plane building

The Reason I Don’t Do Cold Readings Anymore…

by reddit user Skarjo

I don’t do ‘Cold Readings’ anymore. I don’t tell fortunes. I don’t read tea leaves.

And I do not do contact ‘the other side’.

Look, don’t judge me alright? It was an easy gig. I mean, the first time I did it, it was a joke. I did it just to impress a girl. You’ve been there right? It was something I’d read about online and I thought I’d give it a go.

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When Donald Trump spoke at Boeing’s factory in North Charleston, South Carolina – unveiling Boeing’s new 787 “Dreamliner” – he congratulated Boeing for building the plane “right here in the great state of South Carolina.“

But that is pure fantasy.

Trump also used the occasion to tout his “America First” economics, stating “our goal as a nation must be to rely less on imports and more on products made here in the U.S.A.”

Trump seems utterly ignorant about global competition – and about what’s really holding back American workers.

Start with Boeing’s Dreamliner itself. It’s not “made in the U.S.A.” It is assembled in the USA. Most of the parts and almost a third of the cost of the entire plane come from overseas.

For example:

The center fuselage and horizontal stabilizers came from Italy.

The aircraft’s landing gears, doors, electrical power conversion system - from France.

The main cabin lighting came from Germany.

The cargo access doors from Sweden.

The lavatories, flight deck interiors, and galleys from Japan.

Many of the engines from the U.K.

The moveable trailing edge of the wings from Canada.

Notably, the foreign companies that made these parts don’t pay their workers low wages. In fact, when you add in the value of health and pension benefits, most of these foreign workers get a better deal than do Boeing’s workers.

These nations also provide most young people with excellent educations and technical training, as well as universally-available health care.

To pay for all this, these countries also impose higher tax rates on their corporations and wealthy individuals than does the United States. And their health, safety, environmental, and labor regulations are stricter.

Not incidentally, they have stronger unions.

So why is so much of Boeing’s Dreamliner coming from these high-wage, high-tax, high-cost places?

Because the parts made by workers in these countries are better, last longer, and are more reliable than parts made anywhere else.

There’s a critical lesson here.

The way to make the American workforce more competitive isn’t to build an economic wall around America.

It’s to invest more in the education and skills of Americans, in on-the-job training, in a healthcare system that reaches more of us. And to give workers a say in their companies through strong unions.

In other words, we get a first-class workforce by investing in the productive capacities of Americans  – and rewarding them with high wages.

Economic nationalism is no substitute for building the competitiveness of American workers.

Tokyo in the 1930s - Awesome picture of Tokyo in the 1930s, seen from the air from South to North with the Sumida river in the middle. After more than 10 years later than this photo was made, during WW2, more than 50% of these buildings were destroyed by air raids on Japan, and the population dwindled from 6,700,000 to less than 2,800,000 citizens. This picture was scanned with 600 dpi and further repaired/optimized with Adobe Photoshop.

show me a damn superhero dealing with ptsd

peter parker is fucken 15 years old and you’re telling me he faced imminent death, a plane crash, a literal building collapsing onto him – and there were no effects??

stop shying away from emotional depth and honesty damnit marvel i want some realness, i want some vulnerability and strength in ur characters that doesnt come from Man Pain and Grittiness

Gideon in a Nutshell

A Story of Silence

Hixus: “You look sad, boy.”

What Gideon is thinking: I could be because my father abandoned me before I was born. My mother died a few years after. I had to join a gang to survive. We stole from the rich and gave to the poor because my sense of justice didn’t feel comfortable simply stealing things. Then, I got arrested for trying to survive and for doing the right thing.

What Gideon says: “I didn’t sleep all too well last night. I’m fine.”

Later, when harpies and cyclopses attack the prison

Hixus: “Gideon, can I trust you to go grab your friends and help me fight off these attackers?”

What Gideon is thinking: About time I get to show the world my passion for justice! Of course I’ll come back. I never abandon the people who count on me.

What Gideon Says: “Sure.”

Later, on Bant

The Angels and Knights of Bant: “You seem disoriented. Are you unwell?”

What Gideon is thinking: My arrogance cost me the life of my closest friends. Immediately afterwards, I was thrown into an entirely new world. I’m lonely and afraid, mourning my friends, questioning my beliefs and ideals, adjusting to a new plane, and building a new life for myself. Of course I’m disoriented!

What Gideon Says: “Nah. Just a little lightheaded. It’ll pass.”

Later, on Diraden

Prince Velrav: “Are you afraid of what I have prepared for you, Planeswalker?”

What Gideon is thinking: I’ve fallen in love with a woman you’re forcing to marry you. I’m strapped to my death bed as you prepare to suck my blood in an attempt to take my Planeswalker spark. OF COURSE I’M AFRAID!

What Gideon Says: “I fear nothing.”

Later, on Regatha

Chandra: “Feeling guilty for handing me over to your stupid order of Heliud?”

What Gideon is thinking: My sense of duty and loyalty compelled me to quite possibly lead Chandra to her doom. Who am I? What do I really believe in?

What Gideon Says: “I hope you survive the Purifying Fire, Chandra.”

Later, on Zendikar

The Zendikari: “You look tired, Gideon. You okay?”

What Gideon is thinking: I’ve been taking on the Shatter Gang Brothers by myself AND the Eldrazi. I haven’t slept or had a full meal in days.

What Gideon Says: “I’m just a little tired.”

Later, after the Battle of Sea Gate

The Zendikari: “You look tense, Gideon. You alright?”

What Gideon is thinking: I’m in charge of an entire army fighting against the Eldrazi. Every single decision I make will be the difference between losing dozens of soldiers or hundreds of soldiers. No matter what choice I make, people will die. Try to understand the kind of pressure I’m under right now!

What Gideon Says: “I’m just excited for the upcoming battle.”

Later, on Innistrad

Jace: “You alright, Gideon? You look like you’ve got something on your mind.”

What Gideon is thinking: I let my arrogance cause the death of the last tight knit group of friends I was a part of. My self confidence and esteem are ground into dust. I have no one I can talk to about this without compromising the faith the members of the Gatewatch have in me.

What Gideon Says: “I’m getting myself mentally prepared for the fight.”

Later, on Ravnica

Nissa: “You look uncomfortable, Gideon.”

What Gideon is thinking: “I’m… not fighting? What am I supposed to do with my life without something to fight? I’m lost and confused. For once I have time to have some introspection and I’m terrified of what I’m seeing. There’s no battle to distract myself with! What. Is. Downtime!?!?

What Gideon Says: “I want to stretch out my muscles. Train with me?.”

Later, on Kaladesh

Ajani: “I sense that you are in distress, Gideon.”

What Gideon is thinking: I’m having trouble finding my purpose, the purpose of my team, right now. We’re fighting against the Consulate when we should be going after Tezzeret. I’m just questioning my ideals and life choices… again. I feel lost.

What Gideon Says: “I’m strategically analyzing our forces to optimize our movements.”


Chandra: “You look all sweaty, Gids.”

What Gideon is thinking: She’s talking to me! Oh gods! Okay. Okay. Just. Take it easy. Relax. Play it cool. Just be yourself. Oh, wow. She’s got beautiful eyes. She’s just so attractive. Stop it! Keep your mind clear. Just play it cool.

What Gideon Says: “Not used to this heat, is all.”

Later, on Amonkhet

Liliana: “What’s got you all bouncy and excited, beefslab?”

What Gideon is thinking: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! There. Are. Gods! Here! Gods that interact with the people even! I feel my existential crisis returning…

What Gideon Says: “Just admiring the architecture.”

anonymous asked:

Fun fact: The deadliest terrorist attack next to 9/11 was the Oklahoma City which was committed by right wing domestic terrorists.

It makes me sad that most people on this website are younger than OKC, too. I was about 5 years old when that happened and I remember it being on the news constantly.

The name Timothy McVeigh and the Unibomber were like THE faces of terrorism in larger culture when I was a kid, and then it was the abortion clinic bombers. Again, once it was brown people/foreigners commiting some of the acts, all the others sort of disappeared from the history books.

My G-d, there was a white guy that flew a plane into the IRS building in Austin in 2010 to protest taxes, at the height or the TEA Party movement and they weren’t labeled terrorists. There were even Facebook groups from these people claim him as a hero martyr (sound familiar?)

When it’s a White Guy they’re a “lone wolf”, when it’s a Muslim guy it’s proof that “Islam is Cancer” and that we should ban Muslims and Immigrants.

A Letter to Homeland Creators

Dear Mr. Gansa and Mr. Gordon,

As avid fans of Homeland since season 1, we would like to thank you for such an intriguing show and for giving us characters that we have enjoyed for so many years. So much were we consumed by the world you created that we started blogs and forums to discuss it with thousands of like-minded fans from around the world.

After the season 6 finale, however, we can’t help but feel devastated. The callous way in which Peter Quinn, a character we have come to love so dearly, was killed off has left us reeling with sadness.

