#tall white aster

[vandaliatraveler]

Photos from a lovely, post-Debby weekend in the Canaan Valley National Wildlife Refuge. Good, strong breeze to drive out the heat and keep the sky vibrant and constantly on the move. The narrow-leaved gentian (Gentiana linearis) is now at peak bloom in the mountains. This enchanting perennial loves damp mountain seeps and bog edges and is pollinated primarily by bumblebees, which are adept at prying open the flowers or just chewing through them if all else fails. The pearly everlasting (Anaphalis margaritacea) is also in bloom - my mom used these delicate perennials in her dried-flower arrangements.

[lmaxell-plants]

Really great plants at the park today

[fadingdaggerr]

effuso sanguine

pairing: agatha harkness x gn!reader

summary: secret love hidden in forests is a reprieve that time and hate can steal, a love that defies order and law | 2.7k

includes: secret relationship, r is unaware that agatha is a witch, nb death because i said so

warnings: targeted homophobia, blood, description of injury, murder/death

note: i’ve never written for agatha/marvel in general so yippee! trying new things! this was originally the plot of an oc story, but i decided against it so i made this an x reader instead. i may carry on with the second part if you guys enjoy this <3

Salem, Massachusetts, 1693

Sweet and earthy, the autumn air was still chilled, ground wet with dew. The sun had yet to rise, but soon enough the sun would cut through thick pines and orange-leafed maples. Wading through tall grass, the path to the clearing is well known by now. Sprinkled patches of aster, white, pink, purple, and blue, all appear in the grass, becoming more common than grass as you duck under a fallen tree. As you straighten, you can almost sense her.

Thickets of the purple variety encircle the edge, a wall of safety to your hidden spot. Crossing the barrier on the other end of the clearing, a figure stands with a dark hood covering her features. Lowering your own, you step closer, the joy in your chest bubbling. Her hood falls and blue eyes crease around the corners as she smiles.

The moment your eyes connect, you both break into light jogs until you fall into one another. Your arms wind around her neck, burying your face into her hair. Her hands grip at your back, feeling her clutching through the layers of your clothing. Everything fades around you, just you, her, and the sound of her breathing, her heart beating.

“My love,” Agatha mumbles, almost to herself, “oh, my love.”

“My heart,” you sigh back as you relax into her.

Hands drift up your back to pull you in again, cupping your face with a barely-there touch. Wordlessly, her forehead drops to yours with a tiny smile gracing her lips. Your eyes shut at the proximity, stuck breath releasing from your lungs as you take her in. Tilting towards her, your lips brush over her own, pulling away as she tries to meet your touch. Huffing through her nose, she tugs you closer and plants her lips against yours.

Typically, her kiss is hurried, almost desperate to get as much of you as she can. Today, however, she’s slow and lingering and all-consuming. Nails dig into the nape of your neck, trying to pull you impossibly closer. Agatha’s tongue traces your own, feeling as if she’s trying to memorize every inch of you. Your hands go to hold her wrists, feeling her erratic heartbeat under your fingers.

Worry fills you, her heart, your heart, something feels wrong. Trying to pull away, she only follows, keeping you pressed into her. Every pass of her lips steals air from your lungs, each stroke of her tongue taking breath. Teeth sink into your lip as she pulls slightly, and you take the minute space to detach. Pushing back in, Agatha whines when your hand stops her from getting her way once more.

“Agatha…” you pant, air flooding back in. “Dearest, what is wrong?”

Her forehead drops to your shoulder, arms shifting to wrap around your waist, “I’ve missed you, my love. The days are so terribly long whilst we’re apart.”

“Perhaps if you slept instead of study, the days would feel regular once again,” you jest, your own arms going around her shoulders, “I find myself in bed earlier every night for the chance of waking up sooner to see you.”

She sighs into your neck, “to sleep without you is pain.”

“To never sleep is torturous on yourself. You cannot charm me into believing that is wise,” you answer in equal quiet, twirling her curls around your fingers.

The dark wood is cut by orange light, the sun beginning to rise over the hills. Every ray of light is a moment less you have with each other, a mutual enemy. Morning, the thief of these few peaceful moments you allow yourselves each day.

“Come to the cabin after nightfall,” you offer. Agatha’s head rises from its hiding spot, a quizzical expression crossing her face. “Father is leaving for a livestock auction after sunrise. I’ll be alone for three days,” the coyness of your features was unmistakable.

Her eyes widened, but she gave away little emotion. Your hand stills in her hair, moving to the back of her neck. The shaky beat of her pulse feels as if it reaches your ears, her nerves somehow crawling into your own chest. Agatha’s eyes try to stay on yours, but falter, “I don’t know how possible that is. These days, my mother demands me within sight after dark.”

“Just consider it. Come to the window facing the fields,” you press a kiss to the tip of her nose. “For now, I must be going if he is to leave at all.”

“Siren,” she mutters, leaning into your space to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. Chuckling against soft lips, you force yourself to part from her.

—⛤—

The heavy oak bar in front of the door took nearly all the strength in your body to put there, but as Father told you to do, you did. No one can get in. It is not the time to tempt fate, he’d said, I best not find you on a stake when I’ve returned. For a three day journey, he’d chopped enough wood to keep the fire going for a week. Nearly overflowing buckets of water cluttered the kitchen floor. No need to get out.

Peering to the east facing window, you focus on the latch. Once the sun sets, and only then. With little to do, and little sleep from sheer excitement, you force yourself to bed. The ax hidden in the space between the wall and bed makes you smile, but it falls quickly. It hadn’t been there last night. He’d placed it this morning before you’d slipped back in through the window. The bar was clearly just as much to keep you in as it was to keep the fanatics out.

The late afternoon sun stirs you from sleep, glaring through the window, practically begging you to get out of bed. Your wish to ignore it goes unanswered as your stomach clenches in hunger. Sighing, you peel yourself from the warmth of your bed.

Wildflower tea warms your stomach as you crush blackberries against a thick slice of bread. Sweet clover coats your tongue as you consider what you can do to fill these lingering hours. It would be simpler to flee, go back to the clearing and hope Agatha passes through on her way to the cabin. You could leave from there, without a trace, together. You could be free.

Pushing the thoughts from your mind, you busy yourself with gathering vegetables to chop for soup. Peel, chop, peel, chop. The repetition keeps you occupied, slowing your motions as you feel time dissipate. By the time you drop carrots into the pot, the sun’s light was falling behind the trees.

Giddiness grows in your chest, time closing in on when you’d finally see her. If you asked her to leave with you, you’re sure she’d say no. Always her mother, her responsibilities, your father, your life. She spoke of your life as separate from hers, as if a path with her couldn’t happen. But you would, you will, follow her anywhere.

Letting soup simmer, you lean against the counter. Staring out the window, darkness coats the sky in a blanket. The crescent moon in the sky feels like a mocking smile. Every star that appears before Agatha is another taunt.

Air in the room shifts suddenly. Once warm from the two fires going, now felt chilled and barren. Lifting your head, you feel a rot festering in your stomach, dark, hateful almost. Fear creeps up your spine, placing the ladle on the counter. Turning slowly, you prepare for what you may see.

White, hot pain rips through your side, all the warmth leaving your body. Dragging your eyes from the blankness they’d settled on in your shocked state, you face a woman in front of you. Grey hair and dark eyes, loathing and anger deeply set within. How she got in was lost on you, no thoughts forming as you feel pain replacing the life inside you. All you can do is stare, mouth gaping as the knife twists in between your ribs. There’s something deeply familiar in the way her eyes squint at you.

“Vile creature,” she hisses, “the spread of your disease, this corruption, ends by my hand.” The blade twists more, surely piercing entirely through. Leaning into your space, she makes sure you hear her final words, “your turned soul burns in wait for you.”

The knife rips from your side with a final turn, and with it, the woman disappears. Without the weight of her holding you up, you drop to floor. A shaky hands goes to your ribs, coming away soaked in warm, red blood. Seeping through your clothing, it slowly stains the floor. All energy in your body soaked into pine floors as black spots fill your vision. Trying to focus on the flowers on the counter, consciousness barely stays as you attempt to stay alert.

Someone else, gone because of you. A soul you somehow corrupted, now burning. Tears well in your eyes, falling heavy on your cheeks. Guilt and shame and terror all roll together, hitched breaths rattling with your sobs. The image of dark eyes cross your mind, made blue by your passing thoughts. Blue. Angelite blue. Familiar, lovely blue. Agatha.

You’d killed her. Loving her had killed her, and now, it was killing you. Following her is all that’s left. Praying she’ll have you, you let the cabin fade away.

—⛤—

Cold. Everything is cold. You’d been convinced there would be fire, fields of it even, burning every inch of the surface. But it’s cold. Looking around, the chairs, the counter, the windows, they’re all yours. You’re home. The light from the fire is replaced by a perpetual mist in the room, tones of green eminating around you.

An echoing voice behind you speaks, making you jump away, “are you ready?”

With clenched fists, you look towards the voice. Tall and regal, a being stands before you. Brown eyes bore into you, and a flicker changes the face from skeletal to flesh, beautiful and stern. You turn back to the kitchen, your body lying there in a pool of slowly drying blood.

“I don’t understand,” you mutter.

You feel the presence closer behind you, “you understand better than you allow.”

“I don’t,” you say shortly. A lie, to yourself, to the being behind you. The rumors, however exaggerated, were never false. Turning to face Death once again, “did you take her too?”

“Take whom?” An air of amusement swirls around them.

You take a deep breath, feeling free in their presence to speak your beloved’s name, “Agatha Harkness. Did you take her?”

Death’s lips turn up, “she was not taken, she gave.”

“She gave?” Your brows scrunch, eyes flittering around the room as you chase the thoughts in your mind, “Agatha is alive.” Staring back at your body, you curse yourself for letting go, letting your life be stolen. Believing murder over Death, you should have known.

A faint, almost numb thrum sits in your chest. Death’s head tilts, staring you down. Doors open behind them, motioning for you to follow. You can’t pry your attention away from your body, your mind away from the feeling that grows more persistent around your heart.

In this plane, you shouldn’t feel this. No pain, no push, no pull, no pulse. Yet, it wasn’t the door to eternity or the outstretched hand offered to you that are drawing you in. The limp hand reaching towards the window and the knowledge that Agatha was out there are far more convincing.

You face Death once more, “I cannot follow you.”

“You will,” the offered hand drops to the knife on their hip, “it is the only way.”

“I will, but not tonight. This was not my time, I cannot allow it to be,” you step back, closer to yourself, “please.”

The hand falls from the hilt, stepping closer to you, “you have this one life. No other will be tolerated. When this one ends, you will follow me.”

“I swear to you,” you rush with earnest, “I will give no fight, no contest. I will follow. May I go?”

Death smiles, alluring and menacing, “I’m not the one who chooses.”

—⛤—

Stale air burns your lungs as you crash back into your mind. Gasping for breath, you feel like you’re underwater, everything both dull and overwhleming. Piercing pain ricochets around your ribcage, radiating from your right side. Tugging up your top, you prepare yourself to see a gaping wound, clotted and swollen.

Instead, a jagged, raised scar sits between your fifth and sixth ribs. Running your fingers across it, you feel the smoothness of a fresh scar, healed but tender. Eyes flying down, you see that the blood that was painting the floor is gone. All remenants of events from the night, gone, just as quickly as the woman who stabbed you. Who killed you.

Agatha.

The morning sun filters into the room as you struggle to stand, bracing yourself against the cupboards, body stiff with lingering loss. Hobbling to your satchel, you throw it over your body, desperate to get out of the cabin. With your weak state, moving the oak bar will only take time and energy you cannot afford. Loosing the latch on the east window, you practically throw yourself over the ledge.

Your cloak does little to keep to cool air off your slowly warming skin. The longer you stay moving, the more you can feel soreness and fragility leaving your muscles. Your bare feet carry you through the fields, to the edge of the woods. Agatha’s small village was on the other end, a collection of eight cottages that your own neighbors warned against nearing. Dark-minded spinsters and their young, coniving daughters, they’d told the town. Their warning had always intrigued you, but now you can’t help but feel they had been right all along.

