#*stares at the doc*

[gomzdrawfr]

the cool thing of needing to fill in blank characters/npcs in doodles or fics now is that I can include my OCs instead of literally anyone else like George

[zefferooni]

Bored af so Bloom redesign let's go!!

[strawberryyyenthusiast]

Steve is Morticia and Eddie is Gomez, do not fight me on this.

Eddie quite literally falls first and falls harder, immediately becoming obsessed with Steve. He brings him gifts, greets him with an exuberant amount of kisses each time he sees him, looks at him with so much adoration in his eyes that everyone feels like they are interrupting a private moment.

Steve warmed up to Eddie after a few days. It took him a bit but then he became extremely devoted to Eddie. He calls him the strangest pet names and accepts the quirkier side of himself once he lets himself fall into love with Eddie. He begins to wear flowy clothing and when he sees Eddie approach, he presents his neck or arm as an invitation for Eddie to place his lips on his skin.

They sit on each other’s laps interchangeably, share food from one another’s plates, and practically agree on everything. They may fight, but the aftermath only lasts for minutes at best before they are rushing back to one another, missing the presence of their other halves.

They share blood and clothing and help the other get dressed. The little things that other people, different people, wouldn’t think to do. Steve and Eddie need to be close to each other in every way possible.

Steve even wears an intricate golden locket around his neck everyday that has a lock of Eddie’s hair in it, while Eddie has Steve’s name tattooed across his chest.

When they die on the same day, five minutes apart, they are buried together in a joint coffin, holding hands, in a desolate cemetery in the middle of nowhere. Maybe one day, someone might stumble across their grave and be able to witness the greatness of their love, even after death.

[headcanonsandmore]

In retrospect, it's kinda hilarious that so many people didn't realise Yaz was attracted to the Thirteenth Doctor. Like, in series 11, Yaz was full-on thirsting like this:

And yet people didn't twig that perhaps Yaz might not be having heterosexual thoughts towards a certain time lord 😂🤣

[chubsonthemoon]

AHHHHH oh my goodness!! I had the absolute pleasure of commissioning @moonartjb to illustrate a scene from my fic, when it comes my turn to lose you <3

thank you so much, moonri!! I'm so beyond happy with how it turned out, and it was such a pleasure commissioning you. forever in love with how tenderly you drew them, in love and in their own little world, together 🥹❣️

[mofsblog]

Shoutout to this nifty bit of foreshadowing from part 37 about Scratch pretending to be an Alexander

[deerspherestudios]

Idk if this is a question that was already answered, I did check the faq and couldn’t find anything close, but can Mycheal’s hypnosis run out or can he keep that going for like, forever

I have answered this before! It was just buried under another question here (No. 1) haha! But the gist of it is:

(referring to what happens to creatures under his influence after he dies) ...The hypnosis isn’t permanent, if Mychael is away from them long enough the effects will start to fade; it’s kinda like the purple influence in Day 1.

I hope that answers your question! In the Play Pretend ending, he definitely can't stray far from MC too long in case the hypnosis fades. You can definitely come up with interesting scenarios with that.

[theloveinc]

jason todd x reader - boobies and entrails, entrails and boobies. 1.3k

(warnings: afab!reader who has bio baby and is called "mama," mentions of giving birth and post-birth body, nipple worship, kinky and weird SORRY i went insane, one instance of gore, jason is pretty teasing and suave, but so are you. mature themes, be warned.)

Jason and his staring problem—

At you, mostly (he gets it from the whole “being a vigilante” thing, he says when you point it out. It has to run deeper than that, though—because it’s not just tactical scans and daggers you catch him shooting, but the most heinous pair of bedroom eyes, as well, even in the most public of places), but also… at every single thing around you, too. Not a single trip out of the house goes by without him inspecting the scenery, the bus, the people around you both with those searing blue eyes. If he were anything like Superman, your whole neighbor and everyone in it would’ve been burnt to a crisp before you even managed to move in.

But also, Jason and his staring problem now that you’re lactating, as if he’s always desperately waiting for the moment your shirt comes off for whatever reason, to feed the kid or you to change your clothes. 

(He knows it’s perverted, but it’s tender in a way, too, and there’s nothing he likes more than being tender with you, having you in ways no other person can.)  

