#Never enough time to creativity these days

[liviawildrose]

𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫

it’s a hard pill to swallow, but sometimes, you’ve got to step into a role you never signed up for. maybe your mom wasn’t the nurturing, protective figure she was supposed to be. maybe your dad let you down in ways that left scars. maybe your friends only stuck around to take, never to give. the truth? you can’t wait for someone to come and save you. you have to become your own mother.

ask yourself:

if your child was in your shoes—stuck in a bad relationship, getting treated like crap— would you tell them, “stay”? or would you say, “you deserve better than this”?

if your child was chasing their dreams but struggling, would you mock them? no. you’d guide them, push them to be their best. you’d discipline them with love and cheer them on with pride. now, apply that same energy to yourself.

be that mom who says: “get your shit together because you deserve the best life possible.”

but also the mom who says: “it’s okay to rest, i’ve got your back, and i’m proud of you.”

start showing up for yourself the way you needed someone to show up for you. and yes, it’s sad. sad that we even have to do this. but it’s also empowering to realize you can.

personally, here’s my story.

my mom never cared to take my pictures as a kid nor cared if a haircut made me happy or not, it was literally everything up to her convenience. it hurts now because i would’ve loved to look back and see those memories. but i don’t have them. i can count the photos of my childhood—20 pictures in 17 years. insane, right? so, i made a promise to myself: from now on, i will document my life. i won’t delete my photos. i’ll make sure there’s a record of who i was, what i felt, what i achieved. and when i have kids? you bet i’ll take pictures of them. i’ll curate their childhood with care because i know what it feels like to not have that.

but being your own mother isn’t just about the pictures or the memories. it’s about analyzing everything you missed out on and providing it for yourself now. it’s about being selfless enough to let go of bad habits that hold you back. it’s about kicking toxic people out of your life the way a mom would protect her child from bad influences. it’s about prioritizing your healing, even if it’s messy and uncomfortable. you have to heal your inner child. that 5-year-old who was bullied, that 13-year-old who was treated like shit in her first relationship, that 7-year-old who dreamed big but was told she couldn’t they’re all still inside you, waiting for someone to nurture them. and unfortunately, no one else is going to do it for you. no one else is going to come and fix the damage.

i made a pact with myself: when i have kids, i will raise them so well that they won’t ever need to “heal their inner child” at 17 or 18. they’ll be whole. they’ll be loved. they’ll know their worth from the start. but for now, i’m doing that for myself. and you need to do it for yourself too. because at the end of the day, the only way to heal is to become the person you needed all along. become your own mother.

what is the inner child?

the “inner child” is the part of you that holds your early experiences, memories, and emotions. it’s the 5-year-old you who loved to laugh but was scolded for being “too much.” it’s the 10-year-old you who dreamed big but felt dismissed. it’s the teen you who felt heartbreak for the first time but didn’t know how to process it. your inner child carries the wounds, fears, and unmet needs from your past, but also your natural creativity, curiosity, and joy. healing your inner child means reconnecting with this version of yourself, giving it the love and understanding it never received, and releasing the pain it has carried for years.

how do you heal your inner child?

1. journaling: dialogue with your inner child

dedicate a journal specifically to your inner child. write letters to them, like:

“dear [your name at 5/7/13], i remember when you felt [insert memory]. i’m sorry you went through that, but i’m here now, and i’ve got you.”

let your inner child respond. write as if you’re that younger version of yourself—pour out your fears, dreams, and questions. this process can uncover emotions and patterns you didn’t realize were affecting you.

2. therapy: safe exploration with a professional

a therapist (especially one trained in inner child work) can help you identify wounds and patterns from childhood. they’ll guide you in understanding how your upbringing shaped your beliefs about yourself and the world. therapy also gives you tools to reframe those beliefs and meet your emotional needs.

watch “dear zindagi” lol

3. look at old photos and memories

revisit old photos, journals, or artwork from your childhood. don’t just look at them—analyze them. (i wish i could d this but im stuck with 20 photos so… 😭) what do you notice in your younger self’s eyes, body language, or expression?

• ask yourself:

• what was i feeling here?

• did i feel safe? loved? excited? scared?

• what did i need in this moment that i didn’t get?

• use this reflection to understand your inner child’s unmet needs.

4. create new positive memories

your inner child is still alive within you, and they crave fun, love, and freedom. do things your younger self would’ve loved but never got to do: buy yourself a toy you always wanted. go to an amusement park or build a pillow fort. dance around your room like no one’s watching. this isn’t childish it’s healing.

5. practice reparenting

treat yourself as if you were your own child. when you feel sad or scared, don’t ignore it.

ask yourself: what do i need right now? and give it to yourself.

be the loving, supportive, and protective parent your inner child deserved.

6. identify triggers and patterns

notice when you’re acting out of a place of childhood wounds.

for example: do you get overly anxious when someone’s mad at you? do you seek validation in toxic relationships? trace these behaviors back to your childhood.

were you taught that love is conditional? did you have to “earn” attention by being perfect? once you identify the root, you can start rewiring your responses.

7. inner child meditations and visualizations

find a quiet space and imagine your inner child sitting across from you. visualize yourself comforting them, hugging them, and telling them they’re safe. remind them: “you don’t have to be scared anymore. i’m here for you.”

8. nurture yourself daily

make self-care non-negotiable. eat foods you love, sleep well, move your body, and spend time doing things that make you happy. when you treat yourself with care, you show your inner child they’re worth it.

9. forgive

healing isn’t about excusing those who hurt you. it’s about releasing the hold they have over you so you can move forward. write a forgiveness letter—not for them, but for yourself. (they don’t deserve the love i’m sorry)

“i release the pain you caused me so it doesn’t control me anymore.”

10. promise to break the cycle

vow to yourself (and your future children if you want them) just cause your grandma bleed on your mom and then your mom passed it to you does not mean you will make your future kids life miserable too. the generational trauma must break with you. your future child does not deserve it and so your inner child protect you inner child and when you have a child of your own be the best mother possible, i personally would love to make my future kids childhood so memorable and happy that they will feel the need to comeback and relive their childhood that’s the kind of childhood i want to give them

“i will not let this pain define me. i will create a life of love, joy, and freedom.”

healing your inner child isn’t easy, but it’s life-changing.when you reconnect with that innocent, wounded part of yourself, you’ll find that the love and peace you’ve been searching for has always been within you.

11. foster your inner child’s dreams

when you were a child, your dreams weren’t influenced by fear, rejection, or societal pressures. you dreamed with your heart wide open, purely and authentically. reconnecting with those dreams can heal the part of you that felt unheard or invalidated back then.

a. reflect on your childhood aspirations

• sit down and ask yourself:

• what did i want to be when i was 5? 10? 13?

• what made me happiest back then?

• what did i lose interest in because someone told me i wasn’t good enough?

• write down every dream, no matter how “unrealistic” it seems.

hint: those childhood dreams often point to your soul’s calling.

b. start chasing those dreams now

• even if your dreams have evolved, find ways to honor the essence of them.

• wanted to be a singer at 13? start singing lessons or recording yourself.

• wanted to help people? explore careers like psychology, teaching, or coaching.

