A Skookumchuck For Two

Home is behind, the world ahead, and there are many paths to tread...

22,456 notes

feitclub:

rosalarian:

greenonthursdays:

huffingtonpost:

WHY THIS WOMAN WOULD RATHER READ HARRY POTTER EROTICA THAN WATCH PORN

When spoken word artist Brenna Twohy tells you that she is an unabashed devotee of all things “Potterotica” — erotic fiction based in the magical universe of Harry Potter — your response probably shouldn’t be that her taste is “unrealistic.” 

Watch her full monologue here. 

(Source: National Poetry Slam uploaded by Button Poetry)

I’m happy to be getting to the point where I don’t have to feel weird about enjoying fanfiction, or having written a bunch of it. Partly it’s that the fandom experience has become more broadly shared. Partly it’s that I stopped giving a shit.

And as for why I like the porny sort of fanfiction, see above. She says it better.

I like sex with context. I like sex when it involves fully fleshed out characters. I like the backstories. I like feeling like these people do other things when they aren’t having sex.

I couldn’t care less about sexual fan fiction but by that I also mean I’m not going to attack someone who likes it. And her speech and her point are so powerful; the GIFs don’t do this justice. Watch, as I did, and let your jaw drop.

(via iwillburnyou)

3,022 notes

Today, I ripped you from my mouth
like the bitterest apology I’ve ever given.
I washed you off of my skin, watched the last of you
disappear down the shower drain.
Today, I made a choice
not to set fire to the person I was when you loved me,
not to burn myself to the ground
just to see if you’d come running to the flames.
Today, I stared down the morning until my eyes
burned like suns.
I left the house.
I wore a black dress that hugged my hips
like they would never have to apologize
for their vastness again.
I tore you from my hands, picked the splinters out
with a pair of tweezers, one by one.
I wore red lipstick and stained all my coffee cups with
my own mouth.
I looked in mirrors and smiled.
I walked to the park and
cried watching baby ducklings follow their mother
into the water for the first time.
I got drunk with my friends and didn’t bring
you up once.
I danced under the streetlights and kissed a stranger
who tasted nothing like you.
I went home alone and slept for twelve hours.
I didn’t see you painted on the
inside of my eyelids like the ceiling of
an abandoned cathedral.
I didn’t break a single dish in my house.
I showered until all the hot water was gone
and, my God, I was so brave,
to keep going without you.
To dig through the layers of you
and find myself glowing,
no longer the moth, but the light, itself.
I was so brave to get left by you
and not fall to pieces.
to get left by you and not fall at all.
Caitlyn Siehl, Left  (via mortalhusk)

(via mortalhusk)