exploration

inactive

[v3nusgf]

[academia-lucifer]

@academia-lucifer

[teneebris]

photo credits to pinterest.

[somisi]

[thistlelearns]

6.4.2023 // i visited the library for the first time in forever and perhaps i do love a good morning session there

[ladycordis-deactivated20240208]

I did the best I could with the amount of time, energy, and knowledge I had in the moment. I am a part of nature; like crashing waves or seasonal fruit trees, I will not be perfectly consistent. I am not failing or falling behind, it makes sense why it didn’t work out. I didn’t have the resources or people that I needed to complete that thing successfully. I will find them. It is everyone’s first time living and we are all learning how to navigate it together. I forgive it all.

[daily-spooky]

[somisi]

This vibe >>>

[academia-lucifer]

@academia-lucifer

[readingloveswounds]

8.24.2023

Another library day! I got a decent amount done - and then considered doing absolutely nothing at all in the afternoon. The library had some of its rare books and manuscripts on display, which was very fun to go see.

[louisinart-like-cuisinart]

Anyway if you see this you have to reblog and tag with a delight from ur day -- even the littlest thing counts

[thelailasblog-deactivated202501]

[academia-lucifer]

@academia-lucifer

[alivehouse]

the problem with fanfiction is that theres too many coffeeshop aus and not enough aus where the characters are trapped in an alivehouse psychological horror situation or perhaps a labyrinth of sorts

[blumenundpoesie]

Is it bad that I’m counting down to autumn already?

[owlchimedes]

[dionysian-mystery]

When did we stop coming here?

[sunshinenpigeon]

Throughout the book, Patroclus describes Achilles in so many poetic ways that I would love to be described as by my s/o at one point. Here are some of my favorites:

There was a vividness to him, even at rest, that made death and spirits seem foolish.

When he smiled, the skin at the corners of his eyes crinkled like a leaf held to flame.

As if he heard me, he smiled, and his face was like the sun.

His features are drawn with a firm hand; nothing awry or sloppy, nothing too large—all precise, cut with the sharpest of knives. And yet the effect itself is not sharp.

When he died, all things swift and beautiful and bright would be buried with him.

He was spring, golden and bright. Envious Death would drink his blood, and grow young again.

He had light enough to make heroes of them all.

He is half of my soul, as the poets say.