STEVEN YEUN Diana Markosian × GQ › 2021

roma★
AnasAbdin
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸

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@theartofmadeline

Kaledo Art
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
todays bird
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH

JVL
d e v o n

Love Begins
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KIROKAZE

Discoholic 🪩
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open

祝日 / Permanent Vacation

Janaina Medeiros
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
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@pineapple-pretention
STEVEN YEUN Diana Markosian × GQ › 2021
Good Cherries - Piet Sebens
Dutch,b.1961-
Oil and acrylic on panel 25 x 25 cm.
“This is the year you begin. Slip into the sweet mud. Get dirty. Stay dirty. There is nothing to forgive”
— Jeremy Radin, ‘Pipe Organ Owl Mansion’
date a selkie, but don’t hide her cloak. let her go home and visit her family now and then, knowing that she’ll come back and hang her seal cloak in the closet like she always does. trust is important.
The first time she lets the redhead take her home, she’s diligent about hiding her cloak. She folds it carefully against tears and rips and abrasions, and hides it in a sea cave whose entrance is concealed by the tide.
She does the same, the second and third and fourth times, careful, wary, mindful of her mother’s lessons. Remembers the way her mother’s hands had chafed on her soft cheeks, rough with cooking and cleaning for her fisherman husband, the way her mother’s peat-dark eyes had been tense and harsh with the lesson.
“Mind me, Niahm. Never let them find your cloak.”
The way her mother’s mouth had curved, a sickle of dissatisfaction and relief and envy, as she had escaped into the waves.
So she minds her mother’s lesson, and she takes care with her cloak.
Would that she had taken as much care with her heart.
The fifth time, she wears the cloak to the girl’s door, clutched about her throat, dripping along the darkened lanes.
She enters the home, welcomed with soft kisses and gentle touches and kindling passion. She drapes the cloak, artful in her carelessness, across an old wooden chair, the one that creaks and tilts slightly if you don’t sit just right.
When she wakes, in the wee hours of the morning, even before her lover, the cloak still rests, supple and dappled by the sea, on the back of the chair.
She frowns into the softening dawn, dons the cloak, and returns to the sea.
And again, the sixth time. And the seventh.
The eighth time, she finally breaks, prickling and hurt with longing, gripping a handful of russet hair in her hand, firm with emphasis.
“Surely you know what I am,” she says to her lover, the cool froth of sea foam and the call of gulls curling around her voice.
“Of course,” her lover responds, soft and tender in the dawnlight, throat arched willingly, pale as the inner whorls of a shell. “You taste of the sea,” the girl whispers, reverently.
She shakes her lover’s head gently, fingers tangled still in russet locks. “Why?” she demands. “Why won’t you keep me?”
A long silence that waits and fills, like a tidepool, stretches between them. Cool as a current. Deep as the Channel.
Her lover’s eyes are dark and tender. “Must I trap you to keep you, my heart? Is that the shape of love that you desire?”
She sinks into the thought, struck and stymied, remembering her mother’s harsh hands, her cold eyes. Her hand eases into russet waves, caresses where her grip had punished. Her lips press cool and damp as the sea against the arching curve of her lover’s shoulder. “What shape of love will you give to me?”
The answer is easy, quick, certain. “Myself. Only myself, whenever you should wish it. Your cloak by the door, your body in my bed, and the freedom to go, whenever you must. As long as you wish.”
It’s not an answer a fisherman could ever give, nor would think to.
The ninth time, she hangs her cloak by the door, draped in careful dappled folds next to a drying oilskin jacket.
i say this every time it crosses my dash but i’m so freaking happy someone liked my submission and Wrote Stuff and it’s so good!!! i love these girls so so so so much
This post is like the only Worthy Thing i have ever done on this website and you made that possible, you rock <3
The obsession with proving there were warrior women in history is kinda weird, honestly. Like it’s cool where it happens and their life stories tend to be really interesting, but acting like women were just worthless if none of them fought in war is high key weird to me, and it is equally weird when fiction acts this way too.
Like there is more to life than death and violence. The women artists, craftsmen, business owners, nuns, wives/mothers they’re all really interesting too. And they were worth having around. Just because they didn’t go fight in battle doesn’t make them worth any less or anything…
THANK YOU
This is the real sentiment behind “well-behaved women rarely make history.” It wasn’t about celebrating the radicals (though we should), it was about remembering the women who didn’t buck the system enough to get written about, but were so important to the fabric of society all the same.
The book that includes the quote "well-behaved women seldom make history" was a Pulitzer winning history of a midwife in the 18th century. The author made a history of a well-behaved woman
happy new year I am a different person after reading this thread
Sally’s outfits in When Harry Met Sally (1989)
What does this song mean? My whole life, I don’t know what this song means. When Harry Met Sally (1989) dir. Rob Reiner
reading Yeats’ poetry and of course this poem gets me like always
Richard Savoie.
I think about this poem all the time.
When the pair almost kiss while listening to Kath Bloom’s “Come Here” in the record store booth, Delpy and Hawke’s reactions were authentic.
LINKLATER: That’s the only time I withheld anything from the cast. The lyrics were in the script, but they had never actually heard the song. So you can see them really listening because they’d never heard that yearning, creaky thing in Kath Bloom’s voice that’s so moving.
HAWKE: It’s probably my single favorite take of anything I’ve been involved with.
DELPY: That was really special. It was like magic — each time I felt Ethan looking away, I would look at him and vice versa. I almost fell in love with him right there, but then Rick said cut.
- excerpt from ‘before sunrise’: the making of an indie classic by ashley spencer
GILMORE GIRLS REWATCH ↳ “Christopher Returns” (1x15)
The lady was a zoo keeper for this(pallas) cat when she was a baby. That’s why she recognized her face.
full video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3j51MCpL4vk
@celestial-naiad
[captions]
“well, hello fellow hunker-downers! coming to you high on half’a ambien, my doctor prescribes 10mg for when i can’t sleep and i get so wound up over all this but i only take a half otherwise i’ll eat everything in the house, but look- another way i calm down is i write in my journal! and i put little stickers- [chuckling] i decorate- i’m a high school cheerleader stuck in a 65 year old male body… my violette stickers came today, LOOK!! aren’t they beautiful? i think i fell outta the womb and landed in my mother’s high heels. i just like things pretty, i think that’s why homosexuals were put on this earth, just to make things pretty! rabbits!!”
…rabbits..!
I love him so much!
A photographer’s portrait in a mirror, a hundred years ago, Japan, ca. 1920. Text and image via Old Japanese Photos on Facebook
tell me a pretty thing.
In Uzbek we have this concept of the divine dark, the darkness from which all things came. So there’s this idea that shows up in a lot of our literature that when the world was first made it was like a gentle night, peaceful, quiet and pitch-black. The night is when creation started and the night is when you’re closest to glimpsing what it was like at the very start of the world.
oh wow that's gorgeous.