petricalore

[petricalore]

Hunger's got me light-headed.

[petricalore]

Jammies

[petricalore]

[petricalore]

happy valentine’s day my fellow loustat lovers ❣️

[petricalore]

Babies! I needed this so badly! 😭♥️✨

[petricalore]

truth and reconciliation x

[petricalore]

you ever think about how ian was wearing the same shirt on his last good day with mickey and his reunion with mickey

[petricalore]

some self indulgent loustat kisses x

[petricalore]

NSFW extension of the two-page mini comic "corset 🎀"

COMPLETE

[petricalore]

Corset (reprise NSFW) 🎀🔞

NSFW extension of the two-page mini comic "corset"

1-2-3-4/?

[petricalore]

“There’s a lot going on there. There’s a perverse sense of ‘there he is.’ He hates him. He’s frightened of him. He loves him. He wants to touch him. He wants to run away from him. All of those things are true, and actually that level of fear probably does draw those things out of you as well. You’re just completely bare. Maybe a smile creeps out. [Louis is thinking], ‘Please don’t hurt me, but also I’m so glad to see you alive and don’t you look good. Fuck, I shouldn’t think that.’” — Jacob Anderson

[petricalore]

sun//light

[petricalore]

fire

[petricalore]

my mama bought some mangoes in july, and they just sat there, colourful temptation perched on the kitchen counter. in this sweltering heat, nobody reached for them. they were too sweet, too sticky, too much. not from the right place, not the right shape. unchosen, untouched, they waited. and in that waiting, they withered, surrendering to the slow creep of time. overripe and tender to begin with, they grew bitter day by day. they longed to be touched, cherished, consumed — it was their entire purpose. i watched them turn, black spots blooming like dark flowers as rot spread its fingers through their flesh. i passed by them every morning and afternoon and night, a witness to their slow demise. i told my mother to eat her mangoes before it would be too late. i begged her, at one point. they were meant for more, to be savored, their sweetness a gift. but no one listened, and no one came. so i watched and watched, and yet. they went discarded, remnants of a season too hot for joy, their longing to be devoured unfulfilled.

my purpose: to be loved; to be known. i feel like i could be one of those mangoes, sometimes.

— petricalore

[petricalore]

september 8th... 1973. september 8th, 1973. it was 11:07 here. it would have been 9:07 in san francisco. armand called me. were you there? did you hurt yourself?

[petricalore]

morozko from the winternight trilogy ❄️

[petricalore]

I want to sleep with you, fall asleep and sleep. That magnificent folk word, how deep, how true, how unequivocal, how exactly what it says. Just—sleep. And nothing more. No, one more thing: my head buried in your left shoulder, my arm around your right one—and that’s all. No, another thing: and know right into the deepest sleep that it is you. And more: how your heart sounds. And—kiss your heart.

Marina Tsvetaeva, in a letter to Rainer Maria Rilke featured in Letters: Summer 1926