#Depicting: Virtual Boy

[gaminghardwareingames]

Tomodachi Collection

[gaminghardwareingames]

Nintendo Badge Arcade - part 3

So I spent three hours working on this exact project and when I asked a discord to try and see if anyone knew any of the last ones that would be tedious to find, I got sent this link xD

Wariofan63 - Absolutely amazing work, as someone who knows what it's like! Thank you so much for documenting this stuff! You're incredible :D

Nintendo Games in the Badge Arcade

Now if you know me, you know that I absolutely love Nintendo games and the one thing I love more than that is a Nintendo game about Nintendo games! Today I’m going to talk about Nintendo Badge Arcade, the free-to-play app you can download for your 3DS. The main draw of the game is that you play crane games to win badges that you can use to decorate your 3DS Home Menu with.

A good chuck of these badges are legacy Nintendo platforms and tagging along with them are tiny pixelated game cartridges. It can be hard to make out, but every single one of them is based on legitimate cartridge art (cart art)!

A couple years ago, I spent some time tracking down what each badge is a minituarized verison of and had a lot of fun doing it, so I made a guide of which games you can adorn your 3DS with.

Oh yeah, one thing to note here is that everything in this set of badges is based on the Japanese designs of the cartridges, so most might not look familiar to how you remember them. 

Alright, are you ready? Let’s begin with some easy stuff, the Game & Watch games!

Now you’re playing with power! It’s the Famicom (NES) games! You’ll notice we got some cameos from R.O.B. as well as the controller with the bone-shaped controller.

Now for what was the most difficult part for me, the Famicom Disk System games! Unfortunately all of these are Japan-only, so if you were hoping to decorate your 3DS with Zelda 2, I got some bad news or you.

This is going to get a little long so I’ll put the rest under the cut.

Keep reading

[zomb1eturtlez]

"At the risk of stating the obvious, no woman can mate with a bull and produce a child. Recognizing this simple scientific fact, I am led to a somewhat interesting suspicion: King Minos did not build the labyrinth to imprison a monster but to conceal a deformed child, his child.

While the Minotaur has often been depicted as a creature with the body of a bull but the torso of a man, centaur-like, the myth describes the minotaur as simply having the head of a bull and the body of a man, or in other words, a man with a deformed face. I believe pride would not allow Minos to accept that the heir to the throne had a horrendous appearance.

Consequently, he dissolved the right of ascension by publicly accusing his wife Pasiphae of fornicating with a male bovine.

Having enough conscience to keep from murdering his own flesh and blood, Minos had a labyrinth constructed, complicated enough to keep his son from ever escaping but without bars to suggest a prison. (It is interesting to note how the myth states most of the Athenian youth "fed" to the Minotaur actually starved to death in the Labyrinth, thus indicating their deaths had more to do with the complexity of the maze and less to do with the presumed ferocity of the Minotaur.)

I am convinced Minos' maze really serves as a trope for repression. My published thoughts on this subject (see "Birth Defects in Knossos"Sonny Won't Wait Flyer, Santa Cruz, 1968) inspired the playwright Taggert Chielitz to author a play called *The Minotaur* for The Seattle Repertory Company. As only eight people, including the doorman, got a chance to see the production, I produce here a brief summary:

Chielitz begins his play with Minos entering the labyrinth late one evening to speak to his son. As it turns out, the Minotaur is a gentle and misunderstood creature, while the so-called Athenian youth are convicted criminals who were already sentenced to death back in Greece. Usually King Minos has them secretly executed and then publicly claims their deaths were caused by the terrifying Minotaur thus ensuring that the residents of Knossos will never get too close to the labyrinth. Unfortunately this time, one of the criminals had escaped into the maze, encountered Mint (as Chielitz refers to the Minotaur) and nearly murdered him. Had Minos himself not rushed in and killed the criminal, his son would have perished. Suffice it to say Minos is furious. He has caught himself caring for his son and the resulting guilt and sorrow ineeses him to no end. As the play progresses, the King slowly sees past his son's deformities, eventually discovering an elegiae spirit, an artistie sentiment and most importantly a visionary understanding of the world. Soon a deep paternal love grows in the King's heart and he begins to conceive of a way to reintroduce the Minotaur back into society. Sadly, the stories the King has spread throughout the world concerning this terrifying beast prove the seeds of tragedy. Soon enough, a bruiser named Theseus arrives (Chielitz describes him as a drunken, virtually retarded, frat boy) who without a second thought hacks the Minotaur into little pieces. In one of the play's most moving scenes, King Minos, with tears streaming down his face, publicly commends Theseus' courage. The crowd believes the tears are a sign of gratitude while we the audience understand they are tears of loss. The King's heart breaks and while he will go on to be an extremely just ruler, it is a justice forever informed by the deepest kind of agony."

