#Betting Secrets

[auspicioustidings]

Everybody shut up I am having a vision. The 141 stopping off at Soap's parents because there are top secret files he hid there. He's very cagey giving them directions and they are getting increasingly confused as their truck is pulling past wrought iron gates and into some tourist destination of sorts, driving past stables and a little crop of buildings to what looks like a manor.

Not his fault these English boys just heard a Scottish accent and assumed he came from peasantry. He turns bright red when the butler formally welcomes back the Much Honoured Laird of Kelburn. He's never going to fucking live this down.

[livelovecaliforniadreams]

#He Clocked It From The Beginning

[theartingace]

some studies of 30's menswear (surely unrelated to anything) turned into being sad about Parker I hope we get to hear more about him eventually.

[hogwartsfirebolt]

the game’s the game

“What was going through your mind when you spotted the Snitch?”

Two camera shutters go off like lighting, but Draco doesn’t blink. It’s almost the end of the season, and he’s done a press conference every week. He’s used to them.

“Fucking finally,” he answers, and the journalists all laugh. They think he’s joking, and he can already imagine the articles they’ll publish tomorrow pronouncing him cheeky and funny, but he means it wholeheartedly. Six hours in the sky, drenched all the way through his pants in rainwater, and facing the very best player in the league? He had half a mind to jump off his broom if only to have the game end somehow.

“This is the second time you face PU and well, Harry Potter, this season,” says another reporter, a young, pretty woman with her hair pinned up and a reverent tone when she speaks Potter’s name. Like everyone. “Are you expecting to encounter him at this year’s Cup? And if so, how does that make you feel?”

Draco breathes out hard through his nose. Across the room from him, sitting at his own table against the wall opposite, Potter’s doing his own press conference. He’s wearing a hat backwards, the light blue of his team hoodie contrasting with his golden-warm skin tone. He has a hand to his chin, rubbing his short beard in thought at some question he’s being asked. Probably about just how sweet it had been to snatch that Snitch right from under Draco’s nose. He’s earnest and so gorgeous Draco can’t stand the sight of him.

“The game is the game,” Harry’s voice carries, clear and chesty, deeply masculine as he says his favorite little quote that means absolutely nothing and that fans have been yelling and tattooing on their bodies the whole season. “We don’t take any victory for granted. Coach has been running us to the ground, she won’t stop until we have that trophy in Puddlemere, and we’re doing our best to make her proud.”

“Oh, I’m certain we’ll face them at the Cup,” is what Draco answers at last. “Honestly? I think no other team comes even close. We’ll face them, and then we’ll bring the Cup home to Appleby. As Potter himself likes to say, the game is the game.”

All the cameras around him go off, the sound of Quick-Quills scrabbling and the reporters’ scandalized gasps at his use of Potter’s quote. He grins, puts his olive green Arrows cap on and stands to leave. He needs a fucking shower.

Later on, he’s sprawled on his hotel room couch, drying his hair with a towel and watching a replay of the game on the enormous television, making mental notes about his own flying, his mistakes, the times he dove too soon or hovered too low. When the screen follows the blue jersey with POTTER 7 emblazoned across the back, he looks closely, trying to spot mistakes but knowing he won’t find any. Potter’s probably the best flier of the century, and Draco loves Quidditch too much to lie to himself about that.

He’s admiring one of Potter’s physics-defying feints when there’s a knock on his door. Immediately, his heart takes up a gallop, and he has to press a hand to the center of his chest with a frown.

“Calm the fuck down, Malfoy,” he mutters. It’s a disproportionate reaction and he’s irritated with himself for it. It’s not as though it’s the first time. Or the tenth.

He pauses the game with a flick of his wand and makes his way to the door, through the archway that separates the TV room from the kitchenette. A quick look at the archway across the suite to make sure the bedroom is as he left it, and he’s at the door, taking a deep breath.

Potter’s grin is huge when Draco opens. He’s foregone all his team outwear, and is now in a familiar, worn leather jacket and a black sweater. His hair is wet, as though he rushed after his shower so he could get here quicker. Draco opens his mouth to say something, but before he figures out what, Harry pushes inside, turns around and presses him against the door, big hands gentle on Draco’s waist. Draco’s heart hasn’t gotten the “this isn’t the first or tenth time this happens,” memo, and is still running a marathon inside his chest, so he says nothing.

