#or maybe even

[real-reulbbr-band]

I know the reason Mungojerrie isn’t as blinged out as Rumpleteazer is in their song costumes probably has more to do with budget constraints or lack of incentive, but I like to think that Rumpleteazer likes to show off her latest collection additions whereas Mungojerrie prefers to keep his goodies locked away and hidden. Mungo still shows off to who he can but just as quick as he shows he’s equally as quick to stuff it back into those socks he and Rump use to grab their treasures.

I say blinged out but all Rump has on is a pretty necklace 💀

[runabout-river]

🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃

[neonleon22]

RWBY Characters as things I have heard and/or said - Pt. XII

Weiss: [trips]

Ruby: Weiss! are you okay?

Weiss: of course. Pain is merely information that the mind can master

Blake: so it didn’t hurt then?

Weiss, crying: no, I feel great

[achronicallybumblingfool]

i was filled with an incredible rage today and i cant let it go for some reason. like its sitting in my bones and bubbling there while i feel all this surface level happiness but somewhere down under theres a need to scream and get my hands on someone in such a way that theyll never look at me the same way again

really need to find a rage room

[bloomynmoon]

Something seems…. Familiar….?

[erix-detergentt]

forewarning - adults only shit below, dont read this if you're under 18 years of age, thanks

wrote a bigass post about.. *checks notes* what kinda snipah tee eff two shit i may like.. i guess. for those who dont know: I Dont Like Him Usually, to put it nicely. also theres a pinch of me whining about current and everliving fandom nature. because its all connected, somehow

read that shit here..... or else

[word-count-bullet-count]

I've been seeing a lot of knight posts recently. pretty great

[ionomycin]

temple at the end of the road

[starridge]

also deciding to make stuff that 12 year old me would have wanted to draw

[lowpawly]

I like how people on tumblr/twitters examples of irredeemable media are always coincidentally media that had been highly popular online 5 years prior and would, say, potentially be something a young adult might be embarrassed about having liked as a teenager at one point

[asteroidtroglodyte]

5 years ago, I was in Rehab.

10 years ago, I was watching my Potential and Opportunities dissolve and evaporate in an ocean of cheap gin and expensive whiskey.

But 5 years ago, I was in Rehab.

One of the exercises they had us perform was to imagine ourselves happy, 5 years in the future.

Many of us in that room had forgotten how to imagine nice things happening to them. A few snorted (well, I snorted), finding the notion that we’d even still be around in 5 years grimly humorous.

For about half of us, it was the last stop on the way down.

But I indulged the therapist. I was there, after all, because I did not want to die. So, I imagined myself, 5 years hence.

Happy.

It came to me all at once; an artistic remix on Norman Rockwell’s Freedom From Want, reframed with myself placing food at the table.

Sunday Dinner At My Place, I answered, when it came my turn to share my fantasy. I was asked what food I imagined eating.

It’s not the meal itself, I said, it’s the implications framed around it. Sunday Dinner At My Place means that I have a Place. It means that I have Family that will actually speak to me and friends who actually want to see me. It means money enough not just to feed myself but others too. It means having the time to spare to take the time preparing the meal.

A lot of nodding heads all around me. A struck chord. Many people with no Place, in that place. Nowhere that would lament their leaving.

5 years hence, as I lay down to sleep in my Home, with my Wife and my Son, surrounded by my Art and my Flowers, I reflect.

It was a long road. It was hard. We lost people. So many people. There were long days and long nights and hospital stays. Angry arguments with ghosts. I changed, in ways I never hoped for, or expected. Good ways, finally, for once. Slowly, against the backdrop of a world in chaos, I found my mind.

Sometimes, My Wife wondered aloud, what she did to deserve me. After some stumbling with my feelings, I eventually settled on an answer.

I’m a Rescue.

She gave me a Home.

And, so, I gave her a Family.

It seemed fair

This Sunday, my folks, which whom I have not had a shouting match in years, will come over for dinner. We will cook and eat together. My Friend became My Wife, and she took a piece of me and with it she made Our Son. There will be many hugs, and no violence. Good Things Happened.

I don’t know who needs to hear this, but you don’t know what the future holds.

don’t give up yet, ok?

It could get good, even.

[ideas-ideasideasideas]

Batman gives each of his Robins a different code to use when they’re in trouble and need immediate extraction. He promises that when they call, he’ll drop everything just to get to them, come hell or high water.

Jason, during his time with the League, shares his code with Damian, to be used “only in the direst of circumstances, when you have exhausted all other options.” He doesn’t know if Bruce will answer, given how fractured their relationship was before he died, but it is better than nothing. Every tool counts when they live such dangerous lives.

Damian uses it exactly once, and Bruce, who still feels the loss of his son like a yawning chasm in his chest, responds to it even though he knows it can’t be Jason because Jason’s dead. What he finds, instead of Jason, is a boy in League garbs, drenched in blood from the tips of his midnight-black hair to his too-small feet, with a face that Bruce sees himself and Talia in, requesting asylum from a grandfather who wishes to possess his body. Bruce doesn’t question how this boy who is so clearly his son knew the code. Talia al Ghul is resourceful and places family above all; the code is not beyond her abilities to discover, and she is not above using Bruce’s desperate love for his dead son to ensure that hers does not meet the same fate.

Bruce takes Damian in, because of course he does, and since Jason is dead he allows Damian to keep using the code. After all, it’s not like Jason is alive to use it, right? If someone uses the code, there’s no one it could be but Damian, right?

The next time the code is used, Bruce traces the location to Gotham even though Damian was supposed to be in Bludhaven visiting Dick. But whatever happened that resulted in Damian being in Gotham can wait, because he has already failed one son and he will not fail another, his son is in trouble and he needs to get to him, he needs to—

What he finds, instead of Damian, is a boy (just eighteen, too young, but also too old, but also he will always be a boy to him) in League garbs, drenched in blood from the tips of his midnight-black hair to his too-large feet (when had he gotten so big), wearing the face of his dead son.

(Who, maybe, just maybe, may no longer be so dead.)

[jonnywaistcoat]

I low-key love the fact that sci-fi has so conditioned us to expect to be hanging out with a bunch of cool space aliens, that legitimate, actual scientists keep proposing the most bizarre, three-blunts-into-the-rotation "theories" to explain the fact we're not.

Some of my favourites include:

Zoo Theory: What if there are loads of aliens out there, but they're not talking to us because of the Prime Directive from Star Trek? (Or because they're doing experiments on us???)

Dark Forest Theory: What if there are loads of aliens out there, but they all hate us and each other so they're all just waiting with a shotgun pointed at the door, ready to open fire on anything that moves?

Planetarium Theory: What if there's at least one alien with mastery over light and matter that's just making it seem to us that the universe is empty to us as, like, a joke?

Berserker Theory: What if there were loads of aliens, but one of them made infinite killer robots that murdered everyone and are coming for us next?!!

Like, the universe is at least 13,700,000,000 years old and 46,000,000,000 light years big. We have had the ability to transmit and receive signals for, what, 100 years, and our signals have so far travelled 200 light years?

The fact is biological life almost certainly has, does, or will develop elsewhere in the universe, and it's not impossible that a tiny amount of it has, does, or will develop in a way that we would understand as "intelligent". But, like, we're realistically never going to know because of the scale of the things involved.

So I'm proposing my own hypothesis. I call it the "Fool in a Field" hypothesis. It goes like this:

Humanity is a guy standing in the middle of a field at midnight. It's pitch black, he can't move, and he's been standing there for ages. He's just had the thought to swing his arms. He swings one of his arms, once, and does not hit another person. "Oh no!" He says. "Robots have killed them all!"

[blabberoo]

told myself i'd make a short sketches during my break time.. i made a whole ass comic

[littlestartopaz]

Former AP/IB kid here (college level classes in high school) and those tests are insane. I'm talking 75 questions in 60 minutes insane. So here's 2 tips for that kind of hell that's just good for any kind of multiple choice tests.

In a section where there is reading and then questions, read the questions FIRST then the reading SECOND. Try to remember the gist of the questions and you look for the answers while reading. Develop this skill well enough, and you can eventually train yourself to look for key words and phrases for each question and all you have to do is scan, not actually read the passage. This greatly reduces time because you don't have to read the passage twice.

It was kinda touched on before, but i want to reinforce answer what you know FIRST. If you cannot immediately (or quickly) answer a question after reading the answers, move on and come back. This allows you to answer more questions you are confident in, thus most likely bringing up your grade because if there are any unanswered questions, they're ones you may not have gotten correct anyway.

Every single time I say the phrase “I was classically trained in the art of multiple choice tests” everyone in the room who’s not a millennial laughs at my joke while all the other millennials in the room immediately look like they just walked in on a funeral by accident.