Tom Hiddleston, books, Marvel, cute animals, food, Pokémon, Sailor Moon, history, current events(politics, what's going on in the world, that kind of stuff), among other things…
Imagine an alien medical officers just asking about allergies.
A: So you mean to tell me that Human John almost die from ingesting a peanut? How? Peanuts taste great!
H:It’s cause our immune system.
A: The same thing that is actively protecting your body on that hostile environment you call a planet?
H: Yeah….sometimes our immune systems overreact to harmless things.
A: Okay, some humans can’t ingest peanuts. Anything else I need to know?
H: Well actually, some humans just can’t come into contact with peanuts. At all. Or fish. Or pollen. Or any type of nut. Some humans can’t drink milk or take in dairy. Some humans can’t have stuff touching their skins.
A: Again, HOW HAVE YOU SURVIVED? YOUR OWN BODIES ARE TRYING TO KILL YOU.
When I was 10, my mom made me wear a bra and it felt like a punishment for being different.
When I was 10, I took the bra off when changing for gymnastics and accidentally dropped it in the school hallway. A teacher picked it up and said, “Oh, this must belong to you” and handed it back to me in front of everyone. I quit gymnastics.
When I was 11, I thought maybe the boobs would be okay so long as they didn’t get any bigger than would fit in my hand, so I kept measuring it, but they did.
When I was 12, I started wearing two or three sports bras to smush them down, until one day a classmate said, “Are you wearing two bras?!” while laughing.
When I was 13, a boy told me he wanted to squeeze my boobs “until they popped.”
When I was 14, I got cast in a play as an older character and a classmate told me I got the role because I had boobs.
When I was 17, my mom told me to return a swimsuit because it would be too distracting for my boyfriend’s father.
When I was 21, I got properly fitted for a bra and everyone felt the need to tell me how much better my boobs looked.
When I was 26, I got pregnant and my immediate fear was that my boobs would get bigger.
When I was 28, I got shamed for trying to feed my screaming baby in public without a cover.
When I was 28, people asked me “why are you bothering to use a breastfeeding cover?”
When I was 30, people gave me weird looks that I wasn’t yelling at my kid for putting their hand on my boob.
When I was 31, I avoided going to the beach or pool because I didn’t want to have to deal with boobs in a swimsuit.
When I was 32, I got asked, again, “why don’t you get a breast reduction?”
When I was 33, I watched a 5yo girl get shamed for running around in sweltering heat without a shirt on and had to reprimand a bunch of tween boys who thought it was okay to shame her for doing something they do all the time.
When I was 34, my kid kept patting my breast and saying “Mommy’s squishy breast!!” They will never see me express any shame about tits, because I want them to have a different mindset than I had. Yes, boobs are nice! They’re squishy! They’re fun! That’s the end of that.
I’m 35 and no longer give a fuck. I don’t care anymore. As a teenager my tits were covered in stretch marks. They’ve been engorged with milk. My nipple changed shape with pregnancy. Give it another couple decades and my breasts will probably be all wrinkly. It’s sexual when I’m using it sexually. I don’t fucking care, and I won’t be ashamed anymore.
Every time a policy or cultural hangup treats people with breasts differently, it fucks us over.
Tumblr’s new policy makes an active choice to participate in this culture of shame. By classifying “female-presenting nipples” as explicit material, Tumblr has taken a stance that any chest or breast that differs from a male default is worthy of shame and unavoidably sexual. The idea that breasts are shameful and unavoidably sexual is exactly what fucked me up for so much of my life.
Stop shaming people for having bodies.
I’ve been seething in rage thinking of this all day and @aibidil put into words what was reeling in my mind.
Uh, @moonrainbow, next time he cums over to ‘model’ for you, could you please give him my number? Tell him that I need my back adjusted…. Or my kitchen remodeled, or my taxes done, or……. Crap. I’m sure you could come up with something much more believable on the fly. I’m a bit speechless and blubbering. Thanks honey. I’ll owe you BIG time. *sigh
@maiden-of-asgard hey…. psssst. Hey my dear darling MAIDEN-OF-TORTURE!!!!! if you need a little inspiration to finally get LOKI NAKED!!!!!! FINALLY!!!!!!, maybe you could print this out and post it above your screen, over half of it, or just glue it straight on top of the keyboard. I’m sure that if you kept all your typing restricted to just typing keys that were directly under his body, the spirits would lead you to the correct appropriate needed ending for the story. WHICH IS LOKI FINALLY NAKED!!! am I right @hurricanerin ? @archy3001 ?
The West European Hiddles possesses a rare but devastating personal quality known as Latent Hotness (LH). Latent Hotness operates much in the same way as the glowing lure device of the deep-sea anglerfish. It attracts its prey by appearing harmless. “Oh,” says the unsuspecting victim, “this isn’t alarming at all. He is cute, and he likes Shakespeare. I like Shakespeare, too! And he has such a nice sense of humor. And oh! So kind.” Thus the victim is lured deeper into the depths of the cold, salty ocean, midnight blue and full of lurking danger yet unseen.
The prey approaches more closely, marveling at the bizarre and senseless actions of those around her. “How silly these girls are!” says the victim. “He’s not that hot. He’s nice enough, but there are many men hotter than he is.”
And then, at the critical moment, the Latent Hotness takes effect. The victim can see clearly now, at this close distance, that it is not the light of a reassuring sun that dangles from the head of the undersea beast, but rather a bright, greenish, glowing lure. The victim is simultaneously charmed and incapacitated, and then the Hiddles moves in for the kill. At this point, his prey is already partially anesthetized by his literary knowledge, linguistic facility, Henry V hair, and general magnetism. But then the Hiddles dials up his attack by one degree — a growled innuendo, a whisper, a sultry poem delivered in breathy verse, a wink, a stubbly goatee, a swirl of golden curls and a seersucker suit, or one hundred and twenty seconds of teasing a muppet with a plate of baked goods.
At that point, the prey is taken, and can only fangirl. The thrall is too powerful; literally no one escapes. Men, women, the elderly… no one gets away. In this way, the Hiddleston family will come to rule the earth, because Tom and his family (immune to the devastation of his sexual charm) are the only ones who will still maintain their full sensory and intellectual capacity. The rest of us will be lurching about, drooling, and watching YouTube videos seventeen hours a day.
So, to answer your question more directly, dear Anon, nothing actually happened to Tom. Instead, the Easter Egg of Sexual Doom that he implanted in your brain the day you first saw him has finally broken open, spilling its contents all over your formerly functioning brain. Get ready to asdskaljhgfjkaghf, burn toast, and spend hours doing nothing but sighing and blinking your eyes slowly as he brings the fragrant cookie to his lips, then — no! not yet — pulls it back again, the curl of a knowing smile (the hallmark of the LH carrier) teasing at the corner of his lips.
There is no cure. The only thing you can do is look around and realize you are not the only ‘stoner lurching forward toward the light.
xx
the Easter Egg of Sexual Doom…
Just in case anybody ever wonders how the hell they ended up here, this is likely the best explanation you’ll ever find.
☝🏼☝🏼☝🏼
The bestest-best explanation how the living fuck I ended up in the gutter, in the seveth circle of the Hiddles-hole, splashing on happyly. @dangertoozmanykids101@dianamolloy@redfoxwritesstuff I think this hapened to you too.
bookworm-christina's 