There’s a plastic bag in Potter’s hands. Dinner, probably, he usually brings dinner when they meet after a game. His wide smile reveals white teeth, a crooked canine that Draco knows is a baby tooth that never loosened. Round, stylish glasses cover the most intoxicating green eyes Draco has ever seen, and they’re shining with tonight’s victory. And Draco might be — definitely is — the world’s sorest loser, but he’s also the world’s biggest slut for Quidditch excellence, and he has it right here, holding him against his hotel room door.

“The game is the game?” Harry asks, amused, already leaning in, the hand on Draco’s waist moving to wrap the whole way around him and pull him close.

“Just some stupid phrase I’ve heard from a dickhead,” Draco answers, but the words hold the shape of a smile and are uttered right into a kiss there at the end.

It’s always a race at the start. They're both high from the game, still in that mindset, and it’s a competition to see who can undress quicker, who can make the other harder, who can earn the first moan and coax the first orgasm of the night. But after that first one, after Draco’s jaw aches dully and Potter is softening between his legs, everything slows down a little. Potter helps him up and they share the tacos Potter brought, watching the last minutes of the game they played earlier with Draco’s legs up on Potter’s lap, where he’s massaging his knees, his quads, making sure he’s not achy from kneeling for him.

“I really fucked that one up,” Potter comments. His tiny self on the screen just pulled out of an impossible dive at what looks like a 90 degree angle. He sounds earnest, which is the only reason Draco isn’t kicking him right in his beautiful face.

“I hate you so much. Only you would call that a fuck up.”

Potter hums, his massaging hands moving from Draco’s calf to his heel, his thumb pressing into his sole. On the screen, tiny Draco swerves a Bludger aimed to his head, and his teammate Owen is flying to him to make sure he’s alright.

“That guy is so into you,” Potter points out.

“I know. We fucked all through rookie year.”

Potter turns to look at him so fast it must hurt his neck. Draco raises an eyebrow, confused at the strong reaction.

“What?”

“I — I don’t know,” Potter says, suddenly sheepish. His hands haven’t stopped moving over Draco’s foot. Potter’s skin is dark, but Draco can still make out the blush spreading across his cheekbones. “Isn’t it weird? He’s a teammate.”

There’s something he’s not saying. It’s evident in the way he bites his bottom lip, in the way he obviously wants to look away but is too ridiculously brave to actually do it. Draco’s heart thumps inside his chest, so hard he’s sure it must be audible to Harry too.

They’ve never named this thing between them. The first time they did it, after the quarter finals one year before, with Potter’s ill advised kiss that ended with them fucking in the showers of the stadium after Potter had wiped the damn dust with Draco on the pitch, they agreed to keep it quiet, and that was the last they discussed of it. It’s going on fourteen months since then, and they’ve done it at least once a month, when the league brings them to nearby towns, and sometimes when it doesn’t and they take a quick midnight Portkey to each other to blow off some steam.

Draco had never in his life been as well-fucked as he’s been this past year, and he definitely doesn’t want to lose it. Potter’s always been honest and open with him, vocal in bed about how much he wants him, filthy in his occasional text messages when they’re apart, but he’s never given any indication that he wants anything other than exactly what they have.

“It’s not weird,” Draco says slowly, unsure of what to think of this exchange. “We stopped a while ago. I was clear that I didn’t want — that I’d rather we stayed friends and teammates, without any complications.”

“Right,” Potter says. He sounds relieved, and Draco feels like he’s three steps behind the conversation they’re having. He’s about to ask, but Potter’s fingers on his calf smooth over an old knot and he groans instead, letting his head fall back onto the couch cushion.

“That feels great,” he says, and Potter repeats the motion.

“Yeah. I think you pulled it when you made that X turn.”

The turn he made to try to beat him to the Snitch, he doesn’t say. How he had enough awareness to know Draco attempted it while diving for the Snitch himself is beyond comprehension, but Draco has long accepted that Potter is simply insane about the game. He notices everything, considers everything, takes every risk. If he weren’t a player himself, Draco knows he would be following Puddlemere and Harry wherever they played for the entire season, wearing a pale blue jersey with the number 7 on it.

