#I'm so normal don't look at me

[yayroos]

not to not only f1 post on main but sound unhinged about it... if you're gonna spend all day talking about "Crowning Max Verstappen Champion" then i wanna see a fucking crown at the end of it. Sick of all these boring ugly trophies and shit. Give World Champions crowns. I want pretty gemstones and shiny gold stuff. I don't think that's really so much to ask.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Look what we've become.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[starcurtain]

I think Alhaitham's views on gods and his dynamic with Nahida in particular is probably one of the most underrated comedic elements to come out of Sumeru.

This guy put together an entire crack squad and master plan to rescue a god while being the Genshin equivalent of an atheist. "Yes, obviously archons exist. But so do sharks. Both of those beings have their place in the ecosystem, and if I had to pick one to piss off--"

Like, does he believe in the dendro archon? Yes. But is he going to listen if she denies his paid vacation request? Absolutely not.

Bro is selected by name to come discuss important matters with his nation's deity in her sanctuary, and he's just like, "Oh, I ran into Nilou there once. That was cool."

Raised to the highest possible position available in his nation's government by the deliberate selection of his god? Resigns.

We know that Nahida still calls on Alhaitham when Sumeru is in need of defending from nefarious parties, and sends him out with Wanderer to kick ass and take names. Now that they've forgotten Rukkhadevata and the Akademiya's ploy to imprison Nahida has been foiled, most of the people of Sumeru would be floored by the honor of being called upon personally to aid the great dendro archon. Staggered by the fact that the lord of wisdom herself finds them worthy! But Alhaitham? He just goes home. Kaveh asks him what he was up to all day. "Hm. Nothing of note."

Everyone else, upon receiving the recognition of a god: My life has been changed forever. I will be telling my great grandchildren of the day I received such a blessing!

But for Alhaitham? It was Tuesday.

Criminally underrated comedic potential. CRIMINAL.

[bertoyana]

charles and erik with each other: oh dear, oh dear. gorgeous 🥺👐 charles and erik with the villain of the week/the x-men: K1LL YOURSELF 🔥🔥🔥

X-Men: First Class (2011) | X-Men Apocalypse (2016)

[naffeclipse]

Bloody Mess

Reader x Sebastian Solace

Commission Info

I'm rattling @o-cinnamonstickz so hard right now for requesting Sebastian with an injured reader! This is my jam, and I'm eating it up! The hot fish continues to plague us both. After an unfortunate turret encounter, the reader requires serious medical attention. It's a good thing Sebastian's shop isn't too far. A medkit or a helping hand could do the trick.

Content Warnings: Injury, blood, and stitches.

———

You hobble down the hallway with a hand pressed to your side. Sanguine oozes between your fingers, shining in the harsh light of the Hadal Blacksite. Every breath draws out a searing shot through your ribs. Every exhale teases your vision with blots of black. 

A mindless urge draws you forward. The room spins and dips as if rocked by waves. Another ribbon of agony cuts deep through your side, lacing through your rib cage and back to the bloody hole taking up your jumpsuit. Dark crimson freely soaks into the fabric. 

Turrets. Why did it have to be turrets in the other room?

You heard the mechanical whir as it trained its barrel on you, the red dot marking its target. The split moment you had to run and escape the line of sight was followed by several ear-drum-shattering discharges. 

The soft metallic fall of shell casings echoed like the drizzle of rain. 

Lacking a medkit on hand, you do, however, have dozens of flash drives and a few thick documents tucked into the pocket opposite your wound. What little good it does you now.

You stumble, almost dropping to your knees but you grit your teeth. A locker brushes your shoulder as you titter dangerously close to collapse. Your hand clenches over your slick and hot injury, wondering how much blood loss is too much. 

If you go down now, you’re not getting back up.

You attempt to push your hair out of your face but only succeed in smearing blood along your temple. Growling quietly, you endure another searing strike. It radiates through your torso as if the bullet had a fine time ping-ponging off of your internal organs.

