#can you spot all the references?

[lucretiaadventurezone]

TAZ Dashboard Simulator 2 (Part 1)

🔥 lup-da-lup Follow

be back soon 💋 im gonna go fight this guy for my relic

🔥 lup-da-lup Follow

Ubmrella

#girl help #im trapped

(7 notes)

In your orbit!

🪩 avi-the-ball-guy

↻ woe-is-johann

🤼 best-fantasy-prowrestler-tournament Follow

Round 4: Semi-Finals

Jeff Angel Propaganda:

from @.ango-mcdango: I <3 JEFF ANGEL HE’S SO COOL AND HE ALWAYS CALLS HIS DAD

Jess the Beheader Propaganda:

from @.bagnus-murnsides: jess literally has a dope ass axe

#jess sweep

(379 notes)

🚀 cap-n-port

↻ you-know-from-tv Follow

┌───────────────────┐

😎 Anonymous asked:

Your captain looks gnc as fuck

└───────────────────┘

👖 lactosewarrior5000

YOU'RE INSANE

#Thank you very much!

(29,399 notes)

🐱 Sponsored by Fantasy Costco

You Don’t Need All of Your Blood; Here’s Why

The Director doesn’t want you to know this…

🎻 woe-is-johann

↻ avi-the-ball-guy

🪩 avi-the-ball-guy

cannonball system liveblog

🪩 avi-the-ball-guy

ball

🪩 avi-the-ball-guy

ball

🪩 avi-the-ball-guy

other. ball

#babe we gotta get you a fidget toy or something #clearly you're getting bored at work

(23 notes)

📔 sheesh-creesh

↻ lup-da-lup Follow

💋 lesbian-orc-lover Follow

lucretia was 18 when the ipre mission left??!? she should've been at the club!!

✨ you-know-from-tv Follow

oh trust me one of the planes we went to was a giant disco and lucy was freakin it sensitive style day and night

🔥 lup-da-lup Follow

real footage of lucretia at the club ↑↑

#I'm actually going to kill both of you #mutuals #queue never know what you'll find #reblogs

(35,095 notes)

❄️ neverwinter-heritage-posts

↻ magic-brian-with-an-i Follow

┌───────────────────┐

🚂 jerreeeeee asked:

is magnus burnsides gay??

└───────────────────┘

📖 dailycalebcleveland

why would you ask us, a caleb cleveland blog, this

#neverwinter heritage posts

(109,837,936 notes)

🧣 weaver-of-fate

↻ raven-queen-official

🐦‍⬛ raven-queen-official

i loev my beaugifyl wife so muchnohmygod

🐦‍⬛ raven-queen-official

where is smy wife i wanst to see herh

🐦‍⬛ raven-queen-official

hiiiiiiiidjiiii omg shge. is here :D

#apologies guys we hung out with pan and she got FUCKED up #you know how poker nights get #wife tag

(74 notes)

🐦 7-bird-watcher

↻ not-a-shitty-wizard Follow

🪄 mage-guy-19274637 Follow

people who actually like bugs are absolute freaks

🕷️ magic-brian-with-an-i Follow

wrong! spider attack

🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️

#sent to me

(6,074 notes)

🌈 lucretiaadventurezone

hi

[ninjigma]

Track: ‘Obi-Wan’ - John Williams

“Even your own master stands against the Republic, against peace, against you.”

“Anakin, surely you know otherwise. My allegiance has always been to the Republic, to democracy!”

Anakin himself felt frozen. He had a hand on his lightsaber, prepared to draw it at a moment's notice. The city of Coruscant moved around them unaware of the precipice it hung upon. The balance relying on who Anakin would believe.

Who he could trust.

Obi-Wan already had his saber drawn, the blue bright as nearby citizens began scattering. The Chancellor remained next to Anakin, stance welcoming and unwavering.

“The… the Republic is weak Master. We see it every day.”

Palpatine's even voice joined his. “Together, we can form a new Empire. One of freedom, justice, and security. You would stand against that, Master Jedi?”

Obi-Wan’s stance wavered for but a moment as he looked at Anakin. “Anakin, surely you don’t believe this.”

“Do you not Master?”

Obi-Wan was still staring at him. And Anakin was trying to understand why Obi-Wan couldn’t see what had happened, how the Jedi had been deceived into serving a corrupt senate. The chancellor has seen it, and he can fix it. Together they could save everyone, and finish this war. They could stop fighting, Ahsoka could come back, Padme would be safe, and Obi-Wan could finally be happy.

