DEAR READER
Keni
izzy's playlists!
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
Kaledo Art
blake kathryn
Show & Tell
Product Placement
macklin celebrini has autism
JVL
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
JBB: An Artblog!
No title available
dirt enthusiast
祝日 / Permanent Vacation
Claire Keane
No title available
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
occasionally subtle
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from Pakistan
seen from Argentina
seen from Argentina
seen from Australia
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 Australia
seen from United States
seen from Canada
seen from Türkiye
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seen from India
@time-capsule-pt87
fun fact nonbinary ppl with boobs, nonbinary ppl who like their boobs, and nonbinary ppl who want boobs are cool and valid and just as nonbinary as ppl w flat chests and deserve to have a good time all the time
please reblog this its important
Non binary does not equal vaguely masculine
Me who is considering being non binary and has curves: *happiness noise*
Ten Major Artists:
Wong Wong & Lulu
Pepper examining himself before commencing a self-portrait
Pepper’s self-portrait
Tiger the spontaneous reductionist
Misty goes off the wall
Minnie, the abstract expressionist
Minnie’s Reindeer in Provence, 1992.
Smokey painting after an hour in the catnip patch
Smokey at work
Ginger’s Stripped Bare Birds, 1992.
Princess, the elemental fragmentist
Charlie, the peripheral realist
this literally makes me so happy
May I Also suggest the companion Art Book by the same authors:
In which the artists paint cats:
Black cats are lucky. (via leahweissmuller)
MAN [IN THICK ACCENT]: Black cat bring good luck. Not bad luck. I have black cat - See, him face - And I am not dead today: Good luck!
“See him face”
I sure fucking do see him face
Him face
Reblog him face for good luck in 2021
Witch, please
the hylics 2 ost fucks tremendously
Temples are built for gods. Knowing this a farmer builds a small temple to see what kind of god turns up.
Arepo built a temple in his field, a humble thing, some stones stacked up to make a cairn, and two days later a god moved in.
“Hope you’re a harvest god,” Arepo said, and set up an altar and burnt two stalks of wheat. “It’d be nice, you know.” He looked down at the ash smeared on the stone, the rocks all laid askew, and coughed and scratched his head. “I know it’s not much,” he said, his straw hat in his hands. “But - I’ll do what I can. It’d be nice to think there’s a god looking after me.”
The next day he left a pair of figs, the day after that he spent ten minutes of his morning seated by the temple in prayer. On the third day, the god spoke up.
“You should go to a temple in the city,” the god said. Its voice was like the rustling of the wheat, like the squeaks of fieldmice running through the grass. “A real temple. A good one. Get some real gods to bless you. I’m no one much myself, but I might be able to put in a good word?” It plucked a leaf from a tree and sighed. “I mean, not to be rude. I like this temple. It’s cozy enough. The worship’s been nice. But you can’t honestly believe that any of this is going to bring you anything.”
“This is more than I was expecting when I built it,” Arepo said, laying down his scythe and lowering himself to the ground. “Tell me, what sort of god are you anyway?”
“I’m of the fallen leaves,” it said. “The worms that churn beneath the earth. The boundary of forest and of field. The first hint of frost before the first snow falls. The skin of an apple as it yields beneath your teeth. I’m a god of a dozen different nothings, scraps that lead to rot, momentary glimpses. A change in the air, and then it’s gone.”
The god heaved another sigh. “There’s no point in worship in that, not like War, or the Harvest, or the Storm. Save your prayers for the things beyond your control, good farmer. You’re so tiny in the world. So vulnerable. Best to pray to a greater thing than me.”
Arepo plucked a stalk of wheat and flattened it between his teeth. “I like this sort of worship fine,” he said. “So if you don’t mind, I think I’ll continue.”
“Do what you will,” said the god, and withdrew deeper into the stones. “But don’t say I never warned you otherwise.”
Arepo would say a prayer before the morning’s work, and he and the god contemplated the trees in silence. Days passed like that, and weeks, and then the Storm rolled in, black and bold and blustering. It flooded Arepo’s fields, shook the tiles from his roof, smote his olive tree and set it to cinder. The next day, Arepo and his sons walked among the wheat, salvaging what they could. The little temple had been strewn across the field, and so when the work was done for the day, Arepo gathered the stones and pieced them back together.
“Useless work,” the god whispered, but came creeping back inside the temple regardless. “There wasn’t a thing I could do to spare you this.”
“We’ll be fine,” Arepo said. “The storm’s blown over. We’ll rebuild. Don’t have much of an offering for today,” he said, and laid down some ruined wheat, “but I think I’ll shore up this thing’s foundations tomorrow, how about that?”
The god rattled around in the temple and sighed.