• don’t hold back.

it’s not about being perfect, it’s about reconnecting with the passion your younger self had.

c. create small wins for your inner child

• maybe 8-year-old you always wanted to paint but never got the supplies. buy yourself a beginner’s set and paint, even if it’s messy.

• maybe 6-year-old you wanted to be a dancer. take a fun dance class and twirl like no one’s watching.

• small wins send the message to your inner child that they are finally being prioritized.

e. validate your inner child’s feelings and failures

• remind yourself:

“it’s okay that 10-year-old me struggled with making friends. i was just a child trying my best.”

• instead of shaming yourself for past actions, honor them.

every mistake was a step toward becoming the incredible person you are now.

f. use your dreams to shape your future

• your childhood passions aren’t just hobbies—they’re roadmaps to your authentic self.

• align your current goals with your inner child’s desires.

• if 7-year-old you dreamed of making people smile, maybe your career or side hustle should reflect that.

• if 12-year-old you loved storytelling, find ways to write, act, or share your voice.

fostering your inner child’s dreams doesn’t just heal the past—it builds a future that feels authentic to you. every time you take a step toward those dreams, you’re telling your inner child: “you were always worthy. your dreams always mattered. and now, i’m making them come true for you.”

[magical-reid]

A Thanksgiving to Remember

Pairing: Spencer Reid x GN!Reader (No use of Y/N)

Genre: fluff

Content warnings: none

Word count: 1.3K

Prompts:

#28 “You owe me.” “I owe you $20, not a day of pretending to be your partner to get your parents off you’re back.”

#47 “I think I’m falling in love with you.” “I think I’m okay with that.” 

______________________________________________________________

It was Thanksgiving at your parents' house, and you were already regretting your decision to come. The smell of roasting turkey and pumpkin pie filled the air, mingling with the sounds of laughter and clinking dishes. As always, your extended family was gathered in the living room, and they were doing what they did best—asking the same questions.

“So, still no boyfriend?” your aunt Marge asked, her voice high-pitched and just a little too loud for your taste as she passed you a plate of mashed potatoes. “You’re not getting any younger, sweetheart.”

You forced a smile, taking the plate from her hands. “Aunt Marge, I’m good, really,” you said, trying to deflect the conversation.

Your cousin Rachel piped up, “Yeah, it’s about time you found someone. You should really try online dating or, I don’t know, maybe—”

“I’m fine,” you said again, cutting her off. "Really."

But it didn’t end there. Every time you turned around, someone else was there with their unsolicited advice or questions about your non-existent love life. It was exhausting.

You sighed quietly, trying to tune out the noise, but there was no getting around it. “Maybe I should just bring someone next year,” you muttered under your breath, picking at the salad in front of you.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“Next year” came quicker than you would’ve like and you still didn’t have your plan set in motion and then it hit you. Your mind snapped to one of your oldest friends. Morgan.

Morgan knew you well enough to know how to get under your skin, but he also owed you something. A bet from a few months ago, one that he’d conveniently forgotten about, had never been paid off. He’d promised you $20, but you’d decided that money wasn’t going to be enough. You needed a more... creative solution.

Later, you found him in the kitchen, casually sipping from a beer bottle as he leaned against the counter, chatting with JJ about something work-related. You leaned against the doorframe and crossed your arms.

“Morgan,” you said, catching his attention. He looked up and smiled at you, eyebrows raising in that playful way he had. “I need your help.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Help with what?”

You stepped into the kitchen and lowered your voice so the others wouldn’t overhear explaining your situation. Reminding him: “You owe me.”

Morgan laughed, shaking his head. “I owe you $20, not a day of pretending to be your boyfriend to get your parents off your back.”

You shot him a pleading look. “You don’t have to pretend. I just need you to show up. You’ve been promising to pay me back for months, and now it’s time to cash in.”

Morgan gave you a skeptical look. “You’re not serious. You want me to pretend to be your boyfriend for a whole Thanksgiving dinner just so your parents stop grilling you about your love life?”

You gave him a tight smile. “Yes, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t back out this time.”

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Why don’t you ask Reid? He doesn’t have plans, and I know he would love to spend the day with you.”

You blinked. Spencer Reid. Of course.

The idea settled in your mind like the final piece of a puzzle. Spencer had always been there for you, another one of your closest friends, and there was something about the way he made you feel seen and heard that was hard to ignore. You’d never considered him in that way—until now. But he’d be perfect. Sweet, thoughtful Spencer Reid.

“Fine,” you said, nodding. “I’ll ask him. But if he says no, I’m coming back for you, Morgan.”

Morgan grinned. “Good luck with that. I’ll see you at the dinner table.”

The next morning, you called Spencer. You felt your heart skip a beat when he picked up.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Spencer, it's me," you said, trying to sound casual. "I know this is going to sound a little weird, but... I was wondering if you could help me out with something for Thanksgiving."

There was a brief pause on the other end, and you could practically hear his brain working. "Help you out with what?"

“Well, my family has been asking me a lot of questions about my non-existent love life,” you began, biting your lip. “And I need a favor. I was wondering if you’d be willing to come with me to dinner, pretend to be my boyfriend for a few hours, and—”

“I’m in,” he interrupted, and you could hear the smile in his voice.

“Wait, really?” You blinked, surprised. Spencer didn’t usually do anything unless it was deeply thought through, but he was practically jumping at the chance.

"Yeah, I mean, I don’t have any big plans. Plus, it sounds like fun."

You grinned. “Thank you, Spencer. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

Thanksgiving came, and Spencer arrived at your parents' house looking absolutely perfect. He was dressed casually, a simple button-up shirt tucked into dark jeans, but he wore it like it was tailor-made. You caught a glimpse of him as he walked up to the front door, and you couldn’t help but smile. He looked so... natural. Like he belonged here.

He was a hit from the moment he walked in.

Spencer immediately jumped into action, offering to help your mom set up the table, making polite conversation with your relatives, and even playing games with the kids. At one point, he entertained them with a few simple magic tricks, causing the little ones to cheer and clap. He was effortlessly charming, the perfect boyfriend.

And then, as you watched him pull out a chair for your grandmother and help her sit down, you realized you hadn’t been giving Spencer enough credit. He wasn’t just good at pretending to be your boyfriend—he was the kind of guy you would want to spend forever with.

Later, while everyone else was busy eating and chatting, you and Spencer took a quiet walk out back, toward the woods behind your parents’ house. The sun was just starting to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of pink and orange.

You both walked in comfortable silence, the air crisp against your skin as you ventured deeper into the trees. Spencer’s hands were tucked into his jacket pockets, and you couldn’t help but steal a glance at him every so often. Something had shifted between you today. He was the same Spencer you’d always known, but the way he held himself around you, the way he had stepped in without hesitation… it had made you see him differently.

Finally, after a few minutes of walking, you stopped, turning to face him. The soft glow of the setting sun illuminated his features, casting a warm light on his face. He looked at you with an expression that was a mix of curiosity and something deeper.

“Spencer,” you began, your voice quiet but steady. “I just wanted to say... thank you. You really helped me out today, and I couldn’t have done it without you.”

