#8js

[usafphantom2]

Vought F-8J Crusader being recovered aboard the attack aircraft carrier USS Oriskany, November 1 1970.

credit Jets n Props

@CcibChris via X

[fairyhaos]

YOU GUYS!!!!!!!

[body-to-flame]

****** *** *** ** **********, ********* *** ***** * *** ******* * ** ******* ******* ***** *** ** *** **** *****. ** ***** ***** *** *** ** ******* **** *******. ****** *** *** ********* * **** ** ***** ****. ***** ****. ******** *****.

[alyehliparts]

https://www.instagram.com/reel/CsQNt-_J5QI/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link&igshid=MzRlODBiNWFlZA==

[wrcl]

«Os integrantes do grupo eram bem diferentes; uma mistura de fracos procurando proteção, ambiciosos procurando uma repartição de glória e uma atração violenta por um líder que mostrava a eles as mais refinadas formas de crueldade. Em outras palavras, eram os futuros Comensais de Morte»* mas poderia se referir, também, aos aos golpistas acampados em frente aos quartéis e os outros que se juntaram a eles nos ataques contra as sedes dos três poderes em 8 de janeiro.

* (Harry Potter e o enigma do Príncipe, p. 195)

[minkyungseokie]

That's My Girl || Charlie Bushnell

synopsis; charlie is proud of his girlfriend who happens to be red bull's golden girl

warnings; none

note; reqeuested

fc; Amna Al Qubaisi

note2; I decided to use Amna Al Qubaisi, who's RB's Academy driver and is Emirati

I know it says academy. It's all I could find. Let me live 😭😭

To everyone who's requested a Smau, I'll get them out as soon as I can. This is my first smau, so it's not as good as I want it to be and it's not funny

Main Masterlist | Actor Masterlist | Charlie Masterlist

I do not give anyone permission to change, copy, or put my work on any other platform. It will only be on top, so if you see it, please report it. Or let me know.

redbullracing and ynln1

liked by iamcharliebushnell, maxverstappen1, and 248,100 others

ynln1 Thank you to everyone who watched and supported me during the F2 Bahrain GP! I hope I made it worth your time ;)

user1 Red Bull's golden girl!

userz Mini Max Verstappen

maxverstappen1 congrats, kleine zus* ❤️ by author ⤷ynln1 Thank you أَخِي الْكَبِير!** ⤷usert @/maxverstappen1 the way they call each other little sister and big brother 😭 ⤷userf @usert Ikr!! It's so cute!

iamcharliebushnell congrats, babe! ❤️ by author

userdeez since when was Y/n dating Luke ⤷youeb @userdeez who the fuck is Luke ⤷jobelubr @youeb his name isn't Luke. It's charlie bushnell. he plays Luke in the pjo show

ynln1

liked by iamcharliebushnell, maxverstappen1, olliebearman, and 200,123 others

ynln1 Thank you Harper's Bazaar for having me!

havehd god, she's so beautiful 😍

noobsucker do you need a dog? I can be a very convincing dog!! ⤷cxckslobber @/noobsucker Girl... ⤷noobsucker What?

maxverstappen1 simply lovely ❤️ by author

iamcharliebushnell my girlfriend is so pretty😍 ❤️by author ⤷ynln أحبك ⤷iamcharliebushnell I love you too, gorgeous

olliebearman go best friend, that's my best friend ❤️ by author ⤷ynlnfan OMG Ollie 😭

iamcharliebushnell

liked by ynln1, dior.n.goodjohn, walker.scobell, and 233,621 others

iamcharliebushnell What my shirt says

tagged: ynln1

hgad Lord, when will it be my turn?

ynln I love you! ⤷iamcharliebushnell I love you too ❤️ by author

ynln Wait, who took these? ⤷dior.n.goodjohn I did and that would be know if SOMEONE gave me photo credits ⤷iamcharliebushnell @/dior.n.goodjohn Photo creds to Dior or whatever 🙄

walker.scobell your girlfriend is cooler than you ⤷iamcharliebushnell @/walker.scobell I can't even argue with that ⤷ynln1 @iamcharliebushnell You better not disagree with that

gooesd If you look close enough, you'll see me lying on the track in the back

Deeznutz They look so good togther ⤷adicktion @/deeznutz learn to spell, fuckwad ⤷deeznutz @/adicktion leave me the fuck alone, Janice

ynln1 and iamcharliebushnell

liked by iamcharliebushnell, dior.n.goodjohn, landonorris, and 145,897 others

ynln1 Yeah, my boyfriend's pretty cool but he's not as cool as me.

dior.n.goodjohn charlie, I'm stealing your girlfriend 🤤 ⤷ iamcharliebushnell no, you're not ⤷ ynln1 I'm all yours, Dior ⤷ iamcharliebushnell What?

walker.scobell Yep, so much cooler than Charlie

hornyidot the third picture 🤤

landonorris I think he's much cooler than you ⤷ynln1 No one asked you, Norizz ⤷landonorris I-- ⤷danielricciardo I taught you well, Y/n

gloop-8j She's so pretty and for what

[devilart2199-aibi]

Ohhh, I love when artists do the "expression challenge" as art requests, it is always so fun to see how they express the character. I have a few options, since I adore your take on the Stunticons' design so much, and love seeing them represented, especially with expressions that they usually wouldn't have.

