shark vs the universe
DEAR READER
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
Misplaced Lens Cap
PR's Tumblrdome
taylor price
styofa doing anything
Discoholic 🪩
izzy's playlists!
Acquired Stardust
Peter Solarz
Andulka
Sade Olutola
we're not kids anymore.
oozey mess
AnasAbdin
Game of Thrones Daily
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祝日 / Permanent Vacation
seen from Türkiye
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@skincontest
Hi welcome to skincontest,
no actual contests are happening, I’m just a genderfluid lesbian with interests
I am a minor so don’t get weird in my inbox
Im really interested in music, legend of Zelda, Riordanverse, queerness and politics. You will see me post about these. Beware.
how they initially sing Daisy Bell just to mock Zooble only to progressively pay more attention to each other to where by the end they fully focus on having fun with each other is AHDHSHAUXDDCCISHBDBXJ
What’s this guy’s deal
Young people don’t know when I joined this website a decade and a half ago we used to have to walk to the post button and back and it was uphill both ways
Everyone in the notes being like oh yeah the reblog button used to be at the top of the post and you had to scroll back to the top I forgot about that I was just shit posting 😭 how could I forget after my first reblog of Colors of the sky
and of course remember
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teenage coming of age movie where the senior class loser teams up with the most popular girl to throw the biggest rager the school has ever seen. its completely on the loser's dime: money she's saved up for the past four years. throughout the course of the movie, they bond and become close friends, giving insights into both of their lives.
and during the final party, this success, the popular girl looks at her new friend and realizes that she had spent all her money, sold a bunch of her favorite objects, gave away clothing-
"Shit," she says, in the middle of the chaos, in the middle of the flashing lights and bumping beat and friends she's had since middle school. "You're gonna kill yourself."
"Well," the loser says. "Not here. Not now. I just wanted one good night before it's done. One night where I can pretend."
it ends with the popular girl, in the middle of 'her' party, trying to swallow back her tears, make up running-
"I'm going to keep throwing parties, so you better keep coming. They aren't going to be as cool as this one, but they'll all have ice cream cake, so-"
they both laugh.
"-They're gonna be fun as fuck. You gotta come."
And theres a montage, probably the Charli CCX's Party 4 U, despite that being very on the nose. of popular girl standing in the middle of different parties. In the flashing lights, in the middle of dancing, in a crowd, still. waiting. Its different locations, the amount of people dwindles in each one, the lights slowly mellow into just a dim ambient look. The ice cream cake is there, melting in each scene. at the end, she's just sitting on a couch, full cake in front of her. her legs are tucked up on the couch and she's just watching her glass of wine. years have passed. she's an adult now in her own apartment. alone.
and the door opens off screen, keys hit a bowl.
"Hey, sorry I'm late."
love arranged marriage unfortunately. the idea of being married to a knight who's not even in the city, but away on the front lines. it's a benefit for your family, so they dont even question sending you to his home to await his return...
you meet him three months into the arrangement. He arrives after the sun has already set, his features set strong in the candlelight. His body is heavy with exhaustion and tension, his eyes dull and tired.
you've grown to hate this place, this castle gifted to him for war victories. The halls are barren, the garden yet to bloom. The maids are pleasant, but they keep their distance, as if you'll strike. Maybe your husband is the kind to hit. You wouldn't know.
When he looks at you, it's only in short bursts, his eyes suddenly low. There's a long stretch of silence between you and you consider introducing yourself, but decide against it. He knows who you are.
"The maid is drawing me a bath," he says suddenly and a sick feeling pours over you. This day was always coming, but you aren't sure you're ready to lay under a stranger.
"Am I expected to join?" you ask and his nose crinkles.
"No." He steps back and away. His departure is brisk and driven. You retire for the night by yourself and awake alone. Your husband is set to leave again in a few hours; a few soldiers have already gathered in the front garden.
"Don't you wish to give your new wife a goodbye?" one asks, unaware of your open window. "One night and you've already had your fill? Or has she been filled too much?"
"I refuse to believe she is real!" says another. "What kind of woman has worn down our brute and turned him into a family man? Should we expect a gaggle of children in the upcoming year?"
Your husband growls. "You will leave the poor lamb alone. She suffers enough."
That softens you. Just a bit. You rise from you bed and go to the window, leaning out enough to catch the men's attention.
"Until next time."
He watches you, expression caught between more emotions that you can count, then turns his gaze back to his mount. The two men share a look, wide, wide grins on their faces.
"Until next time," he repeats back.
In his absence, he sends gifts. They are tiny things, sweets and oiled combs and scented oils and a porcelain figure of a cat, aimless in their direction towards you. Just simple niceties he could give to any woman in the world. You imagine he sends one to the lovers he has in every city as well.
(he must have lovers, you imagine. He hasn't touched you; he must be getting his fill with women in other cities, maybe women he actually loves. these are trinkets to keep his wife amused while she wastes away.)
none of the gifts come with a note.
one day a bolt of fabric arrives, yellow and ornate. It's only a small amount, not enough to make a dress, but enough for you to unravel and admire. It's beautiful and clearly expensive, golden threads woven into flowers and vines. Your father was a silk merchant; while you never wore the silks, you can recognize their quality.
the following week, the delicious man rides up on his steeds and presents a letter. The handwriting is rough. Knights that come from the lower class do not have the schooling of highborns; as fair as you know, your husband was born a street rat and worked his way theough the ranks to glory.
