"you’re in love with a boy who is a prayer on your lips with no god to go to. he’s bleeding sunlight and you’re trying to patch up the holes in his heart with trembling fingers and the blood keeps spilling. you’re in love with him, here’s the best part: he loves you more than his own life. he’s golden as they come but he’s bleeding out. one day, someone will strike a match on him and he’ll explode. so, here’s the worst part: he loves you so much more than his own life.”
— sunlit lovers | m.j.

"no. selective indolance was in his nature. he was bred on green lawns and tennis clubs."
-- decisively and more forthrightly | emptyricebowl

“I think I’m going to paint the house,” Lewis said when the depressing silence of the holy night got too much. “Yep. It’s going to be blue and so fine that all the neighbours are envious of you for having such a great husband who gives you a beautiful home. Also, I’ll get you matching curtains and then we’ll renovate the kitchen together. We need to let more light in and make room for a decent table, so that every day we can have a home-cooked dinner together in sunlight.”

“And Sunday feasts too,” Dick added, a little too seriously for a flippant joke.
-playing home | Howling_Harpy

indolance - aversion of activity or exertion; laziness

“But I do feel strange-almost unearthly. I’ll never get used to being alive. It’s a mystery. Always startled to find I’ve survived.”
— John Steinbeck, from Journal of a Novel: The East of Eden Letters

you dont meet the people you love, you recognize them.

Summer afternoons by the river; bony knees green from tumbling through the grass; light laughter ringing out of their mouths; the field turning into an arena in their young minds; practicing tricks and getting better each summer. The field remaining a field as they lie in the grass, shoulder to shoulder, watching the clouds pass by -

whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same

"Please forget your scarf in my life and come back for it later."

“People... see the stars, and want to be able to touch 'em. Humans aren’t meant to reach that far.”

Who am I? Oh. I’m. . . not sure. Really. I’m a persona, like a jigsaw where every piece is bad copy of a piece from a different whole puzzle. I just pick them up as I go along. I don’t even know which pieces I originally came with. Is that a bad thing? I never feel satisfied with myself, and I’m often left confused with my identity, but I like to think the pieces I pick up can build a better me.

revolution of the dispossessed

Dear Losers, I know what this must seem like, but this isn't a suicide note. You're probably wondering why I did what I did. It's because I knew I was too scared to go back. And if we weren't together, if all of us alive weren't united, I knew we'd all die. So, I made the only logical move: I took myself off the board. Did it work? Well, if you're reading this, you know the answer. I lived my whole life afraid. Afraid of what would come next. Afraid of what I might leave behind. Don't. Be who you wanna be. Be proud. And if you find someone worth holding on to, never ever let them go. Follow your own path, wherever that takes you. Think of this letter as a promise. A promise I'm asking you to make. To me. To each other. An oath. See, the thing about being a loser is you don't have anything to lose. So, be true. Be brave. Stand. Believe, and don't ever forget we're Losers and we always will be.

today i am thinking about what we leave behind. in the store, on all of the bath mats, someone has drawn a heart or left a handprint. in the pen aisle, each page of the test paper is covered in names and little drawings and fuck covid and over and over again - hello hello hello hi hello. on the street i live, three houses have perfect hopscotch lanes carefully transcribed with rules and everything - jump here! now do a spin! graffiti of a deer on the side of a building, names scrawled into setting concrete. initials carved into park bench seats. in the bathroom, in silver sharpie - i hope you’re okay out there. i love you, you’re beautiful, keep trying. geocached tubes of trinkets, jackets left out in case somebody needs it. a note on my windshield - closed your door it was a little open have a great day and stay safe! my friends and i, fully grown adults, build a sandcastle on the edge of the ocean.

inside of returned schoolbooks. inside of little secret pockets. hi hello hello hello. what a beautiful calling. you and i are in different times, and will never meet, but here is the greeting i’d owe you. if you never get to see this person, what do you say? hello! i love you. be good out there. be safe.
-inkskinned | tumblr

'It’s very good. Eddie eats his ice cream while the Toziers let their tea steep on their leaf coasters and Richie waves a sock monkey mug at him from across the room. It’s… comfortable. Eddie feels like he’s slotting into place in some kind of established ritual, like it’s so powerful it goes on with or without him, and he’s just surprised there’s room for him in it.'
-now what im gonna say may sound indelicate

did i live with you in a past life? was i your lifelong partner? is that why the idea of losing you torments me so much? how long have i been without you?
-gabriela mista

he could put 'you' at the end of that. 'yes, i know you.' the idea that these two people know each other, knew eachother when they first saw eachother. that they recognized each other from the future.
-joe wright

giovanni looked at me. and this look made me feel that no one in my life had ever looked at directly before.
-james baldwin

He thought the attraction was too big to encompass something as simple as sex, and now he feels it—that aspect of this want tangled up in the sheer joy of being on Richie, of knowing he wants him too, of the span of him under his hand and pressed up against him and the taste of him, the stroke of his tongue against Eddie’s. Eddie wants to devour him, wants this full encompassing feeling, this settled and satisfied and hot feeling not just around him but inside him, filling up his stomach, strong holding him up and heavy in his gut.
-now what im gonna say may sound indelicate

Or had he reached the point where he knew his life was out of his hands, but that this moment was exceptional, and that he might as well see the whales? If he drowned out on the water, killed by whales—was it worth it to see them?
-now what im gonna say may sound indelicate

Can I just say that I live for subtle touches….hands swiping against each other, arms grazing, knees press against each other, cheeks brushing, “accidental” thigh swipes.  I just love the subtlety behind pushing comfort boundaries while both of yall pretend like you don’t notice. It’s really the simple things in life.
-heymoriah | tumblr

“‘The moonlight will be the same here as there; in Russia too, and France, everywhere; and the trees will look the same as here, and people will meet under them and make love just as here. Oh! Isn't it stupid, the war? – as if it was not good to be alive.’

He wanted to say: ‘You can't tell how good it is to be alive till you're facing death, because you don't live till then. And when a whole lot of you feel like that – and are ready to give their lives for each other, it's worth all the rest of life put together.’ But he couldn't get it out to this girl who believed in nothing.” – John Galsworthy, Tatterdemalion

i belong to you in a way you havent to me
-anais nin

His organs are still inside his belly, but as he looks back at Dustin, he can't help but think how nice it would be if Dustin would pull them out with his hands.  He thinks it would be a little bit lovely, to watch his insides spill out over those fingers, and to know they were safe, because Dustin loves him so.
-overture by turtlenovas

Mitch wakes up when he hears the heating switch off for the night. 
He’s still cold. 
What the hell is he supposed to do? 
He turns over and sees Auston sprawled on his back on the center of the bed. If he moves just a little closer, he can probably feel the warmth radiating off of Auston. It’d probably be enough for him to fall back asleep. 
He shuffles himself over, still groggy. He just wants to get warm, that’s the goal. 
He doesn’t expect Auston to roll on his side and pull Mitch into his arms.
Mitch is dreaming, he is one hundred thousand percent dreaming, so he just sighs instead of flinches, and throws a leg over Auston’s hip to drag him closer. 
Auston sweeps a hand up and down Mitch’s back, and it’s nice. It warms his back up fast. Auston uses his hand pressed to the base of Mitch’s spine to pull him closer.
Damn, his brain is really going all out on this. He hums sleepily when his shirt - Auston’s shirt - rides up and Auston touches skin. He can feel all the weird calluses hockey causes pressed against his back. Auston’s hand slides up further under the shirt until his whole forearm is under the cloth, a warm weight against Mitch’s back. 
Mitch pulls him closer again with his foot on Auston’s thigh, and his brain is probably exaggerating how ridiculously thick his thigh is. 
Mitch snakes an arm around dream-Auston and rests it between his shoulder blades. 
Auston’s leg slips between Mitch’s open thighs, blanketing Mitch’s other leg, and the dream ends, Mitch falling into a deeper sleep, content, held, and warm. 
When he wakes up, the first thing he registers is that he’s shifted onto his back during the night. 
The second thing is that Auston is all but on top of him, again. 
His lips are pressed to the jutting corner of Mitch’s jaw, opening and closing slightly as he breathes, basically kissing it. 
His arm is still up Mitch’s - Auston’s - shirt, fingers splayed and clutching at Mitch’s ribs.
Mitch’s arm is tingling a little, and he shifts Auston more onto his chest, before stretching his head to the side to offer more of his neck to Auston’s lips, ready to fall back asleep. 
He almost does, until he realizes that fuck, he’s not actually dreaming, he and Auston really do have every part of their bodies pressed together. 
Part of him wants to stay there, let himself fall back asleep and deal with the consequences when they wake up later. Auston’s alarm starts beeping and Mitch’s heart races. 
He can’t reach it to turn it off. Auston groans sleepily, flopping over just enough to reach out a hand and grab it, turning it off. He reads something on it. “Skate’s just optional. Nice.”
Auston rolls back over, mashes his face into Mitch’s neck, lips reaching out unconsciously to close over Mitch’s skin. 
Okay. Maybe he can sleep a little longer. 
-comeback of the year | fuckenbeautyofagame

