#that’s totally going in my fic

[thatsrightice]

But [Rosie] was not very good at maneuvering a spindly British bicycle. As "airplane commander," Rosenthal was issued along with a good deal of other matériel, a bicycle for getting around the wide vistas of Thorpe Abbotts. He found himself heavily burdened by all this issue but somehow managed to get himself upon the cycle. He carried a load of gear in one arm, had draped his life preserver around his neck, and set off in the general direction of his quarters.

Rosenthal managed to do pretty well, for he got some distance away from the supply hut and was pedaling his uncertain way along a little dirt road. A shift in the load contributed to a series of unusual course changes which came to a sudden, damp conclusion as Rosenthal, newly issued supplies and bicycle plunged down an embankment into one of those charming little ditches that run along the picturesque rural English roads.

Lying in the water (which was not deep), Lieutenant Rosenthal felt there was only one thing to do in this emergency as he lay there, face up in the ditch: he inflated his Mae West. This was probably the only time during all of the Second World War that a member of the 8th Air Force was thus saved from British waters.

— an except from Edward Jablonski’s Flying Fortress : the illustrated biography of the B-17s and the men who flew them

[fistfuloflightning]

What is that…thing? I was hoping you’d be able to tell me. Because I certainly can’t.

Bai Zhan Peak disciple Shen Yuan and Zui Xian disciple Shen Jiu—mostly for Battle Twink/Drunkard-by-Necessity-Asshole-by-Choice shenanigans

Jiuyuan Week Day 3: QJPL SJ/other peak SY (in which I yet again ignore half the prompt and say they’re both from different peaks)

[trypoed]

get a man who looks at you with the same affection that Hoffman looks at Strahm's hand

[ghost-bxrd]

Prompt:

Jason drinks alcohol for the first time ever post resurrection and makes some questionable choices in the form of plastered phone calls and worrisome messages/voicemails.

He wakes up the next morning to at least ten missed calls and dozens of panicked text messages.

[nimuetheseawitch]

He traced patterns over Bradley's skin in the soft morning light. He kissed a constellation of freckles on his shoulder and his fingers wandered in the direction they always did. Spooning Bradley like this, it was so easy, so natural for his fingers to glide along the tattoo on his ribs. It was a beautiful piece of art, and Jake let his fingers travel slowly over the graceful figures of two geese in flight. He'd done it so many times before that he didn't expect anything except for Bradley to grumble at him softly on waking and grab his hand to pull him over for a kiss, but today, Bradley's hand just rested on his, arresting it's movement. Jake's breath caught, and he waited, listening to the changes in Bradley's breathing.

After a quiet eternity, Bradley breathed in deeply and started speaking softly.

"My mother had a tattoo like this."

Jake didn't interrupt, but he stilled entirely, afraid that if he moved, Bradley would startle and stop talking. He'd never said much about his mother besides that she had died, and Jake could tell this was important.

"It was on her left shoulder, behind her heart. Every time we went to the beach, she would ask me to put sunscreen on her back and she would tell me about him, about Goose, my father. She told me how he'd loved to fly, how he'd loved to laugh, how he'd loved to sing, how he'd loved us so, so much. Sometimes she'd smile at the stories she told me, and sometimes she'd cry, and sometimes she'd hold me tight until I whined for her to let me go play. It was her first tattoo, and she said that she liked that even though she couldn't see it, she always knew it was there."

Bradley paused, and Jake linked their fingers together over his tattoo, trying to silently give him support.

"She started tattooing when I was 5 or 6, I think. Said she liked meeting all sorts of people and learning what kinds of things they wanted on their bodies permanently. By the time I was a teenager, her arms were full of color, full of the art her friends did for her. She said she liked carrying the people she loved with her everywhere where people could see it." Bradley huffed a small laugh that could've been mistaken for a sob. "She got so angry when I let one of my friends give me a shitty poke tattoo when I was 15. She put all my allowance for months towards the cost of ink to do a proper cover up for me. That's the swallow on my wrist. When she was diagnosed with cancer--"

Jake couldn't help the small noise he made at that, and Bradley just squeezed his hand before continuing.

"When she was diagnosed, she told me she wanted her last tattoo to be one for me, and I asked her for a goose of my own. She gave me two, one for her and one for Dad. She said she'd always wanted to fly with him. It wasn't until after the funeral that I realized she'd put them where my hand always went when I hugged myself."

[leapdayowo]

Isa is the one with a nightmare, as a treat :)

Ya know, obviously Siffrin (whose name auto correct keeps changing to suffering, which is pretty fitting lol) went through hell and back with the loops. All the angsty art and fics around that I totally get and love to see, however I like to imagine the toll their whole journey took on everyone…

It’s brought up in the game how the King’s power over Vuagarde had a huge impact on Bonnie with their sister + with Mirabelle having the weight of saving a country on her shoulders, but I can’t recall if anything was brought up with Isa and Odile? (Oh nooOOoOo, how awful I can’t remember! Guess I’ll just have to rewatch a let’s play of the game again! What a shame… /j) So yeah :3 Nightmares for everyone! Though Sif definitely has gotten quite a lot more baggage from their journey (which I do intend to make art of eventually..)

[calmlb]

can we as a society please stop calling Dazai the “demon prodigy” like it’s canon??? IM BEGGING

his canon nickname is so underused too… i mean c’mon, the “black wraith of the Port Mafia??” idk if i’ve ever even seen it used in a fic 😭

[amogus-real-not-clickbait]

part 1 of a little comic / art sequence that i've been working on! :D it's part tribute, part experimenting with brushes n colors and trying new thingz :]

| 1 | 2 | ... |

and thus continues my endless quest of spreading the carrot fics like a plague! if you've seen my art floating around you probs already figured that this au holds a very special place in my heart, forever and always!!

if you haven't heard of it, it's a fic series by @crowned-ladybug called carrot soup!! it made me wish i could speak colors and i need more people to share my struggle xd

go check it out if you're into sweet voice lore and qpr level gayness and just wanna feel warm and soft and warm (hurt/comfort my beloved) <333 there are some heavier themes cos everyone's traumatized but they're working through it! be sure to check the tags and stay safe! <3

[peonywithroses]

just what affinity level should you unlock to have jin share his cigs with you~? @snowmoonwrites might know 🩵

[babygirlgiles]

Why does no one else see my vision for post-war Effie Trinket. Like that woman does NOT become a civil servant, she does not join the ranks of government service. She is 100% New Panem’s first influencer. She was already having her It Girl moment as the escort of District Twelve’s victors beforehand and now there’s public perception that she was this Hunger Games insider playing the long con to dismantle the system from within and paid this great sacrifice for it by being tortured by Snow’s cadre for her efforts. Which is not true at all because she had No Clue what was going on but Plutarch needs new programming to fill all the hours that used to be taken up by Hunger Games related media so he decides to capitalize on Effie having Her Moment. And with people being allowed to travel between districts for the first time in over a generation and newfound freedom of information, there would a nationwide fascination how other people live. Effie ends up with her own lifestyle/travel series where she visits different regions of Panem and even exotic far away places such as “England”. She’s posting beach selfies on Panemstigram to promote her upcoming episode on lobster fishing off District Thirteen’s revitalized coastline.

She even gets her own daytime talk show at one point. She tries (and fails) for years to get Peeta on the show as a guest. Katniss has never watched a single episode.

[icewindandboringhorror]

I know this is just a silly bad quality random screencap of a screencap that I found on facebook lol, BUT it's a succinct enough image to easily describe the concept in a quick/accessible way hopefully :

-

(and of course, feel free to elaborate in tags, etc.! (especially elaborating about other senses as well.. can you "hear" in your mind just as well as you can "see"? taste? etc.) It's an interesting topic to me, as someone who's like a 4.5 at MOST lol. I'm curious what option will be the most common :0c )

[victoronnie]

my tycutio vampire/werewolf one shot taste the iron on his lips is now on ao3!

drew a scene from it, had a ton of fun working on this

[very-bad-poetry-captain]

Okay but this line from Firestorm by L.A. Graf is driving me insane?? What do you mean Spock lifted McCoy's foot instead of just asking him to move it??? What was the logic behind that??

