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the name is marla and i am should really get out of my dash more and actually visit blogs like



i like making screencap sets. open for Doctor Who | Death Note | Broadchurch | Orphan Black | AHS | Pan-Am | Hannibal | Reign | mmfd | Sherlock season 3 requests

20Oct ♥ 185 notes ● via source
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Re: Swearing in America We don't have the most variation in our swearing, whereas a lot of other languages have swears that capture more levels of intensity that just doesn't translate. The interesting thing about "fuck" though is it is just so flexible (in american dialects). You can use it as nearly every part of speech. As a result, however, we don't use much else. As a reader from America, the use of swears in American Gods sounded very natural to me. -A linguistics major

neil-gaiman:

kaerya:

neil-gaiman:

I agree. The glory of fuck is all the things you can do with it and all the things it can do. It’s an unbefuckinglievably useful swear word (used just there as an expletive infixation). 

Except that “unbefuckinglievably” is actually is actually a really unusual form of that particular infix—to such an extent, that most English speakers would think it was wrong if they heard it said out loud.  The version usually heard is “unfuckingbelievably.”  There are a bunch of theories why this is (morpheme boundaries, prosody, stress patterns), but whatever rule it follows does seem to actually be pretty strict.

Seriously.  Say the first out loud.  It just doesn’t work.

Well, lots of people use it. Here are the Wiktionary citations for Unbefuckinglievable and its variants. 

Fuck, I love the internet sometimes. Goodnight.

20Oct ♥ 2,163 notes ● via source
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antoinetripletts:

when a piece of dialogue just appears in your head out of nowhere

and you don’t even know who the characters are

but they’re dialoguing and they’re upset or angry and they’re saying things and perhaps there’s been some deceit or misunderstanding and it’s all very passionate

and they’re so so alive

and you’re like

who are you people

20Oct ♥ 52,521 notes ● via source
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cute gender neutral dating terms for the signs

nanamukuro:

Aries: dirt pile

Taurus: memer

Gemini: nerdlord

Cancer: ANGRY nerdlord

Leo: feisty young’n

Virgo: strategically draped piece of fabric

Libra: anime trash

Scorpio: le hawt nb yaoiz partner

Sagittarius: cutie patoot but also NEEEEEEEEERD

Capricorn: the coolest cat around

Aquarius: emotional wreck but MY emotional wreck

Pisces: avril lavigne fan

20Oct ♥ 44,478 notes ● via source
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laughhard:

I live in a conservative/unfunny town, so this type of thing is almost unheard of

laughhard:

I live in a conservative/unfunny town, so this type of thing is almost unheard of

20Oct ♥ 105,425 notes ● via source
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the11supernovas:

oh you’re watching pacific rim? i love that movie, the way they just [clenches fist] rim all of the pacific

20Oct ♥ 6,268 notes ● via source
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netlfix:

Not really feelin this whole school college work until I die thing

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cocastiel:

mellro:

edwardspoonhands:

karenhallion:

miss-nobody13:

itsprongs:

Oh god guys. JK Rowling is a genius, and so is this person.

the thing I love about this fandom is that there are 7 books and 8 movies to observe. so every once in a while some blessed soul finds a piece of information that makes all the magic resurface again

Mind. Blown. 

Oh Lord…it’s a metaphor too. It’s symbolic of Neville holding on to his past, the horrors of what happened to his parents, of being a passive vessel for that atrocity. As if the terrible thing kept happening and would never stop happening. 
When he moves forward and becomes part of his own story instead of the story of his past, his strength surges. 



TEAM NEVILLE FOR LIFE

It also shows that if you give a kid the wrong tool, he may be a genius but he’s never going to be able to build something with it.

cocastiel:

mellro:

edwardspoonhands:

karenhallion:

miss-nobody13:

itsprongs:

Oh god guys. JK Rowling is a genius, and so is this person.

the thing I love about this fandom is that there are 7 books and 8 movies to observe. so every once in a while some blessed soul finds a piece of information that makes all the magic resurface again

Mind. Blown. 

Oh Lord…it’s a metaphor too. It’s symbolic of Neville holding on to his past, the horrors of what happened to his parents, of being a passive vessel for that atrocity. As if the terrible thing kept happening and would never stop happening. 

When he moves forward and becomes part of his own story instead of the story of his past, his strength surges. 

TEAM NEVILLE FOR LIFE

It also shows that if you give a kid the wrong tool, he may be a genius but he’s never going to be able to build something with it.

