style > substance.
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  • patheticjunkies:

    Get to know me meme — [2/5] favorite relationships: Mr. and Mrs. Smith
    "I can’t believe I brought my real parents to our wedding."
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  • "——-Oh I’m sorry—I didn’t know how this machine worked.”

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  • "He can guard my galaxy any time."  - my mother referring to chris pratt (via josephgordon-lovitt)

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  • 
Snidget

    Snidget

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  • jellowkitty:

yeah shake that booty Kangnam

    jellowkitty:

    yeah shake that booty Kangnam

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  • fuckyawatches:

DKNY Women’s Nolita White Ceramic Bracelet Watch 36mm NY2154See what’s on sale from Macy’s on Wantering.

    fuckyawatches:

    See what’s on sale from Macy’s on Wantering.

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  • glamour:

    From the always lovely Anna Sheffield. *Dressed 

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  • annasheffield:

I see \ // Chevrons 
Its a frenzy of chevrons over here at the Orchard Street Atelier! Make your own unique combination with these beauties who fit with every Marquis and are amazing on in any way- stacks on stacks.

    annasheffield:

    I see \ // Chevrons 

    Its a frenzy of chevrons over here at the Orchard Street Atelier! Make your own unique combination with these beauties who fit with every Marquis and are amazing on in any way- stacks on stacks.

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  • lovejewelry:

Anna Sheffield Engagement Rings 

    lovejewelry:

    Anna Sheffield Engagement Rings 

    bells-mannequin:

defence-against-the-drabbles:


Drastoria: in which Astoria comes from a pureblood family similar to the Weasleys.

Draco had, of course, heard things about the Greengrasses.
Their daughters were beautiful, in an inelegant sort of way. They were nothing like the purebloods Draco had been raised with, not with the way they held themselves, and certainly not with the way they dressed. Daphne, the younger, wore what Draco presumed were hand-me-downs from her older sister, and they were usually crudely cinched at the waist and unfashionably long. But Daphne’s skirts weren’t the problem.
The sister from which she got them was.
Astoria, despite being a blood traitor and poor and a Slytherin who scoffed at Slytherin ideals, was enchanting.
When she walked past someone, she didn’t just look at them, she saw them, meeting their gaze with unfeeling, unyielding eyes and a chin lifted too proudly for a girl with secondhand books in her arms. When she spoke, her words were quiet and measured and cutting. She was witty. Fast. Faster than Draco. In short, other than the half-genuine smiles she offered mudbloods, Astoria behaved as if she had been raised in a proper pureblood society instead of in a house that hosted Molly Weasley’s brood every third Sunday for tea. She was an anomaly.
That was Draco’s excuse for catching up to her after a Transfiguration class in which he had found himself glancing at her every few moments.

Read More

Godddd, I just love love love the idea of that. Of the Greengrasses being pureblood but poor and Astoria being just generally awesome and cool and yes. Absolutely yes. 
Thanks for sharing this idea and your great writing :)

    bells-mannequin:

    defence-against-the-drabbles:

    Drastoria: in which Astoria comes from a pureblood family similar to the Weasleys.

    Draco had, of course, heard things about the Greengrasses.

    Their daughters were beautiful, in an inelegant sort of way. They were nothing like the purebloods Draco had been raised with, not with the way they held themselves, and certainly not with the way they dressed. Daphne, the younger, wore what Draco presumed were hand-me-downs from her older sister, and they were usually crudely cinched at the waist and unfashionably long. But Daphne’s skirts weren’t the problem.

    The sister from which she got them was.

    Astoria, despite being a blood traitor and poor and a Slytherin who scoffed at Slytherin ideals, was enchanting.

    When she walked past someone, she didn’t just look at them, she saw them, meeting their gaze with unfeeling, unyielding eyes and a chin lifted too proudly for a girl with secondhand books in her arms. When she spoke, her words were quiet and measured and cutting. She was witty. Fast. Faster than Draco. In short, other than the half-genuine smiles she offered mudbloods, Astoria behaved as if she had been raised in a proper pureblood society instead of in a house that hosted Molly Weasley’s brood every third Sunday for tea. She was an anomaly.

    That was Draco’s excuse for catching up to her after a Transfiguration class in which he had found himself glancing at her every few moments.

    Read More

    Godddd, I just love love love the idea of that. Of the Greengrasses being pureblood but poor and Astoria being just generally awesome and cool and yes. Absolutely yes.

