Install Theme

Internetty Goodness

I'm 23, figuring out my life one day at a time. I like pretty things and cupcakes. Also boobs. Boobs are nice. And so are dinosaurs. Dinosaurs with boobs....not so much. They/their pronouns please, she/her is ok though.

fantasticallyficticious:livesandliesofwizards:


At twilight on August the 25th 1999, one week before classes were to begin, Hermione Granger Apparated into Hogsmeade, a wand box clutched under her arm.
Headmistress McGonagall was waiting for her outside the Three Broomsticks. The two women greeted each other warmly, and then set off towards the castle. Or rather, towards the grounds outside the castle.
They chatted amiably as they strolled towards the groundskeeper’s hut.  Hagrid, sitting outside and darning a pair of enormous socks, looked up as they approached.
“Good evenin’ Headmistress, Hermione,” he said with some gruff surprise.
“Good evening, Hagrid,” replied McGonagall. “May we go inside?  I believe Hermione has a proposition to discuss with you.”
If you had stood outside the hut as the evening darkened and the stars rose into the sky, you’d have heard the rumblings of an argument coming from inside the hut. You’d have heard Hagrid’s gruff refusals, Hermione’s calm (and then not so calm) rebuttals, and the very occasional interjection of the Headmistress.
Hermione did not emerge until the moon had fully risen and darkness enveloped the grounds. But in the light of the nearly full moon, you could see a smile on her face.
~
The Shrieking Shack was no longer widely believed to be haunted, now that the story of Remus Lupin was fully known.  Still, the residents of Hogsmeade and Hogwarts avoided it out of a mixture of respect and residual fear.
This suited Hermione perfectly. The interior of the Shack was now stacked with books and bottles of potion ingredients. A cauldron sat in the corner, a telescope pointed out a cracked window, and cushions lined one wall. A table was covered in parchment, broken quills, ink pots and stains. Once a week, Hermione would apparate into the Shack and go over her notes from the previous session while she awaited her student’s arrival.
Sometimes he was late without explanation. Sometimes he would bring a wounded bowtruckle he wasn’t comfortable leaving on its own.  Sometimes Fang would follow him and sit in the corner whining while his master sweated and cursed over a cauldron. Hermione was calm but firm, making adjustments as needed and letting Hagrid’s frustrated words roll off her back like water droplets. 
The Hogsmeade residents may have turned a blind eye to the goings-on in the Shrieking Shack, but that didn’t mean they weren’t relieved as time went on and there were fewer and fewer roars of anger echoing through the village.
~
The OWL testers had been warned in advance that they would have an unusual student that year. That didn’t mean they weren’t taken aback when Rubeus Hagrid appeared on their testing scrolls. They all knew of him of course, knew the role he played in the Second War and of the false accusations leveled against him.
They were worried they would have to be kind.
They needn’t have. No one could have Hermione Granger teach them personally for a year and not improve in all aspects. His potions may not have been textbook perfection, he may not have fully transfigured his toad, but Hagrid had clearly worked hard to master his long dormant abilities.
Rubeus Hagrid may not have followed the traditional path to wisdom.  But he had a new wand, the (sometimes grudging) respect of his peers, classes to teach and 6 OWLs.
Including the highest score ever recorded on Care of Magical Creatures.
(written and submitted by ppyajunebug; please excuse me, because I have something in my eye. Oh yes, it is my joyful tears. ppyajunebug has a way of bringing those out of me, you see. Their submissions tackle some of the saddest moments in canon, turning them around and making something beautiful out of them.)

THIS WAS SO STINKIN CUTE EVERYONE STOP WHAT YOU’RE DOING AND READ THIS

fantasticallyficticious:livesandliesofwizards:

At twilight on August the 25th 1999, one week before classes were to begin, Hermione Granger Apparated into Hogsmeade, a wand box clutched under her arm.

