.

Shimmying down her skirt and letting it pool on the ground, she revealed her beige underwear. Without saying a word, the mood turned intimate.

While she dipped one leg into the water, Harry's gentlemanly gaze remained fixed on her face. He was right—it was a glorious temperature, like sinking into a lukewarm bath after a long day. She was submerged up to her rib cage.

"Are you new to Loire Valley?" Nadine asked, curious about how this beautiful man showed up in her hometown.

"I live in England. I was invited to this festival to create a United Kingdom exhibit."

"Ah, oui. It must be such an honor. Do you like it here so far?"

Harry nodded. "It's gorgeous. The architecture is brilliant."

"I hope the sheer amount of chateaus we have is not overwhelming,” Nadine said, slicking her hair back with wet palms.

He chuckled and stood up. "Shall we get started?"

Nadine leaned against the edge of the vat, swaying trees and clusters of red bamboo behind her. She settled her expression into her "model face", which was basically just her looking slightly pissed off at something but in a sexy way. With her chin tilted up, she showed off her sharp jaw and neck muscles.

Harry knelt on the wood and held the camera steadily. Leaning forward, he zoomed in at a low angle. There was a look of concentration on his face, and she felt elated that he was so serious about assisting her.

The shutter clicked a few times. By moving her face just a smidge, she subtly posed. It all was natural to her once she was in the moment—it was like breathing. She loved immersing herself in working the camera to her advantage. She made it her best friend.

"Regardez-moi," Harry murmured, sending a delightful shiver down Nadine’s spine. She looked at him with her lips pursed attractively, and he snapped more photos. "Parfaite."

"You speak very good French."

Still adorably focused on his task, he hummed. "I studied architecture at Versailles and took French classes. It's a romantic language."

"I agree." She switched her pose by spreading her arms in the water and trying to smize, as invented by Tyra Banks.

To get the best angles, Harry contorted his body in semi-ridiculous ways. He then got in the water and stood near her. Nadine’s heart rate spiked. He was even more ethereal up close. There was a gentleness to his presence, and she was undeniably attracted to it.

"What do you call an angry French aunt?" Harry asked, setting up a joke.

"Oh, boy. What?"

"A crossaunt."

Nadine let an endeared giggle escape. Slowly lowering the camera, Harry stared at her in awe. His smile was stuck in place as if making her laugh stopped time.

"Fossetes," he whispered. Dimples.

A powerful blush expanded across her face and spread to her chest. Suddenly, her smile turned shy. She had never experienced such attention from a man before. The feeling was both daunting and exhilarating.

Water sluiced down Nadine's body when she stood at her full height. "Thank you for doing this," she said, her voice weak.

"It was my pleasure,” Harry replied. “You made my job easy."

She was going to burst into flames if she kept blushing. "Can I repay the favor in any way?"

His lips quirked to the side as he hummed thoughtfully. "What are your plans for next weekend?" he asked.

"I will most likely be back here again."

"As will I."

"So...” Nadine chewed on the inside of her cheek. “I will see you then?"

"Absolutely." He cleared his throat and held her gaze. "I was wondering if you would fancy doing something with me afterward. We could visit all the farmer's markets. Perhaps stroll along the river at sunset. You could show me your favorite spots and tell me why you love them."

Nadine inhaled a little gasp. If he wanted to spend an evening together, he had surely felt the connection too. It was palpable, hanging thickly in the air like a storm cloud. She could feel the electrical charge with just a single glance. It was definitely worth exploring.

"Unless you're taken,” Harry added uncertainly, combing a hand through his hair. "Sorry, I should have asked first. I just find you so pretty, and you have a lovely laugh." He paused briefly, glimpsing at her lips. "I'd love to hear more of it."

She walked toward him with her pulse going haywire. Her hands cradled his face, and she softly kissed his clean-shaven cheek. "I’m available."

"Oui?"

"Oui."

Harry's eyes crinkled when he smiled. "Splendid. I'm looking forward to it, dove."

Flutters of glee took flight in Nadine's stomach. She had been yearning for a serendipitous moment for ages. The prospect of being wanted always felt unreachable to her. No boys had ever decided she was worth a chance. Now, there was a glimmer of hope.

When Nadine arrived home later that evening, she perused through the pictures on her camera—there were at least fifty. Each one captured her in a certain light that had been unknown to her. Through the eyes of someone else, she found herself feeling desirable.

All thanks to the man with the beautiful back.

——

#harry styles imagine #harry styles au #harry styles fluff #harry styles x oc #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfic #harry styles #foxtail #harry and nadine #adore-laur

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cryptidclaw · 1 year

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Cryptidclaw's WC Prefixes List!

Yall said you were interested in seeing it so here it is!

This is a collection of mostly Flora, Fauna, Rocks, and other such things that can be found in Britain since that’s where the books take place!

I also have other Prefixes that have to do with pelt colors and patterns as well!

Here’s a link to the doc if you dont want to expand a 650 word list on your Tumblr feed lol! the doc is also in my drive linked in my pined post!

below is the actual list! If there are any names you think I should add plz tell me!

EDIT: I will update the doc with new names as I come up with them or have them suggested to me, but I wont update the list on this post! Plz visit my doc for a more updated version!

Animals

Mammal

Badger

Bat

Bear

Beaver

Bison

Boar

Buck

Calf

Cow

Deer

Elk

Fawn

Ferret

Fox

Goat

Hare

Horse

Lamb

Lynx

Marten

Mole

Mouse

Otter

Rabbit

Rat

Seal

Sheep

Shrew

Squirrel

Stoat

Vole

Weasel

Wolf

Wolverine

Amphibians

Frog

Newt

Toad

Reptiles

Scale

Adder

Lizard

Snake

Turtle

Shell

Birds

Bird

Down

Feather

Albatross

Bittern

Buzzard

Chaffinch

Chick

Chicken

Coot

Cormorant

Corvid

Crane

Crow

Curlew

Dove

Duck

Dunlin

Eagle

Egret

Falcon

Finch

Gannet

Goose

Grouse

Gull

Hawk

Hen

Heron

Ibis

Jackdaw

Jay

Kestrel

Kite

Lark

Magpie

Mallard

Merlin

Mockingbird

Murrelet

Nightingale

Osprey

Owl

Partridge

Pelican

Peregrine

Petrel

Pheasant

Pigeon

Plover

Puffin

Quail

Raven

Robin

Rook

Rooster

Ruff

Shrike

Snipe

Sparrow

Starling

Stork

Swallow

Swan

Swift

Tern

Thrasher

Thrush

Vulture

Warbler

Whimbrel

Wren

Freshwater Fish

Fish

Bass

Bream

Carp

Dace

Eel

Lamprey

Loach

Minnow

Perch

Pike

Rudd

Salmon

Sterlet

Tench

Trout

Roach

Saltwater fish and other Sea creatures (would cats be able to find some of these? Probably not, I don't care tho)