    Thanks for sharing this idea and your great writing :)

    datd-archive:


Drastoria: Astoria is secretly in Dumbledore’s Army for littleyellowslippers

“Where were you last night, Astoria?” Draco asks while repositioning the chess pieces on the board. His voice is light, unassuming, but Astoria recognises the cautionary undertone and she swallows, avoiding his grey eyes as she looks down and straightens the hem of her dress with a sharp tug. “Your move.”
She instructs her pawn, which moves willingly. “I was studying in the library,” she responds, her tone equally as inconsequential. The excuse is ingrained into her, an automatic response to curious Prefects who catch her when meetings run on. Draco doesn’t accept it like they do though; he shrugs a shoulder and meets her eyes, judging.
“Funny,” he says, “A first year told me he saw you on the seventh floor.” He nudges a piece with his finger, pushing it towards one of Astoria’s. The piece strikes her pawn and she cringes at the shattering sound.
“Shortcut.” Astoria watches Draco closely as she only half pays attention to what co-ordinates she was ordering a castle to. It slides across the board, towards one of Draco’s pieces, and is promptly dragged to the side of the board.
Draco reclines back in the emerald chair he sat in, arches a blonde eyebrow slightly. “On the seventh floor?”
He had an air about him, Astoria realises, that makes you think he doesn’t trust a word you’re saying. It’s irritating, especially when she knows she’s keeping a secret—a rather large one at that—from him.
“I went the wrong way.”
“By four floors?”
She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yes.”
“I don’t believe even you could make such a large mistake, Greengrass.” Astoria opens her mouth to respond but Draco speaks over her; “Actually, you could.” He leans forward, over the board, till his face is inches from hers and she can see every blonde lash and pore, and whispers conspiratorially: “I think trusting Harry Potter is a big lack of judgement on your behalf.”
Astoria’s mouth stays open, struck speechless, as Draco pushes back from the table and flicks his king over in a fluid motion, surrendering.
“Checkmate,” he says with a wink. Only Astoria catches the double entendre in his words.

    datd-archive:

    Drastoria: Astoria is secretly in Dumbledore’s Army for littleyellowslippers

    “Where were you last night, Astoria?” Draco asks while repositioning the chess pieces on the board. His voice is light, unassuming, but Astoria recognises the cautionary undertone and she swallows, avoiding his grey eyes as she looks down and straightens the hem of her dress with a sharp tug. “Your move.”

    She instructs her pawn, which moves willingly. “I was studying in the library,” she responds, her tone equally as inconsequential. The excuse is ingrained into her, an automatic response to curious Prefects who catch her when meetings run on. Draco doesn’t accept it like they do though; he shrugs a shoulder and meets her eyes, judging.

    “Funny,” he says, “A first year told me he saw you on the seventh floor.” He nudges a piece with his finger, pushing it towards one of Astoria’s. The piece strikes her pawn and she cringes at the shattering sound.

    “Shortcut.” Astoria watches Draco closely as she only half pays attention to what co-ordinates she was ordering a castle to. It slides across the board, towards one of Draco’s pieces, and is promptly dragged to the side of the board.

    Draco reclines back in the emerald chair he sat in, arches a blonde eyebrow slightly. “On the seventh floor?”

    He had an air about him, Astoria realises, that makes you think he doesn’t trust a word you’re saying. It’s irritating, especially when she knows she’s keeping a secret—a rather large one at that—from him.

    “I went the wrong way.”

    “By four floors?”

    She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yes.”

    “I don’t believe even you could make such a large mistake, Greengrass.” Astoria opens her mouth to respond but Draco speaks over her; “Actually, you could.” He leans forward, over the board, till his face is inches from hers and she can see every blonde lash and pore, and whispers conspiratorially: “I think trusting Harry Potter is a big lack of judgement on your behalf.”

    Astoria’s mouth stays open, struck speechless, as Draco pushes back from the table and flicks his king over in a fluid motion, surrendering.

    “Checkmate,” he says with a wink. Only Astoria catches the double entendre in his words.

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  • i like how Harry and Draco were like “Imma gonna marry my friend’s sister #i dont even give a fuck.”

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  • cross-fiction:

LOOK AT THIS TRADER JOE’S IN SALT LAKE CITY

    cross-fiction:

    LOOK AT THIS TRADER JOE’S IN SALT LAKE CITY