#m: feb23

[stylesnews]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY HARRY! 

it is a privilege to be able to experience all these insane things in real time. thank you for being this wonderful human being and creating a safe space with every single show. love you forever 🤍

[suenitos]

bad talking about meeting george irl - february 14 2023

[kelsevi]

feb 4

another oc meme! but this time... my friends’ little guys!

[glyphblog]

[themethereoncewas]

18 februari 2023... gestart met het voorzaaien van mijn paprika en aubergine... op 24 maart stonden ze samen met de tomaten te groeien in elk hun eigen potje.

[camberwellbeauty333]

[cottonthroat]

SOY DEMASIADO AMOR PARA TANTA AUSENCIA.

[stylesnews]

GIRL UNCLE!!! Congratulations to Gemma and Michael for welcoming their new baby girl! Wishing little baby princess ALL the best!

[aggressivelyarospec]

‘Aro Tunes Thursday’: Master List ⇝ January / February 2023

[Completed 2/24/23] | [Spotify]

Almost Human — Voltaire [Link]

Can't Find Love — My Friend The Chocolate Cake [Link]

Lettin' Go — Janelle Monáe [Link]

EDGING — Blink-182 [Link]

Satellite Heart — Anya Marina [Link]

The Punks Are Writing Love Songs — Tullycraft [Link]

The Lonely Life of the UFO Researcher — Tullycraft [Link]

Driving Myself Home — Rose Betts [Link]

Save Rock and Roll — Fall Out Boy [Link]

Room For You — Sub Radio [Link]

This is the Last Time — Keane [Link]

To Be Human — Steeleye Span [Link]

The Poser — Lauryn Marie [Link]

Maps — Gaz Brookfield [Link]

{ ALL ↺ } { ⬅ Previous | First ⬆ | Next ➡ }

[letmeplaytheblues]

I know some of it is I’ve been walking every morning. Some of it is I’ve been walking with a dog and then getting to hang out with that dog. And some of it is I’m just happier. But my brain no longer yells at me that I’m doing everything wrong and I don’t need to exist anymore

[karenrawr]

It’s been a week of very vivid sex dreams.

[glyphblog]

Skittles aka Small Color Misdemeanors

[kimtaegis]

TAEHYUNG ☆ HARPER'S BAZAAR FEB23

[jadeazora]

The Japanese Pokemon Centers will be selling assorted chocolates and Pikachu plush-pouches starting Jan20!

The Japanese Pokemon Centers will also be selling a Clodsire chocolate mold starting Feb23:

[the-californicationist]

Good Fences (Fluffuary #23)

FEB23: Established Love

John had been on tour through the spring and summer, and you’d spent the warm months alone. For part of it, he could talk to you freely, but near the end of his duty, he had warned you that he’d need to “go dark” for a while. Days had turned into weeks, and weeks had become months. The fiery sun had shifted across the sky, and what was once a humid morning now had a cold nip in the air. 

Then, as if he had come in on the change in the winds, he was back. Or, a version of him was, anyway.

He had been home for a few days, and while he had told you that “it” was “over”, he had been changed by whatever it was, and he hadn’t told you much else. You noticed he was sleeping for only a few hours at a time. Sometimes, he would wake you up in the mornings with a ravenous, animalistic need, and other times you would find him on the balcony, drinking coffee, enjoying the sunrise. Sometimes he would go out in the middle of the night for a cigar, and some nights he would be at your neck and your breasts and your hips with his lips and his teeth. You never knew which John you were going to get. 

But, he also seemed relieved. It was as if he had been running, sprinting full out, and had finally reached his destination.

One morning, while you were showering together, he was soaping your body as well as his own, and he made a suggestion,

“We should go to the Smithsonian today. They have the Klimt exhibit you were talking about. I looked it up last night, and it’s there this week.”

It wasn’t out of character for John to suggest a day trip, but he hated D.C., and you had only mentioned the Klimt exhibition off-handedly back in January, so it was a bit of a shock. 

“Yeah, John,” you rubbed his body with the lather, marveling at how toned and thick his muscles had become, “That sounds nice. We can take the train.” 

You admired his body as you washed him, but you also felt the shade of contempt rising like bile in your throat. He was hardened by whatever had happened to him, by whatever hell they had put him through. He was only made to look like this broad, cut Adonis because they (whoever they were) had used him like a hammer to a nail. And you resented them for it. 

As much as his heavy form stirred your core and made you crave that strength to be used on you, you wanted to rinse it away. You wanted your soft bear back. You wanted him to be chubby and happy and filled with cheesecakes and champagne and bagels in the morning. You didn’t want him to be a hammer. You wanted him to be your lover, and you thought, selfishly, that it should be his only responsibility. The world, you decided, could save itself. He deserved peace. 

But, that wasn’t up to you. He was his own man. You tried to put those thoughts out of your mind, but you had to admit that this last tour had been hard on both of you. 

The train ride was quiet, as was the stroll down to the museum. John held your hand as you walked through the exhibits, and when you came to the hall that housed the visiting Klimt pieces, you gasped. 

There, in all of its golden glory, was The Kiss.

You stepped toward it, marveling at the gold and watching the light dance across it. The Lovers were there, locked in their perpetual embrace, and she was at his mercy, literally on her knees for him, held tightly in his hands.

John’s voice rumbled in his chest, and he said,

“That’s how I feel about you. I feel as if I’ve never loved anyone until now. I’ve never been loved, and I’ll never be loved again. Not like this.”

You turned away from the masterpiece you’d been admiring to face your very own lover, looking up at him and letting his words sink into your bones, wrapping around them like golden threads, never to be taken back. 

Then, it was his turn to be on his knees. You watched him fall to the floor, confused at first and then —

“Marry me, love. I can’t live without you by my side. Please.”

He offered you the ring, a huge, round pearl surrounded by diamonds. It looked like it cost as much as the painting. You felt hot, heavy tears flowing down your face, and you didn’t even realize you’d been crying. 

But, you managed to nod and whisper, 

“Yes. God, yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.” 

The ring fit like it had been made just for you, and he rose from the ground and clutched you to his chest. All at once, you knew how the girl in the painting felt. You kissed John, and in doing so, you knew how she had kissed her robed man. You could imagine how the blood had rushed through her body, flushing her cheeks and pooling in her belly, responding to her love’s embrace. John was him, and you were her, and you were one.

[didyoucommenttoday]

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