how do you imagine Marcille to be in several centuries? Also what do you think of that popular headcanon that becoming a dragon extends Falin's life?
ironically i get too sad to think about it so i generally don't (or at least, probably won't until i thoroughly explore the current postcanon possibilities and don't have much more to flesh out in my head) but. you know me, i'm the marcille mommy issues guy, i think she'd be a lot like her mother: always cheerful and much better at hiding her negative emotions.
as for falin.... i used to like it, but then someone posted a fic about her dealing with how she'd end up outliving laios and i was like oh god fucking dammit that's so sad
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Has someone made a missing poster for Colin’s bf Michael
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once when i was in high school my social studies class went to the computer lab to write our essays and i was sitting next to one of my friends so i wrote “i like squirrels” in the middle of my essay to amuse her but i forgot to erase it and submitted the assignment with the squirrel thing
i lost points because of it.
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I hope everyone with a para that loses things easily has a great day
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Sorry this is so out of the blue but I had been strolling down RT memory lane and come across your blog where I saw the ask about this deleted tweet. Managed to finally find it so wanted to share in case anyone on tumblr wanted the closure 💖
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ladies and gentlemen... we got 'em
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Ugh. You know when you experience the most amazing piece of art in your entire life and then you wake up and realise it was in a dream and you have not a shred of the talent and budget to realise it in real life and the dream is fading so the whole concept is about to be lost forever
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Pendulum's Immersion (2009) reset something in my brain as a teenager I think
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The intonations of our voice express our philosophy of life, what one says to oneself at each moment about things... As individuals, each of us lives immersed in something more general than ourselves.
from In Search of Lost Time, Book 2: In the Shadow of Young Girls in Flower by Marcel Proust
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