#I ended up still scrolling | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

Women make up for the other 50% of Tumblr’s audience.

#I ended up still scrolling

allastoredeer · 24 days

Note

*Turns on megaphone* Lucifer Morningstar is a Service Top! ...That is all.

THANK YOU!

Can we all readdress the fact that Lucifer is a canonical switch? I understand liking bottom!Lucifer, I really do, but let this man top. As a RadioApple fan, is it really too much to want Alastor to get properly railed 😩

I suppose I'll have to be the change I want to see in the world, but I still wanna read/see it.

I'm pretty sure this is why I've been consuming so much RadioStatic content lately. Their dynamic is amazing AND Alastor gets to bottom. It's perfect.

161 notes · View notes

spittingspite · 9 months

Text

Y'all don't understand I didn't think they'd do it

I didn't see the leak. I'm assuming it was about the kiss but I didn't see it I just knew it existed and did my best to avoid it. I went into season 2 blind, fully expecting Aziraphale and Crowley's relationship to be similar to season one: small romantic moments, a few puppydog eyes from Aziraphale, soft little glances, something undeniably there but never stated or named. I was ready for a season where they loved each other but loved each other in their own way, a way easily read as romantic but a way that many, many people would also easily read as not romantic at all. I was ready for the extent of what we got to be something similar to season one and Neil and the casts' word that they love each other

I didn't think we'd get a kiss. I didn't think we'd get a confession. I was ready to not get those things, I was okay with not getting those things. My main worry was people getting their hopes up about a kiss and then being disappointed, or even angry, when it didn't happen. I was like "it would be nice, but I doubt Neil and the rest of the team will want to take that route, which is fine it's their story after all". I cannot stress enough that I did not think they'd do it

And then they did it

(While ripping my heart out but they did it nonetheless)

#good omens #good omens spoilers #good omens season 2 #good omens season 2 spoilers #good omens 2 #good omens 2 spoilers #go2 #go2 spoilers #go s2 #go s2 spoilers #oh look she speaks #you don't UNDERSTAND I WASN'T READY #i dropped my tablet. i stared in shock for like at least a minute #i rewound it and watched it again all the way to the end of the kiss #paused again #sat in shock again #sent a voice note with a choked off scream to my irl #rewound AGAIN. stared again. rewound one last time then kept watching in absolute agony #it's been like. 4? 5? hours and i'm still in absolute disbelief #scrolling back up the tag to see gifs and videos of the kiss again. like if i don't keep looking at it it'll cease to exist #asking myself if i really saw what i thought i saw. if somehow my dumb shipper brain is misinterpreting it #but it's not. they did that. they really did that. they really really went for it #don't get me wrong i wanted it!!!!!#i wanted it very much!!!!!!!!!#i just. didn't think i would get it. and i was okay with that #i've already told my irl and my discord friends about this but i just.#i can't get over how much they did the EXACT THING I NEVER WOULD HAVE DARED DREAM THEY'D DO #i'm torn between being so full of emotions i'm gonna explode and lying on the floor as a shocked emotionless husk #i really really did not think we'd get this. i didn't think they'd commit like this #holy shit

537 notes · View notes

amoneki-ramblings · 3 months

Note

do you think Kaneki might ever pray with Amon despite not being catholic himself? just sitting next to him mumbling the words as Amon says it because he likes to be with him

speaking of religion, what kind of faith do you think Kaneki would follow? I hc him as an atheist :) but I think you know more about religions than me lol

Ooooh I like that idea a lot actually I have So Many Thoughts (rubs my hands together evilly)

also this is just a sidenote but i know some people may be uncomfortable with religious discussion, so if you are lmk and i'll start tagging it :thumbsup:

I feel like Amon hasn't prayed often in a while because of his past, but he may still on occasion (habit), and may get back into it properly after actually resolving his feelings with the past. At some point Kaneki starts to join him. He doesn't really know How to pray, especially since a lot of it is in silence, he probably just kneels there and silently wishes for safety for his friends, for strength and resolve, etc. etc. But when Amon starts saying the actual prayers out loud he just sits there and listens to him quietly saying them.

