#you Cannot separate them

[babeypigeon]

jackmary for valentine's💘💞💓

[justablah56]

I need to see more hot butch Morgan art rn . if anyone draws butch Morgan you are required to tag me btw . just so you know .

[fellthemarvelous]

My favorite things that Obi-Wan and Ezra have in common:

Hondo's "best friend"

Maul's obsession

Unique bond with animals

Fond of a Mandalorian named Sa_ine.

Spending ten years in exile before someone comes for them.

Fondness for Ahsoka Tano and Captain Rex

[leminaus]

haiii

[simplydnp]

you know phil loves that dan's including himself in the ph-ification. like your name implies me. package deal. you're next to me in my life.

[bishy437]

The way you draw Nie Huiasang is so cute, He looks like a princess who needs to be pampered (jiang cheng move,my turn😔)

anon i don’t think that’s a good idea—

[cirr0stratus]

it finally stopped raining

[binkyfishy]

dream ending

[lmadsadness]

oughhhh weird fuckedup guppies

[burningblake]

SOLAS & LAVELLAN in Dragon Age: Inquisition ↳ What is the old Dalish curse? May the Dread Wolf take you? And so he did.

[silenthill2ost]

game 3 except survivor/hunter swapped

[1think1twasvodk4]

guys i think i cracked the code

one is chance

two is coincidence

three is a pattern

funny innit

[xxplastic-cubexx]

every morning 4am this is what i see when i wake

[lovesickeros]

☆ you sow; & thus you shall reap what you are owed

{☆} characters tsaritsa {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings blood, violence {☆} word count 0.8k

You are dying.

Gold melts into the dirt, bleeds into the very earth that you'd molded by your own hands – a familiarity you do not understand the source of – you know it to be true, yet you do not remember it as Teyvat does. It weeps, in turn, for the way you bleed upon it, the way your lungs strain for breath.

It is fury and sorrow and fear and hatred so raw that your mind buckles.

You will die.

"A dying godling and its judge, it's jury – it's executioners," The voice is hollow and cold, sweeps across your broken body like the first chill of winter, "Archons who saw themselves Gods, now brought to heel by their own hubris."

A cold hand upon your cheek, the brush of a thumb across your lip, the gentle caress of cold across your skin. You know her – you don't remember, you shouldn't recognize her but you do – and she knows you. The cold beckons and you follow, let her kindness settle in the hollow space of your chest. You want to speak, to cry and scream and rage, let the world burn around you in a fit of flames so hot even she cannot contain it – but she silences you, quiets the anger seeping into your blood, quiets Teyvat itself.

"Do not speak, little godling. Guide my hand," She is cold; her hands are not gentle, yet it is bliss compared to the callous, cruel hands that have shattered you. She is cruel and cold and brutal but she is love in the way she kisses the crown of your head. She is love in the way she is the bulwark between you and the world that has scorned you – she is fury in the way she brings them to their knees. "And I shall enact judgement most divine."

They will pray for forgiveness, and they shall find themselves wanting.

"It wasn't our fault!" They cry, but you cannot recognize the voice – it breaks and cracks like glass. "They were too human. How were we meant to know? We– we thought they were.."

Silence.

You watch your judge – the executioner, the blade that shall carve their sins into the very marrow of Teyvat, stand above you like death. As cold as winter and just as brutal. Your temple has been painted in the gold of your divine blood, and she shall complete the masterpiece with their own. The Archons shall become the grandest art in the world – this temple the canvas, their blood the paint and their bodies the palette. The cold that cuts sinew cradles you – it sings to you, whispers sweetly in your ear and carves bone from body in the same breath. The cold presses it's lips to your wrist and it cradles a heart within it's palm – judges them and finds them guilty.

It is her spear that rests between their ribs, her sword that dissects and her dagger that carves – the cold devours.

In the breadth of this divine sanctuary, the Archons dwindle. They become the pieces of a divine work of art, they bleed and bend and break upon her hands. She shakes the heavens and carves mortality into the bones of the divine – your word is Law, and you weave their deaths into the roots of Teyvat itself.

They shall know of their grand folly in every moment henceforth and longer still and they shall weep.

And as the curtain falls, as the world crumbles beneath fist and blade, she cradles your face between hands too cold – as gentle as a shard of ice between your ribs, as brutal as the kiss of gentle snowfall. The world buckles at the loss of six, but she alone does not allow it to break – you will have to mend the wounds of the world when you are well, but today you weep and Teyvat weeps with you.

And alone, the cold remains.

Stone has eroded, the wind has ceased, the flames have been extinguished, the storm has been silenced, the forests have gone quiet and the seas go still.

But the cold remains, bathed in gold.

It wraps you in thick furs, cradles you against the winter storm that brews beneath a veneer of composure. It brings you home – lets the world settle into a stillness and silence that inspires only dread and still she presses a kiss to your brow.

It is cold, but there has never been something so warm.

Where hands have broken you, she drapes you in furs, wipes away the thick gold that clings to your skin. She pieces you back together where you have been shattered, reshapes you where you have been bent – makes of you something new. Not a god and not a mortal but something wedged between them.

But you are yourself.

And you are where you belong.

They shall put you back together and you shall know only the worship worthy of the divine. They shall carve this world into your image, tear out and burn away the rot that festers.

All you need to do is say the word and they shall be your tools to make this world your own.

One word and those who wronged you shall burn, too.

Just one word. That's all it takes, and they shall take away your pain.

[mirensiart]

Thinking about my top 5 zeldas is so hard cause like, I legit have 3 games as my number 2 lmao

Wind waker number 1 forever and ever I want to be buried with this game

Twilight princess, a link between worlds, spirit tracks

Breath of the wild

Ocarina of time

Skyward sword

The number 2 tier is like impossible for me to choose y’all all of them are number 2 ALL OF THEM

[quietwingsinthesky]

it’s that no one ever believed him that gets to me the most. this is a society of telepaths. and yet when the doctor finds out that the drums are real, he’s surprised. the master is surprised, elated, by the confirmation that he’s hearing something that’s really there, that this thing that’s been following him and hurting him for so long is real.

after a certain point, given that the master is Really Fucking Good at mind control and such, you have to imagine that no one could just pick up on the noise in his head with a little general telepathy. he had to choose to let the doctor in to share it. and. and okay. we need to put aside him striving to be The Best At Controlling People’s Minds in the context of him having his mind violated as a child because if i think about these two things in relation to each other i’ll throw up.

but there has to have been a point before he was so accomplished that he couldn’t have defended his own mind as easily. that he couldn’t keep someone, anyone, from delving into his head and hearing the drums. which means i must conclude, because we find out who put them in his head at all and it’s the most powerful guy on gallifrey, that when he was younger, the people around him did know. they could hear the drums. they could figure out what was done to him. but they did nothing, they said nothing, they told him he was hearing things. because if the lord president wanted to use a child for his own ends, who was going to stand up and stop him? easier to sweep it under the rug. and the master lived with that for so long that finally having just one other person hear the drums was a shock to him.