#we've just lost a month of winter

[frozenartscapes]

Also waiting for some snow to come visit the west coast :(

If I hear one more person say "But I like it! It's so warm!" I'm gonna scream. I can count on my hands the number of days we've gotten a negative temperature number where I live. The grass is still green. I'm starting to see new buds on some trees.

It's all fun now. We get a nice, easy winter. We don't have to dress in a million layers, or shovel snow, or even worry about ice! Isn't this grand? /s

Winter isn't always fun, especially in a place like Canada that actually feels the effects of it. It sucks to have to put on five layers to walk to work, or to have to brush your car off and shovel the driveway, or try to navigate the highways in a storm. It sucks when you slip on a patch of black ice and land hard on your ass, or your coffee gets cold super fast if it's not in a double-walled travel mug. It sucks when the air hurts your face and your skin is really dry, and your breath can cause icicles to form on your hair. It sucks when the sunny days are the coldest and the grey days are a little warmer, but also snowy. But dammit, we're Canadian! Our sheer determination to make the most of winter is one of our biggest stereotypes and we embrace it! We saw that frozen pond and said "Let's play hockey on that!" or that snowy hill and said "Get me a toboggan." Our best drink cooler in the winter is the snowbank out back. Our greatest small talk starter is "Supposed to snow tonight." All of our best sports are ice or snow related. We hold festivals in the dead of winter that celebrate the fact that it is winter. We make candy by pouring maple syrup onto snow.

Winter is our season and we're losing it.

[elsewhereuniversity]

Jw, but it's been a minute. Are y'all okay? Any updates?

Thanks for checking in, that's really sweet of you. Sorry for the radio silence. To be honest I am Not Doing Great. I'm getting through it and things should get easier in a few weeks, but it's been a rough winter.

About the boat/accident/insurance, no word since last October. Still no idea if we can expect any compensation for the months of lost income from the accident. Depending on the day I get either very sad or very angry about it still. The paperwork is mostly sorted out now, but that's been a nightmare at times too. And I've found I'm now really anxious about something happening to my partner/going wrong on the boat when I'm not there to help. I was parking the car when the accident happened and my partner was on board trapped below deck by the falling mast. I ran the whole way to the docks and I don't remember most of it. ig the whole thing's had more of an impact on me than I'd realized, and managing that's been a challenge.

My partner and I also got hit with about 10k total of unexpected and necessary expenses (dental surgery and vehicle repairs being the big things). I had to get a winter job to cover us, leaving my partner to repair the boat alone. So I've been working 80-90hrs a week while he's doing what's rightfully a job for two people, and every week there's been a new crisis that's a thousand dollars plus to fix. We've scraped through, and we'll be alright, but it's been exhausting.

Because of that, repairs are taking longer than we'd hoped. They're still ongoing, and at this point all the spruce for the new mast is planed smooth to the right width, but it's on hold for the moment because the table saw isn't working right. The owner of the workshop has told us not to use it at all till he can look at it himself. Once that's fixed we can start cutting rabbets - the grooves that let the planks fit together. But it's definitely not getting finished before summer.

It'll get easier soon. I do genuinely like my winter job, and once it wraps up, I can help my partner in the shipyard. I'm mostly recovered from dental surgery at this point. A friend offered us his boat so our little tour company can sail this summer like normal, and that'll be enough to pay the bills and fund the next year of repairs. The owner of the workshop says we can keep our 50ft table set up all summer so we can keep working on the mast when we have rain days. If we can just make it to June then we'll be in the water with all major yearly expenses covered and a regular source of income again, and from there life should get easier.

That's where we're at right now - no big news, just getting through. We're shifting gears soon to focus on getting the new boat ready for the season, and we're hoping that over the summer we'll complete the new mast and begin to address to damage to Nautilus' deck and hull, starting by pulling up her teak planking to get at the fiberglass below. She's stored outside so that's a warm weather project anyway.

Thanks again for asking, it means a lot. Sorry I've been so quiet here. My partner's taken some lovely videos of the planing and other workshop things. I've been too tired/busy to sort through and post them, but I'll get there eventually. I miss elsewhere a lot; one of my only non-work things is picking away at that little elsewhere u text game I'm still trying to write. Nowhere near fit for human consumption yet, but I miss it here! When things are finally better I'm looking forward to coming back.

[starks-hero]

Iron Chains and Other Precious Metals

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield x Reader

Summary: Erebor has been reclaimed. But a dark, sinister curse lays over the riches of the mountain, a curse that Thorin succumbs to all too quickly. As the dragon sickness takes its toll, you try desperately to keep the peace.

Word count: 4.5k

Warnings: dragon sickness!thorin and absolutely everything that comes with it

“It is in these halls. I know it.”

“Thorin, we have searched and searched.” Dwalin was the first to speak.

“Not well enough. Have them scout the west halls, send them to the mines if you have to.”

“Thorin, they have been searching for days–”

“And yet it is still not found!” The ferocity in his words left you feeling hollow, bouncing off the stone walls and rattling in your chest. “The Arkenstone lies within this mountain and I will see it returned. It is the king's jewel. Am I not the king?!”

Balin, the hardened warrior that he was, seemed to be the only one amongst the few of you brave enough to respond to his words. “Do you doubt the loyalty of anyone here?” He asked.

Thorin fell back on his heel like a scorned child. His gaze, deathly and accusing, lost a fraction of its malice as it turned on you and Bilbo. You both stood behind the dwarf, Bilbo to his right and you to his left with the shadow of the broken throne at your backs. His eyes swept over you quickly before turning once again to his fellow dwarves before him. “Know this, if someone should find it and keep it from me they will know vengeance beyond that of dragon fire.”

Each of you bowed your heads as he left, less as a mark of respect and more so to avoid catching his eye. The moment he was gone, air seemed to return to the room. Dwalin made an irritated, rough sound deep in his throat and Bilbo shuffled his feet, feeling awfully small where he stood. Balin caught your eye and the heaviness in his stare caused a weight of unease to settle within your lungs.

“I’ll go speak to him,” you decided, voice thin as your breaths came late.

“I’m not sure it will do any good,” Balin said. “Thorin is his father’s son, once fire is stoked in him it's near impossible to put out.”

Silence took the room again and remained until you left.

The gentle crush of frost beneath your boots announced you as you ascended the rampart steps. Winter was coming, its icy beginnings painting themselves across the ancient stone of the mountain. Your eyes fell on the burning embers of Laketown in the distance, a kindling ruin against the darkened sky. You wondered for the very briefest of moments if an end by dragon fire would have been kinder than the harsh months that lay ahead of the townspeople.

Thorin stood off to your right, in the very centre of the battlements.

“We've come all this way, and for what?” He didn't look to you as he spoke and so you didn't answer. “The line of Durin, my kin has had claim of the stone since the first days of Erebor, without it I am no more than the dwarf that laboured in the villages of men. A vagabond–”

“You are king, Thorin.” The words came to you easy. “With or without the Arkenstone. Just as you were king before we had the mountain. To me and each dwarf that has followed you all this way.”

Something shifted behind Thorin’s eyes and for a moment you hoped he’d seen sense. Then his jaw set. “The stone–”

“–will be found. Have patience.” The realisation that you’d given an order, and rather offhandedly so, to a monarch caught up to you slowly but the anger that plagued Thorin back in the throne room seemed to have dissolved into something far more timid. And he smiled at your words.

“I fear it is a virtue I do not possess.”

“I'm inclined to agree.” You rested your arms over the stone, shoulder brushing against the king and as you looked out upon the night it felt as though you were back on the road, sleeping under great oaks and finding rest in the sheltered caverns the blue mountains would offer. It was odd, you thought, that you felt far richer then than you did now. “Have faith in us, Thorin. Faith in your company.”

You understood Thorin’s wrath and his fear. It came from wounds that had decades to heal and had not yet begun to scab. Wounds left by broken spears, shattered shields and dragon fire. A prince without a kingdom and a son without a father, Thorin’s pain was palpable and if it manifested in stormy bouts of anger and accusation then you’d learn to weather them.

The fires in the distance clawed against the night, reaching up into the dark and showing no sign of resignation. Somewhere on the outskirts of the settlement, a burning townhouse crumbled into the water.

“Balin and Fili have begun preparations, we should be ready to send them aid by tomorrow morn,” you said. “Everything we can spare.”

“You will do no such thing.” the unforgiving edge had returned to Thorin’s voice. “What lies within these halls are the birthrights of my people.”

“Thorin.” With uneasy appallment, you turned to him. “They've lost everything.”

“Do not speak to me of loss. They do not know the meaning of the word.” His words were harsh and left no room for you to argue. “Nothing leaves this mountain. I will not see our wealth squandered on the likes of them.”

A deep cavern opened up beneath your ribs and you felt hallowed by the orders you’d been given. Erebor held a sea of riches, just a portion of its gold would be enough to rebuild the settlement of Lake Town ten times over, to refill its streets with merriment and ensure its people lived with bountiful meals and warm beds. Even the old fabrics and clothes that sat untouched in the belly of the mountain would be worth their weight in gold to the townsfolk now.

But Throin’s orders and the unwavering harshness with which he gave them rang ceaselessly in your mind like clanging bells.

You met with Balin in secrecy. Even in the cavernous halls and unending tunnels of the mountain, it was a difficult task. There was always the fear Thorin would stumble upon you both, he stalked the halls so ceaseless in his determination to find the arkenstone it was a fair concern. You worried he no longer slept.

