anonzero-blog

[emkini]

Book 2 is my favorite for many reasons and Zuko’s domestication arc is very much one of them 

[ID: A sketch of Book 2 Zuko looking irritably over his shoulder with his stolen ostrich horse next to him.]

[thedreamingpiscesfangirl42]

The Zestmilla fic is done! 😭🩵 a little over 6.3k words 🥹🥹🥹

[a-sad-mage]

My creation birthed from my cursed mind scape.

Will I ever fanfic again? idfk. but here we are lmao

[artanticaa]

ferrari boys WIP… thinking i WILL color this and also add a playlist of the songs i listened to while doing it

but for now it’s just the lineart heheh

[pleasegodwhy81]

After days and days of travel, we finally made it to Zandvoort. People zip and circle around me, getting everything ready. Once they’re done and my driver joins me, they let me out of the garage, they take my leash off. I can hardly hear the roar of the crowds over the thunder of my own engine. This is what I've been waiting for. This is what I was made to do, to go fast.We line up on the grid and wait for the lights to go out. And away we go! Barreling down straights, battling g-forces in corners, defending our position, fighting for higher ones. This is what I live for. What we live for.

We turn on the apex, he keeps us on the curb, on the ideal line. My right rear wheel can’t get over the curb. It slips into the grass. We have no traction anymore. I feel myself go flying down the track, my wheels barely grazing the ground. We spin to face oncoming traffic as we slam into the barriers over and over. I can hardly breathe through the pain. It feels like my insides are scattered across the track. I feel the back of my chassis heat up, I’m on fire. It burns. Where is my driver? Is he out? Where are the marshals? Are they coming to save me? They drown me in fire extinguishing gas and I choke on it. My driver is okay, and I’ll be okay eventually. He puts his hand on my chassis and breathes a sad sigh. He looks defeated, as if it's all over for him. It’s okay, I try to tell him, we’ll be racing again tomorrow. Except we don’t, I wasn’t ready to race in time.

I’m finally back on track. After my crash in Zandvoort, mechanics had slaved for hours fixing me and putting me back together again. I’m ready to race here in Monza. I go through all the pre-race checks, they look me over again and again. And then my driver arrives. But that’s not my driver, who is that? My driver is blonde, and blue eyed, and sounds different. My driver loves me; I don’t know who this man is. I don’t want to race with him. It’s not up to me though, and we take our place on the grid. He’s better than my driver, at least that's what everyone seems to think. He makes mistakes that my driver wouldn’t, but he does things that my driver couldn’t.

Yet, for as shiny and new that he is, he’s still inexperienced. He crashes out leaving my front wing totaled. He gets out as the marshals rush over. Everything is fine except that we can’t finish the race. I see this new driver coming towards me, maybe to comfort me, to hold me. We’re connected. When we’re driving together going 300 kilometers an hour down a straight we are one. We meld. Instead, he kicks my wheel and curses us both for costing him the race. He’s mad at me. But I can’t do anymore than he tells me to do. Maybe they’ve never taken my leash off. They red-flag the race, and I’m airlifted off the track.

It’s the next race, and it’s still this new driver. Is my driver really not coming back? Do I never get to see him again? We didn’t even get our last race together; I didn’t even get to say goodbye. I miss him. I hope he’s happy- my driver. I hope he’s home

[fizzierorangedrink]

Clangen cat!! 

[uglyduskling]

this cup is heccin' f i l t h y !

strem strem a-lem ( ' ')☕

[making-you-in-spore]

Slugcat or scavenger from rainworld? Whichever one you'd prefer lol

i made a scavenger from rain world in spore [2008]

[yeehawpim]

sometimes ya just gotta act

[emkini]

@spidey-loving-starkid said: Tomorrow Tomorrow Zuko

Color Palettes Here

[ID: An illustration of Prince Zuko from Avatar: The Last Airbender in dramatic lighting. He is shown from the shoulders up, looking at the viewer head-on. His expression is pensive and somewhat intense, and his eyes are glowing. The background is a Yin-Yang symbol, with the left side colored in oranges and reds to imply flames. He is dressed in his robe from the latter part of Book 3.] 

[bluuskkye77]

Hey mxtx fandom

[cloudellesims]

+inspo

[themacaronking]

Inktober twenty three, (until it) rust. I did say it’d be late. Somewhere.

Edit: I listened to the album excluding Katrina for a friend’s sake. It’s beautiful great good I love it it’s perfect it’s perfect it’s perfect it’s perfect it’s perfect it’s perfect it’s perfect it’s perfect it’s perfect it’s p

[wttcsms]

based off of this concept! this fic will feature (besides the obvious romance + smut all my ghost fics feature) a plot centered on dealing with grief, ptsd, his reluctant return to civilian life, a look into his friendship/bond with soap + more! a lot of deeper content and more plot heavy and ghost-centric than any of my other projects, but i am very happy to start working on this <3 the fic will span from his first meeting with you all the way to him starting a family with you, and how he still deals with his trauma and baggage from his time in the army + the effects it has. this fic is all about the healing journey & how it's not a linear progress; there will be days where you feel yourself getting better, and there will be incredibly hard days.

please enjoy this sneak peek of the opening scene & let me know your thoughts 🤍 very excited to give my cod girlies some content

“Tell me a joke,” 

His words come out in pants — anxious, soft, desperate. There’s something in our brains that tells our bodies to hold on ‘til the end of the line. Ghost doesn’t want to tell him a joke. He wants to say keep holding on. 

“C’mon, mate.” He’s trying to crack a smile, but his breathing is getting more erratic. Ghost looks into his eyes, sees that he’s pleading with him. Ghost’s hand is pressed against Soap’s, but there’s so much blood — just a gunshot, just a flesh wound, still too much fucking blood — that it’s hard to hang on. His hand almost slips a few times, but Ghost is nothing if not stubborn. 

It’s important to keep pressure on the wound. He told this to Soap, ignoring the severity of the situation when the pack of gauze he pressed against Soap’s abdomen immediately turned red and damp with his comrade’s — his friend’s — blood.

Now, he repeats it like a mantra. At this rate, Soap’s not going to have any more blood to try to keep inside of him. 

“Now's not the time for jokes.” Ghost mutters, but he pauses when Soap takes his other hand and puts it over his. 

“No more army humor for a friend? Don’t be selfish.” 

“You’ll get your damn joke when we get out of this bloody mess.” 

Soap laughs, but immediately stops, wincing in pain. “‘Bloody’, I see what you did there.” 

“We need to get you out of here—”

“You know I can’t move.”

“I’ll carry you.” Ghost pretends like they didn’t already attempt this, like moving Soap didn’t put him in an excruciating amount of pain. 

There’s something in our brains that tells our heart we have to keep attempting to achieve the impossible. We won’t be able to move on otherwise. 

Soap doesn’t remind him what a failure that idea was. Soap doesn’t tell him to just leave him behind, because he’s already tried that, and the look of disgust that flashed through Ghost’s eyes told him enough. No fucking way. 

“I’m glad we got to be on the same team—”

“Don’t get sentimental. Save that shit for someone else.” Ghost continues to apply pressure to his wound, but his brain — worthless piece of shit, it is — tells him that it’ll be all for naught. He’s lost too much blood already. It’s not a trick of the light when Ghost realizes that Soap’s skin is turning a sickly pallor. Ghost thinks he tastes blood in his mouth, and he releases the grip his teeth has on his tongue. What he should have told Soap was I’m glad we got to be on the same team, too. 

“Didn’t quite get a chance to grow better than you, did I, Lt.?” 

Simon wakes up, breathing heavily, eyes adjusting easily to the darkness of his bedroom. The bed’s too soft, his pillow’s too soft, the cotton feels foreign underneath his sweaty skin. He shuts his eyes once more, willing the dream to come back to his mind before it slips away from his consciousness, like most dreams have a tendency to do. Even if this dream features a dying Soap, it’s still a chance to see his friend’s face again. 

The dream doesn’t come back to him; he’s slipped from his grasp once again.

The dream will come back to him, like it always does. Sometimes the dream shifts; the scenery is different, or the words Ghost wants to say get caught up in his throat, or sometimes, he does manage to spit it out. It’s getting to the point where he can’t determine what’s memory and what’s wishful thinking. All he’s certain of is that he lets his mask slip; lets the last thing his friend sees be the face of the man who’s with him ‘til the end of the line. 

You’re the best of us all, Johnny.

[patx64]

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[speevtheteev]

Me and my friend found some neat glasses at Frostmill, and put them on our characters! So I made some art of it :) This game is so much fun

For anyone wondering:

Coretta - By me

Roger - By @corazondrider