#inter: ivy

[indiecircusrp]

[@revolutionizethegame] @[poisonivy] ivy w/ randy orton

Ivy marched backstage with every intention of causing havoc. She was still wearing her ring gear and make-up, except she never got to get out there and perform her match because her ring time was cut at the last minute to leave more space for the men. Perks of being a woman in the business.

She approached the control room, where cameras were being monitored and where Mr Man himself, Vince, was barking orders to get the program to run smoothly. She would let him get a taste of her poison, unafraid to speak her mind and especially unafraid to make her missed match everyone's problem. The room was small and dark, barely lit by the multiple monitors, the floor was overrun by cables, and several people crowded it, most with a headset, following or giving directions to the cameramen and crew out there.

"Oh no," before Ivy could even get close enough to Vince's desk, Stephanie got in her way, lowering her headset on her neck, "This is not the time."

"No?" Ivy crossed her arms, looking back at the woman. Her green gaze was dangerously irate, though she pulled a sharp smile that made her entire face look almost sweet. "And when would that be? You certainly waited for the right time to let me know my match was cancelled, uh? Five minutes before entrance,"

"I know, I know," Stephanie tried her best to appear calm and diplomatic, even though her gaze was sharp, like the one of a shark or worse, a businesswoman. "And I am very sorry about that, you should have been notified-"

"I should have been notified yesterday."

"But we didn't know time would run late yesterday." Stephanie's words seemed innocent, but weren't, and anyone knowing any better would have known to back off. Not Ivy.

"Time never runs late except when it's for the pick of the litter. Or your boy," It wasn't like it was news, Triple H and his stupid little clique were favoured and could run the mack around there because they were protected by her. Except some things weren't meant to be said. But Ivy didn't care enough. She was too angry to see the danger of being fired and, for all she cared, it was all the same; she wasn't getting paid that week, which meant struggling with rent and the travelling fees next week. "I drove my ass out here. I paid for gas, accommodation and food, all because I was booked in. Do you think I live by bubbles and dreams? Carmella and I both got fucked over, except she doesn't want trouble,"

"And you do?" Stephanie was clearly warning her. "Listen, I understand and I hear your complaint, let me handle this, ok?" She wasn't sympathetic in the least. "Tonight is a no. You missed the slot,"

"I didn't miss it. Triple H and his goons stole it."

"Fine, say they did. We may be able to compensate you for some of the trouble, and if you are nice, I might fit you into next week. And now say you are sorry."

"Sorry for what?" Ivy frowned, more than confused. "I've got nothing to be sorry for."

Stephanie grabbed her by the arm and gave her a squeeze, her sharp nails puncturing deep into Ivy's skin. "Count yourself lucky, missy. That tone you use isn't appropriate here, and I don't appreciate it. The only reason why you still have a job is because, for some reason, they seem to love you so since you bring money, I have to keep you around, but I don't like what you implied, and I don't like your lack of control."

Ivy looked up at Stephanie. For a second, she counted all the colourful things she could have replied to keep her pride high, but then she bit down on her tongue, hard, keeping herself from saying anything. Not because of fear but because of smarts. That wasn't the fight to have tonight, nor the place for it and, as it stood and as much as Ivy hated it, Stephanie held all the power. And Ivy needed her job.

She shook Stephanie's hold off herself with a bitter look but didn't dare to say anything. A small acknowledgement was not everything Stephanie was going to get out of her. Which seemed enough.

"Great," Stephanie melted into a large, fake smile, "I see we understand each other. Now keep it up and keep it down. You are better when you don't yap. Remember, we need you at the conference tomorrow, so don't stay out late either."

Ivy didn't speak. It was like shame had put a muzzle around her mouth. She wasn't the type to submit and let people run over her, but she wasn't an idiot either. Instead of replying with anything passive-aggressive, like she wanted to, because the idea of spending an entire day signing item after item and taking pictures with sweaty, horny dudes and getting paid a fraction of what WWE would make out of her face wasn't exactly fun. And of course, they wouldn't dare to cut her time during something like that. But she didn't say anything; she quietly pulled back, feeling more than defeated.

Some minutes later, Ivy emerged into the canteen. She didn't even realise how she walked there, lost in her own thoughts and wounded pride. She wasn't used to giving up, and that time, she didn't even feel defeated; she felt the fight knocked out of her guts. That was the moment her attention was caught by the loud rumbling voice of her current enemy number one.

The room wasn't crowded due to the show running in the background. Most people were either in the ring, getting ready for it or watching. But there were a few, done for the night, enjoying some post-show food. And in between those people sat Triple H and his crew.

Ivy so wished she could be the biggest person and just walk away. But she wasn't that person, and her shame for how she let Stephanie walk over her now morphed into rage wilder than before. She needed a fight, any fight, even if for only a moment. Even to feel validation in how powerful her recklessness made her feel. After all, it was why she got to the point that she was; everyone knew her to be a hot-head.

If she couldn't get what she wanted from the McMahons, she was going to give a taste of her thoughts to the big guy himself. It couldn't hurt more than it already did. And she wasn't scared of big bullies.

Ivy slammed her hands heavily on the table, barely getting Triple H and Batista annoyed attention. "You and your little boy band owe me TV time," she started, narrowing her eyes. Then her attention switched to the only one who didn't even bother to look her way. Her gaze became dangerous as she watched how he was too focused on talking, or better, bothering one of the catering girls. She was trying to clean the table next to him, but was blocked in by him as he had pushed his chair and body in her way.

Damn, Ivy hated bullies.

Ivy grabbed the tall glass of water on the tray in front of him and, without giving it much of a thought, poured it on him, clearly unafraid of openly crossing the great Apex Predator with no fear - or care for her well-being. "I am talking to you."

[emacrow]

That would've awoken something in the back of Bane's genetic due to him being borned latin american. That this tall but still tiny orange haired lady smite him into the down as quickly and easily like a crushed can of soda.

Oh no..

Oh no...

Oh nu....

He gained a crush.

Afterward on the his next future escape, he is just trying (not to act shy) asking Harlequin or poison ivy on advice on how to ask a lady out probably... whom are trying very hard to not laugh.. after harlequin stop nearly dying from laughter on the floor.

This strong hunk of a man has no experience whatsoever with women in the dating area since he is a criminal and his father is the king snake.

Poor man have to suffer through dating advice books, good but also not so tips from harlequin and poison ivy. He is not shoving her in a vat full of chemicals!, but the flower in a pot would be a good start...

Meta Jazz, the Arkham Intern Therapist

I'm going to go ahead and apologize for how OOC Bane is in this. It originally was Joker but I couldn't see Jazz tolerating his proximity for more than a single millisecond so Bane it is.

~*~*~

The hardest thing about being a Meta in Gotham was responding appropriately during a Rouge's attack, Jazz mused to herself. Or perhaps that was just the hardest part about being a Meta intern at Arkham while studying psychology at Gotham University. Or maybe it was just her, she considered watching the guards and Dr. Rylie whom she'd been shadowing for the past 2 weeks wide eyed, pale, and shaking as theybstared at Bane behind her. It must just be her, Jazz decided, newbie guard Kyle Jennings was definitely a Meta after all. She should probably give him some tips on hiding his enhanced strength considering how often he broke mugs, door handles, and other delicate items used in daily life.

"Weapons down or I'll snap her skinny little neck." Bane growled out, shaking her slightly for emphasis. She very much doubted that. Liminials were built different than the standard Meta, stronger, faster, better endurance, and senses even if they could mostly appear to be standard humans on the outside.  As such, their bones and muscles were much were much denser than regular humans or even Meta humans. Technically, she could be considered "invulnerable" much like the Kryptonians are.

"Back up! Let him through!" Dr. Rylie  shouted at the guards. "She's my student! Let him through!" His voice was higher pitched than she could recall hearing it before.

Ah. That was panic.

Jazz sighed involuntarily and glanced over her shoulder at Bane. Why the man had grabbed the only person close to his own height nearby was a mystery to her - no, nevermind, he clearly meant to use her as a shield - but it made looking him in the eye more difficult than necessary.

"Mr. Bane, remove your hands from my person, please." Jazz stated calmly, channeling what Danny called her inner mom as she spoke. "I will give you to one to comply."

Bane looked stunned for a moment then laughed.

"Five."

The laughing continued. Jazz could sense a stir of uncertainty through her colleagues as they looked on.

"Four."

"Did you really think that would work?" Bane snorted out, arms tensing more around her.

"Three." She continued, indifferent to his words from her experiences raising her brother. Once the count down starts you mustn't respond to anything the kids do or say until they comply or the count is done.

"What cab you even do if I don't?" Bane asked darkly breathing directly in her ear. She kept her face expressionless despite the urge to express disgust.

"Two."

"Jasmine..."  Kyle whispered halfway across the hall from her looking on with a pained and horrified expression. Gun tilting towards the floor. Sloppy.

"One." She finished and Bane gave a derisive snort.

Then she was moving. Hauling the enormous man up and over her shoulder using the arm that had been wrapped around her neck. Bane hit the cold tile hard enough that the tiles, subfloor, structural supports, and part of the concrete foundation buckled beneath him. His shoulder popped out of joint, his wrist cracked - a hairline fracture by the sound of it -  and his breath was punched out of him from the force of impact. She released his arm as soon as his was embedded in the tiles and moved forward. Kneeling over him, support most of her weight on her left foot resting on the broken ground, her right knees pressed firmly across his throat without supporting any of her weight. The position put more strain on her muscles than she would've liked but at least Bane couldn't risk fighting back without crushing his own neck in the process. He could hardly throw her while flat on his back with a mangled arm.

"Now," Jazz began, looking directly into the behemoth's pained eyes. "Do you know what you've done wrong?" She asked like she would have done with Danny as a child.

"Yes, Ma'am." Bane choked out. Jazz heard movement and murmuring behind her. She didn't turn to look.

"What did you do wrong?" She asked. It was important to make sure children correctly understood why they were in trouble after all. There was a long pause as Bane appeared to cast around for the exact right answer as if he feared getting it wrong. A bad habit Danny still uses as well, Jazz thought to herself.

"I tried to hold you hostage," He choked out in a rush, words tumbling over one another as he tried to get them all out. "I scared you coworkers and it was very disrespectful."

So he'd gone for the grab-bag response. It wasn't wrong per sey but it did indicate a past history of abuse. The type of answer given by someone who expected to be harmed or ignored if they gave the "wrong" answer. Danny tended to use that method also and their parents had always been negligent at best.

"And are you going to do it again?" She asked giving him a Look as she did. Bane's eyes widened and he tried to frantically shake his head as much as possible with the pressure on his neck.

"No, Ma'am." He promised fervently.

"Alright then," Jazz said giving him a warm smile. She gestured vaguely towards the guards without turning to look at them. "Kyle here is going to take you to see the nurse and then back to your room then. I'm sure you'll behave for him?"

"Yes, Ma'am. I'll behave." Bane said. Jazz stood slowly asking sure not to put any additional pressure on his neck as she did. Kyle came and stood next to her as the giant of a man slowly pulled himself to his feet then led him away with 5 other guards.

Jazz heaved a sigh. Well, time to find out whether or not she could play all that off as normal, non-Meta human behavior.

[demon-at-peace]

DC + DP JLD Danny

DC + DP JLD Danny

Danny has to make money somehow right? So he become a cult circle advisor, need help with a spell, incantation, drawing runes? Just call him right up, he even offers classes for beginners.

Naturally he encounters JLD and they are pissed. He’s the reason satan is getting called so often, he’s the reason why they have so many issues? But it’s a perfectly legal business operation, so to prevent their problems, they hire him. He teaches newer magicians, older magicians, he’s the official translator and teacher for the JLD.

The younger heroes love him, he doesn’t pester you, doesn’t scold you if you call the wrong inter-dimensional being. He brings snacks, and hangs up their art, he’s fun. The adults disagree. He scolds them, scowls at them, and most of all pranks them.

The first time a wormhole swallowed them up they freaked, until they saw the “Pranked ya” sign. To the JL Danny with his insufferable Midwest manners is horrible. But ultimately the best at occult stuff so they can’t fire him. Also because he would be right back to making money through cults.

I eventually they call him in to summon “the king of the infinite realms” a title he dumped of Pandora while he was at college. He’s nervous, but does the summoning anyway, because what else is he supposed to do? He needs to pay his bills.

She pops up in her wrath and looks ready to smite them. Before she realizes who they are.. “are you those heroes phantom loves?” Danny groans shrinking into himself, of course she wouldn’t recognize them for saving the world. No just his fanboying. Or should he say Phan-boying?

“A ways unfortunately the king decided to take a vacation in your realm so you won’t be able to contact him,” she groans. “Very nice circle though,” she hums as she looks at it in admiration. Then he eyes widen in understanding.

Then her head snaps up and she looks right at him, “Phantom, you look positively dashing, and Wulf certainly taught you how to do circle wonderfully!” She cheerfully floats over to him. Danny groans.

“Pandora I was supposed to be disguised! Now I have to configure a brand new identity!” He glares at her.

“Right sorry, I forgot the pains of maintaining a mortal identity.” Pandora hums

“Your phantom?” The bat asks. Crap now the justice league is glaring at him!

“Yeah?” He whines staring at them pitifully. He really wanted to finish college. “What?” Green Arrow jumps.

“sure am,” Danny sneers glaring at him. “What? You think ‘he should have told us’?” Danny mocks him. “As if you snobby bag of shit, we learned you know, I’m not dumb enough to let us get hurt!” Danny glares at them.

Pandora sighs, grabbing Danny’s hands, “look they might not know, the acts were kept on the down low;” she soothes. “Just hear them out; they did summon you;” she lets go when Danny nods.

“Fine, what do you want?” Danny crosses his arms, and looks like phantom. The JL stares at him in horror, and he looks remembers, the scars.

He’d panicked when he first saw them asked why they hadn’t healed. Frostbite told him they’d last as long as the trauma did, ghosts were creatures of emotions after all.

“What do you want?” He repeats glaring at them. They seem unnerved, shifting uncomfortably and exchanging glances.

”We were hoping you would deal with a ghost-“ Batman starts.

”Where are they?” Danny cuts him of. Looking around as if they’d randomly appear.

”Currently terrorizing LA with plants.” One of the leave members groans. “We thought is was poison ivy at first-“

“of course it’s f*cking undergrowth!” Danny groans. “Well bye, for good I guess,” he turn to Pandora, “Thank you sooo much for blowing my identity.”

the ghost wilts glowing a little less brightly “Sorry Phantom.”

“It’s fine,” he snaps his fingers and a portal forms.

“Wait! for good?” Superman asks, “Why?”

Danny looks at him in confusion, “I lied, and I’m an eldritch being, “ he sighs “I mean I’ve dealt with it before, I’ll just had back to the realms.”

