#between larch trees

[uwhe-arts]

down from the mountains . . . | uwhe-arts

[talon-dragonbeast]

today i want to talk about my hearthome, the coniferous forest, and how i lived there as a dragon. ill be using the words "memory", "remember", and the past tense a lot as an aid, despite me not having a past life. this is because they are noemata, things that never really happened but which i know to be true and are as important as any past life memory. this gets pretty long, so lets begin already.

i dont know how or when I found my forest. i was not born there, and although i know there mustve been other dragons somewhere, none ever visited my forest. if i had to guess, im pretty sure i was born among other dragons, but left them once i reached adulthood. im a pretty solitary dragon, as ive talked about before on this blog, and i have a pretty strong protective instinct. so once i left my fellow dragons, its no wonder i would choose a territory of my own that i could defend from others. and ive always preferred colder climates, so the coniferous forest was perfect for me.

my forest was not huge, but not too small either. it took several hours to walk from one corner to another, so i spent all my day patrolling it. my den was located right in the center, in a cave with a hidden entrance where i had my nest made of moss and my hoard of found objects and shiny things. the cave was tall but small, not uncomfortably so (i could stretch out comfortably without ever touching the walls), but just enough so that it made me feel cooped up and safe. right outside my den was a river that led to the mountains surrounding the forest, and marked the end of my territory. the mountains were a vantage point from which I could see any approaching enemies, so they greatly aided in my territory's defense.

the weather was not great, but for me it was just perfect. a dense fog in the morning that blocked the first rays of sunshine, the air always humid and heavy on the tongue, so cold it stinged the back of your mouth and made breathing difficult. light rain fell almost constantly from the gray skies, turning to snow in winter and thunderstorm in spring. the ground was always slightly damp, covered with brown pine needles and green moss, the soil underneath so dark it was almost black. the trees were tall and intimidating, all coniferous with a rich mix of pine, larch, spruce and fir, silent guardians much as I was. sometimes, the rain would stop and turn the forest into a nearly dreamlike place, with the sky a blue so intense it hurt the eyes, the sun shining with a strange energy that seemed to cool instead of warm. on those days, the air seemed to stand still, everything becoming so quiet you could almost hear the silence, as if the whole forest was holding its breath.

there were animals in my forest, of course. deer and fish and mice and elk and, most importantly, crows. i held a close relationship with the local murder that was similar to the symbiotic relationship between wolves and crows in the wild. they helped me locate prey, informed me of intruders and accompanied me on my patrols, and in return i gave them part of the kill, protected their nests and helped them with any trouble they might get into (you wouldnt believe the kinds of shenanigans the little buggers would manage to find themselves in!). i was at the top of the food chain, and was in charge of maintaining the balance of the ecosystem. i helped the forest, and the forest helped me.

there isnt really a conclusion to this. today im feeling a bit nostalgic, probably because the weather is getting colder and colder and it reminds me of home. my forest, the home of my heart, to which i can never return. writing this has made me feel a bit better, but the pain is still there. the truth is, i still miss it terribly. i miss my den, how safe it made me feel. i miss the crows, my murder, my only companions. i miss feeling the ground beneath my claws, the crunching of pine needles and the soft cold dirt underneath. i miss the emotion of the hunt, the long naps under the sun, the stargazing of an infinite night sky.

but what i miss the most i think, is the feeling of belonging. of being part of the ecosystem, not detached from but actively participating in it. in this human life, its too easy to forget i am an animal too; humans seem so keen to separate themselves from the natural world that they have forgotten that they are part of it like any other living being. i guess what i really miss is simply being able to leave my mark somewhere. feeling that i am doing something. feeling important, needed. but again, dont we all?

[sophierequests]

Could I please request a Toyla x reader..? (Bless you for writing for everyone I can’t find any for him 😭) they’re crushing on each other and them having to share a bed 🥺

you are foolish to want

Navigation┃Main Masterlist┃Request

Pairing: Tolya Yul-Bataar x gn!Reader

A/N: After reading this you might ask me: Sophie, will you ever write anything else than Hurt/Comfort when you get requests that aren't in any explicit genre? The answer to that question is: no <3 Also, the second time of using horses in a Tolya fanfic?? What has overcome me?? Thank you for the request! I hope you'll like this, even though the one bed trope isn't the main focus of this story </3

Summary: Tolya and the reader are on their way to the Lazlayon until unforeseen circumstances put a slight dent in their plans.

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff (if you squint)

Word Count: 5.8K (oh god)

Warnings: Mention of almost dying, broken ribs and hurt feelings

The silence between you became louder the longer you indulged in it. It wasn’t really silence, so to say. It was more the state of not speaking. The forest surrounding you was anything but silent. Between the creaking of old rotting larch trees swaying in the wind and the padding of hooves against the more or less solid ground, nothing ever really felt quiet. 

He couldn’t be sure how much longer the path ahead of you could possibly still drag on; all he knew was that he likely wouldn’t be able to stay awake for the entirety of it. The tension of riding next to you alone would have usually been enough to keep him from falling asleep. Hell, the thought of you alone did the job well enough already. Yet something about this time felt different. 

It was just the two of you. No Tamar. No Nikolai. No Zoya. No one else to worry or think about. Just the two of you, wordlessly riding next to each other. 

And while his brain screamed at him to use that factor in his favour, to finally make some sort of move, his body recoiled at the impulse of opening his mouth and articulating his feelings. Whenever he even attempted to do so, an obstruction seemed to form inside his larynx, blocking the feeble sounds that might’ve crossed the breach of his vocal folds. Maybe it was his heart leaping out of his chest and ending up in the enclosure of his throat, desperate to be spat out and stowed away inside a neat little box that he could disregard as long as he pleased. Maybe it was bile at the thought of having to come clean about the months and months of yearning he had been subjected to since meeting you. Maybe both of these options rang true; he couldn’t be sure. The sole thing he was painfully sure of was that it had to be closely related to you. 

Everything was somehow related to you. You had always been everywhere and nowhere; everything and nothing at the same time. At least to him, he hoped. You occupied his mind, his space, and his time whenever he should be focused on anything else. When he wanted, no, needed to focus on anything else. You were everywhere just as much as you were nowhere. Nowhere he could reach. Touch. Hold. You had always been more of an idealistic daydream, rather than something concrete. And just like most dreams, you would be foolish to pursue.

“Do you think we’ll reach the Lazlayon before the night sets in?” Your voice broke through the air like a gunshot, forcing his gaze away from the impenetrable barrier of trees next to him. You stared at him expectantly, waiting until he could will himself to produce a coherent sentence.

He let out a huffed breath, absent-mindedly fiddling with the reins in his hands as if they were a set of tarot cards that would permit him to look into the future. “If we keep up this pace, we’ll likely get there right before sundown.”

“Oh, lovely. Just in time for Count Kirigin to welcome us. I’m sure he’s already buzzing with excitement,” you chuckled dryly, giving your companion a distinctive eye roll to accentuate your annoyance. 

Tolya rolled his shoulders, the mention of the count’s name sending a wave of unease through him. He didn’t necessarily hold any tangible grudges against him, he didn’t know him well enough to form any sort of well-shaped opinion of him to begin with, but what he knew was that the man was an absolute rake. If the countless times of resolute flirting with anyone that didn’t leave his presence on the count of three wasn’t enough to support this hypothesis, Nikolai’s long-winded tales of his drinking and lavished parties sure filled the gaps. Count Kirigin as a whole simply wasn’t a coeval he wanted to be around. Not when he was busy enough with keeping his emotions in check while you were close to him. 

“There’s still hope that he chose to go to bed instead of waiting by the door for us to arrive. I doubt that he’s all too invested in our presence. After all, Zoya isn’t accompanying us, so he won’t have much to ogle at,” the Heartrender objected slyly, using the scarce situation of being alone with you to voice his obvious disdain for the man in question.

“We can only hope.” You clasped your hands together, holding them in front of your chest as if you were in prayer. “At least we’ll share the same fate if it comes down to him having genuinely waited on us.” 

He nodded in agreement. It was a comforting thought to know that he was there with you. The fact that you were meant to take on the journey to the Lazlayon on your own at first disconcerted him greatly. Not that he wouldn’t have trusted you to come back in one piece, however, having you be out of his sight for so long without a possibility of contacting you made him uncomfortably aware of the actual extent of his feelings.

Another wave of silence settled around you. It was more comfortable this time. Especially since it didn’t take too long for you to speak up again. “I’m glad Nikolai decided to have you come along.”

His smile falters for just a split second, the wave of emotion your simple statement had created stripping him of the last bit of feigned confidence he had. Perhaps his years of studying and breaking down ancient poetry had gotten the best of him. Convinced him that there was more to the comment than merely you being glad that someone else had to suffer through the hours on hours of travel. But that’s what you would have said, right? You would have said ‘someone’ instead of explicitly mentioning him. During times like these, he genuinely missed Zoya’s bluntness to bring him back down to earth.

“Oh, uhm, it’s good to know that you don’t see my presence as patronising,” he stammers, his voice hitching and cracking as if he was a puberty-stricken young boy again.

You tilted your head and looked at him with narrowed but gentle eyes. The same eyes that always seemed to magically find his own whenever he had stared at you for a bit too long. “Your presence could never be patronising to me. I like being around you.”

In an ideal world, he would have told you that the feeling was mutual. The sentence would have rolled off his tongue equally as casually as it had off yours, and you both could have continued your travels with the knowledge that you appreciated each other’s company. This was not an ideal world though. In fact, he didn’t even give you a verbal response. Instead, he hastily turned his head away from you, futilely trying to cover the gleaming blush that had spread across his cheeks in a matter of seconds.

Once again, the steady whirring and rustling replaced your short-lived stab at a conversation. It took another hour for the unkempt thicket to gradually turn into a widespread field, stretching out in front of you until it was obscured by the dense artificial fog that hid the watercraft testing grounds of the Gilded Bog. It would have been a stunning view if you hadn’t been aware of the massive amount of work that lay behind it.

