THEME
fuckyeahoriginalbjdpics:

La tombe des oiseaux by Ketty-Mint

fuckyeahoriginalbjdpics:

La tombe des oiseaux by Ketty-Mint

lohrien:

Illustrations by Rebecca Yanovskaya website l tumblr

Once upon a time, a little girl was raised by monsters. But angels burned the doorways to their world, and she was all alone.

bluoxyde:

Shades of black

bluoxyde:

Shades of black

countingtoabillionslow:

Here is what they don’t tell you:

Icarus laughed as he fell. 
Threw his head back and 
yelled into the winds, 
arms spread wide, 
teeth bared to the world.

(There is a bitter triumph 
in crashing when you should be 
soaring.)

The wax scorched his skin, 
ran blazing trails down his back, 
his thighs, his ankles, his feet. 
Feathers floated like prayers 
past his fingers, 
close enough to snatch back. 
Death breathed burning kisses 
against his shoulders, 
where the wings joined the harness. 
The sun painted everything 
in shades of gold.

(There is a certain beauty 
in setting the world on fire 
and watching from the centre 
of the flames.)

bluoxyde:

Two bored robots killing some time.

bluoxyde:

Two bored robots killing some time.

It’s a feeling of illness, tasting faintly of fear and settling like despair

And all my breaths seem so futile - my brain struggles to find a path while I descend into the pit of my fatalistic thoughts

"I hunger for your sleek laugh and your hands the color of a furious harvest. I want to eat the sunbeams flaring in your beauty."
- Pablo Neruda (via mashamorevna)

shounen-shoujos:

not exactly new art but..

blantonmuseum:

Spring is almost here! We’re celebrating with this detail from Sebastiano Ricci’s “Flora,” c. 1712-16. #blantonmuseum #spring (at The Blanton Museum of Art)

blantonmuseum:

Spring is almost here! We’re celebrating with this detail from Sebastiano Ricci’s “Flora,” c. 1712-16. #blantonmuseum #spring (at The Blanton Museum of Art)

"There is something about words. In expert hands, manipulated deftly, they take you prisoner. Wind themselves around your limbs like spider silk, and when you are so enthralled you cannot move, they pierce your skin, enter your blood, numb your thoughts. Inside you they work their magic…"
- Margaret (The Thirteenth Tale, Diane Setterfield)