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      #notdead

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{ semi hiatus obviously — we guessed it. particularly in these next three weeks when i will be doing my mock AS level exams, i won’t be very active. i need to get good grades and tumblr is distracting me so so so much. i will be on here, and when i find motivation, i will pop out a few starters etc. don’t forget about me, lovlies x }

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#foiled

Voldemort has to have a penis. How else would he fuck so many people over?

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»▲« —- ;                 The insidious smoke may rot the lungs,                                   but we'll help r̥̗͓̝̦̤̺o̴̬̤͓̣̺̦̺t̳̬̪̼͖ ͍̹̖̼͔͍yo̗͈̗̟̦ͅu͖̲̝̪̳͢r͈̹̠͢ͅ ̖̭̤̘̰̣̪s͕̼̹̝̖͈̖͠o̥̱̳ͅu̘̤͇l͏.

     ❝ You'll ruin your good looks.          The smoke ages you, you ought to know. ❞

✿ — - ;    ❝ Second-hand smoke kills, you know.

                                               Better get lost before you develop lung cancer. ❞

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I N T R O D U C T I O N                 So yesterday I hit 100 followers and considering this is a multimuse blog -                  and I’m quite aware that many people aren’t big fans of them - I never really                 expected to get this many, especially since I don’t really play any big muses                 that tend to garner people’s attention. So 100 is a pretty big deal, for this                 blog, and I’ve decided to post a follow forever.                                 I love all the blogs I follow and I believe that every mun brings something                 new to a muse. Just because someone who plays a muse is on here, and                 you’re not doesn’t mean they are better than you in any way. The people on                 this list are people I tend to interact with - ic or ooc - or I stalk from afar in                 my creepy white van.                                             Not really, I drive a red Camry. Can’t stalk in those very well.                 There is no particular order to these, because I’m too lazy to alphabetize                 but the ones who I interact with a lot out of character are the ones that are                 in italics. Some of these blogs have the same mun, and I am going to try to                 keep those all grouped together.                                               Try being the key word.                  Also only Hes and ‘Lecto are on the graphic because mun is lazy. THE L I S T                      thepadfootedprat // stagofpotter // themessermoony // gingerxgryffindor //                      bubble-gum-pink // saintweasle-y // iicarusx // solitarius—lupus //                       iignavusx // conectunturxlineis // deathofallromance // shatteredstiles //                      ludanarratives // bloodedgesuptooclose // puritatemsanguis // gwindle //                      excidiumx //  irrlichtern // preteniousdraco // puristmalfoy // acrimoni //                       fortisleaena // ill-holdhimoff // narcissustriandruss // welcomedhero //                      loyalcarrow // distanasxstars // lionric // vincietur // booksandfunnyfaces //                      foundingwit // wwolfish // xvictoire // 

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can’t you imagine it though?

ginny’s going through a questioning phase and her older brothers keep making sex jokes so she writes in her diary “what’s a clitoris?” and tom’s on the other side like “i am a dark lord but i have a duty to this poor girl”

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unforgivablerunes:

          The Carrows rarely had company without it being announced,           and usually she was aware of anything going on in the house.           To be anything else, would leave her out of the loop. And there           was nothing more that she hated than being out of the loop.            Icy blues eyed the entrance way for hints of their visitor and, to           her distaste, found none. She took quiet steps down the hall,           towards her father’s office. She hadn’t managed to even get to           it when the door opened and her brother stepped out, followed           by her father and their visitor. Her face sneered at her brother -           though she was well aware it was not his fault he was invited           to such things. The oldest, if only by mere minutes, and a male.           When her eyes fell on the visitor, though, her sneer disappeared.           Of course they wouldn’t make an announcement for him visiting.           That was the type of meeting that, as of late, were to be kept quiet.           Even families such as theirs - who were adamant about the cause           and followers of his movement - knew that it was best to be hush           hush about these meetings. Didn’t need any one at the ministry to           get the wrong idea.            She was polite, said hello, and gave a small bow of her head. She           knew her father was holding things for the Dark Lord - her brother           had mentioned it from a different meeting. Though they had just            graduated, her father immediately brought Amycus in on such things.           She, however, was expected to join her mother’s events and meetings.           The idea of which almost made her sick, almost as much as the            perfume that Walburga Black liked to wear.          Sneaking into his office, rather quickly, she went to the chest that          sat open on her father’s desk. She was nearly twice the witch her          brother was a wizard, but she knew that if she were to get the same          chance at becoming a Death Eater - what her father still referred to           as the Knights - she would have to have an in. Licking her lips, her          eyes searched through the trunk, careful not to touch anything, until          they found an old leather bound journal. Quickly, she reached in and          grabbed it, escaping from the office and up the steps into her bedroom.          Using her wand, she locked the door from her place at her desk -          just in case Amycus had planned on coming by to tell her about it.          She had other things to deal with.                     Opening it, she held her breath, only to find a blank page. Flipping           through it, that was all she found. Blank page after blank page. Biting          on her lip, she drummed fingers on the empty book. Certainly the Dark          Lord wouldn’t have placed it among the things her father was to look          after if it wasn’t important.           Grabbing a quill and inkwell from her top drawer, she dipped the           green feathered quill into the ink, before pressing it into the first blank          page.                                                               June 1st, 1975                            Now what good is an empty diary?                                                                Alecto Carrow 

               It is with a faint hum, not howl, that the unhallowed origins                 of tattered pages and the bound leather do stir; blood black                 energy: coarse, congealed, and long since dormant, reverberates                 through withered veins. L I F E, oh joyous life, with its abundance                 of mercy and humanity — - humanity so unwittingly naive, with                its finger-pads so tenderly kissing the threshold of the unknown.                Do you linger like a schoolchild, with apertures parted so, and silken                lashes laden with the virgin’s weight of faith? 

