#if so please tell me how it is!

[formywriyinglalala]

this genuinely breaks my heart

[captainjonnitkessler]

I truly, TRULY do not know how to say this, because the fact that I have to say it makes me feel like I am losing my grip on reality. But no, in the post-capitalistic anarchist utopia, I will not be relying on “autistic minecraft girlies” to be building inspectors because - and this may shock you - one of those occupations takes years of education in how to read and interpret hundreds of thousands of lines of regulations based on complicated math and physics that were the result of decades of tragedy and death, and the other one involves playing a children’s video game.

[cozylittleartblog]

Columbo and the Knight (1984)

put me in the universe where Columbo ran through the 1980s and had a crossover episode with Knight Rider. I think they deserved it, and I am not just saying that because they're my two favorite Old Shows. @telebeast wrote a little fanfic blurb about it and I HAD to visualize it into a comic (which is also the longest comic I have finished thus far at five pages...), so writing credit goes to them.

Autism W!

[thebitchbehindtheslaughter]

The Heart Everbeating

Hi! This story has been in The Works for about a year now, so I hope you enjoy! Warnings for death, Christianity/Catholicism, and everything going wrong in the MC’s life 

When one man falls for another, they say God, himself, shudders in disgust. Two men peacefully exchanging whispers betwixt the oxeyes and the late eve silence could send all of Heaven into a rage, wheels of flame and feather burning bright with divine wrath. The Spirit scoffs at the embrace of palms, The Son weeps at the embrace of arms, The Father recoils at the embrace of lips. All three were above any such mortal woes and so the Holymen and Holywomen would leap from their confessionals and morning prayers, setting down their scriptures and rosaries in the name of mallets and chains to purge the world of any threat to perfection’s untouchable paradise, for the loving whispers nestled within the daisies—promises to forever support, protect and adore, were far too demonic for the cotton ears of the immortal, immoral Shepard. Yet even once sentenced to the depths of The Nine Rings, no pretend border could halt the sweethearts’ yearning for one another, no prideful god fully capable of stopping the pounding of deep love’s heart; The Devil himself knows of and tries not to prevent honest admiration. Layers of wood, of rust, of ash, of soil, could not cease the fire within one man’s soul as he plucked at the freshly bloomed oxeye, near delirious with his burning desire.

     A trail of ‘he loves me’s spiralled on the wind as the fiancé limped through the aisle of wrought iron and forsaken stone, his veil of moonlight bathing one man and his wilting bouquet in sensations of ethereal glamour. Hums of melodies yet to be played bounced off the flitting wings of the Calyptra groomsmen all the while, holding back their hunger in the name of the beloveds’ special day. The one man tied back his long, dark hair with the red ribbon his beloved had gifted him, hoping to enchant just as he’d been at their first meeting, continuing his pursuit without so much as a stumble. At the mere thought of meeting once more one man’s mind was overrun with his deepest desires, burning through his ice-coated flesh and igniting the spark which had never truly died, his own wrought iron fence of bone becoming the grates of a roaring coal furnace and as such granting him ample energy on his seemingly endless journey. Truly, one man was ever so far from the halfway point—a little black house overrun by only the sweetest of alleycats—but moments spent alone do slide unto the doorstep of eternity when one is used to moments with his beloved, so one dared not to pause to collect the rapidly disappearing petals, or to pluck fresher flowers, or to feed his dear groomsmen as they continued their song. Instead he chased after the growing stronger aura of his beloved, his darling, as he slowly neared the town gates.

     If the ring of charcoal iron he left behind were to act as a church hall’s supposedly welcoming doors, then the buildings were certainly the rows of family and friends who arrived solely to bare witness to the beloveds’ moment of union as they leaned in close to admire the unearthly beauty one man found himself in possession of, the dewy mist which still hung in the evening air bringing the idea of tears to the candlelit windows that lit up his path. So attractive he felt as he walked the aisle he’d always dreamed of traversing, the scent of his beloved still rested in his lungs and it grew ever stronger the closer he was to the town square. The petals of the oxeyes he had gathered fell less on his gloves and more on the wind, his limbs moving faster the closer he sensed himself getting, one man’s mind growing equally as desperate for the face he so longed to hold once more, when one of his guests spoke and broke him from the trance he willing entered; “My old friend, is that truly you before me? My, you’re in that beautiful suit! Are you finally to be wed to your beloved?” There upon the porch stood a woman, the patches which crawled across her cheek marking her familiar in appearance, but the silver hair which clung to her head like spiderwebs struck her down as the grandmother of a friend who lived within those exact walls, but certainly she had passed long before one man’s eyes had closed? “Come in, my friend! It is poor manners to arrive to any wedding with an empty stomach!” So dearly did one man wish to see his beloved, to hold, to cherish, to kiss and recover the year that was lost between two meters of wood and mud, but as he always knew her granddaughter to be his old friend’s grandmother was most certainly correct. “Oh, my friend, I must lend you a bottle of perfume, as well. Tell me, would you prefer to smell of roses or daises?”

