#I hope this week gets better lol

[cilantroodon]

Silk, Oasis, Nail Lacquer, 1975 :)

silk; what outfit makes you feel confident?

a tough question lately! I've been super dysphoric these past few weeks so really nothing but Hiding in Huge Blanket has worked; however typically I feel most confident in tactical/practical clothes. I love a fun outfit but I don't think confidence is what they bring to the table. when carrying a hammer, two rolls of bags, a sandwich, a journal, a spare hat, three rings of keys, gloves and handwarmers, and a gait belt in my pockets won't cut it it's time to fake it until I make it. behold!

oasis; dream destination?

I'd really like to go to Argentina one day, but honestly I'm super excited about the trip I'm taking with my family soon. you'll have to find out where that is after it stops being a beacon to my location! I'm stoked :D

nail laquer; punk or pastel?

I like punk music and rococo fashion... where does this land me?

1975; if you could time travel to any time period, what would it be and why?

I know it would create a rift, but if we forget about that and pretend everything is safe, I'd like to see my future kids and find out what mistakes I should avoid as a parent. it stresses me out and I'm not even close to having kids! I don't even know if I want them! everyone grows up so messily and I don't know if I can take that on....

[esaari]

[fbfh]

leo with baby fever? 🥹

i've always wondered what would he be like with babies of his own? 🥹💞

AAAAUGH. thank you for this one my dearest darlingest tumblr user pdlrnjlm. I'm violently sobbing over this one /pos. also excuse any egregious typos, I just woke up from a dream where my dyslexic ass couldn't spell "chris evans fine" to the point that autocorrect was beyond useless (and probably laughing at me).

ANYWAY. Leo with baby fever is... lethal. as previously stated, Leo is the motherfucking ceo of "one wouldn't hurt" but he sounds so... convincing when he says it. he says it so sweetly you start to think huh. maybe one wouldn't hurt. within a day or two his fyp is just cute baby fever inducing videos. he casually learns everything there is to know about child development and parenting in a matter of days. he starts treating your cat like a baby, talking to them and holding them on his lap while he works and good GOD if it doesn't start to hit you too. The tension and soul aching need to see you all big and preggers with his baby, your baby that you made together is almost too much. Then one fatal day, you run out of clean pajamas. It’s laundry day, and the only comfy thing you have on hand is a floral mumu from walmart that looks like something a grandma would wear, but you’re desperate and it’s soft and loose and comfy. So Leo, after spending hours rotting his brain with baby thoughts and thinking about how nice it’ll be to be a dad and how fulfilling it’ll be to come home and see a wrinkly little newborn having tummy time on your chest while you’re both half asleep to barrio sesamo playing on the tv. After a full day of ruminating on that, he comes home and sees you in your floral lil granny nightgown and good GOD something inside him snaps. You have this man feeling you up, snarling and growling, purring in you ear before he bites it. Something has gotten into him and taken full control of the primal part of his brain. And let’s be real here. You might as well consider yourself pregnant from the first “c’mon estrella, one or two couldn’t hurt… they’re so little, you won’t even notice them.” into your neck while he hugs you from behind. But yeah. Leo with baby fever is so simultaneously sweet cute fluffy domestic and rearrange your guts at the same time that it’s kind of inevitable. If Leo kisses your neck and rubs your tummy and says “you’d look so cute pregnant, baby…” you’re gonna fold. You have to. No one can resist that. And who would want to????

[icewindandboringhorror]

Just curious what the average level of personal investment in these sorts of things is. Like, how much do people usually get into silly stuff like this their friends ask of them? etc. etc. Which I know, only surveying a small sample on a very specific website means I'm not getting an exact average idea lol, but.. curious nonetheless .. Maybe reblog for bigger sample size but also this is not very serious at all/not worth a call to action gbhjbhjb

[bigmammallama5]

ok now that im not full of 2500mg of antibiotic a day ill actually get some fun stuff done. i have so much i wanna do.

[astrobei]

Something’s wrong.

It’s a quiet afternoon in Will’s room. Mike is here, and this simple fact should be taking precedence over all else. It would be, on any other day — a day where it wasn’t off-puttingly quiet outside. On any other day, it would be all he could focus on.

Not that it’s not important. Mike is here, sprawled haphazardly across him, limbs akimbo like he couldn’t even be bothered to right himself before the need to bodily press every square inch of himself up against Will’s torso suddenly overtook him. It’s endearing, is what it is, even though Mike’s feet are dangling off the side of Will’s bed — they’re getting too tall to be able to lie down like this, side by side and taking up all the room they could possibly want. He’s got his cheek pressed up against Will’s sternum, arms wrapped so tight around Will’s stomach and lower back that it’s bordering on uncomfortable.

