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olyfrogg:

He better leave my head or start paying rent🤡

Anonymous asked:

The fact that I simp so much for Aemond and Geralt says a lot about my taste in men

chiss-and-crackers:

Ohhh yes. Listen I understand you, Anon haha I have a whole lineup of fictional men who fall under a Very Specific Type.

Originally posted by veinereastath

Originally posted by malfoymanaged

Originally posted by sirsarahiv

Originally posted by nylloth-deactivated20230512

Originally posted by imaginelegolas

Originally posted by random-imagines-blog

Originally posted by adrian-fahrenheit-tepes-alucard

Originally posted by demil

Originally posted by mudsdale-fr

Originally posted by komotionlessqueenmm

lunchboxpoems:

Close your eyes. A lover is standing too close
to focus on. Leave me blurry and fall toward me
with your entire body. Lie under the covers, pretending
to sleep, while I’m in the other room. Imagine
my legs crossed, my hair combed, the shine of my boots
in the slatted light. I’m thinking My plant, his chair,
the ashtray that we bought together. I’m thinking This is where
we live. When we were little we made houses out of
cardboard boxes. We can do anything. It’s not because
our hearts are large, they’re not, it’s what we
struggle with. The attempt to say Come over. Bring
your friends. It’s a potluck, I’m making pork chops, I’m making
those long noodles you love so much. My dragonfly,
my black-eyed fire, the knives in the kitchen are singing
for blood, but we are at the crossroads, my little outlaw,
and this is the map of my heart, the landscape
after cruelty which is, of course, a garden, which is
a tenderness, which is a room, a lover saying Hold me
tight, it’s getting cold. We have not touched the stars,
nor are we forgiven, which brings us back
to the hero’s shoulders and a gentleness that comes,
not from the absence of violence, but despite
the abundance of it. The lawn is drowned, the sky on fire,
the gold light falling backward through the glass
of every room. I’ll give you my heart to make a place
for it to happen, evidence of a love that transcends hunger.
Is that too much to expect? That I would name the stars
for you? That I would take you there? The splash
of my tongue melting you like a sugar cube? We’ve read
the back of the book, we know what’s going to happen.
The fields burned, the land destroyed, the lovers left
broken in the brown dirt. And then it’s gone.
Makes you sad. All your friends are gone. Goodbye
Goodbye. No more tears. I would like to meet you all
in Heaven. But there’s a litany of dreams that happens
somewhere in the middle. Moonlight spilling
on the bathroom floor. A page of the book where we
transcend the story of our lives, past the taco stands
and record stores. Moonlight making crosses
on your body, and me putting my mouth on every one.
We have been very brave, we have wanted to know
the worst, wanted the curtain to be lifted from our eyes.
The dream going on with all of us in it. Penciling in
the bighearted slob. Penciling in his outstretched arms.
Our Father who art in Heaven. Our Father who art buried
in the yard. Someone is digging your grave right now.
Someone is drawing a bath to wash you clean, he said,
so think of the wind, so happy, so warm. It’s a fairy tale,
the story underneath the story, sliding down the polished
halls, lightning here and gone. We make these
ridiculous idols so we can pray to what’s behind them,
but what happens after we get up the ladder?
Do we simply stare at what is horrible and forgive it?
Here is the river, and here is the box, and here are
the monsters we put in the box to test our strength
against. Here is the cake, and here is the fork, and here’s
the desire to put it inside us, and then the question
behind every question: What happens next?
The way you slam your body into mine reminds me
I’m alive, but monsters are always hungry, darling,
and they’re only a few steps behind you, finding
the flaw, the poor weld, the place where we weren’t
stitched up quite right, the place they could almost
slip right through if the skin wasn’t trying to
keep them out, to keep them here, on the other side
of the theater where the curtain keeps rising.
I crawled out the window and ran into the woods.
I had to make up all the words myself. The way
they taste, the way they sound in the air. I passed
through the narrow gate, stumbled in, stumbled
around for a while, and stumbled back out. I made
this place for you. A place for you to love me.
If this isn’t the kingdom then I don’t know what is.
So how would you catalog it? Dawn in the fields?
Snow and dirty rain? Light brought in in buckets?
I was trying to describe the kingdom, but the letters
kept smudging as I wrote them: the hunter’s heart,
the hunter’s mouth, the trees and the trees and the
spaces between the trees, swimming in gold. The words
frozen. The creatures frozen. The plum sauce
leaking out of the bag. Explaining will get us nowhere.
I was away, I don’t know where, lying on the floor,
pretending I was dead. I wanted to hurt you
but the victory is that I could not stomach it. We have
swallowed him up, they said. It’s beautiful, it really is.
I had a dream about you. We were in the gold room
where everyone finally gets what they want.
You said Tell me about your books, your visions made
of flesh and light and I said This is the Moon. This is
the Sun. Let me name the stars for you. Let me take you
there. The splash of my tongue melting you like a sugar
cube… We were in the gold room where everyone
finally gets what they want, so I said What do you
want, sweetheart? and you said Kiss me. Here I am
leaving you clues. I am singing now while Rome
burns. We are all just trying to be holy. My applejack,
my silent night, just mash your lips against me.
We are all going forward. None of us are going back.