That we’ve become so attached to a fictional person, of course, speaks volumes of the quality of writing and acting on Homeland. We were equally invested in the journey of Carrie Mathison, the protagonist. Her arc, we thought, was one of personal growth, with Quinn – a man with a strong moral compass – as her partner.

We were invested in Quinn because we were invested in Carrie. With Quinn gone, we’re not quite sure what Carrie’s journey will be, but if Quinn’s relentless suffering is any indication, we expect it will end badly. Forgive us, but we can’t invest eight years of our lives on rooting for a character whose suffering will never be rewarded. We invested five years on Quinn and the result was unabated heartbreak.

Real life hands us enough tragedy, we don’t need to seek it out in fiction. Times are bleak, as you well know, and we turn to artists for some hope, optimism, for a way to put into words and pictures the things we are feeling. We turn to stories for things to make sense and for good people to triumph ultimately over evil.

Homeland was bleak, but we willingly endured the bleakness awaiting a payoff. We got none. Quinn was a fighter and we expected him to overcome his demons and prevail. What we got this season was the exact opposite. He died full of self-loathing; that, we cannot forgive. With no reward for Quinn, the Dar reveal on the dock and Astrid’s tragic death feel entirely gratuitous, not to mention the two years of physical torment he suffered.

And what kind of a message have you sent to depressed and disabled veterans and stroke survivors around the world who saw themselves in Quinn? To victims of sexual abuse? That they’re better off dead? What an abominable message. The unceremonious manner in which Quinn was killed off, with no vicarious closure for the audience in the form of a ceremony or proper displays of grief from his friends, was just cruel.

We are sorry to say that we feel utterly betrayed and manipulated by the way you chose to portray Quinn’s journey over the past two seasons. The season 5 fake-death cliffhanger in retrospect feels like a cheap way to bait Quinn fans into sticking with the show for another season. So does the way you developed the Carrie/Quinn romance arc, which you yourself said was the emotional center of the season. Another story lopped off carelessly without resolution or payoff.

We also find Homeland’s message to be antifeminist. A woman with drive and determination destroys everyone in her path. A woman with a calling has to sacrifice her personal life. These are harmful stereotypes and we urge you to consider the special responsibility you bear by having a female protagonist.

Is your intended message one of utter hopelessness? The fight is futile and the bad guys will win? We are sorry, but nihilism is not the same as realism. Ambiguity is not the same as artistry. Your commitment to ambiguity now comes across as an inability or unwillingness to commit to your stories or characters; building the plane as you fly it, as a lack of vision and planning. Ambiguity has become your go-to excuse to avoid criticism: when “anything goes” is the name of the game, there is no accountability.

Finally, having no comment or statement from the showrunners following the death of a much-loved character like Peter Quinn has made things even worse. 

What the Homeland

The Lost Years

Title: The Lost Years

Characters: Reader, Sam, and Dean

Word Count: 2,000

Warning: So much fluff you may get a cavity

A/N: These boys deserve the world, and they deserve a childhood. If I was able to, this is what I would give them. Enjoy!

Doing a final check of the room, you jumped when the boys slammed the Bunker door.

“Y/N! What happened? Why can’t we get into the garage?”

“Give me a minute!” Walking into the library you were met with very unamused hunters, drenched from the rain. “Oh, didn’t realize it was going to rain today. Sorry!”

“What did you do to the garage?”

“Relax Dean, I just needed you guys out of there for a bit. I’ll grab you some towels, just stay here!”

Sam and Dean exchanged confused glances as you jogged down the hallway to the closet. The boys were shaking out their layers when you came back.

“Alright, dry off, and then we gotta start moving! Lots to do!”

“What? Y/N, we’re so tired. And-”

“Sam, I promise, this will be worth it. We have six events to hit!”

Dean groaned, dropping his towel on the map table as Sam finished drying his hair. Grabbing both of their hands you led them down the hallway to the first door.

“Alright, tonight, we reclaim some of the lost years of Winchester boys. Follow me.”

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Coming Home: A Steggy AU

Please send requests my way! My ask box is always open.


“Peg.” Even over the phone, Howard Stark’s voice teemed with excitement and urgency, slight desperation and much hope. “Peg, we’re so close. We may be able to actually do it!”

Peggy Carter leaned against the counter of her cramped apartment, pressing the phone closer to her cheek. It was the unusual seriousness of her friend that kept annoyance from creeping into her tone. “Do what, Howard?” She tried to elicit more details from him. “What’s going on?”

“…I can find him. I might be able to finally do it, Peg!”

“Find Steve?” Her words caught in her throat. She fiddled with the wire of the phone, her typical calm and confident attitude evaporating instantly, the old wound so easily reopened.

“Yeah, Peg, listen. I’ve been building a plane. It’s small, but it’s equipped with scopes, radar, all the works. I’ve done the math, and I think I know where his plane is.”

“But- he’s gone.” Tears creeped into her eyes, as she spoke, hating her own words, hating her sudden lack of composure.. “Steve is dead.”

“I- I know, Peg. But we can bring him home. Give him a funeral in Brooklyn. That’s what he would have wanted.” Howard sounded desperate and rueful, not at all like his normal boisterous self. “I owe him that. Let me give him that.”

“It was never your fault, Howard. He wouldn’t want you to feel guilty.”

“I need closure, Peg. Don’t you too?” He baited her.

The woman stood alone in her kitchen, her back against the counter. Peggy closed her eyes, thinking of the skinny boy from Brooklyn who would die fighting in the name of his home, knowing he would perish a world away from the place and people he had loved most.

And she knew her answer.


Soon enough, she found herself packed in flight tower with an flight crew, navigators, military officials. The air was tense accompanied only by silence, but occasionally, a few bursts of static would interrupt the stillness.

In all, the environment was unbearable. Peggy thought it odd that all the high ranking officials, who had previously faced a war, couldn’t even sum up the courage to make small talk with one another.

She despised the similarities between this place and the last flight tower she had been in, the one where she had listened to Steve talk as he steered the plane into the water. His voice had been calm enough, though she couldn’t deny the underlying tones of panic beneath the facade. He had talked until he died, the static replacing his sudden goodbye.

But now, the bursts of static meant something new. They gave a quiet sense of hope to the room full of the people closest to Captain America, reassuring them that their friend and comrade received a proper goodbye.

Finally, Howard’s voice emitted from the radio, interrupting the static. “I see something… it’s definitely not snow or ice… for a change…”

The tension in the room spiked, reaching a breaking point like a wire snapping. Excited whispers broke out, sending the room into a flurry. A group of military men congregated around the radio, but Peggy somehow found herself front and center, surrounded by everyone else. She deliberately ignored the awful parallels between her experience just over a month ago and this one as Howard talked.

“I’m landing now. There’s a flat enough sheet of ice in front of me. Everything is frozen for miles and miles, so it should hold.” His words reflected the mood of the flight tower’s; eager, yet still a little sad. Nobody spoke.

“The ice is holding. I’m pretty close, and it does look vaguely like a plane. I’m going to check it out.”

“Affirmative, Howard. Be careful.” The brunette managed, the emotion rising in her chest and making it hard to breathe.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, Peg. You know me.” Howard promised, and Peggy relaxed ever so slightly, trying not to imagine what he was about to discover.

The next ten minutes were agony. Her mind was overworking, thinking of every horrible possibility, worrying about Howard and unable to let any of it show, not in front of her superiors.

“Peggy, I need you to trust me, and I need you to listen to me, okay?” Howard returned abruptly, sounding desperate. Peggy’s heart pounded in her chest as she responded.

“Yes, Howard, I- what is it? What did you find?”

“I need you to leave. Go home, and I’ll call you after I get back.”

“No, absolutely not-”

“Peg, I wouldn’t ask-”

“I have every right to be here!” She half-shouted. The woman’s voice quieted after she took a deep breath, but she still spoke firmly. “I was closer to Steve than anyone else here, and I have every right to stay.”

“Just trust me on this. Peggy, please.”

“I can handle whatever it is you have to say!”

“Agent Carter,” Colonel Philips interrupted, “perhaps Mr. Stark is right.”

The veteran glared at the Colonel, a flush creeping into her cheeks, her outrage showing and betraying her. “I don’t believe this.”

“I’ll explain soon.” Howard tried to assure her, and Peggy was despicably satisfied to hear regret in his voice. She huffed, giving everyone in the room a murderous look before storming out.

They forced her to leave the tower, but Peggy refused to go home while the men were discussing Steve, or whatever it was Howard had to share. She sat on the ground outside, staring at the cement in front her, drawing her coat closer to her in an effort against the cold.


Fantasises, the good and the bad alike, had seized Peggy’s mind and dominated all of her thoughts, as her brain computed, with an uncontrollable frenzy, all the possible outcomes of the day and what Howard was hiding from her. Her paranoia was only fueled further when an ambulance drove up the side of the long runway, parking just a hundred feet away from where the plane would later land. The two doctors pulled a gurney out of their long car and stood by it, waiting for their patient to arrive. Peggy watched with a furrowed brow, wondering if something could possibly be wrong with Howard. There was no pain in his voice when they had talked (or argued, rather). And Steve shouldn’t need doctors, as Peggy had to painfully remind herself.

