#bombing mention

[one-time-i-dreamt]

My town got nuked and they still made us go to school, and when we tried to leave, they just fucking shot us.

[catgirltitties]

ok go benie

[whumpacabra]

“We’re going to have to amputate.”

Not encouraging words to hear after a shelling.

Her mind was still muddled and slow, eyes open but the world a passing haze of color and light. The uniforms around her were the wrong color. How badly had she hit her head? (Her helmet was missing; she needed it back before the next artillery strike.)

Weakly, she tried to look around, and that’s when the pain hit her. ‘Hit’ is too weak a word for the sudden, bone crushing tidal wave of agony that rocketed down her spine and radiated out to her limbs. Or what was left of them. Her eyes snapped down to her right hand, vision blurred with tears but still seeing in far too much clarity the carnage below her elbow.

“Don’t look at it.” A gloved hand gently tilted her chin up, her frantic eyes locking on the masked face above her. “I’m a medic; we’re going to help you.”

Reason was slowly trickling into her brain, panic growing sharp in her aching chest. The uniforms were the wrong color - the color of the enemy - the medic was the enemy -

“I’m sorry we don’t have more pain control.” The (enemy) medic sounded genuinely apologetic as her deft hands tied a tourniquet around her mangled arm. The sympathy didn’t stop her screams.

“Stop - please - it hurts - !”

“I know. I’m sorry. I’ll keep it quick.”

“Please, please - ” Her voice hiccuped with terrified sobs. “I don’t - don’t know anything - please - please don’t take my arm - ”

“I’m not…”

She shook her head, trying to wrench her arm out of the medic’s firm but gentle grip. (She couldn’t. She was too weak. Too tired. Something was wrong she had lost too much blood - ) The medic was still speaking but she barely heard the words.

“…and that’s why we need to amputate. Here and now. I’m sorry; I wish it could wait and that we could give you more pain control, but we can’t. This is the best we can do.” The medic’s sigh was shaky; she kept writhing in pain, begging almost incoherently.

“Pl’ease - ‘m sorry, don’t - just don’t - ‘ll tell you - tell you - please, please jus’top. It hurts.” She sobbed, hot tears racing down her cheeks and carving paths through the mud and blood plastered on her skin.

“Hold her down.” The medic’s voice was tense, even if their eyes were damp with sympathy.

Her desperate pleas turned to angry curses, eyes rolling wildly in terror and pain as they began to cut into her mangled limb. Her screams grew louder against the din of distant gunfire and shelling, bone-curdling shrieks echoing into the sky. The medic sawed through bones, movements morbidly practiced. Then, eventually, (finally), her tears grew quiet, sobs turning to pained moans as the medic tied off and trimmed the last stitches.

“There we go, all done, see? You did well.” The medic was breathless herself, shaking with adrenaline of her own. Chopping off a stranger’s unsalvageable limb never got easier. Especially when they thought she was trying to hurt them on purpose.

“I - ‘ll tell…tell you…’m sorry…please - please…”

“Okay, okay. I’ll stop - no more touching your arm, alright?” The medic’s voice was soft, smile unsteady as she watched the enemy soldier’s eyes roll back in her skull. Most passed out well before she finished a field operation without anesthesia; the medic was moderately impressed by her pain tolerance.

Satisfied the she was stable, the medic stripped off her bloodied gloves for what felt like the thousandth time, pulling on fresh ones immediately after.

“Put her with the others. Where’s the next one?”

Caretaker is a medic on the other side of the conflict than whumpee is, and needs to perform a painful but necessary procedure. Whumpee assumes that it will be used as an excuse to maim them, and begs and pleads with them to stop.

[totallynotcensorship]

hi hello this is your reminder that google are hypocrites(and bds)

the lay offs were on the 18th this month, pretending to celebrate a native culture as you help the military that is actively ethnically cleansing them, and has been for years, is highly hypocritical and just an attempt to save face

in case someone forgot, google is on BDS' "pressure" list, which means it isn't necessary a 100% boycott but rather a target for pressuring and limiting your use of their services to push them towards cutting ties with israel

additional context on dabka:

it is a folk dance from levantine countries like lebanon, jordan, syria, and palestine. with possible origins in ancient phoenician and/or canaanite cultures

[ibetittering]

