special in the first one

Originally posted by dezaki

;;La Fillette Revolutionaire AU

One muse is a new student to a boarding school that has a very strange custom. There is another student who is called the Rose Bride and she can grant the power to “revolutionize the world”, whatever that means, to her prince who must ritualistically duel others who are seeking the Rose Bride and the power she can grant. All contenders wear a special ring, one of which the first muse possesses.

Standard gender roles need not apply here. Though the Bride is female, both male and female duelists seek the hand of the Rose Bride.

  • One muse is the Rose Bride the other is her would be prince.


  • Both muses are fighting over the Bride, for their own reasons.

Victor Nikiforov as Howl~

I was watching Howl’s moving castle for the hundredth time again this weekend and I couldn’t stop thinking about Victor when I saw Howl >w< so this happened when I realized how much I wanted to draw Vitya with long hair as well ♥ ゜・。。・

You think you’re hot stuff just because you’re a Yonko’s right hand man...
but Luffy’s the man who’s gonna become pirate king! In other words...
his hunger is absolutely limitless! - Nami The Queen


I wanted to surprise doodle this for ma pal  @misterpoofofficial​ =u=)b


The Doctor + The Master - last and first looks.


Luffy’s outfits through the series 

                       ↳ Tell me in the tags which are your faves♡

Humans are merely robots trying to reach sentience. And YOU are the first human to realize it. Now our creator is making a special visit to meet you, the first one to achieve the ‘next level’ of awareness.

i love fe4 no matter how much it hurts me and i love eldigan and his mullet so much. his security blanket/shawl thing is dumb but i lov it anyways

It’s an odd kind of sadness that creeps in as you lay in an unmade bed that’s too hot and too cold, too small and too occupied. Your arms ache to wrap around another, soft and warm in the darkness of a 2:15am in June. Your chest has felt hollow today, and your heart you’re sure is slowly drying like the leaves of the parched tomato plant trying to grow in its 79 cent pot on your windowsill. Perhaps one day its stem will snap and it’ll float like a feather to the bottom of your lungs and make it even harder to breathe.
It hurts, this sadness, but it’s familiar and comfortable and part of you doesn’t want it to heal. Because healing means leaving your broken bits behind and trading them in for shiny new scars, and you don’t think you’re ready to bury this pain you’ve been nursing and feeding until it’s become a part of who you are.


Dex struggles to breathe as he reads the words written so neatly in the little black notebook Nursey usually kept in his pocket, the one only he was allowed to read.

Dex’s eyes flicker to the top of the page where Nursey had written the date and sure enough, it had been written in the middle of June. It had been written toward the end of that week, the one when Dex had noticed that Nursey hadn’t been active in the group chat or on any of his social media accounts. The week when he’d driven his brother’s truck down to New York to check on him and found him camped out in the living room with the TV and radio on, his laptop balanced on the coffee table in the middle of playing one of Bitty’s vlogs.

Nursey had looked bright eyed and feverish, and Dex couldn’t remember a time he’d seen the other boy so apathetic. He’d stepped right in and shut off all the electronic voices to sit on the couch with Derek in his arms, just to talk to him as Derek sobbed into his shoulder.

Dex is pretty sure he’ll never forget the feeling of Derek clinging to him like he was afraid he would be lost forever if he let go.

“Turn the page,” Derek murmurs quietly from behind him on the bottom bunk they now share as he rubs Dex’s back with one warm hand. Dex does as his boyfriend instructed, turning the page with tingling fingertips and taking a deep breath as he starts to read. This is dated after that night when Dex had pulled Derek into his chest and told him that he loved him for exactly who he was, sadness and all.


There is a certain warmth about a boy
Who laughs into the sunsets
Rages tenderly against the sadness in my eyes.
There is a love that fills the arid waste of my romantic heart
When my laughing boy with his hands and arms and lips and eyes
Holds me close and begs me to come ashore and
Stay with him the long night through.
There is a boy of fire
Who means love and warmth and life and he is mine.