blooming into you. @pinkcolored - Tumblr Blog

mizu6 cards are out and i am ILL and i need to talk about them in relation to mizu5

#project sekai #mizuki akiyama #mizu5 #mizu6 #how do i even tag this.

ijichi-nijika

“yea sure i’ll download the horse girl gacha what’s the worst that could happen”

manhattan cafe fictive

haru urura fictive

narita taishin fictive

happy meek fictive forming

neo universe fictive forming

“oh”

#yeah.

shymagnolia

so I got into grad school today with my shitty 2.8 gpa and the moral of the story is reblog those good luck posts for the love of god

shymagnolia

okay so i just got my dream job??? a week after applying to it?? and now i’m thinking….maybe this is the good luck post

flagellant

…..not even six hours later i got an offer of a well paying full time long-term job with free room and board in queens in nyc, allowing me independence and a way to escape an abusive situation and an unhealthy environment

likes charge reblogs cast, folks, this is the good luck post

coffee-or-hot-cocoa

i need all the help i can get for finals

finnglas

Hey so

the last time I reblogged this post right before I got a great job, in a permanent work-from-home position, with benefits, retirement, and a salary literally 3x what I was making before, doing something I really like.

So you know.

This might be the real one, y’all.

sexceptionul

I’ve seen a lot of posts on my dash tonight about users who are threatening suicide, with other Tumblr members posting in effort to try to get ahold of them. I think you all should see this:

IF THERE IS EVER A TUMBLR USER WHO HAS POSTED A GOOD-BYE MESSAGE, SUICIDE NOTE, VIDEO, OR ANYTHING OF THE SORT, PLEASE FOLLOW THIS POST.

1. Scroll to the top of your dashboard.

2. See the circular question mark icon at the top? It’s the third one over from your home symbol. Click on that, and a screen similar to the one in the picture will come up.

3. Where you can type in questions, the box with the magnifying glass at the top, type in the word “suicide.”

4. Click on the first link that shows up. It should say, “Pass the URL of the blog on to us.”

5. Type in the user’s URL and tell Tumblr admin that the user is contemplating suicide and has posted a message indicating that they are going through with it or will be attempting. Hit send! Tumblr administration will perform a number of actions to contact the user and take the necessary steps to prevent the suicide.

TUMBLR: THIS COULD SAVE A USER’S LIFE. PLEASE DO NOT IGNORE SUICIDE THREATS.

Reblog this to keep other users aware. Suicide isn’t a joke, and neither is someone’s life. If you didn’t know this, someone else may not, either. Pass it on.

thedanliest

why on earth doesn’t this have more notes

outtelligent

I actually had to do this once. She lived.

faeirytale

if you scroll past this on your dash you are absolutely heartless.

natalie-as-herself

Reblog this!! This can save somebody’s life!

aika-chan01

reblog.

help.

do not scroll down.

nonextistentttttt-deactivated20

I SWEAR TO GOD IF ANYONE SCROLLS PAST THIS WITHOUT REBLOGGING I WILL LITTERALLY FIND THEM AND GIVE THEM A LECTURE

danqueray-deactivated20200703

may I just update this?

see the little thing that says help?

josephdreemuur-moved

Don’t ever scroll past this post. FUCKING NEVER SCROLL PAST!!!

xcassidy

🌸🌸🌸

undiagnosed-autism-things

Anyone know where it is on mobile ???

i-am-a-moron-deactivated2020051

You report the user, choose “something else”, scroll down and choose “suicide or self harm”

femur-theif

DO NOT SCROLL DOWN

REBLOG TO LITERALLY SAVE A LIVE

im-just-trying-to-survive-man

PLEASE REBLOG

tastingmellow

Please don’t scroll past this post, you could save someone’s life.

mrtellmeafckingsecret

people need to know this

sleepyafcapricorn

Not a fanfic imagine, but this is really important!!!!

misdollface

Please Reblog this to help save lives!! Please.

#this is mizu hijaking luci's blog but this deserves to go on our main <3

shymagnolia

so I got into grad school today with my shitty 2.8 gpa and the moral of the story is reblog those good luck posts for the love of god

shymagnolia

okay so i just got my dream job??? a week after applying to it?? and now i’m thinking….maybe this is the good luck post

flagellant

…..not even six hours later i got an offer of a well paying full time long-term job with free room and board in queens in nyc, allowing me independence and a way to escape an abusive situation and an unhealthy environment

likes charge reblogs cast, folks, this is the good luck post

coffee-or-hot-cocoa

i need all the help i can get for finals

finnglas

Hey so

the last time I reblogged this post right before I got a great job, in a permanent work-from-home position, with benefits, retirement, and a salary literally 3x what I was making before, doing something I really like.

