the equator man

  • Wade: Am I right, Pete?
  • Peter: I'm almost certain you're not, but to be fair, I wasn't listening


  • ’ What do you say we…don’t? ‘
  • ’ I think I know how you feel about me. ’
  • ’ You do love those books ’
  • ’ If I ask you something, will you answer me honestly? ’
  • ’ You are your mother’s daughter; therefore you are class. ’
  • ’ So I should just accept I’m simply not like them. ’
  • ’ No matter what you do, I’m on your side. ’
  • ’ There’s nothing clearer in my life than what I wish and feel for you. ’
  • ’ No matter what they say, you make me proud. ’
  • ’ No matter what the pain, we’ve come this far. ’
  • ’ I pray that you remain exactly as you are.  ’
  • ’ You’ll all I got. ’
  • ’ If we keep quiet maybe he’ll go away. ’
  • ’ It’s been so long since I’ve seen a real man. ’
  • ’ I just love older men. ’
  • ’ You are always trying to make me jealous. Well, it’s not going to work this time! ’
  • ’ You have all betrayed me! ’
  • ’ You’ve been dreaming, just one dream nearly all your life.  ’
  • ’ This equation, girl plus man, doesn’t help just you. ’
  • ’ We shall be a perfect pair, rather like my thighs. ’
  • ’ All roads lead to… The best things in life are… All’s well that ends with me! ’
  • ’ But thanks for asking. ’
  • ’ Hold on, old man. We’ve got to hold on. ’
  • ’ I don’t deserve to to lose my freedom in this way. ’
  • ’ You monster! ’
  • ’ If you think that what you’ve done is right, well then you’re a fool! Think again! ’
  • ’ Is this home? Is this where I should learn to be happy? ’
  • ’ My heart’s far, far away, home is too.  ’
  • ’ What I’d give to return to the life that I knew lately. ’
  • ’ As my life has been altered once, it can change again. ’
  • ’ Nothing lasts, nothing holds all of me. ’
  • ’ He may be your master, but he’s not mine. ’
  • ’ What’s going to go next? My mind? ’
  • ’ Besides, it’s rude. ’
  • ’ Why are you being such a bully? ’
  • ’ I simply made one careless wrong decision. ’
  • ’ Is there no one who can show me how to win the world’s forgiveness? ’
  • ’ I like this girl. I like her spunk. ’
  • ’ Act like a gentle man. ’
  • ’ If only he weren’t here. ’
  • ’ You had no right to be here! No right! ’
  • ‘ Don’t touch me! ’
  • ’ I see, but deep within is utter blindness. ’
  • ’ Hopeless, as my dream dies. ’
  • ’ If I can’t love her, then who? ’
  • ’ Long ago I should have seen all the things I could have been . ’
  • ’ Let the world be done with me. ’
  • ’ When she smiles at me…I get all choked up. My heart starts pounding and I can’t breathe! ’
  • ’ I’d love to read it again. Wait…you can read it first. ’
  • ’ Well, it just so happens that this is the perfect book to read aloud. Come here, sit by me. ’
  • ’ I never knew books could do that. ’
  • ’ We have something in common, you know. ’
  • ’ Where I come from, the people think I’m odd. ’
  • ’ I know how it feels to be…different. And I know how lonely that can be ’
  • ’ Little push, little shove, they could, whoosh, fall in love.  ’
  • ’ Let’s let some light in the room. ’
  • ’ What a…beautiful story. ’
  • ’ Me? With you? Well, that would be, I mean – Oh, yes!! ’
  • ’ I don’t take this girl for granted. ’
  • ‘ You must speak from the heart. ’
  • ’ I’m afraid she might…laugh at me. ’
  • ’ Dance with me. ’
  • ’ Are you happy here? With me? ’
  • ’ You’re no longer my prisoner. You haven’t been for a long time. ’
  • ’ No point anymore if she can’t love me. ’
  • ’ Condemned to wait for death to set me free. ’
  • ’ It’s funny…when I look around…I see the world differently. ’
  • ’ Now I realize that good can come from bad.   ’
  • ’ I never thought I’d leave behind my childhood dreams, but I don’t mind. ’
  • ’ Now I love the world I see. ’
  • ‘ In my dark despair I slowly understood, my perfect world out there had disappeared for good. ’
  • ’ She despises you! And she sent me here to destroy you! ’
  • ’ Oh, that’s a good one! Did you really think a girl like that would want a thing like you? What a fool! ’
  • ’ We are home. We are where we shall be forever. ’
  • ’ Don’t you know how you’ve changed me? ’
  • ’ I found home. You’re my home. ‘
  • ’ Two lives have begun now. ’
  • ’ Two hearts become one now. ’
  • ’ One thing forever true: I love you! ‘
Man Ray: Human Equations

