Maya~ She/Her | Eclectic Witch | poet who thrives on literature, music, flowers, and intellectual conversations. Some say I'm a rebel, others say I'm a nerd. Much love ♡
Bone, muscle, skin.. Hair. Just like everyone else. You have blood like everyone else. You also have a brain like them. Your brain has the basic structure of Albert Einstein's. You are capable of so much intelligence. You are also made up of your own feelings and beliefs. I can put love and support into you but I can't make you feel or believe them. You decide that. But you are so capable.. So loved and so accepted. I'm here to help but you are always going to be in charge of your intelligence, feelings, and beliefs. You are the only one who can impact yourself deeper than anyone else can. So try to see that you can do this. If Einstein can be a genius, you can be one too. Just because no one else notices, doesn't mean you aren't. Make the choice to hurt or help yourself, but do it with the knowledge that you are the only one capable of making anything happen for yourself.
Every single line is true and on its own would be too much to handle.
All together, I just don't understand, I literally lack the capacity to understand why this has been allowed to go on for so long and why so many people are okay with it.
In the first week of December, I remember reading how Biden was going to put his foot down in January and I thought, three more weeks of this, intolerable. In my worst nightmares, I never expected it to still be happening in August.
HELP!! BLOOD OF ZEUS S2 IS GOING TO KILL ME!!!!!!!
Are these Hades and Persephone's children?!?!?!?!?!
As far as I can dig up, Hades and Persephone have 2 or 3 kids: Melinoe, Zagreus, and Makaria. Do the creators of BoZ know this and these are them?! Because if the answer's yes; I LOVE YOU CHARLEY AND VLAS PARLAPANIDES!!
This was the artwork I commissioned, Baby It's Cold Outside done by the amazing ConsultingPacha for the #FotFicPinupCalendar2023 organized by @frosticenow.
and this is the fic (A Bit of Home) I wrote to accompany it...
A Bit of Home
Summary: The Hobbit, Post-Sack/Pre-Quest for Erebor
You’re spending your first Yule with Thorin, but being that you are from this world and not Middle Earth, you miss Christmas as well. At least, you do until Thorin brings a bit of it to you
Pairing: Thorin x Fem!Reader
Characters: Thorin Oakenshield, reader,
Warnings: Nothing but fluffy fluff to be found here
Rating: G
Words: 2,742
***
Snow shifted softly through the trees, settling along the branches to dust them white. Here and there, a cardinal showed through, their scarlet feathers looking like drops of blood against the stark background. The fire crackled softly on the hearth in the great room, and in the kitchen, where you stood, another crackled as well, a bit louder and the flames danced a bit higher, but it kept the kitchen warm enough.
It was your first Yule in Middle Earth and while you’d grown used to your new home, you couldn't help but miss your old one from time to time. The bouts of homesickness had lessened, of course, but you were fairly certain they’d never go away entirely, no matter how happy you might be now.
And you really were happy. It had taken some doing to convince Thorin you weren’t mad—after all, one could hardly fault him for thinking otherwise when he happened upon you, wandering about the woods not far from the village of Hamelin, wearing strange clothes he’d never seen before, and talking about things such as cell phones and the internet. You tried to explain the concept of a wormhole and falling through one to land in his place and time, but since you didn't really understand it yourself, you might as well have been talking Greek to him, as your mother would say. Still, the important part was how you managed to convince him you were perfectly sane and that you weren’t about to attack him or worse. He offered you a place to sleep for the night and you never left. Over time, he helped you settle in and things being what they were, you were now a couple.
But as the holiday drew nearer, the homesickness worsened. No one back in your time, in your world, knew what happened to you. You were probably just considered missing and you tried not think about how worried your family must have been. Especially at that time of year. You wished you had some way to let them know you were alive and well and very happy, but since there were no internet connections or cell towers to be found, you could only hope they felt it somehow.
You tried not dwell, and Thorin was endlessly patient as he listened to you describe what Christmas was like, and at its heart, it really wasn't all that much different from Yule. Thorin smiled as you tried to describe Santa Claus, merriment dancing in his pale blue eyes as he said, “He sounds like Bombur, only taller.”