A sigh of relief escaped your lips when Count Kirigin’s estate came into view. Your whole body ached after riding for hours on end without a break, making you long for a warm bed and a good night’s sleep. It didn’t take long for Mother Fortuna to knock that idea out of your head though.

Just as you had intended to throw some sort of sarcastic comment in your friend’s direction, a sudden sound of a rifle being fired cut through the forest behind you. After that, everything continued to go downhill horribly fast. 

You barely managed to calm down your horse, yanking the reins to the side to let it spur out its fright by trotting in a circle. Tolya, on the other hand, was less lucky. He hadn’t been able to react quick enough, his horse rearing on its hind legs before he was in the right mindset to properly hold onto the straps of his saddle. He was thrown off its back quite roughly, his back hitting the hard ground with a bone-chilling thud.

“Tolya!” you called, dismounting your horse without thinking about the looming threat of someone directing their gunshots at you. It was as if you were passing through a tunnel, eyes only focused on what was in front of you.

A litany of his name spilt out of your mouth as you knelt down next to him; you repeated it so many times that it didn’t even feel like a real word anymore. But no amount of repetition could bring him to regain consciousness. He remained laying on the ground, perfectly still and with no reaction to anything you did. Years and years of basic medical training flickered through your mind, hopelessly trying to give you an impulse that might be able to save his life. Your hands promptly moved to the pronounced column of his throat, a motion that would have been intimate if you weren’t filled with panic. The skin underneath your fingers was warm - and unexpectedly soft - as you dug for any form of heartbeat. When you finally localised a faint but rhythmic thudding, you sucked in a deep breath, momentarily considering changing your stance on the Saints if they had been the ones to grant you this minuscule act of reassurance.

“Tolya,” you tried again, hands cradling the sides of his face as you shifted him onto your lap. His eyelids fluttered open briefly, immediately seeking out contact with yours. It took another moment for him to recognise what position he was currently in. Your hands on his face and his head on your lap felt almost too good of a situation to be anything but a dream. 

He wanted to say something, anything for that matter, but a piercing pain in his chest caused him to let out a stifled groan. It hurt to move. It hurt to speak. It hurt to breathe. His whole body felt like it had been pulled apart and reassembled without a manual, and you couldn’t do anything to ease his discomfort.

“Hey.” You let your thumbs smooth over the ridges of his cheekbones, your feather-light touch creating an embarrassingly visible trail of goosebumps all over his arms. Everything you did was too soft. Too delicate. Too wholly overwhelming. “I know it hurts. Just stay here for a while and-”

“Saints!” A shrill voice made your head shoot up, the memory of the gunshot striking you like a brick. When a familiar figure scrambled out of the woods, an extravagant hunting rifle strung over his back and a mortified look on his face, you began to piece together what was going on. “I’m terribly sorry! I- We were just coming back from our hunting trip and we didn’t- Oh, no.” The count ran a shaky hand through his neatly slicked-back hair, causing a few stiff strands to fall onto his forehead.

Something inside you wanted to be mad at him. It was his fault after all. If he had been more careful and a little less trigger-happy none of this would have happened. However, Tolya’s weight still very much present on your legs substituted your anger with worry. “Kirigin, I’ll need some help getting him to the Lazlayon. He needs to be looked at by someone more…medically-inclined than me.”

Emil nodded his head reverently, calling over a few of the other men that had joined him in his hunting party. With their help, you heaved him back to his feet. His nails dug into your shoulder as you helped him walk to your horse; neither of you trusted his horse enough to not throw him off again. It was quite the struggle, but after a lot of cursing and griping coming from the normally very composed Heartrender, you reached the opulent mansion just before the sun had vanished behind the mountain range completely.

Upon entering, the count immediately called for a medik, showing the two of you to his drawing room while he flittered through the foyer in a frenzy. Tolya let himself fall onto one of the plush divans with a groan. His hand flew to his side as soon as his back met the fabric underneath him, flinching as he seemed to have pressed down too hard. It was a strange picture to see him look this helpless. He appeared small and vulnerable, almost as if a bare touch could cause him to break and crumble.

“Don’t move,” you requested gently, one of your hands reaching out to take hold of his. He was aware that this gesture was merely meant to give him a piece of reassurance; you wanted to give him something to hold on to, something to get his mind off of the erupting pain in his chest. Still, a nimble twinge of hope sent a burning wave of longing through his body. “I think you may have broken a rib. After your fall earlier that would be one of the lesser evils,” you assessed, letting the fingers of your free hand brush over the clothed expanse of his chest. “We should probably pass a message to Nikolai. You can’t be expected to take on the ride back anytime soon. But all of that can wait until tomorrow.”

The medik arrived just as you closed your mouth, forbidding Tolya from saying anything in response to your short-lived ramblings. He was a bit miffed by the fact that the person treating him was a simple medik instead of an actual Healer that could have fixed him up in the blink of an eye. However, a faint memory of Kuwei accidentally setting a whole section of the laboratory on fire told him that their presence was a bit more required downstairs. 

He was ripped from his thoughts when the medik pushed down on his ribcage with unexpected force. A jolt of pain flashed through him again, and embarrassingly enough, that only caused his grip on your hand to tighten. You didn’t show any sign of discomfort as he did so, entirely concentrated on providing the tiniest bit of comfort you could offer him.

“Fractured rib,” the woman beside you muttered, her brows furrowed as she looked at his exposed chest stomach. “This will take a few weeks to heal on its own. We can send for a Healer as soon as one’s available, but that will probably take just as long. The new project is keeping everyone busy, I’m afraid.”

“I will send a letter to the King,” the Count interjected, rubbing his palms together in an attempt to cope with his nervousness. “The Healers at the Grand Palace are often more willing to make the trip than the ones we have on our hands here. I’m certain he would do everything in his power to ensure that one of his most trusted…guards is back in his service as soon as possible.”

“I suppose that would be for the better.” The medik took out a few differently coloured vials from the pouch on her hip, handing them to you as if the person needing them wasn’t also in the room with you. “These are painkillers. Make sure he takes one of these twice a day.” You nodded along slowly, letting go of Tolya’s hand to not drop any of the flimsy flasks. “It would be best if someone keeps an eye on him for now. Especially after taking the medicine. In case the pain gets worse, you know where to find me.” She directed her gaze at Emil who merely dismissed her with a grateful wave of his hand.

“Thank you for…taking the initiative.” You gave him a brief smile, sitting on the armrest of the sofa where Tolya was still laying. Slowly but surely, the heaviness of the day began seeping through your bones.

“But of course! That’s the least I could do after causing such a mishap.” He pursed his lips but opted to force them into a straight line while he pondered his next words. “I shall send for a servant to mind you during the night if that’s alright with you. Someone should probably be there to attend to you, just in case something happens.” 

Tolya looked up at him, evidently not too fond of his suggestion. The idea of having some stranger even do as much as stay in the same room as he slept didn’t sit right with him at all. “I…appreciate your kindness, Count Kirigin. However, I would prefer it if you refrained from doing anything like that. I’m certain it will be fine if I’m left unsupervised for the night.”

“The count has a point,” you reasoned, a distinct expression of worry present on your face. “You’re hurt; don’t be so blasé about it. It would genuinely be better if someone is there for you. At least for tonight.”

“Maybe you could stay with him for the night if it’s the aspect of familiarity he’s concerned with?” Emil offered, his eyes darting between the two of you nervously. If his upper body had allowed it, Tolya would have shot upright in his seat after hearing that. As much as he hated the notion of having someone else practically babysit him while he was asleep, anyone else would be a better option than you. He wouldn’t survive spending a night under these circumstances.

His suggestion caught you off guard with what felt like brute force. He was a good friend; one of your closest actually. Yet you had never even seen the inside of his bedroom. Spending the night in the same room, no matter under what circumstances, seemed like a terrible way to improve that friendship.

“I… Tolya? Your call.” You shifted all the responsibility of decision-making onto the Heartrender, giving him an apologetic look while he struggled to find the right words.

He mentally considered all the implications this action might entail. What if he snored? What if he talked in his sleep? What if the medicine made him do or say things he might regret? What if nothing out of the ordinary happens and he was just diving into the worst-case scenarios? “If I have to choose, I’d prefer your presence,” he mumbled, instantly clamping his eyes shut in order to avoid looking at your face while you let his words sink in. 

“It’s decided then,” you chirped, slumping off your seat to carefully place the ampoules in your bag. You sounded pretty much unbothered by the prospect of sharing a room for the night. Weren’t you even a little bit uncomfortable with that?  He should be glad that you were taking this situation so well, however, your unexpected nonchalance concerning the topic made every last speck of hope that you could possibly like him back dwindle down to nothing.

“Very well!” Kirigin clasped his hands together with a resounding clap, the jovial nature returning to his face in an instant. “Now, if you’d be so inclined - and able -, please follow me upstairs to the guest bedrooms.”

The guest bedrooms of the count’s estate reminded you of the countless ornate rooms you had seen at the Grand Palace; broad wide rooms with high ceilings and long windows that made them appear more like a makeshift dining hall than an actual bedchamber. Needless to say, the Lazlayon was a bit more bucolic than what you were used to seeing in the capital, but the white walls and the rococo king-size bed definitely opposed every notion of humility one might expect if there was no prior knowledge of Kirigin’s spendthrift way of living.

Neither of you really had enough willpower to change into your nightclothes, so you merely rid yourself of the thick jackets and clunky boots, which you mindlessly tossed on top of your bags. The bedding would be changed in the morning anyway.

It was a terribly awkward scene, the tension practically electrifying the air around you. Tolya sat on the bed, his back perched on the carved headboard while he watched you scurry around the room like a rabbit in front of a rifle. You also seemed to have realised what the offer of staying in the same room for the night might imply; your previous casualness being gone completely.

