#I just feel very strongly that the Joker should die a death lacking any and all narrative gravitas

[regallibellbright]

Sometimes I think about my ideal Batman story, in which the Joker is killed by some nameless random Gothamite in the middle of a scheme with no build-up whatsoever, no mystique, just some henchman who he's turning on just saying "fuck it" and shooting him or some hostage managing to get free and then hit him repeatedly with their own chair until he doesn't get back up. It's quick. No one stops them. They're all too shocked it's working to stop them, and at the end of the day, EVERYONE wants that clown gone. That's the first action sequence and it's done by the end of issue one, preferably even at the three-quarters mark. (As far as I can tell he is considered dead at the moment, but it was climactic and showy and while he presumably exploded we all know he'll be back and probably be revealed to have never died at all somehow, and I want him dying in the most anticlimactic way possible.)

The rest of the arc's just dealing with the fallout. We see his body at the coroner's and confirm it is disposed of (thoroughly and in secret, so there's nowhere for assholes to visit or necromancers to try and resurrect.) People across Gotham throw parties. Some people OUTSIDE Gotham throw parties. Batman is in the cave making sure literally every means of resurrection is NOT available to the Joker, thank you VERY much, because he gets to be JUST shy of fourth wall-aware and therefore recognizes this is never going to stick and he'll be back as soon as the next writer comes on. No alternate universe versions are able to come through. There is no DNA from which to clone him. It wasn't a body double, a Doombot, or an elaborate illusion. He has been 100% confirmed to be 100% dead like three times in this issue alone. No time traveling Jokers to account for. Everyone else thinks Bruce is overreacting but when the Joker does inevitably come back ideally Bruce does get a scene being utterly unsurprised because on some level he understands that he is stuck with this fucking clown forever no matter what he does.

We get a mention that the random Gothamite IS put on trial for murder but it's unanimously ruled self-defense. This is the one circumstance where I'm willing to give this Gothamite a name. It is important to me they never appear again after this. They are here to kill the Joker and then recede back into the crowd.

Because the point is that the Joker dies like a fucking loser, because he's not some unkillable mastermind force of chaos, he's just a clown whose biggest win was killing a twelve-year-old, a feat he only got away with at the time because of an incredibly convoluted and even MORE incredibly racist plot point about him somehow getting named an Iranian ambassador. (No, seriously. That happened. It is every bit as terrible as you're thinking. There's a reason why adaptations cut it, but it's TELLING that the writers felt the need to come up with this contrived reason for why the Joker could kill Robin and live to tell the tale so they wouldn't have to utterly BREAK Batman as a character whether he breaks the rule or not.) Jason Todd is alive again. His second biggest win was shooting someone I'm pretty sure he didn't know was a superheroine, which was entirely incidental to his desire to torture her father which was ITSELF incidental to his desire to prove a point to Batman. And I have the DEEPLY mixed feelings of a disabled person who thinks Barbara Gordon's treatment in TKJ and especially editorial's approach to it was atrocious but who still deeply appreciates Oracle as a wheelchair user and such a nontraditional superhero, but ultimately: Yeah that's no longer a win for him, either.

So the Joker dies, it's made entirely clear that he is dead, he dies in a way that underlines how fundamentally pathetic he is and how fundamentally RIDICULOUS it is no one in Gotham did it before that point (because if you're going to die either way, why not go down swinging?), everyone celebrates, eventually even Batman's hypervigilance is appeased enough to eat some cake, and we get a good few years without that fucking clown everywhere until he inevitably returns. Hopefully by that point, everyone in reality considers how absolutely BORED they are of the Joker as some Ultimate Evil Super Successful Murder Clown of Doom, and when he does come back it's a version who's much more funny than scary.

Yes, my favorite episode of BTAS is Joker's Favor, but I don't think that changes the fact that the clown is overplayed and that having villains around who routinely kill is just narratively and objectively a bad choice to put with a character who you're defining by "does not kill". Like, you as the writer are weakening your own central thesis and then you have to come up with elaborate justifications why Batman Not Killing is right (because these comics are nominally still being sold to children, and also editorial will never let you ACTUALLY do it) when you could just solve the problem by not having the villains Batman fights routinely kill people. Knock it off. Yeah it's unrealistic but superheroes are inherently unrealistic, and yes, I'm including Batman, do you KNOW how much any given injury writers consider routine ACTUALLY fucks you up long-term?

Don't even get me started on Victor Zsasz.

Anyway I saw DC's doing a Joker Year One next year and just wanted to get that off my chest. Carry on.

[aaluminiumas]

Die for Me

あなたこそが “ 海賊王 ” に なる男

Lukewarm blood gushed out from the deep wounds. Ripping apart huge chunks of flesh and feeling the solidity of a bone inside, Monet genuinely relished her superiority savoring every note of the harrowing, blood-curdling shriek the woman in her deadly embrace emitted.

That Marine girl was no good at all; her tactics may not be exactly lame or useless, nor did she lack fervor or courage, but she turned out to be too modest and polite to attack – and also feeble. While the Marines claimed to have implemented a variety of brand-new top-notch techniques that would improve fighting skills of nearly any novice, they tended to send weaklings barely able to resist a simple scuffle, let alone serious combat with high ranks such as her or Caesar. This one wasn’t an exception to the rule: though promoted, Tashigi proved her disability to be on the offensive, thus confirming Monet’s expectations and dispelling the illusion of power Smoker had successfully created earlier.

“I adore it when you yell so desperately,” the Harpy muttered nonchalantly in the unctuous voice, her lips smeared with blood. “So I might break your scapula just for fun. My fangs can go through bone like butter. What a lovely day we are having, aren’t we?.. Care to brighten it further?”

Monet’s viselike grip tightened, and a bone cracked; Tashigi’s scream of utter anguish pierced the chaos and turmoil. In a moment, the woman limped in the Harpy’s wings. This last shrill seemed to have deserted her internally, leaving little to no stamina to stand up for herself and resist the throes shooting through her fragile body. The Harpy, though, felt no remorse or contrition. Quite on the contrary, she yielded into the perverse pleasure of being in charge – her well-nurtured sadistic inclinations and proclivities could finally splurge and flourish. Normally, it was Doflamingo whose hatred of the Marines came unwrapped. He was always in command; he was always aware of the potential threat and danger that could strike at any given moment, and now she could defend him from this invasion without an innuendo on his part. He had protected her in the past, bestowed a shelter, and took care of her younger sister—

“Enough.”

A low voice, hardly louder than Tashigi’s shallow breath muffled all the sounds, including explosions and the clash in the distant rooms. A swordsman with cold resolution in the single eye stood there, unmoving, his face serious, yet completely unreadable.

Monet’s fine features contorted in a lopsided smirk, her head withdrawing from Tashigi’s injured shoulder. Spoiled by pride, the swordsman didn’t seem to see a worthy opponent in her. Good for him, she thought. The Marine’s death would be on his hands – after all, he couldn’t compare to one of the best soldiers among the Donquixotes.

“I said enough,” he growled quietly, advancing and raising his katana, the silver eye narrowing. “Didn’t you hear?”

“She shouted too loudly. Should I shut her up?” Monet’s voice remained vaguely flirtatious, her antics jaunty, but the swordsman betrayed no emotion whatsoever. Instead, without a single warning, he pivoted forward, sword at the ready. Prancing at superhuman speed, the man neatly cut her in half – her logia powers weren’t a mere obstacle to him or his blade.

“I’m a Logia, you fool,” Monet spat with a haughty grin, “You think I’m scared?”

That fact alone contributed to her arrogance and hoity-toity attitude. While the majority of the Donquixote Family had to satisfy themselves with commonplace and hackneyed Paramecias, she got lucky – Doflamingo brought in a Logia fruit, the rarest type, and presented it to her. He might have intended to give it to Vergo, who hadn’t joined the number of the fruit-eaters and preferred to use his innate physical force. At any rate, such thoughts barely intruded on her mind: Doflamingo, the Young Master she worshipped, literally made her a gift desired by many. And what a scenery it was: he called in a meeting, ordered his favorite delicacies, thus forcing the whole city to cook for him, and sprawled across his improvised throne. Trebol, giggling under his breath, Diamante with his ever-lasting smirk, the imperturbable Pica, Vergo with the rigorous mien… Well, she was never part of the elite – nor did she plan to climb higher. The seat beside Doflamingo’s feet seemed comfortable enough to occupy – this position turned her into a valuable asset, who caught all the messages and orders intoned in a low, seductive voice. Despite that, the Young Master did not banish her – he remained seated, asking her to tell them all about her first murder – committed with a taste.

Logia powers made the bearer almost invincible, and Monet, a proficient user, trained by the best, especially by Vergo, knew what she was worth.

