ivy wreath

ancient greek ivy adjectives

κατάκισσος (katakissos), ivy-wreathed
κισσεοχαίτης (kisseochaitēs), wreathed with ivy, epith. of Apollo
κισσηρεφής (kissērephēs), ivy-clad
κίσσινος (kissinos), of ivy
κισσόβρυος (kissobruos), luxuriant with ivy
κισσοειδής (kissoeidēs), like ivy
κισσοκόμης (kissokomēs), ivy-crowned
κισσόπλεκτος (kissoplektos), ivy-twined
κισσοποίητος (kissopoiētos), made of ivy
κισσοστέφανος (kissostephanos), ivy-crowned, of Dionysus
κισσοφάγος (kissophagos),  ivy-eating
κισσοφόρος (kissophoros), ivy-wreathed, of Dionysus; luxuriant with ivy
κισσοχαίτης (kissochaitēs), ivy-tressed, i.e. ivycrowned
κισσοχαρής (kissocharēs), delighting in ivy
κισσοχίτων (kissochitōn), ivy-clad
κισσωτός (kissōtos), decked with ivy
φιλοκισσοφόρος (philokissophoros), fond of wearing ivy, of Dionysus

House Colors

Gryffindor red is the color of lips before a kiss. It’s the color bloody noses and skinned knees, of scabs forming over knuckles. It’s the color of floor length curtains and old rugs with too much fringe. It’s the red that tinges anger, sleeps at the heart of anxiety, and escorts love. It’s the color of a dancer’s dress as she spins in front of a window. The color of melted sealing wax. It’s a robin’s chest, a roaring crowd, and the hearth within an old stone building. It’s the color of home.

Slytherin green is the color of ivy wreathing windows. It’s the color of forest leaves and crushed grass, of pebbles covered in moss. It’s the color of forgotten old paintings and favorite coats with ripped pockets. It’s the green that bathes with jealousy, mixes with fatigue, and gleams next to excitement. It’s the color of a worn quilt. The color of nails tapping in anticipation. It’s the pine tree boughs, a whisper in an ear, and the world right before it rains. It’s the color of life.

Ravenclaw blue is the color of the sky a breath after dusk. It’s the color of the ocean and morning fog, of tears slipping down a cheek. It’s the color of wide eyes and the fresh sheets on a newly made bed. It’s the blue that swirls with sadness, smiles at greed, and dances with wonder. It’s the color of a ribbon marking a page in a book. The color of a fallen feather. It’s the hiss of the wind, the howl of a wolf, and a teacup set perfectly in the center of its dish. It’s the color of hope.

Hufflepuff yellow is the color of pollen stained fingers. It’s the color of dandelions and old parchment, of an unopened locket. It’s the color of fresh pie and old bruises. It’s the yellow that takes guilt’s hand, whirls with loneliness, and links arms with joy. It’s the color of dust drifting through sunbeams. The color of broken paintbrushes. It’s the whine of a teakettle, a pair of loved socks, and a wide open window. It’s the color of light.

good hobbies/pastimes 

  • astral projecting
  • baking bread
  • weaving ivy & honeysuckle vines into wreaths & attire
  • relaxing in fields w/ cows & sheep
  • standing in streams/rivers for 3+ hrs
  • harp playing

“It was Olympias’ habit to enter into these states of possession and surrender herself to the inspiration of the god with even wilder abandon than the others, and she would introduce into the festival procession numbers of large snakes, hand-tamed, which terrified the male spectators as they raised their heads from the wreaths of ivy and the sacred winnowing-baskets, or twined themselves around the wands and garlands of women.”

alexander the great’s mother was metal as fuck

Head of the Young Bacchus


c. A.D. 1 - 50

On view at The Getty Villa in Malibu

“The final secrets of existence and non-existence transfix mankind with monstrous eyes… Here there is nothing but encounter, from which there is no withdrawal… Because it is the god’s nature to appear suddenly and with overwhelming might before mankind, the mask serves as his symbol and his incarnation in cult. The mask has no reverse side. ‘Spirits have no backs’, people say. It has nothing which might transcend the mighty moment of confrontation. It is the symbol and the manifestation of that which is simultaneously there and not there: that which is excruciatingly near, that which is completely absent – both in one reality.”

- Walter F. Otto, “Dionysus: Myth and Cult”

the nine muses ll melpomene; muse of tragedy {4/9}

MELPOMENE was one of the nine Mousai (Muses), the goddesses of music, song and dance.  When the Mousai were assigned specific artistic and literary spheres, Melpomene was named named Muse of Tragedy and in this guise she was oft portrayed holding a tragic mask or sword, and sometimes wearing a wreath of ivy and cothurnus boots. Melpomene was so named by the chanting by which she charmed her listeners and derived from the Greek verb melpô or melpomai; her name literally means"to celebrate with dance and song.“ 

A Priestess of Apollo, c.1888, by Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema

In Greco-Roman mythology, Apollo was the sun god who lived on Mount Olympus, and who, in the guise of the sun, rode his chariot drawn by four horses across the sky each day. In this painting one of the priestesses stands barefoot inside the temple of Apollo looking up towards the sky, perhaps awaiting Apollo’s return in the evening. She wears a spectacular leopard skin tunic and has a wreath of ivy in her hair. These symbolic ornaments, as well as her business in serving wine, suggest her licentious behaviour in the temple.