#Yellow lady's slipper

[fleetingfutures]

yellow lady's slipper // 11 june 2023

[thebotanicalarcade]

n136_w1150 by Biodiversity Heritage Library Via Flickr: Flowers of mountain and plain /. New York :H.W. Wilson Co.,1920.. biodiversitylibrary.org/page/40792119

[adventurealldays]

You guys-

[hankwag93]

Some shots of greater yellow lady’s slipper orchids from a hike on 6/2/23.

[vandaliatraveler]

Walk with me: Visit to a high-elevation red spruce forest. The red spruce (Picea rubens) forest on top of Red Spruce Knob, the ninth highest peak in West Virginia, provides a bittersweet glimpse back in time to the primeval beauty and solitude of such places prior to the arrival of the logging companies in the mid-Nineteenth to early Twentieth centuries. The loggers stripped the mountains bare and set in motion the massive wildfires that burned away everything, including the soil itself, down to solid bedrock. Almost a century later, the forest is regenerating and in some places, such as Red Spruce Knob, has regained the richness and vitality of a healthy boreal ecosystem.

From top: a view of Red Spruce Knob, in the far distance, from the Highland Scenic Highway overlook; Canada mayflower (Maianthemum canadense), a ubiquitous understory component of the forest, along with mountain woodsorrel, yellow clintonia (a.k.a. blue-bead lily), hobblebush viburnum, Indian cucumber, green false hellebore, and various mosses and ferns; yellow clintonia (Clintonia borealis) in bloom; pink lady's slipper (Cypripedium acaule); green false hellebore (Veratrum viride) on eastern hay-scented fern (Dennstaedtia punctilobula); and mountain woodsorrel (Oxalis montana).

[girlinlovewiththeforest]

Moccasin flower (Cypripedium calceolus)

[teaboot]

Do you have a favorite flower? Guys like flowers, right?

YO I LOVE FLOWERS

Peonies, trillium, sweet peas, English daisies, wisteria, fuschias, bleeding hearts, sunflowers, hydrangeas, daffodils, peach roses, teacup roses, foxglove, lupins, magnolias, lady's slipper orchids, California poppies, orange and peach carnations, yellow tulips, pansies, violets, skunk cabbage, salmonberry, lavender, lilac, peace lilies, Callalilies, lotus, pink clover, thistle, orange blossom, apple blossom, hyacinths, bluebells, snowdrops, and crocus!

My favourites tho are Hellebores :D

[tadpolesonalgae]

Dizzying Kisses

Feysand x reader

a/n: this started out so wholesome idk what happened 😭

warning: love at first sight trope; smut; f/f/m threesome; facesitting; oral (everyone); overstim; cumplay—Rhys using reader’s mouth like a shot glass 

word count: 5,491

——————————————————————————————————————————————

It takes a bit of effort to unstick your eyelids from your lash line, but you eventually manage, rubbing at the sleep that’s crusted itself into an abrasive adhesive. 

The sheets beneath you are soft and smooth, fragranced with something like vanilla and jasmine, a faint citrusy scent clinging to its edge and you wearily peer about, vision slightly blurred by a sleep addled brain. 

Early morning sunlight has painted itself across the floorboards in a watery shade of cool-toned yellow, the diamond shaped panes of the glass windows casting thin, zigzagging shadows. The duvet itself seems to be cream covered, nestled beneath a rouge-rimmed quilt, stitched together with patches of dawn-pink, aquamarine-blue, dusky-orange, and tyrian-purple. Four wooden beams uphold the fabric draped overtop the bed, the curtains a shade of burnt orange on the interior, with a dark-red outside that has panels of maroon gossamer thinly veiling the material. A slight frill of burnished gold accents the hem.

A latch clicks from the far right side of the chamber, and you glance away from the window, blinking rapidly to clear away the fog as a female peers her lovely head around the door. 

Not just any female, though. 

You stiffen, hastily scrambling to sit straighter in the bed as you dip your head in a swift bow. “High Lady…” 

She smiles, entering the room, her slipper-clad feet softly scuffing as she approaches. “You’re awake,” she notes, and you flush when she lays her palm across your forehead. “And better, by the looks of it.”

You blink, looking up at her quietly. “My Lady…?” 

“Feyre,” she corrects, blue-grey eyes twinkling with life. “Please call me Feyre.” 

You watch her silently for a second, attention flitting across her features for a clue to your circumstances—are you in her home? But you dip your head again, obeying her request. 

Her eyes soften, and she pulls her hand away, your brow feeling faintly cool in its wake. “Do you remember last night?” She questions, and you shake your head, unease building in your gut as you worry your lower lip. Tuck your teeth away again. 

Feyre hums to herself, her attention briefly skating over you, having not given herself the chance to beforehand. Skimming over your shoulders, the rumpled fabric of your night-gown, the soft roundness of your fingertips. How they’re dipping into the folds of the duvet. “You kissed me,” she says, glancing down at you, lips still curved gently. Mortification sets your skin ablaze, a delicate flame igniting in your flesh. “I— I kissed you?” You stammer, clutching the sheets as your fingers lock. 

“Well, you kissed both of us, actually,” she corrects. 

Your lips part with a sharp inhale, looking aghast. Deeply apologetic. “I— I’m so sorry, my Lady. I don’t know what must have come over me. Please, forgive—”

“We aren’t angry,” she interjects, holding you gaze firmly. She pries your left hand from the quilt, fingers warm and delicate beneath your own. “I believe it was a mistake on your part—the first time at least. Shall I show you? It may jog your memory.” 

There’s nothing much for you to do besides nod, vaguely relaxing back into the padded headboard as she plies open your mind, slipping inside with ease. 

The music is up-beat, strings playing a merry tune while the faelights shift in colour over head, panels of stained glass being slotted over them to give the illusion of the lights themselves changing. 

I turn my head when I feel weakened fingertips seek out my wrist, gripping gently, only to be met with soft, faintly trembling lips being pressed to my own. I recognise the hint of the illegal drug almost immediately, and my eyes widen in time to watch as the female flinches, recoiling sharply. 

At my back, my mate is swiftly approaching, a sure and familiar presence sweeping across the floor. It seems the female has enough sense left in her to recognise the thrumming power of the High Lord that’s already begun seeping across the floor in warning, other fae bodies instinctively making way so as not to catch his brewing mood. 

