#I am in awe at you

[emile-hides]

Went to Pride today!!!

[possessable]

Hello i'm a normal person here's some stuff i drew to illustrate different traits different "person getting controlled" tropes can have

edit: obligatory possession shorthand code link because people seem to be using this like the possession code but just. without the code part

edit: DO NOT BE HORNY ON MY POST 💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥

[t-hirstreview]

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

The dog days are over.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[jingle-jangle-spurs]

Robert House watching The Courier rip all the copper wiring out the walls of the Lucky 38

[ducktracy]

there are a lot of evil people in the world and a lot of darkness in the world and so it’s very important for me to stress that now more than ever is the time to spread kindness and compassion. combat the evil by not only not partaking in it, but actively refuting it. destroy the notion that being compassionate or generous or kind to someone is uncool or embarrassing or even scary. be the change you want to see. start a chain reaction. positivity only breeds more positivity. do an act of kindness for someone so that that person who is too afraid to do it themselves can see you, realize that they’re not alone, and perhaps sheepishly follow your example. and then the next person who is too afraid but sees that person can do the same. when bad news comes out about bad people or horrible atrocities in the world it’s such an easy impulse to despair, and obviously it’s important to feel what you need to feel. grieve. be angry. be sorrowful. be empathetic. but dust off your pants and get up and be a part of a chain reaction that, no matter how small the scale, and spread compassion and love and care. all the reasons why you might not—“it’s hard! it’s scary! people will make fun of me! it’s useless because there’s too much evil!” are all grade A arguments as to why you should. you have no idea how many people you could inspire to do the same. even if it doesn’t get you anyway far, you can at least say you have the nobility of trying. please choose love and please choose life. you are worth loving and you are worth inspiring others to love

[the-bi-space-ace]

Never forget that Echo is an ARC trooper. Never forget that Echo is a badass. Never forget that Echo is a capable and experienced soldier and strategist. Never forget that Echo is impressive as fuck and an incredibly skilled man who can hold his own and never backs down from a fight.

[bluebells-and-dragonflies]

Imagine Astarion with ears so sensitive that he's never willingly allowed anyone to touch them except for you. Imagine laying next to him in your bed, facing him, lifting your hand up slowly for that first touch. His eyes on yours, the rapidity of the breath he doesn't need to take, but still does reflexively. Seeing that he's nervous, but that he's trusting you, feeling his shaking hand come to rest on your waist. The audible sound he makes- half a moan, half a gasp- when you finally brush your thumb over the soft skin at the tip of his ear.

You trace the long shell of his ear and watch his pretty eyes, deep red like velvet in the moonlight, flutter shut. He says your name softly, as close as you've ever heard him to prayer. You pinch his earlobe gently, and his hips roll forward involuntarily, the jut of his hipbone pressing against your thigh as he makes himself still. Heat flares low in your belly, but you tamp it down as quickly as possible- likewise, Astarion makes himself still against you. This isn't sex and won't become sex, you'd promised each other (though that's not to say that you won't explore this thoroughly during one of your hours-long lovemaking sessions. He is all about experimentation these days, after all).

You lay there, touching him in his most vulnerable place, with reverence and grace and occasionally disbelief that you could be here at all with this beautiful, horrible, ridiculous and wonderful man, that you could be trusted so completely. You take in his every shuddering breath, the flexing of his fingers in your shirt, the softness of his mouth when he presses his lips to yours and tells you he loves you. If you have your way, if he has his, if somehow your utterly insane lives hold together for a year or a decade or ten, it will always be like this.

[lovely-v]

Me before completing the forest temple: okay I get that ocarina of time is fun and nostalgic for people but it’s a bit of a stretch to call it one of the greatest video games of all time

Me after completing the forest temple: By revealing that Link is not a Kokiri, but a Hylian, the game effectively strips him of his humble origins amongst a group of people that already fail to recognize him in his adult form. Thus, kokiri village instantly becomes a location that is no longer Link’s home in any sense, exacerbated by the fact that the game now loads up in the temple of time instead of Link’s bedroom— he is a stranger in the only place that has ever been familiar to him and he is depressingly reduced to his destiny alone. However, the subsequent introduction of the time travel mechanic, which allows the player to travel from the horrific apocalyptic future back to the idyllic past of Link’s childhood, gives new meaning to the idea of this “destiny”. In effect, Link is not a stock “chosen one”, but a protagonist who consciously decides to fight onwards. Link’s dual existence as a child who knows the grim future and as an adult who was powerless to stop disaster gives a sort of desperation to his character, because while it brings the player relief to revisit the Castle Town that is populated by cheerful villagers instead of lurking zombies, the story can only be progressed through the acknowledgement of reality — the decision to make those seven years pass again. Therefore, both the player and Link as a character must be proactive in their heroism and make the conscious choice to struggle onwards despite the darkness that permeates—

[imaginaryprotagonist]

We as a society do not pop off enough about young Jackles playing a dude in a throuple with the original Dr Sexy, Mr Patrick Dempsey himself. Whose name in the movie is Cass! I mean, come on!

[featheredadora]

[crowkip]

ouguugh,, womnen

[lilybug-02]

Some Symptoms of ADHD from Someone who is diagnosed:

Forgetfulness that impacts daily life

Difficulty remembering others names and even faces

Hard to stop fidgeting or moving when bored. Difficult to stop even when aware

Hyperfocus

Lack of motivation in tasks, even more so when external motivations are not given

Difficulty in being organized for extended periods of time

[[Symptoms of Adult ADHD]]

[egophiliac]

(incoherent bird soldier screeching)

okay, I'm ready, I'm totally ready, I --

(even more incoherent bird soldier screeching)

[melancholic-pigeon]

Leftists on tumblr: listen to marginalized people about their own oppression

Jewish person: X thing is super antisemitic

Those very same leftists on tumblr: OH SO YOU SUPPORT MURDERING BABIES THEN? GENOCIDE APOLOGIST

Jewish person: here's an exhaustive list of sources going back thousands of years proving that X is antisemitic.

Leftists on tumblr: Doesn't count, colonizer!!!!!! /gets X tattooed on their forehead, puts an X bumper sticker on their car, calls people Genocide Supporters when they say "hey X is not allowed here because it's antisemitic"

Leftists on tumblr: "Why do Jews keep complaining about leftist antisemitism? I don't see it; it's clearly a distraction from talking about those Noble Savage Palestinians. Prove to me you're oppressed, X! X X X X!! CHANTS X FROM THE ROOFT0PS"

Jews: we don't super trust you guys not to call for our extermination, since you have repeatedly at every past opportunity

Leftists on tumblr: Look, I know antisemitism is annoying, but now is not the time to discuss blood libel when those Evil Jews are eating Palestinian babies!!! HASHTAG X

Jewish person: *rubs forehead as Turning from les mis plays in the background* (nothing changes, nothing ever can / round about the roundabout and back where you began)

Leftists on tumblr: SEE? THEY WON'T EVEN HAVE A GOOD FAITH DISCUSSION WITH ME 😭

Leftists on tumblr: "anyway discussions of antisemitism are a DISTRACTION. I am good person who is being very helpful and only hurting bad people who deserve it, like those filthy Jews— I mean zionists"

Leftists on tumblr: Why, oh why are people calling us antisemitic? 🥺

[nomazee]

“This is unnecessary.”

At Blade’s snide comment, you pull sharply at the strands of his hair in your hands. He grunts in displeasure before obediently quieting down, only a little scared of you scalping him if he annoys you any further. 

Perched behind him on the couch while he sits on the floor, your hands find themselves coming through his hair (long, smooth, untangled despite the fact that you’ve never seen him take a brush to it). Your efforts to part his hair with just your fingers are fruitless. His hair is thick on the top, so much so that you’re surprised his neck doesn’t constantly ache with the weight of it. Your hands pause, resting on the top of his head while you try and figure out how you’ll style it. 

“Be nice,” you warn, two hands on the sides of his head tilting it from side to side, treating him as a foam mannequin on which you can project your very thorough cosmetology skills. “Your fate is quite literally in my hands. I could knock you out and shave you bald very easily.”

“I don’t doubt that,” he says earnestly, and you can’t help the way your lips twinge into a smile. “This is clearly a hassle. My hair looks fine the way it is.”