“Dragon sickness.” The words hang heavily as Balin speaks them, as stale and difficult to breathe as the air of the crypt you stand in. “A terrible illness, a desperate need for gold. It is a fierce and jealous love that burns above all else. It took his grandfather, I fear it will take him too.”

The genuine anguish upon the dwarf's features, the most steadfast of the company, causes you to falter. Balin is wise beyond his many years, he'd seen the same ailment take hold of Thror and if he believes that Thorin will succumb to the same faith, you find yourself fearing the worst.

“The Arkenstone–” you try to reason but Balin shakes his head, his beard almost brushing the floor.

“Will only solidify such greed. That stone is the summit of the mountain's great wealth. A dragon protects its hoard. And the more precious it's plunder,” Balin shakes his head. “The more aggressive the beast.”

You heed Balin's words. How can you not in such a time of uncertainty? And as predicted, Thorin only grows more volatile. His virtue diminishes with each new day, his noble ways crumbling like worn stone in his hunt for more gold. Few of you are spared from the ferocity of his outbursts. One of which stands to show just how far the king had fallen.

During another meeting that had become all too common in Thorin's haste to find the Arkenstone, Kili's criticism, intended for his uncle, stirs the king instead. Fili, who'd always tried to make the best peace, stepped in and the scuffle that followed nearly sent the young Dwarven prince over the edge of the throne room floor.

The harrowing moment invites a deathly silence. But when you catch sight of Bilbo, who never had any kind of stomach for confrontation, flee the room, you follow after him.

A hobbit's ability to disappear and go unseen proves to be true as you twist and turn through the stone warren that is Erebor as you follow after the halfling with no sign of him. Each call of his name bounces off the stone, and after a dizzying few minutes of navigating the many interlinking halls, you find Bilbo sat alone, his small form hunched against the stone.

“Bilbo, I–” Your reassuring words fall flat as your eyes fall upon the slight glow that emits from his hands, something the halfling rushes to hide as he looks up at you. His eyes are wide, frantic and frightened and your face pales with realisation. It's not an assumption, it couldn't possibly be anything else. You've been searching for it for weeks, since first reclaiming the mountain. You knew exactly what sat in the hobbit's hands.

“How...”

“I mean to give it to him, I do!” Bilbo rushes to explain. “I was not keeping it for myself, you must believe me!”

You sink to your knees, evening out the height between you both in an attempt to reassure him. Your hands settle against his thin, trembling arms. “I don't doubt you, Bilbo, not for a moment.” Your voice is as steady as you can keep it, eyes shifting to where his hand remains in his pocket. “May I...”

He follows through before you can finish the request, pulling the stone from his tattered coat and holding it before you. Suddenly, for the briefest of moments, Thorin's lust for the gem seems justified. It shines like a star fallen to earth, sitting in Bilbo's palm like a shard of divinity, a rightful giver of a divine right to rule. You can almost feel the promise of power, the stone's alluring pull. How easy it would be to take it from a creature as small as the halfling–

It's Bilbo's words that draw you back to reality. “We can give it to him right now. This very moment. End this madness–”

“No!” You rush, the halfling starting slightly at your words. You cannot afford for the gem to fall into Thorin's hands. Not now when doing so would forsake him entirely. “No.”

You rake your brain. You could take it, destroy it, toss it into the cavernous mouth of the mines... But could you truly trust yourself to let it go when its call is so great? You could give it to Balin. But dwarves, with their natural love for all things shining and bright, could a dwarf, even one as steadfast as Balin, remain immune to dragon sickness?

You swallow then, hand shifting to close Bilbo's fingers around the stone. “You need to keep it.”

The hobbit visibly panics, eyes widening as his body goes stiff. “No, no, no, no, I can't! I won't! If Thorin finds out–”

“If he finds out the stone has been found it will corrupt him beyond recognition.” Your hands squeeze gently around Bilbo's hands, tightening his hold on the gem. Your breathing grows slightly frantic as you think. The stone must stay hidden and you've come to realise that it's already in the safest hands it can be. “Bilbo, you need to keep it hidden, keep itout of sight. Don't breathe a word to anyone, not even the company.”

The request evidently weighs heavily on his shoulders, his small stature shrinking further at your words. Your hand shifts to cradle his head, curls against your palm. The desperation in your eyes stresses the severity of it all.

“Do you understand?” You stress, voice straining.

Bilbo's features twist with notable anxiety, nose twitching and eyes widening. He nods feebly then, lips pulled in a tight line. You hate that you've forced him into such a position, but you truly don't know what else to do.

If Thorin were to gain the stone now, you can't help but fear you'll lose far more than just him, that his corruption will seep into far greater schemes, like rotting roots into the earth.

You walk timidly around Thorin after that, far more timidly than before, as though one wrong footing would snap a twig and set the vicious manifestations of his paranoia upon you like dogs on a deer.

He grows far more hostile, speaking less but with greater anger when he does, a burning rage that gains more kindling with each passing day.

He hadn't left the Great Hall in near a week. He didn't eat nor sleep, simply stood there, nearly blinded by the gold's mighty glow.

“Look at it,” he breathes as you approach him one night, steps quiet against the marble stone. His hand reaches out, hovering before him as if to touch the gold that fills the hall before him. “Beautiful.”

Your gaze shifts from the amassed wealth to Thorin, even such a small action carried out with caution in his presence.

“Thorin.” His eyes don't leave the hoard of precious metal, it's dim glow painting his features golden. You say his name again.

When his gaze meets yours it's almost crazed, wild with a hunger, a lust.

“Is it not?” A ghost of a smile reaches his lips and it's unnatural, almost uncomfortable. It's the first time you've seen him smile in weeks. “Beautiful.”

“It is a sight,” you answer, entirely unsure of what else to say. To argue would be to invite his rage and you couldn't bear it. Not when he's smiling.

He laughs at that, a quiet breathless sound and you shiver.

“And it is ours. Ours alone.”

The word hangs in the air, the weight of it slowing time. He seems to mistake your disbelief for something else. His hand shifts and curls around something in the pocket of his regal furs. It's a deep blue, the necklace he produces, gems darker than the great sea strung together by little white jewels that shimmer like stardust in the light.

“A gift.” He raises the jewellery and in your speechless shock, you bow your head so that he can slip it on. His fingers ghost over where the jewels rest upon your chest, precious stones looking all the more fragile beneath the density of his hand. “A mark of honesty.”

You feel a little ill, guilt and a sense of helplessness knawing away at you. Thorin, in his haze, mistakes it for humbleness.

“Don't you see? You are the only one I can trust,” he says, voice breathy and faint. His gaze falters. “The only one...”

It feels like an opening, a sliver of sunlight pouring through a crack in a grimy window. It's almost a faint glimpse of the old him shining through the dirt. “Thorin, we have the mountain. Erebor is reclaimed. Isn't... isn't that enough?”

Your hand shifts to brush Thorin's as you speak, but he pulls away from the touch. He seems almost wounded by your words and when he speaks again, his tone seems to beg for your understanding.

“Have you not heard their mutterings?” He asks frantically. “They conspire, they mean to take it all for themselves. The stone has been found, I know it. But they keep it from me–”

“Thorin,” you try, and in your desperation, your hand brushes his shoulder. “Do you truly doubt us? After everything? All we've persevered together, what would possess us to leave you now?” You hope it's not evident how close you'd come to saying 'me' instead of 'us.'

But the words, desperate as they were, seem to work magic as Thorin's expression begins to crumble, softening slowly at first until his very eyes lighten.

You sigh a trembling breath. “Thorin, I–”

“Thorin!” Dwalin's commanding voice cuts you short. “Survivors from Lake Town, they're streaming towards the mountain in the hundreds. The elf is with them.”

You watch as the brief softness in the dwarf's expression dissolves, a bitter and vindictive shadow taking its place.

“Call everyone to the gate. Now!” He brushes past you so harshly it almost throws you off balance. “They are fools to think Erebor will be desecrated so easily.”

The bitter wind bites at you, winter sunlight catching upon your armour as you join the company. They stand as some inverted visage of the last number of months, jovial group turned stoic. Before you is an army of elves, so great in number they blend into one great golden adversary. You find your place beside Thorin and catch sight of Gandalf other side of the wall, your armour begins to feel heavy, fusing you to the stone beneath you, a soldier upon a chess board, the pieces neither black nor white but a horribly muddled grey.

“We have come with good tidings,” Thranduil speaks. “For your debt to our people has been paid, and handsomely so.”

Thorin bristles at the words from the decorated forest king, bares his teeth in antagonised warning.

“I have given you nothing. You will not see a single shred of what belongs to my kin.”

Thranduil shares a glance with the bowman and your fingers twitch, overcome with the same itching desire you feel at the beginning of a battle that longs for you to grab your sword. Bard’s hand slips beneath his furs and what he produces is far more deadly than any weapon. The Arkenstone.

You see the change in Thorin, feel it from where you stand by his side. In your mind's eye, his skin turns to scales, fingers sharpening into talons and his head splits with the growth of a twisted horned crown. “Liars,” he hisses, as though molten fire burns in his throat. “Thieves!”

You stand on the precipice of war, neither the dwarves nor elves before you see the carnage they threaten with these foolish shows of power. A battle for the stone and its sickly blue glow. You seek out Gandalf, hoping to catch his eye, to implore him to bring about some semblance of sanity.

“They’re not thieves, it wasn’t stolen.”

