this is not the proper outcome


Temple  of Athena Nike

Athens’ Acropolis, Greece

420 BCE

Stylobate: 8.27 m x 5.64 m; height: ca. 4 m.

The Temple of Athena Nike was named after the Greek goddess, Athena Nike. The temple is the earliest fully Ionic temple on the Acropolis. It was a prominent position on a steep bastion at the south west corner of the Acropolis to the right of the entrance, the Propylaea. In contrast to the Acropolis proper, a walled sanctuary entered through the Propylaea, the Victory Sanctuary was open, entered from the Propylaea’s southwest wing and from a narrow stair on the north. The sheer walls of its bastion were protected on the north, west, and south by the Nike Parapet, named for its frieze of Nikai celebrating victory and sacrificing to their patroness, Athena Nike.

Nike means victory in Greek, and Athena was worshipped in this form, as goddess of victory in war and wisdom. The citizens worshipped the goddess in hope of a successful outcome in the long Peloponnesian War fought on land and sea against the Spartans and their allies.

His mind twisted by spite and bent on revenge, the Usurper came to bring darkness down upon our world.

00Q: “Here, hold this for me.”

Another doodle prompt from me for @ao3-brihna and @castillon02

The car is red because I was inspired by some pictures of Aston Martin Vanquish Zagato I saw a couple days ago.

Superfamily Thing

Dad and pops were fighting again.

They had been for at least a week now. Peter was used to the occasional blowup for a night, maybe two, before they got all stupidly sappy with one another again.
This was new. Scary.

They avoided each other in the day and screamed at each other in the night when they thought he was asleep. Pops had been sleeping in the spare room for at least six of the seven nights it had been going on for. Dinner time had become a nightmare; Uncle Clint having to swap seats so he was sat in between them and prevent another fight from springing up while they ate.

He didn’t want them to split up. Divorced parents were a pain in the ass, according to the girl who sat next to him in math class. She was always talking about what a hassle it was, moving all her stuff from one house to another every weekend.

And it meant one of them would have to leave. Move out. Get a new life and a new partner and maybe even a new kid-

But Peter really didn’t want to think about that.

Today was the fifth day of Peter coming home to see only one of his parents in the kitchen, where there should usually be two. They tended to hang around, waiting for him in order to ambush him and ask questions about his day. Their latest fad was ‘so how was Wade today?’ or something along those lines, in that stupid sing-song voice that adults always did when they were being dicks.

It had been irritating- but Peter wouldn’t have minded now. If it meant they’d been doing it together, sending stupid smirky grins toward one another or just holding hands at the table rather than looking cold and tired- he wouldn’t have minded at all.

Today it was dad who greeted him. He was sat with a coffee in hand and tablet in the other, idly tapping at the keys and trying to keep his eyes open. Peter knew he hadn’t been sleeping well- it wasn’t exactly hard to tell. And although they never spoke to him about what they did with the avengers, Peter could guess that that had been the trigger for all the stupidity lately. 

He didn’t have to be the genius he was in order to figure that out. Pops hadn’t come back from the mission two Fridays ago; they’d hurried him off to hospital instead. And then three days later, once he’d been given the all-clear, dad had brought him home, where they’d proceeded to have  a huge argument. Right in front of Peter. 

Honestly, he’d just wanted to be able to sit with pops and make sure he was okay- let him stroke his hair and quiet his worries and say how tough he was, that he wouldn’t go down that easy. But instead he’d had to be hurried away by Uncle bruce, who was rolling his eyes and apologizing on behalf of them, saying that he’d be able to talk to his pops soon, but it wasn’t a good time right now.

Peter had scowled, told Uncle Bruce moodily ‘I’m thirteen, not an idiot- I know that’, and then slammed up to his room to wait it out. And, of course, Pops had hobbled up eventually; sitting on the bed with him and assuring him he was okay, he was tough as nails, and he would always, always come home to Peter.

Except he’d been alone. and usually, no matter how mad they were at each other, Pops and Dad had always talked to Peter about this together.

That had been the first warning. From then on, it had seemed things just got progressively worse.

“Hey squirt- how was school?” Dad asked, when Peter dropped his bag and began making his way into the kitchen in order to make himself a bowl of cereal (he was a growing boy, okay, shut up, cereal in the afternoon was perfectly fine, his Uncle Clint did it all the time).

he shrugged. “Eh- it was okay. Boring, as usual; they gave us a test, I aced it, again, as usual,” Peter explained, carefully avoiding the fact that they’d been learning about The Battle of New York in lesson that day. He knew it was a touchy subject for his dad, and he didn’t want to risk upsetting him.

Dad raised an eyebrow, taking a sip from his coffee and watching Peter with a look on his face. Peter just sighed. He knew what was coming.

“So how was Waaade?

