#That's up to you and your interpretation

[yeetus-feetus]

one day Tim gets shot in the shoulder. The bullet goes straight through so he doesn't bother anyone about it. He hates bothering people with his injuries when there's people more in need than him. He goes home and collapses in bed, he'll deal with it tomorrow.

When he wakes up though, he finds that someone has already come and fixed him up while he was asleep. The area surrounding the bullet wound has been completely numbed too. What the fuck?

There's a flattened bullet hanging from his neck, and Tim wonders if it's the same bullet that went through him. It must be right? Why else would whoever fixed him up give it to him?

The bullet hangs on a shiny gold chain, and Tim stares at it in the mirror. Rubbing his fingers over it and coming to the conclusion it must be real gold. He'll check, just to make sure.

He also needs to investigate who the fuck has gold and expensive pain relief to waste on him. Why they did it. And how the hell they knew Tim was not only injured, when he told absolutely no one, but also found the bullet used on him.

What the fuck.

But this keeps happening, and Tim continues to be confused. He gets injured badly and tells no one, and the next day he's patched up and gifted gold.

Thing is, he can't really tell anyone without admitting he's been hiding his injuries. He can't stand to see Dick's worried expression, or listen to Bruce's disappointed lecture. There's more important things to worry about in Gotham.

He breaks his hand on patrol and when he wakes up the next morning it's been bandaged and put in a splint. Fuck. That was his dominant hand too!

His other hand feels heavy and when he brings it up to examine it as well, his fingers are adorned in various rings of gold.

A deep cut into his flesh and he passes out on his own floor, only to wake up in bed with perfect stitches and a burning sensation coming from his ears. He looks in the mirror groggily too see he's been completely wiped down off the coagulated blood that was surely clinging to his skin before his mystery nurse came to visit.

Not only is he clean and completely patched up, but there's gold hanging from his ears. Both ears are double pierced with perfect hoops of gold threaded through all four new punctures, well- 2 new punctures and 2 re-punctured.

His ears burn. It stings. But the earnings look so pretty, he looks really nice with them.

He smiles.

Then, his mug breaks. His favorite mug. And it's the cherry on top of a horrible, exhausting week. He'd been so stressed and overwhelmed and all he wanted was something to drink! Why did everything have to go wrong? Why did Bruce have to yell at him for doing what he knew he needed to do!? It wasn't fair... and everything just came crashing down all at once.

Tim crumples to the floor and begins to sob uncontrollably, cradling the broken pieces of his mug in shaking hands.

He wakes up in his bed.

It's odd, because he doesn't remember taking himself to bed last night. He's pretty sure he cried himself to sleep on his less-than-clean kitchen floor.

But he's used to this by now. Passing out somewhere and ending up tucked into bed by some mysterious being that Tim still hasn't managed to figure out.

It's nice.

It's really nice actually. It's comforting to know something is caring for him and keeping him safe and he doesn't have to embarrass himself by asking for it.

Except... the space in the bed next to him is warm. That's-

That hasn't happened before....

When he pads into the kitchen it's been cleaned, top to bottom. And his mug is waiting for him on the counter.

Except it's not broken anymore.

There is his favorite mug, whole again and full of steaming tea. Tim scrunches his nose at that, he'd much prefer coffee. But the aroma is nice, soothing, and he carefully picks it up to run his fingers over the lines of gold that glue the shattered pieces together.

Kintsugi.

And then it hits him.

The hair on his neck stands up, a small shiver running through him.

Someone's been treating Tim as their personal art project. Someone's trying to mend him with gold, trying to piece all that's left of him back together like he's fractured pottery.

He doesn't know how he feels about that...

A conflicting mix of dread and warmth settling heavy in his gut, bordering on the edge of uncomfortable and pleasant fullness.

But it's not like he has the words to describe the odd sensation. ..But he likes it.

[percydoodless]

happy pride month

[rocketbirdie]

faithful depiction of the yugioh card that i saw in my dream last night

[lucabyte]

there's a stranger who sleeps at the foot of your bed

[graveyardcuddles]

Spawn fans: arguing with Ascended fans.

