#lookit this boi

[stealerofheartsss]

//-Feeds you all some Lennel content-

[chillyneon]

I require a bajillion plushies of Innupe STAT

GIMME THIS ZOMBIE BOI YES

[mitathemita]

the shining sun!! ☀️

[deerspherestudios]

He's so cute🥺👉👈✨

[ohheyitsjustbear]

Boy tummy featuring freckles

Treats ♡ Tips for Tattoos

Reblogs appreciated, keep comments in the tags unless we're mutuals 🩷

[tangledinink]

I love your Swanatello and Gemini AUs! Your art style is scrumptious <3

AAA THANK YOU!!!! ; 0 ;

[undeaddevildom]

Nightbringer demon sheep Mc with Jacobs ram horns

Is that anything

[sleepyhoneybunn]

My Belos/Phillip grimwalker oc if he met @catboymoments Belos/Phillip grimwalker oc Hyacinth! Hyacinth is my favorite boy and I like to think these two might get along. They both have chaos flowing through them and I love them both.

[bichobolitach]

This three year old can pronounce “épée” better than me

Anyways. Baby Jesse. He’s very small and his dad is very popular and people keep coming over to say hi and they also want him to say hi and he knows NONE OF THESE PEOPLE! AND HE IS VERY SMALL!

[trilobitepunch]

Mikey's so fun to draw because you can put him in the wildest poses.

[allsystemsblue]

AAAAAAAAND he did it again.

GUYS. GUYS. LOOK WHO HE BROUGHT US THIS TIME. 😍

By Kryptic_Studio on TT.

[percephilous]

My son is so. Cool how silly

[fauna-and-floraa]

3racha with their Best Creator award at the Asian Artist Awards, 2023.

[hannahssimblr]

It’s been a long time since we were three - Jen, Michelle and I, and nobody else. Really it was two first, them, from the first day of junior infants, when children were seated alphabetically. Smythe sat with Tengu, that was the natural order of things, and for them, that was that. 

Plenty of people stay friends with that first kid from that first day, it’s just how it works out. You end up spending eight years or more joined at the hip with that snot nosed kid who borrowed your pencil and chewed off the eraser on the end, or snipped chunks out of your hair with safety scissors. But maybe, even to small children, a special, unbreakable bond is born from the experience of witnessing one another cry softly into your copy books as your parents reverse out of the car park and abandon you in a new, strange place with twenty-nine five year old strangers. 

It worked out well for them, though, Michelle, who was bullied for looking foreign, and Jen, the tiny, confident child who had mastered the art of the creative insult by the time she could speak. Boldly, she stood up to anyone who said a word to her new friend, and no, Tengu isn’t hard to pronounce, you just can’t read. And, by the way, you have chocolate smeared around your mouth. 

I crashed their party in the autumn of 2002, uncomfortable in my first ever uniform, and made to sit down at the back of the room like an inconvenience with maths worksheets while everyone else participated in their Irish lesson. I didn’t even know that Irish was a language before then and thanked my lucky stars that ten years old was considered too late to learn and rendered me exempt, because the thought alone of attempting to make those foreign, hacking sounds at the back of my throat was enough to make me shudder. 

It was Jen, to my left, who nudged me, “are you dyslexic?”

“No, I'm American.”

“What are you doing here then?” 

“I moved.”

“Why?”

I was grateful when the teacher told us to pipe down, because I wasn’t really sure how I was going to answer anyway, but it was only a minute before a piece of folded paper landed on my desk. 

A note.

Did you ever go to Disneyland? Yes No

I circled yes and tossed it back at her. Of course I’ve been to Disneyland, like, five times. My great aunt took me on every single birthday, and I went on all of the rides I was tall enough for. 

The notes didn’t stop, one after another, question after question, and I shrunk a little under her curious gaze at the desk next to me, not really ready to be observed with such intensity, but it didn’t matter what I wanted. Jen wanted answers. 

“Do you have Coronation Street in America?” She said, trailing me into the yard as I tried to find a secluded spot to eat my sandwich.

“Hm? Where’s that?”

She giggled, “What about Quality Street?”

“Are they, like, kinda the same thing?”

“Do you know any WWF wrestlers?”

“I know them on the TV, I guess.”

“But not in real life? Have you met any celebrities?”

“Um, I saw the guy who played Screech on Saved by the Bell one time.”

“I dunno who that is. Anyone else?”

She could be pretty annoying, but disarming and easy to warm to nonetheless, but it was never Jen that was the problem.

