Mushoku Tensei Was Legit One Of The Most Messed Up And Disgusting Shows I've Ever Seen. I Managed To

Do you like any bad smells?

Cigarettes

Fuel exhaust

Skunk (not weed, actual skunk)

Wet dog

Sweat / BO

Old person

Several of these

Other??? (freak)

None I hate smelling anything ever

I’m not including weed or pussy bc if I did they would win by a landslide

And yes I like all of these smells, even tho half of them give me headaches

I’m not including weed or pussy bc if I did they would win by a landslide

And yes I like all of these smells, even tho half of them give me headaches

This is actually such a raw concept omg

I’m absolutely obsessed with the concept of Eldritch Horror!Wibberlys. Basically the Wibberly siblings remaining changed permanently and physically because of the Books of Beginning, even after the series ends, making them not quite human anymore. For instance;

Emma - She runs cold. Even on the hottest summer day, her skin is cool to the touch. - Ravens and crows can be spotted nearby in the trees wherever she goes. - She hears the voices of the dead in every wind that manages to ring in her ears, or when she's really dizzy. - The scar on her hand, where the knife went clean through it, aches whenever something dire happens. - She still sees shadows, omens, not all the time, but sometimes. Usually around reckless drivers or people in hospitals. - She can see very well in the dark. - She's drawn to rain and mist, and will linger in it for a long time. She never seems to grow cold or clammy. - Every once in a while, for a few hours, food tastes dull and chalky to her, like what she encountered in the land of the dead. - In certain lights, her freckles look silver, the same shade as the metal bits on the Reckoning's cover. - Whenever she watches a movie or TV show, or reads a book, she can always guess what characters are going to die, and she's right every time. - Her voice is more decisive and commanding now. She comes across less as a brash girl or petulant child, and more as an authority figure, as the judge of the dead that she is.

Michael - He runs hot. His skin is warm to the touch, no matter how cold the air around him is. - Whenever someone around him cries, he finds himself crying too, as if he is sharing their pain, or relief, or joy, or laughter, whatever emotion it is. - He almost never becomes sick, and he's far less prone to injury than he was before, though he still remains clumsy. - He is incredibly adept at reading the emotions flickering across people's faces. - Sometimes, if the light hits his face right, his skin seems to glow. In the same vein, his eyes look almost red when he's around flames. - Plants and animals are drawn to him and respond well to his care. - His fingertips are calloused, as though they've been pricked over and over with a stylus, and it allows him to touch hot objects without burning. - On occasion, usually once every few months, he falls asleep and dreams that he's a different, random being, living their whole life. - His memory for names and faces is impeccable. - He becomes overstimulated at events such as concerts, where many people are gathered in close quarters. He can feel all their heightened emotions acutely, and it makes him feel as though he's feverish. - His blood looks darker, more like ink than anything.

Kate - Her sense of time is incredibly accurate, and she's very aware of the minutes passing by and dragging on, etc. - There are days she cannot stand the sound of clocks ticking. No matter how quiet they are, she's acutely aware of their sound. - She has a knack for directions, and she rarely ever gets lost. - In certain lights, her eyes flash gold and green, rather than their natural hazel, and her hair seems to shine. - She can see not only the way places are now, but the way they were in the past, and, on occasion, the way they will become in the future. - When things are quiet and still and she is alone, she becomes paranoid that time has stopped and that she's the only one still capable of moving and acting. Whenever it happens, she has to seek out proof that time still moves. - Similarly, when she tells people to stop, they do so immediately, as if they cannot refuse. - The scar on her side, from where she was shot, never fades, and indeed, often appears to look distinctly like a thread. - Her hands are steady, her body rarely shakes anymore. - Sometimes, her dreams are still of things that happened centuries or millennia ago, or of things that have yet to occur at all. - Deja Vu is a regular feeling for her, and her sense of foreknowledge often leaves others feeling eerie. - There are times when she wakes up or gets up and she does not immediately know what time period or place she is in, rather, she feels lost among the timeline, as if in the middle of an immense ocean. - She has a talent for finding what's lost, and she can always, always find Michael and Emma, no matter where they are.

THIS IS WHAT I'M SAYINGGG. Kendrick has some of the most interesting and well-done albums in recent history, and he's just such an interesting person to discuss and everybody wants to make it about the Canadian. People don't even look at the beef in context with who these artists are and what the significance of it is, people act like it just exists in a vacuum. Honestly, we need to get better material.

