#Timee dirt bike

[ifindus]

I love your goofy little farm boy denmark so much

thank youuuu 🥰 it's his natural state I think

[nerosdayinanime]

sabito = dirtbike redneck. you cant convince me otherwise

[whereifindsanity]

[anti-cosmofangirl]

I was talking with a friend the other day about how much my human Betrayus differs from canon.

So I decided to draw up a version of him (left) of how I would perceive him if I wasn't a simp. Enjoy XD

[rotteneldritchhorror]

Screaming crying throwing up

[vimbry]

hm... you know. john flansburgh should be considered a good influence for the image/sound of a rock singer and I am being 100% sincere.

[usernyoom]

This motherfckr is truly making us all spiral over his stupid (incredibly endearing) knee pad affirmations all because he refuses to give us any current sign of life.

(this post) we r crawling back to cocky arrogant renault daniel and his talismans because current daniel refuses to show his face 😔

i have it on good authority tho that he usually disappears during january and then reappears during feb before the season start!!!!! so we still have hope 💖💘💓

[looselipssinkships-x]

I successfully ignored how reliant i was on the bakery i worked at for like, my main caloric intake for the day, and now I'm having to relearn how to feed myself in a brand new city and it sucks

[fucktheroyals]

Coworker: you laugh loud but that’s a good thing, it means you’re happy.

me, who laughs to fill silence and my fake laugh is so similar to my real laugh that people can’t tell the difference: :/ it’s funny you think that.

[bigothteddies]

bored / not having fun at work today so trying to make vacation and event plans for next year in my head but it’s not going well

[timbarrus]

The earth makes you feel the earth. You will know gravity and what a gravity well is.

It’s about surviving the experience. You try to make it all look normal. It takes me about three hours to put the full mask on. Go out there and sparkle. Who says go putcher pink dress on. I knew it. Who goes out on a dirt bike at two in the morning. Who claims: You Never Get Dirt On Your Balls because it’s a dirt bike. They used to do it a lot when there were wars.

We are too contemporary to be in wars. Like the ten we’re in.

I have spent ages reading all about it. Read all about it. That place where rages and the cages and we wanted to be with the rages because we were by then guite mad.

They’d figured out how to make flamethrowers. We would get our asses barbequed. They came for us and we had to run again.

We had so far defended Dodge City was Dirt Bike Town.

Now, before they bomb again. You never know. Homo sapiens had lived in these buildings. Be very careful what you wish for. You could only crawl around the hallway because their small arm’s fire seemed to be all they had left. We could have taken them to that place novelistic prisoners of wars go. The ruinous island of screams. It seems. Our screams were upon us.

Someone had fallen but we didn’t really think the Normals had the balls for it.

They were not fast. They had numbers. But they had never fought for their lives. What lives.

Anyone in the Colonies could be hanged We Are Already the Dinosaurs. We are all more or less from Wichita. Mainly. But a lot of people were arriving at our community doors of Mass Extinctions did not occur to us until we began to understand, or the why of it, why physics matters this was the planet, so we invented little shadow stories but they had gotten us through dark shit so far.

We needed them. We needed little kids to say: What the Fuck.

I would have to explain many times we were only spies And Then. Most humanoid reality begins with stories no one believes in but they have brought both ideas and revolt. Rachel Carson was wrong. There were holograms that had never been played. If you are listening to this, I am old. And Then. It was all a dream. Mitya sees the same slide show I see. But I act on it. It’s dangerous and doing different dimensions did not define the timeline. That would have been revolt. Thermonuclear revolt. We have to this day, not one agreement on what dimensions do or why they do it. There are many theories. But some characteristics are shared. The plates move around on a cosmic scale. Nothing will be the same for a long time. It was a hot mess and looked like beautiful downtown Venus. It didn’t take much to turn the thing into a burning ember. The rich should leave the planet. Tension increased daily. The experiments at Oxford confirmed that the rich should leave the planet or have a visitation with the fishes.

I’m washing my hair that night.

