#the effects are cool as shit

[honeydewdonutgirl]

Look, ya’ll need to go see Blue Beetle for realzies.

If you like the MCU, if you like Iron Man, if you like Spider Man, you should go see this movie.

I have not felt the thrill of an amazing superhero movie in so long, and I definitely haven’t properly felt it with a DC movie since the Suicide Squad.

But this movie fucking rocks. So please, PLEASE, give it chance and go see this movie!

[itsdetachable]

HOLY SHIT THIS IS SO COOL. Making creature rigs to help with acting and motion capture whaaaat

Creature Bionics Website

[cozylittleartblog]

Columbo and the Knight (1984)

put me in the universe where Columbo ran through the 1980s and had a crossover episode with Knight Rider. I think they deserved it, and I am not just saying that because they're my two favorite Old Shows. @telebeast wrote a little fanfic blurb about it and I HAD to visualize it into a comic (which is also the longest comic I have finished thus far at five pages...), so writing credit goes to them.

Autism W!

[voidedjuice]

NEW girlfailure! Girl who has firmly convinced herself that she's been struck with quantum immortality, and lives her life accordingly (reckless and stupid).

Ends up getting involved in a fight between two vampires and almost dies (but doesnt!!! immortality PROVEN!), and is rewarded by the winner with an opportunity to become her kin. However said vampire is kinda stinky and a heavy smoker (ew) so she just runs away instead, with her now questionably human body & cool new scars to chuuni out about

[greenglowsgold]

The List.

Based on the Cass Apocalyptic Series.

The first part of this has been rumbling around in my brain ever since that Super Sad Scene a month ago, but yesterday’s update gave me the other side of the coin, so to speak, and finally pulled it all together.

@somerandomdudelmao thanks for the fuel, friend

                              -----

                              Donatello’s days have become a series of checklists, as of late.

No, that’s not exactly true. His days have always been about lists: what he’s done, what he can delegate to someone else, what still needs doing. But these days he’s been doing less and listing more, piling tasks from the first category onto the second as fast as he can manage, hoping he has enough time to empty the queue.

The full catalog is written out in a series of files, reorganized for accessibility to the layperson and meticulously up-to-date as of yesterday. He meant to run through it again this morning, ensure all the relevant instruction manuals were attached to each item and double check his protocols, but he wasn’t… he couldn’t…

He’s going to die tonight.

It irritates him, his own miscalculation of the timing more than the stark presence of his oncoming demise. The latter has been inevitable for quite some time, long enough that he’s gotten used to the idea. But he thought he had another week or two, and he doesn’t like being proven wrong. He wonders if his brothers know.

Probably not. They know it’s bad now, obviously, because they’ve piled him with pillows and blankets and surrounded him on all sides, and Leo has finally gone quiet. But they trust him, they’ve always trusted him, even when they shouldn’t, so if he swears he’ll last a few more days, they’ll believe him. He thinks. He’s pretty sure. If they knew it was tonight, he doubts they would choose to sleep through it. Donnie thinks about waking them up, but only for a moment. He’d like to say it’s a noble act, to leave them in peace a little bit longer, but the truth is he’s just too fucking tired to move.

There’s something settled bone-deep in his chest, a heaviness that sits on him like a stone, a peine forte et dure pressing him down and down, stopping his voice and his breath and his heart. He wonders if this is what dying usually feels like, or if it’s unique to the Kraang. Raph would know.

He cranes his neck to the right, to catch Raph’s face out of the corner of his eye. Raph’s working eye is half-open, staring down at the floor. Donnie could ask him. (He won’t. Let him fall asleep.) The movement of his head is so slight it doesn’t even catch Raph’s attention. He’s too tired for anything more. He’s so goddamn tired.

His lists are out of reach at the moment, with his physical interfaces back in the lab and his ninpo locked behind a wall of oh-god-it-sounds-too-exhausting-to-even-try, but he memorized them all long ago.

Raphael: Maintenance (delegated to Casey, who has it well in hand). Plans (tucked away in a dedicated folder, long term, but someday they’ll have the materials, and Raph will have a proper body again, someday). Honey (yes, he passed that along last week).

