#grindel

[slugterra-twisted-ends]

Slugtember Day 7: Psychic

Grindel aka Commander Delta is using the Faux Psychic Elemental to see her future. However it appears timelines have crossed with the appearance of the Slug It Out 2 Psychic Elemental

[marioparty15spoilers]

Osaka

[bluestarrcreations]

Second part of my art trade with @slugterra-twisted-ends ! Here’s her lovely naga OC Grindel~ Beautiful color palette X3

[sentientcanvas]

With my brow against the window panes like the watchmen of grief

I seek you beyond expectation

Beyond myself

And I love you such that I no longer know

Which of the two of us is absent.

[joosecat]

day 2. the fox is with the grindel 🙂

[yescrazycatlady10]

Grindel From Mario Visits! A Mario Animation! (2024)

[mparthesius]

So spontan einen neuen Perso beantragt, dass ich noch nicht die Zeit hatte, zu posten, dass der Paternoster wieder einmal kaputt ist am Grindel

[21deppstreet]

My favorite actors birthday omg !

I worked on this for 12 hours, I was lucky they had Sweeney Todd on the plane, so I celebrated by watching that and drawing this 😭 I wanted SO BADLYY to finish it before his birthday ended, and I finished it 2 min after 💀 anyways I actually like how this turned out, even if I had to cut a lot of characters out !

So many of them mean sm to me...

I relate to Edward sm because lonely socially awkward artist who everyone ostracized because he was a little too weird 🤞

In high school I carried around this emotional support little Edward Scissorhands, he swung from my necklace… some kid knocked him down and his FINGER FELL OFF! Well now both of his hands are missing.

Enjoy this...! Who came out your favorite?

[pbielik]

‼️TIKTOK NIE JEST MÓJ‼️

Tiana w "Panna Black | era golden trio", mając nadzieję na porzucenie maski po wojnie;

Tiana w "Panna Black | next gen era", wiedząc, że nigdy nie uda jej się uciec od nałożonej na nią przez społeczeństwo maski;

Galatea w "Dla naszego dobra", rozumiejąc, że nigdy nie ucieknie od bycia siostrą Grindelwalda i „przerażającą bestią”;

Ascella w "Panna Black | next gen era", mając nadzieję na nadejście normalności w jej rodzie, w którym spokoju nigdy nie można było zaznać;

Ceres w "Panna Black | next gen era", błagając w myślach o odnalezienie informacji o jej ojcu, o którym matka nie chce mówić przez obawę o ocenę w Proroku Codziennym;

Cefeusz w "Panna Black | next gen era", wiedząc kim jest jego ojciec i modląc się do Merlina o to, by on również to zrozumiał;

Venus w "Panna Black | era golden trio", udając, że wszystkie docinki w jej stronę z powodu ciotki wcale jej nie obchodzą:

Lucas w "Panna Black | era golden trio", mając nadzieję na pojawienie się jakiegoś cudem ocalałego członka rodziny, który zabierze go do siebie, by ludzie przestali na niego patrzeć jak na ostatniego z rodu;

Adrian w "Panna Black | era golden trio", myśląc o wszystkich sztywnych regułach nakładanych na niego przez ojca, bo w końcu są czystokrwistymi czarodziejami;

Draco w "Panna Black | era golden trio", wiedząc ile razy jego siostra nałożyła na twarz maskę, by on mógł żyć bez niej;

i wiele innych.

[feyredarlinq]

sjm confirmed she’s working on acotar5 (cr: x)

[a-miles-a-day]

Posting a day in the life of plushie Miles until Beyond the Spiderverse comes out:

Day 4

Miles finds his dragonsona!

Alt text helper wanted!!! See this post ★

[slugterra-twisted-ends]

Grindel Reference Sheet

A beautiful and interesting character who is yet to arrive in Northbound but I can't stress enough how much I love drawing her

[intheorangebedroom]

Le front aux vitres comme font les veilleurs de chagrin Ciel dont j’ai dépassé la nuit Plaines toutes petites dans mes mains ouvertes Dans leur double horizon inerte indifférent Le front aux vitres comme font les veilleurs de chagrin Je te cherche par delà l’attente Par delà moi même Et je ne sais plus tant je t’aime Lequel de nous deux est absent.

Paul Éluard, Le front aux vitres, in "L'Amour la poésie" (1929)

Wanted to share with you this poem by Paul Éluard, who's one of my favourite poets ever, and this one in particular has been a source of inspiration for PTMY (I do not compare myself to this beautiful sad genius, but his words have fed my soul for my entire adult life). Here's an excellent translation found on this website.

