#plume thistles

[sigalrm]

Die Kratzdistel hat Besuch by Pascal Volk

[jillraggett]

Plant of the Day

Thursday 20 June 2024

Great for a location with moist but well-drained soil in full sun or partial shade is Cirsium rivulare 'Atropurpureum' (brook thistle, plume thistle) and once established it can tolerate some dry spells. This upright perennial is clump forming and so will stay where placed in a border. There is a white form, Cirsium rivulare 'Frosted Explosion'.

Jill Raggett

[honey-butter-toast]

Fierce

[rattyexplores]

Plume Thistle

Unidentified, genus Cirsium

24/03/23 - NSW, Dapto

[crudlynaturephotos]

[synthsays]

Spoilers for RDR2 below!!!:

I was visiting Kieran's grave the other day and there were light blue flowers not far away and they reminded me a lot of him it was crazy so I decided to make a list of flowers that remind me of all the rdr2 characters

Kieran Duffy: Tweedia/Forget-me-not

Lenny Summers: Lantana

Hosea Mathews: Dasiy

Arthur Morgan: Poppy

Javier Escuella: Rose

Dutch Van Der Linde: Red hibiscus from Tahiti

Molly O' Shea: Honey Suckle

Sean McGuire: Dandelion

Susan Grimshaw: Red Tiger Lily

Sadie Adler: Sunflower

Charles Smith: Plume Thistle

Reverend Swanson: Queen Anne's Lace

Josiah Trelawney: Bleeding Heart

Jack Marston: Lilly of the Valley

John Marston: Violet

Karen Jones: Lily

Abigail Marston: Columbine

Mary-Beth Gaskill: Daffodil

Tilly Jackson: Lavender

Simon Pearson: Sea Thrift

Bill Williamson: Yarrow

Uncle: Cardinal Flower

Micah Bell: no flower only rat

[pekoehoneyncream]

Ghoaptober # 25

Prompt: Alone

Words: 1200~

TW: Unkind Mental Dialogue, Hamfisted Flower Metaphors (sfw)

This version of Ghoaptober was created by @spadesandshovels

I've no idea what else to tag this as, but if you've any ideas please let me know

Enjoy!

Soap had been informed that he was being granted a freeday. That Friday would be entirely his, to do with as he pleased. If what pleased him was within regulations, of course. He’s been dreading it from the very moment he was first told and while he was stuck-still fearing it, it came.

He’d gone to bed Thursday night with one last bit of traitorous hope still crying ‘maybe this time will be different’ from a dandelion clock in his soul’s weedful garden, and had awoken this morning to find hope’s stem bare. His garden grown wild with windflowers, plume thistle, hairbells, and nettles once more. 

Staring up at the ceiling tiles of his bunk, Soap tried to convince himself to get up, to sit up at the very least, to make that first step towards facing the day, but found himself unmoving. Laying there with a dull sense of despair as he fails and fails again. Purposelessness slackens his limbs, feels sunk into his very bones, unaccountability a leaden weight that anchors him where he is. 

Alone, with nothing to do, no one counting on him, and not a soul to be disappointed by his inaction, he finds himself unable to unstick himself from his rut. 

Just as he'd known would happen. 

His phone dings and he finds it in his hand within the next moment, without any conscious decision to pick it up off the floor from where it stays just under the edge of his cot while he’s sleeping. It’s Ghost, he’s texted over one singular question mark.

Checking the clock, Soap realizes with impotent urgency that breakfast time had blown past while he’d been busy festering in his bed. He doesn’t know how to respond, he has no explanation, no excuse, he hadn’t turned off his reminders, he’d heard his phone buzzing with the silent alarms he’d long ago set to help keep him on track. It had just felt so unimportant to him at the time.

What had been the point of going to breakfast when he had nothing to do after breakfast, what would he be eating for, why should he fuel a body that was going to be languishing in inutility all day. It was pointless, so he hadn’t. Hadn’t even bothered to stop the alarm, just letting it vibrate itself out. 

But he’d worried Ghost, or else he’d confused him enough by not appearing for breakfast that his L.T had felt obligated to seek an explanation. Soap mustered himself and sent back three thumbs-ups. One would be too abrupt, two was too eager, but three felt inoffensively joking enough to be worth sending. 

