when i started wayne manor i did not intend for this to happen but quite frankly it’s all thomas’ fault. WELCOME TO HELL.
i don’t know if there’s a name for a ship that is so obscure it might as well not exist, but then if you voice the idea out loud people go “WAIT BUT THAT MAKES SENSE??” but anyway that is the level of hell we are at with this and it’s just the worst.
The alarm went off, and Thomas grumbled, rolling over until he could reach far enough to hit it. Then he rolled back, throwing out an arm as he took his designated position as Biggest Possible Spoon. Martha sighed, comfortably nestled into her place as Rather Tall But Currently Littlest Spoon.
Alfred was of course in the position of Middlest Spoon, or possibly Actually Taller And Handsomer Than Average Spoon Even If You Wouldn’t Know It To Look At These Other Spoons, or to use an entirely different metaphor, The Blonde Center Of A Raven-haired Sandwich. He objected to being the cream filling, because that had connotations.
“Alfred,” Thomas mumbled, nuzzling at the back of his head. “Go make sure Bruce is dressing appropriately for the museum.” Despite this, he had made no move to allow Alfred to escape.
“He’s your son,” Alfred said. “You do it.”
“I’m doing it by making you do it,” Thomas said.
“You can’t make me,” Alfred said.
“The hell I can’t,” Thomas said, indignant.
“Tommy-love, you haven’t rehired him yet,” Martha reminded him.
Thomas had rules about fraternizing with staff. Thomas did not break rules. Particularly not rules about ethics. He had the kind of ironclad and unbreakable sense of right and wrong that consistently and without fail inconvenienced and annoyed the shit out of everyone around him.
Which is why Martha had fired Alfred.
Martha was very good at finding workarounds for her husband’s sense of ethics.
“Alfred,” Thomas said, his voice adopting the particular baritone of Professionalism, as if he were not still in mid-cuddle with the man. “I hear tell my wife fired you last night.”
“Yes, Mr. Wayne,” Alfred said, interrupted by a yawn. “I’m sorry to leave, of course, but I’m not a man to overstay my welcome.” His hand wandered over Martha while he could still get away with it, and she giggled.
“Between you and me,” Thomas said, “I’m afraid my wife may be suffering from her monthlies.”
Martha gasped. They could hear the fire lighting in her eyes. Immediately Alfred clamped his arms around hers.
“It may even be hysteria,” Thomas added, and he had to wrap his arms around both Alfred and Martha to keep his wife from sitting up and hitting him. Thomas could feel the subtle shaking of Alfred trying not to laugh as Martha tried to get her arms free. He was trusting Alfred enormously not to let her go, since Martha had a mean right hook and a manicure that could kill. “I’m a doctor,” he added, in case anyone had forgotten. “This is my professional doctor-man opinion.”
“I see,” Alfred said as seriously as he could, having to lean his head back toward Thomas so Martha couldn’t headbutt him.
“How about you just come on back to work,” Thomas said, “and we forget this whole thing ever happened?”
“While I can think of nothing I’d like better,” Alfred said, “if I’m going to be returning to such an unstable work environment, I will require greater compensation.”
Martha’s angry struggling was forgotten as she started to laugh.
“God damn it,” Thomas said, clearly outmaneuvered.
“Oh, Alfie, you’re marvelous,” Martha said.
“Thank you, Mrs. Wayne,” he said. “One does one’s best.”
“I don’t suppose you take payment in dick?” Thomas asked, and Martha laughed again.
“I thought that was the benefits package,” Alfred said.
There was a familiar sound in the bedroom walls, a faint thump.
“Shit,” Martha said, all three of them bolting upright. “We took too long.”
Immediately and without preamble, both Waynes shoved Alfred downward and covered him with the comforter. He did not protest.
“How much do you wanna bet he’s wearing the pith helmet?” Thomas asked.
“That’s not even gambling,” Martha said with disdain.
Bruce appeared outside their bedroom window, because they’d made it too difficult for him to get in directly through the vents. He’d gotten in the habit, instead, of going through the walls and then out a decorative window, clambering across sills to get to theirs.
Martha was beginning to consider re-opening some of the secret passages into the bedroom, if only so he didn’t fall while climbing on all the architecture.
Bruce was, surprising no one, wearing his pith helmet. He was the sort of ten-year-old that believed very strongly in dressing for the occasion.
He had the window unlocked from the outside in no time at all, bending halfway through it so that he could retreat if he was seriously yelled at.
“The museum opens in an hour,” he said before they could say anything, clearly upset with their lollygagging. He was also the sort of ten-year-old that believed very strongly that ‘on time’ meant ‘a minimum of ten minutes early, but preferably more’.
