So this guy volunteers at the Olympics. He figures maybe he’ll get to see some amazing athletes doing athletic things. And then the fastest man alive gives him a fist bump.
Look at all that happy.
this is still my favourite thing on the internet
seriously the 5th time reblogging this non b&w gif sorry not sorry
AW I LOVE THIS
collections that are raw as fuck ➝ zuhair murad s/s 2007
when you see the lucker stomp
you reblog the lucker stomp
and you forever reblog the lucker stomp
instant reblog the lucker stomp
Never listened to suicide silence but I respect the stomp.
WHENEVER MITCH IS ON YOUR DASH YOU REBLOG IT
No matter what kind of blog you are!!
Fuck, I love the Lucker stomp. That shit is fly as fuck.
When you see Mitch reblog. It’s non negotiable
You do not have to reblog it tho kms
Fuck off with your self promo
Apollo and Daphne
Gian Lorenzo Bernini
Galleria Borghese, Rome
Apollo and Daphne is a life-sized Baroque marble sculpture by Italian artist Gian Lorenzo Bernini, executed between 1622 and 1625. Housed in the Galleria Borghese in Rome, the work depicts the climax of the story of Daphne and Phoebus in Ovid’s Metamorphoses.
When Phoebus (Apollo), fated by Cupid’s love-exciting arrow, sees the maiden daughter of Peneus a river god, he is filled with wonder at her beauty and consumed by desire. But Daphne has been fated by Cupid’s love-repelling arrow and denies the love of men. As the Nymph flees he relentlessly chases her—boasting, pleading, and promising everything. When her strength is finally spent she prays to her father Peneus:
'Destroy the beauty that has injured me, or change the body that destroys my life.' Before her prayer was ended, torpor seized on all her body, and a thin bark closed around her gentle bosom, and her hair became as moving leaves; her arms were changed to waving branches, and her active feet as clinging roots were fastened to the ground—her face was hidden with encircling leaves.
Phoebus loved the graceful tree, clung to it and kissed the wood:
But since thou canst not be my spouse surely thou shalt be my tree. Thee O laurel my hair, thee my lyres, thee my quivers shall always have … And as my head is youthful with unshorn locks, do thou likewise wear always evergreen honours of foliage. The laurel nodded assent with its branches lately made. §