pine bough

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.

Sword and Shield Graveyard/Spirit Jewelry

I am a graveyard witch and I work with spirits/ghosts daily. I’ve been doing this for over a decade and though I consider myself experienced, safety is still my top priority.

And it should be yours as well.

Therefore, I decided to share (most of) the enchanting ritual I did for my iron graveyard jewelry.
Or, my “sword and shield”, as I like to call them. They are enchanted to work as a sword (the ring) that provides “offensive” protection, and a “shield” (the pendant/necklace) that provides defensive protection.

I use this potent version of protection because I work with spirits so often off my own property and can be more vulnerable when not in my own house.

If you want to learn how to enchant a piece of jewelry to protect you when working with spirits, you’re in the right place!

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Addewid (II)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: You / Kai (Jongin)

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 3,726

Summary: You cannot appeal to my better nature, for I have none. I am not human, little one.”

You’ve always known you were different. You’re able to see them, after all, able to see the Others. You’ve also always ignored them. Until the day comes where you’re forced to make a choice - one that throws your world into chaos. And sends you down a path you might never return from.

Originally posted by intokai

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anonymous asked:

Modern Claire and Jamie take a road trip to the beach where J has never been. Of course Claire has plans to make the most of it. Romance, feels galore.

“What did ye say this place was called?” Jamie asked from the shore, his back to me.

I came up behind him and nuzzled my face between his shoulder blades. “Gooseberry Falls.”

My job at the hospital required me to attend a yearly conference at the Mayo Clinic. This year, however, Jamie and I thought we’d make a sort of get-away out of it. We had left Bree at her aunt and uncle’s for the week, something she absolutely loved, and planned a road-trip along Lake Superior’s North Shore. We had quite a few recommendations from friends and this was our first stop.

He craned his neck to look back at me over his shoulder, giving me that silly grin of his. “I havena seen any gooseberries, have ye, Sassenach?”

“Mmm, now that you mention it…” I murmured, “I’m not sure I’ve been paying attention to the native flora.”

“Oh, aye? And ye a regular botanist most days.” His eye brows rose in mock surprise.

My hands traveled around him and fiddled with his belt, imitating his Scottish burr, “Oh, aye, but no’ on this bonnie day.”

I was rewarded with an ear splitting grin from my husband. “Bonnie is it? The only thing bonnier than this day is my wife.”

A small, polite cough sounded from the other side of Jamie and his head snapped forward again. He took my hands in his, quickly removing them from his belt buckle and bringing me along side him.

The disgruntled hiker sent me a look of mild annoyance mixed with slight offense as he passed by us, continuing on his way down the shoreline. His eyes met Jamie’s, however, and he quickly picked up his pace.

I couldn’t help but giggle, it had been a while since we’d been interrupted like that. It reminded me of our walks along Boston Harbor when we were dating.

Jamie glanced between the shore and the tree line, turning something over in his mind, then looked down at me with eyes aflame. “Water or forest, Sassenach?”

“Jamie! Have you felt the water? It’s freezing!” With a cry of outrage I poked him in the ribs.

“Aye, weel, no I havena,” he admitted, smiling. “But ‘tis August, surely even in Minnesota the lochs are warm by now.”

Shoving him towards the water, I responded “Go try it and tell me what you think.”

He dipped his fingers into the frigid waters and reeled back as if stung. Grinning, he grabbed my hand and pulled me towards the forest. “No’ a word, Sassenach.”

“And just where are we going?” I asked. “We’re in a national park!”

“‘Tis a state park, mo nighean donn.”

“Oh, pardon me, I’ll make sure to cross the correct item off on my bucket list.” I responded sarcastically as tried to keep my footing on the slippery stones of the beach.

He tipped his head back and laughed, scaring no small number of birds and tourists. The hiking paths were full of adventuring families this time of year. How was he going to find a place secluded enough that we wouldn’t be arrested for public indecency, or at the very least, permanently scar small children for life?

Winking at me, he led us off the path and over a small ridge. The trees and underbrush began to thicken as we left the trail behind. Jamie let go of my hand then, pushing aside a pine bough and motioning for me to go ahead of him.

I stepped into a small clearing and turned around to face him.

“Tell me, James Fraser,” I demanded playfully, “Just how you manage to find places like these.”

He shrugged dismissivley, “The trip was your idea, Sassenach.”

