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September 25 2017

tiffanygladiator:

semicolonthefifth:

thecavenest:

sakyubaso:

Do any of you know about that one painting with Aphrodite being born out of lava with a black swan by her side or did i completely hallucinate that? Been searching for a while but i can’t find it for shit.

I tried googling that description but no luck either, anyone might know what painting this might be (or if it does exist? cause it sounds sick lol)

It took a bit of googling magic, but I think I’ve found it.

This is “Kindled” by Laura K. Cannon, which is part of her portfolio that can be found here: http://navate.com/2wk6im1sartc92iwza7il07bxq2mk5

Is this what you were looking for? @sakyubaso

I’m in love.

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justatiredlesbian:

Arrowverse + Batman references

Bonus: Wonder Woman, Aquaman and Green Lantern

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selina-bruce:

150 days of selina kyle — day 36

Catwoman - 051 (2011)

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imnotafan:

crazysnake19:

imnotafan:

crazysnake19:

imnotafan:

crazysnake19:

imnotafan:

crazysnake19:

imnotafan:

crazysnake19:

imnotafan:

crazysnake19:

timdrakeishere:

You guys will not believe what I just ordered online.

Who are we kidding, Tim Drake commissioned this coffee.

Otherwise known as that time Tim tricked Bruce into approving the development of this coffee.

Tim slipped the proposal for Death Wish coffee into a bunch of documents for Bruce to sign. Because Bruce made the mistake of trusting that Tim would never hand him a stupid proposal to sign off on, he didn’t bother going through them carefully.

When Tim brought the signed proposal to WE’s R&D department, they were terrified and confused that this proposal was even a thing, but, here it is.

Tim personally supervised the development of this coffee.

It’s patented.

And not FDA approved.

Dick has not found out yet, which is the only reason Tim is still drinking it and supervising its production (because we all know Dick would go totally mama bird and stage an intervention if he ever found out).

Damian totally knows and is holding it over Tim’s head every time he needs help to do something he wants to do that neither Bruce nor Dick would ever let him do.

Stephanie knows but is willing to trade her silence for as much of the coffee as she needs whenever finals roll around.

One time, Jason tried to swipe Tim’s coffee mug and take a sip (just to mess with him) and Tim calmly threatened to blow up all of his safe houses worldwide if he didn’t give the mug back.

The complete conviction in Tim’s voice convinced Jason to hand the mug back, but he’s started “subtly” suggesting that Tim see someone about his caffeine addiction.

(The only reason Tim threatened him is because, if Jason had taken a sip, he would have realized that it wasn’t normal coffee. And, yeah, Jason would have held it over his head for a week or so before he decided it was really unhealthy and got all of the “responsible” people in the family together to hold an intervention. Because apparently Jason is trying to be a better brother or some crap that mainly involves him drugging Tim to make him sleep more. Tim liked him better when he was a worse brother.)

Jason is just as much of a mama bird as Dick (just don’t let him hear you say that). He has physically hauled Tim off to a rehab facility at least once, but really, what facility could hold Tim?

So Tim keeps up a constant chess game of misdirection, manipulation, and outright avoidance to keep the family away from his coffee, both made and unmade. Those grounds are worth more than their weight in gold, to say nothing of the coffee made from them, and the wrong person getting their hands on them (be it a supervillain or the wrong sibling) could spell doom for Tim and his precious life source. 

At least once, Jason has broken into Tim’s apartment to do something nice and big-brotherly (he knows his little brother so well) and been stretching his hand to the cupboard only to be interrupted by Tim flying from his bedroom - wild-eyed, half asleep, and hair askew - and pinning him to the floor in a hold Jason’s seen only the best in the League of Assassins do. 

“Not that cupboard.”

At this point, Jason is so far beyond suspicious, it’s not even funny. 

It’s normal for Tim to keep secrets. Tim likes secrets more than he likes sleep (which isn’t saying much because Tim hates sleeping, but that is not Jason’s point at this specific moment in time). 

But this? 

This isn’t normal.

He coordinates a secret meeting with Dick (Tim’s not the only one who can keep secrets) and lays out all of the evidence. 

Dick is so relieved he’s not the only one who noticed! He proceeds to point out the fact that Tim has started washing the coffee pot. (Tim doesn’t believe in washing coffee pots. He thinks leaving the coffee residue from the previous pot makes the coffee stronger.) 

So, yeah, Dick has been worried. But forcing Tim to talk about his problems is… not a good idea.

Damian scoffs at them (because they were having their secret meeting next to the training mats) and says they’re ridiculous.

