madauntymilli

assachusetts:

imthedoctornowrun:

vivisextion:

ravenclaw07:

frankenwhale:

thegoddamazon:

scatterbrainedhypatia:

thegoddamazon:

sk8euzenherb:

sodomymcscurvylegs:

cameralinz:

“Is Draco alive? Is he in the castle?” The whisper was barely audible; her lips were an inch from his ear, her head bent so low that her long hair shielded his face from the onlookers. “Yes,” he breathed back. He felt the hand on his chest contract; her nails pierced him. Then it was withdrawn. She had sat up. “He is dead!” Narcissa Malfoy called to the watchers.

In the end, Voldemort’s fate twice came down to the choice of a woman, a mother.

Rock ‘n roll.

Harry Potter as a series repeatedly tells us never to underestimate a mother’s love. Lilly’s love for Harry nearly killed Voldemort the first time, Narcissa’s love for Draco set him up for his real death, and Voldemort’s greatest general was killed by Molly, a mother who loved all of her children and feared losing any more to the magical war.

Bitches. Get. Stuff. Done.

Anyone who thinks Harry Potter as a series isn’t good literature and doesn’t teach important life lessons/points of view about ethics, morality and responsibility, needs to G-O-OUT-DA-DO’.

This had to be the most raw moment in the series because the fact that she was like “My baby is okay that’s all that matters, and I know what will happen if Voldemort wins, so let’s end this.”

I mean, Voldemort lost because he trusted his followers to be implicit in their loyalty, but a lot had changed in the decade since he’d last terrorized the world. Like…the Death Eaters for the most part were calmed down and writing off those dark days as the “wild days of their youth” and shit, so when Voldemort pops back up ready to pick up where he left off, you could see a lot of the doubt in them like “Yo we grew up, son, shit ain’t like it was before.” But they followed out of fear mostly, not loyalty. Bellatrix was just crazy and in love with V so it didn’t matter to her what happened—and it ultimately led to her death.

But Narcissa was raw as fuck because she knew SOMEBODY had to stop him and she knew her husband was too scared to do it himself, so she devised her own on-the-fly plan.

The HP series is way too dope to be written off, and most of the detractors who write it off are just jealous of the hype it gets, but if you really read it, so many themes are covered in the story, chief among them being growing up and the expectations therein.

…am I rambling. I need to stop.

Dang, I didn’t even consider the whole “we’ve grown up” thing, but you’re absolutely right. And to add to that, not only have they grown up, they’ve had children. Being a Death Eater is something that these folks probably thought was hot shit when they were young, but now that they’ve grown up, they’re seeing their children doing the same thing, and suddenly it’s not so cool anymore. They’re deeply unsettled at best, and terrified at worst.

And Voldy literally lacks the ability to see this. He will never understand that love, and love for one’s children, also extends to his cronies. He will never understand that love causes people to take unimaginable risks FOR these children.

He will never understand that love for one’s children is so strong that a woman who’s followed him loyally for years will lie to his face—never mind that he’s THE MOST ACCOMPLISHED LEGILIMENS IN THE WORLD—about his absolute worst enemy. When she was forced to choose between her son and her leader, she chose her son, without even batting an eye.

THAT is powerful.

Exactly. These people have grown up, gotten married, and had children. Voldemort is that dude that was perpetually still trying to be forever young, still going to the same clubs, still doing the same fuckshit, and everybody who used to ride with him is like “For real, tho? We off that, man.”

Harry Potter draws a lot of parallels to the real world despite the story itself. I love it.

I love when Tumblr breaks out into hardcore analysis. 

God Narcissa is so fucking hardcore. She kinda makes Bellatrix look silly in comparison. She defied the darkest wizard of almost three generations…even though she knew implicitly what the consequences would be if she failed. I don’t think people really get that. Her husband was a Death Eater, and they were all pretty much having DE torture parties IN HER HOUSE, she knew what happened to traitors, and frankly she didn’t even give a fuck. She knew that her baby cousin had died, and watched the rest of her family get destroyed so finally all she cared about in the end was her baby who she has watched slowly being destroyed by her and her husband’s youthful folly…and she was having none of it anymore! She was a hero in her own right as Rowling has made quite clear every loving mother is.

Reblogging for things that never occurred to me.

i can’t even read all of those i’m getting too motiona omg

Dang this hit me right in the chest

her-inamorata

helenedaviauhunt:

sadiesteel:

madamekotty:

glassmountain:

stfuconservatives:

nextyearsgirl:

This is an enormous chain and I’m sorry, but I need to say this:

The laws in the Old Testament were set forth by god as the rules the Hebrews needed to follow in order to be righteous, to atone for the sin of Adam and Eve and to be able to get into Heaven. That is also why they were required to make sacrifices, because it was part of the appeasement for Original Sin.

According to Christian theology, when Jesus came from Heaven, it was for the express purpose of sacrificing himself on the cross so that our sins may be forgiven. His sacrifice was supposed to be the ultimate act that would free us from the former laws and regulations and allow us to enter Heaven by acting in his image. That is why he said “it is finished” when he died on the cross. That is why Christians don’t have to circumcise their sons (god’s covenant with Jacob), that is why they don’t have to perform animal sacrifice, or grow out their forelocks, or follow any of the other laws of Leviticus.

When you quote Leviticus as god’s law and say they are rules we must follow because they are what god or Jesus wants us to do, what you are really saying, as a Christian, is that Christ’s sacrifice on the cross was invalid. He died in vain because you believe we are still beholden to the old laws. That is what you, a self-professed good Christian, are saying to your god and his son, that their plan for your salvation wasn’t good enough for you.

So maybe actually read the thing before you start quoting it, because the implications of your actions go a lot deeper than you think.

^

(mic drop)

boom

THANK YOU

Exactly.

Fucking. Thank you.

iwishiwasinwonderland
rosydrops:

Cleaning
clean bathroom tips
organize your closet
how to fix a leaky faucet
how to keep a clean kitchen
removing stains from your carpet
Money
how to coupon
what to do when you can’t pay your bills
see if you’re paying too much for your cell phone bill
how to save money
How to Balance a Check Book
How to do Your Own Taxes
Health
how to take care of yourself when you’re sick
things to bring to a doctor’s appointment
what to expect from your first gynecologist appointment
how to make a doctor’s appointment
how to pick a health insurance plan
a list of stress relievers
how to get free therapy

how to remove a splinter


how to avoid a hangover

Emergency
what to do if you get pulled over by a cop
a list of hotlines in a crisis
things to keep in your car in case of an emergency

how to do the heimlich maneuver

Food
recipes that take 30 minutes or less
Yummy apple thing
Brownie in a cup
Cookie in a cup
French bread pizza
Egg tacos
panera mac n cheese recipe
different salad recipes
harry potter recipes
healthy recipes
various cookie recipes
chocolate cupcakes w/ eggless cookie dough topping
s’mores pie 
nutella hot chocolate
peanut butter nutella swirl cookies
cookie in a mug
starbucks holiday drinks
fruit leathers 
brownie in a mug
how to make ramen 1000x better
eggless cookie dough (not to bake, just to eat)
make recipes using things you already have
how to put together a very fancy cheese plate 
make different flavored lemonades
various desert recipes
make tiny chocolate chip cookies
20 dishes every cook should know
learn how to make your own tea
Macaroni and cheese in a mug
Study snacks (2)
40 on-the-go breakfast recipes
Home
what the hell is a mortgage?
first apartment essentials checklist
how to care for cacti and succulents
the care and keeping of plants 
Getting an apartment
Job
time management
create a resume
find the right career
how to pick a major

how to avoid a hangover

how to interview for a job

how to stop procrastinating

How to write cover letters
Travel
ULTIMATE PACKING LIST
Traveling for Cheap 
Travel Accessories
The Best Way to Pack a Suitcase
How To Read A Map
How to Apply For A Passport
How to Make A Travel Budget
Better You
read the news
leave your childhood traumas behind
how to quit smoking

how to get a book published


how to knit


how to use a polaroid camera


how to solve a rubik’s cube


how to stop biting your nails


how to stop procrastinating


how to stop skipping breakfast


how to stop micromanaging


how to stop avoiding asking for help


how to stop swearing constantly


how to stop being a pushover

learn another language
how to improve your self-esteem
how to sew
learn how to embroider
how to love yourself
learn how to do yoga
100 tips for life
learn how to make your own cards

rosydrops:

Cleaning

Money

Health

Emergency

Food

Home

Job

Travel

Better You

noseperiod

amandaonwriting:

Cheat Sheets for Writing Body Language

We are always told to use body language in our writing. Sometimes, it’s easier said than written. I decided to create these cheat sheets to help you show a character’s state of mind. Obviously, a character may exhibit a number of these behaviours. For example, he may be shocked and angry, or shocked and happy. Use these combinations as needed.

