#Thrasonical

[englishmoribund]

A Word to Describe a Boastful Person: Thrasonical

Have you ever encountered someone who brags excessively about their accomplishments? If so, then you have met a thrasonical person. The word "thrasonical" is derived from the character Thraso in the ancient Greek play "Eunuchus" by Terence, who was known for his boastful behavior.

Thrasonical people are characterized by their excessive bragging and boasting. They love to talk about their achievements, wealth, and success to make themselves look better than others. Here's an example sentence to showcase a thrasonical person's behavior:

"He was so thrasonical that he claimed to have personally taught Leonardo da Vinci how to paint."

The term "thrasonical" has been used in English literature since the 16th and 17th centuries to describe boastful and arrogant characters. In modern times, it's still used to describe people who are overly boastful.

An example of a thrasonical character can be seen in the anime series "Chillin' in My 30s after Getting Fired from the Demon King's Army." The character Gashita starts off as thrasonical but changes as the story progresses, growing as a person and learning the importance of humility.

In conclusion, the word "thrasonical" is a rich and humorous term that refers to people who are excessively boastful and love to show off their accomplishments. So next time you encounter a thrasonical person, just remember to use the word to describe their behavior in a comedic yet precise manner. And always keep in mind that true success lies in being grounded and humble.

[tferyal]

MEZAR TAŞINDAKİ ÖĞRETMEN

Tarih MS 120'ydi.

Aylardan kasımdı.

Marmara Bölgesi çok şiddetli bir depremle sarsıldı.Özellikle Nikomedia (İzmit) büyük felaket yaşamıştı.

Okullar, evler, tapınaklar yerle bir olmuştu.Yüzlerce ölü, çok daha fazla yaralı vardı.

Felaketin boyutları o kadar büyüktü ki, sağ kalanların yaşamlarını sürdürmesi imkansız gibiydi.

Roma İmparatoru Hadrianus bölgenin tekrar ayağa kalkması ve insanların ihtiyaçlarının karşılanması için para göndermese, belki de İzmit'te hayat sona erecekti.

Aradan yüzyıllar geçti.

Bölgedeki kazılarda bir stel (mezar taşı) bulundu.

Üzerinde bir kartal kabartması ve ayakta duran 3 insan figürü vardı.

Ortada bir yetişkin, ellerini yanında duran iki çocuğun omuzlarına koymuştu.

Bugün Louvre Müzesi’nde sergilenen stelde antik Yunanca şöyle yazıyordu.

"Diogenes oğlu Thrason bu taşı, oğulları olan 5 yaşındaki Deksiphanes ile 4 yaşındaki Thrason ve onları eğiten 25 yaşındaki Hermes için diktirdi. Hermes, depremin yıkıntıları arasında bile öğrencilerini bu şekilde kucaklamıştı."

Yazıttan anlaşılan şuydu.

Nikomedia'yı yerle bir eden deprem anında öğretmen Hermes, iki öğrencisi Deksiphanes ile Thrason'u korumak için onlara sarılmış ve birlikte yıkıntılar altında kalmışlardı.Öğretmen depremden kaçmak yerine öğrencilerinin canını korumayı seçmişti.Bu yüzden cesetleri birbirlerine sarılmış durumda bulunmuştu.

Öğrencilerin babası Diogenes oğlu Thrason, ölürken bile çocuklarına sahip çıkmaya çalışan öğretmen Hermes'in anısına bu mezar taşını diktirmişti.

[dazzlingheights]

thrasonical + instagram

[aiiaiiiyo]

A fruit pizza I made for my beautiful mother’s birthday <3 Check this blog!