Man Ray’s Shakespearean Equations―a series of paintings he considered to be the pinnacle of his creative vision―has long been a puzzle of Surrealism. What meaningful common thread could possibly link Shakespeare, mathematics and art? This volume sets out to unravel the puzzle by beginning with photographs of mathematical models that Man Ray took at the Institut Henri Poincaré in Paris in the 1930s. It then charts the artist’s development along a path that culminates with the Shakespearean Equations, a series of oil paintings he made in Hollywood more than a decade later, inspired by that earlier photographic work. The canvases build a bridge from painting back to photography and reveal the ease with which Man Ray moved between various disciplines and forged his own path. An inveterate experimenter, he pioneered artistic activities in the realms of painting, object making, film and photography, challenging conventional boundaries and blurring established aesthetic categories.

Man Ray was born Emmanuel Radnitzky in Philadelphia in 1890 and grew up in New York, where he studied art at the National Academy of Design and the Ferrer School. A nomadic soul like his lifelong friend Marcel Duchamp, Man Ray relocated many times throughout his life, worked in many media and likewise stopped short of officially joining the ranks of either Dada or Surrealism, though he was informally close to both movements. Participating in the most groundbreaking formal experiments of the Western modernist avant-garde, Man Ray made Cubist paintings, readymades, camera-less photographs and nonnarrative films (among many other things). He died in 1976 and was buried in the Cimetière du Montparnasse in Paris. His epitaph reads: “unconcerned, but not indifferent.”

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Basic Wicca: An Introduction to Aspects

One topic that often confuses Wicca newbies is what aspects of the deities actually are, and what the term means. 

An Aspect is, in simple terms, a specific part of a deity that reflects certain elements of that deity within itself. Traditionally, Wicca has two deities (the Triple Goddess and the Horned God), who have three and two aspects respectively. 

The Triple Goddess

The Goddess (also known as the Lady), is often known as the triple goddess as a reflection of her aspects, and what they represent. The Goddess is a deity of moon and night, and her aspects are representative of that nature because the represent the phases of the moon. 

As the moon waxes from new to gibbous, the Goddess is in her Maiden aspect. This is also the aspect of late winter and spring. The Maiden represents childhood, innocence, young love, rebirth (especially after death), new fertility, the prospect of growth, and hope for the future. The things of springtime are the things of the Maiden, such as early-blooming flowers like daffodils, snowdrops and crocuses; eggs and milk; new leaves and buds; yearling meat from lambs and calves. 

From gibbous to gibbous, across the full moon, the Goddess is in her Mother aspect. This is also the aspect of summer and early autumn. The Mother represents maternal love, adulthood and growth, childbirth and childcaring, investments realised, care for others, and life flourishing. The things of summertime are the things of the Mother, such as harvested crops; fresh fruit and vegetables, flowers in bloom, fish and meat, leafy green branches, and other things of growth and summer.

As the moon wanes from gibbous to new, the Goddess is in her Crone Aspect until the cycle repeats. This is also the aspect of late autumn and winter. The Crone represents aging and the closing of one’s life, but also represents the past and contemplation, wisdom and knowledge, loss and death, and the chance of rebirth once more come the spring. The things of autumn are the things of the Crone, such as berries and nuts, late-ripening vegetables such as squash and pumpkins, fat and preserved foods, bulbs of flowers, garlic and the like.

Of course, the solar year cycle isn’t exact, and is dependent on what the life is doing at that time too. The Goddess is a deity of life and growth, and so if the summer hangs on late then so will the Mother, for example.

The Horned God

The God is traditionally depicted with two aspects that revolve around the solar cycle. They fight for dominance every 6 months, and create their respective seasons as they rule over the land. These are the Holly and Oaks Kings, who represent winter and summer respectively.

At the autumnal equinox, the Oak king has been banished underground to rejuvenate for his fight next year. The Holly king takes his throne, and rules over a land of cold and dying back for 3 whole months unchallenged. At Yule, the winter solstice, the Oak king’s power begins to wax as the Holly king’s power begins to wane, and by the vernal equinox the Oak king has risen from the ground, fought the Holly king, and banished him to lick his wounds for another 3 months underground. The Oak king rules for 3 months unchallenged, over a land of heat and growth, and at Litha his own power starts to fade. The two fight once more at Mabon, and the cycle starts over again.