Come on guys 😔

[handweavers]

ive said this before but it's hard being an lgbt malaysian and listening to western lgbt people freak out over things that have been our reality the entire time. i've had to come to terms with the fact that i'll likely never be able to legally transition in malaysia, will never be able to change my name or gender on documents and it will probably remain illegal for me to use public bathrooms, seek medical care, exist in public, do literally anything as a trans person there for the rest of my life. i am not happy about this and i am luckier than most having the ability to medically transition in canada but i'm always hyperaware that this can be taken away from me at any moment (and is likely to in the near future with the slow death of liberalism in canada as well), that whenever i return i'm at risk of imprisonment if i'm caught by the wrong person, and i know the reality of what life is like for people back home who do not have the privileges i do. but the thing is that even in malaysia trans people use the bathroom and exist in public and have jobs and fall in love and see the doctor and it is possible to carve out a life that is not wholly built upon despair. it's really really fucking hard and scary but we do it anyway because we have to. so it's just really hard to stomach white people in like california freaking out like it's impossible to live in these circumstances or no one else could possibly understand, sorry

[thenationofzaun]

Thought for sure Jinx was gonna kill Vi's new enforcer buddies. I thought it would have paralleled her killing Mylo and Claggor, only this time it would be on purpose rather than accidental. This time she'd be remorseless rather than guilt-ridden and apologetic. Imagine if the show had spent time fleshing out the bond between Vi and her new squad. Shown them spending time together and training together. Shown how well she works with Maddie, Steb, and Loris, the latter reminding her so much of Vander. Then they go hunt Jinx together. And Jinx kills them one by one. Mylo, Claggor, and Vander dead again at Vi's feet. Only now there's no Powder crying and saying it was an accident and begging Vi not to leave her. Now Vi calling her "Jinx" again wouldn't just be an outburst she wishes she could take back. She'd 100% mean it this time. 

It would have made Vi's murderous rage towards her sister make way more sense. The show makes it seem like the killing of the Council is what made Vi turn from "Powder, it's okay, we'll be okay" to "Powder is gone, let's murder Jinx." And that's just not a believable enough reason for me. Jinx was given plenty of complex well-written reasons to hate Vi, but Vi wasn't really given many personal reasons to hate Jinx. If Jinx had killed those Vi had come to care for, I'd fully understand her turning on Jinx and wanting to beat her to death, just like Ekko. I just wish they put just as much effort into writing one half of the sister rivalry as the other, considering it was supposed to be the main plot of the show.

[coffeelovinggayidiot]

Listen, y'all outside of the Israel/Palestine situation can have whatever opinions you have, but as someone who woke up at 7am by the sounds of sirens and who has friends and family living in the danger zone, I honestly don't give a shit, and no other israel or palestinian gives a shit either over what some dumb fuck on the internet who's never experienced war or even been in a bomb shelter has to say. I pray that my palestinian friends are safe, and that they will suffer as little as possible. People on both sides are DYING. You can have your bullshit, experienceless opinion all you want, but fact is people here are suffering, and you, person getting angry and writing shitty tumblr posts, are not.

Go to hell, people are dying and you making anti-semetic/anti-palestinian post is helping no one but your pathetic ego

Edit: there's were just attacks where I live (which is considered safe) and I'm gonna be completely honest, I'm terrified, for both sides. PLEASE if you're in Palestine/Israel dm/reblog/comment to let me know your ok. We need to support each other through this. This is going to cause us all so much trauma, and we need to hold each other's hands.

[doobledabbadoo]

I love your flippy! May we have some more fanart of him??? <33333

certainly! heres some recent art i did of him + a few headcanons!

heres the individual images!!

[the-broken-pen]

Hey hey

Could you perhaps write a snippet where the building hero is in, gets bombed? Its bombed as an assassination attempt to get them, however the people in that building die and hero, succumbed to their injuries couldn't save everyone of them. At last they watched the last ambulance left without them, even as they called for help

Villians villa is just few kilometres away

Thankfu hero's legs aren't broken

They begin walking

The problem? Vil is way to composed and prim and perfect to let all of hero's blood get on their expensive carpets and fabrics. They could even be mad at the hero for reddening their porch if they hero stood their asking for bandages. What now? And the fight the two had yesterday that ended with "never see me again" and "don't ever talk to me"s.....vil was stopping hero from attending the event the building....

Will vil help them? They can just ask for bandages and leave.

What hero doesn't know: vil would literally destroy the world for hero, and there's no way in hell are they leaving hero on their doorstep.

(Anon you were cooking with this ask, thank you!)

The hero realized the building was going to explode a split second before it did, which wasn’t enough time to do anything other than brace.

They tensed, and there was a horrible screeching of metal and brick, followed by a deafening silence that covered them more completely than the rubble did.

The hero coughed once, weakly, pain rocketing through their chest, and shoved a piece of concrete off themself.

