#lex has a crush

[hauntedbestie]

Whatever my dog is the only man I need in my life anyway

[dcxdpdabbles]

DCxDP Fic Idea: Lex Luther's annoyance

Vlad Masters is....a pain. Not in the usual elite way Lex is used to. Not the empty-headedness of wealthy men like Bruce Wayne or annoyingly humanitarian like Oliver Queen.

Masters was annoying in the confusing kind. He was new money who danced around Lex's manipulations as if they were mere flies. He never gives Lex a reason to take him out but always leaves the bald man feeling weary.

Unsettled. Unsure.

The effect Masters had on him was irritating. Lex Luthor doesn't get unsure.

Luthor's family money came from his father, but it was Lex who turned the moderate company into one of the biggest powerhouses in the world. He was ruthless, always three steps ahead of his peers, using his clever mind to his every advantage.

Lex prides himself in being the danger in plain sight. He charmed kings and politicians alike, carefully placing a controlling hand on the back of their necks with each casual joke or helpful investment. Wherever Lex went, it wouldn't be long before he gained control of the floor and moved his pieces on the board to his liking.

That was if Vlad Masters wasn't in attendance.

Masters rarely join in high-class events- why should he? He was wealthy, of course, but nowhere near Lex's level. He just didn't run in the same circles- but whenever he did, it was like a rock being thrown in Lex's clam river. No matter where he was, Lex found his eyes tracing the underwhelming cut of Masters's suit (Easily one of the cheapest ones there) or catching the man's gaze that hid barely concealed amusement.

That was another thing. All social rules and etiquette indicated that Masters should be chasing after Lex's attention and approval or, at the very least, feel nervous in his presence. Masters acted like Lex was a part of the background, never impolite but never dazed or impressed.

Equals in a way that made Lex's stomach lurch in anxiety.

He has met some people who thought themselves better than Lex through arrogance, but none have taken one look at him and deemed him unimportant. It was as if Lex were just another man walking down the street who was only worthy of getting a passing greeting.

As if the man had a presence at all. Lex was often the man of the hour, and Masters was the guy nursing a drink by the wall, watching the crowd with a calm, nearly detached expression.

Masters was known for being a rather dull wealthy man, only seemingly interested in conversations if it was about his precious football team or random scientific discoveries. Seeing as he made his wealth through scientific discoveries, it was understandable that he knew an awful lot about them.

However, besides being a fantastic investor and stock buyer, Masters didn't have a single social bone in his body.

Lex had witnessed him flout through galas, parties, art galleries, and political rallies without a hint of displeasure or pleasure. Always engaged in conversations, but only if someone approached him first. He would often be seen admiring the decor, as though he was visiting a museum rather than networking or losing himself in a vice-like alcohol or bed partners.

It was almost as if these grand events that others killed to get an invitation were mere walks in a lovely garden for him. A break from whatever hectic life he lived.

Except that after having his people look into it, Masters didn't have a hectic life. He barely had one. No matter how much Lex dug into his background, besides that one accident that landed him in a hospital in college, Masters's life had been a pretty average rise from rags to riches through his hard work and intelligent mind.

A wealth that would likely only be passed down two generations with no hints of wanting to raise it like Lex had. No hints of ambition for something greater. No hints of nefarious schemes or back-alley deals. No hints of any sort of crime.

Just a man who wasn't amazed by Lex's world of wealth.

Lex hated how utterly boring he found the man and yet, how his eyes always followed him through the room, fascinated by how Masters didn't make any sesne. It was irritating how Masters didn't even have to do anything to grab Lex's attention; just walking by had him nearly tripping over his own two feet to watch him.

He didn't even know why he wanted to watch Masters. He wasn't even that handsome! His long silvery hair tied in a perfect tail, his slightly dry-looking skin, the dark circles under his eyes, and that teeth-gritting accent of his.

He didn't even know why Masters sounded like an upper-class British man. He was born in Wisconsin!

What did he take voice acting lessons to craft an accent? (Lex's checked. He didn't. Masters is just like that. It made his heart beat like Superman was about to burst into his office. He called his doctor to check if he's developed a heart condition)

The worst part was the way Master lingered in his mind, sitting at the back of it with inane questions like: What was he doing? Does he like chocolate or vanilla more? Why has he tried to buy the Parkers from Green Bay ninety-five times?

It made him look like a fool. No one made Lex Luthor look like a fool.

In a fit of madness, Lex had ordered Mercy to blacklist Masters from any parties they would host. He could not stand to have that man throw him off his game a second longer.

It worked for about three months, and Lex did not have to suffer from stomach twisting or heart hurting due to the sudden increase in heart rate. Then he ran into Masters at a Wayne Gala of all places where the man was dressed like an idiot with his pure black-on-black outfit only to throw on a Packer's scarf.

It looked so stupid that Lex had to hide in the men's bathroom for an hour after spotting the man chatting quietly with Wayne's butler. He could not describe why that stupid green and gold scarf had nearly brought him to his knees.

According to Mercy, who had eavesdropped, Masters' mother was from England, which explains his odd accent. She didn't quite judge him openly, but Lex could read the subtext of her stare as she reported everything Masters did at the gala.

He danced to one song with Bruce Wayne. Lex had nearly broken his hand when he punched the way to the bathroom.

The night after Waynes' gala, Lex lifted Masters' ban because he missed the rather dull man's presence. This gala had been the season's highlight, and compared to the other various parties, Lex had found himself feeling something besides boredom or contempt.

The next time Lex saw Masters was at a charity five months later. Once again, Masters was wearing his black suit, but this time, he had a silver undershirt and a ridiculous red bowtie. Lex had spent five hours changing outfit after outfit, trying to find the most flattering one, and Masters had the audacity to wear a red bowtie.