The symbols of the Oak king are, of course, oaken branches laden with green leaves, often woven into a crown, but also all the trappings of summertime. The Oak king is sometimes equated with the Green Man of the Forest, with Lugh, and with Herne the Hunter (often thought to be a pagan deity who was “Christianised” into a ghost of Windsor Forest). 

The symbols of the Holly king are branches of fresh holly, often bearing red berries on green leaves, sometimes woven into a crown of their own. He is also represented by evergreen bows, commonly woven into a Yuletide wreath such as the ones we now associate with Christmas. He is sometimes equated to winter figures such as Jack Frost, Morozko, Old Man Winter, and the old Norse god Odin. He is also associated due to similar times with Father Christmas (Santa Claus).

anonymous asked:

I'm a huge fan of how with the Chris Pratt comment, the huge assumption that "average blue collar american" is equated with "white man". You know, because no latinos, african americans, middle easterns or other non-white people ever do blue collar work. All the guys hanging out in front of Home Depot, totally white. The guys running the african american barber shop down the street, white as rice. The gas station attendants, diner staff, janitors, all white as snow. Never a minority in those jobs


Perchance (for Victor’s Birthday)

Victor didn’t have any problem with sleeping in strange bedrooms.  You couldn’t, when you were a competitive skater on the circuit.  Not if you didn’t want to see your chance at a medal vanish in a sleep-deprived blur to worse skaters with better self-care habits.  Hotel bedrooms, airplanes, green rooms, wherever; you learned to take your rest whenever you could.  And if there was one thing that five-time World Champion Victor Nikiforov excelled at – well.  Two things, obviously, maybe three if he was feeling particularly precious – it was taking his rest.

Except for tonight, Victor realized, as he found himself dragged against his will back into consciousness.  Tonight, something wasn’t right.  What..?

Yuri.  Yuri was whimpering, a dark shape in the other bed, curled away from him and facing the wall.  The bedding was halfway on the floor, kicked away sometime in the night.

Oh, no!  Is he crying?  What happened, what’s wrong?  Sleep forgotten, Victor gracelessly extracted himself from his usual blanket burrito.  "Yuri,“ he whispered as he rose, reaching out to grasp Yuri’s shoulder.    "Yuri, are you–”

As if reacting to the sound of Victor’s voice, the younger man flopped onto his back.  Yuri’s cheeks were mercifully dry, and his eyelashes wrote dark crescents on his cheeks.  His shirt had ridden up to expose his navel, and his boxer shorts were…

Oh.  Oh.

Yuri mewled again, the meaning of the soft sound now entirely unmistakable, and Victor froze, arm still outstretched.  Heat flooded his face, not to mention parts of him that were significantly more opinionated on the subject of beautiful young dreamers.  Yuri’s lips were parted slightly.  So sweet.  So very kissable.

Panic-stricken, Victor all but flung himself away from his student’s bed.  Student.  Yes, Victor-you-idiot, remember that you are a responsible skating coach and that Yuri is your student and that you have no right to do any of the things you’ve dreamed of doing since–

He’d find an all-night gym.  A coffee bar.  A laundromat.  Anything to put some space between himself and this ridiculous, perfect man who equated physical love with food but blazed like a flame on the ice – and who wouldn’t meet Victor’s eyes off of it.  What genius thought it would be funny to give Yuri the Eros theme again?  Victor-you-idiot, indeed.  Plisetsky would laugh himself sick if he knew.

Hand on the doorknob.  Two steps from escape.


Hands flying to his mouth to cover his gasp, Victor whirled around in shock.  That isn’t, he didn’t, I couldn’t have..!  He sagged his weight against the door frame, the legs that landed a thousand quads turned suddenly to jelly.  "Y-yuri?“  It was a whisper.  It was a prayer.

"Victor, please,” Yuri moaned again, and Victor was lost.

He didn’t consciously cross the room; he was just somehow there, stroking trembling fingers through dark tangles and scattering kisses like rose petals down a pale neck.  Yuri smelled of soap, of hotel sheets, of an indefinable sweetness that was uniquely his own.  His breathing was heavier now though he dreamed on, his expression beatific as his body responded to Victor’s ministrations.

Yuri’s sleeping, he doesn’t know what’s happening!  The tattered shreds of Victor’s conscience wailed at him, to little avail.  A man enthralled, Victor could no more have halted himself at that moment than he could have flown.  He turned his attention lower now, hands sliding beneath Yuri’s shirt, an explorer charting paradise with every smooth abdominal curve and (he discovered, to his delight) secret ticklish spot.