He smiled, but there was something else in his eyes. “I’m glad I could be here for you,” he said softly. “I’ll always be here for you.”

You took a deep breath, the weight of your emotions catching up with you. “I think I’m falling in love with you, Spencer.”

His eyes softened, and he took a step closer to you, a faint smile curling at the corners of his lips. “I think I’m okay with that.”

In that moment, you realized something you hadn’t fully acknowledged before: you didn’t need to pretend. You didn’t need to act for anyone else. Because you and Spencer—well, you were already something real.

[nanamineedstherapy]

Mouth to Meat

Cannibal Yakuza Sukuna X [Retracted] F!Reader (AO3)

A/N: This one-shot is inspired by an amazing fic idea shared by @sukuna-ryo. Thank you so much for letting me explore this concept! Your creativity brought this to life, and I hope I did it justice. 💕

Chapter 1 - The Price of Curiosity (Ao3)

GIF by feitanporter

Summery: Dr. Y/N L/N is tasked with profiling Ryomen Sukuna, a feared yakuza boss known for his violent tendencies and taste for human flesh. Through a series of therapy sessions, she gains his trust—or so it seems. But Sukuna isn’t the only predator in the room. Behind Y/N’s professional demeanor hides a secret far darker than even Sukuna’s sins. When the masks drop, it’s clear: monsters don’t always look like him.

Tags: Sukuna x Reader Cannibalism Yakuza AU Dark Psychology Slow Reveal Manipulation Monster x Monster Energy Gritty, morally ambiguous character studies

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of violence Implied cannibalism Moral ambiguity (everyone’s awful) Mentions of child endangerment

Please read tags/warnings as this will get dark!

The room smelled faintly of metal and antiseptic, overpowered by the stink of Sukuna’s restraints. He leaned back in his chair, chains rattling against the bolted-down table, lips curved into an irritated smirk. Another day, another self-important idiot thinking they could peel back the layers of Ryomen Sukuna like some common criminal.

When the door opened, his curiosity barely flickered. Until she walked in.

Unlike the usual parade of interrogators or officials, she carried herself with a casual confidence. No clipboard. No body armor. Just a slim file in her hand and eyes sharp enough to cut glass.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Sukuna,” she said as she sat across from him, her tone light, unbothered.

His gaze dragged over her like a predator sizing up prey. “And you are?”

“Dr. Y/N L/N. Forensic psychologist. I’m here to evaluate you.”

He chuckled, low and mocking. “Oh, they sent another one. Let me guess—you’re going to crack open my head and figure out what makes me tick?”

Her lips twitched, almost a smile. “Something like that.”

Leaning forward, Sukuna rested his chin on his palm, the chains clinking with the movement. “Tell me, Doc, what’s the diagnosis so far?”

“You’re impatient,” she said easily. “And maybe a little bored.”

For the first time in years, Sukuna’s smirk faltered—just a hair. “Keep talking.”

She set the file down, not even opening it. “You’re not here because of some uncontrollable bloodlust, are you? You’re not a mindless killer. Every choice you make has purpose. Even your cannibalistic tendencies—they’re calculated.”

His grin widened, shark-like. “You’ve done your homework.”

“I have,” she replied, leaning forward slightly. Her voice dropped, just enough to draw him in. “I know you don’t just eat to survive or for power. You do it to send a message. To dehumanize your victims.”

“Or to elevate myself,” he shot back, amused. “It’s not about dehumanization, Doctor. It’s about taking what others won’t. What they can’t.”

She tilted her head, intrigued. “And what does that give you?”

“Dominance.” His tone was smug, matter-of-fact. “In every way that matters.”

There was a pause, the kind that should have made anyone squirm. But Y/N met his gaze without flinching.

“Does it ever get old?” she asked softly.

The question caught him off guard, though he didn’t let it show. “You’d be surprised, Doc. The taste of fear? That never gets old.”

She leaned back, as if satisfied, and tapped a finger on the edge of the table. “You fascinate me, Sukuna. You don’t just kill—you savor it. I’ve seen your records. You’re… meticulous.”

“You sound impressed,” he teased, voice low and dangerous.

“Maybe I am.” Her smile was small but sharp. “Or maybe I see potential.”

His laughter echoed through the room, rich and feral. “Potential for what? Rehabilitation?”

“Something like that,” she said cryptically. .

.

The sessions continued daily. Y/N’s approach was unorthodox—no lectures, no moralistic speeches. She asked questions that dug deep, steering the conversations toward his cannibalistic acts. Why this victim, why that moment? What did he feel when he consumed them?

Sukuna, for once, played along, curious to see how far she’d go. She didn’t flinch at his answers, no matter how grotesque. If anything, she seemed intrigued, even... amused.

“You’re not like the others,” he said one day, eyes narrowing as she scribbled something in her notes.

“Is that a compliment?”

“An observation.”

Her smile was polite, but her eyes betrayed something darker. “Maybe we’re not so different.” .

The room was quiet after Y/N left for the day. Sukuna leaned back, replaying their conversation. She was digging for something, and he wasn’t sure what. Not fear. Not control. Something deeper.

His tongue clicked against his teeth as he mulled it over.

.

Meanwhile, Y/N stepped into her dimly lit apartment, setting her bag down by the door. She pulled off her coat, revealing the faintest smear of something dark—something red—on the cuff of her sleeve.

In the kitchen, she opened her fridge. Rows of vacuum-sealed packages lined the shelves, each labeled with dates and initials. She reached for one, her fingers brushing the plastic before pulling it out.

“Meticulous,” she murmured, her smile stretching wide as she placed the package on the counter. A butcher’s knife gleamed under the fluorescent light.

As she sliced into the flesh, her mind wandered to the child she had rescued from an alley once, its tiny body trembling with gratitude. The memory turned deliciously dark as she savored the look of dawning horror on its face when it realized not every woman was as kind as its mother. Y/N reveled in the bitter taste of fear—fear that lingered, even after the flesh was cooked.

She set the knife down, adjusting the heat on the stove to a low simmer. A small smile tugged at her lips, wicked and sharp. “He thinks he’s a monster,” she murmured, almost lovingly. “He has no idea.”

.

Back in the cell, Sukuna’s smirk returned. His instincts screamed that Y/N L/N was far more dangerous than she appeared.

And for the first time in years, he wasn’t bored.

A/N: Thank you for reading! 💀✨ I had way too much fun diving into the twisted dynamic between Sukuna and Y/N. What did you think of their little “therapy session”? Who do you think is the real monster here? 👀 I’d love to hear your thoughts, theories, or even just your favorite line! Drop a comment and let me know if you’d like more stories like this—or if you think Sukuna ever stood a chance. 😉 Your feedback means the world and keeps me inspired! 💬🖤

Chapter 2 - Flesh and Stone (Final Chapter) (Tumblr/AO3)

All Works Masterlist

[thelightsandtheroses]

one: florida!!!!

Call It What You Want | Frankie Morales x OFC

Summary: Daisy never expected to move to Florida but recovering from burnout in the sunshine state seems a good enough plan. Years after the death of her estranged half-brother, Tom, she finds herself agreeing to move in with Frankie Morales, Tom’s former army colleague and friend. Falling for her roommate, who is definitely keeping secrets about your brother’s death, may not be the best way to ensure a fresh start, or is it actually what they both needed all along? Chapter Warnings: 18+ blog MDNI, mentions of previous canon death and grief, references to corporate burnout Word Count: 3.7k Notes: Please note I am not from Florida, or even the US, so there’s a degree of creative license here, What I know about firefighting probably comes from 9-1-1, other firefighter shows, or google so please don’t think this is gong to be an accurate depiction of the Florida FD for Frankie. It’s fic, babes, let’s let me be a little self-indulgent. This is a rewrite of my first fic which felt too fast, too angsty and not the story I wanted to tell for a concept I really loved. It’s seen some considerable changes since then while retaining several themes, but I am so excited to share this and particularly this version of Frankie who has been rotting my brain for months and months 🔥 🔥🫠

Series Masterlist | Next. | A03

Palm trees, beaches and viral memes. That’s what I’ve always associated with Florida. It never struck me as a potential place I would make my home. I thought I might vacation there one day perhaps; some time in a distant future when I had a real grown-up life and family and we would go to the theme parks, buy overpriced merchandise and fried food and take cheesy photos before flying or driving home.

It’s funny how things work out though, isn’t it?

I pull into the apartment block with trepidation.

This is the fourteenth apartment I’ve viewed this week. Fourteen. I thought the market back in Chicago was bad but this is a whole new hellscape, or maybe it was easier because I knew more people back then. College roommates turn into post-college roommates and your circle is fully formed. It means you have people when you need to find a new place, there’s a whisper network, friends of friends.

I don’t have that anymore.

I want it though. I miss it.

I think I miss it.

The advert says that this listing is for a single room and the apartment is occupied by a group of young professional women. It’s the best option I’ve come across yet in my browsing of online postings which has taken me through several levels of Dante’s inferno. Facebook is just one above Craigslist in the hierarchy of the internet hellscapes I’ve seen recently.  One guy asked for my shoe size and asked if I routinely wore high heels before I could view the apartment. Safe to say, that one went off the list extremely quickly. It was a shame though - that listing had a double room and balcony, but I think I can see why it’s been listed for over sixty days now.

I haven’t had a roommate since college and this whole process has been a soul-crushing exercise on my already fragile self esteem. I don’t think I can take much more of this.

I take a deep breath. I’ve got this. I will find a room so I can move out of Molly’s and do something, anything with my life. Anything that’s not just existing in this strange purgatory I’ve found myself in. I’m potentially placing too much importance on the apartment here, but it’s a symbol, an omen.

It’s a fresh start. A signal to the universe that I’m here, that I’m doing something.

I feel like everything else I’m hoping and dreaming of can’t even start unless I have an apartment, and I can’t afford my own apartment and start a business so I need to find a roommate.

Maybe this is finally the one.

“It was so bad, Benny,” I say, taking a glug of lukewarm beer. “It was like being in high school over again, but worse. Infinitely worse!”

“Worse?” Benny tilts his head as he asks the question, something that only heightens my association between him and golden retrievers.

“Yes, because I’m not sixteen with a promise it’ll get better when I ‘find my people’ in college. This sucks. What was I thinking? Clearly I wasn’t. Maybe I should have stayed …” I trail off awkwardly.

“You were thinking that Florida is the perfect place to start over, which it is, Daisy,” he replies confidently.

Benny and his brother, Will, have played a considerable part in my move here. They served with my half-brother Tom.

Tom died more than five years ago - I don’t really know much about how it happened, Tom and I weren’t particularly close. There was an age difference, I sometimes felt he didn’t want me as a sister. I was only a reminder of his own parents’ relationship breakdown after all. I wish I could say we had that sibling bond but we didn’t. It’s clear to me his real siblings were the men in his team - he was their brother.

After his death though, Will kept in touch with me. I wondered if he thought he needed to fill a gap from Tom, if there was a sense of responsibility there. Tom never called me though except for birthdays and Christmas. I haven’t told Will that though.

It’s been nice feeling like I have a big brother. The irony isn’t lost on me that I feel this the most once my actual big brother is dead.

Will encouraged me to move down here, as did Molly, Tom’s ex-wife. They said I needed a fresh start and maybe they’re right.

I can’t remember the last time I felt like me. I’m not even sure what that feels like now, who I’m supposed to be and who I am really.

Florida seems a good place for reinvention though, for something new. I’m closer to the beach, to weekends spent with my toes scrunched in the sand as I sip coffee and read books. Days spent with Benny and Will

“Hey Benny,” A voice calls as I hear the front door open.

“We’re in here.“

“You remember Frankie, right?” Benny asks casually. “Tom woulda called him Catfish?”

“Uh, sure.” I don’t but I won’t admit to that. I remember the name vaguely, but that’s all. Tom wasn’t big on the details of his life with me.

“You probably saw him at the wake last,” Benny adds.

Even if it hadn’t been four years ago since I last saw him, all I can remember of Tom’s funeral is a procession of strangers and the continual vibration of my work phone as I stood in a strange graveyard. That whole day was a stark reminder of the distance between us, that my own blood was a ghost to me even when he was alive. It bought me Molly, Tess and Will though.

Frankie walks in. He’s a little older than Benny but younger than Tom was. He’s all dark eyes and curls peeking out through a battered baseball cap; softly tanned skin and that smile … that smile is something. If he could bottle that up and sell it, I’m pretty sure he’d find a captive market.

“Frankie, you remember Daisy, right? She’s moved here,” Benny says. “She’s starting a coffee van.”

“Uh - yeah.” Frankie has no clue who I am, but his efforts to conceal that are admirable. “Now you mention it, Will might have said something about that. You’re uh, staying with Molly for now, right? You were in Boston before?” I nod, wondering what Will has exactly said to Frankie about my move. “A coffee van?”

“Eventually,” I add nervously, “It’s a whole process. So, I’m actually just temping for now while I get things sorted.” I have no idea why I’ve told him that, why I still want to introduce myself based on my career, on my outward accomplishments. I’m almost surprised I haven't tried to find an old business card in my pocket or referred him to my LinkedIn profile where it neatly lists all my employable skills and experience.

 Daisy is highly skilled in project management, board engagement, data analysis  and most of all completely falling apart all of the time, but she makes a mean slide deck. Plus, guess what, she’s open to work!

“Oh, right, cool.”

“Frankie works for the fire department. He’s a firefighter pilot now,” Benny says. “Out here making me look bad.”

“Aw, I keep telling you don’t need my job to do that, Benny.”

Benny laughs heartily and throws a cushion at Frankie who catches it with ease and a raised eyebrow.

“Well, that’s definitely cooler than paperwork and admin.”

“Not really,” Frankie says, “I mean, it’s not really cool if you know what I mean.”

“Oh,” you say with a groan, “that might be the most dad joke I’ve heard.”

“It’s a classic though,” he replies lightly. “You got a soda, Benny?”

“Fridge. Wait, I just had a brilliant idea,” Benny suddenly interjects with a grin. “I mean, I’m a genius.”

“Oh yeah?” Frankie asks, one eyebrow quirking up. “About soda?”

“No, no, no. You need a roommate, right?”

“Yes?” Frankie replies slowly with the seasoned reluctance of someone who knows exactly what Benny’s brilliant ideas usually result in.

“Daze needs a room, you need a solid roommate, voila!” Benny makes a complicated hand gesture and smiles widely.

It seems too simple, too obvious but despite the terrible apartment earlier, my heart races as I wonder what if Benny’s onto something.

“Benny, I’m sure Daisy would -”

“How soon is it available?” I ask.

“Uh, immediately. My last roommate moved in with his boyfriend, which is great for him, but I’ve been struggling to find anyone suitable for it since then.”

“Suitable?” Immediately flashbacks of the weird Craigslist ads come back to me, please don’t say Frankie is going to say something odd. “What do you mean, suitable?” I really hope Frankie isn’t actually the weird shoe size guy from Craigslist.

“I have a kid who stays with me regularly. I need someone I can trust, someone safe to be around him, and someone who’s not going to be a …”

“Frankie wanted to mandate a background check,” Benny interrupts, before raising his hands at Frankie’s expression. “I said I got it! Perhaps, if you interrogated people less though ….”

“I’m not gonna apologise for prioritising my kid.”

“So, do I need a background check to apply then?”

“Nah,” Benny says, “you’re Tom’s sister, right Frankie?”

There’s a comforting weight to his words. The conviction in his voice, the simple answer that takes it for granted that maybe I’m not one of them, but I’m adjacent at least. It feels unfamiliar. I’ve never been Tom’s sister, not to Tom at least.

I feel as though I’m wearing someone else’s skin, another identity, and it’s alien but comforting. It’s an identity I never knew I could wear. One I never even knew was an option.

“You’re actually considering this then?” Frankie asks, eyebrows raised.

“Well, yeah. Benny’s heard all about my nightmare of an apartment hunt so far… unless, I mean. If you don’t want to then that’s fine.”

“Alright Tom’s sister,” Frankie begins with a soft smile.

“Daisy.”

“Daisy. “I’ll send you the info. let me know whether you’re still interested then. No pressure.” His voice is honey smooth, low and there’s something else.

His eyes.

They’re kind. Soulful even.

“I’m interested,” I say without thinking. “I’m definitely interested.”

Of course life isn’t as simple as just being interested in the apartment and one magically falling into my hands. Frankie texts me the information which is sadly towards the top end of my truly pitiful budget but includes a double room, furnishings and the apartment has a balcony which in itself is a big reason enough to say yes. I instantly conjure up a romantic image of me sipping from a steaming mug of coffee in the mornings, watching the sunrise.

It’s farcical. I hate the sunrise, or at least being up at that time. I’m not a morning person at the best of times. 

Frankie says there’s a beach view from the balcony though … if you squint, lean one arm and twist at a very precise angle. It’s something he has advised he doesn’t recommend without exceptional health insurance though so that’s definitely off the table for now. He mentioned it’s close enough that the landlord said it was a coastal view but it’s clearly not really.

Texting him feels so easy - there’s a lightness to the conversation, even as we talk about something as serious as becoming roommates. It’s why I’ve agreed to this - the next step and the one that is now filling me with dread.

The coffee shop we decided to meet at is halfway between his place and Molly’s. I haven’t been here before but I mentally take notes of the roast, of the general ambience. The brownies look amazing - the perfect combination of a fudgy middles and the solid crackly top that immediately calls to me.

It’s a neutral space though, one where we can finally make a decision of am I becoming Frankie’s roommate or not.

I think I want to.

I really can’t take another week of Craigslist -especially after watching that true crime documentary last night.

I twist the empty sugar packet into a knot, only looking up as the doorbell chimes. I see Frankie immediately.

He’s wearing a baseball cap, dark hair curling out from underneath and the Florida FD hoodie he’s wearing looks particularly well worn, comfortable. I can almost imagine how it smells.

No. No. This is a roommate negotiation.

“Hey,” Frankie says as I stand up to greet him. I immediately panic - is this a hug situation, that feels too familiar, but a handshake feels like an awkward callback to my corporate days. I have no idea what I’m supposed to do.

“Oh, you already ordered?” Frankie asks.

“Yeah, sorry, I got here a bit early. Overestimated the traffic. I haven’t been here long.” Frankie looks at my almost empty mug of coffee, cocking one eyebrow.

“No worries. Do you mind if I grab a drink though? Want another?”

“Oh no, I’m good, thanks.”

“Okay.”

He walks over to the counter and I sit down and watch him carefully. This is a test really, an opportunity to try and work out his personality further. Does he talk to the barista? Is he cold or insufferable? Is he rude? These are all qualities I should be able quickly establish in just a few moments. Mum always taught me to notice these things on a date, to tease out those basics in the early days. Not that it’s foolproof. Not always at least.

Frankie seems. pleasant though, laughing with the barista but there’s almost a shyness about him. I don’t get it. From how Benny described him - a pilot, a firefighter pilot no less, I would have expected him to be as extroverted as Benny.

Frankie’s a surprise though. There’s a quietness to him, a slow and careful evaluation in each glance, in how he takes in the cafe around us as he sits opposite me. He’s assessing everything too and it occurs to me that as much as I’ve set this meeting up to work out if I can live with him, he’s doing the exact same thing.

The people pleaser in me instantly calls to attention, ready to perform and be perfect, be liked. To succeed. Automatically I straighten my posture, try and remember my very best table manners. I prepare to perform.

“What’s your poison?” I ask, which is a phrase I never use and an immediate sign I need to shift out of performance mode.

“Just an Americano.”

“Oh.”

“You don’t approve?”

“no, I guess it’s fine. I mean, I would personally recommend a pour-over and filter coffee than a watered down espresso. Something like a V60 or a -”

“I see what Benny meant about the coffee truck.”

“I’m not judging!”

He raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, only judging a tiny bit. Mostly I’m rambling. I’m just - I’ve never got the watered down espresso thing.”

“It’s got two extra shots in if that helps,” he confides with a smirk, “I was on shift yesterday.”

“Oh, we could have arranged this for later -”

“It’s fine. The shift wasn’t too bad, even got a few hours sleep!” Frankie empties sugar into his coffee and smiles up at me.

“How did you end up in the FD then? I don’t – I don’t remember it from before.”

Frankie pauses, twisting the empty sugar packet in his hands. The silence holds just long enough I worry I need to change the conversation before he speaks. “A couple of years ago I needed a change. It’s been good, much better than commercial helicopter flights for rich people.”

“Making a difference?”

“Trying to.” A ghost passes over his eyes. I immediately realise the link - Tom. His death. Was that the trigger for Frankie joining the fire department?

“Anyway, the apartment -” Frankie starts, reaching for his phone, “I took some new photos this morning.”

His wallpaper is him with a small boy. His son. I take in the wide toothy smile on his photo, the bright shine in his eyes and the same features I can see in Frankie, accompanied by a head full of brown curls.

“Felix,” Frankie says, a soft smile on his face.

“He looks like you.”

“Poor kid.”

“No, I mean - uh, how old is he?”

“Four and a half. He stays with me on alternate weekends, if I’m off shift, and sometimes in the week if his mom’s working late or something. A lot of it depends on my work patterns but that’s the general rule of thumb.” He wrings his hands together and I wonder what the story is there.

I have limited experience with children to say the least.

I’ve reached that point where half of my friends are parents, sharing photo after photo on their social media and speaking a whole new language. In contrast, the rest of my friends appear still mentally stuck in their early twenties party mindset. I’ve never been sure where I fit in with that; I’m definitely not a huge partier, but that sort of responsibility and commitment has filled me with anxiety. Maybe it’s my choice in friendships, in love.

I try not to think about it too much, the friendships left to dust over, the dates I was too scared to go on. I threw myself into my work instead because it felt safer somehow. I defined myself by my career and made that the only metric that matter.  I poured all of myself into the corporate world for all those years and it turns out I was naive. So naive. I actually thought they cared about me.

It’s hilarious in hindsight. Now I’m in Florida without even a leaving card to commend the efforts I put in. I’m a barely remembered spectre in the place I once thought I was indispensable in. A shameful secret swept under the rug. A never repeated name.

I can’t go back to that world again.

“Are you okay?” Frankie asks, concern creasing his brow. Great, five minutes into talking about becoming roommates and he already clearly thinks I’m disturbed.

“I’m fine, sorry, must have drifted away for a second.”

“Happens to us all,” he says lightly. “So, is that a problem?” Frankie folds his arms and I get the clear sense that he’s annoyed, that I’ve missed an important cue somewhere.

“Is what a problem?” I ask.

“Felix staying at the apartment, because sorry but it’s a non-negotiable”

“No, not at all. No, I just … I drifted away, like I said.”

“Right.”

Great, this is the first apartment that feels reasonable, and Frankie seems like a nice person and I’m wrecking it. Somehow at best, I’m managing to come across as scatty and someone who doesn’t listen, and a child hater at worst.

I need to get out of Molly’s. I need to make Florida work for me.

“I do that sometimes,” I say quietly, “It doesn’t mean I’m not listening, or anything. It’s just … it’s just something that happens. I don’t have a problem at all with Felix or …. it’s your home, Frankie.”

He pauses. “If you take the room, it’s yours too though.”

“And I get why you’re being careful about who takes the room because of that. Look, I can’t promise I won’t secretly judge your coffee choices, or leave coffee grounds everywhere, or watch really terrible TV from time to time, but I …”

“You don’t have to explain. I get it.”

“You do?”

“I do.” Frankie smiles. “So, you’re still interested in the room then? You really wanna do this? I thought Benny might be putting you up to this and I won’t be offended if you don’t want to live with some random guy.”

“Benny keeps reminding me you’re not though, are you?”

Frankie shrugs and looks away, something flashing over his eyes briefly that feels a little haunted.

Since moving back to Florida, I’ve realised that, at least for Benny and Will, Tom’s death is still an open wound even now. It makes me feel worse sometimes because Will was so kind to me after the funeral, so keen to ensure I knew they’d be there if I needed them, that I could rely on them in Tom’s absence and I didn’t know how to say I’d never been able to rely on Tom. My brother spent his life a half-stranger to me and I feel like a fraud pretending we were real siblings.  In five and a half years, the Millers and my brother’s ex-wife have been more of a family to me than Tom ever was.

“It’s okay,” Frankie says, “I’m sure you’ve got far better roommate options.”

“I actually really don’t. One guy asked for foot pics, and these women kind of judged me because I wasn’t corporate enough anymore, so I don’t have a wealth of better options.”

Frankie frowns slightly.

“It’s a brutal market. And your place looks… nice and you seem like you wouldn’t ask for -”

“Some guy really asked for that?”

“I blocked him, it’s fine. It’s the internet, Frankie.”

“Sometimes I fucking hate that thing.”

“Yeah, but I like being able to shop in my pyjamas.”

Frankie laughs. “Okay, fair point. So, Daisy, do you want the room? ‘Cause if you do, it’s yours.”

My heart races. The room is mine? It’s not just that I’ll be escaping from feeling like a perennial thorn in Molly’s life, but it’s a beginning. Finally I have the chance to make something here, to be Daisy 2.0 and leave the corporate burnt out husk of my old self in the rearview mirror.

“You don’t have some weird neighbour who plays the bagpipes at 3am?”

“No, I don’t have one of those. It’s a normal building.”

“Good, just wanted to check. Okay then, yeah, I think I do. Want the room that is.”

“Great. I’ll get the agreement emailed over to you and we’ll go from there.”

“This is going to be good”

“Yeah, yeah it is.”

I think this might be the handshake part.

Tag List

If you would like to be added to to my overall taglist please let me know - I am no longer creating individual fic taglists though. As a reminder this blog is 18+ - minors do not interact and I block blank/ageless blogs. Tag lists are a bit funky at the moment, so I recommend following me or my fic account @thelightsandtheroses-fics (you can enable notifications for that account) if you want to ensure you're up to date

Everything Pedro tag-list: @harriedandharassed @pedrostories @hiroikegawa @pedrosaidsheispunk @pastelnap

[thezombieprostitute]

Tech Tuesday: Jake Jensen

Summary: Jake knows he's the luckiest man in the world and it's all because of you.

A/N: Reader is female. No physical descriptors used.

Previous

Tech Tuesdays Masterlist

"Y' see, Jake, a lot o' people in this department ain't exactly friendly to others," Sy tells him. "In fact, it can be difficult for me an' Pine to assign anyone to tickets that require interacting with others."

Jake nods, a little nervously. "IT generally doesn't draw the most charismatic people."

"Which is a damn shame because, more and more, it requires some decent people skills," Sy agrees. "That's why Pine an' I were thinking of giving you a promotion." Jake's eyes go wide with shock. "The way things are right now, we assign tickets kinda randomly. We're interested in putting you in charge of the tickets. You'd be takin' on a lot more of the people focused work, the level 1 support, and the others'd be pickin' up more of your programming work. But since we all know workin' with people can be a pain, Pine's made sure to negotiate some more money into our budget for you. If you want the job."

"By 'in charge of tickets' do you mean I'd be taking them all on?"

"No, no, no," Sy assures. "Just that you'd be making them your priority. And you'd be assigning the level 2 and 3 support tickets around the department as you see fit."

"Won't that cut into your work?"

Syverson laughs at that. "Given how much o' my day is puttin' out fires caused by one of ours bein' rude to others in the building, yeah. But that just gives me more time for actually managing y'all, keepin' us up-to-date on projects, security measures and other stuff."

Jake thinks for a moment. "Does this mean I'll also be responsible for Lloyd's complaints about not getting Maestro assigned to his tickets?"

"He has eased up on that," Sy counters. "But yes."

"But this promotion gives me the authority to handle him, right?"

"That's correct."

Jake nods. "I'm in. Thanks so much for this!"

It had taken forever to get the twins to sleep for their afternoon naps. Leia couldn't stop fidgeting, at least until you gave her the Charmander stuffie to hold as you rocked them. But then Luke wanted his Bulbasaur and you ended up with overfull arms. Some days you're surprised your own biceps aren't as big as Jake's!

Jake's performance review was today and you wanted to make sure to cook up his favorite foods. You'd already sent some of his favorite snacks to work with him. You chuckle thinking about how quickly he can down a bottle of Mountain Dew. The bag of gummy worms to go with the meatball sub were, hopefully, a nice surprise for him. Generally all the sweets in the apartment were homemade but you know how much of a comfort gummy worms can be for him.

And after all Jake has done for you, for the twins, how could not comfort him? Be there for him? Jake never once talked down to you. Never made you feel like your hobbies or interests were a waste of time. He always made sure you felt loved and appreciated. You'd been together for so many years but you still giggle like a teenager whenever you think of him. And you know he does the same. Heck, you giggle as you think of him blushing pink and smiling as he thinks about you.

He's been working so hard to make sure you and the twins were provided for. The budget was sometimes tight but Jake made enough and your commissions were a good supplement. It just made sense for your little family to have a stay-at-home parent. Childcare costs for twins could be rough. But you got more creative with recipes, clothing, toys; your families were happy to help with a lot of the baby supplies; all of it resulting in all of you being able to live a nice, modest but incredibly happy life.

As the twins nap you get to work on the 5-cheese mac you know Jake loves. You're positive his performance review will go well, but it doesn't hurt to have a comfort food ready for him when he gets home.

Jake was practically bursting with excitement when he came home. As soon as he walked through the door the twins held out their hands, smiling, "Dada! Dada!" It always made his heart melt that they looked forward to his coming home. He picked them both up and spun, making them squeal with laughter. He takes a deep breath and knows what you're cooking up for dinner, making him smile even more. He's almost tearing up from how loved he feels.

"Dinner's just about ready," you call from the kitchen.

Jake looks to Luke and Leia, "you ready for dinner? Smells like Mama cooked up some really good food for us!" They both start chattering and laughing as Jake dances them over to their highchairs and gets them settled in. He joins you in the kitchen to help you carry things out and greets you with a big kiss.

"I take it the review went well?"

He starts visibly shaking with excitement, "so well! Let's get dinner started and I'll tell you!"

"Tease!" you smile at him as the two of you take things out to the table, making him laugh. Seeing him laugh causes the twins to renew their laughing and your heart warms all the more for it.

You and Jake alternate dishing out the food for yourselves and the twins. Even though it's certainly cooled down, Luke still holds out his spoon of mac and cheese for you to blow on it. Meanwhile Jake is helping to portion control Leia's ketchup for her chicken nuggets. Both of you are certain she'd drink the ketchup if left unattended so you've developed a system of adding a little dollop to each one as she's eating. Sometimes Jake thinks she views it as a game to play and he hopes she never grows out of it.

After the twins are sated a bit, you and Jake can finally dig in to your own plates. Jake gives all the appreciative moans he knows make you smile. It helps that your cooking is genuinely so damn delicious.

"Now will you finally tell me how the review went?"

"I'm getting a promotion!"

You squeal with happiness, causing a chain reaction with the twins. "A promotion! That's so wonderful! So well deserved!"

Jake blushes, "thank you, Sunshine. And it even comes with a pay raise! I think, after a few months, we can start looking at getting a bigger place!"

"Oh, Jakey! That's so wonderful! I really feel like we should celebrate!"

"I can think of a few ways to celebrate," Jake says, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Definitely," you confirm with a giggle as heat rushes to your face. "I'm also thinking we should do a gaming night."

Jake's eyes go wide, "yes, please! Oh that would be so amazing! Not as amazing as you, but still amazing. God I love you so much, Sunshine! You're the best thing to ever happen to me---"

"I feel the same about you, Jakey," you say softly.

Next

Tech Tuesdays Masterlist

Tagging: @alicedopey; @delicatebarness; @ellethespaceunicorn; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory;

@late-to-the-party-81; @lokislady82; @ronearoundblindly; @thiquefunlover63

[sw1ft-sniff]

life series canary curse hc

ok so I have a head cannon involving like the canary curse, so since the curse has moved on from Jimmy I had the idea what if every season a new player was marked for the first death by the Canary,,

As the Canary’s Cursed (the players that have the curse to die first that season) progress further to their death, they gain traits to that of a canary, feathers, wings, sounds. Then after they die it all instantly goes away like it never occurred and to make it angstier all the avian players will notice first, cause they just know avians and no one will know why until they finally understand it then as soon as someone presents canary traits they know they’re marked for death, (and for this work only the winners remember their individual season so no one really knows who’s gonna be cursed or don’t remember the curse)

For out example, we’ll go with mumbo since he died first this season and I don’t want to go find out how many episodes it took for Lizzy to die in secret life.

Mumbo will have spawned in with everyone else and the first day goes as normal,

when he wakes up the next time he notices maybe a feather or few somewhere and removes them cause who would think too much about a feather, progressively through out the days it gets more extreme.

Each progression is individual though, but since mumbo died in five episodes we’ll make that five days, day 3 he has upper back pain that only increases till day 4, along the way he has feathers grow along his face or back and he has properly noticed that there is something terribly wrong.

Then on the day he dies, he’ll get his wings (I’ll leave this part to your own creative liberties) and when he dies he’ll wake up back with no wings or feathers, (maybe a few features but it will just eventually fade away as the curse isn’t strong enough to be permanent like with Jimmy)

oh and cause like grian remembers ever season he’ll know about the curse by the second or third time, and he just won’t be able to speak about it otherwise it causes more pain for the cursed :)

[by-glass-and-waves]

Idk last night I ended up writing like 1k words related to ND-5 and Kay Vess instead of doing my work homework and it ain't even done but I'm carving the sentences I do have into points lmao

If I do end up posting something, prob gonna be a oneshot collection? I dunno. Ain't going over the top like with Courtship's literary themes, Byronesque Narinder, worldbuilding, and deliberate word lego placement. It's refreshing to have the words come out more easily again though the more they fester the more I'm gonna start adding shit and go over the top

Working titles: The Equation/Variable Named Kay Vess (from ND-5; equation flows better, variable more appropriate?)/The Case Study of ND-5 (from Kay)

Have a peep:

He was passing the time going through their inventory—not trying to find any other layers for Kay, mind—when he heard shuffling from her bunk. A quick scan revealed she was not in emergent distress but instead, cold. Still. Even in the Trailblazer, the ship's heater working in satisfactory condition nearby, was she shivering and curling up under her blanket.

His vision trailed to the discarded coat on the couch. It would be adequate for warmth, but was too short to cover her entire body.

Beyond logic, one part of him proposed his own coat. Kay Vess wouldn't sleep well if she kept shivering like this, it stated. If she didn't sleep well, her judgment would become impaired. Impaired judgment led to mistakes. Mistakes led to death. Death meant a displeased Jaylen and a search for a new slicer which would be most inconvenient.

It was logically sound, he decided, shrugging off his coat and exposing his arms to the air. There was little doubt of his droid origins, now that there was nothing to conceal it.

Exposure. Concealment. Such organic concepts. They brought forth the recollection of an old story, where mortals covered themselves out of shame after falling to the temptation of knowledge. A program began running a comparison between himself and the figures, before—

ND-5 halted and ended the process. The information was irrelevant to the matter at hand. His hands, ever precise, draped the coat over Kay Vess.

[welcometogrouchland]

Batman #149 by chip zdarsky is mostly unremarkable, but I'm really fascinated by how it makes a great case for 'good' endings not saving 'bad' stories*. Because there's a lot of interesting concepts in this issue (bruce having to deal with his rapidly aging and decaying clone making him think about his own life, re-establishing a 'nest' so to speak for his family after pushing them away, etc) but bc of the OOC slog that came before it, almost every moment w/ the batfamily comes off as unearned and disingenuous imo.

Like, everything with Damian is the perfect example in this. Because in isolation it's...fine. admittedly it's a missed opportunity to not go deeper into how Damian would feel about a clone of his dad who tried to kill considering Damian's relationships with clones of himself (the heretic rejects and respawn) or with former enemies who wanted him dead but who were manipulated and/or brainwashed (like suren and maya).

Zdarsky doesn't go into any of this but you could maybe excuse it as the issue not being about Damian. However, coupled with the previous bizarre characterizations of Damian in 147 and 148, it ends up not being fine- instead it starts to feel...icky how Damian (who, despite often being drawn and written as white, will never have his connection to the non-white al ghuls forgotten and will always be effected by racism even when not portrayed as a poc) is constantly written as overly violent, uncaring and narrow minded in this run. Coupled w/ trying to recanonize the morrison origin for Damian it's like. OH this is badly written and laden with subtle bigotry, sick**

That's me going into detail on it with Damian but it's applicable to other things in this issue- the way Cass, Steph and Duke have all been ignored or turned into jobbers makes their inclusion in the 'family' here feel hollow instead of satisfying. Bruce proclaiming that Zur was still a part of him and he needs to accept responsibility for his actions (when it means taking in clone son) wrings hollow when just last issue zdarsky was bending over backwards to separate Bruce and Zur bc otherwise the Jason thing would get really awkward. Ends are achieved through means that feel hollow or strange. I'm at my destination but damn why'd the bus have to do all that???

I only really have opinions on this latest arc of zdarskys Batman bc it's the one I've read the closest (bc I'm a hater, masochist and avid follower of even the bad damian storylines) but it's not saying great things.

Bc zdarsky can do one thing good in this book, and it's write Bruce and Tim. And yet this entire story, whether of his own volition or editorial mandate, includes other characters who aren't Bruce and Tim, the fabric starts to unravel in very telling ways.

(p.s, I think pennyworth manor is an interesting idea but I feel like in execution it's just gonna be 'bruce living in a house haunted by the memory of the people he couldn't save' but with a different dead guy this time. Illusion of change and whatnot)

*whether or not the ending is good is up to you ofc, as is your opinion on the proceeding arc! I saw some ppl complain that the ending was too "WFA" for them, which I get even if I dont think it'll literally be the same premise. If anything it's probably a lead into the new tec run. Likewise many ppl who aren't in the weeds of Damian and Jason characterization liked the previous arc! But I have my opinions and rest my case before the bench

**disclaimer, I'm white and portrayals of bigotry in comics are complicated and subjective, but I am basing my point here off what other poc comic fans on socmed have been saying about 149. Also the "sick" is sarcasm incase that wasn't obvious

[cnth-rb]

WIP

[carcarrot]

having another one of my job-related crises

[crossbackpoke-check]

Dysprosium, Mary Soon Lee

dysprosium, AN 66, is a silvery-white rare earth metal. its name is derived from the greek dysprositos, meaning “hard to get at”, owing to the difficulty in separating and isolating this rare earth element. dysprosium is used to measure neutron flux, to fuel reactors, and to activate phosphors. terfenol-d is a magnetorestrictive alloy, meaning that it changes shape when a magnetic field is applied, and is used to manufacture underwater acoustic systems.

jason “robo” robertson, dallas stars #21 for @simmyfrobby’s nhl periodic table poems <3

[buttercup-barf]

Under the cut are mostly self-insert doodles of decreasing quality. Again, not much directly tied to Team Fortress 2. Might as well toss these out while I have no access to my puter. Much yapping under the cut and in the tags incoming.

Another self-insert, this time less of a "here's me as a tenth class" and more of a "here's my game experiences translated into the class I would take the place of". The Cleaner. Although I guess they could still be wearing either suit. It doesn't matter that much.

That one Convict's Case taunt with Backup would be extremely funny, because the man would be on the verge of a breakdown (he does not want to go to jail so bad you have no idea). The second image- I owe no explanation. You know what I am. You see the pattern with my favourites.

The duality of the man. Resting face versus "just heard you express interest in religion/Russian folklore" face. He's not that hard to make friends with, when you pull him away from all the explosions.

Some doodles of trying to figure his face out. Unfortunately, the more I stare at him, the more I worry that he looks like A Certain Guy With The Last Name "Kazarin", and the fear of never being original in my life caught up to me.

Don't look at me, don't perceive me, I refuse to explain any of my actions to you.

[cuteniaarts]

Behold, my latest and most enamouring new obsession:

Malina, Lady of the Chief of the Northern Water Tribe. As if Red Lotus child OCs weren’t niche enough

[yourdailyjormy]

Tourniquet

How do you stem the bleeding

When the wound is all there is?

I close my eyes

I try not to think too hard

about the flattened rubble

and the bloodstained streets

and the crowded camps and small boats

and the magnitude of suffering

.

When a wound can't be stemmed

When the poison can't be washed out

and the thought that there are people

who can look a hundred thousand corpses in the eye

and call it defence

and argue that they started it

What can you do

With your own problems?

.

Go numb

Find a reason that it's not your blood

And remember that it's a rule of triage

To fix your own bandages first;

Even if the wound isn't as bad

You can't heal others if you're passing out.

.

I cannot save Sudan

Or Palestine, or Lebanon,

Or the fleeing fearful folk washed ashore,

Or even one man frozen outside the Tesco's;

I cannot change the world.

I can only dress my own wounds

Before I bleed to death -

- slowly, yes, in dribs and drabs

and without the drama of disaster

but a knife is still a weapon

even if it's not a mortar shell -

There is nothing I can do for others' wounds

If I do not tend my own.

.

So I will find where my hope gives way to gaping wreckage

And where my energy bleeds out into the ground.

I will triage.

I will spare myself.

I will close my eyes to what I cannot change

And cut off the wounded limbs of humanity

With a tight ligature of What more can I say?

Wrapping empathy in a much-needed tourniquet

Because I am bleeding out.

.

And I will try not to think

About how many people have no tourniquets left.

.

And I will try not to think

How much of my pain I can cordon off

To stop the bleeding

Before the tourniquet has amputated all of me

And strangled around my heart.

[igneouswyvern]

i want to draw but i'm not happy with the way anything i draw turns out and none of the cool ideas in my head feel cool anymore when i start putting lines on the paper is that what you people call art block

[taldigi]

stupid fucking ai and shit was supposed to give us self-driving cars and a 4 hour work week- so we could play and make art and enjoy life.

Why bother to do anything or make anything when a robot can do it for you and you can reap the benefits without truly expressing yourself or learning anything? Why share any ideas when some rando on the internet can steal it, do it all via AI, and make money off it?