House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski

pg. 110-111

[ayamari-no-goshi]

It’s after 2am, so time for random thoughts.

Something had been nagging at me regarding that one panel of Jason from The Boy Wonder #2 by Juni Ba. His eyes are shown as virtually colorless. (Panel below)

As others have pointed out, there are a lot of stylistic and background details in the issue showing varying perspectives of how people, including himself, perceive him. It could be related to that somehow (I am not an expert in how colors represent emotion, but if this is correct, I’d suspect it’s related to his perceived isolation/loneliness).

But, the color makes me think of something else. Eyes often look cloudy after death and slowly turn opaque due to processes involved. With how scarred he’s depicted, I honestly wonder if his eye color is a nod to his death. (Apparently, this thought has been haunting me for like 3 hours)

Random side note on that thought. If you ever want to depict this in a fic, you can also add tardieu spots - what look like large splotches of blood from the decay of the blood vessels (they can occur on other parts of the body, but tend to look different elsewhere). Or a tache noir - a dark line formed horizontally across the center white of the eye if the eyes remain open for a few hours after death. For an extra creepy factor

[iamnmbr3]

Can we do multiples for this? If so, #8 and #12 for Drarry please 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

Sure!

8. Unpopular opinion about them

I am not a fan of drarry being depicted in canon universes as either 'cool masculine action hero harry'/'damsel in distress fragile draco' or 'sweet but kinda dumb and blundering harry'/'calm cool and collected ice prince draco' or 'enemies who still loathe and distrust each other postwar to very reluctant openly hostile allies to lovers.' All these dynamics are fine if you want to read/write them but the thing is...at least to me...they aren't drarry. And by reducing the characters to those dynamics you end up missing out on a lot of the nuance that makes the characters special and the ship interesting and you kinda flatten them into something pretty generic.

Contrary to popular fanon Harry is not dumb. He was supposed to be in Slytherin for a reason. He's very clever and observant and resourceful. And while he can be very kind and compassionate he also can be deadly when he needs to be and has a real temper that many people, even those close to him (though interestingly not Draco), can find intimidating at times. Draco also is a very good Occlumens and definitely matures a lot, but he's also not someone who is innately cold and dignified, much as he might wish to be. He's hot and firey and emotional too - just like Harry - but presents that in different ways. And yes in later books Draco often overcomes and masters his fears and emotions - because he has to - but it's not easy for him, and sometimes it all comes bursting out. And that makes him interesting and complex and human.

However Draco is also not a fragile damsel in distress. By the end of the series he is no longer the sheltered boy who once dramatically claimed to be "dying" because Buckbeak scratched him. He's been branded with the Dark Mark, been tortured by Voldemort himself, and used Unforgivables on others in turn - even if under duress. He's had to survive living with Voldemort and his followers in his house while he and his family were out of favor and virtually defenseless. He showed himself to be far more clever and resourceful than many would have given him credit for during book 6. In book 7 despite knowing intimately the terrible fate he was likely condemning himself and his family to if Harry & Co escaped, he didn't reveal the fact that he saw Ron & Harry had freed themselves from their bonds in the cell and didn't identify Harry and his friends, which bought them the time they needed to get away. He also held his own in a duel against Harry - who is extremely skilled - due to his quick reflexes, powerful magic, and strong ability to use nonverbal spells. Draco is tough and powerful in his own right, especially after the war and wouldn't just collapse into frightened hysterics at the slightest danger or find himself unable to fend off an angry group of younger students during 8th year.

He and Harry are equals and foils and parallels and opposites all at once. That's what makes their dynamic so interesting. They can stand up to each other and they never are afraid of each other - even when logic says they should be - and their skills and abilities and temperaments are extremely complimentary.

