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8

H I D D L E S W E E K — F A V O R I T E  Q U O T E

(AKA The quote that changed my life) There are a lot of people in this world who are afraid of caring. Or afraid of showing that they care because it’s uncool. It’s uncool to have passion. It’s so much easier to lose when you’ve shown everyone how much you don’t care if you win or lose. It’s much harder to lose when you show that you care. But you’ll never win, unless you also stand to lose. Basically, I’ve said it before; don’t be afraid of your passion. Like, just give it free reign, and be honest, and work hard, and it will all turn out just fine.

No one could be as hip and cool as the 

✧・゚: *✧・゚:* *:・゚✧*:・゚✧  P O W E R   S Q U A D ✧・゚: *✧・゚:* *:・゚✧*:・゚

W I S D O M

{— shadowhunter essentials gif hunt —}

Under the cut, you will find #151 miscellaneous gifs associated with the half-human, half-angel Shadowhunters race. This gif hunt includes gifs of their general appearance, weapons, runes, fighting gifs, etc. Some gifs are faceless, though not all of them. I apologize for any possible repeats. None of these gifs are mine but feel free to message me if you want your gifs to be removed. I will make more of these hunts if you guys appreciate them. Please like and/or reblog if you found this useful!

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anonymous asked:

"How do you feel about Tia Dalma?"

meme reference  ¬

alias.

she was known by many names - though only one made his blood boil. made his chest tense, pain erupt from behind his ribs. bars. prison. at the time, tearing out his own heart had seemed right. genius. if genius could be compared to a man with only one arm and having it cut off because there was an itch he could never scratch. cutting it off // tearing it out, it was the only way to stop the itch // pain for good.

      hindsight questions whether it truly did any good, however.

sensible doubt, except what if’s were to be cast away, for these memories were repressed and digging them up could disturb ghouls at rest.

did anything in his head ever genuinely rest ?

tia dalma // calypso // the love of his life.

a heathen god. once she had been nothing more, sentient being of the seas - her touch so similar to waves that caressed and then left. deceit. the waves had called to him, lured him further into the water until he was stranded. he’d run out of land and the only safe place was within the arms of her.

an eye twitches, desperate to not make the mistake of allowing his salted sorrows sliver out and down his cheek once more. feelings. emotions. they were supposed to be gone, as was she. rid of it all, he was supposed to feel immortal. to be immortal and yet, he felt as though he had already been lost.

he hated her.

tia dalma, oh how the–
                                  the

still after all this time, after all the anguish that had pinned him, he could not bring himself to speak cruelly of her. betrayed and alone she had broken him. 

and he could feel much rage.

much despair.

he could continue to bear the weight of his agony until he felt his bones crushing and skin splitting - mind screaming and anger ripping through him. he could tear out his heart again if it was possible and still find it impossible to vilify her name. 

     because he did not hate her.

he hated her, but he did not hate her.

complication.

he’d once asked for the murder of her. killed in cold-blood.

though he wanted nothing more than to feel her warmth against him. weak. he was so weak for her, every wall could be knocked down - obliterated - by a single touch. one. a breath, a kiss, a graze of a finger. to control Jones you required his heart but calypso – tia – she only needed herself, for in word, he had already bestowed his beating pulse upon her.

regrettably. had it been ??

he did not know.
  did not understand.

he just wanted to feel numb. no. he wanted to never feel anything. cut feel out of the equation - just as he had his heart. it was a sense he did not need as it only brought hurt. torture. misery beyond the realms of contemplation.

in a sick, twisted way she had captivated him. but was he capable of wishing, he would wish for nothing more nor less. trapped in a cycle of confusion, she was all he knew for comfort.

she had tormented him. betrayed him. abandoned him. used him. she had made a mockery out of him. like clay, moulded him into her tool. she had cursed him in this loop of eternal suffering with all trust and security slaughtered by mere bare hands.

        and yet, he still loved her.