I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU DID THIS!

I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU DID THIS!

*cries*

you are so mean

Thank you @babischlong-six for the tag! ❤️

Hard to chose only five lol

Tagging: @frayed-at-the-seams, @godotismissingx @bobafvcks @inashoe @professor-cant-fuck and anyone else who wants!

That's gonna be a funny talk with the firefighters.

"We were called by a concerned resident, who noticed smoke blowing over from your backyard into theirs."

"Oh no there is no problem here. I'm just burning my husband-"

*concerned looks*

"s shirts" *shows shirts*

"Oh, Jesus Christ!

They are horrible! Keep burning!"

Update : I really should've stopped at plain shirt😭

My back pain gets better but the pattern is an insult to my eyes

(For the love of god Percy, burn this shirt for me)

Now that the shirt is done, I'll make his suit jacket soon🫠

THIS

If I ignore my personal headcanons related to James, I would choose Harry over Merlin for the exact same reason.

Sorry Merlin enthusiasts but just looking at what happened right after the events of doomsday, I feel like he can't handle a crisis as well as everyone thinks he can.

This is so funny to me since in the Percilot fandom it's usually James who tries to convince his boyfriend to do a terrible idea with him.

James and James are like two totally opposite twin brothers with the same name, stuck in a different timeline with totally opposite boyfriends.

Family dinners must be fun...

POV: you’re trying to convince your boyfriend to do a terrible idea with you

“Wait, don’t pull away… Not yet.” for Percilot. :3

James lays there in complete and utter contentment. He’s sure he’s never felt so at peace with the world in his life, and it;s all because of the man pressed to his side, arm resting gently across his stomach. Percy’s breath lightly plays across his chest, the morning light creeping through the curtains to highlight his slightly greying temples.

He never wants this moment to end.

Weiterlesen

He'd been sitting at the desk listening to his colleagues drone on for almost an hour now, barely taking it in. He should never have agreed to come to Paris while James was off god only knew where, doing god only knew what.

Since he'd woken in the middle of the night to find his partner getting dressed, he'd had this sinking feeling that no amount of reassurance from James could dispel.

When he'd arrived at the shop a few hours late he'd hoped, prayed, James had taken his concerns to heart and instead of fucking off to try and prove himself, he'd have simply gone to Arthur and given him all the information he'd obtained. But even as he'd stepped over that threshold, he'd known James' ridiculous obsession with outshining Harry would win through.

Of course, Alistair knew it wasn't about Harry, not really. It had always been about James' own insecurities. Deep down, he believed he wasn't good enough. That he was only there because Lee Unwin died. But more than that, there was guilt and shame.

I should have done it. I should have thrown myself on that grenade. James had said one dark night after a rough mission he'd barely survived. As he sat in Alistair's living room, half a bottle of tequila open in front of him. But I didn't react quick enough. Lee did. Lee saw it and he would have seen the trip wire too.

They'd started that night. Drink had led to comfort, which had led to almost a decade long relationship. And while James had generally become more confident in himself, there was always a part of him that couldn't quite let go of the fact that he was there instead of Lee.

Alistair had often wondered if Lee's death haunted James because he'd felt more than friendship for the man. He'd never asked, hadn't wanted to know, in all honesty, but he couldn't think of another explanation for why he was still so angry, or why he blamed Harry.

With a sigh, Alistair reached for his phone, glancing at the screen. Still no reply. He'd messaged James when he'd left Chester's office to tell him he was being sent to France. Then again when he'd arrived. He messaged when he got to his flat and then to the tailors shop in Paris. It had been almost an hour and he still hadn't heard anything.

And with each passing hour, his anxiety grew worse, gnawing away at his insides and leaving him unable to focus on anything but the increasing fear.

A knock on the office door drew his attention from his phone and a young woman smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry, Percival, but Arthur is insisting on speaking to you."

Ice spread through him, its tendrils closing around his heart and squeezing tight.

"E-excuse me, ladies and gentleman." He stammered and waited in frozen hell for them to leave before slipping on his glasses.

"Percival." The old man said softly, "I'm afraid I have some news about Lancelot."

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