#fern fonds

[japan-minka]

This Week's Ikebana - Fern Fronds and Orchids

This week l paired the arrangements with kokeshi from various artists. Top to bottom, they are Issetsu Kuribayashi, Toa Sekiguchi, Aoki Ryoka, Masao Watanabe, and Shido Shozan.

[ask-gale]

Since the day she discovered the "True Lovers' Embrace" within the pages of their shared diary, thoughts of its potential consumed her. Gale had always managed to keep a safe distance from harm, but what if, one day, fate turned its gaze upon him? The shadowlands, to her, were nothing more than a morose graveyard. It whispered chilling conjectures into her thoughts, leaving her sleepless and consumed by dread. Late one night, unable to resist the allure of possibilities, she visited his tent with matching rings in hand. Uncertain of his feelings, despite a recent compliment, she hesitated before showing him the rings.

"Gale, I've got something for you," she said, her gaze briefly meeting his. "You don't have to wear it, but... it would give me great comfort knowing you do..."

Gale greets her with a warm smile, eyeing the ring she's holding towards him.

"What's this? One of the rings you found earlier?"

He grabs the ring, inspecting it closer.

"If it would bring you comfort, then of course I'll gladly wear it. Although I am curious as to what it does."

[figofswords]

anyways here’s some random sneak peeks of some Stuff I’ve been working on as proof that I’m still alive and making things

[positivelyapunovexponent-good]

@linearmoss

[thefreakandthehair]

The plants are Eddie's idea.

Each and every one of them is rescued or adopted in some way: salvaged from a home that hadn't cared for it, up for grabs on the side of the road, forgotten in the corners of Home Depot, leftovers from wedding centerpieces that surely are going to be tossed after the reception ends. Eddie knows what it feels like to be forgotten, left out, neglected, and just because plants don't have a voice stand on lunch tables and air their frustrations with broken systems, that doesn't mean they don't feel. So yes, Eddie loves his plants, loves them with almost the same intensity that he loves their cat, Bruce.

At first, Steve just nods and shrugs and gives Eddie that fond smile that says I don't get it but you're happy so I'm happy. The same smile Steve wears when Eddie rambles on about Dungeons and Dragons, about the intricacies of being both a Black Sabbath and Ozzy Osbourne fan, about why Mothman and Bigfoot and mermaids absolutely exist, Steve! It's endearing and warm, and Eddie loves him so goddamn much. Even more than Bruce, even more than the plants.

What Eddie doesn't expect, though, is for Steve to grow to love the plants, too. In true Steve fashion, he brushes it off when he pinches dead leaves from the Pothos, or when he smiles as he sprays the Boston fern. Eddie knows that, bare minimum, Steve cares about their plant babies and so when he ends up going on a week-long tour with Corroded Coffin, he doesn't worry too much about the little green souls that litter their apartment.

A week is a long time, and Eddie misses home so much that he doesn't announce himself as he barrels through the front door the following Saturday afternoon.

"Yeah, see? You’re doing great."

Eddie freezes in his tracks. Who the fuck is Steve talking to with that whispered voice? The one that, up until now, Eddie presumed was for him and him only. He knows he'd never cheat, but seriously, who's in their apartment?

"Atta girl, look at you! See, I told you, we'd figure this out."

He sets his bags down as quietly as he can, toes off his boots, and slowly pads along the beige carpet to peak around the corner to their living room.

Oh.

Steve's talking to their plants.

Eddie leans against the doorframe and watches as Steve smiles, wide and bright enough to replace the sun shining in through the streaky bay window, while moving from plant to plant, pot to pot, singing their praises and lavishing them with compliments and affirmation.

"You're growing so well!"

"See? I watered you and you popped right back up. You don't have to be dramatic about it."

"When your other dad gets home, we’ve gotta talk about repotting you. You're definitely outgrowing this pot."

Eddie clears his throat and Steve whirls around with a wild look in his eye that reminds him so much of the time he caught Dustin snooping in his campaign materials that he briefly wonders if Dustin and Steve actually are biologically related.

“Oh honey, I’m home!” Eddie singsongs and grins as he shoves away from the door jam, walking over to Steve who’s already rolling his eyes and groaning.

“How much did you hear?”

“Enough to feel a little jealous of the Boston fern over here.” Eddie gestures towards the large fern spilling over the sides of its planter. “You never tell me I’m growing so well.”

Steve sets down the watering bottle and pulls Eddie in closer, both arms wrapped tightly around his waist. Eddie melts, letting himself be held and loved. A week really is a long time.

“No, but I do tell you when you’re being dramatic,” he teases, pressing a soft kiss against Eddie’s lips that’s more the touch of smiles than of mouths.

Eddie pulls back just enough to catch Steve’s gaze, warm and comforting. “You do realize that I’ll never let this go, right?”

Never. Always. Forever.

Eddie was never one for absolute language, except when it comes to Steve. He’ll never let him live this down, because he’ll always be here. Forever.

Steve laughs, shaking his head. “I’d sure hope not.”

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

Hi hello!

💗 with Jake and Baby Blue? I love how sweet Jake is and how soft they are together, so more of that would be amazing!

Love you Star!

💗 slow kiss / gentle kiss / inevitable / soft with Jake and Baby Blue

Thanks for requesting this, Fern! I hope you love how flirty and fluffy this is!

There's music playing when you let yourself into the apartment one blustery fall day. Living in California, it's never quite as cold in December as it is in other areas of the country. But when you’ve been running between buildings on campus all day, it's still nice to slough off your coat and toe away your boots in the warmth of Jake’s foyer. Normally, he’s still at the office when you get back from your last class of the day, leaving the apartment dark and silent until you gather up the energy to make some dinner in between bouts of paper writing and studying.

Today was such a harrowing day, you were debating whether you should call up the Chinese restaurant down the road on your way up to the apartment or if you should just make something easy. Takeout was winning the mental battle. You’d get Jake's favorites and yours, and crack open a bottle of wine for the two of you to enjoy as you sat at the table in your pajamas. Obviously you don’t have to do that anymore. But other than the soft music, you can barely hear anything else. Jake’s a force of nature. Every room he enters feels his presence. It’s not that he’s loud, which to be clear he is, it’s that he takes up a room just by being in it. So why can't you hear anything else? 

You pad into the kitchen, trying not to make any noise. It’s not often Jake cooks for you - the music playing, Ella Fitzgerald crooning away, evidence that he had indeed been cooking for you - and you desperately want to see him in the act. You can imagine, in a love-sick sort of way, how he furrows his brow as he looks down at the ingredients. How he bites his upper lip in concentration as he chops vegetables and tastes what he’s making. It’s a sight you’ve only seen once in your relationship, and the last time you were too sick to enjoy or remember much of it. But the kitchen is deserted, only the smell of the lasagna bubbling in the oven and the music playing from the speaker on the counter an indication that he was once here. 

You finally find Jake sprawled out on the oversized sofa in the living room. He's fast asleep, hair mussed, cheeks a little pink with his face smushed into a cushion in his arms. He's wearing the soft pants which drive you a little mad and a sweater. Even when he’s at home he dresses like he’s going to be photographed for a magazine. The sweater’s rucked up a little from where he’s twisted on the sofa, revealing a trail of burnished gold slipping beneath the waistband of the aforementioned dangerous pants. He looks so peaceful, so relaxed that you leave him be, walking into the bedroom to change into loungewear of your own.

“Baby Doll?” His voice is sleep-slurred as you carefully lever the lasagne out of the oven fifteen minutes later.

