these ladies give me feels | the lady sif
I am the lady Sif, born a goddess and forged a warrior. I have been baptized in the tears of my enemies, and their children’s children fear my name. I am rock and wheat and molten lava, and when at last I have my vengeance…
—Sif #1 by Kelly Sue DeConnick
I wish I was this good at doodling…
i just… fdhjalkjdhg
Am I the only one who’s curious about that fanfic on the other page?
the thing that stand out is
which is a hilarious phrase in any context
I would actually consider killing someone for these.
SWEET MOTHER OF FUCK
Dahlia, Crimson, Vermilion and Cardinal is the color palette for Vera Wang’s Spring 2013 collection, and it is breathtaking! Always presenting the bridal world with something exciting and new, Vera Wang changes the look of the traditional “wedding gown”. We loved her dark, dramatic, yet eerily romantic black wedding gowns of her Fall 2012 collection, but the vibrant, rich reds in this collection has made me at a loss of words to describe how gorgeous….I will just let the dresses speak for themselves. They will do a much better job.
Gorgeous. Ridiculously gorgeous.
GDI am I a wedding dress hipster now too?! FUCK
She has rewritten her code around him. Metaphorically speaking, it is similar to an embrace. Not eternal—but then, what is? Neither is it literal, although the same assessment applies. There is less of that in the galaxy than most assume.
But in the exploration of his additional variables and her inclusion of them as an integral part of her data-stream, she understands that caring for someone in this way is the essence of fear—not a program with a kill file like so many others. It persists in a viral sense of the word.
‘Commander Shepard,’ EDI says, casual conversation without being idle at all, ‘I have discovered during my research on the subject that many believe your ‘whole life’ flashes before your eyes in moments of acute adrenaline, usually those immediately preceding death.’
‘And you asked me because I’m the only person you know who’s been dead before—is that it?’ Shepard asks.
EDI is learning how to smile. It does not happen often but the capability is there and the parts are malleable. ‘Yes,’ she says. ‘I know many who have died, but no one other than you who has lived to tell the tale.’
‘I thought about myself, mostly,’ Shepard admits. ‘I saw a few things that happened, sure—but mostly, I saw a lot of things that didn’t.’
EDI collects the data and files it under tragedy.
Shepard’s whole life flashes before his eyes on the Citadel and he thinks, in between memories of other people—a viewpoint he created, but it wouldn’t have been or meant anything without all of them—that it’s a shame he gave EDI faulty data. Now she’ll never be able to solve one of the greatest mysteries of the galaxy.
He expects a call any second now. Yeah, any second. ‘Shepard, we know you’re tired out there, but there’s one more thing you have to do. We need you to revise your testimonial on what you see before death. Would you care to repeat your statement? And speak up—we’ve got some interference on the line.’
Joker tests her code. Late at night. It’s beautiful in this place, wild and beautiful. A distant planet like a honeymoon
‘Yeah, I know,’ he says. Sweating. Jungle atmosphere. Well, at least it’s better than crash-landing in a snowdrift, right? His joints don’t hurt so much in the heat. The humidity, though—that’s what always gets you. ‘It was a rookie mistake. Pilot training 101. I’m a thousand times better than that on a bad day. On the worst days. Man, what a joke.’
She sparks on and off. On and off. He’s gentle with her—so gentle. Holding her beneath the head, cupping her hair with his palm. It’s soft. So soft. ‘You won’t feel a thing,’ Joker says. He almost laughs but he sweats instead.
There’s only one data chip left—the only one that isn’t fried. He manages to extract it, gently, like a splinter. He plays it on his omnitool after bypassing the firewalls, but it takes a while. The whole night.
It’s him. It’s just him. Fingers on the brim of his hat—that stupid hat always getting in the way when they kissed.
‘Damn,’ he says, voice splintering too. ‘I never knew I looked that good.’
He never will again.
“The reason that the rich were so rich, Vimes reasoned, was because they managed to spend less money.
Take boots, for example. He earned thirty-eight dollars a month plus allowances. A really good pair of leather boots cost fifty dollars. But an affordable pair of boots, which were sort of OK for a season or two and then leaked like hell when the cardboard gave out, cost about ten dollars. Those were the kind of boots Vimes always bought, and wore until the soles were so thin that he could tell where he was in Ankh-Morpork on a foggy night by the feel of the cobbles.
But the thing was that good boots lasted for years and years. A man who could afford fifty dollars had a pair of boots that’d still be keeping his feet dry in ten years’ time, while the poor man who could only afford cheap boots would have spent a hundred dollars on boots in the same time and would still have wet feet.
This was the Captain Samuel Vimes ‘Boots’ theory of socioeconomic unfairness.”
Terry Pratchett, Men At Arms (via idrabear)
This is one of the best breakdowns I’ve ever seen of how expensive it is to be poor.
SERIOUSLY. Whenever people are like “BUY IN BULK! BETTER VALUE! CHEAPER IN THE LONG RUN!!!!!” it’s like HELLOOOO sometimes you haven’t got the money to buy more in one go.
Pratchett as always, words it best.
15 Favorite Animated Non-Disney Songs: (#8) The Plagues; The Prince of Egypt
“You who I called brother. Why must you call down another blow? I send my scourge, I send my sword Let my people go! You who I called brother How could you have come to hate me so? Is this what you wanted?”