Also I love a good 'toxic dark bitterest of foes to lovers' fic but again, that doesn't feel like postwar drarry. They couldn't bring themselves to hate each other at the height of the war. Harry spent most of book 7 worrying about Draco. Draco risked everything for Harry at the Manor. They're not going to suddenly start a bitter feud after all the pressures pitting them against each other are gone. Postwar Draco would feel guilt and regret over his actions. And Harry, who lied for Draco after the Astronomy Tower Incident in book 6, is unlikely to suddenly decide he's angry Draco didn't end up in Azkaban. (Which is not to say he might not be suspicious of or curious about Draco's activities - but it wouldn't come from a place of hatred or openly vicious aggression.)

What's so fascinating and unique about this ship is that for all they are rivals and later enemies on the opposite sides of a war they don't hate and distrust each other the way you'd expect. Yes there's enmity and hostility. Yes they have to fight each other sometimes. But they also understand each other so deeply. And whenever one of them is actually in danger they always, always save each other.

It is this complex and contradictory relationship that makes them so interesting to me. And so unique compared to a lot of other ships and ship dynamics.

(I also wrote about an unpopular opinion for Draco here.)

12. Crack headcanon

There was a 7 year long 'will they or won't they' betting pool among an ever widening circle of students traumatized by having been subjected to their shenanigans.

Send me a character/ship from any fandom and a number.

[maverick-werewolf]

29 ratings on Amazon for my thesis on werewolf folklore. This bad boy has over 5k downloads at my university theses database. If you've read it, I'd really appreciate if you'd drop a rating and/or review. Hitting 30 would be great!

Find it here

Since before recorded history, werewolves have captivated human imagination. Simultaneously, they represent our deepest fears as well as our desire to connect with our primal ancestry. Today, werewolves are portrayed negatively, associated with violence, cruelty, cannibalism, and general malevolence. However, in ages past, legends depicted them not as monsters, but as a range of neutral to benevolent individuals, such as traveling companions, guardians, and knights. The robust legacy of the werewolf spans from prehistory, through ancient Greece and Rome, to the Middle Ages, into the Early Modern period, and finally into present-day popular culture. Over the ages, the view of the werewolf has become distorted. Media treatment of werewolves is associated with inferior writing, lacking in thought, depth, and meaning. Werewolves as characters or creatures are now generally seen as single-minded and one-dimensional, and they want nothing more than to kill, devour, and possibly violate humans. Hollywood depictions have resulted in the destruction of the true meanings behind werewolf legends that fascinated and terrified humans for so many ages. If these negative trends were reversed, perhaps entertainment might not only discover again some of the true meanings behind the werewolf myth, but also take the first steps toward reversing negative portrayals of wolves themselves, which humans have, for eons, wrongfully stigmatized and portrayed as evil, resulting in wolves receiving crueler treatment than virtually any other animal. To revive the many questions posed by lycanthropy, entertainment must show respect to the rich history of so many cultures all around the world – and rediscover the legend of the werewolf.

P.S.: Thank you so much to all my wonderful followers here who've stuck with me since I was but a smol blogger. I love and appreciate you all, and I hope you're having a wonderful spooky season. <3

[ohnoitstbskyen]

let's spend an hour and a half enjoying the Heartsteel himbos | PARANOIA animation analysis

I have decidedly mixed feelings on the Heartsteel band splash art, which are intensified by the degree to which their 3 minute music video was able to near-instantly endear me to every one of these idiot himboyband doofuses.

Heartsteel is a project that suffers a lot in being compared to True Damage and K/DA, which are the most obvious points of comparison to draw, especially since Riot seems (at least to me) to have committed rather fewer resources to their virtual band project this go around. Wisely, thus, the Hearsteel project decided to attempt a very different narrative and emotional vibe with its characters from previous efforts. Where K/DA and True Damage both presented their characters as untouchable pop-gods at the top of their game, bragging about their accomplishments, Heartsteel comes from almost exactly the opposite place.

PARANOIA is a fearful, defensive, defiant song composed and performed like a triumphal power-anthem, coming from the perspective of a group of industry outsiders who have all been devalued or burned by the mainstream.

