Sorry to all those "sirius can sing" stans...but headcannon sirius black sounds like a dying cat singing in the shower and he thinks he sounds angelic...and james changes the subject when he brings it up, peter runs out of the room and remus never shuts up ab how he actually sounds like he's being murdered when he sings "Is there Life On Mars?" by David Bowie

The fact that Turgon possibly sees his wife and all three of his siblings die, and also gets his dad's corpse delivered to his doorstep like...this man needs THERAPY

Batman can be among the best, but he never should be *the* best.

ur art is sooo cute!! if ur requests r still open, would u maybe do one of jude? if not it's all good, looking forward to seeing more of ur art!!

have a jude!

Dear God, help me. Where are my nameless saints? Where are the angels with their feathered wings to carry me down into hell? When they do come, are they the last beautiful thing that you see? As you go down into the lake of fire, can you still follow their progress heavenward? Can you hope for one last glimpse of their golden trumpets, and their upturned faces reflecting the radiance of the face of God? What do I know of heaven?

For long moments I stood there, staring at the distant night-scape of pure clouds, and then back at the twinkling lights of the new hotels, flash of headlamps.

A lone mortal stood on the far sidewalk, staring in my direction, but perhaps he did not note my presence at all-a tiny figure on the lip of the great sea. Perhaps he was only looking towards the ocean as I had been looking, as if the shore were miraculous, as if the water could wash our souls clean.

Once the world was nothing but the sea; rain fell for a hundred million years! But now the cosmos crawls with monsters. ~ Lestat, TotBT

unexplainably ill about "never-ending performance" as a name for one of kaeya's constellations

oc questionnaire !!

tagged by @raiiny-bay ♡

NAME: August Milan NICKNAME: nothing, other than being called sweetheart or honey or some other sickly sweet thing by Bear :3 (I haven't figured out his streamer @ yet which could be considered a nickname too!) GENDER: male, he/him STAR SIGN: scorpio HEIGHT: 6’0 ORIENTATION: bisexual NATIONALITY/ETHNICITY: san myshuno native, idk what this would make his ethnicity in sims logic, but ig he's some sort of European mix? FAVORITE FRUIT: honeydew FAVORITE SEASON: summer FAVORITE FLOWER: roses!! Bear bought him a (small) bouquet of roses on their first date and it's been his fave since. FAVORITE SCENT: Bear. Straight up. Anytime. After a shower, after a run, ANYTHING. He wants to bottle and inhale Bear at all hours.  COFFEE, TEA, OR HOT CHOCOLATE: iced coffee! AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP: around 8-12. Depends if he was out at a club late. Mostly wakes up on time to do his livestreams, and falls back into bed when he can, but he can't fall asleep ALONE so his hours revolve around Bear a lot too! DOGS OR CATS: cats ig.. but he doesn’t really ever want a pet. DREAM TRIP: Simply spending months in Sulani just relaxing in the sun with Bear at his side <3 He'd also love to take Bear around with him during Fashion Week but Bear does not have the energy for it :p NUMBER OF BLANKETS: one big fluffy duvet RANDOM FACT: he was an oopsie baby.. his parents never planned for him, & he has no siblings!

I tag: @machinegrl @dandylion240 @yuauaua @bubblepopsims @mobwhim & anyone else who would like to do this!! ♡♡

dont blow kabru up :(

IM SAURY he doesnt appreciate the healthy balance of an ecosystem that has evolved to regulate itself !! ! explosion attack x5000 + go back to biology school before you try to become supreme leader of a dungeon + ratio

Kismet

“Nine won't kneel,” Eight says, the sickly sterile glass-bottle green of the interrogation room casting them in a garish light. 

Keeper frowns, all hard lines and age. The lamp swinging overhead casts his sharp features in angular shadows, deepening the discomfort meant for detainees. Currently, the room was empty: it was just an old man and his spy. “They will, if they know what is good for them.”

“They won't. You taught them to be that way,”  Eight points out with the needle-thin end of his pipe, sitting daintily atop the durasteel table as if it were a chaise lounge, “like a good little Imperial. But not enough to bow to the Sith. They have their pride. Their independence. That is why they are,” He pauses. “the best".

Keeper arches a fine brow.