He sighed. “Ugh, Wade was fine, he smiled at me while i passed on the corridors today and that was literally all that happened. I honestly don’t know why you’re making such a big deal out of this, he called me cute once-”

“Once is enough,” his dad shrugged bemusedly, poking Peter in the side as he walked around the table to sit next to him and get to work on his snack. 

“That is not a snack, Peter,” dad said, because unfortunately he was good at reading Peter’s mind like that. “That’s like, a full meal. We’re having dinner in an hour, are you serious-”

“School is hard work,” Peter complained, flopping on to the stool and leaning on his dad’s shoulder theatrically, “It drains me of energy that I need to replenish with Lucky Charms.”

“Natasha will blow her top if she sees you eating that- it’s her turn to cook tonight. And if she chooses to murder you for eating beforehand, then there isn’t much I can do. I know you’re my son, but the whole parent-bond thing only goes so far-”

Peter bumped him on the shoulder and he laughed quietly. It was nice to see the tension ease off his face a little.

Of course, then everything went wrong again.

“Hey Peter, didn’t know you’d be back so ear- oh,” his Pops said, entering the room and faltering when he saw Dad already sat at the table.

There was an awkward pause. Peter guessed they must have got the days wrong for which one of them was going to go and talk to him about his school day. 
That tended to happen when they didn’t actually speak to one another and acted like they were Peter’s Goddamn age.

Pops managed to collect himself, though- walking forward and smiling as he reached out to squeeze Peter’s shoulder, before heading to the cupboards and grabbing a mug. “You had a good day today?”

Peter shrugged, wishing it didn’t feel as tense as it did. Why the hell did parents have to argue anyway? It was stupid. They were being stupid, and Peter just wanted them to kiss and make up already- because that’s what they did, that’s what they always did, right? This wasn’t going to last, it couldn’t- Peter didn’t want to have two homes, he didn’t want Dad to marry someone else or Pops to have different kids-

It was only then that he realised Dad and Pops had moved, resting a hand on each shoulder while he leaned forward on to the table and hid his crumpled face in the crook of his arms.

 “Peter! Hey, baby, what’s happened, did something go down at school-”

“Do we need to go in, because we’ll go in, okay- whatever’s wrong, we’ll sort it out. Are you being bullied?”

“Did someone hurt you?”

“Did you have an argument with your friends?”

“Were y-”

“IT’S YOU TWO!” Peter yelled, jerking upward again and throwing his hands in the air. “God, this is the first time you’ve been this close to each other in ages! I haven’t seen you look each other in the eye when you’re around one another except to argue! Why the hell are you both being so stupid? I don’t…I don’t want you to get divorced! But you will and then you’ll both find stupid new people and have stupid new lives and leave me behind and we won’t be a family any more and I don’t want that so just STOP FIGHTING!”

He didn’t stop to listen to whatever stupid crap they tried to throw at him; instead kicking the chair he was sat on over and storming out of the room angrily, ignoring their calls and running up into his room before they could bother him. 

(Read more, mobile users!)

Keep reading

Thank you! I’m planning on doing a proper tutorial on how I draw my stuff sometime when I’m not sick and it’s not 5AM buuuut here’s how I basically do it

For this technique I’m gonna need a sketch, a blending stump, a pencil of some sort(I prefer mechanical ones) and an eraser. Taping the edges of the drawing is optional

Drawing lightly, I start by adding the first layer of shading on the sketch

Then I use the blending stump to smudge all the pencil marks

Adding more shadows and then blending everything again. I repeat this stage about 4-8 times until I either like the outcome or lose my patience :P

Eraser can be used to create highlights and other ~*~cool effects~*~

After adding some fine details, the drawing is finished and ready to be scanned!

if you only knew

“You were a cute kid.”

Bitty turns, startled out of his silent reverie by Jack, hair freshly damp from the shower. “Oh, hey, darlin’. Didn’t realize you were up yet.”

“Just a little while ago.” Jack wraps himself around Bitty from behind and presses a kiss to his temple. Before long, the Georgia heat will make any prolonged contact near-unbearable, so Bitty closes his eyes and enjoys it while he can.

He opens his eyes and looks back at the photo on the wall of the hallway: Eric Bittle, age 12. A school photo, his smile exposing silver braces, freckles dashed across his cheekbones.

“You’re thinking pretty loud, there, bud,” murmurs Jack into Bitty’s hair. “What about?”

“Oh, nothing in particular,” sighs Bitty, resting his hands on top of Jack’s where they’ve settled around his waist. “Just…I wish that kid could see me now, you know?”

Jack makes some little noise of agreement, or maybe encouragement, so Bitty continues.

