everyone shut up and look at this

Andulka
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Alisa U Zemlji Chuda

祝日 / Permanent Vacation

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occasionally subtle
hello vonnie
Peter Solarz
$LAYYYTER

Janaina Medeiros
Cosmic Funnies

shark vs the universe
YOU ARE THE REASON

JBB: An Artblog!
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her

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taylor price

titsay

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@bibliophile-scientist
everyone shut up and look at this
colorshow glassworks
Fire alone??? Nah I’m with my homies
@theclockistickingwrite
sometimes you are impaled by ten swords and you are still alright because a new day is dawning and sometimes a new day is dawning but it doesn’t help you because you are impaled by ten swords
What’s your number 1 take away from 2025? Mine is clearly this: We’re not going anywhere.
It's my 12 year anniversary on Tumblr 🥳
GUESS WHO TURNED 30 TODAY!
That’s right! The world’s oldest (documented) cat! Her name is Flossie. She was born a stray in Liverpool in late 1995.
When you get the reputation of being the guy with the encouraging words on New Year's Eve, it can start to come through as a little pressure -- what if the situation on the ground is worse than usual? what if people are more scared than they usually are, and with cause? what use are good vibes then?
well as you might imagine, because of the way I am hard wired, I think it's good and useful to figure out a way of imagining the light at the end of the tunnel
there's no tunnel, to be clear! nor light! these are metaphors! we could as easily say: the surface above the water; the doorknob in the darkness; the key at the bottom of the junk drawer; and so on, and so on
the use of these metaphors seems limited! strongly limited! when you get through tunnel to the light: what's out there? when you find the key in the drawer: do you actually want to open that door?
but for me this is fact where these ways of describing the world become more, not less, useful and instructive. questions, rightly posed, are about possibilities, not hard stops
"possibilities, not hard stops" -- this is one reason why a recent trend in interviewing on album cycles has been kind of mystifying to me: people will ask me to sort of summarize the song. but that's not how songs work! their job begins where the tidy explanation ends!
hence the occasional usefulness, I'm told, of the phrase "if it kills me" in a song I know people play on new year's eve, for which tradition I am so immensely grateful. Thank you.
it is a contradiction! make it through or get killed: these aren't compatible, are they? but yes in fact they are and we know they are. it's easy to forget but we know.
snakes leave behind whole skins. all manner of flying creatures, not just butterflies, do them one better, whole new selves from wriggling worms. rocks into gems. mystics die to the flesh to be reborn in the spirit. rebirth is the rule, not the stray exception, if we can grasp it
we in this country (and, I'd argue, the world, but I'm not here to argue tonight) are challenged to make of our present situation something better. it's a tall order
but look at yourself, consider your life
you have done it before, squared the smooth circle, navigated the hard corner, slipped through and lived to see another day
together? in solidarity? is there anything we can't do: for those suffering in an increasingly inhuman justice system; for our trans kin targeted by this wretched government; for immigrants scapegoated by the callous and the cruel? for, in and through all this, ourselves?
no tunnel but the tunnel whose contours we identify for the purposes of finding its exit, no light but the one we follow to better times
you are here at the end of a year in which I'll bet you wondered what the point was, at some point
the point is that together we can find a way. the point is that. together.
I wish you, and me, and all of us, strength & solidarity & joy in the new year as we find our way together: which we have done this year already, and will arise tomorrow to do again. /thread
I enjoy this series a lot, but this one especially felt like something I would run into after watching the hours on PBS. I especially like that.
you genuinely don’t have to increase graphics in games anymore. I don’t have a spaceship to run this on. My previous laptop blew up trying to run animal jam. I was more than happy with Skyrim graphics and portal 2 looks breathtaking to me. I just want to be able to play your game. I don’t want to see their pores and uncannily delineated teeth. One time fallout 4 crashed so hard it basically uninstalled itself from my computer. Ffxiv completely fried my laptops motherboard and I just kept playing ffxiv anyway. For where else would I go? Who else could I love but you
My daughter has decided that our cat has to pick her cereal for her in the morning now. Why?? "He knows what I like"
To answer some questions
- Penny eats breakfast with Sherbie Cat every morning, she sits at our like kitchen island thing and he is under the lil table thing
- he does in fact pick her cereal. We hold our two containers and he headbutts one
-Penny respects whatever he picks that day.
I do need you all to envision a very tall bearded man (my husband) dressed in a full suit, ready to go be a lawyer in a literal court of law, holding two boxes of nearly identical (to a cat) cereal in front of an 11 pound orange menace, begging him to head butt one so we can move forward with our morning.
The menace himself searching for snacks
Shocking update today folks. Penny had informed us that Sherbie Cat is actually ALSO a lawyer.