Endearing. It’s endearing, the need for proximity. The need for closeness, for touch, for reassurance. Mike wasn’t like this before. Not to this degree, at least. Will pretended to be annoyed by it at first, but the façade hadn’t even lasted a day before he cracked. He needs it too, and they both know it — the rhythmic push and pull of Mike’s breathing. Feeling Mike’s heart beat steadily against his own, separated by a meager few inches of blood and muscle and bone. The kinesthetic weight of a body against his own, grounding him on his off days — days where his pulse is perpetually panicked and off-kilter, threatening to fly away entirely, rendered unsuccessful only by the shape of Mike’s shoulder blades under his palm. The cotton of his flannel button-down, worn soft with use.

Grounding things. Real things. Safe things.

It’s a quiet afternoon. Mike’s foot twitches, suddenly and gently against where it’s pressed up against the line of Will’s calf.

It’s a quiet afternoon, and Will feels off, down to his bones.

Mike might be falling asleep.

Will smiles, hides it in the soft curtain of Mike’s hair where it’s brushing over his neck. Cups a hand around the back of his head and wraps his other arm around his shoulder — tighter, tighter, like Mike might just get up and walk away if he doesn’t. For all his pretending, Will is like this too, now: desperate, a little needy, selfish in small, ordinary ways. Too quick to worry when a call goes unanswered. Too quick to fuss over cuts and scrapes and bruises. He hugs too tight and he kisses too hard and he gets unsettled by quiet, calm afternoons.

He wasn’t ever like that before.

Mike twitches again — so delicately that it’s almost like an afterthought — then his arms tighten around Will’s midriff.

That feels intentional. Even if it hadn’t been. Things with Mike feel intentional. Purposeful.

Even if he is — you know. Asleep, a little.

Will’s room is comfortably warm; the late summer sun has been hiding lately, and the sky isn’t blue, exactly but at least it’s not red anymore — dark and rolling and angry. It’s still, and it’s quiet, and it’s peaceful for the first time in a long time — a long time—

—and still, something’s wrong.

“Will?”

Mike shifts, just slightly, just enough to lean his head against Will’s collarbone and look up at him. He catches the edge of Mike’s expression like it’s a secret, a glimpse of wide eyes, a little confused.

Will peers down at him. “Go back to sleep.”

“I wasn’t,” Mike says, even as he blinks heavily. He rolls out his ankle, bumps it against Will’s and keeps it there, stretches long and languid, lazy, like he has all the time in the world. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Will says. If Mike stays like this, if he doesn’t look up any farther, maybe he can get away with it.

Mike doesn’t sound convinced. “You sure?” he mumbles, rubbing at his eyes with one hand and pushing himself up, just enough to be able to look at Will better. “You seemed…”

He trails off. Will tucks a stray strand of hair back behind Mike’s ear, from where it had been falling loose and down into his eyes. “I’m sure,” he murmurs. “Go back to sleep.”

“I wasn’t asleep!”

“You were,” Will laughs. “You were twitching. Like a cat.”

“I don’t twitch,” Mike insists, then pauses. “Do I?”

“Sometimes,” Will admits, then presses a kiss to the top of Mike’s head. “When you’re really tired. I think it’s cute.”

“Stop,” Mike mumbles, but he lowers his head back to Will’s chest. “So mean to me.”

“I called you cute!”

“Mean,” Mike says, sounding like he’s halfway back to sleep already as he snakes an arm back around Will’s chest, hand resting lightly on the side of his throat, just over his jaw. He tangles their legs together, the sheets going wrinkled and bunched up under them. “So mean.”

Will smiles. “Sorry,” he whispers. He glances down at the mess of black hair in front of his face, runs a careful hand through it. Again, and again, and again. Mike makes a small noise, content and pleased, and presses in closer, like he’s trying to vanquish whatever minute semblance of space might have been left between them. “I won’t be mean again.”

It’s a joke, obviously. Still, Will traces apologetic circles into Mike’s back, into the gentle dip between his shoulders. He maps out the planes there, tries to commit them to memory by touch alone, the way he can feel Mike breathe in — slow, hesitant — and then out again — faster, like he’s collapsing back into Will’s body.

