There’s a reckoning a-coming
And it burns beyond the grave
It’s lead inside my belly
Cause my soul has lost it’s way

Oh, lazarus, how did your debts get paid?
Oh, lazarus, why you’re so afraid?

When the fires, when the fires have surrounded you
With the hounds of hell coming after you

I’ve got blood, I’ve got Blood on my name


its not a great idea to compliment leelu either tbh


Interviewer: Great to see you. How’s your fitness to start with? You’re not quite ready for United yet?
Cristiano: Well, we were discussing today about whether or not they wanted to put me on, but let’s see tomorrow. I hope to play a little bit because it’s my ex-club so… I want to play. But let’s see.

*Paddy Crerand (Manchester United legend) steps in* Are you not coming back?
Cristiano: *laughs* Well, it was-
Some day?
Cristiano:Well, it was one of the- my favorite clubs, Manchester. Everyone knows that- every time I speak about Real Madrid I should speak about Manchester United. I went there when I was eighteen years old, I learned everything there. The people treat me like a God there so I appreciate (them) and in the future, nobody knows.
They still sing your name every game.
Cristiano: *laughs*
They do!
Cristiano: Yeah?
Seriously, yeah.
Cristiano: That’s crazy. I remember when we played there against Manchester in the Champions League. They killed me. My heart, it was so so happy. Fantastic moments. I appreciate this club. For me, it’s one of the best clubs in the world and I have a passion for it.

Interviewer: What did it mean for you to win La Decima?
Cristiano: Great. It was a great achievement. It was something that Real Madrid was looking for for many, many years so us winning… it was a fantastic moment. The players were so happy, the fans,… the atmosphere in the stadium and the streets (in Madrid). It was unbelievable. Remember when we won against Manchester United, it was kind of similar but in Madrid (we celebrated with) a lot more people.

Interviewer: Do you think it will be a better season for United with Louis Van Gaal in charge?
Cristiano: For sure. He’s a fantastic coach. Managing Holland, he showed all the time that his team played unbelievable. They played good football. And I hope, to be honest, I hope that Manchester can come back, and return to the Manchester the people know. Playing strong football, scoring a lot of goals. I’m looking forward to that. I think Manchester this year will do much better than recent years.

Interviewer: But nobody can replace Alex Ferguson.
Cristiano Of course. I was with Alex the day of the Champions League. He’s been there for twenty years in the club, he’s won everything. He’s a Sir there in England, so. But I think Van Gaal is going to do a fantastic job. He’s an experienced manager and I think he’s going to do well (for Manchester).

Interviewer: Are you still in contact with some of the guys?
Cristiano: Yeah, some players, of course. I keep in touch because, you know, I had a great relationship with everybody while I was there. Not just the players, but the entire staff. They were like my second family there, so… I don’t forget when people treat me good. When people treat me good, I don’t forget. So I appreciate them a lot. I love Manchester so *turns to address Paddy Crerand* to be back, you never know. You never know, you never know. In football you never know. I never close doors. Of course I’m happy at Real Madrid, it’s my home, it’s my club but Manchester treated me unbelievably (well), so you never know. (X)

remus lupin was so awkward with babies don’t ever tell me otherwise

"And not to pull your halo down
around your neck and tug you to the ground
but I'm more than just a little curious
how you're planning to go about
making your amends to the dead"

Rise’n’shine USA coming home : Gale & Randy. (x)


At last he turned to me and grasped both my hands. He raised them to his lips and kissed each one formally. “My lady,” he said softly. “My…Claire. It’s no use in waiting. I must part wi’ ye now.” My lips were too stiff to speak, but the expression on my face must have been as easily readable as usual. “Claire,” he said urgently, “it’s your own time on the other side of…that thing. You’ve a home there, a place. The things that you’re used to. And…and Frank.” “Yes,” I said, “there’s Frank.” Jamie caught me by the shoulders, pulling me to my feet and shaking me gently in supplication. “There’s nothing for ye on this side, lass! Nothing save violence and danger. Go!” He pushed me slightly, turning me toward the stone circle. I turned back to him, catching his hands. “Is there really nothing for me here, Jamie?” I held his eyes, not letting him turn away from me. He pulled himself gently from my grasp without answering and stood back, suddenly a figure from another time, seen in relief upon a background of hazy hills, the life in his face a trick of“the shadowing rock, as if flattened beneath layers of paint, an artist’s reminiscence of forgotten places and passions turned to dust. I looked into his eyes, filled with pain and yearning, and he was flesh again, real and immediate, lover, husband, man. The anguish I felt must have been reflected in my face, for he hesitated, then turned to the east and pointed down the slope. “Do ye see behind the small clump of oak down there? About halfway.” I saw the clump, and saw what he was pointing at, the half-ruined crofter’s cottage, abandoned on the haunted hill. “I shall go down to the house, and I shall stay there ’til the evening. To make sure—to be sure that you’re safe.” He looked at me, but made no move to touch me. He closed his eyes, as though he could no longer bear to look at me. “Goodbye,” he said, and turned to go.”

Love me more than you hate him.

Excepting some cousins, unimaginative country folk, Halbert had no family to speak of. It was at Hogwarts that he found family, or, more accurately, at Hogwarts that he bound housemates to himself with his easy generosity, his take-charge manner, and his prowess on the pitch. These are things that most Gryffindors enjoy. And so up went Hal, shooting into prominence, making new friends, sure to be Head Boy someday, the greatest fellow in his house. He was a particular favorite of the  Transfiguration teacher, a Mr. Dumbledore. Only recently awarded the title of Professor, this was the preferred faculty member of most, for he could throw on even his very mundane position as though it were a cloak of stars.