20Oct ♥ 263,541 notes ● via source
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I Ship It (2014)
20Oct ♥ 1,701 notes ● via source
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wizardhistory:

September 1980

“That is the wizard who is to join our ranks? Surely there must be some mistake!”
Bellatrix Lestrange was seated at the meeting table, waiting for the Dark Lord to make his entrance. This particular meeting marked the induction of a new member of Lord Voldemort’s inner circle, an honour bestowed upon only a small percentage of Death Eaters.
“The Dark Lord makes no mistakes, Bellatrix,” her husband replied wearily, drumming his fingers against the wood grain.
“Of course He doesn’t, Rodolphus! But this boy– he hardly looks like the type of wizard worthy of the Dark Mark. Do you really think he’s comparable to us? He’s a boy, a mere child!”
“His name is Barty and he is the son of that idiot Crouch, Head of the Department of Magical Law,” Rodolphus sighed, “Do you think He would choose someone who did not meet His qualifications? At the very least, the boy has connections to the Ministry, which could prove vital in the Dark Lord’s rise to power.”
“He looks weak,” Bellatrix mumbled, “hardly the type who could handle what we do! Why I bet– ow!”
Rodolphus elbowed his wife in the ribs. “Oh do shut up, Bella. It’s nearly time for the meeting to start, and I’ve heard quite enough of your jealous babbling.”
“JEALOUS?” Bellatrix stood abruptly, “Me? Jealous?! I am His favourite! I- I–”
“Are you finished, Bellatrix?”
In the doorway stood Lord Voldemort, his cold stare boring holes into her. 
“My– my Lord,” Bellatrix bowed her head in a mix of shame and respect, acknowledging his presence. “My Lord.” “My Lord.” “My Lord!” The rest of the Death Eaters followed in suit.
“Sit, my friends. We have much to discuss.”
—————————————————————————-
“On to the next order of business,” Voldemort’s voice echoed through the large room, his tone unreadable and unnerving all at the same time. “I am sure by now you have all noticed an unfamiliar face amongst you,” he glared at Bellatrix, who quickly turned her gaze to her lap. “This is Mr. Bartemius Crouch Jr. and I have chosen him as an addition to my inner circle. I trust you will be accommodating.”
All eyes shifted to young man sat next to Regulus Black. His straw blonde hair looked out of place in a sea of darkness, and although on the surface he tried his very best to appear strong and at ease, his eyes apprehensively flitted across the room from Death Eater to Death Eater. He gulped, and Bellatrix swore she saw his already alabaster skin pale to a sickly shade of white.
“Stand,” Voldemort commanded, and Barty stood.
The Dark Lord motioned for the boy to come forward. Barty pushed his chair in and made his way to the head of the table where Voldemort sat rigidly in high backed cathedra. He did not get far before his inattentiveness to his pathway caused him to trip over his own feet. He stumbled a bit before recovering, and quickened his pace until he reached Voldemort’s chair across the room. Bellatrix snickered underneath her breath, eliciting a disapproving look from her husband.
Voldemort stood: “Your left arm.”
Barty pulled his robes up, exposing his forearm, which shook violently as he held it out in front of him. Voldemort grabbed him by the wrist.
“By accepting this Mark, you will also accept the duties that accompany it. You will serve me. You will kill for me. And if the time comes where it may occur, you will die for me, gladly. I am your Master. Do you promise to uphold these terms?”
“I- I promise” Barty murmured. Voldemort stared at him, his expression unreadable. Barty cleared his throat, “I promise,” he said again, only this time with much more force and assurance.
Voldemort pressed the tip of his wand to Barty’s left forearm. At first, he felt only a small burning sensation; then, in a sudden rush, excruciating pain shot through his skin. He flinched, but did not cry.
“Well done,” the Dark Lord spoke, removing his wand from Barty’s skin. In its wake lay a black skull accompanied by a snake protruding from its mouth, the symbol of the his loyalty to his new master. “I require someone to train you, so that you may serve me to the best of your ability,” Voldemort turned back towards his subjects. He continued, “And I can think of no better person to train such a person than you, Bellatrix.”
Bellatrix’s gaze shot up, her brow furrowed. “My Lord?”
“He shall accompany you to wherever I see fit. You will teach him all you know. I require this of you. Do you understand?”
“Yes, my Lord! Of course, my Lord,” Bellatrix’s voice had gone pitchy in disbelief and disgust at the mere thought of training someone so beneath her, but she would not dare defy her master’s orders.
“Wonderful,” he replied, “you may be seated, Crouch.”
Barty made his way back to his chair, the Dark Mark dancing on his raw skin. For the first time in his life, he was someone of importance– he would not let the Dark Lord down.

