bilbo-bagginses

▲: sUP BABY };) ▼: What Is Up Son ▼: Kanaya West Is In The Hizzouse ▲: aWWW DAMN, lOOKS LIKE WE ON OUR WAY TO A SWAG OFF ▼: Yes So It Seems That Way ▼: You May Begin It Is Ladies First After All ▼: Burn ▲: wEAK, wEAK ASS BURN, tHAT THING'S BEEN WORKED OVER A THOUSAND TIMES, jUST LIKE YOUR ANCESTOR ▲: oOOOOO ▼: Last Time I Recall Your Ancestor Died First ▼: Too Bad You Arent As Strong As Your Ancestor ▼: Weakling ▲: bITCH DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHO YOU IS FLAPPIN YO OVER SIZED MOUTH OFF TO ▲: i'M THE ONE AND ONLY SWAG ASS SUMMONER ▲: yOU STANDIN I

Eridan, for the fourth time that day, shot Sollux a glare. The stupid, land dwelling dork had spent the past hour "fixing" Feferi's husktop. Mostly, he had punched random keys, and been flirting with her. It pissed Eridan off. Sol needed to keep his hands off Eridan's Morial. (Ex-morial...) He begrudginly corrected himself. But still. Eridan began mashing random keys on his keyboard, til even he wasn't sure what he was doing. Then, the perfect ploy struck Eridan. He opened up his Trollian, and hit a Private Message the Dave human had sent him earlier. It had an attachment titled "click for the most awesome bullshit your pathetic troll brain

"I can't take this anymore!" Eridan shouted as he stormed into his room. Sollux looked at him, half confused and half worried about him. He shut his laptop and knocked on his bedroom door. "Eriidan? uh... y-you okay?" he asked. no reply. "Eriidan, plea2e an2wer me. II'm 2eriiou2." he asked again. no reply. "That'2 iit. II'm comiing iin." he said as he picked the lock on his door. Eridan lay on his bed crying, purple blood trailing down his wrist and staining his sheets. "Go awway Sol" he sniffled, chocking back tears in an effortless attempt to look like nothing was wrong. Sollux's eyes widened quickly grabbing his scarf and tightly t

NAME:  Raymond Toro    PERIOD:  4    DATE:  4/30 ~ "Pssssst! Ray!" Ray rolled his eyes but did not dare respond to this voice. The whispered beckoning was from the boy sitting in the school desk directly behind him. Instead, he stared at his test paper and tried to ignore the incessant badgering of…Gerard Way. Ray shook with hatred--loathing--just thinking about the kid's name; the one who aggravated him to his wit's end. Now Gerard was jabbing him relentlessly in the back with a pencil, and he felt almost irritated enough to explode. "Rayyyyyy!", whispered his offender, "Ray, what's the answer to number twelve?" Ray was occupying

Gerard knew well enough he should forget about Raymond Toro. He knew it wasn't healthy or safe for him to spend so much time secretly longing for simple words in return from him. There wasn't much he could do since the war, though. Most men his age had been drafted—gone for a while by now. Since Gerard had been in college when the draft took place, he was exempt. But the same could not be done for Raymond. Ray was an automobile mechanic who worked in a bodyshop adjacent to Gerard's house. Gerard wasn't a car person at the time—in fact, he still isn't—so they quickly became friends once Ray started seeing Gerard once, someti

Frank played hard on stage. Every night, he hurt himself;  a new bruise, a cut, and muscle cramp. And it wasn't because he was  masochist or anything. He was just a klutz. And being a klutz along with holding a guitar and having only a small allotted space to move around did not mix. He bumped into things, knocked things over, and broke shit. That was just how it went. It was like he had his own demolition agenda. Probably one of the funniest parts of it all was that he was so small. Being such a tiny guy, you might assume that he would only reserve a little bit of space. But not Frank. He made up for his size by taking wider steps,

The entire hotel was asleep; every person in every room. All of the lights were out. It was still, it was quiescent. Nothing happened. But Gerard was not a part of that 'everyone' who was asleep, because on the contrary, he happened to be wide awake.   It was dark, but his eyes were used to it. They lie open, gazing at the ceiling with boredom. The suite did not stir. He had gotten tired of looking at the shadows of the chairs and table. Of the walls; tall and cast upon by silhouettes. Gerard occasionally looked out the window, because outside was where there still existed consciousness. Cars drove by. Brilliant lights were o