Hal would sit and talk to Dumbledore for hours — about helping Hagrid the seventh-year, that bumbling but kind little fellow with a passion for studying the migratory patterns of giants, about the various deceits a certain upstart named Grindelwald was practicing to the East, about all the goings-on in the school. And in those moments Hal was a model wizard. Dumbledore brought that out of him.

But there was a certain arrogance to Hal, you know. Not intentional, not something he cultivated, but there all the same. He was quick to speak out against other students who broke ordinary school infractions. Not so quick to follow rules himself. First in line when it came to sneaking out of the Tower after hours. The ringleader of many an agitated midnight secret society, the orchestrator of forbidden jaunts to Hogsmeade and even to Diagon Alley. Dippet impressed upon his House Head to adjust the boy’s headstrong manner, with detentions and harsh punishments and various school regulations. Dumbledore complied, against his better nature. 

No use, however. 

Hal was all spark, and not a particularly easy spark to contain, at that. He was passionate and loud, far-seeing and direct, witty and more than capable of striking back when cornered — a true Gryffindor. Charming and warm when lit with good company, but apt to strike out and become ablaze with disobedience. Stubborn. Good-hearted. Willful in the extreme. 

He longed for a cause — sparks love a cause. He longed to become a great hero, someone who could knock down all the dreadful bullies of the world, those Grindelwaldian fellows to the East who were all consumed with hate for Muggles. He was born too early for the local fight, you see. Pretty newborn Walburga Black had not yet been photographed in the Prophet under the headline, Shall We Let Filth Pollute Her Future? And Mr. Nott was young yet, and unconcerned with the sacred nature of a certain twenty-eight.

So there was no cause for Hal, no purpose. He waited, empty, for some kind of grand and heroic future to fill him, and it did not come, and as it did not come his heroics appeared merely childish, and his leadership only a kind of bullying. He fell in with Phineas Black, the rebel struck from his own family tree for Muggle advocacy, and Black — as Blacks did — had all manner of clever heroic tools to teach him to while away the time: Crucios and Imperios and the like (loving Muggles did not mean hating Darkness in those days). 

And wild Hal took to it, with that natural talent he had for most things, when he applied himself; and by and by he booked passage East, a hero dying to rush to the scene of some potential heroism, because it would not come to meet him. He sought out those isolated villages where Grindelwald was recruiting, and there he engaged in counter-recruitment, torturing goblins who would not report what they had seen, re-classifying those Muggle-borns who had integrated and married purebloods as traitors to the cause, dispensing with any small and unworthy beings who would not pick a side and who clearly did not hunger after heroism.

It suited him. He was very gallant about it — his House Head told him so in an Owl, after hearing about one particular incident in which he saved a whole parcel of Muggles by burying some wizards alive; it seemed gallant. He was so at home in reckless warfare. Perhaps one or two people were lured to Grindelwald’s side when they heard of his methods, but what did that matter? This was heroism. And Hal was born to be a hero.

He was addicted to it. He sought it in duel after duel, flinging Unforgivables near and far, always perfectly comfortable with it, always assured that he was doing the right thing, until he had a chance to duel the man himself, his sole worthy competitor for continental power — golden Grindelwald — in 1927. Hal came at it offensively (“Too offensively,” said a Mr. Flitwick, when the particulars of the battle were set out before him. “Too much playing the hero. Sometimes it is better to defend, to disarm, to lay yourself out for sacrifice. Did no one ever teach this boy that?”), but it was no use, and he fell.

The Fall of a Potential Dark Lord! the Prophet said. (And, perhaps, hail Grindelwald his defeater, who would do great things in time, said absolutely everyone else — save a Dumbledore or two).

To his House Head, it was all another bitter disappointment, another powerful young man gone horribly wrong. Perhaps enforcing all those rules and regulations had done it, had driven him away. Or perhaps it came down to his innate character — perhaps he was too much a bully. But, truly, Dumbledore would have one or two more chances to experiment with the heroic character in the future. I do not tell you this story for Dumbledore.

I tell it for you. You say there’s not a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn’t in Slytherin. But I tell you this: we all have inside us, waiting to be lured out by fury or righteousness or gallantry or boredom, a potential Dark Lord.

Wave your wand, and harm another, and delight in the hurt and what it means for you to have accomplished it, such a great person you are. Go on. Do it. Well, there he is. Your Dark Lord. 


The Spinsters, old and riddled with arthritis they could no longer spin. But that didn’t matter because every month a basket, filled with strings of gold would arrive on their door step. Enough to never have to work or worry again.

And even when the towns people would whisper the dark one was a coward and dangerous the spinsters would reply “But he has a gift for spinning”






"Villain of the year"



"Always breaking girls’ hearts"

Harry Styles deserves the world, but the world doesn’t deserve him.

I wish the world would respect you as much as you respect it Harry.

That's my A-drei... I knew you'd be tough!
I knew you'd be the best... You're so cool...!

She’s too cute.


for all of those “John was an abusive asshole” people out there

some points from 10.09

John took his boys for a fun day in the city, even though he hated it

Dean snuck out, got shitfaced at a club he was way too young to get into and John just went and got him, he was authoritative, but Dean did not say anything about him raising his voice, or his hand, even when Dean whined