Another hour and a half passed slowly. Each minute brought a new wave of worry for Peggy. Her foot tapped impatiently, showing both her nerves and her meager attempt at resistance against the extreme cold. Eventually though, a rumble in the sky announced the arrival of Howard, his despicable secret, and, hopefully, the last of Captain America.

As the plane landed, Peggy rose to her feet, and the men from the tower began to spill out around her. She kept her eyes forward, defiantly ignoring her male counterparts. The eyes of Colonel Phillips were on her, she could feel it, but that made a negligible difference on her cold demeanor.

Howard exited the small plane without his usual grand entrance, foregoing that and rushing to the doctors, exchanging a few, hurried words with them before coming over to her. She watched the two men dash over to the plane, craning her neck around Howard’s approaching figure.

Forcing her features to correctly reflect her icy disposition as Peggy wrestled with sympathy for her friend, who looked freezing with his hands stuffed deep into his pockets and his head burrowed deep in his coat, and the anger at him, which had only grown in her hours of waiting. She gave her best glare, and Howard shrunk back, looking appropriately guilty.

“Peg-” He began apologetically.

“I don’t want to hear that you’re sorry, Howard, I want to know what’s going on.” She cut him off, drawing herself up to her full height.

“I can’t do that just yet.” The billionaire stole a quick glance back at the plane, where the doctors were moving a large covered object onto the gurney. Peggy too stared at the strange and questionable scene, her mind still racing.

“I’m not some lovesick bimbo, Howard, I can handle it.”

His face softened ever so slightly, and Peggy saw his usually unbreakable and ego-driven attitude begin to fail. “Please, Peg, just trust me…”

Her nostrils flared. “Do you trust me, then? Because you seem to think that I’ll turn into a whimpering child at the first mention of bad news, that I haven’t already fought in a war, that I haven’t already lost Steve, that I didn’t talk to him while he died-” she stopped herself abruptly, blinking tears out of her eyes, “You have no right to withhold any information from me, Howard. None at all.”

His shoulders sagged. “I have to stand by it, Peg.”

She could only stare at him for a moment more before turning away wordlessly, stalking towards the car, her heel clicking on the pavement. Howard watched her for a moment before something dawned on him.

“Hey-” he started after her, “I’m your ride home!”

She didn’t bother turning around, but called back to him; “I suppose it’ll be a long ride back, then.”


“You’re not trying to make a profit off of this, are you?” demanded Peggy suddenly, “using his blood to make money?”

Howard barely spared her a glance before turning his focus back to the road. “No. I would never.”

“Well, you never involve reasonable people in your mindless money-making schemes, so I had to be sure.” She replied scathingly.

“Peg, if I were making money off of Steve’s blood, you’d kill me when you found out. And there’s no point in makin’ money if you’re not alive to enjoy it.”

She still fumed silently. The man sighed loudly, speeding down the lonely road and desperately thinking of a way to bridge the gap between him and his companion. After a few minutes, he seemed to come to a decision. “I am going to fill you in now, Peg. I was always going to.”

Peggy waited for him to continue, still aloof enough that she remained turned away, but her posture straightened slightly, listening attentively.

“I did find him. I found Steve. But between the ice and the serum… he looked exactly the same.” Peggy was looking directly at him now, transfixed on his face.

An involuntary shudder rippled through her. “He still looks like…?”

“Looked like he was sleeping.” Howard confirmed, and for once, his words came with a gentle delivery. Their eyes met for only a second, Peggy’s shining with tears. “But here’s the real kicker- I found a pulse. Peg, he’s alive.”

A shaking hand covered her mouth, the tears now streaming down her face. “Steve…”

“I could feel his heart beating. The serum did a better job than we ever thought it would.

"I didn’t want to tell you until he was stable,” Howard continued, “you know, no giving you false hope. I wasn’t sure- I could barely believe it.”

“You should have told me.”

“Look at you,” Howard denounced, “I just didn’t want you to lose Steve twice.”

She glared at him through her tears, though her happiness remained clearly splayed across her face. “But he’s stable?”

Her dear friend nodded eagerly. “Yeah, and the doctors even say that he’s woken up a few times this morning.”

More tears of joy slipped down Peggy’s cheek, as she sighed contentedly, the weight of grief disappearing from her shoulders. Such good news felt surreal to her, like it was too good to be true. But there was Howard, smiling at her lightly, and telling her they were on the way to the hospital to see Steve, and they were so close, oh so close.

She sniffed, wiping the wetness from her cheeks. “Thank you, Howard.”


Holding the large, callused, yet limp hand in her own felt so strange to Peggy. She couldn’t help but think how lucky she was that they were both here, the war over and the two of them safe and alive, together. But it still didn’t feel quite real. How could the man she had spent 6 weeks mourning be right there in front of her?

When they had arrived at the hospital, Peggy had been prepared to argue and fight with every nurse that came her way to gain access to Steve, but Howard had just announced their names, grinned impishly at the right women, and then they were right outside his room. “I’ll wait,” Howard had told her, “he’s all yours.” Briefly, Peggy wondered if she could handle this alone, but then she had turned the knob, given Howard and anxious smile and ended up in the same room as Steve Rogers once again in her life.

Now, looking at his face was practically unbearable, despite this being a moment she had spent many nights dreaming about. He hadn’t said anything yet, as Howard had informed her, and Peggy remained unable to believe the miracle in front of her just yet. For now, it was only if a ghost were present, a prominent memory accompanied by the vague sense of hope.

Peggy jumped when Steve gave a long sigh in his sleep, turning his head ever-so-slightly towards her. This small movement distracted her from her focus on his hands, her gaze now shifting to his face. A surge of emotion was created within her, the most dangerous of feelings exploding in her chest. All of the pain, anger and sorrow she had carried with her resurfaced. The frustration at losing Steve extruded inside her, her grievance at how her was so stupidly brave, brave enough to sacrifice his life, how ridiculous it was that they never acted upon their feelings for each other, how she waited, and waited, and never said anything or did anything until it became too late, and he was gone, flying away in that godforsaken plane, until he was crashing into the ice, far, far away. There was the pain of losing him, of saying goodbye, of sitting in that awful tower, listening to his last words, then just radio static, the pain of going to his funeral, watching as they lowed the empty coffin into the ground, walking along the streets accompanied by his thousands of fans and mourners, and finally, the confusion and joy, the whiplash of finding out that he could be a hero again, not just a martyr.

Staring at his face and his peacefully closed eyelids, she waited, suddenly unwilling and unable to look away, her breathing slowing to match his as a sense of calm and acceptance slowly settled over her,

Time faded away, minutes passing rapidly as she watched him, patiently now, anticipating it, but not rushing it.

Then, her prayers were answered, her dreams and hopes becoming a reality as his eyes fluttered open, staring at the ceiling blankly, then, as if sensing her presence, turning his head to see her face. Peggy sat still, not daring to move, focusing on his eyes, which, in turn, gazed at her, filled with amazement.

Her breath let out in a deep sigh, a long-withheld smile spreading across her face, an action that the breathing, alive, awake, present boy from Brooklyn imitated with ease.

“Hello, Darling.” She whispered quietly yet proudly, eyes shining with rapture and love for the young man who had saved the world countless times with his heroics and leadership, who now saved her once more from any possible grief in that moment, who filled her with hope, and inspired her, and kept her going on every bad day, who clearly loved her so much, and who, finally, could squeeze her hand back while the two people grinned ecstatically at each other, filled with an indescribable and endless happiness.


“I’d hate to step on your toes.” Steve recalled suddenly, speaking the thought as it came to him.

“What?” Peggy demanded sharply, jolted from her reverie back to the present. Their eyes met, hers startled and wide, his soft and calm. There was a pause as they stared at each other, caught up in the moment.

“That’s the last thing I remember,” Steve explained, shifting from his position on the hospital bed and gazing at Peggy intently, “telling you that.”

She blinked, taken aback. “Yes- yes, I know. I remember too.”

“That was six weeks ago.” He sounded sure of himself, but nonetheless, he looked to her for confirmation.

Peggy nodded helpfully. “That’s right.” She said, swallowing the sting that came with the memory, and smiling at Steve gently.

“What did I miss? Full story.” He prompted, sitting up a little straighter, desperate to learn anything about the world. Most of what he knew now was warped and blended together in the flurry of chatter and the blabbering of the doctors and nurses attending to Steve. Between the several check-ups he had endured, the hour of questioning, and the large meal that had been forced down his throat, he had been able to gleam any real information.

“The war is over,” she told him , looking down at her hands, “we won. And I’ve attended more funerals than I care to count,” her voice caught, “including Bucky’s. Including yours.”

“I’m sorry.” He uttered instantly, the helplessness written across his face.

“Don’t be,” She said, her voice firm again, “both of you saved so many innocent lives. The funerals were a way for us to honor your sacrifices. We are forever indebted to you.”

“I wish I coulda’ been there for Buck’s…” Steve shook his head, grief palpable on his face.

“You were a bit preoccupied, Steve,” Peggy said gently, resting her hand on his knee, “he would have understood.”

“I know. I know,” he sighed, “I just wish…” He trailed off, putting his face in his hands.

A few minutes passed in silence, Peggy still next to him with her hand on his leg, a small and comforting gesture that left him enough space to grieve for a moment. Then his entire body tensed, and he looked up. “What happened to the Tesseract?” He demanded, his voice incisive, with urgent undertones replacing any previous sorrow.

“Howard amused himself by throwing it around until he was lost, then spent a large amount of time cutting through ice to drop it to the bottom of the ocean. It’s far away enough from the plane, which Howard left buried in eight feet of snow and ice. It’s gone.”

Steve slumped back onto his heap of pillows. “Thank God,” he breathed.

“Howard took your death quite hard. It was crucial to him that you didn’t die in vain.”

“I’ll have to thank him for that, won’t it?”

“He’s right outside, I believe, if he hasn’t been sidetracked by one of those nurses,” she informed him, smiling faintly.

“I owe him my life,” Steve said, “and he protected my sacrifice.” He laughed. “What a man.”

“Never underestimate Howard Stark,” Peggy agreed quietly.


“Visiting hours are now over,” the female nurse chirped, sticking her head through the doorway, blushing when Howard devilishly winked at her.

“Don’t worry, Steve,” Howard said offhandedly, standing up. “We’ll be back first thing tomorrow to pick you up. I was chatting with your doctors outside. You’re pretty healthy for a guy who’s been dead for a month and a half. They just want to keep you for a night then you’re free to go in the morning.”

“First thing?” Steve repeated, his eyes on Peggy.

“First thing,” Peggy nodded.

“Don’t you dare be late.” He said seriously, despite his eyes were alight with humor.

Peggy rolled her eyes, bending down to kiss Steve passionately on the lips, giving in to the long-withstanding urge and making her feelings clearly known to them all. “You really shouldn’t doubt me, Steve.” She murmured, still close to his face. Then, while Steve sat there, stunned, she turned in her heel and stalked out of the room, her chin held high.


“I hope I’m not too late,” Steve muttered to Peggy, his lips almost brushing against her forehead, as they swayed together to the soft tunes of music. The atmosphere in the room was slow and lethargic so late at night, even at the usually bouncing and upbeat Stork Club. The two remained some of the last on the dance floor in the gradually emptying club. They stood out, the tall, extremely muscled man in a nice-looking tux, with his arms around the striking English woman, adorned in a stunning red gown that swept the floor as she moved.

“Only by a year,” she whispered back, but with no malice in her words, “but better now than any later.”

“Good,” Steve smiled, bending down ever-so-slightly to kiss his partner. “Keep your eyes closed,” he instructed her gently when their lips had parted.

“Why?” She breathed, suspicion shooting through her instantly, although she obeyed his wish, feeling him step away from her. Her breathing accelerating as suspense consumed her, her lips twitching up into an inpatient smirk when he simply answered;

“Because.” Then, a moment later: “Open.”

“Please?” She teased.

“Please.” He replied, and Peggy could hear the amusement in his tone.

So she opened her eyes, and saw the one and only Steve Rogers kneeled on the floor in front of her, holding a beautiful silver ring in his hands.

“Peggy,” he began, love in his eyes, and his voice absolutely teeming with it, “my best girl.” Emotion made his voice crack. “You are my right partner.” Nervously, he smiled. “Marry me?”

An helpless, stupidly lovesick grin answered him first. She extended her hand, pulling him up and drawing him close, so that their noses almost touched. “Yes, darling. Of course I will.” She breathed, staring deep into his eyes just a moment before kissing him deeply, the two intertwined on the center of the dance floor, the heroes forgetting all the troubles in the world, and everything else in it, their moment forever cherished in their time.


Building their lives together proved no easy task, two independent people suddenly learning the meaning of codependence, something only made harder by Peggy’s demanding and dangerous job with the SSR, and Steve’s equally trying work and fame as a resurrected war hero.

But still, as the years passed, the two changed and grew together, their bond strengthening with the challenges of the various missions and adventures that came their way. Domestic life and quiet moments were treasured, but the days filled with excitement and adrenaline were always looked forward to. But whatever came their way could be dealt with, so long as the two had each other by their side.

Friends followed a similar path, bringing the couple great joy when Howard announced his engagement (they couldn’t help but to be smug about that), and under a year later, was married.

All seemed well until an innocent-seeming thank-you card arrived in the mail, a lovely thing handwritten by Maria herself (Howard had only cared enough to sign it, Peggy reasonably supposed). Inside the envelope, however, was a picture of Steve and Peggy, taken at the wedding. Steve’s arms were wrapped around her, and he gazed down at her lovingly, though her own focus was caught by something off to the side.

A soft smile graced Peggy’s face as she stared at the photo, studying it and recalling the night. Then, rather abruptly, a realization hit her, and she strode out of the hall and into their living room, snatching a framed photo off the mantle and holding the two side by side, as to compare them.

Peggy stood next to Steve, smiling widely and adorned in a beautiful lace dress, Steve in his military uniform. The day they got married, years ago.

The time showed on her face, now. She could see it in the new photo, a smile line here and there, even how she carried herself, weighed down by so many troubles of the world. She had changed.

But not Steve.

No aging showed on his face, his eyes remained untouched by time, his features preserved perfectly. He wouldn’t change, medically couldn’t grow older, even while she would, while their potential children would. He’d be frozen in time, and she would be lost to it.

“Peg?” A voice behind her asked gently.

“You haven’t changed. At all.” She said strangely, turning to face him. This bothered her, clearly, but she couldn’t pinpoint exactly why. Did she mind getting older? Well, perhaps a little bit, but it certainly wasn’t something to make a fuss over. “Not since the serum, I don’t think.”

“Peggy- I-” He made his way across the room to her, setting down the photos and taking her hands in his. He took a deep breath, playing with her fingers for a moment as he thought, running a finger over her wedding band. “I don’t care how you look, or even how I look.” A small smile crossed his face, tinged with sadness. “So long as we’re together.” Leaning down, he kissed the side of her face. “Is that okay with you?”

Absentmindedly, she nodded, still disturbed but willing to wait for whatever the future held.


“She was shot six times,” the doctor explained patiently, “twice in her right arm, once by her sternum, above her heart, and twice again in her stomach. She’s lost a lot of blood, and we believe there may be damage to her heart and arteries.”

The middle-aged man delivered this news simply, calmly, as if he were sharing the day’s weather or a boring bit of news. As if it didn’t matter. As if it weren’t a potential death sentence for Steve’s wife.

“So what do we do next?” Steve asked, his arms crossed and disposition strong even while his voice was meek, made timid by the destroying news. Next to him, Howard rubbed his forehead, making a small noise, perhaps one of grief.

Now, the doctor hesitated. “Surgery is a very risky option. Her heart is weak, it would very likely give out during any operation. There’s not much we can do.”

“And without surgery?”

“Her chances aren’t good either way. I’m sorry, Mr. Rogers. We can make her comfortable, but her heart will likely fail in a couple of days.” The man ran his fingers through greying hair. “If there’s anything I can do for you, please, let me know.” With that, he exited the room, leaving the two men to face the horrible reality.

“Damn it!” Howard burst, springing up from the worn hospital chair. “This isn’t right,” he seethed, beginning to pace, “I’m sorry, Steve.” He said to his friend, who had buried his face into his hands. “I’m sorry, it was supposed to be a simple job, just a coupla’ thugs with some bad ideas.” He closed his eyes, running his fingers through his hair. “‘cept there were more than a couple… she shouldna’ been alone.”

Steve too, closed his eyes, bowing his head, searching for something to say, anything to reassure Howard, or maybe himself.

But nothing could do that.

He stood up, and walked out.


Her eyes opened slowly, meeting his. “Steve,” she murmured, just barely managing a smile. He reached out, taking her hand and grasping it firmly. “What’s happened?” She asked, wincing as she did so, for even the smallest movement pained her. Moving his chair closer, Steve prepared himself to deliver the awful news.

Pain showed clearly in both of their eyes, physical agony in Peggy’s and an emotional hell erupting in Steve’s, but still he carefully chose his words and began to speak.

“Too many thugs,” he said, trying for a smile, but any expression of joy on his face felt entirely too foreign, and any cheer quickly slid from his face, “or at least that’s what Howard said.”

“So I recall. Those bastards,” she mused, “there are five wounds, I believe?”

“Six,” Steve corrected her gently, and on that word, his voice broke, turning away from his wife, unable to meet her eyes, to face Peggy and her suddenly inevitable fate.

“Steve?” She asked, concern immediately lacing both her tone and features. “What is it?”

“There’s nothing they can do,” he delivered the news bluntly, hating his words but unable to sugarcoat them, “your heart is too weak.”

“I’m going to die?” She inhaled sharply, looking away from Steve. He nodded, squeezing her hand, Peggy’s presence the only thing that could possibly comfort him. The despair and heavy weight began to set in as they sat in silence for several long, torturous moments.

