Noah Kahan
Monterey Bay Aquarium
taylor price
shark vs the universe
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ojovivo
we're not kids anymore.
Stranger Things
tannertan36
Misplaced Lens Cap
★
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@theartofmadeline
Fai_Ryy
Show & Tell
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
trying on a metaphor
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
Love Begins
todays bird
seen from Malaysia
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@scaryscarecrows
i know we rag on ra's al ghul about the whole kneeling naked bellowing about loosing a monster on the world cliff scene re: jason (or however it went) but i am actually on his side with this one. a person who has been brought back to life via unknown means being tossed into a lazarus pit (while he was in it too!!) is a p good reason to freak out. i do think he could still have put some pants on first
thinking about how the carapathia never was able to reach its top speed again after saving the titanic because they pushed their limits getting there…🥀🥀
Discussion question: is Jason the kind of former poor kid who still worries about every penny - buying the cheapest longest-lasting food possible, living in a tiny apartment, not fixing the air conditioning because it doesn't even occur to him that he can - or is he the type to relish the ability to use money to make his life pleasurable - buying the good chocolate and the fancy cheese, personalizing his apartment to his lifestyle, making his money count rather than just making it last?
The older I get, the more I realize that shopping is a skill, and the poorer you grow up the less chance you have to develop it (and the more anxiety-inducing it becomes, because you only have one shot to buy the Right Thing, so you better not mess it up)
Actually, comments are for hiding (/j). This gets a reblog!
PERSONAL OPINION AHOY I AM NOT CLAIMING THIS IS GOSPEL
(Some people have no manners. Wanted that in caps.)
Jason strikes me as the type to DIY or repair things even if he sucks at doing so OR it's well past time to replace them. That duct-taped together, rattly fan that runs for twenty minutes before shutting off? It's fine. The slow cooker with the suspiciously warm cord? Reinsulated it last Tuesday, don't worry about it. The staticy TV? Smack it three times and puff into the HDMI port and it'll work.
He ALSO strikes me as the type to buy cheap hoodies for work (honestly, fair), be happy with Gotham-brand hot chocolate and and mac 'n cheese...but hunt down that weird import shop downtown and pay the price of a firstborn child for fancy butter.
The one thing I think he'd buy used on purpose? Books. Secondhand books have personalities of their own and I think he'd like that.
O.O
Listening to a documentary on the Franklin expedition while at work, and one of the expert-people they have on just casually goes, 'I had frostbitten fingers, I've got the ends in the drawer over there--'
SIR.
SIR.
I get dry British humor just fine, but I'm pretty sure this is not that.
(Finger freak starts in roughly at 40:05)
So Ramses was going about all day yesterday feeling very poorly. Not eating, not wanting to drink very much, just wanting to sleep in a blanket, moving weirdly. 'Lay two tokens on mine eyes for the ferryman' sort of business.
Well.
Through diligent observation, careful home testing, and good old-fashioned 'know your animal', we determined the issue.
He cut his tongue on something.
I'm not even joking.
Wednesday the 15th. What an excellent day. Middle of the week, middle of the month. Truly, we are in the middle of things.
I think it's so important and crucial for 20 year olds to witness older people who are genuinely bad at some aspects of being a person but are still living lives they find meaningful and enjoyable. Not just "oh I got married and you can too" but like. sometimes you cannot for the life of you finish college or find a good job or stay in a relationship or arrive to locations on time or whatever it is you think when you're 20 that you HAVE to be able to do. But you wind up finding a place in the world anyway. It happens!
So apparently the guy running against Herbert Hoover for president (primaries, FYI) was described by an enemy as 'being soaked in avarice and rum' (important note: he wanted to repeal prohibition).
...
I get the feeling this was one of those moments that could maybe have led to the USA being less of a clusterfuck if we'd picked that guy. I'm sorry. I really do. People were dying en masse from bootleg booze, repealing was genuinely the better option, and we doubled down on it anyway.
And seemingly learned nothing.
Go us.
Antoine's used to a lot of weird things on this op. When your boss looks Like That and acts like a lost theater kid, you get used to it. Which makes this particular broadcast so painful.
"I want it clear that seat belts are mandatory," he barks. "If your dumb ass goes through the window, you get no payout under the Too Dumb To Live clause of the contract you all agreed to. In other words, don't fuck this up for us because you were too lazy to literally click a strap across yourself. Drouot out."
