look don't even ask


“If personality is an unbroken series of successful gestures, then there was something gorgeous about him, some heightened sensitivity of the promises of life, as if he were related to one of those intricate machines that register earthquakes ten thousand miles away… It was an extraordinary gift for hope, a romantic readiness such as I have never found in any other person and which it is not likely I shall ever find again.”
- F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby (1925)

a not-entirely-earthling stinky boy


let the flames of your passion grow.

a cup of di-- I MEAN COFFEE

Wherein the MCU now has two big beefy men in tight t-shirts who try to flirt with the same lame-ass “Let’s get some coffee” line

so it’s been a very long time since I attempted to draw any of my ocs but I figured might as well jump right in;; designing outfits is h a r d 


Suho imitating Hwan Hee’s pose in her movie. (Looking like a fish on land lol??) ❤

πλήγμα : shock
the sight washes over you like the waves of the sea, but you remember thetis held her breath. antilochus seizes your wrists for your hands absently went searching for something more terrible and destructive than the savage that murdered your heart. agonizing screams rip open your throat, loud and violent as harrowing as the gods; his name is the only prayer in your mouth. odysseus pleads to remain human, but you are withering, tattered, wretched, tasting the sweetness that still lingers on his throat, on his chest, on his lips like you can drink in the mortality that no longer exists there. you are crimson and hideous with his blood. soon, you think, the trojans will realize what sort of monster they have unleashed. they will realize how wicked the divine can be.

άρνηση : denial
you lay with his gore to keep him company. you wrap him in a blanket because he is still too cold and he could catch his death. (the pungent smell of him is lingering and repulsive. you want to place a mask over it; this is your favorite blanket, isn’t it?) combing your rust stained fingers through his disheveled hair, you are delicate as if he were only asleep. you whisper once, patroclus, and wait. a breathless silence sweeps over both of you, suddenly prolonged as the altar does not return your prayer, and the furtive agony comes back.

τύψη : guilt
the beach was supposed to be his salvation. his spear was never to be raised, the boy who falsely wore aristos achaion’s clothes! but it did and with his valiant cry, the sharpness scraped the heavens and delved into sarpedon’s chest. he did these things with no thought too out-of-bounds. he is no soldier. he is weak and too domestic to be an uncaged lion. wear the lions’ skin, i do not care. you chose this for yourself, dearest, and my song is defined by you.

παζάρεμα : bargaining
how could you leave me, you ask, was i not good enough? were my tender kisses on your lips not sweet enough? i will be sweeter, my dear, i will. my mother does not love you like i love you, and she tells me you will ruin me, but my love, i am the ruins that captivate the gods while you are gone. i am made of ichor and mortality, am i not already monstrous?

(there are no bargains between lions and men.)

θυμός : anger
sing of this, o chorus, you want your song and i will give it to you. you will let yourself be swift, the world turns with your quick feet alone, your mouth bloodthirsty and your hands powerful, your keen eyes watching the rat scamper across the river. paint the river red! paint the earth red, the graveyard dirt has never looked so colorful in men’s blood. the earth tries to fight back, please don’t do this, it begs. so you paint the earth gold, the color of your glory as you reign victorious over them. let his skin scrape the dried stones, eat up the bugs and the terrain. how beautiful does troy look to you now?

κατάθλιψη : depression
you finally bury them. all of them: the lost, the dwelling, the ghosts. you think: the sky is blue and green and gold, this is for you. you think: they will remember you, my dear, i swear it. you think: this is my funeral too. the men clap you on the back while their tongues stink of wine. they say that they are finding you again, we’re glad you’re back. i was never back, you say, i am only passing through.

αποδοχή : acceptance
you smile as your face strikes the earth.

——— and we are all there, goddess and mortal and the boy who was both.


more practice!! lexa def kissed clarke on the right and she’s major blushing

kayssna-deactivated20161204  asked:

who seems the nicest but is actually the most terrifying?

