#i will delete this i know lol

[fallevs]

Spotted this two adorable girlfriends and I wanted to, um– Keira would you please look at me? Omg calm down girl 🙄

(from this lovely @nicoise's fanfic about Blaine and Keira <3)

[incomprehensiblelentils]

I chime in with a haven’t you people ever heard of locking the goddamn tomb

[inkskinned]

crows use tools and like to slide down snowy hills. today we saw a goose with a hurt foot who was kept safe by his flock - before taking off, they waited for him to catch up. there are colors only butterflies see. reindeer are matriarchical. cows have best friends and 4 stomachs and like jazz music. i watched a video recently of an octopus making himself a door out of a coconut shell.

i am a little soft, okay. but sometimes i can't talk either. the world is like fractal light to me, and passes through my skin in tendrils. i feel certain small things like a catapult; i skirt around the big things and somehow arrive in crisis without ever realizing i'm in pain.

in 5th grade we read The Curious Incident of the Dog In The Night-time, which is about a young autistic boy. it is how they introduced us to empathy about neurotypes, which was well-timed: around 10 years old was when i started having my life fully ruined by symptoms. people started noticing.

i wonder if birds can tell if another bird is odd. like the phrase odd duck. i have to believe that all odd ducks are still very much loved by the other normal ducks. i have to believe that, or i will cry.

i remember my 5th grade teacher holding the curious incident up, dazzled by the language written by someone who is neurotypical. my teacher said: "sometimes i want to cut open their mind to know exactly how autistics are thinking. it's just so different! they must see the world so strangely!" later, at 22, in my education classes, we were taught to say a person with autism or a person on the spectrum or neurodivergent. i actually personally kind of like person-first language - it implies the other person is trying to protect me from myself. i know they had to teach themselves that pattern of speech, is all, and it shows they're at least trying. and i was a person first, even if i wasn't good at it.

plants learn information. they must encode data somehow, but where would they store it? when you cut open a sapling, you cannot find the how they think - if they "think" at all. they learn, but do not think. i want to paint that process - i think it would be mostly purple and blue.

the book was not about me, it was about a young boy. his life was patterned into a different set of categories. he did not cry about the tag on his shirt. i remember reading it and saying to myself: i am wrong, and broken, but it isn't in this way. something else is wrong with me instead. later, in that same person-first education class, my teacher would bring up the curious incident and mention that it is now widely panned as being inaccurate and stereotypical. she frowned and said we might not know how a person with autism thinks, but it is unlikely to be expressed in that way. this book was written with the best intentions by a special-ed teacher, but there's some debate as to if somebody who was on the spectrum would be even able to write something like this.

we might not understand it, but crows and ravens have developed their own language. this is also true of whales, dolphins, and many other species. i do not know how a crow thinks, but we do know they can problem solve. (is "thinking" equal to "problem solving"? or is "thinking" data processing? data management?) i do not know how my dog thinks, either, but we "talk" all the same - i know what he is asking for, even if he only asks once.

i am not a dolphin or reindeer or a dog in the nighttime, but i am an odd duck. in the ugly duckling, she grows up and comes home and is beautiful and finds her soulmate. all that ugliness she experienced lives in downy feathers inside of her, staining everything a muted grey. she is beautiful eventually, though, so she is loved. they do not want to cut her open to see how she thinks.

a while ago i got into an argument with a classmate about that weird sia music video about autism. my classmate said she thought it was good to raise awareness. i told her they should have just hired someone else to do it. she said it's not fair to an autistic person to expect them to be able to handle that kind of a thing.

today i saw a goose, and he was limping. i want to be loved like a flock loves a wounded creature: the phrase taken under a wing. which is to say i have always known i am not normal. desperate, mewling - i want to be loved beyond words.

loved beyond thinking.

[theladyeowyn]

“… it would ease my heart, if while the Sun yet shines, I could see you still.”

[carissime]

Literally no thoughts just Gojo after your wedding carrying you over the threshold of your hotel room. You’re not leaving for your honeymoon until the morning but he nearly trips on the doorframe in his haste.

“You really don’t need to carry me—”

“But it’s tradition, we need to consummate the marriage!” he insists. Within seconds his lips are against yours and he’s fumbling with the light switch, and you finally swat his hand away and just beg him to take you to the bed.

He works the zipper of your dress down, part of him sad that he’s not going to see you in this gorgeous gown again, but then it reveals your white lace lingerie and the groan he lets out is broken and guttural and desperate.