From somewhere else in the building, a soft, terrified wail began, broken around desperate sobs.

The hero coughed again, hand rising to their ribs. They didn’t have the energy to be surprised when their fingers came back coated in blood and dust. They grimaced at it, struggling to their feet–

And oh, god. That hurt.

The hero had a surgery once, the kind that resulted in bandages and a care regime and a set of stitches, and when they had woken up in the recovery unit, it had felt sort of like this. A moment of loopy half-awareness, and then a pain that had knocked the breath out of them, hands clenching into the sheets as a nurse tried to figure out if they needed more medication. 

This was worse. Their vision swam, and they blinked it back with a hiss.

Because someone, somewhere in the wreckage, was crying. And if one person was crying, it meant there was someone who survived. Which meant it was likely there were other survivors–ones too hurt to make any noise, ones knocked unconscious, ones still too shocked to do anything other than lay there–and it was the hero’s job to find them.

It took them far too long to locate the source of the crying. Longer to dig them out, vision going white as the person slammed into the hero’s chest in some facsimile of a terrified hug.

“You’re okay,” they managed, voice like gravel. “It’s okay. I’m going to get you out, and you’re going to be just fine. Were you with anyone?”

And then again, and again, and again.

The hero panted, hands on their knees as their body fought them in an attempt to just collapse onto the concrete below. They just–they just needed a minute. Just one, maybe, and then they could–

This time, the hero wasn’t even aware of it before it happened.

The remains of the building shook, then disintegrated into itself in a plume of dust and rock. The hero shielded their eyes with one hand, blinking against the onslaught.

What little air they had managed to get stuttered out of their lungs in something close to a sob. They had done this enough times to know there wasn’t anyone in that building left alive. 

They sagged down against the nearest thing–more rubble, maybe? They didn’t know–and this time when they rested a hand on their side, there was a considerably larger amount of blood.

“That’s…not great,” they said, and their fingers blurred in front of them slightly. There was an ambulance right there. Just a couple feet away. They had already helped most of the survivors, so maybe it would be okay for the hero to–

A paramedic rounded the back of the ambulance, and the hero lifted a hand, reaching–

“Please, wait, I think–I think,” it hurt coming out of their mouth, “help. Please I need–” they trailed off as the paramedic took the step up into the ambulance.

And closed the door behind them.

The hero wasn’t even that surprised when the ambulance began to drive away.

“Help,” they finished weakly, then sucked a breath in through their nose.

They were supposed to be good at this kind of thing. Surviving, no, thriving in catastrophe. A pillar of light. The one with the plan. 

The kind of being that didn’t beg for help on the ground.

The hero wasn’t entirely sure how they managed to get themselves back to standing. It was as easy as that–one moment they were on the ground, gravel embedded in their knees, and the next they were up and shaking but they were up.

“If I stay here, I’ll die,” they murmured. They had hoped maybe the threat would keep their legs from buckling again. It didn’t.

They weren’t near any place that could be trusted. There wasn’t a safe clinic for heroes on this side of the city, and even if there was, the hero wouldn’t trust them. Couldn’t afford to.

But as for near…the hero swallowed the nausea as it rose in their throat. There was one place they could go. One person they could go to.

Four miles. They could do four. There was no other option.

Where the hero had had some blurry recollection, or at least, a good guess of how they got to standing, they had absolutely no clue how they made it onto the villain’s porch. They managed a blink, retching slightly as they stared at the villain’s wavering door, then had to freeze just to bite down the pain that had come from the gagging.

They tried to knock and ended up collapsing against the villain’s door, knees giving out entirely as their fingers scrabbled for purchase and left behind smeared bloody marks on the wood.

They weren’t entirely sure how that happened either, or how long it took the villain to answer the door. Just that it hurt—so, so much, it hurt so–and that they managed to shove themself back into some semblance of standing right before the villain pulled the door open.

The villain’s face did a sort of spasming thing as soon as they saw the hero, jaw dropping slightly in what the hero could only really read as shock.

There was a very considerable amount of blood on the door. They were cold.

“I–” the hero tried, but they weren’t really sure where they had been going with that sentence, and after yesterday and the screaming and the fight the villain probably didn’t want to see them at all, didn’t want to ever see their face again, so–their mind blanked. “I got blood on your door.”

They tried to gesture towards it, but that hurt, so their hand simply twitched slightly from where it hung by their side.

They glanced down at their feet, because they didn’t want to see what the villain’s face was doing, especially if what it was doing was anything resembling anger.

“Oh.” There was blood at the hero’s feet. “And on your porch, too, I guess.”

