Stuff n' Things

 

7/24/2014 - Photo

use-yah-blinkah:

hootbird:

lavenderharmony:

hipsteroatmeal:


Send me a number and I’ll tell you my unpopular opinion. 
1. A selection of television programs you do not care for.2. A selection of musical artists you do not care for. 3. A selection of celebrities you couldn’t care less about.4. A hobby you “don’t get”.5. A habit you find disgusting.6. Something in school you really liked doing that everyone else bitched over.7. Your favorite household chore.8. Popular video games that make you go “meh”.9. PC or MAC?10. A sport you don’t like, for whatever reason.11. A sport you really like, for whatever reason.12. Television programs you love but have gotten shit for liking.13. Musical artists you love but have gotten shit for liking.14. A hobby you have/find interesting that other people bother you over/make fun of.15. A habit you have that other people bug you over.16. Something in school you hating doing and it felt like everyone else loved.17. The household chore that makes you want to shoot your own face off.18. A selection of video games that you enjoy that perhaps you really shouldn’t.19. A celebrity crush that maybe even you don’t understand.20. Free rant on whatever you want. 

This is my favorite thing to do anyway so….

This was really fun last time :D

this’ll be fun lets dooo.

PLASESAEPLASEPALEASE

use-yah-blinkah:

hootbird:

lavenderharmony:

hipsteroatmeal:

Send me a number and I’ll tell you my unpopular opinion. 

1. A selection of television programs you do not care for.
2.
A selection of musical artists you do not care for.
3.
A selection of celebrities you couldn’t care less about.
4.
A hobby you “don’t get”.
5.
A habit you find disgusting.
6.
Something in school you really liked doing that everyone else bitched over.
7. Your favorite household chore.
8.
Popular video games that make you go “meh”.
9.
PC or MAC?
10.
A sport you don’t like, for whatever reason.
11.
A sport you really like, for whatever reason.
12.
Television programs you love but have gotten shit for liking.
13.
Musical artists you love but have gotten shit for liking.
14.
A hobby you have/find interesting that other people bother you over/make fun of.
15.
A habit you have that other people bug you over.
16.
Something in school you hating doing and it felt like everyone else loved.
17.
The household chore that makes you want to shoot your own face off.
18.
A selection of video games that you enjoy that perhaps you really shouldn’t.
19.
A celebrity crush that maybe even you don’t understand.
20.
Free rant on whatever you want.

This is my favorite thing to do anyway so….

This was really fun last time :D

this’ll be fun lets dooo.

PLASESAEPLASEPALEASE

(via to-hyrule-them-all)

Also since I basically recycled one of herrcolonel's ideas to fill a request that the good Herr made, I'm gonna do another mediscout :V

____________________________

Y’know, everyone always points fingers at Scout when shit breaks. He’s fast and already kinda clumsy, which means that anything fragile that’s close to the edge of a surface is probably gonna fall. But do you know who breaks even more shit?

Medic.

Sometimes it’s malicious. He’ll throw things, glass things especially, for effect. Then he just leaves the mess for someone else to deal with. And really, who’s going to fight with Medic about it? He might be the only guy that gets ten times creepier off the battlefield.

But it’s not just done when he’s angry. He’s surprisingly butterfingered for a guy that does delicate medical stuff. He’s dropped more shit into chest cavities than anywhere else. And if you’re lucky, he’ll take it out.

Scout couldn’t make sense of it. Medic didn’t seem like the kind of guy to grip stuff lightly. Whenever Medic gripped something big, his knuckles would go white from how hard he squeezed.

So what did that mean?

Well, Scout figured it out.

His glasses.

His friggin’ glasses.

Someone had switched his glasses out with BLU’s glasses. Apparently their vision was so wildly different that Medic’s depth perception was out of whack. One suicidal run later and Scout had retrieved Medic’s real glasses. Two conversations later and Medic believed him enough to try it. Three kisses later and it was made all the sweeter.

Sees “Holy fucking shit, I’m crying”

