#Like seriously... DO something else

[molinaesque]

Yo you know what I REALLY like? When people have the audacity to reblog a post that blatantly involves a thing they don't like... Just to comment/tag how they don't like said thing. Here's a cool suggestion... How about NOT engaging with the thing that's obviously not meant for you? Or yknow make your own post about it instead of piggybacking off someone else? How CRAZY of a suggestion is that?

[ninja-knox-ur-sox-off]

Okay 3 things

1. I was thinking about an aroace Sonic who says things that can be taken as wildly flirty/romantic but he just means them genuinely. “You have beautiful eyes, I keep getting distracted while looking at them,” not cause he’s interested romantically in them but because eyes can be really cool and pretty man I dunno what to tell you he likes looking at cool things and he thinks his friends are neat. “You’re the most beautiful person here,” because he really thinks that, he loves his friends

2. Sonic randomly dropping heartfelt genuine comments on his friends out of the blue completely blindsiding them and then moves on like nothing happened while they’re left going ?????? Bonus points if he does something immensely stupid or jerkish just before or immediately afterwards and they can’t tell if he was serious or not with the compliment (yes he was)

3. Sonic usually being so allergic to truly vulnerable moments that when he expresses something heartfelt randomly Tails thinks he’s been stabbed or something and does not believe him when he reassures him that he’s fine he’s fine he’s not dying yeesh

[s1ck-pupp3t]

I love, Ms Paint. CHEERS!

OK real art dump over. Click MORE for Real dumb stuff

something something They faces killing me why nobody gaf. Its a Transparent .PNg! You can put them any where to Not Care About.

[polaritydisturbed]

Conrad, idk how to tell you this but you're not recording, you're playing audio. You wanna click the red circle instead of the sideways triangle.

(psh if you want a full breakdown of just how bad he is at this I made a full post here)

[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.

[vertekel]

I always found Miraak's "rebellion" against Hermaeus Mora to be amusing, not in the sense his efforts are meaningless because they are who would want to leave such a beautiful husband smh but because of how Miraak acts like his situation is not his own doing.

He has walked himself up into the dragon's tower to play princess, sat his pretty ass down and said "Hello handsome I do hope you do not mind the new residence." And when Hermaeus actually kept him there he acted like suddenly it's Herma-Mora that's the problem. A lot of messy yapping ahead btw

In all seriousness though I do find his behavior to be inconsistent in a way that makes me question Miraak's mental state and sense of self. Miraak was so wholly dedicated and devoted to Hermaeus Mora and sought him for nearly everything. For power, for freedom, for what was likely even companionship. Being so wholly devoted to him he has a statue of Hermaeus placed behind where his own coffin would have been along with what would have been his most prized treasures. This can be seen as the way Miraak perceived Hermaeus, as someone guarding over him as nordic tombs usually have such imagery as a "tomb guard." As well as being the fate Miraak wished to find himself with even in death, of which he ended up receiving in the end. It can also be perceived as foreshadowing as well as mockery to vahlok and the cult, or a message that Hermaeus is the one who helped him cheat death.

For Miraak to even trust Hermaeus at his most dire hour of need says so much about how he felt for him, how his trust was in him to such a degree he placed his life entirely in his grasp. Such complete devotion is something commonplace with Herma-Mora worshippers that Hermaeus actually keeps, of which he kept Miraak for hundreds upon hundreds of years. In all those hundreds of years, Miraak never once left the realm. This is what made me think about what if Miraak's state in Skyrim is one contradicted entirely from his original self. Apocrypha is one of the easier daedric realms to leave, Hermaeus tells people how to leave, his servants tell people lost how to leave, there are several points set up that are constantly active portals to leave the realm. Apocrypha is referenced to be planemelded to Nirn in the Arcanist skill descriptions and people even end up there on accident all the time. So it is one of the easiest realms to leave if you know what you are looking for of which, no doubt, Miraak knew.