Finally, she turned to him, a smile cracking through her tears. “I do love you.”

“Love you too.” He whispered back.


“Hey!” Howard’s loud voice disturbed the quiet peace of the room, “Uh- sorry,” he focused on something out the window, incapable of eye contact with either of his friends, standing in the doorway awkwardly as he talked. “Steve, listen, I have an idea I need to discuss with you-”

“I’m a little busy right now if you don’t mind.” The captain cut in coolly, not even moving from his chair next to Peggy, or bothering to spare him a glance. Howard shrunk back slightly, but yet he persisted.

“I know, but I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important, would I?”

Steve glowered, his brow pinching together, until Peggy squeezed his hand. “You can leave my side, Steve. I’ll be quite alright.”

He looked between her and Howard before making his decision and standing, joining the genius outside, closing the door with a click.

“So I’ve been thinking- you’ve been shot, right?”


“I’ve got it!” Howard half shouted, sprinting into the room.

Lying helplessly in bed, the dying woman stirred feebly. Sitting in a chair next to her was Steve, who eyed Howard with something like hope beginning to shimmer in his eyes, wondering if their plan had worked.

“An injection,” he continued, “this could save you, Peg!” he told her as she woke fully, gazing dimly at Howard in her dying haze, still clutching Steve’s hand, though her grip was now weak and failing.

“What have you done now?” she uttered faintly.

“A serum replication.” The inventor and scientist said excitedly, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he entered the room, striding in and standing at the foot of her bed. “I’m going to save your life.”

“And you’re sure this’ll work?” Her husband asked, the sanguine energy spreading to him too, though he didn’t dare to attach fully to this hope.

“95% sure. And the doctors are on board too, so we can start as soon as they all arrive.”

“What the bloody hell is going on?” Even in her deteriorating state, the agent commanded their respect and attention in an instant, the two boys twisting around to look at her, suddenly like children caught by their mother doing something naughty.

“Howard used my blood to recreate the serum-” Steve explained calmly, as if this weren’t an illegal crime.

“An improved one, mind you- suited to your femaleness-”

“Project Insight is closed.” Peggy’s voice was disapproving, even with the weakness behind it.

“Well, they can arrest me once it works.” Howard moved closer to her, “Are you ready?”

“We are.” Peggy’s doctor said, leading a group of doctors into the room.

“Is this really rational?” The patient demanded, angrily looking at the men congregated around her.

“Peggy, you’re dying,” Steve said determinedly, “this is the only way.”

“This my life!” She protested, “and none of you even told me-”

“We didn’t want to get your hopes up-”

“You’re going to die without it, Peggy.” Howard reminded her, frowning down at her. “Are you going to die fighting, or just give up?”

Raising her chin, she noticed Steve beside her, his eyes glistening with tears, desperation still clear on his face, though he seemed to be trying to hide it. “Well, if that’s a challenge- to die fighting, that is- then I accept. But if I die-” she spoke to Steve now, “then you move on.” He shook his head, against her words already, “if,” she pressed on, “you get back up, and you keep fighting, you understand? Will you do?”

Tears sliding down his face, Steve leaned over her and kissed her, lingering and soft. “Don’t just mope around,” she instructed him when their lips parted, “you’re more than that.”

“I love you.”

She smiled at him, one last time. Then to Howard, she said:

“Do it.”

So he injected the serum.

Immediately, the effects of the inoculation took place. Her body twitched and seized. A horrible, moaning scream penetrated the room. Steve watched, horrified but unable to look away as his wife convulsed on the bed.

Almost a full minute passed before the fit ended, leaving her body with a sigh of air. Peggy Carter slumped back against the pillows, completely limp as all fight left her.


“We are gathered here today to celebrate the life and accomplishments of Peggy Carter, a remarkable woman who dedicated her life to justice and fighting for what’s right, even when that fight proved not to be easy.

"Even before she became the first female super soldier, Peggy proved she could hold her own, both in the war and after it. It is because of her perseverance and bravery, no matter the circumstances, that we honor her tonight.”

Grinning ear to ear, Steve looked at Peggy sitting next to him. She smiled back, leaning into his shoulder.

“At what point tonight do we dance?” She whispered in his ear.

“Anytime you like,” He promised, and this date, he would keep.

Klaine fic - “All the Beautiful Pieces” (Rated NC17)

Blaine Anderson is spending the summer after graduation flipping houses with his brother for Cooper’s total home renovation show. The show features the worst houses Cooper can buy, with Blaine playing the role of lackey so that Cooper can torture him in front of his viewers. The last house Blaine has to renovate is an original Victorian House in San Diego, CA, which is in terrible condition. But this house turns out to be more than just another job. It was once owned by a famous Vaudeville ventriloquist by the name of Andrew Smythe. It houses a very interesting collection of items - among them, two life-sized puppets. Blaine isn’t sure exactly why, but he’s drawn to them - especially to the one with the beautiful blue eyes. He convinces Cooper to give him the puppets, and Blaine starts to restore them. In the course of the restoration, Blaine finds out that neither puppet is simply a run-of-the-mill puppet, and Andrew Smythe was hiding a secret that will be the key to saving two lives.

Okay, so, as many of you people know, this was my Reverse Bang story from way too long ago. I had it completed, but as I was uploading it, my computer crashed and obliterated this plus a ton of my other stories, which I have been writing back from memory these many years. I had this one almost down except for the last three chapters, which have been lost in the void of my brain. So, what I’ve done is start over from the beginning. I haven’t been changing the story, just freshening the language, and then I will add those last three chapters. But I’m posting it here one chapter per week so those of you who would like to can get reacquainted with the story. Of course, you could jump ahead to AO3, and cheat, re-read all 17 original chapters at once, but you’ll still have to wait for the ending, and only chapters 1-7 have been redone. Anyway, this story wouldn’t even exist without @freakingpotter who is an amazing artist and an even more amazing friend <3 Give her lots of love <333

(Warning for character death that happens in the past, hoarding, and anxiety.)

Chapter 1 (6515 words)

Blaine stares out the windshield of his rented Honda Odyssey, his jaw dropping open, stunned out of his senses at the sight of the disastrous house in front of him. His hands grip the steering wheel for support. His knees knock together, completely out of his control. A low, pitiful whining noise rattles around in the back of his throat. The house to his right, nestled incongruously behind a manicured lawn, carefully pruned rose bushes, and a well-established Mulberry tree, is so incredibly awful that he can’t stop looking at it. It’s like a horrendous traffic accident – lots of blood and twisted metal, but try as you might, you can’t make yourself look away.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

do you think you could explain how the planes work, or possibly point me in the direction that could help me understand them better? what i understand is that there are 13 planes of existence- so what i'm not understanding is how the crew visits 99 different planes in the stolen century. i'm sure i'm just misunderstanding griffin's explanation, but i'm just not sure.

Oh yeah sure! I can do that!

So what you need to know first is that there are only 12 planes, not 13; that 13th one is the Hunger, and that’s not supposed to be there!

Second, there’s a sort of tier thing going on, with there being an outer ring, an inner ring, and then the material plane in the center!

6 planes on the outer ring: The elemental planes (Fire, Water, Earth, Air), the plane of light and the plane of shadow. These planes are the building blocks, and are basically were everything that makes the material plane is.

5 planes on the inner ring: Plane of Magic, the Ethereal Plane, the Astral Plane, the Celestial Plane, and the Plane of Thought. This is where the more intricate things are, like where the dead go and where magic comes from.

And then the Material Plane is in the center. That’s where people live.

Here, I whipped up a small visual guide.

I actually included the few confirmed colours of the gems that connected to each of the planes. The others haven’t been confirmed yet. Also, the ordering is hypothetical. But I tried to give you a visual aid.

As for the IPRE on the Starblaster being able to visit those other worlds, well, that’s what the Starblaster was made to do!

Griffin: Cap’n’port is speaking up on the podium now and he’s addressing some of the question from the audience, and uh, he explains that the mission’s gonna last two months, during which the seven of you will embark on a mission that will take you off this world and into the outer reaches of the planar system, hoping to kind of see what lies beyond it.

And you’ll be able to do so thanks to this ship, that, thanks to this force, this light of creation you— the— the Institute was able to put together.

The Starblaster was meant to take them out of their planar system, and off to whatever is beyond there… which just happens to be the multiverse.

Writing Research - World War Two

World War II (WWII or WW2), also known as the Second World War, was a global war. It is generally considered to have lasted from 1939 to 1945, although some conflicts in Asia that are commonly viewed as becoming part of the world war had begun earlier than 1939. It involved the vast majority of the world’s nations —including all of the great powers —eventually forming two opposing military alliances: the Allies and the Axis.

