feministroosterteeth:

geejayeff:

aaajmachine:

I know you don’t like to talk, but you gotta do it for her.

Yadriel & Maria appreciation post ✿◕‿◕✿

HE SAID MORE THAN HE DID ALL SEASON. I THOUGHT HE DIDN’T CARE. I THOUGHT HE WAS JUST BEING NICE AND LETTING HIS BABY MAMA SEE THE BABY THAT HE PROBABLY DIDN’T REALLY WANT AND BARELY LOOKED AFTER BUT I WAS FUCKING WRONG. I WAS WRONG ABOUT HIM. HE’S JUST QUIET. THE DUDE IS STOIC AS FUCK AND HE FUCKING LOVES MARIA AND HE LOVES THAT BABY AND IT’S FUCKING BEAUTIFUL THE WAY HE GUSHES AND TALKS TO HER LIKE MARIA ASKED HIM TO DO BECAUSE HE WANTS HER TO GROW UP SMART AND LOVED.

But also look at how cute the baby is dressed in each visit. Who did that? Daddy did. But that’s exactly the kind of visual cue that gets lost when he’s getting judged for his bald head, tattoos and stoic (thuggish?) demeanor.

this was actually really important to me because there are tons of reasons for a person being fairly non-verbal. i really liked the portrayal of this relationship because she knows he doesn’t like to talk and it’s not really portrayed as problem for her, it’s not a problem for their relationship, she accepts him for who he is. but she knows that babies need communication for development and he cares about his baby so much that he makes such an effort to do it even though it doesn’t come naturally to him. and it’s so natural in that last scene, it’s so clear he does it all the time and i just really liked this part.

(Source: jamescookjr, via cwnerd12)

Divers sure of new finds from ‘ancient computer’ shipwreck

archaeologicalnews:

Archaeologists set out Monday to use a revolutionary new deep sea diving suit to explore the ancient shipwreck where one of the most remarkable scientific objects of antiquity was found.

The so-called Antikythera Mechanism, a 2nd-century BC device known as the world’s oldest computer, was discovered by sponge divers in 1900 off a remote Greek island in the Aegean.

The highly complex mechanism of up to 40 bronze cogs and gears was used by the ancient Greeks to track the cycles of the solar system. It took another 1,500 years for an astrological clock of similar sophistication to be made in Europe. Read more.

livesandliesofwizards:

Neville’s office isn’t in the castle.  Well, there is technically a room assigned to him (third floor, fifth door on the right, mind the re-located portrait of Sir Cadogan).  But if you needed help with your Herbology assignment or were sent to see the Head of Gryffindor House about that parakeet you snuck into the fifth floor girl’s toilets, you would never find him there.
Neville had a small cottage near the greenhouses.  There had been some grumbling about its creation when Neville first started teaching, but it was hard to argue with the Minister’s favorite advisor who just happened to be a hero.  So the cottage was built and young Mr. Longbottom and his new wife moved onto the Hogwarts grounds.
There was a steady stream of students coming in and out of the little house during class breaks.  Some carried odd potted plants, some looks of guilt etched on their faces, and some simply dropped by to say hello.  The windows had bright curtains and the chimney always cheerfully puffed smoke.  It was hard not to feel welcomed by the cozy exterior.
Things were different after night fell.  Students still weren’t allowed to wander the grounds at night, but everyone turned a blind eye to those who knocked on the cottage door under cover of darkness.  These students carried no gifts and bore no cheery smiles.  Their faces were tear-stained or bruised or fearful.  They were hunched over, trying to make themselves as small as possible.  They knocked on the door with shaking hands and trembling lips. 
When they entered they would find a crackling fire, a squashy armchair, some of Hannah Longbottom’s famous ginger biscuits and a steaming cup of tea.  And they would find Professor Longbottom, smiling kindly.  He heard stories of homesickness, of bullies and taunts, of fears and failures.  He dried tears and patted backs.  And most importantly, he listened.  
He might quietly find a bully and intervene.  He might Apparate from the Three Broomsticks to the nearest Muggle town and place a call to a concerned parent.  He might consult with Madam Pomfrey on the best way to help manage the anxieties of an overwhelmed fifth year.  He might simply sit and give a firm and thoughtful piece of advice.  But this is not why students came to Professor Longbottom’s house when life was bleak and Hogwarts was too much to bear.
They came because he had once, so many years ago, been like them.  And because they, unlike him, would never have to be alone.
(written and submitted by ppyajunebug. This is another very sweet submission from this author. ppyajunebug’s wizarding world always feels like ultimately a good place, where wrongs are righted and people do kind things. It’s an inviting, pleasant look at canon; thank you, ppyajunebug!)

