#WS

[canrings]

[aq2003]

this is so cool and also rosencrantz and guildenstern's sign names are killing me lol

[mohish-ko]

★"A This is not a drill. Containment breach detected.

Repeat: CODE RED!"★

[mumbito]

scar going to make the most hellishly alienating and sterile environment possible and essentially making a doctors office complete with a wellness theme is incredible. today on hermitcraft scar introduces his fellow hermits to medical trauma. by giving it to them.

[mimkpikaboobies]

Bucky: I was born in New York

Sam: What part

Bucky: All of me except my left arm

Bucky: She is russian

Sam: It's a she?

Bucky: Of course it's a she, all my weapons are women

[cellularmatter]

end

[myloveonherknees]

@/mothercain. “3 years ago today, with kelsey in the old abandoned mansion on main street in monticello” twitter, 23 sept 2021.

[fiastomatocheek]

TOO YOUNG TO MATTER

requested: yes | req: angsty request for will smith!! maybe a relationship where the reader is a bit older and will feels anxious about being enough for them. reader babies mack a lot and will gets upset from a combination of insecurity about being younger (ex: “if mack is a baby what am i..”), jealousy of the way reader talks about mack in general (ex: “mack is so grown up now!! he looks so mature), etc and starts avoiding reader instead of talking it out, which makes the reader confused and spend even more time with mack since will is always gone. reader finally confronts will, they fight and spend a day apart but makeup at the end with a cuddle!!

pair: will smith x older f!reader

genre: angst, romance, hurt/comfort, fluff.

warnings: emotional angst, insecurity, jealousy, age gap (implied, not specified), heated argument, brief mention of self-doubt.

summary: you and will have been together for a while now, despite the slight age gap that people love to point out. you’ve always brushed it off, will’s maturity, his heart, his everything has always been enough. but lately, things have shifted. you’re spending more time around mack, your longtime friend, and your casual, affectionate remarks about him don’t go unnoticed. will’s insecurities about his age, about being ‘enough,’ start to eat him alive but instead of talking to you, he pulls away slowly, painfully.

fia’s note: yayyy so happy to be back!! i think i’ll be free until september, so hopefully that means more time to write and (fingers crossed) finally finish all the requests that have been accepted, i’ll also be scrolling through the ask box to see if anything else sparks inspiration so if you’ve sent something before, who knows 👀 as always, please enjoy this fic, and thank you all for being so lovely and patient. love you all sm!!

tagging team fia! — @dancerbailey3 @mashmashi @kell9rs @nokiaholland @macka @smiley-roos @silvenyy @bd147ms @voidvannie @itsonlyaddi @puckinghughes @astrotrilogy @definitelynotdomanique

fia’s masterlist | join fia’s taglist | yap & fic

“I swear Mack grew a foot over the summer,”

You say with a quiet laugh, scrolling through the latest team photo from the summer training camp.

“Look at him, he’s all broad-shouldered and serious now. He looks like a real pro.”

Will doesn’t say anything.

You glance up from your phone. He’s sitting on the other side of your living room couch, hood up, one leg bouncing as he stares blankly at the muted TV.

“Will?”

He blinks and shifts like he just remembered he’s supposed to be present.

“What?”

“I said Mack’s all grown up. Doesn’t he look different?”

He shrugs. “I guess.”

You frown. It’s the third time this week he’s shut down on you mid-conversation. You used to joke that he could talk through a commercial break and still make it back before the show resumed. But now? Every word feels like pulling teeth.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Just tired.”

That’s all he gives you. You study him for a second longer of how he’s been wearing the same shirt for two days, how he hasn’t really smiled at you.

You nod slowly and turn back to your phone.

At first, you blame the season. Early practices, post-training fatigue. But then he stops texting you good morning, he skips your Sunday lunch. When he does come over, he barely touches you anymore like his hands used to live on your waist, his thumb always resting at the curve of your back.

Now he sits beside you like you both are nothing.

You tell yourself not to assume.

But when you vent to Mack about it one afternoon at the rink, you feel Will’s gaze burning into you. He doesn’t say anything, just watches as you playfully nudge Mack’s arm and laugh at something stupid he says.

And then later, when you look for Will? He’s gone.

It keeps happening.

You reach out, he pulls away. You text, he leaves you on read. You joke, he gives you silence.

So you lean on what’s familiar, Mack. He’s easy to talk to, unbothered by your spiraling thoughts. He doesn’t flinch when you ask, ‘Am I hard to be with?’ He just says, ‘You’re not hard. You’re just real. And that scares people sometimes.’

You tell Will where you’re going, every time. But it doesn’t stop the pit from growing in your chest.

One night, you’re curled up on your couch in his hoodie and you check your phone again.

Nothing.

Dinner’s cold.

You’d planned it. Lit candles and everything. Told him to come by after practice. He said he would.

But he didn’t.

You call him. No answer.

You see him the next morning in the player’s lounge. He’s laughing with a teammate like nothing’s wrong.

You snap.

“Will.”

He looks over. His smile falters.

