rising through clouds

i keep seeing the stereotype that latin is a less poetic language than greek, and i’d like to push back on that. for one thing, i don’t think any language is inherently more poetic than another, though some use certain signifiers that we [modern english speakers] might consider poetic more often than others. secondly, poets and poetry flourished in ancient rome, regardless of modern aesthetic concepts of what kind of marked speech “should” comprise poetry. finally, the complexity and cleverness of the word order in latin poetry cannot be conveyed in an english translation because it must be converted into a language with strict word order. it’s like installing windows on a mac. look.

inter quas phoenissa recens a volnere dido
errabat silva in magna; quam troius heros
ut primum iuxta stetit adgnovitque per umbras
obscuram, qualem primo qui surgere mense
aut videt, aut vidisse putat per nubila lunam,
demisit lacrimas…


among them phoenician dido, freshly wounded,
was wandering in the great forest; the trojan hero, as he first
stood near her and recognized through the shades
her gloomy [form]–like one who, early in the month, either sees
or believes he has seen the moon rise through the clouds–
let fall his tears…(aeneid  6.450-5)

we have two feminine nouns here, dido and the moon (luna), and they merge seamlessly into a metaphor via the adjective obscuram, which appears to apply to both of them at second glance; but at first glance, you don’t find out that vergil is describing the moon until the very end of the next line:

obscuram, qualem primo qui surgere mense
aut videt, aut vidisse putat per nubila lunam

so as the audience you experience the same uncertainty as aeneas here, the subject of the metaphor suspended and unclear until the end. but vergil’s metapoetic word order is obliterated by english word order. 

all of this is also written in beautiful dactylic hexameter, which most english-speaking readers wouldn’t even realize is a meter, if they happened to be reading a translation that attempted it.

tl;dr: don’t call latin a less poetic language because it doesn’t conform to preconceived modern english notions of poetics.

anonymous asked:

How does one get Severus Snape used with human contact/affection? (I believe hugging him every available second wouldn't be a good idea, unless you want him to hex you.) Assuming the person is someone who cares and has feelings for him.

Small affections, constantly, over a long period of time.


It starts with holding hands while you’re on your evening walks together.  You slip your fingers in his and he starts but doesn’t pull away, though the twitching muscle in his jaw and the tenseness of his arm betray his discomfort.

He drops your hand immediately as soon as the castle is visible again, his face hot with shame and arousal.


You sit to his right at the Head Table, spreading your legs just so and press the side of your thigh against his.  His spoon freezes an inch away from his lips, but he doesn’t look at you.  You press just a bit harder; a tiny nudge, really, and he continues eating, his cheeks pink.  

“This soup is rather…robust tonight,” he remarks wryly.


He wards his doors and turns to you, his eyes glittering as he presses you into the wall, his kisses hot and insistent.  He barely flinches when you run your fingers up his neck and through his hair.  You can taste the firewhisky on his breath, but it isn’t overpowering, and you savor his lowered inhibitions.

He takes you three times that night, and you are grateful that it’s the weekend.


You rub his shoulders gently and he moans as he continues to mark papers.

“Yes…” he gasps, “just like tha-ahh!”

You work the knots out slowly in the bony expanse of his back as he works out the varying levels of horridness of the papers.

You make an excellent team.


“Your hands are cold,” you say, covering his long, pale fingers in yours and pulling them to your mouth. You puff out large breaths of hot air, watching as the cloud rises through the gaps in his fingers and into the frigid morning air.  

You look up, puffing your cloudy breath incessantly like a fledgling dragon. His eyes are closed, his lips parted ever so slightly.

No one is watching.  Everyone is crying out about some Quidditch foul on the pitch.

You close your eyes and you feel the warmth of his lips on your forehead at the very edge of your hairline.

“Thank you,” he breathes, his cloudy breath sliding around your forehead like a promise of something to come.

He holds your hand all the way back to his chambers.

You// Park Jin Woo

Originally posted by binwoo

Pairing: JinJin x reader

Genre: Angst

Summary:Anonymous said:
I just found your page and I lovey to death omg. Can I request a bit of angsty JinJin? Maybe where he has to choose between the reader and the group?

Author’s Note: Not gonna lie i’ve dreamed about scenarios like this, just not with astro sO this one is definitely half based on a dream that ive had. Enjoy~

xoxo Sara


You had been dating JinJin for a while now, about nine months. The boys of Astro had debuted and they had done their final show one or two months ago. They were allowed to have a tiny break before they began to record again, which meant that JinJin would always be at your apartment with you, cooking dinner with you, watching movies, trying to make you laugh. JinJin was the boyfriend that lived to make you smile, no matter what the cost.

The only problem about you and JinJin was that the public was not allowed to know. He’d have to sneak over at two or three in the morning, just to leave a couple of hours later. You two would always text, but when in public he was never allowed to call you. You weren’t allowed to wear any of the sweaters he left at your house in fear that the fans may recognize it.

And to put it quite frankly, JinJin was sick of it. All he wanted to do was show you off, take you out on dates to your favorite places, like the park or the coffee shop. But, being the leader of Astro, he wasn’t allowed to disobey the rules at all. He had to set a precedent for the younger boys, so they won’t act out when they have girlfriends. But the fact that he was unable to take you out somewhere nice on your eight month anniversary made him angry beyond belief.