“Probably,” Draco says, closing his eyes and groaning again when Harry keeps pressing the same point. After a moment, he feels something softer brushing his calf, and opens his eyes to find Harry bent over his leg, kissing a path up towards his knee. He can’t help the embarrassing little sound he makes, and Harry’s laugh is a puff against his skin as he keeps moving up, breath warm on the wet trail of his kisses up Draco’s thigh. In the background, the presenters are going crazy over a feint Harry pulled, the sound of the audience carrying all through the stadium and out of the TV speakers.

Harry has made his way high up and is kissing Draco’s birthmark, a brown, apple-sized beauty mark an inch below his groin when he lifts his head to ask, “Why didn’t you want to?”

Draco can’t believe he’s using his mouth to speak at that moment. He licks his lips, trying to make sense of the question.

“What? What are you even — ?” He tries to sit up a little, but Harry moves over him instead so they’re eye-level without Draco having to move at all.

“With Caddell. Why didn’t you want to keep seeing him?”

“Owen? Why the fuck are we talking about —,” Draco lets his head drop down onto the cushions again, a sigh punched out of him. Harry takes pity and leans forward to kiss him, lips soft over Draco’s, knowing exactly how to coax his kisses out of him the way he likes best.

“I just want to know,” Harry whispers against his lips. He’s breathless just from touching Draco, from rubbing his legs, from kissing him. Fuck, this is insane.

“I like him, but it wasn’t very exciting.” Draco says. He closes his eyes as Harry begins to kiss down his neck, and tries to really think about it, because he’s not even sure himself. “I wasn’t willing to risk our teamwork when what we had wasn’t even that … electric. I don’t know. This sounds insane.”

Harry shakes his head, his beard rubbing against Draco’s collarbone. “It doesn’t. I get it.” He bites on the delicate skin connecting neck and shoulder, licks a path down his chest. “I get electric.”

“Fuck yes you do,” Draco says, nonsensical, but he feels he can’t be blamed when Harry is brushing his lips over his nipples, broad hands moving around Draco’s body to secure a grip over his ass.

“Is this?” Harry asks, mouth nearing the V of Draco’s hips, the edge of the trail of hair leading to his crotch. “Electric?”

Draco swears, fingers running through Harry’s hair and finding a grip, hard. “If you don’t put your mouth on me right now I swear I — yes.”

He spreads his thighs to accommodate Harry between them, one hand gripping Harry’s hair and the other curled around the cushion over his head. It is electric, the way Harry knows exactly which buttons to push, sliding a finger inside him while keeping him on his tongue. He’s a prodigy in this too, the star player who knows every move in the playbook that is Draco’s body.

It feels like no time at all, no effort at all before Harry is pulling back, dragging Draco closer by the waist and working himself inside. The feel of it, the sound of them together, the look into Harry’s open gaze, his sweat dripping onto Draco’s chest and his hands underneath Draco’s back, holding him, pulling him onto him, have Draco nearing release almost too fast for his liking, but the night is young and it’s been so long that he lets himself go, a cord snapping in his core, eyes open as he watches Harry watch him come apart.

“Come on,” he says once he’s come down, lifting his hips, shifting his weight onto his shoulders. “Show me what you got, Potter.”

Harry groans and leans forward, kisses Draco’s jaw and his neck, and drives his hips faster. Draco wraps his arms around Harry’s back, moves with him as much as he can in the tight embrace, and remains close as Harry meets his own peak and tumbles down the edge.

They lie together for a couple minutes afterwards, panting into each other’s skins, basking in the afterglow.

“Some pro-athletes. We have the stamina of two eighteen year old virgins,” Draco mutters into Harry’s hair after a while, and feels Harry’s chest rumble with his laughter. The room is cast in the warm glow of the foot-lamp that stands beside the sofa they just fucked in, exactly like two eighteen year old virgins having the chance to touch for the first time in their lives.

Harry always goes boneless and slow after a good lay, so Draco eases him off his body with tenderness, a gentle hand to Harry’s chest, followed by a kiss.

“Let's go to bed, yeah?” He whispers.

Harry groans. “I don’t want to move.”

“That’s too bad, because I’m exhausted and I’m going to bed. Some idiot drove me to the ground on the pitch today.”

He stands up and shakes out his legs, testing the soreness of his muscles. There’ll be an ache tomorrow, but nothing he can’t handle.

