#clean screen

[techdriveplay]

How to Get the Most Out of Your Smart TV

In the modern era, entertainment technology has revolutionised the way we consume media, and smart TVs have become a cornerstone of this transformation. They offer a wealth of features and capabilities far beyond traditional television sets. To truly maximise their potential, it’s essential to understand how to get the most out of your smart TV. This guide will explore tips, tricks, and best…

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Ignorantia Neminem Excusat

(Ignorance excuses no one, lat.)

"Commissioner."

Jim Gordon doesn't jump. They are years and years into this rodeo, he's stopped actually jumping at Batman's silent approach a long time ago. Yet, Bruce still notices the way his shoulders twitch just the tiniest bit, and his hand makes an aborted motion to his gun holster. Still got it.

The man turns around. Bruce can see the 'must you always do that?' in his slightly narrowed eyes. He presses his lips tightly together in order to not smirk: Batman doesn't do that, even if it's admittedly funny to see the seasoned Commissioner get spooked every time.

"There's a kid that wants to speak with you."

Bruce frowns. A kid that warranted a BatSignal? Not that he minds, but this is highly unusual for several reasons; however, Jim is not the kind of man that would fall for puppy eyes of any level, so it must be something more important than an autograph session or a victim of any of the recent cases.

Besides, the way Commissioner worded it implies that the kid, whoever they are, requested Batman specifically.

"He is a hacker," Jim puts both his hands in the pockets of his coat — he is either cold or uncomfortable, and Bruce highly suspects it's both. What's more, he starts to understand why. "I'm sure you're aware we were trying to track the person responsible for the few recent cyber attacks on GCPD servers," Jim glances at him, and Bruce nods. He is aware, yes, but the case was low-priority — it wasn't even an attack, really, someone just accessed the system foregoing the passwords and clearance levels, went through a few files, seemingly at random, and did a fairly decent job of hiding their traces. Bruce would have even thought it was Tim, if this happened a few years ago, when the boy was just learning the ropes.

Commissioner sighs and looks away, "But when we brought him in, the boy said he will only speak to you, and none of us have been able to make him say a word since." He pauses, a grim kind of expression on his face, "This was six hours ago."

Bruce is grateful for the way his cowl hides how his eyebrows raise. There are hundreds of scripts officers, detectives, and social workers can use to establish contact. Quite a lot of them could be attempted in the span of six hours.

Whatever the kid wants to tell him, Bruce decides it's worth a try. If not anything else, he can at least admire the sheer stubbornness.

—×—×—×—

The kid sitting in the interrogation room looks... younger than Bruce expected. Fifteen, maybe sixteen. He is dressed like any other homeless kid in Gotham — a hoodie and a jacket over it, jeans that look a size too big on him, sneakers with mismatched shoelaces — but he clearly hasn't been out in the streets for that long. His hair is braided into cornrows, and it looks professional, even if the roots have grown out so now it's just messy. What's more, he is missing that telltale wariness in his posture that Bruce has seen in every other street kid that has been brought into a police station. They always slouch and curl into themselves.

This boy is sitting with his back straight. Yet, there's a tension in his body that Bruce can only associate with a battle stance — give him the slightest reason, and the kid will lunge.

He steps into the room.

The boy — he hadn't given a name, and there wasn't a single ID on him — zeroes on him instantly. His eyes are a very pale, almost translucent green: a rather strange feature for a black-skinned person, genetically speaking, but Bruce doesn't dwell on it. Yet.

But then, the face recognition program comes up empty.

As in, 'there's not a trace of this person's prior existence' empty. Not a single camera footage, no records or reports of missing, no pictures, no social media, nothing. Bruce frowns.

"Hi," the kid says, his voice raspy, "My name is Tucker Foley. According to the government, I don't exist, so if your recognition program doesn't find anything on me, that's why."

Bruce doesn't say anything. Tucker wanted to speak with him, and previously, he was only merely intrigued by that request. However, as of right now, he wants to hear everything the kid has to say before asking any follow-up questions.

