Renaissance painting.

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titsay
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸

oozey mess
we're not kids anymore.

if i look back, i am lost
cherry valley forever
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2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
trying on a metaphor

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occasionally subtle
Today's Document

Discoholic 🪩

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@derpykawaiidog
Renaissance painting.
beach episode! 🌺
i always forget that people use "just some guy" as an insult because to me it is a neutral to vaguely positive descriptor if not a term of endearment
A fantasy world with an industrial revolution, where Gods are hunted like whales were.
A bit young to be a blood hunter, isn’t ya boy? Well, I suppose that’s between you an the gods, heh. Just be sure that if yer gonna get someone kill, its yerself. Dangerous work this, ya know. Dangerous work.
The crew just got back with a big haul, so ya got a few days to learn the ropes before we set off again. We’ll be heading north. Been sightings of an old forest god in them snowy lands up there. You never seen one before, have ya lad? Few have, ‘cept us blood hunters. Ain’t so many left in the world. Damn near everything these days runs off 'em, everything with magic in it. Without god’s blood, the cities go dark again.
A fantasy world with an industrial revolution, where Gods are hunted like whales were.
My teeth found purchase in the soft slip of god I held between them. Its flesh was tender and gamey, and as the fat of milleniums melted on my tongue, I was blessed with the understanding that this was what it was like to be adored. I felt, for the first time, an unfathomable awareness of my place in the world, and I was in that moment content. My eyes pricked with tears, and I set aside my meal, resting my face in my hands.
“First time, huh?” One of the other deckhands smiled at me, doing nothing to take from the biting amusement in his eyes. He slapped me on the back. “It gets easier after the first couple of times. Loses some of that punch. Don’t even worry about it.”
I said nothing. The taste of the divine felt obscene mixed in with the sickening sweet of my soda.
“If you’re not gonna finish that, you mind if I have it? I’m still starving.”
“Knock yourself out.” I pushed the plate over without a glance, and heard him promptly descend upon it like a vulture.
It would be easier if we were vultures too. The first Hunters were: they happened upon the fresh corpse of the god of Things That Were Lost, descended upon it, and carved everything up into little bits and pieces. Back in those days, nothing went to waste. Everything was studied and revered and, yes, worshipped. Though the god could no longer grant prayers, in their remains countless scientists, politicians, and even clergy found them anyway.
There’s still bits of the first fallen god’s bones scattered across museums. Revered, as they should be.
Now we just let them sink.
I jerked as the alarm screamed to life above me. “We got another one!” The captain shouted through the intercom. “Everyone to their stations! This one’s feisty!”
We obediently rushed out of the dining hall, some of us grabbing our coats as we went, others leaving them where they lay. As we ascended to the deck, I saw it: tangled in the nets of our entire fleet, crying out in a voice like all of earth’s orchestras, was a fledgling god.
And oh, it was truly beautiful, even in its anguish. Its thousands of eyes rolled helplessly in its sockets. Its limbs pressed taut against their bindings as it thrashed, drowning out the great vastness of the sky with its boundless presence. I let out a low moan in spite of myself, but went to work. This was still my job, after all, and it paid well.
We fire sin-laded harpoons, one after the other, into its body. Iridescent blood came down like rainfall. My clothes were soaked in it.
After a few more well-placed harpoons, it came down, too.
What always managed to be worse than the murder was the defilement. We leapt overboard onto a carcass still warm and twitching with life, and took to it with hatchets and machetes. We carved away bits and pieces to fit into our bright yellow boxes, and, hundreds of miles away from here, they would be cleaned for meat and medicine, refined into pet food. We drilled piping into its veins to draw its blood into our barrels. We’d keep a few to fuel our ships, and send the rest back home.
It would be months before we’d taken all the body could give, and then we would leave it to be picked upon by whatever else lived here in the space between stars. Another deckhand saw me staring down at my soaked gloves, and smiled as he clapped me on the shoulder.
“It gets easier after the first couple of times,” he said. ”Don’t even worry about it.”
I had to believe him. It was my job, and it paid well, and it was us or them, at the end of the day.
The taste of the divine was still bitter on my tongue, but when dinner came, fresh from our hard day of labor, I left nothing on my plate.
A fantasy world with an industrial revolution, where Gods are hunted like whales were.
God blood isn’t as lucrative a business as it sounds - what we thought might be a panacea turned acidic and medically impotent outside of the divine body. But, it has its uses for the chemists and artificers, so we collect the crimson ichor in glass bottles. As much as we can stand to without burning ourselves, anyway.
The marrow of a god’s bones is black - concentrated sins collected from their patrons and stored away for wrathful outbursts. While not legal, everyone in the business always keeps a pinch on them, in case they need to curse an unfortunate soul. And for the right price, the right person can strike a deal for their own portion of divine fury.
