#NO CASES

[morverenmaybewrites]

Hi! I'm so glad you're back, new chapter of Pizza girl was amazing as always, for me it's absolutely the best dc fic ever!

I especially love how the relationship between Jason and other characters feels heartbreakingly natural, how it isn't a case of "love magically cured trauma" but rather slowly and messyly opening up, and trying to heal with the help of right people at right time.

And as much as I cannot wait for Jason and pizza girl to have more straight up romantic shenanigans, I love how they started with gaining each other trust and building their friendship, I adore them as domestic buddies.

I have a question, if it isn't some kind of spoiler of course, at this point of the story, does Jason have (or wants to have) a life outside of his Red Hood persona? And I mean it half psychologically half practically (similarly to pizza girl, how does he earn money if being a vigilante isn't a source of income?)

But seriously, I find it heartbreaking that as much as he yearns for home, he still lives in safe houses, and I was so happy when he thought about asking Babs for help in looking for something more permanent for himself. And it fits into his fear of being traced of course, but got me thinking, in a more personal sense, does he have a motivations for living other than trying to make up for his mistakes as Arkham Knight?

Something like: does he realise that there's Red Hood who fights for those who can't do it for themselves, but there's also Jason who likes the smell of new books, has his favorite mug and favorite way of drinking coffee, has his favorite chair at the local library, who maybe has quiet and innocent dream to get a degree or his dream job and be loved and needed by someone?

Does he realise the second one exists and deserves to be cherished by him?

(Sorry if this ask is too much, I just now realised how long it got 😭 I will absolutely understand if you don't have time to answer this)

Anyway thank you for writing this amazing and captivating work, I can't wait for next chapters, whenever they'll be ready❤

In the meantime I hope you get time to rest and have fun! Stay safe!

This is a wonderful breakdown of Jason's character! To answer your question, does Jason have a life outside of his Red Hood persona? No. Does he want one? Unconsciously, the answer is yes, but I don't think he can acknowledge it right now. For years following the Joker's torture, he's pretty much been in survival mode, keeping himself alive by being obsessed with a singular goal. First, it was to kill the Joker and Batman, and then when he found out the Joker was dead, it was to kill Batman. Now, it's to seek redemption as the Red Hood. While he may have (somewhat) progressed from his days as the Arkham Knight, he's still clinging to the same unhealthy coping mechanisms. It's a little (or a lot) like depression. He's so focused on getting through today and the next day and the next day that there's little room for anything else. Hobbies and friends and a place to feel at home in sound nice, but they also sound absolutely unattainable. And he's lived with that mindset for so long that he's all but forgotten that there are different ways to live. That's where Jason's head is right now. Maybe one day, he'll progress enough that he'll be able to look around his safehouse, so sparse that it's no different from a prison cell, and he'll think to himself that he wants something more. And it doesn't have to be anything big. Nothing so grand as the Wayne Manor. Just a small place, maybe above a bookstore. Maybe in the beginning, it's not so different from his safehouses. Just a mattress on the floor and a bathroom. But then one day, he'll add something small. Some secondhand book he bought from the store for the change he had in his pocket. It's from an author he's never heard of before. The writing is a little clunky, but it's enough to pass the time while he's waiting for updates on his cases. Maybe he reads it next to his window, by the light of the flickering street lamps, trying not to grimace at the way the hard wood is digging into his back. Maybe one of his siblings or even the reader notices. She takes him to one of her favorite flea markets under the guise of buying a new rug. And he ends up taking back an armchair, so old that the stuffing is coming out in places. But he makes do, the way he always has, he washes away the accumulated dust and dirt, he patches up the holes, and he places it next to his window. Where the street lamp shines just enough light to read by, even if it often flickers. He opens his book, written by an author he's never heard of before. The writing is a little clunky in places. But for now, he thinks, it's enough. (And maybe he'll read until morning. And maybe he'll realize, or maybe not: that the Jason Todd who used to spend hours in the Wayne Manor library, who had a favorite armchair by the fire, is still in there, somewhere. And perhaps, he'll think--or perhaps not--that the Joker hasn't killed everything that he used to be. Perhaps there's still a little bit of Robin left in him.)

[johnhwatsonblogs]

Hi John Watson, hope you find yourself doing good today!

Here's a simple question

Was it hard getting Sherlock on board with the whole making another blog on Tumblr plan?

Hello! Thanks for the ask! My day has been pretty well, no cases at the moment. To answer your question, it was quite hard getting Sherlock to join. It took quite a bit convincing, as he doesn’t like trying new things. But Sherlock was bored, and eventually begrudgingly agreed. I think he quite likes it, it gives him a chance to do something when he’s bored.