“And with white hair, instead of red,” you’d said in return. “And not nearly as quiet.”
He’d asked you questions about your traditions, explained to you about the dwarven ones, adding, “And if the time comes where Erebor is ours once more, the celebration will be even grander.”
Erebor. His ancestral home deep within the Lonely Mountain, whose throne he stood to inherit was now in the possession of a firedrake from the north known as Smaug the Terrible. Thorin spoke every now and again of returning to the mountain, of taking back what was rightly his, but at the same time, he seemed very content with the home you’d created for the two of you. He worked as a blacksmith to put food on the table and keep the roof over your head and while it wasn't the same as being a king, he did very well just the same. He was an artisan, and people came from all around to commission pieces from him in addition to purchasing the more mundane, everyday tools he forged as well.
As the holiday grew closer, Thorin found himself working longer hours. More often than not, you ate supper alone and were fast asleep by the time he came home. He was up with the sun and gone before you awoke and while you understood, you missed him just the same and looked forward to the time when he’d keep more normal hours.
The kettle whistled to let you know the water boiled and you’d just plucked it carefully from the hook over the fire when there came a knock at the door. You set the kettle down and moved to the kitchen door to open it.
“Good morning, madam, I’ve a missive from the village for you.”
He held out the folded sheet of ivory parchment sealed with a scarlet D, which made you smile. Why the deuce was Thorin sending you a missive when he could just come home and tell you? True, the cozy stone cottage was at the opposite end of the village, but it wasn’t that big of a village to begin with and the trip would take no more than twenty or thirty minutes, tops.
Even so, you thanked the courier and as he strolled off into the snow, you cracked the seal and unfolded the parchment.
“Mesmel,
“Please come down to the village tonight at half-six. I’ve a surprise for you.
Yours,
T”
Mesmel. Jewel of all jewels, he’d explained the first time he’d whispered it to you. Without fail, you smiled every time he spoke it, and did so now seeing it in writing.
And a surprise? He wasn't much one for surprises, or of frivolity of any sort, really. He was stoic and serious and rarely smiled, although he seemed to smile much more often of late, even if it wasn't nearly as often as you’d like.
Your mind boggled all the rest of the afternoon and as the time approached, you grabbed your sensible woolen cloak to draw about your shoulders and hurried out into the swiftly falling snow. The sun had begun its descent into the horizon and the air was crisp and cold, your breath a frosty cloud of silver vapor with each breath, swirling about you as you made your way from the stone cottage at the end of the lane to trek your way into the village proper.
You smiled and bobbed your head at those you passed along the way. Hamelin was an eclectic village of Hamelin, with its mix of dwarves, Men, and even an occasional elf here and there. They all regarded you with suspicion at one time, but lately the smiles seemed more genuine and you didn't get the feeling they whispered about you behind your back nearly as often as they once had.
Thorin’s blacksmithy was at the far end of Stone Street, a large rustic wood-and-stone building from which plumes of smoke rose and the clang of steel meeting iron rang out the way church bells chimed. As you drew near, you not only heard the clanging, but felt it as the vibrations rippled through you with each strike of the hammer. It rose in volume, in a steady rhythm and you could almost picture Thorin there, at the anvil, hammer in his right hand, lifting it high above his head only to bring it down with incredibly force to slowly, steadily, shape the iron he forged into a gleaming blade that would soon be polished to a mirror finish when he was through.
The door to the front of the shop opened with the cheerful tinkle of the bell above it. The clanging stopped, then a deep voice bellowed, “Who goes?”
“Someone sent me a message requesting I stop by.”
“Mesmel.” You heard the smile in his voice as he said that one word. “Wait a moment whilst I clear up this mess.”
“What are you about, Thorin?”
“You will see.”
“Thorin?”
“Trust me, mesmel.”
You sighed softly as you reached to unfasten the frogs at your throat and then whisked your cloak from around your shoulders. It was always so warm in the shop and today was no exception. Various dull scraping sounds and an occasional thud came from the back, each followed by, “Everything is fine, stay where you are.”
