famous-death

3

Victor Noir is more famous for his death and his grave than for his life. He was a journalist who was shot dead. To mark his grave, a bronze statue of the man lying down as if just shot was erected. This statue has since become something of a fertility symbol.

Due to the naturalistic style of the sculpture there is a fold in Noir’s trousers which make him appear to be aroused. Myth says that placing a flower in the top hat after kissing the statue on the lips and rubbing its genital area will enhance fertility, bring a blissful sex life, or, in some versions, a husband within the year. This is located at the Père Lachaise cemetery in Paris

2

I wrote him a letter. That night, before we moved the casket to the Capitol. Do you know what I wrote? That I wanted to die. I wanted to die. I understand. Do you? I do. Unless you are asking permission. No, only crass, self-indulgent people kill themselves. No, I was just hoping… if I walked down the street next to Jack’s body then someone would be kind enough to do it for me. In front of the whole world… A famous life, a famous death. (Jackie dir. Pablo Larraín - 2016)

Avengers Chatroom: Pizza

Requested by Anon

Pairings: Peter Parker x f!Reader

Scenario: The team really wants to know who Peter’s girlfriend is. Especially Tony.

A/N:  моему маленькому ангелу - my little angel. Thank you to the Anon who let me know about the correct translation <3


Tony has created a chatroom.

Tony has invited Nat, Steve, Clint.

Tony: I have some news about Peter.

Clint: What did he do?

Steve: Leave the kid alone.

Nat: You are like an aunt who is always gossiping.

Tony: Do you want to know or not?!

Steve: It’s none of your or ours business if he did anything. He’s a good kid so I doubt it’s something bad.

Clint: Yup.

Tony: HE HAS HICKEYS

Tony: ON HIS NECK

Tony: PETER

Nat: He is a teenage boy. He must have a girlfriend. This is not surprising.

Tony: I didn’t raise him like this!

Clint: You didn’t raise him at all.

Tony: Don’t any of you want to know who this girlfriend is?

Steve:

Steve: Kinda.

Nat: Steve!

Steve: What? He never introduced us to her! We are his second family. We should know.

Nat: True… Okay, who is it?

Tony: I don’t know.

Steve: Well find out.

Tony: You find out!

Nat has added Peter.

Nat: So, you have a girlfriend?

Peter: No I don’t.

Tony: Then who gave you the hickeys?!

Peter: What? I don’t have that.

Clint: Tony maybe you imagined it.

Tony: I AM NOT BLIND. I KNOW WHAT I SAW!

Tony has added Y/N, Bucky, Sam, Bruce, Thor.

Tony: Who knows who Peter’s girlfriend?

Tony: Whoever she is, she gave him hickeys!

Y/N: That is none of your business!

Steve: That’s what I said.

Y/N: and stop mentioning the hickeys!

Peter: This is so awkward.

Bruce: Stop harassing him Tony.

Thor: What are hickeys? Is it some type of animal?

Y/N: … Yes.

Bruce: Don’t mislead Thor. We don’t need a repeat of last time.

Y/N: BUT IT WAS SO FUNNY!

Bruce: HE THOUGHT PHIL WAS A GHOST!

Thor: I almost threw Mjolnir at him …

Y/N: whoops.

Tony: BACK TO THE TOPIC!

Peter: I don’t have a girlfriend!

Bucky: He must be telling the truth. Are we really going to believe Tony? Of all people?

Tony: Hurtful.

Peter: Can we change the subject?

Sam: I kind of want to know as well now. Who’s the lucky lady?

Peter: I am not dating anyone.

Steve: I will find out.

Y/N: Leave him alone.

Tony: Confess!

Nat: We just want to meet her.

Steve: Maybe his aunt knows.

Tony: If you don’t tell me, I will ask your aunt.

Y/N: WHY DO YOU NOT HAVE ANY CHILL?!

Peter: Please don’t!

Bucky: Ask his aunt.

Peter: She doesn’t know!

Thor: Perhaps she ought to.

Tony: Maybe I’ll visit her right now.

Peter: I’ll do anything! Don’t tell her!

Sam: Why not?

Peter: She should find out from me, not any of you!

Nat: So you are dating someone.

Tony: I’m only 5 minutes away.

Tony: Do you think she’ll be surprised?

Y/N: It’s me! I’m his girlfriend!

Y/N: Don’t tell his aunt!

Clint: MY SWEET Y/N?!

Tony: YOU HAVE TAINTED MY PETER!

Y/N: Okay I’m sweet or sinful, which is it?!

Peter: … Both, babe.

Sam: Okay. Ew. Ew. Ew. I don’t need to know that.

Bucky: I would never have guessed.

Nat: Awww my two babies are dating <3

Thor: This is most adorable!

Sam: Didn’t know you had a thing for spiders.

Y/N: Oh shush.

Bruce: I assume you both have been given the birds and the bees talk?

Bruce: I will recite it just in case.

Y/N: Please don’t!

Peter: I didn’t know my cheeks could get as red as my suit…

Steve: I need pictures of the two of you!

Y/N: For what?

Steve: To frame! You’re growing up so fast!

Clint: I don’t accept this! Don’t condone this!

Tony: NEITHER DO I!

Steve: And why not?

Peter: This is why we were anxious to tell any of you.

Clint: YOU KEEP YOUR SPIDER SON AWAY FROM MY INNOCENT Y/N.

Tony: YOU KEEP HER AWAY FROM MY SPIDER SON!

Peter: Mr. Stark… I don’t mean to insult you but…I’m not your son. I should be able to date Y/N without your permission.

Tony: After all I’ve done for you… You come into MY HOUSE

Y/N: Chat*

Tony: AND DO THIS TO ME?

Y/N: What do you think I’ll do to Peter?! Kill him?!

Tony: Well no. You two actually make a very good couple.

Y/N: Then why all the fuss?!

Tony: I don’t want you and him to date because Nat is your mentor. You know her famous Thighs Of Death move and what if YOU INJURE HIM DURING SEXY TIMES… IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN

Nat: You have already embarrassed them enough. Do you really think I’m going to let you tell моему маленькому ангелу that and live?

Tony: … I’m sorry.

Tony: Y/N, tell your mama bear to stand down!

Tony: Please!

Tony has left the chat.

Nat has left the chat.

Peter: Do you think we should go help him?

Y/N: He’ll be fine.

Steve: Well… That was certainly quite the experience.

Bucky: I’m going to go see Tony get his ass kicked. Happy days :)

Bucky has left the chat.

Sam has left the chat.

Clint: Listen here, Peter. If you hurt my little Y/N, I will shoot you. I never miss. EVER.

Clint has left the chat.

Y/N: … I guess that’s his way of giving us his blessings.

Peter: I’m very scared right now.

Thor: You would be scared only if you meant to hurt Lady Y/N…

Peter: That’s not what I mean!

Thor: I will be watching you. Closely. At all times. Wherever you may be, I will be there. Watching.

Thor has left the chat.

Y/N: … That’s not creepy at all.

Peter: Study date tonight? I’ll bring pizza and all your favorite snacks.

Y/N: Yes. Did I ever tell you that I love you? Because I do. Very much.

Peter: Are you only saying that because I’m bringing food?

Y/N: Partially.

Peter: Well I love you too.

Bruce: Maybe I can tutor you two…

Y/N: Date. Study DATE.

Bruce: Just want to make sure that studying is the only thing happening.

Peter: … So two pizzas it is then.

Bruce: Good :)

Bruce has left the chat.

Steve: What are you going to study?

Y/N: History.

Steve: Make it three pizzas.

Steve has left the chat.

Peter: Will we ever be alone after this?

Y/N: We just have to be extra sneaky.

Vision has joined the chat.

Vision: I have been informed of an impromptu study session with pizza. Make it four, please.

Peter: BUT YOU DON’T NEED TO EAT!

Vision: Five actually. Wanda will be joining.

Peter: Who eats an entire pizza?!

Vision: Six now. Pietro will be in attendance.

Y/N: I’m moving to Wakanda.

Peter: Right behind you.

Y/N has left the chat.

Peter has left the chat.

Vision: So no pizza?

Vision has left the chat.

anonymous asked:

whats wrong with saying lenin was bad? hh

Nothing for the most part, but the context and implication (and especially the imagery) is important.

Images of communists like Lenin with the ominous background, red shade, bloodstained hammer and sickle, and reference about famous communist death tolls is most often created by devout anti-communists or your average internet fascist thats more intetested in the spectacle of the association of communists and death than making legit critiques (or a tasteful jab) against a communist.

And more recently, this same propaganda has been peddled by various anarcho-communists on the world wide web without realizing the source of the material. Or even if they’re anarchist-made, to the unaware: whether it be the common liberal or the non-wellread leftist, this reaffirms the idea that “yeah Lenin is bad because death and his inefficiency, therefore all leninists of all varieties regardless are all bad too.”