Ms. P. Merryweather, 20 October, 2014. 

wizardhistory:

September 1980

That is the wizard who is to join our ranks? Surely there must be some mistake!”

Bellatrix Lestrange was seated at the meeting table, waiting for the Dark Lord to make his entrance. This particular meeting marked the induction of a new member of Lord Voldemort’s inner circle, an honour bestowed upon only a small percentage of Death Eaters.

“The Dark Lord makes no mistakes, Bellatrix,” her husband replied wearily, drumming his fingers against the wood grain.

“Of course He doesn’t, Rodolphus! But this boy– he hardly looks like the type of wizard worthy of the Dark Mark. Do you really think he’s comparable to us? He’s a boy, a mere child!”

“His name is Barty and he is the son of that idiot Crouch, Head of the Department of Magical Law,” Rodolphus sighed, “Do you think He would choose someone who did not meet His qualifications? At the very least, the boy has connections to the Ministry, which could prove vital in the Dark Lord’s rise to power.”

“He looks weak,” Bellatrix mumbled, “hardly the type who could handle what we do! Why I bet– ow!”

Rodolphus elbowed his wife in the ribs. “Oh do shut up, Bella. It’s nearly time for the meeting to start, and I’ve heard quite enough of your jealous babbling.”

JEALOUS?” Bellatrix stood abruptly, “Me? Jealous?! I am His favourite! I- I–”

“Are you finished, Bellatrix?”

In the doorway stood Lord Voldemort, his cold stare boring holes into her. 

“My– my Lord,” Bellatrix bowed her head in a mix of shame and respect, acknowledging his presence. “My Lord.” “My Lord.” “My Lord!” The rest of the Death Eaters followed in suit.

“Sit, my friends. We have much to discuss.”

—————————————————————————-

“On to the next order of business,” Voldemort’s voice echoed through the large room, his tone unreadable and unnerving all at the same time. “I am sure by now you have all noticed an unfamiliar face amongst you,” he glared at Bellatrix, who quickly turned her gaze to her lap. “This is Mr. Bartemius Crouch Jr. and I have chosen him as an addition to my inner circle. I trust you will be accommodating.”

All eyes shifted to young man sat next to Regulus Black. His straw blonde hair looked out of place in a sea of darkness, and although on the surface he tried his very best to appear strong and at ease, his eyes apprehensively flitted across the room from Death Eater to Death Eater. He gulped, and Bellatrix swore she saw his already alabaster skin pale to a sickly shade of white.

“Stand,” Voldemort commanded, and Barty stood.

The Dark Lord motioned for the boy to come forward. Barty pushed his chair in and made his way to the head of the table where Voldemort sat rigidly in high backed cathedra. He did not get far before his inattentiveness to his pathway caused him to trip over his own feet. He stumbled a bit before recovering, and quickened his pace until he reached Voldemort’s chair across the room. Bellatrix snickered underneath her breath, eliciting a disapproving look from her husband.

Voldemort stood: “Your left arm.”

Barty pulled his robes up, exposing his forearm, which shook violently as he held it out in front of him. Voldemort grabbed him by the wrist.

“By accepting this Mark, you will also accept the duties that accompany it. You will serve me. You will kill for me. And if the time comes where it may occur, you will die for me, gladly. I am your Master. Do you promise to uphold these terms?”

“I- I promise” Barty murmured. Voldemort stared at him, his expression unreadable. Barty cleared his throat, “I promise,” he said again, only this time with much more force and assurance.

Voldemort pressed the tip of his wand to Barty’s left forearm. At first, he felt only a small burning sensation; then, in a sudden rush, excruciating pain shot through his skin. He flinched, but did not cry.

“Well done,” the Dark Lord spoke, removing his wand from Barty’s skin. In its wake lay a black skull accompanied by a snake protruding from its mouth, the symbol of the his loyalty to his new master. “I require someone to train you, so that you may serve me to the best of your ability,” Voldemort turned back towards his subjects. He continued, “And I can think of no better person to train such a person than you, Bellatrix.”

Bellatrix’s gaze shot up, her brow furrowed. “My Lord?”

“He shall accompany you to wherever I see fit. You will teach him all you know. I require this of you. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my Lord! Of course, my Lord,” Bellatrix’s voice had gone pitchy in disbelief and disgust at the mere thought of training someone so beneath her, but she would not dare defy her master’s orders.

“Wonderful,” he replied, “you may be seated, Crouch.”

Barty made his way back to his chair, the Dark Mark dancing on his raw skin. For the first time in his life, he was someone of importance– he would not let the Dark Lord down.

Ms. P. Merryweather, 20 October, 2014. 

20Oct ♥ 72 notes ● via source
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