"He looks good," Lena says, eyes drinking in Masters, leaning on a wall with a blue drink in hand and gazing over the dancers. Lex felt like hurling up when Masters' lips twitch up into a grin as a man stumbles by with his unimpressed dance partner. "You should ask him to dance."

"No," Lex bites out, feeling sick. "Why would you even say?"

Lena shares a look with Mercy before muttering, " It's almost pathetic how he doesn't know how to handle his feelings."

"What was that?"

"You're pathetic," She says with an eye roll. She grabs Mercy's hand and drags her to the dance floor, though his bodyguard sends him a look, asking for permission. He waves his hand, knowing his sister would bite his head off if he stopped her from dancing with her girlfriend, even if she was currently on the clock.

" I'm not pathetic. I can make a living clone with my own DNA." He grouches, glaring at her as she twirls under Mercy's arm.

"You can?" The familiar accent has Lex jumping a foot in the air. He spins around only to look down into Master's blue eyes. Lex had always noticed that he was a head taller than the other man, but it was one thing to know on paper and another to see in person.

He felt like Masters' blue gaze had grabbed him by the throat. "What?"

"You make clones?" Masters repeat, eyes alight with delight. "I've dabbled in that technology myself. I have a daughter, thanks to it."

Lex stares, feeling off-footed. "You're married?"

"Oh no, no." Masters laughs, though Lex can pick up a hint of anger from the curve of his jaw. "I'm a single father. My daughter happens to have some characteristics of her DNA donors, but she's mine entirely."

"I see." Lex suddenly feels like every social skill he's ever developed has evaporated. Or, at the very least, all of his brain cells because why else would he have blurted out, "I have a son. He's my clone with another man."

"Oh, congratulations. You and your husband-"

"No! I'm single. I mean, I'm not married. I was never married. In fact, it's been a long time since I've been in a relationship. So long I think I forgot how they are supposed to go." Lex cuts in, nearly spilling his drink as he shakes his hand. Masters' fae clouds with amusement, and Lex realizes he's been talking for too long.

"Well, it's hard to date while being a single parent." Masters hums before smiling, and Lex feels like Superman has just punched him through a wall without wearing his power suit. "Science is a wonderful thing, isn't it? To allow us to have our children."

"I suppose"

Masters ponders something before he holds out a card. "My daughter has always wanted to meet others like her. Would you and your son care to join us for dinner if it's not too much trouble?"

Lex thinks he makes a sound of confirmation, and just as he appears, Masters vanishes. He walks into the crowd, disappearing from sight, taking his mind-numbing, amused eyes and his stupid bow tie.

It takes him a moment to realize the card has Masters' phone number. Lex stares at the seven digits, feeling like he's freefalling and he's seconds away from being sick. He stumbles to a chair, falling into it without his usual grace.

Mercy is at his side in seconds, eyeing him wearily as Lena touches his shoulder. "Lex? You okay?"

"I have...to make a call." He hears himself say, stumbling for his phone. With shaking hands, he taps on a contact, bringing the device to his ear and listening to it ring. It takes five rings before it's picked up, and a voice bites out.

"What?"

"Conner." He starts, hands still shaking slightly. "Are you free this Friday?"

[thebat-musicman]

It’s the same picture

[fixedmoonofficial]

I saw this Tik Tok today about how to tell when someone has a crush on you...captions at the bottom of the pictures above the hashtag

And that just made me think of Lex looking at Clark. I feel like there's so many more examples than just this

Link to the Tik Tok

[dengswei]

this scene 😭

[slightlyhopefulromantic]

Thank you for consistently blessing us with sapphic dndads content, it is greatly appreciated <333

OF COURSE <333 DnDads fan art may be one of my biggest hobbies rn, but being sapphic will always be my main hobby and I need that show through-

But seriously, you’re welcome :D I love drawing women. Scary/Erica is so real to me. Literally made my MnMoms au just to draw even more women. And of course I think about Autumn and Linda CONSTANTLY due to you… they are so so so in love I need them to be in love in the afterlife together please for my emotional well-being. Desperately need to see women kissing at all times, it’s good for my health ❤️🧡🤍🩷💜

[krilati]

I like the idea that Lex is the only one who understands that: 1) They're all going to die someday. 2) The Phantom Zone is the Infinite Worlds, and if they really wanted to destroy everyone alive, they wouldn't have a chance. For heaven's sake, they have the Time Lord on their side, and he can always go back to a time before anti-ghost weapons were invented and destroy everyone and everything.

*offers a framed and signed picture of my fucked up wisdom tooth xray*

If Lex Luthor had a penny for every single time he had to bail his younger sister out of trouble, he would be even richer than he currently was. When she called him up one sunny day, he should have known he was adding another penny to his fortune.

"Hi, Lex!" Maddie's cheerful voice came from the receiver.

Even though Lex could already imagine the next thing she would say, it was nice to hear from one of his baby sisters.

"Hello, Madeline. How are you today? You normally dont call me during the day."

"Oh, y'know, good," She laughed awkwardly, " Hey, Would it be too much to ask for some help?"

Bingo.

"Not at all, darling. What can I help you with?" Lex said as he pushed his keyboard away and spun around to overlook Metropolis' skyline.

"I was wondering if you could possibly break Danny put of government custody for me and Jack."

Aka Lex is the elder brother of Maddie, and he must fulfill his Cool Uncle Duties by taking on the US government to secure his nephew's safety.

Mellan im staring directly at you and shaking you violently. This is incredible

[hauntedbestie]

re: your crush - you have the backbone of a chocolate eclair. three hours and you were back on him? girlllll

don't you dare quote john mulaney at me in the year 2023

did i tell you the man is 6'8???

[dykepuffs]

How Do I Make My Fictional Gypsies Not Racist?

