yoursdeadlynightshade

[yoursdeadlynightshade]

musings on april

Sylvia Plath (Leon Dabo), Edna St. Vincent Millay, E. E. Cummings, Naguib Mahfouz (Edgar Degas), E. E. Cummings (Édouard Manet), Rabindranath Tagore, T. S. Eliot (Edgar Degas), F. Scott Fitzgerald (Alphonse Osbert)

[yoursdeadlynightshade]

Regulus seeing James annotating a book and being all

“Is it hot in here or is it just him”

Then when they start dating he asks to read the book and realizes the annotations are just

“Gay”

“Me core”

“Girl what”

[yoursdeadlynightshade]

[yoursdeadlynightshade]

"And so may your suffering be turned into paradise...

...and you become my sea of pain and bliss."

The Ghost's Nocturne (19+)

[yoursdeadlynightshade]

James: You look quite unapproachable.

Regulus: And here you are...approaching me.

[yoursdeadlynightshade]

"Whenever i see that playful smile of his.. i want to laugh along with him.. i want to hug him, hold onto him.. then he, too, would hold me tight." — Nakyum.

[yoursdeadlynightshade]

[yoursdeadlynightshade]

painter of the night

like or reblog n don’t repost

[yoursdeadlynightshade]

how do you think you can tell if you're in love?

the arrow in your heart

[yoursdeadlynightshade]

instagram

[yoursdeadlynightshade]

[yoursdeadlynightshade]

[yoursdeadlynightshade]

why can't gay people flirt normally

like "ur cute," "no ur cute," isn't that hard

it doesn't have to be:

"finally the flesh reflects the madness within,"

"well, you'd know all about the madness within wouldn't you remus?"

[yoursdeadlynightshade]

drunk james poking reg's dimple w his index finger every time he frowns, making him blush and slap his hand 73 times in the span of an hour

[yoursdeadlynightshade]

Charlotte Brontë, from her novel titled "Jane Eyre," originally published in 1847

[yoursdeadlynightshade]

Charlotte Brontë, from her novel titled "Jane Eyre," originally published in 1847

[yoursdeadlynightshade]

Stars are dropping thick as stones into the twiggy picket of trees whose silhouette is darker than the dark of the sky because it is quite starless. The woods are a well. The stars drop silently. They seem large, yet they drop, and no gap is visible. Nor do they send up fires where they fall or any signal of distress or anxiousness. They are eaten immediately by the pines.

Sylvia Plath, from "Stars Over The Dordogne"