“There’s no point to living life unless you make history. And the best way to make history, is to help others.”
─ we’re flawed because we want so much more. we’re ruined because we get these things and wish for what we had.
"This episode was all about how the tiniest, seemingly innocuous disturbances can throw off the orbit of a person’s life, sending him or her careening off and colliding into other people’s paths: a misplaced purse, a malfunctioning conference-call box, a love note removed from a vase of flowers. (And that’s what Mad Men is so, so good at: the inevitable yet somehow still surprising consequences of actions we don’t think matter at the time.) It seems Sally came crashing into Don’s ever-more-depressing little universe at just the right moment, offering him what might be the most unconditional love he’s ever known." —The Atlantic
I can’t breathe guys. Julian Larson
my favorite character of all time is awake and safe in his home. He’s cuddling his friends, his castmates from Something Damaged, who have come to visit. The chershire cat has reappeared into the land of the living!!! Eeeeeeh
1 character, 19 drawing styles challenge! This took a long time, but I’m pretty happy with it - I recommend looking at all these artists’ original work if you like any of them.Love this! And I’m really flattered to see my style represented so nicely!
i absolutely LOOOVE THIS
Don’t cross oceans for people who wouldn’t cross a puddle for you
A Larythe fic for CP Coulter’s Dalton.
“Der?” Julian whispered. “It’s almost four and—”
Julian rested against his tautly-tucked hospital sheets, admiring the sea of flowers surrounding him to the soundtrack of Derek’s escaping snores. The athlete beside him had drifted off yet again during a daily visit and, though Jules enjoyed the silent company, he also knew practice started soon and wouldn’t want his friend to be late. If Julian’s whispers proved ineffective, the clambering foot steps and swing of a door that followed were surely enough to interrupt Der’s murmured zz’s.
Enter a suave brunette sporting a twisted pout and an attractive, ironed striped shirt.
“Julian Larson! I’m hurt—so hurt—you didn’t send for me sooner. You know, a little visit from me could have sped up your recovery. Gotten you out of this mess a little sooner.” The boy’s smirk transformed into an affectionate smile, returned with little effort by the patient in bed.
“Seb? What are you doing here? I didn’t send for you—”
“Details, details.” Sebastian sauntered in and placed himself next to Jules, his back against the bed frame. “Happy to see me?”
He then paused and glared at the guy stretching on the visitors’ chair beside them. “And, who are you?”
“Best friend,” Derek shrugged. “And you?”
“I’m his ex-Parisian luv-” A beat. “I’m a friend. Sebastian Smythe. From Paris.”