High school history teacher and Potterhead. This is where I let my freak flag fly. Formerly tenpointstohufflepuff.

come downstairs & say hello

tonrar:

awwww-cute:

Sore paws and tired legs. Rocky had to be carried over 3 miles back to the trailhead in Desolation Wilderness, CA

Cutest thing ever

I saw this same thing about 9805 times when I lived out in Wyoming.  So many people bring their dogs on hikes thinking dogs can magically go on these massive hikes without being properly trained for it.  All I see in this hike is a dog that was unfairly brought on a hike and prepared for neither the mileage nor the terrain.  I’m aware there could be a ton of circumstances that brought about this picture and the individual might be a great dog owner, but that’s the first thing I see when I think that. Not ‘awww cute’

tonrar:

awwww-cute:

Sore paws and tired legs. Rocky had to be carried over 3 miles back to the trailhead in Desolation Wilderness, CA

Cutest thing ever

I saw this same thing about 9805 times when I lived out in Wyoming.  So many people bring their dogs on hikes thinking dogs can magically go on these massive hikes without being properly trained for it.  All I see in this hike is a dog that was unfairly brought on a hike and prepared for neither the mileage nor the terrain.  I’m aware there could be a ton of circumstances that brought about this picture and the individual might be a great dog owner, but that’s the first thing I see when I think that. Not ‘awww cute’

(via its-like-a-cows-opinion)

hawthornblood141:

So when MsBinns (in-a-new-direction) visited me at the end of June, these happened. The first one is me, the middle and bottom one are hers. (My mistake sorry, my brain is fried) All are MsBinns originals ;)  And yes, I ordered the other words by grammatical categories (sort of)…

hawthornblood141:

So when MsBinns (in-a-new-direction) visited me at the end of June, these happened. The first one is me, the middle and bottom one are hers. (My mistake sorry, my brain is fried) All are MsBinns originals ;)
And yes, I ordered the other words by grammatical categories (sort of)…

August 30: the end of Australia!

So this Saturday will be the end of an era for me.  Part of me wants to delay posting the last bit just because I don’t want this amazing journey to end, but that would be pointless. This epilogue was the first part of the story I wrote and it’s been ready for years so there’s no need to make you wait any longer for it.  

Just thinking about not having this story to write and occupy my thoughts is bizarre.  It’s been such an amazing escape for me when the stresses of teaching seem too much.  Though I may continue to write, I know I will never again compose - nevertheless finish - something of this magnitude.  I started writing this story and thought nobody would even pay attention because I figured the story of Ron and Hermione post war going to Australia had been done a million times before.  I don’t consider myself a writer.  I have no aspirations to become a writer.  I wanted to write for fun and it has been.  It has been SO MUCH FUN (even through the Mugglenet fiasco of 2013 and the horrible trolling flamers of 2014).  You all always kept me smiling and have been the best and most surprising/amazing part of this whole journey.  

So this Saturday, after the final update goes up I’m going to be super cheezy and toast to the end of it all. I’ve already bought my bottle of champagne and plan to toast with some of the good friends I’ve made writing this story  and I’d love for y’all to join me, if only by virtual glass!

.

(Source: you-little-freak-me, via enchantedmemories)

mi-shellvp:

estasfuera:

“A little bit of Monica in my life,A little bit of Erica by my side,A little bit of Rita is all I need,A little bit of Tina is what I see,A little bit of Sandra in the sun,A little bit of Mary all night long,A little bit of Jessica, here I am…”

If you don’t know this reference, you’re definitely too young for me. 

mi-shellvp:

estasfuera:

“A little bit of Monica in my life,
A little bit of Erica by my side,
A little bit of Rita is all I need,
A little bit of Tina is what I see,
A little bit of Sandra in the sun,
A little bit of Mary all night long,
A little bit of Jessica, here I am…”

If you don’t know this reference, you’re definitely too young for me. 