They looked up at the villain, but they were still staring at them, brow furrowed, hand clenching on the doorframe.

“I’m sorry.”

There was a very faint quiver of tears when they said it, and the hero knew better than to hope the villain didn’t catch it. 

Were they saying sorry for the porch or the door or yesterday–

“Holy shit,” the villain finally breathed, and it sounded like it had been punched out of them. The hero froze, panic rising in their chest.

“I’m sorry,” the hero blurted out, stammering. “I’m–I’m so sorry, I’ll go, just–could I maybe have some bandages? Just–just one, maybe, please? I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” they said uselessly, head swimming. They couldn’t even remember what they were doing here. The villain was perfect in every sense of the word, stoic and proper and collected in a way the hero would never be; a marble statue brought to life. The idea of them letting the hero–the personification of a train wreck in motion–in to bleed all over the villain’s soft carpet and nice shoes and cause irreparable damage to their very expensive house was almost laughable. 

If they had had the breath to laugh.

More of the hero’s blood dripped onto the slats of the porch, and they stepped back. “I’m sorry–”

The villain reached for them, and the hero flinched, taking it for the dismissal it was–

The hero blinked, and it stuck for a moment too long as the world tilted, and when they pried their eyes open again the villain was staring at them with something the hero was too out of it with pain and possibly delirium to identify. Their gaze drifted back to the blood smeared on the door, and the villain’s grip tightened on the hero’s bicep–when had they grabbed the hero’s bicep?–until the hero’s gaze returned to theirs.

The villain said something, but there was a roaring that had started up in the hero’s ears. They seemed to take the uncomprehending blink the hero gave them in return for an answer anyways, and guided them down until they were both sitting on the cool wood. A tug, and the hero was resting against their own propped up knees, villain’s hand still firm on their arm.

“How much blood did you lose?”

It was like screaming underwater, the hero reasoned. Or through a mirror. But they heard it nonetheless, and that was their villain, and even in hatred and war they would always answer them.

“Was ‘supposed to be counting?” If they had any more energy–or maybe slightly more blood–in their body, the slur to their own words would have been concerning.

The villain’s lips pursed into a thin line, and the hero felt them begin to run an assessing hand over their injuries, cataloguing them, brow furrowing further with every second.

“M’sorry,” they managed, tongue thick. The villain didn’t pause.

“For what?”

“Bleeding on your door,” they managed. The villain stopped them from raising their head from their knees. “And your–porch.”

“I don’t give a shit about either of those things,” the villain said, simply, easily. Like it was nothing. Like they didn’t feel the weight of it as they threw it into the air.

The villain sat back on their heels, clearly having learned what they wanted from the hero’s injuries.

When the hero didn’t immediately look at them, the villain grabbed their chin, gently turning it until the hero faced them.

“How far did you walk,” they said slowly, and the hero had never been more grateful for anything in their life.

“Four miles,” the hero said, and they couldn’t hear their own voice above the roaring, but the villain obviously could from the way their eyes darkened.

The hero wanted no part in making the villain angry again–I never want to see you again, do you hear me? If you ever try to talk to me again I will kill the both of us, I promise you that–, but when they attempted to push themselves up to leave, the only thing they managed was a piteous whine and a stab of pain so intense they forgot to breathe.

“Idiot,” the villain hissed. But oddly, the hero didn’t sense any anger coming from the villain.

They blinked–too long, again–and found themselves in the villain’s arms as they walked through the house. Their head lolled back onto the villain’s shoulder, and the villain glanced down as if–to make sure the hero was okay. That they were conscious, and breathing.

Oh.

Oh.

The villain wasn’t angry.

They were afraid. For the hero.

Which didn’t make any sense, because–

I never want to see you again–

“You’re mad at me,” the hero reasoned, and it came out half strangled and petulant. The villain looked down at them, and the hero caught the tiniest flinch in their jaw.

“I’m not mad at you.”

“That’s not what you said yesterday,” the hero whispered, and the villain flinched.

“I wanted to stop this from happening.” The villain settled them onto a bathroom counter, lights flickering on as the hero leaned back against the mirror. Blood began to dry, sticky, between their fingers.

The hero’s mouth went dry, and it caught in their throat when they tried to swallow it.

“You could have just left me there.” Their voice only shook a little bit, but the villain’s head still snapped up from where they had been digging through a drawer.

“What?”

“On the porch,” the hero clarified, clearing their throat. The lump didn’t go away, and they had begun shaking at some point, and they couldn’t stop. “If you didn’t want to deal with me you could have just left me there–”

The villain’s face had darkened into something the hero almost didn’t recognize. 

