I like when Kid!Siffrin is drawn with the exact same hairstyle they have now, because it implies he has maintained that fuckass bob for a minimum of a decade.
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Hi, anon!
Listen, if someone wants to think T and T are real, then good for them i guess. I don’t care.
I’ve said my piece and my opinions haven’t changed so 🤷🏼♀️
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I JUST GOT THE UNICORN :p
man I don’t want to be dramatic or anything cause I have both the bike and the deer, but running around with this unicorn is SO FREAKING COOL, and the outfit is SO FUCKING GORGEOUS I am in love, she is literally the prettiest girl EVER‼️‼️
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Poem- Better than a hug
its a sad one idk
[[MORE]]i wanna hurt
make it bleed
make it all run down the drain
make it burn
make it all just numb again
dig your nails
feel the pain
isnt it so much better than
a hug dont you want it
against your skin
breath it in
can’t you feel it
something so surreal
its so sharp
just breath in
feel the icicles in your chest
forget the rest
hold your breathe
it’s not death
its something much more real
taste the edge
dont look down
feel the weights fall under your feet
take it in
just calm down
dont forget your
hugs
warm embrace
there’s something waiting for my face
smile
its all fake
aren’t you tired of this play
say you’re fine
no one cares
i don’t even know my name
laugh
just act normal
you dont really wanna burden
hey
its ok
you’re really not that important
cry
go and lie
why can’t you just die
play along- dig your nails- try again- forget your name
breath it in-feel the pain-hold your breathe
dont you want it dont you want it dont you want it
warm embrace
just like death
numb again
so surreal
isnt it so much better than a hug
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October 1533, Greenwich Palace, King’s Presence Chamber
As soon as he catches the signal of the King’s attendant, George finishes his briefest thanks on record to the Queen’s chamberlain, for his gift of a hawk named Merlin, and departs the press of men readying to swirl around him, to ask for this favour or that (but all favours are, in their essence, the same: to beg him to share in some of his own favour, with the petitioner).
Luck (and, he would like to think, rewarded skill) are on his side: as far as circumstance, the King’s presence chamber of Greenwich is nearly the grandest in size, and as far as favour, well, he is the Queen’s brother…as such, he is never kept waiting long, and as such, the would-be petitioners have not even breached its center by the time he has followed the servant through the privileged doors ahead.
He is escorted into the withdrawing chamber, the barest of the King’s chambers, where he sits at a table of rosewood with his dogs laying at his feet (his favourite indoors place to be with them, for there is less for them to ruin) across from Master Cromwell.
The latter excuses himself with a double reverence. As he does, the King splits his gaze between them, so he can little tell who is meant to feel more whipped by it: himself, for being made to wait, or Cromwell, for being made to leave?
This morning, His Majesty is merry—or at least, in pretense of being so—his manner open, his smile wide, as he indicates the vacated seat across, his hand as golden as the river below his windows, in the gild of autumn morning, as gold as the chains he wears, draped over the tawny velvet of his doublet.
George wonders if those men of the presence understand what it is they truly seek. They crave the result, the reward, but cannot fathom the undertaking it is to reach them. They little understand the discomfort of knowing their sovereign as well as a jealous lover, at every turn, whether readying his cuirass or his bathsheet, whether clashing lance against lance in blinding sunlight or keeping a straight face in dimmed torchlight as he heaves himself out of his bath, as the water slaps the tiles and his skin waxes pink, tender, and raw.
The damp curl to his hair and scent of soap in the morning are his warning that the merriness is pretense. Years as a privy chamber gentleman have taught him that without fail, he bathes at night; that to do so in the morning means he has scrubbed his skin raw; fixated upon some other matter which will not wash away.
The King speaks a brotherly greeting and invitation to the ewer between them—a gift, from the Scottish ambassador, heather ale—and repast, which George declines, his stomach in knots.
“There is a matter we will announce in council tomorrow, but we wished, first, to know your mind on it…”
As his attention falters to his riverfront view, George attempts to read the series of numbers written on the page between them. More than anything, he wishes he know what they represent; the eagerness of his envy battles the sharpness of his resentment.
Months ago, he was sent on another embassy to France, only weeks after returning from his first. Only weeks, of sleeping beside his wife, until honoured with a journey which necessitated, instead, sleeping wall-to-wall with his Uncle Norfolk. They both secured a promise from Marguerite d’Angouleme, that she would encourage her brother to support their King; it is their work that has kept the bull of excommunication a threat, not fulminated.
And yet all this, somehow, does not grant him the first audience of the morning?
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Star Wars should cater more towards droid fuckers imo. Actually, should cater more towards alien fuckers in general. Like ???? There HAS to be way more interspecies relationships in this franchise omg
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everyone has a crush on my lesbian [crush] and i want to claw my eyes out in a jealous fit
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yes i keep posting about the summer….
i’m feeling nostaligic and i also am trying to make my blog aesthetic…
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Read two books for January. Tho one of them I did start at the end of December but shhhh I finished it in January SO IT COUNTS. bc I SAY SO!!!!! anyways . I’m excited to start a new book, this time I’m gonna start book lovers by Emily Henry. And hopefully finish project hail Mary. I have to finish that book before the movie comes out. Cause I really wanna see it in theaters. I don’t wanna miss out on that.