Ezreal is a one-hit-wonder whose image got run into the ground by controlling management, Yone a legendary producer burned out on industry conformity. Kayn is a pop music bad boy whose spiteful arrogance broke up his last band, K'Sante an ambitious vocal powerhouse who could never find creative partners, and Sett a disgraced rapper who lost his contract for punching a paparazzo.

These, then, are not pop-gods gracing the mortal realm with images of their brilliance, but a bunch of down-and-out losers and untapped talents trying to claw back their careers with nothing but found-family dynamics, the power of friendship, and Jackass-style promotional stunts in their arsenal. The music video depicts them running a night-time raid on a film studio, stealing props and causing god knows how much property damage trying to film their own comeback music video.

It doesn't.... quite nail the grunge independent vibe that it seems to want to go for, it has a rather inconsistent diegesis, and trying to cram character moments for six characters into a three minute song compresses the pace of the video to an almost manic emotional experience. I found that most of its setpieces and ideas did not land with me at all until a third or fourth re-watch, and going through the video frame-by-frame so I could actually take in what the video was trying to say.

Once I did, I enjoyed it a LOT. The character animation is expressive, dynamic and immensely charming. There's a ton of great texture work going on, interesting lighting, extremely creative effects, and the emotional heart of the video - the genuine affection between the band members as expressed through boyish shenanigans - hits brilliantly... once you slow the video down enough to really see it. There is also a truly astonishing amount of work put into flash frames and scribbly visual effects, and an absolute embarrassment of screenshots that could be wallpapers.

Anyway, I spent an hour and a half talking about a three-minute music video because I am the world's easiest sucker for charming character animation. Care to join me?

[mann-walter]

My Thoughts After Getting Back from the World Where Every Man is Named Thomas

There is a good somebody who uploads Wolf Hall’s first episode “Three Card Trick” on YouTube, and without compromised sound or image quality at that. So, I’ve just finished watching that, and boy, do I have thoughts on it.

It was such a brilliant episode overall, but specifically laudable in how it wasted nothing, not time, not dialogue, not character. I love how quickly and yet still masterfully it established Cromwell’s relationship with other pivotal characters, his past, and his character. I love that relative to how much the episode managed to convey or at least, imply, the dialogue was really scant. The usage of silence, facial expressions, and gestures was amazing. I’m sending big virtual hugs to all the actors, especially Mark Rylance and his eyebrows—no, I’m serious. They were such great help.

Honestly, Wolsey reminds me a lot of Richard Harris’s Dumbledore, or Dumbledore in general. I do think, taking the story as it is, without looking too much into the actual history, as in the complex motivations that must’ve gone into this relationship, Cromwell and Wolsey’s relationship is meant to be looked at in that way. A protégé and his master.

I love the domestic scenes with Cromwell and his family. Another great example of humanity and familiarity in this series. They drove me to think that despite all the weird hoods the ladies wore and despite angels’ wings still being depicted as multicolored and not white, I know these people. Cromwell and his wife Elizabeth “Liz” are our typical mum and dad who love their kids very much, talk about their kids’ puppy love interests, and argue once in a while on how to best bring up the family. Yet, to me, the most touching and tender moment is their daughters’ death. There’s something in the way the maids frantically try to wake them up and Cromwell softly telling them “Don’t”, asking them to just let the girls rest. Obviously, the whole thing was debunking the myth of pre-modern people not loving their children, but there’s something else, something more. Maybe it’s just that I’ve never seen Medieval/early modern people be that loving on-screen before.

[gaminghardwareingames]

Super Smash Bros. Melee - Part 1

FDrom https://www.spriters-resource.com/gamecube/ssbm/

From https://tcrf.net/Super_Smash_Bros._Melee/Version_Differences

[encachette]

𝒔𝒆𝒆 𝒚𝒂 𝒔𝒑𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒘𝒃𝒐𝒚… ch. 1

3, 2, 1… 𝓁ℯ𝓉’𝓈 𝒿𝒶𝓂!

❣ 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.

.⋆⭒˚.⋆☾ .🪐˖☽⋆⭒˚.⋆

[notafanbut]

Okay, back again to try to make sense of this. I agree the slow burn is now a tiny disappearing ember.... Guys guys....

Anyway, we have Taichi who actually is (for all his friends) lonely. He's working multiple jobs, his parents rejected him, and he has low self esteem he covers over by playing the class clown... Every word Maya says to him (whilst often true - the notes) is a stab to the heart, proof, if needed, that he is lacking. In the last 3 episodes how many times has he been told (by pretty much everyone) that Kouhei doesn't need him, that he adds no value.... And he is internalising all this.

Kouhei has done virtually nothing to counter this (aside from the notes scene), he never contradicts Maya when Taichi is there, he never says 'no, that's not how I see it'. Now Kouhei sees himself as burden, he needs Taichi and he knows that, but and this is the big BUT he doesn't see that Taichi needs him. He 'frees' Taichi - I'll be fine, I don't need you - because he thinks this is what he needs to do for Taichi. He doesn't get how WRONG he is....

Tachai doesn't know how to say 'i need you, I want you' because no one has ever stayed, no one has wanted him and now he is convinced that history is repeating itself. Kouhei sees himself as lesser and lacking and can't see what (besides bentos) he gives to Taichi....

Said it before Kouhei really, REALLY needs to be there for Taichi, to get Taichi needs him, to get his sunshine boy is not as confident as he appears.....

I know a lot of people don't agree, but I think it's a great character study, a great depiction of growth and development.

On a separate note everyone goes on about Taichi's 'what if I don't hate it' in Ep 6, but there is the implication Kouhei didn't hear it. (He may of course have pretended) And Taichi has given no other indication since then, so no wonder Kouhei is sitting with his unrequited love..... So where is the intervention going to come from?

[solarisleech]

what's your basic impression of all the utapri characters?

My basic impressions of everybody, hm?

This was tough, trying to distill my thoughts back down to the basics, but I’m glad I got this ask! Even then, I did go a bit further than “basic”, and I apologize if that’s not what you wanted from me.

Thank you for getting me to actually write down my impressions for the HEAVENS boys, lol. Those are first impressions, since I have only seen their anime appearances (haven’t translated a lot of Live Emotion).

I went in the… Official (?) character order, and challenged myself to say as little as I physically could.

So here we go!

—

Otoya

Not gonna lie, initially I fell for his appearance as the “sunshine boy”. It was hard not to.

Then The Incident in Season 4 happened. And the camping special.

He really is like a sunflower. I appreciate his brightness more now that I’m starting to see the shadows he hides. Very excited to continue his route in Repeat!

Masato

Didn’t think much of him at first, since he’s so quiet in the anime.

Then found out how silly he was in the rest of the canon. I still remember how charmed I was when I found out he learned how to interact with girls exclusively from books, lol.

He is genuinely polite, but has an awkward streak beneath due to his lack of experience. It’s inspiring to see how he persisted despite his father’s demands, before standing up to him. He’s in my top 5 characters!

Natsuki

Initially thought he was a cutie, turns out, he always was a cutie! Another top 5 favorite of mine.

I was bothered by the slight infantilization he gets in the anime, but, it tapered off and was/is virtually non existent in Shining Live and Live Emotion, thankfully.

I was shocked that Satsuki isn’t the… worst DID depiction I’ve ever seen? Still has major problems, though.

Tokiya

Thought he’d be my favorite, was proven wrong. Had a similar opinion towards him as I did with Masato when I first watched the anime.

But that, too, was quickly rectified by other materials! What really stands out to me is his realistically bad relationship with food?

He’s dealt with a lot of loneliness, and his chronic perfectionism doesn’t help. Luckily, he’s loosened up a little in more recent canon. I’m really curious about all of his VN routes, though.

Ren

My baby. My love. In my top 3. Though, it took me a while to really fall for him.

I wish the anime kept him a little meaner pre-his development, like the VNs seem to. (Baby asshole Ren is very funny) Though, I don’t know if it would have fit very well…

Once he opens up to everyone else, he’s just so sweet, it melts me. But, of course, he’s still a big fan of teasing. He’s well balanced, I hate that some of his exes have canonically called him boring, lol.

Syo

Admittedly, I need to learn more about him. My first impression was that he was hot-headed, but still kind. Probably because he was used for a lot of comic relief in the anime…

I love that the reason he’s motivated to become so strong and active is due to how sick he was his entire childhood.

I do like him, but I don’t know as much about him as I’d like to. Syo-stans, please infodump on me.

