otherwise i think irving would be the best because paradoxically the amount of internalised homophobia and self loathing he carries would lead him to give the most impassioned sloppy full throttle head imaginable because if he never stops sucking he won’t have time to think about the moral and theological implications of what he’s doing, it’s not technically well executed but he puts so much into it the other person can just get off on the energies being emitted. hodgson is the most technically accomplished but he is almost trying to show off a little bit which makes it less sexy. little has absolutely no clue what he’s doing

your maid fucking bit me. look at me. i know you told her to do that. she wouldn't do that if you didn't tell her. it was calculated and businesslike

Heated Rivalry this, gay hockey boys that, whatever. If I want funny little gay men in weird little outfits hanging out on the ice and becoming emotionally invested in each other I would just re watch The Terror.

Why didn’t the Franklin Expedition check to see if the Polar Express could have them on board? Were they stupid?

i'm going to [remembers suicide jokes have a negative impact on my mental health] be unwell, gentlemen. quite unwell, i expect. and i don't know for how long. a week? no, two. perhaps... perhaps more

A man called Cornelius Hickey told me this expedition was a year in Polar Sea and then out the other side. He told me the ships planned to stop at the Sandwich Islands and crew was going to dry out in the sun. "That's the other side of the world," I thought. "A year's nothing." So I d- where’s my vape? Has anyone seen my vape? Wait are you sitting on it? Are you sure? I can’t find it can you just stand up real quick?

it's like that guy from acclaimed horror amc the terror said. One summer when I was seven, my parents sent me to live with two aunts in Oxfordshire. I did not want to go. The elderly have that effect on children. But they loved me. And I grew to love them. They were papists I came to find. Devout. Each Sunday they would leave me with a housemaid while they attended a Catholic Mass. I was frightened for them. I had been told they were doing some great, unforgivable thing. Then one morning, they took me with them. I was shaking. The service was not the howling spectacle of sin I had imagined, but was beautiful. The singing sounded delivered by angels themselves. When it came time for the Eucharist, I found myself moved to step forward. My aunts were surprised, but pleased, I could see. I took the wafer on my tongue. Drank from the chalice. I felt clean. With the body and blood of Christ within me I felt forgiven of every poor weak or selfish thing within my soul. It was a perfect moment in a whole imperfect life. The next week when it came time to dress, I, I pretended to be ill. They knew I was pretending. To this day, I don't know why I did it. They never asked me to join them again. We never spoke of it. It was the last and only time I stepped into a papist church. But tonight when I close my eyes I'm there. If I were a braver man, I would kill Mr. Hickey. Though it would mean my death, too. But I am hungry. I am hungry and I want to live