shooting accuracy

miss me with that ‘weapon accuracy’ shit. im shooting everything. im laying down cover fire. im shooting the walls. im shooting my teammates. im shooting myself. my accuracy is 100% yall just dont know what im aiming at

okay but if you’re ever in london and you have the chance to see a shakespeare play performed at the globe theatre itself DO IT even if you don’t think you’d dig shakespeare

if you need convincing here are a few highlights from when my family and i went to see the official globe theatre production of a midsummer night’s dream:

  • they cast helena as a guy (helenus), first of all. they took a straight love square between two girls and two guys and made it a love square between a girl and three guys, only one of which was white. both sets of couples get happy endings and it’s fuckin adorable
  • it was reimagined with an indian setting
  • puck had a water pistol and kept shooting at the audience
  • historical accuracy?? who cares everyone’s gonna dress like a modern hipster teenager
  • bottom and his acting troupe sung bon jovi
  • oh yeah also the acting troupe were reimagined as globe theatre employees with delusions of acting skills
  • hermia and helenus sung single ladies by beyonce
  • innuendos. innuendoes everywhere
  • oberon walked onstage for the fight between oberon and titania drunk with a half-empty bottle of schweppes
  • lysander spent a significant length of time in the play wandering around in just boxers and a leather jacket
  • oberon made out with puck
  • demetrius dabbed

anonymous asked:

I know you probably have a lot of requests with the gods and monsters - but would you ever do an Ares based one?

Zeus’s mistress Io remains in her form of a cow, guarded by Hera’s servant Argus, and Hera is content.

She will remain in that form until her death. Hera hopes that lying with her husband was worth the sacrifice.

Zeus won’t speak to her, unwilling to admit the cow is actually his lover and ensure her death, and equally unwilling to stand against his wife to try and rescue her. Hera has him just where she wants him, and it can’t last, it never does, but she intends to enjoy it while it does.  

Then Artemis comes to her, gold and fierce. She never flinches away from her queen, staring her in the face as if she is nothing more than another of her huntresses. If Hera did not hate her for being her husband’s daughter, she thinks she might actually like the girl. “Io has a destiny,” she says, “you must let her go.”

“I don’t care for her destiny,” Hera says idly, “especially when that destiny involves getting with my husband’s child.”

“She is to give birth to a new line of kings,” Artemis hisses, “to be the wife of a death god, to be mother goddess of a whole new people. She is not meant for us. You must let her go.”

“I am Hera,” she says, “I am Queen. I must do nothing.”

Artemis growls, hand twitching for her bow, but Hera only raises an eyebrow. Let the girl try. There are few that can stand against her, and the huntress is not among them. Artemis lets out a low breath and says, “Do it, my queen, and I will grant you what it is you most desire.”

“Some peace and quiet?” Hera asks.

“A child,” she answers. “Let Io go, let her fulfill her destiny as a goddess of the Black Land of the Nile. If you do that, I, the patron goddess of childbirth, will personally use every ounce of power I possess to ensure you conceive and deliver a child of Zeus.”

Hera’s eyes narrow, “Neither my power nor his has ever been able to achieve this. What makes you think you are any different?”

“We all have our domains,” she says, “just as you cannot command the sea, just as your husband has no power over the art of weaving, so can I ensure a healthy child when you could not.”

She taps her fingers against her throne. They call her a mother goddess, though she’s raised no children. Hephaestus may be her precious son, but he doesn’t know that it was not her that threw him from Olympus. Very few people know that. And she didn’t raise him regardless, that honor belongs to Hecate.

A child, of her and Zeus. A child she can raise.

“I accept,” she announces. “You may take her, and Zeus may fulfill her destiny.” She leans forward, brings the oppressive weight of her power to the fore and lowers the pressure of the air until Artemis is left shivering. “Know this, Patron Goddess of Childbirth. If Io births a son of Zeus before I do, I will travel to the Black Land of the Nile and slay her and her children with my own two hands. Not even Hades will be able to put her back together again.”

“Yes, my Queen,” Artemis says, unable to keep her teeth from chattering.