The circles give way to shapes, any that Will can think of. Then lines, curved and looping around his shoulder blades, his upper arms. He trails fingers up the back of Mike’s neck, where the cotton of his shirt gives way to a more organic warmth, and scrapes his fingernails lightly against the skin there. Drops another delicate kiss to the sliver of Mike’s forehead where his hair is parted as it falls around his face.

Mike lets out another pleased noise, half-coherent and probably involuntary, and his hand twitches lightly on Will’s jaw. Will bites back a smile, and stares straight up at the ceiling.

Will was never good at this before either — taking the things he wants. Letting himself have things he wants. Something is turning over in his gut, warm and viscous and slow, with each moment of touch he lets himself have, in this newfound, selfish way — through Mike’s hair, down his arms and back up again. Over his back, his shoulders, trailing fingers up his cheeks. He rubs circles into Mike’s temples, watches his brows unfurrow — for once in his life — and his expression go slack with contentment. He wants to touch the corners of Mike’s mouth too, where they’ve turned downwards, vulnerable, half-pressed into Will’s shirt.

He does. He can.

It’s a novel thing, for him, having someone be this close. Having someone be this close just because they want to be, because they trust you.

Will doesn’t know what to make of that. He’s never felt this before, the urge to hold someone so close that all the bad things go away. The urge to touch, the urge to lie here until entropy takes them.

There are no bad things anymore, though. It’s a quiet afternoon, and it’s calm, and it’s peaceful, and—

Will stops.

His hand stills on Mike’s back.

Oh, he thinks, still looking up at the ceiling. Oh.

“Will?” Mike stirs again, and he’d definitely been right on the precipice of sleep this time, judging by the way his voice is dragging on the single syllable. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Will whispers, a little incredulously, as realization dawns upon him. He wants to laugh. He wants to cry too, a little bit. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m great.”

Mike taps a slow finger against Will’s cheek and peers carefully up at him. “What is it?

“I,” Will starts, then stops. He’ll sound ridiculous if he says it. Ridiculous and pathetic and— “Nothing,” he says anyway, despite every molecule of better judgment in his body. “I’m just— I’m happy.”

Mike pauses. “Oh,” he says simply, cheek still pressed to Will’s chest. He sounds a little caught off-guard, in a good way. “I— that’s good. That you’re happy.”

The weird feeling in Will’s gut bubbles up, up, and over. “Yeah,” he says quietly, trying to keep his voice even. “I am. You make me happy.”

At this, Mike looks up. His expression is a bit startled, like a deer in headlights. “What?”

Oh, god. Will swallows. He looks back up. “I just,” he says, “I’ve never— I’m happy. And I don’t know when— I don’t know if I’ve ever. Been this happy before, I mean. Before everything. Before—”

You, he thinks. He doesn’t say it, but it goes implied.

Mike is silent.

The weird feeling starts settling back into Will’s stomach, slow and steady like molasses. Shit. That was, objectively, probably a weird thing to say. It was, right?

Oh, god.

Will blinks, once, twice, thrice in quick succession, and keeps his stare fixed on the ceiling.

“Will,” Mike says at last, from somewhere below him. He lifts his head off of Will’s chest, tufts of black hair swimming into view. “Can you— can you look at me, please?”

Oh, god.

Will looks down. “Yeah?”

Mike looks— wondrous, maybe, which is a bit dramatic, but it’s true. “Really?” he asks, and he doesn’t sound freaked out or anything, which is a good sign, but— “I do?”

“Yeah,” Will whispers. “You do. Like, really happy.”

Happy seems a bit diminutive, if Will’s being honest. Whatever this feeling is runs much deeper than that — past contentment and comfort and satisfaction. Ease, maybe. Safety would be closer.

He doesn’t say any of that.

Mike’s cheeks flush a brilliant pink. He splays his palm across Will’s cheek and asks, in mild disbelief, “Is that what was bothering you?”

“It wasn’t bothering me,” Will says quietly, tugging at Mike’s wrist and sitting up, just slightly, leaning back against one elbow. “I’m fine.”

“You weren’t,” Mike says simply, and lets himself be moved. “I could tell. I just— I thought it was something, you know. Worse.”

“What?” Will laughs, and Mike’s expression softens in relief. “Like what?”

“I don’t know!” Mike exclaims, but he’s smiling too. “I just— I could tell, and I didn’t— I don’t know. Never mind.”

Will pushes a strand of hair behind Mike’s ear again, the same one that had been falling back out the entire time they’d been lying together. “I’m sorry if you worried,” he says quietly. “I just— I didn’t know what it was. I’ve never been this happy before.”