[clive-owen-and-the-knick]

SIR WALTER RALEGH

Novi hominem tanquam te: his humour is lofty, his discourse peremptory, his tongue filed, his eye ambitious, his gait majestical, and his general behavior vain, ridiculous, and thrasonical. He is too picked, too spruce, too affected, too odd, as it were, too peregrinate, as I may call it.  (LOVES LABOURS LOST) 

[relatablepoetryandquotes]

“O, I know where you are: nay, ‘tis true: there was never any thing so sudden but the fight of two rams and Caesar’s thrasonical brag of 'I came, saw, and overcame:’ for your brother and my sister no sooner met but they looked, no sooner looked but they loved, no sooner loved but they sighed, no sooner sighed but they asked one another the reason, no sooner knew the reason but they sought the remedy; and in these degrees have they made a pair of stairs to marriage which they will climb incontinent, or else be incontinent before marriage: they are in the very wrath of love and they will together; clubs cannot part them.” - William Shakespeare, As You Like It

[heartslogos]

an oath to keep

Gideon is sitting on a dull ashy rock, boots covered in dull ashy dirt, staring out at a dull ashen sky as dull ash clouds puff around her. She is waiting for a drop ship to pick her up and take her away.

She is certain of two things.

One, when Harrowhark Nonagesimus gets her she’s going to be so mad at Gideon that she’s going to skip straight past frosty rage and into frothing at the corners of the mouth and she might try to pop each individual vertebrae of Gideon’s spine out through Gideon’s mouth like a candy dispenser.

Two, Gideon is deader than disco. Which provides a minor sliver of hope because disco has a weird tendency to dip its toe back into living every so often before being quickly shunted off into its shallow grave.

Gideon, in fact, does feels some minor, weird, buzzing feeling in the back of her skull that signals to her that she’s not all the way gone yet. Just ninety nine point nine nine nine nine nine nine nine nine nine percent there.

She raises a hand and runs it through her hair, as she sighs, slumping down on the rock to stare up at the bleak sky.

Trust being dead to land her back at the Ninth. The afterlife couldn’t have something a little bit more interesting? Gideon’s no saint and didn’t have many expectations for what the other side would hold for her, but surely it wouldn’t be ye old homestead of eternal bleakness.

Figures that the bad place for the bad people is just the Ninth. It explains so much, honestly.

So far Gideon has catalogued three bits of good news while sitting on her old rock friend.

One. She’s got her two hander. Its familiar weight means that this place can’t be completely awful. Real hell would’ve been stuck in the afterlife with the little metal wand of a rapier and the kind of alright knuckles.

Two. Gideon also still has her glasses. Unscratched, unbroken, and in perfectly mirrored condition that she can see her reflection in them.

Three. Gideon’s existence in the afterlife is not a complete mangled wreck like it was when Gideon threw herself into it to start with. Her arms and legs work, her torso isn’t a sieve with a bonus chance at tetanus, and — not as great, but neither here nor there — her face paint looks fresh, sharp, and unblemished. Which also leads to the bad news that Gideon poked at her face a bit and could still feel the angry little zits on her forehead and the sides of her face.

Being dead, apparently, does not rescue a person from acne. Acne is a powerful curse that extends beyond life. There can be no rescuing from acne.

“Ninth.”

Gideon looks up and is somehow disappointed to see Camilla.

“Yo,” Gideon stands up, waving awkwardly. “Do I apologize?”

Camilla blinks at her, confused, “What for?”

“You’re here.”

Camilla looks around, and shrugs. “Not for long.”

They both look up at the sound of ship engines.

Camilla’s hands rest on her hips as they watch the dull clouds part, and the lights of a ship start to come closer.

“Thank you for what you did back there,” Camilla says as they watch the ship descend. “You do your house proud.”

Gideon shrugs, uncomfortable at the thought of making the Ninth House feel anything positive. The Ninth could suck it. It wasn’t really —

“The Ninth has less syllables than Harrowhark Nonagesimus,” Gideon says.

Camilla’s lip twitches upward at the corner. Gideon has a feeling Camilla already knew that.

“It was an honor to fight with you,” Camilla says as the ship completes its descent, landing off in the distance and lowering its ramp. She turns to Gideon and holds her hand out. “I’m going to join my adept.”

Gideon grasps it. “Hey, what was it that you were supposed to do?”

Camilla’s smile is grim and thin. “Finish it.”

Gideon’s hand tightens on Camilla’s. “And — ?”

She doesn’t now how to finish that question.

Camilla nods once. “It is done.”

They both let go of each other and Camilla turns to walk away. Gideon watches her for a bit before returning to her rock.

“Gideon!”

She looks up and sees Camilla, almost at the ship.

“You could come with us,” Camilla yells out towards her, “You’ve done more than enough. Our part is over.”

