#<- My perception of him

[bumblingbabooshka]

This ask is nsft

https://www.tumblr.com/bumblingbabooshka/731751400775761920

Hold up hold up hold up bro. Your tags. They are making me Think.

Do you... do you think Tom is into being cucked?? Like, he's obsessed with making people cheat on their partners but not even with him and then he basically tells Harry he enjoys being romantically rejected like, sir?? Are you trying to tell us something???

I think Tom more likes being uhhh....like, what's a lesser version of playing the victim? He likes having something to be lightly angsty and miserable about in my mind. If he was actually in a cuck situation like for real I can't see him enjoying it - he'd just be jealous and angry. He's also just very insecure and prone to thinking negatively so even if that sort of situation came to pass I can imagine it slowly devastating him over the course of several weeks - it wouldn't be great let's say HEHEHE...In MY mind. His weird thing for trying to get people to cheat on their partners reads to me as either convoluted projection (Ex: Harry gets with a woman that I introduced him to - that's me in his sex life it's like we're having sex. I hate that this woman is having sex with Harry and not me God I love Harry I hope he's happy I wish he'd break up with her she's not good enough for him etc etc) <- This until he passes out. or him wanting to .... almost bring another person down morally so he feels better about himself? The two people we see him do this (this = meddling in the romantic/sexual life of) with repeatedly are Harry & Tuvok who are both 'Gold Standard, Exemplary, Upright' people in their own respects. Harry's a model Starfleet officer, an excellent friend, the kind of person you just want to like and who's earnest about wanting to like you too. He has parents who love him, he's optimistic, perfect golden boy who saved Tom's life a thousand times in Tom's eyes. Meanwhile Tuvok is also an exemplary officer and a very...strict? individual. He's Vulcan so that's alien to Tom but as far as Vulcans go he's a very 'Vulcan-Vulcan'. One might say a model Vulcan? AND (which I think Tom would care about more) Tuvok is a very loyal person. He's loyal to Janeway, to Starfleet, to his wife, he's not insecure - he doesn't second guess himself and he doesn't seem to even have a DESIRE not to be which I think Tom would hate, even if only subconsciously. <- I think consciously he'd just be like "He needs to lighten up a little!" My personal theory is that with Harry, Tom is more lightheartedly wanting him to 'Let loose! Have fun!' like I don't think he resents Harry (because he loves & admires him), he just wants to be close to him. Extremely close. The closest. If HARRY'S best friend is HIM....well <3 While Tuvok...I could see him harboring some (again convoluted, weird) resentment there. I can imagine him being legitimately frustrated by Tuvok's unwavering and seemingly effortless discipline and loyalty because those aren't traits Tom has and seemingly believes are unattainable or superficial. He seems like the type of guy who'd be like "Well sure everyone WANTS to [cheat on their partner]." Do you know what sort of guy I'm talking about? Like, well EVERYONE /WANTS/ to do this but they don't because xyz. Like, the fact that Tuvok was attracted to Noss but DIDN'T give in to that and betray T'Pel really was whipping that man into a frenzy because in Tom's mind if Tuvok is attracted to Noss and she reciprocates, WHY would you not give in??? There's NO reason...You might never see T'Pel again and even if you did - it's not like she'd have to know! If logical Tuvok does [moral wrongdoing] then what chance could Tom POSSIBLY have of not doing [moral wrongdoing] as well? Though I don't think Tom is the introspective sort of guy so I don't think he'd even notice these sorts of reoccurring behaviors let alone analyze them. He'd probably be more likely to say something like "It just annoys me!"

[shelfperson]

okay but WHYYY is no one talking about louis and daniel WHYYYYYYYYYY is no one talking about the greatest grandpa4grandpa relationship known to man and i don’t even mean romantically i mean in the most basic human platonic level their relationship is FASCINATING.

like louis SAUGHT HIM OUT after FIFTY YEARS he FOUND HIS BOY, this horrible infant who DID NOT UNDERSTAND A THING HE TOLD HIM, who saw his raw, decades-old pain and wanted in on it, AND HE GOES BACK FOR HIM BECAUSE HE KNOWS HE’S CHANGED. he can understand now. he can help him find the truth.

and like, they’re both absolutely terrified by each other because they’re both uniquely skilled at getting under each other’s skin and finding that truth (and also because… louis could just up and eat daniel anytime but shhhh…) and it’s because they UNDERSTAND EACH OTHER. louis’s interviewing daniel as much as daniel’s interviewing him, just. pulling teeth from each other’s head, trying to pull out all the rot with such violence and cruelty (from both of them!! daniel is a cockwallop!!) but they want to help each other they CARE ABOUT EACH OTHER.

