Vide cor meum

"I believe in everything until it's disproved. So I believe in fairies, the myths, dragons. It all exists, even if it's in your mind. Who's to say that dreams and nightmares aren't as real as the here and now?" (John Lennon)

Anna (Anes). 22. Poland.
'Ethnology and cultural anthropology' student.
(I also study history. Temporarily.)

Obssesed with the Winchesters, vampires (not sparkling ones) and music .


Big fan of 'The Supernatural Diaries' (even if it doesn't exist).

Multifandom blog. Also music, fantasy, owls, wolves, foxes, forests.
And all the stuff I like..


skillet-the-creeper:

xxhellrosexx:

radicalmuscle:

kinpunshou:

so this morning i was playing with the slow-mo mode on my phone, hoping to get a majestic vid of a bumblebee taking off
but instead i found this dumbfuck

Pollen 2 dank

It’s the Moon Moon of bumblebees

God damn it buzz buzz

skillet-the-creeper:

xxhellrosexx:

radicalmuscle:

kinpunshou:

so this morning i was playing with the slow-mo mode on my phone, hoping to get a majestic vid of a bumblebee taking off

but instead i found this dumbfuck

Pollen 2 dank

It’s the Moon Moon of bumblebees

God damn it buzz buzz


Ragnar’s english adventure

(Source: jongritte)


graciegra:

Archangels + Their paintings



lome-lindi:

veritinme:

lome-lindi:

Headcanon - Thranduil’s face when his messengers return from the Council of Elrond without his son. He knows where Legolas is going.

Thranduil counted heads as the elves he had sent to Elrond’s Council returned. Two, four, eight, twelve, thirteen—  Thirteen, twelve, eleven, eight, six, three, two—
One.
One was missing. One familiar blond head, still wearing a child’s braids, only recently awarded the elegant knots of a warrior.
(All the elves of Mirkwood are warriors born, he spat. You need not paint yourself so confirmed.)
"My lord," the head of the delegation began, kneeling, not meeting his king’s eyes.
Thranduil cut him off with a sharp gesture. “No,” he said. “You need not explain. I can see that Legolas has not returned with you.”
The hall was silent, still, in the way no forest should ever be. Thranduil turned on his heel, the soft buckskin shirring quietly against the stone floor, and swept away. Behind him, thirteen elves still knelt, one knee to the ground, one hand to their chests, not an eye raised. The captain of the guard hung in the background, frozen in place, her pretty blue eyes dark, her hand hovering just shy of the hilt of her sword.
As Thranduil’s feet found the elegantly-shaped curve of the stair to his private chambers, she called out.
"My lord!" she said. "Shall I prepare a delegation to—"
"No!" Thranduil said, not turning around. He took a breath, and then repeated, more gently, "no. My son has a journey he must complete." His hand tightened on the railing, knuckles whitening. Unbidden, one finger traced the notch in a carved elf-maiden’s hem, the reminder of the gift of white knives, given far too young.
Steeling himself, Thranduil released the stair rail and looked past the rich green canopy to the stars beyond. “He has a journey he must complete,” he whispered. “He will return when he is done.”

You’ve made me fucking cry, you beautiful person. My post is now infinitely better. Thank you!

lome-lindi:

veritinme:

lome-lindi:

Headcanon - Thranduil’s face when his messengers return from the Council of Elrond without his son. He knows where Legolas is going.

Thranduil counted heads as the elves he had sent to Elrond’s Council returned. Two, four, eight, twelve, thirteen—  Thirteen, twelve, eleven, eight, six, three, two—

One.

One was missing. One familiar blond head, still wearing a child’s braids, only recently awarded the elegant knots of a warrior.

(All the elves of Mirkwood are warriors born, he spat. You need not paint yourself so confirmed.)

"My lord," the head of the delegation began, kneeling, not meeting his king’s eyes.

Thranduil cut him off with a sharp gesture. “No,” he said. “You need not explain. I can see that Legolas has not returned with you.”

The hall was silent, still, in the way no forest should ever be. Thranduil turned on his heel, the soft buckskin shirring quietly against the stone floor, and swept away. Behind him, thirteen elves still knelt, one knee to the ground, one hand to their chests, not an eye raised. The captain of the guard hung in the background, frozen in place, her pretty blue eyes dark, her hand hovering just shy of the hilt of her sword.

As Thranduil’s feet found the elegantly-shaped curve of the stair to his private chambers, she called out.

"My lord!" she said. "Shall I prepare a delegation to—"

"No!" Thranduil said, not turning around. He took a breath, and then repeated, more gently, "no. My son has a journey he must complete." His hand tightened on the railing, knuckles whitening. Unbidden, one finger traced the notch in a carved elf-maiden’s hem, the reminder of the gift of white knives, given far too young.

Steeling himself, Thranduil released the stair rail and looked past the rich green canopy to the stars beyond. “He has a journey he must complete,” he whispered. “He will return when he is done.”

You’ve made me fucking cry, you beautiful person. My post is now infinitely better. Thank you!



What was your first reaction when you read the script? You have some of the raciest parts. I was like, “There should be men more naked, not the women.” You know, it shouldn’t say “All men must die.” It should be “All men get naked” or something like that. - Sibel Kekilli

(Source: rubyredwisp)


timelordsfallnomore:

Doctor Who Fest: day 8

↳ favourite doctor who song/theme: this is gallifrey: our childhood, our home





velificantes:

it’s the ugliest feeling in the world.


—— Congratulations

nogutsnogory:

"My words they don’t come out right
But I’ll try to say I’m happy for you”