#verse; with mentors like these

[slade-of-the-art]

(Continued from here.)

@optimisticrobin

He waits just long enough for the boy to reach his side before he begins to walk.

"Your concern is noted.” He says, curiously mild. He’s amused—why shouldn't he be? The idea of some ordinary, straight-laced law official coming to him demanding his surrender was almost adorable.

Not that there haven’t been a select few over the years, but it’s never made a difference. Most weren’t eager to draw his attention, and for them, plausible deniability no matter how flimsy is a pleasant alternative to the truth. While Jump City is nowhere near as vulnerable as her neighbors, many learn to value their lives over the technicalities of their occupation. All it takes is a few pulled strings, and he’s freer than any little bird would dream of.

Not that he’s going to discuss that little grey area with his apprentice—at least not yet. Timing will be important from now on.

This base is rather large. Immense, looming cogs; metal doors mixed with clean, almost unnaturally well-kept halls that seem to go on forever, maze-like. He leads them easily, never quite seeming to make a wrong turn or hesitate before selecting a direction. Occasionally they pass under what appear to be scanners of some kind, small lights flickering a dutiful green before the doors slide open. Most are automatic—the main doors that lead to other paths, for example—unlike the labeled rooms that won’t open without an access code or keycard. Slade built that into his armor years ago; far safer than having a seperate card someone could steal. He knew that danger better than most.

“I do think you’ve gotten the wrong idea about all of this, Robin.” He tilts his head, but instead of looking back he fiddles with the metal of his cuff. Somehow the motion doesn’t break his stride. “I have much I would like to teach you. None of which benefits from your death.”

“But by all means, keep looking over your shoulder if you truly think that will put you at ease. I won’t begrudge you your caution.”

He stops at last before a somewhat familiar door, though it’s distinguishable only by its number—Robin’s assigned quarters. When it doesn’t immediately slide open, he pauses, glancing at the keycard reader with a displeased hum. A brief moment passes, but the console indicator continues to apathetically glow a dull red.

… Slade steps aside. His eye narrows as he speaks, sounding contemplative.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to unlock it yourself.”

[slade-txt]

Occasionally handled by Wintergreen if I’m busy. Otherwise, this is my direct line.

(Looser, likely more ooc Slade RP text blog—essentially meant to serve as his blog, had he the urge to use tumblr. Most familiar with Teen Titans (03).

Basically—want to text Slade? This is his personal number.

None of what is done on this blog is canon to events or RP @slade-of-the-art.

Rules:

1. Keep it SFW.

2. Slade has opinions that the mun does not share.

3. Shipping is not likely happening, apologies. Especially not with characters or muns who are minors.

4. Verses from @slade-of-the-art apply and similar tags will be used. (Slade, Deathstroke, Second Wind, With Mentors Like These, and Who Needs Enemies.) But this blog is much more casual. If you would like to speak to Slade, then Deathstroke separately, just specify.

5. This is essentially a shitpost blog. Let’s just have fun.

Verse info and main RP blog here.

[uncharted-constellations]

Miles 🩷

Anyways it’s really cool that marvel had a character who was suddenly introduced into a new timeline where they didnt previously exist and has to deal with the ramifications of that alongside the loss of their previous mentor figure and friends.

And its really on brand that they barely explored any of that with miles and made up a new white boy with some extra fanfiction style sad ritz to have that storyline instead 🤡

[backpackingspace]

Wait going off the idea that Athena keeps things from her favorite people:

What does diomedes give her?

[slade-of-the-art]

“Mm.”

Slade regards his apprentice with clinical precision, not that it’s particularly necessary. Exhaustion bleeds obviously into every pore of the boy’s body, his usually terse and alert posture more of a sluggish pull of an amateur puppeteer trying to keep up appearances. It’s quite remarkable that he’s managed to stay functional, fighting sleep-deprivation takes an amount of discipline that Slade is not unfamiliar with, and he has the benefit of not being nearly as vulnerable to it. Robin was a child; and he had never looked more the part than he did right now.

