suitupweird:

Inspiration | Women In Menswear | Wear It Weird

(via whymycroft)

Happy 43rd Birthday, David Tennant! (April 18th, 1971)

(Source: starkstruck, via sherlolly-locked)

livesandliesofwizards:

The Muggle Studies classroom is always locked. In fact, there are few rooms in the castle with as much magical protection. There’s a special password needed to enter that’s distributed carefully to the year’s students on the first day of classes. They are sworn to secrecy and, to date, no one has broken that trust.
There’s more to this security than just fear of vandalism, though there has been that. Charity Burbage spent more than her fair share of time scrubbing nasty messages off her office door when she first started teaching. For a while it was a point of pride that she used her own effort to remove the hateful words. Then came the morning when she fell asleep next to a bucket of soapy water and was nearly late for her first lesson of the day. After that, she cast a Repelling Charm on her office and tried not to feel guilty about it.
The real reason for the layers of charms wrapped around the classroom is what goes on after hours.  If you were to stroll by on any given night. you may see a tearful first year or a stressed out fifth year or even a cool and confident prefect strolling up to the door.  You’d see them execute a complex set of wand patterns, whisper a word, and look around furtively before they enter. 
If you were to follow them in (and I would not suggest this, for the room has its own way of dealing with intruders), you’d see students of all Houses and years, talking and studying and reading. But you may miss what they have in common: they’re all Muggle born. This classroom is the after-hours refuge of those who feel as if they don’t belong, those who find themselves trapped between the magical and the mundane, their parents and their classmates. Here there are shelves of magazines whose covers don’t move; there are stacks of textbooks on science and math, heavy tomes of Shakespeare and thin volumes of poetry.
In the corner you may see Justin Finch-Fletchley studying for his A-levels. He had promised his mum that he would at least try for them, even if he wasn’t sure he would ever leave the magical world. Sometimes Hermione Granger joins him, and they teach each other calculus and world history and pore over the periodic table. 
By the fireplace you could find that tearful first year sitting with the calm prefect, their heads bent close. You might hear the first year pour out his heart, outline his fears, confess his insecurities. The prefect could respond in kind, admitting to the knot of confusion that lies underneath her placid exterior. They might then take out their wands and practice a spell, or pull out a child’s fairy tale collection and read aloud.
If you were a Muggle-born, this might be your sanctuary. It might be the place you miss most when you go home for the summer and try to fit your square peg into a world of round holes. It might be what you defend at the Battle of Hogwarts, fighting for your right to be confused and not fit in. It might be why you come back as the new Muggle Studies professor, why you create an after-hours class to help others get their A-levels and apply to university.
But then again, it might be just another classroom.
(written and submitted by the lovely ppyajunebug. There’s a tremendous sweetness to this that I find very appealing, something comforting about knowing that the Muggle-borns have their own space. This blog often explores the horrifying and strange, but sometimes it’s nice to consider good things, as well.)  

livesandliesofwizards:

The Muggle Studies classroom is always locked. In fact, there are few rooms in the castle with as much magical protection. There’s a special password needed to enter that’s distributed carefully to the year’s students on the first day of classes. They are sworn to secrecy and, to date, no one has broken that trust.

There’s more to this security than just fear of vandalism, though there has been that. Charity Burbage spent more than her fair share of time scrubbing nasty messages off her office door when she first started teaching. For a while it was a point of pride that she used her own effort to remove the hateful words. Then came the morning when she fell asleep next to a bucket of soapy water and was nearly late for her first lesson of the day. After that, she cast a Repelling Charm on her office and tried not to feel guilty about it.

The real reason for the layers of charms wrapped around the classroom is what goes on after hours.  If you were to stroll by on any given night. you may see a tearful first year or a stressed out fifth year or even a cool and confident prefect strolling up to the door.  You’d see them execute a complex set of wand patterns, whisper a word, and look around furtively before they enter. 

If you were to follow them in (and I would not suggest this, for the room has its own way of dealing with intruders), you’d see students of all Houses and years, talking and studying and reading. But you may miss what they have in common: they’re all Muggle born. This classroom is the after-hours refuge of those who feel as if they don’t belong, those who find themselves trapped between the magical and the mundane, their parents and their classmates. Here there are shelves of magazines whose covers don’t move; there are stacks of textbooks on science and math, heavy tomes of Shakespeare and thin volumes of poetry.

In the corner you may see Justin Finch-Fletchley studying for his A-levels. He had promised his mum that he would at least try for them, even if he wasn’t sure he would ever leave the magical world. Sometimes Hermione Granger joins him, and they teach each other calculus and world history and pore over the periodic table. 

By the fireplace you could find that tearful first year sitting with the calm prefect, their heads bent close. You might hear the first year pour out his heart, outline his fears, confess his insecurities. The prefect could respond in kind, admitting to the knot of confusion that lies underneath her placid exterior. They might then take out their wands and practice a spell, or pull out a child’s fairy tale collection and read aloud.

If you were a Muggle-born, this might be your sanctuary. It might be the place you miss most when you go home for the summer and try to fit your square peg into a world of round holes. It might be what you defend at the Battle of Hogwarts, fighting for your right to be confused and not fit in. It might be why you come back as the new Muggle Studies professor, why you create an after-hours class to help others get their A-levels and apply to university.

But then again, it might be just another classroom.

(written and submitted by the lovely ppyajunebug. There’s a tremendous sweetness to this that I find very appealing, something comforting about knowing that the Muggle-borns have their own space. This blog often explores the horrifying and strange, but sometimes it’s nice to consider good things, as well.)  

(via theprivatelifeofsherlockholmes)

thefandomlifeee:

Tennant with a cat is actually adorable 😍

thefandomlifeee:

Tennant with a cat is actually adorable 😍

(via sherlolly-locked)

igivetoomanyfeels:

this guy right here needs a bigger fandom

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his little self was charming

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he’s cute as a dozen of kittens

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and puppies

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dat acting skills though

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btw he’s actually hot

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shirtless alert

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and let’s all admit that his joffrey was legen-freaking-dary

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just look at this evil little asshole

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but he’s the way he is because of this amazing actor

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so appreciate

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and kneel for the king Jack Gleeson

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(via sherlolly-locked)

merylstreeeps:

Happy 55th Birthday, Emma Thompson!

b. 15th April 1959

"I’m not fiddling about with myself. We’re in this awful youth-driven thing now where everybody needs to look 30 at 60. The trick is to age honestly and make it look great so that everyone looks forward to it."

(via potemkinx)

drhanniballecter:

gaymanual:

is this hannibal?

Yes.

drhanniballecter:

gaymanual:

is this hannibal?

Yes.

(Source: william-richard-no-s, via soulalluring)

Dad: Why the hell did you put a comma there?
Dad: Do you even know what a participial phrase is?
Dad: Omg. He's like my favorite character of all time.
Dad: Who should I dress up as for the movie premier?
Dad: Hey are you awak? I know it's late, but you read Animal Farm, right? Yeah. I need you to read this report. I can't tell if I am just super tired or if this is actual bullshit.
Dad: Alesha wouldn't be able to spell 'definitely' right if wrote it down for her. She would fucking erase it and then write 'defiantly', because she doesn't care. I hate her.
Dad: I need you to bake brownies. I lost a bet.
Dad: Omg. You cannot ship me with Gilcher. You know I don't like tattoos and he's like twenty-five. And for Christ's sake, he teaches math.
Dad: Omg. Gilcher said the funniest thing today.
Dad: Mrs. Ashworth and I have decided to start a band. It'll be called Great Expectations.
Dad: It's like you didn't read the fucking book.
Dad: Okay. So this week you're reading this book I stole from Mrs. Ashworth's. It's like sixty pages long, but you'll love it.
Dad: *puts books on my bed for me to read everyday and demands that I read them*
Dad: My son doesn't like reading. I have not only failed him, but society. You aren't my son. Leave.
Dad: Okay. So you're getting books for Christmas. All of you. I get discounts on them since I'm a teacher, and since I'm a teacher, it's all I can afford, so...
Dad: Fucking standardized testing can go fuck itself in the ass.
Dad: I have to teach for the required testing instead of what they really need to know.
Dad: Fuck the government.
Dad: Fuck the school board.
Dad: Close the door.
Dad: Charles Dickens was so fucking pretentious, and I hate him, but he also caused change, but he's such a Dick. Ha. DICKens.
Dad: I love puns.
Dad: People who say sarcasm is the lowest form of humor are assholes.
Dad: Please shut up.
Dad: Catching Fire was the worst book but the best movie and that feels weird.
Dad: I wouldn't get so mad when you call me at school if you didn't change your ringtones to inappropriate rap music.
Dad: I fucking hate Alesha. She asked what countries were apart of Austria-Hungary today and I almost told her to get out.
Dad: You cannot visit my school in a dress that short. There are boys there.
Dad: Barbra Parks is fucking Queen.
Dad: I need you to make me a good, relaxing playlist for silent reading. I'm too lazy.
Dad: If I have to watch two of my students grind on each other at one more dance, I will kill them both.
Dad: They act like I care what they think.
Dad: I hate homework.
Dad: I have decided to become a politician.
Dad: What's the one book with the guys and the one kills the other and the chick without a name who dies and the short angry man? Mouseman? Oh my fucking gosh. Of Mice and Men. I have failed.

neonxwhales:

mediclopedia:

Some of the ways our organs communicate with each other… This is scientifically correct.

(Source: kickstarter.com, via morgenwind)