Sir Edward Burne-Jones, School For Dragon Babies, 1884, pencil on paper
i can’t believe you posted this without posting the sequel!
@theclockistickingwrite
Image description:
A screenshot of a Twitter/X post by user saul_mondriaan that reads: i need to get better at going "oh, these aren't thoughts, you're not figuring anything out, this is just your version of how animals in captivity chew on themselves"
i love lesbians. i went to get drinks with a masc who had sent me pictures of her hanging drywall. she confirmed over text that she was sending these to torture me. in person, she was so nervous her hands were trembling. she had to repeat her order twice because she was so quiet. she shakily asked for a hug at the end of the night, the way oliver twist asks for porridge. and then i got home and she sent me a picture of her just in a toolbelt, accompanied by one of the smuttiest text messages i've ever read. meanwhile when i called her to schedule the next date, she had to stop and say, "i'm so sorry i'm so nervous i'm out of breath." just. the whiplash of it all. godbless you every lesbian
maybe i like my tech a little bit inconvenient
maybe i like pulling out my debit card instead of using apple pay. maybe i like untangling my wired headphones. maybe i like typing something into the search bar instead of using siri or whatever. maybe i like curating my own social media feeds over an algorithm. i just don’t think everything has to be perfectly streamlined and efficient i like it when things feel tethered to the real world.
THEY LITERALLY HANG THEM UP TO DRY IN CRYING OH MY GOD
WHY IS THIS NOT MY JOB?!?!
THE NOISE
headcanons about eldritch!doctor except not actually about them:
there’s no way that splintering herself across time and space didn’t do something to clara. earth feels so small now, and every time she returns to her home planet she feels restricted and claustrophobic, like she’s trying to occupy a space meant only for a single person. she lies like breathing, desperately trying to find a version of events that fits each of her millions upon millions of lives. clara oswald is a badly sewn together patchwork of forgotten memories and whispered stories and she is much less scared of that than she should be
river song is mostly human but slightly curled and fraying at the edges, and for most of her life she has kept a strict grasp on her mortal form, terrified that she’ll be punished for being wrong. it takes her a good long time to let these edges slip, and the first time happens while she’s with her parents. they don’t react badly (my beautiful beautiful girl amy murmurs and river cries in her arms as rory carefully combs his fingers through hair that flickers in and out of reality and feels like static) and she starts becoming more and more comfortable with her true form. the doctor’s always been able to see her of course
amy never talks about it, but those years living by a crack leaking time and space didn’t exactly leave her unscathed. she remembers timelines that never happened and sees things that should remain unseen. where rory sees an old tired timelord, amy’s always been able to see a splintered and shiny mass of time energy that weaves through dimensions. river flares fever bright in her eyes and rory flickers between flesh and plastic. new york is a gnarled wound in time and she pretends that it doesn’t burn every time she blinks
she doesn’t remember anything afterwards but there’s still something off about donna noble and the way she seems to almost. grow a little. the way that her eyes light up and there’s something so much bigger behind them. she takes up camping, and doesn’t quite know how to explain how much more settled she feels sleeping under the stars (if there were any onlookers, they’d be able to see how the stars pulse in time with the too quick rise and fall of her chest)
rose has always sworn that she has nothing of the bad wolf left but sometimes, when she grins, she almost seems to have too many teeth in her smile. she prefers the day, prefers the sun and the bright blue sky; she spends so much time in bright places that it takes her a while to realise that her eyes reflect the light
#op im begging you to give me martha jones#im literally begging @4wakanda
martha jones spends a year with a perception filter around her neck hiding from a planetary wide psychic network and now sometimes, if she isn’t concentrating, people just. don’t notice her. they step around her absentmindedly, as though she’s background noise. not just people, signals just seem to bounce away from her. the only number she can consistently call is the tardis’, because all the others just don’t always connect, as though the satellites still can’t see her. when she speaks, her words thrum with hope and desperation and pain and psychic energy that existed and then didn’t. it’s hard for people to hold martha’s face in their mind, to remember anything about her features or her mannerisms, but, even if they can’t quite remember who said them, her words always settle somewhere deep inside their minds and never quite leave
(mickey smith spent years in a universe that wasn’t his own, spent years exposed to different dimensional frequencies than the ones he grew up with. martha relaxes, essence fading and blending into the fabric of the universe; he can still always see her)
(humans can’t perceive what time lords can, exactly, but they can still tell something’s off with jack harkness. there’s something almost magnetically jarring about him, something that compels people to keep their eyes on him. it takes them a while to realise that when he’s with martha, their energies balance out. it’s almost like they’re normal)
@kit-kaboodle