Alge

Barnacle

Bass (Saltwater version)

Bream (Saltwater version)

Brill

Clam

Cod

Crab

Dolphin

Eel (Saltwater version)

Flounder

Garfish

Halibut

Kelp

Lobster

Mackerel

Mollusk

Orca

Prawn

Ray

Seal

Shark

Shrimp

Starfish

Sting

Urchin

Whale

Insects and Arachnids

Honey

Insect

Web

Ant

Bee

Beetle

Bug

Butterfly

Caterpillar

Cricket

Damselfly

Dragonfly

Fly

Grasshopper

Grub

Hornet

Maggot

Moth

Spider

Wasp

Worm

Trees

Acorn

Bark

Branch

Forest

Hollow

Log

Root

Stump

Timber

Tree

Twig

Wood

Alder

Apple

Ash

Aspen

Beech

Birch

Cedar

Cherry

Chestnut

Cypress

Elm

Fir

Hawthorn

Hazel

Hemlock

Linden

Maple

Oak

Pear

Poplar

Rowan

Redwood

Spruce

Willow

Yew

Flowers, Shrubs and Other plants

Berry

Blossom

Briar

Field

Flower

Leaf

Meadow

Needle

Petal

Shrub

Stem

Thicket

Thorn

Vine

Anemone

Apricot

Barley

Bellflower

Bluebell

Borage

Bracken

Bramble

Briar

Burnet

Buttercup

Campion

Chamomile

Chanterelle

Chicory

Clover

Cornflower

Daffodil

Daisy

Dandelion

Dogwood

Fallow

Fennel

Fern

Flax

Foxglove

Furze

Garlic

Ginger

Gorse

Grass

Hay

Heather

Holly

Honeysuckle

Hop

Hyacinth

Iris

Ivy

Juniper

Lavender

Lichen

Lilac

Lilly

Mallow

Marigold

Mint

Mistletoe

Moss

Mushroom

Nettle

Nightshade

Oat

Olive

Orchid

Parsley

Periwinkle

Pine

Poppy

Primrose

Privet

Raspberry

Reed

Reedmace

Rose

Rush

Rye

Saffron

Sage

Sedge

Seed

Snowdrop

Spindle

Strawberry

Tangerine

Tansy

Teasel

Thistle

Thrift

Thyme

Violet

Weed

Wheat

Woodruff

Yarrow

Rocks and earth

Agate

Amber

Amethyst

Arch

Basalt

Bounder

Cave

Chalk

Coal

Copper

Dirt

Dust

Flint

Garnet

Gold

Granite

Hill

Iron

Jagged

Jet

Mountain

Mud

Peak

Pebble

Pinnacle

Pit

Quartz

Ridge

Rock

Rubble

Ruby

Rust(y)

Sand

Sapphire

Sediment

Silt

Silver

Slate

Soil

Spire

Stone

Trench

Zircon

Water Formations

Bay

Cove

Creek

Delta

Lake

Marsh

Ocean

Pool

Puddle

River

Sea

Water

Weather and such

Autumn

Avalanche

Balmy

Blaze

Blizzard

Breeze

Burnt

Chill

Cinder

Cloud

Cold

Dew

Drift

Drizzle

Drought

Dry

Ember

Fall

Fire

Flame

Flood

Fog

Freeze

Frost

Frozen

Gale

Gust

Hail

Ice

Icicle

Lightening

Mist

Muggy

Rain

Scorch

Singe

Sky

Sleet

Sloe

Smoke

Snow

Snowflake

Soot

Sorrel

Spark

Spring

Steam

Storm

Summer

Sun

Thunder

Water

Wave

Wet

Wind

Winter

Celestial??

Comet

Dawn

Dusk

Evening

Midnight

Moon

Morning

Night

Noon

Twilight

Cat Features, Traits, and Misc.

Azure

Beige

Big

Black

Blonde

Blotch(ed)

Blue

Bounce

Bright

Brindle

Broken

Bronze

Brown

Bumble

Burgundy

Call

Carmine

Claw

Cobalt

Cream

Crimson

Cry

Curl(y)

Dapple

Dark

Dot(ted)

Dusky

Ebony

Echo

Fallen

Fleck(ed)

Fluffy

Freckle

Ginger

Golden

Gray

Green

Heavy

Kink

Knot(ted)

Light

Little

Lost

Loud

Marbled

Mew

Milk

Mottle

Mumble

Ochre

Odd

One

Orange

Pale

Patch(ed)

Pounce

Prickle

Ragged

Red

Ripple

Rough

Rugged

Russet

Scarlet

Shade

Shaggy

Sharp

Shimmer

Shining

Small

Smudge

Soft

Song

Speckle

Spike

Splash

Spot(ted)

Streak

Stripe(d)

Strong

Stump(y)

Sweet

Tall

Talon

Tangle

Tatter(ed)

Tawny

Tiny

Tough

Tumble

Twist

Violet

Whisker

Whisper

White

Wild

Wooly

Yellow

#cryptidclaw's warriors au #?#Im tempted to use these in the au #some characters deserve some more fun names hehe #rise of change #warrior cats #warrior cats design #warriors #warriors names #warriors naming #warriors prefixes

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tankymama · 2 months

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@resident-lover So, I just finished playing Resident Lover and I can't get enough of em 😭 I love the game so much to the point I just have to draw my oc in the Resident Lover universe. Anyways, here's my 5'4ft grump, Orchid <3 ( P.S I don't usually draw humans so bear with me lol And the reason why Orchid doesn't have a russian last name is because her great grandpa originally from Britain migrated to Russia and married a Russian lady lol )

#resident lover #fanart #angie beneviento #oc art

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jillraggett · 11 months

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Plant of the Day

Friday 14 July 2023

In the meadow of the grass-cut labyrinth at Gordon Castle the Dactylorhiza purpurella (northern marsh orchid) were establishing themselves. This is a native orchid to Great Britain and often favours roadside verges and short grassland. The sculpture on the central mound of the labyrinth represents a pear made from old gardening tools.

Jill Raggett

#dactylorhiza #northernmarshorchid #orchid #wildflower #labyrinth #meadow #sculpture #gardentools #plants #horticulture #gardens #garden #GordonCastle

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calochortus · 2 months

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Dactylorhiza fuchsii var. albiflora? 1 of 5 by Will Atkins Via Flickr: I'd be very grateful for any help with the ID of this orchid found in Yorkshire in a traditional wildflower meadow, on its own. Other orchid species nearby include early purple, green-winged, burnt and northern marsh. Characteristics of this one include: unspotted elongated leaves running all the way up the stem, white flowers with no markings at all, lip of flower deeply notched, trilobate, hood of flower like a 'cowl', height approx 20-25cm. Looks like a mash-up of several species to my inexpert eye!!