Propaganda like that weakens public interest in the left or any cooperation between various leftists. Plus, and this should be a given, any anti-communist propaganda (well in this case anti-lenin), although may have been created by anarchists, can attract the wrong sort of attention (ie actual fascists liking what you post) because of your use of imagery.

Shit like that is what made me hate Leninists (or any non-anarchist communist) and assumed they were all 100% the same when I first became an anarchist.

Now if we’re talking juicy critiques of lenin then yeah sure im game. If we’re talking juicy jokes and quality memes about lenin then heck yeah i love that pic of lenin’s face on patrick from spongebob asking him to give power to the local soviets but he does everything to avoid it. If we’re talking about the bad shit of the ussr then (so long as we got our history right) then yeah lemme in. But all of these critiques and whatever else needs to be handled carefully–or at least not in the obnoxious way of drawing a bloody hammer and sickle, a scary lenin, and a textbox that associates varied ideologies of communism and its proponents with death.

All of that mimics the average fascist propaganda of what communists are like. And posting that shit reaffirms that idea to the unaware. If you wanna make fun of lenin and say hes bad, just do it in a way that doesnt mimic the average fascist and mccarthyist understanding of communism.

If you wanna fuck around with another communist, just do it in a better way that doesnt mimic the same methods used by the assholes we all collectively hate.

Unwanted (Bucky x reader)

This one is a request by @buckyslocalfarmer and I gladly accepted. I thought it be a really good fic to balance out the angst of Battered and Bruised. (If you love Bucky, then I think you’ll like my series, Battered and Bruised. You can find it here in my masterlist.) 

This turned really smutty really quickly and I’d just like to say that this is my first time writing smut and I’m sorry if it’s bad. I’m gonna work on it. So please forgive me for the cringy writing. 

Request:  Could you do something with Bucky where reader is feeling useless, due to her work, friends or something like that and Bucky comforts her? Something fluffy or hot.

Warnings: SMUT. and cursing


Your boss had asked you to come to his office to tell you something. You were nervous, you had a terrifying boss who gave scowls everyone in the building. Maybe he was promoting you? You honestly had no idea. You came into his office and shut the door behind you. 

“You said you wanted to s-” You were cut off immediately. 

“You’re fired, F/N.” He gave you one of his famous death glares. You had no idea what to say, so you nodded and turned, leaving his office for good. You didn’t understand. You were doing everything that you were supposed to do and you made sure all your deadlines were met, even going as far as to getting them in a few days early. You groaned in frustration as you packed up your things from your cubicle and headed to the car. The rest of the employees peered from their work spaces, their eyes like lasers in your back. You could feel everyone staring at you. 

You snapped. “What the hell do you all want?” When they realized that you could tell they were staring they darted back to your work, acting like they hadn’t done anything at all. 

“That’s what I thought.” You walked out, your blood boiling. When you reached the car, you threw your box of belongings in the back seat and got in. Your car ride was silent. No music. Nothing. You were beyond upset. You felt so useless. Every time you tried to do well, and go above and beyond, they hated you. 

Keep reading

Greek Mythology

ARIES:

Aries the first sign of the greek zodiac, marking the beginning of spring and the start of a new cycle of life.

The story of Aries is linked with the myth of the Golden Ram, which saved two kids, a brother and a sister, from being sacrificed in order to appease the gods.

TAURUS:

The next sign of the greek zodiac is the constellation of Taurus (bull), associated with the legend of Theseus and the Minotaur.

According to myth, Theseus volunteered to be one of the youths from Athens who would be offered as food to the horrible monster Minotaur (half man, half bull) who stayed in Crete, in the labyrinth. But, when he was there and with the help of Ariadne, the legendary hero managed to kill the beast and thus relieve his city Athens from the terrible punishment imposed by the Cretan king Minos.

GEMINI:

The constellation of Gemini is the next sign of the greek zodiac. It is linked with the story of the twin brothers Castor and Polydeuces (Pollux in latin). Actually, they were not twins in the ordinary sense, since they had different fathers.

Their story starts when Zeus, king of the gods, wanted to have an affair with Leda, the lovely queen of Sparta. In order to fool her, he transformed himself into a beautiful swan.

In the course of time, Leda bore two eggs: One of them contained a baby girl named Helen (the same one who later was the cause of the Trojan War) and a boy called Pollux. These two were the divine children of Zeus.

The other egg opened up to reveal another girl and boy, Clytemnestra (who later became the wife of Agamemnon, the military leader of the Greeks in the Trojan War) and Castor. These were the mortal children of king Tyndareus, the legitimate husband of Leda.

Despite the fact that one brother was divine and the other mortal, the twins Castor and Pollux grew to be inseparable. They did everything together and they loved each other dearly.

Because they were so close, they were called by one name; the Dioscuri. As they were growing, they both loved all kinds of sport. Pollux was particularly good at boxing, while Castor was renowned for his skill and daring on horseback.

CANCER:

The constellation of the greek zodiac known as Cancer (Crab), is linked with the second labour of the mighty hero Hercules, when he was assigned by Eurystheus to kill Lerna Hydra, a horrible water snake with a hundred heads.

As the story goes, in the midst of Hercules’ struggle, Hera, who was the hero’s worst enemy, ordered a giant crab to go and help the Hydra by digging its claws into Hercules’ foot.

Howling with pain, the hero stamped on the crab furiously, crushing it to death.

Hera, being grateful for its support and in recognition of its attempt to help her, honoured the crab by placing its image among the stars, as the constellation of Cancer.

LEO:

Leo, the fifth constellation of the greek zodiac, is linked with Hercules’ very first labour, the capture of the Nemean Lion.

According to the myth, Hercules finally managed to kill the beast by strangling it to death. Then, he skinned the lion and took its pelt to wear it. He was then quite protected from his enemies, as the skin could not be penetrated from any known weapon of the time whether made of iron, bronze or stone.

After its death, the famous lion was put on the sky by Zeus, to become the constellation of Leo.

VIRGO:

The constellation of Virgo is associated with the story of Demeter and her daughter Persephone. For the ancient Greeks, the story of Demeter and Persephone helped to explain why the seasons change.

LIBRA:

The stars that form the golden scales of Libra lie halfway around the band of the greek zodiac, between Virgo and Scorpio.

Day and night are equal when the sun passes through the constellation of Libra. The scales are a symbol of balance and equity.

More specifically, the scales were considered to be the symbol of Dike, meaning Justice, who was a minor goddess of the Underworld.

The fact that the ancient greeks gave Libra a prominent place in the sky, signifies that they considered justice, equity and balance in general, to be the moral cornerstones of an ideal way of living.

SCORPIO:

The eighth constellation of the greek zodiac is the one with the name Scorpio. The story of the scorpion is connected with different versions of stories that involve the mighty hunter Orion - a hero who is represented by another familiar group of stars.

Orion was said to be the tallest and the most handsome man of the then known world. He was often seen hunting in the woods and hills of ancient Greece with his pack of dogs. His constellation shows him striding across the heavens flourishing a gleaming sword on his bejewelled belt.

Many of the stories concerning the constellations of Orion and Scorpio reflect the annual rising and setting of their constellations, which appear to pursue each other across the sky.

One story tells how Gaia had sent the scorpion to sting Orion, in order to punish him for being too boastful, claiming that he was so mighty that he could easily rid the whole earth of all beasts and creatures.

As soon as the scorpion was released from the breast of Gaia, it immediately stung Orion and its deadly venom sent him straight to his death.

The scorpion was set up on the sky by Gaia to mark her victory, while goddess Artemis, who had loved Orion, placed his image on the sky as well, forming his own constellation. Because Orion had cared so much for his hunting dog, Artemis also put up a star for his dog: This is Sirius, the brightest star in the heavens.

There is another story about Orion and the scorpion.

One day, when Orion was out in the woods, he caught sight of seven beautiful sisters, the daughters of Atlas and Pleione. Orion loved them all at first sight and began to chase after them.

The sisters, however, were terrified and cried out to Zeus to save them.

Zeus heard their pleas and helped them by turning them first into doves, so they could fly away from Orion, and then into the seven stars which are now called Pleiades.

According to myth, Orion was stung by the scorpion as a punishment for chasing the seven sisters. Zeus decided that the constellations of Orion and the Pleiades were arranged in the heavens, so that it seemed that Orion was in constant pursuit of the seven sisters, without ever becoming successful, just as the Scorpio seems always to be chasing Orion, without ever touching him.

SAGITTARIUS:

The constellation of Sagittarius (the archer),depicts a creature called centaur, which has the body and head of a man and the hindquarters of a horse.

He is named after Cheiron, the most famous and king of the centaurs. He was semi-divine, as he was the son of god Poseidon. He was taught by god Apollo and goddess Artemis, and from them he learned both wisdom and spirituality.

He dwelt in a cave high up in the rocky, snowy sides of Mount Pelion. He was the oldest and wisest of all the centaurs and very strong. In fact, he was so famous, that many kings had trusted their sons to teach them. Among the most famous of his students were Hercules, and Jason, who later became the leader of the argonauts.

