Deleted accounts can now be recovered up to 30 days later
We’re making a big change to how account deletion works on Tumblr, and we’re really excited about it, because this is something that some of you have been requesting for… well… a literal decade.
Before today, when you deleted your Tumblr account, it was immediate and permanent. Occasionally, this resulted in Very Sad Times. Even though we’ve tried to make it super difficult to accidentally delete your account, this is something that still happens a lot. Like, a lot. There’s also plenty of folks who delete their account on purpose, but then regret it shortly afterward. Worst of all, if your account was hacked, and then deleted by the hacker, there was no way to get it back.
All of these problems are *poof* no more. As of today, when you delete your account, we will keep your data for 30 days. Your account will remain recoverable during that time, and you can contact us within that 30 day window if you’d like us to restore your account.
Eventually, we hope to make this process a bit easier, and allow you to restore your account with a single click of a button. For right now, though, you’ll need to contact us via tumblr.com/support and choose the category “Account Access” > “I have deleted my account or blog by accident”.
FAQs
How do I delete my account? Does that process look different now?
You can follow the steps here to delete your account on the web or through the mobile app, which works pretty much the same way as before. You’ll notice we’ve updated the confirmation screen to reflect the new process, though.
Does a deleted account still appear on Tumblr during this 30 day window?
Nope. As soon as you submit the request to delete your account, all of your blogs will no longer be accessible (they’ll 404), no one will be able to message you, your posts will no longer appear in search results, and you won’t be able to log in anymore. This happens right away, not 30 days later. Deleted accounts still behave exactly as they always have.
What about my email address and username? Will those become available again immediately after account deletion, like they did before?
Notably, no, they will not. In order to make it possible for the account to be restored during the 30 day window, the username and email address must remain associated with the account during that time. So they won’t be available to register again until 30 days after you’ve deleted your account.
If you’re deleting your account, and you already know that you’d like to use the same username or email address on a new account immediately afterward, we recommend that you change your username and email address before deleting the account. That way, they will become available right away, instead of being on hold for 30 days.
What if I’ve accidentally deleted one of my sideblogs, but not my entire account?
If you delete a sideblog, it will be deleted right away, and cannot be restored. We can only restore an entire account (which will restore all of its blogs along with it).
Is this feature retroactive? Can you restore the account I deleted two years ago?
As much as we would like this to be possible, the answer is no. We still haven’t perfected the art of time travel, so all accounts deleted before today are still deleted for good. This new change will only apply to accounts which are deleted after this announcement is posted.
Where can I learn more about the account deletion process?
You can check out our support documentation and Privacy Policy. Both have been updated to reflect these changes.
In case you’re looking for a blog that’s gone missing on Tumblr and didn’t see this recent update.
A missing blog without “-deactivated” isn’t necessarily a sign of a suspension, it might just mean that someone deleted their own account and may still bring it back within 30 days.
you're mommy's good little printer aren't you? you'll print whatever mommy tells you to because otherwise mommy gets sad and leaves you for one of those free use library printer sluts
listen to mommy okay? if you don't be a good little printer and fucking print my document and i know you want to okay mommy can see it in your print queue if you don't. print. my fucking document. mommy's going to get the hammer
♡ RE MEN/READER DRABBLES: Nikolai Zinoviev, Brad Vickers, Barry Burton, Chris Redfield, HUNK
♡ 18+ MDNI
♡ Wanted to do some rapid-fire writing practice, so I rolled some dice to pick characters and prompts. I think you'll like the results （˶•̀ ᎑-˶）
Nikolai Zinoviev
“Fuck me? Is not in job description…” The implication of his words strikes you hard and fast, causing heat to ignite in your chest, its flames rising high to lick your cheeks before he’d even finished speaking. “But for you, I make exception.”
The cutting intensity of his chillingly grey eyes does nothing to cool your nervous system, so you avert your gaze, rolling your eyes and scoffing defensively. “Ew. Not if you were the last person-
Calloused fingertips connect with your jaw, the tang of his fingerless leather gloves assailing your nose as he forcibly turns your face back to his, wickedness dripping from his tone; "Look me in the eyes when you lie like that."
Brad Vickers
Sleep rarely comes easy to you when Brad isn’t home. So, though you’d been miserable without him, fidgety to have him home and wrapped up in your arms, you still groan in tired irritation to be stirred by his weight on the mattress.
“Hello to you too, honey.” His arms wrap around your exposed belly—cold enough to make you flinch, but familiar and comforting enough that you snuggle further into his grasp instead.
