#winter spleen

[tanyaluca]

Melancholia…

Tanya Luca

#tanya luca #photographers on tumblr #black and white photography #black and white #about photography #harmony #melancholy #winter #spleen #nakedtrees #sculpture #photobook #photoblog #photocollector #photo collection #photo archive

[bittersweetnarcissist]

#spleen #chakras #sacral chakra #winter #2024

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

ah, the mighty spleen

#once again making posts that can be interpreted as jason mocking tim #but actually i just remembered watching stupid amounts of jimmy neutron one winter when i was a kid #and i don't remember any of the characters' names except for. yknow. jimmy. but there's that one kid #who's always going on about his spleen #and for some reason i just recalled that and started laughing really hard #I'm deliriously tired and slap-happy rb btw #Lu rambles #*rn

[ivomagus]

As I stepped into the garden on that late November day, my eyes wandered aimlessly, and my thoughts drifted off into the distance. The world seemed to be veiled in a soft, hazy glow, and the air was filled with the smell of fallen leaves and the first powdery snow. I walked for a while, feeling the crunch of dry leaves under my boots, until I found myself standing in front of an old apple tree.

The tree was ancient, and its gnarled branches reached out in all directions. The leaves had all long fallen off, leaving the branches bare, and the ground below was covered in dozens of fallen apples. They lay there, abandoned, amongst the fallen leaves and patches of snow, creating a sense of stillness and tranquility.

As I looked down at the apples, I was struck by their deep, rich color, and the sweet smell of ripe fruit mixed with the scent of decaying leaves. It was an intoxicating aroma that filled the air, evoking memories of the past, and reminding me of the changing seasons and the cycles of life.

I picked up one of the apples, feeling its weight in my hand, and turning it over, examining its shiny surface. It was bruised and blemished, but still beautiful in its own way. I took a bite and savored its sweet, juicy flavor, feeling the crisp flesh break beneath my teeth.

The taste of the apple filled me with a sense of comfort and joy, and I was reminded of the upcoming holiday season and the sense of new beginnings that it brings. The promise of a new year, and then of the coming spring, seemed to be hidden within that one small, blemished apple.

As I stood there, lost in my thoughts, I realized that this old apple tree had been here for generations, through all the seasons, and the changing times. It had witnessed the cycles of life and the ebb and flow of the natural world.

The apples that lay beneath it were a symbol of that enduring cycle, a reminder that life goes on, and that with every ending comes a new beginning. And as I stood there, feeling the crisp air on my skin, and the warmth of the apple in my hand, I knew that the changing seasons would continue to be a source of wonder and inspiration, a reminder of the beauty of life, and the promise of new endeavours.

#apples #nature #nature photography #nature lovers #uppsala #sweden #plants #autumn leaves #dead leaves #autumn vibes #snow #winter vibes #flora_addict #fading #seasonal change #fall vibes #brow #november spleen #blog

[poligraf]

Compass Towards The Grail

when gloominess deflects the gale joy is the wind that fills the sail

when despair is tricking the scale joy is the clue that tells the tale

when spleen is thick and hopes are pale joy is meaning that lifts the veil

when no reason can find the trail joy is compass towards the grail

§

#365joys #joy #photo #poem #poetry #tree #sky grey #winter #gloom #despair #spleen #meaning #reason #compass #grail

[madonna-of-the-wasps]

Circumradiant Dawn

#dead can dance #spleen and ideal #winter #Youtube

[henrywintersgf]

I would sell my spleen to have Henry Winter discover me in a room with a hole in the ceiling in the middle of winter and rescue me from hypothermia and pneumonia <3

#the secret history #francis abernathy #richard papen #charles macaulay #henry winter #your honour i love him #hes so babygirl

[fiercynn]

palestinian poets: george abraham

george abraham (they/he/هو) is a palestinian american poet, performance arist, and writer who was born and raised on unceded timucuan lands (jacksonville, FL). their debut poetry collection birthright (button poetry) won the arab american book award and the big other book award, and was a lambda literary award finalist. he is also the author of the chapbooks al youm and the specimen's apology. their collaborations include co-editing a palestinian poetry anthology with noor hindi (haymarket books, 2025), and a performance art project titled EVE with fargo nissim tbakhi. 

they are a recipient of fellowships from kundiman, the arab american national museum, the boston foundation, the national performance network, and the MAP fund, and more. their writing has appeared in poetry magazine, the nation, the american poetry review, guernica, the baffler, the paris review, mizna, and many other journals and anthologies. a graduate of swarthmore college and harvard university, they have taught at emerson college, and are currently a litowitz MFA+MA candidate in poetry at northwestern university. he is also currently executive editor of the whiting award-winning journal mizna.

you can follow them on twitter @IntifadaBatata.

IF YOU READ JUST ONE POEM BY GEORGE ABRAHAM, MAKE IT THIS ONE

OTHER POEMS ONLINE THAT I LOVE BY GEORGE ABRAHAM

Field Notes on Terror & Beginnings at poetry daily

Love Letter to the Eve of the End of the World at the margins

Of Nation, at rusted radishes: beirut literary and art journal

Searching for a Palestinian After at the nation

Stage Directions for a Representation in which Eve and Adam travel through their first checkpoint at mosaic theatre company

the ghosts of the dead sea are rising at the drift

ars poetica in which every pronoun is FREE PALESTINE at the margins

“from UNIVERSAL THEORY IN WHICH EVERY FAILED ATTEMPT AT LOVE IS A SOULMATE FROM AN ALTERNATE TIMELINE” at fiyah literary magazine

Ode to My Swollen, Mono-Infected Spleen at brooklyn poets

The Olive Tree Speaks of Deforestation to my body at crabfat magazine

arab/queer vs. Imaginary at shade literary arts

self-portrait with second-degree sunburn at

[ summer / winter ] is the worst time to lose a [ country / lover ] at wildness

maqam of moonlight, for the wandering at the rumpus

against perturbation at the scores

apology, at cordite poetry review

i also adore this 2021 essay of abraham's at guernica magazine called teaching poetry in the palestinian apocalypse: towards a collective, lyric "i".

#poetry #george abraham #free palestine #palestinian poets series

[keanu-reeves64]

Yeah, I’ve fallen off a few times,” he admits of the accidents he’s had on a variety of bikes. He takes a swig of water, then corrects himself. “Not ‘fallen off.’ Crashed. I’ve got a couple of hit-by-cars. A couple of going-too-fast. I’ve laid a couple of bikes down but I was riding in the winter, so that’s not really ‘crashing.’ That’s about it. The usual stuff.”

He’s broken ribs, knocked out teeth, sliced his leg open so deep that bone was visible. His most spectacular accident occurred in 1988, only a couple years after that day in Berlin. Reeves was riding alone at night in Malibu’s Topanga Canyon when he took one of the twisties too fast. By the time he came to a stop, he was lying on the pavement wondering if he was about to die. As you know, he didn’t—but he did fuck himself up pretty bad.

“I ruptured my spleen,” he says matter-of-factly. The widely reported version of the story goes that he needed the organ removed, but Reeves says it’s still intact. “They sutured it up and put a Band-Aid on.” He has a gnarly scar running vertically from his sternum down to his belly button, but in the right light it just ends up accentuating his abs because, well, he’s Keanu.