“Thorin, this is getting silly.”
“Very well,” he let out a heavy breath, “come back.”
You skirted the front desk, and made your way around toward the rear of the shop, where tools and works in progress were kept along with orders awaiting pickup. Along the rear wall was a hearth large enough for you to stand in, and while it normally had a raging fire crackling away, this one was now far smaller, casting enough light to give everything a soft, ivory glow.
But, instead of the tools of his trade being scattered about, the work area was tidied and you smiled at the small table, and two chairs he’d set up, which explained the scraping and thuds. Upon that table stood an elegant, if somewhat tarnished candelabra holding the stumps of candles, whose dancing flames belied the candles’ rather sorry state.
A bottle of wine and two goblets stood together as well. The goblets didn't match, but you didn't care as you smiled at the sight. Your dwarf was not much one for overly romantic gestures on a regular basis, but when he gave into them, they were memorable, to say the least.
He came out of the back room and you could only stare, a smile tugging at your lips as you took in the sight of him dressed in only his black, rough-hewn trousers and a red Santa cap set at a slight angle atop his head. In the gleam of the firelight, he looked beyond handsome—almost mystical, really—with the glow highlighting the swells of muscle along his shoulders and wrapped down about his arms. His long, curly black hair spilled over those broad shoulders and his smile reached his eyes, softening them to near sapphire.
“Thorin,” you said, draping your cloak over your forearm, “what are you about?”
“I know you miss your world, and your traditions and I know I’ve been running like a madman these last few weeks, but I didn't want you to think I’d forgotten how important those traditions are to you. Merry Christmas, I believe, is what you tell people in your world?”
You nodded, your throat tightening as tears stung your eyes. “Yes,” you managed to whisper, “we say merry Christmas.”
He stepped closer. He was tall for a dwarf and you were short for being of Man, which meant you were both the same height. The same height, but he was far broader across the chest and shoulders, and his legs were far thicker than yours would ever be. He was handsome and utterly perfect in so many ways and without thinking, you lay your hand against his chest, your fingers slipping through the soft, dark hair that curled away from his skin as it stretched from shoulder to shoulder and down over his firm belly.
“Merry Christmas, amrâlimê.” He bent to you, his lips soft, his heavy, black beard shot through with hints of silver prickly against your skin. Those lips met yours, moved slowly against them, parted as the tip of his tongue swept between your lips to tease yours.
You slid the hand on his chest up, around to his nape to pull him closer. Heat from his massive hands sank into you as he wrapped those powerful arms about you and crushed you close. He bent you back, his hands splayed against you—one on your upper back, the other cupped about your lower cheek.
His kiss was slow and teasing and deep and you almost sighed when he broke it and pulled back to press his forehead to yours. “I have a gift for you, mesmel,” he murmured.
“You mean, this isn’t it?”
A low, rumbling purr of a laugh bubbled to his lips. “It is not, no. But, I’m glad you think it could be.”
“You’re hot, Thorin,” you told him as he straightened up and stepped away from you. “You have to know that.”
“Everyone is hot in here,” he replied with a hint of a puzzlement. “Because of the fires.”
You smiled. Almost a year together and you still had to explain certain expressions to him. “Yes, that’s true, but you are hotter than anyone else in this room at any given time.”
A hint of color rose along his cheekbones, above the line of that thick beard. “I thank you for the compliment.”
As he spoke, he moved toward the workbench along the far wall. “I know I’ve been going like a madman lately, and you’ve spent far more time alone than you bargained for.”
“I understand. You’re in demand and rightfully so.” You looked about at the wall to your left, where there hung blades and axes of varying sizes and embellishments, from a simple, plain sword to those with finely etched and ornate handles encrusted with gemstones set in precious metals. “You’ve got a gift, you know. You’re more an artist than a tradesman.”
He looked up, his forehead furrowed beneath the brilliant white fur rim of his Santa cap. “They are not mutually exclusive, you know.”
“No, I didn't mean it that way. I just—you have a gift and it shows through in every piece you forge.”
His forehead smoothed, to your relief, and he bobbed his head. “Thank you. Dwarves take great pride in their trades, you know.”