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… HE'S GOT AN IMPRESSIVE MANE OF HAIR THAT JUST MIGHT RIVAL HIS SON’S ❠
daniel ❝ danny ❞ harrington b. aug 8ighth nineteen41
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★ Closeted Aaron Hotchner // Excerpts from The Faggots & Their Friends Between Revolutions ★
inspired by many discussions and this post made by my wonderful partner @heebobeebo
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the last two days at work have been pretty fucking wild… please never get into people management if you can avoid it… for real though, shit can get scary sometimes. all i’ve been wanting to do is finish writing a joel smut scene for my fic and instead i have had to stay late at work to deal with Stuff… can 2026 be over already 🫠
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DIE HAPPY – HOLLY HUMBERSTONE (CRUEL WORLD)
2026 color challenge by @vinnymauro
january – color: blue| theme: in with something new | challenge: something you’ve been meaning to edit but haven’t yet
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Soo, hopefully this will make sense lol (idk)
But the Order as a toxic parent figure in Frost’s upbringing…
[[MORE]]Bittersweet
Preface: Not an actual character analisis, just an idea I had :]
Frost sitting down to meditate, finally in silence after a long day of dealing with his companions. His stomach is full of pastries, cake, sweets, not something uncommon when you live with a chef, and the sweet taste of butter and cream rests lightly on his tongue.
Breathe in
He closes his eyes and controls his breathing. With every measured breath the flavor of his dessert is brought once more to the forefront of his mind. Along with the ghostly texture of another dessert, one that he hadn’t eaten in years.
Breathe out
One of the others in the Order had been given a small slice of cake by their master. This was a rare occurence, only did the youngest members of the Order recieve surprise desserts. It could be considered one of the only pleasant surprises in this place. The young member had run back to the rest, eager to share.
Breathe in
The flavor was unlike anything that Frost had had before and yet it was nostalgic. It reminded him of his home, so far away. This day in the Order had been peaceful, with the Masters away. The dessert almost reflected the day in that way, cold and creamy, and so so good.
Breathe out
The dessert fell heavy in his stomach, he felt content. But if the young member had been gifted such a thing… That meant that they were back. Heavy footsteps on the cold stone floors sank into his gut just as the cake had. Frost peered around a column just in time to hear the first snap.
Breathe in
“Now try again”, an apathetic voice rang out.
Another snap
“Again”
And another.
Breathe out
With every failed attempt Frost felt himself grow more and more sick. The dessert that has just made him feel so happy was now attacking him. The cold of the cake felt as though it were seeping through his skin.
Breathe in
With his fur on end, he decided to walk down another hallway. This one was worse. The sudden yelling assaulted his delicate hearing and the sight of tiny paws reaching forward again and again made him pause.
Breathe out
Why were these adults standing up to these kids making themselves seem more proud and grand than they already were…
Breathe in
“What did you say”, the hooded figure asked again and again. Squaring up to the young one in front of them, grasping their face in a rough catch.
Breathe out
One of the first things that Frost had learned was to simply listen. If you were to learn, you had to listen. And if a Master claimed something as truth then so it was. How many times had the same scene that he was witnessing now happened to him?
Breathe in
How many times had he been punished for misunderstanding? For simply disagreeing?
Breathe out
The once sweet dessert now sat sour and acrid on his tongue. A reminder that even the sweet moments of this place were tinged with wrong… But were they really that wrong if they were just teaching him to be better?
Choke
On the intake of a breath Frost paused for a second to long. Now leaning forward in a coughing fit, tears coming to his eyes and the taste of cream coating his tongue, he realized that at least his Master had given him a choice. A chance to take an opportunity, to run. Even if that opportunity only presented itself with their death..
Breathe in
Frost decided to never have desserts before bed again, it would become firmly a breakfast item now. With a deep gulp of air and an even deeper headache beginning to set in, Frost sits on his bed. Kremy’s cooking wafts through the air, he was probably putting something to boil before storing it away for the night. The salty spiciness is a welcome reprise to the now suffocating sweetness that comes with rich cake and old bittersweet memories.
Rest
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I know we like killing Tommy’s father (for good reason), but I can’t stop thinking about Tommy’s sister (who he didn’t even know existed, because his mom left right before she found out she was pregnant. “I get why she did it. She was protecting herself, and I can’t be mad at that. But I often wonder why she didn’t take me with her. Wasn’t I worth protecting too?”) showing up at the 118, looking for Tommy with the news that their mother has passed away.
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I love love LOVE have openly misogynistic lecturers spreading fascist and incel ideology and have everyone I know think it’s just so haha silly!! would SO recommend it’s doesn’t at all consume you with overwhelming rage that no one takes seriously!!