There. Nice? No. But that idiot got himself killed on a routine op, forcing Antoine to have to meet the Knight in the middle of Grand Avenue for hostage retrieval rather than follow up on reports of a prison blimp crashed in the bay, check the status of the mine deployment, and the thousand other things he's got on for tonight.
Christ. They are one of the largest PMCs in the world. They're trained by a nut that, in Antoine's honest opinion, is one of the most formidable hand-to-hand combatants he's had the pleasure of working for. Questionable fashion choices notwithstanding, of course. And so far their only fatality this evening is a dope that thought seat belts were lame, got pepper-sprayed, and nearly cost them this operation by dying.
He's lucky he died. Antoine would have lobbied for handing him over to the GCPD personally.
They make it a good long ways in silence, passing only bones (Trent kinda liked living in blissful ignorance ‘bout those) and debris. And they might have made it out unscathed if it hadn’t been for an unstable bit of ground that, after earthquakes, flooding, and God knows what else, finally decided Antoine was just too much for it to suffer.
Sometimes I'll see several posts decrying the same (technically small, in the scheme of life) thing, be SO confused, and have to come to the conclusion that I have blocked the initial Drama Llama at some point prior to this incident and have been spared the Bad Take.
God, I love the block button.
!! CELEBRATION IDEAS !!
-Orange Creamsicles for everyone
-Orange Floats
-Orange themed parties
-Wearing a crab costume to a rave
-Blasting Party in the USA
-Blasting American Idiot
-Blasting Celebration
-Host a crab boil with friends
-Create a lifelike sculpture out of Kraft Singles for the purpose of burning him in effigy via flamethrower
-Heist his toupee out of his grave and nail it to a doorframe
Team Leader saying "Leave. That's an order." hits twice as hard, when they're the kind of person who hates hiearchies and avoids giving direct commands.
Tim drops smoothly into the room. In, look, out. That’s all he’s doing.
Or. That was all. Jason’s awake. He shouldn’t be–from what Gordon had said, he looked like nuked death and the medic was probably keeping him on heavy painkillers. But then again, Tim guesses, if Halloween is any indication, Jason’s a stubborn sonofabitch. Especially at the detriment of others. Like Tim. Right now. Who just dropped down directly in his line of sight.
He considers gunning for the ‘you’re totally hallucinating’ tack, but he doesn’t really think it’ll work. Jason does look like nuked death, pale and bandaged, with stark bruises on his throat, but he still looks slightly better than he did when Tim had last seen him.
Slightly. But that could just be because he’s not making the horrid wet, gasping breaths of a dying man.
Jason raises an eyebrow, sets his book down, and signs, slowly and carefully, digits dripping poison, THE FUCK YOU DOING HERE.
Tim opens his mouth to answer and Jason makes a swift, irritated slashing motion before glancing to his right. Ah. Antoine–Tim thinks that’s what the giant had shouted after him, before Arkham went up–is asleep in a chair by the bed, rifle across his lap and a lighter gripped loosely in his hand.
Tim doesn’t have a good answer. He certainly doesn’t have one Jason will like. He settles for, Heard you might be dying.
Don’t you wish, comes the curt reply. I don’t want your job back. Get lost.
Tim does not say that he wouldn’t let Jason have the job back even if he asked. He’s about to come up with something sparklingly witty when Antoine shifts in his chair. Jason half-leans over, grimacing at the stretch, and picks his gun up. Tim quietly panics, but Jason just rests it across his bed and begins, seemingly, to dismantle it without taking his gaze from Tim. Tim rolls his eyes–yes, yes, very scary–and says, Any sign of Bruce?
Jason pauses his fussing with the rifle to spit, THAT’S NOT FUCKING BRUCE. Not anymore.
I’m working on a cure.
Cute.
Let me help. And isn’t that the same argument he’s had for years now? If Jason hadn’t run off and gotten himself captured–
–well, Tim, wouldn’t be here, but still–
Jason doesn’t answer. He just finishes taking apart the gun and–
–oh, bullshit.
He did dismantle the rifle, that’s true, because the stupid rifle is apparently some sort of LEGO bullshit build-a-gun made of two handguns. One of which is now fitted comfortably in Jason’s hand and pointed, almost lazily, at Tim’s head. Jason raises his other hand, five fingers spread out, and lowers one. Then another.
He gets the hint.
Or maybe it went this way.
Tim gets maybe five seconds of looking before the blond surges up out of the chair, gun at the ready, and marches him into the hallway. At this range, he won't miss and even if Tim tries dropping a smoke pellet and fucking off, it's going to be risky.