(Or, "You can't, sorry, but…")

You want to include some Gypsies in your fantasy setting. Or, you need someone for your main characters to meet, who is an outsider in the eyes of the locals, but who already lives here. Or you need a culture in conflict with your settled people, or who have just arrived out of nowhere. Or, you just like the idea of campfires in the forest and voices raised in song. And you’re about to step straight into a muckpile of cliches and, accidentally, write something racist.

(In this, I am mostly using Gypsy as an endonym of Romany people, who are a subset of the Romani people, alongside Roma, Sinti, Gitano, Romanisael, Kale, etc, but also in the theory of "Gypsying" as proposed by Lex and Percy H, where Romani people are treated with a particular mix of orientalism, criminalisation, racialisation, and othering, that creates "The Gypsy" out of both nomadic peoples as a whole and people with Romani heritage and racialised physical features, languages, and cultural markers)

Enough of my friends play TTRPGs or write fantasy stories that this question comes up a lot - They mention Dungeons and Dragons’ Curse Of Strahd, World Of Darkness’s Gypsies, World Of Darkness’s Ravnos, World of Darkness’s Silent Striders… And they roll their eyes and say “These are all terrible! But how can I do it, you know, without it being racist?”

And their eyes are big and sad and ever so hopeful that I will tell them the secret of how to take the Roma of the real world and place them in a fictional one, whilst both appealing to gorjer stereotypes of Gypsies and not adding to the weight of stereotyping that already crushes us. So, disappointingly, there is no secret.

Gypsies, like every other real-world culture, exist as we do today because of interactions with cultures and geography around us: The living waggon, probably the archetypal thing which gorjer writers want to include in their portrayals of nomads, is a relatively modern invention - Most likely French, and adopted from French Showmen by Romanies, who brought it to Britain. So already, that’s a tradition that only spans a small amount of the time that Gypsies have existed, and only a small number of the full breadth of Romani ways of living. But the reasons that the waggon is what it is are based on the real world - The wheels are tall and iron-rimmed, because although you expect to travel on cobbled, tarmac, or packed-earth roads and for comparatively short distances, it wasn’t rare to have to ford a river in Britain in the late nineteenth century, on country roads. They were drawn by a single horse, and the shape of that horse was determined by a mixture of local breeds - Welsh cobs, fell ponies, various draft breeds - as well as by the aesthetic tastes of the breeders. The stove inside is on the left, so that as you move down a British road, the chimney sticks up into the part where there will be the least overhanging branches, to reduce the chance of hitting it.

So taking a fictional setting that looks like (for example) thirteenth century China (with dragons), and placing a nineteenth century Romanichal family in it will inevitably result in some racist assumptions being made, as the answer to “Why does this culture do this?” becomes “They just do it because I want them to” rather than having a consistent internal logic.

Some stereotypes will always follow nomads - They appear in different forms in different cultures, but they always arise from the settled people's same fears: That the nomads don't share their values, and are fundamentally strangers. Common ones are that we have a secret language to fool outsiders with, that we steal children and disguise them as our own, that our sexual morals are shocking (This one has flipped in the last half century - From the Gypsy Lore Society's talk of the lascivious Romni seductress who will lie with a strange man for a night after a 'gypsy wedding', to today's frenzied talk of 'grabbing' and sexually-conservative early marriages to ensure virginity), that we are supernatural in some way, and that we are more like animals than humans. These are tropes where if you want to address them, you will have to address them as libels - there is no way to casually write a baby-stealing, magical succubus nomad without it backfiring onto real life Roma. (The kind of person who has the skills to write these tropes well, is not the kind of person who is reading this guide.)

It’s too easy to say a list of prescriptive “Do nots”, which might stop you from making the most common pitfalls, but which can end up with your nomads being slightly flat as you dance around the topics that you’re trying to avoid, rather than being a rich culture that feels real in your world.

So, here are some questions to ask, to create your nomadic people, so that they will have a distinctive culture of their own that may (or may not) look anything like real-world Romani people: These aren't the only questions, but they're good starting points to think about before you make anything concrete, and they will hopefully inspire you to ask MORE questions.

First - Why are they nomadic? Nobody moves just to feel the wind in their hair and see a new horizon every morning, no matter what the inspirational poster says. Are they transhumant herders who pay a small rent to graze their flock on the local lord’s land? Are they following migratory herds across common land, being moved on by the cycle of the seasons and the movement of their animals? Are they seasonal workers who follow man-made cycles of labour: Harvests, fairs, religious festivals? Are they refugees fleeing a recent conflict, who will pass through this area and never return? Are they on a regular pilgrimage? Do they travel within the same area predictably, or is their movement governed by something that is hard to predict? How do they see their own movements - Do they think of themselves as being pushed along by some external force, or as choosing to travel? Will they work for and with outsiders, either as employees or as partners, or do they aim to be fully self-sufficient? What other jobs do they do - Their whole society won’t all be involved in one industry, what do their children, elderly, disabled people do with their time, and is it “work”?

If they are totally isolationist - How do they produce the things which need a complex supply chain or large facilities to make? How do they view artefacts from outsiders which come into their possession - Things which have been made with technology that they can’t produce for themselves? (This doesn’t need to be anything about quality of goods, only about complexity - A violin can be made by one artisan working with hand tools, wood, gut and shellac, but an accordion needs presses to make reeds, metal lathes to make screws, complex organic chemistry to make celluloid lacquer, vulcanised rubber, and a thousand other components)

How do they feel about outsiders? How do they buy and sell to outsiders? If it’s seen as taboo, do they do it anyway? Do they speak the same language as the nearby settled people (With what kind of fluency, or bilingualism, or dialect)? Do they intermarry, and how is that viewed when it happens? What stories does this culture tell about why they are a separate people to the nearby settled people? Are those stories true? Do they have a notional “homeland” and do they intend to go there? If so, is it a real place?