Forehead pressed to the glass like mourners keeping vigil / Sky whose night I have outrun / Plains tiny in my open hands / On their double horizon, inert insignificant / Forehead pressed to the glass like mourners keeping vigil / I seek you beyond waiting / Beyond myself / And I love you so much I no longer know / Which one of us is missing.

[ibonoco]

Love is the true power

Dit de la force de l’amour Entre tous mes tourments entre la mort et moiEntre mon désespoir et la raison de vivreIl y a l’injustice et ce malheur des hommesQue je ne peux admettre il y a ma colère Il y a les maquis couleur de sang d’EspagneIl y a les maquis couleur du ciel de GrèceLe pain le sang le ciel et le droit à l’espoirPour tous les innocents qui haïssent le mal La lumière toujours est…

[rileyslibrary]

hello! absolutely love your blog <3!! just thought i could share since idk who else to dump my ghost infested brain.. but lately i’ve been brainrotting for fluffy and domestic ghost hh something about helping him shave in the morning before cooking breakfast together and just lazing around in the afternoon drives me insane

Lazy Sunday with Simon

A/N: I got this ask before I decided to turn off the anon option for a while! I’ll let you know when I turn it back on :) There’s more A/N at the end; meet me there!

———————————————————————

He usually wakes up at 6 a.m., regardless of the day of the week. You’ve always marvelled at this trait, secretly envious of his ability to jump out of bed immediately. You wonder if he’s a morning person by nature or if his past military training instilled this reflex. Regardless, you rarely wake up at the same time. And on the rare occasion that you do so, he’s eager to get up as soon as possible, as though laying in bed simply served his survival needs for sleep and nothing else.

But today is different. It’s almost 9 a.m., and you sit on your shared bed, watching him sleep. His chest rises and falls, and you mimic his breath, momentarily experiencing life from his perspective.

As you shuffle to retrieve something from your bedside drawer, he stirs and wakes up.

“Shit!” He curses, shooting up like a spring.

“Simon,” you say to him, your hand halfway to the drawer, “it’s Sunday.”

He checks his phone to confirm your statement, then sighs. Rubbing his eyes, he turns to look at you.

“Good morning,” he says sheepishly.

“Morning,” you respond with a chuckle.

He crawls over to your side of the bed and kisses your lips.

“You, sir, need a shave,” you tease, gesturing to his stubble.

He rubs his chin. “I do, don’t I?” he admits, rising from the bed and heading to the bathroom.

You hear the sound of the toilet flushing, the faucet running, and teeth brushing, followed by a silence that makes you tune in. You can listen to him unscrewing the cap of his shaving cream, whistling as he applies it to his face.

You rise from the bed and enter the bathroom. Simon catches your eye in the mirror’s reflection and raises an eyebrow.

“This room ain’t big enough for the both of us,” he quips, mimicking Nick Grindell from The Western Code.

You smile and press against his back, wrapping your arms around him. “Looks like there’s enough room now,” you say playfully.

He resumes shaving, and you watch him closely; tiny strokes with the razor, then a rinse and repeat.

“Can I try?” you ask, and he stops mid-stroke to look at you.

“I don’t know, can you?” he teases.

“I’ve shaved my legs before,” you reply.

“Exactly,” he emphasizes, “your legs, not my face.” But he hands you the razor anyway and instructs you on how to proceed.

You seem to be doing fine until he suddenly jerks back from the razor and lets out a yell. You panic, but he quickly bursts out laughing.

“Asshole!” you exclaim. “I thought I cut you!”

“That was the point, love,” he chuckles. “You should have seen your face.”

“And you should have seen your face if I had actually cut you!” you quip, brandishing the razor in mock threat.

No matter how long you two live together, he remains his old, caustic self. He is kind and gentle, except when pulling one of his “jokes.” You’ve had to learn to adapt to his sense of humour.

You announce that you’d go to the kitchen to get breakfast started while he keeps on shaving, and he gives you a thumbs up.

———————————————————————

As the kettle on the stove begins to whistle, you deftly mix the pancake batter. He approaches you and stands beside you, watching you whisk.

“You shouldn’t be doing that,” he comments, gesturing towards the bowl.

“Whisking batter?” you question, eyebrows raised.

“You shouldn’t be doing pancakes in general,” he elaborates, lifting his shirt to reveal a hint of a soft belly. “Look.” He says and gives it a slap.