Dick and Jason exchange a look because that scoff was a special scoff. That was an “I know something you don’t scoff”.

It takes Dick 70 minutes to break Damian. 

But, while Tim has no self-preservation, he does have coffee-preservation instincts. And he’s noticed the overly-concerned looks Dick and Jason have been shooting him. So, he’s put his Emergency plan into place.

The department that produces the coffee? They’ve disappeared. (They’ve been moved to the sub-basement because no one goes down there anymore.) Everyone who knows about the coffee? Tim hand delivered them generous bonuses with a subtle reminder that this is a top secret project and Tim is the only executive with access to the project’s existence. The project proposal that Bruce unknowingly signed? Gone. The coffee that Tim has been storing in various safe houses? Locked in a biometric safe buried 10 feet under ground in the graveyard on Manor property because the sanctity of the burial ground hasn’t existed since Jason came back to life and also Tim will do anything to protect his coffee.

Dick and Jason are too late when they perform their investigation, search, and interrogation. Tim pastes on an effective innocent face and doesn’t fight when Jason sips his coffee because it’s normal coffee.

Unfortunately, they have him under surveillance and he can’t go back for his coffee.

Withdrawal sets in more quickly than he was expecting.

Tim is having hallucinations by the end of the day. 

His paranoia has gone so far off the charts that he is seeing enemies he hasn’t faced yet but predicted (when he was cognizant) that he would eventually fight. 

The hallucinations are the only thing keeping him upright from the skull-splitting headaches. 

Dick and Jason have to handle both Tims - the limp Tim moaning like a dying animal and the hysterical, paranoid detective-on-the-hunt Tim - and get him back to the Manor without the paparazzi catching wind. 

They have to wrap him in a garden hose at one point (among other things), and they’re constantly throwing out ideas on how to spin it should the paps find out. 

“He was exposed to an untested WayneTech aerosol?”

“Too literal. Allergic reaction?”

“Not enough. Went off his meds?”

“If we’re going to give ‘em something to chew on for months, what about a bondage role play gone wrong?”

“Jason, focus.”

By the time they get back to the Manor, Alfred is waiting and leads them through a trapdoor in the floor of the kitchen and deep into the bowels of the house. The three go down a narrow corridor (Tim is in headache mode at the moment, mumbling incoherently about ‘league,’ ‘avocados,’ ‘team bonding,’ and ‘knitting’).

They stop at the third door, and Alfred uses a set of almost medieval-looking keys to unlock it. Dick pushes it open to see… 

…a padded room.

“How long has this been here?” says Jason. 

“We’re deep within the foundations, so it was either part of the original design, or it was very carefully made in the years that followed,” Dick responds.

Hauling Tim’s dead weight to the air mattress in the corner, Jason quips, “Hey Alfie, have you ever used any of these rooms on Bruce?” 

Alfred very pointedly does not respond.

It takes 4 days - 4 - for Tim to recover to a vaguely functioning state.

The interim is not pleasant for anybody.

Tim escapes the room 4 times before Jason suggests sedating him. They decide against it because they aren’t sure how the sedatives will interact with the hazardous chemical coffee in Tim’s body.

So, they take turns sitting outside the room.

Dick goes first. Tim escapes 3 time before Dick puts him in a sleeper hold, whispering “sorry” and “stop trying to bite me, Timmy” until Tim finally passes out. He gets hugs from everyone in the vicinity because what has Tim been ingesting?

Jason is next, and he knocks Tim out on the first escape. 

Damian bites Tim back - and then knocks him out.

Bruce is worried about Tim being knocked unconscious so many times so close together, but Jason asks if he has any better suggestions. He doesn’t.

Cass does. She brings chains.

It’s honestly horrifying for all of them involved. Steph is just grateful she’s only had one cup so far.

After the four days are over, they bring Tim out.

The first thing he does is head to WE to see if there’s any new coffee. 

He’s horrified to find out that the project has been shut down “on Mr. Wayne’s orders.”

Not that Tim’s going to let that stop him - he still has a stash buried in the graveyard. He just needs to create a diversion so that he can dig it up…

Tim calls in every favor he is owed (plus several he is not) and makes arrangements for the Distraction to go down in three days.

(Not because he needs that much time to arrange it, but because that’s the maximum number of days before he snaps from drinking the piddly excuse for his holy drink that mere mortals normal people have the gall to call coffee)

His plan is a masterpiece - four simultaneous thefts from moving trains, one shipment of illegal drugs being unloaded at the docks, a warehouse catching fire, and explosions galore for Operation: Maximum Diversion. 

