#morgue file

[venusimleder]

[deadchannelradio]

IRIS log that i will never finish clean up or publish. for you all. setting these things free for the new year. this was written back in '22.

Batman: Reporting explosion on West end bridge. Oracle: Understood. Backup needed? Batman: Not yet. Batman: Reporting second explosion on west end bridge. Oracle: Backup? Batman: Situation is under control. Batman: Reporting third explosion on west end bridge. Oracle: Let me know about that backup. Batman: Reporting fourth explosion on west end bridge, I have been ejected from the situation. Current status is in river. Urgent assistance is required. Oracle: Spoiler, Nightwing, you two are closest- transmitting you his location beacon now. Nightwing: Aye-aye Captain. Hold tight, we’re on it. Batman: Reporting in. I’ve found a piece of driftwood and am currently floating downriver. Urgent assistance is required. Spoiler: God, make sure it’s not radioactive before you just grab random bits of river detritus. Red Robin: His gloves used to be lead-lined, it’s probably fine. Nightwing: Are they still lead lined? Batman: What is your ETA. Nightwing: Well, we were leaving, but we’re (Gunshots) Oopsies. We are still actively under fire! So. We’ll know in a minute. Oracle: If we could maybe focus more on the whole ‘being fired at’ situation than on the lining of Batman’s gloves, that might help us all out just a teensy bit. Batman: Checking in. Now about a half mile downriver. Urgent assistance has been requested, report ETA. Spoiler: Give us a second, crikey. Untwist your boxers. Spoiler: ETA 5 minutes. Oracle- Oracle: There’s a boat [WHERE] [TIME TO GET THERE] Nightwing: Heard, boss. Batman: Checking in, I am now actively in the harbor. Where are you guys? Nightwing: Getting on the boat now. Can you light your actual beacon? Batman: Negative. I’ve lost some gear in the blast. Robin: Was some of the gear your flotation device? Batman: I improvised. Spoiler: O, what’s the accuracy range on the beacons? I don’t want to run him over. Oracle: 5 meters. Spoiler: Cool, cool. Grip it and fuckin’ rip it, I guess. Nightwing: Oh my god I see you. Batman: And are you going to- what are you doing? Nightwing: (Laughter, 8 seconds) You look like a budget Rose. From the Titanic movie. Batman: Would you mind not photographing this. Nightwing: (Laughing) Promise me you’ll survive. (Laughter, 10 seconds) That you’ll never give up no matter what happens. (Laughter, 4 seconds) No- no matter how hopeless- Spoiler: (Laughing) (Background noise: laughter: Nightwing) I’ll never let go Jack!

Bruce pulls the paper away from his face. “In all fairness,” Steph says. “It really did look like the Titanic.” She reaches over and slaps Dick on the back, because he’s curled up in his seat and is making noises like he might be choking to death. “Do you have anything to say for yourselves,” Bruce says. It’s not a question. “That we’re really, really funny,” Steph tries. “Not the answer I’m looking for.” “I shouldn’t even be here,” Tim says, pulling out a pack of gum. “I wasn’t involved, I was across town.” Steph holds out her hand for a piece, and he gives her a confused high-five. “You all contributed to the situation,” Bruce says with glacial patience. “We’re very sorry, B,” Steph says, wiggling her fingers in the universal ‘gimmie’ gesture. Dick has yet to return from whatever plane of existence his laughter has taken him to. Tim puts his hand on top of hers and wiggles his fingers back, gumlessly. “I’m not,” he says. “I wasn’t there.” “No, dude,” Steph hisses. “Share the Orbit.” “No way!” Tim hisses back. “Get your own gum.” “Don’t be stingy,” Steph admonishes. “If you didn’t bring enough for the whole class you shouldn’t take it out at all.” “Since when has that ever been a saying?” Tim says, trying to hold the gum out of her reach in spite of her significantly longer arms. “That’s never been a saying, don’t make stuff up for my gum.” “Oh yes,” Bruce says, observing them with his arms crossed. “I am feeling the sincerity of this apology.” Steph bites Tim, attempting to drag him back towards her and getting nothing but a mouthful of cape for her trouble. “Since always, you just go to private school!” Her chair almost tips over, because Bruce insisted that they sit for this lecture like they’re in an AA meeting for having fun. Amusement Anonymous. Tim uses her momentary distraction to throw the gum pack across the cave at the last second, shoving the piece he took out into his mouth, paper wrapping and all. “Are you quite finished.” “I was on the other side of Gotham!” Tim protests, chokes, then coughs and spits paper out into his hand.

