#I did research ok

[amphibianaday]

day 1421

[formulanni]

🐎‼️

Tag list: @st-leclerc @rubywingsracing @saviour-of-lord @three-days-time @the-wall-is-my-goal @albonoooo @ch3rubd0lls @brawngp2009

[bull-shit-suji]

actually no i need to talk about the green witch arc. ciel and his band of merry fools go to germany and learn that this forest is haunted by WEREWOLVES and in it is a village full of WITCHES with cursed amulets and potions and whatever

and the immediate vibe is "lol what a bunch of bogus" which is really just batshit coming from the kid with a demon butler

and then woah big reveal! it wasn't werewolves or witches it was a covert military operation REPLETE with radar tracking (not a thing until wwii) and electronic displays (most likely crt screens, which again weren't fully developed until the 1930s) and TANKS. for reference the first "tank" was put together by a guy in 1899 who mounted a machine gun to THIS

absolute paragon of engineering. the panzer (the exact model of tank in the arc) was not a thing until wwi.

and. and ciel and ESPECIALLY the Demon Butler in question are like. ohhhh yeah that makes more sense. the amulets were just transmitting our exact locations through technology that won't exist for another three decades. whew glad we sorted that one out. man wouldn't it have been CRAZY if it really was werewolves.

[jack-kellys]

the reason bway javid got that subtle somethin somethin is because jeremy jordan and ben fankhauser were both in theatre college at the same school at i believe the same time… for a year i think.. and as someone who’s witnessed what a BFA acting program does to men who r not in a relationship, and the production casts them as best friends, well. let’s just say. they got somethin somethin.

[onesnoopyaday]

I AM AT MY LIMIT

Snoopy #90

30/12/2024

description under the cut

[description: a cartoon-style drawing of Snoopy's head. Snoopy is a white dog with black ears. His eyes are shut and his mouth is a horizontal line. There are two large blue teardrops, one under each eye. The text "I am at my limit" is handwritten across the top of the image.]

[iceycloversart]

based on this post by @mortalkcmbat

[dooodle-bug]

The journeussy has just begun....

[totmatsu]

My old Spirited Away AU (Each Matsu can fuse with the yokai to make the rightmost figure. Todomatsu/Totty is Chihiro/Sen)

[softspeirs]

gosh, these prompts are just so fluffy, it makes me want to cry! 🥹

maybe these for whoever you're feeling in the moment:

❛ what, am i not allowed to look at you? ❜

❛ seeing you happy is all that matters. ❜

A/N: First, you asked for this so long ago, I'm sorry it took so long! I wanted to explore a lil reunion for Rosie and Grace after (one of the times) his plane goes down and he makes it back. I did a smidge of research for this, but to be clear, this isn't the time he lands in Russia that we see in the show. This is an earlier mission where he crash lands in France - p422 (? I think?) in Masters of the Air if you want to read more. I tweaked the dialogue of that second prompt just a tiny bit, hope that's okay. These Heartbeats Clear Masterlist

Seven. Wounded.

When Robert Rosenthal opens his eyes, for a moment he doesn't remember where he is. There's a brief unsettling moment of sheer panic where he tries to get his bearings, tries to sit up and tries to remember what's happened to him in the last 48 hours.

"Whoa, whoa, slow down." A voice says. American. He sighs in relief.

An unfamiliar worried face swims into his vision. "Major Rosenthal?"

"What--" His throat hurts, his entire body hurts, and he stops trying to talk.

"You've been asleep for almost two days."

"Where am I?"

"Please, try to relax. You're safe. You're in Oxford."

Now that he hears the words, he remembers loud, urgent voices, he remembers flashing lights and the feeling of being manhandled around. It doesn't do much to quell the fear rising in his gut. "My crew."

"They're fine. Some wounded, but everyone's going to be okay." She moves around the bed with quick, sure steps, checking his chart before meeting his eyes again. "You've got a broken arm and a few broken ribs, Major. Now that you're awake, we'd just like to monitor you for a few hours and then we can talk about a transport back to your base."

He nods, thanking her, and she smiles before disappearing down a corridor, leaving him to his thoughts. His mind is slow, fuzzy, but there's one thought blaring like an alarm louder than anything else - he needs to find a way to call Grace.

