#remember to find joy in the little things

[t1ts-4-donaldson]

Aftersun Art Donaldson and Lily

Art didn't want things to be this awkward, the entire ordeal was tragic. 

He remembers the day she was born, the entire 9 months leading to her birth and dreams of what she would be like before Tashi ever got pregnant. He always wanted a girl he was made to raise, one being the only man in a predominantly woman centered family he adored the familiarity of it all.

The excitement of finding out she was a girl, his little girl. Nights preparing her nursery, reading and annotating parenting books, joining birthing classes and following daddy and me facebook pages for any help he could find. Reality kicked in when he was able to pick her name. Lily, his grandmother's favorite flowers.

Tashi had the choice for her middle name and allowed Art to decide her first, he wanted to do something in homage to his grandmother and she respected that. He treasured helping Tashi during those 9 months dropping tennis entirely focusing on her well being and the little life inside her was the happiest he'd been in years.

the best day of his life was the day she was born, 9AM her healthy wails ringing through the room after a torturous overnight stay at the hospital Tashi spitting curses that she wouldn't ever do this again crescent indents in the skin of his hand while he was on the verge of passing out barely able to breathe when he watched her come into the world

He’s so fond of the memory, whisking her from Tashi’s arms once she falls asleep. He sobbed silently, rocking her back and forth in his arms “I love you so much” he cried tears of joy slipping down his cheeks grazing his fingers through her curls "I'm always going to take care of you sweet heart” a watery laugh leaving his lips cooing as she sneezed. Tashi woke to his shirt unbuttoned Lily sound asleep against his bare chest 

“Art, why?” she squinted curiously

“I just want to be close.. Want her to know it’s me.” 

she smiled fondly “you’re both going to be perfect for one another.” 

He was on the court faster than he wanted to be, it led to missing dance recitals and spelling bee’s having to leave mid-day tea parties needing to make up hours practicing.

the idea popped up after looking through his old photos on the beach visiting Santa Barbara with his parents and Patrick, the memory bringing a smile to his face but sadness followed, could he make his daughter happy?

family trips weren’t out of the ordinary and she's seen most of the world majority of the time trapped in locked hotel rooms, or watching her dad on tv screens at home with babysitters sat beside her 

she always cringed at their statements and gossip through hushed phone calls when they thought she wasn’t listening, “her dad’s really fucking hot, wonder what it’d be like to fuck both of them” they’d snicker sifting through family photos and picture frames, it made her nauseous and angry. 

her meltdowns were bad at first gripping onto her fathers torso for dear life begging not to go, asking why he’s leaving her for so long, that this isn’t fair and insisting that he doesn’t love her 

“no” he replied sternly “this is my job baby.. I need to do this, it makes me happy,” he’d lie knowing Tashi was lingering nearby not wanting to disappoint her too. 

So she got used to always watching her parents from a distance, happily accepting nicknacks given to her from their trips but resenting them after a while, stuffing snow globes, key chains and stuffed animals in drawers going as far as breaking them. It was all a reminder of loss too much for her little heart to bare. She adored Art and Tashi but with time the loneliness got to her and he could tell, the notion killed him. 

Here they were now cruising the Bahamas both spread on lounge chairs sipping virgin pina coladas

"Lily, are you having fun?" He asks and she nods silently observing the perusing guests ice cream dripping down her cone coating her hand. 

“Can we go to the pool later?” She glanced over at her father “of course bug need to clean up though” he sits up wiping her vanilla coated cheeks she shooed him away avoiding his touch.

“I can do it” she grumbles, snatching the rest of the napkins out of his hand wiping herself down. Her obvious disdain stung. “Just wanna help you..” he frowns 

“I know dad you don’t need to for some stuff though” she huffs through clenched teeth the sticky residue not subsiding her frustration.

She could be so mean, her scorn towards him cut like a knife, he wanted to chastise her, spite her but he bit back any insult he came up with racking his brain through so many memories wondering where he went wrong hell maybe he made her this way. 

