lord byron

viktor (he/him) • xxi • brazil • arrogant pseudo-scholar • to absent dreams, lost loves, old gods and the season of mists; and may each and every one of us always give the devil his due.

[carcinogenical]

Ego (x)

[yesterdaysprint]

New-York Tribune, New York, January 2, 1920

[squareallworthy]

Everyone will not just

If your solution to some problem relies on “If everyone would just…” then you do not have a solution. Everyone is not going to just. At not time in the history of the universe has everyone just, and they’re not going to start now.

[thekimonogallery]

“Rie Miyazawa …” Swan’s Tears “(1989) Fuji TV”

[azaikit]

the best boy.

[zero-noah]

11/2 was shimei's birthday.

[poetrylesbian]

got a cliched two-headed calf tattoo based on the laura giplin poem and I am over the moon happy about it

artist: isabella.piaa on instagram, based in brisbane, qld

[kitto-kitto]

I’m Sophia, humanity’s greatest companion! 💖

[twinkle-art]

manifesting the post-p5r double detective prince case plot of my dreams stay tuned

[chiyotae]

a growing spark

[harmonyzing]

i drew this shit doodle just to ask if i was the only one who, when reading kafka on the shore, imagined oshima as nam tae hyun? no one else? just me? ok. 

[aridante]

“As with a wound on one’s own body, it is possible to develop an intimacy with the most disturbing of things.”

— Kazuo Ishiguro, A Pale View of Hills

[realpersonfacts]

i love reading horror movie plot synopses on wikipedia and going hehe that sounds scary. i wont watch it

[nhylluan-deactivated20250117]

Second saint to serve the King Undying

[dankmemeuniversity]

[willkill4pudding]

Companion to:

[transangelicism]

regarding the röttgen pietà, elle emerson

[antigonick]

“It was my mother warned me against you, but I heard you singing in the cinnamon fern and thought you were beautiful: a thing I could never touch. Like the crest of Orion. Like the farthest Pleiades. You wore erythronium in your hair, like your name; the yellow trout lily. Lily, lily. Sometimes I think I would eat you if I could. There is a witch in a story who ate a girl she loved, and always afterwards when she spoke, flowers fell out of her open mouth. I would swallow you up, and you would be lobelia on my tongue for the rest of my life. This is what they say: it is not uncommon for us to want to eat what we love. […] I love you, knot in my heart. I love you, hands on my hands, hands on my ribs, mouth on my mouth. I love you, stone in my shoe. I love only you. Only you. Only ever you.”

— Becca De La Rosa, “Letter from Juniper”, from Mabel