     Traditionally, receptions were to be held once vows had been born and welcomed to the new world, but perhaps tradition could take a knee for the beloveds’ celebration. Only for the moments spent within the old and rickety house, of course, as after the cake was cut one man would return to the aisle and greet his beloved with promises written in a heat of passion and longing. With heat of passion mentioned, one man found it quite impossible to miss how warm the air surrounding the dining table truly was, though that could be blamed on the Battenberg cake and Earl Grey tea that was set before him with unsteady hands. “Dig in, my friend!” The older woman sat in the chair across from his own with a smile lined in childish giddy, reminding one man that all the town was abuzz with excitement for the evening that had just arrived, all because he had insisted on paying patronage to a small tailor shop many moons ago. Yes, he remembered that year as if it had played out just moments ago, the one where he slowly fell for the charming tailor’s son who knew his figure better than he did. He remembered the first time they spoke, how he had thanked the young man for his service and complimented his handiwork, and of course, he remembered the shy and flattered smile that offered as response. Certainly, if his mind still held to those magical moments within a small, family shop, then it held what led to the beloveds’ arrival to the small, isolated town. He wished it would forget—prayed, even, but it held steadfast. Lavender. He despised that colour more than anything, for once upon a time it had infected his life and forced him to the tailor’s shop to be suited for a tux in that very shade. Although, one man would never forget the generosity of the woman in the matching dress, one who shooed them away and took all fault for their escape. He hoped her and her bride would be wed one day. “Goodness, my friend, you’re going to be quite late!” One man’s untouched cake and well-stirred tea were carried off into the depths of the hot house, just as he began to feel… sick. He hadn’t a clue he could feel sick once his body was beyond death, but as the older woman had exclaimed he had not a moment to ponder. “Take care, my friend!” She called as he shuffled out the door, his groomsmen having awaited his return upon the porch; it would be his night and his night, alone, for only a few minutes longer.

     Then came a buzzing, swirling spirit that twirled through him like wine in the glass of a nobleman, one born of unadulterated anticipation. For simply, he had twirled past the house he had known to be infested with cats but, to his surprise, had then been infested with vines and flowers. He could not find himself time to pause, however, so simply he continued on, the waltz in his step. Four steps at a time led him through an enthusiastic daze of sorting through crowds to meet his beloved at the ballroom’s centre, his own, personal history of wandering grand celebrations providing him and his movements great expertise. Oh, my beloved, his mind had pleaded as he stumbled from one side of the road to the other, his undead heart begging to pound in the pattern it knew so well. One man tightened the knot of the ribbon he’d so carefully laced into his hair, then a memory of how said ribbon had come to be teased him with visions of his beloved; he had been questioned as to what his very favourite colour was and, his gaze locked upon the eyes of the tailor’s son, he had simply said what he saw: Red. Red was a difficult colour—though nowhere near as difficult as indigo—so all that was offered was a red ribbon. His beloved had apologized in only a most sincere manner but he, oh, he had known that shade oh-so-well, and so, had giddily taken the gift and laced it into his long hair for the very first time. Oh, he would give almost anything to see his beloved’s flustered expression once more, how his red eyes had widened as if to show off all their glittering glory, his glasses falling down his face to assist in their unveiling. One man could not resist then, and had asked if he may. His beloved said yes. Such a beautiful memory had caused his dance through the streets to grow wild and desperate as he near cried out in love and admiration. Delirious, just as he was once he reentered the Ertha’s domain, though that time he was nearly at his beloved’s side, just stood at the edge of a true and real crowd. He could see the red through the shuffling shoulders. He ran for it. One man embraced the figure so tightly that he could tell instantaneously that it was not his beloved in his arms.

