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Doctor Who, Sherlock, Supernatural,
a bit of Hannibal, Star Trek,
and whatever else makes me happy.

softboycollective:

oh my god

blackdove66:

thoroughlysherlocked:

hippity-hoppity-brigade:

trueamericanenglish:

#molly hooper is the best companion #she wouldn’t even run off

“Molly, why are you still here?”

“You… you told me not to wander off.”

“Oh. Well. That’s strange. I mean, usually I tell them not to wander off, but they never actually listen. Are you sure you’re human?”

YES OH MY GOD YES I NEED MOLLY AS COMPANION.

I had no idea how much I needed that til now.

I WOULD WATCH THAT SO HARD.

GUYS. GUYS I THINK I JUST OFFICIALLY GOT WHOLOCKED.

imagine her telling the doctor

image

imagine his face

alandistro:

rhetthammersmith:

dog cloud over Manhattan 

OMG it’s Falkor!

tipsysam:

winchesterandwinchester:

Sam is such a grumpy little brother here and Dean just gives him a minute to calm down. It’s actually adorable.

#Winchesters#actually that’s not at all what’s going on here#I have seen some awesome meta about this scene that basically broke me#we all know that Lucifer runs cold not hot#so to Sam suddenly waking up in ice cold water would be more of hell flashback#all that flailing around is him trying to defend himself#and Dean knows it#he’s giving him space yes#but space to compose himself and come back from the flashback#it may look cute but it is anything but (via baronsamediswife)

thesylverlining:

unexplained-events:

A Tibetan Monk blesses the deer that gather around him and someone snaps a picture. Upon viewing the picture they notice a rainbow had appeared.

pretty sure this is the happiest picture I’ve seen in a long time

agentmlovestacos:

There is no greater Guardians/Parks & Rec gif mashup than this.

via chrisisoninfiniteearths:

Fantastic.

rnikan:

SO AT WORK TODAY I WALKED IN AND MY MANAGER WAS ON THE GROUND CRYING AND I WAS LIKE KIM WHAT’S WRONG AND SHE POINTS TO THE ORDER SCREEN AND IT SAYS WE NEED TO MAKE 2000 PIZZAS BY 6 PM SO I CALLED THE GUY AND HE WAS LIKE “I MEANT TO ORDER 20 PIZZAS OH MY GOD I’M SO SORRY I’M ON MOBILE” AND I’VE NEVER LAUGHED THAT HARD IN MY ENTIRE LIFE

garchornps:

being put in charge of small children like

image

theatricool:

portugals-satan:

The Fault In Our Stars : Hazel Grace (-)

I like how this is suppose to be emotional but John has sharpie all over his face.

confessionsofayoungsexworker:

This guy sent me a dick pic so I google searched and sent back a bigger dick pic. This was the response.

ifearnofish:

jessica-cph:

hellotailor:

This is what British television looks like.

I love how the penguin just recognises Noel Fielding as a fellow monochrome being and waddles straight over to him.

FELLOW MONOCHROME BEING 

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

coldas-cactuses:

potterbird:

Daniel Radcliffe's acceptance speech for the Man of the Year Glamour Award, 2013. (x)

I think he’s getting better with age. Good for him, honestly.

Sonic Screwdriver