#keanu reeves #motorcycle accidents with keanu reeves #keanu reeves motorcycle #motorcycle

[glorified-red]

Exhaust and Exhaustion

summary: Tim's back pain is as persistent as ever, he didn't realize how back it got until it was too late. A crash lands him in a cold harbor in the middle of winter. Thankfully Damian is close by to help.

word count: 6,820~

warnings: motorcycle crash, hypothermia, reference to pneumonia, bad self esteem, chronic back pain, reference to being impaled, Tim has no spleen

Ah the things I do to narrate a fanfic: call my car friend to figure out how motorcycles work, use remotes to demonstrate a car accident, deep dive Batman archives to figure out a villain, and sticking my hand in super hot and icy cold water to describe the feeling correctly. 

Please don't be like me, my hand hurts. 

It started off small. 

He didn’t realize how bad it had gotten until it was too late. 

Slightly repositioning in his seat as he tried to get comfortable, slow shifts in weight as he stood on his feet, even bending over seemed to take milliseconds longer. 

He was just sore. 

Cases piled up on top of each other to build a mountain of stress on Tim’s shoulders, weighing him down as he tried to go about his day. Each second he took too long on one, the others screamed his name. Rest was a fleeting privilege. He worked day after day, jumping into the battlefield just to end the night more sore than the last. 

Pain was a constant, the only constant Tim knew at this point. When all else failed, he knew he’d wake up the next morning with new aches and pains he couldn’t quite trace the source back to. He could handle the punches, he could handle the fights and the injuries—he’d survived this long in the field hasn’t he?

Yet the internal pain that stemmed from nowhere bugged him. He tried the muscle relaxant again but even massaging the area lightly left him gasping for air. He tried sleeping with a heat pad over his back, but once again the heat multiplied in his muscles until he couldn’t move. 

His own bed felt like an ocean of pain, the comfort of so many seemed to be his warden. After long days, he just couldn’t get comfortable. Tim would turn over slowly and feel every vertebrae hiss in disdain, the dull ache extending across his body. The energy it took to climb out of bed far outweighed the miniscule comfort he received from being in it. 

The fire behind his eyes, the pain in his skull, blended down into his neck as it twinged, only for that heat to travel down his shoulder blades and into his aching biceps. The same pain that came from his back shot down his legs, leaving Tim clueless as to where the pain started and where it ended. 

He was just sore, that’s it.

So Tim put on the suit day after day and pushed forward, brushing off the sparks on his skin that ignited every time he moved the wrong way. It was a small ignition, one he could ignore and pretend it didn’t affect every micromovement his body made. The heat swirling across the fibers of his muscles only fueled him more, pushing him to pick up more cases to prove to himself everything was fine. 

It wasn’t bad at all, he swears. 

He could still be useful, he could still be valuable to his family. 

“You’re going to want to take a left at the next intersection, Red Robin,” his com buzzed in his ear, only to crack alive once more. “I mean right. Take the next right!” 

His motorcycle hummed underneath him, a fast paced beat that matched the adrenaline rushing up his neck. Tim’s patience was wearing thin, every tiny bump the tires ran over caused pain to flare up his back, slowly chipping away at his resolve. 

“Which is it—right or left?” he yelled into the com, watching as the intersection came closer and closer. 

“It’s a right.” 

“Got it!” He leaned to turn the bike, feeling sharp claws dig into his back, squeezing his spine as punishment for daring to move so drastically. He could feel his jaw tighten, he refused to make a sound as it would alert the entire com system. 

They were all on edge tonight, they didn’t need another inconvenience—that’s all he was if he wasn’t useful. 

Tim wasn’t the only one with a high case load. December: the dreaded month for heroes. Crime rate skyrockets as the temperature plummets, making it the worst month for patrolling in history. Every utility belt was packed with hand warmers, yet, Tim didn’t feel the need for them, the pain in his body doing far too well at keeping him warm. 

Tim could hear gunshots crack through the com line, shortly followed by the faint echo bouncing off the buildings, barely covered by his bike engine. 

“Are those gunshots, Hood? This is supposed to be recon,” Nightwing spoke through the coms.

“I don’t think these guys got the memo.” Tim could hear Jason curse under his next breath. “Looks like they’re relocating weapons. From the looks of it—” a gunshot blasted in Tim’s ear “—it’s mostly small firearms, but I’m more concerned about the Ghost Kits they’re building.”

Tim cursed, the spike in pressure infecting the entire com system. Tim’s bike revved as he bypassed another traffic light. “Selina was telling me about these guys, they call themselves the Dockyard Dogs. They have a knack for controlling ports just for weapon trafficking.” 

NIghtwing spoke up, “I thought they stayed more towards the Southwestern ports, why would they take over Port Adams? That's all the way across the city.”

Tim's brain stalled, a blurry fuzz taking over as the pain rose slowly, creeping up his spine with its menacing claws. Memories of case files filtered through his mind, any semblance of connection was drowned out by the pain. He jumped a curb, swerving past parked cars and feeling his body pay the price—he bit his tongue hard.

“Does it really matter right now?” Hood called out, “There’s too many of them and I can only hold them off for so long, I need an ETA—now!”

Oracle chimed in, “ ‘Wing just exited Grant Park, he should be a few minutes away. Red, take the Apara Expressway and you’ll have a straight shot to his location. I’m sending Robin the location as well, he’ll be right behind Red.” 

“The Demon Brat is on patrol tonight?” Jason huffed, the background noise of his com turning into static as he ran. 

Tim took the on-ramp, having to lean forward as his bike took the incline. His fingers twitched against the handlebars, feeling electricity cut through his skin, creating cracks up his back. 

A new line sparked alive and Damian’s voice came through: “I was looking into a personal case but you incompentant fools can’t seem to stay alive without me for a single night.” 

The expressway was empty aside from a few late-night drivers. Tim leaned to merge only for his spine to riot. He immediately leaned up with a sharp inhale, correcting the shakiness of his bike in a jerk. He slowly exhaled, opting to stay on the shoulder of the highway next to the small railing protecting cars from the icy cold water below the expressway. 

This was fine, shoulders were designed for emergency vehicles anyway. 

“Not exactly my definition of a Knight In Shining Armor.” 

Tim could imagine Dick rolling his eyes at Jason before he spoke, “Thank you for the assist, Robin.”

Just above the hum of his engine, Tim could hear a few cars from behind him. (Gotham citizens truly have no concept of time.) He could see the glint of headlights in his mirrors. His eyes lifted to the road once more as the cars started to pass him. 

Yet, all it took was one breath. 

He saw the crash before he heard it, a simple miscalculation and then a piercing sound that cut straight through his pain-muddled brain. Before he had time to react, the cars swerved, tires screeching just moments away from him. A ricochet, and one of the cars hit the railing seconds in front of Tim, the car flipping off the edge as the other was left teetering between certain death and salvation. 

Tim immediately pressed in the brake of his motorcycle, leaning all of his weight to one side while his tires screeched. His only hope was to slide out of the way, a small feeble attempt. 

The car was too close, Tim had too much momentum, even as his bike slid sideways in Tim’s favor, he lost control. As his tires leaned too far to the left they caught traction, causing the bike to wobble at a fast pace. 