     “Let go of my daughter.” Hands rough from the wear and tear of time grabbed at his suit jacket and mercilessly pried him away from the young woman whose face was alight with fear. He knew that face, well—well, perhaps only certain features. The puff of her bottom lip he knew he’d kissed before, the batting of her eyelashes he knew he’d felt flutter against his cheek before, the beauty mark at her jaw he knew he’d gushed over before—though certainly it had moved sides—and the red. He knew that particular shade of red far better than he knew anything else, and he despised how natural it looked when combined with the new shape of her jaw, point of her nose, and texture of her straight hair. That hair always curled when grown that long, though it rarely had a chance to grow past the shoulders. Perhaps his beloved’s sister had appeared in town to comfort him? Oh, he hadn’t even considered the existence of his beloved’s grief! Yes, his dear sister must have appeared to stay the past two years with him and assistance him in his recovery! Then why, he questioned as he could not comprehend the answer, did a woman with the exact new features of the girl appear at that moment, stood beside the younger, and took on the appearance of mother and daughter? Hesitant, terrified yet morbidly curious of the truth in hiding, did one man turn to look at the man who still held him by the shoulders. His fear was proved to be founded in fantasy, for he knew that face and its every detail, instantaneously. “… My love?” Delirium once again ignited within one man’s shaking chest, and caused him great ecstasy which guided his limbs about his beloved’s shoulders, pulled the two men close together, their bodies perfectly tailored to the other’s just as they were in their younger years. His pined for those lips like he never had before in all his years of love and admiration for the taller, desperate as he had been all that night without his beloved by his side, and pushed himself to the tips of his toes in a reach that lasted all of three seconds. He closed his eyes and anticipated the warm—near burning sensation of gentle love he’d come to know so well, but he was met with the pin-pricked fingers of a tailor’s hands. “M-My love, I…” Those gorgeous red eyes darted to the two women at their side for truly not a reason, at all, as his beloved had never been the least bit cautious when it came to expressing their undying affection—at the very least, not in that town. “You must understand my hesitation,” he whispered as if some godly fear had been implemented into his untainted soul; perhaps by that woman who had yet to learn how rude it was to stare? “You’ve been gone—dead! For thirty years, so how am I to react to seeing your face again?” In response to such words rife with sorrow and conflict, for the very first time in that moonlit evening one man could not think at all.

     “Goodness, my love, I… I watched you die in that field of oxeyes! I held your shaking body, I watched the life drain from your eyes—the blood, as well! Y-Your own father shot you dead and I was the only one who mourned! Now, suddenly, three decades later you return to me? Why so long? Why must you have waited until I had finally moved on and healed?” His own mind was hardly aware of itself in that moment, as it drifted freely in the town square, inquired what the bystanders were thinking, and even what the woman and her daughter were thinking, but he could not bring himself to consider his beloved’s thoughts for he had to have been lying, though that was so far from something he would do especially in such serious situations as the one they were currently in. “My love… I’ve married another.” One man, his body shivering with horror, slowly followed that red gaze that instinctually filled with true love, though not for him. The woman and her daughter stared back… equally as horrified. “I didn’t believe you were coming back—How could I believe that? My wife she—she taught me how to recover, took her time to heal me, fully. Our daughter is sixteen, now. We are happy.” His beloved squeezed his arm and just as it always was, it comforted his aching heart. “I’m sorry, my love, but if you came back just to see me again, I’m afraid I’ll have to cut your return, here. My love?” For the very first time in his twenty years of life, one khan ignored the words of his beloved in favour of approaching another. He pulled the precious treasure from his hair and took the woman’s wrist, where he then placed it in her shaking palm and turned to the younger woman, to whom he offered the wilting oxeyes to, continuously numb despite her gratefully taking it.

     Then, with a final look to the beloved and his beautiful family—with the additional press of a handkerchief to his one functioning tear duct—one man quietly left the village.

[egophiliac]

some (extremely) quick doodles to celebrate the glorious return of glorious masquerade! I haven't had a chance to do much personal drawing lately, but I didn't want to let it go by without doing something!

[lygma-nygma]

Being a batfam fan is funny because people will make a post like “here’s my headcanon-“ and it’s just something that’s directly canon to the story then post about major canon events and get everything wrong.

[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.

[turrondeluxe]

The O'Hara bros interview!!!

[literaphobe]

You Didn't Tell - Abby S.

[abel-draws]

My faves should meet

[lazylittledragon]

ok i swear i'm not going to talk about my breakup forever but the thing that just keeps bothering me:

i know that not getting what you need in a relationship is a COMPLETELY valid reason to end it but also. i feel like having a very vulnerable moment where i opened up about my struggles with intimacy and being relieved that i didn't have to keep doing things i wasn't comfortable with, then being dumped a YEAR later because of my lack of intimacy. is something i should be allowed to be very hurt by???