“That’s not what I meant,” I tugged his shirt loose from his jeans.

“Mmhmm,” Jamie made a definitively Scottish sound at the back of his throat before he slid the hair binder off the end of my braid, setting the rambunctious curls free. “‘Tis a forest, there is always places like these.”


Mini Matchmaker Pt 2 (Steve Holiday Mini Series)

Okay, so yeah, this is a mini series now. Oops. The whole one-shot thing rarely works out for me. But luckily a lot of people wanted more, so you’re in luck! There will be at least one more part after this and you’ll see why at the end…. :) Thank you all for your support and comments!! I appreciate it so much. <3


Mini Matchmaker Pt 2 (Steve Holiday Mini Series)

Characters: reader x Steve, Bucky, Clint, OC Justice. Other Avengers mentioned. [modern AU]

Summary: Dinner at Steve’s house. What surprises will this evening bring? 

Warnings: none. Fluff! 

Word Count: 3,444 (oof. I know. But I LIKED IT TOO MUCH TO CUT)

Tags are at the end

<<<Part One  Part Two  Part Three>>> 


Originally posted by damianryheart

This was crazy.


Ten minutes spent together at the mall, a phone call, and a handful of texts later, you stood outside a modest but beautiful home just outside the city. Strands of red, white, and green lights adorned the eaves, a wreath made of pine boughs hanging on the front door. Warm light spilled from the windows and onto the snowy lawn, occasionally blocked by shadowy profiles of people mingling inside. Everything about this house was inviting, and yet your feet remained firmly planted on the sidewalk.

It had taken you over 24 hours before gathering the courage to call. Natasha had threatened to call for you if you hadn’t. After dialing, you fingered the business card that you had been handling so often the corners began to curl. The phone rang once….twice…a third time, before he answered.

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I’ll Be Home For Christmas

Summary: Bucky Promised he’d be home for Christmas, but a mission is taking longer than expected. Will he make it home in time? 

Word Count: 1,749

A/N: I couldn’t resist writing this little fic for all you lovelies. I hope each and every one of you has a wonderful holiday and an even better new year. Happy Holidays, everyone <3

Originally posted by forever-winter-wonderland

“I promise, Y/N, doll. I’ll be home for Christmas.” Bucky’s voice was soft, soothing as he wrapped you in a tight embrace, peppering kisses over your face in an attempt to distract you from your worries.

“But what if something happens? What if you get hurt? Or the mission takes longer than expected? Or…w-what if -“

Bucky interrupted you, shaking his head. “Don’t even think of finishing that sentence. Nothing’s going to happen, doll. This is a routine mission. We’ll be in and out. We’ll be back in no time, babygirl, you’ll see.”

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It makes total sense, though, doesn’t it? The Romans have plenty to be salty at over Christmas

  1. Jupiter is probably still bitter that some upstart-monotheists managed to usurp him in the state religion after almost 6000 years of being head honcho
  2. The Romans had tons of festivals that were pretty awesome, and I bet New Rome goes all out for big festivals
  3. Literally EVERY SINGLE CHRISTMAS TRADITION COMES FROM PAGANISM. The day itself is based on the Winter Solstice, which every pagan cult celebrated. Evergreen boughs for the Solstice were a ROMAN TRADITION GODS DAMMIT, mistletoe was a ancient Celtic symbol of peace, the list goes on.

So when the Greeks, who fully dabble in the mortal world and have tons of other holidays, show up to visit New Rome for Christmas with presents and Santa and the whole nine-yards they are shocked to find not a single shred of Christmas. Instead the Romans are celebrating Saturnalia from December 17 - 22. 

“But wait,” you say, “Isn’t Saturn the Roman form of Kronos? Why would you celebrate that!?

KRONOS IS NOT SATURN. More on that under the cut. 

So the Romans would go all out celebrating Saturnalia. The Pontifex Maximus would perform a sacrifice to Saturn at the temple, the Senate has a public rite to honor Saturn, everyone has the day off, and there is a public feast in the Forum. It was a time for games, gambling, and masquerade balls (or as close as the Romans ever got to it). Pine boughs were hung everywhere, and on December 22 was the feast of Sol Invictus, “The Unconquerable Sun,” to celebrate the return of the sun after the longest night of the year. Fun times!

But before you get your knickers in a twist, Saturnalia is basically Christmas because on December 19th (Sigillaria) there would be an exchange of gifts, usually accompanied by a verse of poetry (presents and Christmas cards, the Christians stole literally everything). 

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Hello friends! I have come with Hannistags AU for you, courtesy of @camilleflyingrotten and her brilliance. BIG big thank you to @pieofthelord again for translating! This is a monster this time, I hope you enjoy!

Set concurrently with the latest installment

(Note: After speaking with Camille, we agreed that 6 moons, or months, was an unusually long winter. As a result, Hannibal’s absence has been shortened to 6 days. This is not an error, this is a correction)

“Mmm… smells like spring is coming! What do you think Hanni?” I beam in the sunlight, it’s getting warmer nearly every day. I can’t wait until I can shed this stupid, cumbersome coat. I’ll be running circles around him when it’s warm enough, can’t wait to see him try to catch me…

I turn back to see his reaction. He lumbers over the hill after me at a leisurely pace, he inhales and comments, “Warm… c'est le printemps, non?” We’re still working on the language thing, he’s getting there though.

He looks down at the brown grass where the snow has melted away, “Oui, le printemps arrive. Bientôt, tu n'auras plus besoin de moi pour te protéger du froid la nuit.” His hooves kick snow back over the grass.

“Ugh, I can’t wait any longer! I just love warm weather, don’t you?” I sprint for joy, delighting in the crunch of ice under my hooves and the soggy greenery beneath, “Well, maybe you don’t, that big heavy coat of yours.” I turn back to him, cocking my head, considering.

I trot up to him curiously, hands outstretched, “I bet you look all skinny and weak in summer, don’t you?” I thread my fingers under his coat, finding the hard planes of muscle and stroking, “I bet you’re a tiny little squirt, all this fur is just for show.” I wink at him, giggling. I’m glad to see him brightening, his lips curling up. He loves it when I do this, touch him like this; it fixes his bad moods right away.

A low growl rumbles up through his chest, vibrating under my fingers, “Je peux t'assurer que je suis tout sauf “tiny”, petit insolent.” His smile stretches to the side, becoming a smirk. His eyes glitter and he folds his hands over mine, pressing mine up to his heart. I can feel it beating, healthy and strong. The rumbling grows stronger, he almost leans into me, completely surrendering his weight, except he keeps his grip strong, pinning me against him.

My eyes flick between his half-smug, half-dazed expression, and our hands looped together in his fur. I swallow and exhale slowly, surprised that I can see wisps of it even in this warm weather.

I look up at him, suddenly aware of how still everything is. He isn’t smirking anymore. He’s just looking at me with a strange, patient stare, like all he wants to do in the world is look at me. Something perches in my throat and I’m not sure what it is but I’m afraid to let it out. I smile instead, brightly, fully. He softens and smiles back. This is so good, I… feel so good when I’m with him. I don’t know what this is, but I know I like it. And that’s enough.

I pull free of him, gently, and he lets me go. It’s a quiet, sunny afternoon in each other’s company.

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“Fireflies drift lazily through the evening air in a somber procession, and even the resumed cricketsong now holds a faint note of sorrow. It’s as if the woods know the new arrival is fading, the pine boughs bowing their heads for one of their own laid low.” 

OK so let’s first establish that this person is an amazing author! Yes? ok good. So this is kind of a tribute to her and her amazing billdip work. I chose to illustrate this fic in particular because it was the fic that first made me ship billdip, and although she’s moved on and wrote other stuff, she’s never failed to make me happy with her writing. So, I thought the least I could do was draw something? This is animated, but I’m not sure I could ever really come close to capturing the image I had in my head when first I read this. 

It was the day after Christmas and a gray sky bellied over us, fat with snow. I felt overstuffed and dull and disappointed, the way I
always do the day after Christmas, as if whatever it was the pine boughs and the candles and the silver and gilt-ribboned presents
and the birch-log fires and the Christmas turkey and the carols and the piano promised never came to pass.
—  Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar, Chapter 8
"The Haunted Chamber" by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

[from: “Birds of Passage” 1873]

Each heart has its haunted chamber,
 Where the silent moonlight falls!
On the floor are mysterious footsteps,
 There are whispers along the walls!

And mine at times is haunted
 By phantoms of the Past
As motionless as shadows
 By the silent moonlight cast.

A form sits by the window,
 That is not seen by day,
For as soon as the dawn approaches
 It vanishes away.