It was the most widespread war in history, with more than 100 million people, from more than 30 different countries. In a state of “total war”, the major participants threw their entire economic, industrial, and scientific capabilities behind the war effort, erasing the distinction between civilian and military resources. Marked by mass deaths of civilians, including the Holocaust and the first use of nuclear weapons in combat, it resulted in an estimated 50 million to 85 million fatalities. These made World War II the deadliest conflict in human history. [1]


  • Social Security - Top Names of the 1940s
  • British Baby Names - Top 100 Names in England and Wales in 1944
  • Essential Baby - Top 100 Australian Baby Names in 1940
  • Baby Med - Top German Baby Names in 1940s
  • - Japanese Baby Names for 1915 - 2000
  • Popular Japanese Names in 1945 - 1949 (In Japanese - Use Google Translator)

Society & Life

  • Wikipedia - Conscription in the United States: World War II
  • - United States Imposes the Draft
  • The National WWII Museum - The Draft and WWII
  • Swarthmore College - Military Classifications For Draftees
  • The Art of Manliness - World War II Fitness Test
  • World War Two Gyrene - Recruit Training in World War II
  • The New York Times - The Old Army, It Turns Out, Was the Fitter One
  • National Park Service - The War Relocation Camp of World War II
  • - The U.S. Home Front During World War II
  • History Learning Site - Britain’s Home Front in World War Two
  • Wikipedia - Japan’s Home Front During World War II 
  • Wikipedia - Germany’s Home Front During World War II
  • Canadian War Museum - Life on the Homefront
  • Canadian War Museum - Women and the War on the Home Front
  • Reddit: Ask Historians - How was it that Sweden managed to stay neutral during WW2?
  • Reddit: Ask Historians - What was going on in Ireland during World War II?
  • Canadian War Museum - Canada and the Second World War
  • Mount Allison University - Canada’s Role in WWII
  • Wessels Living history Farm - The Home Front in Rural America During World War II
  • Living Family History - Living in the 1940s (Australia)
  • BBC - WW2 People’s War: My Memories of My Childhood in South London
  • BBC - WW2 People’s War: Growing Up in London 1939-45
  • Time Witness - Memories Project: Stories from the 1940’s
  • BBC - The Blitz
  • - Worst air raid on London
  • EyeWitness to History - The London Blitz, 1940
  • LIFE Magazine - World War II: London in Color (Photos)
  • Local Histories - Life in Britain in The Second World War
  • Telegraph - WW2: Former Evacuees Look Back
  • British Council - A 1940s Childhood in Wartime
  • The Wartime Memories Project - Evacuees
  • My Learning - Children’s Experience during WWII
  • Imperial Wartime Museum - Children During the Second World War
  • Reddit: Ask Historians - It’s 1940, a lovely day in England and I want to write to my German cousin. Was that possible? What was international communication between the civilian populace of warring WWII powers like?
  • The New Yorker - The New Yorker in the Forties
  • The Atlantic - World War II: The Battle of Britain
  • The Guardian - Children of the Wartime Evacuation
  • NY Daily News - 1940 New York census records are now searchable by name
  • New York Historical Society - WWII & NYC
  • - World War II In Brooklyn: Places to Visit
  • New York Historical Society - New York during WWII (Photos)
  • Wikipedia - History of New York City, 1946-77
  • Business Insider - Take A Tour Of Manhattan In The 1940s (Photos)
  • Madison Magazine - Ida’s Wyman’s Photography Documents Life in the 1940s and ‘50s
  • Growing up in Inwood, New York City in the 1940’s and 1950’s
  • Reminisce Magazine - Brooklyn Stoop Served as Sisters’ Stage
  • NY Times - Working-Class New York Life and Labor Since World War II
  • Wessels Living History Farm - Rural Life in the 1940s
  • Historic Color Photos of U.S. Life in the 1940s (Photos)
  • Wessels Living History Farm - WWII Causes a Revolution in Farming
  • Partners in Winning the War: American Women in World War II
  • World War II: Women and the War
  • Building Bombs & Planes
  • Women in World War Two
  • Wikipedia - Canadian Women in the Second World War
  • Canadian War Museum - The Canadian Women’s Army Corps, 1941 - 1946
  • - Canadian Women in World War II
  • Veterans Affairs Canada - The Second World War: Canadian War Brides
  • Global News - Looking back at the role women from western Canada played in World War II
  • Canadian Red Cross - History of Women in the Red Cross
  • Women Under Fire in World War Two
  • How did women fulfill their romantic/sexual needs during WWI/II?
  • Women at War
  • Life During World War II
  • Everyday Life During World War II
  • World War 2 - Growing Up in Wartime
  • Wartime Homes
  • World War 2 - Blackout Time
  • What was it like for children?
  • The Huffington Post - Memories Of 1940s Childhood
  • The Life of a Teenage Before and After World War II (PDF)
  • School and War Work
  • I’m a 13-15 year old in 1939 USA. What is youth culture like during this time?
  • A Black Nurse, a German Soldier and an Unlikely WWII Romance
  • What was it like to be in the Forces?
  • World War II - A Soldier’s Daily Life
  • My Army Service in World War II
  • WWII: A Soldier’s View
  • Loose Lips Sink Ships
  • Eye Witness To World War Two
  • World War II First Person Accounts, Letters Home, Diaries, & Journals
  • Pictures of African Americans During World War II (Photos)
  • Daily Life of the Average African American in the 1940’s
  • Veterans Affairs Canada - Second World War: Black Canadians In Uniform
  • The Memory Project - Black Canadian Veterans of the Second World War
  • University of Washington - Japanese Canadians During World War II
  • Vancouver Public Library - Chinese-Canadians in World War II (1939-1945)
  • Canada at War - Video & Footage: World War II
  • Canadian War Museum - Canadian Newspapers and the Second World War
  • Veterans Affairs Canada - Second World War: Diaries, Letters, And Stories
  • Library and Archives Canada - Canada and the First World War: War Diaries
  • Veterans Affairs Canada - Second World War: My Grandmother’s Wartime Diary
  • The Canadian Letters and Images Project - WWII
  • McGill University Library Digital Collections - Canadian War Posters Collection
  • World War II Military (Photos)
  • World War II Records
  • World War 2: A Day in the Life of a German Soldier
  • The Life During World War II
  • Nazi Germany
  • The Role of Women in Nazi Germany
  • Diary of Second World War German Teenager
  • Germany During World War II: A Child’s Experience (PDF)
  • Reminiscences of a German World War II Veteran
  • What kind of physical training would a German soldier in WWII have to do?
  • Jewish Life in Europe Before the Holocaust
  • The National WWII Museum - WWII and Holocaust Bibliography
  • Blacks During the Holocaust
  • Conditions for Polish Jews During WWII
  • Understanding the Treatment of Jews during World War II
  • There’s a lot of close-to-combat photographs from WWII, but I don’t often hear much about the photographers. Were WWII war photographers armed? Were they subject to neutrality/immunity/respect? Were they deployed with soldiers as part of the army?
  • World War II Weapons
  • List of World War II Weapons
  • Canada at War - WWII: Weapons & Arms
  • Small Arms Pt. II - The World War Two Era
  • Technology During World War II
  • WWII Military Ranks
  • WWII Japanese Soldier Diary
  • World War II Japanese Military Training
  • Canadian War Museum - The Second World War: Information, Propaganda, Censorship and the Newspapers
  • When was the last shot of World War 2 fired?
  • Post-War American Life: Culture of the late 1940s & 1950s
  • Library of Congress - Postwar United States, 1945 - 1968
  • American History: Life in the US After World War Two
  • Student Pulse - America in the Post War Period
  • PBS - Women and Work After World War II
  • PBS - New York After WWII
  • BBC - Life in Britain after WW2 (Video)
  • The Atlantic - World War II: After the War
  • Digital History - Overview of the Post-War Era
  • Mount Holyoke College - Background of Post-WWII German History
  • Youtube - Germany After WW2 | A Defeated People | Documentary on Germany in the Immediate Aftermath of WW2 (Video)
  • Der Spiegel Magazine - Out of the Ashes: A New Look at German’s Postwar Reconstruction


  • The Cost of Living in 1940
  • Prices and Wages in 1930 - 1939
  • The People History - Food, Groceries and Toiletries in the 1930s: Prices
  • The People History - Clothes in the 1930s: Prices
  • Library at University of Missouri - 1940-1949 Prices and Wages
  • The People History - Food, Groceries and Toiletries in the 1940s Prices
  • The People History - Clothes in the 1940s Prices
  • Datafiles of Historical Prices and Wages
  • Curbed NY - What Would $50 In 1940 Rent A New Yorker Today?