It was as he began to drift downward still, unable to ignore those straining boxers any longer, that the warm body beneath him suddenly stiffened.  “Victor?”  Yuri squeaked.  Horrified, overwhelmed with a hot rush of shame, Victor forced himself to look up, to meet wide brown eyes that glittered with shock and confusion, and a dawning comprehension.

Vot derr'mo.  Yuri, I, I’m so sorry, I–”

“Victor,” Yuri’s husky voice cut off his frantic babbling.  "If this is real?  If I am not dreaming this right now?“  He used an arm to lever his body up enough to stare down at his erstwhile lover.  His gaze was intense and unreadable.  "Then, for the love of God, Victor, don’t you dare fucking stop.

Victor gaped at him.  Yuri growled in exasperation and reached out with his free hand.  Steady fingers briefly caressed Victor’s cheek before gripping his hair and pulling him insistently downward.  Victor made a wondering noise that was half moan and half sob before finally yielding to the inevitable and unwrapping Katsuki Yuri like the precious gift that he was.

*       *       *

Head nestled in the crook of his lover’s arm, Yuri languidly toyed with Victor’s silvery hair.  "I’ve loved you forever,“ he confessed, "almost since the very first day I started skating.  But you?  How?  Why?” His expression was serene, but a fragile uncertainty shaded his words.  Not for the first time, Victor wondered how Celestino had managed to mismanage Yuri so very badly.  Nerves were every skater’s constant companion, but for one of the world’s top competitors to so profoundly lack a sense of self-worth bordered on the criminal.

“You think you’re so unlovable?  Well, as much as I would enjoy listing in great detail every last wonderful thing that I adore about the magnificent Yuri,” Victor smiled briefly, then sobered.  "We… we have to talk about this.  About tonight.  Yuri, I’m so sorry.“

"I’m not,” Yuri said thoughtfully, “But… I think that you should be.  Victor, what happened?”

Victor sighed.  "You were dreaming, at least at first.  You called out for me.“

Yuri flushed scarlet.  "Oh.  And you..?”

“Had been waiting for you to say my name like that for so long that I thought I might die if I never heard it again.  But that’s no excuse for what I did!  I… I breached your trust.  If you weren’t… you, I could have…” Victor trailed off and scrubbed roughly at his eyes with the heel of his free hand.  "Yuri, if I ever hurt you that way I think I really would die.  If you want, I’ll–“

"Finish that sentence by threatening to leave, and I’ll make you pay for it,” Yuri said fiercely, sitting up abruptly and turning to face Victor, clasping his hands tight.  "I’ll, I’ll track you to Russia and I’ll sing outside your window all night long for a month.  Whatever else you think of me, Victor, I can’t sing.  And I’ll make Yurio help; he’ll do it just to get rid of me.  And I’ll quit skating, and I’ll eat katsudon until I’m as big as a house, and, and–“  He was openly crying now.  They both were.

“Oh, Yuri.”  Not knowing what else to do, Victor opened his arms.  Yuri fell into them, and the two men found a different kind of release in one another’s embrace.

What would happen next?  That… would have to be decided on more than two hours’ sleep on a too-small hotel mattress.

Keepers // 1

Keepers — ft. Oh Sehun

// Romance
// Adult Fiction
// Angst—so please, please, please don’t read it if you don’t want to be left in a puddle of gloom. It’s not as angst as Red though haha (or at least I don’t think)

A/N: This is my take on a soulmate!au and I used this prompt from silentpeaches:

The Red String of Fate exists and only some people have the ability to see the strings. These people can actually cut strings and knot other people’s strings to alter the soulmate laws. Your best friend’s wedding is tomorrow and they know you can see the string. They ask you to help them defy the laws of the universe and help them be with the person they love even though they know they’re not their soulmate. You know they love each other so you help them regardless if your best friend is your soulmate.

I’ve always seen them—these lines of fate stretching from one person to another. It’s my family’s gift to see what others can’t. My parents and their ancestors called our kind Keepers but at current I can’t determine if it’s a gift or a curse as I look around the vineyard with all its varying characters.

Each person has a red string connecting them to their destined half. It’s affixed to their left wrist and colored in a rich deep red representing the lifeline between two people. Their energy, their emotions, their love traverses through the single thread back and forth so each partner always knows what the other is feeling. The crimson seams are usually clean, unaffected and free of incisions and marks. They’re not meant to be tampered with because they symbolize the person we’re supposed to be with. They equate to the man or woman we’re meant to live out our lives with because they’re our perfect match and we’re drawn to the ones we love.

But it doesn’t mean the lines are indestructible. 

They can be cut. 

They can be separated. 

They can be tied to another person to change the laws of fate and it’s this horrific request sinking my heart as I face my best friend and his chosen bride.

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