#i could not recommend the full poem more

[spiderversegf]

POEMS FROM AN EMAIL EXCHANGE by hanif abdurraqib [ID in ALT]

[dcxdpdabbles]

If possible could you do the Batkids summoning the Ghost King on a dare?

It starts with Tim because most insane things do. Kon had sent him a link to a trend, asking him to try it the next time Young Justice got together.

He made the mistake of clicking on the link while sitting near his siblings in the gaming room. The audio is also on full blast because he didn't realize his headphones were out of battery.

Thus while waiting for his turn to play Mario Kart, a loud male moan echoes from his speakers. Tim freezes in his seat, staring at his phone in horrified betrayal, as seven heads snap in his direction.

"Ugh, Timmy? Those are videos you should be watching alone" Dick says with half a teasing smirk. "I know you're growing up and are curious about-"

"It's not like that! It's a summoning circle!" Tim yelps, turning the phone around. On his screen, five male teenagers sit in a circle, each holding hands. Moaning. The caption reads, "Summoning the Ghost King! What's your offer?".

"What the hell?" Jason squints as the teenagers in the video burst into laughter. They jeer and taunt each other good naturally, indicating the random moaning was in jest.

"Oh, I know that trend!" Cullen chirps from the floor. He's been hugging the bowl of chips all night, laying down on his stomach to keep it guarded from the others. "Basically, you try to summon the Ghost King by offering something random. Guess he doesn't respond to human sacrifices or the typical stuff, so people have been getting creative. I once saw a group of girls who burned their training bras and offered the King the ashes. The point is to pick the weirdest thing you can think of."

"That's the stupidest thing I have ever heard. We have to try it." Steph announces, standing up. She pushes the coffee table out of the way. The rest of their siblings, who weren't as into the speeding game, perked up in interest. "What do we need?"

"Um," Tim scrolls through the comments. "We need four never before lite candles, each placed in the positions of the four directions. We have to sit crossed leg in a circle holding hands and call out to the King with a poem, and at the end, we make our offering."

Harper springs up. "I got some candles! Do they matter if it's scented?"

Tim checks online. "It's not recommended, but it's fine if they are."

"This is idiotic! Attempting to make contact with the Ghost King is far too dangerous. I shall take no part in this foolery!" Damian cuts in, face twisted into a- surprisingly- nervous frown. His hands are clasped tightly over each other while his eyes roam the room looking for unseen threats. If Tim didn't know any better, he said the brat was scared.

"Aw Dami, if you don't want to do a summons, we can play the game of life or something. It's okay to be scared of ghosts" Dick says, placing his hand on the kid's shoulder. He was obviously trying to comfort the kid but it has the opposite effect.

"I am not scared of a mere ghost!" Damian hisses. "I am merely stating we should not bother forces well out of our leagues!"

Jason snorts, planting himself on the ground as Harper returns. She had four different color candles, purple, blue, black, and green. After consulting with Cass- a human compass-she placed them facing the east, west, south, and north.

"Why did you make that disgusting noise Todd?" Damian demands narrowing his eyes at the striking man.

"Just admit you're scared of ghosts, brat. No one is going to judge you for it."

"I said I was not scared of a mere ghost. The Ghost King is far more powerful then-"

"Alright, alright. Damian is too much of a scary cat to play, but who else is in?" Steph cuts him off, a knowing glint in her eyes. The youngest flushes angrily before he marches between the green and black candle and sits with his legs crossed. A nasty scowl is playing on his lips, likely not noticing the high-five Jason and Steph share for getting him to join.

Cass gracefully falls right next to Damian, offering the younger boy a small. His scowl lessens just a little. Cullen crawls his way over, pressing the bowl of chips to his hip protectively once he's sitting up. He ended up between the green and the purple candle, offering Cass a smile. Harper lands next to Cullen, cracking her neck as if preparing for a fight.

Dick does an unnecessary flip over the couch to take the place between the purple and blue candles. Next to him, Steph sits, her knee bumping the blue candle slightly. Jason struts over to sit next to Steph right between the blue and black candle. Duke shares the space with him, giving just a slightly nervous chuckle as Tim and Babs push the black and green candle apart a little to squeeze into though Babs remains in her chair.

"Alright, so the person with the candle on their right side has to light it. Do it at the same time. Once that happens, we join hands and do chat about the poem. Says only one person has to say the words, but if you want, I can send the link in the family group chat so we can all say it?" Tim waits to see them consider it, but Cass excited nodding has him copying the link he found on an online forum. A few dings go around the room as everyone checks their phones. "Now we have to decide on a sacrificial offering."

"We should do our most embarrassing secrets," Jason suggests.

"No, no, our fabulous hair!" Dick perks up, flipping said hair in a dramatic flair.

"It has to be something we all share," Tim says, eyeing Duke's short hair.

The other teenager makes an offended noise. "My hair is fabulous!"

"We offer the gay." Cullen cuts in. The rest turn to look at him as he wiggles his fingers. "Ohhhhhh! We're all fruity~! Spooky!"

"Babs isn't," Dick puts in only to see his best friend shake her hand in a so-and-so motion. He gapes at her before throwing his head back and laughing "We really do flock together!"

"So we agree? The gay?" Tim tries to say seriously, but his lips are twitching too much, trying to suppress a smile. There is agreement around the circle. He gives on a single node before passing around the matches Harper had brought. "How are we going to do this, though. Do we just shout, "I'm gay," or are we giving material things?"

"Let's write our gay awakening on a piece of people," Babs suggests grabbing her bag from where it hands on her chair handles. She tucks out a spiral notebook and a few pens. "I read that summoning needs something physical."

Everyone agrees as they pass along the notebook, writing down their awakening. Tim raises a brow at Damian's "Jon Kent" but doesn't call him out for it. After all, Conner Kent goes under his little brother's writing in his own writing.

He does wonder who Danny Fenton is, but knows better than to ask Cass about her life before the manor.

"Okay, let's do this! On the count of three- one-two-three!" Tim calls, watching Damian, Harper, Steph, and Duke simultaneously lite at the candle. They all hold hands, reading off phones that are prompted up by either their legs or kickstands on cases.

"We call upon the Undead King,

The one who bridges the realms,

The one who wields the Ring,

The one who will lead dies and breathes!"

There is a moment of silence where Tim swears he feels a slight shock along his fingertips, but it passes too quickly for him to care. Seeing as he is the ring leader, he calls out to the air. "Oh great King of the Dead, my siblings and I offer you a list of our gay awakening!"

"Stop, stop!" The youngest yells, leaping to his feet. His eyes are wild, scrambling to a far wall like a cornered animal. "No! He's coming!"

"Coming out the closet, like mama, I like boys, I like pecs

Like the arms when they flex!" Stephs suddenly sings, swaying in her seat. Everyone laughs before joining, and Tim wonders if they should have recorded this when suddenly Damian shrieks.

"Damian, who-"

The candles' flames all turn green as a haunting voice echoes through the room. "Your sacrifice has been accepted."

Tim's mouth drops open as the flames rise into the air forming a portal of liquid green. Familiar green. No wonder Daimain had been so scared. That was Lazarus Pit water. This meant this was the real deal, not just a random trend popularized by stupid teenagers.

Leaping Lizards Batman.

"What-what do we do!?" Cullen yelps as a burst of wind rips around the room, throwing everyone back. A laugh that sounds far too much like the Joker is heard through the portal as everyone tries to get into a fighting position with the wind pushing against them.

A head of snow-white hair peaks out and they are greeted by a laughing teenager. "A gay awaking sacrifice list! That's hilarious!"

"Who are you!" Tim hears Jason demand over the howling wings.

Another laugh, but this time, it sounds like clicking ice cubes is a response. "I'm Phantom!"

Tim has a second to see, wide green glowing eyes before the ghost reaches down, snatches their list, and zaps away.

Cass falls to her knees with a look of horror. "They know"

"I told you this was idiotic!" Damian screams, shaking so hard he looks like he will burst into tears in only a few seconds. Dick rushes over to him, pulling the sniffing boy into his arms. "We must never do this again!"

No one knows what to do in the wake of actually succeeding in calling the Ghost King or watching Dmaian cry from fear.

A ringtone plays from Cass's phone, breaking the ill silence. Tim catches a glimpse of "Danny" with two little hearts before his sister grabs the cell and leaps through an open window with what could only be a squeal.

"What the fuck just happened?" Cullen asks, but Tim can only offer him a shrug.

[headspace-hotel]

i'm...thinking about writing a book?

I mean. I feel really silly at the thought because i'm not like a scientist or anything, i'm barely at the beginning of my knowledge journey, but...being a writer was what I always wanted to do. It's what I've been doing ever since I could remember. And I'm constantly, constantly just so full of things that I want to tell the whole world. I will have a realization or idea and think, oh my god. Everyone needs to know this. But I can't tell everyone. I'm not good at talking.

I'm good at writing. But I will sit down to write a post on my silly little blog and get so overwhelmed by the SCALE of everything I want to say.

I think I've already started to write a book. I think the space for these ideas to fill is already the size of a book and it will never have any smaller of a size, and no one else will come along to write the book, and no one else CAN write the book, and IT HAS TO BE WRITTEN.

I want to write about the ways of the plants, of course. I want to teach how to transplant and how to gather seeds and the properties of keystone species...but more importantly, I want to write about how to learn the ways of the plants. I want to promote the habit of insatiable curiosity and intense observation. I want to show everyone that everything everywhere is infinitely interesting and mysterious, and if you pay attention to the plants, they will teach you.

I want to write about Symbiosis. I want to write about how we are connected to every other thing, how we have our own ecological niche as Caretakers, and our own special adaptations of curiosity and love. I want to write about how the ecosystem needs us to participate in it, not to cut ourselves off from it, and how our powerful influence on ecosystems can be for good or for bad. We are not a disease. We are a Keystone Species.

I want to discourage this Euro-centric idea that sees humans as separate, and recommend more reading from indigenous points of view that understands ecosystems better and sees humans as participants in nature, engaging in a reciprocal symbiotic relationship. I want to speak against all this talk about removing humans from half of the Earth or reducing the human population, and show other people that despair and fear make you paralyzed and powerless, but hope is powerful.

The most important and powerful thing you can do for your ecosystem is to love it. It is necessary to have hope for the future—to learn to imagine a future of restoration and renewal, and to build community with other people working toward that future.

