I tend to lose myself in fantasy worlds created by someone else. I vid to vent, and dream of going to Paris.

Oh.. and i also love superheros.

Art blog (under construction): http://sketchhlines.tumblr.com/

"I’m still your Zelda."

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roricakes:

GUESS WHO MADE A SECOND ATTEMPT. I’m really proud of how this one came out. Did a lot of tweaking and I can see where he still needs some works, BUT WHATEVA.

do not repost | do not remove credit

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#bby 


officialbrostrider:

i went through the tags and here are a couple of my favorites

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Anonymous: What about Lupin? Lupin, who lost everything the night James and Lily died, who forgave Sirius, who died in battle?


ink-splotch:

Lupin, who shaped himself as a caretaker, who had rage and shame running under his skin, but held his hands out, palms open and out, who spoke gently to frightened children.

Lupin, who was left with no one to look after but himself. Sirius had been the wildness Lupin wouldn’t allow himself to be, James the noble arrogance he couldn’t afford, Peter the sharp teeth.

Remus and Lily both knew about falling in love with big hearts, rough hands, and potential, about loving these brave boys who had so much growing up to do.

Lupin, who got furious about it all sometimes—furious at Sirius for his betrayal, at Peter for his stupid bravery (later: those blames switched), but at Lily, too, at James, for dying, for leaving him here alone. Brave, brave children, that’s what they were. Lupin grew older, got wearier, and knew in every aching bone that they were too young to die.

When Harry met the ghosts of his parents and the Marauders in the Forbidden Forest, on his way to his own willing death, they were almost the same age.

Harry stood before his ghosts and they could see eye to eye without anyone stooping down. He had his father’s hair and his mother’s bright eyes and they all had this war heavy on their shoulders.

He had come so far, so well, so bravely. He had so far to go. It broke Lupin’s unbeating heart. 

Lupin lived his whole life blindingly aware of his scars—the way the ones on his face made people stare, the way they were the handwriting of his curse, the way the ones on his heart pinched and pulled if he didn’t move carefully.

Lupin was as patched as his clothes, as battered as his luggage. The world tore him apart—at four, leaving clawed scars and a curse in his veins; every full moon, his very body tearing him apart and a making a monster in his image; the moment, repeated over and over, when realization brimmed in another person’s eyes and he was booted out of a job, a lodging, a friendship, a life; every sneer in their eyes, every lowered voice and shudder.

The world tore him apart and he put himself back together.

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mooncleric:

milesmorale:

Infamous 3rd year “My father will hear about this” Draco refusing to participate in Lupin’s class on boggarts because the whole thing is ridiculous but when it’s his turn he walks up to the wardrobe and Lucius Malfoy steps out

THIS UPSETS ME

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#oh 


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gorillazblog:

im-not-home-now:

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This is my favorite thing on the universe.

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"STINGY…"

"STINGY…"



Reigisa /ep 3 (ノ◕ヮ◕)ノ*:・゚✧