livesandliesofwizards:

Neville’s office isn’t in the castle.  Well, there is technically a room assigned to him (third floor, fifth door on the right, mind the re-located portrait of Sir Cadogan).  But if you needed help with your Herbology assignment or were sent to see the Head of Gryffindor House about that parakeet you snuck into the fifth floor girl’s toilets, you would never find him there.

Neville had a small cottage near the greenhouses.  There had been some grumbling about its creation when Neville first started teaching, but it was hard to argue with the Minister’s favorite advisor who just happened to be a hero.  So the cottage was built and young Mr. Longbottom and his new wife moved onto the Hogwarts grounds.

There was a steady stream of students coming in and out of the little house during class breaks.  Some carried odd potted plants, some looks of guilt etched on their faces, and some simply dropped by to say hello.  The windows had bright curtains and the chimney always cheerfully puffed smoke.  It was hard not to feel welcomed by the cozy exterior.

Things were different after night fell.  Students still weren’t allowed to wander the grounds at night, but everyone turned a blind eye to those who knocked on the cottage door under cover of darkness.  These students carried no gifts and bore no cheery smiles.  Their faces were tear-stained or bruised or fearful.  They were hunched over, trying to make themselves as small as possible.  They knocked on the door with shaking hands and trembling lips. 

When they entered they would find a crackling fire, a squashy armchair, some of Hannah Longbottom’s famous ginger biscuits and a steaming cup of tea.  And they would find Professor Longbottom, smiling kindly.  He heard stories of homesickness, of bullies and taunts, of fears and failures.  He dried tears and patted backs.  And most importantly, he listened.  

He might quietly find a bully and intervene.  He might Apparate from the Three Broomsticks to the nearest Muggle town and place a call to a concerned parent.  He might consult with Madam Pomfrey on the best way to help manage the anxieties of an overwhelmed fifth year.  He might simply sit and give a firm and thoughtful piece of advice.  But this is not why students came to Professor Longbottom’s house when life was bleak and Hogwarts was too much to bear.

They came because he had once, so many years ago, been like them.  And because they, unlike him, would never have to be alone.

(written and submitted by ppyajunebug. This is another very sweet submission from this author. ppyajunebug’s wizarding world always feels like ultimately a good place, where wrongs are righted and people do kind things. It’s an inviting, pleasant look at canon; thank you, ppyajunebug!)

(Source: damngoodyoga.com)

harrypotterheadcanons1:

fantasticallyficticious:livesandliesofwizards:


