daleks like snow / zolloc
#remus lupin #no you don’t understand #he’s in the hogwarts express for the first time in years #but now none of his friends are there #he’s alone #he never thought he would be alone on that place #everything on there just screams james #sirius and peter’s name #and also harry looks like james #he must be feeling so sad but so happy and nostalgic at the same time #and he smiles #bc there are so many memories #and even though everything went wrong at the end #the marauders will always be his brothers #and nothing could possibly change that #he’s back home #finally
how i met your mother ends in 102 days
Monday, March 31st, 2014. Last #HIMYM forever. (x)
I’m gonna start watching Game of Thrones LET’S FUCKIN DO THIS
ISN’T THAT BLONDE CHICK HIS SI STER? ?
How Canadians are hatched.
The eggs are laid in mudbeds in the early fall, and will hatch mid-winter as Pucklings to forage for syrup amongst the elk.
Remember that time when Jim thought he lost Spock for a minute but turned around and found him in a whale tank
Can we talk for just a minute about how brilliant these two posters are?
Hannibal’s mouth is the focus of the poster for Season 1, and as we all know, Hannibal’s mouth is the center of his power. It is his ultimate weapon, how he consumes those he considers beneath him, how he controls and manipulates and exposes the pain of others so he can taste their pain, and while he is incarcerated, it becomes a literal weapon he uses to bite and brutalize and mangle.
The rest of the poster is rich and sumptuous in its palette and pattern, elegant, indulgent, reflecting his manners and taste, both literally and metaphorically, with the napkin drawn up to his lips. Everything about the image is Hannibal.
The focus in the second poster, by comparison, is Will’s eyes. The center of his power: his ability to see the truth of people, right down to their very core.
The rest of the poster reflects Will’s situation, both literally and metaphorically: the mask covers his mouth—it dims his mouth—not so that he cannot speak, but so that his words have no power. The unnatural lines of his confinement are repeated both before and behind him, in the lines of the padding and in the lines of the straightjacket. The colors are bleached almost to non-existence: it is a cold, colorless world he has found himself in, all but the stain of blood across the bottom that is Hannibal’s name.
He is restricted in every way—except for his eyes, the very part of him that makes him so powerful.
And that is not a look of weakness in their depths.