[protean-forms]

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[venusimleder]

[venusimleder]

[deadchannelradio]

i'm cutting roy out of every story i got him in with jason sorry jayroy stans i still believe in the joyfire dick grayson emotional thunderdome he just doesnt belong in the architecture i am crafting for jasons life nor does Jason belong in his. roy has his own life that is largely batboy free other than Being Weird With And About Dick Grayson. as such jasons stupid little dog Princess Monster Truck's inception (she is staying forever, but this particular inception is going away) i noodled at the beginning of is being put in the trash compactor to die forever. crunch crunch. so you can have it here instead. in my fanfiction abortion morgue.

“Laurie wants me to get a dog,” Jason says as Roy walks in the door, foregoing a ‘hello’ or an ‘I missed you’ or a ‘was the mission fun? It looked like you had fun when you shot the enormous bird-thing in the back of the neck with an explosive arrow and blew its head clean off’. He’s scrubbing a very clean pot with the maniacal focus of a man on the brink, up to his elbows with suds. 

Roy sets his bag down on the floor and tosses his jacket on the chair beside the door, toeing his shoes off. Jason points at the jacket without looking. “Do I look like your maid?” he asks. “Pick it up.”

“I would be a very happy man if you did,” Roy says, briefly transported to a world of short skirts and little aprons. He shakes himself off, then hangs his coat up properly before Jason gives in to the conniptions that are clearly bubbling under the surface. “Hi honey, I’m home, I missed you, we’re getting a dog?”

“Laurie wants me to get a dog,” Jason repeats darkly. They don’t talk all that much about Jason’s therapist or what he does in therapy, but all her best ideas that Roy’s heard about- starting prozac, getting an apartment and living in it full time instead of a rotating to a new squat every couple of weeks- have been accompanied by this tone of voice. “I shouldn’t get a dog.”

“Why the hell not?” Roy asks, coming up behind him to kiss the back of his neck and wind his arms around Jason’s waist, his shirt damp with dishwater. Jason backs up from the sink slightly to give him room, but doesn’t stop washing the soup pot. “You’re an adult. You have adult money and adult time. We can get a dog.” Roy likes dogs, conceptually. He hasn’t ever owned one long-term, but he enjoys them walking down the street and tied up outside of little coffee shops, and Haley and him hang out when Dick goes out of town and Barbara is unavailable to spend time with her dog-goddaughter. 

“I’m a felon,” Jason points out.

“Do no felons have dogs?”

“No good dog owners are felons.”

“Do you personally know every felon with a dog?”

“What if I have to go on the run again? Or something happens and I can’t take care of a dog?” The sound of the steel wool on metal is getting more grating by the second. “What if someone finds the apartment? Or-,”

“How many of these did you bring up with Laurie that she didn’t have a response for?”

Jason does not have an answer to that, given his silence and aggressive increase of scrubbing. Roy bites his shoulder until Jason flails a wet hand up into his hair and pulls him off, accidentally beaning him in the face with a soapy lump of steel wool. They’re totally getting a dog.

“We’re not applying for anything,” Jason says a few days later, tucking himself into a black jacket and grey scarf that he’s wrapping practically up to his ears. “I don't need a dog. This is a free zoo. We’re just looking.” 