Cecil

My first impression was “WTF”, due to him bringing in magic to the anime. Then, more “wtf” once I learned about the themes of his Repeat route. (Excited to get to that)

Embarrassingly, I still need some Cecil lovers to enlighten me. I want to learn more!

My overall impression as of now is that he’s very affectionate with pretty much everyone and kinda aloof. I do love him a lot despite my lack of knowledge.

Reiji

Another! Top! Three! Boy!

My love for him is what cemented me into Utapri. I have so many thoughts.

He’s so broken. He’s desperate for somebody to save him, but pushes everybody away when they get too close. He’s still so kind to everyone despite that. He’s the glue that keeps QN together. He—

Ranmaru

Another character I didn’t think much about initially. The anime doesn’t do a great job at portraying his softer side.

But he’s such a chill dude, trauma based aversion to women aside. His abandonment trauma fuels a lot of his “unsavory” behavior in the VN, which, I get.

I was worried he’d be more like a jock, but was pleasantly surprised by this rockerboy.

Ai

I was not interested in him at all at first, again, blame the anime. That was my first exposure.

But the minute I learned about the baggage he has with Reiji, suddenly everything makes sense. Then, I specifically read through the Soda event story in Shining Live, and started to love him more. His weird collections are relatable!

Overall a curious soul. Standoffish and slightly rude at the start. Though, he always maintains his “rude” streak, unintentionally. He’s charmingly blunt with… well, everything!

Camus

My final top three boy! I hated him at the start! Again, the anime doesn’t paint a good picture. He was very much an asshole.

I now think he’s an asshole… but with extreme depth. I am fascinated by him. Mr. Child soldier. He canonically has no romance experience because he studied the blade. I GET why he’s like that.

He’s someone who was taught to bury his feelings since he was a very young child, so opening up is… a struggle. But once he does, he’s a bit of a prankster, picking on people as a way to show affection. Once he’s fully melted down, he’s heavily grateful to everyone who got him to that point. He’s got a core as sweet as the tea he makes.

Eiichi

Initially I thought he was just evil.

I get it now. I think? The “evil” seems to be his way of protecting himself from his father’s… shit. I’m interested in this man.

Kira

He is a man… of few… words.

Initially had no opinion past recognizing his seiyuu… But he’s very sweet! It feels weird that his backstory is just… Masato’s if he wasn’t afraid of his dad.

Nagi

This is a child. I found him kinda annoying.

Natsuki’s duet episode did NOT help, but I can’t exactly blame him for that. He’s a kid.

I’m… tentatively eager to learn more about him. I wanna see what’s past the narcissism.

Eiji

…I don’t know anything about this man. I barely remember his name half the time.

He’s just a kind dude? Who’s, idk, a musical savant, I guess. I’m sure his ability to blend into the background helps him avoid his terrible dad.

Van

I don’t know how to feel about him. His vibe is strange. It’s reminds me of how jarring Camus’ butler persona was at first.

His episode was not it. Though it was very cool to see Haruka’s growth, with her calmly rejecting him.

Yamato

Why is he an idol? I genuinely want someone to explain his deal to me, I have no idea what’s up with this guy.

He is what I thought Ranmaru would be.

Shion

He is clearly very sensitive. And shy. I wanna know why, though?

Like, Cecil didn’t do anything particularly wrong in their episode.

What happened to Shion? Why did he react like that?

—

Aaaand we’re done!

(This was my attempt at brevity. God.)

I think you can tell that my favorite group is Quartet Night.

And HEAVENS fans, please tell me about your boys. Season 4 left me wanting when it came to HEAVENS’ entire deal.

[kaibutsushidousha]

Does Van-Fem meets your expectation as a character?

What might be difference between fate and tsuki verse version.

His demeanor is very different from what I expected, but in a very "I should have seen this coming" way. I knew he was a guy who liked Flat a lot, after all. As the vampire who loves human innovation, he always sounded like the "good guy" among Dead Apostle Ancestors, which he very much turned out to be, but I wasn't ready for the affable magician presentation. The extent to which he keeps up with the trends is also beyond my expectations. I would never have imagined this man to have played a Virtual Boy.