Ascended fans: arguing with Spawn fans.

Me, a true Astarion Enjoyer:

[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.

[sea-beam]

gift💧

[tr1ppykay]

takes like these show such an immense lack of any attempt at meaningful understanding of transmasculine perspectives and experiences that it genuinely makes my head hurt. like you do realize there is a difference between not FEELING pressured to do something, and not EXPERIENCING pressure to do something, right? of course you do, but you read a few personal posts about transmascs experiencing euphoria and made a bad faith generalization on our entire social position.

sure, transmascs may feel less pressure to be attractive as personal affirmation of our masculinity. but a misogynistic society at large still continues to pressure us to be attractive and feminine. of course it is born from misogyny, but like we have been screaming for YEARS, we are still affected by misogyny.

a huge proponent of the targeted violence towards us is demonizing the effects of physical transition- about how transitioning makes us ugly (which OOP directly contributes to in this post) and ruins our value in womanhood to the potential men who want to fuck and marry and impregnate us. trans men are correctively assaulted to feminize us, largely because our oppressors see us as "deviant women who must be fixed by forcing us back into femininity, and eventually beauty." there is a literal book titled "irreversible damage" that outlines how we are "coerced into destroying our beautiful fertile bodies."

i have heard countless stories of transmascs seeking physical transition who were equally denied, because a psychiatrist deemed them as currently attractive women in their prime, who must have their value to the patriarchy preserved at all costs.

and ultimately, if despite all of this, we continue to reject white supremacist feminine beauty standards and find joy in our transition, a misogynist society that believes we have no value outside our current or potential attractiveness thinks we would be better off dead, lest we tempt other women to abandon ship.

transmascs are not your enemies! we are not experiencing wildly different things! i promise you that trans people across the spectrum will always have far more shared experiences than unique ones!

i am reaching out my hand to you, so we can stand taller and stronger against the white supremacist patriarchal pressure placed upon us both. will you reach back and grab it, or push me to the ground in an attempt to escape and save yourself?

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Out of sight, out of - wait.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[trauma-bot]

patron saint of never growing old

[licorishh]

no way she's alive ?? yea those mental health breaks because social media makes people suck are wild huh

[pinkcheesecake7]

I can’t take criticism on Mel seriously because most of it is done by jayviks who say she’s pretty and call it a day then act like they love her😭. Like sorry, I’m not taking you seriously when your account is filled with only jayvik and you only talk about Mel to objectify her and seem like you don’t hate “the female character that gets in the way” that’s simply not enough. A lot of these hardcore “Mel is a manipulator” people are very obviously biased lmfao. “Jayce dumped her” except that never happened? They talked and then he left and fucking died lol, one important thing to remember is that these are CHARACTERS and there is writing behind them. What I’m saying is that they were handled poorly by the writers and they never actually “broke up” or should I say he never “dumped her🤓” they just.. had a thoughtful conversation and it was never brought up again. I feel like yall only say he “dumped her” so it fits the shitty narrative that Jayce dumped Mel for Viktor which is NOT true and literally never will be. You guys literally call her an “independent black woman who doesn’t need a man” except in different wording to make her seem unlovable. Yes, she doesn’t need a man but she WANTS a man. Stop acting like you actually want her to be independent, you just want to get her out of the way but also still seem like you’re an “”ally””.

[rendevok]

favorite thing ♡

the inspo:

aaaaand some inner dialogue for your viewing pleasure:

[hannaxjo]

It’s cold af here, so I’m letting them enjoy some summer (their favourite day of the year)

[beloveds-embrace]

MORE OF SICK!READER PLSSS

I’ll take anything, even if it’s against filled🙏🙏

(also how old is Sick!Reader? Because I wanna know if this’ll be more like a found family situation or found lovers thing)

I imagined Reader in their mid twenties-late twenties tbh, but i kept it vague enough to where it's really up to each person's interpretation if they want them to be romantic or platonic lol at least i hope i did 🤔 Sick!Reader x 141 for those curious!