“It does,” you admit, “but wouldn’t it be nice to try something new? And at no cost to you, aside from mild scalp pain. I’m good at hair. I did Kafka’s that one time.” You fail to mention that it was only one time for good reason. Kafka said that you handle hair the same way a lobster would handle a violin—that is, with clumsy hands and a clear lack of refinement. She had to hide every pair of scissors from you in fear that you'd give Silver Wolf microbangs.

As if on cue, your fingers get caught in an unexpected snag in Blade’s hair, and you pull and tug and yank as if expecting it to untangle on its own. Blade hisses and reaches a hand back to smack you on the wrist, turning around to glare at you. 

“Watch it,” he orders, gentle but firm. There’s not enough heat in his words to scare you, and his eyes are a particularly beautiful shade of copper in the dim, flickering light of this dingy lounge room. Whatever you say, beautiful, you think to yourself hysterically. 

After a few half-willed apologies from you and some nudges of encouragement, Blade finally relaxes enough to turn back around and tilt his head back in your lap, letting your fingers play with his hair nonsensically. A braid, you decide, would look quite nice on him. One long one down the back. If you had ribbon, you’d use some to tie his hair, but all you have is one of Kafka’s tragically thin hair ties. 

“It’s a nice color,” you comment absentmindedly, pretending that you can’t see the way Blade’s eyes have shut in contentment at your gentle prodding. “It changes in the light a little bit. It looks very blue now, but I’ve always thought it was black.” You section his hair off into three pieces, loosely laying one over the other over and over again. The aged gold ornament still hangs securely in his hair, and you don’t do anything to move it. It suits him. 

“It’s natural, if that’s what you’re getting at,” he tells you, the slightest twinge of a joke in his voice. It plays at your smile and at your heart, too. 

“You say that now, but you’ll be scrambling to come up with a lie when I find box dye in your bag.” 

He only hums in response, reluctantly enjoying the feeling of your hands on him—they’re gentle, and you can imagine he’s not quite used to this. It’s an addictive feeling, to have him at your mercy, even with just your hands in his hair. There’s trust, unspoken, lingering warmly in the air and settling like condensation on your skin. You could very easily do a number of things that would hurt Blade—kill him, almost. You’ve only ever thought of it a few times, and those were all a very long time ago. 

You don’t think of it that often anymore. All you’re paying attention to is Blade and the splitting ends of his hair and how nice he’d look with a red ribbon tied in. 

“We should go shopping,” you tell him, voice close to a whisper now. You’ve secured the end of his braid already, and your handiwork is admirable. The strands are neatly crossed over each other, uniform in size with each other as they taper down into the end. “Some clips for you would be nice.” Absentmindedly, you comb through the layers of hair near his face, digging your fingers gently into the sides of his face and scratching at his scalp. 

“And where exactly would we go shopping? We’re not exactly upstanding members of society in some people’s eyes.” 

“Then I’ll make clips for you,” you say, a naive kind of dedication in your tone. “I used to work with metal, a little bit. I could make jewelry. Ornaments for your hair. I’ll put a ribbon in next time.” 

“What makes you think there’ll be a next time?” Blade asks doubtfully, in steep contrast with the way he lets your hands roam along his scalp, and the way his head leans back into you as if he’s comfortable. 

“You’re a loyal customer,” you quip, “you’d never let somebody else do your hair when you have me as a dedicated stylist.” 

“I’m your only customer.” 

“I know,” and in a moment of weakness—because at the end of the day that’s what you are, weak, malleable and moveable when you’re with Blade like this—you lean down just a little bit, pressing a stupid clumsy kiss on the crown of his head. Your fingers trail down to trace the bumps of the braid, the divots and grooves in it, made by your hands, and yours alone. “That just means I can put all my effort towards you alone.” 

“You shouldn’t.” And he means it when he says that, and it hurts you, puts a sickly pang in your chest that you want to reach for and tear out before it grows into something worse. 

“But I will,” you tell him. Blade is stubborn, but not stubborn enough to keep it up. Not now, not here, not when the overhead lights are flickering and making his hair look just a little bluer, illuminating the warmer ends of his hair, glinting off the metal ornament still clipped into it. He rests between your hands, still sitting on the cold floor, pretending that he isn’t falling asleep with you like the fool he secretly is.

—°+..｡*ﾟ｡*ﾟ+.*.｡.—

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