caesarianconfection:

dystopianscion:

null-set:

arachnofiend:

grimauxilialice:

bemusedlybespectacled:

needsmoremilk:

professor-geekatron:

stillaliveglados:

((Red))

((Orange))

Greygreygrey!! :D

Blue, I think.

What would be the point of the pink pill if touching them again makes them not love you again

Just think of what a stranglehold you could put on the world with the yellow pill

Combined with Google Images you would be able to threaten every world leader with instant coma

Orange. I could master the design and implementation of strong AI. If it  is within human reach to make a mind greater than itself, I could do it.

But then Mr. Grey Pill takes it over.

with the pink pill, all of you are moot, I shall soon control the world with an iron fist

I just want the blue pill

for totally selfish purposes.

Fight me.

(Source: rematiration)

thisworldendswithme:

highrelease:

Toto | Africa

darn good tune

amightydirge:

crystagenesis:

amightydirge:

crystagenesis:

I hate living in the UK sometimes.

Like a lot.

And what is especially annoying is living in the UK and being on the internet.

Let me explain.

Read More

I don’t see how the poppies are a bad thing? It’s supposed to be an act of remembrance for the men that died needlessly. It doesn’t glorify the war, it glorifies the men that fought with bravery and valor.

Does bravery and valor include sitting in a muddy hole in the ground for three weeks at at time getting bombarded with artillery shells while you go steady insane?

Does bravery and valor include being conscripted to serve in a fruitless war of attrition with no gains or losses on either side?

Does bravery and valor include waiting for a hapless general or officer to give the order to charge into a minefield of twisted bodies, barbed wire, mines and machine gun fire on the off chance that you gain a little ground before you all get ripped to pieces?

It wasn’t brave, they didn’t fight.

There was no honour for these men.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace

Behind the wagon that we flung him in,

and watch the white eyes writhing in his face,

his hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;

if you could hear, at every jolt, the blood,

come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,

obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud

of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,

my friend, you would not tell with such high zest,

to children ardent for some deseperate glory,

the old Lie; Dulce et Decorum Est,

Pro Patria Mori.

- Wilfred Owen.

They served without question. They went over the top when ordered, even though they knew it was certain death. The Australians at Gallipoli kept charging despite being at the wrong beach. They believed they were doing the right thing, and fought on despite suicidal odds.

Bravery is being in a rain soaked trench, but still serving; it’s fighting on despite the brutality and butchery around you. I doubt many of us would be able to replicate their actions.

I doubt it would be hard to serve without question if it meant being shot for cowardice otherwise.

ohbabyitslucasarts:

butt-berry:

All the post-credits advice from Monkey Island 2

I have waited my whole life for this.

(Source: addelburgh)

Thanks to Shelby (duedlyfirearms.tumblr.com) for the commission!!

amightydirge:

crystagenesis:

I hate living in the UK sometimes.

Like a lot.

And what is especially annoying is living in the UK and being on the internet.

Let me explain.

Read More

I don’t see how the poppies are a bad thing? It’s supposed to be an act of remembrance for the men that died needlessly. It doesn’t glorify the war, it glorifies the men that fought with bravery and valor.

Does bravery and valor include sitting in a muddy hole in the ground for three weeks at at time getting bombarded with artillery shells while you go steady insane?

Does bravery and valor include being conscripted to serve in a fruitless war of attrition with no gains or losses on either side?

Does bravery and valor include waiting for a hapless general or officer to give the order to charge into a minefield of twisted bodies, barbed wire, mines and machine gun fire on the off chance that you gain a little ground before you all get ripped to pieces?

It wasn’t brave, they didn’t fight.

There was no honour for these men.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace

Behind the wagon that we flung him in,

and watch the white eyes writhing in his face,

his hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;

if you could hear, at every jolt, the blood,

come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,

obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud

of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,

my friend, you would not tell with such high zest,

to children ardent for some deseperate glory,

the old Lie; Dulce et Decorum Est,

Pro Patria Mori.

- Wilfred Owen.

kitty-maru:

Working on this beauty… But I realized I needed a break when I kept texting people pictures of “my Serketry.”

Vriska Arm v. 2.0 go!

lq84i:

I got a thing today

ikimaru:

it’ll need someone to hold the flower lmao