Gideon stares at Camilla, and then beyond her at the ship. She imagines she can see Palamedes in the shadow of the ship’s entryway. Boy that would be an awkward ride to wherever dead people go next. No thanks.

“Pass. I’ll wait for mine,” Gideon yells back.

Camilla is very still in the distance before she raises an arm and waves, then turns and completes the walk onto the ship.

Gideon watches the ship as it slowly returns to the sky and away from here. Her throat tightens and she tells herself she isn’t crying. She’s got no paint or brushes. If she messes up her face it’s going to be stuck that way for eternity. No thanks.

Gideon doesn’t know how long she’s been here. It could be minutes. It could be hours. It could be days or years or centuries.

She doesn’t feel tired or thirsty or anything. She’s got enough to do. Infinite laps to run, push ups, crunches, squats, sword drills. She even messes around with pushing rocks around the bleak landscape.

“You.”

Gideon groans, sheathing her sword as she drops her stance. She turns and she sees the hulking mass of Crux lumbering towards her, face grim and foreboding as ever.

“Come on, Crux,” Gideon gestures around them, “We’re dead. Can you drop being a giant wanker for like…a minute? I’ll even pretend I don’t know about the part where you rigged my ship so I would die as soon as I got off planet.”

Crux scowls, coming to a stop a few feet away from her, “Death is the least of what those who abandon their house deserve.” The formal marshal looks her over. “Ultimately you made up for your many flaws, though I can see that your disrespect and lack of manners remains unfixable.”

“Thanks?” Gideon hedges that this is supposed to be the most backhanded of complements, so backhanded that it goes right around to being a complete insult. “You know, Crux, I didn’t think you’d ever kick the bucket. Do I get to ask what did you in? Was it spite? Did you enjoy yourself so thoroughly on the news of my death that you kicked it to see if it was real? Did your dusty old bones just give in and send you collapsing to the floor in a puddle of skin?”

If Crux’s scowl gets any deeper it would threaten to become engraved onto his very bones themselves. Crux’s scowl is so deeply etched into his face that Gideon swears that you could pack the grooves like pockets.

“You wear the paint and patterns of the Ninth like an unattended toddler who put them on in the dark with their fingers,” Crux says. Overhead Gideon hears the sound of a ship coming.

“Looks like your ride’s here,” Gideon says, “Bet you hope that I’m not the one who rigged it this time, eh? Wouldn’t that be a nice turn of the dramatic? You want to offer me some skin mags? For old time’s sake?”

Gideon scrambles to hide behind her rock as Crux advances.

“You can’t kill me, Crux. I’m not scared of you, you old bag of dust,” Gideon says as Crux strides past her and her rock towards the ship, one hand on her sword just in case. The entire way the sound of his breathing and the rattling of his bones made Gideon think of a goody bag for necromancers with knuckles in it being shaken about. Gideon gives Crux’ back the finger.

“Gideon Nav,” Crux says as he walks towards the ship, “You have been a blot on the records of the Ninth since you fell onto our heads.”

Gideon is about to fire off a retort regarding the lack of heads in the Ninth in general, when Crux continues.

“But you saved the Reverend Daughter, and thus the Ninth. You may have been a blot on our records, but you will remain recorded, nonetheless. You were a cavalier worthy of service.”

Gideon watches Crux shamble all the way to the ship and get onto it, saying nothing in return.

Aiglamene comes around eventually, and Gideon is surprised to find herself sad to see her old mentor.

Her face is, dare Gideon think it? Fond.

“What’s up?” Gideon says, mustering up a small salute for the old woman. “You outlasted Crux! Good on you.”

“You are a wretch and a fool, and a legend of the Ninth House,” Aiglamene says. “It is good to see that despite the legends that came after your death and the amount of heroics involved in those legends, you are still Gideon Nav. When we heard word of what you did, I didn’t want to believe it. I couldn’t believe it. You did — “

“If you say I did the Ninth proud I’m going to throw myself down right here and have the biggest fit you’ve ever seen in your life, and since you’ve been around since the beginning of time it’s going to be one impressive fit.”

Aiglamene gives her a flat look that makes Gideon’s guts gurgle in protest.

“You did me proud, you thrasonical miscreant.”