From the skull we harvest Grace. It is golden, oily, and, most importantly, expensive. Kings and clergy empty their coffers for a drop, but most folk can bargain a bottle from their local Hunter in exchange for good drink and the promise of peaceful sleep.
Most Hunters don’t sleep well, not after their first kill.
Some joke that the god of sleep abandoned us out of spite, or, in an effort to save their kin, attempts to drive us mad with sleeplessness. Neither is true - the god of sleep was killed long before my time. There is no king of dreams withholding rest from us Hunters. We choose sleeplessness. We tempt madness, because that is far less certain than what sleep offers.
Do you think Disney failing to receive the Oscar for Best Animated Feature two years in a row for the first time since 2005 and 2006 proves that Disney is no longer the animation juggernaut it once was or do you think the Oscar's don't mean anything anymore
I think a bit of column A a bit of column B. I think that the Oscars are still kinda relevant (I mean, we're talking about them right now), but there's definitely a little bit of fatigue (a lot more from The Alternative Crowd like us).
As for Disney, it's pretty clear that there's some slump there. I'm not knowledgeable enough to know the root of the slump (but my guess would be something related to Disney+ somehow), but it's there.
As someone whose been on this website 10+ years I’ve seen more trans women banned recently than I’ve ever seen Neo nazis on this website banned or TERFs
genuinely insane how often trans women get banned vs terfs n nazis like. i will see a reply from a neo-nazi on a post and they'll more often than not still be there by the next time i see it while like half of the trans women i see on posts are fuckin Poofed
yall remember how the best anti fashist action that ever happend on this site was when out of nowhere suddenly tonnes of fash blogs were being taken over by Woody from Toy Story, how some annonmous person or group just decided one day to do something about it and started taking them out, fuckin Woody's Roundup was more effective than staff has ever been
See you soon, Ruben.
bits from ep. 9 but make it Calvin and Hobbes
this is qwilfish, a generation 2 pokemon
im just posting this to say, i have never, in my entire life, seen anyone acknowledge its existence.
not only have i never seen fanart of qwilfish, ive absolutely never seen it mentioned in any kind of pokemon discussion, ever
good
I had a friend who honest to god IV bred and trained several Qwilfish. He didn’t tell anyone about them, you found out because he’d suddenly pull out the Qwilfish team against you when you didn’t expect it.
And every single one of them knew Explosion. All of his Qwilfish were IV bred and EV trained for speed and max damage, they all held choice scarf, and his entire gameplan was to trade KOs with exploding Qwilfish. Their names were ‘So’, ‘I’, ‘herd’, ‘u’, and ‘liek’. The man was an avid mudkip fanatic at the time that joke was relevant, so here you are expecting his last pokemon to be a Mudkip or a Swampert, but no. It’s a Snorlax. Who’s name was ‘QWILFISH’ And his plan from that point out was to stall for ages with Rest, Yawn and Giga Impact. Slowly whittle away at your hitpoints while putting you to sleep with him and retaining his massive HP pool with rest and leftovers. Oh, and just in case you were wondering, this was Gen 4, when the R4 was rampant and everyone knew someone with one, so pokemon with moves they shouldn’t know was pretty common. So once you were down to your last pokemon and on your last legs… His Snorlax also knew Explosion. 250 base damage + stab.
That man was a treasure.
I don’t understand a word of what you’re saying, but this sounds epic and I’m reblogging this for my Pokemon-savvy friends.
I both fear and have feelings for this man.
via @chongoblog
Horribly abusing the "save me" format it's just applicable to everything
Little fucking guy alert!!
I love him, your honor.
[ID: a tiny blue and white porcelain triceratops with gold horns]
This was my actual favorite part of working in a theater. People would come in and use a string of words no human had ever uttered and I’d have to be like “ohhhhkay let’s parse this out.”
When we had Moonlight: Moonshine, Moonrise, Midnight, Nightlight, Nighttime, Twilight
My favorite in recent memory, though: “The Big Sick” = “The Fat Bad”
Don’t… Don’t movie theaters have…the names of the movies… Right… There?
Ah, see, the problem here is that you’re making the common mistake of assuming people bother to read anything. At all. At any given point. When in the presence of customer service worker.
first time I ever went to the animal shelter and picked out my own animal was surreal. we had so many animals growing up but we never picked out any of them. and sure that’s normal for cats. they just showed up and we adopted them. but it didn’t end there.
we had a ball python because my mom was on a walk with her friends, saw it on the ground (this was Ohio) said “woah! that’s not native!” and put it in her purse. we advertised but never found the owner so we kept the purse python.
we ended up with a corn snake during a hurricane because my mom went out to get one of the cats and the corn snake was so little it came blowing through the air like a branch and my mom reached out and grabbed it out of the air to save it.
actually the point of this post is lost because I typed this far and realized the universe was maybe just sending my mom snakes specifically.
happy ten years, trans bugs!
About a dead raccoon I stumbled upon earlier this week