I am not going to tell you not to dream because in that suspension there is a dimension that requires as much as the stuff of us, so exactly, where Some Of Us Are Indifferent which is my own autistic weirdo problem thing difficult to define something considerable just like no lack of physics to define, and no culture that can stave off whatever cultural strangulation is, and that Rome Shall Burn, Too. I told youall there are always tunnels, which is my own stupid problem like wanting to see what they want to see and the physics of the whole dog and pony show holding one’s pee in a bar to which is the Cenozic, ancient species born of an internal hayhem plus rape and slavery and punishment of us, the Mystic Misunderstood Marginalized so remember this Strange Bedfellows: you never know, you never know when it’s coming for you, and we do not arrive at these places at this time on this Disloyal Ground.

Look around. It’s a graveyard, a confederate graveyard, I have lived among the graveyards of the Northern Normals, too, I stand on my porch and I can eye to eye of the actual angel marble statue created in Thomas Wolfe’s Look Homeward Old Asheville Town, where by his Mickey Shivers owned all the stuff in Wichita and was stuff enough to get anywhere down into the tunnels to survive. The species was in the toilets to the rivers, revenge is always very, very expensive, and is usually not worth the threats of armpits.

Anytime. Any place, Anywhere.

What good would the smashing of electrons that come with a positive and negative charge do for anyone. There were Vhistina in the toilets. Their crushed skulls just rot for insects. There were wolves. What dimension could I store this one in. Some dimensions would squeeze you flat because they may have no atmosphere. Plan B. We use metaphor because in the end, it might matter, somewhere but most us know fucking better. How low do we have to go before we ourselves have to eat shit in a hierarchal pyramid patriarchal snaketestocracy eating dog shit to survive this is what they want from us. Look to their legends and their stories and then, there were the Huns. No one has anything on the Huns.

If you do not know the Huns, what else do you not know, the Huns challenged War Itself. Rome lost the gravitas. It lost the courage of what had come before it, I had seen all of this before and my bike had a lot of power built into it by Red to Red the Sky Your Last Goodbye. Mickey Shivers knows where to stick this fingers up his Christian Empires of gold that lingers so where is all this a gold mine find. A lie of starships in the sky and Mickey Shivers flying by. — Romeo Void, Tim Barrus

[orcelito]

Got up to pee and hoooooooooo my 3+ hour bike/hike is NOT going unpunished, it seems

The muscle soreness hasn't fully set in yet, either. But I can tell it's gonna be a doozey

[vespertilionis]

Jason‘s bike breaks on the way to a mission, and he doesn‘t have time to repair it, so he takes the bus.

He enters, passes the petrified driver the money and gets met with several sleep deprived gothamites staring at him. He‘s still wearing the helmet, his weapons are out. He‘s covered in grease and dirt and looks like he just crawled out of his grave (again).

Someone slowly, slowly takes their camera out and snaps a picture. It’s on the front page of the newspaper the next morning.

[seat-safety-switch]

My neighbour had had one of those roll-away dumpsters on his lawn for awhile. In case you're unfamiliar, people often have a lot of trash generated from home renovation projects. They do not want to drive to the dump constantly to throw this stuff out. Instead, you can call someone who comes and drops a dumpster on your driveway, and then when it's full, you can call them again to get it picked up and taken to the dump. The very icon itself of suburban make-it-someone-else's-problemism.

People get really mad when you throw garbage into a dumpster that you didn't pay for. For instance, the local Tim Hortons has put up threatening signs falsely claiming that they have security cameras pointing at the bins at all times. This might be because I once disposed of an entire Subaru EJ25 engine and slightly dented 4-speed automatic transmission, along with most of its fluid, into their dumpster. If you ask me, this is just whining, because that stuff was all made out of aluminum and shouldn't have counted too far on their weight limit anyway.

And yet, I don't want to drive to the dump. Partially, this is because of the exorbitant dump fees: in an attempt at "greening," or more likely to not have so many dumbasses coming to throw out a single tire, they charge a minimum of thirty bucks to throw out anything under a hundred kilos of crap.