Despite his complaint, Harry is already standing up too, coming up behind Draco, a hand finding its way to the flat of his belly, his forehead on Draco’s shoulder as though he can’t bear not to touch him for even a second.

“Bed it is,” he declares against the skin of Draco’s shoulder, sounding halfway asleep already. Draco huffs a laugh and pulls him towards the bedroom, pausing at the kitchenette to grab two glasses of water that he watches Harry drink in three gulps, a couple drops sliding down the sides of his mouth, into his beard and down his neck, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

“What?” He asks when he catches Draco watching him, and Draco shakes his head and pulls him to bed. He’s so handsome it’s genuinely upsetting sometimes. Draco thinks he’d throw a tantrum about it daily if it weren’t for the fact that he gets to touch him.

They try their best, but they don’t manage a second round before their eyes fall shut, tucked into each other like two hands cupped under a stream of water, tumbling into a satisfied, exhausted sleep.

Harry wakes him with a kiss before daybreak, the last of the night chilling the room and puckering Draco’s skin.

“Do you have to go already?” Draco asks, one eye still closed and a hand curled possessively around Harry’s bicep, not entirely on purpose.

Harry shakes his head, kisses him again with a gentleness that is meant to go nowhere but extend this kiss, warm and sweet.

“I thought we could talk.”

Draco is nodding before fully grasping the meaning, but even once he does he’s not tempted to back away. Must be the night, still cocooning them, must be Harry’s arms around him that are making him brave, but he’s not nervous anymore, not now that he’s remembered what they’re like, together.

“It is electric,” he says, suspecting that’s what Harry wants to talk about. “It’s always electric with you.”

The smile blooms slowly, lighting up Harry’s face from within, his beautiful eyes, unhidden this early in the morning, his glasses still on the bedside table. Harry sits up a little, clears his throat. It seems like he’s been gearing up for this, he’s squaring his shoulders the way he does before trying a dangerous feint, before performing a play that will have Draco biting dust. This insane, wonder of an athlete. Draco forces himself to shake the last of the sleep away, to focus on him, on what he wants to say.

“I know that … so many of us want you,” Harry starts. “On your team, on mine, the whole league, actually. But I —”

He looks like he’s stating an absolute truth, like he has irrefutable proof, and Draco is taken aback. He knows some of the guys find him attractive, but that’s not the same as being wanted. He shakes his head. “What? Where did you get that?”

“I’ve talked about it with the guys, but that’s not the point,” he adds hurriedly when he sees his eyes widen. Draco hasn’t said a word to anyone, not out of shame, but out of sureness that they were sneaking around, that they were making it a point to hide. Apparently, he was wrong. Harry continues, “What I want to say is … I know we’ve not agreed on anything, that you’re free to want others, be with whoever you want to be with. I thought that you knew where I stood, that if you weren’t saying anything it was because you didn’t want the same thing I did, but it’s been brought to my attention that if I’ve not made an honest offer, I can’t assume you’re saying no.”

Draco’s heart is hammering inside his chest, inside his throat. He doesn’t want to jump to conclusions, but if he’s right, it seems Harry is saying …

“I don’t want this to be a once a month thing. I want to bring you home, I want you to meet my family, and I want the guys to know that I’m saying no to all the people they set me up with because I’m taken and completely uninterested in anyone else. Are you … is that something you want, too? I know you might have better offers, but I – ”

The covers crinkle under Draco’s knees as he sits up, throws a leg over Harry’s body so he can fully sit on his lap and brings him forward by the neck.

“You beautiful idiot. What could be a better offer? Why would I care about any other offers when I have the best one right here?”

They’re kissing, and Harry’s gasping, and Draco’s frenzied heart pounds against his sternum. He nods into the kiss, feels dizzy with how much he wants what’s being offered. Fuck. There’s nothing he wants more.

Harry pulls back a little, whispers: “Does this mean we’re — ?”

“Yes, fuck. It’s — The game’s the game.”

“What — That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Shut up. It’s your quote.”

Then they’re laughing into a new kiss, and it’s not the first, or even the tenth time they’re together like this, but Draco’s heart still goes crazy for this man, for his unlimited talent, his openness, his electric company. Quarter finals are coming up, then semis, then they might meet again on the pitch and Draco might lose and throw a strop and want to tear the hair out of his head over the beautiful Quidditch Harry plays, and then they’ll get to go home and celebrate a victory. No matter who takes the trophy. That’ll be the game.