It was her best friend Michelle. 

Michelle Tengu didn’t really talk. Kids in the class would try their best to make her say something, they’d ask her if she was mute, which she wasn’t, she was too shy to speak sometimes, and when she did her voice was whisper quiet, which didn’t help.

“What?” Our classmates would bellow, “I can’t hear you, you have to speak up!” and underneath the table her hands would ball into fists and her face would burn furious red. 

Usually kids like Michelle were too much effort for me, I dare say boring, even, I tended to gravitate towards loud, borderline obnoxious types but I quickly learned that wherever my new friend Jen went, Michelle went too, so her presence, I would have to learn to accept.

Once I got over my impatience with Michelle’s quiet nature we tended to get along pretty well, she was the perfect antidote for Jen and I, who would often launch into spirited arguments about stupid things that hardly mattered, but she was so good at being diplomatic, logical, making sense of things that seemed so complicated to us but simple to her. Michelle was very good at being right. All of the time. It was one of the interesting things about her. 

There were other interesting things, of course, which I began to discover during the long, humid summer of 2004. Like the way her hair, long, sleek and black, reflected the sunshine, and her pouty mouth and chestnut brown eyes. Girls weren’t gross to me in that way anymore, especially Michelle.  

It was her house where we hung out, mostly, because my house had a fussy toddler in it and Jen’s parents were weird and always made us participate in chores, but Michelle’s house wasn’t perfect either. Her parents were always hovering within earshot of the living room as we three friends hung out, and they made sure that Michelle’s bedroom was always off limits to me. Jen could go up there all she liked, to fetch a CD or a teen magazine for us to fill out the stupid quizzes, but not me. I had to park myself on that pale blue couch and listen to my friends giggling through the ceiling while Rahim grilled me about my education.

“I don’t get why they’re like that,” Jen would say in consolation when we walked home together after another summer afternoon in the Tengu’s semi detached. “They’re the same with the sleepovers, even though they’d be so much more fun if you were there too. I honestly just don’t get it."

But I did. 

And as time went on the girls would understand too, because by twelve almost everything felt different to the way it felt at ten. There wasn’t only Michelle and her pretty glossy hair anymore, there was Jessie and Alice and Amy, and eventually, my very first girlfriend Holly whose friends used to shove digital cameras into our faces when we tried to kiss at the teenage discos, and who would start dramatic, weekly arguments with me over text message if I dared to so much as ask the girl next to me to borrow a pencil sharpener. 

Things became extra complicated when somebody left a handmade card and a packet of gel pens on my desk for my birthday, which I assumed were from Holly, and thanked her, much to her chagrin, because it hasn’t actually been her, no, she’d bought me tickets to see Dodgeball at the cinema.

It was Michelle. 

Holly insisted that I give them back to her, so I did, with all the sensitivity and tact a newly turned thirteen year old is capable of, which is almost none, and left Michelle standing forlornly in the yard holding the card I had barely read dangling limply from her fingers.

It was her, eventually, who launched a campaign against me after many weeks of being an obliging boyfriend, claiming that I was spending far too much time with Holly and her friends and had forgotten all about those who had welcomed me with their friendship when I was displaced and alone at the beginning, but I didn’t think of it like that. I still wanted to be friends with her and Jen, they were my main friends, but I needed to make time for my new friends too. There was only so much of me to go around, surely, if she were so reasonable, she would understand.

“You don’t care about us at all anymore,” she hissed at me in the school yard with tears in her eyes, “It’s all about Holly and her gang now. Well, she can have you, you don’t have time for anybody else these days.”

She ignored all my attempts to make it up to her, and we only drifted further apart after that, losing ourselves to the new landscape, the new rules of secondary school, finding different interests, different people, different music, ways to dress and express ourselves to spend our time until eventually the only thing we had in common was Jenny Smythe, the girl who had stood in place while we swirled around her, a rock in a churning ocean of teenage angst. If it wasn’t for her, I know I would hardly see Michelle at all. I’d never have to think about her. 

But I do, and now instead of her giggling I hear her sobs through the ceiling of the living room.

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Big thank you to @nexility-sims for helping me make sense of this montage scene! It was driving my crazy for weeks <3 <3 <3

[kyuoki]

been feeling down so my brain decided i needed more human!jones content *sighs* ain’t he just dreamy??? 🫠😩

[tangledinink]

Swanatello is very soft ;~;

AAAA,,, thank you ; 0 ; ?!??!! he looks so pretty in your style AAAA LOOKIT THE BABY BOY...