Instead of cowering though, the female before me seems to panic briefly, before unsteadily tottering forward, making it just close enough to push onto her tiptoes and press a kiss to the High Lord’s jaw, before her legs give out and I’m catching her as she falls back, body limp. 

Surprised violet eyes meet my own, brows raised as he glances down at the female passed out in my arms, head tipped to the side, laying across my breast. 

Your lips are parted wider than they were last, but you don’t shut them. Instead panicking as the memories filter back into your mind, along with a faint pound of a growing headache. “I’m sorry,” you repeat, words tumbling in a frantic wash. “I— I remember seeing what had happened, and I had worried he might think I was trying to— So I wanted to kiss him to show I didn’t mean— Gods I’m so sorry.” An embarrassed flush heats your skin, simmering wickedly just below the surface of your flesh, head dipped in misery and shame. 

“It’s perfectly okay,” the High Lady assures, squeezing your fingers. “I want you to know the male who drugged you has been found and dealt with—he will not be repeating his actions. We also had our healer check the concentration in your blood to make sure you were okay, and thankfully all you needed was a good night’s sleep to get everything out of your system.”

You flush, glancing to where she’s cupping your fingers, then looking at her again. “I’m still sorry for kissing you—both of you—even if there were external pressures…”

Feyre blinks slowly, her smile losing an ounce of its warmth. Barely noticeable, really, but you feel it. “Do you regret it?” 

“I regret causing you discomfort, my L—” Her eyes harden, and you flush. “…Feyre. And your— and for kissing your mate…” 

“And what about on your end?” She asks, tone softened only a little. You look at her questioningly but are unable to read the emotion in her blue-grey eyes. Cunning but deliberately blank. “Do you regret kissing either of us for your own discomfort?” 

“No!” You speak hurriedly. “It’s an honour. I mean, hopefully that doesn’t make you upset to hear. I simply mean, to have been so close with either of you. I’m just so sorry I did what I did… How I did it…” 

“You would have done differently had you been sober?” She asks, her hold tightening on your fingers, pulling your hand closer into her body. 

You hesitate, fumbling. Glancing where her digits have begun twining with your own. 

Feyre follows your gaze, and sighs, hands settling to the bed. 

“My mate and I are divided on the matter,” she tells you, voice lowering to a hushed murmur. A guilty tug on her pretty pink lips. “He would rather give you space and time to warm up to us, since this meeting has happened so fast.” Fingers again squeeze your own, and she looks up at you with a glimmer in her heavy gaze. “But I’ve been on the end of that before, and hadn’t been pleased with his choices.” 

You scan her features, trying to fit together the pieces but have the distinct feeling you’re missing something crucial. A fragment of memory that perhaps hasn’t yet allowed itself to resurface. Eyes flit to the curl of her digits between your own. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I understand?” 

Feyre pauses in thought, then she presses her hand to your cheek, unlacing it from your fingers. Breath flutters in your chest as your High Lady leans in, her head tilted enough so her lips might slant diagonally across your mouth, and a faintly wavy lock of hair slides from her shoulder, tickling against your collar bones. You can feel each faint exhale. Mark how her pupils dilate, lashes flickering as she glances down at your mouth. 

Your breath catches as something tugs at your rib, a small, tender thread wrapped around the delicate bone. 

“Did you feel that?” Feyre questions, thumb stoking the curve beneath your lip, eyes following with each swipe. “What…what was…?” 

It happens again, and your lungs stutter, mouth parting in awe as you stare at her. 

You worry over voicing your thoughts for fear of reaching the wrong conclusion and only worsening your predicament. To be as brazen as to suggest a possibility that would defy logic and reason, when it’s likely fuelled by your own desires… 

Feyre lays her mouth over your own, the flavour of her lips slightly musky with a hint of berry, and you wonder if she delighted in fruits for breakfast. Perhaps would like to swipe your tongue across the seam of her mouth to taste more of her. To sample more of this delicacy you’ll surely never have the chance of trying again. 

A heady sound echoes in your Lady’s throat when you follow through with your fantasy. Her fingers dig into the soft underside of your jaw, both hands cupping your face to leverage her mouth closer, capturing your lower lip between her teeth and tugging on it gently. She’s close enough you can feel the faint flutter of air that her lashes bat your way. 

Blue-grey eyes simmer with heat as she watches you, thumb stroking across the crest of your cheek before falling to the side of your neck, fingers sifting through strands of hair. With great attentiveness, she strokes her tongue across your own, her heart jumping when your body jolts lightly from the intimate touch, a lovely soft sound captured in your throat. 

Her hands begin to wander. 

At first it’s her thumb skimming across your throat, then she’s grazing her fingertips along the ridge of your collarbone, and then before you know it she’s trailed those nimble digits further, tracing the curve of your breast, knuckles skimming beneath the soft, feminine weight. Your lashes flutter against her cheek, before you’re pulling away to gaze down at where she’s touching you. 

Feyre watches intently to see what you make of the touch. Heat warms your cheeks and your lips part on a trembling inhale, spine curving in an offer—one she’ll contentedly accept. The soft pad of her second finger teasingly circles your covered nipple, before clasping it between the sides of her index and middle finger, rolling. Your breathing deepens, sinking down into the pillows, subtly urging her to lay herself over you. 

It’s when Feyre’s knee is pressing between your thighs, her faintly wavy hair ticklishly brushing your exposed skin—where she’s unbuttoned your night gown to bare your breasts to her—that a firm set of knocks are delivered to the door, a warning rather than a request. Your eyes fly open, arms instinctively slapping across your chest to conceal your breasts, nipples sensitive, and freshly-licked. 

Violet eyes calmly take in your own, and the night comes rushing back, how you’d kissed his mate—accidentally, but it had happened nonetheless—then pressed your lips to his own skin, too. 

You open your mouth to apologise, but Feyre’s talented fingers have linked around your wrists, and you squirm when she pushes them aside, so they sink into the pillows you’re lying on. Expelling a gasp from your lips. 

“Looks like the two of your are becoming well acquainted,” the High Lord muses, stepping into the room, pausing beside the bed, gazing down at you with interest. “Do you mind my being here?” He asks, and you realise he’s bothering to question you. It makes sense, you suppose, you just hadn’t considered it. You flush, but shake your head, lungs stuttering when Feyre returns to your breasts, circling the hardened tip of her tongue over the peak of your right nipple, allowing a small amount of saliva to build before letting it unspool onto you, before repeating the circles. 

“You look to be enjoying her mouth,” Rhysand muses, raising the backs of his fingers to gently skim your cheek, thumb idly swiping the corner of your mouth, dipping to the hollow beneath your lower lip. “Are you?” 

Your flush deepens, thighs squeezing together against Feyre’s knee at the softly intimate touch, something fluttering beneath your ribs from the gentleness of the High Lord’s caress. Teeth pull at the interior of your lip, struggling to get a hold of the wild heat they’re igniting in your lower belly, a tingling feeling spreading between your thighs. 

“Getting shy now?” Feyre coos, unlatching from your nipple much to your dismay. “You were perfectly talkative before… He’s not as scary as he looks.” 

“Scary?” Rhys parrots under his breath, a note of incredulity to be found. Feyre raises an eyebrow as she glances over him, as if challenging him to disagree. But his lips fashion themselves into a mischievous, feline grin, capturing your chin with his fingers, directing your gaze upward to face him. “Would I be less scary without all these clothes on?”

Your face burns, lips parting on a softly stunned inhale, staring up at him in slight bewilderment, his words alone giving rise to a series of involuntary images careening through your mind before you can stop from conjuring them. 

“Rhys,” Feyre scolds, “you’re overwhelming her. She doesn’t know what to do with all that.”

“We can show her.” 

“Rhysand,” Feyre warns, but you can tell it’s playful. You want her attention back on you, sliding a little further down in the pillows so her knee is pressed closer between your legs. Blue-grey eyes mark the shift immediately, and you flush at having been caught, grip tightening in the sheets as you find elsewhere to look. Her rosey lips curve, leaning closer until they’re barely brushing your own, a twinkle of mischief in her eyes. “Something you want, birdie?” 

You inhale at her proximity, spine stiffening from how close she is, how bare you are beneath her. How exposed. 

You incline your chin almost imperceptibly. 

Feyre smirks, and leans in, once again sealing her lips over yours, and you think she must be a slice of heaven. Your hands depart from the sheets, travelling up her thighs to her hips, spanning her delicate waist. Her hair tickles your shoulder, trailing away when Rhys’s fingers shift the curtain of silky hair, pushing the locks gently out of the way so he can see how his wife is kissing his…

A small noise is captured between your mouths when something tugs at one of your ribs, a delicate thread being plucked that has you jolting. Pulling away. 

“A second mate is unheard of,” Feyre murmurs, looking at you with a mixture of awe and disbelief. “And yet here she is,” Rhys finishes, making you blink, glancing between the two. 

“You said you were honoured,” Feyre continues, drawing your attention back to her. “Are you still of the same mindset?” You stare at her, comprehension dawning as you accept your belief as truth, fantasy merging with reality. “What she’s asking,” Rhysand clarifies, allowing his fingers to fall from Feyre to graze across you collar bone, tracing upward to your jaw, brushing your cheek, “is will you have us.”

“Yes.” It’s softer than a whisper, shorter than a breath, but they feel it. Feel the acceptance without reluctance or hesitation. Falling into their arms.

Feyre’s eyes go briefly hazy as it clicks into place inside of her, a flush of colour rising to her cheeks with biological satisfaction. “Good,” she breathes, “perfect.” 

Her scent has shifted, floating over to you, and instinct tells you exactly what it means. When her blue-grey eyes return to yours, they’re dilated; hungry. Information you should have no access to flowing into your body, innately understanding their states of being. 

“How are you feeling?” Feyre asks, voice huskier than before, dragging with arousal. A heat has begun sprouting in your body, beginning to simmer and bubble, more prominently than before, abruptly taking off. You swallow. Nod your head. 

“What you’re feeling,” Rhysand supplies smoothly, the only one able to grapple with the biological instincts urging you together as the one who understands it the most, “is the effects of the mating bond clicking into place. Since our bond,”—he gestures between him and Feyre— “is already set in place, the symptoms will make themselves known much more swiftly, while yours may take a few hours or even a day to reveal themselves.” 

Right. The frenzy. 

You flush. 

“Do you—” Feyre swallows, cutting herself off before trying again, having to wet her lips, “do you want to join us?” 

“Join you?” You’re breathless. 

“I’m sure we’ll be able to manage between us, if you would like to rest,” Rhysand supplies, though you have the impression it strains on him to give that safety net. As if reminded of the option, Feyre’s eyes flick to him, hungrily tracing the cut of his figure, watching with a heavy-lidded gaze. You shift your hips against her knee, and they return to you. 

In your periphery Rhysand readjusts his trousers. 

“Will you?” She breathes, her hand rising from the mattress, shifting her weight to her other arm to allow her fingers to coast upward between your breasts, playing with the dip of your collarbone, tracing the outline. “We’ll be careful,” she assures, fingers now tracing across your lower lip, transfixed as her instincts call for her to strip you bare, explore the flavour of your mouth and skin; the taste between your legs. 

“We could start with just one of us?” She tells you, your heart fluttering wildly as her words drip over your skin. “You and me first…”

“Greedy,” Rhys mutters.

“Rhys can watch,” she amends. “We can play in my and his bed—it’s much larger than this one—and I could start with these…” You gasp when she lowers her hand to your breast, circling your nipple with a feather-light touch, tugging on it gently. “Then we could move further…” Feyre takes your wrist in hand, moving to straddle your hips as she brings your palm to her chest, watching you intently as her spine curves into your touch. “And you could try touching me, if you like…? Would you like that? Wouldn’t that be nice?” 

“She needs a chance to respond, Feyre,” Rhys chuckles, leaning against one poster of the large bed. She peers at you intently, rocking her hips almost subconsciously. “You’ll feel so good,” she whispers, bringing your other hand to cup her breast so you have both palms over her. “What do you think?” 

Your flush deepens, looking away, and you can feel Feyre’s grip loosening, crestfallen. 

“I…” You swallow, finding her gaze again, her expression attentive, then glancing briefly over Rhys, nerves wriggling beneath your skin before you look away again, peering at the floor. “I don’t want Rhys to feel left out…” 

You inhale sharply at the stark arousal that blares down the bond, your thighs squeezing together in response, Rhys shifting as he takes down a steadying breath. A noise escapes your throat with the staggering awareness the bond is affording you, able to feel their hunger in your bones, perhaps also affording you a little more confidence than usual. 