Thirty bucks! I can buy a lot of cool junk for that. And they don't even let you take old bicycles out of the garbage pile for that money to try and recoup your cost. Once, I saw a dirt bike, and they wouldn't let me take it. It became a whole thing, which is the main reason I can't go to the dump anymore: they have my picture posted everywhere. So borrowing my neighbour's dumpster is the next best thing.

Here's the tactic you want to use: watch the bin for a few weeks. Check what days there's a lot of stuff being thrown out. These things naturally ebb and flow. There will be an initial burst of enthusiasm as they rip their kitchen to bits, being replaced with a crushing realization that they have ripped their kitchen to bits. It's during that lull that you throw your shit into the dumpster, and cover it up with construction debris from the previous effort. Demoralized, the homeowner won't look in their bin for at least another week, until they are forced to finish the job or hire someone competent to do so, who will start refilling the bin again.

Or, you can do what I did, which is wait for the truck that picks up the dumpster to show up. While the operator is busy loading it up, you throw your stuff into the bin and drive away as fast as you can. The neighbour can't get mad, because the pickup's already been paid for: you're just extracting some extra value from it. The driver can't chase you, because he has a dumpster full of your old shocks and axles halfway loaded onto his truck. And the cops can't get you for illegal dumping, because it sounds like a whole bunch of paperwork and to be honest they're probably too busy arresting folks who start a fistfight at the dump over a pretty sweet dirt bike.

[sanguineterrain]

crushin' | jason todd

Summary: Barbara invites you to dinner with the Bats. She's done so before, and you've always declined, but this time, you agree because the Bat you've had a crush on for ages will be there. Little do you know, the only reason he's staying for dinner is because of you.

Pairing: Jason Todd x gn!reader 

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings/tags: batfam shenanigans, dick is a good meddling brother and deserves a fruit basket, fluff and humor, kissing, crushes, love confessions. just wanted to write something sweet and light :)

the divider

"So you're gonna press this," Barbara says, demonstrating on her own screen.

You follow along, clicking and typing. She nods.

"Good. Then you're gonna do this."

You open the file. A video of what looks to be Bruce drunkenly hula-hooping pops up. Your eyes widen.

"And that's how you keep Bruce in check," Barbara says, patting your shoulder. "Use sparingly. Only when he's getting on your last nerve."

"Wow," you say. "Babs, I... I don't know if I should have this kind of power."

"No, it's cool. I have dirt on everyone in this family, so really, it's my power. You're the only one who gets to see the vault."

You look at her. "You scare me."

She grins. "Thanks! Anyway, you're free to go. They'll be back from the mission soon, so our job is pretty much over."

The computer beeps. She checks the notification and types back. Then she hums.

"Or, you can, y'know, join us for dinner. Alfred keeps wondering when you'll do so."

You press your lips together. "I dunno, Babs... are you sure? I don't want to intrude."

"You're not. Seriously. And you know what I just found out? Jason will be here too."

Well. That does certainly stop your refusal in its tracks. You haven't seen Jason properly since he returned. You feel a pang of guilt at that; true, he's never at the Manor, at least not when you're around. But you could've reached out by now.

Still, being able to see him again properly is a wonderful opportunity. One you can't pass up.

"Okay," you say. "I'll join you all. As long as Alfred's okay with it."

She rolls her eyes, smiles. "Don't be ridiculous. C'mon."

You follow her to the elevator Bruce got installed for her. In the Manor, most of the family are sitting down to dinner. Damian and Cass are on one side of the table. Bruce is at the head. Alfred is still bustling in the kitchen.

You start to pull out the chair next to Cass, but Barbara startles you.

"That's Dick's chair!" She smiles sympathetically. "Sorry. He's particular. Isn't he, guys?"

"Yes," Cass says. "He's comfortable here."

"I've no idea what you're referring to, Gordon," says Damian. He nods at you. "Hello."

You smile. "Hey, Damian. That's fine. I'll sit next to you, Babs." You sit in the middle of three chairs, with Barbara on your right and an empty chair on your left.