With his spine counter-twisting with the bike the pain in his body reached its fever pitch. It gripped his whole body with its agonizing hand until his foot slipped from the brakes too soon with a sharp gasp of pain. Momentum carried the bike forward without Tim wanting it to. 

Tim flipped off the bike, his body catching the rough edges of the expressway before falling through the gap of railing. The screech of tires, the thunderous collision of his bike and the car, it all pierced through his skull until his ears throbbed along with the rest of his body.

He heard the wind rush past his ears as he fell. Every inch of his skin exploded in agony after twisting and tumbling off the edge of concrete. The pain blinded his vision until all he could rely on was the distant sounds of his family calling his name through the com in his ear. 

“—that a crash?”

“What happened?”

“Red?”

“—not responding.”

“Red Robin!”

A final gasp of air and his back collided with the water. 

Cold slammed into him, seeping into his muscles until it frosted over each of his nerves. Pain warped around him along with the water. The sensation was as sharp as it was cold, overriding his body too far until all he registered was the bite. Searing pain so hot it tinged cold, like his hand hit boiling water and his pain-riddled brain could only comprehend the overwhelming cold before the blistering heat took over. 

The cold lining his skin fought against the searing pain inside his body. Terror shot through him as the icy wwater sucked all the warmth from Tim’s body, leaving an aftertaste of frigid numbness.

Frosted fingers squeezed out the last bit of air in his lungs until water refilled them slowly until he froze from the outside in. Every ounce of sensation that wasn't cold completely left his body. 

Tim’s mind flew, trying to grasp onto his survival instincts. He began to twist, racking his hands through the water in an attempt to claw his way to the surface. The miniscule movement triggered the pain to flare up through the numbness, bursting through the ice to remind Tim it was still there. 

He choked on the water only to inhale even more. Tim was forced to still, the pain too overwhelming to risk moving again. The water around him was winning. It slowly dragged his body deeper into the darkness with little fight from the boy. 

The static from his waterlogged brain sounded like laughter in his ears, the water overjoyed at its newest victim. 

Tim opened his eyes, the small movement was sluggish as his body disconnected from itself. The moon looked warped from his view. The small current in the water smeared its beauty like a hand running through paint. Either way, Tim cherished the view. 

He didn’t realize it was this bad. 

He didn’t notice how worn thin he was. The pressure of perfection weighed heavy on his shoulders.

He wasn’t fast enough—Jason could have avoided the accident. 

He wasn’t observant enough—Dick could have predicted the accident.

He wasn’t smart enough—Damian could have prevented the accident.

And Batman? Batman could’ve done it all and more.

If he wasn’t enough, did his family need him anymore?

He was just a placeholder anyway. This small mistake only proved to Tim that his time was up. He knew it was coming now that Jason was back, he just wanted to leave on his own terms. He didn’t expect to be forced from them so soon.

Tim had a plan. He had a deadline, a series of emails, messages, and letters pre-written to explain his disappearance. 

To explain that he was just taking his leave—it was coming anyway. He was simply a replacement, meaning he was only as needed as he was useful. 

So as he descended further into the cold, he let the water wash away his pain. Tim’s eyes slipped shut as bliss surrounded him. 

⋘⋙

“Was that a crash?” Jason sounded winded, a fist fight breaking out on his side of the comline. “This night seriously can’t get any worse.”

Dick’s voice crackled to life. It sounded like he made it to Jason’s location from the sound of leather hitting leather. “That was from Red’s line. What happened?” A beat of silence. “Red?”

“He’s not responding,” Jason grunted through another punch, “Why isn’t he responding?”

“Red Robin! Come in!”

“His bike is offline.” Furious typing crossed over the coms as Oracle pulled up a separate tab. 

“His tracker is . . .it’s in the harbor.”

Damian revved his bike as he merged onto the expressway. His impatience grew thin as the coms filled with worried shouts—he cut through it. 

“Focus on the mission. I will handle Drake.” 

Oracle’s voice was clear in his ear, a private line connected her with his com, drowning out the voices of his brothers.

“You need to work fast, Miller Harbor is one of the most polluted harbors on the Eastern Seaboard. I don’t know how well his antibiotics will hold up against pneumonia.” 

Damian’s eyebrows scrunched together. “Antibiotics?”

He heard her sigh from over the com. “It’s—it’s a long story. Just get him out of there okay?”

Damian’s bike sped up, he weaved around the slow cars on the road. “Obviously,” Damian said over the gush of wind around him. “Why does he take antibiotics? That’s not on his medical list.”

Oracle didn’t bother asking why Damian read through Tim’s chart. 

“Like I said, long story. The short version is the kid doesn’t have a spleen, so when I tell you you need to hurry, I mean it.”

Damian resisted the urge to shout, the private line still nagged at him. 

“Who else knows?”

He parked the bike swiftly next to the crash, giving the wrecked Batbike a glance. 

“Me, Alfred, and now you.” 

Damian tisked, his frustration echoed through the line. He made his way to the edge of the bridge. With the metal railing destroyed, it made it easy to peer over the water. 

“So you idiots are keeping life threatening information a secret? This could get him killed.”

He quickly unlatched the cape from his uniform before digging through his utility belt with practiced ease. 

“There’s a lot more to this than you know, Robin. It’s not my story to tell either, he barely told me more than what was necessary at the time. If you want to know more you’re going to have to ask him.” She breathed, worry scratching at her tone. “Please, don’t tell anyone just yet, let Tim have that at least.”

Damian sighed out harshly. “This conversation isn’t over. We’ll continue this when he’s home safe.” 

He swiftly secured a rebreather to his face, taking a few steps back away from the edge of the expressway. With a running start, he dove straight into the water below. As his hands broke the surface tension, his body felt none of the impact until seconds after. 

The first thing he registered was the cold. His temperature compressing suit did little to help him against the onslaught of bitter water. Any crack in the seams of his suit gave way to water until his skin felt every single drop that surrounded him. 

Damian bit down on the rebreather to keep it secure, water bubbles floated around his face as he exhaled sharply. His mind craved to drift away with the current, to revisit every painful memory that left him this cold, this stranded. 

Years of training refocused his mind in milliseconds, no longer feeling the bite of the cold around him. The eye cutouts of his mask searched the area, scanning every inch of space around Damian until it zeroed-in on a glint of sharp red. 

For once, Damian was grateful for the obnoxious winged cape Tim wore. 

In an instant, Damian shot through the water, his muscles already weaning from the cold. When his hands grasped Tim’s upper arm, he pulled, dragging Tim in close. The white of his mask was nothing but thin lines meaning Damian didn’t have much time. 

As Damian tried to swim upwards, the feathered cape did nothing but turn the water into molasses. Twisting through the water, he unclasped the offending cape, letting it flutter further down into the darkness. Within seconds, Damian was able to swim up to the surface, no longer having to fight against the weight of Red Robin’s uniform. 

He clung to his brother as he resurfaced, hating how easily his head lolled uselessly against his shoulder. Damian shook the shoulder upwards, trying to hopefully rouse the fallen bird. Tim did nothing but slip from Damians grasp at the motion. 

With hands catching for purchase, Damian tightened his hold on Tim, his feet pedaling to keep them afloat. With too much water in his lungs, Damian couldn’t transfer the rebreather over so he bit down on his own in frustration. 