LIKE THIS????

THIS FUCKING SHIT?????

GAGGED ME. RUINED ME. I HAD TO STOP AND TAKE A WALK AROUND THE ROOM.

(the gifs are from @loumands account btw. great work my guy)

[fauvester]

something something seeing things through different eyes

[dangans-ur-ronpas]

happy pride month

[treasureplcnet]

anime-only fans please please please consider reading dungeon meshi because once you hit ch76 your life begins anew

[anassemblageofpassions]

The thing abt john winchester is that he is too complex for the majority of the spn fandom and for a good portion of the writers on the show too.

Because at his core john is about love over everything else. When he looks up at his sons (yes, up, the fact that they’re both taller than him>>>>>), there is love seeping achingly from every single pore of his being even as he abuses them, as he destroys their souls beyond belief. He does it all entirely out of love. And he is so, so wrong for it. A part of him knows it. But he wants to keep dean alive, and he wants to keep Sam pure. And he loves them so much. And he damages them so horribly. John Winchester is the foundation upon which they are both built, they only become more of what he made them as the series goes on. Sam stops fighting it, Dean continues to mold into his image no matter how hard he tries to fight it.

Hell puts them both on steroids, but their individual trauma responses that influence this are the foundations that John built into them. No wonder azazel wanted sam to win so badly. John Winchester crafted his sons into alastair and Lucifer’s ideal victims, respectively, and dean was a better (worse) john than John ever was. John held out in hell. Dean acquiesced to his abuser despite all of his efforts to fight him, and he’s never been the same since.

Sam fought like hell, and he fought destiny, but at his core, he did what John always wanted him to by doing what dean wanted him to do, and then he stops fighting at all, loses the fire he showed john in adolescence that john immediately notices when he returns in s14.

And the sad thing is. They filled their roles so well that John is saddened by what they’ve become. He didn’t want dean to break. He didn’t want Sam to be dimmed. He’s sad to see what Sam is like in s14. In the process of recovering his wife, he ensured he would mold his sons into what he wanted them to be, and when he got what he wanted, he was devastated.

John Winchester is so driven by love and grief and he’s so filled to the brim with both that it’s painful to watch him on screen because he destroyed his family because of it. And he wanted this all along but he didn’t realize what he’d have to give up to get it.

[merlinemryspendragon]

Bridgerton - S3E02 “How Bright the Moon” // S3E03 “Forces of Nature”

[gert-the-disaster]

what’s the matter is he stupid?? (haha did this fnaf challenge cause it looked real funny)

og image 🤘

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Let the revenge games begin.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[stealingyourbones]

Out of all of the people The Ghost King Phantom expected to relate to, it definitely wasn’t the scrawny red headed photographer of the Daily Planet. Jimmy Olsen has gotten so many temporary superpowers over his time being Superman’s friend. Hell, he once gained a 4th dimensional being’s reality warping abilities when he was given said dimensional being’s powers during a fight. Sure there’s a dozen or so heroes with the same amount of powers he has, but none as suddenly granted to them as a all powerful god that can relate to a teenager.

