alias + pronouns: Wil • She/Her
fav thing about dragon age: the setting! I like running around Thedas.
fav trope: the shorter you are, the more feral you are, also— height differences
what are you excited to see on aoa?: OLD FRIENDS!!!
fav meme:
will byers stan first human second
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
wallacepolsom
Three Goblin Art
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸

Andulka

Love Begins
Monterey Bay Aquarium
🪼
NASA

No title available
styofa doing anything
taylor price

titsay

izzy's playlists!
we're not kids anymore.

No title available
hello vonnie
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
seen from Ukraine

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seen from United States
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seen from Canada
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seen from Angola
seen from Iraq

seen from T1
seen from Belgium

seen from Malaysia
seen from South Africa

seen from Canada

seen from Malaysia
@the-wil-muse
alias + pronouns: Wil • She/Her
fav thing about dragon age: the setting! I like running around Thedas.
fav trope: the shorter you are, the more feral you are, also— height differences
what are you excited to see on aoa?: OLD FRIENDS!!!
fav meme:
storm breeze
A Single Man | Tom Ford | 2009
src
It Follows (2014) dir. David Robert Mitchell
American gods meme: Seven Characters → Mr. Wednesdey | Odin
❝Oh, I’m a fine me. I just keep getting better every year.❞
Under his helmet, up against his pack,
After the many days of work and waking,
Sleep took him by the brow and laid him back.
And in the happy no-time of his sleeping,
Death took him by the heart. There was a quaking
Of the aborted life within him leaping ...
Then chest and sleepy arms once more fell slack.
And soon the slow, stray blood came creeping
From the intrusive lead, like ants on track.
•
Whether his deeper sleep lie shaded by the shaking
Of great wings, and the thoughts that hung the stars,
High pillowed on calm pillows of God’s making
Above these clouds, these rains, these sleets of lead,
And these winds’ scimitars;
—Or whether yet his thin and sodden head
Confuses more and more with the low mould,
His hair being one with the grey grass
And finished fields of autumns that are old ...
Who knows? Who hopes? Who troubles? Let is pass!
He sleeps. He sleeps less tremulous, less cold
Than we who must awake, and waking, say Alas!
—Wilfred Owen