So you know.

This might be the real one, y’all.

sarcasticmirage

the funniest thing about yoohankim is that kdj's love language is killing himself, hsy's love language is enduring torment, and yjh's love language is cooking

pinkcolored

this sounds like a shitpost but it’s so incredibly true of you op... like these really are their languages

kim dokja, breaking himself open and spilling his own blood. taking on agony and agony onto himself, taking every bullet meant for his companions and having the audacity to smile at them as he does it; ‘i will break myself to show my love for you’, he will say, failing to see how that breaks his companions in turn

han sooyoung. oh, where do i start? her enduring 50 years in kaizenix for one. and of course 1863rd her writing twsa for kim dokja, for years and years and years, knowing that she’s dying. knowing this was the only way it could help. knowing this, and still writing her love into the pages of her books with her own blood and hoping it reached him

and yoo joonghyuk. the man who spent an entire regression purely just. learning cooking skills. refusing to accept food from others because he hesitates to rely on his companions fully. knowing that at any time, they’ll die and he’ll move onto the next regression and leave them behind. feeding his little sister food when they go on their little vacation. accepting the dumplings namgung minyoung makes him despite everything. learning to trust, and putting every ounce of the love he so rarely shows into every morsel of food he makes.

just. god. YOOHANKIM AND THEIR LOVE LANGUAGES!!!

#☆ MOON.#i'm incredibly normal abt yhk as you can see #just. god #OP YOURE SOO RIGHT AND I LOVE YOU #smeared with oil like david's boy (kim dokja)#he will tear your cities down (yoo joonghyuk)#she will slay you with her tounge (han sooyoung)#omniscient reader

illusionwaltz

How well do you see color?

I’m cry I scored 60, I feel blind

ra-mt-deactivated20240213

these are all the same exact color . what

#OMG #0 #PERFECT SCORE #i am so smart and sexy /lh

ranidspace

Vote ONLY what the previous reblog says for you to vote. if you see this poll and no one has tagged it, vote randomly. After voting, reblog and tag it it with a random option you DID NOT vote for.

hat

shirt

pants

shoes

Voting ended onFeb 6, 2023

#pants

reimenaashelyee

My adaptation of the God of Arepo short story, which was originally up at ShortBox Comics Fair for charity. You can get a copy of the DRM-free ebook here for free - and I'd encourage you to donate to Mighty Writers or The Ministry of Stories in exchange.

Again it's an honour to be drawing one of my favourite short stories ever. Thank you so much for the original authors for creating this story; and for everyone who bought a copy and donated to the above non-profits.

#☆ MOON.#☆ QUEUE ARE MY SUNSHINE.

writing-prompt-s

Temples are built for gods. Knowing this a farmer builds a small temple to see what kind of god turns up.

sadoeuphemist

Arepo built a temple in his field, a humble thing, some stones stacked up to make a cairn, and two days later a god moved in.

“Hope you’re a harvest god,” Arepo said, and set up an altar and burnt two stalks of wheat. “It’d be nice, you know.” He looked down at the ash smeared on the stone, the rocks all laid askew, and coughed and scratched his head. “I know it’s not much,” he said, his straw hat in his hands. “But - I’ll do what I can. It’d be nice to think there’s a god looking after me.”

The next day he left a pair of figs, the day after that he spent ten minutes of his morning seated by the temple in prayer. On the third day, the god spoke up.

“You should go to a temple in the city,” the god said. Its voice was like the rustling of the wheat, like the squeaks of fieldmice running through the grass. “A real temple. A good one. Get some real gods to bless you. I’m no one much myself, but I might be able to put in a good word?” It plucked a leaf from a tree and sighed. “I mean, not to be rude. I like this temple. It’s cozy enough. The worship’s been nice. But you can’t honestly believe that any of this is going to bring you anything.”

“This is more than I was expecting when I built it,” Arepo said, laying down his scythe and lowering himself to the ground. “Tell me, what sort of god are you anyway?”

“I’m of the fallen leaves,” it said. “The worms that churn beneath the earth. The boundary of forest and of field. The first hint of frost before the first snow falls. The skin of an apple as it yields beneath your teeth. I’m a god of a dozen different nothings, scraps that lead to rot, momentary glimpses. A change in the air, and then it’s gone.”

The god heaved another sigh. “There’s no point in worship in that, not like War, or the Harvest, or the Storm. Save your prayers for the things beyond your control, good farmer. You’re so tiny in the world. So vulnerable. Best to pray to a greater thing than me.”

Arepo plucked a stalk of wheat and flattened it between his teeth. “I like this sort of worship fine,” he said. “So if you don’t mind, I think I’ll continue.”

“Do what you will,” said the god, and withdrew deeper into the stones. “But don’t say I never warned you otherwise.”

Arepo would say a prayer before the morning’s work, and he and the god contemplated the trees in silence. Days passed like that, and weeks, and then the Storm rolled in, black and bold and blustering. It flooded Arepo’s fields, shook the tiles from his roof, smote his olive tree and set it to cinder. The next day, Arepo and his sons walked among the wheat, salvaging what they could. The little temple had been strewn across the field, and so when the work was done for the day, Arepo gathered the stones and pieced them back together.

“Useless work,” the god whispered, but came creeping back inside the temple regardless. “There wasn’t a thing I could do to spare you this.”

“We’ll be fine,” Arepo said. “The storm’s blown over. We’ll rebuild. Don’t have much of an offering for today,” he said, and laid down some ruined wheat, “but I think I’ll shore up this thing’s foundations tomorrow, how about that?”

The god rattled around in the temple and sighed.

A year passed, and then another. The temple had layered walls of stones, a roof of woven twigs. Arepo’s neighbors chuckled as they passed it. Some of their children left fruit and flowers. And then the Harvest failed, the gods withdrew their bounty. In Arepo’s field the wheat sprouted thin and brittle. People wailed and tore their robes, slaughtered lambs and spilled their blood, looked upon the ground with haunted eyes and went to bed hungry. Arepo came and sat by the temple, the flowers wilted now, the fruit shriveled nubs, Arepo’s ribs showing through his chest, his hands still shaking, and murmured out a prayer.

“There is nothing here for you,” said the god, hudding in the dark. “There is nothing I can do. There is nothing to be done.” It shivered, and spat out its words. “What is this temple but another burden to you?”

“We -” Arepo said, and his voice wavered. “So it’s a lean year,” he said. “We’ve gone through this before, we’ll get through this again. So we’re hungry,” he said. “We’ve still got each other, don’t we? And a lot of people prayed to other gods, but it didn’t protect them from this. No,” he said, and shook his head, and laid down some shriveled weeds on the altar. “No, I think I like our arrangement fine.”

“There will come worse,” said the god, from the hollows of the stone. “And there will be nothing I can do to save you.”

The years passed. Arepo rested a wrinkled hand upon the temple of stone and some days spent an hour there, lost in contemplation with the god.

And one fateful day, from across the wine-dark seas, came War.

Arepo came stumbling to his temple now, his hand pressed against his gut, anointing the holy site with his blood. Behind him, his wheat fields burned, and the bones burned black in them. He came crawling on his knees to a temple of hewed stone, and the god rushed out to meet him.

“I could not save them,” said the god, its voice a low wail. “I am sorry. I am sorry. I am so so sorry.” The leaves fell burning from the trees, a soft slow rain of ash. “I have done nothing! All these years, and I have done nothing for you!”

“Shush,” Arepo said, tasting his own blood, his vision blurring. He propped himself up against the temple, forehead pressed against the stone in prayer. “Tell me,” he mumbled. “Tell me again. What sort of god are you?”

“I -” said the god, and reached out, cradling Arepo’s head, and closed its eyes and spoke.

“I’m of the fallen leaves,” it said, and conjured up the image of them. “The worms that churn beneath the earth. The boundary of forest and of field. The first hint of frost before the first snow falls. The skin of an apple as it yields beneath your teeth.” Arepo’s lips parted in a smile.

“I am the god of a dozen different nothings,” it said. “The petals in bloom that lead to rot, the momentary glimpses. A change in the air -” Its voice broke, and it wept. “Before it’s gone.”

“Beautiful,” Arepo said, his blood staining the stones, seeping into the earth. “All of them. They were all so beautiful.”

And as the fields burned and the smoke blotted out the sun, as men were trodden in the press and bloody War raged on, as the heavens let loose their wrath upon the earth, Arepo the sower lay down in his humble temple, his head sheltered by the stones, and returned home to his god.

sameenbyhat

Sora found the temple with the bones within it, the roof falling in upon them.

“Oh, poor god,” she said, “With no-one to bury your last priest.” Then she paused, because she was from far away. “Or is this how the dead are honored here?” The god roused from its contemplation.

“His name was Arepo,” it said, “He was a sower.”

Sora startled, a little, because she had never before heard the voice of a god. “How can I honor him?” She asked.

“Bury him,” the god said, “Beneath my altar.”

“All right,” Sora said, and went to fetch her shovel.

“Wait,” the god said when she got back and began collecting the bones from among the broken twigs and fallen leaves. She laid them out on a roll of undyed wool, the only cloth she had. “Wait,” the god said, “I cannot do anything for you. I am not a god of anything useful.”

Sora sat back on her heels and looked at the altar to listen to the god.

“When the Storm came and destroyed his wheat, I could not save it,” the god said, “When the Harvest failed and he was hungry, I could not feed him. When War came,” the god’s voice faltered. “When War came, I could not protect him. He came bleeding from the battle to die in my arms.” Sora looked down again at the bones.

“I think you are the god of something very useful,” she said.

“What?” the god asked.

Sora carefully lifted the skull onto the cloth. “You are the god of Arepo.”

stu-pot

Generations passed. The village recovered from its tragedies—homes rebuilt, gardens re-planted, wounds healed. The old man who once lived on the hill and spoke to stone and rubble had long since been forgotten, but the temple stood in his name. Most believed it to empty, as the god who resided there long ago had fallen silent. Yet, any who passed the decaying shrine felt an ache in their hearts, as though mourning for a lost friend. The cold that seeped from the temple entrance laid their spirits low, and warded off any potential visitors, save for the rare and especially oblivious children who would leave tiny clusters of pink and white flowers that they picked from the surrounding meadow.

The god sat in his peaceful home, staring out at the distant road, to pedestrians, workhorses, and carriages, raining leaves that swirled around bustling feet. How long had it been? The world had progressed without him, for he knew there was no help to be given. The world must be a cruel place, that even the useful gods have abandoned, if farms can flood, harvests can run barren, and homes can burn, he thought.

He had come to understand that humans are senseless creatures, who would pray to a god that cannot grant wishes or bless upon them good fortune. Who would maintain a temple and bring offerings with nothing in return. Who would share their company and meditate with such a fruitless deity. Who would bury a stranger without the hope for profit. What bizarre, futile kindness they had wasted on him. What wonderful, foolish, virtuous, hopeless creatures, humans were.

So he painted the sunset with yellow leaves, enticed the worms to dance in their soil, flourished the boundary between forest and field with blossoms and berries, christened the air with a biting cold before winter came, ripened the apples with crisp, red freckles to break under sinking teeth, and a dozen other nothings, in memory of the man who once praised the god’s work on his dying breath.

“Hello, God of Every Humble Beauty in the World,” called a familiar voice.

The squinting corners of the god’s eyes wept down onto curled lips. “Arepo,” he whispered, for his voice was hoarse from its hundred-year mutism.

“I am the god of devotion, of small kindnesses, of unbreakable bonds. I am the god of selfless, unconditional love, of everlasting friendships, and trust,” Arepo avowed, soothing the other with every word.

“That’s wonderful, Arepo,” he responded between tears, “I’m so happy for you—such a powerful figure will certainly need a grand temple. Will you leave to the city to gather more worshippers? You’ll be adored by all.”

“No,” Arepo smiled.

“Farther than that, to the capitol, then? Thank you for visiting here before your departure.”

“No, I will not go there, either,” Arepo shook his head and chuckled.

“Farther still? What ambitious goals, you must have. There is no doubt in my mind that you will succeed, though,” the elder god continued.

“Actually,” interrupted Arepo, “I’d like to stay here, if you’ll have me.”

The other god was struck speechless. “…. Why would you want to live here?”

“I am the god of unbreakable bonds and everlasting friendships. And you are the god of Arepo.”

corancoranthemagicalman

I reblogged this once with the first story. Now the story has grown and I’m crying. This is gorgeous, guys. This is what dreams are made of.

threefeline

writing-prompt-s

This is amazing!

#☆ MOON.#☆ QUEUE ARE MY SUNSHINE.

starburstdragon

I’m on my phone rn but my friend has been inundating me with polythieves and aroace Futaba content so I thought of this

#☆ MOON.#<- is a futaba kinnie #and therefore i say #yeah p much #www #☆ QUEUE ARE MY SUNSHINE.

diycraftsnmore

#☆ MOON.#☆ RECIPES.#not technically a recipe but ww

kazarinn

mothy_AkunoP (@mothy_akuno)

(x) I ended up locked in my bathroom for two hours. No, seriously, it was really scary.

