it’s so funny to realize i’ve written baba for like three whole years. love my funky little allegory for overcoming incredible trauma and reclaiming your own self (even if it can’t be your same self, even if you can never go back)
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2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year

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@oddsights
it’s so funny to realize i’ve written baba for like three whole years. love my funky little allegory for overcoming incredible trauma and reclaiming your own self (even if it can’t be your same self, even if you can never go back)
quiet reboot bc of jordy, everyone thank jordy
@futurehalted.
without disturbing the purring, white ball settled atop their lap, the bog king peers over their shoulder and toward the door. even with their ass flat against the floor, the cat is pitifully, easily dwarfed by their size. they blink once, slowly, as if uneasy. ( embarrassed. )
< she is -- kind. > is his way of explaining.
defrosting
(C.B)(4.4.19)
the true thing: the bog king is affiliated heavily with the fae, per his resurrection. the fun thing: he despises the fae. he despises them for what they did to him. he’s come to terms with his existence, but it’s an existence he never asked for, an existence he never wanted. their relationship is tenuous at best, and that’s still pushing it. if you’re sympathetic to the fae, aligned with them in any way, he’ll hate you. he hates what they do, he hates what they stand for. he’ll hate you secondhand.
wishfights.
@oddsights
squints.
he feels the weight of her eyes, heavy like clouds of gray. ‘ pen--ny, ’ he tries. his brow knits, his weight leans into the wood of the table. ‘ -- for your thoughts. ’
withbox.
@oddsights. sc.
‘ — Please tell me that you’re the one doing that. ’
‘ lie? ’ their head shakes once, twice. a denial, a dismissal. half-truths, full-truths, the mincing of words -- whatever they were before, dishonesty burns like iron to the tongue. a pale light hovers between the trees, green like a cut stone. it comes no closer, no farther.
@futurehalted.
‘ oreos. ’ his voice creaks like the wooden floorboards beneath his feet. when he ducks through the doorway, he supposes it’s sheer luck that he hasn’t stumbled upon indecency. ( he should likely learn to knock, shouldn’t he? )
‘ you’re -- out of them, ’ he supplies helpfully.