Flaming June, By Frederic Lord Leighton (1830-1896)

The romance of being alone in your room at night

Window wings, fragile panes Shield me from the dark Warm me with your spark

i hate it when people are writing a long ass thing and start a parenthetical aside and forget to close parentheses it makes me feel like i cant escape from the sentence

secret calls in the phone/sewing/cat room (chapter 4 of bllb u will always be famous to me)

abnormally large trees please lend me some of your centuries worth of wisdom

Fuck chatting, let’s send each other handwritten letters

Forget hot girl summer, it’s raven boy summer this year. Go make extremely codependent new friends. Go awaken an ancient evil. Go, uh… murder your Latin teacher. Have fun!!

In the Air by Artem Chebokha

the fact that i'm no longer the same age as the protagonists of novels and films i once connected to is so heartbreaking. there was a time when I looked forward to turning their age. i did. and i also outgrew them. i continue to age, but they don't; never will. the immortality of fiction is beautiful, but cruel.