Show & Tell
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
Keni
will byers stan first human second
taylor price
art blog(derogatory)
trying on a metaphor
pixel skylines
Cosmic Funnies
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❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
Not today Justin
i don't do bad sauce passes
h
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
DEAR READER
noise dept.
dirt enthusiast
祝日 / Permanent Vacation
Kiana Khansmith
seen from United States
seen from Canada
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
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seen from United States
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seen from United States
seen from Netherlands
seen from Brunei
seen from Malaysia
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@thewhysarewise
He had taught himself to read and write at the age of five, by asking questions. He read everything he found. He could not tolerate the inexplicable. He had to understand anything known to anyone. The emblem of his childhood--the coat-of-arms he devised for himself in place of the one lost for him centuries ago--was the question mark. No one ever needed to explain anything to him twice.
Ayn Rand, the Fountain Head
fenceposterror
[text]: Are you allowed out of the hospital yet?
"It does? Aw shit…Is it really all that noticeable?”
"Assuming your intended audience isn't blind...yes. This is a work function, correct? You should wear an Oxford."
his-fathers-footsteps
"You can;t wear that shirt outside. It has a stain on it."
fenceposterror:
Sighing softly, Tim shook his head. He knows Eddie means well— even knowing the man rarely does. Eddie never wants Tim to hurt, but a part of him wants the older man to acknowledge his… condition.
“You’ll feel better.”
And he smiles, leans back as he lets out another breath.
“Instead of trying to ignore it. You can’t ignore it until you acknowledge it.”
At least that’s what he thinks Eddie told him once.
"I'm doing just fine with it, thank you." There is a significant part of him that cannot believe he is having this conversation worse, this debate with a teenager. Why can't Tim take his reluctance at face value and be content with it? Instead of trying to lure Eddie into commencing a verbal lashing to compliment his physical one. "Leave it..."
Classification: Edward Nygma. File Type: Restricted
Edward Nygma has a highly irregular sleeping pattern. It is incredibly difficult to coerce him into sleeping—and though, if asked, he will tell you in abrupt terms that it is a waste of time, it is an act he very much enjoys. If Eddie falls asleep on, or around another person, it is one of the highest signs of trust in them that he can display. Once asleep, he is generally rather acrobatic.If sharing a bed with him, one can expect to be herded and subsequently trapped on the edge of the mattress. 6'5" doesn't leave a lot of room for mattress cohabitation. In the rare instanc- es where he is interested in sharing that space, he will compress himself into absurdly small spaces to maintain close contact—particularly on couch- es, armchairs,the like. Once asleep, he will remain that way for hours, and often falls asleep around 2 am on his own, and will sleep until about 1 pm.
Classification: Edward Nygma. File Type: Restricted
Eddie's accent is not genuine, and in fact, stems from very severe abandonment issues where his mother is concerned. Violent outbursts from his father paired with limited contact with his mother, caused Eddie to grow up alternately resent- ing her, and craving her affection and approval. In an effort to encourage her favour, Eddie began to emulate her English accent between the ages of three and four years old, and at the age of six, her cold demeanor. With no peer socialization, and general discouragement from his parents, a large portion of Eddie's childhood was spent not speaking at all; after months; years of school therapy and counselling finally coaxed Nygma back into speaking--and when he did, it was with the accent he has convinced himself is natural, rather than a coping mechanism.
"Maybe P?"
He watches the way Eddie turns the codex, Wishes it was his fingers on the device instead but relents.
Instead he tries to think to think like Eddie and to solve the puzzle, but it’s hard when he can’t learn the planes on his own
"Maybe, um… Maybe we can… come back to this in a bit?”
He does his best to smile doesn’t know what else to say can see the look on Eddie’s face.
"You can say it. Dick already has."
"Of course."
He agrees too quickly, because Tim's lingering gaze on his fingers is so painfully desperate, it nearly makes him uncomfortable. Eddie berates himself for the slip. All this time around normal people—it must be making him stupid.
Making him soft too. Eddie frowns, opens his mouth, closes it.
"I don't want to say it."
(x)
He disregards the question, disregards the meaning behind all of his words.
The shadows keep him safe, tucked into the clefts of an alleyway.
“You are an easy man to find.”
Eddie considers cocking a brow, but he doesn't feel like giving the Batman the satisfaction of a genuine expression. Instead he fixes sharp eyes on the patch of even darker shadow in the alleyway.
"Only because I've never really tried to hide from you."
" ... " A rush of air, a rustle of fabric and—
" Oh. To be quite frank I've been wondering when you'd decide to pay me a little visit. Slow day today, huh? "
Hi everyone, I'm tentatively coming off hiatus. So, if I owe anyone else anything, please message me. :)
Whiskey, Whiskey, Whiskey | Jason and Eddie | Flashback
"Yeah man, a gulag."
Leaning in, he whispered conspiratorially.
"Most people think they disappeared with the fall of the U.S.S.R. But they didn’t. In fact, there’s a massive network of them, some old coal mines, others fallout bunkers, all throughout Ukraine.”
He winked before leaning back, he swallowed a third of his drink.
"There’s a reason no one is allowed in Chernobyl. It’s not just the radiation, Comrade. There’s things hidden there that would make your nosing around in Wall Street seem like stealing candy from a dead baby.”
A sudden quiet came over the bar, and Jason’s gaze flicked to the entrance. A broad shouldered man was visible, making his way through the crowd. Once at the bar, he ordered a martini, then found a seat with the man whose collarbone had been tweaked by Jason. He turned his attention back to Eddie.
"Heads up. Our boy called for backup. I can’t promise we won’t get in a fight."
Again, a wink.
"I’ll take lead, if it comes to it. You strapped?"
He hadn’t noticed a piece on Eddie, but it could be in his waistband. Everyone carried around here. Mostly illegal. People were too careless with guns, Jason thought with a snort. Like I’m one to talk.
"Doesn’t matter. No one will pull a firearm here; too many people and too many witnesses. Better off using your hands."
Jason enjoyed fucking with people; it was one of his favorite activities. The look of nonplussed calm, twinged with just a hint of you’re fucking crazy, dude, was just evidence he was succeeding.
He keeps his expression loosely incredulous, eyebrows arched at a mild angle, disbelief faintly etched into his features. He takes another sip of whiskey.
"Russia's never been high on my travel list--I'll take your word for it. Oh, why stop there? The Gulags and the places I've nosed around on Wall Street are probably connected."
There should be a jovial note to his tone--but when Eddie teases it is rarely in good fun. He's gauging reactions. He glances at the man at the bar, his ruddy nose implied alcoholism. Martini was an odd choice for a man like that--supposedly a criminal brute--at a bar like this. Flamboyant. Trying to wean off the tough stuff then. Eddied read his body next, broad shoulders, but an overhanging gut. Slow. Fat. An experienced fighter like Jay would drop him in a second--and there was no doubt his compatriot was experienced....
The man's chosen seat was likely coincidence anyway, the conversation, between two men with wounded pride trying to relive glory days they deluded themselves into thinking existed.
Eddie supposed the sort of lawlessness here was not the sort to be accompanied by tattoos, shaved heads, or obvious gang references. But he was good at recognizing his own ilk, and the man with the martini....He didn't possess the sleazy confidence that made Eddie so at home here.
"Uh huh, you do that...." Eddie slumps a little further in his seat, so he can rest his chin on his palm as he regards Jason with mild amusement. "Tell me, do most people run screaming out of the bar when you try that trick?"