In fact, the cosmic energy of his ogling problem is probably the reason that you’re leaking through your shirt right now, breasts stiff and heavy from waiting for your baby to wake up from their snooze to be fed, and from the intensity of your lover, just watching, just waiting–

(He claims that it’s simply because he’d hate for anything to happen to either of you in such a vulnerable moment, that he can’t stand the thought of any kind of disturbance during baby’s feeds, even if it’s just the doorbell, the fridge’s automatic ice machine, or the sound of sirens outside.)

But just like their father on the nights he isn’t tossing and turning and sweating, your baby is a heavy sleeper, doesn’t exactly snore (yet) but you can always hear their little puffs of their breath through the monitor at night. It’s… cute (just like Jason is, when he’s able to fully relax). 

You’re only just coming out of the nursery when you catch sight of the stains in the hallway mirror–right where your nipples sit, over the large Wayne Enterprises logo of your shirt–cussing because now you’ve gotta change clothes and you're unsure if your raw nipples can take the friction of another bra and t-shirt sliding over your chest. 

Jason hasn’t exactly hid the nipple cream, but he keeps it on his side of the bed so that he can do the honors of applying it for you, which would be weird, but…you’ve seen his entrails on multiple occasions, plus you birthed his baby and the entire time, he had his head between your legs to watch. That aside, however, he actually knows what the hell he’s doing, cupping and kneading your chest before bed each night, one last round of filling up your pump for his shift to feed the baby before licking up the rest himself. Then, he’s slathering you in lotion, fully assured that you’re empty and content enough to sleep until it’s your turn for the baby.

(You’ve found that you’ve come to love his calloused and rough hands even more than you did previously: the ridges and notches of skin scratching every itch, feeding every urge, and serving to answer to your every need, grounding you in ways you often don’t always notice, but instead, always feel.) 

But then the man himself is appearing in the threshold, acting smug and surprised to see you as though he wasn’t already on his way to pester you in the nursery, where he’d likely pull you from your fussing with folding and refolding the baby clothes so you could sit on his lap in the room’s armchair and eventually fall asleep with your face in his neck. 

And he’s walking up and pressing his belly to yours, your sore tits nudging against where he is most firm and they are swollen, causing you to inhale sharply, huff just a little out of surprise—

Before you realize Jason’s cornered you on purpose.

(You can’t escape those eyes, not even for a second, always catching the smallest of things; the dribble of spit about to land on your shoulder when you’re burping the baby, the air bubbles that haven’t quite yet settled in a freshly made baba, the single loose thread about to unravel their little crocheted hat.)

One side of his lips tilt up, and you glare—not annoyed so much as unimpressed by his scheme. You’d much rather his initial plan, or the one that ends ups up with you in your own bedroom, taking advantage of the next 45 minutes without a baby in either of your arms, than be out here, cranky from the chill of your milk cooling on your shirt, leaving wet marks your husband will both enjoy and tease you relentlessly for (both verbally and physically). 

“What?” you mutter, trying not to shirk away from his prying gaze, unpacking you the way he’s always been able to (even now that the two of you have softened in ways only parenthood can allow for), with caution and vigilance lingering in every small movement.  

“Nothin’,” he smiles, leaning in to press his nose to yours, hands wrapping around your hips to cup your ass and pull your hips to his. You can feel the outline of something in his pants–not yet fully tented, but still chubbing with heat, and you barely brush against it when you move to curl your fingers in his belt. 

“You’re lying.” 

(Jason seems to like this domestic life he has with you, a little more than he cares to admit–out loud, at least.) 

“Just wanted a kiss, maybe,” he feigns innocence, teeth visible through his sly grin. “‘not gonna make me ask for one, are you?”

You exhale sharply, and though you raise an eyebrow, you also lift your chin, welcoming the way his mouth settles heavy on yours, curving against your lips, pressing them open wetly until your eyes are closing and you’re leaning into his frame where his arms are waiting to pull you as close as possible.

Jason pulls back, but doesn’t quite recede from you; his eyes dark and pretty eyelashes heavy in the low, evening light of the hallway…so you wait (letting him give you more delicate pecks on the mouth, cheeks, eyelids, in between each of his breaths) and wait and wait, til his hands finally start to creep, up from your hips, where his thumbs tickle your belly, still soft and wrinkled from your labor, to your waist where they begin pushing up your shirt. He fingers the low edge of your nursing bra, tickling the soft underside of your boobs as he begins to move the band upward. 

