#funnier fact

[myocdump]

Hi tide pod! Tell me about your self!

"I have been told that I exist, and that I might be alive. I am not sure what exactly you want to know, but if you ask I can answer!"

"Question for you: Did my tongue make any "fun"? Doggo told me ponies liked to pull their tongue out to make fun of each others. Fun is nice, so I try to make as much as I can."

[rioblitzle]

working retail

[psin314]

hell yea he got the moves

[chloesimaginationthings]

Yall ever think about how Nightmare bb is canon in FNAF

[weirdglassthing]

Don’t give a mouse a cookie but it’s don’t give an artist a canon detail about a character anyways torbeks favorite movie!!

Sorry for inactivity but I’ve got some FIRE things coming up 🫡

[cowboylikeyouu]

in germany, chris evan‘s roles (including steve) are mostly voiced by dennis schmidt-foß, but as johnny storm he‘s voiced by benedikt weber, and it made for a really cool moment during dp&w. bc wade’s super convinced that he‘s steve, but all the german people who watch the german dub of marvel movies religiously are already like huh??? bc that‘s NOT steve rogers‘ voice, and then when it’s revealed that he‘s actually johnny, wade‘s like "ah yeah, i should’ve known from the voice". and idk, it’s not hilarious or anything, but it just made me soo happy that they used wade‘s 4th wall breaks differently in different languages. just felt the need to share this

[plutonicbees]

imagine ur tim drake, it's the anniversary of ur mother's funeral, christmas eve, and you're absolutely shitting ur pants bc you let your teammate feed you the crabcakes they made

you're absolutely going through it, and then u find out that doomsday (not the villain) is coming in the form of a meteor. u try to call batman and he's off planet. u call up nightwing's team and they're dealing with their own battle. there's nobody to help so you and your team go to fuckin,, fight an evil meteor. one of your friends is writing a will. you're all ready to die (you're ready to reunite with your mother).

and then fucking santa comes and waves hi and your team tries to tell him to watch out and then the evil meteor crashes into his sleigh and fucking explodes him and the reindeers in a glorious gory death

man. what are you doing next christmas eve.

[reinbouxsworld]

first encounters

[livecrow]

Gundog!Soap's errand gets derailed when he catches your scent.

A retriever "retrieves" a plump bird.

Shifter/Hybrid Dark!Soap x fat reader

(cw: kidnapping)

Soap’s popping down to the shops.

He just needs to pick up an ingredient for dinner last minute. Ghost isn’t home yet, so he’s off the lead. Unsupervised. Normally, they’d get the messages together, but he only needs one thing. He could manage it. It wouldn’t be more than a wink.

But as he mills about, he can’t help feeling off.

Like he really is a dumb dog wandering around without his owner, his lead might as well be dragging on the floor behind him, collecting lint and stray bread ties—

It’s turning into one of those days where he feels far more mutt than man. 

Without Ghost’s firm hand grounding him, the place is a cacophony of input. Too many smells, too many sounds, too many colors, too much movement—all melding together into a murky emulsion of stimulus under the glaring LEDs. 

He squints down the vast row of isles for longer than he’ll admit.

Eeigit.

He should have written a note.

Thought he could have remembered one bleedy thing. You dinnae need a list for one thing—

Feeling frustrated and dafty, he resigns himself to traipsing down each aisle and hoping something jogs his memory. Pride wouldn’t let him call up Lt. He’d never hear the end of it. He’s a birddog for chrissake, proper braw at findin’ things—when he knows what he’s fuckin’ looking for. 

Least he can skip the sundries. He knows that much. Soap’s more than happy to avoid the detergent aisle. Stuff is bowfin. Stings his nose, makes his heid ache.

Lot of good his heid was anyway, feeling fuzzy, like it was packed with cotton. Might as well be. Nothin’ else between his ears. Certainly not the one fuckin' thing he pulled on his gutties and left the house for—

He let's loose an irritated huff and it's probably a bit too close to a growl than is wise.

Soap's trying to make good time, but he's a solid four isles in and hasn't had any luck. Eventually, he finds himself staring down a sea of tins. Fruit and veg, beans, and the sort. His eyes scanned the labels, but even readin' was a real Herculean task when he's feeling so out of sorts.