”Stay,” to Danny’s surprise it’s the bat who says this. “We already have other eldritch beings,” he sighs.

“Maybe,” Danny smiles and steps through the portal, his eyes twinkling like stars.

—-

Why Pandora? Cause I was like ember would do that, but why would she be regent? So I chose her. Also do I sound American? Cause someone asked me if I was from like Texas on one of my fics, and I was like do I really sound that American?

Also idk how this works but I’d like people to know I’m totally open to asks, like idk if you have to say so or not so I just thought would.

Bye :)

[redflagshipwriter]

Ghost Driver 3: Timterlude

masterpost

“Inspector.” Batman arrived at the police building bare minutes after the selfie of their current biggest suspect had blown up on twooter. Robin balanced on the edge of the rooftop, fingers gripping stone. Woo, safe. He mentally cheered. A quick glance around showed only one other person, and it wasn’t the white-haired meta they were looking for.

“No need, Batman,” Inspector Gordon said. He looked like he had a lot on his mind, Tim thought. Gordon started walking for the stairs. “There’s no trouble here. Joker is accounted for, the ghost kid left.” 

“Ghost?” Robin perked his head to the side. “Twooter guy is a ghost?” 

“The Joker was broken out of Arkham by the same suspect who sent that twoot.” Batman was a dog with a bone about it. “Robin. Can we track him down by that Twooter account?” 

“I can try,” Robin said, dubious. “You want me off patrol for that?” 

He didn’t really see the point. What were they looking for, a message draft where the guy listed his name and address? 

Batman grunted. 

That meant yes. Tim held in a sigh. That was him, off patrol again. Banished back to the cave about an hour after finally getting to go out because the Red Butthead was down for the count.

‘Worst after school job ever.’

“Right,” Gordon said vaguely. He pulled the door open. “Go home.” 

The door swung shut, muffling the sound of Batman’s answering grunt.

Robin followed his minder back to the Batmobile. He waited while Batman manhandled his bike out of the trunk and got it out. “See you at the cave,” he said, wishing Batman would say something nice like, ‘sure thing, Robin, I value your contributions.’

Pfft. As if. Tim sulked on his drive back to the cave, alone with the rushing wind and his thoughts. Batman was regressing lately. He was moody and insular again. It was outrageous. After all the work Tim had done to rehabilitate Batman, he was growling at people in public again! 

He needed a muzzle for that guy. It wouldn’t solve anything, but it would be massively embarrassing and-

“No, it might solve some of the Catwoman related inefficiencies. That bad kissing habit.” Tim kicked out the stand and left his bike in the entrance where Batman always told him not to leave it. He pulled off his gloves on his way to the big, battiest of all the bat computers, and slouched in Bruce’s chair. “Blegh.” Tim turned it on and navigated to twooter. He looked through “ThePhantomHunk”‘s account with a wrinkled nose. There wasn’t much there, but what there was… was honestly kind of embarrassing. There were four basically identical selfies and hundreds of low quality replies arguing with people about anything from whether or not Batman liked him to how good the latest video game installment in some ancient series was.

“Why’s he have all these followers?” Tim muttered. “He doesn’t post anything.” Phantom wasn’t a big celebrity by any means, but he had a few hundred followers that seemed like real people. He noted a really pretty Ivy League university cheerleader, a weatherman from someplace called Amity, and… a mayor???

Tim squinted. Why was Phantom being followed by the official Amity Park Mayoral twooter account? He opened it to double check that it wasn’t some unfunny impersonation. It appeared to be legitimate.

“New contender for origin,” Tim muttered, taking a note. He scanned bios for more references to Amity Park and started finding them. Wild. 

He closed that down and shot off a message to Oracle, telling her what he was up to. She sent back “HA”. 

“Very helpful,’” Tim muttered. He scowled all his way over to the bat beverages fridge and extracted a sports drink. 

That was when a brand new alarm went off. Tim startled so badly he nearly fell over. Then he rushed to disarm it before the ten second interval where the alert would be redirected to Batman’s comms. Once muted, he scrambled to see what it was. 

“That’s… depressing.” Tim bit his lower lip. It was a new alarm on the cemetery where Jason was interred. There was nothing visible on screen, but Batman’s equipment didn’t really give false alarms.

Was that why… had Bruce put that new security system up because someone had threatened his kid’s body? No wonder Bruce was out of sorts. Tim felt a little sick. He felt angry. The chair scraped across the floor when he got up. “I’ll handle it.” Tim muttered to himself as he pulled his gloves back on, checked his mask, and jogged to his ride. “Real quick.” 

This drive felt like nothing. The engine roaring underneath him revved him up into a righteous fury. If someone was messing around with Jason’s resting place, they were going to taste the soles of Robin’s boot.

The cemetery gate was still shut. Locked. Tim opened it and went in. Maybe no one was here. 

He stopped in his tracks. 

Or maybe there was a car parked somewhere impossible. How had anyone driven a car between the rows? Tim drove up in his motorcycle and came to a stop by the driver’s side door.

The driver looked up. White hair, tan skin, green eyes. He went still when he saw Robin and his face screwed up in confusion. He visibly said “huh!” out loud, and then shrugged. He waved through the window.

Tim raised his hand to wave back before he thought about what he was doing. He pulled the hand back down and scowled. “What are you-“

“So you’re like, haunting Jason?” the guy bulldozed over what he’d said. He kicked open his door and grinned. “So glad to see you! I know where one of his safe houses is, but he’s not there, and I can’t detect my way into a cereal box if I’m honest. Why’s he got a grave? I wasn’t sure this was the right guy but it’s clearly the right guy. Maybe my ghostdar is bad.” 

“….safe house?” Tim ignored most of the rambling and pointed at the grave. That’s where Jason was. It was grim, but that was where Jason was. And haunting? He wasn’t haunting Jason. He’d maybe sort of stalked him recreationally a little bit, but he’d gotten away with that. 

‘He said he was a ghost. What does he think is going on here?’

“Not here, I don’t think he spends time here.” Phantom’s eyebrows furrowed. “Gotta say I’m kinda surprised to discover he died. He’s so full of life, you know?” He shrugged.

Tim stared blankly. Jason was a tiny skeleton in a casket. 

“Anyway!” Phantom clapped his hands. “Don’t suppose you know where else he might be? The police guy said Batman kicked his butt, so he’s probably recovering somewhere. Where would he go for that?” 

A whole bunch of puzzle pieces slotted neatly into place with quiet clicks. Batman was out of sorts about the Red Hood and acting oddly in regards to Jason’s grave. He was as moody as he’d been after Jason died. 

And then, of course, what Phantom had said could hardly be categorized as subtle. 

‘Holy moly,’ Tim thought, ‘Jason faked his death and he is mad at Batman. Either that or he’s a ghost? I didn’t know he could do that. Could I do that? I need to see where this is going. And this guy is creepy… Is Jason safe? I need to make sure that he’s safe before I tell Batman anything.’

“Take me to the safe house that you know,” he said. “I can figure it out from there.” 

He was officially going undercover.

The guy held up the keys to his clunker and jingled them. “Hop in, creepy Robin.” 

“Creepy?” Tim asked, offended. He got in anyway. What was creepy about him? Tim didn’t have cat pupils, unlike some other people.

‘He assumed I was haunting that grave. Does he think I’m a ghost? Does he know a Robin died?’

“No offense.” Phantom carelessly started the car and lifted it directly upwards. Tim grabbed the door handle. “Wheee.” 

Phantom drove like a maniac. Phantom belonged in prison. Tim held on for dear life and tried not to throw up. Why was the car even on? The wheels weren’t touching the ground. Phantom was clearly propelling it. Did he not realize he was doing that?

‘Maybe he likes the sound of the engine?’ Tim theorized. ‘Or maybe it’s just habit and he hasn’t thought it through. How long has he been dead, to still be doing that little mundane thing?’

The safe house where Jason had been staying was… well, it definitely looked like a safe house. The only pay dirt was a phone that had been abandoned on the kitchen counter. Tim snatched it up and immediately started running a geotag script. 

“Yeah, he left that this afternoon,” Phantom said. He sat cross cross in the air and watched Tim curiously. “This is a weird tactic. Don’t you just know where he goes?” 

“I haven’t stalked him for years,” Tim said, and then wished he hadn’t. 

Phantom laughed. “Okay, damn.” He fidgeted. He was watching Tim too intensely. “Don’t wanna be rude, but you’ve got like, no ecto, dude.” He cocked his head to the side like that was a question. 

Tim didn’t know what ecto was. “Is that what you think?” He said, in his smuggest, most insufferable Robin tone.

Phantom rolled his eyes. His mouth twisted downwards. 

Shit. He might not have answered that well enough. Tim pretended to be absorbed in his task even though the tool he was using was running independently. 

His heart thudded in his chest as the program ran. He licked his lips. Was this going to turn to a fight? Tension started to rise. Was it really? Was it just in his head?

Beep.

“I have some possibilities for safehouses.” Tim held up the phone. “Here, on James Ave, I bet that’s where he went after his confrontation with Batman.”

There was a long pause. Phantom’s eyes glinted in an animalian, predatorial glint. It sent a shudder through Tim. He felt like he was in danger-

“Neat!” Phantom chirped. The spell was broken. “Let’s go.”

He couldn’t help but feel that he had dodged a bullet. Tim kept a hand near his toolbelt as he followed Phantom back to the car. 

The guy didn’t attack, for what that was worth. Tim buckled himself in and wished that he was in the backseat. He itched to get out of Phantom’s line of sight. If Jason really was down for the count after a confrontation between Batman and the Joker, Tim couldn’t leave him at the mercy of this guy. Phantom had released the Joker. The only thing in his favor was that Inspector Gordon hadn’t said he was a danger. 

Phantom rocketed off. They passed through downtown Gotham in a queasy rush of color, backlit by the growing daylight. This was way too late for Robin to be out in Gotham. He shouldn’t be here. 

…Batman was going to realize that he wasn’t in the cave. Very soon. Tim angled his body away from Phantom and tried to surreptitiously write a message on his wrist watch. “Done for the night,” Tim lied. 

Boy, he hoped that he didn’t end up in some kind of trouble. Batman was not going to notice him missing for a long time, if he believed that message. 

He crossed his fingers.

[fractualized]

So I picked up a copy of Batman Masterpieces: Portraits of the Dark Knight and His World, understanding it collects the images and text from the Fleer Master Series card set from 1996. As a bonus, it includes each initial painting idea submitted to the artist and the artist's commentary on the final product.

What I didn't know until I had the book in my hands is that this card set told a story, one about the (seeming) death of Batman. And is there batjokes in it? Of course there is like 95% of my posts are batjokes related what else would I be doing here

(The book as a whole is very enjoyable outside that, of course.)

So for one thing, while technically the first image of the book is Batman swinging through Gotham, repeated mention is made of how the card set is bookended with a picture of Joker's face at the start and Batman's face at the end.

[art by Scott Hampton]

The story opens with Joker's escape from Arkham. Not long after, Batman's death is announced with this image:

[art by Scott Hampton]

Afterwards, for the most part, the cards fall into a few categories:

Various people in Gotham reminiscing about Batman's role and reputation

Alfred, Dick, and Tim setting aside their mourning to review possible suspects

Joker thinking up possible answers

Other rogues explaining their own theories

The resolution of the mystery

One of my favorite images is of Scarecrow. I just love his demeanor and his skull spraycan.

[art by Dermot Power]

Took me a few moments to catch the details in this one of Croc.

[art by Dermot Power]

But anyhow, the thing with Joker's part in this tale is that he naturally cannot accept that he wasn't the murderer, even though he can't remember doing it.

[art by Carl Critchlow]

[art by Carl Critchlow]

He can't convince himself that other rogues managed to murder Batman, though, starting with Catwoman.

[art by Dermot Power]

As you can see, the whiskers are there, so it looks cool, albeit upsetting.

Two-Face is another prime suspect-- until Joker realizes Harvey is still in Arkham.

[art by Dermot Power]

I thought the text for this one was interesting, if only because I'd say that nowadays variant covers serve the function of letting artists run with ideas that don't necessarily show up in stories.

This Talia one is fun given that the framing for this portion of cards is that they're from Joker's POV.

[art by Dermot Power]

The idea of a woman loving a flying rodent is disgusting! What would so do? Hold him dramatically? And lovingly? And romantically? And stare deep into his broody eyes...

After his review of suspects (including Poison Ivy) yields nothing, Joker starts developing wild theories about how maybe he is the Batman's killer after all.

[art by Carl Critchlow]

The scenarios often take after known elseworlds like Gotham By Gaslight and Bloodstorm. But I'm highlighting this one, based on Holy Terror (which I'm pretty sure Joker doesn't actually appear in).

[art by Duncan Fegredo]

Some scenarios are from non-DC stories, like this Frankenstein painting, which may be my favorite of the book.

[art by Duncan Fegredo]

Finally, Joker runs out of ideas and breaks. If he didn't kill Bats, then Bats cannot be dead! And then he hears that the police have recovered Batman's body and they've already interred it in a special memorial crypt. Joker must go see the proof for himself.

And gasp!

[art by Scott Hampton]

Happy clown. :) But gasp again! That shadow to the right?!

That's right! Batman is alive! And he promptly punches Joker in the face.

[art by Scott Hampton]

"Nothing could flush my nemesis from hiding except for himself. And his undying love obsession with me."

So yeah. Batman faked his death explicitly to trap Joker. Like I guess it's a strategy worth trying for the single time it could work, but I feel like I'd save it for a moment of urgency. In the story as described, it doesn't appear that Joker had gotten up to much of anything by the time Batman "died."

And, as noted, Bruce's family completely believed he was dead. I mean, probably only for a matter of hours, but– Wait, nope, an early card notes that the batsignal went unanswered for three nights.

I don't know how many comics there may be about members of the batfam trying to kill this man, but I'm going to guess not enough.

[belavoier]

FLASHBACK.

Você tá gostoso. As palavra sussurradas em seu ouvido lhe fizeram perder o ar entre o arrepio que percorreu o corpo, um aviso de que ela poderia acabar consigo se deixasse, e isso fez com que um sorriso brincasse em seus lábios indicando que gostava da ideia. ❝ ⸺ E o que mais interessa...? ❞ Que isso - agora tinha uma ideia pairando a cabeça, não conseguia pensar em outra coisa que não fosse ouvir mais daquela voz ao pé de seu ouvido. ❝ ⸺ Desculpe, você me distraiu. ❞ Disse quase de forma inocente, era teatral enquanto parecia apenas divertido com o rumo que seguiam. ❝ ⸺ Se está guardando a informação é porque tem a intenção de usa-la? ❞ Estava um tanto tentado em descobrir o que ela faria, iria usar contra si? Iria domina-lo? Podia mostra-la, em breve, o quanto gostava de sofrer nas mãos de uma mulher bonita. ❝ ⸺ Não. ❞ Apenas confirmou o fato entre um riso, de fato limites não era o forte de Raphael. ❝ ⸺ Mas você não parece desgostar disso. ❞ Na verdade parecia o oposto e por isso o Lavoie continuava com as provocações, ele podia ver que tinha alguma chance e iria atrás dela. ❝ ⸺ Então a culpa é um pouco sua, está me dando liberdade demais Ivy. ❞ E nem de longe estava reclamando.