A year passed, and then another. The temple had layered walls of stones, a roof of woven twigs. Arepo’s neighbors chuckled as they passed it. Some of their children left fruit and flowers. And then the Harvest failed, the gods withdrew their bounty. In Arepo’s field the wheat sprouted thin and brittle. People wailed and tore their robes, slaughtered lambs and spilled their blood, looked upon the ground with haunted eyes and went to bed hungry. Arepo came and sat by the temple, the flowers wilted now, the fruit shriveled nubs, Arepo’s ribs showing through his chest, his hands still shaking, and murmured out a prayer.
“There is nothing here for you,” said the god, hudding in the dark. “There is nothing I can do. There is nothing to be done.” It shivered, and spat out its words. “What is this temple but another burden to you?”
“We -” Arepo said, and his voice wavered. “So it’s a lean year,” he said. “We’ve gone through this before, we’ll get through this again. So we’re hungry,” he said. “We’ve still got each other, don’t we? And a lot of people prayed to other gods, but it didn’t protect them from this. No,” he said, and shook his head, and laid down some shriveled weeds on the altar. “No, I think I like our arrangement fine.”
“There will come worse,” said the god, from the hollows of the stone. “And there will be nothing I can do to save you.”
The years passed. Arepo rested a wrinkled hand upon the temple of stone and some days spent an hour there, lost in contemplation with the god.
And one fateful day, from across the wine-dark seas, came War.
Arepo came stumbling to his temple now, his hand pressed against his gut, anointing the holy site with his blood. Behind him, his wheat fields burned, and the bones burned black in them. He came crawling on his knees to a temple of hewed stone, and the god rushed out to meet him.
“I could not save them,” said the god, its voice a low wail. “I am sorry. I am sorry. I am so so sorry.” The leaves fell burning from the trees, a soft slow rain of ash. “I have done nothing! All these years, and I have done nothing for you!”
“Shush,” Arepo said, tasting his own blood, his vision blurring. He propped himself up against the temple, forehead pressed against the stone in prayer. “Tell me,” he mumbled. “Tell me again. What sort of god are you?”
“I -” said the god, and reached out, cradling Arepo’s head, and closed its eyes and spoke.
“I’m of the fallen leaves,” it said, and conjured up the image of them. “The worms that churn beneath the earth. The boundary of forest and of field. The first hint of frost before the first snow falls. The skin of an apple as it yields beneath your teeth.” Arepo’s lips parted in a smile.
“I am the god of a dozen different nothings,” it said. “The petals in bloom that lead to rot, the momentary glimpses. A change in the air -” Its voice broke, and it wept. “Before it’s gone.”
“Beautiful,” Arepo said, his blood staining the stones, seeping into the earth. “All of them. They were all so beautiful.”
And as the fields burned and the smoke blotted out the sun, as men were trodden in the press and bloody War raged on, as the heavens let loose their wrath upon the earth, Arepo the sower lay down in his humble temple, his head sheltered by the stones, and returned home to his god.
Sora found the temple with the bones within it, the roof falling in upon them.
“Oh, poor god,” she said, “With no-one to bury your last priest.” Then she paused, because she was from far away. “Or is this how the dead are honored here?” The god roused from its contemplation.
“His name was Arepo,” it said, “He was a sower.”
Sora startled, a little, because she had never before heard the voice of a god. “How can I honor him?” She asked.
“Bury him,” the god said, “Beneath my altar.”
“All right,” Sora said, and went to fetch her shovel.
“Wait,” the god said when she got back and began collecting the bones from among the broken twigs and fallen leaves. She laid them out on a roll of undyed wool, the only cloth she had. “Wait,” the god said, “I cannot do anything for you. I am not a god of anything useful.”
Sora sat back on her heels and looked at the altar to listen to the god.
“When the Storm came and destroyed his wheat, I could not save it,” the god said, “When the Harvest failed and he was hungry, I could not feed him. When War came,” the god’s voice faltered. “When War came, I could not protect him. He came bleeding from the battle to die in my arms.” Sora looked down again at the bones.
“I think you are the god of something very useful,” she said.
“What?” the god asked.
Sora carefully lifted the skull onto the cloth. “You are the god of Arepo.”
Generations passed. The village recovered from its tragedies—homes rebuilt, gardens re-planted, wounds healed. The old man who once lived on the hill and spoke to stone and rubble had long since been forgotten, but the temple stood in his name. Most believed it to empty, as the god who resided there long ago had fallen silent. Yet, any who passed the decaying shrine felt an ache in their hearts, as though mourning for a lost friend. The cold that seeped from the temple entrance laid their spirits low, and warded off any potential visitors, save for the rare and especially oblivious children who would leave tiny clusters of pink and white flowers that they picked from the surrounding meadow.
The god sat in his peaceful home, staring out at the distant road, to pedestrians, workhorses, and carriages, raining leaves that swirled around bustling feet. How long had it been? The world had progressed without him, for he knew there was no help to be given. The world must be a cruel place, that even the useful gods have abandoned, if farms can flood, harvests can run barren, and homes can burn, he thought.