[greenglowinspooks]

(DCxDP) Drowning in formaldehyde (Pt. 2)

—

Tw: canon-typical violence (Batman), emetophobia at one point

Will be crossposted to AO3 eventually

(Pt. 1)

(Masterlist/subscription post)

—

Danny sat in the back of one of the transport trucks currently on the way to Arkham, his hands in his lap.

So far, everything was going to plan.

About a quarter of the team had gotten themselves admitted into Arkham in the days leading up to the raid, carefully sneaking in supplies and weapons for both themselves and the rogues they were going to free.

Half of the team was on trucks, ready to storm the building with their fancy new tech. A couple others were keeping an eye out for the Bats, and the last one was holed up in a recently condemned building, ecto-modified sniper rifle in hand, ready to fire.

Danny’s hands were cold.

He hadn’t always run cold, from what he remembered. Even after he died—hell, even after he started developing his ice powers—he had always been warm.

Now, though, his body was freezing.

Maybe it was because of the ecto siphoning he and Derringer had done the day before.

He couldn’t make the ecto guns work without fueling them, after all, and the only ectoplasm he had access to was the stuff inside his body. So, he had Derringer hook him up to a GiW machine and filter the ecto out of his blood.

The process was excruciating.

Not only did he get light-headed from the loss of fluids, the machine also chilled his blood considerably during the filtering process, and when it was pumped back into his body, it was freezing. Derringer had to cover him with heating pads and thick blankets to get him to stop shaking.

Still, that had been a little over eighteen hours ago, so that probably wasn’t it.

Maybe it was just another side affect of his time with the GiW.

Overuse of his ghostly wail, he had realized earlier, was the reason that he had lost his voice permanently. Maybe he had accidentally used his ice too many times the same way, and now his body was irrevocably changed. Maybe warmth was just another tiny privilege he had taken for granted, that had now been lost forever.

Danny stared down at his hands.

Maybe his body had just given up entirely on keeping him warm, on pretending to be human.

“Kid, you alright? We’re almost there.”

Derringer’s voice snapped Danny out of his thoughts.

“Yeah,” Danny signed, “just tired. And cold.”

“We’ve got to get you a jacket, kid,” Derringer said, “it’s not even winter and I already have to worry about you freezing to death.”

“I died a long time ago, it’s fine.”

“No,” one of the other men in the truck drawled, “it means you’ve got to be extra careful. You’ve got a second chance at living, so you better not screw it up.”

“What did he say?”

“Danny thinks that because he’s died before, he doesn’t need to worry about freezing to death.”

The truck went quiet for a few moments. Most of the guys in there didn’t know he had died before. He didn’t exactly like to advertise the fact.

“I have a cousin who had a heart attack, and it only made his heart worse,” one of the guys near the front of the truck offered.

“See, kid?” Derringer said, “I’m right. As soon as this is over, you’re getting a jacket.”

Danny crossed his arms, slumping over in his seat with a huff.

A few moments later, a loud clang echoed through the truck. Danny jolted, almost falling out of his seat.

The door opened, the driver looking at them with boredom written all over his face.

“Alright, up and at em. It’s go time,” he mumbled, smacking the door loudly for emphasis. “The sooner we’re done, the sooner we can leave.”

They all stood, hopping out of the truck and making their way to the fence line.

Danny moved his hand to the bandolier on his chest, fingers brushing against the small ecto-bombs he had attached to it.

There were five of them, their bodies made of tempered glass and black steel, and they glowed a sickly green in the night. They were designed mainly for combat; he had a few larger ones meant to blow a hole in a wall in his backpack, which was securely zipped shut.

His hand then drifted to the holster on his left side, and the ecto-gun nestled securely within it.

Most of his parents’ inventions were far too big and bulky to be practical in any real combat setting, so he had downsized them considerably. The weapon he had was modeled after a standard glock pistol, matte black paint covering the GiW white of the gun’s body.

The gun should be able to fire around fifty shots a minute without overheating, which was more than enough for Danny. Hopefully, he wouldn’t have to fire a single round tonight. However, for whatever reason, the words should and hopefully didn’t inspire much confidence in him.

Danny followed the group as they snuck up to the facility, Derringer by his side.

Originally, neither of them were going to go on the raid, but someone on the patient list had caught Danny’s eye, so he decided he would investigate in person. Derringer was just along for the ride because Mr. Cobblepot wasn’t willing to lose an asset as valuable as Danny.

