September 15, 2014
SHIT NO ONE TELLS YOU WHEN YOU START TO TUMBLE

faejilly:

filthypolak:

wolfwrecked:

  • Only the FIRST FIVE tags you use on a NEW POST show up in the tracked tags
  • Only the FIRST TWENTY tags on any post on your blog function (i.e click tag #21 and it will say page not found)
  • When you’re in your messages, you can click the…

September 4, 2014

Anonymous said: Seriously fuck you. Don't ruin real OUAT kisses with your lesbian shit.

swan-queen-is-magic:

swan-queen-is-magic:

adelinawp:

evilregalsq:

giors1:

helebette:

bambibelle84:

fuzzy-socks-hoarder:

xxtorchxx:

regina-obsession:

your-evilqueen:

swanqueensails:

xxtorchxx:

Thank you!! :)

Silly anon. Lesbian shit only ever improves things. Everything goes better with lesbians! What ruins real OUAT kisses? Real OUAT kisses.

That lesbian shit is 10000x better than the real OUAT kisses.
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It keeps getting better… Damn, SWEN… Bring it.

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OMG PLEASE KEEP THEM COMING I WANNA SEE THIS ON MY DASH AGAIN AND AGAIN. 

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HOLY CHEESEBALLS MCFUCKMUFFIN! THIS IS THE BEST POST OF THE YEAR! 

hell yes!! Masterpost of swan queen kisses is HEEEEREEEEE!!!!!

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oooooooh BOOOM!!!

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SWEN, forged in the heat of hatred.

Let’s see if we can get this to 10,000 notes!

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September 2, 2014

All credit goes to the masterpost…posters. Because they’re great people.
Cheer up and Relax
Fun Stuff
Mental Illness
Self Harm
Films
General Self Help
Everything
In Case Of Emergency
Others

(Source: sherwat, via damikewazowskis)

September 2, 2014

reikaoki:

imthezombiequeen:

alishalovescats1701:

crimsonclad:

five-boys-with-accents:

Eeyore is just one of those characters that you wanna scoop up and hug forever.

One awesome thing about Eeyore is that even though he is basically clinically depressed, he still gets invited to participate in adventures and shenanigans with all of his friends. And they never expect him to pretend to feel happy, they just love him anyway, and they never leave him behind or ask him to change.

Oh

oh

And he does feel happy, though. He can be happy. He just doesn’t show it as much as the others do.
There was a whole episode about that - Piglet sees him sitting on a hilltop and thinks he’s sadder than usual, and does all he can to cheer him up. Nothing works and the next day he’s back on the hill, and Piglet apologizes because he thinks in trying to help, he just made him sad again and ”I don’t come here when I’m sad. I come up here because I’m happy.”

There’s just something about that…

(Source: galaxieirwin, via heartsways)

September 2, 2014

[My mom] called the school and they said ‘we’re doing auditions for the childrens version of ‘The Hobbit’, for the 2nd and 3rd graders’, and I was in Kindergarden, so I was too young’. And I just crashed the auditions.

(Source: leaveatrail, via damelola)

September 2, 2014
Firefly Headcanon

seananmcguire:

animatedamerican:

seananmcguire:

animatedamerican:

villainny:

Zoe and Wash, while deeply forever ridiculously in love, are not drift compatible.

Zoe and Mal are drift compatible.

Kaylee and Wash are drift compatible, and they have the best piloted,…

September 2, 2014

Anonymous said: The doctor will never be a woman. There are plenty of women in the show that are admirable role models. I think you're just full ofsh it. Stop pushing your american views onto Doctor Who, a BRITISH show, with BRITISH values. It's unbelievable how obnoxious and hypocritical feminists are, especially you third-wave feminists. Always spouting "equal rights" but, "Can't hit me, cause I'm a girl!" You probably won't respond to this because you know I'm right and the whovianfeminism stance is weak.

markdoesstuff:

whovianfeminism:

This was so beautiful that I had to put it up on my wall and examine it as if it were an exquisite piece of art. 

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"Manpain" by Anonymous

Above we have a quintessential example of early 21st Century prose by an aggrieved man. The author of this piece is unknown, but we can surmise by his inability to properly say “shit” to a woman and his assurance that he likes “admirable” female characters that he is most likely a “Nice Guy.”

