#blink code

[figtreegif]

Wardrobe // Martha Jones (Freema Agyeman) // Doctor Who Seasons 3 & 4 (2007-2008) + Torchwood Season 2 (2008) + specials

[ministarfruit]

they're so red flags to me 🚩🚩

[chez-cinnamon]

I just saw a post with Caine in Kinger's robe and I immediately wondered what that would be like in your au because Kinger is BIG and Caine is NOT. It'd be a whole hill of robe with Caine's head popping out of the fluff somewhere. Kinger could genuinely trap Caine with that robe bc Caine panics and forgets he can literally teleport.

For sure, Kinger's coat is HUGE on Caine no matter what size Kinger is; even at his smallest, his coat is like the size of two bed blankets!

He loves sleeping in it thinking he's in Kinger's arms. He considers it a safe space whenever he gets stressed out <3

Though it can be unnerving when he steals it to sleep in-

[anbaisai]

Love languages

Happy Valentine's Day! ❤

[dottixml]

red flags

[laurrelise]

and y’know whats really crazy to think about? javon walton and aidan gallagher were like 2 years apart in age when they played stanley and five

was watching some bts clips from season 3 and stumbled upon a video of them playing pool together in full costume and it’s actually like the sweetest thing in the world because they’re literally just kids. just having a good time

and then you watch the show and it’s like “okay so one of them actually is a little kid who’s just trying to have fun and one is a stressed, angry old man who’s desperately trying to save the lives of everyone on the planet”

also i edited together a little video of it because i really wish we’d gotten even one five and stan moment and there’s a bit of a hole left in my heart from its lacking so here is that

[respectthepetty]

When Sei’s voice broke on Hagiwara’s shoulder thats when I knew he was more in love, deeper in it than perhaps even Hagiwara himself.

I have watched the fifth episode four times, and I'm probably going to watch it at least a million more times before Thursday, yet I'm still so happy each time I watch it that it's a kiss that is Sei's undoing.

He was being cold and matter-of-fact previous to this, and even when Hagiwara held him with all his emotions on display after asking him not to leave, Sei didn't move.

But once Hagiwara started kissing his neck, Sei actually seemed shocked that Hagiwara was kissing him again.

They didn't kiss on the lips during sex, but Hagiwara kissed him on his neck though.

And it's that teeny tiny reminder of affection that makes Sei unravel. He finally surrenders and presses his face into Hagiwara's shoulder as he breaks down and asks "What now?" because what does he do now that he knows something better is out there? What does he do now that he has had sex with a man who has a girlfriend who he planned to marry? What does he do now that he has fallen in love?!

The plan was to keep this a secret and not destroy their lives. The plan was to have sex and move on.

BUT THEY ARE ALREADY IN LOVE!

So Sei is begging for an answer to what they should do now that they both know what they are feeling and want more.

And Hagiwara, the beautiful man that he is, only has one response.

TO FUCKING KISS SEI ON THE LIPS!

And only AFTER he softly kisses Sei does Hagiwara confess that they must be crazy for wanting more.

And even though Sei agrees, he doesn't move away.

SO HAGIWARA KISSES HIM HARDER!

And Sei is the happiest he has been!

The damn kisses are what cause Sei to come apart. The kisses make him finally react to Hagiwara's touch each time. The kisses are what make him cry into Hagiwara's shoulder. The kisses are what make him happy! So he knows exactly how Hagiwara feels because he feels it too!

And let the record show that Sei NEVER said he didn't feel the same way. He reminded Hagiwara of their agreement. He told Hagiwara to calm down. But he never once said he didn't feel the same.

So Sei better turn around and tell my boy that he doesn't love him and the soft way he kisses him.

He better look my boy in the eyes when he tells him they should go their separate ways.

Sei better face my boy when he decides to lie to him!

[deancasforcutie]

this is what Elongated Muskrat has taken from us (only force of nature that could bring his ill-gained site to its knees) personally:

[ratmare]

Halfway to the apothecary, Hans' thigh begins to chafe around the sweatsoaked rags. At least, he hopes it's sweat. God help him if that bite is festering. There's no kindly herbwoman to supply him a bed or idiot bodyguards to force her tonics down his throat. Hans grimaces at the idea of Henry being there for that whole shit show.

Hans, how could you not check that the wolf was truly dead. and Hans! You should've washed that wound immediately Christ, he never would have heard the end of it. All that fussing and griping would have put him in the grave. No, no, he is perfectly equipped to deal with this on his own

He flips his hood over his damp hair as Troskowitz wobbles into view, and prays he can get through this without being recognized. From the sound of it most of the yokels have already found their way to the tavern. He keeps his eyes down as he shambles on and half collapses onto the counter when he finally makes it inside that German's shop (damn him for having it on the second floor).

"Guten Abend, mein Herr." "Bandages and some salve for my wounds. The best you have." The German's blank expression makes him think better of it and he tries to smooth things over with a gritted smile. "...please." "I was on the wrong side of some wolves this morning, and I would quite like to pay for your assistance instead of the sawbones." "Ja...you are in luck." The apothecary shuffles through his inventory, and Hans tries to follow his hands instead of the worrying throbbing heat traveling up towards his hip."My best supplier visited today. I think you will be quite satisfied with his decoction." "How much?" "One hundred groschem." "A hundred?! Are you yanking my pizzle?" He gapes.

"Ich meine es erst. You said you wanted my best and you will find no better in the region." " He shakes his head. "I, myself, can't figure out how he does it. " "At that price, it better be distilled from gold and Saint Luke's piss." The wound on his leg and the lightness of his purse has his tongue hot, and he thrusts out his chin before he can think better of it. "I'll give you 40." "Have a fine rest of your evening, goodsir." "Alright, alright, fifty five, and I'll throw in these absolutely lovely hare pelts. What do you say?" Hans whips out his least matted pelts from the depths of his pack, and smiles over them for the German. "You can have that Barto-fella fix up something nice for the Missus, hm?"

"Seventy five and then please leave."

"You've got a deal, goodman!" He offers up his hand to shake but is more than fine when the phial and some crumpled bandages are pushed into his palm instead. He measures out his payment and slips back through the door. The lock clunks behind him, but he's got what he came for. Seeking a little privacy to redress his wounds he limps over to the little shack crumpled in the corner of the garden. The phial's lip has been dipped in red wax, and a few letters have been scratched near the neck of the bottle. He rolls his eyes, some yokel's attempt at a maker's mark. He cracks through the wax shell with his teeth and knows deep down he's been fleeced when the scent hits him.

It's just marigold decoction. Peasant brew. Even he could probably brew this. "Bastard." He hisses as he unwinds the bandages. Next time he drops off a kill for that butcher he's going to dump the entrails in that Kraut fucker's garden. He contemplates tossing it, but something's better than nothing. Really what choice does he have? "Sweet mother Mary, I wish I was drunk for this." He winces as he tips the mixture over the gash. Good lord, it stings. He has to bite into the meat of his arm to keep the warbling scream from alerting the guards, but slowly as the syrup sinks into the divots in his flesh, the pain mellowing into something warm. The hot throbs that he took to be the footsteps of an approaching fever soften, and the relief is priceless. "Maybe you're gold and holy piss after all." He murmurs as he thumbs over the wound marveling at how his touch can linger without pain. Whoever made this is wasting their talents in this backwater. He runs his tongue over his teeth at the thought of having someone so skilled over in Rattay. Well, if he's that German's "best supplier" he's no doubt got enough standing to be invited to the wedding, so he can just pluck him from the rabble once all this is straightened out. That'd be a fine souvenir for all the trouble he's been through. He brings up the bottle to the candlelight and squints at the maker's mark once again A lopsided S sits atop the heavy horizontal stroke of an H, and Hans screams into his fist. God, must you follow me everywhere. He scrubs a hand over his eyes and feels the flash of outrage bubble into laughter, because of course even after everything Henry would be there to lick his wounds for him.

Finis

[acourtofquestions]

Aelin's gaze shifted then. From her hands, her horrifically pristine skin, to the wolf across the clearing.

She blinked twice. And then slowly rose.

Unaware or uncaring of her nakedness, she took an unsteady step. Rowan was instantly there--or as close as the flames would allow.

He could push through, shielding himself in ice or simply by cutting off the air that fed her flames. But to cross that line, to shove into her flames. But to cross that line, to shove into her flames when so much, too much, had been stolen from her... He didn't let himself think about the distant, wary recognition on her face when she'd seen him--seen all of them. As if she wasn't entirely certain to trust them. Trust this.

Aelin managed another step, teetering.

He glimpsed her neck as she passed. Even the twin bite marks, his mark of claiming, had vanished.

Encased in flame, Aelin walked to Fenrys. The white wolf did not stir.

Sorrow softened her face, even with that quiet distance. Sorrow, and gratitude.

Gavriel and Elide remained on Fenrys's other side as she approached. Backed away a step.

Not from fear, but to give her space in this moment of farewell.

They had to go. Lingering here, despite the miles between them and the camp, was folly. They could carry Fenrys until it was over, but... Rowan couldn't bring himself to say it. To tell Aelin that it might not be wise to draw out this good-bye the way she needed. They had minutes, at best, to spare before they had to be on the move.

But if scouts or sentries found them, he'd make sure they didn't get close enough to disturb her. Gavriel and Lorcan seemed to be having the same thought, their eyes meeting from across the clearing. Rowan jerked his chin toward the western tree line in silent order. They stalked for it.

Aelin knelt beside Fenrys, and her flame enveloped them both. The fire gave way to a reddish-gold aura, a shield that he knew would melt the flesh of anyone who tried to cross. It flowed and rippled around them, a bubble of coppery air, and through it, Rowan watched as she ran a hand down the wolf's battered side.

Gavriel had healed most of the wounds, but the blood remained. Aelin made long, gentle strokes over his fur, her head angled as she spoke too softly for Rowan to hear. Slowly, painfully, Fenrys cracked open an eye.

Agony filled it--agony and yet something like relief, and joy, at the sight of her bare face. And exhaustion. Such exhaustion that Rowan knew death would be a welcome embrace, a kiss from Silba herself, goddess of gentle ends.

Aelin spoke again, the sound either contained or swallowed by her shield. No tears. Only that sorrow--and clarity.

A queen's face, he realized as Lorcan and Gavriel took up spots along the glen's border. It was a queen's face that looked upon Fenrys. A queen who took his massive paw in her hands, pushing back folds of fur and skin to unsheathe a curved claw. She slid it over her bare forearm, splitting skin. Leaving blood in its wake. Rowan's breath caught. Gavriel and Lorcan whirled toward them. Aelin spoke again, and Fenrys blinked once in answer. She deemed that answer enough. "Holy gods," Lorcan breathed as Aelin extended her bleeding forearm to Fenrys's mouth. "Holy rutting gods." For Fenrys's loyalty, for his sacrifice, there was no greater reward she could offer. To keep him from death, there was no other way to save him. Only this. Only the blood oath. And as Fenrys managed to lap the blood from her wound, as he swore a silent vow to queen, blinking a few more times, Rowan's chest became unbearably tight. Severing the blood oath to one queen had snapped his life force, his soul. Swearing the blood oath to another might very well repair that cleaving, the ancient magic binding Fenrys's fading life to Aelin's. Three mouthfuls. That's all Fenrys took before he laid his head back on the moss and closed his eyes. Aelin curled on her side next to him, flames encompassing them both. Rowan couldn't move. None of them moved. Aelin mouthed a short, curt word. Fenrys did not respond. She spoke again, that queen's face unfaltering.

Live.

She'd use the blood oath to force him to remain on this side of life. Still Fenrys didn't stir. Across the bubble of flame and heat, Elide put a hand over her mouth, eyes shining bright. She'd read the word on Aelin's lips, too. Aelin spoke a third time, teeth flashing as she gave Fenrys her first order. Live. Rowan didn't breathe as they waited. Long minutes passed. Then Fenrys's eyes cracked open.

Aelin held the wolf's gaze, nothing in her face save that grave, unyielding command.

Slowly, Fenrys stirred. His paws shifted beneath him, legs straining. And he rose.

"I don't believe it," Lorcan whispered. "I don't..."

But there was Fenrys, standing before their But there was Fenrys, standing before their now-kneeling queen. And there was Fenrys, inclining his head, shoulders dipping with him, one paw sweeping before the other. Bowing. A ghost of a smile graced her mouth, gone before it ever took form.