He bleakly sat back “We haven’t talked about school, I heard how well you did at your piano recital grandma said you got a standing ovation I believe it” He pried hoping some sort of fond reaction from her “didn’t you get an award too-?”

“you weren’t there so you wouldn’t know” she interrupts bitterly slightly shaking her head at his ignorance

Art shrinks, slumping his shoulders watching her shrug off his advances “well you know I love you bug” she nods rolling her eyes completely unconvinced.

“Sure” she sighs, staring off at the other kids her age. “I’m gonna go” she stomps off, dumping the custom made booklet he made about their trip in the trash.

He pursed his lips turning away unshed tears blurring his vision hidden behind shaded sunglasses.

The week passed and the hollowness slowly stripped away from her, he observed from a distance watching her flip through excursion magazines, snorkeling, swimming with dolphins, karaoke bars and hiking through jungles and coves all slowly amounting onto a little list she created late at night when he was asleep. He checked every box accomplishing everything just like she wanted. 

The last night of their holiday Don’t Dream It’s Over by Crowded House blared through the speakers after dinner 

“dad no..” she hissed embarrassed by all the prying eyes staring at them.

“Come on” he insisted on gripping her hands, shimming her body. She caved when he began singing the words as they swayed back and forths slowly shuffling into his open arms.  

“you’re so important to me Lily,” he whispers through trembling lips, voice cracking from her acceptance.

“I love you too” she grins, melting in his tender embrace.

@diyasgarden and the rest of chat during her watch party spoke about this theme with art and lily and I had to write something about it <3

[ofbatsandballads]

“like real people do” by hozier is so jason todd coded it has me writing purple prose at 1pm on a friday. i was listening to that masterpiece of a song and couldn’t stop thinking of jay’s childhood first love being there the night he came back. so out came this sort of au based on the ‘superboy punches reality’ version of his resurrection.

tw for depictions of jason’s torture and murder, his being resurrected and escaping his grave, reader’s severe depression and suicidal ideation surrounding her grief, heavy codependency implied between jason and reader, and general resurrection angst.

It was a dark and stormy night. Isn’t that how these things always go? Horrid cliches find unexpected ways of coming back to life. Much like the life that sparks suddenly within the boy in the casket. Black, dark nothingness becomes humid, suffocating air. He tries to sit up and meets silk-covered mahogany that traps him. The boy in the casket does not know where he is. He does not know who he is.

He remembers feelings. Something loud, bright, and hot that made everything go dark. Resignation, the urge to protect, forgiveness. The feeling of his skull cracking, his collarbone shattering under the blunt force of metal. The laughter the laughter the laughter it is driving him mad. The white hot pain of his legs snapping under the weight of the man that laughs. The guttural feeling of betrayal and fear. The smell of cigarettes. He is the sweet boy that wants his mother.

Hope, bright and incandescent. Rebellion and longing. Anger, angst, the horrible need to be understood by the people you love most. Ambition, pride, joy, encouragement; the warmth of family. He is no longer a fatherless son. Hope, wary but resilient. Fear, then relief, at the sight of the Dark Knight.

The boy in the casket remembers. He still does not know who he is. But he knows he has a father. He knows it because he is screaming for his father as he tears through the silk and scrapes the skin from his fingers against the hard mahogany. He screams for his father as he kicks through the wood, as the damp earth fills the enclosed space and steals the little air that remains for him to breathe. He is thinking of his father as he pulls his body through the hole he made. The jagged wood is digging into his side and he feels blood drip hot down his torso. It’s different from the wet cold that surrounds him and he focuses on that to stay cognizant. But the earth presses in and he is tired. He is so very tired.

He remembers something else. He remembers being tired once before, but he was warm then. He remembers being cozy under blankets. Innocent laughter and innocent kisses. The prettiest eyes he’s ever seen and the love that gleamed just for him shining within them. Then a voice. Melodic and beautiful and sweet as honey.

“C’mon, Jay, don’t fall asleep yet.”