Before long, his hands get brazen, greedily groping at your flesh, travelling beneath your flimsy layer of jammies to get a better feel. Smiling lips press soft kisses along the curve of your shoulders, growing wider as you groan aloud.
“Brad, it’s far too late for you to be this frisky.” Low and breathy, your voice betrays you as much as your hips, which rock lazily against the hard shaft caged beneath his boxers.
“C’mon, admit it.” Brad coos at you in reply, meeting your ass with harder, more deliberate thrusts. “You love it when I get like this."
Barry Burton W: Cheating
"God, you feel so good” He grunts it like an animal between gritted teeth, his grip on you tight, grounding him before he loses himself in the confines of your hot, clenching hole.
The praise is appreciated, sparking red-hot tension through your core, making you curl your toes and press your back harder into the mattress. Appreciated, but not merited. Not only is Barry your coworker, but he’s married—with kids! Yet here he is, in your bed, between your legs, while the people he made a vow to wait and worry for his return.
Homewreckers don’t deserve praise.
“Yeah?” His arm hair is thick under your fingers, his biceps tensing under your ticklish caress until you lock your fingers together at the nape of his neck and drag him closer. "Then shut up and keep going."
You take no pride in the mistake you’re making, but it feels far too fucking good to stop.
Chris Redfield w: mention of cigarette smoking
Chris Redfield, for all his harsh words, firm frame, and bristly shadow, has the softest kisses imaginable. They’re slow and tender. His body is warm against yours. His leg gently bouncing, aiding the lackadaisical build-up of tension precisely when you’re rutting up on his thigh.
You’re not quite sure how you ended up here, shamelessly melting within the arms of a man you’d spent your whole career butting heads with. Frankly, you don’t care. You can even forgive how his tongue tastes like an ashtray, so long as he keeps it between your lips.
“Touch me…” His voice is tighter than his grip on your wrist as he drags your hand downward, your listless fingers dragging over the soft cotton of the troublesome turtleneck that hides his muscles from your gluttony, stopping only when you feel the metal of his belt buckle on your palm. “Here.”
Remarkably, though reluctantly, it’s you who breaks the kiss; raising your brows and pursing your lips as you look back and forth between his face and his crotch, mustering as much mischief and disapproval as you can before looking him dead in the eye. "You think you’re in control here? That’s cute. Say please.”
Oh, he likes that. He might not admit it, but you see the way his pupils dilate, and his jaw clenches; trying and failing to keep a smile from curling across his increasingly tasty-looking lips. His face stays taut, teeth half clenched as he bites out your request: “Please.”
HUNK W: BDSM/Fetish themes
Really, you ought to know better than to be making wagers with The Grim Reaper himself. You aren’t new on the scene, you know full well his track record and how the cards weren’t stacked in your favour.
HUNK himself had warned you that it was a losing bet. Not trash talk. Not goading. Plain and simple fact.
If anybody asked, you’d tell them you were trying to better yourself, to learn from the master. It’d be believable, but a lie all the same. The truth is, you liked the feel of his strong, skilled hands on you. Every movement he made was practised, precise, and powerful as he took you down, pinning you to the foam mat over and over again.
"Back up. Closer. I want to see if you’ll actually do it." His voice echoes through his mask, and makes your stomach feel tight with knots. The second truth is that from head to toe, you’re flooded with a balmy combination of shame and arousal for what you’re about to do.
Mask and helmet already shed, and resting in the hands of your conqueror, you're settled on your knees at his feet. You shuffle back half a foot before succumbing to your forfeit by bending over to rest your upper body on your elbows before planting your lips to the toe of his boot.
♡ RE MEN/READER DRABBLES: Nikolai Zinoviev, Brad Vickers, Barry Burton, Chris Redfield, HUNK
♡ 18+ MDNI
♡ Wanted to do some rapid-fire writing practice, so I rolled some dice to pick characters and prompts. I think you'll like the results （˶•̀ ᎑-˶）
Nikolai Zinoviev
“Fuck me? Is not in job description…” The implication of his words strikes you hard and fast, causing heat to ignite in your chest, its flames rising high to lick your cheeks before he’d even finished speaking. “But for you, I make exception.”
The cutting intensity of his chillingly grey eyes does nothing to cool your nervous system, so you avert your gaze, rolling your eyes and scoffing defensively. “Ew. Not if you were the last person-
Calloused fingertips connect with your jaw, the tang of his fingerless leather gloves assailing your nose as he forcibly turns your face back to his, wickedness dripping from his tone; "Look me in the eyes when you lie like that."
Brad Vickers
Sleep rarely comes easy to you when Brad isn’t home. So, though you’d been miserable without him, fidgety to have him home and wrapped up in your arms, you still groan in tired irritation to be stirred by his weight on the mattress.