“I’m in the kitchen, Jake!” You call back, keeping your focus on the lasagne as you set it carefully on the counter.

“Mmmm, baby doll, a man could get used to having you in his kitchen dishing up dinner like that.”

It’s so sleazy, so unexpected, you cackle with laughter. You know better than anyone Jake doesn’t actually believe a woman’s place is in the kitchen. He just has a fondness for your ass in this particular pair of satiny pajama shorts. But the delivery of the sleazy pickup line has you bending at the waist as unrestrained laughs leave your lips.

“Th-that’s so bad!”

By the time you straighten, Jake’s at arm’s reach, and you’re struck with the need to kiss him now that he’s awake.

“If that’s so bad then how come you look like you really desperately need a kiss, then, huh, baby doll?”

His hands are hot as they slip under the hem of your soft shirt. 

“I always want to kiss you, Jake.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” 

Your words are swallowed in a tender kiss, your body wrapped tight in his arms as he kisses the breath out of your lungs. It’s a kiss so sweet you could live in it forever, soothed by the scent of him, the feeling of him, just surrounded by him in general. His hand tangles in the hair at the base of your skull, big palm hot as he draws you closer. You can’t help how you curl your fingers into his hair in return as you reciprocate the motion, dragging him in until he's pressed up against you. You've been overthinking how you feel about him recently, choking back those three little words which share a part of yourself you've never shared with anyone else before. But now you want to so desperately, you can’t rationalize a better time than this. So when you pull away, finally, because you need to breathe and not because you want to, you murmur, “I love you” against his lips.

He lets you sweat a little, standing in the circle of his arms. You catalog every inch of his face, tracing the small wrinkles at the corner of his mouth and the glimmers of gold in his green eyes. You're counting his eyelashes, ridiculously thick as they feather around his eyes when he breaks the silence.

“If it wasn’t obvious, Baby Blue, I love you, too.”

Your squeal is so loud you're sure someone could hear you from a mile away. But you don’t care. The lasagna goes cold on the counter, ready to be reheated in the middle of the night when you're a little more kiss-bitten and sore. The fresh fruit and whipped cream which were supposed to be your dessert are put to very good use, albeit not in the fashion they were intended to be. Neither of you mind.

Ask me to write a kiss for one of my pairings!

[ayellowbirds]

The first joke here for those who do not know is that Shinjuku Ni-Chōme (Second District) is famous as the centre of Tokyo's LGBTIAQ community.

To the whole crew, what is the favorite non-Nerima parts of Tokyo?

[blenselche]

excerpt for ch3 insert under the cut. just wanted to do a quick one for the start of the scene.

“Does this really count as tracking?” Fern wipes his shoe off on the grass, having accidentally stepped in a pool of gunk. It trails through the woods in large globs, burning and eating away at the foliage- grass, shrubs and tree trunks. He hikes his pack up on his shoulder and turns his face toward HW, crouched on a high tree limb above him. “Makes our job easier.” She shrugs. “There’s a breakage trail that’s leading to Verdant. Looks like something big.” Fern feels a bubbling in his stomach, wanting to steer clear of the grasslands, he grimaces and pushes on anyway, needing the distraction. “I’ve been seeing your father,” Huntress Wizard prompts carefully as she leaps down next to him when they come to a turn, obvious in the many splintered tree branches. “You—“ He stumbles and tugs his cloak free from a bramble bush he’d stepped off into, not watching his footing. “You what?” “I’ve been looking for a way to cure your… malady.” Fern is stunned into silence, feeling of violation clawing up his back. And here he thought she was seeing someone. “There’s a way to transfer its target.” She rubs her elbows, sunset carrying with it February chills. “It’s not what I was hoping for, but it’s an option. He showed me the contract, and I am willing to agree to its terms.”

There’s a sense of breached intimacy that swims in his head as she reveals this, that she touched the evidence of their bond. He remembers what it felt like, to be accepted that day as something meant to curse but to have brought fondness instead. He’d nestled down into the crook of Finn’s wrist and fed off of the dopamine in his blood. He doesn’t want to go back to feeling like a burden. He doesn’t want to be reassigned, ripped away.

[each-uisge-enthusiast]

every locked tomb cav plays rugby in any modern au btw. issac also plays and him and jeannemary probably tried to petition their school to stop gender segregating the teams bc they wanted to play together. didn’t work (schools really like gender binaries over here) so they ended up joining a local club instead which is honestly just the better option to begin with. magnus only ever played for his local club but likes to tell the kids he swears he could have made the regional team at least (…love you king but probably not). gideon wants to join the black ferns, which is how i justify forcing her to wear all black. camilla absolutely got offered for the regional team (at least) but said no because that seemed like too much fuss. babs has what i’ve dubbed the rugby nose because he’s really good at getting his nose broken and the only reason his entire face isn’t on a lean is because he’s so annoyingly fond of staring at himself in the mirror that he has a bunch of little rituals to keep himself (mostly) symmetrical. colum was sort of a prodigy given that he’s got the resilience of a mule but never got to do anything with that because his weird family started hissing and screaming at the concept of him having personal dreams and aspirations. protesilaus is a mourned hero who was on track to join the all blacks (he was his regional captain) but dropped the sport entirely to spend more time on his family, his garden, and looking after dulcie after she had a nasty little illness flare up. marta. well i have a lesser grasp on her as a person but i think she’s either playing for her local club or regionally i do not believe her willing to make the national team. i think she’d say no. probably locally only, given that i fully believe she has a full time job doing something far too professional for me to comprehend.

[vaccariia]

Omgg I love your keyframes fanart, your mc is sooo pretty <333. I need to hear your thoughts on Elio !! (If you feel like sharing ofc, I've been obsessed with him and i wanna know what other people think lol)

M.....MY FIRST ANON ASK????!?!? MY MC IS PRETTY?? AND A FELLOW ELIO FAN????? THANK U!!!!!

anon, you are opening the metaphorical pandora's box in me. i played the extended demo a few more times because i wanted to see elio again FOR RESEARCH so i think i'm ready to put my thoughts into paper

(Uhhh disclaimer, this is my first time doing something like this, normally i just keep my thoughts to myself. So everything under here is merely speculative and things i made up LOL)

(Also I took some screenshots and used them to reinforce some of my statements. Game and characters are not mine, they belong to blank house, etc. etc. please do let me know if screenshots are not allowed, i'd be more than willing to remove them from this post!)

______________________________________________________________

I want to begin by citing a post from the devs . Said post contains an ask summarizing the LI's into three words. For Elio, he's given the following descriptors:

Sweet, sensitive, wild Determined, hopeful, friendly

(First line is how the devs would describe Elio, second line would be how Elio probably sees himself)

And for the most part, the traits DO check out!! He's sweet, especially when he's with his boys <3 We've also seen him be considerate with the MC and others (i.e carrying groceries for mc and refilling bottles, among other instances)

But I do want to say that despite his wild and impulsive tendencies, he does have a more delicate side to him

When MC tags along with Percy and Elio for a snack run, they have the option to check out a plant stall manned by the horticulture club. It's in this part where he reveals to MC that he knows a lot about ferns, but there's a particular set of lines that made me feel that there's something more to Elio than he lets on

His reaction to seeing the staghorn fern and recounting his childhood tells me that Elio had some rather fond memories from his youth.

i'm probably projecting here, but he can also get a bit homesick because of it. (imagine being in Hawai'i your whole life and then having to move to NY for school. Guy probably had a hard time adjusting at first. I mean granted it's the same country, but different states still have different norms and values to go by)

Additionally, I find it quite interesting that Elio doesn't give himself credit (Or downplays himself) sometimes. Like, man was fighting for his life when he was being stickered by Rory. Ooor the part where he says that the gang doesn't have to celebrate his birthday

This leads me to assume that he's the type to look out for others and has the tendency of putting himself second...

