#someone else take this from me

[hippielittlemetalhead]

I don't have the time for another fic or snippet or whatever but I had an idea. Drummer!Steve, right? And a common thing I'm seeing in that is that Gareth knows and is the one that taught him or got him started on the basics or told him where to go for gear... But what if... Envision with me...

Steve Harrington played the drums in middle school. He was a dramatic band kid and sports-type hybrid. He's the only drummer his school has and he's really good so administration makes it work with sports things cause sports & arts grants would really help the school and looks good at fundraisers so they need him but other kids think it's special treatment cause the Harrington name. Anywho, Steve is starting 8th grade and administration is in a bit of a tizzy over finding a new drummer for band stuff to replace him after graduating cause no one else wants to pick it up.

Enter Gareth. He's technically one of the flute (or violin Idk which I'd prefer for this) kids but Steve catches him playing around with his set after school one day. Steve convinces the kid to learn how to play drums for the rest of the year and through summer so next year he can try out for band again and take over as drummer. Gareth takes it but doesn't want anyone to know he's getting all buddy-buddy with Harrington cause he JUST got the guys who were in the talent show last year with a metal song to notice him and include him in their little tight-knight group and he WILL NOT let Steve Harrington of all people ruin that for him.

Fast forward a few years and Eddie survived the Upside Down, the rest of Corroded Coffin got read in while helping take care of the aftermath. Everything is okay and good and over now. But Gareth has a kind of fucked up hand. Jason Carver injured it and it never managed to heal quite right in the everything that came after. Thanks to government cover-up medical care there's a way to fix him up but it'll take time and as Eddie and the rest of Corroded Coffin keeps lamenting, C.C. has gigs to play and demos to record and- and- and- and Gareth asks if Eddie will shut up if he can come up with a replacement drummer.

Eddie and the band are hesitant until Gareth admits it's the guy who taught him to play and the guy is probably still just as good, if not better than him. So they have to promise to not replace him with the guy if he can convince him to help them out. Corroded Coffin swears on Dustin's mother (Claudia Henderson is a goddess amongst mortals and once she got read in put Joyce Byers to shame in her audacity dealing with the government bullshit) to not replace Gareth if he can bring this mystery drummer by next practice.

Gareth lets them into the garage next week for practice telling them his temp will be there any minute. As everyone else is finishing setting up a burgundy BMW pulls up, not unusual cause sometimes Steve will come by practice with snacks and just hang out while killing time between work and dealing with the kids. And the Steve that steps out of the BMW has an armful of food that's probably delicious but Freak notices that the hand that lifts for his signature little finger waggle of a wave has something else in it. He turns to Gareth with a giant grin on his face who turns bright red and grits out for him to not say a word.

"Heya guys, hear you need a drummer?"

Eddie's face falls. "No." He desperately turns to Gareth, "Please tell me this is just another very niche dream of something that will never happen to me in my waking hours." Gareth can't.

And Idk, Jeff and Freak don't quite believe that he's that good cause it's been a few years and Steve plays one of their originals making Eddie practically drool but everyone else is too flabbergasted to give him shit.

And somewhere between practices and Gareth finally letting himself be adopted by Steve (partially cause he is peak older sibling vibes but also it drives Eddie mad the guy he's falling for basically being one of his best friend's older brother. Idfk) Eddie and Steve figure their shit out and start dating. Maybe with a jealous Dustin cause HE adopted Steve first, how dare Gareth come and steal his rightfully shanghaied older sibling/best friend?

That's all I got. Someone take this and go crazy.

[ionomycin]

Grief

ref photo by @jawsstone

[spicymancer]

I think i might have seen your OC (the one on your pfp) get fucked by a werewolf while taking notes. I am sorry (not too sorry, it was very hot).

ALSO YOUR ART IS VERY PRETTY I LOVE IT

You saw Eclair? And she was doing what???

I can't believe it.

[screambirdscreaming]

Something that peeves me whenever I see another post going around with some variation on "autistic people take things literally which means we are the only people who communicate Clearly and Directly" is that - for any given statement, there is not one singular, agreed on, universal Literal Interpretation. If there was, none of this would be a problem!

