I’m now starting to get the impression some people in the overwatch fandom legit think women can only have smooth skin right up to the age of 29 like the minute they hit 30 POOF they become crones a la the anime grandma trope. like you guys know Beyonce is 35? Kira knightly is 31? Not to mention plastic surgery exists and would be MY first port of call after changing my identity.

And if you wanna say “she doesn’t ACT 30” well how does a person act 30 should sombra be making healthy snacks and updating her Pinterest boards or something?

If ya want to see a little less Pixar face on the ow ladies then that’s legit, I agree with you, but stop phrasing it like “sombra’s too pretty to be that old!” bc that’s just downright offensive.

I feel like this is a well known headcanon but Caitlin Farmer is majoring in marine biology and is the coolest fucker anyone on SMH team has ever met. Also a bit of chowder because you know they’re soulmates.

  • She went on one of those sleepovers that aquariums do for little kids when she was like seven and fell in love with the ocean.
  • she put her sleeping bag under the shark tunnel and didn’t sleep all night because she just wanted to be friends with them whenver they swam past.
  • she’s been to an aquarium in every city she’s been to.
  • some people’s first port of call in new cities are nice restaurants or art galleries. cait’s are aquairums
  • she only goes to ones that respect their animals and care for them, with programs to rehabilitate sea animals and release them

(i got real excited so this got long the rest is under the cut!)

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Every parent dreads the day when they have an empty nest.
Bruce Wayne is no different.
Only Damian really lives at home now.
Or at least Bruce thinks he does? He hasn’t actually seen him for a week.

Alfred will sometimes find Bruce in the Cave, sifting through old newspaper articles of the many adventures he had had with his children. Or he’ll be sat in his study, WE work ignored on his laptop,while he rearranges the photographs on his desk for the umpteenth time.

All robins eventually learn how to fly, and so do children.
Unlike robins, children, however, always seem to know the way back home.

All of the Batkids just waltz through the Manor’s front door without knocking.
The first port of call, is to rifle through the mail for any letters that had been sent to the Manor (or in Jason’s case, the magazine he liked reading as a teen, that Bruce has never stopped the subscription for.)

The second stop is the kitchen. Always, the kitchen. A quick hello to Alfred before the fridge is raided and the random prodigal child is off in search of whatever had called them back home for.

Without fail, the final stop. Each child always pokes their heads around Bruce’s study and gives him a wave, a hug, a hello, before disappearing off.

Times like this, when his children actually remember that Wayne Manor exists?
Alfred will find Bruce stood at the top of the grand staircase listening.
Not just to the arguments, although there were a lot.
Oh no, he also listens to how the kids have just come home as if they had never left. Slotting back in. Filling the Manor with their favourite shows, activities and general chatter.
Bringing the manor back to life again.

All children grow up. All children will one day, fly the nest.
However, no matter what life throws at the Batkids, come hell or high water, even death itself. Each of them can walk through Wayne Manor’s doors and just for a moment, feel the weight of adulthood lift from their shoulders.

It may take longer for some of them, than the others, but in the end? Deep down, beneath all the bravado and angst? Each Batkid knows that they can always come home.

And that is why Bruce Wayne stands at the top of the staircase and …. smiles.
Well, until the novelty wears off and he goes from Batdad to Batman on 0.2 seconds after someone falls off the chandelier for the millionth time!

Dear beautiful people,

we are at a loss for words. These past four weeks have been… everything. We knew this fandom was special, we have known that for a while, but the love we found, the hope, the kindness… it made us believe in, embrace, humanity again.

We want to express our gratitude to each and every single one of you. Whether you donated or not, by spreading the message you helped this tiny spot of an idea to grow. Oh, and how it did! It became this glorious, magical thing. All because of you.

What WE did, TOGETHER, was incredible. Let it be known, remembered, acknowledged, that none of us are alone. There is this supportive, creative, generous group of people at the distance of a single word.

You matter. Be proud.

Here’s to first ports of call.

We bow to you.

With love, always and forever,

The Berena/CampWolfe Fundraiser

P.S. Please keep in mind that this is meant to be a surprise for Catherine Russell, Jemma Redgrave and the Holby City production. betweenthalines is adding the final touches to the card. Over £8000 have been donated, the final amount will be announced as soon as everything is ready to ship. Feel free to drop us a line if any questions arise.


Woohoo, finished up the long fingerless gloves today, ends woven in and had a bath.

The first picture is before the bath, hopefully you can see the yarn plumped up a bit and got a slight halo, which I wasn’t expecting, but I really like! They are currently drying.

My friend has first port of call on these, since she has worn all her cashmere ones out, these might make a nice stop gap. If they are not her style then I’ll stick them in the gift box! All in all I’m very happy with them!

