pitch robe

2

Guess who made her first very first Shrinky Dink?
<hikes thumbs at self, proceeds to accidentally poke self in eye>

I have to admit, I had far too much fun with this and had only minor issues.
I used coloring pencils, but they gave it a very scratchy, grainy feel-
which, doesn’t bother me none, but in the future I may attempt
other media.

Look at that tiny grump butt, I can’t get over how cute he is!
~ ♡

PLEASE do not repost/claim credit or steal this image. If reblogging, do not remove my username and sight source. Thank you so very much!~<3


Quicksand/Blacksand week - Day 3 - Lovely Lingerie

I keep being a day behind, good lord! inspired from this time Steph and Mary talked about Pitch attire from the dark ages, because seriusly, how one goes from priest to the Marian Trench of the V-necks

Commentator

Members: J-Hope Centric, Suga, Jin
Word Count: 2,457
Year: 2008
Note: *J-Hope’s joke explanation - A Wronski Feint is a move Quidditch players use. Neville Longbottom fainted when he heard a mandrake scream. Feint. Faint. Get it? I’ve been listening to Jin’s dad jokes too much I recon. 

More on McGonagall’s interactions with Yoongi to come? Who do you guys wanna see more of? Also which ships do you guys love the most?

Originally posted by julia2118

Pleeeeeease Jin!” Hoseok practically begged to his older friend as they sat across from each other at the Hufflepuff table in the Great Hall. Jin continued to read the Daily Prophet, munching down on his fifth piece of toast as he ignored his younger friend.

“Why can’t you just ask her for me?” He continued.

“Why can’t you just ask her yourself?” Jin asked, placing his newspaper down from directly in front of his face to give Hoseok a good look at his questioning eyes.

“Because she’s older than me and so are you. And she’s a Slytherin, I don’t know any Slytherin’s it would…just be…weird.” Hoseok attempted to explain.

Jin sighed, “Well firstly that’s a lie because you know Yoongi and he’s a Slytherin. Ask him.”

“I already did and he launched a screaming yo-yo at my head!… I can still hear their shrieks now.” Hoseok replied dramatically, letting his head fall into his hands. “Come on! Auditions are being held tomorrow I don’t have much time.”

Keep reading

Titled: Change.

I’ve had this image in my head for a while now, wanting to draw Pitch wearing the robes that is featured in Rufftoons comics, along with him being greeted by a butterfly, which in dreams is a representation of change.
Enjoy~


PLEASE do not repost/claim credit or steal this image. If reblogging, do not remove my username and sight source. Thank you so very much!~<3


How the Ghost of You Clings ||closed||

@haletheking

If Stiles knew what this night would bring for him, h would’ve gone through hell and back to avoid it. But, as it was, he was not psychic and did not have Lydia’s incredible powers for knowing when something tragic was going to happen. He really should’ve listened to her when she told him this afternoon she had had a bad feeling about today. 

But, he didn’t. The pack was involved in a new run-in with a supernatural beast that had rolled into town. Deaton suspected it had been drawn here by the Nemeton, as so many were now that it was a giant beacon of ‘Come attack this town’. They didn’t even know what this thing was, only that it seemed to be able to kill anything it liked, plants, animals, people; whenever it wanted. And if that wasn’t terrifying enough, the quick few glimpses they had gotten of it was just a pitch black robe half hiding a pale, shriveled, featureless face.

However, the day before, Stiles had discovered something that led to where they were tonight, tracking the beast through the darkened woods. The day before, when they were investigating the latest killing at a local library, Stiles had caught sight of an old compass one of the ladies kept on her desk, some kind of old memento. But that wasn’t what drew his eye. Even though the lady insisted the compass was broken, Stiles and the others saw for themselves the red arrow spinning in rapid circles faster than their eye could follow, despite the device resting stable on the desk.

Some digging and investigation by Stiles led him to believe that when the creature was near, it made compass signals go crazy, which allowed them to somewhat track the beast, rather than chase after it only after it killed something. So here they were, him, Scott, Derek, and Lydia wandering aimless through the forest. Stiles had a flashlight permanently aimed at the compass in his hand as he followed along with them. He must’ve bumped into Derek’s back about ten times, as his eyes hardly ever left the frustratingly still arrow.

“Guys, this isn’t working,” He moaned after about two hours of nothing. “Can’t you guys use your werewolf noses to pick up…I dunno, the scent of death and evil or something?”

Robb x Myrcella | Hogwarts AU

Title: I Could Kiss the Stars (For Shining Tonight)
Rating: T
Genre: Fantasy, AU
Fandom: RobbCella
Author’s Note: Written with the intention of inspiring Dani to co-author a RobbCella Hogwarts AU with me. xD

“For Merlin’s sake! I am going to throw this fucking bludger at Professor Vornado again if he keeps me off that damn Quitdditch pitch one more time!” It had been pouring for the last three weeks and the halls were nearly a swamp by the end of the last day of week 3. Peeves was not making it easy to get through the halls, flooding the boy’s bathroom so that the corridors were like wading through the black lake, so it wasn’t a stretch that quidditch pitch was even worse for ware. Yet Jon could sympathize with his brother’s feelings. Any good quidditch captain never let a little rain get in the way of practice. But then he saw a very angry looking Myrcella Baratheon gracefully stomp her feet towards their group. Her nose was wrinkled in that cute way like Robb had once described to him when she was mad and Jon had to admit, it did make her look super cute but now was not the time to admire his brother’s crush but to warn him of his impending doom. Jon turned to tapped his captain on the shoulder. “Robb.” “We haven’t practiced in 2 weeks and the Slytherin game is in 4 days! How the hell are we going to win, if we don’t practice?!” He tapped harder, but Robb was so focused on his rant, he didn’t see a certain Hufflepuff girl walking straight towards them. “Robb.” Jon hissed.

