A few months back I was at a party and saw this cute dog. It was obvious that his owner was a bit obsessed with him (I mean he was at a party in France). I started talking to her and it wasn’t until maybe 30 minutes went by that I realized who she was. Even after she said her dogs name was Gary Fisher. Maybe it was just too much for me. Princess Leia was a character in a movie that I saw before I knew the distinction between movies and real life. So, having Princess Leia in front of me and talking to me gave my body a bit of a shock. Anyway, I would usually keep a photo like this one private but it is such a real honest moment of a real human and her dog, Gary. She was just hanging out at a party having a nice time. When I realized who she was I went into fangirl black-out so I’m not sure if I told her that I was a fan, that I had a crush on her or that I read one of her books. I’m not sure if I thanked her for her honesty in that book or the entertainment she provided for me. But I think I did… Carrie Fisher & Gary Fisher Cannes 2016 #RIP
“Tell me what that look means,” Tarquin said, bracing his muscled arms on the gold tablecloth. I said baldly, “I’m thinking it would be very easy to love you. And easier to call you my friend.” He smiled at me—broad and without restraint. “I would not object to either.”
Star Trek Into Darkness (2013) dir. J.J.Abrams (2/3)
“There will always be those who mean to do us harm. To stop them, we risk awakening the same evil within ourselves. Our first instinct is to seek revenge when those we love are taken from us. But that’s not who we are… When Christopher Pike first gave me his ship, he had me recite the Captain’s Oath. Words I didn’t appreciate at the time. But now I see them as a call for us to remember who we once were and who we must be again.”
Nina huffed out a little laugh. “It’s okay,” she said at last. “I would have thought about it, too.” He got to his feet and offered her his hand. “I’m Matthias.” “Nina,” she said, taking it. “Nice to make your acquaintance.”
interviewer: so zayn, have you listened to made in the am yet?
zayn: i’ve listened to like one song- *history ringtone starts playing* fuck, i mean i might have heard a few- *dozens of niall edition cd’s fall from pocket* okay, I’ve listened through it maybe once but- *exposes new tattoo of lyrics from love you goodbye* uhm…
Because the man standing on Stiles’s front porch is easily the most attractive person Stiles has ever laid eyes on. Cheekbones like cut glass. Stubble so even you could sand a canoe. Dark hair, straight nose, eyes like a watercolor painting. He looks kinda pissed. Stiles thinks, Damn, I wish I’d put on real pants.
Then he gets a hit of the guy’s aura and makes time for even more regrets.
Before he even knows it’s a tell he’s stepping back, already calling on his spark, letting power gather at his fingertips, though Goddess knows he can’t pull enough to put down a werewolf. Not one this powerful. The taste of all that strength is fresh, simmering just beneath the surface.
Stiles can see the second the guy figures out he’s a witch. His nostrils twitch and his eyes flash red.
But he doesn’t look angry anymore. In fact, he just seems… surprised. “Uh,” he says as his eyes fade back to green-brown. “Hi.”
Stiles lets the magic dissipate. It takes the last of his headache with it, and he curses himself for not thinking of that earlier. A little adrenaline rush goes a long way. “Hi,” he parrots. “Um. So you’re a werewolf.”
The man nods. “And you’re a mage.”
With a snort, Stiles corrects the word. “A witch. I’m far too young to be a mage.”
That earns him a curious look, but the guy doesn’t ask for elaboration. “My name is Derek Hale. I’m looking for Dr. Martin.”
Of course. A ridiculously hot werewolf shows up on Stiles’s doorstep. Who else would he be there for? “Well, you’d better come in, then,” he says. He’s wary, but he doesn’t actually sense any malicious intent. “Have you eaten breakfast?”
By twenty-eight, Stiles has resigned himself to a quiet life of working in his magic shop, selling Jackson Whittemore fart-inducing tea, and looking after his goddaughter. It’s a good life. But the quiet goes to hell when his sister, Lydia, shows up with a crispy werewolf in her trunk and a bite mark on her shoulder, because hard on her heels comes the hottest person Stiles has ever seen, and he happens to be looking for his uncle.
You know, the dead guy Stiles helped Lydia bury last night.