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toxinellebug · 2 months

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It’s The Supreme’s World: We just live in it…

Some world building and character info for the Re-Verse and how it affects Marinette, Adrien, and Gabriel before we get into the next Kamikotized hero.

Peace was never an option… It was an ultimatum.

While World Peace Day is celebrated everywhere, truly, only Capital Cities are able to host the full splendor of such a magnificent event.

Paris is famous for never being outdone when it comes to this extravagant and cherished celebration:

Throughout the day, on every corner of the city, you could find a rare sight you would not see any other day of the year- flower carts.

Usually, flowers were too expensive for just anyone to purchase, so florists only sold the finest, most delicate and exotic flowers to appeal to the high class.

But on World Peace Day, cheap, less popular flowers were made available so even those of low income could enjoy the rare luxury of owning a real flower;

Perhaps it is a frivolous purchase, but even the most stingy of penny-pinchers could not resist the urge to loosen their purse strings when offered a single pink carnation for the ridiculously low price of only €20!

Flowers weren’t the only thing worth buying-

There were street vendors with international fare offering a variety of delights one would expect from a carnival or festival. Each seems so exotic when they come from a culture different than your own; takoyaki from Japan, bratwurst from Germany, frappe from Italy, Cotton Candy from the United States of America.

(Yup, spun sugar is originally a traditional american food invented in 1897 by American citizens William Morrison, and John C. Wharton, and it remained a unique American speciality until it was introduced at the 1904 World Fair. The irony? One of those dudes was a dentist.)

It is a culinary trip around the world without the cost of voyage.

Unless you were a vendor, of course.

While plenty were local, many more would venture from their homes to capital cities for World Peace Day, knowing they could make a larger profit than if they were to sell their goods at smaller towns.

Some even traveled from out of country, it was a huge investment for a single day, but one that would immensely pay off if they could convince customers that their goods were more authentic.

There was also a lavish parade with floats decorated in peace lilies, white poppies, hyacinth, cosmos, pincushion flowers, red peonies, and lavender, all carrying red banners with the symbol of The Supreme.

Marching bands play folk music, and talented performers in costumes from all over the world perform traditional dances.

It is a feast for the eyes seeing all the different cultures that were united for the sake of Peace.

Of course, the most beautiful sight (that you have to pay an admission fee for) is in the Jardin des Tuileries where all the metal sculptures and plastic foliage are removed to make room for impressive, imported floral displays;

Tudor roses from Britain, Quatre–temps from Canada, Dahlias from Mexico, Cattleya orchids from Brazil, Meihua from China, and naturally French Iris at the center… All countries in the world are represented by a display of their national flower, to symbolize how all nations came together under the guidance of The Supreme.

—

Roland Dupain loves World Peace Day more than Christmas!

Poverty had become common place after the Great war- the whole world seemed dull and grey. But the people endured to rebuild what had been lost. Roland Dupain’s grandfather had perished in the war, and his grandmother had to raise 2 sons on her own, one of which would marry Roland’s mother.

Then, WW2 began.

Both his father and his uncle went off to fight, following in their father’s footsteps.

5 months passed before Mrs. Dupain received word that Roland’s uncle had been killed in action.

A miserable year passed and the world descended into Hell-

Nazi’s invaded France and took control of Paris.

Parisians lived in fear and battled with hunger every day. A pregnant Mrs. Dupain cried herself to sleep, having lost all hope of ever seeing her husband alive again, resigning herself to her fate of having to bring a child into the world that would never know their father…

Then, the unthinkable happened;

The Axis Powers abruptly and unanimously surrendered!

Not to the Allies Forces…. No, something far greater and more powerful.

There was dancing in the streets! Peace at long last!

Tanks and weapons were disassembled, materials and rations that had been collected for the war efforts were donated back to the people, armies were permanently disbanded, and Roland’s father came home.

Oh, that euphoric feeling of relief and utter joy when Mrs. Roland leapt into her husband’s arms, weeping tears of joy.

No more war, no more bloodshed, no more hiding in fear, no more starving!

From now on, theirs was a world of everlasting peace!

ALL HAIL THE SUPREME!

2 months later, Roland Dupain was born, and every year until his father’s died from Tuberculosis, Roland was regaled with stories of the suffering caused during the War, and how The Supreme was their savior.

Ever since, Roland Dupain has celebrated Peace Day with fond memories and a sense of pride…

Which is why his greatest shame is his wife, Gina.

The same woman who hard the nerve to lecture him about about family values when he was ready to disown his son for marrying an outrageous woman who wouldn’t even take her husband’s last name and who had nonsense ideas about experimenting with time-trusted recipes, (flour from rice?? Peuh! That’s not how it’s done!).

Gina, with her big speech about how nothing was more important than family…

She brought disgrace to their family when she was arrested 2 years ago for civil disobedience and public disturbance!

Well, there was no way he was going to allow his granddaughter to go down a criminal path!

The world was tough but fair; so long as you work hard and follow all the rules, no questions, you won’t have any problems.

So simple!

Marinette needed to learn to how lucky she was to live in a world under The Supreme’s protection.

What better way to do that then helping her grandfather sell traditional Pain de campagne to tourists on World Peace Day?

It was a tradition started by his father, that he had carried on and tried to continue with his own son (until that wife of his put crazy ideas in his head like how pain au chocolat would be more popular.) but now, he would continue this tradition with Marinette- she would become part of a proud history, develop a sense of service, and most importantly, stay on the straight and narrow!

Children need discipline, after all!

She would thank him, one day.

-Marinette strongly disagrees.

Up until she was 11 years old, for Marinette Dupain-Cheng, World Peace Day was all about yummy treats, exciting parades, and pretty flowers.

While her parents sold pastries, her Nonna would take her strolling around the city to enjoy the excitement!

Then, just a few months before she turned 12, Nonna was sentenced to 8 years in a penitentiary labor camp.

Now, World Peace Day was about carrying baskets of rye sourdough bread, lectures on how things were and were not done, and the same old stories Grandpa Roland had already told her hundreds of times before, all while watching everyone get to have fun.

It was like having detention outside of school!

The worst part was the elderly tourists who would gush over her and pinch her cheeks for ‘being such a good girl who helps out her grandfather!’

Apparently being a “good girl” didn’t entitle her to personal space.

Seriously, why did people feel entitled to put their hands on her just because she was a kid?

Mom and Dad were no help; her Mom believed this was important quality time with her grandfather that she’ll appreciate someday when she’s older.

Dad’s opinion was, as always, that her mother was right.

You know what’d she’d really appreciate?

Getting to celebrate World Peace day instead of lugging around crusty bread made from overly fermented yeast! It was like her grandfather had an allergy to delicious food and having fun!