As the myth goes, Cheiron was destined to suffer a gruesome death: When Hercules was returning home to Tiryns after killing the Erymanthian Boar, he had a violent encounter with some drunken centaurs, which he managed to drive away near the place where Cheiron lived.

By accident, however, one of the poisonous arrows that Hercules used to defend himself from his attackers, went astray and hit his old teacher. Cheiron, being semi-divine, would not die, having to suffer an excruciating pain, because of the poison.

He was in such an agony, that Zeus himself felt sorry for the poor centaur and permitted him to give up his divine status and give it to Prometheus, the creator of the human race. So, Cheiron finally was let to die, relieved from the intolerable pain that was inflicted on him from the wound.

CAPRICORN:

The constellation of the greek zodiac by the name of Capricorn, is as strange as that of Sagittarius. It is a sea god, with the head and half the body of a goat, and the tail of a fish.

The story of Capricorn is associated with the birth of Zeus, the father of all gods.

As the story goes, when Rhea gave birth to baby Zeus, she feared that her cruel husband Cronus would devour her child, just as he did with the previous ones that she gave birth to.

So, she secretly took her child to Crete, where he was safely kept in a cave on Mount Dicte. There, he was nursed and cared for by Amaltheia, whose name means “tender”. She was a goat nymph, and she looked after baby Zeus with the greatest love and devotion, feeding him on her own rich milk and sweet lavender-scented honey.

Zeus’s golden cradle was hung high upon a tree so that Cronus would never find him in Heaven or Earth, or even in the ocean.

When Zeus later became the lord of the universe, he did not forget his goat-mother, Amaltheia, who had nursed him so lovingly. He took one of her horns and turned it into the horn of plenty, which is always filled with whatever delicious food or drink its owner may wish for, and is never empty.

Finally, in recognition of all she had done for him, she set her image among the rest of stars on the greek zodiac, as the constellation of Capricorn.

AQUARIUS:

The constellation of Aquarius shows a person pouring water out of a jug. It is thought that the story behind this group of stars is that of Ganymede.

Ganymede was the son of king Tros, after whom Troy was named. The young prince was the most exquisite and handsome youth that ever lived, and was adored and admired by both gods and mortals.

Zeus, who was especially fond of beautiful people, was totally infatuated with Ganymedes’s external appearance. Thinking it would be appropriate for so handsome a mortal as Ganymede to live with the gods, the mighty god disguised himself as an enormous eagle. He then flew down to Earth, captured the handsome youth and brought him up to Olympus.

Up there on the heavenly palace, Zeus had to find a job for his young protegee. So, he decided that Ganymede should be given the special honour of being his personal cupbearer.

The position was considered to be highly distinguished, since the person who was assigned the duty of the cupbearer, was responsible for pouring into the glasses of the Olympians the divine drink called nectar. This was the special drink that bestowed on the gods their eternal youth and vigor.

Zeus was forever fond of his cupbearer. So, he honoured him by giving him a prominent position on the greek zodiac, as the constellation of Aquarius.

PISCES:

The image of the two fish swimming in different directions make the constellation of Pisces.

Aphrodite, the goddess of love and beauty, was thought to be the source of inspiration for this particular constellation being set in the stars.

After Zeus had fought his father, Cronus, he defeated the race of the giants, who were the children of Gaia, the mother earth.

In revenge for the destruction of her children, Gaia gave birth to a horrible monster, called Typhon. He was the largest and most frightening creature ever born. From the thighs down he was a mass of coiled snakes, while his arms were so long that when he spread them out he reached a hundred leagues each way.

Let loose by his mother Gaia, Typhon thundered towards the Olympian home of the gods, declaring war on all of them. The gods hurried to disguise themselves, in the hope that the horrible creature would not find them:

Zeus took the image of a ram; Hera, became a white cow; Artemis became a cat; Hermes turned into an ibis, while Ares became a wild boar.

Lastly, the goddess Aphrodite and her son Eros, dived deep into the ocean and took the shape of twin fish.

When the fierce monster was finally captured by Zeus and all of the Olympians were transformed back to their original form, Aphrodite, being grateful to the fish who had lent their form to her and her son when they were in distress, put up their image on the night sky. Thus, Pisces became the last constellation of the greek zodiac.

Past lives by the house on the cusp of your 12th house.

By looking at the sign on the cusp (beginning) of the Twelfth House it is possible to
ascertain the type of past life you had immediately prior to this one and the method of
your passing.

Aries - past life as a soldier, warrior or surgeon - death by fire, blade, war or accident

Taurus - past life working the land or collecting money - death by hanging or connected
with the neck

Gemini - past life as a journalist, speaker or a pickpocket - death by suffocation,
consumption/lung problems or as a child

Cancer - past life as the head of a big family, a mother of many children or a sailor -
death by drowning or in childbirth

Leo - past life as royalty, an actor or someone famous - death through heart or back
problems

Virgo - past life as a nurse, caring for others or as a nun - death by starvation, famine or
illness

Libra - past life as a diplomat, judge or courtesan - death through the legal system, due
to overindulgence or alcohol

Scorpio - past life as a dark healer (witch), working using secret means or sex - death
through crime, vengeance or violence

Sagittarius - past life as a teacher, philosopher or traveller - death for speaking the
truth, in foreign lands, or for a cause

Capricorn - past life working to gain self-made riches, as a monk or a cripple - death by
over work, a hard life, or old age

Aquarius - past life as a scientist, revolutionary or working for the good of humanity -
death in a group, by electricity or explosion

Pisces - past life as an artist, psychic, healer or dedicated to religion - death for beliefs,
through an overdose, or alcohol

When a white army battles Indians and wins, it is called a great victory, but if they lose it is called a massacre.
— 

Chiksika, Shawnee

Cheeseekau (c. 1760–1792), better known as Matthew, was a war chief of the Kispoko division of the Shawnee Nation. Also known as Pepquannakek (Gunshot), Popoquan (Gun), Sting, and Chiksika. Although primarily remembered as the eldest brother and mentor of Tecumseh, who became famous after Cheeseekau’s death, Cheeseekau was a well-known leader in his own time, and a contemporary of Blue Jacket.”

Wakandan Adventures (2/13)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Words: 3,042 

Summary: Bucky is bored and decides Y/N is the best way to solve that problem. 

Warnings: all fluff and stuff. 

A/N: Thank you for the amazing response to the first part, here is part 2! This one was inspired by Sebastian’s interview with James Cordon last year! Hope you enjoy, feedback is greatly appreciated. Also if you would like to be tagged, just send me an ask/message! 

Tags: @flightofthefantasies  @ipaintmelodies @gondorgirl01  @bucky-on-a-bike  @jarnesbrnes @pickledmoon @moody-fangirl  @ladybrett9 @supernatural-harrypotter7 @i-saved-me @widowsfics @canumoveyourseatup-no @the-witching-hours12-3 @douleu-passion


Bucky was sitting beside you in an office chair, spinning around in sheer boredom. He was trying his best to gain your attention, but didn’t want to speak, so instead he only let out a deep sigh now and then, hoping it would get you to pay him just a little attention. His boredom was taking a toll on him, so he grabbed a pencil, throwing it in the air and catching it again to entertain himself. That didn’t last long. 

“Y/N” he called out, you didn’t react.

“Y/N”

Still no reaction. He let out a deep sigh and slammed the pencil down at the desk hard enough so it would startle you. He was sure to get a reaction out of you and even smiled a bit, but to his dismay, you didn’t even flinch, only continued with your work as if nothing was going on beside you.

“Y/N” he dragged out your name this time and had even gone so far as to start whining. James Buchanan Barnes, the former Winter Soldier was whining.

Keep reading

9

Strachy (1938, Eugeniusz Cekalski & Karol Sokolowski)

This is a scene from Strachy, a beautiful forgotten Polish movie about the lives of impoverished burlesque dancers in pre-war Warsaw. The title can be translated as phantoms, terrors, ghosts or frights (thank you @agony1 for the translation). The film was adapted from the book of the same name by Maria Ukniewska, which has never been translated. It’s a dream of mine to read it someday because it’s supposed to be even more haunting than the film, which is one of my new favorites!

In the scene above, one of the main characters, Lilka (Jadwiga Andrzejewska), contemplates finally killing herself after being suicidal for many months. Something I really loved about Strachy is how real and crushing yet all too common the hardships women have to go through are presented, from having to support oneself and one family, being failed by men (fathers, brothers and lovers alike), abortion and joblessness. The girls in Strachy take the ugliness of life as it comes but aren’t implicitly shamed by the language of the film when it comes to be too much for them to take. They also only seek comfort and aid from other women when things are desperate, taking it for granted that the men in their lives will fail them (which they do).

