#// Every. Time.

[mordcore]

[justaz]

king merlin after meeting lady guinevere and sir lancelot’s baby and falling in love: arthur. i want a baby.

king arthur, not looking up from his paperwork: …what?

merlin: give me a baby.

arthur, sighing: merlin, you studied to be a physician. i don’t think i have to be the one to tell you how impractical that is.

merlin, rolling his eyes: this is why i’m the brighter side of the coin

arthur, finally looking up: wha-

queen merlin using magic to transform her body: i. want. a. baby.

arthur:

arthur:

arthur: *stands up from his desk so fast his chair topples over, multiple parchments flutter to the ground, his tunic is already off*

[seattledayone]

thinking about dina’s soft, heartbroken little, “no,” when she was cradling ellie’s face between her palms begging her not to leave

[teddybeartoji]

wolf!toji definitely says "biiiiiig stretch" every time he lowers bunny!reader onto his cock thanks for listening

[soft-serve-soymilk]

CAN THEY STOP TORTURING ME WITH THEIR PLATINUM HAIR, CHISELED ABS AND CONVENIENTLY COVERED DICKS

[stlamb]

i never get any true rest or escape employment because i have a JOB in my DREAMS

[evilfloralfoolery]

If fashion bitches don't stop with the "szn 'fits," I'm gonna riot. 🤣🤣🤣

[ni0x]

I set down my pencil, I look away for half a second, I go to pick my pencil back up: GONE

[thelordofgifs]

me: ok just dash off a short little ficlet to take a break from your high-effort WIPs

me five minutes later: so how would the name Patroclus translate into Quenya anyway

[scottstiles]

i have to say even tho every single other thing about the last few seasons of svu still annoys the hell out of me (all the new actors, the lighting, coloring, set design, drab and depressing stories, even the crappy new lets-run-everywhere-with-the-camera style), at least mariska continues to outperform every single other person on television.

[valorsworn]

think about it : skyhold is the first place in cullen rutherford’s life where he truly has quarters of his own.

until he was 13, he grew up in a house brimming with life. siblings tumbling over one another, voices overlapping, space a thing to be fought for. privacy was fleeting, a luxury reserved for their parents, and even then, barely. the concept of solitude didn’t exist, not truly, not in that house in honnleath.

in kinloch hold, the templar barracks were communal. a dozen bodies in one room, armor clanking at odd hours, prayers whispered in the dark. he learned to sleep through the sounds of training long past dusk and the restless shifting of souls who had long since stopped being strangers.

kirkwall was no different. if anything, it was worse. less camaraderie, more watchful eyes. the gallows were oppressive in every way, pressing down on body and soul alike. there was always someone near, whether you wanted them there or not.

then, haven. his quarters were simple, barely more than a small room with a cot, but even that felt foreign. he had never been given space to himself before, never been allowed to be alone like this. and yet, in haven, solitude was a rare thing. the village was small, pressed in by mountains, every cabin and hallway filled with people, with movement, with the urgency of an army trying to hold itself together. it was different. uncertain. but there was purpose in it.

and finally, skyhold.

an entire tower of his own, not just a room, well away from the main keep. but solitude is not the comfort he thought it might be. the tower is old, crumbling, and cold. the wind howls through the cracks in the stone, and the fire never quite chases the chill from his bones.

and worst of all : there is nothing to drown out the thoughts at night.

regret coils in the quiet. the choices he has made, the lives he has taken, the failures he cannot undo... they settle in his nocturnal mind, unshaken by duty or routine. and now, without lyrium, there is nothing to numb the worst of it. his body aches, his hands tremble, and in the silence of his empty bedroom, the withdrawal claws at him with a fury no enemy ever could.

yes, it is freeing. but it is also a cage of his own making. self-made walls built of reckoning, of penance, of the long, brutal work of undoing what he has been. there is no escape from himself, not anymore. he must face what he has done. he must stand in the quiet and look himself in the eye.

and he must come out stronger on the other side. he must. he must.

[assortedasurathings]

IT feels weird being the Tumblr bitch without a Canon Commander. just " Does your commander- " Exist? No. I don't do that. I'm not LIKE that. I haphazardly Shoved Anakk into that role so I could Participate since " Your commander " is the only topic Why can't our Guys just be Guys? Why they gotta be the special one? Xaana's A death machine but she's not THE FOCUS of guild wars. Which is what the commander is. As a baseline. And not to knock people who do that. People can have their commanders. But why do we gotta make every Gw2 Tumblr Ask about that? Ask me about my Ex-inquest. Ask me about my Ex-Pact. My Current Pact, My current Inquest and krewemen and Average Joes and Superhumans. Hell just Ask me Anything About Anything I love to Yap. I Am Hyperfixation. Just don't ask me about my Commander. Because I can't possibly Fathom having one.

[ablatheringblatherskite]

YOU AT THE BARRICADES LISTEN TO THIS

THE PEOPLE OF PARIS SLEEP IN THEIR BEEEEDS

YOU HAVE NO CHAAAAANCE

NO CHANCE AT ALL

WHY THROOOOWWW YOUR LIVES AWAY

[arcadialedger]

“Sir, we’re detecting a massive object emerging from hyperspace”

Me:

[jacqcrisis]

Walking through crowds in 90% humidity downtown, compelled by the most powerful force on earth: bbq pork on a stick