#twtstarter

[recklessmarly-blog]

in-class note // marlene + open sixth year

Okay, okay! You can stop kicking my chair now—what's up?

[recklessmarly-blog]

Common Room Dramatics // Marlene + Open Gryffindor

"I told you—Herbology is the subject of evil! I don't know if I can take another period of death by sentient vines."

[the-first-dead-blog]

"What do you want, then?"

[fetchinglydrapedanna]

[sighs] I don't like the feeling of being so far away from home.

[fetchinglydrapedanna]

I miss the hot chocolate from Arendelle...

[spiddypeter]

With this blizzard going on I suppose I have to resort back to this website if I want to keep communications with others going. It's been awhile though, how is everyone?

[gothamsxknight]

“Fuck.”

Like his day just couldn’t possibly get worse after having to indulge Mrs. Gregory’s daughter in a banal conversation about her marriage plans and him pretending to ignore her not so subtle hinting for the sake of good conduct. The expletive escaped him without much thought, frustration rarely expressed except in moments of absolute solitude. He supposed being stuck in the middle of nowhere during a horrendous blizzard should account for his monthly quota of weakness. Just enough for him to compose himself again and come up with the most sensible plan that would not end up with him as a frozen popsicle stick or losing any limbs to frostbite.

His gloved hands curled tighter around the steering wheel as his eyes scanned the dashboard, assessing the damage before pulling out the keys. The batteries were dead – his Koenigsegg was more than useless at this point. A sigh escaped him, more resigned than frustrated now, as he picked up his coat from the backseat and opened the door, wrapping the thick wool clothing around his shoulder as he looked around; squinting his eyes through the snow fall for any familiar landmark. It slowly dawned on him that he might have made a wrong turn because nothing was familiar, most of the buildings looked similar to each other blanketed by snow. Shrugging into his jacket and shoving his hands into the pockets to keep him warm, he trudged through the snow towards the buildings with signs of life visible through their window.

Popping his collar up and breathing into his palms to keep his face warm, he took a chance on one of the closer buildings, knocking on the first door with no response. He knocked a few more times, introducing himself but failed to elicit any reaction. With a reluctant and disappointed sigh, he tried the next few doors until eventually someone opened up.

“I’m Bruce Wayne and –“ 

[purrfectcrime]

Christmas is such a sham holiday for the wealthy to shovel money into their corporations under the guise of cheer. To falsify charity only to forgo it the next day.