Se era uma oferta tentadora ela estaria inclinada a aceitar certo? Adoraria que sim mas ainda estava incerto então apenas esperou pacientemente por uma resposta, a que recebeu porém parecia melhor do que esperava. Mas vamos ver se você realmente vale o investimento. As palavras fizeram com que um sorriso cafajeste tomasse os lábios de Raphael enquanto seus olhos percorriam sem pudor a silhueta que caminhava a sua frente, como ela podia deixa-lo depois de dizer aquilo? A resposta era clara pelo caminho que ela tomava, entretanto Raphael não a seguiu rapidamente, sabia que deveriam ser mais discretos, mas não conseguia evitar que os olhos percorressem o corpo da mulher principalmente focado no movimento dos quadris - ela andava como aquele que iria acabar com sua vida. E ele queria isso, definitivamente, era por esse motivo que a seguiu até uma das tendas vips, sem se preocupar se acabariam em algum site de fofocas no dia seguinte, tudo que queria naquele momento era ela.

O olhar cheio de desejo deixava claro, ainda assim se aproximou lentamente, ajeitando o cabelo para um dos lados, os dedos tocando propositalmente a pelo exposta ao qual se atreveu a deixar um selar no ombro. ❝ ⸺ Me desculpe por não ter sido muito cuidadoso. ❞ As palavras eram deixadas em um murmúrio contra a pele, gostava da provocação, daquela tensão antes de fazer algo, esperar por um pedido ou quem sabe uma ordem dela ao qual ele acataria com prazer. ❝ ⸺ Me deixe compensar a dor de cabeça, sim? ❞ Afinal tinha consciência das consequências que aquilo teria, os boatos e rumores. Mas que se foda. Apenas queria deixar sua mão percorre-la, lhe tomando inicialmente a cintura, firme entre um pequeno carinho com o polegar. Um pouco mais perto, ainda não o bastante. Os olhos agora presos nos lábios que queria tanto beijar se perguntando se ainda tinham o gosto da bebida que ela tomou minutos antes. ❝ ⸺ Me diga o que você quer. ❞

flashback!

❛ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤivy segurou o riso, levando a taça aos lábios apenas para esconder o sorriso que ameaçava escapar. ⸻ ah, então era só isso que você queria ouvir? ⸻ inclinou-se ligeiramente para ele, se aproximando para falar próximo ao ouvido alheio. ⸻ pois bem… você tá gostoso. ⸻ ela deixou as palavras pairarem no ar, sem pressa, observando como ele reagiria. mas, antes que ele pudesse se gabar, completou com um tom casual ⸻ agora podemos voltar ao que interessa? ⸻ a provocação era um equilíbrio delicado, e ela gostava de manter o controle da situação. por outro lado, o rapaz parecia gostar de bagunçar qualquer tentativa de controle. ⸻ ah, então a dor pode ser boa? ⸻ murmurou, ponderando sobre a informação. ⸻ bom saber, vou guardar essa informação. ⸻ ela ergueu uma sobrancelha ao ver o jeito como ele a olhava, aquele brilho travesso misturado com algo mais incerto, parecia perigoso. ⸻ você realmente não sabe quando parar, né? ⸻ brincou, mas não havia sinal real de reprovação. pelo contrário, havia um interesse em ver até onde ele iria. a mulher deixou um sorriso brincar em seus lábios. ⸻ hmm, isso quase soa como uma oferta tentadora… ⸻ ela se inclinou levemente para ele, a voz baixa o suficiente para ser só deles. ⸻ mas vamos ver se você realmente vale o investimento. ⸻ e então, como se não tivesse acabado de deixar uma provocação no ar, tomou um último gole da bebida e virou-se com a elegância de quem sabia exatamente o efeito que causava.

[encachette]

𝒔𝒆𝒆 𝒚𝒂 𝒔𝒑𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒘𝒃𝒐𝒚… ch. 1

3, 2, 1… 𝓁ℯ𝓉’𝓈 𝒿𝒶𝓂!

Ch. 2 here

❣ Dick Grayson x F!reader

❣ cowboy bebop au; neo-noir space western crackfic, loosely follows the plotline of the anime; animal(s) with human-engineered intelligence ❣ cw: angst, romantic and existential; begrudging friends to lovers; eventual smut; graphic depictions of (gun) violence ❣ MDNI ❣ Word Count: 6.4k ❣ Summary: The year is 2080. A ragtag team of bounty hunters traverse the galaxy aboard the Bebop, in search of their next few bands of Woolong (￦) and settling debts with their pasts.

❣ Author’s Note(s): 

Been on r/GWA lately and I kinda want a certain VA to translate Dick’s character into a GWA piece.  Sorry if you have never watched the anime, this is the only piece of fanfic I’ve ever written where I’ve actually cared to watch and/or read the source material. As always, feedback is appreciated.  I didn’t make Dick Grayson’s gun of choice the Jericho 941 (Spike Spiegel’s gun)  because it is Isr**li made (I’m a c*mm*nist from the American South, we like guns and hate g*n*cide).  You don’t have to watch the show to understand the story, hopefully. At least, I'm trying my best to make that the case. Anyway, enjoy.

Ch. 1: 3, 2, 1… 𝓁ℯ𝓉’𝓈 𝒿𝒶𝓂!

⋆｡°✩ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊✩₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆ ✩°｡⋆

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

｡･ﾟﾟ･　　         ･ﾟﾟ･｡

　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　    ੈ✧̣̇˳·˖✶   ✦　　

In the glooming fog of dawn, two men in a spaceship adorned with the name “Bebop” whiz through the asteroid belt, hurtling away from the horizon of Ganymede, one of Jupiter’s moons colonized after Earth became virtually uninhabitable. Below, the metropolis surrounding Ganymede’s space station glowed neon, brilliant purples and eye-scorching blues fighting to get through the haze.

In one of those decrepit high rise apartments, a family of four, two mothers and two boys, sit around the TV, dinner trays upright and bathed by the schizophrenic glow of the television. One of the boys was flipping the channels, before his mother commands he pause on whatever program he landed on. “Eat your vegetables, bubba,” she encourages.

On the TV screen, a fuzzy duo appeared on the screen, exaggerated characters of a Western Cowboy from Earth and his milkmaid. A giant, flashing title card reads “Big Shot: For the Bounty Hunters,” while a raucous banjo screeches diegetically all throughout the man’s speech.

“On today’s bounty roster, the feds are kickin’  a whoppin’ ￦3,000,000 for the capture of Doctor Pamela Isley, operating under several botanical themed aliases.” 

The mothers’ ears perked up at the bounty reward and they tune into the rest of the program, doing their best to interpret the thick hyperbolic American southern accent emanating from the screen, foreign on the cowboy’s tongue.

“The Inter-Solar System Police believe Dr. Isley to be ridin’ toward Mars with a gang o’ goons from the Red Dragon Crime Syndicate.” A few cartoonish gun shots ring out. The insipid banjo, now accompanied by an off-tune harmonica, seems to be magnified by the sickly neon glow emitted from the TV, old enough to be floating out there with the space junk. 

The milkmaid, which upon further inspection was actually a rather curvy blonde, in Daisy Dukes and a plaid button up that put her breasts on display. She provides an exaggerated, pornish dimension to the program that often has the mothers clutching their pearls and covering their sons’ ears. But not today. Today, they wondered, What could be so bad about this fugitive that the ISSP would offer such a high reward?

“Oh, no!” the hussy wails, “Not Red Dragon!”

“Oh, yes!” the man responds with a slap on her ass, bleating like a goat, and turning around to put a bullet through a wooden Red Dragon prop. “Believed to be traveling under the alias Poison Ivy, Dr. Isley is wanted under suspicion of terrorist violence in Tijuana. Approach with caution. Wanted dead or alive by the ISSP.”

The crude cowboy lays another slap on the blonde’s ass, to which she yelps in a falsetto, “Oopsie daisy! The button on my shirt just— “

“Alright, that’s enough. Change the channel, honey,” one of the mothers drones out, snatching the remote control from the grubby little hands of her porcine child. 

Nobody bats an eye as the Bebop streaks through the cotton candy sky, horizon slowly becoming amenable to the neon metropolis as the view from the high rise window adjusts to the foreground. Jupiter loomed behind all the floating space junk and the silhouette of the skyline, stable and foreboding as the spacecraft disappeared into hyperspace.

.⋆⭒˚.⋆☾ .🪐˖☽⋆⭒˚.⋆

Alba City, Mars

It was cosmic, Dick Grayson swears it now.

The first time he sees you, you’re spending the last couple of bucks you have on some dog food for Haley, who was whining and nipping at the leather of your cowboy boots instead of standing guard like she was instructed. She acts as if I starve her, Dick huffs, shaking his head and stuffing his Beretta M9 into the gun holster underneath his leather jacket. As his towering figure approaches you, Dick is struck by how tiny you were compared to him, especially up close. A pretty girl, this random stranger, ripping open a small bag of kibble and pouring it into a makeshift bowl from the souvenir hat you swiped on your way out of the bodega. When you stand up straight and readjust the lengths of your hair so they stay put behind your ears, Dick gets a good look at you, unable to quell the interest. Flicking his cigarette butt into the trash and turning his head, Dick takes note of your lax smile, eyes glittering with affection for Haley. His eyes then land on his dog.

“Haley, girl,” he whistles, “there you are!” He starts to bend to the pitbull’s height, and opens his arms, “I’ve been lookin’ everywhere for ya, Bitewing — come here!” The grey tail waves, white snout huffing the air and snorting with excitement when Haley figures out who dared to disturb her snacking. 

As owner and dog meet and rejoice at their reunion not two feet away from you, you take a second to appraise the companion of your new three-legged friend (who was adorably panting with joy, tongue floppin’), disapproving frown sprouting on your pretty face. What kind of dog owner would leave such a precious dog alone in these streets?, you thought to yourself.

“Leave my girl for one second and you’re beggin’ on the streets, huh Hales?” he says affectionately, scratching her behind ears before he addresses you, “Thanks for lookin’ after her.” 

When he hears no response he stops glances up to catch your disapproval transform into feigned friendliness.

“No worries,” you respond politely, taking stock of your surroundings and identifying the most efficient escape route.

“I saw that,” Dick says, turning on his usual boyish charm and nodding toward the proto-pet bowl. A quirk of his lips and a practiced smolder — reliable social shortcuts he liked to whip out whenever he wanted a woman to like him. 

“Dunno what you mean, chief,” you offer monotonously; emotionless, like you couldn’t be all that bothered to give him the time of day, but your heart starts hammering. Steady beat under your lungs, slight ring in your ear — you mentally get ready to reach for the gun sheathed inside your jacket. 

Dick frowns and straightens up, now looking down at you. Pretty eyes, if they weren’t shiftin’ all over the place, he thinks. He notices how silent your movements were despite the gravel on the concrete and what appeared to be hardy military-issued cowboy boots. You pull your Neo-esque sunglasses down to shield yourself.

“You okay?” his eyebrows knot in the middle. You notice a confident timber in his voice, cool and friendly, like he just wanted to help. Too earnest to be a cop, you think.

“No sweat,” you respond after a beat, finality ringing out with your voice as you turn and swiftly proceed toward your intended destination. Dick watches you walk down the block, black miniskirt waving along with your hair as you make a swift turn under a neon sign that glows in pink letters: “C’est La Vie.”

Dick scoops up his beloved dog, turning on his heel and bending down to lovingly chide, “We gotta have a chat about following orders, Hales.”

The dog just whines.

☄. *. ⋆

“Get anything?” Jason questions Dick when he boards the Bebop, Haley cradled in his arms as he kicks off his own leather boots. The older brother nods, tired and hankering for a snack. Haley settles on the rug in front of the clunky TV, salvaged from some horrid Earth tag sale over half a decade ago. 

“Spotted some Red Dragon goons patrolling around downtown.” Dick flexes his muscles and contorts himself into a stretches, groaning at the relief coursing through his aching body. “You got anything?” he asks before flopping down on the deformed excuse they referred to as a couch. 

From his seat in front of an array of computer monitors, Jason Todd, a handful of years younger than Dick, was in tunnel-vision mode as he read through case reports downloaded from ISSP’s poorly encrypted intelligence database. Each case bore the image of Poison Ivy, some criminal scum horticultural biochemist who had blown up several small towns in the Tijuana Asteroid Colony.

Jason takes a sip from his coffee mug before he debriefs Dick.

“Every bomb she set off was detonated at a Cherious Medical plant,” he reports, flipping through his file on her. “Chick’s probaby mad about the shit they dump into the atmosphere, I figure she’s gonna target the company headquarters here.” Dick mulls over the information. Something felt off.

“But why is she with the clan though?” he questions.

“Maybe she needed backup, who knows?” Jason shrugs. “Let’s just focus on nabbing her and calling it a day. Fridge is getting empty and I know Haley wants a can of wet food soon.” 

“Oh, the mutt already ate today,” Dick grumbles before turning his attention toward Haley, whose tail was now thumping rambunctiously on the couch, “Didn’t you, Hales? Didn’t you swindle some hot chick into feeding you? Yes you did! Good girl,” he coos, scratching his beloved baby under her chin. 

“Hot chick, huh?” Jason raises an eyebrow at his brother, knowing how Dick likes to spend his free time, how the sway of a woman’s hips could derail his attention. “No time for chicks. You saw how high the bounty is — this isn’t amateur hour, Richard. Focus.”

Dick just smiles wryly, carelessly flipping Jason the bird before moving to the next topic.

“Have you found out where the clan carries out operations here, now?” he asks his brother, “Saw nothin’ near their old haunts.”

 Jason usually takes care of OPSINT; it was easier to sit at a computer and do research, assembling a plan of attack. He couldn’t risk venturing outside without adorning his red mask, and he only really dared to leave the Bebop when necessary — like when a certain fugitive resurfaces. A certain fugitive who has massive bounties on her head because the ISSP couldn’t possibly marshal its infinite resources to fight crime if their asses depended on it. 

“Several of their usual hangouts have been shuttered, no reports of activity for a few weeks. But a few of our eyes and ears on the streets say they’re encroaching on all gambling territory throughout the city,” Jason answers, scrolling to pull up a map of Alba City and gesturing to Dick to come look at the screen. “All intel triangulates around this area.”

Dick wanders over, eyes widening in recognition when he reads the name of the location Jason highlights.

“Huh. Well I’ll be damned,” Dick mutters. Again, more to himself than anyone else.