“You got a dictionary for that one?”

Aiglamene sighs. “I can’t believe that I actually missed you.”

Gideon puts a hand over her heart, “Captain. You do care.”

“I regret the waste of emotion every second I spend looking at you. What are you wearing on your face?”

“Glasses and face paint. Don’t I look like a real proper Niner?”

“You look like a proper malignancy.”

It feels like it’s too soon when the ship comes for Aiglamene. Gideon wants to keep her here, ask her a billion questions about what exactly happened after Gideon died. About Harrow. About the Canaan House. About everyone and everything. About what it felt like to see Crux dead and do a jig over his body.

Aiglamene might even stay.

Gideon’s not so selfish as to ask that, though. So Gideon just gestures to the ship.

“No one’s rigged that one to blow, swear it,” Gideon jokes.

Aiglamene just looks at her, like she’s studying Gideon’s face. Gideon half expects the woman to command her to drop and give her some drills, make sure she’s fighting fit. Gideon expects that she’d do it on reflex.

“If you wait here, you will have a long time to go,” Aiglamene says. “You’ve done your service, Gideon. You did more than what anyone could have asked you, more than what duty asked. You’re free, Gideon. No one owns you, no one can ask anything of you anymore. You can walk away.”

That would be nice if it were true. But it isn’t.

“I made an oath, Captain,” Gideon says. “And I intend to keep it.”

Aiglamene starts to smile.

“You know, so when her lady of eternal gloom and dusk shows up I can tell her that this is what keeping a promise looks like.”

The smile doesn’t go away.

Aiglamene holds her hand out, Gideon grasps it, expecting a firm shake and a serious and slightly formal nod goodbye, but the old woman pulls Gideon in with surprising strength. Gideon is surprised to find that she’s actually taller than Aiglamene now. Which is weird, because one would think you would stop growing when dead.

“Goodbye, Gideon Nav,” Aiglamene whispers into Gideon’s ear. “And good luck.”

It takes a huge amount of effort to uncurl her fingers from Aiglamene’s robes as they part.

Gideon watches Aiglamene go. And when Aiglamene raises her hand to wave goodbye as the ship’s door closes, Gideon salutes. And she holds that position until the clouds have closed over the ship and the gray world is silent again.

There are others. Eventually Lachrimorta and Aisamorta kick it. Gideon takes great pains to make sure that she’s well hidden when she hears those two biddies coming. She’s there for a handful of nuns she recognizes, some other serfs and cultists, various laypeople. Most of them she doesn’t know by name. There are some she doesn’t recognize at all. She does her best to remain hidden for the most part. Gideon would rather not have to deal with them.

Time must pass, though Gideon doesn’t really feel it. It’s like all of time is a giant slush that Gideon stands in the middle of, unmoved and unmoving.

The temptation to get on one of those ships and get away from here is there, but Gideon has something stronger than that. An oath.

Gideon’s word is important. She can’t leave here until it’s completed.

So she waits. She practices drills with her sword, even though she doesn’t really need to anymore. It does keep her fit for running away and hiding from faces she doesn’t want to deal with, which is nice. She does laps. She does sit ups. Crunches, squats, one handed push ups. Clap push ups. Hand stands. Whatever.

She even does the motions for the drills with a rapier and knuckle using a stick she’d found.

Gideon waits.

It feels like not long enough when she feels the dreaded step of Harrowhark Nonagesimus on the horizon.

Gideon turns, hand resting on the pommel of her two hander, the other adjusting her glasses as the shadowy figure of velvet and lace and bone drowse closer.

She hears a ship in the distance.

“One flesh, one end,” Gideon whispers to herself as Harrow comes into close enough view that she can see the press of her thin lips, the coiled tension in her shoulders, and the spite flickering in her eyes. “Sup.”

“You,” Harrow snarls. Gideon holds her ground as Harrow picks up the pace, great clouds of gray dirt and ash puffing away behind her as her long robes hiss along the ground. “You impertinent, selfish, foolish, insufferable, malicious, contrary shit.”

“I feel like that this is just the prologue for an epic speech,” Gideon says, pointing towards the ship coming towards them, “You want to discuss this on that instead?”

