35 | 🏳️⚧️ It/Its, She/Her, They/Them or Fae/Faer| Photography, Digital Art & Bad Takes, mostly | Occasionaly NSFW | If you put AI shit on my feed you're getting unfollowed
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the supreme irony of orson scorson corson's virulent transmisogyny is that ender from enders game is like one of the most chillingly and accurately transmisogynized characters in all of science fiction
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The Yugioh world championships are in France this year and apparently Macron appeared on the official live stream to wish the players good luck which is insane in and of itself but it also resulted in one of the craziest unedited pictures of a politician in history:

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Trump is dead this and Trump is dead that. The obvious answer for Trump's sudden disappearance is that Trump has gone into his very first heat and the Whitehouse is trying to cover up that he's an Omega
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my friend and i have been losing our goddamn minds over the photography in this zillow listing and i feel the need to share it with you all too
the lighting??? the fog?? the atmosphere???
this shit is like high art and it's a ZILLOW LISTING . and that's not even all the photos!!! what the fuck!!!
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Monumentally depressed princess looking at who's next in the line of succession and deciding against it.
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victoria 3 thought of the day:
people being like “I don’t like how Victoria 3 doesn’t simulate WWI very well. Also, late game wars suck because every great power has so many colonies with ridiculous borders scattered throughout Africa and SE Asia so there are always a dozen tiny fronts requiring troops and transport ships and supply lines and constantly taking my attention away from the main front”
WELL…
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When I was a child I loved pickles. Not a normal amount. I loved pickles so much that my mother had to institute a pickle limit. I have no idea how many pickles it takes to make a very absentee parent set a pickle limit but as I was a child of excess let’s assume I craved an unholy bacchanal of pure pickle madness.
After the Pickle Rationing began I was like a poor wartime child deprived of sweets but the sweets were pickles. I’d piteously beg for more than my daily allotment and when the regime of two pickles a day stayed firmly in place I began to develop a system. A pickle system.
I couldn’t get more pickles. But I could draw out the pickle eating experience to hitherto unknown lengths to wring as much joy from each one as possible. The first pickle I ate in a fairly reasonable manner, if more slowly then a regular pickle experience. The second pickle though. The second pickle resembled the first only in the first bite or so. And then I’d take each bite and carefully chew it. And chew it. And chew it. But never swallow. As it began to lose flavor I would carefully dole nibbles of what was left, each fresh burst of pickleness sparking a fraction of the joy of a real bite. But as long as I was chewing, I was eating a pickle.
I could spend hours chewing. Every infinitesimal bit of flavor was systemically worked out of every shred until I was chewing a pickle adjacent cud every day. It took a while for my mom to figure out why I always seemed to be chewing. It could last from lunch to dinner, really, and if I could have saved my disgusting facsimile to resume chewing after dinner I would have.
My mom tried to ban this behavior but ran into my overwhelming stubbornness and autism. I would not be swayed. If there were not more pickles then I would insist on this perverse charade of getting to enjoy them for as long as I could torture their spirits with my mouth.
So my mom lifted the Pickle Ration and I ate myself sick for a week and never mummified a pickle in my mouth again.
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love when worf says 'klingons do not do such things' and its really clear that he personally just doesnt want to.
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