all that old news

“Old people believe all that bullshit Fake News on their facebook home,” say I, a tumblr youth™, as I reblog an indignant social justice-flavoured post from mic dot com without fact checking.
Federal court halts Trump’s immigration ban
The federal court for the Eastern District of New York issued an emergency stay halting President Donald Trump’s executive order banning entry to the US from seven majority-Muslim countries...
By Nilay Patel

Additional commentary by eyewitness @lettersfromtitan:

(tweets source)

Xander was led through the castle corridors by his retainer, his wary frown deepening at every passing moment. “And you gave this order to the chef because..?” “Things have become too dreary as of late, milord. I thought perhaps I could liven our spirits with something everyone loves: food,” came the all-too-casual reply from Laslow. “Back where I’m from, we celebrate all we’re thankful for by gathering our loved ones for a huge banquet.” The prince was sure the creases upon his forehead would become a permanent fixture, but he declined to inquire about Laslow’s mysterious home, or how he could introduce such indulgence from it to a kingdom with scarce food supply to begin with. Instead he hmm’d, and continued to follow his merry subordinate down to the kitchen.

As they neared, Laslow began to brag more of what awaited for his prince to see: pheasant, chicken, pig, beef, a cauldron of soup, fruits and vegetables, pies, and so much more. He detailed how the chef had said they would make this a dinner to never forget, and guessed that the cooks must have worked all night and day to bring each meal to perfection. Laslow’s eagerness to show off the awaiting layout was contagious; the stolid prince himself was becoming interested to see this for himself.

Their shared anticipation screeched to a halt, replaced instead with a perturbed curiosity as a booming sound came rattling from the kitchen entrance.


The two shared a look before hastening to the archway. What they found was.. a whole mix of words, honestly. The kitchen looked absolutely ransacked. Cabinets were flung open, their shelves either bare or littered with empty bottles and bags. The countertops were a mess of food scraps and stains, plates and sheets strewn across them or else shattered on the floor. The cauldron was tipped over, only a small trickle of broth emerging from it. The large pantry was open to reveal it too was now barren of any sign of food or ingredients, only the empty shells of sacks, boxes, and barrels remaining. The main counter near the middle of the room was no better; the pans where the cooked fowls and pig were to be now only containing bones stripped clean of meat, indicating it was hit by the same disaster.

And said disaster was plopped down on the floor resting his back against it, the location of all the food that had disappeared resting between his sprawled legs in the form of a huge, gurgling orb. The belly looked unreal, so big and round that it would fit better on a monster thrice its current owner’s size. But that was not the case, made evident by how utterly engorged the glutton was, tongue hanging lazily from his mouth as he panted, each intake of breath making the tight mound swell only a centimeter under his gloved hands. His shirt and vest (and, if they’d been visible, pants as well) were long since rid of their buttons, now useless cloth lying over the top sides of the mound.


The wolfskin’s lowered ears perked at the sound of his name, and his head turned accordingly. His eyes were half-lidded, mind sluggish, and it took him a second to register it was Laslow who called to him - his liege, still struck speechless, standing next to him. “Oh..” He was interrupted by a soundless hiccup that made his torso jolt back and enormous belly jostle, a slight whimper tailing the act. Apparently just forming words was too much trouble for his system right now. “oof… Heya~” Even caught red-handed like this, Keaton could not be dissuaded from his pleased state; looking like the cat that got the cream was more truth than idiom in his case.

Silence would have fallen once more, were it not for the wolf’s stomach still busy processing its insane load. It gurgled and churned, glorped and whined, like a muffled factory overloaded with work. The wolf’s hands rubbing on either side seemed an effort in futility. Laslow and Xander, still caught in shock, were occupied with trying to piece together what happened. Apparently the wolfskin had caught the scent of all the food being prepared, enticed down into the kitchen by the succulent smells that poured forth like a torrent. If the smell enchanted him, the sight of it all must have driven him mad with hunger, awakening his inner beast as he lunged forth and crammed the nearest morsel in his maw. And from there he just.. did not stop. Anything edible was chewed, slurped, or otherwise gulped whole in the one-wolf rampage. A night and a day’s work, all consumed in what could have only taken an hour or so.

That just left one question. The architect of such an arrangement surely could not have left their work unguarded. Again it was Laslow who voiced their shared concern. “Wait.. where’s the chef?”