“I mean…I didn’t know back then if it would all work out. If I could ever, well, be happy. If I’d ever get out of Georgia. If I could ever really even be myself, or I’d have to…fake it. For always. And, y'know, I just spent so much time being so darned miserable over it all, and it’s not like it changed the outcome either way, my being miserable or not. And I wish…I wish I could tell myself that, that it would get better, cheesy as it sounds, you know, hon?”

Jack squeezes tighter. “I’m glad you’re not so sad anymore, Bits. I wish you didn’t have to go through all that. But I’m glad you’re here with me now.”

“Thanks, love,” says Bitty softly, turning his head to kiss Jack properly. “Glad you’re here, too.”


JB and Youngjae: Emergency Doctors

  • Dream team of the hospital
  • People think they’re dating cause they spend every seconds together.. they even live together
  • They help each other in each others weaknesses 
  • Work double shifts all the time because they’re massively in debt
  • They both annoy the head doctor but the head doctor will admit they know their shit, so he won’t talk bad about them 

Mark: Veterinarian

  • Hates people but loves animals
  • Hates all the owners that don’t take proper care of their animals
  • Though he has his own clinic, volunteers with the animal shelter on his off days
  • Fosters as many animals as he can.
  • One time he took 10 dogs on a walk to the park, after the dog 

Jackson: Surgeon 

  • Super cocky about him being a surgeon
  • Thinks he’s the best of the best
  • It will psychically hurt him if he doesn’t give a 110% or the outcome isn’t what he wanted
  • Close to the Dream Team gets annoyed whenever they just stare at each other and shit
  • He ask other doctors to him so he can broaden his knowledge in other fields.

Jinyoung: Pediatrician 

  • Loves all the children that he takes cares of
  • The kids mom will hit on him even if they’re married
  • Hates giving them shots because he thinks they’ll hate him
  • Lectures the nurses if they scare the children
  • Has the best toys, books in his waiting room also the tv always plays Disney movies

Bambam: Dermatologist

  • Understands the struggle of hating his own skin so wants to help people get confidence with theirs
  • He’s so loud you can hear him from the check out desk
  • Hates feet so he wears double the gloves whenever someone has a problem with their toenails.
  • Will post videos on his social media when he pops a pimple
  • Tell people “drink water or else your face will get worse.” and does a little bit of a side eye.

Yugyeom: Radiologist 

  • Didn’t want to do this at first
  • But after his first class he got super excited and actually feel in love with it
  • Took someone’s x-rays before and they swallowed ear phones?? Still is a mystery to him
  • He literally has the weirdest stories but most people won’t believe him because he can’t take pictures of the images.
  • People think he has a chill job but it actually pains him to detect the bad stuff in x-rays, MRI and CT scans.
Kingsman: The Golden Circle

Got back from the Kingsman double bill a bit ago and am trying to put my brain into words even though I’m very tired and a bit numb and I smuggled five hours’ worth of gin into the cinema in an Evian bottle so I’m as drunk as Harry at breakfast time.


Keep reading

Hogwarts teachers + Syllabuses 

Professor Slughorn’s favorite part of his syllabus is the space he leaves open once a month for his students - or whoever his favorite of any given batch might  happen to be - to choose what they want to learn. He loves to see the students’ interest, and some of the most interesting potions are covered on this day. Lily Evans picked every single lesson from halfway through her first year until she was finished with NEWT studies. 

Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape both use syllabus day to lay down the law, and reaffirm themselves as a authority figures, and their respective classes as a serious subjects. On paper, it sounds as if they open with the same technique, but the difference in Snape’s case is the lack of mutual respect that McGonagall gives automatically to her students. 

Professor Flitwick talks for half of every first class period of the year about how open and available he is for questions, support, and “Charms exploration.” He loves his subject and wants to be available for his students. 

Hagrid grades entirely on effort, and tries to make his course calendar as comprehensive as possible.

Professor Sprout jumps right into Herbology projects on the first day of class, and gives out a class calendar the next week. She doesn’t give them copies of her grading scale, preferring to use grades only as a tool for her to see where her students were doing well - in need of some subtle praise - or, alternately, needed work. She give grades only to fifth years, included only in the OWL results.

Professor Trelawney doesn’t write out a syllabus. Her grades are intuitive, she has no policies to speak of, and her class schedule is subject to change at any given moment. 

Oliver Wood writes his own syllabus for the Gryffindor Quidditch team during his two years as Captain, compete with the year’s schedule, course goals and outcomes, and disciplinary procedures. He makes his whole team sign it. Harry, Alicia, and Katie do this without complaint. Angelina and the twins question Wood’s “power trip.” McGonagall sides in favor of the “contract.”

Madame Pomfery isn’t a proper teacher, but she does send a little letter to all the students about her hospital wing each September, with a few rules and expectations, and all the things they should come see her for. Some frequenters, like Harry Potter or Nymphadora Tonks, get personalized letters telling them to keep themselves safe and out of her hair, for goodness sake! 

