BESTIES! this blog is now ARCHIVED -- find me on this blog. ( it is a side-blog, all follows come from ppctts, per usual )
RMH

Kiana Khansmith

Cosmic Funnies
Cosimo Galluzzi
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
Noah Kahan
Jules of Nature
Xuebing Du
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her

Origami Around
trying on a metaphor
Game of Thrones Daily
todays bird
we're not kids anymore.

titsay
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
h
The Stonewall Inn
seen from Colombia
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seen from Malaysia
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seen from Colombia

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@soullesstrouble-aa
BESTIES! this blog is now ARCHIVED -- find me on this blog. ( it is a side-blog, all follows come from ppctts, per usual )

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Reacher's cover is blown.
— Season 3 Episode 6: Smoke on the Water
"My father is the worst man alive — and I am his favorite daughter," endless edits of my baby girl clara
@soullesstrouble
my heart is bursting 🥲
@soullesstrouble 💙

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It just felt so...real. -to mike
The motel room was quiet in that specific kind of way that always put Michael on edge: too still, too brittle. Outside, a streetlamp buzzed with a dying hum, casting broken shadows across the faded wallpaper. The air smelled faintly of rust and dust and motel soap. He lay on the lumpy couch, one arm behind his head, the other resting near the holster tucked discreetly beneath the throw pillow. He hadn’t planned to sleep much. Old habits, sharpened by years of knowing the line between “safe house” and “kill box,” could blur fast.
The sound reached him like a ripple ... barely there. A shift in breathing. A muffled, strangled noise. The kind of sound you don’t learn to recognize in boot camp, but in the quiet aftermath of real loss. He was on his feet in seconds. No hurry. No panic. Just calm, measured movement. He crossed the room, careful not to startle her. Even half-asleep, she was dangerous, and it wasn’t about that anyway. It was about trust. About being careful with someone else's edges.
Michael crouched by the bed first, watching her carefully. Natasha's body was locked in tension, the sheet twisted around her limbs. Sweat clung to her brow, even in the cool air. Whatever battlefield her mind had dragged her back to, it wasn't letting her go easily. He reached out, slow, deliberate, and placed a hand lightly on her shoulder. Not to shake her ... just to anchor her. Let her know she wasn’t alone in whatever hell she was clawing her way through.
His voice was quiet when he spoke. The kind of quiet that calms storms rather than stirs them. The kind you use when someone’s barely hanging on.
When she startled awake, he didn’t flinch. He didn’t back off. "It's okay... it was just a dream. You are safe." He just sat there, weight steady on the edge of the mattress, body language open, hands resting on his knees. He watched her chest rise and fall. The way her jaw clenched. He didn’t need to ask what the dream was about. He’d seen it before... on different faces. In his own reflection.
And so he stayed there, patient, a silent presence she didn’t need to perform for. No questions. No pushing. Just quiet reassurance.
bad dreams // @b1ckwdcw
a few of her daughters have surely received this text before their first date, lmao:
comforting a lover after a nightmare
“ babe, wake up. “
“ you okay? “
“ i had a nightmare. “
“ you’re safe... “
“ are you awake? “
“ you woke up screaming. “
“ i need a minute. “
“ it just felt so… real. “
“ wanna talk about it? “
“ i’m here, okay? “
“ it's the third one this week. are you sure everything's okay? “
“ just hold me. “
“ you almost rolled out of bed, hit your head. caught you last second. “
“ will you stay up with me? “
“ it's just a bad dream. “
“ please don’t go back to sleep just yet. “
“ want me to spray the monster under the bed? “ “ “
“ can i stay with you? i had a really bad dream. “
“ here, take my hand. “
“ you kicked me... “
“ it’s just a bad dream. “
“ hey, look at me. look at me. it’s not real. “
“ wake up! “
“ i can't breathe... “
“ c'mere. lay with me. “
“ hey… are you crying? “
“ i'm glad you're here. “
“ hey, what’s wrong? “
“ let’s stay up for a while. “
“ this is so embarrassing... “
“ i woke up screaming? “
“ probably woke the entire neighborhood... “
“ you wanna tell me [about your dream]? “
“ it was like a horror movie... “
“ you good to go to sleep? “
“ i’ll stay up with you. “
“ i had a really crazy dream. like... really crazy. “
“ i think i’m gonna stay up for a while. make sure you're okay. “
“ you’re crushing my hand. “
“ hey, calm down. calm down. you’re okay. “
“ i’m going back to sleep, but don't hesitate to wake me if you need anything. “
originally posted by a now deactivated account (screnwriter)
The kitchen was bathed in the soft, blue-grey light of early dawn, the kind of hush that made every sound feel sacred. The world was still asleep: no rumble of traffic, no voices echoing down the halls, not even the quiet hum of the lab downstairs. Sue sipped from her mug slowly, hands wrapped around the warmth, eyes half-lidded with sleep and something softer. When she heard the faint shuffle of footsteps behind her, a slow smile pulled at her lips.
Without turning, she reached for the second mug and held it out behind her. “Morning,” she murmured than she leaned up on her toes, pressing a slow kiss to the corner of Reed's mouth, then another to his cheek. She whispered between the quiet touches, “Happy anniversary, sun of my life.”
happy anniversary to our parents // @insidemyblood