RICHARD SIKEN

Anonymous asked:

Why do you study history

medievalthymes:

xwiredearbuds2014x:

(via drinkyourfuckingmilk)

mayolo:

Some modern au shenanigans

(via mlmlucio)

a-l-o-n-e-t-o-g-e-t-h-e-r:

meduseld:

sawasawako-archived:

thinking about how orpheus turning to look back at eurydice isn’t a sign of mortal frailness but a sign of love

“Eurydice, dying now a second time, uttered no complaint against her husband. What was there to complain of, but that she had been loved?”
― Ovid, Metamorphoses

This is true no matter the version you’re reading.

1. Eurydice trips and Orpheus turns to help her because he loves her.

2. Orpheus cannot hear Eurydice behind him, and fearing that he’s been tricked, turns to make sure she’s there.

3. Orpheus makes it out of the Underworld, and so full of love and excitement to be with Eurydice, turns to embrace her, forgetting that they both need to be out of the Underworld.

No matter what happens in the story, Orpheus loses Eurydice because his love for her compels him to look.

(via kabuki-after-midnight)

bwelite:

Thinking about her, miss Aweng Chuol

(via okayysophia)

waluigisapartment:

Chewing minty gum while wearing a mask like a plague doctor with a beak full of potpourri

(via planetben)

your-naked-magic-0h-dear-lord:

normal-horoscopes:

bookwormwinnetou:

normal-horoscopes:

normal-horoscopes:

normal-horoscopes:

starryfansquid:

normal-horoscopes:

normal-horoscopes:

IF YOURE AN ENGLISH SPEAKER HERES SOMETHING YOU MIGHT NOT KNOW:

IN THE ORIGINAL ITALIAN, DANTE’S INFERNO RHYMES. THE ENTIRE THING.

THE ENTIRE DIVINE COMEDY RHYMES.

HEARING MY ITALIAN PROFESSOR READ THE FIRST CANTO OUT LOUD IN THE ORIGINAL ITALIAN WAS A FORMATIVE EXPERIENCE FOR ME.

I COULDNT UNDERSTAND A WORD OF WHAT WAS BEING SAID BUT EVERY SINGLE PERSON IN THE ROOM WAS HIT WITH THE SUDDEN AND INTENSE FEELING THAT THE PERSON WHO WROTE THESE WORDS WAS A MASTER OF THEIR LANGUAGE.

IT IS FAIR TO CALL THE DIVINE COMEDY TRANSCENDANT IN ITS BEAUTY.

* not just rhyme its uhmm all lines have 11 syllabes and it rhymes like ABA BCB CDC etc etc etc for EVER very good

ITS A POETIC FORM CALLED TEZRA RIMA THAT IS FAMOUSLY DIFFICULT TO USE WELL

AND MOST ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS DO KEEP VERY CLOSE TO THE ORIGINAL 11 SYLLABLE METER

NEVERMIND POST CANCELLED

NOTES OF THIS POST:

50% AWESTRUCK ENGLISH SPEAKERS

40% BAFFLED ITALIANS

9% PEOPLE WHO DONT UNDERSTAND THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN RHYME AND VERSE

1% HUMAN PET GUY

… are u telling me that English translations don’t follow the original rhyming

TRYING TO MAKE THE DIVINE COMEDY RHYME IN ENGLISH WOULD ABSOLUTELY BUTCHER IT

MOST ENGLISH POETRY IS BASED OFF ALLITERATION AND STRESS RHYTHMS BECAUSE ENGLISH IS A FRANKENSTIEN LANGUAGE WITH SO FEW RHYME GROUPS THAT RHYME OFTEN COMES OFF AS AWKWARD AND SING-SONGY

ITS WHY SHAKESPEARE IS SO IMPRESSIVE HE ROUTINELY MANAGED TO BEAT ENGLISH INTO SHAPE LONG ENOUGH TO RHYME FOR TEN WHOLE LINES WHILE MAKING IT SOUND PERFECTLY NATURAL

Isn’t Dante known as a poet? So wouldn’t we assume that at least some of his stuff rhymes? Isn’t the Divine Comedy considered a poem?

normal-horoscopes:

normal-horoscopes:

normal-horoscopes:

normal-horoscopes:

I GET UP TO INVESTIGATE THE STRANGE GURGLING SOUND IN THE LIVING ROOM]

[MY FAILED CATGIRL HOMONCULUS LEAVES ANOTHER SEVERED HAND NEXT TO MY SLIPPERS]

“THANK YOU OKATSU BUT IT IS 3AM PLEASE GO BACK TO YOUR ICHOR VAT I WILL MAKE YOU MORE AZOTH SLURRY IN THE MORNING”

[SHE GRABS ME WITH ALL FOUR TONGUES AND SLAMS MY HEAD THOUGH THE COFFEE TABLE]

(via drukhari)

bi-astolfo:

Dimitri & Edelgard telling Byleth about their classmates: Sure some have their faults but we’re working on it! They’re all still great.

Claude:

(via nephenees-lance)