“We’re all mates, aren’t we?” You ask, glancing skittishly between them both. When they nod, you continue. “So I’d like…I think it would mean more to be with both of you…all together.” 

————

They make you so dizzy. 

The soft press of Feyre’s narrow lips dragging up the length of your throat, nipping at spaces below your jaw, licking over the bite marks they’ve each put into your skin, forgetting which ones belong to who; the heavy drag of Rhys’ fingers as they dip along the interior of your thighs, palms cupping the round curve of your knees only to slip beneath and delicately raise both legs to your chest; the heat of watching clothes fall to the ground, buttons coming free and ties being loosened, hair pushed back over delicate shoulders and sterling silver bands removed from scar-flecked fingers, flexing before they settle into the rhythm of touch. 

You crawl after Feyre as she pulls away, pushing her second and middle finger to your lips to still you, her own mouth curving with feminine satisfaction. And now the question she’ll ask: “Who do you want next?” 

How many times have they taken turns making you answer that question. How many times have you shamelessly given an answer. How many times have they satisfied your desire only to ask again, “Who do you want next?” 

Always a next; never an end. 

You whimper, clit puffy and sensitive from relentless stimulation, pleasure budding through your body, liquid gold buzzing beneath your skin. How many more touches can you take? 

“Answer me,” Feyre coos, fingers slipping beneath your chin to incline your lips, leaning forward to almost meet you. “Who do you want next?”

“Feyre…” You’re nearly crying, so turned around, so dizzy. So desperate for movement and friction. “Please…” The High Lady beams, cupping your cheeks between her palms and pulling you close enough your noses touch, “mhmm? You want me?” 

“Please…” 

“How do you want me?” Feyre crawls closer, her knees touching your own, “Tell me how you want me.” Your lips part, cheeks flushing. Tongue shifting against your teeth. You’re too embarrassed to tell her. 

Tender claws scratch at your mind, and your walls give a few moments later, tentatively lowering enough for her to slip inside and nestle with you. Watching the image you present her with. 

Blue-grey eyes glitter with hunger, her mouth popping open, blinking away her surprise before grinning. “I didn’t think you’d be so dirty,” Feyre purrs, palms wrapping around your waist to pull you with her as she falls back into the bed, walking you up her body. 

“Are my girls done scheming?” Rhys asks from behind you, effortlessly sending a hot shiver up your spine. His voice alone contains enough power to make your knees buckle. And, my girls. You and Feyre. He’s seeing the two of you together. 

You rest your hands on the headboard, leaning forward enough that Feyre can grin at her mate from beneath you, “We’ll always be scheming, High Lord.” Her legs open, and your mouth waters. “Think you can keep up, Rhys?” 

“Always, for you.” Feyre’s hands begin to loop over your hips to pull you down but Rhysand reaches forward and you gasp when you feel his thick fingers skating up the line of your spine, hairs prickling as you shiver. “You, too,” the High Lord purrs, pushing your hair to one side so he can reach the top of your spine. Your throat closes up, heart fluttering as those deft digits descend down the knots of your back. Stiffening in anticipation when he pauses at the base. “Turn around,” he instructs, clearly. “I should be able to see you, too.” 

The hot breath of Feyre’s moan caresses your inner thigh, and you tighten around nothing. With flushed cheeks you slowly turn, careful of the female lying beneath you. 

Violet eyes glimmer with starlight, and millions of tiny, fluttery wings erupt into motion between your thighs. 

“Better,” he says, quietly. A faint smile on his soft mouth. “Now sit.” 

You part your legs, shakily sinking down onto Feyre’s mouth, Rhysand keeping your eyes locked with him—watching as you settle, watching as your hands find placement on her breasts, watching as Feyre licks up through your centre and you shudder. An adoring smile half-lifts one edge of Rhysand’s lips, his irises softening at their edges as he marks the pleasure unfolding within you. Only then do his thumbs press into the meat of Feyre’s thighs, finding the divot at the interior of her knees to hold them apart, aligning himself, and sliding in. 

You can’t help the way your mouth waters. 

Rhys catches you staring and leans himself forward, grinning as you flush with embarrassment, “Wishing that was you?” 

Your lips part, eyes darting away but he grips your chin lightly, forcefully guiding your gaze back to his. He leans closer and you shudder as Feyre’s lips wrap around your clit, suckling tenderly. Rhysand’s hand cups the nape of your neck, and wild heat fills your skin as he slowly licks over your bottom lip, the tip of his tongue dragging over the bitten area to drag lightly over your top one.  You’re frozen stiff, completely at his mercy. He chuckles, like he finds your awe amusing. Lightly appreciative of your reverence. 

But then he kisses you once on the lips and pulls back, both palms falling to Feyre’s waist, his thumb grazing over the beauty mark that lies a little to the left of her belly button. His hips draw back and slide in, Feyre’s back arching when he meets her all the way, hips held tight to her own. You can’t help the way your fingers fall to graze over her abdomen, able to see the prominent outline of the High Lord nestled within his mate. 

He’s been inside you the same way he’s inside her. 

You have to lick your lips. 

“Move,” you whisper, circling your hips over Feyre’s mouth, almost certainly smearing arousal across her lips; the tip of her rosey nose; her chin. The High Lady moans her agreement, inclining her hips from the bed and you watch as the muscles in her thighs and stomach flex. Feline grace contained within her flesh. You want to taste every part of her you can. 

Rhys begins slowly, languidly moving inside of her, rolling his hips so he slides all the way in to his base. Soon enough he sets their pace, and your eyes nearly roll with the pleasurable warmth that’s being delivered to your body, fizzling and fluttering throughout. Heat is prominent on the High Lord’s cheeks, tan skin flushed with colour and you’re all so sensitive but needing of more that release is swift and fulfilling. Bright flashes of pleasure zipping down your thighs, bursts of heat fluttering in your lower belly, warm-pink flame heating and heating until you’re boiling and bubbling over. 

Rhys grits his teeth, likely trying to cope with the pleasure of Feyre’s orgasm, and you can’t help yourself. 

You lean forward, cunt still seated on the High Lady’s mouth, your palms sloping up his well-muscled chest to wrap over his shoulder to push your lips together, tongue licking against him, tasting him, devouring him. The High Lord’s control splinters, then fractures entirely, a groan of pure, male pleasure delivered to your mouth as he releases deep inside his mate. You want it to be as drawn out as possible, for him to fill her up as much as he can, until she’s dripping. 