Van-Fem was always described as a highly accomplished businessman and as a Dead Apostle technically on Arcueid's side in the Crimson Moon successor conflict not by any personal merit of Arcueid but because he has personal beef with both Ortenrosse and Altrouge, so I imagined him with more of a cutthroat personality. His previous depictions showed him as a person with unbendable personal rules at the most arbitrary subjects, such as never sucking blood from engineers in Mr. Dawn's backstory or not allowing Jester to hold double standards in FsF, and that's kinda reflected in the lengths he goes to reward Shirou and to lesser extent in his refusal to step on dirt in his debut scene, but he never felt scary in Adventures the way he did before. That's probably the biggest difference between Fate and Tsuki for him. The Tsuki counterpart is gambling at a higher game.

But the overall answer to the question is that I like Van-Fem a lot better than I liked what I thought he'd be.

[sparxaf]

The Inscrutability of Alex

So I might be working on an S7 Alex fic. I mean, I'm probably not working that. But I could be. Maybe. Anyway, for mysterious reasons, I decided to replay the current episodes because I found myself confused by a couple things with Alex. And a second playthrough left me even more confused. I sent @mrsbsmooth a nearly three minute, babbling voice note, asking her if I was missing something, because I cannot figure out how to write him.

This character is described by multiple others as having "golden retriever" energy. Something he absolutely does not have. I'd say he's not even that playful. It's just bizarre for anyone to say that. Nothing about him is overly energetic. Both Raf and Bryson are much better described like that. Alex has the most whistle-whilst-mowing-the-lawn-in jorts-dad energy ever. Golden retriever he is not.

So okay, his energy doesn't match the description. That's not a huge issue on its own. But like...who is he? He says he's not cocky, just confident.

Hmmm. Never is a strong word, innit?

Now, a less cynical person might say that Fusebox is just writing a realistic depiction of someone who is unaware of his own cockiness, but since I am a cynical asshole, I'm saying that Fusebox is not in the business of nuance. They make the same amount of money whether they spend the extra energy to give it depth or not. So they're never gonna bother with that. This is just inconsistent writing. Now, we all know that Alex's most overtly acknowledged trait is his desire to "Take things slow." He says he's looking for the one, and he's not gonna rush that. He knows things move fast there, but he still wants to take his time. He didn't kiss Estelle on the first night. He was uncomfortable with Summer being so forward before he knew anything about her. So how does a guy who takes things slow answer a question from a virtual stranger about what he does for a living?

A dirty joke. Yes, very much setting the tone for his lack of cockiness and his desire to take things slow 🙄 Though I do enjoy MC responding with "Very presumptive, but good to know." 😆😆😆 Not to mention, when he finds out you can snog during the icebreaker, he's not like, "Um too soon." Instead his eyes light up like he can't wait. It's so baffling. So let's say maybe he's just a slow mover who is also really flirty by nature. That feels like he's sending mixed signals at best and manipulating you at the worst. Now this one really threw me for a loop. There's a gem scene where you can ask the boys to tell you something cute about themselves. Alex tells a story about having a crush on a gym bunny and how it led him to weightlifting in order to ask her out. But he kept putting it off and by the time he finally got the nerve, she was already dating someone. So he learned not to hesitate. He learned to just go for it.

Um... what? That's a strange perspective to have for someone whose entire ethos is "Take it slow." Now, I'm aware that he is very straight forward with MC about where his head is at, so perhaps he just meant that he doesn't waste time letting someone know he's interested, but he still wants to take the relationship slow? I don't know. Last, but not least, on night one, you couldn't even kiss Alex (unless I'm misremembering). You could only snuggle. But on night two, Alex says he still wants to take it slow, but he wants to a little something. So the game gives us some options. And the first choice was to do bits. Now, this might be my fault, but I assumed that "bits" in this case would be some kissing and making out. Heavy petting. Maybe some under the clothes touching. But, to my utter shock, no it's not just a heavy make out sesh. Nope. He finger blasts you. He straight up bypasses the face lips and tiddies, and goes straight to rubbing the bean and shoving a digit inside of your person. It's an awfully intimate act for someone like him who's only been alone with you three times, and beyond challenge smooches (if you chose to even take those), has still never really made out with, nor kissed you privately. I would like to clarify that I'm not judging how fast or slow anyone goes in their personal lives. But I am I'm judging this character's pace in relation to the things he's been saying about his pace.

