have you ever had to restart a song because you spaced out and weren’t appreciating it enough
Keep the flame going for those we have lost to suicide.
why has this not got any notes
a middle school girl commited suicide here a few days ago..she was 14..
my followers know who this is for.
two of my close friends attempted multiple times
i attempted around this time last year. keep this going.
Today, personally, this is for Robin Williams.
But for today, and every day, it is for anybody who has ever lost anybody to suicide and anybody who has been lost themselves.
I know it probably doesn’t help, but I am so, so sorry.
Reblogging this twice and this should have way more notes
for every demon, an angel
for every fault, an unshakable good
They get mad at you for being whole.
A friend send me this with no context hwat the shit
“Jarvis’s holographic keyboard designs were replete with exotic symbols and undefined characters. Meinerding adapted keyboard characters from sources as diverse as mythology and electrical engineering figures…The net result of such subtleties reinforces that the mind of Tony Stark is so advanced that he and Jarvis are essentially speaking to each other in a language uniquely their own.” - The Art of Iron Man
my dad just yelled up the stairs “CHLOE DID YOU KNOW THE WEATHERMAN WAS GAY I DIDNT KNOW HE WAS GAY HE JUST GOT MARRIED TO HIS BOYFRIEND” and i was like which weatheman are we talking about here and he said “THE BLONDE ONE WITH THE SHARP HAIR CUT AND THE TIGHT PECS AND THE HOT ASS BODY” dad is there something you want to tell me
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.
(From the mind of the wonderful lavenderpatil, a keen look at how students might be after war.)Reblogging this kickass post by the equally kickasslavenderpatilbecause everyone should read it
Someone felt fabulous
Best use I’ve ever seen of that gif.
OH MY GOD IT’I’MS FINALLY ON MY DASH AGAIN I”VE BEEN SEARCHING FIR HIS POST FOR YEARS
i was talking to a guy and he said “if there were no laws you could be raped at any point of the day” and i replied with “yeah and i could retaliate by stabbing the rapist, hey i mean there are no laws” and he said “rape isn’t that bad, stabbing someone is a little over dramatic” wtf.
PAINT YOUR NAILS WITH HIS BLOOD.
vagina’s are able to stretch wide enough to give birth to a fucking baby and then return to it’s original size but of course being penetrated by that grass blade you call a penis is what’s going to make it “loose”
Uhh. The baby doesnt come out of where the penis goes in…
stay in school y’all
i hate to be the bearer of bad news but the vagina and the vagina are, in fact, the same thing
john messing with sherlock when he’s in his mind palace like
john would definitely put the most random things in sherlock’s hands. like a single egg. and sherlock would come out of it and either break it immediately and stare at his messy hand for 5 seconds or look at it like “…why this. when this.”
…below me trees unnumbered rise,
beautiful in various dyes:
the gloomy pine, the poplar blue,
the yellow beech, the sable yew,
the slender fir that taper grows,
the sturdy oak with broad-spread boughs…
from the poem Grognar Hill by John Dyer
Shop them at redsofa
These are amazing and I want all of them!