So why did he not leave? I doubt Hermaeus actually kept him there by force considering his more passive approach to things. He could have left at any time but chose not to, until for what I believe, Miraak became a part of the realm and a part of Hermaeus by the same means Durnehviir became bound to the soul carin. Spending so much time there that his own essence became a part of the place, so that if he were to leave, he would just rebound to the realm over time as if he was an atronarch or summoned daedra. This to me, implies that he never had any desire to leave at all. That he was at his core, content to be there. That it is what he chose, what he wanted. His fate was one he chose with the daedric prince of knowledge.

Hermaeus has no real control over fate as seen with the necrom and gold road dlcs, he merely scribes it and goes to great lengths to manipulate it. So Miraak entirely chose to stay within the realm, to be within Hermaeus Mora's service for eternity and to never leave. He did so for such a long time he became a very part of his prince and was still held onto tightly and closely by said prince. Even when Miraak says he is a "fickle master" he knows that Hermaeus is reliable and predictable at his core. That as long as you are entirely devoted to him, he will be to you in return. This will never change for all of eternity. His final words are not to us, but to Hermaeus. Speaking to the prince about his devotion and servitude to him even to his death, which was likely his promise to the prince to begin with. I see his words as a clarity before his own death, reality setting in that shattered and stripped his mind entirely of every delusion and every distraction until it was solely about the being he pledged his entirety to.

That Miraak's acts of rebellion or desires to be a "master of his own fate" truly is "restlessness" as described by Hermaeus Mora. That it is a result of the realm itself eroding Miraak's mind and identity, and his memories. I mentioned in another post how Apocrypha is incredibly acidic and similar to a stomach, that it erodes and breaks down everything within itself over time. Miraak would have been extraordinarily resistant to this due to his dragon blood and soul, but not immune. If his state in Skyrim is erosion, and his behavior within the 3rd era for what seemed to have been briefly is due to psychological erosion it would entirely make sense. Someone so wholly devoted to something suddenly feeling trapped or forced into something he does not want, as if looped in memory to his servitude to the dragon cult. To feel a complete lack of control once felt under the cult within the very place where he essentially has near complete control over, and even chose to be, seems suspicious.

His behavior is inconsistent, he acts as if he has never met you or heard of you before despite his cultists being sent to kill you, as if he himself does not remember his own orders or thoughts. This breaking down of memories and desires is described perfectly by the conditions of the Hushed. People who have been eroded by Apocrypha. To me, Miraak is going between shattered memories of his servitude to the dragon cult of which was entirely against his will. Something he wished to escape desperately, and in such a broken mental state, he turns that association to Hermaeus, the very being that helped free him, the very thing he chose as his own path. The mind is known to mix traumatic things together with our present, with things that we even cherish. Abuse victims can become afraid of the people close to them even if they have done nothing to hurt them out of fear of repetition. Miraak becoming obsessed with his identity as Dragonborn feels separated from what was his original desires, which was to be free of the ties of his blood and soul. That he did not want to be the hero others pushed him to be, he did not want to play as a pawn in the game of a god he felt was indifferent to him. He wished to be more than the means that made him. For him to later become so wholly obsessed with it as his identity makes me again think his mind has eroded and broken under the intense pressure of Apocrypha.

I am sure Miraak saw his soul and blood as a means of power but not his entire identity in the way he does in Skyrim. If his behavior in Skyrim, his ambition, truly is delusion and the result of shattered memories and emotions, it explains why Hermaeus did not rid of him the first time he acted this way in the third era. Recognizing it as a result of erosion and not betrayal and disloyalty. Holding onto Miraak the way one holds onto an old toy until it is tattered and worn, until it is in pieces and nearly unrecognizable but it's fabrics and making is still all the same. Keeping it for that reason. Holding onto the possibility that Miraak never will truly betray him and will never cross his devotion despite his eroded state, which ended up being true in the very end.

