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ninaswritingstuff · 3 months ago

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Have a little snippet of something I wrote for my TimKon Clone Baby AU. Technically it's an ABO-verse, but nothing in this snippet actually refers to that, so this could be read as a Tim-is-trans universe.

Enjoy!

The commercials always make this stuff look easy, Kon thought, glancing between the half-empty glass jar of mashed bananas in his hand and the banana mush-smeared face of his son.

Danny was apparently in A Mood this morning. It didn’t happen often, as Danny was normally a pretty agreeable baby so long as his diaper was clean and his favorite stuffed animal was in reach, but sometimes the kid just woke up and chose violence. At least Kon had yet to be hit in the face with the stuffed rabbit Danny drug around everywhere, so overall not a bad morning.

Ellie had, surprisingly, been the easy one this morning, happily taking her portion of mashed banana. Bananas were a winning strategy with that kid; pears came in a close second. Kon hadn’t realized a baby could glower with the best of them until he’d tried to feed her mashed sweet potato. She was only marginally less hostile to mashed carrots and mashed peas.

He really hoped that wasn’t a preview of coming attractions.

“What’s got you in a mood this morning, squirt,” Kon asked. “Normally you love bananas.”

“Bah,” Danny replied, sounded way too resolute for a five-month-old.

“If you’re still miffed about the formula thing, I feel you, but it’s really the only option you’ve got at the moment.”

“Bah!”

Unlike his sister, Danny had an allergy to standard formula. Thankfully, Alfred had found a soy-based alternative that Danny wasn’t allergic to, because Tim had only been able to pump so much before he’d taken off to go find Bruce and Kon had no clue how he was gonna keep his son fed while Tim was gone when he ran out of milk. Danny had not taken the switch well, and Kon had questions about that ‘seven years under a yellow sun’ thing because the strength with which his son had shoved the bottle away the first few times could not be normal baby strength.

But answering those questions involved talking to Clark, and Kon was very much not in the mood to do that. If it wasn’t for Bart agreeing to tag along with Tim since Kon couldn’t, he was pretty sure any interaction with Clark would result in someone getting socked in the face. Even with Bart watching Tim’s six, Kon still had the urge to punch Clark in the face. How exactly was it crazy to think that maybe Batman wasn’t actually dead? So what if they’d had a body to bury? Kon had left a body, and he had come back alive and kicking. Clark himself had died and left a body only to come back later alive and kicking. Was it a long shot? Sure. Kon would give him that. But no more of one than half the shit they pulled off on a regular basis.

Kon’s entire existence was a long shot. So was Danny’s. Ellie’s was, too, if you thought about it. If Jason Todd hadn’t spontaneously resurrected for no discernible reason, he wouldn’t have been picked up by the League of Assassins and dunked in the radioactive kool-aid. He wouldn’t have come back to Gotham and hunted down Tim, beating him with an inch of his life. And if Jason hadn’t done any of that, Tim wouldn’t have been put on the antibiotics during his recovery that neutralized his suppressants and birth control, leaving him heating and fertile when Kon fucked him.

Long shots were pretty damn common in their line of work.

“Well, if bananas aren’t going to cut it today, what will?”

“Ooogah ohm da!”

All of the languages CADMUS had crammed into his head, and baby babble wasn’t one of them. With a sigh, Kon screwed the lid back on the banana jar and went to see what else was available. If Danny had a thing against bananas today, he’d probably refuse to eat the mashed pears. Kon grabbed a jar of mashed peas.

“Alright, kiddo, let’s try this again,” Kon said, settling back into his seat and opening the jar. “Open wide!”

Danny watched as Kon brought the small spoon, loaded with mashed green peas, closer to his face. In a display of proof that maybe there was, in fact, a god, Danny accepted the spoonful and swallowed after a moment of mulling it over.

��Oh thank fuck,” Kon muttered, loading up another spoonful. He needed to get at least another four or five spoonfuls into the kid before he could call it quits.

Transitioning the twins to solids was way more complicated than it sounded. Everyone seemed to have a different opinion about it, offered up a different timetable, and presented different lists of which types of foods are best for babies. He was more or less splitting the difference and hoping he was close enough. It had been two weeks, and so far neither of the twins had gotten sick or shown any other adverse reactions to additions in their diet. So he was tentatively calling it a win.

It was hard to tell if Danny was being deliberately difficult or if he was just randomly pickier than usual as Kon tried everything he could think of to get his son to cooperate. Danny hadn’t flatout rejected the mashed peas, seemed to have no problem actually eating the mush once Kon managed to get it into his mouth, but the little boy kept squirming around like the world’s most active bobble-head.

He didn’t catch the set of footsteps quite as quick as he otherwise would if he weren’t running on a third of his usual sleep schedule. Dick’s footsteps were light---most of the Bats’ were, save for Red Hood---and he moved like the highly skilled acrobat he was. He was able to sneak up on him if Kon wasn’t paying attention; even Tim hadn’t gotten that good yet.

“Good morning, Ella-bean,” Dick said, bending down a bit to get on eye-level with Ellie in her highchair. “Looks like someone had fun for breakfast.”

Half of a banana had been sacrificed to keep Ellie distracted and occupied long enough to feed Danny; Kon suppressed a shudder every time he glanced over to check on her. She’d mashed the poor fruit into a barely recognizable paste and it was smeared all over her face, clothes, and hair. She was going to need a bath.

“I take it bananas aren’t going over well with Thing 2?”

“I switched to the peas,” Kon replied. “He hasn’t spit them out yet, but he’s also not really bothering to cooperate, either, so…”

“He’s probably had enough, then. I can go give Thing 1 here a quick bath if you wanna get him cleaned up,” Dick offered, already pulling Ellie out of her seat.

She squealed and flailed her tiny, pudgy arms before settling into Dick’s arms and deciding to suck on her banana-coated thumb. Kon took a deep breath and recapped the mashed peas.

“Yeah, probably a good idea. I’ll go grab a spare onesie for her.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Dick assured him. “The nursery’s on the way to the bathroom, I can just pop in and grab something. The DVR should still be set up for The Wiggles re-runs. Ellie and I will join you two once she no longer looks like she took on Condiment King.”

Kon snorted.

Honestly, Danny was only a bit cleaner than his sister. He’d probably have to wrangle him into a clean onesie, giving the smears of green on Danny’s current one. Hopefully he’d be more cooperative with that than he was with breakfast. Kon should probably send a complaint into Gerber; their commercials were full of lies. Even if none of the baby food jars in the manor were Gerber brand.

He snagged a small handful of baby wipes and set to work wiping away the smears of mashed peas and bananas from his son’s face. In keeping with the apparent theme of the morning, Danny squirmed away from the wipes and whined in protest.

“I know, I know, but you’ll be happier when you’re clean.”

“Bah,” Danny retorted.

“You are just as much of a menace as your sister,” Kon commented, a half-smile on his face. “You’re just quieter about it, huh?”

“Mah ohm bah!”

Once Danny’s face and hands were clear of mash, Kon stood up and lifted the infant out of his high chair. Danny shrieked and kicked, giggling as Kon settled him in a more secure hold. That tiny little fist of his gripped at Kon’s shirt, but he didn’t otherwise squirm.

“Alright, let’s go get you into something clean, and then we can check in on Ellie and Uncle Dick. Sound good?”

“Bah!

Kon was particularly careful when he set about getting Danny changed. He’d made that mistake exactly once. Cute as Danny was when he was giggling up a storm, he could find something else to giggle about.

#timkon clone baby au

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lizzietwoshoes · 1 year ago

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Oh damn, My Adventures With Superman actually IS as good as people have been saying.

Y'know how folks are like "people don't recognize him when he puts on the glasses to become Clark Kent because he slumps over and acts all unsure of himself"? But like, IMO the entire point of Superman is that no, that fumbling farm boy himbo is who Clark ACTUALLY is, and the Kal-El/Superman persona is the act where he has to pretend to be confident and completely in control at all times.

This show 100% actually gets that, unlike basically every other adaptation of Superman that's been done in the past 30 years. It's cute and funny and heartwarming, and I encourage everyone to give it a try.

#my adventures with superman #superman

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thevindicativevordan · 10 months ago

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Thoughts on Scott Lobdell's Superman run?

Rocafort's art kept me reading.

Rocafort's depiction of Krypton, the Fortress even the armor which no one outside of him and Jim Lee sold me on, all look great! They all had a flavor to them that we don't usually get on the Superman books. He drew Clark with a youthful appearance that suited his age, and I wish going forward artists would emulate New 52 Superman's design for when they want to draw a "young" Superman. Unfortunately Rocafort isn't a fast artist given his style, which meant he needed lots of filler. Still I powered through the filler simply because the issues he did draw were always worth it for me.

Storywise though? It was bad. Lobdell was trying to do the Johns technique of taking old Silver Age concepts and "modernizing" them, but he wasn't as good as it as Johns was. We'd get cool ideas like Kryptonian dragons or Superman benching the weight of the entire planet, but it all rang hollow. There was no real heart or underlying theme just an excuse for the artist to draw cool shit. Early New 52 felt a lot like 90s Image and Superman was hit especially hard in that regard. H'el as a character is nothing but a cool looking Bizarro knockoff, and he is the big villain of the run. The Court of Owls had a point to make about Scott Snyder's relationship with Snyder's hometown and also a point to make about Bruce's relationship with Gotham and his wealth. Couldn't tell you what Lobdell was trying to do with H'el on a thematic level.

Also it's no secret that Lobdell would execute on editorial edicts that other writers wouldn't, which meant he was implementing orders from on high that didn't result in good stories, but did check the list on whatever Didio or Harras wanted. Only Shay Veritas has sorta outlived his run (which is good because I love the concept of Superman befriending the world's smartest woman in contrast to his relationship with the world's smartest man), and unlike Morrison or even Pak's Action Comics runs I haven't seen anyone step up to bat for this run as underrated.

I loved this moment this though:

Clark gives a big speech about the value of truth, justice, and the American Way in the context of real journalism bowing to corporate interests - hoping to rally his fellow reporters to walk out with him in protest - and no one cares!... except Cat Grant. The one person you'd think wouldn't give a damn about those things, does. This is an unironically great Superman moment, one that I think really does capture his appeal as a character, showing how he can inspire others, especially those you'd think couldn't be reached, while showing the cost of that attitude too. Clark and Cat going on to found a blog was actually not a bad idea in the context of "what does journalism look like in the 21st century?" which most Superman runs ignore.

Even having Clark and Lois butt heads over that isn't a bad idea. Clark as a journalist is mainly concerned with his own stories, while Lois as a producer/editor has to look out for the organization as a whole. Clark only has to worry about himself but Lois has to worry about "if the paper isn't profitable and I have to lay people off, what's going to happen to these people in a field where the number of journalism positions is steadily decreasing?" which is a recipe for good organic conflict between the two! It didn't have to be bad or forced for those two to be at odds because a journalist and an editor/producer have different concerns. It just... wasn't good.

Sure looked pretty at times though.

#superman #scott lobdell #kenneth rocafort

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bound-by-stardust · 6 years ago

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PUT THIS IS THE LOUVRE WHERE IT BELONGS!!!

#DRAG HER ASS BBY #OP YOU ARE THE BEST FOR MAKING THIS I LOVE YOU WITH ALL MY HEART 😘😘#this scene doesn’t quite make up gor them sidelining raven again but it was better yhan i was imagining it to be #raven hit the nail on the head #also i love how she brings up clarke leaving bellamy to die!#i think that is a real sore spot for a lot of spacekru especially murphy and raven #they love and respect bellamy so much and IT SHOWS #and even though murphy already called clarke out on this #it holds a bit more sound for me when it comes from raven (maybe it’s cause braven owns my whole ass lol)#no but seriously #raven has stood loyally by bellamy’s side since s1 #and she’s watched as clarke has abused him (both physically and mentally) and abandoned him and left him for dead (more than once)#she has seen the poison thay clarke has unleashed on bellamy’s life and she hates it!#alie!raven brings up the power inbalance to bellamy cause it’s something that RAVEN hates #raven knows what kind of leader bellamy is #kind caring supportive protective compassionate driven smart strategic loyal honest and more #she’s spent more time with bellamy than clarke’s ever have #she had to stand by and watch clarke walk all over bellamy for 6 months (give or take)#while clarke controlled him and everyone because she believes herself to be above them #but then raven got to live for 6 years with bellamy 6 YEARS!#in that time she got to work with him and watch him grow into the leader she always knew he could be #she got to watch him be the best version of himself without having clarke to weigh him down #she got to watch him heal #it is so beyond fitting that raven uses bellamy’s leadership and decision making as a way to stick it to clarke #we always see bellamy hyping up and praising raven cause of how much he admirers her #but it works both ways #raven admirers bellamy just as much otherwise she would never be this loyal to him #raven knows what kind of person/leader bellamy is and it’s someone she will follow till the end of time #because he actually ‘gives a damn’ unlike clarke #raven see’s right through clarke and her BS and im hear for it

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aesoaps · 3 years ago

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imagine the survivors reacting to you in their clothes. there’s a new game update (or event?) where survivors are given the costumes of other survivors, so it’s basically just a big jumbo swap between outfits (identity v, buy my idea). how do you think the survivors would react to you in their clothing?

eli clark would be the second most blushy and fidgety out of all of them. the man would try his hardest to hide his face underneath the new hood he acquired (it’s supposed to be a replica of naib’s hood, he assumes). the sight of you all cozy and cuddled up under his cloak is making his heart want to explode, and for a couple of seconds, he genuinely has a hard time breathing (you had to go check on him, which only worsened his beating heart). he gets used to it after a while, no more with the squeaking in surprise at the sight of you and definitely no more hyperventilating, you can’t help but notice that brooke, his owl and trusted companion, has been staring at you more and more these days, though.

now, victor grantz would beat eli in the ‘dying inside’ agenda, seemingly almost passing out at the sight of you in his postman uniform. he’s the most blushy and fidgety out of all of them, jumping whenever you touch him.. even when you don’t notice that you’ve touched him in the first place. you look cute in a postman uniform, he thinks. the type to stare for a long amount of time only to try to explain himself with pitiful excuses once he's caught. he can’t exactly explain himself to you, though. instead, he just does frantic hand gestures while his face glows ever so red. he sends an apology letter to you later on, admitting that he just thought you looked good, though. and you can’t help but smile at how precious he is. <3

mike morton would be the best hype man ever, even when you think you look ridiculous in his colorful acrobat suit. stuff like “damn, who’s this hottie?” “you look better than me in my own clothing!” and “you’re putting me to shame, [name]. how could you?? :((” comes out of his mouth more frequently. unlike eli, you’re the one who ends up blushing more than him! >:(( he’s overall more flirty. in fact, he’s grossly flirty, to the point that it’s just blatant overkill. but can you blame him? seeing you in his clothing stirs something deep inside of him.

edgar valden, the master of denial. you’re honestly so tired of this petty bitch, lol. scoffs at the sight of you, but no one can deny the bright red hue on his face - even victor can tell he has a crush on you and that boy’s naïve about this kind of stuff. probably, at some point, remarks at you with something like 'you look ridiculous’ but when you change back into your regular clothing, he gets angry at you because w-why did you take it off? >:0 probably has a painting of you in his painter clothes somewhere hidden in his room.

vera nair is also mean about it but not as mean as edgar. sure, she’s frowning and actively ignoring you because feelings, but she actually has the decency to admit that you look good. once she realizes that she can’t avoid you forever, she gives you advice on how to look better and how to maintain your look in her perfumer outfit. whenever you have wardrobe accidents in matches, you best believe that this girl is already on your tail, more concerned about fixing you up than the hunter that is currently meters away from the two of you. if you say 'thank you’ or call her out for blushing like all hell, she will switch back to angry mode. >:C

bonus:

joseph was searching for a survivor to hunt down, going from cipher to cipher, when he stumbles into you.. wearing what he usually wear. you can’t help but laugh at the hunter with his face suddenly flat on the ground. you hear what you assume are muffled cuss words in french from him. and you smile before running, thinking about how lucky he was to have avoided falling on his sword.

