Hey, in your recent Poison-Ivy-wraps-Batman-in-kudzu fic you mention that Harley died, and in Sweet you mention that she was "dunked" by the Joker. Did Joker kill Harley at some point? (Also curious if it's related to Harley's red-rimmed irises)
i don’t know who started the whole ‘joker dunked harley in the same chemical bath that jokerized him’ thing, but i stole it and added in some ‘technically this was murder it just didn’t stick’ - it bleached her skin/hair/eyes, interfered with her ability to feel pain (so she’s capable of terrifying feats of strength that basically tear her body apart because she can’t feel that that’s what she’s doing), and interacted weirdly with her schizophrenia (got rid of her tics, reduced her focus and impulse control, worsened her visual hallucinations and susceptibility to delusions) (it also changed how she responds to her meds which is why it’s so much harder for her to stay medicated)
i added the eyes thing because it seemed like something capable of bleaching joker and harley to look like perma-clowns would have other visual effects beyond the usual joker’s-green-hair. also i thought it would be kinda cool and creepy.
(my theory is that the original joker chemical bath idea came about because figuring out what would and would not completely ruin someone’s makeup is a pain in the dick and saying ‘no they actually just look like that’ solves the problem pretty neatly, and once you’re doing more with harley she runs into the same problem/solution)
The One Where You Think There's A Pool Party (Jeff Atkins)
You walk into Sheri’s front yard and are almost immediately overwhelmed with the urge to throttle her.
“Come over to my place tonight,” she had told you during school. “Everyone’ll be there. I’m at my mom’s for the weekend, so I’ll have the pool.” She winked at you, texting you the address seconds later.
Now you’re here, and pool-party your fat ass. Sheri doesn’t even have a fucking pool.
“Dude, what the fuck are you wearing,” you hear from the porch, and you remind yourself that there’s no shame in getting back in your car and putting actual clothes on. The only shame is in showing up to someone’s house half-naked.
“I was told that there would be swimming,” you say lamely, turning to Jessica and giving her a dead-eyed look of annoyance. “Hence the skivvies,” you motion to your swimsuit, sleek and tight and baring everything you have to offer.
“Swimming,” Jessica repeats, laughing, and you shake your head with a scoff, already pulling your towel around yourself. “Wrong party-theme, although you do look hot.”
“Much appreciated, ma'am.”
“And you brought clothes, right? The boys in there are going to be in for a very expensive sexual harassment lawsuit if you walk in like that.” Jessica raises a brow, smiling behind her beer cup.
You snorts. “I brought a pair of jeans – figured no one would mind having these –” you grab at your chest, “– in their faces all night.”
“I know I wouldn’t.” She grins, biting her thumbnail. Her nail polish glitters underneath the porch lights, and she laughs as you raise your brows.
“Watch it,” you point, your grin mocking and sly. “Or I’ll sue you for sexual harassment.”
It’s loud when you enter the house. Loud and bright and warm, the heat of the mesh of people warming you up as soon as you step into the room.
“Look at you, you put pants on!” Jessica shouts over the music, laughing too hard to be sober. You shrug and throw her a lazy grin.
“I might be tempted to take them off again if I get a drink.”
“Please tell me you’re being serious.”
“Get me a drink and you’ll find out.” You wink – and god, what the fuck, you’re sure you look like some sort of perv or harasser or creep – but Jessica laughs again, face flushed. She takes a heavy sip from her cup.
“No shirt, no service,” she winks back. “But for you, I’ll get you a semi-warm beer.”
Jessica grins again, eyes bright and her laugh lazy, and leaves you there, between the sofa and the stereo.
You mingle, ignoring the raunchy stares, and keep an eye out for Sheri.
It’s not long before you run into Jeff, who looks about three beers in and only too pleased to see you. You can’t lie, the sight of him makes you feel like you’re walking on air, giddy and light.
“I was wondering when I’d run into you,” you say, and Jeff laughs.
“Well, I knew I’d run into you,” he points at you with his beer bottle. “Not a party until you show up.” He looks down. “I just wasn’t expecting you to look so …”
“Just say it.”
“Exposed.” Jeff laughs, eyeing your outfit with raised brows and a pleased smile. “Don’t get me wrong, the look suits you. I’m just afraid I’m gonna have to chase the guys away with my baseball bat.” He winks.