“What about those who have been strong?”

Anakin shifted slightly in confusion. Palpatine never faltered, but Anakin found his attention drawn to Obi-Wan again. The two never moved, and Anakin tried desperately to both understand what his former Master was saying and convey his own thoughts.

But Obi-Wan knew the words better than him. “Everyone we have fought beside, every being we have seen stand up, why do you think they do it?”

“To stop the separatists. They are destroying their homes, killing them. Why wouldn’t they fight that?”

“Then why do you fight Anakin?”

“To-to stop them. Just like everyone else.”

Obi-Wan looked so sad. Why was he sad? Anakin had to do this, couldn’t Obi-Wan understand?

“I don't.”

Anakin blinked. He expected to be told he was wrong, blind, that he was lost on his path again. He had become too attached or was too weak not to fall to the dark side. But instead, he watched as Obi-Wan lowered his saber, switching his form to Ataru. He simply breathed, meditating as he moved.

He didn’t understand. Did he understand?

Palpatine's patience seemed to be growing thin. He stepped toward Obi-Wan, chin held high. “If he is not with us, then he is the enemy.”

Obi-Wan’s voice turned to steel, fact. “I stand with peace, I stand for hope, I stand here against you for everyone that can not stand here for themselves. But most importantly, I do not fight the things I hate.” His gaze returned to Anakin, softer, but no less true. “I fight to save what I love.”

Anakin’s breath caught. Padme. Ahsoka, Rex, Obi-Wan, everyone. Was Anakin not fighting for them? But surely stopping this war would save them. And Palpatine had the solution. He could be stronger. He can do it.

“I am the chosen one. I have to bring balance.”

For all his conviction, Anakin's voice had wavered. And finally, Obi-Wan smiled. “You are so much more than any of that. And you will never convince me otherwise.”

Anakin's eyes stung. The terrace became blurry, and the hand on his saber fell away.

Palpatine finally began to sneer. “You are throwing aside his purpose. Do the Jedi think so little of their own beliefs? That you would abandon him like you did his mother? Even ignoring his pleas for help now? The Jedi are weakening and destroying this Republic.”

Obi-Wan seemed unfazed, full attention on Anakin. “The Republic should not rely solely on the Jedi for strength. The Jedi do not need allegiance to bring peace. And Padme does not need the chosen one, she only needs you.”

Anakin was so focused on the swell of hope within him that he never saw Palpatine draw the saber.

But as always, Obi-Wan was there.

The exchange was rapid. Anakin was force-shoved across the terrace, sounds of distance speeders mingling with the rapid exchange of lightsabers. Palpatine was practically spitting, and Obi-Wan was moving with more grace than Anakin could even imagine. The lights were brilliant, red and blue clashing in broad purple. But from this new point he could make out clone troopers approaching from the senate building, and could almost feel the presence of other Jedi no doubt alerted the second Obi-Wan had drawn his saber. What would happen when the two groups met? There was more to this plan, the troopers were loyal to the chancellor, and the Jedi would attack the Sith. He saw now how the conflict would occur. He had to protect them. But how? He wasn’t strong enough yet, how could he save everyone?

Obi-wan was relentless and quick, keeping Palpatine constantly changing his footing to keep up. With a frustrated yell, Palpatine withdrew from the exchange and in an instance retaliated with bolts of electricity, the lighting striking true against Obi-Wan's saber. Obi-Wan grunted and fell to a knee, face twisted in determination. Palpatine showed no restraint though, pushing for the advantage.

“They stand no chance without you Anakin. Your own Master does not even trust you to make your own choices, to fulfill your destiny. The Jedi are scared of your potential Anakin. How will you save anyone if you are not even allowed to become strong enough to do so? They think nothing of you!”

Anakin's breathing was ragged, the force humming all around him. It was loud, so loud.

“Anakin.”

Obi-Wan.

“You are my brother Anakin.”

Anakin looked up, watching as Obi-Wan managed to force the bolts away for a moment just long enough to give Anakin his full attention.

“I love you.”

Protect what you love.

It was a blink. Palpatine saw the opportunity with Obi-Wan’s lowered guard and leapt forward. Obi-Wan did not even attempt to protect himself; he knew his path, knew it was too tempting a distraction for the Sith Lord. And Anakin finally understood the why to it all as his lightsaber ignited right through Palpatine's heart.