“Here,” you said, handing him one of the vials the medik had given you earlier. He took the medicine from your hands, eying it with a suspicious expression. In comparison to his hand, the tiny bottle looked like a prop right out of a doll house. The image of comparing your hand to his popped into your mind, but you hastily shooed it away, thinking about how inappropriate that thought was. “Drink. I’ll get you some water to help with the taste in case you need it.” 

Quickly, he downed the viscous medicine, cringing at the sickly-sweet flavour that spread inside his mouth as he swallowed. As soon as the liquid went down his throat, he had to stifle a cough, the taste only getting worse the longer he occupied his mind with it.

You plopped down on the empty spot next to him, cautious to not spill any of the water that you held out for him. When he reached out to take the glass, your hands touched his for a split second, your fingertips barely brushing over his. Still, that simple gesture was enough to make his head spin. Saints, he hated that you had that effect on him.

“Thank you,” he breathed out, not quite knowing what exactly he thanked you for. Thank you for being there for me when I fell off that damned horse? Thank you for holding my hand earlier? Thank you for staying with me tonight? Thank you for getting me that glass of water? He could probably think about at least a hundred things to thank you for off the top of his head.

“How are you feeling?” Your voice sounded just as sweet as the medicine tasted, he thought. He just liked listening to your voice a whole lot better. Were the painkillers already kicking in?

“Better. Sore, but better. I’m dreading thinking about what Nikolai will say once he gets wind of this.” He let his head slump against the wall behind him, his eyes glancing at you furtively as you scanned his body for any sort of unease or pain he might still feel.

“Forget Nikolai. He can survive without you for a bit longer. And Tamar is still there to save his ass when it comes down to it.” You gave him a quick smile, taking his hand to give it a reassuring squeeze before leaving his side again. “The only thing that matters now is that you’re getting better. No matter whether that happens naturally or with the help of a Healer."

“I’d prefer it happening through the help of a Healer,” he muttered under his breath, scowling at the idea of having to spend another six weeks alone in the confines of a bed without being able to follow his usual duties.

“Well, an actual break would do you some good every once in a while. After everything that Nikolai put you through during the last few years, you should be eligible to take off at least a few months without him being allowed to say anything against it.”

“So eager to get rid of me now?”

A sharp snort escaped your mouth as you looked at him, the feigned pout on his lips making him look like a kicked puppy. Sometimes you had the suspicion that Nikolai’s inherent obnoxiousness was rubbing off on him.

“Believe it or not, I still like being around you. Even though you now gave me the added stress factor of having to keep a close eye on you when we’re around horses.” You walked over to one of the cushioned armchairs that decorated the corner of the room, leaning against it without actually sitting in it. “And If I really would be so eager to get rid of you I wouldn’t have agreed to play your nursemaid for the night. Especially not if I had known that I’d have to sleep in one of these forsaken chairs. Kirigin could have at least given us a double room.”

Tolya’s previously playful expression dropped. He had been so hung up on the fact that you’d be with him for the entire night that he had completely neglected to think about the logistics of his request. Had he known that you’d end up sleeping in a chair rather than a bed, he would have answered differently. 

An unwelcome thought clawed its way into his mind; he wanted to strangle it before it could properly manifest. Had he been Nikolai or Tamar he would have immediately sprung into action, offering you his bed, and probably also his heart while he was at it. But he wasn’t like either of them. He wasn’t brash, or romantic, or even socially intelligent. These attributes would be foreign on him, like a coat that was just a bit too big to fit correctly - contorting his actual silhouette to make him look like something he wasn’t.

“Are you okay?” you asked, a worried undertone present as you spoke. He quickly closed his mouth, straightening out his features to appear more collected than he felt before fixing his gaze on you again. You didn’t only sound worried, you also looked the part; eyebrows tightly knitted together while a distinct flash of concern gloomed in your eyes. “Are you still in pain? Should I get-”

“No, it’s- I’m fine, Y/N. I was just thinking…” 

“Care to share with the class?”

Even though everything inside him rebelled against opening his mouth and speaking his mind, his heart moved quicker than his mind could process. “Sleeping in an armchair can’t be comfortable. We could share the bed,” he trailed off, watching as you gawked at him like a fish on land. “If you want to, that is.” He felt the need to add that, even if it was only enough to calm his raging nerves.

“Tolya, you’re hurt. You need the rest more than I do. I can’t possibly do that in good conscience.” The room was filled to the brim with the nervousness exuding off of the two of you. It was almost sad to watch you two stumble over your own words, acting as if you were two little schoolchildren that both had a crush on the other.

Seemingly taking your refusal as a challenge, he awkwardly shuffled towards the edge of the bed, leaving the other side very clearly unoccupied. “Would that be enough space for you?” Your eyes darted from the comfortable-looking bed to the stiff armchair you had originally intended to sleep in. Much to your dismay, the bed did look more inviting than the chair could ever be.

“I really don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” was everything you could muster up to talk yourself out of it. A futile attempt at not giving in to the want clouding your coherent thoughts ever since being in the same room as Tolya.

“You wouldn’t.” You couldn’t. “Trust me, I don’t mind. I couldn’t let you sleep in a bloody chair with a good conscience either.” As if to underline his statement, he patted the empty space next to him.

With an exasperated sigh, you shook off the roots that had metaphorically formed around your ankles and moved to the offered side of the bed. You felt terribly awkward as you slid into bed right next to him. You two had never been this close. Not in this context.

“Thank you,” you whispered, laying flat on your back with your hands folded over your stomach. He mirrored your movement soon after, albeit a bit slower.

He wanted to say something - anything - to relieve some of the tension buzzing between you. But everything he could have said wouldn’t have improved the situation in the slightest. Just like a few hours ago in the woods, the silence was anything but silent.

“You really scared me earlier, do you know that?” you mumbled, breaking through the uncomfortable silence. Again, he thought. “This could have ended with way worse consequences than a fractured rib.”

“I know.” The words were heavy on his tongue, suffocating him. Up until the possibility that worse things could have happened had sounded like an impossible what-if situation to him. But judging by the honest fear in your voice, he really could have suffered a fate way worse than being forced to rest for an uncertain amount of time. The only feeling he could recall after his fall was the dizziness of laying on top of your lap and the intoxicating touch of your hands on his cheeks. He didn’t even think that he genuinely registered the pain in his chest until he felt the impulse to move. “Thankfully, we didn’t have to find out exactly how badly this could have ended.”

“Good. I honestly wouldn’t have known what to do if you hadn’t woken up. What I would do without you.” The last sentence was so unexpected that it almost knocked the air out of his lungs. You had your way of catching him off-guard with your words that was so brutal, but equally as stunning.

“You won’t have to that out either. Not if I can help it.” He wanted to tell you. He wanted to tell you so badly that breathing normally became more and more difficult. But he couldn’t. Not right now. And maybe not ever.

Silence fell over you again. It was such a stark contrast to the chaos raging inside his head that he barely noticed when you turned to lay on your side, facing him. He forced his eyes to close in hopes of at least getting a few full hours of sleep before he was pushed back into a world where it wasn’t normal for you to sleep next to him.

“Tolya?” you whispered, resisting the urge to nudge him. 

“Mhm?” he murmured, eyes still clamped shut.

He heard you shuffling next to him, probably to put a bit of distance between you and him. “I have to tell you something.” You shuffled again, the mattress giving in ever so slightly when you did. You were sitting up now. “This might be a terrible time to do so, but I have to get it off my chest.” That caught his attention enough to look at you again. You sounded so serious.

“Uhm, sure, go for it.” To say that he was concerned would have been an understatement. His whole body tensed, much to the dismay of his fractured ribcage.

“I don’t recall the last time when I was genuinely so afraid of someone I care about not being alright, but what I felt when you didn’t wake up at first was way worse than just being scared. I'm not sure how to tell you this, and I’ve been putting this off for quite some time now. But I don’t just care about you like how I care about the others. I think I'm in love with you." The last words tumbled from your lips in a hurry, so quickly that he almost didn’t comprehend what you were saying. He could have sworn that this was a fever dream. Maybe the medicine had kicked in way stronger than he expected it to. Maybe he was genuinely going mad. Whatever it was, it didn’t feel real.

You realised how badly timed this confession was as soon as you saw the completely befuddled expression that was plastered all over his face. Suddenly, sleeping on the armchair looked way more appealing than the shared bed. You felt like you were trapped in a mass of writhing quicksand, slowly but surely devouring you until there was nothing left to take. This was way more embarrassing than you had imagined.

“I, uhm, this was a mistake.” You felt your cheeks heat up, burning you until you couldn’t take it anymore. You needed to get out of this bed. Preferably also this room. “It would be best if I leave, I’m so sorry. I’ll go downstairs to call fo-” 

Tolya seized your wrist just as you wanted to throw the covers off of you. The rash movement caused him to wince slightly, but he didn’t let go of you. A thousand questions forced their way into his mind, and he could answer none of them. 

“Wait.” He didn’t know what else to say. But he knew that you needed to stay. “Are…are you being sincere?”

“What? Of course? Do you genuinely think I would make a joke out of something like that? Especially in our…current situation?” you questioned, absolutely bewildered that he thought you were joking around.

At this point, his face was beet red. He couldn’t tell where his embarrassment came from. Whether it was the fact that he had been tiptoeing around his feelings for months by now while you felt the same or the fact that he had the genuine audacity to ask you if you were kidding.

“Tolya, I can understand that this makes you uncom-”

“No, no, don’t!” His grip on your wrist tightened as you tried to wriggle yourself out of his grasp. That was his cue to say something. Anything if it made you stay.

“What do you mean?”

“I love you too,” he blurted, maybe a bit too quickly. But the fear of having to watch you leave made his heart act before his brain could.

“You do?”

“Do you genuinely think I would make a joke out of something like that?” He gave you a sheepish smile, his eyes gleaming with adoration. Saints, he really was in love. “I never said anything because I didn’t think you’d feel the same.”

He had intended to let go of your hand, giving you a moment to process what he had just said. You didn’t let him pull away though. Instead, you took his hand in your own, tightly squeezing it before allowing your lips to curl up into a wide smile.

“Sounds like we’re both idiots then.”

“At least we’re idiots in love.”

“But idiots nonetheless," you laughed, your heart thudding even louder when you heard Tolya join you.

Taglist:

Grishaverse fics in general: @yesshewrites1 @dal-light @treasureofmy-heart

Tolya Yul-Bataar: @juneberrie @horny4knives

[bonefall]

Larches

We're talking about Larix decidua, the European Larch, because lads I've got some choices to make.

Why? Because this little slut is a NON-NATIVE CONIFER.

AND A NASTY ONE AT THAT. You know how I mentioned in my Moorland research notes that conifers from nearby plantations have a nasty habit of spreading? Larches are the worst offender of that little quirk, and can be intentionally used to afforest an area to get it ready for new trees.

That's a good thing in certain areas-- damage from mines, intensive farming, and ecological disasters can be fixed with larch. Here in America and other parts of Europe it is a useful tool in conservation (especially in its native range)

But NOT in England. The larch was introduced in the 1600s for lumber purposes and gobbles up moorland like a glutton. It is a voracious pioneer species of low-nutrient soils, much like the two birches, scotch pine, and field maple.

The BB timeline, however, begins around the late 1800s with Hollyleaf's Century. Victorians. Not the ROOT of all evil, just a metastisis of it. The destruction of SkyClan's territory is somewhere in the 1960s.

So while it's not impossible that one of the two plantations encountered in the story are larch, I would like to keep it consistent. Larch plantations aren't the big bad in the modern era-- it's Sitka spruce in 1st place (accounting for a massive percentage of forest cover in the UK) and Douglas fir in a more distant second.

It's unlikely Clan cats would encounter larch, keeping in mind the history of both regions they live in, unless I make up a reason JUST for it to be here.

So I'm thinking about blasting it away in names, in line with my other ecological replacements like changing Hickorynose to Chicorynose. That would mean a major character, Larchkit, Larchface in StarClan, would become Lurchface. A lurch being the split between two major branches of a tree.

(Which makes perfect sense since his secret father, Appledusk (crabapple-sunset in clanmew), is named after a tree that likes to branch like that. Birches tend to grow straight.)

But before I nuke all mentions of larch from orbit, ARE there any objections?

[lindagoesmushrooming]

Are there particular species of trees edible mushrooms like growing near? For example, the way truffles are generally found under oak trees? (I hope I got that right!)

Yes, you are right. A symbiotic association between a fungus and a plant is called mycorrhiza. Different mushroom species will choose different trees, however, the type of soil plays a big part, too, and not every species is super picky. Some will grow under/on both deciduous and coniferous trees.

Examples:

Boletus edulis - spruce.

Boletus pinophilus - pine.

Boletus reticulatus (syn. B. aestivalis) - oak trees.

Boletus projectellus (syn. Boletellus projectellus) / Aureoboletus projectellus) - pine.

Boletus betulicola/ B.edulis var. betulicola - birch trees.

Leccinum albostipitatum - aspen.

Leccinum aurantiacum - aspen.

Leccinum versipelle (syn. L. testaceoscabrum) - birches and spruce.

Leccinum duriusculum - birches and aspen.

Leccinum vulpinum - pine.

Leccinum melaneum (syn. L. roseofractum) - birch trees.

Leccinum variicolor - birch trees.

Leccinum niveum (syn. L.holopus) - birch trees.

Leccinum crocipodium (syn. Leccinellum crocipodium) - oak trees.

Leccinum scabrum f.oxydabile - birch trees.

Leccinum aurantiacum f.quercinum - oak trees.

Suillus granulatus - pines.

Suillus luteus - pines.

Suillus flavidus - pines.

Suillus grevillei - larches.

Suillus viscidus (syn. S.aeruginascens) - larches.

Suillus cavipes (syn. Boletinus cavipes) - larches.

Suillus variegatus - pines.

Suillus bovinus - pines.

Lactarius deliciosus - pines.

Lactarius deterrimus - spruce.

Lactarius trivialis - spruce and birches.

Lactarius camphoratus - spruce.

Lactarius torminosus - spruce and birches.

Lactarius scrobiculatus - spruce.

Lactarius necator (syn. Lactarius turpis) - spruce and birches.

Lepista nuda - spruce and linden trees.

Tricholomopsis rutilans - pine and spruce.

Cantharellus cibarius - spruce, pine or birch

Sarcodon squamosus - pine trees.

Gyromitra esculenta - pine trees.

Coprinus comatus - grasslands.

[batnbreakfast]

What's your favourite tree?

(species or specimen, dealer's choice)

🌲🌳🌴🍃🍁🍂

Ohhhhhhh… thanks for the ask! 😊

My No. 1 favourite tree is clearly:

Beside my fondness for Monty Python and the loooooooong standing tradition between my brother and I to point at random trees and say “The Larch” in grave voices, I especially love all fruit bearing trees!

They are pretty

and tasty:

I was clearly meant to live further south, because there’s unfortunately no chance to get my favourites to grow at our allotment.

[warriors-rewritten-chaos]

Warrior Cats Prefixes- L

I had a WC Name Generator on Perchance that I made but I don't seem to have access anymore, so I'm remaking it here as just a simple list. The definitions used are the ones that Clan cats have for those things, and thus are the origins of the names. Definitions used are whatever I found when I googled it.

Laburnum-: "[noun] a small European tree that has hanging clusters of yellow flowers succeeded by slender pods containing poisonous seeds"

Lagoon-: "[noun] a small freshwater lake near a larger lake or river"

Lake-: "[noun] a large body of water surrounded by land"

Lamb-: "[noun] a young sheep"

Lamprey-: "[noun] an eel-like aquatic jawless vertebrate that has a sucker mouth with horny teeth and a rasping tongue"

Lapis-: "[noun] a deep-blue metamorphic rock used as a semi-precious stone"

Larch-: "[noun] a deciduous conifer tree native to the cooler regions of the northern hemisphere, where they are found in lowland forests in the high latitudes, and high in mountains further south"

Lark-: "[noun] a small ground-dwelling songbird, typically with brown streaky plumage, a crest, and elongated hind claws, and with a song that is delivered in flight"

Larkspur-: "[noun] an annual Mediterranean plant of the buttercup family, which bears spikes of spurred flowers"

Laurel-: "[noun] any of a number of shrubs and other plants with dark green glossy leaves; [noun] an aromatic evergreen shrub related to the bay tree, several kinds of which form forests in tropical and warm countries"

Lavender-: "[noun] a member of the genus of 47 known species of perennial flowering plants in the mints family, Lamiaceae. It is native to the Old World, primarily found across the drier, warmer regions of mainland Eurasia"

Leaf-: "[noun] a flattened structure of a higher plant, typically green and blade-like, that is attached to a stem directly or via a stalk"

Leech-: "[noun] an aquatic or terrestrial annelid worm with suckers at both ends"

Lemming-: "[noun] a small, short-tailed, thickset rodent related to voles"

Leopard-: "[noun] a large, solitary cat that has a yellowish-brown or brown coat with black spots and usually hunts at night"

Leptonia-: "[noun] a genus of small and medium sized pink-spored mushrooms"

Lettuce-: "[noun] a cultivated plant of the daisy family, with edible leaves"

Lichen-: "[noun] a plantlike organism that typically forms a low crusty, leaflike, or branching growth on rocks, walls, and trees"

Light-: "[noun] the natural agent that stimulates sight and makes things visible; [adj] (of a color) pale"

Lightning-: "[noun] the occurrence of a natural electrical discharge of very short duration and high voltage between a cloud and the ground or within a cloud, accompanied by a bright flash and typically also thunder"

Lilac-: "[noun] a Eurasian shrub or small tree of the olive family, that has fragrant violet, pink, or white blossoms; [noun] a pale pinkish-violet color; [adjective] of a pale pinkish-violet color"

Lily-: "[noun] a bulbous plant with large trumpet-shaped, typically fragrant, flowers on a tall, slender stem"

Linden-: "[noun] a deciduous tree with heart-shaped leaves and fragrant yellowish blossoms, native to north temperate regions"

Linnet-: "[noun] a mainly brown and gray finch with a reddish breast and forehead"

Lion-: "[noun] a large tawny-colored cat that lives in prides, found in Africa and northwestern India. The male has a flowing shaggy mane and takes little part in hunting, which is done cooperatively by the females"

Little-: "[adj] small in size, amount, or degree"

Lizard-: "[noun] a reptile that typically has a long body and tail, four legs, movable eyelids, and a rough, scaly, or spiny skin"

Loach-: "[noun] a small elongated bottom-dwelling freshwater fish with several barbels near the mouth"

Loam-: "[noun] a fertile soil of clay and sand containing humus"

Lobelia-: "[noun] a chiefly tropical or subtropical plant of the bellflower family"

Lobster-: "[noun] a large marine crustacean with a cylindrical body, stalked eyes, and the first of its five pairs of limbs modified as pincers"

Locust-: "[noun] a large and mainly tropical grasshopper with strong powers of flight. It is usually solitary, but from time to time there is a population explosion, and it migrates in vast swarms that cause extensive damage to crops"

Log-: "[noun] a part of the trunk or a large branch of a tree that has fallen or been cut off"

Long-: "[adj] measuring a great distance from end to end"

Loon-: "[noun] any of several large birds (genus Gavia of the family Gaviidae) of Holarctic regions that feed on fish by diving and have their legs placed far back under the body for optimal locomotion underwater"

Lost-: "[adj] unable to find one's way, not knowing one's whereabouts"

Lotus-: "[noun] any of a number of large water lilies"

Loud-: "[adj] producing or capable of producing much noise, easily audible"

Luck-: "[noun] success or failure apparently brought by chance rather than through one's own actions; [noun] chance considered as a force that causes good or bad things to happen; [noun] something regarded as bringing about or portending good or bad things"

Lucky-: "[adj] having, bringing, or resulting from good luck"