“Brucie,” Martha said, her voice stern. Since she didn’t sound the kind of upset that Bruce considered dangerous, he slid inside, having the approximate weight and compressibility of a Hoberman sphere made of balsa wood. “What have I told you about breaking into our room?” The comforter was wrapped around her chest and tucked under her armpits, and she managed to make it look dignified.
“I might as well just pick the lock on the hall door,” Bruce said, as dismissive as any child repeating something he’d been told a thousand times. “This route was more efficient. And if we’re not one of the first two-hundred people in the exhibit, we don’t get the collector’s coin!” His change of subject was a flawless pivot, holding up the brochure that the museum had sent them in the mail, which of course he’d brought with him as a visual aid. He pointed at the embossed picture of the coin.
“Brucie, we’re their biggest donors,” Thomas reminded his son. “If you want a coin, all we have to do is ask.” They were technically included free at the ‘recurring five-hundred dollar donation’ level, which the Waynes far exceeded.
“That’s cheating,” Bruce said, not for the first time. “We have to get it right or else it doesn’t count.”
Bruce also had a particular sense of right and wrong, and it made his love of collecting things much more difficult than it had any right to be when his parents were billionaires.
“How,” Martha asked, “is crawling in the window a more efficient route than just taking the hall?”
Bruce huffed impatiently, lowered the brochure. “Because I went to Alfred’s room first, which is the other reason I’m here, because Alfred is missing and we need to find him because I’m not leaving without Alfred.” He stomped his foot to emphasize this point.
Thomas pressed his lips together into a thin line of not-grinning.
Martha pointed at the door. “Back to your room,” she ordered. “Dress properly, this time.”
“Mooom,” Bruce protested, putting his hands protectively on his hat. “I’m wearing in the old-timey paleontologist way! Not the old-timey archaeologist way!”
“No one can tell that to look at you, darling, you look like a grave-robber with a mild case of syphilis.”
“Mother!”
“Go put something on that suggests you know we’re living in a society, so that your father and I can get dressed. Then we’ll all go find Mr. Pennyworth so we can go to the museum together – and we will arrive on time, when it opens and not a moment sooner. Won’t that be lovely?” She smiled, dazzling white, and Bruce knew there was no point arguing.
“Fine,” he said, dragging his feet as he headed for their bedroom door. “But if we get there, and there’s a long line and I don’t get my coin, I’m going to put on a brave face and try not to let it ruin my day because there’s so much cool stuff to see, but it’s still going to ruin my whole day, and you’re going to be able to tell because I’m bad at lying about my feelings, and then you’re going to feel bad and it’s going to ruin everyone’s day.”
“It’s a risk I’m willing to take,” Martha said, because she had a much better sense than her son of exactly how many people were clamoring to get in to the obscure new exhibit on trace fossils.
“You hear that?” Thomas said when Bruce had left, lifting the comforter. “You’ve gone missing.”
“How distressing,” Alfred said, wiggling back out from underneath it. “Do you think you’ll be able to find me in time?”
“Bruce won’t rest until we have,” Martha said, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek.
“No Alfred left behind,” Thomas agreed, kissing the other.
“I suppose I should – I don’t actually need a raise,” Alfred said suddenly. “To be clear, I’m… more than happy.”
“Too late!” Thomas said, ruffling Alfred hair in the way he knew annoyed him, leaning over Alfred to rub noses with his wife. “You’re in a new tax bracket now and nothing can stop me.”
my husband is Distraught
(in this canon the waynes die when bruce is 12 no one @ me about his age pls)
Tags:
#Batman #fanfic #nsfw? #long post #anything that makes me laugh this much deserves a reblog #(”and you’re going to be able to tell because I’m bad at lying about my feelings”) #death mention
i cant believe @subspacecommunication singlehandedly redeemed risa by suggesting it has something other than impeccably manicured astroturf sex parks
Legoland Risa is a big deal and nobody can convince me otherwise. :D
Whenever any character talks about Risa with those leery grins on their faces, unless they specifically state they’re interested in sex, they’re definitely talking about Legoland. They’re all really excited to go to Legoland Risa. It’s the biggest Legoland in the Alpha Quadrant (it’s the biggest Legoland ever, but there’s a running joke that the Gamma Quadrant houses an even bigger Legoland nobody has ever seen), and has lego recreations of half the Federation fleet, and little lego people of every Federation species.
Nobody goes to Risa for sex. Everyone goes to Risa for the lego.
The formation of ice from salt water produces marked changes in the composition of the unfrozen water. When water freezes, most impurities are forced out of solution; even ice from seawater is relatively fresh compared with the seawater it is formed from. As a result of forcing the impurities out, sea ice is very porous and spongelike, quite different from the solid ice produced when fresh water freezes.
