#arc — main.

[leminaus]

red and vee :)

[weepynymph]

are people seriously not understanding that the whole point of colin's arc this season is him trying to be something he's not??

like sure the brothel scenes are a little weird and jarring but like they're meant to be??? because he's not actually that into it, he's just trying to do what all the other men his age are doing so he can fit in??

the writers aren't trying to 'turn him into anthony or simon' or make him a rake because that's what we're used to - HE'S trying to turn HIMSELF into anthony or simon or basically any of the other guys who this comes naturally to; who enjoy sleeping with lots of different people somewhat emotionlessly and don't get lonely because of it (and no judgement to that it's just not him)

he literally kisses Pen ONCE and absolutely loses his mind over it because its obviously never felt like that for him before. that moment is his 'oh so that's what that's supposed to feel like' moment and that's how he knows he's in love with her its literally so good???

i understand people feel like its rushed but honestly to me it feels perfectly in character for him to discover the solution to his loneliness he's been searching for all this time and immediately dive into it headfirst. that moment right at the end of ep4 where he asks her to marry him is the most authentic colin i think we've seen all season. he's sweet and funny and playful and passionate and impulsive - he's finally stopped trying to be someone he's not and now that he knows who he is and what he wants he's all in.

[yardsards]

"i don't ship laios and marcille-" oh yeah same, their relationship is so much more compelling to me viewed through a platonic lens than a romantic one

"-like, marcille clearly hates laios" are we reading/watching the same series??? did you just stop after the first couple chapters??? look at their relationship development, that's her friend! her bestie, even!!!

[galactic-rhea]

More silly Luke Skysilverfoxwalker doodles

in my mind, almost nothing of the sequels is canon, but Luke is still grumpy and somewhat depressed, his dad tries to help tho

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Lan Wangji Goes To Lotus Pier AU: Part 3: Enveloping Feelings.

(Part 1, Part 2, Part 4)

[wisteriasymphony]

every time a tumblr post mlb rewrite mentions the fact that they're taking out marinette's 'obsessive stalker' characteristics an angel gets run over by a steamroller and fucking dies

[ashtreeeee]

the blade will never die‼️‼️‼️

god i haven’t been posting art here for a long time. that’s because uhhhhhh. im lazy and i forgor yeah kheheheheh

anyways if you saw this art on tiktok and on twi…… yep that was me!! hi!!! nice to meet you all!!! this is still your ashtree but now on tumblr lol

[ask-ranma-and-ryoga]

[suntails]

echo

[ssaraexposs]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE GREENEST FLAG EVER, THE KINDEST MC EVER

[bixels]

Be honest, what are your thoughts on appledash? Do you hate it or its more of not a big deal

Not a big deal to me. I like it, I see all the appeals, I just personally like Rarijack more.

[lurukifennecfox]

again snippets i won't finish because reasons

Everything was going well which should have been the first clue.

Danny moved to Gotham (Vlad insisted he pay for it and he'd been doing better so he let him have it) he's going to Gotham Academy, he was visiting his old haunt so often people thought Phantom never left! turns out if a ghost is strong enough they can teleport to their haunt and he is strong! even if he never quite got the hang of teleportation aside from returning to his haunt.

[•••]

he must have said something wrong because now the halfa was glaring at him with ectoplasm green eyes, he rolled his eyes.

"c'mon stop with the scary eyes" he said it and winced, shit he sounds like Vlad! wait it's not quite Ecto-green, it's diluted? more Lazarus than pure Ecto... that doesn't look healthy is it why he barely can feel his core??? is he really sustaining on Lazarus Water?!

[albaharu]

everyday of my life i think about this moment

[loxare]

On their wedding day, he put his hand to her cheek and called her the most beautiful woman in the world.

He could have been correct, from an objective standpoint. Truly, she was one of the beauties in town. Her curls always in perfect order, her smile plump and joyous, her figure comely, even hidden modestly beneath clothing. From an objective standpoint, he was wrong, as nothing about beauty is objective, but none in the town would have disagreed with his assessment.

They spent several years together, in loving bliss. They built their house together, they planted their garden together, they grew together.

And then came the day that a hole in reality opened beneath him. Without thought, she jumped in after, a bare half second after he vanished.