It was a bit funny, really. In an effort to avoid his fears, the boy had reduced his awareness far beyond what it would have been had he just taken the time to rest. It was something Slade accounted for, but it had taken it’s toll far quicker than he’d first assumed. At this rate, he would be too slow to dodge the blunt edge of a spinning dummy, let alone a proper blow from a well-trained opponent. He was half-sure that if he took aim and threw, he’d be a hair too slow to duck out of the way.

… No, he thought. It wasn’t funny.

It was unacceptable.

“Tell me, do you really find your room that uncomfortable, or is this an attempt at self sabotage?” Slade spins his fork once before he sets it back down. “There are plenty of places suited for you to ‘rest your eyes’, Robin. The table is not one of them.”

He is always careful not to use the boy’s real name. It isn’t yet time for that. He keeps his tone level instead, calm without being overly familiar.

“Strange place to fall asleep.” - @slade-of-the-art

Nightmares & Sleeping Meme

@slade-of-the-art

Sleep rarely came easy for the Boy Wonder.

The nightmares had gotten better over the years, or at least, he'd got better at dealing with them. He'd had Bruce, after all. Bruce who knew the pain Dick felt when he watched his parents fall all too well. Bruce who would hold him after a bad dream and tell him he was okay.

As he grew older, it had become easier to deal with them. There were still nights when he'd wake up in a cold sweat, but he'd just pick himself up, shower, and occupy himself with case files or training because he knew that Bruce was there.

Then when he moved to Jump, he'd had the Titans, and just knowing they were there had been enough to keep the dreams at bay.

It was different here though.

It was too quiet and he was isolated from everyone he cared about. The nightmares had come back in full force, and no matter what Slade said about wanting an apprentice, he still half expected the man to kill him in his sleep.

He'd barely slept since he'd gotten there. He was used to operating on little sleep, but he was struggling. Slade worked him hard during training, then he spent most of the night awake, staring up at the ceiling.

He supposed it had only been a matter of time before his exhaustion caught up on him. He could hide the dark circles beneath his domino mask, but with his head pounding, he was beginning to grow sickly.

He hadn't even realised he'd drifted off until Slade's voice jolted him back to reality. He blinked, slowly raising his head from the table where he'd narrowly avoided faceplanting his breakfast.

"Hn..? Oh...wasn't...wasn't sleepin'...just...restin' my eyes."

[notbecauseofvictories]

do you think carpenter has had any time to think about how faulkner killed the maybe-sort-of-uncle(ish) who brought her back to her faith? do you think carpenter, of all the people in this podcast, misses mason the most? not....a lot, because of....well, reasons too numerous to name, but once she's had the chance to breathe and sleep and eat a couple half-burnt pancakes, do you think she realizes that literally no one else alive remembers when she was eighteen and carried a knife just in case; when she was twenty-two and high on the thrill of being in same room as the gulfwalker; when she was twenty-six and went to him, begged him, and he didn't ask why her new partner needed to be reassigned, just pursed his lips and reassigned him. they never even really talked about their lives outside of the parish. he tried to manipulate her, propel her to higher heights, but she wriggled out of those attempts; disappeared into the wilderness for months on end. she once tried to ask if he had---a wife, a child? family of any kind?---and in retaliation, he sent her to the other end of the peninsula for six months, chasing a lead that might have been entirely made up. probably by him.

mason was selfish and power-hungry, and definitely using her, and carpenter knew that---she knew it deep down from the start, and then later with a kind of weary acceptance. she knew. but he knew her too, and until she got assigned to a recent convert with just a little bit (a lot bit) of hunger and madness in his eyes....mason was the only one who did.

[movedtodykedvonte]

Spiderverse au where Miles and The Spot actually team up as Miles is so betrayed and hurt by how everyone wanted him to accept his dad’s fate and don’t take him seriously or treat him like a mistake that he confides in the only other person that truly gets that in a fucked up way.

They plan to get rid of all the other Spiderverses so his universe is technically the focal point and universe that everything branches from so he can effectively decide what is canon in the Spiderverse and what isn’t.

[melien]

[inkyu]

I'm not giving context for this but I can't really decide on what color sleeves Swad get's

I might end up deciding later on the color but in case if anyone(cricket noises...) see's this and wants to give feedback feel free to

(This is for a MAU btw... Swad is 12 years old in this)

[slade-of-the-art]

(Continued from here.)