If we don't imagine a future for our ecosystems, imagine them boldly and audaciously in ways that feel crazy and impossible, those futures will not happen. But just the act of saying, "This WILL happen. We WILL be okay." gives you the strength and energy to fight and it gives you the creativity to come up with solutions you never could have thought of before.

And I feel I have to explain, how did I end up listening to plants? And how did the teachings become so important that I had to write about them? There's this black, swallowing abyss underpinning all of who I am, some intimation of a reality so terrible the human spirit breaks beneath it. I had a mental health crisis back in 2021 where I was pulled deep into that abyss, and when I started rescuing little plants and caring for them, I was basically re-learning how to be human.

I feel like I was seeking answers to "How am I supposed to live in this world?" in the natural world because the human world of poetry and books and articles and think-pieces had utterly failed me in that regard. I had taken multiple poetry classes where I had read all the best contemporary poems, and all the poets just wrote flat, plodding, blunt descriptions of their trauma and despair. Nothing is wrong with these topics, but the worst part was how these authors didn't even take themselves seriously; they had to be detached and ironic about their own pain, like a snarky dystopian novel hero who jokes casually about the horrific reality they live in so the reader knows that this reality is normal and unremarkable to them—and even more importantly, that the hero is ironic and cool instead of responding in a vulnerable, human way.

And speaking of dystopian novels...there were a lot of those! It was like all the visions of the future I had read were dystopian. Even I had been writing a dystopian novel. But I realized that I wasn't wise enough to tell that story yet. I didn't know why at first. But then, as I was reading everything people were writing about climate change, I began to realize.

I saw a lot of patterns between the way people wrote about climate change and the tendencies of self-harm and self-defeat that gnawed inside me. Suicide was something that I had never struggled against, but I understood that suicide was only the most striking manifestation of a self-annihilating way. Sometimes you feel like by hurting yourself, you are being transgressive, exercising autonomy against an absolute, crushing reality. It doesn't have to be physical hurt; it can just be deciding no one will like you and denying yourself love, or thinking "Well, there's no use hoping for anything good to happen."

This is how people talk about climate change. They fantasize about extreme, horrific scenarios and talk as if the Earth is already dead and destroyed, and they talk about humans hatefully and as if they were a disease, and then congratulate themselves for seeing how bad it REALLY is instead of being in denial. It is easy for people to get attached to this and even get mad when someone suggests there might be hope, simply because self-harm can be very psychologically reinforcing.

It is common to call these responses "climate grief." But as I came into this very simple and quiet yet profound encounter with Nature, she had an answer to this philosophy that was perfectly gentle and placid and yet caustic enough to strip paint:

"HOW CAN YOU WISH FOR THE STRENGTH TO GRIEVE THE EARTH, WHEN YOU WERE NEVER STRONG ENOUGH TO LOVE IT?"

I realized, with a breaking heart, that I had always hated and resented my back yard and my home town, because it was an ugly place that seemed to me "Already destroyed," and my soul ached for woods and wilderness.

It had taken me 20 years to fully admit my love of nature, because I felt like there was no point in acting upon it—everything would get destroyed anyway.

I had not been brave enough to love the woods across the road, the creeks and the hills, because they were so fragile in a world that didn't respect them, they could be destroyed by some housing development at any time. So I just accepted that it was already a lost cause.

But it was time to be brave enough—not to accept despair, but to choose hope.

To grow up, first we had to become strong and get rid of silly beliefs like hope and fairness and love. But now, we have to become even stronger and start believing in those things again.

[goyayato]

a list of cool website i found and use

radiooooo.com- pretty much you can listen to any music any place in the world and also... you can choose any TIME. Sometimes a person just likes to listen to russian music during the 1970s yk? (i recommend btw)

onelook.com (thesaurus)- can't seem to find the word you're thinking of? What the hell is that blanket that you only use for the couch/living area??? Oh wait- a throw. Go check out onelook, it has definitely saved me time for my writing.

datayze.com- CALLING ALL WRITERS, or i mean if youre gonna have a baby too ig this would work. datayze literally will help you find a name for your oc! And if you already have a name it gives you alot of good info you may want to know about your oc'c name. Or you could always make a name by mixing two together, like you can... on datatyze.

bandcamp.com- I cannot for the life me explain this website but TRY IT OUT, YALL. You can find alot of underground artists or new songs :D

mix.com- kind of like tumblr? but kind of like reddit? but also kind of like twitter? what im trying to say is that it's called mix for a reason. It takes cool things from multiple different websites and compiles it into one website, really cool when you're into a really specific fandom sometimes.

lab.nationalmedals.org- tbh idk, it's pretty and cool. it's pretty cool. i used to play this a lot.

worldchatclock.com- i use this for some of my friends that i volunteered with online to find a perfect time for us to meet. It finds a time where which you and up to a few people in different time zones can find a perfect meeting time.

earth.nullschool.net- so ive been getting back into flying my kite and this has been a life saver for my time.

radiogarden.com- i made a whole post about this website, uhh just look it up or try and find the post- im sorry im getting tired pLease

(I have like 2 other websites but i am not going to log into my old school email to try and find the bookmarked websites)

HONORABLE MENTION (actually i did this on purpose. best for last yk?)

azejournal.com- HELLO AROS AND ACES OR BOTH!! THIS IS THE WEBSITE FOR YOU. This is full of cool poems, stories, personal experiences, etc, about being aro or ace or both. I am literally in LOVE (no romo) with this website, it makes me feel more understood sometimes. Also I just love seeing us as a minority having a safe space to make and post creatively.

[writingwithfolklore]

Following a Trail of Clues

                Lots of plots have at least some aspect of figuring out a mystery or uncovering some hidden truth. While it may not be a traditional murder mystery, writing a plot that revolves around the gathering of information and uncovering of clues can be written using a lot of the same techniques.

1. You should probably plan it

If you’re strictly a pantser, give it a shot, but I have never been able to pants mysteries like this. I would recommend planning it from the beginning and saving yourself a lot of time and headaches trying to piece it together later.

2. Start with the beginning and end

When planning a mystery, I start with the beginning, and then skip to the point that they uncover the truth or figure it out and work backwards to fill out the middle. What is the last hint they need to uncover the full truth, then, what leads to that hint, rinse and repeat until we get back to that beginning you created.

                For example, say the MC is trying to find their missing friend. The last point would be ‘they find their friend’, so that’s where we begin. Maybe right before that, they’re told the location, to get their location, they’ve kidnapped one of the bad guys who knows it, to get to him, they need to break into the evil lair, to find the lair, they need to spy on the organization, and so on.

3. Diversify the hints

I talk about this a bit in my post about written elements (here), but essentially, you’ll want to diversify how your characters get their hints. It will seem cheap if they find everything they need to know on conveniently spaced notes or journal entries (unless you can really justify that), or it’s all told to them by someone who happens to know it all (such as the ‘wise man’ trope).

                Maybe they find the last clue written down, but the one before was told to them from a key character, and the one before was puzzled out through a riddle, etc. etc. Here are some places to find clues:

Someone else knows something

This could be either an ally or an enemy. Family members, friends they weren’t aware of, a hidden partner, seemingly a stranger who knows more than they’re letting on. If they are an ally, there should be a reason they haven’t come forward yet, or justification for why their testimony is where it is in a story. Maybe they are somewhat accidentally guilty in the mystery, maybe they are afraid to be involved, maybe they aren’t aware anything has happened at all.

If they’re an enemy, maybe your protagonists need to corner them, best them in a battle, talk to them away from their boss, kidnap them, etc. Consider why this person would betray their ‘side’ to provide a clue to the protagonists.

Journal entries, notes, letters, ledgers, or otherwise written down

Physical evidence—footprints, pieces of clothing left behind, an object, photos, drawings

Biological evidence--fingerprints, DNA, hair, etc. If your character already has access to the equipment for this, great! If not, consider how they could find this out.

A prophetic dream or vision (use in cases in which it would make sense for your character to have this, obviously)

A riddle, poem, or song, if you can justify it.

An educated guess (for small jumps)

Timing—if they can figure out a timeline, they may be able to figure out something else

Something is missing or off place. That’s odd, character always leaves their book on the bedside table, so why isn’t it there?

Any other ways to get hints or clues to your characters?

[white-sinner]

Seven brothers and their boyfriends

fourth born Satan x male book lover reader

Smut

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all fairy tales start with once upon a time and they all lived happily ever after and it's time for the story between you and satan to begin

when you two first met there wasn't this much interaction the only thing you understood about him was his hatred for lucifer

one of the details that made him fall madly in love with you was your love of reading but not just your personality your looks he loved everything about you. like the little mermaid

and when he showed you his room o holy heaven … it was as if he fell in love with you again your eyes sparkled! it was a whole room full of bookshelves and full of books finally someone who understood him his love for books in short a perfect match

most of the time you could find him opening your door wide with a pile of books in his hand saying

“these are some of my favorite books I think you might like them”

of course you also recommended them and lent your favorite books with the which unlike his was much more attentive

for your dates, these are almost always in the library, in his room pampering you while you read together but one thing that satan likes to do in particular is to recreate one of the romantic scenes of one of his books

now the fights between you two don't always happen but they are more frequent than other brothers but you can swear that after he calms down he will try to apologize in all possible ways for example by sending you pictures of cats with the word sorry, writing you a poem or even coming with a cat in his arms apologizing

SMUT

now this may seem like a fairy tale but this story is not all sugar and candy but there is also a touch of spice now this can go in two ways

SUB READER

satan was returning from the library when he saw a scene in the living room he saw you and lucifer arguing and you fearlessly answered him in kind, after that quarrel and you were still angry, satan he invited you to his room and as soon as you entered the Saw satan shirtless slamming you against the wall kissing you furiously

“you could have told me you wanted to do that wonderful show but you didn't tell me anything, naughty boy~”

“Huh?!”

satan throw you on the bed you were speechless but excited and satan could see it

satan undresses you while he runs his hands over your exposed body, he puts you on your stomach and your ass in the air and starts fucking you very hard, you put your hand on your mouth to stop your moans being heard

“Don't cover your sweet sounds, kitty”

“mmm~ go slowerrr”

to which he smirked and went faster

you know cats when their partner is in heat? this is exactly what happened

the next day Satan had to carry you in his arms because you couldn't move well he didn't mind

TOP READER

you and Satan were in his room reading and drinking tea when you notice something strange under the bed

"do not look!"

“some cat ears and a tail-shaped butt plug?”