Grandpa Roland claimed World Peace Day was his favorite holiday, yet he spent the whole day either selling bread or complaining about how other people were selling bread wrong, how people dressed was wrong, or how people looked at their phones while walking around was wrong!

No one seemed to know how anything was “done,” save for him, and honestly? Marinette was 100% done with all of it.

—

For Adrien, World Peace Day is now the one time the city doesn’t stink in the literal sense.

The amount of actual flowers should help offset the stench of chemical fumes.

But he didn’t use to think that way…

World Peace Day used to make him happy, because it made his mother happy.

When he was little, his mother would giggle at the spectacle of Adrien-tallest in the world, as he sat atop his father’s shoulders for the best view of the parade in all of Paris.

Her smile was even sweeter than the sticky residue she tried in vain to wipe from his cheeks because Père didn’t hesitate to buy him every sugary treat that caught his eye.

Her voice was like a song as she pointed out and named each and every flower in Jardin des Tuileries to him, and as much as he wanted to pay attention, it was a hypnotic lullaby paired with a sugar crash that left him in a sleepy daze in his father’s warm embrace as he was carried home, his last conscious thoughts his mother’s kiss upon his forehead as his blanket was tucked tight around him.

As he got big enough to walk without being carried, he toured the celebrations with his parents each holding his hands in theirs.

Father still had his sweet tooth, despite mère playfully scolding him, reminding him of the lecture Adrien would get from the dentiste.

He was old enough to listen to her name all the flowers now, but too excited about the exotic music and the foreign dancers to really pay attention to what she said.

Though he did hear, and make a face, at his father’s mushy declaration that mère was the most beautiful rose in the world.

He never really noticed that mother’s grip on his hand was starting to weaken.

Years passed and he was too busy checking that the path ahead was clear of bumps and dips to notice any candy vendors or dances. His father was also more focused on pushing mother’s wheelchair than enjoying the parade.

Mother’s tone was still cheerful as she admired the flowers, but Adrien was too worried about whether the outdoor air was making her cough worse, her words went in one ear and out the other.

Last year she had been too weak to get out of bed. She had been too exhausted to watch the entirety of the parade on TV- visiting Jardin des Tuileries was out of the question.

Adrien would have given ANYTHING to listen to her list off the different flowers, he swore he would commit each one to memory.

Now….

Was there really any point?

He’d seen all the dances dozens of times, the music was also pretty boring.

There was nothing special about the food vendors, and too much sugar was terrible for your skin anyway.

He honestly didn’t care about flowers.

World Peace Day was just another over-rated holiday that people obsessed over to temporarily forget the mediocrity of their dreary lives.

What a joke.

—

For a young Gabi Grassette, son of a pommes frites vendor, World peace day meant sweets; Barbe à papa, English toffees, Mexican chocolates, and Polkagris!

Their family didn’t have a lot, but on this most special of days, his Papa would allow him some spending money to enjoy what the world had to offer~

At 8 years old, he was practically grown up, and able to walk up and down the street by himself.

It was the first World Peace Day he had a clear memory of, it was also the first time he saw a real flower up close.

Back then, he hadn’t really understood what his parents meant; things were either “real” or “imaginary”, weren’t they?

He was able to touch the plastic flowers his mother decorated their kitchen window with, and last week in L'Ecole Primaire his teacher taught him how to fold fleurs de papier. Those were plenty real enough!

Why would adults waste euros on something silly like flowers when they could buy candy instead?

Gabi couldn’t believe he was already so much smarter than everybody else! That was probably why he was allowed to enjoy the celebration by himself unlike other children who still needed adults to watch them.

That was until he stumbled across “it”.

A single blossom that had fallen off a parade float, carried off by a gentle breeze, only to land delicately at his feet.

It was so much more fragile than he’d imagined;

The petals were just as thin as paper, yet surprisingly soft to the touch.

Its center was fuzzy? A scent not unlike the perfume he was used to, but not the same either- it was both more airy yet more bold, but like a passing whisper- there was no strange undertone to remind him of cleaning sprays.

The stem was flexible, to a point. It was smooth with a certain give. If he pressed a fingernail to it, it tore a little, but instead of revealing wire inside, it was just more green- a sticky green.

The leaves had… creases? The lines weren’t painted on, they were embedded in the leaf itself almost like…. like… veins.

Veins, as if it were….

Alive.

This tiny thing in his hands wasn’t made in a classroom or a factory… it was ALIVE.

He had been told that flowers and other plants were things that grew from the ground, but he had never fully understood what that truly meant until now.

Flowers, REAL flowers, were delicate, fragrant, colorful, and ALIVE and it was the most amazing thing Gabi had ever seen!!!

But, why was something so precious only celebrated one day of the year?

Why were there so few?

Why didn’t the adults grow them everywhere? Why did they have to settle for paper or plastic ones when real ones were so much better?

It wasn’t the first time he, or any child for that matter, had questioned why the world was the way that it was, but for Gabi, it was the first time he had questioned why no one was trying to make the world better.

While his childhood had given him the blissful ignorance of believing that a certain holiday was all about delicious treats and beautiful flowers, with adulthood came the wisdom of understanding that World Peace Day was supposed to symbolize the end of the violent history of the world that would never again be repeated.

But only the enlightened were able to realize what World Peace Day was really about;

Worshipping The Supreme.

Some speculated that The Supreme was a small group of the world’s greatest minds.

Others suggested The Supreme was a single individual, appointed by the Divine Almighty to lead the world to salvation.

A remaining few even dared to imagine The Supreme as God himself; righting the wrongs of humanity and guiding them to the perfect world they could have been before the Tower of Babel.

Perhaps that last one wasn’t too far fetched-

After all, the way all the World Leaders agreed to surrender their power after WW2 without hesitation was almost as if they were compelled by some supernatural force…

In order to ensure everlasting peace for generations to come,The Supreme reshaped the nations of the world;

Monarchies were archaic- being able to trace your incestuous genealogy back to the dark ages didn’t qualify you to have any sort of authority.

Elections were flawed and allowed money, baseless propaganda, and empty promises, to fool voters and keep the greedy and corrupt in power.

That’s why wars over natural resources, religious superiority, or ethnic cleansing used to be commonplace throughout history- the wrong people were put in charge of governing the masses.

Only exceptional individuals who will uphold the ideals of a utopian society should be given that kind of power.

Mayors, Governors, Senators, and Prime Ministers/Presidents were replaced with High Officials, Grand Officials, Executive Officials, and Executive Administrators…

All of which were selected by The Supreme, and who answered only to The Supreme.

Only The Supreme could decide what those “utopian ideals” were, and no one else had any say.

Once, Gabi had been foolish enough to believe that was what was best.

After reinventing himself, from his name to the people he associated with, becoming a member of high society allowed to walk amongst the rich, the powerful, and the celebrity elite, Gabriel Agreste was finally able to see past all the bureaucratic smoke and mirrors.

