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STAGS AND MIST ( Richmond Park, London) by  Giulia Bellato

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Jacquelyn Jablonski | Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show 2015.

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 draco dormiens nunquam titillandus.

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”You might belong in Gryffindor, Where dwell the brave at heart, Their daring, nerve and chivalry Set Gryffindors apart.”

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Big sister drops to her knees to show affection to newborn Photo by James Irwin

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What was she like?“ The girl questioned, her curiosity always burning bright and faster than he could keep up with. "Who?” He keep his eyes down, knowing all too well what was coming next and trying to hide under her curtain of dark hair. She pushed him impatiently, “The girl! The girl that made you detest country music and F. Scott Fiztgerald, who is a fabulous author practically unhateble, and who I suspect is the reason you only take tea instead of coffee and refuse to drive late at night. What’s she like? I want to know about her, not just her aftermath.” He smiled fondly, unsure if it was at the memories or this still new, sweet girls astuteness and innocence he didn’t want to spoil with his past. “She was a hurricane. She listened to that music so loud and laughed the whole damn time. She wrote passages and passages inspired by that damn author. She always tasted of coffee, was addicted to the damn stuff. And she preferred it at 3 am, driving around because of course she came alive in the night time. She was a conundrum, always asking questions and reading books and switching her mood faster than the weather changed. I could barely keep up-” He forced himself to stop as she studied him. “Do you ever miss her?” She asked quietly, almost as if she was afraid if she spoke too loud this part of him so carefully controlled all the time would come undone. “Yes. Sometimes, when it’s drizzling in this safe and warm place; I miss hurricanes.”

#155; excerpt from the book I’ll never write (via realesthingyoueverdid)

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James Potter & Lily Evans + Aesthetics

↳ “How come she married him?” Harry asked miserably. “She hated him!” “Nah, she didn’t,” said Sirius.

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Slytherin House The Soundtrack

S l y t h e r i n    &    R a v e n c l a w 

“Dies iræ, dies illa Solvet sæclum in favilla” (listen)

S l y t h e r i n   &    H u f f l e p u f f 

“Quantus tremor est futurus, Quando Judex est venturus” (listen)

S l y t h e r i n    &    G r y f f i n d o r 

“Mors stupebit et natura, Cum resurget creatura” (listen)

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that girl with a broken heart, she’s worth more than she realizes, there’s a galaxy hidden behind her tired eyes, when she smiles, she draws you in like a black hole, the tears that spill from her eyes fall like shooting stars, the anger in her soul flares like a supernova, and, oh, that heart, it loves as harshly as the sun burns.

a damaged soul does not equal a weak one // k.s. (via worthystevie)

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You can never teach a guy to love you the way you want to be loved. You have to wait for him to do it in his own way, in his own time. That’s the saddest part of being a girl…. But, You can never teach a girl to love the guy back the way she did before if she already grew tired and fed up understanding and waiting to be appreciated and loved the way she deserves to be loved. That’s the saddest part of being an insensitive man.

(via brokeandhearts)

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A post shared by Brianna Lance (@breez_lance)

someone please gif the hell out of this video

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mythological characters meme: Ivan Tsarevich

Ivan Tsarevich (Ива́н Царе́вич or Иван-царевич) is one of the main heroes of Russian folklore, usually a protagonist, often engaged in a struggle with Koschei. Along with Ivan the Fool, Ivan Tsarevich is a placeholder name rather than a certain character.

He is often, but not always, the youngest son of three. In the tale The Three Tsardoms, he is a son of Nastasya the Golden Braid. Different legends describe Ivan as having various wives, including Yelena the Beautiful, Vasilisa the Wise and Marya Morevna. [x]

Viktor Vasnetsov, Ivan Tsarevich Riding the Grey Wolf. Oil on canvas, 1889. Tretyakov Gallery, Moscow, Russia.

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Harry Potter: The Next Generation ↪ Scorpius Malfoy

*For years home had been a secluded stone manor crawling with ivy. It was tea at noon with his father in his study, and his mother’s voice as she sang a wordless, melancholy tune to the birds. Home was the smell of burnt roses and cedar-wood and velvety perfume. It was the long sleeves covering his parent’s scars, the word “bloodtraitor” sewed onto his mother’s delicate wrist. It was his dad always asking him for his own opinion while they debated politics over their dinner plates. And it had been long, empty hallways, decorated by large paintings. It had been the look on his father’s face when he tried to explain why they didn’t have guests over often, why Scorpius couldn’t host the playdate this time, why they barely mentioned his grandparents let alone saw them. But most of all it was the three of them. Then home was a castle. Home the emblem of a snake and the color green. It was a hat on his head debating “Slytherin” or “Ravenclaw.” It was his father’s pride winning over his mother’s smarts. Home was quidditch and pranks and getting into trouble. It was nights far past bedtime and parties and howling laughter under the moon. Home was wild and reckless friends who never cared that Scorpius didn’t speak much. It was the power in his family’s name, the power that could shush a room if he so much as hinted the words be quiet. But home was changing. And home had been changing sense his first day at school - not even at school - when he bumped shoulder’s with a freckled-faced girl on a train that only headed one way - to their future. Home was her wit, her charm. It was her rare genuineness, the kind of fresh honesty that refused her the ability to smile unless there was something worth smiling over. It was walking her to the ravenclaw dormitory. It was making her laugh and seeing her happiness as she dragged him out of his room and around the castle. It was the way they could sit and read in silence, completely comfortable at just being. It was awkward meet-the-parents, loud dinners, uninvited guests. It was enemy names becoming joined at the hip. It was Rose Weasley. Home was Rose Weasley. 

*written by me

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matt hitt with dogs gives me life 

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tom marvolo riddle (31 December, 1926 – 2 May, 1998)  ↳ “Greatness inspires envy, envy engenders spite, spite spawns lies.”