#I have to take care of you now.

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

going through my old journals as part of therapy homework and i'm reading a section written in the emotional wreckage of a full-on breakdown when i get hit with this line:

There is never a satisfying answer to ‘Why didn’t they love me?’

like wow babe. good fucking point

[404-squill]

Greetings and salutations everyone.

It is the weekend, and making sure Will doesn’t die is a very hard task. Due to this, we will both be semi-inactive on social media throughout all weekends, including this one.

I may communicate occasionally in these time perimeters using Tumblr's ask and reblog features:

21:00:00-12:00:00 UTC+9

Again, Will is a very stubborn one, and would certainly be in critical danger without assistance. He may be stubborn, but he is my host.

[hood-ex]

So anyway, since Bruce abandoned his family, are they gonna let Damian go live with Dick in the Tower orrr is DC going to keep being dumb and not take advantage of such a golden opportunity...

[frownyalfred]

“Why are you bullying Hal Jordan so much in this fic?” Because it’s funny. Because it’s funny and he’s not a real person.

[ipostmysimpingstuffanonymously]

They both lost their team and their teacher....

[yashley]

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 209

Now Jason was planning on, well, a lot of things, when he came back to Gotham. He had a lot of plans, several of which had to do with the old man and even more that had to do with cleaning up Crime Alley, making it safer and all that. 

What he was not planning on was to find some sort of lab in the basement of where he was planning on setting up a safehouse. Nor was he planning on finding several literal children in cages inside said lab. Oh and Lazarus Waters- but children! With muzzles! Being experimented on!

Now he’d like to say he had a plan in what happened next, but if he’s honest everything had gone Green and he didn’t remember what happened next, only that he’s back home with said children and covered in blood. Oh and everything smells of smoke. 

… And apparently there’s more of these things dotted around Crime Alley with the rest of these kids, er, siblings? Family? Fright does mean family? Okay kids, he’s not turning into Bruce but you can stay here while he deals with this… however long that takes. 

He better not be turning into Bruce he swears-

[tangledinink]

oh stickers are currently on sale in my redbubble shop, by the way

[reasonsforhope]

Self-Care in Times of Atrocities

This is something I've been struggling with myself, and it's also something I have a general chip on my shoulder about (in terms of the corporatization of self-care, ugh), so here have a post

It can feel impossible or even cruel, to "practice self-care" in the face of the world right now - and in particular, in the face of the ongoing genocide in Gaza.

So, I think it's really important to say that self-care does not mean that you are always emotionally balanced at all, that you are never overcome with rage and grief at the horror of ongoing atrocities.

To never be overcome by rage or horror or grief or any other negative emotions would be to shut ourselves off from a huge part of the human experience, in a situation where our connection to our common humanity is, I would argue, more important than ever.

Some days you will feel completely laid low by that rage and horror and grief. Sometimes for a few hours, sometimes for days or more.

That's not only normal, it is a completely rational response to what Israel is inflicting on Palestinians right now. I think it's a completely rational response to any genocide.

In some ways it's also a healthy response. Bottling up or choking off your emotions isn't good for you. Refusing to ever sit with pain isn't good for you. Refusing yourself grief and mourning and catharsis isn't good for you. We know all of this.

Self-care, in times of atrocity, doesn't mean always keeping yourself on some kind of even keel. In a lot of ways I think it means letting yourself cry, letting yourself channel all of your storming emotions into a force that can help, rather than just eat you up inside.

And self-care isn't the kind of corporate, hypercapitalist "buy yourself out of your feelings" bs that we're quite literally sold, either.

Self-care is, very often, not about indulging or pampering yourself (not that there's anything wrong with indulging or pampering yourself).

A lot of the time it just means...taking care of your physical form, as best you can, even when you least want to, so you don't pile more on top of everything else.

A lot of the times it means making yourself eat something, even just some crackers, even though you feel sick from horror.

Or groaning and forcing yourself to drink a glass of water, because you can, you have access to drinkable water, and you can honor that for the privilege it is by avoiding a terrible dehydration headache.

