#this lives rent free in my head

[vildo]

gay people never flirt normally it's always gotta be shit like this

[ami-v-dragnire]

yellow's a pretty colour

[thatshadowcomic]

bro got some nice kicks

In case yall didnt know

[mamashenanigans]

Don’t ask. I’m not sure why I made this.

[likeafantasy]

[mysticalarmand]

no, ed, it's not straight hallucinating your best friend singing wake up alone by amy whinehouse to you i loved the cinematography in this scene tho

03x15 "Enough! I admit that killing you, killed apart of me." "There is no Ed Nygma without The Penguin!"

[lokijiro]

Just imagining a young post-university Sherlock watching his big brother effortlessly playing a dangerous, grand game of chess with the world and wondering what he could possibly do that might compare.

At some point, he is elated as he decides that he could make a living out of being a "consulting detective". He is actually good at this.

And Mycroft disapproves. Mycroft tells him that it’s a stupid, ridiculous, childish notion and he needs to grow up. Goes as far as to call him a disappointment as Sherlock doubles down. (Of course, Mycroft is actually just really, really worried about his little brother chasing dangerous criminals.)

This turns Sherlock into even more of a show-off at crime scenes. Always so desperate to prove that he is clever like his brother, that he is worthy.

[tacodestroyeravenger]

Athena to Ares: You want more bloodshed? Then set him free to get back to his homestead he’ll make everybody bleed.

*a few songs later*

Odysseus repeatedly stabbing Poseidon with his own trident: HOW DOES IT FEEL TO BE HELPLESS

Ares, visibly impressed and likely guiding the next strike: She wasn’t wrong. He will make EVERYBODY bleed.

[thingsthatstopusdreaming]

not Luke saying that there was a scene where he was supposed to be super angry (probs LW reveal/aftermath), but started crying because he was feeling tired and overwhelmed and the director loved it so much they did a couple of takes like that

man, if that is the take that makes it into the final cut... rip us all rest in peace us all we are gonna die DEAD

[empresskadia]

I can’t stop thinking about Mistress Warden-Commnader Surana/Amell to King Alistair—it’s living rent-free in my brain! In my first playthrough of Dragon Age: Origins, I went with Warrior Cousland because, honestly, Noble Lady with an axe? Yes, please. But there’s just something about Mage Elf/Human Surana/Amell as Mistress to the King that scratches a very specific itch.

I mean, in that playthrough, I had Alistair marry Anora for the sake of stability and preventing civil unrest. But the idea of Surana/Amell staying on as his mistress and being the real power behind the throne? Absolutely perfect. Like, she’s just there, controlling everything, and everyone knows it. And the best part? She’s perfectly happy with that arrangement.

Picture this: Surana/Amell lounging in Alistair’s chambers, casually munching on chocolate-covered strawberries, when she makes some off-handed remark about a political matter—and of course, Alistair immediately goes through with it. No questions asked. She’s the one standing beside him at formal events, commanding respect and intrigue, with her full title trailing behind her like a reminder: Warden-Commander Surana/Amell, Hero of Ferelden, Mistress to the King.

And here’s the thing—Surana/Amell owns it. She’s content with her life because she gets to do her own thing: running the Grey Wardens, dabbling in magic, and occasionally poking at political affairs, all without anyone telling her what to do. It’s the ultimate freedom, and Alistair being head over heels for her is just the icing on the cake. When she’s away, he’s this sad puppy missing her terribly, but the moment she returns? Full golden retriever energy, tail-wagging (metaphorically, of course), and a grand ball thrown in her honor.

But here’s where it gets fun: Even Anora eventually warms up to Surana/Amell. They have this mutual respect, maybe even a friendship, built on tea-drinking sessions and political discussions. And when Anora needs Alistair to do something he’s dragging his feet about? She knows exactly where to go: Surana/Amell. Because, let’s face it, if anyone can convince Alistair to get his act together, it’s her.

That said, Anora can absolutely be a total bitch to Surana/Amell sometimes, and that adds some delicious drama to the dynamic. Surana/Amell, of course, doesn’t even flinch. She’s just sitting there like, “I’m a badass Warden, a mage who survived the Circle, and the king will never love you as much as he adores me. Try me.” And honestly, Anora’s frustration over this makes for some amazing tension. But deep down? Anora knows exactly how important Surana is to keeping Ferelden (and Alistair) running smoothly, so it’s this fascinating love-hate dynamic.

And then there’s Alistair. Once he figures out his lineage and starts to feel secure in his role, you know he’d push for a child with Surana/Amell to take the throne someday. The nobles would be losing their minds, but Alistair? He’d be 100% on board. It doesn’t help that, much to everyone’s dismay, he doesn't bother to visit the queen’s chambers. His heart—and let’s be honest, his brain—are entirely with Surana/Amell.

And then the drama really kicks off when Alistair decides to make it official. Imagine the court’s reaction when he publicly declares Surana’s/Amell's title: Official Mistress to the King. He does it at a grand event, all smiles and with a glowing introduction that only makes his adoration more obvious. The hall is dead silent for a beat before whispers ripple through the nobles like wildfire. Scandalized gasps, angry mutterings, and the occasional choking on wine—everyone has something to say about it.

For her part, Surana/Amell is unfazed. She just stands there, calm as ever, with a slight smirk as if daring anyone to challenge her. Alistair? Completely oblivious to the outrage on purpose. He’s too busy grinning at her like a lovesick puppy. Meanwhile, Anora looks like she’s trying to decide whether to laugh or scream, all while calculating how to manage the fallout.

