jibing

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Hilariously Translated Signs For All Occasions By Sign Fail

Quirky puns, suggestive innuendos and sarcastic jibes are the rage here at Sign Fail, the online Etsy shop that creates hilarious signs, cards and magnets. Dubbing their unique phrasing as “Chinglish of Engrish”, Sign Fail takes inspiration of oddly translated signs from all over Asia and dresses innocent attempts at communication in the most funniest and diverse ways on the sign-making market! 

Built on sturdy acrylic perspex, the lettering is applied with gloss vinyl making them more durable than usual.  Their ridiculously translated signs with certain caution can be used at professional gatherings, home and parties to bring a few tears of laughter when your guests or customers are looking for the toilet. At Sign Fail, they strongly believe that even a wrongly placed word on the blandest signboard can make your day! Find them on Etsy.

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@wearepaladin I heard this and thought of you. You sound like the sort of person to choose peace through tyranny. Me too, to be honest.

Tyrants are so profitable.

So a couple of days ago I finished reading Robin Neallands’ Great War Generals on the Western Front 1914-1918. And whilst i enjoyed the book, I did take issue with a few things.

I will preface the book by saying that it’s not an academic history and Neallands points that out in his introduction. He also points out his own military experience and suggests that it might enable him to better evaluate the performance of the generals than academic historians “in their calm Oxbridge studies” and throughout the book slight jibes towards modern (though unnamed) historians follow accordingly.
It’s pretty clearly an attempt to defend the British generals of the War from the charge of being ‘butchers and blunderers’ and an attempt to correct the popular view that they were incompetent to a man. And to that end I’d say that it was actually fairly successful. He argues that British generals (like all Western Front generals) varied in quality and though some were quite clearly terrible, some more were very good and most were at least competent. 

However the way he does this bears some scrutiny. Neallands’ looks at a number of the larger battles that took place on the Western Front, what brought them about and the constraints under which they were fought. He then analyses the performance of the generals involved, and how they stack up to other similar engagements. So far, so good. The background to the battles, the political, strategic and supply situations all have an impact on how the battle is fought by the generals and Neallands makes good use of that, showing how other factors played a decisive role in many of the Western Front battles. These are all important aspects that are often overlooked when speaking about command during the War. 
But Neallands conclusions often exonerate a general who had not performed well by reflecting on the extent to which their efforts were hampered by a need to assist the French, or were not supported by the French, or were distracted by political machinations or in the case of Haig, as the author states repeatedly, by his “optimistic nature.”

The amount of blame placed on the French for the failure of British attacks or the strategic and tactical decisions seems out of proportion and a little hypocritical given it’s a repetition of the arguments used by Canadian and Australian historians that blame the British for the same transgressions, an accusation that Neallands particularly despises.

Overall the book says a lot about the command of a division, corps or army on the Western Front and the challenges faced by those in command. However it is very nearly an apologia for Haig, Gough and Rawlinson, three of the British generals who have received the most vitriol over the years. Neallands argues well and writes better and thus the book is persuasive in its thesis, but the authors bias shows through and is best read with that firmly in the back of mind.


Now Reading: The Lionheart: Lieutenant-General Sir Talbot Hobbs - David Coombes.

anonymous asked:

What is with your massive (love) boner for Islam? All you can do is compare Islamic terrorist groups with massive public support, funded by governments, sanctioned charities and private investors with widely-condemned, unaffiliated Christian groups with no backing from anyone but their own members. I'd love to watch you live under Islamic rule and try to see your sassy jibes get you out of that pickle.

It is fascinating how my refusal to condemn Islam as inherently worse than other religions due to the actions of a minority with a fringe opinion in a part of the world that has been torn apart by political intrigues I will never personally understand the devastating impact of is then turned into a comparison of a cuddly love cock gently blowing kisses to anyone but Christians. 

I condemn the terrorists and their actions, when asked what other religious groups would EVER do such awful things I provide a list of Christian affiliated groups (some of which had Government support btw) and am told it “doesn’t count” because apparently when you go visit the Vatican you’re not scared of them and that is apparently an important criteria. 

