#tom carry

[winnie-the-patton]

Every time Susie taunted The Roaring Knight, I was like WE DO NOT HAVE ROOM TO TRASH TALK RIGHT NOW I AM OUT OF REVIVEMINTS.

[toleaveordieinbongisland]

Uhhhhh

[torchflies]

Hi TG Fandom!

I love thinking about an AU where: Pete Mitchell is eight years old and used to being bounced around from foster home to orphanage to group home to foster home. An eight-year-old Pete who is scrappy and world-savvy and angry, just imagine a Maverick before he's Maverick — all that Maverick-ness balled up in this pint-sized Pillsbury biscuit can of whoop-ass. He runs the show wherever he goes with his loud mouth and sense of righteous fury. 

But then there's this new boy at the group home, this chubby nine-year-old blond boy with broken glasses held together with duct-tape and a big sweater with patches that covers his hands and half his face. He doesn't talk and spends most of the day hiding in his bed or reading an old Chemistry textbook that he brought from wherever he came from. Pete doesn't get him, thinks he's weird and the fact that the boy always looks so scared makes his tummy feel squirmy. 

So, he starts to sit next to Blondie, shares his food — basically the only thing of value he has, and starts talking, and talking, and talking and talking if only to fill up all the space that Blondie doesn't with his own words. Eventually, Blondie starts scooting closer to Pete, leans against him and starts to talk in a small whisper that only Pete can hear. 

Blondie’s name is Tommy. 

They grow up together in that group home, they bond to each other in a way they've never bonded to anyone else. They make plans to get out and join the Navy together one day, to fly; and they promise to never be apart or alone again.

Then Tommy gets adopted. 

Pete cries; Tommy screams. They might be teenagers now but it takes three men to get them to pry their hands off of each other. Tommy gets carried down the hallway howling, hands outstretched, yelling louder than Pete’s ever heard him speak before. Suddenly, the world is meaner and colder than it has ever been before and all he has left of his Blondie is that same scuffed up Chemistry textbook and a pair of broken glasses.

Pete runs away that night, glasses in his pocket and that heavy book stuffed into his backpack, but he never finds Tommy again… he finds Nicky Bradshaw instead. 

He starts to move on from the hope of ever seeing Tommy again… until Top Gun and Animal Night at the O Club, when Pete catches sight of the first boy he’s ever loved, hiding with shades on and a vodka glass in his hand, instead of a patchy sweater and a Chemistry textbook. 

Pete’s still a pint-sized Pillsbury biscuit can of whoop-ass and the world has changed them both into new people…

But when Iceman comes at him with bravado and snapping teeth, stinking of the alcohol that used to scare him when he was Tommy, regaling Maverick with tales of a father who loved a bottle more than him…

Pete reaches up to slip a little boy’s pair of broken glasses onto the blond’s face with a gentle, “Hi, Blondie.”

And Iceman crumbles away, leaving a crying Tommy in his place.

“Pete.”

He still says it the same way, like he's saying home.

[personfrommars10]

Maverick: okay time for bed

Iceman: no, I gotta finish this chapter in my book first

Maverick: nope bedtime

Iceman: but peeeete

Maverick: *takes the book out of his hand and picks him up bridal style* you know sometimes I think you act bratty because you want me to carry you everywhere

[nobeerreviews]

The place where you lose the trail is not necessarily the place where it ends.

-- Tom Brown, Jr.

(Constanța, Romania)

[winterswake]

MATTHEW NEEDHAM & TOM GLYNN-CARNEY as lord Larys Strong and King Aegon II Targaryen

[virtie333]

RIP Gary Fisher

I bet your mom is happy to see you!

[deadghosy]

How the Slytherin boys would pick you up

Ft. Tom Riddle, Mattheo Riddle, Theodore Nott, Lorenzo Berkshire.

Tom Riddle

He picked you up definitely bridal style.

Not a romantic type of guy, but he knows how to pick a person up. Mostly a lady.

Mattheo Riddle

He’s in between bridal style and just putting you over his shoulder

He can’t chose which one himself 🤷🏾

Theodore Nott

This tall ass bastard picks you up over his shoulder 💗😭

Definitely does it to humiliate you a little

Lorenzo Berkshire

Bridal style, just like tom but it’s am more romantic💗

Definitely does it when you two are celebrating something and he just lifts you up and does it

[mobius-m-mobius]

you have 90 minutes to complete.

