mick | icon by deboracabral | everything i won’t put on main
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Hi
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I know you were doing your job. And I'm proud of you for that, but there is a small selfish part of me that wishes you didn't want to anymore.
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wilmon x purple nails (that last longer than 2 seconds this time) 💅 💜
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Hen: How has coming out been treating you?
Buck: Oh, I don't tell people off the bat that I'm bisexual.
Chim: Why exactly?
Buck: Because I like to wait until they say some homophobic shit, and then I laugh and am like, "You know I'm bisexual, right?" and watch the look of terror on their face.
Tommy and Eddie: That's so hot.
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Firstprince DTIYS challenge from twitter (proposed by @shirmirart ) ☺️💕
Click for better quality !
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911onabc: We are thrilled by the opportunity to tell Evan ‘Buck’ Buckley’s story and are grateful to Oliver Stark for portraying it with love and care. Discovering and expressing yourself—at any point in life—is a beautiful thing and we hope you feel loved and seen here.
(🎨: @/zuna_craft, @bucksketch , @skyhighrollins911 )
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tommy actually drinks tea but is a little gremlin who took a sip of the coffee just to make that little comment
weeks of buck trying to figure out his order and he only finds out when he stays overnight at tommy's for the first time and looks in his cupboards the next morning to find 13 different types of tea and not a drop of coffee
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knight/prince snowbaz au because i can’t stop thinking abt them ever
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Barbara Gordon commission by the amazing @risoria
If you are interested, they have portrait commissions for Palestine—> info in this link.
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Good morning. We are going to get Bucktommy kisses this week. At least one of which will be initiated by our sweet Buck. Also, bucktommy is canon.
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i like to call this ‘popular mlm ships with freakishly similar name dynamics’
this means absolutely nothing i’ve simply been observing this for a hot sec
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Tommy Kinard is not as terrible of a person as you want him to be you’re just ignoring the fact he’s had character development (and actual scenes in canon that show that development) because you want Buck and Eddie to fuck so badly and don’t actually care about their character arcs.
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Hiiii! for the ficlet fest c:
5:21am. Kensington Palace. Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor. Song Lyric: "Even though this white wall is unchanging. The morning sun shines on it, and the clock moves forward. I keep moving further away. From the seasons we spent together"
OH HELLO FRIEND. sorry in advance, this one is a bunch of arthur feels. you have been warned.
read the rest of the ficlets here
❤️🤍💙❤️🤍💙
5:21am, kensington
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
In the hours of false dawn, the only sound in Henry’s room is the ticking of the ornate, heirloom, and completely gaudy grandfather clock. Every swing of the pendulum marks another moment that Henry should still be asleep—another moment closer to his next event.
Another moment that his dad has been gone.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Henry’s insomnia didn’t appear until after the cancer had ravaged his father’s body, had hollowed out his mother, had transformed Philip into someone he didn’t recognize, and had sent Bea careening down a path Henry could not follow. Even now, months after he and Bea clawed their way back to each other and settled as much as possible into the new normal, it seems the broken sleep is here to stay.
He’s doing better, on the whole. Regular therapy appointments—despite the Queen’s disdain for the whole endeavor—and medication have gotten Henry to the point where he can get through most days. He can put on a media face (bland, inoffensive, stoic, proper) and get through whatever nonsense The Crown has sent him to attend without visibly crumbling to pieces. It’s at night, with no distractions or witnesses, that Henry can let the mask fade away—can feel.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
It's still strange to think that his dad is gone. Every day is another one that Arthur won’t be there for. He won’t get to do another puzzle with Bea. He won’t see Henry graduate from uni. He won’t be there to see the next season at the Globe. He won’t be there when the Queen starts insisting Henry join the military. He just won’t be there, his absence a dark cloud over every triumph and fall, every mundane moment and milestone from here on out.
But Henry will be here, stuck in this gilded cage of tradition and expectations—staring at the white walls of his bedroom, unable to fall asleep.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
The sun is actually coming up now—a wearily familiar sight. As much as Henry wishes he could sleep like he used to, the golden glow on his bedroom walls is beautiful. The sunlight is dappled today, peeking through the leaves of the tall trees on the grounds of Kensington, creating an intricate, ever-shifting pattern of shadows as the sun rises.
Henry thinks could write an entire anthology of poems about sunrises, actually. There’s something poignant about the juxtaposition of a new day while he’s still looking out of the chasm his dad’s death left inside him. He can see clear sky at the rim, but the light feels so far away.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
He knows Dad wouldn’t have wanted Henry to be so despondent, would have wanted Henry to be living his life as much as possible. Would have wanted Henry to find a way to move forward into his future. He knows that Arthur would have been the most excited to meet Henry’s therapy dog later today.
The idea was brought up by his therapist a month ago, and today it is finally happening. Henry was going to meet the dog that had been picked out for him. Hopefully he and the dog will be a good match or the whole process will start all over again. Henry would be stressing about it, but—
With bright sunlight climbing up the walls, the gentle ticking of the clock, and the memory of his father’s smile at the forefront of his mind, Henry has a good feeling about the day ahead.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
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