Risk Is Our Business

loweryi:

melnetta:

warp69:

dracofidus:

jensbitch:

I will always reblog King Giles and his pink DS

It is the fact he is still pulling uther faces whilst playing 

How dare you suggest I did not julienne my carrots to perfection you insolent wench. I could have you executed for even suggesting such, Cooking Mama.

“Sire, I realize that you have felt down recently.”

“Yes, Gaius. I just feel that magic has run through Camelot like a plague.”

“Well, sire, do to…scientific…inquiry…I have discovered something to help you with your distress.”

Uther hadn’t been able to put it down. Not at meetings about grain, war, or even magic.

The box had sucked him in and it was all he needed in life.

Those around him learned that to distract him from his “Distress Sedator” was to gain a snarl, a growl, often a day in the stocks.

 Merlin had been on the recieving end of the latter far too many times, Arthur having had given up long ago to try to get any sense out of the King, beyond, a sharp cry against the heathenish Cooking Mama, and how she would be burned alive for her crimes against his obvoius skill.

Truly, it had been a crime of passion. The day had been long and grim, the outlook for the coming battle with Mercia was bleak, and the people needed their king. Yet, as they looked to him, he could only be found cursing to high heavens ‘DAMN YOU, CHAMPION ALDER.” Arthur had grown cold and harsh, berating Merlin for every small thing. 

When the device finally inexplicably melted in Uther’s hands, the growing crowd (their candle vigil strong, believing their King as good as dead) cheered with all their might, and as Uther gasped and cried for justice, for the sorcerer to die the grandest of depths, none could feel anything but love for the whoever the great magician was who saved their king. 

I DID TELL HER TO POST THIS

AND IT’S PERFECT

ASDLFKJ

SCREAMING

(Source: crestas-odairs)