I'm guessing Elio is also a big family man, judging by how fondly he speaks of his siblings. Aaaaaand he could also potentially be a bit of a hopeless romantic because he's hopeful about wanting to experience a love that's similar to his parents someday <3 <3 <3

So yeah, there! Elio is true to his name; a jovial man who embodies the light of the sun. He is loved by all, (except for most animals, i'm sorry </3) and he reciprocates that love tenfold. He's competitive and lively, but he can also show a softer side if he wants to hehe

Tl;dr: I LOVE ELIO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[anotherhumaninthisworld]

Can you tell me the story of the relationship between saint-just and desmoulins? . ..

Because I couldn't understand it properly so yeah ...

The first connection between Desmoulins and Saint-Just is from 2 January 1790, when the former publishes an annonce for the latter’s recently published Organt in number 6 of Révolutions de France et de Brabant:

Organt, poem in twenty verses, with this epigraph: Vous, jeune homme, au bon sens avez-vous dit adieu ? And this preface: J’ai vingt ans, j’ai mal fait, he pourrai faire mieux. 

A few months later, we find the following letter from Saint-Just to Desmoulins. It is undated, but can be traced to May 1790. The letter makes Desmoulins, alongside Robespierre, who he wrote a letter to the following year, the only revolutionaries Saint-Just is confirmed to have contacted prior to heading to Paris in 1792. Unlike in the case of Robespierre however, the letter to Desmoulins implies a correspondence was actually picked up between the two:

Monsieur, If you were not so busy I would tell you some more details about the Chauni assembly where one can find men of considerable calibre and quality. I was received in spite of my youth. Sieur Gelli, your compatriot from Vermandois had denounced me. He was thrown out bodily. We saw your compatriots, M. Saulce, M. Violette and others, by whom I was received with great courtesy. There is no point telling you (because you are not fond of foolish praise) that your region is proud of you. You will have known before I did that the department is fixed at Laon. Is that good or is that bad for one or other of the towns? It seems to me that it is no more than a point of honour between the two towns and points of honour are of little importance. I took the tribune; I worked with the intention of carrying the day on the question of the chief place but I did not follow on, I left, weighed down with compliments like a donkey burdened with relics, having, however, the assurance that at the next legislature I could be with you in the national assembly. You had promised to write to me, but I see clearly that you will not have the time. I am free as of now. Should I return to you or remain amongst the foolish aristocrats in this part of the world. At the time of my return from Chauni the peasants from my region came to look for me at Manicamp. The Comte de Lauraguais was greatly astonished by this rustic-patriotic ceremony. I led them all to his house for a visit. They said that he was out in the fields, however, like Tarquin, I had a rod with which I cut off the head of a nearby fern beneath the window of the castle and without a word we made a volte face. Farewell my dear Desmoulins. Write to me if you have need of me. Your latest issues are full of excellent things. Apollo and Minerva are still with you and are not displeased. If you have anything to say to your people in Guise I will be seeing them again in eight days’ time from Laon where I will be going on specific business. Goodbye again: glory, peace and patriotic rage. Saint-Just I will read you this evening since I have only spoken to you of your recent issues by saying yes.

Different feelings can however be found a year later, in a letter Saint-Just adressed to Villain Daubigny on July 20 1791 (it is dated 1792 in Oeuvres complètes de Saint-Just, but Saint-Just’s biographer Bernard Vinot points out that this is most likely an error, since all the events it makes allusions to took place the previous year):

…Go and see Desmoulins, embrace him for me, and tell him that he will never see me again, that I esteem his patriotism, but that I despise him, because I have penetrated his soul, and because he fears that I will betray him. Tell him to not abandon the good cause, and recommend it to him, because he does not yet possess the audacity of magnanimous virtue.

What exactly had happened between the two for Saint-Just to write this about Desmoulins is unknown. The same can be said about the question regarding where and when the meeting between them he alludes to here played out, since neither of them is confirmed to have left their respective towns in 1791.

Yet another year later, in September 1792, both Saint-Just and Desmoulins were elected deputies for the National Convention, meaning the former came to settle in Paris on Rue de Gaillon 7, around 2,5 km from the latter’s home on Rue du Théâtre 1 (today Rue de l’Odeon 28). Aside from the fact both were fervent montagnards, I have not been able to find any connection between them until the second half of the following year, with the release of Desmoulins’ Lettre de Camille Desmoulins, député de Paris à la Convention, August général Dillon en prison aux Madelonettes. In it, Saint-Just, who had accused Dillon of having been asked to lead an uprising to put the dauphin on the throne and declare Marie-Antoinette regent on June 2 1793, got described the following way in a footnote:

After Legendre, the member of the Convention who has the highest opinion of himself is Saint-Just. One can see by his gait and bearing that he looks upon his own head as the corner-stone of the Revolution, for he carries it upon his shoulders with as much respect and as if it was the Sacred Host. But what makes his vanity killing is, that some years ago he published an epic poem in twenty-four cantos entitled Argant [sic]. Rivarol and Champcenetz, from whose microscope, used in the interests of the Almanach des grands hommes, not a single verse, not a single hemistich in France has ever escaped, have in vain gone searching for this; they who have hunted up even the least little scrap of literature have not seen Saint-Just’s epic poem in twenty-four cantos. After such a misadventure, how can he show himself?

According to some sources, the ”he carries his head like the Sacret Host” comment was a reply to something Saint-Just had himself said about Desmoulins. Marcellin Matton published in 1834 an anecdote (which it is presumed he obtained from Desmoulins’ mother- or sister-in-law) in which Guillaume Brune has tea with the Desmoulins couple at the time of the numbers of the Vieux Cordelier being released. The following conversation would then have played out:

”…You [Brune said] are also read by Barère who recognizes himself; by Saint-Just, who promised to make you carry your head like Saint Denis.” ”That’s true,” [Desmoulins] replied, ”I remember it: it was a very bad joke, and my answer was much better. Have you seen my letter to Dillon? In the approach and posture of Saint-Just, we see that he regards his head as the cornerstone of the republic, and that he carries it on his shoulders with respect like a holy sacrament. Was I wrong, and do you think that for such a good joke he would want to kill me? I only ask him for one favor, and that is to wait until he has given a valid response.”

In 1851, the historian Nicolas Villiaume similarly claimed to have had the same story told to him multiple times by Desmoulins’ mother-in-law. Interestingly though, the ”I will make him carry his head like Saint Denis” comment already appeared in works dated 1816 and 1825 (in both cases without any source cited). There, it is instead portrayed as a response to Desmoulins having written ”Saint-Just carries his head like the Sacred Host” and not as the cause of it. In light of this, I think the idea of Saint-Just having actually said it is something that must be taken with a big grain of salt.

The things more reliable sources can tell us about Saint-Just’s attitude towards Desmoulins at the time are less overwhelming. He was away from Paris during much of the period where Desmoulins released and got in trouble for the Vieux Cordelier (from October 17 to December 4, December 10 to December 30, and finally January 22 to February 13), and when he was there during said period, I cannot find him recorded to have spoken about Desmoulins or his journal a single time. Saint-Just also went unmentioned in all of the six numbers of the Vieux Cordelier that were released during the time they were both alive.

