purist

look, if you’re looking for a perfect (or near-perfect) adaptation of “pride and prejudice,” definitely go for the 1995 miniseries. it’s a wonderful miniseries with colin firth, and book purists love it for a reason. but, as a movie, as an experience, as a thing that generally turns me into a squeeing, mushy pile of goo that believes in true love… the 2005 movie OWNS. MY. ASS.

DCEU Superman: *Offers to leave earth to save mankind*

DCEU Superman: *Has been saving people since childhood despite being constantly afraid of being discovered as an alien*

DCEU Superman: *Stands up for women who are being harassed*

DCEU Superman: *Chooses his adopted home planet over his birth planet*

DCEU Superman: *Uses his position as a journalist and Superman to stand up for people he sees as being mistreated*

DCEU Superman: *Worries constantly that he’s doing more harm than good to the world*

DCEU Superman: *Tries to reason with Bruce and deliberately avoids hurting him too badly in Their fight*

DCEU Superman: *Has very good reasons to hate the world but never shows anger towards it and still tries to help it at every opportunity*

DCEU Superman: *Saves Lex Luthor from Doomsday despite hating him*

DCEU Superman: *Dies to save the world*

Superman purists: “But…he doesn’t smile so therefore he can’t be the REAL Superman, not like the one from my childhood. Not My Superman”

“I know who you are,” Yuuri whispers, huddled into himself as the pirate gazes towards the horizon, hand held over his eyes to look for the King and his hunting party. “With your talents, you can be no other.”

“Is that so, Highness?” The pirate returns his gaze to Yuuri. “And who is it that you think I am?”

Yuuri straightens up, forces his chin up into a challenge. “You are the Dread Pirate Nikiforov, are you not? Your manner and cruelty seem to imply it, sir. You have the countenance of one whose lips have never uttered a kindness.”

Nikiforov bows to him. “I admit it proudly, your Highness. I am the Dread Pirate Nikiforov, at your service.” There is a smirk on his face–it has the same familiar but unplaceable air of all his mannerisms. 

Yuuri turns his head away, feeling tears gather at his eyes. At long last, he faces the man responsible for taking his dear Viktor’s life. At long last, he has the chance to avenge his love–and all he is able to do is sit here, and weep. His voice little more than a raw whisper when he says, “That being the case, sir, I wish your inevitable death to be slow and painful.”

Nikiforov comes to him, crouching before his drawn up knees and lifting his face up with finger hooked under his chin. His eyes dart over Yuuri’s face until he says, “Why such cruel words from such pretty lips?”

Yuuri feels two tears fall from his eyes and makes no attempt to clear them. If he is to die here, at this instant or another one soon, at the hands of the same man who stole his Viktor from him–the let it be with tears for his love on his cheeks. He takes in a shaky breath and breaths, “You killed my Viktor. The only man I ever loved, and ever will.”

The Dread Pirate Nikiforov’s eyes would look almost soft, were he anyone else. His thumb traces across Yuuri’s bottom lip. “No love for your kingly fiance, then? For the man who would give you fortune and luxury?”

“I need no fortune,” Yuuri snaps, slapping the pirate’s hand away. “And the luxuries of royalty only stand to mock what I’ve lost!” Once again, Yuuri’s eyes go to the distance as Nikiforov rises and paces somewhere behind him, likely agitated. “Viktor and I would never have had a rich life. He was a poor farm boy, and I have nothing to my name but the Inn I will inherit from my parents on their death. But my Vitya–he was kind, and beautiful, and we would have been happy. I would have slept every night under nothing but the stars, if it were in his arms I laid.”

Nikiforov is silent for a long moment. Yuuri does not turn to look at him, only listens to the hissing of the grass in the wind and the slow and quiet thump of the pirate’s boots on the ground. At last, when he speaks, it is it to say, “I have killed many men, but I believe I remember him–your Vitya.”

“You do not have the right to speak his name,” Yuuri hisses, glaring over his shoulder with tear-stained cheeks and wild hair. 

“He died well, you may be pleased to hear.” Nikiforov turns his face to the steep and grassy incline not ten feet from their toes. Beyond it, the forest looms. Nikiforov, Yuuri is sure, intends to take him into those woods and kill him. Anger blooms in his body like a sickness. “Most people beg–scream, cry, shit themselves. He only looked at me and said…Please. I must live. I have promised my love I will return–and promises I do not break. Then he spoke of the beautiful boy with whom he was in love–you, I assume. He told me you were timid, and terribly fragile. That news of his death would surely destroy you. I see none of that in you as you stand before me.” Nikiforov tilts his head over his shoulder, so Yuuri can see smirking blue eyes and an almost-genuine smile. “He underestimated you, I think.”