"Are you finally going the fuck to--what's that."
"Intruder. Can you watch him while I deal with this?"
The medic shrugs.
"Yeah, sure. Trent's in the big room with Riley."
"Just the men I want to see, then. C'mon, kid."
Great.
The Big Room looks to be some sort of training facility. Well, it is now. It was the main hub of the mall itself, once, with several stores still stocked with items.
The big man from the Asylum is sparring with a smaller one who's about Tim's size. Well. He's coming at him, anyway, swinging those big fists like sledgehammers. The smaller man just keeps dodging and Tim has just enough time to think his movements look familiar before he drops and...it's like a leg sweep, but against an opponent that size it's more of a full-body sweep, propelled by the arms. The big guy jumps over him and the smaller one springs back up, gearing into a spinning kick, when he looks over. The big man catches his ankle and frowns before following his gaze.
"Where'd the cuckoo come from?"
Tim swallows. He has no idea what they know about him and Jason and...everything, but he doubts they'll hear him out regardless.
"Broke in."
"Huh." The big guy releases his sparring partner, who shakes himself off and stalks over. Bruce, Tim realises. He moves like Bruce does. "Whatcha doin' here, little dude?"
"I'm not little."
"Dropped into the boss's room," the blond (Antoine, Tim thinks he remembers someone shouting) says curtly. The big guy stills.
"That so."
"Mm."
"Why."
The answer is recon. Tim doubts they'll like that answer, or any answer, for that matter.
"He didn't wake him up, did he?"
"No, I got him before anything happened."
"Good." The giant smiles. It's not a nice smile. "Less to explain, then."
(Note: Riley's never completely sure if someone's gonna understand him or not. But if he were...)
Shut up, the man pinning Tim down signs angrily. Shut your fucking mouth.
Tim shuts up. The man repositions his foot, the blade in his boot now pressing gently against Tim's throat. Tim could maybe get the leverage to throw him off, but--
Four months, the man says now. Four months he was down there and then you show up with the Bat.
"How do you--"
We know everything. The smile doesn't reach his eyes. Like how you wouldn't be in that cape if the boss didn't get himself kidnapped and tortured. You got some nerve, kid, acting like you're entitled to it when we both know you wouldn't be here without him. Bat seems easy to wow. I'm not.
He steps back and Tim risks breathing again. But then there's a quick, hard nudge to his bruised ribs and he scrambles upright.
Give him back his staff, the man says, and now that smile's genuine. He'll need the help.
"I don't--"
You think you're good? Come on then. Prove it.
Tim can pinpoint the exact moment the fight turned.
One minute, he'd been holding his own. The next minute, the big guy had stepped back with a finger to his ear, nodded once, and in a voice like cannon fire bellowed, "Finish up, boss needs us."
Then Tim was on the ground, head ringing, ribs aching, and knee--yeah, that's wrenched but not outright broken.
Fuck.
He tries to get up, using his staff as leverage, and takes a boot to the face. Yep, there's the nose busted, streaming blood.
"Stay down, little dude," the big man advises as he heads towards the door. "Unless you want me to put you down instead."
His opponent laughs and swoops down, plucks the staff from Tim's hands, and snaps it in two.
so like. when are we getting that wild west ect TV show where right at the end of the first season. right at the end. last ten minutes right at the end. the main character wanders over from America to England to go propose to this really nice girl we've been hearing about all season. and she opens the door and we finally learn the main character's last name.
and The Public still don't even realise that Quincey Morris just wandered his way into the plot of Dracula because no one ever includes him in the adaptations and no one's actually read the book
when are we getting that.
So with our A/C broken, we've shut ourselves up into one bedroom with the porta-unit to avoid, y'know, being gross sweaty humans.
Unfortunately, this means we're wedged into one bed. Two people. Two dogs. It sucks. Nobody's sleeping well, everybody's stiff and crackly, yadda-yadda.
Well. Last night, I made a mistake. I got up to walk about a little, because my old knee injury is killing me and sometimes that helps. I come back to find that Ramses has stolen my spot. Bear in mind that it's literally two AM and also that he is very cute.
I had no choice. I had to settle for an edge.
This sucks so bad.
Honestly, there is a plus side. You'll pry my skincare from my warm, dead fingers, but ALSO: cold showers. My face and hair look fantastic.
Look out world, Imma bout to become the neighborhood hottie.
