#northeastern europe

[kvetch19]

[gemsofgreece]

Scuba diving in Samos island by xtremegreece.travel on Instagram.

[makwandis]

gil isn't insane because of like any modern history stuff gil is insane bc he grew up in pre christian north eastern Europe with slavs on one side scandinavians on the other and he somehow . Survived. That

[llycaons]

I just went grocery shopping and cooked such a wonderful shrimp scampi for dinner and had vegetables for the first time in ages (various reasons) and considering all I had to eat all day were some pop tarts and fruits snacks and pizza I'm feeling so much better. it's insane that the closest grocery store closes at 7 and we got no break from 10 to 4:30 but also I could have planned this day better. anyway I'm all ready for tomorrow and I'm eating my delicious shrimp scampi and it's hitting me how quickly things seem to release when you're busy. like wow, another ASOBAP episode! already! and here's me not even finished the latest iwtv episode or caught up on dunmeshi!

[uniqueeval]

Can forgotten rubella children of the ’60s hold clue for Zika babies?

Story highlights Babies with multiple birth defects were born to US women infected with the rubella virus in the 1960s What these families have needed may signal what’s in store for Zika babies Brooklyn, New York CNN  —  One side of the bedroom is an explosion of pink, from the hair accessories and dangling trinkets to the stuffed animals and laundry hamper. The other, starting with the fuzzy…

[hjhb-the-hdgp]

You can tell which region was the inspiration

Skyrim actually really did something by creating a video game grey morality™️ conflict where the issue isn't that both sides have a point it's that both sides absolutely suck balls and barely have any semblance of a point about anything. unclear if what they did was good or bad but they did do something

[vestaignis]

Деттифосс самый мощный водопад Исландии и Европы, его называют «европейской Ниагарой».При ширине около 100 метров этот водопад низвергается с высоты в 44 метра. Во время паводков количество воды в водопаде может вырости в 3-4 раза и в пиковые моменты составляет до 600 м3/секунду! Кстати, в переводе с исландского Деттифосс значит Бурлящий водопад, гул его слышен на многие мили вокруг.

Водопад находится в северо-восточной части острова, в Национальном парке Исландии Йёкульсаурглювур и расположенн на крупной реке Йёкюльсау-ау-Фьёдлюм. Ледниковое питание реки Йёкюльсау-ау-Фьёдлюм обуславливает не совсем обычный для исландских рек буро-коричневый цвет воды, срывающейся с уступов Деттифосс. Путь к живописному творению природы лежит сквозь пуст��нную местность, покрытую множеством дюн черного песка.Единственным исключением является зеленый оазис на склоне холма на западном берегу, куда попадают брызги от водопада, увлажняя почву. Однако на восточном берегу совершенно иная картина. При определенном направлении ветра вы можете промокнуть до нитки от брызг. Из-за густого облака брызг дно водопада не просматривается, однако хорошо видны потрясающие базальтовые колонны, которые встречаются на всем пути с обеих сторон реки.

Однако не только своей мощью и суровой красотой известен водопад Деттифосс, но и своим участием в кинематографе - именно этот водопад "сыграл" роль в фильме Ридли Скотта "Прометей". По версии Скотта именно тут зародилась жизнь на Земле.

Dettifoss is the most powerful waterfall in Iceland and Europe, it is called the “European Niagara”. With a width of about 100 meters, this waterfall falls from a height of 44 meters. During floods, the amount of water in the waterfall can increase 3-4 times and at peak moments it reaches up to 600 m3/second! By the way, in Icelandic Dettifoss means Raging Waterfall; its roar can be heard for many miles around.

The waterfall is located in the northeastern part of the island, in the Jökulsárglúvur National Park of Iceland and is located on the large river Jökulsau au Fjödlum. The glacial feeding of the Jökulsau au Fjödlum River causes the brown-brown color of the water falling from the Dettifoss ledges, which is unusual for Icelandic rivers. The path to the picturesque creation of nature lies through a desert area covered with many dunes of black sand. The only exception is a green oasis on the hillside on the western shore, where spray from a waterfall falls, moistening the soil. However, on the eastern shore the picture is completely different. In certain wind directions, you can get wet to the skin from the spray. Due to the thick cloud of spray, the bottom of the waterfall is not visible, but the stunning basalt columns that occur along the entire path on both sides of the river are clearly visible.

