#oh mood.

[iwouldhugyancy]

I would like to seranade the boy. I would like to sing along to musicals with the boy. I would like to watch bootlegs of musicals with the boy. I would like to cry over musicals with the boy. I would like- -⚡

[theoptia]

I need a heart abyssal in its depth,

Charles Baudelaire, from Les Fleurs du mal (tr. The Flowers of Evil); “The Ideal”

[aandrezel]

Collier had found her in the lounge, watching the checkpoint footage on the wireless displays. In twenty years as one of the highest-ranked drivers on the continent, Jan had spent countless hours pacing the clubhouses from which the secretive rally races were staged. The spectators mingled and drank, speculating on the condition of the course as the first drivers’ times began to trickle in. Collier moved among them in a cloud of superficial conversation, trading on the surface in light touches and distant smiles; winding internally toward the peace that would focus the adrenaline of the staring line into an unrivaled concentration of presence and command.

[sanctamater]

“Her signs are willow wands and pitchers moulded from mud in the shape of shorebirds. She calleth forth water and she maketh it disappear. She knows the fountain of youth; she knows the dried well where the old ones gather and toss into its depths the dull coins of their given names. She bloodies the River Styx and gilds the mouth of the stream that flows through the gates of heaven. Mostly, she’s this colour: Aegean blue, Danube blue, Nile blue, South Saskatchewan blue, Pacific and Atlantic blue. None of them blue. That crow sent to find dry land? It saw no end to the water. It landed on her wrist as if it were Bedouin-trained, then went off again. Praise to her ears is the beat of its wings. And the thou, thou, thou hitting shingles and the tautness of tents, all around her the rivers running. That was the best of times, the undamned rivers running.”  - GOD OF WATER, Lorna Crozier. God of Shadows.

[aandrezel]

The doors opened again. When Mademoiselle di Malpas arrived, the Three Cities dropped the concentration they had wasted on frivolous things, channeling their energy, instead, onto the remarkable stranger who’d been thrust into their view. Only Hypatia persisted in her isolation, eyes stubbornly closed against the lovely apparition. The world watched, but the Wild woman murmured:

In ancient darkness, cluttered clouds

Hid from us your face

And we were cloudy, too:

Swirling, lost, through murky blood.

But we stumbled and spilled

A little offering from those veins

O dawn!

Hardened and clarified

By your sight.

[sharryash]

taj: i got a little emotional because i just.............. looked at myself