(via the-new-spew)

071. Broken.

imnotspeakingtoyou:

image

Yes, I can. Sorry for the length, it got away from me a little but it was too fun to cut short. Thanks, great idea.

~~~~~~~~~~

Moving in together takes a lot of compromise.

There’s dishes and laundry and sharing a bathroom and sharing a fridge and hundreds of other little things that are…

myles-davis:

ezriela:

modestxwolves:

"the ice bucket challenge is stupid and it’s not really raising any money or awareness"

image

Update:

image

image

(via rheaskywalker)

mets:

@CGrand3 and the rest of the #Mets wish Jackie Robinson West good luck in the #LLWS final!

mets:

@CGrand3 and the rest of the #Mets wish Jackie Robinson West good luck in the #LLWS final!

rupertgrintchina:

Awwww how sweet <3

(Source: twitter.com, via rupertgrinthot)

Happy 26th Birthday, Rupert Alexander Lloyd Grint ! (24 August 2014)

(Source: rupertgrint-net, via magicalme-anautobiography)

ruinedchildhood:

When Internet Explorer asks to be your default browser.

(via aryastarque)

thelethifoldwitch:

Imagine Hogwarts after the Battle, after the War, sure –
But imagine Hogwarts’ students, after their year with the Carrows and Snape.
Imagine a tiny little first-year whose porcupine pincushions still have quills, but to whom Fiendfyre comes easily. The second-year who tried to go back, to fight; whose bravado got Professor Sinistra killed, as she pushed him out of the way of a Killing Curse. The third-year who perfectly brewed poisons, hands shaking, wishing for the courage to spike the Carrows’ cups. The fourth-year who throws away all of their teacups, their palmistry guidebooks, because what use is Divination if it didn’t see this coming? The fifth-year who can barely remember what O.W.L.S. are, let alone that she was supposed to take them. The sixth-year who can’t manage Lumos to save their life, but whose proficiency with the Cruciatus Curse rivals Bellatrix’s.
Imagine the seventh-year who laughs until he cries, thinking about the first-years who will fall asleep in History of Magic while their story is told.
Imagine the Muggleborn first-years left alive, if there are any: imagine what they think of the magical world, when their introduction to it was Death Eaters and being tortured – by their classmates –for having been born.
Imagine the students who went home to their parents (or guardians, or wards, or orphanages) and showed them what they’d learned: Dark curses, hexes, Unforgiveables; that Muggles are filth, animals, lesser. Who, yes, still can’t transfigure a match into a needle – but Mum, there’s a hex that can make you feel as though you’re being stabbed with thousands. (Don’t ask them how they know.)
Imagine the students who will never be able to see Hogwarts as home.
Imagine the students Hogwarts has left, when it starts up again – the lack of Muggleborns, blood-traitors, half-bloods, dead and gone – the lack of purebloods; the Ministry would have chucked everyone of age (and possibly just below) in Azkaban for Unforgiveables, wouldn’t they?
Imagine how few students there are left to teach; imagine how few teachers are left to teach them.
Imagine the students who can’t walk past a particular classroom, who can’t walk through a hallway, who can’t walk into the Great Hall without having a panic attack or breaking down. Imagine the school-wide discovery that the carriages aren’t horseless after all; that everyone, from the firsties to the teachers, can see Thestrals.
Imagine the memorials, the heaps of flowers and mementoes – in every other corner, hallway, classroom; every other step you take on the grounds.
Imagine the ghosts.
Imagine the students destroying Snape’s portrait, using the curses, hexes, even Fiendfyre they’ve been taught how to wield – it has to be restored nearly every week; Snape stays with Phineas Nigellus semi-permanently. (None of the other portraits will welcome him. His reasons do not excuse his conduct.)
Imagine the students unable to trust each other – everyone informed on everyone, your best friend might turn you in.
Imagine the guilt that everyone carries (it should have been me, it’s my fault s/he’s dead, I told on them, it’s all my fault), the students incapable of meeting each other’s eyes because it’s my fault your best friend, your sibling, your Housemate, your boy/girlfriend is dead.
Imagine the memorials piled high with the wands of the dead. Imagine the memorials piled high with the self-snapped wands of the living.
Imagine the students who are never able to produce a Patronus.
Imagine Boggarts being removed from the curriculum because Riddikulus is near impossible to grasp, even for the sixth- and seventh-years. Because their friends and families dead will never, ever be funny.
Imagine the students for whom magic feels tainted.
Imagine the students who leave the wixen world – hell, the students who leave Britain entirely, because there’s nothing left for them there.
Imagine the students who never use magic again.
(Image source.)
(From the mind of the wonderful lavenderpatil, a keen look at how students might be after war.)