You freeze, a cavern opening beneath your lungs. Bilbo moves between the company until he stands before Thorin andyou feel you’ve just watched a lamb willingly lay before the butcher. He doesn’t realise the goodness of his actions will not purify him and you shake your head, eyes already glossy, imploring and pleading with him for it to not be true. To not say it if it is.

“I gave it to them, as my share of the quest,” he says. You feel sick. Thorin’s rage is silent, silent in the same way a predator is silent.

“You, you would steal from me?” He growls, and his own kin falter. Bilbo panics, seeming to fully grasp the danger he is now in for the first time. He frantically meets your eye before looking back to the king.

“I stole nothing. I- you are changed, Thorin. The mere idea of the stone has already driven you to madness!”

“Thorin-” you attempt to intervene, reaching for his shoulder, and he shrugs you off so aggressively you stumble. The company mutters, some shifting to steady you on your feet, others watching wearily as the king sizes up the hobbit.

“Petulant, little rat,” he spits. He grabs Bilbo’s arm in such a vice grip you fear it will snap. Bofur and Kili rush to free him but Thorin yanks the halfling away so harshly his feet leave the floor. “Retrieve the stone, do what you must,” he barks at Balin and Fili as he drags Bilbo along, back towards the steps, descending back into the mountain like a drake with its sacrificial lamb. “I have a more pressing matter to see to.”

You follow as though their shadow, racing down the stone. You catch them just as they enter the great hall. Thorin recoils his arm like a whip, sending Bilbo to the ground, his words as searing as dragon fire.

“Thorin, enough!” Your voice bellows and he turns on you.

“You,” he accuses. “you stay in our halls, our home,” he raises an accusatory finger. “Know your place. ” He spits out the final words.

“Leave him be,” you warn, and when the king remains silent and unmoving, you glance at Bilbo, where his small body lays crumpled against the stone and nod. He gasps as he gets onto his feet, and steadies himself before attempting to rush to your side. He’s cut short by the press of sharpened iron to his middle.

Thorin is crazed, his sword blocking the halfling's way, the weapon looking so much more formidable against such a powerless foe. Bilbo’s breaths come short and fast and you speak the king’s name with more contempt and warning than your mind had ever associated with him. “I said leave him.”

Thorin tilts his head in a way that leaves you incredibly uneasy. “Thorin, you have no quarrel with him, he is your friend-”

“Friend? He is a lying shire rat forced upon this company, a thief, liar!”

He roars, and then metal meets metal. Your sword crosses his and somewhere deep within the depths of his clouded iris, the old Thorin stirs, regarding you with shock. “He did not lie to you,” You gasp, fingers clenched around the hilt of your weapon. “I did. I knew of the stone, I counselled him to keep it hidden. To keep it from you.” Another roar tears from him as he raises his sword. You block the attempt, teeth bared as your weapons clash. Bilbo makes it to the steps behind you, Bofur and Balin there to retrieve him, they both have the good sense to leave. At the very least to get the halfling somewhere safe before they return.

You regard your current position with a nauseous familiarity; locked in battle, the mighty gold hoard your backdrop. Thorin’s enraged roars grow more animalistic each time his weapon meets yours. His eyes have sunken into darkened coals, his breaths ragged and growling. You feel locked in some ancient tapestry, a knight made up of silver threads facing off against a fire drake.

“You are changed, Thorin!” You yell, having just dodged an assault of his blade. “You’ve forsaken your loyalty, your honour, your own kin!”

“Silence!” His movements are groggy, lazy, hunched over and heavy. He is no longer a warrior, made slothful by greed. “I will not be counselled by you, an honourless child of man that crawls the lowlands, made a leper by your own people. You have spewed poison in my ear, corrupted my mind, tried to set in me a mercy for the likes of them!”

“The likes of them?” You ask, made breathless by the audacity of his words. “The likes without homes? The likes that run from dragonfire? You forget who you are.”

He roars again, his blade near kissing your cheek. But the corruption of his mind has made him slow, his movements languish and he topples, sword clattering onto the stone. You kick it away from his grasp. It’s a pitiful sight, seeing how far the king has fallen, how the dwarf you would have once followed anywhere has become so devoid of all honour.

“Look at what you have become,” your eyes cloud at the sight of the tragedy before you. “You’re no king, not anymore.” You drop your own sword, surrendering to the illness that has claimed him, the shadowed serpent that clings to him. “Have your gold, keep your treasure. I will not stay and watch you rot any longer.”

You turn with an aching chest. It kills you, the thought of walking away. But you can sit and watch him orchestra his own destruction no longer. With your back to the king, you ignore his desperate shouts for you to turn back, pick up your weapon and fight. When they dissolve into pleas for your help, for your forgiveness, you still do not turn.

You miss the shadow on the stone wall, the drag of sharpened iron against stone as a weapon is lifted from its place on the ground. It’s too late before you feel it, a sudden blow to your head, dull and heavy. The world spins and your vision blackens as you meet the harsh coolness of the stone beneath you.

You wake to cool iron around your wrists, the shine of jewels catching your eyes as you groggily blink them open. The carved stone wall of the cell is coloured a warm yellow by the reflection of the gold that pools around you, the small room having been filled with it. Your skin feels warm and heavy, weighed down by the silver that now decorates your limbs. The necklace is stained slightly red from where the wound upon your head had bled. You can almost make him out before you, frame made obscure by your blurred vision.

“What is this?” Your voice is hoarse. “Thorin, what is this madness?”

He lights his pipe, embers painting his features gold, the shadows cast by the burning leaves hardening his features. “I did not understand, why you of all of them would turn against me,” he begins, voice low. He sounds dangerously calm, as though sobered by the knowledge that your distrust in him had run so deep you drew your sword against him. “But I see now.”

He draws closer until you can smell the smoke upon his breath, taste it in the back of your throat. His fingers brush your chin and you twist away from the touch. But he does not relent, caressing up past your temple, brushing wishfully against your hair. “It was never meant to be like this, to come to such bleak detrimentality. But you are blinded by virtue-” His fingers ghost over your eyes. His voice is almost mournful, weighted by self-appointed duty. “-honour, foolish sentimentalities. But you will see in time, just as I have come to see.”

He pulls back, retreating like a shadow. “Once I have the stone it will show you. You will understand.”

Realisation greets you, chilling in its arrival. “Thorin-”

The sound of the metal bars meeting the stone doorway as it closes makes your bones ache, and your heart drop.

“You will understand,” He repeats. He no longer sounds like himself. He does not answer your desperate shouts, does not so much as react to them. He continues as he walks away, disappearing back into the mountains depths of darkness and gold. “One way or another, you will.”

thank you for reading <3

[corkinavoid]

back to the old house the smiths

right person wrong time

winter evenings aesthetic

i really love your work thank you so much💖

DPxDC At the End & In the Beginning

All it takes is one little misstep.

He slips on the layers and layers of ice and snow covering the once concrete floor, tries to catch himself on the wall out of sheer reflex, and something silvery, metallic, and clanky goes clattering down. Dick doesn't even have time to feel his heart sinking as the object hits the icy floors, bounces, hits a table leg with a loud bang - metal to ice, it echoes through the abandoned, frozen and forgotten lab - and-

There's a beep, a hiss of pressurized air being released, and then, whatever it is that Dick dropped lights up and shoots a white, blinding beam out of itself.

Dick covers his eyes from the flash, since even the lenses of his mask are not able to dim it in the slightest.

Yet, he puts his hand down almost immediately when he hears the most unexpected, absolutely impossible sound.

A cough.

There's a man kneeling in front of him. A rather fit man, actually, despite the fact that Dick only sees his back and it's mostly covered with a black cape; he's got broad shoulders and, wow, those biceps are thicker than Dick's thigh. Okay, maybe that's an exaggeration, but they are big.

He is probably focusing on the wrong thing there because the man's hair is white, just as the snow around them, and floating like a flame. Which is arguably a more important detail than, well, biceps.

"Fucking kid," the man growls under his breath.

Now, Dick is a vigilante. It's pretty much in his job description to get stuck in an all-around confusing clusterfuck situation at least once a month. And yet, watching a buff man with flaming hair and some kind of beef with some unknown kid come out of... a thermos, okay, not the weirdest thing to store a man in, still takes its honorable place among the top ten confusing situations in his life. Not to mention that-

He must have made some sort of a sound, because the man turns around suddenly, his glowing red eyes locking with Dick's.

There's a long moment where neither of them says a word, both too stunned to react. Then, the man blinks.

"Huh," he says very eloquently, "At least he's had a few years, I guess."

Dick blinks, too, snapping himself out of a stupor. "What?" He asks, not sure where to start, and the man snorts.

"I mean, when I was imprisoned - according to this timeline, at least - you were still Robin. If you're Nightwing now, that means it's been a few years, at the least. Is your brother still dead?" He asks conversationally, rising from his kneeling position. Only he doesn't stand, he floats a few inches above the floor, and Dick might have suspected him to be Martian if not for the very wrong green hue of his skin and obviously more human-like, albeit a bit feral, features.

"What?" Dick asks again because he still understands absolutely nothing. The man gives him a weary, exasperated sigh.

"You know what, nevermind. Not like I care," he brushes his previous words off, "Where are we, anyway?"

Oh, that Dick can answer. He's almost glad for understanding at least something from all the stuff that comes out of the man's mouth.

"Amity Park," he says, "I don't know any street names here, but I've been trying to get to the starting point of this eternal winter apocalypse, so-"

"Stop right there," the man raises a hand in the air, frowning, and his face looks a tad bit lost, but mostly just sharp, eyes dangerously narrowed, "Winter apocalypse?"

