#I smelled something today

[book-of-dreams]

I know what the dinosaurs smelled like

They smelled like air conditioning

And shoe polish

And disinfectant

Like carpet cleaner and the base notes of perfume

And a little bit of dust.

They smelled different from the gemstones

And the minerals that sometimes glow.

They smelled a little like the dire wolf

And those tiny horses

But nothing at all like the waterfowl of a riparian environment.

They smell drier, the waterfowl,

And had a mustiness that brought a low grey sky to you.

Different still the mummies

Visiting a many times great aunt

Whose house is cedar

Whose gowns are linen

Whose closed windows capture the ghosts of incense

She doesn’t speak but I look wide eyed

And I believe she sees me

And I believe she loves me still

A tiny nephew she never met

With golden hair

Full of warm blood

And bubbling questions.

[jazzy-art-time]

can I come to the party and stand in the back swirling my soda can in a irritated manner? No? Too bad.

[ohnoitsz1m]

Blehh have some edgy ass barney sketches

[sciderman]

(Idk if someone asked this already) since we’re on the topic of gender

sci what is gender to you and how do you see it in you and how you express it in your art?? (Just a young queer artist who wants some light shined upon them 🥺)

i 'unno ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[theminecraftbee]

When Cleo arrives at Joe's base, they discover him leaning over the increasingly large lockbox he uses to take things between seasons.

(At one point - when Cleo had first met him, actually - the thing had been tiny. Not much point taking that much between super hostile worlds. After they'd gotten onto hermitcraft, they'd discovered the box he'd used to carry stuff from season one to two was a bit larger. Now, she's not sure whether they should call that thing a 'lockbox' or a 'safe', honestly, but whatever it is, it's still liftable, so probably not a safe? It's not important. They share space with him, because they'd never felt the need to get one of their own, but occasionally...)

Anyway. When they find him, he's in his pinball back box, surrounded by shulker boxes he's not using, leaning over the lockbox, staring at something.

"Hey, Joe," she says.

"Hey Cleo," Joe says, not looking up.

"Did you lose something between here and Empires?" Cleo asks. "I didn't see you bring that thing with you to the Rift."

"No, no," Joe says. "I, uh - honestly, was looking for something else, got a bit stuck. Forgotten I'd... I mean, it doesn't really matter, I think, I'd just forgotten I'd put some of these things in here. I didn't have that much time to - well, no, I guess we had like, two months to think about it -"

"...lose something from season eight, then?" Cleo says, and they don't quite succeed in leaving their voice quite as light.

Joe shrugs. "Was actually looking for this thing Scar gave me after six, but..."

"Yeah?"

Joe picks up a notebook. It's dirty, but at least it's not singed, the way Joe had laughingly told Cleo half his clothes were, after. Cleo had laughed back and made a comment about dusty endstone. Both of them had made new wardrobes.

They suppose it wouldn't be. If he hadn't put it in the box before the moment of...

Joe flips through the pages. He shrugs, a tiny little hesitant motion, and gestures at the last page.

Cleo grimaces. They'd forgotten just how... messy... Joe's measurements had gotten over time. The ink is splotchy and inconsistent. There's a strange air of finality to the numbers, just as much as there's a strange sense of resignation to the observations he'd written to the side of them.

The date on the measurement is December 21st.

It's the last measurement.

"Oh," Cleo says.

"I really wasn't looking for it," Joe says, and his voice is tiny.

"I didn't think you'd keep them," Cleo says helplessly.

"I have - the castle floorplans are in this," Joe says.

"Oh. Right. And you kept -"

"I wouldn't not."

"Of course."

The two of them look at the notebook again for a little bit.

"It's really been a year and I didn't notice?" Cleo says.

"I mean - I mean, we didn't really think about - dates are a social construct," Joe says.

"It feels like the kind of date I ought to remember, is all," Cleo says. "Given."