At twilight on August the 25th 1999, one week before classes were to begin, Hermione Granger Apparated into Hogsmeade, a wand box clutched under her arm.
Headmistress McGonagall was waiting for her outside the Three Broomsticks. The two women greeted each other warmly, and then set off towards the castle. Or rather, towards the grounds outside the castle.
They chatted amiably as they strolled towards the groundskeeper’s hut.  Hagrid, sitting outside and darning a pair of enormous socks, looked up as they approached.
“Good evenin’ Headmistress, Hermione,” he said with some gruff surprise.
“Good evening, Hagrid,” replied McGonagall. “May we go inside?  I believe Hermione has a proposition to discuss with you.”
If you had stood outside the hut as the evening darkened and the stars rose into the sky, you’d have heard the rumblings of an argument coming from inside the hut. You’d have heard Hagrid’s gruff refusals, Hermione’s calm (and then not so calm) rebuttals, and the very occasional interjection of the Headmistress.
Hermione did not emerge until the moon had fully risen and darkness enveloped the grounds. But in the light of the nearly full moon, you could see a smile on her face.
~
The Shrieking Shack was no longer widely believed to be haunted, now that the story of Remus Lupin was fully known.  Still, the residents of Hogsmeade and Hogwarts avoided it out of a mixture of respect and residual fear.
This suited Hermione perfectly. The interior of the Shack was now stacked with books and bottles of potion ingredients. A cauldron sat in the corner, a telescope pointed out a cracked window, and cushions lined one wall. A table was covered in parchment, broken quills, ink pots and stains. Once a week, Hermione would apparate into the Shack and go over her notes from the previous session while she awaited her student’s arrival.
Sometimes he was late without explanation. Sometimes he would bring a wounded bowtruckle he wasn’t comfortable leaving on its own.  Sometimes Fang would follow him and sit in the corner whining while his master sweated and cursed over a cauldron. Hermione was calm but firm, making adjustments as needed and letting Hagrid’s frustrated words roll off her back like water droplets. 
The Hogsmeade residents may have turned a blind eye to the goings-on in the Shrieking Shack, but that didn’t mean they weren’t relieved as time went on and there were fewer and fewer roars of anger echoing through the village.
~
The OWL testers had been warned in advance that they would have an unusual student that year. That didn’t mean they weren’t taken aback when Rubeus Hagrid appeared on their testing scrolls. They all knew of him of course, knew the role he played in the Second War and of the false accusations leveled against him.
They were worried they would have to be kind.
They needn’t have. No one could have Hermione Granger teach them personally for a year and not improve in all aspects. His potions may not have been textbook perfection, he may not have fully transfigured his toad, but Hagrid had clearly worked hard to master his long dormant abilities.
Rubeus Hagrid may not have followed the traditional path to wisdom.  But he had a new wand, the (sometimes grudging) respect of his peers, classes to teach and 6 OWLs.
Including the highest score ever recorded on Care of Magical Creatures.
(written and submitted by ppyajunebug; please excuse me, because I have something in my eye. Oh yes, it is my joyful tears. ppyajunebug has a way of bringing those out of me, you see. Their submissions tackle some of the saddest moments in canon, turning them around and making something beautiful out of them.)

THIS WAS SO STINKIN CUTE EVERYONE STOP WHAT YOU’RE DOING AND READ THIS

This was so cute that I had to show you guys!!!

harrypotterheadcanons1:

fantasticallyficticious:livesandliesofwizards:

At twilight on August the 25th 1999, one week before classes were to begin, Hermione Granger Apparated into Hogsmeade, a wand box clutched under her arm.

Headmistress McGonagall was waiting for her outside the Three Broomsticks. The two women greeted each other warmly, and then set off towards the castle. Or rather, towards the grounds outside the castle.

They chatted amiably as they strolled towards the groundskeeper’s hut.  Hagrid, sitting outside and darning a pair of enormous socks, looked up as they approached.

“Good evenin’ Headmistress, Hermione,” he said with some gruff surprise.

“Good evening, Hagrid,” replied McGonagall. “May we go inside?  I believe Hermione has a proposition to discuss with you.”

If you had stood outside the hut as the evening darkened and the stars rose into the sky, you’d have heard the rumblings of an argument coming from inside the hut. You’d have heard Hagrid’s gruff refusals, Hermione’s calm (and then not so calm) rebuttals, and the very occasional interjection of the Headmistress.

Hermione did not emerge until the moon had fully risen and darkness enveloped the grounds. But in the light of the nearly full moon, you could see a smile on her face.

~

The Shrieking Shack was no longer widely believed to be haunted, now that the story of Remus Lupin was fully known.  Still, the residents of Hogsmeade and Hogwarts avoided it out of a mixture of respect and residual fear.

This suited Hermione perfectly. The interior of the Shack was now stacked with books and bottles of potion ingredients. A cauldron sat in the corner, a telescope pointed out a cracked window, and cushions lined one wall. A table was covered in parchment, broken quills, ink pots and stains. Once a week, Hermione would apparate into the Shack and go over her notes from the previous session while she awaited her student’s arrival.

Sometimes he was late without explanation. Sometimes he would bring a wounded bowtruckle he wasn’t comfortable leaving on its own.  Sometimes Fang would follow him and sit in the corner whining while his master sweated and cursed over a cauldron. Hermione was calm but firm, making adjustments as needed and letting Hagrid’s frustrated words roll off her back like water droplets. 

The Hogsmeade residents may have turned a blind eye to the goings-on in the Shrieking Shack, but that didn’t mean they weren’t relieved as time went on and there were fewer and fewer roars of anger echoing through the village.

