#don't ya think?

[temporarypenintraining]

random hcs about what happens after Crystalized (mostly relationship-based) Garmadon goes back to Vinny (they aren't actually together yet because Vinny is still figuring out what the heck these feelings are for this annoying Oni roommate), they have to stay somewhere else cuz of the gaping hole in Vinny's apartment, but eventually they actually get together and are very much in love. Kai and Skylor get together and it's fine for a while, but eventually they realize that it's just not going to work between them. They break up, Skylor realizes she's a lesbian and Kai realizes he's been in love with Cole since literally forever. Lloyd visits Harumi in prison regularily, and they even try to sort of be like how they used to be. But when "how it used to be" was built on lies, it's hard to figure out how your relationship works. They decide to just be friends and as their trauma heals they grow more into a sibling dynamic (see, I can have my cake and eat it, too!). Jay and Nya FINALLY get married. It's a beautiful wedding. Nya does NOT wear a dress (she has wedding dress-related trauma, guys), Cole is Jay's best man, Pixal is Nya's Maid of Honor and during the Parent Dance Nya chooses to dance with her brother instead of her dad (Ray understands, Kai raised her WAY more than he did). Back to G and V, Lloyd finds out when they start dating and at first has conflicting emotions, but then he sees just how damn happy his dad is, and how much better of a man he has the potential to become. He starts hanging out with them and reconnecting with his father, and his new step-dad is trying his absolute darndest to get his step-son some professional help. Lloyd eventually goes to therapy and also gets a cat (they're easy to take care of, especially when you're going on ninja missions, and Lloyd has always been more comfortable talking about his feelings around animals. Very theraputic). Zane and Pixal are vibing. They've got their lovely daughter and are very happy. That is all.

[curlytrek1701]

I love how snw made pike a chill, nonviolent solutions chef-dad when in TOS he literally escaped the talosians through the power of rage and incredible violence

[thefabelmans2022]

if i were harry i'd show up at the palace with a little bluetooth speaker just blaring ironic by alanis morissette.

[scorching-passion]

Sitting here having a crisis because I’ve just this second realised that Roche is FFVII’s version of Deadpool only... less vulgar, and I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do with this right now... 

*puts it on the floor* *squints loudly*

[cutiesigh]

❤️🖤🩷

Wuthering Waves has taken over all of my free time recently, so here's a sketch of Scar!Ren I originally shared in da 14DWY Discord!!

[sygneth]

"The Fall of the Starmaker"

[ichigoginchan]

zoro our pure boy

[wait-a-minute-lassie]

So the cook has been stealing money and all that jazz, and killed after Branders was killed.

Don't you find it...odd?

[keii]

late morning

[jonathan-cranes-mistress-of-fear]

Jonathan Crane hiding under the bed is literally boogeyman chic and I love that for him

Knight Terrors: Nightwing

[luna-loveboop]

Time. Worried about Wars.

Time. Worried about Wars. Time is worried about Wars- Time has to be so freaking scared for Wars I-

Warriors is going into his first dungeon which has challenges for how he should deal with it, and Time is stressed. Ima rant about it

At this point (update Entrance) Time is obviously... well, terrified. His concern for mr. stubborn after his injury is obvious and he wants to make sure it does not happen again

And his concerns are valid- they are all now painfully aware of their lack of skills in working as a team. And they are heading into a dungeon- where that instantly results in stuff like this lol

And then Wars openly says that he has never done this before

The group is obviously uhh concerned that he hasn't done this or had any dungeon experience

'No dungeon experience?' / 'Has he even seen certain monsters before?'

Time wanted to stay in a group for safety- but they have to split up. Dungeons are cramped and messy and small, and Wars is used to fighting on a battlefield - not this sort of setting

And they still joke around about it- and Wars instantly starts analyzing.

'Tell me. Give me the intel' / 'This isn't practical'

Honestly Wars' response to this is pretty cool- it's totally in line with who he is as a captain and hero. He instantly starts thinking about it and treating it as a different type of battlefield to figure out strategy. Also I think it's pretty cute that he said 'intel' even if he's grumpy about asking the others for advice and what a wallmaster is

Wars can handle it and learn what a dungeon's like- I think it'll be fun to see him go through his first dungeon :D

But. He's still never done a dungeon before. It will be interesting to see how that develops in this arc... and let's not forget he's pissed the shadow and his emo sword off before. This isn't where he fights best and Wars is particularly vulnerable in a major way.