The canine part of him can't be convinced deciphering rows of little lines and squiggles is a proper use of his time. Especially when he could be usin' his nose instead.

Some wee bairn has starts greetin’ a few aise down.

—Green beans, peas, sliced carrots, corn, diced potatoes. Nae, that wasn't it—

....who in their right mind buys tinned tatties?

A passing trolley is making an awful racket. Discordant shrill squeaks and clunks of a stuck wheel scraped against his ear drums.

—It’s definitely not the asparagus—shites mingin’, and that’s fresh. Wouldnae faff about with a recipe that called for that. Cannae think how foul tinned would be… 

Soap sighs in exasperation. As he goes to abandon this aisle, he steps back to turn and bumps into something.

Soft. Soft, soft, softness presses into his hip—

The kind of softness that cradles, that molds around him. Softer than any of his toys. Soft an’ cozy as his own bed, maybe—nae, softer. His bed didn't have the same give, the same wobble. It was a softness that sent a literal shiver up his spine, saliva pooling in his mouth. That smell—

Not something, someone then.

An incidental collision, a bird had been trying to slip by him just as he stepped backwards.

The touch was there and gone in a second but he was mournful for its absence. The scent lingered at least, soothed the whine that crawled into his throat. There was no artifice to it, no acrid chemical edges that came with any fragrance found in a bottle.

You had actually managed to catch him off guard. The shiver that rattled through him began with a slight jolt of surprise at the two of your union. He must have been more out of it than he thought, he hadn't even noticed anyone else in the aisle. He'll never get used to being startled, but he wouldn’t hold that against you.

“Oh, sorry,” you muttered apologetically as you stepped back, embarrassment coloring your face. The contact clearly ruffled your feathers a bit.

Soap’s mouth shuts with an audible click, he hadn’t realized his lips were parted. He hurriedly swallows a completely unadvisable pant in your direction.

“Nae bother, hen,” he blinks. Finally finding his human voice, responding like he's supposed to when he's out and about on two legs. It’s a little breathier, a beat later than he should have responded, lower too. There's a rasp there that chafes the very air. 

...Maybe his head wasn't packed with cotton.

Maybe it was your soft, downy feathers that was muddling him up, making itself a sweet little nest in his cranium—

The bird sends him a polite, restrained smile as it scurries off.

His world narrowed, like he was watching through a spyglass. Or was it a scope? Regardless, everything else but you dissolved into blur, even his peripheral was swallowed up. Framed you in a vignette. Every tiny aspect of the minute interaction seared painlessly into his mind.

A pretty, fat partridge.

Wandering too close.

Game like that, ambling by all round and plump, right under his snout? Feathers close enough they almost tickle his nose—

It's instinct, ya ken?

Mind, for a dog that retrieves quarry, it’s in his nature. Cannae help it anymore than the shade of his coat. So, is it the dog's fault then, when he lunges? Snatches the bird up, into his warm mouth? Firm and soft all at once. The delicate control from a pup that can cradle a raw egg without fracturing the shell. When he brings it back to his master, tail waggin’ as he’s done a hundred other times?

Nae. Noone’d blame him.

He can already practically feel the pantomime thumping of your frantic heartbeat in his mouth—echoing his own excited pulse. 

Soap’s keen eyes never left his prey, even as your back was foolishly to him. His hind paws were already ahead of his brain, he followed, trailing at a distance. Stalking.

Thing should know better, he might have been a wolf. You’d have waddled straight into it's gaping maw, mistake the canines for stalactites and his tongue for a cozy spot to lay your little head.

But no, he’s no wolf. He’s safe. Won't take a bite out of you. He's a good boy— 

Good dog.

Bird dog. A Gordon Setter, Si says.

A jack of all trades, proficient at tracking, pointing, and retrieving. A soft-mouth breed. That’s very important. Most dogs cannae do what he can. Pick up a bird without pricking it. Ghost has been working with him, trainin’ him up. Helping him be more patient, learn new tricks.

Your scent—it was so hard to describe, but he luxuriated in it, nose twitching. It was warm, but not torrid. Sweet, but not cloying. Rich, but not heavy—

Familiar, somehow. Like a childhood lovey. Cheek-worn and supple as a lamb's ear. 

