Here have a vine compilation that I made and enjoy I’m not late to the party or anything

tannertan36
tumblr dot com
cherry valley forever
styofa doing anything
Game of Thrones Daily

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
Claire Keane

PR's Tumblrdome
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
dirt enthusiast

Origami Around

oozey mess

titsay
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸

JBB: An Artblog!
Sweet Seals For You, Always

Discoholic 🪩
No title available

pixel skylines
Monterey Bay Aquarium
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from Mexico
seen from Mexico
seen from United States
seen from Morocco
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from Türkiye

seen from Türkiye
seen from Malaysia
@bloggingpabs
Here have a vine compilation that I made and enjoy I’m not late to the party or anything
raptor toy box illustration by Jonathan Kuo
Tell me again about how “dinosaurs aren’t as cool or scary now that we know they had feathers.” JFC these guys are simultaneously beautiful and terrifying.
@hollowedskin
best animal! I want 10
Moving art Blog
absurdyart will no longer be active… Migrating to a
new art blog :
http://pabsurdy.tumblr.com/
follow me :) for new exciting stuff to come
changing my art blog for those who want to keep following me :)
me: i gotta focus on this beca-
brain: ladies and gentlemen,
me: please
brain: this is mambo no. 5
In case anyone was wondering what this show is about…
Doodles from my twitter (x)
The Soong family and Q!
One Sea Lion.
One Rock.
One Destiny.
i’ll always love you, my sweet sunshine
;_;
“ezra miller is going to be the first lgbt+ person to play a superhero!!”
i mean yes he’s going to be the first to get a solo movie but
oh, and:
THANK YOU
wait rlly guys
GXHSTLY’S 1800 FOLLOWER GIVEAWAY!
Rules
Must be following me @gxhstly
1 Reblog = 1 entry
Likes only count at bookmarks
Extra entries: Follow me on twitter: @zoexwolf Add me on snapchat: @zo3_wolf
The URLs of everyone’s entries will be put in a bowl on January 30th and I will choose the winner
Prizes
1 Fujifilm instax mini polaroid camera
1 20-Pack Staedtler Triplus Fineliner
2 pairs of artsy socks
1 12-Pack Copic markers
1 Large Kanken any color
***SEND ME AN ASK IF THERE ARE ANY QUESTIONS @gxhstly
what the fuck hannah
just an artist psa
When artists look at their own work and call it awful, we mostly mean “this is nowhere near what I am capable of producing and I feel like I have let myself down” so please don’t feel bad about your own work when we say this about our own art, it really doesn’t reflect how we see your art.
jesus christ someone said it.
1/366 : 2016 by Absur-D
Min Seub Jung
WHAT IS THIS MADNESS
I want to live in all these places wow.
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
If you were a deity, what items would you want left at your shrine?
Old, tarnished coins. Bone fragments. Teeth. Dried herbs and leaves. Roses. Hair. Blood.
Vertebrae, dried jasmine flowers, rose water, whiskey, organ meat (preferably hearts).
cat bones, rose petals or incense, amethysts, coins or bills with the image of women on them -Lav
literally anything to do with dragons or glitch. even vaporwave CDs. -GW
Mugwort, bottles of ocean water, acorns, slips of paper with descriptions of their secret selves, stones from a river, the date when they will live their truth, pumpkin scented candles
loose leaf tea, olive oil, old microchips, anything burgundy, cloves of garlic, perfume, fern fronds
chamomile, bourbon, milk, eyelashes, fortune cookie fortunes, pearls, lipstick, toast, anything lemon flavored, playlists
Jars of herbs, origami paper cranes, filled-in coloring book pages, lemonade, peppermint tea, sourdough bread and butter, anything purple or gray, all kinds of candles
Anything green. The prettiest and/or tiniest autumn leaves. Anything interesting found on a walk, like a feather or a snail shell or even human-made items. Polished stones, any size or color. Fresh basil, which I would bless, and the devotee could make blesssed-pesto with it. Old books in languages the devotee can’t read.
I love this post to the ends of the Earth and back. Every so often it appears back in my notifications and I just love reading all of your responses. It’s like a little glimpse into your lives and what you treasure and it’s so wonderful ♡ thank you all so much!
I hope its okay for me to add on to this post C:
I would love if my devotees would leave bird feathers, small gems, rosemary, cinnamon sticks, notes written by the devotees about their days/weeks, bones from different animals, poems, candles, hard candies, dragon’s blood incense, skeleton keys, rose petals, pictures of their pets… I could go on, but I think this would be more than enough.
cat figurines, gold objects, shiny shells and gems, old and beloved t-shirts, pressed flowers, stargazer lilies, half-finished writing on little slips of paper, quiet professions of love, the things that make people happy and comfortable
Gin, whiskey, tequila or rum. Kittens who need homes. Valerian. Blue glass bottles. Sea water. Songs that are currently breaking your heart. Salt. LED lights.
Your last couple of fries, bullet casings, a good shot of espresso, bones, banana bread, and mead
broken marble statues covered in silk veils, ram horns and antlers, whole sweet potatoes, shark teeth, sea salt, aloe plants and succulents, a constantly burning blue flame in a glass bottle
glittery dicks
Rubies are Red
Sapphires are Blue I love you Do you love me too? I ship these two they are so cute . If you haven’t yet go watch Steven Universe, it’s just the best animated show airing right now. Period.