At some point Kaneki might start mumbling along with them, he vaguely knows some of the prayers and has heard Amon say them enough times to kind of know them. Amon is surprised when Kaneki starts doing that and it just kind of becomes a Thing; maybe Kaneki even asks Amon to tell him how to pray the rosary since he sees him doing that often as well (when the rosary is prayed in a group there's one person leading that says the first half of most of the prayers and the rest say the other half, and I think it would be interesting with them alternating like that)

While Kaneki isn't catholic himself he finds it reassuring, while it's unlikely to him that there's someone out there that'll actually grant his prayers it's a nice thought, y'know? It's also just very relaxing there, even if it was kind of awkward at first

I think he also finds the sound of Amon praying very relaxing *cough*

I also think Kaneki would be atheist, while he wouldn't completely deny the possibility of there being a god of some sort he also isn't really a follower of any particular belief system (note: ive actually been informed that there is a better term for this, agnostic, which is essentially being neutral lol). I think Amon would know this, and therefore doesn't really know why Kaneki chooses to pray with him despite this, but he figures that Kaneki does have a lot of things he would want to pray for, things he would want to seek forgiveness for, too, and he appreciates that Kaneki is willing to spend time with him like this anyway.

#asks #shewhoeatssand #tokyo ghoul #tg #amoneki #amoneki ramblings #amon koutarou #kaneki ken #Ive never posted a single one of my amoneki fics cuz they're all. incomplete but GOD do i love implementing bible references/verses in them #i end up with like paragraphs of notes listing them in detail because i am. pretentious #i one time looked at a bible verse and thought 'holy shit that's so Amon' and went on a whole mental rant about why it just fits him so Wel #i think i'm normal about this :) (<- not norma #GH. ALSO. EMPTY PRAYER BY NULUT AND 'THERE MUST BE NO MEANING TO MY LIFE' BY TATSUYA KITANI ARE SUCH AMON SONGS #the latter especially the feeling of being abandoned by god and questioning why you're still alive because. trauma. hrngh.#i should go into an unhinged rant about amoneki and lower ones eyes someday the song is speculated to be based off of a work by dazai osamu #about judas n jesus. so it gets my Bias Bonus but also the song is so amoneki. empty prayer is too they're very amoneki for the same reason #i just scrolled up and realized i'm leaving half the post in the tags i'm so embarrassed #I TOLD MYSELF I WOULDN'T WRITE A SUPER LONG RESPONSE AND UMM OOPS #OH YEA UNRELATED BUT ALSO !! you said you wanted to hear my analysis about amon/kaneki's childhood traumas and their parents n stuff #I'll get to it soon ! i am still compiling my thoughts but i am Cooking i swear #thank you for the ask !!

22 notes · View notes

sudoscience · 13 days

Text

Haven't really been on here as much lately, but it is my sacred duty to reblog my mutuals' art, so I shall

#blog #idk...#i open the app. scroll like 10 posts. then end up doing something else #but i still love my mutuals!

7 notes · View notes

mlobsters · 5 months

Text

reminds me of a tiktok where an actor was talking about walking like a dude, dick first

#supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester #promotional stills #i was just looking for a better quality version of my dumbass budget burials picture -_- but ended up scrolling this instead

12 notes · View notes

ehlnofay · 8 months

Text

Summerfest Day 6 - IN BLOOM

The door to the tower room is much too heavy – that’s the next thing Efri needs to try to get them to change. She has to shove her whole weight against it with her shoulder to budge it, which is a dangerous game with her hands full of books and paper and an inkbottle and pen with a chewed nib. She doesn’t drop anything, luckily; but she does bash her ankle on the hefty slab of wood, which is almost as bad.

She doesn’t bother to knock, because why should she – she entered very audibly. Instead she just marches, vaguely irritated, past the entryway – almost slipping on the silky blue rug (honestly, she’ll need to make them remodel the whole place at this rate) – and into the room proper. One of the chests has been moved, she notices at a cursory glance; the Archmage is watching her from the desk, twisted around in his seat, brows knitted. He doesn’t have his hood on, which startles Efri far more than the change in furniture. (She can see his whole face. It’s weird.)

