Warnings: graphic depictions of violence and death, gore
Summary:Taehyung was willing to go beyond the limits of ethics to spread his own, twisted point of view about the beauty of mankind.However, his brief reign came to an end when another artist starts to take inspiration from his work, beating him at his own game and making him learn in the worst possible way that life does imitates art.
A/N: it’s been 84 years but the update is finally here!! I’ll try to keep the parts a little bit shorter so they can come out more frequently. Sorry for the wait!!
The sky was absolutely melancholic that day. Clouds enveloped the horizon in a monotone waltz of strong winds and heavy rains, dancing on top of tall buildings and oblivious citizens; morphing into a powerful storm as the hours moved along. Icy water poured down on the grey cityscape, ever so faintly attempting to wash away all the putrid sins that whispered amidst the crowded streets; but was not able to cleanse the repugnant grace that decorated the rooftop of a special, secluded building.
Many meters below the overcast skyline, Jung Hoseok pushed his way through the frenzy of stupefied bodies, holding his badge out to any of the spectators that dared to complain about his carelessness. Camera flashes and incomprehensible inquiries echoed all around him, exploding inside his head in the form of the most annoying symphony he had ever experienced; morphing into a headache he knew would not leave him alone so soon.
“Does the police have any clues?” a female voice overlapped the effervescent noise as the agent finally reached the yellow tape, a color that seemed to be mocking him lately. He raised it, and passed below the plastic line. “Your incompetence is allowing for more people to be killed!”
Hoseok clenched his jaw, physically stopping himself from answering something he would regret later. Instead, his steps grew faster as he reached the glass doors of the construction, drops of water running down his face as he mentally cursed every aspect of his current situation. For a miserable second, he was able to see the phantasmagorical reflection of his exhausted face on the translucent surface, turning him into merely another ghost among the city lines, an opaque being with no definite destination ― perhaps, that was what he truly was.
He passed by the empty wooden tables, disregarding the hysteria of soaked, blurry papers scattered around the floor; caused by the window that was left open for the entire night. ‘No signs of breaking in’ still resonated inside his turbulent thoughts, bringing along all the horrible questions he was far too confused to answer. Instead, the man found his way to the cement steps of the building, quickly moving up to the last floor of the static place.
The frigid wind thundered around him as he opened the heavy door to the rooftop, his figure being embraced once again by the monochromatic sky. A mixture of fury and disbelief bloomed inside his gaze as he moved towards the present silhouettes, all of them with their eyes locked on yet another one of the anonymous killer’s expositions.
“Jungkook,” Hoseok called, moving next to the young chief. Jeon glanced at him in pure emptiness, far too flabbergasted to even acknowledge his harsh tone. “What the fuck happened in your damn station?”
One of my favorite details in Alice Through the Looking
Glass is Thackery’s character design, as I think the differences between
past and present-day Thackery speaks volumes on what his character has gone
through in the years following Horevendush Day. Younger Thackery has well-kept
fur, wears significantly brighter colours, and doesn’t appear to have
off-kilter front teeth (aside from a slight crookedness). Meanwhile,
present-day Thackery’s fur is matted and untidy, his attire has become bleaker
and less remarkable, and his incisors are now split. And here’s (my theory as to)
why. (read more after the cut).
Summary: The team rescues one of Hydra’s victims, and
their similar pasts pique Bucky’s interest.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Warnings: hospital stuff, a bit of angst, also a
microscopic bit of fluff
A/N: I feel like this part is a little bit of a mess. Although,
like the characters, I’m also trying to figure everything out. So I guess it
works? Heh. Sorry for it being so long. But I hope you enjoy the little plot twist!
I can still hear the fight going on in the streets, even
over the thundering of my own heart. As I sit on the ground in a dark alleyway,
hugging my knees to my trembling body, I flinch at the screams of the
civilians. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to steady my breathing. If I can’t
get myself together and gather my strength, I won’t be able to make it out of
THIS IS THE FINAL PART of my three-parted series ‘Consigliere’, that is a
tribute to the wonderful Undertale AU 'Kitten and The Don’ from @nyublackneko
and @junkpilestuff . If you want to begin with the first part just click HERE or if you have missed the
second you can click HERE.
Basically, this AU revolves around a 30-year old Frisk, who is mockingly
called 'Kitten’ by their boss Don G. The story you are about to read focuses on
one of Frisk’s missions, which is not what it seems to be. Just like their
supposed enemy, the 'Golden Flower Gang’, who were actually trying to help and
are now about to be interrogated. On the other hand, Frisk is getting more and
more involved in the Dreemurr family business, while they try to find out more
about their own kidnapping and their past.
Where will all this lead them?
After all, they say, curiosity kills the cat.