When the Committee of Public Safety decided to strike down Desmoulins and the other ”dantonists,” it was however Saint-Just who, like in the previous case with the hébertists, got tasked with writing a report against them. Here he obtained the help of Robespierre, who prepared around 65 notes for him to use as material against them. In said notes, Robespierre presented Desmoulins as less guilty than Danton and Fabre, having instead been more of their minion, a version of the story Saint-Just then stuck to when finishing his Rapport sur la conjuration ourdie pour obtenir un changement de dynastie; et contre Fabre d’Églantine, Danton, Philippeaux, Lacroix et Camille Desmoulins:

Bad citizen (speaking of Danton), you have conspired, you said, two days ago, bad things about Desmoulins, an instrument that you have lost, and you attributed to him shameful vices. […] For six months, a plan of palpitation and anxiety has been hatched within the government. Every day we were sent a report on Paris; we were flexibly insinuated, sometimes imprudent advice, sometimes misplaced fears; the tables were calculated on the feelings that it was important to arouse in us, so that the government would move in the direction that suited criminal plots; Danton was praised there, Hébert and Camille Desmoulins were accredited, and all their projects were assumed to be sanctioned by public opinion, to discourage us. […] What shall I say of those who claimed to be exclusively the old Cordeliers? They were precisely Danton, Fabre, Camille Desmoulins, and the ministry, author of the reports on Paris, where Danton, Fabre, Camille and Philippeanx are praised, where everything is directed in their direction and in the direction of Hébert. Danton had directed the last writings of Desmoulins and Philippeaux. […] Camille Desmoulins, who was initially duped and ended up being an accomplice, was, like Philippeaux, an instrument of Fabre and Danton. It was said, as proof of Fabre's good nature, that when he was at Desmoulins' house at the time when he read to someone a writing in which he requested a committee of clemency for the aristocracy and called the Convention the court of Tiberius, Fabre started to cry. The crocodile cries too. As Camille Desmoulins lacked character, his pride was used. As a rhetorician, he attacked the revolutionary government in all its forms; he spoke brazenly in favor of the enemies of the Revolution, proposed a committee of clemency for them; showed himself to be very inclement towards the popular party; attacked, like Hébert and Vincent, the representatives of the people in the armies; like Hébert, Vincent and Buzot, he himself treated them as proconsuls. He had been the defender of the infamous Dillon, with the same audacity that Dillon himself showed, when at Maubeuge he ordered his army to march on Paris, and take an oath of loyalty to the king. He fought the law against the English; he received thanks in England, in the newspapers of that time. Have you noticed that all those who were praised in England have betrayed their fatherland here?

According to an anecdote published in the pamphlet À Maximilien Robespierre aux enfers (1795), released a few months after thermidor by Taschereau de Fargues and Paul-Auguste-Jacques, Saint-Just and Robespierre had wanted to denounce Desmoulins and the other dantonists before arresting them, but been downvoted by their colleagues:

Why should I not say that [the dantonist purge] was a meditated assassination, prepared for a long time, when two days after this session where the crime was taking place, the representative Vadier told me that Saint-Just, through his stubbornness, had almost caused the downfall of the members of the two committees, because he had wanted that the accused to be present when he read the report at the National Convention; and such was his obstinacy that, seeing our formal opposition, he threw his hat into the fire in rage, and left us there. Robespierre was also of this opinion; he believed that by having these deputies arrested beforehand, this approach would sooner or later be reprehensible; but, as fear was an irresistible argument with him, I used this weapon to fight him: You can take the chance of being guillotined, if that is what you want; For my part, I want to avoid this danger by having them arrested immediately, because we must not have any illusions about the course we must take; everything is reduced to these bits: If we do not have them guillotined, we will be that ourselves. 

Regardless of whether this be true or not, on March 30, Saint-Just was one of eighteen men to sign the by Amar drafted arrest warrant for Danton, Delacroix, Philippeaux and Desmoulins, who were all arrested in the night. The next day at the Convention, Robespierre shut down Legendre when he suggested the accused be allowed to come and defend themselves before the Convention, after which Saint-Just entered the hall, mounted the rostrum and read out the act of accusation the two of them had worked out.

Receiving a copy of Saint-Just’s report in his cell at the Luxembourg prison, Desmoulins got around to preparing a defence. In it, he claimed the author of the report had personal reasons for wanting him dead. He also referred to him as ”Monsieur le Chevalier de Saint-Just,” a nicknamed previously used by the girondin Salle:

If I had gotten the chance to print in turn, if one hadn’t put me in isolation, if one had lifted the seals and if I had the paper neccesary to establish my defense, if one gave me only two days to make a number seven, imagine how I would confront M. the chevalier Saint-Just! Imagiene how I would convince him of the most atrocious slander ! But Saint-Just writes leisurely in his bath, in his bathtub, he plots my murder during fifteen days, while I have no place to put my writing desk and only a few hours to defend my life. What is this if not the the duel of the Emperor Commodus, who, armed with an excellent blade, forced his enemy to fight with a simple foil garnished with cork? […] I arrive at the part of the report which concerns me. In living memory, there is no example of such atrocious slander as this piece. And yet there is not a single person in the Convention that doesn’t know that Monsieur the former chevalier Saint-Just holds for me an implacable hatred for a slight joke that I allowed myself five months ago in one of my numbers. Bourdaloue said: Molière puts me in his comedy, I will put him in my sermon. I put Saint-Just in a giggly number, and he puts me in a guillotine report where there isn’t a single true word in my regard. When Saint-Just accuses me of being an accomplice of Orléans and Dumouriez, he shows well that he is a patriot of yesterday. Who denounced Dumouriez first of all, and before Marat and more vigorously than anyone else? Certainly one cannot deny that it was me? My Tribune des Patriotes exists, let Saint-Just read the portrait I there painted of Dumouriez six months before his treason in Belgium, he will see that I have never since added anything to this portrait. And Orléans who he makes me the accomplice of, who doesn’t know that I was the first to denounce him? That the only writings on this faction that the Jacobins have printed and distributed were written by me? Does Saint-Just no longer remember my Histoire des Brissotins? […] There are witnesses to the fact that the great republican Saint-Just, at the beginning of the Convention, said: Oh! They want a republic, she shall cost them dearly! There are witnesses to the fact the ambitious Saint-Just said: I know where I go. 

In an unfinished and unsent letter written to Robespierre around the same time, Lucile Desmoulins too held Saint-Just as the main culprit behind her husband’s fate, arguing that he had misled their friend:

…As far from the insensibility of your Saint-Just as from his base jealousies, [Camille] recoiled in front if the idea of accusing a college comrade, a companion in arms. […] Robespierre, can you really complete the fatal projects which the vile souls that surround you no doubt have inspired you to? […] Had I been Saint-Just’s wife I would tell him this: the sake of Camille is yours, it’s the sake of all the friends of Robespierre!  

