If you love your Dad reblog this. If not he dies in 13 days.

don’t fucking play with me like this the fuck is wrong with y’all

wtf why- i JUST talked to my dad you can’t- wait-

Sorry ya’ll, I can’t leave it not reblogged..

Broooooooo

Commenting fanfiction is the easiest thing in the world once you start doing it. 

I leave a comment on every single fic I read. Sometimes when I read published books I go and leave a comment somewhere the author can find it. Granted, I literally majored in ‘leaving comments on fics’ (English Education), but once you start doing it it just becomes second nature. Now you’re gonna go to the Ozymandias school of leaving comments: 

Problem: I can’t leave kudos again.

Problem: I don’t know what to say :(

Problem: I’m embarrassed to leave a comment (what if I annoy the author?)

Problem: I don’t know how to express myself/my experience 

This? This is an amazing post. This is the Captain Awkward of commenting posts—it addresses all your fears directly and gives you actionable scripts for each one.

When you finally find the energy to do stuff

Reblog and the universe will grant you the spoons you need to do that thing you’ve been meaning to do

The Fool (Ch. 1) {Fred Weasley x F!OC}

SUMMARY ››››› After getting tangled up with the Weasley Twins during the events of the Quidditch World Cup, Wren Collings’ life takes a turn for the chaotic. It threatens everything she has going for her, but she’s not convinced that’s entirely a bad thing.

PAIRING ››››› Fred Weasley x Female OC

WORD COUNT ››››› 5,800-ish

WARNINGS ››››› There is no depression or mental health issues in this story, but there are mentions of death, violence, abuse, some PTSD, etc. As most of the specific warnings revolve around major plot points or are found throughout most chapters, I’m just going to rate certain chapters on the movie scale. This is chapter PG-13.

A/N ››››› This story has been in the works since 2006. I have 80+ pages of scenes written, but of course they’re all over the place. I cannot wait to share this with you and I hope you love it.

Read on ff.net

Being woken up by a Hufflepuff was undoubtedly the worst possible way to wake up.

Especially when said Hufflepuff was an unapologetically overenthusiastic morning person.

“Good morning sunshine!” The sing-songy voice permeated the peaceful quiet of the morning, effectively putting an end to Wren’s enjoyment of these early hours in the way they were meant to be enjoyed—in bed, asleep.

Godric, help me. 

Calling on her house’s founder had rarely, if ever, done any good in situations like this. This wasn’t an issue of nerve; it was a matter of endurance. Because the thing about Hufflepuffs, and especially this Hufflepuff, was that they never gave up. Ever.  Even when you practically begged them to. Even when you very clearly and explicitly begged them to. 

“Time to get up!” The last word was sung with such obnoxious cheer that the sound shot straight through Wren’s desperate plea to the universe, killing all hope of a few more tranquil minutes tucked away under the covers.

Wren made a muffled sound of disapproval and pulled the covers up higher, rolling away from her cousin’s present attempt to shake her awake. “Geroff,” she mumbled into her pillow. “I’m up.”

“If you were up, your feet would be on the floor,” Norah shot back the family rule. Apparently there had been one too many close calls with the Hogwarts Express (which, for the record, was only two), and her family had decided to institute criteria for whether or not Wren was, in fact, “up.” Quite frankly, it was a load of dragon dung.

Wren shifted under the covers, allowing one leg to drop with a thud to the floor. “There. I’m half up." 

"Not good enough,” Nora prodded. “Breakfast is ready and we’re waiting on you; come on.”

Wren simply let out a grunt as a response.

“Alright then.” The words came out too light and dispassionate to mean anything good. Brain still cloudy with sleep, Wren attempted to piece together Nora’s next move when she felt her cousin take a firm grip of her leg.

“I’m up!” Wren shot up, her heart pounding against her chest from the near encounter with the floor. She should have known Nora would resort to drastic measures. Hufflepuff.

Keep reading

Reblog if you have mourned the death of a fictional character.

If you do not reblog this, you are in fact lying.

Hey, don’t you fucking scroll down

You

Fucking

Liar. 

