Recent Re-observations Of SB Chuuya's Design Have Spawned The Idea Of Chuuya Being Farsighted And His

я люблю смотреть лекции Еремина по химии на ютубе а сейчас я осознала что мой справочник по химии подаренный химичкой составлен им. Моя жизнь полна забавных и милых совпадений😭😭

Currently I’m reading the secret history but I’m so excited to start reading no longer human I began to speed ran tsh and I still have upcoming assessments HELP

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.

re-reading a book feels like visiting an old friend who never changed since your time apart, but you see them differently and you notice new things about them because you have.🥹

bunny corcoran on a trip in the most ridiculous hawaiian shirt, buying the most stupid ‘i <3 rome’ or ‘i <3 paris’ tourist shirts and wearing them UNIRONICALLY. bunny corcoran with a fanny pack and a sling with a big ass camera hanging around his neck. (the pictures are all blurry and of his own feet). bunny corcoran in socks and sandals, getting the classic tourist pictures taken like making it look like he’s holding the eiffel tower. yeah thats it.

Some marker drawings I did :3

Tumblr ruined my quality, again

click do it to be better? Hopefully

(can you tell what the last one is from?)

sasuke uchiha x reader fic

Sasuke looks you up and down. “Disgusting