Another question marked dinged onto his screen within the same minute of Soap responding. He stared, puzzled. What could Ghost be asking about now? After scrolling back up to check if he’d missed a question Ghost had sent or something, Soap could have smacked himself, and did let his phone drop despairingly onto his chest. He’d forgotten that he never sends Ghost emojis on their own, he only does that with his siblings. With Ghost he barely ever uses them, and when he does it's mostly as tone indicators for difficult to parse statements. Soap liked actually talking to Ghost too much to ever be so taciturn as to just use emojis, normally that is.

“Sorry LT. Didnt feel up to bkfst” He types out and forces himself to send, after watching precious minutes keep ticking by while he agonized over it.

“Whats wrong” Ghost's response pops in, then “Sick?” in a separate text immediately after.

Soap knows he’s really worried Ghost now, if the man is skipping apostrophes and sending stacked texts. He's devastatingly tempted to agree, to say he’s sick, instead of just a useless layabout. 

“Johnny?” Ghost’s concern bleeds from the screen as Soap’s fingers hover over the keyboard and with a grimace he punches in his response.

“No. Just didnt feel up to it”

Knowing that Ghost knew of his sudden onset of redundancy was a horrible sick feeling that sloshed about his gut, but Soap also knew that lying to him would have felt worse. 

A simple “Okay” from Ghost and Soap lets his phone drop again, hanging his hand off the bed to abandon the device back onto the floor. 

Losing himself to the ceiling tiles and the yawning pit that's echoing all his many failures back to him from the depths of his heart, Soap wallows. If rot and decay weren’t progression his garden would be wilting and blackening. Instead it follows his lead and stagnates. Unmoving as still-water and twice as toxic. Time is meaningless to him on a normal day, but now he torments himself with guesses at how long he’s spent just laying there, doing absolutely nothing.

It can’t have been more than five minutes, but what did he know, full hours could have run by him now and he’d be none the wiser to it. 

A rap at his door pulls him from that spiral and he stumbles off his cot to open it. Ghost is stood there, a banana in hand. Carried with the same reverence he gives mission objectives. 

“L.T?” Soap steps out of the way and lets Ghost stalk into his bunk, flushing when Ghost’s scan of the room lingers on his cot with its freshly disturbed sheets.

“Brought you this,” Ghost presses the fruit into Soap’s hands,

“Uh, ‘hanks, Ghostie. Ye didnae-”

“An’ this,” Ghost wields a bottle of Lucozade now, and Soap hasn’t a singular clue where in fuck he could have pulled it from. 

An incredulous snerck of laughter jolts free of Soap’s chest. He folds over, bracing his hands on his knees and staring hard at the floor as he tried to suppress his giggles. A glance over at Ghost ruins him, the energy drink was being pointed at him with intent, Ghost’s serious eyes staring Soap down from just above. Gales of semi-hysterical laughter pour free of him and Soap collapses to the floor as his knees give out. Dropping onto his back, he presses the back of his hands to his eyes, careful not to blind himself with the banana he’s still holding. He can feel his garden blooming under the sun Ghost’s brought in with him, running over with ivy, snowdrops, primroses, and wild arum. 

“Where awn god’s green earth,” He giggles out, dropping his hands to look up at Ghost with a humored smile, “Were ye keepin’ tha’?” 

“Need to know info, Johnny,” Ghost rebuffs him, “You don’t have that kind of clearance.” 

More incredulous giggles wrack through the Sergeant and he rocks himself a little on the floor as he tries to rein himself in. Joyous tears leaking from the corners of his squeezed shut eyes. 

“It’s blue flavour,” Ghost advertises, waggling the bottle at him.

“Well iffin it’s blue,” Soap jokes, his voice bouncing with the remnants of his laughing fit. He leans up, taking Ghost’s extended hand to lever back to his feet, then sits himself back onto his cot and accepts the drink that is a truly lurid shade of blue, as promised. 

Soap pats at the open spot beside him and rides out the subsequent tremor when Ghost plunks himself down with no aplomb. 

“‘hanks, Si.” Johnny mumbles as he starts peeling his Ghost allocated banana, keeping the Lucozade pinned securely between his knees, so he wouldn’t lose it somehow. 

“All good, Johnny.” Ghost assures, watching him spend his full concentration on opening the banana with the least amount of stringy bits left behind. The unspoken warmth that Ghost carried in his soul for this man, finally banking from the blaze it’d been stoked into by Johnny’s uncharacteristic morning. 

Whatever Johnny was going though, Ghost was determined to not let him face it alone.