No one truly had the best interests for the whole of humanity at heart.

Those with authority obeyed The Supreme out of fear and a lust for power.

Connections with the rich and influential were shallow at best; today you were friends and colleagues, but tomorrow they may very well stab you in the back to turn a profit.

In the end, the power to decide what was justifiably right or criminally wrong belonged to The Supreme, and their word was absolute.

If there was anything to take away from that, it was that absolute power corrupts absolutely.

#miraculous paris #miraculous ladybug #miraculous fandom #miraculous world #shadybug #claw noir #griffe noire #toxinelle #adrien agreste #gabriel agreste #marinette dupain cheng #the supreme #emelie agreste #Re-verse

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bluesman56 · 2 years

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Orchids at home by Tony

#Birkenhead #Bromborough #England #GBR #United Kingdom #britain #copyrite ©2022 Tony Sherratt #dendrobium #europe #flora #geo:lat=53.34100309 #geo:lon=-2.98217976 #geotagged #orchid #phalanopsis #plant #wirral #2022 09 11 125554 #flickr

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veradragonjedi · 26 days

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alright here i go

for the weird ask: 5, 11, 18, 20, 30, 33, 44, 55, 61, 69, 76, 83, 94, 98

(mwahahahaa)

omg

5. Do you prefer to drink soda from soda cans, soda bottles, plastic cups or glass cups?

Cans... that little *crrrk* *hissssss.......* augh!! And then you can crunch them when you're done. Marvellous. Thank you inventor of the aluminium can.

11. What do you have for breakfast on an average day?

Salmon bagel :))

18. Ideal weather?

WARM! Let my bones rest 😭 warm very warm but with shade and cold drinks and all that jazz.

20. Preferred place to write?

My phooone. No laptop, though a note pad suffices if my phone is out of reach. All 300k words of bbb (that's plus unposted possible chapters) was done on my phone. with my fingers.

30. Places you find sacred?

THIS PLACE!

BIG tree! Hundreds of years old. Four swings hanging from the branches! Howw many people sat there? Carved their names into it to be immortalised, swung on those swings?? The energy there.

I'm not a religious person, but if I were, I'd worship the tree.

33. Most used phrase in your phone?

Augh this one's difficult because it implies I am conscious of what I put down but its probably omg

Like on its own. Or HELP that one's common.

44. Favourite scent for soap?

I bought @airlocksandaviaries some nice soap one time and bought myself some Lily-of-the-Valley soap. And I have Not used mine because I like the scent so much...

55. Favourite fairytale?

Always been a fan of the tragic ones. The ones that were originally deep and dark and nasty, before they became Disney-fied. The original Rapunzel was nice, not that I don't like the new one, but it was nice. The original message behild Little Red Riding Hood — a young girl flowering into womanhood who is approached by a strange older man who wants to make her his — has always fascinated me because !!! Argh beast metaphors and hunger and. Yeaaahhhh bbbcore..

61. Favourite flowers?

Orchids are nice. Tulips were for a while!

Recently I found THESE

Black petunias!! I tool them because they're JUST LIKE ME FR! And they smell awful, like burnt rubber and bleach, but I LOVE THEM!!!!!!

69. A Fun Fact that you don't know how you learned?

@chaetophractus-vellerosus — most doors are universally 6 foot 9 inches, so it's easy to guess someone's height based on whether they have to bend through a door. Finch, I asked my friend where we had found that out, and apparently I knew it Before we had used it to work out Drew Gooden's height. So. I actually dunno where the information came from.... got that doortism though.

76. Favourite potato food?

AAAUGGHGH POTATOEEESSSS!!!!!!!! I like fried potatoes, I had real patatas fritas like a month ago and almost died it was so tasty. I like all manner of potatoes though. Give me the potatoes...

83. Writing or Drawing?

Both? Both!! I absolutely adore putting my thoughts onto a canvas. Whether that be a digital one where I'm throwing notes at a wall and seeing what sticks or a physical one where I'm just figuring everything out by swiping paint on white paper.

94. Favourite season?

SUMMER! Ironic because in Britain we (used to...) don't get very hot summers. We're almost there folks!

98. Favourite historical era?

A question I'm not sure I know the answer to! Dropped history almost as soon as I started it, to take geography instead, so I'm gonna say the devonian era and be done with that:)) (that's when bony fish were evolved and doing their thing with no dinosaurs to tell them what not to do)

CHOCO. I LOVE YOUU !!!!!

#vee answers #YIPEEE

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cat-with-a-tie · 2 years

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Nordic country names in kanji （国名漢字表記）

A list of the kanji most commonly used as ‘names’ for the five Nordic countries, their most common pronunciations (both on’yomi and kun’yomi), and their most prevalent meanings.

Denmark—「丁」（tei）

ataru; hinoto

Most common kanji transliteration (full name): 丁抹

n. a young man; a man in his prime

n. a physical labourer

n. the fourth of the ten Heavenly Stems; lit. ‘younger brother of fire’ (hinoto).

Finland—「芬」（fun）

kaoru; koubashii; kaori

Most common kanji transliteration (full name): 芬蘭*

*Literally translates to something like ‘fragrant orchid’. How adorable is that!

adj. fragrant

v. to emit fragrance

n. a good name; an honourable reputation

adj. plentiful

adj. flourishing, chaotic, jumbled.

Iceland—「氷」（hyou）

hi; koori; kooru

Most common kanji transliteration (full name): 氷州 (lit. ice-state, ice-land)

n. ice

v. to freeze; to congeal

adj. cold, pure, or clear as ice

adj. frozen

adj. an adjective describing pale skin; fair.

Norway—「諾」（daku）

ubena-u (as a verb stem)

Most common kanji transliteration (full name): 諾威

v. to concede

v. to respond (to a demand/wish)

v. to obey

interj., (dated) in conversation, a word denoting agreement and/or compliance; ‘aye’, ‘yes’, ‘alright’.

Sweden—「典」（ten）

fumi; nori

Most common kanji transliteration (full name): 瑞典

n. a book; a document

n. an unchanging law, paradigm, or standard

n. a reliable principle; a habitus

adj. refined, graceful.

Sources:

https://mojinavi.com/kanji

https://www.weblio.jp/

https://kotobank.jp/

https://dictionary.goo.ne.jp/kanji/

https://kanji.jitenon.jp/

BE WARNED: These kanji were NOT chosen to represent these countries because of their semantic content. They were chosen for their pronunciation. Kanji country names are (with very few exceptions; see the entry on Iceland) purely phonetic transcriptions except the characters happen to also have semantic meaning, because kanji. More on that under the cut.

That being said, I am a hetalia fan in the year of our lord 2022 and where would I be without some completely baseless extrapolation masquerading as legitimate research?

