#objectification of it all.

[dimidium-totus]

putting the Voice of Zaun in a seat where she would only ever be silenced by the people who have HER BLOOD on their hands. was. possibly the most despicable, reprehensible, and humiliating thing to come out of that series.

[agentravensong]

characters who see themselves as more of a Force or an abstract concept acting in the world than as a person. characters who prioritize their role as a cog in some greater mechanism over their own personhood. characters who get their hands dirty, who run themselves ragged, who take on an unbearable weight, who hurt or neglect or give up or straight-up betray the people and things they once held close, because they believe in doing so they are fulfilling their Purpose, the thing they exist in this world to do (and no one else will do it, *can* do it, so it has to be them). characters who've determined that they are constructs bound to preprogrammed code, to a script already written for them by someone/something else, and have been operating under that mindset for so long that they don't know how to live on their own terms. characters who uphold the fate that is smothering them. can anyone hear me

[cherry-treelane]

There's something so poetic about how El is the centre of all the chaos, wanted by the government and military and Mike is her strong calm that doesn't hesitate to get sucked into her storm and stand by her side in the face of any conflict. Like guys. This little boy did not hesitate to protect her and stand off in the face of the government to defend her, going against all the typical patriotic rule-following norms of an American Suburbanite Middle class nuclear family. He comes from pure safe normalcy but doesn't hesitate to run in the other direction heading towards chaos and danger if it means she's there... because he feels safest with her and is driven by the instinct to protect her. 😭🩷 There's something so beautiful and inspiring about someone as hurt and troubled and chaotic as El being loved in such a simple, unconditional way. Mike doesn't see her for the chaos she represents which surrounds her, he sees her for the innocent goodness that she actually is— her calm, gentle demeanour and the warmth it makes him feel. He understands that all the danger that comes with being with her is through no fault of her own, and actively works to help combat all the forces against her. He knows that despite being the centre of the chaos she's not the cause of it, she's the remedy for the effect of it and that is an undeserved, exhausting punishment yet a burden she bears regardless without complaint— a sign of her innate goodness which Mike recognises and loves her for all the more. Even moreso, he works to share that burden with her and criticise it because he sees how innocent and undeserving she is of the responsibility infringed upon her. His willingness to take all of this on is so wholesome and exactly the kind of sweet effort-full love that a character like El deserves, which is so gratifying for the audience to see.

[somereaderinblue]

Okay so maybe this is a little weird but when Telemachus gets older does he start to pick up on how messed up the situation his father is stuck in obviously being a child somethings go over his head but he's not completely oblivious to what is happening

If I took a shot everytime older!Telemachus looks back on certain childhood memories only to crash out as the full extent of the horrors hit him, my liver would be done for. It's mortifying being the one who remembers & if there's one memory that haunts Telemachus, it's this.

CW/TW: SA & non-con

Telemachus winced as Zeus Chrysaor's lightning crackled across the sky, accompanied by the roar of thunder. The weather has been horrible for three days straight, so bad that a truce had been struck so both sides could focus on surviving nature's forces instead of spears and arrows. Hestia Polýolvos received many prayers and libations as hearths were perpetually stoked. Charis had made sure to tuck Telemachus in a thicker blanket tonight.

Yet, the blanket could not ward off the slither of fear worming its way into Telemachus' stomach, tying itself into knots to further torment him.

'I'm a brave little wolf.' like his atta would call him, like the heroes from epic tales and songs.

'A brave little wolf.' He hugged Argos closer, hoping they could be brave little wolves together.

Another roar threatened to shake the aegean. He peeked out of the blanket and his eyes widened as for a fraction of a second, the lightning struck, spawning terrifying shadows throughout his room. Telemachus could still see them even after darkness reclaimed the entirety of this space. He wonders if they saw him too, wonders if they wanted him to see them.

.

.

.

Him and Argos can be brave little wolves with atta.

"Full speed ahead, Argos." Telemachus whispered to his companion before nudging the door open.

Sneaking to the room atta shared with Pari was a familiar game and Telemachus was a very good player. In no time, he reached his destination but much to his confusion, the doors weren't closed properly. Odd, they were always shut.

