I'm a hopeless wanderer
I will learn to love the skies I'm under

Hey, I'm Heather and this is my blog. I keep track of all my fandoms in my Tags page (find it under LINKS). If ever you need someone to speak to, I'm here for you. Welcome to my life (paraphrased) and enjoy your stay!

samssamulet:

the last one though lol

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1,540,269 plays

theperksofbeingseamus:

theunsungheroine:

akorrable:

srnokemeth:

every skrillex song at once

image

the bass dropped at the same time help

satan’s song

THE BIGGEST DROP I have ever heard

My jesus

"My study-office is near the front of the house. There are full-size windows that let me see who’s coming and going. I have a customized L-shaped worktable and a comfortable black swivel chair. Over the desk are photos and memorabilia from projects I’ve worked on. To my right is a gas fireplace and a mantle with three Al Hirschfeld drawings—two of me in "Star Trek" and one when I appeared on Broadway in "Equus." On shelves are a number of my photographs that are in several museums’ collections.

There are no Spock uniforms in my closet, but I’m totally comfortable with the character now. There was a time many years ago when I was concerned that the three years I spent playing him on TV would overshadow my career. I’m grateful for Spock. As someone who grew up Jewish in Boston, I was always “the other”—an alien. So I get it.

Sitting on my desk is a small black box with a glass window. Inside is a pair of pointed ears. These are the ear tips I wore on final day of shooting for the TV show. I had them mounted. From time to time, I meet people who give me the “Star Trek” treatment. I don’t mind. Fortunately, no one has asked me to beam them up lately.”

 More here > WSJ

theartofanimation:

Sakimichan

xxmoreaboutnothinxx:

Don’t get it twisted there’s a difference

xxmoreaboutnothinxx:

Don’t get it twisted there’s a difference

blastortoise:

dont talk shit about my shitty country only people who live here can do that

chronic-genderbender:

laura-von-ansley:

antoniofernandezcarriedo:

theruthela:

wolfxdog:

usofawesome:

Oh. I really like this, actually.

aaaaah I love things like this.
I like thinking the nations are known to a degree by military officials and things like that and are given a whole lot of respect whenever they’re around. *u*

“Who’s that guy?” Private Daniel Rourke whispered to the man beside him as they watched the blond in the leather jacket stride along the lines of new recruits. Even if his hands were shoved into his pockets and the suit he was wearing was more reminiscent of a businessman than it was of a soldier, he carrier with him an air of militant authority. 
Before Private Jamieson can do anything more that twitch - it’s a little hard to shrug and salute at the same time - a voice speaks from behind them. To their credit, neither of them jump or start. 
“That,” the voice says, “Is Jones. And I hope that you two grow up to be a fraction of the patriot he is.”
As though gifted with preternatural hearing, Jones turned to them when his name was spoken, and the widest, brightest smile any of the recruits had seen stretched his cheeks. Grinning like it was his job, Jones strode towards the voice behind Rourke and Jamieson, throwing his arms out to embrace the whole world.
“Captain Hackman!” Jones said, laughter in his voice. He couldn’t have been a year older than Rourke, “Long time no see!”
“A very long time, sir,” there was a repressed smile in that voice, “It’s Colonel Hackman now.”
“Colonel? Man, where have I been?” Jones had the good grace to look sheepish, even if his smile didn’t dim by so much as a watt. “And who is this fine, upstanding soldier?” Rourke looked straight ahead, but Jones bobbed and weaved himself into his line of vision. The eyes behind those glasses were the most atomic shade of blue, and even more than that sunny smile, Rourke was sure that those eyes were what he was going to remember.
“Private Daniel Rourke, sir!” he barked out, standing stiffly to attention.
“And how are you feeling about the good old U S of A today, Private Rourke?” The way he asked that question, he had to have been an officer. He had to be an officer. But he still looked so young. Except for those eyes. 
“God bless America, sir!” Rourke answered promptly, a little smile fighting its way into the twitch of his mouth. 
And then Jones said the strangest thing. Terrifyingly blue eyes crinkling happily at the corners and bright with what might have been tears, he said, “And God bless you, too.”

T H A N K

That ficlet…

chronic-genderbender:

laura-von-ansley:

antoniofernandezcarriedo:

theruthela:

wolfxdog:

usofawesome:

Oh. I really like this, actually.

aaaaah I love things like this.

I like thinking the nations are known to a degree by military officials and things like that and are given a whole lot of respect whenever they’re around. *u*

“Who’s that guy?” Private Daniel Rourke whispered to the man beside him as they watched the blond in the leather jacket stride along the lines of new recruits. Even if his hands were shoved into his pockets and the suit he was wearing was more reminiscent of a businessman than it was of a soldier, he carrier with him an air of militant authority. 

Before Private Jamieson can do anything more that twitch - it’s a little hard to shrug and salute at the same time - a voice speaks from behind them. To their credit, neither of them jump or start. 

“That,” the voice says, “Is Jones. And I hope that you two grow up to be a fraction of the patriot he is.”

As though gifted with preternatural hearing, Jones turned to them when his name was spoken, and the widest, brightest smile any of the recruits had seen stretched his cheeks. Grinning like it was his job, Jones strode towards the voice behind Rourke and Jamieson, throwing his arms out to embrace the whole world.

“Captain Hackman!” Jones said, laughter in his voice. He couldn’t have been a year older than Rourke, “Long time no see!”

“A very long time, sir,” there was a repressed smile in that voice, “It’s Colonel Hackman now.”

“Colonel? Man, where have I been?” Jones had the good grace to look sheepish, even if his smile didn’t dim by so much as a watt. “And who is this fine, upstanding soldier?” Rourke looked straight ahead, but Jones bobbed and weaved himself into his line of vision. The eyes behind those glasses were the most atomic shade of blue, and even more than that sunny smile, Rourke was sure that those eyes were what he was going to remember.

“Private Daniel Rourke, sir!” he barked out, standing stiffly to attention.

“And how are you feeling about the good old U S of A today, Private Rourke?” The way he asked that question, he had to have been an officer. He had to be an officer. But he still looked so young. Except for those eyes. 

“God bless America, sir!” Rourke answered promptly, a little smile fighting its way into the twitch of his mouth. 

And then Jones said the strangest thing. Terrifyingly blue eyes crinkling happily at the corners and bright with what might have been tears, he said, “And God bless you, too.”

T H A N K

That ficlet…

#if you didn’t smile just a little bit during this small moment, i don’t even think you’re human at all.

boondoggleprospect:

#favourite professor #favourite literary character #favourite woman #favourite everything

#also favorite hat

freakxwannaxbe:

do you ever see something and just

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