“C’est La Vie? You familiar with it?” Jason asks. Dick’s usual playful disposition seems to deepen in intensity, sly grin plastered across his face as he states:

“Nope, but I’m sure I’ll see a familiar face.”

☄. *. ⋆

“Check, 1. 2. 3. Check, 1. 2. 3.” Jason’s voice comes through the comms piece in Dick’s ear, “Hello? Dick? Is this thing on? Check, 1. 2. 3.” The sound of Jason’s fidgeting with the buttons on his keyboard and readjusting his hardware. Somewhere in the background, Haley’s yips can be heard, faint and, as always, jovial.

“Alright, cut it out,” Dick hisses, “I can hear you fine.”

They had skipped lunch, both out of financial necessity and because taking the time to essentially kidnap and transport an eco-fascist terrorist required their full, undivided attention. Nevertheless, Dick was still in a grumpy mood, couldn’t help the inexplicable anticipation gurgling in his gut. He lights up an American Spirit, flicking the cap of his Zippo shut and inhaling the nicotine, delicious poison, getting closer and closer to the pink neon lights. C’est La Vie.

“Okay, I have the building blueprint in front of me. Just make sure nothing obscures the camera lens and I can direct you through the building,” Jason instructs. Dick just hums his understanding, blowing out a stream of smoke and looking down to ensure that there was nothing obfuscating the lens embedded in his jacket button, not even a piece of lint. Nifty little thing, he thinks.

“This is kinda cool,” Dick compliments, reasoning that small talk might calm his nerves, “Where do you find this shit?” Another drag, another exhale.

“Dad. Obviously. None of this stuff is on the market,” Jason says impatiently, “Now focus. This place is probably crawling with clan members.”

“Yeah, yeah. Quit nagging. I’m goin’ in,” Dick mutters, pushing through the revolving doors of C’est La Vie, an upscale pool hall with a swanky, circular bar platformed right in the center of the room. Toward the back, a jazz band lulled the patrons into a blissful reverie. Cheeks blushed and martini glasses clinked as men desperately tried to woo women with their pool skills. Two guys near the bar were laser focused on the one remaining black and white 8 ball in the center of the green, having placed a substantial amount of money on the game. Golden chandelier light ricocheted off at every angle, reflected in the floor to ceiling mirrors on every wall except the one behind the stage. Dick spots several obvious security cameras, lingering so Jason could see what he saw.

In an effort to blend in, Dick makes his way to one of the high stools, catching the eye of the bartender and giving him a nod. Gruff, if not a bit oafish, the bartender looks absolutely incongruent with his environment as he grunts his acknowledgement,

“What can I get you?” Dick just smiles, unaffected.

“Gin and tonic, please,” he says smoothly, naming the first drink that came to mind.

“What are you, an old Southern woman?” Jason’s voice crackles through comms, “Order a manlier beer next time.” Dick waits for the bartender to turn around before he spits out as quiet as possible, “Shut up. I’m going into the basement.”

He had spotted a trick door, down a hallway bathroom, hidden to most passersby, whose senses were too dulled by the cocktails and haze of lust permeating through the pool hall to actually notice the seven foot door camouflaged as part of the mirrored wall. He wasn’t too sure until a goon who resembled Bartender Oaf here, suspiciously looking over his own shoulder to make sure no one was watching, pushed the rectangular mirror-door and disappeared underground, head swallowed by the darkness.

“Not yet. Give a walkthrough of the room so I can make sure you’re not missing anything,” Jason directs.

“Roger.” Dick schools his face back into one of friendly, unprovocative politeness as he spots the bartender returning.

“Gin and tonic,” he grunts, unceremoniously placing the drink in front of Dick, no napkin to keep the clank of glass on the marble surface. “Cash or card?”

“Cash,” Dick responds, raising an eyebrow.

“Guy’s a little out of place, huh? Thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?” crackles through his earpiece. He waits for the bartender to make his rounds to the other end of the bar before he responds,

“Reckon he’s got a dragon tattoo on under all the ￦cDonald’s filet-o-fish sauce?” Jason gives a hearty chuckle, before inserting his own roast.

“Red Dragon’s lost its touch since I left, huh? These guys look like they wouldn’t last 2 seconds in hand-to-hand combat.” 

“Don’t need to know how to fight like a man if you got a gun on ya,” Dick whispers, throwing a couple thousand Woolong on the table for his drink.

“Please, that guy has no idea how to aim a gun. I’d bet money on it,” Jason jokes as he types a few things into the computer, “Now focus, Richard.” Clicking and clacking away before dictating his next set of instructions to Dick:

“I sent in a surveillance drone through the HVAC system fifteen minutes ago and it looks like there are four guys, probably armed, guarding a vault in the basement.” Some more clickety-clacking, before Jason’s voice takes a more concerned tone, “I don’t know where the vault entrance is though, it’s not in the official city blueprint for the building.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for the vault.” Dick picks up his glass, pretending to be immersed in the jazz musicians or the various games being played as he makes his way around the floor. Every once in a while he makes a show of sipping his drink before disappearing behind a corner to dump a few sips into a potted plant. Nothing out of the ordinary, Dick notes.

Pretty women and men in suits enjoying a night out in a city built on one of the wealthiest planets in the solar system. Dick had been born and raised on Mars, silver spoon thrust in between his little baby teeth after Bruce had rescued him from Haly’s Circus. His parents had apparently been performers, prostituted out as court jesters of the rich on Mars by a man only known as the Joker. Both had been murdered by a man named Slade Wilson in his feud with the Joker. 

He missed Mars, and cherished the missions that brought him back here. It was home.

“You can start making your way to the basement now,” Jason’s command breaks Dick out of his nostalgia. He clears his throat, pulling at the too-tight collar of his shirt before making his way toward the basement entrance. “One foot in front of the other, Grayson. Not too fast. Don’t look too eager.”

“Hey, Jason?”

“Yeah?”

“I know what I’m doin’,” Dick states matter-of-factly. 

“Right, I’ll shut up now.”

Usually, Jason was so aloof Dick had to pull his fuckin’ teeth out to get him talking. But today, the anxiety in his voice put Dick on edge, a feeling quite foreign to him. To soothe his kid brother, though they both were in their middling twenties, he attempts to inject a mood booster into the conversation,

“How hard can this be, huh? It’s just ￦3,000,000, no big deal,” he chuckles, albeit nervously. “Besides, we hold the record for the highest bounty won this decade. Relax, man.” He keeps walking toward the door, looking both ways before pushing through the mirror-door smoothly. No one batted an eyelash, even the supposed goons managing the floor.

“We hold the record for the highest bounty but it was ￦2,500,000 and we had to spend it all on Bebop repairs because SOMEONE wanted to play chicken with a fuckin’ MILITARY SPACECRAFT IN TIJUANA.”

Dick flinches at the volume, half a mind to rip the comms piece out of his ear.

“Geez, one time and I said I was sorry!” he whisper-yells, “Now shut up. I need to focus.” Jason just huffs in the mic, angrily clicking and typing but offering no response.

It was quiet. Too quiet. The piercing clear jazz became increasingly muffled the further Dick descended underground, punctuated by the creak of the wooden stairs. By the time the music was nothing more than a faint memory, Dick had made it down a dark hall, shivering even under his leather jacket, the smell of damp and mold assaulting his nose.

“Is something off to you?” Dick asks Jason, “I didn’t hallucinate that clan lookin’ dude come down here?” His voice rings out through the eerie quiet of the basement hall, lit every ten feet or so by a flickering sconce in desperate need of a new bulb.

“No, I saw him, too. It’s too quiet,” Dick can hear the scroll of his mouse as Jason zooms in on a screen. “Keep going, there’s another exit on the North wall. Leads to the back of the building and right out onto a side street.”

“Roger,” Dick affirms. “They have to be around here somewhere,” he muses quietly as he pulls out his Beretta, turning off the safety. No finger on the trigger, though. Not yet. A few rats behind him, feet clapping against the paved ground and forcing the hair on the back of Dick’s neck to stand up. Still, he keeps moving.

Up ahead, Dick could start to make out a few moans of pain, like a wounded animal. A feeble “help” rasped out in a breathless whisper. Dick followed the noise The closer he came to the source, the more clear the sound of a fist colliding with flesh, over and over and over again intermingled, then drowned out the cries for help.

Three men lay on the ground in front of a vault entrance, at least eight feet in height and wide fuckin’ open. The men on the ground right outside of the vault were either dead or about to be, sprayed with bullets from what looks like an automatic. Dick cocks his gun, alert and ready, taking care to step over the corpses before stepping inside the vault. Whoever was getting beaten to a pulp in there was holding on for dear life.

“Those are three of the four guys the drone caught on tape earlier. Fourth one has to be in there.”

Pointing his gun toward the entrance of the vault, Dick makes his way through a second door into a deeper chamber.

He almost drops his gun at the site in front of him. Almost.

☄. *. ⋆

In the middle of the fuckin’ room, which couldn’t have been bigger than a public bathroom, a big, burly man not like the oaf bartending upstairs was getting his ass handed to him by the pretty girl who had given Haley her lunch earlier today.

“Uh, Dick? What the fuck is going on?” Jason calls through the earpiece. Dick doesn’t answer, unable to tear his eyes away from the situation in front of him.

“One more time, babe,” you simper, “Maybe it’ll get through your thick fuckin’ skull.”

Dick watches you wind your fist back, admiring your form and recognizing your moves as ones honed by years of expert training. Military? ISSP?, he thinks to himself.

“WHERE,” Punch, “IS,” Punch, “SHE?!” Roundhouse kick. Dick almost cringes in on himself when he hears the crack of the guy’s jaw, your powerful kick coming out of nowhere and taking both men in the room by surprise.

You had ripped the guy’s jacket off, exposing his Red Dragon tattoo etched over his heart, adding color to the various smatterings of bruises you had littered across his face and torso. Poor guy is spitting out another tooth into a pool of blood at your feet, daring to challenge you.

“You’ll never get her,” he bares his teeth at you, simultaneously cowering and trying to crawl away from you. “Crazy bitch,” he pants out, attempting his damned hardest to heave his sack farther away as you pull out a 45mm, cocking it in his face. 

“You wanna say that again?” you taunt, venom thick on your tongue as your pistol whip the guy once more, enjoying the crunch of the magazine colliding with his cheekbone. The clan goon slumps to the ground, groaning and whimpering for his mother.

Now was probably a good time to intervene, Dick reasons.

“Oof, now that looks like it hurts,” he calls out, amused. “You got quite the punch on ya, don’t you darlin’?”

You whip around, gun now cocked and pointed at his chest. He noticed your finger on the trigger and your chest heavy. Out of shock, or panic, he couldn’t tell.

“Dick. What is going on? Who is this?” Jason’s starting to panic too. He could hear it.

“Oh, gonna shoot me already?” Dick feigns a heartbroken expression on his face, “I thought we could be friends, ya know.” You don’t lower your gun. “Since you were kind enough to feed my dog and everything,” he adds, a bit awkward.

You look down at your victim and back up at Dick so quickly he would’ve missed it had he been blinking. Dragon goon looks like he won’t be getting up any time soon, what with the broken appendages and swollen eye the color of puce. So you keep your pistol trained on this strange man in front of you, suspiciously eyeing him up and down. His combat boots were scuffed, leather jacket hiding a muscular, svelte build. You notice that his torso was too bulky for there not to be a gun holster under there and you kick yourself for not noticing this earlier when you were feeding that three-legged dog.

“Hello? Dick? What the fuck is goin’ on, man? You’re too far underground for the visual to transmit clearly.”

“Who are you? Why are you following me?” you demanded, no trace of fear or cowardice in your tone. Your frown deepens when he scoffs at your inquisition.

“Following you? Don’t flatter yourself, princess,” Dick smoothly rolls your tone off of his back, opting for a nonchalant smile. Dick prided himself in his ability to schmooze himself out of any sticky situation. “Now what’ve we got here?”

He makes a show of surrendering his weapon, situating his gun back into its holster, where he liked it best. Dick preferred hand-to-hand combat, rationalizing it as the most honorable way to engage in a one-to-one fight. Man to man. Or in this case, man to woman.

“Richard. Grayson. What the FUCK is going on? Did you just put away your weapon?” Dick could picture the vein popping out of Jason’s forehead with the effort it was taking him not to explode in fury.

Unfortunately for Dick, you only tighten your grip on your gun, snarling at him.

“I’m going to ask you one more time. Who are you?” you demanded quietly. Deadly.

“Just another bounty hunter,” Dick offers, voice all friendly and non-threatening, shrugging in your direction, “like you, I assume?” You don’t answer him, instead turning over all of your possible options in your head. He takes your silence as a concession. This lunkhead (albeit hunky, you concede that) was getting real close to meeting his grave, you thought.

“Not that I regularly come into contact with bounty hunters who are also pretty girls,” Dick muses aloud, eyes twinkling with mirth at the blush creeping across your face. Your eyebrows go up, but the frown remains. Ok, tough crowd, he thinks.

“This isn’t a joke, Grayson. What is going on? Can you find Poison Ivy or am I gonna have to come out there myself?” Dick decides now is the appropriate time to assuage his brother’s anxiety.

“I’m fine, Jason,” he says out loud, “Everything’s under control.” A huge sigh of relief crunches through Dick’s earpiece. 

“Then answer me next time, asshole.”

Your freaked-out shriek rings as Jason finishes his sentence.

“Who’s Jason? How many people are down here with you?” You start eyeing the vault entrance with panic, though never unsteady enough to let the gun in your waver from your intended target. 

“Relax, princess,” the stranger drones on, pointing to the comms piece in his ear. “It’s just my teammate,” he pulls at the wire to show you he was telling the truth. You look at it, relief flooding you. Still, you don’t lower your weapon.

“My name’s Dick. My partner’s name is Jason. We’re bounty hunters,” Dick makes sure to flash his million dollar smile, pearly whites with just the right, charming amount of crooked. You can’t help but think that he’s handsome. Pretty, even. You don’t answer. Your gun stays pointed at his chest.

“What’s your name?” he asks, after another awkward beat.

“My name doesn’t matter to you. You can leave, and we can forget this ever happened,” you retort, annoyed at the delay. You should’ve been hot on Poison Ivy’s tail by now, getting ready to take her into Bruce for your bounty reward. Your annoyance deepens by leaps and bounds at the next few words the handsome stranger throws at you.

“See, can’t do that now, can I, sweetheart?” He poses it like a question. Like a question he knew he wouldn’t get an answer to. “Seems like we might be lookin’ for the same thing, actually,” he suggests, leisurely approaching you while nodding at the couple of men you had to drop by the entrance to the vault.

“Back off,” you warn, seething at the thought of losing the bounty reward to this pretty boy over here, “She’s mine.”