He’s struck by a piercing déjà vu.

It should have confounded Soap—but it didn’t. It just was. The strange mix of familiarity and unfamiliarity that shouldn’t normally coexist. He didn’t know you, nae. But it felt like he should. Maybe he’d seen you in a dream? Some sticky remnant from a past life? Nothing else could explain the strength of the reaction that gripped him by the scruff. Commanded him to “fetch”.

...He’s doin’ so well. Being so, so careful—game’s normally still, after all. Not wriggling about anymore. Is much more effort to control his grip on a bird thas tryin' to fly away.

Thing squealing like a squeaky-toy doesn’t help, zaps somethin' in his brain, even though he’s hardly pressing. Ghost will look at you an’ see there’s no teeth marks on you. He’s being good. Knows better. Not even a tiny nibble. 

Soap's so pleased.

Only wish he'd had his tail out, so he could articulate his excitement properly.

He’ll take you home and keep you. Rest a heavy paw on you when he wants you to stay put. Carry you round the house with him. Share his food with you. Show you his other toys. Only roughhouse gently, like he would a puppy. Bat you around a bit. Paw at you real gentle like. This soft, living squeaky-toy that he can nap with. Even let you nest in his own bed, tucked under his chin. He’d only ever mouth at you gently, you'd learn you wouldn’t have to fear his teeth. He’d rasp his tongue over you, help you preen yer pretty feathers.

He ached to sigh happily against you, rut his face against you. Wanted all the rest of his sighs to be against you, pressed into your skin. Nose at your crown, in your soft neck, on your squishy belly. He’s curious where on you that scent would be the strongest.

Ghost will be so proud when he sees, when he proudly lays you at his boots—

You'll like his owner. He'll pet you real nice. Ghost always knows the right spot, even before you do. Thoughtful.

So thoughtful that he won't even mind that he'll have to sort something else out for dinner.

[vaguely-concerned]

I adore it whenever rook rests their hands on their hips like a handyman or mechanic about to deliver some bad news as to how much the repairs are going to come in at. the hero equivalent of a plumber. they're out there saving the world with the gently beleaguered air of an overworked janitor and I quite simply love that for them

[vivitalks]

i had assumed an arquebus was the size of a pistol, like a flintlock pistol maybe (especially because that's how it's depicted in his jr year artwork), but i got curious and looked it up and gang i cannot stress enough that this gun is, on average, larger than riz gukgak. this is an arquebus:

by even the most optimistic estimations, riz gukgak is four feet tall max. the average arquebus according to google (and gun geeks feel free to chime in if this is wrong) is about 4-5 feet long.

i had been picturing riz with an inconspicuous, easily concealed handgun that wouldn't raise any eyebrows, but no, riz's primary weapon is fully the same size as him, possibly even taller. and if you don't think that's goddamn hilarious then i don't know what to tell you

[genericpuff]

"The Office couldn't air today because the woke left would cancel it!!!"

"House M.D. couldn't air today because people would mob its main character!!!"

"The X-Files couldn't exist today because talking about aliens is too 'controversial'!"

fools, those shows couldn't exist today because streaming services are too cowardly to invest in serialized TV shows with more than 6-8 episodes per season 💀

[motherspores]

awooooooooo!!

[Transcript:

Stress: Can I have my ball back please? Jevin: We could kill you. Iskall: No you couldn't. That's funny, but you couldn't.

Xisuma, putting up his shield: I've got a shield, Jev, look. Xisuma, putting it back down: Can't kill a man with a shield. [Jevin hits him.] Xisuma, panicked: OOoOOAAaoOoaaH!!!

[Xisuma flees and takes flight. Everyone else laughs.]

[Xisuma plays a horn that has a clip of him howling like a wolf as he departs.]

end transcript]

[macbethz]

"danny phantom grows up into a burnout" has combined with "danny phantom's ghost half doesn't age" to create something wonderful in my mind

[ghostlyeris]

A WIN FOR ME SPECIFICALLY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[xxplastic-cubexx]

i LOVE how you draw twink krakoa charles he's so...... twink...... your art is amazing

thank you so much !!!! i have a simple vision in mind whenever i draw krakoa charles next to erik, really:

it's significant he looks like a push pin next to erik it's infinitely better this way..