@optimisticrobin

Slade peers down at him, watchful. It seems he scarcely even needs to blink, even as his tone shifts with humor. Instead of growing irate, he seems entertained.

I don’t find theft exhilarating.

The denial is almost endearing. He does, and he will. All Slade had needed to do was keep an eye on the boy’s vitals during the previous mission to find precisely how to prove it. That shiny little upgrade attached to his arm is a perfect example of his talents, and he would only improve. Slade will make sure of that.

“We’ll see. Within your given parameters, you’re free to do whatever you wish. Perhaps if you’re lucky, your little friends will be too busy to track you, and it will all go off without a hitch. Teenagers can be quite fickle.”

Of course, he doesn’t really believe that. Those Titans have proven themselves to be quite the tenacious, inconveniently loyal bunch, and by the law of coincidence they’re bound to come across his apprentice sooner or later. Conflict between them is inevitable—and if he pushes too hard, it may break the delicate suspension that prevents Robin from attempting to flee in earnest.

Ideally, they’d be forced to fight. To sever the ties that bind them, at least for the near future… but Slade has been observing them for far too long to think pushing them to that will result in anything less than mutiny from his pupil. The last thing he needs is for the boy to start getting ideas about imminent rescue—and given the time, it’s possible they may learn how to look. Teenagers are fickle, yes, but also explosively passionate and painfully stubborn. Being insistent on tipping the scale so soon may yet lead to more trouble than it’s worth. This location may be disposable, but having a suitable apprentice is not.

No, he needs to bide his time. Wedge a larger space between dear Robin and his precious little friends. They need to be convinced of the boy’s betrayal before he himself will be, and if that means he must continue to flee, so be it. None of this was ever about them, after all. Beyond their being a consistent thorn in his side, he cares little whether they live or die by his hand or another. They’re obstacles in the way of a greater goal. Collateral damage, should things go awry.

Still, he considers it. He considers instructing the boy to fight, daring him to defy direct orders and have his friends suffer the results. Instead, he turns away again.

“I’ll be watching,” Slade repeats, as if the screens looming overhead don’t prove that point well enough already, “You are not to speak to them or compromise yourself, or you will face the consequences.”

He says it as if it’s a fact of life, rather than a threat against one.

“Go, Robin. And do try to make me proud.”

[wolfsbanesparks]

is there a particular reason why you not a big fan of The Wizard relation with Billy within the 90s incarnation? genuinely curious btw

My main issue with that version of the Wizard and Billy’s relationship is that it added a lot of annomosity between them that didn't exist in earlier versions. They argue a lot about Billy’s use of his powers, about Mary and the fact that she's missing, about how to deal with any given problem. Billy is even furious about his transformation at first and attacks him! I just felt like more often than not tension between them overshadowed any real love and mentorship that existed between them. If they'd been able to strike a balance in their relationship I wouldn't mind their occasional arguments, but I felt we saw a lot more negative interactions than positive ones.

While I understand why a writer might want to introduce tension between them, it sort of gave way to this growing trend of people viewing Shazam as a morally gray and even sometimes outright evil or manipulative character. It kind of marked the beginning of the decline in Billy and the Wizard's relationship that hit rock bottom in the Nu52 where they basically actively disliked each other.

This is just my personal opinion and preferences though. I'm sure plenty of people enjoyed the added complications and nuances to their relationship that the 90s version introduced, but I wasn't the biggest fan of it.

[graunblida]

@jeditrash smashed the heart

" oh that? " the warrior thinks back to the flametrooper she punched off a ledge mere minutes ago. to the untrained eye, it would appear as though she sent the soldier flying with brute strength alone. in reality, lexa channels the force into her STRIKES when fighting close combat. " it's a technique i learned in the order... from master windu, actually. "

[slade-of-the-art]

Slade’s answering laugh is really more of a hum. He turns just a little, just enough for him to make eye contact with his quietly fuming student, one hand braced against the desk. The left hand; the one with that damnable trigger attached to the cuff of his wrist, retracted and beyond his reach. He taps metal-clad fingertips against it, contemplative.