~

Hera is true to her word. She allows Hermes to think he’s tricked Argus and to steal Io away. She pretends to be outraged at the audacity, at the pure white cow traveling to the sands of the Nile.

Artemis is true to her word. Hera lies with Zeus, like she has so many times before, and a child grows inside of her. One day she stands before her husband and brings his hand to the swell of her stomach, “This is your child.”

Something almost like happiness steals across his face. She forgets, sometimes, that they hate each other only as much as they love each other. After so much time together, many would think it would be one or the other. They simply opted for both.

Artemis is there during the birth, her easy confidence more comforting then Hera will ever admit. Delivering Hephaestus was easy compared to this. She screams and cries and Hestia’s hands on her shoulders are all that keeps her from collapsing and begging someone to just cut the child from her. She doesn’t think she can die in childbirth, not with Artemis between her legs. She wishes she’d thought to ask before this began.

But she does not die. Her son is born, just as healthy and beautiful as Hephaestus was. “Well done,” Artemis says softly, placing the squirming child into her arms.

Zeus touches her hair and kisses his son’s forehead. “We shall call him Ares.”

“Very well,” she agrees, so tired her eyes struggle to stay open.

She hands her son to Hestia, and finally allows sleep to take her.

~

Ares grows into the spitting image of his father. Same copper-red skin, same silky black hair. Her husband keeps it short, but her son lets his grow long. The minutes Hera spends every morning brushing his hair are among her favorite.

He has an eager smile and a soft heart. Hera doesn’t know where he got it, since it’s certainly not from her or Zeus. Demeter tolerates his bumbling after her, though any time Kore attempts to meet her cousin Demeter’s temper frays. Poseidon allows Ares to explore the depths of the sea with a minor sea god acting as his guide. Apollo plays for him, and Artemis teaches him to hunt. Zeus’s lightning doesn’t burn his son, and when storms rage he takes Ares to the top of Olympus and teaches him to throw lightning bolts.

Hera selfishly does not allow Ares to go to the underworld. She knows he would be safe there, that Hades would protect him as he protected Hephaestus, but that’s precisely why she won’t allow it. They got to raise one of her sons already. It pains her to share Ares with them now.

He is happy, and kind, kinder than anyone would expect a child of her womb to be.

“He must choose a domain,” Zeus rumbles, watching Ares shoot arrows with perfect accuracy.

“He is a child still,” Hera says, “let him remain so for a little longer.”

“If he does not choose a domain,” Zeus warns, “one will choose him. We are gods. We must be gods of something.”

She flickers her gaze at him, and he scoots an inch away from her. “He is a child, and for now a child he will remain. We are not Demeter. We shall not thrust the responsibilities and power of a deity on a child who is not prepared for it.”

Zeus disapproves, but says nothing more.

Her son will be the god of something patient, something soft. The god of lost children, of heartbroken suitors, of forgiveness. Something where his gentle heart will aid him instead of hurt him.

She traded her happiness for power. She doesn’t regret it. But Ares doesn’t need to do the same – she’s the most powerful goddess that still walks the earth. He’s her son, and he’ll want for nothing she can provide.

~

Ares is almost fully grown, long hair reaching his hips even braided, and the strength of his limbs is such that he can keep up with Artemis on her most vigorous of hunts, that he can throw his father’s lightning bolts halfway across the world.

He’s been to every place, and met every god of the earth, sea, and sky.

Except for one.

 It’s not hard to find the volcano. He’s strong enough and old enough to take care of himself, and his mother does not worry when he says he’s going to the earth. But he did not tell her where, precisely, on the earth he was going.

He has strong legs.  It’s easy for him to climb to the top of the volcano. He’s almost made it there when something grabs his shoulders, stilling him. He turns, and stares into a single large eye. “What are you doing?” the cyclopes growls.

“I’m looking for Hephaestus,” he says, “He’s my brother.”

“My master has many brothers,” the cyclopes says.

Ares shakes his head. He is not the product of his father’s fling with a sprite or mortal. “I am Ares, son of Zeus and Hera. Just as Hephaestus is. I came here to meet my brother.” The cyclopes hesitates. He asks, “What’s your name?”