(Tim’s arranged it so minimal damage is done, but the head of Gotham General has been forewarned just in case. Tim owed her a favor.)

It will be loud, it will be colorful, it will be chaotic. 

It will be everything Batman & Co. are attracted to and something they will spend all evening mopping up.

The night arrives, and the first warehouse explodes. Calls flood in. 

Oracle can barely keep up with the volume of incoming emergencies and deploys every member of the family one-by-one. The family handles each crisis with increasing ease, and dots start getting connected.

“You’re actors?”

“We’ve got to support ourselves somehow.”

In the ensuing check-in over the comms, Tim is the only one missing. Every member of the family can hear Bruce’s snarl. 

“Find him.”

Tim doesn’t waste any time.

When the Distraction commences, he suits up and pretends to head out, but, in reality, he’s not going anywhere. (Not without his coffee).

He heads to the graveyard, digs up his safe, opens it, and dumps his loot into a duffel bag. He slings it over his shoulder and then heads to the Cave. He hops on his motorcycle and makes sure that only 2 security cameras catch him during the fifteen minute ride. He parks his bike outside of the building and then scales his way up to the open balcony.

Selina owed him a favor too. 

She raises her eyebrow, but promises to keep her mouth shut when Red Robin disappears and a young woman with red hair and brown eyes appears in his place.

She has no idea what’s going on and hates that she’s in the middle of it, but she’s pretty sure she’s going to be well entertained for the rest of the night.

Tim, disguised as Dorothy-Anne Pollock, exits Selina’s building, and catches a cab to the city limit.

That’s where he calls Kon to pick him up. Kon is there in less than five minutes - he’s very confused over Tim’s appearance and his sudden need to “get out of Gotham for a while” but he’s been trained not to ask questions.

So he picks Tim up and flies them out of there.

The duffel held securely in Tim’s chest.

September 24 2017

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radio-silents:

that spider-man/deadpool comic though

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imnotafan:

jasonpetertoddx:

imaginedrama:

Batfam Tweets 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8/?: Oml

LMAO im crying

That last tweet is Jason, right?

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westernsocietyfucked100years:

rainy-days-end-is-nigh:

lindentreeisle:

literal-ghost:

potedo:

Whoever invented kangaroos is a fucking idiot

Kangaroos are animals that seem like they should be cryptids but it’s an entire species.

A kangaroo standing straight up is so deeply unsettling.  It’s like you’re a furry who wished for anthropomorphic animals to be real and then it happened and you’re like NO DO NOT LIKE.

Kangaroos are dumb cause females only breed with the ones with the most muscles/testosterone so the entire species is roid raging itself to extinction

chad race

dalekteaservice:

radioactivepeasant:

On the topic of humans being everyone’s favorite Intergalactic versions  of Gonzo the Great:
Come on you guys, I’ve seen all the hilarious additions to my “humans are the friendly ones” post. We’re basically Steve Irwin meets Gonzo from the Muppets at this point. I love it. 

But what if certain species of aliens have Rules for dealing with humans?

  • Don’t eat their food. If human food passes your lips/beak/membrane/other way of ingesting nutrients, you will never be satisfied with your ration bars again.
  • Don’t tell them your name. Humans can find you again once they know your name and this can be either life-saving or the absolute worst thing that could happen to you, depending on whether or not they favor you. Better to be on the safe side.
  • Winning a human’s favor will ensure that a great deal of luck is on your side, but if you anger them, they are wholly capable of wiping out everything you ever cared about. Do not anger them.
  • If you must anger them, carry a cage of X’arvizian bloodflies with you, for they resemble Earth mo-skee-toes and the human will avoid them.
  • This does not always work. Have a last will and testament ready.
  • Do not let them take you anywhere on your planet that you cannot fly a ship from. Beings who are spirited away to the human kingdom of Aria Fiv-Ti Won rarely return, and those that do are never quite the same.
  • Basically, humans are like the Fair Folk to some aliens and half of them are scared to death and the others are like alien teenagers who are like “I dare you to ask a human to take you to Earth”.

    We knew about the planet called Earth for centuries before we made contact with its indigenous species, of course. We spent decades studying them from afar.

    The first researchers had to fight for years to even get a grant, of course. They kept getting laughed out of the halls. A T-Class Death World that had not only produced sapient life, but a Stage Two civilization? It was a joke, obviously. It had to be a joke.

    And then it wasn’t. And we all stopped laughing. Instead, we got very, very nervous. 