Professor Binns’ syllabus has been the same for eighty years. He has his syllabus day speech memorized for all seven levels, and makes no ethical considerations in his policy section.

i think a lot of people make the mistake of talking about intersectionality as if its a keyword meant to substitute the word “inclusive”, but that’s not what intersectionality addresses. it’s not about including as many people/identities as you can (and in fact it’s not identity-based, it’s material). it’s about integrated analysis. the way kimberlé crenshaw analyzes it, we see that intersectionality is necessary as a framework in situations in which factors of race, class, gender, and what not, are interlocking to create a specific material reality or a specific form of structural violence. like she uses an example of how immigrant women face violence, and how current legal mechanisms aren’t adequate enough to defend them because they position “immigrant” and “woman” as “either/or” terms. we know that immigrant women occupy multiple material positions at once, so their situations have to be treated with an “and” analysis (they are immigrants AND they are woman / they are female immigrants). 

that’s where the “this form of violence is an intersection of [x] and [y]” comes into play. going along with her example of immigrant women, if an immigrant woman has an abusive husband and she calls the police and ends up getting arrested, the “x” and “y” that intersect in this situation would be racism/xenophobia and misogyny. race, gender, and citizenship are all interlocking in this scenario: the immigrant woman faces gendered violence at the hands of her husband; the police responds as an agent of state violence, and manifests it in a racialized manner; the outcome is that a woman of color, who probably has linguistic and financial barriers to proper legal representation and rehabilitation, is facing issues that “intersect” at race, gender, and national status. if a white woman were in this situation, she probably wouldn’t be arrested. why? because the racialized factor is lacking! and this is why “intersectionality” is so important. 

so like if you see a piece of media that’s really whitewashed or whatever, the response should not be “intersectionality!” because intersectionality is fundamentally about integrating various modes of analysis instead of focusing on just one mode of analysis (such as gender). diversity and intersectionality aren’t interchangeable words. if you want to talk about inclusive media, use the word “inclusive” because it functions properly in that specific case. 

just a thought but like… we should be praising kids for the skills they’re developing rather than the outcome of the use of those skills, i.e. praising someone for their ability to do good research in history, praising someone for their ability to remember formulae correctly in math, praising someone for their use of colour in art class - rather than praising good grades above all else.

we put so much weight on the importance of achieving A’s when what we should be striving to do is nurturing the skills that will allow young people to become successful adults. in the end, an A is meaningless, whereas the transferable skills we learn in school - when given the proper emphasis - are so much more important than they’re given credit for.

Florence & Giles, by John Harding.

This brief horror homage is a bit like one of those unusual appetizers they bring out at froo-froo restaurants. What are they called? Amuse-bouches. It is perhaps not anything that you would like to eat as an entire meal, and maybe not even something that, before that moment, you had contemplating even putting in your mouth, but now that the moment is on you, it’s sort of interesting-looking and hey, it can only last so long, right? And sometimes it turns out to be an aerosolized shellfish on a weird cracker but other times it is a fun little taste vacation.

Which is all to say that I enjoyed Florence & Giles hugely, and I think you should try it, even if you don’t like it, because it really is only a little mouthful and it won’t take long to go down. I read it in four hours, which I highly recommend — do it in a stretch, late at night, preferably a good and windy one and if you can rustle up some thunder, please do — and I found it a fun little gothic taste vacation. The jacket copy promises that it is a Poe-like retelling of the Turn of the Screw, but it has been a very long time since I read either, so I can’t tell you how accurate that is. I suspect my half-rememberings of the latter made it a more agreeable experience than either a full-remembering or a complete lack of exposure. Spoilers are beyond the point, though. I think Florence & Giles would be spoiled by reading it as a whodunit. It is a howdunit and a whydunit and a black-corset-devil-ladies-walking-on-water-dun-it, and if you’re not enjoying the journey, you’re not going to like the outcome, either.

Which brings me to the last point of the review, and the real joy of this particular spooky amuse-bouche: Florence’s narrative voice. In proper gothic fashion, she is a neglected orphan in a big old house empty of anyone except illiterate housekeepers, occluded memories, and dark photo albums full of plot points, and in that #aesthetic environment, she has taught herself to read. Her peculiar usage of words makes for a wry and distinctive path through the story, and that playfulness often creeps over into actual humor. It offers a nice little patch of sunlight through the dusty motes of the funeral-clad narrative, making even the most dreadful of moments a dark delight.

Happy dining.

anonymous asked:

hey i love your blog!! can i have a drabble for #9 with keith? maybe just after his s/o has a panic attack? thank you!!

This took a while so I apologize! this may seem a bit rushed but here you go! Hope you enjoy!