You can find my notes on my Ravelry project page.

Originally posted by thetaronblog

Prompt: “Have you looked in the bowl?”

Character: Eggsy Unwin (Suggested by anon)

Warning: N/A

“Love, have you seen my gun?” You looked up from where you were reading your book, to see Eggsy running about the house, pulling it apart essentially in search of his gun.

“Have you looked in the bowl?” The bowl itself was a nondescript  bowl that you put on a table in the hallway leading into your house, almost everything ended up there, keys, guns, glasses, the odd piece of fruit every now and then, a tie, and so forth. Typically in your house the first port of call was the bowl.


“Check the bowl, honey.” You watched him walk off somewhat like a child who’d been embarrassed by his mother, a little smile on your face as you heard him thumping through the house. 

“Did you find it?!” You called out after a few moments knowing that he would have gotten to the bowl by that point and not hearing him stomp his way back through the house (he really did have the heaviest foot steps for a spy?!) you assumed he had either found it or was still looking.

“It was in the bowl!” Was called back and you felt a smug satisfaction at being right. You were always right. (Well not always, he did tend to beat you in trivial pursuit after all)

“I told you!”


“Sometime late in 1937 following the Japanese capture of Shanghai, the USS Edsall (DD-219) as a part of its normal duties paid a port call to Yokohama, Japan several years. And one of the Edsall’s sailors, in search of souvenirs, visited the studio of artist H. Shimidzu as he had done two years before in 1935. According to a maritime art site, Shimidzu, was one of Japans first pier-head painters, who appears to have been active in the 1920s and 1930s painting maritime scenes of visiting merchantmen and warships. These small 20 X 14 paintings, done on silk with watercolor or gouache, usually featured the ship in profile with Mt Fuji looming in the background.”

Week 1 Theme: Travel

Welcome to the first theme of the Kylux Cantina! We’re doing things a little differently today, since normally, the weekly theme will come out on Mondays to give you all plenty of time to send in prompts for the Sunday challenges. Consider this a soft open. :) Here’s how it works:

The theme is Travel

  • Please send all prompts related to this theme to our askbox (anon is on).
  • Keep your prompts as open-ended as possible, to ensure easy and inventive drabble responses. They could be simple and atmospheric— something like, “arrivals and departures,” “port of call,” or “lift-off”—could be the name of a city or country, a mode of travel, or a line from a song or poem. You are also very welcome to link to images. (All this is to say, please don’t send full story outlines or fleshed-out headcanons.)
  • On Sunday, the prompts will be published throughout the day, so as not to flood your dashes. At your leisure, you are welcome to reblog the prompt with your own drabble or art, or submit to the cantina.

That’s it! Asks are open. Have fun!

cardiff3  asked:

My Mom is re reading her favorite series and is complaining about all the mistakes she is finding. Mostly really obvious grammar mistakes. We are wondering who to write to, to try and correct these? The publisher, the author (who we now think is having ghost writers write for her)?

The publisher would be my first port of call, as it’s likely their editors making certain changes or not catching certain things. Which happens a lot I’m afraid, especially if it’s on Kindle.

I remember when they had to re-release Terry Pratchett’s Raising Steam on Kindle cause whoever did the formatting for the e-copy fucked around with the grammar for some reason. Also Lady Sybil’s name gets spelt wrong in Snuff, I think. That one actually made it into the hardback print.

So yea, publisher, hunt around for customer service email.

From Script to Screen: The Strange Alchemy of ‘Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans’ by Soheil Rezayazdi

The word “iguana” doesn’t appear in the shooting script of Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans. And why should it? Written by veteran TV writer William Finkelstein, the script unfolds with the cause-and-effect logic of a tight police procedural. Prior to penning Bad Lieutenant, Finkelstein wrote more than 50 episodes of L.A. Law, created and wrote on Brooklyn South, and contributed to such cop show staples as Law & Order and NYPD Blue. The man knows how to write a coherent crime drama. He’s devoted his career to the genre, mastering its plot points and character arcs for network television.

So why, in Bad Lieutenant, does a routine scene of police surveillance devolve into a full minute of shaky close-ups of iguanas? Why do scenes end with mystifying non-sequiturs like “Shoot him again…his soul is still dancing”? Why does its protagonist enter a bar shouting, “Sup! Sup! Sup, motherfucker!” for no reason? And why does he aim a gun at an old lady’s head and seethe “Maybe you should drop dead, you selfish cunt!” long after a director should have shouted “cut”?