Hermaeus began to believe his closest and most cherished follower was becoming truly lost to him now, so such a fear of loss made him hold tighter and tighter onto Miraak until he did not let Miraak leave both out of fear for his safety, and fear of losing him in the way one wishes not to lose a prized treasure. That Miraak's instability psychologically was perceived to be so bad that Hermaeus took away his ability to come to and from the realm, which no doubt did terrible things to Miraak's mental state. Hermaeus also seems to have been entirely against the idea that Miraak's fate would be in anyone else's grasp but his own. He robs you of the right to kill him even though you bested him in battle, he denies you it. That it if his champion is to fall, it is to be by no other but himself.

Even in that interaction, this is what really has me sold on this whole perspective, is that when Hermaeus snarls and yells at Miraak as he impales and displays him to his own gaze, he speaks of Miraak's perceived betrayal, how he wanted to leave, that he will never leave. He will never hide anything from him, another sign he perceived betrayal from Miraak. Paranoias of the worst coming true and what results is frustration and anger. And likely, hurt feelings but a daedric prince would never say he got his feelings hurt. But I'm sure Miraak saw right through everything he was saying as his words to Hermaeus are so precise and they contradict everything he was yelling about. He speaks of his service to him, his loyalty to him, and how he sees Hermaeus trying to replace him knowing that your character will never truly replace him. It's funny in the sense of "Oh. You believe I betray you? Well the final words I say will be of how utterly devoted I am to you." Very clever and very sassy on Miraak's part. But also... It does make me think as I mentioned earlier, it was his moment of clarity. Regaining of his self and even that he felt content in his final moments. Content of his death, of how he lived.

Do I read their relationship as really romantic yes I do, o7

Miraak is also likely still trapped in apocrypha and he'll be back eventually as dragon souls are easily rebound to their bodies and I know damn well Hermaeus isn't giving him up EVER.

Basically; Miraak in Skyrim is entirely mentally eroded from who he was and Hermaeus is really bad at communicating his emotions

[snekdood]

"if we make america worse and more of a dictatorship that will be even harder to unravel and make it the way we want the country to be, maybe then everyone will join our Glorious Revolution!" bb girl you cant even be in the same room with someone who thinks you should vote, how in tf do you think you're gonna unite people to fight in The Revolution with you? it's gonna be you and your 5 friends, i hate to break it to you.

[chiquilines]

They will find each other again and again and again, and in one life, they will be happy

[starssoblue]

i need more episodes about adrien just trying new things and gradually figuring out what he wants to spend his time doing, what classes and hobbies he genuinely enjoys, and then eventually, what he'd like to pursue professionally. i never really thought about running before sublimation and while i still don't think that's actually his passion, i love that he connected the act of running to the freedom and joy he gets when he's being chat noir, running around paris saving people. one of my favorite things about adrien that a lot of people in fandom especially in fics miss is that just because he's decent or even great at several things doesn't mean he has a personal connection to that thing. in early ml he was acting in his friends' student films, playing sports to different results, fencing with his friends, participating in band, even modeling for fun. in climatiqueen, he discovered he was decent at drawing, a mess with labwork, quick with languages (no surprise there), and v new to baking—all things he could improve upon but nothing that made him feel passion. but he specified the reason he had fun trying those things wasn't the things themselves but because he was doing them with marinette, same as before when he took skills he was forced to acquire by his father and re-utilized them to hang out with his friends despite not feeling a personal connection to any of those hobbies or talents. i don't know if the show plans on him discovering this soon (they're sooooo young, i hate that he is even stressing about this just because his friends are not normal and because the french school system has most people declare their course of study in lycée) but i'm just excited to see him branch out and try new things and get the life experience he was denied when he was younger. 

and running away from the agreste manor (where he was confined and forced to be a perfect mold) as his first step toward self discovery? brilliant imagery.

