Ya know, sumthin I didn’t notice before (and maybe I’m just blind), but Monster T totally has Joker’s gun. Like he pulled it out of his holster and is threatening him, and Joker pleading with his hands like that, like he is obviously not threatened at all and Harley is just like “yeah right, try it.” And then, like, Joker’s elbow resting on T’s thigh (pseudosexually?)…
Like joker is in a dangerous situation and still has the upper hand. Anyway, yeah I love that.
How about Captain Canary + medieval times + Sara pretending to be male so she can participate in the more exciting, less ladylike activities, and Leonard finds out but doesn't mind, and actually is rather impressed. It's not fantasy, but...
…but I can make it so, Number One.
Note: The emergency has passed. Thank you all so much for your prompts; I will be answering what’s already in my inbox.
After being accepted into the army, Sara could care less who knew her gender. She passed the training top of her class and has killed more creatures than any soldier in her regiment. Even if the commanders couldn’t see past their domineering lifestyles, they can’t deny that Sara Lance is easily worth ten men.
Regardless, she’s still surprised when General Snart takes one look at her and says, “I thought so.”
His dragon companion, Mikel, peeks over the ridge surrounding the lake—the lake that was supposed to be unoccupied once the men were finished their bathing—and replies, “What? Oh, that she’s a woman?”
Sara crosses her arms, heedless of her naked breasts. “You,” she says to the dragon, “I understand, as you have heightened senses. But you,” turning to General Snart, “how did you guess?”
Snart, equally unbothered by his own nudity, wades into the lake to begin washing. “My sister, Liselle, is the Sir Aldrich who slew an entire den of werewolves. If there is one thing I’ve learned, Lance, it’s not to underestimate a woman’s prowess.”
“You’re related to the woman behind Sir Aldrich’s helm?” Sara asks flatly.
Snart smirks. “You don’t believe me? How cold.”
Mikel rolls his gargantuan orange eyes. “If you wanna impress the lady, Snart, try not playing with your words.”
Sara, however, is smiling. “Are you trying to impress me, then?”
“You took on a flock of griffins single-handedly and won the day,” Snart says, as if that is his answer.
Her smile widens into a grin. “Well then, General, I’ll make you a deal: if you can beat me in hand-to-hand combat, I’ll consider letting you impress me.”
Mikel chuckles low in his chest as Snart instantly replies, “Deal.”
After yet another failed attempt—one of countless others—Sara at last takes pity on Leonard and asks for one of his dragon’s scales instead. She has Mikel melt it with his fire and forge it into a necklace.
However, before their regiments separate for battle, Sara kisses her chain and says, “How about another deal: if you and I survive, I’ll kiss your lips instead.”
Leonard readily clasps her arm. Moments later, Mikel is hoisting him onto his saddle with his unit and Sara is mounting the one griffin she spared in her infamous encounter, having tamed the beast over the months of traveling to the battlefield.
Aerial combat is simple when one is encountering soldiers from the Vanished Plains; without mountains or particularly dense forests, they must rely on the strength of their ground forces. While they have shown incredible innovation, they have yet to engineer something that can shoot to the sky with any accuracy. The Twin Alliance’s sky forces have grown too numerous too quickly besides.
And so, Sara and her new companion can drop oil sacks for the fire-breathers and phoenixes to light while easily seeking out Leonard’s position on his dragon. As the call for ground combat increases in volume, she glances over to see the reckless bastard running along Mikel’s tail. Before she lands behind the enemy’s front lines, Leonard has Mikel launch him clear across the battlefield, right for the tallest siege weapon the Vanished have.
At least one can’t say he won’t be earning Sara’s kiss.
The Vanished put up a decent resistance through sheer numbers, but in the end most lie blood-soaked for the vultures to descend. Sara has a gash on her shoulder and other small cuts and bruises, but nothing she hasn’t endured in previous battles. Leonard, however, meets her under the protection of Mikel’s wing with a noticeable limp and dangling arm.
He answers the unspoken question: “My arm is broken for certain, but my leg’s a result of a collision with one of their towers. I’ve had worse.”
“So I’ve seen,” Sara says, “exactly how many times have you launched yourself like that?”
Leonard cocks his head. “And here I thought we had a deal.”
“We do. I never said I wouldn’t uphold it. How many times?”
The number he gives her is both outrageous and, yes, very impressive.
“I suppose I might enjoy it too,” Sara says.
He smirks, “Telling a man he might not be up to par? For shame, Lieutenant.”
“Just for that, I’ll reconsider letting you have another kiss.”
“If you do enjoy this one, don’t reconsider.”
