gas tin

French late WW1 Grenadier uniform

Line infantry uniform featuring the capote et pantalon Mle1914/15 greatcoat and pants cut from horizon blue wool, along with the standard webbing, pouches, M2 gas mask transit tin, haversack and of course the Mle1915 Adrian helmet. The accompanying Lebel rifle is fitted with a tromblon Vivien-Bessiere grenade launcher.
The number of grenadiers per company kept increasing from the initial eight soldiers from 1916 to the end of the war, and were used as indirect fire infantry support either from the trenches or during an assault. The device was usually fired with the rifle resting on the ground at a 60 degrees angle, but could be fired from the shoulder in a pinch.

Hannigram fic: Invictus

This is my @hannigramholidayexchange gift for @crossroadscastiel. It’s post-fall Hannigram on a boat. I hope you enjoy it! Happy everything!



Light crept under Will’s eyelids, soft and grey, like winter light used to in his house in Wolf Trap. For a moment he believed he was back there, until he opened his eyes and realised why his bed had seemed to sway and swell under him. The bed was in the cabin of a boat. 

A teakettle hung from a hook over a gas burner. Tin mugs hung next to it. Books, charts and canisters were trapped on a shelf behind a grimy length of elastic. Cheap plywood surfaces, decades old fittings: this boat had been someone’s project. His glance caught on a dog leash that was coiled on a hook. He took a breath and then another. He tasted brine and felt again the freezing thrust of water down his throat. Hannibal had been locked tight to him all the way down, twined around him. The impact had slapped the breath from his lungs. After that, there was nothing.

He thought for a moment and realised that nothing hurt very much. The wound on his cheek stung a little, and it had grown a neat row of stitches. He touched his shoulder and found the same. On the small shelf next to the bed was a syringe, several clear bottles of something, probably an opiate, and a bottle of codeine pills, half empty.

Steps thumped above him, and the bulkhead door creaked open. Hannibal came down the three narrow steps, one by one, slowly. A surge of relief raced through Will, a physical ache that filled his chest. “You’re alive,” he said.

“This isn’t Hell, or even Heaven, so you must be right,” said Hannibal.  

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"All I Want For Christmas is You" ft. Teridax, extended

I don’t want a lot for Christmas
There is just one thing I crave
I’ve lost all my satisfaction
In returning from the grave

I’ll just cook up one last scheme
And then I’ll have my every dream
Yes, brother, it’s true
All I want for Christmas
Is you

I don’t want a lot for Christmas
There’s just one thing I deserve
Really, it’s become so boring
Wearing down the Toa’s nerves

I don’t need to steal Kanohi
Or release an evil plague
Rahi hordes won’t make me happy
Quite like in the good old days

This old body’s just gas and tin
I should chuck it in the bin
Soon I’ll start anew
All I want for Christmas is you
You, Mata Nui

Oh I won’t ask for much this Christmas
Not even for shadowed skies
I’ll be too busy calculating
All the facets of my lies

I won’t unseal swarms of Bohrok
To lay bare the surface land
I won’t even summon Rahkshi
Or conjure a shadow hand

Cause I just want to claim your throne
The greatest power ever known
Nothing you can do
All I want for Christmas is you
You, Mata Nui

Oh, soon they’ll see my mask
Appear in every star
The wind will be my mocking
Laughter from afar

And everyone is crying
I hear the Toa dying
Nuva, won’t you go claim the destiny you need
Won’t you please give my power to me?

Oh I don’t want a lot for Christmas
This is all I’m counting on
Becoming the universe
And conquering the worlds beyond

Oh I just need to take your place
And launch you off into space
Make my wish come true
Brother, all I want for Christmas is you
You, Mata Nui

All I want for Christmas is you, Mata Nui
All I want for Christmas is you, Mata Nui
All I want for Christmas is you, Mata Nui
All I want for Christmas is you, Mata Nui