Thorns stratch your legs and feet as you run, but you find yourself caring less and less as the thick pines thin out. Faster and faster you go, tripping over roots, but not allowing them to slow your progress. No attention is spared to the fresh scrapes littering your body, red tears spilling. Your mind stays on one mission: Find Agatha.

Breaking the tree line, you find yourself behind a small cottage. Rounding it, you see the rest. Seven in a circle, the eighth, the largest, in the middle. The candles in every window are burned to the base, white wax pouring over metal plates and adhering to the windowsills. Empty, no one. Your heart clammers in your chest, desperate to find any answer.

Flowers. Blue devils. Little patches sprouting towards the beginning of a path behind the southern-most home. Familiarity rises, but panic grows more than comfort.

Following the path, you can feel dread closely behind you. This place, while beautiful, is empty. Devoid of life. No singing birds, no squirrels in the trees, it’s entirely unlike the fields at home. Barely two miles away and you’re in an entirely new world.

A clearing ahead makes its presence known. Most prominently, a post in the ground. Tilting your head up, you gape at the stake in front of you. Dark wood, rope on the flooring. Your blood runs cold, your turned soul burns in wait for you.

Eyes unmoving, you step closer. Before you can get much further, you crash to the ground with a groan. Lifting your face from the dirt, you look to the side to see what has caused your fall. A shriek passes your lips, head darting around to see more around you.

Shriveled and grey, eight bodies around you lay in equal states of deep decay. You can’t stop staring, tears blurring your vision. All of them wear dark cloaks, looking identical. Crawling away from the woman in front of you, you bring yourself to the body closest to the stake. Decrepit and lifeless.

You gently push the hair from her face, falling back instantly. Even sunken and gone, you recognized her face. You’d only seen it the once, but you would never forget her as long as you live. The woman who had killed you, who had told you she killed the one you loved. Once terrifying and full of vengence, now a corpse on her own land. The loop on her hip held a knife, still painted in traces of your blood.

Pushing yourself away, you bring yourself to your feet. Climbing to the stake’s platform to examine the wood. No scorch marks, no ashes, just unbinded rope. She didn’t burn. She didn’t hang. Death was right.

She was not taken, she gave. 

“Agatha!” Your voices fades into the trees. You can’t sense her here. Another scream rips through your throat, “Agatha!”

Silence is the only companion left.

flower language: aster flowers, in general, are known to represents love, dignity, and intuition. blue devils (also known as blue thistles) are known to represent protection and resilience, as well as having magical properties.

title translation: effuso sanguine, latin - the blood spilt

feedback appreciated as always. PLEASE let me know your thoughts and if you’re interested in furthering this series <3

[suugarbabe]

foolish flowers | g.w x reader

word count: ~1.5k

summary: little georgie blurb based on an ask I recieved and lost.

warning: fluff

The dinging above the door alerted you that a customer had walked into the shop. You did your best to sound polite as you shouted from the back, “I’ll be right up.” Whoever had walked in told you to take your time, but you still found yourself rushing a bit as to not appear rude. 

You walked from the back with a bushel of Aster flowers in your arms, completely obstructing your view. You feel yourself nearly tripping over a pot as you’re making your way to your work station, quietly cursing to yourself. “Here, let me help you with those,” two large hands grab the bushel from you, placing it on the counter. 

You smoothed out your apron before looking up and meeting quite possibly the softest and kindest green eyes you’ve ever seen, “T-thank you.” The man in front of you just smiled, giving a nod before going back to look at the flowers and arrangements you had around your small shop. 

His brows furrowed reading the different cards associated with certain displays. You found yourself watching him, observing him as he looked around. He was incredibly tall, having to nearly bend in half to read anything on the counter. 

You couldn’t help but find his looks of confusion endearing. You decided it was probably best to offer your assistance, for as much as it seemed like he wanted to appear like he knew what he was looking for, he was completely lost. “Looking for something for your girlfriend?” you kept your tone innocent, but you’d be lying if you said there wasn’t motive behind the question beyond being helpful to a customer. 

“Erm, no, for my mum actually,” a blush crept up the man’s neck, dusting his cheeks along with it and accentuating his freckles. “Well then might I suggest not getting these,” you gestured towards the red salvia’s, “as they typically symbolize meaning ‘forever mine’, not quite sure that’s best for mum.” 

You gave him your sweetest smile and he returned a nervous one, scratching the back of his neck, “What, erm, do you suggest then? It’s her birthday tomorrow, my mum, that is, I just wanted to get her something nice.” 

You tapped your finger against your lips as you thought, glancing around the shop to create a beautiful and meaningful piece in your head. “How about…” you trailed off walking up to the marigolds and grabbing a handful, “and a little of…” you grabbed a small batch of chamomile, “oh and definitely…” you grabbed some fully bloomed clematis, “and lastly…” you grabbed some columbine. 

The man watched and you arranged it all in a beautiful glass vase, the purples, whites and yellows dancing together perfectly. He couldn’t help the smile that spread over his face as he watched you work. “Stunning,” he breathed, “What does it all mean?” 

You clapped your hands together in excitement, explaining pieces was one of your favorite parts of your job. “So, the marigolds here,” you pointed to the flame colored flower, “are her birth month flower and these here,” you pointed to the chamomile, “mean patience in adversity. I assumed because she was a boy mum that she probably dealt with a lot while you grew up,” you shot him a playful wink. 

He laughed lightly at this, “You have no idea.” You continued, pointing next at the clematis, “These mean mental beauty, which is simply true for any mother, and these here,” you pointed at the white flower surrounded by what looked like a purple shell and leaves, “are columbine flowers, they represent foolishness.” 

The man quirked an eyebrow at this one, “And why, pray tell, did you pick these?” You bit your lower lip slightly, “Well, you look awfully close to the moving character atop the joke shop across the street, so I just assumed you probably own it. Thus the additive of some foolishness representation.” 

He smirked at your explanation, leading you to believe that you were correct in your assumption, “Would you believe me if I told you I was born on April fools?” You giggled lightly, “I would expect nothing less coming from the man who owns a joke shop. What is it called again?” 

The man smiled proudly now, “Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes.” You looked at him curiously, “So is that your name? Weasley?” 

He nodded, “Surname. My first name, however, is George.” 

“Well it’s very nice to meet you, George.” You smiled sweetly, then turned to your register, “That’ll be ten galleons.” His smile never faltered as he dug into his pocket, pulling out the coins needed. 

He grabbed the vase, walking towards the door. As he was halfway out, he turned back to you, “I just realized that I told you my name, but you never told me yours.” You shrugged your shoulders, “Guess you’ll have to ask when I stop in your shop next time.” 

George raised his eyebrows, liking the bit of mischief you were flirting with, “Alright, guess I’ll see you then, love.” With a wink, he was out the door. 

—--------

Fred stood at the top of the steps, watching the smiling faces roam around his shop. He loved the kids faces as they discovered a new way to prank, a new toy to cause chaos, or how he could see the light switch in their eyes when they saw something on the shelves that had them plotting. 

He and George would get the same look when they were younger. Godric, they get that same look still to this day, they just try their best to choose the appropriate time and place for their shenanigans. 

What his shop did not often get were beautiful women exploring his shop and looking at… “Puking pastilles?” He looked at you curiously, but you hadn’t yet lifted your head from the package. 

“Seems like they’d come in handy for the family dinner I’m trying to avoid tonight,” Fred laughed with you and you finally turned to look at him. 

“Well, you’re certainly not George are you,” your smile was sweet as Fred cocked an eyebrow at you. “And how could you possibly be certain of that, darling?” 

You looked up at the man in front of you, he looked exactly like George, very obviously a twin brother. However if you paid attention enough, there were subtle differences. You didn’t inform George of this last week but you had noticed him before he walked into your shop that day. 

There were quite a few times you had spotted him through your front window, leaving or coming to work, always dressed colorfully and having a smile on his face. When he smiled the corners of his eyes wrinkled just a little, his eyes downturned just slightly more than the man in front of you. 

But the thing that really gave it away you had noticed just last week, when he was finally close enough for you to really see him properly. Staring into friends eyes you smiled, patting his chest, “George has a beauty mark on his neck, right here.” You pointed towards the spot where George’s mark was on Fred’s neck. 

Fred’s smile seemed to grow impossibly wider, “You’re the flower shop girl aren’t you.” He said it more like a statement rather than a question. “Y/n,” you corrected. 

The redhead laughed, “Oh Georgie is going to hate that I learned your name before him.” You shook your head, “Is Georgie here?”

Fred nodded, “Yeah, boyo’s here alright, but I’m really relishing in me getting to learn more information about the girl he’s been pining after before he does.” 

He was hoping to embarrass his twin a little, so what you said next instead had Fred a bit shocked. “Well I’m glad the feeling has been mutual,” your tone and smirk quite impressed Fred. 

When you looked over his shoulder he turned, seeing his twin on the upper level of the shop, “If you’ll excuse me, not George-”

“Fred,” he interrupted. You smiled, “If you’ll excuse me Fred, I’m going to go find George.” 

Fred watched as you sauntered up the staircase, George still none the wiser as he helped a few customers out. As you made it to the top you stood behind him and started speaking, his ears perking at the sound of your voice, “Got anything here to get out of a dinner party?” 

George turned around, sly smile on his face, “Have you looked into puking pastilles?” You held up the box in your hands, “Ah yes, that’s what the other George suggested.” 

The smile on George’s face quickly turned to laughter, “The other George?” You nodded, “You didn’t tell me you had a twin; Fred was it?” 

He nodded, leaning a hand on the railing beside him now, “And you still haven’t told me your name. I’ve been referring to you as flower shop girl in my head all week.” 

Your grin widened, knowing now (thanks to Fred) that George had probably been referring to you as that for a lot longer than a week, “Y/n. My name’s Y/n.” 

“S’beautiful,” George was bold, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Fred watched from a few floors below, mentally patting his brother on the back for pulling out the moves they used to use in school.

[peterspinkrobe]

Temptation | Priest!Miguel O’Hara x femreader [part 4]

W/C: 7,1k+ Go read the other chapters

Warnings/Rating: 18+. Religious content. Some Spanish. [smut spoilers ahead lol] ~~~~~~~~~~~ Reader has a vagina. Oral (f receiving). Some overstimulation. That’s all, babe.

A/N: so so so sorry it took so long. Thank you for your patience. I got real wrapped up in the chapter and work has been working me. Looking up flower symbolism and shit. Also, turns out the Bible has smut too. The scripture quoted throughout is from Song of Songs 4-7. Let me know what you think. Pic is something I found on Google (shame)

The chill of the evening air reminded the two who stepped into it that August was bleeding into September. Change was in the wind that carried hues of summer - fluttering down from trees that were shedding their warm colors for leaves of yellow, red, and orange gradients. The sun set earlier day by day as autumn approached the little town hidden in the Catskills mountain belt.

As the sun buried itself deeper into the horizon, it cast an expanse of purples and blues on the clouds above the two making their way into the courtyard behind the church. The pair stole away, silently sneaking out a side door, while the others enjoyed their supper inside. They were accompanied only by the statues of winged angels frozen in time - pouring bowls of abundance into the garden.

Wildflowers burst from patches along the walkways as the tall man guides the follower to a bench situated beside a maple tree. He ducked to avoid the overhead branches as he sat down and invited the other to join him there.

Wild Asters sprouted on either side of the bench in large clusters, long stems shooting up petals of white and red. The one still standing admires the stark contrast between the backdrop of the natural world and the seated one’s black clothes and collared neck. No words have been exchanged since they stepped into the open air but the silent invitation of the large hand patting the open space made the other feel tingles, nonetheless.