Headmistress McGonagall was waiting for her outside the Three Broomsticks. The two women greeted each other warmly, and then set off towards the castle. Or rather, towards the grounds outside the castle.

They chatted amiably as they strolled towards the groundskeeper’s hut.  Hagrid, sitting outside and darning a pair of enormous socks, looked up as they approached.

“Good evenin’ Headmistress, Hermione,” he said with some gruff surprise.

“Good evening, Hagrid,” replied McGonagall. “May we go inside?  I believe Hermione has a proposition to discuss with you.”

If you had stood outside the hut as the evening darkened and the stars rose into the sky, you’d have heard the rumblings of an argument coming from inside the hut. You’d have heard Hagrid’s gruff refusals, Hermione’s calm (and then not so calm) rebuttals, and the very occasional interjection of the Headmistress.

Hermione did not emerge until the moon had fully risen and darkness enveloped the grounds. But in the light of the nearly full moon, you could see a smile on her face.

~

The Shrieking Shack was no longer widely believed to be haunted, now that the story of Remus Lupin was fully known.  Still, the residents of Hogsmeade and Hogwarts avoided it out of a mixture of respect and residual fear.

This suited Hermione perfectly. The interior of the Shack was now stacked with books and bottles of potion ingredients. A cauldron sat in the corner, a telescope pointed out a cracked window, and cushions lined one wall. A table was covered in parchment, broken quills, ink pots and stains. Once a week, Hermione would apparate into the Shack and go over her notes from the previous session while she awaited her student’s arrival.

Sometimes he was late without explanation. Sometimes he would bring a wounded bowtruckle he wasn’t comfortable leaving on its own.  Sometimes Fang would follow him and sit in the corner whining while his master sweated and cursed over a cauldron. Hermione was calm but firm, making adjustments as needed and letting Hagrid’s frustrated words roll off her back like water droplets. 

The Hogsmeade residents may have turned a blind eye to the goings-on in the Shrieking Shack, but that didn’t mean they weren’t relieved as time went on and there were fewer and fewer roars of anger echoing through the village.

~

The OWL testers had been warned in advance that they would have an unusual student that year. That didn’t mean they weren’t taken aback when Rubeus Hagrid appeared on their testing scrolls. They all knew of him of course, knew the role he played in the Second War and of the false accusations leveled against him.

They were worried they would have to be kind.

They needn’t have. No one could have Hermione Granger teach them personally for a year and not improve in all aspects. His potions may not have been textbook perfection, he may not have fully transfigured his toad, but Hagrid had clearly worked hard to master his long dormant abilities.

Rubeus Hagrid may not have followed the traditional path to wisdom.  But he had a new wand, the (sometimes grudging) respect of his peers, classes to teach and 6 OWLs.

Including the highest score ever recorded on Care of Magical Creatures.

(written and submitted by ppyajunebug; please excuse me, because I have something in my eye. Oh yes, it is my joyful tears. ppyajunebug has a way of bringing those out of me, you see. Their submissions tackle some of the saddest moments in canon, turning them around and making something beautiful out of them.)

THIS WAS SO STINKIN CUTE EVERYONE STOP WHAT YOU’RE DOING AND READ THIS

(via karnythia)

dynastylnoire:

kenobi-wan-obi:

"i wish i lived in the 50s" the white girl says. "it was just so much more classier back then.." in an instant, ‘whites only’ signs reappear on public areas. black people are being chased down the streets with dogs and fire hoses. a white sheet begins to materialize itself on to her. she is now leading the woman’s ku klux klan revolution. white power.

A hush falls over a normally busy city street as the sun begins to ease it’s behind municipal buildings, almost as though it doesn’t want to be present for what evil may come. Black people quickly and quietly leave their places of business. Their heart beats steadily increasing in pace as they wait outside for the bus to come. A  small, copper colored woman with thick, dark hair that was pressed down into a nearly scalp tight bun hold’s anxiously rummages through her purse for a pocket watch. ” Where is it…” Lip stick, cigarettes, church programs, coins, medicine, all seemed to collectively decide that it was best to bury her bus schedule.

