#NUKE

[contac]

[intotheelliwoods]

@thegunnsara There is NO way he does not talk to his tattoos on some occasions when no one else is around, lets be honest here. You cannot convince me otherwise on this.

[justacynicalromantic]

Universal answer to all the dumbass crowd:

Just send them this screenshot every single time they start harping about Russian nukes🙄

[thegoodmorningman]

I bet you're blown away by this. Good Morning.

[doisnuois]

this is how it should have gone down

[witchtaunter]

"Watch out for that Fat Man!" Commission for Ryo

[gobowiec]

Hi, I decided to join tumblr, I don't know how it works 👍 nuke content I made in the last 2 weeks maybe... I love them, please let this ship be alive again - I need fics.

[1mm4d13]

A quick lil sketch

[arthur-bn]

Fat Man from Fallout. It's not per say a direct recreation as the base is the one from Fallout4 but the texture is a mix of its version and Fallout 3/NV.

[nuclearnerves]

First of the PWYW commissions, commissioned for @squeakitties by her lovely husband <3 Miapede doing her moves!!! Iron defense and Body Slam

I did these two for my own personal fun lol

[crippledgiraff]

We did it Helldivers!

[vargamornight]

so imagine you've been talking mad shit about a guy to your new best friend, right. but it doesn't really stick, because the first time she ever meets him, he literally saves her life. so she's like "i don't really see what you see, he seems pretty chill" and you're like "whatever. you don't get it, i grew up with him, trust me, i know him better than you do and he sucks. you can't trust him, he's only out for himself." and she's like "okay" but she still hangs out with him, even though she tries to hide it from you at first.

and then that guy starts dying. you know he's gonna die, you can see it happening, he's just the most recent in a string of deaths. he is going to die, right in front of you, if your new best friend can't figure out how to help him. so what do you do? you sit with him. you hold him. you help him get comfortable. you listen to what may be his last words. and then, when he stops breathing, you realize you can't let him die. you start cpr right there, right on the stairs, and you hope and pray that your friend can undo whatever's been done to him before you break too many ribs.

and she does! holy shit, she does! he starts breathing again, and so do you.

and then he doesn't remember any of that happening.

so you continue insisting that you hate him. that you don't trust him. but you start asking for his help—or, more accurately, you get your friend to ask for his help, because she's way more likely to get a yes than you are, because of your insistence that you hate him. he doesn't let you down, not like the last person you asked for help (she helped, but left you, because the kinds of things that happen to you and your friend were too much for her.)

your friend's birthday rolls around, and everybody gets together for a surprise party. you get her a nice sweater; he gets her a necklace that belonged to her long lost mother. you do hate him for that, just a little bit. she starts spending more time with him, trying to hunt down any information about her mother, which leads to finding out exactly how he's going to die. a man with a tattoo (a stylized maze, with four figures around it like compass points) kills him. you all know it's true. it was seen by a woman who predicted dozens of deaths. you've seen the tattoo before, too—on the arm of the first in the string of deaths you investigated all those weeks ago, when you held him as he died.

your friend spends a few nights in a row on his boat, drinking and playing poker with a mutual friend and two out of towners. you think nothing of it—at least, that's what you tell yourself. more honestly, you refuse to think about it. but then, it turns out, she was actually just spying on the out of towners, who turn out to be bad guys, thieves, after something on his boat. which is great news! she had a real, unrelated reason to be there! whew, that's a relief. out loud, all you say is that she has the right to spend time with whoever she wants, even him.

he asks you for help—his life is in danger. he was double crossed, and some very bad people want him dead. he asks you to help him. but him asking you for help sends a slice of spite through you, and you get the urge to remind him of a time he hurt you. you don't often get urges you can follow through with without facing criminal charges, so you give in to this one. he asks you if he deserves to die for being mean to you in the third grade. you shrug, you let him think you won't help, and then you set up an entire sting operation and arrest the people that double crossed him. he's safe. the two of you spend some time together and, for the first time in years, it's amicable.

a couple days later, he gets a threatening visit from a man, just released from prison, with the tattoo. THE tattoo—the one that belongs on the arm of the man who kills him. he freaks out, which is understandable. but then that man turns up dead, and your first thought is of him. you say it's because you suspect him of killing the tattooed man. you find him, panicked and paranoid, with a shotgun he looks more than ready to use, but his hands are shaking and his breath is uneven and when you tell him the man is dead, he's so visibly relieved it even makes you let out a breath. he's safe, and you know he didn't kill anyone, and he's safe.

your father dies that afternoon.

that evening, you are going to die.

maybe.

there's a very real chance that, if you go with your friend to try and help someone, you will die. you ask him to come with you. maybe you remember, think about the fact that when he was dying, you were with him. maybe you don't. maybe you don't think about why you're asking at all. but when he asks you that question without speaking—why would you want him there with you?—you say you want him there for her. maybe he believes it. maybe he's forgotten everything you've ever said about him. maybe he's forgotten that you tried to keep her away from him, claiming it was for her own good. maybe he's forgotten that, not six months ago, the only communication the two of you engaged in was when you would go to his boat just to slap him with whatever citations you could get away with. maybe he cares more about her than he does about you.

he comes with you, and he stays with you. he doesn't go with her, so now you both know you were lying. he stays with you when you collapse, hanging back and leaning forward, like he wants to hold you but he's afraid. (after all, there are people around.) but your friend is the best at what she does, and she saves you. he helps you back to your feet, holds your arms, looks into your eyes to see if you're okay. the bigoted old preacher who's hated you for decades sneers at the two of you, and insists "the lamb can never lie down with the lion." you wave the comment away.

later, he helps you dig your father's grave without even being asked. (that's a poem, all by itself.) he tells you, smiling: "i'm the lion." you smile too.

and that's just the first season, plus a premiere.

[funnypages]

Well this is still terrifyingly relevant 

Daredevil #232

[clockwork76]

Read the Colorado Kid and found this wonderful nugget for the Haven fandom.

I have evidence from all of the seasons but I mean, if the King himself agrees I don’t need to fight too much.

[shadowolf188]

Been replaying all the walking dead games. what are these two up to. the hype fixation might be getting me... Jayvik stand back

[doisnuois]