Now you’re telling me that government funding (which some of those groups had, and other non Muslim religious affiliations that have resorted to violence and terrorism have ALSO been state funded, read a history book, a MODERN history book and NO they are not all “widely condemned” by a long fucking shot) is a new criteria that must be met. 

It’s a logical fallacy known as “Shifting the goalpost”, you constantly move the goal back further so that I can never meet it and you never have to concede, it’s sad. 

And don’t pretend that terrorists don’t have support in other countries, Donald Trump is a the Republican party nominee, he suggests torture and terrorism and war crimes on a weekly, if not DAILY, basis and he has massive support. 

Atrocities commited by America, England and Australia in recent memory might normally be declared war crimes but are not, simply because we limit the scope. We have allowed terrorism to be synonymous with Muslims, we have entered that into our public consciousness, it’s how many of us became aware of the word and politicians and the media have capitalised on this to no end.

If you don’t want to think for yourself, then don’t. It is no skin off of my nose. If you want to believe that Islam is a singularly horrific religion  then go ahead and believe it, there is nothing I can say to convince you otherwise. 

But it seems peculiar that you want to come to me and shift the goalpost again and again. You have to end game, just give it up son. 

Redbeard Logic Chain:

If Redbeard represents someone the situations point to that person being a love interest (being associated with John’s theme in THOB, saying “what’s your dogs name?” when they’re going to look for a missing boyfriend, Redbeard being the thing Sherlock goes to after John trying to calm down, Redbeard scratching during the conversation about romance). However, we know Sherlock hasn’t been in a relationship since his behavior around John only makes sense if he’s never gotten anywhere with anyone before (plus the fact that Mycroft is extremely sure about this and his jibe about it in ASIB upsets Sherlock). So Redbeard is a dog and Sherlock really is just that small that his dog dying made him emotionally damaged. 

sniperct  asked:

Like I don't think overwatch is evil (it doesn't jibe with what they've said they want their IP to be, more lighthearted and hopeful than, say, starcraft or diablo), But I don't want them to be perfect 100% goodie two shoes who can do know wrong either and I don't want talon to be 100% evil GIVE ME ALL THE COMPLEX UNDERTONES AND SHADES OF GREY AND MORAL QUANDRIES

Exactly, I don’t want Talon to be ‘evil’ and Overwatch to be ‘good’, I want that to be the start of the story. We’re being told the story by people like Tracer who are lovely but extremely naive and optimistic and so are of course going to be like “we’re the heroes! overwatch is great!”; we get shades of grey from Soldier: 76 and Mercy who both have voicelines which suggest they think Overwatch should stay shut down. Then we have Reaper who whole-heartedly opposes Overwatch and wants to eradicate them. TBH Reaper is far more likely to know the shady side of Overwatch from his involvement in Blackwatch than Tracer is. 

Show me all the shit Overwatch fucked up (besides every starting area EVER), show me the morally grey shit they did. Show me something heroic Talon did. Or that Talon was formed in response to something Overwatch did. 

I want shades of grey. I want complexity, and I know Blizzard can give it to me. 

Oddly, the thing that struck me the most about DM 2x09 wasn’t the one night stand between Nyx and Four - though tbh I see more going through the motions they tried to make sexy by adding blur filters and post-production sounds. The post-sex weirdness and Three’s jibes were kind of funny, the sex scene was meh. But Four’s betrayal of Nyx (re Milo) hangs over that like a sword of Damocles.

Anyway, I was ok with all of that … until the scene where Two is being beaten up by the Aryan Nazi synth, then Nyx arrives and tries to save her and fails and then Four arrives with the other guys and puts down the Nazi synth by shooting him.

Here’s the thing:

1. if all it took was bullets from Four’s gun, then why didn’t bullets from Nyx’s gun work?

2. Is this the first time in the entire series that the women have been saved by the guys? I think it might be.

So when I think about that - as well as really odd things in that ep (like all of the station’s soldiers were men, all of the receptionists were women) - it was like being thrown back to a 1950s tv show with some really conservative gendered stuff going on.