“I-I can explain”

now you were intrigued by the tail shaped butt plug you already had an idea where the situation was going but you wanted to hear from him

“I wanted you to fuck me with those…”

said Satan in a low voice even lower than Levi

“What? speak louder baby”

"Come on are you serious? it's embarrassing"

“ok when you are ready to tell me he will find me in my room”

“wait wait! don't go..I want you to fuck me with those”

you only smiled after this and Satan's cheeks flushed red

"undress"

Satan followed your instructions and was left with only ears and tail

now he was under you while you fucked him making him see the stars

“M/NM/Nn-“

“No no,baby kitty don’t talk”

with that said he started fucking harder now you could see the bulge of your cock inside him

“Nyan nyan!!”

and so you continued until the morning

A/N: before this story ends I leave you with a photo

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[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 are confirmed to have left their respective cities 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 a meeting 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 huge 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.

[worshipper-status]

💙Tips from a Worshipper💙: How to Make a Shrine

Hello! I hope you’re having a good day! This post is an idea I’ve had for a while so here’s my guide to making a shrine for your own darling! This post isn’t the be all end all to shrines but it’s tips and advice I’ve gathered from doing my own thing for a while. Feel free to add your own tips in the tags of this post if you reblog it. I’d appreciate it a lot!

1.) Get a shoe box or a larger gift  box if you want more space.

This is entirely for practicality purposes. You don’t want to have a full on shrine in your room, in case anyone ever visits you or goes in your room. It’s inconvenient and annoying to have to take it down and put it back up, if there’s a possibility someone may want to go in your room. This is particularly useful for me, because my beloved knows I identify as a yandere but I get self conscious about her seeing the things I do because of it, so keeping it in a neat enclosed space to take out and do what I please and then pack it up and put it away when I’m done helps a lot both mentally and for practical reasons. 

2.) Consider the materials you want for it. Don’t be afraid to have fun with it!

Your darling deserves a beautiful shrine! If you have photos of them, print them out and line the walls of the box with them, or simply just leave them in an envelope inside the box to flip through when you want. Maybe if you’re artsy, decorate the inside of the box with markers and pens. Get some stickers and slap those on the side of the box. Maybe there’s something you associate your darling with? Put imagery of those in there too! My beloved associates me with sharks and associates herself with eevees so there’s a lot of that going on in mine. I often leave a candle in the shrine to take out and light whenever I’m doing anything with it. Bonus points if you know what your darling smells like so you can grab a candle with a similar scent. Other things I leave in the shrine are things I use to symbolize tokens of affection, so crystals, rings, jewelry, art pieces I’ve drawn for her, gifts my darling has given me, printed screenshots of text conversations with my darling that make me happy, etc. This is very individualized to you and your darling, but if all else fails, just fill it up with things you associate them with. Do they really like bunnies? Bunny themes. Is there favorite color green? Green everything. Do they like nature? Nature motif. 

3.) What’s the purpose for the shrine? Adjust accordingly.

Maybe you just want the shrine as a storage space for things your darling has given you? Or maybe you want to use it as part of a nightly routine to make sure no matter what you’re giving your beloved the proper amount of love and affection and wishing them goodnight. Maybe you just want a space to express that obsessive side of you in peace, and then be able to pack it up and put it away as a coping mechanism for your obsessive thoughts. No shame in any of these options! But make sure you’re designing it to help you with these things. I tend to use mine as more of a place to express my obsessive side in peace and then pack it up and move on with my day, kind of as a way to satiate the thoughts. So what I did was I made a lock for my box. Yeah it’s not really functional, you could easily just rip open the box to see what’s inside, but it helps me make that mental distinction of, this is Worshipper time, and this is not Worshipper time. For nightly routine type shrines (or daytime whichever you prefer), I recommend having a pre determined nightly routine for this. Maybe every night, you talk to the shrine like it is your darling to get out thoughts you never said earlier, maybe you read off an honoring poem, maybe you just brush your hair in front of the shrine while daydreaming about your darling doing it, anything works, just make sure you have the things you need handy, such as keeping a printed poem in the box, or a hairbrush, or whatever else suits you. 

4.) Does your darling know you’re a yandere? Are you brave enough to ask them for things?

I know I’m lucky to have a darling that knows I’m a yandere and for the most part supports it. However, we are currently long distance (yeah, I know, it’s killing me) so I can’t get gifts from her often. However, once we are living together, I know I will not be afraid to ask for tokens of affection for the shrine. This is going to involve me stealing her hoodies (we’re the same size in clothes lol), maybe a few strands of hair from the bathroom sink, any little doodles or notes she leaves around, etc. This is also for those people lucky enough to have a vial of blood from their darling (I wish TwT). Give it an honorary display in your shrine for when you’re not wearing it. But yeah, if there’s anything in specific you want your darling to give you and you know they’d be willing, ASK FOR IT! 

5.) Consider a digital shrine!

I’ve actually just started curating my digital shrine and I think it’s a really good option for people! I have mine on a private discord server that’s just me and pluralkit. I use this server for mostly keeping track of my daily life stuff, system things, recipes, to do’s, etc. But at the bottom of the server, I have a separate channel for my shrine! It has all the selfies I’ve saved and gathered from my darling, images I’ve grabbed online that I feel embody our relationship, screenshots of convos, various poems and writings of mine, future ideas for dates and otherwise. It has been way easier to put together and curate than the physical one,  and I actually enjoy it quite a bit more. It’s a lot easier to make a daily thing, and a lot more fun for me too. I love scrolling through the internet and grabbing things to add to the shrine, throwing my own writings in the mix, and knowing that no one else is going to see it because it’s in a private discord server and unless someone gets onto my computer or phone, I’m fine. 

[contemplatingoutlander]

Our true feelings about race and identity are revealed in six words

This is a poignant article about a project that Michele Norris started that tapped into people's thoughts about race in a profound way--using only six words. This is a gift🎁link, so anyone can read the full interactive article, even if they don't subscribe to The Washington Post. Below are some excerpts from the article:

I have always cringed when the accusations fly about someone allegedly “playing the race card.” It’s usually a proxy for “You’re making me uncomfortable, so please stop talking.” Or a diversionary tactic used to avoid having to speak about race with any kind of precision or specificity. A shorthand for “Just shut up.” And so, in 2010, I flipped the script, turning that accusatory phrase into a prompt to spark conversation. I printed 200 black postcards at my local FedEx Kinko’s on upper Wisconsin Avenue asking people to condense their thoughts on race or cultural identity into one sentence of six words. The front of the cards simply read:

Race. Your thoughts. 6 words. Please send.

I left the cards everywhere I traveled: in bookstores, in restaurants, at the information kiosks in airports, on the writing desks at all my hotels. Sometimes I snuck them inside airline in-flight magazines or left them at the sugar station at Starbucks. I hoped a few of those postcards would come back, thinking it would be worth the trouble if even a dozen people responded. Much to my surprise, strangers who stumbled on the cards would follow the instructions and use postage stamps to mail their six-word stories back to me in D.C. Since my parents were both postal workers, this gave me an extra thrill. Here I was, doing my part to support the Postal Service. Who says snail mail is dead? Half a dozen cards arrived within a week, then 12, then 20. Over time, that trickle became a tide. I have received more than 500,000 of these stories — and more arrive every day, though the vast majority of submissions now arrive through a website portal online. They have come from all 50 states and more than 100 countries. Though limited to six words, the stories are often shocking in their candor and intimacy. They reveal fear, disappointment, regret and resentment. Some are kissed by grace or triumph. A surprising number arrive in the form of a question, which suggests that many people hunger not just for answers but for permission to speak their truths. It was amazing what people could pack into such a small package:

Reason I ended a sweet relationship

Too Black for Black men’s love

Urban living has made me racist

Took 21 years to be Latina

Was considered White until after 9/11

Gay, but at least I’m White

I’m only Asian when it’s convenient

To keep the conversation going, I created a complementary website for the Race Card Project, where people could submit their six-word stories online. Over time we added two words to the submission form: “Anything else?” That changed everything. People sent in poems, essays, memos and historical documents to explain why they chose their six words. The archive came alive. It became an international forum where people could share their own stories but also learn much about life, as if it were lived by someone else.

I highly recommend reading the entire article, using the above gift link. As an olive-skinned Italian American, with curly hair, I have often felt like I am a walking Rorschach test for race. Even though I'm classified as "white" in the U.S., I've had people ask me if I'm a Latina, a Native American, Black, Egyptian, Jewish, and even a South Pacific Islander. Given my history, here are my six words on race.

A book is not it's cover.

I welcome people adding to this post their own 6 words on race.

[gunilslaugh]

Could I request their reaction to you being gothic and loving the dark aesthetic please 🙏

Here you go! I hope that you enjoy it! :)

All members √ • – • √

Summary: How Xdinary Heroes are with a gothic significant other.

WC:631

Warning:none

photo not mine credits to owner.

Gunli

Gunil loves that you’re unapologetically you. Your gothic wardrobe tends to be eye-catching. It even earns you some judgemental looks, but that never bothers you and it amazes Gunil. You tend to be a bit more reserved and individualistic, so moments where you rely on him makes Gunil’s heart swarm. Any time he sees something with a dark/all black aesthetic it reminds him of you. He was walking on his way to the studio when he passed a black cat. He snapped a picture of it and sent it to you with the caption. “Look you two are twinning! (It reminded me of you)”. 

Jungsu

Jungsu finds your gothic style very interesting. He feels like before meeting you he has heard the term “gothic/goth” more jokingly rather than seriously, so knowing you had given him the opportunity to truly understand what goth culture is. He comes to really respect it. He’ll sometimes have you pick out his outfit for him, so the two of you can have matching dark aesthetics. He loves to take photos together with you on those days or even just in general. If you are into poetry he will write you little poems. Either sending them to you by text or writing them on sticky notes.

Gaon/Jiseok

Jiseok loves having a gothic significant other. It’s very fun for him. Once he stuck a bright neon yellow shirt into your all black closet and thought that it was the funniest thing. The unimpressed and slightly mad face you looked at him with upon seeing the shirt is something he won’t forget. He tries to get you to wear the shirt too, saying you should give color a chance. That’s just fun and games though on a serious note he does respect you and your gothicness. He’ll listen to the bands that you like and even recommend some new ones to you.