A second and Damian was able to reach for his grappling hook. He hated only being able to hold onto Tim with one hand but he didn't have much of a choice. As the wind roared against their bodies, they shot through the air. It was not a graceful landing in the slightest and Damian would feel the prick in his neck from the lack of perfection, but the way Tim flopped onto the bridge like a ragdoll quickly broke Damian out of his stupar. 

He snapped the rebreather off his face. It landed somewhere beside him but he paid it no mind, opting to position Tim onto his back instead. When Tim’s head followed the flow of the motion, Damian grasped his head in both hands to steady it. That simple movement made Damian keenly aware of just how pale Tim was against the black of his gloves. 

All the color in Tim’s face was drained, leaving nothing but patchy paleness in its wake. With no rise and fall of his chest, Damian checks for a pulse, pressing two gloves fingers harshly into his brother's neck. 

“You’re out of the harbor,” Oracle crackled in his ear, her timing always impeccable. “Status report.” 

Damian’s jaw was tense but he forced it to relax so he could speak. “No pulse, administering CPR now.” 

He broke open the clasps at the front of Tim’s uniform to quickly place his hands in the proper position. “You just have to make things difficult don’t you?” he whispered into the air, occupying his brain while it counted each push. “Grayson will not forgive you for giving up so easily, Drake. Nor will I, this is a pathetic way to go—so breathe, you idiot.”

His arms burned. The cold striped away most of his strength and he was only in the water for a few seconds, barely a full minute. He didn’t want to think too hard about the implications for Drake, the man who was trained to hold his breath for more than five minutes like the rest of the family. 

His biceps ached with each harsh push, the effort of CPR was always underestimated, not to mention after the trials of getting Tim here to begin with. 

Oracle chimed in when Damian huffed out, his breath puffing like a cloud of smoke from the winter air. “The batmobile is on its way. I called in B for reinforcements, Hood and Wing are still occupied.” 

Damian looked down at Tim whose lips barely parted and eyes closed tight. “What am I supposed to tell him,” he growled, out of breath as his shoulders screamed, “You idiots decided to keep this a secret and now it might get him killed.”

Damian was seething. His brother was here without a pulse, dying under Damian’s hands when this could have been handled with much more grace. 

Oracle hesitated, “If you knew the full story you’d understand why this is a secret. Alfred is already setting up the medbay to take care of Tim’s…case. Right now we need to focus on the immediate concerns, especially his hypothermia. His body temperature is well below his average and B is aware of this.” 

“Fine,” Damian bit out. 

With one last hard shove on Tim’s sternum, the bone fractured, allowing Damian to reach his heart easier to manually pump it. 

“Goddammit you fool, breathe!”

The sound of choking wet coughs never sounded so relieving. Without wasting any precious time, Damian turned Tim forward onto his side, allowing him to stop choking on the water escaping his lungs. 

“He’s breathing O,” Damian said, his hand rubbing up and down Tim’s back, feeling every shudder and cough and trying to ease them. The fire in his arms eased, but every time he moved them the soreness would resurface. He couldn’t help but place his fingers over Tim’s pulse point, counting each of the beats until Damian was sure it would keep beating without him. 

He heard the breath of relief in his ear. “Thank god. B is a minute out, try to keep Red as warm as you can until he gets to you.”

“Understood.” 

There wasn’t much Damian could do. If he wasn’t so focused on the sound of Tim’s labored breaths, he himself would be shivering uncontrollably. He could feel his muscles tensing from the cold, his soaked uniform doing little to help.

The whites of Tim’s mask opened minutely, a thin line turning into just a bit more. “D-Dami?” he couldn’t speak above a whisper, his eyes blinking away the fog of his brain. 

“Right here,” he continued to rub up and down Tim’s back despite the two wet fabrics making the movement clunky, “B is on the way.” 

Damian could see the confusion wash over Tim’s face as he blinked slowly. “What—” he coughed, more dark water falling from his lips. 

“You crashed,” Damian could hear the batmobile’s engine a few miles away, the sound imperceptible to everyone save the few who were trained to hear it. “Any injuries to report other than your fractured sternum and terrible timing of hypothermia?” 

Tim hesitated. Damian couldn’t tell if it was the brain fog from drowning or just pure incompetence, but the longer Tim took to respod, the more it ebbed at him. He watched the mask irises droop and quickly snapped his fingers in front of Tim’s face. 

“Stay awake, we can not have you falling asleep.” 

Tim whined. The sound was so pained he knew it was instinctual. “C-Cold.” 

The sound of tires screeched close by. 

“I’m sure you are. Be patient for a few more moments and we’ll get you warm.” Damian turned towards his father, the man rushing forward until he could kneel beside his children. Damian couldn’t help but feel relieved in his fathers presence—Batman was here, everything would be okay. 

“Hey chum,” his voice was strained, the practiced calm covering the worry he felt inside, it was the same voice he used every time one of his children was down. Instantly, Bruce’s cape was unclasped and wrapped over Tim’s body, warm fabric soothing out the cold edges of Tim’s skin. Bruce’s hands reached out, one firmly grasping Tim’s limp hand while the other brushed back soaked bangs. “Can you tell me where you’re hurt? I don’t want to make things worse trying to move you.” 

Tim leaned into the warm touch, the leather gloves felt like burning irons against his skin. When Tim didn’t respond, brain too muddled from the effort it took to breathe, Bruce turned to Damian. 

“Fractured sternum from CPR and the obvious hypothermia. There are no more injuries from what I could tell, all his ribs are intact and there's no sign of external injuries.” 

Bruce let out a controlled breath, his eyes falling back down to the injured bird. “I’m going to move you okay? We need to get you to the car.” 

Tim nodded sluggishly, whispering out a “ ‘kay” in confirmation. With the affirmation, Bruce began to slide his arms under Tim’s weakened body. They all jolted when Tim let out a choked whine, grasping at Bruce’s shoulder in pain. 

“St–stop.”

Bruce froze while Damian’s heart sank. 

“ ‘s my back,” Tim clung to Bruce’s shirt, his body seeking out the warmth the older man provided. 

Bruce had a million questions and Damian could see each one float to the tip of his tongue before being swallowed down—it’s not the time. “Okay,” he breathed, “Can you hold out a few moments for me? It’s going to hurt but we really need to get you to the car.” 

Damian eyed the man, his own confusion bubbling to the surface. Had he hit his back on the car when he crashed? Did the surface of the water slam into his back that hard? There were no signs of external damage, his spine was intact, there should be no reason for pain. 

Yet pain was a fickle thing. It flared up in places without any source and Damian was no stranger to chronic pain. 

Tim whined but collapsed further into his father’s hold, signaling he was going to try. Bruce spoke reassurances into Tim’s hair as he lifted the kid off the ground. Each micromovement left Tim reeling, grasping at Bruce’s uniform to cling to something. 

“I know it hurts, chum, I know it does.” Damian followed to the batmobile, lingering off to the side as Tim was placed in the backseat. He couldn’t ignore the pained gasps from his older brother.

Tim Drake. The seemingly perfect model of what Robin was supposed to be, yet here he was, breaking in front of Tim’s eyes. Bruce barely had a say before Damian squeezed into the backseat with Tim. 