You would not want him to fade back into the eternal sleep he just woke from. No. He cannot go back just yet. He tries to dig upward, but his body aches. The earth grows thicker, turns to sludge that drowns him. He shoves one hand over his face to claim a bit of air and is given a mouthful of mud instead. He chokes out one final scream. His head is getting fuzzy, lack of air making his skull feel cotton-filled and staticky. Still he digs up and up and up. But there’s no light. Just more earth. Maybe he does belong here. Maybe someone made a mistake and gave him a few moments that were meant for someone else. He makes one last push, that familiar resignation washing over him again as he closes his eyes. Then a hand wraps tight around his wrist and he’s showered in the cold midnight rain.

You have a secret. It’s personal and it’s abnormal and it’s yours. You’ve been sleeping on Jason Todd’s grave for the past week. No one knows. Well, Bruce Wayne knows. He must. His son’s grave is on his estate, after all, and the Bat’s security measures are the best you’ve ever seen. You don’t know why he’s letting his dead son’s girlfriend sleep on his grave, but you’re thankful he hasn’t kicked you out yet.

It’s been four years since Jason died. Four years and you still can’t accept it. You visit him every day. You bring him flowers and read him books and tell him about your life. You try to pretty it up a bit for him. You tell him about the new sundress you bought; it’s red, his favorite color. You tell him about the amazing bakery that opened up in the Heights and how you think he’d adore their chocolate chip cookies.

You don’t tell him that you’re so depressed over his absence that there are times when you go weeks existing only in your bed with sparse trips to the bathroom. You don’t tell him that you dropped out of college after your first year, that you failed in your joint promise to go to Gotham City University together. You just couldn’t handle it. The weight of your grief is already an iron chain around your throat, hooked to an eternal anchor. You didn’t need the pressure of perfect grades—an unshakeable requirement of your scholarship as you couldn’t afford to go to school any other way. You certainly don’t tell him that you’ve considered joining him, that sometimes that seems like the only thing you want anymore.

But it’s been getting worse. You miss him. Not in any way that’s healthy. At least that’s what you were told by the grief counselor your mother made you see. You miss him so badly that you’re sleeping on his grave come hell or high water. Tonight it’s high water. The cold rain soaks through your hoodie and sweats, but you don’t care. You’ve stabbed an umbrella into the ground and you’ve got an old blanket under you, so you’re all set. The bone-chilling cold of the water doesn’t matter. The way that it lures you to sleep doesn’t matter. Your body temperature is probably dropping and sleep to the freezing is deadly, but that doesn’t matter either. What matters is that you’re here with the boy you love.

You have another secret. This one’s worse, so terrible that you even scare yourself. You’ve been considering digging up Jason’s grave for the past thirty minutes. It started subconsciously. You didn’t even realize you were clawing into the ground until the grass was uprooted. You’ve made a good dent now, maybe six inches or so. It’s insane. You’re insane. But you ache to be close to him. Jason Todd took half of your soul with him when he was lowered into the ground. The better half; the half of you that was light and joyous and filled with love. You want it back. You want him back. You don’t know what you would do if you dug up his grave, but you know that you’d be closer to him than six feet.

You lie in the rain and contemplate why you’re here. You’ve missed him this fiercely every day for the last four years. It’s just this past week that you’ve been drawn to sleep on the earth above him. Like a moth to flame, like Ariadne’s golden thread leading out of the darkness of the labyrinth. Or maybe you’ve finally lost what’s left of your mind. You think you have when you hear noises from beneath the earth.

“Finally talking to me, Jay?” you ask.

Melancholy sarcasm is made weak by the way your teeth chatter and how your shivering leaks into your tone. But then you hear it again. It’s faint, deep below and muffled but it’s there. Then a thudding noise. Over and over and over. Your heart kicks to life. Adrenaline shoots through you and the cold seeped into your body melts with the heat of it. Jason is dead. He’s been dead for four years. But something is alive in his grave. Your hands sink into the small hole you’ve already made and you shovel the earth out in a manic rush. You dig and dig and dig. Your arms are elbow deep when you feel fingers brush against your own. You should be afraid. You should run. Instead you reach further, grasp hard around the wrist and pull. The ground gives way and your reality shatters in an instant. You’ve just pulled Jason Todd from his grave.

