I am the Bad Wolf

i find it hot

they’re comparable generationally talented first line center professional hockey players

positioning shane as smaller/shorter/daintier than his white dom top boyfriend perpetuates racial, gender, and sexual stereotypes

i personally find it REALLY hot

when he chooses to, shane can physically overpower ilya (hockey, shoving ilya into walls i.e. vegas rooftop and stairwell scenes) but when he wants to submit in bed, he allows himself to be pushed, carried, held down, etc. because they both like it and want it

feminist scholar jane ward: "queer circuits of desire do not rely on the erotic encounter of opposites"

they can wear each other's clothes in a cozy boyfriend hoodie "give. i miss your boring laundry smell" "why the fuck are all your clothes dry clean hand wash only" long distance yearning way or post-game sweat damp base layer horny way or "gross now i have cum on my sweats i'm stealing yours" "okei yay ♥" fondly annoyed way

there are little things that must be done and other little things you will actually want to do.

a loved one’s day is made by your existence in their life.

the sky will be many different colors soon, and you’ve have to be reminded you’ll only get this exact painted sky once.

that piece of media that keeps you going is going to release something new again soon, and you can’t miss that.

the sun would love to kiss your skin again and drape you in a comforting warmth.

gosh, there is so so much art to be seen that will make you feel things you didn’t know you were capable of.

any human connection that reaffirms someone sees you, is going feel like magic.

there are cats and dogs out there waiting to get a boop from you.

there’s so much time for you to make things and go places and rediscover yourself in new worlds.

"No English Queen has made more impact on the history of the nation than Anne Boleyn, and few have been so persistently maligned." - Joanna Denny in 'Anne Boleyn: A New Life of England's Tragic Queen'

the sound of wind in trees like they're whispering secrets

old keys with no doors to open

puddles that look like portals if you stare long enough

half-finished poems tucked into coat pockets

dusty attics where forgotten memories nap

candlelight flickering like it’s trying to talk

tea leaves swirling like they’re casting fortunes

cloudy days that turn the world into a watercolor