not wearing it but it's great

Bronze statuette of a rider wearing an elephant skin - Unknown Hellenistic artist, 3rd Century BCE
Bronze, 9 3/4in. (24.8cm)

As Alexander the Great is represented with a similar elephant skin on coins minted by Ptolemy I of Egypt, this statuette may represent Alexander as ruler of Egypt. This figure has also been identified as Demetrios I of Bactria, who is represented on coins wearing the scalp of an elephant in recognition of his conquests in India. Its monumental quality may signify that it reflects a famous large-scale equestrian statue. [x]

gingerpaintbrush  asked:

Hey, could i have a ship? My icon is me, my face :p I love to dress in vintage clothes and love anything old styled. My favorite things to wear so far are tight wiggle dresses, great for my curvy figure. I love WW2 airplanes, and i frequently go to airshows with my family, most of the time in pin up atire. Im loving with Berlin at the moment, its just such a beautiful city, im possibly going next year! Im friendly, British, I sing and do art. People say im 'sweet' and that i care alot. thanks :)

I ship you with ;

1p!America ; Alfred Jones

- he loves ww2 planes

- and lots of vintage clothing

- going to airshows as dates would be so fun

- he’d probably take you out on a plane ride for fun

- and probably show off


Imperial German Army, the Paris Gun (German: Paris-Geschütz / Parizer Kanone), the largest artillery piece of the Great War, used to shell the french capital with impunity from 120km away, hence its name. 

Overall considered more of a psychological weapon, as the caliber and shell weight, alongside poor accuracy and extreme barrel wear meant the weapon had little destructive power. 

The Bakugou Annoyance Squad

ok so @dekusforest and i  were talking abt bnha and came up with the beauty that is bakugou annoyance squad:

  • so it started with Todoroki, Izuku, and Kirishima becoming really good friends after the hideout raid arc and realizing that they are the best people to push Bakugou’s buttons all the damn time
  • later Uraraka joins because she also likes to mess with Bakugou after the events of the sports fest.
  • Mrs. Bakugou hears about this and becomes the leader of the annoy Bakugou squad because she thinks its a great idea to make Katsuki have more friends and to keep him from getting to pompous about his power. She even gets them all t-shirts and stuff. She totally doesnt wear it when her sons around either
  • On the weekends they all end up following Bakugou home and hanging out there. They’re not even hanging out with him but they’re just there and it annoys the crap outta him
  • The rest of the squad texts mama Bakugou updates on how they’re messing with Katsuki. Usually its Todoroki and Uraraka making fun of how close he is with Kirishima and how lucky it is that their rooms are next to each other. 
  • This usually ends up in Bakugou breaking most of the cups in the dorm. This always happens when Bakugou is drinking something so there are like a million milk/juice stains on the 4th floor. Everyone regrets the carpet floors
  • Since Todoroki’s room is right above Bakugou’s he has endless fun just kinda walking around really early in the morning and late at night. A lot of the time Izuku is up there with him so double the noise.
  • Mama Bakugou ends up giving them embarrassing pictures of him as a baby and they end up circulating them around so much that even the teachers and all of class 1-b has seen them
  • Eventually the entirety of class 1-a is in on this entire plan to piss of Bakugou at any time and it works so well. Monoma gets in on it too.
  • They plan this really big prank to make a giant cake of the sludge monster that captured Bakugou in the beginning of the story and just shove it in his face.
  • He walks in on them making it so it doesn’t work but it gets him so riled up that he breaks a lot of the cups in the dorms
  • at this point he’s so fed up with the entire thing that he complains to Aizawa sensei who kinda dismisses it saying that its not like anyone’s hurting him, also he says that Bakugou NEEDS to stop breaking so many cups, Momo has had to remake like 10 of them

If anyone has anymore please feel free to add any.

A songbird deaf to his own song

Too long… I slept,

estranged from myself,

turning in my own condition,

unaware of what I was,

of what I needed…

but no more, never more.

I reclaim the ocean and stars.

I take back the city of industry and put it in its place.

Contentment is made from structures of light,

love is reciprocal, and

I renounce the foreign nature that poisoned me and prescribed me more poison as the cure.

I see the toxins in the dust of my body,

in the cracks of my country,

in the sky poisoned by clouds,

the land ripped up from its roots.