Thank you so much, to everyone out there, because you guys are so kind,
supportive and patient! ;-;
I dedicate this story, which consumed my soul while I wrote it, to the sweetheart
@candiedconstellations, who helped me so much with this story, continue to inspire me and simply is a wonderful friend!
so i'm the maid of hope who did your collab a couple days ago, and i wanted to tell you about my quest if you don't mind? so my land is song and glass, and it's filled with enormous glass constructs that are meant to resonate with a song that fills the whole planet, except they were all broken by the denizen, abraxas. in order to fix this, abraxas must be defeated or reasoned with. both methods grants the power needed to will the song back into existence, either through power or realization. :D
one last batch until i hang this up for a little while ✌️
Characters: Dean Winchester, Castiel, Sam Winchester (mentioned)
Warnings: fear of rejection, nicking stuff (but returning it - blame Cas that little pickpocket) - Nothing but fluff and Destiel feels.
A/N: This fic is written for @tiny-sam-is-my-jam’s SPN Christmas Challenge. Congrates on the 100 followers sweetie. I chose to write for Destiel and my prompt was Morning.
Thanks to my lil sis @mysupernaturalfics who I annoyed to no end with these two fluffy dorks and who also betaed it for me.
Mornings were Castiel’s favourite thing. They always had been. He enjoyed the peace and quiet of the early hours. He couldn’t tell you how many times he had sat on a rock, watching the sun rise from it’s deep. How many times he had smiled quietly as he watched night turn into day, breathing in the fresh air filled with hope and promise.
That had been before Castiel had met him though. That had been before he had led an army through the gates of hell, watching his brothers fall by the hands of the demons one by one. It had been before Castiel had laid eyes on his soul. It was broken and beaten, yet it still shun brighter than any human soul Castiel had ever laid eyes on before. It had been before Castiel had pulled that very soul out of hell, barely escaping with his life intact.
It had been before Castiel had pulled Dean Winchester’s rotting body from the ground, spending hours mending every last part of him. Running his hand over his skin, smoothing every last scar. Admiring the vessel that was as beautiful as the soul Castiel had pulled from the burning fires of hell.
Summary: Jimin and Yoongi save all of their love for the evening of a Thursday, the waking moments of a Friday. Inspired by this gorgeous artwork by @artofennun – a gift for always creating such beautiful pieces that never fail to blow me away.
Count: 1,756 words.
The air tastes, sounds akin white noise. A placid chill encourages bodies to lay close, silent, though near. Little light illuminates the bedroom, a digital screen the only source, and although dim, it is enough.
Yoongi cards his fingers through strands of honey, they melt in his palms, and Jimin sighs. Upon a calm ocean, they sail, the surface as clear as glass, a vessel constructed of mattress and bedsheets, held together by their bodies entwined, Yoongi laying on his side to view the laptop he intently reads from whilst Jimin coasts the edge of sleep, an arm laced between his lover’s thighs so he can rest his head upon the hip. A pillow made of flesh and bone, of a being that breathes for their mutual limerence, the perfect position that allows comfort, safety – where Yoongi can simply race his fingertips through golden hair, and Jimin can indulge, be coaxed to the summit of sleep by a touch that adores him like no other.
therapists and psychiatrists love listening and being empathetic to me when i’m ranting about how the closet is actually a glass coffin constructed so that we can all be surveilled and surveil each other, hurt each other. it feels good to be able to speak about my feelings abou it honestly
Our civilization is literally built on sand. People have used it for construction since at least the time of the ancient Egyptians. In the 15th century, an Italian artisan figured out how to turn sand into transparent glass, which made possible the microscopes, telescopes, and other technologies that helped drive the Renaissance’s scientific revolution (also, affordable windows). Sand of various kinds is an essential ingredient in detergents, cosmetics, toothpaste, solar panels, silicon chips, and especially buildings; every concrete structure is basically tons of sand glued together with cement.
Sand—small, loose grains of rock and other hard stuff—can be made by glaciers grinding up stones, by oceans degrading seashells, even by volcanic lava chilling and shattering upon contact with air. But nearly 70 percent of all sand grains on Earth are quartz, formed by weathering. Time and the elements eat away at rock, above and below the ground, grinding off grains. Rivers carry countless tons of those grains far and wide, accumulating them in their beds, on their banks, and at the places where they meet the sea.
Apart from water and air, humble sand is the natural resource most consumed by human beings. People use more than 40 billion tons of sand and gravel every year. There’s so much demand that riverbeds and beaches around the world are being stripped bare. (Desert sand generally doesn’t work for construction; shaped by wind rather than water, desert grains are too round to bind together well.) And the amount of sand being mined is increasing exponentially.
Though the supply might seem endless, sand is a finite resource like any other. The worldwide construction boom of recent years—all those mushrooming megacities, from Lagos to Beijing—is devouring unprecedented quantities; extracting it is a $70 billion industry.
Prompt: star trek imagine where in the end you kinda date Jim kirk and pkease include when they land on that island and the main plot of STAR TREK BEYOND please make this a really long fanfic!
Word Count: 1462 Warnings: Author’s Note: So I’ve only seen Beyond once and it was right after it came out, so a few details might be wrong…