@lokiusweek 2025 - Day 6/Extra Prompts: What Might Have Been (in/sp)

[rumpled]

Helen McCrory & Tom Burke as Hester Collyer & Freddie Page in Terence Rattigan’s The Deep Blue Sea, directed by Carrie Cracknell

[philiponmycracker]

Tom Hulce at the 56th Academy Awards 1984, as Best Actor nominee for Amadeus

Cause @historianmaybe5 and I were talking about what could have been going through his head at the Oscars, sitting there tense and nervous, also having decided to come out officially should they call him up on the stage. Oh how wonderful it would have been to watch Mr Hulce get up there as a "new rising star", going from virtually being unknown to winning Best Actor for a lead role in one of the greatest movies ever made, declaring himself gay and proud in front of the whole world. Being aware of the potential risk of damaging a promising career before it even took off. And I can't help but wonder what an impact it could have made for the queer comunity back in 1984 during the AIDS epidemic and all. The nervous smile and that kindness in his eyes. Then the explosion of joy, of pure excitement, cheering for his co-star winning the award and my god I just can't admire him enough My sweet king

[tomshivbaby]

succession + album covers

[kisses4kaia]

on my knees, foaming at the mouth, begging for more sub coryo

u guys are so funny oh my goodness😭 (slight au where sejanus did not die because we love him🥰) i got a bit carried away as you can see!! but that’s ok !!!! also, university!corio .. okok go read now plz enjoy and reblog :)

being the girlfriend of the winner to the plinth prize whilst simultaneously biting your tongue constantly was no easy feat.

every thoughtless, careless, borderline sexist, comment corio received from older men—and even some of your male peers—along the lines of, “oh, she’s a pretty little thing, isn’t she? bet you keep her on her knees, huh?” (whilst you were right there, mind you!), infuriated you beyond belief and typically made corio tense up and awkwardly brush them off.

because no, corio did not always keep you on your knees. as a matter of fact, it was quite the opposite. you had him on his knees, every night, begging and pleading for a taste of you. and if he was a good boy, he would get one. you were assertive, not cruel.

you so badly wished you could shut them down, tell them exactly how it is, but you still loved and respected corio, and you knew what might happen to his reputation if that kind of secret got out.

so you kept on biting your tongue.

and tonight, corio’s arm is snaked around your torso and his large palm rests on the small of your back.

you’re at a elite party he was invited to, making friendly conversation with clemensia and sejanus while throwing witty comments back and forth with your boyfriend, when all of a sudden, one of crassus snow’s old friends come up to the both of you and it goes how you would expect; however, this time, something’s different.

this time, he laughs boisterously and nods, agreeing with the crude comment the man made. coriolanus shakes his hand and says “oh, absolutely. would you expect any less from my father’s son?”

you are fucking appalled, and the astounded expression on your face doesn’t do much to hide it.

when the old man whose name you didn’t bother to remember finally leaves, corio finally looks down at you to see your narrow eyes shooting daggers into his.

you say no words and storm off, and he’s hot on your trail. “baby? baby, hold up, slow down!”

you heed no mind to his words, and only stop your stampede when you find an unoccupied bedroom and drag him inside.

it was glamorous, which was to be expected, considering the host of the party was volumnia gaul; she always was one for dramatic flare. the ceiling was high and the walls were crowned in gold paint. the layout was simple, there was nothing but a queen-sized bed, an empty dresser, and bare vanity gracing its presence, all but proving that it was not it use, and perfectly fine for you to punish coriolanus in.

“what the fuck was that?” your voice is scornful and with the way your face twists up and contorts into a look of contempt, he knows he’s in for it.

he stumbles over his words, trying to think of a way he can phrase his words to deescalate the situation, lessen the blow for himself. “i-i’m sorry. i don’t know what i was thinking. please, honey. please forgive me. i’m begging you,”

the last phrase causes you to look up at him before smirking wickedly, “are you?”

you can see it dawn on him, the realization that you really are going to make him beg—the proper way, down on his knees.

he sighs ashamedly before letting his knees buckle, right one hitting the ground, the left following suit.

the slicked back hair on his scalp gleams perfectly underneath the warm overhead lighting the small chandelier provides, and his glossy, devastatingly blue, eyes are boring into yours as his bottom lip begins to quiver ever so slightly.