Time was already stressed about mr. stubborn Twilight, but hearing that the captain, that Warriors isn't prepared for this is. Extra scary. I just think he must be really concerned for him- for all of them. And now mr. reliable is in a learning position and not a leading one

Their faces fjdkfsjdksjsk

But these are his boys and he'll have to trust that they'll be ok. Therefore I think this was Time's thinking:

Time, thinking: "Dungeon. A dungeon oh this is dangerous- no one can get hurt-"

Wars: "can't say I've really been in one"

Time, absolutely sobbing internally: "YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE THE RELIABLE ONE"

.

Art by @linkeduniverse au :))

:)

Hey, don't worry too much about it I'm sure it'll be fine :) (mostly)

[krysmcscience]

Saw this post and couldn't resist because,

1.) @tesscourtes' human!Bill is a lil cutie-patootie menace that I very badly wanted to draw, and,

2.) I have a - M I G H T Y - N E E D - for any version of human!Bill to find any way he possibly can to annoy Ford a whole lot :D

Also, 3.) I like to headcanon that Bill's knowledge in The Sciences is mostly limited to 'Ways I Can Make A Really Cool Doomsday Portal', and everything else he knows is just a slapdash mix of the stuff he remembers from whatever schooling he went through on Euclydia, a whole awful lot of lucky guesses (which he WILL gaslight you about if you tell him he's wrong), and - naturally - conning all the rest of the answers he needs out of any more educated saps who are unfortunate enough to be around him at the time (answers which he will then proceed to take credit for), so as far as I'm concerned, this "outfit" is perfect for him.

Ignore the shitty backgrounds, I am sick to death of doing backgrounds, I just want to draw goofy shenanigans, okay???

[tiny-steve]

the thing that makes my entire body itch about that darcy confession scene parallel is that that's the fucking MIDPOINT of darcy's and elizabeth's story. you've baked the pancake halfway and you've tossed it in the air and you're holding your breath --- and now you've got to catch it and BAKE THE OTHER SIDE!!! you can't just roll the credits and leave me hanging like that!!! what if there's never a third season??? the pancake is ON THE GROUND NEIL!!!

[ghost-proofbaby]

It's summer for you, winter for me. Warm me up with strawberry fluff! As always, my muse, your muse, the one and only, Eddie.

Midsummer's night, because I don't have a lot to inspire you with. I'm thinking something cute but weird? Maybe some human body softness where Eddie is a bit of a freak and we love him for it. And we're told our bodies are lovely, even when they're doing weird shit.

I lalalove youuuuu. xo Rhi

RHI!!!! <3 i adore you. thank you for this prompt - i had far too many ideas for it, but ended up on settling for this one, which coincidentally feels like the most subtle of them all? either way, it definitely turned out being the softest. give me an eddie munson who just wants to sniff me like a dog. this definitely got a bit long but i hope you enjoy, my dear <3

the smell of you

warnings: weirdos in love? idk. i have a skewed sense of what is actually weird i think. mentions of death and coffins jokingly. eddie 'manhandles' reader sort of. not edited.

wc: 2.2k+

come enjoy a sweet summer treat with me <3

“Eddie?”

The entire apartment is quiet – too quiet – as you drop your keys into the old crystal bowl on the counter. The clink resonates through the air, louder than the soft murmur of the stereo static you can hear from down the hall. 

“You dead?” you call out again, slipping off your running shoes and tossing down your headphones onto the counter as well now, “Do I need to call the coroner?” 

Your tone is lilted, teasing with airiness as you continue to wander deeper into the apartment and head straight for the room you know Eddie has to be in. Like the waves pulled by the moon, there’s an incessant string tied around one end of your soul that connects you to his, and you follow it all the way down the hallway. The bedroom door is wide open, and you can hear his mumbled yell of a response without clarity before you even cross the threshold. 

You wouldn’t have even needed him to verbally respond to find him in this tiny apartment. You two could get separated on the streets of a bustling city, of a buzzing New York sidewalk, and you still wouldn’t properly lose him. It’s more than just soul ties and his gravity that keeps you pulled to him. 

Something unspoken. Something homely. 

“Sorry, what was that?” you hum as you spy him face-down in the bed, pillow muting him by the mouthful, “Say it one more time, and this time not into the pillow.” 

When he finally properly turns over, he’s a vision. Sleep lines folded into his skin and a bit of drool in the corner of his mouth, eyes squinting in irritation not at you but the sunlight flooding in through the bedroom window. Messy hair, messy shirt, messy everything. A kind of mess you just want to collapse into currently, curling up in all that he is from the day’s exhaustion. 

He’d mentioned wanting to take a nap before you’d left for the gym. Something about the summer heat draining him, trailing off as he’d rambled about how he’d probably thrive as a vampire. 

“I said,” he huffs, sitting up, the frizz of his hair becoming a makeshift halo, “If you call the coroner, request the comfiest coffin possible.”

“Why do you need a comfy coffin if you’re already dead?” 

“You dare deny me of being buried in tempurpedic memory foam? In my hour of need?” 

You roll your eyes as you huff out a little laugh, forcing yourself to turn away from him long enough to strip out of your socks. But just as you reach down for the pieces of clothing, you catch sight of the source of that stereo static flooding the room. 

Your shared record player, spinning a blood red pressing of one of your more recent vinyl purchases. The album has been played through, but the player no longer had an automatic stop mechanism, probably from years of use. 

The center of the record is probably scratched, and Eddie knows it, from how sheepish he looks when you glance over your shoulder at him. 

“Speaking of death,” you walk over quickly, purposefully, before carefully lifting the needle and cutting the static finally, “Care to explain why you’re burning scratches into my Momento Mori vinyl?” 

“I’m sorry,” he quickly apologizes, nearly flinging himself off the bed as he scooches quickly to the end, clearly fully awake now, “I put it on and thought I’d just lay down for a quick second, but then the bed was so comfy, and I thought it wouldn’t hurt to take a quick nap, and then…” he trails off, looking up at you through his lashes with big eyes already pleading for forgiveness, “I’ll buy you a new one. Swear it.” 

It’s impossible to be mad at him when he’s looking like this, inhumanely soft and easily forgiven, “You’re lucky you’re cute, or you really would be dead.” 

He doesn’t respond with words, but instead the outstretch of his hands, fingers flexing as he beckons to you. The needle rests on its perch, the vinyl left behind to gather dust for a few extra moments, as you go straight to him. 

When his palms slip beneath your old t-shirt and meet your skin, they’re pleasantly warm. 

“You were right,” you admit as his knees spread, delegating even more room for you to stand in front of him as your hand wanders to cradle the side of his face, fingers tangling in sweaty curls from his rest. Your thumb mimics his on your own skin instinctively, tracing a large arch right up over his cheekbone, “It’s hot as balls outside.” 

“Told you so,” he murmurs, smiling softly in satisfaction as he leans lazily into your touch. 

“You did,” you agree quietly, half-entranced by his relaxed face, no sight of pride in the room currently. 

He resembles a cat as he continues to preen under your gentle hand, and you almost expect him to start purring right before you find the strength to pull away, removing his hands from where they'd wandered to your lower back. 

One swipe of his finger along your sweaty spine, and you’d remembered what your original intentions had been immediately upon getting home. 

“Wai- Where are you going?” he’s seemingly brought back down to Earth the moment he loses the pattern your thumb had been tracing, the press of your fingertips into his scalp. When he reaches back out to latch onto you again, you take a step back, “Get back here-”

“I need to shower,” you laugh, shaking your head and smacking his hands away as he continues to barter, “I’m all sweaty and smelly, let me go clean up and then we can nap togeth-” 

“You can shower after we nap,” he nearly whines, finally catching your shirt between his fingers and tugging, uncaring for if he stretches the fabric. A small price to pay to have you close to him, “C’mon, sweetheart. I know you’re just as exhausted as I am.” 

You swear you meant to take another step backwards, but somehow, you end up back between his knees, “Did you not hear me, Munson? I stink.”

“Good.” 

He doesn’t give you any time to react – in an instant, he’s throwing his face forward, burying it against your stomach as you let out a gasp and immediately try to pry him away with far too gentle of hands in his hair. 

“Eddie!”

If it were anyone else, you’d probably be mortified. But Eddie just takes a dramatic deep breath in, nose buried just shy of your belly button, and when his shoulders start to shake with muted laughter, you can’t stop the smile from breaking. Your fingers are still twisted in his hair, still pulling back in an attempt to get him away from you, but he’s resilient. 

And all your faux resistance is weak in comparison. Soon enough, you’re back to melting into him. 

Only once you’re relaxed once more, no sign of trying to pull away again any time soon as his hands once more evade the space beneath your shirt to wander up and down your sticky skin without a care in the world, does he lift his face away from you long enough to breathe and speak, “I’ll have you know – I love your stink.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious.” 

“You’re an idiot.” 

“I’m your idiot.” 

The game of banter is cut short when he goes back to pressing his nose into your clothes that surely can’t smell good. No amount of deodorant or perfume could erase that underlying stench of sweat. Hell, the shirt is still a bit moist from it all: from the walk to the gym, from your workout itself, from the walk home. It’d been through the ringer, and you’re back to tugging him away from you. 