"Hi, Cass. Hello, Mr. Wayne."

"Bruce," he reminds you. That's not happening. It feels way too weird to call him Bruce, even though you've known him since Jason was Robin. Just, no.

Cass smiles. "Hello. Glad to have you."

"Where's Tim and Duke?" you ask.

"Thomas is at university," Damian says. "Drake is probably with that idiot clone he calls a boyfriend."

Bruce looks up. "Tim and Connor are dating?"

"Good God," Barbara mumbles.

"Well, yes, Father. They've been dating for quite some time, even shared a room together. Last month, Drake went undercover in Atlantic City and the clone—"

"Old man! Where are you?"

"Jason, just—"

"Shut it, Dickhead."

The grandfather clock swings open, revealing the Cave entrance. Up stomps Jason, followed by Dick. Jason has a smear of purple goo on his forehead, but otherwise is clean. His back is to you.

Jason points an accusing gloved finger at Bruce. "You owe me a new bike, new guns, new gear, new phone, new—"

"Jason, slow down. Why exactly do I owe you new things?" Bruce asks.

"Because Tweedle-Dum here didn't scan the fuckin' spaceship that landed in Syracuse and melted my bike with purple goo!"

"It said it was empty," Dick says tiredly. "How was I supposed to know an abandoned ship would spit goo?"

"Okay, alright, boys, don't fight. Yes, Jason, I'll compensate everything you lost in Syracuse."

"Yeah, you will. And a new fridge." Jason thinks. "And a new TV."

"Master Jason," Alfred begins, walking into the dining room with a dish of roasted potatoes. "You may continue your bargaining with Master Bruce after dinner. Wipe that alien sludge off your face and have a seat."

Jason sighs. "Alf, I appreciate the invite, but you know I don't dine with most of the folks at this table. Gets real fuckin' crowded."

"Master Jason, watch your language," Alfred says sternly. "We have a guest. Behave like the young man I raised you to be."

Jason scoffs. "Who, Barbie? She doesn't—" He turns and stops, staring at you.

You smile, suddenly self-conscious. "Hi."

He swallows, eyes wide. "Hi. Hey."

"Aren't you staying for dinner?" you ask, confused. "Barbara said you were."

"I—" He glances at Barbara, then looks at you. "Uh. Well. I don't really..."

"C'mon, Jay, you guys should catch up!" Dick says brightly, already seated.

Jason's mouth sours as he turns to Dick. You pull out the chair next to you and tap the seat.

"You can sit next to me," you say, looking up at Jason.

He immediately turns back to you, lips parted. "Oh. I—y-yeah. Sure. Thanks."

"Master Jason. The goo," Alfred reminds, raising a brow. "And hang up your jacket."

Jason quickly backs up and bumps into the table corner. He winces.

"Right. I'm gonna... yeah. Be right back."

Jason disappears down the hall. Dick grins wolfishly at Barbara.

"You're amazing," he says.

"I know," she says, shrugging.

Alfred serves the last tray of vegetables, then sits. Jason soon returns, gloves and jacket away and goo-free.

"Did you style your hair, Todd?" Damian asks.

"No. Shut it." Jason scoots in his chair, glaring at his brother. But when you pass him the tray of roast, his expression softens. He smiles at you.

"Thanks," he says, and puts three slices on his plate. "Great roast, Alf."

"You haven't tried it," Alfred says, but looks very pleased.

"Don't need to."

"We're very glad you're here, Jason," Bruce says. "All things considered—"

Jason holds up a hand. "Ah-ah. I'm not here for you, old man. Save the speech for another day."

"And who are you here for, Jason?" Dick asks, propping his chin on his hands.

"None of your beeswax, Dick."

Dick shrugs. Damian begins to talk about an art project in school. You pay the appropriate amount of attention until Jason nudges your arm.

"Hey," he says, nodding at your empty glass. "Didja get something to drink?"

"Oh." Heat creeps up your neck. "Um, no. Sorry. I didn't know where to get the drinks."