“i’m so, so, so, fucking, sorry. i’m so stupid, i just didn’t want him to think lowly of my fathers kin. i fucked up, i know, just, please, please, forgive me,”

he sounds like he’s on the verge of tears when he speaks and you can’t help but revel in how hot this all is. having one of the most powerful men in the capitol at your feet, pleading for you, you have to work hard in order to conceal the ache between your legs.

“show me, then.” you turn around on him and walk to the bed, sitting, before crossing your legs and leaning back, dangerous, siren eyes inviting corio to crawl to you.

he doesn’t even hesitate before getting on his hands and knees and desperately pawing at the ground, trying to get close to you again. and when he reaches your sat figure, he grabs your ankles, uncrossing them and pulling your high heels off slowly, all before kissing his way up your calf, and up to your mid-thigh, where the slit in your dress begins. he looks up at you pleadingly, expression reading ‘may i?’ and you could praise him for being so polite if he wasn’t enduring punishment.

you nod slightly, raising your hips just enough so corio could hike your dress up, bunching up at your waist.

his eyes stay on yours, watching you intently as he pulls your delicate, lacy, black and pink, panties down your smooth legs, before gently placing them on the floor next to him.

when you part your legs ever so slightly, the eyes boring into yours spark up with excitement and hope. he finally breaks eye contact when he shuts his eyes and lays his tongue flat against your cunt, lapping up the ego-boosting amount of arousal that’s drooling from your achy hole.

he’s so perfect for you, timing his transitions between fucking into you with his tongue and sucking on your clit just the way he’s learned you like just right, never lingering too long on one part of you.

at this point, you have your legs wrapped around his head tight, nearly restricting his facility to breathe, shamelessly moaning and praising his ministrations. “fuck, yes corio! oh fuck, you’re gonna make me cum? yeah? so fucking pathetic,” you spit at him in between borderline moans so pornographic that you’re apprehensive that somebody outside of the four walls you’re in may hear you, but it doesn’t seem to bother you that much, considering the lack of you lowering your own volume.

and the sounds, the sounds are vile, fucking disgusting. his salivated muscle messily dragging all over your labia, his perfectly pouted lips making out with your pussy like he’s in love with it (he is). all of the insanely erotic factors of this moment don’t do anything to hold off your impending release, and with a weak cry of the boy beneath you’s name, sweet syrup leaks out from your tight hole lands onto corio’s anticipating tongue, and you can feel him smile against you at the taste of it.

he drinks it all down in no time and when he continues to lather his tongue all over your clit, not seeming to want to be done, you have to physically pull his head away from you as a result of overstimulation.

he frowns but when he sees the look on your face, your exhausted, satisfied, fucked-out, face, he has to bite his lip to contain his smile.

“i did good?” there’s a special twinkle to his eye, and you find it all-enamoring.

“so good,”

“you forgive me?”

“yes, but next time you pull some shit like that, i’ll jerk you off under the dinner table, you hear me?”

[iamamythologicalcreature]

Carry On Through the Ages (all the way back to Ancient Egypt)

"A Prophesied Rivalry:

This painting, remarkably well-preserved, was recovered from the tomb of a previously unknown and as-yet unidentified woman of significant power, whose rediscovery has fascinated Egyptologists. Historical analysis suggests she was believed to possess a gift for prophecy, and this artwork is very likely an attempt to illustrate one of her visions.

Here, she and her husband are depicted championing their son, who faces an outsider in combat. The outsider is also supported by an enigmatic figure of seemingly great power, foretelling a great struggle between two mighty forces, though whether these forces were meant to be supernatural or more mundane is not clear.

The dog shown, intriguingly, held a place of honor within the family and was found interred in a nearby chamber. The cat's presence, however, remains enigmatic, as the "Cats vs Dogs" reputation cultivated by these domesticated animals today is not something observed elsewhere in Ancient Egyptian artwork. Noted Egyptologists Miriam Blackwood and Theodore Langston have half-jokingly speculated that its inclusion was a mere artistic preference, hinting at the painter’s fondness for cats."

I've always loved Ancient Egyptian art, ever since childhood. I've wanted to do something like this ever since I first read of Baz's ancestry, so @carryonthroughtheages seemed the best excuse to dabble in this ancient art style.

I talked to @monbons about it and apparently the stars and planets were in alignment that day, because she agreed to collaborate with me. She’s created some absolutely gorgeous fiber art to go along with Natasha’s prophecies. And then she surprised me with a Baz doll, because she is amazing. (I love him so much and we are going to look at fashion books together. It’s going to be awesome.)

