He didn’t say a word, and I gave up trying, because you couldn’t hear either one of us over the shattering noise of hearts breaking and the looming shadows of the last words, the ones we refused to say.”

(Source: mightyalphas)

halfhardtorock:

It kills me that the trope here is…wild girl tamed by her boyfriend. PIZZA, HE SAYS. He’s always speaking for her, or ‘translating’ for her. He’s always grooming her, or telling her what’s not acceptable and what is, when it comes to being a girl. I had a dude friend like this, who would always say these little, cutting things about the way I looked or acted or behaved, or about the things I liked. He implied if I made certain changes, he MIGHT fuck me. Like I was even his to have.

The more I see Stiles in a relationship with Malia, the less I like him. How about letting your wild coyote girlfriend be wild and like eating deer meat? Like, why not be like “Uhhhh. Maybe we could…find some ground venison at the co-op? Or at least venison jerky?? Is that ok??” but instead Stiles is always like “Oh silly woman, that’s not how you be a real girl!” And they play it off for laughs. I get that she needs help assimilating, but like. It’s all we get from their relationship, really (other than the fact that he LIES to her) and it’s really kind of gross. ughhhhhhhhhh. Gross and annoying.

Everything that I couldn’t put into words. She is more than he can tame, and he is too narrow minded.

(Source: maliahales)

Dan Stevens and Benedict Cumberbatch attends a Gala Screening of ‘The Guest’ at Soho Hotel on September 1, 2014 in London, England. (x)

(Source: benedictdaily)

inspired by x x

(Source: outlander-starz)

Congratulations to the Sherlock team! The show won 7 awards and is the biggest winner of the Emmys 2014!

(Source: bennycumbs)

(Source: emilysgilmores)

bootsnblossoms:

I apologize if this becomes a Braeden-focused blog Actually, no I don’t. Because jesus DO YOU FUCKING SEE HER?! DID YOU SEE HER TONIGHT? OMG I’M CRUSHING SO HARD IT’S UNDIGNIFIED!!!!

bootsnblossoms:

I apologize if this becomes a Braeden-focused blog Actually, no I don’t. Because jesus DO YOU FUCKING SEE HER?! DID YOU SEE HER TONIGHT? OMG I’M CRUSHING SO HARD IT’S UNDIGNIFIED!!!!

fuckyeahawesomehouses:

Tiny Rolling House

(Source: freshome.com)

earlgreytea68:

eastwindcame:

sherolck:

this video is so vital to me

okay but this video is actual proof that if you take scenes with John and Sherlock and add romantic music to the background it is undeniably gay like

how are you gonna bromance this????

Proof that actually Sherlock is at heart just a romcom. 

ppyajunebug:

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.)

Reblogging this kickass post by the equally kickass
lavenderpatil
because everyone should read it

ppyajunebug:

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.)

Reblogging this kickass post by the equally kickass
lavenderpatil
because everyone should read it
f0x-meets-w0lf:

uh yeah sooo have some inked up pierced up stoner sterek because drawing fanart > drawing art for assignments and also because i rly like drawing smoke if you can’t tell by now
(plus they prob need some stress relief after last night’s episode tbh like what the hell)

f0x-meets-w0lf:

uh yeah sooo have some inked up pierced up stoner sterek because drawing fanart > drawing art for assignments and also because i rly like drawing smoke if you can’t tell by now

(plus they prob need some stress relief after last night’s episode tbh like what the hell)

Don't forget the Tic Tacs (11005 words) by rachtay13 [AO3] COMPLETE!

Chapters: 3/3
Fandom: Teen Wolf (TV), Teen Wolf (TV) RPF
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Author Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Tyler Hoechlin/Dylan O’Brien
Additional Tags: Kissing, Getting Together
Summary:

Sterek happens. Tyler panics.

Third and final chapter is up!

Writing progress

Finished writing the third part to Don’t forget the Tic Tacs- now for some light editing and then I’ll post. Hopefully later this week I’ll have another fic go up that’s a different style than I’ve previously written. 

It won’t be long now! Thanks to everyone who has been so patient with me- I’m just a slow writer. :)