“Yeah?” Dick looks amused, smugly so, “You and what army? Didn’t you know the bounty is in the millions?”

“So what?” you rebuke, indignant attitude and impatience lacing through with the usual venom of your tone.

“So what? So, princess,” he teases, “You’re gonna need a whole lot more than that little pistol if you’re gonna force a violent eco-terrorist all the way to ISSP Headquarters all by your lonesome. I wouldn’t bet money —” You cut him off with an ultimatum. 

“Okay, pretty boy, enough blabbering. Either get the fuck out or I paint these walls with your brains.” Your index is right on the trigger, thumb on the hammer of the pistol, and Dick nearly gulps when he sees it.

All of a sudden, in a flurry of shouting and sudden movements, Dick screams, “Watch out!” The goon by your feet had attempted to lunge at you when your attention was occupied by this interloper. A fools’ errand you thought, quickly recovering from the surprise,

“Bad move, bucko,” you declare with confidence before pulling the trigger of your gun, aimed at his last working appendage. The Red Dragon henchman doubles over at the bullet you put through his thigh, directly where his femoral is located.

In the seconds it takes for the altercation between you and your unfortunate opponent, it takes Dick even less time to get to you, pulling his own gun and taking advantage of the distraction created by the henchman to gain the upper hand. Henchman was going to die now anyway, so Dick trains his Beretta on you, no longer dumb enough to let your pretty face trick him into thinking you were just another harmless chick to ogle at.

You look up at Dick from your position on the ground, chest heaving from the adrenaline. Lips parted in panic as you scramble to train your gun back on him. Dick smirks, waggling an eyebrow to dare you to make the first move.

“You okay?” he asks quietly, attempting to keep the concern from seeping into his question.

“F-fine.” It was unconvincing, you knew that.

All of a sudden, both of you were taken by surprise as gunshots started firing upstairs, several shots a second. Bar patrons started screaming, mixing with the sounds of glass shattering and people scamering toward the exit, footsteps stomping on the ground above you and Dick in panic. You two look at each other, mirroring the panic you heard upstairs.

“We’ve got a situation up here. I have a live feed from the ground floor and it looks like some Red Dragon are down headed your way,” Jason’s voice crunched through the static once more, urgent and focused. “There’s too many of them, Dick. Locate that exit. Now.”

Dick tenses, uttering a terse “On it,” in acknowledgement to his brother. He turns his attention to you.

“Do you wanna make it outta here alive?” Dick asks you, solemn and impatient. No longer the easy-going flirt he was two minutes ago. Your eyebrows just scrunch in response, but your grip on the magazine loosens just the tiniest bit.

“Are you kidding me, Grayson!? We need to have a talk about you always thinkin’ with your dick when we’re on an active hunt.” Jason thinks about what he just said, adding “No pun intended.”

“What are you talking about?” you demand, “Who’s on their way here?” You raise your weapon, pointing it directly at Dick’s head.

“No time,” he responds, turning around and making his way out of the vault, so casual and with so much confidence in the belief that you wouldn’t pull the trigger . Dick stops at the door of the vault, not hearing the sounds of your footsteps following him. 

“You comin’?” He turns off the safety on his Beretta. You notice that his finger is on the trigger now, unlike when he had it pointed at you. 

It was a decisive moment that was so incongruent with your character; a choice that, to this day, you can’t explain. You followed a complete stranger, blindly pinning your hopes of avoiding gunfire on someone who was, by all accounts known to you, quite the negligent pet owner.

☄. *. ⋆

The two of you end up in front of the only other door in the basement.

“This has to be the exit, right?” Dick supposes. He pushes the handle, but the wood doesn’t give.

“How should I know?” you volley back, still unable to let go of your snark.

“How should I know?” Dick mocks your girlish voice, laying on the falsetto. He pivots — “Jason, what’s going on outside?” he says into his comms piece.

“No clue. Let me send the drone out,” Jason answers, pausing to add, “Alba City Police crafts are on their way though. You might wanna make yourself scarce in the next ten minutes and head back to the Bebop.” Dick pictures his little  brother at his computer with a map of active police vehicles in front of him, tracking the little red dots making their way across the screen. He takes a few more cracks at the door, ramming his large frame into the door.

You watch this sad display of chivalry for a few seconds before shoving him aside, surprisingly forceful for a girl your size.

“Get out of the way, Jesus Christ,” you huff, pulling your gun out. One, two, three clicks of the trigger and the lock stutters loose, destroyed beyond recognition.

“Are you crazy?! Way to give away our location!” Dick yells, about to lose his mind.

“Put your eyes back in their sockets, pretty boy,” you reply, sardonic and slightly annoyed that he wasn’t grateful, “Better than watching you shatter your little muscles, don’t you think?”

Dick just kind sputters at you, put out. Without a witty rebuke, he just mutters indignantly under his breath,

“They’re not little.” He looks down at his biceps, as if to confirm his assertion. You just giggle as you make your way out into the dark alleyway. As Dick follows you through the door, a few faint sirens form a chorus — probably less than two miles away now, he surmises by the volume. Overtaking you, Dick is quick on his feet as he leads the two of you down the alley way toward the only exit.

By the time you reach the street, a green car screeches to a halt in front of you, almost knocking you off of your feet.

“Watch where you’re going, moron!” you screech back, waving your fist at the driver, who just ignores you. The door of the backseat snaps open and a rather voluptuous woman emerges, ginger hair lit aflame by the setting sun. Her skin, tinged with chlorophyll and bespeckled with thorns, was weirdly beautiful, you thought to yourself. 

Immediately, both you and Dick had your guns trained on the woman, whom you recognize as Dr. Pamela Isley — the woman you’d been actively hunting for months now.

“Well, well, well,” Dr. Isley practically purrs, “We meet again, Dick Grayson.” She sends a flirty smile, imbued with bad intentions and toxicity, at the man standing next to you. You can’t help the look of disgust that crosses your face when you think about the two of them together.

“Dr. Isley,” Dick responds cordially, “Or is it Poison Ivy now? Impressive bounty on your head this time, huh?” His finger flexes on the trigger.

“Oh, you know how the media are,” she simpers, “Always looking for a snazzy name to keep the attention of you and your knitwit band of bounty hunters.” She’s unfazed as she takes a few steps toward you, clad head to toe in a green catsuit that does nothing to hide her curves. She looks you up and down, “Didn’t know you had a girlfriend, Dick.” The false smile she throws you is so sweet you feel your teeth wanting to rot out of their sockets.

“Don’t take another step,” you raise your gun, tightening your control of the weapon in your hand and readying your next shot, “Not if you don’t want a bullet in your brain.” That wipes the smile off of her face.

“Ugh, you’re no fun,” she grumbles toward you, stopping just a few feet in front of you and pulling two guns from behind her before pointing them each at you and Dick. Fuck, you start to panic. You sneak a glance over at Dick, who seems to be completely calm with a neutral expression on his face.

“Now,” the ginger takes a more assertive tone, “Lower your weapons, let me through, and no one gets hurt.” 

A few beats pass, though it feels like an eternity to you, before Dick slowly lowers his weapon. Great, an idiot who can’t call a bluff, you thought to yourself. 

“Good boy,” Dr. Isley says happily, then turns to you. “Your turn.”

“Put the gun down NOW and I blow a hole in your handsome boyfriend, here, honey,” she commands more authoritatively when you don’t make any move toward following her orders.

  “Listen to her,” Dick hisses at you, both of his palms up in surrender. You ignore them both, thinking through your possible routes of escape. Dr. Isley takes this time to address Dick, determined to grate on your nerves.

“Your girl here doesn’t seem to have working ears, Grayson,” she spits, now training both of her guns right at you.

Another few beats pass before Dr. Isley takes you both by surprise, screaming:

“NOW!”

Suddenly, a puff of what you assumed to be neon green glitter fills your vision and lungs when you exhale. A burning sensation starts scalding your head, your throat, your lungs. It was like your balance started to seep out of your body. That pulling in the deep pits of your stomach starts yanking, causing your knees to wobble and your vision to blur. Pretty streaks of green blur in front you and a faint shout of “No! Stay with me!” rings in your ears. You’re vaguely aware of a warm hand cradling your cheek as a black abyss overwhelms your senses, your grip on consciousness seeping out of you just like your balance. The last thing you’re cognizant of is your head about to hit the pavement, skull buffered by a large, warm hand before it could really hit the ground.

.⋆⭒˚.⋆☾ .🪐˖☽⋆⭒˚.⋆

[serbarris]

Dragon Age: the Veilguard: Modern AU Pairing: F!Rook Ingellvar x Emmrich Volkarin  Rating: M, will be E soon Words: 2000 Summary: Emmrich Volkarin has been a civil servant for nearly 30 years. He intended to be an instrumental force in making real change across the country. Calliope ‘Rook’ Ingellvar was stuck in a job that brought her no joy. Now, she is the head of office for Minister Lavellan, right in the heart of Thedas’ government. He's disenfranchised, but she’s keen to change the world. The wheels of government turn slowly, but their relationship is anything but. Read on AO3

Saturday 7th Justinian

The cemetery for the Hunter Fell Chantry could probably fit comfortably inside one of the Van Markham crypts inside the Necropolis. Despite the changes that have happened politically in Northern Thedas, culturally, Nevarrans were still a rarity in their devotion to the dead, despite the country hosting the centre of politics in Northern Thedas. Most raised in Nevarra interred their corpses within the Necropolis after they passed, giving their bodies as homes for spirits. Few were buried on Chantry soil, but it was more common the further from Nevarra City one lived.

The ashes from cremations made the small plot flourish with plant life. Calliope found peace here, where bees hovered from flower to flower and birds made their nests—an above-ground version of the Memorial Gardens. It had already been over 5 years since she was last there, in the Necropolis, hidden in a corner during the solstice with still no grave to visit. She couldn’t be certain her parents were dead, but she had no known family. She was a foundling, left outside the Necropolis orphanage before being discovered by wisps at barely a year old. It’s why she was given the surname Ingellvar. It meant something akin to ‘spirit guardian’ in ancient Nevarran. She was then raised in the Necropolis.

The founding of the Government for Northern Thedas had caused the ever-expanding Mausoleum to change tack slightly. Transforming from the seat of the Nevarran government and home for the undead to housing, schooling from infancy to adulthood, a renowned university for necromancers, an archive for historic documents, and home to all the preexisting ceremonial days of mourning. Also, it had a very good swimming pool.

Before taking a seat on what she had dubbed ‘her bench’ (it was the only bench), she liked to walk amongst the graves, gently sweeping off any creeping moss and ivy from the gravestones that had no loved ones to maintain them. It was rare the Sisters interacted with the cemetery more than fulfilling a wish for ashes to be scattered there. Many were still superstitious about the buried dead, despite the numerous wards maintained by MOURN.

Even rarer was to see another person in the gardens at the same time as her. The tall man was backlit by the sun, his face shadowed by the golden glow that surrounded him like he was cast down from the Golden City itself. He cradled a bouquet in his arms as he approached.

“Calliope?” She recognised the voice. Maker's breath. How did she go from never seeing Emmrich Volkarin to now bumping into him four times in as many weeks? Not including the number of times she had seen him in the office, walking with his colleagues, or spotted his silver hair poking above the sea of others in a meeting room. Not that she was intentionally seeking him out. That would be ridiculous.

read the rest on AO3!

[morbidelux]

ivy lennox, twenty-nine, cis woman (she/her), pansexual, librarian.

she glanced around, still in shock from everything and from seemingly surviving, apparently, with a namesake, before pulling her half-wet jacket around her shoulders. the storm was indeed coming fast, and the last thing she needed was to end up soaked and freezing to death. "yeah, sounds like a good plan, not like we have any other option," she replied, trying to mask the chill running down her spine. "and don't judge the shelter, what did you expect? a heater? netflix?" a forced smile took over her lips as she gently nudged the other ivy toward the cabin. "got any other plans? you know, in case the wind blows everything away."

* ⠀ ♡ ⠀ ⠀ 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 ⠀ ⠀ —— ⠀ ⠀ ivy blake. 25. age gaps welcome.

* ⠀ ♡ ⠀ ⠀ 𝐏𝐋𝐎𝐓 ⠀ ⠀ —— ⠀ ⠀ based on this. total strangers or they know each other? we can decide in tags.

* ⠀ ♡ ⠀ ⠀ 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 ⠀ ⠀ —— ⠀ ⠀ anyone. mutuals / non-mutuals welcome.

"So... I think we have everything we need for the night." Ivy explained as she stood against the shore, rummaging through the suitcase that had washed up. The clothes of a fellow passenger, who was presumably deceased clung to her sun kissed skin, the sheer thought sending shivers down her spine. Ivy couldn't go there... at least not now. "Looks like a pretty nasty storm is rolling in, we should get under that thing you call a shelter, yeah?" Looking up at the sky with a smile that painted her features effortlessly, at least she could still joke in a situation like this.

[breakandbuildfiction]

Another Rant About DPxDC Tropes

I didn’t write out all my thoughts on everything in the DPxDC fandom last time, so I decided to write this follow up with some more of them. This time I will primarily be focusing on how people go about using specific characters and their inter-character relationships.

Watering Down and Glorifying Female Characters:

I’ve noticed that this is a theme across a LOT of not only DPxDC fics and prompts, but across a lot of the fanworks for the individual franchises. People will ignore the flaws and shortcomings of female characters and overblow their positive traits purely to make them look more badass or scary compared to the male characters or to make other characters relient on them. Here are some examples:

Poison Ivy: People like to write Poison Ivy as some cool bad girl bent on environmentalism, that she’s pricily but full of ‘cool aunt’ energy. But they ignore the fact that her entire thing is drugging, mind controlling, sexually assulting, and murdering people in the name of environmental terrorism and in some itterations global genocide. She is not by any means someone a hero should be chill with outside of absolutly desperate situations, and even then she should be the second choice after Swamp Thing.

Harley Quinn: She is literally a psycopath suffering from an obsessive love disorder– that she has done a great deal to overcome– who has no problems maiming, crippling, and killing anyone who gets between her and whatever it is she wants at the moment. At her most ‘restrained’ she is working with Batman to hunt down the Joker– with her intent being to kill him– or is on the Suicide Squad taking some weird comfort in being around equally fucked up people and being assured in the knowledge that her murderous tendencies are being used for some level of ‘good’. She was also a very shitty psyciatrist who in many itterations slept her way into passing college and didn’t even last a full year as a lisenced practitioner before joining the Joker. Yes she is trying to be a better person, but she is NOT by any means a good person.

