'til the end of the line

aphrodite || goddess of love

"Afterwards, she came to sea-girt Kypros, and came forth an awful and lovely goddess, and grass grew up about her beneath her shapely feet. Her gods and men call Aphrodite.”

Giorgio Pignotti

if someone calls you a slut, break their fucking neck without even hesitating or saying a single word and as they lay there on the ground dead, lean down close to their corpse and whisper

“slut means the end in swedish”

this is the most popular post i’ve ever made and its still fuckin going and i am GLAD

Twitter! It’s like being stalked by committee!

 I am She

that is the n a t u r a l

mother of all things,

mistress and governess of all the elements,

the initial p r o g e n y of worlds,

ch i e f of the powers divine,

Queen of all that are in the otherworld,

the principal of them that dwell  a.b.o.v.e

[x]

So that’s who Finnick loves. Not his string of fancy lovers in the Capitol. But a poor, mad girl back home.

Best Winchester Brotherly Bonding Scenes 

Dean knows Sam is extremely smart and often he makes fun of Sam for it. But sometimes Dean can’t help but be impressed by Sam’s intelligence. And you can tell he is really proud, especially when they are around other people. 

✞supernatural meme

Elie Saab Haute Couture Spring 2012 Details 

Emma Watson arrives for a dinner to celebrate the work of The Royal Marsden hosted by the Duke of Cambridge at Windsor Castle in Windsor, England (May 13, 2014)

How To Say ‘I Love You’ In Enochian

You stand on your tiptoes, even though you don’t really need to. 

You slip your arms around your lover’s waist and pull him close, so close, you do not know where he ends and where you begin.    

You press your lips against those of your lover and you whisper, olani hoath ol. 

The words sound funny, as they slip past your swollen lips, three little butterflies, their delicate wings dancing in the evening sun as it pushes its way through the windowpanes. 

The winged messengers brush themselves against your lover’s skin; they tickle him and make him smile. 

He might bite his bottom lip.

You might get lost for a moment in just how green his eyes are.  Then you feel his arms snaking their way around your waist.  You feel his fingertips as they find themselves beneath your sweater, tracing soft circles into your warm flesh. 

He presses up against you, and he tells you that he wants to say them with you, that he wants to learn how to whisper those words back to you because a simple I love you does not seem to stretch wide enough to cover how he feels when you are in his arms. 

So you teach him.  Olani hoath ol. 

The words stumble out of his mouth, a child falling on the playground and skinning open his knee, the wound bleeds and he weeps.  He says it again, and you correct him again.  You press your lips up against him and you tell him to feel each word as you breathe them onto his lips. 

Olani. 

Hoath.

Ol.

You try to tell him what it means but it does not sound the same in his language. 

His language has limits. 

Your language is the sky, wide open, filled with stars and constellations.  Your language is the sea, deep, dark, blue, and unfathomable.    

You try to explain to him what it means but you are left with these simple words, two times of you, and worship; and you string them along like Christmas lights, but you know he doesn’t fully understand. 

You try again.  This time you trace the symbols into the palm of his hand as he falls asleep.  You try to tell him again what it means but you end up stuttering and eventually you fall silent as he presses his lips against yours, soft and tender, as he places his hands on the sides of your face, as he runs his fingers through your hair, as he takes your breath away. 

I know what it means, he whispers to you, in the darkness of the room. 

He pushes you down onto the bed and he straddles your hips.  You interlace your fingers and he leans over and kisses you again.  He starts at the corner of your mouth and works his way down your neck, scraping his teeth gently against your skin, running his hot tongue along your collarbone, he likes to hear all of the little sighs of contentment you make as he worships you.  He pushes himself onto you, your bodies connected, interlocked like two puzzle pieces.  He tells you that he knows what it means, that this is what it means.

He whispers it to you, olani hoath ol, and finally, the words come out smoothly, they sound…right…they sound…like home. 

I’ve been practicing, he says. 

You smile up at him and you whisper the words back to him.  You are an echo of his love, he, an echo of yours. 

Your love is the sky, wide, and filled to the brim with stars and constellations. 

Your love is the ocean, deep, dark, and unfathomable. 

Your love is reflected in his eyes, your blues and his greens, his lips and your teeth, your skin, and his hands.

He worships you, and you worship him.  

 calvin lamothe