Land of Snow and Hills and Frogs

Seer of Space, at your service. Let me be your guide.

78,819 notes

cloudjumper-loves-toothless:

virgo-dragon:

dreadful-secrets:

kayleeromesburg:

Fuck this. Fuck this post so much.
Do not tell me you’re best friend would not sit in at your lunch table for three fucking days just staring blankly at your old seat wishing that you were there  to fill the space with laughter.
Do not tell me your younger brother would not break down in the middle of class because you guys started talking about your favorite type of subject in school.
Do not tell me your mother  would not stare into the mirror with trembling lips wishing she could be bringing you home from the hospital rather than having to escort you away in a casket to the nearest graveyard.
Do not tell me your father would not begin working the night shifts to distract himself of the silence at home because you’re not up until the ungodly hours of the night talking to what’s-his/her-face on the phone because you guys are so in love.
Do not tell me your boyfriend/girlfriend would not go into your room and put on the last hoodie you wore trying to desperately imprint your sent onto their skin so they never forget your smell.
Do not tell me your friends would not stare blankly  at the gymnasium wall after the principal has announced your death to the entire school making no sound trying to convince themselves this is just another one of your impractical jokes.
Do NOT fucking TELL ME this bullshit line of how the stars would still appear the sun would still come out the earth would still rotate and the seasons will still change because without YOU you lil beautiful piece of human being none of these people will want ANY of that to happen.
So yes.
Fuck this.
Fuck this post so much.

Reblogging for the comment because damn

Almost made me cry.

If you think that was sad, well I have an even worse version… would you like to see it??

cloudjumper-loves-toothless:

virgo-dragon:

dreadful-secrets:

kayleeromesburg:

Fuck this.
Fuck this post so much.

Do not tell me
you’re best friend
would not sit in at your lunch table
for three fucking days
just staring blankly at your old seat
wishing that you were there
to fill the space with laughter.

Do not tell me
your younger brother
would not break down
in the middle of class
because you guys started talking about
your favorite type of subject
in school.

Do not tell me
your mother
would not stare into the mirror
with trembling lips
wishing she could be
bringing you home from the hospital
rather than having to escort you away
in a casket to the nearest graveyard.

Do not tell me
your father
would not begin working
the night shifts
to distract himself
of the silence at home
because you’re not up
until the ungodly hours of the night
talking to what’s-his/her-face
on the phone
because you guys are so in love.

Do not tell me
your boyfriend/girlfriend
would not go into your room
and put on the last hoodie you wore
trying to desperately imprint
your sent onto their skin
so they never forget your smell.

Do not tell me
your friends
would not stare blankly
at the gymnasium wall
after the principal has announced
your death
to the entire school
making no sound
trying to convince themselves
this is just another one of
your impractical jokes.

Do NOT fucking TELL ME
this bullshit line
of how the stars would still appear
the sun would still come out
the earth would still rotate
and the seasons will still change
because without YOU
you lil beautiful piece of human being
none of these people will want
ANY of that to happen.

So yes.

Fuck this.

Fuck this post so much.

Reblogging for the comment because damn

Almost made me cry.

If you think that was sad, well I have an even worse version… would you like to see it??

(via misakiyaoifangirl)

74,994 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 azelk)

1,431 notes

Mental Health Advice

psych2go:

If you’re looking for advice or someone to talk to, you should check Mental Health Advice’s Tumblr out! They do a very good job replying to questions and truly care for people who seek their help! 

(via psych-facts)

163 notes

alpha-beta-gamer:

Avenging Angel is a very pretty single-player first person action adventure game set in a steampunk version of planet Earth, aproximatley 10 thousand years from now.

You play an Associate of the Inventors Guild, dropped to an island on the Atlantic Ocean on a routine maintenance job. As you venture through the island, it becomes clear that all is not right on this strange island.  The steampunk setting of Avenging Angel is excellent, full of decaying steam powered equipment and some rather cool looking robotic enemies.

Although there is weaponry to be used in Avenging Angel (the Pre-Alpha Demo features duel wielding flintlocks and a Katana), it’s by no means just a first person shooter.  It’s more of a first person puzzle adventure with some shooty bits thrown into the mix (including a run in with a very cool looking mechanical spider).  In the Pre-Alpha Demo these puzzles are fairly easy to solve, but as it’s a large open world that you’re exploring, you may have to know where to look (hint: check out the house on your right first).

