Spin The Bottle Except Instead Of Kissing Each Other You Fight

You think Caesar and Pompey hate fucked?

do y’all, like....not have anything better to do?

Meditations in an Emergency, Cameron Awkward-Rich

Dylan, Leonard Cohen, Patti Smith, all dark, all romantic. When I say “romantic,” I mean a sensibility that sees everything, and has to express everything, and still doesn’t know what the fuck it is, it hurts that bad. It just madly tries to speak whatever it feels, that can mean vast things. That mentality can turn a sun-kissed orange into a flaming meteorite, and make it sound like that in a song. -

Jeff Buckley 

By Gustave Doré (French, 1832-1883).

ambition is devouring her,

cracking and bending,

heart clenched and dripping

with poison greed and silver blood

the 3 am thoughts they say

are the truest a mind can form

her 3 am thoughts just say

when will I prove them all wrong

[ ode to slytherin ; r.c.s.]

playlists i made inspired by literature pt 1

sitting alone in your mansion, you nurse your glass of champagne, you lay back on the chaise lounge, a cigarette in hand. you look up at the mauled, grotesque portrait that was once so beautiful. it was painted for you hundreds of years ago,and yet you have not aged a day. “i’m so sorry basil” you murmur

the year is 1832 and you in are in paris, you have been planning a revolution along with your friends for almost a year now. there is a fire in your belly, a war in your mind and you are ready to die for your blessed france, ready to die among your best friends. 

everything in this school is old and beautiful, and the classics are truly coming alive here. you are drinking wine every night, practising your latin and concerning yourself with the most odd looking, most enchanting friendship group. rumours of murder and divine intervention follow you wherever you go. something in this school is dionysian and deadly. 

Ready for some more smooth jams in 2019!

concept playlists

feel better;  it’s been a long week, not moving from your permanently dark bedroom, your phone forgotten under the bed with a hundred missed messages, but you’re finally opening your eyes and seeing a sliver of early morning sunlight filter in behind the curtains that a mysterious breeze blew open.

daisy chains;  it’s late spring or early summer and you’re dozing with your best friends in the grass, the slow and peaceful brush of the warm breeze keeping you in that state of just waking from a pleasant dream.

songs to run away to;  you’re packing an overnight bag and taking the first bus out of the city. you’re not exactly running away, but you don’t plan on coming back. all you know is that your only goal is to keep on running.

classical jams;  it’s your fancy neighbour’s annual ball held in their gothic castle and you’re getting turnt to tchaikovsky while very deliberately disappointing your parents who wanted you to use the occasion to find an upstanding suitor.

dark academia but it slaps;  vague fuck the school system vibes, doing stupid shit with your close friends, caffeinated all-nighters, a chaotic gleam in your eye as you throw paper planes made from your essays out of the highest window in campus, not knowing if your friend really did commit murder. in this household we don’t take ourselves too seriously.

Sappho, trans Willis Barnhart

And the angel said, “DO NOT BE AFRAID.”