He swore to her a long time ago that he'd never give her a reason to think he wasn't coming back. He has no idea if anyone knows he and his crew are here.

He also has a panicked thought that he won't be able to fly again, not if they were helped the French resistance. He forces himself to take deep breaths and tries to beat back the anxiety fluttering in his ribcage.

"Rosie?" A familiar voice breaks him out of his thoughts, and he tries to sit up before pain laces up his spine, making him wince.

"Croz?"

Harry's worried face peeks around the curtain. "Jesus." He says, making Rosie wonder what he must look like.

"What are you doing here?"

"We got a call. Wasn't going to let you guys walk back to Thorpe Abbotts, was I?" He takes a few steps closer, scraping a chair closer to the bed before sitting down. He looks exhausted. "I volunteered to come get you."

"How long--"

"It's been five days since the mission." Harry rubs a hand over his face. "Can't begin to tell you how lucky you were, Rosie."

It starts to hit him, how close he was to not coming back. He doesn't even remember the plane going down, not entirely. He has no memory of being rescued. He feels strangely guilty. He's the one that's supposed to lead and help his crew when he can.

"Have you talked to a doctor?" Harry asks.

Rosie shakes his head. "Not yet, just a nurse. Obviously I can't do much with this--" He struggles to shrug with his injured arm in a sling.

"It'll be fine. Desk duty until you're well."

"Croz, you know I hate--"

"You can't fly like that, Rosie. Technically you should be pulled from duty altogether."

Rosie clenches his jaw, takes a deep breath and tries to calm himself down. It's not Harry's call, even though he knows he's right. He's going to do everything he can to get back in the seat again, even if he has to get demoted to do it.

.

He discharges himself so he can leave with his crew and with Crosby and hitch a ride back to base. The doctor fixes him with a stern look as he does it, but he must see the determination on Rosie's face, and just tells him to take it easy for the next few weeks.

Fat chance of that.

"Stop looking at me like that." He grouses to Harry as they bounce along the road back to Thorpe Abbotts, Rosie biting back a wince with grit teeth as the road jostles his muscles uncomfortably.

"I'm not looking at you like anything."

Harry has long stopped trying to convince Rosie of anything, just like Rosie has stopped trying to tell him to get more sleep or eat more. They're all just doing whatever they can to survive at this point. The cost of it all is secondary.

"I'll save the lecture for Grace." He mutters.

Rosie's head snaps up. "Is she--"

"Worried sick? Probably, but you know her. Once she knew you were alive, she went from worried to furious."

"Not like I had any say in the matter," Rosie counters, voice dry. "Didn't try asking them not to shoot at us, though."

Harry smiles, shaking his head. "You know what I mean. Angry at the circumstances. Frustrated with herself for being emotional. That's Grace."

That's Grace. And isn't that the truth. Rosie can't help but smile softly, because he knows Harry is right - he's going to get an earful when he gets back. But he must be a masochist, because he's almost looking forward to it - it means she cares. Not that he's ever had any reason to doubt that.

The truck rumbles along for miles. Rosie hadn't thought about how long it would take them to get back to the base, but he tries to close his eyes and get relatively comfortable until they arrive.

He hears the noise of the gates and opens his eyes to find the sun nearly down. There's a big commotion as they enter and he takes a deep breath to try to get his bearings.

"We'll go to command first, and then to the infirmary. You'll probably have to sleep there." Harry says groggily.

They're let out in front of the command building, Jack Kidd already there waiting for him along with the Colonel. Both look like they haven't slept in days. A few paces behind them is Grace, and the sight of her softens Rosie, makes his shoulders lose their tension. He meets her eyes and tries for a smile, but he thinks it comes off as more of a grimace.

Grace, for her part, is restraining herself. She feels a mixture of relief and anger wash over her at the sight of him, arm in a sling and bruises and cuts littering his handsome face. He looks exhausted, and she's sure she looks much the same.

She knows being angry is the wrong thing. It's not his fault he got shot down, after all. Really, she's angry at herself. She's angry at her heart, at the way it plummeted to her feet when she heard the news that his plane didn't come back, and she's angrier that every day since confirms to her what she already knows: she's in love with him.

And that's as terrifying as it is liberating, because there's a very real chance he could break her heart, whether he means to or not. (She knows that Robert Rosenthal doesn't have a cruel bone in his body, but sometimes, in war, the choice isn't his)

"Jesus Christ, Rosie." Jack says quietly, voice heavy. "I--" He takes a deep breath, and seems to remember what he needs to do. "It's good to see you back. We need to go to interrogation."

"The crew isn't ready--"

Kidd shakes his head. "I'm sorry, Rosie, but the quicker we do this, the better. It's already been a few days."

"Who's back?"

"Maddox, Rubick, Palmer, and Hartos. The others won't be back until tomorrow, but we'll debrief them then. I don't want to wait an extra day."

Jack looks over his shoulder, and Rosie is sure he catches an apologetic look on his face that's there and gone quickly as he sees Grace there. "Twenty minutes, then go to the infirmary." He says as he turns back to Rosie. "Let's go."

The interrogation is as grueling as Rosie expected. He's glad to see some of the members of his crew again. Despite his brain telling him that none of this is his fault, his heart can't help but beat wildly, flooding him with guilt as they give their account of what happened after they went down, when Rosie was knocked unconscious.

It feels like hours before he's trudging towards the infirmary, luckily only a few steps away from the interrogation hut.

The door is opening before he arrives, and Grace's worry-filled face fills his vision. "Grace." Her name leaves his mouth without his permission, his tone exhausted, but full of emotion.

She swallows hard. "Major." Her tone is relieved and... frustrated. He's not surprised, but he hopes she'll spare him Nurse Grace and instead give him the Grace he's been dreaming of for days, though he knows it's selfish, knows that she has a job to do.

He sees the doctor hovering behind her. She opens the door wider so he can come through.

All he wants is to be alone with her. He wants to tell her he's sorry, he wants to tell her that she was on his mind every second, that she is one of the reasons not only that he gets in the seat, but the reason he comes home.

Home.

The exam is quick, thankfully. They took good care of him in Oxford. The doctor leaves Grace to administer pain meds and do the paperwork, and it's only when they're finally alone that he sees the emotion on her face, though she's trying valiantly to hide it.

With each injury she catalogues, her face hardens. Her eyes meet his as she tilts his face up to dab a cooling salve on a bruise forming on his orbital bone.

"You have a look on your face." He says quietly.

"What, I'm not allowed to look at you?" She asks, and he can see how she's trying so hard to hold it together. Pretending. Pretending this is all business for her. He wishes she wouldn't.

"I'm sorry." He croaks, throat dry from overuse.

"Please don't apologize," she says, expression suddenly stricken, as if she realizes what she must look and sound like. "You didn't--" She stops herself, eyes closing for a moment as she gathers her professionalism. "I'm just so relieved you're alive." She whispers. "I'm not angry at you. I'm upset... I'm angry at the war. At these circumstances. That you're hurt--" She stops herself.

He wishes more than anything he had the use of both his arms. He settles for reaching out with one hand, thankful when she doesn't hesitate to take it, lacing their fingers together.

"I never want you to worry." He says, and it's the truth, even though they both know it's pointless.

She shrugs. "Comes with the territory, Major." She squeezes his hand. Her voice lowers to a whisper. "Worry happens naturally when you love someone."

His pulse pounding in his ears is all he can hear. He feels like the world tilts on its axis and then rights itself, all at once.

"Maybe it's too soon or too big for me to say it, but I don't want you to fly ever again without knowing it." She says, voice strong this time. He loves her for it.

He loves her.

He tugs her a little closer and she seems to understand, her face softening as she stands as close as she can, leaning down to meet him halfway. He tries to tell her how he feels when he kisses her gently, mindful of the black eye he's sure he's sporting and the soreness of his cheekbone. His hand leaves hers in favor of cradling her jaw, and the sigh that leaves her is music to his ears.

"Of course I love you." He murmurs, barely a centimeter between them when they break apart. "Probably have for a long time, Grace."

She pulls herself away, just for a moment, and starts to tidy up the triage area where he sits with her. He recognizes what she's doing and gives her the space she needs to gather herself, to come to terms with whatever she needs to. He's relieved at least that the smile hasn't left her face.

"Winning this war and seeing you happy are just about all that matter to me anymore." He admits, and watches as she stops what she's doing to turn back to face him.

"I just want to be sure I'm not a distraction for you."