“I do, indeed.”
He moved a few things about on the bench, muttering to himself in a language of which you only knew and understood snippets. Then, he snapped his fingers. “Aha! There it is.” He peered at you over one shoulder. “It’s so small, I thought I’d lost it.”
With that, he plucked up a small wood box and with his free hand, gestured to the table. “Sit, mesmel, and close your eyes.”
You did as he said, and as you sank into the straight-backed chair, couldn't keep from asking, “What are you about Mr. Durin?”
“You shall see. Keep your eyes closed.”
You knew he’d neared by the way the air stirred before you, carrying on it hints of steel, iron, leather, smoke, and man. Thorin’s scent. You would know it anywhere. Your heartbeat sped up for reasons you couldn't quite grasp. Butterflies fluttered in your belly and you didn't know why.
“Open your eyes, amrâlimê,” came his tender whisper.
You did and you understood at once why your heart and stomach went wild. Thorin was before you, on one knee, and in his huge palm sat the small teak box. And within that small teak box, on a bed of rich black velvet, was the most beautiful ring you’d ever seen. It was simple and elegant, understated to the extreme—a simple square-cut sapphire surrounded by diamonds that were pure white and dazzling.
“I know you miss your people,” he began, his voice low and growly, “and you miss your family but I was hoping that perhaps you and I might start a family of our own to make up for what you’ve lost. So, I was rather hoping you would say yes, should I ask you to marry me.”
“Thorin…”
He lifted the ring from its velvet cushion, the sapphire sparkling and throwing off flashes of light in all directions as it glittered in the firelight, and gently eased it onto your finger, saying, “Will you marry me?”
You couldn’t speak at first. Your throat squeezed too tight and your mouth was so very dry. Your hand shook and as you met his beautiful blue eyes, your own stung even as you nodded and managed to croak, “Yes.”
His eyes softened. His smile grew wider than any you’d seen in the entire time you’d been in his company and as you eased from your chair to sink to your knees before him, you slid your arms about his neck, and then you whispered back, “There is nothing to make up for, though, Thorin. What I’ve gained in return it far greater than anything I left behind and there is nowhere I would rather be than right here, right now, with you, my half-naked dwarven Santa Claus.”
He grinned, reaching up to sweep the cap from his head. “I forgot I wore it.”
“You wear it well, Mr. Durin,” you murmured as he gently pressed you down into the warm, if slightly warped, floorboards.
He hovered above you, eyes glittering in the firelight, and a moment later, the only sound was the soft crackle of the flames and your low sigh of utter pleasure.
I could function in a society that had an actual nightlife that isn't synonymous with just clubbing. Where are the night markets what if I want to go to the library at midnight
Despite her quiet reassurances, she shivers at the bottom of the stairs. It was midnight and she had just gotten home from work ten minutes ago. Her black and white pantsuit creased with wrinkles and her hair ruffled, she was obviously tired. Maybe what she saw was her shadow... Or-
No, there's absolutely no way that ghosts are real. That fuzzy, dark figure had to be my imagination- or maybe I'm delusional because I haven't slept in twenty-four hours?
She decides on that and nods to herself as she finally walks up the stairs, ignoring the brief wave of tension that made her body spasm. She makes a mental note to get on a better sleep schedule while shuffling into her room, nearly zombie-like. Her eyes growing even heavier as she changed into a T-shirt and shorts, mumbling that she would shower later.
Creak
Her body tenses yet again and she pauses, tilting her head to look over at the bedroom door. It was wide open, completely normal for her, and yet her skin crawled. She glances around the room just in case and then eases her way back into the hall. Slowly, she takes in the dated decor and ugly rugs.
There's nothing there. Still the same gross looking mansion. I can't wait to fix this place up once I get my vacation time.
She sighs in slight relief and goes back to her room, practically collapsing onto the bed. Her eyes slowly shutting as she sinks into the soft mattress. Her ears pick up on another noise but she ignores it, assuming now that the house is just settling and besides, she was so tired she figured she was getting paranoid. Just as she began to drift off, the bed shifted and she frowns, her eyes fluttering back open in slight worry that the old floor was giving in.