"Christmas is in three days," Joe says. "We didn't do anything last year. That's why I was looking for - I mean, obviously we didn't do anything last year. What with the, you know, everything. But I was looking for some of the stuff I had - Scar gave me this thing after season six that I was gonna hide for him during the party."

"Are we having a party? All of those people are here," Cleo says. "Oh, god," they say after another moment. "Just because I forgot the date doesn't mean... all of them are here. Do you think someone ought to warn them that..."

"I mean, uh," Joe says. "I mean. We both forgot..."

He looks up. Cleo looks up with him. The sky is blue. It's lightly cloudy. It's a cold day. Everything is on the ground that ought to be on the ground, and everything in the sky is the place in the sky it should be, for a lightly cloudy, blue-skyed morning.

"You should put that away," Cleo says.

"Now I'm not gonna," Joe says.

"Joe," Cleo says.

"Help me finish my Christmas gifts?" Joe says.

"Fine," Cleo says, and they don't talk about it. Joe puts the notebook carefully up on a shelf, flipped to the page with the floorplans. All of the chairs and beds and tables they'd never got to put in are sketched out on the pale pages, and it strikes Cleo all at once that in some ways, Atlantis is already more finished than the castle got to be.

They resolutely decide it doesn't matter. The date isn't the thing that'll remind them, anyway.

[leslieseveride]

headcanon: tim stayed up on the phone with lucy till she fell asleep every night while she was undercover 5x21.

[angelmush]

meals for the near future:

today i made a pasta dish by searing some ground breakfast sausage in a pan, deglazing w homemade chicken stock, adding some pumpkin puree, big ribbonlike farfalle pasta bowties, sage, a pad (pat? idk) of butter, and swirling it all together w some pasta water and topping w parsley and breadcrumbs toasted in sage oil (was good but would've been better w parm but i was all out)

chicken vesuvio ! roast chicken w potatoes in a wine sauce except sans wine and instead just using my homemade chicken stock bc i don't have any wine to cook with and don't feel like picking it up lol w some good bread from my fave patisserie to sop up the sauce

using the leftover chicken shredded in a grilled cheese of sorts w jammy caramelized onion and brie and crisp tart granny smith apples on crusty sourdough

and using even MORE leftover chicken (hopefully i have enough lol) to make a chicken noodle soup w oriechette, ginger, carrot, herbs, and rice

buttery seared scallops and shrimp (scallops for me and shrimp for my gf bc she's not a scallop girl) with an herby sauce and (again) with a side of that good bread to soak it all up

an apple pie maybe!!! or gallette, or tarte tatin, im not sure yet but i have apples galore and some pie dough in my freezer

been drinking lots of chai lattes and apple cider in the mornings, just fully and deeply embracing the cold weather here

i have leftover pumpkin puree from the pasta i made today so if anyone has any suggestions, it's a small amount, probably half to a quarter cup. not sure what to use it for!

[lemedstudent2021]

Where should Jews live? Where do they belong? Where do you consider their native land to be? Honest question.

an honest question deserves an honest answer so here ya go:

Anywhere and everywhere. Jews- the followers of the Abrahamic religion Judaism- along with Muslims, Christians, Atheists, Sikhs, Vegans, and literally any human being under the sun have the right to live wherever they please (given certain criteria are met like visas and that it isnt a military station/ off limits area etc).

Yes my dear reader(s) you read that right; ones faith or lack thereof shouldnt be an obstacle in any aspect of ones life, be it medical services, education, job opportunities, so on and so forth. How novel.

That answers where they 'should' live (although I dont by any means impose anything on anyone; y'all do whatever as long as its legal and harms no one including yourself. God bless). Could is more accurate.

