DP x DC Prompt
This, but it's because their flight home was canceled due to Gotham's airport being destroyed. And they didn't want to drive all the way back.
The reason it all started was because Tucker was really bored and was getting a bit frustrated when he couldn't get past one of WE's many firewalls. He had already skimmed through everything else and concluded that Gotham's Brucie Wayne was a literal angel sent from heaven to one the worst cities in the world because he committed a crime so horrific that not even God could look him in his pretty little face anymore and that firewall proved it!
So to cool his head off, he decided to hack into a bank. Banks were pretty easy, right? Almost anyone could do it with just enough knowledge and the proper equipment. What he DIDN'T expect was just how EASY it was to do so. Laughably so, to the point it made him cry.
Did Gotham's rouges or Gothamites in general not like money? Not even the small-time rouges? Because he KNEW those operations that they try to pull off cost money. Shit tons!
So when his laughter became so disturbing that his friends and even his frenemies got concerned, all he had to do was show them what he found out. Which sent them spiraling into laughter as well. Like, c'mon, even Amity Park's bank was more secure than that and they only had fucking GHOST CRIME!
As the tears began to dry, and the laughter turned to giggles, one of the girls suggested something.
Star: Why don't we, like, rob it or something?
The hotel room went silent and Star started to fidget. Then she started to ramble.
Star: I mean like, we don't have to. It was kind of a joke anyway, since their security's so bad ya know, and I'm pretty sure we're gonna be here for a while and-
Dani: Star, baby, sweetie, honey. Why are you justifying yourself when we were all probably thinking the same thing, right?
Nod and hums of agreement filled the girl with relief.
Wes: Besides it's not a class trip unless we cause some trouble right?
They all then pilled into the bed and around Tucker as his finger flew across the keyboard.
Tucker: So, where are we hitting up first?
216 notes
·
View notes
We're on air.
More precisely, I was on air when I recorded this, but the details are largely irrelevant. Because I don't really feel like covering fuckin' introductory quantum mechanics and telling you exactly how the influence of the Skaian universe, when applied at the quark level and taken alongside the probabilistic effect of quantum behavior, superposes via particle states and results in the formation of what you might refer to as "overlapping timelines". And that's already getting real abecedarian about this shit.
Yeah, sue me. Try boning up on basic physics while you're at it.
So. I'm sure you'd love to hear about how I managed to rig this sick as hell channel-cum-blog up and get it to straddle the space-time continuum like an antediluvian Olympic gymnast doing mad splits over baby's first toy pony, but that ain't the point of this little exercise. Posting what's effectively a vlog is enough of an onanistic venture without adding Skaian Principles For Dummies: Electric Boogaloo to the schedule.
Where was I?
(Rhetorical question. Don't answer, if it needed to be said.)
The name's Dirk.
Strider. Yeah, that Strider.
I'd be more worried about internet safety, but seeing as there are only up to two people alive around here no matter how far you pull my timeline back, and I'm one of 'em, it doesn't exactly compute. Face it, brosephine: you aren't getting to year 24xx post-hilarocaust, and you sure aren't getting past that. Wasn't shat out of a lab yet when you were committing identity theft and scamming doddering old ladies out of their sadsack pensions.
(If you manage to get pizza delivered out here, I'll tip extra.)
Besides, you already knew my name, didn't you?
Maybe your next question's going to be:
"Why are you calling this a vlog when it's obviously just a blog?"
Or maybe,
"Why is your URL poorlydrawndirk when it's totally malapropos?"
Buckle in, kids. Strap yourself into that convertible toddler-safe harness and keep your ass glued tight to all the prime polyester-lined foam, because this ride's about to pull into the station and vehicular standards are some passé 21st century horseshit.
The first thing you have to understand is that even peering upon the brink of these echelons of irony is a skill that you'll never grasp in your life. But that's fine. I'm around. And if it puts your mind at ease,
I'll be the one pulling the strings here.
(There's the tired callback. It's not wrong, but it's tired. Worn out enough for it to be begging you to take it out back behind the shed and put it out of its misery.)
(I'll leave it at that for now, because self-referencing is one thing, but if I get any more meta, I'll have to start narrating in twelve-point Times New Roman.)
Anyway, I'll be breaking it down, just this once. Magnanimous as hell, I know. I could wax poetic and in doing so obfuscate the actual meaning once more from obtuse minds, thereby adding another strata to irony so layered that it's settled past sedimentary and is ready to unearth some fossil formations, but let's be real. That shit would fly over your head so far it'd be trying to dial ground control at Houston.
Here we go.
Vlogs aren't cool; making one ironically is.
Putting in this much effort into making a multiversal vlog makes it cooler, ironically.
Putting in this much effort to make a multiversal vlog when the doomed timelines are all inherently fuckin' doomed, as the name implies, and therefore functionally useless to communicate with, makes it more ironic.
I have Heart powers and am able to achieve my ultimate self through my alpha timeline. Therefore, not only is this pimped-out vlog functionally useless, but I actually don't need it at all.
Which means this wasn't too hard to set up to begin with. Ironic, considering the complex presupposed conditions necessary for bridging that 'verse gap.
And despite framing this as a vlog, this is obviously a blog.
Even though it's just a blog, all these drawings I've made had you convinced that I really thought I was posting a vlog.
And in a way, I'm still making one. It ain't the traditional format, but the almost videographic mannerisms I've been laying on you more than compensate for the fact that the video part of "vlog" doesn't exist.
Except it does, for me.
And because it does, none of these pictures are drawn to begin with. They're all film stills. Screenshots, if you prefer.
Which makes the qualifier of "poorly drawn" untrue.
But it's also almost true, because you can call them poorly drawn by virtue of them not even being drawn. Ride that definition of "poorly" down the one-way rail and you're here, selfie central, population two, me and you.
Of course, that means we have to cover the quandary of truth itself. What constitutes the truth? Titillate that thought for a second.
If I consider the attached files to be selfies, but you consider them to be illustrations, which is it actually?
An analysis of the "truth" means that we have to start delineating how much of this is subjective, tying us in bed with the concept of knowledge. The Socratic take calls for dialectical conversation and inquiry via questioning; therefore, if I just bequeath my knowledge to you on a pretty little metaphorical platter, it won't mean fuckall. So we have to keep digging. Get your pickaxe ready, 'cause we ain't hitting any diamonds of wisdom any time soon.
In fact, maybe that ain't the right direction. Flip it turnways. We gotta climb a li'l higher for what we need.
Maybe we gotta head to the roof.
now. brought cal.
where making this HAPEN.
Haha.
Just fuckin' with you.
Welcome to my blog, dude.
Want water? Imagine I got you a nice, chilled glass.
Let's get this parasocial relationship pumping.
Questions? Concerns? Misguided pseudo-parental queries about whether or not it's safe for your pipsqueak to be exposed to a full dose of radically Stridered bullshit?
Cool.
Make it all three and drop it in the asks, yeah?
57 notes
·
View notes