He’s bigger than you remember. His body weight is crushing as he collapses on top of you. (You’re smaller than he remembers. He has a crystal clear image of looking up into those pretty eyes and now he can barely feel you squished underneath him.)

He’s covered in sodden earth from head to toe. There’s blood seeping warmly from his torso into your red hoodie. (Your arms are caked in mud. Why? What were you digging for?)

Even with his difference in size—he must be well over a foot taller and at least one hundred pounds heavier—there is nothing that compares to the pure shock of looking into his eyes. Piercing gunmetal blue that you see every time you close your eyes is now a deep seafoam green. And yet looking into them you still feel like you’re home again. (Those pretty eyes are still the same. They still have that gleam of love when they land on him. But they’re also red and bloodshot like you’ve been crying. Please don’t cry. He doesn’t want you to be sad. He loves you. He doesn’t know your name but he knows that he loves you.)

You’re both as still as the memorial statues of Martha and Thomas that loom protectively beside Jason’s grave. Shock settles in.

“Jason. Oh my God. Jason, you’re—“ your voice breaks before you can say the words you thought would only come in dreams.

“Alive,” he croaks, voice dry and grating from lack of use.

He is alive. He is alive and breathing and with you again. You don’t know what caused this, why a dead boy crawled from his grave in the body of a man, but you’re not going to ask questions. The only answer you need is lying in your arms. Tears stream down your face, only differentiated from the rain by their warmth.

“You’re here, you’re here, you’re here,” you murmur into his mud-soaked hair as you cradle his head in the crook of your neck.

“Here,” he echoes. “Real?”

It doesn’t feel like it. His head is hazy and clouded but he’s starting to recall things. Like a steady trickle of water coalescing into a stream, into a river, into a flood. He remembers your name. He remembers stolen tires and bat ears. He remembers chamomile tea with a butler and stories of old theatre productions. He remembers how all the classic romance novels in his freshman English class looked just like the pretty girl sitting at the desk to his right. He remembers sweet giggles and shaky hands and soft kisses. He remembers. But he can’t speak it. He can’t find the words or the comprehension. He sees these things in flashes, feels them in his bones but he can’t make his mind and body catch up. So he lurches forward, stiff and clumsy, and tries to replicate the warmth of your kisses that have survived death itself.

You kiss Jason Todd for the first time in four years. You taste your tears, the damp earth, and the blood from where he’s bitten his own tongue. You have never tasted anything better because for right now it tastes like him.

“Real. We’re real.”

A sweet surprise and a gentle reminder. The other halves of your souls have been returned, and you are both allowed to exist again.

[mommybard]

probably isnt the blog for this, but i trust your judgement

will i, an early 20s pre-medical-transition transfem, live to see a time where i can be me, happily and safely and affordably? will my partners?

im scared

- 🐛

I will be utterly and completely honest with you hun. I do not know. Sadly Apollo has not graced me with the gift of prophecy, even though that shiny bastard is fine granting it to other people randomly APPARENTLY. What I can tell you is that I, and many people out there, will continue to fight for that time. Organizing with communities, helping grassroots movements, showing up to protest and give support to those who need it. Pushing to get that better time for everyone. It'll be hard. There will be plenty of moments when it seems like it would be the easiest thing in the world to just give up and stop trying. To just hide. Trust me, I've had plenty of those thoughts, ESPECIALLY recently. But then I end up kicking myself a bit for those ideas. Cause I get to thinking, but then who wins if I do that. And I will tell you something anon, I fucking hate the idea of that fucking apartheid loving techbro prick or the bigoted orange asshat winning against not just me, but people I love and care about. The very thought of them winning gets me pissed off, gets me angry, gets me spiteful. And I can channel that fury towards good things, just to tell them to shove it up their ass. So what I can say is that I don't know if we'll see that time, but I fully believe its best to work towards it. If not for us, then for the next generation of queer people, or the one after that. Because I'm a stubborn bitch who refuses to throw in the towel and give up. And in the meantime, as we push towards that time, remember to find joy in the little victories here or there. The moments when you can spend time with you partners and see them smile. When you can get together with your friends and fill the room with that laughter, even if its through headphones. When you see someone obviously queer walking down the street refusing to hide who they are. The grin your loved ones give you when you use their name for the first time. The meals you can share with those you love. God dammit I'm gonna have to stop here cause I'm about to cry but find those little joys, and hold on to them. Because nothing those bastards do can take away those victories and moments of queer happiness.