After writing the letter expressing her suicidal thoughts to her best friend, Teresa, Lilya tries on the veil she was to wear on the day of her wedding, which has been canceled. She looks at herself in the mirror for a moment but ultimately takes the veil off and lets it blow softly in the night breeze from the open window as she walks to her closet to hang herself, choosing to die without the signifier of security and union with a man marking her body. I thought this was really interesting and similar to the famous death of Miss Havisham but with the purposeful rejection of the wedding garments.

- Zynab

Don’t Say I Didn’t Warn You (Jason Todd x Reader)

Request - Hey Cee! So there’s this show called Shadowhunters, I don’t know if you watch it, and there was this particular scene that screamed Jason and his S/O and I was wondering if you could make a drabble based on it? It involves two siblings, Izzy and Alec, going to a fight club where one of the fighters flirts with Izzy and Alec defends her, only Izzy can defend herself and kicks the guy’s ass while Alec watches on amused. I hope this isn’t too confusing and please ignore the sibling part.

A/N - Sorry I’ve been putting off this request, I was just having a LOT of difficulty writing it and you can probably see that. I’m not particularly proud of it, but it’s still going on the masterlist.

AESTHETIC AND NORMAL REQUESTS ARE OPEN!


“Hey, babe,” You hear someone say, wondering if the comment was directed towards you. You continued walking, trying to find Jason amongst the many people in the dimly lit basement. You feel a soft touch on your shoulder, revealing a tall man with silvery blonde hair, a flirtatious smile playing his lips, “Name’s Matt, what’s yours, pretty little lady?” you give him a sideways look, “Um… I have a boyfriend.” you state plainly, brushing his hand off your shoulder.

As soon as his hand is brushed off, he wraps his arm around your shoulders, “Oh, come on, just tell me your name, pretty please, dollface? Maybe we can have a little bit of fun afterwards too…” he whispers in a low voice in your ear. You jerk yourself away from him, taking his arm and twisting it backwards, “What part of “I have a boyfriend” do you not understand?” you hiss, giving him your famous death glare. If looks could kill, he’d be dead about now.

Jason soon spots you about to fucking kill someone and decides to intervene, “Hey, Y/N, uh… what’d he do?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at you, and you transferred your glare to him. Matt smirks and looks back up to you, ignoring the horrible pain you were causing him. Jason at this point was just confused at the whole scene unrolling out in front of him.

“Ah, so this beauty’s name is Y/N… quite fitting, might I add.” Jason looks at you, but you still wore a sour expression.

“Sorry if I’m interrupting anything, but can someone please explain to me what the hell is going on here?” You sigh angrily, then point at Matt, “This asshole is trying to get me in his pants yet, I’ve told him twice since our very,” you grit your teeth, “enlightening conversation that I have a fucking boyfriend.” Jason looks at Matt, eyes narrowed at the blonde man.

“You do realize I am said boyfriend, right?”

Matt chuckles as you release his arm, not because you cared about the state of his arm, more like you didn’t want to pay for any hospital bills for any ripped ligaments, because yes, you were known to do that. “You do realize I don’t mind right, my Y/N is just playing hard to get, then once we get on, we may even invite you, if you were up to it, of course.”

Oh no, that was it. “You, me, ring, now.” You shout, leaving Jason in shock as you dragged Matt by his hair, fuming. “Oh, God. You’re dead.” He tells him, and for the first time tonight, Matt’s fearful for his life. You weren’t even going to try and put up with it, you legit wanted to bring this guy down and crying for his mommy. And guess what, you won’t fail to deliver.

“YOU,” You connected your fist to his “perfect” jaw, causing a spray of saliva to fall upon the row beside him. “NO GOOD,” You place your hands on each shoulder and knee him in the groin. “SON OF A BITCH!” You quickly turn his back towards you and you capture him in a headlock, not releasing him until he fell unconscious. You hear Jason screaming your name in the background and you face the crowd, “May this be a reminded to you that when you’re trying to hit on a girl,” she yells, her voice loud and clear, “stop the moment she mentions she has a boyfriend, or whenever she makes it VERY OBVIOUS THAT SHE’S NOT INTERESTED, she probably has the skills to kick your sorry ass! Don’t say I didn’t warn ya, goodnight, Gotham!”

Game Master - Mileven Fanfic

Game Master - Mileven Fanfic

“So now you need to roll a 13 or higher,” Dustin instructed, eyes staring intently at the ten-sided dice in El’s hand while taking a swig of his juice box.

Will was looking just as intently at the dice in her hand, impatiently awaiting the verdict of the campaign.

El looked at the both of them before enclosing the prisms fully in her palm and beginning to shake her hand before releasing the contents onto the board.

The dice tumbled all over the table. All three young teens held their breath. 13 or higher, they just needed a 13 or higher.

They tumbled to a stop - one after the other…15!

“Fifteen! It’s a fifteen!” Will screamed, literally springing from his chair and beginning to dance around the room. He was known for his crazy victory dance.

Meanwhile Dustin had gotten so excited he accidentally squeezed what was left of his juice box over his shirt.

“Oh, man. Not again…” he mumbled, but not allowing himself to be distracted for too long as he joined his friend in ecstatic celebration.

El was just sitting there grinning - glad she had made two of her closest friends so happy.

Dustin leant next to El, smirking.

“I think you’re ready for our next campaign.”

Unbeknownst to Mike, El had asked Dustin and Will to teach her how to play Dungeons and Dragons, wanting nothing more than to join in on something that was such a large part of Mike’s life. So on this rainy Friday night, the three had locked themselves in the Henderson basement, determined to make El competent in the ways of wizardry and warlocks. Eleven was determined to become a D & D master.

The following Saturday, all four boys plus Eleven had situated themselves at the familiar, official gaming table in the Wheeler basement. The campaign had been going for just over eight hours.

Mike had been astounded with El’s thorough knowledge of the game.

She had initially surprised him when she arrived and planted herself at the table, ready to get on with the game. Usually she simply sat herself on the couch and read Mike’s ever growing collection of comic books.

Nevertheless, they proceeded to play. He was sceptical to begin, simply because he was worried the boys would be too intense for her and it would get incredibly competitive. Plus Lucas had a habit of flipping the board every now and then…

However the game commenced and as every roll and instruction delved deeper into the realm of dragons and warriors, Mike became more and more fixated on El and her complete and utter skill and tactic.

But more importantly, he was fixated on her concentration on the game. Specifically, how her eyebrows bunched, lips pursed into the most adorable pout. And although Mike didn’t want to admit it in front of his friends, she looked really cute.

And he may or may not have had to be queued by Dustin a couple of times to get on with the campaign when he was caught staring at her a second too long…

The game went on, and after numerous plot twists and increasingly challenging riddles, they’d made it to the final roll.

“Looks like it’s up to you, El. Conjure a wall of invisibility or fireball him,” Lucas encouraged, eyes growing twice in size and voice escalating impatiently. All the boys leaned in as close as they could, eyes fixated on the small, white dice in El’s hand. El felt a sense of dejavu from the previous weekend.

Glancing at Mike, who only smiled encouragingly at her, she picked up the dice between her dainty fingers, feeling their cool surface as she dropped them into her palm. Deep breath. In and out.

Not giving it much more thought, she rolled, all eyes gazing eagerly in the middle of the table, never wavering from the spinning prisms.

One tumbled on its side immediately. 5.

This wasn’t good. They now needed a perfect 10 to win the campaign.

Every breath in the room caught. No one blinked. No one moved.

The die began slowing down. Still no one moved.

Ever so slowly, the die tumbled to its side, revealing what they had all been waiting for…10!

“It’s a ten! It’s a ten!”

“How the hell did she manage that?!”

“Mental.”

“She did it!”

All the boys cheered and jumped around, high fiving each other before rounding the table to El, where they enveloped her in a giant bear hug.

“Okay, you’re playing with us more often.”

Laughs and cheers broke out amongst the party as they watched Mike reenact the famous death scene of the notorious Thessalhydra.

“Aaaaand, And-AND!-” he recited dramatically before crumpling to the floor, leaving the boys to cheer even louder. El was definitely joining them for future campaigns.

After all the boys had gone and it was just Mike and El, they decided to migrate to the couch, placing themselves incredibly close to each other.

There was a beat of silence before Mike spoke up.

“That was amazing, El. I didn’t know you could play.” He smiled, eyes shining with pride and adoration. El liked this look and the fact that it was diverted towards her made her feel all the more special.

She simply shrugged, trying to hide her blush by turning away.

But Mike wasn’t having it and gently touched her hand. She flicked her head back, locking eyes with him.

“You constantly surprise me, you know that right?” He confessed, inadvertently allowing a crimson flush to cross his cheeks. She smiled, a similar colour kissing her own face.

“I-uh..just wanted to try and impress…you. Dustin and Will taught me…” she mumbled, glancing down a little before sweeping her gaze back up.

“You impress me every day. Everything you do impresses me, El. You-you’re amazing.” He confessed, his cheeks putting a fire truck to shame.

El smiled her brightest smile to date and leaned in closer to Mike, simply wanting the warmth he radiated.

“You are too, Mike.”