O.de/Seungmin

You being gothic is what caught his attention first. It made him want to get to know you and he’s so glad that he did. You will occasionally refer to him as your honorary goth boyfriend, since he does have some likes and qualities of the goth culture. He will have you paint his nails black for him and he will do the same for you. It takes him longer than it would if you just painted them yourself, but you don’t mind. You like the warmth that radiates from his hands as he carefully paints your nails.

Junhan/Hyeongjun

Hyeonjun finds a liking to the gothic style. Meaning that he also likes your gothic style and admires it. He really takes an interest in your accessories and often borrows them from you. Whether it’s rings, bracelets, or necklaces he likes them all. Will buy you two matching accessories that you both can wear together. Hyeongjun will make note of your favorite songs and secretly learn how to play them on his guitar. Then he will just randomly play them for you. The brightest simple breaks out on his face about how happy you got over him playing your favorite song(s).

Jooyeon

At first he didn’t understand the full meaning of what being goth/gothic was. After you explained it to him, it fascinated him. The first time he opened your closet he was stunned. It was black, it almost looked like nothing was in there, just one big shadow. If he feels like being funny he will come to you dressed in bright, vibrant colors, completely contrasting your bright aesthetic. He makes it his goal to see you wear something colorful. He enjoys listening to the music that you like and sharing songs with you, but sometimes those songs are completely out of pocket like Orange Caramel Catallena.

[useless-catalanfacts]

Hello! Another tumblr user I follow has posed a challenge: memorize one poem per month in 2024. I would like to include at least one poem in Catalan in my journey. Could you recommend any good poems or poets for this?

Hello! We have many very talented poets. My favourite poet is Salvador Espriu, other good ones are Miquel Martí i Pol, Vicent Andrés Estellés, Jacint Verdaguer, Maria-Mercè Marçal, Pere Quart, Josep Carner, Ausiàs March, Joan Maragall, Montserrat Abelló, J.V. Foix, Gabriel Ferrater, Joana Raspall, Joan Alcover, Enric Casasses, among others.

I'll add 7 of my favourite short/short-ish poems (+translation to English) under the cut. Poetry is very personal and these are just the ones that I really like, but I'll be happy if anyone else wants to add more of their favourite Catalan poems.

1. Enyore un temps que no és vingut encara (I Miss a Time That's Not Yet Come) by Vicent Andrés Estellés.

Enyore un temps que no és vingut encara com un passat d’accelerada lluita, de combatius balcons i d’estendards, irat de punys, pacífic de corbelles, nou de cançons, parelles satisfetes, el menjador obert de bat a bat i el sol entrant fins al darrer racó. Em moriré, però l’enyore ja, aquest moment, aquest ram, aquest dia, que m’ha de fer aixecar de la fossa veient passar la multitud contenta.

Translation:

I miss a time that has not arrived yet like a past of accelerated fight, of combative balconies and standards, angry of fists, peaceful of sickles, new of songs, satisfied couples, the living room wide open and the sun entering until the last corner. I will die, but I miss it already, this moment, this bouquet, this day, that shall make me get up from the grave watching the happy crowd pass by.

2. Assaig del càntic en el temple (Attempted Canticle in the Temple) by Salvador Espriu.

Oh, que cansat estic de la meva covarda, vella, tan salvatge terra, i com m’agradaria d’allunyar-me’n, nord enllà, on diuen que la gent és neta i noble, culta, rica, lliure, desvetllada i feliç! Aleshores, a la congregació, els germans dirien desaprovant: «Com l’ocell que deixa el niu, així l’home que se’n va del seu indret», mentre jo, ja ben lluny, em riuria de la llei i de l’antiga saviesa d’aquest meu àrid poble. Però no he de seguir mai el meu somni i em quedaré aquí fins a la mort. Car sóc també molt covard i salvatge i estimo a més amb un desesperat dolor aquesta meva pobra, bruta, trista, dissortada pàtria.

Translation:

How tired I am of this my craven, ancient, savage fatherland; and how it would delight me to leave, going north, where they say that people are noble and clean, cultured, rich, free, awake/unsupervised and happy! Then, my brethren would tell the congregation, disapprovingly: "Leaving his native place, a man becomes like a bird leaving the nest", while I, in the distance, would laugh at the law and the ancient wisdom of this my arid people. But the dream will never be followed, I’ll stay here until my death. For I too am full of cowardice and savagery, and with a desperate pain I love this my poor, unclean, sad, unlucky fatherland.

3. Divisa (Motto) by Maria-Mercè Marçal. This one's short and easy!

A l’atzar agraeixo tres dons: haver nascut dona, de classe baixa i nació oprimida. I el tèrbol atzur de ser tres voltes rebel.

Translation:

I am grateful to fate for three gifts: to have been born a woman, from the working class and an oppressed nation. And the turbid azure of being three times a rebel.

4. Possible introducció a un epitalami (Possible Introduction to an Epithalamium) by Salvador Espriu

I posted this a while ago, find the text and translation in this post:

5. Plus Ultra ("Further" in Latin) by Jacint Verdaguer

Text and translation in this post:

6. Aquesta remor que se sent (This Murmur We Hear) by Miquel Martí i Pol.

Text and translation in this post:

7. Mester d'amor (Knowing How to Love) by Joan Salvat-Papasseit

Si en saps el pler no estalviïs el bes que el goig d'amar no comporta mesura. Deixa't besar, i tu besa després que és sempre als llavis que l'amor perdura. No besis, no, com l'esclau i el creient, mes com vianant a la font regalada. Deixa't besar -sacrifici fervent- com més roent més fidel la besada. ¿Què hauries fet si mories abans sense altre fruit que l'oreig en ta galta? Deixa't besar, i en el pit, a les mans, amant o amada -la copa ben alta. Quan besis, beu, curi el veire el temor: besa en el coll, la més bella contrada. Deixa't besar i si et quedava enyor besa de nou, que la vida és comptada.

Translation:

If you know its pleasure, don't skip the kiss for the joy of loving has no measure. Let yourself be kissed, and kiss after it for it's always on the lips that love lasts. Don't kiss, no, like the slave and the believer, but like the passer-by does with a delightful fountain. Let yourself be kissed -fervent sacrifice- the more burning, the more faithful is the kiss. ¿What would you have done if you died before without fruit other than the zephyr on your cheek? Let yourself be kissed, and on the chest, on the hands, male or female lover -the cup raised high. When you kiss, drink; may the glass cure the fear: kiss on the neck, the most beautiful place. Let yourself be kissed and if there's yearning left kiss again, for life is finite.

These are some I like. You can find more Catalan poems in this blog's tag #poesia.

[shinybearnerd]

“You need some rest”

So, this is a little fluff Kratos x reader for all my fellows that are in love with the “god of few words” (god knows I loved Freya for that, lol).

   This story is set after GOW Ragnarok, so it may contain spoilers.

Also, here Brok and Sindri made a body for Mimir. So he's able to walk. Idk, it felt right.

Anyway, hope you like it!

Pair: Kratos x reader

Words: 1,28k

Genre: Fluff, a bit of angst

Story: After Ragnarok, you, your husband Kratos, Mimir, Freya and the Huldra brothers decide to help rebuild the realms. Kratos is the All-Father now [if you are interested in this, I recommend it to you @whittywhitty. They write beautiful headcanons about it!], so most of the work is up to him. So this means that his fantastic partner has to step up and remind him to get some sleep.

-Engish is not my first language. So I'm sorry if there are any mistakes-

With closed eyes, you turn to the other side of the bed. Your hand spread towards the other end, gently seeking your husband's presence. Only to find out the shits are still intact.

You sigh, trying to wake up so could stand up without falling miserably to the ground. Once you got up, you head to his study.

If he wasn't there in your bed, he surely was that gods damn study. You came to understand it.

You walk slowly, your tiredness still on your shoulders. You were able to get a half hour of sleep after helping Sindri and Brok out, but obviously, it wasn't enough.

You begin to climb the stair, a hand on the handrail. Once you arrived on the floor, you see a light reflex on it. It came from the study, just like you suspected.

After getting closer to it, you leaned against the door, trying your best not to make any sounds.

There it is, your husband. In all his godly glory.

He was sitting behind his desk, full of scrolls, books and notes from his and Atreus' journals of their diplomatic trips.

On his nose, a pair of glasses, which were definitely too small for his physique.

Even tho he was a god, he was starting to see objects in front of him a little blurry. When you pointed it out to him, all that Kratos did was grump about him not needing anything.

He was a god! He did not need glasses!

He kept replying like that every time you, Atreus or Mimir brought up the subject until he noticed that he wasn't able to read his notes or the poems, which he likes to read next to you in front of the fireplace. So he decided to wear them, with the condition of putting them only when they are home and alone.

He is incredibly hot with them on.

The ladies of the realms (at least the one that came into your home did) think that.

You think that.

Everybody thinks that, except Brok that doesn’t miss a bit and throws some jokes at him.

The lenses are oval, bound by a delicate, but at the same time resistant, sheet of iron. They are thin but still have a magnifying effect on his beautiful deep amber eyes. 

By gods, if you love those eyes! Those were the first things you noticed about him. His gaze was so deep and calm but also full of sadness and anger. A cocktail of emotions that made him even more interesting in your eyes. But, every time you say something like that, people next to you (mostly your family and friends) make fun of you by saying that of all Kratos, it was impossible to notice his little eyes first.

Some seconds passed before your god noticed your presence. He raised his head in your direction. His expression softened.

That was the moment when you noticed he was exhausted.

In those months he made the impossible: travel from one realm to another without a break; read and fulfil some prayers; help rebuilt some temples and structures...

One night was on the verge of collapsing!

You two were at a gala, on Svartalfheim and you noticed that something was off about Kratos. You were able to convince him to end the night there and get some sleep.

The life of a diplomat wasn't easy. It was expected. You most of all knew that and you were worried for your husband. He had problems with his self-esteem. Always thinking that he was about to make the worst decision. Or that he wasn't helping enough. Even tho he was perfect

     <<Have I ever told you how sexy you look with those glasses on?>>

He let out a chuckle.

Another thing that you loved about him was his chuckle. Every time it made you melt.

    <<You mentioned it a couple of times>>

    <<Ehm...>>

You hear someone clearing his throat next to you. You enter the room only to see Mimir in the corner on a chair. 

How was it possible that you didn't notice him?

   Your cheeks turn pink, a thing that amused the greek god.