The tremors working down your limbs spell an inevitable outcome. You force yourself to straighten. A dollop of blood falls to the floor by your feet and you stare down at the splatter for a moment too long.

You are not expected to return. The sharp and constant legal print pierces you with a narrow-straight tip.

A loud, high-pitched sound echoes distantly. Your heart stalls, caught between reserves of adrenaline and what pulsing fear assaults your waning consciousness. 

Pinkie.

The screaming grows. Surging with the last of your strength, you drop your hand from your bleeding side. One step after the other, you throw yourself into forward momentum, fueled only by the absolute terror locked in your veins. Your boot almost catches on your other in your dizzying dash.

Your eyes land upon a vent. The opening emits a light and muscle memory takes hold. 

The wail climbs until a ringing in your eardrums. The world whirls between red and gray and pink. Throwing yourself to the floor, you dive headfirst into the ventilation shaft. Knocking your injured side, a wretched gasp leaves you as stars burst across your vision. Pain roars and gouges at your bullet wound in time with Pinkie’s scream. The lockers lining the hall rattle with the angler fish's force before you scramble the last of the distance into Sebastian’s shop.

Dropping to the cold, gray floor, you sprawl out much in the way a chalk outline of a murder victim would be drawn. The pain rolls over you, pushing you deeper and deeper down. The heat of fresh blood spills over your side and onto the floor, freely flowing into a slowly expanding puddle. Your lungs heave to catch your breath. The darkness spreading around your vision threatens to take you completely under.

You can’t pay the ferryman again. There are only so many coins you can find in this abysmal place. Your life is worth only how much jingles in your pocket, and you’re starting to become dirt cheap. 

A deep snort echoes. Using the last of your strength, you turn your head to the one responsible for the sound, and glower.

Sebastian Solace stands tall in the corner of his shop. His anglerfish lure brightens the gray and gloom with a warm flare. His hands clasped together in front of him. His third waves his claws in a flippant greeting.

“I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but you’re not much safer here with me.” He surveys you, his teal eyes glowing sharp. They upturn with equal disgust and amusement. “Nice diving technique. Ten outta ten.”

If it were any other moment, you would be roiling with anger and offer a rebuttal of preparing him to be made into a fillet. Furious, you have no energy to give to his usual taunts and threats. 

The floor is the most gracious safe haven you have known. The hot spread of blood along your ribcage continues to grow. Deep gulps fill you, but every motion of taking in air tears at the pain digging between your ribs. Silently, you lie in your own crimson.

A mighty shift of Sebastian’s tail slips along the wall. He peers closer, his third eye crinkling while he regards you like a toad that happened to get run over in the street. Repulsion sweeps across his features.

“You’re bleeding in my shop,” he growls low in his throat. “Do you mind?”

Exhaustion clings heavy to your skull. The weight of your eyelids grows tenfold. The wound racks your body until a groan threatens to slip past your lips. 

A scoff of abhorrence leaves him. The heavy thump of a trail begins to drag over the floor. The light shifts, and you stare upwards. Sebastian looms over you, his hands pressing in on either side of you, carefully avoiding the pool of blood your body is making on the floor of his shop.

Good. If nothing else, he’ll remember you by the stains you left behind. You’ll win by being the final nuisance. Hah.

You tense with a tsunami-level crash of agony against your nerves. Everything burns every last sensation. The heat and sear go on endlessly through your bones and along your flesh. 

“Hey, are you going to buy a medkit and fix up the mess you’re making?” his voice comes from far away and all too close as if your head is submerged in water. The tip of a large finger prods at your jumpsuit. “You’re making me hungry.”

Your fuzzy brain finds it funny how the anglerfish lure upon his head douses him in a halo-like glow. As if he’s anything less than a devilish fish coming to torment you in your personal purgatory. 

Not that even angelic light could wash out his disgust with you. 

You try to speak. A faint moan trickles from your lips, “You’re… not gonna… eat me.”