Yuuri rises to his feet, fists clenched at his sides. “How dare you tell me his dying tale, sir. How shameful, that he asked you for mercy and you gave him none. There is no place in God’s kingdom for you. And I? I was destroyed that day. You killed me as surely as you killed him. The person you see before you now is what remains when a man has nothing remaining to lose.” He yanks Nikiforov’s shoulder to spin him, cranes his neck up to compensate for the inches between them at this proximity. “If I’m to die today, at least do me the courtesy of revealing your face to me. Cease this cowardliness, hiding behind a mask as you steal lives. A person deserves to know his murderer.”

He anticipates refusal, perhaps even swift death, but what comes is a smile. Nikiforov reaches behind his head to untie the mask and, as it and the bandanna covering his hair fall away, he murmurs, “As you wish.”

As moonlight hair and high cheekbones are revealed, Yuuri can only gasp, “Viktor?” as his knees give out from below him.

6

The complete Icelandic staves / Ásatrú symbol series.
(Artwork 2015)

Reupload of one of my most popular posts.

Each artwork is representing an element. They are presented here in the following order : fire, earth, metal, water, wood and air. The symbols are accompanied by stanzas of the Hávamál or Völuspá, written in runes.

Disclaimer for purists : admittedly for aesthetic effect only, as these runes are Elder Futhark and thus predates the viking era by a few centuries. (Let’s not even go into the subject of Icelandic staves which are even a lot younger than that). The transcription is also a wild approximation, again accuracy wasn’t a concern during the creative process.

The stanzas :

1) Fire : Helm of Terror

Cattle die and kinsmen die,
thyself too soon must die,
but one thing never, I ween, will die
fair fame of one who has earned.

2) Earth : Vegvísir

Happy is he who hath in himself
praise and wisdom in life;
for oft doth a man ill counsel get
when ‘tis born in another’s breast

3) Metal : Hólastafur

Hard is it in the world,
great whoredom,
an axe age, a sword age,
shields shall be cloven,
a wind age, a wolf age,
ere the world sinks.

4) Water : Veiðistafur

He welcomes the night who has enough provisions
Short are the sails of a ship,
Dangerous the dark in autumn,
The wind may veer within five days,
And many times in a month.

5) Wood : Varnarstafur Valdemars

An ash I know, Yggdrasil its name,
With water white is the great tree wet;
Thence come the dews that fall in the dales,
Green by Urth’s well does it ever grow.

6) Air : Valknut

Thought and Memory each morning fly
Over the vast earth:
Thought, I fear, may fail to return,
But I fear more for Memory.

anonymous asked:

Au where petunia is a witch and lily is a muggle?

When the letter arrives, Lily is almost as excited as Petunia. She writes Albus Dumbledore to ask if she can go to, and if she cries a little when the answer comes back no she doesn’t tell anyone. Lily waves from the train platform, writes diligently, and listens with excitement whenever her big sister deigns to share stories of magic.

Petunia gets Sorted Slytherin, where she falls into a mutually-venemous friendship with Severus Snape, who she had considered dirty and poor when he was skulking around Lily in their little neighborhood, lighting leaves on fire like a baby arsonist, but who now seems like the best ally in a pool of ugly little fish.

The blood-purists are their normal asshole selves, which Petunia responds to with busybody eavesdropping, cruel gossip, and manipulative emotional bullying. Severus calls her mudblood in their fifth year (it’s not the first time) and joins the Death Eaters. Tuney calls him a greasy git of a wanker and they still have lunch away from prying eyes now and then.

When the war comes, Petunia does not fight in it. She marries a Hufflepuff boy named Vincent Dunsley who spends their entire first date telling her about his junior position in the Ministry and his planned thirty-six bureaucratic steps to the top of the food chain. Vincent has no problem with Muggleborns, or at least not ones who behave as properly as Petunia.

Lily does fight. She’s been reading the Daily Prophet for years as she sits through history class dreaming of brooms and punching bullies on the playground. At seventeen, she writes Albus Dumbledore again. When he still writes back no, she packs a bag and shows up on the Order’s doorstep.

Alice Longbottom gives her a place to stay, some spare robes, and teaches her how to fly– Lily hopes, wrapped in a warm blanket while they sip cocoa and discuss action plans, that if she’d gone to Hogwarts she’d have been good enough to get Sorted Hufflepuff. Frank beams at his wife in the dim yellow light.

Of the Marauders, Lily meets Sirius first– shaggy hair and strong bones, he’s a tall glass of water and he’s anxiously watching a skinny, scarred boy sleep on the sofa. They’re an hour off a mission and Remus crashed as soon as they got back to headquarters. The first thing Sirius Black, troublemaker and risktaker, says to her is “Shh! You walk like an elephant.”

She’d snap back, but Remus does look that worn down, curled on the cushions.

Peter and James are in the kitchen, shoveling sandwiches down their gullets that are the size of their heads. James staggers to his feet when she comes in. “Hi. Uh, new recruit?”