Keep reading

spaceguylewis  asked:

34, Reaper76 please? :>

meeting at a masquerade ball au

B) i like thinking about reaper in a plague doctor carnevale outfit. et tu?

The Piazza is filled corner to corner with a sea of people, all dressed in resplendent, elegant costumes. Everywhere Jack looks, it’s embroidered silk here, gold embroidery there, people dressed in layer upon colorful layer of every kind of fabric he can think of, their faces all hidden behind shimmering masks highlighted in gold and silver and enamel. Even in the darkness, with torchlight and high strands of bulbs crossing the space in line with banners in every color, they glimmer and come into his limited vision as sharp bursts of color.

It’s the best sort of place to blend in, he thinks, even if he feels a little under dressed. He’s used to wearing a mask, even if he had to tweak this one to fit the theme. Rather than his usual uniform as Soldier: 76, he’s dressed in something that Ana managed to dig up from some expensive tailor in Castello. It’s an outfit of tarnished silver and deep blue, like some kind of warped Roman legion soldier in a dark blue and silver coat of some 18th century design, with a dark silver bauta mask hiding his face. One fortunate tweak to the outfit was the lenses of the mask replaced with dark red ones of the same make of his visor, allowing him to find and mark targets even in the huge throng of people.

Normally, he wouldn’t come to a place like this, but the recent discovery of a Talon weapons cache in Poveglia and an informant in San Marco has led him here like a bloodhound on a trail. They won’t stick out as much as Los Muertos had, as there’s no specific marks or outfits to be found, but Jack is good at digging up things known for being hard to find.

The hardest part isn’t blending in physically, but blending in as a participant. Jack hangs near the edges of the Piazza, watching the dizzying display of dancers in their whirlwind of sound and color that make him almost feel nauseous to watch. No one is causing the visor system to activate just yet. No behavior is marked as unusual for an event known for being unusual. 

Then, he feels a hand on his arm.

Jack turns in time for his visor to light up bright red in an alert. The mask that faces him isn’t strange for Carnevale, but to him, it’s the brightest of red flags. He’s faced with an enameled plague doctor mask, the lenses pitch black, all set in a black hood topped with a wide-brimmed hat. The outfit his adversary wears isn’t as wild as some others that he’s seen, just a pitch black robe with the hems embroidered in dark red and gold. But it’s enough to make Jack want to reach for the small pistol concealed in his coat.

There’s a deep, raspy laugh that echoes through the doctor mask, and Jack feels his heart stutter in his chest.

“Pardon me, signore,” a low voice rasps. “You don’t look particularly preoccupied.”

He wants to say Gabriel’s name, or Reaper, or something, but Jack finds himself staying silent. He stares back at the black eyes of the mask, maybe resolutely, maybe nervously. He’s not entirely sure how he feels.

The hand on his arm moves down and extends a little so that it’s too close to his hip for comfort. But again, Jack doesn’t move or speak. Maybe it’s the anonymity that Carnevale provides, but something in him wants to almost pretend that he doesn’t know who is on the other side of that mask. 

“You know, it’s rude to turn down an offer to dance without a good reason,” the man says. The long beak of the mask gets closer to the wide edge of Jack’s mask, and the voice seems more resonant the closer it gets. “So, give me a good reason.”

The visor is still bright with warnings. Enemy detected. Enemy detected. Enemy de–

Jack takes the plague doctor’s other hand and smiles under his own mask. “I don’t have one,” he says. “None at all.”

And he thinks, just maybe, Gabe is smiling under his mask as well.

me: *walks through the world in a pitch black robe followed by crows spreading misery, disease, famine, and death throughout the world but also being beautiful while doing it*

Schooldays. ( what was good about them? )

We had inkwells in our desks at school,
we had Martial Law and Iron Rule,
Christian Brothers in sweeping gowns,
who told us all, we would be clowns.

Long sticks hid beneath pitch, black robes,
the stench of mothballs on their clothes,
plain cloth  teachers, tall and high,
leather straps, flying through the sky.

We had hands that throbbed on flapping wrists,
we held back our tears behind our fists,
we wore scuffed shoes that let the water in,
on our dirty faces, a cheeky grin.

A teacher’s voice, so sweet and low,
a nose like Barry Manilow;
how he looks so prim upon the street,
as he passes students he did beat.

Playing truant on the railway line,
no inkling of the passing time,
hiding in ditches, overgrown,
to see the others going home.

 My copybook, a mess of stains,
splattered by the pouring rains;
blotches of ink, both blue and black,
in the ragged bag upon my back.

We had scabby knees and dirty nails,
we threw stones along the rusty rails,
the Royal Canal was our home from home,
when playing there, we were n’er alone.

Hand in hand, we took it all,
standing straight and standing tall,
our teachers doing, as they please,
could never bring us to our knees.

Ambrose Harte
Scattered Thoughts