~

The OWL testers had been warned in advance that they would have an unusual student that year. That didn’t mean they weren’t taken aback when Rubeus Hagrid appeared on their testing scrolls. They all knew of him of course, knew the role he played in the Second War and of the false accusations leveled against him.

They were worried they would have to be kind.

They needn’t have. No one could have Hermione Granger teach them personally for a year and not improve in all aspects. His potions may not have been textbook perfection, he may not have fully transfigured his toad, but Hagrid had clearly worked hard to master his long dormant abilities.

Rubeus Hagrid may not have followed the traditional path to wisdom.  But he had a new wand, the (sometimes grudging) respect of his peers, classes to teach and 6 OWLs.

Including the highest score ever recorded on Care of Magical Creatures.

(written and submitted by ppyajunebug; please excuse me, because I have something in my eye. Oh yes, it is my joyful tears. ppyajunebug has a way of bringing those out of me, you see. Their submissions tackle some of the saddest moments in canon, turning them around and making something beautiful out of them.)

THIS WAS SO STINKIN CUTE EVERYONE STOP WHAT YOU’RE DOING AND READ THIS

This was so cute that I had to show you guys!!!

(via theloraxisdead)

speakertodragons:

omnidistance:

speakertodragons:

omnidistance:

assuming-dinosaur:

omnidistance:

assuming-dinosaur:

omnidistance:

speakertodragons:

This is what my doorway and our little shared entryway looks like after my roomate ran out of pens… There are aparently more in her room that she didn’t throw hard enough

I have more pens than is probably needed.

omnidistance, why
why are you doing this

I succeeded

succeeded at what

That is unimportant. I succeeded.

Again, at what?

Concede my victory and this can all stop

Never. 

You call me a cat in your tags, and you know cats have one mood: Ruler of All

speakertodragons:

omnidistance:

speakertodragons:

omnidistance:

assuming-dinosaur:

omnidistance:

assuming-dinosaur:

omnidistance:

speakertodragons:

This is what my doorway and our little shared entryway looks like after my roomate ran out of pens… There are aparently more in her room that she didn’t throw hard enough

I have more pens than is probably needed.

omnidistance, why

why are you doing this

I succeeded

succeeded at what

That is unimportant. I succeeded.

Again, at what?

Concede my victory and this can all stop

Never.

You call me a cat in your tags, and you know cats have one mood: Ruler of All

speakertodragons:

omnidistance:

assuming-dinosaur:

omnidistance:

assuming-dinosaur:

omnidistance:

speakertodragons:

This is what my doorway and our little shared entryway looks like after my roomate ran out of pens… There are aparently more in her room that she didn’t throw hard enough

I have more pens than is probably needed.

omnidistance, why
why are you doing this

I succeeded

succeeded at what

That is unimportant. I succeeded.

Again, at what?

Concede my victory and this can all stop

speakertodragons:

omnidistance:

assuming-dinosaur:

omnidistance:

assuming-dinosaur:

omnidistance:

speakertodragons:

This is what my doorway and our little shared entryway looks like after my roomate ran out of pens… There are aparently more in her room that she didn’t throw hard enough

I have more pens than is probably needed.

omnidistance, why

why are you doing this

I succeeded

succeeded at what

That is unimportant. I succeeded.

Again, at what?

Concede my victory and this can all stop

speakertodragons:

Someone remind me I’m not allowed to kill my roomate when she complains about stupid things. Like her feet getting hot when she puts them inches from the heater, and her lack of pens after she bounces them off my door into my room.

I found more pens just so everyone knows

http://speakertodragons.tumblr.com/post/97620854187/speakertodragons-omnidistance →

speakertodragons:

omnidistance:

speakertodragons:

omnidistance:

speakertodragons:

omnidistance:

speakertodragons:

omnidistance:

speakertodragons isn’t paying enough attention to me. speakertodragons I’m cold. Fix it.

I tried to fix it. I gave you a blanket and you told me to take the blanket…

I need the pens back. And I was not throwing them at you, you make me sound horrible. I was bouncing them off your door into your room. Aren’t you impressed by how many pens I have?

My headache is gone.

*sigh* no. if you want your pens you can come get them yourself. also I think you already said you kept one to study with.

I’ll leave her alone now because she’s mean to me. But she can make it up to me with pens and sharpies at some point in the future.