His weekly talks with the Cipher before him were something he secretly looked forward to, though the subject themselves varied from political headaches to anything as mundane as the weather. It was perhaps the only time he was allowed to parse the mystery of the man who called himself Eight- an agent who wore the moniker of a dead woman, and all that the title carried.

Very few were afforded such instances. Fewer still could keep up with his machinations or his mind. His method bred more enemies than friends, and Keeper often found himself assigning the minimum personnel to Eight on account of his difficult behavior.

Insights like these were a gift.

“If I didn't know any better, I would call you envious, Agent. Why the sudden interest?”

“Is it considered strange to be interested in our counterparts now?” Eight smiles at him.

Keeper finds it reminds him of the false face of a poisonous insect: permanently at ease, painted on, artificial, yet a warning and an invitation all at once. The smoke curls from his pipe, accentuating the silence in the air. 

“No. Perhaps not.” Keeper replies, his hands still clasped behind his back. 

“I'm not going to interfere, if that's what you're asking.” 

Keeper pinches his thin nose bridge, the inflection in Eight’s voice alerting him prematurely to what was heading into unpleasant conversational territory of the migraine kind. Eight always did know how to read between the lines, and years of dancing around one another had made him adept at knowing the old man’s silence better than his words. “Not directly. We wouldn't be having this conversation at all if you weren't. In fact, I’m ordering you as of right now to do nothing.” He locks eyes with him, leaving no room for argument in the steeliness of his gaze. They stare at each other until the younger gives in.

“Bah, you're no fun,” Eight whines, turning away from him like a petulant child. 

Keeper shakes his head. Eight was a handful and liked to make it everyone else's problem; it was how he was. Yet beneath that slacking attitude was a blade more sharply honed than any other, and woe befall those who failed to recognize its glint before it was too late. It made him effective. Impersonal. His instincts were good, if not better than any other in their division, and this made him as destructive as a precision-guided missile yet as accurate to his goals as a dart striking center. 

Something to do with his ecology, Keeper recalled, though the specifics escaped him; Eight was Near-Human, yet found the Empire's distaste for aliens a “waste of time” and so waved the human-passing card more often than not. 

His appearance was once again, a falsehood. His identity, a convenient lie. They spoke of him in dead-end rumors and baseless whispers that made him more of a ghost story inside Intelligence than a service member, the most prominent of these stories being that he had once been a Chiss woman who surgically altered her appearance to escape her previous life. 

Eight did nothing to discourage it.

He never was one to follow the rules amidst Imperial rigidity, bending them every chance he was given and otherwise. Keeper suspected this was why the higher-ups kept him most cycles on Dromund Kaas- fearing he’d stray far out of bounds the minute they gave him any length of leash. For that, he and Keeper came to know one another very well.

By the time he’d returned to the present outside of the quagmire of his mental dossier on the agent, Eight had ditched all decorum to lie flat on his back atop the durasteel table with his folded hands cushioning the back of his head. Getting bored, it seemed.

“Credit for your thoughts?” Keeper asks, surprised by his own pleasant tone amidst the emptiness. 

Eight exhales lungs full of smoke in reply. He removes one hand from behind his shock of white hair to hold his pipe between two fingers- “like a Red Light District whore,” some of the more…derogatory members of their branch had said. Said members had since been disciplined and lectured on their poor choice of verbage, but Keeper was inclined to agree that even the smallest of his habits were quite suggestive- no doubt intentional on his part. He made no effort to hide it. What was taught had become second nature, and in Eight’s case, he saw no division between his personal self and that of a Cipher.

He taps the ash from the thin pipe on the side of the table, extinguishing the thin trail of smoke that indicated their time was up.

“Let's make a deal,” Eight says, propping himself up on his elbows to twist around and look at Keeper with a heady light in his fawn eyes. It was routine. He’d propose a game, and they’d play accordingly. It was easier than arguing over mission specifics where Keeper knew Eight would force his own way regardless, and so he appealed to his penchant for gambling and let chance decide what path the agent chose to follow. 

“Go ahead.”

“If Nine doesn't kneel, transfer the investigation of Jadus to me.”

Keeper pauses, the words dying on his tongue as he looks at his agent with nothing short of bewilderment. “What are you asking of me, Eight?” What could you possibly want from a man like that? goes unsaid between them, but Eight hears it in the stressed twitch of his lower lip, and smiles still. 