I wrote most of this before the last batch of episodes so I'll only lightly touch on the fact that Alex seems nearly ready to ask you to marry him the day after bringing you to the villa. So "taking it slow" really went out the window altogether.

Long story long, there are aspects to Alex I like. I mean, I'm writing him right now (OR AM I?) so it's not all bad. But it's really hard to attempt any canon reinterpretation, when I can't even sort out what canon is.

It just doesn't make sense. Is he cocky or not? Is he a slow mover or does he believe in not wasting time? Is he an inner city gym rat bro, or is he a home-on-the-range papa who wants to build you a cottage, and make babies? Is his whole "slow burn" thing some kind of manipulation to hide that he's a fuckboy (which would be hilarious) or he's just very badly written?

I love a good, lively conversation, so go ahead and let me know your thoughts. But for those who are rather... overly invested in Alex, feel free to yell at me about his perfection and how wrong and dumb I am. I look forward to deleting your vitriol.

[sinful-karateka]

sometimes i'd do the Very Normal Thing of recalling and cross-referencing certain events that happened in Boys of Stupidly Optimistic Grandeur, and each time i attempt to be normal about the story, i fail so badly every time. hitched breath and cold sweats type beat.

with the way canon events have framed Demetri to be the one who pursues MIT and Eli floating someplace (hopefully) near Boston, it seems like the logical approach to let them keep in touch. like that should be it, right? (at this point in writing, Part 3 hasn't been released; i don't know what the writers' plans are.) a few ways before that though, MIT already made sense for the both of them, but having to separate two best friends who've gone so much physical and emotional turmoil had always been the sands i vehemently wanted to sculpt and play with, in any piece of media that depicted tight friendship-relationship. it's firing the clay pot in the kiln. the trench talk before battlefields get busy and one books in the middle of it before they disappear, and you're not too sure if both of you come out alive after that. separation and longing for the next time, should there even be one. and nobody's dying -- it's just the burying of old memories, allegiances, and investments down the six-foot hole. it's why i love BoSOG and by extension its sequel, even if i have virtually no idea if it's most of the fandom's cup of tea.

to everyone who's read and is reading it so far though, thank you very much from the bottom of my corn heart. 🥺

[cringecompanionapologist]

Women That Turlough Has Been Depicted Being Attracted To

This almost definitely isn't a complete list, but it's what I can definitely confirm.

TW: The two PDA examples are dubcon at best.

Imperial Moon (Past Doctor Adventure, Christopher Bulis, 2000): Lytalia

Gets Turlough to fall in love with her as part of an evil plan. Her species produces pheromones that can sort of mind control humanoid males. Trions are humanoid males, so it’s possible that he became infatuated with her because of mind control pheromones that would make virtually any humanoid male fall for her.

The King of Terror (Past Doctor Adventure, Keith Topping, 2000): Eva Oblon

Turlough seems out of character going to a bar, getting absolutely wasted, and actively trying to pick up girls. Eva lures him to her apartment and turns out to be an evil alien who needs alien DNA to take of the world. This leads to an extended period of uncomfortably sexualized torture and her continuing to flirt with him for no practical reason, since he’s afraid of her now. He violently murders her and calls her a bitch and I honestly don’t blame him.

Loups-Garoux (Big Finish, Marc Platt, 2001): Rosa Caiman

It’s implied that they have sex but in a way that’s very easy to interpret as chaste cuddling that Rosa sees more significance in than Turlough does. When the Doctor brings her up to Turlough he says there’s nothing between them.

Kiss of Death (Big Finish, Stephen Cole, 2011): Deela

A past relationship on Trion. Turlough was the bad boy Deela’s dad told her to stay away from. In the present, Turlough will only kiss her when literally held at gunpoint.

Gardens of the Dead (Big Finish Short Trip, Jenny T Colgan, 2016): Nyssa

Apparently Turlough had a crush on Nyssa that lasted forever. Because everyone has a crush on Nyssa in Big Finish. That probably includes Peter Davison and at least half the writers.

So we have a situation that can be blamed on mind control, a situation involving alcohol, torture, and a lack of consent, an ambiguous possible misunderstanding, awkwardly executed backstory, and the same crush that basically every character in Big Finish Doctor Who has.