#i sure as hell didn't

[the-wardens-torch]

Providence blinked facing the sun.

Where are we, left to carry on?

Until the day is done.

Couldn't help myself since I listened to this song recently and its been years since I indulged myself by posting a sad screenshot with sad song lyrics.  Sacrificing a real but imperfect future for an unlikely but idealized future is a common theme in this game, innit? I like this dungeon... I wasn't planning on doing FFXIVwrite this year but this place and a few other portions of DT are sticking to my shoes like wads of gum as I traipse through. I might have to do at least a couple of prompts at this rate.

Yeah. Cleared the Skydeep Cenote last night and stopped there for now. I'm a little afraid to move on because I'm sure this is where the plot is going to go completely fucking bonkers with the metaphysical and futuristic shit.  Not to say it won't be entertaining and all, I just was really enjoying all of these beautiful nature-based locales and the fanciful yet grounded adventure story topped with a good and disturbing thematic gut punch. And it was quite nice of Alisaie to say what I was already thinking;

But as long as I'm bracing myself for bonkers notions;

If thy left head offend thee, pluck it out?

I'm beginning to suspect that the Head of Reason is beyond Reason for one reason or another. I kind of wonder if the rite was arranged is because the Head of Reason is actually dead, and the Head of Resolve knows he's not far behind. Barring that, I'd mentioned before that I thought he might be controlling Zoraal Ja to retake control of the throne - while that seems less likely now, the general idea that the head of reason is "sleeping" because his consciousness is somewhere else (possibly in another body) has stayed with me. Dang Ascians keep priming me for thinking all the important people be switching bodies. Also "he's just sleeping" is sus as hell.  That's what you tell a 6 year old when their dog dies. 

[twogravesinsomecemetery]

so guess who just found out the government name of a very specific random inanimate object that i have been describing entirely vaguely in fanfic for 20,000 words because i thought it wasn't actually called anything at all but now it's too late to back-insert it into chapters that have already been posted are you KIDDING ME-

[fincherly]

my gf was looking through wesker's wiki page (as you do) and sent me this

and i lost my shit bc it just seems like they're looking at him like girls look at a weird bug

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

I know those eyes.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[exutrio]

orym and dorian in c3 x 120: "the red end"

[achillean-knight]

HOPE THIS LOOKS ALRIGHT! Papyrus Knight for @itsmebeff! Genuinely thought it'd take me a millennia to get around to drawing him, but the design was just too cool and gave me sm motivation that I HAD to give it a go! >:3!

[snekky-arts]

i received another vision

and i'm back on my DSMP bs i guess

Original photo below

[amazingdeadfish]

A small glimpse into how Baihe and LBD fit into the LMK Highschool AU

Continuation from here:

[chalkrub]

been doodling some bri'ish wildlife - love seeing these guys. because they are the classics aren't they?

[fairylando]

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

"Pandora, Worrying About What She Is Doing, Finds a Way into the Valley through the Scrub Oak," from Always Coming Home by Ursula K. Le Guin

Look how messy this wilderness is. Look at this scrub oak, chaparro, the chaparral was named for it and consists of it mixed up with a lot of other things, but look at this shrub of it right here now. The tallest limb or stem is about four feet tall, but most of the stems are only a foot or two. One of them looks as if it had been cut off with a tool, a clean slice across, but who? what for? This shrub isn’t good for anything and this ridge isn’t on the way to anywhere. A lot of smaller branch-ends look broken or bitten off. Maybe deer browse the leafbuds. The little grey branches and twigs grow every which way, many dead and lichened, crossing each other, choking each other out. Digger-pine needles, spiders’ threads, dead bay leaves are stuck in the branches. It’s a mess. It’s littered. It has no overall shape. Most of the stems come up from one area, but not all; there’s no center and no symmetry. A lot of sticks sticking up out of the ground a little ways with leaves on some of them—that describes it fairly well. The leaves themselves show some order, they seem to obey some laws, poorly. They are all different sizes from about a quarter of an inch to an inch long, but each is enough like the others that one could generalise an ideal scrub-oak leaf: a dusty, medium dark-green color, with a slight convex curve to the leaf, which pillows up a bit between the veins that run slanting outward from the central vein; and the edge is irregularly serrated, with a little spine at each apex. These leaves grow irregularly spaced on alternate sides of their twig up to the top, where they crowd into a bunch, a sloppy rosette. Under the litter of dead leaves, its own and others’, and moss and rocks and mold and junk, the shrub must have a more or less shrub-shaped complex of roots, going fairly deep, probably deeper than it stands aboveground, because wet as it is here now in February, it will be bone dry on this ridge in summer.

There are no acorns left from last fall, if this shrub is old enough to have borne them. It probably is. It could be two years old or twenty or who knows? It is an oak, but a scrub oak, a low oak, a no-account oak, and there are at least a hundred very much like it in sight from this rock I am sitting on, and there are hundreds and thousands and hundreds of thousands more on this ridge and the next ridge, but numbers are wrong. They are in error. You don’t count scrub oaks. When you can count them, something has gone wrong. You can count how many in a hundred square yards and multiply, if you’re a botanist, and so make a good estimate, a fair guess, but you cannot count the scrub oaks on this ridge, let alone the ceanothus, buckbrush, or wild lilac, which I have not mentioned, and the other variously messy and humble components of the chaparral. The chaparral is like atoms and the components of atoms: it evades. It is innumerable. It is not accidentally but essentially messy. This shrub is not beautiful, nor even if I were ten feet high on hashish would it be mystical, nor is it nauseating; if a philosopher found it so, that would be his problem, but nothing to do with the scrub oak. This thing is nothing to do with us. This thing is wilderness. The civilized human mind’s relation to it is imprecise, fortuitous, and full of risk. There are no shortcuts. All the analogies run one direction, our direction. There is a hideous little tumor in one branch. The new leaves, this year’s growth, are so large and symmetrical compared with the older leaves that I took them at first for part of another plant, a toyon growing in with the dwarf oak, but a summer’s dry heat no doubt will shrink them down and warp them. Analogies are easy; the live oak, the humble evergreen, can certainly be made into a sermon, just as it can be made into firewood. Read or burnt. Sermo, I read; I read scrub oak. But I don’t, and it isn’t here to be read, or burnt. It is casting a shadow across the page of this notebook in the weak sunshine of three-thirty of a February afternoon in Northern California. When I close the book and go, the shadow will not be on the page, though I have drawn a line around it; only the pencil line will be on the page. The shadow will be then on the dead-leaf-thick messy ground or on the mossy rock my ass is on now, and the shadow will move lawfully and with great majesty as the earth turns.

The mind can imagine that shadow of a few leaves falling in the wilderness; the mind is a wonderful thing. But what about all the shadows of all the other leaves on all the other branches on all the other scrub oaks on all the other ridges of all the wilderness? If you could imagine those for even a moment, what good would it do? Infinite good.

-- Ursula K. Le Guin, Always Coming Home (273-5)

[howlsnteeth]

don't wake me don't wake me don't wake me up

[time-speculo]

redesign attempt of these two's outfits specifically in S4E1 : Ryusui vs Senku to look more like their character silhouettes! my only reason? i didn't like senku's suit (•>•) kohaku's was fine, she looks good in everything

[clownowo]

a little bit obsessed with this guy

[nuclearanomaly]

Wow, 9 years of Ninira Nira

[nebuladreamz]

hey chat i thought ratatouille was like. playing it up. comfort/nostalgic food pretty visuals and symbolism and fun stuff, usual pixar magic

so guess who got hit by like 14 trucks