"'S okay. Alf doesn't put out drinks anymore 'cause everybody drinks something different. You just help yourself to whatever's in the fridge. I'll get it for ya."

"Jason, you don't have to—"

He holds up a hand, smiling. "C'mon, none of that. You're a guest. Orange Fanta, right?"

You blink. "You remembered."

"Uh." His cheeks go pink. "I mean, yeah. No biggie. I'll be back."

Jason stands. Immediately, the others pounce.

"Are you going to the kitchen?" Dick asks.

"No," Jason says.

"Can you get me another Diet Coke?"

"Todd, if you're going to the kitchen, I would like another lemonade, please," Damian says.

"I just said I'm not going to the—"

"Master Jason, will you please bring this into the kitchen?" Alfred asks, holding up an empty tray.

Jason heaves a sigh. You wince.

"Sorry," you whisper.

He shakes his head and winks. "Nah, 's not you."

Obediently, Jason takes the tray and goes to the kitchen. He returns with a Diet Coke, which he tosses at Dick, who catches it with one hand, and a bottle of lemonade, which he throws to Damian who also catches it with one hand and a scowl. Finally, Jason opens the Orange Fanta for you and gently pours it into your glass, then sets the half-full can next to your plate. He sits down.

"Of course they get special treatment," Dick mumbles into his drink.

The table rattles, and Dick winces, squinting at Jason. The table rattles again, and Jason hisses.

"Boys," Bruce says wearily. "Enough."

"Yeah, Jason," Dick says, sticking his nose up. "Y'know it's my birthday soon. I deserve a brother who doesn't kick me."

"Oh, I'll tell ya what you deserve," Jason begins.

"Are we doing laser tag?" Cass pipes up from the end.

"'Course we are! Everybody's gonna be there." Dick looks pointedly at Jason. "Except my own brother. He refused."

You look at Jason, who's got a nasty glower aimed at Dick.

"You're not coming?" you ask.

Jason's expression melts away when he turns to you. "Uh, I mean—"

"No, he's not," Dick says, pulling the saddest pout you've ever seen. "He said he wanted nothing to do with my stupid birthday."

"Those weren't my exact words."

"They were very close," Damian says.

"Shut—"

"Jason, I can't believe you aren't going to Dick's birthday," Barbara says, shaking her head.

Jason's mouth falls open. "Et tu, Barbie?"

"You should come," you say, touching Jason's arm.

He immediately looks at your hand. You slowly remove it, smiling sheepishly.

"Then we can be a team," you say. "We're playing doubles. I'm horrendously bad at laser tag, but I bet we'd win together. I'd watch your six."

"Leaving them in the lurch, Jason?" Barbara tuts. "So unlike you."

Jason heaves a sigh. "For God—okay. Alright, brother mine. You win."

You beam. "So you'll come?"

"'Long as you and I are a team," Jason says, a little shy.

You bump his shoulder with yours. "Of course."

Dick looks at you. "You should join us for dinner every night."

You laugh bashfully. "Thanks, Dick."

Dinner goes on. Bruce excuses himself early, as do Cass and Damian. Soon, it's the four of you plus Alfred cleaning up after dinner. You and Jason are loading the dishwasher when Jason hisses. He pulls out his hand, revealing a thin red cut on his palm.

"Are you okay?" you ask, hovering worriedly.

"Yeah, 'm fine. I'll take the tray—"

"Jason, no," Dick says, herding him away from the dishwasher. "You have to get that wrapped immediately."

"What are you—dude, it's a tiny cut—"

"Yeah, but there was food on there, and you have no idea what can get into the wound and make you sick," Barbara says seriously. "You need to get it cleaned right now."

Jason rolls his eyes. "Fine, whatever. There's a first aid kit in the closet."

"There isn't!" Dick says, shooing Jason toward you. "Alfred hasn't restocked it. You have to go to the Cave. You should both go."

"Yes, great idea," Barbara says, looking at you. "You have medical experience, don't you?"

"I mean, a little, but—"

"More than us!" Dick says, shoving you both towards the hallway.