His lips press tightly together inside the little window left by his facial hair. It’s an expression she normally would not be able to see so clearly and does not make it any less weird. But Efri’s not one to be rude – when she remembers to try not to be, at least – so, very politely and with no small effort, she says, “Hi,” and doesn’t mention it.

The Archmage’s lips go even thinner.

“Hello,” he replies slowly. “You didn’t bring your friend.”

Efri shakes her head. Hair tumbles in her face – she cut it just a mite too short when she gave it a trim last week, and now it’s doing all sorts of silly things – and she purses her lips funny-like to blow it away. “Sissel’s talking to one of the teachers,” she informs him. She frowns. “And Kazari’s resting, but you didn’t ask, because you still haven’t met them, because you still haven’t fixed the stairwells.”

(The stairs are too narrow, the turns too tight, and Kazari – taller than Efri standing on four legs and at least twice as long – doesn’t even want to try to climb them for fear of getting stuck.)

(She didn’t want to come up today, anyway; something about being bothersome. But she has wanted to come up before – like two weeks ago, when they had to explain the Saarthal thing, and a week and a half ago, when they had to ask why no-one was telling them why the College doesn’t have books about Saarthal anymore – and besides, it’s the principle of the thing.)

One of the magic lights fizzes and bobs. The Archmage’s eyes flicker away. “We’re not widening the stairwells,” he says, voice dry, hands beginning to fuss with something on the desk.

“Yes,” Efri tells him, “you are. It’s not fair otherwise.”

He tips his head so she can’t see his face. (It might actually be a more comfortable arrangement for both of them.) “These are my rooms. I’m the only one who needs to be able to access them.” A page slips from his hands onto the floor and he mutters something. As he’s bending over in his chair to pick it up he adds, “If you didn’t need anything…”

Efri shifts on her feet, balancing her books as carefully as she can. She says, “I wanted to look at the garden.”

Silently, the Archmage picks up his paper and smooths it with careful attention over the surface of his desk. He doesn’t sigh exasperatedly, but he certainly has the posture of someone who would like to.

“I’ll be quiet,” Efri says. (Because she’s polite. And because she really wants to look at the garden.)

The Archmage, who doesn’t seem to be much concerned with politeness, flaps a hand. Efri takes it as approval, and goes to set herself on the low stone steps by the bed of soil.

(To be fair, he doesn’t have to be polite. He’s the boss. If Efri was in charge she probably wouldn’t be as polite. She still would be when she liked the people, or when she wanted to – but she’d be much less polite to him, because he’s ridiculous.)

The garden is as bright and wonderful as it always is, a strange little pocket of life bowered by cold stone. It looks a bit like a moon set into the slate-grey sky of the flagstones. (A rainbow moon. Incandescent moon. Are there plants on the moons? Almost certainly not, but it would be very cool if so.) Efri sits carefully at the edge, her books and things arrayed around her, pen set over the paper of her word-book and inkbottle uncorked and ready. (She’ll have to make sure not to spill it.)

She takes a good minute, first, just to stare; the Archmage lapses into quiet scribbling, with only the faint scrape of the nib or rustle of the page to remind her that he’s there, while she eyes the odd pointy-tipped flowers, the sprawl of spiky roots, the tasselled mushrooms. She wants to touch it all really badly but the Archmage told her that some of it is poisonous and she doesn’t yet know well enough to know which ones.

But that’s what she’s here to learn, isn’t it? She picks up the heavy book she’d wheedled out of the Arcaeneum. It’s nice, bound in smooth leather, the pages thick and old-smelling. And it’s illustrated. She flips through, the dense words interspersed with printed pictures of plants she doesn’t recognise any better than the ones in the garden. Lumpy fungus, prickly fruits, tangled vines. Finally, there it is – one of the garden plants, the straggly little bush with its toothy yellow flowers, printed in plain ink on the page. Efri checks the picture against the real thing several times, just to make sure they match.

Satisfied on that front, she sets the book down, holding it open to the right page with the heel of one hand, and begins the lengthy process of sounding out the name. “D – R – A –”

It’s not one of the quicker words she’s worked out.

It’s also a bit frustrating. Normally Sissel helps her with these things – she didn’t anticipate it being so much more difficult on her own. Much harder to focus. But she sticks with it, manages the first word (it’s dragons – what dragons have to do with anything, she has no idea) and begins to tackle the second with a determination that disregards the increased sighing and rustling of paper from the desk a ways behind her.

Somewhere in the middle of her heroic effort to parse vowel forms and plosive consonants, the Archmage says, “I can tell you what it is.”

“Shh.” Efri flings up a hand, twisting around in her stone-step seat to glare at him. “I’m learning.”

He is not appropriately impressed by her academic commitment, but at least he shuts up. She turns back around and squints at the word.

After a moment, she adds, “Besides, I already know what it says.” She stabs at it with her finger for emphasis, reaching for a slip of the spare paper she brought to mark the page. “It’s ton-g-you.”

(It might not be, actually. She hasn’t accounted for the E at the end. But those aren’t always there to make sound, Sissel told her – although now that she thinks it might make more sense. It could be said like gooey, which she knows is a word.)

“It’s dragon’s tongue,” the Archmage says, and she hears the legs of his chair scrape against the stone floor.

Efri peers at the printed letters. “Oh.” It’s a stupid way to spell the word, but a lot of words are spelled stupid. She tucks her slip of paper in anyway; as she reaches for her word-book, a hand taps her on the shoulder.

She looks up. The Archmage looks down, eyes red as the snowberries in the garden (she knows those ones), a hand held out, palm up, waiting. When she doesn’t move he gestures, impatient, to the book in her hand. She passes it up.

It’s a good book. Nice paper. She likes the sound it makes as he flicks through. “Urag gro-Shub let you borrow this?” he asks doubtfully.

Efri leans over the paper of her word-book, dipping her splodgy pen in the inkpot. “I wheedled it out of him,” she says, voice bright, and marks down a careful D. “I have to bring it right back, though. And I can’t take it outside.”

“Hm,” the Archmage says. He turns another page.

Ink drips from the pen nib to spot the page. Efri swears under her breath and blots it with her thumb. (It doesn’t help. Now her finger is just black.) Not looking up from her work, she asks, “What’s it say about the dragon flower?” She hopes it’s interesting – its name was far too difficult to decipher for a boring plant.

“Hm,” the Archmage says again, and flips back. Efri manages an impressively neat G. “It’s native to Black Marsh –”

“Ooh. I’ve never been there.” She’s barely even heard of it – knows it’s down south, and warm, and wet, and that’s about it.

The Archmage pauses, continues, “– but it also grows in, among other places, the volcanic tundra of Eastmarch’s Aalto.” Another pause. “It looks like that’s the only place it grows in Skyrim at all. Interesting.”

“Maybe it’s because they’re both wet,” Efri suggests. Swamps and springs are close enough, probably. Her pen goes a bit awry on the T, and she frowns at it. “I mean, so I hear. I’ve never been to Eastmarch either.”

The Archmage hums. “Neither have I,” he says passively. When Efri looks up, she sees him fixed on the page, engrossed, his eyes leaping over the text like jumping fish.

Brow wrinkled, she asks, “Really?” Eastmarch is only a hold over, and he’s a wizard. He’s nominally in charge of the whole College. “I would have thought you would’ve been all over.”

The Archmage glances down at her, head tilting. “Why?” he asks.

Good point. Efri shrugs. “I don’t know. I just feel like wizards go places. Make expeditions. They’ve at least been to the next hold.” All her wizard friends have gone far and wide. It’s what she’d do. It’s what she has done, and plans to continue to do.

Though she supposes it makes sense that the Archmage wouldn’t have gone many places. He barely leaves his tower, let alone Winterhold.