[bloodsbane]

what i love about laios is that he's actually very good at putting puzzle pieces together BUT HERE'S THE THING 1) he needs to HAVE the information, and 2) (this is important) he needs to KNOW it is information he should care about

and i think this could be said of anyone but the thing with laios is that people tend to view his lack of awareness wrt social etiquette and memory problems as pure indifference and/or obliviousness; sometimes they misinterpret his motives based on their inaccurate expectations of him and therefore don't give his thoughts on a subject the credit he deserves

one of the most obvious examples of this happens at least twice in the manga as i remember it, but the most recent incident was when they were trying to resurrect falin. there's a moment where laios mentions reconstructing both of the warg skeletons, as their bones are mixed in with hers. both chilchuck and senshi balk at this, with chilchuck complaining aloud, questioning laios' priorities,

and laios quickly, angrily retorts. his reason for making the suggestion is perfectly logical and practical, but because his friends are used to his interest in monsters influencing his judgement, often in ways they see as frivolous or dangerous, they don't come to the same conclusion. one which i'd argue is kind of obvious considering the situation

we see it again during his fight with toshiro, where toshiro demands to know what laios plans to do to save falin. laios takes a minute to answer, but he DOES answer, following the logic that if falin is a chimera because of (and controlled by) the mad mage, then the logical next step is to confront/defeat/usurp them

then in the following episode, when chilchuck brings it up again, laios explains what he (now) knows about thistle, mentioning that he's the same elf that laios saw in the living paintings, which is why he knows thistle's connection to delgal. the party reacts like this:

i'd say this is an example of them feeling frustration over laios' habit of having 'bad timing', not knowing when or how to speak at appropriate moments. theyre judging him for not saying something earlier, as if he already knew all this but didn't think to mention it when it was relevant, when the reality is that laios only just now had all the pieces he needed to understand the full picture

and i mention this bit specifically because i think it's a great way to explain what i mean by point 2: laios needs to know when information is important and worth considering

which, again, feels fucking obvious. but as someone who ALSO has debilitating issues with remembering important shit, i find this particular element of it pretty relatable and critical to my overall point. it's not laios' fault that he didn't know who thistle was or his significance - why the hell would he assume that a person he met in a living painting, presumably long since dead in reality, should be someone who's face, name, or motives he keeps in mind?

ultimately, i guess what i'm trying to say with all this is that the way others treat laios' intelligence is not congruent to how actually smart he is. one of the things i love most about laios, what is possibly his biggest strength and the reason he is such a great protagonist, is that laios is willing to think things through and find the most logical conclusion to a problem, no matter how outlandish or dangerous or seemingly impossible that conclusion may be. sister got eaten? race back down to go get her. can't afford food? fight, defeat, and eat dangerous monsters. sister's fully digested? use black magic to bring her back. now she's a chimera? defeat the mage controlling her and use that power to fix it.

anyways. what was even my point with this post? i guess it is that laios is smart, at least as smart as anyone else in the cast, arguably smarter than some. he is intelligent and utilizes that intelligence in many ways, not JUST when it comes to monster info (though that is his best and sexiest brand of knowledge)

and also please be nice to your friends with memory problems. it's rough out here for forgetful bitches

[morganbritton132]

17 year old CEO Tim Drake sending out a company wide email letting the board of directors know that he won’t be in the meeting this afternoon because he’s going to the DMV to get his driver’s license. Lucius Fox will be there in his place.

This is the third time he’s missed a meeting for this reason. Also the third time he’s sent this email to everybody in the directory.

[citrusai]

taash said "they were doing it" and people ran with the interpretation of an npc that doesn't know solas or the history of the elvhenan even when bellara interjected and said, no, that's not right. that's not how it was for the elvhenan. they formed bonds before they had physical bodies. and people ran to doompost or create weird anti-solavellan shit even though mythal & solas refer to each other as old friends and when she releases him there is no tenderness or love in it. it is the act of unchaining a dog from his post, the stepping down of a general. but to each their own ig.

[m1d-45]

bloodletting

summary: a budding god needs a place to test their new powers, and childe was always a little too eager to lose a fight... a match made in heaven!

word count: 1.7k

-> warnings : minor AQ spoilers ? just like, general gi plot.. fairly graphic depiction of blood + other injuries (might be classed as body horror???). generally obsessive tendencies (childe <--> you). i cannot stress this enough, reader is 110% a sadist.