The black clad man kept his hands in his lap and shot sideways glances at the one beside him. Their nerves caused them to bounce their knees rapidly. The silence and their nervousness was too much for the man to bear. He wanted to calm them down and reassure them that all was well. He placed his large hand on the other’s knee, halting the bobbing leg. The sudden touch caused them to look up at him into the stormy dark eyes that showed nothing but concern and curiosity. He spoke their name and the song brought them back to Earth.

__________________________________________

“Your confession last-” the deacon began, but was interrupted by your nervous apology.

“I’m so sorry that you had to hear all that. I am so embarrassed and I understand if you think I shouldn’t come here anymore. The last thing I want to do is get you in trouble or-.” This time you are interrupted by that large hand squeezing your leg gently. You look down and see the long-sleeved black dress shirt rolled up to his forearm, the muscle there too tight for it to roll up any further. The veins in his arms protrude and you trace one with your eyes that trails up his arm to the back on his hand. His palm envelopes your kneecap and the long fingers create a cage around the joint. You swallow your words and silently curse the clothes separating skin.

“Please… let me finish.” He brought his other hand to his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. He sounded strained, as if he had to get the words out or he would burst. Like the things he had to say were compacted in his skull and caused pressure to build between his eyes. You fell silent again and your eyes darted between the scrunched lids of his eyes.

“Ever since your confession I have been wanting to speak with you. I tried calling after you that day but I know I must have scared you.” Fear wasn’t the primary motive for hauling ass out that church as much as it was shame, but you didn’t want to interrupt him. “And then you weren’t here on Sunday… I realize after your confession that you’re only really here for your mother, but I so wished you were here that day so we could talk face to face.” He continued slightly solemnly.

“I hated that we didn’t get to speak on your struggles further and we weren’t able to close the confession as you deserved. You need to know that I hold no judgment towards you - that session was between you and Him. Everyone's path is different and faith isn’t cookie cutter.” He was so impassioned that when his eyes finally met yours again they lit up with excitement in his explanation.

“I owed a fellow man of the church a favor and I took over his confession shift that day last week. The fact that you came to confession that day… on that day of all days. To you all that may seem serendipitous or coincidental, that you felt that strange urge to release those doubts on the day that I was in the booth, but we in the business like to call that ‘God’s Timing’.” The worry and stress seem to melt away as he talks about your interaction in the booth, very different from the reaction you were expecting. His eyes brighten when you, him, and God are being mentioned in the same breath. He becomes more animated and gestures to the expanse of nature around the two of you.”You were meant to go there that day and say those words, I was meant to be there to hear them, as we are meant to be here now in this garden.”

His chest rises and falls from the excitement he feels. He was certain that this is what is felt to be overcome with the Spirit as he had seen in other churches. For the words to fall out without filters and not hold back the faith. When he lowers his eyes to yours again there is a soft smile in them that matches the one slightly stretching his lips.

“I don’t care if you don’t believe in what I preach,” He says this suddenly and his smile slowly fades into something more serious. “It doesn’t bother me that we don’t share the same faith in Christ.”

Heavy pause follows the revelation and you dare not interrupt him, giving him the time to express himself as he did for you in the booth. The setting sun shines rays into his eyes and they reflect back deep amber irises. Their brilliance bounces across your face like he is studying every inch of it - as if your countenance were a difficult passage in Numbers to interpret.

When he speaks again, you find that you aren't as drunk in the music of his voice. The notes are grounding and almost meditative.

“But what worries me is that you don’t share the same faith in yourself that I do. That you don’t see yourself as worthy of blessings when you are a blessing yourself.” The light chill in the air can’t keep the heat from creeping up your chest and neck. His tone became lighter as he went on.

“You are more than deserving of good things. I know our internal thoughts make us feel otherwise, but I need you to know that what they say to you isn't the truth. We all have personal demons that make us question ourselves.” He tilts his upper half more towards you and his large shoulders jut against the backdrop of maple branches and stirring leaves.

Slowly, so slowly, he slides his hand centimeters up your leg so it’s resting more on your thigh.

“I must also confess that I…” He inhales sharply and releases the words with his exhale, “I’m fighting against every urge in my body to maintain myself when I’m around you.” His brows furrow lightly as his other hand comes to cup your chin again, like he had that first time you’d met. The voice is now the smoky room of a jazz club reverberating lowly in the small distance between the two of you.

“Trying to uphold the principles that have nearly been beaten into me when you are in the same room,” he starts to lean in, “you don’t even have to be in the room, mí vicio, for temptation to threaten the sanctity of my profession.”

He tenses ever so slightly, you feel and hear the hesitation in his touch and voice.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, or abuse my position..” he starts to pull his hands away, but you quickly grab his hand on your leg and grip his wrist to hold him there. His eyes widen at your response and his mouth hangs open slightly. A pointed canine dipping into his plump bottom lip as you move his hand to cup your cheek.

He brings his face to yours and looks into your eyes again before his stubborn raising escapes his lips, attempting to put his faith before pleasure, “Tell me to stop… tell me we can’t do this.” He presses his lips together and turns his head away a little. The anguish in the words makes you think he might crumble from the war in his mind.

You respond by closing the rest of the gap and pressing your lips onto his cheek. There is an evening shadow of hairs that poke into the soft kiss. He brings his eyes forward to lock back with yours and your noses bump together. Your breathing mixes and his shoulders rise and fall heavily and it seems as if he’s bracing himself with the grip on your leg. The temptation of just being close to you causes his lips to tremble.

“I don’t think you’ll burn in hell if we kiss,” you try to lighten his tension some and he does chuckle as you feel the shaky breathing on your cheeks.

“Funny.” He quips, but he doesn’t say aloud that he’s already burning. His insides are on fire at the feeling of you in his hands. He knows his soul is doomed if fantasy is enough to condemn. He’d burn for the images he’s pictured of you, the positions his imagination puts you in, and for the way his body is reacting to your permissive responses now. The fact that you want this as much as him makes holding back more difficult.

The anticipation that hung from your pout was too much for him and he whispered to himself before pulling your chin up and kissing you.

Just a press of lips against lips. They brushed against each other as your noses moved to accommodate for the space removed. That first kiss was brief, an innocent expression of the brewing affection between you. Yet, it was laden with complex emotions. A small jolt of electricity sparks from Miguel's chest at the kiss and his heartbeat echoed like a drum in his chest.

He was taken aback at how the simple, sweet kiss had made his head spin and when your lips parted he saw your eyes reflecting desire in their haze. Your eyes closed again and allowed your lips to guide the way.

The two of you traded little pecks and pleasure courses through his body. His hand from your knee now held your right hip and the cupped palm now snaked behind your neck and held your head to his as he deepened the kiss. It was harder to hold back as the deacon’s lust, his want, his desire, was too strong. He peaked down through slitted lids at your hands holding the chest of his shirt in fists and grunted against your closed mouths.

Unadulterated passion overwhelmed him and he poked the tip of his tongue to your lips in request. In those cold showers he had taken to try and control his thoughts, he had instead sinfully prayed to feel the inside of your mouth with his tongue, his fingers, and his currently tented dick. Your receptiveness made him nearly whine when you opened your lips in invitation. The buzz in his brain made him lose his inhibitions as he greedily licked into your mouth. He explored your slick cheeks and your tongues clashed together in their first meeting.

As your tongues danced between your mouths, you found that you were the one having to pull away for breath. Father Miguel’s face had reddened from lack of oxygen since he was prioritizing kissing you inside of breathing. His eyes would open halfway, his eyebrows would knit together in a pleading manner, and his pursed lips were swollen when you pulled away. Strands of his dark hair dangled into his forehead. The desperation on his face and in his grip on you was certainly a sight to behold. It was alluring that he was so affected just by kissing, you imagined just how sensitive he must be. It would be a lie to say you weren’t also feeling warmth pool in your belly at the exchange of kisses. You held his face in your hands and your bodies pressed against each other when he wrapped his arms around you. His voice dripped with yearning as he spoke:

“Let me show you how worthy you are…”

The words were a whisper in the wind, a secret kept by the rustling leaves, but they held a vow he intended to uphold.

_______________________________________

Getting away from your mother was surprisingly easy. She was wiped from cooking and everyone was shooing her home, telling her they would handle the clean up. The only real clean up was from the dishes they had dirtied as she had done most of the kitchen keep up as she cooked.

You should’ve been tired too but your mind still whirred from the excitement earlier. The promise of another rendezvous had you eager to volunteer in the clean up. Your mother looked at you again with pride when you told her to go on ahead and that you’d meet her home later after finishing here. If only she knew your true intentions.

Getting Father Miguel away from his parish was another story. You were washing your hands in the kitchen sink as the last of the trash was being taken out. Discretion was attempted as you stole glances at him helping others with their things and wishing them a blessed evening. At one point he catches your eye and his conviction nearly crumbles, but to you he maintains his composure. He gives you the aforementioned signal of a nod and shaky smile and you dry your hands before excusing yourself from one of the church members on your street. You make it seem as though you’re leaving for the night, but head towards the opposite end of the hall when the dining room door closes behind you.

You try to keep your nerves together as you enter the room on the far left end. You try not to think about Father Steen’s name on the door. You try not to hear the innocent farewells and blessings from the other side of the church. You try to look away from the surrounding symbols of sacrifice for sins you were actively committing. You try to calm yourself and your racing mind as you settle in the chair opposite to the one at the desk.

Curiosity temporarily overtakes your other worries when you crane your neck to see the pages that are open on the desk in front of you. It’s obvious what book it is but it’s hard to tell what chapter given it’s upside down, eleven size font, and single-spaced.

You don’t notice the noise completely dying down in the other room as you scan the office. You’ve never actually been in this office so you don’t know what belongs to Father Steen or the deacon. You do recognize the Catholic vestments that were worn by the elder but there was one you hadn’t seen that was separated from the others.

You could tell as you approached that it was much more fancy than the humble ones worn by either of the church heads. Its red satin underside was soft and silky against your inquisitive, yet careful, fingertips. The emerald green top portion was trimmed and detailed in intricate golden lacework. Embroidered red and white flowers weaved with golden stems and darker woven patterns accentuated the colors even further. It was sturdy and seemed handmade as you held the matching stole that hung from the hook beside it.

A knock on the door brought you back to reality and you murmured a ‘come in’. Funny how he was knocking to come into his own office.

He opened the door and walked through the threshold - the top of his head not even an inch away from the frame of the door. He saw you standing by the robes and smiled. He approached you and looked at the robe with you, feeling the fabric himself.

“This chasuble is a Spanish cut. It came from the priest that ran an orphanage in the city and it was a gift to me when he passed.” There’s reverence in his voice as he explains the importance of the robe, and the true weight of the words doesn’t go unnoticed to you. There’s still so much you didn’t know about him.

“Obviously it’s way too fancy for regular service but I always carry it with me. Bring it out for weddings and Easter. Best part? It’s got pockets.” You share a laugh as he wiggles his fingers in a hidden pouch along the inner lining on the front of the robe. He wiggles his eyebrows as well making you laugh more. The sound of it makes him beam at you and you can’t help but feel whiplash from the range of expression he’s given in such a short time.

From a near blubbering mess just from your lips, to this coy attitude now after congregating with his congregation. That tingle returns to your gut at his confident smile and you think of what was going through his mind when you left to come into the office. Did he watch you leave as he shook hands and embraced his newfound flock? Did he feel any impatience with the others who hung on his words? Did he have a change of heart and is attempting to let you down gently? You understood that this was a big No-No in his vocation… maybe post-kiss clarity and being surrounded by the ones trusting his judgment was making him have second thoughts.

Your doubts cause you to speak up, unfortunately spoiling the upbeat mode but you had to make your concerns known.

“I don’t want to make you do something you’ll regret.” His smile fades at the comment as you continue, “you could lose your job.”

He turns towards you from the garments you were admiring.

“Think of the consequences…” you stamper as listens to you, “you could lose the influence and respect you have amongst your fellow brothers in preisthood.” You brace yourself on the chair behind you as you slowly back up past it. He follows you closely.

“Breaking your vows would be a sacrilege.” Your back hits the desk but the deacon still approaches you. “You could be cast out.”

His hands are on your hips and face and your breathing quickens as he leans in, his voice a husky whisper, “For a nonbeliever, you’ve really done your research.”

You know his cocky demeanor is only temporary; when you start kissing again he’ll be back to incoherence. It doesn’t stop you from blushing up at his towering frame.

“Are you sure you want this? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable…” he says and starts to pull away as he had before, so careful not to overstep. Again you put your hands on his chest and it takes everything in you not to squeeze the muscular pecs stretching the front of his shirt.

“I want this. So badly. What I don’t want is you feeling guilty. I know what I want but I also know what is right. I don’t want to be the cause of any turmoil or strain in your spirituality. I’ve caused too much wrong to be the reason you break sacred vows important to you.” You both cling to each other against the desk.

“How could I regret this?” He asks so quietly it’s like he’s asking himself, or silently asking God. “Are matters of the heart to be ashamed of?” The storm in his eyes brewed at the idea of even having to explain himself and his feelings to someone above him in the church. For a man who has never been married, never seen God in the loving embrace of another, to try and tell him what love couldn’t be. How could he be expected to turn away from the act of God placed before him now? How do those in the church not see that to love Him, to truly flourish in His image, is to cherish and admire His other creatures? He scans your face and the hand there moves to gently hold your hands on his chest. How badly he wished to banish any doubt clouding your mind.

“I don’t know how else to explain it other than I have developed a deep connection and affection with you and I wish to learn more, so much more.” His breathing is slightly ragged and you feel the rise and fall under your hands. “Your confession, if you still feel the same, makes it nearly impossible for me to deny this anymore.”

“I cannot deny my feelings and continue to serve the church in a capacity that forbids me from you.” You’re speechless at the words and the abrupt honesty. “I’m making these decisions with my eyes wide open.”

“Deacon, I-“ you begin, but he cuts in to say,

“Please, call me Miguel. Not sure how much longer I’ll be a Deacon after this gets out…” He can’t hold back now that you’re alone so he kisses you because he can. Because there is nothing to hold him back from doing so, and your lips feel so good pressed to his. Hearing you say his name causes a low groan to come from his throat and he parts when you frantically protest against his lips.

“What do you mean? No, no one can know! Not yet… oh my god what would my mom think?! She’d believe I corrupted you, and I have, haven’t I?” Your nervousness and the fact that you were more afraid of the judgment from your mother than that of God Almighty made him chuckle again as he nuzzled into your neck and laid kisses up to your ear.

“Corruption and change are not the same. You have brought about a change in me. While I no longer feel I am the same man I once was before meeting you, I am happy for it.” He moves a hand slowly up your back to cradle your head and he feels like King Solomon taking his Queen to bed in Song of Songs as he kisses your neck.

Your neck is like the tower of David,

built with courses of stone;

on it hang a thousand shields,

all of them shields of warriors.

“Please,” He whispers into your ear and takes the lobe between his lips in a tease, “let me reveal my devotion to you.”

Your only response is your fingers entwining in his hair and a gasp, but it’s enough for him to capture your lips again. This time he wastes no time easing your mouth open with his tongue.

Your lips drop sweetness

as the honeycomb,

milk and honey are under your tongue.

He hasn’t had a woman in his arms like this is such a long time. Excitement overcomes him and his hands aren’t sure where to rest on your body. He wants to learn you only by touch. Allowing himself to be led blindly by faith in your embrace. He cups your breasts over your shirt and moans open mouthed into the kiss. You mewl at the abandonment of restraints you both had been holding yourselves back with. You’re not too lost to the feeling of his hands sliding back down and under your shirt. He traces your spine up and down and grabs at newfound flesh.

“You’re skin… tan suave.” He’s breathless again from the frenzy of kisses and touches he’s covering you in. He nearly loses it wondering how soft the rest of you was. The thought brings his fingers to your bra and he undoes the clasp there. He pulls away to see them fall slightly and his teeth dig into his bottom lip and he nearly growls before pulling your shirt up to reveal the loosened bra still veiling your breasts. His eyes are hungry, but he still asks, “May I?”

You’re frustrated at how long this is taking. Usually this sort of thing is a quick ordeal without all this checking in. You take a deep breath and remind yourself who you’re dealing with. You reassure him with a curt, “No more asking.”

Something snaps in his brain and he’s pulling your bra off and quickly replacing the cups with his own hands. He massages them both, lifting them lightly to feel their weight and admiring how your nipples react to the exposure to air and his fingers. The theories of intelligent, immaculate design are confirmed to him as he gazes at them and appreciates them.

At first, you’re on edge about the intensity in his eyes as he looks over you. Then you realize that you don’t know the last time he’s been with someone and that you just aren’t used to time being taken on you. You attempt to regulate your breathing and relax but when he gently tweaks the buds of your breasts between his large fingers your back arches.

He nearly drools at the sight of your body’s reaction and brings the hardened nipple into his mouth. He swirled his tongue around the tip and caught it in a suckle. You moan and the last thing he sees before your shirt drops over his head is you tossing your head back. He grins devilishly and grazes his teeth over the sensitive nub before moving to give the other some attention. He doesn’t leave it unattended for long when his fingers run his remaining spit over the delicate pucker.

You pull your shirt up and off, discard it somewhere in the room. You couldn’t go any longer without the enticing image of his face in your chest. His lips parted briefly from your right tit so he could mumble, “Dios, me encantan tus tetas…”

The praise and slightly blasphemy of the Lord’s name used in marvel of your body made your head spin. His free hand gripped your hip, then the flesh of your back, ghosting over your soft belly. His fingertips then slip into the hem of your pants and trail fire in their wake. You buck your hips involuntarily and ignore the dig of the desk in your back side.

He pulls away to see your face and the feedback your body gives him. He accepts it eagerly and continues to tease and pull at your pantyline while pinching and pulling at your nipples.

“Please, Miguel-,” The breathlessness in your voice and the flush of your face makes his already hard dick twitch in the restriction of his pants. His name in that sweet, needy tone made him moan out a ‘yeah?’

“I need you.” Your eyes are glazed from the pleasures he’s bestowing upon you. A sheen of sweat shines on your bare chest from the heat of the moment. Your body is on fire and this is only second base. The sensitivity levels of you both were turned up high, but maybe the taboo of it all was causing such an intense reaction. Or maybe you were feeling the same fervent connection he revealed to feel for you. The same string pulling you to one another.

Any resemblance of control fell away from him completely at your pleading pout. His lips crashed down onto yours again and an image of you he’d had in his mind many times flashed and he knew what you needed.

His hand swiftly unbuttons your jeans and the sound of the zipper is in slow motion as he inhales your breathy moans and pleas. His hands move to either side of you and he peels the denim off your burning skin.

He pulls away from you and looks in your eyes as he begins to lower himself. He kisses every inch of newly revealed skin. You’re suddenly feeling slightly self-conscious because you haven’t had a need to do any sort of landscaping for a while. This hadn’t exactly been planned. You look down at your nearly naked body and blush at how he is still completely clothed. You see the dance of his curls as he pulls the jeans off your feet. Then he’s on his knees.

This man of God, in his uniform of black with the white collar slightly askew, knelt before you as if you were an altar to pray to. His hands roamed from your ankles up to your thighs and then down your backside. He squeezes the flesh all over and they never truly settle in one place. He’s intent on learning each curve and dedicating every mole to memory. He catches your eyes and is emboldened by the lust in them so he leans up to press kisses along your abdomen. He murmurs against your tummy at how beautiful you are and how you can stop him at any time. Then, his fingers are hooked around the sides of your panties and he begins to slide them down.

He can’t help but take his time. There were a couple reasons. The first was this was simply too amazing to rush. He’d been in situations like this, and knowing what was coming next excited him. Pulling you out your jeans and spreading your legs brought wafts of your scent into his nose. The aroma was robust and earthy and it drew him in as your panties came down. It had been so long… the smell of your heat made him nearly light-headed but he inhaled deeply. He couldn’t get enough. He had to taste you.

Your panties were still around your knees when he buried his face into your pubic hair and took a deep breath in. You nearly buckled in embarrassment but his arms wrapped around your legs to bring you to his face even more so. He hugged your crotch for a moment and the smells went straight to his cock. It’d been so long since he’d been presented with such a pretty pussy and he had to appreciate the moment.

He pulls you out your panties the rest of the way and pushes you back against the desk. The back of his hand presses to your inner leg and you oblige him by spreading them both for him to get a better look. He sighs as he sits back on his heels and admires the image that has been in his mind for the last couple weeks. The offering of your own communion already glistening from the heavy petting and kissing is more captivating than his imagination could ever be. He paws at the hardness in his jeans and takes a mental image for later.

Motivated by the hunger in his eyes and the way his eyes move in the need to see it all, you start to lose the voice in your head that makes you worry about your body. You bring your hand down and spread your lips a little for him, a little moan escaping you. He nods as if being given instruction and wordlessly brings his mouth to you.

You cry out his name from the touch of his lips to your sensitive flesh. He’s simply kissing the parts you presented to him so graciously. You lean back and brace yourself more on the desk as his hands come up to massage your inner thighs. He moves lower and looks up at you before dragging his tongue slowly up from your seeping pussy to your clit. Your hips buck again and he grins deviously.

The grin and his lewd teasing showed a transformation in the man, as if this part of him laid dormant just beneath the surface of sacredness. His eyes seemed to shift to an alarming red in the lighting. His fingers dug into you like claws. His teeth seemed more pointed when he flashed those wicked grins up at you. He was the one on his knees, but he was the dominant force.

He brought his hands to his new heaven and spread the pearly gates with his thumbs. He blew gently on the exposed, heated skin and you whined from the lack of friction.

Blow on my garden,

that its fragrance may spread everywhere.

Let my beloved come into his garden

and taste its choice fruits.

The stretch of your legs and the wetness that shone between them looked so inviting. He massaged his thumbs up and down, rubbing your lips together and then apart again. His mouth watered at the sight and he licked his lips.

“You’re so wet for me…” he breathed the words before plunging into your waters. The tension, teasing, and time carefully taken on you had driven you crazy but the satisfaction of his tongue on your clit drove you mad. You arched your back and placed your hands on his broad shoulders, the pleasure bringing you to smile and moan in delirium. No longer were you worried about his job, the way you looked, or if he was interested in you as much as you were into him. He was definitely proving that now as he at you out like his last supper.

You surmised that he had to have had some kind of experience with this as you gawk at the expert movements of his tongue. At first, he prodded with the relaxed muscle to test the waters. Now, he was buried into you up to his nose. His tongue would flatten when he wanted a wider range of flavor and you’d feel the large pad lapping you up. Then he would tighten it and drag circles around your clit, sometimes licking into your tightness as if he were starved. He took note of how your body twitched when he pushed his tongue inside you to taste the velvety smoothness of your tight walls. He saw how you jerked with too much stimulation on your delicate bud. He groaned at the sight of your body moving above him, the way your hair hung in your face. The vibration of his convulsing tongue inside you as he groans makes you toss your head back and chant Miguel, Miguel,…

Fueled by the mantra of his name, Miguel goes back to swirling around your clit. He decided his tongue isn’t long enough to feel as deep inside you as he’d like and pushes his middle finger into you halfway. The promise of penetration causes you to grind on the finger and consequently onto his face as well.

He’s sometimes closing his eyes as if he’s in prayer while consuming communion. But the buck of your hips and your weight shifting down on him made his eyes snap open so he could watch your immodesty through lustful eyes. He pulled as you pushed, maintaining the single digit only halfway. He wanted to take his time feeling you and becoming acquainted with what you had so graciously offered to him. When he pulls away from you to speak, the sight of his puffy lips and chin shining with your wetness nearly makes you fall forward.

“Be patient, please,” his voice drips with desperation, “it’s been so long.”