“I’m not going to discuss anything with you Griddle,” Harrow snaps, but continues walking towards the ship, “I am not having a discussion. I am going to tell you exactly why you did a completely stupid and unnecessary thing. I am going to tell you exactly the many ways you were wrong and how idiotic you were. I am going to tell you, in great and exact detail, the many ways in which your choices negatively impacted me over the past centuries, and I am going to explain to you in a way that even your single brain cell — which, I imagine has much atrophied over time due to lack of any meaningful stimulus — can understand how incomprehensibly and stupendously ill advised your abrupt departure was and the repercussions of you disobeying my orders was.”

Gideon falls into step behind Harrow, folding her arms around the back of her head and grinning at the back of Harrow’s.

“Oh, you did miss me.”

“It was a cold universe without you, Griddle,” Harrow snaps. Gideon beams. “And I had to deal with it by myself. I had to hold a sword, Griddle. A blasted sword. Do you know how frustrating it was to do — to do laps? It took me years, Griddle. Years. Just to swing a metal stick. A metal stick. Did it ever strike you that I had better things to do? That such physical labor was meant to be delegated to one such as yourself? I doubt it.”

Gideon stops waking and just watches Harrow go at it, snapping as vicious and mean spirited and terribly frustrating as ever. She missed this. She missed Harrow.

And now she’s going to have forever with this.

Gideon’s smile feels like it’s going to crack her face. She’s a masochist.

“Are you coming or not Gideon?” Harrow turns about, one foot on the ship’s ramp, tapping impatiently. “I’ve been waiting for this end for millenium, Gideon Nav. How long are you going to keep me waiting?”

“You’d think with millennium to yourself you’d have learned patience,” Gideon says, slowly walking towards her. “Besides. Aren’t I worth waiting for?”

[josephallenart]

#josephallenart "Thrasonical Candor Fatigue, Slippery Hardihood” June 2019 14"x11.5" #acryliconpaper #abstractpainting

[silkandconvalescencerpg]

i'm jumping on the bandwagon, what three words would you use to describe the thrasonical?

I think it’s safe to say that we’re all enjoying ourselves! For the thrasonical, I’d describe them as sharp, spellbinding, paragon.

[thecaffeinebookwarrior]

How do you keep impulses in check? Here especially there’s posts or stuff I see and get mad or want to correct it and keep sending ask and ask and being more riled and hyper focused on it and I think it’s not good for my health

I’m well-acquainted with what you’re feeling.

I really don’t know which is worse:  the unbridled outrage I feel at smug baby boomers spouting bigotry in Facebook comment sections, or the uneducated, radical dogmas passed off as facts to teenage Tumblr users.

I used to get into social media arguments all the time when I was younger (mostly between the ages of fifteen and seventeen, when I first got access to social media) and thinking about it still makes me cringe;  my own opinions were under-informed and underdeveloped, and so were my means of presenting them in a debate.  Moreover, as you said, it was detrimental to my health and well-being.

Here are my personal rules for avoiding engaging assholes in asinine debate:

1)  Avoid the assholes themselves.  

There’s an art to this.  Whether its distancing yourself from someone when they show warning signs of being a pugnacious bigot, or, in the case of Tumblr specifically, downloading New X-Kit so you can easily block and blacklist inflammatory content.

2)  Remember the assholes don’t matter.  

There are over seven billion people in the world.  There are countless, like-minded people out there with whom you can agree or engage in friendly, mutually educational discussion and debate.  Think about whether or not it’s worth it to waste energy and emotional distress on the off-chance that you might be able to sway a small handful of overly opinionated idiots.

3)  Know how to act when to stand up for yourself.

A random degenerate on the internet, even one with a semi-popular blog, likely won’t hold much sway in the Real World.  As such, engaging them will likely only serve to drain you and consume your energy.  

However, there are times when you definitely should engage the offending party or stand up for yourself.  For example:

When a person in real life is blatantly and repeatedly being disrespectful towards you, a vulnerable party, or a marginalized group.

When a person in a position of power, authority, or influence is using their fame to promote hateful or bigoted attitudes.  It’s always worth speaking up to say you think this is wrong, so that others will be encouraged to vocally agree.

When someone presents you with an obnoxious viewpoint, expecting you to agree.  (Small example of this:  this anon I recently tore into.)

