#crew training

[historyofguns]

The article "Convair B-58 Hustler — The Strategic Bomber Built to End the World" by Will Dabbs, MD, published in "The Armory Life," discusses the history and technical characteristics of the Convair B-58 Hustler, a Cold War-era strategic bomber designed for high-altitude, high-speed missions. Initially intended to perform a singular mission focused on nuclear delivery, the B-58 was engineered for speed and operated at Mach 2 and 70,000 feet. Despite its advanced design, including features like a delta wing and the use of four General Electric J79 engines, the aircraft faced limitations, such as vulnerability to surface-to-air missiles and challenging flight characteristics. The article details several engineering challenges, such as crew safety at high speeds, and mentions its operational history, highlighting it was never used in combat and was phased out due to the evolving nature of aerial threats. The piece emphasizes the B-58's role in America's nuclear triad and its iconic status as a technological marvel of its time.

[hinamie]

I don't want to regret the way I lived

[yuwuta]

olympics coming up…… athlete aus on the mind….. satoru as a swimmer….. unreasonably large wingspan…. huge hands..... thinks “official” competitions and tournaments are boring because he can’t use the goofy purple googly eyes goggles he likes to practice in…… practices at ungodly hours solely because he likes when the pool is empty because that means you’ll dip your feet in at the edge and be there to greet him with a kiss when he’s finished his laps….. they bring up the stats board and it’s just his name ten times before the next fastest person and he could still lap them, and even tho he’ll always put so much pressure on himself to be the best, it’s worth it to have you hold his face and tell him you’re proud of him... he’s gotten so much merch from events and sponsorships and he used to think they just created clutter but that all changes when you start to wear his clothes (esp the ones with his name on it… he’s not proud to admit that does Something to him)…. always looks up to the stands when he finishes a race and if he knows you’re not there, he looks right at the camera, draws an infinity sign with his fingers, and blows a kiss (which, some commentators routinely call “unsportsmanlike conduct” but he doesn’t care, and always, publicly says he’ll pay the fees if it means blowing a kiss to his girl at home)

[cross-d-a]

I really really REALLY loved how SM-33 clearly adore the kids. Like him accepting Un-Claimsies bc it was “close enough”!!!!! Like!!!!!!!!! The kids and SM-33 are the best found family!!!!!!!! I really hope he gets to live with them in the end

[perilusjax]

Dp x dc

The Warrior of Hope

A spear thrusted into the creature, the weapon glowed a neon green. There were swarms of them all over the city. Standing in the middle was a lone figure. He wore greek styled armor with a pteruges. His muscular figure peaked through his unarmored portions.

A spear in one hand and a shield in another. He battled through the horde, not stopping for a moment. With a yell, the warrior slammed his foot onto the floor, a blast of ice speared into the beings.

Taking a quick breather, the warrior's head snapped up. A figure flying towards him at extreme speeds.

After a few seconds, the person slammed into the concrete, picking up dust and cracking the ground. As the person stood, they were a woman. Her flowing black hair was held back by a starred tiara. She was none other than Diana of Themyscara, also known as Wonderwoman.

She looked towards the warrior before her, the princess taking in the warrior before her. Yet before she could say anything, ice cracked.

Quickly turning around she socked the being Lunging towards her, sending it flying into others. She took a step back, meeting another body. Quickly turning her head, the saw the warrior in a similar position his shield raised.

Their eyes met, one a crystal blue the other an emerald green. They nodded in understanding, and the new allies began their battle.

The fought side by side, slaying the monsters surrounding them. Cutting through their enemies like nothing, they were completely in sync. They fought as if they were dancing, twirling around one another.

A bright flash spread throughout the battlefield, the creatures disappearing as it washed through them. The two warriors finally able to breathe in relief.

They sized each other up, taking in their appearance.

Diana barely reached his chest, the amazonian having to look up at him. His armor was well fitted, the cloth hugging his frame, while the armor left room for flexibility.

His amor was pitch black except for lines of blue scattered throughout. He wore a pair of leather sandals, the strappes going up his to his knees.

"Well met warrior, what is your name," Diana asked the man.

Looking down at the Princess of Themyscara, the man's cold eyes softened as if looking at an old friend.

