#but shaving? no

[catmask]

when u go to write a mentally ill person in ur story you are presented two options. the first option is to write your mental illness realistically as you actually experience it with all the ups and downs and people who are like you will resonate with it and feel seen. except every person who reads instagram infographics on mental health that uses the phrase narcicisst for anyone who does anything that crosses them and unironically call themself a dark empath will call you scary and tell you that youre demonizing mentally ill people

the second option is to lie and write inspiration porn for those people to get hard to

[blakyoo]

this is so fucking funny man

[cherryblossom-barnes]

SEBASTIAN STAN and his mom GEORGETA ORLOVSCHI at the 2025 Oscars.

[haganez]

so crazy how people in 2017 were called batshit crazy for being tumblrinas and sjws but we needed them and now more than ever i need bitches dying their pit hair blue and screaming i hate men and arguing with bigots loudly in public this soft nice shit is getting us no where

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

people will really go up to shapeshifters like "oh what's your true form? oh but what do you really look like?" are u hearing yourself. do u hear how insane u sound

[wolfythewitch]

Episode 20 sketch godbless

[bodybuildersshaveyourheads]

[gentlemensarts]

[bergselise]

[kuronekoartsblog]

That trend with babies crying bc their fathers cut their beards but it’s tim and dick when Dick chops off his luscious long hair

[syoddeye]

you get a new neighbor.

he moves into the flat across the courtyard. same floor, same narrow balcony. a smoker with restless, twitchy hands. you catch glimpses of him through the blinds.

you’ve never been one to keep them open—facing another unit all these years, privacy has been a comfort. but now, often without thinking, your fingers find the cord, tilting the cheap plastic slats just enough to peek through.

unlike you, he doesn’t bother with curtains. either unbothered or proud of his sparsely decorated, meticulously kept space. when he’s home, he spends hours in full view of his windows. sinking into his couch with a controller in hand, headset on. sometimes, not as often, a book. pacing, phone pressed to his ear, wearing a track into the floor.

more often than not, though, he’s maintaining his body. that, he clearly takes pride in. push-ups. crunches. weights. he’s fit. almost always shirtless. almost always in joggers or shorts. a thick pelt of hair across his chest, matching the wild, overgrown mess on his head. whatever cut he once had, it’s grown out strangely—a longer ridge along the top of his skull, like the raised hackles of a dog. it connects to an untrimmed tangle of a beard, hiding what must be a sharp jawline if it matches the body.

you know what it looks like—watching someone like this. if you admitted it to anyone, they’d call you a creep. a pervert.

but you can’t stop.

you don’t even know when your new little habit began. the moment the sun sinks, your lights go off. you sit in the dark, barely moving behind the slats. waiting. watching.

your spine goes rigid, every nerve at attention, when he steps onto the balcony for one of his many smokes of the night. saliva pools on your tongue in anticipation.

a cigarette dangles from his lips, moonlight catching every plane and muscle of his torso. he stretches. his big, broad back flexes as he grips the rail. biceps bulging when he pulls one arm over his chest, then the other, thatches of pit hair poking out.

however, it’s his eyes that draw you in.

bright blue. too bright. a glowing, animalic eyeshine. fresnel lenses, catching and refracting the light. as unnatural as they are alluring. unsettling in a way that itches at the back of your skull—but still, it makes you want to wrench the door open and leap across to him.

the same feeling you get standing at the edge of a cliff or rooftop.

then, he lifts his head. tilts it back until his nose juts into the air and sniffs.

you freeze. glance up at the closed, locked glass door. he can’t.

smoke billows from his lips as his gaze sweeps the courtyard. down at the ground, then scanning the floor beneath you. searching.

a shiver slides down your spine. you will yourself smaller, pressing into the shadows. he can’t possibly know you’re watching, let alone smell you through the walls and windows.

but then, just as you think he’ll go back inside, he turns his head slightly, just a fraction, toward you.

the cigarette burns, momentarily forgotten, between his fingers. his gaze fixes on you, direct and unblinking.

but there’s no way. no way he sees you in the dark.

then he smiles. the barest quirk of his lips. a knowing pull at the corner of his mouth.

he turns, steps inside, and yanks his blinds shut.

your breath catches. the slats slap against each other as you jerk back, heart hammering, blood roaring in your ears. you reach for the cord, fumbling, pulling too hard—yanking the entire thread free with a sharp, splintering snap.

not two minutes later, as you’re still panicking, up on your toes, uselessly trying to thread it back into place—an insistent knock rattles your door.

[bluejay-makes]

Lamb

[kendallsroyco]

Charlie Cox but his chest hair keeps increasing 🤤

[genderkoolaid]

is she boymoding or is she just masc / not putting all her effort into appearing femme for you

[noodles-and-tea]

I love your short hair viktor’s they’re so beautiful and cutie pie coded. I love the idea of either of them catching fire it’s really silly - What if they both set on fire at the same time and gave each other buzzes. And it’s like they would be upset about it but they’re in it together so it’s ok and they’re able to laugh it off.

I really don’t think Jayce notices at all until a few days later and he’s like “where did our hair go???”