Dick debates if he should be answering that at all, given the circumstances and the unknown origins of the entity. But, on the other hand, there's literally no way anything could get worse than it is.

"Yeah. We've got another ice age on our hands, and it looks like it started here. Like, right here," he gestures around himself, to the missing roof that looks like it was blown away, to the abandoned and frozen over lab equipment, and the layers and layers of snow and ice.

The man looks around as well, and Dick might be imagining it, but there's a flicker or recognition in his eyes as he takes in everything around him. Dick, however, decides it's his turn to ask questions now, "Who are you?"

"Name's Dan," the man introduces absently, not looking at Dick, and then his lips twist into a bitter smile, "I am the cause of the apocalypse." There's a pause where Dick feels his stomach abruptly sinking, and then the man adds, "Ah, not this apocalypse. A different one."

"Err, I feel like one apocalypse is enough. No, actually, one apocalypse is too many apocalypses. Please don't make more," Dick can't help but deadpan, and Dan barks a laugh.

"I've already made one. Not here, in a different timeline," he glances at Dick, "You've managed to stay alive till the very end in that one, too, actually. I guess your family is just very well adjusted for world ending events."

Different timelines are not an unfamiliar concept, and weirder shit has happened in his life, so Dick decides to believe it. However, that comes with a consequence of a dawning understanding: he is standing here, chit-chatting with someone who's caused an apocalypse. And he, albeit unintentionally, freed him.

"Relax, blue pants, world domination is not exactly interesting when there's nothing to dominate," Dan huffs a laugh, evidently noticing Dick tensing up, "Besides, it looks like no matter what my alternative self did, the result was all the same. We just had different approaches."

"What?" This is the third time Dick is asking this. He feels very stupid, yes, but he can't bring himself to ask more detailed questions. There's just too many confusing points.

Dan raises his head up, looking to the dark skies above them.

"If you say the eternal winter started here, then I believe I know what caused it," he says in a detached, emotionless voice.

Dick can't help but feel a spark of hope in his chest, "Really?!"

"Yes," Dan doesn't look at him, his flaming hair dimming slightly, "A destruction of a particularly powerful Ice Core would definitely achieve this effect." He pauses, and Dick knows he should ask for more context because he still understands nothing, but something in the man's posture, in his tight expression and firm line of his lips stops the words from coming.

So, instead, he asks, "How do you fix it?"

Dan's eyes finally snap back at him, and his eyes are red like blood and so, so tired.

"You can't fix death, Richard Grayson. It's too late."

~•~•~•~

I sure took my time with this one, I'm sorry.

I didn't get to explaining much in text - and I'm much too lazy to turn this into an actual fic even if it has the potential to be one - so, long story short, the Bad Fenton Parents Ending happened, only no one came to rescue. Danny spent too much time down in the lab, strapped to the table and cut open, but no one came. In the end, either Fentons have done something to his core, or he couldn't handle it anymore and self-destructed/destabilized from all the suffering. His core exploded, causing the winter apocalypse that quickly spread. Months/years later, what remained of the heroes have located the original source of where it all started from, and Nightwing went to investigate, looking for any kinds of clues to reverse the ice age.

Honestly, I kind of played with both the trope and the aesthetic here - I mean, it's definitely 'right person wrong time' when you think about it, Nightwing did find Daniel Fenton in the lab, but it was much too late, and it's definitely a 'winter evening' but probably not the one you expected.

At least I got the song alright? Actually, no, I twisted the whole meaning of it as well. Anyway, I like what it turned into, even if it's surprisingly depressing.

I'm adding a little aesthetic that I used for this piece:

Hope you like it!

[blueberrylovv]

does anyone else get crazy motivated once the weather gets warmer? i struggle so hard with staying on track when it's cold and yes yes ik summer bodies are made in winter yes yes the ancient sacred texts are not lost on me i know the rules it's just that it's so easy to slip when you can hide behind thick sweaters and pants (also since i lost some weight i cant keep warm now and i need more fuel thoughout the day to not get sick).

now since the weather is nice and we've been conistently staying in the 15-25 degrees range for a month or so its so much easier to stay on track not only because i have to look presentable and cant hide behind clohes but also because i can see other girls also not hiding behind clothes and it gives me so much motivation

im so motivated to lock in rn boys only good things for me now only good progress going forward

[genericpuff]

This plot point annoyed me so much! I thought she was finally going to open up to Persephone about the reasons why she hated Hades so much, about what he did to her, but no! They just introduced a new yet unnecessary character to the story 🤦🏼‍♀️

What are your thoughts about it?

oh yeah it annoyed the piss out of me too and for one very big reason that is CHRONIC in LO:

It's a solution to a problem Demeter didn't have.

This happens to a lot of characters throughout the comic. They'll have some kind of plot-driven conflict or character-driven flaw, and then it will be solved by something else entirely that had nothing to do with their original problem or doesn't line up with the theme of their storytelling. Minthe had insecurity issues and a toxic relationship with Hades? Just give her a classroom full of children to babysit! Hades had infertility issues? That's fine, Persephone somehow fixes those issues because at the end of the comic they have babies and Hades has his happy ending so it's fine! Hera was in an unhappy relationship with Zeus and had trauma from her past as a victim of Kronos? No problem, just make her an all powerful fertility goddess! Persephone accidentally causes winter which kills possibly thousands of people? Gaia is here to save the day, and also she's the one who makes Persephone return to the Mortal Realm for a couple months with full visitation rights. Apollo is a serial rapist who's attempted murder on several occasions, even against his own father in an attempt to take the throne? Community service, that'll solve it.

Demeter is one of the biggest examples of Rachel's inability of writing an actual cohesive plotline. She writes like the only goal is to come up with new twists to keep people reading each week without ever considering what themes or questions she should be answering throughout. So when she does pose questions, the answers often wind up being severely disconnected because she can't be bothered to actually plan out a plotline with narrative structure, she just needs 'things' to happen. To put it bluntly and simply, she writes like how a 13 year old on Wattpad would write, no actual thinking about the material she's presenting, no consideration for the curtains and what color they are, just "make the things happen so that people will keep reading because that's what writing is!"

Demeter's problem wasn't her failing to understand Persephone. It was people failing to understand her when she had reasonable cause to both be wary of Persephone moving to Olympus as well as Hades and his intentions with her daughter. But because Rachel needs to have the perfect happy ending for her self-insert power fantasy couple, she resorts to gaslighting both Demeter as well as the audience by extension into believing that the solution to Demeter's character arc... is understanding Persephone more.

Like first of all, the moral "people just want to be understood" is way, WAY too "baby's first storyline" at this point in the story especially when we've tried to tackle much bigger topics like sexual assault, and when we know how complex Demeter's backstory is. There's no way she needs to be told by Hebe that people just want to be "understood". She absolutely knows this already, and has been fighting to be understood by her siblings and peers and family for centuries, but of course, everyone sees her as just "the contrarian".

But then the final solution is... the sudden appearance of Demophoon as her long-lost child, and Hades giving her the volcanoes. That's it. She doesn't get to actually become Queen of the Mortal Realm, she never really gets closure over the past 2000 years of abuse from everyone around her, Hades just - like with everyone - buys her affection and she gets a new baby to pour her attention into instead of Persephone and we're all just forced to go along with it for the sake of Rachel's fantasy.

Rachel can't write (￢_￢;)

[silverbladexyz]

TW: Mentions of death, injuries, self-loathing. Part 2 to this. Part 3 is here.

"I can't believe you sometimes. What if you had actually been killed because of your recklessness?!"

"But I wasn't! Even if combat isn't my strong suit, I had it all under control; and besides, these wounds are nothing compared to what we've faced before!"

In the normally tranquil environment of the Port Mafia's infirmary, two voices argued back and forth. One laced with worry and anger, the other laced with guilty adamance. A pair of best friends seemed to be the reason behind this noise; with their stubbornness a guise of the true feelings that they harboured for each other.

"Are you seriously kidding me right now? Even if you had it all under control, that doesn't mean you can gamble your life away like it's nothing! How do you think everyone would feel if you died? Do you want to put them through more pain and suffering that could've been prevented if you were more cautious? Do you even care?!"

"..."

Instead of replying, you turned away, suddenly finding the window to be more interesting than whatever was going on right now.

He was right. You didn't think properly about the consequences before you jumped straight in to engage with the enemy, even if you may have had a backup plan.

"... I'm sorry."

It was soft, but Chuuya managed to catch it.

He gave a small sigh, his shoulders dropping as the tension in them wore out. You fiddled with your bandages, not having the courage to look at him in the eyes. Did you even deserve to, afterall? When you worried him sick after he learnt that he almost lost you?

You heard his footsteps approaching you, and mentally prepared for the next thing that he was going to say.

Only for him to somewhat tug you into his arms.

Your eyes widened, and you blinked several times before realising that Chuuya Nakahara, your best friend, was hugging you.

His breath fanned against your collarbone as he buried his face into your shoulder. Strong arms held you close to him, being mindful of the injuries that you sustained on your body- yet the grip they held you in was tight but secure.

"... You idiot. Don't you dare do that again."

It was the most vulnerable you had ever seen him.

You hugged him back, inhaling his rich scent as an unknown heat bloomed in your chest.

"I won't. I promise, Chuuya."

His warmth never left your memories.

Now, you watched as he stood with her, holding her hand. They were too far away for you to make out their words, but whatever she said made Chuuya laugh. A genuine, happy laugh that seemed so much more different from the short chuckles he normally gave you.

