Everyone, this is what happens to my little Floofles when she stays with that bath-obsessed @arari.^^ My poor, little, grumpled Floof. (I’m in Taiwan until Wed and I miss her so muuuuch. I’ve already been gone for a week. ㅠㅠ)
Why the fuck are some of the Zquad coming at
Perrie for dying her hair pink?! Perrie has been dying her hair for a very long
time. She even dyed her hair pink in the 2013, BEFORE Zayn did it. Stop acting
like Zayn invented pink hair and is the only person who can dye their hair
pink. And stop obsessing over Perrie and bullying her for every little thing.
Get a life and grow the hell up.
i have made a friend almost a whole year ago. she still checks up everyday, she still lets me know that everything is going to work out just fine. she says things like if we ran out of time, at least i’m still right behind you. if our hands had more spaces, i’d fill them up with more reasons as to why i would never let go of you. she started out with great caution, because it’s online. people can be fake as fuck, ya know? so little by little. through my bad habits and obsessions with poetry, i spoke to her and absorbed her great knowledge of the latter. yes, i’m slowly becoming a better writer because of her. lately i write prose pieces and call them poetry, but i also came to the conclusion that poetry doesn’t need structure, it doesn’t need to rhyme, the essential ingredient to a poet’s writing is brute force jammed into a bullet and when we shoot it, we call it honesty. and you know something else? i have also become a better person because of you. through you, i am slowly changing into someone that’s worth accepting. i am not perfect, i know that. i hate reading my own words because it never sounds right. maybe it’s because my poetry all looks like a long love letter i never got the chance to give to someone. well… i’m giving it to you. because you are her. you are the online friend. you are my pillars poking out of quicksand. you are my last star to the left. and before we were born and given the chance to converse, we probably came from the same strand of stardust that allowed shakespeare to write about romeo and juliet. we came from the saddest book and somehow became best friends. when i say that i love you, i no longer mean every word. no those three words don’t justify the feeling anymore. i firmly believe that if you were not there to guide my feelings back into shape, i would probably be drowning inside of a pill somewhere. maybe dead even. i’m so glad to have you here. although you aren’t real per se, you have always made it seem like i could be lovable and that has changed me more than once. you are her.
Let’s pretend for a second I genuinely want to understand Voldemort’s parenting logic. Alright. To me, this is the state in which Delphi seemingly would have been raised had her parents survived.
She lives in her uncles’ house, but her cousin Draco (and who knows, perhaps even her uncles?) cannot know of her existence. So she lives in a secluded HALF of her uncles’ house, in the company of her psychopathic father who rarely sees her, of a mother who is still technically married to another man who lives with them (?). It is actually unclear in whose bedroom Bellatrix sleeps. It is unclear whether this is subject to weekly variation, perhaps. And Delphi’s father hasn’t really got a surname because nobody can call him Riddle or say his name at all. So her surname should technically be Lestrange, but she knows she has little to do with the Lestranges because her mother obsesses over her father and ignores her husband who just tags along. She has another aunt and a half-werewolf cousin out there but will never meet them. And for general childhood enterntainment, she watches her parents torture prisoners.And because her parents and Rodolphus all have a country to run, most of the time she is cared for by some unknown fourth party.
You know, I think wizards should have been entitled to do away with Voldemort’s regime just after learning this. If this is how he organises his household, imagine leaving him in charge of a country.