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Pedro Pascal and Boyd Holbrook attend the after party for the season 2 premiere of ‘Narcos’ in Los Angeles
Lalo watched her with amusement, head tilted slightly, that damn smile already playing on his lips. "Eliminarlo?" he echoed. "Ni que fuera politico el wey." He chuckled under his breath and shook his head.
He sat forward now, forearms on the table, grin still in place but eyes darker. "Mira, no te estoy regañando y mucho menos, tratando de controlar tu vida." He gave a small shrug, like the very idea bored him. "Pero yo sé cómo piensan los cabrones como ese. Los chamacos a esa edad no andan pensando en el pinche vals de secundaria y bailecitos. Entonces, si ese chamaquito se pasa de la raya, nomás le voy a dar una sacudida, a ver si sí, muy hombrecito," he said with a dark glimmer of playfulness in his eyes.
Clara grabbed the folding chair leaning against the bike rack and dragged it over to the table where she usually ate with Vanessa. She dropped into it with a fluid motion, propped her elbows on the tabletop, and leaned in: close. Only a few inches separated them now. Her eyes were wide, unblinking, locked on his. They were flat-out staring at each other, and neither flinched. That shit-eating grin clearly ran in the family... because now it was firmly planted on her face.
"¿Te refieres a los chicos de tu mundo?" she asked, tilting her head slightly, almost like a challenge. "Tal vez los del cartel sí sean así. Pero los de mi mundo... todavía tienen un poco de brújula moral."
clara's camera roll:
kiernan's camera roll:
@clochanam // @bailesona
"Mira nomás que tenemos aqui. Crecen, te das vuelta y los pendejitos luego luego se arriman. Bueno ¿y cómo se llama el campeón? Pa' saber qué nombre ponerle al hoyo si hace algo que no me guste."
// @soullesstrouble
The brunette rolled her eyes in that signature way her mother used to: deliberate, dramatic, and entirely fed up. But the expression that quickly settled over her face, that weary, soul-drained look, mirrored far too closely the man sitting across from her. "En los cinco minutos que llevas en mi vida…" She was exaggerating, of course. It had been three weeks. "…he llegado a la conclusión de que, para ti, con que alguien respire ya es razón suficiente para querer eliminarlo."
Clara crossed her arms, her right foot tapping a steady, irritated rhythm against the floor. "Así que, primero: acechar estudiantes en la escuela es ilegal. Y segundo: es un baile escolar, no una orgía detrás del gimnasio. Relájate."

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KIT CONNOR and RACHEL ZEGLER as ROMEO MONTAGUE and JULIET CAPULET | Romeo + Juliet on Broadway
@bailesona
Paul Mescal attends the Gucci dinner co-hosted by Jannik Sinner