i reblog a lot of queer and gay things, as well as a lot of sherlock, cumberbatch, dr. who, and anything else that strikes my fancy, including some things that may be nsfw. sometimes this turns into a martin freeman appreciation/hate-preciation blog, too. fyi.
i write, i draw, i squeal over things i love. i live for getting to know new people, so please don't hesitate to send me a message about all the things. always.
A fennec fox walks against the wind in Morocco. The fennec, or desert fox, is a small nocturnal fox found in the Sahara Desert in North Africa. (© Francisco Mingorance/National Geographic Traveler Photo Contest)
laksfhasdklfhdskh ITS LIKE A KITTEN AND A PUPPY COMBINED
How do you politely tell someone that you want them naked on top of you
I’m pretty much positive that’s why poetry was even invented in the first place.
for the constellations of your skin to brush against
the earth of mine
i would swim the seas a thousand times
(please let’s fuck now)
That was beautiful
or, you know, “pardon me, i’d really like you naked and on top of me, please. any time this evening would be best for me, if you’re amenable to that.”
better dress like a butler when you say it tho
As I get older, as time goes by, I care less and less and less about whether someone can talk pretty. I care about action. At the end of the day, I don’t care how well you can articulate your perfectly punctuated anti-oppressive political points, I don’t care how many buzzwords fall from your mouth, I don’t care if you name-drop a thousand acronyms or theorists – I care if you will show up. I care if you will fucking show up.
And I know that showing up is complicated when you struggle with whether or not you can get outta bed. Sometimes showing up means biking to a friend’s house with coconut water & ginger ale & Saltines when she has stomach flu. Sometimes it means sharing your leftover pain meds from your emergency root canal when a friend has a pain spike. Sometimes it means making soup in a friend’s kitchen, stocking his fridge & freezer, blowing him a kiss across his bedroom & miming tucking him up under his sheets, because you can’t actually tuck him in or kiss him good-bye, because your own immune system is fragile enough as it is. And sometimes it means texting a little emoticon heart from your own sick bed, where you are laid up with a shoulder that aches so bad when the weather gets damp (which is a lot in San Francisco), or stomach that can’t digest a fucking thing, or clogged-up sinuses, or a throat on fire, or a wet raspy cough. Sometimes it just means saying Honey, I love you. Honey, my sick heart reaches out to your sick heart. Honey, I wish I could be there, and I can’t, but I can do this. You mean the world to me. Sister. Brother. Love.
he’s. he’s on a goddamn motorcycle.
that fucking face and that fucking hair and i
i just. goddamn it. i actually cannot deal.
ideal husband: wants to smash the state and rejects heteropatriarchal marriage traditions. refuses the concept that he is taking ownership of me. is open and loving and wants to share child rearing in beloved community with several other co-parents. is tender sometimes and rough upon request. is very queer. does not forget my birthday. buys me flowers. does the dishes every time i cook.
prolly some other stuff but that’s my mostly silly answer.
what i look for in a friend:
tactful honesty and a clear, open communication style. someone loving and affectionate and demonstrative. intelligence. wit. someone who enjoys going out as much as staying in, and can be up for both/either in one night. passion. genuine laughter. good hugs.
i don’t have any very close friends who i’m not somewhat deeply in love with, so really the list for ideal partner and ideal friend are essentially the same. it’s just that i’m not typically fucking my friends, but i am fucking my partner. so. yes.
just being real.
also tho i don’t have any close friends who i wouldn’t have sex with under the right conditions. (which would prolly never happen. which is also ok.)
four ben whishaw kisses
- perfume: the story of a murderer with karoline herfurth
- brideshead revisited with matthew goode
- love hate with hayley atwell
- cloud atlas with james d’arcy
kissing porn. yes. chaste kisses, but the tightening of his jaw muscles makes my heart race.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
i posted the owl over on ao3, at kryptaria’s request.
i’m gonna lick the stripes off of those pants and then curl up in the tangles of his chest hair and never leave.
and if anyone tries to stop me i swear we will have serious words.