He had come to understand that humans are senseless creatures, who would pray to a god that cannot grant wishes or bless upon them good fortune. Who would maintain a temple and bring offerings with nothing in return. Who would share their company and meditate with such a fruitless deity. Who would bury a stranger without the hope for profit. What bizarre, futile kindness they had wasted on him. What wonderful, foolish, virtuous, hopeless creatures, humans were.
So he painted the sunset with yellow leaves, enticed the worms to dance in their soil, flourished the boundary between forest and field with blossoms and berries, christened the air with a biting cold before winter came, ripened the apples with crisp, red freckles to break under sinking teeth, and a dozen other nothings, in memory of the man who once praised the god’s work on his dying breath.
“Hello, God of Every Humble Beauty in the World,” called a familiar voice.
The squinting corners of the god’s eyes wept down onto curled lips. “Arepo,” he whispered, for his voice was hoarse from its hundred-year mutism.
“I am the god of devotion, of small kindnesses, of unbreakable bonds. I am the god of selfless, unconditional love, of everlasting friendships, and trust,” Arepo avowed, soothing the other with every word.
“That’s wonderful, Arepo,” he responded between tears, “I’m so happy for you—such a powerful figure will certainly need a grand temple. Will you leave to the city to gather more worshippers? You’ll be adored by all.”
“No,” Arepo smiled.
“Farther than that, to the capitol, then? Thank you for visiting here before your departure.”
“No, I will not go there, either,” Arepo shook his head and chuckled.
“Farther still? What ambitious goals, you must have. There is no doubt in my mind that you will succeed, though,” the elder god continued.
“Actually,” interrupted Arepo, “I’d like to stay here, if you’ll have me.”
The other god was struck speechless. “…. Why would you want to live here?”
“I am the god of unbreakable bonds and everlasting friendships. And you are the god of Arepo.”
I reblogged this once with the first story. Now the story has grown and I’m crying. This is gorgeous, guys. This is what dreams are made of.
This is amazing!
Red 1010: L is for the way you look at me
Yellow 1010: O is for the only one I see
Green 1010: V is very very extraordinary
Blue 1010: Egg
nose job turkey
an addition…
-maximus
WHO IS ENTERING MY HOME AND STEALING MY SOUL???
Lupin x Jigen - Blues
“hey trans men, trans mascs, enbies: be careful wearing your binder during this pandemic. one of the first symptoms of covid 19 is shortness of breath, respiratory issues etc. and binding can make any of these significantly worse. take care and breaks
if u feel worried about symptoms (and especially if u have asthma too) then be rly careful!! try and wear ur binder as little as possible
u are still handsome w/o it”
- korviday
“Also it can make people underestimate their symptoms as they’re explainable bc of binding when they might actually be something else.”
- Mars
it’s time
ITS NOT TIME ITS FUCKING MARCH I DONT WANT TO SEE THIS
it’s time
237 more days till halloween! ITS LIKE NEXT MONTH GUYS
I have a feeling someone had this queued for an entire year just so they could post this in march
I T S T I M E
ITS TIME
IT’S MARCH YOU ANIMALS
IT’S LITERALLY MARCH 8TH 2017 THE FUCK IS THIS DOING ON MY DASH
ITS MARCH , 2018.
ITS TIME
I swear tumblr has a thing about March. What’s going on? I thought I knew all of tumblr’s secrets.
Well I guess I haven’t even been here for a full year yet, so…
it’s time.
Time
INTERNATIONAL HOLIDAY
>??>?>??
CREPPY
It’s MARCH!!!
MARCH 2020 BOISSSS
What a year this week has been.
It’s Monday.
It sure as hell is.
The earlier in the day Monday you reblog the funnier this gets
“THAT ME”
Ten Things I Wish I’d Known Before Taking The Gym Challenge
When it comes to challenging the League, making mistakes is part of the whole experience. No matter when or how you do it, it won’t pan out quite as you expect, and everyone’s experience is different. That said, a little advice can go a long way, so here are my top things to remember:
1. Unofficial gyms are great for everyday training.
In the big cities, official Gyms are crowded, oversubscribed, and pretty dang expensive. Unofficial gyms might not be affiliated with the League, but they’re perfectly serviceable for everyday training. Most are staffed with an array of type specialists, who can advise you with everything from battle technique to how you hold yourself on the pitch. If you’re of school age or taking a gap year, you can usually flash your trainer card and get the same discounts you would in an official Gym. Make use of them. Book a one-on-one session if you can.
That’s not to say you should avoid official Gyms. They’re usually much better equipped, and taking lessons from the Gym Leader themselves will give you a feel for their style. But there’s no need to spend all your time there - especially as the cafés are daylight robbery.