A rumor claiming that Lucile had been sent money from the imprisoned Arthur Dillon conveniently arrived around the same time the trial against the indulgents started getting off the rails. In the afternoon of April 4, after the proceedings had been closed for the day, Saint-Just again mounted the rostrum at the Convention and revealed the discovery of this new conspiracy:

The public prosecutor of the revolutionary tribunal reported that the revolt of the guilty had caused the court proceedings to be suspended until the Convention had taken measures. You have escaped the greatest danger that ever threatened freedom: now all the accomplices are discovered, and the revolt of the criminals at the foot of justice itself. Intimidated by the law, the secret of their conscience; their despair, their fury, everything announces that the good nature they presented was the most hypocritical trap that had been set for the revolution. What innocent person has ever rebelled before the law? There is no need for any other proof of their attacks than their audacity. What! those whom we accused of having been the accomplices of Dumouriez and Orléans, those who only made a revolution in favor of a new dynasty, those who conspired for the misfortune and slavery of the people are at the height of their infamy! If there are men here who are truly friends of liberty, if the energy that suits those who have undertaken to liberate their country is in their hearts, you will see that there are no longer any conspirators on the front line, who, counting on the aristocracy with whom they have marched for several years, call upon the people the vengeance of the crime. No, liberty shall not recoil in front of her enemies; their coalition has been revealed. Dillon, who ordered his army to march upon Paris, has declared that the wife of Desmoulins had received money in order to promote a movement to assassinate the patriots and the Revolutionary Tribunal. We thank you for placing us in the position of honor; like you, we will cover the fatherland with our bodies. Dying is nothing, provided that the revolution triumphs; here is the day of glory; this is the day when the Roman senate fought against Catiline; This is the day to consolidate public liberty forever. Your committees respond to you with heroic surveillance. Who can refuse you his veneration in this terrible moment when you fight for the last time against the faction which was lenient towards your enemies, and which today finds fury to fight liberty?

After having heard Saint-Just’s report, the Convention used this new discovery to order ”that the Revolutionary Tribunal shall proceed with the instruction relating to the conspiracy of Lacroix, Danton, Chabot and others. The President shall make use of every means which the law permits to cause his authority and that of the Revolutionary Tribunal to be respected, and to repress every attempt on the part of the accused to trouble public tranquillity and to hinder the course of justice. It is decreed that all persons accused of conspiracy who shall resist or insult the national justice shall be outlawed and receive judgment on the spot.” This order became essential for getting the dantonists condemned to death the following day.

Saint-Just had however nothing to do with the actual arrest warrant for Lucile, signed the same day by Robespierre, Billaud-Varennes, C-A Prieur, Carnot, Couthon, Barère, Du Barran and Voulland, which would lead to her ending up on the scaffold as well nine days later.

I’m currently blanking when it comes to contemporaries who had anything to say regarding the relationship between Saint-Just and Desmoulins.

[bonefall]

What roles are Willow Tail, Quick Water, and Fern Leaf going to be like in your rewrite? I hate most of DOTC but I do enjoy a lot of the side characters, especially them

Willow Tail I know what I'm doing with, Quick Water and Fern Leaf I'm less sure of.

BB!Willow Tail -> Willow Flayed Bare

Willow is a young molly from the Wind Coalition who fought at the First Battle. Her first name was Tabby, and she earned her title for presenting a large, weaved willowbark basket to the Wind Runner. She's an artisan with a useful talent.

Since I completely overhauled Moth Flight's Vision into Moth Flight's Vow, which has a NEW origin for how the Cleric's Vow occured, I'm still reworking the Bunny Bones plot that I'm fond of.

I'm unsure if it's going to be a novella or a catalyst for the conflict of another book. It might be a good way to create an opportunity for Quick Water to run her rebellion

Willow has a petty dispute with one of Clear Sky's kittens; Tiger Sky. It's a TINY bananas squabble. She doesn't like seeing her rude ass sunbathing on the moor, so she starts leaving bunny bones on the border and accusing her of stealing to get her banned from the area.

Skystar, being the man that he is, takes the accusation that one of HIS warriors, his oldest (remaining) DAUGHTER no less, VERY personally. What started as a mean girl moment quickly exploded into total war.

I LIKE the way that the original plot was so unjustified and avoidable it's painful. I just wish it was framed as the miserable, violent moment it should have been. I'm planning on keeping Willow's blinding, but it's the final straw for Tiger who can't stomach this any longer.

Willow is likely going to end up in the River Kingdom, exiled for starting the conflict. She might still get retooled; in a later draft she may become a ShadowClan Mountain Cat.

Quick Water

Aside from a brief moment in Sun Trail where they give her the trait of being 'vain' and being woman 34 that Clear Sky smacks around to relieve stress in Forest Divided, she's suuuuper neglected in the main arc imo.

I haven't read past the part where they unceremoniously kill Sun Shadow in Shadowstar's Life, so I hope to revisit it before retooling Quick Water more. I hate how DOTC takes every opportunity to shit on Tall Shadow when she doesn't fucking do anything.

(Side note: it's kinda why i cant see Shadowstar as the girlboss ppl want her to be. Wind Runner is the girlboss. Canon!Tall Shadow is absolute girlfail. In BB, Tall Shadow is less girlfail but she still has the pervasive energy of... this isnt going to make sense to anyone but me BUT BB!Tall Shadow is SO girl obama to me. Well-spoken high road liberal who gets steamrolled by dirty fighters.)

So BB!Quick Water,

For one she's going to be part of a full family. It's either going to become the Water Family OR her name will change and she'll become Quick Tail.

I think she's going to become good friends with Shatter Frost, as Shadow's Clan early "conservative" types who think Clear Sky has a point.

They might end up with kittens, because DOTC is supposed to be about. Like. Ancestors. It's bizarre that they gave the Quiet Rainkin like 20 surviving descendants while everyone else dies off. Not cool actually.

In any case, I want to boost Quick's role significantly. Let her be one of Tall's key cats, either a hunter or a fighter. Something that isn't surprising when she eventually tries to toss Shadowstar out of power

Shadowstar actually survives this coup. She's one of the longer-lived founders in BB!DOTC, unlike canon where she was the first to go. Quick, meanwhile, is one of the VERY FIRST Dark Forest demons, which I can hopefully have a lot of fun with.

Fern Leaf

(CW: Canon!Slash and the racist trope he's written as that includes physical and sexual violence)

She is VERY up in the air currently, because I'm rejecting Slash as a villain completely. It was SUPER fucked up of them to make TWO stinky, born-evil native villains and then write one of them the way they did. Not only is it thematically RANCID, but it's also LAZY writing.

They have to make Slash a lustful creep so that Clear Sky looks better, because they DIDN'T WRITE A REAL REDEMPTION WHERE HE FACES ACTUAL CONSEQUENCES.

Like... I'm sorry, we understand that the way they wrote Slash is a really old trope, right?? "The natives will kidnap our women and hurt our children if we don't unite, and that's why the colonization of this land was totally cool" Warrior Cats is no stranger to xenophobia, but this time it went so far it invoked an outright racist trope.

(And then they just... totally gloss over that Star Flower is "young" compared to Clear Sky, who was less than 3 at the time, meaning she must be around the same age as the son he is actively abusing and EURGH Forest Divided makes me want to throw up)

SO.

Now that I have screamed about how ROTTEN this part is to stress WHY I need to gouge it out with a rusty spoon;

First of all, Slash has an updated name to help separate him from canon a bit. The Mountain cats call him Dashes for his leg markings, the Park cats call him The Silver Pelt for the color of his fur, his real name is Star-shine. Just "Star" in a casual context, his birth name. "Shine" is a leader suffix.

In-canon, Fern Leaf's purpose is to be abused by Slash enough that she reveals information to Gray Wing, and to contrast Beautiful Boy Clear Sky who beats the shit out of women and kids for good reasons so his abused underlings still wuv him.

So... no. Not keeping that. Lol, lmao even.

While I'm not totally against allowing Star to remain some type of harsh or even abusive towards his cats, IF that remains, I need to stress how much it is influenced by the constant stress and violence the Forest Cats are surrounded by. Harsh times don't cause abuse, but they do contribute, and even important, protective people can still abuse a victim.

