beth. 18. infp. wannabe writer. cis. she/her/hers. i like literature, history and les mis. keats is my life.
at the moment i'm just learning to dance in the rain, and it's so cliché it might actually work.
I have a message on the answer phone of my English Lit teacher asking me to ring her back to talk about my grade and it’s freaking me the fuck out.
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good set of wings must be in want of a polyamorous relationship with two brainwashed ex-assassins and Captain America.
How the fuck did he get hired there giving his name as “The Doctor”?
Im pretty sure he either used psychic paper or said “fuck it” and just made his own name tag and pretended he was hired.
I have one of those Doctor Who books that gives extra info on stuff and someone made up the application he sent to get hired and you really have to find it and see it because it’s pure gold. He put his age as like 1,200 and crossed it out and put 50 or something then wrote “Is that too high?” and crossed that out too and just wrote 29
I know I already reblogged it, but I had a feeling I’d seen that application IRL, so I dug out my books and went looking.
I have a feeling he got hired because they realised they wouldn’t have to pay him.
When we first met
And I asked you to
Love me deep like the sea
You smiled like a shark.
I should have let it sink in then.
When I asked you to love me
Deep like the sea
I didn’t mean for you
To leave 80% of me undiscovered
As we fumbled under
Your blanket of blue.
You hooking me down and
Taking each mineral
From my depths, filling me
With your used pleasures and angry joys.
Yet I allowed us to keep diving deeper.
Now my external ecosystem
Is plummeted to black
The creatures of beauty
That once resided within me
Are destroyed; detracting themselves.
I know I most rise again,
All tragic beauty to dissolve
As I cling onto a child’s rubber ring,
Not letting the pressure explode within me.
Allowing myself to get my legs back and
Stop myself from being a void of your tide.
I met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful — a faery’s child.
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.
— La Belle Dame Sans Merci, by John Keats.
Photography by Sarah Gawler.
The Trio, and the scars they got along the way.
Man, every time I finish the books I go through a period of mourning, and this time I am self medicating with fanart.
I borrowed Hermione’s scar from the movies, I actually found that part powerful, in a awful way, and Rons’ scars are from the fifth book, when they broke into the ministry and he summoned the brains.
I literally just pronounce Feuilly as Fili
I just decided to take all the books I currently haven’t read off my book shelf and oh my there are so many! I’ve made a vow with myself not to buy anymore until I’ve read them all.
I don’t want to go out for a meal where there will be people there who I know, I just want to lie in bed and never get out.