It began as simple thoughts, laying in your room late in the night, staring at the foreign ceiling above you.

Ever since that night, when you were dragged from your home early in the morning, and what seemed like so long ago, by Lance and Hunk themselves, your life has changed.

They told you that Shiro, a close friend of your older brothers, has returned from wherever he disappeared to, the shock on your face and questions flying through your head was enough to put you in a state of confusion, and even panic.

You were brought to Keith’s shack in the middle of what might as well be nowhere, and while sitting on the couch staring at Shiro, Lance and Keith argued. Keith made it very clear he didn’t want you to come in case anything dangerous were to happen, Lance saying they needed you because of your medical experience.

You left Earth that day, with no way of saying goodbye to your family.

You haven’t thought about it until now. You haven’t thought about how much you missed every little thing about them, you haven’t thought about the fact your family is going on with their lives as per usual.

You didn’t know your brother goes days without sleep, proper sleep, trying to find out what really happened to you. They couldn’t find your body, they wouldn’t tell them how you passed.

You didn’t know your mother missed you to the point she was afraid to go outside. She thought she’d be the one to find you, and she thought it wouldn’t be a good outcome.

You didn’t know they refused a funeral without your body, you didn’t know you had cousins joining the garrison just to one day get the chance to search for you.

Thoughts of your family ran through your head, your heart began to race, so you sat up, concentrating on the soft bumps on your blanket.

Your throat became dry, and it became very hot, you stood shakily from the now suffocating space, only to fall to the ground.

The thump was loud, waking Keith who was in the room across from you, you didn’t realize he came in until his hands grasped your waist and pulled you into his chest.

Your breathing was rapid, pins and needles shot through every limb in your body, slowly giving the feeling of numbness.

Keith’s hands gently held the side of your face, his thumbs massaging your temples as he hummed and gave the occasional hush, almost as if saying “you’re safe” without really saying it.

You stared at him, and shut your eyes as you slowly began to calm down.

“I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I’m going to take care of you.”

Your eyes opened and you looked up at him, his voice shattered the deafening silence of the room.

You gave a small smile, only for some more tears to slide down your face which had then put Keith into a panic.

Did he upset you?

“Thank you, Keith.”

He sighed a breath of relief and ruffled the hair on top of your head, and smiled.

The both of you had gone to bed, sleeping beside each other. And the rest of the night you thought of how grateful you were to have Keith with you. How grateful you were to have Lance, Hunk, Pidge, and Shiro, and even Allura and Coran.

They were your small, temporary family. And you planned on being with them until the Galra’s Reign is over.

cheeseasaurus-rex  asked:

What is you ideal way Superman would show up for Justice League? Or, what are your theories on how they might go about it? I flip flop between wanting the quiet return and a triumphant where the Frick did he come from hans zimmer junkie xl explosion of heart punching music return. Make this as serious or ridiculous as possible if you get a chance to answer this. I live for both when it comes to your blog.

hal jordan appears at the 40-minute mark, defiant and serious, flying before everyone like a proper hero, his green glow flashing across the justice league's faces as they had lost all hope for the outcome of the battle. there’s a hint of symbolism about his messiah-like introduction as the parademons are wreaking havoc in the background and he shows no fear in the face of great adversity. as the hopeful music blasts throughout the theater, a comet-like person bumps into hal, throws him out of the air and there, from the ashes of the impact, clark joseph kent emerges, slowly, surely, in renewed light, and proceeds to wistfully stare straight into batman’s wide-open eyes, solemnly whispering: "bitch. you thot" (implying that indeed, bruce was under the false impression clark was dead, and that, additionally, he is a thot). the theater goes wild. people start kneeling and praising our lord and savior zack snyder. i’m still here having to justify to anons why justice league was canon and that i won't change my mind about liking it. wonderful. fantastic. a show stopper to be discussed among critics for the next year. why did superman return from the sky when he was buried? i don’t know. maybe he got up there just to bowling-style strike his way straight into hal

no, alright, i get this question a lot, so let me say: i don’t know? i can usually assess on a pretty accurate scale the approximate approach of something happening or not, or the way it might happen, but like… i don’t know. they might want to bring him back in the most glamorous way possible but i think we’re way past the messiah analogies for clark (which were burnt to the ground in every single dceu movie so far)

personally? i want something subtle. i want something so rawly unimpressionable, it’ll put you out of the watching-a-film trance. nothing poetic. have clark appear at his parents’ house, have him stand in front of martha, no words, and show me the scene of martha going from complete bewilderment to breaking down and hugging and kissing her son. have clark not return to the world, have him stay hidden because nobody ever wanted him out there, nobody ever did anything but hurt him when he was thrust into this without wanting to. when trying his best wasn’t enough. when he knows that despite people revering him posthumously, they’ll still consider him a danger if he returns to them

have bruce, not the rest of them, have bruce track clark down with no explanation how he found out, have him face him and show me bruce fucking wayne trying to apologize to the man he hurt without ever actually saying the words because that’s so typical of him and he’s not going to change. have him show clark that he’s sorry and that he knows better now and he’s trying, he’s trying so damn hard, but instead of using those words, have him say, “the world’s in peril. we need you. you’re superman”. give clark the space he needs to be the superman we know without putting him on a pedestal

then have him fly to the stratosphere and pull out his blue eyes white dragon yugioh style moves straight into hal because i liked that part

anonymous asked:

Imagine if Eggsy was some other agent's candidate, and not Harry's, thus making it so that Harry and Eggsy never had that talk in the Black Prince. They never met after Harry left Eggsy with a damn medal, but without a father. Maybe Eggsy gets spotted as a good candidate before Michelle calls and begs him to come home. And so the first time Harry and Eggsy meet is on almost equal terms and... what if Eggsy learns of Harry's involvement in his father's death when they're on a mission together?

This got long, so I apologize. I fudged with the timeline regarding the Marines and all that because, blergh. I don’t feel like putting it up on Ao3 at the moment but if there’s enough want of it, I will.


Lancelot warns him, he’s a bit impersonal, complete with a knowing look and a tip of her chin.

He expects that same indifferent politeness, the scrutinizing looks, the obliging considerations.

He’s met with a man wearing a suit made for him that doesn’t quite fit, neatly parted hair and a patch over his left eye.

Eggsy had read the file on him: Agent Galahad. Twenty-seven years of service as a Kingsman agent, proficient in armed combat and firearms, specialized in interrogation and expert at what Bors referred to, with a sneer, as the bang and burn. An impressive kill count in the unimaginable thousands. Old archive footage catalogued and organized for easy reference, used as training videos, both example and warning.

Eggsy knew everything there is to know about Harry Hart.

Status: deceased. Place of death: Kentucky. Cause of death: bullet to the head, clean shot, instant.

Now, back from the dead.

“Galahad,” Eggsy greets him. He holds out his hand as easily as he speaks this received pronunciation.

“Former, actually,” Harry replies, taking Eggsy’s offered hand.

The smile Harry gives him, though: sudden, warm, slightly crooked in a disarming way.

Eggsy wonders if Lancelot should have warned him about that.

Keep reading

Yoongi Scenario: Tainted Love - Part 2.

Request:  Could you make one with Yoongi being some sort of demon/vampire boss that every one is super scared of but then there is Y/N, Yoongi is in love with her and everyone is always super impressed how Yoongi always surrenders and softens when something is about her? He’s super protective and wants to please her in his own way, thank you for doing this i love you

Summary: Demons are merciless, demons are ruthless, demons can’t hold nothing dear to them. Yoongi is the leader, the king of the demon world. He is feared as he is respected, no one expected him to bring a human girl as his lover, you. You fell in love and now you are in the midst of adjusting to the demon world, its custums, and its dangers. But everything is worth it if is for him, the demon king that lives between shadows and that would turn hell apart to protect you.

Demon AU. Featuring all BTS.

Genre: Romance / Drama.

Part 1 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10 / Part 11 / Part 12 / Part 13

It wasn’t your first time in Yoongi’s manor, during the time you’d had been together he had brought you here several times, you didn’t remember how many, but in all those times you hadn’t been able to get to know the whole place.

You walked down the hallways watching the art hanging on the walls, beautiful sceneries in some cases, rather grim ones in others. The manor had a nineteen century western ambiance, you could say even more ancient, it had a gothic feel to it, maybe because it was inhabited by demons. Nevertheless it also possessed the modern touch of technology and asian culture. Yoongi, you had learned through time, was actually quite enthusiastic about asian calligraphy, art pieces about it could be found throughout the manor as he’d say that words had power.

Every room in the manor, at least the ones you’d visited, had the right amount of light for it to create shadows out of almost everything, it didn’t matter which hour of the day it was, each room poured shadows that if you had to be honest you were still getting used to. One thing was Yoongi’s shadows and another were these, they created movement, allowing someone who knew how to occult and lurk in plain sight so although you were completely safe in his place, you also knew there were a lot of things to be wary of.

-Miss Y/N-

A voice made you jump, you turned around to find one of the members of Yoongi’s inner circle. He was Hoseok and at first you’d thought he was a butler, because to be fair, he dressed just like one, a black tuxedo and the white dress shirt underneath showing just enough, a bow tie adorning his neck. Out of all the demons you had seen he was the most elegant and proper, him and maybe Jin too.