"I am Elpis, Diana of Themyscara the spirit of hope and son of Nyx," the now revealed Elpis replied.

Diana's eyes widened in surprise not expecting such a warrior to be the embodiment of hope.

"It is an honor to meet you lord Elpis," Diana greeted the being with a bow.

"No need for the false subservience Diana, I am no Olympian. Now come, there are many who need the hope of heroes," Elpis said, dismissing her attempts to appease him.

The two began two fly, searching for citizens to help.

[foolishfantasia]

People who still think Infinity Train got cancelled because they, sanded a character to bits, cremated a conscious white man, and okayed a monster with severed arms make me laugh because Owen, the man, Dennis has already confirmed that CN & HBO had no problem with their insane deadly ideas. If anything they were pretty quick to approve them.

Yah wanna know what didn't get approved so quickly/approved begrudgingly? Jesse's American Indian/Native heritage and the Rymin's heartfelt conversation about how it isn't easy to be Asian American/Asian Canadian in any creative industry. Why did Jesse being himself take 7 months to be approved? What did Dennis mean when he said a similar thing happened with Min and Ryan?

[beaulesbian]

ONE PIECE ep. 1115 || Bepo saving Law

Trust them, Captain! From the extremely cold port of the north till now, we've always survived! So none of us will die here! We've overcome so much together! So, Captain! Don't die! Please, don't die!

+ manga ch. 1081

[symbologic]

Zoro's devotion to the crew is undeniable, but that doesn't define his dream He aims to become the greatest swordsman who ever lived. And his post-Baratie dedication to that singular ambition stems directly from, and uniquely belongs to Luffy

Of course he'll protect his friends at any cost! But his willingness to make previously unimaginable sacrifices — the deal with Kuma, begging Mihawk for help post-Marineford — shows something much deeper than simply protecting his comrades Luffy is the only living person who fuels his ambition to become the world's greatest. So when Zoro makes these unthinkable sacrifices, he is showing us how far he's willing to go for his dream Because to Zoro, Luffy and his dream go hand-in-hand

[pricetagged]

raft of the leucothea

A little Kyle piece for the Gaz lovers 💖 to tide you over while I work on the Nikolai and the Price stuff.

Shipwrecked. Washed ashore, injured and sick, and thankfully not alone. A man called Kyle Garrick has washed ashore with you.

No big warnings, just some ever-so-slight dubcon naked cuddling (for survival!).

----------

The harsh, salty spray stung your cracked cheeks. Like clay left to bake in the sun, you felt the cracking and peeling of stinging flesh. But you felt it, that was the important thing.

Sunshine seared through your eyelids, a high noon wake-up call. Glowing ember-red, turning the sands to hot coal beneath you. You only had a second to process it before you rolled over, cramping muscles seizing in a paroxysm of a crawl as you hacked and coughed briny, burning seawater.

Alive then.

You were scared to open your eyes. You could pretend that they were crusted shut, sand and grit and god only knows what flaking over. Irritating, painful. A conjunctivitis of caustic circumstance. If you opened your eyes, it was real.

No, it was better as you were. A temporary balm to a blistering scald. Eyes-wide-shut, blind to the horrible damp marl and putrid air burning through your smarting nostrils. Sea life and smoke; pungent enough to turn your stomach once more.

You moaned as you collapsed on the shore, skin-fever hot and itching. Grit and shell-shards dug in, piercing your sensitive flesh. Clinging, burrowing. Discomfiting. Like the discordant memories swimming to the surface, all driftwood and screams and kicking, aching feet.  

There was no more screaming.

The waves lapped at the shore, a gentle balmy breeze carrying the soft sloshing of surf. Hazy popping and crackling accompanied it, a paradisiac white noise that scrambled your sluggish thoughts. Your eyes fluttered open. Temporarily blind from solar glare, you blinked moisture back. Tried to, at least. You were parched, eyes-dry and throat drier.

Perhaps you expected to see devastation. Destruction. Flotsam and jetsam and bodies strewn along the beach. There was a fire, yes, but it was not from the casket of the ship. Debris visible, but neat. Collected and organized into tidy little piles by a great smoking fire. Through the heat-haze of the flames, you spotted a flash of green: fresh leaves. Gaseous white billowed up; perfect for maximum visibility.