Doesn't make it okay. Doesn't even make it easier to heal from. It robs you of the simplicity of it all-- being hurt by someone you desperately want to remember fondly.

Still, it's a very fine line to walk when I already have a big problem to fix here. I'm dealing with an egregiously racist trope, even if I HAVE already removed the MOST awful parts related to Canon!Slash's behavior (it's not appropriate for the tone I'm setting or something im comfortable writing).

But the physical abuse is a huge part of Fern Leaf. So, do you see my conundrum? I am confident handling the nuances of abuse, but this part of the story could use bleach.

I have a few ideas, one I'm leaning towards, but I'm still open to suggestions

Idea 1: Fern Leaf is one of Misty's kits

This was an earlier thought I'm moving away from, but it's worth mentioning. I already have Birch and Alder I'm doing this with, with Alder Claw eventually defecting from SkyClan, so adding Fern Leaf to the litter might be redundant.

In any case, Milkweed was mates with Misty. If this idea stays, Fern could be the one kitten she managed to escape with, forced to leave the other two behind. But then I wouldn't keep Fern's abuse, y'know?

(Plus Milkweed has so many kittens to pick from that I already need to shave some down. She's got like 6 in canon; I've gone over it before but a massive reason why WC's family trees are so tangled is because of "superqueens" like this. They tend to give one parent a lot of kits instead of giving a lot of parents a few kits.)

Idea 2: Fern Leaf is Star's daughter

Either with or without abuse, this is the one I'm leaning towards. It would mean she can show up a lot through the story as his ""lackey"" until Thunder and Bright learn that her and her dad are just like them.

If I nix the abuse (which seems wisest at the moment, honestly) then Fern can still be covered in her iconic scars, just from tangling with Park and Mountain cats constantly. Naturally she's at the forefront of battle patrols, she's fighting alongside her dad.

Plus, there's lots of opportunities for overhauling the dynamics from canon. Her mom didn't "abandon" them, she was probably attacked by the settlers. Star can be a good parent or just one with more complexity, instead of whatever canon was trying to do with Slash and this unrelated kid he hits.

(Re: very strange they refused to acknowledge that sometimes biodads are not worth forgiving or coddling. Interesting that Tom the Wifebeater and One Eye are sympathized with by the narrative for having kids. Curious they decided Canon!Slash of all characters would NOT be a father.)

Idea 3: Shuffle Fern into a Mountain or Park group.

AKA: prioritize the portrayal of intense physical abuse and her recovery, while avoiding tying it to the Forest cats entirely.

I feel like this one is the least interesting, but I'm keeping it on hand just in case. Like it says on the tin, she'd get any association with Slash/Star removed. I'd try to keep her developing a bond with Bright Storm though, since one of Gray Wing's... okayish moments was his interactions with Fern in trying to encourage her to leave.

(Even then, i really cant stand how the narrative concludes through Gray Wing that Slash is super evil because he doesnt feel love. And that he just decides to not tell Tall Shadow there's an evil group of cats spying on her and planning to invade because... Wisdom idk.)

If I do this, I will probably put her into WindCo. Their "homestead" system where individual families own mini-territories is a ripe situation for abuse to occur in, and the very structure of WindCo means that there's no one around to stop it or seek out for help.

Plus, maybe I could find some way for her to help out Thunder's crew as a WindCo insider. It's not a total wash, I just find Idea 2 more interesting.

[fr-thrice]

the differences between my starters on different pet sites lol...

on Pixel Cats End, Clover is well-liked by almost everyone due to xer pleasant and inquisitive personality. among the five cats that joined xer at the beginning, Lily is particularly fond of xer. Lily is standoffish and has trouble being friendly, but is trying for Clover.

on Lorwolf, the loner Fern was randomly joined one day by the extroverted Thorn. Thorn was exiled from her old pack, where she used to have a high position, and was desperate for companionship. She refused to leave, and then proceeded to try teaching Fern that friendship isn't so bad. Fern has just barely begun to tolerate the company of Thorn; meanwhile, Thorn keeps inviting new wolves to stick around!

on Flight Rising, Pileju and Platinum found each other after awakening all alone in the forest with no memories. They immediately felt a connection with each other that has not dwindled since. They learned about the world together, and they welcome many dragons to their territory. and they're always being super lovey dovey 🙄

[toodleoorblx]

Light Affections

Rio Vidal x Agatha Harkness

Word count: 1,528

Summary: Rio makes Agatha something special

Warnings: Cursing, light smut, fear

A/N: Enjoy!

Agatha watches her. Her love. Her reason for peace. Her wife.

Rio is in the greenhouse, her lab, doing whatever spontaneous plant mutation comes to her brilliant mind. Just for fun. She’s so effortlessly brilliant, so carefree, completely absorbed in her work. Agatha stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame, her eyes fixed on Rio, who’s utterly unaware of the gaze on her. Blue surgical gloves cover Rio’s hands, her goggles perched on her face, and she wears the same old lab coat Agatha gifted her years ago. It’s worn now, but it suits her. She looks entirely in her element, surrounded by a jungle of ferns and vines, chemicals, and herbs.

Agatha had built this greenhouse for Rio as a surprise, knowing how much she would adore it. After all, she married nature’s incarnate—Mother Nature herself. A goddess in every sense. From the moment they met, Agatha was captivated, entirely infatuated with Rio and her magic, with all of her. Centuries ago, they discovered that Rio had Bipolar Disorder, but Agatha doesn’t see it as a flaw. She loves both sides of Rio equally, with all her being.

In the present, Rio looks radiant. The sunlight streams through the glass panes of the greenhouse, highlighting her big brown eyes, making them glow with a golden warmth. Her tan skin gleams, the sun enhancing her natural radiance. Her dark hair tumbles over her shoulders, a perfect mess of waves that fall just right.

She’s utterly ethereal.

And Agatha feels… like she’s just there. She’s been feeling small, insignificant , her lack of magic gnawing at her more and more. It burns her inside, knowing that Wanda is still out there, playing with magic that isn’t hers to wield. It makes Agatha feel sick, remembering the centuries of work, the endless pain and sacrifice, only to have her magic stolen by an inexperienced witch. Wanda took something from her, her uniqueness, her power, the very thing that made her feel alive.

It makes Agatha want to scream. And she does. Scream. In her sleep, according to Rio. The night terrors still haunt her—vivid flashbacks to her time as Agnes. Being trapped in her own mind, helpless, a puppet in someone else’s play. The memory alone sends chills through her body. But she’s free now.

Before her imprisonment, magic was everything. Her driving force. But now? Now, it's Rio. Agatha feels a stab of guilt. She never neglected her wife, not consciously, but she knows she didn’t give Rio the attention she deserved. Watching her now, simply doing something so mundane, feels like watching a goddess walk among mortals.

Rio has promised to help her reclaim her magic, to find it again. But so far, Wanda has been elusive. Still, Rio says she won’t give up.

Agatha moves across the room with quiet, deliberate steps. She stands there for a moment, watching Rio work, her movements precise and graceful, completely immersed in her creation. A soft smile tugs at Agatha’s lips before she wraps her arms firmly around Rio's waist, pulling her close. She rests her chin on Rio’s shoulder, breathing in the familiar, earthy scent of her wife, a mixture of fresh herbs and something distinctly her.

Señor Scratchy trails behind her, hopping up onto his usual bed of leaves on the desk beside them. The bunny chirps happily at the sight of Rio, his nose twitching in contentment as he settles into his spot, observing the scene as if he too were part of their quiet ritual.