A chuckle echoes, raspy and mischievous. The urge to smack him sends tingles down your hand, but no strength.

“You’re looking pretty tasty.” Sebastian, however, grunts a noise of aversion. 

If you had the strength to laugh derisively, you would.

Flukes swish just in the corner of your dark vision. 

“What happened?” Sebastians’ gaze turns downward. You become aware of more hands roaming your jumpsuit. A large, slick palm presses to your wound. The pressure ignites every pain factor you thought might have settled with rest, and you flail fruitlessly before weakness pins you in place.

“Turret,” you utter, barely coherent. 

“Idiot.” He rolls his tongue. “Should I put you out of your misery? I will charge you for the bullet.”

You groan again. Your hands, slick with red and cold, try reaching for the arms moving you from the floor. 

“Bite… me,” you utter. Your head grows heavy with fog. The fish merchant falls farther away from you as your vision becomes long tunnels.

Light touches you. Warm and yellow, then teal of an unnatural glow. 

“On second thought,” Sebastian declares mockingly, “shooting you would make a bigger mess. I have a well-reputed establishment to run.”

The gurgles of disagreement flowing from you are met with a dismissive wave of claws. His hands, however, fall underneath you. Keeping away from the gaping hole in your body, he secures you in his grasp. In a haze of agony, you float, lighter than air as Sebastian lifts you off the floor. 

“This costs extra,” he mutters.

Your fingers weakly slip off of his arms. The argument in your mouth stays behind your teeth as you watch the shop bleed into grays and slants of light. The blots of warm yellow grow bigger and bigger until darkness inflicts the center. Then, all you understand is a black hole eating all.

Consciousness is fickle. It visits you only to slip out the door just when you think you are now well acquainted.

You hear movement, heavy and slow. The briefest breaths. You even feel a sigh against your temple as someone rubs away dry blood from your face.

Occasionally, you hear yourself. Pained moans fill the room like the hauntings of a ghost. An answering voice shushes you gently. You’re being too loud. Someone thinks so, anyway.

The hands upon your body never leave. They shift, lifting away from the injury that has sent you on this downward spiral into a black nightmare or drawing over your rib cage to secure something tight around you.

Two small pills are pressed to your lips. A voice urges you to be good and take it. You struggle, your eyelids too heavy as if drizzled in sticky sap to open, but your defiance is useless. Claw-tipped fingers clamp your nostrils shut. The immediate need for air answers, and someone shoves the medicine into your open mouth. Despite your incoherent panic, you swallow and gasp.

In a blissful immersion of relief, whatever it was takes hold. You dream of blood and Pinkie’s screaming face, intermingling into one, brightly hued nightmare. Then a void takes its place, and you drift endlessly in a dark sea.

For one brief moment, you truly wake.

Your eyes hardly open. Peering between your eyelashes, you find the light. The warm glow of Sebastian’s anglerfish lure, and his eyes. The teal pierces the darkness beyond where he and you are. He’s bowed low, tucked close to your torso. You lie flat on a cool surface. 

In half-consciousness, you find where his hands touch your side, prodding delicately with a thread and needle at your torn-apart flesh. You don’t feel a thing. Most of the blood is cleared away with an ever-attentive third hand clutching a rag now smeared in crimson. His gaze locks onto your bullet wound. A few mutters fall from his mouth. Curses, you think, for you.

Why would he bother with this charade? He should have left you to die for the simple fact of bleeding all over his shop.

You can come back. You’ve done it before: died, that is. You have been torn apart and chewed up and drowned. Each time didn’t take anything less than a ferryman coin. But each time, you awoke with a dread deep in your chest and a heaviness in your middle.

Does death linger? Sebastian didn’t say either way, but he frowned when you did manage to reach his shop again, and you mentioned how wrong it feels to remember dying.

This must be another dream. Strange but not so horrifying, if not a touch too raw for your heart.

Whatever exhaustion holds you down is back once again, and you slip away without a sound.

