AHHHHHHHHHHH

WHY IS THIS ME

The way most autism literature describes "literal interpretation" is often not at all similar to how I experience it. Teenage me even thought I couldn't be autistic because I've always been able to learn metaphors easily.

In fact, I love wordplay of all kinds. Teenage me was fascinated to learn all the types of figurative language there are in poetry and literature.

But paperwork and questionnaires are hard, because there's so much they don't state clearly. Or they don't leave room for enough nuance.

"List all the jobs you've had, with start and end dates." What if I don't remember the exact day or month? Is the year enough?

"Have you been suffering from blurred vision?" Well, if I take off my glasses the whole world is blurred, but I'm fairly sure that's not what the intake form at the optometrist is asking.

Or the infamous (and infuriatingly stereotypical) "Would you rather go to a library or a party?" What sort of party? Where? Who's there? I work at a library. Am I currently at the library for work or pleasure? Does it have a good collection?

It's not common figures of speech that confound me. It's ambiguity, in situations that aren't supposed to be ambiguous.

it's so weird to me that everyone on this website is a human person outside of their weird internet niche so rb this with a random bit of your lore

Nooooooo pretty baby dont sob what if i do this when you get back???? would you like that?

The absolute urge to just POUNCE on someone and tickle them silly is just unbearable, I crave to sneak up on someone and trap them in a bear hug and just lazily flutter my fingers around their ears, neck or sides and hear the sweet giggles that follow. Having no friends in here to do that with is such a pain

My heart imma cry it’s so sweet

Imagine you’re Telemachus.

Go ahead, picture it. You’re a kid growing up on an island where your dad is literally a living legend, but he’s been MIA your entire life. Twenty years of being “the son of Odysseus’’ and having no idea what that even means. Your mother constantly compares you to a guy you’ve never met, the suitors trash your house, eat your food, and openly plan your mom’s wedding like you’re not even there. Your own people think you’re too green, too weak, too not your father to do anything about it. One day, Athena shows up in disguise (because gods love a good mask) and tells you to stop moping around and go find news of your father. So, you set sail with no real plan, no real power, and a whole lot of unresolved resentment. You brave the seas, deal with cryptic kings, and what do you find? Nothing concrete, just more stories about how amazing Odysseus is. And then, just when you’re starting to think you’ve wasted your time, he shows up. But he turns out to be a killing machine, and you’re in the middle of the bloodbath, trying to keep up while the suitors are out for your head. At one point, they literally use you as bait to corner the king. Your father.

The first words you hear him say? Not to you, but to his enemies: “My mercy has long since drowned. It died to bring me home.’’ Imagine, how does that sit with you? You’ve spent your whole life dreaming of this reunion, hoping for a lovely father, a protector, maybe even a friend. Instead, you get this: a stranger soaked in blood, declaring that mercy — the thing you’ve clung to, the thing your mother embodies — has no place in his world.

But then he turns to you.

And suddenly, everything shifts. He looks at you, really looks at you, and says, “Oh my boy, the sweetest joy I’ve known.’’ The walls he’s built, the hardness he’s worn like armor, crack just enough for you to see the man underneath. For the first time, he’s not Odysseus the warrior, or Odysseus, the son of Laertes. He’s your father. He is Odysseus, father of dear Telemachus.

It doesn’t erase the pain, the years of absence, or the violence you just witnessed. But for that moment, it doesn’t matter. Because for the first time in your life, the man who’s been a myth, a memory, and a mystery, is standing in front of you — and he’s calling you his joy.

The little sword flicks aiwnsjdndksmxmdmdmdkkskdjfjd

One of my favorite things in Merlin is how you can clearly see Bradley James getting sword fighting training and improving at it as time goes on. Like, season 1, all Arthur sword fights are Duels With Helmets and minimal closeups, and then by the end of the show he's doing these choreographed long takes that look effortless. I just love seeing the progression.

The sky, it consumes me

My own photos )

Ooooo i should do this

"what, does it tickle?"

"stahp saying that-"

"why, can't you still say tickle?"

"sHhhfUCK-"

im fine i promise TwT

I Understand now holy fuck

Fuck all I can think about is hands crawling under my hoodie from behind.

Don't you want to creep your fingers up my sides to my shoulder blades? Trace your name down my spine and do some fake outs under my arms? Goose my sides until I'm a squirmy giggly mess in my chair?

I'll even ask nicely if you promise not to stop until I'm thoroughly melted, just for you

Fire/Grass frog

Im so tempted to try and sketch this siakdknakdjwjdjdjdj

pokèmonize yourself!!!!

spin this wheel to see your pokemon type

spin this one to see how you'll look like

They really are two sides of the same coin i cant

Arthur wears a mask of power and confidence over insecurity and neediness.

Merlin wears a mask of insecurity and neediness over power and confidence.