Thump
She yelps and sits up quickly, her heart pounding in response to the headboard of the bed being slammed into the wall. Suddenly wide awake, she looks around the room frantically. Her chest tight and her hands sweating as her entire body trembled. A second passed and she could finally find her voice, now half convinced she did see someone in the house.
"Who... Who's there?" She grabs her pillow and holds it up as menacingly as she can manage.
"Show yourself! I.. I know how to fight! And banish spirits!" She squeaks out, covering all her bases, just in case. Still trembling, she sees the outline of a person standing in the corner of the room, by the door.
"G-get out. Whoever you are- whatever you are, get out!" She shrieks, her voice coming out high and panicked. The figure moves forward slowly, then all at once, the door slams closed.
And it rushes towards the bed as she screams in terror.
Nothing I’ve read has changed me more than “you do people a favor by accepting their help” like I repeat this constantly to so many people because it’s true!!! People like to feel useful, they like to feel kind, they like to feel like they have an ability to impact people’s lives so just let them!! Not everything is a thing to be owed back — accept people’s kindness without making a competition out of it
Just thinking about this today like I was ringing up a woman at the store and she was a dollar short but somebody had tipped me (personally, not the whole staff) a couple bucks earlier and I was like here take one of these and she was so shocked I would do that and made a point to remember my name and thanked me so much over like. One dollar. And then later another customer asked to pay for another couple’s drinks and they were so surprised and trying to buy them something in return but clearly that person just wanted to do something nice and they ended up having a long conversation and laughed together and it would have been so awkward if they’d completely refused or tried to give them money back and it would have ruined the moment. It’s the easiest thing to just pay forward kindness but that also means you have to accept people’s kindness when it comes around to you.
Despite her quiet reassurances, she shivers at the bottom of the stairs. It was midnight and she had just gotten home from work ten minutes ago. Her black and white pantsuit creased with wrinkles and her hair ruffled, she was obviously tired. Maybe what she saw was her shadow... Or-
No, there's absolutely no way that ghosts are real. That fuzzy, dark figure had to be my imagination- or maybe I'm delusional because I haven't slept in twenty-four hours?
She decides on that and nods to herself as she finally walks up the stairs, ignoring the brief wave of tension that made her body spasm. She makes a mental note to get on a better sleep schedule while shuffling into her room, nearly zombie-like. Her eyes growing even heavier as she changed into a T-shirt and shorts, mumbling that she would shower later.
Creak
Her body tenses yet again and she pauses, tilting her head to look over at the bedroom door. It was wide open, completely normal for her, and yet her skin crawled. She glances around the room just in case and then eases her way back into the hall. Slowly, she takes in the dated decor and ugly rugs.
There's nothing there. Still the same gross looking mansion. I can't wait to fix this place up once I get my vacation time.
She sighs in slight relief and goes back to her room, practically collapsing onto the bed. Her eyes slowly shutting as she sinks into the soft mattress. Her ears pick up on another noise but she ignores it, assuming now that the house is just settling and besides, she was so tired she figured she was getting paranoid. Just as she began to drift off, the bed shifted and she frowns, her eyes fluttering back open in slight worry that the old floor was giving in.
Thump
She yelps and sits up quickly, her heart pounding in response to the headboard of the bed being slammed into the wall. Suddenly wide awake, she looks around the room frantically. Her chest tight and her hands sweating as her entire body trembled. A second passed and she could finally find her voice, now half convinced she did see someone in the house.
"Who... Who's there?" She grabs her pillow and holds it up as menacingly as she can manage.
"Show yourself! I.. I know how to fight! And banish spirits!" She squeaks out, covering all her bases, just in case. Still trembling, she sees the outline of a person standing in the corner of the room, by the door.
"G-get out. Whoever you are- whatever you are, get out!" She shrieks, her voice coming out high and panicked. The figure moves forward slowly, then all at once, the door slams closed.