Keaton’s stomach rumbled, as if triggered by the word. The gastric sounds reached a fever pitch before ending in another loud, drawn-out belch from the unabashed glutton. He licked his chops, contented smile growing a tad, and gave his drum-tight gut a light pat. It was then that the two other men noticed the white hat and slightly torn apron resting next to the wolfskin. No further investigation was needed, much less desired.

Another extended pause, and then the two men at the entryway diverged in action. Where Xander remained planted in place, disturbed beyond measure, Laslow walked over to the immobilized wolf and kneeled down to join him in rubbing the churning mass. While Keaton certainly appreciated the extra pair of hands, the prince gave him a bemused look. “What are you doing?” Laslow returned the look with a defeated shrug, as if his hands were tied in the matter. “Well, it was my idea in the first place, so.. I guess this is my responsibility.”

He turned back to the wolf, rubbing his ridiculously packed belly with extra vigor. “At least someone got to enjoy the feast, huh?” Keaton could only make pleased sounds, tongue again flopping out of his mouth as another burp worked its way up his tired throat. Xander, meanwhile, resigned himself to be the one to have to clean up the bizarre mess these two made.

Holy god I actually did something on time.. barely! This time picture and a drabble! \o/  HOPE EVERYONE HAD A HAPPY THANKSGIVING!

1. “Joanne K Rowling is dead”

One day, when we are all old and moving on with our lives, the news is going to come and throw us twenty years into the past. Our past. Things we have forgotten will suddenly become vivid memories- The password to that Tumblr account, the skype friends, the head canons, the fanfiction..

When the news comes, you’ll be with your kids, and you’ll cry harder than you have in your entire life. Because while you are mourning the author, you are also mourning a part of your soul, the part that misses the world you created for yourself around these books, like the writing and the friendships and how raw every single emotion felt because these books taught you how to feel like a part something, because we were a family. And we still are.

When the news comes, you’ll leave the room, your confused children following you to make sure you’re okay. You’ll go into your attic, where there’s a box with everything Potter related that got sealed away for convenience. It’ll now have a permanent spot in your home. 

You pick your house scarf out of the box and wrap it round your neck and you smile through the tears. You hand your kids jumpers with the crest on them and tell them to put them on, before taking the books that made you who you are today and telling your kids that “it’s time for a story” and as you retell the story for the thousandth time, you fall in love with the characters all over again and pass on this feeling to your children. You pass on the legacy.

That night, you let out one more tear and a smile and say your final goodbyes to Joanne Rowling, the woman who wrote. You sleep comforted with the thought that she’s with Lupin and Tonks, Lily and James, Sirius and Fred. And that night? You are not alone, because thousands of adults cry together,  holding the same nine words close to their hearts.

“Hogwarts will always be there to welcome you home”

if someone treated a white rich kid the way donald trump supporters treat black people it would be all over the fucking news. all the pushing, the screaming, the use of slurs, the spitting, the ‘go back to your country’ even tho they’re on their country already. so, why the fuck is that old, disgusting, perverted, pedophilic, misogynistic, racist, homophobic fascist gonna be a president? usa is so fucking cancelled, american dream my ass this is a nightmare

Here’s good news for you all!! Our TianShan tag has been nominated as one of the most popular hashtags aka super hashtags(超级话题) in ACG category on Weibo since our thousands plus applications for that have been approved by the Weibo official department (๑•̀ㅂ•́)و✧

In Chinese, people usually call this pairing: HeDingHong(贺顶红). This is because 贺顶红 has exactly the same pronunciation as 鹤顶红, which is a white crane with red cap. It’s a kind of pun in Chinese. 贺 is the surname of He Tian(贺天); one of the meanings of 顶 is “cock deep in ass”, describing in a subtle way; 红 means red, which refers to Mo Guan Shan’s nickname, Redhead. So we rarely use TianShan to call them. Other tags like HeHong(贺红) is also one of the ways in calling this pairing<( ̄︶ ̄)>

If you have a Weibo account, you may search our #贺顶红# tag and click into it until you get into this page. You are encouraged to follow these steps & tips whenever you want to post your fanart, fanvideo, etc on Weibo. Any enquiries feel free to approach @tinavonwelt or @d—–d or @velvetrouge via Tumblr. We’re all Chinese and able to speak English ( •̀ .̫ •́ )✧ This is my Weibo ID @深爱着她的蒂娜 Please contact me should you have any problems encountered on Weibo ✿

p.s. We will probably translate the rules & regulations for you guys if you want so (◍•ᴗ•◍)♡

verseofthedead  asked:

I feel Journalism majors would risk all their time trying to get interviews from people who have gotten in touch with the fae. The school paper reads like old Weekly World News. The writers all go by a handful of pseudonyms. They want a big story... It comes at a price. Every once in a while a reporter goes missing. A month later a story will come in by an unknown author, it always read like a creepypasta. No given name, written in first or second person, there is always a dark twist at the end.