As for where they 'belong', this in my opinion is one of the beauties of religion: people from all walks of life can belong to a religion. Diversity lies at the heart of our existence as human beings and denying it is like denying the existence of the sun. Tolerance is a must if we are ever going to get along with each other. And this belonging isn't irrevocabley tied to geography. But I digress :)

Quick aside just so we're all on the same page: converting to a religion renders you just as valid and equal as someone born into a religion. Most if not all religions preach equality between their followers regardless of background, so i wont hear anything of 'oh theyre not real xyz' or 'they dont count' or any of that bs.

By this logic (religious demographics are, generally speaking, very diverse), there is no 'this set of people belong here, and those over there' ...and proof of that in a sense would be atheists/ agnostics; where would they 'belong'? Antarctica? Outer space? alright ill stop XD

If that were the case, most of the planet would be crammed in the Middle East lol [Syria, Jordan, and Lebanon alone are home to 34M (as of 2023), and the followers of the 3 main Abrahamic religions are an estimated 3.4B (as of 2020) globally. We wouldnt fit even if we used one of these]. Yeah nationality/ race/ ethnicity/ background influence and maybe even dictate one's religious identity, but it isn't the all or nothing we may think it to be.

Which brings us nicely to the next point, and here if you'll allow me i'd like to correct it to native land of Judaism (where it originated/ flourished/ spread whatever) as opposed to native land of Jews because as i mentioned above, a religion doesnt (or shouldnt) differentiate nor discriminate between its followers. By restricting them to one geographical location (and for some using it as an indicator of their authenticity) we do them great disservice as well as contradict the teachings themselves. A demonstration:

Im Jordanian right, (dad's maternal side are from bilad al sham; Syria) and im a born Muslim alhamdulillah. My dads Malaysian roommates from his uni days are also born Muslims (and have the best food lol, my all time favourite is lemak cili padi) and seperating us on the basis of them not being Arab or Middle Eastern is unislamic, intolerant, xenophobic, and wrong on every level. Alternatively, im just as Muslim as someone from Mecca or Medina. We're all Muslim. we are the world...

Circling back, Judaism the religion is native to the Holy land (I guess you can say it started in Egypt till it moved there but idk. Regardless), and Jews (adherants of the faith) can't in my humble opinion be fairly categorised as one monolithic unit... just like any and every other faith out there.

Another quick aside; this is merely a tumblr post that cant do the history and culture and intricacies and so much more of this matter a portion of the justice it deserves. I am but a tired medical student answering to the best of my abilities a question I was asked with my limited knowledge in theology and perspective in general, so do me a favour and keep that in mind. And to anyone reading this if you have questions or corrections or resources or anything you want to mention be my guest :)

If you're still here, I'm both grateful and amused. Here's what you probably came for, the piece de resistance if you will: 🍉israel🍉

Disclaimer: thanks for reading this far, but if you disagree in any way shape or form with any of the 30 human rights articles, you may as well stop reading and put your device through the shredder. Bigots, racists, fascists, anti vaxxers etc. dni

So far ive seen this idea, call it what you will, two times (which isnt a lot but its weird that it happened to me twice consecutively), that claims the freedom of Palestine equals a genocide of the Jews.

Er, no? No ma'am. One does not solve a genocide by comitting another genocide. What part of 'never again' are we missing here?

Before we get into politcal nominations and factions and other territories i dont plan on invading (pun intended) but might accidentally cross anyway (I forgot where i was going with this) i want to remind everyone that Judaism is not synonymous with Israel nor zionism (if u disagree with this go ahead and shred ur device too).

A refresher: Judaism is a religion, Israel is an illegal-occupying-apartheid-state, and Zionism is a movement/ ideology

So 'genocide of the Jews' is both wrong (diction) and more wrong (factually incorrect) in that the liberation of Palestine means freedom from oppression, discrimination, settler colonialism... the whole nine yards. Enough bloodshed already its been nearly 76 years.

When Netenyahu is eventually drop kicked out of office (and hopefully hung, drawn, and quartered for his plentiful warcrimes) what happens to the (illegal) citizens of Israel? Well first off, return the stolen homes and land to their rightful owners who have the keys (and documents if they werent tampered with or erased) to prove it.

