itsawonderfulhealthylife:

lestradeisasilverfox:

Nathan Fillion is not appreciated enough.

Nathan Fillion must be protected at all costs.

rachiigoesrawr:

How to make a salad - x

forget-your-troubles-get-happy:

House + Thirteen

Requested by Anonymous

shootbadcabbies:

playing dress up

dancingtothelight:

I don’t know the source for this otherwise I’d give it
this is where I found it
but this is the most amazing solution to the biggest Harry Potter mystery
original source thanks to a lovely individual

dancingtothelight:

I don’t know the source for this otherwise I’d give it

this is where I found it

but this is the most amazing solution to the biggest Harry Potter mystery

original source thanks to a lovely individual

bevsi:

if-dementors-were-pink:

can we just take a moment to imagine little cute nine-year-old hermione reading matilda

and peering into this book about a smart, bookish girl who could move things with her mind

and then can you imagine her concentrating very hard on the books on the bookshelf and slowly, slowly, getting them to move

image

averagefairy:

i literally cannot take people over 30 anymore thinking technology is “sucking the magic out of life” listen grandma i can look up how to say anything in any language in under a second i can see my best friend face to face in real time even though she lives across an ocean i could spend the rest of my life watching different videos of cats and probably never see the same one twice if thats not magical to you WHAT IS  

"Fantasy is silver and scarlet, indigo and azure, obsidian veined with gold and lapis lazuli. Reality is plywood and plastic, done up in mud brown and olive drab. Fantasy tastes of habaneros and honey, cinnamon and cloves, rare red meat and wines as sweet as summer. Reality is beans and tofu, and ashes at the end. Reality is the strip malls of Burbank, the smokestacks of Cleveland, a parking garage in Newark. Fantasy is the towers of Minas Tirith, the ancient stones of Gormenghast, the halls of Camelot. Fantasy flies on the wings of Icarus, reality on Southwest Airlines. Why do our dreams become so much smaller when they finally come true?

We read fantasy to find the colors again, I think. To taste strong spices and hear the songs the sirens sang. There is something old and true in fantasy that speaks to something deep within us, to the child who dreamt that one day he would hunt the forests of the night, and feast beneath the hollow hills, and find a love to last forever somewhere south of Oz and north of Shangri-La.

They can keep their heaven. When I die, I’d sooner go to Middle-Earth."
- George R.R. Martin  (via indisposablehero)

r-navy:

-The Prophecy-

I always want to drew this Prophecy since it is so beautiful and sad. I hope that I can understand and present the meaning of the prophecy in someway.

"

It sucks when someone you have feelings for doesn’t share those feelings; it happens to women all the time, too. We hear “I just want to be friends” and “you’re like one of the guys” and “you’re like a sister to me” just as often. But you’ll never hear a woman complain that guys just don’t appreciate a Nice Girl because we’re taught it’s our own fucking fault when we’re rejected—we aren’t pretty enough or thin enough or sexy enough, we weren’t sexual enough or were too sexual, we put out too much or too little or too soon or not soon enough, we didn’t wear our hair the right way or our skirt the right length, we’re “too tomboyish” or “too butch” or “too feminine”, or we’re “not their type”, or we’re otherwise not good enough in various ways to entice the man to grace us with his affection.

But when we’re not interested in someone, we’re vilified. We’re the bitch that lead them on, the bitch who let them buy us dinner but didn’t want to date them, the bitch who doesn’t appreciate a nice guy, the bitch they were nice to and then got nothing in return from.

And, frankly, fuck those people. Showing interest in me, being friendly with me, getting close to me, or eating a meal with me (even if they paid for it) doesn’t obligate me to open my heart or my legs. And anyone who doesn’t appreciate my friendship sure as hell doesn’t deserve my love or my pussy.

"
(via talisman)

The guinea pig is not known as a smart or reliable steed, nor even a terribly fast one, although they can put on a good scrambling turn of speed when panicked (often into walls, while uttering a frantic “WHEEP! WHEEP!” as they go.) But they’re cute and good-natured and exceedingly docile, and they utter a charming purr when happy, so people insist on thinking they’re a good mount for the elderly and infirm. This has led to the regrettably common sight in many cities—first the distant piercing “WHEEP! WHEEP!” and the thin screams of the invalid tied to it, then the scrabbling gallop of the frightened saddle guinea, then at last, it comes into view, a panicky cavy charging through the streets, bowling over the populace, flailing senior in the saddle hauling uselessly on the ears (they’re steered by the ears, but not well) causing havoc, knocking over melon carts and market stalls, before at last the whoops of terror fade into the distance, another guinea hit-and-run come and gone. - Ursula Vernon

The guinea pig is not known as a smart or reliable steed, nor even a terribly fast one, although they can put on a good scrambling turn of speed when panicked (often into walls, while uttering a frantic “WHEEP! WHEEP!” as they go.) But they’re cute and good-natured and exceedingly docile, and they utter a charming purr when happy, so people insist on thinking they’re a good mount for the elderly and infirm. This has led to the regrettably common sight in many cities—first the distant piercing “WHEEP! WHEEP!” and the thin screams of the invalid tied to it, then the scrabbling gallop of the frightened saddle guinea, then at last, it comes into view, a panicky cavy charging through the streets, bowling over the populace, flailing senior in the saddle hauling uselessly on the ears (they’re steered by the ears, but not well) causing havoc, knocking over melon carts and market stalls, before at last the whoops of terror fade into the distance, another guinea hit-and-run come and gone. - Ursula Vernon