The next time your eyelids flutter open, you’re strangely still in Sebastian’s shop. You are curled into the coil of his tail, leaning on your uninjured side. The smooth, blue-gray scales touch you with a warmth you didn’t think the experimented fish guy was capable of giving.

Groggy and slow, you come to in the soft light. You squint up at the shopkeeper. He casually flips through a document, but a flick of his finned ear gives away his awareness of you. A low hum rolls in his chest. The faintest vibrations slip down his serpentine body and touch you. 

A needy want infiltrates you. How long could you stay here, pretending to rest? Maybe it’s not safe here, but it’s safer. You could sleep for a few more minutes.

The dull ache in your side gradually sharpens to a piercing, acute point. Less so than before. It's more contained, and less frightening to feel the hole in your side.

Slowly, you draw your hand down to your jumpsuit. To your amazement, your jumpsuit is still bloody and torn through with a bullet, but through the hole in the fabric is a white bandage. Your fingers roam in a crawl. Bandages wrap over your chest, concentrating on a thick wad pressed directly against your wound. 

You turn a squinted gaze upon Sebastian. He lowers the document with a huff. Faintly, you can smell iron and a strange cleaner. A disinfectant maybe. A glance down to the floor where you previously laid and let your blood spill everywhere is now spotless. 

“Welcome back,” Sebastian cocks his head in your direction. Teal eyes search your expression in a lingering look. “I thought you would never wake up. The sweet sound of your insults was beginning to fade in my memory.”

Your answering groan is all you can give. Stretching your arms slowly and wiggling your toes, you realize you are, in fact, alive. 

And not one ferryman coin is lost from your pocket. A strange concoction of relief and confusion pools into your middle.

Sebastian’s third arm unfurls its claws. The bandages wrapped around the appendage are fresh and less bloody. You suppose he must know a thing or two about medical procedures.

“What did you do?” you ask, less accusatory than perhaps you intended, but all the same, curious. 

“Let’s not worry your pretty head about what I did,” Sebastian growls low. A warning sits in between his teeth. “Next time, don’t get shot.”

You glare up at him. “Not even gonna charge me, huh?”

A wicked grin crosses his mouth, set like a shark about to catch a minnow in its mouth. You stiffen, then cringe at the slight pain. You look down to find a medkit tucked into the waistband of your jumpsuit. Interesting. You haven’t bought one recently. There must be a painkiller or two in there, right? You’re starting to mercilessly spin with pain. 

Popping open the lid, you find just what you hoped for—worth far more than buried treasure. You quickly pop two pills into your mouth and swallow them dry. The weight of Sebastian’s eyes is inescapable. He follows the gulp down your throat.

“Unless you're going to buy anything else, you should get going, sweetheart. Shop’s closed.” His flukes slowly slip along the floor, unwinding his tail from where it keeps you secure in his grasp.

“Right.” A weariness clings to your edges, but your mind is aware. How long have you been resting?

Before you can truly pick yourself off the ground, Sebastian uses the flat of his flukes to scoot you across the floor and into the vent—all without aggravating your bandaged wound.

You don’t offer resistance, too bewildered by how he all but tosses you out. You scurry through the vent and out into the hallway. For one moment, almost breathlessly, you smile smugly.

What a soft-hearted bastard.

You straighten and take a step down the hallway, patting your pockets. Perhaps you’ll give him a few extra documents as a thank you—

But your pockets are empty, and your documents and every single last USB drive are gone.

[shima-draws]

This is uhhh purely self indulgent. Sorry 😳

But also I think Sanji deserves to get kissed senseless on his birthday 👍

[misteria247]

You think that Fiddleford offers advice to Ford, Mabel, Dipper, Wendy and Soos on how to handle certain side effects of Stan's memory loss? Like think about it-

Fiddleford is the creator of the memory gun, and the founder of the Blind Eye. He out of everyone knows this thing better than anyone else. Even with his own memories all messed up, he still knows it best. I can see Mabel and Dipper going to seek him out, to ask him questions about it. Or to just see how Fidds himself is recovering from his invention, and how he's become more like himself in some aspects. Just to be reassured that their Gruncle Stan is going to be okay even if it takes awhile. Or Soos just taking everything Fidds says about the memory gun to heart and keeping a closer eye on his father figure so he can be around to help if Stan needs it. Wendy always keep mental notes when Fiddleford mentions memory lapses Stan might experience and be ready to intervene should Stan need to be taken out of a situation where he experiences it in a public setting.

