@academia-lucifer
DEAR READER
d e v o n
occasionally subtle
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he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
we're not kids anymore.
dirt enthusiast
๐ชผ
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her

if i look back, i am lost
Sade Olutola
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
Cosmic Funnies
cherry valley forever

โ

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blake kathryn

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Peter Solarz

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@jackiebelle
@academia-lucifer
October, Louise Glรผck
Ingeborg Bachmann, from "Eyes to Wonder" in Three Paths to the Lake
Sayat Nova, from Anthology of Armenian Poetry, ed. & tr. byย Diana Der Hovanessianย and Marzbed Margossian; "I traveled the world"
Margarita Karapanou, tr. by Karen Emmerich, from Rien ne va plus
[Text ID: โโEvery time I want to write, I want to write love stories. But as soon as I pick up the pen Iโm overcome by horror.โ]
A PORTRAIT OF DEAD GIRLS
โงโโงสพโง๏ฝฅ๏พ*.
โโ โ โงโ โ โ โ โ ๐๐ฎ๐ฐ๐พ๐๐ฒ๐น๐ถ๐ป๐ฒ โ โโ โ โ .
โ โ โ โ LET ME FEED YOU โ โ โ โ โ TO MY FRIENDS!
โ โ โ โ โ โ โ โ โ โ โ โ โ โ โ โ โงสพโง๏ฝฅ๏พ*.โโง
Maeva Quellet (26) Odette Nesbit (21) Jaqueline Quellet (25) Clementine Lavoie (25) Adeline Bouchard (25)
Ama Codjoe, from Bluest Nude: Poems; โBluest Nudeโ
[Text ID: โI crave. I want to be seen clearly or not at all.โ]
โ โ โ โ โ โ โ โ โ โ โ โ โ โ โงสพโง๏ฝฅ๏พ*. โ โ โ โ โ โ โ โ โ ๐ท๐ฎ๐ฐ๐พ๐๐ฒ๐น๐ถ๐ป๐ฒ โ &. โฎ ย ๐บ๐ฎ๐ฒ๐๐ฎ โ โ โ โ โ โ โ โ โ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ฆ โ ๐ถ โ ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ก ๐ ๐ ๐
Holidays felt more like wastelands of time for the Coven. And a Christmas in Georgia made it no better. It was overwhelmingly hot and humid to Jackie that she felt that wearing a t-shirt was one-too-many. It also made it ridiculous for her to wear any of her billions of sweatersโher stable object. ๐๐ฆ๐ท๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ถ๐จ๐ฉ๐ต ๐'๐ฅ ๐ด๐ข๐บ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ช๐ด, ๐ฃ๐ถ๐ต ๐จ๐ฐ๐ฅ, ๐ ๐ฎ๐ช๐ด๐ด ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ด๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ธ. A small chuckle lived in the vibrations off her half-cracked, peachy lips.
Jackie turned slightly to focus her brown hues onto her sister. She was for the first time in years, taking in all of her. She observed how the way the sun highlighted her loosely-curled chestnut brown. The way that her pale skin failed to absorb the razes of the sun, causing her cheeks to become flushed with hazes of pinks.
The bench they sat on was on the edges of the Mystic Fallsโ Graveyard, facing away from the Salvatore Boarding House and its nauseating decor. ๐ ๐ฌ๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ธ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ช๐ด ๐ช๐ด๐ฏ'๐ต ๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ฆ ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ธ๐ฆ ๐ด๐ข๐ช๐ฅ ๐ธ๐ฆ'๐ฅ ๐ด๐ฌ๐ช๐ฑ ๐๐ฉ๐ณ๐ช๐ด๐ต๐ฎ๐ข๐ด, ๐ฃ๐ถ๐ต ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ฆ. Her small hands slipped into the depths of her heat-absorbent jean jacket and placed a vanilla envelope on her sisterโs lap before turning her head slightly to gaze across the graveyard.
All that was written was:
โ โ โ โ โ โโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโ
โ โ โ โ โ โ โ โ โ โ โ โ โ โ ๐๐ ๐๐๐ก ๐๐๐ฆ ๐๐.๐๐ฌ | โ โ โ โ โ โ โ โ โ โ โ โ โ โ ๐๐๐ +๐๐ยฐ ๐๐ยด ๐๐.๐๐" โ โ โ โ โ โ โ โ โ โ โ ๐ ๐ฉ ๐ - ๐ก ๐ ๐ก๐ ย ๐ฆ ๐ง ๐ ๐ ๐ ๐
โ โ โ โ โ โโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโ
With a swift clearing of her throat, she began to speak before she could meet the questioning gaze of her sister. ๐๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ด๐ฆ ๐ข๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ค๐ฐ๐ฐ๐ณ๐ฅ๐ช๐ฏ๐ข๐ต๐ฆ๐ด ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ข ๐ค๐ข๐ญ๐ค๐ถ๐ญ๐ข๐ต๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐๐ญ๐ข๐ค๐ฌ ๐๐ฐ๐ญ๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐ ๐ฏ๐ข๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ฐ๐ง๐ง ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ. ๐๐ฐ๐ด๐ต ๐ฑ๐ฆ๐ฐ๐ฑ๐ญ๐ฆ ๐จ๐ฆ๐ต ๐ด๐ต๐ข๐ณ๐ด, ๐ฃ๐ถ๐ต ๐ ๐ง๐ฆ๐ญ๐ต ๐ข ๐ฃ๐ญ๐ข๐ค๐ฌ ๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ญ๐ฆ ๐ธ๐ข๐ด ๐ฎ๐ฐ๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ฐ๐ฏ ๐ฃ๐ณ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ. ๐๐ญ๐ข๐ค๐ฌ ๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ญ๐ฆ๐ด ๐ข๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ด๐ต๐ณ๐ฐ๐ฏ๐จ๐ฆ๐ด๐ต ๐ง๐ฐ๐ณ๐ค๐ฆ๐ด ๐ฌ๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ธ๐ฏ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ฎ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฌ๐ช๐ฏ๐ฅ, ๐ช๐ฏ๐ค๐ญ๐ถ๐ฅ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ธ๐ช๐ต๐ค๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ด. ย ๐๐ท๐ฆ๐ฏ ๐ฃ๐ฆ๐ง๐ฐ๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ข๐ฃ๐ด๐ฐ๐ณ๐ฑ๐ต๐ช๐ฐ๐ฏ, ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ ๐ฉ๐ข๐ท๐ฆ ๐ข๐ญ๐ธ๐ข๐บ๐ด ๐ฃ๐ฆ๐ฆ๐ฏ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ด๐ต๐ณ๐ฐ๐ฏ๐จ๐ฆ๐ด๐ต ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ณ ๐ค๐ฐ๐ท๐ฆ๐ฏ, ๐ธ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ช๐ต ๐ฃ๐ฆ ๐ฎ๐ข๐จ๐ช๐ค๐ข๐ญ๐ญ๐บ ๐ฐ๐ณ ๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ต๐ข๐ญ๐ญ๐บ. ย
It was strange. She hadnโt been like this since the absorption of her fatherโshe hadnโt been warm. So for the first time in a long time, she felt normal as if the malicious parts that she absorbed from her father were finally settling in with her pre-existing personality, making what she wanted to say to her sister, clearer.
๐ ๐ญ๐ฐ๐ท๐ฆ ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ.
ใใใใหห โงใ๐ผ๐ฐ๐ด๐ ๐ฐใโใ๐น๐ฐ๐ฒ๐๐๐ด๐ป๐ธ๐ฝ๐ด .
ใใใใใใ ใ ใ ๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ณ๐บ ๐ค๐ฉ๐ณ๐ช๐ด๐ต๐ฎ๐ข๐ด
In all matters, Maeva Quellet was cold. She'd rapidly adopted the severity of their surroundings, the demands of the legacy they were born into, and their own personal usurpation of that legacy. Whilst the others of their coven mingled, forming tight bonds and often butting heads, Maeva sat on the outskirts. Eyeing for discrepancies, preparing for threats, maintaining the dynamics so the whole machine did not collapse. If she'd ever had an eye for the fantastical side of life, it had long been replaced by the dispassionate analysis required of her position.
Jacqueline seemed to be her only Achilles heel, and even towards her, Maeva knew how to be dismissive, how to keep her eyes aimed meticulously forward. It made her all the more appreciative of the times she didn't find it necessary to do so. When she could just take a moment of repose and be a big sister, instead of a vicious defender.
"Speak for yourself," retorted Maeva. The misery of the blistering heat focused her. In the barren cold, she found herself more deeply connected to the earth. More comfortable. These days, she couldn't afford comfort.
As Jacqueline began her segue into gift-giving, Maeva's tongue clicked disapprovingly, a low murmur of, "Jacq-" barely squeaking past her lips before her sister cut her off once more, persistent as ever. With a defeated sigh, she tore into the envelope offered forth, Jacqueline's explanation commencing before she could arch a brow upward in scrutiny.
First, her eyes found her sister's. Then, a slow smile formed on her stoic mouth. More spectacular than anything, though, was the glint of affection that glittered through her dark gaze - reminiscent of her present. "Since when did you get so mushy?" Taunted Maeva, before she stated point-blank and in that brashly cathartic way of hers: "I love you." Fingertips coming to grasp the ends of her sibling's hair, brushing them over her shoulder affectionately. "And I am ๐ด๐ฐ getting you back for this."
โ Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov
Fadwa Tuqan, tr. by Mohammed Sawaie, from Tent Generations: Palestinian Poems; โAt Allenby Bridgeโ
[Text ID: โYes, my humanness bleeds, my heart / drips rancor, my blood is poison and fire.โ]
Mohammed El-Kurd, from Rifqa; โRifqaโ
[Text ID: โI criedโnot for the house / but for the memories I could have had inside it.โ]
Richard Roxburgh and Kate Beckinsale in Van Helsing (2004)
The best part about this scene wasnโt just that Dracula didnโt have a reflection. She was at a ball with a few hundred other people attending it, and during this dance, there were dozens of other couples also dancing alongside Anna and Dracula. The scene showed that everyone at that ball was a vampire, not just Dracula. And she was the single only human there. Itโs so subtly threatening to be surrounded by bloodthirsty killers all dressed to the nines, masked and pretty. And it was such an ingenious way of telling that part of the story, I adore this movie so much.
I am glad it cannot happen twice, the fever of first love. For it is a fever, and a burden, too, whatever the poets may say.
Daphne Du Maurier, from Rebecca