-I have been told by my secund that I did not send you enuf fabric for a gown. I do not no these things.
The spelling mistakes screw a smile out of you.
"Wait a moment." You stop the boy before he can leave. "I wish to send something back."
You take your time and use your finest calligraphy, tucking your note in with a handkerchief you had spent the week on. It's fine work-- one that would please even the hardest of hearts.
-Dearest husband,
Please take this handkerchief as a sign of my thoughts.
Your patient and thoughtful wife
A second letter arrives within the week.
-are you cros with me? A scrap of fabric for a scrap of fabric?
The response is what makes you cross. The poor messenger boy has to stay the night while you percolate over a response.
-Dearest, sweetest husband,
A handkerchief is a traditional gesture of affection. I have embroidered the edges by hand, with your family name and your roses, and it smells of my perfume. It is a piece of me for you to carry. If you do not appreciate my kindness or if you think it will turn away your lovers, you may return it. I do not wish it wasted on you.
Your less than patient and less than adoring wife
The poor boy scatters off in the morning and returns a few days later.
tortured wife,
I wil cherish it. I am sory, pour lam. I wil do better.
your loving husband
so the thing about my family is that we have two ancestors on my dad’s side who were buried in france, where I currently live. one died in the spanish civil war, and one died prior doing…we don’t know what. but he somehow managed to get buried in père lachaise.
so anyhow, my gran sends me a message like “pls put flowers on ur uncle samuel’s grave because he’s gone over a century with none and it will make the ghost mad if he hasn’t already” because my family spends time in europe but never long enough to go all the way to père lachaise and give ya boy samuel jr. his death rites. so im like “ok gran I can do that” bc im a good grandson and you do not fuck with gran she doesn’t DESERVE THAT
i figure out which plot he’s on and ask someone specifically where you can find uncle samuel jr. and they tell me where and so I arrive at the junction and.
HE GONE.
WHERE DID YOU GO UNCLE SAMUEL.
*celine dion’s smash hit “my heart will go on” playing in the distance*
in other words either someone stole my entire great great uncle samuel or he has risen again, ready to party in paris for all of eternity.
You’re pretty chill about a corpse disappearing.
My guy, my dude, he’s been dead since 1851. He could be anywhere. He does what he wants.
What a way to learn you have a Vampire in the family.
Uncle Samuel
He destroyed his grave
yes
YES
The uncle is out
if Dr. Captain Ryland Grace doesn’t win the tumblr sexyman contest i’m gonna-
My gender is Homosexula
And they’re all Vlad
Reblogging this manually. Op doesn't want credit for fear of being terminated.
fix the past
build the future
"Bloodymary is fucking peak!!" I scream at the enraged mob, hollering at me to die.
"He's right!" A voice echoes from the back of the crowd.
I raise my head- Markiplier from YouTube is smiling at me.
hey twin are you okay? your leitmotif is being played by a string instrument
"I'm fine..."
*music changes key*
*battle motif starts playing*
"DON'T LIE TO ME TWIN!! WHAT'S WRONG?!!"
*motif solos on a piano*
“this is the end of the line, twin.”
*piano solo fades into epic guitar rendition*
"Not if I have anything to do with it, twin" *swings sword*
idk why people are still trying to do "hear me out"s on tumblr
you could talk about wanting to fuck the space needle on here and people would still call you a poser for insisting on fucking "conventionally attractive architecture" as if that's a coherent, easily-recognizable category
I want to fuck Antoni Gaudi's unbuilt Hotel Attraction skyscraper design
"hear me out" and it's a picture of the most fuckable building you've ever seen. c'mon now.
“hear me out” and it’s the fucking dildopolis
This one’s for the tumblrinas
lets make cookies guys!
Sugar
Butter
Eggs
Flour
Salt
Baking powder
Vanilla extract
Chocolate chips
Achievement Available:
C'Mon, You Know You Wanna...
Do it. Click that button. You know which one.
yes, India made legal gender change impossible but the doctor down the street who gives me my T shots in a clinic so small that it's just two rooms was excited for me when she said my voice had dropped yes, India made legal gender change impossible but the receptionist who could see that I was a man didn't bat an eyelash when I asked to see the gynecologist and called me sir when he asked how I wanted to pay yes, India made legal gender change impossible but the barber cuts my hair exactly how I want it and never gave me strange looks for being in a men's salon not even back when I didn't pass as one
yes, India made legal gender change impossible but my friends have always gendered me correctly and stick to it even when it confuses other people and my friend's little sibling calls me older brother in Kannada yes, India made legal gender change impossible but my dog learned my new name quicker than the humans and she runs to give me a kiss when she's told to without being confused about who's being referred to
yes, India made legal gender change impossible but I can feel the Adam's apple growing in my throat and my muscles getting stronger, and my smile more real and I'm growing a beard, and I talk more freely
yes, India made legal gender change impossible but I'm here, and I'm alive, and so are you and there are good people, people who care and don't let them make you forget that-- you are not alone.