Sara grins, “Deal.”
He waits for her to initiate their kiss, which is an incredibly refreshing change. Under the concealment of Mikel, the air is already growing warm, though as Sara and Leonard tilt their heads for a better angle, a whimsical thought flies through her head that perhaps they don’t need a dragon for heat. Obviously she’s tired from battle—that, and Leonard is an experienced kisser.
She puts her hand on his uninjured arm, the other cupping his cheek to pull him down so she can stand properly on her feet. He releases a quiet sigh in return, grasping her shoulder.
They separate just in time for Mikel to start glancing under his wing. As their spines straighten, they exchange brief smiles, the kind that has no place on a corpse-ridden wasteland.
Then Leonard falls back into his bravado and asks, “Will you reconsider?”
Sara shakes her head, “No, I will not.”
She stops him as he leans forward again. “I won’t be giving you another kiss.” when he blinks at her, she gives him a smirk of her own. “What? I didn’t reconsider.”
Clark set down the bottle of Pinot Noir and picked up his glass, bringing the edge of the glass to his lips when the com in his ear buzzed. With his free hand, Clark tapped the device and answered in a rather annoyed tone. He had just gotten home, and the Flash already needed his help? “Yes?”
“Clark…” the voice that responded was hoarse, husky, and definitely not the Flash.
“Bruce?” Clark answered, all annoyance washed from his tone. “Where are you?”
“Joker’s hideout, I–” Bruce was cut off my his own shout of pain as the Joker’s hand buzzer connected with his chest, sending volts of electricity through his system. The Joker’s fist connected with his jaw and Bruce fell to the ground, his brain reeling.
“Ah, ah, ah, Batsy!” The Joker chided in a sing-song voice. “Calling for help. That’s cheating.” His voice darkened and there was a grunt as the Joker slammed his foot down onto the vigilante’s stomach.
“Hold on, Bruce, I’m coming!” Clark shouted, not even sparing a glance as his glass fell to the floor, its contents spilling out onto the floor.
Edgy had soon taken Joker to his place and laid down on his sofa, snuggling his smol bean closely against him. He purred and smooched Joker gently, his hands rested on Joker’s back. “ Mine precious Lil Prince~ “ He smiled greatly and nuzzled Joker.
It’s unclear what Kamui’s kill policy is in the third route. On one hand, the Joker/Oboro support exists to tell us that post-battle executions are happening. On the other, a lot of story text is explicitly like “holy shit Kamui didn’t kill anyone in that assault!” (Fort Jinya has lines like this, IIRC Flora comments on you sparing people, and I don’t think Marx and Ryouma would have joined you if you slaughtered their units in Muse).
But this Kamui (Toumui? Invisible Kamui?) doesn’t really have the intense “I don’t want to kill my enemies!” attitude of Nohrmui. Should we assume the battlefield cleanup only applies to bandits/asshole ninjas (Kotarou definitely, canonically dies)/phantoms? Somewhat on that note, a lot of IK battles (ie Muse) are pretty hit and run. Cleanup wouldn’t be possible or necessary…
There are plenty of third route support inconsistencies, though, so perhaps we should just chalk it up to that.
Audacious beckon of ornamented digit precedes the doctor’s incline of spine. Joker’s sobriety is curtained by a euphoric flaunt of modified teeth, whilst enameled incisors feed into the suppleness of bottom lip. Never has he taunted the psychiatrist with such formality, yet regulatory conceit provides leisure with newly indulgent acquaintance. Impudent dimples breech idleness of pallid cheeks as Joker’s optics highlight Jonathan’s compliance. Consenting appendages vigilantly delegate a perplexing tenderness as they collect Joker’s extended hand. Nerves warily entice, restricting taut sarcasm beneath subtleties of tongue.
❝ Go on, then— ❞ Expectancy shepherds murmured tone; the prince’s temperament confined by exotic trepidation. ❝ —Don’t be s h y. Kiss it. ❞
A raised finger greeting a man entitled bends to meld sweetly into the natural curve of slim joints. The head inclines to him, inscrutable eyes glinting under offensive gleam. A jounce distances their touch and he claims him by expectant hand once more. Entreating eyes cajole a response of him, and he instead provokes him. He collects both middle and index finger, lethargically entwining fingers to galvanize irritation.
Their exchanged stares do not waver.
Slackened fingers conceal a decided path as lips graze into flesh, outlining the bend languidly as he speaks along chilled ligaments. He dares him to respond, to trust a solid fist to prompt a forced ‘kiss’. An eager fist is prone to connecting inelegantly into the unhinged scalpel Crane loosens of its trigger in the hand concealed behind the back.
