“It’s Literally Impossible To Be A Woman.

Once again, Tumblr manages to succeed via just being honest with their users.

I made a post back around April fool's about the crabs being so popular because the joke was that every other website tries to trick you into clicking things so they can make money from your clicks and what if instead a website just asked "please click this revenue generating crab. It is there to generate revenue. In return you will have clicked on a crab. Nothing more." And the answer to that question was "people will frantically click on that crab. They don't hate the idea of the website getting money, they hate the idea of being profited on against their will".

So Tumblr implemented actual revenue crabs. "For this much money you can fill your or someone else's dash with virtual crabs. This will have the effect of there being crabs on their screen."

And people will buy those crabs. Because yes you're spending money on something stupid and useless but it's being sold to you as "hey you want something stupid and useless?", which is a nice change of pace from every other site trying to make itself out to be something more than what it is.

Twitter is floundering with the checkmark system because it's being sold as "confirm that you are someone important and who you say you are is true", which it isn't at all right now because anyone can buy one. You're buying a useless checkmark that only says that YOU think you're important. Or, more often than not right now, you are intending to trick other people into thinking you're someone you're not.

Meanwhile, Tumblr just said "Consider this double check mark. It does nothing. You will be marking yourself as someone who paid money for a meaningless checkmark and sometimes it will randomly turn into a bunch of crabs, making the site harder to use". And the userbase is like "Well sure, that sounds delightful."

The point is, despite what all the marketing and advertising people have tried to say, painting trash gold and trying to pass it off as something better is almost never as effective as just saying "hey you want this trash?"

Why yes, in fact, I do.

omg those eyes!!!!!

Dream moping more than Death........😂

#D&D #RP Ideas

This is amaaaaazing advice

Almost every single question Ben asked was heavily, heavily loaded and the potential to be a disaster. He was pushing indirectly for a particular answer the whole time, and the more times he got denied, he got more bitter about it…. like holy hell that a mess on four wheels. God bless Liam for taking the brunt of it, and god bless the rest of them for all the shade

Oh gawd every time you think it's over it gers BETTER

🙌🏻 🙌🏻 🙌🏻 🙌🏻

prompt: my idea of fun

“You never let loose, do you?” Granger drops onto the grass beside him, twisting her arm around his elbow. It’s such a Granger thing, physical touch. A shoulder squeeze upon arrival to class; a warm hug when approached from behind; the swift brush of her fingers in his damp hair in the misty weather.

“Let loose?” he repeats cynically. “Did you hear what that Gryffindor prat said to me?”

“You used to retaliate.” She leans against his arm, the bright scent of her shampoo wafting beneath his nose. “What happened to all those prank spells you used to know?”

“I used to be Draco Malfoy, but now I’m a Death Eater.”

“Former,” she reminds him. “And last I checked, you were still Draco Malfoy.”

“One of us could get away with school pranks. The other will face Azkaban at the slightest indiscretion.”

“Oh, I see.” She rises to her feet. “You’re afraid.”

Draco scoffs, a bolt of anger twisting his gut. “Easy for you to say.”

“True.” She searches the field, her gaze halting on something in the distance. “Was that him?”

He peeks over his shoulder, glimpsing the wanker who ruined Draco’s day. “Yeah.”

With only a spark of mischief in her eye as a warning, Granger points her wand in the boy’s direction and lets her magic run free. Seconds later, screams reach their ears. A pair of moth wings has sprouted from the boy’s shoulder blades and he’s skittering through the air, arms and legs flailing about in a panic.

Draco snorts. “Head Girl, huh?”

She shrugs. “I have an aversion to moths, didn’t you know?”

“Right, that Skeeter woman.” He remembers the jar in her hands on the train ride home in fourth year. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“What?” She sits down again, this time directly in front of him. “Put Skeeter in a jar?”

“Get back at him for me. I probably deserved it.”

“Probably,” she agrees. “But lucky for you, I find myself quite fond of our friendship.”

Draco’s irritation melts in the heat of her gaze. Fondness and friendship ring in his ears on repeat. He’s glad to fill the hole Potter and Weasley vacated this year. Friendship means everything to a girl without a family. But fondness makes his mind run wild, in directions Draco ‘Death Eater’ Malfoy’s thoughts never should go. The curve of her cheek, for instance, how soft it feels when she’s pressing her face against his arm. Or the surprisingly tight grip of her arms when she’s dragging him away from sulking to brew prohibited potions in the lavatories. Her idea of fun, and his too, if he’s honest with himself.

“What?” asks Granger, shooting him a curious look.

He’s staring.

Draco shrugs, only able to tell the truth: “You.”

A tinge of pink fills her cheeks. “What about me?”

“Just you. Everything about you.” He brushes his hand over dewy blades of grass, his heart jackrabbiting in his chest.

Granger’s mouth opens, shuts. For once, she’s at a loss for words.

“Don’t worry about it,” says Draco, hoping to avoid weirdness between them. “I don’t want to ruin our friendship.”

She nods, lying down on her back to watch the clouds floating above them. They sit quietly for a while, long enough to hear the boy’s screams overshadowed by laughter, and then silence as a professor approaches the ruckus and dismantles the chaos of Granger’s sneaky magic.

“You know, former Draco would have done exactly this,” says Granger a while later, “hidden behind his cowardice.”

“Former Draco wouldn’t have cherished your friendship.”

Granger sits up on her elbows, staring at him through long dark lashes. “Nor would he have confessed his feelings for a Mudblood.”

The word rankles him. He hates it more than anything. “Is that what you want to hear? That I have feelings for you.”

“Only if you mean it.”

They’re on the precipice of something. It’s one of those moments in his life where things are one way today, but tomorrow everything could be different. He might learn what Granger’s mouth tastes like, or find out if the skin beneath her blouse is as soft as the back of her hand. But Former Draco wasn’t just a coward, he was selfish, taking without asking because he assumed everything already belonged to him.

He chooses his words carefully. “My feelings for you run deep, Granger, but I won’t ask for something I don’t deserve.”

“And if it’s what I want?”

“Then tell me,” he says. “I’ll give you anything that’s in my power to give.”

“You?” she asks, on her knees now in front of him.

Draco’s gaze flicks down to her mouth hovering inches from his own. “Is that what you want?”

“Will you give it to me?” A glimmer of mischief illuminates her eyes again. Gods, he loves that look. It takes him to unexpected places. Makes him laugh, stokes his ambition, persuades him to relish life again. And in this moment, it ignites every inch of him with fire.

With Granger, life is always a learning experience. Draco’s favourite lesson so far is the taste of her mouth—like summer warmth on an early spring day, salt in the drenches of mourning, sweetness in the tangle of school sheets, bliss every day he gets to call the girl without a family his own.

xx

+

Love this outfit!

older lotr illustrations sometimes depict éowyn wearing ridiculously small armour. apart from the problem general sexualisation of the only female character (who really does anything), there’s another hilarious thought:

éowyn pretended to be dernhelm, a man. to fit in, she must have worn men’s armor. so the armor in the illustrations is normal for rohirrim.

therefore, all the rohirrim rode to war just like that: