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— Anna Akhmatova, The Guest

[text ID: “What do you want?” I asked. / “To be with you in hell,” he said.]

George Seferis, tr. by Edmund Keeley & Philip Sherrard from, “Stratis Thalassinos among the Agapanthi.”

Edna St. Vincent Millay, Collected Poems

desire is suffering

Half-light: Collected Poems 1965-2016; ‘Dream Reveals in Neon the Great Addictions, Frank Bidart ( @wahabibi ) | Dante and Virgil in Hell, William-Adolphe Bouguereau | Vestiges, Ángel García | Blasphemia, Eliran Kantor | So We Must Meet Apart, Jennifer S. Cheng ( @yoursoethereal ) | Prigione di Lacrime, Roberto Ferri | Diary of a Philosophy Student: Volume 2, 1928-9; Sunday, November 4th, Simone de Beauvoir ( @theoptia ) | Ludwig Drahosch | War of the Foxes, Richard Siken ( @elfreys )

Gold posey ring inscribed "My Heart You Have/ And Yours I Crave" English, 17th-18th century

from Timeline Auctions

“Two snakes wrap around my hands: my soul and my lover. In the moonlight.”

— Julia de Burgos, from Song of the Simple Truth: Poems; “Lover,” (via violentwavesofemotion)

E.E. Cummings, Complete Poems, 1904-1962

journal entry - 8.17.22 

“what is something that is always true?” 

(c)

No one has taken anything away, Marina Tsvetaeva (translated by Elaine Feinstein)

“if your dear heart is wounded, my wild heart bleeds with yours.”

— Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu, Carmilla, 1872

obsessed with characters who were written for one another. like, what do you mean the reason for my existence is to be by your side? what do you mean our divine purpose is to belong to one another, for better or worse?

Memento mori, ca. 1640

Joan Didion, from Blue Nights

a lover’s discourse, roland barthes

start here, caitlyn siehl // untitled, fortesa latifi // rien ne va plus, margarita karapanau (trans. karen emmerich) // black iris, leah raeder // the thorn merchant, yusuf komunyakaa // monster movie, nicola maye goldberg // a key to common lethal fungi, marge piercy // give me a god i can relate to, blythe baird // crimson peak, dir. guillermo del torro (2014) // the house of hades, rick riordan.

the blind devotion despite the goal being in the complete opposite direction. my bones ache when you're near, i miss it when you're not. passes out

Casilda Sánchez: As Inside as the Eye Can See (2009)

Arthur Rimbaud, from The Complete Works of Arthur Rimbaud; "A Heart Under A Cassock,"

lets be alone together, or you're worthy of my love!

thank you sm fray!! <3 as always slightly changed the prompts to fit the scene a little better

let's be alone together [for a little while] — juliet & kazimir. content warning for self-inflected stab wound.

He stops her way.

The arch is grand enough to let her pass despite, but there's a hungry look still buried in his eyes. The ghosts that trail her steps whisper warnings in her ear, and she is grateful that they speak in a tongue that she alone can hear.

"You're here," he breathes, then descends a single step. Her gaze shifts between the pitch-black of his eyes to the blood-red splatters all across his armored guise. Maw-shaped dents adorn the metal where shoulder meets the chest. Within hers, a sinking feeling spreads.

What he has done, she asks him next.

He takes another step, but when she mimics him and backs away, the hunger in his gaze changes into maddened dread. He sweeps his arm to point towards the gate, and it is then she notices his own blood trickling from the mail. It seeps from somewhere underneath the armor, perhaps from where the maw had nipped.

"It did not want to let me enter," Kazimir says, "but the wound— it ached. More so than before. I had to make it stop."

Upon hearing that, the dreadful feeling in her chest plummets down into her bowels. It was her fault, then, she thinks. Her sorrow, which he, too, could feel.

"I tried to ignore it, to wish it away, but neither would help." He laughs, a silent, choked up sound that drowns out the trickling of his blood onto the steps. "I think instead it made me mad. I drove a blade in, hoping that one ache would cover up the next."

The creatures hiding in the shadows shy away at his confession. Mad, the ghosts that waft around her moan, a man made mad. Her pulse has begun pounding in her ears, and his blood onto the stone soon is the only thing she hears.

"That also did not make it stop. So I came to seek you out, but the beast had barred the way. I did not have much choice."

The unspoken thought strikes fear right into her. "Did you—"

"No," he interjects, then groans under her fear. "It lives." Again, he laughs, though this time it sounds hollow, and when he meets her gaze again, the maddened dread has been replaced by tenderhearted pain. She sees a bead of sweat slide down his forehead to his neck. He does not tell her how he could feel her concern for the gate-guarding creature, nor how he had not felt the same from her when she had looked at him.

But, right now, he can feel how his legs have begun shaking, and it helps ease his hurting heart a little when Juliet hurries up the steps to help him sit.

"We should get you back," she says, pressing her hand towards the leaking wound, uncaring how the blood seeps into her dress like soot. "I will call the lark, she can—"

"No," he stops again, "it will heal. Let us just... be here together, for a while. It will help."

Her uncertainty floods through him, but she nods, and thus, for just a bit, he will pretend it is enough.