#v 22

[ghostwarriorrrr]

AC-130U Spooky and CV-22 Osprey A U.S. Air Force AC-130U Spooky Gunship from the 4th Special Operations Squadron, CV-22 Osprey from the 8th Special Operations Squadron, and  special tactics team from the 24th Special Operations Wing at Hurlburt Field, Fl. as part of Exercise Emerald Warrior 19, Jan. 24, 2019.

[myoldcrow]

ℑ𝔫𝔫𝔬𝔠𝔢𝔫𝔱 𝔅𝔦𝔯𝔡𝔠𝔞𝔤𝔢

𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘮𝘦 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘸 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘦𝘺

𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘦

𝘐’𝘮 𝘯𝘰 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘦

𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦…

♥ 2025.02.10 ♥

[lavender-bea]

“I hold no grudge” says Toto Wolff, who’s personality traits include: Holding massive grudges.

[riskyalt]

Pol: Yo te enseño la manera de pelea, tu pegame (I'll teach you the way to fight, hit me) Roier: Aver? (Let's see?) Pol: AAA AAAA WAAAHAAAA NO ME PEGUES (AAA AAAA WAAAHAAAA DON'T HIT ME)

CRYINGGGFF

As always, VOD and Timestamp in tags!

[garyroachsandersonsbf]

COD Characters as Different Military Aircrafts

———

Soap -> A-10 Thunderbolt: Known for its loud and heavy gatling gun, outstanding close air support and its durability against damage. Its fierce and accurate air defense marks it as one of the best support aircrafts to exist.

Ghost -> B-2 Spirit: Advanced stealth tactics and its ability to easily evade enemy detection to reign down its deadly force makes this bomber, a ghost in the sky.

Roach -> F-14 Tomcat: Despite its air superiority and esteemed long range capabilities, the uncommon design of its “variable-sweep wings” marks it as the most distinctive and intriguing aspect of the aircraft.

Gaz -> AH-64 Apache: Designed for high survivability and equipped with advanced technological targeting components makes it one of the best air support aircrafts in active service.

Price -> P-51 Mustang: An oldie but a goodie; was the star of the show in its prime with its outstanding range of speed, maneuverability, durability, and it’s skill to adapt quickly to different conditions.

Laswell -> E-3 Sentry: Designated for surveillance, communications, and command; it’s your eyes in the sky.

Rudy -> KC-135 Stratotanker: You can always count on this aerial refueling tanker. When in need of support when you’re down, it’s got your back, always loyal to its allies.

Alejandro -> F-15 Eagle: Was built for extreme power, resilience, agility, and to display its aggressive dog-fighting capabilities proving it better than the feared oppositions. Never lost a fight protecting what it stood for.

Valeria -> F-22 Raptor: This jet’s extreme capability to fly nearly completely invisible through radars makes it dangerous in its attacks. The state of the art technological advances allows it to fool anyone who comes across, creating a perfect chance to strike and claim victory.

Graves -> V-22 Osprey: Although its dodgy components can wear the reliability of this aircraft thin, it’s service is still exceptional.

———

If you want a part 2, recommend some characters below for me to do next @_@

[hannahssimblr]

“Entschuldigung!” She’s waving at me. I pretend not to see her. Go to the toilets in the staff closet to scroll on my phone. The café is churning that Saturday. A queue outside the door, towers of dirty plates piling in the kitchen sink, pastry flakes and puddles of coffee all over the tables, which everyone is taking issue with. All the baguettes are gone, which pisses everyone off. “No,” I keep telling the customers in my still rudimentary German. “They were sold out by ten this morning.” 

“How can they be sold?” They’ll say, and I’ll be kind of startled by that, how hauntingly dimwitted grown adults can be. Hoping it’s an act—feigned outrage over bread, a performance to bully me into a miracle. The alternative is scarier. 

But I’ll reply to them in a measured voice. “People buy them, and they sell out,” staring blankly into their faces until they walk out muttering. They hate that, the long, condemning silences. It reminds them of their powerlessness. We’re all powerless. I realise that now. It is the degree that varies, the when and where. In the cafe, I have power over the quality of the coffees. The little roll of paper inside the receipt machine. The cleanliness of the floor, the tables, the toilets. Most else, I hold none at all. That’s the issue today, with the woman waving at me. I can’t control how much time the croissants need to bake. They take twenty minutes, and she wants to argue with me about the physics of the oven.