“Brontes,” he answers, surprised.

“Brontes,” he smiles, “I just want to meet him. I’ve never met him before. I won’t linger.”

There’s a moment where Brontes looks conflicted, and Ares tries to look as unassuming as possible. “Fine,” he huffs, “but don’t get angry at me if he dips you in lava.”

“That would be fun,” he says brightly. Lightning doesn’t burn him. So far the only thing hot enough to cause him pain is Hestia’s fire. He probably could go swimming in lava.

Brontes looks at him as if he’s slightly unhinged. He just keeps smiling.

~

There are more cyclopes underneath, and bright glittering machines that Ares can’t even begin to wrap his mind around. “Who are you?” someone demands, and a hand grabs his wrist and yanks him away from a boiling vat of lava that he’d been peering into.

He looks up at a man taller and broader than he is. He has skin almost as dark as the obsidian of his volcano, but lighter eyes. They are the color of dark amber, of molasses. “We have the same eyes,” he says happily.

Hephaestus releases him instantly. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Why not?” he asks, “The mortals talk of you. No one else will. But you’re my brother, right?”

“You shouldn’t be here,” he repeats, “Does Zeus know where you are?”

He shrugs, taking a step closer. His brother takes a step back. He wonders if he’ll have to treat Hephaestus like a spooked horse.  “Father doesn’t keep track of where I am. Mom know I’m on earth.” Hephaestus flinches, small enough that he almost doesn’t notice. “We have her eyes, you know.”

He can’t stop starring at Hephaestus’s skin. They do not work like mortals – Demeter, Hestia, Zeus, and Hera are all different shades despite coming from the same parents. But – Ares looks so much like his father. Kore looks like Demeter. Yet Hephaestus looks nothing like their father. He can see their mother in him, in the eyes and shape of his jaw, even in how angry he is right now. He looks like Hera does when she’s about to lose her temper, lips pressed into a thin line and the careful stillness of his shoulders.

“I wasn’t trying to make you angry,” he says plaintively, “I only wanted to say hello.”

Unlike their mother, Hephaestus lets out a deep breath and seemingly all of his anger along with it. “I’ve been avoiding you.”

“Why? You don’t even know me.”

Hephaestus kicks him lightly in the shin, the pretty gold and copper of his metal legs catching his eye. “You have legs, and I do not. Hera did not throw you from Mount Olympus as she threw me.”

Ares looks hard at his brother’s face. The stories say his mother threw her son away for being ugly, but he seems just as handsome as any other god Ares has seen. His features are strong and chiseled, and he supposes that could have looked unattractive on a baby, but –

– his mother loves him. Hera loves him with a ferocity only matched by her temper, she loves him at his most mischievous and irritable, loves him when a stray thunderbolt sets Demeter’s hair on end, loves him when even Artemis and Apollo have grown tired of his antics, loves him when Athena can tolerate no more of his questions. He is her son, and so her love comes without conditions.

He doesn’t think Hera would have loved his brother any less just because of how he looked.

He also knows that if he tries to say that, it’s likely Hephaestus will push him into a lava pit.

“Well, that’s not my fault,” he says, “If you don’t want us to be brothers, can’t we at least be friends?”

Hephaestus’s face softens. He looks like their mother then too.  He crosses his arms, “You can’t tell your parents.”

Our parents, he thinks but doesn’t say. “Obviously. Where did you get so many cyclopes?”

The last remnants of his brother’s stern façade shatters as he throws back his head and laughs.

~

Ares is very near maturity, more adult than child, and his father constantly pressures him to choose a domain. He usually quiets with one sharp glance from his wife, but the fact remains that it is time for Ares to take his place among the gods of the pantheon, to have temples in his name and worshipers like a proper deity.

He doesn’t really want any of that.  He wants to continue hunting with Artemis, learning with Athena, building with Hephaestus.