Keep reading

Drowned Elves

I suspect elves are born with some sort of innate talent for swimming (it would be just their luck, right?) There are, in fact, several instances of elves drowning, but always under special circumstances (read: storms at sea):

  • Many of the Noldor drowned after the First Kinslaying at Alqualonde. When they tried to sail away in the stolen ships, Tolkien says that “Uinen wept for the mariners of the Teleri; and the sea rose in wrath against the slayers, so that many of the ships were wrecked and those in them drowned.”
  • All of Voronwe’s shipmates drowned in a storm while trying to reach Valinor. He only survived because “there came a wave, greater and yet calmer than all the others, and it took me and lifted me from the ship, and bore me high upon its shoulders, and rolling to the land it cast me upon the turf and then drained away, pouring back over the cliff in a great waterfall.” (This was in fact Ulmo saving Voronwe so that he could lead Tuor to Gondolin.)
  • Finally, Amroth drowned in the Third Age trying to swim back to shore during a storm, which Tolkien described: “The mariners with their Elvish sight for a long time could see him battling with the waves, until the rising sun gleamed through the clouds and far off lit his bright hair like a spark of gold. No eyes of Elves or Men ever saw him again in Middle- earth.

So it’s clear that elves could drown, but at least as far as Tolkien mentioned it was never for a lack of being able to swim, but rather because the conditions were too rough.

SOURCES: The Silmarillion, The Unfinished Tales (“Of Tuor and his Coming to Gondolin” and “The History of Galadriel and Celeborn”)

Every Breath You Take (Part One)

Request: Could you write a one shot or series (only if you want) where Gabriel saves the reader while unconscious on a hunt, but she doesn’t know it was him. Her brothers (Sam and Dean) told her to stay away from him, but when little gifts start appearing, she starts to become curious. He meets her in secret, and it ends badly, but then he saves her again on another hunt (she’s awake this time), and they fall in love, regardless of what Sam and Dean say. Sorry if it’s too descriptive…

A/N: Don’t sweat it, hon! The more details, the easier it is for me to convert it into a story like you want. As the title suggests, this will have multiple chapters; most likely four. And also, there are two AHS references in here, so there’s a treat for other fans. Thank you for an awesome request!

Author: Holly

Pairings/Characters: Gabriel/Reader, Sam, Dean, Castiel

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, near death of reader, possible trigger of neglect/abuse, very minor and light swearing

Word Count: 4,896 (oops)

            “So you actually want us to stay in the hotel that we’re reasonably sure is haunted?” You demanded Sam, throwing your arms up in the small confines of the Impala’s backseat. “That’s survival rule number one in horror movies! If something is haunted, you don’t stay the night in it!”

Keep reading

Lately, I thought I had lost myself. I have hazily watched as fragments of my mind have crawled from my head and danced away ever so slowly. I thought I was losing myself, I thought I was losing who I was. But I found, as I watched those pieces of my mind drift away from me in swift gusts of wind, I discovered something new and spectacular awaiting inside my soul. Those fragments that dared to crawl away, were the burdens I was too frightened to let go of on my own. They were the troubles they prevented my eyes from flickering shut at 4am, the aches that overwhelmed my heart, and somehow, the universe lent me a helping hand, and called them away to help me grow. So today, I didn’t go to sleep, but rather stayed up to watch the sun rise through the soft clouds, and play with the flowers in the garden until I could feel the warmth of the world on my skin. Today, I started fresh, today will be a beautiful day.

I want your laughter to flood the room. I lost myself within your tongue and found myself lying at your side while your hand pressed against my rapid heart. 

You drew love in your journal. You decorate your eyelids with colors of spring. Your creativity adorns my head like a crown.

I want to be your prince. You said I was your angel.

I watch the buildings rise into the sky and draw my breath, stretching my legs towards another day. I exhale, telling myself I can do this. I swallow my vitamins and pills with a cup of black coffee. I glare at the rising sun splitting through the clouds. I try to focus on its light to bring clarity and purpose in the city noise. I want a quiet life. I say that eventually I won’t be tired. I say that the little money I can collect will one day save my life.

My parents listen to preachers talking about the glory of God. I wish I could catch a glimpse. What do I believe in? I don’t know.

I’m shaking because the silence does not come through. Reading Ginsberg and shaking. What do you write about? What is connected to your existential thesis? Every smile brings shivers in my wrist.

“Moloch who entered my soul early! Moloch in whom I am a consciousness without a body! Moloch who frightened me out of my natural ecstasy! Moloch whom I abandon! Wake up in Moloch! Light streaming out of the sky!Moloch! Moloch! Robot apartments! invisible suburbs!”

I just want you to be better, but I want you even when you’re at your worst. Cry into me, cry upon my chest. Hold me until the colors we see are the same, rub your make up off in my collar. Endless conversations on grocery store lines, the higher the signal the lower the eye contact. Nothing I write makes sense. You can’t scribble on a keyboard, but this is all a scribble. Patiently I wait. Where is this opportunity that I’m building? Why is great today not good enough for tomorrow? A sense of security is on loan. Who do I pay my labor to?

When you’re not by my side I wrap my heart around your paragraphs. Opening your words when my mind aches allows the minutes to become hours. We drive for hours to be together in hopes that our presence will soothe some pain. The world is no longer an illusion and obstacles have brought us to sweats and tears. Answers in your eyes lull my worried thoughts to sleep, so I’ll keep driving west to watch the sunset behind your silhouette.