And Ford.

Dude would be absorbing every piece of information he can from his friend. From the side effects to the memory lapses Stan may experience to what's useful to help his brother as well as Fidds when he's in need of help. And Fiddleford he'd just help in anyway he can, wanting to help Ford and his family who've helped him with this whole thing.

And I can see Stan and Fiddleford bonding over this.

They'd click, having this mutual experience involving this gun and how it completely effectively changed their lives forever. How it left them both jumbled up and confused about parts of their lives and the people involved with them. From Stan with his brother, niece, nephew and adopted son and unspoken rebellious daughter to Fiddleford with his beloved son Tate. I can see them being unintentionally a comfort for one another. Just two old men bonding and helping each other.

I don't know y'all I think too much on this don't mind me-

[sysig]

The familiarity is not very comforting (Patreon)

[crustyfloor]

Content warning (light) : Experiments / Abuse / Body and eye horror tw(?)

The album cover is sick as hell, I initially thought it was skeletal parts, but it looks the most like an MRI scan showing a brain with a lot of abnormalities, including signs of head trauma.

The most profound detail I found in the "brain" is the dark spots.

Dark spots in the brain are usually the result of a brain lesion, a permanently damaged area of the brain usually caused by injury, infections, exposure to certain chemicals, etc. General trauma.

If it's someone's brain, I suspect it's Till's brain. aside from Luka, he has been through the worst of the Alien's mistreatment since he was a child, under Urak's (the bastard's) care he had been exposed to much abuse. The sheer harshness and hostility of Urak's "training" make it obvious why he was probably one of the only pets to withstand it all.

Life-long injury in some form is surely a given to me. Seeing as it's already been mentioned that because of Urak's abuse, his pets rarely make it to the end because of the mental issues they had developed, and experiments can kill them before they even make it to the stage.

Back to the brain, it has a lot of abnormalities (especially in its appearance). I can't explain much, I'm not a neurologist. But based on the research I did the the most damage seems to be near the Frontal lobe and the Precentral gyrus.

source source source

This could explain Till's already implied mental problems, one of them (In my opinion) being some form of dissociation, round 6 was the most telling as his behavior was out of sorts having been broken down he changed drastically, throughout the whole round he was emotionally distant, i'd probably describe it as him being in a daze.

And his hallucination of Mizi during the karaoke scene could be a symptom of that to ease out of the moment.

(I also see that as more of a coping mechanism for Till, but I'm taking it into account for this since it's likely.)

Experiments always looked intense, I wonder just what chemicals and substances he was exposed to, in one of the opening scenes of CURE we're shown what looks to be DNA splitting, or duplicating? there could be a multitude of reasons for that. But it makes me curious just how deep this goes, and how much it affected Till. There is a lot of things about him that could be explained with Urak's presence in his life.

Having his brain tampered with to such a degree, I think we'll start to see the horrific effects come to light here soon.

[xx-j4nu5-c4t5-xx]

pascal and nervous in bert and ernie's sweaters

this was supposed to be a joke post but the demons took hold of me and now it's a fully finished drawing

[floofanflurr]

I! Am so tired of the infantilization of Papyrus. I'm so tired of the infantilization of autistic people, and autistic traits. I thought we were past this in this fandom... but NOPE.

I am absolutely NOT going to name any names, (especially because I don't think ANY of this is intentional!!! I don't think people are doing it on purpose!!! And I don't want to hurt people. And also because it's SO many people now. I see it all the time from so many different places. It would be impossible to list them all.)