“A customer is asking for you,” Sandra, pounding on the cubicle door. “On table six.”

“Yeah, I’m just waiting for her to leave.”

“No. Get out,” she rattles the door. Sandra is like this every shift. She has no respect for my privacy, and truly, in her heart, believes she’s better than me in every possible capacity. I loathe that. She’s not my manager, she just wishes she was, but we all wear the same shitty apron. Yes, I’m bad at my job, like catastrophically bad, but most of that comes down to effort. I’d rather die than try hard at this, like Sandra. Caring about being a waiter would sink me into a catatonic depression. 

A mark on my knuckle. A scab, surrounded by shiny pink skin, cracked and hardened. Last week, I burned it on a grill. Not on purpose. Sandra acted like I did. Sneering at me and everything, because the chef bandaged up my hand and made me go home. “This is just what you wanted. I hope you’re happy,” she said. When I was outside and knew she couldn’t hear me, I called her an insulting name under my breath. Felt brief vindication, defiance, then very sad and pathetic. This is the new rhythm of my life. 

“Jude, I will report you for this.”

I stuff my phone in my pocket and yank the door. She’s standing there with her arms crossed. “Excuse me, please,” I say.

She looks up at me, face all twisted and incredulous. 

“You’re blocking my way out of the toilet, Sandra.” She moves, and then I’m pushing back into the café. A wall of noise and activity, of clattering ceramic and the scrape of cutlery. Thud and swish of the door. Steamer hissing, milk jug banging on the counter. Ears ringing with the chaos. “Entschuldigung!” That woman. 

“Yes, madam.”

“I have been asking for you repeatedly.”

“What is it?”

“Well, as you can see, I am still waiting for my croissant.”

Checking the clock above the kitchen door, turning back to her. “It’s been ten minutes since you ordered.”

“Yes?”

“And the croissants take twenty. We spoke about this already.”

Trembling hands, palms upward and signaling to me her coffee cup, empty, a brown circle around the rim. “As you can see, I have finished my coffee.”

Wondering if we’re going to do a riddle. “Yes, I see that.”

“I wanted to have my coffee and croissant at the same time.”

“When you ordered, I asked you if you wanted your coffee immediately, or if you wanted to wait for it.”

“I did not want to wait twenty minutes for my coffee.” 

“Okay, then you understand why the coffee and the croissant could not be served at the same time. We were putting a fresh batch of pastries in the oven when you arrived. I told you so.”

Her eyes are watering now. She’s upset, or enraged, both at once. “How difficult is it,” she says, voice climbing with every word, “to serve coffee and pastry at the same time? What kind of establishment is this?”

“You could just have another coffee when the pastries are ready.”

“Oh!” she cries. “So I will have to wait for my coffee, then? Wait for all these people to be served before me?” gesturing around her to the heaving café. Dozens of people, and more crowding inside every minute. “Then I will have eaten my croissant by the time my coffee arrives.”

“You could just not eat the croissant. You could leave it on the plate while you wait.”

Her palm smacks against the table, her teaspoon rattling off the saucer. “How stupid are you?” She says, and I blink. Tears in her eyes on the brink of spilling. Looking into them, I wonder what kind of life she has had to lead her to this specific moment. Deranged, hissing at a foreign waiter in some Berlin café because of her indignant refusal to understand the way things basically work. Does she have a family? Would they agree with this outburst or chide her for it? Bizarre to think of her doing this where others can see her. 

“I don’t know what to do. Maybe it is a problem with my understanding. German is not my first language.”

“Coffee!” she howls, the whole table shaking now under the force of her rage, gripping the edge of it like she’s afraid she’ll take off like a rocket. “And a croissant. At. The. Same. Time. Can you understand that?”

“Yes. In both cases, you will have to wait. You will have to not drink the coffee or not eat the croissant until the other is ready. I honestly don’t see why that’s so hard for you.”

“I want to speak to the manager.”

“She’s having lunch.”

“Then I am leaving!” A threat, she thinks. Excellent news for me. The sooner the better, actually. I tell her she’ll have to pay for her coffee since she drank it. She hates this. Digs her hand into her bag and produces a handful of coins. Someone at another table gasps as she tosses them right at me. I watch one, two, five cent copper pieces ricochet off me and bounce onto the floor, and don’t bend to retrieve them. Wouldn’t dare crawl around on this floor for money. Keep my chin high.

“Don’t think that’s the right amount.” 

She snatches her coat from the back of the chair and flounces off. I just clear the empty cup and bring it into the kitchen. When I reemerge, there’s a coffee order to be delivered. Things just move on like that in here. There’s no time to ruminate. An Americano. Take it to table ten. Easy. Fuck that woman. I hope she has a bad day. I hope her life is bad already, and this day is just the culmination of her choices. 

Someone’s child is plucking the copper coins from the floor around the other side of the counter. Don’t see them until too late. Panic, tripping myself up to avoid stepping on little fingers, and the Americano tips over in its saucer. I cry out, the pain of it, of boiling water spilling over my thumb, the side of my hand. Screaming down my wrist. Too afraid of breaking dishes to let the thing fall, so I just hold it and let it burn me. Watch it doing it, scorching my skin furious red. Toss it onto the counter, coffee splashing over the napkins. 

The intense pain of it. This is the same hand with the scab from last week, and I’m thinking of the dystopian horror of it all. Burning and scarring my body for a job that pays me seven euros an hour. And nobody is helping me. They’re all just having their lunch and gazing on in dull surprise.

“Jude!” Sandra appears. Livid about something as I clutch my throbbing hand. “You spilled coffee on the napkins. That was our last packet.”

“Yeah. I burned my hand.”

“Oh, of course you did.” Now she’s going off. “Perfect timing, when the café is looking like this. When Claudia is on her lunch break. You do this on purpose. And why are the tables so dirty? Why are there coins on the floor? You weren't going to pick them up?”

She’s still going on at me while I turn and walk away from her, my skin on fire, still burning itself. A vicious pain. I hear her ask where I’m going. Into the staff closet, this shitty scrap of space we’re entitled to. Two meters squared, with a toilet. Entitled for fifteen minutes to shovel my lunch into me on a plastic chair underneath the coat hanger, batting scarves and sleeves out of my face. 

“Jude! I’m talking to you. Are you deaf?” She’s followed me in like a hurricane, barrelling through the door. There’s a childhood memory in this scene. It’s in my stomach, too, that lurching, guilty feeling. The knowledge that I’m in deep trouble and I have walked away, and now someone has come to finish me off.

My head’s ringing, but I maintain a blank expression. I’m an adult now. I can do what I want. I calmly remove my apron and leave it on the chair.

“What are you doing? You had your break an hour ago. You can’t…” 

I get my coat and scarf and pull them on.

“Jude, I’m serious. I’m going to tell Claudia and she will not be happy about this,” shaky voice on her. Rules are a big deal to Sandra. She fears losing this job. It makes me feel sorry for her.

Push through the door into the cafe. The café is a furnace behind me—noise, steam, heat, Sandra’s voice. Then the door swings shut. Muffled. Distant. The cold bites my skin, burning worse than the coffee. My bike lock clicks. I pedal away, and I never come back.

Beginning // Prev // Next

[stromuprisahat]

[helyeahmangocheese]

the next time you find yourself researching a detail such as, say, how doors work in Hotel Valhalla, ask yourself: WWRRD? (What would Rick Riordan do?) The answer is, 9 times out of 10, he would not look it up and instead make up whatever rule/detail would be most convenient!

[celtrist]

I really want to see a more fucked up version of Charlie in canon. Like, okay, I am a die-hard for sweet bubbly girls in media. But I always see how some people make Charlie actually, oh I dunno... demonic? And it's so refreshing for her type of character. I could honestly see her having low empathy (and we kinda see this with how she handled Angel's situation or even Vaggie's nervousness about taking control on an activity). An exploration of that trait (if it was intended) would be interesting to see for a protagonist, especially when her main goal is about helping others. I would love to see her actually have a level of difficulty in understanding others' feelings from the other residents, sinners, and even her father.

But give her a fucked up side. Not a "she gets more power when she's angey uwu", but a "oh, she's a little fucked in the head". It would give so much to her character that she just doesn't have.