by Amanda Patterson

jennstarkid
zanetehaiden:

Brian was being nice to you, and this was weird, and weird was bad. Everyone was nice to you today. You woke up, bleary eyed and grumpy as always, but there were pancakes. Actual pancakes. Your parents haven’t made breakfast since summer, much less fucking pancakes. You asked your dad why there were fucking pancakes readily made this morning, and he just said, “Well, I just kinda felt like pancakes today, you know? I was up early anyway, and I thought it would just be a nice thing to do for you and your Mother.”
 This was not a good explanation. This was not a good explanation at all. God knows you’ve heard him complain enough about making coffee for her in the morning, much less a full course meal with ingredients we were supposed to be rationing and— is that apple juice? You looked at him again, and he just kind of smiled and sipped his coffee at the dinner table. The smile was the most off-putting thing, and something in it told you that you were less a person and more a thing to be pitied. Then your eyes flicked to the number above his head, steadily counting down.
 Thirty-three years, eighty-seven days, ten hours, eighteen minutes, and fourteen, thirteen, twelve, eleven…. That was how long until he kicked the can, or, in laymans terms, died. He would die at that exact moment in the far future, and everyone who saw him knew about it. Of course, nobody was a big enough prick to tell him. Nobody was a big enough prick to tell anybody, because it was the exact same for everyone else. For your mother it was twenty-eight something years, and for almost everyone in your school it was sixty or seventy, with one fucker up to eighty. The only one whom you didn’t know the date of death for was yourself, and that kind of made you pretty paranoid.
 Especially when this kind of stuff happened. When your mom woke up, she hugged you and kissed you on the forehead and called you sweetie like it was the first day of school, and when she drove you to school she let you choose the radio station. When you got there, someone you didn’t know opened the door for you. A boy. A cute boy. You looked at him awkwardly, but he just smiled and said something sort of like a greeting. You said something sort of like a greeting to him too. You walked past him and into the school and looked back, and he was looking at you. You looked around, and other people were looking at you, but they looked away when you looked at them. Something inside your chest felt like it was trying to break out, and the hallways suddenly seemed a million degrees hotter with dozens of pairs of eyes burning into you, so you decided to get to homeroom.
 Homeroom was hell, your teacher was a bitch, but she was smiling. She complimented your outfit for the day (a hoodie and some blue jeans) and asked how you were feeling. You said alright. She said good. You silently wondered why she would give a single solitary fuck about any of that, and sat down with a little voice in the back of your head screaming out an answer you hoped was incorrect. As a girl who’d told you to slit your wrists in seventh grade came over to talk to you, that little voice grew louder. You really wished people would stop fucking smiling at you.
 “What’s up Noam the Gnome, anything been happening lately?” she asked semi-enthusiastically, like someone who’s parents are making her talk to the kid with no friends. You wished she wouldn’t say your name like that, its enough of a joke as is, even if you hadn’t turned out to be barely five feet tall. You shrugged and put one headphone in. “Cool, cool,” she said, continuing, “a couple of girls and I were wondering if you wanted to hang out after school today, seeing as we share a couple classes but don’t really know you too terribly well.”
 “You didn’t care before. Why do you care now?” you said, looking past her head at her clock. Sixty more years. Damn.
 She said “no reason” a bit too quickly for your liking, but at least she left you alone after that. You didn’t have anything against her personally, you were just in a bad mood today, even more than usual, and you knew she wasn’t being genuine but you didn’t know why. People didn’t just randomly start being nice, that’s not how things worked.
 The bell rang, you went to your first class, and everyone continued to stare. You hadn’t done the homework for last night, but the teacher didn’t take it up anyway so at least that was good. When you raised your hand to ask if you could get a drink of water, your teacher smiled sweetly and said of course, but when you peeked through the door there wasn’t a face in sight not sporting a grim visage. The little voice was booming now. You re-entered the room, and everyone went back to smiling.
 Second, and third blocks were the same, but in fourth block there happened to be this guy named Brian. Brian was like the boy who had held the door open for you in that he was cute, the main difference being his constant sweetness and the fact that if given the chance you’d ride him like a fucking carousel. He was a boy with black hair and green eyes and a jawline set in stone and arms that looked quite nice in that well fitted shirt he was wearing. The best thing about him was the look on his face he got when he talked about things he was passionate about, like penguins. He’d once told you that when he was little he wanted to grow up to be a penguin and live in the Antarctic and give all the other penguins blankets and ear muffs, and you almost slammed him on the desk right then and there.
 That day, he sat close to you and talked to you. Not just idle chit chat either, like actual talking. It made your insides feel strange, but in a good way. He asked if you wanted to hang out after school, and you said sure. You asked your parents if it was alright, and they said sure. You almost forgot about being paranoid in that hour and a half, but then you glanced up at his and saw eighty years, and couldn’t help but think it would be eighty years spent without you.
 Whatever. You half convinced yourself you didn’t care as you walked home with him. He skipped along like a massive dork, and smiled genuinely, and you couldn’t help but smile too. His house wasn’t that far away, but he took a long and winding path through a steel jungle near the school, climbing on the various scrap heaps and balancing on the muzzle of an old tank. You told him to get down, but he just recited one of the various bullshitty speeches from your history books that some old fucker or another had said about never surrendering. He saluted, a silly look on his face, and you both laughed as he hopped down. You ended up laying together on the roof of a rusted auto, his hand kind of close to yours, and you joked about various things and such.
 You don’t really remember how, but he ended up on top of you, a weird sort of half smile on his face and what looked sort of like admiration in his eyes. It might’ve been admiration, but you only had a few seconds to look before his face became very, very close to yours.
 And thats how it went for about an hour before you actually bothered to close the difference between his house and you to none, but of course by then you were quite flustered. You met his parents, and they were nice. You played video games and beat him badly, but you’re fairly sure he let you win. You both went for another walk, and it ended up about like the first one, on the roof of an auto with lips going places and hands going others.
 When he said goodbye, it sounded final, and you tried not to break down crying. You failed, but at least it was when he wasn’t there. You sat on a bench and looked at the stars, and wondered what their numbers were. You didn’t bother for too long, you knew that you couldn’t even begin to comprehend the amount of time even if you could see it. But you couldn’t, and for that single moment the sky seemed like a mirror. It was only a moment though, for the next an out of control auto swerved off the road and flipped onto you, crushing every single bone in your body and killing you almost instantly. In your last moment, you didn’t think about anything poetic like the feel of his lips on yours or the frailty of life or anything like that, but the brief though of fuck, I was right, did cross your mind.
—-
So this thought occurred to me earlier and I decided to actually write it. Feedback is appreciated.