Damian ignored the outside world as he continued with the medical training he knew. The batmobile roared as it started, every inch of the space was blisteringly hot as the heat was turned as high as it could go. It was mercy for Damian as well as much as he hated to admit it. 

With skilled hands, Damian slipped Tim out of the majority of his uniform, gloves slid off, boots and utility belt, even the pesky spandex put up a fight. Damian was trying to be gentle as he worked, but he could hear every hitch in Tim’s breath when he had to shift the fabric off. Batman’s cape covered Tim’s cold body before Damian unraveled even more blankets to cover him with, each one was a spare safety tucked into the car for cases just like this. 

Damian could feel Bruce’s eyes linger in the rearview mirror, watching to make sure everything was okay. “Stay awake, Drake,” Damian would say every time he watched the other’s eyes droop. 

He would poke his face and snap his fingers every available chance he could. 

“ ‘m tired,” Tim would mumble, only for the pain in his back to jolt him awake.

“That is no excuse. You must stay awake.” 

Tim would groan and hate Damian even more, but Damian didn’t care. After everything he’s done to Tim, after every death threat and screaming match, they were still brothers. Their relationship was rocky at best but there was an underlying promise to protect each other. Admitting their care for one another was never easy and was far and few between, but Damian knew. 

Tim would stay awake in Damian’s window nook, claiming he was just bored, but they both knew he heard the noise of Damian’s nightmares.

Damian would pass a plate to Tim throughout the night, claiming he had leftovers and wouldn’t want them to go to waste—but they both knew Damian noticed Tim’s lack of nutrition. 

So he’ll be damned if his brother slips from his fingers. 

Watching Tim float through the next few hours was painful at best. Even Bruce was left useless once Alfred shooed him out of the room, claiming too many people when the room was only full of Barbara, Alfred, and himself. 

Damian couldn’t tell if it was a blessing to be in the room or a curse. On one hand, Damian knew what was going on when Babs hooked Tim to multiple IV lines and Alfred attached a heated oxygen mask to Tim’s face. He could see the antibiotics being injected into Tim’s body and the hope it instilled in the room. 

But on the other, he watched the growing tension in Alfred’s brow as Tim’s eyes fluttered, his mask discarded to show the tired blue bell eyes. He felt the anxiety himself as he clung to his brother. He could do nothing but hold Tim close to his chest, being responsible for giving Tim adequate body heat. 

Babs didn’t comment on how much Damian needed the body heat in return, she saw for herself when Damian’s body temp dipped. 

The room was tense and quiet, too busy listening to the wheezes that left Tim’s lips. As much as they hated the sound, it meant he was still alive. 

So Damian held on.

⋘⋙

Waking up came in fragments. 

The first time he felt nothing. His entire body felt numb, floating between the cold and the surrounding warmth. His skin was cold with a buzz of heat to it, it was conflicting and left Tim confused underneath the brain fog. 

His body wasn’t his own, he couldn't open his eyes or move at all. He would’ve felt claustrophobic if it didn’t relieve his exhaustion. 

“How long?” He heard from right behind him, a grumbling voice with fury behind it. 

“How long…?” Came another voice, a voice that sounded just as tired as Tim felt.

“How long has he been without one?” 

A sigh. 

“About a year.” 

He heard the shift of fabric around him more than he felt it. 

“That was when father—” 

“I know.”

Tim drifted off. 

⋘⋙

The second time was a bit longer than the last. 

His mind floated somewhere off to the side of his body, it was closer, yet still too far to be of any use. 

“—avoided infection.”

“Yes, but he could still develop it at any moment.” 

“That’s a risk he’ll always have to take, there’s nothing we can do about that.” 

The voice behind him tisked in disapproval. “There has to be something, stronger antibiotics, a donor, even a replacement.” 

“I wish there was. You were able to get a replacement for your spine because bone and metal can be exchangeable. A living organ? Dames, it’s just something he’ll have to live with—something he has been living with. All we can do is support him as best we can.”

Tim knew he’d probably hate the topic of conversation, his anxiety was ramping up on instinct. But his brain simply floated away before he could think too hard about the words being spoken. 

⋘⋙

The last time all he felt was warmth. The frost in his body was slowly melting away and was replaced by a bearable heat, he welcomed it. 

“You have a lot of explaining to do when you wake up, Timothy. I am not happy with your lack of self preservation skills and I demand to know what’s running through that stupid head of yours.” 

The name sent a chill down his spine despite no sign of frigid air. That name was only ever used by three people in his life: his parents when they were incredibly upset with him and the demon spawn just to piss him off. 

At least his brain put together who was speaking into the weariness of the room. 

He groaned, peeling his lips open to speak. “Don’t…call me that.” 

He felt the weight around him all at once. The incredible weight over his body and the tightened straps running across his face. He could even feel the crisp, fresh air he was breathing in, tinged with a bit of heat. 

So when the person behind him shifted, he whined in disdain. 

“Drake?” 

Tim hummed, content and comfortable as his cheek rested against a plush pillow. He felt the arms around him retreat. He barely even knew they were there in the first place, but as they left, they took all the warmth with them. Suddenly he felt air rush against his skin and he grumbled at the loss of warmth. 

Tim turned around and blindly grasped for the source of warmth. 

“Stop fumbling around, you’re going to pull out your IV.”

But unfortunately for Damian, an exhausted Tim loaded up on pain meds is a clinger. So when Tim bonked his head onto Damians chest, he settled into the warmth it brought. 

Damian let out an exasperated huff, trying to detach himself from Tim without pulling on any chords. “I need to alert Pennyworth that you’re awake.” 

Tim chuffed, “But I’m cold, and you’re warm.” 

That made Damian hesitate. “You’re still cold?”

Tim hummed, purring when the warmth settled around him again. “A little.” 

Damian settled completely and wrapped the blankets tighter around Tim’s bare shoulders. Tim’s brain floated and then snapped back into place when it connected each of the words he heard before. 

For the first time in awhile, Tim’s eyes snapped open. 

“You know,” He pulled his head back slightly to meet the other boy's gaze, “You know, don’t you?” 

Damian tisked, “Of course I know. You almost died because of your stubborn secrecy.” 

Tim pulled away from him completely despite his body protesting the loss of heat. Propping himself up was a challenge but he did so anyway. 

“How much did they tell you?” 

Damian eyed the long ugly scar that assaulted the side of Tim’s torso, right where his spleen should be. He pushed himself out of the medical bed and slid the blankets back in place. “Not nearly enough,” he crossed his arms as he stood. “How reckless do you have to be to lose your spleen. How careless, especially, to lose your spleen while father was…and not even tell him when he came back.”

Tim bristled, sliding the stupid oxygen mask off his face so he could talk more freely. “He didn’t ‘come back’, I brought him back, no thanks to you and Dick. I sacrificed so much to bring him back to you guys and I got nothing, not even a ‘thank you’. So excuse me for not telling you the full story.”

“So then,” Damian held fury in his eyebrows, yet he pulled up a chair and firmly sat down, refusing to lose eye contact with Tim, “Tell me the full story or I will tell Bruce all that I know.”

“Are you seriously blackmailing me right now?” 

“You seemed surprised. Your idiocy could kill you someday, I’m merely trying to make sure it doesn’t.”