His current fascination with Jadus was nothing new, but ever since he’d missed the debacle of the elusive Sith arriving at headquarters he’d been quiet. Moody, even. Planning something was an understatement- whatever was brewing in his head had been for weeks. Keeper almost didn't want to know.

Eight doesn't elaborate. That was how the game was played. Rules and rewards. No questions.

“If Nine doesn't kneel,” He repeats slowly, “I won't lift a finger.”

Keeper sticks him with a look that could wither water. “You are making me bet against the house.” 

Eight shrugs. “It was your call.”

Keeper sighs- a deep one that comes from the depths of his diaphragm. Loathe as he was to admit it, Eight was right: Nine shone as a figure free from the manipulative claws of the Sith. Officers respected them for keeping their head unbowed- their quiet dignity made them the pride of Intelligence and that of the Imperial military. Those who stood up to their superiors were few and far in-between, and Keeper made it a point that Nine’s autonomy was to be protected. He had made it his life’s work to keep them free of their influence, in the hopes that their Empire could grow beyond their reach. 

So why was Eight asking this of him?

“I don't want you anywhere near him.” Keeper shoots him down, the risk too great to be worth considering. He would not lose two Ciphers to a megalomaniac. 

“Keeper.” Eight’s tone takes on a deadly gravity, one that Keeper recognizes as the calm before the storm. 

“No, Eight.” Keeper holds his ground, his eyes stormy. He jabs an accusatory finger at the younger operative. “I bit my tongue when he came. I let him into our operations. He took our best- I will not give him more.”

Eight goes nonverbal. When he meets his unchallenged gaze again, there is darkness dawning in his eyes.

“A warrior protects his people from those who come from beyond the stars,” He speaks in the familiar purr of Cheunh, alien from the throat of one who lacked their blue skin, and Keeper sucks in a sharp intake of breath at the horror that overtakes him.

“Do not bring her into this!”

“To fight those who mean our way of life harm,” He continues, steady, like a mantra. His eyes bore into Keeper, seeing beyond him, digging beneath his skin and gently cutting him open layer by excruciating layer with all that they see in the twist of his aged features- all that he does not say. 

“Keeper.” He repeats, sitting upright with his legs dangling. One hand grips the edge of the table, the other- to Keeper’s surprise and dismay, is extending his pipe to him in an offering for peace. He lets it swivel on the balance of his finger around, the mouthpiece facing Keeper. All the while, the set resolution of his gaze never leaves him, and Keeper glares at the item as if it offends him grossly.

Not out of anger towards his agent, but towards these Force-damned circumstances and the games they must play.

Keeper bites back a swear, taking the pipe from Eight’s outstretched fingers and stuffing it hastily into his thinly pressed lips. He inhales with all the professionalism of one exposed to far too many questionable substances in his youth and the desperation of a man who needs it for the days to come.

“I will use him, as he will use me. But if we do not take this chance to earn his trust, we risk losing the most powerful of allies we could gain.” Eight speaks smooth and low, his voice as delicate as garrote wire and twice as cutting to Keeper. “I will join him. It matters not whether he cares to have me by his side- only if I can turn his power into ours. Nine will not have to give themselves up.”

Keeper ruminates, though he hardly needs to. When it comes to risk and beings of immense danger, no one is better suited. He saw the way Nine stiffened at Jadus’ selection, the way the pain and suffering of the rest of Intelligence affected them. Jadus would break them. 

Eight on the other hand, had nothing left inside to break. 

He spits out a stream of smoke through the corner of his mouth- quick and unpleasant, to show his dissatisfaction. Keeper turns the pipe back over to Eight. His eyes speak of regret. “Damn you. Damn you and him.”

“Curse me later,” Eight says, lighting a weak flame beneath his pipe, “you haven't even seen how the dice rolls.”

—-----------------

Nine limps out of Jadus’ office smelling of burnt fabric and ozone. Their pride is in tatters, for what good they did to preserve it. 

Eight watches from afar, hidden as blue collar personnel melted into the backdrop of the Sith sanctuary. 

He touches a finger to his private comm.

“It’s my win, Keeper.”

what are vincent's weapons of choice!!!!!

dj almost always views suicide as a source of weakness. regardless if somebody wants to out of mental health issues, or physical health issues. this stems from dj not being human. dj, often, heavily relies on instincts. and one of a demon's instinct is to survive and thrive. therefore, he can't understand why a creature would go against their 'instinct' beyond weakness. (after all, if you die, then you must be "weak".)

there are exceptions to these beliefs, though. jin. dj doesn't really think jin's suicidal out of this "weakness," he believes jin wants to do it to spite him. that jin is willing to go down if it means dj goes with him.

but really, dj doesn't actually understand humans well. maybe the basics, and most of anything else is generalization.

me when i think about hanazawa teruki for more than five seconds

[chugs five hour energy since I've been awake for over 24 hours] I really do think that G.alahad and how he's (along with A.rtoria, B.uddha, S.olomon, and others) used to talk about saviors is fascinating. So one idea that F.ate is fairly consistent on is the concept that people want and need heroes/saviors/leaders/figures to pin things on (think people vesting their hopes in A.rtoria/the image of the king and pushing all of their evil onto A.ngra, things like that), but to become a hero involves some kind of self-sacrifice. In a lot of cases like A.rtoria (Saber), what the potential hero chooses to sacrifice is their own humanity and/or personal desires. In other words, dehumanization. A.rtoria was seen as inhuman as her reign kept on, S.olomon was seen as inhuman by G.oetia, G.alahad was seen as heartless by M.erlin, and B.uddha was the one who attained enlightenment. The idea of wishes and desires is important, since that's exactly what the earthly Holy Grails (think the F.uyuki Grail and things like it) are meant to grant, with the most extreme example being the Golden Grail that D.raco has. That Grail is explicitly called "an inversion of Christ's words", specifically: "Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth." (Matthew 6:19-21). Since the earthly Grail here is about the granting of wishes, the treasure of the earth in this context must mean the desires of humanity, and following that Christ's Grail (the true Grail that G.alahad obtained) should not store them. Thus, in order to obtain the Grail and transcend to something higher, the obtainee must be free of personal desire, which is exactly what Fate's G.alahad was: he asked God for nothing, which made even S.olomon feel inferior. The Grail, which was returned to heaven along with Galahad at the end of the Grail Quest, is therefore linked to the Buddhist ideas that appear every now and then in TM. One of the central ideas of Buddhism is the freedom from desire and attachment and the eventual achievement of enlightenment and freedom from suffering, which Nasu has mixed with the meaning of the Grail, which could only be obtained by the purest of people-- in other words, someone without desire. G.alahad didn't have the one wish he had in the source text, where he asks to be with God. He was someone without wishes or personal desires, who is one of the few who completed what he was meant to do in life (G.rand Order) (epic title drop). G.alahad is a little different from, say, A.rtoria, who didn't completely discard her humanity. G.alahad is simply a selfless person, the purest and greatest of knights. But I digress. Inevitably, there probably has to be that kind of transcendent savior: someone who is free from personal desire, who does not pile up the treasures of the earth, in order to save or lead humanity in a time of great need. Or at the very least, people believe there has to be and desire one.

But at the same time, it has to be said that this isn't a refutation of the more concrete motivations of normal people who are NOT those kinds of messiahs or saying that they're in any way lesser: the protagonists often have or develop these more grounded wishes, and one of the ones that keeps showing up is the desire to live. Think S.hirou crying to I.llya that he wants to live at the end of HF (HF is the thematic conclusion to S.hirou's character), S.ieg dragging himself out of his test tube because he doesn't want to die, H.akuno refusing to roll over and die in the prelims because they wanted so badly to live and fight on their own terms, G.uda pushing forward and never giving up even in the face of the impossible not because they wanted to save the world but because they wanted to live-- This attachment to life and existence is, funnily enough, one of the opposites of Buddhism, which is about freeing yourself from attachment and desire. Even outside of just Fate, there's S.hiki in T.sukihime, who just wants to live the best he can for however long he's going to stay around on this earth before he dies. And for most people, that's fine. Most people are not heroes nor will they become one. Everyone is just trying to do their best. All humans are trying to do their best. It has to be said that, in Fate stories, these more mundane wishes end up pushing past more glorious ones too.

P.S. I couldn't find a way to elegantly fit this into the main text but the image of G.alahad set against N.ero fits pretty perfectly with how she's related to the earthly Grail. At first glance she seems larger than G.alahad, but his silhouette eclipses the statue.

Gotou-Chan doing the whole group project on his own, as usual.

Yuri Briar my beloved Rat Man (rant in the tags)