The fallout is immediate, of course. Nobles protest, claiming it’s an affront to Ferelden’s traditions. Anora is bombarded with demands to “rein in her husband,” which she pointedly ignores because she knows better. The court is a hotbed of gossip and outrage, but none of it matters—because Alistair made it official, and Surana isn’t going anywhere.

Honestly, I love the whole dynamic. The Mage Elf/Human who broke free of the Circle, became the Hero of Ferelden, and now wields her influence not from a throne, but from the shadows, with wit, charm, and undeniable power. It’s deliciously unconventional and exactly the kind of chaotic energy Ferelden deserves. And half the court hates her for it.

Random written scene

The grand hall of the Arl’s estate was alive with the hum of conversation and the glitter of finely wrought jewels and polished armor. Nobles dipped their heads in deference as King Alistair Theirin entered, his golden hair catching the light like a crown all its own. The room seemed to hold its breath as he walked, his presence commanding every gaze, yet his eyes sought only one person.

Warden-Commander Surana/Amell stood near the far end of the room, a glass of wine in her hand and a bemused smile playing on her lips. Draped in a sleek, deep blue gown that complimented her features, she was impossible to miss. Beside her, a cluster of courtiers whispered in hushed tones, eyes darting between her and the approaching king.

As Alistair reached the center of the hall, the crowd dropped to one knee, bowing in respect. A wave of silks, velvets, and armor sank around him like a sea parting before its king. Surana/Amell arched an eyebrow, her smile deepening as she casually tilted her wine glass. She waited a beat longer than necessary before setting it down on a nearby table, preparing to follow suit.

But as she began to lower herself, Alistair was there, closing the distance in a few quick strides.

“No, you don’t,” he said firmly, his voice carrying just enough to stop her—and a few others—mid-motion.

Surana/Amell froze, her eyes narrowing in playful defiance. “Oh? Since when do I not bow to the King of Ferelden?” Her tone was light, teasing, but the room had gone unnervingly silent, every pair of eyes now fixed on them.

Alistair gave her one of his trademark grins, saved only for her, the boyish one that softened the edges of his crown. The one she loved the most. “Since the king decided that his lover doesn’t bow to him. Ever.” His voice was warm, but there was no mistaking the command in it.

The tension in the room thickened as nobles exchanged scandalized looks, some outright gaping at the open acknowledgment.

Surana/Amell tilted her head, considering him for a moment as if juggling her options. Then, with a small chuckle, she straightened back to her full height—or as full as her diminutive elven frame allowed. She crossed her arms and gave him a mock-glare. “You know, Alistair, you make it very hard to be properly deferential in public.”

“Good,” he replied, stepping closer until only a breath of space remained between them. His grin softened into something more tender as he added, “Because I’d rather everyone here remember you’re just as equal as me, not someone who bends the knee.”

A ripple of murmurs spread through the crowd, but neither of them paid it any mind. Surana let out a soft sigh, shaking her head, but the smile that curved her lips was unmistakable. “You really do enjoy stirring the pot, don’t you?”

“Only if it means reminding everyone how lucky I am,” he murmured, so quietly only she could hear.

With that, he extended his hand to her, palm up, an unspoken invitation. Surana/Amell hesitated for half a heartbeat before placing her hand in his. Together, they turned to face the room, and Alistair’s voice rang out loud and clear: “Rise, all of you. This is a celebration, not a coronation.”

The nobles stood, though many looked unsure, their gazes flickering between the king and the Warden-Commander at his side. This was the most public the king had ever gotten with his mistress. But Alistair paid them no mind, guiding Surana/Amell toward the head table with an easy confidence that dared anyone to challenge him.

And as they ascended the dais, it was clear to everyone: Warden-Commander Surana/Amell might not have a crown, but in the eyes of their king, she was already his queen.

[quanblovk]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY

OH MY GOD ITS THEMMM!!

YOU DREW MY HAPPY MARUKAABII FAMILY OMG, THEY'RE SO SOFT AND FLUFFY AND CUTE!!! RAISING THEIR NOVA UP TO THE HEAVENS!! THEY'RE EVERYTHING!!! UR ARTSTYLE IS SO GOOD BRO OMG- IM GONNA DIE TYSMMMM!!

[riizeness]

[sweetlikesuga]

Sometime during training camp:

Tanaka, Nishinoya and Asahi sit together on their futons. Tanaka pretends to hold a phone while listening to Nishinoya who pretends to pick up a call from a customer.

Nishinoya: Welcome to Jesus hotline, how may I be of help?

Tanaka*giggles*: Uh, hi. How do I speak to a godess?

Nishinoya: I don't know, dude, ask jesus. He sits right next to you.

Asahi*startled*: What, me?!

Tsukishima, from the other side of the room: He does kind of look like jesus.

[kxkarot]

You can never pry this head cannon from me that the super Saiyan forms no matter how spikey and rigid they look are actually super soft n fluffy

[bloodybellycomb]

"To learn what we fear is to learn who we are. Horror defines our boundaries and illuminates our souls. In that, it is no different or less controversial, than humor, and no less intimate than sex. Our rejection or acceptance of a particular type of horror fiction can be as rarefied or kinky as any other phobia or fetish.

Horror is made of such base material–so easily rejected or dismissed–that it may be hard to accept my postulate that within the genre lies one of the last refuges of spirituality in this, our materialistic world."

—Guillermo del Toro, Haunted Castles, Dark Mirrors