It’s only when he’s panting, breathless and with his head lowered that you know he’s finished. 

Teeth prod into your lower lip, fresh arousal dripping from your cunt, cleaned away by Feyre’s tongue. Her fingers drum ticklishly over your thighs, knowing what you’ve been waiting for. You can practically see the smug, satisfied grin on her rosey lips. 

The combined effort of the both of you has you taking her place on the bed in mere seconds, lying on your back with a blinking Rhys now positioned between your thighs. Feyre mounts your mouth like she’s descending onto her throne, thighs parted and facing you so she can run her fingers through your hair. 

Rhysand freezes when he understands what’s going on. Then his warrior’s hands have shackled your ankles and you’re roughly dragged down the bed, swept out from under your mate and you whine, crying out and reaching for her. But there’s heat in his eyes, a wicked smile on his mouth, mischief and hunger twinkling between the starlight. “I did all the work, darling,” he rumbles, the words rough and gravelly from his chest. “The least you can do is let me watch.”

You flush as you’re repositioned: half-way up the bed with Feyre hovering over your face, your mouth open and her legs spread; further up the bed is Rhys, gazing down at you so he can watch every stroke of your tongue, every drip of his cum that’s mixed with Feyre’s own orgasm that you collect on your lips, tasting in your mouth. 

“I should have known what you two were planning,” Rhys drawls, cock hard against his stomach from watching the show. He’s eaten his release out of Feyre before but it’s different watching someone else do it. It’s different having a mate to watch do it. “So dirty indeed.”

“And it was all her idea,” Feyre muses proudly from atop her perch. “You were so shy to show it to me,” she coos. 

“Looks like she’s a wicked one.” Violet eyes flick to Feyre. “She’ll rival you for your mischief.” 

“I think you mean she’ll rival you. You’re the dirty one.” 

Their eyes simultaneously drop, and you flush beneath their attention, hair spread out messily across the mattress, licking Feyre’s cunt whenever you please. Rhys’ fingers trail across your forehead, playing with a few stray strands of hair. “You like that? Tasting us together?” 

You moan softly, licking up and circling Feyre’s clit, causing her to moan. 

Butterflies start fluttering anew when Rhys wraps his hand around his cock, still achingly hard, cum beginning to drizzle down his tip. Your temperature spikes, mouth watering further. Rhys’ eyes twinkle, his mouth curving before he’s shifting onto his knees. “You know,” he muses, looming so comparatively high above you while Feyre keeps you pinned to the mattress, “let’s find out how dirty she is.”

Your thighs have to squeeze together at the blatant lust in his voice, clit pulsing as you rub your legs together.  

Violet eyes meet your own, and you shiver. Rhys grins. “You look pretty happy, down there.” You moan, licking at her hungrily, wanting her to stop hovering and to finally just sit. His hand continues stroking himself to the sign, up and down, slowly building his pleasure again. There isn’t much time you need to wait—you’re all so stimulated, so sensitive to touch. Rhys has to grit his teeth through the first series of strokes before the tension is being released and he’s panting again, muscles flexing in his stomach and forearms. 

“Think you can take some more?” Rhys groans, and you watch with desperate eyes as a bead of cum slips over his head. “Answer me.” 

You nod your head. “More,” you pant, watching him intently. Rhys’ eyes nearly roll, but then yours nearly cross as he shifts his hips, the tip of his cock nearly bumping into Feyre’s clit. He’s intending to finish straight into your mouth. 

You can’t help it, then. Your hand lifts from the bed and trails down your body, fingers slipping between your thighs. It’s a mix between painful and perfectly oversensitive, clit hard and puffy beneath your digits that slide right down your centre, two fingers sinking inside yourself and curling. 

It doesn’t take long from there. 

“Gods, you’re such a good girl,” Feyre praises, biting her lip as she palms her breasts, cupping them and thumbing across her nipples. “Isn’t she perfect, Rhys?” 

“So perfect.” He agrees. “So dirty.” 

You whimper in protest but Rhys cocks a brow and you shut up. He smirks. “So good, and so obedient, isn’t she?” 

“Perfect for us,” Feyre agrees, moaning as she circles her hips faintly, seeking the attention of your tongue which swiftly returns to attend to her, flicking over her clit and licking up her centre. “A perfect little mate to play with.” 

Rhys groans, the noise rumbling in his chest as his orgasm finds him at last, release pouring from his tip, shooting down between your lips and filling you up. His hip buck, his fingers flexing around his cock as pleasure pulses through his body, his eyes shutting tight as his muscles tremble. 

The tip of your finger drags back up over your clit and you come undone. 

Feyre watches, utterly content, as her two mates reach completion around her. She can just make out your eyes, half-rolled as your own high filters through your blood. Then there’s Rhys, whose hand is shaking as he pumps himself, hips seemingly moving of their own accord as he tries to keep himself going for as long as possible, throwing himself into overstimulation for the sake of your pleasure. 

She sits happily on your mouth when he’s done, his blue-black hair falling against her shoulder as hot breath fans down her front. 

How lucky they are to have found such a sweet, mischievous little mate to match them. 

——————————————————————————————————————————————

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @slut4acotar @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy @decomposing-writer @soph1644 @lilah-asteria @nighttimemoonlover @mrsjna @acoazlove

feysand taglist: @girlmadeofavocados @zara-aliza08

[stealeroflemons]

eah thing but make it FASHION aka met gala themed but I'm sunburnt and only half awake right now #30 (PART I)

SURPRISE! I'm alive and well. Mostly. I'm getting ready to leave for university so I am tireeeeed. Anyways. I know there was a lot of controversy around the met gala and that I'm extremely late in doing this, but I do want to make this post to still add some ever after high fun and to also have some fashion fun with the help of Pinterest. The theme is (with great consideration of your suggestions and of my own deliberation) "Hans Christian Dior: A Spellelebration of Fable-ous Fashion"

This mainly came from research on past met gala themed and how quite a few of them are themes after specific fashion houses or designers AND from the Thronecoming special (which is PEAK fashion in the series besides Way Too Wonderland and Spring Unsprung) where Cedar calls out Duchess for wearing a fake Hans Christian Dior dress! (note, I am trying to mainly use Christian Dior gowns/outfits for this because of the reference in Thronecoming also sorry for the blurriness)