Read On Ao3

[lulublack90]

Prompt 26 - Win

@wolfstarmicrofic August 26, word count 435

“I’m going to win,” Sirius declared as he stared Moony down. 

“I highly doubt it,” Remus smirked at him. 

“How long have they been going?” Lily asked.

“About five minutes, but Padfoot’s wavering,” James told her. 

“Shut up, Prongs,” Sirius growled as he struggled to keep his eyes open. They were prickling unpleasantly. 

“My money’s on Remus,” Lily said.

“Shut up, Evans!” Sirius whined. 

“Just give in,” Remus grinned wolfishly. “Why delay the inevitable?” 

“Everybody shut up!” Sirius yelled.

“He’s doing that weird thing with his face again,” Peter pointed out. “Making his eyes all big and then narrow, but his mouth is twisting with it,”

“Shut up, Peter, for fucks sake!” Sirius blew out an exasperated breath and blinked. 

“Ha! You blinked, pay up!” Remus grinned gleefully, holding out his hand palm up to Sirius. 

“That’s not fair they all distracted me!” He turned and glowered at his friends. 

“They were distracting me as well, but you still blinked. Pay up!” Remus repeated more forcefully this time. 

“Fine!” Sirius grumbled. He pulled his last chocolate frog out of his pocket and handed it to Remus. 

“Thanks,” Remus mumbled around a mouthful of chocolate. “Hey, I got Alberic Grunnion!” Remus held up the card. 

“What, no! I’ve been trying to get him for ages. Come on, Remus, please give it back,” Sirius whined. 

“What’s in it for me?” Remus asked, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Anything. Anything you want.” Sirius begged. He needed that card. It was the only one he cared about. 

“Give me back all my damn jumpers that you’ve stolen.”

“No deal,” Sirius shook his head, a smile playing on his lips. “Sorry, they’re far too valuable for me to swap.”

“Fine, I want your pillow. It’s far comfier than mine.”

“Done,” They shook hands and Remus handed over the card. Sirius held it in both hands and wiggled happily in his seat as he gazed at the inventor of the dung bomb. His hero. 

“Wait, how does Remus know how comfortable Sirius’s pillow is?” Lily asked quizzically. Remus flushed beet red and Sirius choked on his own spit. 

“Er, I’ve got to go check on something,” Remus leapt to his feet and ran out of the common room.

“And I’ve got to go put this somewhere safe,” Sirius got out once he had his breath back and hurtled up the stairs to their dorm room. He hurriedly put the card with the rest of his collection and then, because he'd made a promise, swapped his pillow with Remus’s. Looked like they'd be sleeping in Remus’s bed for the foreseeable future.

[pinazee]

Small headcanon that max actually never knew who the mascot was and would talk to zeke about his hopes and deepest fears, and richie just sort of awkwardly comforted him and nodded along hoping max never found out who he was, and in a way, zeke was actually maxs closest friend.

[adrift-in-thyme]

Obsessed with Four being slightly maniacal about his powers

[harriertail]

could i maybe request a drawing of wolfstep? he's a shadowclan warrior from back in the yellowfang's secret & TPB era. he's my beloved background character because his life story is just so wack... his wiki page is definitely an interesting read

they grow up so fast

[bimoonphases]

@wolfstarmicrofic May 7 - prompt 7: Secret Relationship [word count 390]

They had discussed it, and decided they didn’t want to tell anyone for a while. Remus because he still couldn’t believe he was dating Sirius Black, and Sirius because he enjoyed having Remus all for himself. So they agreed on keeping their relationship secret while they figured this whole dating thing out.

The very first day of their secret relationship, James had to crawl out of the dorm they had thought was empty enough for an impromptu makeout session.

The first week of their secret relationship, Peter quietly levitated a chair to strategically block from view the fact that Sirius’s hand was resting on Remus’s thigh in History of Magic.

The second week of their secret relationship, Lily redirected a bunch of first years away from the library shelves they were passionately kissing behind.

The third week of their secret relationship, Marlene walked singing out loud on the Quidditch pitch, giving them enough time to get dressed and sneak out of the showers.

The fourth week of their secret relationship, Mary broke a pot in Herbology to startle them back from looking deep into each other’s eyes instead of pruning the Bubotuber.