You let out a low whimper but complain no further when he wraps his lips around your clit again and starts moving his finger inside you deeper, finally. You arch your back and your fingers entangle in his hair.

Your light pulling on his hair pulls another moan out of him and he can’t help but rub the underside of himself as he pleasures you. Your wet noises make him want to bathe in your scent and sleek walls. Your moans make his cock twitch in his tightening pants. He flattens his tongue on your swollen clit and languidly licks around and at it directly. He greedily adds another finger so he can gauge just how tight your opening is, but has to ease it in slowly as you cry out.

“Ooh, so tight.. so wet..” He murmurs against your slick as he wiggles the two fingers inside you. “Todo para mí?” This could easily be interpreted as coy, but the tone is earnest. He truly feels blessed with the gifts you’ve so graciously given. He flicks the tip of his cock over the pants as he sweeps his fingers to graze a particularly delicate spot inside you. As soon as his fingers touch that bumpy groove you see stars in your vision. The direct stimulation to your most sensitive space and this new sensation was nearly overwhelming.

“Miguel, ‘s too much.” You pant and attempt to push him off for some reprieve.

He lifts his head with worry in his eyes. His fingers straighten and pump inside you at a grudgingly slow pace. The slightly sweaty strands of hair stick to your thighs as he gently rests his head on it. Leaning on his devotion.

“I just want to make you feel good.” His eyes trail back to watch the way your pussy clings to his fingers when he pulls them out slowly. He seems entranced with the way you stick to his fingers even when they aren’t inside you. You look down to watch the lewd scene and see just how hard his cock is and how he’s got a grip on it through the clothes he’s still fucking wearing. “As good as you make me feel.”

You melt at the words and when his thumb comes up to press around your glistening pearl. He slid it across the top, just above the screaming bud, as if flipping through the thin pages of the Good Book. He ghosted over the area you found tried and true when you were doing this alone and your body, your voice let him know.

He slides his fingers back inside, unable to hold back any longer. His pace is shaky at first, but becomes stable again.

“Mmm, is that good for you?” He begins rubbing small circles in the spot you so beautifully inclined him towards. You nod and moan in response and then he asks you something that nearly knocks you off the table:

“Will you please cum for me?” He asks between heavy breaths that feel warm on your slit. He wondered how you looked, felt, smelled, sounded, and moved when you orgasmed. When he first placed that wafer in your mouth he wanted to be the reason that it happened. He wanted his name to be the one you called out. “Fuck, I need you to…” the curse and the words from the holy man made your insides twist and burn. The steady driving into your core and thumb on that sweet spot causes you to close your eyes and roll your hips with the rhythm.

He says your name and your eyes snap open again.

“Look at me.”

The way his large body slumps between your legs and the background of Catholicism surrounding the two of you hits a dirty switch in your brain and you’re nearing the edge. He can tell by the tightening of the muscles in your thighs and the way they nearly straighten out to give yourself more purchase.

“Just like that. You’re so close aren’t you, tell me.” You cry out a yes!! through your gaped mouth.

“Cum f’me, please. Cum for me just like this. Just for me.”

The words, the perfect pace of his fingers, the way he’s looking up at you… you reach your climax and fight to keep your eyes open as he asked.

Through your lashes you see that he’s grinning up at you. Your slick still on his mouth and stringing between his lips. The type of grin that shouldn’t be on a priest’s face. That’s two things that shouldn’t be on his face now as he licks around his pumping fingers to devour the flow of juices he’s poured out of you.

Your thighs clench around his head and your body spasms, he pulls his mouth away to look up at you between the trap of your thighs.

“Yesss, just like that you look so good. Such a good girl.” He mumbles with a mouth full of your slickness.

He moves his thumb off the hood of your pulsing nub to not overstimulate you, but his fingers remain inside you. The way you pulsed and squeezed around him mesmerized him. He matched the pulses to the grip on his length in a futile attempt to simulate the intoxicating spasms brought onto you by just his hands.

He tries to memorize the heartbeat of your warm burrow as it begins to ease on your come down. He’ll try to emulate the sensation later - on himself - but he knows and dreads the fact that it would not compare to the readied womanhood presented to him. He bites his bottom lip and groans.

You notice how he holds himself and you can’t pull your eyes away from the tent he’s holding back in his pants. Your arms, still a little shaky, move down and you grab his face. You pull a little and he obliges and stands again. He snakes his large arms around your naked body and doesn’t seem to care about any mess you might leave on him. You pull his face to yours and kiss him. His puffy lips are warm against yours and when your tongues touch you taste yourself and feel another coil form in your gut. You pull away and tell him, in a raspy voice,

“I need you. All of you. Please?” Encouraged by your orgasm, you reach your hand down to grab the erection that’s been begging for you.

He hissed your name through his teeth at the sensation and grabs your wrist. He was already embarrassingly close to his own orgasm after having watched you and toyed with himself. Your grip on him made his knees nearly buckle.

His protest made you worry and your arm seized in its place. You let go of him and stare up into his eyes to see where you went wrong with him.

“What’s wrong, Miguel?” The concern in your voice makes him bore his eyes into yours.

“Nothing, no, nothings wrong. You did nothing wrong. I do want this, oh God, you don’t know how badly…” It’s almost as if he’s gasping the words. Your touch, it set him on fire. But, he didn’t think he should, or could, have you the way he really wanted. Not now. Not here. “There’s something you should know. It’s not embarrassing for me, but it’s important you know.”

The seriousness in his tone has you scanning his face for any more information. He says your name and then reveals the truth and you’re left speechless. His tone is matter of fact, the words shocking.

**

**

**

“I’m a virgin.”

You are a garden locked up;

you are a spring enclosed,

a sealed fountain.

Taglist: IT WONT LET ME TAG MORE THAN 50 I’m crying I’m so sorry I’ll try commenting tagging the rest

@soniajustneedssimping @venusisajpeg @cassidysbbg @haveclayeveryday @fishtail111 @sirbird @thecrowstears @elizzybeth-2005 @tayleighuh @crispypugfs @trashcansally @cheezit-luv3rr @marsout @eliiilamar @hamuuko @jagawriterr @oharaswifexx @limenysnocket @xthejazzdalorianx @y0mill @livingmeat @stranded-dream @its-oevy @be-be-la-la @jxylxx @usagijoestar @queenofroses22 @zaunsin @ceoofmiguel @otomebois @fairycwhores @killakungfu-wolfbitch @buffalolover10177 @jaywalksalloverme @jalxnnie @deepinballs @vomitsama @aurora-burrow @wlalspj @tieonatrenchcoat @cicato @firstghostempathtaco @yallhearsm @mumbi-222 @carmenxhuuuu @dv-ocean-blog @multi-fandom-chick-blog1 @jellybeansupmyass @cheyjellyfish @elyissly @laikve @coffeejellypng @staycgoindown @variouslyalloya @redflame5975 @botchedlove @thatoneenchilada @buck-uwu @donnie-spectacular

Chapter 5? It might take some time tho…

[jillraggett]

Plant of the Day

Monday 6 November 2023

A North American native Symphyotrichum pilosum (Michaelmas daisy, New York aster, frost aster) forms a tall and erect plant of stiff, wiry stems covered with white stars. A great addition to add to an autumn display.

Jill Raggett

[humanwasteinspace]

As Aster roamed the forest, going along his normal path, he was suddenly hit with the knowledge that he was not alone. Footsteps too heavy to be an animal and too clumsy to be anything but a human were coming his way. Footsteps that, as a Hunt avatar might notice, sounded unsure. Uneven. Leaves crunched underfoot, but the steps were slow.

Rosalind’s perspective was much the opposite. She’d walked through the forest for many miles, finding it easier to maneuver than the streets. Homeless, scared, but much more at peace in the nature, Rosalind barely noticed the sound of Aster’s footfall in the forest until they were a noticeable silhouette in the distance. Rosalind went very still very quickly.

@rosalind-learns-blogging

Aster was enjoying his walk as much as he would've any other day, tired from the long, continuous strain of being out and about since sunrise, but enjoying the ache in his muscles. Something about the slight burn, the protest of his bones was soothing to him. Perhaps it simply reminded him that he was alive.

When out of place footfalls sounded, he listened in closely. Distant at first, much farther away than any human would hear, he heard them. Uneven, clumsy. Two feet, he registered. Two feet that did not know their way around these parts.

He hesitates, slowing his own steps to a halt as he patiently awaited the others next move. When he heard her stop, he turned just enough to look over his shoulder, body turned to the side to face Rosalind as they stood at the far horizon of his view. He stared, eyes barely visible through the thickness of his brown curls that fell into his face though notably of a rather light color. Perhaps a very light brown? No, if one payed close attention, they would recognize his eyes to be a pale yellow.

Aster wasn't wearing any hiking gear, despite how far out he was, instead found in a much too big, beige shirt with wide sleeves and black cargo shorts underneath. Only his footwear looked truly appropriate for the area the two had found eachother in, feet being hidden beneath a pair of white socks and brown/black hiking boots that were most likely waterproof and sturdy.

He stared on for what must've been easily more than two minutes, before properly turning around and giving a light wave. He was rather tall, sure, but quite scrawny looking and not all that intimidating. Perhaps he didn't want to be. He started moving again, this time towards Rosalind, approaching slowly. Curiosity is shining in his eyes, though beyond that one can see very little of what else he might be feeling.

[mousetoe-wc]

I Got bored one time awhile ago and made a list of every prefix plus some into organised sections so I thought I might as well share.

All the ones that aren’t cannon to warriors, yet at lest are bold

Describing names

Colours: red, russet, copper, golden, amber, yellow, green, blue, violet, pink, white, gray, black, ebony, dark, pale, silver, brown, tawny, fallow

Pattern, Texture + Size: spot/ted, dapple, speckle, freckle, brindle, patch, mottle, ragged, tangle, kink, bristle, fuzzy, curl/y, wooly, soft, sleek, little, tiny, small, slight, short, tall, long, big, heavy, crooked, broken, half, stumpy, shred, torn, jagged

Actions + Character: flip, pounce, bounce, jump, hop, crouch, down, low, drift, flail, strike, running, fidget, mumble, whistle, snap, sneeze, shiver/ing, shining, flutter, fallen, lost, rush, fleet, quick, shy, sweet, brave, loud, quiet, wild, hope, wish,

Other: claw, whisker, dead, odd, one, spike, fringe, echo, song, hallow, haven

Elements

Time + Weather: day, night, dusk, dawn, morning, sky, sun/ny, moon, storm, lightning, thunder, cloud/y, mist/y, fog, snow, blizzard, ice, frost, dew, drizzle, rain, clear, wind, breeze, gale, shadow, shade, bright, light,

Earth/Water/Fire names: stone, rock, boulder, slate, flint, pebble, gravel, sand/y, dust, mud/dy, meadow, hill, rubble, river, ripple, whorl, float, rapid, shimmer, lake, swamp, marsh, wave, wet, bubbling, splash, puddle, pool, creek, fire, flame, flicker, flash, blaze, scorch, ember, spark, ash, soot, cinder, smoke

Plants

Trees: alder, aspen, birch, beech, cedar, cypress, pine, elm, willow, oak, larch, maple, bay, rowan, timber, bark, log, wood, twig, acorn, cone, seed, spire

Berry/Nut/Fruit/Herb: juniper, elder, sloe, holly, yew, mistle, bramble, hickory, hazel, chestnut, nut, apple, cherry, cranberry, olive, pear, plum, peach, chive, mint, fennel, sage, basil, mallow, parsley

Flowers: aster, poppy, primrose, rose, bluebell, marigold, tansy, pansy, briar, cherry, daisy, dandelion, daffodil, tulip, violet, lily, myrtle, thrift, yarrow, heather, lavender, blossom, bloom, flower, petal

Other: leaf, frond, fern, bracken, sorrel, hay, rye, oat, wheat, cotton, reed, pod, cinnamon, milkweed, grass, clover, weed, stem, sedge, gorse, furze, flax, nettle, thistle, ivy, moss, lichen, bush, vine, root, thorn, prickle, nectar

Animals

Mammals: mouse, rat, mole, vole, shrew, squirrel, hedgehog, bat, rabbit, hare, ferret, weasel, stoat, mink, marten, otter, hog, wolf, hound, fox, vixen, badger, deer, doe, stag, fawn, sheep, cow, pig, lion, tiger, leopard, lynx, milk

Birds: robin, jay, cardinal, thrush, sparrow, swallow, shrike, starling, rook, swift, dove, pigeon, crow, raven, duck, goose, heron, wren, finch, swan, stork, quail, gull, lark, owl, eagle, hawk, kestrel, buzzard, kite, hoot, feather, bird, egg, talon

Fish, Reptiles + Amphibians: pike, perch, pollack, trout, tench, cod, carp, bass, bream, eel, minnow, fin, snake, adder, lizard, turtle, frog, toad, newt

Bug type Names: bug, lady or ladybug, moth, spider, ant, snail, slug, beetle, bee, wasp, dragon or dragonfly, bumble, worm, maggot, cricket, fly, midge, web, honey

Skyclan + Warriorclan: Bella, Billy, Big, Harry, Harvey, Snook, Ebony, Monkey

[nu-carniviva]

Hi there - re: your stance on proshipping, doesn't Nu Carnival have elements in it that could be considered problematic? Aster fits pretty neatly into the 1000-year-old loli/shota trope, and consent in intimacy/H-scenes is sometimes rather dubious. Are these somehow not problematic things? And if they are problematic, doesn't continuing to play the game while acknowledging that basically constitute taking a proship stance toward it?

