#reed 900

[litoperezito]

Phck U 🫵🥫

[nudziarino]

[kakooshi]

I feel like enough time has passed...

[connor-sent-by-cyberlife]

Connibal - The Convin / Hannibal crossover noboday asked for

Collab with @yvy-900, Gavin rendered by her, Connor by me

(click for better quality)

³ᵈ ᵐᵒᵈᵉˡ ᵖᵒʳᵗˢ ᵇʸ ᵈᵃᶻ ᶜᵒᵛᵉʳ ᵒⁿ ʳᵉⁿᵈᵉʳʰᵘᵇ ᵃⁿᵈ ᶻᵉᵖᵖᵉʳˢᵃʳᵗ ᵒⁿ ᵗʷᶦᵗᵗᵉʳ

[atlas-cian]

Inspired by the song Revenge by Mindless Self Indulgence :)

It's kinda like a highschool au where Gavin is the leader of the best volleyball team and Nines is the new student who casually carried his team and won against Gavin's during p.e. Gavin is MAD but he also thinks Nines is HOT and chaos ensues.

[liss-art]

"Love is" marathon

Happy Valentine!

2 years ago I drew DBH fancomic.

[thisstupidrock]

Hello detective

[somesortasoda]

Old-ish Detroit: Become Human art from 2024 Huevember.

[sandinthepipes]

Like. Do you understand what I’m saying?

Here you go, have some good fucking soup

[bloodurged]

autistic gavin and android autistic nines [a.k.a. unfinished prototype without a social module] being the ones to understand each other is something that can be so personal.

[marcusrobertobaq]

Why I like reed900 as women: cuz ain't Gavin Reed x Connor 87

[litoperezito]

I still can't believe it's already been 5 years since I started my Reed900 comics. Time goes so darn fast

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Diana Rigg (On Her Majesty’s Secret Service, The Assassination Bureau, A Midsummer Night’s Dream)—Though she may be most famous across the pond for her Game of Thrones-era career, here on her native soil she is an icon of the 60s and female empowerment! Arguably best known for slaying as Emma Peel in The Avengers, her biggest pop culture legacy is definitely playing the only woman Bond truly loved - Tracy di Vincenzo - and absolutely stealing the movie (OHMSS) from under George Lazenby’s nose. The Assassination Bureau is also an extremely fun and underrated period adventure film where her boundless energy and wit is better matched by Oliver Reed. She excelled at playing alluring women with a sense of humour and darker complications underneath. Undoubtedly one of England’s most lovable, intelligent, funny, sexy and unforgettable actresses of all time, I entreat you VOTE PRINCESS DI !!

Barbra Streisand (Funny Girl, Hello Dolly)—I love her smile!! I love her nose!! I love her Brooklyn accent!! She's hilarious and gorgeous and real!!! I love her sense of humor! I love her voice!

This is round 2 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Diana Rigg:

"She lived with a director/partner/boyfriend for eight years in the 60s and told the tabloid press '[I have no desire] to be respectable'"

Barbra Streisand propaganda:

"If you want to know why I’m submitting her, you’ll just have to read her 900 page memoir My Name is Barbra. It’ll explain everything!"

Lovely, smart, funny and a GORGEOUS VOICE

have you seen her? she could sing and dance and i love her so much in funny girl

Her most famous movie line is telling herself “Hello Gorgeous,” what else can I say lol. One of the most famous Hollywood divas of our time, who’s still alive and going strong. All of her outfits in Funny Girl are also soooo pretty. Plus she got to act alongside Omar Sharif, who was in the Vintage Men Poll.

She IS the greatest star! Her voice! Her eyes! She has one of the most stunning profiles I've ever seen. Talent in SPADES! (And honestly, as a wlw it's disingenuous to ignore it - a truly beautiful cleavage)

[gremlins-hotel]

From the notes of Capt. Alfred Jones: "Davie was a bus and the 'Flying Fortress' moniker seemed to pass her by, but it was a ship with a brave crew. The trudge of getting back to England from enemy territory is a story for another day. I miss her and sometimes I miss the boys we lost that day."

-✪- -✪- -✪-

B-17F "Dear Davie": *U.S. Army Model B-17F-65-BO Air Corps Serial No. 42-29670 Delivered Cheyenne 31/1/43; Pueblo 18/2/43; Salina 15/2/43; Brookley 19/3/43; Smoky Hill 23/3/43; Dow Field 18/4/43. Assigned to the 333rd Bomb Squadron/94th Bomb Group [TS-L] "DEAR DAVIE" 22/4/43; Missing in Action near Hamburg 25/7/43 with Alfred "Comet" Jones, **Co-Pilot: Daryl "Speed" Reed, Navigator: Richard Reed, Bombardier: Charlie Marstaller; Radio Operator: Johnathan Graves, Flight Engineer/Top Turret Gunner: Clyde "Pepsi" Ray, Ball Turret Gunner: William Ortlieb, Waist Gunner: Leslie Lipsey, Waist Gunner: Paul Rapoport, Tail Gunner: Thomas Pugh (6 Killed in Action); "DEAR DAVIE" lost to flak/anti-aircraft fire, crashing near Uetersen, 15 miles NW of Hamburg, Germany.

-✪- -✪- -✪-

[nerd things & acknowledgements below cut]

Notes on the B-17F... The B-17F was an upgrade of the previous E model, with several notable changes: A one- or two-piece plexiglas nose cone, as opposed to the ten-paneled cone of previous versions. Reinforced landing gear allowed for a greater maximum payload, from 4,200 lb (1,900 kg) of ordnance to 8,000 lb (3,600 kg). Flight and combat range of the F model was improved by 900 mi (1,400 km) with the addition of nine self-sealing rubber fuel cells in the wing root, aka, "Tokyo tanks". The F model was generally characterized by being tail-heavy - which lead to part failure - and woefully undefended from the front; the early F models had no front-facing armament, leaving a 60° blind spot to the direct front of the aircraft - a flaw which was exploited by German pilots, who held air superiority. Later F models would see a list of possible available modifications (factory and field) such as inserting two .50 caliber machine guns into the nose cone to solve the blind spot. Other modifications to later F models were bulged cheek turrets, as opposed to the window-mounted guns of earlier iterations, and the available addition of the iconic "Bendix" chin turret. The chin turret is far more common on the subsequent G "gunship" variant. ("Dear Davie" is an early F model without the nose mount, bulged cheeks, or chin turret.)

*This model production block, serial no., and fate are borrowed from real-life B-17F #42-29670, "Thundermug." "Thundermug" was an aircraft that originally served in the 333rd Bomb Squadron/94th Bomb Group alongside my great-grandfather and his usual steed, "The Gremlins Hotel." It was transferred to the 544th BS/384th BG, at which point it went Missing in Action over Hamburg from flak/aa-fire; 8 of its crew became POWs while 2 were KIA. I have had the honor to speak to descendants of both of its crews and help them research "Thundermug"; I wish to voice a mere glimpse of their stories in a unique way.

**All names of Alfred's crew are either cobbled-together family names throughout our history here or entirely fictitious - though some were inspired by real people whom I grew up with stories of. All inspirations were individuals that lived good lives post-war.

[bingwriterxo]

my tears are becoming a sea

pairing: vada cavell x reader

summary: in which you have to wait, and wait, and wait

warnings: descriptions of school shooting, blood

word count: 900+

author's note: highly suggest listening to 'my tears are becoming a sea' by M83 while you read

Cops surrounded the perimeter of the school, their radios chattering and the sirens on their cars screaming. Students were scattered along the parking lot in groups, holding onto one another tightly; tears slid down their faces so quickly that no one bothered to wipe them away. Teachers frantically tried to do head counts and swallowed down bile when they couldn't account for a child. Parents were desperately attempting to push through the police barriers, yelling the names of kids they prayed were outside.

You found yourself shell-shocked in the back of an ambulance, your eyes trained on the front doors of the school while an EMT bandaged your wound. A bullet had just barely skimmed your shoulder--enough for blood, but not nearly deep enough to need real treatment.

You had already scanned all of the faces that you could see, yet none of them were who you were looking for. None of them were Vada, and a rock settled in your stomach at the thought that she was still in there--there, where gunshots could be heard and screams were filtering out the windows.

Time was moving slower, each second that passed feeling like an hour, each minute feeling like a decade. For every moment that went by in which her head of brown hair or her face full of freckles didn't appear, you swore that you could feel a piece of your heart break.

And then, the gunshots stopped. There was silence from within the school.

You scrambled to stand as the first line of kids walked out, their clothes bloodied and their bodies trembling. No one missed the tears that cut through the grime on their faces; no one could ignore the cries that fell from their lips. A shiver ran through you when Vada wasn't among them.

You hopped down from the ambulance, ignoring the calls of the EMT, and pushed your way through the horde. No one tried to stop you. No one wanted to get any closer than they already were.

The police tape held you back from rushing forward. You were forced to stand there, behind that yellow line, and wait. You were forced to hope that you'd see her walking out, uninjured and alive.

You watched as your classmates walked past, into the arms of their friends, into the arms of their parents. The blood on them was passed from skin to clothing. A few of them were ushered to the ambulances, the blood painting them red coming from their own wounds.

Then, another line of students. More faces you recognized from classes, or the halls, or the football team, or the pep band. More students who looked like their legs were about to give out, who could barely seem to breathe without sobbing.

Still no Vada.

Anxiety was choking you, its strong hand squeezing your lungs and making it impossible for you to take a breath. You gripped the police tape like it would help and ignored the pain that shot through your shoulder. It didn't matter, not when she still wasn't visible.

The principal walked out, face buried in his hands as he wailed.

The gym teacher followed, his jaw clenched and silent tears rolling down his cheeks.

You saw your math teacher, one of the lunch ladies, a janitor.

Each person that exited the school made it harder for you to breathe, made your tears fall faster, made your hands tremble more. Each person that wasn't Vada made you pinch yourself, wishing that you would wake up from the nightmare.

One after another, students tumbled out of the doors, and the longer you waited, the more you prepared yourself for the fact that she may not walk out.

A boy from your history class; a girl you had asked to the dance back in middle school; Quinton Hasland; a teacher that should've retired years ago but never did; Mia Reed, her hand gripping tightly to--

"Vada!" you shouted, your voice cracking with relief as you saw her.

Her head whipped in your direction, and you sobbed at the sight of her, your breath finally returning to you. Her eyes were wide and her lips moved, saying something that you couldn't hear over the rush of blood in your ears.

She let go of Mia and sprinted to you on shaking legs, ducking under the police tape and launching herself into your waiting arms. You caught her with a strength you didn't know you possessed, your injury screaming but your mind only focused on her--her weight pressed against you, her hair in your face, her nails digging into your back.

"You're alive," she cried into your neck, tears drenching your shirt and turning it even darker than it already was from your wound. She was trembling viciously. "You're alive. I didn't--I wasn't--"

You held her tighter, like she would disappear if you didn't. "You're okay," you mumbled against the top of her head. "You're okay. I've got you. You're okay."

Vada choked out a breath and pulled back, eyes scanning your face. "You're alive."

You nodded, hiccuping. "I'm alive. You're alive."

She kissed you with salty lips, pressing herself into you as much as she possibly could, like you were the air she needed to breathe, like you were the only thing keeping her alive.

"We're alive," she muttered when she buried herself back into your neck. "We're alive."

[atlas-cian]

idk