sorry about the blood in your mouth. i wish it was mine.

avarice, insolence, decadence, lunacy, vanity, conceit, hysteria, envy, malice, rage would begood goth girl names

“You cut up a thing that’s alive and beautiful to find out how it’s alive and why it’s beautiful, and before you know it, it’s neither of those things, and you’re standing there with blood on your face and tears in your eyes” -clive barker

If you die in the Wells Fargo Center, you die in real life

it was too late to pray; yet that was all he knew how to do.
-catch 22

to love with all my heart; with all my heart

"i want to melt into you, to be so terribly close to you that my own self disappears."
-anais nin to june miller

i forgive the world because it has you

clock out before you pull your cock out

The funny thing: I’d worried, if anything, that Boris was the one who was a little too affectionate, if affectionate is the right word. The first time he’d turned in bed and draped an arm over my waist, I lay there half-asleep for a moment, not knowing what to do: staring at my old socks on the floor, empty beer bottles, my paperbacked copy of The Red Badge of Courage. At last–embarrassed–I faked a yawn and tried to roll away, but instead he sighed and pulled me closer, with a sleepy, snuggling motion. Shh, Potter, he whispered, into the back of my neck. Is only me. It was weird. Was it weird? It was; and it wasn’t. I’d fallen back to sleep shortly after, lulled by his bitter, beery unwashed smell and his breath easy in my ear. I was aware I couldn’t explain it without making it sound like more than it was. On nights when I woke strangled with fear there he was, catching me when I started up terrified from the bed, pulling me back in the covers beside him, muttering in nonsense Polish, his voice throaty and strange with sleep. We’d drowse off in each other’s arms, listening to music from my iPod (Thelonious Monk, The Velvet Underground, music my mother had liked) and sometimes wake clutching each other like castaways or much younger children.

When, as it turned out, he stayed up at night watching my chest rise and fall, combing my hair over and over with his fingers. He would drag me in from the street, the rooftops, the bottom of the pool. He would wipe away my tears and pray to powers he didn’t believe in, beg them to let him take some of my pain for himself. He trailed behind me, scrambling to pick up my broken, bloodied pieces and fasten them back on in the only ways he knew how. And he did it all while positive I would never feel the same way about him that he did about me.

murder swede and his russian husband


make sure you kiss your knuckles before you punch me in the face // the only time we ever held hands is when i threw a punch and you caught it

i made this place for you; a place for you to love me

i love you truly; or i love no one at all
-joanna newsom

although i may not be yours i can never be anothers
-mary shelley

what is the point of lukewarm love? if i am not drowning in it i have no desire for it.

'actually,' you said, 'love, for you, is larger than the usual romantic love. its like a religion. its terrifying. no one will ever want to sleep with you.' -richard siken

funny how the infatuation with a lover can look so much alike with god

i swear, i end up feeling empty, like youve taken something out of me, and i have to search my body for the scars, thinking 'Did he find that one last tender place to sink his teeth into?' - richard siken

but at night i dream of a love so heavy it makes my spine throb- i dream up a lover who makes love like he is

"According to Greek mythology, humans were originally created with four arms, four legs and a head with two faces. Fearing their power, Zeus split them into two separate parts, condemning them to spend their lives on search of their other half."