And it’s when I put that stuff alongside the thus-far exclusive heterosexuality of the show (including making Android str8), that I start to really wonder why this show seems to have so quickly gone in just a few short episodes from pushing the boundaries of gender to pandering to gender stereotypes.

It even went so far to have that ridiculous moment of Two asking Six and Four to help her with dragging Three out of the ‘fridge’ and directing (the ‘girls’) Android and Nyx (and Five) to ‘stand back’ - even though we know that Android is stronger than anyone, and Nyx can hold her own against Two. And Two is anyways strong enough to drag Three by herself.

The issue is less (or not just) about the exclusive str8-ness of DM’s canon, but that it seems to require making the women (as a group) less strong than we’ve seen them be.

I sure hope that doesn’t continue because gross

Hips Don’t Lie (Reaper Oneshot)

(Reaper76/ Reaper x Soldier 76 is sort of implied with a small sprinkle of McHanzo if you squint)

When the Overwatch members, or former members, thought of Reaper, the first that usually came to mind was ‘Edge Lord’. The skull mask and black cloak like costume screamed that he was the 'darkness-has-consumed-my-soul’ type, but very few of the Overwatch members actually questioned his attire. Soldier 76, or Jack, had made a few comments and failed jibes at the so-called overlord of darkness, but Gabriel had merely rolled his red eyes under the mask and evaporated into mist, escaping to the quiet confines of his room or to the practice range to blow the gears out of the robots and leave them scrap metal for junkers, Roadhog and Junkrat, to scavenge through. This time however, Reaper was perched in the large lounge of the outpost, his mask covering his face, though he had shed the large cloak and shot gun shell belts.


Gabriel was bored, and when he was bored, he usually went and blew the stuffing out of practice dummies or the chips out practice bots. But, having done so a couple of days ago, they were still in the process of being replaced and repaired after his temper tantrum. Never whilst working for Talon, had he encountered such boredom- usually they were quick to send him out again on a mission after some official or dangerous intelligence officer. None of them put up much of a good fight, but they were entertainment to distract him while there were no leads on his own case of eliminating members of Overwatch. Widowmaker made for, generally, poor company, usually sitting alone in her room or on the target range in a perch shooting. Then again, her attitude always annoyed him, and they would often get into fights and arguments, both having short tempers and sharp tongues. The times they did get along was generally when they were making fun of people together and sassing anyone who questioned either of their dark attire. To make matters worse, right now, there was no one around who Reaper could actually go and speak to without wanting to be sick in his own mouth.


Reaper let out a long humming sigh, raspy through the material of his mask, the metal making it echo and the sound shudder. He had heard the creeping footsteps of the younger members, being keen to avoid his laid out form on the sofa, and sneak past to one of their rooms to play video games no doubt. The rustling of bags was easy to distinguish, and Gabriel casually concentrated, his form rippling into thick black smoke, before he materialised in front of the four sneaking youngsters. Tracer, Junkrat, Lucio and D.va jumped and huddled closer for comfort from one another. Lucio clutched their bags closer and Junkrat scowled holding a large bucket of bolts and various pieces of junk metal close to his chest. Hana huffed and crossed her arms in front of her chest like a rebellious teenager, a prominent pout on her lips.


Reaper raised an eyebrow beneath the mask over his face as he eyed up the contents of the plastic shopping bags. Hana scowled at him and protectively jumped in front of Lucio and their shopping.

“We’re adults! You can’t tell us we can’t have any of this!” She huffed and was ready to stomp her foot on the ground, but was shocked by the dark laughter that escaped the masked terrorist in front of them. Reaper chuckled deeply, the rumbling a deliciously dark timbre. He grinned behind his mask, his eyes glowing red in the mesh covered eye holes.

