deanhime:

every time i remember that dean locking sam in the panic room is a parallel to michael locking lucifer in the cage i just cry bitterly

peachdoxie:

So umm I wrote a thing??? Read it maybe and tell me it’s not horrible unless it is then tell me what I can do better???

Read More

_{When Marcel get’s beat up again, Harry has a word with the principal. x}

sifberg-deactivated20151224:

The Big Four: Bad End

nightfuryearthbender:

philtheyeti:

the-ice-is-cracking:

emmaontheice:

peachdoxie:

samuraikat:

legends-unite:

icyblueroses:

your-otp-just:

aboynameddeath:

This gif shows the last moment Jack Frost’s mother ever saw him.

“Mother: Be careful.

 Jack Frost: *chuckles* We will!”

That’s the last thing she ever said to her son. Then an hour or so later, her daughter would have come crying back home hysterically screaming that the ice had cracked and her brother had fallen into the lake. 

This is the last moment of happiness the 3 of them will share, before their world falls apart.

Can you imagine that for years and years to come (and maybe even until her death), Jack’s mother would look back on this moment and blame herself for letting her precious son go out onto the ice? She would be blaming herself for his death and blaming herself for the emotional impact on her daughter.

Also see how much Jack cares for and loves his mother. I bet his mother has nagged at him many times to “be careful”, but he is not at all irritated by this. Instead, turns back and looks at her not once, not twice, but three times in this scene. (The first time is not in the gif). All while smiling and laughing.

And unlike in other TV shows and movies, there is no cliche moment of a one last “I love you”. Its just a simple: “We will.” Which is frankly way more heartbreaking and tragic, because it shows the suddenness and unpredictability of death. We already know that Jack would ‘die’, but his mother doesn’t know that. She expects having yet another evening of fun and laughter with her children later on, but of course that never happens. 

Inevitably as she grows old, the memories of Jack mother’s will fade and she would almost completely have forgotten how her son looks like. Except for this last goodbye. She will forever be replaying the way Jack laughs and says “we will” and looks lovingly back at her. And as she dies, surrounded by friends and family (hopefully), she will be thinking of this moment, thinking of her beloved son, as she drifts off into the dark.

*This is a perfect example of how great ROTG is. It gives you so many feels just from a simple, 2 second moment. And please forgive me if you don’t think the gif is good; this is my first time ever making one.*

I HATE TUMBLR SO MUCH

…thanks for that… I really fuckin needed it

wtf it’s too early in the morning for this

setting myself ablaze

This I claim is the saddest few seconds in the entire film, because we all know what’s coming, and it’s so sad, and he obviously loves his mother very, very much because of how he looks back at her and she was warning him to be careful and he thinks he will be but we know that it’s going to end really badly and DreamWorks are you just trying to break our hearts into little tiny pieces?

Dreamworks doing their job<3

(())

(From the looks of it here, the cabin where they lived was REALLY close to the lake. Jack flew through this area near the beginning of the film, remember? When he first met Jamie. This area isn’t very far from the lake. Which means Jack’s mother probably heard her daughter screaming. And not too long after, she could very well have been screaming right alongside her. My heart hurts.)

amaltheias:

kili-at-my-service:

#oh look #now it’s cas’ family that’s burning on the ceiling

dad’s on a hunting trip and he hasn’t been home in a couple millennia

somewhatdorky:

godsofmischief:

He manages to convince himself that it’s the right thing to do.

Three years to the day since the death of London’s greatest mind, since the death of the world’s only consulting detective, since the death of the great Sherlock Holmes.

Three years to the day since the death of John Watson’s best friend, and the pain of it has not been dulled by a single passing moment. He is tired. So, so tired.

He looks out over the rooftops, out over London. Below him, the world moves on, takes no notice of the small figure standing on the ledge of Saint Bartholomew’s Hospital.

Three years, to the day. It’s oddly poetic, if he were inclined to such sentiments. He tells himself that he’s doing what’s best – he hasn’t been the same since Sherlock died, hasn’t laughed and hardly ever smiles. Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson tried, at first. He’d invite John out for a pint, she’d bring him tea in the mornings.

Nothing helped. Eventually they got the message.

John moved out of Baker Street two months later. Found himself a small flat he was able to afford on his army pension and whatever money he managed to make at the surgery, on the days he decided to show up.

Sarah was understanding. She put up with him longer than he could have asked for.

Now he’s jobless. Nearly homeless. Living off of tea and crap telly to numb his mind. No one to miss him because he’s pushed everyone away and the only person who really mattered, John buried three years before.

He tells himself it’s the right thing to do. Sherlock wouldn’t have wanted him to, but Sherlock’s not there to tell him so. That’s the problem.

On the street below, no one takes notice of the man on the roof who spreads his arms wide, feeling the breeze telling of distant rain whisper against his exposed skin. He looks down – it doesn’t seem so far, I wonder if this is what he felt like, maybe I can ask him soon – takes a deep breath.

John Watson closes his eyes. Leans forward. Feels himself begin to fall-

-is violently snatched from behind, strong arms curling around his chest, yanking him back.

His savior doesn’t let go when they tumble backwards, landing hard on the building below them. John breathes deeply, evenly through his nose, does not open his eyes. The feel of those arms around his chest is oddly comforting, the scratch of wool on his cheek distracting, the scent of tea and unidentifiable chemicals familiar…

John opens his eyes, sees nothing but the sky thinly veiled by clouds. The arms around him remove themselves. His savior shifts.

Suddenly the sky is replaced by two pale eyes, half-lidded and grieving.

“You were going to jump after me,” Sherlock says. It’s the first time John can remember hearing the great detective say something so obvious.