this is like scrooge seeing his own grave in a christmas carol
Love reblogging a picture of Tumblr’s grave on Tumblr
noise dept.
DEAR READER
Mike Driver

oozey mess
No title available
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
NASA

blake kathryn
styofa doing anything
No title available
Claire Keane

@theartofmadeline
RMH
Xuebing Du
Jules of Nature
Today's Document
Monterey Bay Aquarium

Janaina Medeiros
hello vonnie
ojovivo

seen from United States

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@solarpunkpixieboy
this is like scrooge seeing his own grave in a christmas carol
Love reblogging a picture of Tumblr’s grave on Tumblr
NB 👏 Does 👏 Not 👏 Mean 👏 Woman 👏 Lite
it’s one of the most insidious forms of transphobia
very indulgent model mika au because. because i really wanted to draw a bunch of random outfits
Art by Eevien Tan
Remember this viral post? Wanda and Jamal and her husband Lonnie are the most wholesome people, this story brought tears to my eyes originally and I am crying once more learning from Jamal's social media that Lonnie has sadly passed away.
Rest in Peace, Lonnie :(
“A Minor Crest of Saint Cichol” by Asmo Grimae on INPRNT
Bestiarum Vocabulum, Volume 1-Being a Compendium of Faerûn Fauna - Plate 9: Displacer Beast
► Store ► buy me a coffee ► support on patreon ► more D&D art
teachers are ppl too
the more I think about it, the more I am convinced that this counts as the most successful military maneuver of all time: they incurred NEGATIVE CASULTIES
“Just give it to me straight-how many did we lose?”
“None but we gained a Kyle.”
@pipewrench-scratch
As opposed to Poland who conscripted a literal bear
Imagine transferring into a unit and a bear just walks by carrying a case of explosives.
imagine a bear being a higher rank than you
I’m an atheist. I used to be extremely religious, mostly because I was thoroughly brainwashed, conditioned and indoctrinated since before I could really talk to be terrified of my grandmother’s church’s hell and demons (whom I was told were responsible for everything from my childhood epilepsy to my birth parents abandoning me, usually because of some grievous sin I’d committed. At like, 4 years old.) This post isn’t about my incredibly traumatic history with organized religion so I’m not really going to get into that, but the point is that I have long since lost all ability to accept anything I can’t prove or see, touch and hear. And believe me, I MISS it - I miss the security and comfort of faith, the fulfillment of feeling like I’m part of something so much bigger than me, the warmth of love from a god I used to be absolutely sure existed. I miss the sense of purpose and mission, I miss the identity. I can never go back and find those things in religion again, but my friend Adrian has.
He’s a Catholic priest now, officially, he finished seminary recently. We met when I was in college and he was part of an outreach program from his church to help mend relationships between the local church presence and my college’s LGBT support group. Adrian is one of the kindest, gentlest, most optimistic and compassionate people I’ve ever known. He’s shockingly (at least to me) progressive for a priest, and I fully admit to grilling him when we first met, trying to root out his hidden conservative shittiness that I was sure lurked under the surface of his patient smile. I would try to trick him into admitting that he secretly thought gays were going to hell, or black people didn’t belong in the priesthood, or even things like his opinions on American borders or healthcare reform. Adrian shamed me with how incredibly understanding and tolerant he was of my constant barrage of attempts to prove he was as awful as the people who raised me and saw me in church every Sunday.
Once, when I was doing just this, he laughed and said, “Teddy. Jesus was black, science is real, and god loves gay people. There really are those among the clergy who know this to be true, and I promise I’m one of them. I completely understand why you’re suspicious though.” The thing that gets me is, knowing him makes the loss of faith hurt more than it would otherwise I think. I might have become someone like Adrian, had I not been exposed to the horrors and lies slithering under the shiny surface of religion early on. I wish I could know Adrian’s religion, his faith that clearly brings him so much peace and serenity and love for the world and everyone in it, even the worst of us.
Getting to know him has scraped that old wound raw, one I thought I’d healed by embracing only the proven and logical and dismissing anything that demanded blind faith. If god were real, I told myself, he or she or they or it wouldn’t need or want to demand blind faith. Nothing worth believing in requires you to close your eyes and stick your head in the sand and ignore rationale. The justifications always grated on me too, the easy and convenient defense that “well, if my prayers aren’t answered it’s because god had a different plan, and if they were then that was also god, hooray!” It smacked of deliberately tailored comfort, a defense mechanism to protect our fragile human brains against the vast meaninglessness of reality.
But sometimes Adrian will text me and ask if I want coffee, he’s always up early in the mornings because that’s who he is and I usually am because I sleep like shit and I often have early work shifts. And when I meet him, sometimes it’s cool and brisk and pearl-gray and we’re in knitted scarves and boots and his collar isn’t visible under his layers but it is, it radiates all around him like a halo of his own and he sips his dark roast and tips his head back to look up at the quiet dawn blooming like he knows something I don’t, something he’s aching for me to find on my own because it’s the only way I will. In those moments, I remember the stirrings of faith, how it felt to wonder if maybe the violent, furious, terrifying god of my grandmother’s was a complete misinterpretation of the kind of god who was really out there, sharing those dawns and that coffee and that peace with us. I used to look for that quiet god in between all the screaming and shrieking in tongues and judgment and hellfire and horror and hatred of my family’s church, but I could never find them and finally I gave up. I told Adrian about this today, on my day off during our early coffee run.
“Of course you did,” he said. “They didn’t just demand blind faith of you, they yanked a blindfold around your heart and made you stumble through all their hellfire desperately looking for the living god. They had no right, and no one can blame you for escaping as soon as you could. They were screaming in your ears so loudly you couldn’t hear the quiet god whispering, calling you. That’s the tragedy of it all, really. They took god from you and left you deaf and blind in the cold, lost and scarred. God doesn’t scream or swing fists. God whispers, and waits.”
Nine Realms in Norse Mythology
Gay guys grow up not knowing how to be friends with men due to being picked on and seen as an outcast by men through their formative years and not knowing many other young gay boys, to the point that they have trouble even being friends with other gay men once they are old enough to be around other successful gay men, and honestly? It shows.
Serapoke, a tiny RPG in which Mika investigates a monster sighting.
Play it here!
For @coatlcuddles-art
a list of soft, pretty words 🕊💐
astral (adj.) of, connected with, or resembling the stars. paradisaic (adj.) of or belonging to heaven or god. empyrean (adj.) belonging to or deriving from heaven. seraphic (adj.) characteristic of or resembling an angel. sublime (adj.) of such excellence, grandeur, or beauty as to inspire great admiration or awe. svelte (adj.) slender, graceful and elegant. (describing a person)
Apparently at conservative birthday parties the host eats all the cake and the guests fight over the crumbs that trickle down.
My dream team: Oath of Devotion Paladin, Life or Grave Domain Cleric, Circle of Dreams Druid, Divine Soul Sorcerer, and Celestial Warlock (Pact of the Blade). A giant "Fuck you, we're healers" team.
“At the trial of God, we will ask: why did you allow all this? / And the answer will be an echo: why did you allow all this?”
— Ilya Kaminsky, from “A City Like a Guillotine Shivers on Its Way to the Neck,” Deaf Republic (via lifeinpoetry)
Ilya Kaminsky is a deaf Soviet Jew and this poem is likely influenced by those experiences