What gorjers think of as classic "Gipsy music" is a product of our real-world situation. Guitar from Spain, accordions from the Soviet Union (Which needed modern machining and factories to produce and make accessible to people who weren't rich- and which were in turn encouraged by Soviet authorities preferring the standardised and modern accordion to the folk traditions of the indigenous peoples within the bloc), brass from Western classical traditions, via Balkan folk music, influences from klezmer and jazz and bhangra and polka and our own music traditions (And we influence them too). What are your people's musical influences? Do they make their own instruments or buy them from settled people? How many musical traditions do they have, and what are they all for (Weddings, funerals, storytelling, campfire songs, entertainment...)? Do they have professional musicians, and if so, how do those musicians earn money? Are instrument makers professionals, or do they use improvised and easy-to-make instruments like willow whistles, spoons, washtubs, etc? (Of course the answer can be "A bit of both")

If you're thinking about jobs - How do they work? Are they employed by settled people (How do they feel about them?) Are they self employed but providing services/goods to the settled people? Are they mostly avoidant of settled people other than to buy things that they can't produce themselves? Are they totally isolationist? Is their work mostly subsistence, or do they create a surplus to sell to outsiders? How do they interact with other workers nearby? Who works, and how- Are there 'family businesses', apprentices, children with part time work? Is it considered 'a job' or just part of their way of life? How do they educate their children, and is that considered 'work'? How old are children when they are considered adult, and what markers confer adulthood? What is considered a rite of passage?

When they travel, how do they do it? Do they share ownership of beasts of burden, or each individually have "their horse"? Do families stick together or try to spread out? How does a child begin to live apart from their family, or start their own family? Are their dwellings something that they take with them, or do they find places to stay or build temporary shelter with disposable material? Who shares a dwelling and why? What do they do for privacy, and what do they think privacy is for?

If you're thinking about food - Do they hunt? Herd? Forage? Buy or trade from settled people? Do they travel between places where they've sown crops or managed wildstock in previous years, so that when they arrive there is food already seeded in the landscape? How do they feel about buying food from settled people, and is that common? If it's frowned upon - How much do people do it anyway? How do they preserve food for winter? How much food do they carry with them, compared to how much they plan to buy or forage at their destinations? How is food shared- Communal stores, personal ownership?

Why are they a "separate people" to the settled people? What is their creation myth? Why do they believe that they are nomadic and the other people are settled, and is it correct? Do they look different? Are there legal restrictions on them settling? Are there legal restrictions on them intermixing? Are there cultural reasons why they are a separate people? Where did those reasons come from? How long have they been travelling? How long do they think they've been travelling? Where did they come from? Do they travel mostly within one area and return to the same sites predictably, or are they going to move on again soon and never come back?

And then within that - What about the members of their society who are "unusual" in some way: How does their society treat disabled people? (are they considered disabled, do they have that distinction and how is it applied?) How does their society treat LGBT+ people? What happens to someone who doesn't get married and has no children? What happens to someone who 'leaves'? What happens to young widows and widowers? What happens if someone just 'can't fit in'? What happens to someone who is adopted or married in? What happens to people who are mixed race, and in a fantasy setting to people who are mixed species? What is taboo to them and what will they find shocking if they leave? What is society's attitude to 'difference' of various kinds?

Basically, if you build your nomads from the ground-up, rather than starting from the idea of "I want Gypsies/Buryats/Berbers/Minceiri but with the numbers filed off and not offensive" you can end up with a rich, unique nomadic culture who make sense in your world and don't end up making a rod for the back of real-world cultures.

[xxalexislost19xx]

@cathair-inmy-quesadilla

Imagine how heartbreaking it must be to suddenly stop talking to the person you thought you’d marry

[emperor-neo]

Man, TimKon has to have craziest in-laws. Imagine what headache the After marriage dinners get.

Duke: hey um… can you pass the salt *eyeing Lex Luthor*

Lex: *takes the salt but moves it away from Duke*

Selina: God why are you even in here?!

Lex: Because I am Conner’s BIOLOGICAL father unlike you, you stealing broad—

Lois: *tiredly sighs* Oh my God, here we go again…

Bruce: Blood relation means nothing, Lex.

Dick: to quote Maya Angelou: "Family isn’t always blood, it’s the people in your life who want you in theirs”

*Lex proceeds to stand up and points at the person at the end of the table*

Kate: now, this is gonna be interesting

Clark: Lex can you sit down?

Lex: for all my Intellect and prowess what I don’t understand is…WHY ARE THEY HERE!! *points at the Al Ghuls*

Talia: quit embarrassing yourself, Luthor. Timothy is my beloved’s son and brother to two of my sons—

Selina: *looks at Talia tiredly* would you please move on?

Talia: No! *slams the table* you are only his Girlfriend. While I am the Mother of his sons.

Selina: No sane mother trains her children to be weapons of war *pulls out her nails*

Talia: you haven’t seen this mother. *pulls out a sword*

Damian: Mothers, can you all stop? It’s embarrassing.

Minkhoa: as far as I’m concerned, I’m the spouse.

Bruce: Please I beg of you don’t do this Minkhoa

Jim whispers to Barbara: is it always like this?

Barbara whispers back: only during holidays

Jim: remind me not to attend during it

Stephanie: I could get why Talia is here but why is he here *sideeyes Ra’s Al Ghul* Didn’t you steal Tim’s spleen?

Ra’s: I am Talia’s father which makes me the detective’s father-in-law, by extension Timothy’s Grandfather.

*Alfred audibly cocks his shotgun under the table*

Jason: Crazy mental gymnastics there, geezer.

Ra’s: It is a shame that the detective’s choice to spend eternity is with that abomination…

Lex: you take that back, he’s genetically perfect! He’s half of my crush I meant rival and half of me! Me! you ancient terroris—

*a chorus of outrage erupts*

Jon: WOAH WOAH!

Dick: HEY!!