Entertainment & Food

  • What did people eat in the Second World War?
  • Why was food rationed?
  • Rationing
  • World Ward II - Food and Shopping
  • Food on the Front Home
  • Wartime Recipes
  • What Did Children Eat During World War 2? (PDF)
  • World War Two Recipes
  • History Cookbook - World War 2 Recipes
  • The 1940’s Experiment: 100+ Wartime Recipes
  • Retro-Housewife: In the 1940s Kitchen: 1940s Recipes
  • A 1940s Menu: Food in the 1940s
  • Food Timeline: 1936 to 1940
  • Vintage Food Advertisement of the 1940s
  • World War II: Rest and Relaxation (Photos)
  • Chocolate! The Wars Secret Weapon - America in WWII Magazine
  • Chocolate - Energizing Soldiers 
  • U.S. Coffee Rationing
  • The American Scholar: Rum and Coca-Cola
  • Wartime Canada - Food on the Home Front during the Second World War
  • Alberta Online Encyclopedia - World War II: Homefront in Alberta: Rationing
  • Wartime Canada - Recipe Ideas from BC Electric
  • Pop Culture Goes to War in the 1940s
  • WWII Guide: Wartime Hollywood
  • Rationing and Scrap Drives in Rural America
  • Baseball and World War II
  • Baseball Goes To War: The National Pastime in World War II
  • Entertainment in Britain During WWII 
  • Entertainment Industry During World War II
  • World War II on the Radio
  • Wartime Entertainment WWII
  • Wartime Entertainment
  • Canadian War Museum - Art and War: Australia, Britain and Canada in the Second World War
  • The Forties and the Music of World War II
  • World War II Songs
  • Music 1940 - 1949
  • List of Billboard Number-One Singles of the 1940s
  • American Music During World War II
  • Role of Music in World War II
  • Entertainment in 1940 - 1949
  • Food Rations in the Japanese Forces
  • Makeshift Cooking, German Army, WW2
  • Radio in Nazi Germany
  • Newspapers in Nazi Germany
  • Films in Nazi Germany
  • Art in Nazi Germany

Hygiene, Health & Medicine

  • Medicine and World War II
  • Social Security - Life Expectancy from 1930s+
  • WWII Disease Table
  • History of WWII Medicine
  • The Use of Atabrine to Fight Malaria During World War II
  • The Use of Plasma During World War II
  • The Use of Morphine as a Pain Killer During World War II
  • Nursing and Medicine During World War II
  • The Army Nurse Corps in World War II
  • Equipment of a WWII Combat Medic
  • Personal Accounts of WWII Medics
  • WWII African American Combat Medics
  • Penicillin: Medicine’s Wartime Wonder Drug
  • Medicine in Germany, 1918 - 1945
  • World War II Exposures 
  • Controlling Disease during World War II, 1939 - 1944
  • Health on the Home Front - Health Care and World War II
  • WAR & Military Mental Health
  • Mentally Ill and Jewish in World War II
  • U.S. Veterans Affairs Lobotomized Soldiers After World War II
  • Lobotomy For World War II Veterans: Psychiatric Care by U.S. Government


  • 1930-45 in Fashion
  • Clothing, 1930-45
  • Rationing Fashion in the United States
  • Fashion in the 1940s
  • 1940s Make-Up Guide
  • 1940’s Beauty Secrets
  • 1940s Fashion: The Decade Captured in 40 Incredible Pictures (Photos)
  • 1940s Rationing - Utility Clothing Fashion and Costume History
  • Women’s Clothing in 1940s
  • Fashion in 1940 - 1949
  • Fashion in the 1940s: Clothing Styles, Trends, Pictures & History
  • Fashion in the 1940s - Prices & Examples
  • What did they wear? Gas masks for all
  • What is Utility Wear?
  • The Front Line of British WWII Fashion
  • World War II and Fashion: The Birth of the New Look (PDF)
  • The impact of World War II on women’s fashion in the United States and Britain (PDF)
  • The History of Fashion WWI to WWII
  • Women’s Shoes in 1940s
  • Authentic WWII Era Hairstyle & How To
  • United States Army Uniforms in World War II
  • World War II German Uniform
  • List of World War II Uniforms and Clothing
  • Nazi Style
  • - Fashion in Post-War Paris


  • WWII US Naval Dictionary
  • Glossary of German Military Terms
  • Military Slang: Terms Used By Soldiers in WWII
  • FUBAR F***ed Up Beyond All Recognition: Soldier Slang of World War II (General Military)
  • Military Slang For WWII
  • List of Ethnic Slurs by Ethnicity
  • The Racial Slur Database - Germans
  • Morse Code
  • Military Time Chart for 24 Hour Time Clock
  • Converting Standard Time to Military Time
  • WW2 Civilian Slang
  • Teen Slang of the 1940s
  • 1940s Slang
  • Forties Slang
  • Words That Were: 1940–1949 (Canada)

Law Enforcement & Crimes

  • New Jersey State Police - History: 1940’s
  • New York State Police - History: 1940’s
  • Anaheim Police Department - History: 1940
  • - British Police Training in the 1940s and 1950s
  • Art Theft and Looting During World War II
  • Rape During the Occupation of Germany
  • War Rape in World War II
  • Allied War Crimes During World War II
  • Nazi Medical Experiments
  • World War II Crimes
  • Nazi War Crimes
  • German War Crimes Against Soviet Civilians
  • Nazi Crimes Against Soviet POWs
  • Execution of Women by the Nazi during World War II
  • World War II and the Holocaust
  • World War Two - German Prisoner of War Camps
  • List of WWII POW (Prisoner of War) Camps in Germany
  • German Prisoners of War in the United States
  • Japanese Prisoners of War in WWII
  • Sexual Slavery - Germany During WWII
  • German Military Brothels in World War II
  • Rape, Murder and Genocide: Nazi War Crimes as Described by German Soldiers
  • 1940s Crimes
  • History of Drug Abuse: The 40’s
  • 25 Vintage Police Record Photographs (Photos)
  • Grisly Crime Scene Photography of 1940s New York

I just realized that I have a type.

Long haired, stubble, angry murder strut, who look like sunshine and rainbows when they smile, who have done unspeakable things and do not believe in redemption for themselves because of what they’ve done but will do anything to protect their families, who buy fresh fruit, ex-military and could probably kill you just by looking at you, very familiar and comfortable in Slavic countries

example: see Bucky Barnes and Eliot Spencer

who have a sarcastic friend with the best one-liners, who initially don’t get along but now have a secret handshake, both are underestimated, but are the kind you want backing you up in a fight, will crack a joke while saving the world and often the voice of reason

example: see Sam Wilson and Alec Hardison

and their blonde crazy friend getting into fights too big for them, lack impulse control and have both jumped off a building/plane with no safety net and/or parachute, can handle it on their own but forget that they don’t need to

example: see Steve Rogers and Parker


@waverly-earp sent me: five times Korra was distracted by Asami (also here on ao3)



“Asami?” Korra called out, looking around the warehouse that she’d been pointed to from another Sato Industries employee. “Are you in here?”

It was strangely quiet, she’d expected to hear the whirring of machinery or something. By the look of it Asami was building another plane.

She was nowhere to be seen however. Korra was about to give up when she noticed a light on in the back office. She made her way to it, careful to be quiet and peeked in to see Asami had fallen asleep on the desk. Not even her yells had awaken her which meant that Asami had probably stayed up all night working on something again.

Korra smiled softly at Asami, shaking her head in fondness. “And you say I overwork myself.” She chided lightly. She went to shake Asami lightly to wake her up but her hand stopped partway and instead she found herself lightly running her fingers through Asami’s hair that had pillowed out around her. It was soft to the touch, how Asami got it that way she’d never figured out even though they were dating now.

The waviness of it meant that sometimes the hair would catch on her fingers, sliding through them before dropping back on to the desk. She hadn’t meant to get so caught up in watching the strands so when Asami opened her eyes and quietly said her name Korra jerked back and ran into the wall.

“Korra?” Asami said again, sitting up with a yawn, “What are you doing?”

“Uh, nothing. I’m not doing anything.” Korra darted her eyes to the side, “What are you doing?”

“Um, waking up?” Asami said, bemused, she stood up and walked over to Korra, resting her hand on Korra’s forehead. “You don’t feel hot, you okay though?”

“Oh I’m more than okay.” Korra flashed Asami a grin. “I’m here to take you out for breakfast.”

Asami hummed pleasantly, “Breakfast with the Avatar, I’m honored.”

As Asami took her hand Korra glanced over, watching Asami’s hair flutter behind her with the wind. As such she nearly ran into the doorway.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

This prompt can be Au if you want it to be .^v^ The Gang gets told a disturbing truth about Sonic and seem very shaken up about it. Friendships and relationships are tested. The Gang argue what to do next without knowing that Sonic is there listening to it all! Sonamy may be included ;) Thanks <3


After a boy claiming to be Sonic’s brother requires Sonic to return to see his ailing mother, Sonic goes silent and seems to be avoiding the world.

Not understanding his actions, Amy tries to persuade the team to keep the boy busy, though the boy is determined to bring Sonic to his mother, and then, to battle him for justice, but they don’t understand why.

“..Sonic?” Amy pushes a tree branch out of her way to look passed it and see Sonic sitting and letting out a heavy breath.

She slowly approaches him, as in the distance, she looks back to see the boy contending in shouts with Tails and Knuckles, and poor Tails struggling to keep Knuckles back from punching the young boy.

Amy puts her hands together, sliding one over the other in her nervousness.

She knows Sonic’s not one to talk about… emotional things… but this looks very important, and if his mother is dying…

She walks up to him, and waits to see if he’ll object.