Briar is THAT GIRL. She is flushed in hot pink looking gorgeous with about every inch of her glittering with body shimmer, glitter hairspray, and shiny shiny jewels. I like to think that instead of the gold detailing in the pictures it would be silver and that the closer embellishments would be rose detailing to honor her usual aesthetic and legacy

Faybelle is serving every bit of whimsy and darkness. Her accessories and the layers of her dress and even her hair seem to be alive with lightning crackling around. Her wings are extra pretty and equally terrifying with silver thorn adornments that are magically light enough to not weigh her down

Ashlynn's look was partially inspired by Lady Tremaine's silhouettes in the lie action Cinderella while still maintaining the color palette of her usual outfits. Her look combines the beauty of the enchanted forest and foliage and the classy, fine china patterns you'd see in a royal palace. She is absolutely radiant and of course while walking up the steps of the Met, she loses a slipper ;)

Duchess has taken a slightly different approach to her usual fluffy-tulle outfits and gone for more of a paper swan look. The sharp angles provide a dangerous look to her, contrasting the soft purple accents and the feather headpieces she wears. She seems to float on air and she walks through the crowds of people in her gown, a true picture of elegance and grace with a touch of darkness to her

The one and only Apple White is DRAMATIC. HUGE HAIR. BOLD RED MAKEUP. EXTREME DRESS SILHOUETTE. THE MOST ROYAL JEWELRY YOU CAN FIND. She looks like something out of an editorial magazine on royalty. This entire look is a more elevated look of her daily wear, and she wears it with grace and sophistication

Darling looks so DARLING! I do think the gold on the dress would be swapped out for silver and that the pearls would be more pink-y toned so it would match the jewels in your basic outfit (same with other accessories). She's sticking with the sort of rococo hair that she usually has because it's iconic let's be honest. I was debating on giving her a more armored look but for this I wanted to embrace her softer and delicate look

Rosabella looks like a French aristocrat from an old Hollywood movie in my mind for an event like this. Nevertheless any fur details are faux, after all our girl is still an animal activist (slay queen). I think the dusty gold-brown tone of the dress with the deep red accents and jewelry pays a nice homage to not only her day to day look but to Belle's iconic yellow dress. I also feel like her and Briar would contrast well because Briar is very bright and vibrant in her look and Rosabella is more muted and understated which I like a lot

anways I'll make a part 2 eventually, I have all the collages made I just need to create a post and write descriptions. But for now I'm gonna go back to packing and planning for uni and I'll get back to y'all when I can (and hopefully my fanfictions, who now haunt me in my dreams)

[microcosmicobservations]

Yellow lady's slippers (Cypripedium parviflorum)

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 73: Emily's Safehouse

Previous > Masterlist > Next

tw: mind control, conditioning, memories of abuse

October 1925

Emily woke up in bed -- a real bed for human beings, not a fuzzy little pet bed on the floor -- a sensation both frightening and strangely familiar. She wasn't allowed on the bed, unless her lady --

Her lady.

Her lady was dead.

The events of the previous night came rushing back to her as she lay there in bed, staring up at the ceiling. One moment she'd been in the carriage, drunk and stupefied from her lady's aura, and in the next moment, Lady Jessica was dead and gone. She'd been pulled from the carriage and into a janky old car by a vampire hunter, leaving behind everything she'd known for a promise of freedom, or at least a promise of a hot meal and a place to stay.

Unease gnawed in her gut. Promises of help always came with strings attached. She wasn't sure how she knew that, but she felt it deep inside. She'd have to pay for this charity somehow.

Emily tried to remember. Who had she been and what had she been doing before she had served a vampire? She knew somehow that she hadn't been serving a vampire for very long, so there must have been something that came before, but she couldn't remember any of it, a swirl of colors and scents and pains where the rest of her mind should be. Perhaps serving a vampire was the only thing she was truly good for, the thing she was meant to do.

She sat up in bed, trying in vain to drive the fuzziness from her mind. She didn't want it to be true, because if it were, then the hunter had just taken away the only thing that gave her life meaning.

There was a faint smell of eggs and toast in the air, and Emily's stomach growled, reminding her that there was no existential crisis that was worth missing out on food. She pulled herself out of bed, wearing the thick flannel nightgown that had been handed to her the night before, and pushed open the creaky wooden door.

The vampire hunter's home was an old farmhouse on the outskirts of the city, one with uneven floors and chipped paint and drafts in every window. It was nothing like the luxurious modern townhouse her lady had occupied, with every modern convenience including electricity. Still, Emily liked how familiar this place felt, how natural it was to keep her footsteps soft as she walked down the hall in borrowed slippers.

The kitchen was small but cheerful, done up in bright yellow and lime green. The hunter, Vivian, was tending to a skillet of eggs, while a young woman with red hair and a simple black coat sat at the kitchen table. The woman looked dazed, her eyelids at half-mast, as though she were fighting the urge to drop off to sleep.

"Good morning, Emily!" said Vivian. "Would you like some eggs? And did you sleep well?"

"I think so. And yes, I would like some eggs, please." She sat down at the table, nervously glancing at the other woman.

"Oh, this is Jenny, the thrall I took from Edgar. Jenny, this is Emily, a thrall I rescued last night."

"Pleased to meet you," said Jenny with a smile.

"You were a thrall, too?"

"Yes, for a very long time, until Vivian killed my master. She's helping me get accustomed to the human world again. I spent so long under my master's spell that it's…" She trailed off, sinking back into a daze, before collecting herself again. "It's difficult, after having spent years under a vampire's spell."

"Years…"

"Mmm…" Her eyelids were drooping again, and in a fluid motion, she fell to her knees, bowing her head to no one.

Vivian took the pan off the burner for a moment to shake her gently awake. Her eyes popped open and she sat back down on the chair, blushing. "Sorry, I still slip back under sometimes. Vivian is helping with that."

"You've been making great progress, considering how deep you were in vampire thrall," said Vivian, as she placed a plate of eggs and toast in front of Emily.

As Emily quickly ate her breakfast, she couldn't help but feel embarrassed herself, recalling how she had acted around her lady. Many nights, she'd accompany Lady Jessica to a club or social call, kneeling by her lady's chair, laying her head in her lady's lap, allowing her lady to pet her as though she were a beloved dog. Perhaps she had looked just as Jenny did, lost in a stupor as she mindlessly worshiped a vampire.

It hadn't always been this way, she was sure. How had they done this to her?