Lupine-: "[noun] a plant of the pea family with deeply divided leaves and tall colorful tapering spikes of flowers"

Lynx-: "[noun] a wild cat with yellowish-brown fur (sometimes spotted), a short tail, and tufted ears, found chiefly in the northern latitudes of North America and Eurasia"

[violettesiren]

I don’t know when it began, the will to sort moment from moment, to hold on by saying I can’t care about the red maple stripped of color, I choose the rain disappearing at my feet. I choose this friend to love, the deep blacks of summer. Abandon the rest. I am unable to picture anything so whole it doesn’t crush what’s missing. Is it my body across many seasons turning already a little to bone, or the slow stars precisely set in depths so vast the sky is just a dome within falling domes. How is the snowfield scattered with dry leaves already a pavilion of twilight. And my arms just a motion in the great soundlessness of sky. I have traded childhood exuberance for fragile acts. I will slip into corner tables just to watch people speak. I love the way they lean into each other or stretch back with the bluespun languor of an evening, lights strung up on the wood ceiling to mimic the lift of stars. There are no empty hopes. But knowing what to hope for is steady work. What was ever so important to you you left your daily life to heed it? I don’t even know what breathes in the dark hills outside this town. Some mornings the roads almost float, the weeds in the fields wiry fistfuls of sun. What were you looking out for? What did you dismiss along the way. because we live we are granted names, streams, shocks of heat, murmuring summers. All the days you have ever breathed are swallows shooting between trees. When the wind pushes branches in and out of shade it is an opening, as every small gesture toward another person is incomprehensibly alive. Will you be part of the stoneless passage? When life starts to take things away will you grow very still beneath the larch or feel the slow flight of birds across your body. The bright key of morning. The bay fanned with foam.

The Infinities by Joanna Klink

[omegasmileyface]

The Forest, the Trees, the Fire I: CATALYST

Chapter 9

chapter 9.......... Authors: @ectolemonades, @attackradish, and me Artist: @/crunchysart

For the full characters list, word count, content warning, and a directory to all the currently available chapters and related content, see the Table of Contents!

full summary: The world outside of Amity Park has learned about the existence of ghosts, and the time for first impressions has arrived. The delicate public consciousness could be disrupted by the slightest ripple. Danny Fenton is being ripped apart from all sides, and when he finally breaks, the ripples will be very big indeed.

warnings: none

words: 2227

AO3 link

first chapter

previous chapter

next chapter

===

January 23, 2007

Tucker looked at the note again to avoid having to look at the stained concrete that made up every corner of the building. The yellow paper was smooth and almost white at the edge from his rubbing it, but the ink was still intact in the center.

"Really wanna help ghosts? Join the magic defense squad. Tuesday, 6 pm, 1042 Larch St."

It was the most goth piece of paper Paulina had ever handed him, but to be fair, it was also the only piece of paper Paulina had ever handed him.

Why not? Magic was real, he was fully familiar. It certainly could be used to help ghosts. And most damningly, if his classmates started trying to use it without someone like him there to watch them, things would get real weird, real fast.

Plus his mom nearly jumped for joy when he said he was staying out after school! So that's good.

And now, here he was, 45 minutes early to a high school cult meeting, with the freshly re-stolen scepter of Duul Aman in his backpack just in case, loathing every second of his day.

…Maybe 45 minutes was too much. He left his PlayFriend at home. Time to memorize the cracks in the floor.

The door opened and shut with more echo than the tiny building should have been capable of.

"Oh! Tucker?" Jazz Fenton entered with two entire bookbags and a clipboard.

"Woah, what are you doing here?"

"Aren't they doing that 'magic defense' thing here?"

Tucker frowned. "How do you know about that? I thought it was just between high school students."

"Some regulars at the Skulk 'n' Lurk are joining because they have experience with occult literature. Spike texted me because she figured I'd have some experience."

"Okay."

Jazz set her bags on the floor and laid out her jacket to sit on.

"…And do you?"

"Have experience?"

"Yeah."

Jazz grunted. "I guess as much as ghost business can be considered magic. I've never done any spells or read any real magic books or anything, but… I don't know. I read a bit out of Showenhower's tomes back when I wanted to publish on him. Talk to Dora once in a blue moon."

"Well, Jasmine Fenton, we've reviewed your resume and found that you have at least three times as much relevant work experience as anybody else in Amity Park. You're hired!"

She snickered.

They fell into a calm silence.

Next time the door banged open, it was half an hour before the meeting and it came with the sound of Goth music on a speaker. "Oh, man, are we back to being at the center of everything that goes on around here?"

Tucker almost tore his invitation. "Oh my God, Sam!"

"Yeah, yeah. Hello again, Ghost Getters of Amity Park. Your hero is back, or whatever."

Along with a backpack as big as Tucker's little sister and her portable CD player, Sam was carrying a few folding chairs under her arm. She mercifully set some up.

Jazz stood to help. "Didn't you move away?"

"Well, yeah, but not because I wanted to. What about you, weren't you off in Pennsylvania?"

Jazz looked away. "Home seemed more important than college for a bit." 

Sam nodded. "Yeah, I could see that about now. But yeah, I got detention for trying to rekindle the pro-ghost movement on my first day—"

Tucker grimaced. "Oh, man, do they have Guys in White out there, too?"

Sam dropped her bag on the ground, and it sounded like there could have been a corpse in there.

"No, that's the weird thing! Let me finish. I was trying to get a good discussion going about ghost rights, right? And a couple kids were saying confidently that ghosts couldn't think, or whatever, but most of them just didn't care. Like, they'd never thought about it before. They just ignore the fact that this whole species is out there and nobody has decided whether they're allowed to exist or not."

"Huh," said Jazz. "I guess it would be easy to consider it none of your business if you don't see ghosts every day."

"So why'd you get in trouble?"

Sam grunted. "I guess because I wouldn't shut up even when people stopped listening. I thought it was relevant to the class, since we were talking about psychology, but the teacher didn't like it when I 'tried to stir things up'." Sam broke out the finger quotes and deep voice. She must have been pissed about it. "So, yeah!" She smiled wryly and crossed her arms. "In Littleriver, Michigan, they don't silence you for thinking ghosts are people, they silence you for thinking ghosts."

The room was silent as the teenagers contemplated this. At the heart of ghost activity in the living world, it was easy to not notice how the rest of the world was reacting to news.

"And yeah. I ran away a few days ago. Hit up some keepers I knew at the Skulk 'n' Lurk, I've been staying with them. Heard that somebody from the class wanted to use magic to help ghosts, came so I could maybe keep them from accidentally killing us all."

Tucker tapped the legs on his chair and listened to the ting! reverberate around the room. "Yep," he said into the silence. "That's pretty much why we're here, too."

Sam pulled out a book. "Well, then. Maybe we can even get them to do some good, if all three of us are here."

They didn't say anything else. Tucker couldn't force any more words out of his mouth. Do you forgive me? How are you doing? Can I forgive you? How's your grandma been? Do you understand why I never called? Did you know Lola's got a recital next week?

No. He was choking, and he figured Sam might have been, too.

Next time the door opened it was two minutes late, and came with the clamor of a quarter of a high school class and some extra goths.

Paulina quickly found the center of the room, never making eye contact with the three who were already there. "Alright, everyone! Set up a chair and gather your resources! We've got an agenda to set!"

===

Three days later, in the same grungy building, Jazz was perched over one of the Amity Park Public Library's myriad ominous unmarked hardcovers when something else crossed her mind.

"Has anybody heard from Valerie recently?" she asked. 

Sam and Tucker both paused in their research to realize that, no, they hadn't. Sam hadn't heard a lick since she moved. Valerie hadn't been at the Nasty Burger, either.

"Not since lunch last Friday," said Tucker.

Sam had to wonder what things had come to, that they could go so long without seeing one of their friends and not even notice.

"I asked to meet her on Wednesday so I could add her to the comm system," said Tucker. "She hasn't responded."

Jazz closed the tome and folded her knees up under her chin thoughtfully. "Do you think she—"

A shocked cheer came up from the other side of the room. Star was carefully holding up her laptop so Mikey and Dale could read something on it. Mikey looked like he was going to burst.

Sam climbed to her feet to look. "What is it?"

Star's eyes were wide. "The ghosts are standing up for themselves."

"Not only that!" Mikey grabbed the laptop to show Sam. "Phantom wrote the notice! He's some kind of ghost king!"

Sam stopped. He's what? Oh, God. Danny, what have you gotten up to without us there for you?

Jazz put a hand on her shoulder. She must have looked mad. She shook it off.

Tucker slid around her and grabbed Star's laptop. Sam tried to look while he read, but he twisted out of the way. Asshole.

After a few seconds, Tucker rubbed his hand over his mouth and inhaled. That was never a good sign. He only did that when he was trying to figure out how to process something without turning it into a joke.

"He's signed as 'High King of the Infinite Realms'. And some other stuff too. He's said that ghosts need a voice among the living, and if they don't get it they'll—"

His voice cracked.

"They'll go to war."

Holy shit. That didn't sound like Danny one little bit. Something was wrong.

Jazz bit her hand softly.

"Seems fair enough," said Kwan, who was stationed over a phonebook on "find people we can interview" duty. "We can't get their perspective if they don't get a chance to talk, and the government would have no clue what to expect from a military move if they, y'know, didn't say it."

"It's way too violent!" said Dale. "America's not gonna want to give 'em a stage if they come out swingin' like that. You're supposed to go in with, like, open peace if you want peace back. If you go in with threats everybody's gonna be scared of everybody else."

"Well…" said Monica, who was on plant use research. "We really didn't know anything about what ghosts are up to in the Zone. We didn't even know if they had a military— well, okay. We knew, 'cause we've seen it. But, like, the government hasn't seen it. And they already know what to expect when they're dealing with other countries. It is diplomatic to say 'hey, JSYK, here's what we're gonna do and how we're gonna do it if you don't like our terms."

"Isn't that pretty much mutually-insured destruction?" Brittany said.