Tim sat up fully, his back creaking like normal—no pain, no claws, just blind numbness from the pain meds. And no, Tim wasn’t surprised in the slightest. Blackmail was normal in this family, he would run into it sooner or later with the Demon Spawn. 

“It involves your Grandfather.”

Tim watched as tension eased its way into Damian’s shoulders. Everyone knew better than to bring up Ra’s without merit. It could be a sensitive topic for Damian, but they were still gauging how sensitive. Damian could talk about Ra’s in his long winded monologues or comment about his life prior to Robin with ease, bragging about his extensive training and kill count. 

But they all saw how his hands could shake when talking. They knew the nightmares that plagued him deep into the night. They’ve seen his pristine willpower that got him through Fear Toxin without much more than silence. But sometimes, they couldn’t ignore the Demon Head’s name being muttered on Damian’s lips along with apologies. 

And Tim was the only one who saw past Damian’s front of the Bloodson, the Heir, the destined Robin. 

Damian may be the blood son but he was also the only child Bruce didn’t choose. 

“My grandfather meddles in things, this is nothing new.” 

It was poorly concealed disinterest. But it was enough of a confirmation for Tim that he continued. 

“When Bruce…died,” Tim still struggled to say that, “I knew he wasn’t completely gone.” 

Damian hummed, nodding in memory. “I remember, it drove you mad.” 

Tim bit down the urge to argue, he had not gone mad. No, Dick, he doesn’t need to go to Arkham, really, he’s fine. “Right,” Tim cleared his throat, “So you remember I left soon after.”

“Yes, you were painfully good at covering your tracks.”

The corner of Tim’s lip quirked up. “Was that a compliment I heard? Aw Dami, you really do look up to me.” 

Damian tisked, “Your ears have failed you, Drake. Continue with the story before I end you.”

And back to the death threats. Back into familiarity. Tim hummed but the amusement in his eyes never left. “No one would believe me when I said Bruce was still alive so I went to the only person who did.” 

Tim vaguely gestured to Damian. 

“You went to my grandfather.”

“I did.”

There was a lot more to it than that. But Tim didn’t really have the stomach to admit Ra’s tried to assassinate him and then somehow partnered up with the very same assassins hired to shoot a bullet through his skull. He also doesn’t go into the fact that he single-handedly destroyed the league’s bases and now has a huge target on his back with WE. But sure, Tim went to Ra’s.

Damian looked off to the side, what was going on in that head of his, Tim couldn’t figure out. “And then?”

Tim felt like he was walking on eggshells, one wrong move and he’d slip into obscurity. “We ran into the Council of Spiders.”

“Expert assassins, I’ve heard of them.”

Tim nodded, his brain filtering through tense memory after tense memory. The fight was one big blur, fighting against metahumans was always an inconvenience. He placed a hand over the scar on his torso. 

“Long story short, I was impaled straight through my torso by Widower. I thought I died to be honest,” Tim remembered the fear that coursed through his veins when he thought he was resurrected with the lazarus pit. “But Ra’s and his league were able to perform an emergency surgery. I survived, but they had to remove my spleen.”

“And you haven’t told anyone this because…?”

Tim sighed, “Because partnering up with the League of Villains is as taboo as it gets in this family. That, and Dick shys away every time I want to address what happened while Bruce was gone because he feels guilty for the whole thing despite how many times I try to clear the air. None of us were in our right minds but that doesn’t stop him from blaming himself. And Bruce is too emotionally stunted to admit his death even happened to begin with, let alone hear about how I almost died to get him back.”

Tim continued, “Alfred knows because he handles everyone's medication and hiding something from him is near impossible. Babs only knows because of a miscalculation.”

“Was me finding out a ‘miscalculation'? “

Tim didn’t hesitate: “Yes. I never wanted you to find out about what happened between Ra’s and I.”

Damian was quiet for a moment, his eyes scanning the monitor Tim was hooked up to, listening to each beat of Tim’s heart. 

“Do you plan on telling Father?” 

Tim picked at the tape holding the IV inside the top of his hand. “Someday,” he spoke softly, “I’m just not ready for that conversation yet.” 

Damian nodded absent-mindedly. “I do not agree with this.”

Tim lifted his head to look at Damian. The other boy wouldn’t meet his gaze. “But if it means that much to you, your secret is safe so long as your life remains intact.”

Tim’s chest fluttered with relief. “Really?”

Damian’s bored eyes met Tims. “Do not make me regret this.”

A smile broke out on Tim’s face. “Aw, you really do care about me.” 

Damian gagged. 

“Come on, bring it in,” Tim raised his arms for a hug, the amusement in his eyes still very prevalent.

“Absolutely not, I spent the past 36 hours hugging you, you do not need more.” 

Tim pouted, “You dare deny your dying brother one last hug?”

“You are not dying, heathen.” 

“Just come here,” Tim pulled Damian into the bed without much effort. Despite Damian’s protests, he couldn’t pretend he didn’t need the reassurance that his brother would be okay. The color had returned to his face and his skin was no longer cold to the touch. But nothing was more solid than a secure embrace. 

Alfred would stop by a few moments later to the boys completely knocked out, a tough night for everyone. He smiled, pulling the blankets firmly over their shoulders, because even the butler needed some reassurance every now and again. 

Taglist ♡

@anothertimdrakestan

@cherry-dropp

@missredrobin

#Tim drake #red robin #Damian wayne #robin #bruce wayne #alfred pennyworth #dick grayson #Jason todd #red hood #nightwing #batman #dc comics #dc #batfam #batfamily #hurt/comfort #whump #angst

[bittersweetnarcissist]

#spleen #chakras #sacral chakra #winter #2024

[garnetea]

if these lights could cry.

who yandere! trafalgar law x fem black! y/n. length 606 words! warnings i promise i really tried to make him in character okay.. i'm not even in the timeskip *sobbing*. angst/gore. and don't be horny about the boob contact, this is not glorification. unprofessional & dangerous surgery description. organs and blood and poetry and blaaaaah. no consent. unconscious reader. and insinuations of the reader dying that's you ;).

leman's letter! a little pre-description would be: yandere! law touching y/n in places "only they know", and turns out it's a surgery just so he can feel her organs, knowing he's the only one capable of caring for her inside and out. and the only one she must trust to do so at that, since she sleeps so soundly in his bed, with them being lovers and all. surely that's more than trust? surely it's consent? really, regardless, who is she to refuse a check-up if it's doctor's orders?

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ★

Loosen your will, lose your drive; drift like lost wood and sink like an angel's feathered spine. Spiders thrive where memories spin forlorn, pearlescent webs of regret, and in that case, el hospital de tu corazon is a cave for bats and daddy long legs.

Spread your arms. Some sedation would do you well, wouldn't it?

Spread your legs. Some fucks to give would last this doctor the rest of the night.

Spread your belly button. Your guts, splice them. Your eyes- no, sorry, we won't dice them..

You're a prepossessing little patient with a particularly possessive, perfectionist lover. But you, you're so perfect, what is there for the doctor to heal or mend or replace? Not a single discrepancy in your spleen, your pancreas is in as little pain as preferred, your thoracic cavity is as hollow as a lost soul. And your heart.

"There's the fun part."

His hands, riddled with letters of death and intentions of.. something akin, softly palm the naked elegance of your breasts. Although consumed by anesthesia, your nipples naturally harden beneath the newfound company, slowly tightening and tickling against his palm creases. Yet he presses deeper- harder- urging your chest into the density of your thoracic cavity until he's sure you should fall apart from the pressure.

