WorldFromALens @kcunac - Tumblr Blog

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blackpowwer-blog

REBLOG: go to your blog and click the egg to see what hatches

jinglepancakebells

I got Sonic the Hedgehog.

Sonic the fucking Hedgehog.

Maybe I cracked the egg too fast.

crystalmikii-deactivated0417201

I got Rogue Titan gettin’ krunk. I was not disappointed.

shirtnapkin

OH MY GOD I GOD EREN IN TITAN FORM TWERKING

prince-bat

aHHHHH THIS IS WHAT I GOT IM sO HAPPY

allthecanadianpolitics

The disappearance of a favorite condiment brand is rocking the island to its core.

On a Friday afternoon in early March, grocery stores all over Newfoundland dealt with an unusual rush. Customers ran in, asking frantically after particular items. Phones rang as family members placed requests. Beneath the cheerful shopping music coursed a vague yet undeniable current of panic.

Outside, though, no winter storm approached, and the purposeful shoppers walked right past the water and the flashlight batteries. They were after something far more precious: the last of the mass-produced mustard pickles.

After years of faithful service, Smucker’s had announced the end of its beloved Zest and Habitant brands, meaning an end to easily-available, off-the-shelf mustard pickles. “Kiss your pickle goodbye,” read one headline in the Telegram, the “people’s paper” of the province.

But Newfoundlanders have a sweet kick equal to their favorite condiment. They weren’t about to let go without a fight.

spnsocks

some fucking asshole went to two separate superstores and bought literally every bottle they had n now he’s sellin them on fbook for 20 bucks a bottle i aint joking it’s fucking chaos here

isolde-and-monsters

My mother opened her last bottle tonight and took a selfie with it.

mazingmazes

THIS IS THE GREATEST THING I HAVE EVER SEEN

thefaultsareinourstars

I’m from Newfoundland and I’m on my last jar, my mom’s taking it really hard

achingminds

Texts i never sent.

L.K (achingminds)

commandervex

It’s so weird the way I look at Murphy now. There’s no wrong that kid can do in my eyes now, not after what he witnessed between Clarke and Lexa and continued to try and comfort Clarke during and afterwards. He had time to escape and not give a fuck, because who the fuck was this girl who got shot anyways? But nope, he stayed. He stayed and watched the whole thing unfold. He stayed and kept quiet while he watched and slowly realized the girl dying was incredibly important not only to Polis but to Clarke. He watched Clarke nearly confess her love for this woman and he watched her say the traveler’s goodbye to her. He watched her kiss her. And he watched her sob over her dead body.

Murphy is a special guy. He’s a good dude. I don’t care what you say.

themilkywhiteway

caitstadler

ink-splotch

What if, when Petunia Dursley found a little boy on her front doorstep, she took him in? Not into the cupboard under the stairs, not into a twisted childhood of tarnished worth and neglect—what if she took him in?

Petunia was jealous, selfish and vicious. We will not pretend she wasn’t. She looked at that boy on her doorstep and thought about her Dudders, barely a month older than this boy. She looked at his eyes and her stomach turned over and over. (Severus Snape saved Harry’s life for his eyes. Let’s have Petunia save it despite them).

Let’s tell a story where Petunia Dursley found a baby boy on her doorstep and hated his eyes—she hated them. She took him in and fed him and changed him and got him his shots, and she hated his eyes up until the day she looked at the boy and saw her nephew, not her sister’s shadow. When Harry was two and Vernon Dursley bought Dudley a toy car and Harry a fast food meal with a toy with parts he could choke on Petunia packed her things and got a divorce.

Harry grew up small and skinny, with knobbly knees and the unruly hair he got from his father. He got cornered behind the dumpsters and in the restrooms, got blood on the jumpers Petunia had found, half-price, at the hand-me-down store. He was still chosen last for sports. But Dudley got blood on his sweaters, too, the ones Petunia had found at the hand-me-down store, half price, because that was all a single mother working two secretary jobs could afford for her two boys, even with Vernon’s grudging child support.

They beat Harry for being small and they laughed at Dudley for being big, and slow, and dumb. Students jeered at him and teachers called Dudley out in class, smirked over his backwards letters.

Harry helped him with his homework, snapped out razored wit in classrooms when bullies decided to make Dudley the butt of anything; Harry cornered Dudley in their tiny cramped kitchen and called him smart, and clever, and ‘better ‘n all those jerks anyway’ on the days Dudley believed it least.