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regrettablewritings · 4 years ago

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Preference: Love Languages

Characters: Cassian Andor, Erik the Phantom, Poe Dameron, Bruce Wayne, & Clark Kent

Cassian Andor

How He Receives:

Cassian is a very tough nut to crack: He’s aloof, he’s driven, he has a seemingly one-track mind, and he’s definitely the least open member of the Rogue One Squad -- and that’s saying something! These traits only seem to become more evident when approaching him from a more romantically-driven angle . . . However, he’s most certainly not a glacier: Even the most glaring of Rebels has a heart, and Cassian is no exception. If one does the math, it eventually becomes apparent that the best way to warm this man up is through quality time.

Admittedly, it’s quite shocking to think this. After all, there are no tricks or double meanings to quality time. It’s exactly as it says on the tin: Drawing feelings of love and acceptance from spending time with someone you love. Be it while doing tasks together or talking or just sitting and enjoying one another’s company, quality time ultimately boils down to feeling seen and heard by just having your loved one near you. (In addition, it’s also often associated with down time, which can especially be seen as a plus in the eyes of a ranking official in a war effort.)

The idea that someone like Cassian could harness love from being around another person so often just plain puzzles you. After all, he’s not exactly known for being the most welcoming, or even the most eager for downtime. Indeed, Cassian himself may find himself in denial of seeking attention like that.

But really, as much as he may refuse to show it or even believe it, he really appreciates being shown this kind of attention. He’s more or less resigned himself to the life of a cog, helping to keep the machine of the Rebellion going by doing his part. He may not necessarily voice contentment over this, but given that he’s given so much of his life to the cause, there are few other options he sees for himself. At least, he thinks. He honestly doesn’t acknowledge to himself just how deep he does, what his wants are, who he is separate from his actions and traumas.

But by spending time with his partner, he’s given the chance to confront himself: He can talk to you and have you talk right back to him. He’s given a chance to simultaneously learn more about you and also about himself. He can feel seen, he can feel heard! Because when he gets quality time with you, he’s no longer Cassin Andor, Captain of the Rebellion, deadly sniper and veteran spy: He’s just Cassian. Cassian Jeron Andor: A man trying to do right by the future while at the same time trying to confront his past after so many years of avoiding it. More importantly, though, he’s your Cassian. Which is as far from being any old cog as one gets.

How He Gives:

Unlike his personal love language, how Cassian expresses care can actually go deeper than what its name suggests. The thing about giving gifts is that the gift need not necessarily be tangible: Sometimes it can be a gesture, an action that doesn’t qualify as an act of service, anything that could be perceived as a fundamental expression of how someone loves you. At their root, the giving and reception of gifts revolves around the idea that it is literally “the thought that counts.”

And for Cassian, you are on his mind when he decides to bequeath you with the gift of being able to defend yourself. Is it a strange gift? Absolutely. Is it advantageous? Most assuredly. Most of all, is it terribly important to Cassian that he gives you this? Beyond words.

Deep in love or slowly falling, you’re doing so in the midst of a war: One can never be too careful. And given that at any moment, the enemy could locate the base or one side of the partnership could be deployed on a dangerous mission, it’s better than have and not need the ability to knock a trooper unconscious than to need and not have the ability. Cassian has already lost so much in his life; he doesn’t have any desire to have one of his remaining loved ones added to the list.

In the event he can’t be there to protect you, he needs to know you can at least put up a fight well enough to possibly escape. So when he teaches you how to shoot or how to participate in hand to hand contact, or even teaches you how to combat Empire weaponry using items stolen from their stocks, it’s because he has you in mind. He has the image of a safe you in mind, to be more specific.

Because even if he can’t be there, he wants some trace of himself with you when you most need it. After all, the greatest gift one can receive is the gift of their partner being there for them. In Cassian’s case, if he can’t be with you physically, he’ll for damn sure make certain he’s on your mind in a way that will keep you alive.

Erik

How He Receives:

At this point, Erik’s love language could best be described as “yes.”

The man has gone throughout so much of his life lacking in various forms of all five, so it would be difficult to say at first what the best approach would be. Hell, it wouldn’t be far off to assume that regardless of what he truly felt, he would bend over to receive love however you gave it to him: He would consume every last drop as though it were the final beads of rain in the desert. However, it should be noted Erik seems to respond particularly well to words of affirmation and physical touch. Or, at least, these are the languages he appears to be most in search of.

This, of course, is unsurprising: Of all the things Erik has been denied in life, recognition of his humanity, abilities, and worth, and the kindly touch of another, are the most prominently missing. Consequently, it’s no wonder he desperately seeks someone to praise his genius. The problem, however, is that he’s become so lacking in either that his search for one or the other has more intensified natures than the average person’s.

For example, it may seem arrogant (and, to a point, it is), but considering Erik associates his worth with his talents and what he can contribute, it’s no wonder he snarks or even throws fits when he feels he’s been underappreciated. He considers himself too proud to fish for compliments, but you wouldn’t be sure what else to call it when you notice him leaning in ever so slightly, eagerness twinkling in his eyes when he asks you for your input on one of his most recent projects.

More tragically, however, is the situation regarding physical touch. Modern psychology would recognize Erik as being somewhere along the autism spectrum. For the time, however, all Erik knew was that he had a certain sensitivity to things: Sounds, some smells, heavy light, and, indeed, some sensations of touch. The aversion to touch flickered, however, much like candlelight: There would be long periods where Erik would crave the feeling of another, followed by brief moments where he couldn’t stand the idea of anything touching him and vice versa. Some days, he would feel content in his robe, one of the few things he’d escaped Persia with; other days, it, as well as any other seemingly gentle fabric, would feel scratchy or dry on his skin.

Nevertheless, Erik wanted to become familiar with the feeling of someone else. Particularly, he wanted to become familiar with the feeling you. The unfortunate nature of it all was that Erik’s touch-starved nature would sometimes collide with his touch-aversion tendencies, leaving him a frustrated (and, at their worst, trembling) mess. He, of course, chalks it up to him being overwhelmed from lack of experience, but it certainly doesn’t help anything. He’s already gone this long without so much as over one kiss to his name, most touches being through some reckless nature.

And now that he finally has in his life someone to touch him as though he were a beloved pet, to kiss him as lovers are meant to . . . It’s simply not fair! He’ll be damned more than he already has been if he lets what he perceives as fear get in the way of himself and your affections!

In his stubbornness, he tends to push forward on the craving regardless of how much it will cause him to shiver and tense: Even if it only means your pinky wrapping around his, he wants your physical company upon his own. He will brave all that he must until he can no longer bear it!

Praise him. Call him your angel. Tell him he’s brilliant. Tell him he’s good. All while hugging him, or rubbing the smoother parts of his scalp, or gently stroking a thumb on his cheek (blemished or not, he won’t force you to touch what you don’t want to). Truly, to be seen and felt in ways of affection is how people are meant to be loved, in Erik’s book.

How He Gives:

On the rare occasions he’s been accepted or tolerated in his life, it’s usually been in relation to what Erik could provide for the other party involved, romantically or not. Be it to use his skills to carry out a murder task, or to create for them gifts beyond their wildest dreams, Erik has since learned (or at least been led to believe) that one of the best ways to please someone is to provide for them.

As a result, anyone who’s caught the eye of the Phantom of the Opera need not be shocked when they find him in their services as a tutor, or pulling strings behind the scenes to help their goals be achieved within the opera house. Case in point, with Christine, he offered to teach her to sing, he tried to raise her status as an ensemble member to the prima donna of the Opera Populaire, etc. Sure, his methods were not ideal, but to Erik, these were simply acts of service and providing her intangible but nonetheless important gifts meant to help her along in life in some way, albeit with traces of his own selfishness intertwined. (Not that he may have necessarily even noticed it at first. Remember: He gave her his music; he gifted her with something very important to him that he still wanted her to have.)

While he’s since thankfully dampened down on his methods, the language he speaks to any new and special person remains: If you have caught his eye and/or heart, he wants you to know your importance to him the only way he really knows how: He wants to provide you with peeks into his little world, to express to you what he finds difficult to do in words. Erik is not inarticulate in the least, but he truly does feel his actions speak more of his soul than his words sometimes can.

So from this, be prepared to find projects of yours completed after spending night upon night struggling to keep up. Do not be alarmed when you find letters in your working station with tips or secrets that ultimately help you along the way. Cherish those days when you find small morsels of your favorite pastries (don’t question how he got them), or if he lets you be the first person to lay eyes upon his newest masterpiece. He’s doing all he can to help you, even if sometimes it must be from afar. He is, after all, your most devoted and obedient servant.

Poe Dameron

How He Receives:

Poe Dameron: the Resistance’s golden boy. Always committed, always ready to go, and always ready to lend a helping hand. It therefore stands to suggest that the devoted general deserves some help right back. After all, being a general is a tough job: He has to make tough calls, disperse troops as necessary, direct the flow of the Resistance’s counters, and so forth -- all while keeping a calm and reasonable countenance. He wants to do everyone proud, but admittedly it does take a lot out of him.

Hence why with him, acts of service can go a long way.

To the average person, this may come off as just doing chores: Helping mind his resting quarters, relaying messages as necessary, bringing him things he may need, making sure he eats and sleeps regularly enough, making sure subordinates stay on task and don’t distract him from larger responsibilities in favor of more tedious endeavors . . . This couldn’t possibly be what endears a bold and confident hero like General Dameron, right?

Actually, it is: When someone performs an act of service, they’re telling their special someone that they love and care about them enough to help take a few things off their plate. And when somebody best receives love through another’s efforts, it means they see that their own personal time and work is, in fact, appreciated! Poe feels loved and cared for when he has someone who knows that in spite of his hero status, he really is just a man: He has limits, he has his doubts sometimes in the dark. Being General Leia Organa’s successor means he has big, big shoes to fill, and even though everyone has faith in him, it’s all too easy for him to potentially put himself into overdrive and risk even his health.

When one wants to show Poe that they love and care for him, to do really is to love.

(Additionally, if you tend to BB-8′s maintenance and make sure his X-Wing is in tip top shape, it tells him that you also care about the things he values beyond his job and regular functioning. BB-8 is his best buddy, and his X-Wing is symbolic of his first love: Flying. When you respect these two pillars of Poe’s life, that’s how he knows you see him for him.)

How He Gives:

There are many great things that could be said about Poe Dameron: That he’s handsome, that he’s brave, that he’s not afraid to take a risk (though how great of a thing this might be can be debated), and so much more. But one of the most underappreciated yet blessedly wonderful things about this man is that he has just as many wonderful things to say right back! He has a natural ability to lead and instill confidence, so it is only natural that his way with words translates into his way with love: Words of affirmation is Poe’s game, and he plays it hard.

Because of how ready he is to commend another, it’s rather easy to assume that perhaps he’s just using run-of-the-mill, one-size-fits-all compliments. However, this is far from the truth: The truth is, Poe can see beauty and skill in all kinds of ways, and he’s not afraid to openly appreciate the ones whom he sees it in. As a result, everything he says is steeped in genuineness, often at the perfect time (sometimes without his target ever even knowing they needed it).

His partner, of course, is far from and beyond being an exception.

Your days are filled with constant reminders of your worth, with praises and comments prompted by him acknowledging your efforts.

You successfully run a drill known for its difficulty? He congratulates you with, “Great job!”

Your learning of a new skill, regardless of how minor it may seem to the unappreciative, is greeted with statements of how proud of you he is.

A long day of running errands for him, or helping him clean up his plate of duties is acknowledged with a tired but nevertheless warm, “Thank you, Starlight . . .”

Admittedly, it can potentially come off as a bit much. He couldn’t possibly see so much in you worth talking about, right? In actuality, he truly does: Contrary to popular presumptions, Poe isn’t nearly as arrogant as people believe him to be, and he easily recognizes how strength and bravery comes in all shapes, sizes, and wars. He can appreciate all the efforts one applies, and he wants them to appreciate themselves right back. Hence why, whether it’s over your skills or perseverance, Poe will always be there to remind you he’s in your corner, watching you with pride in his eyes.

You’re a hero in your own way, in both the Resistance and in your own life, and you deserve to know that about yourself. He sees you, he appreciates you, he loves you for all that you are, and even the bits that you’re not.

And even though it’s so easy to want to doubt him, there’s something so warm and honest about the way he looks at you when he says, “I love you” . . . You just can’t help but know it’s the truth.

Of course, it should also be noted that even once the war winds down and he no longer has drills or base errands to appreciate you over, the praises will not stop. This man has a nebula’s worth of affirmations waiting for you, in his vice, in little messages he leaves for you, in holoimages you find whenever he has to go out.

“I would never want life with anybody else,” he tells you every chance he gets. And every time, it’s accompanied with a warm smile that reaches his eyes. It’s enough warmth to fire up an entire galaxy’s worth of stars, with each one representing something about you to love, adore, and cherish. He would mark them all in a star chart if you would let him.

Bruce Wayne

How He Receives:

Bruce, Bruce, Bruce . . . How does one begin to solve an enigma like Bruce? The thing about him being the Prince of Gotham and an all around very public figure is that everyone likes to make their own assumptions about him: That he’s cold, that he’s selfish, that he’s an idiot, or that he’s, well, a slut. And certainly, the philandering playboy image he’d projected in his youth did nothing to suggest otherwise, but it should be stated upfront that Bruce is and always will be an enigma far beyond first impressions, even to ones who love him and are a part of his personal life.

Case in point, it may come as both expected and a surprise that the man's love language actually veers more in the physical touch territory. It's a bit expected because, once again, he is known for being a bit more playful with women in the public eye in the past. However, as his lover in a much more healthy and intendedly long-term relationship, you learn that, much like Bruce, it goes far deeper than that.

The thing about physical touch is that it is both a fundamental way of expressing love, while also requiring a lot of understanding between those involved in order for it to have the best turnout.

Everyone assumes that Bruce will accept any touch, so long as it comes from the hands of any pretty thing. And while it is true that lapses in judgement and moments of desperation have led to Bruce letting his guard down, the fact of the matter still stands: Not all touches are created equal. Not every spot will illicit the same response, and, surprisingly, not every applicant will either.

There have, unfortunately, been many hands seemingly placed on his shoulders or face that would start off sweet and trusting, only to turn into slaps or harsh grips, long nails digging into him in a moment of distress. Without going into too much detail, it’s sufficient to just say that these instances have consequently led to Bruce becoming increasingly on guard about who he lets touch him, causing him to become more and more touch starved than what he already was.

Getting close enough for Bruce to let down his walls was by far not an easy task. But by far, your greatest accomplishment was getting Bruce to trust you enough to know: Your caresses had no dubious intentions. He’d spent so long expecting you to turn around and prove you were using him, taking advantage of his need for another’s physical attention to get whatever you wanted. After all, that’s how it went in the past with others.

But with you . . . With you, Bruce has come to find that it’s . . . different. He’s learned that your hand is resting on his cheek to pillow his weary head, to gently scratch the scruff beginning to form after working long hours into the night after night after night. While your massages on his aching back may lead to intimacy, it doesn’t have to; and when it does, it’s accompanied not by sickeningly sweet words made to threaten to tear him down. And speaking of intimacy, you don’t use it as a tool: You use it as a means of communicating with him. You want to actually be with him, in that moment, and let him know that for every second you are bound in this way, you love and adore him for who he is.

It’s hard to imagine, but the big, strong Dark Knight often finds himself seeking your touch throughout the day. He’s good at hiding it and composing himself otherwise, of course, but that’s regularly only to a point. In private, he leans in ever so slightly, his eyes quietly begging for you to embrace him. You care about his vulnerabilties, his needs for gentle touches, and even though they sate him, he’s always left wanting more. For even though he is supposedly a man who has everything, he will always be selfish for your unselfish touches.

How He Gives:

Once again, there was almost a sense of predictability revolving around Bruce’s main manner of showing love. After all, where was the shock in a billionaire resorting to gifting his partner with material goods? Indeed, this unfortunate expectation easily led to some corruption and exploitation, but the fact of the matter stood: At its root, Bruce never meant to necessarily spoil the ones whom he tried to be with; he merely wanted to provide for them tangible happiness, things that would let them know he’d thought about them. But, of course, bad company makes for bad reception: The socialites and femme fatales that had slinked in and out of his life were all too ready and willing to milk what they could from their other half.

Any “wronged” lovers would give him the cold shoulder until it was warmed by some fancy coat or couture leather jacket; they would demand to be pacified by the crystalline beaches of some far off location that would no doubt look great on their social media; fancy bags, tickets to shows Bruce could never wrap his head around, the latest gadgets and trendy things – he was more than willing to provide them if it meant she understood and appreciated his efforts and affections.

Of course, they never really did. And, of course, this left an impression on Bruce.

He hadn’t meant to be so cynical by the time your relationship with him came to be, but suspicion had become second nature. As did his tendency to give half-hearted gifts in order to supposedly appease you. (Of course, he could have potentially tried to learn a new method of showing his care, but that is neither here nor there; gift-giving just seemed to come most naturally to him.) He didn’t necessarily mean to lump you in with the rest, of course, but none of the relationships previous had ever allowed him to think the possibility of there even being an “otherwise.”

And while you didn’t necessarily mind receiving nearly weekly parcels of dresses and jewelry and the latest tech, part of you did admittedly feel somewhat stifled by it all. And cold. But maybe this was how Bruce truly did show his love? And who were you to conduct how he did so, much less reject his offerings? And so, as a result, a wordless dance between the two of you had been initiated: Bruce would buy what he thought you wanted, and you would accept if only because you felt you needed to in order to show your acceptance of his life. It wasn’t until Bruce had given you a postcard, however, that the tide had turned.

He hadn’t thought too terribly much of the thing when he’d sent it to you from Amnesty Bay during a recon of sorts; of course, he’d been thinking of you, but as far as he knew, you were probably thinking of him bringing back something valuable. (If only the sleepy, seaside town actually had anything worth so much.) What he hadn’t expected was to see it perched on your nightstand when he returned.

“I like having it nearby me when I go to sleep,” you sheepishly admitted. “It’s small but . . . Well, you were thinking of me even when you were ‘doing your thing’ out there, and it feels really . . . nice . . .”

“Nice?” he repeated, a brow raised.

“Nice,” you confirmed, cheeks burning.

. . . Hm. He couldn’t help but note that you hadn’t fidgeted like that after he gave you the diamond tennis bracelet he’d picked up on the way back.

Smartest detective in the world, his foot: Maybe . . . There was a slight chance he’d been going about this the wrong way. And the more he tested this theory, the more that slight chance began to look even bigger: It was when he remembered things like your favorite meals, both at home and when dining out; it was when he brought home your favorite snacks after a particularly rough week; it was when he remembered dates that were important to you, or added small things to your growing collections of your choice.

Those were the moments where you felt connected to him. Those were the moments when you felt Bruce’s love for you. It was in the intangible some days, and in others, the tiny gestures that left you feeling large amounts of warmth within. Certainly, as time went on, you became more accepting of the larger objects sent your way, but it was only after Bruce genuinely applied his thoughts of you in order to guide him more properly. In the end, you didn’t need big items, big gestures, or really anything with a big price tag to appreciate him or acknowledge that he cared. All you really needed what to know he was there, ready and willing to make you as happy as you wanted to make him.

And, in a way, by relearning to give you gifts, Bruce was inadvertently gifted right back: He was reminded why giving gifts had become his go-to method. Certainly, it had started off as means to show his ability to provide, but it had long since evolved. Specifically, it had matured into something more healthy and beautiful, healed from its wounds and exploitation.

Because so long as he thought of you, there was always something around him – something he could do – that was suddenly made all the more beautiful for being associated with you.

Clark Kent

How He Receives:

Superman was a polarizing figure: For every news article recounting his amazing feats and daring rescues, there were at least three or five think pieces on his alien nature, or conspiracy podcast episodes dedicated to defining his malevolence. And while it admittedly made for a rough start in his heroing career (after all, even the weight of worry was a bit much for the world’s strongest man to properly handle), the Last Son of Krypton had thankfully since learned to stop investing so much stock into these sorts of criticisms. To a point anyway.

After all, a few words of affirmation never hurt anyone. Least of all the Man of Steel – or rather, his alter ego, Clark Kent.

Despite the fact that he had been Superman for at least three years by this point, Clark’s complex relationship with compliments and declarations give his relationship with you a bit of a bumpy start. It wasn’t that he was unfamiliar with the concept of compliments and being appreciated – he’d gotten plenty of it for his deeds. For what it was worth, in three short years, love for Superman had made an almost complete 180 from the previously dour position. But, then again, that was the problem: He knew adoration as Superman – but Clark barely knew appreciation as himself.

It was easier to accept that sort of thing when you were a public figure: All you needed to do was smile and puff out your muscular chest and speak in a clear and precise voice as blazing and bright as the sun that powered you. Simple stuff. There were plenty courses and even tutorials on how to be a public figure and how to appreciate praise. But nobody talks about how to do it when one is a supposedly sheepish, poorly-postured man of humble means, just trying to make his way in the big city. Probably because when one is such a man, not much is expected of him, much less something actually worth touching upon.

To your credit, you didn’t know this was something he needed. And to his own, he didn’t really recognize it, either. He’d spent so much of his life lately being dedicated to being Superman that he quietly began to neglect himself as a man in multiple areas of his life; why ever would he think about how he needed to receive love when he has to focus on keeping the city clean of crime? You thought he wanted you to appreciate him for such a nigh-on impossible feat! After all, not just anyone could brag that their boyfriend stopped a hostage situation, blew out a fire in a single breath, and lifted a derailed train back into an upright position, all in one afternoon! But the more and more you complimented him on such matters, the less and less you came to actually agree with your methods.

Not because you became used to and even bored with Clark’s Supermanning, but because the more you paid attention, the more you noticed that Clark, well, wasn’t beaming. You knew the difference between happy-for-the-public Supes and genuinely-happy Supes – there was a certain light missing in Clark’s eyes whenever you would congratulate him on a job well-down with a robbery or what have you.

Still, he would thank you for it, flashing you that glorious smile of his: “All in a day’s work, sweetheart!”

Even the tone with which he used wasn’t authentic to his true self.

You found yourself racking your brain as the days progressed. Maybe he was a different love language altogether? It was a bit presumptuous of you to assume this was the proper method, though, wasn’t it?

You haven’t even been meaning to think about it the moment it came to you; all you were trying to do was let Clark know how much you appreciated the meal he’d prepared. A less busy day for Superman was still plentiful for the average man Clark was trying to be; you never would have pressured him to come home and start cooking, much less a dish he’d only just recently found out about!

But that was simply how Clark was: He always went above and beyond, more than happy to take care of you whenever he could.

“Oh, wow!” you gasped between forkfuls. “You’ve really outdone yourself tonight; you really didn’t have to, Sweetie!” You glanced up just in time to see Clark’s face pinken ever so slightly.

“Oh!” he responded. “Well, you know . . . I just followed the recipe and went by intuition, that’s all . . .” And that was when you knew you were on to something. There were a million tells: The tensing, the flicker in his eyes, the clumsy smile . . . But most telling of all was his deflection: Clark never used deflection when accepting his usual bout of compliments.

But just to be certain, you carried on just a bit further. In the weeks to come, you would bring attention to the things Clark did -- specifically as Clark: You would appreciate aloud how he would do chores or bring home groceries even when he didn’t have you; you’d remind him of how handy he was around the apartment, using his farm-grown resourcefulness to fix little problems like a broken door; or, when reading over his submission for the Daily Planet, you would compliment him on his writing and thought process. And, as you’d come to expect, the same responses would follow: A split-second glimmer, a wobbly smile that carried blush, and an insistence that, “Oh, it was nothing” or “No need to mention it, it’s fine.”

In short, everything that was less Superman and more Clark. And that was how you knew you were on the right track.

While it did come with a learning curve for both parties (for you, you needed to learn what did and didn’t appeal as a Clark-specific affirmation; for Clark, he actually needed to learn that there was plenty about himself worth affirming at all), stability and a better understanding of the situation did come your way. The deflections lessened to mere extinction after a point (though the sheepishness still stayed for the most part).

Of course, there were still threats of lapsing back into disbelief on Clark’s part. After all, just because you, as Superman’s partner, had figured out his preferred way of being appreciated, didn’t mean that the rest of the world could possibly know or stop how they gave him there’s. But at the end of the day, Clark supposed that that was what made it all the more special.

At the end of the day, after all the “You’re so strong!”s and corny “What a man!”s, he could just come home and be greeted with much more personal, “Thank you for responding to my message earlier; it was very thoughtful of you!”s, or “I read your latest article; not too shabby”s. Or his absolute favorite: “You’re my hero.”

How He Gives:

There’s no point in mincing it when even complete strangers experienced how Clark showed his love for the world: Every act of heroism Clark did was an act of service to all. But where you got off on the long end of the stick was when you had to acts all to yourself. Sure, 10% of the local population could recount how Superman had saved them from a nasty fall or retrieved their poor kitty from a tree -- but how many of them could say that they had Superman helping them clip coupons so that they would be prepared for the next visit to the grocery store? Just you? You’re darn skippy!

Sure, Clark’s alter ego was in the service of all. But you had an ace up your sleeve: The intimacy and closeness of a working relationship! This meant you got the more personal acts of service; things that made you two look like a normal couple.

Clark would happily gather groceries for the household; do the dishes without complaint after you’d cooked; pick up the laundry on his way back if you hadn’t already; overall, the works! Of course, you had been very hesitant when you discovered that this was Clark’s way of displaying his love to you: He was already running himself ragged as a superhero, right? Why was he doing all these extra chores!? True, you certainly didn’t mind having some extra tasks in your day being taken care of (not everyone had the same super speed or ability to take care of a major problem in record timing, after all), but the idea of being a burden toy your already overworked boyfriend worried you. You began to seriously worry that perhaps there was something you were doing that suggested to him that this was what you wanted, and it clearly showed in your nervous expressions or uncertain eyes after the fifth time he proudly told you he’d given the entire apartment a clean sweep.

You had meant to do that, but traffic on the way home kept you busy . . .

“It’s okay,” Clark insisted, eyes earnest. “I like being able to take some worries out of the way for you. Cleaning the apartment is easy compared to what I do on a regular basis.”

You pressed your lips together, uncertain. “Yeah, but that’s just it: You have a regular basis. A very crazy one. I don’t want you to focus on all this . . . tedious stuff when I can just do that. You focus on the weird, power-y villain stuff, I focus on the mundane -- isn’t that what we agreed on? Wordlessly??”

Clark frowned. “No . . . There was never an agreement. At least, not like that. The only thing we ever agreed on was that we wanted to be together. . . . And that we liked this apartment. But I digress: We wanted to be together. And when I do things like this, it shows how much being with you means to me. I like making sure our home life is secure and clean. After all, if my girl back home is upset, then what kind of man would I be?” You were quiet, certain he was being rhetorical -- “A not very super man, that’s what.” If that smile of his weren’t so darling, you would’ve been tempted to wipe it off his face.

But you did see his point. And it did take a bit of time to get used to it. Of course, you refused to let your ability to do your share fall to the wayside: If you were able to do a chore or run errands, then you were on it! But . . . far be it from you to not appreciate your super man for the things that he did, when he could!

In the event you’d beaten him to the tasks, however, Clark would still have one last thing up his skin-tight sleeves: Physical touch.

Everyone knows this man has the strength necessary to uproot and transport an entire building. It’s enough to even cause some nervousness to the average person: How careful was he with his strength? How easy was it for him to forget himself and actually break something --or someone? Was being held by him a risk at the expense of the wellness of one’s bones? The answers were simple: He was very careful with his strength; not as easy as it had once been, but he’d long since come into his own sense of control; and not really, actually.

Who knew that the Man of Steel had a touch of kittens made out of clouds? Well, 10% of the local population, but also and especially You because whereas everyone else would experience a carry of some kind into safety, you got a carry into bed. Or the couch. Or even just his lap!

Really, the roughest Clark ever hazards with you is when a long day has left your back feeling stiff and in need of a gentle, gentle pop. He is more than happy to oblige, knowing that it’s giving you a sense of satisfactory (as well as doubling up as an act of service, or so he claims).

Clark loves cuddles, and he’s more than happy to share them with you as a reminder of just how special you are to him. After all, nobody else in the city can claim that they get to be spooned by the strongest and most sweetest man on Earth! Because out of all the people he comes into contact with on a regular basis, be it on the streets as a civilian, or in the midst of a crisis being brought down to control, you’re the one that matters most to Clark. He may be the world’s Superman, but let’s make one thing clear: He will only ever be your super man.

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screamting · 4 years ago

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[superbat hs au - Court of Owls, First hints of ~superpowers~

Tommy was willing to fill the time a while until supper, when about ten minutes before six, the boy on the top bunk would finally sit himself up and slide down to the floor and tugging on shoes without much of a word. “Almost six. Get ready to go.”

“Uh-”

Clark had asked him if he had any family, and what he planned to go to college for, and other generic questions he could manage to think of while he unpacked his things and then shoved his empty luggage aside.

“Six?” He asked, like he hadn’t heard any of what Harvey said before.

“Dinner,” Bruce said as explanation, unbothered.

(“Unfortunately, my mom,” Tommy had said with a roll of his eyes. “And obviously, Bruce’s an orphan. I’m hoping for medical school, to be a surgeon. What about you?”

There was no moment to acknowledge the middle part of the sentence. Only an impossible-to-hear tightness in the boy in the bunk’s otherwise steady breathing. And then it was gone again.)

“They’ll want you to wear something nice for the opening dinner, and any dinner on Sundays. If you don’t have anything else, your school uniform will do,” Bruce said.

(“Wh- journalism.” Clark had replied, but didn’t dare ask about how Bruce was an orphan.)

“Oh, okay. Uh. Yeah. I’ll have to get changed then.” Clark said, and dug around for his uniform. He didn’t have anything nicer than that with him.

He walked out to head to the bathroom and change.

“Alright.”

They would wait for him to return.

When he did, it was clear Tommy had changed clothing too, though he hadn’t bothered to leave the room to do so. He sat with Bruce on their bottom bunk, dressed in a matching oxford and button down jacket. Dark pants, black shoes. They could’ve been siblings, probably, despite their personalities.

And once all three were there, off they went, Bruce dutifully leading the way to the cafeteria, and Tommy trailing a bit behind him, content to just follow along for the moment.

“Sundays and special dinners we gotta eat with our hall table,” Tommy said. “And listen to the headmaster give speeches. But other than that, school’s pretty great.”

Clark followed along behind them. The closer they got the louder things got, and he could tell this was going to be rough. Places that were loud even for regular people were killer on him. It was so hard to focus on what you were supposed to.

“You like school?” He asked, sounding a little in disbelief.

“Uh, yeah?” he said. “Get some time away from the family? Live with my best friend? School rocks.”

He slung an arm around Bruce, and it was accepted with a huff.

“Not everyone’s as good at school work as you,” Bruce said.

“You are, though,” Tommy said. “So you don’t get to point that out to me.”

He poked Bruce’s cheek. The quiet boy smiled a little.

Clark didn’t say much. He felt like a third wheel, and the black-haired kid really wasn’t much of a talker. Couldn’t blame him if he really was an orphan.

The dinner was… boring. But hey, free food. The headmaster talked about the upcoming year and how they were all going to grow into strapping young, disciplined men and yadda yadda. Clark didn’t really pay attention.

When dinner was over it was back to the room. Back to bed.

… He had a hard time sleeping. Gotham at night was still so damn loud compared to back home.

Gotham was loud.

…

So were the dorms.

(someone, somewhere in the building, was crying into their pillow. Trying to muffle it, but the dissonance--

Multiple people were. Quiet, muffled, hiding it--)

In His Room.

In his room, the first night, a heart started to rocket up in pace from where it had once been steady, panic--

Bruce on the top bunk jerked awake, with the sound of his teeth biting through his lip to keep quiet.

Sometimes Clark didn’t realize what was supposed to be loud to normal people and what wasn’t.

“... You okay?” He whispered out into the dark.

The boy flinched.

….rolled over to face Clark, breathing still shallow.

He flinched again at whatever he saw.

“...fine,” he said. Then, “Quiet.”

His eyes were still bright in the dark, but only when they caught the light.

“... Okay.” He said, and wouldn’t say anything else.

…

He wouldn’t get much sleep.

…

It was something Clark couldn’t hear, but Bruce’s mind wouldn’t quiet anymore than Gotham or the dormitory would.

“...what’s with your eyes?” he whispered.

Oh damn. Oh shit.

He quickly closed them and rolled over so he faced away from the other bunk.

“Nothing.”

There was a disbelieving huff from the other side of the room.

...unfortunately, Clark wasn’t the only light sleeper.

“...mmh?” Tommy mumbled, splayed out on the bottom bunk. “What’s goin ‘rong?”

“Nothin’.” Clark said again, and didn’t turn around.

They had sent him here to get away from everyone knowing what he could do. He couldn’t blow his cover on the first night because his STUPID EYES GLOWED IN THE DARK.

“His eyes were glowing,” Bruce said. Because of course he did. No wonder Tommy called him a snitch--

But Tommy started making noise into his pillow, too.

Laughing. Trying to muffle it.

“Were you dreaming about the Talon?” he hissed, sounding delighted.

Ignore it. Let this blow over.

…

“What’s that?” He mumbled, still looking away.

Above Clark, Harvey Dent let out a groan under his breath.

Apparently, everyone was awake tonight.

If Tommy’s eyes could’ve glinted in the dark, they would’ve. “Oh, that’s right…. You’re from Kansas. You don’t know about… the assassins….”

“Oh my god,” Harvey Dent whispered only to himself.

… Clark finally lifted his head and glanced back at the other bunk.

“What.”

“It’s a fairy tale in the area,” Harvey said finally, whispering loud enough for the other two in the room to know he was also a little snitch. “Tommy likes to scare new kids with it. Now shut up, we’re gonna get in trouble.”

Tommy flopped back onto his bed, huffing. “It’s fun to watch them freak out. It’s not like anything bad actually happens by just talking about it.”

“You got a quote for that?” Bruce mumbled, half audible in his pillow.

“Ugh. ‘Happiness depends on ourselves?’ Or in this case, in letting me tell a ghost story in the middle of the night, you babies.”

“Fairytale assassins?” Clark couldn’t help but snort and roll back over so no one could see his eyes.

“Guess you city kids gotta have some kinda boogiemen.”

…..

Tommy sat up in bed, eyes narrowing.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well back home we got things like portals to hell and angry ghosts, not assassins.”

...somehow, that seemed to settle Tommy, a little.

“No room for that stuff here,” he said. “Just threatening nursery rhymes that date back definitely two hundred years and if you want it creepier, even longer.”

“... Assassins with nursery rhymes?”

Sounds pretty lame.

“Still spooks people enough,” Tommy said, shrugging. “Especially in this kinda place.”

“It’s nice to think some random murders might’ve had a point,” Bruce said.

Tommy did not respond to that.

“Dunno how anyone could get spooked in a place as loud as this.” Clark said, sighing.

No room to think enough to be scared.

….for a moment, the three regarded him in incomprehension.

“Oh,” Harvey said. “Oh, he’s not used to the city.”

There was a small sound of understanding from the other two.

“I was gonna say. It’s dead quiet, honestly,” said Tommy.

“Not if we get caught talking,” Bruce warned. “Shh.”

“Shhhhhh,” Tommy said.

Clark groaned his own ‘nnnngh’ and shoved the pillow over his head.

It didn’t help.

Somewhere out of normal hearing a car alarm went off.

“You gotta be kidding…” He whispered to himself.

…

At least, finally, the conversation, thin as it was, had died out.

(There wasn’t any explanation for why Tommy would think Bruce dreamed of Talons when it was just a silly boogey man.)

But the three boys settled down in their beds again.

Bruce started breathing deeper. More intentionally. Until it relaxed him enough to get back to sleep.

...his heartbeat deepened and steadied out. Much closer than the car alarm.

Tommy and Harvey’s followed.

[...]

He wrote to his parents.

Everything is going well. Making friends. They're all rich but not as full of themselves as I thought they would be. It's pretty cool. Really loud here though. Having a lot of trouble sleeping.

Love you.

Then it was just… back to normal. Like he hadn't found out the teachers beat their students.

(When his mother wrote back, she was so relieved he was making friends. That it wasn't as bad as she feared.

But he wouldn't get that letter for another two weeks.)

The next week rolled around, and Bruce grew a little quieter. Tommy didn't, but Harvey quietly told Clark to be extra careful this week. It was an anniversary, he said, assuming that by now Clark knew, Kansas or not. And sometimes Bruce got a little mean during the anniversary.

Not just standoffish, but.

A little aggressive? Sometimes.

...and so the 26th rolled over, and even though Tommy seemed to be pretending it was a normal day, the rest of their dorm room woke up with stale, held breath.

Bruce avoided people. Avoided radios and TVs playing the news.

But somehow, he didn't manage to avoid the newspaper, and did a double take when he saw the headlines.

Finally, something had overshadowed him a little.

On the front page was the picture of a grisly murder. Open-eyes, holes in his face--

“REAL ESTATE SUPERSTAR FOUND DEAD IN PENTHOUSE SUITE; DEATH OF A THOUSAND CUTS!”

Clark tried to keep it in mind. Unlike the other two he didn’t treat it like any other day because it wasn’t. They still all went through the motions of course, but he talked to Bruce a little softer. A little gentler. Not because he wanted to walk on eggshells, but because he knew for Bruce that this wasn’t just another normal day, and acting like it was felt like almost a slap in the face of what he had to go through.

Maybe it hadn’t occurred to him that Bruce would want to avoid the papers. It was hard for him to wrap around the fact one of his roommates was so rich that his parent’s death made it into the news every single year somehow, so maybe it was his fault that Bruce saw the headline. He read the paper almost every day if he could. He wanted to be a journalist, after all, and they didn’t have TV in their room. Sometimes the common room TV wasn’t even on.

But he saw the murder too and, at this point, didn’t think much of it. Read the article and moved on.

Gotham, he had learned very quickly, was just as bad as everyone said.

It made sense, why Gotham Academy reassured all their parents that they would keep the children safe.

And maybe that was Bruce’s fault, he thought. Because it wasn't as if he was expecting papers to talk all over again like the day it'd been, but--

He'd expected a talk piece. An opinion article.

One Year Later: Flowers Left At Wayne Memorial Event as Investigation Dies

Two Years Ago, As Martha and Thomas Wayne Laid to Rest, Crime Began to Rise

Three Years Since Gotham’s Kennedy’s Mown Down: Park Row Died with Them?

A Reflection on Gotham’s Economic Fall: Wayne Fortune Locked Up as Charities Run Dry

(Sole Survivor Wayne to Attend Gotham’s Most Prestigious Academy This Fall with Luther Heir)

Five Years Ago Today: How the Wayne Deaths Marked the End of a Safe and Glorious Gotham

…

He could imagine what the headline should've been. What it should've been.

Instead, Six Years of Sorrow: Wayne Murders Still Shadow Upper East Side and Wayne Murder Theater Announces Close on Anniversary of Deaths, citing ‘Unrecoverable Reputation’ of the Area had been pushed down the page to make room for the new murder.

...and Bruce took a look at it and snatched it up to stare at the grisly photo and start to read.

It was a good thing that Clark had a loose grip on it as it was yanked from his hands.

“O-kay. You coulda asked.” He said, but didn’t sound angry. Still being soft around Bruce due to the day it was.

He feared he might’ve done something wrong.

Bruce managed to give him a hum of some sort of acknowledgment, but didn't really give much of a response.

He went to his bag, grabbed a pen, and sat right down on the floor, tracing the bottom of the words in the paper to keep his place.

Tommy leaned out from his bunk to try and watch over Bruce's shoulder, but his eyes looked uninterested. “Saw somethin’ ya liked?”

(Bruce shot him a disgusted look, a “what?” but otherwise ignored him.)

Clark leaned over too in order to watch him. “Or somethin’ ya didn’t like.”

…

Bruce glanced up at him, too, but looked more self-conscious than anything at that.

…

“The way they're talking about the thing just reminds me of the claw marks they found at the Lansing murders…”

“Oh my god,” Tommy said in a familiar kind of disbelief for this specific topic. “It was a dog claw, Bruce.”

Clark, however, was interested.

“Lansing murders?”

Bruce shrank down under Tommy’s criticism, but… looked up again, and quietly answered Clark’s tone.

“...the Lansings were a business couple,” he said. “They were murdered in their home the summer before last by stabbing a, so not… like this.”

For a moment, he backed up again, and let Clark see the slashes of the man on the page.

“Something left a big claw mark on the door, and their dog--”

“Ran away from home and wasn't seen again,” Tommy said dully. “It obviously hit the front door. Broke the hinges. Ran off in fear. It was a hundred pound dog.”

“...” the look on Bruce’s face said he didn't believe it all the way.

But he didn't lift his head to argue this time. He just stared down at the paper.

“...Bruce, hey, I'm not trying to make fun of you, I'd never do that,” Tommy said, rolling a little closer to the edge of the bed. “But just because claw marks happened once or twice at a murder doesn't mean the Court is real. What, did your dad have a gash on his face when he died?”

…

And Bruce shook his head.

“See? It's not real.”

“Well that don't mean you can't look into it.” Clark offered, looking up at them. “What's the harm in connecting a few dots? And just because there ain't proof they do exist doesn't mean they don't.”

Tommy gave Clark the kind of flat look he never gave Bruce. Like he was saying the dumbest thing.

“You didn't even know the story when you showed up and now you're trying to do this? Really?”

...Bruce stared up at Clark, face unreadable.

And he started to pick up the newspaper and fold it again.

“Tryin’ to do what?” Clark frowned. “If there's a story here I'm interested! Y'know--” he gestured to himself, “journalism?”

“To drag him down again!” Tommy said, rolling off then bed and standing, defensive behind Bruce. Above him.

For the moment.

For the moment before Bruce stood, pencils and notebook in hand, and paper carefully folded under his arm.

He looked at Clark.

“Let's go.”

Clark glared at Tommy, but he said nothing.

He grabbed his own notebook and pencils to leave with Bruce.

“Bruce?” Tommy said, but Harvey was the only one still listening. “Bruce!”

Bruce closed the dorm door behind him.

“Library has old papers on record,” Bruce said softly. And he began to walk.

Whatever history was repeating here, Clark knew nothing of it.

“Okay,” he said, and started heading that way.

“... Tommy said I was ‘dragging you down again’. What’d he mean by that?”

He sounded annoyed. Offended. Like he would do that to someone intentionally.

Bruce pursed his lips, buying time for a response, but not sure what to say. Or, he knew what to say.

But he didn't like to say it.

“...I tried to find the man who killed my parents,” he said finally. “...I couldn't.”

…

“You think they’re all related to that Court?”

…

Bruce hung his head.

Stared at the ground.

Didn't… want to look Clark in the eye when he admitted his stupid, idiot theory.

“...they’re all building developers. Or owned lots of property. And were trying to change it…”

But Clark didn’t call it stupid.

“Okay, something to start with. And, hey--”

He reached out slowly to touch Bruce’s shoulder.

“Worst case scenario is we’re wrong and nothing changes.”

Bruce twitched a little at the contact, but…

Mostly, he just turned his head up a little, and stared at Clark’s face.

(He was sixteen and he'd stopped believing in a just world long ago.

But somehow, he was stupid, and still believed in fairy tales.)

…

“Okay,” he said, voice cracking.

And he led Clark to the library.

...the newspapers were all in the bottom floor, the basement. In the archives. The indexes were massive, but well organized and maintained.

And Bruce already knew where to start looking… to a point.

But the first place to start, was writing down a scrawled poem on a blank sheet of scrap paper. Hesitating.

“...we’re doing this backwards,” he mumbled. “Not supposed to go in with a theory…”

But he wrote it out, all the same.

Beware The Court of Owls, that watches all the time,

ruling Gotham from a shadow perch, behind granite and lime.

They watch you at your hearth, they watch you in your bed,

speak not a whispered word of them or they'll send The Talon for your head.

Clark followed him down.

“No?” He asked, setting his notebook on a desk close to the archives they would need to look through.

“How do you think we should go about it then?”

Bruce swallowed and stuffed the paper in his pocket.

“...supposed to go in and look for patterns and connections,” he said. “...if you already have a suspect, you… only look for things that point to them.”

“... Okay. How much can you tell me about this ‘Court of Owls’?”

He was sitting down and opening his notebook to a new page. He didn’t have the knowledge of them Bruce did. This wasn’t his home. These weren’t his urban legends.

Looking for them directly was exactly what Bruce said they shouldn't be doing, but…

It still thrummed inside him, on some silly, stupid level.

Maybe it hadn't just been a coincidence murder. Maybe it had a purpose. Anything other than random events. Anything.

“...” he handed Clark the paper. “...they have at least one assassin. They… Have an architecture motif. They're watching from the buildings.”

With the kind of architecture in Gotham Academy not being uncommon to the rest of Old Gotham, it maybe wasn't surprising the buildings themselves were the boogeymen’s hiding places sometimes.

But he didn't know if Clark would make that connection to a real estate building mongle--

“Ties in to your theory about them targeting building developers.” He said, writing something down before he got up so he could look into those Lansing murders Bruce had talked about earlier.

He needed to play catch-up. This wasn’t his turf. He didn’t know as much as Bruce did.

…

He planned to dig up the papers about the Wayne tragedy too, but… not now. Not with Bruce in the room.

Clark could do that later on his own time.

Tommy had seen the connection, and rolled his eyes, and Bruce half expected Clark to just-- not see it at all--

…

But he swallowed something down, and his stomach stopped roiling quite so much, and he nodded again.

“Yeah. Just. Anyone who changes the architecture.”

And he dove in behind Clark.

He looked for the more recent murders. The ones he hasn't read about or studied like this since he was twelve and finally gave up, run off from his last scraps of energy.

…

And finally, someone was beside him, willing, even for just a moment, to believe him.

While Bruce looked at the more recent murders, Clark went for the old. The ones Bruce already knew about. He asked him which ones he had connected before, if any, and he would take a look at those.

(“I’m a new perspective. I wanna go over things you already know about. We don’t think the same, so who knows. Maybe I’ll see something different.” Is what he would say.)

The Lansing murders. What they did before the murders. The other ones that Bruce had tied together when he was 12--

Before they knew it the library was closing. They would need to come back.

And they would.

(A new perspective. A new reading level, honestly-- from twelve to sixteen, the change in things he understood--)

They would come back.

Absolutely.

Bruce went to bed and slept the whole night, and woke with impatient fire in his eyes.

Tommy gave Clark a sour look as Clark headed out the door to change, and once again as Bruce flew out of his last class, tossing his bag into their dorm and making a beeline to the library.

“Bruce, but, homework--!” Tommy called.

“Don't bother,” Harvey sighed, sitting down with his own book bag to get started “It’s not like his grades will get him kicked out.”

….and on the weekend, Tommy barely had time to pull on a matching hoodie and jeans, before Bruce was out the door for early breakfast and back to work.

(“Nice to see him care about something,” Harvey said.

Tommy threw a pillow at his head.)

#superbat #highschool au #bruce wayne #clark kent #thomas elliot #i really like outgoing terrible thomas #let's see if I can actually keep the italics in it this time #rp logs #80s gay superbat

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rainhadaenerys · 4 years ago

Text

Here's what I've seen so far about James Hibberd's book, Fire Cannot Kill a Dragon (fuck you for choosing this title).

GRRM talked about what everyone is assuming are the three "holy shit" moments that D&D had talked about:

(talking about the 2013 meeting with D&D) It wasn’t easy for me. I didn’t want to give away my books. It’s not easy to talk about the end of my books. Every character has a different end. I told them who would be on the Iron Throne, and I told them some big twists like Hodor and “hold the door,” and Stannis’s decision to burn his daughter. We didn’t get to everybody by any means. Especially the minor characters, who may have very different endings.

So there's no mention of "Mad Queen Dany" or "Dany burning King's Landing". Sure, one could argue that GRRM is just mentioning a few examples and not saying everything, that Mad Queen Dany could still be one of the twists. But I find it unlikely that he would list all major twists (who sits on the Iron Throne, that Stannis burns Shireen, and what happens to Hodor) and NOT list Mad Queen Dany or Dany burning King's Landing, both being supposed major twists. GRRM even goes on to explain how the circumstances of Stannis burning Shireen and the Hodor twist will be different in the books (click in the link for details). If Dany burning King's Landing was a book plot point, be it on purpose or burning King's Landing accidentally, I would expect GRRM to say something similar, like "I told them that King's Landing would be burned by Dany, but it will be different, it will be an accident, blah, blah". I might be wrong here, maybe GRRM didn't mention this just because he didn't want to mention, but let me have my hope.

Also, he says he told D&D who would sit on the Iron Throne, but he doesn't explain if D&D actually were faithful to what he told them. Again, this is probably wishful thinking on my part, but maybe this could mean that it's not Bran (I sure hope it's not, because it makes no damned sense for Bran to sit on the Iron Throne).

I also don't understand what GRRM means with "It’s not easy to talk about the end of my books. Every character has a different end". Does he mean that in the books, no character will have the same ending that the others have? I mean, that's pretty obvious, every character in every book usually has different endings from each other. Or does he mean that every character in the show has a different ending from the ending that they have in the books? I saw one post on reddit that suggested this second interpretation, and they added this quote from Benioff to show that this could be the case:

DAVID BENIOFF: We don't get bonus points for being strictly faithful to the books. It doesn't give us anything extra. For every decision there is a fork in the road and the fork to the left is adhering strictly to the books and to the right is what's better for the series, we're always going to take that path to the right.

Maybe D&D did change a ton of stuff, if this is what Benioff is saying. So with GRRM's and Benioff's comments I'm going to keep hoping that Dany survives.

About Dany's ending specifically, apparently GRRM didn't directly say anything. What I found on reddit about Dany's "dark road" was this:

After lists Dany watched Viserys die, killed slavers, threated Qarth, and burnt Tarly, the book says:

Over the years, producers sometimes gave Clarke notes about how to play a moment, nudging the character toward her tyrannical destiny.EMILIA CLARKE: There was a number of times I was like, “Why are you giving me that note?” While I am quite consistently a “How can I help?” kind of person, there were a few moments where I was like, “Don’t tell me what to do with my girl. I know what to do!” It’s like Daenerys’s calling card became cold expressionlessness. I always wanted to infuse that with some humanity because no one’s consistently that. I would sometimes fight back a little: “I get that she has to be steely and unforgiving and a powerful force. But in this moment she’s also a goddamn human being. So I’m going to give you that and I really pray that you take that in the edit.”

Remember when Emilia said that she was given notes on how to play Dany and that she thought these notes must have been the ones building up to Dany's "turn"? Well, here she clarifies that said notes were simply to play Dany as "stoic" and "ice queen". So it doesn't seem to me that these notes were to build up "dark Dany", it seems simply that these notes just show how D&D never understood Dany's character (because anyone who has read the books know that Dany is warm and playful), and that they wanted Emilia to follow the "Ice Queen" stereotype. It had nothing to do with "setting up dark Dany" in my opinion.

The other thing I've seen about Dany was just this really dumb comment by Cogman:

BRYAN COGMAN (co-executive producer): In our minds, we thought the Randyll Tarly scene was disturbing. The I watched it with a crowd of people at a freind's house and they were cheering. Weirdly, the audience didn't care. They loved Dany.

So they really expected us to accept Dany's turn just because "Dany watched Viserys die, killed slavers, threatened Qarth, and burnt the Tarlys". This is what the book mentions as "setting up" Dany's turn. Not reacting when her abuser that just threatened to kill her and her baby is killed. Killing slavers to free slaves. Making an empty threat in a desperate attempt to save her people from starvation. Killing two traitors, something that everyone does in this medieval world. This was their justification.

So this is what I've seen so far about the book. Apparently, James Hibberd will do an AMA on r/asoiaf tomorrow, so maybe we'll find out more things. Also, if anyone knows something else I didn't include, please let me know!

#daenerys targaryen #anti got #grrm #interview #let dany live #got meta

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banshee-cheekbones · 4 years ago

Note

i loved your recent fic about snyder cut!barry allen, would you ever write a shipfic with that barry allen/iris west? their meetcute in the snyder cut was soooo cute

hey nonny! I loved this prompt and took a crack at it! I ended up going with nonbinary Barry again, using they/them pronouns. please enjoy!

also used for the fluff square on my @transbingo card.

~1800 words, on ao3 here.

second chance at a first impression.

At first, when Barry steps into the coffee shop at the edge of campus, they don’t notice anything out of the ordinary.

It’s just a normal coffee shop, part of a chain with two dozen locations spread across the city. Most of the tables are occupied by students, surrounded by textbooks and papers and laptops. While most of the customers are wearing headphones, there’s still a steady murmur of conversation filling the air, weaving perfectly with the lo-fi music playing over the speakers. The place smells absolutely decadent, like fresh roasted beans and sugar and chocolate, and even though they ate a full pizza for breakfast (after going for a quick run to Gotham and back in the hopes of burning off some of the nervous energy fluttering through their body), Barry's stomach still rumbles loudly.

It’s unlikely that eating anything other than the full contents of the glass display case lining the counter is going to have any impact on their hunger, but at the very least, maybe it’ll keep them satiated long enough to keep their stomach from interrupting their first class of the semester.

They get into line, absently glancing down at the time on their phone, only barely aware that there are a handful of people queued up in front of them. They still have half an hour before they have to get to class – plenty of time to get some coffee and enjoy a muffin (or three). Realistically, it could be a minute before class and they’d still have time to eat and end up in a front row seat, but they want to avoid using their powers on campus if possible. It’s probably not completely possible to keep their two identities separate, to keep The Flash from bleeding into Barry Allen, college student, but if they don’t try, then they’ll regret it.

They make a note to ask Clark about it, the next time they have a League meeting. They’re closest with Arthur, but seeing as he doesn’t give two shits about his secret identity being known, Barry doesn’t think he’s the best person to consult in this case.

Once they’ve decided on which three muffins to get, they turn their attention to the intimidating drink menu hanging above the counter. By the time they parse through the options and settle on something that sounds packed to the gills with sugar, they’re second in line, and they lower their eyes from the menu just in time for the person standing directly in front of them to turn around.

Barry’s stomach drops to the floor, but this time, it has nothing to do with hunger.

Standing in front of them, eyes wide, mouth partially open, dark curls spiraling away from her face, is the woman. The one that they saved a mere month ago (although, with everything that happened after that, with them resurrecting Clark and saving the world from Steppenwolf and discovering that, if they run enough, they can completely destroy the flow of time, it feels more like a year has passed since that day). The one that Barry has thought about almost every day. The one that they thought they would never see again – Central City may be small compared to Gotham or Metropolis, but it’s still a damn city, big enough that Barry has a hard enough time running into people they actually know, let alone people they’ve encountered for a handful of seconds.

They were long seconds, though. Long enough that Barry noticed how beautiful the woman’s dark eyes were, noticed how the smile that spread across her mouth once she was out of harm’s way lit up her round face, noticed how soft her hair was when they moved it away from her eyes.

They may have been mere seconds, and Barry may not have found out her name, but that hasn’t stopped them from thinking about her.

And now, here she is. Standing right in front of them.

Barry is faintly aware of the barista speaking to them, probably asking them to move forward and order, but for the first time in years, even though their brain is screaming at them to do something, to move, they feel physically rooted to the spot.

They don’t know what the chances of meeting like this are, but they’re sure that, if they asked Vic to run the math, his answer would be something like astronomically low.

They need to move. Not only because they’re holding up the line, but because this has to be weird for the woman. They only had a few seconds together, and Barry would be surprised if she remembers them in any real detail, which means that she’s probably wondering why she’s being openly stared at by some weirdo when she just wanted to get some breakfast.

And yet, despite the energy they can feel flickering through their body, Barry can’t move. They can’t get over the sheer unlikeliness of the situation, can’t stop themselves from flicking from one what-if situation to the next.

If they had decided to skip coffee and a snack, if they had decided to wait until the last minute and then bolt across the city straight to class, if they had been delayed for any reason, then this wouldn’t be happening.

Why is the universe so unfathomably strange?

Just when they think that the only way to move forward is to give into the Speed Force, shoot through the plate glass window at the front of the shop and hope that the crash causes enough of a distraction that everyone in the nearby vicinity forgets that they were there in the first place, the woman speaks.

“It’s you.” Her voice is soft, influenced by the smile curling her mouth, nearly as bright as the gold, silk scarf tied around her neck. She steps away from the line, over to the small counter stocked with sweeteners and lids and stir sticks, and Barry automatically follows her. Even though they're definitely moving, it still feels like they’re walking through molasses, like time hasn’t fallen back to its regular pace yet.

“You remember me?” they ask, still not entirely convinced that this isn’t some wild kind of fever dream or vision. Maybe they lost their concentration on the way to campus and got mowed down by a truck, and this is a last gift from their brain to make up for the whole dying thing.

If that’s the case, it might be the nicest gift Barry has ever received.

The woman nods. “I do. You saved my life.”

She’s right – Barry may be full of self-deprecation, but even they know that their abilities are the only thing that saved her from certain death. But still, hearing her say it so frankly, so gratefully, makes them feel off-balance, like the world is tilting right underneath their normally so sure feet.

“I was just in the right place at the right time,” they manage to stammer, seizing one of the pronoun pins decorating the front of their black denim jacket and twisting it back and forth, trying to keep their fingers moving at normal human speed. It’s a poor substitution for running, but for the time being, it’ll have to do. “Sorry I couldn’t save your car. It, um, looked like a nice one. I think. I don’t really know much about cars.” Instinctively, they wince at their own words – it may be a true statement (they've never been a car person, even before they gained their powers), but still, it being the truth doesn’t make it any less embarrassing.

Thankfully, the woman just shrugs.

“It was a nice car. But that’s what insurance is for. I have a better one now.” She waves out the window at a yellow convertible, long and blocky and definitely older than Barry is, parked outside the shop, before she says, “I looked for you, afterwards.” As someone approaches the counter, she takes a step forward, so that she’s out of their way. It puts her close enough to Barry that they can smell her citrus perfume, see the flecks of gold glitter mixed into her burgundy eye shadow. “I wanted to thank you. But it was like you disappeared into thin air.”

Close enough, Barry thinks.

“Sorry about that. I… I had to run.” It’s a lame excuse, but it’s not an entirely inaccurate one - they had unfinished business with the dog groomer after all.

(Even if their business didn’t end with a job offer, they got to feed the dogs some sausage from the vendor whose cart got destroyed, which was, frankly, almost as good as landing a job.)

“Well, it’s not too late.” The woman’s full lips turn up into another smile. “Could I buy you a drink? If you have time, I mean. I don’t want to keep you if there’s somewhere you need to be.”

Barry’s heart stutters as they glance at the clock behind the barista counter and confirm that there’s still plenty of time until they’re supposed to get to class. Not that it matters, really - even if they’re late, it’s only the first class. They probably aren’t going to miss anything more exciting than the instructor reading through the syllabus, which is something they can do later (not to mention faster.

They don’t intend on slacking off on their degree – they want to make their dad proud – but they’re pretty sure that the universe has given them a pass for today.

“Okay,” they say, feeling their own lips curl up into a smile that mirrors her. “Yeah, I’d, um, I’d really like that.”

“Me too,” she replies. Waving at the lineup, she says, “After you.”

The line has grown while they were talking, reaches almost all the way to the entrance now, but Barry is more than happy to wait – not only because they’ve completely forgotten what drink they planned on ordering and need to look at the menu again, but also because it means they get to spend a few more minutes with the woman.

Whose name they still don’t know.

“Hey,” they say, looking away from the menu, all thoughts of coffee forgotten for the time being. She’s a few inches shorter than they are, and when she tilts her head up to look at them, they lose their train of thought for a few seconds. Thankfully, they’re able to snatch the train before it completely leaves the station and ask, “What’s your name?”

“Iris.” She shifts her coffee and the bag containing a muffin into one hand and holds out the other. “And you?”

“Barry.” They take her hand and quickly shake it, trying not to notice how soft her skin is, how glossy her deep orange nail polish is.

“It’s nice to properly meet you.” Fingers trailing across their palm as she lets go, she says, with a teasing glint in her eyes, “Don’t run off on me again. Not before I can buy you a coffee at least.”

“Don’t worry,” they reply. Their stomach is fluttering again, but this time, it’s less from hunger and more from the butterflies swarming through it, butterflies that aren’t going to go away anytime soon. “I won’t.”

#transbingo #barry x iris #dc fanfiction #justice league fanfiction #mine #mine: fic #thank you so much for this prompt!

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talkfastromance4 · 4 years ago

Text

adore you--harry styles

a/n: erm yeah, so this is something I wrote literally a year ago. It’s an open ended ending (I have no idea where I wanted to go with it but assuming by the title...) anywho. First time posting Harry as standalone, I’ve used him as an outside antagonist in other pieces but yeah. Let me know what you think!?

word count: just shy of 2.8k

warnings: slight jealousy? it is an OC but no definitive characteristics are described

**I used my taglist from 5sos but if you don’t want to be tagged for future (maybe?) harry writings, please let me know!

•••

Harry and Selah were writing buddies. He’d found her poetry on Instagram and had been hooked by her words ever since. He’d messaged her asking if she’d like to collaborate sometime and after a day of screeching about the direct message from none other than Harry Styles himself, she responded.

I’d love to! But I don’t live anywhere near London or LA

Not a problem. I’ll fly you out. H

You aren’t serious

I am 🙂 what do you say?

And then she was on a plane out to LA to write a song or two with Harry Styles. She was a big ball of chaotic and anxious energy. She was excited but nervous and didn’t know what in the world to expect. She’d been a fan of One Direction when they started.

She’d even seen them perform live and it was so surreal she couldn’t believe she saw them in person. And now she’s actually going to meet 1/5 of one of her favorite boybands. If she’s dreaming she didn’t want to wake up.

Once her bags were claimed she noticed a tall woman with a blond bob and a tailored suit, she was holding up a small sign that read ‘Selah Grace Clark’ with the acronym of ‘TPWK’ underneath. This must be her ride.

“Um, I’m Selah Clark,” she says shyly approaching the woman.

“Oh! Hello! I’m Maeve, Harry’s driver but now yours while you’re here,” Maeve smiles extending her hand.

“Nice to meet you, Maeve,” Selah smiles shaking her hand.

“Is this all your luggage?” Maeve indicates to the three large suitcases next to Selah.

“Yeah . . . is it too much? I’ve never been to LA and I don’t know how long I’m staying for—“

“It’s absolutely fine! Don’t worry! Let’s just get a cart so you don’t have to lug it around to the car.”

Selah was taken to a hotel and into the nicest room she’s ever been in.

“Harry wanted you to feel comfortable in your own suite, room service accessible and I’ll be back in a few hours to pick you up and meet him.”

“Where will I be meeting him?” Selah tries to keep her voice at a normal pitch.

“At his house. He’s doing some meetings today but insisted on having you for dinner. I’ll be round by six o’clock Miss Clark.”

“Please, call me Selah or Sel, not Miss Clark,” Selah winces at the formality.

“Absolutely Selah. I’ll see you around,” Maeve winks then exits the suite.

Selah takes a look around then squeals running to the bedroom and flops onto the bed. Is this real life?

+++++

Selah opted for a casual outfit for meeting Harry and her nerves were a terrible bundle the closer she got to his house. What if she’s a blubbering, stuttering mess and he regrets bringing her out here? She’s never met anyone famous before and now she’s meeting (and going to be writing with) one of the most famous singers in the country.

“Here we are,” Maeve announces pulling through the iron gates and into the circle around driveway.

There’s a fountain in the middle of it and unlike her prediction, his house looked very homey and inviting.

“I know you’re nervous, Selah but really, Harry’s just like a regular guy,” Maeve tries to comfort her.

++++++

Selah peruses the photographs adorned on his walls while she waits for him. They’re snapshots of his whole career, faces she recognizes of celebrities and faces she doesn’t. In each one Harry is the enigma, his charisma exudes through the photographs.

“Sorry for keeping you,” a droll voice thick as honey says from behind her.

Selah whips around and her breath is stuck in her throat. Harry Styles is walking towards her wearing tan trousers and a band tee, his hair is styled in the perfect mess. His green eyes are excited and paired with a smile she’s only familiar with in pictures.

“Hello, I’m Harry,” he holds out his ring covered hand. “And you’re Selah Grace Clark.”

“H-hi,” Selah chokes out taking his hand in hers. It’s warm and soft and strong and she can’t breathe. “And just . . . just Selah.”

“Well, ‘just Selah,’” he mocks giving her hand one final shake before releasing. “Would you like to help me with dinner? I hope you like pasta.”

“I . . .” Selah takes a deep breath and exhales her nervousness. “I love pasta.”

++++

One year later, Selah and Harry have become closer than close and she’s become one of his confidante’s and most valued co-writer. She’s been through the thick of things with him and the first time he tried recreational drugs. Her heart still flutters when she remembers what he said to her while he was high.

They were at Mitch’s place working on a song Harry had no name for and only a quarter of the lyrics, when he came and sat down heavily next to her on the couch. His green eyes were dazed but not confused as he focused on her, his long arm falling onto her shoulders.

“Y’know somethin’?” he drags out.

“What?” she humors him with a laugh.

“Your eyes right now are like the ocean with stars in them,” he lifts his left hand to her face. His fingers ghost over her eyelashes then pokes her nose gently. His own brows furrow as he concentrates on her eyes.

She’s stood from the sidelines watching him fall into his despair after what Camille did to him. It made her own heart break but she knew he had to come to terms with it on his own, she knew he could do it and he did.

Little did Harry know that her friendship ran a little deeper, had a little more love in it then she intended it to. How was she supposed to know she’d fall for him?

And now, it’s the day after Christmas and she’s pulling up to his place. He decided to have a little get together for everyone that helped with the album. She opted for a red dress, fish net tights and heeled boots.

When she opened the door his house was already filled with laughter and cheer, Christmas music playing throughout.

“There she is! And looking hotter than ever, damn girl!” Mitch exclaims coming from the kitchen with a small crystal glass that looks like it’s filled with eggnog.

“Oh stop it,” Selah blushes setting her keys on the main table where everybody else’s were.

“C’mere, you,” he grins some more pulling her in for a hug. “C’mon, everyone’s in the living room.”

He keeps his arm around her shoulders leading her into the living room where Harry’s large tree was decorated and standing perfectly in the corner. Everyone you knew were sat around on couches and chairs, even Gemma was kneeling on the floor next to Michal who was sitting on the couch.

“Look who’s arrived!” Mitch shouts.

“Mitch!” she hisses feeling embarrassed as everyone turns their heads in unison to look at her.

“Selah!”

“Sel!”

Gemma is the first to run up and hug you, touching your hair delicately praising how much she likes it.

“Want a drink?” Mitch asks.

“Please. You know what I like?”

“’Course I do,” he shrugs kissing her temple then retreats back into the kitchen.

“You look amazing!” Gemma gushes eying up her dress.

“Thank you, I love your dress,” Selah responds with a smile. She spots Harry behind her, he’s wearing a deep green jumper with faded jeans, his stubble visible even from this distance. He sends a wink her way before continuing his conversation.

Selah tries to ignore the fact he didn’t come say hi but he was talking with someone else and Harry was anything but rude. Selah let Gemma grab her hand leading her to where Michal was. Mitch joined back quickly with her drink and wouldn’t keep his hands off her.

He’s usually pretty lovey dovey with everyone once he’s gotten a little bit to drink but this was a bit more outlandish for him. Selah played along with it and she thought she saw Harry give them a look but someone walked in front of him and he wasn’t looking at her anymore.

Selah is at the food table making a plate of cheese and crackers with some fruit and mini meatballs when she smells an all too familiar cologne and an all too familiar touch on her back.

“Before you dig in, I have something to give you,” Harry says lowly in her ear.

Selah turns her head sharply then gasps when she sees how close Harry’s face is to hers. She gulps then nods. Keeping his eyes strained on her, with one hand he puts her plate down and with the other takes her hand.

He leads her through the kitchen out into the small garden joined to his house. It’s decorated with fairy lights and it smells of fresh pine, which is odd because that doesn’t grow in LA.

“It’s out here?” she scrunches her nose.

“It’s quieter, don’t you think?” he grins back at her then stops her right in the middle of the small area.

“I guess,” she sighs. “I didn’t get you anything, Harry, I’ve been so busy flying home and getting presents for everyone else I just—“

“You don’t have to get me anything, love,” he shakes his head then picks up a pretty flat wrapped gift from a bench. He places it in her hands delicately. “Merry Christmas, Sel.”

“Merry Christmas, Harry,” she smiles then rips into the gift. She gasps, her eyes darting up to Harry when she sees what the thin box consists of. It’s the newest Macbook. “Harry this is—“

“It’s not too much, it’s just enough. You deserve a good writing tool, especially with your book coming along,” his green eyes twinkle.

“I’ll pay you back, I promise!”

“You don’t payback for a gift,” he chortles. “It’s yours. Merry Christmas.”

Selah sets the gift gently down on the bench behind her then throws her arms around Harry’s neck. Her toes rise off the ground as he hugs her back, his arms tight around her waist.

“I love it, thank you so much,” she says into the collar of his sweater.

“You’re welcome.”

They release their hold slowly, his eyes flicker down while hers flicker up. The air between them fills with static, something electric hangs in the air.

“Mistletoe,” he grunts tightening his hands on her waist.

“I don’t—wait what?” she asks puzzled.

“We’re under mistletoe, love,” he hums.

“Oh?” she squeaks. “Who put that there?”

Harry smiles at her petulance reaching his hand up to cup her chin with his thumb, he rubs her chin gently stroking up her cheek.

“I think the man of the house had an agenda.”

“That’s the narcissist in him,” she hums as he leans in closer, a chuckle escaping his lips.

She closes her eyes smelling the cinnamon and eggnog on his breath. Her heart is pounding loudly in her ears as she becomes hyperaware to everything he does. His nose bumps hers then his lips are soon to follow.

There’s a small pause as he waits for her to pull away but Selah is frozen. So Harry continues connecting their lips in the softest kiss she’s ever experienced, his lips mold hers into what he wants and she’s pliant under him. Where he leads she’ll surely follow.

At the touch of his tongue slipping over hers she lets out a quiet moan and kisses him deeper. Her fingers curl into his soft brown locks like many times before when he’d be lying on her lap complaining about a migraine. This is so much better.

Harry gets more excited as the kiss continues, he parts his mouth open welcoming her soft tongue and pushes her against the edge of the doorway to the gazebo garden. Selah grunts at the impact and he mumbles out a ‘sorry’ connecting their lips again. His hands travel lower on her waist until he feels the hem of her dress and the fishnet tights.

He squeezes her thighs hoisting her in the air and her legs wrap around his waist so she doesn’t fall on her butt. A surprised squeak at the sudden movement escapes her lips and Harry smiles at her cuteness.

“I’ve got you, love,” he grins and gives her thighs a squeeze for good measure. Her legs clench around him and Harry desperately wants to take her upstairs to his bedroom and have his way with her until New Year’s Day.

“We’re not under the mistletoe anymore,” she sighs stroking his stubbled cheek and the birthmark.

“You want me to stop kissing you?” he huffs cocking his head to the side. His green eyes seem dark in the lowlight but she knows him well enough that he’s anything but dark.

“No,” she murmurs through a smile.

“All right then,” his eyes dance mirthlessly as he presses his lips to hers again.

Selah’s heart is soaring, her fingers are tingling and her lips are zinging from kissing Harry like this. It’s everything she’s wanted and more. She never wants to stop.

Until they do when there’s a loud pop of champagne from the kitchen and they break apart in shock. Selah knocks her head on the windowpane and squeezes around Harry who grunts at the impact.

“Ow,” she whispers.

“Are you okay?” he asks setting her back on her feet carefully. He cradles her head delicately, the cool of his rings feel nice on her temples as he inspects her.

“Yeah, I’m good,” she nods then giggles at him.

“What’sso funny?” he smirks.

She continues to snicker and rubs at the top of his lip. “My lipstick is all over you, H.”

He rolls his eyes. “Not my color, eh?”

“Not like this,” she snickers trying to rub it off. “You’ll have to use soap.”

“Where’d Harry and Sel run off to?” Mitch shouts.

“Your boyfriend’s gonna be mad if he finds us,” Harry grumbles tucking her hair behind her ears.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“He’s been over you all night, hasn’t he?” his dark brows furrow into an angry line.

“It’s nothing, Harry,” Selah rolls her eyes. “You know how he gets when he’s drunk.”

“He wasn’t drunk when you got here,” he shakes his head.

“O . . . kay? What are you saying? You brought me out here to kiss me and stake your claim because some other guy was showing me attention?” Selah pushes him away from her angrily.

“N-no! That’s not what I—“ he closes his eyes and exhales deeply through his nose. It’s his calming mechanism.

“That’s low, Harry, even for you,” she scoffs and tries to sidle past him to leave.

“Selah Grace, listen to me,” he uses her full name grabbing hold of her wrist spinning her around. She smacks into him and tries to push away from him with her small hand on her chest.

“Let me go!”

He grabs her other wrist pinning her fighting arms against her body. He ducks his head so his eyes are level with hers.

“That was a dumb thing of me to say,” he confesses. “You aren’t something to ‘stake a claim’ on, Selah. I just . . .” he closes his eyes then opens them again with a big breath, “I did have this planned. The gift, the mistletoe, it was all a plan to try and kiss you if you’d let me. Hearing him just made me think of how he has been all over you.”

She’s fuming silently, her lips in a scowl and her eyes hard. If he didn’t know she was mad at him he’d tell her she’s adorable as fuck when she’s mad but he’ll tell her that some other time.

“And that bothered you?” she asks quietly.

He licks his lips and nods. He slowly releases her wrists bringing them up to his mouth, he kisses the soft skin inside each wrist. His green eyes pleading her forgiveness.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles on her skin.

“You’re lucky you look like a dork with that lipstick on or I wouldn’t forgive you,” she says icily. He continues to kiss up her wrist and into her palm, his eyes on her.

“And because you fancy me,” he smirks now kissing her fingertips lightly.

“Shut up,” she scoffs rolling her eyes. “Go wash your mouth, Styles.”

“Can you help me?” he grins mischievously.

She leans up kissing him quickly, his lips chase hers as she answers with a simple, ‘nope.’ With a grin she skips behind him and picks up her laptop holding it to her chest.

“Better hurry before my boyfriend sees,” she smirks then leaves him standing there in disbelief.

Taglist: @calpalirwin @thecurlsofgod @myloverboyash @rotten-kandy @tea4sykes @jannimoeller3 @loveroflrh @iovehemmings @cxddlyash @princesslrh @katiaw2 @g-l-pierce @fairyintheglass @gosh-im-short @lukeisbaby @spicycal @mysticalhood @notinthesameguey @wastedheartcth @itjustkindahappenedreally @calumance @babylon-corgis @thew0rldneedsmcreycghurt @lanternlover2 @istaywithmyjonas @calteahood @sarcastically-defensive17 @another-lonely-heart @devilatmydoor @frontmanash @philthepegacorn @mantlereid @lukedorkyhemmings @addietagglikesbands @kikixfandoms @sanrioluke @mayve-hems @morguelth @haikucal @thatscooibaby @meghanrose05 @idontneedanyone @dinosaursandsocks @haveufoundwhaturlooking4 @suchalonelysunflower @burstintocolor @zhangyixingxing1 @dead-and-golden @mymindwide @everyscarisahealingplace @stardust-galaxies @blackbutterfliescal @redrattlers @lovelybonesetc @karajaynetoday @quasighost @i-like-5sos @creampiecashton @calpops @superbloomed-c @ophelia-enthusiast @iknowyouthinkimbulletproof @flaneurcth @dariangarcia

#harry styles oneshot #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing #harry x OC

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eddiestattoos · 3 years ago

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To quote Lois in season 8 or whatever "big cool headline here"

"Calling another woman at this hour. What would the industrious Lois Lane think?"

"There's another Lex on the loose"

Earth 2 Clark really getting it

So earth 2 Clark and Tess are siblings and lovers? Lovely

"Last time I checked you're still adopted and I'm still as red headed bastard as it gets"

Ok you know what I've actually wanted at least one Clark and Tess moment so this is a little fun for me

"This alternate earth. It's a blast"

I'm always down for bad boy Clark kinda hot not gonna lie

Why is earth 2 Lionel actually funny?

Clark's little realizations walking through earth 2 "I killed Lex" "Lionel made me a killer"

"There's gotta be somebody out there better than me" but Ollie there isn't

Clark just sweeping Lois from Oliver

Clark getting to earth 2 Lois yesss

"That name sucks by the way did it look good on paper"

Earth 2 Ollie really has watchtower equipped

"Maniac and he's delusional. Makes me feel better about being the enemy of Smallville"

"I got a mouse trap set up for your rat ass in every major city"

"Yeah I know, you're the good one, just go the hell home already will ya"

The drama of Clark being reunited with his proper earth

Clark looks exceptionally good in this ep

"The Luthor blood is poison. That's what I said to you before things got weird"

Ok how did Lionel end up back too? Concern. Grave concern

"You're not wearing a sport coat" *runs and changes*

"I promise even if I have to run to Madrid I'll get you churros and hot chocolate for dessert" Clark the romantic

THE ROMANCE. THE PHONE BOOTH. HE PROPOSED AT THE PHONE BOOTH THIS WAS PERFECT

Though if that's how the ep started there's only one way to go from here and that scares me

"Really? Nothing?"

"You and Ollie. You're busy with work. Hes really busy with work"

Chloe!!!!

Oh of course Cat is going to be the first to know please end her

"Are you expecting" "spread that rumour and you can expect my first in your face"

Oliver: hey Clark I'd love to be at your wedding but I gotta go off the grid. Clark: but I was just going to ask you to be my best man. Oliver: shit ok yeah no way I'm missing that

"When it comes to planning the wedding, just nod. A lot"

"You're not gonna hug me now are ya" "no" "ok" I'll miss Oliver and hawkman

"If I've learned anything in the last, oh, 30000 years"

Aaaaaand here comes the bad stuff

This is bs I hate this

"Don't tell me your thinking about cancelling the wedding, because I gotta tell ya, I just started working on the speech and it's looking good"

"You're not supposed to be here" "neither are you alright so I guess that makes 3 of us"

"We can't even follow orders..... even if we made them"

"Couldn't you stare at me in my office"

"Some sort of ninja smoke bomb"

"I have got to get the name of her custom closet guy"

"It's just a slide. You love slides Lois. I hate slides" I love Lois

How'd the boys get into slade's office?

"You miss the telegraph. Just get away 8 track" Oliver bickering to hawkman

So, um, whatever happened to Ollie's apartment? I miss it

Can slade please die

Thank you I think

*opens wing to reveal Lois* Carter!! I forgot his actual name for a while

"I'm a pro at dying remember" thank you for making your death less difficult hawk. Carter I'll miss you

Carter's funeral omg the feels. They really took him back to Egypt. In full hero gear.

Courtney *is hugging Dinah* Lois *holding Clark's hand* Oliver *stands alone, head down* my poor love

Ok that's really how they're ending the ep???

Ok at least Lois is free???

The on hold music

"I am a general's daughter I don't even know how to get huffy, ok. I do happy, I do sad, and I do stop giving me the runaround bitch or I will. Come. For you"

And Clark's good!!

Wait his powers are gone??? He's not good. Damn

CHLOE?!

I swear If Oliver ends up on another drinking binge

Chloe?!

3 weeks???

Oh it's worse than an alcoholic binge excellent

CHLOE??