Yellow lamps see it all. Hanging from the ceiling, adding to the ambiance of your impending quietus. No amount of flickering or buzzing from the dust-worn bulbs could warn the lingering spirits of those who came before you. Are you to be an exception?

An incision-- no.. three slabs. Just skin, it's just skin, just cells, just tissue. Just an organ- an organ or two. Or five.

He's a doctor, isn't he? He must be sure you're pumping blood where it's due, not swelling or oozing where you shouldn't. Checking off his list: no tumors or cell degeneration, no irritable cysts or parasites. If this means sliding that annoying latex over his hands to ensure you're safe and sound inside and out, he's more than acquiescent to oblige. Hell, to volunteer.

"Just lucky to have me, I guess."

..Debatable. Since one kidney is currently being toyed, twisted, poked, prodded, and pulled out of it's cubby behind your trampoline of a digestion bag. Oh, I mean stomach.

However, stomachs don't usually get sliced open with silver scalpels just for the fact of doing so. Do they? Perhaps "digestion bag" is more appropriate, since you open up quite widely.

Biopsy's vary. Could be fifteen minutes, could be thirty.

For you, more hours fly past than fingers on your limp hands. Spiders crawl into the winter sunrise, abandoning you and your yellow lights of worry to run silent on misery and immobility. Resting points in between the achingly intimate hours hold no weight; they're only for letting your sensitive body lay and recuperate, with your limbs spread apart and numb like you're ready for the slaughter house. You're too perfect to take so much time out of Doctor Trafalgar's day and night. Or perhaps it's because you're so unprecedented in faultlessness that you must amount to such a duration of focus.

He's had to redistribute anesthesia more times than he's enjoyed; you're such a handful. Surely you realize everyone has their reason to lose control.. Which cakey clump of you is pushing his limits this time?

"Jeez, Y/n, don't get so worked up. Going into cardiac arrest again just wastes more time. I can re-attach your heart to the left atrium in a second." A slowed stutter coruscates in his hand like a newborn baby's first and last breath, and he chuckles, comparing your blood hungry heart to such with lidded, heavy, restless eyes. "You're about to turn this into an exhumation."

★ garnetea productions. all rights reserved, do not plagiarize.

#what do you even do in this situation #wake up like why am i so sore what are these scars #are you even strong enough to beat his ass afterwards?.. it's LAW #just kms #law where is my LEFT KIDNEY #anime x black!reader #one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x black!reader #trafalgar law #trafalagar law x reader #anime x reader #law x reader #law x black reader #trafalgar law x poc reader #yandere trafalgar law #yandere one piece #male yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #anime fanfic #one piece fanfiction #one piece angst #trafalgar law angst #law angst #trafalgar law x black reader #yandere x female reader #yandere angst

[officiallordvetinari]

The autumn and winter winds and the lashing rain storms and the very cold of those seasons, for all their barbarism, were of a spleen that voiced the heart. Their passions were allied to human passions - their cries to human cries. But it was otherwise with this slow pulp of summer, this drag of heat, with the incurious yellow eye within it, floating monotonously, day after day.

- Titus Groan, Mervyn Peake

#gormenghast #titus groan #mervyn peake #he was so right about this #autumn weather is starting here and it does feel more... relatable? somehow?? than the heat #like the summer sun was an outside force but the autumn winds and gray skies are just here with us

[theblackdahliaemporium]

Maple Tree Correspondence

Maple Tree Correspondence:

One can honor Maple Syrup in their kitchen witch recipes and rituals as a way of connecting with her energy.

Maple Lore:

 Maple trees are believed to repel demons and evil spirits. For protection it was customary in many houses to have a piece of a maple tree in the main door. Maple trees symbolize balance, offering, practical magic, promise, longevity, generosity, and intelligence. One reason behind these meanings is that maple trees can adapt to many different soil types and climates. Furthermore, it is an important tree in Celtic mythology. It was a tree consecrated to Dana, the Celtic goddess of fertility. It is also known as the tree of tolerance. In China, maple is associated with honor, and its leaves are a motif in Japanese ukiyo-e paintings representing love and autumn.

Maple trees are also associated with Virgo & Libra.

In Druidry if you’re born between the dates of April 11 - April 20; October 14 - October 23. You are known for a lively personality, a sense of humor, ability for deduction, analytical mind.

Maple is also the tree of offering, as it’s giving its sap, so that others can benefit. Therefore, it makes a great gift for the magical person in your life.

There are over 125 different species of the maple tree that are indigenous to Asia, Europe, North Africa, and the U.S. With the species interacting with so many different cultures over millennia, it’s attracted all kinds of myths, associations, and related magical properties.

Maple trees are mostly dioecious, meaning that there are both male and female trees. However, some species are polygamo-dioecious, carrying both male and female flowers on the same tree. They are therefore considered to resonate with both masculine and feminine energy.

Owls are commonly associated with the maple, because the tree itself represents the changing of the seasons, the natural cycle of death followed by rebirth, and wisdom accumulated over a lifetime. Under normal conditions, a maple tree lives between sixty and two hundred years.

Healing is strongly linked with maple trees, and many shamans and witches use a maple staff, wand, or the smoke of maple wood in healing. The inner bark can get used as:

An astringent to soothe sore or swollen eyes.

An infusion to treat stomach cramps and diarrhea.

A tea to treat coughs.

A concentration (infused with maple leaves) to detoxify the liver and spleen.

Kindness and compassion are other associations. Since the maple tree starts blooming in late winter or very early spring, it’s a feeder for pollen and leaf eaters when there’s not much nourishment available. It’s therefore associated with nurturing, purity, caring, and sharing.

Magical Properties of the Maple Tree

Apart from healing, many witches use maple wands and pendulums because it reveals options seen and unseen, broadening the intellect and acquiring knowledge. It also encourages peaceful communication making it excellent for use when doing spell work or readings that involve conflict resolution.

Because maple is a wood of caring, knowledge, and wisdom, it will guide you in making realistic and honest decisions and choices. It won’t do much for you if you use it for harm or rash outcomes, like quick luck or gambling.

Maple is Feminine in nature and associated with the moon & Jupiter and the elemental energies of water.

Maple is ideal for spells and rituals that involve abundance (with pure intentions), binding, beauty, cleansing, and love. You can use maple wood in your home to encourage love, harmony, and happiness.

Maple is useful in moon magic and in spells related to travel, learning, and decision-making, especially in matters related to bringing about or dealing with change. Maple is also useful in spiritual healing.

Maple Syrup can be used immensely in Kitchen Witchery.

Maple wood is excellent for wands, staffs, and maypoles.

The wisdom that maple brings into any situation makes it ideal for divination. If used for negative ends, maple is known to become a neutral energy. It tends to choose its companions, seeking people who are devoted and who have a strong sense of conviction and truth.

How do you know if maple is choosing you as a companion? You’ll be naturally drawn to the tree even if there aren’t any growing nearby. It will pop up in articles, books, and catalogues. A companion piece is anything that you keep nearby or with you all the time. Maple is a potent and loyal companion. Folklore/Symbolism

Strength and Wisdom- In Folklore, maple trees are associated with strength, endurance, and wisdom, often seen as sacred or auspicious.

