#old photo album

[thinkingimages]

A page of antique glassine - Spider's Web interleaving material 

[transcendence-time-capsule]

[ciaervo1]

Cover Girl

This is either my mother, or my uncle. They both had similar hair in the 70's.

[esprei]

Emmet month - Day 4: Memories

though Ingo may be gone, he'll never be forgotten

[lesbiandardevil]

panel redraw (og in more) of the minis...

what were they so young for </////3

[gothamnews]

OKAY HOLD UP-

Tim Stalked Batman and Robin for years! And has Hundreds of Pictures!

Do you guys think Tim got a picture of Batman chasing Jason down after he Stole the Tire???? 

I can just imagine it years later, Tim is looking through his old photo albums and comes across this photo oh just Jason stealing the Tire- 

He goes to show Jason-

Tim - “Hey Jay, I have something to show you”

Jason - “What? from your creepy stalker albums- IS THAT ME STEALING THE TIRE” 

Tim - “YUP, I EVEN GOT BRUCE PUTTING IT BACK ON”

Jason - “LMAOOO”

They went to show the rest of the fam after that.

[snuffysbox]

both of my BG3 characters are these tiny girls (one silly, one angry) while my actual, current tabletop DnD character is an old half-orc grandpa who's got a bad back and five grandkids whom he loves more than anything.

[bongo-clash]

This is a complete crack idea. However: dp/dc au where Danny is Alfred. He found out that he is 1) Immortal and 2) can shapeshift and he's just been randomising his customisation settings ever since. When he goes into butler work for the Waynes he decides to be as stereotypical as possible figuring it'll be really funny for the few years he works for them, and the bit is indeed Very Good- right up until their son gets orphaned. It's been 30 years and now the bit is just his life. 

[nowshesdoingitallthetime]

Happy 8th anniversary to I Like It When You Sleep, For You Are So Beautiful Yet So Unaware Of It!

[vintagemartinez]

one kiss was supposed to be so sweet… but I found grapefruit in your teeth @melaniemartinezmusic 🍼🍼🍼

[fayegonnaslay]

Henry Fonda teaching daughter Jane Fonda, less than two years old, how to swim, early 1939.

[httpiastri]

dear everyone,

a while ago, i hit 1.5k followers on this blog.... i didn't want to get too sappy but i really wanted to write something, so:

the fact that over one and a half thousand individuals follow me is truly insane and too much for my little brain to grasp. i want you to know that i'm so extremely thankful for each and every single one of you and this makes me so so so happy. this is way more than i ever had expected when creating this blog.

i made this account back in june purely for my own enjoyment; i created it mainly because i was disappointed in myself for having stopped writing, since writing has been such a big part of my life since forever. ever since i stopped writing about kpop, i had barely written anything at all... i made this account just for fun with no pressure and no expectations, and before i knew it, this blog turned into something so special for me. the blog, all of the people i've met through it and all of the moments we've shared, all mean the world to me.

honestly, i'm not sure what i would do right now if i didn't have this blog and this community. these last few months have been pretty rough for me, but i've always been able to come back on here and gain a smile or some laughter. you've all helped me so much, even if unintentionally – every single interaction helps me push forward. i'm eternally grateful for every single like, comment, reblog and ask i've received on here, and your kind words really do mean the world to me. i don't know where i would be without you.

i hit 1k a while ago but didn't celebrate it properly, so i decided to make an 1k/1.5k-celly that i will be releasing soon (when i have more time to actually write)(hopefully at the start of december). please stay tuned!

and once again, from the bottom of my heart, thank you all so so so much. you truly are the best. 🧡🧡

[foursaints]

what did you think of ttpd!! we gotta know

[aziraphalescoat]

The source of Crowley's ✨Vibes✨

I've been thinking and I'm not so sure anymore Crowley's walk and mannerism etc were entirely David Tennant's invention.

At this point I'm convinced he simply took notes.

[whollyjoly]

for some reason i can't explain i know saint peter won't call my name

nothing that lives, lives forever - an immortal soldier!alton more au

(1.1k of snippets from my old guard(ish) au where alton more is old, too old, and has been living and fighting far longer than anyone should. full description/other thoughts at the bottom. tw: blood, violence, mentions of death)

Alton clicked the lighter closed, running a thumb over the silver case. The night was warm, sticky in a way that he never could get used to. He sucked in a breath from the cheap cigarette, letting his head fall back against the rough side of the barracks.

It was quiet. Typically, there would be no end to the commotion coming from the small building, one of many that littered Camp Toccoa. The wall of sound was ever-present, no matter if it was shouting or laughing or snoring. But whatever the cause, there was always noise. 

No matter if it was a blanket of noise he knew well, unchanging except for the language and the scenery. Soldiers are soldiers, and some things are a constant. It could almost be comforting, if it didn’t also mean that the need for soldiers was a constant as well.

However, tonight was a Saturday, and it was one of the few weekends that Sobel had allowed Easy the use of their weekend passes. Almost every man in the company had jumped at the chance to get off base, to travel home if they could and spend time with loved ones. The ones with farther-flung hometowns had spirited off to Atlanta, happy to spend their time drinking and dancing and fucking instead of slogging through another run, three miles up, three miles down.

Normally, Alton would have joined them in their carousing - it was easier to pass the time with the effortless camaraderie built during a training camp than bored and alone. 

But today had been a bad day. The sound of swords and the shift of sand beneath his feet followed him out of his nightmares, the humid summer of Georgia morphing itself into the baking, dry heat of the desert. 

His shouts must have been real, because when a hand came to shake him out of his dream, the first face he saw was not that of a grouchy NCO, but of a blood-caked Saracen, eyes alight with righteous fury. 