    <<Mimir! Are you trying to ambush me?>>

    <<I'm sorry. I was trying only trying to persuade your husband to rest>>

    <<Oh! Then we are here for the same quest, brother>>

Kratos looked up from the papers again, a quill pen in hand. He was observing his best friend and his lover looking at him incessantly. It was not a good sign. 

    <<What?>> he asked.

Mimir, smelling trouble, gets up and walks toward you, saying that he would leave you two alone.

    <<Night, brother!>>

Kratos grunts and keeps writing on the scroll under his fingers.

    <<Night, Mimir. Thank you>>

    <<I don't know what I was expecting... Good night.>>

Once you hear the door of Mimir's room closing, you approach Kratos, observing with worry every little movement.

    <<Should not you be sleeping? It's the middle of the night>> he asks you.

    <<It's been so long that I can't fall asleep without you snoring in my ears>>

    <<I snore?>>

You smile, getting behind him and hugging him.

    <<Yes, my love. Like a bear!>>

You can feel him relaxing under your touch. Almost melting under it. Feeling also a hand caressing yours.

You two remain like this for a while. Hugging each other, calm and rocked by each other's heartbeat.

    <<Do I really snore?>>

You laugh this time, kissing his cheek.

    <<Yes, but I think it's the best part of the day>>

Kratos frowns, asking you what you meant by that. You blush again, trying to persuade him to talk about something else. He is curious, tho. So he keeps asking.

    <<Ehm, well... You tend to snore when you are relaxed or when you are exhausted. In both cases, it means that you put your guard down... So it's like... Well, it's like you are telling me that you trust me>>

He smiles, breaks the hug and puts you in his lap, caressing your thighs.

    <<I trust you.>>

    <<I know! I know. It's just... I like it. That's all>>

He smiles again, caressing your cheek. You kiss him while taking off his glasses and you put them on the desk. With a deeper tone, he warns you by calling your name.

    <<You need to sleep too. If you keep up with this routine you could really hurt yourself, my love.>>

    <<I know that this is meaningful for you. And even if I was with you that day, I can't imagine how you felt when you saw that shrine... I'm very proud of you! I really am. I love the dedication you put into everything you do, how you try to maintain peace... But if you want to keep doing it, you need to sleep! I'm worried about you, Kratos. Everybody is. Last week you were about to collapse, and the one before that, you were about to have a nervous breakdown.

You see him passing a hand on his eyes, maybe trying to relieve his tiredness. You take his face in your hands so that your eyes can meet and start cares his cheeks with your thumb.

<<I'm not telling you to quit. I'm telling you to rest, my love. You are a god, true, but your body needs some rest. You can't keep stressing it like that!>>

The god remains silent. He grumps something and then nods.

    <<All right>>

You smile at him and kiss him again, starting to stand up.

    <<Come. Tomorrow morning I'll help you out. And no, I don't accept no as an answer.>>

Kratos grumps again with annoyance but smiles, letting the love of his life guide him to their bedroom.

[jungkookienoona]

Finishing Touch

Recommended Song: Good to Me by Seventeen

|Masterlist|

Summary:

As your elder brother's apprentice, he sometimes sent you on errands for him. This time you didn't mind so much when you met the handsome blacksmith who mantained the tools of your trade.

Genre: Smut

Pairing: Blacksmith!Jungkook X Carpenter!FemReader (Y/N)

Warnings: Swearing, heavy handed flirting, blacksmithing/carpentry jargon, I JUST LOVE CRAFTS OKAY, Namjoon is the older brother who wants whats best for you, reader has buff arms but its not really mentioned, Jungkook and reader are both a little weird, crackish?, reader has a bit of an oral fixation, reader knows what she wants, face sitting, oral(m&f),multiple orgasms, 1 spank. Jungkook is a biter. Multiple positions. let me know if there's any I missed.

Word Count: 6k

So this in unbeta'd so sorry for any mistakes. I'll also be adding the poem I wrote that somewhat inspired this at the end.

Some days you cursed the day you asked Namjoon to be his apprentice. He was a capable carpenter and an attentive brother, but he was the biggest klutz you had ever seen! Which meant you were often sent on errands by him as he nursed his latest injury. You loved him dearly, you just wished he was more careful. What had you on your most recent one for him was a twisted ankle he had received after slipping on some wood shavings.

Namjoon had his tools handcrafted by a surprisingly local blacksmith who you had yet to meet. And apparently after a horrendously bad attempt at maintaining said tools, his blacksmith had forbade him from even trying and demanded that anytime upkeep was needed, Namjoon was to take his tools to this blacksmith where he would be discounted the cost. The benefits of being a regular you guessed.

So with a box of blunt chisels in grasp, you shifted them to rest on your hip so you could open the door to the blacksmith. A system bell twinkled above you to mark your arrival. The interior wasn’t quite what you had imagined it would be. When you thought of blacksmiths, what honestly came to mind was that they all looked like they did in mediaeval fantasy films. Cramped, hot and full of hazards. But much like how Namjoon’s shop is fairly modernised, so is this one. 

The entrance was a crisp white and sectioned off from the main workshop. There was a standing desk that looked to be bare save a lone laptop and a card reader. Behind the desk to the side was a code locked door, seemingly soundproof. Next to the door, thus directly behind the desk, was a large window, also soundproof as you did not hear the sound of the forge fire that was in clear sight. Through the window you saw the workshop itself, spaciously layed out as to minimise trips and accidents. Different tools safely stored away in carefully organised shelves. Grindstones and sanding belts lined in a row for sharpening. A power hammer tucked away in a corner. The forge was central on the back wall with the anvil not too far away. There was a work table pressed up against the wall opposite to the grindstones, where you saw the smith, setting something down before heading to the door.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting when you saw the smith for the first time, but you certainly weren’t expecting him to be so handsome. Shoulder-length hair was tied away with some loose strands framing his face, some soot smeared across his cheek highlighting a small scar. It made you want to get the rag out of your pocket to clean him up a bit. Big doe eyes met yours and you were captured in them like the small galaxy of lights they reflected. He wore a fitted grey long-sleeve shirt, its sleeves rolled up, a pair of cargo pants and a tool belt. You had to stop yourself from staring at the tattoo sleeve that consumed his arm.

The smith cleared his throat, snapping you out of your daze, “What can I do for ya?” He asked, gesturing towards the box.

“Oh! Uh, my brother- Namjoon- needed some things sharpened but had a bit of a… mishap,” you felt a blush colour your cheeks.

“Ah~ So you’re Namjoon’s little sis. He talks about you a lot whenever he stops by.” He took the box from you and surprised you a little when he grasped one of your hands to inspect, “looks like he wasn’t lying, you’ve been putting the work in, these calluses are impressive.”

You gently pulled your hand away, blurting out against your will, “are you like this with every girl you meet?”

“Only the pretty and talented ones,” he said with a wink, “do you want to come on through as I sort these out? Shouldn’t take too long.”

You nodded dumbly, reeling from his apparent flirtatiousness. 

He gave you a lopsided smile before turning, punching in the code and opening the door. He gestured with his head for you to go in first. It was warm in the workshop, almost sweltering. 

“How can you wear a long-sleeve here? It feels like I’m about to melt and I’m in a t-shirt.”

He shrugged, “You get used to it I guess. I’ve been working around the forge since I started apprenticing under my father at thirteen. Also stops my arms from getting burnt when sparks fly.”

That made sense. He headed over to the grindstones, set the box down and got to work. You noticed the stonewheel he was using was different from the others. It was situated in a wooden basin of water, wetting it as it spun. It was also most hypnotising, watching him pick up a chisel, make sure the angle is perfect before putting it to the grind. Once satisfied he would get a leather strip and give the chisel a few swipes against it.

"This is called 'Stropping', it polishes the edge and makes sure there's no imperfections in it that aren't visible without a microscope or something."

He set the chisel on a nearby table and picked up the next one.

"This doesn't look so hard, how did Namjoon fuck up so bad that you'd need to do this for him?"

"He would lose and chip his edge in his sharpening attempts. But I don't mind doing this much for him as a favour if he helps me out with a few projects from time to time."

You raised a brow in interest, "Such as?"

"Carving axe handles, knife hilts, spear shafts, things like that. Especially if it's a custom order that stipulates some sort of cosmetic aspect to those. Though he's come out to fix my bed a few times."

"Your bed? Is it old?"

Jungkook chortled, "No… let's say it's well loved." Your cheeks coloured, immediately catching on to what he meant. "Sometimes it was some of the supporting struts the mattress sits on, once it was a leg. Namjoon was an angel for fixing that in such short notice. Though I haven't had to call him out in a while."

"Ah, you've taken pity on it."

"Not quite, just been too busy for a relationship recently."

You deflated a little at that, not that you were interested. It was just a shame such a handsome man was off the market.

"What about you? Anyone in the picture?"

You huffed, "Nope. Namjoon hasn't approved of anyone who's shown even a hint of interest in me. And his fucking vibe checks always turn out correct. Last guy was a potter and Namjoon felt there was something off, so he catfished him, turned out the dude had a wife and kids."

Jungkook stopped what he was doing and turned to you with wide eyes, jaw slack, "No fucking way."

"Yep, sometimes it's suffocating to have such a protective older brother. But in that situation I was thankful."

"He does talk like the sun shines out your ass. He once said, and I quote, 'I will not let the hardships of this world sully her'. That was when we went out for drinks and he started complaining about a… dancer?... that wanted to be fuck buddies with you."

You put your head in your hands, "That guy was spewing some bullshit about how having sex regularly would limber him up and make him a better dancer."

"And according to Namjoon you almost fell for it."

"It made sense at the time!" You cried in embarrassed betrayal.

"You sound just a little frustrated," he said with a bunny toothed grin.

"No shit. All the guys I meet just want my body."

"To be honest, you do have a banging bod but I get that it's annoying for people to be so shallow. I've had similar issues. But do you know what helps me manage the stress of being single?" He paused to give you time to respond but you just shrugged. "My work. Hitting red hot things with a hammer is great for working through things."

"I'd imagine splitting wood with a froe is a similar sensation."

Jungkook tilted his head in confusion, "Excuse me, I'm not entirely acquainted with the processes of carpentry. How is a froe used? The blade doesn't face out like an axe but is on the top so…?"

"You put the blade against the wood and hit it with a mallet, once the wood starts cracking you can use the handle as a lever to pull the wood apart. It's quite effective and is good for getting the wood to the width you need with little shaving."