Similarly, know when NOT to tear into someone, but to politely educate them--even if they piss you off.  Young people or undereducated people often have misinformed views, and lack the experience to moderate them.

For example, a while back, a young person reblogged a trans positivity post, cheerfully declaring, “For the he who wants to be a she!”  The statement irritated me, because it implied that trans women are men trying to be women, but I could tell the blogger was wellintentioned.  I politely messaged them to inform them of their mistake.

And, an often overlooked but equally important rule:

4)  Make sure you’re not the asshole.

You will find yourself being the asshole at some point in your life and internet career, if you haven’t already.  I used to be the sort of person who sited “color blindness” as a cure for racism, for Christ’s sake.  None of us are immune to assholic opinions or behavior.

The trick is, be open to the possibility that you’re wrong.  This can be difficult, especially when you feel like you and your opponent are Roman philosophers engaging in a public battle of the wits.

When you realize you’re being insensitive, own up to it, apologize, and resolve to do better.  This will ultimately leave you a better and more mature person than before the debate began.    

5)  Be your own voice.

Instead of engaging thrasonical bloggers, why not create your own posts illustrating your opinions unilaterally?  If they can do it, so can you!

When I got frustrated at the persistent romanticization of alcohol, I made a post detailing why the normalization of alcohol is so harmful.  When I got frustrated with the gleeful denigration of overenthusiastic young fans, I made a post about the problematic nature of cringe culture.  

Don’t engage in someone else’s conversation if you know it will devolve into a bombastic clusterfuck.  Start your own! 

6)  Surround yourself with positivity!

I can’t stress how much this helps.  Surround yourself with people, media, and blogs you love, and systematically weed out the rest.  

Ultimately, the internet is what you make of it, just like life itself.

I hope this helps! 

[winkingwitch2]

◜     ┈     ♡     anonymous    sent   :     can     we     get     some     more     wanted     labels     for     ravenclaws?

sure  !      if   none   of   these   catch   your   eye,   the   hermit,   the   tower,   the   moon,   the   hanged   man,   infamia,   superbia,   desidia,   perfidia,   lotus   eater,   procrustean,   phaeton,   gordian   knot,   trojan   horse,   favonian,   &   thrasonical   would   fit   a   ravenclaw   beautifully  !

[neskwikk]

HELP APPRECIATED

I’m not sure how many of the people that follow me on here aren’t porn bots, but I would really appreciate it if you could vote for my band Thrasonic to have a chance at playing on a big boi stage at Rock City in Nottingham this summer:

www.nusic.org.uk/fsn

Thanks!

[erodedauthenticity]

@rivalrus​ Continued [ X ]

Upon approach did  straying eyes refocus and find themselves fix over the other, thrasonical  demeanor sheathed for the time being as patience’s blessing embodied him and the thoughts littering the young pharaoh’s mind were finally voiced. For someone so swollen with wonder for modern novelties, grim realities were similarly never censored or  diluted  for the sake of informal conversation and there stood yet another example of such candour. Although an answer wasn’t immediate, the tightening in his jaw and a thumb idly massaging into the meat of his other hand betrayed the brewing silence’s integrity. Bloodshed was required to appease the  carnal  appetite of a god and if one was able to shed it, they were a ready candidate – regardless of status or background. Judgement was not to be passed when a commodity as precious as blood was concerned.    

                        ❝ You don’t have to be – ❞

    Words are  chilled  with the unspoken implication that condemnation and contempt would have been rightly deserved despite knowing well of the implicit sentiment behind the comment. Although untruths have polluted his tongue with their permanent taste for quite some time, a  vain attempt at concealing the truth would have tasted too sour to cope with; the pharaoh deserved better than that. With the hypothetical situation constructed in his mind’s eye, thoughts briefly take to the question whether the other man would have earned the privilege of being turned: the  gift  of godhood. Briefly did he wonder if Ahkmenrah would have drawn enough intrigue to give him reason to pause, to appeal to him in that opportune moment and enlighten him to the potential before him – perhaps there was hope in that reality yet if their present circumstance paralleled the proposed one, or perhaps not.