This is definitely fanart of both Ancient Egyptian art and Snowbaz. Both are worth diving into if you find yourself curious to know more!

[smolvenger]

One Bed (Professor! Tom Hiddleston x Student! Fem! Reader)

Summary: You're on a trip for a research project with your sexy professor...and the Air BNB has only one bed.

Warnings: SMUT ! SMUT! This is one of my mostly smuttier pieces! (loss of virginity, use or professor/student relationship as a kink kind of, some oral sex and p in v sex, a bit of dirty talk and it's unprotected, whoopsies). A mild plot in this one but some sweet, fluffy moments.

Word Count: >2 K. A blurb/smaller oneshot (Prof! Tom just does something to me, okay?!)

Dick-tionary: Smut starts at "Take me. Take me good,” you said" and ends at "Here…let me hold you, YN, please…”.

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

Taglist: @asgards-princess-of-mischief @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @cheekyscamp @mochie85 @fandxmslxt69 @skittslackoffilter @mischief2sarawr @jijilaufeyson @steasstuff @anukulee @kimi01985 @goblingirlsarah @foxherder @giona45-5 @goddessgirl43

There had been a mistake.

There was your special trip. School funded. To research the historical context and life of 19th-century romantic authors. One you would take with Professor Hiddleston. The days would consist of visiting old houses and attending lectures in between stuffing yourself silly with sandwiches in tea shops. 

All while trying not to secretly oogle the Professor in his suit.

The first day, after a long day of traveling, you attended the first series of lectures. You fought to keep your head from drooping. Both of you ambled down the cobblestoned streets and checked into your stay for the week.

 But there was a mishap in the Air BNB. But the location, no- it was still a cozy, comfortable cottage. One of those in England that seemed like a country house that plopped into a city. 

The problem was that there was only one bed in that room.

The cottage itself was furnished moderately. The chairs were wooden and rickety. The living room had no sofa.

Professor Hiddleston was going to be a gentleman and try to sleep on the floor or the chairs. The picture of his tall body trying to curl himself up to sleep on one made you almost burst into laughter. He was going to find the host and talk to them. 

“It’s big enough! We can just roll away, give each other some space!” you encouraged, gesturing to it.

Before you knew it, you were both in your night clothes. In the bed. A blanket over you.

The beat of your heart raced too fast for sleep. Not to mention your mind for having him near. Seeing him so relaxed. His long curls freed. His glasses were folded in the case on the desk. How his long legs just brushed yours. It was everything in you not to bump your feet flirtatiously to him. Or to even just feel his skin.

It shouldn’t feel this….this…this wrong.

Wrong, wait, you thought, what was wrong?

You both were of age. He was single. You were single. You got along well, incredibly well in fact. He was funny, incredibly kind, wise, and smart as a whip. Not to mention, he was delectable. The way he read Shakespeare out loud would make you wet in a 10 am class. You’d be squirming in his seat as he adjusted his glasses.

When you sat at that lecture, you could see him, Secretly taking glances at you. Your hands just brushed as you took notes. The heat in you jolted you awake and the content of the speech, the reason you were brought here in the first place, seemed like distant white noise compared to his presence close to you.

His breathing was hitching. You heard a rustling. His voice made low and husky, whispering your name.

You turned around.

Before you could process anything, he at once adjusted himself on top of you. Heart beating even harder, feeling his weight pinning you, you began to tremble.

“Pro-Professor?” you asked.

“I don’t care anymore-” he rasped.

He pressed your lips to his. A sound came out of you- you could taste the mint of his toothpaste. He pressed further onto you. Your arms wrapping around to deepen it. He released it, his breath heavy.

“Do you even know what you do to me?” he asked.

You swallowed back the snarky comment that you could feel exactly the effect you had on him brushing against your stomach. Though he was still clothed in his loose white shirt and shorts for sleep. His curls over you. His beard scratches against your skin. Heat rising all over you.

You felt his hands touch you. Tracing down from your breasts to your stomach. And further down. You began to tremble and the pooling sensation was happening between your legs. He reached your neck and pressed a kiss there. An involuntary moan flew out of you. His cock in his pants seemed even more pressed.

��I’ve held back, back for so long, darling, please-” he whispered.

His hand stopped when it reached the hem of your shorts. It released and you nearly whined.

“What…what is it?” you asked.

“I’m waiting for your permission to let me have my way with you,” he whispered.

You were a mess of lust now. You wanted him so badly, and here he was. But yet there was the unknown. The precipice.  