-Hello- you muttered, feeling a little startled for not hear him coming, you never heard them coming. -You can just call me Y/N, I’ve told you-

He nodded, his orangey silky hair bowing down. -I know Miss, Y/N, Yoongi is waiting for you at the dinning room-

-Alright, you should have told him to just find me himself- that made him chuckle.

-Imagine the outcome of that though- you laughed a little too, Yoongi could be a lazy ass when he was set for it. But as solicitous as Hoseok was you knew he was no butler, although his main job required him to never leave the manor.

Hoseok escorted you until you were in front of the dinning doors which opened at his will, you entered and found Yoongi at the head of the table, a scowl on his face and a meat knife going around his hands.

-About time-

You rolled your eyes and sat beside him, watching as the servants came with the food, walking around Yoongi carefully although not fearful.

-Thank you for waiting- you said despite your eye roll. You knew that if you were around he didn’t eat if you hadn’t eaten.

In front of you you saw what you thought was venison, the herbs making the smoke coming from it to water your mouth, it wasn’t the regular meat you’d eat on a daily basis but here they ate it a lot. You had inquired Yoongi about food before, because it was kind of odd that demons fed the same as humans, Yoongi had explained that they ate because they enjoyed it, but not because of need. Although there was indeed something about it that benefited them. 

The hunting, the killing.

He had let you know that what fed demons was no other thing but power, and there was absolute power in those two activities.

Keep reading

utter genius

rivals au & high school au | 2,766 words | fluff, comedy; warnings: none.
↳ to say the least, having you and kihyun debate against each other might not have been the best idea… or maybe it was?

author’s note: would it really be that big of a surprise if i said this was inspired by real life events? this was back when i was in high school. i still freshly remember how royally pissed this one particular guy was to lose against me in our history debate. i just re-vamped it with this joyous piece ahahah.

Keep reading


NOW PROPERLY EDITED || Angsty Levi drabble to try and get back into my writing groove. I left the other character extremely vague so feel free to imagine the other half of your Levi otp if you wish. Otherwise, enjoy and hit me with some feedback if you do not mind~! Special thanks to @perksofbeingawaifu for inspiring me to write more drabbles! Definitely check out her works!!

Levi’s eyes always seemed to wander over his surroundings with a meticulous edge. Lids heavy over piercing irises as he scanned every inch of each environment he stepped into. Nothing ever seemed to slip past his vision. Even the dust particles that would float and dance in the light of the mid-morning sun were completely visible to him in shadow.

This was a skill he had honed in his earlier years. Always needing to be aware of what was behind him or who was around each corner in the darkness of the underground. Always wanting to avoid unnecessary attention and unwelcomed company as he would weave his way through damp back alleys and overcrowded walkways. Without a doubt, his hands were fine tools. Eleminating danger in a matter of seconds with a sharp slash of his shining blade before cleaning the mess left behind on his slender fingers.

However, he didn’t trust his hands. Lethal things coated in death and destruction. Only able to save a few while harming many. His hands moved as ordered and they served him well, but sometimes they would fail him and leave him grasping at cold air instead of something solid and warm. The lives of those dear to him have slipped through his fingers too many times for him to have faith in their truth. His eyes showed him possibilities and outcomes. They showed him what was and what could be, but a majority of the time, his hands would fail to deliver the proper results.

But his eyes…

His eyes were his veil. His way of masking himself into the low of society he had spent his entire life surrounded by. His way of blending into shadows and vast seas of people to hide his existence from those who would seek to end it. His eyes were his shield and his first line of defense. They never lied and they never failed him. He trusted his eyes. He believed in the images they painted for him, even if they were hard to process or even accept.

So, even now, as he stood in front of the mirror with his ghastly physical appearance being projected before him; he fully trusted what he saw. The bags under his eyes had become severe. A faint hue of red bleeding into the whites while the blue in his irises appeared dull and grey. Lifeless and sleep deprived from years of painting blood soaked images of his corpse ridden reality, only for his mind to process and use as haunts for his short lived dreams.

He looked like shit and there was no hiding it either.

He was much older now and it showed. The life he was leading showed, and the weight of the lives he carried to the grave showed. All of it was apparent in his eyes. A man who was exhausted, but strong. Lonely, but stable. Empty, but still alive. It was all there and staring back at him as he towel dried the scruff of his hair.

He needed to sleep, he determined. Setting the towel aside as he ran his fingers over the course hair coating his jaw.

His eyes were indeed windows, he surmised as he heaved a sigh at the reflective glass. Windows he desperately needed to shut if only for a couple of hours, but when he did, the images they had painted over the years would slide through his dreams like a moving picture. Replaying his darkest moments over and over again until his mind would scream at him to wake up. For him to open the windows and to let them paint more pictures for him to continuously relive.