This skin that I wear is only a stitching in the great fabric of truth,

woven into that almighty sky and ocean of stars that gets worn everyday.

Too long… I lived blind 

to what I really was,

divorced from nature and deceived,

unaware of the vastness of my self and unself,

of the universe, of the whole.

Too long… I was a songbird deaf to his own song.

-Jerry Harris III

A group of British soldiers playing with their pet mascot, a baboon, which is wearing a British Army cap, and has a pipe in its mouth. They are servicemen of the Royal Engineers from South Africa, who landed in Belgium in October 1914, served through all three Battles of Ypres, Loos and Somme, now serving on the Italian Front.

In January 1949, MGM celebrated its Silver Jubilee by gathering 57 of its biggest stars, including Lassie, for a historic group photograph. There they sat (except for Lassie, who stood in front), in chairs arranged on bleachers on a soundstage, row on row of them, Tracy and Hepburn and Gable and Astaire and Garland and Durante and Errol Flynn, living proof that the great studio had, if not quite more stars than in the heavens, then at least more than anyone else. Wearing an unflattering light-gray suit and looking oddly pallid (and distinctly balding), Sinatra sat at the far right in the second-to-last row, in between Ginger Rogers and Red Skelton (who had broken everyone up when he walked in, calling out, “Okay, kids, the part’s taken, you can go home now”). Ava sat front and center in the second row, between Clark Gable and Judy Garland, strangely sedate in her blue suit and pearls and bright-red lipstick. Her hands, clutching a pair of red gloves, lay demurely folded in her lap.

Appearances—as was always the case where the movies were concerned—were deceiving. As was the distance that separated Ava and Frank in the bleachers.

When she drove onto the studio lot that day, Gardner recalled, “a car sped past me, swung in front, and slowed down so much I had to pass it myself. The car overtook me again and repeated the process. Having done this about three times, the car finally pulled alongside me, the grinning driver raised his hat and sped away to the same photo session. That was Frank. He could even flirt in a car.”

Sinatra’s theme that year was escape. He was going to Palm Springs more and more often, not so much as a retreat from hard work, of which there wasn’t much in 1949, as to get away from everyone and everything. One weekend in late January, batching it with Jimmy Van Heusen—his increasingly present Falstaff, pilot, pimp, and fixer—he stopped by a party at David O. Selznick’s place. Sipping a dry martini, Sinatra looked across the room and got a jolt more powerful than any gin could’ve given him: It was Ava, smiling at the tall, homely producer.

She felt Frank’s look, turned and flashed him a dazzling smile. He raised his glass and walked over.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hello, Frank. You know Mr. Selznick, don’t you?”

“Sure,” he said, not taking his eyes off her. In fact, Frank knew that it had been Selznick who had landed John Derek, the producer’s protégé, the plum role in Knock On Any Door. Knowing that Sinatra knew, and glancing back and forth between the two of them, Selznick excused himself.

“Hello,” Frank repeated. He couldn’t stop grinning at her.

“I thought we were past that stage.” She colored slightly at the unintended double meaning.

“It’s been a long time.”

“Sure has,” Ava said.

“I suppose we were rushing things a little the last time we met.”

“You were rushing things a little.”

“Let’s start again,” Frank said. “What are you doing now?”

“Making pictures as usual.” She had just finished shooting My Forbidden Past, at Metro, with Robert Mitchum. “How about you?”

“Trying to pick myself up off my ass.”

“And how’s that going?” Ava asked him, teasingly.

“A lot better right now,” he told her.

“Though I knew all about Frank’s problems,” Ava wrote, years later, “I wasn’t about to ask him about them that night. And, honey, I didn’t bring up Nancy, either. This night was too special for that.”

They slipped easily back to their earlier, alcoholic mode. Both of them could hold a lot of liquor. After a couple of hours, they walked out in the crisp desert night, under an inky-black sky strewn with more stars than either of them had ever seen.

“Lemme take you home,” he said. They were standing very close, each with hands clasped behind the other’s back.

“That’s very gallant, darling, but I’m not staying alone.”

“You’re not?”

“No, I’m renting a little place with my big sister Bappie.”

“Maybe we should take a drive, then. Wanna take a drive?”

“You bet I do.”

