A Lonely Orchestra 🎻🎶 My Piece For The @opflowerszine Flower Meanings Below Cut

Hannibal 🤝 Venom

__

Instagram | Twitter | Etsy | BigCartel

It’s autumn boys. Better bundle up.

curious tiger | prints

:-(

(id in alt)

"just put yourself out there" what if I scared. what then.

i have to believe somewhere, someone is trying a taco for the first time. someone is taking their first shower. someone is coming home to a new puppy.

i have to believe that this winter, someone new to snow will pull out a 5 dollar plastic sled and throw themselves down a hill, just to try it.

i think i'm probably lucky to be familiar with sunrises. i live in an area where the lightning bugs dance in their cocktail hours. i take chickadees for granted.

today i saw a tree that had changed to fall colors, and my first reaction was to grimace. i love autumn, but i hate the cold. i don't want it to be winter yet.

but how lucky, to live in a place where the leaves do change color - so bright and vibrant that people make treks from around the world just to look at what i grew-up-with. my mom's friend was a teacher in florida. she used to ask us to mail her an assortment of leaves, just to show her children - to prove to them yes, they really do turn yellow and orange and red.

last year i finally tried pumpkin spice for the first time. someone this year will find a new favorite knitting pattern. someone's favorite band will drop a new album. artists will make things we haven't yet imagined. there will be chalk drawings and magnet poetry and karaoke and recipes and laughing.

it is easy to forget. this was all new to me, once. and when it was - well, it was just all so easy to love.

Today's random brainrot: Soap doodling on Ghost. Just. Sitting together, Ghost with one arm stretched out, sleeve pushed up as Soap works on some random little drawing on his skin, brows furrowed in concentration. Ghost finds it adorable- the little crease in his forehead, the way he chews on his lip as he works. The warmth of his palm where it rests on his arm to keep him still, to move him into a better angle every few minutes, is grounding, and he finds himself not having to think for once. The drag of the pencil- some ballpoint pen that had originally been meant to be used on documents, probably- is familiar by now, far from the first time Soap has commandeered Ghost to be his canvas for the day.

It's a soothing activity for them both, quiet enough to relax but not so quiet that either of them would grow restless. It's intimate, the way Soap's fingers drag slowly across Ghost's skin when he's thinking of a new design or choosing a new spot to cover in ink, the way Ghost can feel Johnny's breath brush over his skin when he leans close to see his work better. He doesn't stop until he can't find any more room to draw- some days it's all covered in little individual designs, other days the patterns come together to form a larger picture. No matter which way Soap has decided to decorate Ghost's skin that particular day, it always manages to make something warm rise in the man's chest, and he always feels a little sad when they stop.

You want me to get a therapist? The thing that turned Will Graham gay?