-> gn reader (you/yours)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr || @ryuryuryuyurboat || @undrxtxd || @rainswept || @wanderersqt || @rozz-eokkk

< masterlist >

power was not something that came easy. it was fought over, stolen, defended with teeth and claw, tides of blood shed just so one could have power over another. social, physical, financial; no matter the leverage it provided, power was hard won. to give someone power was to admit defeat, a certain death that tartaglia had learned and taught more than his fair share of times. nobody undeserving of power ever held onto it for long; it was an acknowledgement that you were better, that you deserved it, that you’d won. power was a fickle resource that childe would kill to keep, only ever laying down his blade for a precious few.

the tsaritsa, of course. his fellow harbingers, skilled both on and off-field, who themselves could rival the archons. his family, for whom he’d happily give the world.

and naturally, who would be more worthy to hold power than you?

you, not just a god but the, the highest authority across all of teyvat. you bore a hundred names and a thousand monikers, your worship the one thing the world could agree on. granted, nobody could quite agree on how, but that was fine. childe did not need external powers to tell him what to do. he knew, in his deepest heart, that he had gotten it right.

he knew—and, on occasion, flaunted—that he was your favorite. of all the vessels you had chosen, you returned to him time and time again, wishing on his stars until his vision gleamed. his bow shone with power, even his weakest weapon more than enough to push his strength to new heights. part of him wondered what he could do if you’d granted him swords, or a claymore… but that was speculation for another time. didn’t it say something that you had still chosen him at his weakest?

the thought always made him smile. thick in the heat of puppeteered battle, before the sun to after dark, your presence was a constant in his life. at every altar, with every offering, when his hands stung from the rash of leather and his blade was covered in rust, your name a prayer behind blood-soaked teeth. he could not remember a time when his pocket was not weighted with a charm.

his devotion was no secret. he wore your bow with pride, entirely phasing out his other weapons. it didn’t matter that he was technically more controlled with them, for you had chosen this path for him. your word was his guide, a polar star through bitter nights.

he did not doubt when your presence ebbed or flowed. who was he to dictate when or where you spent your attention? no, his faith did not waver. it had no reason to. he waited patiently, going about his regular duties, lingering in snezhnaya for no other reason that he just felt like he had to.

who was he to question to buzzing in the back of his head? who was he to decline when he felt an instinct to leave, to go for a trip far past the city gates? who was he to think himself better than the guiding light that had never led him astray?

for you, he was whatever you needed. and so he went, armed with a thick coat and snowboots, hands shoved deep in the pockets to hide the slight shake. down the main road, an arbitrary turn into an alley and down an abandoned path, into a part of the city he’d never traveled. but a golden thread had tied itself around his heart, pulling without hesitation. he easily hopped over the fence gate, not bothering with hauling it open through the snow. the path beyond was covered in a thick layer of powder, his foot crunching through a foot of it before hitting solid ground. still, he continued.

snezhnayan winters were not warm. they bit and dug into every gap in your clothes, stealing away the precious warmth within. and yet, with his half-done coat and incomplete guard, he was not cold. or, rather, he couldn’t feel it. his hands were pink with frost, stiff at the knuckles, but he couldn’t feel the resistance. his body was not important, not now.

the snow began to thin. it fell from his knees to his shins to his ankles to his toes, until he was face to face with a thick wall of bramble, impossibly overgrown. he was beginning to overheat in his jacket. twin blades made quick work of the wall, and the sight behind it easily dispelled any breath left in his lungs.

the air that washed out of the bubble was thick and heavy, like a humid spring instead of snezhnayan woods. his breath came in short gasps, a shameful wheeze that he hoped was missed beneath the howling snow. he didn’t want you to see him as weak, as someone so easily tired by a short trip to a falling star; he didn’t want you to think of him as anything other than his best.

but you didn’t push him away. you helped him up—his head was buzzing with delusion, he could hardly see, when had he fallen to his knees?—and brushed the snow off his hair, not pushing him away when he leaned into your touch. he couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, could barely collect himself enough to recognize that he needed to get you inside, away from the wilds.

that was power. to so effortlessly take over every thought in his head, to hold his mind in your hands and pull it into your liking, that was the power he adored you for. gods were figureheads of power, a physical incarnation of their dominion. a god of the entire world would only naturally have power to manipulate that world to their liking. how blessed was he, that he could be the first you made yours.

he was with you when you first stepped into zapolyarny palace, looking around at the chandeliers and fine tile. he opened the door for you to her majesty’s throne room, sucking in a sharp breath as you brushed by. he was by your side when the tsaritsa swore you her fealty, delicately placing the gnoses in your hands.