“I would burn the world for you, and you think I would leave you to die on my porch?”

“You said you didn’t want this to happen.”

“No, that’s not–” the villain rubbed a hand over their brow, and the hero winced at the blood it left behind. “No. No, that’s not what I meant. I was trying to keep you from going to that stupid event and getting hurt. I knew it was going to blow.”

“I would have gone anyway.”

The villain stilled. “I thought maybe if you never wanted to see me again, and you knew I was there…”

“I would,” the hero repeated. “Have gone anyway.”

The hero watched as the villain’s face rippled through a dozen emotions, settling onto something unidentifiable.

“Why?”

“Because you were there,” the hero said easily, shrugging one shoulder. Because when it came to the villain, it really was that easy. They could scream, and shout, and hold a knife to the hero’s throat, and the hero would still follow them into hell. That was their villain.

The villain looked like the hero had stabbed them, face draining of color. Their fingers went white around the edge of the counter, as if it was the only thing keeping them upright.

“What,” the villain’s voice was hoarse.

“I went because I was hoping you would be there,” the hero said honestly

“Stop,” the villain raised a hand between them, a shield, voice breaking. They sucked in a breath, then another, like they were trying to keep themself from breaking down onto the tile.

“You would have gone to the event no matter what, just to see me,” the villain said slowly, and the hero nodded

“Yes.”

“Even though I screamed at you?”

“Yes.”

“And told you I hated you.”

“Villain, please–”

“Now you know,” the villain interrupted, voice incredibly soft. “Why I would have never left you on that porch.”

The hero forgot to breathe for a moment, tongue going numb in their mouth. The villain couldn’t mean–

They blinked for a moment too long, and then the villain was standing between the hero’s knees, hand on their chest.

“You love me,” the hero said a moment later.

“Ruinously,” the villain agreed.

“So you–”

“I was trying to save your life,” the villain’s hands were gentle as they began to patch up the hero’s side. “And now I’m saving your life in a new and unanticipated way. But there is nothing you could ever do to stop me from saving your life.”

The hero’s heart clenched. 

“Really?”

The villain caught their chin, eyes boring into the hero’s. They brushed a piece of hair off the side of the hero’s face.

“Really.”

The hero sighed, and the villain caught them as they slumped.

“I thought you hated me,” the hero said, and they hated how raw they sounded. The villain made a choked little noise.

“I’m so sorry.”

The hero sniffed.

“Don’t do it again.”

The villain simply hummed, and smoothed the ends of a bandage down against the hero’s abdomen. The hero could feel their hands shaking.

You scared me.

A second later, their hands settled on either side of the hero’s head, and the villain rested their face into the hero’s hair. They pressed a kiss to the hero’s temple, tension easing from their shoulders.

I’m sorry.

The hero clutched the front of the villain’s shirt between their hands, drawing them closer. The villain went willingly, loose limbed with affection and the rapid draining of terror from their system.

“I would have never left you on that porch.”

The hero had never believed anyone more.

[powder-ask]

Ooc :

I love that Timebomb has so many variations, like i mean SO many

Timebomb : Usual, Main AU timebomb

Tinybomb : When they were kids

Freakybomb : The smexy type

Cutebomb : Mostly saw it on chiby art

Seabomb : Siren AU

And there's more, i just dont remmember, but i really love all the variations (you can add more if you want)

[call-me-copycat]

Happy Pride Month! (⁠*⁠˘⁠︶⁠˘⁠*⁠)⁠.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡

Have fun! Be loud! Be weird! Don't let anyone say that you enjoying yourself is cringe or bad ദ്ദി˶ｰ̀֊ｰ́ )✧

[rosietealeaves]

Aspheera time!!!! She's gotta be one of my favourite Ninjago Villains so far, I just loved her energy and bombastic nature haha

Piece I used as reference was of a woodblock print by Utagawa Kuniyoshi: ‘Onna-Musha’, in Wikipedia, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Onna-musha&oldid=1293162446.

[seaweedraindraws]

I was saving this for my fanfic but I liked the idea so much I had to draw it!

Bonus:

Here is a link to the fic this scene is from! (Only chapter 1 is up, so this scene has not yet happened)

[maradevi]

These two "canonically" garden :) sort of late anniversary art because Paper is my favorite character and Bomb is in my top 5 (I think he has a significant amount of character actually and I will elaborate on this for anyone who asks) Reblogs greatly appreciated

[00-little-worlds-00]

My best work yet apparently

My achievements under the cut

Screenshot from Gianni's most recent stream where he reacted to fanart

I am very happy to say the least