As the seawater freezes and salt is forced out of the pure ice crystal lattice, the surrounding water becomes more saline. This lowers its freezing temperature and increases its density. The lower freezing temperature means that the surrounding water does not freeze to the ice immediately, and the higher density means that it sinks. Thus tiny tunnels called brine channels are created all through the ice as this supersaline, supercooled water sinks away from the frozen pure water. The stage is now set for the creation of a brinicle.
As this supercooled saline water reaches unfrozen seawater below the ice, it will cause the creation of additional ice. If the brine channels are relatively evenly distributed, the ice pack grows downward evenly. However, if brine channels are concentrated in one small area, the downward flow of the cold water, now so saline that it cannot freeze at its normal freezing point, begins to interact with unfrozen seawater as a flow. Just as hot air from a fire rises as a plume, this cold water descends as a plume. Its outer edges begin to accumulate a layer of ice as the surrounding water, cooled by this jet to below its freezing point, ices up. This is a brinicle: an inverted “chimney” of ice enclosing a downward flow of this supercold, supersaline water.
When the brinicle becomes thick enough, it becomes self-sustaining. As ice accumulates around the down-flowing cold jet, it forms an insulating layer that prevents the cold, saline water from diffusing and warming. As a result, the ice jacket surrounding the jet grows downward with the flow. It is like an icicle turned inside-out; rather than cold air freezing liquid water into layers, down-rushing cold water is freezing the surrounding water, enabling it to descend even deeper. As it does, it creates more ice, and the brinicle grows longer.
A reverse plume of hot air. An inverted icicle. This is my aesthetic.
Because being incredibly vague has made it hard talk about stuff + not prevented anyone with the knowhow from finding out where I live, I’m tempted to talk more about my hometown and refer to it as [Expunged] instead of its name, a la @sinesalvatorem and [Redacted].
I’m thinking of using [Expunged] so it’s obvious what I’m referencing, without the confusion of there being two [Redacted]s. Though the confusion potential is kind of tempting, especially as it would make anyone not in the know think [Redacted] is simultaneously:
Caribbean
Australian
Tropical
Temperate
Full of deadly mosquitoes
Full of deadly mushrooms
Very homophobic
Tried to illegally legalise same sex marriage
This would actually be hilarious, though
Besides, I stole the use of “[Redacted]” from @ilzolende, who used it to refer to her high school. It fit her aesthetic better than mine, anyway. In the early days, I was concerned people might think I was also talking about her school and the [Redacted] Unified School District.
Except then “[Redacted]” wound up being more strongly associated with me, for some reason, so here we are.
[Redacted] is a homophobic high school on the border between Australia and the Carribean, temperate and full of deadly tropics, that tried to illegally legalise same-sex marriage between mushrooms and mosquitoes.
I gigglesnorted
Tags:
#anything that makes me laugh this much deserves a reblog
#that *is* an actual joke #it’s a visual pun #(although according to the people in the replies that is a rat and not a mouse) #(which just adds another layer to the joke really) #also #adorable
Concept: a TV series consisting entirely of “filler episodes” from some notional story of grand adventure whose ongoing events can only be inferred from the incidental context of whatever character-driven bullshit is happening this week.
Like, maybe they’re a D&D-style adventuring party, and we only ever see them during downtime between adventures. Sometimes one of them is suffering from some improbable injury or bizarre curse, and the particulars of how it happened are only vaguely alluded to – their entire professional lives are basically one big Noodle Incident from the audience’s perspective.
I think you could get some use out of “previously on” and “next time on” segments showing footage that never happened.
For example: “Previously on, Champions of Karamore!” *Shot of a scepter lying on a pedestal in a tomb somewhere* Wizard: “The Scepter of Aratoom is the key to Garroth’s Ascension” *Four Seconds of the Heroes engaged in epic combat* Warrior: “I’LL HOLD THEM OFF, GET THE SCEPTER” Rogue *Looking at empty pedestal*: “IT’S GONE! WE’RE TOO LATE!” *Dark cloaked figure that the audience has never actually seen before, holding the scepter* “At last…it begins”
And then the entire episode consists of them hanging around the nearest inn, looking at maps and arguing about different ways they could have gotten there, and if any of those methods would have gotten them to the Tomb fast enough. “I told you we should have sold the horses in Roksport and taken a ship to Veremen” “We paid good money for those horses! Staying overland cut at least three days off our trip!” “It would have, HAD THE HORSES NOT BEEN EATEN BY WEREWOLVES!” “There’s no way we could have known about the Werewolves.” “THE TOWN WAS CALLED LYCANSBURG JEREMY!”
Tags:
#story ideas I will never write #I didn’t actually laugh aloud but it still amused me enough to reblog #(”THE TOWN WAS CALLED LYCANSBURG JEREMY!”)
Brinens and Things - Tumblr Mirror 