“Will,” Mike starts, expression earnest and searching. He opens his mouth and closes it again.

“Sorry,” Will adds, for good measure. Maybe Mike is, like, totally freaked out. “No pressure, or anything.”

“Don’t apologize,” Mike says immediately, frowning. “Never apologize. I just— I’m happy too. You make me happy. Really happy.”

“Well that’s good,” Will jokes, but it comes out halfhearted. “I should hope I’m not making you sad.”

Mike rolls his eyes. “Will.”

“Sorry,” he says on instinct, then immediately bites down on his lower lip. “I mean. Yes. Yeah.”

Mike gives him a look, exasperated and a little fond. “I mean,” he says, then leans forward, all the way back into Will’s space, “you make me happy too. I don’t know when I’ve been— me too, I mean. Me too.”

“Oh,” Will breathes out, in awe, a little bit, of a lot of things — the deepening flush across Mike’s cheek, the ease with which the admission comes tumbling out of his mouth. The simple reciprocity of it bowls him over, like maybe Mike thinks about this, when Will doesn’t know — just how happy Will makes him. “Okay.”

Mike eyes dart between his own. “That all you have to say?” he teases. “Okay?”

“What else do you want me to say?” Will asks, teasing back, a little, but also asking a little truthfully. He’s not the greatest with words, but he’s also not stupid — he understands the implications, here, of what it means to feel so happy around someone that it feels like you’re admitting to something bigger by just saying it. He knows what he’s implying, and he knows Mike is picking up on it, but he doesn’t know how to put that into words — the way his soul feels like it’s stilled inside of him, somewhere, no longer restless or jittery or perpetually keyed up.

He wonders if Mike feels like that too.

The thought, suddenly, is too much.

“Nothing,” Mike says, after a moment. He pauses, then presses a fleeting kiss to Will’s cheek. “Nothing.”

“Mike,” Will says, suddenly, then grabs a hold of Mike’s wrist again. “I— you know that I—”

He feels overwhelmed, a little frantic. He’s sure it’s coming through in his voice. The rest of the sentence hangs there, suspended in midair between the two of them.

Love you, Will thinks. I love you. I love you.

He needs Mike to know.

Mike can’t ever know.

He looks away again, like maybe Mike will be able to tell exactly what he’s thinking just by looking at him.

“Yeah,” Mike is saying. “It’s okay, Will. I know. Me too. Obviously.”

Will relaxes. Thank god for plausible deniability. “Okay,” he says instead, feeling a smile split wide and exhilarated across his face. He feels like he just ran a marathon, and it isn’t until he lies back down that he feels it. The adrenaline, sweet and thick and palpable in his veins. “Okay. Cool.”

“Cool,” Mike echoes, then settles back down on top of him. “Yeah. Cool.”

Will tucks his chin over the top of Mike’s head, running a soothing hand over Mike’s hair. His heart is beating so fast that he’s sure Mike is able to tell. “Go back to sleep,” he says quietly. Mike lets out a noise that might be a laugh, and tucks his face into Will’s neck.

It’s a quiet afternoon. Everything feels perfectly right.

[charcarts]

Here was my entry for the 2023 Digimon Illustration Competition; I had a lot of fun drawing Agumon having a yummbi treat! Sadly didn't make it past round 1, but congratulations to everyone who did :D

[woundedheartwithin]

Back on my meds, making a damn decent paycheck despite how many days I had to take off this month, my mom’s feeling better now that she’s home and we’ve figured everything out, our neighbor’s gonna build us a wheelchair ramp for cheap, and my dad miiiiiiiiight be buying a new car as we speak 🤞 (my mom just can’t get into the truck anymore, and she hasn’t wanted to drive her two seater for a while now, so we’re trading it for something practical). Things are finally going fairly well, all things considered ❤️

[flokali]

Hi… sorry for dying again;; turns out my psychiatrist made a huge oopsie and gave me a bunch of sleeping pills that ended fucking my schedule for months and I had to go to a new doctor to get them checked out and only now (ish) I’ve been able to regain a little bit of self control over my schedule and what not… I’m super sorry for dipping but I haven’t really had the energy to even wake up past 3PM most days with how heavily medicated I was up until like last week;; I didn’t say anything because I didn’t wanna sound like a crybaby or like I was making excuses and I legitimately thought I was the issue but turns out taking like 2 types of sleeping pills in the morning is not good ? I won’t go into any more detail since it’s kinda useless and no one is really here for updates about me but hopefully with new meds and a better schedule (which I’m working on !! I’ve gone from sleeping at 6AM and waking up in the afternoon to sleeping at 12-3AM and waking up a little earlier!!) I’ll be more consistent once more :’)

