consistentlyaverage:

excepttheeyes:

No, but how sweet is it that during Harry’s first week at Hogwarts Hagrid sent along a note with Hedwig to invite Harry to tea rather than asking him in person so Harry didn’t feel left out and actually got some mail

HAGRID IS SO UNDER APPRECIATED THIS REALLY BUGS ME

2 days ago · 125,392 notes

does-my-heart-get-on-your-nerves:

gracelingminds-gracelesslives:

casbangsdeanintheimpala:

lesbianvenom:

lesbianvenom:

there’s something really interesting in this passage that I wanted to point out Trelawney assumes that Harry was born in midwinter because of his “dark hair” and “mean stature” and “tragic losses so young in life” Tom Riddle was born in midwinter, is describe in CoS as resembling Harry, and his mother died right after his birth Harry has a piece of Voldemort’s soul in him that’s why Trelawney made that assumption

I pointed this out in my Harry Potter class today and everyone started yelling and about five people told me to go to hell

this was so confusing when i first read it because i’m australian and in australia july IS midwinter

in my harry potter class

Where the fuck do you go to school?
onlylolgifs:

kitten wiggles ears while eating

marshaloves1d:

thorinmyside:

hiphopfightssnacks:

omfg i hate my dad’s computer he has a fucking profanity filter i feel like i’m on goddamn neopets or something

LOOK AT THIS SHIT OH MY FUCKING GOD

image

Please ask your dad where he got the profanity filter at. I am going to do this to everyone’s computer. PLEASE TELL ME

3 days ago · 127,788 notes

anderson-ships-sherlolly:

the-asian-camel:

did-you-kno:

Source



Reblogging only for that gif

taddle:

kvothe-kingkiller:

deankeptthetrenchcoatintheimpala:

allonsy-sherlock:

popetwitter:

kaalashnikov:

squeakykins:

yzma:

putting milk in the bowl first is divorce worthy

wow excuse you maybe I like to soften the bristles first B(

who the fuck doesn’t wet their tooth brush before putting toothpaste on what the fuck

who the fuck does

i the fuck do

what the fuck man

fuck you

This is how civil wars are started

3 days ago · 175,985 notes

foxbabies:

diabeetus01:

You know what I just realized? Patrick killed people.
Patrick killed a lot of people.

and then things got unholy
quietobservation:

setbabiesonfire:

danielkiwi:

sailorhatesjane:

pantslessyoda:

THIS IS MY FAVORITE THING EVER

no words

oh…. 

That last part tho.


Awwweeeee….
"

When I was seventeen and preparing to leave for university, my mother’s only brother saw fit to give me some advice.
“Just don’t be an idiot, kid,” he told me, “and don’t ever forget that boys and girls can never just be friends.”
I laughed and answered, “I’m not too worried. And I don’t really think all guys are like that.”

When I was eighteen and the third annual advent of the common cold was rolling through residence like a pestilent fog, a friend texted me asking if there was anything he could do to help.
I told him that if he could bring me up some vitamin water that would be great, if it wasn’t too much trouble.
That semester I learned that human skin cells replace themselves every three to five weeks. I hoped that in a month, maybe I’d stop feeling the echoes of his touch; maybe my new skin would feel cleaner.
It didn’t. But I stood by what I said. Not all guys are like that.

When I was nineteen and my roommate decided the only way to celebrate the end of midterms was to get wasted at a club, I humoured her.
Four drinks, countless leers and five hands up my skirt later, I informed her I was ready to leave.
“I get why you’re upset,” she told me on the walk home, “but you have to tolerate that sort of thing if you want to have any fun. And really, not all guys are like that.”

(Age nineteen also saw me propositioned for casual sex by no fewer than three different male friends, and while I still believe that guys and girls can indeed be just friends, I was beginning to see my uncle’s point.)

When I was twenty and a stranger that started chatting to me in my usual cafe asked if he could walk with me (since we were going the same way and all), I accepted.
Before we’d even made it three blocks he was pulling me into an alleyway and trying to put his hands up my shirt. “You were staring,” he laughed when I asked what the fuck he was doing (I wasn’t), “I’m just taking pity.”
But not all guys are like that.

I am twenty one and a few days ago a friend and I were walking down the street. A car drove by with the windows down, and a young man stuck his head out and whistled as they passed. I ignored it, carrying on with the conversation.
My friend did not. “Did you know those people?” He asked.
“Not at all,” I answered.
Later when we sat down to eat he got this thoughtful look on his face. When I asked what was wrong he said, “You know not all guys do that kind of thing, right? We’re not all like that.”
As if he were imparting some great profound truth I’d never realized before. My entire life has been turned around, because now I’ve been enlightened: not all guys are like that.

No. Not all guys are. But enough are. Enough that I am uncomfortable when a man sits next to me on the bus. Enough that I will cross to the other side of the street if I see a pack of guys coming my way. Enough that even fleeting eye contact with a male stranger makes my insides crawl with unease. Enough that I cannot feel safe alone in a room with some of my male friends, even ones I’ve known for years. Enough that when I go out past dark for chips or milk or toilet paper, I carry a knife, I wear a coat that obscures my figure, I mimic a man’s gait. Enough that three years later I keep the story of that day to myself, when the only thing that saved me from being raped was a right hook to the jaw and a threat to scream in a crowded dorm, because I know what the response will be.

I live my life with the everburning anxiety that someone is going to put their hands on me regardless of my feelings on the matter, and I’m not going to be able to stop them. I live with the knowledge that statistically one in three women have experienced a sexual assault, but even a number like that can’t be trusted when we are harassed into silence. I live with the learned instinct, the ingrained compulsion to keep my mouth shut to jeers and catcalls, to swallow my anger at lewd suggestions and crude gestures, to put up my walls against insults and threats. I live in an environment that necessitates armouring myself against it just to get through a day peacefully, and I now view that as normal. I have adapted to extreme circumstances and am told to treat it as baseline. I carry this fear close to my heart, rooted into my bones, and I do so to keep myself unharmed.

So you can tell me that not all guys are like that, and you’d even be right, but that isn’t the issue anymore. My problem is not that I’m unaware of the fact that some guys are perfectly civil, decent, kind—my problem is simply this:

In a world where this cynical overcaution is the only thing that ensures my safety, I’m no longer willing to take the risk.

"
r.d (via rauchwolken)

4 days ago · 116,707 notes

didihearthereadyset:

didihearthereadyset:

didihearthereadyset:

didihearthereadyset:

I have a really hot waiter.

Guys he came back with my food and said, “Careful the plate is hot too.” So I asked, “too?” and hE TOUCHED MY SHOULDER THEN MADE A SIZZLING NOISE.
IM FREAKING OUT WHAT DO I DO.

image

wanna know what these all say?

"suck his dick"

4 days ago · 359,812 notes

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