As for the illegal-under-international-law settlements and new also illegal establishments; I have no idea what international laws will decree (not that I have that much faith in the judiciary system), but I assume they will be seized and evicted of the illegal tenants (how you like me now?) and given to those who have been displaced or homes ruined etc. because its theirs and theirs alone and it was unlawfully and cruelly taken away from them and not because the (remaining lol) former Israeli citizens can't or shouldn't live in palestine. they can go live somewhere where its legal. the priority is Palestinians tho.

What about the indigenous everyone else? As long as their houses aren't stolen or illegal they can should stay because its legal and its theirs and thats that. you cannot kick someone out of their home to give it to another (which was the basis of the creation of Israel.) because its ✨i l l e g a l✨

And the people who dont belong so to speak? I think this one's case by case; like I said at the very, very beginning; people have the right to live wherever as long as its legal and ok to do so regardless of faith or background, and no one should be denied their right to live in Palestine as a country like any other, but they certainly must be denied living in homes stolen and given to them because thats, say it with me now, illegal <3

[chronicallychthonic]

chthonic goddess... guide my path

[director-yomi-hellsmile]

Fucked up and evil like really sick and twisted shit I get up to with my ill gotten gains oh god what else will my hypocritical cocksucker self do next. I need to be stopped and shot and ran over with a putka truck and forcibly injected with testosterone and killed and have my remaining soul(s) destroyed in the warrior cats hell goop. Don't I

[greg-montgomery]

new era cause i have a new crush 🤗

[todaysromano]

08.21.2024

Today, Romano watched a beautiful sunset.

Arab.com link

[clippy]

Looking at tiny versions of my car on buyee

[heavenly-angell]

i outgrew miss dior before i made it halfway through the bottle

[the-stove-is-divorced]

Day 1483943 of being cursed with Batman brainrot so snippet of young ghoul!Bruce wip, that may or may become a oneshot one day.

Bruce wants to vomit.

His heart, a stupid sluggish thing, which beats far too slow to sink into the bounds of normal, truly begins to pound furiously now, desperately, ready to yank free from the cages of bone and fatty tissues, the too dark blood and pale skin. Bitter bile begs to be released as he trembles, helplessly trying to keep the blood from his mother’s side, where it's staining the ground in spite of his efforts, so terribly warm and worse yet—a horribly sweet.

It actually smells sweet.

Bruce wants to vomit.

His heart, a stupid sluggish thing, which beats far too slow to sink into the bounds of normal, truly begins to pound furiously now, desperately, ready to yank free from the cages of bone and fatty tissues, the too dark blood and pale skin. Bitter bile begs to be released as he trembles, helplessly trying to keep the blood from his mother’s side, where it's staining the ground in spite of his efforts, so terribly warm and worse yet—a horribly sweet.

It actually smells sweet.

Sweet like candies do, soft and delicate like cotton candy, like cakes fresh from the oven, caramels carefully salted, but its blood. His stomach, this stupid body, is panicked and horrible and hungry, because the blood is fresh and warm upon his hands, the scent thick and nearly choking upon his nose, and he’s never wanted to throw up more. His vision blurs, swimming, details cast aside as body deforms into dark, bloody shapes, stiff and still, frozen in horror. 

He knows their hearts cannot beat anymore, the familiar pitter patter like rain against a windowsill, the pleasant hum like the fridge in the kitchens, like the distant buzz of a hive at work, is cut. Finished. Struck and left rot, stagnant. 

And still, in spite of him, in some horrible, awful might of the wretched, this wretched body, the smell is sickeningly sweet, fresh and truthfully, insidiously, delicious. His parents, the bodies, are ripe like fruit, sickeningly fresh, coating the back of his throat with the slow trickle of hunger, the stench of buttery baked goods, a touch of saltiness, an overwhelming soft sweetness, just begging for just a single, tiny, bite. Their bodies fell like the too fat fruit hung from the property’s trees, blood splatter like bruises across their skin from the impact. 

If Bruce closes his eyes, stunning backward and hitting the wall, ignoring the rattling breath and horrible hiccups, he’s been shoved into a shop, goodies and treats to be devoured, the very touch of a perfectly soft, heavy cake desperate for his teeth to sink in and finally chew. 

 As the roar of the sirens grow closer, the red ooze coats his trembling hands like syrup, Bruce’s stomach growls, cruelly, and his mouth, betraying, is filled with drool. 

The wretched stain of hunger paints the memory still. 

———

“Master Bruce? Are you hungry?”

No, he thinks, he won’t be ever again. He scarcely even turned his head, rooted to his parent’s bed and wishing it would just swallow him whole, spare him the mercy of existing, the prickling pain of hunger, the choking memory of blood at the back of his throat, oh so sickeningly sweet. 

The funeral was a blur of tears, muddled blurring tones of weary speeches, cousins he didn’t care for, food he didn’t—couldn’t eat, and others he couldn’t make himself swallow. Again, his stomach squirms in the discomfort of hollowness, to be empty, but Bruce doesn’t move. He doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to do anything. He tries to sleep, but mockingly, it doesn’t come, exhaustion perched right beside him, filling his limbs with concrete, but blissful unconsciousness avoids him like the plague. 

Alfred lingers by the door. Warm, yellow light spills in from around his looming shadow, but it does nothing to curb his vision, darkness and light nothing but a blur, a matter of taste and not a dive into blindness, because his eyes are different, his body is monstrous, and yet he still survived. Untouched the rain of bullets, the spray by blood.

“Not even a snack?” Alfred tries. He can hear the trying smile.

A short sniff, and the speckle of animal blood lingers in Alfred’s fingers, finely chopped chunks of meat arranged in simple shapes, triangles, circles, barely cooked and raw. Savory, juicy, and bursting with flavor to make saliva pool in his mouth. Disgusting, foul, wretched, that makes him squirm. 

But Bruce just buried his head underneath a pillow that still carries his father’s cologne, and trembles. One day it will fade and Bruce will bath it in bottles of cologne to make it stay. He’ll buy the whole company just for a single, fluffed pillow. 

Alfred steps closer. A specific spot along the floorboards creak, announcing the distance, but Bruce can’t make himself care. He just aches.

He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to inhale cologne over blood. He tries to ignore how his stomach feels like a knife trying to carve him open, despairingly empty. It hurts. As he sinks into the sensation, clawing and desperate, a gloved hand finds itself in his hair, incredibly gentle, so horribly soothing, undeserved, and he begins to crumble. He is held, gently rocked and whispered meaningless promises, lies of getting better, and they loved you, and I’m sorry’s, but the ache inside him is blooming, swelling, overrides his senses and brings him to tears, clinging onto the touch, starving. 

When he wakes in his parents bed hours later, there is a meal, warm, sitting by the nightstand and a small cup of blood, cool, beside it. His body is a weak thing, shaky and oh so cold. The blankets upon him are thick, suffocatingly warm, windows shut and curtains drawn, but he’s chilled to the bone. His stomach wants.

And it’s right there. 

He brings it to his lips, hands shaking ever so lightly, grabbing bare with his own palms and sees the blood coat it, syrupy. He wants to lick it. He wants to throw up. The body wants to eat. He feels so weak, and his body, this body, it demands and screams and aches. He puts it in his mouth. He wants it to taste like ash and rot, he wants it to taste like chewing molding wood and inhaling dirt, he wants to taste like dirty sewer water, putrid and foul. 

It doesn’t. It’s incredible. 

It’s undeserved. 

[gothicprep]

i have to go to ph*ladephia today and I’m not fucking happy about it