And there was Obi-Wan, smiling at Anakin as his own lightsaber winked out.

“You are my brother Anakin. I love you.”

Just like that, it was all over.

Everything stopped.

It was silent. Silent like the heartbeat of fallen brothers, like the room Ahsoka had moved out of, like that time of blank memory when Anakin lost himself at the hands of a force wielder he could never understand.

Anakin stood here, in the heart of Coruscant with thousands of people living their lives, bracketed by dozens of clones halted by what had just played out, and surrounded by Jedi frozen as the force shuddered in a horrible type of relief. Yet Anakin stood alone, saber to his right and the chancellor dead to his left.

And Obi-Wan laying crumbled before him.

It was only two steps. One to think of how Obi-Wan had defended Anakin through it all, and another to recall how he had finally been able to hear everything Obi-Wan had been trying to teach him. Finally, he understood. Now one sharp drop to the ground to recall that no one had been right, and one shaky inhale to recognize that Obi-Wan stayed true despite it. 

Anakin finally understood that Obi-Wan had been teaching him the same lesson over and over from the start. How every chiding remark had been guidance, how every punishment had been a moment to grow, how becoming brothers was more than just a title. Every fight started with hope, every battle ended amongst family, and every quiet moment was shared in peace. No, brother was no formality, ask any clone. And Jedi was no mystical label for some elite being. Even the name Sith was no more than the power they gave it. Not one step of this war or leg of this journey together had it ever been about being the perfect Jedi, the chosen one.

Obi-Wan had trusted that Anakin was enough just as he was. How he cared was a strength. How Anakin’s past didn’t matter, only his future choices. How his Master would always be the family he needed, even when Anakin had been too caught up in his feelings to recognize it. Obi-Wan had always believed in him, even without Obi-Wan believing in himself.

So now, as his hand slowly covered Obi-Wan's lifeless eyes, he understood. The lesson was to love fairly, love truly, and let that love guide you forward just as the force does, always. For what is the force, if not simply the feelings found in all living things? Without acknowledging that, then it is no more than blood in your veins. Something meaningless to the child asking you to check for monsters under the bed.

Because the monsters are not out there, they are within you.

“I a-am one with the force…”

“And the force is with me.”

Blue and white montrals, a smaller but steadier hand over Anakin's own. He need never look up to know Ahsoka was with him, and yet how blind had he been to not recognize that sooner? Forced into a war when being trained to “keep the peace”, framed by the people she was to protect and cast out of the only family she had ever known. She had been so right to leave. How could he have let his own feelings cloud the love he had for his padawan, for his little sister?

Anakin never said a word, but he felt Ahsoka gently squeeze his hand anyhow.

“It was the only way Anakin.”

“Always has t-to be right doesn’t he?”

“Was he ever really wrong.” Rex, because of course it was. Where there is Ahsoka there was bound to be Rex. Bound to be all of them, together. As long as they stayed together.

Saving what we love.

Though the sun had set, the force remained steady on the precipice of something important, something Anakin could feel stinging at his heart. And in the darkness he reached out slowly, using the force to try and call Obi-Wan’s fallen saber to him. It rattled gently, then rolled in the opposite direction and Anakin attempted not to choke as he couldn’t bring himself to try again to retrieve it.

But the saber always knew how to get back to Obi-Wan on its own anyhow.

“Gen-Ah… An-Anakin.”

Cody. Anakin looked up through watery eyes to meet the gaze of the helmetless commander. The one Palpatine had threatened to turn against Obi-Wan and every other Jedi. Cody, who had laughed with them, bled with them, and loved with them. Who Obi-Wan loved. And with a new breath, Anakin was carefully taking one of Obi-Wans cooling hands as Ahsoka took the other; and, despite not a lick of force sensitivity to know what to do, Cody dropped to his knees with them, and gently placed the saber on Obi-Wan’s chest for Anakin and Ahsoka to place his hands over.

And then there was a sound. A lightsaber igniting. Anakin looked up in a bit of shock to find Quinlan Vos with his lightsaber on and raised toward the sky. The gentle green on Obi-Wans skin looked so right compared to the shadows trying to engulf them all. And everyone else seemed to realize it too, as more Jedi began raising their sabers. In a few otherwise silent moments, dozens of lightsabers were raised to light the platform, and dozens of helmets were dropped to the ground. Blue, green, yellow, white, purple. There was no more darkness here. Only light, only love.