    Hand reaching over to give Ahkmenrah’s shoulder a telling squeeze. lips creased with a twitch of a smile as a breathy hum rolled from the bed of his retired lungs; preference laid strongly with the prospect of the pharaoh only  indulging the hypothetical scenario temporarily. ❝ —– but thanks, guy. Guess I could take some comfort in that fact, not that it would make it any easier knowing you as I do now. That said, it really makes you appreciate it all the more that we met when we did, huh? Don’t think I’d personally prefer it any other way.❞

     Ahkmenrah closely reads into his every response with a warm gaze of unfiltered wonderment. The pharaoh is granted the opportunity to speak with another god. Although Jerry often strays from his kingdom, Ahkmenrah is often overeager to discuss thoughts with him as the favorable occasion is made available to him. Dissimilar to other nights, there is a clear, expressive response generated to macabre predictions. 

     His brows twitch upwards, creasing smoothly as Jerry mulls over the words formerly spoken. There’s no reason to breed concerns over probabilities. He seeks the fault in his approach much too late. With a quiet, worried hum, Ahkmenrah stiffly turns his head, shoulder rolling backwards as Jerry’s hand settles over him. The gesture alone will help turn Jerry into his direction, albeit unknowingly. 

    “I’ve offended you...” he surmises gently. “Your people require sustenance to survive, I’m aware. Gods are not expected to show mercy. It is why I...” His mouth closes with an audible click. “I’m certain there were other options. I did not think of them, at the time. I considered ways of preserving you in this ‘unfavorable’ outcome.”  

     Despite the questions and possible offense that could be taken, Ahkmenrah is rewarded with compassion. The thought inspires a broad, hopeful smile and he watches him, marveling his composure. “Thank you, Jerry.” 

    Ineptly, Ahkmenrah scoots himself closer. “Have you considered probabilities?” 

[dazzlingheights]

thrasonical + traits

[tferyal]

MEZAR TAŞINDAKİ ÖĞRETMEN Tarih MS 120'ydi. Aylardan kasımdı. Marmara Bölgesi çok şiddetli bir depremle sarsıldı. Özellikle Nikomedia (İzmit) büyük felaket yaşamıştı. Okullar, evler, tapınaklar yerle bir olmuştu. Yüzlerce ölü, çok daha fazla yaralı vardı. Felaketin boyutları o kadar büyüktü ki, sağ kalanların yaşamlarını sürdürmesi imkansız gibiydi. Roma İmparatoru Hadrianus bölgenin tekrar ayağa kalkması ve insanların ihtiyaçlarının karşılanması için para göndermese, belki de İzmit'te hayat sona erecekti. Aradan yüzyıllar geçti. Bölgedeki kazılarda bir stel (mezar taşı) bulundu. Üzerinde bir kartal kabartması ve ayakta duran 3 insan figürü vardı. Ortada bir yetişkin, ellerini yanında duran iki çocuğun omuzlarına koymuştu. Bugün Louvre Müzesi’nde sergilenen stelde antik Yunanca şöyle yazıyordu. "Diogenes oğlu Thrason bu taşı, oğulları olan 5 yaşındaki Deksiphanes ile 4 yaşındaki Thrason ve onları eğiten 25 yaşındaki Hermes için diktirdi. Hermes, depremin yıkıntıları arasında bile öğrencilerini bu şekilde kucaklamıştı." Yazıttan anlaşılan şuydu. Nikomedia'yı yerle bir eden deprem anında öğretmen Hermes, iki öğrencisi Deksiphanes ile Thrason'u korumak için onlara sarılmış ve birlikte yıkıntılar altında kalmışlardı. Öğretmen depremden kaçmak yerine öğrencilerinin canını korumayı seçmişti. Bu yüzden cesetleri birbirlerine sarılmış durumda bulunmuştu. Öğrencilerin babası Diogenes oğlu Thrason, ölürken bile çocuklarına sahip çıkmaya çalışan öğretmen Hermes'in anısına bu mezar taşını diktirmişti.   Öğrencileri için gerekirse canını feda eden tüm öğretmenlere saygıyla.💖

Alıntı: Sedat Kaya

[kaulwens]

ballast, prescient, thrasonical

                                          ⏤  B A L L A S T  ⏤

+ what was the greatest moment of pressure in your character’s life, and did they succumb or thrive?