Moving closer, Telemachus peeked through the gap and-

(Pandora opened the box. Out came misery, out came sadness, out came suffering, out came all the terrible evils of the world.)

There was no lightning to paint the room in vivid detail this time, only the glow of candlelight. It softened the edges to an almost dreamlike quality. Telemachus felt like he was underwater, except this time, he didn't feel safe or calm at all.

Atta was standing in the room. Naked. The beautiful silks sliding down his calves to pool around his ankles. The pearls around his neck and shoulders look heavy. Telemachus wishes he took those off instead of his clothes. Why isn't he wearing his clothes? It's not bath time right now. It's so cold, his atta should be wrapped in a blanket, like him. Isn't he cold?

Pari is lounging on a kline, fully clothed, nursing a chalice of wine between his ringed fingers. There's a bowl of pomegranates beside him, the spilled seeds remind Telemachus of scraped knees. He's smiling as if he's watching something nice, like a dance. Or maybe it's his atta. Pari always finds him very nice and very pretty, he loves him after all.

Atta loves Telemachus too.

But Atta's love doesn't make Telemachus feel like this. Like he's-

Like he's doing something he shouldn't, like he shouldn't here, like this is wrong, like he wants this to not happen and never exist-

Goosebumps prickle across Telemachus' skin. He's cold. He's so, so cold. So cold it burns, so cold he wants to throw himself into fire to get rid of it.

Gripping Argos tight, he hurries back to his room, no longer a wolf stalking through the night but a scared little boy running from something he just knew to be wrong. He slips into his room and wraps the blanket around himself as tight as possible, trying to smother the goosebumps.

'I'm sorry.' he doesn't know who he's apologizing to or what he's apologizing for. But he says it again. 'I'm sorry.'

Outside, the storm rages on. Inside, the shadows appear time and again, always there, always watching Telemachus. Telemachus stares back.

He's not afraid of them anymore.

They weren't half as scary as what he just saw.

He doesn't know why that scared him. There had been no one else in that room, no monsters or animals or intruders. Just his atta and Pari, who've been together since he was born. Why did that scare him?

He didn't know why. Not knowing was the scariest part of all.

.

.

.

The next morning, atta hugged Telemachus and he hugged him back, relieved that his body was clothed and warm. They ate breakfast and Pari smiled at Telemachus, offering him a pomegranate.

Telemachus flinched. No, he said. I never want to see that fruit ever again, he thought.

Telemachus pressed his face into atta's clothed chest and prayed that his heart would never know what Telemachus saw last night.

[rubbishmatthew]

I'M GOING INSANEEE I SWEARRRR

This coming is ruining me I swear, but it's pure crack to my brain. I genuinely can only think about this STUPID comic and bounce off my walls waiting for the next episode

They added the deceased status recently, my favorite little old man has delirium, the silly meat slab had the coolest episode (60), and everyone is definitely royally screwed

[nothing-but-paisley]

Thinking about Armand's canonical obsession with Blade Runner, a movie about beautiful androids that look and sound human but are not. For autism reasons.

[bluberryfields]

"David is very easy to fall in love with." - Michael Sheen

Hi. How are you? Good, I hope. Okay, so can we talk about just how fucking beautiful David Tennant is? And by “we” I mean “I” and by “talk” I mean “babble incoherently into the void”? Great! I’ll attempt to impose a bit of organization on this just to satisfy my pathological need to inflict structure on words (thanks college/job/brain), but I can’t promise much. Also, there will be A LOT of pictures and gifs. (you’re welcome?)

And this isn’t just because I am deep in the bottomless well of Good Omens fandom and that Crowley is basically the most breathtaking creature that has ever existed. Well, not just because of that.

*cue Aziraphale's "good lord" from 1793*

ANYWAY, like a lot of people, I became a fan of (i.e., fell deeply and irrevocably in love with) DT during his run as the 10th Doctor. He was young and bright and full of just about everything – joy, sorrow, wit – making him incredibly watchable. His look was also so charming: big bouncy rooster comb of hair, absurdly cheeky smile, expressive-as-fuck eyes and eyebrows, and a tall, lanky form that seemed to be made of rubber and the kind of granulated sugar that could only be found in candy from the 90s that are now banned in all first- and second-world countries.

So yeah, I was super into him and his Doctor’s adventures. And I continued to watch him in other projects and still swoon (looking at you, slutty Hamlet)

even at characters where that was not the desired reaction (fuck you, Kilgrave, you delicious monster).

I would also always become a bit (a lot) weak in the knees at his voice regardless of which accent he took on, though always preferring him doing any Scottish brogue because of fucking course.

Roll that tongue, you sexy beast.

But what I want to get into today is just how incredible he looks in the year of 2023.

He’s 52 years old and I am somehow even more attracted to him. Maybe it’s because I am myself older, and my tastes have matured alongside? I certainly do enjoy gray hair way more than I did 10 years ago.

He’s aged incredibly well, probably a combination of good genes and good health, and he’s clearly not clinging to the Hollywood idea of “youth”.

(insert obligatory grumble about the double standards of men being praised for aging and women being demonized…the potentially problematic nature of the term “aging well” in general…acknowledge this with my enlightened brain but ignore this with my slutty heart…fuck the patriarchy, etc. etc.)

He’s still tall and skinny, even gangly at times, all long arms and legs that can move in impossible directions with unfathomable grace.

His face is leaner, that incredible bone structure creating sharper edges that draw the eye. Speaking of the face, he’s got these creases on his forehead and at the corners of his eyes and mouth that are evidence of time spent well: smiling, laughing, living. Makes you want to trace your fingertips along each one.

Oh god that smile? Good lord. It’s weapons grade charm that can also be quite intimidating. Sweet, humble, silly, scary…full spectrum of options here! His shark smile is the definition of “irresistible” in my Dictionary of Delicious Dudes.

I am both proud of and grossed out by my own word choice.

Continuing with that face...the hawkish nose, the dimples you want to drown in, the big eyes, those motherfucking eyebrows...

I could seriously write a whole essay about those eyebrows, but I already give my therapist enough to worry about.

Oh those eyes. “Piercing” is a term usually reserved for blue eyes, but I would argue it applies to DT’s bottomless chocolate pools in that they slice through my heart every damn time.

Honorable mention does go to those Crowley snake eyes because they could have been distracting and diminishing to his overall look, but they absolutely are not.

Such a pretty shade of yellow.

Random tangent to swoon about his hands. For whatever reason, I like checking out a man’s hands, and DT’s got a set that drives me wild. I can’t even really explain why, but I just really like the way he articulates with them. Crowley is a perfect example, what with the miracle snaps, caressing globes, and holding whisky glasses. Yum.

Delicious demon digits

Fresh tangent: How does this fucker look good clean shaven, with stubble, and a goddamn beard? How is that allowed?

He's got a face that makes me wanna take up sculpting

Further, how is his fucking neck so hot? Like, seriously, show me the math. I can’t stop staring at it. And when it’s cloaked in a turtleneck? Please, sir, may I have some more?

Fuuuuuuuck

With no segue whatsoever, I am absolutely obsessed with his hair, across all contexts. Big, bold, blood-red Crowley coifs (especially in Season 2)? Check.

Proper gentleman side part? Check.

Side shave with cartoonishy springy 14th Doctor shock? Check.

Lockdown locks with and without headband? Check!

It’s a goddamn buffet of delicious options.

Oh damn speaking of that 14th Doctor look? Good fucking Christ on a buttery Ritz cracker. The whole DT collection is on display: the hair, the eyes, the bone structure, the smile, the clothes, and even the glasses!

To quote Pam on Archer, “I swear to god, you could drown a toddler in my panties right now! I mean, not that you would.”

Now that you (I) mention the clothes, I never cease to marvel at how he can wear pretty much anything and look amazing. Stripes, patterns, wild colors, etc. He just always looks…not exactly comfortable, but sort of at ease like the clothes were created with him in mind. And this goes across the spectrum of Casual to Costume to Promotional (e.g., interviews and premieres).

They are almost illegally cute together

We all know by now how ridiculously tight those Crowley pants are and how it influenced his signature serpentine swagger (thank you, Costume department, you’re the real heroes). That said, he and those slinky hips still looks so incredibly natural in them like they came from his actual closet.