He shakes his head. "No."

"Rosie, I'm--"

He shakes his head again, cutting her off. "Grace, you don't think I'm going to let you tell me you love me and then push me away, do you?" He tilts his head to one side.

"That's not what I'm doing. I promise."

"Then come over here and let me kiss you again."

She smiles, and he swears to himself that he's going to be responsible for that smile on her face every day, for as long as he can help it. He has no doubt that they have some trials ahead, but they have each other, and sometimes the will of the heart is stronger than anything else.

[damthosefandoms]

I can take or leave it if I please

(ao3 link) (based on these posts)

Summary:

“You’re lucky you had Dr. Allen on the case,” the nurse continues. “He’s the best doctor at our field hospital—the man works miracles in meatball surgery. You’ll be up on your feet again in no time!”

Up on his feet again, with a gun in his hands, and sent on his way. Soda prays she is wrong.

-----

Sodapop feels like he is in a sitcom. His life must be some kind of joke. They say there’s only so much tragedy a person can go through before their luck turns, and it seems to him that cannot be true.

Everything seems like a blur; from running through the jungle with the sound of gunshots and last words echoing in his ears, the feeling of something ripping through his skin and tasting grass and mud when he falls. He barely remembers being lifted into the shoddy excuse for an army ambulance, or the concerned-but-stern voices surrounding him during triage when they get to the camp. 

He knows there was a blonde woman in army-green kneeling over him and calling for a doctor to help. Someone’s pulling at the dog tags around his neck and in his feverish mind, he decides it must be his mother, and though his voice doesn’t seem to work right, he desperately tries to remind her that they’re his, that they’re dad’s, she can’t have them. He’s always worn dad’s dog tags, since the day the man came home. 

They’re his now for the same reason he’s closer to his Mama and that his name is Sodapop; his dad was set to ship off to Korea just a few days after he was born and Mama figured the least she could do was allow him to name their baby whatever he wanted, in case he never came back. Calling his little brother Ponyboy was like a victory lap. Now Soda’s following his dad’s footsteps, laying here in the dirt on the other side of the world. Dad got to go home eventually. Soda isn’t too sure he will.

The woman easily pushes his hands away—Soda can’t understand why his arms aren’t pushing back, he thinks he’s trying, but with shock things start to become numb—and everything’s blurry through the tears and the haze in his mind, but he does hear her, somewhat.

“…kinda name is that? Christ, you’re just a kid. Hey, Allen, I want you on this one!”

Soda doesn’t remember much after that, except that his knee felt like it was on fire, and he thinks his Mama was calling him home. 

-----

“The bullet went straight through your knee,” the nurse tells him as she fluffs his pillow. He’s still groggy from the painkillers after surgery. The thought of painkillers makes his mind wander thousands of miles across the planet, back home to Tulsa. He wonders if Pony’s still popping aspirin to get through the day. He hopes not. He and Darry were working on getting their brother to kick that habit. Soda hopes he isn’t next to climb on that wagon.

“You’re lucky you had Dr. Allen on the case,” she continues. “He’s the best doctor at our field hospital—the man works miracles in meatball surgery. You’ll be up on your feet again in no time!”

Up on his feet again, with a gun in his hands, and sent on his way. Soda prays she is wrong, and wonders if that little pocket bible is still there tucked into his boot, with a sole cherry blossom flower pressed between the pages, a decision made on a whim to try to remind him this is all worth it. All he wants anymore is to make it home alive. 

-----

Soda doesn’t know how long he lays there in that hospital bed (a glorified cot). He stopped counting after a week, when he decided he didn’t want to know. At some point, he starts to wish he was back on the front, because at least he’d have adrenaline coursing through his veins to keep him distracted. All he has now is people laying sick or dying next to him, and nurses frowning at him, fully immune to his charm. One of them called him a child a few days ago and it’s starting to hit him that maybe he is. That this, this is war, and he shouldn’t be here.

When he was younger and more naive, he thought Tulsa was at war, but here, Soda’s realized that just isn’t true. Greasers, socs, east and west… money or nothing, it never meant anything. All that fighting, all the time spent hating each other and picking fights and hoping for something they could never quite reach—it’s pointless. All the fighting is pointless. Everything is war and nothing is war and Soda? He just wants to go home.