However, the Dettifoss waterfall is known not only for its power and harsh beauty, but also for its participation in cinema - it was this waterfall that “played” a role in Ridley Scott’s film “Prometheus”. According to Scott, this is where life on Earth originated.

Источник://t.me/roundtravel,/scandica.ru/iceland/sights1/vodopad_dettifoss_dettifoss/,//www.andreev.org/travel-photos/iceland-dettifoss . html,//www.tripadvisor.ru/Attraction_Review-g315845-d1912449-Reviews-Dettifoss_Waterfall-Lake_Myvatn_Northeast_Region.html, /scandica.ru/iceland/sights1/vodopad_dettifoss_dettifoss/,/vislandii.com/attractions/waterfall/100-dettifoss waterfall, //www.vodopads.ru / blog /vodopad_dettifoss_dettifoss/2012-10-26-33, //www.equatorial . by/content/vodopad-dettifoss-dettifoss,/priroda.club/vodopady/8358-vodopad-dettifoss-islandija-56-foto.html.

[famousinuniverse]

Baroque Style Restaurant, Venice, Italy: Originating in Rome, the Baroque was a cultural movement in Europe throughout the 17th century. As with most movements, its exact duration is difficult to define and was only categorised by later critics. You can identify the Baroque style across many forms of art including painting, sculpture, architecture, music, literature and theatre. ... Venice is a city in northeastern Italy and the capital of the Veneto region. It is built on a group of 126 islands. Wikipedia

[heliads]

About the War (Part 1) - Draco Malfoy

Everyone has a part to play during the Second Wizarding War. Your job is to maintain a network of Portkeys for safe passage of the Order of the Phoenix. Later, you get a new role: handling the new spy among the Death Eaters, Draco Malfoy.

masterlist / part two

You haven’t seen anyone in five days. It was eight days before that. Then six. It varies, usually. Nothing here should be the same. If it’s the same, then it’s repetitive, and if it repeats, then they can track you. And if the Death Eaters track you, you are dead, and if you are dead, the war is over.

That is how it works. You are in the middle of the woods in the middle of nowhere. Still in Britain, you think you decided that a while ago, but you’ve been trying not to make any details certain. They say the Death Eaters can look inside your brain, peel it apart by layers and learn every single damned secret you keep about the Order of the Phoenix. The less you know, the less you’ll give them, the better.

But how can you keep any secret for long? The few members of the Order that cross your path all bring back horrific stories of the torture inflicted upon the witches and wizards unfortunate enough to get themselves captured. You’re no hero. You’re just a magical person, trying to keep your part of the warfront intact, and if you were tortured, you’d give up whatever information you had for the pain to stop. It’s the same with everybody. They say the really gung-ho ones have started trying to master casting the Killing Curse wandless so they can off themselves once they’re captured, but you’ve been too afraid of accidentally turning it upon yourself too early to ever give that one a go.

So, you wait. You’re out here for a reason, after all. You are in charge of maintaining the northeastern Node, one in a chain of– well, you don’t know how many. That’s the point. No one should know all of anything. Your job is to maintain a small camp that can house up to a dozen members of the Order at any time, and keep it protected by a heavy curtain of protection charms and enchantments to ward off the Death Eaters. You’re in the forest surrounding a small town, far off the beaten trail. When they dropped you off here at the start of the war, they instructed you to refresh your hiding charms every day, but you’ve been at it a lot more frequently than that. It gives you something to do, at least. Something more than just staring at the odd assortment of chests and boots and odd Muggle trinkets littered in the center of your camp.

After all, you’re not just out here for fun. The point of the Node maintainers is that they safeguard an extensive collection of Portkeys that lead to the locations of various Order bases across Europe. Some, you can refresh yourself, but often members of the Order will drop by and swap out a boot for a hat, or a football for the broken head of a broomstick. They never tell you where the Portkeys go, and you’re not stupid enough to ask. Members appear and disappear out of nowhere, always in a hurry, always terrified, and then they leave you through another Portkey and you’re alone again.

