#(jimjams)

[martianbugsbunny]

asking bc I was outside a couple days ago in the Minnesota chilliness in my pajammies bc the hotel fire alarm went off in the evening and while I was shivering I was having me a wonderingment about what the most common clothes are that people sleep in

mine is random shirt and shorts btw

[susiedaily]

[theowlgoesmoo]

The Amberhive Crew are varying degrees of morning people.

Atta got a full two hours of sleep last night, and she's ready to face the day, refreshed as she ever is.

Hornet woke up every twenty minutes to patrol around her and Atta's room, looking for threats and/or prey. It's a habit she learned in Hallownest, and not one that's going to break anytime soon, despite the biggest threat in Amberhive being a cranky Thorny wandering around, looking for someone to yell at.

Flik is annoyingly bright eyed and bushy tailed in the morning, always waking up ready and raring to go. That doesn't mean he's going to turn down his third mug of coffee bean juice, however.

Dot, in true little kid fashion, wakes up a hyperactive dynamo in the morning. However, five minutes later, she's ready to call it a day and crawl back into bed. Usually after waking several other people up. Thankfully Flik's leg makes a good pillow.

Quirrel doesn't believe in sleep schedules. He'll either go to bed at six in the afternoon and wake up at two in the morning, or stay up until six in the morning and only wake up around two in the afternoon. There's no in-between. Time is an illusion to him, especially bed times. Such is the life of a scholar.

[nammagadbad]

jimjams stuck

omg the jimjammiest jimjam ever tf

-ooooooo test on sequences and series tomorrow let’s hope I eat it up

my recent test scores: chemical bonding -101/160 (rank 8/102)

Laws of motion- 129/220 (rank 6/102)

LET’S STRIVE FOR IMPROVEMENT HUHUHU

ALSO I HAVE A QUIZ COMPETITION TOM AND I NO PREPARE (I never prepare cuz how tf ik what they ask)

[theredquilt]

Daily Rhett Looks

[foreverandadaydarling]

Happy birthday handsome little evil, our amazing Jimjams 🩷

[reduced-sour-cream]

I love tumblr haha

‘What do you wear to bed?’

‘Jimjams!’

‘What is that?’

Bro if do you not have pyjamas 🥺 you are MISSING OUT

[jimjammys]

I spent two minutes on this

[mr-moustache1]

When Jim Jam brings the bim bam so that flim flam doesnt gubbers da spagetti

[jimjamjimothy]

Silly kitchen HCs - Batfam edition

Bruce: despite his life long ban in the kitchen, he is very skilled at peeling potatoes -- he even won a competition for the longest potato peel when he was young

Dick: cooks through vibes, no measurements in his cookbook to speak of, it absolutely drives Jason insane.

Jason: is able to tell all the spices that go into a dish. Never question him on it, he will replicate that dish perfectly (not that his brothers take advantage of this, no way!)

Tim: absolutely a wizard at picking the best and sweetest fruits. Cannot cook to save his life though and has the same life long ban as Bruce.

Damian: absolutely loves baking bread of any kind because he gets to punch knead the dough and gets to add little designs on the sourdough ones.

[susiedaily]

[userarmand]

iwtv + nightwear 🌙

[wulfhalls]

EVERYONE BETTER CLAP AND CHEER AND CELEBRATE THE BESTEST BOY IN THE WHOLE GALAXY IS COMING BACK‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

[spaghettito3]

It's always been Curly (Pre-crash Curly x Reader)

Captain Curly, the dependable captain of The Tulpar. That's who he was and will ever be.  ... Until you joined The Tulpar.

---

Or; a small look into Curly and his relationship with his name and title, with sprinklings of fluff.

ao3

It's always been Curly. Cur–ly; two syllables, a trip up and down the steps, the natural progression of things, finishing off a dance with a bow. It's Curly from the hiring manager of that fast food place when he'd made it just in time for his interview when he was 18, dressed in a suit; It's Grant from that awkward girl in middle school who decided she liked him after seeing him score a goal, then Curly once she knew him a bit more; It's Captain from his crew, and back to Curly again when they want to get on his good side. He was Curly.

He doesn't know how it all began, but eventually people started to favour his last name. It made sense, though; a name like Curly fits the bill for a dude with golden curls. He didn't mind that shift, either—two syllables always sounded better, together, than one, alone. He was Curly.