"Ah, you're awake." A shadow fell over you, gentle hands supporting your back until you were somewhat upright. "Here, you'll need this."

You grimaced as your cracked lips crinkled around the fruit, harsh little fibres stabbing in. But the relief–

Light, nutty, refreshing. You guzzled it down, big greedy slurps as your hands raised to cup it closer, throat constricting as you lost your breath–

"Hey, hey, slow down," the stranger spoke, easily plucking the coconut from your shaky fingers. "You'll make yourself sick. Again."

"Thanks." You could at least croak out your gratitude, squinting to get a better look at him. "The others–?"

He was gorgeous, dark eyes and eyebrows slanted into the perfect expression of concern. He looked surprisingly normal, given the circumstances. Only a slight split on his full lips, a smear of sand crusted into his curls, marred his handsome face. You watched as his mouth twisted, as he rolled his neck glanced away. A grimace, more telling than words.

"Just you, me, the sand and the coconuts. Paradise cruise, eh?" He finally spoke, nose scrunching as the joke came out a little flat.

It wasn't a shock, but it was jarring all the same. Though you swallowed, your voice came out thick. "At least you're here. Wouldn't have gotten this open by myself."

It was feeble, words half swallowed as survivor's guilt and gallows humour met and warred. A dysfunctional marriage of relief and self-reproach curdled the coconut water in your stomach. A third player entered; unease. Anxiety, sending your heart rate spiralling high as your breaths grew shallow. Something stung your eyes, and you couldn't entirely blame the smoking fire–

"Hey, hey, look at me," You couldn't look away, not from his steady, unwavering gaze. Beautiful. Like sunlight filtered through whiskey, warm and soothing. "Breathe as I breathe– in, out, in�� hold it– okay, out. That's right, that's perfect–"

He talked you through it, brought your trembling, clumsy fingers to his chest as he breathed in counts of eight. Kept his palm over your hand, cupped it against the rise and fall of his ribs. You could feel the firmness of his muscles beneath, feel the way his heart beat a steady rhythm just below your fingertips, and slowly, you relaxed into it.

Your cheeks were wet. You realised that around the same time you realised his other hand was rubbing ataractic circles on your back. A shameful emollient, setting you at ease but lowering your gaze. Here, in the arms of this stranger, who were you? Troublesome castaway, retching on the beach as he built a signal fire. Slurping down the fruit that he offered, then crying in his arms–

"Stop that," His hand paused between your should blades, chin tucked as he leaned down to catch your gaze. "You're doing so well, love. Bit of a fucked up situation we're in here."

"How are you so calm? How are you so organised? I feel like I'm going to drift away like–like–"

The hand at your back pushed you forward, pressing until you were draped across his lap. He rocked you, stubble against your temples as he shushed and soothed. Analgesic whispers that slackened your tight limbs, sent eyelids fluttering until you slipped into slumber. Mind numb, docked in restful harbours.

-----------------

When you woke up, you were hot. Shivering, teeth-chattering, but hot. You could no longer smell the fire, but you could feel it against your bare skin. Toasty, crackling embers smouldering and making you sweat.

The fever slowed your mind, too. Thoughts turned to sluggish, sticky mulch as you nuzzled into the strong bicep supporting your neck. His skin was smooth, slightly tacky where it met yours, and you whined a little as you tried to pull away.

But moving sent your head spinning, aching muscles seizing until all you could do was cry.

"You're alright, just sleep. Don't move–"

"My clothes," you slurred the words, heavy and sticky on your tongue. Crystallising like spoiled honey, you tried to spit them out faster, but they just dripped. Molasses-slow, and murky. Confused. "I'm not– my clothes are– what–?"

"I took them off you–shh, shh– They were tattered anyway, we'll need to dig through the piles and see what we can repair." You felt his arm flex below you, rolling your head until it was resting on the pillow of his chest. You tried to open your eyes, but the image was hazy. Like looking through seaglass. "It's cold here at night, freezing. The fire's good, but body heat's best."

"'m too hot– feel too–"

"Yeah, noticed you weren't just cold when you wouldn't stop shivering," his forearm banded around your squirming body, pinning you to his. "I know, baby, I know. It's not nice. Gonna try to sweat it out of you. Don't exactly have the luxury of good food and medicine."