"Doris, it’s coming down round the corner now." The voice of her next door neighbor, the tall and immaculately dressed mullato Jonas Crawford came right over her shoulder just as the panic of near darkness was surrounding them.

The City of Darlington was a Sundown Town. As in Negroes, Colored folk, Niggers, Darkies, were not permitted inside the gates after the night  settled down upon the earth like Grim reapers cloak.

Doris was still shaking. Her small gloved hands fumbled with the clasp of her purse until it snapped.  Jonas’s weary grey eyes caught her large dark ones with gentle concern. He was there when the those teenagers caught her after work one night. They nearly beat her to death and had been her savior in that moment, risking his life to protect her from rape and death.

She had missed the bus after Young Dawson asked her to stay late.  She was the secretary for the Mayor of Darlington.  Dawson was a slight wisp of a man with red hair and stone colored freckles that seemed to darken when he was angered. Which was often.

He considered himself sympathetic to the plight of the colored man. His family came to America as poor Irish immigrants. His father, a widower raised Dawson and his 4 brothers alone. He was able to buy a small farm right as people began to pour into Darlington. Soon, he found himself rich. Rich enough to buy more land, slaves, and buy several businesses in town.

Dawson didn’t agree with his father’s practices of owning people….He found it cruel. He could hear the dark people crying in the night sky. He saw them whipped and tortured. He loved playing with the child servants that bore a eerily similar appearance to him down to the freckles and greenish grey eyes…

But when  the War came then later slavery was abolished he lost his friends. His dad still managed to keep his land and his money. 20 years later young  Dawson became the Mayor of Darlington by a landslide vote bought by a lot of his father’s money and influence.

He was a proud man. So hearing that one of his employees was brutalized in front of his office angered him. But not enough to lift the Sundown Ordinance. Instead he put her on paid leave and quietly doubled her salary. Doris was the best secretary he ever had the pleasure of working with and the most beautiful woman he ever saw, the sweetest he had the pleasure of knowing. A secret he kept tucked in the deepest parts of his heart.He watched  from his window to make sure Doris got on the bus safely  once she returned to work and even considered providing a car.

Doris shivered,leaning slightly against Jonas as rattling tin can of a bus approached and Dawson, from the darkness of his window, scowled.

(via karnythia)

aka14kgold:

polepixie:

quantumaviator:

merlinus-caledonensis:

pappasaur:

nowyoukno:

Source for more facts follow NowYouKno

Don’t forget that the church was literally so impressed they gave him a medal instead of imprisoning him or executing him

Mozart only needed to hear a piece once to play it better than the original. And on top of that, they believed all his music to have been created by someone else, not this kid, so they locked him in a tower for a period of time (forget how long) with only music paper. When they came back all the paper was filled and he had written on the walls as well. AND ALL THE MUSIC WAS PHENOMENAL. how much more perfect can you get than Mozart? If you want to know more: watch the movie Amadeus. It’s historically accurate but also funny at times. Watch. it.

so he was the first to illegally download a song

And for those of you that would like to hear the first illegally downloaded song that the Vatican kept a secret for so long because it was “too beautiful for human knowledge” You can find it here.