Soon enough, with so much time passing, the 141 guys get into a little competition to see who will make you smile or laugh the most. Their strategies include, but are not limited to:

Kyle makes note of the pile of books you keep on your little nightstand and casually mentions that he's really "not that big of a reader' but visits you the next time holding a copy of one of your favorite books. He tells you he'll even read and share his thoughts about it for you like a gentleman, but he butchers the plot and mispronounces every name. But it's clear he only read it to have a conversation topic with you and an excuse to have you laughing.

Johnny tries to befriend the nurses, sneaking you little treats or gifts that are normally off-limits (a small stuffed animal that curses with his voice, an extra snack that you told him you'd like to taste or try). He even smuggles in a small, colorful balloon one day with your name on it, right alongside another balloon that declares coffee is better than tea. He takes a selfie with you and those balloons and may or may not send it to the groupchat.

Ghost is a bit more subtle, awkwardly offering to teach you a card game that the squad usually plays during downtime or when they are stuck on base with nothing better to do. Despite his stoic exterior, you catch him cracking a rare smile when you joke that he might be a sore loser, and if he isn't then you will make him into one. He plays more than one game just so you have a chance to win, and the first time you win you laugh loud and proud, a flush on your cheeks.

Price brings in an old radio the taskforce had lying around and tunes into a station playing classical music or jazz, sitting by your bed and saying how his grandmother used to listen to the same kind of music. He doesn’t speak much, just enjoying the quiet companionship, but his presence is comforting. He brings a lot of interesting items for you, but on one occasion he brought you a simple bobblehead. The silly thing sits on top of your books now.

What is your best gift, though? It's how when it's time to leave, they'll always tell you they'll come back- bring something else or new for the next time. Maybe they could take you out to experience something different. Next time, which means you- you will not be left behind or forgotten even if you understand why. They say it so offhandedly, too, like it never once crossed their minds to not include you.

It means everything to you.

[beastyeastfreak]

sooo,,, if your open to requests,,, can we get some yandere Shadow Milk

If you'd prefer something more specific,,, SM's a fucking freak (/pos) over Y/N to the point even his minions are a bit concerned for Y/N's well being. Meanwhile Y/N is equally as obsessed with "their shadow" and matches Shadow Milks freak perfectly. They just happen to seem "normal" on a surface level so nobody imiditaly realizes how both of them are unhinged

(idk that was the first thing that came to mind, I crave shadow milk content lmao)

Ooooo i like this i kinda went a little off prompt though because i had some fun ideas

Cw and tags: Stalking(mutually done so), obsessive behaviour, yandere behavior, reader is a shy type thats also a yandere, reader uses spells/is a magic cookie or something similar, implied murder / wanting to murder.

🃏 - Creeping behind the shadow of the sun lurked a beast of deceit. Watching over his souljam as a wolf watched a flock of sheep. But as he kept his eye upon the holder, he was drawn to another. A cookie that ensnared the beast, one he had equal if not more interest in. He knew he had to make them his, he knew that they would want to be his too.

🃏 - You were to join Pure Vanilla on his expedition to beast yeast, but three days before your departure you had your nose in books in a grand library deep into the night. You were drawn into a dark hall of bookshelves by the sound of something falling. You end up finding a book with no cover. Reading this book was simultaneously your worst and best decision, it would change the trajectory of your life forever. Inside was detailed myths, tales and legends of one Virtue of Knowledge turned Beast of Deceit. Upon seeing the flipped souljam your mind screamed to tell pure vanilla of your finding, but then when that voice calmed you stopped. For some reason, your mind quieted, and you stared at the page you left on and your thoughts then shifted to “maybe i should read a little more before i tell him…” Thus began reading an entire hefty book in one night and day, no sleep just continuous intaking of knowledge and a thirst for more.

🃏 - You were obsessed, ten pages in and you already had notes started. You weren’t sure if this was an autobiography but it felt so intimately wrote and painted this beast with such worship you couldn’t help but nod along. You weren’t a liar, you weren’t evil and yet you had found yourself utterly infatuated with someone who only wanted to spread misinformation and harm others. There were small segments where he was quoted directly, or where his own writing / stories were added and each time you found yourself sinking further into his words. You examined each stroke of the brush with, frankly creepy, observation. You finished the book the next day around the afternoon, the only thing on your mind? You couldn’t wait to go to beast yeast.