His brother lets him help out in his workshop sometimes, if he’s very careful and does exactly as he’s told. Otherwise he sits on a table, legs swinging, and watches his brother work and tells him about what he does in the time in-between visits. He talks about their mother enough that Hephaestus doesn’t flinch at her every mention, which Ares can only consider an improvement. Sometimes Brontes will stand beside him and they’ll eat sweet buns together.

Unfortunately, all things, good and bad, must come to an end.

~

There are two giants, Otus and Ephialtes, who grow tired of hearing of the golden boy of Olympus, who grow jealous of his kindness and his beauty.

These two giants sneak onto Mount Olympus in the middle of the night, sneak into Ares’s room, and kidnap him. They’re not stupid enough to attempt to kill him. Instead, they stuff him into an urn, and seal him inside. Ares rages and fights, uses every trick he can think of to break out his prison, but none of them work.

Stuck at the bottom of the urn and seething, he can’t help but think that if he’d listened to his father and chosen a dominion he might be strong enough to free himself. But he didn’t, so he can’t, and instead he waits.

And waits.

And waits.

Days turn to weeks turn to months. He knows they’re looking for him. He knows his mother will tear apart the whole universe attempting to find him if nothing else. But – what if they can’t? What if he’s stuck in this urn for the rest of eternity?

In his darkest moments, his sorrow turns to rage. He is a god, son of Hera and Zeus, how dare they do this to him?

Then, one day, the urn opens.

Hermes peers down into it, then his face splits into a grin. “We’ve been looking for you!” He reaches down and hauls Ares out, and for a moment all he can do is blink at the glaring sun. Then his vision clears, and he sees they’re in the midst of a battle. The giants are fighting against the gods, against his parents, against the twins, against his brother. It’s bloody carnage, but – he can’t help but feel touched that all these people came looking for him. “Almost everyone offered to help find you,” he says, “but Hera didn’t want to draw too much attention to ourselves trying to sneak into their territory.”

No sooner has Hermes finished speaking than a giant barrels into his mother with sickening snap. Her shoulder slopes at a grotesque angle, but it hardly even slows her down.

“I have to help,” he says, a desperate urgency filling him. They came to help him, and now they’re getting hurt. That’s never something he’d wanted.

“Ares, wait!” Hermes calls out as he goes hurtling toward the battle. He doesn’t wait. Fighting on the ground can only do so much good, they’re strong but they’re outnumbered one hundred to one. He darts to Artemis, twisting around the bodies she’s throwing over her shoulder. “I need your bow!”

“Ares!” she says joyously, then, “What?”

“Trust me,” he says, “give me your bow.” A giant comes running towards them. Artemis flips him over her shoulder while continuing to stare at him in confusion. He’d be impressed if he wasn’t so worried. “Artemis, please!”

She hands over her bow. She moves to give him her quiver of arrows as well, but he’s already moving away from her. Next it’s to his father, who’s hurtling lightning bolts towards the swarm of giants crowding him. They’re deadly, but only so effective at close-range. He grabs a sizzling lightning bolt right from Zeus’s hand, the only being on the planet who could do that and survive, and keeps running. “Get clear!” he calls out over his shoulder. “Everyone move!”

He runs up past Hermes, needing to get to high ground for this to work. “Get everyone off the battlefield,” he says to Hermes. “Now.”

Hermes pulls a face, but by the time he makes it to the top of the mountain, the gods have shaken off most of the giants, are far enough away that he doesn’t have to worry.

He can do this. He’s Ares, the son of Hera and Zeus. He’s been trained in archery by the great huntress herself. He breaths in, and strings his father’s lightning bolt like an arrow. He pulls it back, breaths out, and lets the lightning bolt fly.

It lands in the middle of the battlefield full of confused giants. With a great clap of thunder and a burst of light, they’re all gone.

All that remains of the traitorous giants is a crater.

The gods are approaching him, his mother at a limping gait that makes his chest ache. Zeus gets to him first, grin stretched wide as he grabs him by both his shoulders. “My boy! That was magnificent!”

“Thanks,” he says. The smell of charred flesh is in the air, and it makes his stomach roll.

They kidnapped him. They stuffed him in an urn for over a year. They hurt his mom.

That doesn’t mean he enjoyed it. He never wants to do anything like that ever again.

“This was destiny,” his father says enthusiastically, and Ares has no idea what he’s talking about. “This is what you’re meant to do, son.”

He stares. He hopes it’s not.

The other gods are still at the bottom of the mountain. Artemis and Apollo each have one of his mother’s arms slung over their shoulders and are helping her up the mountain. Hermes and Hephaestus aren’t far behind.

He’s never seen his father look so proud of him. There’s a leaden pit in his stomach he can’t explain.

“In honor of my son’s great feat,” Zeus booms, his voice carrying across air, speaking with the voice of the king of the gods so his words become law, so they spread to every corner of the world, “I declare him Ares, God of War.”

Ares can’t breathe.

This isn’t what he wanted.


gods and monsters series, part xvii

read more of the gods and monsters series here

“miss me with that ‘weapon accuracy’ shit. im shooting everything. im laying down cover fire. im shooting the walls. im shooting my teammates. im shooting myself. my accuracy is 100% yall just dont know what im aiming at”

My cute hunter from Destiny

angsty schmoop

so i saw a prompt on @taylor-tut​‘s blog that i really like and i took a crack at writing it.

im so sorry if it’s bad lmao i didnt proofread it fhaduf

warning: injury, lance whump, insecurity, bad writing, whatever lol

word count: 2.1k

(the working title for this fic is “don’t do drugs kids”)

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Can I request The Boys goofing off on the ice? Just some typical college boy rough housing and laughing cuz they have no worries? Thank you!

Chowder stares at the net. Four corners. Four targets. He leans back and forth on his skates, digging himself into a groove he feels comfortable with. He brings his stick up and wipes the ice chips off it from where Holster snow showered him.

“Ready when you are,” he says.

Nursey and Dex both nod, each handling a puck. Ransom holds up the stop watch and takes a breath.

“Go,” he says.

Nursey passes him the first puck and the second it hits his stick, Chowder knows he’s got this. He hits the two lower corners first, and then the two upper corners. Four perfect passes from his fellow frogs, four perfect shots.

As soon as he hits the fourth target, Chowder’s head snaps up to look at Ransom. So do Nursey’s and Dex’s and everyone else, still gathered around to watch.

Ransom’s face doesn’t give anything away, though.

“So?” Dex asks. “Did he break it?”

Ransom skates slowly over to Chowder and holds out the stopwatch for him to look for himself.

“12.6 seconds,” he reads, eyes wide.

His teammates go wild around him, flying in to hug him and slap him on the back. But Chowder’s still blinking. It’s not only a new goalie record, it’s a new school record entirely. Four targets on four shots, all under 13 seconds. This can’t be real. Even Jack had a slower time than him. And Jack is… Jack.

“Really?” he squeaks, currently getting his ribs crushed by Holster’s bear hug.

“The stopwatch doesn’t lie, bro,” Ransom says.

Chowder can’t help the grin that starts to spread across his face. The stopwatch doesn’t lie. He just shattered the school accuracy shooting record.

“I just did that,” he says with a giggle.

Wanna Bet? [Daryl Dixon x Reader]

Word Count: 1,080

Prompt:  “We made a bet, and you lost. Now you have to do it.”

Warnings: Violence. Language. Fluff

a/n: this was supposed to be a drabble… oops

Originally posted by steals-dreams


“Daryl, I think I want to start learning how to use a crossbow. I’m tired of having to use my knife all the time, I’ve been too close to death before because of it.” You approach Daryl. The two of you are on a run together to gather more baby supplies for Judith, since she was only born a couple of weeks ago and she’s already running low on formula.

A few minutes ago, in an attempt to kill a walker that was standing in front of the bottles, it had grabbed your hand before you had the chance to stab it, successfully making you drop your knife. Daryl saved you, thankfully, but all you can think about is how nice it would be to be able to kill walkers without having to actually get near them.