After more silence, she finally slips a hand to tuck her dress under and sit down, making sure to be ladylike as she looks to him, seeing a very distant expression on his face.

“…Sonic,” she lightly reaches a hand to his arm. “What’s wrong?”

He remains silent, as his eyes roll as if without life to her hand, and then up to her face.

The dark sky breathes a gentle wind that stirs the sky, before Sonic finally looks up to the darkness, and begins to speak….

Many years ago...”

Sonic is shown as a young boy, the other boy in his mother’s arms looks very similar to the boy shouting at Sonic’s friends in rage.

“My father left us. I suppose the reasons were to continue in his nomad lifestyle, and at first, we were taught to never be like our father…”

Sonic is sitting at a bedside, as his mother’s finger wags wildly in the air, before the hand slowly returns to her face and she cries.

Sonic lifts a hand up and touches her arm, his own way of comfort.

“However… it wasn’t the whole truth…”

“Don’t you dare go outside!” “But-!” “You leave me and I’ll die!” “M-Mom!”

His mother grips him at the doorway, clinging onto him for dear life it seemed.

“My mother was always concerned that we would grow up and leave her like our father did. As I got older… I started to realize that my father’s departure wasn’t the only reason she never wanted us to leave…. I started to realize that she probably imprisoned him just like she was doing to us. We were never permitted to explore, or go past the flowerbed, or even to use our abilities. Especially mine… because I could disappear in a blink of an eye.”

Amy’s expression was horror stricken, hearing these words… hearing the way they were delivered…

How cruel!

“I decided one day I had enough of her sheltering. I told my brother I wouldn’t stay another minute in that small cabin home, and would go out and make a life for myself…”

“M-mom was right! You’re turning into father!” 

“Haven’t you figured it out yet? Dad left because Mom was too clingy! She doesn’t even let us go to town! and she locks the door when she leaves! She’s sick, bro! And it’s about time this birdie left the nest!” he turns his back on his brother, speaking with all conviction over his shoulder.

 “You’ll… you’ll break her heart again.. just like father.” The little brother began to tear up, as Sonic turned his face quickly away, as if not going to allow anything to stop him.

“If that’s the case…” he closed his eyes….

Before opening them in complete resolve, “Then so be it.”


“SOOONNICC!” His mother fell within the muddy puddles of their outdoor, foresty lawn as his blue streak tore through the landscape as quickly as he could go.

“I had never felt such exhilarating freedom. For the first time, my legs could fully stretch. The world was greater, wider, more beautiful than any window could have shown me. I never regretted building that plane to leave that island for good. Nor did I ever look back…”

Sonic lifted his head to the wind, before ducking it back down.

“I can’t go back, Amy. Under any circumstances.” He rose up, as Amy felt her heart breaking under these circumstances.

“Sonic… you can’t just-!” She leaned up to try and reach him, but he gave her such a cold look that her hands froze in mid-action.

“I will never return.”

“… She’ll keep you there… won’t she?” Amy lowered her arms, finally seeing what made him so cruel in this situation, so silent to his brother, but realizing how this can’t be so.

“You have to go back.” she narrowed her eyes, “To at least explain to her-”

“There is no explanation. She wouldn’t understand. She’s lost the ability too. Trust me, Amy. People don’t change overnight.” Sonic shook his head, and turned away from her, folding his arms.

“D…Don’t you love your mother?!”

Sonic’s quills spiked up, showing how much rage he was controlling at that comment, before swiping the air as he turned back, his arms to his sides.

“Nothing you say or do will make me go back.”

“Sonic! What are you afraid of?!” Amy got up, gesturing her arms out. “You left once! You can do it again! She can’t guilt trip you to stay, but a simple goodbye wouldn’t-!”

That’s when she realized…

In his eyes…

Were the anger of sorrow.

“You… leaving was the hardest thing you’ve ever done.. because you did love her… didn’t you?” She stepped back, unable to fully express how much she was suddenly understanding.

His stare held new meaning. It wasn’t cruel. It was reality.

“I’m not going back.”

That was the last he said before taking off.

Amy walked back to her friends, unsure of how to relate all that Sonic had told her to them.

The brother clearly would never forgive, but she could tell that he was inexperienced in the world, and probably was even more sheltered by his mother than ever before after Sonic’s departure…

He called him all sorts of names, but Amy just tuned him out, and walked over to Tails and Knuckles.

Pulling forth every bit of courage in her being, she stated, “He’s not going.”

Tails and Knuckles seemed amazed, hearing of the condition of Sonic’s mother, they began to accuse him of the same things the brother had spoken of.

“No!” Amy shook her head, tearing up. “He’s not like that! Honest! He’s… he had to pave his own path… even if it broke his heart to do so… he had too, can’t you see that?!”

But they couldn’t, because everytime she tried to explain, a lump would form in her throat and keep the words tightly within.

Finally, Amy was convinced to bring Sonic to his brother…

In complete betrayal she relayed the message to him, and begged with every ounce of her being, pleading with him to just say goodbye to her.

With that trust he had with her severed, he boarded the plane…

Amy was the only one Sonic permitted to come into the rundown cabin home with him, along with the brother.

Just as Sonic had spoken… she awoke from the bed and gripped him in her weakened state.

“I knew you would come back…” her tears filled her eyes as Amy clenched her heart.

This woman… Amy couldn’t find it in her to hate her at all.

It was just a misfortune circumstance.

Sonic held her, I wouldn’t say lightly or tightly, but just held her in return.

“Now you’ll stay. You’ll stay to take care of me, won’t you my boy?” she stroked his quills, smiling as she spoke.

Sonic closed his eyes, remaining silent.

“You won’t leave me again. You won’t abandon me. You’ll stay. I know you’ll stay now. You have to stay now.” She then suddenly seemed to notice Amy, and gave her a less than welcoming look.

“Who’s this?”

“….My friend.” the first thing Sonic spoke, as he got up.

Immediately, his mother gripped his arm, it was almost reflex.

He paused, before allowing her to do so and turning to Amy. “Her name’s Amy Rose.” Sonic put a hand to his hip, trying to act casual about it.

“She’s not your wife, is she?” The words were almost hissed, as she glared to her son. “She’ll take you away. I know she will.”

That was when Amy could see it.

The hostile illness Sonic had spoken of.

It was suddenly all clear now…

How subtle it was at first… until now fully in the light.

Amy stepped back, and leaned her head down.

“I told you.” Sonic gently bent down, putting a hand to her weakened grip, appealing to her nature. “She’s just a friend.”

“…Friends.” she looked up at Amy. “I didn’t know you had friends.”

Such anger, such hatred…

She didn’t even know her!

But she just assumed anyone would take Sonic from it… so it seemed.

Suddenly, Amy gripped her arms, and walked back. “Excuse me.” she looked down at the ground and raced out.

Sonic watched her, slowly rising again.

“Oh my chaos! I’m just like her!” she reached up and gripped her head, swinging it wildly around. “Oh, Sonic! Sonic, I’m so sorry!” she started to cry, realizing that her actions mirrored much of Sonic’s mother…

No wonder he treated her the way he did… with such gentleness as he did his mother, but always keeping his distance…

“He must think I’ll become like her… That I’ll hold him to a forever prison that he can’t escape from! Without breaking another person he cares about’s heart all over again!” She fell to her knees, breaking down as Sonic walked to the front door.

“No!” The mother reached to hold her grip. “Stay! It’s dangerous out there!”

Sonic watched Amy in her meltdown, and gritted his teeth together.

“No.” He turned to his mother, for the first time, the same cold stare he had given Amy.

Her eyes widened.

“Never again.” he swiped his hand away from her.

His final goodbye.

He didn’t want to have to do this again.

He didn’t want to have to open old wounds again.

But Amy meant more than his past.

She was his future.

“Amy. Get up.” Sonic quickly dived down for her, as the brother began to chase them.

“You can’t leave us again! I won’t allow it!”

Sonic grabbed Amy and helped her to her feet, “Go! Get in the plane!” he called to her, almost in a slight order as he took on his brother, fighting him.

“What happened?!” Tails called down, seeing Amy climb up, confused.

“He said goodbye! That’s what!” Amy responded, wiping her tears as she entered.

Sonic sped up and got into the plane… but collapsed.

“Sonic!” Amy got up from her seat and ran to his, as the plane took off, and his brother lay defeated on the ground, reaching up for the plane, before becoming unconscious.

Amy felt Sonic’s shoulders bounce, and worried he was hurt, before turning him to see…

He was crying…

His eyes were shut so tight, she could have sworn they’d stay that way forever.

His body flinched with each sob, and she just slowly wrapped her arms around him, as if instinct, and held him close.

It wasn’t just his mother’s heart he broke that day… it was his own.

Sonic never had the ‘family’ feeling most normal households get.

To him, it was all a barrier to life’s true splendors, and Amy was determined to show him that friends could be family, and that she…

She was never going to be like his mother.

(I’m glad I got a chance to go with this idea :) Thank you for the ask! Hope you enjoy!)