After he went back into the house and gave the bartender a hundred-dollar bill for a fifth of Beefeater’s, they got in his Cadillac and set off. The top was down, despite the winter chill, and they rode under the river of stars, her hair flowing in the wind. She shivered deliciously and clutched her mink stole around her bare shoulders. He passed her the bottle; she took a long drink and passed it back.

Frank navigated out to a two-lane blacktop, Palm Canyon Drive, that led out of town, and they drove southeast, through sleepy villages separated by long black stretches of nothing: Cathedral City, Rancho Mirage, Palm Desert, Indian Wells. Each of the towns had a few streetlights, a couple of stores, a blinking traffic signal. Then it was black again. Once they passed a little graveyard whose gates fronted onto the highway. She shivered.

“You ever think about getting old?” she asked.

“I am old,” he said.

“Ha ha.”

After a half-hour, another pocket of light approached. A city-limits sign read: Indio. The two of them were singing as they headed into the darkened town.

Oh, we ain’t got a barrel of money,

Maybe we’re ragged and funny….

She had a nice, tuneful voice; she could even do harmony. “Hey, you sing pretty good!” Frank said.

“You’re not so bad yourself!”

The gin bottle had gone back and forth a number of times, and the Cadillac was weaving when Frank pulled off the road and into a Texaco station. The car fishtailed as he put on the brakes. He cut the engine. A blinking traffic light hanging over the main drag swayed in the wind. It was 2:30 in the morning, and Indio was out cold.

“Boy, is this a one-horse town or what?” he said.

“Where’s the horse?”

He laughed, then kissed her. They kissed for a long time. She was still holding the bottle.

“I got an idea,” Frank said, presently. “Let’s liven the goddamn place up.” He reached across her, almost falling in her lap, and after fumbling with the latch for a second, opened the glove compartment. “Here we go, kid. One for you and one for me.”

He handed her a dark, heavy metal thing that smelled of machine oil. Ava cradled it in her hand, looked at it in wonderment. It was a snub-barreled Smith & Wesson .38 Chief’s Special. Frank took out another pistol just like it and, squinting, aimed it at the traffic light.

An hour later, the phone rang in Jack Keller’s bedroom. Though he had been deeply asleep, Keller knew exactly who was on the other end before he picked it up.

“Jack, we’re in trouble,” Sinatra said.

It was his one phone call. He and Ava were in the Indio police station, feeling much more sober than they had an hour before, when, whooping and hollering, they had both emptied their pistols, then reloaded and emptied them again, shattering streetlights and several store windows. Then there was the town’s single unfortunate passerby, drunk as the shooters, whose shirtfront and belly had been creased by an errant .38 slug.

Keller shook his head. Sinatra always knew how to up the ante. Still, there was only one thing that concerned the publicist.

“Have you been booked? Do the papers know anything?”

Frank looked at the police chief, who was smiling expectantly at his famous guest, secure in the knowledge that for whatever unknown reason, the Gods of chance had dealt him one hell of a payday. Sinatra told Keller that nobody knew nothin’, but that Jack had better get down fast, with plenty of money.

And so, legend has it, Jack did just that. The story hangs on an oral history taped by Keller before his untimely death—he was a four-pack-a-day smoker—at the age of 59 in 1975. In his account of that wild night in Indio, the publicist wakes up a pal, the manager of the Hollywood Knickerbocker Hotel, who happens to have $30,000 in his safe. Keller borrows all of the money, charters a plane, flies to Indio, and papers the town with high-denomination currency to keep everybody quiet.

Everybody certainly kept quiet. Whatever happened that night in the desert, no one ever talked, and the dead tell no tales—unless they happen to leave a taped oral history.

“A lot of silly stories have been written about what happened to us in Palm Springs, but the truth is both more and less exciting,” Ava Gardner wrote in her autobiography, which, while entertainingly blunt in its language, is unfortunately euphemistic when it comes to her many exploits.

We drank, we laughed, we talked, and we fell in love. Frank gave me a lift back to our rented house. We did not kiss or make dates, but we knew, and I think it must have frightened both of us. I went in to wake Bappie up, which didn’t appeal to her much, but I had to tell someone how much I liked Frank Sinatra. I just wasn’t prepared to say that what I really meant by like was love.

 — The Voice by James Kaplan

Mark IV Maximus Power Armour

As the Great Crusade reached its climax and the Imperium reached its zenith in terms of technology and strength, the Space Marine Legions found their original suits of Mark II armour wearing out. While some Legions chose to continue local production and maintenance, the Adeptus Mechanicus of Mars designed a new variant, which was to be called the Mark IV or Maximus pattern since it was produced during the days of the Imperium’s greatest glory.

At the Mark IV stage of Power Armour development, Space Marine armour began to take on an appearance recognizable to that of contemporary Power Armour patterns, its primary change being the abandonment of the separate abutting plates of armour in favour of larger, inflexible armour casings incorporating flexible joints. This marginally reduced an Astartes’ mobility but was far easier to produce and maintain, and the suit was actually lighter and provided its wearer with more overall mobility due to the lessened weight, while not reducing the actual level of protection the suit provided compared to its Mark II counterpart.

Technical secrets from the Dark Age of Technology recovered on newly conquered worlds during the Great Crusade allowed the Mechanicus of Mars to develop the more efficient mark of armour, improving the quality of protection and reducing the suit’s weight at the same time. Improved armouring of the suit’s power cables allowed the main arm and chest power supply cables to be safely relocated to the exterior of the armour, while the use of new materials reduced the size and number of cables. The various systems contained within the suit’s backpack were miniaturised and made more efficient, allowing the backpack to be smaller, lighter and to make use of an altered exhaust system that provided a shape much closer to that of the Mark VI and Mark VII patterns of armour in widespread use at the present time.

The Mark IV suit’s helmet was a completely new design, the basic shape inspired by the sweeping front of the Mark III. In Mark III and later versions the helmet was no longer fixed to the armour’s neck plates, but moved with the wearer’s head while still maintaining an environmental seal. This advancement represented the Artificers’ increasing experience with neural connector gear and the new materials which flooded into the Martian workshops as the Great Crusade progressed.

Mark IV Power Armour was envisioned at the time to be the ultimate and final type of Space Marine armour, able to offer the best protection in a variety of conditions. Many of the Space Marine Legions were entirely or partially re-equipped with it by the start of the Horus Heresy in the early 31st Millennium. As a result of its widespread production and use prior to and during the Horus Heresy, Mark IV suits are the most common of the pre-Heresy armour patterns still in service with the Adeptus Astartes of the late 41st Millennium.

This pattern of armour is the type of Power Armour still worn by most of the original Chaos Space Marine Traitor Legions, as they usually have access only to the technology they took with them into the Eye of Terror ten millennia ago. However, some Chaos Space Marines mix and match more modern pieces of armour with their ancient Mark II and Mark IV suits to replace damaged portions. Those Space Marines who have turned Renegade since the Horus Heresy obviously wear the Power Armour that was current to the era when they first turned against the Emperor. Chaos Space Marines often strip more modern pieces to upgrade their armour from the bodies of Loyalist Space Marines killed in battle. Among Loyalist Space Marines of the late 41st Millennium, being granted the right to wear a suit of this ancient form of Power Armour is a great honour and such an Astartes will be given greater respect than normal by his fellow Battle-Brothers and Space Marines from other Chapters.

Too hot for a scarf - Isaac Lahey

Originally posted by i-can-see-the-stars-from-america

It would be an understatement to say that you and Isaac where inseparable. After being friends for years now and dating for a month, you where attached at the hip, being each others wing man, counselor, and partner in crime. You didn’t think much would change after you made it official, but there happened to be one new change in Isaac: Jealousy.

He always had his hands on you, especially when you were around other guys and the scattered kisses where inevitable. But the newest plot was to always have you covered in his scent. Sure, wearing his scarves was cute at first but the effect wore off when summer came around.

“Isaac, I’m not wearing a scarf. Its too hot,“ you said with a huff. You tugged it from his hands and threw it down on his bed

“Oh, come on, Y/N,” Isaac whined, “you know I love how you look in my clothes. Plus, it goes great with your outfit.” Now that was a reach. The scarf would definitely draw attention when paired with your black cami and shorts.

“Come on, you don’t fool me for a second,” you say with a smirk, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

“Wh..what do you mean?” You could see his cheeks turn pink, having caught him red handed.