Protection- Maple leaves have been used as protective talismans in various cultures, believed to ward off evil spirits and harm.

Connection to nature- Maple trees are regarded as symbols of nature’s beauty, resilience, and the changing seasons, especially in Autumn.

Maple at Risk

Unfortunately, sugar maples have seen quite a bit of decline due to logging of forests (they are slow growing, and faster growing trees, like birch, will often come up in their places after a forest is logged).  Sugar maples are also not very tolerant to pollution, including soil acidification and acid rain (this is mainly caused by automobiles). While they were once found in parks throughout the USA, with the rise of the automobile, these trees had a harder time surviving in urban areas.  Culpepper goes as far as calling this tree a “gentleman’s tree” as it was often found in urban parks.  The salt from roads also damages the tree’s root systems, contributing to its decline. This is not to say that the sugar maple is still not a dominant tree-it is.  You just need to get off the roads and out of the cities to see them.

Native American Lore

To understand the sugar maple in the Native American lore, I reviewed numerous legends–the sugar maple features prominently in their tales. Including my Husband, who is part Native American & Part Ecuadorian.

The maple as a gift that takes work. The maple was one of the only sources of sugar for the native peoples–as such it was seen as a gift from the creator.  While the maple is a gift, the native tales are clear that this gift takes work (in the form of collecting sap and boiling it down to make sugars). In Gluskabe Changes Maple Syrup, the Creator had originally had sap flow from maple trees as rich and as thick as honey–one needed only to break off a branch and the sap would flow out at any point of the year. However, Gluskabe, whose job it is to report back to the Creator, comes across a group of people who were fat and lazy, who abandoned their village and instead laid down in a maple grove sipping sap all day. Gluskabe was instructed to fill the maple trees with water each day for a full moon cycle, and now, people would have to work to have the sweetness of the maple and they would only have it for a short time in the spring to learn the error of their ways. At the end of the story, the people worked to turn the sap into sugar by burning cedar and making white birch buckets (using the magic of those two trees as well).  The work of the maple sugar is also found in the Senaca legend, Woman who Fell from the Sky, where the maple sap is changed to keep people from living too easy. In another legend, The Sugar Maple, the Sugar maple gets help from Woodpecker, who helps him by pulling out the grubs that are under maple’s bark.  Later, Woodpecker is dying of thirst during a drought, and Maple allows him to drink by pecking holes in the tree.

Maple as a delicacy. Maple sugar was seen as a delicacy by the Native Americans.  In several tales, babies appear sucking maple sugar.  In other tales, it is prepared as a drink with herbs.  In one Ojibwa legend, a maple syrup feast is mentioned.

Honoring the maple tree in ritual. To keep the maples producing the sap, Native Americans did maple ceremonies to ensure good sap harvests each year.  These were typically done right as the sap began to flow from the trees.  These ceremonies usually involved having everyone gather around the tree, addressing the tree in ritual language, and offering the tree tobacco incense.  This reminds me quite a bit of apple orchard wassailing.

Maple as a gentle tree. When talking sticks are made of maple, it is said to represent gentleness.

The Fiery Red Leaves of Maple represent blood. The reason that maples turn red in the fall can be explained by Chasing the Bear, where a long bear hunt ends with the hunters piling up sumac and maple branches and butchering the bear upon the branches.  In another version of this legend, “Hunting the Great Bear” reported by Hageneder, the long bear hunt happens each year.  The four brothers (who make up the constellation of the great bear) finally kill the bear and the bear’s blood falls from the sky and turns the maples red. This post was requested by: @jjatanywitchway

Sources:

The Druids Garden

Magickalspot.com

Wiccamagazine

Witchwood

The Green Witch- Murphy-Hiscock

#maple tree correspondence #theblackdahliaemporium #hearth witch #witch #kitchen witch #pagan #witchcraft #green witch #kitchen witchery #witch blog #herbal magick #herbs

[booktiger13]

Drake did happen, but it was to recover from consistently being called his name while in field. Plus he wanted to be like Tony Hawk, and someone told him to go by his last name instead of someone elses, also likes teasimg Vickie Vale. Smarter villians figure this reason out. The batfam and his allies do not. [Don't tell me Tim 'I'm gonna fake getting shot and get PT for a year cause someone figured out my ID' Drake wouldn't do this. He totally would, and think it's perfectly reasonable.]

Speaking of faking a disability! That didn't happen! He got shot yes- but so his civilian ID would have a reason to be missing his spleen. [ and I'm pretty sure no matter the gunshot you still have to get PT??]

This leads to him taking just like basic whatever PT at Dana winters old workplace, meeting one of her old co-workers and reconnecting with the Winters family and gaining a bigger support system- something he really needs during the Red Robin run.

#dc comics #headcanon #tim drake #Rumor AU #red robin #Drake #dana winters #vicki vale #batfam #dc au #red robin run #comics #fanfic #yes i have more

[jasonsthunderthighs]

Hello

I know I haven't been on here actively for a hot minute

Came to the realisation my twin probably won't ever come back, havin cracked rose tinted glasses for their partner. I can't control or knock some sense into ‘em to change their mind and dumb the trash out.

Seasonal depression is a bitch, on top of all of this is my late bro-bro/roommate (my twins ex) death anniversary next Thursday and his birthday bein yesterday (he would've been 27).

I feel more and more depressed and suicidal as the days past. It's just gettin worse and I just refuse to take pills to help with it, cause I personally don't trust myself with pills at all.

When I went to the psych ward (to, plot twist: tryin to kill myself), I was asked why I don't take any; I looked at ‘em and said, “If you give me pills, I'll down those pills like they're candy, cause I'm tired of this.” They quickly understood that. Along with lettin me leave even though I said I don't feel safe by myself but weren't goin to force me to stay. I wanted to stay but I know my old boss from my last job would definitely fire me cause he was a fuckin asshole.

I do need the help, but I literally can't afford to get it without losin my income and becomin homeless again like I was two years ago. I don't ever want to go through that, especially when it's winter and fuckin cold out there and havin a weak immune system from havin a missin spleen DOESN'T help with this situation. That's a great way to die.

I want to die on my own terms and not against my will

But if this happens, it happens and I'll accept that. I'm tired of all of this.

I miss my twin

I miss bein financially stable and not struggle this badly. I owe Mum +400$ cause of how many times she's saved my ass from facin eviction and bein homeless.

I don't know where I'm goin with this. Guess just typin what comes to mind on how I feel.

I appreciate the ones who've sent me asks and checkin up on me and how much twin and I are. It really does help me mentally knowin there's a few people here who cares to check up on me 💜

I'll try to post when I can. I do have ~130 posts in my drafts for when I get the time to. I know you guys want more stories and headcanons, it'll take me a bit to get motivation, inspiration and time to write ‘em. It's honestly a little hard to be original and not accidently copy off someone else's headcanons or story ideas.

Glad that my posts have been gettin love even as I type this and more followers from just my incorrect quotes or comic strip posts, really does give me a smile to see this blog is still alive.

Even though I'm not active at the moment, I can still answer asks to chat bout DC/Jason Todd and headcanons or requests for what I should write.

#to whom it may concern. #personal #personal post #not DC #not DC related