William Finkelstein wrote none of that. His script originated in the early 2000s as a New York-set TV pilot. Over time, he reworked the material—first into a feature, then into a New Orleans noir. He finished revisions on the script in 2008 as the film was in production. The final script, which he sent me prior to our recent meet-up at an Italian bakery in the West Village, bears the signature of a police procedural master craftsman. Over espressos and lemon ices, I implored Finkelstein to discuss the brazen changes made to his script by the erratic tag team of Nicolas Cage and director Werner Herzog.

Our discussion, along with a close look at the unpublished shooting script, reveals how many of Bad Lieutenant’s most singularly strange moments were born.

“I always wanted to pull back to the procedural nature [of the script],” Finkelstein said, “and Werner basically didn’t give a shit about any of that.”

Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans is a true curiosity. Neither a remake nor a sequel to Abel Ferrara’s 1992 Bad Lieutenant, the film attempts to turn that film’s premise—a cop with a severe drug problem—into a franchise. Finkelstein likened the connection between his film and Ferrara’s to the Bond series. “From Russia with Love is not a sequel to Dr. No,” he said. “It’s a different movie with different bad guys and settings, but there’s a character in the midst of it—who’s played by different people over the years—who has certain traits that make James Bond James Bond.”

And so the refined Bond martini, shaken not stirred, becomes the bump of coke before work, the hit of crack with your local dealer, the shot of heroin to end the night. Take your pick. Both bad lieutenants love it all. Not surprisingly, there’s no word yet on a third installment to a film franchise whose trademarks include hardcore drug use, gambling debts, and sexual bribery.

The 2009 film is a gleeful exercise in provoking head scratches, raised eyebrows, dropped jaws. Where to start? That a Nic Cage cop drama is the biggest budgeted film of Werner Herzog’s career? Or how about its supporting cast, a grab bag of the formerly famous (Val Kilmer, Fairuza Balk, Xzibit) that gives the film its straight-to-video flavor? Or maybe we focus on the title, Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans, a name as indecisive and unwieldy as the film itself?

Above all, though, we have the enchanting interplay between three distinct voices: Herzog, Cage, and Finkelstein. The three operate as something of a jazz trio— Finkelstein keeps time while Herzog and Cage solo over his material. Each player takes turns taking control of what’s on screen. Cage brings the Tourettic outbursts of a repressed superstar unchained. Herzog injects the film with lyrical (and often very goofy) interludes. And Finkelstein gives contrast to his partners’ more self-indulgent noodling. Together, the three don’t exactly harmonize; their agendas clash on the screen, birthing moments of wondrous strangeness. You either dig the contrapuntal pleasures, or you hear nothing but noise.

This piece focuses on the film’s noisiest moments: those flashes of improvisation and left-field obsession smuggled into Bad Lieutenant. I select four scenes where the film erupts into delicious chaos. These are the scenes where a genre picture, penned by an industry veteran, morphs into a kind of madness no screenwriter could dream up.

“You’re the fucking reason this country’s going down the drain!”

A police officer investigates a homicide while battling his own demons. Bad Lieutenant, for all its digressions, hinges on a fairly straightforward premise. As the film’s tagline cutely puts it, the only criminal Lt. Terence McDonagh can’t catch…is himself. Our protagonist stumbles around New Orleans, getting into all kinds of trouble, as he gathers evidence against the likely perp, a local drug dealer named Big Fate (Xzibit). McDonagh has shades of the great stoner detectives—The Dude, Doc Sportello, Altman’s Philip Marlowe—only he doesn’t shy away from conflict; he seeks it out like a commuter with low blood sugar.

His biggest meltdown arrives in a luxury nursing home. McDonagh’s there to interrogate Binnie, a nursing home assistant, on the whereabouts of her grandson. In the script, he badgers Binnie and a patient in her care, an elderly woman in a wheelchair. Binnie refuses to talk—until McDonagh cuts off the patient’s oxygen supply. Aghast, Binnie gives up her grandson’s location. McDonagh reattaches the oxygen tubes, having extracted the information he needs to move the plot forward, and leaves. End scene.

This two-page exchange runs a sadistic three minutes in Bad Lieutenant. The unscripted touches start right away: Cage hides behind the old lady’s bedroom door as she enters, surreally shaving with an electric razor. He attacks this material with the whisper-or-scream volatility of his famed freakouts. Dialogue-wise, he sticks to Finkelstein’s words for the first two minutes, drawing out lines like “Children…were executed” for maximum menace. From there, he transforms the moment into macabre humor. Cage introduces a gun into the scene, shoving it up against Binnie’s temple as he fumes, “Where the fuck is he?” Once he gets his answer, Cage extends the scene with a virtuoso verbal assault on the old lady. “Maybe you should drop dead you selfish cunt!” he erupts after a few seconds of silence.

It’s too much to print here in full. You can find it in any Nic Cage supercut worth your time.

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