Leonid Pasternak  (Ukrainian, 1862–1945) - The Torments Of Creative Work

If the Grinch is a What and not a Who, then why doesn’t he go to Whatville? Because he seems to hate all Who’s with a passion and all the Who’s have basically the same personality so it’s only logical to assume all What’s have the same personality. So the Grinch would feel right at home!

can he sit on your dash for a minute?? he'll be very polite :]

A meeting in the past.

Art by aleksvarh (instagram)

Come for Hozier

Stay for Alex and Melissa

wear a different perfume when you commit murder fuckin amateurs 

Dionysus calls demigod by the wrong names so that he doesn’t get to attached when they inevitably die on a quest.

Literally just “How did you drown in your own blood?” Like how does that happen?

one very annoying thing about being a writer:

I just googled how do you drown in your own blood so that my writing would be accurate. What comes up is of no help to me what so ever:

NHS- Help for suicidal thoughts

YouTube - Stories for Hope and Recovery

nsfw. price who takes pride in how well he takes care of his missus. it’s your world and he’s just living in it baby!

there’s not a day that goes by where you aren’t fucked and fed properly. will go to great lengths to make your life as easy as possible, which includes being selfless. which is why when he goes on long work trips he’ll ask one of the boys to take good care of you until he gets back. preferably simon; johnny is much too eager, and gaz is too much of a sweetheart to rough you up just how you like. he can’t bare the thought of having his girl waking up to an empty bed. which why he’ll leave simon with the keys to your home and a heavy pat on the back.

“I’ll be back in a few days. keep her entertained for me, will ya? if she starts getting fussy just means she’s due for a proper fucking. she’s a restless little thing. take good care of her now, yeah? I’ll be expecting updates.”

This some good shit right here

MDNI

not developed idea at all but thinking about Ghost torturing some crime lord or other and he’s using the man’s wife as leverage. Gun to her head as she cries and shakes, tied up on the floor of the concrete room, begging her husband to help her.

Ghost gives the man a choice; his life, or hers. His lip curls beneath the mask when the man chooses his own life.

“Shouldn’t treat y’wife that way.” He says coldly. “Bad for you, yeah? Happy wife, and all that.”

The bullet lands exactly where he means it to go; between the bloke’s eyes. Blood trickles down his forehead, body slackens in the restraints holding him. The pretty thing on the floor screams. Thrashes and thumps her tied wrists off his legs while she curses him out.

“Thank you wouldn’t hurt,” he rumbles dryly. “Would’ve been you if your man had his way. Up you get, c’mon.”

He pulls her to her feet, brushes her down with lingering hands. Smooths over her hair and thumbs away the tears. The mask shifts, like he’s frowning.

“Calm down, y’fine. Not going to shoot you.” He doesn’t trust her to walk alongside him nicely, so he lifts her over his shoulder with a pat to her arse. “Alright, ‘bout time we get you home. Spare rooms a tip so we’ll be sharing the bed, mind.”

simon who gets off on your pretty face… literally

your eyes sparkle up at him, diamonds cutting through the pretty iris, your plush, swollen lips grinning up at him. it dimples your cheeks, swells the apples that flush in a sweet pink.

and his cock slaps, tapping at that pink and drags, dragging against your skin nice n hot. it was crude, letting him bathe you down with the flushed length of him, letting him drag and slide his cock over your pretty face.

“stop grinnin’, bun,” he chuckles, taking the pretty pearls of precum n dragging em cross your lips in a pasty lipgloss. “not fillin’ your mouth tonight.”

you pout, letting your tongue catch at the sensitive tip of his cock, sucking the sweetness off your lips with a soft moan. and it has simon sucking his teeth, eyes taking you in with some kind of supernova, your sweet impurity breaking him down.

and he pats at your face with his freehand, digging the ball of his hand up into your cheek with a sick satisfaction, watching your skin pull and face drag up with his touch.

“keep it closed, you hear me?” he snarks, grabbing you suddenly at the back of the neck and pressing himself further into your cheek lewdly. “always so fuckin’ greedy.”