“Something like that.”

James shoves his hair out of his eyes with one hand and thrusts the other one out in her direction. “James Potter,” he says. “Beauxbatons? I don’t think I ever saw you at Hogwarts.”

She grins. “Lily Evans,” she says. “Cokeworth. And I’d shake your hand, but you’ve got mustard on it.”

Lily defies the Dark Lord and his forces three times, with James’s wand at her back, with Remus’s and Sirius’s and Peter’s. They tell her about Hogwarts and its secrets, and she brings them Muggle candy bars and the boxes of X-Men comic books from under her bed. No one gets chocolate smudges on her pages, under threat of James’s disappointed-in-you face, which he’s been practicing.

Severus Snape hears about a Muggle Evans on the warfront. “Petunia’s not a Muggle,” he snaps when Dolohov mocks him for it, but Crabbe cradles his broken arm and keeps talking– about green eyes, red hair like a war banner– and Severus’s stomach sinks low in his gut, cold and aching.

Severus Snape overhears a prophecy and he tells it to his Lord. Lily Evans Potter is the mother of a halfblood boy with a mess of dark hair. Lily is in Augusta Longbottom’s living room, playing peekaboo with Harry and Neville, because Alice and Frank are already in St. Mungo’s, because she does not know that she is soon to be not a soldier but a fugitive. Her child has no scars, yet.

On Halloween night 1981, Tom Riddle goes to the Godric’s Hollow home that Peter Pettigrew betrayed. He kills James in the front room, wand in hand. He kills Lily in the nursery, after giving her a chance to step aside. He tries to kill Harry, but he fails.

Harry goes to his closest living relatives– his aunt Petunia, uncle Vincent, and cousin Dudley. He sleeps in a little room just off the kitchen, which he thinks used to be a broom closet. They hate the attention he brings when he’s dragged behind his aunt at the grocery store, so they leave Harry home when they go to Diagon Alley, Ministry potlucks, or the evening shows that Dudley fusses through, fists full of pumpkin pasties.

Harry knows how to wash dishes by hand, how to cook bacon without burning it (most mornings), and how to capture the spiders in the broom closet and escort them carefully outside. For his birthday Dudley gets a toy broom. For his, Harry gets an Albus Dumbledore Chocolate Frog card because Dudley already has fifteen and didn’t want that one. Petunia likes to peer over the hedge into the yard of Mrs. Figg, the squib who lives next door, and snigger about how she has to do her laundry without magic.

When Harry is ten years old, his Hogwarts letter comes in the mail and the Dunsleys are surprised. “I wasn’t sure,” Petunia sniffs. “I mean, with my sister’s blood in you and everything, anything could have happened.”

ifollowriversandhuskies  asked:

Lemme elaborate. I know who Goku is. I'm just confused about his 'butchered character.' I always thought he was consistent.

Ok, here goes..

DBZ Goku vs DBS Goku

You might want to watch the series or read the manga to decide for yourself… But, the best way I can describe it? The original Goku grows up, still has some silly manchild fun and naive simplicity, but also had an air of maturity, seriousness and even a detached nuance that was at times rather difficult to place–introspective and quiet, even. Particularly in the Japanese version. He also had a more layered relationship with Chichi and was more “knowed” and affectionate than his hardcore childish ignorant DBS counterpart. Goku made mistakes sometimes too–flawed, a bit oblivious and even a bit of a trickster–but despite his moments of selfishness and honest desire to fight above all else, he was also a man who was led by his morality. 

The current Goku in DBS? Is a slapstick parody of his silly, naive, and socially crude traits, which are played up to the point that he’s a senseless, forgetful dumbass, way too rude/inconsiderate and on a consistent basis to really be “him”, because he’s not rounded out anymore–and he’s lost all of his maturity and nuance. Even by the end of DB, he was more mature than he is in DBS. By the end of DBZ, Goku was a fully fleshed out, albiet “simple” soul with a surprising depth of character. The anime goes further in all these traits than the manga does, tho the main themes of his personaliy remain. In DBS, he’s just an unlikeable piece of shit and I wouldn’t cry if he got sucked into a jet turbine and died for good

Look, I know the story is Pure.  It’s Disney.  Of course it’s pure.  So I apologize, because while I know this is pure and innocent G rated fare that I can take a 5 year old to see, when I see clips like this

Originally posted by pablolarrain

It makes me think of movies like this

Originally posted by appetite-for-distraction

Combined with movies like this

Originally posted by areyoumisbehaving

And because I’m a grown ass woman I think

Originally posted by sensualquotes

4

Hagoromo, you nailed it

that Filler….. i take it like this :v

SP stahp , i thought im going to see the epic battle but …

also Indra Mangekyo why isnt like in the manga, ah ok stop ranting, bye, also sorry for my english -_-