Raph has access to the tracking programs, so he can keep an eye on everyone himself, even when Donnie can’t pull up locations or vitals for him anymore. He has his own space in the base once more, somewhere to close a door when he needs to (he insists he doesn’t, but Donnie isn’t a fool). He has more excuses to spend time with Casey, who’s taking over his upkeep. Donnie hopes it fills in some gaps for both of them.

He runs through the list, double checks each item. It’s his last chance to make sure he hasn’t forgotten anything important.

He looks down, finds Mikey.

There’s a stockpile of the anti-aging serum in his safe, the formula in his database, plans for the permanent solution clearly labeled. As long as they have his lab, his systems, Mikey will be as young as his years. He’s walked him through the greenhouse, even if most of it is controlled by the computer system. Mikey misses the world being green; it’ll do him good to spend more time around the plants. He has his tea, his candles. He has Draxum, who by now should have received a — mildly — threatening message warning him not to pull any disappearing acts anytime soon. He has their ancestors, just a short call away.

Donnie’s sure Mikey will call on him soon. He doesn’t plan to stray far.

Up a bit. To the left. Leo.

The arm — Leo knows how to take care of it, as does Casey.

The passwords — reset, something even Leo will be able to remember without resorting to blackmail.

The schedule — reshuffled for the next few days, he’ll have a hard enough time sleeping as it is.

The photos — everything they have, even the embarrassing ones. He even managed a couple of prints, and one precious shot from their pre-apocalypse days, something for Leo to tuck into a pouch and carry with him, when they’re not around.

Raph, Mikey, Leo. He doesn’t think he’s missed anything. Donnie lets his head fall back, too exhausted to hold it up any longer.

Is it enough?

His mind stretches further out. He’s unraveling.

What about April? Her prescription is up to date, they just checked a month ago. She has the latest in his combat tech, which has kept her safe in the field this long, so he has no reason to think it will falter now. He’s leaving her a few extra pieces, since he won’t be able to use them anymore. Leo will find the time for a movie night once in a while, he’s certain, even if his taste in Jupiter Jim movies is horrendous. They still have coffee; he’d die before he let that particular supply run out. He will, actually.

Casey. Fuck, Donnie’s gonna miss his birthday. But he did plan for this, his protocols will kick in. The mask is finished, everything is in place. He’s reconfigured his workstations, fit them for a tiny human instead of a seven-foot turtle. Casey has a better head for mechanics than any of his brothers ever did. Kid likes to be useful, so Donnie’s left him as much use as he can. He’s taught him everything Casey can learn and left instructions for more, when he’s a little older and wiser. His family will take care of him, they’ll make sure he gets there.

The base. It has to hold, to give them somewhere safe. The infrastructure is sound, and they have people to manage repair work. Supplies are decent, the most critical items in stock, everything that can be made renewable is. Their allies — Leo handles interpersonal issues and leadership, but Donnie’s checked the list with a pragmatist’s eye, left notes and rankings for priority. Security is the largest concern, but he’s spent nearly half his time with his assistants since his self-diagnosis (he could have spent it with his family), running them through the programs and adjustments, trying to bring them up to somewhere in the realm of his own expertise (a fool’s errand, but still). They’ve been rigorously instructed, they understand that the little things like sleep are secondary concerns. It has to hold.

Is it enough? For them to be okay?

He’s done everything he can. He can’t do any more. So it has to be enough.

Donnie blinks, and for a moment isn’t certain his eyes will open again at the end of it. But they do. At least one more time, they obey him.

Raph. Mikey. Leo. April. Casey. Home. He rolls back through the list. It’s his last chance. He can’t miss anything.

Mikey’s hand tightens unconsciously around his wrist, fingers meeting easily on either side. Donnie feels only the echo of the pressure.

Raph. Mikey. Leo. April. Casey. Home.

Something bright sparks at the edges of his vision before it fades. The last gasps of a dying brain, he supposes. Synapses firing one last time before they’re snuffed out.

Raph.

Mikey.

Leo.

                                                            April.

                                                                                                                        Casey.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   Home.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    Light.

                                                                                                                         There’s light.

                                                            It hurts.

                                                            He thought dying would stop the pain, but it’s risen to a fever pitch instead. His brother’s arms are gone, but the disease wraps around him in their place, consumes him. It rages like a wildfire, burning through his center until pieces start to flake away like ash.

Oh, this is what it does, what it was built for. The Kraang could have killed him in a lot of different ways. He’d wondered why they chose this one.