He’s still looking at her. (He does that sometimes – normally he doesn’t even meet her eye, staring at his desk or his book or the walls or his hands, and then every now and again he just looks for ages at a time. It’s weird. She can never tell what he’s thinking.) “I’m not overfond of travel,” he tells her. The skin under his eyes, in the weird look of the lighting from underneath, looks like it’s smudged hollow with ink.

Efri shrugs. She looks back at her page, marks down the best O she can. (The circle turns all wobbly by accident – but oh well, she did her best.) “How do you think they had to change the flowers so they could grow here?” she asks.

(He told her all about it, last time – in so many too-long words she’s mostly forgotten it. But she remembers the gist; the plants that grow in the Archmage’s garden are the descendants of plants collected by Archmages long before, precious few of which naturally grow in weather like Winterhold’s. So the wizards of yore, with some esoteric botanical magic, had altered each plant’s characteristics so it could survive in the relatively controlled – but still chilly – environment of the Archmage’s tower.)

(He’d talked about it more, something about microclimates and innovation and it’s fascinating, really, but by that point she’d just been looking at the shrubs. He stopped talking in the middle of a sentence and didn’t speak for another ten minutes.)

The shadow the Archmage casts over the garden is long and spindly as a wintertime tree. He replies, “I don’t know.”

Efri draws an N, a G, a U.

“I know what had to be done to that one,” he says. Efri looks up and follows his pointing finger.

She squints, asks, “The spiky one?”

“No, underneath. The little mushrooms.”

Efri outlines an E and sets her word-book aside. The mushrooms he points to are flat and pale, tucked under the leaves of a bigger shrub. “What had to be done to them?”

The Archmage wears silver in his beard, she’s just noticing. It flashes when he moves. “Ordinarily, they grow in caves –”

“I met my friend in a cave,” Efri tells him brightly.

He blinks. “Not this sort, I’m assuming,” he says. “They only grow deep underground, and often out of decaying matter.” There’s a pause; then, “Dead things,” he adds, for clarification.

Efri peers at them. “So they had to make them able to grow in the light, out of dirt.” It’s interesting. She’s interested. But the closer she looks –

It just looks familiar, is all. (Old dust and corroded metal and blue, blue, blue.)

The mushrooms grow very low to the ground, broad and wrinkled and papery. She thinks of touching one, to check the texture, but the idea makes her fingers flex, hands gripping hard at her scrunched-up skirt.

“Precisely,” the Archmage says.

Efri clasps her fingers together and jams her hands between her chin and her chest. With some difficulty – it’s hard to talk when she’s using her jaw to pin something – she says, “I think I’ve seen them.”

The Archmage’s feet shift beside her. “They grow very deep underground. I can’t imagine –”

“On the dead man.” Efri’s face is getting all scrunched up. “In Saarthal.”

She doesn’t think she likes the dead-man-mushrooms. She’ll look at something else, next.

The Archmage says, “Ah.”

She scrunches up her face harder, looking over all the bright colours of all the other things in the garden. There is a moment’s silence.

When the Archmage speaks again, his voice is careful. “I doubt it,” he says. “The fungus derives some of its names from its resemblance to withered flesh.”

“Oh.” That actually is very interesting. Efri wriggles her fingers. Maybe it’s like a sort of camouflage – though why a mushroom would need camouflage she has no idea.

And when she thinks about it, her dead man would have been embalmed, so there wouldn’t have been much decay for mushrooms to grow from anyway. She squints at them, the little cluster of shrivelled-looking things. Still doesn’t really want to touch them, but her stomach isn’t lurching like it did when first she made the connection, so it’s fine.

She hears the Archmage’s coat rustling. He says, “Efri?”

Efri glances up at him out of the corners of her eyes. “Have you ever seen a dead man?”

The Archmage’s face creases; he sighs, a quiet exhale. He tilts his head away again so his face is in shadow and holds out her leather-bound book, his body already angling back towards his desk.

Efri looks at it. She says, “You can tell me the other ones, if you want.” He clearly knows his garden well.