“Todd…” you warn, fidgeting in his hold as his form, his hands, his eyes overtake you, slowly stretching the elastic up and over, until it has crumpled the fabric of your t-shirt against your collarbones and your tits are free.    

Still, his eyes only crinkle at the sides, as they have started to do more and more the longer you’ve been together.

“You’re leaking, mama,” he whispers, moving his hands from your bra to where you’re now exposed, heated flesh going chilly from exposure, warming where he cups 

“And?”

He smirks, “‘just wanna help, is all.”

One of his fingers glides down your nipple gently, and milk starts to bead when he presses (not hard enough to bruise, but enough to have you keening, your at least for a second, til his hand is swiping your skin and he’s sucking the fatty drippings into his mouth and sucking. Hard. 

“Yeah?” you breathe, staring into his eyes, watching just the same. “Then why don’t you go and get my pump?”

(He does, obediently, not before turning back to give you those eyes one more time, as if to say, later, soon as baby is fed–

And boy, does he make good on the wordless promise: Jason has you howling on his thigh later even with a mouth full of milk.)

[captainbovine]

gotta commend the aphmau fandom for making smth out of nothing. massive ass posts rambling abt divine warriors that maybe have like 2 sentences of canon lore. I admire it

[daryfromthefuture]

bttf the musical deserves the world for giving us these kinds of moments alone

[insanity6666]

Molten Hearts 3.5

Vulkan keep vigil over you.

Warnings: Mentions of injuries, brief talk of confinement/captivity, brief mention of pregnancy. Vulkan letting his dragon tendencies show.

Apologies, this is a short one. Getting through this was a struggle. I had a vague idea for the scene but not much else. Also, I couldn't think of a way to lengthen it without it being weird or janky so... small one for y'all to gnaw on.

Part 1, Part 1.5, Part 2, Part 3

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Vulkan timed the machines with your breaths. Inhale. Exhale. Your heartbeat, the soft rhythm, accompanied the monotone sound, telling him you were in a deep, restful slumber. A healing sleep. 

Beep. Beep. Beep.

He sat on the chair that had been brought in for him, elbows on his knees and hands clasped at his chin. He hadn’t moved since he had returned from his duties, the meeting with the elders and his officers. He had made sure everything was in order so he wouldn’t be interrupted. He needed to stay with you. He promised to be here when you wake.

The bed was too big for you. It was made for Astartes, of course, but Vulkan demanded you receive the best care, and that meant you would be placed here in the Apothecarium instead of a baseline hospital. His sons, thankfully, had thought ahead and prepared the necessary equipment for you well before your arrival. They had admitted they hoped it would never be needed, they wouldn’t abide risking their Legion Mothers health by being ill-prepared or leaving you in the hands of other baselines who weren’t part of their legion and didn’t understand how valuable you really were.

They forgot about the bed, though.

The thought almost made him smile.

The injuries weren’t serious, really. Vulkan knew that. He had read over the medical report dozens of times. Every update or change he was alerted to, no matter how small. He knew you were alright, all things considered. The worst was the broken pinky finger, and that was only a minor oblique fracture. The rest were mostly bruises, a few stitches from where stone had cut or embedded itself into your flesh, and a general stress from the encounter. You’ve had and walked away from worse on the battlefield. He knows this.

But you were meant to be safe here. This was his homeworld. Where his influence and strength was at its greatest. The seat of his power. Yet here you lay, in a medically induced sleep to aid in your recovery from an encounter with a salamander.

He knows, logically, that it was a complete accident. A one-in-a-million chance. A random happenstance. A prime example of being at the wrong place at the wrong time. He couldn’t have known what would happen. It was no one's fault, except whoever hadn’t put up the perimeter defenses properly. That issue had been dealt with.

Vulkan still felt like it was his fault. He failed to protect you. He hadn’t been there. The only reason you were still alive is because Kessok had been with you. 

His hands tightened their grip as he watched you sleep. His mind mulling and gnawing over every injury. As much as it wasn’t productive, it helped him ignore the swirling mess of conflicting instincts and emotions in his head right now.