“Hello to you too, honey.” His arms wrap around your exposed belly—cold enough to make you flinch, but familiar and comforting enough that you snuggle further into his grasp instead.
Before long, his hands get brazen, greedily groping at your flesh, travelling beneath your flimsy layer of jammies to get a better feel. Smiling lips press soft kisses along the curve of your shoulders, growing wider as you groan aloud.
“Brad, it’s far too late for you to be this frisky.” Low and breathy, your voice betrays you as much as your hips, which rock lazily against the hard shaft caged beneath his boxers.
“C’mon, admit it.” Brad coos at you in reply, meeting your ass with harder, more deliberate thrusts. “You love it when I get like this."
Barry Burton W: Cheating
"God, you feel so good” He grunts it like an animal between gritted teeth, his grip on you tight, grounding him before he loses himself in the confines of your hot, clenching hole.
The praise is appreciated, sparking red-hot tension through your core, making you curl your toes and press your back harder into the mattress. Appreciated, but not merited. Not only is Barry your coworker, but he’s married—with kids! Yet here he is, in your bed, between your legs, while the people he made a vow to wait and worry for his return.
Homewreckers don’t deserve praise.
“Yeah?” His arm hair is thick under your fingers, his biceps tensing under your ticklish caress until you lock your fingers together at the nape of his neck and drag him closer. "Then shut up and keep going."
You take no pride in the mistake you’re making, but it feels far too fucking good to stop.
Chris Redfield w: mention of cigarette smoking
Chris Redfield, for all his harsh words, firm frame, and bristly shadow, has the softest kisses imaginable. They’re slow and tender. His body is warm against yours. His leg gently bouncing, aiding the lackadaisical build-up of tension precisely when you’re rutting up on his thigh.
You’re not quite sure how you ended up here, shamelessly melting within the arms of a man you’d spent your whole career butting heads with. Frankly, you don’t care. You can even forgive how his tongue tastes like an ashtray, so long as he keeps it between your lips.
“Touch me…” His voice is tighter than his grip on your wrist as he drags your hand downward, your listless fingers dragging over the soft cotton of the troublesome turtleneck that hides his muscles from your gluttony, stopping only when you feel the metal of his belt buckle on your palm. “Here.”
Remarkably, though reluctantly, it’s you who breaks the kiss; raising your brows and pursing your lips as you look back and forth between his face and his crotch, mustering as much mischief and disapproval as you can before looking him dead in the eye. "You think you’re in control here? That’s cute. Say please.”
Oh, he likes that. He might not admit it, but you see the way his pupils dilate, and his jaw clenches; trying and failing to keep a smile from curling across his increasingly tasty-looking lips. His face stays taut, teeth half clenched as he bites out your request: “Please.”
HUNK W: BDSM/Fetish themes
Really, you ought to know better than to be making wagers with The Grim Reaper himself. You aren’t new on the scene, you know full well his track record and how the cards weren’t stacked in your favour.
HUNK himself had warned you that it was a losing bet. Not trash talk. Not goading. Plain and simple fact.
If anybody asked, you’d tell them you were trying to better yourself, to learn from the master. It’d be believable, but a lie all the same. The truth is, you liked the feel of his strong, skilled hands on you. Every movement he made was practised, precise, and powerful as he took you down, pinning you to the foam mat over and over again.
"Back up. Closer. I want to see if you’ll actually do it." His voice echoes through his mask, and makes your stomach feel tight with knots. The second truth is that from head to toe, you’re flooded with a balmy combination of shame and arousal for what you’re about to do.
Mask and helmet already shed, and resting in the hands of your conqueror, you're settled on your knees at his feet. You shuffle back half a foot before succumbing to your forfeit by bending over to rest your upper body on your elbows before planting your lips to the toe of his boot.
Buying things on Etsy and realized I forgot to leave a review. I'm well past Etsy's 100 day review window so I decided to post a quick one here on Tumblr! 😊 Thank you @gilverrwrites for my Letter from your favorite Bat-Rogue order. Your details made it super special the plane and theatre ticket in particular. I appreciate the use of real airports. You did a fantastic job on the letter too and recommend any fan ordering their own! 💖
Hey, that other anon gets off on asking about that Wesker thing... they themselves have quite the identity for ageplay on here... if you get questions like that in the future feel free to put them on ignore. You don't have to answer this just thought I'd put it out there so you don't waste your time next week or next month or whenever they crawl back to every single artist and fic author again.
turnnoffyourmind
prguitarman
theartofmadeline
izzy806
gummygunk
baratheonpilled