>Search for Kendrick music video gifs on tumblr bc I think they're cool

>look inside

>his whole body of work is being made about one singular rap beef

>rewatch older music videos and interviews

>look inside

>all the comments are about the rap beef even if the video is almost a decade old

Caesar is hosting a party,

Reblog to invite others to the party

Since I'm considering making new designs for my Redbubble shop, I'm thinking about my Plaidified Disney Princesses, including:

Sea serpent Ariel

Classic giant Snow White

And Rapunzel with a Jack and the Giant Beanstalk twist

Unfortunately, from what I researched, Disney isn't partnered with Redbubble's fanart program, which means selling Disney fanart is copyright infringement. But that doesn't mean I can't make my own designs based on the OG fairytales... [insert eyes emoji]

Anyway, just an idea I'm contemplating. I'm currently still figuring out details about Giant Kaiju Ladies designs and eager to see your suggestions--this fairytale concept is just a fun idea for future reference (and some cute G/t art for my fellow g/t-enjoyers haha)

just heard the phrase "goodnight, drill slaygeant." i have lost all desire to live

AHHH I FINALLY FINISHED THE FIRST CHAPTER OF MY STORY!!!

I've wanted to share a g/t story with you guys for a while, and I'm so happy to finally make that dream a reality! Feedback is appreciated, and I really hope you guys enjoy! These are characters I've spent a good bit of time with in my head, and I'm so happy you guys get to meet them now!

Alright, enough talking. Without further ado, may I proudly present to you lovely g/t fans:

The Ballad of the Two Travelers

Chapter One: The Encounter

Tristan sat beside his little campfire, trying to relieve the tense, uptight feeling in his limbs. His left arm was wrapped in a poorly-done sling; the result of an unfortunate incident with a giant zombified wolf a few days prior. A twilight breeze licked at his skin, nudging little locks of dark curls from his forehead and causing the flames to sputter and twitch every now and then. He prayed that the gods would be merciful and let the wind lighten up; he was too tired to start another fire should this one be snuffed out. He leaned slightly closer to the flames, extending his right hand in an effort to regain some of the feeling in his fingers.

He'd been traveling for weeks across the Misted Vales, a heavy pack on his back and a trusty sword at his side as he made his way through the grey plains, bony forests, and murky swamps that littered the once-fertile lands. The Blight that cursed the realm was spreading, and many a village had fallen from illness and starvation in recent times. Tristan's own village was already plagued with issues of its own– constant monster attacks, lack of soldiers or protection from the now-defunct nobility, and infighting among its inhabitants – and the oncoming blight wasn't helping matters.

No one knew what had started it, but most suspected it was yet another consequence of some long-forgotten war between humanity and its many foes. The Blight was a magical disease that had run rampant in recent years, killing crops and poisoning the living, dooming them to a slow death of madness and decay before succumbing and rising again as an undead. Monsters had already been a threat in the past, but now they brought with them the added nuisance of being much harder to kill. They shrugged off wounds effortlessly, had increased stamina and strength, and they had an increased appetite for the still-living. Such horrors ravaged the Continent, and yet they all paled in comparison to the giants.

For a hundred years, the giants had harbored a relentless anger towards the humans. Groups of them ranging from as little as two to as many as 20 roamed the lands, wiping out any human settlements they could. The majority of them were the angry, vengeful wives, daughters, and sisters of the many giants who were killed in a long-forgotten war, and thus they took advantage of every opportunity they could to take their revenge against the remainder of humanity. Tristan had been lucky enough to not have encountered a giant before, but he'd met survivors of their rage; he'd heard fragmented ramblings of footsteps like thunder, great hands and ferocious roars, and villages left decimated in the wake of beings that towered over a hundred feet tall.

Life in the Continent was so deadly, in fact, that one may wonder why one so young was embarking on such a deadly journey. Indeed, Tristan often wondered the very same thing himself.

