2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
Origami Around
Janaina Medeiros
JBB: An Artblog!
taylor price
cherry valley forever
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
Game of Thrones Daily
oozey mess
❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
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JVL
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blake kathryn
Show & Tell
art blog(derogatory)
YOU ARE THE REASON
One Nice Bug Per Day
tumblr dot com
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@obiwankobeni
i block ppl all the time so my blocklist ranges from "actual fucking asshole fascist" n "post that mildly annoyed me because im petty" and if i went thru my blocklist rn i probably would have no idea why i blocked each of them but whatever
what are any of you ever fucking talking about
undertaker
twitter | ig | inprnt | patreon | store | store (aus)
Nothing like holding my love
THISSSSSSS!!!!!!! curate your own internet experience. block them because they’re allergic to peanut butter, block them because they have what you don’t, block them because they dislike your favorite food, block them because you don’t like their layout, block them because you can.
blocking is NOT a personal attack against someone. it’s you curating your own internet experience and catering for your comfort, and you have every right to do that.
you, yes, you!!! you CANNOT tell other people to censor themselves for your own comfort and personal likings. you CANNOT tell them what they can or can’t post. you CANNOT tell them what they can or can’t write. you CANNOT tell them what they can or can’t draw. BUT you CAN block them for whatever reason.
that block button is offered to you for free. use. it.
got a lovehate relationship with routine and repetition. yes if you put me in a repetitive situation i will start chewing on myself like a caged animal. but also no if you interrupt my self imposed routines i will start crying. this has made me so super good at being in the workforce #trust
"Write character relationships that are normal" WRONG ☝ CODEPENDENCY BEAM 💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥
do u ever think about how much you’ve changed in the past 2 years and ur just like, thank god.
To my 25 - 35 year olds, you've reached the age where people around you are starting to give up on themselves because they think it's too late. Don't let that energy rub off on you. It's not too late.
I became a tattoo artist at 49.
Married the love of my life at 50.
Got my Class A CDL at 59.
You've got time.
As long as you're breathing, you've got time.
immortal and the human they've been cursed to watch die over and over again
he remembers the first time you left him, the way you gently gave into the fever and went. the heat of your skin rose and rose, then it was over, and then you were gone. he gave you one last kiss on your cracked lips and pretended you were there to feel it.
he mourned, of course. harder than he had ever mourned any other lover he had ever entertained.
it was fifty years later before he saw you again. a baker's daughter, softer around the waist, with the same laugh you've always had. of course, you had no memory of your past life, but you fell into loving him like it was habit.
that death was the hardest.
Heat took you once again, this time in the form of fire. the bakery's flame caught your skirt and you along with it. by the time you were saved, it was too late. the final days of your life were spent in horrible pain, crying and screaming and begging for death. by the time it came, it felt overdue.
the cycle kept repeating. the two of you would meet and within five years, you would die. illness and childbirth and a stray bullet from war; even in the lives he tried to avoid you, tragedy would follow. once, you had married another man, only for him kill you within the month.
the worst part, he thinks as he stares at the most current iteration of you, is that his chest still flutters with joy when he sees you for the first time. that, despite the trauma and heartbreak and horror, he still loves you more than anything.
He can feel it coming this time. There's a tickle in the back of his mind, like a click ticking down each second he has left.
"You've got-" He tugs the laces of your boots, your foot stepping up on his thigh. He loves kneeling over like this, at your feet. it reminds him of the very short life you had as a princess. "To tie your shoes better."
"What's gotten into you?" you laugh. "I'm not made of glass."
He lets you pull away, sitting back on to his heels. It's amazing how little your face has changed over all of your lives, how you still look the way you did when he first laid eyes on you, just with more lines around your smile. This is the oldest you've ever been-- and maybe ever will be. "Are you sure? I could swaddle you in bubble wrap, just to be safe."
You roll your eyes with a smile. "Sure, I'll just walk around the office covered in bubblewrap. My boss will love that."
The itch in his head gets stronger.
"Why don't you stay home for work today?" His hand runs up your leg, more appreciative than sexual. "Spend the day with me."
He leans forward and presses his head into your thigh, the way you've always been weak for. Your hands immediately find his hair and scratch his scalp, your body's tension giving in just a bit.
"Well..."
"Please." He's not really speaking to you. "Just give me one day."
You give in gently.
"Anything for you."
.
It happens three hours later.
You're laughing, pulling your shirt back on post sex. Lately, you've been insatiable and he knows why.
"I'm just saying-" you muse. "we're stable, we're in love. I'm just waiting for the ring."
He knows. He still has your original ring, the one he always takes from your finger before burying you.
"I'm not getting any younger. I wanna have babies and t-"
Your eyes shift a bit. It's subtle, until you make this garbled sound, not quite a word at all, like your tongue has disconnected from your brain.
Before he can get up, you're on the ground. Just like always, you're give into death gently.
The beat of your heart is gone before he can even call for help. By the time the EMTs arrive, you're cold. They cover you with a blanket, like it saves your diginity as you wheel you out of the apartment building. He cries, just like he always does, when the doctors tell him it was an aneurysm, that nothing could have saved you.
That's the horrible truth he needs to learn to swallow. Nothing could have saved you. Nothing will save you.
For the first time in centuries, he speaks to the thing that made him. It comes only in the deepest of nights, when the winter air is most bitter.
"Why do you curse me like this?"
The voice tastes of forgotten pine, a species now lost. "Why do you speak in tongues I do not know?"
The language should be dead, but it rolls off his tongue as easily as it did back then. No written word, no official name in the modern tongue: a secret between him and the monster he's bonded to.
"You take her from me, life after life." He never ages, but he feels young again, angry, reckless. "You lied to me when you promised a painless life. You lied when you promised no one else would die."
The wind howls with insult. There's a moment where he can feel it there, hunched and hovering above his shoulder, maw gaped and empty.
"The only lie is the one you tell yourself."
It's gone again, nothing but a whispering voice on the breeze. Without worshippers, it no longer holds much power. Without him, it would fade into nothing, just like the other forgotten gods.
"I know your mind does not fail you. You remember your first meeting with the girl."
"In the summer fields."
"Ach. Your lie." It growls its words. "That was her second life."
He has no answer to that. No, he had met you in the fields, right after the grain had sprouted. The memory is his prized possession.
"You play your tricks again."
"You truly forget the face of the woman you sacrificed in my name?" The hiss runs a chill up his spine. "The one who you killed with your own hands? The one who's blood you drank to live for all eternity?"
Blood is always the price. He had taken a woman from the neighboring village, covered her face in cloth so he could not see the tragedy he was committing. The ritual was long, grueling, and the girl had almost died too soon multiple times, but she fought to live, fought against his hand-
"No." Those screams. Were they yours? "That's- no."
"You had chosen her to die, so you may live."
His stomach turns as he remembers the taste of your blood on his lips, the metal aftertaste as you fought with the last ounce of life-
"Now, she dies."
I think the biggest thing mascot horror things need to get a grip on is the reasonable balance of cute/creepy. The mascot in question needs to be cute enough to realistically be for children but scary enough to actually make for effective horror. Most games always lean too far in either direction and idk maybe it's just me but immersion with these kinds of games are important for me to actually find enjoyment in them.
Can anyone hear me
GUYS...
new fave reaction image just dropped for me
"maybe the problem is you" oh the problem is definitely me, next question
Oath not belonging to marriage
ao3 asking if i want to see mature content. do i want to see birds in the sky. do i want to feel the wind in my hair and the grass under my feet
Everything I read about recovering from burnout is like “it takes months or even years to fully recover” and it’s like okay…. I have a weekend before I gotta clock in on Monday
