Reblog this if these aren’t cutest little cutesters you ever saw.

Product Placement
tumblr dot com
One Nice Bug Per Day

★
Claire Keane
Three Goblin Art

Love Begins

⁂

JVL
Xuebing Du
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH

Origami Around
NASA
Mike Driver
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
Not today Justin
Game of Thrones Daily
art blog(derogatory)
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
seen from Canada

seen from Singapore

seen from United States

seen from India

seen from United States

seen from Philippines
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from Australia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Brazil
@shakespearehelps
Reblog this if these aren’t cutest little cutesters you ever saw.
Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again + songs
https://www.instagram.com/p/Ba6doFUntxn/
Dreams of roses | cupofherbaltea
I have lived many ages of men, Steven. Centuries without end. I have seen many great men, and known countless honors. But the greatest honor of this ancient and tired soul has been the privilege of fighting beside you, and calling you my friend.
— Thor v3 #11 (2008)
Harry for Rolling Stone
♚ THE INTERMISSION OF PEACE HAS ENDED, THE STAGE HAS BEEN SWEPT CLEAN… ♚
… and we once again stride into the town of fair Verona, where we lay our scene. They’ve ruled the city for centuries. The ruthless kings and queens of a coveted kingdom, the MONTAGUES and CAPULETS hail from their respective sides of town with jewel-laden fists and gold chalices overflowing with the fruits of labor best carried out in the dark. Their two empires, built on blood and honor and dripping with opulence, have coexisted in relative peace as fragile as the crystal glasses they sip from.
Until now.
♚ WHERE CIVIL BLOOD MAKES CIVIL HANDS UNCLEAN…♚
The city held its breath at the sound of a GUNSHOT, fateful and piercing through the night. His body was found in the waning light of a waking sun, the river having delivered it to the shores of the Montague dominion. In this instance, DAMIANO MONTAGUE descended into madness – for his right hand had been cut off. So he raged into the night, moaning and weeping at the loss of a man he knew as FAMILY, at the reminder that even gods can fall from their heavens.
So, who could damn him for his need for retribution?
The first action was impulsive, fueled by rage and hurt. It was a MASSACRE, the Capulets lounging and drinking, revelling in the night only to find that it would be their last. COSIMO CAPULET comforted too many grieving kinsmen that laid their sorrows before God. He attended too many funerals where he murmured that they rest in peace. Men and women of both families fell like dominoes in the weeks following, and the retaliation killing hasn’t stopped since.
The city is at WAR,
and blood will have blood.
♚ THESE VIOLENT DELIGHTS HAVE VIOLENT ENDS ♚
DIVERONA is a returning biography roleplay based on the works of William Shakespeare – but with a twist. After a brief intermission, the curtains have been lifted and the actors have taken their positions. But the scripts they are reading from are wholly new. With the return of the roleplay comes the promise of d e c a d e n c e, DARKNESS, and deified characters who walk among the people of Verona, Italy like gods.
If you are curious about which CAST MEMBERS you will be seeing first, REBLOG this post for a comprehensive schedule. Otherwise, feel free to click any of the three links below.
MAIN - TALK TAG - CAST LIST
– the past is a foreign country.
“they do things differently there.”
who: orpheus ahulani; his brother hermes; his parents. when: the past; the present. where: verona. triggers: violence; mentions of death; blood.
One day there will be an argument in a quiet town square.
There will be two men present, two brothers. They will be completely different. They will be the best of friends.
One of them will be involved in the argument. The other will drink beer nearby, not watching because he will think that it is safe. He will have made the same assumption before, and on most days he will have been right. This time, he will be wrong. This will cost him dearly.
One of them will fall to the ground, and the well of red in his throat will gurgle every time he takes a breath. The other will be on his knees beside him, palms wrapped around the deluge. His hands are big, but they will seem too small.
Eventually, the well will dry.
The other one, the one who is not drained of crimson, the one who is a great thief with a cold heart and a fondness for shadow, will go into chrysalis, will burn. Out of his husk will rise a beast with a gaping maw and claws that will always slice at the jugular. Out of the flame will walk a demon whose greatest talent is tearing out hearts and stamping on them till they burst. As he rises to his feet in the piazza, reborn, he will smear his bloodied hands across his face and know what it means to taste failure.
He will not taste it again.
But this is not that story, not yet. This is the story of everything that comes before, and some things that come after.
Keep reading
If you ever find yourself unable to write interesting characters
just use whose line is it anyway identities
{♔ – TREVANTE RHODES GIF PACK