“Hey, darling…” Agatha murmurs, her voice fond and teasing, lips brushing close to Rio’s ear. Her arms tighten just slightly around Rio’s waist, drawing her in with a gentle squeeze.

Rio pauses, her work momentarily forgotten as a smile spreads across her face. She slips off her gloves and turns her head slightly, fingers sliding into Agatha’s hair with an affectionate touch. “Hey, sweetheart,” she replies, her tone warm and soft.

Agatha hums in contentment, the simple touch of Rio’s fingers in her hair sending a wave of relaxation through her. She presses her cheek against Rio’s shoulder blade, her body melting into the familiar comfort of her wife’s presence. Her gaze shifts to the workstation, curiosity sparking in her eyes as she tilts her head to see what Rio is working on.

“What are you up to, dear?” she asks, amusement lacing her tone.

Rio doesn’t turn, but her voice holds that air of mystery Agatha knows so well. “I was making something for you.”

Agatha’s curiosity flares, and she perks up, her smirk widening. “Oh really? And what exactly are you making for me?” she drawls, leaning in just a bit closer, her lips now pressing kisses to the curve of Rio’s neck. Her grip around Rio’s waist tightens just a fraction, pulling her a little closer, as if to coax the answer from her.

With a smile tugging at her lips, Rio turns in Agatha’s arms, meeting her gaze with a mischievous smirk of her own. “It’s something I’ve been working on for a while now,” she says, her eyes flashing with that supernatural green light that Agatha adores, a flicker of power that never fails to make her heart race.

Agatha’s smirk transforms into a full grin. That familiar spark of magic, that confidence—it makes Agatha’s breath catch every time. And that smirk? It’s enough to make her weak in the knees.

“Well, go on… don’t keep it a secret from me.”

Rio raises her hand, and with a graceful flick of her fingers, her magic begins to swirl and coalesce. The air shimmers as a flower slowly takes shape in her palm, its form delicate and otherworldly, it's unfamiliar. Agatha watches, entranced, as the flower fully manifests—a stunning bloom of purples, each petal a different shade, from deep violet to soft lavender, blending into a vibrant tapestry of color. The base of the flower is a striking green, and two of the petals bear delicate, swirling letters—an "A" and an "H," interwoven in beautiful cursive with the magic that pulses faintly from the bloom. Wisps of purple energy drift from the flower, giving it an ethereal, almost living quality.

“I made this flower to symbolize you,” Rio says, her voice gentle but filled with meaning. “The color represents your magic, how there’s more than one part of you that’s beautiful, different shades to the masterpiece that I call Agatha Harkness. The initials, for your name, to mark it as yours, and only yours. The wispy magic, to show your freeness—how you can’t be held down by the restricting conforms of humanity and mortals. And the green stem… that’s to show that with or without me, you’ll always flourish.”

Rio’s gaze softens as she finishes, the flower glowing softly in her hand. “It’s a new species of flower, I made it myself.” she adds. “I named it Mosaic Ahies.”

Agatha’s breath catches in her throat as she gazes at the flower, but her attention is drawn completely to Rio. The flower is beautiful, there’s no doubt about that—but the love and thought behind it, the depth of Rio’s words, are what truly overwhelms her. She stares at Rio, awe and love shining in her eyes, her heart swelling with emotion.

“Darling…” Agatha’s voice is soft, kind. “This is… immaculate.”

Her throat tightens, a lump forming that she struggles to swallow past. She’s not used to being rendered speechless, but Rio has a way of unraveling her control.

With delicate fingers, Agatha reaches out, gently lifting the flower between her thumb and forefinger. She brushes the petals lightly, marveling at the soft, velvety texture, at the wisps of magic dancing around it. The beauty of the flower alone is staggering, but knowing that Rio crafted it specifically for her? It’s almost too much to take in.

“You… you fucking created a new species of flower… for me ?” Agatha rasps, more so to herself. Her train of thought catches as she gazes up at Rio, her pupils dilated with emotion, her mind reeling from the mere thought of what her wife had done.

Rio’s eyes soften, a shy smile tugging at her lips as she fidgets with Agatha’s hand, her fingers caressing Agatha’s in gentle, absentminded strokes. “I’d do anything for you,” she says softly, her voice full of sincerity, as though creating something entirely new was the most natural thing in the world when it came to Agatha.

Agatha’s heart stirs, overwhelmed by love, and in the next moment, she moves without hesitation. She cups Rio’s face in both hands and kisses her—fiercely, deeply, as though she could pour every bit of her emotion into that one action. Her tongue slides against Rio’s, a heated, desperate kiss that speaks of both gratitude and the intensity of her feelings. Agatha presses Rio back against the table, her body leaning into hers, Agatha’s knee slots between Rio’s legs.

Rio responds instantly, her hands finding Agatha’s waist, pulling her closer, her fingers gripping her. Agatha pulls away just enough to whisper against her lips, her breath hot and heavy.

“I fucking love you.”

[ghuleh-recs]

It was @forlorn-crows birthday like a month ago!! And I fuckin missed it! Jail for Liss. Jail for 1000 years. Better late than never, I guess. Crow is easily one of my favorite ghoul writers and I threw together a greatest hits rec list for the occasion! They are the mastermind behind Mushy May and the verrrry iconic Lake Wife™. On top of being incredibly talented, Crow is always so lovely and kind and supportive of their fellow creatives. Wouldn't it be a lovely (belated) bday gift if you left some comments/kudos on some of these? Maybe even stop by Crow's ko-fi while you're at it!

Lady of the Lake - Rain/Lake Wife™ - E, 11.6k

With all the dark magick flowing through the abbey, he wouldn’t be surprised if some of it leached into the surrounding area. Mountain’s told him all about the various creatures he’s seen on the edges of the forest: dark, shadowy things that live in the corners of one’s vision, flitting between downed trees and swaying ferns. They’re relatively peaceful entities that don’t seem to bother ghouls, humans, or other animals much. But their presence certainly hasn’t gone unnoticed. That same looming magick resides at the bottom of the lake. Something deep and ominous. Something big. Rain can’t make head nor tail of the sentient something that must live down there. He’s felt it most recently in the new beginnings of spring: big waves of living energy reaching out to him, calling to something buried deep in his ribcage. A creature reaching out to their kin. He supposes it could be a byproduct of the changing seasons, the rush of life seeping through the cracks in the thawing ice. But the feeling in his gut tells him it’s something more than that.

First and Fierce Affirming Sight - Mountain & Copia - G, 1.1k

Once in a blue moon he’ll retreat deep into the forest beyond the abbey to give himself a break from his mortal-like form, let that great maw of elemental power unleash and drain itself into the ether. Just once in a great while, to be fully released. Other times, it sneaks up on him like a cloud of darkness, pulling him under slowly. It gives him enough time to stifle it or manage it. If there’s warning signs, there’s time to keep it at bay. But times like these, it comes in the blink of an eye—like a flash of lightning in the middle of the inky-black sky.

Quicksilver - Dewdrop/Rain - T, 1.8k

Sunshine finally gets to braid Dewdrop's hair, but it gives him and Rain ~feelings~. (you have to read the sequel, too.)

