Guys, I legitimately don’t understand how/when this happened. I mean….he is FIT.
I mean, it just happened so suddenly! Like, OTP it was like, oh, there’s Neville, dorky as ever, HBP we were like hm, where’s Neville, and then Deathly Hallows was like OMFG THAT’S NEVILLE?!
You know you’re period is coming when you LITERALLY CRY when you go to make a PB&J and your grandma tells you there’s no bread.
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(Source: colmorgan, via brolininthetardis)
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submitted by holdmyhandcharlie
(via whywelovemerlin)
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I’m totally doing the moves…or as much as I can laying down. lol
He sighs, and crawls across the worn leather couch to reach for his old portfolios. His fingers seek the two oldest albums, both battered and well-worn, and retreats to the warmth of his afghan.
The first one he opens is dark red, and the cover is nicked in many places. “Hey, Will,” Merlin says quietly, and turns to the first page.
Here is Will, irritated but tolerant of the ever-present camera as he smiles quirkily, his eyes crossed and looking away from the lens. Will, tying his old red plimsolls that show up as gray, his hair mussed and a clot of marmalade trailing down his shirt. Sleeping in a field, arms folded behind neck and face turned to the sun, and Merlin’s hand brushing the white pollen from his dusty shoulder. With hands pressed to lips, eyes distant and looking uneasily to the side after their first experimental kiss. Lying in his narrow bed, naked chest bare of hair and blanket hanging over his hipbone, hands curled gently on the off-white sheets. A sunset, blurred into a web of color because Will had grabbed his waist playfully. Will, his hand raised in a jaunty wave as he looked over his shoulder on his way to his rusty old truck, calling something to Merlin’s mother and winking at the camera.
Will, cold and stiff in his rigid coffin, hands gripping at nothing and hair combed unnaturally from his pale forehead. Will, b. born May seventeenth, 1986, d. August third, 2004. Will, who parked on the side of the freeway to Leeds and gassed himself.
Merlin swallows and closes the portfolio, pressing it to his chest as if he is holding his best friend again.
Leaving is hard. Being left is harder.
(Source: fanfiction.net)
I was by myself, it was like half an hour before close…..so it was dead, and all of a sudden I realize that the chick singing…..is REDOING BOHEMIAN RHAPSODY. YOU DON’T JUST REMAKE BOHEMIAN FUCKING RHAPSODY. YOU JUST DON’T.
It’s just like when that one country guy remade I Don’t Wanna Miss a Thing. Just….NO!!
God, have some respect.
Update: 11 year old trans girl lost appeal -
The above article is an update. Her mother went to appeal to keep her out of the psychiatric ward and lost. She will be institutionalized because of her expression of her gender. She will be held until she conforms to male gender and then released to foster care, not her mother who was supporting her.
Please, if you haven’t signed the petition, sign it, reblog it, ask your friends to sign it. We’ve managed to get 40K signatures for a pageant model, we’ve only gotten 11K for a little girl about to have her life ruined. Lets get on the ball and spread the word.
(via brolininthetardis)
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