“I’ve never…never been with a..a..a…I’ve never-never done this, professor” you stuttered.

He kissed your cheek. His eyes were soft, a smile on his face.

“I’ll make be gentle, my dear,” he promised.

You were shaking and wet and ready. 

“Take me. Take me good,” you said.

He kissed your neck again, and you let out another moan.

“No one’s here-you can make a sound, darling. It’s only you. And me…don’t be afraid, I’ll make you ready,” he rasped.

His kiss traveled to your chest. Then his hand worked each front button of your shirt. Ceremoniously. Sacredly. He pushed it slowly away to show your breasts. He kissed down your chest and onto one. His lips traveled your stomach and then his hands slif off both your shorts and drenched underwear.

He kissed you and swung you over. Already you felt yourself arch at him.

“Beautiful….you’re fucking beautiful…” he whispered, seeing your bare form. The moonlight slipped through the curtains giving a silver sliver in the room.

The clothes were thrown aside. You were naked. But he was still donned. He held up your leg, arching your back, grinding air. Your arms dangled before the bed and making sure he heard your whimpers, knew how badly you wanted him. He began kissing the inside of your thigh, held up in his large hand. His eyes shone at what lay between your legs.

“Hear my soul speak…” he murmured, reciting Shakespeare.

His lips traveled up. Closer, and closer. 

“The very instant that I did saw you…”

You felt his hot breath right before your soaked entrance.

“My heart did fly into your service…” 

 His tongue gave a lap. You writhed against him. You couldn’t remember being this turned on. His mouth gave little licks. You held onto the bedrail for life. You were going to burst- but you needed him. It was not enough. You wanted more.

“Please…Please, fuck me, Professor…I need your cock…” you began to beg.

He took off his shirt and you were in near shock at his lean, muscular body.

Your heart jumped at his erect, large cock dripping already. You would make it fit. You wanted it to. 

He leaned down, positioning himself right at your entrance. He held a forehead to yours.

“Tell me now you want this…tell me now…and I’ll be slow…”

“I want this…” you confirmed.

You lay down, and his hand flew over yours, holding you in place. He groaned as he entered. He slowly slid in, you were gasping.

“Professor…professor-I…I-oh! Oh god!” you cried out.

The pain came to you and fizzled out. You were gasping aloud. Somehow… you adjusted. 

“I’m going to move,” he announced.

He then thrust in and out of you. A slow pace. His breathing was hard. His cock hitting the right spot. You put your hands up onto his chest. One hand of his left yours and lifted your leg to feel the deeper position.

“God-god, yes-yes..” you were groaning.

“Tell me-Tell me, darling, if I- I need to-to be slow- you’re so-so good, doing so good-” he rasped in between them.

But you were craving it. The release. The ravishment.

“Professor-please-harder- faster- fuck me- fuck me-more-please!” you were begging. Already new and you were his whore and you wanted him. In every way possible.

He complied. He brought up the pace. The board of the bed hits the wall gently, and it creaks beneath your weight. His grunts above you, his curls undone. No more Shakespeare now. He went faster, going deeper.

His hand reached down. He found your clit and began to circle it. You leaned back and moaned.

“Yes- professor-there-”

“That noise- that look- you’re going to make me- make me- you’re going to-”

He traced faster. You felt the spinning rise up. He kept murmuring filth to you.

“God, you’re going to make me-make me cum- look-look in my eyes- so you see me- cum, go on-cum darling, yes-fuck, cum- already- cume for me-”

You were spinning, reaching there-

“Yes-fuck, darling- be a good girl- cum for me- I’m going to-I’m-cum for me-I want-want my little student to-to cum- yes-cum for me, cum for me-I’m cumming, darling, I-”

Heaven entered that little cottage as you cried out his name, oblivion breaking on you between those sheets. He arrived there too, flushed and panting hard with his last groan.

“Here…let me hold you, YN, please…” he offered.

You cuddled onto him, feeling his seed drip somewhat on your skin. And your own release pouring out too. He was warm, sweating, and yet soft, comforting as you cuddled him.

“I…I didn’t know…you just…you’re the type to quote poetry during sex…” you breathed out in a joke, your haze.

“You’re poetry itself,” he said with a last kiss on your forehead.

[mobius-m-mobius]

thought we had it all, thought we had it all, thought we had it all...

- So Much (For) Stardust - Fall Out Boy (i/n/sp)