Thank You For Reading!

Yep, Scots call dandelion puffballs 'clocks', apparently.

Here's the flower meanings, I've a book of them that I took these from, if looking them up tell you something different ┐(•_•)┌

Windflowers - Forsaken Plume Thistle - Misanthropy Hairbells - Grief/death Nettles - Cruelty Primrose - Eternal love/I cannot be without you/Obsessive love Ivy - Happy Love/Affection/Fidelity/Marriage Wild Arum - Ardor/Zeal Snowdrop - Consolation/Hope/Hope in sorrow

All of these should grow wild in Scotland or Britain, if my bit of surface level research didn't steer me wrong.

PekoeHoneynCream's Masterlist

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Tactus Mortis | Chapter 13 Chapter 13 | solo⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

Before the dawn had fully broken, you found yourself in the quiet sanctity of your room, kneeling before the large, ornately framed painting of Santa Muerte. The air was heavy with the scent of marigolds, the flowers traditionally believed to ward off evil spirits.

With a deep, steadying breath, you closed your eyes, allowing the serene silence to envelop you, save for the soft whisper of your own voice as you began your morning prayer.

"Hear my prayers, Santa Muerte, mother of death, most Holy of all. May you give me strength to continue your work with your very presence. I ask, oh Holy Mother, that with your scythe you protect me from the dark spirits that wish to weaken my faith. Oh Miraculous Muerte, cleanse my soul for today and the days ahead so that I may continue to be your ever-faithful servant."

The words flowed from you in a reverent cadence, repeated twice more, each iteration accompanied by a bow of deep respect. Upon completing the third recitation, the two candles that flanked the painting flickered out in unison, a sign you took as an affirmation of your prayer being heard.

A warmth, comforting and reassuring, washed over you, leaving a gentle smile on your lips as you rose.

Gathering the candles and other ritualistic items, you carefully put them away, knowing they would be called upon again for your nightly prayer. The moment of spiritual communion bolstered your resolve, infusing you with a sense of purpose and protection as you prepared to face the day ahead.

☆

☆

Despite the spiritual fortitude you had drawn from your morning prayer, you were dead on your feet, your heart heavy with exhaustion as you made your way through the cobblestone streets of Encanto towards the town square. The encounter with Camilo, still fresh and stinging, weighs on your mind, casting a shadow over your already daunting task.

Despite this, you muster every ounce of strength to push through, driven by a sense of duty and the fear of letting down the Madrigals, your father, and the spirits counting on you.

The ceremony is set to begin under the fading light of the day, the town square filled with the faces of those you've grown up with, those you've helped, and those you're about to guide in this sacred ritual.

As you step onto the stage, your heart beats a frantic rhythm, not just from nervousness but from a deep-seated dread that something, somehow, might go wrong.

Drawing a deep breath, you begin, your voice carrying across the crowd. "I want to start by thanking Doña Alma and the Madrigal family, for not just their unwavering support in preparing for today, but for their constant guidance and love. Without them, and without all of you, none of this would be possible."

You then turn your attention to Isabela. "Isabela, if you would, please bring forth the sacred thistle." As you speak, Isabela steps forward, her hands dancing in the air, coaxing the earth to yield its treasure. A single thistle rises from the ground, its petals glowing with an ethereal light, a symbol of resilience and protection.

It's not just a plant; it's a beacon, guiding spirits back to the world of the living.

"Louisa," you continue, your gaze shifting to where she stands, ready at the large cauldron. "Please place the thistle within." Louisa moves with purpose, her actions resonating with the significance of the moment. The thistle drops into the cauldron, its essence merging with the flames, sending plumes of fragrant smoke into the air.

Inhaling deeply, the smoke's mystical properties begin their work, easing the tension in your mind, opening the pathways to the spiritual realm.

You feel the veil between worlds thinning, the presence of spirits drawing near, their whispers like the rustle of leaves in a gentle breeze.

Your eyes sweep across the crowd, landing momentarily on Camilo. A pang of unresolved pain tightens your chest at the sight of him, the echoes of his words still haunting you. You tear your gaze away, the ache in your heart a stark contrast to the purpose that drives you forward.

Unbeknownst to you, Camilo watches, confusion and concern etched into his features, unaware of the turmoil that brews within you, believing the day to have been just another moment shared in the continuum of your intertwined lives.