Dudley walked Harry to school and back, to his advanced classes and past the dumpsters, and grinned, big and slow and not dumb at all, at anyone who tried to mess with them.

But was that how Petunia got the news? Her husband complained about owls and staring cats all day long and in the morning Petunia found a little tyke on her doorsep. This was how the wizarding world chose to give the awful news to Lily Potter’s big sister: a letter, tucked in beside a baby boy with her sister’s eyes.

There were no Potters left. Petunia was the one who had to arrange the funeral. She had them both buried in Godric’s Hollow. Lily had chosen her world and Petunia wouldn’t steal her from it, not even in death. The wizarding world had gotten her sister killed; they could stand in that cold little wizard town and mourn by the old stone.

(Petunia would curl up with a big mug of hot tea and a little bit of vodka, when her boys were safely asleep, and toast her sister’s vanished ghost. Her nephew called her ‘Tune’ not ‘Tuney,’ and it only broke her heart some days.

Before Harry was even three, she would look at his green eyes tracking a flight of geese or blinking mischieviously back at her and she would not think ‘you have your mother’s eyes.’

A wise old man had left a little boy on her doorstep with her sister’s eyes. Petunia raised a young man who had eyes of his very own).

Petunia snapped and burnt the eggs at breakfast. She worked too hard and knew all the neighbors’ worst secrets. Her bedtime stories didn’t quite teach the morals growing boys ought to learn: be suspicious, be wary; someone is probably out to get you. You owe no one your kindness. Knowledge is power and let no one know you have it. If you get can get away with it, then the rule is probably meant for breaking.

Harry grew up loved. Petunia still ran when the letters came. This was her nephew, and this world, this letter, these eyes, had killed her sister. When Hagrid came and knocked down the door of some poor roadside motel, Petunia stood in front of both her boys, shaking. When Hagrid offered Harry a squashed birthday cake with big, kind, clumsy hands, he reminded Harry more than anything of his cousin.

His aunt was still shaking but Harry, eleven years and eight minutes old, decided that any world that had people like his big cousin in it couldn’t be all bad. “I want to go,” Harry told his aunt and he promised to come home.

ink-splotch

Best tags so far omg:

# NOT THE AUNT PETUNIA GOTHAM WANTED# BUT THE AUNT PETUNIA GOTHAM DESERVED (via katiewont)

heathyr

A visiting professor for my class proposed the idea that the reason depression and anxiety disorders are so prevalent now is because our human bodies haven’t evolved to catch up to our current social, cultural, and technological realities of today. Like our bodies aren’t wired to handle the amount/kind of anxiety we deal with today, so it is hard for a lot of people to turn off their physiological anxiety switches. I have no idea if it is true but it was interesting to think about.

minervamori

I’ve read about this various times over the years. I’d say this is arguably true. Humans are still animals and we are biologically equipped to deal with natural stress. What we have created for ourselves is basically unnatural stress. Instead of experiencing short bursts of adrenaline to trigger a fight or flight feeling which would, in nature, help us survive something like being attacked by a snake… we now experience prolonged release of chemicals which completely screw with our bodies.

Running away from a predator takes a few minutes. The problem can be resolved quickly. The threat is removed and our body stops reacting to it. But if the modern “threat” is an antagonistic relationship at work or politics in a general sense or something else like that it becomes impossible to get away from. It doesn’t even have to be that complicated. Humans want to be outside, in nature, with a lot of time to relax and enjoy the company of other humans. That isn’t something we get nowadays at least in Western society unless you really go out of your way to find a lifestyle that is conducive to that. The average 9-to-5 job is not the way humans are supposed to live. Working several jobs while still being afraid you won’t be able to make rent DEFINITELY isn’t the way humans are supposed to live.

So yeah. We’re all fucked up because we live in a society that is itself a huge cause of anxiety and we can’t just opt out to live mentally/physically/emotionally healthier lifestyles.

shencomix

Why doesn’t it translate?

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dailynickiminajgifs

1ionfang

She knows

britt-on-that-bullshit-deactiva

Nah she being a bitch tbh. You giving you’re dancers 15 minutes to eat cause you used to get 15 back in the day? C'mon now

11-11-1992

Nah you read it wrong she’s surprised her and her dancers get an hour for lunch because as she explained in her previous work history she either got 15 minutes or didn’t eat at all sometimes