Nine months ago Soda was still dreading letting Ponyboy walk out the door knowing the socs still had it out for him, even then, a year after they lost Johnny and Dallas. Nine months ago the so-called Great Tulsa Divide felt like something no one would ever overcome. Like there was nothing bigger in the world. Nine months ago, Soda was just a kid, getting a letter that changed everything at a time when he thought there was nothing left that could.

It’s funny now, with everything he’s seen—what he’s done, whether he wanted to or not, whether he was ordered to or had done it in self-defense—it’s funny how now he thinks he never wants to raise a fist again when nine months ago he would’ve started a fight just to feel something, because that was just how kids like him lived their lives. Violence was a fact of like and now Soda can’t stomach the idea of it. It’s funny what fear and loss can do to a person.

Losing Mickey Mouse, his torn ACL they couldn’t afford to have fixed right, his parents, Sandy, Johnny and Dally… Soda wants to believe that at some point the bad luck has to end. 

Dr. Allen walks in, and he’s got a clipboard in his hands and a strange look on his face. For once in his life, Soda can’t read the expression. Maybe it’s the drugs. Maybe it’s the fear of god this stupid war drilled into him. Maybe he’s just tired.

The doctor starts to walk over towards Soda, but the head nurse grabs him by the arm and pulls him to the side. They have a quiet argument there on the other side of the room, and he can just barely make out what she says: “This is a bad idea, Henry. You’ll get court-martialed. Or worse.”

“I don’t care.”

It doesn’t fill him with confidence to hear that, especially not when the doctor in question comes up to him and pulls up a chair. 

“I just got your post-op x-rays back, son,” he says, with almost no emotion in his voice. “Your knee isn’t looking too good. There’s damage in there we didn’t expect.”

Soda blinks. 

“I tore my ACL when I was thirteen,” he offers. “I got bucked off a horse and, well, we couldn’t afford a great doctor, and the doctor we could afford to fix me up botched the surgery. That could be why. It was bad enough my dad wouldn’t let me do the rodeo no more, but I guess the Army didn’t seem to mind that I got a bit of a limp when they dragged me out here.” 

But Dr. Allen doesn’t meet his eyes, and Soda briefly wonders if his previous injuries actually have anything to do with this conversation. He looks back at the nurse, who is watching them with her arms crossed and a very disapproving look on her face, then he sighs. He turns back to Soda.

“What do you want more than anything in the world right now, son?”

“To go home and hug my brothers, doc.”

There’s no hesitation. Of course there isn’t. His brothers are all he has, they’re everything he holds dear. He would give up anything and everything. He would move mountains to be home with them again. 

“Whatever it takes, I have to get home to them. I promised them no more funerals and I’m going to keep that promise.”

Dr. Allen nods, like he gets it. Soda thinks maybe he actually does. 

“You remind me of my wife,” he says, and it’s kind of sudden, like this is the first part of this conversation he didn’t rehearse. “All filled with love for your family and hope beyond belief.”

Soda can do nothing but nod. Dr. Allen gets a distant look in his eyes, and for the first time since he’s gotten to this godforsaken jungle, he’s starting to feel like there’s still good in the world. The doctor, he realizes, is young too; older than Darry but probably not by much, and even with the little pin on his collar with the two snakes twisted around a winged staff—Pony would know what it’s actually called, Soda thinks—protecting him from the line of fire, he’s not safe from the horrors that await them outside the hospital camp’s walls. 

And there’s something else going on here too, Soda is sure of it. Something the doctor isn’t telling him in so many words, something off about this conversation. There’s work being done behind the scenes he isn’t supposed to know about, stuff that could probably screw them both over if it ever gets out. Soda knows he’s never been the smart one; all of this medical talk goes over his head. All he knows is what he feels, and he can feel his knee is getting better and stronger every day. Soon he’ll be sent back to the front lines and he won’t get lucky a second time.

“Look, Sodapop, I’m going to be honest here with you—” the nurse watching them narrows her eyes and steps out of the room, “—your knee’s in bad shape. There’s an operation I can do to save it, but there’s a lot of things that can go wrong. You’ll likely never be able to walk the same again.”

Soda sits up and looks the man in the eyes. He is being blatantly lied to, and he knows it. But he means every word of what he says next with his whole being:

“Doc, you could cut my leg off if it means I get to go home.”