The nature of language is that there's always some degree of interpretability. Words have several different meanings, often overlapping, and there's nuance of context, cultural references, and so on.

Faced with a statement, most people will quickly come up with an interpretation that to them makes the most sense. But if you asked a roomful of people to explain in detail their interpretations, everyone's would probably be a little different, even for a pretty simple statement. Regardless of whether those people are autistic! Everyone conceptualizes the world a little differently, and everyone has a unique personal history of all the language they've encountered, and these things effect our interpretations.

In order for communication to be workable, given this slosh in interpretability, there's another couple of processes that go on. As conversation goes on, people reassess if their initial interpretation matches up with additional context. If it doesn't, they revise it, or ask clarifying questions. And on the flipside of this process, the other person in conversation is tracking if your reactions make sense with *their* understanding of what they're trying to convey to you, and offering context or rephrasing things if it seems you're out of alignment.

These processes are social skillsets that are, like most social skillsets, not ever directly articulated or explained. Many people are bad at one or both. Sometimes you encounter someone who is really, notably good at it - the vaunted "good listener", who puts in the effort to really understand what you're trying to say, or that really excellent teacher who engages with you back and forth until you really get it. But a lot of the time, it's a sort of passive social friction - people just not getting each other.

Sometimes, you encounter someone whose brain works so much like yours that talking to them feels almost effortless - you just get each other. But that's a pretty rare occurrence for anyone. More often, as you get to know someone, you start to understand the shape of the way they interpret things and learn to account for it, so over time it's easier to make sense to each other.

It's honestly not uncommon in society for people to aggregate in groups of people who interpret things similarly, and who are thus easier to talk to, rather than actually building the skills of communicating across interpretation gaps. Particularly egregious are those groups of men who talk about Women as an incomprehensible monolith, but it turns up to a greater or lesser degree on a lot of levels.

I suspect this is the root of a lot of parenting problems - people who have never built this communication skillset, and relied on choosing friends who make sense to them without a lot of effort, and who are then totally unprepared to interact with a child who interprets things in ways they don't expect.

Obviously I can't speak to The Universal Typical Experience, not least because it doesn't exist. But in general I would posit that:

Most people, give or take a few assholes, are not trying to say things that are confusing. Most people think they are communicating clearly, because the first interpretation *they* would come up with on hearing one of their own sentences is the correct interpretation.

Many people are not very good at accounting for different ways people could interpret things they're saying. However, it is normal and polite social behavior to be somewhat flexible about this and forgiving of misunderstandings. If people are being shitty to you about not understanding them, they are assholes. And I wouldn't assume that the rest of the communication they have with everyone else they know goes totally smoothly for them.

I suspect there is a bit of an unfortunate feedback loop, where people have bad experiences when someone gets mad at them for not getting something, and learn to hide when they're confused. Which then leads to larger, more complicated misunderstandings, which other different people get upset at them about, because those people think they should have asked for clarification in the first place.

Truly you can't win with everyone. No one can win with everyone. There is no monolith of "neurotypical communication" which resolves all these contradictions - all those people you're lumping in together under "neurotypical" have just as much trouble with each other.

[beaft]

funny to think that when i was a kid i was all "i REFUSE to ever work an office job, i am a wild creature, my spirit is free and tempestuous and cannot be contained within cubicle walls" and now at the age of [REDACTED] i'm like please. please give me an office job. please give me a sensible office job where all i have to do is get up at the same time each day and clock in and send emails and clock out again. i am on my knees begging.

[starry-bi-sky]

Blood Blossom Au: Baby's First Commissioner Meeting :)

TL:DR This Post: Danny (orphan) gets poisoned with blood blossom extract by Vlad. He runs away from him and ends up under the care of one Pre-Robin Battinson Batman! Starry is loudly pushing her batdad agenda.

(Also known as "Late At Night, When The Nightingale Sings" on my ao3!)

This was a fun rough idea I've been sitting on for weeks, thinking about how Commissioner Gordon and Nightingale's first meeting might go.