Mike flashed a loving smile before pulling El into a hug. El placed her hands around Mike’s back, finding comfort in the embrace.

Over his shoulder, her eyes made contact with the table not five metres away from them. She glanced at the dice sitting sprawled atop the board.

She began giggling.

Mike pulled back, giving her an amused look.

“What’s up?” He inquired, confused yet endeared at her laugh.

“Nothing.” She whispered, still smiling to herself.

Mike didn’t need to know the dice was originally meant to read 9. I mean - the rules didn’t say anything about not using telekinetic abilities to roll the dice, right?

87-year-old Gaston Glock didn’t inherit the polymer pistol empire, he built it. And you can’t build an empire without making a few enemies. In Glock’s case, it was his partner and close confidant, Charles Ewert. Back in 1999, Ewert embezzled millions of dollars from the company and, worried about getting caught, took the next logical step in the Iron Man villain’s business plan: kill your partner. So naturally, he hired a French ex-mercenary and professional wrestler nicknamed “Spartacus” to assassinate Gaston Glock – because why only go half-Goldfinger? Glock was 70 years old at the time and, surprisingly, didn’t carry a Glock, (where’s the faith in your product, Gaston?).

Ewert lured Glock into a parking garage in Luxembourg and told his business partner to “check out that cool sports car,” because he got his supervillain manual mixed up with a Scooby Doo script. But hey, it worked: As Glock bent over, Spartacus The Hitman jumped out – hopefully wearing nothing but a leather thong and a murderous grin – and started beating Glock on the head with a heavy rubber mallet. Which is an … interesting choice for a murder weapon?

But after being bashed seven times in the head, Glock managed to wrestle the hammer away from the hitman/pro-wrestler, punched him in the eye, knocked out several of his teeth, and rendered him unconscious. 

The physical fight was over, but Glock wasn’t done. 

5 Famous People Who Punched Death In The Dick

it’s really crazy to me that this year marks the 10 year anniversary of, to me, three seminal pop culture moments that reflect society’s ever shifting views on mental illness and addiction through the lense of our famous women - the death of anna nicole smith, britney’s meltdown and the u.s. debut of amy winehouse
(Don’t) Touch Me Like That: A Rowaelin Short Story

So here’s the first winner of the survey many of you guys took. ***Warning: Does contain mature content*** in case you weren’t aware. I spent 3 MOTHER FRICKING DAYS ON THIS. I gave up sleep, put aside my homework, everything. So I hope you all like it!

Please like and reblog, and feel free to tell me what you thought! I really did spend a lot of time on this so it means more than you could imagine having people appreciate it and tell me how much they enjoyed it. Alright, this post is long enough as it is, ENJOY!

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

Aelin again read over the letter she had received just yesterday. She had read it so many times that she had now memorized the words. And yet, it felt as if she still couldn’t comprehend them.

“Aelin?” Aedion asked quietly.

She didn’t turn to him as she said, “Rowan and I will set out for Fenharrow tonight. I want you and Lysandra to stay here and watch over the apartment. We don’t want Lorcan to pay an unexpected visit.” It was silent for a few moments, and Aelin could feel Aedion’s annoyance at not being chosen to accompany her rolling off him in waves, but even he was wise enough to not push Aelin at this time.

As much as she didn’t want to, she knew choosing Rowan to go with her was the wiser choice. She would much rather pick Aedion.

When the Queen of Terrasen finally turned to her cousin, he read all that and more in her eyes.

Aedion nodded, eyes somber as he murmured, “As you will it.”

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

Aelin stuffed an extra cloak, a few pairs of pants, shirts, boots, and sweaters to keep out the winter chill into her pack before clasping it. She didn’t need to pack too much as she and Rowan shouldn’t be gone long and she certainly did not want the extra weight on her as they traveled.

Just as she was finishing strapping on her knives, blades, and other deadly weapons, she felt Rowan’s presence behind her. But she didn’t pause, instead choosing to grab a few more daggers and sheath them at her thighs.

“Are you ready to go?” His voice was cold, stilted.

Finally turning to him, Aelin couldn’t look him in the eyes as she said, “Let’s go.”

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

They had been travelling for three days, and Aelin had still not spoken a word to him. She hadn’t really looked at him, spoken to him, or acknowledged his existence ever since—Ever since that day. When he had pushed her away.

“Don’t do that. Don’t—touch me like that.”

Rowan shook his head as if to rid his mind of all the thoughts racing about in there. He hadn’t been able to stop replaying those moments before he had rejected her. How her eyes had seemed to glow with want, the warmth of her hand as she had caressed his tattoo…

And then the moments after. Hurt had flashed, unabashed and unexpected, on her face. He had hurt her. And then she had covered it up, made it seem like it was nothing but…He knew she was angry. He knew he had emotionally wounded her.

He knew all this…And yet he had yet to apologize for it.

“We’ll set camp here for the night.” Her voice cut through his thoughts. Rowan looked up, coming to the sudden realization that the sky was dark and now showcased thousands of stars winking down at them.

Rowan watched as Aelin hopped off her horse in one graceful, fluid motion before tying up the snow white mare as close to the peaceful river as she could. She stroked the horse as it drank deeply, and only left once she was certain the gentle beast was well taken care of.

The two of them silently set up their tents, and Aelin started a fire with no more than half a thought before she spoke to him again while she was rummaging through her pack. “I’m going to go freshen up in the river.”

And then she was gone again.

Rowan stared after her, only averting his gaze once he realized he could still see her as she began stripping off her clothes. He had not torn his gaze away fast enough to miss the maddening sight of the curve of her breasts as she had rid herself of her shirt.

His blood thrummed in his veins, forcing himself to close his eyes and take a few steadying breaths.

Gods, if he didn’t do something productive now, he’d end up joining her in that river.

And then lose his balls by her hand by doing so.

So the Fae Prince decided he’d go hunting so that they’d be able to eat something other than days old cheese and molding apples.

With his sheath strapped to his back and knives on every visible and invisible inch on him, Rowan set out.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Insufferable bastard.

Rutting pain in my ass.

Aelin mentally swore at Rowan, cursing his very name to the pits.

It’s been days—days—since they last spoke to each other. And Rowan was so rutting proud, he wouldn’t even acknowledge her.

Granted, she was also paying as much attention to him as she would a spot of dirt on the street, but she couldn’t bring herself to so much as look at him while the aching in her chest was a constant companion.

No matter how many times she told herself that if he wasn’t interested in her like that, that it was his prerogative, she couldn’t help that feeling of rejection. Besides, Aelin thought as she rinsed her hair for the third time, how can I expect him to move on after losing his mate for gods’ sake? Aelin sighed. Of course she couldn’t expect him to move on so soon—if ever—from Lyria’s death. And it was selfish of her to do so.

A wave of guilt came crashing over her.

She’d apologize to him tonight. Make sure he knew that she understood, that she felt awful for blaming him for her misguided feelings. It was just that, for the first time since Sam, Aelin thought she had finally found someone who accepted her, who saw all her flaws and the monster she was, and cared for her despite it.

Perhaps Rowan did care for her, just not in the way she wished he did.

Aelin finished bathing and heaved herself out of the river.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Once Aelin had finished dressing, she came to the camp to find that Rowan was ladling stew into a few bowls. She sniffed the air, swearing she could smell—Was that fresh bread?

She stopped at the edge of the camp, leaning against a nearby tree, arms crossed over her chest. “Well,” she said, being sure to sound mildly amused, “Who would have thought Rowan Whitethorn, famous Fae Prince Warrior, Death on Swift Wings, was also a chef?”

For a moment, Aelin was afraid he wasn’t going to respond to her. She was afraid that he was going to completely ignore her. And she knew that if he did that, if he were to truly not want anything to do with her anymore, then she’d endure it and put on a brave face, but—

But Rowan merely chuckled once and said, “Well are you good for anything other than running that mouth of yours?”

If things were like they used to be, she might have made some slightly inappropriate retort, but they were just now beginning to test the waters, and she did not want to screw up redeeming herself, so she only smiled slightly and came to sit across from him.

He passed her a bowl of the mouth-watering stew, still steaming, along with a piece of the fresh bread he had somehow gotten his hands on, and the two ate in comfortable silence for a while.

Finally, when her emotions were eating her up inside and she could no longer repress the words, she blurted out, “I’m sorry.”

Rowan stopped mid-bite. “For what?” He still wouldn’t look her in her eyes.

Aelin swallowed, but forced herself to continue. “For pushing your boundaries,” she said. “For crossing a line I didn’t mean to. And then blaming you for it. I shouldn’t have—I didn’t mean to—” she swallowed again. “I’m sorry.”

Rowan didn’t respond. He didn’t turn towards her, he didn’t speak, rutting hells—Aelin wasn’t even sure he was breathing.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, Rowan turned towards her. Aelin was embarrassed at the way her pulse thrummed when he finally, finally, met her gaze. She was sure he could hear the pounding of her heart, the shallowness of her breathing.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he breathed. “I should have…handled it better. It just took me off guard.”