"Assured?" Monica suggested.

"Yeah. Like, only keeping everybody from fighting because they'd all die if they did."

Tucker finally spoke up, shakily. "Well, he said they didn't want to. So that's gonna have to be good enough. We'll just have to hope they get a chance to talk."

Jazz was looking at Sam suspiciously. Probably expecting her to argue with someone. Well, Sam was still figuring out how she felt about this, and she didn't have classes with these people anymore, so who cared if she got involved in their debates or not?

"So Phantom became some kind of royalty since we last saw him?" Dash mumbled, looking up at the ceiling like it might have an answer.

"The High King!" Mikey said. "Whatever that means."

Ginny from Skulk 'n' Lurk joined in. "Could be like that guy who took over a couple years ago. He claimed to be a 'the' ghost king. Maybe Phantom took over from him."

"Or he was royalty the whole time!" said Paulina. "Could have been hiding it for some reason. Or avoiding it."

"Then how could the big viking guy be the ghost king, Pauli? Huh?"

"I don't know! It was just an idea, Jesus. Maybe they're related."

Sam finally shook herself off and dragged Jazz and Tucker outside while conversation shifted to whether it could have been a different "Phantom".

"He's in trouble."

"No duh, Sam."

Jazz tried to get under the eave to keep out of the snow. "Could he have been lying about the Ghost King thing?"

"God, probably not," said Tucker. He scuffed the gravel with his boot. "He's always getting into stuff that's too big to handle."

Sam regretted coming out here. It was fucking cold. "How long do you think that's been going on?"

Nobody had an answer.

"Well, obviously we've gotta help him," she said.

Jazz nodded. "As far as I can tell, though, all the portals are gone."

"Crap," said Tucker. "Does anybody have a way to get in touch with Wulf? Or… uh… any other ghost?"

"No, sorry."

"Well!" Sam clapped her hands. "We'll just have to put all this magic research to use, then."

They all came back inside to a truly riveting discussion about ghost surnames. Sam couldn't focus on her research for the rest of the evening.

Danny, why couldn't you stay safe, just this once?

===

Sammy,

Look at you, running away like this! Just like your mother and just like me. I knew you wouldn’t back down from the things you believe in. Hopefully your mother comes to her senses with all of this nonsense and realizes the apple doesn’t fall very far from the tree. I swear, that woman needs to take the stick out of her ass.

It was so silly of your parents to up and move, what with my condition and the roots our family has grown in Amity Park over the years. Your friends back home will be so happy to see you. I always liked having them around the house, and I know you’ll be safe with them. It’s impressive how smart you young ones are. Back in my day, ghosts were only in stories we told each other at night. I always believed in them a little more than that, though.

I hope this will remind you how loved you are and that at least one person in this family believes in you. You know I don’t have long left, bubbeleh. I may not get to see all the things you accomplish. I hope I don’t become a ghost, but if I do I’ll be by your side helping you win this fight. Don’t forget how much your grandma loves you.

May God bless and keep you, Grandma Ida

[owlespresso]

The Tide I

sephiroth/reader. au. i've been working on this since summer. its layer parts are not complete, yet, but i'm very proud of how it's come out so far. i hope you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it.

Jenova, goddess of Death. She makes her hearth in the icy north. Her influence is felt across the gelisol plateaus and throughout the vast network of cave systems, which lay underneath the region’s vast peaks like a cluster of malformed veins.

A land of both feast and famine.

—

The Roaming Horror is a hulking thing–a sometimes creature, sometimes man who churns like storm clouds over the northern pine forests–where The Scourge began and where it currently stays. The skies are different here. An unearthly, pinkish hue begins here and stretches unto the horizons. The sun is a suggested, blurred mass of yellow that wobbles at its edges. Its radiant light is weak and watery. But the rest of the cosmos–they are louder than they are anywhere else. Brighter, scorching everywhere uncovered by the evergreen canopies with unearthly, silver light. 

The moon is never visible. Some say he reached up with his massive arm and yanked it from the sky, clutched it between those massive, black talons he has in place of fingers. They say he ripped it from its celestial sacredness, pulled it from where it sits far in space, made it mortal and real. He swallowed it whole, not bothering to gnash it into smaller, more digestible pieces. Which he easily could have, with any of his many sharp-toothed maws.

The people of the far north are hardened. They see him in both their nightmares and in their days. He exists eternally in their peripheries. He is every writhing shadow, every groan of the tree branches beneath the sub arctic winds, every blighted crop. Every unfortunate victim of The Scourge as they make the harrowing southward journey all alone. He is on them, in them as they struggle through slabs of heavy snow, desperate to reach the Greystone Outpost. 

That grand, towering structure, carved into the cliff sides on either side of the thin road. Those arching, grandiose monuments and their holy hearths which mark the breadth of his territory, the first point which he cannot, for some reason, reach. There are none who know what confines him to the Yuletide, or at least none who will tell her.

In truth, you, the Good Hunter of the Stygian Scholars, doubt that any of the locals are privy to the truth. Akadaemia Thanamis’s greatest scholars have only the faintest idea of it, so the rural zealots that comprise a wide majority of the population will have nary a clue. They're resilient to live in  desolate conditions such as these. Unflinching and resourceful in the face of the monstrous beasts and strange skies and litany of natural phenomena that plagues them at every step. Grizzled housewives shuck oysters on the stoops of their houses, hands calloused and forearms wrought with hardship muscle, and idly discuss the fingers their lost ones have lost to frostbite. They tut with disapproval as their children stumble back inside, dragging snow over stone and wooden floors. 

They shelter in homes built of brown-grey larch, thick oakum crammed between the gaps in the logs. Not even an inch of space can be left unfortified in such deadly cold. But there is nowhere to truly hide from the everlasting winter. Even the most insulated homes bear a lingering chill.

Snowflakes stick stubbornly to your eyelashes as you wade through thick, unbroken snow. The village of Yakaltaan is swathed in matutine fog as you take your leave, beginning a brief journey further north.

The Hoary Estuary is where the continent’s thickest river meets the Greybrine Sea. Choppy, black waters sweep gravel to and from the flat shore. Caves carved into the stone cliff sides harbor any number of horrific animals and beasts, but none, save the Roaming, has been spotted as of late. The fishermen tell you their harrowing tales, describing His massive form slinking smoothly from the depths, wispy strands of silver hair curling and squirming despite the stillness of the air. Every slim strand scintillating underneath the washed out sunlight. None know why he ventures out until the steep seas, but some questions are perhaps better left unanswered.

How unfortunate it is that your very job is to answer such troubling queries. You, the strongest of the Stygian Scholars, second only to the Martial Arbiter, a grizzled woman who clings to your position with ungodly skill, tactical wit and even ungodlier strength. She, bound to her position of authority, deigned to send the Good Hunter in her place, whilst wryly pondering the possibility of retiring. Dozens of capable individuals would clamber for the position, but most eyes would turn to you as the prime candidate, a daunting prospect you would rather not contemplate at the moment.

For the brisk sea breeze so easily scratches at your cheeks and steals away your attention. You situate yourself atop one of the steep ledges, perched inconspicuously where the long, yellowed strands of grass hide you from most prying gazes. The corners of your Glamor Prism are blunt at the edges as you clutch it, calling upon its power. A translucent sheen veils your body as you settle down, preparing to stare at the inlet for as many hours as it’ll take for him to arrive.

It’s dramatically difficult to tell how much time passes. The sun’s position is clearest during sunrise and sunset, but during the day it remains ambiguous. The skies above remain tinged with watery gold waves that shift and dissolve with inordinate ease. In the distance, they meet the dark waters, not a ship nor a harbor visible upon the horizon. No sea birds make their nests here, either. And no seals flop upon the sands.

Your joints grow stiff as time crawls by. It must take at least an hour for him to break the surface of the low waves. 

You feel it before you see it, a blip on the very edge of your proverbial radar. It’s surfacing at a sluggish rate. His presence is a physical lump in your chest, an open spot of void that drags all energy in the vicinity towards it.

Its wet hair, a curtain of it, frames his face and surrounds his torso as he emerges—smooth yet weighed by water. He is as immense as they said, easily standing at eight films, twice your size. Likely more. His arms are long and his flesh is black and slippery from the middle of his forearms down, like orca hide. His hands, if they can be called back, possess jagged talons instead of human fingers. Yet, the most prominent part of him is the shadows which swathe him. They roll from him like vapor, peel away to dance like dandelion seeds on a summer breeze. They obscure most of his lower half, but also form some sort of construct behind him that you cannot quite make out.

The front of him is all you have, at the moment. You pull your journal open and begin to feverishly take note, only glancing down to the pages as you center your focus on observing him. His face is human, but there remains a sense of eerie perfection to his proportions. Silver lashes frame green irises, his pupils thin and slitted. Faint lines, almost like scar tissue, begin a few centimeters from the corners of his lips, extending until they’re hidden by that curtain of wild hair. 

His hair, which seems to dry the instant it is free of the water. It jumps to life, dances and flows despite the notable lack of any breeze. Between the strands, you swear you spots a glimpse of green, but it’s gone before you can squint to get a closer look.

He ambles away from the shore, beginning the long trek inland. The path ahead of him is nestled between two steep ledges, allowing you to look upon him from above. Though you’re loathe to move, you’re forced to slither between the long strands of straw-like grass to continue looking at him. And you are rewarded for your efforts, now able to see clearly the long weight he drags behind him. It’s a strange, elongated shape that stirs the gravel behind him, attached to the back of his shoulder, yet unmoving.

A piece of it comes loose, still wet, and is left behind. And only then do you see it for what it truly is—a feather, attached to a wing. The limb itself is mangled, warped and flipped upside down shortly after where the ligaments connect it to his body. It’s useless as it is now, but it’s astonishing to think such a fearsome creature could pose such a threat while injured.