[laurrelise]

okay all i want right now is an umbrella academy spinoff of just the deli fives working in the kitchen like in the bear

ok ok picture this:

deli owner five: i swear to fucking god five, if five has to wait any longer for the brisket, you’re fired.

brisket five: it’s not my fault! five still hasn’t finished the goddamn fries! (clearly at his breaking point)

fryer five: that’s because someone left his station dirty when he left after his morning shift. (also at his breaking point)

clocked-out fryer five: (sprinting out the back door) alright see you assholes tomorrow

server five: alright, i try not to get on you guys about ticket times… but five looks like he’s about ready to walk out.

deli owner five: fuck, give him a free dessert.

server five: okay, but can we hurry this shit up? i’d like a tip if that’s alright with you dickheads.

brisket five: get the hell out of my kitchen.

busser five: (bursting in with a full bin of dirty dishes) drunk five is demanding a fluffernutter and making a scene again.

deli owner five: (shuffling through countless tickets and slamming his fist on the counter) i have zero goddamn time for this five, we’re slammed with this lunch rush and im down two cooks today. help a guy out and get him to leave.

busser five: you pay me minimum wage and i could not give less of a shit. i’m not dealing with him again.

drunk five, bursting into the kitchen: i knew i smelled peanut butter in here (pointing at brisket five who’s currently on grill preparing a burger)

brisket five: this is literally a beef patty

deli owner five: alright man, we’ve tried to play nice, but you’re out of here. let’s go, don’t make a scene. (pulling drunk five out by his collar and dusting off his hands) fuckin’ hell, none of you make it easy, do you?

brisket five:

booth five watching from the dining room: jesus christ

[willowbirds]

Honestly what is so fun with watching this cast play as gods is that they are both playing them as how they are described in the lore, but they are also adding their own twists to them and making them more then just gods.

They are making them Characters.

They are making them People.

Taliesin’s Wildmother being jagged and angry, always hungry, representing that force of uncontrolled nature while we normally imagine her as this caring motherly figure (as the name suggests)

Nick’s Dawnfather being this caring figure, giving hope and resources to those struggling, while also having a level of arrogance that we not only saw portrayed by Matt, but also in how the Dawnfather sees the Exandrian’s as children he lead towards ‘A better path.’

Laura’s Matron not only understands life and death and is what you would expect, but she was once mortal. She knows of the threat Aeor poses to them and is not afraid to tell the others that there is no saving it.

Ashley’s Everlight is this goddess of light and deeply cares for the people of Exandria. When she created her avatar she went all in and started a family. She is now so much closer to the Exandrian’s then any of the others, and if any of the gods there are going to keep fighting to keep the people of Aeor alive, it is going to be her.

All of these characters are going to be so interesting to watch, and I am so excited to see what happens!

[eternallovers65]

Moments in Charles Leclerc that are so insane I wish I made it up but can't, because this stuff can only happen to him

- When his watch got stolen and he decided to CHASE the guy with his custom ferrari 488 pista

- When his former girlfriend got locked out of the apartment and he wasn't answering his phone so she had to subscribe to his Twitch channel to tell him to open the door (please watch his former streams I beg)

- When he crashed Niki Lauda's 1974 ferrari during the Monaco historic grand Prix (his luck I swear)

- Every Monaco Grand Prix ever (the infamous charles leclerc curse)

- When he went to dinner with a guy, posted the picture on Instagram and it turns out it was an international criminal wanted by the Interpol

- He went to a restaurant once, handed his car to the valet and the car was out of fuel

- When he went for a run, took some photos with fans and this couple started to fight in front of him

- When he didn't realized his tiktok likes were open to the public (it was mostly fan edits of himself, baby goats, babies but mostly fan videos about himself)

- Recently, he dropped his airpods in the airport floor and decided to use this gigantic clamp to get it back

- Or just his babygirl esque nature (i love him <3)

- He accepted a ride from two strangers just because he couldn't find a cab (Arthur was also in the car!!!)

(Also, feel free to add more, please, and every time he does something so charles, i will uptade the list)

[jeanmoreaue]

Jean and Elodie Moreau circa France sometime before both of their tragic fates rip

[egophiliac]

CROWLEY SSR THOUGHTS

there is zero basis for this, but I can't get this thought of my head

I don't know why I decided to draw it this way