She didn’t know when it had started, but Aelin suddenly realized that tears were pooling in her eyes. Rowan, too, seemed to notice, and at the sight of them, he only opened his arms, beckoning her, and murmured, “Come here.”

She dropped her empty bowl with shaking hands before making her way over to him. Aelin had planned on sitting beside him, but Rowan scooped her up in his arms and set her down on his lap. So close, she could distinctly smell the pine and snow scent that was him.

Aelin rested her head on his shoulder, and Rowan pulled her closer, resting his chin on the top of her head.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed again. “I’m so sorry, Rowan.”

A few heartbeats passed, and Rowan’s only response was, “I missed you, Fireheart.”

She refused to allow him to see how much those words affected her, so she laughed and retorted, “You mean you miss all of our comedic and playful banter?”

“Banter? Is that what you call it? I’d say arguing was a better fit.”

“And I’d say that me always being right and you being wrong whilst refusing to acknowledge it is an even better fit.”

And so they sat that way for a good remainder of the night, until Rowan complained that his legs were beginning to fall asleep due to Aelin’s heaviness—she had smacked him, playfully of course—and they had bid each other good night before retreating to their tents.

Aelin slept better that night than she had nights previous, but her tent still seemed to be too cold without her Fae Prince at her side

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Two more days of riding, and though things were still a bit tense between the two of them, Aelin and Rowan were talking to each other again. It was at the end of the second day that they had stumbled upon a small village. The village was welcoming and inviting, with red brick buildings and local shops, friendly people.

And most importantly, an inn.

“We can lodge here for the night,” Aelin said. She didn’t mind travelling, but she was tired of sleeping on the hard ground and bathing in creeks and rivers and eating nothing but cheese, apples, bread, and whatever game she and Rowan had hunted.The thought of sleeping in a bed was so appealing, she had to restrain herself from making her horse go faster just to reach the inn.

The inn was cozy and warm, with a tavern off to the right and teeming with people. Boisterous laughter and the scent of pumpkin and cinnamon greeted them upon arriving, and Rowan and Aelin quickly scanned the space before Rowan said, “I’m going to go check things out. You see about getting us a room to stay in for the night.” Before Aelin could protest, he was off.

Aelin strutted to the innkeeper’s desk, ringing the little bell there and feeling eyes on her coming from every which way. Her hand strayed to a knife hidden beneath her cloak, but she made sure that the silver gleamed menacingly and in plain view. If anyone dared to be a bit bold and try to steal from her, they were going to find themselves missing a few fingers—Or perhaps a whole rutting hand.

The innkeeper, a small, plump woman with dark hair and light eyes bustled out, wiping her hands on her skirt before cheerfully greeting Aelin.

“I’d like a room for the night please,” Aelin said. “And, with two beds,” she added as an afterthought. As much as she and Rowan were beginning to mend their relationship, she guessed he’d prefer to have a bed of his own.

“I’m sorry, Miss,” the innkeeper breathed, and Aelin steeled herself for the words she was sure to say next. “All of our two bed rooms are full. But, there is one room available. Mind you, it does only have one bed, but—”

Seeing that the woman was getting quite flustered, and perhaps a bit frightened at the sight of Aelin’s hand on her knife, Aelin politely interrupted, “It’s fine. We’ll take whatever you can offer us.” The woman nodded.

Upon paying the kind innkeeper and receiving the key from her, Aelin walked back to the tavern in search of Rowan.

Good gods, there were so many people! Aelin had to push her way through, scouting for the Fae Prince. It took her all of five minutes before she found him in the more dimly lit part of the tavern, his back to her.

A pretty, curly-haired woman was pressed against the wall, big brown eyes just gobbling up the sight of the muscular warrior. Aelin could not hear what they were saying over the roaring in her ears, but she watched on in silent horror as Rowan lowered his lips to her ear, eyes straying to her considerable-sized breasts. The woman’s eyes seemed to darken with lust, and her hand went to his chest, feeling the hard, corded muscle underneath his tunic.

Rowan flashed her a lazy smile, one so few people were graced to see, and when the woman nodded upon him whispering something else in her ear, Aelin could take no more of it.

Just as she was preparing to leave the tavern, her gaze met with that of the beautiful woman. She nodded in Aelin’s direction, and Rowan looked over his shoulder, making direct eye contact with her.

Aelin wasn’t sure what would happen next, didn’t know if Rowan would simply dismiss her or go after her, but she didn’t care to stick around and find out.

Faster than a bat out of hell, she rushed out of the tavern, up the stairs, and found the room they were to be staying in for the remainder of the night.

The room was small, but cozy. There was a small wardrobe tucked into the farthest right corner, a door that led to the bathing chambers, a small fireplace, and a table. A considerable sized bed with fresh linen took up much of the space, if you sat on it and looked out, you could view the beautiful violet snow-capped mountains that seemed to go on for an eternity.

Ten minutes passed, and Aelin could do nothing but stare out that window. That is, until the door opened, and pine and snow overtook the room. The air was instantly stale, and the mixture of awkwardness and anger was a tangible thing.

“There’s only one bed,” he said.

Aelin scoffed and faced him. He looked for all the world like he had done absolutely nothing wrong and had no idea why she was behaving like a lunatic. “I told them we needed two beds, you insufferable bastard. This is the only room they had available.” Swiftly, she began ridding herself of her weapons, her freezing cloak. “If you’ve got a problem with it, you’re welcome to sleep on the floor. Or even better, you can change into your hawk form and find a nice nest for lodging.”

Rowan was still stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest as he said, “That actually doesn’t sound like such a bad idea.”

Aelin shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Then by all means, go do it. Apparently, I’m such an detestable pain in your ass that you’d rather go warm some other harlot’s bed than share one with me for a night.”

And there it was.

Almost immediately, Aelin regretted the words, but there was nothing she could do about it now.

Rowan’s brows furrowed and he took a step closer. “Aelin—” She held up a hand, ceasing whatever words were about to come out of his mouth.

“It’s none of my business, Rowan, whom you decide to have relations with, I know. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Rowan was silent as she finished stripping off her weapons, setting them on the small, wooden bedside table before walking into the bathroom and shutting the door behind her.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Rowan was an idiot.

A ginormous, gods-damned rutting idiot.

He should have known, should have thought about how the sight of him flirting with another woman, no matter what the initiative, would have affected Aelin. Especially, especially considering what he’d told her just weeks before.

“Rowan,” she had breathed and slid her fingers down the side of his tattooed cheek and—

Impossibly fast, Rowan grabbed one wrist and then the other, yanking them away from his face and snarling softly.

He dropped her hands as if they were on fire, stepping away.

“Don’t do that. Don’t—touch me like that.”

He had known, as soon as he had said the words, that he had hurt her in some foolish, unspeakable way.

And now…He could only imagine how it looked. That he would rather some random woman’s hands run all over him, rather share her bed, than be with Aelin for just one night.

The line between them had become so blurred once he had come to join her in Adarlan. It  was completely different between them in Wendlyn. They had fought and cried and laughed together. She had slept in his bed every night after she had nearly burnt herself out. And Rowan had not realized just how lonely he was until he would wake up in the middle of the night, hands searching for a girl who was not there. A girl who was half way across the continent, and had taken pieces of him with her.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

As Aelin bathed, she could not stop replaying all that she had seen just moments previous. The way Rowan leaned into that woman, how he seemed to want—crave—her touch. The way his eyes had freely roamed over her body, how her eyes had seemed to darken in response.

“Don’t do that. Don’t—touch me like that.”

Aelin came to the sudden, crippling realization that perhaps—Perhaps those words were not a general statement. Maybe they had been intended for her only. Was it not possible that just because Rowan did not want her hands roaming over his body, he would not mind the hands of another on him? That he did not feel for her in that way?

She finished bathing, wrapping herself in a towel before exiting the bathroom to find that there was food on the bed. Still warm, though not scorching hot so it had to have been sitting there for a little bit. Rowan, however, was absent. Fine, she thought, but Aelin could not deny that little twinge of hurt and disgust that was taking place in her heart.

She sat, still wrapped in her towel and began eating the meal without tasting it at all. She was so wrapped in her thoughts that everything around her seemed like a type of dream. Blurred and hazy around the edges with only one thing astoundingly clear.

It was moments later that Rowan came back, hands full with two cups filled with something that smelled distinctly like chocolate and a small tray that had to hold something sweet, as she could smell the cinnamon and pumpkin she had scented upon first arriving at the inn.

He set the goodies on the bed. “I went back down to get some hot chocolate and pumpkin spice tarts. The cook says they’re the best in all of Erilea.”

If this was his attempt at an apology, he was doing a shit job at it.

But she could never resist sweets, especially chocolate, so Aelin took a cup and a tart and began enjoying them without so much as a thank you. Rowan sat down on the bed, keeping a healthy distance before he delved into his meal. She took a sip of the hot chocolate—Gods, it was heavenly. And the tart was even better.