With the stage set and your spirit attuned to the task at hand, you begin your speech, a call to the spirits to join in this sacred assembly. "Tonight, we stand at the threshold between worlds, not as strangers but as kin. We invite you, our ancestors, our loved ones, to share in this moment, to feel the warmth of our fires, and to know that you are remembered, cherished—AHH!"

But the words are abruptly severed, a lance of pain stabbing through your skull, so sharp, so sudden, it steals your breath away. Your speech fractures into a cry, the sound torn from the depths of your soul.

The world tilts, darkness nibbling at the edges of your vision, and you collapse, knees buckling beneath you, the stage rising up to meet you with a jarring thud.

A collective gasp ripples through the crowd, a wave of shock that mirrors the confusion and fear that grips your heart.

In the fleeting moment before darkness claims you, you catch a glimpse of Camilo, his expression a mix of alarm and desperation, moving toward you even as you succumb to the void, the ceremony forgotten in the wake of an unforeseen crisis that threatens to engulf you whole.

Above, the sky turned ominously dark, thick thunderclouds unfurling with an intensity that seemed to match the turmoil within, icy rain began to pour down in sheets.

Camilo, his curls plastered to his face by the deluge, wrapped his arms protectively around you, attempting to shield you from the relentless downpour. "Mamá! What are you doing?!" he cried out, looking towards Pepa with a blend of confusion and desperation.

Pepa, standing amidst the gathering, wore a mask of confusion and worry that mirrored the sentiments of everyone around. She fought against the weather, her powers striving to dispel the storm and restore the serene skies.

Yet, it was as if an unseen force rebuffed her efforts, each attempt repelled with a force that seemed to cause her physical pain.

Felix, observing the toll it was taking on her, approached with a gentle firmness. "Love, stop," he urged, his voice a soothing balm against the chaos of the storm. Pepa's attempts to combat the weather ceased, though her expression remained fraught with concern.

A collective unease enveloped the crowd, the shock and fear palpable in the air as they witnessed the unexpected turn of events. The ceremony, once a beacon of unity and celebration, had been forgotten, eclipsed by a crisis that seemed to pull you into its depths further away from their reach.

Then, in a moment that feels both like an eternity and an instant, your eyes snap open. But they're no longer the brown eyes familiar to your friends and family; they blaze with a glowing red light, fierce and otherworldly, a stark contrast to the person they know.

The town square falls into a hushed silence, a collective breath held in anticipation, fear, and awe. The manifestation of your power, now intertwined with a mysterious and dark force, sets the stage for a confrontation that no one, not even you, could have anticipated.

A/N: Bear with me ppl, just a few more chapters, promise i won't leave y'all hanging lol. sorry for not updating friday 💔and not me having an exam tomorrow 💀 finna cram study so hard then have an existential crisis with the realization that the professor gave me weeks in advance to learn the materials for a reason🥴

[the-sum-of-many-poets]

valley of woodwinds canine

as for the punctual starling

what will it make of your size six shoes

tiny canoes

that much smaller without you

will it build a home in the heel

confide with a single note

the forfeit of all things to the forest

the clouds are warships

stealing amethyst from its plume

what does a starling make

of unseen workings

germane & sacred

of bodies transformed

of collaborations with the soul

a divine premonition

somehow a threshold confessor

the moat of its eye

unfortified

yields a broken levee

please

look favourably on its attempt

somewhere in the quill of its song

the hollow of a hebrew word

spares a god’s fatigue

that leaf

rocking a cradled goodbye

just the wind mocking a human gesture

the spring of such antics

the pendulum of a bird’s tail

how did we stray so far into the feral

& think we’d be safe

lilies were stargazing long before this

before this

you were indestructible

but no bargain exists

between the sick & a poisonous thistle

 

she is haunted like a newborn burgundy

dressed in the pyjamas of the departed

the bird has lost its call

the bird is a hammer

tapping a fault line

tapping an amputated smile

an algorithm to wake an android child

 

you'll find him at the foot of a ruse

toes in the gloaming

rehearsed in the dolour of others

 

his marrow arm

carrying a firefly’s cradle

your cheek

a flushed stone pulled from orbit

 

the body’s earthquake

the unbroken lung

internal fleets

speaking animal frequencies

 

have you seen the mother of loneliness

her woeful bay

calling for the scruff of grief

©️david sichler

[greencuttingmat]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Naruto Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con Relationships: Senju Hashirama/Uchiha Madara Characters: Senju Hashirama, Uchiha Madara, Original Characters Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Japanese Mythology & Folklore, Pre-Slash, Tengu, Tengu!Madara, Disguise, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, on screen death, Case Fic, Fights, Rape/Non-con Elements, Cannibalism, Buddhism Summary:

Disguising as a monk, Hashirama was on a discovery trip as part of his coming-of-age ceremony. On the way, he encountered a tengu called Madara, who was miffed from a contamination of his river.