Black Canary: I think the thing I dislike most about how people treat Black Canary is that they hyperfixate on the pseudo-mom characteristics and emergency therapist role she was given in the Young Justice cartoon. I’ll admit that I haven’t read a ton of her comics, but I HAVE read some and I have watched the Justice League Unlimited cartoon as well. With that in mind I feel like people are tragically focusing on the wrong parts of her personality. She is shown to be stand offish, headstrong, confrontational, brash, and manipulative. She isn’t hero-mom coded, she is a femm fatal back street brawler who is fully open to playing off her allies ego to make them do what she wants if she can and leveraging her power and skill at violence to get what she wants. Yes she is a hero and yes she has a softer side, but god damn!

Wonder Woman: This actually goes for all Amazons of Themyscira but here it goes. Wonder Woman grew up in an extremely isolationist, xenophobic, and misandrist (Even if you ignore the run that said the island’s inhabitants are all literal murdering rapists who drown babies. I don’t think that run has been canon for a while anyways.) island nation that was literally blessed by the gods to never have to deal with things like political upheavals, drought, famine, foreign relations, or any other complexaties that real countries have to deal with. Now, to her credit, Wonder Woman isn’t NEARLY as bad as some of her countrywomen, but that doesn’t mean her upbrining hasn’t influenced her worldview and she certainly has never condemned the policies of her nation. She doesn’t treat men as scum outright by any means, but she DOES ignore the shortcomings of women and sees most if not all the troubles of the world as being the fault of the male sex. Just because the woman is empathic does not mean she isn’t a bitch. Also, base Wonder Woman would and has been dogged by base Superman many times. She is maybe the fourth or fifth most powerful JL member goes by base state abilities behind Superman, Martian Manhunter, Shazam, and maybe the Flash. That said, there are forms of Wonder Woman who would make all other base state JL members look like preschoolers pretending to be tough.

Jazz Fenton: Jazz is not a good psychologist or therapist in her teenage years. If you want to age her into her mid-twenties or later after she goes through a proper program, then by all means make her better at helping people with mental and emotional issues. But as a teen she is god aweful at those things. There is a grand total of ONE instance where she showcases actual skill at being able to pin down and identify someone’s issues and that was with Freakshow, whom in that very conversation she admits to having grown up with many of the same feelings he did regarding envy of ghosts and the attention people in her life give them. She never figured out Danny was a hero due to her skill at psychology or determining the cause of his stress, she stumbled onto him transforming after days or even weeks of forcing herself into his business and him asking and then demanding her to leave him alone. Not only this but, and I feel like this should be a very big thing with how much people love to shoehorn in trans-Danny stuff, she routinely calls people by the wrong name even when corrected by others and is told to her face by the people she is misnaming that she is wrong. Some of her names are even dehumanizing like calling Skulker ‘Ghost X’ like he’s nothing but a test subject!

Also, while I’m pretty sure she would qualify as a skilled CQC fighter, I don’t think she ever improved her aim. So while having her judo throw someone or deck them in the schnoz is good, she would probably miss if she had to shoot anyone with a Fenton Blaster at anything further than point blank range. And no, the Peeler doesn’t count, that shit was a full on mechsuit and shots that had a margin of error bigger than a car.

Valerie Grey: This one is a big one for me and probably the big reason I wanted to write this entire section so here it goes:

Valerie Grey ain’t SHIT as a hero.

Now, as a character, she is perfectly fine. She has a full arc with reasonable and understandable reactions to various events that shape her growth as a character. Granted these events make her into a shoot-first, speciesist, possibly slur-throwing, self-righteous, asshole for a while (you know how the ACAB movement sees cops? That was Valerie for a long time, just without government backing and with an oligarch sponsor instead.) but she did eventually get better after the whole thing with Dani and finding out that Vlad is Plasmious. So again, as a character she is good.

As a HERO however, she is really freaking bad. We never really see her do anything major after her revelation with Dani and before that she never actually wins any fights. Danny is always so far out of her league in fights that the only reason she isn’t dead is because he knows who she is under the mask and holds back because he doesn’t want to hurt her. He was capable of blowing up her original suit in a single blast for crying out loud! And even in her second suit he barely had any trouble keeping pace with her WHEN HE WAS ACTIVLY TRYING NOT TO HURT HER! We also never see her defeat any named ghost, I barely remember her even fighting anyone other than Danny, and she is overall just fodder as far as combat goes.

She isn’t scary, she isn’t intimidating, she isn’t the type of girl who could ‘kick Danny’s ass’, she is at best a pissed off woman with a lot of guns and fancy gadgets who thinks she's hot shit despite never winning a significant fight. 

Heroes are friends with all the Rogues… Except Joker:

Just… why? Why do people want the heroes to be friends with mass-murdering nutjobs? Be it Danny with Ivy who is basically Undergrowth with tits and a pulse, or Tucker with Technus, or Tim Drake with Harley Quinn it doesn’t make any sense! This isn’t a case of ‘Oh, when they aren’t on the job they are cool people’ like with Flash’s rogues. Nor do they have admirable moral codes or anything else. That kind of stuff is exclusive to Flash’s gallery. Why does everyone write hero or retired Danny as being friendly with villains and thinking they are cool people?! Killer Crock has a tragic backstory but he EATS PEOPLE. Scarecrow makes stuff you could call ghost drugs but he conducts routine chemical weapon attacks on civilian populations! Deathstroke is a pedo or groomer in at least two major timelines! Ra’s runs a cult that kills its OWN MEMBERS whenever they fail near-impossible tasks! Just because they aren’t as full on 24/7 creepy fucker murderers doesn’t mean they are any better than him!

On that note, why do people insist on having Sam idolize Poison Ivy or Jazz admire Harley Quinn? I don’t have a high opinion of Sam and how she goes about her activism and forcing her lifestyle and beliefs on others, but she doesn’t go around drugging people, stealing their money, forcing them to ruin their families, and then killing them! And I like to think that even if Jazz isn’t a good psychologist she would have better taste than to idolize someone who broke a very basic tenant of mental health professionals by getting too attached to her patient and went on to COMMIT MASS MURDER and help TORTURE PEOPLE in an effort of turning on her psychotic boyfriend! 

Hating Superman on Kon-El’s behalf:

I get that this trope stems from season 1 of Young Justice, which I will freely admit is an amazing season of a very good show, but I think people forget a few things: 1, Superman’s hatred/distrust of Conner manifests in avoiding him at all costs, not being rude or badmouthing him or anything of the sort, he just doesn’t want to deal with him and what Conner represents. 2, Superman grows out of his hatred/distrust of Conner in like, a year. It was an initial kneejerk reaction paired with extreme awkwardness and distress, but his stance on his clone-son with Lex does get better. And 3, the one who actually hates clones is Supergirl, Kara Zor-El. She straight up gave Conner his Kryptonian name and told him TO HIS FACE that it meant ‘Abomination in the House of El’. She basically named him a slur and said that was all he was. And as far as I am aware, she never apologizes for this nor does their relationship ever really improve beyond ‘we will work together if we absolutely have to’.

Dani and Dan call Danny ‘mom’ ((CONTENT WARNING: Mentions of SA!!!)):

Okay this one is a bit weird for this rant because I will freely admit that depending on if certain other tropes are used concurrently to this one, it makes sense, but by default I say it doesn’t. Ignoring how Danny is by default and in most cases male, his contribution to the ‘conception’ and gestation of Dani or Dan’s clone body (if you ignore A Glitch In Time and have Dan in his original body, Danny still didn’t do any gestation or anything, but things are admittingly different) only went so far as providing some DNA. Vlad did the whole cultivation thing and making sure the decanting happened safely and all that good, very important, stuff. So wouldn’t Danny be the dad in this scenario? Since the equivalent to a regular birth here would be Danny hitting and quitting with Vlad (que barfing reflex at the thought of Danny/Vlad stuff) purposely getting a baby made without Danny’s knowledge for his own benefit and desire for a child? Even if you go by the more accurate real life correlation to SA, Danny still played a male role here because he didn’t carry/grow the baby/clone.

The only reasons I can see for Danny to be labled the ‘mom’ in this situation are; Danny is more nurturing than Vlad– which by a sexist standard means he’s the maternal one–, Danny was the victim in the unauthorized baby making and is thus in the female role– again, a sexist standard–, or because people think ‘single parent’ and immediately assume ‘single mother’. (To be clear, I know that statistically women suffer all forms of SA far more often than men, which is beyond terrible, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen the other way around as well.)

Now, to be fair, if you are also doing trans-man Danny, none of this holds weight and them calling Danny ‘mom’ could stem from that, or because saying Vlad had a kid with a teenaged trans-man makes Vlad look SO much worse and by calling Danny ‘mom’ they are trying to imply that kind of narrative. Which is not a terrible way of writing a story where Danny, Dani, and Dan all hate Vlad, go for the throat and make him look as bad as possible if that’s your goal. I’m just saying that in the default state of Danny being male and Vlad being the one who looked over the cloning pods, Danny is the dad and Vlad is the mom.

[disneytva]

Variety Interviews Ayo Davis, Meredith Roberts And Emily Hart On Disney Television Animation's 40th Anniversary And What To Expect On From The Past, Present And Future

40 years ago, Disney TVA was founded on the heels of challenging outcomes with features “The Fox and the Hound” and “The Black Cauldron.”

Initially, Disney TVA was restricted from using established Disney legacy characters, but nevertheless had huge successes with new shows like “The Wuzzles” and “Adventures of the Gummi Bears,” both of which became popular in syndication. As time went on, DTVA was able to use its limited rights to create shows like “DuckTales” and “TaleSpin,” which featured Disney characters. Today, the slate has evolved to include shows that travel across Disney’s streaming, linear and digital platforms, including Disney+, Disney Channel, Disney Junior and the Disney Parks

Over the 40 years of the studio has collaborated with Walt Disney Imagineering to bring beloved Disney Afternoon characters to the parks as well Mickey And Minnie's Runaway Railway and AquaMouse for the Disney Wish and Disney Treasure cruises from the Disney Cruise & Ships Line as well collaborating with Disney Yellow Two Shoes Team to redesing some heritage characters for the WDW Passholder Magnets.

Disney TVA characters also have gone to the realm of live action. In 2019 Disney Channel brought Kim Possible to the live action world as a Disney Channel Original Movie in 2019. In Spring 2022, Walt Disney Studios brought Chip 'n Dale: Rescue Rangers to a new generation of fans trought a meta-driven live action/animated hybrid film which won an Primetime Emmy Award for Best Feature Film.

In April 2024, it was announced that Kiara from The Lion King II: Simba's Pride created at Disney TVA will make her live action debut on the motion capture/computer animated film "Mufasa The Lion King" with the character being voiced by Blue Ivy Carter. In Fall 2023, it was announced that Blumhouse Television and Atomic Monster where developing a live action reboot of Gargoyles for Disney+.

The future of the studio looks bright as the studio is slated to debut it's 100th show overall "StuGo" in 2025, as well new interations of beloved classics like The Proud Family, Phineas And Ferb, Sofia The First and Darkwing Duck trought revivals,reboots and spin-offs in the coming years with early talks of new interations of TaleSpin, Kim Possible and Recess since Early 2023.

“We have a wildly diverse development slate because we don’t have a house style,” says Meredith Roberts, executive vice president, television animation, Disney Branded Television and CEO of Disney Television Animation “Our styles are creator-driven, so that allows for real support of the artist or creator to fulfill his or her vision. Anything is possible, whether it's CGI. (“Monsters at Work”), hand-drawn 2D (“Big City Greens”,"Primos","Hailey's On It!"), rig-based 2D (“Moon Girl and Devil Dinosaur”,"Kiff") and stop-motion (“Mickey Saves Christmas”,"Rhona Who Lives By The River".). Roberts continues, “We really try and solve all the problems and develop it. We look at the scripts and the story arcs. Every project has to have a strategy behind it that will complement the slate and separate it from other things. Each project has a distinct swim lane to attract an audience. And we’ve learned to meet the kids where they are, in terms of streaming and YouTube.”

Co-viewing, the viewership that happens when adults sit down to watch a DTVA show with the kids in their lives, is part of the studio’s secret sauce and long-term strategy. Many of the shows are written with jokes and plot points for both audiences so both groups will return.

“We double down on the kids and family space,” says Roberts. “We’re not just dipping a toe in the water. We’re diving in. I think we’ve seen a lot of churn with the competition, who just don’t have the patience to develop and are for this audience, which is a very specialized kid audience and co-view audience.” ("The Witchverse", "Rhona Who Lives By The River","InterCats","Fantasy Sports") Roberts reflects: “I think one of the things I’m most proud of is how stable Disney TVA has been for the last 40 years despite a lot of outside churn of the animation industry. Many of our crews feel that Disney is their forever home. I think the excitement they have to illustrate and create with this brand has been terrific because it’s harder to be funny and clean. And nowhere are we tearing down people to get that laugh. I think that’s the beauty of a Disney animated show.”

DTVA also sought to meet kids where they are by making their audience — which is made up of the most diverse generation in history — feel seen, with series such as “Elena of Avalor,” which featured Disney’s first Latina princess, and “The Proud Family,” franchise focused on the life of a teenage Black girl.

“We do have an amazing insights team that are constantly in the field, giving us general information about how kids are watching content, what they’re into,” Emily Hart (VP of Current and Development - Disney Junior) says. “Some of those things are evolving, as we know the ways kids consume content is changing. But there are some universal truths about kids, and it’s great to have that reinforced. Kids still like a lot of the same things that we like. So, there’s a combination that we’re always tracking with every new idea, and we do pilot testing. We get to sit down and talk about the content, and we invite our creators in so they can see the kids talking about it because they’re the audience and they’re the truest test of if the story is going to work.”

Ayo Davis, president of the Disney Branded Television and VP of Current and Development at Disney Television Animation says the division is a “driving force” for memorable kids and family entertainment.

“All of us at Disney Branded Television are so proud of the studio’s 40-year legacy as it continues to entertain future generations with shows like ‘Kiff,’ ‘Big City Greens’ and ‘Mickey Mouse Clubhouse 2.0" --- Davis says.

Those creators who come to DTVA often stay for a long time, partnering with the studio on a variety of different projects or expanding on a hit and reimagining it for the next generation of viewers. “The Proud Family” was a standout in 2001 on Disney Channel. Creator and executive producer Bruce W. Smith is now working on the Emmy-winning “The Proud Family: Louder and Prouder,” which is based on the original series. The show follows Penny Proud as she navigates family life and her own childhood.

“Being at Disney TVA has allowed me to realize all my artistic dreams,” says Bruce W. Smith. “As a kid, you always have hopes, thoughts, dreams, ideas and characters that can help lay out those ideas in your head. Disney has allowed me to really tap into my creative instinct, at the end of the day, you have to learn how to trust yourself. Meredith Roberts has been a true shepherd for me in all of this, allowing me to stretch my wings. Because of her belief in me and my ideas, she’s really allowed me to blossom as an artist. All that happened at DTVA.”

“They really seem to be a place that welcomes your ideas,” Dan Povenmire says of Disney TVA. “They want to find people with real strong ideas of the stories they want to tell, and then they let them tell those stories for the most part. They seem to put storytelling and characters over anything. With [‘Phineas and Ferb’], we would write jokes for the kids and the adults in the room because we knew the adults would be there too. We were just careful not to do any double entendres.”

[xerith-42]

Redesign the Nine

[This post is very long. Just a heads up.]

I'm a member of the Jury of Redesign, proud member of fleshing out previously left to rot or forgotten content. It's a hobby. A passion. I have and will continue to go into entire novellas to describe the inter personal relationships of characters we know next to nothing about, but what about characters we know literally nothing about?

We know only 6 members of the total 9 that belong to the Jury. Technically seven if you include Garroth, but that last for like twelve seconds, that doesn't count. And one of them is only made known as a member in Rebirth (which I really like and I like Rebirth). That means there's three entire characters just waiting to happen! How have I never thought of this before?!

This idea really struck me when I was looking at the Jo9 wiki page and saw this comment

The rest of the comment goes on to their whole theory about Ein killing Blaze, but I am mostly against the idea of killing Blaze because nobody ever gives it enough story significance, weight, and meaning. Only I get to kill Blaze, you all lost your privileges.

That's not what's important though. What's important is that I actually love Teony and Ein. I think they're some of the most wasted Aphverse characters, and that's saying something considering how I literally never shut up about Blaze. So let's flesh them out in a... different setting.

Teony

I imagine Teony being in a very similar situation to Katelyn and Jeffory. She has someone she deeply cares about that Zane knows about and is threatening to put in danger. For Jeffory and Katelyn, it was family. For Teony, it's similar, but just a slight flavor different. A gay flavor different.

Teony belongs to a high ranking noble family in O'Khasis, like one step below the Ro'meave family. Originally the plan was for her to be married off to one of the Ro'meave heirs (probably Zane), but then she did something weird. She uhh... She started training to be a guard. And got strong enough fast enough that nobody could really stop her because Teony would just challenge them to a round of armed combat about it despite being literally 12.

So she was allowed to go to guard academy and go through full training. She was never going to be a lord, and she could still easily join the Jury and serve the same purpose with less arranged marriage. Also if they tried to arrange Teony into a marriage she might just pull a sword on them about it. She learned very quickly that her parents wouldn't be allowed to abuse or control her if they feared her. Caused a different kind of trauma compared to the other children of nobles.

And then she found out she was gay. While she was at the academy the person who was writing the Jury recruitment list was the newest member of the Jury herself; Ivy the Venom Scythe. Teony fell in unending sapphic love from first sight. Even if she had become wise to her parents controlling nature in search of power, she still respected and revered the Ro'meave family, and the Jury of Nine. She was set up for it, and she wanted that. And now that she was finally experiencing love for a member of the Jury of Nine.

As always, things in Teony's life were set up for perfection. And she was such an overachiever, are you kidding me? Top ranks in all her classes even though she didn't need to. She would half ass it sometimes and still get the highest scores on every test. When she put her all into something, there wasn't any competition. She was just showing off for Ivy, and she did not hide that in the slightest. Ivy was fully aware that Teony was not only showing off, she knew that Teony was in love, or at least lust with her. Teony is not subtle at all, it's just not a concept to her yet.

On the last day of her training at the academy, Zane Ro'meave himself shows up. I imagine Zane and Teony were almost sort of childhood friends. Zane didn't really like having friends, but he and Teony were personable and able to get along when they were forced to spend time together by their parents. He has a sort of fondness for Teony in a "I'll see where you're going with this" sense. He's heard how passionate she is about fighting and being a guard. And he knows it's not for a violent sake, but because of that nobility that is her bloodline and the baseline of her identity as a person.

She may be overzealous, she may be a know-it-all, she may be a show-off, but Teony always fights with honor. She always showers her classmates a great amount of dignity and respect when they fight her. To her combat is an art form, one that she takes very seriously. She won't attack unless provoked, and more often than not will just skip the talking it out phase and just jump to the dueling stage because that's the part she understands best.

She's autistic. That's what I'm saying. Teony is an autistic lesbian. Look at her go! However, Zane is terrible and evil and so is Ivy. When telling him the candidates, he brings up that Teony is a no brainier. Which is when Ivy tells him that Teony is in love with her and was fighting to earn her attention. She willingly threw away some of her nobility in the name of love. Which means she can do it again if provoked to.

What better way to provoke her than to give it to her and then threaten to take it away? Zane and Ivy literally manipulate Teony, putting her on the Jury, assigning her to work with Ivy, and Ivy starts actively feeding into it in a rather coy way just to drag her along. And right when Teony is ready to fess up, her parents show up at the Ro'meave manner. Teony remembers what they expect of her. That they don't know the truth about her.

She knows beyond a shadow of a doubt they'd disown her. Jury members aren't supposed to have family anyway. For a minute she thinks about outing herself to sever her ties. But then she learns that her mother is pregnant again. She... She has a little sister on the way. And if she cuts ties with her family now, she'll never get to meet her. She doesn't know Zane invited them at first, but when he talks to her later, she pieces it all together.

Zane says he'll let her family live, even let them be known as her family if she wants, but she isn't allowed to be with Ivy in any non-professional manner. Otherwise she'll give herself away, and while he doesn't exactly threaten it, Zane makes it very clear he will out Teony to her parents if she doesn't do as he orders from now until the end of time. It's then that Teony realizes she's trapped. She went from one gilded cage to another.

Until it got to be too much for her. Remember how Jeffory was apparently on the Demon Warlock Island in Gal'ruk? And it was literally never explained. What if he was there to find her? What if it became too much for Teony after meeting her sister, and she ran away? Zane doesn't know what happened when Teony met with her younger sister, but it was enough to shake her that she barely responded to Zane's taunting when she returned. And then she left that night.

Jeffory was sent to follow her trail. And he actually found her before she managed to break the Demon Warlocks curse. On a completely different continent, no guard escorts, and no way that Zane can hear them, they talk openly. They confide in one another. And they work together, as friends, to break the curse and get themselves back home. Teony moves to a different island in Gal'ruk, and tells Jeffory to give Ivy a letter the next time he sees her.

And he's not allowed to let it leave his hands unless it's Ivy taking it. No messengers. No leaving it somewhere she'll find it. Jeffory never learned the contents of that letter, but he did manage to deliver it to Ivy. Only she and Teony knows what's contained in those pages.

(Final note, idk what her funny anime villain name or her weapons would be. I would love council/jury/anyone to give input here. Same for the next member)

Ein

Ein being a big heroic softie is the best thing ever to me you don't understand.

Much like the doll anon, this anon changed my life. I love this idea so much. Listen, I like unrelentingly evil characters, just look at Zane. But that's the thing. Zane's already there. And so is Janus. And Ivy. And probably Lilian. And another character I've yet to get to. And even more characters when we get out of the Jury. We need more innocence that becomes corrupted in the Jury, everyone likes being evil too much.

So I want to make Ein a big ol' softie. He grew up in the Brightport Wolf Tribe with his best friend eventually turned lover Blaze. They mostly stayed within the confines of their tribe, which was small, but spacious enough for two wolf children prone to rough housing to get their energy sufficiently out. It was only when they were older that they started waking up to the... less than ideal circumstances of their relationship.

After being friends and being incredibly close and physically affectionate, when the two started thinking about mating and all that dumb romantic nonsense, it just made sense that they would be with each other in that way too. It's how they got through everything else in life. It was at the ruiner and creator of gay romances, that Irene forsaken Guard Academy that things got... worse.

Because Ein is definitely a very well rounded fighter. He's decently studious, wanting to keep up on speaking both the werewolf language and the more common language, and making sure that Blaze does the same. But Blaze finds these things to be dreadfully boring and doesn't put in more effort than Ein makes him. This is fine when they were kids and their plans weren't more ambitious than protecting their tribe. But their Alpha wanted to see if humans and werewolves could truly get along.

If anyone could prove that werewolves are just as human as they are, it would be these two dorks. But uhh, people are racist. And homophobic. So it doesn't go great. Couple that with the fact that the academy prioritizes individual excellence over collective greatness and suddenly things are just doomed to go wrong for these two. Ein naturally excels, and Blaze who's used to having someone to rely on starts falling behind without the consistent support system.

That was his emotional support nerdy jack of all trades boyfriend! How could you take that away from him? And Ein is stripped of his absolutely pure of heart dumb of ass boyfriend. They don't even get to stay in the same bunks as each other, and barely have any classes together. It's just awful. But Ein finds... something else. After doing particualrly well on a certain test, one of the teachers pulls him aside and tells Ein he might be able to qualify for the Jury of Nine position. Or at least be their bench warmer.

Ein's ambitions in life never went too far beyond the borders of their childhood home. He was the one who always pressured Blaze into going further than they were allowed, but Blaze was easily convinced anyways. But Ein was always an ambitious person. He just didn't know enough about the world to realize them. The highest he'd ever gone was thinking "Wow, it'd be cool to be the Alpha." And like that's it.

Suddenly he's told that if he somehow gets better than he already is he could hold one of the highest positions in the entire fucking continent. It's a no brainier. He has to go for it. He doesn't realize it means he's only being further isolated, pulled away from his few meet ups with Blaze to study, to practice, to do something that only a top student does and a near drop out student doesn't.

In fact the last time they see each other is, like with Teony, the day before the Jury posting for their class. Ein is sure he's on that list. Maybe not the top spot, but defiantly in the top five. Just as he's about to go introduce himself to Zane Ro'meave, try and make a good impression to sweeten his chances, he gets intercepted by Blaze.

Who just hands him a letter. And he whispers a single word under his breath as he's leaving; "Goodbye."

Ein reads the letter immediately, heartbroken to read that Blaze flunked out and is going back home without him. Blaze says he's proud of Ein for being able to go so far, and hopes he gets on the Jury. Ein knows he's lying. He tries to chase after Blaze, to try and make it up to him, but then suddenly Zane's there. He's caught Ein in a dangerously vulnerable moment, and while Ein manages to recover, he never gets the chance to wipe the tears from his eyes.

He never learns what rank he got on the Jury list. Just that he was one of the two who were filling vacant seats from this class. It's painfully bitter sweet. It's everything Ein wanted, but he realized that he never made room for Blaze in these dreams of grandeur. He tried to help Blaze at first, but Blaze eventually rejected his offers. And Ein couldn't even blame him. He'd been ignoring and neglecting the most important relationship in his life. And if Ein keeps going down this path, he realizes he'll destroy it even more.

In spite of that, he accepts the invitation and starts working as a Jury member for Zane. One month into his stay at the Ro'meave Manor as Zane's personal body guard, Zane asks him an odd question. A name he's apparently heard Ein muttering to himself and in his sleep. "Blaze."

Ein tries to say it's nothing, just an old friend he was thinking of reaching out to. That's when Zane makes it clear that Ein has absolutely no control here. Because he saw what happened between them. He asks if this old friend happened to be the one that gave him "that love letter". Ein tries to find it where he keeps it tucked into his armor, but Zane is holding it. He knows everything. And he's known the entire time he's had Ein in the Jury. It was all a test of loyalty.

If he reaches out to Blaze, he will fail. And again, Zane doesn't directly state what the penalty is, but he makes it abundantly clear that it's death for both Ein and Blaze. Ein was always easiest controlled when he was isolated. After this he was only paired up with two members of the Jury Zane trusted enough. Lilian, and the last member of the Jury. We'll get to him in a second.

As a result, Ein desired but never sought freedom. He knew Blaze was capable of a great life, he had a future, and was probably going on incredible adventures without him. He never forgot where he came from, and who he accidentally left behind. When Zane and Lilian disappeared... Ein was set free. His leash was just dropped for the first time. Mr. Mysterious wasn't even there to pick it up.

And he ran straight home.

There's only one threat that's unknowingly standing in the way of Ein's happiness. And his name is

Zachary the Plague

Nobody knows where the title came from. They don't want to. Zachary is one of the oldest members, sometimes referred to as the "shadow member" of the Jury. He's rarely seen, and scarily little is known about him.

And that's because he doesn't directly work for Zane. Unlike the others, who were all put under Zane's command after the other Ro'meave heirs died, Zachary stayed under the command of Garte. He did work for Zane here and there, Garte didn't get out much and was content to leave it all to Zane. And Zachary took a liking to Ein when they met, and when he requested that Ein train under him for some time, Zane wasn't in a position to object.

The only people who would be able to give more insight into Zachary are Garte, Janus, and Ein. Garte won't talk. Ever. Zachary is his most trusted guard, and that is all anyone needs to know. Janus just says they respect Zachary. It says enough given what it's known that Janus values. Ein freezes when he hears the name. Even when he says it.

He's only told Blaze what he knows, and neither one will willingly give up this information. He's a quiet fear in the back of Ein's mind, but Zachary stayed with Garte. Even when Zane disappeared, he stayed with Garte. He was never relieved of his duties officially or unofficially. The reason he abandoned Ein is because Garte told him to. He always followed orders.

It's unknown where he or Garte are now.

[kirrafoster]

help out an interracial t4t couple?

hi i already made a post about this but it has suggestive photos of my gf to advertise her OF and not everyone is comfy reblogging that which i get.

okay you can read more in detail on the actual gfm but basically we got kicked out! this is not the first time ivy’s dad has kicked us out, but we got manipulated into staying last time. he’s trying to get us to stay again and we aren’t falling for it, so he gave us an ultimatum: be out by december 31st or stay. we obviously can’t stay in a situation this volatile so december 31st it is.

i’m a troubled teen industry survivor with really severe ptsd and i’m unable to keep a job because of the way that interacts with my autism. i deal with daily flashbacks and have frequent shutdowns and periods of speech loss. my legs are very damaged from my time in the troubled teen industry which makes walking painful for me. i know it sounds like such a sob story, im sorry.

ivy and i have decided to put both of our transitions on hold to save money to move. i’m completely out of testosterone, and she’s out of all her hormones as well. she’s working double time and i’m trying to relearn how to draw to maybe make commissions.

https://gofund.me/9c5fa6cc

TGANK YOU I LOVE YOU

EDIT: we signed a lease today and will be moving in on monday. we are pausing donations and i’ll turn reblogs off on this post and the onlyfans post! thank u all so much i love you

[masquerade-flags]

intervestite/intervestic flag? it's -vestic (like cisvestic, transvestic, panvestic, etc. but with inter- from intersex or intergender

Three Intervestite/Intervestic flags.

The flags just use the colors of the intersex flag(plus white), with a capital I and V to match the T and V on the transvestic flag. The version with the ivy leaves is just because I liked the pun.

[babyraptor]

in honor of Trigun Fan Fic Week, i'm going to try to make a post every night featuring some of my favorites. because i'm currently deep in rereading some AUs, i thought i'd start with a list of those. posted in alphabetical order.

a kind heart to haunt - by littleghost (and its sequel wild horses couldn't drag me away)

a cowboy AU where Vash is a rancher trying to put his past as an outlaw behind him and Wolfwood is a bandit who finds himself on Vash's doorstep one night. he leaves shortly after, but not without stealing Vash's horse and coming back again and again.

Ascension Day - by farseersfool

Wolfwood is a hitman turned bodyguard assigned to protect his boss's twin brother.

At the Top of the World - by Insomniac_with_dreams

a cowboy AU where Wolfwood answers an ad to come work on the Saverem ranch for the summer.

Bloodstained Devotion - by Bohemienne

a vampire AU where Vash returns to his clan after years of hiding. he selects Wolfwood as his human sacrifice in the vampires' ceremonial rites, but wants to show him that vampires and humans can live together.

by daybreak we'll be gone - by catachresis

Wolfwood takes a janitorial job at a facility where top secret research is being conducted. he realizes it must have something to do with the creature living in the tank in the basement.

Eyes of the Storm - by tenshinokorin

a reincarnation/cryptid AU where Wolfwood returns to the orphanage as a caretaker and is haunted by memories he didn't realize he had.

Fire on the Mountain - by Yuku_Laylee

a Jurassic Park AU where Vash is a cryptid living in the zoo/theme park where the others all work. there are mysteries and strange events galore.

i shot cupid (needle and thread) - by itsacoup

a mafia AU where Knives is a crime boss who sends out his crew to find his brother. Wolfwood gets to him first.

inter paradisum et infernum - by itsacoup

Western AU where Vash the outlaw finds himself in the town where Wolfwood is the town priest.

The Lighthouse - by EloFromMars

Wolfwood is fresh out of jail and accepts a job as a lighthouse keeper. Vash is an eldritch sea monster responsible for the constant storms surrounding the lighthouse.

More Than You'll Ever Know - by KiriKiriBonBon

a vampire/reincarnation AU throughout centuries where Vash tries desperately the find the man he loves after he loses him again and again.

nobody said it was easy - by procrastinatingbookworm

i almost didn't include this on my AU list, because it's not quite an AU in the same vein as the others i've included, but this is one of my all time favorite fics ever, and so i couldn't leave it out. a post Trimax AU where Vash and Livio meet up after it's all over and try to put the pieces back together.

Someday out of the Blue - by tenshinokorin (and its sequel, I Believe in the Kingdom Come)

a post Trimax AU where a hundred years later, Vash runs into the reincarnation of Nicholas D. Wolfwood.

Strawberries & Cigarettes - by Umbr_el_on

a modern day AU where Wolfwood is a tattoo artist and Vash is the new florist across the street.

Those were the days - by EloFromMars

a super sweet modern day AU where teen Vash and teen Wolfwood stumble across each other and road trip across the country.

Trillium & Ivy - by Shastafirecracker

the modern AU to which i measure all modern AUs against. Wolfwood is the new funeral director at the funeral home across the street from Vash's garden center.

Waiting at that shallow grave - by riotintheheartt

a non-linear narrative where Wolfwood is a hitman assigned to kill Vash who does not stay dead no matter what.

Wildflowers - by Shastafirecracker

a fantasy/medieval AU where Sir Nicholas the Punisher enters the Forgotten Woods in an effort to capture the Beast Lord and end the blight that is killing the lands.

@trigunfanfic

[promitto-amor]

Opportunity

It's been a WHILE since I was on Tumblr, but I find myself inspired to write and Mark Hoffman reappeared in Saw X at the most opportune time...

Summary: Mark Hoffman has a special interest in the Rook at his precinct. After she blows off post-work drinks for a date, Hoffman can't let the opportunity to make a move pass by when she turns up at the bar with a familiar date.

Pairing: Mark Hoffman x Ivy Reeves (original character)

Warnings: Language!

There aren't nearly enough Mark Hoffman fics out there so this is my contribution. Who doesn't like a jealous Hoffman hmm? Ivy is mine from a fanfic I never finished years and years ago. I've brought her back for this one shot because she needed a name for this fic to work. Please feel free to insert your own name! This is pretty PG for me! Also I will forever headcanon that Adam lived. 👀

Mark didn’t like work drinks. Ever since he had been converted, the thought of alcohol always turned his stomach to lead. The temptation to once more travel down the path of blackout nights was always too great and Mark had to keep his wits about him.

He couldn’t afford to slip up. One slip up could spell the end for him.

Clenching his fist around the non-alcoholic beer that had sat in front of him for the last hour, Hoffman surveyed the throng of drinkers. Among them was Fisk, his occasional partner and first Detective on the Jigsaw case. A man that was too simple for this world, simple enough to have achieved the rare feat of never prompting Jigsaw to put him in a trap. Beside him was Rigg, a future victim, but for now Rigg could live his life in the ignorance that his time was being drained as fast as his third drink. Kerry looked how Mark felt. She’d spent most of the night staring at her gin, too down about Eric Matthews to be in much of a social mood, despite Rigg’s encouragements.

It seems that Matthews himself really was the life of the party. Too bad he’s stuck in some cell of Jigsaw’s making to join them for Friday night drinks.

The only other person who could have made the night somewhat better would have been Ivy. The youngest on their serial killer task team, Ivy had taken to staying late, volunteering to take on swabbing through the heaps of evidence recovered from the latest game. Whether this was due to a morbid fascination with Jigsaw’s modus operandi, or ambition to get ahead in her job, Mark wasn’t sure. But it certainly made the nights when he had to stay late less lonely. With his fellow co-workers becoming more despondent since Matthew’s disappearance, Ivy’s lack of inter-work relationships was refreshing.

Ivy made the best coffee in the office and was the only person to remember that Mark took his coffee black.

A body slumps down beside him, Fisk leans in close to him. “Reckon I’ll be able to get two weeks off?”

“You planning a vacation?” Mark tips back his glass and tries to finish it, but there’s too much left to down in one.

“Thinking of it.” Fisk admits, “I feel like things might be slowing down. I know we had one last week but…hey doesn’t look like anything big is planned.”

“Could just be a matter of time.”

“Maybe,” Fisk grins. “All the more reason to be out of the city when it happens.”

Mark would like to trap him for that alone, but sadly if he could have left New Jersey and Jigsaw behind, he would have been in Europe by now. There was a time when he thought about it. Around the time Ivy had become more present in the Jigsaw case, Mark had allowed himself to fantasise about starting a new life in another country. A new face and a warm smile to wake up next to. But John’s recent resilience across the border in Mexico had proved Mark will never be free until Jigsaw and his puppet apprentice were both dead.

Fisk casts a look round the bar, “Where’s the rook tonight?”

“You’ve gotta stop calling her that.”

”I know,” Fisk nods. “Force of habit, besides she is still new to the task force.”

“Even so she’ll punch you for that soon.”

“I notice you’re avoiding my question.” 

Fisk is eying him and so Mark has no choice but to grumble out, “She has a date.”

“Interesting.” Fisk enunciates every syllable and leans back on his bar stool. “Any idea who?”

“No.” Mark seriously considers ordering a shot, “That’s all I know.”

“Good for her.” Fisk says, “For making sure she has a life. Important that, you know?”

Mark’s known him long enough to get the hint, “I’m fine, Fisk.”

“I know,” Fisk says again, his eyes now on Kerry. “I guess better to be single than caught up with a married colleague.”

Maybe John would allow Fisk to be trapped on the basis of being a gossip?

The bar door opens a couple of times as Fisk continues to chatter about a variety of topics. Mark offers one worded answers whenever suitable. On the fourth time the bar door opened, Adam Stanheight walks through the door. He doesn’t know who Mark is, but Mark knows the wannabe PI well.

This kind of dive bar is where he’d expect Stanheight to frequent. A place where lost souls gather to watch the same generic rock bands, play pool and eventually hook up. Exactly why Mark’s precinct usually favours it. Easy to get lost in the flow of people that gather. It is not the sort of place anyone should bring Ivy Reeves on a date.

She slides in after Adam. Rigg spots her immediately and sends her an enthusiastic wave. Ivy pauses on seeing her coworkers, whispers something to Adam and he too looks over. Adam’s eyes dart from Rigg to Ivy and on her taking his hand the two make their way to the bar. Mark notes Ivy puts as much distance between their position and her position at the bar as possible.

Fisk’s eyes are watching everything unfold, “Isn’t that-“

“Yeah.”

“From the bathroom game.”

“Yes.”

“The one that just appeared.”

Ivy had been the one to speak with a nearly dead Adam Stanheight, who appeared at the Angel of Mercy hospital at some godforsaken hour. He’d been dumped in an empty bed and hooked up to an IV with saline solution. Apparently it had given the nurses quite the scare and when all Adam could say was the word ‘bathroom’, the hospital had been quick to call in the Jigsaw task force.

Mark knows who freed Adam. He’d heard the same rant from Amanda over and over about how interfering Doctors should stay in their lanes.

On that rare occasion, Mark had agreed with her.

Ivy’s eyes track across the room and Mark hopes she might be looking for him. Taking the opportunity before him Fisk calls out, beckoning Ivy over. Mark waits for her to find him and once she has Mark offers her a small nod. She looks away and her hand subconsciously tugs at her top. When she turns back to them Ivy holds up a finger and Fisk shoots a smirk at him.

“What are the odds?”

“She can date whoever she likes.”

“Never said she couldn’t” Fisk is watching him like Mark has become his favourite TV show. “You jealous?”

“She’s ten years or so younger.”

“So?”

“Shut it, Fisk.”

Ivy accepts a drink from Adam, who hasn’t stopped talking since they arrived and takes a cautious sip. When she thinks it’s been long enough, she glances over at Mark again. He catches her eye again and this time, Ivy has little choice but to whisper in Adam’s ear and make her way over to them.

“Did you know we were coming here?” Fisk ask as soon as Ivy’s in earshot.

“No,” She says, leaning in close to hear Fisk over the chatter. “Adam knows this place, an ex-friend of his used to play here.”

“Hoffman’s been missing you.”

Mark’s definitely putting Fisk in a trap. Even if he has to lie about the reason. Ivy’s eyes slip back to him, “I doubt that. You all look like you’re having so much fun.”

“Sarcasm?” Mark asks and Ivy sends him a shy grin.

Adam sidles up behind her. He rubs the back of his neck, “Didn’t think I’d see you guys so soon.”

“How you doing?” Fisk starts up small talk with Adam, as if he really cares about his recovery. This leaves Mark the perfect opportunity to corner Ivy. He stands up and leans on the bar, blocking Fisk and Adam from her line of sight. “How’s the date?”

Ivy sips her drink. Her eyes look in all directions but at Mark as she searches for her answer. She’s uncomfortable. But for what reason? Is it because she’s out with a victim of the case she’s working? Mark doesn’t even know if that would count as a conflict of interest. Ivy finally answers in a voice low enough that Mark has to lean in, “Adam’s my usual type. He’s nice enough, made me laugh on our first date.”

Mark places his empty glass on the bar top. “But not enough on a second date?”

Ivy’s fingers tighten on her own glass, “I thought I would enjoy it more than I am.”

“What’s wrong then?”

She glances over at Kerry and Rigg, “I should say hello to them.” She glances back to him, as if asking permission.

Mark seizes the opportunity, “You knew we were going here. Did you convince him to take you here tonight?”

Mark didn’t need to be a Detective to read the guilt that washes over her. “I wasn’t feeling it much when I agreed to go out again. I thought if we came here, where you were, I’d have an easier way out.”

He presses in a little closer to her. Ivy’s eyes jump over his shoulder, like a skittish doe, no doubt checking on Adam. Mark knows he’s sizing her up, the dare evident in how he’s gotten so close to her. “Do you need a way out, Ivy?”

“No.” She balks and takes a step back. She tips her drink back, places the glass on the table and crosses the short distance to reclaim Adam from Fisk. She leads her ‘date’ over to the pool tables and Mark retakes his seat by Fisk.

“I like him.” Fisk announces, “He plays electric guitar.”

“He still stalking people and taking their pictures?”

Fisk shakes his head, “Didn’t ask, but I doubt it.”

Mark’s eyes stalk Ivy as she collects the pool cues. Adam is lining up the balls and then he’s leaning over Ivy, helping her break. Not that she needs help. Mark’s certain Ivy’s played before, judging by how she lines up her shot and pockets a stripe.

“I’m going home.” Mark announces, “Someone’s gotta be coherent in the morning.”

“Yeah, me too.” Fisk nods, “I’ll tell the others.”

Mark sidles over to the back exit, where he’ll deliberately pass by Ivy. She’s leaning against her pool cue, chalking up the end when Mark presses himself behind her to get past. “Your opportunity is leaving.” He murmurs in her ear, hands finding her waist. He knows it’s a cheap move, but Ivy tenses deliciously under his touch. He doesn’t care whether Stanheight is watching or not. Mark pushes open the back door and heads for his car, parked just a couple of feet away.

Thankful he’s made it another night without drinking, Mark puts the key in the ignition and waits a couple minutes. Just as he’s about to drive away, the backdoor opens. Ivy walks straight for his car, opens the passenger door and climbs in.

Mark leans back in the driver’s seat and waits for her to speak.

“Just take me home, Mark.”

“I don’t know where you live.”

She turns her head to face him, “Yes, you do.”

Mark sets off. He lets the silence linger between them as Ivy plays with her fingers. The small bag she’s been carrying around all night is on her lap. Mark can tell the silence is eating at her, but she’s too stubborn to speak first. When they are less than five minutes away, Mark gives her some mercy. “What did you say to get away?”

“I said forensics had found something.” She heaves a sigh and runs a hand over her face, smudging some of her mascara. She’s still beautiful to Mark.

“Why’d you lie?”

“Because I wanted to be with you.”

Her admission unsettles him as much as it pleases him. To have won another kind of game, one Mark has rarely ever let himself play is thrilling. He could see how it could become addictive, but Mark isn’t going to be smug about it. Not much. “I didn’t think you’d entertain the idea of someone like me.”

It should be more of a warning than it is. He should be pulling over, telling her to get out. Mark knows he should do everything he can to make her hate him. But Mark can only resist one temptation tonight.

Ivy doesn’t answer as he pulls up outside her apartment block. Mark smirks as the cliche, loaded question leaves him, “Do you want me to walk you upstairs or are you good?”

Finally, she looks at him, “Do you want to?”

He bites back a growl. “Of course I fucking want to.” He says, holding onto the last remnants of his restraint. “You’ve been on my mind all fucking night, Reeves.”

She reacts at once, climbing across the gearbox and onto his lap. Mark just pushes the seat back in time as Ivy settles herself. His hands don’t know where to hold, his bravado from earlier abandons him when Ivy is bearing down on him in all areas. She looks down at him for a second and then her lips are on his. 

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How tempted I was to keep this going, but sometimes a tease is better than full smut no? You can let your imaginations go wild from here. 😈