Slowly, he rubbed his lids with the pads of his fingers. Pushing himself away from the mirror and out of the door frame of the washroom and into the soft candle glow of his quiet office. Looking at himself was hard. Seeing himself with the eyes he so trusted and having to accept that that was indeed how he currently appeared made him want to crawl out of his own skin.

He always made it a point to be presentable, but today he was just too tired to do so. Three days with no sleep and little to no food quickly took it’s toll, and his body was now at an age where he couldn’t outright hide his shitty sleeping habits, or lack thereof, with a clean shave, and a few cups of strong tea.

His hands moved back to his jaw. Scratching at the rough hairs he wasn’t used to wearing as he strode over towards his clean, hung up shirt, and laid out uniform boots. The nights were getting colder and longer and his health wasn’t in top form at this point. The last thing he needed was to get sick on top of his already piss poor condition.

“You look pretty rough.” A soft voice chimed. An echo Levi had long thought lost and a sound that made his heart clench in his chest.

“I know.” He answered firmly. Rounding his trustworthy eyes towards his office chair that was positioned behind him where a shadowed silhouette sat comfortably.

“You should sleep.” The voice resounded. The leather of his chair squeaking as the figure adjusted their body to face him more clearly.

“I know.” He responded again. His feet slowly stepping across the wood of the floor while his hands remained stock still at his hips.

The figure was a familiar one. One he hadn’t seen for quite some time and one he’d admittedly missed and cared for quite deeply. Still though, that didn’t negate the fact that they were sitting their precious ass in his office chair.

“Get your ass out of my chair.”

The figure laughed heartily. Standing up completely straight in one smooth, eerily quiet motion before moving around the desk and stepping into the dim light of a single flame that danced atop a mostly melted candle.


“Why are you here?” Levi asked sharply. His tired eyes staying locked on the person in front of him while his body moved around them and toward his oak desk. Each of his steps precise and angled so not to cause a floorboard to squeak.

“I just… wanted to see you. That’s all.”

Levi let out a huff. Blinking his eyes a couple of times as he picked up a file from his desk with his clever fingers. Tapping the tip of his index against the paper sharply as he evened out his breathing and began moving toward the elegantly lit body in front of him.

“I wanted to see you too, but you shouldn’t be here.”

“I know.”

“Then go.”

“Can’t we just tal-”


Levi’s body had stopped only a few inches from the figment in front of him. His free hand reaching out to grasp at a lock of hair. To run his fingers through it and touch the silky strands that his eyes showed him were there. But his hands were only met with cold air. A breeze in the night against his still damp skin. With an exasperated hum, Levi retracted his fingers. Silently turning and moving his body toward his office chair and sitting down with a hard thump.

“Disappointed?” The figure questioned cheekily. Stepping to sit in the front facing chair directly across from Levi’s own. Their movements making no sounds and their voice barely audible enough for his overly tired ears to hear.

“Of course.” He murmured. Staring at the smiling face in front of him with honest regret and exhaustion.

His chest hurt terribly while his eyes burned with leashed tears and rapidly approaching sleep. He was losing his mind. He was sure of it, but his eyes had never failed him before. Not even in his deepest pits of exhaustion and not even when he silently begged a god he doesn’t believe in to let him see this face smiling at him one last time as he stared down at their pale, blood drained body.

The sadness and greif he felt as he peered into the glowing eyes of the other across from him matched the fear of them disappearing in his gut. His face remained as passive as ever, but emotion boiled over internally to the point of rising acidic bile in his throat as he leaned forward and rested his head against the cold slab of the desk.

“Sleep. I’ll stay.”

“You’re not even real.” He stated sharply. Reaching one hand out while placing the other under his head as a cushion.

“Of course I am. You can see me, can’t you?”

Levi remained quiet for a moment. Watching with hopeful, tired eyes as the figures hand reached over and met his own. Gracing his sense of touch with nothing but cold air yet again. A frown pulling at his lips and his brows furrowing while his ears rang acutely. His vision slowly but surely going dark, and the view of he and his lovers interlocking fingers slowly fading to black.

“Yeah.” He whispered. Sleep washing over him in a deep wave and pulling him under.

He trusted his eyes. He believed in the images they painted for him, even if they were hard to process or even accept. However, he didn’t trust his hands. Sometimes they would fail him, and leave him grasping at cold air instead of something solid and warm. Sometimes, they would let precious things slip from his grip and shatter into tiny pieces that would scatter to the wind.

But, most of the time, they would leave him yearning for a touch of warmth that he could no longer feel.

Confession: It seems to me that Garnet’s ability to see the future is more and more like a computer. Given known variables, these outcomes are more likely. She can not predict an outcome if it involves a variable that os unknown to her. This would explain why she was taken out by Jasper the first time and why she was freaking out with baby Steven. This would also give a proper way to get out of the infamous written myself into a corner because time travel.