Order an everything bagel.
It contains EVERYTHING
Including Matter
And Antimatter
I die in the subsequent matter-antimatter annihilation...

Andulka
d e v o n
🪼
Cosmic Funnies

Origami Around
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ

★

roma★

titsay

izzy's playlists!

shark vs the universe
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH

Janaina Medeiros
we're not kids anymore.
Sweet Seals For You, Always
noise dept.

#extradirty

Kiana Khansmith
seen from United States

seen from United States
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seen from Malaysia

seen from Saudi Arabia

seen from Sweden
seen from United States
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seen from United States
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seen from India
@cabaltrainee
Order an everything bagel.
It contains EVERYTHING
Including Matter
And Antimatter
I die in the subsequent matter-antimatter annihilation...

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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>be me
>getting dressed for school
> boxers, breeches trousers on coarse linen shirt, vest, and overcoat. Stockings on. Heavy black woodsoled shoes.
>lookinggood.parchment
>powder my face, grab my powdered wig and bicorne.
> ready for the day.
>Mother makes herself known.
>„Seriously, Benjamin. You'll be late for school!“
> collect my gloves and walking stick. Ambulate towards school.
>I wish for a steed but alas, my labors have not yielded appropriate dividends and I must journey by foot.
> arrive at my destination.
> that scoundrel Vice Principal McPherson addresses me with blunt impertinence.
> that's a great hat, Benji. Just make sure it stays in your locker until the final bell.
> who permits this jackanape to speak?
> produce my glove from my satchel and strike the fool in his face.
>I DEMAND SATISFACTION!
>A local member of the constabulary unleashes lightning upon me.
> I answer the magistrate's charge for the assault on the faculty.
>Released on personal recognizance provided I dress in a manner consistent with current trends and styles
Years ago, I was checking out Picasso's Famille de saltimbanques at the National Gallery.* Just observing it. Thinking about Picasso's self insert, the harlequin in blue and wondering if the rest of the figures correlated with actual people. As I turned from the work I briefly made eye contact with this classically handsome dude. He had a scruffy reddish brown beard, glasses and an aura of "I do en plein air when I'm not chugging cold brew or working at a bookstore downtown." I wanted to ask him if he had any insight into the work or an interpretation. I bet he did. But I didn't ask. I left. Still think about gallery guy occasionally. Hope he's alright, out there in the universe.
Not gay, tho.
>head downtown to the jackatorium to get autojacked.
>stash my clothing with the attendant. pay the ten dollar wack fee.
>fill out my jerk slip, estimate it'll take me ten minutes. medium-hard suction, vibration dampening, double pulsing. no, triple pulsing!
>treatyoself.webm
>get into the line. it's kinda long.
>more like Schlang. lol.
>an attendant comes out of the wankubicle. says the UV sterilizer is on the fritz. says he can offer vouchers or refunds.
>ohwell.png
>head to the locker room, get dressed.
>collect my voucher. i'll be back later in the week.
>on my way out, the another client stops me. says he's willing to jack me off if I jerk him off.
>Tell him that's socialism. Leave
Me, watching an experimental archeologist rocking a pair of Second Generation Iceman Ones, gleefully frolicking in the alps.
„I'm sorry. This is for science!“
I loose an arrow, complete with knapped flint head, from my period correct recreation of Eneolithic bow. It strikes the target in the shoulder, severing the same artery that felled Ötzi. He dies a few moments later.
My research appears in the Journal of Forensic Paleoanthropology. My sentencing is October third.