Aelin remained kneeling, though. Even as Fenrys surveyed them, surprise and relief lighting his dark eyes. His gaze met Rowan's, and Rowan smiled, bowing his head.

"Welcome to the court, pup," he said, his voice thick.

Raw emotion rippled across that lupine face, and then Fenrys turned back to Aelin.

She was staring at nothing. Fenrys nudged her shoulder with his furry head.

She ran an idle hand through the wolf's white coat. Rowan's heart clenched.

Maeve had cleaved into Rowan's own mind to Maeve had cleaved into Rowan's own mind to trick his very instincts. What had she done to her? What had she done these months?

"We need to go," Gavriel said, his own voice thick as he took in Fenrys, standing proud and watchful beside Aelin.

[mic-check-stims]

X-X-X X-X X-X-X

[sprinklesharkie]

bdubs cartoon character

[molinaskies]

Where do you personally feel Sonic started developing feelings for Amy? I like to think deep down he's had a crush since SA1 but would always brush it aside and be in constant denial to himself about it, before fully realizing "wait I really do love this girl!?" sometime around Unleashed to IDW

P.S. - Ever since reading ILYCWM, I can't stop associating "I Miss You" with these two

since the moment he laid eyes on her in Sonic CD

Lol while this ^ is an interesting take on the ship that I do like to think about sometimes, I’m not sure it’s the easiest to justify! I don’t adamantly disbelieve it though.

That said, I think you’re just about right on the money! Sonic needed to see Amy as an equal (and vice versa, honestly) before any real romantic connection between them could flourish, and that’s what happens in SA1. Amy sets out to be her own hero not only to impress Sonic, but to prove to herself that she can do it (and that she is just as special as he is). Conversely, Sonic needed Amy’s persistence to simmer down into something tangible before he could even engage with it. When Sonic sees more of Amy doing her own thing and even standing up to him, he can actually take her in and like what he sees.

There are some questionable situations between SA1 and Unleashed, for sure (thank you so much, SegaAmerica /s), but more often than not, I think we see a lot of situations where Sonic likes teasing her and having her around. It’s not until Unleashed where they get to interact on more neutral grounds and Sonic brings himself to consider her more seriously.

@multiisketch had an awesome take recently on one of my posts about them (talking about the sonamy idw cover for the 5th anniversary). To paraphrase and simplify, “Sonic rejected his feelings for Amy for so long because the whole idea of her intimidated him so much until she mellowed out.”

(And I’m sorry to leave you with that little brain worm lol! “I Love You - Come With Me” is a Sonamy fanfic I wrote. It’s in my pinned post!)

[robo-milky]

The April Fools Joke Now 💀💀 (Fountain Pen comp)

I think I’ve sank to the point of knowing Rollo’s hat is a fucking three doublons tricorn- Anyways, perhaps he’ll finally get out of my mind when Rook gets a new card or something- Please we need more Rook food- I read Tapis Rouge translations just for Rook’s 1 sec cameo 😭😭😭 /j

I meann- at the same time I could just be milking content for new followers who joined cause of Rollo, ya never know 👁️👁️

[misscammiedawn]

Have said it before and I'll say it again. Tumblr should embrace its blogging roots and just let you put Mood: and Current Music: at the end of a post. It'd massively improve the ecosystem.

[fannedandflawless]

The Role of Pride in Lily Evans’ Unforgiving Nature—Was It Principle, Ego, or Both?

📌 A gentle note for Snily and Marauders fans: this isn’t an attack—it’s an examination. I say this as a former Snily loyalist turned emotionally weathered centrist. This piece is not here to villainise or romanticise, but simply to trace the weight of choices that never got buried with their makers.

This piece is a direct extension of "Lily Evans: Golden Girl or Something Sharper?"—because darling, some women don’t just close the chapter, they seal it with wax and walk off the page.

Lily Evans is often described as principled. And oh, how lovely that sounds in theory. But when we examine her choices—who she forgave, who she didn't, and the emotional calculus behind it all—what emerges isn’t just moral clarity. It’s curated boundaries, polished silence, and pride dressed head to toe in virtue.

1. The Unforgivable Apology: When Regret Wasn’t Enough

Severus Snape apologised. Earnestly. Desperately. He waited outside Gryffindor Tower, laid bare his guilt, asked for forgiveness—not once, but repeatedly. (Darling, he was practically on emotional bended knee.)

Lily never opened the door. Not metaphorically, and not literally. Because why settle for closure when you can have a cold, gilded lock?

The world often applauds her for drawing the line, for protecting her worth. But there’s a difference between setting boundaries and monogramming them into stone. For Lily, once her pride was pierced—once someone she trusted made her feel wrong for trusting them—there was no path back. No redemption arc. No middle act rewrites.

She didn’t cut people off. She shut them out, and sealed the entryway behind her with grace so elegant it could pass for sainthood. And saints don’t look back. Not when the lighting is better from the pedestal.

This wasn’t about the word Mudblood. It was about the humiliation of having once vouched for someone who later proved her wrong. Severus didn’t just fail her standards—he embarrassed her taste. And Lily? She was not a woman who tolerated emotional misalignment in public.

So she did what any refined girl in control would do: she vanished, left the guilt in his hands, and never gave him a chance to return them.

⸻

2. Petunia Evans: The Sister Who Wasn’t Worth the Bridge

Lily’s pride wasn’t reserved for friendships. It ran thick through her family too.

Petunia was jealous, yes—but she was also a girl left behind in a world that no longer made room for her. Lily could see her sister’s discomfort. She could have explained, softened, reassured. She didn’t.

In canon, Petunia’s bitterness is dismissed as petty. But Lily’s aloofness never helped. Even years later, Lily writes in a letter to Sirius that Petunia "was being a bit more pleasant than usual, though she still won’t talk to me directly." There’s no warmth there—just polite distance.

And when Lily brought James into their home—a boy who sneered at Vernon and represented everything Petunia had grown to resent—Lily didn’t intervene. She didn’t apologise. She let the tension sit, perfectly composed.

If Severus failed her morally, Petunia failed her socially. And Lily’s response in both cases? Silence. Just long enough for the wound to scar over.

⸻

3. Forgiving James Potter: The Selective Mercy

The greatest contradiction in Lily’s story is this: the boy who bullied her closest friend—who mocked Severus publicly, gleefully, and often—was not only forgiven. He was loved.

Did James change? Arguably, yes. But Severus also changed. He tried to come back. He apologised. He regretted in a way James never publicly did. He asked for mercy Lily never extended.

And yet, Lily chose James.

Why?

Perhaps because she needed a new narrative. Severus was a story of disappointment. James became the story of potential. And Lily, above all, chose to believe in the version of someone who hadn't failed her personally.

Was it principle? Or was it pride in refusing to look back?

She didn’t just forgive James—she allowed herself to forget. His bullying, his arrogance, the way he laughed while Severus burned—all smoothed over by a present she preferred to the past.

Severus reminded her of a misjudgement. James offered her a chance to never admit she made one.

⸻

Grace, Guilt, and the Unsent RSVP

Lily Evans wasn’t cold. She was curated. Proud enough to walk away from anyone who couldn’t keep up with the version of themselves she’d approved, and polished enough to make it look like emotional maturity.

She loved James not because he was perfect—but because he wasn’t Severus. No inconvenient history. No public regret. Just a new story she could spin without ever citing her sources.

She left Petunia not because she was cruel—but because she refused to carry someone else’s bitterness in her handbag. (It didn’t match the robes, darling. She’d already curated the guest list, and neither Petunia nor the one in patched Slytherin black made the cut.)

And she never forgave Severus—because doing so would’ve meant admitting she had once misjudged, once invested wrongly. And that sort of vulnerability? Lily didn’t do clearance sales.

That’s not just principle. That’s ego in silk gloves.

And in Lily Evans’ world, they weren’t just dressed the same—they shared a wardrobe.

But what Lily likely never imagined—darling, what she never planned for—is that one day, the weight of all this curation would land on someone else. That Harry, her child, would inherit not just the love that protected him, but the bitterness that never got resolved. That he’d grow up with the only living relative she’d silently written off. That he'd arrive at school to find a professor who loathed him on sight—not for anything he did, but for the unresolved wreckage she left behind.

And Harry? He just blinked. And bore it. And kept going.

⸻

Related post: Lily Evans: Golden Girl or Something Sharper?