The anonymous author employs deliberate obtuseness in order to provoke a reaction from his audience. Notice how he pretends no British individual supports the idea of a woman portraying the Doctor, despite clear evidence to the contrary, even amongst actors who have portrayed the titular character on the show. Then there is the stunning self-centeredness regarding his perception of third wave feminism; he is only interested in equality it grants him the “right” to hit the women whose arguments make him so incoherently angry that he is unable to rationally reply.

His final challenge attempts to trap the reader. Do we respond and grant him the audience and validation he so desperately seeks, or do we ignore him and let him believe he has won? But perhaps we have a third option: to turn the focus back on him and examine how his comments display his deep insecurity in his own sense of masculinity, something he feels can only be reclaimed by challenging a girl on the internet to a fight and preemptively declaring victory because he fears he cannot engage with her on an intellectual level.

a work of goddamn art oh my god

September 2, 2014

onceland:

#100% REAL SCENE

(via heartsways)

September 2, 2014

buffygif:

there are so many people who have never watched buffy and i want to know why

(via makeafreakshow)

September 2, 2014
thelethifoldwitch:

Imagine Hogwarts after the Battle, after the War, sure –
But imagine Hogwarts’ students, after their year with the Carrows and Snape.
Imagine a tiny little first-year whose porcupine pincushions still have quills, but to whom Fiendfyre comes easily. The second-year who tried to go back, to fight; whose bravado got Professor Sinistra killed, as she pushed him out of the way of a Killing Curse. The third-year who perfectly brewed poisons, hands shaking, wishing for the courage to spike the Carrows’ cups. The fourth-year who throws away all of their teacups, their palmistry guidebooks, because what use is Divination if it didn’t see this coming? The fifth-year who can barely remember what O.W.L.S. are, let alone that she was supposed to take them. The sixth-year who can’t manage Lumos to save their life, but whose proficiency with the Cruciatus Curse rivals Bellatrix’s.
Imagine the seventh-year who laughs until he cries, thinking about the first-years who will fall asleep in History of Magic while their story is told.
Imagine the Muggleborn first-years left alive, if there are any: imagine what they think of the magical world, when their introduction to it was Death Eaters and being tortured – by their classmates –for having been born.
Imagine the students who went home to their parents (or guardians, or wards, or orphanages) and showed them what they’d learned: Dark curses, hexes, Unforgiveables; that Muggles are filth, animals, lesser. Who, yes, still can’t transfigure a match into a needle – but Mum, there’s a hex that can make you feel as though you’re being stabbed with thousands. (Don’t ask them how they know.)
Imagine the students who will never be able to see Hogwarts as home.
Imagine the students Hogwarts has left, when it starts up again – the lack of Muggleborns, blood-traitors, half-bloods, dead and gone – the lack of purebloods; the Ministry would have chucked everyone of age (and possibly just below) in Azkaban for Unforgiveables, wouldn’t they?
Imagine how few students there are left to teach; imagine how few teachers are left to teach them.
Imagine the students who can’t walk past a particular classroom, who can’t walk through a hallway, who can’t walk into the Great Hall without having a panic attack or breaking down. Imagine the school-wide discovery that the carriages aren’t horseless after all; that everyone, from the firsties to the teachers, can see Thestrals.
Imagine the memorials, the heaps of flowers and mementoes – in every other corner, hallway, classroom; every other step you take on the grounds.
Imagine the ghosts.
Imagine the students destroying Snape’s portrait, using the curses, hexes, even Fiendfyre they’ve been taught how to wield – it has to be restored nearly every week; Snape stays with Phineas Nigellus semi-permanently. (None of the other portraits will welcome him. His reasons do not excuse his conduct.)
Imagine the students unable to trust each other – everyone informed on everyone, your best friend might turn you in.
Imagine the guilt that everyone carries (it should have been me, it’s my fault s/he’s dead, I told on them, it’s all my fault), the students incapable of meeting each other’s eyes because it’s my fault your best friend, your sibling, your Housemate, your boy/girlfriend is dead.
Imagine the memorials piled high with the wands of the dead. Imagine the memorials piled high with the self-snapped wands of the living.
Imagine the students who are never able to produce a Patronus.
Imagine Boggarts being removed from the curriculum because Riddikulus is near impossible to grasp, even for the sixth- and seventh-years. Because their friends and families dead will never, ever be funny.
Imagine the students for whom magic feels tainted.
Imagine the students who leave the wixen world – hell, the students who leave Britain entirely, because there’s nothing left for them there.
Imagine the students who never use magic again.
(Image source.)
(From the mind of the wonderful lavenderpatil, a keen look at how students might be after war.)

