If Batkids Had A Podcast XVI

we've been living in this apartment for two months now, and while we've observed most of our new neighbours (my slavic Windowsill Watcher Grandmother gene already activated), I don't think they had the chance to see us often enough to recognise us yet.

I do know, however, from my observations, that the tiny funny dog upstairs is called Gucio. I've passed him once or twice during his walk and heard his owners use the name - and, while both the dog and his owners are oblivious to our existence, Gucio became an apt topic of discussion in our house. you know, we hear barking, ha, that's Gucio, he must be home alone again! or there's a stick left by the building door, that must have been brought by Gucio and he was forced to abandon it before entering! a household name, really.

yesterday as I was leaving to go to the store, walking down the narrow staircase, there he is! tiny funny looking dog, slightly startled by me suddenly appearing on the floor he just reached on his tiny funny looking legs.

"good morning Gucio!" I say joyfully, the most natural thing in the world.

well. remember that Gucio doesn't really know me. so he looks at me in the most flabbergasted way a dog can look at a person. he is positively aghast. agog! not sure how aware dogs are of their own names but he seemed genuinely puzzled at the apparent stretch of social convention.

and as I try to contain my laughter, I see his owner standing on the stairs below. the woman is sort of awkwardly frozen, speechless, and she looks at me.

"you... know each other?" she asks.

is that not the funniest way to phrase it. is this not the funniest question she could have asked. ma'am do you know my dog? you went to school together perhaps? you've met? do tell, are you old friends? maybe you worked together? you know each other, my dog and you? this dog? you know him? he knows you? he never mentioned you I'm afraid

(ID in ALT text)

Zuko is just playing hard to get

coming out of my cage and i been doing just bad. going back in my cage because i like my cage

this may be the stupidest thing ive made

Nightstar yay

After Clark tells Lois that he’s Superman—and, you know, the last surviving member of his alien race, no big deal—she starts wondering what is Clark being Clark and what is Clark being an alien. She makes lists and asks endless questions. Clark is (mostly) patient with her. It’s cute.

“Does coffee actually do anything for you? I mean, you look half dead without it, so I assume the caffeine does something.”

“Hurtful, but okay. It’s psychological. I like the taste and it’s part of my routine. I guess I’ve conditioned myself to feel like I need it to start the day.”

“Your music—do you actually like it, or is that just a front?”

“Yes, Lois, I actually like Beyoncé. She makes art. Have you heard the harmonies? She sings them all herself and then layers—“

“Oh my God, Superman’s in the BeyHive.”

“Meg’s great too.”

“Trainor?”

“Thee Stallion.”

“Oh my God, Superman’s having a Hot Girl Summer.”

“Do you eat? I mean…wait, is that food allergy thing a lie?”

“Do I—yes, Lois, you’ve seen me eat!”

“Okay, but do you need to? Also, way to dodge the food allergy question.”

“Under a red sun, yes, I would need to eat regularly. Under a yellow sun, assuming I’m not injured, I’m pretty sure I could go weeks without food. I haven’t tested it, though.”

“And the food allergy?”

“I’m not eating Cat’s deviled eggs at the office potluck, and I don’t feel bad for lying.”

“So your snack drawer at work—“

“Is just a snack drawer. One you shouldn’t even know about. How do you—“

“Hush, let me finish. Peanut butter crackers. Peanut butter pretzels. Peanut butter cups. A jar of peanut butter. What gives?”

“I like peanut butter.”

“Clearly!”

“It’s good protein!”

“Do you fake being startled? Like when people pop up behind you?”

“No. Just because I can hear you doesn’t mean I’m actively listening or always paying attention.”

“So you can hear when people are having se—“

“Can I? Yes. I’m also tuning it out, because ew. Massive invasion of privacy, and I don’t want to know what everyone gets up to.”

“What do you get up to?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Yes, Clark, that’s why I’m asking.”

Jason the type of guy to get so mad at how slowly the streets are getting plowed that he steals a snowplow and starts doing it himself. There’s tiktoks of it. “The gotham municipality department so bad at plowing snow the fucking red hood is doing it 😭😭💀💀💀💀” (video of red hood blowing down the street in a ford f350 w a plow on it that says GOTHAM MUNICIPAL DEPARTMENT on the doors). Viral video of him waiting at a red light like a good boy & some civilian takes it upon themself to do an impromptu interview aka knocks on his window & asks why hes plowing the snow & he’s so mad that he takes off his helmet (got a mask underneath) and leans his whole torso out the window to gesticulate about it as he hollers. Hes so mad his accent makes him very nearly unintelligible

"Oh, he's cinnamon role coded! He's so soft boi!"

OK. Is he Jesus Coded?

Cut the yaoi and get back to God.

Peter Parker my favorite heat seeking missile

art based on Existential Crisis Mode on Ao3 by @luciaintheskyainthi. Why draw actual scenes from the media when i can draw them in love and happy instead?

(also, art progress alert? lessgo?)