I want to wake up to you kissing me, in the middle of the night.
Unknown (via inbetween-the-raindrops)

(via themisscook)

Cat Power - Sea Of Love

Sea of Love // Cat Power

Come with me
My love
To the sea
The sea of love
I wanna tell you
How much
I love you

(via bustysaintclair)

144,229 plays
Vincent Price - The Raven

ijusthadaneargasm:

Vincent Price reading The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
`’Tis some visitor,’ I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more.’

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
`’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more,’

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,’ said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you’ - here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!’
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!’
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,’ said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
‘Tis the wind and nothing more!’

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,’ I said, `art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!’
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as `Nevermore.’

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.’
Then the bird said, `Nevermore.’

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,’ said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of “Never-nevermore.”’

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking `Nevermore.’

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,’ I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!’
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’

`Prophet!’ said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!’
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’

`Prophet!’ said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels name Lenore?’
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’

`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!’ I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!’
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!

(via bookporn)

21,779 plays
gothiccharmschool:

ladyshinga:

kinsara:

draelogor:

lotrlockedwhovian:

viivus:

period thoughts

that would make the funniest fucking story ever. Due to a mix up at the factory, the template for incantations that was supposed to a publishing company of dark art books is sent to a feminine products factory. Girl then accidentally summons Satan with period blood. Satan gets confused because its “dead blood” and when he shows up he realizes the sacrifice was done incorrectly so he cannot take the girl’s soul but now is bound to do her bidding because oops his bad, he showed up anyway.

PLEASE
















I NEEDED THIS SO MUCH IN MY LIFE, I JUST NOW REALIZED THAT

YES. I APPROVE. 

gothiccharmschool:

ladyshinga:

kinsara:

draelogor:

lotrlockedwhovian:

viivus:

period thoughts

that would make the funniest fucking story ever. Due to a mix up at the factory, the template for incantations that was supposed to a publishing company of dark art books is sent to a feminine products factory. Girl then accidentally summons Satan with period blood. Satan gets confused because its “dead blood” and when he shows up he realizes the sacrifice was done incorrectly so he cannot take the girl’s soul but now is bound to do her bidding because oops his bad, he showed up anyway.

PLEASE

I NEEDED THIS SO MUCH IN MY LIFE, I JUST NOW REALIZED THAT

YES. I APPROVE. 

(via memorieshauntmydreams)

corgisandboobs:

bluesigma:

jaegerboi:

why is there a hand in his mouth at the first pic

Dinosaurs need feeding too.

Maybe he asked for his girlfriend’s hand in marriage.

*throws self in wood chipper*

fauxcyborg:

men who are artists love showing girls, who are so sad, so beautiful - girls crying in showers, girls with delicate bones curled into a fetal position. they want our eyeliner to run but never for our eyes to get puffy. they want our sadness but our anger isn’t pretty.

and they love us being girls - infantile, dependent on men. they love us when we’re broken so long as our pieces aren’t jagged.  

(via iamacollectionofmiscellanyandtea)

My first love
was some insignificant boy
when it should have been
myself.
Michelle K., First Love. (via asimetricna-vagina)

(via saucymerbabe)

d34thbeds:

Acoustic versions of songs were created to make people cry

(via helioscentrifuge)

Most men never think about patriarchy—what it means, how it is created and sustained. Many men in our nation would not be able to spell the word or pronounce it correctly. The word “patriarchy” just is not a part of their normal everyday thought or speech. Men who have heard and know the word usually associate it with women’s liberation, with feminism, and therefore dismiss it as irrelevant to their own experiences. I have been standing at podiums talking about patriarchy for more than thirty years. It is a word I use daily, and men who hear me use it often ask me what I mean by it.

Nothing discounts the old antifeminist projection of men as all-powerful more than their basic ignorance of a major facet of the political system that shapes and informs male identity and sense of self from birth until death.

bell hooks, “Understanding Patriachy” (via heteroglossia)

(via gtfothinspo)

Piratically delicious rennie wench. Intersectional feminist. Polytastic. Adorably vulgar. Part-time Patronus. Extreme fangirl. Loud mouthed hussy. Cincinnati native & inexplicably proud.

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