For Tristan was on a quest to the great Godbearing Mountain in the far north, where an ancient spring ran that could cure any disease, at least according to the stories he'd heard. If someone were to fetch water from the Godbearing Spring, then perhaps the curse could be undone, and the remaining humans could start afresh. The idea of traveling to the north for the spring had been passed around in the village, but what with the onslaught monsters that roamed the lands, the angry giants who stomped any human into bloody paste upon sight, and the ravenous Blight that was slowly seeping its way into the very roots of the Continent, it had been decided by the village council that a quest wasn't worth the risk. They were to hunker down and try to wait out the chaos around them, something that Tristan couldn't accept. Tristan didn't know how, but he felt deep down that those stories had to be true, that there had to be something that could be done to put an end to this madness. All it took was courage and bravery, like the heroes in the old stories... right?

So Tristan had gathered some supplies, stolen his father's old sword from under his bed, and snuck out of his little village at midnight. He'd been traveling for about two weeks, and he was beginning to regret his decision. He'd come to a rest in the Misted Vales, a wide plain of grey grass and a thick fog that covered the entire area.

Tristan glanced around him nervously. He'd heard plenty of tales about the Misted Vales, but he hadn't expected them to be so.... misty. The fire barely had an impact on the hazy air; he could barely make out anything, near or far.

The thought was not comforting to Tristan, who'd already had his fair share of uncomfortable monster encounters (his arm was testament to this) and wasn't keen on having any more. It sent shivers down his spine to think that just about anything could come from those clouds of thick fog....

Of course, at that moment, there came the sound of a rhythmic rumbling that lightly shook the ground, and a silhouette appeared in the fog, heavily obscured by the mist yet clear enough for Tristan to tell that whatever was approaching, it was close.

Tristan's heart quickened, and he felt the prickly sensation of sweat appearing on his brow. He saw a movement, and nearly fainted as the shape woman emerged from the mist, standing over 70 feet tall. As she approached, Tristan could make out wavy hair and a huge cloak that trailed lightly behind her. Each one of her steps crossed at least forty feet, her boots leaving slight impressions in the ground behind her. Her pace was eerily slow, almost relaxed, not what Tristan would have expected from a rampaging giantess, but it was terrifying nonetheless, as her eyes were hidden behind the shadows of her cowl.

The boy scrambled about on his knees as he hastily gathered his things, wincing to himself as he tried to sling his pack over his shoulder. His eyes darted about the surrounding area for potential hiding spots, areas to widen the distance between him and the approaching threat, anything, but his eyes could hardly make out anything in the thick fog.

Don't panic, he thought, you've come this far. You can handle a giant... you have to.

But as the giant woman grew closer, Tristan found his thoughts to be little comfort. Within moments, she would be on top of him.

He glanced to his left, to the simple broadsword resting a few feet away in its sheath. He hastily crawled over to it, wrapping his fingers around the plain leather-bound hilt, and mentally screaming at the prospect of drawing the sword as the giantess grew closer and closer. He adjusted his position in an effort to face the giant woman, who seemed to be even bigger than he'd guessed now that she was closer. The woman was at least 100 feet tall; the top of Tristan's head barely came up past her ankle. The sight of her leather boots was intimidating, to say the least; Tristan could almost hear the sickening crunch and feel his bones break as the thick soles pressed him into a pulp on the ground....

His hands shook as the shadow of the giantess loomed over him. There was a moment of stillness and a frightening silence, the only thing audible being the thumping of Tristan's own heart in his ears. He gazed up at her, a mixture of nervousness and curiosity filling his heart.

“Greetings, little one.”

Tristan realized with a start the giantess was speaking to him. Her voice was soft and powerful at the same time.

“I am Lyra,” she said, her voice serene as she looked down at him. “It appears that thou art alone in thy travels.”

She gracefully lowered herself down onto one knee, bowing her head slightly to meet his level a little better. Tristan nervously scooted back a few steps. “I would offer thee my companionship,” she finished.

It took a moment before his brain fully accepted what she had said.

“Um.....” he finally answered, his voice hoarse and unsure, “w-what?”

The giantess was silent for a moment. Then she lifted her cowl from her head, revealing wavy brown hair and a fair face with amber-colored eyes. She affixed those eyes upon Tristan now, and her lips curved into a soft smile.

“To travel at all in these broken lands is a trial for even my own kind. Blight, beasts, and monsters alike roam about, seeking prey for food or for pleasure to cross their paths. To do so requires courage, wits, and just a bit of foolishness, as well as trusted friends to watch one's back against the dangers of the world. Many of my own kind have been claimed by death, even with all these things.