Motormaster in 1B or 9C, Wildrider in 5J or Drag Strip in 10B or 8J, perhaps? (all choices based vaguely off your recent response about them)

If you do any of these, I will love to see them and will cherish them! Thank you so much, either way!

I agree! And I always enjoy drawing characters I don't usually through the challenge as well 😊 I accidentally did two because I forgot I drew Dragstrip before taking a little break haha. Also thank you!! 💕

[fleckcmscott]

At Long Last

Summary: With Y/N's help, Arthur begins to discover what openness truly means.

Words: 2,287

Warnings: Swearing, Adult situations

A/N: A hearty welcome and hello to new readers! 😃 And much love and thanks to old! 🤗💜 This story came to me right after watching the sequel. I wanted to return to the beginnings of Arthur and Y/N's relationship, revisit those trepidatious yet thrilling early days. This piece takes place four days after After. Special thanks to @sweet-nothings04 for beta-ing! Please enjoy!

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

Arthur trudged into his apartment, dragging a sopping wet hamper behind him.

Out of Order signs had hung from 225a Anderson Avenue's row of dryers for the better part of two weeks. He'd managed to avoid the basement laundromat, its abandoned bowling alley charms. Scrubbed a stain on his trousers in the sink, soaked t-shirts in a basin with a scoop of Borax. But with the armpits of his cardigans too funky to wear, he'd found himself in a pinch.

His last three quarters had clinked to the bottom of the Speed Queen - and the machine had quit as soon as it'd hit the spin cycle. Not a shock, really. That was the way everything went for good old Arthur Fleck. His minor celebrity status hadn't spun a better thread.

Splats across the basement floor, a puddle in the rickety elevator, streaks down the hall to 8J. A trail of clues for the absent super to follow and lay blame.

Arthur kicked the hamper for bad measure. Water seeped onto the entrance runner. Shoulders sagged under twenty pounds of resignation, a peck of indignation ground his teeth. He shoved another cigarette between his lips and puffed storm clouds from his nose.

Just as he was draping a thermal shirt over the side of the tub, the telephone rang. Scoffing, he grabbed a crumpled pair of briefs.

The hospital had called during skipped breakfast, said his first choice for a home to send Penny to had no space. He'd offered a suggestion ("Can you tell them I was on Murray? Maybe they'll have a bed then."), then told them to try another, any other. A Gotham Hydro bill marked Past Due had put him on notice, but he'd mailed the check two days ago, so whatever. They could leave a message.

But the answering machine didn't answer. It hit him that he'd unplugged it last night, the result of a prank caller asking him to do his dumb laugh. A minute more and the branging and bronging continued, a ring that would ricochet in his skull for hours.

"Fuck," he muttered. Wiping his hands on his pajama bottoms, he charged to the kitchen phone. "Hello?"

"Arthur, hi," Y/N said.

Warmth melted the icicle of frustration lodged in his chest, the out of the blue call instantly easing his load. His girlfriend, a brand-new thread that wound him up in all the right ways. He sighed her name and leaned on the counter as she continued. "Are you busy? I can call later."

"No. No, I'm good. Free, I mean." He tapped his cigarette into a pink ashtray. "You can talk to me now."

"I was wondering if I could have my joke a little earlier today. Patricia is at a conference of counsel on that goddamn Wayne case, and I'm losing my mind."

"Well..." He eyed his wet feet, the puddle he needed to mop up. "What did one washing machine say to the other?" After giving her three chances to guess, he offered the punchline. "This is a draining job." Light laughter on the other end. He grabbed a pencil and jotted the quip before he could forget it.

"Do you want to go out tonight?" she asked. "There's an Italian place a block from me that makes a great chicken parmesan."

He did. But Arthur didn't have to check his wallet to know it was empty. "No, thank you."

A photocopier hummed in the background. "Well, why don't you come over for dinner? Matt won't care if I take a long lunch. I'll throw a soup together in my crockpot, it'll be ready by the time you get there. You could take leftovers."

His eyelids slammed shut, the need to cling to her battling his pride. She'd already paid for lunch last Thursday, bought their movie tickets Saturday, and made dinner that evening. He'd wished her good night and left, heavy steps carrying him back to his place despite her pout that he loved so much. He refused to be the burden on Y/N that he'd been on Penny.