This is far from the first time he’s seen you like this, but there’s something about this moment here and now that makes it so much more intense, so much more intimate and he just never wants to let you go.

“Satoru,” you whisper, and his breath hitches.

He leans down to capture your lips in a kiss. “Shh, I know. Just lemme take care of you, like I promised.”

And when he sees the gold band on his fourth finger pressing into the skin of your hips as he sheaths himself inside of you, he nearly loses himself, sending up a prayer to whatever gods are listening that he can keep his promise to keep you safe and happy forever.

[your-mom-green]

I remember reading this one article about back before radiation was discovered to be dangerous; it has been used in a lot of different ways as a common household item. And for some reason, my silly mind keeps linking it to the 'frozen in time Fawcett' headcanon and 'people from multiple eras coexist in Fawcett city headcanon' when there's barely any correlation.

so let me just dive right into it.

You could find tons of radium laying around wherever you go in Fawcett city. The 'glow in the dark' clock has it, the water has it, heck, sometimes people mix radium in their food during the 1900s for 'healing' purposes.

but the people in Fawcett sort of become immune to it because of long exposure to radioactive materials for ages. The radioactive material isn't really causing them any harm at all.

(Okay, I know this is not the most logical answer but they're in a place where people don't age so Fawcett isn't a place defined by logic lol)

The number of ladies wearing uranium-coated jewellery on the street will definitely make a non-Fawcett citizen immediately feel sick and have to be warded or isolated for a looong time.

The reason why Captain Marvel never request any of the justice league members for help when his villain's causing mayhem in Fawcett is because he's afraid that they might be affected by all the radium, but most people thought that he doesn't like other heroes interfering with his city.

[willowser]

i have something to say while everyone is asleep:

i think bakugou is too loverboy to hatefuck. to hook up without getting sweet.

he could pound it out one good time, but after that he gets soft-eyed.

[toonheartz]

[ID: A reference image for a blue version of Mickey Mouse.

Their name is Mick, and they're wearing a black hoodie with the hood down, and a sleeveless denim jacket over it. The front of the jacket is covered in many pins, like the trans pride flag, the genderfluid flag, a black patch that says "the first pride was a riot", an ambiguous shape with a red crossed out symbol over it, a watermelon, the autism creature, and a small black patch that is cut off due to the angle, reading "eat the".

The back of the jacket has the Public Domain symbol, white a lower case C on a black background that is crossed out, with ears at the top to match Mick.

They are holding a dark blue offset cane, and have band aids on their leg, nose, and one finger.

Text around her says:

-any pronouns -soft spoken but stands up for their friends -fucks around and finds out -being of pure spite

Back patch should always be the public domain symbol with ears

Feel free to swap patches in the same theme or omit them for simplicity

Uses cane for balance, relieving pressure on his legs, and whacking people

Bandaids are optional and can be any color / placed anywhere (she's very clumsy)."

The very bottom of the page has the hashtag, "mickeysona".

End ID.]

lil something to celebrate the mouse entering the public domain :]

[gaylittlewizardcat]

Hey guys what if we were all friends and held hands and danced and sang together. What then.

[dear-ao3]

good morning everyone so i am at home and by home i mean my parents house. this will become relevant soon. my parents were in my apartment over the weekend and my mom saw some of my handwritten race notes that i use to write the update post and so she asked my sister "hey what the hell is this" and my sister SNITCHED ON ME told my mom that "oh she writes this giant post on tumblr explaining the races to people and its really funny" and my mom thinks this is hilarious but she also yelled at me for making the whole thing one long post and thinks i should split it off into individual posts because "that sounds like reading a text from your grandma"

[sunlit-mess]

Yeesh, I’m not even the person who sent that latest anon but I’d be heartbroken if I got up the courage to squee & express my love to my fave fan artist and they took it completely literally to the point of drawing a comic telling me to f off 😭 boundary setting is one thing and very cool, taking a sweet but awkwardly worded sentiment so negatively is another

Just bummed me out to see

We have our individual perspectives, and it's vast inside the media, Hard to figure out jokes, tone, etc. More so what reactions we get from each other through whatever. So I'm sorry if it's taken that way.

[deoidesign]

A frustrating development with the growing lack of reading comprehension I've personally noticed is an emerging fervor of insisting things aren't canon unless they are explicitly stated beyond all reasonable doubt.

