zeldathemes
Prince Dork
My name is Jack. I am 19 years old, currently studying law in Chicago, IL. I am male and demisexual panromantic. This is my home, but it is yours too- come in, take your shoes off, look around. You always welcome to talk to me about anything you need to.

I'm also kind of a mess, and I have lots of panic attacks, so I'll understand if you unfollow me a few hours after you follow me because to be honest I wouldn't follow me either.


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postracialcomments:

In response to the GoFundMe Campaign for Darren Wilson, people are asking GoFundMe to close the account due to the fact that it incites hate and obviously violates their terms and conditions

The donors and the comments attached to the campaign are sick and simply racist. They asking for the “Killing of N*****s”, “purging the savages” and to support a “fellow White” individual that has the right to murder Black people.

Pass this around. Report the Darren Wilson page as for the violation

http://www.gofundme.com/supportofficerwilson

I will add their contact info as soon as I find it. 

donthatethegeek:

Tesla knows that Iron is the new Man.

donthatethegeek:

Tesla knows that Iron is the new Man.

CAN YOU IMAGINE A BOYFRIEND/GIRLFRIEND?? LIKE SOMEONE ACTUALLY GIVING A SHIT ABOUT YOU??? BECAUSE I CAN’T

  #me either  
intelligentwolf:

crystalsoulslayer:

procyonvulpecula:

pagannerd:

proxydialogue:

anneretic:

infinity-imagined:

The collision between the Milky Way Galaxy and the Andromeda Galaxy.

the grand showdown

Andromeda is a bit bigger than us. So when that happens, Andromeda’s black hole is gonna consume our black hole in a vicious act of galactic canabalism. 
Which is an actual term used in astronomy apparently. 

“Galactic Cannabalism” sounds like an electro/death metal fusion band.

Galactic cannibalism is one of my favourite astronomical terms, but it doesn’t beat the term used for the stretching out into a long thin tube that occurs when something falls into a black hole (spaghettification) or the term used for a rock thought to be a meteorite but which later turns out to be an ordinary terrestrial rock (meteowrong).

SPAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACE

intelligentwolf:

crystalsoulslayer:

procyonvulpecula:

pagannerd:

proxydialogue:

anneretic:

infinity-imagined:

The collision between the Milky Way Galaxy and the Andromeda Galaxy.

the grand showdown

Andromeda is a bit bigger than us. So when that happens, Andromeda’s black hole is gonna consume our black hole in a vicious act of galactic canabalism. 

Which is an actual term used in astronomy apparently. 

“Galactic Cannabalism” sounds like an electro/death metal fusion band.

Galactic cannibalism is one of my favourite astronomical terms, but it doesn’t beat the term used for the stretching out into a long thin tube that occurs when something falls into a black hole (spaghettification) or the term used for a rock thought to be a meteorite but which later turns out to be an ordinary terrestrial rock (meteowrong).

SPAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACE

wefuckinglovescience:

Draper’s photograph needed 50 minutes of exposure for the picture to come out. Symes required only one second.


  It’s a wonderful time to be alive. Image by Andrew Symes http://bit.ly/1osmALa

wefuckinglovescience:

Draper’s photograph needed 50 minutes of exposure for the picture to come out. Symes required only one second.


It’s a wonderful time to be alive.

Image by Andrew Symes http://bit.ly/1osmALa
jackfrostciicle:

compassfox:

drop-bass-not-babies:

Nothing says “I support gay equality” like a straight couple kissing in public.

… I’m a girl
We’re both girls

oh my god

jackfrostciicle:

compassfox:

drop-bass-not-babies:

Nothing says “I support gay equality” like a straight couple kissing in public.

… I’m a girl

We’re both girls

oh my god

lordwhat:

lordwhat:

Sam talks in third person because there are three members of team free will wake up america

be grateful for cas because if it wasn’t for him Sam would talk in second person and everyone would be uncomfortale

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don’t dream it, be it

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obscurewings:

I made a political cartoon for English class about issues in school
It focuses on how teens are expected to make career defining choices with barely any experience, and also how parents often take so much authority that their child’s decision is not actually their own
If this gets some notes then I’ll make a colored version

obscurewings:

I made a political cartoon for English class about issues in school

It focuses on how teens are expected to make career defining choices with barely any experience, and also how parents often take so much authority that their child’s decision is not actually their own

If this gets some notes then I’ll make a colored version

You might have got the impression that there is a little bit more to Aunt Petunia than meets the eye, and you will find out what it is. She is not a squib, although that is a very good guess. Oh, I am giving a lot away here. I am being shockingly indiscreet." - J.K. Rowling.

If the reveal had been that Petunia was a witch ~ Several years after the war, Harry tracks his aunt down to confront her with what he witnessed in the pensieve.

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.)

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.)