“And yet thou,” she said, curiously tilting her head, “appear to be alone. In a world where all wish for naught but the destruction of those such as thou, thou hast dared to cross these lands alone. I would not wish the deaths of any in this land, especially not one as ador–” She paused, and bit her lip before finally saying, “admirable as thou. Therefore, I offer thee myself as a companion.”

Tristan didn't respond. He couldn't, he was paralyzed from fright and shock. A giantess was talking to him, and so casually, as if she wasn't arguably the most dangerous, terrifying thing Tristan could encounter at this time.

“Oh, art thou wounded, little one?” she was asking now, indicating his arm with a finger that was surely as long as he was tall. Despite the sympathetic tone in her voice, Tristan cringed, praying internally that she would decide he wasn't worth the trouble and that she would leave him alone.

Of course, it wasn't his day for his prayers to be answered. The giantess leaned closer, her hand now about a yard away from his face.

“Do not panic, little traveler,” the giantess said in a soft voice. “I only wish to get a better look....”

Tristan's breath caught in his chest as the giant girl gently brought her hands on either side of him, the warm, fleshy surface of her right palm gently pressing into him and scooping his body into her left hand. He was being lifted, lifted into the air while the giant girl gently nudged him into the middle of her palm. Before he could fully react, he was already at face level with the giantess (although the term mouth level would be more accurate), and could hear his own heartbeat thumping wildly in his ears.

The giant girl stared at him for an unnerving moment, those amber eyes seeming to look right into the depths of his comparatively tiny soul. They were unreadable and terrible, and yet, beautiful. Tristan could see himself reflected in them, and he saw his own face, scared and unsure of what would happen next. And then the boy saw something in the giant's gaze, something he would look back and still marvel at, a thing which hadn't been seen in the eyes of a giantess for a hundred years.

In that moment, Tristan saw kindness.

“Oh, thou art a poor thing,” the giant girl murmured. “Let my hand rest upon thee, and find rest and healing.”

Softly, the giantess lifted her right hand, and placed her middle and index fingers on his torso, covering his chest and left. Tristan squeezed his eyes shut and winced slightly, waiting for the inevitable crushing sensation...

But it never came. Instead, Tristan felt a soft, warm feeling coursing through his whole body, slowing his heart and easing the tension in his weary limbs. He still felt fear, but it seemed muted, somehow, as a sound becomes muffled underneath the water.

He blinked a few times, and realized with a start his arm didn't hurt any more. He tentatively rolled his shoulder, and grinned in spite of himself when he felt no pain nor even soreness.

Tristan knew little of magic, but even he, a farm boy from a run-down little village, could recognize healing magic.

“T-Thank you,” he stammered up at the giant girl. She chuckled softly, and shook her head.

“There is nothing to thank, little traveler. To heal one such as thyself was of no avail. I would be honored if thou wouldst grant me the chance to be of much more use than a mere healing spell.”

Tristan frowned. “S-So..... you want to.... accompany me? For some reason? I thought all the giants hated humanity. What makes you any different? How do I know you're not just biding your time until you grab me and.... and....” He felt sick all of a sudden as he thought of some of the stories he'd heard back home. He decided to change topics.

“I've heard that your people still have cities, armies, lives outside of fighting to survive. Why would you leave all of that to come accompany.... me? A mere human?”

“Thou art no mere human, little traveler,” she said simply. “None of thy kind is meager or lesser in any way. My people have failed to recognize this, and have become too steeped in their hatred towards humanity. The violence my sisters have embraced must be put to an end, and thus I abandoned my people, wandering these lands in search of those who need aid. I will admit, none have accepted my help yet” – a pink tinge came over her face and her steady voice faltered for a moment – “but I believe I will one day encounter one who seeks to heal instead of harm, to understand instead of to hate, and to live instead of merely surviving.” Here the giant girl's eyes shone as she looked down at him. “I believe thee to be the very human I have been seeking. What other human would dare cross the Misted Vales alone, with little more than a sack of provisions and a weapon? Is the quest thou hast embarked upon not one of honor, of valor, of restoration?”

Tristan blinked. The giantess' archaic manner of speech was difficult to understand, but she sounded as though she'd read him quite thoroughly. There was an awkward silence as Tristan tried to figure out what to say next.