I can not emphasize enough how harmful a mindset this is to have. Yes, it's wonderful to have characters outright say "I'm trans," but to deny a character's identity for not saying that is dangerous.

Plenty of real people prefer not to use specific labels. Historically, people didn't have our modern terms or modes of expression. Many modern cultures don't use these terms, either, and plenty of people within those that do can't safely openly identify.

If the only representation you accept as canon is within modern (and let's be honest, wealthy white able-bodied American) standards, then you are denying yourself and others a huge amount of representation and seriously limiting the media around you.

[incorrect-hs-quotes]

a list of Feferi-themed creepypastas

Jeff t)(e KRILLer

SlenderMANTA RAY

ben drowned

T)(e LAKE

smile DogFISH

SQUIDDL-E'S suicide

Russian SWIM -Experiment

Eyeless jackFIS)(

[biorust-art]

WIP ft Caleb and Beau

I am.. cooking smth...

[sunlitlemonade]

From The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows:

the kick drop n. the moment you wake up from an immersive dream and have to abruptly recalibrate to the real world—unquitting your job, falling right back out of love, reburying your lost loved ones. In American football, the drop kick is when a player drops the ball and kicks it as it bounces off the ground, used as a method of restarting play.

—

16th August. 8:45 pm. 

“There’s someone I want you to meet.”

Cass stands beside him, silent and patient. 

“Happy birthday, kid,” he says and chokes on it, the unerasable love, the still-festering guilt. He closes his eyes for a second. 

Haltingly, which is uncharacteristic, Cass speaks to fill the heavy air. “No one talks about him. All I know is… he was the second Robin. And that the Joker ki—”

He cuts her off, the words an unnecessary reminder. The wound is ever-present and dear and he pokes at it like he can’t bear for it to heal. On this day though, every year since his passing, he shoves his hand inside and parses his fingers out with blood and the remains of his mangled heart trailing behind. 

“He would have been eighteen today. He loved cars and girls and getting into fights…. Neapolitan ice-cream and the colour green,” he pauses, gathering meagre strength. “And most of all he loved the thrill of being Robin.”

Robin gives me magic! 

—

16th August. 9 pm. 

Alfred sets dinner. Cass insists on helping. Alfred refuses. Cass doesn’t listen. 

He sits and watches. 

Finally they settle down and eat. He barely manages to stomach it. 

This is a spiral he knows well, he has memorised every curve. He knows exactly how deep he has managed to reach. 

He knows he can go far lower.

—

16th August. 9:25 pm.

The bedroom’s air is stale. He’s hardly spent much time here in the past week. He sees how quickly things grow old, how easily the air shrinks in a space closed-off and forgotten. 

His feet take him to his [dead] son’s room. [Dead. He’s dead. He died three years ago. He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s—]

He doesn’t open the door. He goes back to his room, shuts the door behind him. 

—

He wakes up to a pleasantly sunny day. He stretches luxuriously and hears footsteps bound up the stairs. It’s Tim. 

He pounds at the door and tells him to “Rise and shine!”. Before Bruce can answer, the door is thrown wide open and Ace bounds in, jumping on the bed like he owns it. First, he slobbers all over Bruce’s face with his tongue. Then, he sits back and looks at him expectantly. 

Absent-mindedly scratching him behind his ears, he raises a brow at Tim, who’s leaning against the threshold. “Good morning. You’re supposed to be at school.”

“And you were supposed to drop me off before your meeting today.”

…. He did promise that, didn’t he? He sighs and shoots him an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry—”

Tim waves it off with a flippant gesture. “Oh, it’s fine. We had a presentation today, I’m glad I could skip. I had nothing ready.”

“Tim.” 

“What? I was busy, alright? Anyways, I’m grievously sick and Mrs. Wilkins feels bad for me so I have an extension.”

“Maybe you should use that time to complete your work instead of terrorising me.”

“I’m holding you accountable. You were the one supposed to be dropping me off!”

“Why didn’t you ask Jason?”

“He said he had to pick up Rena on his way to college and if he took a detour to drop me off he would be late.”

“That’s fair.”

“Want to know why I had to resort to even asking him? Take a wild guess.”

He sighs again. “Because I didn’t drop you off. I’m sorry, it was a really hectic day yesterday. We could get some donuts together later?”

“Hmm. Ace, come on, boy. Come here.”

“Where are you both going?”

“For a morning walk.”