But??? I am getting increasingly uncomfortable with the casual ableism in Papyrus fans, bloggers, and writers who don't even realize that's what they're doing. People who say they are against the infantilization of Papyrus.

(Sticking the rest of this under a cut so I don't clog any feeds)

I just!!!! It's all well and good to have your headcanons about Papyrus! He's a really mysterious character that we don't know a lot about! I'm not denying that! But I see SO many people just… saying things like:

"Papyrus would NEVER do (insert autistic trait here) because he's an ADULT! CLEARLY it was a joke."

or

"People take him seriously or at face value when he does (insert autistic trait here) but he's not stupid???? Clearly it means something else-"

And so freaking many variations of that.

Just. Have your headcanons about what Papyrus means or doesn't mean. That's okay! If you think he's joking that's FINE! But PLEASE don't shit on other people and be so casually ableist by saying that he could never be these things, or that these things would mean he was stupid, or childlike if he ACTUALLY meant them or did them.

ITS LIKE. Taking the initial infantilization of Papyrus in fandom and spinning it on it's head so far it goes right back into infantilizing autistic people by just. REMOVING PAPYRUS'S AUTISITC TRAITS AFTER LABELING THEM STUPID OR CHILDLIKE.

"You're infantilizing Papyrus! CLEARLY he could never actually MEAN these things or do those things for real because he's an adult-" AND LIKE. BABE. THOSE THINGS ARE JUST AUTISTIC THINGS.

And just.

It's really really upsetting to see the traits that I personally relate to in Papyrus have people saying "he could NEVER actually mean/do that! CLEARLY it was a joke, or subterfuge or insert something else here-"(the very strongly implied "because only Children do that" is so clear it's nauseating) (And often stated, but just in slightly different language. "It's clear." or "Of course Papyrus wouldn't-" or "He's smart!" or "He's an adult!")

Most of the portrayals I see of Papyrus are wonderful. While I've seen this a lot in fandom, I don't think it's the majority of people who create or write, or blog Papyrus content. But it's a big enough chunk that it is incredibly worrying and upsetting.

I'm also not trying to wave away any level of subterfuge, or mystery that Papyrus has. Because he has a lot! And!!! He's a grown ass adult! (A HILARIOUS one who cracks a shit ton of jokes and is witty as hell.) Someone who is very sneaky about many things, and masks a lot, and is clearly hiding SOMETHING. Have fun theorizing about him, because there sure is a lot to theorize about! Sneaky, sneaky skeleton...

Just. While I'm not trying to change anyone's headcanons... It might be worth it to see if the Papyrus you create has been removed from all of his autistic traits that are deemed undesirable (a level of social ineptitude or not understanding others, routines like bedtime stories, and so much more) while only leaving the ones you think are quirky or fun (things like masking, or stimming with big, flailing gestures, special interest in puzzles, etc.).

And if that's true, why might that be?

If the answer is "because Papyrus is too smart/mature/clever/etc. to mean or do this seriously." then that is no longer an innocent headcanon. That is saying that people who DO have those traits aren't smart/mature/clever/etc. That is infantilizing autistic traits. (And yes! Autistic people can also do this by accident! I used to fall victim to internalized ableism that I didn't even realize was there, and I've seen other people do it, too.)

I was going to get into a more in-depth list of Papyrus’s traits that are autistic traits or could be caused by being autistic, and basically write an entire fan essay on the whole situation, starting from the beginning infantilization of Papyrus in fandom (equally as bad) and ending with where we're at now as Papyrus fans. (This right now is not an essay. It's a vent, and a plea. When I say essay, I mean with cited sources, properly structured... An actual ESSAY that would help people.)

But… I’m tired. I know it’s an accident in most cases. I know that most people probably don’t realize they’re calling autistic traits “stupid” or “childlike” or “papyrus would never because he’s not a child—“

And I know that this one simple post isn’t enough to explain how autistic peoples’ brains frequently work, or why these things don’t mean someone is stupid or childlike.

