imperium

"It has been asked which would be worse? To live as a monster or to die a good man. Well, my love, I don't plan on dying anytime soon." Julian, 20, Third Year Forensics Major, Gravemaker

[julescortes-blog]

s-terlingsilva:

location: the coffee shop date: 28 January time: late afternoon      ( @julescortes​ )

She’d never walked into the campus coffee shop when it was busy after classes ended and wanted for a table, no matter how many people were milling around for a place to kill time, because Silva could walk into the coffee shop and recognize at least four faces at any given time. It was a benefit, she thought, of not just being a senior, but of being a senior who made a point of knowing people, who had spent enough time at enough kinds of parties with enough kinds of people to have a little bit of influence anywhere she wanted.

Finding a Gravemaker in the coffee shop, though, that was just sheer luck, a little ray of sunshine on an otherwise cloudy day. She shoved Julian’s bag off the empty chair across from him at the table he was taking up with the toe of her boot, waited a moment for it to hit the floor, and then set her iced coffee down on the table once she was sure she had his attention, putting her own bag in the place of his.

     “This seat free?” she asked, once she was sure he knew she was there, and then she took it anyway, without waiting for an answer. She was running on maybe two hours of sleep – having Beaux sharing the twin sized bed in her room wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was distracting, and a few days of it had started to catch up with her. 

Julian had (almost) mastered selective anonymity on campus. He endeavored to be unmistakable from any other nameless body when he didn’t want to be seen. He was billboard sign when he wanted to be, sauntering through the squares, typically accompanied by the usual band of upstarts (even Silva herself, occasionally), turning heads and inciting whispers. These were the days he had energy enough to challenge the unworthy masses that dared to poke at him. Other days, he felt too dreary, underestimated. 

Those days he had to blend in. Tie his hair back, wear other than all black, cover his tattoos. He’d usually kept up a solid system. And usually it meant he steered clear of campus buildings if he could help it. In and out of classes, head never too far down nor up, definitely not sitting in any one place for longer than a moment, maybe a cup of coffee if the day was nearing over. Confident he’d slipped through the whole day unnoticed.

Silva would, of course, be the one to upend that routine. Especially today, of all days, when his professors were too far up their own asses to give him anything but aggravating busy work. Julian watched her enter, and with grave silence he watched her see him, then begin to saunter over here, confident and unbothered.

Silent, he watched her claim the seat before asking, then ask, and if his mood wasn’t so sour he would’ve chuckled amused. Instead, a moment, then a sigh as he sipped his black coffee (oh, yeah. Never anything but.) “Looks like it.” He watched her move back her silver hair, wondered which direction she’d send his day towards. “You done for the day?”

[samuel-larsen-daily]

[julescortes-blog]

farrelljack:

The campus feels busy, loud. The added security, nosy reporters, and police can’t be that many, all told, but it’s like everyone’s vibrating on a higher frequency, taking up more space. Everything feels tense and neurotic and Jack—hates it. Wishes that everyone would just slow down, chill out. Stop worrying about things they can’t control, can’t change: The Jack Farrell Way.

“Did I go to class?” He replies, the question entirely rhetorical. His GPA and his prospects for graduating in four years certainly don’t thank him for it, but Jack has always taken a kind of lackadaisical approach to college. He never thought he’d end up here, and he still isn’t convinced that his presence is anything more than some great cosmic joke.

And so, a defense mechanism he’d perfected a long time ago: putting in the bare minimum amount of effort so that, should he fail—(or when he fails)—he’ll be able to just shrug it off. It wasn’t like he tried. It wasn’t like he hoped.

“I want a burrito.” Another obvious statement: Jack pretty much always wants a burrito. “What’re you up to? Because if you’re just sitting around, then I’ve got a proposition for you, and it’s—wait for it—burrito.”

Jack’s trademark response earned a small laugh. “Fuck, true.” Julian granted, smirking. Most other slackers Julian might have interacted with would’ve gotten nothing past a scowl, perhaps a sneer if he’d had the energy, perhaps a cold comment on the waste of space if he was in a worse mood. Jack never got anywhere near that, no, he was cool. Cool in the purest form of the word. Julian saw how the younger students around them tried to imitate Jack’s apathetic nature. How trouble seemed to roll off of him. It was impressive. “You come around here not to go to class? Why not go somewhere cool? or just stay at the house?” Julian noted, not that he minded nor really cared. 

It did warrant thought, though. Since Jack wasn’t the average brainless slacker. He was funny. A quick kind of funny that took thought, self-awareness. Julian saw it in the dark eyes of the other when he opted to look, a glint of something more, maybe. A suggestion that his nature was not so much an act, but a choice. But what had led to it?  Julian wagered he’d get quite the story, grave makers always had the best ones. But, that took more than a leading question, and Julian didn’t really have that kind of time.

Hey, maybe the kid wants some adderall “I’m, uh —,” Julian motioned to the inside of his jacket pocket, a cursory glance to make sure no one was around them, “kind of doing somethin’.” His jaw tensed with annoyance for a second when thought about how late this customer was, then he turned back to the other. “But I have a feeling i’m being stood up. How ‘bout a trade? Take these off my hands an’ I’ll pay for your other fix.” He offered a coaxing grin as well.

[yvesminatozaki]

[julescortes-blog]

bbeauxx:

A soft breath of a laugh huffs out of her as she watches him. “Don’t worry. They’ll snap out of it the second you present them with the chance to have some real fun.” It was true – above all else, Gravemakers were easily distracted with a party and some generally destructive behaviour. Give them some cheap beer and someone to terrorise, and they would be at their very happiest. They were the wild ones, after all, and it was in all their blood, even if they might seem tame on the outside. 

A click of her tongue, she can feel Julian’s eyes on her. They feel heavy with the weight of it, but she does her best to remind herself that its a casual question, that heres a certain hint of a joke in it. He was digging his nails in, trying to gently lift a lid, but there wasn’t malice in it. “Do I look spooked to you, Cortes?” A laugh in her tone, easy and free. “God, If I ever got spooked that easy, you would have my permission to dethrone me at your earliest convenience. What kind of Gravemaker would I be if some old bones scared me?” It was a filthy lie. She was more spooked than any of them, but she could never admit it to him. She wasn’t sure what he would do – if he would be a loyal commander, or see her old fuck up as a chance to ruin her. Sometimes, she could never tell what his reaction would be. She liked the uncertainty most of the time, now it set her on edge. “Though, I reserve the right to act scared shitless if things get any weirder than they are right now.” 

A fleeting thought crossed her mind that Julian was the kind of boy to try and ruin you, that he could be behind all of this. But she brushed it off as soon as it had made itself known to her. She knew it was just the paranoia talking, knew it was the lack of sleep and the heavy weight of someone elses threat in the air getting to her. 

She arches an eyebrow at his reaction, laughing softly at the shock in his voice. Of course he was shocked, who wouldn’t be? Nathan was a gravemaker, yes, but he had never been the grittiest of them. When she was a first year, she thought he was the absolute bees knees. She still did – he was calm, and smart, and he a good President. But he was far from a wild one, didn’t carry the same primal urgency that some of the rest of them did. He wasn’t a sharp knife waiting to strike. “Him and Marko got into a fight with Abernathy, I guess. Before he disappeared. Best lead they’ve got, because they’re idiots.” She keeps it light, keeps it amused. “He’s stealing my room until they let him leave.” 

She smiles another smile, genuine as her eyes lock onto his movements. She let herself sink into it, the delight she felt sometimes at his company, at the company of so many of them. Julian was one of her nightmare boys and she adored him, even when she felt uncertain about him. “God, I’m shuddering just thinking about the trouble you’d all get into. You;d have our Red Avenger running scared.” She’s delightfully amused, derisive when she stresses the name. “Hey, you’ll do me a favour and make sure no one is a prick to him, right?” A pause. “Even Silva. She’s never liked him, you know? But he doesn’t need the extra stress.” 

 A scene presented itself in Julian’s mind: The Gravemakers, hosts of a ‘wake’ for Marcus. If Pax wasn’t going to commemorate the fallen, then Lovell’s superior society decided to give the prick a proper send off. Celebrate his legacy of irritating, menacing, and wasting space and time. Julian could hear the thump of music and raucous voices, picture the low lights and cramped space of bodies moving around each other. A dart board with the infamous victim’s face on it. He scoffed at his mind, surely his time around his new family had swayed his imagination. It’d be a snap out, for sure. All of Lovell would hear it. That kind of facetious response would get them all somehow incriminated, surely.

He made a note to mention the idea to Jack or Andrew and gauge their reactions. Now? Green eyes and full focus was locked on Beaux. He’d be hard pressed to find a glimmer of weakness in her eyes now, and Julian could find admiration in that. She’d known him for years, known his penchant to test others’ waters for the slightest hint of blood. She knew not to give him any. Her eyes stayed easy and her laugh was warm. Julian knew to let it alone, returning to tending to the stove behind him. “Nah, not in the slightest.” he confirmed, laughing as she did at the thought of the president quaking in her boots at all of this. “For sure,” he granted, “I have a feelin’ it will. Get fuckin’ weirder... I got your back, though, don’t even worry. Keep the troops in line an’ all that. Won’t even bring up dethroning until after it’s all over.” 

His lips curled into a devilish smirk in her direction. The last bit was a slight tease, but the rest he’d meant earnestly. Julian’s main priority was the staunch defense of Beaux, and all his kin. In all honesty he’d been waiting for an opportunity to bare his teeth for her, it’d been too long and he was growing idle. If this Red Avenger got too brig for their britches,  Julian would love to set them straight. All he needed was the word.

He turned his attention back to the stove for a moment, half-listening to Beaux explain Nathan’s presence as he tended to sauce and chicken. He wondered about the nature of the argument that left Nathan incriminated, and shook his head in disbelief once more because he truly was in the wrong place at the wrong time. From the sounds of it, the police might hound their other President soon. A brief moment back to Beaux “I’ll do my best,” though Julian was certainly one to watch in the ‘prick-to-nathan’ regard, “You’d probably be the best to protect the poor dude from Silva, though. She just might win me over.” In truth, Julian would set his eyes on Nathan if Beaux hadn’t warned him not too. Extra stress was the best time to push, see just where the rough edges of Nathan lied. As from what he’d heard, the former President didn’t have any.

It was at the point where the food just needed time, so the young man slipped into a seat at the table, head in his hands as he rested his elbows on the table. “Y’know what I do wanna see, though?” he began to muse, “The autopsy.” It was a weakness of his, the intricacies of a broken body. He could spend hours discovering the mysteries of the dead. Down to the minute they began to decompose. He wanted to know it all, see the spilled blood, fractured bone, exposed flesh. “Should I try to swipe a copy?”

[julescortes-blog]

👀 what's your worst memory?

“Fuck.. My dad getting himself shot at a stupid party we should not have been at.... I was 15 and a reyes  from a fucking decade ago  finally got out. He was obviously a fucking flight risk and potential snitch, decided to shoot out my uncle’s house. My dad just should’ve fucking left... My bad for assuming he was competent enough to get himself out first.

[ofhotheads-blog]

Send my muse “👀 + a question” and they’ll have to answer with 100% honesty.

No deleting questions, either!

[julescortes-blog]

bbeauxx:

The kitchen was her safehaven, it always had been. Even before she had lived at the Morgue, Beaux had loved this room of the house. Its worn down surfaces, the windows that let just the right amount of light in. She’d made it her own, in the last few years, and you could usually find her haunting it at all hours, her camp set up at the small table as she worked on essays. 

She finds it comforting, sitting there. Loves that she can inhabit the space in the quiet, and loves that every now and then one of her friends with float through her space and brighten it up even further. Now, she’s settled in, laptop illuminating the surface of the table, coffee cup clenched in her hands, chasing the chill from her body. 

It takes a second to pull herself out of her own mind when Julian’s voice greets her. She glances up at him, giving him a smile. He was a beast of a boy, she’d always thought so. Quick and cunning and calculating in the best possible ways – safe, as long as you didn’t weaken yourself too much in front of him, as long as you kept him in check. “I think they’re spooked.” Its dry, almost a sigh as it comes out. It had been an exciting few days. She couldn’t blame them – she was spooked too. But then again, she had more of a reason to be. “They’ll liven up again in a day or two. They always do.” 

She watched him as he moved, arching an eyebrow. “Nathan St Leger is a murder suspect.” A sharp grin, because it feels like what she should do. She doesn’t feel like joking about it, but its a self defence mechanism around older Gravemakers, especially older Gravemakers like Julian. “Therefore,” she continues, “Nathan St Leger is staying for a while. You know, Island of Lost toys, and all that.” She gives it a moment of thought. “Marko, I’m not sure. He might be. He hasn’t been in touch lately, so…” A shrug of her shoulders, and then, with a practiced absentminded tone. “Hey, turn on the kettle, will you? I need more coffee if I want to finish this assignment.” 

She takes a breath, calming. And then turns in her chair slightly, pulling her legs up. “You’d have a ton of fun if Marko showed up, wouldn’t you?” An arch of her eyebrow again, another attempt at normal. “My nightmare boys.” 

Julian was casual as he moved through the shared kitchen, but purposeful still. Fridge, to pantry, to cupboard, to dresser,  setting requirements for pasta along the black counter top. As if it would all be snatched if he meandered about and didn’t make and eat. No space, not even his room, was typically a comfort zone for the young man, an alarm was on the verge of blaring at any moment, to set him into a sprint. It took getting used to. A kitchen this large. The thought of it even as a separate space. 

Beaux brought a sense of comfort to the space, though, as she tended to. It’s what made the title of president fit her so well, in the man’s eyes at least. A composure not quite cold like his own, but warmer and reassuring. At least there’s still a few of us with our heads on.  He smirked slightly and nodded, “Guess so. Man, what a shitty ghost.” Lovell was haunted by a bourgeoisie fuckboy. It was poetic.  Julian granted his associates their ‘spook’, truth be told there was something spooky about all of this to him too. A pair of eyes he couldn’t see, not quite behind him, not quite in front. Watching. 

“They’d better.” Julian affirmed, though it sounded akin to a warning. He needed them lively. “I don’t want to have to talk sense into them.” He spoke in jest. Although, he would. And it would feel more like a kick in the pants then consoling if he did. It may have been just what they needed. He left his work for a moment to turn his attention to Beaux fully. “You’re not spooked, right?” He asked, raised brow and smirk to lighten the prying. He was prying, though. He needed to know if his stalwart leader was scared. 

He wouldn’t blame her if she was, They’d all earned some fear after all this time. But, if so, then why? Did she shudder at death, the gruesome nature of the events? Or was it something else? Julian may have chalked it up to paranoia, but he’d felt something wrong in the back of his mind, and he was curious in that moment if maybe someone else felt it too.

But aside from that — What the fuck did Beaux just say?! “No fucking way in hell. Nathan?” Julian asked as his eyes went wide, then a slight laugh of shock left him. “Fuck, he was in the wrong place at the wrong time, or what?” He set about her request for the kettle, mind still fixed on his old president as a suspect for a murder. Sensible, tepid, lovesick Nathan. God the police are making an ass out of themselves here. If they can’t find the real killer and pin it on Nathan... Julian made a mental note to share this observation with the ginger, just to see his reaction.

He rolled his eyes softly, “Nightmare boys...” Not a lie at all. Not in the way lights seemed to dim when Julian entered spaces with fellow gravemakers. Jonathan was a fine example of it, the sounding board he created for Cortes’ bad behavior. “Marko’d be fun to have around for this shit show, that’s for sure.” That and he’d rile up all the other troublemakers of the house. Julian turned back to his cooking. “But we got sweet ol’ Nate back. Awesome.” 

[julescortes-blog]

location: The Morgue date: January 24th time: evening  (for @bbeauxx)

Ironically, Julian accounted for the Morgue being one of the more lively places in Lovell. There were typically a few Gravemakers about, working on an assignment or putting an assignment off, avoiding some trouble or looking to get into some. Especially this time of week, around the time the student body decided they needed to blow off steam. He expected to find some sort of pre-game, a proposition to party off at someone else’s home or go bar hopping. But this night was different.

The place was stiffly silent as Julian descended the stairs from his room. It didn’t take much thought to figure the cause. The elephant in the town, paraded through the Gravemakers’ home and Julian knew everyone was trying to box their fear up and set it aside. Either that or run at it like a raging bull, alone and without remorse. That’s the type they all were when it came to these types of things (at least the young man liked to think so). Except Julian wasn’t scared. He’d caught the tail end of the thing, saw even Abernathy’s ego outmatched by red paint. The only thing unnerving was in the way all eyes seemed to narrow in on the Gravemakers when it happened. Like anyone here would ever be so messy.

He ran into Beaux in the kitchen, looking for something to keep his hands busy. His pace slowed and he nodded a greeting in her direction. “Hey. D’you know what’s gotten into the kids lately?” He asked, curious of the president’s attitude to this, or at least aspects of it. His green eyes scanned Beaux for clues. The president was an enigma he knew to respect, but he couldn’t help but want to poke for answers to what went on in that head. He searched for the answers before he’d ever dare ask. “Also... what’s up with Nathan st. Leger floatin’ round here? Some sort of reunion? ‘S Marko gonna pop his head in too?”

[julescortes-blog]

Location: Campus, Fellows’ Square Date: January 25th Time: dusk (open to all)

Julian hated getting impatient, but he’d meandered around the Fellows’ Square almost twice now, and the whole thing was getting ridiculous. He was supposed to sell thirty minutes ago to this sophomore kid, ‘friend of a friend’, but of course it could never be that easy. He should’ve just went home, but this tardiness and uncertainty was the nature of all drug deals, and Julian hated it. Hated when other people were in possession of his time.

Especially when he had other shit to be doing. Like fixing his car, editing a paper, hell getting up to something if any of his fellow members weren’t busy getting over that circus act of a vigil.  Anything other than shuffling around a bunch of buildings trying not to draw attention and checking his phone constantly. Security wasn’t letting up either, not after the whole ordeal that night. Julian held his animosity toward Abernathy for that reason alone. He couldn’t just go quietly. Death is unfortunate, murder much more so, but everyone who knew Marcus knew that his actions might have...gotten him into a situation he couldn’t get out of. The young man figured, if it were Queens, a guy like Abernathy would’ve crossed many with the means to hurt him. 

Julian resigned to a bench outside one of the old halls, eyes glancing at the pinkish light cast by the setting sun, then pulling out his phone once again. No new fucking messages... gritting his teeth, he sighed. When a figure approaches him fairly quickly he looks up at them  with wide-eyed expectancy, then lower with a hint of disappointment. Not him. “Hey.” he greets quickly. “You just gettin’ out of class?”

[julescortes-blog]

Headcanons

General head canons for Julian Matias Cortes (I guess the middle name is also a headcanon ...)

- It's happened a few times, enough that Julian can understand the reason behind the trend. Some people, generally lacking interest or substance in their life, find themselves attracted to the man. They see the rough cut gaze, the various tattoos, the bad attitude. Perhaps they think they can save him? Perhaps they think they can relate to him? Julian hasn't experienced romantic love for anyone, but quick fucks are affirming.  So, he'll play along for any poor soul whose eye he catches, though he rarely sees anything past a stepping stone.

-Julian's primary source of income is a combination of freelance mechanics and drug pushing. He learned mechanics partly from his aunt's boyfriend in New York and partly from his father, and partly from dedication to not wanting to work for someone else. Hot-wiring has it's uses too. Julian can fix most general car problems with his tool box, and knows his way around bikes and motorcycles as well. He sells for cash on the side, willing to discount and work with other Gravemakers for their illegal good needs.

- Julian lives in The Morgue after his first two years  living on campus and his relief was made known the moment his first box was packed. His room is on one the higher floors, with one window that looks out towards the front of the house. Sort of a 'watchtower', Julian can see who is approaching or leaving when he's home.

-He keeps his space fairly unkempt. Not ravaged, but not near pristine either. The mess is deliberate though, as it's easier to hide things about if no one is sure where everything is supposed to go. A small lockbox for a gun underneath his bed, in the shadow of a toolbox, an old pizza box, and various articles of clothing. A stash of drugs in a false bottom drawer full of old school folders. Money in hollowed out textbooks. Needless to say, Julian likes to prepare if shit hits the fan, which he figures it might for a group like this.

-Julian has an array of tattoos, seven of which are plainly in view. The first, an a compact array of semi-broken teeth on his left forearm. Also along that arm A human skull, a snake skull, and a human spine. On his right shoulder, a large geometric piece. A tribal ring around his right bicep. 'ADVENA' Latin for 'stranger' on his wrist. Concealed on his back are tattoos with the gang he was affiliated with back in New York, they aren't of the best quality, but they're properly healed.

- If there's one place he and Rosewell relate, it is on the opinion that the Gravemakers and Pax Aurea are the furthest from alike. When he first heard of the truce, he frowned a bit. Head titled in confusion. The Gravemakers were the underdogs. They were the representation of everything Pax stepped on to get to where they are. They were the undeserving. The Gravemakers were a threat to Pax Aurea at best. Julian isn't vocal about his stance much, especially around the president(s), typically just shrugs and gives a casual 'don't trust 'em', but if given the chance, he'd love to cement the Gravemakers as the only running secret society on Lovell campus.

[julescortes-blog]

lauradaltuin:

Location: Ray’s Diner Time: 2:30 am Status: Open

Laura had to get away from all of it. From the vigil, the revelation, death, everything. It felt like she drowning in it and she couldn’t reach the surface. She hadn’t felt like it since the day she found out about her parents. The vigil was two days before, but Laura couldn’t shake it. The Morgue even felt like it was suffocating her, the place she called home felt like it was out to get her. That was how she ended up at Ray’s. It had become her escape from the chaos since her freshman year. She set herself up in a booth by the door, laying out her laptop and a textbook even though she knew no work would get finished.

The news blast from earlier that day kept flashing in her mind. The Red Avenger. Who could it be and why did they decide they would be Lovell’s masked vigilante? How did they know who did it? The door chiming caught her attention and made her raise a brow when she noticed who it was. She plastered a smile on her face, pushing whatever thoughts were plaguing her to the back of her mind. 

”The seats open if you want it. But first, you have to answer a riddle. A box without hinges, lock or key, yet golden treasure lies within. What is it?”

Julian couldn’t get over the thought that hit him the morning after the vigil. If it were somewhere else, this whole thing would be hilarious. The whole scenario tickled the young man, the way everyone dropped their lives to dig up care for this trust fund baby with no concern nor care in the world. The way police were bumbling over a three year old case, and their top competitor was some lost low life known as ‘The Red Avenger’. He was only there for the tail end, but the uproar was entertaining for a moment, especially considering the lull the campus was in before Abernathy’s body was uncovered. Nothing made the young man giddier than the monkey wrench that was scandal and  the way it made the composed squirm in their seats. It’s the reality they refuse to face, after all.  Usually he could sit back and revel. 

But it wasn’t somewhere else. It was here.  Here meant increased security, and police patrolling every hour on the fucking hour, and watchful eyes everywhere he went.  Even the air in the Morgue shifted ever since the vigil was announced, and Julian honestly  couldn’t stand it. It explained why he was out today. The air forced him to leave.

Feet carried him all the way Ray’s, and it wasn’t until he heard the high pitch of the chiming bells that he’d registered how far he’d walked. It was clear he was entranced in his thoughts when he walked in the door. But he registered the space, ran a had through his hair, and approached the counter requesting coffee and the daily special, noticing Laura when he scanned for a place to sit. He let his usual glare soften for her, the sight of another gravemaker making the situation a bit much more bearable. 

He approached quickly, greeting her with a quick nod and a raise of his eyebrows, barely listening to her request before he slid into the booth across from her. He thought about her riddle once he sat and his face scrunched in confusion. “ ‘S this like a social media reference?”  he asked with a laugh. “I get more than one guess right?” He shrugged. A game of wits with Laura was much more than he’d bargained for when he left his room, but if playing meant something to do, he’d certainly bite. “.... Time. Answer’s time, right?”

[almostcortes]

My Turn: A Julian Cortes Mix

‘…to make life worth a living, well it’s my life i’m living. and my only concern? well, tomorrow is my turn…’

1 // Rhiannon Giddens - Tomorrow is My Turn 2 // Pharmakon - Body Betrays Itself 3 // Rainbow Kitten Surprise - Devil Like Me 4 //  Punch - Do It Yourself 5 // John Maus - Cop Killer 6 // Mannequin Pussy - Meatslave One 7 // Nicole Dolleganger - You’re So Cool 8 // Earl Sweatshirt - Chum 9 // Tyler, the Creator - Yonkers 10 // Lorde - Biting Down

X lower volume advised X

[hearthouses]

IN THE DESERT, I SAW A CREATURE NAKED, BESTIAL, WHO SQUATTING ON THE GROUND, HELD HIS    H  E  A  R  T    IN HIS HANDS AND ATE OF IT                                                 —stephen crane

[psych-facts]

“At what point does a man turn into a monster? I don’t believe that it’s when he does horrible things, but when he accepts that he’s able to do them, and that he does them well.”

(via viciously-yours)

[heyspacemonkey-blog-blog]

[sseureki]