Stupid sexy snek

And he pulls off the look of more ridiculous stuff like full Shakespearean costumes or that sad gray-hoodie-black-shorts-and-Wellington-boots combo from the first season of Staged. He somehow gives off the air of “whatever, they’re just clothes, man” while also looking like a damn model.

Georgia is a very lucky woman

Final thoughts: I know DT dislikes talking about how people think he’s so attractive because I’m sure it feels a bit icky if you just want to live your life and do your job. But my guy also clearly understands that he’s not some ghoul who has succeeded on incredible personality and acting chops alone. So, that said, maybe he'll forgive me for posting such a long, rambling, ode to him?

[izartn]

With this new info about Mizi, and showing even more clearly Till being only shallow-y attracted to her facade and him knowing she only loves Sua and Mizi being disgusted, dissapointed about what Till feels about her while being friendly outwardly and I'm like. What the hell was that R2 song Till? Augh. He doesn't let himself know anything about the true Mizi (bc he's in such a bad situation himself he can't) but I'm just. Ouch. Haunted. By how much Mizi did not need that happening just after she lost Sua and was glad to be alive and horrified at herself for it and heartbroken at losing her.

I've no doubt Mizi cared for Till as a friend, which is probably why she feels so guilty (she trying to smile for him between tears as he dies is. Mizi my girl I love you) but she has no reason to? Till was already gonna lose when she appeared in the crowd. Augh.

Till being unable to be anything but himself and show all his emotions up front probably meant he was doomed since the start. He's not an actor. And you need to be one to be a good idol and win the influence game.

Anyways I'm now rootating Mizi, and MiziSua (glad to see the fault lines there it's much more interesting to me now we get Mizi pov) and Mizi +all the other characters and how real has this went about it. Ouch.

[equinoxbloom]

— still dreaming about the taste of those bygone Coerthan summers.

[aliusfrater]

you've got to be kidding me

[buttered-toasty]

Forging of the Ring/The Proposal/Reflections of Self

.

.

Till death do us part? You’re not getting out of this that easily.

And with that I think I’m done with my little marriage series (as I have been calling my bigger Sauron pieces)! I will post them all together sometime. Happy Halloween and remember not to separate out parts of your soul for the making of cursed jewelry!

Bonus thing with some extra portraiture under the cut, idk

[bluberryfields]

Halloween calls for DT in Fright Night gifs

[david-tennant-in-chairs]

He is velvet personified

(I don't know if that makes sense, but velvet is my favorite texture, so I'm just rolling with it)

[rape-dolls]

love love love the phrase girlpussy

[momentomori24]

Something I really love about The Smitten is how despite the fact that he's all talk about true love and genuine adoration he's... not at all about that. From his perspective, he's the dashing, dreamy heroic knight whose one mission is to rescue beautiful, pure, fair damsels in distress. To him, the princess isn't a person with her own personality and dreams and agency. She's an object he views as a trophy wife, a defenseless woman in need of saving, an idealised entity he can project his fantasies on.

And his route-- The Damsel route-- is such a good example of that. This route is the one route (that I know of) where the Princess is practically a blank slate. Where Thorn desperately craved connection, Adversary was itching for mutual rivalry and violence, Prisoner patiently waited for her freedom and Razour just joyfully chased the enjoyment of cutting us into pieces, the Damsel doesn't have anything to her outside of us. She's a helpless, obedient maiden whose only wants are what we want. She wants to destroy the world or she doesn't want to destroy the world or she doesn't care about the world depending on how we feel. This whole charade, no matter how much we want it to, is not about her. It's about us. Because she only exists as a contruction of our own wants. She isn't a person. She's an ideal. A blank canvas. Something to mold into whatever we want.

And that sense of security we felt, the trust we had in her and the image of the perfectly normal, genuinely innocent and real princess we met and fell in love with before the beginning of this route withered away and seeds of skeptisim were planted in its stead. And when we continued to press and push and question for her own desires or aspirations the illusion finally breaks, leaving us with the realisation that we never knew her at all. Because there was never anything to her from the start anyway.

[functioning-minne-holic]

Yes, I know dear, you're a strong and intelligent woman. Now put on this outfit and get the fucking snacks, the guys will be here soon and I still have to set up the poker table.