me everytime a character in a movie has to get a few drops of their blood for some ritual bullshit (via jtoday)
WHILE WE’RE AT IT, why do people try to cross those skinny bridges over lava/chasms/whatever by walking upright. IT’S CALLED CENTER OF GRAVITY. get on your hands and knees and crawl across that thing. HUG IT. SCOOT YOUR BUTT ACROSS. “but i look stupid!” lalalala but we’ll avoid that ~dramatic moment~ where you almost fall over and die because your damn fucking self wanted to look COOL
and stop yanking IV lines out of your arms the minute you wake up in the hospital
That is a broadsword, why are you fencing with it
Shoot him damnit. You have a gun. Win! Kill him! No! Don’t give him a speech!
There is someone trying to kill you why the fuck are you running upstairs?(via bebadwithapurpose)
a collection of some of my favorites
"the recession has hit us hard"
I love tumblr in an unhealthy way
my favorite posts on tumblr are collections of posts on tumblr that depict the sheer insanity of tumblr
At least 3 potato.
im sobbing at the oatmeal one
“You broke the curse, yet you keep running…… What are you looking for? H o m e “
Hook and Emma + scenerygasm
I know the hero never believes at first. If they did, it wouldn’t be a very good story.
For at least two weeks, Emma sternly tells herself that she is definitely not jealous. There’s no reason to be. There is enough going on in their lives (inexplicable winter, Regina blaming her for ruining her happiness, whatever she might have brought back from the past, learning to navigate a relationship with a three-hundred-year-old pirate, babysitting her little brother, and finding a store, any store, open past eight PM when she’s still adjusting back from the round-the-clock life of Manhattan) without resenting the presence of the other vagabond who’s blown back into town on the North Wind: one Will Scarlet, formerly of the Merry Men and Robin Hood’s acquaintance, who (apparently) literally fell down the rabbit hole and has just now made it back. And, it turns out, of Killian’s.
By the way Will and Killian stop and stare at each other upon accidentally meeting in Granny’s, then veer in the opposite direction, ignoring each other as hard as they possibly can, Emma knows there’s some sort of story there. Her curiosity is piqued due to the fact of Killian steadfastly changes the subject whenever she brings it up. Finally, it’s getting to the point where he’s clearly smarting over the fact of Will Scarlet’s presence in town even when he’s supposed to be paying attention to her, and her patience runs out. “Seriously? Can you quit brooding and get with the program? Either tell me what happened with Will, or you’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”
Killian stares at her, utterly baffled, until understanding dawns on his face. “What the… love, are you seriously jealous of Will bloody Scarlet?”
"No," Emma snaps. "Besides, even if I was, you were jealous of your past self, so I think I’m allowed."
Killian looks very much as if he can’t decide whether to laugh or roll his eyes. “We knew each other, back in our land, before the curse. He spent some time on my ship while he was running from the Queen, who had a price on his head as she did for the rest of Robin’s men. We drank together and made a few terrible decisions, and I betrayed him like I did everyone else. Evidently he hasn’t forgiven me for it.”
"Aye." Killian shrugs. "I was debating whether or not to pop by one night and kill him, because he knows a few too many of my dark secrets for me to feel entirely comfortable with."
Emma smirks at him. “So apparently the blackmail potential cuts two ways, huh? Funny, though. I would think you two would have gotten along splendidly.”
"Why’s that, love?"
"The snark, mostly. And the affinity for leather. And, the, uh, vocabulary. Mainly that."
"Maybe we were too much alike for our own good." Killian shrugs again. "Well, I suppose that even though I am bedding the sheriff, murder would be viewed rather dimly among all you damned hero types, so I shall nobly refrain. If another rabbit hole comes along, though, I can’t promise I won’t stuff the bastard down it."
Emma rolls her eyes. “You really know how to make friends, don’t you?”
"Aye, and enemies. Generally the latter."
"So is there any chance that Will’s going to drop by and kill you?”
"He’s welcome to try." Killian cracks his knuckles, which is a feat with one hand. "I’d be pleased to set a few old scores to rights."
"I thought you gave up vengeance," she needles.
