Wait A Minute

… Wait a minute…

If it sounds like the composer is trying to blast you with the orchestra until you're as deaf as he is, it's Beethoven.

If it sounds like the composer might be a vampire, it's Bach.

If it sounds like the composer is trying to set the violins on fire, it's Vivaldi.

@wuxiaphoenix

Motion actors filming fight scenes

This is frustrating.

I love the comparison, but I hate how they are comparing.

They are acting like she is using optics to give herself an advantage. But the device she is wearing is just for comfort and essentially does the same thing as closing one eye and squinting the other.

The little thing over the left eye is basically like an eye patch.

And the thing over her right eye is a mechanical iris, like in a camera lens, but it is NOT a lens.

Different lighting environments are going to be brighter or darker and you may have to squint more or less to let in the same amount of light into your eye. Squinting allows the shooter to get the sharpest possible vision in order to shoot a bullseye the size of a 12-point Times New Roman period.

But if you have to squint for hours for practice and in competition, this can strain your face muscles and become uncomfortable. So this iris basically squints for you.

It's more like wearing comfortable shoes so your feet do not hurt than a lens magnifying the target and giving an advantage.

Both athletes have access to these items. One felt more comfortable without them. The other didn't feel like getting a muscle cramp from squinting all day.

Either would have shot the same if they had or had not used these devices.

Just a funny difference in gear preference.

I should also add, the Turkish dad is the only one using lenses.

Dc x Dp Prompt Idea

What if the Wayne's are looking through the #onlyingotham tag on Twitter and see a post from a Gotham citizen

Gotham Citizen: Just summoned the ghost king and got an info dump on space. He said if I know anyone who would appreciate this to show them how I summoned him as my summon has been his most comfortable one so far.

The bat starts checking the comments and sees others responding asking for the summon and then posting that the ghost king is there new favorite astronomy teacher.

One day Gotham Academy announces that their astronomy teacher has become a new rogue and that they have summoned the ghost king (Danny is in his twenties and lives off patents at this time) to teach and protect the class in exchange for the usual teacher salary (and a free monthly meal of batburger.) So a ghost now teaches at Gotham academy and the rogue are slowly but surely being taught to be very afraid of attacking him and the academy.

So basically a teacher Danny meets ghost king Danny meets Space need Danny all in one.

They took them. That’s all that echoed in your head. They took them.

You couldn’t believe it when you heard. Not them. Of all the many heroes and hero teams that infest your city, with their youth and enthusiasm, you couldn’t believe they managed to take your favorite hero and his civilian girlfriend. Not that the girlfriend was fooling anyone with eyes. You knew a mafia enforcer when you saw one. You’d warned him, quiet and serious as you so seldom were these days.

He’d given you the courtesy of taking you seriously. And she’d seemed to have fallen in love with the golden light of the sun as it reflected off of his golden retriever personality. (Seriously, golden retriever. He was supposed to have been a werewolf. His pack still were deeply confused as to how he’d managed to be fully from a wolf line, and he’d still ended up a damn golden retriever. You suspected either a cosmic joke, or someone somewhere in both lines had been more adventurous than was wise and the throwback genes had a damn party.) And like any dog, but especially a retriever, he hadn’t been able to stop from falling in love with her either.

She hadn’t been a high level enforcer, you forced yourself to recall as you tore through the underbelly of your city. (The city could trace your path as you sliced through it, rotten flesh and vital organs pouring out of your trail. Like a wolf, you’d opened up the guts and chewed on them as you stalked those who took them.)

You knew what everyone laughed about behind your back. They call you a washed out villain. A Cartoon. There only to be thwarted in all your schemes. A few even sneered and called you a sell out, a shill, a plant to make heroes look good. You never cared. There was even a bit of truth to it.

You started to catch fresher hints of the trail. Your city burned behind you, old wounds ripped open around new ones. No one ever stopped to think that maybe they should have been cautious about what they said around you. Most of the bodies cluttering your trial weren’t from your hands. Your mouth, yes. A decade of overheard plans and plots and then the consequences of everyone thinking you worthless has given you quite a bit of blackmail and secrets. And you’ve dumped much of it out there. You still don’t feel bad.

You found them. The boy, barely legal, dead. His girl, wrapped around him, trying in vain to keep him safe despite her own death wounds. You took them away from that place and cradled them to you. They’d been so young. Young and in love and trying to be happy. But the out of towners hadn’t cared. All they’d seen was a hero and criminal. They hadn’t seen the way she’d smiled at him. The way her Family had turned carefully blind eyes away. She had been only a low level, and he wasn’t a crime hero. He’d been the kind to rescue kittens out trees, find lost children, all the unglamorous jobs that still needed to be done. Her Family had liked them both, and hadn’t been high level in the underworld anyway. They’d been young, either something would have come of it or they’d have broken each others hearts.

You tried so hard to not let your parents’ ways win in you. You would have probably broken if not for an encounter in a park, ten years ago. Where a bundle of golden fluff had parked itself on your foot where you’d been brooding and barked you out of a bad mood. You bury them under the shade of the tree you first met him. (He’d loved that tree.)

You turn flinty eyes to the home city of the out of towners. It’s not done ripping itself to shreds yet. You fan your fingers wide to cup a voice on the breeze as the latest gossip hits your ears.

You can give a mercy stroke to hasten things along.

You’re a villain, but you typically hold back. You’re into villainy for a quick robbery, or just some laughs. But not any more. Today is the day to show them that making you mad is a BAD idea.

Apparently people who don't have executive dysfunction think that actually working on something is the hardest part of doing something. And that's why they get mad that you call the rest of the project "easy" after you've finally worked through doing the plan and know what to do when you're working.

So when you're through with the epiphany of how to make it physically possible to make the thing you're making, and you're sharing the plan with excitement, because the hard part is over, and now you only have to get your hands moving and do it, they get mad at you like

"it's not that easy! It's a lot of hard work! >:C"

they mean it, because

to them, working is the hardest part.

They don't have to fight their brains to get started. They don't have to fight their way through making the choices, making the plan, making yourself make the thing. People who don't suffer from executive dysfunction think that the hardest part is actually doing the thing.