    We watched as the human civilizations not only survived, but grew, and thrived, and invented things that we had never even conceived of. Terrible things, weapons of war, implements of destruction as brutal and powerful as one would imagine a death world’s children to be. In the space of less than two thousand years, they had already produced implements of mass death that would have horrified the most callous dictators in the long, dark history of the galaxy. 

    Already, the children of Earth were the most terrifying creatures in the galaxy. They became the stuff of horror stories, nightly warnings told to children; huge, hulking, brutish things, that hacked and slashed and stabbed and shot and burned and survived, that built monstrous metal things that rumbled across the landscape and blasted buildings to ruin.

    All that preserved us was their lack of space flight. In their obsession with murdering one another, the humans had locked themselves into a rigid framework of physics that thankfully omitted the equations necessary to achieve interstellar travel. 

    They became our bogeymen. Locked away in their prison planet, surrounded by a cordon of non-interference, prevented from ravaging the galaxy only by their own insatiable need to kill one another. Gruesome and terrible, yes - but at least we were safe.

    Or so we thought.

    The cities were called Hiroshima and Nagasaki. In the moment of their destruction, the humans unlocked a destructive force greater than any of us could ever have believed possible. It was at that moment that those of us who studied their technology knew their escape to be inevitable, and that no force in the universe could have hoped to stand against them.

    The first human spacecraft were… exactly what we should have expected them to be. There were no elegant solar wings, no sleek, silvered hulls plying the ocean of stars. They did not soar on the stellar currents. They did not even register their existence. Humanity flew in the only way it could: on all-consuming pillars of fire, pounding space itself into submission with explosion after explosion. Their ships were crude, ugly, bulky things, huge slabs of metal welded together, built to withstand the inconceivable forces necessary to propel themselves into space through violence alone.

    It was almost comical. The huge, dumb brutes simply strapped an explosive to their backs and let it throw them off of the planet. 

    We would have laughed, if it hadn’t terrified us.

    Humanity, at long last, was awake.

    It was a slow process. It took them nearly a hundred years to reach their nearest planetary neighbor; a hundred more to conquer the rest of their solar system. The process of refining their explosive propulsion systems - now powered by the same force that had melted their cities into glass less than a thousand years before - was slow and haphazard. But it worked. Year by year, they inched outward, conquering and subduing world after world that we had deemed unfit for habitation. They burrowed into moons, built orbital colonies around gas giants, even crafted habitats that drifted in the hearts of blazing nebulas. They never stopped. Never slowed.

    The no-contact cordon was generous, and was extended by the day. As human colonies pushed farther and farther outward, we retreated, gave them the space that they wanted in a desperate attempt at… stalling for time, perhaps. Or some sort of appeasement. Or sheer, abject terror. Debates were held daily, arguing about whether or not first contact should be initiated, and how, and by whom, and with what failsafes. No agreement was ever reached.

    We were comically unprepared for the humans to initiate contact themselves.

    It was almost an accident. The humans had achieved another breakthrough in propulsion physics, and took an unexpected leap of several hundred light years, coming into orbit around an inhabited world.

    What ensued was the diplomatic equivalent of everyone staring awkwardly at one another for a few moments, and then turning around and walking slowly out of the room.

    The human ship leapt away after some thirty minutes without initiating any sort of formal communications, but we knew that we had been discovered, and the message of our existence was being carried back to Terra. 

    The situation in the senate could only be described as “absolute, incoherent panic”. They had discovered us before our preparations were complete. What would they want? What demands would they make? What hope did we have against them if they chose to wage war against us and claim the galaxy for themselves? The most meager of human ships was beyond our capacity to engage militarily; even unarmed transport vessels were so thickly armored as to be functionally indestructible to our weapons.

    We waited, every day, certain that we were on the brink of war. We hunkered in our homes, and stared.

    Across the darkness of space, humanity stared back.

    There were other instances of contact. Human ships - armed, now - entering colonized space for a few scant moments, and then leaving upon finding our meager defensive batteries pointed in their direction. They never initiated communications. We were too frightened to.

    A few weeks later, the humans discovered Alphari-296.

    It was a border world. A new colony, on an ocean planet that was proving to be less hospitable than initially thought. Its military garrison was pitifully small to begin with. We had been trying desperately to shore it up, afraid that the humans might sense weakness and attack, but things were made complicated by the disease - the medical staff of the colonies were unable to devise a cure, or even a treatment, and what pitifully small population remained on the planet were slowly vomiting themselves to death.

    When the human fleet arrived in orbit, the rest of the galaxy wrote Alphari-296 off as lost.

    I was there, on the surface, when the great gray ships came screaming down from the sky. Crude, inelegant things, all jagged metal and sharp edges, barely holding together. I sat there, on the balcony of the clinic full of patients that I did not have the resources or the expertise to help, and looked up with the blank, empty, numb stare of one who is certain that they are about to die.

    I remember the symbols emblazoned on the sides of each ship, glaring in the sun as the ships landed inelegantly on the spaceport landing pads that had never been designed for anything so large. It was the same symbol that was painted on the helmets of every human that strode out of the ships, carrying huge black cases, their faces obscured by dark visors. It was the first flag that humans ever carried into our worlds.

    It was a crude image of a human figure, rendered in simple, straight lines, with a dot for the head. It was painted in white, over a red cross.

    The first human to approach me was a female, though I did not learn this until much later - it was impossible to ascertain gender through the bulky suit and the mask. But she strode up the stairs onto the balcony, carrying that black case that was nearly the size of my entire body, and paused as I stared blankly up at her. I was vaguely aware that I was witnessing history, and quite certain that I would not live to tell of it.

    Then, to my amazement, she said, in halting, uncertain words, “You are the head doctor?”

    I nodded.

    The visor cleared. The human bared its teeth at me. I learned later that this was a “grin”, an expression of friendship and happiness among their species. 

    “We are The Doctors Without Borders,” she said, speaking slowly and carefully. “We are here to help.”

    almightyload:

    neproxrezi:

    neproxrezi:

    its freezing and the heater is broken so im gonna run the most challenging-to-render thing i own (minecraft) and make my pc so hot itll warm the room up

    ok we good

    So this is what hubris looks like in physical form…

    gaycloak:

    dragontatoes:

    rizaoftheowls:

    katana-wielding-bookworm:

    I want Terry Crews and Vin Diesel to do a buddy cop movie where they are both secret nerds but they don’t want the other to know. Like Vin Diesel plays D & D on weekends and Terry likes to create epic crossover fan art. Somehow they have to work undercover at Comic Con and for what ever reason I need Daniel Radcliffe to be the villain. 

    I’d like to add: not a character played by Dan Radcliffe. Dan Radcliffe, appearing as himself.

    no, no wait… I want Elijah Wood to play Daniel Radcliffe.

    Elijah Wood plays Daniel Radcliffe and his evil sidekick is Elijah Wood played by Daniel Radcliffe

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    artinggrace:

    tony’s POV to my previous peter comic

    kinda hard being a mentor when you dont really think of yourself as a good role model (or a good person in general…) 😔😔

    on [ twitter | instagram ]

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    artinggrace:

    [2008-2012-2017]

    so its confirmed canon peter was 5 when tony said “i am iron man”, he was 9 when battle of new york happened and after a lifetime of hero worshipping a larger than life figure its gotta be tough to suddenly have him be your mentor (especially when said hero figure doesnt consider himself heroic and really hates himself)

    (edit: tony’s POV)

    [ twitter | instagram

    marvel-is-ruining-my-life:

    yay855:

    marvel-is-ruining-my-life:

    Honestly, I could watch an entire movie of baby Groot going to find things for people and always bringing back the wrong thing

    Each trip becomes more and more bizarre, until, finally, someone asks him to bring them a pen, and he’s gone for a week, and when he comes back, he has the Infinity Gauntlet.

    I need this

    gaygirlsandgaythings:

    Harley Quinn freaking left an abusive relationship that turned her into a villain and is now dating a poisonous plant loving lesbian and trying to do good. Like honestly name a more iconic character.

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    imnotafan:

    the-beast-boy:

    The flash by Gabriel Picolo is amazing!

    Yes.

    Absolutely.

    batboyblog:

    smolbatbirbs:

    What even is damians system for naming pets ??

    Bc like Titus thats like a refined as shit name for a dog right???

    But then he names his kitty after his butler/grandad and his cow is just. Batcow????

    And dont get me started on jerry the fucking turkey

    Kid you have 0 consistency with names

    Its character development, Titus is his first pet named after a Roman general, that’s in line with who the Al Ghuls would want him to be with classic warriors on the mind

    Alfred is his second, he’s edging into a family into normal life, it’s a sign of affection dressed as a mocking joke because he’s not ready to tell Alfred or anyone how he feels

    Finally Batcow is the name a kid would give its goofy and silly and carefree, he’s found a home and can be a child

    just-shower-thoughts:

    Sometimes, I think that the greatest thing Game of Thrones achieved was make me sympathize with a man who pushed a child off a tower for catching him fucking his own sister.

    ambiguousrambles:

    just-shower-thoughts:

    The police should wear red and blue light up shoes for when they get into chases by foot

    #did Jake Peralta say this [x]

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