Alright. I'm not targeting this specifically at anon, but I am really sick and tired of Aster being called shota bait so I thought I'd put that to rest with a little anatomy lesson. Bit of a lengthy post ahead

I'm going to be using this image as a reference, since it lists all the measurements needed in making an anatomically accurate adult male. While the origin of the image is a little old, the measurements are still used today so I believe it can still be applied:

These are all those measurements applied to Aster. Specifically, his default sprite:

Woah. Seems like a lot, right? Let's go step by step, then. Or rather, list item by list item. Click on each image to see them in full. It's also important to note right off the bat that each line is EXACTLY THE SAME LENGTH, and each line is THE SIZE OF ASTER'S HEAD

"An adult stands 7 to 8 heads tall" - Color coding each line to make things easier to see, if we count all those lines up from the top of his head (hat not included) to the bottom of his feet, we have 7 lines. 7 heads. Anatomically correct for an adult male

"The width of a man's chest (under the arms) is equal to the width of his hips" - Aster is standing at an angle so I can't give 100% exact measurements in this particular part, but he's close enough to be forward-facing that it's safe to assume his measurements line up. Even if they're not exactly the same, the difference in length between his chest and his hips are not apparent enough to say that his proportions are childlike rather than adultlike

"The crease at the inside of the elbow will be near the waistline" - Seems to check out here too!

"The distance from the elbow to the finger tips is 2 heads" - Since Aster's hand is at an angle, I added a third little line to connect his finger tips to the tip of the other white line (which, bringing this up again, is the same length as his head.) Using a ruler to keep the lines perfectly straight, I was able to successfully connect the lines together, checking off this box as well

"The length of the head, the length of the inner forearm, and the length of the foot are equal" - These seem to match up as well, though his foot might be a liiiiiittle bit smaller

"The distance from the heel to the knee is 2 times the length of the foot (2 heads)" - If you look back at the reference image I'm using, "heel to knee" refers to the heel of the foot to the very beginning of the knee — meaning at the very very bottom. My measurements seem to match up to that as well... And that checks off all the boxes on the list

Conclusion:

Aster is proportionally correct for an adult male. He is just short. Short men exist.

On top of that, children are typically drawn with chubby, rounded features. Aside from his thighs and hips, Aster's design uses a lot of sharp lines to accentuate his features — such as a sharp jawline and sharp, slender fingers

One might argue that his voice is high pitched, so he must still be shota bait... But men can have high pitched voices too. Anyone can. Men are more likely to have deep voices, yes, but it's not a guarantee that all men will have deep voices

One also might argue that Aster is childish but... Is he really? Sure, he acts cutesy, but that's to get attention from people (especially Eiden.) That's really the only childish personality trait about him. Other than that, Aster is a natural leader. He's demanding, he's business-minded, and he's sly. Aster has no issue taking charge and giving instructions. After all, he's been the owner of the mansion ever since Huey left AND he's the owner of several businesses all throughout Klein. He spends most of his time working and doing business-related tasks. Hell, one of the things he complains about is how much work he has each day, but he knows it has to get done

"But he likes cute things!!!" You can be an adult and like cute things

Honestly, I see no reason why anyone would genuinely believe he's shota bait other than he's short, likes pink, and likes cute things. Those are all traits that can be seen in an adult. Traits that don't take away the fact that someone looks and acts like an adult

This isn't targeted at anon but tbh... People who insist Aster is shota bait are weird bro. Why are you so determined to say this is a sexualized child?

Side Note:

You mentioned that there are moments of dubious consent in some h scenes, and I agree. Especially with Edmond and Karu who are typical tsunderes, sometimes their scenes start off a little iffy. I am in no way saying that those moments are totally fine, but it is important to note that every single one of those scenes quickly escalates to them expressing their pleasure both physically AND verbally. They start the scenes aroused and okay with the idea of sex, but their tsundere nature can makes the consent come off as dubious — I get that. Though I don't recall ever seeing a scene were consent is explicitly ignored or consent is forced. Eiden is a very patient and understanding man, and he's shown that he will stop if his partner truly doesn't like what he's doing. So while the consent can be dubious at times, I wouldn't say it's entirely problematic

[floralfumofridays]

Floral Fumo Friday of the Week: Norway Spruce (Picea abies)

Yuuka continued her travels to solve the incident. At the end of the penultimate season, there was an intense feeling of unique fear and uncertainty within Gensokyo that was felt by all youkai, including Yuuka. She noticed a few drunken youkai laying around the foot of the Mountain. She thought that maybe she could scare the drunkards when they least expected it. Yuuka approached one of the drunkards, as she gently smiled and politely greeted them. Her smile terrified the youkai, who then screamed, "Vampire!" Yuuka looked feintly confused, "Hm? I am nothing like those little birds...." her smile "I'm just here for some stress relief is all. Things feel quite bleak in this world right now, don't you think?"

The area was now clear of other youkai. Yuuka could see many cones scattered across the empty ground and collected them. She eventually felt exhausted from trying to solve the incident and decided to take a quick nap beside a giant spruce tree. When she slowly closed her eyes, she had thought about something that confused her: Why were youkai afraid of vampires? Vampires are usually a rarity in Gensokyo, and Yuuka found the ones that resided in her old mansion to be rather weak like a frail bird. However, she thinks that a vampire could be the first of many clues to this incident.

Today is Friday, but most importantly it is Friday the 13th in December, on a month that takes place at the end of the year, where many are celebrating the holidays and what presents to give to each other, and where many students are taking exams. The feeling of uncertainty over grades, presents and what lies ahead of the new year sends a frightening and chilling fear into many people. Very scary! 🥶

So this one is most definitely not an aster. 😅The branches and pinecones in the photos are from the Norway Spruce(Abies picea), which is part of the Pine family (Pinaceae). It is native to Europe, but has its fame and cultivation for being the typical Christmas Tree, although it isn't ideal to use for that purpose as it can dry out very quickly. This tree can be very giant, growing up to 40-50 meters tall, but there are cultivars of this tree that are grown smaller and fir-looking. These giant trees can live very long lives, too.

These structures that are broken off of the Norway spruce are called cones, noted for their wooded and scale-like structure. Cones are found in all pine family trees. They are often a fan favorite and collected by small critters like squirrels, who break off the wooden scales to consume the seeds or nuts within the cone.

The name Picea for spruces is latin for "pitch-black" and it might refer to the darker colors of the bark of spruces. The name abies in its species name means "fir" and is the literal name of the fir genus, because spruces and firs were usually placed under the same category of "spruce firs" long ago. Nowadays, we know some differences between them so spruces are placed in Picea while firs are placed in Abies. Norway spruces in particular were called almost always called Picea, but like the white snakeroot of a previous post it has been placed under different genera until it was eventually settled back to Picea with the name Picea abies.

Yosemite Nature Notes 46(2) (1977): Who Ate That Cone? by Beth Huning and Linda Yemoto

[vandaliatraveler]

Walk with me: Mid-summer hike through a Central Appalachian forest. As summer hurtles toward its final explosive act, the forest's living things embrace urgent, primordial impulses triggered by shrinking daylight: to bloom, to seed, to feed, and to reproduce before the killing frost of Autumn shocks the earth into hibernation. In the deep forest, the fetid perfume of decaying fungi signals the countdown has begun. From top: a bumblebee traversing the fanning pink flowers of hollow-stemmed Joe-Pye weed (Eutrochium fistulosum); the maturing red stem and flowers of seedbox (Ludwigia alternifolia), also known as rattlebox and square-pod water-primrose, a very attractive wetlands annual with four-sided seed capsules; cowbane (Oxypolis rigidior), also known as common water dropwort, a delicate, marsh-loving member of the carrot family that also happens to be toxic; Allegheny hawkweed (Hieracium paniculatum), also known as panicled hawkweed, a spindly-stemmed member of the dandelion tribe; the lovely and hallucinogenic fly agaric (Amanita muscaria); a sprawling colony of sulphur shelf fungus (Laetiporus sulphureus), an edible delicacy otherwise known as chicken of the woods; a red eft (Notophthalmus viridescens); white wood aster (Eurybia divaricata); a twin set of common puffballs (Lycoperdon perlatum); the fungal version of suburban sprawl courtesy of orange moss agaric (Rickenella fibula); a gelatinous serving of orange witches' butter (Dacrymyces chrysospermus); a fiery clump of eastern Jack-o-lanterns (Omphalotus illudens); a potter wasp (Ancistrocerus campestris) drinking from the clumped white flowers of virgin's bower (Clematis virginiana); one of my all-time favorite critters, a locust borer (Megacyllene robiniae), taking its nectar fill from flat-top goldentop (Euthamia graminifolia), also known as grass-leaved goldenrod; a green metallic sweat bee (Augochloropsis ?) finding sustenance from parasol white-top (Doellingeria umbellata var. umbellata), also known as flat-top aster; and the intricate purple flowers of tall ironweed (Vernonia gigantea).

[losech]

I've been planting native plants in my yard in an attempt to increase pollinator insect habitat, plus I just like them and want cool non-cultivated non-invasive plants to look at. I do not like modern American yards with their manicured grass and tidy flowers and round bushes. I like fucking chaos and bugs.

I have added asters, coneflowers, bergamonts, goldenrods, grasses, and some other native plants. I got a huckleberry bush for a pot and serviceberry tree that I put in a specific corner because a new neighbor with young children moved in recently and one day I hope the tree is tall enough for the kids to steal berries over the fence. I ripped out the burning bush in the front and replaced it with a black chokeberry. The lilac bush gets to stay because it's pretty and non-invasive. I put paw paws in a gap between two larger trees.

Anyways, it was going well until I started looking into currants and hit a wall. There are native currants and gooseberries here, but it turns out, the US tried to exterminate them because of white pine blister rust and they were straight up illegal to plant for a while. The federal ban was lifted in the 60's, but some states still have restrictions, Michigan being one of them.

Buying native types of currants is prettymuch not going to happen, and while I have found many wild gooseberries, I haven't yet found wild currants. There are, however, cultivated varieties that are legal to get here. I live in the area where red, white, and pink currants and gooseberries do not need a permit, but black currants do. I originally decided to just stick to red, white, and pink currants, so I started looking into the varieties. I found a few I liked but no local nurseries had those, so I looked into online nurseries, and found only one that had all three I wanted in stock that would also ship here. I did end up getting a few different currants and gooseberries from local nurseries while picking up other plants, and because I just can't let things alone, I applied for and got the state permit I need to grow black currants. If I like the plants from the online nursery (they just shipped and will get here while I'm out of town) I will order some more from them, since they have a big selection and carry many legal black currant cultivars.

