HEATED RIVALRY SEASON FINALE YOU ARE THE LOVE OF MY GODDANN LIFE.
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taylor price
NASA
Peter Solarz
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Sade Olutola
Today's Document
Monterey Bay Aquarium
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
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2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year

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Stranger Things
Sweet Seals For You, Always
Game of Thrones Daily
trying on a metaphor
todays bird
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"

@theartofmadeline
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
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@mackwinnon
HEATED RIVALRY SEASON FINALE YOU ARE THE LOVE OF MY GODDANN LIFE.
The 2023 141 Christmas Special
Tis the season to go all out
Don’t forget to leave out milk and cookies for Frank Iero tonight.
After a close call
Ghost: In light of the circumstances, I will allow you to hug me for four to five seconds.
Soap: Forty five seconds?!
Ghost: Forty- What? No! I said-
Soap: Too late!
I’m in Tampa watching MCR’s show and like. How do you explain this feeling to someone else?
Singing Famous Last Words with what I assume is 60,000 of my closest friends healed something in me.
I’m in Tampa watching MCR’s show and like. How do you explain this feeling to someone else?
Ghost runs towards danger. That's who he is. Not who he always was, but it's who he is now. He always runs towards the danger. Towards the guns and the fires and the enemies.
But not this time.
Not when soap is in the aftermath of it. The terrorists blew the entire city block, and razed their entire route with bullets the entire way out. But Ghost didn't run to stop them. Not when soap was in the smattering of buildings that went down in a crumble of dust.
Only when he finds Soap having run himself into danger. When he's wedged himself between concrete debris and civilians with kids. When rubar impales inches into his shoulders while he tries to hold long enough.
Then he throws himself into it. Next to Soap. Neck deep side by side. Like they're meant to be
"you don't owe anyone anything" You are a tar pit. Speak for yourself. I personally owe the cafe employees my dishes put away and my friends a listening ear and small scared insects a cup and a gentle trip outside. Hyperindividualism is a rancid infection borne of capitalism and willfully misinterpreted therapyspeak and I will defy it by continuing to be kind regardless of whether or not it benefits me personally
Ozzy Osbourne 1948 - 2025
Rest in peace, Prince of Darkness.
📸 Photo taken by Ross Halfin
''i wasted those years'' who cares. you lived the only life you could've lived in those moments
Simon hunts Nik. Nik toys with him.
cw: Nik gets off on being prey.
The wind whispered faintly past broken panes and rusted steel as Simon picked his way through the skeletal remains of the high-rise. Debris and shattered glass crunched underfoot, every step careful, calculated to leave no trace. Like a ghost.
The building he’d chosen was once a corporate tower, now a concrete husk, gutted and abandoned. No different to any other war-torn hellscape, except the vast majority of the city was still populated, even if the building itself was too fragile to trust as shelter. It offered the perfect vantage for Simon's purposes though; an unimpeded view of the fire exit at the back of the building opposite, and minimal risk of counter-sniper exposure.
He reached his chosen spot by stairwell, avoiding the elevator shaft, which gaped like an open wound through the building's spine. He cleared every landing as he went. The last thing he needed was some street kid hopping on his back and getting a knife to the gut. Room by room. Corner by corner. Cleaning house. Johnny would be proud, Simon thought wryly.
He built his nest in the remains of a corner office; half its outer wall gone, wind whipping tattered blinds over jagged concrete edges. Simon set his pack down silently, using his knee guard to shuffle some glass away from where he'd lay prone. He chucked out his thermal mat, laid out his MCPR-300, and aligned it with muscle memory. Scope caps off. Suppressor attached. Wind meter clipped to the edge of a twisted beam. As he hunkered down, his core bracing, knee lifting a little, he tilted his cheek inwards and surveyed the street.
The rifle's scope brought the street below into razor-sharp focus. Cars rusted in place. A burnt out bus near a derelict park. There were a few civilians wandering the street, but they'd vanish the moment the sun set. It was too dangerous to be out at night, when vicious monsters hid in shadows.
Given who he was hunting, he updated his mental map of the operation: hostile QRF likely. He'd taken leave for this. Couldn't get the idea out of his head. The niggling feeling under his ribs that he had to do something. Anything. The only tools he had were violence and death, so that was where he had settled.
He stabilised his position, using his backpack as a makeshift tripod, and hunkered down for the wait. A spotting scope lay beside him, laser rangefinder synced to his wrist display. Heart rate: steady, despite a subtle tremor in the back of his mind. Breathing: shallow, controlled. He was built for this.
He watched. And he waited.
the wheel determines you need companionship
Ooohhhhhh, I accept!
I have made a wheel. A very special wheel. 50% are blessings. 50% are curses. Do you risk to spin and see what you receive?
Do I get a re-spin if I don’t like what I get? 🤣
SPIN AWAYYYYYYYYYYT.