-----

The nurse called Dr. Allen the best in the business. If that was true, Soda probably wouldn’t have ended up back in that goddamn field hospital cot, being handed a pair of crutches and told he’ll never walk the same. But… he doesn’t know.

“A surgical complication,” he’s been told. “It couldn’t have been avoided. The damage was already done. Kid, you’re lucky you still have a leg.”

Dr. Allen might be the best doctor Soda’s ever had, actually. He owes him everything. A surgical complication. Right.

For years he’s heard his friends and family talking about getting a ticket out of Tulsa, but now he has his ticket back; and his medical discharge papers, and a small case holding his Purple Heart medal, and he’s got his crutches under his arms as he stands there, breathing in the dusty air and waiting for the army jeep that’s going to take him to the nearest airport to get him home.

As he helps Soda climb into the jeep, Dr. Allen hands him a letter, and asks him quietly if he could deliver it to his wife back home in Kansas City. Soda’s got his own letters tucked into his duffle bag, unsent. He gets to deliver them himself now. He’s got that pocket bible with the cherry blossom in it tucked back into his boot. 

It is the least Soda can do. In the grand scheme of things, Missouri isn’t too far from Oklahoma, and maybe Mrs. Allen will be so grateful she’ll give Soda the cash for the bus ride home.

[triglycercule]

guys,,,,,,,, guys shoot me if i'm having thoughts about insanity rn. his goofy ass face is staring back at me on my ipad. HES ALREADY INFECTING ME IM DRAWING HIM

[idontmindifuforgetme]

My organic chemistry PI tried to persuade me to pursue a PhD in chemistry instead of an MD by telling me that men are extremely oversaturated in the field and that being a girl would make me stand out #feminism #womeninmenfields

[musewrangler]

It's 8 am and I am researching who invented baking powder. For my enrichment. But here's the thing---at some point, all of these foods and ingredients had to be put in someone's mouth. To test. Wild.

[alphacentaurinebula]

Did I think I would have to learn a bunch of physics to write fanfic? No, my friends, I really did not.

Particle physics background nonsense, coming soon to a Cold War spies AU near you…

[perelka-l]

ever ever ever ever ever. Bc I can't write lol.

Overseer Talloran and Omega-1 Draven :)

Alas, it shines very badly after hairspray treatment so it was really hard to take a photo. The pain! The pain!!!

[djpurple3]

as a major yoglabs enjoyer (phosphor here!!), im here to provide you a shortlist of the best lore episodes, if you wanted to get a taste! Hypercubed also directly ties into yoglabs lore, but that series was unfortunately cut very short, so there are only about 4 episodes in total :(.

EP 1: Welcome to the Facility - exactly what it says on the tin, this is the introduction to the series! also places it directly in the timeline as 'mid jaffa factory'.

EP 37/38: Soul Absorber/Clone Lab - honestly the Most important lore episodes of yoglabs, to me anyway. made me actually cry as a child, even through their silly goofy acting. also has a hamlet reference, so its got a special place in my heart.

EP 50: Bacterial Menace - this is in the Welcome to Yoglabs music video! this is actually a little low on lore in comparison, i just really love it, honestly.

EP 52: Holodeck - lightly used for some people's BOTC headcanons I believe! also talks about the microchips! also nightly highlights the 'decay' of the honeydew clones post episode 38.

EP 67: Teletubbies - i know, i know, but the episode cold opens with Honeydew crawling out of his own *grave* so. (also revealing xephos has been burying every single clone of the 8937 since episode 38). this isn't how you grieve, dude. also features xephos leaving honeydew do die during yoglabs self destruct??? ive got. feelings about that.

special mentions: EP 39 -> EP 40 showing the number of honeydew clones xeph has gone through jumping by the thousands over the course of a single episode, EP 55 with a xephos!irsraphel easter egg

oh my god!!! thank you phosphor?? this is so nice of you and VERY helpful thank you. yeah i think i watched 1 ep of yoglabs when i was a kid and never really stuck to it? (coming into... uh.... yogblr? dfgjkdf as of late and seeing everyone talk abt lore i dont know has been really interesting) like the xephos israphel thing is a Real lore thing?? i didnt know that!