#stabs rambles

[stabthroughme]

I think Damian should end up adopting the various pigeons of Gotham.

Like they were literally bred to be domesticated pets/working animals in the case of messenger pigeons. Here's some thoughts about it:

Damian started out with one particular pigeon who had a nicked wing and couldn't fly away from a confrontation with the villain of the week. He probably saw domesticated pigeons/messengers in the league (an animal subtle enough to carry a small message/drop and found in virtually every city in the world) and we know he's soft for injured/abandoned animals.

He takes the birb in and helps it heal and tries to check it over for various signs of ownership. He finds none, brings it into the vet (who is Very Familiar with Damian and his pets) thinking that they'd know how to find the owners and that's how he finds out that pigeons were cast out by society at large after being a point of pride for centuries.

The bird likes Damian and Damian leaves his window open (even in winter) for it to visit after it's all healed up. Damian purchases some ownership bands and pays the license fee out of his allowance to make sure the bird will be okay.

Birdy 1 comes back to the manor at least once a week and occasionally finds Damian on patrol with others, Damian decides to name it Lancelot (loyal friend, plus he just started reading Arthurian legends).

Lancelot starts showing up with it's broodmate and Damian names the broodmate Guinevere, bands and registers her and then their hatchlings who he helps hand-raise from his windowsill (where they built their nest)

He names every single pigeon that starts showing up on patrols after Arthurian legend characters (he runs out fairly quickly) and registers all of them.

Eventually it raises some red flags about possible illegal breeding operations and Jim ends up having to investigate and its literally the first time any of the bats are made aware of Damian's growing pigeon army.

Gordon of course goes back with a "he's a rich kid who loves animals and got incredibly passionate about how horrible it is that humanity turned our backs on such wonderful creatures." The thing under a sheet on his desk coos and the person he's talking to asks what it is.

Damian guilted Gordon into adopting a lone pigeon who needs more care (bc not bonded to a mate or to the flock) and you know, Babs is out on her own now and Gordon's an empty nester and pigeons are really quite affectionate-

Jason also ends up with a pigeon. So does Tim. Dick avoids it because he refuses to move back to Gotham from Blud and Damian refuses to let any pigeons experience the uprooting he had.

Anyways I love pigeons and the idea that they're "dirty" is stupid and they deserve to be taken care of k bye.

[midnight-coffee94]

No single line has ever wrecked me as hard as this one from the Good Place and I think about it constantly

[shkika]

W1 design is done finally!!

W1 is both of the V models having combined themselves into one machine! Here are some notes on it! There's a lot to this fucker I think, but I'll do my best to cover what's most important.

Design notes:

More fragile areas are usually using V2's standard tougher plating. Main examples are the base of it's limbs, as the less of it's arm it potentially loses the better, it's head (which has 2 brains inside!), kneecaps and it's shooter arms, which are less powerful but made to handle guns and weaponry with more finesse.

Note! The knuckleblaster largely is off-colored, because it is a creation of V2's before their merge (she was not made with it). She made it before they combined. Has modified only it's hand after their merge (blue).

Big surface areas or places where blood often ends up use V1's plating. So like it's chest, forearms, punching fists and so on!

Their eye looks like that, because it's cool. and. 2 brains.

Their wings are a combination, because of limited resources. If it could use all of V2's it would as they are better protected.

Character/lore notes:

The V's do NOT fight for the body. Actually any disagreement on actions it must perform are VERY dangerous and scary they prioritize reaching a solution as FAST as possible.

Not functioning correctly can mean death. That being said differing opinions specifically are okay as long as they reach the same final conclusion on what to do. Nobody is panicking if they disagree on what their fave color is.

The two brains send requests incredibly fast between each other to operate the body. Both have full control over the body and must operate it together. This is a VERY processing heavy task and an inefficient one so it requires a lot of blood. It is a VERY hungry machine.

W1 combines before the events of the game! W1 would go through the events of the game in place of just V1.

[foldingfittedsheets]

I’ll never forget the time at the vet where they brought Leeloo back to me and she was growling in her crate which is already pretty unusual. This was when I was still doing Banfield, the poor baby had to sit at the clinic for hours waiting to be seen. She was justifiably having a pretty shitty day.

As the tech set her carrier down for me I crooned and put a finger in the crate door.

The tech tensed up and blurted, “I wouldn’t do that!”

I looked up from where Leeloo was gently licking my finger and nuzzling my hand, all growling having abruptly stopped, to regard the tech with perplexity.

“Oh,” she said in embarrassment.

Like, ma’am. I understand that my very annoyed cat might take a swipe at you, but I think you can trust that I have the measure of this creature who I’ve had since she was seven weeks old and that she’d never attack me.

Would I have done the same for Korben? No. He turns into an absolute maniac when he’s upset, but Leeloo is a goddamn muppet.

[dioti]

robbing the princess of her personality and then watching her slowly degrade into a crudely drawn anime girl who keeps repeating "whatever makes you happy" because you kept asking about her own happiness (i.e. you kept doubting her autonomy) is one of the most profoundly fucked up things in this game

[bluerosefox]

Timelines, Red Robins, and Kings

When Tim Drake, who was tossed in the Pits after losing his spleen, suddenly crash lands in Clockworks Tower during Danny's Ghost King lessons, all the time keeper says with a 'I know more than you' smile "Ah, so it's this timeline being played out. How fun this will be. Danny, come. I have a new... friend for you to meet."

"CW...." Danny starts, staring unbelievable at his Ghost King mentor before sighing "Why are you like this?"

"Hush now my King. You will thank me later for the introduction between you both but for now summon forth Frostbite, we'll need his medical expertise for this one "

[gremlingirlsmell]

i think if you've fabricated or participated in transmisogynistic pedojacketing callout harassment campaigns you don't get to just pivot into being outspoken about transmisogyny and transfeminism just like that. without at least apologizing to your victims and deleting the offending material. this shit kills people. transfems are extremely unsafe around you. what the fuck is wrong with you

[misteria247]

One thing that fucks me up is that Stanley and Mabel both found adorable animal companions who they grew to love dearly and would take said animal friends everywhere like that's so fucking sweet.

Bless these two and their beloved buddies Shanklin the Possum and Waddles the Pig.

[the-artist-grimm]

*Animal Crossing Wave Sound Effect*

Anthea can be quite the...chipper vessel

[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.”

[stabthroughme]

There’s something uniquely sweet about being in the particular part of the aro spectrum that most categorically falls under demi in that when I catch feelings it’s the ultimate mark of feeling totally safe and satisfied with someone. I have reached a point where this person fills my brain with so much dopamine simply by existing that I get synaptic pulses that rewrite the paths in my brain for how this person is categorized.

There’s that joke about being a “level 20 friend” to unlock backstory but there’s something so bizarrely wholesome about my brain deciding someone is so safe, so nice, so whatever that the way they affect my neurochemistry changes.

I dunno. I just think it’s kinda neat.

[gardensnakie]

A fan of Loop saying violent things to Siffrin then proceeding to do the harmless version of what they threatened

[spacenintendogs]

incredible. ethereal. stunning.

so similar to the concept art for astrid???? i love!!!!

[maaarsbaars]

I’ve seen people headcannon that warriors knits, and yeah, I see it. However, I raise you:

Warriors is a crocheter whilst Legend is the knitter. They beef about it constantly.

(Bonus: Twilight spins yarn for them)

[kaiserouo]

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10/10 best company ever to work in

also getting the icon was a fucking hassle

add contrast → soft invert color (transformation function kinda like 1 - sigmoid) → binarize → gaussian blur

i guess i did learn something from that computer vision class

[qkmlh]

He loved him. He loved him. They both loved each other.