isozyme:

So clearly Galadriel and Gandalf had a thing when they were younger, sometime around the start of the third age.  They would be great together; they are both terrible meddlers.

Gandalf thinks that it was his idea and he used his gorgeous Young Ian McKellan face to get the girl, but Galadriel is a fucking omnipotent mindreader and it was definitely not his idea.

Think of the human chess.  Think how many Gondorian cities exist because Galadriel thought it would be attractive to have them laid out like that, and made a bet with Gandalf.  They were one of those power couples who doesn’t balance themselves out but instead amplifies!  Let’s steal a couch!  From the steward of Gondor!  And put it on that hill!  Yes!  That hill needs a couch!  We will smoke hobbit weed on that couch and fuck with someone’s key life decisions!

Elrond watches this and cries into his Lembas bread.

elsinore-rose:

derbydoom replied to your post: E, O, P.

bernard black as a wizard, tho. he’d be so disgruntled by the whole IDEA of hogwarts and CHILDREN and ALL OF THIS MAGIC NONSENSE and fran would be like “well, bernard, you know you ARE magic” and he’d turn his hair into jelly accidentally in rage

AND YOU KNOW THAT LIKE

BERNARD AND FRAN WERE THE TOTALLY INCOMPETENT SLYTHERINS WHO SAT IN THE BACK AND DIDN’T PAY ATTENTION, AND THEY BASICALLY FAILED THEIR O.W.L.S AND DIDN’T CARE, AND BERNARD WISHED HE WAS BORN A SQUIB SO HE DIDN’T HAVE TO DEAL WITH ALL THIS FUCKING MAGIC, AND FRAN WAS SCARED OF OWLS (ACTUAL OWLS THIS TIME, NOT THE EXAMS), AND SO THEY JUST STUCK TOGETHER MISERABLY THROUGH SCHOOL AND ALL THE OTHER SLYTHERINS IGNORED THEM OR FORGOT THEY WERE THERE (“THIS TABLE IS FOR SLYTHERINS” “I AM SLYTHERIN” “BUT I’VE NEVER SEEN YOU BEFORE” “YES YOU FUCKING HAVE YOU FUCK—” AND THEN BERNARD LOSES SLYTHERIN HOUSE YET ANOTHER FIVE POINTS FOR PROFANE LANGUAGE. HE AND FRAN HAVE SINGLEHANDEDLY — OR PERHAPS DOUBLE-HANDEDLY? — LOST SLYTHERIN MORE POINTS THAN THE REST OF THE STUDENT BODY COMBINED)

AND MANNY WAS JUST THIS AMIABLE BAFFLED HUFFLEPUFF BOY WHO ACTUALLY /WAS/ A SQUIB BUT NEVER KNEW BECAUSE HE’S ACTUALLY QUITE GOOD AT FAKING IT, SO GOOD THAT HE DOES IT UNCONSCIOUSLY, BECAUSE HE’S ACTUALLY INCREDIBLY CLEVER BUT THIS FACT IS A SECRET /EVEN FROM HIMSELF/, SO HE MUDDLES THROUGH HIS O.W.L.S AND DOES OKAY IN SUBJECTS LIKE HERBOLOGY AND POTIONS BECAUSE LET’S FACE IT MANNY HAS SHOWN THAT HE CAN COOK, MAN, AND WHAT ELSE /IS/ POTIONS, AND YOU KNOW THAT FUCKER HAS GREEN THUMBS ALL OVER HIM, HE PROBABLY SINGS TO PLANTS

AND AFTER SCHOOL BERNARD OPENS UP THIS TINY PATHETIC STRUGGLING BOOKSHOP AND THE ONLY REASON HE’S ABLE TO STAY IN BUSINESS IS THAT HE ALWAYS, /SOMEHOW/, HAS THE RARE BOOK ON MAGICAL THEORY THAT NOBODY CAN FIND ANYWHERE ELSE, EVEN THOUGH HE DOESN’T KNOW HOW HE GOT IT, AND HE ALSO SELLS BOOKS DIRT CHEAP BECAUSE HE /DOESN’T CARE/, WHICH MEANS THAT EVERY YEAR AROUND LATE AUGUST THERE’S A HUGE INFLUX OF TINY HOGWARTS STUDENTS COME TO BUY ALL HIS SHIT, AND HE HATES HATES HATES IT BUT THERE’S NOTHING HE CAN DO

FRAN IS TRYING TO MANAGE A PET SHOP NEXT DOOR BUT IT ISN’T WORKING BECAUSE SHE’S AFRAID OF OWLS

SHE HAS TO CARRY THEM IN HER SHOP BECAUSE YOU CAN’T NOT SELL OWLS IN A WIZARDING PET SHOP BUT EVEN THOUGH THEY’RE IN CAGES SHE’S STILL CONVINCED THAT THEY’RE ALL ///LOOKING AT HER///

AND SHE WALKS PAST THEM

REALLY

REALLY

SLOWLY

MANNY GETS A JOB AT BLACK BOOKS AFTER HE GETS FIRED FROM THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC FOR NOT KNOWING HOW TO FLOO PROPERLY AND ENDING UP IN A WALL

HIS OFFICIAL JOB DESCRIPTION IS “CHILD-HERDER”

ALSO BERNARD DOESN’T KNOW WHO THE FUCK THIS HARRY POTTER KID IS

AND DOESN’T

CARE

cumberpheasant:

my favourite thing about those fake “reblog this or your tumblr will be deleted” posts is that they always have fucking cnn as the content source

cnn cares so much about your 5000 johnlock reblogs omg

That, and the ones with 5 million notes that are all “LOOK AT THE POWER OF OUR FANDOM!!!!” and no one notices that it’s just the same note with the text changed EVERY DAMN TIME

leupagus:

SPOILERS FOR HOBBIT MOVIES 2&3

Because I am a good person, cutttt:

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gyzym:

someone should write a book where the main character slowly falls in love
with the reader.

the first time you crack my spine, you will be too young for me. lent and spent, dogeared, i will weather your sticky-fingered touch with the bad grace of library books everywhere, handled without care for years without end and plastic-coated, built to withstand the worst of humanity. you will throw me in your backpack and the next time i see the light of day will be at a double-header baseball game, patchwork men yelling peanuts in the distance and your brothers shouting for home. you will hide me in the folds of your oversized sweatshirt and callously drip mustard from your corn dog onto my twelfth page, and i will feel it smear and stick against my thirteenth and hate you, hate you, hate you. i will twist my language to obscurities that your youthful eyes will find obscene; i will press my letters together until you are forced to squint against the sinking sun; i will slice open the pad of your index finger once, twice, and nevermind the blood.

you will return me, abandon me, forget me. i will have known
you would.

when you find me again, adulthood will not yet be yours, but you will be a far cry from childhood; you will tuck me carefully beneath your arm and walk me through the library doors yourself. when you crack my spine, you will let one bitten nail drag lightly down my pages, and your touch will be soft enough that i will forgive you the child you once were. you will be the first person in half a decade to take the time to unstick my twelfth and thirteenth pages, and when you see the caked, yellowed stain there you will laugh, wondering, as though you know it was you that left it. as though you remember me. i will open for you, this time, as i refused when we first met, showing you all that i can bear to this early—you are young yet, untrusted, and i will not reveal to you nuances scholars have missed. still, it will be enough, and you will keep me hidden under your duvet until well into the night, a flashlight caught between your cheek and shoulder so you can see every inch of me, even in darkness.

lent and spent a thousand times over, and no reader will ever have seen me
as you shall.

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