“I’m a Logia,” the Harpy repeated, the blizzard howling louder. “It doesn’t hurt me.”

“We’ll see,” came the answer.

Not even looking at her, the man grabbed the wounded woman and hurried to the exit, while Monet, absolutely dumbfounded, discovered that she could not get together. What appeared to be a single cut turned out to be a series of swift swishes in the air that slashed her snow-made body in a split second with the power that significantly surpassed her own. The result unfolded in slow motion: the more time went, the more it hurt; paralyzed, she listlessly perused the gashes opening in her skin – the man had inflicted much more damage than she had initially anticipated.

Furious, lacerated by what seemed to be a hundred blades, Monet yelled – and realized that it caused another wound to splay. The flesh got torn apart somewhere in her stomach and sent an impetus to the lungs prompting another incision to dehisce. The blood spurted up and flushed out from her mouth, staining the green shirt. Coughing, gagging, and covering her lips with a defective wing that had also been slit and now painted vermillion, the Harpy leaned over a gigantic machine with a red button on its panel. Half-conscious, she stared at it – it certainly was a way out. If she pushes it, the whole island will go up in flames. Nobody survived, case closed. Nobody discovers the dirty scheme Vergo had initiated in the Marine to abduct kids; nobody learns about the dubious experiments of the ambiguous nature performed by Caesar. Nobody connects Young Master – her Young Master – to the helter-skelter in the lab, nobody–

Her consciousness drifted away; small lacerations proved to be even worse than the deeper ones – blood didn’t stop from dripping, and she couldn’t control the amount she had lost. Falling to the ground, quivering, Monet twitched her wings in a fruitless attempt to maintain balance. It was overkill, anyway, at least she deemed so. Her wounds were fatal; she very well understood that she was a goner – but it was still in her power to prevent future events from happening.

Suddenly, Monet heard the quiet mumbling of a snail. Caesar, concerned about Joker’s supervision and unremitting control (the notion he strongly believed but which wasn’t true to the fact: Doflamingo, after Monet’s infiltration, called every once in a while, just to give the man heebie-jeebies, in case he felt lazy), installed snails everywhere, each equipped with a unique number. Only Joker could have access to them – no one else would be able to call here, the sanctum sanctorum of the lab.

The injured wing reached for the receiver, then twitched and fell. Trembling, the Harpy moaned in agony, choked on the blood, and made a feeble attempt to get up. Didn’t work; her face contorted in pure anguish. Invincible, trained, fortified by a number of experiments conducted under Doflamingo’s supervision, she never expected a failure. Especially a failure like this.

The snail kept grumbling, Monet whimpered; struggling to stand up, the Harpy felt a million needles skewering into her body, avulsing the thinnest and the tiniest blood vessels. She had to be slow not to disturb the veins that still remained intact. Making a superhuman effort, Monet propped herself up, her chest heaving, her wings jittered ever so slightly.  Panting, leaning over the tremendous apparatus towering over her, the Harpy managed to answer the call.

“Monet?” called a low, mellifluous voice coming from a snail. “Monet, do you read?”

“Yes, Young Master,” she mustered her shattered self to respond.

“I do not have the slightest idea what is happening right now,” he drawled pensively, “But it is certainly far from the plan I have drawn up.”

“They– they snatched Caesar.”

Doflamingo paused, pondering over her words. That loudmouth fool, calling himself a genius, failed to kick the teenager’s ass and let himself get captured by a bunch of mere kids playing real pirates. It had been funny to hear that that Strawhat Luffy defeated Sir Crocodile, one of the most feared and infamous warlords; after all, Doflamingo shook hands with the man and knew exactly what his weaknesses were, but Caesar Clown was another thing. First off, he claimed himself to be a brilliant scientist, and, in fact, he had managed to synthesize a drug that made children comparable to giants in force and probably in size. Furthermore, he used his earlier formulae and calculations, retrieved the readouts of the past experiments to create artificial Devil Fruits. So, he clearly was not a complete idiot. However, he employed none of his ingenious tricks to kill the annoying brat on sight when he had the opportunity.  Too bad the factory couldn’t work without his involvement – otherwise, Doflamingo himself would’ve got disposed of Caesar as well.

“Monet,” he finally spoke, his voice dropping down a notch. “You were loyal to me.”

“Till the end, Young Master,” she muttered, her voice not louder than a susurrus of wind.

“Die for me.” He commanded coolly, his eyes staring into space unwinkingly. “Monet, die for me and send this place to hell. Take them all along with you.”