The fifth week of their secret relationship, Peter got their Potions essays in order since both their owners were off doing who knew what (they all knew what).

The sixth week of their secret relationship, James had to swim further away than usual to avoid coming out of the lake right by where they were putting flowers in each other’s hair.

The seventh week in their secret relationship, Professor McGonagall flicked her wand and conjured a velvet curtain to keep the alcove they were making out in from prying eyes.

The eight week of their secret relationship they walked up to their friends in the Common Room hand in hand and finally told them they were dating. They got loud cheers, good wishes, hugs, kisses, enthusiasm and were urged to enjoy the empty dorm, that James and Peter were more than happy sleeping by the fireplace for one night.

The very first day of their official relationship, both Sirius and Remus wondered why all of their friends were so hangover at breakfast. From the main table, Professor McGonagall gifted them with one of her rare smiles as Professor Dumbledore counted the Galleons he was putting in her hand.

[mxmarsbars]

“I keep tallies, I keep score

I’m a petty thing on a high, high horse.”

-

more impulsive clock duo art everybody say “thank you mxmarsbars”

anyways this is THEIR song and their song ONLY literally argue with the wall (that is a joke to each their own) but I WILL write a personal essay to anybody about it and how it fits them so so so well like it’s concerning /j

see if you can find all the lil details :3 (they’re nothing crazy just little things)

(also this was so unprompted and impulsive so I’ll probs redraw it again at some point with loads more planning and better poses and stuff I’m sorry if this disappoints anyone because it’s disappointing me kinda but I spent way too long on it just for it to never see the light of day)

[lyraofthestarsss]

First it was the canary allegations, now it’s the furry allegations. Mans can’t catch a break. Also I absolutely love how he just threw Martyn under the bus. I wonder how Martyn’s not so secret tumblr account feels about this

~~~~

Jimmy: -membership button right down there! Thank you, thank you, thank you! You’re amazing! Thank you!

Jimmy, reading the chat: “Jimmy and Martyn furry arc”

*stops the background music*

Jimmy: don’t you dare start this. *zoom in* I am not a furry. Martyn on the other hand, maybe, I don’t- I don’t know what he likes to do in his spare time. Um- maybe. Me? NO. *barks* Me? Not a chance. Not a chance, no thank you. No. No way. *continues background music like nothing happened*

[moeblob]

Happy Birthday to Ferdinand von Aegir!

I actually made 33 emotes, affectionately known as Aegirglyphics to some, for my own personal use on discord. However, I figure why not share some of them! They're free to use for discord servers/icons/pfps or whatever. However, my only request is Do NOT use them as subscriber emotes on Twitch. You can make them free follower emotes but you are not to make them locked behind a paywall.

[absolutebl]

top 10 sexiest moments in bl for you personally?

Only 10?

Okay some of these are screen caps tumblr as blocked so Imma name a few up top I can't show you, but there will be images as well, you just have to read on.

My Top Sexiest BL Moments of All Time

No specific order, way more than 10. Not sorry.

Eternal Yesterday - "whoa" scene

kiss x kiss x kiss: Perfect Scandal - "sweet senpai"

My Beautiful Man - the bloody finger

My Personal Weatherman - the shirt!

Old Fashion Cupcake - finger bite

Unknown - "you don't know my dreams"

Some More - you can kiss me, hyung

A First Love Story - pervert

Kiseki Dear to Me, this scene:

Love is Science - in the hotel closet

Okay,

THAILAND

2 Moons Ambassador - coitus interuptus

Ghost Host, Ghost House - THE LEG THIRST

I Feel You Linger in the Air - the OIL scene, holy fucking heck

KP - you know which one:

Love in Translation - that DAMN convenience store scene

Oh My Sunshine Night - that DAMN shower scene

Why R U? - THAT DAMN SAUNA SCENE

Secret Crush on You - the chain fence

The Sign - yeah most of it, the fantasies, but also that first sex scene

This Love Doesn't Have Long Beans - this distance shot

Y-Destiny ToruFirst - Dai si

(source)

This post dated mid 2024 not responsible for amazing hotness that comes after.

Any of these surprise you? Probably not.

[fully-caulked-wagon]

For you.

[gl-saveme]

are they wearing white little outfits around the house? in tsou universe this can only mean one thing

[lusterlilit]

If only Henry had copped himself one of these…