Other than the on-screen death and the corpses, the others are non-explicit.

[welldigger62]

In a field near me, a group of thistle plants have gone to seed. They look like big puffballs.

A closer pic shows that they are just waiting for a puff of wind and they will be all over the place for miles. These are probably Plume Thistles

[sigalrm]

Cirsium by Pascal Volk

[chic-a-gigot]

La Mode illustrée, no. 14, 6 avril 1902, Paris. Chapeaux de printemps et d'été. Modèles de Mme Colombin, rue de La Tour-d'Auvergne, 41. Ville de Paris / Biblioth��que Forney

No. 1. — Toquet en laize de paille loutre et linon. Ce chapeau, entièrement drapé de laize, est garni sur le côté d'un bouquet de cassis et roses thé, surmonté d'une aigrette de linon.

No. 1. — Toquet in width of otter straw and lawn. This hat, entirely draped in width, is garnished on the side with a bouquet of blackcurrants and tea roses, surmounted by a lawn aigrette.

—

No. 2. — Toquet couleur sable. La passe toute plissée est brodée, sur tulle, de jolis motifs de paille; le fond, en feuillage velouté, se relève de côté par deux jolies têtes de plumes bleu-turquoise, une draperie de taffetas sable et bleu-turquoise orne le dessous du chapeau et tombe en un pan sur les cheveux.

No. 2. — Sand colored cap. The pleated pass is embroidered on tulle with pretty straw motifs; the background, in velvety foliage, is raised on the side by two pretty blue-turquoise feather heads, a drapery of sand and blue-turquoise taffeta adorns the underside of the hat and falls in a flap over the hair.

—

No. 3. — Chapeau rond, dont le bord, tout en roses de différents tons, est voilé d'une dentelle pailletée de jais; un bouquet de roses avec cabochon en perles fines relève légèrement le côté de la passe qui est recouverte de tulle plissé noir; le fond, en paille rose, se détache sous un nœud de velours noir avec cabochon de perles fines au milieu.

No. 3. — Round hat, the brim of which, all in roses of different shades, is veiled with jet spangled lace; a bouquet of roses with a cabochon of fine pearls slightly enhances the side of the pass which is covered with black pleated tulle; the background, in pink straw, stands out under a black velvet bow with a cabochon of fine pearls in the middle.

—

No. 4. — Chapeau tout en paille ombrée violine. La passe de ce chapeau, garnie d'une guipure crème (genre ancien), est traversée de deux barrettes de velours noir, se terminant sur le fond, fixées par un motif doré; un bouquet de chardons et roses nuancées garnit le côté relevé du chapeau.

No. 4. — Hat all in shaded purple straw. The pass of this hat, trimmed with a cream guipure (old style), is crossed by two bars of black velvet, ending on the bottom, fixed by a golden pattern; a bouquet of nuanced thistles and roses adorns the raised side of the hat.

[dansnaturepictures]

28/07/24-Flowers in the garden including petunia and borage this evening and beautiful Brimstone and view, Red Kite and viper's-bugloss from a fine afternoon at Shipton Bellinger.

My first Yarrow plume moth of the year, Mint moth, loads of Meadow Browns and Gatekeepers, Red Admiral, Peacock, Marbled White, Small Skipper, Speckled Wood, Roesel's bush cricket, Cinnabar moth caterpillar, ladybird, snails, Blackcaps, Stonechat, gorgeous Kestrel and Buzzard, Magpie, Roe Deer, rosebay willowherb, St. John's-wort, eyebright, centaury, daisy, self-heal, red bartsia, woolly thistle again this weekend, knapweed and my first ever white bryony were other highlights at Shipton Bellinger. I enjoyed seeing my first ever Large Tabby moth at home before bed last night with House Sparrow and Woodpigeon seen this morning. Another amazing summer weekend.

[theyoungwaldschrat]

The Thistle King - A plume thistle exhibiting fasciation, aka cresting, a mutation causing abnormal growth

[crudlynaturephotos]