thebookbutterfly

[thebookbutterfly]

ciggy break

[thebookbutterfly]

thinking about solas coming across a portrait of him by lavellan’s hand. it doesn’t have to be a masterwork (and honestly, it probably isn’t). maybe it’s a little sketch in the margins of a report or on an old piece of parchment. but it’s unmistakably him, and it’s lovely. lovely because it’s so casual, so relaxed, and done in pure affection. he’s certainly seen himself depicted over millennia, in so many statues and temples and books, and in every one he is fen’harel— austere, foreboding, melancholy.

this one is new. this one is singular. it is not meant for any altar. there is no one to kneel or beg or weep at this portrait’s feet. it’s simply solas, as lavellan sees him, and it doesn’t matter if it’s imperfect. the artist may not be a master, but the subject is beloved.

[thebookbutterfly]

biblically accurate cranial nerve exam: “Okay, now follow the light with as many of your eyes as possible.”

[thebookbutterfly]

When your not-boyfriend doesn’t greet you immediately after a solo op

[thebookbutterfly]

fuck university I need to engage with academia the way the universe intended. unhinged on a chaise lounge surrounded by my tomes and notebooks. right in between time spent painting and eating bread

[thebookbutterfly]

you can pry happy endings from my cold-dead hands. It can be the most heart stopping, gut wrenching fic that has every existed and I will read every drop of it if I get my happy ending. I have had enough painful endings in real life, give me happy in my fantasy world. It can be at the last second, it can be a single sentence, even a single word. Give me all the angst and hurt in the world for 500,000 words, but please give me the comfort I need in the ending. please and thank you.

[thebookbutterfly]

just had the thought of no outbreak joel dancing with sarah at her quince excuse me while i throw up in the corner

[thebookbutterfly]

showering is basically a magical girl transformation for the mentally ill

[thebookbutterfly]

All spot on. Except in my mind it’s more like

Xavier: Tugs you down to sit in his lap, because he’ll be damned if another man sits up close to you. Anyone other than him pressed against your side? Unacceptable. Manspreading and invading your space? God forbid. He reasons, this way he can have a nap with his arms wrapped safely around you and his chin resting on your shoulder.

Riding public transportation with them:

Zayne: He keeps giving out his seat to people he thinks need it more, so you decide to stand with him, and now he feels bad for making you stand.

Rafayel: He won't stop yapping about the most shocking stuff out loud, uncaring about who hears. In fact, the other passengers are now invested.

Xavier: The usual routine with him. You'll sit next to each other and he'll fall asleep resting his head on your shoulder.

Sylus: Now, this would be a strange scenario for him, but you've never seen taxis pull up faster or train wagons emptying this quick.

Caleb: Ensures that you have space while standing, shielding you from strangers with his arms caging you.

[thebookbutterfly]

[thebookbutterfly]

I’m so incredibly normal about this (I’m actively chewing at the walls)

PEDRO PASCAL & SABRINA CARPENTER SNL's 50th Anniversary Episode

[thebookbutterfly]

when my mutuals change their handles and their icons i feel like a baby seeing their dad without a beard for the first time

[thebookbutterfly]

sylus’s heart, too big for his human body, pounding like a war drum every time you call him yours

“hi, my love.” and he has to take a minute— take a quick breath before responding with a soft ‘hello’ or a nonchalant (or as nonchalant as he can manage) quip about having missed him.

“i’m alright, my dear.” and all thought ceases and his fingers freeze over the wound he was tending to. his anger fizzles away like the rain on the pavement when the sun emerges from the clouds. all strength leaves his limbs as he rests his forehead to your uninjured shoulder, where a small but tender kiss is placed, and revels in the sound of your breathing.

“my heart, please.” and he’s gone. anything you ask for, anything you want is as good as yours if he has anything to do about it. his money, his home, his touch, his time— all yours, yours, yours.

“my sylus.” and he is at rest. the world is quiet, there is only you, your warmth, your voice. when the memory of his name returns to you, and he sees in your eyes that recognition—and love, despite who he was, who he is and who he will ever be in your bonded lifetimes, he gives up his entire being to you.

he is yours, and how he wishes your greed for proclaiming it would grow tenfold, until even the mere thought of him belongs to no one else.

[thebookbutterfly]

it's really such an experience to go from "oh this is really cool wow" to "aw man i like this so much i need to eat glass about it" i cant even pinpoint when it happened

[thebookbutterfly]

Me reading the new story

Credits artist @fishbone0306

[thebookbutterfly]

Who would’ve guessed our colonel is a memelord

[thebookbutterfly]

Simon Riley