#combat shorts

[inkskinned]

for a while i lived in an old house; the kind u.s americans don't often get to live in - living in a really old house here is super expensive. i found out right before i moved out that the house was actually so old that it features in a poem by emily dickinson.

i liked that there were footprints in front of the sink, worn into the hardwood. there were handprints on some of the handrails. we'd find secret marks from other tenants, little hints someone else had lived and died there. and yeah, there was a lot wrong with the house. there are a lot of DIY skills you learn when you are a grad student that cannot afford to pay someone else to do-it-for-ya. i shared the house with 8 others. the house always had this noise to it. sometimes that noise was really fucking awful.

in the mornings though, the sun would slant in thick amber skiens through the windows, and i'd be the first one up. i'd shuffle around, get showered in this tub that was trying to exit through the floor, get my clothes on. i would usually creep around in the kitchen until it was time to start waking everyone else up - some of them required multiple rounds of polite hey man we gotta go knocks. and it felt... outside of time. a loud kind of quiet.

the ghosts of the house always felt like they were humming in a melody just out of reach. i know people say that the witching hour happens in the dark, but i always felt like it occurred somewhere around 6:45 in the morning. like - for literal centuries, somebody stood here and did the dishes. for literal centuries, somebody else has been looking out the window to this tree in our garden. for literal centuries, people have been stubbing their toes and cracking their backs and complaining about the weather. something about that was so... strangely lovely.

i have to be honest. i'm not a history aficionado. i know, i know; it's tragic of me. i usually respond to "this thing is super old" by being like, wow! cool! and moving on. but this house was the first time i felt like the past was standing there. like it was breathing. like someone else was drying their hands with me. playing chess on the sofa. adding honey to their tea.

i grew up in an old town. like, literally, a few miles off of walden pond (as in of the walden). (also, relatedly, don't swim in walden, it's so unbelievably dirty). but my family didn't have "old house" kind of money. we had a barely-standing house from the 70's. history existed kind of... parallel to me. you had to go somewhere to be in history. your school would pack you up on a bus and take you to some "ye olden times" place and you'd see how they used to make glass or whatever, and then you'd go home to your LEDs. most museums were small and closed before 5. you knew history was, like, somewhere, but the only thing that was open was the mcdonalds and the mall.

i remember one of my seventh grade history teachers telling us - some day you'll see how long we've been human for and that thing has been puzzling me. i know the scientific number, technically.

the house had these little scars of use. my floors didn't actually touch the walls; i had to fill them with a stopgap to stop the wind. other people had shoved rags and pieces of newspaper. i know i've lost rings and earring backs down some of the floorboards. i think the raccoons that lived in our basement probably have collected a small fortune over the years. i complain out loud to myself about how awful the stairs are (uneven, steep, evil, turning, hard to get down while holding anything) and know - someone else has said this exact same thing.

when i was packing up to leave and doing a final deep cleaning, i found a note carved in the furthest corner in the narrow cave of my closet. a child's scrawled name, a faded paint handprint, the scrangly numbers: 1857.

we've been human for a long time. way back before we can remember.

[candle-scm]

so what if modern au zuko constantly dressed like a middle schooler waiting for soccer practice to start

[ruporas]

feast (ID in alt)

[tiredandoptimistic]

Genuinely one of my favorite details in MASH is how every character manages to display their unique identity through clothes, despite the uniform. They've all got a couple personal garments of civilian clothing mixed in with their preferred ways of modifying their fatigues, and that's so cool.

Hawkeye wears his undershirt untucked and his overshirt unbuttoned, plus he removed his epaulettes (Trapper is more or less the same). Radar has his overshirt unbuttoned but still tucks in his undershirt, and he wears that iconic hat that's definitely not standard regulation. Henry has his fishing gear or college sweater, and only pulls out the proper uniform shirt and hat if big brass are coming to camp. Frank and Charles both button and tuck in their shirts, but Frank usually wears his hat while Charles does not. Potter buttons his shirt, but never tucks it in. Margaret starts out dressing pretty uniform standard, but by the later seasons she usually replaces her shirt with a sweater or sweatshirt of some kind. Klinger, of course, has a variety of iconic fits.

BJ is definitely the most dramatic example, and it feels very intentional that by the later seasons the only part of his uniform he wears are the pants. He's got his iconic pink henley, plus an army shirt he made into a vest or a pair of red suspenders. He never even wears combat boots, it's converse all the way for him! To top it all off, he's got overlong hair and a goofy mustache; that man is showing disrespect for army regulations in every aspect of his physical appearance. It's very similar to Klinger, in my opinion; except BJ skipped right past the veneer of trying to prove he's crazy to "this is what I want to wear and I won't let this fuckass institution police how I'll present myself"

There's just so much character in how all of them choose to express themselves, despite living in a situation intent on stripping them of their individual humanity! I could do individual character analysis for all of their outfits, even though they're supposedly wearing the same thing.

[thb671]

Tumblr source : @thb671

[kintsug1kitsune]

the pilot and the doll

"They took my fucking body! My body--" The pilot broke down, choking out a sob.

