I'm just sad. About everything.
d e v o n
Claire Keane
KIROKAZE
Sade Olutola
we're not kids anymore.
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
todays bird

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AnasAbdin

shark vs the universe
Mike Driver
tumblr dot com
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
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pixel skylines
styofa doing anything

⁂

blake kathryn

JVL

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@oneeyedtransman
I'm just sad. About everything.
the contrabass saxophone is such an absurd instrument
talk dirty to me
Have ya’ll seen the double contrabass flute before???
reblogging my own post because what in the fuck
i give you the contrabass tuba. Why is it real. I dont know.
Know what’s even better?
HYPERBASS FLUTE
my counter:
piccolo trombone
george washington: i don’t want any political parties
alexander hamilton and thomas jefferson:
When everyones forgotten about heelys, so their not banned inside anymore.
tik tok by ke$ha is a better song than stressed out by 21p
WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS
a post from me
ke$ha reading the dictionary is a better song than stressed out by 21 polots
THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE
I have officially lost all faith in my generation.
Excuse me but i must go dig my grave.
Apparently there are some kids in the gen who have somehow skipped out on the nostalgia that runs in all of our veins and the tornadoes in our minds and therefore cannot appreciate the importance and meanings behind all songs by tøp
Goodbye world
I no longer want to associate with these people
Ever again
tag urself im the tornadoes in our minds
how much do you wanna bet that those who hate stressed out and prefer tik tok are the ones who have mummy and daddy pay for all their shit while they’re doing shots and haven’t had to experience the real world where people shoot down your dreams and tell you wake up you need to make money
i have about $2 in quarters and Tik Tok has given me more life than your over analyzed bean man will ever give me
why yall so mad. tik tok is so soft and gentle. tik tok wants yall to have a good time. who tf are these 21 pilots. what kinda plane needs 21 pilots.
Hello My name is Saxon Ramon Lane and I am transgender. I see myself as a man, but my body says otherwise. I am currently a full-time student and am studying to be a pastry chef. I also work a full-time job as a barista for Starbucks. I live happily in my own apartment with my beautiful girlfri...
I don’t like to do this, but I’m tired of hating myself and my body. Even if you can’t donate, please just reblog and share this. I am also still doing shoe commissions to continue saving money for this.
I’m considering just referring to my transition as “The Incident,” in contexts were I would say something like “well, since The Incident I always feel cold” so that I can maintain a level of mystery and excitement about my life
“Getting a job has been a lot harder since The Incident”
“Yeah, I don’t really post any pictures of me before The Incident”
“Well, they probably won’t recognize me since I haven’t seen them since before The Incident”
I really want a science fiction story where aliens come to invade earth and effortlessly wipe out humanity, only to be fought off by the wildlife.
They were expecting military resistance. They weren’t counting on bears.
Imagine coming to a hostile alien world and being attacked by a horde of creatures that can weigh up to 3 tons, run at 30 km/h (19 mph), and bite with a force of 8,100 newtons (1,800 lbf).
By the time you realise that they can traverse water, it’s too late. The surviving members of your unit manage to make it back by shedding their excess gear and running for their lives; the slower ones were crushed to death within minutes.
You later describe the creature to one of the humans you captured, wanting to know the name of the monstrosity that will haunt your nightmares for cycles to come.
The human smiles as it speaks a single word, slowly and distinctly, in its barbaric tongue.
“Hippopotamus.”
This is giving me the biggest, creepiest grin I might have ever grinned
Imagine being the next crew to go down to earth and thinking “it’s fine, we got this. We have the weapons and equipment necessary to deal with bears and *shudders* hippopotamuses. We’ll be fine.”
And at first you are, you’ve learned how to dodge. You’ve learned where their territories are. You know how to defend yourself.
But then one night you are sleeping in your shelter. You’re in a tree covered temperate part of earth. It seems benign. There are been no sightings of the dreaded “hippos” around. Not even any bears. But there is a slight rustle of the undergrowth. You try and ignore it telling yourself it is just the wind.
Then you hear the rustle again. closer this time.
You peer out into the darkness but see nothing amongst the trees.
The rustle again and now you realise you can smell something. It’s musky and slightly foul. It’s the smell of an omen, a warning. But what of? Where is this smell coming from.