But humans-- they’re helpless. They put soul in everything they touch. Robots on Mars sing Happy Birthday to themselves; computers trace out the whims of curiosity until their circuits shift and search for meaning; humans leave behind them a trail of soul like stardust, yet they can't see it when it burns before them in a supernova

"Even when love turns into loved, when the verb in present tense turns into past, the love doesn’t vanish. It can’t. Love like all energy cannot be created nor destroyed, only transformed. My love for you must’ve come from some other love, and now that it’s departed from me I have to decide where to put it next. I’m still working on it, but rest assured, I’ll find a better place to lay it on than you. No, I don’t mean this lightly. Yes, I’m still angry. I haven’t really allowed myself the proper time to think it through. But I have a few ideas and for now those are enough. I think I’ll stay angry for a while, but I’ll also keep transforming the love you gave me into something that does justice to the word. Something lovely. Something lovable. Something that doesn’t burn. Or alternatively, something that does burn but in a scented candle kind of way, not in a house-on-fire-gather-all-your-belongings-and-run kind of way. Love is something meant to be reworked into newness in order for it to fulfill its purpose. I think I’m capable of such a thing. I think I’m willing to try.”

"if you love me, you dont love me in a way i understand"
-richard siken

"touching peoples lives in a positive way is as close as i can get to an idea of religion."
-keith haring

"not to be all [i love you till my breathing stops i love you till you call the cops on me] [it’s rotten work not to me not if it’s you] [i can take care of myself just fine. no. what do you mean no? no] [one word from you and i would jump off of this ledge i’m on baby] [i will do anything whatever she wants] [is that too much to expect? that i would name the stars for you?] [you want to die for love you always have] [love for you is not like the usual romantic love. it’s like a religion. it’s terrifying] but i want a love full of devotion "

"do you think youve really think youve earned a soul to call yours? youre renting it and the dues will come knocking whether you have a door or not."

“I can’t think of any greater happiness than to be with you all the time, without interruption, endlessly, even though I feel that here in this world there’s no undisturbed place for our love, neither in the village nor anywhere else; and I dream of a grave, deep and narrow, where we could clasp each other in our arms as with clamps, and I would hide my face in you and you would hide your face in me, and nobody would ever see us any more.”

"i love with my throat exposed."
-natalie sharp

Billy knew he was destined to be the dust kicked up by truck tires on an empty backroad. To be the dim, flickering neon lights in a hole-in-the-wall bar at closing time. The bullet hole dented DEAD END sign on the side of the road.


Peter had said she thought the Hales were abominations, a more laden word than simple hatred could match. There is something almost fervent about it. Something almost religious.

He’s been here before. He’s been in the place where he knows beyond doubt that he’s going to die. A balcony railing, an empty swimming pool. They’re the same place. The place where Stiles ceases to matter, ceases to exist, where all his dreams and all his thoughts and everything that is him is about to be scattered on the wind. He exists only in this point in time. Only ever in one single point in time. He has no power to turn back the clock and take back what’s been lost, just as he has no power to ensure he will live.

“I want to love you wildly. I don’t want words, but inarticulate cries, meaningless, from the bottom of my most primitive being, that flow from my belly like honey. A piercing joy, that leaves me empty, conquered, silenced.”
-anaïs nin

So he tells them instead that there is a certain person that he’s fond of and wants to wear their skin. He wants to cut through the flesh and bones of this man and climb into his body and hide there and grow like a cancer. He wants to merge every part of himself with this man until they are one being and he can listen to what this man’s heartbeat sounds like from the inside and can play hide and seek amidst the organs in the peritoneal cavity.

—killer who escapes psychotic classification and eludes psychological evaluation…an immorality that touches godhood instead of criminality in its condescension…wielding sophisticated artistry and bestial brutality with the determination that they are two sides of the same coin—