And it rushes towards the bed as she screams in terror.
what i mean is: the house that hates you because it hates all of humanity because it is old, and abandoned, and left to rot. the house that tries to kill you because it doesn't care what you intend or what you want and all it knows is that its purpose has gone ignored and then has changed, by degrees, with malicious intent derived from neglect. a house that sees you as threat and will not wait for you to draw first blood - or worse, to just... ignore it more. again. forever.
but also; what does it look like to meet that house halfway and work to better it. can you renovate it? can you find the hurt and heal it? is it Horror if it can be Fixed? but not fixed like it never happened, but fixed like we reinforced the crack in the east wall of the foundation, we re-bricked the fireplace with respect to its original style, we found the rot and - as gently as possible - removed it, grafted new tissue, applied bandages. can you rehabilitate a haunted house, and offer it love? or is it prideful to even try - because all you're doing is setting it up for more failure and heartbreak in the future, after you die and it goes uncared for, neglected, again?
can you make a house that hates you love you without ensuring that it will hate again after you - because a house lives a long, long time after a human dies?
Tumblr creators: It’s totally fine to reblog your own posts. Sometimes people don’t see them the first time, or the algorithm messes with you, or whatever. I reblog my own shit all the time and I don’t care if you do, too. Actually, I’d recommend it. Actually, I’d highly encourage it. Actually, go into your posts right now and reblog something you wish more people would’ve seen. We understand. We want you to get your stuff out there. We don’t mind if we see it a second time, or a third, or a fourth, so that someone who’s never seen it can enjoy it for the first time. We’re not sick of you yet. Keep it coming.
You're strong. Your undead minions are plentiful and loyal. The skulls motif in your tower is not "tacky". Your enemies are afraid of you. You don't need the approval of the living.
Blood Origin will be a six part, live-action limited series, and a prequel to the streamer’s series The Witcher. Set in an elven world 1,200 years before the world of The Witcher, the show will chart the origins of the very first Witcher, and the events that lead to the pivotal “conjunction of the spheres,” when the worlds of monsters, men, and elves merged to become one.
The series is slated to shoot in the UK, though cast and a specific date has not been revealed.
Declan de Barra will act as executive producer and showrunner and Lauren Schmidt Hissrich will act as executive producer. Andrzej Sapkowski will serve as creative consultant on the series. Jason Brown and Sean Daniel from Hivemind, and Tomek Baginski and Jarek Sawko from Platige Films will all serve as executive producers.
Book! Geralt: Alright! What aspects of my personality does everybody want?
Hexer Geralt: I see your struggles with morality and choice and I think we'd all like that.
Everyone: *nods*
Game Geralt: I'll be taking your sass and don't give a fuck attitude.
Book Geralt: To be clear that still comes with Giving all the fucks.
Game Geralt: Yeah i know I want that too.
Book Geralt: Great!
Game Geralt: Also I see loving Dandelion even though he can be an absolute idiot over there. Can you add it to the pile for me? And Also loving Yennefer and Ciri just so much.
Hexer Geralt: I'm actually going to pass on most of the Yennefer plot but I will take a double helping of loving Jaskier and Ciri thanks. Love these two. Just so much.
Book Geralt: Hey Netflix. What have you got over there?
Netflix Geralt: Not telling Jaskier how much you love him.
Book Geralt: Oh well i mean Dandelion has a pretty big head so i don't let him hear it too much but I mean make sure to take the genuine friendship and care too. He needs it occasionally.
Netflix Geralt: No. Hand over that messy and implied somewhat toxic relationship with Yennefer.
Everyone: Uuuuhhh.
Netflix Geralt: Also toss in the mess that was the Butcher incident but lets gloss over the part where she planned on holding the market hostage and killing everyone one by one and oooh the dragon. Ew lets skip the four-way thanks.
Everyone: But-
Netflix Geralt: Oooh! And Getting angry at Jaskier for understandable but somewhat unfair reasons! The cherry on top!
Book Geralt: Why are you doing this.
Netflix Geralt: Oh you missed it. The first things i took was your intense self loathing, tendency to isolate, and avoidance as a coping mechanism.
Everyone:
Hexer Geralt: Are you okay?
Netflix Geralt: NO! LEAVE ME ALONE!!!!
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