His voice was pitched low, sweet. It made you want to cry, mind adrift and body at his mercy. Holiday turned tragedy, swallowed up by the sea and spat up on the beach like refuse. Control slipped through your fingers, finer and more fickle than the sands below and all you could do was cry.

You felt his fingers, whisper-soft, stroking through the ends of your salty, parched hair. Your tears dripped down, soaking into your flushed cheeks and the sparse, scratchy hairs on his chest. He paused for a beat, fingers swiping over your damp forehead. Whisps pushed away until you felt a butterfly kiss against your clammy forehead. Quick and gentle and fleeting.

Small waves kissed the beach, too. Susurrus, splashing caresses that almost sent you drifting off again. The rumble of his voice tickled your cheek, made you blink slowly until you could make out his face through bleary eyes.  

"It's just you and me and this island," He spoke it softly, sting mollified by surety. Bittersweet ointment for a distressing prognosis. "I've got you; I'll take care of you. I promise."

Your answer was faint. "What if no-one comes for us?"

His arms curled tighter around you, twisted until you were splayed atop him. In another time, another place, you'd be flustered by the open splay of your legs, bare against his lean waist. Here, shame withered away, fizzled out. Ephemeral as seafoam.

"I told you, I'll take care of you. Rescue or not, it's you and me now."

Later, you'd blame delirium, fever dream-fugue, for how the words echoed in your mind. 'Just you and me.'

You and him, and the island.

-----------

[ravenw1ngs]

Love that in the absence of the eggs, Fit really just started logging in every day and doing tasks with Tubbo instead.

Except instead of “feed the egg a blue food” or “visit the museum”, it’s “collect twelve stacks of andesite alloy” and “flatten six chunks for the sake of capitalism”.

[da-janela-lateral]

Bird Improvement Club believes you can do it!

[aroaceleovaldez]

one of my favorite Percy headcanons is that even after he no longer has the Curse of Achilles, the small of his back is still his Achilles' Heel. It won't kill him but it's still his weakest point.

Like, he hates if anybody even brushes against there unless it's Annabeth because it's too sensitive and it basically physically hurts him. He has to be the little spoon Always because it makes him feel like his back is protected. If anyone hits him in the small of his back even without a lot of force, like a friendly slap on the back, he will crumple like wet paper. His friends poke him in the small of his back just cause every time he will immediately stumble and start complaining at them and they find it funny. If someone actually smacks him in the back with any amount of real force he will be on the ground immediately and stay there. If he gets actually scratched there he will be bedridden for days. The curse may be gone but he will always carry it with him.

[imagine-riding-dragons]

----------------------------------------------

You've always been more of a softy and stuck out like a sore thumb compared to your fellow Viking comrades.

But your dragon rider friends still appreciate you all the same.

Being Gothi's apprentice you've kept a more simple life.

One away from all the fighting and dangers, but when the crew needs your help they know just who to write to help get the job done.

Even your dragon companion is just sweet and gentle as you are.

[stuck-in-jelly]

PLEASE

[cross-d-a]

Yeah Jod’s a complete dick but his backstory is my FAVOURITE !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! a Jedi on the run after order 66, desperate and starving, running into an equally desperate and starving force-sensitive kid and taking him under her wing? Teaching him what she can? And then getting caught and they make Jod watch as they kill her?? Yeah A++++ Villain Origin Story. Honey, your trauma does not excuse your actions but I DO understand why you are the way you are.

[raayllum]

Some exciting news on the podcast front...

This Saturday, on TDP's six year anniversary of season one premiering, I'll get to drop the interview I did with Aaron Ehasz! We talked over things such as:

What can be teased about Terry and Karim's arcs going into S7?

Complicated parent child relationships (here's looking at you Viren and Claudia) and their relationship to hope and sacrifice

Was anything changed in S1 to reflect the shift to Callum and Rayla being a couple, as developed in S2?

An episode title revealed from S7!

Has Aaravos been changed by his more recent experiences? Or ones beyond Leola in the past?

What is Ezran going to be dealing with in S7?

And more!

The interview clocks around 40 minutes, and I hope to release timestamps for the questions as well day of, so people can skip around to the ones they're most interested in if they so choose!