“Who do you think I am? I’m not Morrison.” Reaper nonchalantly looked at his clawed hand and then turned his head to eye each of them in turn, “You can drink yourselves silly for all I care.” The small group gave nervous smiles and began to shimmy past him, “But,” They halted in their tracks, “I will need some sort of payment in order to keep this quiet.” He grinned salaciously behind his mask and tossed his head towards one of the white bags, “How about that bottle of Tequila?” The group of four youngsters eyed each other in questioning. Reaper quickly grew tired of them and growled, “Or would you like me to tell 76 and have him on your asses?” Lucio quickly pulled out the alcohol and held it out to Reaper.


Reaper reached forwards and snatched the bottle from the Brazilian’s hands. He turned the glass bottle in his hands and hummed, “Not bad kiddies.” The undead assassin nodded and flipped a hand, “Don’t worry, Morrison wont know jack shit.” The youngsters all looked apprehensive but were quick to flee, tugging along a ranting Hana with them as they escaped to somewhere private to indulge in the alcohol. Reaper snorted to himself and quickly snapped the bottle open with a swift flick of his wrist, “Why would I tell boy scout shit in the first place?” He chuckled to himself and pushed his mask up a little to expose his mouth, taking a good swig of the amber liquid. Gabriel hissed at the sting and hummed, tugging his mask back down, throwing his cloak over his shoulder as he made his way back towards his room.


The former Blackwatch member passed by a floating Zenyatta and the cyborg Genji on his way back and muttered to himself, briefly giving the Japanese ninja a wave of a few fingers in acknowledgement. His omnic accompaniment, however, received a sneer and a grunt. Gabriel was not too fond of the omnic integration idea. The monk gave no provocative response and just nodded as he continued to float along, his orbs whirling around his neck. Genji gave a brief nod to Reaper before continuing after his master, lowly whispering in a hushed computer toned voice as he rounded the corner with the omnic. Gabriel sneered to himself and leant forwards for the retina scan- he was lucky the laser technology could read through the thick mesh over his eyes. The door to his private quarters beeped and slid open, Athena greeting him with an automated message, which, although she was a computer generated voice, sounded icier and icier the longer he remained in the base. He wondered if she had the capacity to remember his raid, and attempt to steal the location of all the Overwatch members. Either way, the thought amused him as he clicked the door closed and locked it, throwing his cloak over the back of a chair in his room as he entered.


The male placed the alcoholic beverage down on the dresser and sat down on his small bed to remove the armour plating on his legs, and unclipped the shoe pieces, standing up to unfasten them from the backs of his heels. They snapped off with two clicks and Gabriel then shoved them across the room with his foot as he removed his gauntlets and claws. That was followed by his armour plated chest and the last of his belts. He left the ones around his arms and placed a hand on the cold metal of his skull mask. The skin of his arms was washed out and the flesh incredibly dead looking. Reaper hesitated to pull the mask up, but did so after a moments hesitation, closing his eyes as his face was reflected in the mirror.


Slowly, he opened his eyes, the red irises reflecting back at him, black sclera ominously creating a glowing effect against the red. His face, as it usually was, was washed out, but horribly disfigured with scars. It wasn’t that you couldn’t tell it was him, merely that the scar tissue had distorted the skin, lighter in colour and travelling across the entirety of his face in criss cross patterns. One ran from the top of his cheek bone across the expanse of his cheek and across his lips, cutting through the facial hair to leave an obvious gouge in the hair. A couple cut through his eyebrows and many covered the rest of his face ranging from small to medium in size. The smoke evaporting from his mouth was also another issue, sometimes the skin would dissipate into smoke, revealing his teeth in a gruesome smile. The smoke issue was usually not much of a bother but when it really kicked in, it made it incredibly difficult to talk, his cheeks all but gone at times. Now, however, it wasn’t particularly bad, and his face was relatively in tact.