He hasn’t planned for it. This is something he didn’t even know to fear.

It’s bright and it hurts but it’s quiet as he crumbles, folds in on himself like a black hole in the utter silence of outer space. It’s quiet enough that the voice that breaks through does so clear as a bell.

His head turns to follow the sound, instinct. He’s lost half his field of vision, but what’s left is enough. He looks, and finds Casey.

Casey looks at him, at him, not the body. Donnie opens his mouth to ask a question — What are you doing here? How? Why? — but something else sloughs out instead. Not blood. He doesn’t have that anymore.

Casey calls his name once more and starts running.

Donnie’s questions fold back into his mind. His mouth clicks shut, he swallows back the putrid rot and pushes himself up. His arms are shattered but they’ll have to hold him. They have to. Because Casey is here and he needs something, which means Donnie missed something, which means he isn’t done.

His spirit disagrees with him, doesn’t see the logic. His arms don’t hold.

Casey reaches to catch him as he falls, and the touch ruptures him instead. He scatters. Into the air and the ground and Casey. For a moment, he’s just pieces, fumbling around and latching onto anything that welcomes them, and Casey does that. They flow into him. They’re him. They’re…

He’s…

Casey, he’s…

Donatello pulls himself back together. Most of himself, anyway. The infection hasn’t followed him but the damage persists. He’s run through with cracks and crevices, shaking bits away into infinity with every movement. But there’s more of him here than not.

Unexpectedly, Donnie is not gone. He’s still dead, but that’s fine, he planned for that one.

                                                                                                                         Casey has him now. He wraps himself around Donnie in layers, helps hold him together with a kind of sheer will that makes up for any lack of mystic knowledge in spades. Casey asks him to stay, and Donnie takes up the task like Sisyphus sizing up the hill. This time, this time I’ll do it right.

Even better, Casey has taken him to another time, one where all of Donnie’s long-term plans are now completely-fucking-reasonable plans. Casey’s going to fix it, so Donnie can fix everything else. Whatever else needs it. He hasn’t really asked. And he knows he’s missed something, but he doesn’t think too hard about what, not yet.

First thing’s first: he needs a body.

It’s so simple to accomplish that it seems like the universe is mocking him. Just a quick 1-2-3, ticking off the list. It feels almost stupid, like running back through the early levels of a video game after unlocking all the ultimate weapons and burning through enemies and obstacles, laughing, shit, did I used to think this was hard?

In no time at all, his own face has formed in front of him.

In no time at all, he’s gasping.

It’s only been a few hours since he last breathed air, but he’s missed it.

Another thing he’s missed? Functional musculature. Casey slams into him and Donnie is startled to find that it doesn’t knock him over. His arms and legs look like actual limbs again, not fragile little sticks disguising themselves as such. He stands, dragging Casey along without a second thought. The weight barely registers. It’s amazing.

The power trip is heady, but it only lasts a few minutes before reality kicks it in the ass and pulls him back down to earth.

We lost, Casey says.

They’re dead, Casey says.

It wasn’t enough, Casey does not say, but Donnie hears it just as clearly.

All those plans, the preparations, the precautions and protocols, they only borrowed a year or two before they fell apart. He sees the timeline spiral out before him, tighter and tighter until it collapses in on itself, rendered all the more insignificant from his own point of perception. He was alive yesterday. His family is dead today.

Everything he did, it wasn’t enough. Of course it wasn’t. He was stupid to think otherwise.

(Raph. Mikey. Leo. April. Casey. Casey’s still here. It was enough for him, at least.)

It cuts at him a little, to have been so wrong. But he’s strong again, now. He can take the wound. More importantly, he has another chance to get it right.

Donnie breathes. His chest expands smoothly, easily. The air doesn’t rattle in his lungs. He’s alive, he’s a genius, he can fix anything.

He pulls up a list.

[birdricks]

how does it feel? better? no? exactly the same?

[aftgscenes]

“You shouldn’t like Nicky he…” he’s scribbles on paper. “We need to talk about how toxic andrew is…” he does not exist. “If you like Aaron your a bad person because he…” a fictional characters actions have no effect on the real world.

Please stop taking everything so seriously y’all- it ain’t that deep I promise. They are not real.

[royaltea000]

I’ve never felt so conflicted about a franchise in my life but at least this dude was hot

[weaverofink]

Young Justice outfit switch part 1!! The non-meta fighters: Arrowette and Robin

[autisticrosewilson]

Jason knows Bruce loved him that's why he's so pissed that Jokers still alive, he wants Bruce to PROVE that he still loves Jason by letting him kill his murderer, by choosing him.

The point of Red Hood is doing what Batman can't and nothing Bruce or Dick can say would change that Joker is still alive and there's another Robin who's going to suffer.

"Jason come home we still love you despite the murders 🥺" Okay then prove it, watch me put a bullet through the head of the man who murdered me and then let me come home. No? You can't? Well then I guess I was right the entire time and you're all useless and will never love me as I am. I'm going to non-fatally but very painfully hurt you now btw.

^ how it would actually go if Dick or Bruce or whoever found out his identity early

[t4t-dazai]

i think im hilarious

[donelywell]

HERES YOUR ART PAYMENT

SILVER!!!! (and Espio)

The boyyyy!!! Worth every cent!

[wienners]

feast for a king is awesome the start of it feels like I am being ushered into a theater by kosmic who sits us down and goes "hello everyone! come into the theatre! take a seat! welcome to my web comic!!! ok so heres a character introduction :) they are not the main character :) and heres my different alien species and how they work! some are worms and some are bombs :)) arent they cute and cool and silly!! ok heres a 400 page long sex scene where a girl gets fucked through a stab wound in her chest while giving a genderless worm alien a tit job, then the worm alien (who uses all pronouns, is called a queen, and has a massive cock) has to perform surgery on her while her dick is still in her chest because if she pulls out the girl will die. the whole time she's still so horny she's trying to bounce on her dick while her stab wounds getting operated on. then they keep on fucking. ..............ok are the normies gone? all of them? ok awesome. now let's do a flashback scene! Get ready for a lot of those :)

[sendmyresignation]

starting to get frustrated that any time a person online expresses justified frustration about the current state of stadium ticket prices the response is some shit like "just see a local band for 10 bucks". yes you should see more local bands but, critically, big spectacle events are cool and being able to see a cherished live act or legacy band/artist you grew up with is too and these things used to be much more affordable!! like that was the whole fucking point is you could see someone in the nosebleeds and make a trade-off.

[bonetrousledbones]

Can you tell us your the reasons for why you like Papyrus? (I’m sure you’ve did this before xd, but I always enjoyed rambles about Papyrus. Hope you’re well!)

oh it is 100% his whole loneliness thing. growing up i was a chronic friend group hopper all the way from kindergarten to 8th grade and then by high school that didn't work anymore so i just kinda didn't have any genuine friends for basically that entire 4 years. so hyperfixating so hard on a character who's basically completely centered around that struggle helped me feel a bit less hopeless about it. the funny thing is i think pre-undertale papyrus actually had more friends than i did back then but like its the little things

that's why this fic that i'm gonna plug again hit me so hard tbh. shit sucks when you're trying so so hard to be friendly and engage in other people and then you get to a point where you have to realize they're not at all interested in returning the favor, even if they're not overtly rude about it or anything, they just don't care to get to know you any deeper than surface level convenience and it gets real hard to not let yourself get angsty about it lmao

i do think that while sometimes i wish i hadn't been given such free internet access as a kid i'm still really lucky that i was able to be exposed to undertale when i was. it's such a unapologetically hopeful game that i'm sure it absolutely impacted the way that i think about things today in terms of optimism and the ability to turn bad situations around, and papyrus plays a huuuge part of that entire message. if it weren't for him, i'm honestly not sure if i would've had the drive to keep trying to connect with other people even when it didn't work for so long.

so tl;dr thank you funny little skeleton man for constantly reminding me that making friends is still possible even when your demeanor is frankly weird as fuck. sometimes you just gotta keep truckin until you find your people even if it takes a while

[fistfuloflightning]

In all honesty, they hadn’t been enemies at the beginning, not until Shen Qingqiu had pitted them against each other. Then they became rivals. But it’s an old, old trope and Ming Fan is tired of fighting. Each go-round is the same thing, each life a painfully familiar path, no matter what changes. Sometimes he lives, sometimes he doesn’t—sometimes at Luo Binghe’s hands, sometimes not.

Those times are the worst, because Ming Fan can never forget those large, horrified eyes watching him die.