and what of my wrath?

becks // england welcome to the north. here there be spoilers. dont say i didn't warn you.

[hornwoodsmoved]

and what of my wrath?

[hornwoodsmoved]

I have moved! I’ve made a fresh blog because i was starting to swim in a million unorganised posts and it was annoying me. feel free to unfollow this blog - it’s just sort of an archive for me to grab old edits n stuff now. xo

[hornwoodsmoved]

and what of my wrath?

[hornwoodsmoved]

I have moved! I’ve made a fresh blog because i was starting to swim in a million unorganised posts and it was annoying me. feel free to unfollow this blog - it’s just sort of an archive for me to grab old edits n stuff now. xo

[hornwoodsmoved]

and what of my wrath?

I have moved! I've made a fresh blog because i was starting to swim in a million unorganised posts and it was annoying me. feel free to unfollow this blog - it's just sort of an archive for me to grab old edits n stuff now. xo

[glitzandshadows]

TIME TO PANIC

[aweepingwillow]

I grew up in Warwickshire. In a tiny little village. It was really nice, a country upbringing. We had a paddock out the back where horses used to graze and we had three little barns, one for each of us. They were tiny, but they were ours. Obviously, my older brothers used the barns to hotbox weed or whatever, but for me it was just collecting sticks and childish things.

[death-by-elocution]

[shrinemaidens]

Ivan frowned and ran a broad brown hand through his hair. “You keep calling him that. The Tsar of Life.”

“That’s what he is.” And am I the Tsaritsa of Life, then? half her heart asked. The other half answered, Not even for a moment were you ever queen.

—Catherynne M. Valente, Deathless

[rhaegartarqaryen-deactivated201]

Russian Fairy Tales (1/?):The Unsmiling Tsarevna There was once a princess named Nesmeyana who never smiled or laughed. Her father promised that whoever made her smile could marry her, and many tried, but none succeeded. Across the town, an honest worker worked hard for his master. At the end of the year, the master put a sack of money before him and told him to take as much as he wanted. To avoid sinning by taking too much, he took only one coin, and when he went to drink from a well, he dropped the coin and lost it. The next year, the same thing happened to him. The third year, the worker took the same amount of coin as before, but when he drank from the well, he did not lose his coin, and the other two coins floated up to him. He decided to see the world. A mouse asked him for alms; he gave him a coin. Then he did the same for a beetle and a catfish. He came to the castle and saw princess Nesmeyana looking at him. This astounded him, and he fell in the mud. The mouse, the beetle, and the catfish came to his aid, and at their antics, the princess laughed. She pointed him out as the man, and when he was brought into the castle, he had been turned into a handsome man. The honest worker, now a handsome man, married princess Nesmeyana.

[amyduhnne-deactivated20160325]

When I think of my wife, I always think of her head. The shape of it, to begin with. The very first time I saw her, it was the back of the head I saw, and there was something lovely about it, the angles of it. Like a shiny, hard corn kernel or a riverbed fossil. She had what the Victorians would call a finely shaped head. You could imagine the skull quite easily.

I’d know her head anywhere.

[brookedaviz]

[remusjohnslupin]

Slytherin!Hermione AU

[virusmeadow]

Because—isn’t it drilled into us constantly, from childhood on, an unquestioned platitude in the culture—? From William Blake to Lady Gaga, from Rousseau to Rumi to Tosca to Mister Rogers, it’s a curiously uniform message, accepted from high to low: when in doubt, what to do? How do we know what’s right for us? Every shrink, every career counselor, every Disney princess knows the answer: “Be yourself.” “Follow your heart.” Only here’s what I really, really want someone to explain to me. What if one happens to be possessed of a heart that can’t be trusted—? What if the heart, for its own unfathomable reasons, leads one willfully and in a cloud of unspeakable radiance away from health, domesticity, civic responsibility and strong social connections and all the blandly-held common virtues and instead straight toward a beautiful flare of ruin, self-immolation, disaster?…If your deepest self is singing and coaxing you straight toward the bonfire, is it better to turn away? Stop your ears with wax? Ignore all the perverse glory your heart is screaming at you? Set yourself on the course that will lead you dutifully towards the norm, reasonable hours and regular medical check-ups, stable relationships and steady career advancement the New York Times and brunch on Sunday, all with the promise of being somehow a better person? Or…is it better to throw yourself head first and laughing into the holy rage calling your name?”

 Donna Tartt, The Goldfinch (via jaimelannister)

[iliacl]

you fall at my feet, bent and bowing and broken, and i smile. you should have worshipped me sooner.

— [ you kissed these teeth, once ] a.g.  (via facinaoris)

[mysapphicstar-blog]

His love was built for cathedrals but fits better in sweaty palms and cracks in the pavement because when he watches her, he only sees Rome. Because when he sees her, he is snow and not marble. He is lust in the nape of her neck and aching fists and veins bursting with blood. Blood that is not red but the white white white of a ghost of all the lost lovers. He holds his breath when she moves and remembers when they were all lips, teeth, nails moan, more, more remembers when they had more. He aches, aches, aches to just move to just touch her.

David (via uncommoncriminal)

[nastygall]

Isabella Peschardt

[eliaamartell]

[hornwoodsmoved]

The wolves will come again.

// Eva Green as Older!Arya, Lotte Verbeek as Older!Sansa (requested by anonymous)

[zolairo]

A piece from Dion Lee’s International Woolmark Prize collection