He put his arm around her shoulder, and you unconsciously hugged your body as you felt yourself getting colder. It was the third of December- the start of another winter in Yokohama. Marking the six month anniversary of their relationship.

A wry smile made it's way on your face as Chuuya pulled Yasuko in for a kiss. Even though it was a short peck, it was enough to make your heart twist in longing that exemplified whenever you were around him. It was stupid; you knew that your best friend deserved to have someone much better than the monster you were, but it didn't stop you from wishing that you were her. Someone that was a sight for sore eyes, with an aura brighter than the blue skies- someone that could get Chuuya mesmerised.

You even noticed how he became slightly more distant in the friendship. You knew that he wasn't doing it on purpose; he was still the great best friend that he always was, but the little signs were there. Holding your hand so that you wouldn't get lost in the crowd had diminished to just staying close to you. Whenever you called him on a free day to ask if he wanted to hang out with you, he would apologise, saying 'I have a date with Yasuko later'. And the fact that you had the same free days really said something about how much they meant to him.

You walked away, the sight getting too much to handle. Once you were at a safe distance, you crumpled against a wall, biting down on the inside of your mouth to stop the tears from leaking out. A higher-ranking mafioso like you, crying over some crush? Pathetic. An unfitting model for your subordinates who looked up to you as a great unflinching leader.

"Why would you ever kiss me? I'm not even half as pretty." You chuckled bitterly, digging your nails into your palms. You hated it- the soft gaze in Chuuya's eyes whenever Yasuko was mentioned, the way that he gently held her hand, the way he became much more sweet and patient with her that was almost nothing like how he acted around you- you hated it all. You regretted not confessing to him sooner all those years ago.

But you were only the side character in their romance; forever doomed to support them while you suffered in silence.

Was there something or somebody that you could blame for this agony that you were currently in? Destiny, perhaps? Or even Cupid? Those names only made you scoff as you stuffed your hands into your pockets.

There was nobody you could blame except for yourself.

Perhaps it would have been better if you were the one who saved Yasuko, not Chuuya. They would have never spent as much time with each other, and you'd still have a chance at romancing him. None of this would have happened if the roles were reversed at that time.

But who were you kidding? One way or another, they’d end up together by the red string of fate. The most perfect match in all of Yokohama that could put every other couple to shame. And you'd always be the third wheel- the 'best friend' whose sacrifices went unseen just so that they could be happy.

Or maybe it would have been better if Yasuko didn't exist in the first place.

"-Y/N? Y/N?"

A voice broke you out of your thoughts, and you blinked a bit before refocusing onto the girl in front of you.

"Is everything okay? N-not that you have to tell me what's wrong, but if you ever need someone to talk to, I'll always be here for you."

Yasuko looked at you with a concerned expression, her eyes searching your face for any sign of discomfort.

Those innocent, beautiful eyes of hers that had held Chuuya captive in their gaze.

Ah, right. You were currently in the shopping mall with her, because her boyfriend had asked you to accompany her like some sort of bodyguard. And who were you to refuse, as his best friend who was always there for him? Well, you were grateful that Chuuya trusted you enough to let you near Yasuko. You had seen how protective he was of her.

"... Nothing. I'm alright."

You smiled at her, all traces of your previous emotions now gone. How could you have let your composure slip so easily? This hangout was so that you could 'get closer' with her, not reminiscing about the pathetic past that held you captive in this agonising love.

She frowned a little, but before she could say anything else, you jumped at the opportunity to distract her. Anything that could make you temporarily forget your pain for one moment was what you desperately needed now.

"Oh, looks like they're selling discounted jewellery! Let's take a look! You might find something that you like."

Grabbing her wrist, you dragged her towards the jewellery store despite having no intentions to buy anything. You simply wanted her to be distracted by the precious stones, so meticulously cut and fit into fine metal that it was laughable how they were mostly for show. A valuable trinket only made to be admired and forgotten at the end of the day, even when so much blood had been spilled over them. Blood that would forever stain the hands of a sinner such as you.

"Oh! I remember Chuuya taking me to a similiar store! He bought me a ring; I said that there was no need, but he insisted." Yasuko glanced down at the gold-and-red circlet that lay snugly around her index finger, her gaze becoming shyer as she profoundly remembered the day that her beloved boyfriend had bought it for her.

Your own silver ring that he gifted to you on your 18th birthday paled in comparison to the 5-carat Burmese ruby that sat atop her finger. It was a harsh reminder of who the buyer really preferred from between the two of you. That twisted feeling in your gut resurfaced, but you pushed it back down. You had no more frivolous hopes that he would one day realise you were the one whom he truly belonged with.

"Haha... did he now? I didn't know Chuuya was such a romantic. Did you know that rubies symbolise passionate and undying love?" You smiled as she blushed; the redness on her cheeks rivaling the shade of the precious gemstone that was proof of his commitment to her.

People were right when they said love hurts, but they never mentioned that it was the most painful sensation in the world. All the stab wounds and burns and whatnot that you had experienced from your enemies were nothing compared to a broken heart. A heart that was made to be torn apart to pieces as it weeps for the love it would never get.

Something cold brushed against your wrist, and you looked down to see a bracelet made up of the most exquisite yellow topaz. Yasuko held an identical one in her hand, her expression almost bashful as she faced you.

"I... I wanted to get matching bracelets for the two of us. I know it's only been a few months since we became friends, but being around you has really brightened up my life. I'm glad that we got to meet each other, and I hope that our friendship continues to grow and strengthen!"

She smiled at you; a smile so full of purity and beauty that it would've made many men fall onto her knees in front of her. It was a smile that didn't belong in the dark depths of Yokohama- instead, it belonged to a goddess that was too good for this world. A goddess that clearly deserved to call Nakahara Chuuya hers. Just seeing that smile made you feel infinitely more guilty about the nasty thoughts you had about her each night.

Yasuko's smile faded, worried that she might have overstepped your boundaries due to your silence.

"S-sorry... I should've asked you beforehand if you wanted to buy matching bracelets. Please don't force yourself to buy it just to make me happy-"

You shut her up by slipping it onto your right wrist, the topaz seeming to reflect the sun's golden rays back at you. Shooting her a smile, you grasped Yasuko's hand and put the other bracelet onto her left wrist joint. It fit nicely; just like anything else that she wore.

"May our friendship last until death do us part." It was a pact that you had sworn with Chuuya before. And you always kept your word, never breaking a promise to someone no matter how bizarre or extreme it was.

How unfortunate, really, that death did you apart too early.

@circinuus @riiwrites @ruanais @justcallmesakira @yasu-masashige @oldworldpoolhall @heartsfourdazai @ashthemadwriter-uwu @sariel626 @yuugen-benni @chocsra @iridescentdove

[charminglyantiquated]

Nautilus update! I’ve written more in-depth about all of this on the gofundme page and our social media, so I won’t get into the nitty gritty detail here as well, but I wanted to share the news here, for anyone wondering how things are going! Under a cut because it’s long, but tl:dr is we're moving forward, and we'll be okay.

Good news first: The owner of another local sailing company had put one of their boats up for sale the same week as the accident, and after the surveyors told us to expect the worst, he got in touch. She’s now ours, and we’ll be sailing again next summer! We were lucky enough to work on her in the past, and her previous owner wanted has told us he’d initially meant to offer her to us at the end of this season. With a working boat, we can keep our company going, which in turn means we have a means of making money that still allows us the flexibility to work on repairs, and deal with matters in the shipyard as they arise. (The marina also had a multi-year wait for commercial boats, so we were worried about what would happen if we had to bow out for a few years!) We're extraordinarily lucky and so, so grateful - this literally would not have been possible without the fundraiser, and the safety net it gave us, and the way our whole community has supported us. Without exaggeration, it changed our lives. I will never be able to fully express how grateful I am.

Nautilus is written off as a loss, which we've been expecting. They offered us the chance to buy her as salvage, which we obviously accepted. So insurance wrote us a payout for what she’s insured for, plus reimbursement for getting her hauled and towed, less the value of her as salvage. Because she’s a loss, we have to pay off the loan that we took out this spring to buy her. After that's done, we'll have enough left over from the payout check to launch the new boat next spring (insurance/marina fees/haul and tow) which in turn leaves us free to use the proceeds of the fundraiser to make a start on repairs this winter! In the meantime our insurance is pursuing subrogation: essentially (as I understand it) after paying us out of their pocket, they are going after the other insurance for reimbursement. If we do see any lost income, it would be through this process, but we’ve been told several times it will take months - we don’t know if that means ‘december’ or ‘next august’, and don’t know how much, so we’re crossing our fingers but not making any plans around it. The crisis point was these last two months, and honestly the fundraiser got us through it - now we have our feet under us again, it would definitely be welcome but our stability and livelihood isn't hanging on it, so we can afford to wait.

Repairs - rough estimate from the survey is $83k, but half of that is labor costs. We can do much of the labor ourselves, which should lower it a bit. There are obviously areas where we'll need experts (welding!!), but we have the skills for a lot of what has to be done. Right now we’re getting the boats covered for cold weather, picking up some odd jobs around the shipyard, and clearing room in the woodshop to build a new main mast - that’s the project this winter! We are also going to start tearing up the teak deck to access the damaged fiberglass below, and figure out what, if anything, can be salvaged from the wreck of the mast/rigging (the jib furler sheared in half, but the sail itself made it out with only four small, easily patched punctures! Which is frankly a miracle, given how it was literally jammed through the mast). Anything that seems sound will be checked over by an expert, and a lot of it might still be too stressed to safely use, but after months of looking at the wreck of the thing, it’s honestly just a relief to be able to go through and start taking pieces apart.