"I should be able to help you, too," said Vivian, sitting at the table. "How long were you with vampires? Do you remember?"

"I'm not sure," Emily said, swallowing the lump in her throat. "I can't remember much of anything before my lady's -- the vampire's house. But she has been showing me off to everyone as her new thrall, still, so I don't think it's been that long. A couple of months, maybe."

"That's good, then, it'll be easier to recover if you weren't with her long. From what you've said, it sounds like you had your memories wiped. Did you go through the auction house?"

The mention of the auction house stirred up a particular image in her mind. She was standing on a stage under a spotlight, wearing an uncomfortable frilly dress and jeweled handcuffs, squinting to try and focus on the crowd in front of her, bidding. They were bidding on her, bidding more than she'd ever made in her life, and it was going so fast…

"Yes, I'm sure I went through the auction house."

Vivian nodded. "Do you know if you met a vampire named Lily?"

"Lily! Yes, I remember her well."

"She's the one who wiped your memories, then."

Emily didn't just remember Lily from the auction house, the vampire who put her to sleep so gently, who urged her to be quiet and docile and offer her blood. She also remembered Lily from nights at the Tiger's Eye. In fact, she had cozied up to Lily, shamelessly nuzzling her, feeling a deep need to be near her and to hear her voice, even though she was the one who had stolen Emily's life.

And all of the other little indignities bubbled up in her thoughts. Allowing the vampire to dress her up like a paper doll and walk her on a leash. Mindlessly accepting that she'd be discarded and sold again when her lady tired of her. Smiling dreamily as she offered up her neck to a bloodsucking monster. Oh, god, she'd let that vampire sink her fangs into her flesh and drink her blood so, so many times, and she'd been made to enjoy it.

"Emily, are you okay?"

She wiped at her hot tears. "I let them take my mind, didn't I?" she said, humiliated. "I let them take my blood, too. I don't even remember if I fought them, but either way, they won. They took my mind from me."

"You didn't let them do anything," said Vivian firmly. "Vampires are strong, incredibly so, and particularly some of the ones you've encountered. Their enthrallment abilities can be powerful, almost impossible to resist without magic. Even many hunters eventually fall and become a thrall themselves. It's not your fault that they did this to you."

Emily nodded, still lost in her deep rush of shame despite Vivian's words.

"But I have magic. I've been studying how to ward myself from vampires for a long time. And I know a ritual that can reverse enthrallment, if you're interested."

"Yes!" said Emily. "Yes, I want my memories back. I want to know who I was before all of this. There must be something I can go back to."

"If you're that eager, we can do the ritual right after breakfast, if you like. But I should warn you… not everyone who gets their memories back is happy about it," Vivian said. "It's just that vampires tend to prey on people who… don't have a lot of family, or people to notice if they go missing. A lot of thralls come from bad circumstances. Do you still want to try?"

She would be lying to herself if her heart didn't sink a bit, but she knew that her answer was still the same. "Yes. I think I want to know, even if it's awful. I don't want to feel like offering my blood to a vampire was the only thing I ever did in life."

"Then come with me."

Emily followed Vivian into a sort of parlor and up a spiral staircase that rattled with every step. They emerged in an attic that smelled of dust and mildew. Vivian lit a lantern, and then a number of candles on the floor, and Emily could see a chalk circle with strange symbols written in it. The floor was stained in some places with what looked like blood. She realized that she had been trusting the vampire hunter completely, even though she knew so little about her. Sure, she'd freed Emily from her fate as a thrall, but that didn't necessarily mean she was a safe person in every way.

"I'll need to spill some of my blood for this ritual. Don't worry, it won't harm you, apart from any harm you might get from the memories you've lost." The knife Vivian held had a blade as long as her hand that glinted in the candlelight. "All you need to do is kneel in the circle and close your eyes."

Emily shuddered, her vague memories of the auction house dancing through her mind. After all she'd been through, she really didn't want to be at someone else's mercy.

But she hardly had a choice. Without any memories or skills beyond being a vampire's pet, she didn't think she could survive on her own. She had no place to go, no friends or family that she remembered, and no job -- she was already at Vivian's mercy. Slowly, reluctantly, she knelt in the circle and held her eyes just barely closed.

"Perfect," said Vivian. "Now just try to relax, and whatever you feel, just go with it. Don't suppress it, or the ritual won't be as effective. You might feel awful as your mind returns, because one thing the vampires like to do is suppress your undesirable feelings so that you enjoy being their mindless slave. But you have to accept it, all right?"

"All right."

Emily knelt in the darkness, her knees growing sore, as Vivian began a low chant. With her eyes closed, she could hear Vivian walking around her, chanting, along with rustling noises. The scent of burning herbs joined the candle smoke.

"Hold still for a moment."

She could feel the pressure of Vivian's thumb on her forehead and cheeks, and it felt like she had smeared something on her. She chanted words in an unknown language into Emily's left ear, then her right.

Just as Emily was wondering when the ritual would start to have an effect, a wave of fear and shame and sadness swept her away. She thought she had been embarrassed before, but it was nothing like what she felt now, a deep horror at how she'd been captured and used, her mind stolen and bent and made to serve the monsters who had violated her. A choked sob escaped her throat, and she retched as she recalled what the feedings were like without the glowing haze of hypnosis surrounding them. The suppressed pain, the violence of the vampire's fangs, the smell of her own blood.

But she remembered. She remembered her family, the one she'd run from, thinking nothing could ever be worse. She remembered trying to scrape by with odd jobs and artwork, the dingy room she called home, the many nights she'd gone hungry. She remembered being tossed into a cell in the auction house, straining against the iron bars, not knowing what would happen to her.

"Emily." Vivian had stopped chanting. "You can open your eyes now. Are you okay?"

She didn't feel okay. She felt as though she'd experienced a lifetime's worth of trauma in the space of ten minutes. But at least she knew it was hers. At least she knew how hard she'd fought to make herself a real life, how much she struggled against the vampires before the fight had been taken out of her.

"I'll be okay," she said, mostly out of a hope that it would be true. "Thank you. Between this and saving me last night, I don't know how I can ever repay you."

"I don't expect you to pay me. I'm planning on ransacking your vampire's home tonight, and once I pawn most of it, there'll be money for both of us," she said. "But your former mistress was also known to be a real social butterfly, so if your memories are less foggy, I wouldn't mind if you paid me in information."