Because that always present, cautious and bordering on paranoid voice in the back of his mind tells him he is about to get into something way more serious than he expected.

Tucker moves — he kept both his hands on the table, palms open and visible, but now he closes one into a fist. Although, before Bruce can react to it, he opens it again. A small, the size of a flash-drive, dimly glowing green object rests inside.

"Do you know what this is?" The boy asks. He hasn't looked away from Batman's face once; Bruce is not even sure he blinked at all since he entered the room. Come to think of it, even with his tense, rigid posture, Tucker is too still, almost unnervingly so.

Bruce glances down to the boy's hand.

"Yes," he answers curtly, and there it is, the smallest shift in Tucker's face: he clenches his jaw like he's trying to hold the words inside his mouth. Bruce doesn't like it.

"What is it?" Comes the next question, but it's not curiosity that prompts it. It's a test of some sort. Bruce likes that even less.

"A power source," he decides on a neutral answer, not entirely certain what the boy is expecting to hear.

It seems to be a wrong answer because for the first time, Tucker's emotions slip from under his mask, and he takes a sharp breath in, looking like Bruce had just slapped him across the face. It lasts only a moment — Tucker closes his eyes for a moment, slowly exhales, and speaks again, calm and focused once more.

"And what exactly powers it?"

It's an important question, judging by the desperate, searching look in Tucker's eyes. His hands are not shaking, and there are no visible signs of distress, but for some reason, Bruce just knows that the boy's whole life seems to depend on the answer.

But.

"It's classified." Bruce doesn't take his eyes off the boy, but he still fails to see when he gets to his feet; the movement is quicker than the blink of an eye. All he knows is the aftermath of it, the screech of the chair legs on the floor and the loud slam of Tucker's palms on the table.

"Fuck the classified!" The boy yells, his face twisting in an awful mix of anger, hurt and a broken, terrified sort of hopelessness that almost breaks Bruce from the inside. "I need to know what they've told you, I have to- Tell me you think it's just a battery! Tell me you've never broke one to see what's inside, tell me you believe in science! They've showed you the research, didn't they?" Tucker's voice, so agonizingly different from the composed way he was talking before, breaks into a sobbing, almost hysterical laugh. His pale eyes are wide open and almost panicked, searching Batman's face for something he is not sure he can find.

"Tell me you've never seen one being made," this time, the boy doesn't yell, he whispers, his breath hitching and his knuckles white. "Please," he adds a moment later, and Bruce knows this kind of plea.

It's the plea of someone who is begging for the world to have mercy on them. A plea of a boy standing on their parents' grave, a plea of a man kneeled in front of his son's corpse.

Bruce swallows the bitter taste on the back of his tongue and takes a step closer. He sees the boy in front of him lean back and bend his knees, like bracing for impact, but he answers before any more misunderstandings can occur.

"I have seen the research. It provided enough information that I've never investigated further," he offers, and Tucker's shoulders slump like months and months of living in a constant state of fight-or-flight leaving his body all at once. Then, the boy's hands start trembling just slightly.

"Really?" He quietly asks, his eyes still glued to Batman, and there it is, the hesitant, uncertain hint of hope in his voice.

Bruce suddenly feels like not only this talk will be much, much worse than he ever feared, but also like in the end this will be another one of the things he will be blaming himself for. Things he could have prevented if he just tried a little harder.

"Really," he nods, taking a seat opposite from Tucker. "So explain what I've missed."

The boy keeps looking at him for a few more seconds, like trying to x-ray his thoughts for any sign of a lie. But then he blinks — for the first time, maybe — and rubs his face with his palm before all but dropping back in his own seat.

"Okay," he breathes out, evidently trying to collect himself and go back to the strong, focused self, "Okay."