He hated that he wasn’t there. He was disappointed that it was one of his sons, not him, that was there to save you. He was proud his son had protected you. He was awed by your defense of Kessok. He was terrified when he saw you sitting in front of a dead salamander. He was worried for you while you lay here resting. He was honoured by your offering.

‘By the Great Forge, your offering…’ Vulkan closed his eyes as the memory replayed in his mind again. Both you and Kessok sitting in front of the dead beast, wounded but victorious, smiling in relief and triumph. His focus was on you, however. Your smile, the way you reached for him even as he pulled you into his arms, how you relaxed the moment you were safely in his hold, the pride with which you presented your courting gift.

He shifted slightly in his seat as a slight discomfort began to grow, even as he scolded himself for it.

‘This is neither the time nor the place.’ He thought as he opened his eyes, focusing on you again. ‘It is inappropriate.’

Vulkan couldn’t help it, despite his self-admonishment. You didn’t know, not truly, what you had done. You gave him one of their most ferocious creatures, something that would provide food and materials for his people and for his personal use, if he so chose. You removed a threat to the community. You had defended the city and its people. More directly, you had defended one of his sons. 

Kessok’s helmet had been recovered, which had been idly recording despite not being worn, a habit the young Astartes had developed, which allowed them to capture the encounter. The angle and positioning had not been ideal, but it allowed Vulkan to witness most of the fight.

He saw how you had attracted the beast's attention when it focused on the pinned Space Marine. Saw how you used the environment to your advantage. Saw you drop and disappear under the beast's bulk, only appearing again in a mad sprint towards Kessok somewhere off-screen. He saw the stone pierce the salamander's skull as it chased you, tumbling out of frame. 

He felt something primal well up as he recalled the details. You were so clever, so brave, so fierce. You had taken his sons as your own, and protected them as such. You were strong and beautiful. The thought of you protecting your own brood of little ones -that he would give you- made him stifle a groan. That thought immediately followed one of you quickening with his child. Growing round and soft, safe and warm and always within reach.

Slowly, he stood. Mindful of the tubes and machines as he stepped closer. He placed a hand on the wall above you as he leaned over your sleeping form. Peaceful. Bruised, but beautiful. His free hand slowly rose, the back of his knuckles grazing your cheek, careful of the scratches there.

“You do not know what you do to me.” He breathed, voice barely a whisper. The cold prickle of anxiety melting away in the face of the warmth that bloomed in his chest. It spread steadily, like lava pouring in the rivers of his veins. 

“I will not abide any threat to you. I need you safe. To be far away from danger.” He paused as he watched your eyelids flutter as you slept, your face turning slightly towards the warmth of his hand. Even in sleep, you reach for him. “I want to lock you in my chambers, away from anything that could do you harm, never to leave except with me at your side. It is selfish, I know. I cannot stand the thought of losing you, now that I have been confronted with the possibility. I want to keep you close, safe and warm and content. Forever with me.”

He closed his eyes and breathed. Slow. Steady. In. And out.

“But that would kill you. I know it would. You would hate me, and that…” He swallowed, unable to speak as his mind recoiled at the prospect of such a horrible fate, “I can’t. I can’t smother your light for my own selfish wants. I want to, but I love you too much.”

It was a terrible truth, his only mercy is that you were far too deep in your dreams to hear him.

***

@incrediblethirst, @kit-williams, @beckyninja, @bleedingichorhearts, @jaghatai-khock, @pluvio-tea, @moodymisty, @thethronezone, @iluminatka16, @runin64, @vithralith, @mooniequeen

If I have missed anyone in the taglist, please let me know!

Also if the links don't work, I'm always suspicious of them.

[razzafrazzle]

homestar looker

[image description: a sketchy animated gif of homestar from homestar runner. he stands and blinks before leaning in very closely to stare at the viewer before backing up again. end id]

[dreamymcqueen]

This scene in 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐬 ♡

One of my favourite scenes, gets me to tears every single time♡... it tastes so much like childhood, you know what I mean? Its nostalgic in a beautiful way.

I forgot to say hi everyone, its been a whileee!!🥰

[bayleavesfromthevine]

umemiya was born to be a stardew valley farmer, cannot change my mind

[dailydegurechaff]

Today's Daily Degurechaff is... 👁️👁️

[junkm4n]

Another Gustave for y’all