[phantoms-lair]

Robin Roulette

(While this Snippet is eventually going to slot in the Sanctuary AU (AKA Red Hood takes in Danny and Valerie after they escape the GIW), which is DcxDP, the snippet itself is pure Batman, hence the lack of DCxDP tag)

~

It was widely known among the streets that there had been six Robins. Hard to miss when a person would going missing for various lengths of time and then come back suddenly shorter.

The first was the First. Flippy little thing, but don't let the jokes fool you, he was viscous. There was a certified mean streak under that joyful little face, even if no one outside the goons would believe it.

Second was Happy Robin. Like, he wasn't a pushover by any means, kid fought dirty as sin, but there was so much joy in him that it accidently spread to the Bat! The Happy Robin was good times in Gotham.

Then Joker ruined it for everyone.

This brought about the No Robin era. People did not talk about the No Robin era. People did not think about the No Robin era. As if remembering it too much would bring it back and no one wanted that.

Third Robin was The Kid. Not to say he was younger, had less quips, or fought anywhere near less viscously with that staff of his. But he kind of had the vibe of a little kid in his brothers hand me downs. And if the Bat wasn't as gentle as he'd once been, he was at least miles better than the No Robin era.

The Kid wad been the first to leave with no warning. First had shouting matches with Batman that spanned rooftops, and Happy...rest in peace. But the Kid was just suddenly gone with no explanation. Most held their breath, fearing another No Robin era, but instead Girl Robin came along.

Girl Robin was, to but it bluntly, a treat. She had zero respect for Batman. She would sass him at the drop of a hat, had no fear in telling him what she really thought about him and his attitude. Yeah, she foiled plans with the best of them, kicked their asses, but when she caught you there was always the small hope you'd get to hear some cutting remark thrown at Batman.

No one expected Girl Robin to last long. Not because she wasn't capable, but because Batman would only tolerate the disrespect for so long. There were bets about how long till he'd fire her and a small hope she'd become an independent vigilante afterwards just so they could continue to hear her put Batman in his place.

Then Sionis repeated Joker's little stunt and had the man learned nothing?! Not only had he deprived them of hearing Batman get consistently insulted by a kid half his age, this was how you get a No Robin Era! NO ONE WANTED THAT! It was also quietly wondered if Sionis realized that was why it was harder for him to find henchpeople afterwards.

Thankfully soon after the loss of Girl Robin, came Responsible Robin (also the only time Robin became taller rather than shorter). Responsible Robin had a grimness to him and the general opinion was after Girl Robin Batman had wanted a more serious partner. Some thought he was The Kid after having been put out to pasture to grow up some. But that was mostly because both use staffs and you couldn't say two people were the same because they used the same weapon. That's like saying anyone in Gotham who used a tommygun was Scarface/The Puppeteer.

Responsible Robin also he the quickest switchover. One night he was out, the next night Sword Robin was. Sword Robin was the shortest Robin and also the one who the most seemed like he was waiting for an excuse to snap and kill people. Like Batman was the only thing holding him back. He seemed to have eased up, but they didn't trust like that. Especially not after some saw him cutting Red Robin's line.

(The current rumor was Red Robin had been Responsible Robin. Sword Robin had thought he'd killed him to take his place, but he survived and came back with a new name.)

This was common knowledge, of course. But what the Hoodlums were coming to grips with, in the light of what was overheard snarled between Batman and their Boss, was that their Boss was Batman's son. And if their boss was Batman's son he had to be Robin. But which one?

Sword Robin was out on account of still being active, the wrong skin color, and only coming up to Hood's knees. Girl Robin and Happy Robin were also out on account of being very dead. And with Responsible Robin generally believed to be Red Robin that only left two options, The Kid, and The First. And really, only one of those made sense. The viciousness, the willingness to go head to head with the Bat, those were all hallmarks of the very first Robin.