“Yes, Young Master. I will do as you please.”

Her lips, covered with blood and gore, stretched in a gentle smile addressed to no one in particular. He cared about her. He wanted her to perform this last task for him, in the name of his future achievements and accomplishments, and she would not let him down.

She raised her wing, slightly quavering, preparing to hit the red button. Exuding a quiet hum, the Harpy lowered it – and gasped, immediately falling onto the ground with a loud, heavy thump.

“Monet?.. Monet, what’s happened? Monet, can you hear me?..”

She uttered a wheezing sound, and her visage froze in a rictus of death.

[pilawforhire]

@bookofaion asked:

(( bro, I miss your HCs, give me something about Law & how he views the past, what are his big regrets, what are things he reflects on most? besides Corazon's death, what's something he would like to change? does he believe 'everything happens for a reason' or nah? ))

//Hey, Ane! Thank you so much for the ask. It really got me thinking, and I haven’t been thinking about such deeper topics in a long time. I don’t think I could express my thoughts well in this, so please excuse the rambling, if things don’t make sense, and the very disorganised everything.

Reflections:

“Death surrounds us. If there’s one thing you can count on in life, it’s the infallible, all-embracing hand of death, and the permanence and irreversibility of its fatal touch. Death is an old friend of mine, but also a teacher, a companion: lifelong, eternal.”

Given the death he’s witnessed, death lurking in every corner one turns, the ‘death’ tattooed on his fingers (a reminder, now), I think death and mortality would feature commonly in his reflections – not with pessimism, not necessarily with despair, but as a stimulus to live; reflecting on death in order to reflect on life, its impermanence (in the scope of an individual’s), its shortness of nature, ever-changing.

For instance, thoughts on: why death is generally feared, the lessons death has taught him, how he should like to die (by his own hand, ideally within his control, but not alone), what a good death would be like (facing death with courage, dying for a worthy cause; what is called a reason for living is also an excellent reason for dying), when is it time to let go, and most importantly, why he should not die yet. Especially in his adolescence and/or young adulthood, owing to the losses he survived, and their ripples of anguish, it would’ve been crucial to ask, over and over, why he should live on – and how. How should he live. With strength, courage, dignity – exactly how he envisions he would die.

Of course, there’d also be reflections on the bigger decisions he’s made in life (with regards to his goals, the crew, etc.); reflections on his past (with a yearning, and a smidgen of loneliness), on how far he’s come (with incredulity; made it, after all), on his crew and Bepo’s friendship (with gratitude, appreciation); reflections on those he failed to save (I kind of headcanon that throughout his travels, in order to gain the experience as a doctor/surgeon, he would’ve helped civilians, either those who can’t afford to be treated in hospitals, or if he encounters someone who’s ill/hurt, or in clinics in smaller towns – granted, he could practise on corpses, but I doubt he’d turn down someone who needed help if it was within his means to treat them (‘bad’ guys aside; circumstances dependent); at least once he’d have failed to save a child, and the experience would’ve been humbling).

More in his younger years, he’d likely have reflected on numerous what-if scenarios, if Corazon had survived, etc.

How he views his past:

Over time, he’d have crawled along the path towards acceptance of the people he’s lost, though the sorrow is an undying presence (and would’ve, more so in the past, manifested as anger or irritation). Yet, on the path to acceptance, it’d still be difficult to fully let go of the guilt or self-blame, considering they spur him towards his goal, and his goal of fulfilling his legacy, taking down Joker, is everything that keeps him moving forwards.

I think, for the longest time, he viewed his past with regret; when he thought of the past, he thought only of everything he lost. But I’d like to think that later along his journey, although the past is still something he cannot talk openly about, without fear of it all spilling out in an overwhelming way, he’s able to reflect on the good times as well, with gratitude. He had a good, loving family; Corazon had given him hope, and his last dying breath. Yes, they were all taken from him too soon, but there were some fonder memories, bittersweet to relive.

Eventually, he wouldn’t think of his past as a burden or something that weighs him down, but more a series of events that has strengthened and taught him a number of things: courage to scrabble his way through and drag his leaden limbs back from the pitch darkness not once but time and time again, to embrace the suffering (albeit, possibly to an unhealthy extent; without suffering, how could he appreciate pleasures), the necessity of being prepared, that everyone dies (because life comes at a price) (but that death makes life meaningful; death gives us incentive to live), to appreciate the smaller things: his crew (they are his lifeboat), the sunrise, (every breath, every pain) – still, he was willing to give it all up for his goal.