"That's really-" He spoke with the same steadiness he practiced for performances. Gulped against a watery tremor. "That's okay."

"That's okay? Does that mean yes?"

Tongue tied, he swiped at his nose. God, she was stubborn.

The creak of her office chair. Her voice lowered, like she was cupping her hand over the receiver. Throaty and conspiratorial. "Arthur, I've needed you inside me all morning, and I don't see that ache going away without you."

Only his furrowed brow kept his eyes from falling out of his head. His mouth watered at the idea of sharing a meal with her - but not as much as at what she'd just confessed.

God, she was sensational.

Swiping greasy strands of hair from his cheek, he decided to move the laundry from the tub to the sink. "I- I'll be there."

~~~~~

It was breathy and quick, a speed Arthur associated more with first times than sevenths. (He'd been without his meds for about a month and assumed that was at fault.) He blinked at her after he came. Swallowed and squirmed between her legs.

Y/N giggled and washed away his embarrassment. "I'll take that as a compliment," she said, nimble fingers lacing through freshly shampooed locks. Her pelvis canted upward, her mouth striving towards his.

He rolled to her left, to her side of the bed. Turned to study her profile. Her hand was splayed on her sternum, which slowed to rise and fall at an easy pace. He tucked himself under the floral comforter, thicker and softer than anything he had at home.

A few huffs later and she cackled with laughter. "I haven't been this horny in ages."

Parted fingers covered his eyes, a swelling pride permeating bashful chuckles. He hadn't been this horny ever. Yeah, there'd been urges. The same desires as any other man. But getting to know himself as a sexual being, having a sex life, being and having a lover felt like a long-desired suit. A suit he'd finally gotten his hands on and was now learning to tailor.

He folded an arm behind his head. Good thing something this wonderful was free.

She propped herself on her elbow. "We need to catch another movie soon. I keep thinking of you in the theatre, humming along to all the songs. How many times have you seen it?"

Shall We Dance was a perennial favorite, the tale of two dancers driven to marry by spectacle and rumor, who in the end fall in love. "I dunno. Fifty?" It was in constant rotation on GMC, a soundtrack to his growing up.

He nestled back into her pillow. "I used to imagine I was Fred Astaire. That one day I'd meet my Ginger." His face heated at that admission, the fantasies of a schoolboy he carried to this day. But perhaps telling Y/N without hesitation was what intimacy was. What safety and security were supposed to feel like.

"That's a high bar." She rucked the sheet to her armpits. "I hope you're not disappointed."

"No. I'm not," he said, as serious as an NCB interviewee. "You get me."

"You're not that hard to figure out."

"You're perfect."

A grimace flashed across her forehead. "No. I'm not."

Looping an arm about her middle, he tugged her to him. "Well, you're perfect for me."

That appeared to suit her. She snuggled against his side, lay her head on his bare shoulder. He nuzzled at her sepia hair, kissed her brow. His focused stare dwindled, a story unfurling in his heart.

Full page notices of their impending matrimony splashed across the Gotham Examiner, the Gazette, the Globe, papers read by the poor and powerless. The Gotham Times and the Journal, papers read by the prosperous and powerful. Announcements for everyone who'd made fun of him, everyone who'd underestimated him. Hoyt, Randall, Mur-ray. Hell, even Penny, who'd told Y/N she'd never believed he'd find a girlfriend. Treasures he'd tear from the newsprint and paste in his journal. Reminders of all he'd earned, that he'd gotten what he deserved.

Y/N murmured that the pea and ham soup should be done, and his daydream gave way to reality. When she asked why he hadn't wanted to come over, he gave a grunt of acknowledgment but no answer. He let his gaze roam the room, a grounding exercise he'd learned during one of his stints at Arkham State Hospital. A way to make himself present.

A two door in-wall closet was across from the foot of the bed, a walnut bow-back armchair sat in the corner by the door. Against the left wall stood a chest of drawers, on top of which sat a jewelry box, a watch, a vanity mirror, and a hairbrush. Little pieces of her that would be joined by his.

On her nightstand was a ceramic lamp, mauve and round, accompanied by a digital clock radio and a pen. A short stack of softcover books was next to it, five in total. The top book lay open, face down. He cocked his head to read the spine. Loving Someone with Major Depressive Disorder.

"What's this?" he asked, plucking it from the pile.

"A series I'm reading through."

He scanned the other books long enough to catch partial titles. ...someone with manic... ...traumatic stress... ...iety disorder... Manuals of misfortune. He worried the tip of his tongue. "Because of me?"

She ran her palm across his abdomen. "Because I want to do the right thing."

He skimmed the page she'd left off on.