Gabriel was quick to turn away from his own reflection, grabbing the liquor and downing another few gulps, waiting to see if the strong alcohol would have any effect on him. Sure enough, after a few more swigs, he felt a tingle of something run through his head. Still, the alcohol wasn’t going to be a distraction for long, and quickly, his boredom set back in. Humming, Reaper scanned his room and frowned at a piece of technology in the corner. It had a pair of speakers and, he then figured out it was meant to be a stereo and sound system. Curiously, he pushed the power button and turned the dial, nothing played, and it was then he became aware of a computer connected to the back of the device. With a grin he punched in the title of a random lyrical song and hummed with amusement as it sounded through the speakers. Soon, an evil grin turned his lips upwards. Typing in another title he knew he waited for the heavy guitar to kick in and hummed along happily as the screaming began. Taking another few gulps from the Tequila, he felt the fuzzy effects of the alcohol, and chuckled, ideas of tormenting the other people that lived in the base clouding his mind. Oh the fun he was going to have with this.


Being the local Edge Lord, meant he had to keep up appearances, and so, some good old heavy metal was just the way to do that. Someone singing about pain and anger was precisely the way to annoy everyone in the building, and, honestly, Gabriel was partial to a good electric guitar solo and heavy bass line. Scrolling down the list, he took another swig of Tequila and gave a rumbling laugh, clicking the most iconic looking thumbnail- four men kitted out with grotesque looking bloodied make-up, one even having the effect of no cheek. The song started with the tapping of a hi-hat before the crashing and rolling drums began and a scream echoed through the room. Reaper only chuckled and threw himself down on his bed, again, taking gulps of alcohol as he moved his foot to the beat of the bass drum. Not satisfied with the volume, he leaned over, placing his bottle of Tequila on the bedside table, before spinning the volume dial randomly up. The guitar screamed a chord and he nodded to himself with a grin. Perfect. Now all he had to do was wait for Morrison to get pissed about it, and the games would begin.


After an hour of random metal songs, there was zero reaction from the uptight soldier. He knew he had returned from his mission, having sneaked through the vents in smoke form to check when half an hour had passed. He sneered at the sight of the unmasked commander flipping pancakes in the small kitchen, Mercy smiling and chatting with him and Reinhardt. The music was very much noticeable and he whipped back around, materialising in his room to kick the volume up another notch in hopes of eliciting a response. Gabriel sulked, sat in the chair of his room, the alcohol really kicking in and making his vision swim a little. They still hadn’t come to argue with him, and he was now tired of the game. Thumping over to the speakers he snorted to himself and clicked on the monitor, selecting a random latin dance piece. The guitar strummed and whisked along notes in practised lilts and scales, a trumpet pipped every now and then and the beat of castanets. Reaper chuckled to himself and tapped his foot with a smirk.


Solider 76 had easily learnt to ignore Reaper’s attempts at distractions and provocative jibes to try and illicit a response of some sort which resulted in an argument and near fight in most cases. After talking to Mercy and Reinhardt, making himself some pancakes and the large German an enormous batch with a couple for the Swiss medic. They both thanked him and continued to eat in the kitchen and Jack groaned as he opened the door the screaming and electric guitars blaring down the hall. He rolled his eyes and tugged a phone out of his pocket, unravelling a pair of ear buds, sticking them in and humming to an oldie. No matter what, he wasn’t going to pay attention to the annoying undead man.


It didn’t take long for the thumping from Reyes’ room to stop and Jack sighed with relief, having polished off his pancakes, removing his earphones to listen cautiously. He nodded and took his plate back, pocketing the phone as he wiped the dish clean. What he didn’t expect was the music to resume with a harmonious guitar and thumping latino rhythm. The drums beat was general of the Latin American music Gabriel would indulge in quietly. But, for him to play the secret pleasure out loud, now Jack knew something was wrong. He groaned and stood up, heading towards the room with the thumping music, a grimace on his face.


The commander was met there by Mccree, puffing on a cigar nervously. The cowboy tugged his hat down on his head and held his cigar between his index and middle finger, the ash falling from the end. Mccree was not going to barge in there, and Jack knew it, as a young man he had been scarred by a very overbearing Gabriel, who had dragged him from the deadlock gang hideout, wide eyed and screaming. Reyes’ had snorted at him and holstered his shot guns grabbing a young Mccree by his poncho and dragging him, kicking and screaming, back to the plane. A harsh scolding and dark tale telling had Mccree seeing the stupidity in his actions. Not to mention, he had some harsh memories of the Latino scarily barging into his room to demand he train and clean his mess up. The harsh Spanish scoldings were still engraved in his memory, mainly the smacks around the back of the head for doing stupid things. Mainly flirting. He always got a wallop for flirting on the job.


Mccree rotated his robotic hand and furrowed his brow.

“I heard the ol’ man laughing. But I sure as hell 'ain’t barging on in there to check on 'im.” The gunslinger shuddered and took another puff of his cigar, “I dread to think what the maniac would do to me now, being that he’s undead and all.” Jack rolled his eyes at the brown haired man and scowled at the cigar.

“No smoking indoors Jesse, you know that.” He spoke gruffly and tried the handle on the door. It was locked from the inside, and Jack sure wasn’t getting through the retina scan. He sighed and held his hand out to Mccree. The cowboy chewed the end of his cigar for a moment then spluttered.

“There is no way in hell I’m lettin’ ya’ use Peacekeeper to blow the ol’ man’s room open!” Mccree backed away with his hands in surrender, “You’re facing him on your own Commander. You bust in there by yourself.” Mccree cowered around the corner and gripped his hat, waiting for Solider 76 to make the first move. Jack rolled his eyes and disappeared for a moment before returning with his heavy pulse rifle. Smacking a magazine in he shrugged and fire three shots into the scanner and smiled before firing at the magnetic lock system. Athena buzzed over the speakers but he didn’t pay attention as he threw open the door with a very done look.


A few of the younger members of Overwatch came shooting around the corner at the commotion, Tracer appearing in a second by Soldier 76’s side. D.va ran around a moment later with a flushed face, hiccuping. Lucio and Junkrat followed behind closely as Jack stepped into the room. Mccree peered around the doorway and burst into laughter with the rest of the younger members of Overwatch. Junkrat’s manic laughter did not distract Jack from the sight before him.


Gabriel rolled his hips to the beat of the music before popping them up one after another with a movement of his hands, moving them behind his head in a sensual movement up his body. They slowly crept along his body, running up his thick thighs and along his hard stomach running up into the tight black curls on top his his head. He clapped then and rolled his hips again before swaying them from side to side, slowly rotating towards the open doorway. He was smiling happily until he turned around and spotted the crowd around the door. The flush on his cold cheeks from the alcohol grew a little as he faced the group and the young gamer girl recorded his dancing with a high pitched giggle. His red eyes flashed as he whipped into a mist and whooshed around the room grabbing his mask and cloak, putting them on in a blink of an eye to hide his face from the group. There was a deadly silence as he smashed the power button on the stereo system, swaying a little from the alcohol in his system.


Jack was merely gripping his forehead with a long sigh whilst the group of youngsters behind him howled with laughter. Junkrat was on the floor wriggling.

“So much for the dark overlord!”He kicked out with his peg-leg and howled with laughter again, rolling around in fits of giggles. D.va was giggling maniacally from behind the screen of her phone whilst Lucio and Tracer held onto each other to remain upright from the peels of laughter knocking the wind out of them. Mccree was chuckling lowly until Reaper’s blazing red gaze fell on him. The cowboy coughed and scurried down the hall, puffing on his cigar, pulling the rim of his hat down over his eyes, muttering about some sort of training with Hanzo on the practice range. The rest of the group was silence with an abrupt shout of violent Spanish.

“Me cago en tu puta madre!” Reaper spat the words at them, mainly at Jack, before disappearing into smoke and escaping through the ventilation system of the building, screaming curse words all the way through the metal pipes.


D.va grinned and hiccuped, turning to her friends and grinning widely.

“This one is sooooo going online!” She giggled with her friends and froze up as Soldier 76 sniffed them all.

“Have you all been drinking?” They froze up and gave smiles before making a break for it, the commander shouting at them, shaking his fist, “WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU ABOUT BRINGING ALCOHOL INTO THE BASE YOU LITTLE- GET BACK HERE!!”