And Anakin reached out again, his own saber snapping to his outstretched palm in a blink. And with a breath, he raised it to the sky and let go, so that it may float above them all. Piece by piece the saber came apart under his guidance, to reveal the kyber within. It shone less than the saber but was purer than any Jedi. And with all eyes watching, Anakin took his first steady breath and flicked his wrist.

The kyber shattered into fine dust, bright and singing as it slowly drifted back down to mist them all in light.

And when Anakin's now reformed lightsaber reached his hand again, he promptly tucked it next to Obi-Wan’s and made his peace.

“Trust only in love.”

(This was some sort of fan service for myself, but I am pretty unhinged and happy with how it turned out. Wanna keep up with my progress on pieces like this, or see them early? Check out my Patron!)

[basement-buddy]

[snek-eyes]

Queen instrumentals playing in Give Me Coffee or Give Me Death

(instrumentals arranged by Eos Counsell)

(insp. / template / BoRhap breakdown)

[samgatinho]

and we all lose our charms in the end - but square-cut or pear-shaped, these rocks dont lose their shape! diamonds are a girls best friend!

[daredevil-vagabond]

¡¡OMINOUS VIBES AND I GET SYNONYMOUS!! ¿¿WHAT'S UP DANGER???

P.S check the reblogs for zoomed HQ shots + reference breakdowns!

[author-morgan]

Title: Daylight Rating: M Pairing: Arthur x fem!Reader Summary: Arthur always knew you and he would make a fine match. ...hiding all of our sins from the daylight... I've now collected all(?) your husbands for my infinity gauntlets. a late merry christmas and an early valentines for you boo. @mrsragnarlodbrok.

“SORRY,” ARTHUR MUTTERS, “hands are rough.” He noticed how you pulled away from his calloused touch as he pressed the stained damp cloth against the bloody wound on the back of your shoulder—remnants of an arrow after Bedivere and the Mage helped him dig out the bodkin point. It’d likely been meant for him in the heat of the battle and he cursed himself seeing you fall nigh feet from him, pulled away to shelter by his kingsguard. Even with the power of Excalibur, he’d been unable to protect you—an age-old promise broken.

You lift your gaze from the charred stone floor, looking at your reflections in a fogged-over mirror on the opposite side of the room. Focus has his brows furrowed and lips pressed into a thin line. “You always say that,” you tell him, words slurred from the pain, exhaustion, and strongwine, and voice rougher than normal. This isn’t the first time Arthur Pendragon has tended your hurts and woes, and at this rate you doubt it’ll be the last.

Dried blood and sweat washed away, Arthur picks up the piece of tree bark with a salve prepared by the Mage to stave off the pain for a while and keep the wound from festering. Then, Arthur binds the wound with fresh linen and wipes his hands, kneeling in front of you—hands resting on your hips. You lay your hand on his cheek, thumb sweeping across his cheek, marred with dirt and soot. Leaning toward him, he meets you halfway, and you set your lips on his—a soft, fleeting kiss like the touch of butterfly wings.

“Thank you, Arthur,” you tell him, fingertips mindlessly combing through the scruff on his jaw. He straightens to full height but does so with a grimace. “You’re sure you’re not hurt?” You ask again.

“Just bruises,” he assures you, and this time, it seems like he’s being truthful, besides the few scratches on his hands and the slim, already scabbed-over, cut on his forehead. 

Arthur sits next to you on the edge of the bed, looking toward the open balcony. You both can hear the joyous shouts and chants. Bedivere and the others will only be able to satiate the men for so long. They will want to hear from the one who led them to victory. From the Born King. “They’ll be waiting for you to give a speech,” you tell him. 

“They’re waiting to go headfirst into the barrels of grog,” he amends, but if the out-of-tune songs are anything to go off of...  

“Sounds like they already have,” you laugh. Tonight, there will be revelries for the victory against Vortigern and his forces. In the following days, there’ll be feasts to honor the fallen and growing lists of preparations for a coronation. But right now, Arthur Pendragon doesn’t want to be a king just yet. Right now, he’s content just to be Arthur the street rat, especially when you lean your head against his shoulder and link your fingers through his—and then he’s certain there’s no one else in all of England for him except you.