“Learnin’ how ‘ta shoot a bow is hard as shit. It’s gon’ take a while.” Daryl shakes his head, a small smile creeping on to his lips. You two haven’t been together too long, only for a few weeks at most (although you’re not really sure- no one keeps track of time anymore), but you’ve noticed the little things about him, and whenever you take interest in things that he likes is one of them. He knows that he is a loved and valuable member of the group, but you know that he still occasionally struggles with the feeling as if he is unwanted and disliked. So whenever you do things like this, despite it being for a genuine good reason, it always makes him happy.

“You never know, Daryl. I could be a natural.” You shrug your shoulders, grabbing the bottles and formula off the shelf. There are so many different brands and kinds, but since baby Judith can be quite the picky eater at times, you’ve learned that taking everything available is the best option.

“I doubt it. Shootin’ bows don’t come naturally to no one.” Daryl snorts. “Took me years ‘ta get this good.”

“You must have just not been a natural then, huh.” You tease him. “I bet you that I could shoot your bow right now and get a good shot on one of those walkers outside.”

“Whatever.” Daryl shakes his head, finishing filling up his bag. It’s almost over spilling at this point. “I bet ‘ya can’t.”

“Is that a challenge?” You raise your eyebrows at him. “Well, it’s on. Hand me your bow.”

“I’m gonna win this bet, ‘ya know that, right?” Daryl stares at you.

“I’m so confident in my skills that I’m placing a wager on this. If I get a shot on the walker, you have to cook my food for a week. I’m sick and tired of burning my hands on that fire trying to heat up my food.” You tell Daryl. In reality, you’re not confident at all. You know there is a huge chance that you’re going to shoot that bow and miss by a long shot. But, Daryl’s complete and utter non-confidence in you sparked a fire. Your inner competitiveness came out, and here you are, placing a bet over something you know damn well you can’t do.

“That’s easy as hell, couldn’t come up with a harder one?” Daryl lets out an airy laugh. “And if I win, and I know I will, ‘ya have to take my night watch up in the tower tonight.”

“Deal.” You smile. You shake his hand, sealing the bet you just made. You’re so screwed.

Daryl and you walk out of the small grocery store, loading up your bags of baby things into his motorcycle before he hands you his bow. You look at it intimidated before you grab it out of his hands, taking a deep breath.

You look around for a walker, seeing one walking around the side of the building. It hasn’t spotted you two yet, giving you the perfect advantage. You try and attempt to cock the stirrup, but the setting that Daryl has it set on is too weighted, and you can’t pull it back.

“Daryl, this is unfair. I can’t even pull it back.” You pout.

“That’s losing fair and square.” Daryl shrugs. “Can’t pull back the arrow, aint my fault.”

“Daryl,” You glare at him, and he sighs.

“The stakes are goin’ up ‘cause of this…” He grumbles. He takes the bow back from your hands, adjusting the weight so you can pull it back with ease. “Ya gotta sleep in my cell with me for the next week now, too.”

“That’s a punishment?” You raise your eyebrows. “Sounds like a treat to me.”

You lift the crossbow up, closing one eye to get better accuracy to shoot the walker, just as you’ve seen Daryl do in the past. You draw back the stirrup, releasing the trigger once you are satisfied with your aim. Much to your surprise, it actually goes where you were aiming- right in its forehead.

“No fuckin’ way,” Daryl groans out.

“Told you I’d be a natural.” You wink at him and kiss his cheek. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ll still sleep in your cell for the week. I would’ve done that anyways- don’t be shy to ask me stuff. But, you’re totally still cooking my food for me.”

“Nah, that was cheatin’.” Daryl grins at you. “Ya had me lessen the weight.”

“Nope, I won fair and square.” You shake your head. “We made a bet, and you lost. Now you have to do it.”

“You’re a pain in my ass sometimes, ya know that?” Daryl laughs and brings you into a kiss. His lips move against yours at a slow pace, neither one of you had dared to go any further than small, simple kisses. He was already nervous about getting into a relationship in the first place, so you are not rushing him. The kisses he gives you are perfect.

“Alright, alright, ‘ya professional hunter,” Daryl pulls away. “Go get that arrow outta his head, and we can get outta here. We can start lessons tomorrow.”