Alton didn’t think. He had grabbed the knife from under his pillow, an old thing that had been sharpened more times than he could begin to count, and was on the man in less than a breath, pressing the blade into the side of his neck. The familiar thrum of blood beat against his fingertips, the grit of sand scratched his gums. He knew what he had to do, had done it a thousand times, a thousand thousand times, what was a little more bloodshed spilled across his feet-

Alton had blinked, and came to himself in a rush.

Instead of an unnamed Saracen, the ashen face of Johnny Martin stared up at him, eyes wide behind the knife.

Alton drew back his hand, retreating almost as quick as he had lunged earlier. He mumbled a quick curse and apology as he stepped out of arm’s reach from the man. It wasn’t until Martin’s eyes widened even farther that Alton realized his tongue was slipping out Arabic of all things.

Usually, Alton was better about remembering himself, who he was almost as important as where he was. But for whatever reason, his demons had decided to catch up with him that night.

After a quick smile and some quip about the Krauts in his dreams, he managed to wave an only-slightly-mollified Martin off. The shorter man apparently hadn’t forgotten it though, if his watchful eyes during chow that morning were anything to go by.

Alton was just glad that no one else was awake to see it, at least. That was the last thing he needed.

And so, instead of joining in on a weekend of broads and booze, Alton found himself waving away the invitation by an eager Smokey and bemused Alley. When the horde made their way out of the barracks, fantasizing in bawdy terms about their planned misadventures, he felt like he could breathe easy.

Fucking finally.

~~

Alton took another drag from the cigarette. He watched the smoke curl, up and up until it faded into nothing amongst the darkening sky.

The lighter was a welcome weight in his hand, grounding him to this time, this life.

The design was worn by now, details barely visible after a half century of worrying. It still managed to amaze him, sometimes, what people could do with the smallest of canvases. Alton didn’t feel the same wonder however, wasn’t as mesmerized by the beauty man could create as he once was.

But in the quiet moments, he could still appreciate the time some French craftsman took to transform a hunk of metal into a small token carried around by a dead man.

Luz had spied the lighter one weekend, and laughed at him for using something so old-fashioned. Alton just shrugged, not caring to admit that he was still getting used to having a light at his fingertips. It wasn’t all that long ago when he was still lighting a pipe with a flintlock pistol, and not so long before that when he would carry around a flint and steel.

Time was passing all the more quickly these days, technologies changing and advancing, and everyone was obsessed with needing things to be quicker, cheaper, simpler. Alton scoffed. He could hardly find it in him to care.

He glanced down at the lighter in his hand, shifting it back and forth in a practiced motion and watched as the light skittered across the sides. 

It had shown flowers, once. A veritable garden of carnations, daffodils, and lilies of the valley, with leaves spilling across the front panel onto the back. They represent good fortune, he was told. Good fortune, luck, and hope. 

When the merchant described it to him, eyes ablaze with a passion known only to those with wares to sell, Alton didn’t try to hide the snort that escaped his throat. 

Fortune and Luck had abandoned him long ago, and hadn’t returned since waking up in a battlefield abandoned by all but the dead, sword in his chest and blood in his mouth. 

And what the fuck was Alton supposed to do with hope?

It was the quote on the back that had caught his eye, all those years ago in a street market in Reims. The beveled edges had faded with time, the familiar letters Alton traced were more memory by now than any physical mark. Une vie honorable est une vie éternelle.

An honorable life is an eternal life.

Alton couldn’t help but stare at the message, both then and now. He hated that goddamn word. Immortal. Unending. Eternal. 

They were such flowery words, used by people who craved what they couldn’t have, what they shouldn’t. The romanticized idea of the everlasting, the fountain of youth, the gift of life! Alton was sick of it.

This wasn’t life. He was a fucking dead man walking. And he sure as hell didn’t do anything honorable to deserve it.

months ago, while thinking about the absolute insanity of the almost...cavalier? attitude we see alton more have over the course of the series, an idea hit my brain: what if there was a reason nothing seemed to phase him - not panzers, not being a breath away from a car wreck, not bastogne, not speirs? what if this wasn't his first war? that thought spiraled me into a minor insanity that is this: my immortal soldier!alton more au, loosely inspired by the movie the old guard (2020). the idea is that, once upon a time, there was a soldier in a land many centuries ago. one day, he died in battle. and then, he woke up. and then he died. and then he woke up. over, and over. drawn to countless battles, conflicts, and wars, each one etching itself into the core of his soul. a never-ending cycle...until one sweltering summer, where he found himself at a training camp at the foot of a mountain. anyways. at some point, i plan on writing this as a full story, but that is admittedly a long ways away. however, in celebration of alton more's birthday today, i wanted to post my favorite scene that i've written for this au! it's set sometime at the beginning of the story, in the early days of camp toccoa. mostly, it's just a character study of this version of alton more. hope you enjoyed! and of course - happy birthday alton more!

(song insp.)

taglist: @sweetxvanixlla @coco-bean-1218 @bucky32557038ww2 @georgieluz @samwinchesterslostshoe @xxluckystrike @next-autopsy @ronald-speirs @land-sh @ronsparky @panzershrike-pretz @theredrenard @kyellin

[artemispanthar]

From what I've been told, apparently Green Day's Warning (the album) is not that widely listened to or appreciated among fans and that just astounds me considering how present it was in my childhood. Like, what, you mean not everyone took a week-long road trip from San Bernardino, CA to Albuquerque, NM listening almost exclusively to Warning on loop the entire time when they were a teenager? Unfathomable!