my favorite part of hamlet is at the beginning when they see the ghost of hamlet sr for the first time
and the guards are like “Horatio, you go talk to it! You went to college!”
and Horatio is like “Yeah! I did go to college! I will go talk to the ghost!”
like. where did horatio go to college. did he go to ghost college
YES, ACTUALLYYES HE FUCKING DIDBC
(a) EVERY COLLEGE THEN WAS GHOST COLLEGE bc ghosts were widely believed to be Real™ n thus scholars learnt abt them. moreover, as everybody knows, ghosts only communicate in Latin; Latin, which also happens to be the scholastic language. Horatio is a scholar; he both knows about ghosts and knows Latin; as such his university education patently DOES make him best suited to ask this one what’s up (as obviously sth must be up for it 2b wandering around, why else wld it b here, i mean gawd)
(B) WITTENBERG WHERE HORATIO STUDIES WAS LIKE. THE MOST SPOOPYOF GHOST COLLEGES bc they were alllllll about theology n the supernatural n shit so SUPPOSING HORATIO WILL KNO HIS SHIT ABT GHOSTS IS IN FACT A THOROUGHLY SENSIBLE ASSUMPTION
this has been said before but i am fucking adding it again bc it HACKS ME TF OFF when ppl reblog the post w/o commentary as if OP jsut fucking checkmated Shakespeare when in fact all they managed to do was fail at the most basic historical contextualisation lmao
this is legitimately what i’ve been saying as someone with an eating disorder
I see so many stupid fad diets based on only consuming juice or tea or uncooked vegetables and the only thing I could think of at the time was “this sounds an awful lot like anorexia.”
Unfortunately it seems that isn’t far from the truth.
au prompt: eric bittle, son of world famous chef suzanne bittle, attends Samwell culinary school after taking a year off due to a breakdown caused by his undiagnosed adhd and anxiety. there he meets jack zimmermann, a standoffish jock who’s clearly lightyears behind everyone else in experience despite his passion and talent and cannot bake at all without setting something on fire. reluctantly, Bittle offers late-night baking practices….
‘JACK ZIMMERMANN HOW CAN YOU BE AFRAID OF FIRE- No, don’t look at me like that, we’re doing this crèpe flambée from the top. Get the lighter.’
Okay, so a fic where Harry finds out that his animagus is a tiny little black kitten, and he’s all like, ‘shit son, this is my chance to stay out after curfew’ but then he’s out one night, and McGonagall finds him and immediately knows it’s him, and just picks him up by the scruff of his neck to deliver his naughty ass back to G Tower while Harry meows at her in indignation.