zanetehaiden:

Brian was being nice to you, and this was weird, and weird was bad. Everyone was nice to you today. You woke up, bleary eyed and grumpy as always, but there were pancakes. Actual pancakes. Your parents haven’t made breakfast since summer, much less fucking pancakes. You asked your dad why there were fucking pancakes readily made this morning, and he just said, “Well, I just kinda felt like pancakes today, you know? I was up early anyway, and I thought it would just be a nice thing to do for you and your Mother.”

This was not a good explanation. This was not a good explanation at all. God knows you’ve heard him complain enough about making coffee for her in the morning, much less a full course meal with ingredients we were supposed to be rationing and— is that apple juice? You looked at him again, and he just kind of smiled and sipped his coffee at the dinner table. The smile was the most off-putting thing, and something in it told you that you were less a person and more a thing to be pitied. Then your eyes flicked to the number above his head, steadily counting down.

Thirty-three years, eighty-seven days, ten hours, eighteen minutes, and fourteen, thirteen, twelve, eleven…. That was how long until he kicked the can, or, in laymans terms, died. He would die at that exact moment in the far future, and everyone who saw him knew about it. Of course, nobody was a big enough prick to tell him. Nobody was a big enough prick to tell anybody, because it was the exact same for everyone else. For your mother it was twenty-eight something years, and for almost everyone in your school it was sixty or seventy, with one fucker up to eighty. The only one whom you didn’t know the date of death for was yourself, and that kind of made you pretty paranoid.

Especially when this kind of stuff happened. When your mom woke up, she hugged you and kissed you on the forehead and called you sweetie like it was the first day of school, and when she drove you to school she let you choose the radio station. When you got there, someone you didn’t know opened the door for you. A boy. A cute boy. You looked at him awkwardly, but he just smiled and said something sort of like a greeting. You said something sort of like a greeting to him too. You walked past him and into the school and looked back, and he was looking at you. You looked around, and other people were looking at you, but they looked away when you looked at them. Something inside your chest felt like it was trying to break out, and the hallways suddenly seemed a million degrees hotter with dozens of pairs of eyes burning into you, so you decided to get to homeroom.