You can’t tell which you would hate more, the endless torment of this solitary hideout in the forest or the constant peril of the front lines. You didn’t ask for this position, and the Order certainly wouldn’t trust anyone who did. You were pulled aside when assignments were first being handed out. You had been a member of Dumbledore’s Army back in your fifth year, and quite a promising spellcaster to boot, so you’d assumed you would have been drafted to fight just like many of the others.

Dumbledore’s Army. Merlin, it feels like a lifetime ago. You’ve spent many nights lying awake on your cot, remembering the complicated spells and jinxes you’d slung at your classmates as if you were in a dream. It feels impossible that could have happened just a few years ago. All you know now is dirt and blood, hiding and the looming fear of your eventual capture. The only life is the war. The fact that you could have ever existed beforehand, dressed in school robes, laughing with friends that hadn’t yet died, practicing the Expelliarmus charm while the afternoon sun filtered in through blue-tinted windows, is inconceivable.

All of Hogwarts seems like a distant memory now. How could it be that the biggest struggle in your life was trying to pass your classes, or getting enough points to win the House Cup? For years, your biggest enemy was a platinum blond Slytherin, and the only conflict in your life was finding a way to stay ahead of him in grades. You have no idea where Draco Malfoy is now, but based on his surname alone, you can assume he’s been drafted to fight just like you have, only on the opposite side.

You sigh, taking a careful glance at the forest surrounding you. It’s been a long time since you saw anyone from your school days, friend or otherwise. You have no idea if the people passing through your makeshift stronghold are running or pursuing, fleeing or fighting. You have only the barest notions of the war at all, only that it’s starting to go on longer than anyone expected and that hope is swiftly draining from everyone. Harry, Ron, and Hermione are nowhere to be found. Witches and wizards disappear by the day, and then there’s people like you, split up, grasping at straws to figure out if your best friends have died yet.

What matters more than the physical Order is the idea of the Order, you decide. You have no idea how many members are still alive, if any are at all. You don’t know a single thing, only that you must remain at your Node and keep it safe. People come in from time to time, bleeding, ragged, half-dead already. You nurse some of them back to health, and bury others. Most leave after a few days. No one likes staying in one place for long, but you’ve been here eight months with no discernable change.

You used to go into town every now and then, during the early days. You’d transfigure rocks and leaves into Muggle money so you could buy food and necessities. It was morally wrong, maybe, and you’re certain that in a former life McGonagall had made you write a paper on the importance of only using transfiguration for ethical purposes, but you were starving more often than you weren’t and you had to get supplies somehow. After a close call that ended with Death Eaters combing the woods for you for weeks, however, you stopped your visits unless it was absolutely necessary.

Now, you don’t see anyone at all unless they’re stopping by your Node. They alternate between being maddeningly talkative and silent like the dead. You’re not sure which version unsettles you more, the ones who clutch the bony trees to support themselves while they whisper ceaselessly about the horrors they’ve seen, or the ones who curl up on the ground, shaking, mouth pressed together so firmly you almost wonder if their lips are stitched shut with a hex. Once they leave, you usually don’t see them again. Half the time, you find out from another walking ghost of the Order that they died in a battle some weeks later. No one stays alive for long.

It doesn’t matter what’s going on out there. None of that matters. The only important thing is maintaining the Portkeys. You’ve progressed to checking your protective charms hourly. Sometimes, Death Eaters apparate out of nowhere in the surrounding forest, and you have to press a hand over your mouth to stay silent as they walk so close they almost hear you breathing. One time, a pack of werewolves came through, and you swear they caught your scent. You’re certain they would have stuck around until they figured out how to pierce your enchantments and rip you to pieces were it not for the fact that they were called away by the appearance of a Dark Mark some distance to the east. That night, you checked your spells constantly, walking a never ending circle around your camp to make sure not a single sigil had faltered.