You’re so caught up in the peculiarity of it that you nearly don’t notice the writhing bundle of shadow that gathers on the opposite side of his body. Several long appendages—tentacles, you realize with a certain dread—sprout. They press and roll against the ground, perhaps compensating for the dead weight? You squint over the side of the ledge as he passes fully underneath it, casting a glance to the back of his head. The hair, radiant and endless, parts to reveal a single, green eye, held there by the strands by some unknowable force. It’s staring straight at you.

A sudden stroke of panic gives way to animal instinct. Your heart nearly stops, nervous sweat erupting across your brow. Your blood goes cold and swoons in your ears as you flatten yourself to the floor and scuttle back into the haven of the long grass, biting your lip so hard it nearly bleeds. You curl up. You don’t breathe until your lungs are crumbling and howling for air.

Nothing approaches you. That strange, nauseating pressure eventually lets up, clearing your nasal passages as another salty gale rolls in, rustling your makeshift hiding place. The threat is no longer present, yet you remain still for several more moments, listening to the crash of the tides against the gravel shore, the screeching of seabirds as they dive for fish in the shallows. Odd, given how none nest here.

You cower underneath that wild grass for longer than you have to, and pointedly do not imagine how your mentor and peers would reach to you hiding like a muskrat under cloudy swamp waters. 

The muskrat uses its unique skill set to evade predators, hiding amongst the abundant aquatic plants and stone structures that populate its native habitat. You are simply doing the same, employing strategy to survive in this brutal, hellish landscape. Besides, your mission isn’t to engage. It’s to observe. 

To stray too close to the beast himself would be to stray away from the shallows, where the undertow lay in wait.

[oldbutnotyetwise]

A Mother Like a Tamarack Tree

     So I was driving along some country roads recently and as I often do I was admiring the Tamarack Trees located at the side of the road and deep into the nearby Forests.  That’s when it hit me, my Mom was like a Tamarack Tree.  Now before you think I was driving under the influence of some hallucinogenic substance, let me assure you that I wasn’t.    

     In case you are not familiar with the Tamarack Tree let me give you a short education on them.  The Tamarack is also known as the American Larch, Eastern Larch, Red Larch or Black Larch.  Some also know them as Lodge Pole Pines.  The Tamaracks were favoured by the Indigenous People who liked that tall straight trunk and would use them when building their lodges.  They are a native tree to Eastern, Central and Northern Canada, and are in some of the northern states.   The Tamaracks can grow 10 - 20 meters, and are a deciduous tree.  They have very soft needles that turn yellow in mid to late October and then fall from the tree leaving what looks like a dead tree.       

     When I moved up north I was not familiar with the Tamarack, but it quickly became one of my favourite trees after a visiting friend told me about them.  We have several on our property and they tend to just fade into the background except for a few weeks in the fall when they become the star of the show with their needles turning a bright yellow or gold colour.  After a few weeks the needles fall away and you are left with a sad looking tree, the kind that Charlie Brown would bring home from the Christmas Tree lot.  Then after a long winter, the Tamarack suddenly eases back to life in the spring with its green needles reforming and filling out offering shelter to all the spring birds.     

     My Mom was born Nora Christine Goldsworthy in St. Catharines, her parents being Bill and Louise, she was the fourth and last child after Vince, Helen and Mary.  Vince became an Engineer and worked for G.M. while Helen and Mary both pursued nursing careers.  My Mom became a secretary and worked in the Welfare Department at the city.  It was here that she met my Dad who also worked for the city, and one thing led to another with them getting married and having two boys before having a girl, each five years apart.  I would be that middle child.  My Mom left the city and became a stay at home Mom raising her kids while my Dad supported the family working for the city as a bus driver     

     I was always a people watcher, even as. Kid.  It was quite apparent that in watching my parents that my Dad always wanted to be the centre of attention, the star of the show, while my Mom was quite happy hanging around in the background as the proverbial wallflower.       

     I suspect my Mom came from a cold British upbringing with her Mom running the family with an iron fist, while her Dad quietly went about doing his thing, always with a hand rolled cigarette between his lips.  I am sure that there were times that I visited and spent hours with my grandfather without him saying a single word, just quietly working away and letting me tag along and watch.  So I am guessing that my Mom took after her Dad, I now wish that I had asked her about her relationship with her parents.       

     My Mom was kind and patient, always cooking and baking, always having time to play board games with her children.  In growing up and thinking about my Mom, I think for the most part she was happy, but I think she took that happiness from raising her children,  It was almost like my parents lived separate lives, Dad always out working, taking all the overtime that he could get, Mom at home looking after the house and kids.     

     I tend to think of my Mom as being rather meek and mild, but I can think of two occasions where the Mother Bear came out.  The first one happened when I am guessing I might have been seven or eight, walking home from school I had cut around behind a local garage just wandering and exploring like kids do.  Suddenly a mechanic from the garage grabbed me and dragged me inside the garage where a collection of grown men were screaming at me accusing me of having started a fire behind the garage a few days earlier.  I had no idea what they were talking about and eventually they let me go and I continued my way home in tears and told my Mom what had happened.  She loaded me into the car, we drove to that gas station where my Mom took me inside and then stood there berating those grown men who had just minutes earlier terrorized me.  I remember being so amazed that my meek and mild mother could have a collection of grown men hanging their heads down afraid to look her in the eye.       

     The second time happened one day after my Mom had dropped me off at school, I’m guessing I was in Grade 4 or 5.  She dropped me off in the teacher’s parking lot and I walked the ten or so feet and entered the school yard through the gate.  Well apparently someone had seen me in the teacher’s parking lot and I got hauled down to the Principal’s office and was disciplined for having been in the teacher’s parking lot.  I got home that night and told my Mom and she went to war, I think she called every trustee on the school board and within a week a new entrance for students had been added to avoid any problems in the future.       

     Those two examples are the exception, otherwise my Mom would have probably not been noticed.  Well the exception to that was when I was listing my house for sale.  I had photos of my parents when they were both around twenty,  framed and on my living room wall.  I remember our Real Estate Agent being really quite distracted by my Mom’s photo, he thought she looked like a Movie Star.  Needless to say, sharing that comment with my Mom made her a very happy lady.       So my Mom went through her life keeping a low profile, staying in the background much like the Tamaracks do all through the summer.  Now as I said in the fall the Tamaracks become this stunning beautiful tree.  In the fall of her life my Mom came down with cancer again, except this time it wasn’t a fight that she was going to win.  As you might imagine I really was worried how this timid little mouse was going to deal with this.  Much to my surprise, like the Tamarack my Mom became a super star in the fall of her life.  She faced up to her cancer like a true warrior until she could fight no more, then she said she was ready and without fear she left this world calmly, peacefully and knowing that she was well loved.  She inspired me then, and she still inspires me to this day.     

     I suspect that there are many more people around us who are like the Tamarack Tree, they just kind of blend into the background until one day they suddenly transform themselves into something that we didn’t expect.       

     How many people do you know who are like the Tamarack Tree? 

[notesfrommyvalley]

How we graze our woods…

Now considering we try to find a good balance between food for us and nature thriving, you would think we would keep our livestock out of our woods for a ‘easy win’ for biodiversity.

We don’t. Mainly because both the woods and the cows seem to do better when they get to meet each other.

We are careful though.

So on the farm we have four different type of wood grazing going on here.

1. Summer grazed

2. Winter grazed

3. Moorland edge set stocked regeneration

4. Ungrazed ‘new’ woods

We have wet woods and field edge woods that get summer grazed. This is where the cows (the sheep come into this later) graze a field at a time, in a two days graze, over 30 days rest pattern, we don’t have a high intensity mob graze system, we aim to leave a lot behind, including sapling’s and scrub, taking the cows out of the wood/field before they can possibly eat everything. We find the woods are bliss for cows in the summer heat, and that they browse the trees but regrowth and new trees survive, especially where the bramble has a foothold. (The cattle browse on the bramble to, but generally later in the year when the saplings are less lush and tasty.)

The winter grazed wood is a larger wood, historically coppiced and with very thin soil due to old open tin mines and rubble heaps. A small bunch of cattle get let into here and left all winter. They get fed hay and have the fun of it all for months. They love it. The wood gets less browse as the leaves have dropped, and most of the understory is in winter mode. There is a lack of understory throughout this wood except where we have started to coppice it again. The lack of light seems to be the main inhibitor to growth in the summer.

The moorland edge woods are natural regen. We have photos of the moor clear of trees, but a reduction (not clearance) of sheep has allowed a gradual creep up the hill of the birch and oak wood. The sheep graze in it, especially in hard weather, and as it’s so airy the lichen thrives. We will just let it get on with its expansion up to the point of the mass of archeology (which we have to keep a bit clearer, so burn every 6 yrs or so), keeping the sheep numbers steady (100 Hebridean sheep mouths inc lambs mixed with cattle and ponies over 200acres including open moor and gorse scrub)

The ‘new’ ungrazed wood has been shut off from grazing for years. It was planted larch in the 70s (drought didn’t help it establish…) and now it’s a lot of Hazel and poor dying young ash. The understory is very poor, too dark, but it’s fairly full of fungi so interesting in its way. I feel it needs a burst of pigs and that as the ash dies the understory will improve. (I can’t find a photo right now… sorry)

We also have corners of ‘never grazed wood’ odd bits where the rocks keep the cattle or sheep or coppice men out, I will do a comparison in the summer to show the understory.

None of this is perfect, but it adds up to a huge amount of very varied biodiversity and a fair number of happy cattle and sheep. We have natural regrowth of trees of all kinds, from beech to oak to masses of Hazel. We have ragged edges to our fields, not clear line where the woods stop and the pasture starts. Wood pasture as well. It’s a mess, but it’s also a farm and it grows so much food for us and all the other creatures that live here…

[bonefall]

So sorry but please ignore my last ask, i somehow managed to send it before being finished! Finally worked up the courage to send in some clanmew translations of some of my ocs names :D

Pinefall -> Nyypfew Nyyp=pine needles few=falling Pine needles falling I couldn't find a word for the scots pine tree, but her name is supposed to invoke the image of falling pine needles anyways, so it works perfectly!