Croc sniper, heavy, medic Ilu
_________________________
Not the weirdest thing they’d done, that was for sure. The bread monster still topped that.
It had started when a crocodile wandered onto the battlefield. Normally not much of an issue, but when it’s a hungry, ornery croc on your side of the battlefield, that’s a different issue.
So they elected for Sniper to wrestle it. He had experience, apparently, although from how nervous he looked it didn’t seem like it. In less than sixty seconds the crocodile had managed to roll Sniper onto the teleporter.
What popped out the other end was an unspeakable abomination the likes of which quite literally made Spy piss himself laughing. Scout didn’t fare much better.
Now that the battle had ended (apparently the RED Spy was traumatized for life when he’d gone to stab their Sniper), the Croco-Sniper was awkwardly seated on the operating table.
Heavy watched nearby as Medic tried to devise a way to fix him. Eventually the idea came to just constantly teleport him until the problem went away on its own, an idea which Sniper adamantly refused.
Several hours of a Russian giant wrestling with him eventually wore them both out. Eventually, Engineer arrived and built a teleporter directly in the operating room, and between the three of them they shoved Sniper onto it.
By the next morning, a dead tired crocodile lay flat on its back while a naked and confused Sniper vomited in the corner. Engineer packed up and left, while Heavy and Medic pondered what to do.
After all, Sniper was hissing and snapping his teeth at them, while the crocodile was speaking in garbled bogan gibberish.
Soldier writing letters “home”
_______________________________
"Dear Samantha,
I wish I was back with you sometimes. War is hell, and it never slows down for a second. But then I remember that you wouldn’t let me wear my uniform in the house, so you can go back to hippie school.”
"Dear Bobby,
You will not believe the waste that private Scout produces! One empty can of Bonk! could feed a battalion of 46, and he just crumples and tosses them away! I’m going to whip him into shape. Don’t call the cops, this time it’s legal. Kind of.”
"Dear Harriet,
I don’t know where that underground railroad of yours is, but God speed.”
"Dear Margo,
Teleporting bread turned out to be a bad idea apparently. I don’t get why, but it made Engineer and Medic angry. Medic has a weird accent. I think he might be from one of the Dakotas. Investigation to follow.”
Spy looked through the letters, rolling his eyes. Soldier had in fact postmarked each one to go home, but dozens upon dozens of letters were addressed to people that Spy was fairly certain didn’t exist, or were dead. He stopped at one letter of interest, brow furrowing as he read the contents.
"Dear Dad,
I think I might be getting better. Having friends is really helping. My writing is getting better, too. I promise I’ll be better in time for Christmas this year.”
Spy paused, reluctantly putting the letters in the mail. He knew that Soldier’s immediate family had all died years ago. He just lacked the heart to try and stop Soldier from writing home.
_____________________________
Pyro was having none of Spy’s shit today.
BLU Spy, to be precise. Yesterday, he’d managed to destroy Engie’s nest an unspeakable five times. Pyro had thought that a good choice in positioning would be with the Medic, as the BLU Spy tended to favor him. Possibly wanting revenge over that whole “keeping his head in a fridge” thing.
Well, they’d won, but Pyro spent the day utterly miserable. Not even Balloonicorn could improve things. See, Engineer had spent the whole day grumbling and moping. He wouldn’t come out to play at all! And since the team won, no one cared about Engineer’s misfortune. Even worse, Spy made fun of him for doing so bad.
So with a new day and a new mission, Pyro set out. The only target for the day would be that BLU Spy. All day, the BLU Spy could barely make it out of Spawn before he’d be sniffed out. It was tough work, and Pyro ended up dying a LOT more than usual. Being so close to enemy territory made it hard enough; things were even worse with the constant bursts of fire. Just about every BLU could see Pyro, and happily took potshots.
But it was so worth it.
Engie was the happiest he’d been in months. His whole nest hadn’t been so much as sapped once! A full day without breathing in Spy’s exotic smoke, without an insult in his ear and a knife in the back. It made his work day a whole heckuva lot more boring, though.
At the end of the day, when Engie saw the final score, he understood what had really happened. So for dinner, he made Pyro a very special Texan dinner, and finished it off with a great big bowl of homemade rock candy for dessert.
I DO write some more mediscout pls (if you ever run out of ideas i am 100% guaranteed to be a never ending fountain of mediscout ideas that i’m too lazy to write myself)
You do write mediscout :V But I s’pose you want me to write one.
_________________________
Medic hated doing the dishes. He wasn’t exactly against grime or chunks of food; he’d certainly handled worse, and only occasionally with gloves in hand. But it was ridiculous to do the team’s dishes!
Yet every week, they played a clearly rigged game of poker to see who would do dishes when. Spy hadn’t had to do dishes in months. This week, Medic had been unlucky enough to earn five nights of doing dishes. Five nights! He might as well have done the entire week.
First there were the twenty-seven plates. Then the twenty-seven cups and mugs. Then the cutlery, always alarmingly high from varying lethal food fights. And, of course, a litany of animal dishes for the ridiculous amount of fauna that populated the base.
He couldn’t stand it. It got in the way of his experiments! He could be elbow deep in the fourth BLU Soldier corpse he’d harvested. Instead, he was elbow deep in caked on fried chicken skin.
Medic jolted a bit when a hand settled on the small of his back, turning to glare at Scout. Scout was chewing bubblegum, smacking it loudly with every failed bubble attempt.
"Scout, I need to finish ze dishes." He tried to ignore the constant chewing, but Scout was mere inches away and staring directly at him.
"Yeah, but doc, c’mon man! The theater’s showin’ Night of the Livin’ Dead, I thought we were gonna go." Was he-yes, yes he was. Pouting. Unbelievable. Medic rolled his eyes and waved one hand at the massive pile of dishes.
"Anozzer day, Scout. I’m already too tired." Scout’s shoulders slumped. He understood; even if he joined in now, the dishes wouldn’t be done in time to catch the whole movie. He couldn’t stand going in late.
Hours later, when Medic finally returned to his room, Scout was waiting with an old TV. He’d asked Engie to help him figure it out. And while the TV wasn’t showing anything particularly good, Medic couldn’t care less while he was hunched forward with Scout’s hands kneading out the knots in his back.
_________________________________
Folk just don’t understand the kind of connection Engie’s got to his guns. On a good day he’ll have a teleporter and a dispenser set up nice and pretty too, but they ain’t never as important as that gun.
One sentry design in particular, mini-sentry, always caught his eye.
She was a real beauty of a machine, and downright mean with those pesky BLUs. She could terrorize Scouts and Soldiers like nobody’s business. And boy, business was good.
But usually, Engie didn’t get to spend much time with her. She did her best work on her own, cleverly tucked away while Engie took to the front line with shotgun in hand. Sometimes she’d nick him in the leg to remind him that she was the boss.
Their best work was done with a wrangler, though. He’d point out a flyin’ Soldier for her and she’d take him right out of the sky. Engie never bothered trying to explain to her how the physics of it worked; she knew. Heck, she was programmed real good.
Boy, he loved havin’ that metal fist. If that darn Spy got it in his fool head to sap her, Engie would punch his jaw clean off, then punch the sapper off. Some’d say that’s pointless, when a mini ain’t worth savin’.
Engie don’t leave his sentries to die.

I feel like doing ficlet requests again, anybody want a ficlet? :V

7/23/2014 - Video

pk-spankety:

cat-tastrophie:

So I was reading reviews for Animal Crossing New Leaf, and I saw this.

This is literally the best.

(via wildborscht)