Luke: neglecting the part where Lex just admitted to—

*cuts short by Lucius Fox*

Lucius whispers: I strongly advise, you don’t add fuel to whatever this is, Luke.

Minkhoa: I mean he’s not wrong…

Tim leans on Conner: Welp, that checks my ‘racism at the table’ bingo card

Jean Paul: You are all sinners! I condemn this unholy matrimony! No man can marry a man much less born out of unnatural means!

Conner: There goes the homophobia one *checks the bingo card*

[murmeloni]

I need more fanboy Clark Kent in my life.

Like, he's seen Bruce Wayne interact with a child once and immediately fell in love with the guy. Now his bedroom walls are plastered with posters and he follows several social media accounts focused on capturing pictures of Bruce with kids and/or animals etc. He defends Bruce to anyone, no matter the antics he gets up to and it has become a bit of a running gag around the office.

Then, one day, Cat is out sick and someone jokingly suggests Clark should cover the gala in her stead, seeing as Bruce Wayne will be there and maybe this'll be Clark's shot to finally get his man? To everyone's surprise, Perry really does assign the gala coverage to Clark, who spends the days leading up to the event in a state somewhere between absolute panic and ultimate bliss.

But when the day finally arrives, Bruce doesn't show.

Of course Clark does his job and interviews everyone there (yes, even Lex Luthor) but a part of him spends all night waiting for Bruce to crash the party late, like he so often does.

Eventually, Clark gives up hope and it's shortly after that, that he stumbles upon one of the children dragged along to the event by their parents. Because apparently someone thought a charity gala was a good environment for an eight year old. The parents are nowhere in sight and the child is close to tears, so Clark makes it his mission to cheer the little girl up, regaling her with stories from his upbringing on a Kansas farm while he searches the crowd for her family.

With Clark thus occupied, he doesn't notice Bruce Wayne finally making his appearance for the night. But Bruce definitely notices him. The gentle giant who's all kind smiles and corny jokes... Until he finds the girl's parents. Uncaring of the fact that he's here on a job and that these people are richer than any one person should be and could easily sue him into oblivion, he takes them aside, fire in his eyes, and tears them a new one for losing track of their kid like this. Anything could have happened to her and maybe the readers of the Daily Planet would like to know about that? After all, how reliable and trustworthy could a company whose CEOs won't even look after their own daughter really be?

Bruce is immediately smitten. The passive-aggressive lecture and subtle threats - not to mention the broad shoulders and handsome face - are incredibly attractive to him and he wastes no time cornering the man afterwards.

Clark, who is so starstruck by the mere sight of Bruce coming towards him that he loses the ability to speak, nearly faints when Bruce just straight up shoves his tongue into his mouth. They end up in one of the coat rooms and Clark thinks that's it, just a one night stand. It sucks that he won't see Bruce again, but the night was amazing and at least he has the memory to treasure, right?

He thinks that right up until he gets to work the next day and two dozen red roses are waiting for him on his desk. There's a handwritten card nestled inbetween the petals and on it is the name of a restaurant along with a date and time. It's signed by Bruce.

And that is how Clark gets together with his celebrity crush.

[lionwitch]

Ok, hear me out. An AU where Janet Drake is best friends with Lex Luthor, Bruce Wayne and Oliver Queen.

They met in school, and she's a high society girl, not expected or allowed to be much more than a pretty face, but there's this trio of smart idiots (they did all sorts of stupid stuff at school, but they are overall very, very smart), and they're in all sorts of cool classes and extracurriculars, and she wants to learn

So, she snakes her way into the group with well-timed looks and blushes. They eventually include her in all their activities, and so she learns all sort of stuff that she usually wouldn't be allowed to learn, because they help her keep it in the down low. No, she's not taking classes with them, she's being a proper lady and cheering her smart friends on through the oh-so-hard classes.

At some point or another, they all develop a crush on her, fleeting as it may be (they're hormonal teens and they're required to flirt, it was bound to happen)

They flirt publicly, as it keeps the media from pressuring them into relationships— or so they thought. It backfires when they're adults, the media is demanding Janet settle down and stops leading all three of them on. But there would be a scandal if she picked any of them, so she picks Jack, someone who doesn't love her or she loves, but someone desperate enough to climb the social ladder to care if he loves his wife.

When he's not allowed to flirt anymore, that's where Bruce realizes that he actually liked her.

When Tim comes along, and Janet has to go on trips, she leaves him with her trusted friends. So, Tim learns a lot from his Uncle Lex, learns to shoot a bow from his Uncle Ollie, and loves staying with his Uncle Bruce and his children. He figures him out far too easily and does become Robin when Jason figures he's ready to pass on the mantle to his little brother (because they're brothers. Tim spends a lot of time in their house)

Bruce adores Tim, he really does. It just kinda hurts, that he's Janet's kid, but not his.

Eventually, Janet divorces Jack, and she gets to spend a lot more time in Gotham. But by now Tim is as much Bruce's as he is Janet's, so they co-parent the gremlin that is her son, which leads to a lot of time with Bruce.

Bruce treats her better than Jack ever did, and she trusts him far more. They have the memories of years together. Eventually, Bruce tells her the truth— that he never truly moved on from his best friend.

When they marry, sure it's a media circus, but also not a surprise.

She's also a good mom, to Tim as much as to Dick or Jason.

When Jason finds out Catherine is not his mom, sure he gets curious, but he has a mom already, he's happy. He does want to meet his bio mom, but he agrees to do so safely, not go alone. Fine, B, you can come with.

Joker never happens. Jason is disappointed when he finds his mom is not at all what he expected, and he has a much better one at home.

Eventually, when Damian comes into the picture, he's snappy with Janet. "you will never be my mother, you harlot!" but Janet simply puts a hand on his shoulder and speaks calmly, yet sharp as the blade he threatens her with

"You will not speak to me like that, boy. No, I am not your mother. But I am married to your father, and I hold the authority as such, so you will go up to your room, you will cool down, and you will never threaten or insult me again, or you will be grounded."