A shuffling sound behind you makes you startle, and you whip around to find that one of the Portkeys is shaking alarmingly. You whip out your wand, pointing it at the now furiously rattling Portkey and readying yourself for a fight. A sudden light glows from the object, bright and scalding, before growing to an impressive height and disappearing again. In its place is a man, his clothing rumpled and skin dashed with blood. Despite the gloom of the forest, a gold hoop shines from one of his ears. It looks like Kingsley Shacklebolt, but over the course of the war, you’ve had a lot of close encounters with what looked like your friends, and ultimately weren’t.

You don’t drop your wand for a second. “When you first met me, I was making a potion to heal an injured classmate. What were the core ingredients?”

The man doesn’t move a muscle. “Dittany and eagle feathers. What was the name of my first toad?”

You wrinkle your nose. “Since when have you had a toad?”

Your intruder points the tip of his wand at you. “Answer the question.”

You breathe out slowly, thinking. “Merlin, I haven’t the faintest of ideas. You’ve never mentioned a toad to me in your life. Is it a trick question?”

The wizard stares at you a second longer, then slowly lowers his wand. “Correct.”

You drop your wand with a sigh. “Kingsley, I have enough on my mind without you trying to break my brain. Come up with a question I know next time.”

Kingsley Shacklebolt arches a dark brow. “You did know the answer, which was the point. Any imitation would have guessed.”

You fold your arms across your chest. “And I nearly did, too. We’ve got few enough members of the Order as is, no need to go blowing the real ones to smithereens just because they’re too exhausted to play your mind games.”

Something in Kingsley’s expression relaxes a micrometer. “Another close call by the Death Eaters?”

You nod and shudder. “Three days ago. They haven’t been back since, and it was only in the town, not the forest, but still. They’re getting closer, I swear it.”

Kingsley sighs, taking a seat on a nearby tree stump. “I wouldn’t doubt it. No one knows the exact network of the Portkey Nodes, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they guess at it.”

You nod slowly. “More of them have been taken out, haven’t they? The Nodes, I mean. I’ve had more traffic than at the start.”

Kingsley glances sharply at you. “Don’t take this as a sign to slip away, L/N. Your job is pivotal to the function of the Order. With the Portkeys, there’s less Apparition into the safehouses, and we can make stronger defense charms. We rely on the Nodes to keep our people safe.”

You hold up your hands in surrender. “I know, I know. I’m not trying to argue, just gauge how many of us are gone.”

Kingsley looks away. “No way of telling.”

A heavy silence hangs over the clearing. You’re the one to break it at last, once the quiet seems like it’ll choke you. “Are you staying long?”

“Afraid not,” Kingsley says. “I’m behind schedule already.”

“Of course,” you reply, trying not to let your disappointment seep through into the words. It’s just– it’s been so long since you had a visitor stick around longer than five minutes, and of course you know they’re only here for transit between safehouses, but the loneliness is eating away at you.

Kingsley looks at you with a tinge of regret. “Actually, you may not be on your own for much longer. We’ve–” His voice breaks off, and he takes a cautious glance around the forest before continuing more quietly, “We’ve acquired a spy on the other side. Someone high up has agreed to feed us information on Voldemort’s troop movements and planned attacks.”

You inhale sharply. “You’re serious?”

“As the grave,” Kingsley nods. “I don’t want to reveal details out here, without knowing who’s listening, but it’s someone important. They’ll come once a week to give you reports, and you’ll hand off the information to the next Order member returning to headquarters. You’ll know it’s the spy because they’ll use a passcode. Saltwater.”

“I understand,” you say, but your mind is reeling. Winning over a spy is huge, to say the least. You knew there had been attempts throughout the whole course of the war, but most Death Eaters were too afraid of Voldemort’s wrath to risk such a thing. So you’d thought at least, but it appears the tide has turned in your favor.

Kingsley nods, and tells you to watch yourself before grabbing hold of another Portkey and disappearing. You’re left to stand by yourself in the forest, with only the waving boughs of the trees overhead for company.

The idea of the spy keeps you preoccupied for days after. Kingsley hadn’t said when the spy would come, but you doubt he has any more idea of it than you do. However this spy is, they probably want to keep as many details to themselves as possible. You have no doubt that the only reason they’re having you of all people meet the spy is because you’re in the middle of nowhere and don’t know enough about the battle plans of the Order to be worth anything if captured, but it still sparks some iota of pride in your heart.

You’re now hyper aware of every disturbance in the forest, if you weren’t already. Once, a dead branch falls off a tree, and you swear your heart nearly stops from fear. And then, four days after your meeting with Kingsley, someone appears in the forest. It’s not the spy, though. It can’t be. It’s a Death Eater, clearly hunting through the woods, and it’s–

It’s Draco Malfoy. You rise as stealthily as you can from your seat near the edge of camp, wand already in hand, and silently watch him comb through the trees. You’re certain that the spy must already have been found out, that they’ve sent someone as notorious as a Malfoy to kill you and show the Order for good what happens when you try to turn their own against them. Draco turns his head from side to side, constantly scanning the area like a fine hunting dog. His wand is wrapped between long, slender fingers, and you know without knowing that were he to find you now, you would be lucky to receive only the Killing Curse.

His relentless pace slows as he draws closer to the camp. You had renewed your illusion charms only half an hour ago, and you’re certain they’ll hold, but you’re damned if he doesn’t seem like he knows exactly where he’s going. You watch with bated breath as he comes closer, closer, and then, all of a sudden, stops right in front of the boundary to your camp. You can see the sigils and symbols magicked in a circle around you, but he can’t. Surely, he can’t. You’re frozen in place, close enough that he could reach out a hand and grasp your arm if he wanted.

On the exterior of the protective charms, all Draco should be able to see is an impenetrable wall of thickets and brambles, too difficult to traverse and not worth the difficulty of burning away. You’ve been complimented on your spells a few times by now, with several Order members who had attempted to walk to you having to receive significant direction by you to make it inside. Apparently, there’s such a strong wayward charm that it requires substantial mental focus not to turn around immediately, yet there Draco Malfoy remains, mere breaths away, and, damnedly enough, smiling. The points of his lips have crooked up into a slight grin, as if he’s pleased, almost, that he’s about to kill you.

You stay there for what feels like lifetimes. He’s staring dead into your eyes, but somehow you know that he cannot see you. You try to keep your breath calm and quiet, even though you know the heavy enchantments blanketing the camp should hide that for you.

Still, when he finally turns and walks away, you feel as if you have just been pulled from a noose of certain death. You still don’t move, but your shoulders drop slightly, cushioned by a weight of relief. Draco stalks across the clearing, moving further than closer, back and forth. At last, after what must be twenty minutes of thorough searching, Draco stops moving altogether and says,

“You can come out now, you know.”

The terror returns in full force. This is exactly what you’d feared, a Death Eater sent to hunt you down for good. Kingsley wouldn’t admit it, but you’re certain they’ve gotten to some of the other Nodes. Someone must have spilled about you being here, and now Draco has been sent to scourge your brain of every last secret you’ve got.

You remain silent, mentally readying yourself to fight. Draco turns in a slow half circle, back to face you again. “I’m not going to kill you. I appreciate the secrecy, I do, but if I really wanted you dead, I would set the whole damned place alight with Fiendfyre and call it a day. Your spells are good, but surely not good enough to save you from that.”

Confusion starts to radiate through you. After another few moments of silence, Draco heaves a frustrated sigh and starts stalking towards you. “I know you’re here. We’re both wanting the same damn thing, now come out already. I don’t have all day. I felt the strongest push from around here,” he says, drawing ever closer to you, “so I must assume you’re lurking just a little bit away.”

He stops moving right in front of you again. His face is irritated, an expression you’ve grown quite familiar with from years of rivalry centered around test scores and essay comments. Now, though? Draco is a Death Eater. He wants you dead. You’re leagues beyond your petty classroom fights. Yet you still see traces of the boy in the face of the man before you, and you cannot help but mourn everything the two of you left behind in a brightly lit classroom one midnight in June without even knowing it.

“Fine,” he says at last. “Don’t come out. You’re the one who needs me more than I need you.” A pause, a beat, a caught breath, and then he whispers out one last word– “Saltwater.”