She thinks he frowns, though he’s still at that odd angle so it’s hard to see. “I’m rather busy at the moment.”

The magelights flash. Efri knows she frowns, then. “No, you’re not,” she points out, because he isn’t. Mirabelle does everything. The Archmage sits around being important.

He twists his head to look at her again, his face all lordly and severe. He does that sometimes, looks down his nose all haughty. Efri’s not sure if he does it on purpose or not, but just to be safe, she tips her head way back so she can look down her own nose back at him. Beside them, the garden shimmers, a rainbow bouquet of plants and textures and smells, a round motley moon set into the cold flagstones of the floor.

The Archmage sighs again (at some point Efri should start counting, make a game of beating the record) and folds his hands, with their heavy book, behind his back. Efri’s eyes crinkle, victorious. “If you look there,” he says, “at the base of the tree trunk, you can see the grapevines…”

20 notes · View notes

mallahanmoxie · 9 months

Text

bridgerton lends itself to extraordinary self-insert escenarios which very little media can replicate, namely that of me finding a spaniard to have a duel of honour with because it just so happens that the Mexican independence war is being fought right at the same time the bridgertons are falling in love and i am not leaving that stone unturned

#you have to scroll past many x reader fics in the bridgerton tag #and so I've had ample time to think about what MY life would be if i was transported to the 1810s #and I've come to the conclusion id end up in jail after screaming at someone about workers rights or womnes rights or gay rights or etc etc #OR id be a staunch defender of my country's independence efforts and end in fisticuffs with any spanish sympathiser #and benedict bridgerton would have no choice but to swoop in and rescue me now would he.#psa newsmen still at large

20 notes · View notes

sparring-spirals · 2 years

Text

thinking affectionately of the m9 today :) Happy end-of-campaign anniversary to a bunch of rowdy distrustful chucklefucks with fake names up the wazoo who ended up, among other things:

in a circle on a memory wiping island, telling each other true facts, trusting the others to keep them safe. flinging platinum at scary beasts. getting banned from libraries. becoming pirates. getting banned from a pirate town. pissing off their neighbors with a glowing tree on their house. accidental heroes of a nation. saviours of some lost little kids. a buncha jerks bullying a foreman. flinging themselves into, in front of, and after danger for each other. drawing dicks everywhere. pestering enemies into becoming friends. pulling off(?) absolutely terrible and disastrous heists. attending shitty dinners. reading smut in tunnels. eating food together. being certain the world was going to end. saving it anyway. being kind of shitty. being better.

and maybe, most importantly, who ended up being happy. And better. On a pirate ship at sea, at a crowded dinner in a warm house, surrounded by family, surrounded by breakthroughs and fruits of labour, surrounded by loved ones, by warm flowers and life grown by bare hands. Surrounded by a world they saved, sure, yeah. But. These often unhappy, flawed people, who saved each other. Who saved themselves. Who have a glowing tree house in Xhorhas and a vacation spot on Rumblecusp and a magical tower full of cats. And each other.

they saved the world, they saved themselves, they saved each other, these trainwrecky distrustful little gremlins. happy one year anniversary :'D

#its about so many of them expecting so little from their futures managing to get a happy one anyway.#i know some people were unhappy with the ending of c2 and thats fair but like. hey. isnt it nice that these messed up folks landed upright?#im not phrasing this well. its okay. if i had more energy id try to make something a bit more encompasssing or cleaned up or do an ama but.#im tired. :)#critical role #c2 #the mighty nein #if anyone wants SLIGHTLY better phrasing on this feel free to scroll to the bottom of my massive meta post to the m9 section.#i might reblog some later if im feeling nostalgic AND lazy still #meta #is this meta?#m9 end of campaign anniversary #spar speaks #my meta #i GUESS #narrative meta

358 notes · View notes

Last Seen Blogs

lipstickandchrome

pussyfootin around

damselunderstresss

Untitled

josephphenry-posts-blog

Untitled

josephinesignorelli

young-nick-wilde

proud little fox