“Oh, what a man. What a hero,” you place your hand on your chest and sigh dreamily, only half-faking. You can’t deny it, Jeff makes you swoon sometimes. What can you say, he’s handsome, he’s dreamy, and a girl can only take too much before she’s weak in the knees and flirting back.
Flirting. That’s what you both did. You had a mild flirtation between you, all charm and jokes and subtle touches. You just wish he would lose the charm and touch you a little more.
“You drinking anything?” He asks, subtly touching your hand with his knuckles, his body close enough to get away with it. You bump your hand back into his. You wonder if that’s what makes his smile brighten.
“Yeah,” you look around. “Or, no – Jess went on a trek to get me a beer, but I think she got lost. Something about finding me a warm one.”
“She’ll be in the yard,” Jeff takes a hold of your shoulder, turning you. “Come on, I’ll take you. Get you a cold beer while we’re there.” His hand finds its way to your back, cold from his bottle and shocking against your exposed skin.
You feel ten degrees hotter.
You make your way into Sheri’s yard, and you grin at the fairy lights hanging over the crowd, small and sparkling as they hover in the air. There’s a litter of plates and cups on the ground, hitting your feet with every other step, and you finally stoop to pick them up and throw them in the trash after you step on one half-way filled with beer.
Jeff follows, picking up his own share of bottles and cups, and nudges you. “Jessica makes a good chicken.”
You stare. “Uh, okay. Yeah.”
He rolls his eyes and points. You turn, beholding Jessica on top of Zach’s shoulders, shoving Sheri into a kiddie pool. She raises a foam football into the air and shouts, excited, while Zach cheers.
“This isn’t what I was thinking when she said she would have a pool.” You snicker, taking in the multitude of inflatable pools across the yard, and Jeff grins.
“At least you’re dressed for it.” He hands you a fresh bottle, cracked open and foaming at the top. You accept it, taking half of a sip and grinning.
“Tell me you brought swimming trunks, because you’re my partner when we play that.”
It’s hours later and you’re more or less dried off from your couple dozen falls in Sheri’s pools. The sun’s just beginning to rise, the sky turning a pale blue, and there are only a handful of people lingering in the house.
You’re on the porch, just getting ready to leave when the door swings open.
“Leaving already?” Jeff asks, hazy eyed but smiling. You laugh.
“Yeah, I think I’ve been dunked enough times tonight. Jess plays dirty.” You have his jacket around you, large and warm against the cool morning air. You begin to shrug it off.
“Give it to me tomorrow,” Jeff stops you.
You raise an eyebrow. “Didn’t know I was seeing you.”
“Now you know,” he grins, lazy and charming. You feel your heart swell, and you duck your head to hide your pleased smile. Fuck, you feel like melting. “See you tomorrow, kid.”
You throw a hand up as you walk away. “Tomorrow, Atkins.” You don’t see his own smile as you leave.
Okay so here’s a handful of scribs I decided to clean up somewhat and slap some flat color onto :’)
Merdessa and Nalani tend to take as many trips away from Nar Shaddaa as possible, preferring quieter and more tropical planets to the busy smog ball that is Narsh. Nala eventually convinced her mother through huge amounts of begging to take Dusk with them on their latest trip. It was… Fun.
When they first came, Dusk decided he would rather wear a heavy coat then dress lighter/go without a shirt LIKE A NORMAL PERSON. The heat got him to reconsider after only a couple hours :^D
The second picture is Nala and Dusk hiding out in their sand trench, preparing to throw space Sea Urchins at anyone who dares to pass too closely by. Especially if they’re filthy TAKIS.
“How’s your aim, kid?” “It’s alright.” “We’re gonna make it better.” “Okay! :)”
That third one is drunk Dusk yelling at a Trandoshan about how he could turn her into a vest and wear it because he’s a super cool military man. The Trandoshan wants to fuck him and Dessa just wants to go to bed.
The first time he sees Yuuri casually bring the yellow fruit to his lips, Victor does a double-take. “Yuuri, that’s a lemon, not an apple,” he says bemusedly. “The apples are over—”
There’s a deafening silence as Yuuri bites firmly into the flesh, staring Victor dead in the eye. He chews slowly, savors, swallows, waits while Victor’s mouth hangs open then shuts with an audible click.
He offers three words of explanation: “I like lemons.”
Victor blinks, raises a wry brow. “…Yes, well, I can see that.”
“I like lemons,” Yuuri says firmly with an air of redundancy, of stubborn will. “I know I’m weird.”
To his credit, Victor recovers remarkably quickly and lets his lips slacken into a gentle smile. “Isn’t it sour?” he asks curiously, leaning forward to study the fruit in his trainee’s hand.
Yuuri takes another bite, and Victor tries not to wince as he sees yet another large chunk taken from the lemon’s skin, from its acidic center. “Sour, yeah. And bitter.”
“Then why do you eat it?”
Victor can’t imagine it. It can’t possibly be good. He remembers the last time he accidentally ate a lemon wedge, mistaking it for a pale orange. It had taken half a mug of beer to return feeling to his tongue. “Odd.”
Yuuri can see him staring, though, noting the way Victor eyes each and every bite, every swallow that passes his throat. “Is something the matter?”
Victor doesn’t respond, but Yuuri accepts the silence casually, waits for an answer. He’s got half a lemon left. Maybe he’ll grab another one. The Japanese skater cocks his head and studies Victor’s thoughtful expression before nodding to himself and moving closer to the expensive fruit basket situated on the kitchen counter.
“Mm—?” Yuuri turns around, another lemon in hand, then promptly stiffens as Victor swoops in close, those iridescent blue eyes so clear now that there are only scant centimeters between Yuuri’s face and his coach’s. He swallows a yelp.
Only, the yelp escapes as Victor presses forward, closing the distance and bringing their lips together. It’s surprisingly gentle, oddly chaste in a way Yuuri can’t explain. His heart flutters to the thousandth beat of a hummingbird’s wings, and his eyes soften from their wide initial shock, his body melting as if to blend into Victor’s firm yet pliable chest. It’s liberating, the way he can feel Victor’s own heart thud solidly against his, the time signature of a man who had once been a legend milestones away.
But he’s here now and he’s so close, and oh god he’s tasting Victor in his mouth and he doesn’t think he’ll ever get the smell of his former idol’s cologne out of his memory for as long as he lives.
The kiss lasts a second. It’s short and to the point and ends right when Yuuri’s eyes close, right when he’s ready to give more and feel more. It ends right when his shoulder slacken and his arms come up as if to embrace his coach, and then Victor’s pulling back and he’s got this pensive expression on his face like something’s wrong.
Oh no, what did I mess up this time?
It takes Yuuri a second to process the word. “Uu—aahh, huh?”
Not his best moment.
Victor frowns into the back of his hand, a deep furrow cast between his brows. The feather-lightness between Yuuri’s shoulder-blades sinks for every second Victor doesn’t meet his eyes.
Finally, Victor looks up. “I thought it’d be sweet,” he says.
Yuuri blinks. “The lemon?”
“The lemon,” the Russian affirms with a nod.
Yuuri looks down to the remaining bites of the lemon in his hand, and stares at the wrinkled seeds within as if they hold the answer of what to say, what to do.
Because Victor had just kissed him, only it wasn’t a kiss, it was probably just a random taste test or something or, or, or—
“It’s a lemon, Victor. It’s not going to be sweet.” Yuuri frowns and masks the shaking in his hands with another bite into acidic flesh.
“But you’re sweet.”
“You’re very sweet, Yuuri,” Victor says simply, a goofy smile on his face. It makes Yuuri’s heart flip flop for the third time in thirty seconds.
“I—" How am I supposed to respond to that?
Someone’s watch beeps. It’s probably his.
“Come now, break time’s over. Time to get back to practice.”
Yuuri wipes the sweat from his brow, his chest heaving from the latest run-through of Eros. He can feel his blood singing, his lungs drawing in massive gulps of air to satisfy the deficiency inside him, to ease the ache inside his muscles. Grabbing one more large breath, he twists on his heel and begins to skate back to the edge, back to where Victor stands with a critique ready on his tongue.
Only Victor’s not there, and what’s on his tongue isn’t a cutting review but the vibrant flesh of a plump crimson bell pepper.
