nah i cant

3

Inspired by Shakespeare’s Hamlet :)

2

dont adopt him he’s gonna destroy your clothes… boi are you even listening

Has this been done yet
  • Levi: *Takes jacket off showing a "Eren Jaeger fanclub president" T-shirt.*
  • Mikasa: *Comes up to him angrily, showing a "Eren Jaeger fanclub founder" T-shirt.*

before I start talking, Congratulation anon! first person to get blocked in this blog! woooo-hooo, what an Honor isn’t it?

Now Let me answer you, because tumblr block only work so you didn’t disturb me again but you may be a nosy or hypocrite person so you’ll check this blog to see if I answering or not, or may be you still check to enjoy the blog after you sending hates, *shrugs* who knows?

Keep reading

2

Send me something and I’ll doodle it!

Here’s a dating tip: If you’re waiting for your date to arrive, and you’re getting nervous, just… eat their flowers…!! Just suck all of the color out of them trust me I’m a professional-

2

So many things hung in the balance, and he couldn’t even protect the one thing that had been keeping him going the entire time.

One of the main traits I had picked for Oli when defining his character was his devoutness to Dalish tradition and his clan. While the leadership aspects of being Inquisitor come naturally to him as he’s been conditioned to eventually assume the role as Clan Lavellan’s keeper, he doesn’t necessarily enjoy being in the Inquisition. While saving the world is all fine and dandy, really getting back home is his end goal. 

So naturally, I had to kill off the clan or realistically he would have fucked off before even getting close to Trespasser.

2

I miss this summer with you.

i went into dragon age real strong and then i came out angry about mage rights and crying about feathery apostates

  • <p> <b>friend:</b> what u been up to this weekend<p/><b>me:</b> readin<p/><b>friend:</b> readin what?<p/><b>me, (side eyeing a 157k fic):</b> ummm<p/></p>
Scar Tissue


Draco had learned a lot from the Dark Lord.

He’d learned how to think quickly and critically—how to isolate alternative exits and easily accessible windows immediately upon entering a new room, how to evaluate escape routes and measure the weight of excuses, omissions, denials and exaggerations and lies.

Similarly, he’d learned how to strategize; how to infiltrate an enemy stronghold and capitalize on fear, disorganization, surprise—how to plot a successful murder, too, even if he hadn’t quite had the stomach to finish the job.

The Dark Lord had been incredibly generous with his knowledge.

He’d taught Draco how to hide in the shadows of his own house, how to deflect attention and, perhaps more importantly, how to steal attention, how to keep that narrow, endlessly curious crimson gaze away from his mother and firmly on himself.

He’d taught Draco how to differentiate between what was nice and what was necessary, and he’d taught Draco how to correctly identify the appropriate times in which to utilize the Unforgivable curses; because it wasn’t about not getting caught, no, that was child’s play—adequate advice for the Draco who’d been young and stupid and frozen, maybe, desperate to fix what he’d broken but unable to rationalize why; the Draco who’d been stripped raw, flayed to the bone, left to haunt the roof of the Hogwarts astronomy tower like the dried-out husk of a long-shed snakeskin.

And Draco, he had adapted since then, he’d had to, had felt the shift in his temperament—in his demeanor—in his veins, and he had relished it, absolutely and resolutely—and it was entirely thanks to the Dark Lord.

For example—

Draco now knew how to properly barricade a door, how to pretend—how to believe, truly believe, that was the trick—that a solid mahogany chest of drawers could protect him from the things that went bump and bang and boom in the middle of the night.

He knew how to avoid a mirror and block out reality and grit his teeth against the sudden, blinding pain of having to listen to Hermione Granger be tortured on his sitting room floor—and hadn’t that been a particularly illuminating lesson in humility, his mother’s fingernails digging deep and sharp and hard into the bend of his elbow as if she’d understood that this was going to be it, this was going to be the thing, the moment, that finally shattered his composure and attacked what remained of his conscience with all the efficacy of an ice pick against a glacier—because in all the years that he’d been acquainted with her, Hermione Granger had been equal parts annoying and infuriating and captivating, unfairly so, and as much as he’d loathed her—sometimes, only ever sometimes—he could not watch that, could not watch the tears streak her face and the breath get trapped in her throat—

But he knew better than to speak up.

The Dark Lord had made sure of that.

He’d made sure that Draco knew how to stay quiet; knew how to keep his head down and his mouth shut and his screams—thick like honey in the quivering cavern of his lungs, thick like Granger’s blood as it seeped into and around and across his mother’s priceless antique rugs—locked tight inside, always, always, always inside—right where they belonged.

And really—

Really, the Dark Lord had been an excellent teacher.


Signs as internet slang/terms

Aries: Trolling

Taurus: Om nom nom

Gemini: Turn up

Cancer: Bae

Leo: I can’t even

Virgo: Turnt

Libra: Killin’ it

Scorpio: Swerve

Sagittarius: Salty

Capricorn: Yasss

Aquarius: Fam

Pisces: Or nah…