2. If you’re staying at a Pokémon Centre, don’t sleep late.
Aside from dorms, most Centres have communal kitchens and cheap laundry services. If you want to have any chance of getting near them, rise early. When it comes to charging phones and Pokédexes, you just need to get lucky - nab a plug, defend it, but try not to hog it. If there’s a queue of people who need juice, priority goes to whoever’s on the lowest percentage. A few weeks into your journey, 40% will become the new 100%.
3. For the love of god, don’t keep your trainer card in a random pocket.
You will lose it, and replacing it is a nightmare. You’ll have to cancel the old card and order a new one at full price, even if you received your initial one through an Access Scheme. What’s more, you can’t challenge Gym Leaders without a valid ID, nor enter most paying tournaments, even if the booking was made before the loss of the card. Save yourself the grief and keep it in your wallet.
4. You don’t need to stick with one style of battling.
Even if you know what kind of trainer you want to be, don’t be afraid to mess around, especially in friendly battles. Try out doubles and triples, swap pokémon for a few matches, restrict your team to contact or non-contact moves. Even if it’s just for a laugh, you’ll be surprised at how much you’ll learn.
5. There is no one way to approach your challenge.
Nobody’s experience is the same, so don’t feel self-conscious about not doing it ‘right’. Some people don’t take on the Gyms until they’re well into adulthood. Some people don’t leave home, preferring to train locally and travel out to each Gym in turn. Some are seasoned trainers, already having collected badges in other regions. Some are utter novices. Some approach the challenge casually, seeing it as something for the CV. Others view it as a path towards sponsorship and a long-term career in the battle industry. The one uniting factor? Everybody is too preoccupied with their own experience to judge other people’s. Try to learn from the variety of people rather than comparing yourself to them.
6. You can split the costs of a storage subscription with friends.
For a lot of people, the Gym challenge goes hand in hand with capturing new pokémon. Some Trainer Access Schemes offer a storage account among their benefits, but the schemes are less common than they used to be, and some find the subscriptions offered too basic. Split between a few people, an unlimited Box subscription is good value for money - it also allows you to create several accounts, so you can each keep your spare pokémon in a secure place.
7. When you’re battling casually, it’s best to keep money out of it.
While it’s tempting to lay bets and battle for big bucks, it can cause arguments, especially when it’s day 90 and everyone’s stressed and sweaty and worn out. In friendly matches with strangers, the last square of chocolate or the comfiest armchair in the Pokémon Centre lounge are as tempting prizes as any.
8. Remember that Gym Leaders are just regular people.
The sooner you stop treating them like huge celebrities, the more comfortable you’ll be in their presence, and the easier it will be to learn from them. Ask them as many (battle-related) questions as you can, put yourself forward, and make sure they understand your style. This is especially important if you plan to challenge the Elite Four, as Gym Leaders can put you in touch with agents and sponsors, as well as offer you advanced lessons when the time comes.
Don’t be afraid to ask for selfies with them, though. 9 times out of 10, they’ll be cool with it.
9. It’s worth investing in decent Pokéballs
Cheap Pokéballs can smell fear, and they will pick the worst opportunity to malfunction or run dry. Some pokémon aren’t permitted to run free in public spaces, so the last thing you want is for them to be forcibly ejected. You also don’t want to gear up for a Gym battle or a tournament, only to have your Pokéball lose power and lock. Silph Pokéballs might be eye-wateringly expensive, but they last for life and never need to be charged. They’re also incredibly secure, boasting touch ID and wireless connectivity to the Box system. In the face of repeated, forcible ejection attempts, the pokémon will be withdrawn from the ball and placed into a linked storage account, which means you don’t need to need to worry about theft.
10. You will have to come to terms with your own abilities.
Deep down, we think we’re hotshots at battling. Even if we doubt our skills, we still think we’ll catch a wave at the right moment - suddenly, everything will click, and we’ll start breezing through the Gyms, winning tournaments, making a beeline for that Champion spot.
Fortunately and unfortunately, that’s not the case. The bitter pill to swallow: even when you beat them, Gym Leaders are much more skilled than you are. Some of them are among the best trainers in the world, but their job is to battle at your level and exploit the weaknesses in your technique. As you improve, they will adjust how much pressure they put on you, so you can actually expect to lose more when you challenge later Gyms.
Even once you collect all of your badges, it’s highly unlikely that you will be able to best a Gym Leader in a genuine, all-out battle. Novice trainers often get hung up on this - that they only won because the Gym Leader allowed them to, that they haven’t beaten them for real.
This is something most people have to make peace with. Ultimately, Gym Leaders do allow you to win - but only after presenting you with a rigorous challenge, which you have to train and adapt to. At its heart, the Gym Challenge has always been about personal improvement. So manage your expectations, celebrate your victories, and have fun out there!
Babey
