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// my plate is already full AF but I am also going to be making a new outfit hehe

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-Sylvia Plath, from a letter to Aurelia Plath written c. August 1951

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@archaeval see below

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"A bit! I can spare a bit for a treat of muffins for sure!" She pecks the cube a few times, enough for a modest door-mouse sized handful or two. "I like strawberry muffins or service berries, or any berries really I am not so picky!"

The puffy pink bird peeps and hops, her chest puffed and fluffy. "My sugar cube!! Did you need the whole thing? I was hoping for a treat!"

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So hasvir. Dandelions. Thoughts?

The lich sighs, a sound he often made while deep in thought, (though it drove Krie rather mad - all the more encouragement to sigh more often).

"I would trade a rather hefty bounty to be a fuzzy-seed head drifting about the late summer breeze."

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Dear haleth 🎤 care to elaborate?

"I do not believe My Lady cares for marriage and I would never come near to even humoring the thought of harming her."

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Dear haleth, FMK Polly Liddy Ruby

KILL - LIDDY

FUCK - RUBY

MARRY - POLLY

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C// Instagram // Redbubble- Prints // DM - for commission on GIFS

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☄️☄️

☄️ To Meet a new muse or verse : ACCEPTING

Traversing the vast expanse of space, the crew of the S.S. Nebula Cruiser was accustomed to killing time, it could take weeks crossing the solar-starpaths between galaxies to arrive at the next planet.

Trynnak stepped into the the great room, wiping the oil from his hands in an endless manner, a poor blackened rag far from clean; he and Igrok were working double-time to ensure the cooling mechanisms would not fail under the immense stress. Drenched in sweat, as many others are, the fans add a breeze to the stagnant air, and though the massive bay-windows were shielded and shut, the heat from the tri-sun system still found a way to seep into the body of the ship - as expected, and nothing the Cruiser and it's Kiliktin engineer could not handle.

"I don't know how you do it." Whined Fern, sprawled as flat as she could upon a cooling mat fanned and fawned over by Inkir.

"It's just like home!" Thea, the pink-skinned Rosian bounces about, dancing to a retro-style earthen game while various members of the crew watched, (her that is, not the game, for the clothes the Rosian wore left very little to the imagination.) "Don't you think Tryn?"

"This is balmy compared to Liepta!" Boisterous and laughing, his planet haboured two suns, his skin deep maroon, sweating a substance that was rather lucrative upon beauty markets, one that cooled and provided complete UV protection.

"Seccunus is much the same. Wet geothermal heat." Replied Hithon, placing down a tray of iced drinks. By far he and his sister were the strangest aliens upon the Ship; Nyctccmerians, creatures of void black skin and teeth, who in moonglow lit up swirling bioluminescent patterns. Hailing from a planet in total darkness, health and safety precautions in the fleet dictated that he must wear a visor over his eyes, for any slip of light from a system so luminous would destroy what little eyesight he had; of little concern as he primarily felt his way around by sound and the sensations that his long hair picked up.

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Below, on the guesthouse terrace, chairs and shawls and white dresses can be seen. And beyond, the idyllic, clear, blue lake. A postcard.

Mihail Sebastian, Women

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It was a summer evening; the sun was setting; the sky was blue still, but tinged with gold, as if a thin veil of gauze hung over it, and here and there in the gold-blue amplitude an island of cloud lay suspended.

Virginia Woolf, The Years

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Neo-gothic mausoleum of Robert Karl von Lachmann-Falkenau in Jałowiec, Lower Silesian Voivodeship, Poland. Photos by abandoned_nordic.

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D.H. Lawrence, from "Flowery Tuscany" in Sketches of Etruscan Places

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An awakening [...] so deep it annihilates being.

— ANDREA ZANZOTTO ✣ Selected Poetry of Andrea Zanzotto, Ed. & transl. by Ruth Feldman & Brian Swann, (1975)

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Osip Mandelstam, tr. by Bernard Meares, from a poem titled "Herds of horses whinny and graze,"

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august is like the sunday night of summer

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Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov