jvnk:

The Great Gatsby: Logo Evolution

by Like Minded Studio

The Gatsby Complex

Chapter I
I’ve seen the world, done it all.
Things you can’t imagine.
Things I can’t tell you
Because the paparazzi have beaten me to it.
Swam a lap in a pool of red wine.
Had a taste of bittersweet actors and actresses
With the world’s unconditional “love.”
I’ve had my fill,
With glazed diamond eyes.
Yet, lost the thrill,
For there’s too many lies.
Chapter II
Welcome to the party,
A gorgeous mess of chaos.
Laughing faces and flashing cameras,
A revelry for Gods and fools looking through the same mirror.
In the throng of bodies moving on the dance floor,
We meet at the center,
Eyes locked together with years passing by
In only a moment’s breath.
There’s just one speck of dirt
On this otherwise flawless picture:
“You’re married…” I say breathlessly.
Chapter III
Another party is thrown to break the nightlife.
I’m told you’ve arrived with your husband by your side.
He’s a brute of a man, careless and not the least bit gentle.
A sea of bile bubbles at the pit of stomach
For the mere thought of how many handprint testimonies
Of his ignorance that he’s left written on your skin.
I bite my tongue and shake his hand.
My chest swells in envy, God I hate that man.
The way he looks at you
And the way you look at him
A look that says you might love him more than me.
Chapter IV
Anxiously I wait for your arrival.
Your cousin Nick told me he’d set up a little “get together”.
I’m ecstatic, elated – happy.
Nervous, scared – terrified.
I’m sure when you walk through the door,
I’ll immediately be floored.
And I am.
It’s been five years and your voice rich like money,
Is still a melodious song to my ears.
God, I can’t stop smiling.
Just to see you makes my heart flutter within my ribcage.
Chapter V
Hidden, we dance
In the most secluded part of our hearts.
Green lighted by the secret
Sealed away with the love in our eyes,
The want traced upon the curve of our lips
And yet, it’s not enough.
“Come away with me,” I say holding her face.
Starry eyed, she holds my hand. “I’d love to but…”
Words trailing off, like a tearful goodbye.
Serious, I retort: “I’d take a barrage of bullets
And swim in an ocean of my own blood for you.”

Man of Steel Trailer #3 [x]

Why you shouldn’t fall in love with writers.

Writers are shrewd beings with perpetually half-empty cups. They would always ponder and write about pondering. It is their biological abnormality, to feel so damn much out of the simplest of things. They would eradicate your very notions in life. Tie a string of words at the base of your tongue. Words so disconcerting and baffling. You would choke on each pull, and find yourself suffocating. They would use their two fingers to turn you like pages, skim you over until they have edited who you once were. They would crumple the edges of your name like paper, until you feel yourself so used and disposed, you would literally find yourself in the characters of their books. They would make you feel like a speck in a scope, eyeing every minuscule detail of your actions. From the nervous habit of biting pen covers, to the almost obnoxious laugh you can’t control. From your favorite authors, to why you can’t seem to sleep at night. They would find loopholes to make you relatable, but then they would outcast you by being their muse. You would literally feel their palms on your lungs, as you breathe. Like a book, warmth by their moist hands. You are read over and over again. Finding the beauty amidst your madness. Looking at the implicit details that makes you vulnerable. They would mend you, without you ever thinking you are broken. They would get sick of themselves, cry off your shoulder and beg of you to not leave them. But when that need for inspiration has expired and your use is satiated. They would hover on pretty damsels and lonely nomads on street corners and eerie cafes.

But, the most dreadful thing of falling in love with writers, isn’t their actions towards life. But of, their imprint in your soul. Because, once you let a writer into your life, make them love you, give them the reins of your identity. You are forever tainted by their pervious mind and heart. You will see life as both a wondrous probability and inescapable bane. 

I know this because, I have loved one. And now, I can’t stop writing about him.

Batman: Arkham Origins Teaser (x)

fallbeil:

mugenstyle:

eccecorinna:

wrathofprawn:

for those not in the know, night witches were russian lady bombers who bombed the shit out of german lines in WW2. Thing is though, they had the oldest, noisiest, crappest planes in the entire world. The engines used to conk out halfway through their missions, so they had to climb out on the wings mid flight to restart the props. the planes were also so noisy that to stop germans from hearing them combing and starting up their anti aircraft guns, they’d climb up to a certain height, coast down to german positions, drop their bombs, restart their engines in midair, and get the fuck out of dodge.

their leader flew over 200 missions and was never captured.

how the fuck is this not taught in every single history class ever

pilots (◡‿◡✿) 

girl pilots (◕‿◕✿)

girl pilots killing nazis ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* \(◕ヮ◕✿)/ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