"Not sure what these drugs are called but they're working"

"You're not hallucinating" "really well that's kinda hard to believe considering you just materialized out of a wall"

You know I knew Chloe would return at some point. This was not my expectation

Oh wait they're all just in a hallucination none of this is real love it

*straightjacket just vanishes*

"Alright Alice where's the rabbit hole out of this place"

Dammmn virtual Chloe

CLARK NO

Go virtual Chlo

"I told you Dorothy this is all a dream"

"Whatever happens in cyberspace stays in cyberspace"

Yes Lois convincing Clark "Clark Kent's heart is always right" help I love them

NO NO NO SOMEONE GET CLARK OUT I'M READY TO SCREAM

Oh thank god Lois yes

I don't know who these guys working with Chloe are but I love them

Ollie saving his girl!!!

Canary just cartwheeling

How many Chloe avatars did they make?

The drama of Clois' leap

5 years????

Oh wait she meant since high school who's the dumbass now. Moi

Ohhhh it was them working with Chloe. Huh I did not recognize em

"And to think you're the same Chloe that's in that picture"

"Can I ask you something?" "Oh this never ends well" I've missed Chloe

Chloe and Clark talking about when she trusted him even when he was lying to her. I love her

"Sorry I'm late but unlike the virtual world I can't leap traffic jams in a single bound"

"I think you might wanna, uh, put these in water. I'm pretty sure they're real"

"Ok I finished picking out that flowers and the bridesmaid dresses you can come back in the house now"

"You made me fly. Even if it was in cyberspace"

#smallville #my smallville bs #that last ep and a half really had me in crisis in case you couldn't tell #but damn this show is good

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nightskywonderer · 5 years ago

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Superman and Wonder Woman: The Obnoxious Fairytale Human Way

Quote:

“Putting Superman in a relationship with Wonder Woman just further separated him from his humanity by having him date a literal goddess and it also just felt like it was a product of "the strongest man should obviously be in a relationship with the strongest woman" line of thinking.”

Let’s break this down...

Firstly, let it be known, I don’t give a damn for traditional nonsense that does more harm than good to the characters. I’ve seen this baseless ass argument way too many times just to justify the continued enforcement of outdated troupes that borders xenophobia and racism.

Superman/Kal-El/Clark Kent is an “Alien” from another planet who happens to look human. That’s it, that’s all. He is NOT a mortal human from earth. He landed on earth, adopted by a friendly couple, the Kents, who taught him and instilled values and morals to do good with his gifts once becoming aware of who he really was. He still grew up as in his own “normal” of schooling, having friends, first girlfriend, being bullied, cried, laughed, loved, got angry etc... Everything a mortal child goes through, Kal/Clark did. Although, what he went through was true, yet he still pretended to be a powerless human.

Wonder Woman/Diana of Themyscira/Diana Prince is an “Amazonian/Demi-Goddess” who was born and raised on a (secluded) island of EARTH. Even being a Princes, she was a curious adventurous child. She had her schooling while training, her friends (depending on continuity), and was bullied (depending on continuity), cried, laughed, loved, got angry. Everything a mortal child goes through, Diana did. Though, unlike Kal/Clark, she was taught not to hide or pretend, keep secrets about who she was and her beliefs. She was taught to embrace and celebrate her life.

When it comes to defining what it means to be human for Superman and Wonder Woman, is that they must be romantically linked to powerless white Americans and if they not, they are emotionless Gods that don’t know, can’t relate to humanity.

But what does it mean to be “human” exactly? Is it just about not having special gifts? Human can’t fly, or shoot lasers, but there are those who are protégés, who are creative in such an extraordinary way.

Humans can be toxic, judgmental, selfish and degrading. There are wars and scandals. Nothing is peachy fairytale perfect in regards to humans. It’s more so a surprise when humans display true genuine courtesy. Even wildlife animals or pets show more of “humanity” than some humans.

Kal/Clark and Diana made their choice to be heroes on their own. Both are “foreigners”. A refugee and immigrant. They fight for the change of bettering the world as a whole not just saving one person, particularly a love interest. Kal/Clark and Diana shouldn’t have to be with humans to do what right and to be the heroes they should be. They shouldn’t have to conform to what society deems as to be accepted.

What some fail to realize that, trying to force Superman and Wonder Woman to have some outdated look of what “normal” life is and feel burdened by their uniqueness is exactly what makes them unrelatable. What’s normal is not the same for everybody. Making them codependent on being romantically linked to powerless Americans makes them the emotionlly handicapped and selfish Gods that distance them from humanity. Kal/Clark, especially, to feel the need to reject his Kryptonian heritage and act like it’s something so awful, not because he isn’t a normal human but a normal american human is blatant xenophobia. He doesn’t have any kind of right to wear the \S/, when the “Els” made the sacrifice to save his ungrateful ass shipping him off from Krypton’s destruction.

Superman and Wonder Woman together is never about just physical power. That’s been debunked multiple times by even DC comics themselves in the actual comic books and encyclopedias/guides. Kal/Clark and Diana’s relationship is built on truth, honesty, understanding and acceptance of not just one side of who they are, but all of who they are and seeing each other as just one whole person.

The new52 couple is actually shown going through the trials and obstacles without the predictable outcome of knowing it’s all going to be resolved in some half-assed cutesy way. They were actually growing, learning and developing together like a real couple should. It wasn’t a fairytale for them as traditional couples often depict.

These are two extraordinary people that don’t belong to any one “world”. They embrace all. They don’t try to fit in to be accepted, they live in the acceptance of what’s within themselves. They should be written to be the motivational and inspirational characters celebrating the beauty of what it means to stand out and be different from the typical norm.

#wonder woman #superman #superwonder #clark kent #diana prince #superman / wonder woman #superman wonder woman #powercouple #new52 #opinion

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thevindicativevordan · 3 years ago

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On Kong Kenan/Super-Man

It should've been him. He should've been the Superman of 5G/Future State/right now not Jon, and he should be the one getting an HBO Max series not Val. Hell he should be getting a movie!

God this dude is literally the best legacy character Superman has ever gotten, wholly his own person with his own lore and status quo while still building on the idea of "Superman". I am so pissed at DC for essentially just dropping him after his ongoing ended, what the hell Lee? You keep trying to make the Wildstorm characters happen, I need you to get my man Yang another Kenan book.

Have to admit I was a bit nervous at first about whether or not Kenan would be a worthwhile character. Yang's New 52 Superman run had been a disappointment to me overall, with only the the arc where Superman has underground wrestling matches against forgotten gods really sticking with me. Now he was introducing a brand new Superman? Didn't feel like he had "earned" that yet. But from the first issue I was hooked on this new character.

Kenan was unlike any other member of the Superfamily. He wasn't kind or sweet, he was an asshole! He was a bully! He was fantastic! Right from the start Kenan was set up to undergo a very different kind of character journey than the other members of the Superfamily. Empathy, humility, respect for people weaker than himself, these are all traits most heroes wearing the S-shield already posses by the time they first don the crest, but not Kenan.

Like all bullies he was even a bit of a coward himself at first, trying to bail on the experiment meant to give him Superman's powers right as it begins. After "saving" Lixin (the kid he bullies and steals lunch from every day) from Blue Condor he demands all the money Lixin has on him as payment. He's not courageous or selfless either at the start, Kenan is as much of an opposite of Superman as you can get short of being Bizarro. Learning the appeal of these traits formed the basis for his growth over the course of his series.

Seeing Yang bring in a lot of recognizable "Superman" elements in the series, but with a twist, was also great. Kenan is the one who bullies "Luo Lixin" rather than the traditional Clark/Lex friendship of Pre-Crisis and Birthright. Initially Kenan develops a crush on intrepid reporter for Primetime Shanghai, Laney Lan, but she dismisses him as too young and Kenan eventually ends up pursuing Avery Ho (Flash) instead. Baxi the Bat-Man of China has a similar relationship with Kenan as the traditional Superman/Batman in terms of being vitriolic best buds, however Baxi is the one who has the most respect for authority while Kenan is the rebel. Kenan is a part of the "Justice League of China" which does not meet with the approval of the already established Chinese superheroes, the Great Ten. That contrasts nicely with the good relationship the Justice Society and Justice League have, as well as seeing Yang lampshade the "Chinese copy" trope and incorporate that into his storytelling.

One of the funniest differences is how Kenan chooses to immediately reveal his identity as Super-Man to the world by taking off the compliance visor he was forced to wear, contrasting with Clark's choice to hide his identity. He was so eager to impress people that he never gave any thought to the danger he could put himself or his family in by revealing his identity until it was too late, something Clark is well aware of and has taken great pains to keep his identity secret. Was a missed opportunity for DC to have Kenan comment on Clark copying him for once when he outed himself under Bendis.

But one of the most poignant differences between Clark and Kenan is the gulf in separation between their relationship with their parents. Clark has a loving relationship with Ma and Pa Kent, trying to live up to their lessons as best he can. In contrast Kenan's mom was believed to have died in an airplane crash when he was just a child, and he never really knew her. His father was distant from him after that and the two weren't really close despite Kenan's attempts to impress him. So Kenan lacks that strong connection while still clearly loving both of them.

Pa Kent's death is one of the most tragic examples of Clark's love for his parents, and I've always been a fan of takes where Clark promises his father to fight for the powerless on Pa's deathbed. Kenan gets a similar scene at the start of his career, his dad "dies" (after being exposed as Flying General Dragon, a pro-democracy "supervillain" from the Chinese authorities perspective) and wants Kenan to promise he'll fight for Truth, Justice, and Democracy. But because Kenan's dad never really bonded with him, Kenan doesn't know what those mean, and can only promise that he never wants to see people die, something his father takes comfort in at least. In classic comic book fashion it's revealed that Dr. Omen, Kenan's "boss" and the one who gave him his powers, saved Kenan's father, because she is Kenan's mother! Kenan's relationship with his parents forms a lot of the crux of his character arc, and seeing how Yang utilizes the classic Superman concept of family kept the storytelling exciting.

Yang's brilliant exploration of the concept of "Superman" through the prism of Chinese culture was a great way to differentiate Kenan as well.

I absolutely freaking love how he tied to the concept of Qi to the S-shield in particular. Connecting the shape of the shield with the way Kenan has acquired his powers along the path of the Bagua (eight trigrams used in Taoism that represent the fundamental principles of reality), with his octagon S-shield outline representing all eight principles together, was mindblowing! So was the idea of restricting Kenan's access to his powers unless he was actually acting in a Superman manner, that tied his character growth to his power growth in an entertaining manner. There were so many characters and concepts that meshed Chinese and DC lore together, like how Emperor Super-Man was Kenan's "Doomsday", they even recreated that iconic dual kill shot! The Chinese Wonder Woman Peng Deilan, being based on the Chinese Legend of the White Snake! There was even some Korean mythology referenced with the Aqua-Man member of the JLC "Dragonson".

Yang also managed to do a Superman Blue/Superman Red story with Super-Man Yin/Super-Man Yang!

Shameful that it took me a while to realize what Gene Yang was doing but once I caught on I was touched. You can tell how much Yang loved Superman and his mythology, and how he was excited to incorporate as much from Clark as he could, while still using it in a way that was solidly Kenan's. And not just Superman's mythology, but the history and lore of the entire DC Universe. I-Ching got to be brought in, fleshed out, and used as Kenan's mentor! The "Yellow Peril" villain from Detective Comics #1, the comic DC gets its name from was brought in and revamped as I-Ching's twin brother All-Yang! Hats off to Yang for taking a racist caricature and attempting to make him into something more.

This series was a beautiful attempt by Gene Yang to build a space for Asian heroes and villains where they could be more than stereotypes, Kenan himself being a defiant mold-breaker in every regard as the complete opposite of most Asian characters in Western media (a jock, a bully, loves his dad but not on great terms with him, a powerhouse as a hero, etc). So much thought and hard work was poured into this by Yang and his team of artist collaborators.

Especially the costumes, man Kenan had so many great looks. From his starting outfit (which is my favorite Superman variant not worn by Clark himself), to the one with the Yin/Yang shield he acquired later on, to his Super-Man Yin & Super-Man Yang outfits, Kenan looked damn cool. Part of me is bummed they didn't go with the Chinese character shield they toyed around with, but I loved how Yang used the "s-shield" as a plot point, so I'm not too broken up over it.

All that great work Yang did to build that space up has been more or less forgotten sadly. It was nice to see Kenan in the DC Asian Month Celebration issue. Avery is going to be in Justice Incarnate at least (unsurprising considering she was created by Williamson). So fucking bummed that Superman Family Adventures cartoon didn't happen, they were going to have Kenan and John Henry Irons in it! Would've been a dream come true for me to see Irons in animation again, and Kenan making the jump to outside media! Maybe that would've encouraged DC to let Yang keep writing New Super-Man, or at least encouraged them to use him elsewhere instead of allowing him fall into Limbo.

Unfortunately I'm not sure what the future holds for Kenan. Jon is being pushed as Clark's replacement in the comics, with DC keeping all the other contenders such as Kon benched. Calvin is leading the Justice Incarnate team likely due to the upcoming Coates reboot that will make Clark black. Val will probably get something once Taylor leaves Jon's book or once they officially announce the HBO Max show is happening. So where does that leave Kenan, my new favorite PoC legacy hero? Currently my only hope is that Yang is working on something for DC involving him. Yang left Batman/Superman, where I was hoping to see a Baxi/Kenan team up, to go work on "exciting other opportunities" per his Twitter. So fingers crossed that there's something in the works for Kenan!

One day I hope he gets his day in the sun again.

#kenan kong #new super man #gene yang #justice league of china #superman #dc comics

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girlobsessed21 · 4 years ago

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My thoughts on The 100 7x05

Hey, guys,

Sorry for not doing any comments on the last two episodes. I’ve been a little busy and I struggled to connect to the show, so it hindered my enjoyment, but it’s all better now. Liked episode 4 and 5 was even better, jampacked with info and it answered a lot of questions.

Welcome to Bardo

Badass Octavia is da bomb (people don’t say that anymore, right?). When she was captured in episode two, I thought she had lost her fighting spirit, but it’s back, bitches. Well, until she runs into an invisible wall trying to escape. She’s captured and transported to M-cap (whatever that means). Then we get a welcome little flashback to Lincoln but it’s obvious that Bellamy would be the hand reaching out. He’s her rock, like she’s expressed many times.

Unlike John Murphy who is not quite a friend, or family and definitely not a lover. Introducing so many new characters in the final season of a show is never a good idea, because this is the time to wrap up all the stories of the existing ones, but come on, who cannot love Levitt. Even when he first meets Octavia, he doesn’t want to hurt her. Jason, you better not harm one hair on this precious little puppy’s head!

As he binges The 100 through Octavia’s eyes, he starts rooting for her, and he actually gives a damn, unlike most people on this show. He understands her strengths and weaknesses and he makes her see it too. “You’re a warrior to be sure, but your heart is pure.” Wow, what an honest and beautiful line. (Scroll down for my shipping comments.)

So is O and Hope’s fleeting little reunion. It’s amazing to experience this deep loving side of Octavia after her darkness. She’s truly one of the most diverse and developed characters on the series. Now Hope and her resilience is quickly making it to the top as well.

While Hope is trying to send her back home, we learn that memory loss is due to the time dilation. One quick note on this, it’s not linear, there’s no easy equation to calculate it unless you’re Stephen Hawking or Einstein. I don’t think it’s constant either. 10 years on Skyring = 11 days on Bardo = a few minutes on Sanctum. In the current time, 5 years on Skyring = 1 day on Sanctum = 7 days on Bardo. So, it’s clear that the planets are moving, and other factors are playing into the phenomenon. It’s more important to understand the time relative to each planet.

Levitt was the one who tattooed Hope’s code onto O’s back, also the one who planted the note into Hope’s arm. Indeed the kind of man you want on the inside, he even accepts a blow to the face as thank you.

Sheep-ish?

Thirty minutes on the clock and the trio gets led to a congregation to praise the shepherd. I never thought it was Anders, I do, however think it might be Cadogan. The Bordoan’s built the underground forest because they destroyed their planet. Ugh, what’s new? The shepherd herded his sheep from earth to Bardo via the stone. Cadogan and his second dawn cult?