“Mhm.” You peck his lips one more time. “Can’t wait for my delicious dinner tonight, babe.”

“Ah, whatever.” Daryl laughs, and you pick up the arrow before setting it back into its rightful place. “You’re lucky I like ‘ya.”

“You’re right.” You grin. “I am lucky.”


EVERYTHING TWD TAG LIST: @dead-boy-12

if you want to be on my everything The Walking Dead tag list, let me know :) 

8

Smart, beautiful and deadly, 19 year old Russian sniper Roza Shanina had 54 confirmed kills during World War II.

<<OK so I know for a fact I’ve blogged most of these photos before but I sincerely don’t give a rat’s ass.  I have no qualms about reblogging Ms. Shanina 100 times a day if it suits me…hell, no doubt I could devote a blog entirely to her remarkable accomplishments.  I am totally intrigued and mesmerized by her.  And not simply because she is amazingly beautiful and modest and bold, but also because of the unequivocal expertise she displayed in her “trade”.  Maybe it’s also because she has that certain look about her like she might be just a little too shy to come up and talk to you…and yet have zero reservations about calmly dispatching your ass from 1000 meters.>>

Shanina volunteered for the military after the death of her brother in 1941 and chose to be a marksman on the front line. Praised for her shooting accuracy, Shanina was capable of precisely hitting moving enemy personnel and making doublets (two target hits by two rounds fired in quick succession).


Allied newspapers described Shanina as “the unseen terror of East Prussia”. She became the first Soviet female sniper to be awarded the Order of Glory and was the first servicewoman of the 3rd Belorussian Front to receive it. Shanina was killed in action during the East Prussian Offensive while shielding the severely wounded commander of an artillery unit. Shanina’s bravery received praise already during her lifetime, but came at odds with the Soviet policy of sparing snipers from heavy fights. Her combat diary was first published in 1965.

The Soviets found that sniper duties fit women well, since good snipers are patient, deliberate, have a high level of aerobic conditioning, and normally avoid hand-to-hand combat. They found the same with women as bomber crews, very fine adjustments and intense technical expertise actually gave them a better reputation than most all male bomber squadrons.

Dan: Miss me with that ‘weapon accuracy’ shit. I’m shooting everything. I’m laying down cover fire. I’m shooting the walls. I’m shooting my teammates. I’m shooting myself. my accuracy is 100% y’all just don’t know what I’m aiming at

Phil: I didn’t even listen to the rest because I’m still laughing at “miss me with that ‘weapon accuracy’ shit” like I’ve never heard a more perfect phrase in my life

The only good way to play Junkrat, As told by someone who plays as Junkrat on 99.9% of most games:

- See a enemy D.va ulting? Concussion blast your way out of her range. (9 times outta 10 it works trust me, I’m a doctor.)

- SHOOT EVERYTHING AND EVERYWHERE

- “accuracy 12%” fuck you my accuracy is 100% you just don’t know what I’m aiming at

- Spam “Hi” at Reaper and Lucio always. Always cheer on your boyfriends

- Get hooked by Roadhog? Concussion grenade to the fACE

- Keep shooting at genji while he’s deflecting while wondering “where the fuck are these bombs coming from? The enemy team doesn’t have a junkrat?”

- that “!!!” Moment when you see another Junkrat

- same as above but when they have a skin you want so now Its On™

- Getting killed by the same bastion multiple times in a row before finally sneaking up behind them and killing them, then punching their remains. Fuck you bastion, suck my dick.