You sit up, but it’s too late. The foul smelling creature is on you. You are hit with 17kg of coarse fur and vicious bites. Long dark claws tear in to you and you are pinned down white the striped creature tries to bite your throat.
It takes some doing but you manage to wrestle free. Blood drips from your wounds and already they itch with the sign of infection. The creature has a bloodied snout, rust rad, mingling with the black and white hairs. It lets out a terrifying growl from the back of its throat and looks to attack again. It’s between you and your knife, so your only choice is to back away.
Eventually the creature gives up and snuffles off in to the undergrowth, down a hole near your shelter you hadn’t noticed before.
When you make it back to your base you once again consult the captive human.
“Badger.” they say, with a solemn nod.
One word: Moose
“Our vehicles are far superior to the local human models, in range, speed, armament, and any other metric you care to name! Nothing could possibly-”
BAMrumblerumblethumpcrash!!!
“That’s called a moose.”
Wolverines.
Also.. dolphins.
The invasion is going slowly. The humans have caught on and are actively destroying information on the planet’s flora and fauna before Intelligence can capture and process it. All that they have are survivors’ accounts. Bears. Hippos. Badgers. Moose. It is becoming obvious this mudball planet is a full-on Death World to the unprepared, and you are so very unprepared.
You lost Jaxurn to a plant. Not even a mobile or carnivorous plant, just one that caused a vicious allergic reaction on contact that killed him in less than a rai'kor. Commander Vura'ko died to an insect bite, a tiny local pest that sucked a tiny bit of her blood and apparently replaced it with a bit of its last meal, which was full of disease. Backwash. She died to bug backwash. And yet you honestly envy them after that… thing you encountered…
When you got back to base the quarantine officer refused to let you inside. They had to roll a containment tank outside to put you in, because you all knew there would be no chance of eliminating the smell if it got into the ship’s air ducts. Smell. You wonder if your nasal slit will ever recover from this stench.
And the smell would. Not. Leave. After incinerating your gear the Q.O. had you use every cleansing agent they could think of, including a few janitorial ones, and still everyone fled the stench if they were downwind of your tank. Desperate to protect everyone’s nasal slits from the smell the quarantine officer interrogated the humans. From them, a glimmer of hope: there was a cure. Somehow the juice of a certain fruit on this mudball was the only thing that could break up the chemicals in the little horror’s spray. Immediately the Q.O. sent a team to recover buckets of the stuff and made you bathe in it. That was hours ago and it didn’t seem to be working, though. All it was doing was turning your blue skin an interesting shade of purple.
Sighing in frustration you wave the med-assist on duty over, who only approaches after checking the wind direction. Annoyed, you flip on the tank`s vox speaker.
“The humans did say it was “grape” juice that removed “skunk” stench, right?“
Every night.
It came for someone almost every night.
Any soldier alone was a viable target for this native monster that moved unseen by any but the security viewers, usually only spotted in hindsight. They were taken as silently as this earth-monster moved. Sometimes they’d find the remains in the morning taken up a tree and hung there, mostly eaten, as if it were a grisly reminder that the monster was still there, waiting unseen, to strike again.
What little they saw of the monster on the vidfeed showed true horror. Yellow eyes that shone with all the light it could gather. It had fangs as long as his grasping digits. Claws half that size formed curved hooks that allowed it to climb up their fortifications with impunity. And in the underbrush, its spots made it almost impossible to see clearly in the undergrowth, if it could be seen at all.
Even the native sentients, the humans, had a healthy respect and fear for it.
The earth natives called the monster a leopard.
It was a constant fear that muddied the senses, and let the monster hunt even more effectively as the soldiers were always on edge. Sleep deprived with fear, it made them even better targets for the monster.
But rumor was that there was worse on this planet. Rumors of a monster like a leopard but larger, and bigger in every imaginable sense. Stripped instead of spotted, which leaped from the underbrush with a sound.
A sound that burst eardrums, paralyzed entire units, and let the monster kill with impunity. While the Leopard wrestled soldiers down and ripped their throats out. This other monster, the Tiger, killed with its pounce alone.
“We’ve been through this,” Group Leader 455 snapped. “The dissection of an Earth life form will help the scientists make weapons to combat the rest of this planet’s hellbeasts. And these are domesticated. Harmless.”
The troops were not-quite-looking at her in the way troops do when they don’t want to be seen to contradict a ranking officer, but can’t quite muster a correct Expression of Enthusiastic Assent. “The name of this species,” she pointed out, “is synonymous with dullness and slowness in the language of the Earth barbarians.” Well, one language out of several thousand—these creatures needed Imperial guidance more than any other world on record—but there was no point in confusing the rank and file.
More not-quite-looking. 455 bubbled a sigh and consulted her scanner. “That one,” she decided. “Alone in the separate pasture. Scans suggest that it’s a male, which means it’s probably weaker. Possibly it’s kept isolated so that the females don’t eat it before mating season. And yes, I know some of you are here on punishment detail, but you’re still soldiers of the Imperium. This squad is perfectly capable of handling a lone, helpless, pathetic male cow.”
I’m enjoying this immensely. Wait until the aliens try Australia for size…
It was a strange creature Tar'van glimpsed at on the vast island known to the humans as ‘Australia’.
“I would warn you not to fuck with us, mate.” Their forced guide, a prisoner, had warned with a chilling grin upon capture. “If you think a moose is bad, wait until you tango with a red back.” To this day Tar'van fears the creature known as the red back, and what horrors it would bring.
The prisoner turned out to be of little help, the stubborness of his people causing them to refuse the danger that the captured human warned of. Tar'van recalls a moment when one of his squad members approached a creature know as a dingo, insistent they had seen these creatures before and they were tame. They barely escaped with 5 of the original 7 members of his squad.
Another moment Tar'van recalls was the brutal mauling they witnessed by the hands of a creature called an ‘Emu’
“Don’t feel too bad,” the prisoner mocked. “We lost a war to the Emu’s as well.”
Now with only 4 members of their squad left, including themself, Tar'van had learned to listen to the prisoner, to be wary of the simplest of creatures. This human was of the sub-species of ‘Zookeeper’ after all.
The ‘Zookeeper’ looks off to the distance, where the creature is.
“It’s a kangaroo, leave it be and you’ll be fine.” Tar'van nods, a human signal of acknowledgement if they are correct. The human smiles a bit.
“That creature cannot possibly harm us.” Tar'van’s squadleader protests. “It is so docile. I will approach it and bring back it’s head to show this human is a fearmongering liar.”
The human reels back, a look of disgust crosses their face and anger passes through their eyes.
“Fucking do it mate, I dare ya.” The human hisses. The squad leader puffs up their hoinn gland, a sign of pride to their species, and approached the so called ‘Kangaroo’.
“This will be unpleasant.” A squadmate mutters as they watch their leader raise their fist and bring it down on the creature. The ‘Kangaroo’ looks a little stunned by the impact, before it raises itself upon its strong tail and uses its powerful hind legs to launch their squadleader backwards through the air.
Their squadleader lands upon the ground, unmoving with black blooded oozing from them. It appears Tar'van is the squads leader now.
“I don’t know what they expected.” the human says, smugness filling their tone. “Kangaroos are fucking shredded. 8-pack and all.”
Tar'van steps forward to the human, whom inches back in a sign of fear as Tar'van pulls their blade from its holster, and in their first act as leader, frees the human of the bonds around their hands.
“Please,” Tar'van begs. “Get us back safely.”
“That white creature on the water.” Norild points. “What is it?”
Gena glances. “A bird.”
“What do birds eat?”
“Worms.” Gena tugs uselessly at her bindings. “It’s harmless, really.”
Norild’s eyes narrow. “We are in no danger from this bird?”
“None at all. They have tasty eggs. Those white orb things? Go get some; you can cook them.” Gena isn’t sure what these aliens have planned, but she’s feeling surly.
And it’s really, really satisfying to see the trumpeter swan absolutely destroy Norild’s stupid green face.
Messed up this set of hatchet man shoes so I'll be ordering another pair. Can use this pair as a showcase. Probably a different logo on each side or something.
I did some IU shoes.
one screw to make, one screw up to take
I just tweeted it and I figure I should also post it here.
This website literally GRADES YOUR ESSAYS. You can choose your grade level, if you’re using American or British english, what type of paper it is (essay, short story, biography…), and it even checks for plagiarism. THEN once it’s grading your essay, it shows you grammatical errors, suggestions for better sentence structure, and a lot of other things. Reblog to save a life.
watch them find a way to use this to complain about how terrible millenials are
I SWEAR TO GOD
ban old people from the internet
making a bowl of cereal = contributing to society
A simple guide to picking a great color palette. No matter what the colors are, using colors that are certain distances from each other on the color wheel result in a great contrast of colors. The simple color schemes shown above are used in the most popular logos, posters, websites, paintings, and even movies and television.
@sinuswave