Telling your loved one, "If you'd only try harder" or "Why can't you just be happy?" merely serves to worsen his mental state. Such phrases contribute to the hopelessness and shame a patient is already feeling. It is as useful as telling a cancer patient that with enough positive thinking, he can cure himself.

Y/N would never say anything of the sort. Of that, he was sure. She listened, took him seriously, even when she disagreed. She was as far from Penny as east was from west, a woman who'd slapped him with a nickname and treated him like an invisible man. Y/N having these paperbacks on her nightstand meant that she saw him. That she cared.

That he was the first thing she thought of in the morning and the last each and every night.

He replaced the book, cuddled her closer. "Maybe I should read a law book or something. You know, to learn about your job?" Though he had a vague understanding of her work, knew it had to do with the legal system, the specifics eluded him. She seemed to be detective, secretary, and lawyer all rolled into one.

She pushed herself from the mattress and went to the closet. Pulled the corner chair before it and climbed. He admired the shapeliness of her bottom, the ease of her nakedness.

After some shuffling, she hopped back down and threw on a robe. Returned to his side to hand him a green hardcover with gold lettering: Paralegal Practice and Procedure.

The textbook was lead in his hands, the thickest he'd ever held. He flipped to the last page. Glimpsed the size ten font and page number 356. Twitchy fingertips drummed the cover. "Can I- Can I borrow it?"

"Of course," she answered, and set it aside. She drew a line down his forehead. "I'll dogear the important parts. You can always ask me about it, too. I'd like that."

Long eyelashes cast a shadow on his cheeks. "What's the hardest case you've had?"

"The Wayne case." Her trail continued along the bridge of his nose.

"And the best?"

Her breath brushed his face. She followed the groove that ran from his nose to his mouth. "The Wayne case," she said with unexpected warmth. Her thumb traced the scar on his upper lip.

On a flinch, he seized her hand. Thought to move it away, to a smoother part of his body. The sharp plain of his cheek, the swell of his bicep, the sinewy inside of his thigh. Places she loved to caress, spots he'd accepted she admired.

But her kind expression, soft yet inquisitive, forced him to reconsider.

For the most part, the scar didn't bother him, though it could be a pain to shave around. Its origins were unknown. If it was a parting gift from one of Penny's boyfriends, or if he'd been born with it. If he'd been malformed in the womb. The flaw was visible for everyone to see in the same way his laughing condition was audible for everyone to hear.

No one had gone out of the way to touch it. To touch him. People had avoided him his whole life. Gossiped behind his back after he'd pass, scoffed when he'd offer his laminated card. The strangeness of this woman diving into him was hard to take.

Was it possible for vulnerability to no longer invite further pain?

A quick blink against the wetness flooding his eyes. His heart beating against hers. He pressed her to the scar, tilted upward into her grasp. Not trying to halt the watery tremor in his words, Arthur whispered what he'd longed to since she'd returned to him. Since he'd taken her on his kitchen floor.

"I- I'm in love with you."

Beaming, Y/N twined her legs with his, her center damp on his thigh. "You're one of the best things that's ever happened to me." Her thumb dragged along the scar once more. "I'm in love with you, too."

She bent to kiss it, then kissed him. Full and wet and sweet and the whole world.

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve​​​​​ @ithinkimaperson​​​​​ @sweet-nothings04​​​​​ @stephieraptorr​​​​ @rommies​​​​​ @fallenstarsabyss @gruffle1​​​​​ @another-day-in-chuckletown​ @hhandley80​​​​​ @jokerownsmysoul​​​​​ @rafaelbottom @ralugraphics​​​​​ @iartsometimes​​​​​ @fleckficgirl

[nocternalrandomness]

US Navy F-8J Crusader of VF-24 in flight - 1975

[cosmik-homo]

I'm not crying. I'm not crying. A triple A game being produced by a genderqueer person and giving me this got 8j my eyes. Happy fucking birthday,,yall. My birthday present <3

[usafphantom2]

An F-8J from VF-191 "Satan's Kittens" riding high. The squadron flew F-8s from 1961 until 1976 when it transitioned to F-4 Phantoms.

Btw did you notice the sidemounted Sidewinder? A fully loaded F-8 could carry four AIM-9 AAMs on its fuselage racks.

@RealAirPower1 via X

[everfree-biology]

Spike: About... 8J?

Twilight: At our speed we'll be there soon.

Spike: Cool!

[dangerousthingobservation]

F-8J Crusader (150905, NF-201) / VF-53 " Iron Angels"/ *12August1970*

[equusmaniac]

Rodimus as 8J, maybe? :o

I apologize for any inconsistencies in his design, I've never drawn Rodimus before. But, he was quite fun, not gonna lie! :D

[wrcl]

Os direitos humanos são, inclusive, para quem acredita que não são para os outros (por exemplo, os 111 presos que morreram na chacina do Carandiru, um pingo d'água no oceano de exemplos de quem são os outros para eles, além de todos os outros outros), cuja única violência que sofreram na prisão foi comer a comida que todos os outros comem todo o dia, dentro e fora da prisão.