#How Vision Works

[ropes3amthoughts]

This is such a mess but do you guys get my vision

[dead-girl-tells-stories]

DC x DP Prompt

Some way, somehow (up to you), Dan, Danny, and Dani all end up living with Vlad.

Vlad is ecstatic. The three D's aren't, but it's not like they have a choice.

To push things forward, they end up begrudgingly going to a Wayne Gala with him, and like most gala kids, they were subjected to forceful, nosy, uncomfortable, and unnecessary questions from adults they don't like, and they know, don't really care.

One of the few obvious questions would be, 'How old are you?'.

Dan, despite being in a clone body of Danny, grows just a bit faster and taller than him and refuses to be the same age as that twerp. So he says that he's one year older than Danny.

Danny, who is absolutely pissed that his clone body is growing faster than him and also refuses to be the same age as that asshole, uses his actual age.

Dani, on the other hand, is having some internal struggles about being a clone and how her body and mind were basically forced to become more mature than she actually is. How she desperately wishes to be a child but will never have the opportunity to be. Or how she wants to be her own person but doesn't know how, and is simply borrowing from everyone around her.

She gets the dreaded question, 'How old are you?'. She doesn't want to be too close to Dan or Danny and 'copy' them. But she doesn't want to be too far off from them because she's really not much smaller than Danny, and also finds comfort in being close to them even if she is just 'copying' them. So she says she's a year younger than Danny.

The Gala goes on, yada yada yada. Then they go home.

A few weeks later, one of the D's (I'm thinking Dan) finds an online article about the Masters family and begins laughing their ass off.

Apparently, Irish twins were one thing. But Irish triplets? That had the general public and social elite in an uproar for weeks to come.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

A procession of confessions.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[the-muppet-joker]

My Apology:

Dear Gerard Way:

I am sorry for killing your immortal vampire soul with a sharpened stick I found outside. I had to do it because my roommate was being a major bitch and trying to become the vessel for your astral vampiric lifeform and frankly I just needed her to cut it out. She was biting people and burning beloved artifacts (she burnt the Kermit plushie I was in a relationship with. Do not judge me for being in a relationship with a muppet. What do you even know about love Gerard Way). In any case, it was honestly kind of your fault that she went so crazy. Whatever "chemical" you were putting in "My Chemical Romance" was not safe for her mind, body, or soul and I think being emo turned her into a witch. If you wish to apologize in return for what you put me through, I will gladly accept. But yeah. Sorry, I suppose.

[starry-bi-sky]

No.

No, no, no, no, NO!

He's shaking. His heart is burning in his chest, pounding like a jackhammer against his ribs, and there's a trembling, aching rage building beneath his tongue and pressing against his teeth.

In his hands, his fingers tense and wrists locked, the article reads in big, black font: JOKER LOCKED IN ARKHAM ASYLUM AGAIN!

Danny shouldn't feel so angry about this, this is a good thing. Gotham doesn't have to deal with him for another few months at the least. He should feel relieved, a little more at peace.

He is not.

He cannot swallow the fury thudding behind his eyes, the burning white heat searing a deeper hole in his chest. A searing green filling static in his ears in the way only the rage of the restless dead can have.

How is he going to kill him now?

Arkham may be the only asylum in America made entirely of tissue paper, but it's still an asylum. There are cameras, guards, other patients resting inside. Danny can think of a million different ways to sneak in and kill Joker, but someone will hear his screaming.

It'd have to be rushed.

He doesn't want it to be rushed.

It's a cruel thought. Cruel and cold and merciless, but Danny doesn't feel an ounce of shame, not an ounce of guilt, for it. He wants to be alone with the Joker when he kills him, that's all he wants. In Arkham, you are never alone.

He forces his anger to bubble back down into his chest, stuffing it between his heartstrings and his ribs like a blanket you're trying to bunch up into a corner. It sizzles and burbles. The static begins to fade out into a high-pitched ringing; it sounds like distant screaming.

Danny is still trembling, but he can think a little clearer now.

He can wait.

He can wait. He can wait. He can wait. He canwait. Hecanwait. Hecanwait.