               Alas, child, no. Faith, pure and purged, is no more — - you will succumb                 your faith to the D E V I L  and all his intricacies and rancour, and when                you do, you will bask in all his worth.

               He can feel your vitality, thrumming and pulsating as the arteries seated                just below dainty skin of fingers skirmishing — - is that subjugation sensed                already by the mere flurry of hand to quill and quill to page? Or is it the                 speed to which tomb is placed so delicately, and unveiled so fastidiously                 to prying eyes? Oh, yes, he so readily devours the souls of those like you — -

                                                                              Pretty, pretty girl.

              Your soul is not yet tainted, my dear, yet it has potential: potential               to contort and twist and cave in ways so violently beyond even repair.               In keeping the still letters that pick black crevices on his surface, he now               knows your animus — it’s thick, and it’s gushing red, smearing the pure,                                                                            clean white pages with your vile cruor.

                                  No viler than { ours }, we concede.

               You may continue — yes, filling our pages with life, with vitality!                                                 Quick, quick, quick - !

               Before it’s too late: it’s too late. We have a taste of life, now we no                longer wish to lay lethargic and dust covered, lest we slip back into                 that comatose state.

                                                           You’ve saved us, thus we must now claim you.

               It is by no farce, or trick to the eye that ink so neatly carved into leaf                disperses like a thin vapour, leaving only the minute etching of letters                into us like yesterday’s news. In its place do letters fabricate, as if they                were an art: so precise and handsome, a steady hand’s work. Howbeit,                no hand is present? Oh, but it is, it is!

               He writes upon my pages still;

                      oh, clever Tom,                                              graceful To—— -                                                                   No, no, no! My Lord:

                                                                                  My Lord Voldemort: he scribes - !

                                                     ❛ Oh, plenty.                            Hello, Alecto. My name is Tom Riddle.           This diary may not serve to be so empty, after all.❜

[ dear diary ]

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#I CANNOT PAST TENSE THIS IS AN ISSUE

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starxdome:

⊰ℰ⊱   “An interesting title you hold. I am Elrond of Rivendell, young edan.”

»▲« —- ;               ❝ Rivendell? I pride myself in my knowledge                                    of many things, yet I do not seem to have                                    come across such a place. It's not in England,                                                      is it? ❞

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»▲« —-                Do not... disrespect me,                                you filthy creature. Spawn                                curiously alike to that of my                                own kin, mercy may not be                                                                  yielded.

                                                                           ❝ With your arrogance, shock                                                                                wouldn't arise should I hear not                                                                                many have kept the pleasure. ❞

     ❝I daresay, neither care for your name nor intend upon recollecting it.

                —Sherlock Holmes, the pleasure is all yours.❞

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»▲« —- ;                  Hostility shall not be forgotten;                                    though, to make amends is of                                    upmost importance. She may                                     tarnish her own name, but he                                    would not his own. An apolo-                                    -getic smile.

                                                      ❝ Pardon, Miss, but what I meant                                                           was, that the pleasure is all mine.                                                           It is a rare occurrence that I meet                                                            others from outside of the school.                                                           I apologise if I have offended you by                                                           means of formalities. ❞

             ❝I can assure you we’ve never met before,

                           sadly it wasn’t kept that way.❞ 

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»▲« —- ;                                 The reaction Tom feeds the other back is a                                                   mere tilt of head, raven crown fluttering to the                                                   side, and dark brow quirking up. Though, this                                                   exchange is lacking in fascination, thus it is                                                   swiftly supplied by feigned interest; it is not                                                    rare that he is graced with mere party tricks.

      The Head Boy remains stoic.

                 ❝ You are correct, both times.                      I presume you are enjoying                      your studies? Arithmancy is                      quite the compelling subject -- testing too. ❞

              [ Something Tells Aston he should stop talking.                 He’s never quite been one good at small talk.                 Not like he nor the other student have the time.                 Particularly.                                                      ]

                                                                          “Aston Vickers, yes.                                                                            Et vous êtes Tom Riddle?                                                        I’ve seen you in my Arithmancy course,                                                                                              Or so I believe.”

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»▲«  —- ;             ❝ I daresay, we've yet to be acquainted.

                                                Tom Riddle -- I'm certain it is a pleasure. ❞

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lex--exsequor:

        “Oh yes, I wholeheartedly agree.            This weather will not let up at all.            Fortunately, yes, we have the fires,                           burning in all their glory,                          serving their purpose well.”

»▲« —- ;             Tom cares not for the idle chat that he participates in;                               the banal topic of weather would last no more than a                               few minutes before they must part ways.

                                                     ❝ I am sure. Vickers, is it not? ❞

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»▲« — - ;            ❝ A cold one. I praise the warmth of the fire,                                 for the walls of Hogwarts, thick as they are,                                 fail to serve in keeping the weather out. ❞              

+ acrimoni

          “Good morning.”

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#whispers hello tom riddle#i'm scREAMING

hi

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“Mr. Riddle was a quiet, albeit brilliant boy, committed to becoming a first rate wizard. Not unlike many I have taught. Not unlike yourself. If there was a monster, it was buried deep within." - Horace Slughorn