[konjaku]

寒白菊[Kanshirogiku] Leucanthemum paludosum

寒[Kan] : Cold

白[Shiro] : White

菊[-giku|Kiku] : Chrysanthemum, aster

Another names are ノースポール[Nōsupōru](North Pole) and ノースポールギク[Nōsupōrugiku].

It is native to North Africa and the Mediterranean. The grass is about thirty centimeters tall and the flowers are about three centimeters in diameter. The flowering season is long, from mid-winter to early summer, and at the height of its season, it produces a lot of flowers.

By the way, chrysanthemums and asters that bloom in winter are collectively called 寒菊. https://www.kyohaku.go.jp/old/eng/theme/floor2_4/past/edo_20160223.html

寒菊や 醴造る 窓の前

[Kangiku ya amazake tsukuru mado no saki] (The people in the house) with Kangikus blooming beyond my window are making amazake By Matsuo Bashō https://japansake.or.jp/sake/en/topic/quick-guides/amazake-the-traditional-japanese-summer-drink/

[mysterycharacterflowers]

Hello! I am sorry for the delay! The tournament will start at November 18 at 2 pm BRT, the polls will be posted every 10 minutes!

The matches were randomized!

Side A

A bouquet of purple daylily, green carnation, dead leaves, fern, opium flowers and coriander Vs Red Orchid

Violet Vs Red Spider Lily

Dandelions 1 Vs A bouquet of willows and chives

A bouquet of wisteria, black and red carnations and foxgloves Vs A bouquet of buttercup, daffodils, edelweiss and orange

A bouquet of amaryllis, milkweed, bluebells and strelitizia Vs A bouquet of blue and red hyacinths

A bouquet of white, red and black roses Vs A bouquet of white chrysanthemums, orchids and blue hydrangeas

A bouquet of white chrysanthemums, orchids and blue hydrangeas Vs Forget-me-nots

A bouquet of snapdragon, tansy and black eyed susan Vs White poppies

Daisies Vs A bouquet of white clover, chamomile and pine

A bouquet of pink peonies, purple hydrangea and a variety of cosmos Vs A bouquet of asphodel, sage, yellow chrysanthemum, green carnation, plum blossom, stinging nettle, anemone and acanthus

A bouquet of marigold, dandelions, goldenrods and amaryllis Vs A bouquet of sea holly, ageratum, globe thistle, orchid cactus, protea, bird of paradise, mimosa, dianthus, hydrangea and clematis

A bouquet of bleeding hearts and dandelions Vs A bouquet of plastic lemon balm, thyme, hyacinths and anemone flowers, with a single real orange rose in the middle, wrapped in light blue cellophane

A bouquet of snapdragon, yellow poppy and jonquil Vs Blue Rose

A bouquet of yellow orchids, rue, yew, bird’s-foot trefoil, yellow gladiolus, yellow peony, sunflower and yellow amaryllis Vs A bouquet of dandelion, asphodel, poppy, chamomile, red columbine, hydrangea, rhododendron, dark crimson rose and queen of the night

Snapdragons Vs A bouquet of lily, red spider lily, daffodils and milkweed

A bouquet of rainflower, green carnation, camelia, nightshade, mulberry and purple lilac Vs Red Anemone

Side B

Strelitzia Vs A bouquet of blue violets, trumpet creeper, lavender and green carnation

Hibiscus Syriacus Vs Dandelions 2

Desert Bluebell Vs A bouquet of yellow and purple carnations

A bouquet of poppies, daffodils, daisies, ivy, and purple hyacinths Vs A bouquet of gloriosa (flame lily), veronica, jasione, jacaranda, cyclamen, jasmine and freesia

A bouquet of dandelions and buttercups Vs A bouquet of marigold, yellow and white zinnia, phlox, bluebells, cornflower, gladiolus, rosemary, dark crimson rose and purple cyclamen

A bouquet of orange lilies, yellow roses, buttercups, aconite, sunflower, hollyhock and lotus Vs bouquet of jasmine, milkweed, dandelion, poppy and oenothera

A bouquet of oleander, refflesia (corpse flower), trigidia, hyacinth, hollyhock, Iberis (candytuft) and orange tulip Vs A bouquet of lily of the valley and amaryllis

A bouquet of marigolds, tuberose, and dandelions Vs A bouquet of daffodil and pansy

A bouquet of amaranth, orange brugmansia, delphinium, honeysuckle and white aster Vs A bouquet of plumeria, fawn lily, magnolia and star grass

A bouquet of gladiolus, snapdragon, canterbury bells, gloriosa (flame lily) and white chrysanthemum Vs A bouquet of fern, rex begonia leaves, black rose, lily, odessa calla lily and green hydrangea

A bouquet of daisies, butterfly weed, orchids, purple lotus and violets Vs A bouquet of striga, mistletoe, and monotropa uniflora

Thistle Vs A bouquet of chestnut flower, lotus, dandelion, fern, thyme, anemone, geranium, holly, magnolia and bluebell

A bouquet of poppy, zygopetalum, echeveria, dandelion, yucca, twinspur , lotus, tagetes, ursinia, purple hyacinth and hibiscus Vs A bouquet of amaryllis, dicentra, red spider lily and white roses

Oleander Vs A bouquet of blue and purple daisies, desert lilies and black tulips

A bouquet of black eyed Susan, geranium and a tall sunflower Vs A bouquet of forsythia, holly, yellow hyacinth, petunia, viscaria and orange lilys

A bouquet of arborvitae, gladiolus and begonia Vs Spiderwort

[nncastle]

Seeds Purchased from Stonecrop Gardens, NY

One of the biggest benefits of membership at Stonecrop is access to their amazing seed bank. Members can purchase rare seeds for $1 a pack. These are plants that are sometimes extremely difficult to find at nurseries and that work perfectly for my area. Here is a list of what I purchased from them...some I've already begun.

The seed collection got suddenly a lot more interesting.

Rarium: Centaurea macrocephala

Rarium: Digitalis parviflora

Rarium: Echinops exaltatus

Rarium: Hosta sieboldiana var. elegans

Rarium: Polygonatum giganteum

Rarium: Salvia coccinea 'Brenthu

Seminum: Acmella oleraceae

Seminum: Actaea japonica (syn. Cimicifuga japonica)

Seminum: Actaea racemosa (syn. Cimicifuga racemosa)

Seminum: Actaea simplex 'Brunette' (syn. Cimicifuga ramosa 'Brunette'

Seminum: Agastache foeniculum 'Alba'

Seminum: Allium angulosum

Seminum: Allium tuberosum

Seminum: Amaranthus hybridus var. erythrostachys 

Seminum: Ammi visnaga

Seminum: Anemone virginiana

Seminum: Anethum graveolens

Seminum: Angelica gigas

Seminum: Anthriscus sylvestris 'Raven's Wing' 

Seminum: Aster tataricus

Seminum: Astilboides tabularis (syn. Rodgersia tabularis)

Seminum: Astrantia major

Seminum: Calendula officinalis

Seminum: Campanula takesimana 'Alba'

Seminum: Cuphea viscosissima 

Seminum: Cynoglossum amabile ‘Firmament’

Seminum: Emilia coccinea

Seminum: Helleborus orientalis

Seminum: Ipomoea lobata (syn. Mina lobata)

Seminum: Monarda punctata

Seminum: Nigella damascena 'Miss Jekyll Blue'

Seminum: Papaver somniferum Mix

Seminum: Salvia farinacea

Seminum: Verbena bonariensis

Anemone virginiana. Interesting thing about this plant is that for years I've pulled it thinking it was a weed. On the years that I forgot to pull it, I was like, man that is pretty! So I now leave it alone. It's drought tolerant and the flowers are loved by pollinators. I'll be planting some more from seed as well.

Anethum graveolens - Dill

Centaurea macrocephala - Started Seeds 5/3/2024 - This plant is too cool for school!

Category: Rarium | Sub-Category: Perennials for Sun

Scientific Name (Genus/Species): Centaurea macrocephala

Family: (Asteraceae)

(P) to 3′. Great Golden Knapweed. Caucasus. A large, leafy, robust plant bearing sturdy stems topped with incredible, rich golden yellow, hemispherical, thistle-like blooms. The fringed, rusty brown coloured involucre of bracts is very prominent and persists. Midsummer. Makes excellent dried cut flowers. Sun.  3, D & T2

Digitalis parviflora - Started seeds 5/3/2024 - Really different foxglove. Love it.

Category: Rarium | Sub-Category: Perennials for Sun

Scientific Name (Genus/Species): Digitalis parviflora

Family: (Plantaginaceae)

(P) to 2′. Spanish Foxglove. This is a true perennial species of Foxglove, native to the mountains of northern Spain. Plants form a rosette of dark, deeply veined, green leaves bearing in early summer, tightly packed spikes of small, rusty orange-red to chocolate brown flowers on stiff, leafy, upright stems. Eye-catching. Well-drained soil. Sun. 4 & T2

Echinops exaltatus

Category: Rarium | Sub-Category: Perennials for Sun

Scientific Name (Genus/Species): Echinops exaltatus

Family: (Asteraceae)

(P) to 6′.  Tall Globe Thistle.  Eastern Europe to Russia.  Globular flowerheads composed of numerous, tiny, pale blue florets.  Flowerheads to 2-½ inches in diameter stand tall on sturdy, downy-white stems and mature into dense, prickly seedheads.  The bold, greyish green, thistle-like foliage forms an impressive clump.  This summer-to-fall bloomer is a magnet for bees, hoverflies and butterflies.  Sun.  4 & T2

Hosta sieboldiana var. elegans

Category: Rarium | Sub-Category: Woodland

Scientific Name (Genus/Species): Hosta sieboldiana var. elegans

Family: (Asparagaceae)

(P) to 3′. “…most sumptuous of all the Hostas.” (GST**).  Huge, broad, glaucous, heavily textured, bluish green leaves form magnificent, stately clumps that add accent and poise to the woodland garden.  The pale lilac-white flowers appear in early to midsummer, though they barely emerge from beneath the foliage.  3 & T3, then it may need 40º for 2-3 months.