Dark Amber Softworks have created a beautiful world, full of mystery and wonder.  A full playthrough of the Avenging Angel Pre-Alpha demo will take less than 20 minutes, and once it’s finished you’ll dying for more.  

Download the Pre-Alpha Demo

(via ampersandsblog)

78,932 notes

true as fuck zodiac

aries:
lovable but still a lil bitch
taurus:
p cute but probably sacrifices hamsters to satan in their free time
gemini:
crayola as fuck
cancer:
rude as hell and not to be trusted with shit
leo:
cutest ever
virgo:
really deep and doesn't take any shit
libra:
weird as hell omg
scorpio:
probably satan
sagittarius:
cute and very sweet
capricorn:
to be avoided bc they're like taurus but they probs talk about their hamster sacrifices
aquarius:
charming but hella strange once you know them
pisces:
even more crayola than gemini

7,302 notes

sixpenceee:

sixpenceee:

The Death of Chris McCandless
On September 6, 1992, the decomposed body of Christopher McCandless was discovered by moose hunters just outside the northern boundary of Denali National Park. He had died inside a rusting bus. Taped to the door was a note scrawled on a page torn from a novel:

ATTENTION POSSIBLE VISITORS. S.O.S. I NEED YOUR HELP. I AM INJURED, NEAR DEATH, AND TOO WEAK TO HIKE OUT OF HERE. I AM ALL ALONE, THIS IS NO JOKE. IN THE NAME OF GOD, PLEASE REMAIN TO SAVE ME. I AM OUT COLLECTING BERRIES CLOSE BY AND SHALL RETURN THIS EVENING. THANK YOU,CHRIS McCANDLESS AUGUST ?

It appeared that McCandless had been dead for 19 days. Before this stage it was indicated that he was 24 years old and weighed 140 pounds. After his body was flown out of the wilderness, an autopsy determined that it weighed 67 pounds. The probable cause of death, according to the coroner’s report, was starvation.
Read more on this interesting article about the debate behind his death and the real cause of it:
ARTICLE 

There is a book & movie about this called “Into the Wild”
You can watch the movie here
PDF version of book here

sixpenceee:

sixpenceee:

The Death of Chris McCandless

On September 6, 1992, the decomposed body of Christopher McCandless was discovered by moose hunters just outside the northern boundary of Denali National Park. He had died inside a rusting bus. Taped to the door was a note scrawled on a page torn from a novel:

ATTENTION POSSIBLE VISITORS.
S.O.S.
I NEED YOUR HELP. I AM INJURED, NEAR DEATH, AND TOO WEAK TO HIKE OUT OF HERE. I AM ALL ALONE, THIS IS NO JOKE. IN THE NAME OF GOD, PLEASE REMAIN TO SAVE ME. I AM OUT COLLECTING BERRIES CLOSE BY AND SHALL RETURN THIS EVENING. THANK YOU,
CHRIS McCANDLESS
AUGUST ?

It appeared that McCandless had been dead for 19 days. Before this stage it was indicated that he was 24 years old and weighed 140 pounds. After his body was flown out of the wilderness, an autopsy determined that it weighed 67 pounds. The probable cause of death, according to the coroner’s report, was starvation.

Read more on this interesting article about the debate behind his death and the real cause of it:

ARTICLE 

There is a book & movie about this called “Into the Wild”

You can watch the movie here

PDF version of book here

138,421 notes

seetobe:

surfandwrite:

thesoftghetto:

niggawithablog:

locc-2dabrain:

krxs10:

why THE FUCK is no one talking about this

why isnt this on the news

we all know the reason why. stop the bullshit.

And this shit happened on May 18…MAY 8-FUCKING-TEENTH!
Story

I read the article and this honestly makes me so fucking angry. I encourage all my followers to reblog the shit out of this. Share it on your Facebook and Twitter, too.

Please spare some time for Darren Rainey. This is a horrific brutality against a human being that is being swept under the rug by most media. 

seetobe:

surfandwrite:

thesoftghetto:

niggawithablog:

locc-2dabrain:

krxs10:

why THE FUCK is no one talking about this

why isnt this on the news

we all know the reason why. stop the bullshit.

And this shit happened on May 18…MAY 8-FUCKING-TEENTH!

Story

I read the article and this honestly makes me so fucking angry. I encourage all my followers to reblog the shit out of this. Share it on your Facebook and Twitter, too.

Please spare some time for Darren Rainey. This is a horrific brutality against a human being that is being swept under the rug by most media. 

(via genderpunkrock)