Or making yourself take a shower, even though it's the last thing you feel like doing, because you have an important meeting tomorrow.

Or locking your phone in a drawer for a while, because staying up all night doomscrolling won't do anything but drain you further.

And if you're ever feeling too guilty to do any of that, remember: you cannot pour from an empty vessel. Meeting your own basic needs as best you can is one really, really important way to make sure you have the energy to help.

[pettyprocrastination]

whoever this beloved anon was I am so touched by your kindness! You definitely didn’t have to do this but I am so happy you enjoy this idea and I will happily expand upon it for you!

this is just a collection of word vomit bullet points for the time being but I will happily answer any and all questions about this pair!!

warnings: violence, angst, child death (Sarah Miller), foul language, the same warnings that apply to tlou, reader is Sarah's mom and described as having similar features to her. 

So the general Idea is that you and Joel are happily married before the outbreak. 

You had been Sarah's mother, his high school sweetheart he got pregnant when neither of you were old enough to have any reaction to the pregnancy test other than a fucking panic attack in one another’s arms. but you made it work 

you both worked but made time for one another and your sweet girl, going to museums every other weekend and joel insisting on swooping you off for a date every now and then 

nothing special. He knows you’re more of a diner gal than anything too fancy that makes you both feel out of place. 

On his birthday in 2003, you had planned to tell him that you were pregnant again. But the memories of your own fears of motherhood from all those years ago begin to swirl through your head again and you get cold feel. deciding to tell him the morning after

it is his birthday afterall, you want to focus on him. 

but when you’re woken up in the middle of the night because tommy needs to get bailed out, Joel kisses you sweetly one last time before promising he’ll be back and you can’t shake the feeling that something bad is happening. 

its you that shakes sarah awake that night. shouting at her to put on her shoes when she’s still rubbing the sleep from her eyes because you’ve been listening to the radio for the past two hours, calling joel again and again and again praying for him to fucking pick up but to no avail. 

Sarah, bless your little girl’s bleeding heart is the one who insists you check on the adler’s against your better suspicions and when you find the eldest looming over her daughter, blood and sinew dripping from her mouth, you grab your daughter hand and burst into a full sprint until something slams into your back and sends you tumbling onto their front lawn

its how joel finds you, struggling to keep the once sweet old woman, whose now nothing more than dead eyes and gnashing teeth straining to snap at your pulse point as you push against her while sarah shrieks before your husband runs forward and cracks her skull with a wrench. 

there’s hardly a moment of pause, just enough for him to pull you up and into his arms before he’s ushering you both into the car with an urgency. 

when the truck crashes, you get separated from them. Perhaps at Tommy’s side when the flames rise and create a wall, separating you from your husband, or maybe pulled into the mob of chaos when trying to escape from those already infected-

all joel knows is that you promise you’ll find him: just get sarah to safety and you’ll meet him at the river

Poor thing is already so frightened, held in her father’s arms with tears streaming down her face insisting they can’t leave you they just can’t but her father kisses her forehead and reassures her its going to be okay 

“we just need to be brave, okay babygirl? Your mama’s real tough, she’s gonna be alright.” 

he isn’t sure if he’s saying it to his daughter or himself. 

but when he comes to the river you aren’t there. Only a soldier who points a gun at the scared little girl in his arms and then he loses everything

its when the light is gone from his daughter’s eyes that he realizes. His voice cracked and raw from sobbing that he looks around to see his brother with drawn in shoulders and tears in his eyes but his wife is nowhere to be found. 

Tommy says you got lost in the chaos. Everything was so loud, so sudden that he turned around and suddenly you weren’t there. 

Joel wants to go back but its Tommy that stops him, that dulls the red in his vision to a sad faded pink because his brother points at the orange horizon not too far from them, so much of the city is already in flames. 

“We’re gonna find her, but not there.” 

So Joel searches. for the first year spent in the world post-outbreak its all he did. 

