currently working on moving queued posts, bios, etc over to @partloss so this blog will now be an archive!

Stars, you are unfortunate, I pity you, Beautiful as you are, shining in your glory, Who guide seafaring men through stress and peril And have no recompense from gods or mortals, Love you do not, nor do you know what love is. Hours that are aeons urgently conducting Your figures in a dance through the vast heaven, What journey have you ended in this moment, Since lingering in the arms of my beloved I lost all memory of you and midnight. - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

I brought you apple juice. And quite a bit more.

Personification of the sea in Norse mythology.

the witcher requests:

geralt falling asleep while talking to yennefer

It’s the worst thing ever when someone you love dies And then seeing the world happily going on with their day, Smiling with their teeth and showing off a new shade of lip-gloss. Your whole life has fallen apart, yet the world still turns And other people go on being normal.

— Geoffrey Gatza, from “Goodnight Noises Everywhere,” published in Peach

I said that’s enough of this shit!

𝕳𝖊 𝖜𝖍𝖔 𝖉𝖊𝖘𝖎𝖗𝖊𝖘 𝖇𝖚𝖙 𝖆𝖈𝖙𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖙, 𝖇𝖗𝖊𝖊𝖉𝖘 𝖕𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖑𝖊𝖓𝖈𝖊 I know I’m SUPER late……  but happy birthday, right?? ;◡;

“I am a demanding creature. I am selfish and cruel and extremely unreasonable. But I am your servant. When you starve I will feed you; when you are sick I will tend you. I crawl at your feet; for before your love, your kisses, I am debased. For you alone I will be weak.” ― Catherynne M. Valente

Liv Ullmann, from Changing

You know who I “stan”? My mom

un passo dal cielo 4x18 (2017) / medici: the magnificent 2x05 (2018)

Do you want to know what they’re really celebrating up there? That, darling is the sound of fools fiddling while the whole fucking species starts to burn. And the funniest fucking part? They lit the match. So here’s to you, assholes! May your forever be blissfully short.

And how even touch itself cannot mean the same to both of us, even in this small country of our bed, even in this language with only two native speakers.

— Ellen Bass, from “The Small Country,” Indigo

Saint Sebastian, oil on canvas details, by Giorgio Dante

Uncle Yanco dir. Agnes Varda

The first time he calls you holy, you laugh it back so hard your sides hurt. The second time, you moan gospel around his fingers between your teeth. He has always surprised you into surprising yourself. Because he’s an angel hiding his halo behind his back and nothing has ever felt so filthy as plucking the wings from his shoulders— undressing his softness one feather at a time. God, if you’re out there, if you’re listening, he fucks like a seraphim, and there’s no part of scripture that ever prepared you for his hands. Hands that map a communion in the cradle of your hips. Hands that kiss hymns up your sides. He confesses how long he’s looked for a place to worship and,oh, you put him on his knees. When he sinks to the floor and moans like he can’t help himself, you wonder if the other angels fell so sweet. He says his prayers between your thighs and you dig your heels into the base of his spine until he blushes the color of your filthy tongue. You will ruin him and he will thank you; he will say please. No damnation ever looked as cozy as this, but you fit over his hips like they were made for you.You fit, you fit, you fit. On top of him, you are an ancient god that only he remembers and he offers up his skin. And you take it. Who knew sacrifice was so profane? And once you’ve taught him how to hold your throat in one hand and your heart in the other, you will have forgotten every other word, except his name.

PROFANE, by Ashe Vernon (via latenightcornerstore)