Somewhere in the middle of enjoying her third tart and second cup of hot chocolate, Rowan retreated to the bathing chambers. He was gone for no more than ten minutes, and Aelin had just slipped on a long-sleeved red button-down shirt when he emerged, dressed in nothing but a pair of paints slung low on his hips and his hair dripping wet, but tied back in a bun atop his head.

Aelin climbed into bed, forcing her eyes away from his half-naked form, and blew out the bedside candle with a murmured, “Goodnight, Rowan.”

She could tell that he was just standing there in the middle of the bedroom, staring down at her. But it was moments before his deep voice disturbed the silence of the room as he said, “I was gathering information from her.” He needn’t specify who. “She was a common city whore from the brothel down the street, Aelin. Nothing more.”

Lies. There was absolutely nothing ‘common’ about that woman. From her full, sinful lips and deep brown skin, to the full swell of her breasts and petite build.

“It’s none of my business, Rowan. It doesn’t matter.”

“But it does,” he said. “It does matter, because it obviously upset you. And I must say that I am sorry Aelin, for having hurt you. It was never my intention.”

It was silent for a few moments, the only sounds being the high-pitched whistling of the wind and snow swirling about outside, people preparing for bed, candles being blown out, before the entire inn seemed to grow completely silent.

“Good night, Rowan,” she said again. A few heartbeats passed before Aelin felt the bed dip on the opposite side, Rowan coming to join her.

Gods damn her, she couldn’t seem to even consider sleep when he was right there, when he was so close and yet so far away. So Aelin lay with her back to him, staring at the wall while hoping and praying for sleep to come and take her away.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

“Please tell me what you’re thinking.” Aelin knew it had to be well past ten, but it did not surprise her when Rowan’s voice disturbed the stillness in the room.

“Only if you return the favor.” He seemed to hesitate, but eventually agreed. “But you first,” she added quickly. Rowan groaned, and Aelin couldn’t help a small smile as he grumbled, “Fine.”

She heard him take a deep breath, as if preparing himself for a fight, noticed that he subtly cleared his throat before speaking.

“I’m thinking that Lysandra and Aedion are probably showing great strength in restraining themselves from tearing each other’s throats out. I’m thinking that the small innkeeper should back away from the door and go mind her own business.” At this, Aelin indeed heard a quiet gasp and then shuffling as someone hurried down the stairs. Her smile grew. “I’m thinking that not talking to you for that amount of time was starting to drive me mad, and I missed you like hell. I’m thinking that I’m one of the biggest fools that ever lived from having hurt you. And I would sooner cut off my own arm than make that mistake again.”

Aelin wasn’t sure she was breathing. Of all the things she had expected him to say, that certainly wasn’t it. So she turned around to face him, searching his eyes for any hint of insincerity…And found none.

She had so many things she longed to tell him. Things and feelings she had kept on a tight leash. A leash, Aelin realized, that had been loosening ever since she had seen him in that alley.

So she, too, took a deep breath, knowing that once she said the words she had been wanting to say for so long now, there’d be no undoing it. “I’m thinking that you’re an idiot, Rowan Whitethorn,” she replied. “And I’m an even bigger idiot for having fallen in love with you.” His eyes seemed to darken in the sliver of moonlight coming through the window. Aelin breathed, “Now you have to tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I’m thinking,” his voice had taken on a dangerous quality. So low and guttural as he said, “That I want to kiss you, Aelin Galathynius. I want to touch you, I want to find out how your lips would feel on mine. How your hands would feel in my hair, roaming over my body, touching me.” His gaze went to her lips. He growled. “I want to take you on this bed. I’m thinking that I want to fuck you over that table, and on the walls, and in the tub. Over and over again until that sneaky little innkeeper is forced to kick us out due to noise complaints. Because I can guarantee, Fireheart, that you’ll be moaning—screaming my name at the top of your lungs. And you won’t be able to help it.”

Rutting hell’s.

Rutting hell’s. 

Aelin did not know when she and Rowan had inched closer, as if by some invisible force, but she realized that he was now close enough that she could reach out and touch him if she wished. Realized that their breaths mingled.

His words had her nearly gasping for breath, sent her heart galloping, her pulse roaring through her veins and pooling at her core. She could scent his want, his lust-filled eyes finally meeting hers again.

“Are you all talk, Rowan? Or can your actions actually back up your words?” He grinned, canines gleaming wickedly.

“Turn around,” he quietly instructed. She obeyed, wondering just what in all the gods’ names he could possibly do that—

Her thoughts cut off abruptly as his lips met her neck. His breath fanned over where her shoulder and neck met, kissing where her pulse thrummed. Aelin’s body stiffened.

His hands soon joined his lips, one grazing her bare thigh, the other slowly unbuttoning her shirt. Aelin’s eyes screwed shut. Just a whisper of his thumb caressing the inside of her thighs had her grinding against him, silently begging for more.

In one swift movement, he had her on her back. Rowan hovered over her, their bodies so close that his warmth seeped into her. His lips kissed, followed by a brief, sharp pain that was his canines biting her, claiming her, before his tongue—gods damn her his tongue—caressing the spot he had just bit her.

And he continued this slow, pleasuring torture all the way down her throat, until his mouth hovered over her breasts, peaked despite the lack of chill in the room. 

And then he took her right breast into his mouth, licking and biting as his hand massaged her other breast. Aelin moaned, grasping the sheets as waves of pleasure tore through her.

His name was a breathy whisper on her lips. Just when she thought she would find release, he stopped, instead continuing his torturous assault of leaving a trail like purple-pink flowers blooming upon her pale skin.

Rowan eased himself off the bed, kneeling before it, before her. His hands wrapped around Aelin’s ankles, pulling her towards him. Evidence of where he touched were left on the sensitive skin inside her thighs. He was going to drive her to the brink of insanity with those gods damned teeth of his. Aelin didn’t think he could pleasure her any more than what he already was.

But then his mouth hovered over what was between her thighs, and she felt his breath on her. And she could have sworn he moaned before his fingers began to pleasure her.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Feeling her wetness for him, scenting her wanton desires nearly undid him. Her golden hair sprawled out on the pillows, her hands grasping the sheets, eyes fluttering and chest heaving as he pleasured her. The way she tended to bite down on her lower lip to contain the moans she so desperately wanted to release. She was so beautiful. 

Aelin was aware of the fact, and yet still held insecurities. Rowan had noticed how her eyes had flashed with hurt and despair at the sight of him flirting with that other woman. He had noticed how her eyes roamed over the whore’s body, immediately comparing it to her own and wondering if he perhaps preferred those type of women.

He planned on eliminating every once of self-doubt she had.

Aelin’s hips bucked off the bed, craving more of his touch but he used his other hand to pin her to the bed. “None of that,” he crooned.

“You little—” Her sentence was cut off as she gasped at one of Rowan’s fingers entering her. “Shit,” she breathed as he slowly began to pump his finger inside her, his mouth caressing her thighs. He added a finger, feeling her clench around him as he began to move faster, faster. Her chest was heaving, and his name sounded like that of a gods when she finally found her release, her hips wanting to buck off the bed but being stayed by his hand. 

She was barely able to come down from the last waves of pleasure before his tongue darted out, tasting her. He had imagined how she would taste, but his imagination paled in comparison to the real thing. 

One of her hands went to his hair, holding him to her as she writhed and moaned. His hands and mouth took turns, tasting her, pleasuring her. 

“Aelin,” he breathed against her. And at that, she lost it once more. Her back arched off the bed, toes curling as she was taken again.

Her eyes opened, meeting his as he lifted his fingers to his mouth and sucked her pleasure off them. Aelin’s body shuddered, riding out the last waves.

But when Rowan rose, making as if to join her on the bed, she held up a finger, stopping him as she raised herself to her knees. 

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

Of all the things that had come out of Rowan’s mouth, wit matched with a sharp tongue, she had never imagined that he could have her nearly begging for release with nothing more than his teeth, hands, and tongue.

She held up a finger, stopping him. And he did so with a mixture of amusement and lust shining in his eyes. Her hands reached toward his naked chest, keeping his gaze every step of the way so that he knew, so that he could stop her at any moment should he wish.

“Get on with it, Fireheart.”

That was all the encouragement she needed before was on him. Pleasuring him as he did her. Her lips and breath on his neck, peppering kisses along his torso and leaving her mark on him. 

Rowan’s eyes had fluttered closed, nostrils flaring as she moved farther south, until her mouth was right above the waistband of his pants. She popped the button free—

So fast she hadn’t anticipated it, Rowan’s hands lashed out; One gripped both her hands, ceasing her advance, and the other lightly gripped her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.

For a moment she was afraid that she had gone too far. That kissing and marking his skin was fine, but him exposing himself in that way was off -limits. 

But then he lowered his lips to hers, and it was the answer to a thousand-year old riddle. It was the beginning and end of the universe and her body heated. It was hot—too hot—

An icy breeze swept through the room, blowing out the fireplace and kissing her heated cheeks. A hand slipped around her waist, and Rowan set her on the bed with a gentleness that made her heart stutter.