[ part 2 -> ]

[originalartblog]

felt nostalgic for my ADA!skk AUs, here they are struggling on a case, wish them luck o7

[gifs-of-puppets]

Yes, I Can Help (1995)

[limeshade]

Walton Goggins as Cooper Howard / The Ghoul and Ella Purnell as Lucy MacLean

Season 2 Teaser FALLOUT (2024–)

[cnidocyst]

sleepover

[ID: Trafalgar Law trying to sleep in the Sunny's men's quarters, but Luffy from the bunk above, is slapping the side of her bunk, smiling, and yelling: "Hey! Hey Torao! Did you hear about the patient who lost his whole left side?" Chopper, from two beds back, excitedly yells: "I know this one! I hear he's all right now!" right into Sanji's ear. He's in the bunk adjacent to Chopper, and is wearing hair curlers. Usopp, sharing the same bunk as Luffy is laughing uncontrollably while Law grimaces. Brook and Zoro sleep in their bottom bunks quietly while Franky, sleeping on his air bags, is snoring loudly. /END ID]

[lahartea]

I just want them to be happy T_T

[zegalba]

Marina Abramovic: Cleaning the Mirror (1995)

[felicitea-art]

GRRR I LOVE PERIDOT RAGHhhh

[collophora]

@devinsisland apocalypse AUs, but it's just chill gardening between two raids outside to scavenge seeds

[canarybell]

Stumbled upon another "Crowley is always the one saving Aziraphale, when will Aziraphale save Crowley for a change?" post.

And my only question was, did I just Imagine these moments or what?....

[canon-gabriel-quotes]

Transcript:

Don't give up. Don't be a quitter, a spitter.

Follow through on what you started.

Swallow.

Audio source

[grif-hawaiian-rolls]

Touch Burns

A gentle touch, given without fear, without hesitation, can burn through the fiercest of armors.

It's in the little touches. The way Grif taps their knuckles together for a fist bump.The way Tucker nudges his wrist to adjust the position of his arm wielding the sword. The way Simmons grasps his gauntlet to steady him as he climbs onto the back of the Warthog. The way Caboose's arms curl around his waist and nearly lift him off the ground. The way Donut bumps his hip with his own in passing. The way Agents Washington and Carolina will place their hands on his shoulders, strong steady grips that ground him. The way Sarge slaps a hand against his back with the red colonel laughs. 

The little touches that make him feel human again.

Wip?? I dont think im gonna actually paint this out the way i want to honestly but i'll call it a wip. just in case i do :}

[m0e-ru]

say cheese !

[somewhatidealname]

how hard would it be to clean Springtrap completely

pretty hard. actually impossible

[gurggggleburgle]

As a former horse girl I love the Binghorses drawn by @meltedmush because every weird and cryptid suggestion and art of them just existing makes me stop and go: no wait horses will just do that. Horses are so weird. Horse behavior is so much

Horses will just stare at you through a window and if they're smart they can figure out certain doors. There is a specific kind of surreal of watching a horse walk into your house that is both very cute and cursed. SQQ could totally wake up to a Binghorse having broken into his house and staring at him

Horses also are weird and poorly designed biologically so if they sit for too long they can actually crush their organs and won't be able to stand up again. So I can see SQQ fretting over a bingfoal and asking if they're okay. Also they don't have the ability to sense being full. It is completely possible for a horse to eat too much and die. So again fretting mother hen SQQ planning special Binghorse diet only for Binghorse to come back and drop a dead bird in front of him.

It is completely plausible that SQQ can look up one day and see a binghorse sitting in a tree. Both cows and horses will climb trees. Goats too. I don't know why. They just will. The horse loose in a hospital bit is funny because horses on their own will just do that. They do just end up in places. It feels absurd but it's true. Getting jumped scared by a Binghorse totally believable.

Imagine that SQQ sees a Binghorse with a broken leg! The death knell of any normal horse. He can frett over those beautiful terribly designed legs as Binghorse is kept suspended in a swing thing.

And then the moment you combine omnivore snatch hunter it gets even funnier because I'm certain a real horse would if it could. The fact that people are in any way convinced horses are just cute and sweet and not weird terrifying little horrors of biology will never not be funny.