<body>
It was only just a dream.
but the nightmare is still playing out.




Bat Logic
Welcome to Night Vale - population: you and me.

  • (Source: barfpop, via schoolboyshiba)



    64,828 notes
  • theworldendswith-you:

+

    theworldendswith-you:

    +

    (via staticzombie)



    1,150 notes
  • 
Mog — size abuse 25/?

    Mog — size abuse 25/?

    (via thisgirlgames)



    1,205 notes
  • infinidegree:

    jiizzzlle:

    victoriatheunicorn:

    i think i want to see a cartoon about these guys

    Omg.. The way the cat slows down to allow the bun to catch up, probably because it knows how much the bun likes to stop and look at stuff

    has anyone noticed THAT THE BUNNY IS TRYING TO WALK LIKE THE CAT.

    BUNNIES FUCKING HOP

    (Source: onlycatgifs, via imsorryforthenightsicantremember)

    525,793 notes
  • 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

    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

    (via allthingshomestuck)



    74,268 notes
  • sophiaphilemon:

bracha-ncc1701:

sophiaphilemon:

bracha-ncc1701:

MY GIRLFRIEND IS FUCKING INSANE

No it would be instantaneous and then your body would float around those big colorful nebulas and you could get to other galaxies and maybe become part of a moon or get incinerated in a star or fall into a black hole.
You could become part of an asteroid and impact on a moon and your microscopic dust remains are scattered all over the crater.
You could become part of a star and undergo nuclear fission and turn into hydrogen and your body is a tiny fraction of the process of the star and you make light for the universe and then the star ages and your atoms get turned into iron and then the star goes supernova and you’re spewed across the universe as space dust.
You could land of a kind-of habitable planet and your DNA survives as you start to decompose and in a few million years the primitive life forms of your body become science’s greatest mystery for humankind.
You could be found by an alien civilization who’s also wondering ‘are we alone in the universe’ and suddenly they know they’re not because woah processed materials and tools and crazy-developed processing centers woah and then in a couple thousand years they make first contact because of the space-travelling cultural revolution your corpse prompted in their society and the humans of the future go ‘how did you get all these spaceships and junk’ and they reverently pull out your body and you are interred with great fanfare and people make you statues and holidays and stuff.
Your body could end up literally anywhere in the universe and you’d be the first human there because who said you had to be alive huh?
SPACE

What is wrong with you

ABSOLUTELY NOTHING

    sophiaphilemon:

    bracha-ncc1701:

    sophiaphilemon:

    bracha-ncc1701:

    MY GIRLFRIEND IS FUCKING INSANE

    No it would be instantaneous and then your body would float around those big colorful nebulas and you could get to other galaxies and maybe become part of a moon or get incinerated in a star or fall into a black hole.

    You could become part of an asteroid and impact on a moon and your microscopic dust remains are scattered all over the crater.

    You could become part of a star and undergo nuclear fission and turn into hydrogen and your body is a tiny fraction of the process of the star and you make light for the universe and then the star ages and your atoms get turned into iron and then the star goes supernova and you’re spewed across the universe as space dust.

    You could land of a kind-of habitable planet and your DNA survives as you start to decompose and in a few million years the primitive life forms of your body become science’s greatest mystery for humankind.

    You could be found by an alien civilization who’s also wondering ‘are we alone in the universe’ and suddenly they know they’re not because woah processed materials and tools and crazy-developed processing centers woah and then in a couple thousand years they make first contact because of the space-travelling cultural revolution your corpse prompted in their society and the humans of the future go ‘how did you get all these spaceships and junk’ and they reverently pull out your body and you are interred with great fanfare and people make you statues and holidays and stuff.

    Your body could end up literally anywhere in the universe and you’d be the first human there because who said you had to be alive huh?

    SPACE

    What is wrong with you

    ABSOLUTELY NOTHING

    (Source: cockedtail, via personofminorinterest)



    119,089 notes
  • sciencetoastudent:

thepageofhopes:

signifi-cunt:

liberalsarecool:

One of the reasons your tuition is high and classes are getting cut.

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME

fact checked and…apparently this is completely correct.

And people wonder and complain when I am “down” on sports.

    sciencetoastudent:

    thepageofhopes:

    signifi-cunt:

    liberalsarecool:

    One of the reasons your tuition is high and classes are getting cut.

    ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME

    fact checked and…apparently this is completely correct.

    And people wonder and complain when I am “down” on sports.

    (via ghostierjohn)



    61,871 notes
  • vinebox:

    my life summed up in six seconds

    (Source: vinebox, via hheroes)

    22,799 notes
  • emijayned:

    Gorillaz- Clint Eastwood

    (via buttfreckles)

    327 notes
  • laurenzuke:

"i need another shirt"

    laurenzuke:

    "i need another shirt"

    (via personofminorinterest)



    21,061 notes
  • Compilation of facts re Michael Brown

    feminism5ever:

    For all you gross cop apologists + people who haven’t been keeping up:

    1. Autopsy showed no sign of struggle. Also, the autopsy showed the bullet wounds on the inside of his arm which means that his arms had to be up.
    2. The picture of the CT scan that’s being passed…

    (via femboss)

    6,230 notes
  • sniffling:

the only advice you’ll ever need

    sniffling:

    the only advice you’ll ever need

    (Source: twibs, via buttfreckles)



    209,138 notes
  • 2000esempre:

    Clean Bandit- Rather Be (DSharp Violin Mix) @CleanBandit

    (Source: youtube.com, via personofminorinterest)

    33 notes

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    Personal blog of one creative, demented (and hell, just plain odd), wannabe writer, sorta artist, and nerd dubbed as Bat. =3

    F | 27 | ♋ | NYC

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    It was only just a dream.
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