I did it
olric/F!farmer smut for me and the other 6 people on the planet who want this
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
trying on a metaphor
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
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TVSTRANGERTHINGS
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year

Origami Around

Love Begins
Not today Justin
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
Jules of Nature

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
EXPECTATIONS
NASA
Show & Tell
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
sheepfilms

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Monterey Bay Aquarium

shark vs the universe
cherry valley forever
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@pselmosian
I did it
olric/F!farmer smut for me and the other 6 people on the planet who want this
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
I've had a lot of different kinds of dreams/nightmares since my little sister died.
At first, anytime I saw her in a dream, I would hold her and start crying. Full bodied, heaving sobs where I woke up feeling faint and out of breath.
The next phase switched between nightmares where I raced around our childhood home frantically searching for her, nightmares in which I screamed at or beat my mother for essentially killing her, and hollow plateaus that felt like purgatory, where I walked through empty facsimiles of the last home we lived in together.
Knowing she was gone, knowing I could have done something to stop her on this path and I didn't. Locked inside the house and unable to leave or wake up, drowning in the memories we made in those broken spaces, understanding I would never reminisce about those inside jokes again.
It's been three years since she died, and I understand what people mean when they say grief never fully goes away.
These last few dreams have been the worst though. They're the most innocuous so far in content, usually in or around our childhood homes. We're playing video games, or someone is cooking dinner, or some other diaphanous dream event that made sense. And I look to my little sister, my best friend and the little girl I essentially raised because our mother was an abusive junkie, and I say some variation of, "Thank God you're alive. Thank goodness that was all a dream and you're still here with me. I don't know what I would do if that was real. If I had to live without you." And we laugh and hug and go on about our business.
The first time I woke up from one of those, I rolled in bed sobbing until I couldn't breathe. What an evil thing for my brain to do to me. What a vile, terrible, awful way for my subconscious to show me my baby sister. But I've kept having them, and I'm sure that says something about me that I'm not ready to look at.
Sometimes I repeat that motion over and over throughout the dream, remembering again and again how great it is to hear her voice, or see her face, or be able to hug her. Other times that part fades into the background of a different dream plot line and I'm left with a nagging feeling that I'm missing something.
Which I remember immediately upon waking up, which is the normal first thing for my mind to flash after I wake up. "YOUR SISTER IS DEAD AND YOU COULD HAVE STOPPED IT" And just like in the dreams, I go about my day. Because that's all I can do.
I've never appreciated my hands more since nearly losing one of them. The world is so fucking difficult to navigate without two hands. I've been disabled for most of my life, but I have a new respect for amputees in particular now. This shit hard):
small town troubles
Even shitty people can teach you lessons.
I love the block button ♡
I was rewatching the lotr making of documentary (as you do when ur really sick) and found this absolutely wild screen grab of Peter Jackson reading this newspaper headline during the filming of Return of the King
using violence to liberate people from sweatshops, unsafe mines, and grinding poverty isn't the same as using violence to impose those things on people. the idea that violence is morally repugnant regardless of context is a belief that every oppressor throughout history would love for the oppressed to hold
Dungeon Melanin 🤎 Afrolatino Designs
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in a way i am my own dead wife
Dolgiye Mountains, Russia by Arseny Kashkarov
too perverted for the normies not perverted enough for the real perverts how am i supposed to make it in this crazy world
alex fans, this is for you!! tumblr gets this early because i'm planning on drawing more of these at once before posting anywhere else :)) exciting stuff
(alex missed his mouth when eating that burger because he was distracted by the movie btw, idk if i made that clear enough lmao)
Olric from Fields of Mistria. Why oh why is the sunshine out of my reach?
we deserve to have media with fat characters that like being fat and that are confident and happy in their fatness and they do not want to change that one bit im being very reasonable here
I think some of the loneliness of autism is that you feel like you hurt people just by Interacting Wrong, but you don’t know how to Interact Right, and the more effort you put into it, the more exhausted you are and the more artificial it comes across (with the end result of people still being upset with you). and it’s not anyone’s fault for not liking Being Interacted With Wrong, and it’s not your fault for doing it so wrong, but it is very, very lonely.