thelethifoldwitch:

Imagine Hogwarts after the Battle, after the War, sure

But imagine Hogwarts’ students, after their year with the Carrows and Snape.

Imagine a tiny little first-year whose porcupine pincushions still have quills, but to whom Fiendfyre comes easily. The second-year who tried to go back, to fight; whose bravado got Professor Sinistra killed, as she pushed him out of the way of a Killing Curse. The third-year who perfectly brewed poisons, hands shaking, wishing for the courage to spike the Carrows’ cups. The fourth-year who throws away all of their teacups, their palmistry guidebooks, because what use is Divination if it didn’t see this coming? The fifth-year who can barely remember what O.W.L.S. are, let alone that she was supposed to take them. The sixth-year who can’t manage Lumos to save their life, but whose proficiency with the Cruciatus Curse rivals Bellatrix’s.

Imagine the seventh-year who laughs until he cries, thinking about the first-years who will fall asleep in History of Magic while their story is told.

Imagine the Muggleborn first-years left alive, if there are any: imagine what they think of the magical world, when their introduction to it was Death Eaters and being tortured by their classmates for having been born.

Imagine the students who went home to their parents (or guardians, or wards, or orphanages) and showed them what they’d learned: Dark curses, hexes, Unforgiveables; that Muggles are filth, animals, lesser. Who, yes, still can’t transfigure a match into a needle but Mum, there’s a hex that can make you feel as though you’re being stabbed with thousands. (Don’t ask them how they know.)

Imagine the students who will never be able to see Hogwarts as home.

Imagine the students Hogwarts has left, when it starts up again the lack of Muggleborns, blood-traitors, half-bloods, dead and gone the lack of purebloods; the Ministry would have chucked everyone of age (and possibly just below) in Azkaban for Unforgiveables, wouldn’t they?

Imagine how few students there are left to teach; imagine how few teachers are left to teach them.

Imagine the students who can’t walk past a particular classroom, who can’t walk through a hallway, who can’t walk into the Great Hall without having a panic attack or breaking down. Imagine the school-wide discovery that the carriages aren’t horseless after all; that everyone, from the firsties to the teachers, can see Thestrals.

Imagine the memorials, the heaps of flowers and mementoes in every other corner, hallway, classroom; every other step you take on the grounds.

Imagine the ghosts.

Imagine the students destroying Snape’s portrait, using the curses, hexes, even Fiendfyre they’ve been taught how to wield it has to be restored nearly every week; Snape stays with Phineas Nigellus semi-permanently. (None of the other portraits will welcome him. His reasons do not excuse his conduct.)

Imagine the students unable to trust each other everyone informed on everyone, your best friend might turn you in.

Imagine the guilt that everyone carries (it should have been me, it’s my fault s/he’s dead, I told on them, it’s all my fault), the students incapable of meeting each other’s eyes because it’s my fault your best friend, your sibling, your Housemate, your boy/girlfriend is dead.

Imagine the memorials piled high with the wands of the dead. Imagine the memorials piled high with the self-snapped wands of the living.

Imagine the students who are never able to produce a Patronus.

Imagine Boggarts being removed from the curriculum because Riddikulus is near impossible to grasp, even for the sixth- and seventh-years. Because their friends and families dead will never, ever be funny.

Imagine the students for whom magic feels tainted.

Imagine the students who leave the wixen world hell, the students who leave Britain entirely, because there’s nothing left for them there.

Imagine the students who never use magic again.

(Image source.)

(From the mind of the wonderful lavenderpatil, a keen look at how students might be after war.)

(via rheaskywalker)


Anonymous

Q: Aroud when do you think "Australia" will be finished? It will be so bittersweet.

A:

I’m happy/sad to say it should be finished by the end of the month.  Bittersweet is indeed the word. 

Australia: the final chapter

image

Here’s the last real chapter of Australia (because the last one is actually just an epilogue).

Readership seems to have dropped off a bit for these last few chapters, which I cant really blame since it takes so long to get chapters posted, but I wanted to thank those faithful and loyal readers and reviewers who have hung with the story for actual years.  It’s been a pretty awesome and fun ride. I’m hoping to get the last installment posted by the end of the month.  Still not sure how to properly celebrate…


I’m the sixth in our family to go to Hogwarts. You could say I got a lot to live up to.

I’m the sixth in our family to go to Hogwarts. You could say I got a lot to live up to.

(Source: stuckwith-harry, via sirius-lupin)

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