and oh, how he’d fallen to the floor right then and there, dizzy from the wash of power that rolled off you in waves, an ocean that he willingly dove into. the floor was cool beneath his forehead, his hair sticking to his skin as sweat quickly began to bead. he didn’t bother pushing himself up on his hands, teeth sinking deep into his lip again to control his panting breath. copper bloomed over his tongue, filling his mouth and clogging what remained of his senses.

dimly, he was aware that he was being pathetic, that this would surely change your mind about him. he heard your voice, faint through the fog of his mind, your wisdom lost to his own inadequacy. and yet, despite his weakness, every part of him was tuned into you. he knew it was your hand whispering across his shoulders, he knew it was your influence that stole the breath from his lungs. he knew it was you, because it was always you. you were all he could think of, and now you were finally able to leverage your full power over his self.

he’d woken up in a hospital bed. saline dripped into his arm and the lights pierced his eyes, his head full of snow and iced over. and yet, the moment he was cleared for release, he found himself desperate to be back to your side, racing through the tiled halls of the palace and following the urgent burn in his chest. you would have been right to turn him away, to deem him too weak to stay by your side, but you didn’t. you smiled when he lost his breath and laughed when he wavered, brushing off his concern. you invited him with you—his lungs burned with the need for oxygen—as you twirled the gnoses between your fingers, as if they were toys or paperweights rather than objects of divine power.

divine to him. child’s play to you. a courtyard of snow was cleared in an instant, ripples of pyro melting permafrost while keeping the flora beneath intact, a lazy show of power that pulled little more than a slight hum from you in response.

he wasn’t so much a fool as to think he could teach you everything, or even something, about being divine. and yet he clung to your side like a sailor in a storm, watching as you grew familiar with the elements. he watched, stubborn and weak, as you stopped hesitating.

flowers bloomed as you walked by, crumbling to ash with the slightest look. electro jumped from your skin to his, a painful spark that drew his mind from his head, finally seeing your amused eyes instead of just mindlessly staring. you could—should—have just left him behind, but you didn’t. you instead asked for his help, taking his hand in yours and leading him to a quieter hallway of the palace. you didn’t comment on his thundering pulse despite the fact that you could certainly feel it, tracing a finger along the crease of his palm.

“i wonder…”

a claw of geo cut across his skin, a sharp sting that quickly welled with blood. he barely felt it, watching with detached awe as it filled up his hand, sliding over the edge and dripping to the floor. you didn’t show any emotion, just… watching. his heart beat in his hands, a pool collecting on the floor, and still, you just watched. your other hand moved over the surface, barely an inch away, the blood collecting in a bubble beneath it. with a hum, your fist tightened, pain lighting up his arm. a strained grunt slipped between his teeth, hand flinching closed, brushing against the ball of his blood you had pulled from his veins. his hand was stained red, shaking in your grasp, minutes stretched into hours.

all at once, it dropped, forced back into his body as forcefully as it was removed. with a snap, the skin stitched itself shut, and you were again dragging him along like a child did their favorite toy.

you did that a lot. pull him aside and experiment with whatever new reaction you had discovered that month, week, day, hour, watching his reactions with unabashed delight. and he let you. every time, without fail, he eagerly followed, knowing full well he’d end up rigid with lightning or with ice crystals studding his throat. it was worth it, though. you always fixed him up, squeezing his hand with a whispered ‘good job’ that never failed to make him dizzy.

it didn’t matter what you did to him. it never did. even when his mind was hazy with pain and he couldn’t quite stand on his own, he never regretted it. unconsciousness licked at the edges of his vision, burning black stains that lingered even after you stopped, but he never once hesitated.

if you asked him to jump, he’d ask how high. if you felt like holding him underwater, he’d cherish every bruise. to be kept as a toy was still to be kept.

[memeticallyengineered]

why do i have to live in the timeline where when i say "oh i rlly like sherlock holmes!" people go "the show?" instead of assuming the far superior original product: the actual fucking books

[dailyhogz]

Fleetway Super snok

221. fleetway