The final Quidditch match of her sixth year. If Gryffindor had won, Georgie would have led the team to a soaring Quidditch cup victory. All of her hard work– the early Saturday mornings traipsing about on the muddy pitch, endless sessions spent strategizing, numerous motivational speeches given before matches and during practices which left her voice hoarse– it would have all been worth it. Finally, she would have proved herself as a leader and accomplished something worth being proud of. If the team she built emerged victorious, there could be no question in anyone’s mind that Georgina Catherine Dursley had talent and use to this world. 

The Gryffindor team was defeated 180-90 that day. 

+ if your character could hatch the greatest plot of all time, what would it be?

She would concoct a potion which eliminates all negative feelings toward her in the mind of the drinker, and then hatch a plot to have the potion consumed by every single person on Earth. A world in which she is at least mildly well-liked by every single person she meets is exactly the type of world Georgie dreams of creating in her deepest fantasies. 

                                        ⏤ P R E S C I E N T ⏤

+ has your character ever told the truth but wasn’t believed?

The first time Georgie exhibited magical powers was on the day of her seventh birthday. She had a crush on a girl in her class named Mara Mackenzie, who naturally was invited to the birthday party. Georgie’s mother threw her a lovely party in their backyard, complete with Georgie’s absolute favorite type of cake and all of her friends giving her all the attention she could ever want. She was absolutely giddy with confidence, and as a result asked Mara if she could speak with her away from the other children. It was then that she confided her feelings, telling Mara that she liked her and asking– in true seven-year-old fashion– if she’d like to be her girlfriend. Rather than saying yes as Georgie was hoping, Mara’s expression transformed into one of disgust as she replied.

“My mummy says there’s a special place in hell for people like you, freak.”

Georgie was so shocked and upset by this, she still cannot remember to this day exactly what happened next. All she knows is that she did not attack Mara Mackenzie. The only thing she remembers is the painful sound of snapping bone and Mara’s anguished cry as she fell to the ground– “the freak attacked me! It’s going to kill me!”

No one believed that Georgie had not hurt Mara, not even her own parents. It wasn’t until the next incident, shortly after getting settled in at a different school, that her father began to recognize what was going on. 

+ have they ever pushed too far where they shouldn’t have? 

The very first year she went off to Hogwarts, Georgie begged her mother and sisters to come see her off at King’s Cross. This ultimately resulted in a screaming match on platform nine and three-quarters between herself and Lydia, the second-eldest Dursley sister after Georgie. Lydia and her other two sisters accused Georgie of thinking she must be better than them, and forcing them to see her off on the train in order to impress upon them that she’s special. This greatly wounded Georgie, who had hoped that the tense relationship between herself and her sisters might be smoothed over as they were about to be apart for several months. From then on, she did not make many attempts to reach out to her sisters or push to spend time with them. 

                                     ⏤ T H R A S O N I C A L ⏤

+ what is your character’s favorite period of history and why does this era appeal to them (do they simply admire it or do they wish to live within the time)? 

Everything about the 1950′s appeals to Georgie. Poodle skirts, vintage Cadillacs, red lipstick, coiffed curls, drinking milkshakes at a diner with your friends before heading to a drive-in film, etc. The appeal, of course, derives entirely from the aesthetic aspects of the time rather than the historical context. While she would gain a great deal of pleasure from dressing up every day as though she were living in the 50′s, Georgie would not actually choose to live during the time if she could. She simply enjoys the concept of carefree living that is often associated with the period, as well as the whole look of it. 

+ what can ignite your character’s temper like nothing else?

Georgie is not the type to anger easily. When she does, her usual reaction is to suppress the anger-- as she does with most negative emotions. The one exception to this, however, comes in her encounters with prejudice. Georgie is muggleborn and gay, resulting in many confrontations with prejudice within both the magical and muggle worlds. It is, without exception, in these situations when Georgie loses all her usual reverence for keeping the high opinions of others. She exudes a wrath which, to those who know her well, is entirely uncharacteristic of who she generally is. She has even earned detentions at Hogwarts for attempting to hex students who espoused bigoted beliefs. A generally self-controlled person, Georgie loses all refrain when faced with ignorance.