Tl:dr is we’re going to be okay. Money is tight, we’re living with family and working 6 days a week, but we’ll be on the water sailing again in May, our company will survive, and we’re hoping to have Nautilus fixed in two or three years. Just wanted to share that with you all; I'm really glad to finally have some good news to offer. It's not easy but it's better, and we're going to get through it, pretty much 100% because of everyone who has been so kind to us both. Thank you all so, so much for every single kind word and share and donation. I am never going to be able to say how much it has meant to me, and what a difference it has made. I won’t be posting much more about it on here now that we're back on our feet, but if anyone wants to keep updated, detailed news about Nautilus repairs will go on the gofundme page, and our instagram will have lighter posts about both boats, repairs, and the 2025 season.

[jewish-joy]

After a tizzy of a freshman year of college as a jew-ish student, I'm packing boxes for uHaul.

My target-bought menorah went into the first box, along with all ten of my hillel sweatshirts. Pictures I had printed out from Purim are taken down, and neatly put into an envelope to be hung up later. My many books on Jewish culture and religion went into the second one. And so on, and so forth. The hamsa I lost three months ago was under my mini fridge.

As I put away each Jewish item, intermingled with my sweater collection and stuffed animals, I remember both the joy and grief of this year. A hostage necklace goes hand in hand with my Magen David in my jewelry box. A newspaper on a local antisemitic hate crime finds it place next to the belated "Hanukkah gift" my friend got for me in April. It's been so much to carry- both the joy of finding home along with the tangible feeling of uncertainty, fear, and pain.

And finally, I am on the fifth box. In the pocket of two separate winter coats, I found posters of two people-

one, the childhood best friend of a man I know, currently a captive in Gaza. I'd been given that picture, personally, by my friend who kept on referring to this hostage in the past tense. Then, he would continually correct himself, looking even more stricken as he made that mistake of letting what he's resigned to slip out. And I can't imagine- I can't. If the boys I played in the summer streams with were currently being tortured by my worst enemies. If I had no idea if the friend that sent me funny texts and assurances after a bad day was alive or not. The other, Hind Rajab, a Palestinian child killed in the crossfires of war. I found that poster blown off from a fence. It was one out of around sixty so I felt comfortable taking it home with me, just to look at her and remember. Her little face would've blended right in with the kids I helped out with every Monday for the last two semesters. Who could've cried on her last day of kindergarten, because she wouldn't see her teachers again, just like how all the six-year-olds clung to me when they realized it was my last day. In that moment, I laughed, pushing their hands off of me gently because I had to leave for Pesach celebrations. But at the same time, I thought of her and how she didn't get to see Eid.

When I come back to campus in September, with those boxes waiting in my new dorm for me, I will open up that box and see their faces. And I'll feel that sorrow as deeply as I feel it now and the moment I first learnt their stories. But I hope my friend's near-brother will be back home. And I hope - I hope to everything- that Palestinian children just like Hind will be able to go back home, get the help they need, and spend the rest of their childhoods crying over their teacher assistants leaving for summer breaks.

And when I see them in September, I'll think "We've done it. I'm sorry it took so long, I'm sorry it took this pain and nothing ever deserved to happen to you. But we did it."

[scuderiamv]

Truly, Madly, Deeply ★ MV1

pairing: max verstappen x oc!fem

summary: “when you know she is the one, nothing else matters”

warnings: nothing, just pure fluff

requests are open | masterlist

Max watched her as she slept, her peaceful expression casting a serene glow in the dimly lit room. It was the sixth night she had spent in his bed, though he had long lost track of the count. Each night with her felt like a gift, a precious moment he never wanted to end.

Their paths had crossed six months ago during the winter break, a chance encounter at the train station. He had been captivated by her from the moment he laid eyes on her, her presence drawing him in like a magnet. And as he discovered her routine of visiting her grandparents in Monaco, he found himself falling deeper into fascination with her.

It took him a week to gather the courage to approach her, but when he did, it was as if the universe had aligned their paths perfectly. Every moment spent together was a breath of fresh air in his otherwise hectic life, filling him with a sense of pure bliss and happiness he hadn't known before.

As the season picked up its pace, Max couldn't help but worry about the possibility of losing her amidst the chaos. What if the pressure became too much for her? What if she decided to walk away?

But she stayed.

Through the highs and lows of his life, she remained by his side, a steady presence amidst the whirlwind of his career. She was there when he faced criticism, there when he achieved milestones, there when he needed someone to simply be there for him.

She never left.

And to Max, that meant everything.

“Schat?” Max called softly, his voice breaking the stillness of the room. He watched as she stirred from her slumber, her eyelashes fluttering open to reveal eyes filled with sleep and warmth. A soft smile graced her lips as she greeted him.

"Hey," she murmured, her voice a melodic whisper.

"Hey," Max replied, his heart swelling with love at the sight of her. He reached out to gently brush a strand of hair from her face, his touch lingering against her skin. "Did I wake you?" he asked, concern lacing his words.

She shook her head, her fingers intertwining with his. "No, I was just drifting. What's on your mind?"

Max hesitated, his thoughts swirling in his mind like a whirlpool of emotions. "I was just thinking about us," he confessed, his voice soft yet earnest. "About how we met, and how much you mean to me."

A flicker of uncertainty danced in her eyes, but she remained attentive, waiting for him to continue.

"It's just... I can't shake this feeling that I'm falling for you, deeper than I ever thought possible," he admitted, his gaze locked with hers.

Her expression softened, a gentle smile playing on her lips. "I feel the same way," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. "I didn't expect to find this kind of connection with you, but I'm grateful for every moment we've shared."

Max felt a rush of warmth wash over him at her words, his heart overflowing with love for her. Leaning closer, he pressed his forehead against hers, savoring the closeness between them.

"I love you," he breathed, the words a promise etched into the very depths of his soul.

A soft smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, and she leaned in to meet his lips with hers, a tender kiss sealing their love. "I love you too, Max. Truly, madly, deeply."

At that moment, surrounded by her love, Max knew that he had found something truly special. And as they held each other close, he couldn't help but feel grateful for the serendipitous twist of fate that had brought them together.

[theroyalsims]

THE QUEEN AND ANYA GET SPECIAL PREVIEW OF ROYAL WEDDING EXHIBIT

Two months after Anya and Gus tied the knot in a lavish ceremony that was witnessed by millions of royal enthusiasts from around the globe, we finally get to see a closer look at some of the most special elements of TRH's big day - including Anya's "mystery" wedding tiara!

The Brindleton Royal Gallery (BRG) is expecting some major traffic beginning next week when it opens its doors to the public for a very special, limited-time, royal wedding exhibition, and the Gallery is estimating that at least half a million royal fans and fashion enthusiasts will be dropping by in the next two months. In an interview, the Chief Curator of the BRG reveals:

"The royal wedding attracted a lot of people not only from Brindleton, but from all over the world. We haven't formally opened it yet, but already there's a clamour for the exhibit. There's just something magical about weddings, and I suppose it being a royal wedding, well, it's twice as magical.

We're expecting at least 500,000 visitors within the next couple of months. We're anticipating that the most popular display will be the wedding ensemble of the Crown Princess. Everything is on loan from HRH, including her stunning wedding gown. We took our time to make sure everything is presented in the best way possible, and of course, with such priceless royal heirlooms on display, we've put up stringent security measures."

The first to see the exhibit is, of course, the bride herself, and Her Majesty the Queen. The royal mother-and-daughter duo dropped by earlier today for a very special preview of the exhibit.

(Above: Anya's wedding ensemble will be on full display, including a replica of the bridal bouquet. The original bouquet was presented by The Crown Princess to her grandparent's grave at the Royal Crypt.)

The two joked around when shown the  pièce de résistance, HRH's wedding ensemble encased behind thick tamper and bulletproof glass. The Queen was heard saying: "Why is it in prison? Will it run off and escape?"

The Crown Princess, meanwhile, couldn't help but get a little emotional when she saw her dress on full display. HRH remarked: "I love this dress. It's my dream dress and tiara. I loved seeing his face when he first saw me at the church. I loved every moment of it."

Speaking of her dream tiara, the all-diamond stunner has stumped even the most seasoned royal fashion and jewellery experts! Although earlier speculated to be a new tiara commissioned by the groom, it's actually a very precious family heirloom called the Whittleby Diamond Tiara, and it has one heck of a bittersweet backstory.

(Above: An emotional Anya was photographed reminiscing about her big day.)

The tiara was presented to Princess Marguerite by her lover, Lord Henry Whittleby. Lord Whittleby came from nobility, but his family lost both power and money due to Lord Henry's father's penchant for gambling. The tiara was the only one left of his mother's jewels.

Princess Marguerite's father, King Hiram II, did not approve of the couple's relationship and rejected their request to marry. Undeterred, the couple wed in secret. When King Hiram II found out, he took his daughter away and locked her in the Winter Palace. Unbeknownst to the King, Princess Marguerite was already with child. The King had Lord Henry imprisoned.

When the King died twelve years later, the new King, King Frederik (Princess Marguerite's older brother), pardoned a very frail Lord Henry. He was reunited with Princess Marguerite, and he held his daughter, Lady Anneliese, for the first time. Sadly, two months after his release, Lord Henry passed away. Princess Marguerite never remarried. Lady Anneliese, too, never married reportedly due to fear of having her heart broken like her mother. Without any issue to inherit her jewels, the tiara eventually reverted to the royal vaults.

King Frederik, who pardoned Lord Henry, is the late King Leopold's father, making Princess Marguerite Crown Princes Anya's great-grand aunt.

(Above: (L) Anya wearing the Whittleby Diamond Tiara on her wedding day. (R) the rarely-photographed Lady Anneliese Whittleby wearing the tiara during one of King Leopold's coronation festivities.)

Until Anya's wedding, the tiara had ever only been photographed once, worn by Princess Marguerite's daughter, Lady Anneliese Whittleby, during King Leopold's coronation.

When asked why she opted to wear her tiara for her wedding, considering its sad history, HRH responded:

"People tend to focus on the challenges they faced, and miss out on the fact that they never gave up on each other, and were eventually reunited, even for just a brief moment. It may have been a very short time, but they were together, and happy, and complete, and as in love as each other as the day they wed.

Aunt Marguerite wanted to wear it on her wedding day, but since their marriage was rushed, she never got the chance. And cousin Anneliese never married. I thought it would be a wonderful way to honour their memory, to wear it down the aisle. The world needs to know their story, and this beautiful tiara should see the light of day."

Hmmm... we can't help but wonder if Princess Marguerite and Lord Henry's love story resonated with the Crown Princess. It can be recalled that multiple rumours claim that Anya and Gus were forcefully separated by the Royal Family back in the day because they were too young and things were starting to get serious between the two? At least TRH eventually got the fairytale wedding some could only dream of! All's well that ends well!

The exhibit will run for eight weeks straight, staring Monday next week, so book your tickets now! Entrance is set a §35 a pop, but all proceeds will go to Crown Princess Anya and Prince Gus' charities of choice! Other items on display include a replica of the wedding cake, Anya's diamond-studded bridal shoes, Prince Gus' wedding ensemble, and the actual carriage the couple boarded!

See you at the Gallery!

[08melancholie]

Hello everybody! Sorr for being so inactive for a very long time, I'm pretty busy. I want to share a project I'm starting right now with you all. This is a very interesting one, as it is nothing like what I've ever written before.

I'm writing a Morbell-centered fic by the name of "To The End Of My Time", which will be written in the form of Arthur's usual journal entries, reimagined by myself. It's going to have undertones of both Marthur and Chartur, along with some others if I add them in the end. I'm very excited to show everyone this piece of work. I am currently six chapters into the fic. I'm not sure how many I'll end up with, but I'm certain it'll be a fun read.

For now, I'm giving you the first chapter to read before I even publish it. A little teaser, since I won't post any chapters until I've got it all written down, so that I don't even give myself a chance to abandon the work. The fic will be posted only on AO3, but will be available to guest accounts too, comments as well as viewing the fic.

Please do enjoy!

I never know how to start these. I guess it's still odd to me. I bought this new journal after the last one got lost in the fire months ago.

Haven't written in the last few months, much less drawn, but I'm starting to see I miss it more than I thought I would. I saw this little thing at the store. So here I am.

I haven't been liking the Grizzlies, especially the travel down from the Northern Grizzlies. And here we are, stuck and so in the worst of the winter. Food wasn't a problem before, and life was pretty good, just for us to get stuck in the western foothills of the mountains.

We were supposed to buy some land Dutch had a lead on, but something about it drove him away—whether the paranoia of being watched by law or the fact it didn't live up to what he had in mind, it's left us wandering more.

We picked up some folks in the Grizzlies, if nothing.

Jenny, a sweet young girl we found on the side of the road, poor thing. All shivering and meek, no words. Dutch didn't want to leave her there.

Micah. Some sleazy little outlaw, or something? Met Dutch's in some bar, apparently, and saved him when was trying to rob some fellers in a bar which didn't go as planned. Dutch says he'll be of use, so I won't question it. He seems full of himself, and Hosea and I aren't sure in this choice. Guess we shall see.

Currently, we're holed up outside of Blackwater. Hosea and Dutch were insisting on it, even if we were thinking about California. Nonetheless, the town proves useful at times, and I often stay there to hunt for any opportunities for us, and I think I might be onto something.

We've finally got money, and the path we've taken was tortuous and slow, but nobody followed us or knows where we headed. Guess we shall see what we're in for.

[deceit-and-knowledge]

Another diary/journal entry this time about pv and smilk, written by pv per request

cw: minor obssessive behaviour

Also date format used, day, month, year (blog owner is from the country that lost a war against a bird aka I'm not American)

Warning might be kinda long?

journal entry #xxx 5/3/xxxx

Dear journal

Today is the 5th day of spring so I took the time to sheer off the costs the cream sheep built up over the winter, it's still cold here. So I'm keeping warm by moving around and doing tasks around the kingdom. I stated many entries back that I was in possession of a particular blue cookie. Shadow milk cookie, his body is rather cold it's self so he'll be a wonder come summer. But that's not the point here. I am yet to write out about our complicated relationship.

He's a tough nut to crack. He's a cookie that's built up walls around himself so much it's hard to see through his feelings and emotions and true reason behind his actions. But I understand him.i understand his actions and why he's the way he is, it's true. We've walked similar paths. He's clearly been hurt in the past by someone, he's lost his sense of self and love, friendship and kindness. He was hurting so much that lies were something he discovered as a means of comfort.

I dread the idea that I nearly became that myself many times, refusing my truth for deceit. Deceit is like a forbidden fruit. Delicious yet bad for you. The truth is like a sour candy. Hurts you in the beginning but becomes sweet to you later. I'm glad shadow milk cookie is beginning to learn who he was again. Even if it's a slow process.

How did this occur again? He just showed up on my doorstep one day. He claimed to want vengeance and that I'm "nothing but a pathetic marionette on a string, he'll play like fiddle until I give up what I stole." So I gave him a whole speech about friendship and why I want him to accept it. He "pretended* to get it but I knew. He accepted it from the start. He came here already wanting my friendship but because he's so scared to be vulnerable he has to lie and pretend he's not "weak" or "soft" when really he is.

He has his moments of "weakness" where he allows himself to open up to me and even cry. He's afraid of being judged and while I wish he wasn't I understand why he is. He's the "master of deceit" the once fount of knowledge, I believe even a king. He has many important titles and roles and clearly played a huge role in this world's development. Everything he did had responsibility and immense impact. A cookie as important as that couldn't be "weak" or show "immaturity" let alone be submissive and just give in his emotions. A cookie that claims to be a master of all lies, that governs all truth, deceit and knowledge can't be shown sobbing. It breaks my heart that he can't let his walls break.

But little does he know I've been breaking them slowly, love and kindness is what he needs to build trust in someone to let them see him cry. See him at his lowest which is all the time. He hasn't had a high in maybe eons. I feel horrible for him.

I'm so glad to be the cookie guiding him, being his friend and making him happy. I'm aware he's harmed me, harmed my friends, some probably worse to others. Elder faerie gave up his life to white lily cookie so she could stop shadow milk cookie. Remembering that gorgeous faerie form she took makes me feel. Strange.. she looked pretty, yes but now when I look back I feel nothing. I don't feel love the way I do. I suppose I no longer possess feelings for white lily cookie. I still love her as a friend however, besides. Our paths stray much different from one another. A relationship with her would stop one of us from being happy and feeling fulfilled. I want her to be happy and if that means our paths don't align I accept that.

Admittedly my previous behaviour about her was rather concerning. A giant lily garden made from mourning isn't normal. I recognise that. It's always been an issue for me, I get so overally attached to something or someone it makes me feel ill not to have it. I'm addicted to the scent of lillies. I know. It's a problem but now I'm slowly developing a particular fondness for the milky scent of milk crown flowers. Yes. It means exactly what you think it means.

But at least it's not one sided. I see right through that liar. He's so obvious about it but I'm unsure how much longer I can wait for his walls to break down enough he admits it to me and tells me his feelings. I love shadow milk cookie. I understand him and care about him more than I've cared about the other heroes, white lily cookie and the kids. We even literally share a soul in a way. Could that be anymore perfect? Our paths align perfectly, it's mere fate. I never thought it would be this way but he's just like me. Despite the past, I want to move past it and show him empathy for his hurt. I hate to sound so enthralled despite the past but the thrill rubs me the right way.

He's still cruel but it's kinder now. He calls me names but it's because he's scared to admit how he truly feels, luckily I get it. He doesn't think I do. For the once fount of knowledge, he's not great at realisation. It's quite humorous. He doesn't even realise how much I admire him. I can't help but stare, those silly blue eyes pierce right through me, he even likes the same things as me. Yes I'm gushing. I love the thrill, I love watching a cookie so angry with life finally smile. Learn to care about someone that's not him, today he yelled at me for not eating. Before he'd just point it out and pout but today he screamed at me. He was so worried about me he used his little strength to cook. He then threw a pie at me but it's the thought that counts. Can't be too kind now can he?

every moment with this cookie feels amazing all over. I need him, I'm getting quite impatient. I need him all over me. I want to be.

tomorrow i plan to take him to do some gardening, last time he offered me a flower and it was so sweet. I love watching him warm up to me. We've gotten so far and there's no going back now. This cookie will forever be my dear friend I met through strange means but he'll forever be important to me as a show of my compassion.

I must sleep now. Tomorrow I will write again.