Homeroom was hell, your teacher was a bitch, but she was smiling. She complimented your outfit for the day (a hoodie and some blue jeans) and asked how you were feeling. You said alright. She said good. You silently wondered why she would give a single solitary fuck about any of that, and sat down with a little voice in the back of your head screaming out an answer you hoped was incorrect. As a girl who’d told you to slit your wrists in seventh grade came over to talk to you, that little voice grew louder. You really wished people would stop fucking smiling at you.

“What’s up Noam the Gnome, anything been happening lately?” she asked semi-enthusiastically, like someone who’s parents are making her talk to the kid with no friends. You wished she wouldn’t say your name like that, its enough of a joke as is, even if you hadn’t turned out to be barely five feet tall. You shrugged and put one headphone in. “Cool, cool,” she said, continuing, “a couple of girls and I were wondering if you wanted to hang out after school today, seeing as we share a couple classes but don’t really know you too terribly well.”

“You didn’t care before. Why do you care now?” you said, looking past her head at her clock. Sixty more years. Damn.

She said “no reason” a bit too quickly for your liking, but at least she left you alone after that. You didn’t have anything against her personally, you were just in a bad mood today, even more than usual, and you knew she wasn’t being genuine but you didn’t know why. People didn’t just randomly start being nice, that’s not how things worked.

The bell rang, you went to your first class, and everyone continued to stare. You hadn’t done the homework for last night, but the teacher didn’t take it up anyway so at least that was good. When you raised your hand to ask if you could get a drink of water, your teacher smiled sweetly and said of course, but when you peeked through the door there wasn’t a face in sight not sporting a grim visage. The little voice was booming now. You re-entered the room, and everyone went back to smiling.

Second, and third blocks were the same, but in fourth block there happened to be this guy named Brian. Brian was like the boy who had held the door open for you in that he was cute, the main difference being his constant sweetness and the fact that if given the chance you’d ride him like a fucking carousel. He was a boy with black hair and green eyes and a jawline set in stone and arms that looked quite nice in that well fitted shirt he was wearing. The best thing about him was the look on his face he got when he talked about things he was passionate about, like penguins. He’d once told you that when he was little he wanted to grow up to be a penguin and live in the Antarctic and give all the other penguins blankets and ear muffs, and you almost slammed him on the desk right then and there.

That day, he sat close to you and talked to you. Not just idle chit chat either, like actual talking. It made your insides feel strange, but in a good way. He asked if you wanted to hang out after school, and you said sure. You asked your parents if it was alright, and they said sure. You almost forgot about being paranoid in that hour and a half, but then you glanced up at his and saw eighty years, and couldn’t help but think it would be eighty years spent without you.

Whatever. You half convinced yourself you didn’t care as you walked home with him. He skipped along like a massive dork, and smiled genuinely, and you couldn’t help but smile too. His house wasn’t that far away, but he took a long and winding path through a steel jungle near the school, climbing on the various scrap heaps and balancing on the muzzle of an old tank. You told him to get down, but he just recited one of the various bullshitty speeches from your history books that some old fucker or another had said about never surrendering. He saluted, a silly look on his face, and you both laughed as he hopped down. You ended up laying together on the roof of a rusted auto, his hand kind of close to yours, and you joked about various things and such.

You don’t really remember how, but he ended up on top of you, a weird sort of half smile on his face and what looked sort of like admiration in his eyes. It might’ve been admiration, but you only had a few seconds to look before his face became very, very close to yours.

And thats how it went for about an hour before you actually bothered to close the difference between his house and you to none, but of course by then you were quite flustered. You met his parents, and they were nice. You played video games and beat him badly, but you’re fairly sure he let you win. You both went for another walk, and it ended up about like the first one, on the roof of an auto with lips going places and hands going others.

When he said goodbye, it sounded final, and you tried not to break down crying. You failed, but at least it was when he wasn’t there. You sat on a bench and looked at the stars, and wondered what their numbers were. You didn’t bother for too long, you knew that you couldn’t even begin to comprehend the amount of time even if you could see it. But you couldn’t, and for that single moment the sky seemed like a mirror. It was only a moment though, for the next an out of control auto swerved off the road and flipped onto you, crushing every single bone in your body and killing you almost instantly. In your last moment, you didn’t think about anything poetic like the feel of his lips on yours or the frailty of life or anything like that, but the brief though of fuck, I was right, did cross your mind.

—-

So this thought occurred to me earlier and I decided to actually write it. Feedback is appreciated.