(x) Once I got home, the air conditioner was off and the room was hot, so I was in my briefs, and I had to go to the bathroom, so there I was, but then when I was finished I tried to get out, and…“Huh? The door’s not opening…”

(x) The door wasn’t opening no matter how much I turned the knob. The bathroom’s getting really hot now. I was all alone in the house. I was half-naked, my phone wasn’t with me, and I couldn’t call the police or management…I seriously thought I was gonna die.

(x) Everyone’s gonna die at some point. That’s just an inevitability. But who on earth would want to die from being trapped in the bathroom at the brink of summer? “A Vocaloid producer was found dead after being trapped in the bathroom” making the news would make you a laughingstock all the way up to the afterlife. So I figured, I gotta get out of here somehow.

(x) So I sat down on the toilet seat and gathered my thoughts. Well, there’s tap water in the toilet, so I’m not gonna die of dehydration. And today’s Friday. During the evening my co-op association is supposed to come down to deliver food ingredients. So if worse comes to worst, I could ask them for help.

(x) I got locked in at around 12 PM, and I’d have to wait for around four hours for the co-op. It’s hot. I’m sweating. I’m using the toilet faucet to wash my hands so I can cool down even for a little. There’s no clock in here so I have no idea how much time has passed, so I’m waiting for the clock chimes.

(x) (I’m writing this in advance because I seem to be worrying people, but I’ve already gotten out. I’m writing this on Twitter now because I didn’t have my phone with me in the bathroom, so I really wasn’t able to call for help back then.)

(x) While I’m waiting, I suddenly realize. Right now, in my room, there’s a sort of lewd doujinshi that a friend gave me at an event. If I call for help, someone’s gonna see that. Of course, it’s better than dying, but…

(x) …yeah, okay, let’s leave that as a last resort. Let’s try escaping on my own for now…so I tried shaking the doorknob again. Still not working. Maybe something’s wrong with the knob itself. But there’s nothing in the bathroom that I can use to fix it.

(x) All right, I figured, I’ll just have to use the power of a man in his prime! So I hurled my body against the door with my shoulder. Nothing. Not quite what the movies or TV would tell you.

(x) So I keep trying to beat up the door with everything I’ve got. I end up making a crack in the wood. “Oh, it’s working?!” I thought, and kept smacking it with my fist. Finally, I got a hole open in the door. But…I couldn’t see the outside. The veneer of the door had two layers, and I’d only gotten the inner one.

(x) The outer layer is harder than the inner one, so I wasn’t able to break it open with just my fist. I was tired, so I sat down on the toilet seat. My fist was bleeding, and I was starting to get hungry. Incidentally, I hadn’t had lunch yet. It was turning into a game of me and my own physical abilities.

(x) So if I couldn’t use my hands, I’d just have to use my foot. But the hole I opened with my fist was fairly high and reaching it with my foot was tricky. I figured I had no other choice, so I kicked the bottom of the door and opened a new hole. I only got the inner layer again, but it was much easier than it was with my fist, so I figured this would be doable.

(x) I kept kicking it with everything I had…and finally, I got the outer layer to crack! One more time. I got a little hole at the bottom of the door. It was one thing to finally be able to see outside from the bathroom, but I was relieved just getting the air conditioner to come in.

(x) I used my hands to open up the hole further, and got it wide enough to get a person through. I went through the hole while trying not to get my back pricked on the wood splinters. Finally, I got back to my beloved room. I’m back. I’ve finally defeated it!

(x) So now there’s a big hole in the door…While assessing the damage, I tried turning the doorknob from the outside. The door opened wide. Seems like the problem was just in the knob itself. So with the door open, I kept turning the knob to see how it was working.

(x) …And then I suddenly realized something. While the door was open, I put a hand on the inner doorknob. The one that hadn’t worked no matter how many times I’d tried to turn it. There was no response if I turned it to the left…

(x) …but when I carefully turned it to the right, it stuck a bit, but the knob easily turned…so all I’d needed to do was turn it the other way!!

(x) And that’s how I learned the hard way that when placed in extreme situations, people end up losing their ability to make rational decisions…So while I was drinking mineral water that I’d gotten from the fridge, I had to face the grave mistake I’d made…faced with a giant hole that I’d busted in the door. (The End)

(x) Well, you see, the bathroom doorknob is normally supposed to turn in both directions, but I’d gotten myself into the habit of only turning it to the left, so it seems like its ability to turn left just happened to get busted.

(x) But now there’s a giant hole in the bathroom door, so I’ll never be trapped again! (Positive thinking)

(x) Today’s take-home messages -Take your phone with you wherever you go, no matter what -Keep your doujinshi out of sight -Living alone sucks

#☆ MOON.#☆ QUEUE ARE MY SUNSHINE.#oh my God