We Are, As A Species, Addicted To Story. Even When The Body Goes To Sleep, The Mind Stays Up All Night,

can you die from lack of affection? Asking for myself

fuck literary gatekeeping, read whatever you want.

Writing is my obsession, my passion. My relationship with it is one of the most complex and agonizing and richly vexing that I have in my life.

Julianna Baggott (via wordsnquotes)

He dresses like a hipster pretty much, but like, a rich one. Same style but everything costs more.

Books don’t offer real escape, but they can stop a mind scratching itself raw.

David Mitchell, Cloud Atlas (via wordsnquotes)

parkerperhaps​:

Parker has noticed him for awhile now. Granted, they make it a point to note who’s around them generally because that’s always a good thing but they’d noticed him looking, off to the side. They didn’t mean to leave him hanging or anything of that sort, but maybe they were sort of hoping he’d eventually come to them like they figured he wanted to. They were beginning to get anxious too, wondering if they should just come up to him themselves, but that was quelled when they hear him.

“Yeah, something like that,” they replied, offering him a smile, “You could also say I missed the boat with people my age, but that makes me like I’m in my thirties.” They instinctively relax their shoulders so as to seem chilled out, just so it’d be easier for him to feel at ease. “You’re in the LGBTQIA+ Alliance with me right? I’m Parker.” Instead of sticking their hand out for a shake, they waved their hand.

Thirties? He laughs slightly. Yeah no, they aren’t that much older than him. He wouldn’t have pegged them any older than mid twenties. 

          ❝I considered taking some time off, honestly, but I didn’t want to lose academic momentum, you know?❞

Jules is almost relieved when they don’t extend their hand for a handshake, clasping his own hands behind his back. He’s never liked handshakes because touching a stranger just... bothers him.

Oh but a good strong handshake is the proper way for a man to greet someone he’s just met. Get over it Julie, it’s just for a few seconds.

She’s. Not. Here. He doesn’t need to sweat her arbitrary rules or the way she would try to shame him for not measuring up.

          ❝I’m, uh, I’m Julian.❞ He stammers out, rocking on the balls of his feet. ❝I usually go by Jules though.❞

( Not true not true )- He always wanted to go by Jules, but Julian was more appropriate. And... he didn’t pick it. His mother did, based on his dead name. And it’s... fine, but he much prefers the nickname he chose.

He can be whatever he wants here. Within limits, anyway. His social life isn’t going to get back to his mother at least. He can go by whatever he wants and just be... awkward without worrying about her reaction.

          ❝And, y-yeah. Sure am.❞ He exhales hard. ❝That’s, uh, kinda why I... wanted to talk? Sorry, it’s dumb, I just want to actually you know... know the people I’m in a club with?”

folklore - taylor swift

a tale that becomes folklore is one that is passed down and whispered around. sometimes even sung about. the lines between fantasy and reality blur and the boundaries between truth and fiction become almost indiscernible. speculation, over time, becomes fact. myths, ghost stories, and fables. fairytales and parables. gossip and legend. someone's secrets written in the sky for all to behold.

i am in severe distress. i am vibing. i am king of the world. i am bored. i am lost at sea. i am making coffee. i am foraging in the forest. i am making tea. i am chasing pigeons. i am napping in a chair

College gothic

the water in the showers turns cold. your fingers are turning purple. your teeth are chattering. you have not touched the knob. the water in the shower starts burning you. welts rise on your skin. there is no air, only steam. you have not touched the knob.

“Good morning” someone says. it is 7:30. “Good morning” someone says. it is 1 in the afternoon. “Good morning.” Someone says. It’s nearly midnight. “Good morning.” you reply.

you are going home this weekend. you were just home. you have not been home in months. cobwebs grow over the pictures of you. cloth is draped over the furniture in your room.

the days drag by. the days go so fast they blur into one another. what month is it? you do not know. you have class.

you’re so tired. your hands are shaking. you’re buzzing with the caffeine of your fifth coffee. the words of your textbook are blurring in front of your eyes. someone asks you if you are okay. what is okay? you are tired.

“I don’t have any finals” someone says to you. horns erupt from your head. wings sprout from your back. you shriek loudly at them, a bloodcurdling sound that cracks the windows. “lucky”

“Sign up for the acapella group!” “sign up for chess club!” “sign up for magic the gathering club!” they all meet at the same time. they all have the same four members. “i can’t,” you say “I have class.” they look at you like you have five heads. they do not remember class

your residence hall is having an event later. you tell yourself you’re going to go. you forget and curl up in your bed instead. darkness surrounds you and tucks you in. you don’t want to leave your bed. your bed is safe (you still don’t know from what) the next morning you wake up and see that your residence hall is having an event later. you tell yourself you’re going to go.