#changedthings

[deedis]

im gonna pee myself i cannot believeim building a level 3 turret in this day and age... or witnessing a carwash and armor packs in real time again....... and i dont know how to move on mercy anymore bc this early on i was a bastion torb dva rein zen gal... so exciting.........

ovw classic... ovw Classic........

[yourtxnshi]

changedthe colouring of everything andnew dividers um cooked ithink…? idk youtell me iguess

[starfall-sea]

THEY CHANGEDTHE DEFAULT ROBES??? 😭😭😭

[jouncemoved]

ibought this energy drink again (the last two times it has tasted terribly - i think they changedthe recipe) thinking Oh surely it will be normal this time 😢it still tasteslike ass

[drawingthelines]

Icon CHANGEDTH!!!!

[jamescallahansr]

When I survive...

Once I stubbed a toe, and badly,so when I healed I completely changedthe way I walk, lifting, extending, insteadof sliding and all’s good since then. That is, when I survive even a modestillness or misfortune I radically alter eithermy conduct or at least my appreciationfor having survived common colds. Imagine how many bouts and bruisesI’ve missed that could be life-changingopportunities of…

[kennyfabre]

I Think The Lamborghini Centenario LP770-4 is The Most Beautiful Car Ever Produced; What Do You Think? #themostbeautifulcar #themostbeautifulcarever #mostbeautifulcar #mostbeautifulcarever @hawaiibrad #HawaiiBrad #BradHetrick .......................................................................................................................... @KeysToTheJungle @CaptainKeys #KeysToTheJungle #KeysToTheJungleFan #keystothejungle🐯🏞️ #CaptainKeys #MichaelDirr #MichaelKeys .......................................................................................................................... #ChangedThings #AutoGeSpot #ExoticPerformance #CarSpotting #NoteWorthyExotics #CarsOfInstagram #ExoticCar #AllAboutSupercars #CarInstagram #CarLife #CarsOverEverything #Cars #LP7704 #Car #Lamborghini #Centenario #LamborghiniCentenario #CarWeek https://www.instagram.com/p/B71mYqmJXUc/?igshid=1mwoq0125m5xm

[ss-wingman]

Sale, Zucchero, and Luca with a sassy s/o whose stand turns people into living plushies (you know like muppets).

Luca thinks it’s a real fucking weird ability and you have to be some kind of messed up fuck to have it. He’s not complaining, just stating the truth. You’re the kind of person that knows what you want and don’t let people walk over you – he can respect that. He enjoys it, in fact. He loves having an s/o who’s as tough as he is, just so long as they don’t turn their power on him or have any of those weird puppet things around for too long.

Sale is probably the most serious-minded out of the three of them (believe me that’s not as much of a compliment as it should be). He thinks it’s odd, but not the weirdest thing he’s seen since gaining his stand. Definitely up there, though. He understands it’s a strong ability, if not kind of silly. And his s/o exudes strength. They’re a tough pair to beat when they’re taking a fight seriously.

Zucchero agrees that it’s an odd ability to have and the plushies kind of creep him out when they move and talk. It and of scares him. Ignoring that, he loves how sassy his s/o gets. He’s the ultimate hype man, laughing or making snide comments in the background whenever his s/o sticks it to someone.

[shyrule]

I need your honest opinion on somethin

YOU CHANGEDTHE THINGGY?!???

[sunflowerseraph]

Mods off...time to vent

[angrythingstarlight]

Obligatory theme hype.

*entering the blog* First of love what you have done to the place, love the colors, the furniture (you changedthe wording right? ). You must be quite the decorater, I like that Boulder (your new profile picture) that's a nice Boulder.

(I was referencing donkey in the shrek movies)

Ta dear can't wait to see what happens next time :)

Thank you so much!!! The Boulder is my favorite part🥺

[smallestdogswilldie]

also best epic part of bpd is i spend a day with skmeone and pick up at least a fourth of their quirks like. OUR quirks now❤️ im saying this bc spending a singular night at that ffrat house has changedthe pitch of my voice and my mannerisms its so fucked up the human beain is so ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

[taeiloves]

✿Send this to 10 other bloggers that you think are wonderful. Keep the game going, make someone smile!✿ SENDIN THIS RIGHT BACK TO YA 💞

💕💕💕💕 💘💘💘💘💘💘hearts out for mY GAL

[mcnabbal-blog]

Mmm Thats Looks Delish: How Instagram is Changing the Restaurant Industry -Allie McNabb

For a lot of millennials and gen z’ers, Instagram is used as a platform to showcase cool experiences, family photos, and personal mementos from their daily lives. Depending on the user this could mean posting inspirational quotes to live by, reposting funny videos, or simply posting a pic from a night out with friends. As social media trends continue to shift however, Instagram is no longer being seen as just an app used to publish pictures. Companies, brands, and individuals are utilizing the platform to boost recognition and sales through visual engagement with the end consumer. This strategy spans across several industries, but I believe the food industry has experienced the greatest impact both in a social and business sense.

Have you ever been out to eat at a restaurant, about to take your first bite of an amazing looking meal placed in front of you, when all of the sudden your friend chimes in with a persistent, “Wait! I HAVE to take a picture first!”. Well, if you haven’t ever been in this situation in your life, then you have somehow managed to avoid the overwhelming trend to share your food on social media, congratulations! As the ‘phone eats first’ movement has become increasingly more popular, the landscape of content, as well as the variety of active users on Instagram have changed. “Smartphones have become participants in the meal”, and this shift has established foodstagrams, food bloggers, and restaurant accounts, in their pivotal roles in the decision-making process of consumers (Restaurant Manifesto). Regardless of taste, people are drawn in by the aesthetics of their meal, influenced not only on by the food itself but by the plating and atmosphere surrounding the dish. While this sudden influx may not appear to do anything but make you hungry from scrolling through your Instagram feed, many users take advantage of these resources when making important decisions about food.

One of the most painstaking decisions we’re forced to make on a daily basis is deciding what to eat and where to eat it. Often times, when looking for a new restaurant to try, similar menus and reviews online appear to morph into each other, leaving the most indecisive consumer left to squander on their own. Instagram, however, gives users the ability to see the restaurant and their food options, without even stepping a foot in the door. Along the same line of reasoning, once customers decide on the restaurant, the ability to see their food before they even order it can eliminate the common panic when deciding between two equally delicious-sounding options at a restaurant. Although other platforms utilize customer-taken photos and reviews, enables their users to share their food experiences through a more personalized approach.

Why does this matter to restaurant owners? Not only does Instagram have the power to influence where the consumer may choose to buy a meal, it also has produced changes in whatconsumers want to eat and the atmosphereof where they’d like to eat it. Restaurant owners are taking note of these shifts in consumerism, adjusting their menu items to include sensations such as the “freakshake” and “selfieccino” (BBC). But it doesn’t stop there, restaurant owners have begun making other business decisions with Instagram in mind, citing the benefits to their bottom line. Details as simple as the wallpaper and countertops drastically impact a restaurant’s social media presence by creating those “Instagrammable moments” in which patrons can interact. Making these changes seem drastic to certain business owners, but the results are in the pudding. Samantha Wasser, successful co-founder of the restaurant by Chloe, concluded that a strong Instagram presence can lead to higher check averages because consumers want “to try everything they had seen before” (Fundera). When it comes down to it, Instagram is another tool restaurant owners can use to bring customers into the door, and with millennials dining out 20% more than their generational predecessors, it is imperative to capture this part of the market.

So, while some people fail to see the value Instagram brings to the restaurant and food industry, in the end the old saying,

people eat with their eyes,

still rings true, and Instagram is enabling business owners and consumers to utilize it for their own benefit.

Sources:

https://www.bbc.com/news/uk-england-london-42012732

https://spoonuniversity.com/lifestyle/how-social-media-has-changedthe-way-we-think-about-food

http://www.restaurantmanifesto.com/phone-eats-first/

https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2016/nov/02/click-plate-how-instagram-changing-way-we-eat-food

https://www.fundera.com/blog/instagram-restaurants

[kennyfabre]

I Think The Lamborghini Centenario LP770-4 is The Most Beautiful Car Ever Produced; What Do You Think? @hawaiibrad #HawaiiBrad #BradHetrick .......................................................................................................................... @KeysToTheJungle @CaptainKeys #KeysToTheJungle #KeysToTheJungleFan #keystothejungle🐯🏞️ #CaptainKeys #MichaelDirr #MichaelKeys .......................................................................................................................... #ChangedThings #Amazing_Cars #AutoGeSpot #Hypercar #ExoticPerformance #CarSpotting #NoteWorthyExotics #CarsOfInstagram #ExoticCar #AllAboutSupercars #CarInstagram #CarsWithoutLimits #AmazingCars247 #CarLife #CarsOverEverything #Cars #LP7704 #Car #Lamborghini #Centenario #LamborghiniCentenario #CarWeek https://www.instagram.com/p/B71mYqmJXUc/?igshid=uakeu2dorl97

[wolfqueen-is-here]

Kisses Remembered, Kisses Forgotten (Jonsa Secret Santa 2018)

Dearest @moonchildslife, I am so sorry for my delay, Christmas was crazier than I expected, and I didn’t finish my gift on time. But it is here now, and I hope you don’t find it too terrible ;). I wish you a wonderful year with Jonsa becoming canon in April and our fandom wishes coming true. Be happy, be healthy, be yourself! <3

Many thanks to @jonsasecretsanta2018 who made all of this happen, you truly are amazing!

  A/N Don’t be alarmed by a brief mention of the Hound. I promise you, it has nothing to do with SanSan in any way except mentioning The Un-Kiss. Book!canon, but mostly show!canon, can be interpreted both as a filler and an AU. 2300 words

  Kisses Remembered, Kisses Forgotten

Every now and then Sansa remembers, even though she has tried so hard to leave the past behind. The Hound was rough and scary, but the kiss that he took left a lingering taste on her lips—it was as soft as snow, almost familiar, she’s caught herself missing the shy affection that came with the kiss, a wary touch so vulnerable it felt almost childish. She remembers the kiss that he took. The only thing she doesn’t remember is him taking it.

Every night feels longer and darker than the former ones. It isn’t until she jumps from Winterfell walls that she remembers how to feel warm again, but the road north is as cold as ice and covered in snow. “His lips felt warm”, she thinks as she runs towards her freedom. “The kiss that he took, it felt warm.”

There are times when she is almost certain that she gave it willingly.

 —

“You look cold,” Jon says after staring at her in silence for a good half an hour. It would annoy her beyond reason, were it anyone else, anyone less trustworthy, anyone less… Jon, but coming from him it’s almost flattering. No one has ever cared for her so since she’d lost Father. Not once until this very moment has she felt safe since then.

“I’m okay,” she smiles. His unblinking eyes refuse to leave hers even for a second as if she’d vanish otherwise. Sansa leans towards him and strokes the inside of his palm with her thumb. It’s the most innocent of caresses, but it makes Jon stiffen and finally lower his head. She misses the stare instantly. “I’m okay, Jon.”

She tastes his name on her tongue. It feels rough—when was the last time she used it? —but sweeter than all the cake she’s ever had. She wants to swallow it, possess it, make it hers. “Jon,” she muses. “Jon. My Jon.”

If it’s something more primal than sisterly affection, she doesn’t recognise it in time. It may occur to her later, but it will be too late.

 —

The first night that she spends at Castle Black is a sleepless one. The shadows are long when she paces aimlessly around the room, too exhausted to fall asleep, too cold to lie still. Knocking at the door alerts her at first—she’s not used to feeling safe yet—she whispers: “Who’s there?” so quietly as if she were hoping nobody would answer.

“It’s me,” Jon says.

She lets him in.

“Do you have everything that you need?” he asks, looking at her with a strange longing.

Had it been more fitting, she’d say: “I have you,” but in their current situation she’d stumble over the words for certain. Instead, she just invites him to stay—just sit next to her and not talk until the sun rises and the shadows go back under her bed. They repeat it every night after that, it seems to comfort both of them.

 —

Jon’s eyes follow Sansa as he tries to find something—anything—that would remind him of a little girl she used to be. Her skirts dance when she rocks her hips, walking around Castle Black like she’d lived here all her life. He wants to avert his gaze but finds it impossible. She’s grown so tall, so slender—so beautiful.

“She’s your sister,” he thinks angrily, hiding his face in his hands. “You are not allowed to look at her like that.”

There were times, many lives ago, when they were only children. Sansa’s hair was more orange than auburn, Jon’s face—smooth, not a trace of beard or scars on it. They both called lord Eddard Stark their father. They both walked around holding Robb’s hand. They both watched Bran fall asleep while they were singing lullabies. Both, yes, but not—together.

When he tries to think about their lives before everything happened, before he went north and she went south, he keeps coming back to that one particular memory. And he’s not allowed to remember it. Not ever.

“She’s your sister,” he thinks, but as her lips move while she’s telling him another story, he watches. The redness of them almost provocative, they look like she’s been biting them for the past few hours. It’s a mesmerising set of colours: her lips with a raspberry tint, screaming to be tasted, licked, devoured; her eyes, deep blue almost exactly like the ones that used to follow him with disdain when he was nothing more than a bastard boy, but there’s no disdain in Sansa’s eyes, only hope. Her fair complexion contrasts with the dark streaks of her auburn hair, almost brown in the dimly lit room. Jon quashes the need to cup Sansa’s cheek and stroke it with his fingers, to check if her soft, unwavering beauty isn’t only a product of his hallucinations. He wouldn’t dare.

 —

Sansa enters the dining room when there’s barely anyone left. A few wildlings share a horn of ale, laughing. There’s also Edd sitting in the furthest, darkest corner, and he looks really down—Edd always looks down, that’s an inherent part of his personality, “The defining part”, Tormund insists, but Sansa doesn’t care, because Edd, albeit rather shy, is kind and caring, and that’s more than she could expect from a stranger. The wildlings terrify her still, she doesn’t know their customs, they’re far too loud and bold for her taste, so she chooses to cross the room and take a sit in front of Edd.

They don’t talk, there’s no need for it. Sansa eats her soup, wondering whether Jon has already eaten, and Edd just keeps staring at the ceiling. Weirdly, his silent presence comforts Sansa more than any words could.

When everybody leaves, Sansa reaches for Edd’s half-empty horn and moves her hand up and down its uneven surface. It’s become apparent these past few days that sleep refuses to come easily for her at Castle Black, and when she finally drifts off after hours of rolling over from side to side, her dreams are filled with memories—but are they real? Are they hers?

She doesn’t think about the Hound that often. He’s been a big part of her life when she was a prisoner in King’s Landing, but her fascination with his tragic story faded and went by long ago. She cannot remember his face anymore, only the scars, she doesn’t even know if she’d be glad to see him again. The memories of him and the torments from the Lannisters became too inseparable in her mind, and that’s why she doesn’t want to think of him or imagine their meeting.

Not now. Not ever.

Then why is her brain so set on bringing back the memory of the kiss? She can feel a sweet breath on her chin every morning when she wakes up from her blurry dreams—why is it sweet? Wasn’t the Hound monumentally drunk that night?—she can taste it, again and again. Her first kiss, that one thing she knows for sure. She’d gotten a few pecks from Joffrey, yes, they should probably count as first, but somehow it doesn’t feel right.

She closes her eyes and clasps her hands around the horn.

“I thought you weren’t fond of our ale,” Jon says, suddenly very close—how did he get so close without Sansa hearing his steps? Did she black out again?

“I heard it helps to forget.”

“It does,” his voice sounds worried, “for a while. It doesn’t make your past go away.”

Sansa raises her head and their eyes lock immediately as if they’re a couple of lovers always on a mission to find each other.

“For a while,” she repeats. “Sounds better than never.”

The ale tastes much worse than she remembered it—it’s bitter and stale, and reeks of old, damp barrels—but her lips don’t leave the edge of the horn until it’s empty. Jon’s eyes move to her throat as she swallows and stay there even after she’s finished.

At first, she doesn’t think anything’s changed—the same emptiness fills her, the same desperation—but minutes pass as they sit opposite one another in silence, and her head finally starts to feel both lighter and heavier, her thoughts stir inside her brain, but never fully form. It’s a bliss. It’s a curse.

She sits in the middle of a meadow, it’s late summer. The winds got chilly but she’s got a blanket around her arms. She’s knitted it herself. She’s content. She’s happy. She’s Queen Naerys Targaryen.

“Are you alright? That’s quite a lot of ale you just inhaled,” Jon murmurs, gently touching her arm. Sansa looks up and smiles at him.

“I’ll be fine,” she answers. “I’ll be fine, Jon. You can go to sleep, you look tired.”

He laughs hoarsely and it makes Sansa’s belly tighten.

“Not until I see you safely tucked under your furs.”

He approaches her with his back straight and a sword at his side. Where did he get that sword, she thinks briefly but continues to look at his beaming face.

“I’ve come to rescue you, my Queen.”

“You can’t, my love,” she says, remembering to dress her face in the deepest, most regal shade of sadness. “We’re bound to our fate forever. You’ve made your vows, as I have made mine.”

He kneels before her. He’s brave, he’s gentle, he’s strong. He’s Prince Aemon the Dragonknight.

Sansa tries to stand up all too quickly, her head spins violently and she has to hold on to the table to avoid falling. She can barely feel her legs and her arms—how strong was that ale?—but the burning hotness of Jon’s hand on her lower back, oh, that she feels.

“Careful,” he says, pulling her closer and throwing her arm around his neck. “You’re still much too weak to start drinking so heavily. Don’t let go, alright? I’m going to walk you to your chambers now.”

And he proceeds to do just that.

When Sansa lies in bed feeling truly sleepy for the first time since she’s reached Castle Black on her dying horse, she suddenly remembers everything.

His face is just inches away. He’s wearing his hair pulled tightly in the back like a true adult, but he’s been playing with swords all day and a few strands have escaped the knot, hanging loosely around his face. She feels the urge to curl one of them around her finger but before she decides to make a move, he leans in and kisses her on the lips.

It surprises her—the lightness of it as much as the act itself. “It’s not wrong as long as I’m Queen Naerys and he’s Prince Aemon,” she tells herself as she involuntarily moves closer and exhales into his warm mouth. His fingers wander up and down her sleeve, curious but never inappropriate. The kiss doesn’t last long, a few heartbeats maybe, but before it’s finished, she can hear him whisper: “Sansa.”

And instantly he’s Jon again, and she’s Sansa. And they’ve done something unforgivable.

 —

Jon’s almost asleep when he hears banging at his door. He jumps out of bed and rushes to open it only to find a breathless Sansa on the other side. Her eyes are wide, and she looks absolutely terrified. If she’s still a bit in her cups, it doesn’t show.

“What happened?” he asks.

She’s shivering. He wants to put his hand on her arm but she jumps away.

“You kissed me,” she hisses, her tone accusatory.

Jon blinks. Not that he hasn’t thought of it, because of course he has. He won’t admit it to anyone but though he tried extremely hard to see his long-lost sister in the beauty that has brought him back to life, he failed miserably. The truth is—she was never a sister to him, not even before they parted ways.

“I assure you,” he answers quietly, “I did not. I didn’t even enter your chambers, I asked lady Brienne to help.”

“Not tonight,” Sansa sighs and Jon realises she’s standing before him barefoot, dressed only in some old sleeping gown, but somehow she’s never looked more queenly with her demanding expression and fiery glare. “When we were children. A few months before we left Winterfell. We played… we played, and you…”

And he kissed her.

He kissed her and he never regretted it once until she came to him, crying, and ordered him to forget it ever happened. He didn’t want to, it was too precious a memory, but he obliged. For Sansa.

“I thought we weren’t speaking of it,” he whispers carefully.

She was really shook when she came to him that day, he never wanted to see Sansa cry, and to be the reason for her despair—it was too much for him to bear.

“We aren’t. I just… I forgot.”

“You forgot?” he asks, feeling hurt. It was his only kiss before Ygritte and he wasn’t even allowed to savour that memory. How could she have forgotten?

“I’m sorry,” she says. “What we did… it was wrong. I didn’t… I couldn’t… I think I repressed it. I made myself believe it happened with someone else.” She lowers her head and he’s afraid to spook her by asking who that person was, but he’s certain it will haunt him forever. Was it Joffrey? Gods, he hopes it wasn’t him. Jon couldn’t bear it. Sansa makes a strangled noise at the back of her throat. “But I remember now.”

He doesn’t know what more to say, but Sansa doesn’t seem to expect any kind of explanation. It happened. It shouldn’t have, but it did. And it changed things between them.

Sansa finally dares to look at him. Her lips are parted, ready as they were in that meadow years ago. He doesn’t take advantage of her vulnerability. When they win back Winterfell, when the war is over—she will come to him of her own volition.

And he will have that second kiss, gods be damned.