#so sick n tired of being sick n tired

[pyr0frnzy]

got sick n tired of seeing ppl draw Sanji in this on my twt feed this is my form of protest

Also the og tweet ig:

[clownhonkbonk]

hi rqg people i am once again late to the party

[taintedcigs]

im going to scream so fucking loud what the FUCK is his problem.

[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.

[astrobolical]

When you’ve got a cold-

Content Warnings: None— fluff, colds I guess?

Reader: Gender Neutral

This isn’t proofread, and I’ve been sick since Saturday so this is purely self indulgent. I just hope it makes sense. Just headcanons because my brain is in a fog and I can’t get out of it. ;;

» Leviathan had been confused when you weren’t answering your D.D.D. when his new game came in— did you suddenly realize you were too good for him? Did you find someone better to spend your time with?!

» After grappling with the flood of negative thoughts, though, he goes to see you, hearing a muffled ‘come in’ from behind your door after he knocks

» He was surprised to find you curled up on your bed, sluggishly moving to sit up as he entered, bundled up in your comforter like a lil’ human burrito

» When you explain that you’re sick he feels a rush of relief (you don’t hate him!!) and worry all at the same time— humans are fragile! Are you going to come out of this?! Is it curable? Surely you need a doctor!

» After some coaxing (and a small coughing fit) you manage to explain to him that it’s nothing life threatening, just a cold and that you’d be fine after some rest and some medicine (courtesy of Solomon)

» Though unhappy you went to Solomon first, he does understand why (he also does acknowledge he’d have no clue what to give you as far as medicine went)

» He insists he’ll at least spend time with you, even when you explain that you’ll really just be sleeping a lot and that you don’t want to get him sick, too

» He almost relents, but a burst of envy has him a little more demanding. What if one of his brothers found you like this?! They’d never leave you alone! So how could he?

» So, in order to save you from his brothers’ antics he insists on you coming to his room— the safest place to hide out, as far as Levi is concerned. He insists he’ll be fine, he won’t catch some normie, human cold

» That’s how you found yourself watching Levi game from a comfortable mess of blankets and pillows propped up in his bathtub

» It was comfortable for both of you— you could rest when you needed without interruption, or watch him play his games when you were awake and converse if you felt well enough. Levi got to give you a safe place to recover, and the pleasure of your company

» It never mattered to Levi if you were both doing the same thing or not, he just loved having you around him, knowing you were opting to stay with him

» Since he’s always staying stocked up in his room he doesn’t have to leave very often, he’ll have whatever you could want or need at your fingertips— and he’ll even make trips out for you if you ask! That’s just how much you mean to him!

» Will absolutely melt if you use his lap as a pillow while he’s sitting on the floor playing on his consoles, especially if you fall asleep on him— how cute!!! MC!! That’s too cute!!

» Does take a few photos, but he’ll never show them to anyone, ever! He just can’t get over how much you trust him even if you’re in this weakened state

» Will never turn away your affections, even if you hesitate due to not wanting to pass this onto him— don’t move away! It’s okay! He swears if he gets sick it is what it is! But he won’t. (Lies)

» In the end he keeps you hydrated, entertained and well… very protected. No one bothered you while you were in his room. Only once and the threat of Lotan had Lucifer telling his brothers’ to leave MC to rest where you choose (and you chose HIS ROOM, so HA)

» He’ll absolutely cuddle up with you in his tub, either to sleep beside you or to have you lay on his chest while he plays something on his D.D.D. Or a handheld console. You’re a tangle of limbs, pillows and blankets but you wouldn’t change it for the world— especially how his tail curls around you and keeps you close

» When you do start to recover and have a bit more energy to spare Levi will be ecstatic to show you the new game he got!! Now that you can enjoy it, you can ride out the rest of your cold with him and this game he got for the two of you

» Be prepared though, despite his protests he’s absolutely getting sick

» And he has no idea how to handle human colds, so please pamper the boy and return the favour— he went out of his way for you!!

» In the end though, you both end up locked away for a solid week and a half until both of you were finally clear of any illness

» As much as getting sick sucked, Levi tells you the next time you get sick you should absolutely come right to him! His room can be your safe place

» Though when you go out next you’re dogpiled by his brothers who’ve been missing your attention (and were also worried!), so maybe go out in intervals next time…

[pink-lemonadefairy]

super long big huge tired sigh

[icewindandboringhorror]

recent things

[pinkmoondoll9shihtzu]

[despertara]

Irene bro if you see this I want you to know I've been podcasting (talking loudly and emphatically to myself) abt that Grammy Gun post for Hours. I started ranting in the rb tags and then I got so mad I started a spreadsheet on my phone Yes I have the Excel app. No I did not finish my tags

[voidcat]

once again at my wits end bc of men

[kirishwima]

do i need help and comfort? yes

do i desperately want to gouge my eyes out when i receive it? also very much yes

[lonelyplanetfag]

fun fact i got on a call tn cuz i thought itd make me feel better cuz ive been rly fucking miserable lately n usually that helps but in all honesty it made everything one million times worse n im so sad abt it

[fragglerockopinions]

.

[phagodyke]

oh wow just saw flatmate messaged saying another friend passed smth on like oh okay. I didn't realise he went too u didn't say. in fact none of u said anything to me so that's great

[solstheimtxt]

Ive been trouble sleeping recently bc its been like, blisteringly hot. Like, fan is on full blast, no pants, only a light blanket and i go to check the temperature like wtf

>55 fahrenheit

YOOOO WE AT THE HOT FLASHES STAGE LETS GOOOOO

[starry-stan-blog]

Conservative Christian blog: do you struggle with homosexuality?

Me: no, actually, I excel at it