- the return of my son william turner and his son henry to grace us at the beginning
- (captain) jack waking up not knowing how tf he managed to get locked in the bank and after realizing decided to tell everybody else
- the amazing Ripped Af™ horses pulling the entire bank (even the building) down the street while the pirates theme played
- “there’s a woman in my shop. there’s a woman and a pirate in my shop!” “today’s ur lucky day then”
- “filthy pirate” “there’s no need for name calling”
- jack’s slow mo run and leap over the bridge as the building crashes through it
- HENRY EVEN JUST SAYING HIS MOTHER’S NAME “ELIZABETH SWANN”,, BLESSING™
- carina and jack arguing while they were about to be killed bc jack wanted to be hung instead of getting his head chopped off and the crowd actually listened lmao
- the lowkey dick jokes “wish i was hung”
- YOUNG JACK SPARROW BEING A BADASS SWINGING HIS COMPASS AND SMIRKING AS HE CONDEMNED SALAZAR TO DEATH P MUCH
- carina running off bc ghosts and jack simply “love 2 stay and chat but my map’s run off”
- henry “i saw her ankles” turner
- uncle Jack Sparrow™ protecting his boy henry from salazar’s sharks
- jack calling barbossa his bff
- THE MONKEY’S BACK i love the monkey
- barbossa saving the day like the True hero he is
- “what am i to you?” “you’re treasure”
- WILL TURNER TURNING UP LIKE U THOUGHT I WAS GONE WELL BITCH U THOUGHT WRONG
- ELIZABETH!! SWANN!! THE AMAZING!! AND BEAUTIFUL!!
- ELIZABETH AND WILL REUNITED, FINALLY MY PARENTS ARE HAPPY AGAIN
- henry and carina holding hands and smiling at my parents will and elizabeth, Relatable
- uncle jack watching from afar pretending he’s not happy for them when in fact he sails willabeth more than he sails any ship ever even the black pearl
"We must sit in an unusual way to write the exam. I will call by number, in alpha order. Seungkwan you are first, enter the cave, we'll see if you survive."
"Haha, joke's on you. Since I took a bath in the River Styx, I'm basically immortal."
"QUIET. The next person to speak has detention. . . Now, does anyone know the answer to question 3? Yes, Hansol?"
"I think it's--"
"sIkE, NoW yoU've goT DeTentIoN."
"So now I have over 10 years worth of sketches of The Underworld stacked inside my house. . . I framed two of the sketches because they were so pretty. I'll probably make a patchwork quilt out of the rest."
"No homework? Sorry, I couldn't hear you over my two PhDs."
"I could do this in kindergarten."
"I didn't even know what a number was in kindergarten."
"Well, it was senior kindergarten."
"That was a very interesting comment. You know what would make it more interesting? If you kept it to yourself."
"You're going to kill your son, and God will laugh at you because you're stupid."
"I finally get the number B."
"So Mr. Kim broke 2 bridges?"
"Even I look at it and think OH SHITTTT."
"YOLO price for 10 dollars."
"Haha, doesn't my pointer stick kind of look like nunchucks?" *continues to swing around pointer stick and make pew pew pew noises*
I just binge watched “Crashing” on Netflix. There was at least one scene that had me in a fit of giggles in each episode. This show was something I never thought I needed and I really hope they make a a second season. Brilliant.
if any of my four thousand followers aren’t aware, there was a major incident in london yesterday. people have died. a police officer. civilians. an unnamed man drove on the sidewalk on westminister bridge, crashing into the railings outside parliament, then stabbed a police officer before being shot just inside the grounds of westminister.
i was out in liverpool at the time and saw an increased police presence at the train stations and on the ground around town. i don’t have the words required to express how i feel about all of this, but i haven’t seen anything on my dash about london (not one thing) and i don’t know how i feel about that when i see plenty about attacks in france and germany and so on. but regardless, please don’t act violently or harshly to any minority for this. single persons or groups are responsible, not everyone in a minority.
don’t let the ones who commit horrific acts win by giving in to hate and prejudice. please don’t
“11 for the fic meme (whoever you want)?” (“You’re going to make it.
Just stay awake.”)
Dorian presses his hand against
the glass. There’s no reflection in this mirror, this thing of cold and glass.
It’s a pale illusion of a place he should not be and somewhere cannot go. There
is a ripple of magic around the edges, but only bitterness underneath his palm.
All the magic had been swept away from it the moment Lavellan stepped through.
Without them, without him, all alone. He thinks that if he just pushes hard
enough, he might be able to slip through the mirror, find a way to protect him.
He loses track of how long he
stands in one place, staring at green grass and blue skies. Behind him, the
moon shines brightly and Bull kicks a rock off the bridge, watches it crash
into the waves below. Cole stands in silence, that hat covering his eyes. There’s
nothing they can do but wait. In the heart of enemy territory, the bleating cry
of a dragon in the distance. Dorian’s hand slips from the mirror as he turns to
pace. Wrapping arms around himself, trying to protect himself from a chill only
he can feel.
“Walking, wounded, wanting. I
have to see him. I have to see him again. One last time. Dorian, Dorian, Dorian,”
Cole mutters under his breath. Bull straightens, the worry in the downturn of
his mouth. Looking between Cole who now fidgets, and Dorian whose pacing has
gone still. That chill again, wrapping around his spine, twisting with
sickness, working its way into his lungs. He closes the distance between them,
his hands crushing on Cole’s shoulders.
“What did you say?” His words
sound hollow with panic, eyes wide and searching. Bull is making his way
towards them, ready to pull them apart if he has to. Cole does not falter under
his grasp, and the words spill readily from his mouth.
“One more step, I have to make
it, I have to see –”
“Dorian.” A voice not from Cole,
not from Bull. The mirror shatters once he steps through. Hunched and limping,
grasping at his arm. What was once a mess of green, twisting vines that seeped
from the anchor, is now a smoking husk. Blood drops from his fingertips. It
seems almost boneless, twisted, a ruin of what once was. Dorian runs to him,
opens his arms and Lavellan falls into them gratefully.
Dorian lowers them gently to the
floor as Lavellan shakes in his arms. He’s paler than he should be, a sheen of
sweat on his face. Cold to the touch, not unlike the mirror. His breathing
shallow, his eyes can’t remain open for long. Dorian cradles him tightly. “I’m
here amatus,” he says, brushing away the
stray strands of hair on his face. Lavellan’s teeth are chatting. Dorian can
only hold him closer. His arm lies limp on the other side, the waste of a
thing, blood pooling underneath it.
The Iron Bull kneels down beside
him, presses thick fingers against it. Lavellan convulses in his arms, cries
out. Dorian’s hand flutters to his cheek, his forehead presses against his as
he murmurs such soothing and soft things, things he’s not sure he can hear. “This
needs to come off,” Bull says grimly, “now.” Dorian looks up at him, back down
at the man in his arms.
“No,” he’s saying, “no, no, no.
My bow. I can’t – I need my arm. How will I fight? I need to fight.” His words
move from soft delirium to a cutting edge, harder, biting in his mouth. “I need
to fight.” He repeats it over and over like a mantra. Dorian gently lowers him
to the cobble bridge as Bull sets the arm in place. Lavellan is still
protesting, but does not have the strength to move. Cole holds his shoulders
Dorian keeps a hand on his
chest, the other at his face. Tracing the lines of his vallaslin, the curve of his cheekbones, the line of his jaw. How
many times had Lavellan spoken to him about crafting a bow? The way his face
would light up, the fire of passion in his eyes. Hands over carving, etching
the silhouette of a snake onto his bow. Fletching arrows with purpose, speaking
to Dorian lightly. Lavellan reaches up now, fists his last good hand into his
tunic. “No,” he begs.
Dorian takes that hand in his, presses a kiss to
his knuckles. “It will be alright amatus,”
he tells him. He doesn’t watch when Bull brings his axe down. He only watches
at the way Lavellan twists, the tears spilling from his eyes. The way he shakes
and chatters as Dorian throws as much healing as he knows at the bloody stump.
If only he knew more. “Mahanon stay
with me. Open your eyes, please.”
The sound of horses’ hooves clopping along the ground, the slow gentle creaking of the wagon laden with gifts and supplies, and the occasional murmured conversation among soldiers was the only break in the still silent air of the early morning.
Clyde is seen holding Bonnie up in some photos. This is because around June 10th 1933, Bonnie, Clyde and W.D Jones got in a car accident near Wellington Texas. The crash is know by historians as the red river plunge or the Wellington incident. Clyde was speeding and didn’t see the detour sign that stated the bridge was out. Soon the car went off the bridge and crashed into the ravine below. Clyde and W.D were injured but able to get out of the car. Bonnie however was pinned under the car. At this point either the car burst into flames or the car battery was punctured and began to spray acid on Bonnie’s leg. Either way Clyde and W.D with the help of some locals (Steve Pritchard and Alonzo Cartwright) were able to get Bonnie out, her leg however was horribly burned. She was crippled for the rest of her life and either had to be helped by Clyde or limp/hop to get around.