"What kind of information?"

"Mostly where I can find powerful vampires to kill."

"The Tiger's Eye," Emily said. "It's a club where all of the powerful vampires of the city go to drink and gossip. I think I can show you where it is."

"Oh, I appreciate that, but I already know about the Tiger's Eye. It's how I tracked your mistress. Unfortunately, even though I'm a real crackerjack of a hunter, I don't think I can take on an entire club's worth of vampires by myself. So as much as I'd like to, I can't raid their speakeasy. All I can do is track down the drunk ones once they leave."

"Oh, I see." Now that Emily could think more clearly about it, she would've dearly loved to see the entire place burned to the ground -- after every one of those poor thralls had been saved, of course. She could remember lounging on her lady's lap as Jessica drank from a woman covered in bite scars, who seemed to have barely any awareness of where she was, and bile rose in her throat again.

The Tiger's Eye -- there was something important she was supposed to remember --

"If you know of any individual vampires that would be good to track down… There's actually a few in particular --"

"Oliver!" That had been nagging at her. The thrall who had recognized her last night was Oliver, the unfortunate bookseller who had been her neighbor in the cells. He'd talk to her for hours, taking her mind off the sordid situation, and had ended up hypnotized out of his wits, eager to throw away his life for a vampire -- just as she had.

"Beg pardon? Is that the name of a vampire?"

"No, he's someone I met when I was in the auction house. He was sold to a vampire, of course, and my la-- Jessica said that he lived only a block away from us -- from her. Do you think you could rescue him, too?"

"A block away from Jessica, you say…" Vivian nodded slowly. "Yes, I think I can work with that, especially if you know anything about the vampire who bought him."

"I don't remember his name, but… he was fairly tall and thin, pale and with messy hair. And his voice… this may be a strange thing to recall, but his voice was like -- something you'd want to listen to for days, even if he only read the phone book."

"Hmm, that might be part of his enthrallment. I'll have to be careful," said Vivian. "I can't make any promises, but I think I could arrange a playdate with your friend Oliver and his master."

Previous > Masterlist > Next

Next week: Fitz is put under the Maestro's control.

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[thebotanicalarcade]

n102_w1150 by Biodiversity Heritage Library Via Flickr: Lilies and orchids New York,R. G. Cooke, incorporated,1906. biodiversitylibrary.org/page/16488080

[fishdetective]

BIG NEWS!!!!! YELLOW LADY'S SLIPPER ORCHIDS

[adventurealldays]

[shadowdaddies]

imagine rhysand helping reader get dresses and he’s in such a fashion icon mood. i mean his mother was a seamstress so no wonder he dresses amazing. He helps reader pick out and style stuff and says stuff like

” no this would look better with that ”

” yes you just need some accessories ”

” try it with these heels instead ”

and him and the shopowner stand next to eachother looking through fabrics, looking so concentrated with reader just chilling on the chair knowing rhys will pick out immaculate stuff

Thank you to everyone who sent in fluff requests! I'm so excited to work on these💜

LOL I love this idea, I immediately thought of this gif from Crazy Stupid Love. He's so Rhys coded

Dress Shopping

Rhys x Reader

“What about this one?” you teased, holding up the frilly yellow floral dress for Rhys to see. You gave a little twirl, pausing to laugh at the look of disgust on his face. “That would be a perfect dress if we are ever exiled in punishment to the Spring Court, darling.” Rhys turned back to the rack of sleek dresses he’d picked out for you, pulling a shimmery iridescent gown and turning to you. It was breath-taking. 

“Unfortunately, darling, there is not a dress that could compare to my mate’s beauty, but I would love to see you in this,” Rhys purred, his eyes raking up and down your body before taking your hand and leading you to the fitting room. “Try this one on, love, and I’ll be right outside.” 

You slipped into the dress and laced up the back, turning to see yourself in the mirror. It was the most beautiful you’d ever felt, like you were wearing a molten diamond. You wanted to run outside just like this and never take it off. You stepped out to show Rhys, and his eyes darkened as he took in the sight of you. He gave an approving grin, and you whirled around for him, tossing the skirts of the dress, “What do you think, Rhys? I say we get this one. It’s perfect as is.”

Rhys gave you an incredulous expression. “Darling, of course we’re getting that dress, but you need shoes and accessories.” You looked down at the plain slippers you were wearing. “I could just wear these with the dress, they look fine.”

Rhys pinned you with a flat look. “My dear High Lady, you never look just ‘fine,’ and we will not be pairing those shoes with that dress.” He strode over to the wall filled with accessories, grabbing a belt, necklace, stacks of bracelets, and rings before swiping a pair of silver strappy heels. “Sit, darling,” Rhys said as he knelt before you, adorning you with jewelry and putting on the shoes for you. You walked over to the mirror, Rhys coming up behind you and wrapping his arms around you. “Beautiful,” he breathed. You turned and smiled at him, giving a soft kiss. “So are you ready to go home?” you asked him. 

Rhys chuckled as he playfully flicked your nose and turned back to sorting through the jewelry displays. “Oh, darling. We still have all these dresses to try, and accessories and shoes, and we’ll have to have crowns made for each one.” You sighed and shook your head, smiling as your mate ushered you back into the dressing room while he picked out shoes for the next dress.

[vandaliatraveler]

The photos above are from a trek to the summit of Bald Knob in Tucker County, West Virginia earlier today. Bald Knob Trail starts in Canaan Valley State Park and crosses into the Monongahela National Forest before returning to the state park. Many people avoid the steep ascent on foot and take a chair lift from the adjacent ski area instead. I manned up today and made the ascent by foot so I could beat the lazy tourists to the overlook. 

From top: the view from Bald Knob toward Weiss Knob and the Canaan Valley State Park ski area; wild geranium (Geranium maculatum), a clumping woodland perennial with gorgeous violet-purple foliage and elegant, sharply-lobed foliage; minniebush (Menziesia pilosa), an Appalachian endemic with distinctive, white-tipped leaves; painted trillium (Trillium undulatum), which has a fondness for shady spots in the strongly-acidic soils of old forests; pink lady’s slipper (Cypripedium acaule), another lover of shady nooks and strongly-acidic soils; and the mysterious depths of the boreal forest at the summit, where Canada mayflower (Maianthemum canadense) and yellow Clintonia (Clintonia borealis), also known as bluebead lily, form dense colonies in the rich humus.