#trying to excel

[mattsmemes]

[humming-fly]

was anyone gonna tell me shadow saved rouge's life in sa2 or was I just supposed to find that out playing the game myself

(this worked out as a rather fitting closer for the Final Day in Year of Shadow haha, hope ya'll have a fun new year! 🎉🎉🎉)

[marciaillust]

your design of me

[smatterbrained]

Optimus should just bite Megatron really really hard that would fix a lot of things 

No.. I fear that would create a whole new problem

[astraskylark]

Need everyone to lose their minds over how cute and pretty the opening for Witch Watch is

[merrigel]

I want it back = I drag its dead weight forward

[ew-selfish-art]

Dpxdc AU: Damian decides that it’s time to go collect his brother from his assignment. Danny is starting to sniff out some non-ghostly bullshit for once.

Damian knew his twin had been exiled from the age of seven, banished to travel and observe how scientists around the world engaged with Lazarus water. The only word that Damian received that his spare was still alive were the letters of lab reports and findings that were sent back to base. As the Heir, he’s pushed to be better lest he himself be exiled or simply executed. Danny becomes a fleeting thought and then once Damian arrived in Gotham, a none existent thought.

They weren’t raised to be friends or even friendly. The were not taught codependency or allotted time to bond. The could have been perfect strangers if not for their appearance and the stories of Danny’s shortcomings becoming Damian’s praise.

It’s only once Tim informs him of an intercepted letter, one sent and saved from years prior, that Damian recalls Danny enough to care. Tim prompts him to share more, especially given the coup recently committed by Deathstroke (Slade) and Talia gone into hiding with her zealots.

At family dinner that night Damian supplies: “I suppose I should be the one to bereave my twin of his assignment. His reports will certainly go unread.”

Chaos in the Batfam ensues- meanwhile across the country- Danny sneezes and finishes writing his yearly report: “No major discoveries aside from public record patents (attached), No assistance required. -Spare”. He doesn’t know why he bothers, he hasn’t received any contact from his mother or grandfather since he was 10ish and certainly hasnt thought about his twin. But, if there’s a chance (even an itty bitty one) that his reports are being read and are holding off his reassignment, he’d rather keep assassins out of Amity Park.

Little does he know that this letter is about to be intercepted by Pru, former assassin and friend of Tim Drake. He hadn’t expected his twin to suddenly arrive and tell him that his job was done. And certainly, seeing a plane filled with an uncomfortable looking ‘family’ that requested he join them and get to know Gotham and his birth father, was not on his bingo list.

Danny does his best to let them down gently- and they seem to be accepting that he’s acclimated to this weird little town and will leave him be- when Danny suddenly has to transform into Phantom in front of them to handle a rocket sent by Skulker.

They are less willing to accept his appeal to be left alone after that… Damian is trying to “bond” with him and all the others are trying to “help” in their own way.

Sam and Tucker howl with laughter at Danny’s suddenly very large family- all while secretly working with the Wayne’s to get Danny the fuck away from the Fentons before the scientists do something they can’t undo.

[faelapis]

crazy seeing rightwing people calling the barbie movie anti-men considering i’m pretty sure the “i’m just ken” song did more good for men’s mental health than any number of their shitty little incel forums combined

[lazycranberrydoodles]

you’d think after 800 years he’d learn his lesson about taking afternoon naps. / prev comic / follow for more sleepy xie lian

[jester-privilege]

I've been trying to do more colouring, especially to find ways to practice lighting in different styles. This is from one of our AUs, called Do You Come Here Often - Robotnik meets Stone, a bartender, during a painfully boring charity gala and they hit it off.

I wrote a short story based on our RP, so I'm putting it under the cut below!

A charity gala. A waste of time, that’s what it was. Something to stroke the already grossly swollen egos of the guests, most of whom just loved masquerading as philanthropists for the tax cuts. 

It was well below Doctor Robotnik, and yet, he’d been forced kicking and screaming into a suit to sweet-talk potential investors. There was going to be reckoning once he was back in the lab. Maybe he’d launch the latest incompetent assistant into space. 

“ - and another thing - do you use that - that stuff, that comes from babies -” 

Then there was this asshole. Trapped into a conversation, Robotnik could barely maintain his rictus grin as he leaned his elbow on the bar counter, listening to the gormless, chinless man yammer on and on. Rich, politically active, and an absolute imbecile. Robotnik was going to strangle him with his stupid bowtie. 

“Because let me tell you, pal,” his conversation partner slurred. “When I’m a senator, I’m - banning all that shit. It’s not right - it’s just wrong, you know -” 

“Yes, we wouldn’t want the harmless salvage of iron rich cells from biowaste,” Robotnik muttered under his breath. 

“Yeah!” The other man gestured, coming dangerously close to spilling his watered down whiskey. “You get it - good man - what was your name again, Robot - something?” 

“Doctor Robotnik,” Robotnik said, in clipped tones.  

The man chortled. “Oh come on, you’re not a real doctor.” 

Robotnik squeezed his martini hard enough to hear it crack. His smile grew wider, his pupils narrowing. He was going to - 

“Gentlemen! Do I spy empty glasses?” a perky voice interrupted them. Robotnik turned, stiffly, and stared at the bartender - a rather handsome, well-groomed man with dark, twinkling eyes.

Robotnik’s conversation partner blinked, and looked down at his nearly empty glass. “Oh, well spotted, boy. Whaddya recommend?” 

“May I recommend you try my special blend?” the bartender suggested, his voice lowering an octave as he slid forward a glass, his movements mesmerisingly precise. “I promise it has a kick like you won’t believe.” 

The man chuckled, reaching for the fresh drink. “Just so you know, I don’t believe in tipping,” he said, as if gunning for the title of world’s most loathsome man, and downed half of the drink in one go. 

The bartender smiled peacefully. 

“Bit of a weird aftertaste,” the man slurred. He blinked, suddenly tilting forward sharply. A hand shot out, and the bartender grabbed the man’s hair, guiding his head to rest on the counter. 

“There we are,” the bartender said cheerfully. “Nice and easy. Now,” and he leaned back, smiling at Robotnik like he hadn’t just drugged his customer. “What can I get you, Doctor Robotnik?” 

Robotnik took a moment, blinking as he adjusted - and then raised his eyebrow. He was, despite himself, curious. “Not - what, a mix of ketamine and benzo?” 

“Trade secret, I’m afraid,” the bartender said, smiling. The man in the next stool snored loudly. Robotnik stood up, moving a few spaces over, and the bartender followed him. 

“I supposed you did save a life,” Robotnik said, haughtily. “His, I mean. How do you know my name?” 

“I heard the other gentleman mention it,” the bartender said. “Of course, I did recognise it.” As he spoke, he pulled out a glass, pouring in some ice. “I remember reading your paper on hive mind artificial intelligence. I always wondered whether you ever built anything based on your theories.” 

If Robotnik had been curious before, he was now drawn in, like a moth to a flame. Of course, there was a good chance he was going to get murdered tonight. “You read my - “ He paused, taking a moment to lower his voice and curb the enthusiasm. “Early prototypes showed some information lag,” he said, warily. “I’ve made some adjustments to the data compression and prioritisation - out of curiosity, how much of it did you actually understand?”

The bartender, in the midst of pouring something in the glass, blinked. “Most of it, I assume,” he said. “I did have to make some notes, to research and fully comprehend it, but - you’re a very entertaining writer, Doctor. I enjoyed your footnotes.” 

Robotnik’s footnotes were exclusively reserved for insulting other researchers. He found himself smiling, crookedly. “There’s a functional hive now.” 

The bartender looked startled, and then smiled, his teeth flashing. “Seriously? That’s amazing. How many?”

Robotnik shifted in his seat, starting to find his groove. “Three main hives, inter-connected via slow transfer - much faster on their intra-network. Fifteen, thirty-three and hundred and seven, respectively. It would be much more if my budget wasn’t decided by mouth-breathing knuckle-draggers.” 

“That’s still respectable numbers,” the bartender responded, enthusiastically. “I’d love to see them in action some day.” 

“Oh, would you now?” Robotnik smiled. “Which country are you spying for?”

To his surprise, the bartender laughed. 

“I wish I was in espionage,” the bartender said dryly. “I’m just a fan, Doctor. Personal interest - I saw some of your earlier work, in the field, a few years back.” 

“In the field?” Robotnik raised an eyebrow. “What sort of field does a bartender end up in, exactly?” 

“None whatsoever,” the bartender replied, mouth curling. “I was a mercenary. Gun for hire.”

“And now you’re bartending?” Robotnik asked, skeptically. 

“Well, I did just kill that guy,” the bartender said easily, nodding to the slumped figure a few seats away. “So after I clean up here, that’s my night done.” He smiled. “I’m Stone, by the way.” 

“...Pleasure,” Robotnik said weakly. He stared at Stone. He thought for a moment. 

“So,” he said, clearing his throat. “A fan. Don’t tell me you’ve only read one of my papers.” 

Stone pushed a drink towards Robotnik, smiling slyly. He was rather handsome, in a well-groomed, fit and conventionally attractive way, Robotnik had to admit. 

“Of course not, Doctor. That one was just my favourite - well, besides the one you wrote about applied nanotechnology -” 

“That one was utter garbage,” Robotnik said, waving his hand as he accepted the drink. “I’ve since scrapped it, started fresh with a new approach - the new paper is nearly done, if you -” he stopped himself, feeling the skin under his collar heat up. 

“If I what?” Stone asked curiously. 

“If you want to read it,” Robotnik said stiffly. “You said you were nearly done here, right? How about we blow this popsicle stand and - you come over to my hotel room, and I can show you a thing or two?” 

To his confusion, Stone went momentarily quiet, his eyes widening, before the other man stammered out a reply. 

“I - I’d love to! If you’re sure - I mean, I swear I’m not a spy - I just heard you were here, so I took on this gig in the hopes of catching a glimpse, I didn’t -” 

Robotnik raised his hand sharply, starting to feel uncomfortably warm. “Bzzzt! I’m well aware this is an honour for you! Save the yammering for later - I want to get out of here.” 

Stone had been handsome before, but he was much more so when he was flustered. Not that Robotnik cared about that - it was just rare to meet anyone who admired his work, let alone understood even half of it. He might as well use the rest of his night for something pleasant. 

“Okay, sure,” Stone said, clearly breathing slowly to calm himself down. “Uh - I have some protection on me, if we need it,” he added, shyly. 

Robotnik snorted, standing up, starting to already pull off his cursed bowtie. “Maybe for yourself, Stone. I have no need for it.” He paused, momentarily tempted to introduce Stone to his gloves - but decided against it. He’d have plenty of time for it back at the hotel, away from spying eyes. 

Behind him, Stone all but rushed from behind the bar over to him, hurrying to catch up with Robotnik’s long strides. He was blabbering on about hoping they weren’t moving too fast - as if Robotnik couldn’t get out of here fast enough. He glanced back at the other man, his chest tightening briefly at Stone’s earnest expression. Stone really was stupidly good-looking. He supposed that would be nice to look at, while they went over his papers. 

[trek-tracks]

yes and also yes

[notedchampagne]

multiple families have reached out to me because their gofundmes dont have a lot of donations, so id like to compile the fundraisers for ease of sharing:

@aseelooooo / @aseelooo2 has kr44,020 / kr200,000

@salemanqar has kr1,232 SEK / kr990,000 ‼️ has plateaud in donations

@samerpal has kr85,365 / kr450,000

note that 5 USD =~ 50 swedish krona!

@monashamali has £5,535 / £30,000

@savefamilyyousef has £2,753 / £20,000

@musababed has $5,689 / $30,000

@bilalassadabedrabou has €2,757 / €80,000

@hanaayousef has £3,689 / £20,000

@heno-mo has £3,847 / £20,000

@alhabil has €13,896 / €50,000

@ahmedabuyamin has €33,232 / €35,000‼️95% funded

@yasminalbalawiigaza has €26,417 / €50,000

@yazanfamily has €1,033 / €50,000

@ayaalanqarsblog has €3,304 / €15,000

@mohammed-atallah has €5,728 / €82,000

@malkzaeem has $20,118 CAD / $50,000

@siiraj2024 and @amani93hasan have $10,986 CAD / $82,000

@emhema1 has $544 CAD / $70,000

im going to update this list with more fundraisers + side accounts as time goes on, since staff will terminate accounts often

[selfindulgentcompetition]

TRYING AGAIN WITH CLEARER WORDING. PLS READ BEFORE VOTING

*Meaning: When did you stop wearing a mask to a majority of your public activities? Wearing a mask when you feel sick or very rarely for specific events/reasons counts as “stopping”

[More Questions Here]

[ribbononline]

Your friendly neighborhood grampa, 2x!

[happi-dreams]

the sillies the goofers the 💥💥

this is offically a hyperfixation now thank you funny bird for your essay

[markscherz]

what's your LEAST favourite herptile? the stupidest frog? the ugliest lizard? no, not either of those. so which one is it?

it's actually the very word 'herptile'. It's like saying 'birdosaurs'.

I'm guessing it stems from people wanting to expand 'herp' out into a longer word that is a noun for the animals we study as herpetologists or are interested in as 'herpers'. But that doesn't really exist. So we get this weird portmanteau of herp and reptile, apparently forgetting the amphibians. Reptibian or Amphibitiles would be better portmanteaus if we actually wanted a reasonable word representing both groups.