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Used to work in a liquor store. Once this old woman paid $25 for 4551 straight. If it hit, it'd be $125 LARGE. Caught her a little while later when I popped out to trash some boxes and smoke. She was sitting in a busted as fuck Grand Marquis. We talked, said she never played numbers. Said it was the last of her cash. Desperation. Didn't ask any questions. Offered her a cigarette. Said no. Asked if I thought she might win. Told her it's possible. It wasn't. The drawing happened ten minutes earlier. 1703. I quit that job the following evening.
Here's the thing, shit pops off when you least expect it. Paradoxically, the situation you least expect it becomes the eventuality you'd most expect so you end up between crests and troughs of Potential Shit Popping Off Anticipatory States or PSPOAS for short. You see as much shit as I have in my days and the attitude from the dude in OPs photo won't phase you.
I roll with my tactical gear on me at all times. I've got a CRKT Black Dragon tucked into my left Blackhawk Ultralight boot(cross draw) in my right is a Streamlight Protac. Got a canister of mace in a drop leg rig. I wear a Blackhawk CQB riggers belt, doubles as a harness for abseilling(I have an ATC and load bearing carabiner disguised as a keychain) so I'm good to go.
I don't carry a firearm. Fifty percent my jurisdiction won't allow it, fifty percent guns for show, knives for a pro. I have a three step tactical response plan for every conceivable situation. I've studied BJJ, Krav Maga and picked up a little Bibim-Naengmyeon while working with Koreans. I'm perpetually cycling OODA loops, nothing happens without my notice. I'm like Matt fuckin' Murdock with the added ability that I can see.
If there was one thing I learned serving with an elite branch of the BSA, it's the world is a dangerous place. Fac ut gaudeam.
So here's the thing about bee reproduction. A queen bee flies out of the hive and meets up with a fuckload of male bees, drones, and they all bone. Like a dozen drones at once. The drone's dick(endophallus if you're fancy) actually explodes when he nuts and he'll die shortly after. Fun fact, the sound of the drone's dick exploding is loud enough to be heard by the unaided human ear. The Queen will keep going at it, though. Accepting load after drone load in a specialized organ called a spermatheca so she can fertilize her eggs without having drones around. Once the bee gangbang is complete, the queen returns to the hive while the drones fucking wait around for death's sweet embrace. I forgot where I was going with this.
Tl;dr bee sex is a friggin' orgy that ends in mass carnage. Bees are degenerate as fuck.
But it gets better, right? So the workers feed royal jelly to all the newly hatched larvae, but only queen larvae are fed exclusively on it. When these proto queens emerge from pupation, the first one out will friggin' drive her stinger into her rivals killing them before they can challenge her...
Also:
Queen Beenerys Stripeborn of the Hive Nectargaryen, the First of Her Name, Queen of the Apiarys, the Rhododendron and the Fuzz Men, Lady of the Seven Flowerbeds and Protector of the Lawn, Lady of Amber, Queen of Bee-reen, Khaleesbee of the Great Wax Sea, the Unpolinated, Breaker of Frames and Mother of Dragonflies.
Bro. Bro. "Hot dogs?" No. These are artisanal unlinked sausages hand stuffed with our signature blend of meat, herbs and spices. Alright? This pork? Heritage pork from the swine that can trace their lineage back to the hogs raised by our first president, George Washington. This beef? Fuckin' preveal. You know what that is? The calf isn't even born. We remove it via cesarean from its mother at 3/4 of the gestational term and it develops in a vessel full of nutrient goo like Neo in the matrix. We even jack it into a cybernetic simulation so it never even uses its muscles. So tender, so soft. The chicken? My guy, our team hand selects only the most intelligent birds, then places them in a classroom setting and ensures they have basic literacy skills before we send them for processing. These meats are melded in our secret ratio then placed in a casein casing. No filler. No additives. No bullshit. Each unit is tested and measured to tolerances more strict than space shuttle components. Links that don't make the cut are dissolved in a vat of acid to ensure consumers have a uniform sausage experience, okay? All this work, all this dedication and sixty five large seems hella reasonable. Now are we just gonna jerk each other off all day, or are you gonna purchase some of my fine wares.
Fuckin' soloing this turkey with lemon and herbes de provence and I wish my home EC teacher was here to see this she'd be all „Didn't you die in Mosul? And I'd be like „No. That was Calvin. I'm Colin. Fuck's sake woman. This is why your husband left you. Wake up, you dumb broad, you're currently doing 89 on US 10“

