One Of The Best Feelings Is Being Caught Off Guard By Someone’s Kindness Towards You, Especially When

hi hello i have risen from the dead (for a little bit) uni and going to con have absolutely killed my motivation to do art (or rather just killed me, bc im too exhausted and in pain to even move from the couch..)

fun life update: went to con, got whiteboy wasted while dressed as chuuya and got an ambulance called on me bc my knee gave out (nothing serious just some bruising/ a guy dressed as luffy freaked the fuck out and called the ambulance lol)

but also overall got to meet a lot of nice people!! one girl gave me a "fav cosplay award" on the second day while (i was pm dazai on day 2 hehe)

Francis visits Henry’s grave every year. Alone.

No one else does — no one else wants to. Charles avoids the topic entirely. Camilla sends Francis clipped replies when he brings it up. Richard pretends he never gets the messages. But Francis marks the day like a liturgy. Like a holy feast. Like penance.

He books the same suite in a faceless hotel. Wears the same black coat. Packs the same silver lighter — an old one Henry once admired in passing. It’s all performative, of course. But what is Catholicism if not grief wrapped in ritual? He fasts before the visit. Doesn't drink the night before. He makes the trip feel like confession.

The grave is unmarked, just a patch of earth in a neglected corner of a rural cemetery, the kind no one visits on purpose. Francis had to dig to find out where Henry was buried. Had to call someone’s widow and lie. But now he knows, and he treats it like a secret shrine.

He kneels every year. Gets the dirt on his trousers, on his coat, lets the damp seep into his bones because suffering feels closer to prayer when it’s physical. And he talks.

Not to Henry. Not really. To God. To himself. To something between the two.

"You ruined everything, you know," he says once. "And so did I."

He breaks off. Lights a cigarette. Doesn’t smoke it. Leaves it burning at the grave like incense. The first year he did this, he left a bottle of scotch. Last year, he left a page torn out of a Latin prayer book. This year, he doesn’t bring anything. He just sits.

And he waits. For something. A sign. An answer. Forgiveness.

But Henry is silent. Always was. Even now, dead and buried, he’s still the one with the upper hand.

And Francis — Francis goes back to the hotel, vomits in the sink, lights another cigarette with shaking hands. He doesn’t cry. Not anymore. It’s been years. But his hands won’t stop trembling.

That night, he goes to mass. Sits in the very back. Doesn't take communion.

He knows better.

Спасибо, Ния!!!

снова перетаскиваю сюда эстафету из инсты

вбиваем в Pinterest :

room | nails | bag | shoes | place | makeup

передаю всем, кому понравится 🤍

Завтра заберу свои книжки🥰

It’s easier to kms

jk

Кто-то же должен любить некрасивых

You wanna know my theory? Julian played a bigger part than Richard understood. The classics club was Julian’s own personal Greek story. He’s built these young adults up until they thought of themselves as better, he was selective and chose only students whose parents/situations were vulnerable. They treated him as if he was their god, and for Henry I think he was his favorite as all stories have one. He slowly pulled their strings, made them think they were smart and clever making the decisions and choices they did. The incest, the murder, the damn bacchanal of course the creations can’t hide from their creator. Julian knew they killed Bunny, I think he even gave himself a way out (the letter), abandoning them after they thought they were safe as his own twisted retribution or punishment.

The best study advice is to study until you are excited to have an exam. Am I excited? Absolutely HORRIFIED

По дороге увидела мальчика в школьной форме, он шел странной походкой. Когда мы пересеклись, я заметила что он держал пальцы у губ и наивно улыбался. Этого парня впервые поцеловала девушка, он самый счастливый на свете и мир не узнает об этом. Он сделал мой день