He can wait.

He's waited five years for this. He can wait one more week. One more month. One more year. However long it takes for the Joker to break back out, Danny can wait.

And when the Joker does, inevitably, break out.

Danny uncrinkles his fingers around the edges of the newspaper, loosens his limbs just enough so he can pay for it.

He'll be waiting.

The dead, after all, have all the time in the world.

[cryptid-quill]

new colorfes cards made me rise from the dead, I give art of gay people as offerings

[laurrelise]

okay all i want right now is an umbrella academy spinoff of just the deli fives working in the kitchen like in the bear

ok ok picture this:

deli owner five: i swear to fucking god five, if five has to wait any longer for the brisket, you’re fired.

brisket five: it’s not my fault! five still hasn’t finished the goddamn fries! (clearly at his breaking point)

fryer five: that’s because someone left his station dirty when he left after his morning shift. (also at his breaking point)

clocked-out fryer five: (sprinting out the back door) alright see you assholes tomorrow

server five: alright, i try not to get on you guys about ticket times… but five looks like he’s about ready to walk out.

deli owner five: fuck, give him a free dessert.

server five: okay, but can we hurry this shit up? i’d like a tip if that’s alright with you dickheads.

brisket five: get the hell out of my kitchen.

busser five: (bursting in with a full bin of dirty dishes) drunk five is demanding a fluffernutter and making a scene again.

deli owner five: (shuffling through countless tickets and slamming his fist on the counter) i have zero goddamn time for this five, we’re slammed with this lunch rush and im down two cooks today. help a guy out and get him to leave.

busser five: you pay me minimum wage and i could not give less of a shit. i’m not dealing with him again.

drunk five, bursting into the kitchen: i knew i smelled peanut butter in here (pointing at brisket five who’s currently on grill preparing a burger)

brisket five: this is literally a beef patty

deli owner five: alright man, we’ve tried to play nice, but you’re out of here. let’s go, don’t make a scene. (pulling drunk five out by his collar and dusting off his hands) fuckin’ hell, none of you make it easy, do you?

brisket five:

booth five watching from the dining room: jesus christ

[blabberoo]

Driftcells animatic :)

[lunacias]

statement of jonathon sims, regarding a childhood encounter with a book formerly possessed by jurgen leitner

[khruschevshoe]

There's something to be said about Heaven Sent/Hell Bent, despite the Doctor overthrowing the Time Lord Council and spending four and a half billion years in the confession dial and him and Clara and Me meeting at the end of universe, therefore technically spanning the longest time span, being fundamentally the smallest in stakes of any of the modern Doctor Who finales. At the end of the day, there is no threat to earth or the galaxy or the universe or reality. It's just about two people and the way that they turn each other inside out and the way that they reflect each other as two sides of the same coin and the way their relationship was always going to end this way- with the flip of the coin, spinning in the air, each trying to override the other, each trying to take control of the story, each haunting each other forever.

It's under my microscope. It's rotating rent free in my head. It's everything good about Moffat's writing- fairytale vibes, wrenching character work, two characters that thematically parallel each other- and none of the bad, because he's not trying to be too clever or fuck with the rules too much, there's a couple of simple concepts played straight to their inevitable conclusions: Clara Oswald needs to die but the Doctor can't let it happen, he wants her to forget but she can't let it happen, so they both will do the most devasting things in the world to stop the other and they both get their way in the end but only in a way that will leave them haunting each other forever.

And it's so fucking good.

[stuckinapril]

Just a girl who wants to be her mother’s daughter in the ways that matter

[petricorah]

lee from the tea shop boutta get it (wip) [id in alt]

edit: completed illustration here

[lizgohome]

under the glow of pink stadium lights

[kelocitta]

Anthro...? just having a bit of fun

[rroechan]

ORV x MLP

You learn to draw horses once, the ability never leaves you.

Anywho, enjoy this fixation-fueled collection of doodles

[ version with twi & aj as kdj & yjh. u'll never guess who's who ]

[johnnysimmer]

did a little something something to this base game hair