kingstyx40

[kingstyx40]

Barnes and Nobles is gonna start serving food and alcohol.

Everybody’s cracking jokes about how it’s a desperate attempt to stay relevant in the age of Amazon.

But you know what? Props to them. This is exactly what Blockbuster didn’t do. At no point was Blockbuster like “Hey, movie rentals aren’t the lucrative enterprise they once were. Perhaps it’s time we become known for our cheesy garlic bread.”

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[kingstyx40]

so I got into grad school today with my shitty 2.8 gpa and the moral of the story is reblog those good luck posts for the love of god

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I think we need to appreciate this part of Brennan Lee Mulligan's WIRED interview a lot more:

"The evangelical right in this country needs to manufacture outrage to hold onto its voting block. [The satanic panic about DnD] was arbitrary, as the targets of their outrage always are. Fight the power."

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daisuke bucklesby tho 💓💘💗💞💖💓💘

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One of the most on brand sibling moments so far has been Maxwell's immediate attempt to pass the buck with, "I'm sorry about all this. Wealwell lied to you 😔 "

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It’s been one episode and this 80 year old man and his ex-step-grandaughter have a grip on me

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just realized riz never told anyone about his financial issues so when he just showed up to junior year and gave fig and kristen enormous binders with an itemized list of all the things they needed to do to graduate with a certain gpa they just did it bc riz asked them to and literally no other reason at all

[kingstyx40]

they're gonna be the coolest customers at marya's toys and trinkets and other drivel to distract you from life's tragedies: a toy store.

marya shirt closeup:

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the same way Olethra used to have a crush on Marya when she was a kid, Maxwell.used to have a crush on Montgomery. He's just really embarrassed about it now which is why he keeps insistnting his books got worse

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i love pappy very much

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brennan really tried to invent a fake language so siobhan couldn't fuck up his shit. and she still did. absolutely stunning i love her so much.

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not siobhan fully breaking brennan by solving this riddle over the course of mere minutes

bonus:

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Brennan: I'm gonna make a little code in a fake language and give them just the tiniest clue of how they might crack it and it’ll be a tantalizing little mystery for them

Siobhan:

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short comic set to “King” by Florence and the Machine I did last year for To Be Belief: A Gods of Spyre Zine. junior year lore my beloved

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I think I may never be sad ever again. There is a statue entitled "Farewell to Orpheus" on my college campus. It's been there since 1968, created by a Prof. Frederic Littman that use to work at the university. It sits in the middle of a fountain, and the fountain is often full of litter. I have taken it upon myself to clean the litter out when I see it (the skimmers only come by once a week at max). But because of my style of dress, this means that bystanders see a twenty-something on their hands and knees at the edge of the fountain, sleeves rolled up, trying not to splash dirty water on their slacks while their briefcase and suit coat sit nearby. This is fine, usually. But today was Saturday Market, which means the twenty or so people in the area suddenly became hundreds. So, obviously, somebody stopped to ask what I was doing. "This," I gestured at the statue, "is Eurydice. She was the wife of Orpheus, the greatest storyteller in Greece. And this litter is disrespectful." Then, on a whim, I squinted up at them. "Do you know the story of Orpheus and Eurydice?" "No," they replied, shifting slightly to sit.

"Would you like to?"

"Sure!"

So I told them. I told them the story as I know it- and I've had a bit of practice. Orpheus, child of a wishing star, favorite of the messenger god, who had a hard-working, wonderful wife, Eurydice; his harp that could lull beasts to passivity, coax song from nymphs, and move mountains before him; and the men who, while he dreamed and composed, came to steal Eurydice away. I told of how she ran, and the water splashed up on my clothes. But I didn't care. I told of how the adder in the field bit her heel, and she died. I told of the Underworld- how Orpheus charmed the riverman, pacified Cerberus with a lullaby, and melted the hearts of the wise judges. I laughed as I remarked how lucky he was that it was winter- for Persephone was moved by his song where Hades was not. She convinced Hades to let Orpheus prove he was worthy of taking Eurydice. I tugged my coat back on, and said how Orpheus had to play and sing all the way out of the Underworld, without ever looking back to see if his beloved wife followed. And I told how, when he stopped for breath, he thought he heard her stumble and fall, and turned to help her up- but it was too late. I told the story four times after that, to four different groups, each larger than the last. And I must have cast a glance at the statue, something that said "I'm sorry, I miss you--" because when I finished my second to last retelling, a young boy piped up, perhaps seven or eight, and asked me a question that has made my day, and potentially my life: "Are you Orpheus?" I told the tale of the grieving bard so well, so convincingly, that in the eyes of a child I was telling not a story, but a memory. And while I laughed in the moment, with everyone else, I wept with gratitude and joy when I came home. This is more than I deserve, and I think I may never be sad again.

Here is the aforementioned statue, by the way.