I have to scroll down to find the reblog button

Chill out

Yep. Still sad over Rudy, to this very day.

Legends only

Reblog for wholesome good luck

Sentence Starters

“I’ve never seen one of these completely to my taste so i decided to make my own!

ANGST

FLUFF

MISC

Maybe this might help get my mojo back?

Yesterday i lost my glasses. And decided to document my frustration until……… I really wish this was planned, but i gotta admit, I took a big L.

“[defeated tone] So… I have…. lost my glasses. And I’m afraid to leave my bed because I can’t see… and I fear I might step on my glasses. So I’m sitting here with my bee pillow pet… and I don’t know what to do.

I need to get up. I wanna get food. I gotta exfoliate and moisturize, cause my skin looking atrocious right now.

What if… [deep breath] What if I die here, y’all? Would anyone even miss me?Like, really?

I want Enrique Iglesias to come save me. Like, the ceiling opens up and like, he comes down from like, a heavenly cloud with my glasses, and he’s singing. [imitating Enrique Iglesias] ‘Would you dance? If I asked you to dance? I will be your hero baby!’ And I just take my glasses and I’m like ‘Thanks yo! Put a shirt on homie!’

But life, life don’t work… life… [prolonged silence]

[camera zooms in on glasses] 

[long silence; light chuckle] Enrique…”

This should win an Oscar

I am fucking dying

i’ve never heard such a good attenborough impression i’m rolling

but mom how will other people know that you, a white Texan, are a Christian

same

Jesus

I bet those two are couple now..

I’m gay

me too

This is such a great story

update from Houston pride 2019! we’re friends

reblog this with what state you’re from and what neighboring state you like to make fun of. I’m from Ohio and I like to make fun of Indiana. cause they only have corn, Mike Pence, and one cool city. that’s it.

reblog if your icon is someone you wouldn't mind spending the rest of your life with

I just opened up a check in the mail, went to the ATM & found 20$ 😭 I’m not passing these shits up NO more on my mama!

Even if I do not receive money or good news, I did smile at seeing this smiling Buddha.

^^^^

He’s wholesome, so why wouldn’t I share this with people?

Have some very good news in the New Year, my friends.

rami just ran by in front of my car lmfao

this cryptid 

This is the lucky Rami, reblog in 30 seconds for a year of safe driving

when i say “i hate men” im not talking about every individual man in the world, im talking about men as a social class, but if youre the kind of man that gets offended when i say i hate men then i do, specifically, hate you on an individual level

Due to a shortage in guardian angels, God has issued an official decree. All angels must enroll in the guardian program under threat of banishment. You are the angel of death.

They said it would be easy.

To be a guardian angel, they said, was to be a light in the darkness. To be a hand to be held across the road, arms to catch when you fell. To be a guardian angel, they said, was to protect your charge as if they were the only important person in the world.

I thought it would be easy.

After all, it was exactly what I did for the dead. I held their hand as their crossed over, I held them up when they realised what it meant. I protected them as they went from one world and into Forever After.

The only difference was that my charge would be breathing. I would be helping them through life, not death.

She was five when I was chosen for her. Dark frizzy hair in a halo around her face and a laugh that lit up the room like the sun, she was something I’d never been given before, something I didn’t understand.

There was no laughter in death. There was no sun as I crossed over souls.

I stood in the corner of the room as she spoke, only every few words understandable. She showed me her toys, her books and her room, and she tucked the loose feather I’d given her behind her ear with a grin.

She gave me smiles for nothing and conversation for the few words I gave back, and I believed them. I thought it would be easy.

When she was ten, a soul brushed past me with a thread of colour I knew well. I carried it over in the cradle of my arms, and watched until there was nothing left but the peace and silence of death.

And then I returned to her, to find tears and anger and confusion, her fists on my chest as she cried.

‘You take them,’ she cried, ‘and you don’t care. It’s not fair, I want her back.’

Her mother had died in her sleep, and my charge, too young to understand that death was only the next part of the journey, blamed me for the inability to say goodbye.

She was right.

‘I can’t bring her back,’ I said, flinching even as she stepped away from me, her heart breaking for the mother she’d lost, and the guardian angel that had failed her.