“It’s eleven. It’s sunny.” 

“A midday walk then,” Tim replies, undeterred. “Besides, some sunshine once in a while might do you good.”

“That’s rich coming from you.”

Tim’s face scrunches up with barely concealed offence. “Hey! We don’t get any sunlight here as it is and I have time to kill today—”

“Untrue. You have pending work—”

His volume picks up to support the thin veil of ignorance and procrastination. “SO! I will be walking Ace today. Right now. Your meeting is in twenty minutes.”

“Fuck.” He could dump it on Lucius. He hears Ace’s excited barks as Tim takes him down the stairs. He has already failed at being an adult today. 

He fumbles into the meeting nearly an hour late and throws an airheaded smile to the room. It’s long, it’s boring, he signed up for it.  

By the time he gets back home it’s late in the evening. Talia is back too after a day of browsing gowns to dazzle every guest at Dick’s upcoming wedding. She presses her smile against the corner of his mouth and Bruce chases after it like he doesn’t get to kiss her everyday. 

“Found a dress?”

“I’m getting it custom-made.”

Of course she was. Thorny as her relationship with Dick was, Talia had taken to the preparations like a particularly invested fairy godmother pulling ideas, locations, caterers and gods knew what else from all around the world. So far, they had settled on New York (because Dick insisted), though they didn’t have the venue decided just yet, and a baker known for crafting beautiful cakes. 

They still had months to go but Talia wasn’t one to budge. She thought Bruce and Tim needed something better to wear for the reception whereas wholeheartedly approved of whatever Jason had decided upon. He had told her it was favouritism. She had only smiled and said Jason had good taste. 

He pulls her into a proper hug, sighing against her neck. Her nails scratch against his scalp slightly when her fingers sift through his hair. He presses her closer wanting to melt into one, they fit so perfectly. The rose brooch pin holding her dress together at her shoulder digs into his chest though and he pulls back. Sometimes being too close hurts. 

She kisses him once more before calling out to Cass, who was walking past making a mock gagging gesture, and steering her towards the staircase. 

Alfred passes by behind him and Bruce turns around to see him opening the doors for Jason. He spots the red convertible that's his son’s favourite parked near the fountain. 

Windswept curls and flushed cheeks, bright eyes and an even brighter smile. Bruce’s heart squeezes with affection so dangerously hard that he risks his ribs folding in on themselves. 

“Hey, old man.”

His smile is too large and loopy, he knows it. He can’t help it. “Jay.”

Hands shoved in his green jacket's pocket, Jason gets closer and his smile blooms into a grin to match Bruce’s own. “What’s got you smiling?”

“Nothing.”

A raised brow. He was so much like Bruce but only the best parts. Bruce couldn’t be more thankful. 

“Seriously, it’s nothing,” Bruce insists to avoid being called a sap. “How was college today?”

He started only a month back and had been loving it so far. Bruce still asked whenever he could because he couldn’t help but fret. 

Jason rolls his eyes but it’s half-hearted. “Good,” he says, then adds, “I went out with Rena after class.”

“Oh? Where?”

“Ah, well, we were only hanging out, got some ice-cream.”

“Uh-huh.” 

“Dad.”

His heart skips a giddy beat. Dad. 

“What? I’m happy for you.” It's a feeble act of innocence and Jason is obviously unimpressed by it. 

“She’s just a friend.”

“Yet you mention her without me having to prompt you.”

And oh, the grumpy pout on his face at that. His spitfire of a son could be the sweetest. 

“I just don’t know what I’m doing.”

“You’ll figure it out.”

A sardonic smile. “Sure. That’s helpful. Thanks.” 

“Listen, I don’t know how I got here either.”

“Talia pitied you.” 

Bruce ruffles his bedhead. “Brat.”

“You know it’s true.”

Bruce sighs. It seems like parents do a lot of sighing. “It is.” 

“Now that this is settled,” Alfred cuts in, “could you both make your way to the living room of the West Wing’s first floor? Master Timothy says it is movie night. Food will be served there.” 

Alfred hated having them eat anywhere that wasn’t the dining table. Tim must have practised puppy dog eyes. 

They reach the room and Jason immediately pushes Tim off the couch. Draping his lanky frame over the cushions, he grins down at his brother. Tim scowls at him. Jason nonchalantly toes his shoes off and lets them drop over the armrest’s side. Tim opens his mouth, undoubtedly about to start a fight when Bruce cuts in. 

“Tim.”

His son whips his face to him, an accusatory finger pointed at his older, unrepentant brother. Bruce smoothly makes his way to the couch, lifts Jason’s legs, plops down to slouch into the soft material and lets his legs fall over his lap. 

Tim’s jaw drops open. “Did you see—”

“Some trusted sources have informed me that you haven’t completed your work yet.”

“I have! Almost. I just need to cite my sources and shit—”

“Language.”

“It’s almost done. Did you not just see what he did?”

“I did and I think you deserve it after last week’s prank.”

“.... In my defence, that was funny. To me,” comes the petulant reply. 

“So was this. To me,” Bruce throws back, just as unapologetic. 

Jason’s shit-eating grin only widens as Tim accepts defeat and curls up at Bruce’s feet, letting his head rest against his thigh distractedly. He immediately recoils and glares at Jason. 

“You have smelly feet.”

Jason’s response is stretching his leg a bit further to bring his toes closer to Tim’s face. The younger boy gets up in annoyance and throws himself on the beanbag near the couch. “Keep…. those things away from me. Ugh.” 

Talia arrives with Cass and Jason instantly retracts his legs from his lap and straightens up to make space for them. Talia sits beside him while Cass occupies the other beanbag. 

This close, Bruce can see the way his eyes almost crinkle shut when he dimples at Talia. They talk in soft tones, discussing the colour of tablecloths and balloons and “oh, there has to be blue”. 

The movie starts and they quieten. Chatter picks up again because “that’s absolute nonsense!” and “shut up, bro, it’s not that deep”. Jason says something crass in return and Talia lets out a startled, full-bellied laugh before she swats his head and tells him to behave. 

He gets to have this. 

Time gets blurry at the edges like a long-forgotten song. At some undetermined time the movie is paused so everyone can carry plates full of food to the room and drag Alfred to watch the movie with them. Some undetermined time later Cass falls asleep and Tim gets up to fetch one of the blankets thrown over a chair pushed into the corner. He doesn’t take his eyes off the movie for a second, it’s a talent. Bruce motions for him to bring another along with him, noticing Jason's half-lidded eyes. 

Sure enough, his blinks get slower and slower. He snuggles into his side and even as he’s a little taller, if thinner, he makes it work somehow. Bruce rests an arm around him and watches his eyes droop shut. Summer has made his freckles reappear.  

Talia smiles when she catches his eyes over their son’s head. She covers him in the blanket Tim had gotten for them and refocuses on the movie. 

Jason’s warm breath ghosts over his clavicle, his curls brushing against his neck. He smells like the citrus shampoo Dick had recommended to them all. Bruce rubs his back soothingly, feeling his lips curve up with something bubbly in his chest.

The movie ends. Everyone on the screen is tearful but happy. 

Tim is sleepy too and Talia gently rouses Cass to take them both to their bedrooms. 

“Hey, Jay,” he whispers against his temple. “Hey, wake up.”

Jason doesn’t move.

“Jay? Wake up, buddy. Movie’s over.”

Jason doesn’t wake up.

There’s blood on his temple. Bruce pulls back. 

He wasn’t mistaken. There is actually blood sliding down to the knob of his jaw. 

He cups his face and shakes him. 

“Jay? Jason! Jason?” another hard shake. “Jason, please.” 

He stretches the soft skin under his eye to check his eyes, not knowing what to do. It’s not the perfect blue of a June sky. It’s glassy. 

He stands up to pick him up and notices, for the first time, that it’s not a blanket. It’s a cape, it’s a shroud. 

—

17th August. 4:17 am. 

Bruce palms are clammy. He picks his head up from the messy desk. The computer screen has gone blank. His bed remains undisturbed. 

There’s not even the ticking of a clock to keep him company, just the subtle white noise of the air conditioning unit. Heartbeat in his ears, breathe out of his lungs, he rises shakily. 

In the bathroom, he picks up the citrusy shampoo and puts it in the dustbin. He smashes his fist against the shower’s glass cubicle and kneels down with a bloody hand. 

[the entire thing is inspired by batman #790 (1937) also note that this is bruce's version of a perfect world, not mine. dick has commitment issues in my head & brutalia is best left at something melancholic & haunting. that's about it? happy birthday, jason! wish i had something about you but instead you ended up being a ghost for your dad here.... maybe i'll have something better cooked up next year? <3]

[kenchann]

the twins and zag lol

wip