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wtfneptune:

still-not-a-cat:

Quoting vines in Rome to see who responds. So far we have:


In the Colosseum, a tour guide was talking about who sat where and when they mentioned that the emperor and some other guy sat in one place, I said “And they were roommates!” And one of the girls on the tour said “oh my god! Zey ver voomates!” In a thick German accent before glaring at me.

And an alcove in the Vatican Museum with nothing in it and I quietly said “this bitch empty” and a British girl yelled “YEET” before realising her mistake and telling me to go fuck myself.

You’re the hero we need, yet don’t deserve

mycologicalsociety:

woke up to my neighbor screaming “louder please, alexa!” and now ring of fire by johnny cash is positively Blasting through the morning air

covertlydesperado:

sapphicalienn:

christichris:

justhurtingalot:

Isn’t it weird how you can actually feel the pain in your chest and stomach when something really hurts your feelings

This is actually because it activates your vagus nerve! Basically your body goes “we are so upset! We must be injured! Where???? On the inside guts! Those are confusing and hard to differentiate!!! Confusing guts are hurt!”

Great! How do I uninstall it?

“great! how do i uninstall it?” carries the same vibe as “thanks! i hate it” but more ACTIONABLE bc we gettin our shit together in 2k18

“When Shelley’s corpse washed ashore, a friend identified it by a copy of Keats’s 1820 volume in the coat pocket, which he knew Shelley had taken with him. Then, after cremation in which Shelley’s heart, hardened by calcium, did not burn, this same friend snatched it from the embers and presented it to Mary Shelley, who kept it thereafter in her desk, wrapped in a copy of ‘Adonais.”

hotcommunist:

marcsalmonds:

ceridwens-cauldron:

gehayi:

gothiccharmschool:

osunism:

flapper-queen:

optimysticals:

jstor:

violent-darts:

livetoseeourglory:

closet-lunatic:

katrinastratford:

voidbat:

raecupcake:

Here’s your morbid literary fact of the day.

jesus christ, i will never be this goth.

Mary Shelley’s father taught her to spell her name by taking her to the graveyard and having her trace the letters on her mother, Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley’s gravestone.

NO ONE will ever be as goth.

didnt she also have sex on said grave

She lost her virginity on her mother’s grave yes

… that’s it we can all go home, peak goth was achieved before we even started.

JSTOR confirms it: http://www.jstor.org/stable/3177447

Mary Freaking Shelley is None More Goth personified.

@mama-germany Achieve maximum goth

@saarebitch

If I fail to reblog this, assume I’m stuck in my crypt, and someone needs to come help me.

She also wrote a post-apocalyptic science fiction novel focusing on the extinction of the human race and the meaninglessness of existence. In 1826.

Oh, and this isn’t especially goth, but my God, I respect her for this:

In 1827, Mary Shelley was party to a scheme that enabled her friend Isabel Robinson and Isabel’s lover, Mary Diana Dods, who wrote under the name David Lyndsay, to embark on a life together in France as man and wife.[126][note 13] With the help of  [American actor John Howard] Payne, whom she kept in the dark about the details, Mary Shelley obtained false passports for the couple.[127]

The more I learn about Mary Shelley the more I love her

Idk helping your trans friends change names is pretty goth

loving and supporting your lgbt friends is the new goth

thequeenofnightlyrics:

I want october. I want Halloween. I want fall. I want rain. I want thunderstorm.

oddness:

things i’m good at:

  1. not answering texts/chats
  2. getting my hopes up 
  3. daydreaming
  4. being awkward
  5. pissing people off
  6. sleeping