It sits there in the moonlight
 Itself as pale and still,
And points with its airy finger
 Across the window-sill.

Without before the window,
 There stands a gloomy pine,
Whose boughs wave upward and downward
 As wave these thoughts of mine.

And underneath its branches
 Is the grave of a little child,
Who died upon life’s threshold,
 And never wept nor smiled.

What are ye, O pallid phantoms!
 That haunt my troubled brain?
That vanish when day approaches,
 And at night return again?

What are ye, O pallid phantoms!
 But the statues without breath,
That stand on the bridge overarching
 The silent river of death?

i’ve got you on my nice list


Excerpt: Dan followed the man into the kitchen, nearly failing to resist the temptation to make a snarky remark about how he should be the host here. Once they were both closeted into the tiny, half-arsed attempt at a room that barely passed as a place for meal-making the man introduced himself as Phil.

“Phil Lester, actually,” he added, “and I’m a huge fan of people who hospitably provide tasty holiday drinks to harangued Christmas maintenance men.”

Beta: unbeta’d

Word count: 2,244

Warnings: bruises/slight injury

read on ao3

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~ For Unto Us ~

Title: For Unto Us (one shot)

Genre: Fluff and Feels of the Christmas variety

Rating: T for mentions of loss/grief

Summary: Actor Tom, in need of some peace, attends a performance of a classic and has an encounter unlike anything he’s ever experienced.

Author’s Notes: This is my first scribbling in months and I’m sharing it before I lose my nerve.  Thank you to @i-wanna-be-toms-body-pillow for being my guinea pig. :) Merry Christmas, everybody. <3


As he walked alone in that big city, on a swirling snow globe wintery evening, he desperately wanted to find some rest.  The brightly illuminated posters on the side of the performance hall beckoned him like a lighthouse to a weary sailor.  Music. Surely that would lift his spirits. Sitting in a dimly lit cavern with hundreds of strangers, surely that would give him rest.

The crowds had already begun to make their way to the main entrance.  He heard the tinkling of the bell on the corner, the happy chatter, the hurried dashing through the doors into the lobby so as to escape the contents of the clouds above.  Glancing around quickly and seeing the box office, he procured a single seat from the girl behind the window, her wide flight attendant smile and chestnut locks reminding him of what he had lost.  But then, that seemed to be happening everywhere he looked.  

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[ 15x10cm, acrylic ink on index card, finished in photoshop ]

010: On the crown of the mountain, birds call through the pine boughs. The day is quiet and soft. The artist listens to the whispering breeze that passes through her enso. It asks her for something. She looks down at her hands. She’s not willing to give up a finger for enlightenment. She’s not willing to give up anything at all. The gate between worlds remains firmly closed.

The moon danced between them

Pairing: Pinecest / implied Stancest

W/c: 1,929

Warnings/Disclaimer: Fluff out of the wazoo, definitely focuses on Dip and Mabes, stan/ford is a side thing in this

A/n: OK SO I know I normally write stancest, but man I’ve been wanting to read a cute fic about Dip proposing to Mabes and for there to be some family bonding thrown in there plus aesthetic™ and I couldn’t find it soooo (Plus there’s a good bit of dialogue in this, and I’m a slut for dialogue, SOOOOO)

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The Hodag

I’ve completed a fine binding of a 1928 book called, “The Hodag.” A hodag is a mythological creature from Rhinelander, Wisconsin. The book was printed in two colors with a lovely illustrated edge.

I wanted the hodag on my cover to look a bit more menacing, so I began by making parts of the creature in watercolor.

Then I pieced them together till I got a hodag I was happy with!

I learned long ago from the Alien movie that it’s much scarier if you don’t see the entire monster in one go. I turned it around and put the back end on the cover. Since these were lumbering myths from the virgin pine forests of the north, I impressed pine boughs into the navy leather.

Lastly, I used the marvelous 1893 hoax photo by Eugene Shepard from the Wisconsin State Historical Society as the endpapers.

anonymous asked:

could you do murphy + 35 for the drabble thing?

“If you keep looking at me like that we won’t make it to a bed.”

The forest was green and lush, and rainwater dripped monotonously from the heavy boughs of pine trees.  Murphy clattered around ahead of you, running a branch over the trunk of every tree he passed.  You stared after him darkly, grinding your teeth at the sound. He looked back at you occasionally shouting something about falling behind. The two of you had bonded over the last few weeks and when you glared after him he laughed aloud.  You’d never seen him so elated.  The Mountain Men were no longer a threat, and although you no longer mingled with the Grounders they were not about to attack.  This suited Murphy just fine.  You were supposed to be foraging, gathering the herbs Monty had sketched as a guide, however Murphy had other ideas.  He was quite far ahead of you now, ducking between the trees, finally exploring the forest without threat.  You grumbled under your breath and crouched down to inspect a plant that’d caught your eye.  

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Title: run boy run

Pairing: CainxDean

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 2,794

Notes: for MSR Halloween, prompt ‘Full Moon’, A/B/O au


Dean leaned against the hood of the Impala and sniffed the chill night air. Hands in his pockets, one ankle crossed over the other, he relaxed and let the tension unwind from his shoulders as he breathed in pine and churned mud. The patchy snow cover muted a lot of the smells, winter coming on in fits and starts as it snowed, and thawed, and snowed. A light breeze rustled the tall pine trees across the open field by the parking lot, pricking his face with cold burn and making him shiver despite the heat in his gut.

He probably could have made it to Sam’s new pack lands by now, if he’d wanted to. Dean still wasn’t too keen on his brother’s new mate. Ruby had cruel eyes and a sweet smile. But Sam was Sam and when Sam wanted something Sam made it happen. Dean was the only nomad left in the Winchester pack. He was zig zagging closer to Sam, meandering, putting it off. He probably could have made it to the pack lands by now, but Dean didn’t want to spend his heat there surrounded by strangers. He’d met Ruby, but he hadn’t met the others in her pack.

So it was just him and the pine trees and the moon tonight, on a back trail in the Colorado mountains sniffing out the territory. There wasn’t supposed to be a pack here, didn’t smell like it either. Just smelled liked earth and, round the parking lot, humans. It’d be better deeper in to the woods. The moon was round and bright in the cloudless sky, all the black spaces between stars a void but the pinprick smatterings of them shone silver around the brilliant light of the moon.

It made Dean itch to shed his human skin and run. It made the heat that had been blooming in his gut the past few days burst hot and sharp. It made his teeth ache to snap and his fingers twitch to tear into something.

Here was a good spot. Shedding his jacket, Dean opened the trunk to toss his boots and clothes inside. The ground was cold and hard, the gravel of the parking lot rough to human skin. He couldn’t hear or smell anyone else around except for a few small animals in the brush, prey. No other predators. Shutting the trunk and tossing the keys into the glove box of his unlocked car, Dean took his time moseying over the muddy field to the forest line. The snow had mostly melted and the ground was churned rough, wet, a beautiful scent right on the cusp of a shift into winter.

Dean liked riding the edges. He liked that trembling fine imminence when he knew he was coming up right on a heat. He liked feeling the shift and stretch of bones and skin right before a shift. He liked the unsteady edge between his humanity and his animal nature.

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The Ghost Leopards - FanFic

My dear @aelinscourt, I’m sorry this is so late. Work has been craaaazy. But I’ve finally finished! @amrenofvelaris, I also played off of one of your head canons in this fic. I hope you both enjoy! @fireheart-cursebreaker, here’s fic #3!!!

All rights to the characters and story belong to Sarah J Maas.


           High up in the Staghorn Mountains, heavy snowfall muffled the sounds of the ghost leopard’s massive paws as he wound his way through the pines, tracking the scent of the little doe that had wandered far from its den. A fatal mistake.

           It had been weeks since his belly had been warmed by the steaming meat of a fresh kill. The hunger that gnawed at his insides could no longer be ignored. He quickened his pace.

           The beast soon found his prey drinking from a small stream, the frigid water flowing just fast enough to ward off the rapidly forming ice. He slunk closer, white and grey fur camouflaged flawlessly amongst the rock outcroppings covered with snow.

             A pine bough, overcome by the burden of winter ice, snapped in the distance. The doe paused, a watchful eye turning towards the offending tree.  A great hunter never wasted such a precious and perfect opportunity. The leopard sank back to its haunches, muscles coiling just before it pounced, launching for the distracted deer. He was upon her back before she could register the threat, impossibly strong jaw locking around her throat as the momentum of the attack brought predator and prey to the unforgiving ground. The crack of a fracturing spine ricocheted through the clearing.

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