Jeremy wasn’t big before he arrive in Los Santos. Oh he was talented, intelligent, was respected well enough in his own circles but he didn’t have a reputation. Hadn’t made a name for himself outside of his own city. Jeremy could have stayed where he was, self-sufficient and making more than enough to get by, getting decent work from trusted contacts and never tying himself down, but that wasn’t what he wanted. He wasn’t content with the world he knew so well, the crooks he grew up around and the jobs so familiar there was never any real risk, so he leaves it all behind and chases the chance for glory into the depths of Los Santos.

Normally, when the big fish from a small pool hits the ocean they’re swept away or torn apart, eaten whole or crushed under the realisation of their own insignificance. Not Jeremy. Jeremy went bigger and worked smarter, coasting cautiously while he got the lay of the land before ducking in; quick and clever and dangerous, a Jackal stealing food from the jaws of a wolf.

He poked and prodded and identified the power hierarchies of the city, watched and stole and meddled in anonymity before getting his heart set on royalty, on the Fake AH Crew, and spends a year working on his resume. Jeremy acts like he is somebody, like he’s got a history everyone should know; he works short jobs, careful not to get too close, to align himself with any particular crew, always moving, always improving, and sure enough before long his reputation begins to proceed him. Resourceful, dedicated, wily, a knack for getting into places that look impossible and getting out of trouble that should be fatal. The rare breed of muscle-for-hire who still has scruples, whose moral code trumps any bounty. And that’s interesting, yes, valuable, but it’s not what piqued the interest of the FAHC, not what brought them knocking with an offer of something permanent. No, for those prepared to look a little deeper there is something entirely more fascinating about Jeremy.

See, everyone likes Jeremy; he’s friendly, affable, he works hard and he never complains, is good humoured and difficult to upset. He might not always be doing things people approve of, might be working for the wrong side or working the wrong kind of job but, on a personal level,  from temporary bosses to incidental rivals everybody likes him.

It’s strange, that. Considering who he is, what he does. Considering the world they’re in, the way he looks. Maybe Jeremy’s not awfully tall but he’s overtly muscular; there’s no hiding that kind of strength. Jeremy doesn’t look like a gym-rat, doesn’t look soft or prissy or vain; Jeremy looks like hard work, like well earned, the hardness of someone who uses their body like a weapon. Whose appearance is result rather than intention, and in this world that means danger. In this world that means threat. Hell, more often than not, in this world that means killer.

That’s the kind of hazard people notice, the sort of inherent risk no one takes lightly, but the truely amazing thing about Jeremy is the way he’ll smile and you’ll forget. He’ll laugh and make a dumb joke, eyes soft and hair dyed some impractically fun new colour, and you’ll forget.

Everyone likes Jeremy, he’d wouldn’t hurt a fly. Well. Except for the flies who deserve it, the flies who are other, the ones you’d all hurt, the ones he’s paid to go after. Everyone likes Jeremy, he’s honest and straightforward. Mostly. Except for how he got here, how he waited, except for the clever tricks and sneaky tactics, the way he worked out exactly how to boost himself right to the top. The way the little fish acted like a shark until he became one.

Jeremy doesn’t leave behind bad memories; no one ever has a bad thing to say about him. He climbs the rank of power in Los Santos in mere months and people like him. He leaves a trail of crumpled bodies and burnt-out bridges in his wake and people like him. He falls into place as a key enforcer for the FAHC without a touch of reluctance, without a hint of remorse, and people like him. He’ll stand before you, armed and capable, almost dispassionate in his confidence; the kind of relentless determination that lets nothing stand in the way, the kind of ruthless that should trip every warning bell you have, but he smiles like sunshine, open and friendly and so god damn likeable and man. Somehow you just forget.

anonymous asked:

question: does anyone live in slovenia outside of ljubljana?? or is it just the alps and trees and then lake bled

“every slovene lives in ljubljana” factoid actualy just statistical error. average slovene lives on the border. Slovenes Georg, who lives in ljubljana & is actually 2,000,000 hens in a trenchcoat, is an outlier adn should not have been counted