Your eyes widen. It’s him. It can’t be him. It must be him. Draco Malfoy is your spy. You should really take the time to think this over, but all of a sudden you’re so afraid he’ll leave without giving you the information that you throw caution to the winds and step out from your protective barrier. Draco hasn’t really given you a lot of room between him and the edge of your camp, so when you emerge, seemingly out of nowhere from his perspective, you’re practically a breath away.

Draco is careful to keep his expression slack, but you swear you see a flash of surprise in his eyes. “Y/N,” he says, the slow drawl of confidence gone from his voice.

You just look at him coldly. “If you’re going to kill me, get it over with. I haven’t got all day,” you say, mirroring what he’d called to you in the clearing just moments before.

Draco lets out a sharp exhale that might almost be a laugh, but quickly recovers his haughty countenance from before. “Y/N L/N. I assumed it must be you. We hadn’t killed you yet, so either you had never joined this fight to begin with or you were hiding in your own shadow out here like I suspected.”

You arch a brow. “You think I’m hiding in my own shadow? Seems an awfully good shadow to me if you couldn’t find me without help.”

Draco scoffs. “I knew you were here. Trust me, if I really wanted to kill you, I would have smoked you out.”

“I’m sure you knew,” you say condescendingly. “Is that why you first started talking to that tree over there when you were trying to get me to come out?”

Draco’s jaw tightens imperceptibly. “If this is how you treat all your spies, I’m not surprised the Order doesn’t have so many. It’s not exactly the finest of hospitality.”

“What,” you ask, “You want me to invite you into my camp? Not a chance.”

Draco looks amused. “You still think I’m going to betray you? I haven’t killed you yet, have I?”

“And you still might,” you answer him. “I’m no stranger to the war, Malfoy. I’m not foolish enough to trust you just because you knew one passcode.”

“That’s the first smart thing you’ve said all day,” Draco says, but you swear he looks annoyed nonetheless. “I suppose you’ll want your end of the bargain now, won’t you? Information on the dreaded Dark Lord?”

“I do,” you say, and hold out a hand.

Draco ignores it. “This seems awfully generous of me, doesn’t it? Don’t you wonder what your Order has promised me in return for my willingness to betray my own?”

You can’t pretend that you haven’t wondered this exact thing. Knowing that your spy is Draco doesn’t exactly erase the question, either. What could Draco possibly want that a lifetime elevated as a Malfoy in Voldemort’s army and all the untold treasures of his family’s inheritance couldn’t buy? Still, you’re certain Draco is just fishing for gaps in your armor, and you’re not about to give him one this easily.

You smile at him winningly. “Maybe you’re finally in touch with your conscience and decided to do this free of charge. Maybe you just dream of the day when you can dance in the sunshine and pick wildflowers without having to fight in the Dark Lord’s army.”

Draco doesn’t look amused, even if you are. “Delusion and optimism are two sides of a coin, L/N. Take care not to cross them.”

You roll your eyes and hold out your hand again, more firmly this time. “I’ll take care when you mind your manners, Malfoy. It’s not kind to keep an old friend waiting.”

“Old friends,” Draco says contemplatively. “Is that what we are?”

Still, he reaches into the depths of his cloak and pulls out a scroll, tightly bound shut and hexed with various enchantments, which he dissolves with a touch of his wand before handing it to you.

“We can be whatever you want, Draco,” you tell him obsequiously, “Just as long as you keep bringing me information, that is.”

“For encounters like these,” he muses sarcastically, “Who wouldn’t?”

You flash him a sardonic smile before turning and disappearing back across your enchanted barrier and into the camp once more. You walk a few paces to the side to determine if Draco can still track your movement, but he remains riveted where he was, staring into apparently empty space. Maybe it’s just delusion as he said, but you swear he almost looks impressed.

A moment later, he turns and walks back the way he’d come. Half an hour passes before you hear the telltale crack of Apparition. He must be intentionally coming closer on foot to avoid detection by the other Death Eaters.