He knows how dearly his apprentice regards his former mentor. Most who knew of him did, even the merry little villainous band that occupy the grungy streets of Gotham. Even those who would kill him seem to think of it as a game where people only die by their hand, and they always get another life. Slade too affords the man more respect than he does for almost any other opponent; it takes quite the stock to take hold of an entire city both in the light of the day and the shadows it casts. It’s part of the reason he keeps his secrets close to the chest. He did have his standards.

Besides, Batman had sent his little bird away, leaving him hellbent on proving himself worthy of what he’d been given. A desire that only the scarred could allow to bloom to this degree, personal life and limb rendered nigh meaningless in the service of the greater good. His methods make for remarkably effective soldiers, and in that regard he’s grateful. To practically hand-deliver such a perfect candidate right to his door, one might think that it had been planned ahead of time.

Perhaps fifteen at the oldest, and yet here he was, leader of a ragtag little team in a secluded tower. Abandoned to their own devices and saddled with the weight of thousands of lives. The boy had experience, but it didn’t hold a candle to Slade’s own. Soon enough he would learn to adapt as he always has, his time with Batman dwarfed by the years to come. Whether he wanted to believe it or not, he was suited to this line of work. He would understand that someday.

“That spirit of yours is quite something,” Slade says eventually, “admirable, if not stubborn. Think whatever you wish, apprentice, but if you had truly been trained by the best, you wouldn’t have have lost so easily to me.”

His repetition of the title is not quite gleeful, but it is self-satisfied. He moves on with a knowing tilt of the head. His tone grows expectant.

“Now, your target, Robin. Repeat it to me.”

@slade-of-the-art continued from here.

There was a reason that, despite his age and lack of powers, he was the one leading the Teen Titans. Not only had he been trained by the best, but he had the most experience out of all of them and compared to Gotham's Rogue Gallery, those in Jump City were child's play.

Slade though...he was on an entirely different level, and now Dick was beginning to wonder whether Slade had ever shown him what he was really capable of. He hadn't realised it at the time, but Slade had been toying with them all this time. He'd been holding back and they still couldn't beat him.

It was infuriating.

"It's not ill-fitting." Becoming Robin had been his saving grace. He had been so angry when Bruce first took him in. He had wanted to make the man who had killed his parents pay. Robin had been his way of channelling that anger into something positive. He couldn't go back in time to save his parents, but he could help make sure nobody else went through what he did. "And don't call me that."

He hated the way that Slade could stand there with his back to him. He hated that he knew that even if he tried to attack, Slade would be able to counter him with ease and then the man would have reason to push that damn button. He hated the way he was being watched, too. All those cameras that he, despite his training as a detective, couldn't find. He wanted to smash those damn screens.

"I don't need training though. I already learned from the best." Then he'd left to forge his own path. Why would he trade one teacher for another, especially for a criminal one at that? "And there's no way he'd lose to you."

Especially not when Slade had made it so personal by taking his son under his wing.

[forgottnseccnd]

Oh right, Dorn also has a son in that universe and is much more of a brick. He was named Door and Door named his son Boy, the Magnus and Custodes offshoots are happily engaged so they are happy

Brows rose... though, with the way the Primarch's eyes squinted... he seemed to smile!

Though, now Aurelius said nothing. Instead, he leaned back in a rare moment of relaxation, listening to the anonymous fellow as he heard more and more of these odd offshoots of his siblings and father.

Seemed to be Aurelius enjoyed hearing about things like this.

[dragonmuse]

Could we have a Izzy and Charlie hangout from Charlie’s perspective when he’s a teen and starting to get a crush and hide it?

(nearly two months later, you sure can Anon!)

They were hiking through a park, not far from the Bonnet family home. Charlie had been there several times with his boy scout troop back when he still did that, but he was fifteen now and that was behind him. These days he only got to go out when Izzy offered and he would leap on the chances like a ravenous wolf.

(There would come a day when it would be Charlie reaching out, making offers himself and it would’ve pleased his teenage self immensely to know that he was rarely turned down. That there would be someone else with them, dark curly hair jammed under a cap would’ve baffled him.)

It hadn’t rained in a few days, so the leaves were crunchy underfoot, marking their passage. Their packs were light, no overnight things required. Izzy was wearing a fisherman’s sweater, black and intricately patterned. His shoulders shifted underneath them and Charlie forced himself to keep pace so he wasn’t falling behind to watch that movement.

Their breath came in matching draws, not labored, but not at easy conversation either. It was only when they reached the pinnacle of the hill they’d been gradually rising over for some time, that Izzy inclined his head and Charlie nodded.

They found a wide stump and both sat down on it, taking off their packs and reaching for water. Izzy drank, throat bobbing and Charlie watched sidelong as he drank his own. A breeze came through, rattling the leaves.

“Your mother said you got on the swim team.”

“Wasn’t hard,” Charlie capped his bottle. “My times suck right now if I want to win anything.”

“No one starts off winning,” Izzy shrugged.

“Did you play sports in high school?”

“No,” Izzy snorted. “Might’ve liked it if I did, but you couldn’t tell me shit back then.”

“What’d you do after school then?”

“Worked. Fucked around. Got in trouble.”

Charlie wondered what Izzy had looked like. It was hard to imagine the man without the manicured facial hair and deep lines.

“Is that why you didn’t go to college?”

Izzy took another drink of water then shook his head. “Would’ve needed a reason to go, not a reason not to. Lots of kids in my neighborhood didn’t. Faith might’ve though.”

“Who’s Faith?”

“Girlfriend. Met her when I was your age, actually. Jesus fuck, what a child I was.”

“Hey,” Charlie protested, but not too hard. He wanted to hear more.

“Trust me, you’re a fucking kid. Nothing wrong with it.”

There were a few things wrong with it to Charlie’s mind. An adult might get to say things a kid couldn’t for instance, but Charlie shoved that to one side.

“You had a girlfriend?” He asked instead.

“Why does everyone say it like that?” Izzy groaned. “Yeah, I did.”

“What was she like?”

“Smart. Real smart. Good at math. Shy. Didn’t talk very much unless it was just the two of us.”

Charlie could picture that easily. He didn’t like to talk much in school himself. Enough not to be weird, but not enough to draw attention. He wondered if anyone would describe him as shy, years from now. Probably not. It sounded nice though.

“When did you break up?”

“Didn’t.”

“Uh...”

“She died.”

“Oh,” Charlie winced. “Sorry.”

“You didn’t know,” Izzy waved that away.

“Wait...she died when? Like how long were you together?” He pictured a tragic twenty-five or six year old Izzy losing his childhood sweetheart. Like a movie his mother would watch when she thought no one else was around.

“Nearly three years. She was a month out from eighteen.”

Alma was eighteen. And Charlie wasn’t oblivious, he knew teenagers could die. Of course it happened. But eighteen was so close. He imagined someone he knew in school right now just being dead in three years. Not seeing graduation.

“That’s horrible.”

“Long time ago now.”

“Still. I’m sorry.”

Izzy bumped his shoulder into Charlie’s, “History.”

Flustered, Charlie kicked at a rock, watched it bounce back down the hill through the trees until it disappeared in the underbrush.

“This swimming thing,” Izzy said as if there’d been no pause in the discussion. “You going to have competitions?”

“Yeah. Meets. First one isn’t until February though. Up against other local high schools. There’s a regional in March. That’s the big deal, but I won’t be ready for it yet.”

“You don’t know that. Lots of hours between then and now.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Ready?”

“Mhm.”

They didn’t talk the rest of the way out, nor for most of the way back. Charlie liked it that way. Izzy was great at silence, unbothered by it as far as Charlie could tell. It was only when they were back in Izzy’s car that they started talking about books and words flowed between them.

In the darkness of his room that night, Charlie thought about Izzy’s shoulder brushing his own. The way he’d talked about his loss so simply, but with such depth in his voice. It seemed wrong to enjoy that, to like the burr when his voice caught on the word ‘shy’.  

He forgot about the rest of it until months later. Dad and Eddy, Mom and Pop, all turned out for his first regional match and it had been nice to see them all lined up and trying to get along in the stands. What he hadn’t expected as Izzy to show too, sitting next to Mom as if he belonged there. When Charlie caught his eye, Izzy just gave him one solemn nod.  

Seconds later, Charlie was diving into the water and he swam to his first of many victories.

[fightwing]

jon said: