Latest Posts by genuinelysurpriseditsbutter - Page 3

what makes a h e r o

Angelic arm, twice. Guess both my arms are pretty powerful, and apparently I skipped leg day

Click on it twice. These are your two super powers.

I hate my curly hair so much I'll brush it for like an hour and itll he smooth as silk but in literally like one minute there's at least 10 knots wHY

ADFADGSFDGKSFG 

BECAUSE IT’S NOT MEANT TO BE BRUSHED!! 

STOP BRUSHING OUT CURLY HAIR 2k19!!!

I hate this, because almost no one knows it. No one tells kids with curly hair how to actually take care of their hair.

You can’t treat curly hair like straight hair and expect the same results! You can’t! It doesn’t work! Curly hair gets its own routine! 

Okay, look, here’s the deal.

Your curls are… curls. They are MEANT to go together into a GROUP. They are not like straight hair which just hands out in one big… thing. Curls have groups.

By BRUSHING it, you are splitting those good-curl groups into separate strands, which, on their own, are STILL trying their goddamned best to curl, but now that they are away from their friends, they are only clinging haphazardly to each other as best as they can and creating tangles!

Here’s what brushed curly hair looks like:

Here’s what well-treated curly hair that has CURL-FRIENDS is supposed to look like (curl size may vary):

See how the curl is NOT only one strand of hair? It’s a whole group!

You know how you get those nice curls?

STOP BRUSHING.Give your curls back their curl-friends!

Okay, here’s the deal - you sit down. You look at this chart. Figure out your type of curl. (guesstimate)

And now you go to this website and you read about what curly hair actually needs to thrive, and you change your routine, and you promise me that you will NEVER disappoint your curls like that again!!!! 

Basics:

1) Curly hair is damaged by heat, lack of moisture, and sulfates in shampoo. 

 - No blowdrying - use a cotton towel or t-shirt to scrunch your hair and get extra moisture out, and allow to air-dry

 - Turn down the shower temp while washing hair. I mean it.

 - Try to find a better shampoo.

2) Curly hair NEEDS moisture, and it NEEDS leave-in conditioner.

 - Use lots of conditioner.

 - Use leave-in conditioner

 - Try to use water spray over chemical setting sprays. 

3) Curly hair does not need to be brushed, only combed with a wide-tooth comb.

 - Comb the hair through with your fingers while in the shower and detangle while you have conditioner in. 

 - Comb again with a wide-toothed comb after the shower if needed

 - If you need to, use a twist of some sort to keep hair out of the way, but don’t squeeze it too much - give it room to breathe!

More tips from smarter people probably exist but that’s the basic stuff.

PLEASE be nice to your curly hair.

I’m glad Heinz Doofenshmirtz is getting the respect he deserves

I’m...I’m sorry, I just this minute realized that there are people out there who have no idea that Heinz Doofenshmirtz is the best fictional father out there. You guys don’t mind if I bombard your entire dashboard with proof right? Excellent.

BONUS: Doofenshmirtz around children he literally just met who wrecked his ‘inator’.

Literally I could go on and on with examples but my computer’s starting to crash from the amount of images.

The point is that Heinz Doofenshmirtz is the greatest fictional father out there and anyone who says otherwise was hit by a Lie-inator.

I didn’t know cheetahs meow I’ve always thought they roar my whole life has been a lie

Hospital notes

What if Harry Potter, the chosen one, had turned out to be a squib, how do you think history would have turned out differently?

It was Mrs. Figg who suspected first.

She noticed many things, sitting on her side of her fence with her cats chasing butterflies and nuzzling her ankles, Mundungus and the other watchers dropping by for tea now and then.

Mrs. Figg noticed that Petunia was a nosy bit of work with insecurities hanging from her every harsh angle. She noticed when Dudley learned the word MINE– the whole neighborhood noticed that one. She noticed that Vernon glared at owls.

She noticed that when Petunia gave Harry a truly horrendous haircut one year, it grew back in at a normal rate. Harry was uneven and weird-looking for ages, hiding under beanies when he could.

When Mrs. Figg had Harry over for carefully miserable afternoons of babysitting, she noticed nothing moved that shouldn’t. He didn’t accidentally make flowers out of fallen leaves, or levitate anything during tantrums, or turn toys funny colors.

Mrs. Figg called up her mother, interrupting the wizarding bridge game she was winning against the nursing home staff, and asked her how she had known, decades back, that her youngest daughter was a squib.

When Albus Dumbledore received Mrs. Figg’s letter he wrote back a polite thank you and then went to talk with Minerva McGonagall, who inhaled sharply in horror when he told her the news.

Finally, McGonagall gave a gathered sigh. “I suppose we can ask one of the wizarding families to homeschool him,” she said. “We can’t have the Boy Who Lived not knowing about his own world.”  

“No, he’ll come to Hogwarts,” said Dumbledore.

“Hogwarts is not a place for–” Her voice fell. “–squibs, Albus.”

Dumbledore shook his head. “Harry must be taught.”

“Be taught what, Albus?”

But Dumbledore just sighed and offered her a lemon drop.

Years later, the owls and the letters came to 4 Privet Drive. The Dursleys ran, dragging Harry with them, and the letters and one stubborn gamekeeper followed– none of this would change with a magicless Harry.

When Hagrid asked Harry in that little cabin on that little rock in the middle of the sea if weird things always happened around him, Harry couldn’t tell him about vanishing glass and setting captive snakes free, about ending up somehow on the school roof, or growing his hair out overnight.  

“Strange things always happen around you, don’ they?”

“Um,” said Harry, racking his brain. “Well… I live in a cupboard under the stairs…”

Harry could tell him about how snakes sometimes talked back, because that had never been Harry’s magic, but when he did Hagrid just blanched and changed the subject.

Hagrid held out hope, even against Dumbledore’s quiet warning explanations, until they made it to Ollivander’s Wands. Harry marveled at Diagon Alley, got his hands shaken in the Leaky, pressed his nose up against shop windows. Hagrid watched the scant boy– looked at James’s messy hair, Lily’s eyes, Harry’s own wandering gaze– and he wondered how this boy could be anything but magical.

In the wand shop, Ollivander said, “James Potter, yes… mahogany, eleven inches. Pliable. A powerful wand for Transfiguration.” He said, “And your mother, Lily…  strong in Charms work, ten and… yes, ten and a quarter, willow, swishy.”

Harry picked up stick after wooden stick. They remained just that– wood with bits of feather or scale or hair. Harry wondered if the creatures who gave these offerings were still alive– if they were given or taken. What did it do to your wand when they died? He waved a maplewood wand (unicorn hair, eleven inches) and a gust from the door opening blew some receipts off the counter.

“Well, said Ollivander. “I think that’s as close as we’re likely to get.”

He sent them out with the maplewood. Hagrid bought Harry a snowy owl and a fudge sundae and tried not make it too obvious that these were condolence gifts. The next day the Prophet’s headlines read: The Boy Who Lived– A Squib? Various magical medical experts weighed in on how it might have happened. Fingers were pointed at childhood trauma, at his upbringing, at his family lineage.

Harry still met Ron on the train– Ron was still smudge-nosed and Harry still bought enough candy to share. When Molly had helped him through the platform entrance, her voice had been a little softer, a little more pitying– but it was still better than the laughter that had been in his aunt and uncle’s voices when they dropped him here to find a platform they didn’t think existed.

Hermione Granger dropped by their compartment, looking for Neville’s toad, but got distracted when she spotted Harry. “I’ve read about you! In my books, and in the paper,” she said. “You’re the Boy Who Lived, and you’re a squib.”

Harry sank down in his seat. Ron hid Scabbers under a candy wrapper.

“Squibs have never been allowed in Hogwarts,” Hermione announced. “According to Hogwarts, A History, squibs try to sneak in now and then– the furthest anyone’s ever gotten is to the Sorting Hat before they got found out.” At eleven, Hermione still believed in expulsion being worse than death. Her voice was thrumming with sympathetic horror.

“But they already found out about me,” Harry said, alarmed.

“It’s alright, mate,” said Ron. “You’re Harry Potter. Oy, Granger,” he added. “What’s this Hat? Fred and George were trying to sell me some story about having to fight a mountain troll to get your House…”

Harry sat back and watched the countryside rush by. Yes, he was Harry Potter– his aunt’s useless sister’s useless child, the boy in the lumpy hand-me-down sweaters who named the spiders who lived in his cupboard. And here, in new world, he was apparently useless too.

When they got to Hogwarts, Harry clenched his fists and stood in line with the other first years. He barely twitched at the ghosts or Peeves, just stared ahead and thought about how far he would get before they turned him around and sent him back to Vernon and Petunia.

They opened the Great Hall doors. They called the first years one by one. Harry clenched his teeth and walked up to the Hat when they called his name.

As he turned to sit down on the stool, he really caught sight of the Hall for the first time– the hovering candles, the big wooden tables, the black robes that swallowed the light. Translucent ghosts gossiped with the students beside them. The paintings on the far walls– were they moving?

Harry’s jaw had unclenched, falling open. His fists curled open, curving around the stool’s seat as he leaned forward to stare. If this was it, if this was as far as he’d get in this world, then he wanted to drink it all in. The candles were floating, in mid-air.

The Hat dropped down over his eyes and blocked out the light.

Well, said the dry voice that had been hollering House placements all night. What do we have here?

Ron had been begging for not-Slytherin. Draco from the robes shop had been scornful of Hufflepuff, desperate in his disdain. Neville had begged for Hufflepuff, sure he was not brave enough for Gryffindor.

Please, thought Harry. Don’t send me back.

Keep reading

anyone please ask your crush out like this

I AM DECEASED 😭😭

for the love of god UNMUTE this

I want my husband to have this accent

this was for an aquarium

Good stuff.

The way in the last half a second it starts walking and you can hear his scream really ties this video together

This is what I needed today

hey if ur ever feelin shitty use this

NOBODY EXPECTS THE SPANISH INQUISITION!!!

“…well.”

“This probably isn’t good.”

I remember seeing them perform this live on my campus.. My jaw dropped within 10 seconds.

The Denny’s rule book: A simple guide

Denny’s is your local, friendly diner open 24 hours a day every day of the year. A place to relax and enjoy a breakfast at any hour, a fulfilling lunch or delicious dinner. All are welcome at Denny’s, and it’s your safest location, provided you follow this very simple guide for the nightly hours.

Never close your eyes in a Denny’s parking lot. 

Walk calmly to the door; you will hear sounds. Do not look behind you.

Always make sure the door closes behind you, unless it was already open when you arrived, in which case do not touch the door.

Never sit at the table farthest from the front door. Your server will sometimes try to seat you there. Politely refuse and ask for another table.

If you see a table with two salt-shakers, walk past it; that table is taken. Sit at the table directly across from it instead. 

Eat your pancakes. Box any leftovers; it would be a shame to waste food. It might attract something.

Do not, under any circumstance, look into the eyes of your own reflection in the bathroom.

If your server’s eyes turn black, do not panic; order a coffee with extra cream. Do not ask for a refill. Do not stare.

Think you recognize someone who just walked in? Best to ignore it. It’s probably not what it seems. They will proceed to sit at the table farthest from the door.

If you are walking past a Denny’s and you see yourself sitting in the corner booth through the window, keep walking. Do not eat at Denny’s that night.

Did you tip? You better double check. It’s only polite to leave a tip.

Do not ask questions. They will Notice.

Your local Denny’s is the perfect place for a delicious meal at all hours of the day. Hope you enjoy your next visit to any Denny’s Diner!

Charlotte: Mr. Collins and I are engaged.

Lizzie: Engaged?!

Charlotte:

Reblog this if you want a slightly ominous compliment in your inbox

i am begging everyone to watch this video right now

This is the /an/ post that keeps on giving.

[AVENGERS SPOILER WARNING] If I Was Scarlet Witch… Just Gonna Mask My Emotions with Jokes 💥 (FX: Caleb Natale)

stay with me, my blood