You don’t give him time to pretend. You tug him into an empty hallway, voice shaking.

“What’s going on with you?”

He blinks. “What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me. You’ve been ghosting me for weeks. You bailed on dinner. You don’t talk to me. You barely look at me. So either you’re over this and too cowardly to say it—”

“I’m not over you,” he says, sharp.

“Then what is it?” you demand.

“Because I’m going insane trying to figure it out.”

He runs a hand over his face. “It’s not you.”

“Stop saying that.”

“I’m serious. It’s me, okay? It’s…”

His voice trails off, like he doesn’t know how to say it without sounding pathetic. He looks away.

“It’s the way you talk about Mack.”

“What?”

He exhales like it physically hurts.

“You call him ‘baby Mack,’ and then say he’s grown up, and mature, and strong, and… what am I supposed to be then? If he’s grown up now, if he’s the mature one, and what the hell does that make me?”

You blink, stunned.

Will’s voice a little shakes now. “I know I’m younger than you. I’ve always known. But it’s different when you start sounding like it matters.”

You take a step back. “You really think I see you that way?”

“I don’t know,” he mutters.

“I just know it’s been eating me alive.”

Your eyes sting. “You could’ve told me.”

“I didn’t want to sound insecure.”

“I want your insecurity. I want the messy shit too, Will. That’s what being in a relationship means.”

“I thought I wasn’t enough,” he whispers.

“I thought maybe you were realizing that too.”

The silence between you is unbearable. You look at him, shoulders hunched, hands in his pockets, like he’s bracing for heartbreak.

So you say the only thing you can.

“Then you’re an idiot.”

His eyes flash up to yours.

“I chose you,” you say, voice trembling.

“I keep choosing you. And you started acting like I didn’t. You don’t get to punish me for something I never said.”

He nods slowly face crumples. “I know.”

You leave before the tears fall.

After that day, you don’t text, he doesn’t call. Mack asks if you’re okay. You nod, but it’s a lie, the truth is that you cry in the shower.

You sleep in his hoodie but bury it under your pillow the next morning.

You check your phone ten times.

Nothing. Until…

Smitty: Can I come over?

You open the door.

He’s standing there like he hasn’t slept. Eyes red. Shoulders small. No hoodie this time, just a worn t-shirt and the weight of regret.

“I was wrong,” he says softly.

“I was scared, and I acted like a kid. And I made you feel like you didn’t matter and… I hate that.”

Your lip trembles.

“I’ve never felt like this about someone before,” he whispers. “And it made me so fucking afraid of losing you, I started making it happen myself.”

You step forward, your hand finding his.

“I don’t care how old you are,” you say, tears falling freely now.

“I care that you love me. And you do. I know you do.”

“I do,” he breathes, pulling you in, burying his face in your neck.

“God, I do.”

You hold him like the world is ending. And in a way, it is the end of the fear.

You curl into the couch an hour later, legs tangled, limbs heavy with exhaustion. He plays with your fingers like he’s never letting go again.

You whisper, “I’m never calling Mack ‘baby’ again.”

He laughs, just once, muffled against your shoulder.

“That’s not the problem.”

“What is?”

“I just want to be yours,” he murmurs, curling closer. “The way you’re mine.”

“Will, You are,” you whisper, kissing his lip. “You always were.”

[prskfancams]

like and/ or reblog🆒, credits🆒, claiming as own❌

[aq2003]

grabbed all of the ebook versions of the folger shakespeare library's annotated versions of shakespeare's plays (+sonnets and poems) and put them all in one place in case anyone is interested

[worstscholar]

I've been learning how to draw and I'm just getting into anatomy, like learning all the muscles and the names and shit. n'all i can think about is law and i, sitting on the floor in front of the couch. he's got his medical books open, refreshing his knowledge of anatomy for my sake. I'm sat right next to him with my dumb notebook out, listening to him talk about muscles and what they do as i sketch. it evolves into him leaning against me, hazy eyed and tired, pointing to different things as i sketch bodies, telling me shit like, "there's cartilage between these two muscles, so they should be further apart..." - "your missing the muscle there." - "there's a muscle connecting these two parts..." his voice is soft and comfortable, a tone that's only reserved for me. he's studying the side of my face, not bothering to look at what I'm doing until i turn to him, so he doesn't realize I've started drawing his tattoos onto all of my sketches, until i turn to him with a proud smile on my face. his cheeks bloom pink and he hides his fluster behind a light scoff and an eyeroll, but he likes that I'm always thinking of him, thinking of ways to insert him into whatever I'm doing. it fills his stomach with butterflies and makes his heart do funny things.

[mumbito]

the three tenets of goodtimeswithscar:

dyslexia is, first and foremost, a tool to be used for nefarious purposes (blatant excuse for more blatant dick joke)

if i can talk my way out of it it doesn’t count

look at my titties

[mimkpikaboobies]

[cellularmatter]

tommy's scrapbook

[myloveonherknees]

@/hisethelcain. “just found this picture from the time i took an adderall and pretended i was @/pyr0muse” twitter, 14 jun 2020.