Grant is that one person sitting on the seat closest to the pick-up area of a coffee shop that you'd see for half a second when you go to get your drink. Curly is that dependable captain of The Tulpar with a crew that relies on him. Grant is that flower pot bought at a market years ago, left sitting at the back of the closet. Curly is a bundle of flowers packed perfectly in paper from that same market, just a few, more-populated stalls away. He was Curly.

So if that's the case, why do you insist on holding onto Grant so tightly?

When you introduced yourself to him and the crew last minute—courtesy of the Pony Express—you referred to him as Grant. Grant; one syllable, an unceremonious fall down the stairs, an abrupt stop, finishing off a dance with a trip. He'd been so used to everyone referring to him as Captain or Curly that a single word alone felt similar to when the wind back on Earth would sometimes suddenly pick up and make a mess of his perfectly styled hair. And despite seeing the mess you've made, you'd continue as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Grant this, Grant that. No mention of that blond curly-haired captain, save for the one you were choosing to call Grant at the moment.

It didn't bother him; he didn't let it bother him, not when he had a job to do and bills to pay and a freighter to man. Hell, it wasn't even about your usage of the name as well; just the reasoning behind why when everyone else called him Curly. Though it was starting to become less like a small gust of wind and more like a rocky, thorny, bordering-on-uncomfortable bump in the road, and his brain soon added that train of thought to the things he'd think about when he'd try to sleep.

He eventually cracked one sleepless night down by the kitchenette with you.

There wasn't anything special that triggered it; no mocking tone he'd sooner expect someone like Jimmy to use back at home, just a simple:

“Hey, Grant. Couldn't sleep as well?”

“Why do you call me that?”

He remembers the slight falter in your smile when he’d lost himself. Curly wouldn't start the conversation with that if he decided it was even a good idea to have that conversation at all. Your act wasn't hurting anyone; it was just a name. There was no need to confront you.

Though as much as he hated ever asking and wanted to take it back, to his dismay, you took it on the chin and chuckled. “It's your name.” Your eyes remained on his, your mug clink-clink-clinking as you stirred on it.

“Everyone calls me Curly.”

“Everyone calls you Curly,” you repeated. That's when you dropped your gaze, and he hated how his eyes immediately followed the line of sight down onto your mug, as if desperate to chase it. You continued stirring on your coffee—surely it's at a drinkable temperature by now—and he debated on getting his own cup. It'd be a waste of time to try to sleep now; no way that he wouldn't overthink and repeat this conversation ad infinitum in his mind.

Eventually, you looked up and he met your eyes at an embarrassing speed. His gaze flickered onto your lips when they quirked into a smile, as if you remembered something funny. You then, with a gentle hand, slid your mug over to him.

“What if Grant gets lonely?”

That was the stupidest thing you could've said.

After all, weren't Grant and Curly the same person? Why the need for that distinction? That's when he realised your eyes were still meeting his; unwavering, curious. You weren't looking at the curly blond hair, the Pony Express uniform, or the body he'd worked so hard to get—just his eyes.

Grant wanted to laugh—actually, he did laugh, it seemed, when a chuckle bubbled out of him.

“That makes no sense.”

He reached for the mug you offered and took a sip. Then, he lowered his cup to speak, his voice softer this time:

“...But I'm sure Grant appreciates the company.”

That was the stupidest thing he could've said. You told him as such with your own chuckle.

“I'll keep on sticking by Grant, then.”

His eyes flickered onto your lips again, and it became abundantly clear that you’d grin every time you said the name Grant; first, an ‘o’ shape with your mouth for the ‘gr’, then you'd widen the shape for ‘an’—before finally grinning to enunciate the ‘t’. Grant; one syllable, a hop down the stairs, a period in a sentence, finishing off a dance with the last step. He teared his eyes away and brought the mug to his lips again, a faint heat rising to his cheeks, but it was too late; now he wouldn't be able to stop noticing your smile every time you said his name or the way you said it.

Ever since then, every time he'd hear a “Grant!” he'd turn his head that way—no longer out of a sense of obligation, but because he wanted to. Because maybe if he turned fast enough he'd catch a glimpse of your smile mid-Grant… But then he'd probably turn his head right back, eyes wide in a panic, because oh god he's not supposed to be anticipating his crewmate’s smile like this.

He’ll think about the implications of his feelings as the captain of The Tulpar later, but for now… It's not so bad being Grant.