Aelin wrapped a leg around his waist, pulling him down towards her, causing him to be flush against her body. She could feel the hard length of him through his pants and suddenly wanted him insider her now.

Again her hands went to the waistband of his pants, and this time, when she slowly began to peel them off him, he only growled that she go faster and stop teasing him. 

His pants joined her shirt on the floor, and Aelin’s mouth went dry at the sight of him–Fully naked before her. He was beautiful; every bit the Fae warrior underneath his clothes as she had imagined he’d be.

Their eyes met, Rowan lowering his head so that their brows met. He smelled of pine and snow and sweat, but her scent was there as well. Crackling embers and lavender wrapped around each other like the notes to a sweet melody.

Rowan nudged at her entrance, and Aelin bit her lip to stop the moan that had been about to pass from her lips.

“Get on with it, you bastard.” Rowan only chuckled, a sound she felt reverberate in her core before he entered her. Her nails raked down his bag, raising angry red lines as he pushed in, and in. And in.

He stilled, allowing her to adjust to his considerable length. 

Aelin closed her eyes, focusing on his breath coming out in hot, short spurts on her neck, his scent, the hard muscles of his back, his hands on her thighs, on how he seemed to fill every inch of her.

She breathed his name, and that was all it took before he slid out, then pushed back in. Slowly, at first. He worshiped her body, kissing her deeply as he moved inside her.

But Aelin didn’t want slow. 

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Her hips lifted to meet his and he stilled, snarling softly in her ear. “Aelin,” he said, almost as a reprimand. When he didn’t move, she lifted her hips again. “Open your eyes,” he softly encouraged. She complied, and when he pulled out before slamming into her, her mouth formed a perfect O, a strangled gasp leaving from her lips as he slammed into her again. And again. And again.

His mouth met hers, swallowing her sounds of pleasure as he lifted her in his arms, their bodies still connected. Her back hit the wall, her arms snaking around his neck, his gripping her thighs as fucked her, hard and fast against the wall as he’d promised.

“Rowan,” she said his name between moans and sighs.

“You’re mine,” he growled against her throat. “You are mine, Aelin Galathynius. And I’m yours. To whatever end.”

He pounded into her, so rough that the few pictures decorating the walls fell of, so viciously she swore the window threatened to shatter.

She could feel her release coming for her again, but she needed to say it. Wanted to say it. “I’m yours, Rowan Whitethorn,” she breathed. “And you are mine. To whatever end.”

“I love you,” he said, and those whispered words were her undoing. She shattered completely around him, screaming his name and not caring who heard. He continued to pound into her as torrents of pleasure tore through her, until he, too found his release and her name off his lips sounded like a man worshiping a goddess.

And when she could finally find her voice, she reciprocating the words she had held in her heart for all this time.

~.~.~~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

Rowan and Aelin got little sleep that night. 

He had fucked her, hard and rough against the wall again, bent her over the table and had his name leaving her lips the entire time. 

Then she had taken over, pleasuring him with her mouth, with her hands, with her teeth, and the sight of him coming undone at her doing was one she was sure would haunt her in her dreams for all time.

But then Rowan had lain her on the bed and made slow, sweet love to her. Hands roaming as he kissed her tenderly, the entire time telling her how he loved her.

But they had both grown so exhausted that finally, at nearly three in the morning, the two feel asleep, wrapped in each others arms. 

~End~

Talent is an ability that someone is born with. Everyone is talented and everyone’s talent is unique. It depends on how and where you express it. Some people become famous for their talent, some people never care about the natural abilities that they have and just ignore them, others keep their talent only for themselves. Sadly, most people waste their talents others are being forced to waste it due to different reasons. It is out of the question that when you are able to create something you want to share it with the rest of the world. But it is always hard to predict the reaction of the world to your new creation, so you hesitate about whether to show it or let your creation dust in the attic. How many talented people wasted themselves and their work because of that factor? The answer would be quite sad so many.  

The most vulnerable people tend to be artist. They have great talent. They can draw anything, they can draw their dreams, their deepest thoughts, their desires, they can draw real life, they can express the world with their own eyes, the way they see it. It’s a gift. Gift of the God. But here’s something that kills that talent in artists and it’s is opinion of the others. Artists are easily to hurt and people don’t consider about that when they start judging and calling their artwork THE RUBBISH. Here comes sad finale the farewell to talented person who just wanted to share his view of this universe.  

History is full of great and lamentable examples. One of the most talented people in whole world whose talent was fully recognized only after his death is Vincent van Gogh. He experienced short life but left huge legacy after him. They key to become one of the greatest artist in the world was not given easily.

He experienced really short life. He died at the age of 37. He enriched this world with many famous art pieces like: Wheatfield with Crows, Sunflowers, The Starry Night and many others. Even if you are not a person who is madly in love with art you should have seen those pictures.  Everything sounds great except one thing. His artworks got famous only after death. He could not experience the feeling of happiness that people love his work, he didn’t have a chance to feel that joy. And when you think about it deeply it becomes so sad, so sad in your heart and mind.

He reflected his life is his letters to his brother Theo who supported him mentally and financially at his hard times. I think Theo wasn’t just his little brother he was everything to him: his mentor, his best friend. ‘If I didn’t have Theo it wouldn’t be possible for me to do justice to my work, but because I have him as a friend I believe that I’ll make more progress and that things will run their course’.  He wrote him nearly 600 letters and Theo wrote him nearly 40. Theo respected him and at most of the times he gave him his hand when he needed it. Van Gogh drew as a child and was serious, quiet and thoughtful. He worked as an art-dealer, he often travelled, he turned to religion and spent time as a Protestant missionary in southern Belgium. No matter what he tried himself in, his heart was always full of desire to paint. In just over a decade he created about 2,100 artworks, including around 860 oil paintings. But he barely sold them for money, people didn’t appreciate his work at that time as we do now, he exchanged some of his paintings with other artists. He was not that sociable person, and it’s written that people used to find his artwork ugly and reckless. He wasn’t the man of their time so he couldn’t be understood correctly.

He visited different places and captured them in the most beautiful way - he draw them in beautiful, astounding colors, he expressed all of his feelings, inner scrambles and worries in his paintings. I think that vision of the world was caused by his mental state, he was suffering from many kind of mental diseases including epilepsy and bipolar disorder. Van Gogh’s illness revealed itself: he began to hallucinate and suffered attacks in which he lost consciousness. And he cut his ear off. During one of these attacks, he used the knife. He could later recall nothing about the event.

I don’t think that his mental health state was  understood by people, people rather say that he is crazy then helping him and understanding that the disease isn’t something that we choose by our own will.  I do think that people may develop stigma around him over that fact. Unfortunately, mental state became one of the reasons why he committed suicide.

All of his life he spent not knowing that he will be one of the most favorite world’s painter. I wish he could have been recognized for his talent at his life time, who knows, maybe the things would have turned the other way and we would have hundreds of paintings. Nothing quite as wonderful as the things he saw, that colors and just the way he saw the universe.

His talent was the reason he lived and I think at some point it was the reason he died.  Talent is a luxurious ability when you know how to use it and when to use it and with whom to share it.

His lifetime story touches my heart so deep and I just could not find the right words to express those feelings correctly. So many events that happened in his life and that he didn’t deserve. Life of a talented person is hard and mostly his life is being affected by people who is around him. But God made give to us and to him he let the memory of Vincent van Gogh to live forever and never die. His legacy will be passed through decades.

I want to finish my speech with the words from British TV series Doctor who, which episode was dedicated to him and I think those words describe his and his talent’s influences fully: Well, big question, but to me, Van Gogh is the finest painter of them all. Certainly, the most popular great painter of all time. The most beloved. His command of colour, the most magnificent. He transformed the pain of his tormented life into ecstatic beauty. Pain is easy to portray, but to use your passion and pain to portray the ecstasy and joy and magnificence of our world. No one had ever done it before. Perhaps no one ever will again. To my mind, that strange, wild man who roamed the fields of Provence was not only the world’s greatest artist, but also one of the greatest men who ever lived.

anonymous asked:

If you don't mind, could you share your experience of visiting Auschwitz? I understand that you may not want to answer this question as it is rather personal, and if you decide not to do so then I completely understand. But as someone who lives on the other side of the world and will almost certainly never get a chance to visit, hearing someone's account of it would be the closest thing. Thank you either way!

Hello there! I do not mind sharing my thoughts, haphazard as they may yet be,  especially if you do not have an opportunity to visit those places yourself. I am enclosing some photographs we took. I organized that trip as am educational excursion for my 9th graders, so we had a guide and precise schedule, instead of just walking through the camp by ourselves (which is also an option). After a 9-hour-long bus ride we arrived in  Oświęcim, where the camp is situated. We walked in through the infamous gave with the Arbeit Macht Frei lying to the world above our heads.

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