A Part Of Me Knew That One Last Stop Was Going To Get Less Hype Than Red White And Royal Blue Because

gothic framework narrators are great as ace because they watch the drama with popcorn and ink blot filled letters

by the way Jekyll can be gay but i’m claiming Utterson as asexual because. i like the idea.

id like to say I like it for the metaphor but really its because I like to imagine trees growing in weird places out if spite 

HUGE fan of trees growing in places they should not reasonably be able to

most of the time i dont care for odazai but i am 100% certain that dazai was completely wholeheartedly in love with odasaku

and im also convinced that chuuya was in love with dazai so :)

me when i have like 20 notifications in the span of five minutes and when i go check its just the same guy rapidfire liking and reblogging posts

I’m not sure whether I love or hate that modern math textbook word problems are more diverse than modern media

Step it up media.

oh look its half of my aesthetics

a friend encountered while on a run; my blurry notes on a physics lab. my friend and I last year, unaware of what the year 2020 would bring. the graveyard I pass on the way to campus.

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rotating hamlet in your head when you're NOT mentally unwell is actually a wonderful experience. because now you can see outside the barbed walls of pain. beyond the balcony rails that look like prison bars. you can see the glimmers of gertrude's undeniable love for hamlet, even when she did it all wrong. you can see the defiance in ophelia's yes my lords, a sort of kindredness to the women you grew up with who knew how to pick battles and hide a smirk. you can see the banter between horatio and hamlet, like boys playing in a creek before one moves away for good. you can watch hamlet mouth the plays the thing, wherein ill catch the conscience of the king and have your heart break for the scared son who's clinging to a reason to live through narrative. and oh, how you notice the narrative. how it encircles. how it continues, despite laertes trying to fling himself to be with ophelia, despite horatio's lips almost kissing the cup. now, you can hold the characters gently, with the distance and closeness of a gravedigger. now, you can hold yourself gently: act five is over now. close the curtains, strike the props, hug the other ones who made it out covered in fake blood and real sweat. the play's the thing, and you might have to do it again. the story lives, on and on and on, in a hundred adaptations in a hundred formats. in a hundred broken peoples heads, and sometimes, those people heal long enough to say denmark was a prison, let me tell you about it.

things i made very stoned and don’t remember doing