"Ah yes, so you too get to hammer things." He nodded sagely and got back to work. "Here's an idea, I feel you need a man in your life that isn't a family member, someone to measure potential suitors against. How about once a week we take turns going to each other's workshops. You show me some carpentry tools and techniques, I show you how to maintain the tools of your trade. And we chat, you can get to know me because I already feel like I know you thanks to Namjoon." 

You shook your head, "You know Namjoon's ideal me. So that's a rather rose tinted view."

Jungkook shot you a mischievous smirk, "You saying there's a bad girl side to you Namjoon doesn’t know?"

"I will neither confirm nor deny anything. That's for you to find out."

"I look forward to it."

----------------------------------------------------

A week later and Jungkook was knocking on your workshop door, Namjoon was taking the day off and so the shop was technically closed. He was in a tank top due to the warmer weather you had been experiencing, which showed off more of his arms and that gorgeous tattoo sleeve of his. Loose fitting sweats clung to his thighs like their existence depended on it and his hair was half up in a bun. His doe eyes were framed by a pair of glasses that suited him far too well. You found yourself biting your bottom lip as you appraised him. He waved hello and chuckled as you noticeably broke out of your trance. 

"I know they're cool," he said gesturing to his sleeve, "maybe someday I'll talk you through them."

You shook your head, "Sorry, just wasn't expecting to see so much of you so soon."

"That's what she said." Childish. "But in all seriousness, it's hot as balls out there and I feel like I'm less likely to get a serious burn here than at the forge. So I thought I'd let the boys breathe a bit."

"You'll have to be extra mindful of splinters then," you half joked. You had gotten some rather nasty ones in your early days before you had gotten yourself some woodworking sleeves. 

You noticed his gaze was going past you to something in the corner and turned to look.

"Is that a wizard? Is Namjoon carving a wooden wizard statue?"

You cleared your throat awkwardly, "Not Namjoon, I am. It's my first proper solo project and it's taken me a good few months just to get a decent base design done. I'll be etching finer details into it soon hopefully."

"Can I ask why a wizard?"

"Wizards are cool. Not like the Harry Potter ones, I mean the types you find in D&D or painted on to the side of a hippy van from the 70s. Ones that ponder the orb."

Jungkook contemplated it before nodding, "I get where you're coming from, but personally I'm more of a fan of warriors and stuff. In fact one of my personal projects has a crusades motif."

"You what?"

He grinned, "It's a long sword I call 'The Inquisitor'. One of my favourites if I do say so myself. One of three in a collection called ‘The Hero’."

“Might want to be careful about who you’re calling a hero there. I don’t know many people who look at crusaders fondly.”

“Yeah I know. Organised religion is flawed but its imagery slaps.” That earned a laugh from you. “So what are you teaching me today?”

You gestured to an overturned incomplete table that was on the floor, “we’re attaching the last two legs with tongue and groove joints and pegs. Namjoon doesn’t like to use wood glue, saying it's ‘a shortcut for quantity over quality’. Which I do actually agree with. Also helps to keep the old methods alive. The grooves have already been cut into where the legs will be going. You'll be helping me with the tongues.”

Jungkook muttered something that you couldn't make out. You got to work, showing him how the width, length and depth of the groove would be transposed onto what would be the tongue. How you triple checked the measurements before committing to them with a saw. You got the table leg into position.

"Right, can you grab that mallet and hammer this into the groove for me. I'll keep it steady."

Jungkook grabbed the mallet, eyebrows knitting as he concentrated on hitting his intended target and not you. With his arms exposed, you saw how his muscles rippled and flexed with each heavy swing. He let out the occasional grunt of effort which you tried not to focus too much on, especially when you noticed his tongue peek out to wet his lower lip. And then he was finished and grinning down at you.

"What now?"

"Now it's your turn. We just have one more leg to attach before we can put the pegs through."

He nodded and immediately got to work copying what he had watched you do. 

"So what made you think you were too busy for a relationship? You clearly have time on your hands if you're here with me."

Jungkook briefly glanced at you then refocused on what he was doing, "My ex. She told me I clearly had two loves in my life, her and my work. Said she hated being runner up in my heart as I was so committed to my craft-"

"I'm sorry but that's bullshit. She broke up with you cause you're passionate about creating things? Because you're carrying on your family business?"

"When you put it that way, yeah."

"That is actual assholery on her part. A life without passion isn't a life at all. If someone had said something like that to me, I would have broken up with them."

"It's nice to hear that at least one person doesn't mind."

"If you don't mind me asking, how long ago was this break up?"

"Two years-"

"TWO WHOLE ASS YEARS?! You, a walking wet dream,” you waved your hand up and down, gesturing to him and his outfit, “have been willingly single for the last two years because of what your ex said."

His cheeks coloured. He set down the pencil and ruler and picked up the saw you had been using. He did two pulls then got to work sawing off the excess.

"Well it gave me time to focus on myself and what I wanted. Made some pretty baller things. And to be honest, it's been pretty hard to think about dating anyone when Namjoon has been talking my ear off about you and singing your praises before I had even met you yet."

Wait a minute… that sounded like Namjoon had been trying to set you up. You knew something was fishy about his ankle injury! It was all part of his plan! You facepalmed at your brother's antics.

"Jesus Joon. I'm so sorry about my brother, if I had known I would have stopped him."

"Hey now, I'm glad to finally put a face to the name. And as I said before, I'd like for you to get to know me. Then we see where it goes from there be it friends or something else, that is if you're interested. Which you seem to be otherwise you would have called me a walking wet dream. To be honest I like the forwardness." He winked at you. “Right, that’s this one all done, are you hammering this time?”

“Sure. As in the hammering.”

Jungkook knelt down and lined the leg up with its groove. Mallet in hand, you tried not to think about how, if the table leg wasn’t there, he would be at the perfect height to- You hit the leg before you could continue that line of thought. You were so focused, you hadn’t realised Jungkook was watching you much the same way you had done to him earlier. A few more good wacks and it was well and truly wedged in. You wiped the sweat from your brow.

“You got some impressive arms, do you go to the gym?”

You shook your head, “Nah, just comes with the job. All this manual labour requires some muscle. Can you help me flip this table?”

Jungkook moved to the other side of the table, lifting on your count and the table was now standing on its legs for the first time. You instructed him to try and hold it steady as you bored holes into the sides that went right through the centre on the joints.

“Since I did the drilling, how about you peg?” You said, handing him four perfectly sized pegs (you had made them earlier and chosen the corresponding drill bit with the right circumference).

“Is carpentry normally full of innuendo?”

“Depends on the carpenter.” You gave him a cheeky grin, “what you’re gonna want to do is hammer the pegs as far in as they’ll go, saw off the excess and finally, sand them.”

----------------------------------------------------

Next it was your turn to learn from him. You were back in his studio, waiting in his reception area for him to arrive. You spotted him through the window into his workshop, coming out of a door you hadn’t noticed last time. From what you could see, his hair was down, tucked away behind his ear. He was in a plain black oversized t-shirt and brown cargo pants. He walked over to some shelves and picked a few bits and bobs you couldn’t see and set them over by the grindstones. He turned and smiled when he saw you waiting. He jogged over to the door and unlocked it from the inside for you.

“Hey there, fancy seeing you here,” He said, still smiling. You were starting to melt for his cute grins.

“Oh you know, I got invited by some guy. I’m beginning to think the ‘learning each other's trades’ was all just an elaborate ploy to create flirting opportunities.”

He shrugged, “Well that remains to be seen. Come on in, I’ve got everything set up for you.”

“Since you’re not in a long-sleeve, we’re not doing anything that involves heat,” you appraised, walking by him.

“You got that right. I’m not the type to throw someone in the deep end.” 

He led you over to the grindstones where you saw what he had set down. It was a set of chisels. They looked new.

“What’s all this?”

“Today you’ll be learning how to sharpen these chisels, which I made myself by the way, and if I’m satisfied that you’ll be able to take care of them they’ll be all yours.”

You turned to him wide-eyed, “You’re fucking with me right.”

There was that smile again, “Nope. I figured it would do you some good not having to use Namjoon’s, give you some independence from him.”

You squealed and hugged him on impulse then sheepishly let go of him, clearing your throat, “I mean thank you.”

Jungkook rubbed the back of his neck, “No problem. It’s just my way of saying thanks for that… pep talk? Last week. And you know, they’re not as time consuming to make as a sword or something. Right, anyway let’s get started. You’ll be using the whetstone.” He pointed at the wheel you had seen him using before.

“Why not the others?”

“Cause we don’t want you losing your temper.”

“I’m not that easily annoyed.” You pouted.

He chuckled, “No not like that. If you try to sharpen something that's already been tempered, which by the way is a heat treatment to harden the steel and alleviate internal stresses, on a dry grind you’ll reheat the metal and lose the temper. So we use a whetstone because it keeps the metal cool. That’s also where the phrase lose your temper comes from.”

You had been nodding along as he spoke, “I see.” 

You picked up one of the chisels and inspected it. It was quite beautiful, a perfectly carved wooden handle (you’d have to ask him about his wood choice later) and the steel had a marble effect which your fingers traced over.

“It’s Damascus steel. A blend of iron carbide and ferrite folded into a steel billet. Not to be confused with real damascus steel because that technique was lost due to cultural suppression.”

“That sounds like a lot of effort for someone you’ve only known for like three weeks.”

“Yeah I know, but as I’ve said, thanks to Namjoon I already feel like I know you. And so far you haven’t done anything that goes against what I’ve come to know… God that sounded creepy.”

“No no, I get you. It’s like when my mum used to talk about her church friends and when I was introduced to them, I already knew what they liked and disliked so it was easier to talk to them.”

“Yeah, you’re the church friend here. Except I don’t mind it when you try to flirt with me. Anyway, shall we? I might need to put my hands on you depending on how well you do, are you okay with that?”

You shrugged, “I’m down with that. I doubt you’d use it as an excuse to grab my tits or something.”

Jungkook blinked at you a few times and shook his head, “Okay first, get the wheel turning, there’s a pedal on the floor which controls it.” You put your foot on it and got the wheel going. “Now what you’d want to do is with one hand on the handle and the other at the base of the steel, you want to angle it so the blade is going to meet the stone correctly.” You went to do as he said. “Ah wait.”

His chest met your back as his arms encircled you, hands guiding on yours to adjust the chisel to the correct angle. You then brought the chisel to the stone and the sound wasn’t all pleasant, neither were the small vibrations in your hands, but his heat was distracting you from it.