“HIDING FROM ME? Or everyone else?” Your head quickly swivels to the side, only to relax at the sight of Arthur approaching. You cannot help but wonder how he isn’t cold. He's not dressed anywhere near as layered or warm as he should be for the winter evening, but somehow, he manages to look cozy even in just a scarlet linen-and-wool doublet. Stepping back, your eyes flit up to the scarlet-tinged leaves, still clinging to the branches of the white-bark birch, before looking beyond to the fresh falling snow. 

He stops at your side and looks up, too. “Was just thinking about what a bad influence you’ve been on my person,” you tell him, a small half-smirk creeping onto your features. Arthur tilts his head back in amused question, then stares up at the leaves and the silver sliver of the moon peeking through the winter clouds. “As I recall, I was an innocent girl before you came along and ruined all that.”

His blue eyes narrow, arms crossing over his chest. “You’ll have to refresh my memory on how I did that, darlin’.” He moves a little closer, and you sense his ploy, twisting and ducking when he moves to grab you. 

You face him with brows raised, smiling. “Such a brute,” you taunt, “grabbing at innocent girls in the castle courtyards at night. Is that any way for the King of England to behave?” 

Arthur only rolls his eyes, trying to smother another smirk, and this time, he catches your arm as you move around him. It takes little strength to move you how he wants—pressing you into the trunk of the great tree at the heart of the courtyard. His hands press against the smooth bark beside your head as he leans in enough to look down at you. The glint in his eyes is mirthful, but there’s something else shining in his gaze too—you’ve seen that look a dozen times now, and you’re almost afeared to think about what it can mean. “Maybe you have a point,” he drawls, wearing that crooked, boyish grin that makes your heart flutter.

Your laugh almost catches him off guard. His hand slips down to run gently along your waist, the other toys with the hair at the side of your head. You lean back into the tree more, relaxing as your hands find his waist to rest on. “My father sends his kind, innocent daughter to study in Londinium, and what does this strong, noble boy do?” Arthur raises his brow. “He shoves her against a wall in an alleyway because he has no reasonable way of expressing his feelings with words.” He was just a street rat orphan and you were the daughter of some fancy lord from far away—opposites in nigh every way but more alike than you ever could have imagined. “I was never the same after that.”

His head dips down into the crook of your neck, nose training across your throat and inhaling the scent of roses and lavender. “No,” he smiles, voice low—more of a muttering husk—lips twitching as he pulls back, glancing to your lips and up, “but you’re more fun now.” Your expression falls flat, and Arthur laughs. It’s nigh impossible not to grin or melt at the sound and how little it seems you’ve heard it of late—and by Merlin’s beard, he’s impossibly handsome with laugh lines crinkling the edges of his eyes and a lopsided smile. Leaning further into him, his breath dances across your cheek, the back of his fingers brushing along your neck. 

You exhale shakily, and Arthur teases you again with light presses of his lips along your jaw and neck—hands smoothing up and down your waist as he does. For a moment, your hands find their way to his chest before you remember how open the courtyard is and that anyone can happen upon the two of you like this. Glancing around, you breathe his name in a flustered whisper, hand pressing against his chest—the last thing a new king needs is rumors to turn into scandal. 

Arthur takes a step back, giving you both room, but then there’s a new glint in his eyes. The playful mirth disappears from his cornflower eyes, replaced by something more serious—kingly, even. It’s something he’s been thinking about for years. Maybe even since the two of you first met by happenstance in the streets of Londinium and struck up an odd friendship. But over the years, Arthur thinks he cannot just call you a friend, not anymore. What he feels runs deeper than that, and given his newfound title and responsibilities...“I’ve been thinking,” he starts.

“And does it pay well?” You quip in a poor attempt to lighten the now solemn mood.

He rolls his eyes, exasperated, unable to hide how his lips quirk upwards. “Would you let me finish?” And so you do, unsure what he must say or ask that warrants such a dramatic change in his usual demeanor. Arthur reaches for your hand, the rough pads of his fingers curling around and into your palm. He stoops forward, lips brushing against your knuckles—reverent. “I’d like you to stay,” he breathes, straightening back to full height. Your brows furrow. “Here,” he adds, “with me.”

You know what he is asking of you—marriage—and it should be an easy answer. Yes, of course. You’ve loved Arthur since before you knew what the word truly meant. But given the events of the last few months and the precipitousness of his proposal, you’re left speechless, heart beating in your throat until all you can do is run to the haven of your chambers with tears pricking your eyes.

A LOUD KNOCK on the great wooden door echoes in your bedchambers. You rouse from sleep, righting the oversized tunic hanging off one shoulder in an attempt to appear decent at the late hour. Part of you already knows who will be waiting on the other side, but when you crack open the door, it still surprises you to find him standing before you—wearing only a loose, nigh threadbare tunic and pair of dark britches. “Arthur,” you greet, rubbing the sleep from your eyes before motioning for him to come in.

There’s still an uneasy air between you after the earlier events and conversation in the courtyard—his proposal. “I shouldn’t’ve….” he starts as you do. “I should not...” You both fall silent, eyes searching the other’s face for an indication of who will be the first to speak, the first to act, but there’s only silence. 

“Yes,” you quickly tell him—the shock of his initial proposal has faded, and now you’ve never been more certain about something in your life. You still can’t say what it is that caused you to react in such a way—Arthur’s the only man you’ve ever loved, the only person you could have ever thought of having a life with, even before all this Born King shite. The answer is ‘yes.’ It had always been. 

“Yes?” He repeats with furrowed brows, not sure he’s heard you correctly.  “I’ll stay” —you reach to comb your fingers through his close-shorn beard, and he leans into the touch— “with you.” Forever.

He smiles, and it’s as though a great weight has been lifted from his shoulders. Arthur cradles your face in his hands, thumbs running over your cheekbones. You smile for him, and he leans toward you, closing the distance. His lips are on yours in an instant.

You answer his kiss, slowly at first, then with more fervor when you settle your hands on either side of his neck, drawing yourself closer. Parting, you press your forehead against his and meet his heated stare. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited to hear you say that?” Arthur asks, breathless.

Then he’s kissing you again and again—hands straying to your waist and backside, pulling you closer, tighter. And it fans the embers burning low in your belly to flames. Arthur breaks the kiss with an anguished groan—fighting a losing war with himself. He brushes back the hair falling in front of your face, the rough pad of his thumb running over your lips. “Tell me to stop,” he mutters—it’s almost a plea. And then he’s adrift in your soft and dark gaze, knowing if you do nothing to stop this, he’ll be acting on countless years of love and pent-up desire.

“No,” you breathe, catching his wrist and sliding his hand up from your neck—peppering his fingertips with gentle kisses. He watches you, lips parted and heart aching. Closing your eyes, you draw in a slow breath, and with a final kiss to his palm, you guide his hand to rest on one of your clothed breasts.

“Arthur.” You speak his name as though it is a quiet prayer. “I want you.” He pulls on the string at the neck of your nightshirt, loosening it until the gauzy material falls off your shoulders—puddling around your ankles, 

Though bare, you still hold his clear blue gaze. He goes silent as he draws in a sharp breath—eyes dart over the length of your body. His eyes darken, though, a mix of lust and adoration. “Think this is the longest you’ve been qui–” He cuts you off with a kiss, and one of his hands rises to cradle your cheek—the side of your neck again—and his lips coax yours open.

You sigh into his mouth, hands instinctively dipping under the hem of his roughspun tunic, fingertips trailing over the taut muscles of his abdomen and the scar on his ribs. Arthur breaks the kiss, quickly shrugging off his shirt, and lets the undyed piece of wool fall to the floor.  

Then, suddenly, he lifts you off your feet effortlessly. You hastily grip his shoulders for balance until he lays you on the bed—standing back to take off his trousers, and you watch him with a weird mixture of hunger and wistfulness as he strips. Arthur kicks aside his discarded clothes, then crawls onto the bed, making room for himself between your thighs—his clear and cold gaze burning with the warmth of the Sun and never once straying from yours.

You gaze tensely at his face as he studies you. His expression is greedy and appreciative, and the firelight glowing in his eyes just makes him look all the more ardent, and the longer he stares at you without doing anything, the more restless you are for him to act. You want his touch, his cock, his lips on yours, and all he’s giving you is this appreciative greedy stare, and it’s not enough.

Arthur kisses you again, and then he leans away from your lips and kisses the angle of your jaw. His mouth travels to the side of your neck, and your pulse flutters in your throat. His lips are surprisingly soft, and as his mouth trails from your neck to your collarbone, the delicacy of his kisses makes you feel lightheaded —a mix of pleasure and disbelief. 