Danny would make it up to the bodyguard later, he decided.

Entering Arkham was, all things considered, pretty easy. Mr. Cobblepot had connections to a few of the orderlies, and it was all too easy to convince them to “forget” a few steps in setting up the security system for the night.

However, since nothing can ever just be simple, they ran into an unexpected patrol of nightshift guards just a few minutes after all splitting up to find the rogues.

Danny and Derringer were able to take them down pretty quickly, but not before they sounded the alarms. And, according to a few guys on the comms, they weren’t the only ones to run into guards where they shouldn’t be.

“They must have changed their patrols,” Derringer huffed, spinning the pistol in his hands, “c’mon, let’s go see about freeing our good friend Victor Fries.”

Danny nodded, scampering after the man as he sprinted through the halls.

The inmates, who had woken up from the loud alarm’s continuous blaring, shouted at them from their cells. Danny’s pulse was loud in his ears, drowning everything out.

Distantly, he wondered if those guards were going to die. Maybe they were dead already.

He supposed that it didn’t really change much if they were.

Soon, they were at the cell. It was custom-built to hold Mr. Freeze, constantly kept at subzero temperatures to avoid killing him.

Derringer hefted his bag off of his back, pulling out the suit and freeze gun that Mr. Cobblepot had procured. As he did so, Danny took a few of the larger ecto-bombs and placed them on the joints of the door.

They carefully moved away, putting some distance between themselves and the door, and Danny detonated it.

The explosion was loud. It shook the entire building, the shockwave knocking Danny to the floor.

Danny brought his hand up to his safety goggles, yanking a small piece of metal shrapnel out of them and dropping it on the floor. He was dimly aware of more pieces sticking out of his kevlar suit. Derringer was similarly peppered with metal, luckily uninjured as well.

They had come from the body and mechanism of the bomb, he realized. He’d have to fix that later.

Mr. Freeze emerged from the cell a few moments later, a scowl on his face. Derringer quickly shoved the suit and freeze gun into his hands and he retreated back into the cell for a few moments, getting dressed.

“I could have died from that, you know,” he hissed. “Killed by some amateurs with shoddy explosives.”

“The Penguin sent us,” Derringer said, ignoring the man’s clear annoyance, “our getaway car is outside. If you’d come with us…”

Mr. Freeze nodded sternly.

“Hurry up, then.”

Derringer and Danny hurried out, Mr. Freeze right behind them. Then, at a certain hallway, Danny paused.

He had to check.

“Kid,” Derringer barked, “we have to go.”

Danny shook his head.

“You go,” he signed, hands trembling, “I have to check.”

“Oh, what’s the problem now?” Mr. Freeze asked, his frown more pronounced by the minute.

“Danny…” Derringer sighed, “Danny thinks his sister might be in here. He hasn’t seen her in years. It’s the whole reason he was a part of the Arkham raid, actually.”

Mr. Freeze paused for a moment.

“Well, lead the way, then,” he said, clearly regretting his words as soon as he said them. Danny just nodded, scurrying forward, the other two men close behind him.

They came to the right cell quickly. Danny looked in through the glass, and he felt a piece of himself shatter.

That was Jazz, his sister, sitting in a padded wall wearing a straightjacket and a muzzle.

She didn’t bother looking up at them as they arrived, not stirring even when Danny slammed his hands on the door to get her attention.

Shakily, he attached an ecto-bomb to the door, hoping with all his might that she wouldn’t get hurt.

The door blew open, and Danny rushed in.

Jazz’s head swiveled to look up at him, her eyes narrowed.

He slipped the goggles up and his bandanna down, exposing his face as he came to kneel beside her.

Slowly, her expression shifted to shock.

“Jazz,” he creaked, his broken vocal chords cracking painfully as he spoke, “it’s me.”

She looked at him like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Danny?”

He nodded, pulling her into a hug, careful not to let the shrapnel dig into her skin.

“I thought you were…”

“Very heartwarming,” Mr. Freeze snapped, “but now isn’t the time. We’ve got to go, now.”

Jazz nodded, leaping to her feet. Danny stood as well, slipping his mask and bandanna back on, and grabbing onto one of her arms for support.