Under the cut there are exactly #230 gifs of actor, TREVANTE RHODES in his role as Chiron in the movie Moonlight. I made this pack as part of my Black History Month special, wherein I’ll post one pack a week. They are what I deem to be roleplayable. Each gif was created from scratch by myself. Please do not take or edit/crop them without credit (or asking me first) or add them to any gif hunts. Each gif is 250x188. Although because of sizing issues a lot of them aren’t in the best quality, I apologise for that. Furthermore, some gifs may be similar but none of them are the same. Please like/reblog if you use them or you’re a rph.
tw: food, alcohol, smoking, fire
Keep reading
i. there’s blood on your hands, infant. it’s your mother’s blood, her life and the life she gave to you. she brought you into this world, tried to bring you out of darkness and into light… except it didn’t really work, did it? because the light hardly affected you, little child, with your whirlpool eyes and that soul that was already far too dark. she could never have imagined, your mother, that her lamb’s blood would have raised a wolf. ii. there’s blood on your hands, boy. it’s your own blood, from where you’ve fallen and scraped your knee. get up, your father tells you, and his voice isn’t kind or gentle but you understand, know that big boys don’t cry. you’re only seven but you know already. you stopped crying a while ago. iii. there’s blood on your hands, young man. it’s your brother’s blood, you watch it pour between your fingers like river water stained an awful crimson, and amidst the rage that burns hot and white you can taste retribution on your tongue. (it tastes bitter-sweet, like you’d imagined, honey and vinegar.) it’s a waste, this, a life thrown away, because he was a happy boy. you don’t believe in happiness, not for a long time, but he did, and that’s important, somehow. maybe you didn’t love him properly, not like the story-books say you should, but you’ll avenge him. iv. there’s blood on your hands, phoenix. it’s a stranger’s blood, blood you’ve spilt, blood that runs down, down, down your arms and hands down past your feet down onto the too-expensive carpet you’re treading scarlet footprints into. you said you would avenge him, them, all of them, and here you are, and it isn’t really clear in the half-light which is sharper: your knife or the grin on your face. they thought fire would kill you. they were wrong, and when you rose from the flames you had been made anew. fire becomes you, now, it’s a weapon, not an enemy, and burning a mansion to the ground becomes so simple, the easiest thing in the world. you should feel some guilt, by rights, but your heart isn’t like other hearts, it’s cold and cruel and all things burn, in the end, so why waste a moment’s thought on the things you’ve razed to the ground. all things burn, in the end. (except you, perhaps; you have become the thing that burns others.) v. there’s blood on your hands, king. it’s your own blood again, but you haven’t fallen over this time. this time you’re fighting, and there’s a battered form in the dust in front of you, and you’ve proven a point to anyone who doubted you. so what if they got a lucky hit, scratched your face with the shards of a bottle? the blood you’re wiping away from your forehead is like armour, chainmail. your followers have always respected you, but now they’re afraid of you, too. you look at the cut over your eye in the mirror afterwards, and there’s blood on your lips when you smile. did that powerful man know what he was getting himself into, when he signed a pact with the devil’s right hand? no- not right hand- the devil himself. (it’s a nickname others have given you when they whisper about you in the dark and it seems fitting.) perhaps not, you think. king cap looked to buy a fighting dog, paid for a hellhound. vi. there’s blood on your hands, lover. it’s their blood, this time, the blood of someone who, despite your marble-steel exterior, means a lot to you. you’re bandaging their wounds - they don’t need you to - because, despite yourself, you have to make sure that they’re safe. you have to have them near you, always, you may go your separate ways often enough but there will always be a red thread tying your fingers together. (a passing traveller told you that myth, once. you don’t believe in fate but it seemed apt, somehow.) you find yourself looking for their face in crowded rooms, waiting, for the moment that they’ll sidle up to you and you’ll hear their voice, whispering in your ear, the slow lapping of waves on the sea shore. it’s not love, not at all, (that would be childish) but something altogether more prosaic. need, perhaps. vii. there will be blood on your hands, old man. it will be the world’s blood, when you’ve pulled its innards out and scraped all you can get from deep within, when you hold its bloodied heart beating in your hands. your parents taught you ambition but they never could have imagined the fire of hunger they lit in your soul. the best is not enough. you want it all, want the world, your world, to cower at your feet, want all those who wrote you off as nothing more than vermin to know that they were right. you are vermin, and you wear the slur with pride. more fool them, you’ll think, when the carcass of the world lies bloody at your feet. they forgot that vermin have the power to destroy.
the seven ages of orpheus ahulani; told through bloodshed and darkness and a little too much pain. (a.m.p.)
What was it like when you heard your name and you made your way up to that stage, inside?
Moonlight won Best Picture at the 89th Annual Academy Awards, on February 26, 2017