Back to Clarke. So, after last episode I thought ‘the key to winning the last war’ line was an artifice for luring Clarke to disciples, but now it’s clearly true. They’ve located the key and they will win the last war. Levitt was interested in Clarke surviving the City of Light with the flame in her head, they probably assume she still has it. Cadogan burned Becca alive. Could it be because of the flame? Is this all because of that damn little chip that can’t seem to die?

Bellamy is not dead, I repeat, Bellamy is not dead! I believe that memory could be staged or implanted for a reason. Also, there’s no body, he jumped through the bridge. In the promo photos, he wears a ring but his actions towards Octavia seem a little cold and generic. On first watch, I thought it was bad acting but if he was programmed to do this, it makes sense.

Note the sequence of events. Octavia returned 7 days ago and was asked to talk her brother down, but we don’t see the actual scene. Instead we’re shown a memory. They could have implanted it to make her vulnerable and perhaps more susceptible to the procedure. I don’t know, but this theory could lead to Robot-sheep!Bellamy on Nakara, where he’ll encounter Clarke and the gang.

I have to be honest, I really don’t like this character arc for Bellamy. It’s unoriginal and a mime of Peeta’s storyline in Mockingjay. Sorry, but so far it feels like the writers were so over the show, they just wanted to get it done. And that attitude really bleeds into one’s creative concepts. I could be completely wrong, in fact, I hope I am.

Echo spins a Finn

My word, I lost the love of my life once, but I sure didn’t kill anyone. When Echo received that vision of Roan, I was hoping for some progression on her individual arc, they’ve made me care about her, and now we get the opposite. Why? One thing I have to admit, a killer performance from Tasya Teles! No pun intended.

Look, this show hasn’t explored Bellamy and Echo’s relationship enough to make her murder believable. It was the exact same thing with Finn. I wasn’t invested in Finn and Clarke’s connection, so his actions of killing a grounder tribe was more repulsive than understandable. Sure, Echo loves Bellamy and her sole purpose is to save him, but I’ve never truly witnessed their love for each other. They had one or two intimate scenes which cannot compel a deed like this. And in the process, she screwed Hope and Diyoza.

Anyway, I don’t think there’s any coming back from it. She murdered an innocent person in cold blood. That’s sure to open a door to the dark side. Just look at Octavia after killing Pike and her actions were justified by jus drein jus daun.

Say Sanctum three times slowly and it sounds like… Sanctum

Blind faith

Look, I’m just gonna come out and say this song is getting old. Every episode featuring Sanctum is the exact same thing with different lines. Can we please move on from it, already? Yes, we know the COG want Russel dead, and the adjusters will go to extreme lengths to free Russel and the prisoners are background noise.

I did appreciate Nelson stepping in to try and save the girl, though. Still doesn’t save the fact that it’s repetitive. The Sanctum plotline is really struggling to take shape and I hope it happens soon. Dramatic eyeroll.

At least in the drought of a desert, you can always count on Murphy. “…I say we live and let die.” Typical cockroach line, right, but it’s ironic when he’s the one to step up, even if it is for Emori. Under the magnifying glass it’s the exact same plot as episode 1 and 3. He hesitates to take action, and eventually becomes the hero.

I mean, he saved that poor kid from being burned alive. Can you imagine sacrificing your own child in such a horrific away? Cults are beyond whacked, and, unfortunately, it’s reality that cult members are so blinded by their faith that they do not see rhyme or reason.

How did Murphy fail that test? I didn’t. When Trey named the four pillars, I thought, isn’t rejoice one of them? Surely, a cockroach would have smelled that trap a mile away.

Indra the great

Can we just give a massive round of applause to Adina Porter!!! That powerhouse walk vibrates strength and majesty, damn, she should be a false god, I wouldn’t dare threaten her with or without an army.

Three little words was all it took for her to recognize evil. “There’s a spider on your shoulder.” Smooth. Too bad she can’t kill him. Why not, how many of the faithful are left to cause an uproar? Wonkru doesn’t know it’s Sheidheda, they won’t care, the COG will fall in line and the prisoners will be happy as long as they get their compound. Sorry, I don’t get it and I don’t understand why she doesn’t tell anyone. Someone please explain?

Granted, JR Bourne as Russel is way better, but I still don’t understand his actions. I hope they explore and explain him more, because he still feels flat unless he knows something of this final war. I’m hoping these two storylines align soon since it’s really driving a wedge between me and my love for the show.

Shipwreck

I’ll start with the easy stuff, Murphy, Emori and the perfect dress gets a heart eye emoji from me. They are so damn cute this season, can they please live happily ever after in the palace?

Octabriel vs Levittavia

Now, I enjoy Levitt fangirling over Octavia. I feel like he has a deep sense of her through her memories. If I have to root for an underdeveloped relationship, it will have to be one where the characters share thoughts and experiences even if it is through a sick, sci-fi procedure.

On the other hand, Gabriel and Octavia have immense chemistry, two seconds of them together bends my mouth into an “Aah, cute” pout. This will also add some approval and representation for mixed racial relationships.

I really don’t mind either way as long as they make me care through showing and not telling.

Bellarke

So, if my theory is correct, and Bellamy does end up on Nakara, Bellarke will encounter each other quite soon. Bellamy won’t be himself though, but he might pretend to be Bellamy to win Clarke’s co-operation. Is there hope for Bellarke yet?

Echo is now trotting a dangerous path and Bellamy might be pledged to a cause, so I doubt there will be a happy ending for Becho. Since 7x01 I’ve been thinking that the writers might want to develop something between Clarke and Gaia but if they are separated, is there enough time? Guess we’ll see.

This monster of a review is finally done… If you read through everything, you deserve a gold star! Let me know what you think, till we meet again…

#The 100 #the100 7x05 #the100 season 7 #octavia blake #levitt the 100 #hope diyoza #bellamy blake #echo #john murphy #indra kom trikru #gabriel #bellarke #sheidheda

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spaceyantique · 5 years ago

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five’s a crowd [beatles x reader] part six

chapter summary: It’s game night with your bug boys, and it goes about how you would expect. John is chaotic, Paul does very little to contain that energy. Ringo confirms that he IS, in fact, an old man, and you and George spend the evening sharing an armchair.

warnings: there is drinking and some (offscreen) drug use. we don’t condone drugs! please be safe!

these chapters certainly are getting longer, yeet. let @kalypsichor and i know what you think and if there’s anything you want to see!

masterlist

one | two | three | four | five

What can you say? Between his sweet personality and those bluer-than-blue eyes, Ringo always gets his way. You’d tried as best you could to avoid any more pure, unadulterated John-related chaos, but Paul had teamed up with Ringo for an unbeatable duo of puppy-dog eyes. They’d cornered you in the kitchen one day until you finally relented, damn them.

So, that Saturday night, you’re all squished around the table in the living room as Ringo slams down a comically large board game box. From the way his eyes light up as he looks at it, you’d think it would be glowing gold and sparkling, Cave of Wonders-style.

“Fuck’s this about?” John’s brow furrows at the name on the box. He’s already gone through half his first drink of the night: a vodka tonic with more vodka than most people would go for. Paul’s hanging over his shoulder with a beer, also a bit tipsy.

“Clue! It’s my favorite game of all time!” Ringo’s excitement is endearing and sunshine-yellow, as always.

“Thought we were playin’ Monopoly.”

“We’re trying to mend friendships, John.” Ringo fixes him with a false-stern look.

“Yeah, John, Monopoly is a game that only ends in violence. ‘Sides, I actually like Clue,” you say.

“A board game nerd too. Who knew?” George smirks. He’s got a beer in his hand as well. Though you’re overall not thrilled to be forced to participate in another night of John Lennon ruining the apartment, you can certainly say that a pro is that you’re next to George. You’re sharing the overstuffed armchair because John and Paul have claimed the couch (“for canoodling,” Ringo accused), and you can feel the warmth of George’s thigh even through your jeans. How is this boy so warm?

For a second, you catch yourself thinking of the last board game night, which ended with you and George next to each other not so unlike tonight. Unfortunately, it had been in a dark closet during a drunken game of Seven Minutes in Heaven, and you’d been too awkward even with the alcohol to try anything.

Thankfully, you’re brought back to reality by Ringo unfurling the instructions across the table. They’re nearly too large for him to fully open with his arms extended and you have a sudden vision of him as Clark Griswold from National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation.

“Right!” Ringo declares, now unfolding the game board. “Everyone pick a character. There’s six, so everyone gets their own, no teams.”

“Red!” John lunges across the table for the red, but misses slightly in doing so and scatters the other pieces across the board. He’s met with a chorus of indignant cries and Paul smacking his bicep. “Sorry! Got to have me color!”

“Right then, John’s Miss Scarlett.”

John dramatically reclines on the sofa with girlish flair.

“Paul! Paint me like one of your French girls!” Paul rolls his eyes, muttering something about the importance of nude modeling to the art world and how John would take advantage of it.

George quietly takes the green piece and places it on his starting square, then turns to you.

“It matches my socks,” he says with a smile. Your heart flutters as you see that he’s wearing said fuzzy green socks right now. Don’t blush, please don’t blush, for God’s sake.

Instead, you grab the nearest piece to you (blue) and place it on your spot.

“I’ll be Miss Peacock.”

Ringo picks Colonel Mustard and George and John goad Paul into being Professor Plum (“Professor Paul! It fits, you’ve bloody GOT to!”). As Ringo deals the cards, Paul whispers something to John and heads to the kitchen, claiming he’s getting a drink. He does come back with a six-pack of hard cider, but he also places a phone down in the center of the board, on top of the Top-Secret envelope with the winning cards.

“Is that where my phone was? I’ve been looking all day for it,” George asks as you crack open your can of cider.

“It’s the prize,” John says, his mouth curling into that wicked, Grinch-like smirk once again. As stupidly smug as he is, you’re a bit drunk and it’s hard to keep a grin off your face. “Whoever wins gets to decide who gets the phone.”

“It’s my phone, though. I bought it, I paid for it.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Does too!”

“Well, now it’s a part of the game! We play for it.”

George, rolling his eyes, goes to reach for the phone, but a hellish shriek from John and Paul’s protest stops him.

“Thou shalt honor the game!” Paul cries.

“And what if I don’t?”

“Bad things!” Paul’s grinning widely now and you’re biting your lips to keep from smiling. “Like in Jumanji!”

“Yes, we get sucked into a jungle world for years and years until someone finishes a board game that we left in the attic and releases us and we have to fight all the animals they unleash too.” Ringo’s smiling now too, and George reluctantly agrees to play for his phone. “Then we’d best start now! Usual rules, plus each time you move, you drink.”

“Don’t worry,” you whisper to George, feeling a bit bold from the warmth of the alcohol already. “I’m pretty good at this game. I’ll win it back for you.”

The smile he gives you increases that warmth in your body tenfold.

***

It turns out you are not, in fact, pretty good at Clue. It has a lot to do with your cards, and thanks to Paul’s subpar shuffling skills, you have a shit hand. Several turns in, and you’re not at all close to solving the murder of Dr. Black. Your lack of strategy also may have something to do with the fact that you’re onto your second drink (rum and Coke but with diet Pepsi because it’s cheaper). However, you’re relatively confident in winning, as John both does not know the rules and doesn’t currently have the capacity to learn them.

“Then... then I’ll use that portal. The secret passage,” John slurs, and Ringo shakes his head adamantly.

“No, you can’t, John. The passage is in the greenhouse. You’re not in the greenhouse.”

“Well then, where am I?” Ringo points at John’s red piece in the ballroom.

“How the hell did I get over there?!”

“Honestly, John, are you high as well as drunk?” You ask with a smile. He takes a liberal slug of his vodka tonic before responding in a deadpan: “This is my personality.” Behind him, Paul mouths “a bit high,” and you giggle.

“Oi, you’re one to talk!” John shoves Paul with his shoulder, still with that easy smile on his face.

“Look, y’know, the people have right to know, it’s-”

“The people! The people? What fucking people?”

“What’s all this?” Ringo looks up from his expertly technical dice roll.

“They’re drunk,” George laughs.

“Can we get on with it, lovebirds?” You shift in your seat and are suddenly reminded of being pressed against George’s whole side. You can practically feel him breathing.

“Yeah, some of us are trying to win here. The stakes are high,” George grins. “So if you two could pull your heads out of each other’s arses-”

There’s a chorus of laughter around the table, and John drops his cards with a hilariously restrained “oh shit.”

With a good deal of direction from Ringo (“‘S like herding cats, the lot of you!”), gameplay continues.

“Alright… John, do you have… the rope?” Ringo bites his lip, glancing over his cards and his scratch sheet of paper. John gasps.

“What? How’d you know that?” He cries, and you laugh, leaning towards George a bit more without thinking. You let your head fall onto his shoulder and suddenly you’re back in that darkened closet again. You’d sat just like this on the floor, but with your knees curled up against your chest. Your head was on his shoulder, and his hand was so close to yours-

George stiffens a bit, and as if you’d been shocked, you sit straight up. You make eye contact with Paul accidentally, and for a second, that infamous pout curls into a smirk. You hear an echo of his voice in your head. I’ll get the truth out of you one of these days, y’know. Your eyes fall to Geo’s phone lying on the board, and you suddenly realize that it was Paul who’d gotten it from the kitchen, not John.

“Conspiracy!” John shouts suddenly, both echoing your thoughts and shaking you out of them.

“It’s not a fucking conspiracy, John, you guess, it’s how you play-” George argues.

“Ringo must be cheating!”

“How do you not know how the game works?” Paul teases, and John scrunches up his nose at him.

“Well, I was doing just fine until you-”

“Don’t blame me for your incompetence-”

“Incompetence!?” John practically shrieks, and Ringo snorts, covering his mouth with his hand.

“Off with his head!” George says, and pantomimes cutting his own head off. He lets his ‘severed’ head loll back onto the armchair’s cushioned back, exposing his neck. He’s got such a lovely neck, more slender than one might expect. It’s long and the tendons and muscles are defined, and his collarbones peek out just a bit over the neckline of his shirt. He’s been wearing his hair curly for the past several days, and it goes in waves past his ears, ending in a little flick just below his earlobe. The sun has set by now, and in the lamplight, his skin looks like gold. Your eyes travel back up his hair, and you suddenly notice-- oh, fuck, he’s looking at you.

You snap your head back to the game so fast you nearly give yourself whiplash. John and Paul are still arguing, and you just barely catch Ringo sneaking a peek at John’s cards while his guard is down.

“Hey! Hey… do you wanna fight?” Paul says, and leans close to John’s face.

“... no.” John’s tone is sheepish but he’s smiling widely.

“Good.” Paul leans a touch closer. You swear John almost stops breathing.

Your eyebrows nearly hit your hairline as George snickers.

“God, get a room,” Ringo sighs, and John leaps up from the couch, Paul not far behind.

“Gents, fair lady, I’ve forgotten something in my room, and I’ve got to… get it.” With that, John stumbles down the hall towards his and Paul’s bedroom.

“I’m… helping him.” Paul rushes out too.

“Then there were three,” George says after a beat of silence.

“Two,” Ringo says, standing and stretching. “S’pose that’s the end of it, so I’m going to put my headphones on as quickly as possible.” He bids you and George goodnight and then heads to their shared room, taking the fleece blanket from the couch with him.

“Smart move,” you say. “Poor Freddie upstairs said his bedroom’s just above John and Paul’s. He’s about to get a free show.”

“With surround sound,” George says, and you snort. Reluctantly, you force yourself to get up, detaching from George’s side and busying yourself with picking up the cups, cans, and bottles littering the various surfaces in the living room. As you release your armful into the kitchen sink, George’s sudden shout from the living room startles you.

“You idiot bastard! That’s what this was about?” You turn to see George still standing in the living room, hunched over his phone and calling down the hall to John and Paul’s room.

“You put fucking TINDER on my phone?!”

#five's a crowd #beatles x reader #george x reader #george harrison x reader #beatles fic #crack fic #paul #george #ringo #john #BOARD GAME MADNESS

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