look for the name: MIEN
@byayavich
no/faith studios flight leather cropped bomber jacket (handmade)
ann demeulemeester velvet patterned long skirt, a/w 1994
yohji yamamoto recycled pe/b furry socks in khaki color
a.s. 98 black platform ankle boots w/ leather strap and buckle detail
diesel textile shoulder bag w/ peasant girl print
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a lot of this happened in early qsmp months (for... obvious reasons) but i think the hispanics relationships with eachother were so fucking insane because they clearly cared about eachother but like
qquackity fucked around and got qroier killed by qspreen. qmissa blames qroier for things qspreen did. qroier destroyed half of trumpet's island with qmaxo on it. qroier ruined qquackity's reputation. qluzu always blew up everyone's houses despite their threats agaisnt him. qmariana and qroier kept talking shit about eachother (specially qroier) qspreen betrayed qmissa and qroier for money. qmissa made fun of qmariana and his house (LOL) qmissa qmariana and qroier fought over trivial things. qvegetta put mines near all their bases. qrubius was the reason why a lot of conflicts between friends happend. qvegetta didnt trust qmaxo that much because of sofia
but at the same time qpol helped qrivers with everything she needed, qpol gave qroier an indexer, qroier and qquackity still get along despite the circumstances, qmissa and qroier are always excited to see each other, qroier still makes sure qmariana and his house are ok, qvegetta always checks in with qroier, qrubius still made sure everyone was ...finee...ish after his tasks. qmaxo still trusts qvegetta and qroier. qroier and qquackity helped qrivers build her house (in a way) . qspreen checked in on qroier before leaving. qmissa still trusts his brother. qroier wants to give qluzu his cat when he comes back
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So, this post happened, and then this, so then I thought okay why not, then I went out to vote, and then this little thing happened @brindlelogs
The candle on his desk went out unceremoniously after rousing him with its violent flickering.
Alfred Hillinghead adjusted his glasses and got up to stretch his aching joints and find another stump in Charlotte´s dwindling supply in the kitchen. He groaned from limbs that had gone stiff and realization that age was happening to him whether he agreed to it or not.
It´s not that he had dozed off exactly; his eyes had just gone unfocused after staring at latin terms and intricate illustrations for too long, and the flame not only jolted him back to reality, but also returned with it a helpful, neverending loop of „H e n r y“ riding a merry-go-round in his head.
Whenever he stopped to think at any point in the last 48 hours they were the only letters his brain seemed to want to string together, so he did what he could to populate it instead with any information he could find on South American butterflies exhibited in private or public collections in London over the last six years.
Back by his chair, he lit the new candle and shuffled the leaflets of various entomological associations that were strewn across his desk. He hoped one of them would hold a clue that could save his partner before he could get himself into a situation he could not get out of (because Alfred wasn´t there with him, and Henry was always so damn reckless).
He never knew London had so many passionate butterfly collectors.
But then again, teaming up with Henry was inevitably going to deliver surprises and revelations of all kinds. It´s what made him feel alive more than anything these days. That and Henry´s hands on his skin. (No, he chided himself. He must not think of that now. Nor his hands on Henry´s strong body willingly, eagerly arching up to him, fond eyes never leaving him, soft lips inviting him in, always ready to receive him… no.)
Alfred jumped up again this time, so vivid was the image in his mind. So warm Henry´s skin in his memory as if it were life and not mere thoughts he was conjuring up. He was suddenly enveloped by a need so mighty that it took his breath away and made him clutch at his waistcoat. His whole body seemed to miss Henry, after only two days. And no contact for another one at least.
Another issue was the steady stream of Henry´s voice that was gone from his ear, but not his mind.
He could hear Henry tease him, how unable to keep his focus Mr. Detective Inspector appeared to be. He´d probably even ruffle his hair, Alfred thought, which would earn him his best glare (his own hand going up to the side of his head without thinking, to imitate Henry´s touch), but that would only widen Henry´s grin and he might ask what could possibly be distracting him from his oh-so important work. He might even sit on Alfred´s armrest or...
Alfred´s cheeks began to burn when he looked down at his desk and thought back to how they had said a last urgent goodbye right on this very surface two and a half days ago, even though they had already done that and more extensively the night before.
A knock on the front door rushed him back to the present. It sounded hurried, but before Alfred could even leave the study, or wonder why the mysterious caller did not use the door bell, he heard the door open and close hastily, key turning, locking them in. The only one with a key besides Charlotte and Polly would be…
„Henry! What in the-,“ Alfred took two fast strides forward as a sodden Henry Ashe (his Henry) stumbled into the room (when had it started raining?), a cut along one eyebrow bleeding profusely down his face and staining his shirt (how long has he been bleeding??)
„Change of plans,“ Henry announced with a weak, self-deprecating smile, and winced as Alfred´s worried hands fluttered over him.
Finally, Alfred held Henry in place in front of him and closed his eyes for a second. „Alright. Sit down. Tell me everything. I´ll get the bandages.“
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roier: i really thought they were going to revive bobby– when tilin and trump died, ok but when its bobby, beat up everyone! [...] (reading bobby's sign: this could've been forever) it really could've been but you fucking died you piece of shit
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soundbite here!! gray's password is like, 3 letters. I'm currently writing this in the hopes that his little friend 'the coworker' can't find me, so how do you feel about a little field trip :3 a little outing :3 we're going out to go and bully gray of course :3
-soundbite :3 (@gray-crackleway)
Sure why not!
(i love bullying crackseller)
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