everyday i hate england more and more

Sometimes you just gotta chill on your own porch with the love of your life. Add some steaming tea in your favorite mug, pj's and a blanket, and the evening becomes a perfect way to wind down.

Simple pleasures are the best ❤

the only way ill accept cecil broadcasting again next episode is if there is something fundamentally different and wrong with him the entire time. gives the news accurately. not an ounce of poetry or prose. tries to say something but grunts or makes a discomforting noise and continues with whatever script hes being forced to read. Thats literally the only way. Otherwise give me a full episode of lubelle being a condescending cunt, or carlos fucking having a panic attack on air.

what if i dont want the multiverse collapsing?? what if i just want two queer men on a boat??

unwanteds brainrot levels CATASTROPHIC

Why'd I have to be horny for the hard-to-draw man. Why couldn't I be into something acceptable like tentacles McLiesToYourFace.

I just want my back against a pretty girl’s chest while she holds my legs open with her own and overstimulates me with a wand

All of us: We miss them so much...

Neil and Craig: It's literally been two days

ITS IN MAINTENANCE NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

the pain of wishing i could have the gray man posters in my bedroom yet opening my wallet to comically see a single fly escaping, a piece of lint at the bottom of the lining, and a single nickel

“ you have a way of promising things. ”

@cadisfly

   Sea salt licks the air that hovers over the open terrace, curling up from the water and settling against the villa's east-facing wall. If left untreated, its searing fingers will cause the paint to blister in no more than a few years' time. The wounds will need to be sanded down, the broken skin shorn off to ensure that the new finish will lie flat. To ensure that it will stick. Hannibal wonders idly whether he and Will will be here long enough to see the building reborn or whether they will have moved on by that time—perhaps even before the first imperfections show.

   He lifts his chin and draws the scent of the morning into his lungs, coating his soft palate with the thick brine of marine life and the filmy aftertaste of decomposition. It makes an interesting complement to the lemon tang of their sherry cobblers, which spit crisp-scented fizz from tall glasses dripping with condensation. A marvelous choice of cocktail, Hannibal reflects with pride; the citrus cuts delightfully through the viscous air, like stirring blood into melted chocolate.

   "'Suffer not thy mouth to cause thy flesh to sin,'" he recites. With the insinuation of a smile, he reaches out and twists a plump grape from the desiccated vine on his plate, relishing the wet snap that the fruit emits as he pries it from the half-eaten cluster.

   He would promise Will the world, should he feel it to be within his power. But the laws of nature bend to no man, and there are some feats that exceed even Hannibal's capabilities. Still, that loss doesn't weigh too heavily on him; he and Will can content themselves with the ache of old wounds, the easy peace of their seaside villa, and their oft-replenished storeroom.

   Hannibal rolls the grape between his fingers, holding his hand out in front of him so he can watch the neat pink scar on his wrist pucker and twist. Even now, the sight elicits something carnal in him. He places the grape in his mouth and tongues it to the side, nestling it between his teeth. He holds it there for a moment, cradling its smooth, round form between his molars, and then bites down, bursting the skin and splitting the flesh. Sour juice washes radiantly across his palate, and he exhales in pleasure, rolling his contented gaze back toward Will—knowing, playful. "Even God knew the importance of keeping one's word."

Fuck BG3 let me multi class on explorer mode you little bitches sorcerer monk shall be achieved

I'm afraid of becoming bitter and jaded but I feel like I'm already on that path