"You can't do that!"

"She can. She has my full permission to discipline my kids, Damian. In this house, she holds as much authority as I do." Bruce interjects

Damian, begrudgingly, learns to respect Janet, and eventually he does see her as a second mom

The amount of times Oliver or Lex visit the Wayne-Drake household is absurd, but sue them, they like their friends. This leads to a lot of chaos, because every time Oliver visits so does Roy, and Roy hangs out with Dick and Jason, while Damian sticks to glaring at everyone.

Meanwhile, they dote on Tim, because they sure as hell have a favourite nephew, and it's the one they watched grow inside the belly of one of their best friends, the one they all changed the diapers of, the one they've taught a lot of skills to, the one they helped raise in a way they never helped raise any of the other Wayne boys. They don't even try to hide their preference. Now, of course they like all their nephews, but it's always hilarious because when Tim is around his uncle Lex, he's ten times the evil mastermind he generally is, and Oliver encourages it, simply for the chaos, and so does Janet, while Bruce is downright terrified of the idea of Tim as a villain (everyone is)

[tthoroughfare]

crush (part 2) // abby anderson

*･゜ﾟ･* summary: i owe you a black eye and two kisses. tell me when you wanna come and get 'em. abby finally confronts her feelings in the spur of the moment, then gets scared and runs away. it all works out in the end, though.

*･゜ﾟ･* pairing: canon!abby x reader

*･゜ﾟ･* content: nsfw. nothing too crazy just some yearny sesbian lex using hands. light injury description and abby being a horrible communicator

*･゜ﾟ･* length: 2.9k

this is part two of this series! find part one here

i hope you enjoy the second part! i'm so down to write more of this so lmk if anyone wants it

abby keeps it all to herself. she enjoys having you as a friend, and reasons that it’s better not to mess it all up. just because you like her whole entire gender doesn’t mean you like her. plus, she’s not even sure about what she’s feeling. figures that if she actually wasn’t straight, she’d surely have already known by now. but then again, she didn’t know you back then. didn’t feel what she feels around you.

then, one night, you’ve been around at hers, drinking and watching a movie with manny. she’d accidentally overindulged, possibly (definitely) out of nerves. you’d had to drag the chair and beanbag over in front of the TV, you and abby both piling onto the beanbag, chair not big enough to hold the two of you.

there was still barely enough room, and you were pressed up against her. at first, you were awkwardly perched, body rigid; but then, as the film went on and you had a little more to drink, you found yourself sinking into the seat, further into her.

by the end of it, your head is comfortably on her shoulder, laughing and chatting freely — she can smell your hair, feel the heat of your body against her, and she truly thinks she might combust.

once it’s gotten late, you say you’d better be heading back to your own place. abby tipsily insists on walking you back, even though it’s really not necessary. like, at all.

you jovially chat and giggle on the way back through the stadium, and all you can remember thinking is how glad you are that you met her. how rare it is for you to know someone who you feel so connected to, who everything feels so easy with almost instantaneously.

when you get to your door, she lingers around, keeping the conversation going even after you say goodnight — like she wants something from you, wants to say something but can’t. there’s a moment where it drops quiet, and she’s just looking at you. studying your face, maintaining eye contact for probably longer than she ever has. that’s when you realize she’s automatically drifted closer.

and then, liquid courage coursing through her veins and affirmed by you leaning on her earlier, she kisses you.

it’s quick, and you don’t return it. not because you don’t want to, but out of pure shock — never in a million years would you have seen it coming. you’d fully shelved your crush on her, under the impression it was never going to happen.

before you have a real chance to react, she pulls back, cheeks tinged red.

you speak at the same time: her blurting out, "sorry, fuck"; you simply shaking your head a little, stuttering, “a-abby, i…”

a beat passes, you slightly open-mouthed, abby’s hands anxiously fiddling with themselves at her sides. immediately, she’s sober. “fuck, i-i’m sorry. that was stupid.”

“no, abby, it’s just—“ before you can finish your sentence, she mutters something inaudible and turns, beginning to stride off down the hall, feeling like a fucking idiot. of course you didn’t like her, and she’d just drunkenly ruined it all for nothing.

your call of her name, followed by a, ‘wait!’ falls on deaf ears, and she turns the corner, gone. you’re left stunned, frozen outside your door, trying to process what just happened.

you want to go after her, have her allow you to explain yourself, but decide against it. you don’t know if she really meant it, you don’t know what her reasons were for running off; you don’t know what the fuck to do. so, despite every ounce of yourself begging you not to, you simply go inside and try your best to sleep. you can’t, though, mind whirring for hours on end until you finally pass out.

the next morning, you pray you run into her. usually, you always saw her at some point, but it was like she was avoiding everywhere you might be.

you see manny in the canteen later in the day, catching up to him and asking him where she is; he just shrugs, saying that she’d picked up an extra assignment and headed out that morning. might not be back for a day or two.

you can’t help but let out an exasperated sigh, crossing your arms. you knew it was on purpose. all over a kiss. “are you fucking kidding me?”

he gives you a funny look. “you two have a fight or something? she was… quiet when she came back.”

rolling your eyes, you shake your head after a moment. basically the opposite. “no… no, we didn’t.”

“right.” he quirks an eyebrow slightly, taking a breath. “you want me to talk to her when i see her?”

you shake your head vehemently, furrowing your brow. “nah, nah, don’t. just… let me know when she gets back, please?”

he nods once, tapping the side of your arm. “you got it.”

you utter out a thanks, and with that you’re off.

you don’t want to be mad at her, but you are. you don’t know why she’s running away from you, quite literally putting her life on the line just so she doesn’t have to face you. what makes it so much worse is she didn’t even give you a chance. if she’d have just heard you out instead of storming off, there wouldn’t even be an issue in the first place.

the next morning arrives, and abby’s still not back. the whole day, you fight the urge to walk over to her apartment and knock on the door every five minutes. you know manny said a day or two, but you can’t help but anxiously await her return the moment it’s plausible.

you try to keep yourself busy with work, but all your mind does is wander back to her. thinking about what she’s doing, if she’s okay, what you’re going to say to her when she gets back. you replay the kiss over and over in your head, scrutinizing every millisecond of it. what if the reason she freaked out was that she only did it because she was drunk, immediately realized she regretted it, and that’s why she’s avoiding you?

her absence just gives you too much time to worry, conjure up every worst case scenario. by the end of it, you’re essentially convinced she doesn’t like you, that it was a mistake, and now your friendship will never be the same.

finally, around noon the day after, manny collars you in the hallway and lets you know abby’s back. you let out a half relieved, half nervous sigh, nodding and thanking him. you can’t go talk to her right away — you’re too swamped with work, on your way back from the shortest lunch break known to man, but you know the second you’ve called it a day, you’re finding her.

it’s not until almost eight that you finally get to a place where you can break off, leaning back in your chair and running your hands over your face. you pack a few items away hurriedly, heart beating in your chest as you make your way over to abby’s.

it’s not her who answers the door, though — it’s manny. you blow air out of your nose at the fact you’re seeing more of him than her at this point.

“where is she?” you question gently, as if he doesn’t already know what you want.

the corners of his mouth quirk. “guess.”

“library?”

he clicks his tongue in affirmation, and you roll your eyes fondly before telling him you’ll see him later, turning to make your way down there.

standing outside the door, you realize how nervous you are. you’ve wanted nothing more than to see abby since it happened, but now the moment’s here you can’t help but feel hesitant about all the ways the conversation could go.

after a beat of psyching yourself up, you gingerly crack the door open, spotting her on the ottoman before gently wrapping your knuckles as you peer in. “knock, knock.”

she looks up, an unreadable expression on her face.

“can i come in?”

she pauses, sitting up properly and placing her book to the side. “uh… sure.”

you smile gratefully, picking your way in and softly closing the door behind you. you make your way over, taking a seat next to her with your hands folded in your lap, avoiding eye contact. “so…”

you can see her fiddling with the sleeve of her shirt in your peripheral vision. “so…?”

looking up at her, you go to say your rehearsed spiel, then the words get caught in your throat when you notice the injuries littering her face. a couple of gashes are set into her forehead and chin, purple blossoming over her cheekbone.

“what the hell have you done to your face?” it comes out a little more frustrated than the caring tone you intend, but you are frustrated. if she’d have stayed and listened, she wouldn’t have been avoiding you, and in turn wouldn’t have gone off and gotten herself hurt. you pivot your body to face her side, knee bending to rest your left leg sideways.

“it’s not anything.”

you tut, unable to help yourself from reaching out and running your thumb tenderly over the bruising. she pulls away from your touch slightly, to which you shoot her a look. “worse than i ever get.”

“you’re sheltered.”

she says it matter-of-fact, and you know it’s true. you’ve always had it better than her, better than most, never really being required to go into the field. both your parents are still alive, a rarity nowadays, both academics. the last time you were in real danger was simply when you were being moved into the base, going from safe point A to safe point B. 

still, it stings a little.

“yeowch,” you respond as you allow your hand to drop from her skin, only half joking. “there’s no need to be mean, abby.”

she rolls her eyes, still keeping her sight trained firmly ahead. “i’m not being…” she trails off, shaking her head a little and looking down at her hands. she moves to lean forward, forearms resting on her knees.

a pause passes that feels like an eternity, until you finally will yourself to speak. your voice is soft, low. “why did you run off on me the other night?”

she gnaws at her lip, not saying anything for a moment. “can we just forget about that? it was…”

“a mistake, i know. you were… you’d had a few drinks. i know you didn’t mean anything by it.” you finish her sentence for her, and she sighs and shakes her head in annoyance at how wrong you have it.

she swallows thickly in defeat, urging the words to come. she might as well tell you; she’s already basically fucked everything up. what does she have to lose?

“that’s… not it.” her words come out quiet, and she looks at you for the first time since you walked in, hands wringing in her lap.

you automatically shuffle a tiny bit closer, her leg warm against yours. “then what is it?”

“i didn’t… it wasn’t… because i was drunk. it was because i wanted to.” she takes a deep breath, shoulders sinking. “and then… you reacted all… i don’t know. anyway… you don’t see me like that. can we just move on?”

you look at her, mouth opening and closing a little. your brow furrows. “oh my god. are you serious?”

“what?” she replies, a little defensively.

“i reacted like that because i was fucking shocked. as far as i was aware, you didn’t even like girls, never mind me, and then you just kissed me out of nowhere. i didn’t know how to react. and then, you didn’t even give me chance to say anything and just walked off, and then i don’t see you for two days,” you blurt out, floodgates opened.

it’s her turn to be speechless again, looking up at you like a deer in headlights. “so… w-what are you saying?”

you don’t even bother to answer, knowing you can show her tenfold better than you can tell. you pull her up to you, hand resting on her jaw, pressing your lips to hers with a gentle urgency. she freezes for a split second before kissing back, one hand leaning on the ottoman behind you, the other coming up to cup your cheek.

you shift further in subconsciously, right leg going over one of hers and your free arm wrapping around her neck.

“jesus christ, abby,” you mumble against her lips between adoring smooches, “i can’t believe you.”

she breathes out a chuckle. “sorry.”

you have sex for the first time that night. you invite her to stay over, not even having those expectations. you just want to be with her, want to feel close to her, wake up side by side.

but then it drops late, and your lights are on low, having spent the evening conversing on your bed with the tv droning in the background. you’re both on your sides facing each other, propped up by an elbow. and you look so pretty in the dim yellow light, she can’t help herself from leaning in and kissing you, dripping with want.

you end up on top of her, fingertips stroking over either side of her face, hers pressing into your hips. all you can hear is your own pulse banging in your head, the labored, rapid breaths the two of you let out into each other’s mouths.

you don’t think you’ve ever wanted anything this much. you can feel yourself soaking your underwear, and nothing’s even happened.

abby swallows thickly, pulling back for a moment, knowing where this is all going. “you know i’ve never…” she trails off, implicating the last few words, voice husked with arousal.

you pause to look at her, lidded eyes dragging over her face, a slightly amused smirk tugging at the corners of your lips.

“i know,” you respond, leaning back in to mouth at the corner of hers, before kissing down to her jaw. you continue to speak against her skin, voice low. “you’ll figure it out.”

and she sure does.

you make love to each other. it’s all slow, and testing, but wanting and desperate. a lot of abby asking every two minutes if what she’s doing feels good, you guiding her and showing her how you like it. when you first flip her on top of you, tenderly taking her hair out from its braid and running your fingers through it, leading her hand under your waistband and showing her how wet you’ve gotten for her, she truly doesn’t know how the fuck she was ever, ever uncertain about her feelings.

you take your shirt off, baring yourself to her, then hers, needing to feel your skin flush against one another. her hands automatically move to make quick work of the lower half of your clothing, gaining confidence. and then you’re naked, spread out underneath her, all flushed and open mouthed, hips shifting into hers desperately — and it’s just like something takes over her.

she kisses over your chest languidly, exploring, needing to taste your skin. you gently take her wrist, moving her hand back between your legs, and your head falls back when she runs a finger through your folds. it’s a little clumsy, a little anxious, but abby’s a quick learner. she finds a rhythm, circling your clit as her mouth attaches to your nipple.

“abby, fuck…” you moan shakily, one hand tightening around her wrist, keeping her where it feels good, the other gripping lightly at her hair.

“is that okay?” she asks. she’s looking up at you reverently, desperate to impress, and the sight sends even more heat pooling in your lower belly.

you nod hungrily and your hand moves from her wrist to her waistband, voice coming out a lot more needy than you intend. “take these off.”

she obeys you without a word, and your free hand immediately goes to touch her, spreading her apart and toying with her clit, reveling in the noises it draws.

you make each other cum like that, touching each other at the same time, all needy and yearning. you’re first, abby’s nerves getting the best of her, you unable to help yourself. it all builds and builds until it hits you hard, breathy, high pitched moans and whines of her name tumbling out against her shoulder. hearing you, seeing you like that sends her absolutely reeling, and it’s not long until she’s there too. you pull her face level to yours with your free hand, threading your fingers through her hair, needing to look at her as she cums.

she looks so pretty, eyes screwed shut and brows drawn, parted lips rosy as she pants her way through her orgasm, unable to help the string of mmphs and low, strangled moans that escape her.

you work her through it, slowing your movements gradually, stroking at her face as she comes down. it’s quiet for a moment, just the sounds of the forgotten movie across the room and both of you attempting to regain your breathing.

“okay?” you ask, voice barely a whisper.

she nods, eyes still closed, tongue darting out to wet her lips. then, her mouth twitches, corners forming a small smile. “yeah. fuck.”

you mirror her, a tiny smile of your own tugging at your lips. “good.”

kissing her nose lightly, you shift your hand away from her pussy and pop your messy fingers in your mouth, cleaning her off you, relishing in her taste.

she watches through hazy eyes, committing the sight to memory.

yeah. she’s never looking back.

[hauntedbestie]

Not that I’m giving up but I don’t think I’m properly displaying interest if he rarely texts me back so idk idk

[dclovesdanny]

Idiots in love x Cosmic Love

Danny has had a crush on his online friends for years. His first online friend, SuperManSuperFan, had originally become his friend when they played Doomed together online a few years ago. SuperManSuperFan, or Super, as Danny called him, was funny and nice. Super was his main escape from the trauma at home, and soon became his escape from the expectations and the ghosts and the shooting and the fear.

Danny didn’t know when talking to Super became safe. He didn’t know when it became easier to do things when he imagined Super’s commentary in his head. He didn’t know when hearing Super’s voice caused his body to relax, and his mind to clear. He didn’t know, but it was already too late by the time he realized it.

Danny’s crush on his other online friend, BloodoftheBat, was different. They met on Tumblr, both posting art. Danny was learning to draw, since the accident caused mobility problems in his hands, and Jazz recommended it as a way to both process his trauma and trying to keep mobility intact in his hands.

BloodoftheBat was different than Super. Blood was blunt and open, but didn’t lie. Blood quipped back but understood when things weren’t to be written. Blood and Danny traded art prompts and pieces when sleep was too hard and the dark memories were too strong.

Danny had mentioned them to each other, but neither one really seemed to like it. Super always redirected the conversation to something else, and Blood would get snippy. He didn’t understand, but he didn’t mind.

(It wasn’t like he didn’t feel the same when Blood mentioned his friend who inspired his art pieces, or when Super mentioned his best friend Damian. It wasn’t like he didn’t know that cold rush up his spine and the lump in his throat.)

(Danny didn’t want to examine why he felt like this. He knew Jazz would say something about anxious attachment or codependency, and Danny didn’t want to hear it.)

He just hopes he can still talk to them while his parents took him with them to go to Lex Luther’s gala, who apparently was a distant relative of Vlad.

(Danny just hoped this billionaire was less gross.)

(Damian hated going to galas. He would much rather be spending time with his pets, on patrol, or messaging online with his friend BeyondtheStars. At least this time Jon would be able to sit with him as they avoided the idiots and social climbers, even if he couldn’t stop talking about his online friend.)