The ‘Miserere’! Gregorio Allegri is the composer. It really is fucking beautiful. What sets it apart is those descant (top voice) departures, the leap of that one voice into an entirely foreign range. That’s a stylistic gesture that honestly doesn’t become common until about a century later—and even then in popular music, not the Church style.
[n.b.: while I second the rec for Amadeus, because it’s brilliant, ‘historically accurate’ should not be taken to mean ‘truthful’, or even an accurate picture of Mozart the composer—if for no other reason than that it starts roughly 25 years into his career. Watch it anyway, it’s awesome; just don’t take dramatic fiction for actual history.]

aka14kgold:

polepixie:

quantumaviator:

merlinus-caledonensis:

pappasaur:

nowyoukno:

Source for more facts follow NowYouKno

Don’t forget that the church was literally so impressed they gave him a medal instead of imprisoning him or executing him

Mozart only needed to hear a piece once to play it better than the original. And on top of that, they believed all his music to have been created by someone else, not this kid, so they locked him in a tower for a period of time (forget how long) with only music paper. When they came back all the paper was filled and he had written on the walls as well. AND ALL THE MUSIC WAS PHENOMENAL. how much more perfect can you get than Mozart? If you want to know more: watch the movie Amadeus. It’s historically accurate but also funny at times. Watch. it.

so he was the first to illegally download a song

And for those of you that would like to hear the first illegally downloaded song that the Vatican kept a secret for so long because it was “too beautiful for human knowledge” You can find it here.

The ‘Miserere’! Gregorio Allegri is the composer. It really is fucking beautiful. What sets it apart is those descant (top voice) departures, the leap of that one voice into an entirely foreign range. That’s a stylistic gesture that honestly doesn’t become common until about a century later—and even then in popular music, not the Church style.

[n.b.: while I second the rec for Amadeus, because it’s brilliant, ‘historically accurate’ should not be taken to mean ‘truthful’, or even an accurate picture of Mozart the composer—if for no other reason than that it starts roughly 25 years into his career. Watch it anyway, it’s awesome; just don’t take dramatic fiction for actual history.]

dollyfarton:

transhumanisticpanspermia:

vine cinematics are getting so advanced and i love it

they’re like 6 second soap operas and I LOVE IT

(via theblackoaksyndicate)

turkeyinacan:

shoutout to people working weekends and overnights and overtime, people working in hospitality and retail and food service, who are sacrificing time with their loved ones, so fuckers with weekday desk jobs get to live comfortably with the amenities we provide while simultaneously shitting all over us for not getting “real jobs”

(via the-goddamazon)

fauxboy:

starshinethecat1:

xxgoldie12xx:

the-winchesters-in-221b:

2ollux-2hip2-2tuff:

davespritedave:

hoechlolly:

tehwhovianhufflepuff:

imagine-tenthousand:


mockinggrass:


Go big or go home 


So I tried to recreate this, because I knew the responses would be different, and consequently realized that it’s either extremely old or faked, as Cleverbot auto-capitalizes and auto-punctuates your sentences for you if you do not. Oh well.
In light of that fact, here’s my go at cybersexing Cleverbot.



So I decided to try it

alrighty, let’s go one more step





i’M ACTUALLY CRYING.

THAT ESCALATED QUICKLY


Story of my life


that’s a first.

I LAUGHED HARDER THEN I HOULD HAVE AND I WAS IN PUBLIC

I wasn’t gonna reblog this but I lost it at the last one

fauxboy:

starshinethecat1:

xxgoldie12xx:

the-winchesters-in-221b:

2ollux-2hip2-2tuff:

davespritedave:

hoechlolly:

tehwhovianhufflepuff:

imagine-tenthousand:

mockinggrass:

Go big or go home 

So I tried to recreate this, because I knew the responses would be different, and consequently realized that it’s either extremely old or faked, as Cleverbot auto-capitalizes and auto-punctuates your sentences for you if you do not. Oh well.

In light of that fact, here’s my go at cybersexing Cleverbot.

image

So I decided to try it

image

alrighty, let’s go one more step

image

image

image

i’M ACTUALLY CRYING.

image

THAT ESCALATED QUICKLY

image

Story of my life

image

that’s a first.

I LAUGHED HARDER THEN I HOULD HAVE AND I WAS IN PUBLIC

I wasn’t gonna reblog this but I lost it at the last one

(via afro-khaleesi)

© Internetty Goodness

Theme by Dubious Radical