The semantic content of these kanji really struck me as oddly fitting for both the actual nations and their hetalia personifications, but again, like I said – baseless extrapolating. Leave me alone in my blissful delusion.

On a brighter note, Isn’t the amount of connotations that can be encompassed by a single kanji character simply wonderful?

Although in the past century katakana has become the widespread standard for writing foreign country names, kanji characters are still used in certain (often relatively formal) situations, and the association between nation names and certain kanji remain strong to this day. In particular, compounds such as 「日英（nichi-ei）同盟」 (the Anglo-Japanese Alliance, with 日 for Japan and 英 for Britain) or 「普仏（fu-futsu）戦争」　(the Franco-Prussian War, with 普 for Prussia and 仏 for France) are pretty much always written in kanji and read with kun’yomi pronunciation*, unless the countries in question are relatively obscure enough that the average Japanese person would not be expected to recognise their names in kanji.

Another context in which kanji abbreviations are used more frequently than the corresponding katakana transcriptions is, you guessed it, the Japanese hetalia fandom. This is done partly in order to save space, but mostly it’s to avoid accidentally traumatising poor innocent people on the look out for nation-related stuff that is not anthropomorphic porn.

Kanji names, like katakana ones, are usually transliterations; however, in some cases the translation might be literal (e.g. Iceland is written as 氷州, lit. ‘ice state’). Since a lot of kanji share similar pronunciations, the choice of a particular character for a nation’s name reflects not only phonetic features but also, to a limited extent, how that nation is perceived by the Japanese people.

As a show of diplomatic courtesy, kanji with ‘bad’ connotations are generally avoided. There are even historical records of foreign delegates getting offended by the transliteration of their nation’s name and demanding a different set of characters. The Japanese wikipedia page contains more information on kanji transliteration in general as well as a full list of nation names in kanji.

*For comparison, the katakana transcriptions for Britain, Prussian, and France read respectively igirisu, puroisen, and furansu. Britain is a slightly more complicated case, but oh well we’re not getting into that here.

#hetalia #aph #aph nordics #hws nordics #aph denmark #hws denmark #aph finland #hws finland #aph iceland #hws iceland #aph norway #hws norway #aph sweden #hws sweden #excuse my shit handwriting

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covenawhite66 · 8 months

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10. Queen's Hedgehog-Fungi

9. Carpotroche caceresia-tree

8. Victoria Boliviana-Flower

7. Garland of Nails-Plant

6. Denise's Orchid of the Fall-Plant

5. Sternbergia mishustinii-Plant

4. Bruising ink bolete-Mushroom

3. Impatiens banen-Plant

2. Impomoea aequatoriensis-Plant

1. Eugenia paranapanemensis-Tree

#biology #science #plant #fungi #top 10 list #discovery #scientific discovery #biodiversity #endangered species

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bear-cubs-art-things · 7 months

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PART ONE LETS GOOOOOOO

Super nervous very nervous hngjbghngbg

I have no idea how England works so just. Bear with me as an American. Fhshshsusudhfjdndg (it's not like this takes place in any place in particular, and I'll do my best to make it as reminiscent to England/Britain as possible, but if there are any discrepancies please let me know :)) )

Okay!:

○°-_-*×-_-○°♡°○-_-×*-_-°○

It was very early on a Monday morning. The sun was barely up, merely a bold orange-pink stripe across a dark blue grey horizon. Birds softly chirped their morning song, speaking of (that is, if they COULD speak) endless blue skies and soft yet cold bread crumbs.

Houses could be seen. Nice, orderly houses, all identical as houses go. The only way one could be distinguished from the other were porch decorations on what could be called the porch. Then, of course, the house numbers.

In house 236, off the corner of Orchid Street and Daragon Fly Avenue, a slumbering teen stirs in his bed.

Downstairs, a quiet sizzling of bacon in a pan cooks on the stove, eggs in a carton sitting politely beside the stove a few inches away. A toaster spits out two slices of white bread, toasted of course. A man wearing a white apron and business work clothes hums a tune on the radio. This man is Mel A. Traunn.

Mel Traunn is an officer worker at a financial firm, with highly regarded banks across the country. He works with the big heads, the head men, the CEOs. He may be rather small on the business food chain, and probably not as high as he wants to be, but at least he can feed him and his son.

Upstairs, in a dark, tidy bedroom, slept Azira Fell, 15 year old boy and currently attending Eldritch High. He's short, with a wide, somewhat thick build, and soft. Currently, short, white (in all technicality, it was a very pale shade of blonde) was a mess atop his head. He was sleeping soundly.

Bee-ba-ba-beep! Bee-ba-ba-beep! Bee-ba-ba-beep!

"Hrrng..."

Azira turned over, and felt around his nightstand for his alarm clock, turning it off once he did. Then he felt around for his glasses.

His glasses were small framed and circular, the kind of old frames those in the later 1800s would wear.

He liked the 1800s, actually. Their clothing was quite nice.

With some early morning bitterness (the kind when you have to get out of bed on an early Monday morning), and grogginess, Azira got out of bed.

It was the first day of school. You know how it is. Same routine of waking up at what felt like dawn, dressing in your most impressive outfits, and going to school only to neglect your studies.

Azira had a... put it this way, it wasn't exactly a stylish fashion sense by today's standards. He wore button up dress shirts underneath plaid sweater vests, slacks and shoes (may I add, his shoes were more in today's fashion than the rest of his wardrobe, though still worn out and one may say outdated). He owned a wristwatch as well, which fitted everything together. It was his father's, which is not to be confused with Mr. Traunn. (Traunn was actually his uncle, but since Azira had been living with him since early childhood, with no real recollection of his birth parents, it was easier and much simpler to call Traunn his father.)

Today, he wore a light blue shirt, with a plaid sweater vest of various shades of brown. He wore khaki slacks, and his slightly worn out black Converses (like I said, the only modern fashion item in his closet). He brushed his hair out, styling it up with some hair gel. It looked no more than a weightless tuft atop his head.

Traunn heard Azira's footsteps from downstairs- light, but still audible- and decided to make him a plate. Breakfast was still hot.

Azira went through his typical morning routine... brushing hair and teeth, deodorant, finding that one book to read at school (today it was A Tale of Two Cities), you know the drill.

The smell of bacon wafted upstairs, and Aziras stomach rumbled with hunger.

Azira grabbed his bag (a single strap satchel that gave off the vibe of some high end scholar) and went downstairs.

The kitchen was a homey one; kept clean and organized, and photos of Azira and Traunn were hung up on the wall. The counter was a polished white and grey marble, the cabinets a matching white. The appliances were a stainless steel silver, the floor a walnut wood.

The whole house, in fact, was a clean, white one. It wasn't exactly all white, but most of its furnishing and detail were on the lighter side. The walls were a light grey-blue, the trimming white, most of the furniture was white or pale cream. The only dark accent was the floor; it was the same walnut wood throughout. The carpet was a color between grey and beige, which could be either considered on the lighter side or the dark accents.

