#another!!!

[popatochsp-plushiecorner]

he is one hour old

[belovedstilldear]

late fall talks

[raincoatducklingart]

[revenantghost]

An illustration to celebrate the release of episode eleven of Shokei Shoujo no Virgin Road by the light novel illustrator, Nilitsu

[jaysworlds]

It has been an awfully long time since Michael met Gerry. Or perhaps it hasn’t been, but it feels that way. Gerry is such an integral part of its life that it simply cannot imagine not having him.

It has known him since it was still Michael Shelley, and everything from when it was still Michael Shelley is a little fuzzy, half-remembered snippets of a life that both does and does not belong to it.

Things are different, now. They are older, or Gerry is. The blond that he dyes out of his hair is slowly turning grey.

Michael has not changed, and it never will, but it does not mind that Gerry is. It is human nature, and it does not think that it would love him the same if he were not so very human.

Love is so human, but it allows itself this.

He never thought he would live this long, it knows that, but it has kept him tangled up in itself and it has kept him safe, though the world outside has changed so much.

They had an apartment, when he was young, but it is gone, now. They sold it years ago, and Michael has taken him into its hallways, where nothing can take him from it.

It has tried so hard to design an apartment for them inside. It even has a view, though the view is only a lie, an echo of some other, faraway place.

It’s enough, Gerry will say, over and over. It’s perfect, love. It’s perfect.

And Michael believes him. He could not lie to it, and it does not think he would want to.

He has a life, still. Michael would not take that from him. He is in a band, or he says he is, though they rarely ever play. He sings, though, and Michael listens.

We’re too old to make it, he’ll say, and Michael will only laugh.

It teases him, sometimes, and he will lean up to kiss its mouth, eyes crinkled at the corners.

He buys it alcohol, cheap stuff, usually, and they will drink together, though Michael cannot get drunk. He can, though, and he will tell it stories. Some of them are true and many of them are not, and it does not care either way. It likes to hear him talk.

He does not like to find grey hairs, and he always dyes them out, turning to Michael and burying his head in its chest.

You stole the best years of my life, he’ll whisper, and it will laugh.

I’ll give them back.

And it will, of course. Perhaps he is getting old but he will still live another lifetime, another thousand lifetimes, if that is what he wants. Terminus cannot touch him, not here.

You should have taken me younger, he says, sometimes. When he’s complaining about his knees, or his back, and Michael will just laugh.

It loves him so dearly.

Its hallways are so much better than the old apartment they rented. It is sure they could have afforded something nicer, but Gerry has always hated to spend the money that once belonged to his mother.

Do you miss it? he will ask, sometimes, and Michael will say no, of course. It does not miss the mouldering walls and the asbestos in the air that was slowly choking him. It loves to have him here, safe.

He has a job, still. He likes to have the money, though they want for nothing, here. Sometimes he works late and Michael will worry, though it knows that he is safe, that he can protect himself. When he comes in he is always so tired, and it will try so hard to make him laugh.

It will colour the walls, some nights, green or pink or yellow and when he gets in he will shake his head and ask why, and it will laugh and laugh and gather him up in its arms.

They dance, sometimes, in the little room of the hallway that is pretending to be a lounge. They push the furniture to the sides and they dance, swaying in each other’s arms, and it is perfect. It is perfect because it is them.

He cries, sometimes, but so rarely now. It hates to see him cry, no matter what has cause the tears. It feels as though it has somehow failed to protect him.

More often, though, he laughs, and he laughs so much that his eyes have little crinkles at the corners and Michael loves them, loves him for all his joy.

It should not love him but it does, so very deeply. It cannot help it. Love for him is so deeply engrained in its nature, by now.

I have loved you, it will say, for a hundred years.

He will laugh, then. It certainly feels like it.

That is cruel, it will tell him, and he will reach up to cup its cheek, press his fingers to its face.

I would never be cruel to you. My life was so dull before I met you.

It will spin him around, after that, and then they will dance.

He is a little mad, now. He has lived in its hallways for so long that it would be impossible to avoid, but madness is a good look on him, and Michael loves it. It feels as though they match.

They are both mad, and the better for it.

[gleamglowsgraveyard]

oh the sneak peaks are making my pussy throb

🙈 another?

“I’m not gonna beg you for shit, you dumb fucking brat,” Sirius grits out.

[greenorangevioletgrass]

I could not fall asleep for the life of me last night so I decided to scroll through the harry holland tag on Tumblr (mainly videos) and then that lead me to looking at pictures of Tom Holland from like 2018/2019 vs now and holy guacamole Tom was such a smol bean back then and now he's such a beef stick. Like, how is 2018/2019 Tom the same as 2021 Tom? They have to be 2 different people. Like there's no physical fucking way someone can get bitch slapped by puberty that fucking hard to turn from being a smol bean to a beef stick. Beans and beef are from two completely different food groups like how the fuck is that possible. And then. AND THEN Tom has been promoting Cherry WHICH IS A FUCKING FRUIT while wearing mainly yellow and I remember you calling Tom freaking BANANA BOY a few days ago, so now I guess he's A FUCKING FRUIT NOW!?!?!? Someone either needs to take that boy (bean? beef? fruit?) AWAY from the Marvel farm ORRR take him TO a farm and teach him his basically food groups. Holy fucking cow dude.

holy fucking cow is yet ANOTHER food group separated from the lemons and bananas and other yellow fruit tom seems to be channeling in this CHERRY press junkets 🤣