[ahmadalturk]

🕊️ Living Amidst the Shadows of Conflict: Our Gaza Story 🕊️

Hello, dear world. My name is Ahmed Turk, and I am reaching out to you from Gaza, a place where the sky has forgotten what peace looks like. 🌌 My family and I are trapped in the heart of an unending conflict, and I am here to share our story—not just as a cry for help, but as a plea for understanding, compassion, and hope. 🤍

Ages

In this article, we provide an overview of the ages of my family members:

AHMAD: 24 years old

AMAN: 21 years old

ASEEL: 19 years old

MUHAMMED: 23 years old

HADA: 15 years old

SUAD: 53 years old

JEHAD (my father): 59 years old

🌿 This is us—my sister Aseel and I—and our family, caught in the crossfire of circumstances we never chose. We have lost our home, our safety, and everything that once defined our lives. Verified by two trusted voices, Al-Shab Hussein ( here )and Nabulsi ( here )we are here, asking for your kindness and solidarity. 🌍

🏚️ Imagine losing everything—the place you call home reduced to rubble, the memories you cherished scattered in the wind. We are now living in a tent, under the open sky that offers no protection from the coming winter. 🌧️❄️ The cold is creeping closer, and with it comes a fear that grips our hearts. How do we keep warm when we have lost everything? How do we stay strong when there is no shelter to hide under? 🥺

🥀 We are surrounded by scarcity—there is no clean water to drink, no healthy food to eat. Every day is a battle for survival against hunger, thirst, and despair. The prices of the little that is available are too high, and with each passing day, we feel the weight of this burden growing heavier. 🍂

My father was injured and now needs urgent surgery. I explained this in a previous article, and he is still suffering. Please remember, my father is a peaceful civilian who loves life just like any other father. 🙏💔

A part of the fear we are feeling is captured in this video from about a month ago. Yet, we know this is the least of what we feel right now. We've reached a point where hope of coming out of this war unscathed feels lost. 💔🕊️

The moment we left Rafah and were displaced for the fifth time in a row - now we are in Nuseirat in a tent on the sea coast, living.

But even in the darkest of nights, we hold onto hope. ✨ Your generosity could be our lifeline, your kindness the bridge that helps us cross from despair to hope. 🌈 I know the borders are closed, and the path to a better life seems blocked. But your donations can be our light in this never-ending tunnel. 🕯️

Please, if there is any way you can help—even the smallest act of kindness could mean the world to us. 🌸 You could be the reason we find the strength to face another day, the reason a child in Gaza smiles again. 🌼

Thank you for listening, for caring, and for believing in our right to live with dignity. 🙏

🕊️ We are here, holding onto hope. Will you hold it with us? 🕊️

@el-shab-hussein @nabulsi

@palipunk @sar-soor @neptunerings @el-shab-hussein @appsa @hack-saw2004 @neechees @spacebeyonce @90-ghost

@rinnie @sweetoothgirl @timetravellingkitty @deathlonging @briarhips @mazzikah @mahoushojoe @rhubarbspring @appsa @90-ghost @schoolhater @pcktknife @transmutationisms @sawasawako

@irhabiya @commissions4aid-international @wellwaterhysteria @junglejim4322 @kibumkim @neechees @kyra45 @riding-with-the-wild-hunt@omegaversereloaded @vague-humanoid @evillesbianvillainarchive @ot3 @amygdalae @ankle-beez @dykesbat @stuckinapril @violentrevolution-blog @mavigator @lacecap @watermotif @socalgal @chilewithcarnage @ghelgheli @sayruq @papenathys

Please help me and family 💙💙🙏🏻

[kazarinn]

As of today, all 27 manga chapters and 43 episodes of Saint Tail have been fully retranslated from scratch! Please click here to check it out!

This project started at around the beginning of July, so I have to admit that it's quite the feeling to have finally finished all of the translation work! To be honest, I was a bit self-conscious about how the unusual release schedule and the abnormally extensive documentation would be received, but we've gotten quite a few supportive comments, so thank you so much!

(Look, it's just really hard to make a claim like "almost every page of the manga has wordplay or some kind of metaphor, meaning previous English translations lost almost a whole half of the plot and made the entire ending and epilogue come off as saying the opposite of what they're actually supposed to" unless you have sufficient evidence to make a case for it...)

It may not be exaggeration to say that this has probably been the most challenging translation I've ever tackled to date, even though the deceptively simple plot doesn't make it come off as that kind of series at first glance, so I hope all of the effort that the rest of the team and I put into it can come through and that people can enjoy it as much as possible.

In regards to future plans: I want to take a look at some more of Tachikawa's works (I made a post about this earlier, but none of her other work has been treated well in translation), as well as perhaps some other magical girl series that need translation love. But I can't make any explicit promises, especially since I'd have to juggle it with a huge backlog of other stuff...and also, I need a break after almost six months straight of this 😅 I'm off to enjoy the rest of the winter holiday, and I hope you all do too. If you do decide to check out the series with the new translation in the meantime, I'd definitely be really happy if you posted reactions 😊

[typingdyslexiaisathing]

Love Over Time (Trigun) fanfiction

Vash woke up to the sound of soft sniffling. His mind soon awake and alert that his wife wasn't next to him. So Vash rolled over and out of the bed to head for the bathroom. The door cracked open for him to knock softly on the door. Which had Anya go quiet right away. So Vash spoke up to make sure Anya was okay. "Honey? Are you all right? Did you have a bad dream? Or are you coming down with something?" The silence was deafening for Vash to start to really worry. But soon the door eased open for him to look down at his wife. The woman who had stolen his heart so many years ago. Anya was older now than when they had first met. But he still looked at her with that feeling his heart was soaking in soft spring sunshine. So Vash smiled down at Anya to reach his hand up and cup her cheek. Wiping away her tears on that side of her face with his thumb. "Oh honey. What is it? Please tell me. Please."

Anya gave another sniffle to lean into his touch. But her tears kept falling as she spoke with utter misery. "It's hopeless. I've tried and tried for months. But nothing is working. Instead of losing all this weight I gained, I just seem to add more." Vash blinked to then pause as he floundered for the right words to say. While Anya whimpered to then lean herself into his front. So Vash hugged her close as she sobbed and sniffled. "It's not fair. I keep doing those workouts and watching what I eat. But nothing makes any difference. The older I get the rounder I get. I hate it! I hate how I feel so fat and ugly!" Vash felt those words rip through his whole body. Hugging Anya closer to soon trace a hand through her long red curly hair. Red that now had traces of tinsel white in it. Vash didn't care about such things. He loved Anya and still lost his breath whenever she walked into the room. So he spoke with pure love to his wife. "Oh Anya. I know you are doing your best to be healthier. I know you are trying. My gorgeous and radiant rose. Time always seems to add more struggles in ways we tend to despise. But you are simply you, Anya. The woman I love with all my heart and soul."

Anya gave a hiccup for Vash to move so they were sitting on the bed. He took his time holding tissues to Anya's nose so she would 'toot the trumpet' as they told the local children. Soon leaning in to place tender kisses to Anya's face as he nuzzled and cuddled her. "Mine. My perfect love. My precious rose in the desert. I am the luckiest man alive to have you for my wife. Every day we've been together has been a joyous blessing. From the very start to all these years later. I have everything I have ever wanted in you and this life we have." Anya gave a sniffle to ask Vash, "Really? Even though it's been almost two decades since that day we first met? Even though we only met because I lost my scarf in the breeze for you to catch?" Vash grinned as the memory replayed in vivid detail. How a soft blue scarf had all but surprise floated over his head. Only to turn and see Anya come running up chasing after it. A pretty young woman with short curly hair and freckles all over her face. Eyes that were the most dazzling shade of silver grey Vash had ever seen. He had felt so stunned he had been unable to really form full sentences. The memory making him grin to come back to the present.

Vash gave a chuckle of pure joy before he spoke. His words full of love and contentment. "Anya. I am sure that God made the breeze grab up your scarf to then drop it on my head. At least I choose to think so. And I am thankful every second of every day and night that God did just that. You are my perfect summer day. My warm winter night in front of a fire. Every moment we have is one I gives thanks for and count as prefect. You are my perfect everything, Anya. I cannot help but keep on falling in love with you." Anya gave a squeak of shyness for her blush to creep in. Which dusted over her face and ears for Vash to giggle over. So Anya scooted closer to give Vash a good hug as he wrapped his arms around her. His wife saying with soft words, "My wonderful and sweet husband. Thank you. Thank you so much, Vash. I shouldn't linger in doubts or bad thoughts when I have you to shoo them away for me. I love you, sweetheart."

The two stayed in that good hug for a while. But then Vash had a thought to simply sigh. "I am fairly certain that everyone on Ship 3 expected for us to visit a month ago. For many different reasons. So I think we should go back and see everyone. As well as do that dreaded health check up the ship's doctor threatened us with. I get poked and prodded and lectured. You get insight on better ways to workout and or try things they might have for losing weight and being healthier overall. So we both get the hospital gown and cold breeze in places together." Anya gave a grumble of resignation before she huffed. "You evil opportunist. Fine. Fine. My boss at the bank offices keeps hounding me about using my vacation time. So I can let him know I'm taking it right the heck now. While you get to pack our bags and see that the little details get taken care of." Vash let Anya go for her to get onto her feet. Yet Vash wasn't able to stop himself from giving Anya's backside a pat of encouragement. Which earned him a squeak and a light tap on the head before Anya headed for the phone. Meaning Vash got to watch her sway that very round and very perfect backside as she moved. Not even hiding his grin when Anya told him, "Less staring and more packing."