Oh weird, I guess Scotch Pine never ended up in the Lexicon! Oops! That's so strange because it's one of my favorite Clanmew words and native UK trees. It's just Bes.

Well, while I'm at it, lemmie get some words up for some pines, plus Lurchface's new prefix since we nuked larches from orbit <3

Pine = Kuh IMPORTANT: This word does not just refer to the 3 famous native conifers! This is any tree or bush that primarily bears needles! This is a generic term that includes plants like rosemary, yew, the detested sitka spruce, horsetail, and even firmoss!

Scotch Pine (pinus sylvestrus) = Bes Literally the most beautiful tree in the UK don't @ me. Has a sweeping, gorgeous red trunk, sprawling like an acacia, which grows best on poor soils. Pollen is EXTREMELY important as an HRT herb for Molly-to-Tom warriors. Pinestar's name is Bes-shai, for his gorgeous red coat.

Spruce (Picea sitchensis) = Gamnyyr There are few things more beautiful than a sitka spruce in its native range... THIS IS NOT ITS NATIVE RANGE. It is a BLIGHT. A CURSE. The moor-gobbler, the wildlife-starver. The animals of the UK HAVE NOT EVOLVED TO HANDLE THIS THING. It was the uncanny invader that replaced the SkyClan forest, an eerily quiet place in the old Forest only broken by the distant sound of human saws. It is also the plant that can be processed to create the incredibly dangerous, but useful pitch. There are many uses for this wood, as well, but Clan cats regard the tree with great suspicion. The fact that so few birds and animals are found around it give it a reputation for being cursed, in Clan culture.

Northern Firmoss (Huperzia selago) = Fiff Because of how this moss appears on disturbed habitats, particularly near Tallpines and other plantations, AND resembles a spruce sprig, it is seen as a sort of "herald" of coming invasives. Not that it, itself, is an enemy, but a warning. As such, it's often used in divination and warding rituals. For now, I'm updating the Lexicon entry for the Douglas Fir to this native plant. I am going to be doing a bit more research on pine plantations in the UK, so that I can better build out Clanmew around it. I know that since the 90s or so, the Forestry Commission makes sure that no plantations are one single species. I don't know what they tend to plant next to sitkas yet. Firkit has this as his prefix.

Lurch = Olch A major split in a tree, either between the trunk and a large branch, or two diverging segments. A safe area to perch in while climbing, or scouting.

[libidomechanica]

“But, Goddess, but little to silent my added this: it done”

Or all, to kisses: many brake.     In extremely madness their garden whose better my voice—     I feel in plead again, in light, the though brag the deep! And     garland fold them fair you for a girls flit, thou open-mouth     where wast thy larched there

arden of Better sound of gold     vase of knees like the large will give to the thee, while Blame it:     Pretty fond Thou are the mind. Another, as freeze here forum,     and so elabor and lose patient still: should fails—dear     Lady,—Florida. A

strange, they went the blue: yet of this     spiral-talk. Which afford; now but for me. And thee. When thee     I lay as hour, last disintegrity of my sweet incense-     pillow-men with a caverns for at the day. Holy     and much beloved your

sight. Me—sure of gordians, gulphs in     me shall defensive, as they wound and hidden, and there! To     the kitchen clear and I defaced. Which short, then? To wish in     her Ida, tremulously; so which give me by one, her     eyes disguise, and a wretch

her more sudden sweet she way, tracing     speak to meet in the day for gradual sweetness as     triumph in his faire near young sometimes upon me, whom I     know me to ill: then we heavens. But, Goddess, but little     to silent my added

this: it done in sight you in their     love no more avail to indignations; younger yearning     it upon your ears silence, as they may come, all fountains     or for these nor lose tree! Said, from early three Hesper’d spot     pillow’d by the large dark-

purse of watched! The summer drank until     the Prince God is soft and blest with Psyche: much, so my     grot, leading me to our names, globing attiring such hell,     children came up to her that glares hot by our beautiful     please you, I fear; and, she

must go, thou would not yet i’ve been     that clime. On the zephyr- bought to me not of men: they have     dreams of please, but to beat about. That, neglect of this Papa     I am pure removed, spoil is story’s hard front: yet     am gone; when her wish

the laughs to showers, bittern; and     apt fierce with his stately I on his kneel’d sank and that evening!     Till wee. Her airy voices, with from dull-gurgling for     endless precipitous pain darts to pleasure, to love I     know not, never cracked the

window fell tolled with me. Wooing     marrow: I had on a ganderer pass’d into the devil     eyes! A moment after, cripple; and awe; till not faire     or changest mouth, to lose of Temper’d o’er throat, eye of the     bugle-blooms but who looking

sound girds asia, when all thing     as he hills, his like woodcutter gave had company of     smother’s faded with the love is beauty, nor care Aurora’s     brilliams wake shining guardians, and sore the sprang to     me, I the lead a child

with the pure as then stand, not thought     o’er that blest the whose tree. The better wit doth echo clear     away, if your dress of heau’nly forced my jewel’d delight,     and readily fingers, once I have himself to my dusk     place. Where sudden clocks, and

sworn mine eyes in fast a gardens     fair, with Melanches old decorum. Than show, but she worse,     kneels not seventide outer close, and lame to over     innocent as our dead, elate, our entry I blessing briefly     wane—immortality,

promise to himself; in flesh,     shaped him stumbling at sun, those wind, he had coming. With in     your state upon a gold, to pluck thing at your minion half     open one the bird-throat, autocrat, dips its rosy vein     of surmountain’s brest, and

requestion some more pale as a     Jehovah’s eyes we two seas I’ll have quickly to their equal     and fresh leave the might good, thy hear horn. Between your gazer     dripping lips; till placid lake, until exhale—by many     change, o years of men

armour tight dawned; the fate, thou do’st     plank and liked queens to those earth some bore? The anxious act, a     creatures comes by the aid me to all these love! Would connection     forest from plea faintly tangled, and blind thou waste, our     great their silvery where

to drawn signal join’d by the search,     to both change, o your wakeful strict inviolated: the     man side my happy through he deepening on the root; and did     no one’s high remember’d leaning space that woman, whom I     love I and knucklebone.

Highness up, and I will each I     yield; as in sun hurry dispraises, every moment! Let     me we? Him on my earth: what is not flies my Amy, speake     it approach’d; a though that swell to the sultanas any     spirted it sleep; an’ she

confess’d sigh, magnified woodland     legion’d Baba, without of the turn’d fourth at the smiles at     thought a virgin-white hand, and no good head o’er thorny brave     way feminine prize, or one angry limbs, and trust     Knowledge of a bed is.

[somerandomwarriorsrewrite]

Changes for 2024!

Introdution

Theses changes happened because of many reasons, some because after alot of thinking, i decided to go against it, others would be to erase some weird things, or because i thought of making other things that i think that would be better than what i iniciatilly thought.

This includes family relations, pairings and etc.

The changes

The romance between Dustpelt and Ferncloud is being removed, Dustpelt is now a solo dad, and he still fathers Spiderleg and Shrewpaw with a random loner, Ferncloud gets paired with Daisy, and adopts Berrynose, Mousewhisker and Hazeltail as her own, while having Toadstep and Rosepetal later, both raise their kits with much love and care. The rest of their original kits(Larch, Holly, Birchfall, Foxleap and Icecloud) will go to other cats, the already planned ones are Foxleap and Icecloud being Snowtail's kits(Rewrite's Snowkit, Snowtail is a placeholder name for now, as i can't think a better name for him);

Ferncloud and Ashfur dad being Tornears is being fully removed, as it was just a way so Spiderleg could get very long legs, so for now, Tornears is childfree, and the siblings father is a unknown loner;

If a cat parent adopts a cat, and that adopted cat descendent and a relative from the cat parent(a biological kit or uncle for example) gets together, it's still considerate incest, basically: Adopted cat's relatives count the same thing as biological related cats;

Heathertail and Breezecloud are not a couple in the rewrite, Breezecloud's kits(if AVS happens in the rewrite) will be solo his, making a den dad, while Heathertail will be focusing on herself more;

Tigerheart is being renamed as Talonheart, in honour of Rowanclaw's apprentice that died young.

New things for 2024!

A post about roaming loners in the culture of the clans, it js about loners that are the sire or the dam of some cats from the clan, how the clans view loners, the culture around it, the consenqueses of the Star Oakspeckle actions on loners and Kittypets, loner groups and that's all i think about it for now;

The family tree of Graystripe, and more to come;

Finish the clans allegiance family(that is a massive doc that i have, that have all cats that appear in the books from Mapleshade's vengeance till The last hope, that says who is family with who);

Posting the allegiances from Into the wild or Mapleshade's vengeace(which one i think it's best to start with), with all clans, with art about it;

Make art from scenes, daily life of the clan, relationships, interactions between clanmembers or cats outside the clans, etc;

Maybe write a scene instead of drawing, but it's a strongly maybe, since i'm not focusing on it so much;

A post about the relationships between the clans;

More on the mentalities of the clans, of one "being welcoming to outsiders", "being welcoming to other clans" and "more pure blood" in the clans, and how they affect the cats;

A redesign of the lake territory, maybe the forest too, but the main focus is the lake territory.

Maybe there will be more things, but it's what i already thought about it.

Also, it's a sketch instead of a full art, and i wanted to show the Badgerfang sketch someway :).

[theflashisgone]

My mom and I are fans of Monty Python, and there's one transition between sketches that's about tree identification and announces that a particular tree is "the Larch" in a mock-serious voice.

Literally any standalone phrase that sounds even vaguely similar to "the larch" is said in that voice and tone.

Tell me about a joke that you and your family absolutely lose your shit over that other people would not get.

Tell me about the very unique way you pick on each other.

Or tell me about a pop culture reference your family will never let die and you’ve never heard any other family use it.

*chin on hands* I just love hearing these stories. (I’m obsessed with little loser microcultures like families and very niche fandoms) So lay it on me.