[icewindandboringhorror]

At what temperature INDOORS (not outdoor weather) do you start to become noticeably uncomfortable (sweaty, heavy, don't feel like doing anything, etc.) and begin trying to cool off yourself or your environment?

(Like, at what point do you start putting out fans, turning on the AC, getting ice water, etc. because the indoor room temperature has gotten too high for you?)

It's starting to get warmer weather where I live, so I was thinking about it/curious how this might vary :0

(sorry if the celsius conversions aren't entirely accurate, I just used a website to look them up/am not familiar with measuring things that way myself lol)

[sajdd]

crazy how theres so much discourse about toriel, asgore and sans because of the new chapters - specifically ch4 ending

sans has been my favourite character in undertale since day 1 but hes just a funny little gag character in deltarune who came off a bit insensitive at the end of ch4. he probably has literally 0 clue about any of the issues or family drama going on. in his eyes he's probably just having a fun time with a new friend. like yeah he was quite insensitive to kris and susie but i honestly think its just not that deep. (at least not yet.) i think people are just expecting undertale-levels of introspection from him at this moment when he's basically not even plot-relevant right now

toriel is a caring mother who's going through the stresses of looking after a kid who has been distancing themselves from everyone for a long time, missing her other child who has been away for studies, and is being stalked by her ex husband who just will not leaver her alone. the way she acted at the end of the chapter was Not Good™ as it was very irresponsible of not checking up on her child but she's just a kind woman who is flawed and made a mistake just like everyone else can

asgore is a man who clearly knows something about dess' dissapearance and we can infer that somehow this led to the dreemur's marriage falling apart and he's desperately trying to prove his innocence or something - thinking that if he does that then it will all go back to normal. is that a situation that calls for some sympathy? probably, depending on what happened. but is stalking toriel the answer to fixing their marriage? fuck no he should absolutely be judged for that - but while his current actions are inexcusable we can assume that whatever happened has made him that desperate of a man and this can evoke some feelings of sympathy

most of us have seen undertale and know how complex all these characters are. yes they are different in deltarune but the context of undertale allows us to already have a loose grasp of what their personalities are like.

they are all complex characters who are well-meaning but can make brash or emotional decisions that do not have the intention of hurting someone but hurt a lot anyway. why is everybody suddenly jumping to extremes on all these characters. none of them are 100% evil or good in this scenario.

[silver-embersss]

"this is canon!!" "that's only fanon!!"- WHO GIVES A FUCKKKK CANON IS A SOUP BABES. AND IM THROWING IT OUT OF THE WINDOW. THE ONLY THING THATS CANON IS THE BROKEN WINDOW WHERE I THREW OUT THE SOUP.

[quesadilla-day]

a freeze team ❄️ (tutorial on how to make a baby) ❄️ my original edits using the aforementioned tutorial are under the cut, which inspired the drawing lol ^^

[piningpercussionist]

Okay. Fellas. Real talk. I've seen some of you do it and I thank you profusely for doing so but can yall PLEASE credit the original artist of that piece yall kinda made into an a dtiys/art meme? That's not official art. I am point blank refusing to engage with any of these pieces that I see not doing such. (Even when it pains me to keep scrolling, because some of them are really good!! And I want them here!!! But I do have some rules for myself I try to stand firm by with this blog.)

Like you can literally see them say right there that it's fine IF YOU CREDIT. I'm fucking begging you.

I'm not mad at anyone who didn't know but I've seen SO MANY versions at this point, and I think I've seen maybe 3 or 4 of them RECENTLY include the credit. (And one with improper credit, I think?) Please. Please just. Tack it on.

[bluespiritshonour]

here's 18-19 year old aang sketches. been hearing aang is ugly discourse—no he ain't. he was just 12.

[ryukiethebored]

But I'm pretty self-aware But apparently I'm not, so— (x)

Update: I gave this one a little edit/some scene changes, primarily within the last 10 secs. New edit can be found here.