Do You Ever Get Emotional Bc Kevin Promised Andrew He’d Find Him Something To Build His Life Around

Cracks

Thundercracks; chasms; those in coffee cups; crevasses; crispy crackling; cracks full of bones in the mountains to the far North and the snow has mercifully covered them but in Summer you can still see the traces; those in badly-constructed alibis; those on which you must not step; those that start small and widen until they have split a whole country in two and spilled out all the hidden vaults and subway routes into the chasm; those which stare back; those of doors opened just a smidgen; the varnish-cracked faces of china shepherdesses in the spider attic; the crack that cracks a case; that cracks a skull; those in valuable vases; fractured air; those whose fixing is part of the art; cracks that spill forth ants; those that are breaks in reality; whip cracks; bum cracks; those in broken biscuits; the first cracks in a wall that you wish gone.

holy, holy, holy. these are the words he murmurs into your skin, language of prayer, language of divinity, language of worship. holy, holy, holy. he whispers it into your crook of your neck, rolls the words into the hollow of your throat, into your bones, into your sharp edges. holy, holy, holy. a mantra. a litany. a prayer. holy, holy, holy. the way he looks at you, it’s like he wants to take you apart and study each piece of you, and then maybe he’ll put you back together when he’s done. maybe. holy, holy, holy. he stares at you, so hard you can feel it burning your skin, and you think maybe he’ll kiss you, or maybe he’ll eat you alive. you haven’t decided yet. holy, holy, holy. in the end, it’s a kiss, real as a punch and twice as hard, and it hurts like a bullet pearling into flesh, hurts like his eyes on the back of your neck, on your collarbones, on your lips. holy. holy, holy, holy.

on loving a god | m.c.p (via ara-ne-um)

look how many teeth / you have—the better to swallow the sky

Emily O’Neill, from “where St. Francis tamed the wolves,” Curious Specimens (via lifeinpoetry)

this line makes me want to cry

WHAT IS TO LOVE? you think this is it. when you crown him king with his halo dazzling against the blackness of the stars because they, of course, they are dimmed against him. he outshines them all. this is love. WHAT IS TO LOVE? you think this is it. you hollow out his thighs and worship his mouth and surrender to his army. you build a temple out of the prayers you have whispered to him against the breathless warmth of his lips and you kneel. you kneel. this is love. WHAT IS TO LOVE? you think this is it. this scrambling of limbs and waking together in the morning, falling asleep at night with your arm dangling over his sun-stroked (for the sun, even the sun loves him– how could it not?) torso, tracing the dimples of his back with the pins affixed, haphazardly, to your palm. you scar him with needles and he kills you with knives. this is love. WHAT IS TO LOVE? you think this is it. the boldness he has inspired, the boldness he regrets. the calluses on your palm, the calluses he carries in his chest. the fraying leather you don, the shining steel he was born in. you love the idea of one last supernova, you taste the idea of going down in storm and glory on your tongue, a phoenix in the fire, of matching his brilliance for the first and the last time. you know with dread and you know with terrible clarity and you know with the unerring confidence of a boy who knows he has nothing to lose. all you can lose is him. all you can lose is him. and you are saving him, you are, you are saving him from drowning in his own blood. you think that, as you become him and soak up his fire and swallow his flames, that this is it. this is love.

you would burn the world down and build it up brick by brick for him // s.w. (via bluesergente)

i’m so yikes at all the people praising @maggie-stiefvater for the lgbt ship being treated ~so well~ in trk just bc…. the lgbt characters weren’t killed off or turned into trees, and that’s just….. so sad.

as if pynch wasn’t completely treated as an afterthought, because they totally were. their scenes were super short and had no dialogue whatsoever, nor did they have any sort of confession of feelings or clear confirmation of their relationship while the hets got clear i love you’s and official declarations of their relationship to literally everyone and unnecessary drama……….. like i’m super happy that they’re both alive and happy and together and have a little hooved daughter that they love but. 

that shouldn’t be our standard. it’s mostly just sad that our expectations are that low that we’re praising an author for sidelining the lgbt ship and treating them nowhere near as well as the straight ship. and again so much of pynch was subtext and extremely subtle stuff that you have to read in between the lines, as it has been since the beginning. 

and i don’t even blame any lgbt people for being happy about it bc we’re used to being treated so awfully that we’re basically ecstatic about getting just scraps bc well, it could be so much worse. but stief is nowhere near revolutionary and actually giving good and equal representation and we deserve better (and any straight people praising it just need to shut up, thanks). 

i mean, if you can say one positive thing about it, it’s that the two lgbt characters got the strongest and most intricate individual arcs, but as a ship they were absolutely sidelined and underwhelming after all the hype and build up. 

🍁 Canadian male model Emile Woon

fleabag is very good

i can’t get adam parrish: spontaneous sleeper off my mind like…..

adam routinely falling asleep on gansey’s shoulder whenever he sits shotgun in the pig

ronan being put on ‘crash watch’ during latin because everone knows that adam hates sleeping in class but sometimes it just happens

(crash watch includes taking adam’s notes, waking him up ~gently~, and being a good boyf)

adam and persephone having naps in cabeswater after he finishes his training for the day

sometimes blue encourages adam to sleep when they hang out. usually he ends up sprawled over her lap and snoring loudly as she watches sitcoms, and usually orla or persephone document it in the form of like 60 pictures

blue had one printed and taped to her wall

noah and adam staying up late and talking and talking until they end up cuddled on adam’s bed (adam is lil’ spoon ofc)

adam sleeping in the hondayota during his breaks 

ronan and adam staying up studying for finals and adam eventually slumping over and crashing on ronan’s lap (ronan’s face is so red google earth can see him through the roof of st. agnes)

Paris is always showing its teeth. When it is not snarling, it is laughing.

Les Misérables, Part III, Book I, Chapter XI (via sextmen)