He nuzzles your collarbone, then places a kiss just above the swell of your breast, and you arch helplessly toward his mouth. The heat of his breath wafting over your breast, making your nipples go taut with anticipation, and when the scruff of Arthur’s beard brushes over your nipple, you jolt and make a helpless little mewling sound. You twine your fingers into his golden hair, trying to hold him in place against you. But Arthur shoots you a quick smile, then shuffles lower on the bed still and kisses your breast —and you twist your hips, hands slipping from his hair to his shoulders.  

A sob leaves your throat—not a crying kind of sob, but an instinctive noise tore from your throat without your permission. He lifts his mouth from your breast and smiles at you, and you stare stupidly at his handsome face—the spark in his clear eyes and the boyish smirk twisting his lips.

Arthur palms your breast and squeezes gently. He shuffles lower still on the bed and places a sweet, open-mouthed kiss on your navel, and your sense of surreal disbelief ratchets to a nearly unbearable degree. His mouth drifts lower now, the scruff of his beard tickling your belly as he presses his lips to the skin below your navel and eases your thighs further apart.

Arthur places a kiss between your legs, and your mind goes blank with pleasure. 

“You alright, darlin’?” He smirks. You stare at him, too stunned by pleasure to find a clever response. Instead, riled by the teasing sparkle in his face, you spread your knees wide. His gaze drops between your legs, and his expression darkens with interest as he places his hands on your knees—stroking up to your thighs. He places another firm, wet kiss between your legs, and a helpless moan leaves your lips, and he hums with approval, a smug, half-growly little hum.  

You gasp in a breath, realizing you haven’t been breathing at all. Arthur lifts his head to look you in the eye. “Relax, love,” he croons, smoothing his palm over your belly as he laps at your cunt with slow hot sweeping strokes of his tongue. It’s not long before a finger presses into you, working you slowly open.

Your hips jerk softly along with his movements, and there’s unspoken interest in his gaze as he stares down at you, relentless in his efforts to see you come undone. His tongue and lips are at your clit, fingers stroking and curling deep within you. You jolt, and then he moves slower, dragging over the sensitive spots he’s discovered inside you and leaving your nerves tingling with every touch.

Pleasure washes over you in waves, making your calves twitch, your fingertips feel numb, and that high-pitched mewling noise leaves your throat. Overwhelmed—enraptured—you buck your hips toward his face and clench your fingers convulsively in his hair, and he keeps licking and kissing you until you can’t take it anymore. You pull on his hair to stop him, and he finally pulls away, lips glistening in the moonlight and fading glow of the firelight. “Enough,” you groan. “Need you.” It’s nigh a broken plea.

You shudder as he moves, situating himself between your thighs, calloused fingers dipping into your cunt to gather your slick and spread on his hard cock as he strokes himself. “Arthur, please,” you whimper, impatient, and he won’t keep you waiting.

He slides his cock through your folds before his angle changes just slightly, and on the next pass, your breath stutters as his cockhead presses just inside you—barely splitting you open. Arthur’s hand grabs your hip and angles you up just a bit so he can slide deeper inside you, and you cling onto his biceps—feeling his scars press into your palms and admiring the way his muscles flex under your touch. 

Arthur hisses through his teeth when he fully seats himself inside your warmth, then releases his breath slowly and smiles at you. “You’re lovely,” he murmurs, twining his fingers through yours, pressing the back of your hands into the mattress. From the moment Arthur first saw you in the Londinium streets, he knew your fates were intertwined—just as your bodies and hands were now. He trembles at this personal heaven, then draws his hips back, starting to move.

You laugh breathlessly, mindlessly. “Charmer,” you pant, hooking your legs around his waist. You roll into his thrusts, pulling him deeper. His ragged breaths and grunts mingle with your sighs of pleasure—panting scarcely keeping up with your racing heart. 

He huffs in amusement. “Can’t say that’s something I get called often,” Arthur says as he pumps his hips slowly, teasing you and pleasing you almost more than you can bear. Then he lowers his lips to yours in a kiss—there’s something sweet on his tongue, like honey wine. 

His whole body begins moving, surging, and writhing against yours. One of his hands releases yours and caresses your cheek before he slides it down your body. Without thought, your body arches into his hand as it moves, ripening under his touch—thoughts clouded by lust and love. His fingers find your clit at the same time his mouth latches to your neck.