"Please? Just once? It’ll be good for him, I promise."
Emma rolls her eyes even harder.
She believes the word (or words) for this situation would be bloody hell.
It was the honourable thing to do.
As a huge fan of symbolism, I was really intrigued with Snow’s transformation into a ladybug when all others were transformed into what looked like cockroaches and such. So I searched for their symbolic meaning and they’re very fitting for Snow — so here’s this:
Your discomfort is a cross I’m willing to bear
snow drifts/there’s no place like home: cs + scenery
He’s fading fast. The ice is stealing up his body in a glassy, lethal armor, curling silver through his hair, hoarfrost varnishing his hook, as he sways on the spot and falls just as Emma, panicking, catches him, shaking him, slapping at his face, voice breaking in terror. “No no no no no no. Hook. Hook! Killian! Look at me! Look at me!”
His eyes, bluer than ever, blue as the deepest heart of a glacier, struggle to focus on her, his lips turning up in the hint of a smile. “Swan,” he croaks. “Emma… don’t… it’s all right, love.”
"No," she weeps. "No, it’s not. Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare leave me too. I just found you. You promised!” She hits at the shoulder of his leather jacket with a crackle of breaking ice, as he shudders. Her hot tears are falling freely. “You can’t leave me, Killian! You can’t!”
His hand trembles, turning pale and white, as he tries to summon up enough strength to touch her cheek. “I’ll never leave you, love. Not really. You need… you must…”
His voice stills in his throat, his head falling back, gaze turning clear and faraway, as he stiffens in her arms. The ice closes over him gently, painlessly almost, quick and easy as falling asleep, and there’s nothing in her arms but a sculpted statue, bedecked by drifting snowflakes, so that the silence of the tempest and the hole in her heart scream in place of the howling wind of the blizzard. Everything is eerie and white and desolate, the buried rooftops of Storybrooke, the iced-over harbor, the depths and darkness of winter. She can’t see, can’t imagine, it ever ending. Not now. Not like this.
"Killian," she whimpers, too gutted and shocked and shattered to cry. A little girl’s voice, left alone in the dark. Her hand cups his glistening ice cheek, petting, pleading. "Killian, come back to me."
Last time, she saved him but she didn’t believe, she cursed herself, she didn’t trust. This time, there’s no room for hesitancy and debate. She can feel the well of white magic burning up inside her — and even stronger, a thousand times, forever, until the stars burn out, love, not fear, not pain, not darkness. Love for him, for them, for herself, for what they’ve become together, for what they can still be.
And in that moment, there is no more dread. Only certainty.
She leans down, presses her warm lips to his frozen ones, and closes her eyes. She can’t stand to watch if it doesn’t work.
For an eternal instant longer, silence. She counts the beats of her own heart, and then she has to look, and she thinks she can see a faint rose color rushing into the ice around his mouth. Then farther, like the flush of a spring sunrise, faster and faster, as a ring of magic explodes out with the reverberations of a shockwave, and the ice breaks and his eyes open and his lungs melt and he heaves a deep, disbelieving breath and whispers, “Swan?”
"Killian!" she gasps, crying and laughing at the same time, clutching him to her chest, holding him as he turns back to flesh, his hand touching her cheek with gentle, tender adoration, as she rocks him and can’t breathe through her tears. "Killian!"
He grins crookedly, and coughs. “Aye, lass. I’m here.”
"I love you," she blurts out, before she can stop herself. Before she can fear that she’ll never get the chance to tell him. "I love you. I love you."
The look in his eyes then isn’t merely warmth, but a blaze, the fire of a thousand suns, heat to end any winter, to melt any walls. His hand comes up around her head, and pulls her close, and he breathes into her parted lips in the instant before they kiss again, “I know.”
do you ever use music as a way to measure time
But they both pull apart together, checking if what is happening is actually real. And then they both see that it IS real and they smile. Because they both know. They both know they have wanted this for so long, and they are finally on the same page at the same time now. She knows how much she means to him and he knows how much he means to her. And that’s what I love so much about this scene. Because not only are they kissing, they are appreciating each other to the fullest, letting each other know that… you have me now, you have me forever, and you’ve always had me.