- Shooting upwards before a match

- Hearing Reinhardt’s “HRAH” AND INSTANTLY PANICKING BECAUSE YOU DONT KNOW WHICH DIRECTION ITS COMING FROM SO YOU JUST,,,,LAUNCH YASELF U P W A R D S,,,

- Shooting everything but the enemy while Nano Boosted

- doing the laugh emote after getting a quad kill with the riptire

Yea,,,h

6

Haikyuu x Avatar: The Last Airbender Crossover

  1. Hinata is a novice earth bender trying to make a living out of doing odd jobs utilizing his endless amounts of energy and swiftness. He shows promise in the art of earth bending and can easily use his agility to overwhelm his opponents despite not being able to bends large volumes of the earth. He belongs to the middle class, and is later on recruited by Daichi to join the Earth kingdom’s defense force because of his unique ability.
    Hinata once damaged his legs while trying to force too much energy into them to bend the earth.
  2. Part of the Royal Family guards, Kageyama excels mostly in his fire bending and two-sword style martial art which he had learned to imitate and improve from both Prince Zuko and his past idol, Oikawa Tooru.
    Kageyama is rumored to be a prodigy seeing as he is one of the youngest ever to have attained a status as a Royal Guard, and is expected to perform well in the joint military campaign, where he meets the Earth Kingdom’s Hinata Shouyou, and sparks a rivalry between them due to the great contrast in fighting styles: Hinata is fast, yet his attacks are light; whereas Kageyama is slow, precise, and his attacks are deal a heavy blow.
  3. Specially gifted in the art of healing, Sugawara was appointed as one of the representatives of the Southern Water Tribe for being versatile in both combat and support. During the joint military campaign of the 4 nations, Sugawara took notice of Hinata’s rather unique way of fighting and also became acquainted with both Sawamura and Azumane in one of the leader’s meetings.
    Preferring to talk his way out of most conflicts, Sugawara is often seen as the peacemaker among his cohorts. However, if provoked, Sugawara shows deadly accuracy when shooting out jets of water or icicles from his flask.
    He has shown an interest in blood bending and is currently studying about it in his past time.
  4. Fast and furious, Nishinoya strikes fear into the hearts of his enemies despite his small stature with his unique lightning affinity. One of the select few fire benders able to manipulate lightning, Nishinoya was granted a position in the military at a young age, and later moved up to being one of the royal guards. He currently mentors Kageyama in the way of the sword.   
    During the joint military campaign. Nishinoya became friends and rivals with Earth Kingdom’s Tanaka Ryuunosuke after falling for the same girl. Both of them later on continued staying in touch even after the joint program. 
  5. Half-bloods are frowned upon with the tensions between the 4 nations rising. Born from a fire bender mom and an earth bender dad, Tsukishima is able to bend both elements at will, but chooses not to. Despite being looked down upon most of the time, Tsukishima gets by using his two elements to his advantage instead and is later scouted by the military as a valuable asset into the mending of the friendship between the Fire nation and the Earth kingdom.   
    He lives with his mother in the Fire nation, while his older brother lives with his father in the Earth Kingdom. They are known to frequently travel to both kingdoms during vacations. 
  6. Despite being one of the last few airbenders, Yamaguchi can not bend the element and is often subject to negativity. Moving to the Fire nation with hopes of earning a living, Yamaguchi was one swindled of his money and was later saved by a passing by Tsukishima. Witnessing for the first time, someone wielding two elements as opposed to his not being able to ignited a fire within Yamaguchi to strive and better himself in the most unconventional of ways .  
    He later developed different techniques for fighting, and also learned to bend air, despite only being able to generate a slight breeze. He also met up with Tsukishima a few years later, and decided to work under him as a bodyguard as a way of showing his gratitude. 

Commissions are OPEN

2

my second bnha oc ! he can throw anything or shoot with perfect accuracy ! his left eye doesnt work unless his quirk is activated and if his quirk is activated AND his right eye is uncovered he sees double. 

when they were like 16 my dad and uncle were really into these OBSCENELY intricate war simulation board games like Tobruk that had a dozen different types of vehicles and dice rolls to check for accuracy when shooting over hills and through smoke and different armor ratings for different parts of the tank. they had a game for tanks, a game for ships, and a game for planes, and they would combine all three of them on the floor of their house using rulers instead of squares on a board and treating tile as land and carpet as water and argue for hours over how the various rulesets interacted. they would start at opposite ends of the house and take at least half an hour just to move their pieces within firing distance of each other and then my grandpa would come home from work and kick them all over the place walking through the foyer and tell them to set the table for dinner