[mobius-m-mobius]

I find it so funny that Owen's creative process really is just: 1. Be handed a sandbox, sometimes already good, sometimes subpar. 2. Say, I can make this little guy so much better. 2.5. Actor's prayer. 3. Ad-lib on set and blow everyone away. 4. Refuse to elaborate. 5. Leave. What do you mean he has to explain his """acting choices"""? They all come to him in a moment of brilliant improv, isn't that enough? Aren't you having fun? You should be! *bikes away*

Anon you've summed up his entire dynamic in a way that's about to make it impossible for the entire world not to fall desperately in love with him as we speak, but hopefully for his peace of mind and probably ours too things don't get that far 😂💖

Honestly his mind and approach to acting amaze me more and more each day and after becoming a fan and learning more about him I was genuinely shocked there isn't more general discussion about how naturally talented and hardworking he is?? Which probably has a lot to do with him being the type who doesn't like to call attention to himself or play the press game but I always find myself hoping he really does know how incredible he is since everyone who interacts with him on and off camera is left in awe of what he brings to a production and makes a point of mentioning his unique perspective is responsible for the best parts of everything he works on.

Also can I just add it's not only his improv in the moment that impresses me but how carefully he crafts a backstory for his characters?? This goes back to him constantly improving the sandbox and we don't get to hear as many details as I'd like but it's often mentioned he shows up with scripts noted with novels his characters could like/relate to, past jobs that suit them, literary passages relating to their state of mind, etc, and so on which is so cool and again not mentioned enough that he seriously puts time and effort into expanding the universes his characters live in simply because he loves telling stories and is one of the best to ever do so in my opinion 🥰

Then on top of all that he wraps then rides his bike into the sunset while the sound of radio silence echos until we inevitably see him weeks later picking flowers or grabbing a newspaper or some green juice in some random town like the example of living your best life that he is, truly couldn't ask for anyone better!

[piplupod]

so there's a trans woman who goes to the centre and everyone calls her by her birthname which she is like... fine with but only because she has no choice but to be fine about it. anyways I've known her for a while through a trans group before the centre so I asked her today if she'd rather I call her by her birthname or her chosen name and she said she prefers her chosen name but I can call her by her birthname if I want and oh my god I was about to cry for her bc god I really feel that whole situation fjdkdl, I just told her "no I WANT to call you by the name you prefer, that's why I'm asking, I want to make sure it's safe for you if I call you [preferred name]" and she seemed so grateful and I'm just :') eeurrgghh i hate how we have to be grateful with crumbs !!!

its just absolutely wild to me that she's presenting femininely and wears skirts and dresses and everything and uses her preferred name when she writes her name down on stuff and yet everyone at the centre calls her by her birthname and he/him pronouns. like. how are people so fucking rude and oblivious ??? she's even worn a she/her pronoun pin to the centre like.... people are so fucking stupid about trans people I stg.

idk I'm just hoping to make her feel a bit more comfortable and maybe if I start calling her by the right name and pronouns then everyone else will too eventually because I know she doesnt feel safe correcting people. I'm not going to make a big thing of it obviously bc I don't want to put her in danger but I will be using the correct name and pronouns now that I've double-checked with her about it, and if I start feeling like it's making things worse for her then I'll check in with her again at that point. I've honestly been stumbling trying to use he/him for her when I mention her to other ppl because she is just... she/her in my brain. it's what I know she wants to use so it feel fucking awful to use anything else !!!

[deus-ex-mona]

the times that lxl acted like a married couple

and the one time they were actually married

[soundlessdragon]

Exercised 1 (one) time and am bedridden

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[bsaka7]

pressed bc was on my run today such a perfect day having a great time nice and easy but my HR was high enough that i actually started feeling it and was feeling so off that i stopped at 4 and walked the rest of the way home.... I probably overdid it a little bit yesterday (run + bike) given i did run a half at probably 85% effort on saturday and the marathon 2.5weeks ago but rlly I've been feeling totally fine!!!! but i also don't rlly want to mess up my recovery or comeback or whatever so obvi good to take it easy.... Anyway I'm gonna go rake leaves to appreciate the fall weather but everyone just know i am IRRITATED BY THIS!!!!!!! I just wanna run around!!!!!!!!!!

[seaofreverie]

So busy with Sparkstember that I almost forgot that I go back to school on tuesday