“That’s it, just like that. I’ll let you do the next one yourself. I’d say it's time to strop and test it.” He laid out some leather on the table next to the other chisels. You turned, stopping the wheel, and did as you had seen him do last time. “You’re picking this up quickly. You must have inherited all the steadiness that Namjoon didn’t get.”

You were about to question how you’d test it when he started rolling up a pant leg. His legs weren’t all that hairy but there were some noticeable strips missing. He then beckoned you to give him the chisel. You watched in bewilderment as he ran the chisel down a small patch, shearing off the hair there. He beamed at you.

“Cuts like a dream. That’s a pretty good job you’ve done there.”

“Can I ask why you just did that?”

He straightened up and put the chisel to the side.

“Quickest way to test, and as long as they’re washed properly afterwards, there's no harm… other than when I’ve nicked myself.”

“Maybe this is why your ex left you. Not because of your work but because you test the sharpness of blades on yourself-”

“That makes it sound like I self-harm. I do not. I shave. A very clear difference.”

“What I was trying to say is that it's ridiculously weird.”

He pouted this time, “Have I lost all appeal to you now then.”

It was only then you were reminded of how close he was to you. You gulped.

“I uh, I wouldn’t say that. Everyone has their quirks. Like me, I chew on stick-width bits of wood when I’m bored in the workshop.”

Jungkook laughed, properly laughed, a sound you wanted to hear again. “You called me weird and you’re out there literally chewing on wood like a beaver? Talk about double standards. At least my ‘quirk’ tests the quality. What are you doing? Testing the wood density?”

You blushed, “Look sometimes my mouth wants something to do. So what?”

He chuckled, pushed his hair back and got impossibly closer, his eyes darkening, “I had wanted to take this slow, maybe have a few more back and forths, but what am I to do when you tell me something like that.” He cupped your face, thumbing your lower lip, “what am I to think other than I can give it something to do for you.” His eyes flicked between your and your lips, “Can I?”

Jesus fucking christ, you had melted on the spot and all you could do was nod dumbly. The rest of the chisels were forgotten as he crowded your space, lips meeting yours in a slow, deliberate dance. His hands fell to your waist as you grasped at his shoulders, trying to pull him closer still. But you stumbled backwards, knocking the whetstone and breaking the kiss.

“Whoops, perhaps my workshop isn’t the place for this. Come on.” Jungkook took your hand and led you through the door you noticed earlier. “Welcome to my home-”

You pushed Jungkook up against the door, lips locking with his in a fever. Not missing a beat, his hands grasped your hips and pulled you into him. He licked at the seam of your lips, asking for permission which you eagerly gave with a moan. His hips rolled into yours and you lightly bit his bottom lip making him groan.

“Wanna take this upstairs?”

“Lead the way.”

Jungkook took you by the hand again and led you through his home, up the stairs and down the hall to his bedroom. You didn’t have much time to take in your surroundings before he was mouthing and sucking at your neck, thoroughly distracting you. You pressed back into him and felt how hard he had gotten against your ass. 

His hands trailed to your stomach, slipping below your top, “Mind if I?”

“Jungkook, I appreciate the constant checking in but please hurry the fuck up.”

He huffed in amusement. He grasped your top and pulled it up over your head. You hadn’t expected things to turn out as they had done so you were in a sports bra. Again he muttered something you couldn’t quite hear. You took off your bra before you helped him to remove his own shirt and felt yourself grow wetter when you could see his whole chest unobstructed. Those pecs looked very squeezable. You licked your lips, you’d get that opportunity soon you silently vowed. 

“Get on the bed,” you ordered.

He raised a brow, “And why should I?”

You raised onto your toes so that you could reach his ear, “I believe you said you’d give my mouth something to do.” You didn’t have to tell him twice, he was more than eager to situate himself on the edge of the bed. He was in the midst of unzipping his pants when you settled on your knees between his spread legs. “Let me.”

You grasped the edge of his pants and boxers, pulling them both down in one as Jungkook lifted his hips off the bed to aid you. You salivated when his cock sprung up and slapped his stomach. You weren’t patient enough to tease him, opting instead to lick him from base to tip, taking his tip between your lips and easing him further in.

“Shit! Jesus christ!” His fingers tangled into your hair, stopping you from continuing as he tried to hold himself back. “Fuck Y/N warn me before you do something like that. Last thing I want is to be a quick shot.” 

You released him, “I don’t mind that. Come whenever you want.” With that you sank back down on him, taking him deeper until he hit the back of your throat. You gagged. 

Jungkook’s head kicked back with a guttural groan. His hips raised, pushing him deeper still and you gagged again.

“S-sorry, I wanna- can I move? Hum if I can move.”

You hummed. Jungkook used his hold on you to keep you still as he thrust into your eager lips. Your eyes welled with tears each time he made you gag but you paid it no mind. Your fingers made their way into your pants and underwear, you began to rub your clit in time with his thrusts. God, you were so wet already. You moaned around him as the heat in you started to build.

“Y/n” he moaned, “I’m gonna, fuck. Boutta cum. If you don’t want me cumming in your mouth- shit- you better stop now.”

You hummed again and stayed put. Jungkook came with a grunt, eyes shut in bliss as you swallowed around him. You only pulled away when you felt him begin to go soft. You held his cock as you licked the remnants of his cum off it, Jungkook whined.

“S-Stop, post nut sensitivity.”

You stopped immediately and sat back, “What would you like to do now?”

Jungkook’s eyes trailed down you, landing on how you still had a hand in your pants though it had stopped its ministrations at this point. “I would like to repay the favour and then after that, hopefully, fuck.”

You giggled, “I’m down for that.” 

You stood and were about to pull your pants down when Jungkook stopped you. Copying what you had done earlier, pulling them down for you but while also showering the newly exposed skin to open mouth kisses. You stumbled a bit since you were still stood up.

“Wait a second, let me sit-”

Jungkook led on the floor and beckoned for you to sit on his face with that damned smile of his, “I have your seat right here, come on.”

Oh you couldn’t say no to such an offer. You lowered yourself until your pussy was just above his mouth, not wanting to crush him. But Jungkook wasn’t having that, he palmed at your ass and pulled you down onto him properly. And much like you had done to him just moments before, Jungkook wasted no time in devouring you. He licked from your pussy to your clit and nipped at it, making you jolt. He eased his tongue into you, making you both moan. You rolled your hips as he kept going, your clit brushing against his nose. You gasped when he switched to sucking on your clit, instead pushing two fingers into you. Oh fuck. You groped your breasts, pinching your nipples for extra stimulation. Jungkook curled his fingers, rubbing against the spot that made your toes curl and a wanton cry leave you. You could feel his smirk as he made it his mission to hit that spot with deadly accuracy. That heat that had been building earlier reignited into a blaze, quickly building in intensity.

“Fuck, just like that. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

Jungkook hummed in acknowledgement, alternating between sucking and rubbing your clit. It didn’t take much more for the heat to reach its peak and spill over. Your pussy clenched around his fingers as you came but he didn’t stop. You sighed as he helped you to ride out your high. You dismounted him when you had your fill and watched as Jungkook slipped his tattooed fingers into his mouth, sucking them clean. You moaned. Jungkook got up and pulled you into a searing kiss, you could taste yourself on his lips and he could probably taste himself on yours. His erect cock pressed against your stomach.

Jungkook broke away, “How does my bad girl want it? Doggy? Cowgirl? Anyway, it's fine by me.”

“Doggy.”

Jungkook gave your ass a light slap, “Then get on that bed, babe.”

You scrambled onto the bed, making sure to teasingly shake your hips as you did so. Jungkook growled lowly and was quick to follow you. A hand ran down your back, over your slightly reddened cheek. Two fingers brushed against your entrance torturously, dancing around actually entering you. You noticed as well as felt him lean over you to reach into a drawer. He pulled out a foil packet. He opened it and expertly rolled the condom down his length. 

He lined himself up and eased himself into you, giving you a chance to adjust before he pulled out to just the tip and plunged back into you. You swear to god he hit your cervix right then and there. You keened at the delicious sensation, back arching. Jungkook pressed against you, littering your shoulder with marks as he sent spears of pleasure through you with each merciless thrust, his pace brutal. You tried to hold back your moans, knowing you’d be near screaming if your didn’t. To be honest, you felt like you could cream his cock just like this there was just one thing missing. 

“Don’t hold back. I wanna hear you crying because of my dick. Come on. Cry for me Y/N.”

You couldn’t hold back anymore, you were sobbing with each thrust as his tip continually kissed your cervix. He pushed you further into the mattress and anchored your hips into place, holding you still so he could abuse your pussy as he wished. Your fingers grasped at his sheets as all you could do was take it. You weren’t used to being passive when fucking but shit what else could you do? Your ability to think was melting away with each deadly snap of his hips. And then he was stopping and you cried in outrage but he soon had you on your back and his cock in you again. 

“Sorry, I just had to see your face. Oh look at you.” He wiped your tear streaked face.

He hooked one of your legs over his shoulders and abruptly continued his onslaught. With the way he was bearing down on you, you wouldn't have been surprised if your back was out of commission afterwards. In fact you think you heard a snap that wasn't from skin meeting skin. God you were so close. One of his hands snaked down to rub your clit in figures of eight. You were clenching around him, cumming just moments after. Your voice ripped from you at the intensity, leaving you gasping.

"Fuck you're so tight!" He groaned, brows knitting together as he concentrated on reaching his own climax. 

In your pleasure-addled state, your impulse control vanished. Your hands reached up and groped at his chest, squeezing them like you had wanted from the get go. Your fingers expertly toyed with his nipples, his hips stuttered as he let out a strained whine.

"It's okay, you can cum. Want you to cum." 

Jungkook let your leg fall so that he could bury his face into the crook of your neck, biting down as he finally released. He stayed like that for a moment, allowing himself a chance to regain his breath before rolling off you and discarding the used condom in a nearby waste bin.

"You are definitely not a good girl. I think I broke a slat in my bed again."

"I think you threw my back out so the slat will have to wait. Can't have my brother fix a bed I've been fucking on."

Jungkook laughed, "That's fine by me. Hey, would you like to have dinner with me tonight?"

"We totally went about this in the wrong order. But yes, I'd love to have dinner with you."

----------------------------------------------------

Namjoon was taking a break, an americano cupped in his hands, when you gingerly entered the workshop the following day.