Does he believe that everything happens for a reason?

I don’t think he’d ever be able to accept that his family’s and Corazon’s deaths happened for a reason, and he’d be of the opinion that reasons or meaning are just things humans attribute to circumstances out of their control in order to make sense of things. Nothing could explain or justify their deaths. Did they all really have to die so he would learn how to cope with grief and loss, and understand what suffering was like? In his teens, he would’ve brooded about the unfairness of life taking everything from him not once but twice, though eventually he’d have tried to use his past to empower himself instead, believing that he’d survived all that, he could survive anything – though this leads to him developing a belief in his invincibility (thus the necessity later on to remind himself of his mortality), by pushing himself always to the limits, braving harsh weather/conditions, disregarding colds or ailments.

Big regrets:

Aside from accidentally running to Vergo and disclosing Corazon’s undercover identity – I’d think he’d regret more of his states of being in the past: ignorant, inadequate, helpless, and he’s extra hard on himself in attempts to avoid stumbling into such scenarios again. On some level, he’d understand certain circumstances are out of his control – when he brought Vergo that document, he’d decided it was the best course of action to take – yet he’d strive to be as prepared as possible; can’t risk complacency or carelessness.

On the whole, in his adulthood, I don’t think he’d have big regrets. He’d be of the firm belief this is the path he’s meant to take. (And if he does have regrets about decisions made in battle or involving their voyage, those would be regrets he reflects on to learn from.)

As Viktor Frankl said: “Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms—to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way” – albeit, for Law, the path he chose was one rooted in feelings of guilt and despair.

Still, even after that talk with Sengoku post-Dressrosa, even after hearing the words he’d subconsciously been desiring to hear someone say to him all the years, that he was under no obligations, that Corazon saved him not just because of the ‘D’ in his name (paraphrasing the exact words because I don’t remember), if Law were able to return to the past and choose a different path, 101 out of 101 times, he would not have chosen differently. Even if taking out Doffy did not alleviate the sense of emptiness, that goal carried him 13 years, longer than any other would’ve (he thinks).

“He gave me life; he gave me a reason to live. I made a choice of my own free-will. Who’s to say any other path or choice would’ve resulted in a ‘better’ outcome? Would I have been better off not dedicating my life to pursuing Joker? No, I’d have been worse off.”

Besides, I think he may not be able to picture himself leading an ordinary, civilian life. It would be a generally safer, more stable and secure way of living, but at the risk of succumbing to ennui? He’d crave the heart-pounding adrenaline from fights, the thrills of walking a fine line between life and death (mocking, challenging, taunting death). (Though he doesn’t take unnecessary risks, especially since assuming his responsibilities as a captain.)

Besides Corazon's death, what's something he would like to change?

In all honesty, while he would’ve, in the past, wished he could’ve gone back in time and acted differently to save Corazon’s life, in the present, at 26, I think he’d have accepted Corazon as dead for over a decade, that he wouldn’t feel strongly about changing that. Not that he doesn’t wish he could speak to or see Corazon one last time, but he’s, over time, come to accept that such wishful thinking is completely pointless. Furthermore, I think he’d have gotten used to…mourning/missing him. Having him back would be undeserving. If Corazon is back, what excuse would he have to explain his self-destructiveness – it would mean that he ought to be absolved from the guilt (but he’s not ready to let that go). It would mean that he could maybe even be happy, and that is a scary thought. ‘Happiness’: terrifying, quite so very something he’s unaccustomed to letting himself experience. Although he’s reflected on death, mortality, it would still be nagging him in the back of his mind that one day he’d have to mourn Corazon again.

As for something else he’d like to change, his hirsuteness, or lack thereof. (In all seriousness, I haven’t thought of a good answer, sorry.) I think he may aim more for inner change first – forever wanting to a better self than who he was the day before. By better, I don’t necessarily mean doing ‘good’ but…more knowledgeable, tougher, experienced. To aim to stand ready and confident to take without flinching whatever life throws at him.

Because he will persevere. Granted, his resolve wavers from time to time, being that he is only human; there are weaker and lower moments and phases, but he persists because through and through, Law is a rebel. Guiltily, I would like to think he would rebel against the ocean of greyness that threatens to engulf.

He will never surrender. He’ll die fighting, like Corazon did.

And with a smile.

Probably giving the finger too.