🃏 - You brought the book with you in secret, you had lots of questions and hopefully when Pure Vanilla sorted this out you’d get answers, maybe this beast would even grant you his friendship but you knew it was wishful thinking. You defended your team with all your might, these spores were strong but you were determined. Though as you trekked deeper, it felt like you were being watched, it felt like someone had eyes on you. Even stranger, it seemed like just about everything was trying to get that book out of your bag or get someone to see it. But you were far too possessive of it, if someone knew you bore such information they’d take it! You had to keep it for yourself.

🃏 - Your team is taken in by the Faeries who give the tale of the five beasts, you had heard Shadow Milks tales but not the overarching story. You gazed upon the striking beauty of the Faeries kingdom, and yet this all just felt like the prelude to something more grand. In the footnotes of the book, strangely in different handwriting, it read that Shadow Milk Cookie, referred to as simply ‘master’, would rise from his prison and usher forth endless deceit and entertainment alongside his peers. It took little time for you to finally gaze upon the silver tree he was in. While the others spoke of fear of their return, you stood in silence, one hand on your bag feeling the outline of the book. Your eyes searched where the shiny bark had torn, where they had nearly broke free if not for White Lily cookies vines. You stare into that darkness, and for a moment you swear on the witches two mismatched eyes stare back.

🃏 - Your quietness was interpreted as shyness, you were prone to linger away from crowds so when you wouldn’t speak or stared too long, Pure Vanilla would vouch for you. There was a certain calmness surrounding the group, they were in search of White Lily’s memories but you found yourself watching shadows and searching for eyes. Sometimes as you walked your shadow seemed to shift and change, you swore it did, you swore and yet when you looked directly at it it was yours, who else’s would it be?

🃏 - Words were whispered in your ear beneath another’s speech or when it became quiet. Claws that were not truly there wrapped around your throat and over your eyes and sickeningly sweet lies and deadly promises dripped into your head. Words you couldn’t exactly make out but you understood anyway, someone was watching you, he was quite eager to meet you too.

🃏 - Your group then awakened White Lily, and soon after the silver tree began to fail. Its ancient bindings were no more, no amount of magic would fix it. Discord had spread wildly, the once orderly kingdom now reduced to a circus. The king had relayed his power to the jester to their dismay, but you were over the moon. Shadow milk wasn’t like how he was in the writing, he was better. Unfortunately your team was beginning to hold you back, you wanted to clap at his shows and smile at his jokes but your teams eyes were on you as they were on his.

🃏 - “It feels like his attention has been on you for some time, Y/N…” Pure Vanilla says to you in a moment of relative peace. You had hardly noticed, it felt the same. You begin to realize it felt the same because he had been watching you this entire time, you fluster at the idea. Pure vanilla would continue to warn you and stay closer to you than he normally would, then the next encounter he was near solely looking at you. “I need a volunteer.. lets see, oh how about my biggest fan!” He says and a spotlight is cast upon you, you were brought on stage with strings, held next to him like a puppet. The game he was playing didn’t matter, nor did your friends protests. Your mind had melted as you watched him talk to the crowd, one hand on your beg resting on the side opposite to him. He knew, you knew he knew and that only fueled your interest in him more. His grip was harsh, you begin to understand that perhaps his other half’s closeness to you had caused that. Was it jealousy? You hoped so, you yearned for his attention in that way. After what felt like seconds of staring at him the game was over, you were snatched from his grip and questioned if you were ok. You could only nod, you needed to be that close again.

