Oh My Merlin
Oh My Merlin
Lara, 15 anos. Amo ler. Apaixonada com livros. Histórias me fascinam. A história de uma certa cicatriz conquistou meu coração e é de longe a minha favorita. Sou timida ao extremo, mais do que é considerado normal. Sou tapada, retardada, altista, hiperativa e idiota. Amo escrever, mas não posto nada, pelo menos não aqui no Tumblr.


It’s okay to want something for yourself once in a while. Team Captain, Alpha Werewolf.  You’re still only human.

(Source: peetal)

Postado em 22/8/2014 às 16:28 | 604 notes (Reblog this!)

Never let this man die


Never let this man die

Postado em 22/8/2014 às 16:27 | 831 notes (Reblog this!)

(Source: teenwolf)

Postado em 22/8/2014 às 16:27 | 9,586 notes (Reblog this!)

You’ve redecorated…I don’t like it.

(Source: doctorwhoblog)

Postado em 22/8/2014 às 16:26 | 2,591 notes (Reblog this!)

Marrish in 4.09 ‘Perishable’

(Source: maybehonestly)

Postado em 22/8/2014 às 16:26 | 1,795 notes (Reblog this!)

My Boyfriend is so Silly (☉_☉) (✿◠‿◠)

(Source: blaineswolf)

Postado em 22/8/2014 às 16:26 | 3,227 notes (Reblog this!)


I need this show back on air

(Source: best-of-memes)

Postado em 22/8/2014 às 16:25 | 75,243 notes (Reblog this!)

Rachel Green Best Comebacks

(Source: princesconsuela)

Postado em 22/8/2014 às 16:24 | 5,291 notes (Reblog this!)


Derek feels blind when entering the school. Naked. His instincts tells him to lift his chin and take a sharp intake of breath, trying to catch one of the teenagers’ scent, but there’s nothing. He can’t smell them. He can’t hear their heartbeats. It hurts, knowing he’s just as helpless as the assassin running around looking for the same thing he is.

It’s like a weight is lifted off his shoulders when he picks up the faint sound of Stiles’ voice, too far away to make out the words but close enough to recognize. Derek lets out a heavy breath, heading for coach’s office where it came from. The door is ajar, and he’s just about to rip the door open and call out Stiles’ name, when there’s a second voice.

"I’m going to count to three, and then I’m going to kill you."

Derek freezes, mind racing. He looks down on his bare right hand, free from claws and strength that he otherwise would be able to snap neck’s with. Swallowing, he adjusts the grip on the gun in his left hand, safety already off, recalling the look on the sheriff’s face when giving it to him on his way in.

Find them. Find my son.

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Postado em 22/8/2014 às 16:21 | 2,417 notes (Reblog this!)