#anyway tonight was INCREDIBLE

[imgoingtocrash]

listen. LISTEN. being in a packed room and screaming WE. ARE. PARAMORE. at the top of your lungs is ethereal. it’s family, it’s home, it’s letting all of your demons out for a while. i can’t explain it but it is life changing.

[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?” 

[blackjackkent]

It doesn't feel real, truly.

Hector never considered himself a lonely man. The concept didn't really have meaning at the monastery; nobody was alone and yet everybody was, all of them existing primarily inside their own heads in worship or philosophy or study. If no one held him or spoke softly to him, caressed him or asked after him or loved him, what did that matter? He had the life of the mind and the history of the whole world to occupy him; he had the warmth of Selune's gaze in the moonlight outside the window of his bedroom cell.

That was before. Now... everything is different.

There was no one like Karlach at the monastery. Karlach is immediate and real, all flesh and blood and bone and fire. He loves her as he has never loved anyone before, but sometimes it feels as if he does not know how, as if he is learning, over and over again, what it means to live in his body, to feel things so deeply with his flesh and his heart as well as his mind.

It doesn't feel real - to have someone who will touch him, who wants to feel the soft give of his skin or the rough stubble of his beard. She is always touching him, desperate for it after ten years of denial. When they stop for a break on the road, her hand always finds its way to his arm, his back, over his shoulders, her fingertips ruffling the hair at the base of his neck. Where her touch moves, it leaves trails of heat on his skin and makes his heart race. She explores him with her hands as if she wants to map out every part of him, as if she thinks he is a gift and she can't believe her luck.

It doesn't feel real - to kiss and to be kissed, to need and be needed. He can roll over at night and press his lips to hers and even in her sleep she will smile against his mouth. After a life of isolation it feels decadent - no, illicit - to be able to simply ask for a kiss from someone he loves and know that it is there for the taking.

It doesn't feel real - to be held. Karlach's arms are warm and all-encompassing. In her embrace he is safe and the rest of the world, with all its trials and threats, does not exist. He smells the scent of her - heated metal and sweat and something sweeter like wine - and it seems impossible that all of her should be his, and more importantly, that all of him should be hers.

And it hurts. He does not know how to explain it. He loves her and she touches him and it is good and wonderful and it hurts, as if she is reaching deep into his chest and adjusting his heart until it fits into place properly under his ribs. It aches like frozen flesh brought into warmth for the first time, the straining and stretching feeling of a cramped limb uncurling itself. It is so good and it hurts...

And it hurts all the more because he knows that it cannot last. That same heat that warms him in her embrace will consume her at last and take her from him, as surely as the moon rises and sets.

------

"You 'wake, Hec?" she mumbles to him one night.

He is curled into her arms, his eyes open in the darkness, fixed on the curving point where her neck meets her collarbone as if fixing every line of muscle into his memory. That soft ache rolls and rolls in his chest and twists sharply upward at the sound of her voice.

"Yes," he murmurs back.

"Wha's'a matter?" She presses her face into his hair.

He smiles. He does not know how to tell her that sometimes he cannot sleep for how much he loves her. He has no idea how to explain that the feelings she wakes in him are beyond anything he was ever equipped to bear.

"Nothing," he says softly. "Nothing... you're perfect... that's all..."

[bat-kidsarebi-kids]

anyone else up relating to Jason Todd in a distinctly trans kinda way? like. i died and came back to life, i walked through hell to get here, i took life by the throat and made it what it needed to be when it wanted nothing more than to kill me, and my father can’t even look at me. when he looks at me he looks through me, he looks past me, he sees a ghost of something he loves—or loved—in a stranger’s body, in my body. i am little but a husk for him to stuff his grief inside.

he remembers a child, he mourns a child, the child is standing right in front of him but the child is Wrong. the thing in front of my father murdered his child. the thing in front of my father is his child. in some ways, i was never was what he thinks he remembers. in every other way, i never can be again. i claim this was always inside me somewhere. if he lets himself believe that, everything will crumble around him. instead, he claims he does not recognize what i have become.

he cannot allow a murderer to sleep under his roof. i cannot allow him to take away what i have fought and suffered and died for. i cannot repent, and he cannot forgive.

he can’t be happy i’m alive, not all the way, not really. he is too busy grieving what i’m not anymore. i defied nature herself to be standing here, but he would rather not see me. he visits my grave but it is empty. he gave me the name etched on my headstone, and i came back with a new one. he doesn’t even try to speak it. he’s sure it would taste like ashes in his mouth.

my father stands at my grave. it is empty to me, but not to him. he still leaves flowers there in memory of his child. the child is alive, but not in any way he can stomach.

anyone else or is that just me

[carmen-berzattos]

Y'all. I'm just gonna say that Hozier at Red Rocks is an out of this world experience. He's just incredible. He sounded amazing. The acoustic were out of this world. And he was so sweet! He kept pausing between songs to say something along the lines of "holy shit this place is beautiful". At some point he pointed to one of the rock formations in the ampitheater and went "whose hands scultped this?" One of my favorite moments was when he said that he has moments where he cannot believe that this is his life, this is one of them. And he said that if he looked straight ahead and took in a full image of the crowd, it gets really overwhelming and distracting. He seemed so happy and excited to be there and I was so endeared the whole time I love him SO much and I cannot wait for night #2 tonight!!

[a-side-character]

I'm sure we're all aware by now that FilmCow continues to be a master of surreal/bizarre videos with deeper meanings, but I'm still thinking about the Llamas with Hats Epilogue.

Specifically, about that first video-within-a-video that plays in the beginning. Because, unless I'm mistaken (and bear in mind I haven't read the babies book so maybe that disproves this), that seems to be the first time this has happened, or at least the first time Carl was caught.

I mean, just look at the dialogue here:

Carl: "I don't like the accusatory tones in your voice."

Paul: "I'm, not accusing you of anything."

Carl: "I'm a pillar of the community. And a known philanthropist."

Paul: "I know Carl, I just don't understand how a human hand ended up on our floor."

I know tumblr users are notoriously bamboozled by things like this (piss on the poor website and everything), but to my ears Paul does seem genuinely confused here. He's NOT accusing Carl of anything, not like he does in the other episodes. He doesn't go into the conversation knowing that Carl was the one who did it. There's just a severed hand on the floor, and he's doing all he can to wrap his head around why that would be (even going so far as to "retrace his steps"! He's confused and genuinely looking to Carl for explanation and support!)

This is further evidenced by their later exchanges, once it's been revealed that Carl was indeed responsible.

Paul: This is terrible, Carl

Carl: I can see now that I acted without knowing all the facts.

Paul: I just... I can't belive you're capable of such a thing

Carl: It was a confused moment. Tensions were high

Paul: I don't know, Carl

Carl: I'm just as much as victim as anybody

Paul: I'd like to belive that...

That doesn't read to me like the interactions we've seen from them before. Paul is disgusted and upset by what happened, of course, but he's also upset at the fact that it was Carl who did it. He doesn't want to belive that his partner ("romantic friendship" and all) could be capable of such a thing.

I think this moment - this first time of shock and beratement by Paul - is the high that Carl is chasing every time he does something like this. Only, like any addict, he keeps needing to up the ante in order to feel it, and it'll never quite feel like it did the first time. And, every time he does it, he pushes Paul further and further away.

[emry-stars-art]

Thoughts on prince Riko’s “perfect court” before anyone escaped Evermore ( @thefoxesraven pls remind me if it was you with the branding vs tagging idea on that insta live)

@snazzy-jas-z-is-a-fan-of came up with SO MUCH of the possible politics and family ties of this au, it was incredible to watch and I think I finally understand enough to post about it 😂 there’s a balance of power between the two branches of Evermore royalty, which balance is shifting slowly to the Moriyamas and by the end of the story belongs solely to them with Ichirou as king. I’ll try to explain it in a different post if there’s interest

(And lest we go a day without Abram angst: he does in fact get his brand and more, when he’s taken back to Evermore and Riko takes the chance to reclaim his property ‘like he should have done to begin with’.)

[volivolition]

perceppy doodles, with my usual headcanons of "whatever harry's seeing showing up in the mist" and "whenever harry's not using a sense, it shows up on perception." suddenly trapped in a dark room? pop! you have eyes again! and then some froggy hat coffee tasting :3 i love my senses <3

[leonardcohenofficial]

fuck ph*l sp*ctor's wall of sound all my homies hate ph*l sp*ctor's wall of sound (except you the walker brothers you can stay since your producer was not ph*l sp*ctor but johnny franz ripping off the sound and doing it better)

[reflectionsofgalaxies]

been reading rhaenicent fic lately tbh and it’s AMAZING, i’m eating well, but it also made me realize just how much smaller the yellowjackets (specifically JackieShauna) fanbase is bc i look at yellowjacket fics that have legit changed my brain chemistry and they have like. 200 kudos. sometimes less.

anyway all these words to say, if you’re a fic writer, esp a fic writer for smaller fandoms or ships, lower numbers of kudos are not an indicator of the quality of your work, believe me. your work is incredible and most of all it is appreciated and loved. there’s someone out there who sees art or reads another story or watches a movie and your work comes to their mind. maybe months or years later they’ll even come back again because they loved it so much and it stuck with them.

anyway, fic authors i love you 📖💖

and fic readers, leave comments. even if you feel like your words won’t do justice to how much you enjoyed the work. say something anyways. it goes such a long way, believe me

adding one more note to say this sentiment also applies to fan artists and gif makers and video editors etc. you are the reason the source material gets to expand & deepen and live on beyond what we see on our screens 🎨 📺

[butts-bouncing-on-the-beltway]

Local parent visits child and comments on the shyness of one of the cats in the household, child decides not to mention that said cat has literally never met a human she didn't try to climb like a cat tree while headbutting them for attention, more at 11

[a-s-levynn]

I love me some unhinged bassists, they are awesome. But like III is all fun and silly while Amos is just out there barefooting every single show since forever.

Also yes II is our tiny king of the drums for a good reason but if you like his playing i'm begging you to check out TesseracT and pay good attention to Mr. Postones because he does such effortlessly cool shit all the time. (also gorgeous gorgeous transparent drumkit)

Unprocessed is just simply fucking awesome give them a listen as well. Won't regret it i promise.

[bluesidedown]

Gratitude time

[serafimo]

floating, falling, sweet intoxication! touch me, trust me, savor each sensation! let the dream begin, let your darker side give in, to the power of the music that i write! the power of the music of the night!

[ofmd-ann]

[dimsilver]

❔