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Ava was the sole occupant of containment level Bravo. I could fix her. There's a certain grace to the way she drifts in her tank. Water temp is 37°C. Unlike the rest of Dr. Nurullina's creations, she wasn't a hulking mass of flesh and muscle and fury, an embodiment of man's triumph over nature and concrete evidence of the lack of a just and loving god. And unlike the rest of Dr. Nurullina's failures, she wasn't euthanized and subsequently incinerated. According to records, she had been in there for 1783 days, far longer than my three years working at this facility. I wonder what she had done previously. Who she had been. Does she dream? Where had the name Ava come from? I wish I could draw, paint, sculpt; her beauty is wasted here, 35m below grade. She deserved to be somewhere with sunlight instead of sterile cool florescent tubes. She deserved to be laughing on a beach as waves crashed over her or relaxing by the bank of a river with a thick book. She needs enrichment and engagement. The way zookeepers will give a big-ass cardboard box to a tiger, stacking cups to an otter or cotton candy to a raccoon.
The records only say during her last time out of containment, she destroyed the old facility. Whatever that could mean. I have seen Doctor Nurullina's work in the proving grounds. Behemoths capable of destroying heavy construction equipment and structures of steel and concrete with ease.
Her ash-blond hair flows in the eddies of the containment fluid with an uneasy serenity. Despite her nudity, I was lost in the features of her face, her eyes were closed, her expression placid. Heart-rate 55 bpm. I take the remainder of the measurements, enjoying the silence and peace afforded by level Bravo before attending to the more, let's say energetic, subjects in level alpha.
„Wait.“ I'm alone in this level. We're alone in this level. „Stay?“ The monitor shows her brainwaves spiking to 244hz before dropping back to 3hz. I call it into the darkness „Ava?“
I look back to the tank, her palm pressed flat against the thick poly carbonate tankwall, fingers outspread, her eyes still closed. Faint light blue arcs raced across her skin. I approached the the tank, reverentially, and placed my hand over top of hers, mirroring the gesture. Her eyes open gradually, staring into me. Intently, purposefully. I am transfixed in her predator gaze and simultaneously at ease. I can sense her intruding in my mind, peering into my thoughts and observing my memories. I can feel her recall a small moment of my triumph as, her smile curling gently. And then I'm free.
A klaxon blares from one of the safety systems, her brain activity hitting wild heights. I am no longer upright, Larson, the head of security and containment tackled me to the ground, the cool smooth concrete. I can't move. I can not even blink. He seems to give me a quick once over, assessing me to see if I was injured, possibly concussed from the force of his impact.
„Call the Doctor. Tell him she did it again. She fucking did it again. Gold Team to Bravo!“ He barks something else into his radio, there is a response but in the chaos it is lost on me. I can't turn, I can still make out Ava in the tank, her fingers curling and uncurling. More guys pile in, I don't think in my entire assignment here I had seen more than five other people in the facility, excluding Doctor Nurullina. From my sliver of perspective I watch the additional security personnel surround the tank. Someone is shouting, but Ava seems unmoved. One raises a shotgun and I watch in horror as he is reduced to a viscous sludge, slowly glooping into the the 3” floor drain. I can't see what she did to the next aggressors. Don't want to. Pained screams and a high pitched whirring echoed and bounded from the walls.
In a moment, the tank explodes, spraying containment fluid and shards in a furious radius. She is no longer floating due to buoyancy, but something else. Her hair still moving in the unseen currents around her, her eyes an electric blue, fluid dripping off her, patiently. Even in all the violence, the aggression, the mayhem, she was beautiful, maybe more so for the destruction that surrounded us. She moved towards me, her arms outstretched and she drifted down to embrace me.
„Thank you for freeing me.“ I could feel my ability to move return, first to my extremities and back to the my core. I sit up to look around and the melee continues. Someone had brought in additional creations, but if this was a stalling measure or an actual countermeasure I was not sure. That had never been my department. I watched as she turned a quadrupedal hulking thing inside out in a spray of red and grey viscera. It stopped moving briefly, only to give a pained yelp and resume its offense. Tired of its assault, Ava made a sweeping gesture and it vanished. No noise, no other display just an immediate absence of a creature roughly the size of a sedan.
