“every Portrait That Is Painted With Feeling Is A Portrait Of The Artist, Not Of The Sitter. The Sitter

Ianthe thought she was so fucking smart when she achieved lyctorhood before anyone else without seeing any of the chambers. Thought she was so clever to just eat her cavalier whole against the will of everyone.

How stupid must she have felt when she watched the birth of Paul, and realized that if she'd done more work, tried just a little harder, taken a step back and slowed down she could have united hers and Corona's souls for eternity.

Corona who cried that she hadn't been chosen at her sister's ascension. Ianthe who hadn't chosen her because she couldn't bear to lose her, like a naive fool. Choosing immortality condemned Ianthe to inevitably lose Corona. That moment she started the stop watch, and I'll bet never even realized until that impromptu birthday party.

And to rub it in Paul tells her there is still time for her and Naberius to be perfect, like she cared a scrap about Naberius. but there is no time for her and Corona, she and Corona will never have that chance again.

God she must have screamed and screamed

nona the ninth will always be one of the most beautiful and most painful books in the world to me because. it is about love in its every possible form. it's about the love you have for someone who takes care of you and the love you have for those you care for. it's about loving someone after seeing all their rough edges and ugly sides and choosing to love someone even if it hurts and even if you know it might doom you. it's about not choosing to love someone, but loving them anyway because sometimes it's not up to you to choose. it's about loving the dogs on the street and the stranger you met at the park and the child that never speaks to anyone in class. it's about loving the creases in someone's face when they laugh and the way their hips sway and how they can't stand still. it's about your love for the sea and the pang of grief at the tought that it is being poisoned. it's about the immense pain that comes with the loss of someone you loved. it's about bearing that loss, it's about letting that cut burn because its presence means that there was love. and that cannot be taken away. you have loved, you have been loved, and you always will. and the fact that it hurts and it ends doesn't erase the fact that at the end of the day, it's always love at the core of it all. in its every form and expression, by turning into rage, or kindness, or utterly destructive force, it all starts and ends in love. you can't remove that. you can't take loved away.

"I cannot conceive of a universe without you in it."

—Harrowhark you-are-in-every-single-alternate-universe-i-create-in-my-mind Nonagesimus

a few months off this hellsite and i've already forgotten how to tag. fucking twitter and its useless search function

Camilla with swords for @corvophobia @thelockedtombcfp

thinking about this today

I swear to god I am going to (remembers nothing) (stares directly at the fucking

truly nothing funnier than having an archive of when you first started getting into a media that has since consumed your entire life

JACOB ANDERSON as LOUIS DE POINTE DU LAC INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE (1.01) IN THROES OF INCREASING WONDER...

“i hate you” is so overused and means nothing anymore. “i hope your best friend turns your favorite twink into a bathroom stall wisdom-spouting redpilled alpha male” is better. it’s real. its terrifying. it happened to basil hallward.