thelethifoldwitch:

Imagine Hogwarts after the Battle, after the War, sure

But imagine Hogwarts’ students, after their year with the Carrows and Snape.

Imagine a tiny little first-year whose porcupine pincushions still have quills, but to whom Fiendfyre comes easily. The second-year who tried to go back, to fight; whose bravado got Professor Sinistra killed, as she pushed him out of the way of a Killing Curse. The third-year who perfectly brewed poisons, hands shaking, wishing for the courage to spike the Carrows’ cups. The fourth-year who throws away all of their teacups, their palmistry guidebooks, because what use is Divination if it didn’t see this coming? The fifth-year who can barely remember what O.W.L.S. are, let alone that she was supposed to take them. The sixth-year who can’t manage Lumos to save their life, but whose proficiency with the Cruciatus Curse rivals Bellatrix’s.

Imagine the seventh-year who laughs until he cries, thinking about the first-years who will fall asleep in History of Magic while their story is told.

Imagine the Muggleborn first-years left alive, if there are any: imagine what they think of the magical world, when their introduction to it was Death Eaters and being tortured by their classmates for having been born.

Imagine the students who went home to their parents (or guardians, or wards, or orphanages) and showed them what they’d learned: Dark curses, hexes, Unforgiveables; that Muggles are filth, animals, lesser. Who, yes, still can’t transfigure a match into a needle but Mum, there’s a hex that can make you feel as though you’re being stabbed with thousands. (Don’t ask them how they know.)

Imagine the students who will never be able to see Hogwarts as home.

Imagine the students Hogwarts has left, when it starts up again the lack of Muggleborns, blood-traitors, half-bloods, dead and gone the lack of purebloods; the Ministry would have chucked everyone of age (and possibly just below) in Azkaban for Unforgiveables, wouldn’t they?

Imagine how few students there are left to teach; imagine how few teachers are left to teach them.

Imagine the students who can’t walk past a particular classroom, who can’t walk through a hallway, who can’t walk into the Great Hall without having a panic attack or breaking down. Imagine the school-wide discovery that the carriages aren’t horseless after all; that everyone, from the firsties to the teachers, can see Thestrals.

Imagine the memorials, the heaps of flowers and mementoes in every other corner, hallway, classroom; every other step you take on the grounds.

Imagine the ghosts.

Imagine the students destroying Snape’s portrait, using the curses, hexes, even Fiendfyre they’ve been taught how to wield it has to be restored nearly every week; Snape stays with Phineas Nigellus semi-permanently. (None of the other portraits will welcome him. His reasons do not excuse his conduct.)

Imagine the students unable to trust each other everyone informed on everyone, your best friend might turn you in.

Imagine the guilt that everyone carries (it should have been me, it’s my fault s/he’s dead, I told on them, it’s all my fault), the students incapable of meeting each other’s eyes because it’s my fault your best friend, your sibling, your Housemate, your boy/girlfriend is dead.

Imagine the memorials piled high with the wands of the dead. Imagine the memorials piled high with the self-snapped wands of the living.

Imagine the students who are never able to produce a Patronus.

Imagine Boggarts being removed from the curriculum because Riddikulus is near impossible to grasp, even for the sixth- and seventh-years. Because their friends and families dead will never, ever be funny.

Imagine the students for whom magic feels tainted.

Imagine the students who leave the wixen world hell, the students who leave Britain entirely, because there’s nothing left for them there.

Imagine the students who never use magic again.

(Image source.)

(From the mind of the wonderful lavenderpatil, a keen look at how students might be after war.)

(via chrmdpoet)

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