When she opened her eyes, she was somewhere else. The stars were different, and wrong. There was the wrong number of moons, and the sun was the wrong colour. But the worst, most egregious wrong was that he was not there next to her. This, she could not abide.

She had nothing to her name besides her labour, but that she had in abundance. She travelled, from town to town, trading hours of work for food and board. She taught herself to draw, and she drew her love. Over and over, she drew him. In the dirt, on walls, on her own clothes. Asking, always asking, if any had seen him. Eventually she acquired paper and ink, and drew her husband again. Her inquiries became easier, more frequent, although the answers never changed. For none had seen her love.

She learned many things as she travelled. She learned how to fix a carriage wheel. How to tend to livestock and how to weed a garden far larger than the one she had known. She learned to shape a bowl from clay and to chop timber and to carve wood. She learned to fight off brigands who would take from her her sparse money, her life, or worse.

She learned other things, about this place she was in. It was a place where many came, and few left. A nexus one called it. A refuse heap, another said. But the method of arrival was always the same. One moment in the familiar, the next falling into the strange. But the people were the same, for all that they were often of alien appearance. Some looked down upon her dirt covered hems and worn boots. Some ignored her. Most were willing to at least listen to her question, to look at her picture, so carefully drawn. To keep an eye out, and pass on a message should they find him.

Time passed, and passed, and passed. The world she came from did not have things such as magical crystals or soul mates or wizards, or if it did they had none of the power that those here did. Regardless, one town she stayed in recommended she find the local witch, for they specialized in red strings of fate.

And so she did. The witch gave her a bowl of stew and a comfortable chair, and then listened when she spoke, and looked carefully at the drawing. It was a different one. She had drawn many, over the years, as the old ones wore out, and as her skill increased. And the witch said that they did not know if he was indeed her soul mate, but if he was, then the red string of fate that they revealed would lead her right to him. She need only follow it.

It was not an easy ask. The witch wanted a blanket woven by her own hands in payment. And so she stayed in the town, longer than she had stayed anywhere. She traded her labour and her art for thick wool, and weaving lessons. It was near winter before she had a result she was pleased with, carefully folded in her arms to be presented to the witch. The blanket was unfolded immediately upon delivery, shaken out to its fullest extent. The blanket was scrutinized, for quality of the weave or for something else that she could not fathom. Finally, the witch nodded their head. They turned back to their cottage, moving to close the door. She protested, concerned about her end of the bargain, but needn’t have worried. For around her finger was tied a red string which hadn’t been there before. The end led off, through the woods.

And so she followed it. She followed it through fallen leaves. She followed it across rivers. She followed it through snowbanks and through melt waters and through hot summer sun. Finally, she followed it into a clearing on a mountain. And fell to her knees in despair. For in this clearing was nothing but moss, and the end of the string, fading into nothing.

She did not have long to weep however, as a hole in reality opened above her, and down he fell. Without thought, she moved to catch him.

He was just as he had been on the day she had left him. And as he opened his eyes, she suddenly felt ashamed. For he was here, perfect and whole and young. But it had been years and years for her. Her hair was frizzy and knotted. Her lips were thin, her hands were rough, and her figure both hard and flabby at once.

But he opened his eyes, and he called her name, and she nodded. And he smiled at her, and called her the most beautiful woman in the world.

On a truly objective standpoint, he was incorrect. Both because beauty was not within the realm of objectivity, but also because there were many women who could be called more beautiful, subjectively.

But she also knew that he was speaking nothing but the honest truth. For he loved her. He loved her, he loved her, he loved her. He loved her hair, frizzy as it was. He loved combing it free of knots, and helping her braid it in the mornings, and loved tucking flowers into it, to surprise her when she looked in the mirror. He loved her smile, and loved seeing it, and loved being the cause of it. He loved it when she spoke to him, when she told him of the things she had done, and what she had learned. He loved her art, even as he blushed darkly at being her only subject. She taught him what she knew, and delighted when he found particular pleasure in pottery. They travelled, to find a home that suited both of them. The first time she defended him from brigands had been a terrifying and yet exhilarating experience for them both.

And they built a house. With a room full of paper and clay. And a garden, and a loom. And always, forever, she was the most beautiful woman in the world.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Call that a Cave Story.

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[spkyart]

Life lessons