The next day, as they were all gathered around the table for breakfast, the kids sobering up slowly with throbbing headaches, Solider 76 quietly watched Reaper, who had only come out of his room with the vents being sealed and the practice range locked down after his angry rampage. He’d torn the circuit boards out of every bot in the radius and destroyed all the technology he could get his talons into. Jack coughed and nodded at his friend at the end of the table.


“Do you know what they say Reyes?” Reaper rolled his eyes beneath his mask at Jack’s tone, not having to look at his face to sense the grin, the red rolling around under the dark mesh, growling to himself.

“I swear to god Morrison. If you so much as say a word about yesterday I will end your fucking life.”

Still, the commander was not deterred and he grinned at his former comrade with a positively shit-eating smile.

“They say that hips don’t lie.” Jack reclined in his chair and grinned at the rest of the members of Overwatch, all staring at him with very much, disturbed and disappointed looks. Reaper growled and threw his hands up in the air.

“Why have you got to be like this Morrison, for fucks sake!” Gabriel shoved his chair out from under the table and stomped away leaving a laughing Soldier 76.


D.va piped in after the undead man’s tantrum, her eyebrows raised as she watched the video on her phone.

“Actually. He’s got some moves. I wonder where he learnt them.” She muttered to herself as Lucio leant over to watch the video and nodded in agreement after a few seconds of watching the hip rolling.

“Yeah, the barn owl actually does, heh.” They both looked at Soldier 76 with curiously gazes as he coughed and Ana cut into their conversation.

“He used to win the talent competitions with those moves, not to mention his guitar, you should hear him sing sometime, he likes to get in some practice after midnight on a Thursday.” The two looked at each other with wide eyes and Solider 76 laughed.

“I’ll show you the tapes of his dances he did for one show. It was spectacular.” Ana chimed in with a devious smirk.

“Oh. But the one for the ladies night was by far the best.” Soldier 76 growled a resolute no and D.va grinned mischievously, ready to get her hands on the black mailing material.



Reaper, meanwhile, sulked in his room, the singer screaming 'crawling in my skin’ as he muttered death curses upon everyone.

I note the obvious differences
in the human family.
Some of us are serious,
some thrive on comedy.

Some declare their lives are lived
as true profundity,
and others claim they really live
the real reality.

The variety of our skin tones
can confuse, bemuse, delight,
brown and pink and beige and purple,
tan and blue and white.

I’ve sailed upon the seven seas
and stopped in every land,
I’ve seen the wonders of the world
not yet one common man.

I know ten thousand women
called Jane and Mary Jane,
but I’ve not seen any two
who really were the same.

Mirror twins are different
although their features jibe,
and lovers think quite different thoughts
while lying side by side.

We love and lose in China,
we weep on England’s moors,
and laugh and moan in Guinea,
and thrive on Spanish shores.

We seek success in Finland,
are born and die in Maine.
In minor ways we differ,
in major we’re the same.

I note the obvious differences
between each sort and type,
but we are more alike, my friends,
than we are unalike.

We are more alike, my friends,
than we are unalike.

We are more alike, my friends,
than we are unalike.
——
© Maya Angelou, Human Family.

Photo edits by me © fawkesflame123.

This love came back to me - extra scene

(I mentioned this in the notes of the last chapter, and because a couple of people said they wanted to see this I ended up writing it, enjoy!)


“Why don’t you knock back a few gin and tonics? That usually loosens you up.”

Steve’s temper flared at Howard’s jibe. Peggy was exhausted, and in pain, the last thing she needed was to be insulted.

He prised his hand from Peggy’s iron grip and stormed towards the door. Howard was leaning against the wall, a smug grin on his face.

“Do we have an ETA for this kid yet - hey!”

Howard struggled weakly as Steve picked him up and threw him over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift.

“Put me down!” He slapped his arms against Steve’s back but the level of alcohol in his system made his coordination sloppy and his protests limp.

“I just wanted to spur her on. Shouldn’t she have had it already?”

Steve clenched his jaw, rounding the corner to the waiting room.