Another guttural cry bursts from your lips. He’s pounding into you now, and he’s still holding your hand while his other grips your hip. Your breathing is loud, and so is his, and his hand is tightening on your fingers. He drags in a breath, then expels it in a strained groan.

He shudders, then pounds into you hard, twice, thrice, and then he pauses with his cock deep inside of you. His jaw clenches, and his grip on your hip is so tight that it’s almost painful, but you like it—just as much as you like the guttural sound he makes as he shudders in completion. A few long seconds later, he gasps in a breath, then sighs and releases your hand. “Fuck,” he groans, holding his weight above you on shaking arms. 

You beckon him to lie atop you, his golden head pillowed on your breasts as his breathing steadies, sighing when you kiss his hair and whisper a quiet, I love you, for him to relish. He stays sheathed inside your warmth, unwilling to part just yet. “I love you,” he murmurs in turn, never tiring of how you smile when he says the words. Sighing, he rolls to the side, and you whine at the loss of him and the empty feeling between your thighs.

He lays on his side, and you pillow your head on his outstretched arm, nuzzling close against his chest and threading one of your legs through his. Arthur presses his cheek to the crown of your head and strokes your hair as the first dregs of daylight break over the horizon, shining upon England, Camelot, and his future wife and queen.

[Forever taglist: @certifiedlittleshit / @erzsebetrosztoczy / @hereforreadandwrite / @mrsragnarlodbrok / @rigshak ] if your name is italicized, tumblr would not let me tag you. if you’d like to be added to my forever taglist, or any other character/fandom taglist, just let me know with this Google Form!

[s0up1ta]

he canonically went emo so i canonically went insane

[supertaliart]

Claudia Kishi - role model to little artistic Asian girls since 1986.

[dipplinduo]

Fun fact about me: April 18th is my birthday! :)

And part of what I wanted to do to celebrate this year was to give back. Introducing * ~ a dipplinshipping birthday oneshot ~ * :

Rating: T

Summary:

Today was Kieran's birthday, but it was the last thing that mattered to him. In fact, he vowed it would never matter to him again. Instead, he would focus on things that would keep him strong: his battling, his strategizing, and his crown as the Blueberry Champion. His sister and the Elite Four won't stop asking him random questions, though, and if anyone brings up Juliana any more than they already have since she arrived as an exchange student, he's seriously going to lose it. But...why can't he stop thinking about her? And why is everyone acting so suspicious?!

A bittersweet birthday celebration fic for anyone who's had complicated feelings about their birthday. <3

Take this as a thank you to all of those who have followed my work and/or my Tumblr blog. I wouldn't have imagined having the support of this wonderful community on my last birthday, and I can't even begin to describe how encouraged and inspired I have felt to write since finding you guys. I have never written this much for this long, consistently, and your constant feedback and comments seriously brighten my day more than Juliana brightens up Kieran, LOL. Hope you enjoy this! <333

(And yeah, this fic is the "event based idea" that this poll was about. I thought it was so funny that some of you thought it was gonna be some devastating angst LMAOOOO. That's for after TTPD releases, tysm for the bday gift Taylor.)

[kaguyass-houraisan]

They could never make me hate you Jake disventure camp...

Anyways here's some things I thought of. Jake gets Tattoos... (I love putting canon jake next to my art of him bc you can see that my Vision is accurate !!)

And this drawing was created AFTER the collage 😭 ⤵️

Jake Hakurei...

[persephoneflowerpetals]

Shout out to Just Dance 2024 for giving my beloved Hades a cameo in the Zero to Hero dance

[deltaruneinfuturetimes]

Yellow

[oxymoroff]

finally finished the drawing I was working on for MEIKO's birthday! 💖

It was made with lots of love, not just for MEIKO, but also all the people who keep her alive by making music and art with her!

[atomicmonkey1122]

The Punkin Patch

FINALLY my piece for the @rottmnt-secret-gifting exchange is done! Sorry it took so long! This is for @gejnialnie ! I know I didn't need to use basically all your prompts buuuut I was ✨️inspired✨️

So here's Lil comic about April and Leo's fall adventure. Hope you like it!

(rest under cut)

and I included just the colored picture there at the end :)

[themyscirah]

But look at us Luke, we're the ones left alone, holding some rich monster's pain. All of existence, built on his violence. All of space-time, humming to life with a single inviolate rule. Give the hero something to punch.