Quasi-Sensibility

Just your friendly neighborhood evil mastermind

27,006 notes

kitskittle:

Beta Kids - Photoset!

John | Rose | Dave | Jade

I drew all these so i could practice some stuff (specifically backgrounds and objects) and ahhh it’s super fun hehe *v* i’m going to draw the alphas soon! thank you guys for all your wonderful support eeeep♥

(via zeen36)

40,135 notes

"classical music is boring"

sockmonkeyrenegade:

groucho-marxism:

Stravinsky’s rite of spring is about a girl who dances herself to death to appease the Russian god of spring.

When it premiered the crowd got so amped up they opened up a mosh pit in the theater and the night would be forever known as the “riot of spring”

There’s a piece in the bassoon repertoire called “Dead Elvis” and when you buy the music you have to contractually agree to only perform the piece in a full Elvis costume.

image

(via magnus-lupus)

4 notes

Anonymous asked: How about a Seer of Rage's god tiering internal monologue?

resource-and-sagacity:

In a lot of ways, when you wake up it’s much like any other day, apart from the explosions and blood.

The serenity of the moment takes you off-guard, for sure, but as you weave your way out of the wreckage of Derse’s moon onto the Battlefield, you find yourself flowing seamlessly back into the flow of the War. However, there is one difference.

Where once you struggled and snarled and hacked your way through towering enemies who sought to destroy you, now you move like a river of blades, and your foes fall like dominoes. A calm fury suffuses you. Your psyche is a still lake of molten steel. Grist showers the checkered surface of Skaia in your wake. From your almost detached viewpoint, you can’t even count how many of your swords you’re using, but every one that flurries in and out of your strife specibus is murdering something.

The armies of Derse begin to falter, and their fear disturbs something that their weapons could not. You scream the scream of the avatar of war that you are, and fall upon them in a storm of edges and death. It is only when you hold the King’s scepter in your hand, one foot balanced atop his mauled corpse, that you realize that you are completely alone.

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