“So how are things with Jungkook? Any interest there?”

“Well, he needs a new slat for his bed.”

Namjoon looked disappointed, “Aw I’m sorry. I thought he would be into you. Sorry for getting your hopes up.”

“Oh no, he’s very into me, that’s why I’m fixing the bed.”

A few seconds passed until realisation hit him and he dropped his mug. Scandalised, he shouted, “Y/N!”

----------------------------------------------------

Thank you so much for reading this very niche fic! I'm tagging posts relevant to this fic with "Finishing Touch" for any asks I get sent, and comments I reply to or possible follow ons are some people have already shown an interest in. Here is an example of the chisels Jungkook made:

And here is the poem:

My Dear Blacksmith

Engrave your design into me; etch your story. Grind, carve, chip and scratch away. Pass your judgement with your tools. In one hand, heat and torment, temptation and punishment. In the other, honour and warmth, loyalty and redemption. Give me depth. Temper me in flames and harden my edges in oil, unbreakable when mastered. You inlay me with precious gold and dazzling jewels to highlight the beauty in your work. Oak and guard, balance and poise just like those who came before. For I am but your sword, an extension of your will. When the time comes, I shall miss you, my dear blacksmith. And as the years will pass us by, you shall wither and age as I dull and rust. But your story shall forever be in my steel.

----------------------------------------------------

This work of fiction is copyright © JungkookieNoona and protected under UK and international law. All rights reserved. Any unauthorised broadcasting, copying or reposting will constitute an infringement of copyright.

[crippleprophet]

Hello! Do you or your followers have any tips for attending an academic conference with chronic pain and mobility disability?

ooh okay this definitely isn’t universal bc the only conference i went to in person was fall 2019 & a huge biomedical engineering one, so both scale & the particular flavors of ableism may differ for you not to mention yk. covid. but here are my takeaways:

if you don’t have a motorized mobility aid you may want to rent one - i rented a mobility scooter for part of the time & immediately called to extend the rental for the full duration after getting there because the conference center was fucking massive. i definitely could not have physically walked it. so see if you can check the size ahead of time & plan accordingly - it sucks that disabled people have to put in so much effort but if it’s at a conference center calling the staff might help. if it’s at a university their access & accommodations office might have a relevant campus map

i stayed at the adjoining hotel also for access reasons (getting a mobility scooter into an uber is not my idea of a fun time) which was way more expensive than my colleagues who could share an air bnb. check with your department to see if they have conference funding! your university’s access & accommodations and/or financial aid offices also might have recommendations for funding options

if you’re doing a poster presentation & will be seated, a laser pointer might be helpful if you won’t be able to point at the top of the poster with your hand! someone also recommended i make little printed flyers with summaries, the main graphics, etc so i could talk to people directly more easily since i couldn’t present the “standard” way - your department should also be able to print that sort of thing for you if you’re interested

if the conference is at a university, check social media to see what disabled students are saying about access issues to anticipate etc

it’s gonna be ableist. again this is coming from my experience in BME which is super cure-oriented so it might not be universal, but however ableist you expect it to be, double that. i had at least two breakdowns over the 4 days about how hard it was to navigate the environment, how isolating it was, feeling like i wouldn’t be able to have a career in academia, etc. if at all possible, have a support system “on call” for you during this time - if you’re 18 or older & want to join my bitter cripple discord, feel free to dm me! i’d also think about learning about any disabled people in your field. & if you want some commiseration, i have several poems about my conference experience in my chapbook mountaintop (available free)

invest in a P100 respirator if you haven’t already! i have one of the kinda cyberpunk looking ones but people can be weird about it (moreso than they already are for masks they recognize), my gf uses the Flo Mask which is less obtrusive & really likes it

i hope that’s helpful! other folks feel free to add on, & please dm me or send another ask if you have more questions! i will leave you with two blessings, one from my first disability studies professor & the other from a longtime friend:

run people over.

take up space. take up more.

[emohorseboy]

I'm so interested in all of your posts about mad liberation. I've never seen anything that puts my thoughts on the whole psych complex into words. I'm really curious to learn more about this. No pressure if not, but do you happen to know of any more comprehensive resources on this? Like books maybe?

Hi, I can definitely give you some recs! My list is a little bit UK centric because that's where I'm based but hopefully it's useful:

In terms of books:

I read 'Mad World: The Politics of Mental Health' by Micha Frazer-Carroll this summer and I can't recommend it enough.

I'm also making my way through 'Call Me Crazy: Stories from the Mad Movement' by Irit Shimrat, which I think is out of print but can be read as a PDF here (hopefully)

I've only dipped in and out of his books for my dissertation but Andrew Scull has written several well regarded books about the history of psychiatry ('Museums of Madness' is the one I've read bits of, 'Desperate Remedies' is on my TBR)

Some books on my TBR: 'The Protest Psychosis: How Schizophrenia Became a Black Disease' by Johnathan Metzl, 'Drop the Disorder!', 'Searching for a Rose Garden: Challenging Psychiatry, Fostering Mad Studies', 'Anatomy of an Epidemic' by Robert Whitaker

Some really good articles:

'Abolition Must Include Psychiatry' by Stella Akua Mensah

'Mad Activists: The Language We Use Reflects Our Desire for Change' by Lisa Archibold

'Not a naughty child: people’s experiences of service responses to self-injury' by Alison Faulkner and Rachel Rowan Olive

More resources!

The Campaign for Psychiatric Abolition - UK based, they have a lot of really great resources including an extensive recommended reading list, a Psych Abolition 101 Zine, and a resource for making a crisis support plan.

Asylum Magazine - again UK based, radical mental health magazine. To read full issues you need to subscribe (I recently paid for a subscription for a year of digital editions for £10, physical copies are a bit more) but the website has plenty of articles that you can read for free so well worth exploring.

Psych Survivor Archive - US based this time, there is so much on here, the Psych Survivor Zine is the main event but they also have a really great resource list (some of the links are dead though).

Mad in America - publish a lot of really interesting and impactful stuff on their website, I also really like their podcast (particularly recommend this episode about ECT, this one about esketamine, and this one about 'prolonged grief disorder'). There is also Mad in the UK and a number of other country specific sites that exist as part of their Mad in the World Network.

Folks to follow:

Dolly Sen - UK based artist who does and is doing a lot of cool stuff, notably at the moment they are the lead artist for the Birdsong From Inobservable Worlds project. This podcast episode they did is also great.

Nicole / lacey_art_ - another UK based artist, she wrote a poem about a bird recently that I can't stop thinking about (she does a lot of other cool things too).

Rachel Rowan Olive - brilliant and funny artist, she is also on instagram and etsy.

Luna Tic - artist and activist who has been involved with a lot of really brilliant stuff, including the successful StopSIM Coalition here in the UK which managed to bring an end to SIM.

There are so many more I could name and so many more things I could recommend but this post is already so long! I really hope it was helpful. I started trying to be brief and then gave up but I did cut out a fiction and literature recs section because I thought that was overkill lmao. Thank you for giving me an excuse to make this list I had a great time.

Learning about the Mad and psych survivor movements has been so transformative and empowering for me and I could honestly talk about it all day. Please do feel free to send me a message if you want to chat about it more!

[spinnysocks]

young tlg crocodiles aus

i didn't realise i couldn't save ask answers as drafts! :( but anyway, @devilsrecreation asked: So what exactly are your ideas for the baby crocs in The Lion Guard I’m really curious 👀 so here's my response!!

as she already established in her hcs, pua is basically everyone's adoptive dad! in this context to makuu, kiburi, tamka, nduli and neema! he has different relationships with all of them but he's closest to makuu and kiburi for sure

i like to think that makuu is older than the other four; i was going to say don't question me on ages but i just found out it takes ~12-15 years for nile crocodiles to reach full adulthood! so it checks out that makuu could be a year older and still hang out with them. there's probably so many non-mature members of the float that they have younger groups within it

speaking of that, i actually think makuu didn't get along very well with the other crocodiles his age. but, one day, he briefly interacts with the younger kiburi's group and gets to know them really well. he kind of becomes their secondary charge behind pua. no danger was gonna get close to those four lmao

i think crocs are pretty wholesome & innocent when they're babies but get more into the crocodile way as they mature. it's just really cute to think of baby kiburi, tamka, nduli and neema innocently interacting

there's this song i fell in love with while coming up with the mjuzi nduli au called little fang by avey tare! for me personally it fits my ideas for that au, i think it's also sweet as a lullaby/poem that pua sings to the five kiddos. i really recommend it it's an adorable song

i'm a sucker for crack/uncommon ships, i saw pua x basi once and it kinda stuck with me. i'd just enjoy seeing their dynamic as two leaders who work together when it's the time of year for the crocs to share with the hippos. because of their bond (platonic or romantic idrk), i imagine one of the reasons beshte is so friendly is bc he grew up around and got to know the crocs when they'd share big springs with the hippos. he says "I know it's crowded, Kiburi. But it really is a good spot" because he remembers the crocs' younger years and knows they can be reasonable, but things changed that weren't under his control and he couldn't do anything about it.

he feels kinda dissapointed about how things changed, cuz to him the crocs were like the neighbour's family you get to know really well. to stir up some more sadness, it's almost always beshte who's kicking out kiburi's float. beshte sends them back to the outlands himself so they don't hurt his friends, even though he remembers when they were 'good' or more understanding/just before makuu and kiburi's rift in general

since it takes so many years for crocs to mature, i imagine the younguns would spend ALL THE TIME playing. pua has a soft spot for the five of them so their playtimes and adventures become kind of like a bluey episode where they learn something valuable. kiburi listens to him more than anyone, while makuu's a bit more like "Yeah, yeah" bc he thinks being older means he doesn't need to learn anything new

one of pua's lessons would be not to judge or underestimate someone for being different, such as neema for being mute or nduli for not being born in the float (my own hc is that he's from an outsider float that was really struggling which is why he's so small. he was found by pua really young and his parents agreed he'd have a better life in the pridelands)

pua taught the five a lot of good lessons but obviously not all of them stuck. i haven't come up with what caused the rift between makuu and kiburi exactly, but i think kiburi's float would still want to be friends with makuu, and even more so after he redeems himself. despite being fully grown now they still kinda see him as a cool older brother that they can learn from but they'll always stick with kiburi because, at the end of the day, it's them four against the world lol

whew. that's it for now! i could write for days about these guys. and i probably will make a follow-up post at some point