Azira took a seat at the island on one of the beige barstools, greeted by a plate of continental breakfast.

"Gooood morning," Traunn said.

"Good morning," Azira replied.

"Excited?"

Traunn was referring to the first day back at school.

Azira shrugged. "Not really."

"Aw, you gotta be at least a little excited!"

At this point, they were both eating at the island. The stove was off, and Traunn had taken off his apron. Not a single food stain.

"Ehh..." Azira trailed off, shrugging a little more.

"Not one to get excited over school?" Traunn teased.

"I like school," Azira started, "it's just gotten to the point where I don't get excited over it anymore."

"Mm," Traunn nodded in acknowledgement.

The two ate I silence briefly.

"Know who your teachers are?" Traunn asked.

"Erm..." Azira set down his fork and fumbled through his bag for his schedule. "Not really."

Azira found his schedule, and read through it once more. He nearly had it committed to memory.

First period, history. Second period, English. Third period, PE. Fourth period, chemistry. Lunch. Fifth period, art. Sixth period, study hall. Seventh period, algebra 2.

Not very spectacular or special.

The teachers' names and rooms were written on the schedule, under their respective subjects. So yes, Azira knew their names and where to find them, but aside that he didn't know them.

He slid his schedule over to his dad, and he took a look at it.

"Huh," Traunn said, sliding Azira's schedule back to him.

Azira put away his schedule, and caught a glimpse of the time on his wristwatch.

"Oh!" He got up with a start. He could still catch the bus, if he hurried.

He gathered all his stuff (his bag and phone) and hurried out the door. He was two steps out the door when he felt something was off

Wait a minute. He felt his upper chest, where a ring should be.

Oh how could forget!

He ran back inside and dashed up to his room to grab the ring.

The ring was his late mother's ring, made of gold and with beautiful craftsmanship. It had ornate details of flowers and butterflies. It was her most prized possession. Now it was Azira's. He never wore it on his finger, but instead kept it on a necklace chain and wore it as such.

He once more left the house, barely hearing Traunn's "Have a good day!" on his way out.

He knew that if he ran, he would make it to the bus stop on time. He still had 15 minutes.

He could make it. So he ran.

And just as his calculations predicted, he caught the public transit bus loading its last passengers for that stop.

he got on the bus, winded and slightly sore from running. He found an empty seat and sat down.

He was at least awake. And on a more negative note, slightly sweaty.

Definitely need to get in shape, he thought retrospectively.

The bus engine shivered and went along its way. The next stop was, more or less, 20 minutes away. The stop that Azira needed to get off of anyway. Then it was roughly a 15 minute walk from there to the school.