And really, the more they thought about it the more it made sense. Sure he was less flippy, but the simple act of growing up put paid to many a gymnast's skills. You simply couldn't be as flippy when you're built like a brick shithouse. Maybe if you had a more svelte physique like Nightwing, which might have been a bone of contention.

Hood had often said he'd stolen the name from Joker because Joker had stolen something from him. Something like, say, a little brother. It even explained why Hood hated the thought of more Robins. This was something he'd created for himself to do good in and the Bat was using it as a mantle for child soldiers, even after it had gotten his precious Happy brother killed. (And Girl Robin, may she be sassing Batman still from Heaven.)

The next question, of course, was what to do with that knowledge? Someone suggested being very complimentary of the first Robin, but thankfully was put in his place by the reminder that those memories were likely now very bitter. And the Boss would likely not be happy to even know he'd been overheard admitting Batman was someone he'd once called Dad.

Then Barney pointed out the number of times Batman had been...very violent in his stopping of Hood, and un unsurprised Hood seemed by it. And Grace wondered about the type of training Sword Robin had been put through to make him like That™.

And a consensus was reached. Sure they couldn't take Batman down in a fight. But they could tank his reputation - by reveling how he treated his kids.

Boss said 'No More Dead Robin's', and they were going to make it happen! They'd save his younger siblings or die trying!

[kalevalaknights]

any engineer mark/yancy headcanons? You're mind is brilliant 👏

Head Engineer:

He’s a picky eater. Absolutely disastrous cook as he’s used to space protein and drinks. He does like smoothies a lot!

Admits he’s a bit of a Yes Man, and if you agree, he agrees extra for no reason. If he disagrees on something though, he’s competitive about it.

He has had a futuristic prosthetic hand the whole time. You wouldn’t find out about this until you both high five and it makes a wicked clank sound.

Very much a shoulder contact guy. Bumps you with his elbow, pats your shoulder. If you say something funny next to him, he’s hitting your back and his knee. If you’re standing in front of him he would squeeze your shoulders. “Wow, you’re tense Captain.” Before stepping around you.

He tries often not to stand in the way, but he really does like being around you.

Sometimes he watches you at work for a little too long, it’s very endearing how the fluorescent light hits your helmet. Once you look over, he’ll turn the attention to something else, pat your shoulder and say something about how he could always trust your judgement.

Settling on a new planet would be very jarring for him. For all of you, really. He’s been a spaceman for as long as he can remember. He’s forgets that stuff doesn’t float in the air, and blankly stares at the ground before laughing to himself.

Sometimes he is a bit zoned out, turns to you with a worried look. He admits, sometimes, he feels like something should have gone wrong on their way here. Things feel a little too perfect.. But you’d probably dismiss that. He nods and smiles.

Yancy:

Surprisingly good cook, somehow he makes prison slop taste good. If he was in the outside world, he’d have good taste. Guards have previously found spices under his mattress. How? How.

He is fairly stubborn, maybe even a bit childish at times. If he’s losing an argument he repeats the last thing said with a nerd voice. Compromising on stuff is surprisingly easy though.

His tattoos can move and shift, but he’s not entirely sure what that means. Sometimes if he squints real hard at ‘em, he sees something that may warn about what could happen soon.

He isn’t very touchy, but he will lean on you. Drape an arm over your shoulders. Very lazy actions, he’s comfortable with you. Sometimes sleeping on someone is more comfortable than a bed.

When he laughs, it’s loud, it’s unabashed joy. Has to stand up and walk around to settle back down, otherwise it just keeps going.

I feel like he’d appreciate little notes and wristbands and such, he has a bandana and a prized shiv from other inmates.

He has tried to make a bracelet for you but it didn’t go well. Instead, he rips up some material off the end of his pants— he had to roll them up, they’re kinda long for him anyway — and ties the fabric around your arm. He’s not good at gifts, but you know there was effort.