‘Then why are you here?’ she asked, ‘When you cannot give me what I want?’

She was right.

There were so many things every human had in common. Their wishes and dreams that stemmed from their very hearts. To bring back the people they’d loved and lost, to find the people that would love them unconditionally. Emotion was what made them human.

And it was what made me not.

I left her then, stepping away. I kept her safe from a distance, always invisible – for I understood that I upset her more, a marker of what she had gained for everything she had lost.

Though she still saw the feathers I dropped, and still picked them up, tucking them into pockets and books and running a finger down them silently. I wondered, as she grew, if she remembered what they really were.

When she was sixteen, she had her first heartbreak, a boy who’d flirted and kissed her, dated her then left her with nothing more than a smirk – and his hand in another girls the next day.

The tears that fell then were different to the ones when she was ten, though they hurt me no less – the strange feeling in my chest rose, until I appeared before her, crouched down, and wondered for a moment how I was meant to comfort someone with something I didn’t understand.

‘I can kill him, if you’d like,’ I said.

She snorted, then laughed through her tears, and I wondered what it was – my words were serious, but she had seen them as something else. Something more I didn’t know I had inside me.

She hugged me then, and I remembered her, so young, so different to the almost-woman before me. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, ‘I never blamed you. Not really.’

Was that why she’d kept all those feathers – forgiveness was something I didn’t understand, was often never given. Death stole too early and far too many, and even after people had mourned, there was a part inside them that turned away from me.

And so I was back at her side.

When she was twenty-six, she gave birth. To a screaming child with bright blue eyes. I had never seen anything more beautiful. When she held the baby up to me with a smile, something bloomed in my chest I couldn’t name – and when she asked if I wanted to hold her newborn, it made my heart freeze and my eyes burn.

How many children had I lead to Forever After, ripped away from life so young, the echoes of grieving parents still ringing in my ears? I cradled them close, comforting them, wordlessly telling them they weren’t alone – they were never alone – as they crossed over.

But this child was as alive as the birds in the sky, and I bent down to kiss him on the forehead I silently promised – this child would not leave life to early. He was not my charge, but he was hers enough to count.

When she was fifty I learnt just how much she had changed me. An accident they said, and an accident it was. But the man in the other car had died instantly – I’d taken his soul and stumbled, when I saw her own one wavering. It flickered in and out of life, dancing on the brink of both, as the living fought to keep her, and I prayed for God to keep her away.

She survived. And I learnt the strange drum in my ears was a heartbeat I hadn’t heard for thousands of years, a little part of humanity finding its way back inside of me.

The angel of death had started to learn that even in death, there was a memory of life.

When she was seventy-five, I heard her call to me when I was away. I landed by her bedside, taking in the pale skin and slowing breath, and I clutched one hand in mine as she held a lifetime of feathers in the other.

‘It’s time,’ she said to me, a smile on her face.

‘I can’t let you die,’ I replied. I could – I could see the tether between her soul and my own, knew I could cut it and let it free, or tie it close together so she would stay on earth as long as I stayed an angel.

But she only reached up and touched my face. ‘You gave me everything I wanted and more. A life of happiness and friendship. It’s time.’

Her soul flickered, in and out, in and out, as her eyes fluttered shut.

‘You gave me the same,’ I said, as I caught it in my arms and held it close. I could hear her laughter around me, the sun so bright it brought tears to my eyes. There was peace in my arms and warmth, and the heavy weight of tiredness for a life well lived.

I took her to the Forever After, though her soul lingered, unlike the rest, who used to run from me as if I was the monster, and not the one trying to help.

‘Your son,’ I said to the soul, wondering if the stones in my chest were what humanity called grief, ‘will always have a protector. And his children will, and the children after that. Forever.’

There was a moment of stillness – every world and realm pausing as the angel of death made a promise for life – before her soul turned to travel alone. It was only then I saw how her soul shimmered, in the colours of the feathers of the wings on my back.

I wondered then, if that was another human lesson she’d taught me when I wasn’t listening. That no one is ever alone or forgotten, when there is someone around to remember who they were.