Azira decided to read.

~~~

The school was a nice one. The exterior of the building itself was red brick, each one nearly fitted into its space. Cobblestone steps led up to the main entry doors. There was brilliant green grass, neatly trimmed and maintained. A raised garden bed were on either side of the steps, with flourishing flowers of many colors. The school was a university campus at one point, but then it was remodeled as a high school. It even had a library on campus that was it's own separate facility. The campus was expansive (more so, expensive).

Azira felt slightly overwhelmed every time he saw it. It wasn't the first time he saw it, but you can't help but feel as though the schools too big.

He walked through the hallway leading to his history class. They were wide and spacious by nature, but with all the students in the halls, it sure damn didn't feel like it.

Azira made himself small and unnoticeable. No one will remember you if you didn't stand out and make a presence. Life was easier that way.

He swerved and dodged his way through the hall, and eventually Azira found the history classroom. It was mostly empty, aside from a few desks with students in them. All of which were busy with their own entertainment... mostly playing their phones.

Azira found a seat close in the back.

He put down his stuff, and continued reading his book.

It felt like a second until the bell rang for school to start. It may have been about 5 minutes, and it had been, but time flies when you're occupied.

Nonetheless, the hallways got even busier as students scrambled to find their classes. Footsteps echoed a cacophony, and chatter was no more than useless noise. The world seemed to rush by in the doorway, between the students filing in the classroom and the students walking outside.

Azira paid no mind to anyone or anything. He simply kept reading.

The warning bell rang once, then again as classes began. The room, at this point, was quite full, both with students and with chatter.

"Okay!"

The teacher rose from his desk in the corner of the room, and the class hushed.

"Good morning, everyone," he walked over to the center of the room, in front of his whiteboard. A few "good mornings" echoed quietly in response.

Azira bookmarked the page he was reading and put it away.

"I'm Professor Wensleydale, and welcome to history class!"

Professor Wensleydale had light, nearly golden brown hair and dark brown eyes. He wore an outfit that screamed his profession - a white dress shirt, buttoned up to the throat, and khaki pants. He had dress shoes that were a common shade of mid-range brown, the kind you see oh so often in the men's formal wear section of a department store. The only splash of color was his tie, a subdued reddish-pink. Thick, round, black glasses sat on the nose of his pale, freckled face. He looks like the type of person who'd read thick books of law for leisure. Bookish, you'd say.

The whole class period was spent on a "get-to-know-you" activity, where you would research your name and write the origins of your name on a piece of printer paper. Azira was a little enthusiastic about this, since he was artistic by nature. He could draw very well, and kept a sketchbook (he has a collection of all his sketchbooks, in fact). Other than that, the class was mostly uneventful.

The bell for second period rang.

"Be sure to bring your posters tomorrow!" Professor Wensleydale called out to the quickly exiting students. "Make them colorful and pretty! We will present them!"

On to second period then, Azira thought.

The school floor plan, it should be noted, was a two story building, plus a library (also two floors) and a separate performing arts wing (technically it was a one story building, but there is an upstairs overheard light control for the theater spotlights). The science and history classrooms were, for the most part, on the bottom floor, plus the cafeteria (foods class is also here). Upstairs were the language arts, math, and non-performing arts electives classes (such as art, pottery, speech and debate, etc).

This is to say that Azira was going from the downstairs history class to an upstairs English class.

The class was half full, most of the desks in the back corner of the room were filled. A few in the front were also filled, but not as such.

Azira found another desk in the back. It was closer to the center of the classroom, but still. The room was filling up rather quickly

Azira didn't particularly notice, because he was reading. Again.

"Excuse me," a voice asked.

It seemed directed to him. Azira looked up.

A tall, thin figure stood over him. Well, over the desk in front of him anyway.

The figure had long crimson hair, wavy and pulled back in a loose pony tail. He wore dark, dark sunglasses, so dark Azira could barely make out his golden-yellow eyes. He wore a leather jacket, a grey tank-top, and baggy jeans with one of those black belts all the queer kids seem to wear. You know the ones. He also wore black boots with a slight heel.

He was good-looking, charming even. There was this energy around him that made him seem more intimidating than he let on, and he definitely looked like he didn't care about anyone's opinion about him.

Azira went warm in the ears.

"'S anyone sittin' here?" He nodded to the desk he was hovering over.

"N-no..." Azira answered quickly, and lowered his eyes back to his book.

"Hm."

The boy sat down at the desk, lazily draping himself over the seat.

Azira glanced back up at the boy. He could only see the back of his red head. He swallowed.

Warmth crept from his ears to his cheeks.

Oh dear...

Azira looked down at his book again, trying to shake off his blush.

The bell rang.

The teacher, Miss Device, stood up and took attendance. Each student said (or at least, something along the lines of) "here" as their names were called.

"Next..." Miss Device thumbed the next name on her roster. "Anthony Crowley?"

She looked up and scanned the room for Anthony Crowley.

The boy in front of Azira rose a nonchalant hand, silent.

"Right," Device thumbed the next name.

So that's his name, Azira thought. It suit him, if he was being honest. He definitely looked like an Anthony...

"Azira Fell?"

Azira looked up with a start, caught off guard.

"Here." Azira raised a hand to make his location within the class known.

He glanced back at Anthony. Then back down at his book. He thought it was best if he continued reading.

"So," Miss Device set down her roster, "We're going to a little activity in pairs, and I'm going to assign partners for you to work with."

She started assigning partners, which was simple and straightforward. The desks were organized in rows of five, and she assigned them within those rows. The first and second desks in that row were partners, the third and fourth desks were partners, and the back two desks were partners. The next row, the fourth and third desks were partners, so on and so forth.

There was one desk left empty, so everyone got a partner, with no odd groups of three.

As it turns out, Azira was paired up with Anthony. Wa-hoo.

The activity was another get-to-know-you activity, but it was the slightly cheesy questionnaire type. It was fun enough, one would think.

Miss Device passed out the papers with the questions on it, and everyone had started once they got their papers.

"So, who's gonna go first?" Anthony asked, turned the wrong way in his chair (sitting chest to the back of the chair).

Azira straightened up a little bit. "I suppose I will."

"Mmkay," Anthony looked down at his paper. "Question one; what's y'name?"

"Azira," He responded. "I can spell it if you want."

"'S all good," Anthony wrote down "Azira" under question one on Azira's desk. "Favorite color."

"I do like yellow quite a bit."

Anthony raised his eyebrows in interest. Or acknowledgement, either one. He continued.

"Favorite school subject?"

"Art, I suppose."

Anthony looked up. "You're an artist, I take?"

Azira nodded.

"Hm," Anthony nodded. "Favorite food."

"I don't really have a favorite."

"Well ya gotta have a favorite," Anthony looked up again, grinning. "Everyone has a favorite food."

"Well..." Azira trailed off, thinking of a meal he enjoyed most.

"Eh, don't matter," Anthony continued on. "How 'bout favorite hobby?"

"Reading," Azira said, before quickly adding, "And drawing too, if you'd like to write that down."

"Hmm," Anthony wrote down both.

There were more questions, about 10 in all, and Azira answered all of them. The rest of the questions included favorite movie/tv show, place, celebrity, book, and animal. They were, as aforementioned, cheesy, but who's one to judge.

It was Azira's turn to ask questions.

"Your name?"

"Y'can put down Crowley."

So he did.

Why his last name? Azira decided not to ask.

"Favorite color?"

"Eh..." Anthony thought some. "I think red. Red."

"Favorite subject?"

"Band, prolly."

Azira looked up with mild surprise. "You're in band?"

"Yeah."

"You don't strike me as the type."

Anthony smiled. "I tend to defy expectations."

"I suppose..."

The two went back and forth, answering the questions for Anthony.

Curiousity got the best of Azira.

"Erm, Anthony-" Azira asked.

"You can just call me Crowley."

"Yes- uh, Crowley," Azira folded his hands together somewhat nervously, afraid he was going to over boundaries with his next question. "Why do you prefer to be called by your last name?"

Crowley gave an amused snort.

"Funny story. Basically, when people want t' really vocalize their hatred or disgust f'r me, they resort to sayin' my last name. Like, oozing with vile hatred sayin' it. It kinda stuck. I like the ring t' it."

"Hmm..." Azira nodded in acknowledgement.

"Okay," Miss Device stood up from her desk. "We're now going to share our answers."

She looked at the class. "Does anyone want to go first?"

~~~

The day went by fairly quickly. Each class was relatively easy to find, and come to find out, Crowley was in most of Azira's classes.

Azira was at home sitting at his desk, drawing. He enjoyed drawing, quite a lot, actually. He felt as though drawing was more of a way to explain many feelings at once in an abstract form, rather than writing paragraphs of diary entries. He did have a journal, but more or less to keep important notes.

He was drawing a portrait of a fictional character. Not any particular character, just one that came to his mind as he went along.

"Azira! Dinner!"

"One moment!"

He closed his sketchbook and put it away in a drawer. He would come back to it, for sure, to finish his drawing. He always does.

He thought about the day at school.

And with that, he thought of crimson hair and yellow eyes, and their unintentional beauty. The image of a what Azira thought was a handsome face came to his mind; the edges of his jawline, the large, slightly pointed nose.

He shoved those thoughts away. He didn't think like that, right? How embarrassing.

Azira went downstairs and sat at the table, where dinner lay waiting and hot.

A steak dinner with potatoes and green beans.

"How was school?"

"Good, I suppose."

Traunn had changed from a full suit to just his shirt and pants. He had already started working on his plate.

"Anything interesting?"

"Not really."

"Oh."

The two mostly ate in silence for the rest of the meal.

~~~

Azira lay in bed, awake even after he was supposed to be asleep. He was just staring at the ceiling. Crowley's face flickered in and out his thoughts.

Wavy locks framing the face. Dark sunglasses hiding barely visible yellow eyes; you really had to look to see em. A grin that radiated smug energy. Surprisingly enough, a band kid. I wonder what instrument he plays...

He really did try not to think about it. But, God damn it, what was the point in trying.

He was thinking on how he would see him again tomorrow. Admittingly, he was looking forward to it. Even just a glance at him, he was looking forward to it.

Well... this certainly isn't unfamiliar territory.

Bugger, Azira thought as he turned over to try and get some sleep. Here we go again.

He closed his eyes, and sleep came to him.

#fhshdjdjsjdjsjdjfhdhdhdhdhg #I'm not much of a writer but I try XDD #good omens #good omens au #hs!au #high school au #ain't no way I'm gonna tag characters 💀#hs!go #high school!good omens #God I'm so cringe 🤣🤣#also if the endings a bit wonky it's because I couldn't just ramble on and on its long enough already.#fuck I'm horrible at this (I'm getting better every time I wrote hush)#RHDHDHSJDJDJFJDJFIFJFUFJ

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