More things swarmed. I recognized them from my rounds in the incubation ward, but they had been smaller then, no larger than a fig. Now they could pass as balls for some obscure sport played in an obscure former Soviet Republic. Leathery little things like overgrown scrotums complete with fang filled mouths bounced and rolled towards her. She grabbed the largest one before it could bite her and like a horrible testicular matryoshka, she immediately began jamming its smaller peers into it, six or seven, finally stopping with what was the runt of the brood. The largest specimen on the outside was taut and stuffed. In a single move, she punted it through the opened door and down into the depths of the facility.
Something like a massive octopus with a plated metallic exoskeleton attempted to grapple her, but she ripped it into segments that wriggled away to attack the last two security team members. I watched one gory fragment of the creature wrap itself tightly around the neck of the mook and harshly choke him to death, his eyes bulging from the force. Once he collapsed, the remaining Gold Team member threw himself on a console. I knew from my training it initiated the final countermeasure, the burn controls for Level Bravo. I watch him mouth „I'm sorry.“ as he flips the case and slams down on the button.
Panels roll back exposing dozens of jets, each blasting with incredible heat. I'm waiting for the moment I carbonize and die like those fuckers in Herculaneum but I notice Ava's arms wrapped around me. Jets of flame twist around her, around us and I am unscathed. I watch her smile, and I watch her smile turn to grin. I do not know how much time had passed, only that whatever had fueled the burners had been exhausted. We wait a while, her arms are cool to the touch and impossibly smooth, as if you had waxed a dolphin. I don't want to leave. Again, subtle blue lines run and pulse across her skin, this time in sharp, jagged irregular forms.
„Do you want to leave this place?“ the softness in the question caught me off guard considering the horror I had seen her execute. Destroying Doctor Nurullina's brutes, killing Gold Team, liquefying Larson. What had I unleashed? I nod. Level Bravo becomes faint and fades to a dense neutral grey before giving way to park. The sounds of the conflict from moments ago replaced with children laughing, ducks quacking and ambient traffic noise. She gives my hand a small squeeze.
„Thank you again, love.“ And she began to glow with an intense cerulean radiance before disappearing entirely.
Swords and Sidewalks
Chapter 2
After the skirmish with Morrison, I permitted the squire a little treat. An iced coffee from a local cafe. The interior is dim, the sound of the various apparatus of coffee bubbling and grinding mixed with the sporadic clicking and clacking of keys courtesy of another patron bent over his laptop.
„Iced coffee for Darius?“
The squire gleefully takes his drink from the counter as the door opens with a jangle.
„You there, scoundrel! I've been tasked to bring you in.“
Short fellow. Fifteen hands. Fifteen and half?
„Oh? By whom? To where“
„uhhh by the Mayor and to the Mayor's.“
The squire half scoffs, half laughs. „If the Mayor wants him, she can summon him directly.“
This rankles the interloper.
„unlikely, as she wouldn't have employed me for this task.“
„oohhhh employed. I hope you were paid in full and in advance.“ the squire's jest allows me to maintain my stoic demeanor.
„very well.“ I watch him start to unsheathe his sword, two inches of glistening steel at a mirror polish.
„Not in here.“ I replied.
„Why not, coward. Are you afraid to meet your end in front of two baristas, an accountant and your squire?“
„This is not a place of honor, bro. Take it to the alley so we can watch.“ interjects the barista.
I shrug, my adversary nods.
The other barista flips the sign to closed, locks the front door and instructs the only other patron to be cool. He responded with a schlurp of his black coffee. We all file behind the counter, through the kitchen and out the back door.
„Your loyalty to coin will be your undoing.“ I state.
„This isn't about the coin, scoundrel. The Mayor says she'll grant me priority access to any of the pavilions in the park next season.“
He proceeds to take a position some twenty paces from me, draws his sword and holds, making intense and concentrated eye contact throughout the process.
„Squire, my longsword please.“
Silently, he takes my arming sword and provides me the longsword. Its weight is familiar and comfortable. I can feel its excitement in my grip. Our moment is soon, friend.
The interloper shouts „on your word, scoundrel“
I take a few seconds to adjust my stance, position my sword.
„have at me!“
I can hear his sandals clacking off the pavement, the sound bouncing off the walls in rhythmic fury.