"I don't think so..."

"You take care of Jaybird here, he needs that hand," Dick says cheerily, opening the Cave entrance. "Go on, go."

"Christ on a bike," Jason mumbles, and heads down the stairs.

You follow, confused and concerned. The entrance slides closed. Jason goes to the medbay, muttering under his breath as he digs through one of the drawers with one hand. You join him, searching the top drawer for the antiseptic spray.

"Is the cut really bad?" you ask, trying to get a better look.

"No. My brother's just an idiot. Nothin' new."

You pull out the spray, some gauze, and a bandaid. Jason nods in thanks and goes to take it.

"I can do it," you say. "I do have medical experience, after all."

He snorts. "Fine by me."

You both sit on the edge of a cot. You turn to Jason and pull his hand into your lap. He inhales sharply. You stop.

"Is this okay?" you ask.

"Y-yeah. Fine. Sorry. I don't get touched a lot." Jason's mouth screws up. "Ugh. That sounded weird."

You laugh. "It's fine, I know what you meant."

He scratches the back of his neck while you clean his hand. He has big hands. Bigger than you remember. They're deeply scarred and calloused. You rub your thumbs over the pads of his fingers without thinking.

"You got soft hands," Jason says quietly.

"Heh. Thanks. The computer life."

He hums. "I didn't know you were working with Babs."

The guilt swims back full force.

"I know. I'm sorry. I should've reached out, Jason. I-I basically ignored you. Not on purpose! I just... I guess I wasn't sure where we stood and I thought maybe you'd be mad I was working for Batman after everything and I was afraid that we wouldn't—"

"Hey, whoa. 'M not mad." Jason finds your gaze. You frown. "I'm serious. I don't mind that you're working for Bruce. I mean, hell, I do too, on occasion. Mostly I just bitch at him."

You giggle. He smiles. You're still holding his hand. You don't really want to let go. Jason doesn't seem to want to pull away either.

"Well, even so, I'm sorry for not reaching out. I did miss you, Jason. And I'm glad you're back."

He clears his throat, ducking his head. "Huh. Well, I missed you too. And y'got nothin' to apologize for. I could've asked about you."

"Well—"

"Uh-uh, no, I'm the king of self-deprication. Y'can't take that from me," Jason says, eyes dancing with mirth.

You sigh dramatically. "Fine, fine. Can we say that we both could've reached out?"

"That's agreeable. And, uh, while we're clearing the air, I'm so terribly sorry 'bout my dumbass brother."

You tilt your head. "What do you mean?"

"Ah, huh. Hm. Well, funny thing. I kinda had a, um, crush on you, before. And Dick has it in his head that I... that I have a chance now. So... yeah."

"Before?" you ask.

You don't know why you're disappointed. It's not like you knew. Except maybe if you had, you wouldn't have missed out. Maybe you wouldn't have lost so much time.

Jason glances at you. "What... why are you sayin' it like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like you wish... that I..." He shakes his head. "Forget it."

"Jason," you say, barely a whisper.

He looks at you. His eyes flick to your lips, just for a millisecond. "Yeah?"

"Can I kiss you?"

A beat. Your heart falls.

"Yeah." Jason nods. "Yeah, kiss me."

You heart soars.

You hold Jason's face, still holding his hand. He gingerly touches your neck with his uninjured hand, strokes behind your ear with his thumb. Every nerve alights. You're kissing Jason Todd. The boy you've loved since you were thirteen.

"They did it! They're kissing!"

Jason growls against your mouth. You know it's not aimed at you, but it makes lightning shoot down your spine. Wow.

"'M gonna kill 'im," Jason mumbles.

You smile and pull back, just an inch. "It's nearly his birthday. At least wait till next week."

"Hm." Jason kisses the corner of your mouth. You like him so much. "Fine. Y'know you can convince me of pretty much anything? Wield that power carefully."

You wrap your arms around his neck. Jason braces you with a hand on the small of your back.

"I'm very flattered, but I think you're confused, Jay." A kiss to his jaw. "It's you who has a hold on me."