He has put on some weight after leaving the army, but this didn’t bother you as much as it bothered him. The weight gain was not the real issue but rather a manifestation of how he felt - insignificant. He didn’t talk about it directly, but it showed up in other ways. Mumbling to himself while watching the news, for example, reciting what his team would have done differently in that case. Or by reflecting on how he could have helped in recent disasters while discussing with your friends. In this case, it manifested in the form of fishing for compliments.

“You look fine.” You comment, but he rolls his eyes.

“No, I don’t,” he says, “stop lying.”

“Hey,” you wave the whisk at his face, “I never lie, ok?”

He shoots his arms in the air. “First the razor, now the whisk,” he says, “you’re too aggressive today, don’t you think?”

“I like you, no matter what. Understood?” You keep threatening him, and, with a manoeuvre, he takes the whisk off your hands to continue the mixing.

You prepare the table, and he serves the pancakes he cooked. You both sit down at the table, enjoying your breakfast. As you eat, your mind keeps going back to your previous conversation.

“Hey, I was thinking,” you say between bites. “There’s a veterans’ group in town that meets every week. Maybe you could check it out?”

He looks up from his plate and then shakes his head. “No,” he states.

“Why not?” You ask, “it could be good for you to connect with other veterans and share your experiences rather than arguing with the TV.”

He keeps staring at you, and you’re unsure if he feels exposed or contemplates your idea.

“There are other people like you, Simon,” you explain, “good people who went through similar things.”

He shrugs and takes another bite. “What do they do in that group?” He asks.

“I don’t know,” you reply, “but I can find out if you want.”

“No,” he shakes his head, “I’ll do that.”

You smile. “That’s great,” you say, relieved, “I think it could really help you.”

He nods and takes another bite. The two of you continue eating and talking, enjoying the simple pleasure of a warm, late breakfast.

———————————————————————

You both lay sprawled on your living room couch. You’re glued to the TV, binging on the new season of “Love is Blind,” while he lies next to you, engrossed in a book.

You notice his eyes flickering towards the screen occasionally, but he tries to hide it. You catch him peeking again and can’t resist poking fun at him.

“Interested, I see?” You ask with a smirk.

“What the fuck is that?” he asks you back with a sneer.

“It’s a reality show,” you explain, gesturing towards the screen. “People date each other in these rooms called ‘pods’ without seeing each other.”

“Huh,” Simon scoffs, “and how do they meet?”

“One proposes, and if the other accepts, they finally meet.”

He puts down his book, stares at the screen, and then back at you.

“Like a marriage proposal?” He asks with raised eyebrows, and you nod.

“You’re kidding,” he states in disbelief.

“No,” you shake your head, giggling, “I’m afraid I’m not.”

He opens up his book again and shakes his head. “What a load of bullshit,” he grumbles.

But as the episodes keep rolling, you can see his resistance slowly crumbling. His book is closed for good now and placed on the side table next to him. “What a load of bullshit” has now turned into “what a fucking nob head!” and “can you believe them?!”

And as the day turns into dusk and the marathon draws ungracefully to an end, he waves his finger at the TV.

“Put the next episode!” he orders.

“It’s not aired yet.”

Simon’s face contorts into a look of pure shock and horror, and you stifle a laugh.

“You can’t be serious, love!” he yells. “When are the next ones supposed to be aired?”

“In two weeks, Si-”

“TWO WEEKS?” he exclaims in a high-pitched voice. “What are we supposed to do for two weeks?!”

“There are three more seasons before this o- “

“Now!” He commands, slapping the cushion with enthusiasm. “Put. The first. Season. Now!”

———————————————————————

Hey, sweet person who requested this and fellow readers! 🍫 Hope you enjoyed it! Maybe I got Simon a little out of character with the “Love Is Blind” scene, but I saw a similar TikTok/IG Reel (I can’t remember where exactly) and instantly thought of him. So I wanted to include it! Also, my stupid ass kept writing “whisker” instead of “whisk” until I thought to google it. Glad I did.

[suppermariobroth]

In Super Mario 64, it is possible for a Grindel (the jumping Thwomp-like enemy inside the pyramid in Shifting Sand Land) to send Mario all the way to the bottom of the pyramid in the manner shown in the footage.

If Mario is caught under the Grindel as it stomps on the bridge the last time before turning around, the motion of the Grindel turning will be applied to Mario's squished body, throwing him off the bridge. As all vertical movement is applied instantly to Mario in that state due to an oversight in the code, instead of falling off the bridge, Mario will simply teleport to the bottom of the pyramid instantly.

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