[wormspoodle]

idk has someone done this yet

[scramratz]

[littlemut]

me: “sorry ): can’t come!! got so much to do at home”

me as soon as im home:

[struck-by-the-rain]

me when someone complains about something that's been genuinely bothering me too but i just brushed it off because i was worried that i was just bitchy/callous/sensitive but now I feel Vindicated

edit: original post is back, given its blown up sm im also linking the vetted fundraisers from Palestinians who've reached out to me recently here, here, here, here, here, here and here! please read their stories, donate if you can, and share them around!

edit 2: terfs get the fuck off this post. guarantee that you're the ones that we're all complaining about behind your backs. im trans and I fucking love my trans siblings of all stripes with all of my heart, way more than your pathetic arses could ever hate them

[3liza]

https://nationalpost.com/news/canada/theyre-not-human-how-19th-century-inuit-coped-with-a-real-life-invasion-of-the-walking-dead

Indigenous groups across the Americas had all encountered Europeans differently. But where other coastal groups such as the Haida or the Mi’kmaq had met white men who were well-fed and well-dressed, the Inuit frequently encountered their future colonizers as small parties on the edge of death.

“I’m sure it terrified people,” said Eber, 91, speaking to the National Post by phone from her Toronto home.

And it’s why, as many as six generations after the events of the Franklin Expedition, Eber was meeting Inuit still raised on stories of the two giant ships that came to the Arctic and discharged columns of death onto the ice.

Inuit nomads had come across streams of men that “didn’t seem to be right.” Maddened by scurvy, botulism or desperation, they were raving in a language the Inuit couldn’t understand. In one case, hunters came across two Franklin Expedition survivors who had been sleeping for days in the hollowed-out corpses of seals.

“They were unrecognizable they were so dirty,” Lena Kingmiatook, a resident of Taloyoak, told Eber.

Mark Tootiak, a stepson of Nicholas Qayutinuaq, related a story to Eber of a group of Inuit who had an early encounter with a small and “hairy” group of Franklin Expedition men evacuating south.

“Later … these Inuit heard that people had seen more white people, a lot more white people, dying,” he said. “They were seen carrying human meat.”

Even Eber’s translator, the late Tommy Anguttitauruq, recounted a goose hunting trip in which he had stumbled upon a Franklin Expedition skeleton still carrying a clay pipe.

By 1850, coves and beaches around King William Island were littered with the disturbing remnants of their advance: Scraps of clothing and camps still littered with their dead occupants. Decades later, researchers would confirm the Inuit accounts of cannibalism when they found bleached human bones with their flesh hacked clean.

“I’ve never in all my life seen any kind of spirit — I’ve heard the sounds they make, but I’ve never seen them with my own eyes,” said the old man who had gone out to investigate the Franklin survivors who had straggled into his camp that day on King William Island.

The figures’ skin was cold but it was not “cold as a fish,” concluded the man. Therefore, he reasoned, they were probably alive.

“They were beings but not Inuit,” he said, according to the account by shaman Nicholas Qayutinuaq.

The figures were too weak to be dangerous, so Inuit women tried to comfort the strangers by inviting them into their igloo.

But close contact only increased their alienness: The men were timid, untalkative and — despite their obvious starvation — they refused to eat.

The men spit out pieces of cooked seal offered to them. They rejected offers of soup. They grabbed jealous hold of their belongings when the Inuit offered to trade.

When the Inuit men returned to the camp from their hunt, they constructed an igloo for the strangers, built them a fire and even outfitted the shelter with three whole seals.

Then, after the white men had gone to sleep, the Inuit quickly packed up their belongings and fled by moonlight.

Whether the pale-skinned visitors were qallunaat or “Indians” — the group determined that staying too long around these “strange people” with iron knives could get them all killed.

“That night they got all their belongings together and took off towards the southwest,” Qayutinuaq told Dorothy Eber.

But the true horror of the encounter wouldn’t be revealed until several months later.

The Inuit had left in such a hurry that they had abandoned several belongings. When a small party went back to the camp to retrieve them, they found an igloo filled with corpses.

The seals were untouched. Instead, the men had eaten each other.

[kittykatninja321]

they match each other’s freak to a degree that is dangerous to the public

[who-canceled-roger-rabbit]

Some spins on the "mostly male team with a token woman" trope:

The woman is trans and stayed in her old circle of bros even after transition

The woman is the only one in her circle of "girls" who didn't turn out to be a trans man

[butchfalin]

the funniest meltdown ive ever had was in college when i got so overstimulated that i could Not speak, including over text. one of my friends was trying to talk me through it but i was solely using emojis because they were easier than trying to come up with words so he started using primarily emojis as well just to make things feel balanced. this was not the Most effective strategy... until. he tried to ask me "you okay?" but the way he chose to do that was by sending "👉🏼👌🏼❓" and i was so shocked by suddenly being asked if i was dtf that i was like WHAT???? WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME?????????? and thus was verbal again

[francisforever2014]

it actually really doesn’t matter at all and everything will be okay forever

[artsymeeshee]

Felt a need to draw hugs (thinking about sea grunks has made me extra emotional :’))

[sabertoothwalrus]

girldad mode activate

[rovermcfly]

proud to say that I have never once in my life figured out the whodunit in any crime story I've read or watched. I just let the facts and clues wash over me, absorbing absolutely none of it. I am the audience they think of when they throw in red herrings, in case you've ever wondered "who would fall for this obvious false lead". it's me. I am the idiot viewer/reader. not once has an obviously framed clue revealed anything to me. my head is completely empty when I consume these stories.