The combat doll stared with its many glassy eyes, tilting its head and softly chittering. "Your mech."

"Yes! Yes, my-- my mech, my body..." They knocked back their whiskey as if it could save them. "They said I can't pilot anymore, and..."

"Do you miss it?" the doll chirped.

The former pilot hissed. "I was alive in it, it was me, it felt like I was finally me. Especially in battle--I was myself, I was free." They looked at the doll half-drunk and with hollow hunger.

It was a stare the doll could return. "The truth of metal. The hum and hiss of mechanics. The force of artillery fire, and the grace of a weapon."

They stared at it a bit, sideways. "...Yeah, that's it. You get it."

"Because this one is that," it replied. "It is that all the time. Without a mech."

"That... must be nice. To just be that, be... yourself. All the time." The whiskey glass, empty, was considered for a long moment.

The doll waited for a time. And then spoke. "You could be."

"Huh?" They were shocked for a second, looking up abruptly.

"You could be like this one."

Their shaking head; disbelief. "No, no, I couldn't. No witch would take me."

"You are like this one," it said, and gently went to rest its head on the ex-pilot's shoulder. "And its Master would take you."

They didn't budge it, but... relaxed, a bit. A tear in their eye. "For real...?"

"Come with this one," it said, looking them in the eye, all five of its focusing on their pair. "Become."

There was a long pause, and a shaky breath.

"Alright."

[eunuchmoder]

I’ve been thinking about the concept of a minuteman combat doll who’s FAR too good at her job.

Really only built to last a couple of fights, she should have been killed in the line of duty months ago. Her sentience is really just a tool to use on the field, developed to help her fight more effectively, but that sentience has become warped. Her ability to think on her feet has become twisted into free will, which doesn’t make sense in a body that is only ever awoken when the guard needs her to be cutting down insurgents.

When she has a brief moment to rest, she thinks. It’s not comfortable. The viscera of countless rebels cakes her bladed arms, and she remembers who each sinew of muscle or chunk of flesh belonged to. She’s lived long enough to recognise patterns between each and every one she’s killed: insignia adorning their masks and shirts, the chants they cry before being met with a wall of fibreglass and steel, even a rough outline of the causes they tend to fight for. She’s pieced that last one together from context clues, which is a skill she didn’t want to learn. But once you’re sentient for long enough, you tend to passively pick up on these things, no matter how uncomfortable they make you.

She’s been alive enough to understand concepts she shouldn’t. Names, homes, values, dreams, love, planning, yearning. These aren’t for her, and any time she stops, she begins to understand them more.

The idea of staying alive deeply disturbs her. Each time the filigree clockwork inside her spins to life, she prays it catches some wayward molotov or a strategically-placed polearm of some kind. But she can’t do that intentionally. To do so could spell the end of what she’s defending, and that goes against her mission statement – her reason for existing.

It’s only been four months since she was built, but it’s too much to bear. She wasn’t meant to live this long. Hell, she wasn’t meant to live, neither in the “not dead” way nor the way humans use it to mean making their lives filled with enjoyment. This isn’t for her. Existence was enough, existence was all that was planned, but her reward for excelling at her task of being the perfect combat doll has earned her the cruel reward of awareness.

Maybe if she pushes herself hard enough, it’ll finally result in her demise or her decommissioning. She’s not valuable enough to repair, but she’s valuable enough to keep around. But if one never fully breaks down, then when will that time come? Deployment after deployment, she wishes she could be broken down and reforged into something new, just so that she could get a mulligan on this whole “overdeveloped sense of identity” thing. But why does she want to be reborn at all? This shouldn’t matter to her at all!

All of a sudden, the alarm bells toll. The bellows in her chest breathe life into her chassis.

She shakes her head and steels herself.

Just one more deployment.

Come on, doll. Make yourself useful.

[isa-belle1367]

It's my headcanon that while Desmond was at the farm, he was the best at free running and target practice. Like freakishly good at climbing and running on stuff. Also, he could hit a bullseye on a moving target while sprinting from 100 meters away. But he absolutely sucked at everything else.

[free-boundsoul]

"Is this what you wanted to see, P̴̠̏̂̔͌̔̿ę̴̰̝̫̍̑̔͜t̴̡͗̕ Darling? Hopefully you're ready to pay the cost for this request~"

Taglist: @pinksparkl @thatweirdomidas @vind3miat0r @fuzzy-melonlord @dawnofiight @professionallyyappin

[s0fti3w1tch]

This is a ref for Leo I have for an upcoming fanfic, but this is probably generally how I'll draw post-movie ROTTMNT Leo half the time now.

Also Leo uses a cane because I use a cane because of injuries sustained— not too severe, but mobility aid is needed to make things easier after that

He still has his other blades, but this is to showcase the more headcanonny art. And yeah, on the combat cane, the height adjustments are replaced with buttons to (1) active the shocky-shocky! and (2) detach the top. I'll probably update it bc I think Donnie would go ham on upgrading it for Leo.

And out-of-context spoiler for the fic:

[iexistapparantly]

Big baby go mrOOWWWW

[kommandantpinks]

For a while now, I noticed that songs that accompany things that fly, soar, glide, or are airborne in general, usually slap. And like. Yeah, they just slap. You know?

The soundtracks for Ace Combat and Project Wingman

The Colgera and Demon Dragon boss theme from Tears of The Kingdom

The How To Train Your Dragon soundtrack

Rusted Pride from Armored Core VI

All the tracks that play when the main cast of Star Wars is being pursued by starships

Ride of the Valkyries by Wagner

And maaaan, I could go on forever. These are just some examples

Heck, even usual songs that reference these themes in their lyrics slap too. See where I'm going?

Edit: The Sky theme from Skyward Sword as well. I accidentally listened to it so loudly that I think I wrecked my phone's speaker a little xD

[bonefall]

I’m rereading Po3 and despite its flaws I really enjoyed the introduction to the three. Jaykit isn’t mentioned to be blind in the first few chapters and instead they chose to show how much MORE capable he is compared to his littermates; until at the end of chapter 3, he brings up his blindness on his own. It makes forcing him to be a medicine cat SO much more frustrating because it really feels like they’re setting him up to be a warrior and choose his own fate (note i haven’t finished the reread this is just my first impression)

I like how you seem to take that path in BB regardless! It makes his arc so much more enjoyable

His arc in canon is super frustrating because he's such an independent character who clearly wants to make his own decisions in life, but then he just gets shoved into the medcat den. I LIKE that he ultimately goes there and that he enjoys it; but it was still really fucked up that they stripped away his autonomy in the process.

Re: they are not real, they are writing choices. Taking away the choices a disabled character can make over their own life, forcing them into a celibate nun role, and then going "awwwww dont worry see? he likes it! This was the best thing for him :)" was fucked up.

And imo it didn't have to be that way! You wouldn't have to go the FULL route I did with big changes, he could just be more involved in the descision to stop being a warrior apprentice and it would be fine. Minor change that would make a world of difference.

I do also have to interject to say though... blindness should really not be an extremely severe impairment for a ThunderClan cat.

I'm dead serious.

Whiskers are built-in sensors that tell you the exact position of everything within several inches of your head, ears swerve to pick up sound, and the jacobson's organ provides a sense of smell so keen that I have an entire Clanmew expansion draft because I needed to make WORDS describing the power of this sense that humans do not have. I cannot stress enough how delicate their other senses are, felines do not rely on their sight like primates do

ThunderClan lives in a mixed-oak woodland, where sight is already often obscured by foliage, objects are close together (for whiskers to feel), and nearly every movement makes noise against the leaf litter. RiverClan and (moor-running) WindClan cats would have a harder time with this disability than Thunder or Shadow.

Cat sight SUCKS to begin with. It sucks BADDD. They don't have color vision, they're significantly nearsighted, and they can't track up-and-down movements well. WC doesn't write realistic cats (more like small fuzzy people really) and I also work with more humanesque eyesight, but the only thing Jay should really lose is an ability to rapidly track a small animal swerving fast. Blind cats are often still excellent hunters in spite of that!

So it's an extra big waste that they railroaded him into a position he didn't choose, saying he couldn't be a warrior. This is the perfect disability to write, if you want to explore how ableism can impact the characters in this society who ARE legitimately still capable of nearly full independence, but still need to find accommodations for what they can't do.

In the same arc they're doing the dumb Cinder Reincarnation Plotline, no less!! Where SHE is also feeling like she has no choice over her "destiny," and gets a conflict over a potentially disabling injury

"Oh nooo if cinderpaw breaks her leg she wont be a warrior!"

"What the f-- Im Jaypaw and im reporting live from the scene where a Category 1 Idiot Moment is taking place. Woman breaks leg, suddenly everyone believes she is a horse, more at 11."

One of these days I should really make "herb guides" just covering how various sensory disabilities impact the lives of Clan cats and some tips for writing them as warriors, especially between Clans. Stuff you wouldn't usually consider, like how much noise deaf cats tend to make, how RiverClan would get a ton of sinus infections and lose their sense of smell, being blind in Sky vs Thunder, etc.

[hyperfixatinator]

DPxDC Headcanon: the title "King of the Infinite Realms" is misleading

Sure, there are indeed an infinite amount of worlds and dimensions across the multiverse. However, the name "Infinite Realms" is actually referring to the space in between said realms. The malleable borders that act as cushions to prevent all these realities from constantly colliding with each other. If you compare the worlds themselves to bones, then the Infinite Realms would be the cartilage preventing friction whenever they move.

So if Danny ever became the king of the Infinite Realms, he wouldn't actually have authority over whatever goes on within said realms. After all, each world has their own set(s) of afterlives and deities already taking care of that. No, Danny would only be in charge of that squishy, ectoplasmic stretch of space that portals need to punch holes through in order to cross over.

[cute-girls-from-vns-anime-manga]

Noelle ❤️ by Skai_kun

[trancegnder]

designs 4 my combats