He dumped Howard down on shaky legs amongst the crowd of commandos, half of whom were sleeping.

Steve turned to Dugan.

“Do not, under any circumstances, let him out of your sight.”

“Got it, Cap.” Dugan nodded before taking Howard by the arm.

Steve headed back to the room as quickly as he could.

“He won’t be bothering you again,” he said to Peggy, as he closed the door behind him.

She smiled weakly at him and he went to her side, where he needed to be, placing his hand back in hers.

United States Coast Guard Barque EAGLE

It’s Word of the Week Wednesday!
Today’s word is “wearing,” which is the process of bringing the ship’s stern through the wind to get the wind on the opposite side.
Boating enthusiasts may be familiar with the term “jibing,” as this maneuver is called when performed on fore-and-aft rigged vessels.
Our swabs and exchange cadets got the chance to try their hand at a wear earlier today and helped to put some wind in our sails. Now it’s onto New London!
‪#‎CGCEagle‬
‪#‎WordOfTheWeek‬

anonymous asked:

okay but i am so 100% onboard with ace!percy that it almost soothes the ache of Tibs.

ace percy gives me life. ace aro percy even more tbh. 

- ace aro percy that would get jibes from his siblings for reading too much, he’s never going to find anyone that way. but he doesn’t care, the information in those books is far more valuable.

- ace aro percy caring so much about asthetics, that for ages he doesn’t realise that he’s not sexually or romantically attracted to people. he just thinks their look is super on point. 

- ace aro percy being kissed by vox machina, because there never seems to be any romantic string attached. 

- ace percy coming across romance novels that he loves, cause they are cheesy as fuck and who doesn’t like tearing something apart sometimes. but then he gets to the ridiculous sex scenes and the faces he pulls…

- ace percy that is really glad that grog and scanlan don’t ever try and drag him along on their ventures. 

- ace percy thats never really talked about being ace with vox machina, and when the lilith remarks came up hid his annoyance, he’s still not ready to talk about it. 

Human Family

I note the obvious differences
in the human family.
Some of us are serious,
some thrive on comedy.

Some declare their lives are lived
as true profundity,
and others claim they really live
the real reality.

The variety of our skin tones
can confuse, bemuse, delight,
brown and pink and beige and purple,
tan and blue and white.

I’ve sailed upon the seven seas
and stopped in every land,
I’ve seen the wonders of the world
not yet one common man.

I know ten thousand women
called Jane and Mary Jane,
but I’ve not seen any two
who really were the same.

Mirror twins are different
although their features jibe,
and lovers think quite different thoughts
while lying side by side.

We love and lose in China,
we weep on England’s moors,
and laugh and moan in Guinea,
and thrive on Spanish shores.

We seek success in Finland,
are born and die in Maine.
In minor ways we differ,
in major we’re the same.

I note the obvious differences
between each sort and type,
but we are more alike, my friends,
than we are unalike.

We are more alike, my friends,
than we are unalike.

We are more alike, my friends,
than we are unalike. 


Maya Angelou

josephine sat at the bar of the local pub, leaning against the glassy black counter top. the bartender poured her drink; whiskey, dry, and placed the glass in front of her. the blonde tossed it back, swallowing the burning liquor and immediately requesting another. that was when she looked down the line and noticed a companion. defensively, she jibed, “ what? it curbs the b l o o d t h i r s t, don’t judge. “

anonymous asked:

Si is a subjective function, right? So why do so many descriptions describe it as following societies' traditions rather than personal traditions? I follow personal traditions based on what my Te tells me works but being expected to follow other people's traditions based solely on "that everyone is doing/does" doesn't jibe with my Fi.

So, Si is indeed subjective. As for the rest could you elaborate a little more? Like, I follow various traditions that are societal, not personal (eg: I didn’t come up with the idea to eat turkey on Thanksgiving but I do follow that tradition), but I do exercise some level of judgment regarding which traditions I follow. Is that what you mean? Or are you talking more about societal expectations (gender roles and so on) than traditions?