Polygonatum giganteum - Started 5/3/24

Category: Rarium | Sub-Category: Woodland

Scientific Name (Genus/Species): Polygonatum giganteum

Family: (Asparagaceae)

(P) to 7′. Giant Solomon’s Seal. Statuesque and unmistakable. This spectacular giant is similar to Polygonatum biflorum in everything but size. Bell-shaped, greenish white, tubular flowers hang from the tall arching stems in early summer with the dark blue berries following in fall. Moist soil. Shade/partial shade. 3 & 6

Salvia coccinea 'Brenthurst'

Category: Rarium | Sub-Category: Annuals for Sun

Scientific Name (Genus/Species): Salvia coccinea 'Brenthurst'

Family: Lamiaceae

(A/TP) to 2.5′.  A cool-coloured cousin of the red bedding Salvia with numerous spikes of bicoloured,  lipped blooms.  The pale whitish pink upper hoods and three lobed, deeper pink lower lips contrast nicely against the dark tinted calyces and stems.  Blooms late summer and lasts until frost.  Sun. 4 & T2

Acmella oleraceae - Toothache Plant

Category: Seminum | Sub-Category: Annuals for Sun

Scientific Name (Genus/Species): Acmella oleraceae

Family: (Asteraceae)

(A) to 10″.  Toothache Plant.  South America.  A profusion of rounded, orange-yellow disc florets with brownish red centres resemble eyeballs.  Creeping, bronze-green foliage has numbing properties when chewed, hence the common name.  Easy to grow.  Very unusual and fun; a “must have”.  Summer blooming.  Sun.  3 & 6

Actaea japonica (syn. Cimicifuga japonica) - snakeroot

Category: Rarium | Sub-Category: Woodland

Scientific Name (Genus/Species): Actaea japonica var. acerina (syn. Cimicifuga japonica var. acerina)

Family: (Ranunculaceae)

(P) to 3′.  A Japanese native with handsome maple-like foliage that has long, pointed lobes.  Slender branched spikes of white, tufted flowers bloom in September and October.  Moist soil.  Sun/partial shade.  3 & 6A

Actaea racemosa (syn. Cimicifuga racemosa)

Category: Seminum | Sub-Category: Woodland

Scientific Name (Genus/Species): Actaea racemosa (syn. Cimicifuga racemosa)

Family: (Ranunculaceae)

(P) to 6′. Early Snakeroot, Black Cohosh. An eastern North American native with branched wands of white, bottlebrush flowers. Blooms prolifically in June. Light green, divided foliage remains at three feet tall. Partial shade. 3 & 6A

Actaea simplex 'Brunette' (syn. Cimicifuga ramosa 'Brunette')

Category: Seminum | Sub-Category: Woodland

Scientific Name (Genus/Species): Actaea simplex 'Brunette' (syn. Cimicifuga ramosa 'Brunette')

Family: (Ranunculaceae)

(P) to 6′. One of the darkest leaved Cimicifugas. Stems are a rich purplish brown with pure white, upright, fragrant flower spikes in September. Not all seedlings will be as dark as ‘Brunette’, but definitely worth a try. Partial shade. 3 & 6A

Agastache foeniculum 'Alba'

Category: Seminum | Sub-Category: Perennials for Sun

Scientific Name (Genus/Species): Agastache foeniculum 'Alba'

Family: Lamiaceae

Short-lived perennial to 3.5′.  White Anise Hyssop.  A white cultivar of the above. Sun/partial shade.  4 & T2

Allium angulosum - mouse garlic

Category: Seminum | Sub-Category: Bulbs

Scientific Name (Genus/Species): Allium angulosum

Family: (Alliaceae)

Hardy bulb to 16″. Mouse Garlic. Europe. Loose heads formed by multiple, cup-shaped flowers of pale purple. Blooms June to August. Sun. 3 & 6

Allium tuberosum - this already grows wild here

Category: Seminum | Sub-Category: Bulbs

Scientific Name (Genus/Species): Allium tuberosum

Family: (Alliaceae)

Hardy bulb to 18″. Garlic Chives. Southeast Asia. Spherical, white blooms freshen the flower garden throughout August. Sun/partial shade. 3 & 6

Amaranthus hybridus var. erythrostachys

Category: Seminum | Sub-Category: Annuals for Sun

Scientific Name (Genus/Species): Amaranthus hybridus var. erythrostachys

Family: (Amaranthaceae)

(A) to 5′.  Peruvian Tassel Flower.  Many branched panicles of crimson, tassel-like flowers accentuated by the deep maroon foliage of this plant, creates drama in the border.  Sun.  3 & T3

Ammi visnaga - Started Seeds 5/3/2024

Category: Seminum | Sub-Category: Annuals for Sun

Scientific Name (Genus/Species): Ammi visnaga

Family: (Apiaceae)

(A) to 3′.  Khella, Toothpick Plant.  Egypt.  Grown since antiquity for medicinal purposes.  This sophisticated Queen Anne’s Lace relative produces masses of feathery, delicate, aromatic foliage topped with wide, compound, flat umbels of tiny, greenish-white flowers.  An excellent and unusual filler; most desirable for cut flower displays.  Well-drained soil.  Sun.  3 & T1

Angelica gigas - Started seeds 5/3/2024

Category: Seminum | Sub-Category: Perennials for Sun

Scientific Name (Genus/Species): Angelica gigas

Family: (Apiaceae)

(B/P) to 5′. This terrific Barry Yinger introduction from Korea and Japan is a stunner. Dramatic, deep maroon, spherical flowerheads emerge from red-flushed, bulbous, leafy sheaths above glossy green, dissected foliage. The afternoon sun intensifies the colour and lends this plant another dimension. Please note, insects, especially hornets, also find it irresistible. Sun/partial shade. 3 & 6

Anthriscus sylvestris 'Raven's Wing'

Category: Seminum | Sub-Category: Perennials for Sun

Scientific Name (Genus/Species): Anthriscus sylvestris 'Raven's Wing'

Family: (Apiaceae)

(B/P) to 5′.  Lacey compound umbels of tiny, five-petalled, creamy white flowers, reminiscent of Queen Anne’s Lace, float on hollow, dark stems above fern-like, dusky purple-coloured foliage.  Long bloomer that provides an airy elegance to the border.  Always admired in our Flower Garden.  Self-seeds gently.  Sun/partial shade.  3 & 6

Aster tataricus - this is already thriving in the garden

Category: Seminum | Sub-Category: Perennials for Sun

Scientific Name (Genus/Species): Aster tataricus

Family: (Asteraceae)

(P) to 7′.  Tatarian Aster.  Siberia.  Tall, long-blooming Aster with glorious, loose sprays of bold, lilac-blue daisies with yellow centres.  Dense clusters of wide, lance-shaped leaves.  Tough, durable plant that will thrive in a variety of conditions.  No staking needed, blooms late – September and October and well worth the wait.  Sun/partial shade. 3 & 6 & Δ

Astilboides tabularis (syn. Rodgersia tabularis) - Planted some last year, started a bunch of seeds - we'll see. 5/3/2024

Category: Seminum | Sub-Category: Woodland

Scientific Name (Genus/Species): Astilboides tabularis (syn. Rodgersia tabularis)

Family: (Saxifragaceae)

(P) to 4′. William Robinson described it best, “A bold growing and handsome species with huge peltate leaves and plumes of creamy white flowers.” Leaves reach a height of 2 to 2.5 feet. A superb plant to use as a focal point in the garden. Definitely stimulates conversation. Partial shade. 4 & T2

Astrantia major

Category: Seminum | Sub-Category: Woodland

Scientific Name (Genus/Species): Astrantia major

Family: (Apiaceae)

(P) to 2.5′. Great Masterwort. Central and eastern Europe. No garden should be without this effortless and beautiful plant. Several greenish white, often blushed pink flowerheads each arranged in a dome with a “collar” of bracts. Dense clumps of divided basal foliage. Content in the flower garden or in the woodland. Summer blooming. Great in flower arrangements, too. Sun/partial shade. PC- 4 weeks. 4 & 7 for 4 weeks, then T2

Campanula takesimana

Category: Seminum | Sub-Category: Woodland

Scientific Name (Genus/Species): Campanula takesimana 'Alba'

Family: (Campanulaceae)

(P) to 2′. Korea. An outstanding white variety of the beautiful Campanula takesimana. Leaves large in basal rosettes. Branched inflorescence of large, pendant bells on nodding stalks. Flowers are pure white with purple spotting within. Blooms July to September. Sun/partial shade. 4 & T2

Cuphea viscosissima - Seeds already started 5/3/2024

Category: Seminum | Sub-Category: Annuals for Sun

Scientific Name (Genus/Species): Cuphea viscosissima

Family: (Lythraceae)

(A) to 20″. Blue Waxweed. A North American native and one of our most revered annuals. This non-stop summer bloomer has six deep, magenta-purple petals with the upper two being the longest and a tubular green calyx covered in fine purple hairs. An easy-care annual that requires no deadheading or staking. Very sticky stems trap unsuspecting insects. Self-sows. Sun. 4 & T3

Cynoglossum amabile ‘Firmament’ - chinese forget me not

Category: Seminum | Sub-Category: Annuals for Sun

Scientific Name (Genus/Species): Cynoglossum amabile ‘Firmament’

Family: (Boraginaceae)

(A) to 2.5′.  Chinese Forget-me-not.  Producing all summer long a profusion of sky-blue, five-petalled flowers.  Reminiscent of the Forget-me-not, only taller.  Self-sows.  Sun.  3, D & T2

Emilia coccinea

Category: Seminum | Sub-Category: Annuals for Sun

Scientific Name (Genus/Species): Emilia coccinea

Family: (Asteraceae)

(A) to 3′.  We love this selection of Tassel Flower.  A native of Tropical Africa that produces a profusion of orange to scarlet, thistle-like flowers in terminal corymbs.  Best if inter-planted or grown closely together.  A real beauty in our Red/Orange/Yellow Bed.  Sun. 

Helleborus orientalis

Category: Seminum | Sub-Category: Woodland

Scientific Name (Genus/Species): Helleborus orientalis

Family: (Ranunculaceae)

(P) to 2′.  Lenten Rose.  Europe.  Leaves are wide, dentate, glossy and evergreen.  Nodding, cup-shaped, pinkish rose, five-petalled flowers have numerous cream stamens.  An understated, long-blooming beauty.  Early spring.  Partial shade.  3 & 72° for 6 weeks, followed by 25-39° for 6-8 weeks.

Ipomoea lobata (syn. Mina lobata) spanish flag

Category: Seminum | Sub-Category: Annuals for Sun

Scientific Name (Genus/Species): Ipomoea lobata (syn. Mina lobata)

Family: (Convolvulaceae)

Annual vine to 10′.  Spanish Flag or Firecracker Vine.  Mexico.  An excellent, vigorous, twining vine with attractive, tri-lobed leaves and single-sided, six-inch long racemes of tubular flowers held on slender red stems.  The flowers gently arc upward and outward, away from the vine, and mature from red to pale yellow, creating a gradient from the top to the base of the raceme. Blooms freely from mid to late summer until frost. The flowers are highly attractive to hummingbirds, butterflies, and other pollinators. A show-stopper on a tripod.  Sun.  1, 2B, 3 & T3

Monarda punctata - Started seeds 5/3/2024

Category: Seminum | Sub-Category: Annuals for Sun

Scientific Name (Genus/Species): Monarda punctata

Family: (Lamiaceae)

(A) to 3′.  Horse Mint.  Native to the Great Plains of the United States.  Dense whorls of pale yellow, hooded flowers spotted with purple-brown.  Each whorl is surrounded by large, pink-tipped, green bracts.  The narrow, toothed leaves have a grey cast.  A very showy plant.  Sun.  4 & T1

Salvia farinacea

Category: Seminum | Sub-Category: Annuals for Sun

Scientific Name (Genus/Species): Salvia farinacea

Family: (Lamiaceae)

(A) to 3′. Mealy Sage. Native to Texas and Mexico. Tubular, two-lipped, violet-blue flowers are densely congested in whorls along erect stems creating a 4″-8″ spike above the numerous grey-green, lance-shaped leaves. The common name is in reference to the mealy-white (sometimes purple) appearance of the sepals, which are covered with felted hairs. A long-bloomer. Sun/partial shade. 4 & T2

[blackswallowtailbutterfly]

So most of the plants that began showing signs of life in April last year are doing so now, but I am still waiting on:

Adiantum pedatum (maidenhair fern) Aruncus dioicus (bride's feathers) Asclepias viridiflora (green comet milkweed) Cardamine concenata (cutleaf toothwort) Cardamine maxima (large toothwort) Claytonia virginica (fairyspuds) Clinopodium vulgare (wild basil) Comptonia peregrina (sweetfern) Echinacea purpurea (purple coneflower) Epilobium cilliatum (fringed willhowherb) Galium boreale (northern bedstraw) Hypericum punctatum (spotted St. John's wort) Lathyrus ochroleucus (cream pea vine) Mertensia paniculata (tall bluebells) Monarda fistulosa (wild bergamot) Pycnanthemum tenufolium (slender mountain mint) Ratibida pinnata (greyheaded coneflower) Solidago nemoralis (grey goldenrod) Symphyotrichum ericoides (white heath aster) Trillium cuneatum (little sweet Betsy) Viola blanda (sweet white violet) Viola canadensis (Canada violet)

And we'll see if any more of the new ones show themselves this month. I suppose I should also track whether it's early in the month, the middle of the month or late in the month.