“I refuse to believe you like how gross I smell right now,” you reinforce, eyes darting towards the bathroom connected to your master bedroom, “I promise I’ll be quick with the shower.” 

“Baby,” he fights back, wrapping his arms around you securely, no intention of losing this battle, “You remember that time we went to the fair, and you were complaining about how you were sweating, so I tried to lick your face?” 

Your nose scrunches quickly at the memory, “I do, unfortunately.”

“You really think I’d be willing to lick the sweat off your body but be afraid of you smelling a little bad while we cuddle?” his shoulders drop as he looks up at you, head tilted, almost as if amused with the conversation, “What kind of man do you take me for?” 

“The kind that gets off on annoying me.” 

His jaw drops, putting on a fake look of offense before he dramatically throws himself back onto the bed, laying flat as he makes a fist to mimic stabbing his chest, “You wound me.”

You’ve heard those words a thousand times in a hundred different ridiculous voices. You’ve seen this scene enough to have it mesmerized at this point, down to the over-exaggerated pout of his lips and the lingering of the fist against his sternum. 

You never grow tired of it. You never will. 

“Need me to kiss it better?” you joke as you prop a knee up on the bed, following the same script as always. 

And he hits his queue perfectly when he lifts his head eagerly at the expected response, wiggling his brows a bit. “Absolutely. Doctor’s orders, in fact.” 

“Great,” you see an opportunity, and take it, “I’ll get right to it, after my showe-” 

You don’t even get the final syllable of the word off your tongue before he’s clenching his thighs around your own, knees pressing hard before he wraps his legs the rest of the way around your waist to pull you in. A squeak of surprise leaves your lips as you begin to fall forward, but Eddie is quick to break the fall with ease. Catching you with his eager hands, maneuvering for you to half drop to the mattress while some of you still lands atop of him. 

He has you right where he wants you, turning his head to be face to face with you, noses nearly brushing, “Unfortunately, the doc said you have to kiss it better now, or else you’ll be comfy coffin shopping.” 

“A fatal wound?” you gasp, nearly mocking him. It doesn’t offend him – if anything, his boyish grin only grows wider, “First, I’m smelly-”

“Again, I like when you’re smelly.”

“-And then I inflict a fatal wound upon my lover? Oh, how dare I.”

Slowly, all your insecurity of how you currently smell is simply fading. The entire ordeal has become an art of childlike, whimsical jokes – and Eddie is an artist. A professional at the dance, locked and loaded with his incomparable skill set equipped for disarming you this way. The ability to make someone feel loved, imperfections and weirdness aside. 

He likes you, even when you claim you don’t smell your best. And you like him, even when his hair is tangled beyond recognition and one of his socks is half-hanging off his foot from a nap.

You like him when he’s embarrassing you in public, tongue chasing after you with the threat of licking your sweat away, and he likes you when all you can do in response is a weak palm to his chest (that isn’t even making an effort to push him away) as you giggle relentlessly. 

You like each other on the good days, the bad days, the weird days. 

Disarmed entirely, you don’t even notice when his face conveniently slots itself far too close to your armpit as you two scooch further up into the bed. You’re more occupied with the way your legs tangle up, toeing each other’s socks off properly as he slings a heavy arm across your torso. 

“We’re gonna have to wash the sheets,” you mumble, exhaustion catching up as the two of you finally settle. 

He hums absentmindedly, nuzzling into your skin a bit further as he makes himself comfortable. “And wash away your sweet, sweet stink? I don’t think so, sweetheart.” 

“Oh, fuck off,” you laugh, unbothered as your fingers start to trail up and down his back over the t-shirt, smoothing out wrinkles along the way, “I’m serious. We need to change them soon anyways, I think I got crumbs in the bed the other night with those crackers.” 

“Bury me in the crumbs of all your midnight snacks,” he almost slurs, clearly drifting back off. 

You snort in response, relaxing and letting your own eyes shut. Matching all your deep breaths with his own, a million different last words crossing your mind to whisper to the boy you’re sure is once again asleep. 

I love you.

I adore you. 

I would like to spend the rest of my life with you, if you’ll have me. 

And maybe some of those unspoken thoughts slip out without you realizing, because he squeezes you just a little bit tighter, presses his face just a little bit deeper into your skin as his scruff tickles you. 

The only actual thought you can know for certain that you say, though, is, “Do you think they actually make coffins with memory foam inside?” 

To your surprise, even despite the almost-snores that had been escaping him, he answers in a heartbeat. 

“Oh, definitely. We’ll order two.”

[zimtlees]

ORELIUS PUPPINGAY JERMA

My little Orel