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darkest-academic · 2 years
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1.
Say you’d kill for this
If I call it love, is it?
Say you’d die for this
2.
Will you hold my hand?
There’s stardust in my veins
I can not love you
3.
I’m not made for this
This love, one that tastes like salt
Turn me inside out
4.
Will you stay with me?
It is the end of the world
Don’t keep me waiting
‘Prayers for the dead and dying
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darkest-academic · 2 years
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…but ‘better’ and ‘not bad’ are not synonyms; how can you heal from a wound that you don’t know exists?
Myself, from ‘Why I hated the sunrise’
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darkest-academic · 2 years
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A terrible melancholy had wrapped itself around my heart, like the cold hand of death come to reap its next soul
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darkest-academic · 2 years
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I would rather die of passion than boredom
—Émile Zola
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darkest-academic · 2 years
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thinking of sylvia plath’s “i must get my soul back from you; i am killing my flesh without it” and emily bronte’s “if you ever looked at me once with what i know is in you, i would be your slave” and virginia woolf’s “all extremes of feeling are allied with madness.”
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darkest-academic · 2 years
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dark academia soundtracks to study to
If Beale Street Could Talk: promises made in hushed whispers, hands brushing against each other, the glow a sunset casts through a window
The Handmaiden: sunlight sparkling on the open ocean, furtive glances over the tops of books, watching the first leaves fall from a tree in autumn
Phantom Thread: the way the light catches on a thin silver thread, wandering alone through the stacks in a library, pressing down on the keys of an old piano in an empty room
Franklyn: settling in for the first few pages of a fairytale, tiptoeing through a bubbling creek, stumbling upon a hidden flower garden in a bustling metropolis
Madame Bovary: pulling open heavy curtains to let the light in, tea served in elegant bone china, the hush that falls over nature on days with grey skies
Moonlight: running to chase a leaving train, the reflection of a full moon in water at night, tracing a lover’s lips with your fingertip to memorize them
The Hours: early morning by candlelight, train rides through lush green landscapes, the sound of waves crashing against a cliff face
Cloud Atlas: the sheen of wet ink of a hastily scribbled magnum opus, stargazing on a warm night, feeling yourself become utterly transfixed by a work of art
Tolkien: golden light peering between tree branches, running late for class because you got caught in your own world, daydreams that are anything but idle
Belle: sealing an urgent letter with red wax, tentative smiles exchanged at a formal affair, the smell of wild roses filling the air in spring
Nocturnal Animals: visiting what once was your lover’s favorite museum, the curve of calligraphy on a page, staring out a city lights alone
Jane Eyre: old wood that creaks underfoot, gazing out the window on a foggy day, a half-finished embroidery hoop discarded in favor of a book
W.E.: lounging by a river bank without a care in the world, a silk garment fluttering in the wind, getting lost in thoughts while watching a crackling fire
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darkest-academic · 2 years
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some of my dream dark academia looks
A button-down cuffed to the elbows, loose black tie threaded through the collar. A tweed blazer thrown over the forearm and a well-worn novel tucked into the elbow. Ink-smudged fingers and sleepless eyes.
A rumpled white dress shirt. The top few buttons unbuttoned to reveal a golden locket, burnished by habitual rubbing. Wistful looks out the window.
Clean and put together. A black cotton sweater, the white collar of a shirt folded out over the neck. Pegged pants and oxfords. Hair pulled into a low bun. The sleeves of a smoky gray trench coat conceal the frantically scribbled words that cover the backs of your hands and wrists.  
Black sweater, sleeves pushed to the elbows. Messy hair twisted into a bun and held up with a pencil used as a makeshift hair stick. Mumbling Shakespeare into a steaming mug of coffee.
A white flower behind the ear. Hours spent poring over a book, lounging on a divan by the window as rain pours outside. A button-up of rosy, ghostly silk and soft gray pants. Bare feet propped up on the arm of the divan.
Hair and face damp with rain, a coat with the collar upturned against the weather. Pulling a dry book from the inside of the coat with a sigh of relief.
A cherished blazer; secondhand, ratty, and patched at the elbows.
A dark swing coat hanging off of the shoulders like a cape. A cotton turtleneck and laced ankle boots. Hair pulled back from the face by a crown of braids, a few strands loose about the face.
A creamy cotton turtleneck that peeks from underneath a black button-down, both tucked into tweed pants. A leather belt and matching dress shoes. A beaten copy of Hamlet clutched in one hand.
An ivory cable knit sweater. Silver rings adorn the fingers, frequently fiddled with by anxious hands. Hair woven into a hasty braid. A camel coat over the shoulders. 
Lips and fingers stained with cherry juice. A black silk slip. Trading Oscar Wilde quotes in front of the fireplace.
A burgundy cardigan; underneath, white shirt, black tie. Hands hooked in the pockets of black slacks. Walking, solitary, down the dark street. 
Black button-down, black pants, black oxfords, long black coat. The sky is overcast. Crows circle overhead. You count seven.
Worn, rumpled sweater tucked into a brown plaid skirt. Combat boots. A satchel bulging with books. 
A faded, cream-colored button-up. Suspenders hooked on black slacks rolled up past the ankles. Bare feet in the grass, and a crown of white wax flowers on the head. 
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darkest-academic · 2 years
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Does such a thing as 'the fatal flaw,'
That showy dark crack running down the middle of a life, exist outside literature?
I used to think it didn't. Now I think it does.
And I think that mine is this:
A morbid longing for the picturesque at all costs
~Donna Tartt, The Secret History
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darkest-academic · 2 years
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[dramatic sigh of longing for a romantic relationship]
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darkest-academic · 3 years
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the only person that understands me is richard siken
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darkest-academic · 3 years
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"If you would be a real seeker after truth, it is necessary that at least once in your life you doubt, as far as possible, all things."
— René Descartes
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darkest-academic · 3 years
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It’s beautiful here, but morning light can make the most vulgar things tolerable
—Donna Tart ‘The Secret History’
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darkest-academic · 3 years
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Children are afraid of the dark because they have nothing real to work with. Adults are afraid of themselves
—Richard Siken
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darkest-academic · 3 years
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Because it is old and worn-out please give it to me for free
—Nakahara Chuuya ‘self-destruction’
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darkest-academic · 3 years
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A broken heart. I still love you.
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darkest-academic · 3 years
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In the uncertain hour before morning, nothing exists but us
(Quote & photo by me)
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darkest-academic · 3 years
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You’ve heard of dark academia, but what about
Mythos Academia
Reading Epic Poems to someone (bonus points for wlw reading Sappho to each other)
Tea stains on your copies of epic poems
Loosely flowing hair scattered with flowers
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Pages of notes with drawings of gods in the margins
Wondering what the Cult of Dionysus was like
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Listening to Hadestown and knowing all the words
Long, flowing, white dresses and pressing flowers
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