“Of course,” Roy says, pulling on gloves and smiling serenely at the dog filled future yawning open before him. Jason gives him a suspicious squint, intensity ruined by the way that his knit hat is pushing his hair in every direction like a smacked dandelion. In spite of his claims, Jason is visibly nervous the entire monorail ride to the ASPCA, jaw clenched and tunneling into his coat like a turtle. Roy links their elbows as casually as he can when he has to pry Jason’s arm away from his body and scrolls his phone mindlessly. He’s been having visions of dog ownership- flyball, bitesports, long morning jogs with a scruffy heeler or blocky bully breed, agility classes and obedience courses. Admittedly, Roy knows very little about most of these things, but he’s willing to learn. 

Gotham ASPCA’s dog kennel contains pit mixes by majority, most rather unhelpfully labeled as lab or hound mutts, fooling absolutely no one beyond maybe a few landlords. The worker- Safia, on her name tag- who’s leading them around is looking at Jason out of the corner of her eye, as visibly nervous as Roy knows Jason is. He doesn’t look it, a hulking, silent presence over Roy’s shoulder, communicating with Roy mostly by eye contact and shifts in his stance. The biggest scar on his face lifts his upper lip in an accidental snarl, showing teeth, and his winter layers don’t make him any less bulky. She’s trying, at least, in that way that people do when they know they’re making a rude judgment based on little evidence but can’t stop themselves from feeling it. Roy’s sure that Jason isn’t picking up on that, though, just that he’s making her uncomfortable.  Roy puts a hand on the small of Jason’s back as they look at a lanky, blonde shepherd named Snuggles Friday, and Roy watches Safia relax by a few degrees. Friday licks at Jason’s hand through the wires as Safia talks about her, whining, her ears so huge they flop over for a second when she shakes her head. Jason’s fighting a smile. Roy gives Safia a conspiratorially hopeful grin and crosses his fingers, startling a real smile out of her. 

“I think all of our play rooms are occupied at the moment,” Safia says apologetically. “But I have a few more dogs I think would be a good fit for you if you want to look around and then decide who you want some time with?”

Roy looks at Jason, who shrugs, which is probably as good as they’re going to get right now. Friday is still licking his fingers enthusiastically, and Jason pulls away with some reluctance as they move along. 

He stops a few steps later, so abruptly that Roy walks into his back. 

Someone has accidentally left a swiffer duster in the kennel in front of them. It’s barking, a high and snappy thing, and it’s doing a little dance on its tiny feet, like it’s tip toeing in place. Its eyes are unsettlingly large. Roy laughs, looks over at Jason to make a joke about how it’s just not a dog if you can use it like a football, stops. Jason’s fists are clenched by his sides, his face going slowly red.

“That,” he growls through gritted teeth, “is the cutest fucking thing I have ever seen.”

Roy sends a mental goodbye note to Snuggles Friday. “That’s Caramel,” Safia says as Jason speed-reads the note attached to her kennel with the clinical efficiency usually given to an autopsy report. He drops to his knees, pauses, then gingerly presses a hand against the wire as though he’ll break it. Caramel leaves off the barking and begins licking Jason’s hand like it’s the last scoop of ice cream in the truck on a 100 degree day. Its hind end seems to be undergoing a seismic event.

[bancodefotosorg-blog]

Morguefile - Opiniones de los Usuarios y Descuento!

Utilizar imágenes de calidad es indispensable para poder llevar a cabo trabajos artísticos y comerciales que sean visualmente atractivos y que se destaquen del resto. En Internet existen muchos bancos de imágenes que ofrecen contenidos digitales de excelencia pero el problema es que para Read more at http://www.bancodefotos.org/morguefile/

[bancodefotosorg-blog]

Morguefile - Opiniones de los Usuarios y Descuento!

Morguefile – Opiniones de los Usuarios y Descuento!

Utilizar imágenes de calidad es indispensable para poder llevar a cabo trabajos artísticos y comerciales que sean visualmente atractivos y que se destaquen del resto. En Internet existen muchos bancos de imágenes que ofrecen contenidos digitales de excelencia pero el problema es que para

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