#just stared out the window imagining how hal feels looking out when he flies and it wasn’t so bad anymore

[danothan]

back from my little vacation where all i did was work and show my friend comics. truly my idea of relaxation ☀️

[mageofcole]

(ONE SHOT) I’ll try to explain the infinite  DC COMICS

A03

In another world, The Flash dies a hero, saving the world. He sacrifices himself so that others may live, and he’s remembered as a figure larger than life; everyone mourns The Flash as a saint, a paragon of justice and kindness, but no one remembers Barry. No one remembers the mild and gentle forensic scientist who was at the core of who the Scarlet Speedster was. No one but the man he raised, and the man who had loved him.

In another world, The Flash dies at the hands of Professor Zoom. He dies, and his wife is dragged through time, never to see her friends and family again. He dies as he’s dragged into the Speedforce, and he becomes just another speedster trapped outside of time and space as the world goes on without him. In this world, no one knows that the Flash that follows him is a different hero entirely, they don’t know that the child their hero had raised and trained would have to grow up too fast after the loss of another set of parents. In this world, people mourn Barry Allen, the good, kind man with a heart of gold who died in a tragic accident alongside his wife.

In both these worlds, Hal hadn’t known he’d loved his best friend, or maybe he had known but had never worked up the courage to admit it until he was looking down at that plain tombstone and he realized he’d never have the chance. In both these worlds, Hal keeps losing, and losing, and  losing  until he has nothing left, and yet people still ask for  more  . In the end, he stands with nothing but hate and fear in his heart and a burning desire to make it  right again. In both these worlds, Hal buries his best friend and loses half of himself at the same time. In both these worlds, Hal loses until he breaks, and he breaks others in return. He doesn’t die a saint, he doesn’t die a hero; instead Hal becomes the villain, and dies knowing he had destroyed any and all of his morals.

But  this isn’t those worlds.

Here, when Professor Zoom appears, he targets Iris first. Here, he doesn’t drag her into the Speedforce, or into the future. Instead, he leaves the body of the fiery, gentle reporter where Barry can find it, bloodied and fully recognizable as the lovely woman Iris West Allen used to be. Here, Hal comes to the small house in Central, following the distress beacon his best friend had activated, to find Barry cradling his wife’s body, looking blank and numb, blood splattered across the room like some sort of morbid piece of art, and another body only identifiable by the yellow costume left slumped in the corner. He stands beside Barry as the truth comes out, stands beside Barry in the face of Superman’s disappointment and the loss of Batman’s friendship.

In this world, Barry kills Zoom first. In this world, Barry puts the costume away and steps down from the Justice League to make way for a younger generation. In this world, Wally becomes the Flash, but he still has a mentor to turn to when he needs help. Here, Hal refuses to be pushed away and stays beside Barry, and the reveal of his feelings comes naturally as they come together in more than one way. Here, it’s Barry who confesses first, who puts what they are into words and asks for more.

In this world, there’s someone to put him back together when Hal breaks. He has something to keep himself partially grounded when Coast City is reduced to rubble, something to help him lessen the weight on his shoulder and push away the demands placed unfairly on him. Here, he has a reason not to give in fully to the whispers in his ears, the desire for revenge, and the fear in his heart.

He still has a family to return to, so when the young Torchbearer comes to him, to ask him to let go of his fear, Hal takes his hand. He lets Kyle talk him down from the extremes, returns the rings he stole, and lets go of the illusion he’s built, because Kyle reminds him of what he still has, what he can still hold onto.

This time, when Hal dies, he has someone to mourn him, and when he returns, he has someone to welcome him. It’s not perfect, Hal still has a voice in his head, urging him to go further and further, to do more and more damage, but he also has arms to hold him back, and a warm, loving voice to talk him down.

He still has hopeful, wonderful Barry, who, in another world, would have just been a cold statue and a modest grave. He still has his children, who, in that other time, would have never existed. He has things to fight for, people to return to. Reasons to hide his bloodied hands so that he can protect them.

When he lands in the private backyard of the house he lives in with Barry and their family, he always lets the form of The Spectre melt away. He lets go of justice and retribution, lets go of wrath and redemption, to let himself be Hal again. He embraces life again, as gray melts away to tan, and green dissolves to the ever-familiar warmth of his father’s old jacket, and Hal choses  this  to anything Parallax or The Spectre can offer him.

“Papa!” A young voice shouts in excitement, and it’s only years of working with Barry that gives Hal enough time to brace himself for the super-speed missile that collides with his stomach. Nora Jordan-Allen beams up at him, all chubby cheeks and childish innocence. She’s always happy to see him, doesn’t understand what Hal had become, and loves him regardless of everything.

Hal laughs, scooping his daughter into his arms, kissing wind-swept brown hair as the four year old wraps her thin arms around his neck and kisses his cheek, “Hey there, roadrunner.” He rumbles, feeling that jumbled, hateful part of himself smooth out into something less painful. “Shouldn’t you be in bed, little lady?”

Nora pouts, and Hal can never keep up the mask of parental disappointment in the face of the big blue eyes she’s inherited from Barry, “Was waitin’ for you.” She whines, pressing her face into his neck.

Huffing fondly, Hal hefts the kid up just a little higher, resting her on his hip as he makes his way up the porch and into the house. It’s quiet, like it usually is this late in the day, when Jason and Jenny have been put down to sleep, and the sun is only a stretch of orange light streaming in through the windows as it sets and the moon takes its place in the sky. It’s peaceful, and it muffles the unending pounding of fear in his chest because Hal knows he’s safe here, in the little pocket of the world he and Barry had created for themselves. There’s memories in every corner, love in the walls, and the shadows don’t hold nightmares here.

They bought this place together, back when they’d learned that their family would be growing. Hal’s apartment in Coast City had been home for a long time, and Barry had made it warmer when he’d moved in, but it had been too small for the addition of a baby. Blue Valley had been a change from the coastal cities and beaches Hal was used to, a small, quiet midwestern town that suits them both just fine. It’s not like the big cities they’re both used to, and that helps.

It’s a new start, and Hal will always be grateful that Barry and Nora had been here instead of Coast City when it had been reduced to rubble. They’d been safe, in the little life they had been building, away from the dangers of their lives. He’s glad his enemies hadn’t known about them.

Nora whines a little when Hal puts her to bed, pouts, but he passes her her Green Lantern bear and kisses her on the forehead as he tucks her in. He knows the grumpiness is an act by the heaviness of her eyes, by how quickly she falls asleep, and for a long moment, Hal just stands there and stares. He watches her breathe, snuggled up under her covers as she clings to the bear Kyle had bought her as a gag but she had loved anyways. She’s alive, and healthy, and so many things all at once that it makes Hal feel weak in the knees.

A weakness, a part of him whispers,  something for others to exploit until you’re ruined again. Hal would burn the world to protect his family, would destroy everything to keep them safe and happy. If anyone tried to use them against him, they wouldn’t live long enough to touch a hair on their heads because Hal would make them  burn.

Gently, almost afraid that he’s taint her, Hal reaches forward to gently brush her hair away from her face, tucking the brown strands behind her ear to hopefully save it from getting chewed or drooled on, and he just sort of stands there, fingers barely brushing the shell of her ear. If they’d been in Coast City - Hal doesn’t know if even Barry would have been able to get them out on time, and it would have been  his fault, because Mongul had chosen Coast City to send a message, knowing the Green Lantern that lived there, one of the Justice League’s heaviest hitters hadn’t been planetside.

The city has since been rebuilt, and survivors had returned, but Hal hadn’t been able to bring himself to go back.  This is his home now; the small home he and Barry had bought together with the fenced-in backyard that might be a little on the small side, but private enough for Nora, and now Jenny and Jason, to play in without anyone seeing them use their powers. They decorated it together, filled it with photos of their families and enough love that Hal’s dreams are peaceful.

A peaceful enough life, a happy family, a nice house - things Hal never would have imagined for himself, but something he has regardless. He’s a bartender now, nothing like the pilot he had once dreamed of being, and there’s no adrenaline to chase, but he’s happy. He still flies, as Spectre, and he keeps his license, because someday he wants to take his kids up into the air and give them that piece of himself and his life. The sky is still a part of him, it’s in his blood, but maybe he can understand now, why his father had tried to tell him that there was more to life than just the thrill.

“How did it go?” The gentle voice in the doorway pulls Hal from his thoughts, pulls his eyes from Nora’s sleeping face, to see Barry in the doorway. His blue eyes are soft, arms crossed over his chest, and he’s leaning against the doorframe, a gentle smile on his face.

“Well.” Hal murmurs, stepping back from Nora with one last loving look. Barry opens his arms for him as Hal approaches, letting the other man slump into his arms and bury his head in his shoulder. “I missed you.” He says. It’s hard, keeping track of time in the world between life and death, and sometimes Hal finds himself away for far longer than he thought he had been, or not as long as he had believed. It’s hard to tell which until he’s back and can look at the date.

“Missed you too, glitter-glow.” Barry’s smooth midwestern drawl washes over him, taking with it the lingering tension still in his shoulders, and Hal wraps his arms around the speedster’s waist.

This is home, Hal knows.

(In most worlds, The Flash dies a hero and Green Lantern loses everything. But in this world, Barry Allen lives, and this saves Hal Jordan.)

[wajjs]

more construct fucking with hal/kyle (or Kylie) more more more

(sexy times under the read more)

 Well, it's not really a secret that imagination is the limit when it comes to constructs. After all, everyone talks about it, about the stuff they can do, have done and think of doing in the near future. And while it's true that many of them learn about the consequences of their actions after the constructs have been made, that's still not enough of a deterrent.

 Curiosity is a staple they all carry. That, and the crave for touch after spending so much time in the depths of space.

-

 Hal doesn't really think of anyone at first. He wills up a hand, a fleshlight, whatever he's in the mood for to get off without much care for finesse or details. When you're going from fight to fight and from galaxy to galaxy, well. No one really has patience for details.

 It's only as time goes by and things calm down a little that he gets to kick back and… 

 Kyle's face flickers through his thoughts. Who knows why? Maybe because he was the last person Hal talked to. Maybe because Kyle has always been much too easy on the eyes, or because Hal has never gotten over certain things and experiences. Maybe because sometimes he craves things he's much too used to denying himself.

 Either way, his ring shines to life, lightning up his bedroom. It's a good thing he had the foresight of closing the heavy curtains, because this would be something hard to explain. 

 Because floating not far from the bed is a life-like construct of none other than Kyle Rayner, in his uniform, with the mask on and all. Heat stirs up low in his stomach when he stands up to make sure he got everything right. They all know each other extremely well, and after so long fighting side by side… one tends to notice things. 

 It's a pity this isn't the real thing. Hal quite likes Kyle's voice and the things he has to say. Not that this would ever be something admitted out loud. Of course not, not when admitting to it means letting so many tightly held secrets out in the open, vulnerable, begging to be explored. Hal just admires and keeps it to himself; he’s always looking, learning by sight and furtive touches given as support. 

 This time, when his hand strokes Kyle’s cheek, everything glows green and Hal thinks, not for the first time, of a reality in which he can feel safe enough to be open about this. A reality in which he doesn’t have to settle for less than actual human contact.

 With a minimal flick, the mask comes off, disintegrates to give form to Kyle’s face—those are his eyes looking back at him, the shape of his nose, the curve of his lips. Hal traces their outline with his fingers, pushes his thumb against the softness until it slips inside. The feeling isn’t the same, he knows, but he can imagine and that’s the most he can ask for in this situation. He smiles and the construct’s expression doesn’t really change. He acts like this doesn’t hurt him.

 Placing a kiss on emerald lips, it’s with another flicker that the lantern uniform vanishes, too. There are the scars he knows by memory, the ones he helped heal, the ones he saw long after they were acquired. A thick one that envelops one of Kyle’s thighs, one he’s thought of worshiping before, and his hand closes around it, covering it, before he lets it trail to the center. 

 Going straight for the gold.

-

 Luck can’t be held accountable for the fact that Kyle is in his bedroom when he wakes up from an unplanned nap feeling the insistent touch of a hand around his—he gasps, eyes opening wide and brain leaving behind all semblance of sleepiness when his body inevitably reacts. So he clings onto his pillow, lets the shivers running through him dictate the roll of his hips as he humps his mattress. Any thought of fighting it flies out of the window.

 He knows more than well what’s happening.

 And while it is true that he never imagined he’d be on the other end of this, well, he’s heard countless tales and he’s been given plenty of warnings. All of which he never ignored whenever he enjoyed the benefits of the constructs. He’s always careful, mindful of not projecting too much, of not, of not.

 “Fuck,” his voice comes out as a broken moan and his cock throbs inside his sweatpants. What a day to choose to not wear any briefs.

 Riding the waves of oncoming pleasure, Kyle shoves a hand down so he can push the worn out elastic past the swell of his ass, close to his knees and he. He spreads his legs without shame, cheeks still red because god, he wants, and then there’s—there’s prodding, one that doesn’t go away, just as the touch around his cock tightens. He can feel a loud moan forming from deep within his chest and he bites his pillow, he bites it in hopes of quieting himself even when logically he knows no one is around to hear him. Close, Kyle whines and tugs with his teeth on the pillowcase, he’s close and he didn’t think he’d be so soon but who knows for how long this has been going on. He only woke up when the heat, the need, had been too much to ignore and, and, an—

 The shout is forced past his lips when the unmistakable feeling of two fingers pushing inside him collides with his climax. His hips snap and roll as he fucks against the mattress, makes a mess of everything with his release and god, it keeps on going, it keeps on—his toes curl and he shivers with a small, broken whine. Kyle rolls onto his back as soon as he can get some of his senses back online, not wanting to lay on a puddle of his own cum.

 Kicking off his pants fully, he breathes heavily as he stares at the ceiling, gasps with each press of fingertips inside him, spreads his legs more when his hole is stretched further. The ring in his hand sparks to life, emerald light flickering for a moment as his concentration wavers, yet still it’s on the first try that he opens his bedside drawer and grabs the bottle of lube he keeps there. Plus the toy he only uses on special occasions.

 Like right now.

 “Alright,” he breathes out, making sure to lube up all of the surface of the toy. Lifting himself up on his elbows, his cheeks get warm, so warm, when he sees himself in the full length mirror on the wall by the end of his bed. 

 It must be three fingers, he thinks. At the very least. It’s still a bit soon for him to get fully hard again but that view, that view of himself spread open, twitching and clenching down on nothing, well. It is obscene. With shaking hands, he brings the toy between his legs, takes a deep breath before pressing the tip inside, pushing in and in, and it’s not much of a coincidence when it’s a match to the sensations he’s getting from the other end.

 God, construct-him is getting laid hard. From what he can feel, the stretch of that cock pressing inside him… Head falling backwards, Kyle moans into the room as all of the toy goes inside him in one push. The base is pressed snugly against his skin and he turns it on, lets the vibrations rock through him, making him see stars and sparks behind his closed eyelids.

 Once this is done… once they are done…

 Kyle needs to know which of his fellow corpsmen is doing this. 

 So he can fucking take them to bed.

[tessatechaitea]

Black Condor #2

The Sky Pirate is definitely an incel.

I don't want to shit on incels because people who can't get laid aren't the only jerks who turn into monsters when they can't get their way. I also don't want to make it seem like not getting laid is the worst thing that can happen to a person but have you ever not gotten laid when you really, really wanted to fuck? It's the worst! Now think about not being able to get laid for thirty to forty years. Do you think you're going to give one shit about climate change?! Of course not! That's why Sky Pirate is carbon emitting all over the fucking place on the cover! Sky Pirate doesn't need Black Condor to punch him in the face; he needs him to suck his balls. On the other hand, getting laid isn't that great, I bet.

I don't know why the guy isn't coming in his pants too.

Back in 1992, we didn't have incels. We just had guys who understood they were never going to get laid so they memorized all the stats of Fiend Folio monsters no Dungeon Master would ever use, like the achaierai or the umpleby or the tween or the snyad or the twill or the tabaxi or the qullan or the mantari or the gryph. Those are actual monsters but I probably could have just made up a bunch of nonsense words and nobody would have fucking noticed. Fiend Folio had a lot of shitty monsters. You know who wouldn't know that? Somebody who was getting laid in 1992! Something else somebody getting laid in 1992 wouldn't understand? Jerking off to the caryatid column!

I had to steal this image from the Internet because I've packed away all of my D&D manuals.

We really need legalized prostitution in this country. Also, we need to remove any negative stigma for going to a prostitute. Also we need male prostitutes that are good at sex so that women don't have to hook up with random guys who are probably terrible at sex when they want to bust whatever the female version of nuts are. Inside nuts? It's got to be tough being an incel in that even if you think you might finally get the chance to get laid, you know you're going to be awful at it and probably ruin a second chance of getting laid. Because who wants to fuck a guy whose underwear looks like the aftermath of a visit from your friendly neighborhood Spider-man when you go to pull his dick out? True story (I have to preface this story that way so that people actually think it's true even though they should realize I'm an unreliable narrator): when I finally met a woman who wanted desperately to fuck me, I obviously wasn't going to be any good at sex. I had learned to jerk off quickly in the quiet moments nobody was in the house (often to the scene in Return of the Living Dead (on VHS tape) when the punk girl dances naked on the crypt). So when this lovely and accommodating woman pulled my cock out and began kissing and sucking it, I wanted to explode immediately. But I knew I couldn't do that! I had to hold out! So I held out for like ten or fifteen seconds and, in my head, I thought, "That's good enough, right?!" Then I blew my load in her face and she was all, "Whoa. Um. Hey. What the fuck?" Actually, she wanted to fuck me so badly that she didn't care that I was almost certainly going to prematurely ejaculate every time we fucked until I finally decided I wanted to spend more time replaying Ultima IV than fucking poorly. Our sex actually did get better over time (and by "our," I obviously mean "my") but that was only because I'd come in her almost immediately and then, through pure will force rivaling that of Hal Jordan himself, I would just get hard again while trying not to let my flaccid member slip out of her. Luckily she could orgasm through penetration only because just imagine how bad I was at oral sex too! Um, that wasn't really a true story! I just have a great imagination! But then, you knew that because of all the times I mentioned being a virgin. Which was totally a lie too! I've been laid lots! And I was always great at it. Black Condor's grandfather can't get over his grandson not wanting to be a part of his old man secret society so he's sending an army of "shock troopers" out to capture him.

Has nobody told him about airplanes?

I can't stop staring at the look of pure joy on the woman's face in the panel where Black Condor is rescuing the campers. I'm actually fucking jealous of a fictional character in a drawing because how the fuck does she get to be so fucking happy?! Nearly the entire first half of this issue is dedicated to the origin of The Sky Pirate. My guess that he's an incel wasn't too far off the mark. He was a nerdy college kid working in hypersonic flight who desperately wanted to be part of the free love movement. He was eventually let in on the condition that he do all the work and earn them all the money, like how Brian was only allowed to be part of The Breakfast Club if he wrote everybody else's essays while they all hooked up. In the end, he made them all rich while he was a fugitive from the government. They did the thing all of the fucking asshole Boomers did: they gave up their ideals and convictions for wealth beyond measure at the expense of everybody else. So, twenty years later, he's returned to destroy them.

So this guy's a hero! Why is Black Condor trying to stop him on the cover?!

Black Condor is a good guy so I bet he winds up teaming up with Sky Pirate after the initial Marvel misunderstanding. I'm almost positive he does because I purchased the third issue and there's no way I would have kept reading this series if my president The Sky Pirate was beaten and tossed in jail. Even as a randy twenty-one year old spending nearly every night of the week pretending I was a grey elf named Paladine Greystoke, I was completely sympathetic to the underdogs of our fucked up capitalist society. Sky Pirate plans on stealing as much money from The Merry Men (what the asshole Boomers called themselves because they're so unimaginative they had to steal Kesey's groups' name) as he can. But to do so, he needs to use his hypersonic weapons. Black Condor's new senses are so powerful that every time Sky Pirate uses one of his gadgets, Black Condor is overwhelmed by pain. That must be why he needs to beat the shit out of Sky Pirate. It's less about justice and more about getting him to shut the fuck up. I get it! I once had a neighbor who hung up industrial sized wind chimes outside my bedroom window. And every time I snuck over to take them down, the assholes would just put them back up. They're lucky I didn't go Black Condor all over their asses and swoop in with a flurry of uppercuts! Instead I just cut out off the clapper and made the chimes impotent. Black Condor shows up and asks Sky Pirate what he's doing. Sky Pirate is all, "Fuck you. I don't have to answer to you, you nipple exposing weirdo!" And then he flies off. But Black Condor won't let it drop, albeit reluctantly! He flies after him because he's a nosy jerk. Can't he just let it drop? The noise only happened the one time. I get how terrible noises can be; I'm pretty sensitive to a lot of sounds myself (fuck every guy with an acoustic guitar, by the way). But maybe wait to see if it happens again before really confronting this guy. Also, I'm sure he has a reason for blowing a hole in a building! He told Black Condor it was personal business and it's not like Black Condor has been deputized by anybody except maybe Park Ranger Ned. I'm totally on Sky Pirate's side right now! Judging by the cover of Issue #3, Sky Pirate is going to blast Black Condor with more hypersonics and Black Condor is going to plunge into the river in a scary cliffhanger where the reader thinks Black Condor may have drowned.

Okay, I'm torn. I like Sky Pirates revenge on capitalistic Boomer shitheads. But I also empathize with Black Conder's sensitivity to noise!

Since this issue is definitely going to end how I predicted since, as I said, I'm looking at the cover of Issue #3 right now where Black Condor is emerging from the river, I bet Issue #3 sees Sky Pirate and Black Condor quickly finding common ground and working together to defeat the Merry Men. Also, I hope Sky Pirate becomes an occasional Black Condor teammate. Maybe he'll take up residence with Ned and Eileen in the Pine Barrens! And then the issue ends with Black Condor plummeting into the river. But it also ends with possibly my favorite "Next Issue Blurb" of all time!

No wonder I bought issue #3! I had to see if the sun imploded! Spoiler alert: it didn't.

Black Condor #2 Rating: A-! Holy shit! A comic book with a better than average passing grade! I must really be feeling charitable seeing as how it's my 48th birthday. Yes, that's right, assholes. I'm fucking old! But I'm still cool, right? And totally sexually active, like a mythic beast! Oh, before I go, here's the back cover because, yeesh. Put on some make-up, dudes.

I loved my Grandmother with all my heart. She was possibly the most perfect human being to ever walk this planet. She was Catholic but I'm fairly certain she practiced birth control based on the differences in age of her two (only two!) children. Her wedding picture was of her in a beautiful non-wedding dress and my grandfather in a suit standing on some spiral steps at the courthouse (not a church! She also had a church wedding photograph but mostly due to the pressure of social politics and religion (I like to believe, anyway!)). She distanced herself from the Catholic church because of the way church members treated and talked terribly about Jewish people. She was the greatest. But the only time she ever disappointed me was when Gene Simmons was on Donahue and she said, "My, that's a handsome man!"