And You Know That It Takes Two - Copia/Dewdrop - E, 3.7k

“Well, I do. Of course I do,” he assures the ghoul. “Quite fond of you all, actually. It was, admittedly, a little rocky when we first met. But.” There’s that heh Dew was expecting just moments before. “Here we are, no?” When Copia starts rubbing his thumb up and down the inside of his knee, Dew’s brain stops working. His gaze zeros in to the fingers splayed across the side of his thigh, so foreign, so bare, so pink against the black of his casual uniform pants. His mind is full of static and all he can hear is his own blood pumping through his head. But there’s a weird something tugging in his ribcage; something new yet old, unnamed but familiar.

and so it goes - Mountain/Rain - E, 1.6k

Rain hums the melody where the piano would play, glancing down at the ghoul curled around him. His shoulders start to shake, and he sniffles into the water ghoul’s shirt—attempting, but failing, to be silent about his tears. Rain stops. “Mountain, love, what’s wrong?” Immediately he shakes his head at the question, whining quietly. “Hey,” Rain urges, petting back his hair. “I’m here for you, can you try to tell me?” Hurts, Mountain pushes into his mind. “Where does it hurt?” Rain asks gently. The earth ghoul pulls back an arm from around his waist, gesturing to his own chest. Rain can see his face screw up, a silent prayer to stop the oncoming sob that threatens to work its way out of his throat. In here, he says. He points weakly to the side of his head too. And here.

Pull Me In Your Waters - Dewdrop/Mist - E, 4.8k

He’s such an innocent, carefree creature—one that has Mist’s fingers itching to touch, to ruin, to defile. Like he’s a mere mortal waiting to be drawn in by her hellish siren’s call. But there’s a budding affection underneath that, too. Call it kin, call it an elemental draw to each other, call it even a mentor-like protection over the fledgling ghoul. Beyond the lust there’s respect, admiration. An urge to simply get to know and raise the ghoul who’s set to take her place. She can’t deny there’s some weird, mothering nature buried deep within the confines of her stoney nature. But it is deep, and right now it’s very much shrouded behind a curtain of curiosity, of hunger.

Compromise - Aeon/Mountain - E, 2.9k

He and Aeon haven’t talked, not really, about where they stand with each other. There hasn’t been time, especially not when he’s constantly plastered to Rain and Swiss’ sides instead. Mountain understands. He does. But the longing for familiarity was too hard to ignore tonight, tugging him to Aeon’s room after a sour night at a local dive bar. or Mountain misses Aether. Who he has is Aeon.

Weigh Your Powers, Tempt The Hours - Aether/Ifrit - E, 2.3k

“You’re so pretty like this, you know that?” Ifrit blushes under his adoring gaze. His shaggy hair falls across his face as he ducks to hide. But Aether’s having none of it, reaching out to guide his head back up with a gentle hand on his chin. “You trust me, right?” “Of course I do. I want—” Ifrit pauses and takes a shaky breath. “Want to be good for you,” he finishes in a small voice, just barely above a whisper. “You’re always good for me, Fritter.” The quintessence ghoul runs the pad of his thumb across the point of his jaw. His voice slips to a lower timbre, slow and rhythmic. “You want to feel good too, don’t you?” Ifrit’s eyes slip closed, body relaxing ever so slightly. “Yeah,” he answers simply, forming the word on his exhale like an unholy confession. “You will. I’ll make sure of it.”

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[forasgaard]

Can you please write about Neteyam watching the reader with Tuk? How the reader protects Tuk and does her hair and make necklaces together. 🥹 Neteyam can’t get enough of it either

From Afar

warnings: fluff words: 871

Part 2

Part 3

...

It was early afternoon, the sun shone through the ferns and leafs of the jungle and warmed his skin. The oldest Sully kid changed his position and put a hand under his head. Neteyam had laid there for hours now, resting under a tree on the glade at the Sullys hut. He had no training today, he was awake the whole night, flying night patrol with his father. Jake and Neytiri were gone to the humans to talk about some news and the kids stayed home. They got visited by Spider and Y/N, two human kids from Jake's old friends. They both had no Avatars but they grew up with the Na'vi so it was normal seeing them around the village.

Lo'ak and Spider were somewhere loitering in the jungle and the girls stayed home. They talked about something and their noises made him even more sleepy. It was a calming atmosphere, a sign that everything was alright. And it was alright. Especially, when Y/N was there. Neteyam appreciated her presence. She was clever and funny and had a calming energy. They often spend time together, sometimes even alone. He smiled when he remembered her first flight with an Ikran. She was so afraid and clinged onto him. To admit, he grew really fond of her. Every time, he heard her laugh, his heart skipped a beat. He had never felt that before with another person and he had told Lo'ak about it.

Which was a huge mistake. Lo'ak made fun of him. Of course, he was happy for his brother but he just couldn't stop making weird grimaces behind Y/Ns back at him, when she was not looking. And then he told his Dad, asking for advice. Jake smiled widely and took his oldest son into a tight embrace. He told him to find out if Y/N liked him as well and then maybe tell her what he felt. But that was the biggest problem. Neteyam was usually a brave one but somehow she made his knees go weak and made his heart sped up. And we was so confused by that! He told himself to tell her when the time was right.

And now this afternoon, it definitely wasn't. He could hear her chuckle about something Kiri said. Nete moved his head and opened his eyes. They sat in the soft grass. All three of them. Kiri made some necklaces for Y/N, she was really talented in that area. Y/N always admired her necklaces and bracelets. In front of Y/N sat his little sister Tuk. She sat silently, without moving, but Nete could see how exited she was. Y/N was braiding her hair.

Tuk was Y/Ns biggest fan. She always wanted to do something with the human girl and for her, she was like her sister.

Y/Ns slender fingers moved fast through Tuk's dark hair, creating a masterpiece of braids. Neteyam couldn't suppress a smile. Y/N had so much fun.

And Eywa, she was beautiful! The sun made her hair shimmer and threw lights onto her skin. He always thought human skin looked weird but Y/Ns looked beautiful. He had recognised that many times now and every time, he felt heat rushing through his veins.

He watched her hands move with grace, her lips curling with concentration.

He wished she would braid his hair as well. And she was so soft! He accidentally (not) touched her skin last day and it felt so nice. He just wanted to touch every inch of her body. Wait - What was he thinking!?

Neteyam let out a small sigh. He caught himself daydreaming again. It happened more and more often these days. Especially when Y/N was visiting. The way she played with Tuk and took care of her was just so cute. He just wanted to watch them for eternity.

But the peace didn't last long. Lo'ak and Spider came back sooner than expected. Made turned the peaceful atmosphere into a chaotic one. Nete rolled his eyes.

"Hey Bro! Wakey wakey!" The younger brother poked into Nete's face.

"Argh Lo'ak stop it!" He tried to slap Lo'aks hand but his brother was faster.

"Leave me alone, I'm tired!"

"Tired huh?", Lo'ak grinned. His eyes followed Spider who sat down next to the girls. Y/N was still braiding Tuk's hair.

"You didn't seem tired watching her!", Lo'ak chuckled.

"You Skxawng!", Neteyam pushed Lo'aks head away. "Am I right?", he asked and smirked at the older one. "Have you told her yet?"

"Noo", Neteyam rolled his eyes.

"Hm", Lo'ak turned his head to Y/N and both boys watched her for a while. "She really likes Tuk.", Lo'ak murmured.

"Yeah"

"And she is beautiful. I mean, for a human." Lo'ak raised his arms in defense. "I didn't know you had an affinity for the sky people" He ducked away under Neteyam's hand "but you should already tell her."

Neteyam groaned. "I can't."

"Ohh. Is the brave hunter too scared to talk to a little 'evenge (girl)?"

"Shut up!"

Lo'ak laughed and stood up. "Whatever. But think about my words.", with that he joined the others. Neteyam sighed. He had to tell her. And he would. But for now, it was enough to watch her.

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