You may not like Draco Malfoy, but you can’t deny that you’re impressed by his willingness to help the Order as a spy. He, of all people, would be aware of the risks of his discovery. In fact, he’s likely the one responsible for torturing the would-be spies among the other Death Eaters. If Draco is found out, they will rip him to pieces. His death will be agonizing, and slow, and brutal, because it has to be. If a Malfoy can turn, then anyone can. It’s not exactly the message the Dark Lord wants to spread.

Your attention returns to the scroll in your hand. Draco risks torture and death to bring you this. You’ve taken your own risk by meeting him. This could be nothing more than nonsense, a ploy to trick you into thinking that you’ve got a spy just so Draco can return with a squad of Death Eaters. He knows where you are now. He may not know all the details of the Node, but he can probably guess. You’ve shown him exactly where the barrier is, practically handed him the key, all for the hope that this scroll contains something useful.

Still, even though it may be foolish, you can’t shake the feeling that Draco didn’t betray you after all, that he is on your side. Maybe it was because he seemed almost impressed that he couldn’t crack your spellwork. Or maybe, just maybe, there’s still a part of you that wants to believe in the other half of your greatest academic rival, and pretend that some part of your time in the halls of Hogwarts Castle has not been wholly corrupted by this great war.

It’s impossible, most likely, but you’ve seen worse. This could be better.

all tags list: @wordsarelife, @supervoldejaygent

harry potter tag list: @blondsauduun, @cameronsails, @neewtmas, @lovesanimals0000, @with-inked-solace, @sher-lokid7, @eclliipsed, @frenchgirlinlondon, @23victoria, @ilovexavierthrope, @faerieroyal

[transit-fag]

Guy who when he gets bored starts vacation planning despite not having the funds to spend 2 weeks in Europe or the Northeastern US or Japan or wherever he is currently thinking about

[fellweather]

H A R B I N G E R

10k word novella, horror/history

it's the 11th century. or maybe the end of the 10th. the edge of an ancient forest somewhere in central europe. or maybe northeastern europe. a village worn down by time and isolation. or maybe by design. what you know is this: a stranger has ridden out of the woods on a mission he will never fulfil, and he's brought something else with him, out of the dark.

cw/ domestic violence, gore, memory loss, it's a horror story,

(will not work on mobile, sorry)

[gemsofgreece]

8 rare local dishes from the Greek islands

Post inspired by this Greek article. I picked half of the dishes in order to create an island and local exclusive list, then translated and summarized the info. The pictures have links and in most of the respective websites you can find the recipes in Greek.

Makarunes with Sitaka, Kasos island

Makarunes is thick penne-like handmade pasta which is served with caramelised onions and the special Sitaka cheese of Kasos island. Sitaka is so rare, it is sometimes hard to find even in Athens but some restaurants do have this dish in their menu.

Atherinópita (Smelt pie), Syros island

It is not truly a pie, but it is a dish produced from frying various small fish like sand smelts and bogues as well as onions all close together until they create a crust holding them together.

Photography: Χριστίνα Γεωργιάδου

Stuffed Hachles, Lesvos island

These are small baskets made of sun- and air-dried wheat kneaded with sour tarhana. They are usually stuffed with cheese, fresh tomato, herbs and spices but the filling is up to anyone's appetite really.

Sweet sefuklotí pie, Naxos and Tinos islands

Sefukloti or fesklopita is a rare pie that is actually a dessert, which is surprising (in Greek cuisine) because it looks exactly like a spinach pie. Sefukloti is a traditional recipe of these islands, particularly of the Catholics celebrating Christmas Eve (The Cyclades islands have the largest presence of Catholic Christians in Greece.) The pie is made of swiss chard, rice, sugar, molasses, walnuts, raisins, cinnamon and clove. The crust is kneaded with orange juice. Some also add onions and leeks, which also do not prevent this pie from working perfectly as a dessert. Before the serving, sefukloti is dressed with sesame seeds and honey.

Anthógalo with eggs, Réthymnon, Crete island

Anthogalo or Staka is produced exclusively in Crete island. It is made of the salted fats of sheep milk. In this recipe, eggs are fried with anthogalo which works here like butter. The eggs are buttered by the anthogalo, while parts of it curdle and form cheese pieces during the frying.