Once in a while a particularly well-written or chilling piece will gain attention on the web and for a little while the school paper is praised for showcasing up and coming creative writers. The section in which these stories tend to be lifted from is reserved for journalism major’s Last Known Pieces; it’s more an obituary than anything else. But no one off campus needs to know that.
I do genuinely love the idea of the paper reading like an intentionally batty paper click bait-kinda dealio. It’s regarded as satire by a good half the campus.

anonymous asked:

Good to see that I wasn't the only one to think this... If Peter was the reason the list was created, why he was on the list? Lydia's grandmother was a banshee ok, cool, but again, WHY SHE HELPED MEREDITH? AND HOW? That wall make no sense at all, and PETER being batshit crazy was old news and they just keep throwing this idea of "Peter was crazy/ Peter was idk" to make the plot. And when we ask about the others characters they say, "we didn't have more stories for them". UGH. SO FRUSTRATING!

Exactly. The connection between Lydia’s grandmother and Meredith was never explained. The fact that there were massive still-operating computers behind the wall in the lake house .. what? Nobody ever wondered about the power bill?Thought that maybe Grandma had a hydroponics set-up in the attic or something? 

And the list. Yes, why would Peter be on the list if it was a list of his enemies? In fact, why were any supernatural creatures on the list? The list should have been every hunting family he could name, starting with the Argents. 

The writers have never known whether or not to make Peter a straight up villain, or a man who was twisted by tragedy and pain but may earn a redemption arc. And whenever they need a convenient plot point, it’s like “Bring in Villain Peter again!” 

There is no constancy to any of their characters. 

You know, some people probably think I’m being harsh about a show that is, after all, about werewolves. But if you’re trying to tell a story about a world where there are werewolves, you’d damned well better have all your internal logic in place, or the whole thing will just crumple. 

Which it did. Very much. 

You will never convince me that the show runner and the writers had a clear vision from the start, which is why they end up throwing everything they can think of into the show, and it just becomes a confusing mess.  

if you think the topics of richonne and lori don’t somehow pertain to one another, i don’t even know what you’re doing in this fandom. one of the reasons why this relationship is so important for the show is BECAUSE of rick’s past relationship with lori. it’s meant to be compared; the vast differences, the support, the rare, unexpected blessing of finding a stronger bond with a best friend turned lover in the ZA that surpassed the bond of a marriage of over a decade with his highschool sweetheart, the woman who had his child. that alone makes it spectacular. THAT’S the point of the comparison. and it’s called being “anti-lori” and “old news” just because we all know that she wasn’t good for him and still wouldn’t be good for him, and because we’re so happy that rick has michonne and her support now since it is paramount and he needs her desperately…? okay hunny whatever.

So I’ve been thinking about how The Confusion Ending is the “true” ending of The Stanley Parable.

Cause the narrator spends the entire game just going on and on about how both stanley and the player have no real choice inside or outside the game.

But when you get to The Confusion Ending, you realize that out of the three of you, the narrator is the one with the least amount of choice of all.

You get hints of it sure. You get the second narrator talking about how stanley and the narrator need each other. You get The Wife Ending where the narrator bemoans not being able to get stanley to make a different choice. In The Line Ending he’s legitimately surprised that his resets are part of the game. And in the Zending he’s very visibly distraught at the idea that the game is going to reset, even after he tried to make a choice of his own.

It’s because the narrator can literally do nothing unless the player/stanley does something first. Yeah the player/stanley have limited choices and option that have a limited impact on real life/the game. 

But the narrator has no choice at all.

you ever just know youre only getting worse and worse and nothing you do will stop it


heads up that i’ve been pretty sick for the past week and have not been feeling up to writing. and i have a ton of schoolwork to catch up on this next week bc of my absences so i’ll probably not be around much for a while. sorry bout that babes. love y’all xo