Closer. Closer. As soon as he was in range, I lifted my leg, cocked it and slammed it into his chest sending him backwards. As he recoiled, I inverted my grip and hooked the back of his neck with the crossguard, then pulled his face into my knee.
He slumps to the ground, blood pouring from his mouth and nose, still holding his sword. He rises to his feet with a simultaneous upward slash. I deflect it with my left arm and follow up with another Mordschlag, catching him in the temple. I am thankful the only spectators are the baristas, delighting in the brutality of conflict. This is a substantial departure from my normal grace and finesse. I do not like such inelegant brawls.
Another attempted stroke this time parallel to the ground. I step forward, trap both his arms under my left arm, then reach forward, grasp his face and press my thumb deep into his right eye socket and drive him to his knees.
In silent defeat, he kneels. I do not want to kill him. Applause.
„Stand. I do not want you as an enemy. Join me and you shall have the priority access to the pavilions you seek.“ He accepts my outstretched hand, rises. Firm grasp.
„I will join you.“
Swords and Sidewalks.
Chapter 1
„Knights don't concern themselves with the opinions of peasants.“ I tell myself as I slam my visor into place. My steed whinnies in agreement. My squire slots my lance into its rest. Good lad.
„Sir, are you sure this is wise?“
„Too long, the Constable's tyranny has gone unchecked. Extortion. Intimidation. Officiousness. I take arms to end his blight.“
The squire smiles. Unfortunate that no others were around to hear my rousing words. My steed and I begin our search for the blaggard, Lt. Morrison.
It isn't long before we find him. Standing like a vulture next to a parking meter, eyeing his stopwatch to not waste a moment longer than necessary and worse to offer no leniency to the owner. He sees me.
„Sir, horses aren't permitted on side streets between the hours 8:00AM and 11:30 AM, September first through March 31st. Please return to an approved area. Perhaps check out the equestrian trails in Douglas Park.
No. Rebellion to tyrants is obedience to God. I will not compromise. He will not escape me. I lower my lance, and bear down. I see him grab his radio but I can't hear him over the just and thunderous pounding of hooves. Call all your men, call your corrupt cadre of cowards. Thirty yards. Fifteen yards. Five. Contact. The tip of my lance catches him and under his weight, I drive it through and in, pinning him to the side of a thoroughly beaten sedan. I'll be certain to leave a message to offer restitution.
Release the lance. Drop from my steed just in time for more of Morrison's men to arrive and surround me. I am unafraid. I am just. I am liberating this city and I have steel for them all.
I draw my arming sword. This is my art. Fluid and grizzly. The lance is to impress the crowd, but the sword will impress the enemy. No bystanders. Unfortunate, this would be the stuff of legend.
Overlapping shouting. Incoherent and irrelevant. Calls for me to yield. The least likely outcome. One of the Constable's underlings approaches me, assuming I'll cooperate. I side step her, plunging my sword into her partner, skewering him from under the clavicle out the side of his cheek, holding him upright on my sword briefly before pulling it free and letting his corpse collapse in a single sloppy squelching puddle.
„Stay, or flee. It no longer matters to me“
She takes off.
Morrison is alive. Barely conscious, bleeding profusely but alive.
I crouch next to him.
„Final words, villain? Before I end both your life and the scourge you've laid upon our city.“
The words are faint, I lean in, my ear almost to his lips.
„County... code... 178.3b I'm... writing you a... citation for...“
I stand back up, grip my sword firmly and swing it in a low arc, separating his head from the last of his statement.
I'll send the squire to write the note.
Owl City couldn't drop Fire Flies in this era. It's too pure, too defiantly whimsical for the current social schema. The era of the shark ethos, the grind never stopping. Falling asleep is a feat to rival 10,000 fireflies.
The world isn't kind enough for that type of optimism to occur, let alone thrive.
*September 1st on Tumblr*
You can only reblog this once a year
It is indeed September 1st on Tumblr
I miss the old Skeleton War memes

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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the demon core post you made with Slotin is super funny
you should read my story
I should!
I love when a server tells me to be careful 'cause the plate is fucking hot. I'll touch it anyway. Because if it's not as hot and hazardous as they claim, no harm done. And if it is hot or hotter, well I was sufficiently warned and have no one to blame but myself. This little all risk, no reward paradigm. I can't be alone in this.