#<- just in casies

[starsprlte]

this is my whatever canvas. i paint whatever on it 🌟 closeups ↓↓↓

look at those brushstrokes boy

[ooppo]

hey do you ever hear people saying things when no one's talking? i do and im offering my services. i'll stand in the corner and say "did anyone say anything?" "did someone call me?" and the like. my going rate is 0$ an hour, i do this for the thrill of the game

Huhhh?

[oh-katsuki]

i genuinely cannot emphasize how strange it is to go around on the internet leaving mean comments or asks. like it is super fucking weird to be so mad about something someone is doing that has nothing to do with you to the point that you go out of your way to try and harm or hurt them. that’s super fucking odd. 

no one thinks that’s cool. literally everyone is looking at you like you’re a freak because that it’s genuine freak behavior. 

even going around and leaving entitled comments and asks is weird. like you’re so pressed about what someone else is doing because it doesn’t suit your tastes or needs exactly that you feel the need to be cunty and entitled about it? that’s fucking weird. you’re weird. 

it’s really not hard to be nice and just keep on scrolling. it’s not difficult to make the choice to... do nothing instead of saying something mean.. and if you physically cannot hold yourself back from doing that... please check yourself and grow up a little. you look like a freak. 

[fwoofz]

@dumbidiotrai this is like crake to me

[billygaysanguine]

i love putting scapegrace through the wringer so they can go crawling to their friends for help xx

[sw1tchb04rd]

...i dont post much.

lemme post this. pda on main. fuck it, im tired and sad and i dont want to be sad. its exhausting.

i love my friends! i love them deeply and dearly, even when we don't talk. i love them when i see them talking to each other. i love the way they care, because my friends are fucking awesome, and they care so intensely that, on occasion, they get swept away in it. i want to remind them to have a life vest, just in case. the people who love you are right here, not waiting, but wading through this with you.

i love my friends! ive never met them, and i love them, and i think that's neat.

there is a lot that sucks. but my friends are nice, and they make me happy, just by being my friends. its hard to think there are people out there that are genuine, and kind, but my friends are, and that proves that people can be, and that means a lot.

i just. i love my friends, man

love them a lot

[dailybloopy]

[decapod-appreciator]

wild spirit

[dustydaddyyy]

no but how am I supposed to act any kind of normal about pedro pascal when he looks like this

[arinmoss]

funky lil guy TWO

[allgremlinart]

honestly I love Toph in tlok but my defense of her characterization would come off as Toph slander I think. Like, they didnt write her as a cop because she's the rich elite and a little close-minded and stubborn and emotionally crippled by her ego and cares more about proving herself in every way possible than facilitating any societal change, they made her a cop cus it was 2012 and they were white liberals and its all they could think of I guess BUT. It fits.

[maudiemoods]

Oooo you love him as much as I do oooooo you want me to post more content of him

[oh-katsuki]

cw: satosugu angst <3 they make me miserable i love them. 

satoru lives with the regret. he lives with the guilt. it’s heavy on the back of his tongue, weighing him down and coating the syllables he speaks with a rounded, sorrow-laden lead. 

he can’t talk about it. satoru can’t bring himself to. whatever there is to say, feel, or think, he’ll do alone. no one has to know about his lost last spring of youth. 

it feels like a privilege to know. in the quiet moments, satoru relishes in the privilege of loving suguru. he, for a moment, forgets the sorrow and the things he wishes he could change, and tries to feel the brief moments of happiness as if they were unfolding in front of him. 

he remembers the sea. satoru remembers his wind-swept hair and the feel of salt on his scalp. he can recall the sticky feel of his skin and the coarse brush of suguru’s hair against his cheek. the end of the day, sitting at a table with shoko and suguru. getou, painted orange by the sunset, leaning to the side and resting his head onto satoru’s shoulder. satoru can feel his dark hair against his cheek and neck, thick and over-saturated with salt. 

he can feel the red sun, vibrant in its slow streak across the sky as it kisses the horizon line over a startlingly calm sea. maybe he’s imagining its tranquility. maybe satoru is embellishing the story to make it a little sweeter, to make the medicine that is nostalgia go down easier. maybe he imagined the way suguru’s eyes fluttered closed and the way his lopsided grin took over the crest of his cheek. there is a chance, that in actuality, none of this happened at all. satoru, in his twisted, grief-ridden mind, thinks that that may be a possibility as well.

perhaps, after that day at the beach, they went home separately and in the middle of the day, returning home in printed shirts to empty bedrooms where they waited out the sunset in their respective rooms. still, it’s not hard to imagine that maybe it was real. satoru and suguru did everything together, after all.

when the sweetness has faded and the sun has set on his memories, satoru returns to the present. he returns to the stale apartment he lives in and the perpetually blood-stained hands which he calls his own. there’s no sound, no summer heat sticking to his skin and sending him feverish, no suguru at his doorstep where he might have been had things been different.   

satoru lives with the regret. the regret of not knowing, the regret of not noticing, the regret of being too wrapped up in what it meant to be the strongest—plural—that he never considered the singular. satoru often thinks about the plurality he’d convinced himself of. two only in body. the rest, he’d though, was shared. 

satoru knows that his own romanticism can’t undo what’s been done, nor can he take back his hesitance to broach the subject of their emotional distance back then. he reminds himself, as if he could ever forget, that plural has become singular and that the suguru of before can only exist in the red-painted sunset of his most precious memories. satoru can only find him there, where salt and summer heat sticks to his skin like glue and the sea reflects the sun like a golden gilded mirror. 

[starscelly]

girlfriends having a chat

dal@ana 03.08.24

[dedeuteros]

[sebritz]

more transmasc mythra content if you squint