I'm bad at math, but is Bruce theoretically 38 years old when he goes into the time stream?
Hear me out (and canon likes to fluncate their ages, so this is my best guess without trying to account for birthdays):
Bruce becomes the legal guardian of 9 year old Dick when he's 23. That's a 14 year difference.
Jason becomes Robin when Dick leaves at 18. Jason is 13. That's a five year difference.
Jason dies at 15, and Tim becomes Robin at 13. That's a two year difference.
The age difference between Tim and Bruce would thus be 21 years.
Tim becomes Red Robin to find Bruce at 17.
That means that Bruce had to be 38, right? Why was I imagining him closer to 50?
Adopting so many kids must have aged him
466 notes
·
View notes
oh btw i was at the blackberry event a few days ago and glenn told my friend that they aren’t gonna be able to get back in the writers room until fall (he cited the writers strike as the biggest reason for this pushback) which means next season won’t realistically come out until next year. i’m not sure if this is common knowledge, just wanted to spread the info since i don’t have a sunny acct!
Wow, thank you! I kind of assumed this was the case with 5 months from writers strike beginning to actors strike ending, there was no way we were getting Season 17 this year (and they’ve been doing 1.5 year gaps really), but Fall is very surprising information to me!
That could mean September or it could mean November, but a Jan-March 2025 premiere for S17 is actually really promising…
Definitely wasn’t common knowledge that I’ve heard around, so again thank you for the info! :)
74 notes
·
View notes
Wendy's parents looked at the forest differently. They both had a tendency to go still and quiet when they were surrounded by trees, but that was where the similarity ended. Her father looked at the forest with Knowing, and her mother looked with Seeking.
Her father was a lumberjack. Her father was a Corduroy. He stood in the forest like he was a tree himself: still, tall, skin rough like bark, rooted to the spot by six generations. Wendy didn't know why "family trees" were illustrated as branches and leaves. They were root systems; your ancestors were buried deep below your feet, and their bony grips on your ankles slowly pulled you down into the dirt too.
Her father looked at the trees like he already knew every secret they held—every ancient lightning scar, every squirrel love affair, every bird with too many eyes and every eye in search of a bird. If you asked him where the Hide Behind was, he'd point at a tree without hesitation, and then he'd tell you to stop staring.
That was the thing with him: stop staring. He knew everything about the forest, except the things he didn't, and the things he didn't know he didn't want to know—and he didn't want his children to know them, either.
When her mother stood in the woods, eyes upturned, quaking like an aspen, she was like a pilgrim in a cathedral, standing weary and rapturous in the nave and gazing up at the stained glass windows. In later years, she'd seemed like a pilgrim who'd just realized she'd walked into the wrong god's church.
Aspens weren't native to Gravity Falls. You found them around Portland.
Her mother always wanted to know more, but was dissatisfied with the things she knew. She talked about things her husband didn't and asked about things he wouldn't. Wendy didn't think she was ever happy with the things she found out.
One of Wendy's last memories of her mother was of seeing her standing on the overgrown path to the old, abandoned Corduroy family cabin in the woods. Staring at it like it terrified her, but like she had some question she couldn't leave without asking it.
Her father, knowing what he knew and refusing to seek more; her mother, always seeking but never comfortable knowing; and Wendy was somewhere in between.
Wendy had worked in the Mystery Shack long enough that she knew where its occupants were, the way she knew where her heart and lungs were. When there weren't tourists, she could hear the pipes in the morning and know Mabel was showering upstairs—it was always Mabel, everyone else in the shack either showered before Wendy arrived for work or after she'd left for the day—and she could hear the the TV through the "Employees Only" door and know from the cadence of the muffled murmurs whether it was playing an English or Spanish station; and she knew when somebody was cooking and could tell who it was based on the smell; and through the floor boards she could hear the washing machine in the cellar, but she could predict when laundry day was coming two days ahead of time because Soos had run out of white dress shirts and switched to blue.
From her post behind the cash register, she was quietly, casually aware of where everyone should be. She wondered if she got that from her mother or her father.
She did the same thing at home. From her room, she was always aware of her brothers and her father. There was a little hole in her awareness where she felt like her mother should have been. She could tell without checking where her family was, and each thud and smell and footstep and shut door confirmed her instincts. And when something was wrong, she knew.
There was something wrong in the Mystery Shack.
Time to start seeking.
199 notes
·
View notes
It's been said already but I am confident that Jesper Kyd knew what the fuck he was doing when he composed the soundtrack of Assassin's Creed 2. The way Ezio's family became the literal main theme of the whole franchise, just rehearsed and remixed in different ways based on the game and the theme.
The way just hearing it when I open the world map on Odyssey makes me eight years old again with Ezio and Federico helping each other up on a roof and then gazing at the Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore with this dream of a soundtrack in the background.
"It is a good life we lead, brother."
"The best. May it never change."
"And may it never change us."
How do you expect an 8 yo to move on with life after THAT?!
48 notes
·
View notes