They left the cell, Danny doing a double-take as he saw the frozen-over pathway that they had just come from. He looked to Mr. Freeze, tilting his head questioningly.

“There were guards,” he said flatly. “Now hurry up, we need to get out of here.”

Derringer grabbed the two of them, dragging them along as he sprinted through the hallways. They had to take a bit of a detour, coming out of the main entrance instead of the side one they had entered.

Unfortunately, there was an active gunfight going down.

Danny was roughly pulled behind a desk, just barely dodging a few rounds.

His hands shook as he pulled a small ecto-bomb from his bandolier, priming it and throwing it at a small grouping of night guards. They cried out as the pure ectoplasm collided with them, covering their bodies in burns.

The smell, while familiar to Danny, was still horrific.

They took a few shots off at the night guards, trying to take them down. Their group was efficient, but with the rate they were going at, it wasn’t going to be enough. Only adding to that, the gun Mr. Cobblepot had prepared for Mr. Freeze had broken after just a few uses, leaving them unable to create an ice wall.

Then, Danny heard the sound of a gun’s safety being turned off behind them, and his vision went white.

He grabbed onto Jazz and Derringer, making them intangible right as the night guard opened fire.

Waves of nausea hit him all at once and he doubled over, his vision swimming. Danny was only dimly aware of Jazz taking the guard down with a high kick right to the head, and Derringer pulling him into a protective hold.

Ignoring everything, he pulled the last of the large bombs from his bag, throwing it into the air, pulling everyone behind the desk.

The entire room went white.

Danny’s ears rung as he scrambled out from behind the reception desk, dragging Jazz with him.

Luckily, none of the hired hands on his team had gotten injured, but the guards…

Danny looked away, trying to ignore the taste of bile in his mouth.

It was fine. He was fine. Everything would be okay.

The next few minutes were a blur. He knew that he had puked only a few seconds after they had left the building, and that Derringer had picked him up afterwards, carrying him to the truck with Mr. Freeze and Jazz in tow.

Danny’s entire body was wracked with tremors, an unbearable phantom pain passing through the still-healing surgical wounds in his head and torso like lightning. He dry-heaved, shivering uncontrollably.

They drove off soon after. Luckily, no one had been left behind. Someone, probably Derringer, helped Danny rinse out his mouth and got him a bottle of water to drink, wrapping him in his jacket.

As soon as the truck doors were opened within one of Mr. Cobblepot’s safehouses, Danny became aware of the sound of wailing.

Hopping out of the truck, most of his mind still far away, he saw a man being rolled out of the room on a stretcher. He was one of the people who had been on the other truck, Danny realized.

Beside him was a teenager, probably only a few years younger than Danny, who was screaming and crying uncontrollably. They wailed at Mr. Cobblepot, who only stood there with an uncomfortable expression on his face.

“Oh shit,” Derringer breathed. Danny pulled on his sleeve, tilting his head at him questioningly.

“The guy on the stretcher, that’s his sibling.”

Danny just stared, a hollow feeling deep in his chest.

Jazz, her arms now freed from the straightjacket, pulled him away from the scene. Danny let her.

—

[sukidude]

Hey everyone! Here is a piece I did for the Zukka Big Bang 2024 :-) it was based off of an idea where modern day Zuko is an aspiring singer and is getting an album cover picture taken by Sokka who has an established music career. Unfortunately, the fic wasn’t able to be completed for personal reasons on the authors part, but I still love the art and the concept :) hope y’all enjoy <3 @zukkabigbang2024

(ID under the cut)

[ID: Image 1 is a digital drawing of Zuko from the shoulders up. His hair is long and cut into a mullet and he has his ears pierced. He is wearing a black cut off tee. He has a nervous expression on his face and a very visible blush across his cheeks and nose. He is saying, “Um, like this?” to Sokka who is not pictured, but it is insinuated that Sokka is taking a picture of Zuko. The background is a light blue like the sky with minimal clouds, and directly behind Zuko is a flourish of orange and yellow lilies. The artists signature is on the shoulder and reads “sukidude”. End ID]

[ID: Image 2 is a digital drawing of Sokka holding a camera facing to the right. He is wearing a black baseball tee and his hair is up in his usual top knot from the show. He is looking off to the left with a nervous expression and a sweat bead on his temple. He also has a very visible blush across his cheeks and nose. Sokka is speaking back to Zuko from the first image saying, “Uh- yeah, yeah. perfect… ha…” The background is light blue like the sky with small white clouds. The artists signature is on the shoulder and reads “sukidude”. End ID]

[teecupangel]

Why not just Desmond being an angel.