Yuuri hears the crunch and flinches despite himself, huffing a laugh under his breath. He adores the man, yes, but Victor can be so weird sometimes.
“Where did you even get that from?” he asks, grabbing a towel and drying off his hair.
“You mother dropped by,” answers the silver-haired man around another bite of the spicy fruit (vegetable?). “She has some lemons for you, too, though I still don’t understand how you can enjoy something so sour.”
Pot, kettle! Yuuri snorts and slicks his hair back again. The rush of Eros still thrums within his body, and he stretches languidly, reveling in the otherworldly sense of knowing Victor’s gaze on his back, on his backside.
Who’s a pork cutlet bowl fatale now? he thinks smugly to himself.
It brings a thought to mind, to the incident that had occurred the other day. He’d thought at first that the kiss would change something somehow, but it seems otherwise, because his relationship with his coach hasn’t shifted in any way. It’s slightly regrettable, but then again, he muses idly, it isn’t that they can really get much closer given how close they already are.
“Victor,” he says sharply, quickly, the syllables gunfire against his lips.
Yuuri sneaks forward, fueled by the sensuality of his previous performance, and bites Victor’s lips, presses an open-mouthed kiss into a slack jaw. He moves quickly, one second, two seconds, lips and tongue and teeth, and feels Victor’s shuddering sigh before pulling back right as Victor leans forward.
He’ll regret it in the morning, when the world feels less like a dream, but right now he doesn’t care. Probably won’t care later, actually, so never mind.
“Huh.” Yuuri lowers his eyelids, licks his lips. “It’s very sweet.“
Quorra, left alone and abandoned in the outlands of a desolate planet to fend for herself, but who is made of more power than she knows. Quorra, who spends her days scavenging to survive and waiting for her people, her family, to return for her, because surely she isn’t alone and surely they’re coming back. Profoundly naive yet unimaginably wise, right? She knows deserts and starships like the back of her hand but has never seen a proper tree or a proper meal in person. Quorra, who finds a droid and an ex-Black Guard and a destiny that’s bigger than her alone.
Tron, TRN-307020, taken and changed and reprogrammed into a mindless fighter, who sees his first battle and dares to ask what, exactly, the Occupation is fighting for. Top of his division, pride of the Black Guard, and he can’t bring himself to harm the innocent, because under the layers of reconditioning, he knows it isn’t right. Tron, who sheds helmet and armor and runs, until he finds something that is worth fighting for, worth protecting.
CLU, who wanted more than what he was given, who saw the path to order and perfection, who turned against his mentor because no one else would listen. CLU, who stands out on a bridge and almost cracks, almost runs back to welcoming arms, but doesn’t, but can’t.
Flynn, as well intentioned as he is oblivious, who won’t believe that his best friend’s son could be tempted by the promise of power. Flynn, who has seen the galaxy’s tyranny but believes he can be better, who is blinded until it’s too late. And he runs and hides and waits, guilty and betrayed, as the universe collapses around him.
Alan, who might’ve been a hero once but insists that he isn’t now, haunted by the thought that maybe it was his fault all along, that he drove his son to the shadows and his best friend into exile. Alan, who really can’t say no to getting back into the action, who gets one look at Lora’s face and knows he’s only ever been fooling himself. He finds a girl and a droid and a pair of eyes that might’ve been his once, and maybe he’s still a hero, after all.
Lora, all decorum and strategy and sharp wit, who can lead from a desk but can still fire a blaster with the best of them. Lora, the brains behind every operation, a powerhouse underneath a knowing smile and slightly graying hair. Intuitive and strong and smart and hurting, because she’s had more than her fair share of loss. Her friends and her family are here then gone, but she’s a cornerstone and she won’t give in.
Dyson, who has no patience for CLU or his means of exerting power (and he’s never really understood what CLU’s training under Master Control entails), but who trusts his rank and his ability to give orders (and tends to come across as kinda slimy). Paige, who seems cold and uncaring under her glistening armor, but who believes wholeheartedly in her troops and the Occupation. Ram, who might be the best pilot in the galaxy, who refused to call Tron by a serial number and gave him the jacket that was always a few sizes too big for him and that looked better on Tron, anyway. Gorn, who operates a tight ship in her castle and who understands the Force, a collector of objects and stories who can take one look at you and see through whatever front you might be putting up.