COMMUNISM!!!!! 🔥🔥🔥🔥🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️

If you're in the US military or National Guard, and are given an illegal or unconstitutional order, the GI Rights hotline (1-877-447-4487) is there to help give you the support you need to do the right thing by refusing it. It would be good to think about this now before it becomes a live issue for you and it would be smart of you to memorize that number.

bitches think they pelican but they ain't even bird

Ratio/j

Can’t wait for an ex Twitter user try and ratio someone on tumblr and then realize that we can’t and don’t do that

so yeah blah blah remember how i mentioned a protege au

“The average US president has been charged with 1.54 felonies” factoid isn’t true. The average US President has been charged with 0 felonies. Donald trump, who has been charged with 71, is a statistical outlier and should not have been counted

It's not uncommon for worlds to collide. Lines get crossed, voids meld, portals malfunction. And when gods and magic are far from few, it's easy to see why.

Still, when the Syndicate comes across five astronauts, tied together and floating rather calmly in the void, they're not any less surprised.

"Uh," Phil calls out, "hello?"

The astronauts––at least, they look like astronauts, though their yellow suits look too battered to actually work––turn to look. They blink, baffled.

"How are you standing like that?" one of them asks, ink-black eyes squinting. He clutches a dark purple egg to his chest.

"Like what?" Niki asks.

"You're just... standing," another astronaut says, this one mustachioed. "How are you just standing in the middle of the void?"

"We're walking somewhere," Connor says.

"Why, can't you guys walk?" Phil asks.

"Not to our knowledge," says a female astronaut. She's floating completely upside down, almost lying down mid-air, her head tilted back to look at the Syndicate. Her eyes are a solid color, like the one with black eyes, but hers are a bright silver. Between the two of them, they're extremely creepy. "And we rather like floating, to be honest."

Suddenly a look of recognition comes over Kristin, and She gasps. "Oh, you guys are the Boatem Hermits! You made it out!" She says.

"Yeah, we are. We did." An astronaut with a smooth American voice says slowly. "Wait, do we know you?"

"Not really. But I've seen you guys around. It's nice to see you're okay. I had complete faith in you guys."

"Thank you, lady we've never met!" another American astronaut pipes up cheerfully.

Phil leans towards Kristin. "Sorry, who are they?"

"Their world was crushed recently by the moon," Kristin explains. "I haven't had time to check up on them, but I wasn't too worried." She looks back at the astronauts––Boatem, apparently. "Are the others okay?"

At that the astronauts lapse into a somber silence. "We're not sure," the mustachioed one mutters. "We were all in a bit of a rush."

The rest hum in agreement, and then are silent again.

"Our world was destroyed too," Niki says. "I mean, not by the moon, but by a nuke."

"Ah, classic," the first American murmurs.

"I... guess? But we get it, not knowing if... if there's anything, or anyone left. It's kind of scary."

"Yeah. But I'm sure the rest of your friends got out fine," Phil pipes up. "I mean if we all did, then surely they did as well."

"This sheep also survived." Connor gestures to Rosie. "If a sheep can survive, so can the rest of your friends."

"That's... strangely very comforting," the black-eyed one says.

"Thanks."

"Well, I hope you all get to the next world soon. I'm afraid we have to keep moving, but I will see you guys around." Kristin turns to the Syndicate. "We should keep going."

"Will they be okay staying here?" Niki asks.

"Oh yeah, they'll be fine. They've been around for longer than you guys have."

"Oh yeah, we've been doing just swell here, all things considered!" the second American assures. Upon closer inspection there appears to be a sleeping cat in his helmet. That's... normal. "You can just toddle on your way, don't mind us. But thank you for your words of wisdom, random void passersby!"

"Sure thing dude," Connor says, giving a thumbs up. Rosie baas.

"Alright, well. Nice to meet you guys," Phil waves and chuckles as Kristin leads them away.

"Bye!" Niki does the same. The astronauts all wave and say their farewells, and soon they're merely another speck of dust in the endless black.

Distantly, the shrill shriek of the black-eyed astronaut rings out, "Wait, we don't even need suits!"

i don't even know what to call this one, it came to me in a dream

I feel like Bruce Wayne projects the kind of amiable playboy 'fun' vibe that he'd be the type of celebrity that certain interviewers feel comfortable surprising with puppies.

You know the kind of shows I mean.

The late-night talk show situations where they're making benign small talk with their smiling guest, and there's a segment where animals get brought out, usually to talk about some sort of ecological relief effort.

So you're watching your trash TV talk show late at night, and you get to watch billionaire pretty boy Bruce Wayne be begrudgingly talked into holding a (relatively) harmless creature which inevitably gets a lot of delighted shrieks from the audience as it starts being a lot more active than the handler promised. And to his credit, Bruce doesn't flinch, he doesn't freak out. But his eyes are a little wide, and his voice a little tight as the smile on his face takes on a slight rictus quality before he's inevitably rescued by an apologetic handler who is also laughing because they all know there was no real danger, it was just funny to put Bruce, who is an undeniable good sport and already laughing along, out of his comfort zone for the sake of charity.

Meanwhile, up in the Justice League headquarters, several founding members of the League are wondering how fast they can get a fake Oscar award shipped to the space station because fuck off. Absolutely fuck off, Bruce. Where the fuck did he study? Juilliard? (Probably.)

(Clark ends up going to a novelty store during the commercial break. It's faster than trying to get anything shipped, even with the infrastructure Bats built for them. He finds it several days later taped to his console in a conspicuously empty briefing room. It's gaudy and awful, the words "Best Actor" engraved on the plaque. No one's around to see him smile. No one comments when it vanishes. Everyone thinks it's been yeeted out an airlock. Dick absolutely comments when it shows up in the manor, stashed in one of the trophy cases that sprung up for all the bat kids' school awards. Bruce has no idea how it got there. Must have been Alfred. (It was not.))

Anyway, consider, for your amusement, Bruce Wayne getting highjacked on The Gotham Toight Show with a handful of wriggling puppies and, for a split second, not having to pretend he's delighted to be there.

Reblog daily for health and prosperity