Just as he opened his mouth, the giant girl spoke again, a slight pleading edge in her voice.

“I can offer thee wisdom, guidance, protection, whatever you wish. Whatever thee may require, thou need only ask and I shall oblige. I understand that one of my size may appear frightening to one such as thyself, and I can only respond by saying that I shall never leave thy side. No matter what may come between us, I implore thee, little one, let me serve as thy companion, as thy.... as thy maiden.”

Tristan felt the air disappear from his lungs.

Among his people, there was a tradition that no hero should walk alone. Therefore, every knight, upon receiving a quest was assigned a maiden; a woman, usually skilled in magic, who acted as his counterpart, guiding him, protecting him, and comforting him. The role of maiden was an honored role, and the knight was to treat his maiden with respect and honor her for her sacrifice. Maidens were just as venerated as their male counterparts, and many a maiden and knight married after questing together. But the role of maiden was a serious one. It required total devotion on both parts, on pain of death. For a maiden to accept a knight, and vice versa, was a fundamental binding of two souls' fates.

The tradition of knights and maidens had fallen out of practice in recent times, as there simply weren't enough people left to serve such a serious role in this age. That a giantess knew what a maiden was, and that she was offering to serve as his maiden... it was unheard of, to say the least.

“You....” Tristan tried to collect his thoughts. He'd heard the old stories about maidens and knights, and he used to wonder to himself if he'd ever be worthy enough to have a maiden pledge herself to him. He remembered the sadness that had come with realizing that the age of chivalry, of companionship, had ended long before he was even born. It was one of the reasons he'd taken on this quest alone – to try to restore his home, and become someone a maiden would be honored to pledge herself to.

And now here he was, laying in the open palm of a girl like none he'd ever met before, claiming that there would be no greater honor than to serve as his maiden.

“I'm going to the Godbearing Mountain,” he said quietly. “At the edge of the world, to fetch water from the ancient spring and put an end to this blight once and for all. I don't know if it exists, nor if it can even be done. But I figured if you would.... if you would really sacrifice this much, you may as well know what you're getting into.”

The giantess was silent, as though in deep thought. Then she nodded, and asked, “What is thy name, brave little traveler?”

He told her.

She nodded again. “Hold on tight, Tristan.”

Slowly, gently, she lowered him to the ground, and tipped her hand just enough for him to slide off her palm and into the grey-colored grass.

The giantess was still for a second, watching him carefully, then she stood to her full height. Tristan had to crane her neck to even look up at her face, but he could see her amber-colored eyes, looking down at him with such warmth it made him feel strangely giddy.

“I, Lyra,” she said in a clear voice, setting her right hand over her heart, “do pledge myself to aid thee, Tristan, upon thy quest to reach the Godbearing Mountain in the far north, and find a cure to the blight that ravages our lands. I swear to offer guidance, strength, protection, and whatever else thou may require of me, till our quest is done.”

Tristan nodded, and hastily put his right hand over his own heart. “Um.... I, T-Tristan, pledge to complete this quest to the best of my abilities, and to respect and honor my companion, L-Lyra. I swear to act with courage and wisdom, and to persevere and trust in the advice of my companion.... m-my maiden.”

He took an unconscious step back as the giant girl knelt suddenly, then felt ashamed when he realized she was offering him her hand once more.

“Let us seal our bond, little traveler. Take mine hand, as is the custom of your people.”

Tristan forced himself to step forward, slowly raising his hand. He paused as he looked up at the giant girl looming over him. Did he really trust her? A giantess? The supposed enemy of his people, claiming that she wished to join his cause for healing and restoration, and serve as his most loyal companion the whole way?

I implore thee to trust me, she had said, with a look in her eyes that Tristan knew on some deep, instinctive level, meant that he had to do just that. He would do what no other human had dared to do in a hundred years, and learn to trust.

“Let's begin,” he said, placing his hand, so small in comparison, atop her index fingertip. The giant girl smiled, a soft, happy expression, almost cute for one so big. Tristan felt a rush of warmth in his heart, and somehow he understood that history was being made, here and now, at this very moment, between nothing but a farmer boy with foolish dreams and a girl who believed in them.

“May the sun, moon, and stars guide us,” Lyra said softly. “Let us begin.”

My medieval servant boy has gone missing. I’ll just use Google to see if I can find him.