行きたいよ 君のところへ

ren | 24 | she/her | multi-fandom | writer

[to-star-lake]

𝔦𝔱'𝔰 𝔞 𝔭𝔯𝔬𝔪𝔦𝔰𝔢

hi, my name is ren [she/her] writer and lover of literature & poetry. this blog is a collection of my rambles and favorite things ᝰ multi fandom. spoilers ahead! 18+ minors please dni!

talk to me anytime! ask me anything / send a request for something (please refer to writing list below for requests. no rules except to be a good human♡) 

𝖎'𝖛𝖊 𝖇𝖊𝖊𝖓 𝖇𝖚𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖎𝖓 𝖜𝖆𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖉𝖗𝖔𝖜𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖎𝖓 𝖋𝖑𝖆𝖒𝖊

let you go : geto suguru ✵ nsfw ✵

one and only : sanzu haruchiyo ✵ nsfw ✵

LISTS: TOKYO REVENGERS | JUJUTSU KAISEN

[yakichoufd]

comic inspired by that tweet

[gothbachira]

bachira if u wanna kidnap me that would be ok

[tigreblvnc-deactivated20250219]

[siro666b]

APT.

[selpuku]

Itoshi cats daily life (rinsagi + saesagi)

[dogray]

northern hemisphere babes we made it to the longest night of the year. we made it. for the next 6 months, every day will give us a little more daylight than the last. let's go. take my hand. climb out of the darkness with me

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

“Invest yourself in everything you do. There's fun in being serious.”

— John Coltrane

[feral-ballad]

Joy Sullivan, from Instructions for Traveling West: Poems; “Singing Whale Unmasks New Giant Blue Whale Species Hidden in Indian Ocean”

[vintagepales2-blog]

Sorbonne University, Paris, France

[bokidoumi]

cafe date 🎀

[superkursunaskr]

all the moons of 2024

[kosmogrl]

[saltedcaramelpops]

osamu serving as always

[letsbelonelytogetherr]

— Franz Kafka, Letters to Milena

[apoemaday]

Nostos

by Louise Glück

There was an apple tree in the yard— this would have been forty years ago—behind, only meadows. Drifts of crocus in the damp grass. I stood at that window: late April. Spring flowers in the neighbor’s yard. How many times, really, did the tree flower on my birthday, the exact day, not before, not after? Substitution of the immutable for the shifting, the evolving. Substitution of the image for relentless earth. What do I know of this place, the role of the tree for decades taken by a bonsai, voices rising from the tennis courts— Fields. Smell of the tall grass, new cut. As one expects of a lyric poet. We look at the world once, in childhood. The rest is memory.

[th0rns]

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