It was always my headcanon that Prospit dreamers are those who are born heroes but have to prove themselves as warriors and Derse dreamers are those who are born warriors but have to prove themselves as heroes.
then what the hell is sollux
THE AMOuNT OF secoNDHAND EMBARASSMENT I GET fROM MOvies is uNBELIEVABLE LIKE IF SOMEONE dOES a stupiD thiNG IN A MOVie i have to look away Bc it is Is TOO MUCH FOR ME To HANDLE
A CROW TRIED TO GO IN OUR CLASSROOM AND HE HAD A PEN
this is it motherfuckers
welcome to fucking bird school
Tinni and Sniffer are actually the real life The Fox And The Hound.
#but with a happier ending right,RIGHT?
I cannot believe that he went from photoshopping explosions behind him to actually being in front of one. Incredible.
knowledge is knowing that a tomato is a fruit
wisdom is not putting it in a fruit salad
That was deep
I got a request from hear-me-rory like 5 ever ago to draw a "pretty blonde deer man trying to woo a sulky reaper” and forgot to post the sketch so since I felt bad I decided to quickly paint it and make it look nicer but it’s still p shitty
what’s even worse is I GOOFED and made him brunette when he should have been blonde
OH WELL I hope they like it all the same if they see
dare you to write a fic
Oh my god look how well you organized the valuesssssssss yessssssssssssssss
i want this ship to workout
“I…I can’ touch you." His voice was an odd thing, the slow, sombre toll of a bell in a belfry, high above graveyards. It scared most.
It did not scare this thing - this thing that even he could admit was beautiful in the way only nature can be.
“If I touch you, you’ll wither. You’ll die." That seemed a terrible fate for something so alive.
But this not quite man, yet eternally not animal merely smiled, inching closer and closer - as if he were the one approaching a scared animal, and not the other way around. “You won’t. I surely would not die from your touch. You don’t always *do* what you are, you know.”
And how strange it seemed, to think such a thing to be true, but no, no. He knew better. Everything he touched died. All things, great and small, whether the towering trees or the tiny spider hiding amongst its leaves…they all succumbed.
But when the beastman reached, sun-dark fingers(the color of healthy bark, he might later learn) touching the unforgiving black of his robes? He did not crumble, did not age.
Eyes as green as good grass had watched - had perhaps even feared the possible outcome of his own death…but when he felt not a stir, not a wither?
The generous bow of his mouth started to climb and curl, settling into a smile that looked right at home on his handsome face.
“See?” he murmured low and slow, leaning in towards the perpetual smile that skulls tended to wear. “You can’t hurt me. You do’t kill everything you touch. They’re all dead already, just waiting for you to arrive. You, solid, strong, and always everpresent.”
And Death decided, upon his first kiss, that if this was what Heaven felt like, then maybe being dead wasn’t so bad after all.
OH MY GOD THAT WAS BEAUTIFULLL!!!!???
BOTH WRITTEN AND VISUAL ART COMING TOGETHER LIKE POETRY MAKES MY HEART BURST MY GOD THIS IS BEAUTIFUL.
THIS IS A REALLY FUCKING ACCURATE TORTOISE IMPRESSIONS OKay
this is i m p o r t a an t
is it too early to bring this back
IT’S NEVER TOO EARLY FOR THE K R I N G L E F U C K E R