He became a smuggler because of it. 

Information came at a price and he needed to be able to fucking pay it, whether it be in blood or ration cards. He was willing to do anything to find you or any thin thread that lead your way. 

But it’s Tommy that asks him to give up. Not in those words of course. 

The youngest Miller knows better than to say something so cruel that would make his brother, the only person he has in this world turn on him. 

But his voice is worried when he asks him one night in Boston when he hasn’t even had the chance to wash the blood from his knuckles 

“You think she would have wanted this for you?” 

the fight that followed his words was brutal. Vicious insults and scarred fists slamming against each brother until they're both too tired and bloody to continue. Each leaning against a wall for support and Tommy’s wavering voice breaking the silence. 

“I don’t know where she is, Joel. But I do know you're gonna get yourself killed if you keep lookin’ for her.” 

All he can do is nod. 

It’s a few days later when he meets Tess. Who has heard plenty of stories about the elder miller’s brutality and wants him to put that muscle to good use for some extra profit. 

It begins his new life. One that empty and cold but one he can live. 

Until of course, Ellie comes along. The sweet and incredibly opinionated girl that makes him become something akin to the man he thought died twenty years ago. 

its when he’s traveling with Ellie, that it happens. When a warm familiarity has settled between the two because so much blood and pain has been shared he can’t help but see her as something close, something bright even though all he can force himself to utter in her reference is “cargo” 

when theyre traveling through the woods as Ellie chatters away, probing his memory about a movie that may or may not have existed thirty years ago because her descriptions of the plot are incredibly odd he hears a voice shout for them to stop and finds himself staring at a man- no, a boy- pointing a gun at them. 

Ellie stills, but Joel can see enough to know that from the lanky figure and dimpled face that he’s young. Maybe twenty, twenty-two at the oldest, but his eyes dart from Joel to Ellie with a pinprick of fear that allows Joel the time to charge forward and slam him to the ground before wrestling the gun from his hands. 

He has enough to time to tuck it under the stranger’s chin before he hears the sound of the safety being turned off and finds himself looking up and seeing a gun just inches from his face. 

Joel’s head whips around when Ellie’s voice calls out his name in fear, he turns to see another stranger holding her a gun point, shoulders drawn back and a shadow cast over their face by the had obstructing their identity. 

“You hurt one of mine, I hurt one of yours. That a fair deal?” 

Its takes him a moment to recognize you. It’s been so long since he’s heard your voice, the sweet tease when you would poke at him each time he woke up late despite the fact that you reminded him to set his alarm the night before, the times you’d chide him with a harsh “Joel Miller!” whispered in public anytime he was able to grab you a bit too passionately to be appropriate in public but the laughter in your voice let him know you were never truly mad at him. You didn’t know how to be. 

But that sweetness is buried under a cold rasp that cuts through the air as you point a rifle at the scared little girl in front of you.

“You think I won’t?” You’re older now, skin covered in scars from a life he didn’t know you got the chance to live and your eyes are cold as they regard your husband. “Put the gun down and get the fuck off of him, I won’t repeat myself.” 

Joel mumbles your name in awe. The woman he loved, the woman he mourned the one he fought so hard to find stands before him like some sort of hallucination and suddenly the world feels like its spinning until you bark orders at him again. 

“You’ve got five seconds Joel, make a fucking choice before I make it for you.” 

He looks down and realizes the boy under him, the one with the bleeding nose and snarling face has your eyes and his dimples. 

“One.” 

The one above him has Sarah’s hair. Soft brown curls that shine under the sun. 

“Two”

Wait. No, they both do.

“Three.” 

Twins. Jesus fucking Christ you had twins. 

“Four.” 

Joel holds the rifle up above his head and the one boy standing snatches it from his grasp, tossing it to the ground and kicking it far from his reach. He slowly stands, allowing your son- dear god your son- to scramble to his feet. 

Your voice softens just for a moment. “You okay, Duke?” 

Blood stains the bottom half of his face from where Joel slammed his fist into the boy’s nose just moments before, but he nods nonetheless. 

Now, they both stand on one side of you and he can see the resemblance clear as day the same way he would whenever Sarah was by your side.

When you order him to hand over his bag, he does so without question before telling Ellie to do the same. 

She watches him with wide eyes, her hands still up in the air but gaping at her companion as if he had grown a second head. 

“Joel!” “Just do it, alright?”

He doesn’t miss the way you watch their interaction with narrowed eyes until she tosses her bag to you and you slowly lower your gun. 

“Now, you want to tell me what the fuck you think you’re doin’ at my home?” 

[spiderthread]

[marragurl]

Not the first to say it, but damn can’t believe Galladay really went from toxic yaoi to doomed tragic yaoi.

Alright fellow Galladay trash, where’s the modern AU fix-it fics?

I need to see Gallagher single dad with Misha plus their dog/cat Sleepie falling for entertainment company CEO Sunday. Don’t ask me how they met, fuck it, throw in bodyguard AU Gallagher who works part-time at a bar, boom there that’s how they meet, idk I’m making this up on 3 hours of sleep.

You’ve heard of slow burns, now get ready for Galladay blaze it.

They’re speedrunning the relationship from hate -> annoyance -> mild disgruntlement -> weirdly vibing -> ok wow never knew I needed that in my life -> Sunday is way too ok with spoiling Misha -> ok so we got married -> alright we’re dismantling the government now -> Sunday went to jail for 5 minutes for attempting “peaceful” world domination, don’t worry we (Gallagher) forgave him -> Sunday’s stepping down as CEO to run a coffeeshop idk look someone get him some therapy -> Robin is president now while she still goes on tours -> Misha won an engineering competition while this was all going on

Bottom line: Robin is out living her best life while Sunday is in the back somehow having the most insane week of his life. I have no other notes for her here except that she is happy, and successful, and is Sunday’s last remaining brain cell. She and Misha are having some fun Aunt/Nephew bonding times while Galladay are accidentally-on-purpose committing multiple war crimes.

No, we don’t have time to unpack 2.2 and all its trauma, we cope with modern AU :)

[marzipanandminutiae]

still not over the absolutely braindead take that "if you say brutalism looks dystopian, you care more about your aesthetic than people having homes!!!!"

like

can't criticize Shein or you must want their workers to be unemployed

oh you don't like that restaurant? guess you want the people eating there to STARVE

fuck both roses AND bread; nutrient-dense gray EnergyCubes would keep you alive so wishing for a better sensory experience is basically capitalist bootlicking

(I agree that considering Soviet-era brutalist apartment buildings in the context of "shit we need housing; put something up quick" is important for those specific structures- though I think that can coexist with "wow that's ugly" -but. this person did not stop there)

[emry-stars-art]

Hi Emry 🙂

How's the new house going? Do you have everything you need to let your creativity flourish?

I don't know if this question has already been asked, but what are the court customs for Christmas? Dances, sumptuous dinners or a meeting between intimates only?

Abram could give Andrew a new pair of earrings (they would look amazing on him) delicately move your Highness's hair to let him wear them while Andrew prefers humble gifts, a key that Abram will keep above his heart, who knows where it will lead 💝

Wish you a beautiful day 🤍🌸✨

Next year, if this whole art thing works out, I hope to be able to make some time for more worldbuilding and stuff because it’s SO fascinating and fun!! For now though I loveeeee putting in our real world traditions

And your points are perfect because 1) Abram giving Andrew different earrings and Andrew building a wholeeee collection of them is so sweet and 2) a key to Andrew’s room (“our room” as Andrew reminds him now) is absolutely Abram’s most precious possession

Me trying to decide on an outfit for Andrew, desperately scrolling Pinterest:

The gorgeous Andrew drawn by Peach: am I a joke to you

[puppetmaster13u]

Meme Prompt 11

A three-way crossover this time

[lucidloving]

The Witcher // 木苏里, Global Examination // Chloe Liese, Always Only You