I know that without a thorough explanation there’s so many people that won’t realize that they’re doing this. And it’s certainly not as gentle as I wanted to be. I want to be kind, because I know that it's an accident, and that people aren't trying to be cruel or harmful.

But I’m just… tired. I’m so, so tired. It’s hard to gently explain to people that are actively harming you and your community why what they’re doing is hurtful.

Maybe someday I’ll actually write that essay, and I can include helpful tips on what autism can look like, or how Papyrus's differing things COULD be (not necessarily ARE) an indication or presentation of autism, and also some more tips on how to integrate some of Papyrus’s characteristics in different ways in a fic that keeps his wonderful autistic swag if that's what you want to do. Maybe I can delve into some more of the nuance of this discussion, of which there is much.

But right now I can’t.

If you're worried you might be doing something like this but you really do need an essay or more structure and specific writing breaking it all out, then. Well! I want to help people. If you have questions about what I said and genuinely want to learn, I can do my best to answer and help in an essay if there's enough questions, or in asks if its just a one off question.

(Though absolutely no promises. The entire discussion is draining and triggering, so... It's hard. Please don't be surprised if I'm unable to keep conversation about this going.)

I don't want to write the essay if it's not going to help anyone though. So… let me know. Maybe in reblogs. Just please not in my DMs. I'll turn on anonymous asks for the next month or so, and if people use them to be cruel, or confrontational, I will be taking that away again.

If you've made it this far... Thanks for reading.

...And, you know what? Shitty TLDR:

Papyrus is a grown ass man who can say fuck and be a bad ass bitch, and who can also be an autistic adult. These things are not mutually exclusive to each other.

Edit: Someone sent me a wonderful essay written by the-irken-pony about Papyrus and autism that was written in the earlier days of the fandom and Papyrus infantilization. (I have no idea how I haven’t seen this before.)

It’s not the current issue of “wow you became the thing you most sought to destroy (infantilization)” in Papyrus’s fan base, but it’s a wonderful breakdown of autism in Papyrus. It’s a good thing to read with this. You don’t have to accept the various headcanons as yours, but please take note of the various things that could be caused by autism. And then make sure that you aren’t calling those things childish.

[calamitoustide]

okay so Harry is Lily’s kid and James is his uncle and one day Lily’s in a bind and needs him to pick Harry up from daycare so of course he does it and he goes in and finds this… really hot dad. And his daughter is talking to Harry so James takes the chance to go talk to him. He learns his name is Regulus and is so obsessed with it as James always is and Reg points at Harry and asks if he’s his son. James being the idiot that he is says yes (he’s struggling). Also they look pretty much identical cause he was the sperm donor so it makes sense that Reg asks. James has been asked it before... but Reg is hot and he short circuited. They leave and agree that they should rearrange a play date… you know for the kids.

James has to keep asking Lily to borrow Harry to take him to these places and it’s this huge mess.

And Reg has to keep coming up with reasons to Pandora and Xeno why he always wants to take their daughter out places.

chaos ensues.

[coddda]

My heart on a silver platter, for even a glimpse of yours.

Lawlight Week Day 5: Cannibalism

Alt crop (because I'm really indecisive LOL)

[subtle-as-an-earthquake]

"Well, we were kissing, it was secret..."

[bertoyana]

X-MEN: DAYS OF THE FUTURE PAST (2014)

[lil-gingerbread-queen]

So, I cannot show support to Palestine at my university (flyers for protest, the colors and the flag, you get it...) because it's "encouraging violence and antisemitism" but when my university was tagged with antisemitic symbols, they did NOTHING. When the students union was targeted with threat of violence and their office was destroyed, covered with neo-nazis symbols, they did NOTHING.

The Neo-Nazis student association (which has been multiple times reported for their hate-crimes) were distributing flyers at the entrance yesterday WITHOUT ANY ISSUES, because they support Israel.