And it freaks everybody out and everybody thinks he's holy or something and he's just like "all right okay why not"

It had happened by accident.

It had to be an accident, right?

Altaïr had been thrown out of the room and the Templars had unsheathed their weapons. Malik had been focused on protecting his brother, shouting at him to run as he tried to keep all of the Templars busy.

Robert de Sablé didn’t even look back when he walked away after ordering their death.

Malik didn’t know what happened.

He saw Kadar freeze when he neared the scaffolding that would lead to the treasure and Malik swore his eyes glowed gold for the briefest of moments.

Before one of the Templars charged at him.

Kadar snapped out of it and tried to block, his stance unstable enough that he slipped backwards.

Into the scaffolding…

Taking the Templar with him.

The Templar’s sword struck one of the wooden pillars keeping the scaffolding stable and…

Malik didn’t have any explanation for it.

It shouldn’t have happened.

The scaffolding started to crumble, making Kadar and the Templar run away from it as fast as they could.

And then…

The wall next to the scaffolding began to break apart, golden light coming from the cracks before the entire thing fell down.

Together with the treasure and the ark where it had been resting.

The ark broke in half, splitting in the middle to reveal an egg shaped thing made of stone that was around the height of perhaps Malik when he was sitting on the floor.

The treasure fell on top of it, shattering like it was made of glass.

Where the shards fell on the stone, the stone changed and spread.

Until…

What had been stone had changed to seemingly three pairs of wings with white feathers that seemed to shine gold all curled together.

The wings twitched…

Before slowly opening, stretching to its full size.

Revealing a young man seemingly sleeping, the three pairs of wings attached to his back. His head was resting on his propped up knees.

No one could speak.

No one could move.

Until…

“Altaïr?” Kadar whispered hesitantly and Malik could see why he would call out that fool’s name.

The man looked too much like Altaïr for it to be a coincidence.

Almost as if hearing the name, the man…

No.

The divine being in front of them opened his eyes.

Instead of Altaïr’s golden eyes, his eyes were light brown with specks of gold in them.

And Malik wondered how he could see them from where he was standing, a few meters away from the winged being.

The divine being looked around and blinked.

His eyes met Malik and his lips parted.

“It’s an angel!”

Before he could speak, the Templars all knelt and began to pray.

The Templar who had attacked Kadar took off his helmet and…

It was a woman.

A woman who was praying fervently at the divine being who…

… looked at Malik with wide confused eyes.

Unorganized Notes… I mean… sorta notes?:

Desmond is surprised for a few seconds then he goes “Be not afraid” and tried to sound super impressive “Ye are in the presence of…………… the will of God.” and he’s just bullshiting his way to uuhhh. He has no plans.

He glanced at Malik and Kadar and oh yeah, alright.

“Ye shall not harm these… men of justice for they are… under my protection…?”

At that point, Desmond knows he is ffuuuccckkeedd. Malik is obviously onto him. Kadar is super confused and just keeps staring at his face. Then…

Maria, of all people, agree and even goes as pledge her sword to him which is super weird and Desmond’s just “???”

In the end, Desmond accidentally takes the Templars about to kill Malik and Kadar with him as he leaves the temple with Malik and Kadar. It’s a very awkward journey and Desmond has no idea what else to do other than…

Oh wait… there were other Templars stationed nearby and they all saw him leave with his ‘entourage’.

Before he could try to say anything, Maria speaks for him, calling the messenger of God and that he had been sleeping in the Ark of the Covenant which sounded like a super big deal (and he can’t even whisper to Malik to ask what the hell she was talking about because the Farm was never religious and the only time Desmond even heard of the Ark of the Covenant was from Indiana Jones) and…

… why does it feel like Maria was converting people into becoming his personal army???

Oh god… Was this…

Was he going to take his own army to Masyaf???