A Pretty Girl Walks By My Locker

Reblog if you are ASEXUAL, SUPPORT ASEXUALS, or really really want to WEAR A REALLY FANCY BLACK CAPE

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LET'S BRING THIS WONDERFUL MAN TO THE MOON

Impulse hit 1 million on youtube lets GOO!!!

I’m so proud of him, he deserves it :)

(Please do not repost my art anywhere without explicit permission from me, thank you <3 reblogs are appreciated)

Love without Sex

I’m doing a Philosophy paper on Asexuality. Please reblog if you think Love without Sex is possible! I really need the data. Like if you think love has to have sex.

I was lucky to get commissioned for this

Story of my life people. You know what’s real ? The struggle.

Happy Pride Month ♥

If you wanted to break someone, what would you do?

I would give him a family to fight for. I would give him a campfire and a host of companions to shout and sing with behind safe walls, brothers in arms, a banner to fly and a shield to hold high for his king as they march for the sunrise. I would give him a battle, a proving ground to spill his love as blood and sweat for the cause, for that family. I would give him a purpose. I would give him a destiny.

And then...I would take it away. A sword to cut the strings of his bond, his family flung to the far corners of a new, crueler world, leaving him alone again and stumbling without the expected solid ground of a shoulder to lean on. And I would watch him try to build it all up again. I'd watch him find first one, then two more, call them brothers over and over again until they half-heartedly say it back, push them together like opposite poles of a magnet as they repel and bounce back from each other and simply fail to understand. I'd watch as he figured out what they were missing, tried his hardest to become that king under whose banner he used to thrive to them.

I'd watch him fail. I'd watch him protest as they say they have no leadership, speaking as though he isn't even there, as though they were not leaning on the shields he made them with his own hands. I'd watch him finally fall silent as this flaming mess he tried to lump together and call a "family" threatens to kill each other. Tries to kill each other. Succeeds. I would place that man at the top of a hill, give him a little hope, give him the hint of a laugh of camaraderie and the chance that maybe this might work out after all...and then I would shatter him against the cliffside with the arrows of enemies in his back, anyone who could have stood behind him and shielded him from the blows long since run away for their own safety: each in seperate directions.

I would take it all away again, and it would hurt all the more with the final, long-fought acceptance that this time, it was never real to begin with.

And now, from who would the finishing blow come? When he had been cast out alone, the darkness almost a relief compared to the faces he tried to insist with closed eyes were those of the past and not the present, when his only comfort is blood and his only solace is throwing all caution to the wind and seeking glory one last time: glory at the door of a castle tower, glory at the end of a sword, glory at a second final death charge into the unknown...who would I send to be his final war horn? Who would do him the honour of a hero's fall?

There would be none.

No horn. No glory. No battle. He would be shot, once more in the back, while running away.

And there would be no king.

But there would be a single red scrap tied around a wrist and a faded scar running across a neck. He would be a ghost, all this man tried to be, all that he failed to be, all the comfort that he cried to and all the bravery and spirit he wished he had when his own haphazard militia denied him to his face and laughed at his pain. And the look in the eyes of the Red Once-King when he fires would be nothing but disappointment. And the man would not live long enough to turn and see it.

But he would see it when his eyes close. He would see it in the stars as his life drips into the grass, in the end even that too forsaking him. And when he next rose, ghostly and inconsequential, his spirit, the thing he tried so hard to inherit when his own had always burned so strong all by itself...will finally, finally be broken. He would stay in the forest, looking down at his body, lingering on. Waiting to move on until somebody happened by and laid the man he tried to be to rest.

No one would come.

No one ever did.

I don’t even do it on purpose it just happens

Reblog to make a trans girls tits grow.

bdoubleo100 plinko