Still Fuckin Spectacular

*lays seductively on a pile of trash*

so u want to talk about Kingsman?

Kingsman on set church scene

saw this still from the movie and couldn’t resist

hearing the girl you like calling you baby in a soft voice is like having your heart fall down 7 flights of stairs and exploding

billie joe armstrong is like…the definition of chaotic good. a prime example of this is the fact that one time at a green day concert this guy in the pit was harassing a young girl so billie stopped the show to help her. however, his way of doing so was to jump into the audience, dropkick the guy directly in the face, and then fight him in a crowd of screaming fans

This is missing the best part - when he saw the guy, he tried to be like “Dude, stop” and when the man didn’t stop pushing the girl around he screamed “Fine! You wanna fight? I’ll fucking fight you, then!” and leapt directly into the crowd

There’s a reason Green Day was my favourite band in high school, and Billie Joe Armstrong is it.

Always reblog bisexual chaotic goods

I made this transparent for everyone.

For all of your transparent Robert Small needs.

Behold!

“Why the fuck’s he in there?” Eggsy asks, pushing past Tequila, towards the two way mirror. Emotions rush through him, faster than he can identify them.

Harry Hart is alive.

And he’s being held like some kind of prisoner.

“He’s dangerous,” Tequila replies bluntly.

Then, all Eggsy feels is anger. “Fuck that, I want to see ‘im,” he glares at Tequila defiantly and crosses his arms.

“Galahad,” Merlin warns sharply.

“What?” Eggsy rounds on him. “They–” he points an accusing finger at Tequila “–been keepin’ him here, locked up like he’s in a fuckin’ zoo. We mourned him, Merlin.” Eggsy turns back to Tequila. “I want to see him,” he says, cold and precise.

The Statesman looks at him sympathetically. “Kid… he doesn’t remember anything.”

Eggsy staggers back. “What?”

“He doesn’t even remember his own name,” Tequila continues. “And he doesn’t react kindly to visitors. That’s why we got ‘im here.”

Eggsy seems to deflate. “Fuck,” he whispers.

Tequila claps him on the shoulder. Merlin is strangely silent.

“I still wanna see ‘im,” Eggsy says. It comes out far more broken-sounding than he’d hoped it would.

“'Course, kid, just make sure you prepare yourself. That ain’t the man you knew in there.”

Ginger steps in, as if on queue. “This way, please,” she says softly. She leads Eggsy around to a door. “Right through there.”

He takes a steeling breath and opens the door.

“Harry,” he breathes, unable to keep the name from tumbling from his lips.

The man looks up at him, and there’s not a hint of recognition in his eye. “And who might you be?” He asks, voice cold and achingly familiar.

Eggsy’s heart breaks all over again.

He can’t. He can’t.

He pastes on a watery, unconvincing smile and holds out his hand. “My name is Galahad,” he says, and his voice only shakes a little.

Harry warily takes the extended hand in his own, and then something in his expression shifts. His grasp firms.

“Still haven’t learned to knock, then, have you, Eggsy.”

…

“I don’t remember everything, but I remember you.”

(303): I paid for this house and these expensive ass sheets to fuck in them. Get your ass over here.

When Harry Hart’s umbrella gets an upgrade.

Pedro Pascal roasting fascist cheeto Trump on twitter is everything.