The spine curves visibly as a patient hand reaches for him. Eye contact is made as lithe fingers deferentially collect a pallid hand with alarming gentleness. Inexpressive eyes lower to the ring as he's graced with an obligation to kiss. He leans to him, invasive of space between as plush lips hover to symbolic ornament. The hand grants a light squeeze, slanting to angle the limb, middle finger slowly raising to him. Crane's gaze never falters, lips rippling to a soothing smile.
Audacious beckon of ornamented digit precedes the doctor’s incline
of spine. Joker’s sobriety is curtained by a euphoric flaunt of modified teeth,
whilst enameled incisors feed into the suppleness of bottom lip. Never has he
taunted the psychiatrist with such formality, yet regulatory conceit provides
leisure with newly indulgent acquaintance. Impudent dimples breech idleness of pallid
cheeks as Joker’s optics highlight Jonathan’s compliance. Consenting appendages
vigilantly delegate a perplexing tenderness as they collect Joker’s extended
hand. Nerves warily entice, restricting taut sarcasm beneath subtleties of
❝ Go on, then— ❞ Expectancy shepherds murmured tone; the prince’s temperament confined
by exotic trepidation.
❝ —Don’t be s h y. Kiss it. ❞
The first student to ever surpass Natasha Romanova’s marks, Yelena is eager to leave the Red Room on her quest to become the only Black Widow. She intends to show that she was better than the traitorous Natasha ever was, and prove herself to be the only one worthy of the title Black Widow. She has recently landed in New York City with orders to stop the Joker from getting his hands on a biochemical weapon from Rhapastan, a move that would be disastrous for the whole world. She intends to do her job and make sure Natasha and the other Avengers stay out of her way.
Monitor the docks and all shipments that come into New York City for evidence of biochemical weapons.
Better yet, Yelena would like to get her hands on the Joker herself. Shouldn’t be too hard for one of the best spies in the world.
Cornering Natasha Romanov is not in her orders, but she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t looking forward to a possible confrontation with her.
She’s chosen an alias and gone undercover as a civilian to move freely through the city. While undercover she met Flash Thompson. She’s thinking of befriending him to see what kind of secrets the government is hiding around the city.
After a chance encounter with Supergirl, Yelena would like to never encounter another vigilante during her stay here, thank you very much.
“You cannot kill a man like that. If you want to do it right, you aim here, for the jugular.”
Eliza’s not sure whether to be annoyed or simply drop her head into her hands. Just when she thinks she’s heard it all and knows all the aces Alex could possibly have up his sleeves, he pulls out another. Carefully, she examines the faces of the other people around the table. Most of them have frozen in the middle of wherever they were doing – some mid-sentence, some mid-bite. All eyes are on Alexander.
Lord help her.
She forces out a laughter, trying to make it as light ans natural as she possibly can but it still sounds at least slightly fake. “Always the joker,” she smiles, a hand settling against Alexander’s arm as a few others join into tentative laughter. It seems to break the immediate tension at least and most of the others go back to talking or eating, so Eliza decides to count it as a victory. As much of one as she’s currently going to get, anyway.
Her eyes flicker across the table towards Michael – a friend from work, who’d just had the technicalities of murder explained to him. He still looks mildly worried, eyes cutting back towards Alexander every so often even as he’s listening to the person next to him. Eliza can’t blame him – the seriousness in Alexander’s voice had been a little scary. She knows him, of course, knows that he’s not serious but the other’s done.
Once she’s sure nobody is paying extra attention to them anymore, she turns her head, lets her fingers curl against Alex’s arm a little more to get his attention. “Can you please not make my friends think you’ve murdered people during brunch?” she murmurs under her breath. A casual Sunday morning get-together had sounded like the best possibly way to introduce Alex to all her friends at once – now she saw that even here, things could get quite dark quite fast.
She listens as Alex tries explaining himself, then shakes her head at the first brief pause he makes. “He’s not flirting with me, Alexander,” she assures him quietly, going on quickly before he gets a chance to get started again. “And even if he was – it doesn’t matter. I’m with you. You’re mine, nobody else is. You don’t need to worry, I promise.” There’s a brief pause before Alex exhales slowly and reaches for the hand she still has curled around his arm. And when he lifts it to his face and presses a kiss to the back of it, Eliza can’t help the smile on her face or the way her heart seems to grow lighter with the action.
Her head ducks against his shoulder for a moment to recollect herself but even when she lifts up again, the smile is imprinted on her face. “I love you,” she says easily, interlocking her fingers with Alexander’s on top of the table. “Just – no more murder talk during this meal, yeah?”