[glendasguidance]

📚✧ pick a card ✧📚

Grad School Affirmations

₊˚ʚᗢ₊˚✧ﾟfor entertainment purposes only, and other disclaimers ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚

affirmations for grad school baddies who need some guidance

deck: Affirmators!

Pile 1 → Pile 2 → Pile 3

Inhale, exhale 3x, pick

✯✯ patreon ✯ free readings ✯ masterpost ✯✯

Pile 1

no judgement - I release myself from any and all judgements. I find my inner critic, call it into my office, and tell it to take a vacation. As it leaves the room, I let out a sigh and begin to enjoy the joy of simply being. Who hired that guy anyway?

Pile 2

gratitude - Today I am grateful for all of the little things. Even when the big things suck, there are always plenty of little things I can be at least a little grateful for. Like hot showers. And music. And the fact that humans invented an Internet, and I’m allowed to use it whenever I want to, using fingers and thumbs that do whatever I think them to do at any given moment.

card that fell out of the deck → good things to come - There are so many amazing gifts coming my way. I can’t see them now because I respect the general convention of not peeking under wrapping paper. But they will show up when the time is just right, and that’s when I’ll remember how much fun it is to be surprised.

Pile 3

gentleness - I speak with gentleness, and I listen with gentleness. I align with the gentlest part of myself, and I take joy in being receptive, open, and unafraid. I am like a baby deer who’s best friends with a baby elephant. The baby elephant wraps its little trunk around my shoulders and we lie down gently on the grass, daydreaming, and talking about what sorts of humans the clouds look like.

♣︎★ mutual aid LA -★- mutual aid disaster relief -★- how to create a mutual aid network -★- worldwide mask bloc -★- eSIMs for Gaza -★- mutual aid Gaza ★♠︎

header & footer image: click here // pngs: click here // dividers: click here // I do not consent to my writing, blog’s likeness, or anything associated with my work, to be used to teach any machine learning software and artificial intelligence for any purpose.

[lunapwrites]

And not two minutes after posting that sad lad post, I'm hiding under my bed trying to scare the shit out of my partner because teehee

No but really I'm posting this from under the bed. I am actively in wait as we speak. Like you know that voiceover video of the little spider burying himself in sand? That is me. I am that spider.

[icewindandboringhorror]

Little bright colored outfit with a fun vest ~

(shoes from ebay like 10 years ago. everything else is thrifted)

[madaqueue]

one of my favorite bits i do for myself is wearing my corona shirt + my lime necklace … nobody has noticed yet but it makes me feel so happy :33

[fictionadventurer]

*

[i-dreamed-i-had-a-son]

I'm sorry I can't take your call right now, I'm becoming unhinged about Transformers again,,,

[fashion-foxy]

I want the managers of Mattel and MGA doll drops and the descendants writers to lower my coffin into the ground so they can all let me down one more time

[tetzoro]

good morning friendz & happy tuesday ! ! i hope today is a great day for everyone ! please remember to do something sweet for yourself because you are doing your best and that’s more than good enough !

[floofilis]

anyone else just so full of wonder and whimsy despite it all

[akindplace]

Struggling really bad with migraines. I can’t be here a lot because it’s awful to look at the screen. I’m struggling to walk straight lines because of the dizziness and I can’t sleep because of the pain. The thing about being constantly sick is that… it’s so boring. You can’t really do anything because of the pain, but you also wish you were doing literally anything else instead of being miserable in bed. Most of all, I wish for low pain days and less fatigue. Oh, and I also want so bad to be by the beach.

Queue is on as usual, and it’s safe to say I won’t be around as much as long as this crisis continues.

I hope everyone is doing okay. I wish you all low pain days, less fatigue, and a long seaside vacation.

Lots of love,

Liv

[sodapopbuoy]

hey thank you for being around. seeing your posts being very excited about what you like makes me feel better about having emotions and stuff. so thanks for being you i guess, haha

THANK YOU RIGHT BACK!!!! i'm really glad i could do that for ya thats awesome!!!! keep loving what you love boss, there's no shame in being passionate and excited!!