“I know you like when I have your scent on me, Lahey,” before he had time to explain himself, you capture his lips in a passionate kiss. It didn’t take long before he returned the notion, pushing himself closer against your body and tangling his fingers into your hair.Before long, his lips began to work their way from your swollen lips down your neck and to the top of your chest.

You were both out of breath by the time things calmed down and laying back on his bed.After rubbing small circles into his chest for what seemed like hours, Isaac lifted his head and pulled a small box from under his pillow.

“I was going to wait to give this to you for a while, but I guess there’s no time like the present,” Isaac mumbled. You eyebrows scrunched together, accepting the small box and opening it.

Inside was a small necklace with the letter I in the middle. At first you were confused until you realized what the initial was for. I for Isaac. He grinned wickedly beside you. “Since you won’t wear my scarf, I had to resort to other measures.”

You laughed together before kissing his nose lovingly. “Thank you so much, baby,”

“I love you Y/N.”

“I love you too, Isaac.”

when people ask for opinions on something they want to buy like a shirt or something and they go “but is it too girly/boyish??”

maybe consider this: 

  • if you want that particular item, get it. 
  • love it
  • wear it
  • rock it
  • It will look great on you! *pinky promise*
  • because guess what??
  • boys can wear “feminine” things and girls can wear “masculine” things 
  • wowie isn’t that cool?! the possibilities are endless so enjoy it :))

submitted by Stan Jones

External image

This is what you’ll see in my pockets most days… while not at work. Because our department is losing staff left and right, I’m wearing my duty belt at least 60 hours per week, so having my EDC gear as minimalistic as possible is a great change of pace. Brass quickly became my favorite material to carry on my person due to its gorgeous patina and density, as I’m sure you can see and probably empathize with. (more brass to come!) The Supra is a gift from my father, which is currently filled with Private Reserve Ebony Blue ink. The 0450 was flame anodized a bronze / brass color on the business side and an oilslick-ish color scheme on the (deep carry) clip side. The 007 has a superdome sapphire crystal and a hydra-style second hand. I would have included a Leatherman Wave or ST300, but those are usually in my center console, rather than strapped to my belt. This EDC gear isn’t the fanciest or most tactical, but, boy oh boy do I use the hell out if it. Cheers!

I’m fine, you’re just an asshole

Yesterday I went to the beach, and I did something I’ve never been able to do before: I wore a bikini. 

Now I have no illusion of being a “beach babe” or whatever. It’s clear that I either have a long way to go or its just not in the cards for me to have the belly shape which is considered sexy in this society. I do feel great wearing a bikini and can enjoy myself on the beach in the sun and surf that is available. I don’t think I look great in a bikini but I certainly don’t look bad in one.

I felt good and had a lot of fun so I posted my bikini outfit as my #ootd. I’m apparently inspiring to some other women and I felt like this representation was particularly strong because of my intersection of trans, woman, and average sized. I also didn’t have pictures of the non-bikini outfit I wore because it was late when we finally got back. 

It took less than an hour for an asshole to comment that I was a “fatty” who “[does’t] need relaxing” but instead needed some exercise.  Quelle surprise.

Except I’m healthy. I’m average size. By weight and height charts, and by an actual DXA body scan I got just a couple weeks ago, I have a healthy amount of fat. My doctor checks my vitals more often than most Americans and they are great every time.  I have comprehensive metabolic panels four times a year and my cholesterol is doing great. 

I am, in fact, a lifestyle walker and runner. When given time and means, I run 20-30 miles in a week.  Just Friday I ran 5 miles. Today I’m circling Golden Gate park and will likely hit close to 8 miles. I walk at least a mile every day.  I ran bay to breakers all the way through for the last two years.

They didn’t believe me, because they’re an asshole, and demanded that I provide some proof. They don’t care about me being healthy. They care about being an asshole with some air of authority based on how they think healthy people look.

They mysteriously disappeared when I showed them I was provably healthy after flailing around a little while with nonsense arguments. Their little minds can’t comprehend that they can’t tell whether someone is healthy just by looking at them. 

People like them think they are justified being jerks on the internet because of some ridiculous connection in their mind that they’re helping people. They’re not, this kind of psychological bullying is actually worse than straight up physical damage, and triggers the same part of the brain.

I will not be bullied.  I have no quarter for these assholes, and you shouldn’t give them any either. I’m certainly willing to fight them and their shitty arguments.

anonymous asked:

Will you and Max get married?

Yes!!! I’ve given her a promise ring☺️☺️☺️ I’m so in love with her and I know we’re young but i want to spend the rest of my life with her and I’ll probably ask her to marry me soon af…(ew sap)

We’re going to have like white chairs with blue bows around. There are going to be Daisy’s everywhere…Max is going to have a white wedding dress with a blue belt, she’s already picked it out and it’s such a pretty dress with like netting at the back.

I was going to wear a dress but I think I’d suit a suit more😂 But it’s going to be a hot one with a blue bow tie. 

I’m inviting all my internet friends it will be great! @losingtrails is going to be doing hair and make-up! I’m get @paynoillusions to tattoo us with couple tattoo’s! @its-illuminati-calum is going to be giving a best man speech! @lucidmalum is going to be the vicar. @outerspaceeafi and @bananashemmo are going to groomsmen and @niwisdoodles is going to design the cake😂

(also invited @lusciousmichael + @lukeswatermelonface + @tadpolehemmings + @ughood + @iceberghood + @depressedpunk + @highqualitymikey )

anonymous asked:

Can you plz tell me more about Wells making fun of Clarke for being the whitest white to ever live

idk its just rly funny all of them do it. bc like o is a poc, lexa & raven are woc, so they all tease clarke like, when beyonces album came out clarke started to sing along & raven paused it & was like HOLD ON WHITEY. THIS IS FOR US. U CAN SING NEXT TIME. & clarke is like,,,, thats fair. they make fun of her all the time shes great she wears her ugg boots & gets her holiday starbucks drinks

tiana: “everyone makes fun of her truly. she loves her seasonal starbucks, she has lots of brook brothers, she sails lmao she’s like. politically radical & extremely intelligent so her stereotypes are both harmless & also they poke a lil fun at white ppl it cute. she has a bunch of lulu lemon leggings too lexas like do u ever plan to exercise clarke is like um no? I’d buy Nike if I was gonna do that”

she’s SO white & so privileged & so rich yknow but like

tiana: “oh god once he hears clarke go on a BLM rant to one of their friends at the club & he’s V touched she has all these facts memorized which he knows actually took her a while bc they’re numbers but he teases her like ‘did u practice that w lexa’ but then he’s like jk clarke thanks my pal she’s like fuck off wells I’m off to rule the world again Byeeeee ps ur welcome pls come help me w my sails”

they’re at the sailing club a lot sometimes shes like can u get me some water & hes always like ???? exCUse me miss white girl how dare u clarke will like throw her hands in the air he loves it she pretends to overreact she’s like oh for fucks sake Storms away shes like what water do YOU want SINCE IM ALREADY THERE even tho you were CLOSER

tiana: “clarke & wells will be hangin & someone will come up to them & ask wells if he can show them to smth & he’s always like well my family is the older members so clarke here, the newbie, can show u better clarkes like I’m oNLY NEWER BC WERE FROM CONNECTICUT like a fierce whisper she does it to make him laugh. whenever they see new ppl come up to them they take bets on whether they’ll be racist or sexist or both every time clarke gets a 'darling’ & every time wells gets a 'son’ is a point they keep a tally. when they bring lexa to the club w them they have to like create new racist & sexist points for her”

anyway long story short what Doesn’t wells tease clarke abt?? she gets sunburnt pretty easily so he always has sunscreen in his bag & there are lots of photos of the two of them from like age zero at the beach wearing sun hats & holding hands & she always sweats when she eats curry & like thai food lol & all of ravens cooking & idk they love to hang out they’re family she loves him so much he loves her so much everything she does is up for potential teasing it keeps her honest

Episode 4 of Arkady Stops Working To Complain About Whatever She Happens To Be Wearing This Second: What the Filk?

This is mostly for @dog-of-ulthar and there isn’t much actual complaining in it. But what it lacks in complaining, it makes up for in singing. Basically I’ve been threatening to buy a mandolin and show up on Will’s doorstep for months so that we could filk together. Even though I don’t play mandolin. Or sing. But hey, you can watch me struggle through both now. 

The song is “In Flight” by @idiopathicsmile, so please stop by and give her a listen because she’s far better than I am.