Aliaða & Vakalaópita, Cephalonia island

Aliaða is the local version of the Greek garlic dip "skorðaliá". Aliada is made of garlic, potatoes and the juices of boiled cod or octopus. The latter turns the dip a burgundy colour. Besides the famous fried cod that is enjoyed everywhere in Greece, in Cephalonia cod is also used to make "Vakalaópita”, a cod fish pie, in which the crust and the filling are kneaded with wine and vinegar.

Rhodian pungiá, Rhodes island

These are wild greens pies baked in special local traditional pans. The wild greens are not boiled before they are added to the pie but they are salt dried. The juice that is produced by this process is mixed with olive oil and is used as a dressing for the pie when it's served.

Anthos, Andros island

Anthos means flower. In Andros island it is also the name of the local spoon sweet, made of lemon flowers as well as the flowers of other citrus plants. It is fragrant, chewy and is considered an aristocratic dessert with limited production. It is a pretty hard recipe, because the flowers must be picked at the right time of the season and the cooking must be very careful so that the sweet won't get bitter and dark.

[herpsandbirds]

found him in my sink!! what is he? bit bigger than my thumb.

This big fellow is a...

Black Lace Weaver (Amaurobius ferox), male, family Amaurobiidae, native to Europe

- The spiders have been introduced into Southeastern, Canada, and the northeastern United States.

- The males have slimmer abdomen, and large noticeable pedipalps with white or yellow spots on the front.

[llycaons]

feel kind of bummed about not having found a friend group here in the city. like my massage person today asked me if I had friends (which is kind of rude imo??) and I was like yeah I live with my friend we're roommates! but she's really the only one, I have online friends but I miss being around people but also I cancelled plans with an online friend today because I have a lot to do and I get antsy watching a movie the whole time with her and also it's just not the same as being in the same room together...I miss my family but it would be so hard to move back and I've GOT to get out I know but im so tired and stressed from work aghh

[artifacts-archive]

Beaker with Birds and Animals

Thrace, ca. 4th century BCE

The ancient land of Thrace encompassed a large area now divided into Bulgaria, southern Romania, eastern Yugoslavia, northeastern Greece, and European Turkey. The first inhabitants of Thrace came from the northern part of Europe and appeared at least as early as the second millennium B.C. Although certain contemporary Scythian and Iranian stylistic influences can be seen, the iconography of these scenes is clearly Thracian and probably refers to a native myth or legend. The monstrous bird of prey with land and water creatures in its grasp appears to symbolize dominance over land and water. Though a precise interpretation of the iconography remains uncertain, scholars have suggested that these animals were symbols associated with a heroic ruler and served as protective spirits, avatars, and tribal totems.

[escapedaudios]

Random lore detail: the reason that most werewolves have normal names, but the Reißzahn-Wut have absolutely batshit insane names like "Rampage" and "Smoke" is because they have their own culture that's insulated from humanity. Their names are usually just English, Spanish, or German translations of their name's meaning in their own language.

I think I need to do a map of Reißzahn-Wut distribution. They exist worldwide but Reißzahn-Wut packs only exist in continental Europe and northeastern Asia. If you see them anywhere else in the world there's a near 100% chance that they're renegades or outcasts that are hiding from their packs.

Do note! Reißzahn-Wut renegades are a big fucking problem for all three werewolf species. When they rebel, it's usually because they want to join humanity and if a Reißzahn-Wut has kids with a human, there's like a 50% chance that kid won't be human at all and will become a moonlight hound by the time they're five or six years old.

Moonlight Hounds are, from the perspective of werewolves, the scariest most hateful thing imaginable. It looks like a wolf but it's not a wolf. It's bite is one of the few things that can permanently harm their kind, and no one knows why. They understand your language, but will not speak it. They track and kill their werewolf parents, then bond for life with a werewolf hunter. They are fucking terrifying. They are the wolf version of the uncanny valley, who are born with an instinct to kill them specifically and salivate their kryptonite. There is nothing more horrific to a werewolf than a moonlight hound. They are the monsters of monsters.