---------------

Commissioner Gordon likes to think that he's adjusting to the new normal of Gotham very well, -- the new normal being grown men running around dressed like bats, in military-grade strength body armor, committing acts of vigilantism, -- and slowly, little by little, he was no longer being surprised when this new normal pops up out of the shadows like the world's most terrifying daisy. His shaving lifespan thanks him for it.

....

The kid is a surprise though.

Granted, he seemed to be a surprise to the Bat too.

There's been a string of murders lately, -- which, in Gotham, is kind of like saying there's been another storm during monsoon season. And there's just been another; in some dilapidated building down in south Gotham, with the broken, boarded-up windows and mildew-crawling walls to match. The victim is a man in his thirties, multiple gunshot wounds to the chest, left in the center of the room for the blood to pool out around him.

The place is already secured when he arrives, the building swarmed with officers and the forensic detectives. The Bat emerges shortly after he does -- or, he might've been here the whole time, hiding someplace dark and shadowy. For his own sanity, Gordon doesn't think about it too hard.

The kid is a surprise, and he appears like a bolt of lightning.

He shows up in the middle of a conversation Gordon is having with the Bat.

A whistle, sharp and loud, slicing through the air, meant for open air rather than a confined space. Gordon's ears pierce and protest the sound, and the solemn, murmured chatter floating through the room abruptly cuts off like the swing of a gavel. As he turns towards the sound -- as they all do -- he swears, up and down, that he sees Batman's shoulders jump, just slightly.

At the source, perched on the window, is a boy. A boy in a gray-blue scarf and an oversized black hoodie, one that hangs off his frame and has ace bandages wrapped around the wrists in some attempt to cinch the sleeves. The hood is up, big like the rest of it, and threatens to swallow the upper half of the boy's face whole in the fabric. What upper half Gordon can see, is smeared with some kind of opaque, black face paint. He's holding onto the side of the frame with one hand, on his hip is a grappling hook. A familiar grappling hook.

Gordon has multiple questions, and his officers tense up.

Martinez puffs up, brows furrowing as his face shapes into a frown. Shoulders rolling back. "You can't be here, kid--"

The reaction is immediate, like a spark to gunpowder, the boy yanks his fingers from his mouth and his mouth twists into a scowl. Head snapping over to Officer Martinez, his hood manages to stay on but Gordon swears that as he bares his teeth, the glint makes them look sharper than they should be. His voice is rasp and quiet and harsh; snappish in its hissing; "Put a fuckin sock in it, Martinez. I'm not stayin."

Martinez reels back, and the boy immediately veers his attention off him. Like a switch, his demeanor drops. Despite half his face being covered, his mouth twists into a cringing, apologetic smile. Slanted and off-beat, embarrassed. It'd be disarming if this wasn't Gotham, and if he didn't just hiss at Martinez like he was about to bite his head off.

"Sorry." He whispers, voice deceptively polite and softer now. Gordon has to strain his ears to hear him. "I was looking for him."

He points his finger towards-- Gordon? No, Gordon follows the direction, and finds himself looking at -- the Bat.

The Bat, who always looks stiff as a pole, now looks even stiffer. Somehow. Well, the explains the grappling hook attached to the boy's waist.

"What are you doing here?" The Bat says, gruff and unable to completely smother the stumble of surprise in his tone.

The boy still holds a sheepish smile, and slips off the window ledge. His feet hit the creaky boards with a near-silent thud, the Batman finds his feet and rapidly begins crossing the room.

Gordon notes the slight tremble in the boy's legs as he straightens. He adjusts his scarf, which droops close to his knees now that he's standing, and slings a backpack -- how long has had that? -- off his shoulders. When the Bat reaches his side, he does as he always does, and looms over the boy like a spectre. A threatening mass of shadows cloaked in all-consuming black. Standing next to him, the boy looks teeny in comparison.

The Bat is a man who terrifies even the most hardened criminals, Gordon has seen grown men shiver in fear at the mention of his name. And yet when the boy looks up at him, he doesn't even flinch.

Instead, his sheepish smile melts away like ice under the sun, holding only traces of his previous embarrassment. It remains as a shadow on his face, a small upturn at the corners of his mouth. The boy pushes his hood back just enough to reveal glinting, ice-flint eyes surrounded in tar-black face paint. He holds the backpack up with one arm. "You forgot this."

[dreadfuldevotee]

"The Vampire Chronicles characters are exercises in the cycle of trauma and abuse and how they are capable of complex emotions and receiving and giving love and empathy alongside all the horrible shit they do to one another" and "Anne Rice herself was a bigot and had some shitty personal beliefs and just because the genre is Gothic Horror doesn't mean you ignore the way those ideas bleed into the writing. Not all commentary is good commentary" are two sentiments that can and SHOULD co-exist, what the fuck are we doing.

[dennisboobs]

standing in front of a firing squad would have been easier than reading this script i need to be shot

[0kulr4]

HEY GUYS. bought this thing with my real adult money i can do what i want with.

it isn't oliver's exact model, unfortunately (i looked so hard, and decided to settle</3), but it's fine. close enough!

my quest to own the decapitated skulls of as many dialtown characters i can get my hands on is one step closer

[hippielittlemetalhead]

Y'all, post-canon Stranger Things modern day fic idea. You know that waffles recall? Envision with me...

Grown ass ~53 year old Eleven-Jane who has learned how to make waffles, is a regular at the local brunch spot(s) who all now have waffles specials cause of her and everyone in the Party has learned how to make waffles from scratch to varying degrees of success but she is still OBSESSED with frozen waffles, particularly Eggos. She has her favorites but she rotates through different brands because ✨diversity✨ in a diet is important. Then the recall happens. Eleven argues that her abilities make her immune but the rest of the Party and a grumblier little-old-man Hopper team up to purge all of her waffles stores and caches and to monitor her to prevent her from going to get more.

It's after one such failed attempt on Eleven's part that Steve (lovable himbo that he is even pushing 60) suggests shaping the waffles with the wafflemaker, baking or frying them so they cook through like frozen waffles, and freezing them so Eleven can pop them in the toaster or microwave whenever she wants. Mike thinks it's a stupid idea, Dustin is upset he didn't think of it first ("It's like the Russians and the music all over again!!") and everyone else is desperate enough to try it.

It works so well that Eleven probably won't go back to store bought frozen waffles after the recall is sorted out. Steve is very proud of himself. He's also the one being forced to make all of the frozen waffles but hey, it keeps their Supergirl from getting poisoned so he'll take one for the team.

[sidewalk-cracks]

literally please give Battison a Dick Grayson in the Batman Part II.

The first movie was about Bruce's journey from not wanting to be Bruce Wayne, to realizing that he does in fact need to be Bruce Wayne, and that Bruce Wayne can be a force used for good just like Batman. Logically then, the second movie should explore the next immediate question on the table: okay, he needs to be Bruce Wayne. So who is Bruce Wayne? What kind of man is Bruce Wayne going to be? Bruce still feels defined by his trauma of his parent's death. Bruce Wayne still feels defined by his parents' shadows, by his father's legacy. He still feels defined by his grief. How does he make Bruce Wayne be something different?

Dick Grayson would serve as the PERFECT device for Bruce to discover who he can be. Because Dick Grayson is literally just a young Bruce, and Bruce sees that instantly (it's why he takes him in in the first place). So throughout the movie, as Bruce tries to help Dick process his grief, he's inadvertently processing his OWN grief. Dick Grayson unknowingly helps Bruce process his own trauma, and through their developing relationship shows him that Bruce Wayne can be more than a recluse, a failure, a man drowning in his own head- he can be a protector, a friend, a parent.

When Dick points a gun at Tony Zucco's head, Bruce talks him down, and all the words that he gives him are words he had wanted when he was a kid and his grief was fresh. Even though they're gone, you're not alone. I understand.

BATTISON NEEDS DICK GRAYSON TO BE ABLE TO TAKE THE NEXT STEP OF HIS CHARACTER GROWTH.

[deoidesign]

One of my first digital pieces (2010) versus one of my recent ones (2024)

We all start somewhere!

[ruporas]

can’t talk about it

[ID: Black and white comic of Vash and Wolfwood from Trigun Maximum. The comic starts with the sounds "thud, thud, click". Vash, mid-action of peeling an apple, turns to the sound, noticing who it was that entered, and says, "Oh, Wolfwood, you're back." He resumes back to his apple in the next panel as he speaks, "Where'd you go? You snuck out of bed quickly this morning..." Wolfwood's hand then enters the panel, hovering over Vash's cheek and Vash looks up as Wolfwood asks, "Can I?" Vash responds, "Not going to talk about it?" while using a hand to gently hold Wolfwood's hovering hand and presses a kiss to his inner palm.

Vash then gets up fully, setting down the knife down on the table and the apple onto a plate, He leans into Wolfwood as Wolfwood explains, "Had to meet someone. Nothing interesting to talk about." Vash kisses Wolfwood's left cheek and a hand moves to cup his other cheek while muttering, "You're being vague." Wolfwood says neutrally, "If yer really that curious, keep askin'. We  can talk about that instead of doing this." Vash leans back and responds, "Let's talk after, since... You look so tired."

The panel pans to a close up of Wolfwood's downcast eyes, bags heavy underneath his eyes. He doesn't allow Vash to sit in that moment for long though, then saying, "Yer not helping, Spikey. Being all slow with it... I could fall asleep right now." He moves his hand to start unclasping Vash's coat, starting from his collar. Vash with red cheeks, responds briskly, "Oh, shut up. I'm worried about you. I can't be worried?"

The final shot shows Wolfwood's back to the viewer while Vash's softened expression can be seen as he holds gently onto the side of Wolfwood's face and a hand firm on his waist. Wolfwood responds, "I'm fine, seriously," pausing for a moment before continuing, "Is it okay to still..?" Vash responds, "Yeah, it's okay."

The next image is a shot from later that night after the previous comic. Vash and Wolfwood are now in bed, half naked. Wolfwood's buries his face into Vash's chest, his arms wrapped around him, while Vash is petting at his hair. Vash reminds him, "Hey. You said we'd talk about it." Wolfwood pauses for a moment before piping up, "In the morning? I'm sleepy." Vash says, "Okay..."

The next two pages start from the morning after. Wolfwood is already fully awake, pulling on his outer jacket as he says to Vash, whos' still bundled in his blankets, "Breakfast is on the table. Make sure to eat it. I'm going to grab some things in town and then we're leavin'. Got it?" Vash says, "Mh." Wolfwood responds, "Good. See ya in a bit." The dialogue starts to shift into Vash's inner thoughts now, as he gets up and eats toast, thinking, "Wait. Weren't we supposed to... talk about it?" The next shot then shows him fully up, meeting Wolfwood in town. He carries a half worried expression with him while Wolfwood slides on his glasses for him. A quick panel shows Wolfwood's tired expression from the night before and quickly juxtaposes with Wolfwood in front of him who's smiling gently, the shades covering his eye bags. Wolfwood asks him, "Still not awake yet?" Vash pauses, his thoughts stirring, thinking, "Oh. I guess I was getting ahead of myself... thinking you owe me that kind of honesty." He smiles at Wolfwood and responds, "I'm awake!" His thoughts continue, "Maybe one day, you'd trust me enough to share your burdens."

The final image shows Wolfwood pulling at Vash's cheek and Vash complains, "Owwwww why..." Wolfwood quickly says, "You were thinking something stupid, right? It's all over yer face." Vash mutters, "Nooo, I wasn't..." END ID]

[tommarvoloriddlesdiary]

Voldemort: Holster your wand, and you’ll receive my mercy.

Harry: Oh, I’ll holster YOUR wand, then you won’t need to give me mercy. 😏

Voldemort: What.

Harry: What?

[sforzesco]

decimus wanted to wind cassius up a bit just to see how he would snap

uhhh. what else. you know!! caesar was collecting (and discarding) a new generation of romans, operating a new kind of roman imperium. political manipulation. "good" governance. conspiracies are forming in reply.

the collage art is all public domain/open access stuff from the met collections!

[glitter-stained]

Are the people who keep complaining that jason got away with what he did completely unscathed actually okay? Like, did we read the same comics? There's extremely little I can think of that didn't happen to Jason as "punishment"

like why are the people who want him to be punished forever not happy he is already getting punished forever what else do you want