I firmly believe that Fleur Delacour and Viktor Krum remained friends after the triwizard tournament and that one night while they were celebrating Fleur and Bills engagement a very drunk Fleur bet a not as drunk Viktor that she could catch a snitch before him and so they competed and he won and Fluer lost her end of the bet saying that she would name her first born after him
and that is why their kid is named Victoire and the only reason it isn’t spelled with a k is to annoy Viktor
I would like to share this beautiful passage with all of you, it’s long, but worth it. And I swear to god I didn’t alter any of this.
….
Her long hair, still wet from the shower, had been combed down her back in a wet swath. Hilda was sitting on the floor, her round, wet boobs still wet from the shower’s water. She dried off the water with a towel, which then became wet.
Hilda gasped when she saw a reflection in her bedroom mirror: through the slightly open door, she caught a glimpse of the chiseled abs and square jaw of the mysterious stranger who shared her cabin. She stood and spun around, her breasts swinging heavily with the momentum. She grabbed the door and flung it open, revealing shirtless Torolf (which is seriously his name) quivering with desire in the hallway.
Torolf was ashamed at being caught, but his shame made him even hotter – hotter for sex. He stepped into the room, and his bulging abs accidentally smushed into Hilda’s rich chest.
As Hilda’s buttermilk bosoms squished up against his granite abs, Torolf almost had a dick aneurysm. “Hilda,” Torolf murmured thickly, his throbbing meat wand pressing against Hilda’s warm thighs. “There is a secret I need to not tell you: You are my forbidden desire.”
Hilda had been waiting to hear these words. Her heart was lifted on golden wings and soared toward a radiant sun of perfect joy. She saw herself and Torolf happy together, bathed in the golden light of love. Her snooch got all warm, too.
“Torolf,” Hilda moaned, her lush teats straining with desire. “I need you.” Torolf, coarse abs pulsing softly in the moonlight, stood silently. Hilda looked at him expectantly. “Oh, sorry,” she added. “Torolf, I need you – sexually.”
At hearing those beautiful words, Torolf flexed his rough-hewn abs and Hilda found herself being guided to her soft bed by the sheer force of Torolf’s undulating midsection. She parted her thighs in anticipation, exposing the soft pink petals of her clunge.
Torolf entered her like she was a lottery. His engorged pecker pushed inside her and she felt fulfilled with sexual fulfillment.
Hilda clutched at the bedsheets with lust and ecstasy and her hands. Her spongy love mountains hurled to and fro with each pounding. Her body was like a beautiful flower that was opening and somebody was pushing their dick inside it.
Then Torolf moaned, arched his back, and suffered from dick Parkinson’s. He pumped in all of his hot pearlescent sperms as Hilda spasmed with so many orgasms!
The two lay still for a moment as the stinky scent of lovemaking billowed around the room. Hilda got out of bed, still shimmering with orgasm. She glowed with contentment, like a cat who ate the cream of the crop.
She walked across the room and picked up her towel, still wet with shower water. “Torolf,” she said softly, “there’s something I have to tell you…”
But her bed was empty.
Torolf was gone, escaped out the bedroom window. In the distance, Hilda heard the fading sound of galloping abs.
….
DICK
ANEURYSM
GALLOPING ABS
Who told this lady she could write?
Why did she ever stop?
IT GETS WORSE THE FURTHER IN THE PASSAGE YOU GO OMG
you know how it’s always like “I was just a normal high school kid until one day *FANTASTIC/CRAZY/AWFUL/MAGICAL* thing happened to me!
what if they just had like five entire episodes of vanilla slice of life shit before the director yells SWERVE and throws the “you’re a wizard, harry” moment into the mix or decides the apocalypse starts NOW
so that you’re just as shocked as the main character
All animals go to heaven is just illogical planning. You’re telling me every crocodile that ever lived is in heaven? Heaven must be swarming crocodiles. Does that sound like heaven to you? Thousands of millions of crocodiles?
*SLAMS FIST ON TABLE*
YES, DAMMIT
And Steve Irwin is showering them all with affection
But does every Stingray go to heaven? I mean, what if Steve Irwin just randomly came across the Stingray that killed him?
Steve would probably pat it and say ‘Sorry I spooked you mate, gosh your a beauty! You must have grown three times since I last saw you!’
I just had to explain what I was cackling at to my roommate. It automatically passes the Laugh Rule.
She found her reluctant fiance, Erstad, brooding out on the rainy moors.
“Is that a baby rabbit?” she asked, observing his huddled form.
“IT’S SIX BABY RABBITS AND YOU CAN’T TOUCH THEM,” replied Ernstad, contriving to look twice his usual size and at least three times his usual fierceness.
my body isnt a temple, it’s a condemned building covered in prophecies in the form of graffiti. my soul is a shrine made of garbage and neon and i am holy, hallelujah.
Adrian Shine, the leader of the Loch Ness Project, looks exactly like how I imagined the leader of the Loch Ness Project looks like – via http://ift.tt/23z6vND
It takes place entirely in an elevator of an office building.
So you see various people interact with each other at different times of the day.
Sometimes, they’re all getting along. Othertimes, they’re making out. And othertimes still, they’re throwing punches and threatening to murder one another.
You see people by themselves, doing things that they wouldn’t do otherwise.
You hear everyone complain about one character who you never see for the duration of the show, because they take the stairs.
You actually have no idea what the company does. One day, they’re talkking about balancing the budget, one day, they’re taking about how they all got food poisoning on their retreat to Tahiti, one day they’re in furry costumes, and one day, one of the characters gets a phone call where the ringtone is ‘Hail To The Chief’; they answer it, saying, “Yes, Mr. President?”
You have just enough information to go on, while also knowing nothing.
sparksoffandommagic 