@/murmurmurena (don't wanna bother them so slash there we go) has some fun ideas with Charlie. I highly encourage people to check their stuff out! So many fun dark ideas with her character while also still keeping to her canon personality pretty well! Personally, I think Charlie being a bit more naive to her own messed up traits would work best but her also being aware of these traits can make for some interesting character for her.

THIS FIC, "A Game Between You and I". RIGHT HERE WITH THE FIRST CHAPTER. A bit of spoil for the fic here: but I love how they handled Charlie’s absolute ignorance as to why the idea of Russian roulette is horrifying to Angel Dust. It doesn't feel like her being intentionally malicious or aware that she's the odd man out here. This is also a pretty old fic going by only the pilot, but the point still stands that it was such a fun take for her character!

Charlie is one of my favorite characters in the show in part of the POTENTIAL she could have as being the most bubbly sweetheart character while also being the most messed up character in the show. I can't say I have strong confidence with the show's writing and fully expect them to stick with Charlie being the "nice girl but oh no, don't get her angry or she gets scarwy". Which isn't bad for a character mind you, there's just so much more potential to Charlie outside of that trope, especially when you get into the theories of her either being a doll, Roo's biological daughter, or what have you. And for the MAIN CHARACTER of the show, it would be not only interesting but also bring the spotlight back to her.

There's really no question that the side characters steal the show, particularly all the male characters. If I'm honest, Charlie does not feel like she gets a lot of love from the show itself when she's supposed to be the main character. She feels far more flat compared to the rest of the characters (again, the male cast in this "female-lead" show has more depth than most of the female cast currently. I wouldn't be pointing this tidbit concerning the genders of characters if it weren't for the fact Viv defended Helluva's lack of development with their female cast by saying "Hazbin is a female-lead show and Helluva is a male-lead" and Hazbin ended up with it not feeling female lead (to me) and the male cast just completely stealing the show. I don't normally care about gender stuff, especially since I do personally lean interest towards male characters. But using one show as a defense for poor development of the female characters, and then that show not really holding up with no very interesting well-developed feeling female characters irritates me. It's just very clear that these shows don't seem to care much about the female cast :/)

If you like how Charlie is written that's totally fine. PERSONALLY, I just think they're missing so much opportunity with her character by just making her the standard female character type. I honestly don't have a lot of faith they'll actually do something with Charlie's character though. She's a pretty static character in S1 being the same from start to end. Not changing or learning anything to create any development. What does the end of season Charlie do that start of season Charlie wouldn't do? Fight back? Because we see with the pilot (which is the “first episode”) that Charlie does fight people if pushed like with Katie Killjoy and even Valentino. Static characters can work in media depending on the show or their role. But Charlie is the MC of a show about “bettering one's self”. So to have her as a static with not a lot of strong dilemmas for herself (like we see with Angel Husk Al and even Vox) seems silly. Plus, considering Hazbin is telling a whole story and it's not a fun episodic thing, characters are expected to grow on some level. Or else, what was the point of their hero's journey?

[iraprince]

Being a long-time Ira Content Consumer™️ is extremely funny when an OC gets recycled because you get a sudden ‘Huh wasn’t that the guy who had cat ears?’ And you look them up in your high school yearbook and they sure do have cat ears and appear to maybe have green goo joints. Then you open facebook and they have Two Beautiful Girlfriends and No Cat Ears. You stare out the window. Perhaps in another lifetime…nay…another universe…

oh yeah varlet in particular has been body snatched/renamed/sliced up and divvied among other oc concepts more than once. that cat has been through the wringer. not even a cat anymore. turned into sausage and then reconstituted into a robobunny. haven't even decided the new pronouns yet if we're being honest

[nocternalrandomness]

"RUDY 35" arriving at Mesa Gateway, Arizona from NAS North Island, San Diego

[orange-cheetah]

nya

[glimmerofawesome]

[sunshineandlyrics]

Louis to some 🪰🦟🪲 etc: *points* Fvck off

A Louie even though Louis can't hear: Creepy Crawlies fvck 'em!

Pinkpop Festival, Netherlands, 22 June 2024.

[slapthebass]

DIR EN GREY - TOUR23 PHALARIS -Vol II-

↳ Toshiya