🃏 - He’d continue to try and reel you in, but soon it was the final round, everyone strung up like puppets. Of course, despite his upper hand, White lily, now guardian of the seal, had bound him to the silver tree once more. Though his ominous warning was evidence enough that you’d be staying in the faerie kingdom much longer. You were giddy at the thought of staying around his presence more, your excitement overwrote your sudden dislike towards the others for casting him away again when you were getting so close! You almost considered stealing their souljams to open it up again but knew it’d be foolish. The thought of saving him and getting rewarded was almost too tempting…

🃏 - You were given a room, Pure vanilla came to tend to your wounds but was surprised at your lack of which. Still, he sat with you and tried to comfort you, you were probably terrified in his eyes, you played along just to get him to leave. Soon night fell, you began to dream then vision came to you. A spire standing tall above the already mighty trees. “You thirst deeply for my knowledge, little fool, lying to your dear friends for me! Im so honored~” his voice whispers from behind you, directly in your ear. Your sight becomes completely dark, now in a black void. You see your room now, you’re standing but your motions aren’t your own. “It can be just us when i get that thief out of the way… all you have to do is obey me,” He whispers further, your hands have strings attached so tight your dough darkens and yet theres no pain. “You dont even want to say no! My, its almost like you’re begging for me to scoop you up and lock you away like a princess in a tower!” You open a map gifted to you by a faerie upon asking for it and begin to mark a path. You try to respond but nothing you say is cohesive, he giggles. The laughter echoes as you begin to awaken in your bed.

🃏 - You don’t need further command, you jump out of bed and get dressed. The mere thought of getting an inkling of Shadow Milks presence was enough. You knew that just leaving in the middle of the night wouldn’t work though. So you make it seem as if you had been taken, ruffling the sheets, spilling a small bit of jam and leaving some of your items. You sneak away and embark on your journey, traversing beast yeast. You were fueled by the thought of seeing him again, feeling him pull you close or feeding you more ideas. You wanted to be enveloped, you wanted to know everything about him and him to know everything about you.

🃏 - Your obsessive knowledge and map created whilst sleep-walking guided you to the spire, by now the sun was poking above the horizon. There was a clear border of the beast’s territory and surrounding wilds. The leaves were cooler in hue, the plant life looked like that of the imagery in his stories, roses littered the white tile path. You followed eagerly, nothing truly mattered anymore you just wanted to appease this shadow mocking your movements, this puppeteer tightening his strings around you when you got too close to another cookie. You wanted those eyes in the shadows to watch you add another note to an already well analyzed book.

🃏 - You dont get a chance to enter the tower, you hear the sound of movement around the spire where the roses grew denser. Curiously, you hug the side of wall and watch from behind a pillar. It was him! He was floating in the field of tangled thorny vines. He plucked a vibrant rose, who was it for? Dread or perhaps jealousy bubbled in your soul. “Did your mother ever tell you its rude to spy?” A voice says behind you, you notice your shadow isn’t yours again. Its his silhouette, you briefly look back at the shadow milk in the field but instead he is not floating right in your face with a smug look. You flinch back, he smiles. “You know, for once I’m shocked! You actually followed me! I was worried i’d have to get extreme in convincing that pure fool to let go of you, but you came on your own. Good choice!” He says floating around you like a fish swimming gracefully, almost flaunting the rose he picked. You were eyeing it, he grinned further. “Ohohoh! You look ready to tear someone to shreds! Don’t worry, it’s for you,” he says and places it in your hand. His hands now around yours, the thorns were clipped so when he squeezed your hands it didn’t hurt. He had a dark look on his face, it wasn’t like how you’ve seen before. “I think i’ll enjoy seeing your face for a long, long time, and i’ll be the only one to see it… sound familiar?” He says and pulls the book from your bag. You fluster further, cheeks burning. The mix of fantasizing about his potential actions and the shock of him pulling out your notes mixed quickly. “Im antsy to see what you said about me~,” he giggles deviously. Instead of standing shocked you replied matching his tone, “i think you’ll enjoy what i have to say about you.” He’s now smiling widely, “then let’s not waste any time!” He says and opens a portal, dragging you in.

Meanwhile on an unseen balcony nearby

🃏 - Black sapphire leans against the railing, at first incredibly amused at the sight. It was humorous to see his master trying to flirt, or scare them. Then you started to look like you were into it… He wasn’t expecting that, you seemed quite nice! His mind devolving into mild surprise, then finally a whole slurry of emotions. “That was… erm… are we going to have to deal with that everyday now?” He turns to Candy Apple cookie standing stiffly, disgust, sadness and rage written on her face. She exited without saying a word, running back into the spire probably to her room to plot.